#Next chapter opens in Aziraphale perspective

[binbogummy]

Humans are —

An intermission of sorts?

This was originally going to be at the end of chapter 6 or the beginning of chapter 7 but I just decided I didn't like the way it flowed with either, so consider this a little tumblr exclusive intermission I didn't have the heart to scrap completely.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | * | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | *²|

Chapter 10|

~

As the night settled in, Aziraphale had excused himself downstairs again and Crowley finally returned, sipping something dark from a lowball glass and retaking what was practically his designated seat at this point.

You were currently curled beneath your blankets, still feeling comfortably heavy from dinner, which had been more soup, as an episode of some show Crowley had picked, but neither of you had really been paying attention to, droned in the background to fill the silence.

"Aaaaaand finished~" The demon announced, tossing the pencil down on the nightstand and handing the notepad back to you before reclaiming his glass.

It was a picture.

Of you.

Touché.

Or at least, it was you if you were a sickly orphan, wrapped in a blanket with big, watery eyes and an exaggerated frown. He had even sketched the tiny bell beside you, with a completely unnecessary little ding ding written above it for emphasis.

You scoffed, completely affronted.

"Nailed it, yeah?"

You quickly shook your head, making a dramatic X with your arms before hastily scribbling a message.

You mock me in my time of need?

Crowley barked out a laugh, lifting his glass in a mock cheers gesture. "Indeed I do."

Feeling spurred on by both the demon and the creeping boredom of being in bed all day, you narrowed your eyes and slowly, deliberately, reached for the bell on the nightstand.

His expression barely had time to shift before you gave it a single, sharp ring, making him snort so hard into his drink he nearly choked.

The sound of Aziraphale’s hurried footsteps echoed up the staircase before you could even smirk in triumph. The door swung open, and the angel reappeared, his expression immediately shifting from mild surprise to full on maternal panic as he took in the sight of you, upright, bell in hand, looking completely not in distress.

"What is it? Is everything all right? What do you need?" His eyes scanned your face, flickering to Crowley briefly as if he might have caused you some great misfortune in the short time he’d been left alone with you.

Crowley managed to cool his expression into something mostly neutral, except for the barely suppressed twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

You hesitated for only a moment before lifting a single finger and pointing at the demon.

Aziraphale’s expression darkened into something dangerously close to warning. "Crowley."

Crowley scoffed, tossing his head back dramatically. "Oh, come on!" He gestured toward you, feigning offense. "I haven't done a thing."

"That remains to be seen." The angel stated flatly.

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing, shaking your head as you waved a hand to dismiss whatever false accusations Crowley assumed you were making.

Just wanted to see if you'd actually come, you wrote out silently with an apologetic tilt of your head.

Aziraphale studied you for a moment before sighing, though his disapproving frown was softened by fond exasperation. "Well, I’m glad to see you’ve still got some spirit, at least." He picked up the ice pack you'd set aside earlier and pressed it to your forehead, attempting to ease you down. "But I do believe it's about time we all turn for the night, don't you?"

"Again with the early bedtime, Angel? Got her on a proper schedule now, do we?"

"She's still ill," Entirely unbothered, Aziraphale made sure the ice pack was resting securely on your forehead before pulling away. "Must I reiterate for you again the importance of rest above all else these cases?" He challenged lightly.

Crowley, of course, was entirely undeterred. " But consider this-" He leaned forward. "What if she stayed up just a biiiit longer?" He suggested, tapped the side of his temple as if this was a groundbreaking thought.

"And what exactly would that accomplish?" Aziraphale shot him an unimpressed look.

"Morale," the demon declared. "You've got to factor in morale, Angel. Can't have the patient feeling too miserable, now can we? Might even set her back. Who knows?" He waved a hand vaguely. "Humans are sensitive like that, you know. Let her stay up a bit. Finish an episode or two~" Not that either of you had been watching whatever was playing in the first place.

Aziraphale sighed, turning his attention away from Crowley's nonsense and toward you, still laying snugly in bed.

"My dear," he cooed, leabing over you and smoothing the blankets down for good measure. "Are you feeling particularly miserable?" His tone was indulgent, but there was an underlying sincerity to it, as if he genuinely wanted to be sure you weren't actually upset with the idea.

You blinked up at him, pursing your lips in exaggerated thought and tilting your head slightly as if you were really considering it. You held the act for just a second longer than necessary. Just long enough to make him anticipate a dramatic answer, before shaking your head no.

Achy? Yes. Weak? For sure. Still feverish and congested? Absolutely. But miserable? Nah.

The angel gave you a soft, satisfied hum, looking entirely pleased with himself. "There, you see, Crowley? She's not miserable at all," he said smugly, smoothing a hand over the blanket once more as if sealing the argument with a final, gentle touch. "In fact, I'd say she's quite content. Aren't you, dear?"

You made a faint hum of disagreement.

Content in general? Yes. Content with another early bedtime? Not so much.

"Oh, hush now," he chided sweetly, "No need to pretend you aren't utterly worn out. The signs are all there. You've had another vigorous day of recovery. It's no wonder you're looking a bit droopy-eyed now."

Droopy-eyed?

You frowned lightly, not entirely pleased with the accurate assessment.

But it didn't matter. Aziraphale was already in full-on bedtime mode.

"Rest is just as important tonight as it was yesterday, if not more so," he continued, "And will continue to be just as important tomorrow. So I shan't hear any more complaints."

"Well if that's the case, I'm out of here," Crowley announced suddenly, standing up, stretching and rolling his shoulders. "You two enjoy this little routine you've got going on. I'll see you tomorrow."

Aziraphale gave a knowing hum as he tucked you in more officially. "Oh, I'm sure you will," he mused, casting Crowley a pointedly innocent look over his shoulder. "At this rate, I daresay it would be more surprising if we didn't see you tomorrow~"

The demon's eyes narrowed under this glasses, or at least, that's what you assumed must have happned as he stopped in the doorway to look back at Aziraphale after that comment.

To his credit, though, he seemed to know that acknowledging it beyond that would be backing himself into a corner. So instead he looked to you, giving you a lazy salute as he strolled out the door. "Try to make it to morning, yeah?"

With a surprisingly bright smile, and as much energy as you could muster, you saluted him back. Will do, boss.

Aziraphale huffed as he left, turning his attention back to you.

You gave him your most innocent look as you peered over the blankets, but he was having none of it.

"Come now," he coaxed gently, stepping closer to the bed. "I know you’re not entirely opposed to the idea. Whether you realize it or not, your body has worked quite hard today, battling that fever of yours. Let's do it a favor and give it the rest it needs to keep up the good work tomorrow, hmm?"

Truth be told you'd only been resisting the idea out of principle alone, but he made quite the compelling argument. So after squinting in thought for a moment, you gave a soft smile and a little nod.

Satisfied, Aziraphale dimmed the lights and turned toward the television, moving to switch it off. But before he could, you let out a small, involuntary sound of protest.

It wasn't dramatic, barely more than a little breathy hum, but it was enough to make him pause, glancing back at you with mild curiosity.

You blinked up at him, eyes a bit wide, before lifting a hand from beneath the blankets and giving the screen a small point.

"Oh?" he hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Would you prefer to keep it on, my dear?"

You nodded quickly, lips pressing into a small, pleading frown.

Aziraphale exhaled slowly, his head tilting in that indulgent way of his, as if mulling it over. He should turn it off, really. You needed proper rest, and distractions weren't always conducive to that. But at the same time...

He glanced at you again.

You were already tucked in so snugly, barely peeking out over the top of the covers, eyes half-lidded but still content and hopeful in that way that made it far too difficult to say no.

"Very well," he conceded at last. "But only under the condition that you don't let it keep you up too long.

You nodded again eagerly, making a little crossing motion over your chest. Promise.

That seemed to convince him, and he adjusted the volume down to a soft, barely there hum before setting the remote within easy reach on your nightstand. "There. Now, you just rest. And, if you need anything, just ring, alright?" His eyes flickered briefly toward the little bell on the nightstand before returning to yours. "Though preferably not just for the sake of testing my response time."

The little giggle you let out seemed to have been exactly what he was aiming for because his expression softend with satisfaction as he finally stepped back, wishing you a quiet goodnight and leaving you be with a soft click of the door.

After that, the room fell into an easy stillness, save for the quiet murmur of the television. It was just enough noise to keep the space from feeling too empty, but soft enough to lull you into the heavy warmth of impending sleep.

You probably would have crashed pretty fast if the day hadn't left you feeling so utterly aware of everything around you right now.

Of the way your head throbbed against the pillow. Of the way your body ached with that deep, feverish exhaustion. Of the way the congestion pressed thick and heavy in your chest, making each inhale just a little too labored. You thought for a moment and then swallowed experimentally. Nope. That was still awful too.

But you weren't going to dwell on it.

Because if you let yourself focus too much on the bad, you'd start thinking about how good everything else was in comparison. About how thoroughly the good of the last two days had outweighed your discomfort in heaps.

And then you'd begin to think about how, if you weren’t sick right now, if you weren’t confined to this bed with a fever that had left you fatigued to you very core, then today, and yesterday, and the night before, would have looked a whole lot different.

You would have woken up in your hotel room. Would have gone about your day alone, trying as many restaurants as you could find or jumping from shop to shop.

You would have kept wandering around the city, with no real plan, sightseeing in a forcefully casual attempt to not impose on the two main reasons you'd even bothered coming back to London in the first place

And that would have been fine.

But it wouldn’t have been this.

~

[mimisempai]

LITTLE SEEDS OF HAPPINESS - Chap 1/4

Chapter 1 : Budding

Summary

Ever since the new flower shop opened on Whickber Street, a few steps from his bookshop, Aziraphale can't help but be intrigued, even fascinated, by the beautiful florist, unaware that said florist feels the same way about the bookseller.

The two watch each other from afar, without really getting close, when Muriel, co-owner and Crowley's adopted sibling, decides to intervene.

Notes

First AU of Good Omens, this story is composed of four chapters and is the beginning of a series that I hope you'll like, because we're in it for the long haul...

On Ao3

Rating T -  2966 words

Chap 1 - Chap 2 - Chap 3 - Chap 4

"Thank you Maggie! I'm going to enjoy listening to this record as soon as I get home!"

Maggie shook her head and replied quietly, "Mr. Fell, you don't have to thank me, knowing what you do for me...about my rent."

"But that's just it, it's completely selfish on my part, because if you weren't here, who would give me all these hours of pleasure for my ears? Speaking of which, I'll get started as soon as possible. Have a nice day!"

Maggie watched as the bookseller walked out the door with his ever-so-slightly bouncing step, heading toward his bookshop further down the street.

As for Aziraphale, he could hardly wait to be in the comfort of his bookshop, with a steaming cup of tea in one hand, an Eccles cake in the other, and the soft tones of his latest acquisition ringing in his ears.

He quickened his pace slightly at this perspective when a voice sounded behind him. 

"Mr. Fell, good morning!" 

Recognizing it, he turned, a fake friendly smile on his lips.

Aziraphale replied with a friendliness he was far from feeling for the intruder, "Good morning, Mr. Brown."

"I just wanted to remind you of our next meeting of the street shopkeepers, to be held next week at Justine's."

Although deeply annoyed at the prospect of yet another boring meeting, Aziraphale replied with a smile, "I'll be there, of course. Thanks for reminding me."

He didn't have time to finish his sentence before the annoying redhead had already turned and was walking towards the French restaurant whose outdoor tables Justine was preparing for the next service. The Frenchwoman caught Aziraphale's eye and greeted him with a small wave, which Aziraphale returned with a much warmer, more sincere smile than the one he had for Mr. Brown.

The bookseller resumed his walk towards his bookshop when his gaze was caught by some movement to the right.

Although he would deny it if asked, he slowed his pace a little to take the time to watch the florist, Mr. Crowley, take out the plants and prepare the front for the opening of his flower shop, Little Seeds of Happiness.

He was joined by his assistant, named Muriel, according to some gossip Aziraphale had gathered. Then, seeing him, Muriel waved hello, smiling broadly as always, before tapping the florist on the shoulder to get his attention and pointing at Aziraphale. The florist stood up and, seeing Aziraphale, nodded in his direction, a slight smile on his lips, his eternal sunglasses on his nose.

Aziraphale responded with the same nod, a smile on his lips as well, and continued on his way.

After a few steps, Aziraphale couldn't help but take one last look in the direction of the flower shop. 

The florist now had his back to him, but Aziraphale could not look away from the flaming hair that seemed to attract the sunlight. 

That was what had caught his eye, the day the man had moved in above what was now the flower shop.

Not the old car, not the rock music blasting from the windows as he parked, no. Just the red hair, the color of which was all the more remarkable since its owner wore black. Even his florist's apron was black, Aziraphale noted, smiling amusedly. 

However, despite this dark attire, there was a certain light about the man, and Aziraphale couldn't deny that he was intrigued. A lot, if he was honest with himself.

It had been two months since the florist had arrived in the neighborhood, and he had quickly assimilated, which didn't surprise Aziraphale because they formed a small, colorful, and most of all, welcoming community.

Suddenly, Aziraphale realized that the florist, as a shopkeeper, would also be attending the shopkeepers' meeting, and the prospect of a reunion became much more appealing. Perhaps it would be an opportunity for him to get to know the newcomer better.

"Mommyyy! Where's my mommy!"

Suddenly jolted from his thoughts, Aziraphale looked around for the source of the crying until he saw a little girl standing outside the door of his bookshop. He approached at a brisk pace, and when he was close to her, knelt down before asking her gently, "Hey, little one. Did you lose your mommy?"

The little girl sniffled and told him between sobs that her mommy had been talking to someone and that she had let go of her mommy's hand to look at the magic shop window, but that she didn't know where her mommy was now.

As she finished telling her story, she began to cry loudly in front of a distraught Aziraphale. He thought quickly. The magic shop wasn't far from his shop, and the mother wouldn't let her daughter go far away. But there was nothing he could do until the little girl calmed down.

Aziraphale said softly, "Hey... what's your name, sweetie?"

She sniffed and replied, "Julia."

"Okay, Julia, we'll look for your mommy, we'll find her, and you'll magically forget all about this, okay?"

"Magic doesn't exist."

" Oh, do you really believe that? But look..."

Aziraphale dug deep into his jacket pocket and pulled out a shiny coin, waving it in front of the little girl before closing his hands and opening them again, empty.

"Tada... it's gone!"

Then he brought one of his hands to the little girl's ear and exclaimed, "Oh!!! Look, there it is!"

The little girl giggled a little before exclaiming, "Mommy!!!"

Aziraphale turned to see a woman approach with a look of relief on her face as she stretched out her arms and said, "Julia, my baby! I've been looking all over for you."

Aziraphale stood up and turned to face the woman who was now holding her little girl.

"Mommy, that man with the weird bow tie, he said he would help me find you, and here you are!"

The woman nodded and said to Aziraphale, "Thank you for taking care of my daughter. I was caught up in a conversation and didn't see her leave so fast."

Aziraphale shook his head and replied gently, "I was there at the right time. All's well that ends well."

"Thank you," the woman turned to her daughter and said, "Did you thank the nice man?"

Julia shook her head and asked, "Can I give him a kiss?"

"If it's okay with him, yes."

Aziraphale complacently leaned over and offered his cheek to the little girl, who planted a slightly wet kiss on it before whispering in his ear, "You're right, magic does exist, because you made my mommy come back."

Aziraphale laughed softly, and then, after a final exchange of greetings, mother and daughter left under his benevolent gaze, the little girl waving again just before they disappeared around the corner.

Amused, Aziraphale entered his bookshop and, as he closed the door, was slightly disappointed to find that the florist was no longer outside. Then his eyes caught those of Nina, the coffee shop owner, who gave him a small wave, which he returned before entering his shop.

"The coin is still in your hand..."

Crowley chuckled as he watched the bookseller hold up the small gold coin to the little girl who had stopped crying.

He had been watching the scene the whole time, ready to fly to the little girl's rescue if the other man hadn't. And as he watched the reunited mother and child thank the bookseller, Crowley was no longer in the mood for mockery.

Though he had only been here a few months, this was by no means the first time he had witnessed the kindness of the light-haired man in the old-fashioned suit.

Child, elderly person, man, woman, and once even a dog had all been greeted with the same kindness, the same gentle, open attitude. True kindness was rare, and Crowley was well placed to know it, which was why he was able to recognize it when he encountered it, or in this case, witnessed it.

He had noticed earlier that the bookseller was watching him, and he could hardly take offense when he did the same. It wasn't so much his clothes or his fluffy-looking curly hair that caught Crowley's eye - though it did make him look incredibly endearing in its own way - no, what intrigued Crowley was that the man seemed completely at ease with himself. As the bookseller walked down the street, he had the demeanor of someone who knew what he was and wasn't ashamed of it. He wasn't arrogant or ostentatious, he just exuded this incredible aura of confidence. It made Crowley a little jealous, knowing he could never be like that. 

The florist sighed as he pushed his sunglasses further up his nose and watched the bookseller enter his shop.

Crowley chuckled in amusement as he watched him turn over the small sign that read "Closed." 

Closed at 10:00 a.m.

He didn't know how the bookseller made a living, but certainly not by selling books, for in two months he had never seen anyone leave the bookshop with a book in hand.

Another interesting fact.

"It shows..."

Crowley was startled because, lost in thought, he had not heard Muriel approach.

He turned to them and asked, one eyebrow raised, "What?"

Muriel raised their eyebrows several times suggestively and replied, clearly mocking, "It's obvious you're making eyes at him."

Crowley snapped back in annoyance, "I'm wearing sunglasses, you little idiot! How can you tell I'm making eyes at the bookseller?"

"I never said I was talking about him."

"You!"

Crowley grabbed his water spray bottle and doused his childhood friend and adopted sibling, who laughed out loud!

As always, he couldn't stay mad at them for long. They were the only one who knew him and could read him so well. 

Sometimes to his great misfortune.

Since that day at the orphanage when Muriel, a newcomer, had beaten up one of the big kids despite their small stature because he had made fun of Crowley's eye color and since the same day Crowley had taken responsibility for what Muriel had done so they wouldn't be punished, a sacred bond had been formed.

Since then, they've had each other's backs in every situation.

This had allowed them to pursue their common dream.

The orphanage's old gardener had noticed Crowley's affinity for plants and taken him under his wing. He had patiently trained him, and Crowley, instead of leaving the orphanage when he came of age, had naturally taken the place of the retiring gardener. 

Crowley had stayed there for years, even decades, saving for his dream and Muriel's studies. Muriel had learned all about business because they wanted Crowley to realize his dream. Their dream.

To open a flower shop.

When they were finished and Crowley had saved enough, they'd both looked for the perfect shop, and after a few months of searching, he'd turned in his resignation to the orphanage board and opened Little Seeds of Happiness on Whickber Street with Muriel.

And for the first time in his life, at over 40, Crowley felt like he was at home. 

"Stop thinking about him."

Once again Muriel snapped him out of his thoughts and before he could protest they added, "We have a customer, it's time to be professional."

Their smile belied the seriousness of their words and they went to greet the customer in question, who was none other than Justine, the owner of the French restaurant.

She had been a regular customer since the restaurant opened, and to Crowley's surprise, she had offered him a contract to do the floral arrangements on the tables and in the restaurant if she was satisfied with his work. 

He accepted and the Frenchwoman had been so pleased with his work after the first set of arrangements that she told him he could use his imagination for the next set. 

Since then, she'd only come to see him to let him know when she had a special theme in mind.

He greeted her as she approached the counter, "Bonjour Justine. What can I do for you?"

She looked unusually sheepish as she replied, "Good morning, Crowley. Actually, I'm planning an international week for the restaurant next week, with specialties from a different country each day, and that would mean exceptionally new arrangements each day, tailored to the country in question."

Crowley scratched his chin as he pondered, and after a few seconds replied, "That sounds perfectly acceptable to me, but..."

"Yes?"

"You do what you want, since you're the one paying, of course, but what are you going to do with the arrangements every day, other than throw them away?" 

The thought of flowers going to waste horrified him.

"Oh, no, no, I won't throw them away. We'll have little quizzes during the evening, and each customer who wins gets to take an arrangement home."

Crowley, thrilled that his creations could be considered as prizes to be won, replied enthusiastically, "It's a deal!"

Justine pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, handed it to him, and explained, "Here's the list of countries.

Then she thanked him and left the shop.

Crowley scanned the list and frowned.

"What's wrong?" asked Muriel.

"Well, I'm thinking of making arrangements with the national flowers of each country, but I realize I don't know much about them, except that the lily is the flower of Italy and the bear's breech is the flower of Greece. I'll have to do some research until next week."

Muriel replied with a half-smile, "How fortunate that there's a bookshop only a few yards from here."

"What?"

"Crowley, I know you perfectly know what I mean, right? You have a chance to get to know him better. Take it. Combine business with pleasure."

"But..."

Muriel shook their head and pushed him towards the shop's door, barely giving him a chance to remove his apron, and a few moments later he was standing outside the bookshop door, Justine's list in his hand.

He saw that the sign had been turned back to "Open" and the description of the whimsical opening hours made him chuckle. He'd heard about it, but to see it in black and white was something else.

He opened the door gently and his eyes immediately fell on the bookseller who was hunched over a book with his back to him.

He said to Crowley without turning around, "One moment, please, I'll be right with you."

Crowley, not offended, let his gaze wander around him. His first impression was that the bookshop matched perfectly the impression given by its owner.

Old-fashioned, cozy and warm.

Then his eyes were drawn to the bookseller as he turned, and Crowley saw a flash of surprise cross his face, which still maintained its welcoming smile.

"Oh, good morning Mr..."

Crowley replied, stepping up to him and holding out his hand, "Crowley."

Aziraphale took the outstretched hand and answered, "Welcome Mr. Crowley."

Crowley smiled and replied, "Just Crowley."

The bookseller repeated in a slightly embarrassed manner, "All right, then, welcome Crowley, call me Aziraphale. What brings you to my shop?"

Crowley explained his problem while showing him the list of countries and concluded, "So I was wondering if you had any books on the subject. I'd look on the net, but you can never be 100% sure of the information you find there, so I'd like a more... shall we say... academic source."

He watched with amusement as his interlocutor's eyes lit up before the bookseller walked away and said, "I think I've got just what you need, just wait a minute."

Crowley, very much amused, watched as Aziraphale disappeared behind one of the bookshelves and heard him talking to himself amidst the various rustlings.

"Not here..."

"Not that one, no."

"Flowers and their language... not that one either."

"Haha! Found it!"

Crowley heard hurried footsteps and jumped as Aziraphale appeared from another side, brandishing a book that looked to be several years, if not decades, old.

"Here it is, Alan Mc Pherson's To Every Flower Its Own Country. I seem to recall it has all the countries you need."

Crowley took the book and asked, "How much do I owe you?"

Aziraphale shook his head vehemently, "It's not for sale. It's a first edition from my personal collection."

Crowley, observing, saw in the bookseller's expression that he was as attached to this book as he must have been to everything in the bookstore, and was all the more touched that he would agree to lend him one of these precious items.

He kindly replied, "I promise to take good care of it. I'll get to work right away to make it as short as possible. Thank you very much."

Aziraphale shook his head, " No need to hurry, take as long as you need."

Crowley thought he should find something to thank the bookseller for when he returned the book. A plant, perhaps, since the store seemed to be devoid of them.

The bookseller followed him to the front door and after saying goodbye, Crowley didn't dare turn around until he reached his own shop. As he stepped through the door, he finally surrendered and turned to see Aziraphale still standing in the doorway of the bookshop. Crowley couldn't resist and waved.

The bookseller replied immediately before hurrying back into his shop.

Crowley entered the flower shop and, with the precious book borrowed from Aziraphale and Justine's list in hand, sat down at his desk to get started.

But, as concentrated as he was, he couldn't help but interrupt himself from time to time to look out the window at the bookshop, and every time he resumed his work, he had a smile on his face.

Maybe Muriel had been right to push him to cross the street.

_________

Next chapter : Crowley will return the book to Aziraphale and, giving in to an impulse is about to invite the bookseller to dinner, but an impromptu guest from Aziraphale's past may well jeopardize the flower shop owner plans.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Chap 1 - Chap 2 - Chap 3 - Chap 4

[lady-divine-writes]

Perspective

Crowley likes to check in on Warlock from time to time, make sure he’s doing alright without Nanny Ashtoreth. One afternoon, Crowley discovers something rather bittersweet about his former charge and his parents. (1449 words)

“I knew I’d find you here,” Aziraphale says as he finishes his climb, stopping to rest beneath the branches of an old apple tree – healthy and lush, already heavy with fruit. Being ancient, an inhabitant of this hillside before the houses, the cars, even the people, it fears nothing, and that makes Aziraphale smile.

A better hiding spot could not be found for his reluctant demon.

Aziraphale puts his hands on his hips and takes a look around. He breathes in the clean, fresh air; closes his eyes and turns his face towards the golden sun. Today is blessed – one of the first truly warm days of summer.

And he’s thankful for this opportunity to partake in it.

He lays out his tartan blanket and sets himself upon it. He stretches out his legs, leans back on his hands, and becomes one with his surroundings – clear sky overhead, green grass beneath his feet, people everywhere gathering out of doors, enjoying this felicity ...

Save one.

The angel spots him, sulking beneath the bushes, coiled in the shadows.

The tree sits on the slope of a hill overlooking an enormous park. Further down, in an open field, a young boy makes what seems like an impossible catch. The man he’s playing ball with cheers, racing over to high-five his son, congratulating him on intercepting another pop-up. Aziraphale smiles.

“It’s so nice to see the Dowlings have turned over a new leaf,” he says. “Warlock looks genuinely happy. That should make you happy.”

Aziraphale turns his head, looking for acknowledgement from the serpent, but the snake has disappeared. Moments later, Crowley walks out from behind the tree and sits beside his angel on the blanket.

“I guess.” He yanks at a few weak strands of grass (since he’d failed to intimidate the tree), and crushes them between his fingers.

“So, why aren’t you happy?”

Crowley shrugs, merely a placeholder till he can come up with an answer.

“It was nice to feel needed. I know that being his nanny was a ruse but …” Another shrug, just his left shoulder “… I guess I was fooling myself. They never did need me at all. Looks like leaving was the best thing I ever did for them.”

Aziraphale bobs his head left and right, somewhere between a shake and a nod. “Well, you are partially right.”

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley scoffs, eyes locked on the boy in the blue t-shirt and black shorts intercepting another pop-up, while his mother, always with phone in hand, takes a barrage of pictures, posting them proudly to her various social media pages for her friends to see.

“Once you left, his parents had to compete with you,” Aziraphale explains. “With the hole you left in Warlock’s life. It made them realize everything they’d been missing out on, how important he is to them. They started to remember why they wanted a child in the first place.”

��Too little, too late, if you ask me. There are loads of wonderful parents in the world, and yet we’re always overlooking them and giving passes to the bad ones. In my opinion, if you’re gonna be bad parents, you deserve someone else raising your child.”

Aziraphale reaches out, puts a hand on his demon’s knee and gives him a sympathetic squeeze. “It’s a matter of perspective, my dear. You were the greatest nanny Warlock ever had and yet you were a demon, trying to ensure that he would grow up to be evil and cruel.”

“My motives may have been a little skewed, but …”

“… but in the end, you cared about him. Truly cared about him.” Cheers from below draw Aziraphale’s gaze back to the small family, now chasing one another around, playing tag and laughing. “They care about him, too. They aren’t bad parents, Crowley. Not really. They just … lost their way. Forgot what was important. You did them a huge favor.”

Crowley gulps at those words, the notion of losing their way landing on him like a ton of bricks.

It’s something he can definitely relate to whether he wants to or not.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel that way to me.”

“I know it doesn’t.”

Silence falls between them. In it they can hear the words: “Tag! You’re it!”, “Ah! You got me!”, “Good job, Warlock!”, and “Mommy loves you, darling!”

Crowley clears his throat, but it does little to help. Aziraphale feels the lump growing there as if it’s in his own.

“They’re taking him to the states, you know,” Crowley announces, his voice cracking. “Mr. Dowling won’t be traveling as much apparently. They’re going to make a go at being a normal family.”

“I think that’s wonderful,” Aziraphale says, moving closer to his demon.

“Do you now?”

“Yes. And not only for them. For you, too. Now maybe you can spend less time torturing yourself about leaving him and go on knowing that he’s well cared for.”

“And how do you expect me to manage that, hmm?”

“By having a little faith, my love.”

Crowley snarls, grabbing a handful of grass and ripping it from the ground. “Faith in what, angel? God in all of her infinite bloody Wisdom, and all that other nonsense they feed you guys in Cloud City? You’re talking to the wrong damn demon if you honestly think I’m going to have faith!”

“No, Crowley.” Aziraphale finds Crowley’s hand and holds it, smiling when his demon, still mad, wraps his fingers around it. “Faith in yourself. Your chapter in his story may have been brief, but you had an impact. You might have taught him songs about crushing his enemies beneath his feet, but you did it with kindness. You held him and played with him and tucked him in at night. You’re a nicer person than you give yourself credit for, and that kind of love leaves a mark. When he goes to the states, he’s taking a piece of you with him.”

“I suppose I can always hop on over. When’s the last time you’ve been to the states, angel? A while? It might be nice to give it a go, don’t you think?” Crowley stares off into the distance as the family gathers their things and starts to head away. Mr. Dowling tosses the baseball to his son one last time and Warlock catches it. In the process, he turns his head towards the apple tree.

He stops walking.

He squints into the sunlight, leaning forward to get a better look.

“Mom?” he says. “Is that … is that Nanny?”

“Where?” Mrs. Dowling asks.

“Up there!” He points excitedly. “Under the apple tree!”

Mrs. Dowling looks for herself, shielding her eyes with her hand to get a better look. “I … I don’t know. It looks like Brother Francis, to me … in a really nice suit …”

“No, next to him!”

Aziraphale sees mother and son smile. Warlock raises an arm to wave, but Crowley snaps his fingers. Warlock stops, confusion crossing his face.

“She’s … she’s gone,” he says, disappointed. “Wh-where did she go?”

“Maybe it wasn’t her.” Mrs. Dowling puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Warlock sighs. “Maybe. But I thought … I was positive …”

“I know you miss her,” Mr. Dowling says, kneeling to talk to his son eye-to-eye, “but the people we love have a way of turning up from time to time when we least expect it. I’m sure you’ll see her again.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Mrs. Dowling shoots her husband a worried look, but he simply smiles. “I work for the government. I’ll find a way. Now let’s be off. Ice cream doesn’t eat itself, you know.”

“Yeah! Ice cream!” Warlock yells, speeding away. Mrs. Dowling takes one last look up at the apple tree, but the tree is all she sees, not the angel and the demon sitting under it, watching as they walk away.

Crowley takes a shuddering breath in, waving a subtle goodbye with his fingers.

Aziraphale hands his demon a handkerchief.

Crowley takes it.

“Are the book metaphors new, or …?”

“They’re on brand, darling.” Aziraphale leans in to give his husband a kiss as he blots beneath his eyes. “I do own a bookshop, you know.”

“I’d heard rumors …”

“Now then - how about we go for a walk, hmmm? Take advantage of this fresh air. Or we can find something else to take your mind off of things.”

“Can we go for a drive?”

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale says, picking up his blanket and giving it a shake. “Do you mind if I get blisteringly drunk first?”

Crowley offers Aziraphale his arm. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

[ineffable-endearments]

Hey! The same anon that asked about the lockdown timeline yesterday here. Thank you so much for replying! I can heavily relate to wanting things to make sense and fit so i guess that's why I reached out with that question in the first place. Anyways I thought I'd tell you I thought about it some more and I think that Aziraphale talking about Crowley's job and Crowley saying he knows he should be making people's lives worse is just their usual double-layered way of talking with each other. 1/2

Kinda like "visiting me would be breaking the rules, isn't it What You Do?" "I mean I could but it's gonna take a clearer invitation for me to agree". And I guess Aziraphale's final "that would be breaking the rules" can be read as sincere, but I can imagine him just putting up his usual show. Only it seems Crowley wants something more genuine now... anyways thanks for putting up with me, sometimes my head won't let me rest until I've discussed something with someone else. So thank you so much!!

Hallo again Anon!

I feel I should preface this by reiterating that I know the video most likely wasn’t intended to be looked at this closely from a continuity perspective and it’s probably just a cute PSA about how you shouldn’t leave your house, but I’m sort of enjoying myself right now.

As a matter of fact, the notion you just laid out was my first interpretation of the video. Like it didn’t even occur to me that perhaps Aziraphale was not actively trying to get Crowley to come over until much later. He was so much more forward in this video than he usually is in the series that I just immediately went “YUP that’s what’s happening.” It wasn’t until Crowley said “Goodnight, angel” that I became unsure how to read the situation (more on that later).

Putting a read more because this got long.

After a lot of analyzing, I can see other perspectives too. The main one that made sense to me was the notion that Aziraphale would have realized, belatedly, he was not ready to be locked down together with Crowley and that’s why he sounded so panicky. Or that perhaps he thought Crowley was going to come visit but didn’t realize he was going to be angling for a sleepover.

I dunno, guys. I just really think that Aziraphale’s line of questioning in the beginning involved a desire to push Crowley toward Soho. That’s how they’ve been communicating for thousands of years. If I accept his call entirely at face value, then I sort of have to accept the idea that maybe all of Aziraphale’s apparent “hinting” behavior has been totally guileless with no ulterior motive, which in turn would mean his entire stint in the Arrangement has been just him being pushed along by Crowley rather than quietly reciprocating. And I don’t think that’s the point of their relationship. I much prefer the notion that this secret code is how they’ve always operated and it’s still in play, though they’re starting, slowly, to unlearn it, or at least relax it.

I can’t speak for anyone, but I suspect people don’t like the idea of Aziraphale being nudgy and indirect or Crowley being a bit unsatisfied with this approach because they interpret it as unhealthy or manipulative for one or both of them. But the thing is, double-speak has been a survival mechanism for them for so long that it’s fairly well ingrained, and it is also entirely consensual. And a bit of temporary discontentment is sort of part of the process, isn’t it, when you’re negotiating new boundaries in a relationship? I don’t necessarily hold them 100% to realistic human psychological standards, because they aren’t real and they aren’t human, but if their relationship is a story, then the occasional disagreement is a necessary challenge that will eventually bring them to the next exciting chapter.

Anyway, as far as my Aziraphale interpretation, I’m caught between “he was angling for Crowley to come visit the whole time all the way to the end and is going to call back in 3 minutes” and “he was opening up an invitation for Crowley to come over but got all freaked out when Crowley suggested effectively moving in together.” Of those, I lean toward the second because he does sound genuinely nervous. However, he obviously thought about it, if you listen to his vocal cues. 

Now, for Crowley. First of all, how *very dare* David Tennant come for my life with the tenderness of “Goodnight, angel.” This line is positively dripping with affection. Crowley’s not leaving in a huff, he’s not leaving off on an angry note. However, I don’t think he’s totally content, either. Note the sigh when Aziraphale says “it would be breaking all the rules” and the slightly weary tone when Crowley says “I’m setting my alarm for July.” He’s not trying to push Aziraphale into anything, but he does rather wish he’d gotten a different answer. Sleeping the lockdown away is likely the healthiest way he can think of to deal with this minor disappointment; he won’t go nuts being bored and lonely, and he won’t have the urge to wheedle Aziraphale.

Now if Crowley wasn’t happy with “no” for an answer, why wouldn’t he play the game they’ve always played? Find an excuse to go out and end up in Soho? There are three reasons and I think they’re all true:

This pattern of having to convince Aziraphale about everything has to relax now that it’s not part of the survival dance. Everyone knows this.

However, Aziraphale has always needed the structure of rules. Crowley doesn’t give a fuck about Heaven’s rules and he knows that Aziraphale often wants to get around them, too, but Aziraphale needs to be reminded over and over that Crowley can respect Aziraphale’s personal rules, however arbitrary they may seem, and not try to change his mind.

Finally, I think Crowley doesn’t want to play this game because...lockdown isn’t a rule that he particularly thinks needs breaking? Crowley takes great pleasure in breaking rules in ways that show how silly they are, and he takes great pleasure in pranks that challenge humans, and of course he does things to spite Heaven just because of who he is and what Heaven is. But, as we established early in the short, Crowley actually does not want to worsen this situation, or do anything that would represent worsening it in his own head. He wouldn’t have the gleeful thrill of a well-broken rule, he’d just...be either slinking around in secret or essentially gloating about being occult.

For Aziraphale, Crowley will sneak around and break the rules. But if Aziraphale is also uncomfortable with the idea, for literally any reason, Crowley will let the rules stand this time.

TL;DR In my interpretation, Aziraphale called Crowley hoping that they could meet up somehow, but panicked on realizing Crowley would totally do it, partly because Crowley suggested the massive change of practically moving in together and partly because Aziraphale does care about rules. Meanwhile, Crowley starts picking up what Aziraphale is putting down, but when Aziraphale gets nervous, Crowley doesn’t push largely out of respect for Aziraphale but also partly because he doesn’t feel like lockdown should actually be broken, either.

Thank you Anon!

[i-llbedammned]

Title: Aziraphale’s Perspective

Word Count: 3399

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273104/chapters/57178519

Summary: An account of Aziraphale’s mindset and actions after Crowley rescued him and his books during WWII

Text:  It was a foolish notion that compelled Aziraphale the streets at night.  He should just go back to his bookshop and have a calming cuppa, reflect upon what just happened by reading a lovely story –perhaps Lord Arthur Savile's Crime and Other Stories as he had just gotten a first edition copy of that.  He should make sure all the books were perfectly intact- though he strangely did not doubt Crowley’s assertion that they were.  He just wouldn’t lie about something so important.  Yes, that would be the wisest choice, surely a choice that would smiled upon by all the angels in Heaven and God herself.  Yet, being a flawed servant of perfection he didn’t do any of that.  Instead he found himself in the war torn streets, staring at the frightened faces of all the mortals who had just seen him crawl out from the fiery wreckage left behind by the attempted Nazi assassination.

The knowledge that he had almost been so easily discorporated shook him.  It wasn’t that a body was exactly hard to get, papers and all that were not impossible to do even if they were tedious.  But this body was special.  This body was the one he had spent so many thousands of years on this plane with, the body that Crowley recognized as being his and that he had lovingly grow and stretched into a pleasantly soft shape.  The new form they would give him – well it wouldn’t be him.  It would be like how he was guarding Eden, all tall and muscular with nary a comforting bit of fat on him.  No doubt he would be built like a soldier despite his desire to have a bit of cushioning.  Even though Gabriel shamed him about it, he liked it because it was his own and Crowley had once said that the belly suited him so…<br /> There he was thinking about that blasted demon again.  He had not the foggiest clue of why he continually came back to that tempter.  Up until a few moments ago he was sure that the demon hated him, he certainly hadn’t made any attempt to contact him after the holy water incident and no doubt was gallivanting around causing all sorts of trouble.  Not that, Aziraphale admitted to himself, he had not cause a small amount of trouble himself in those years.  One simply had to cause some or else it got terribly boring on this plane.  Then even after barely talking to him and saving his life and his books he just danced off.  That devilish red-head had just danced off with barely a “bye” or an explanation!  It was infuriating.  Not that the angel even cared about such things from his mortal enemy, but it was more the principal of it!<br /> Despite his small annoyance, he found his heart softening.  Why would he do such a thing, the poor soul?  Why would someone who had avoided him for hundreds of years now come back just to save him and his books?  Aziraphale knew that just walking past the fonts of holy water was dangerous enough for a demon let alone treading upon hallowed ground.  The poor dear was probably feeling it a bit after that show of heroism.</p>

<p>That show of heroism that he had made for the angel’s sake and no one else’s.</p>

<p>It was probably nothing, probably just in his mind.  The bastard was probably laughing it up back at his flat.  All the same, Aziraphale felt like he should check up on him.  You know, just to make sure everything was alright.  Surely, Heaven could see no harm in simply a show of compassion even towards the damned.</p>

<p>So, after dropping his book bag off at the shop, he made his way towards the flat that he knew the dreaded demon Crowley was making residence in.  The building loomed like a gargoyle over the city, flashing in the travelling storm clouds.  As he entered into the lobby, the angel’s silver eyes caught upon a bit of wetness glimmering in the lamp light and he bent down to get a better look. Sweet sanguine savior!  That was blood!  Not just any blood either, judging by how thick and black it was.  That was demon’s blood, no doubt in his mind!  </p>

<p>Crowley!  Despite his better instincts his heart pinged with a deep seated desire to run up the stairs, knock in the door, and run to him.  Tell him he was an idiot for putting himself at risk like that all for an angel who didn’t even like him and who he was sworn to defeat!  It had to have cut very deep to make that much blood, enough to leak through the wooden sole of the shoe.  They probably ached something terrible and pained him a good deal.</p>

<p>With urgency, Aziraphale took off up the stone steps because Heaven knew that the lift never worked properly around here, using his wings to boost him up a few steps at a time when he was sure that the mortals weren’t looking out on the landing.  What if he was desperately wounded?  What if holy made wounds never fully stopped bleeding on a demon?</p>

<p>As he reached the hallway the angel slowed down his pace.  It wouldn’t do to seem like he <i>wanted</i> to be there or that he was in a rush.  There was a storm coming and Aziraphale was just passing through and noted that there was a shelter here.  Pure coincidence lead him up the steps and to this apartment, not design.  Certainly not a concern.  He straightened his jacket and tie, trying his best to make himself look presentable as he made his way down the green papered hallway.</p>

<p>The black door was slightly ajar as he approached and gently Aziraphale extended his hand to push it open fully.   Any thoughts of trying to seem proper vanished promptly out of his mind upon seeing the fully extent of the damages laid out before him, damages that would not exist if it weren’t for his own foolhardy plan and lack of perception about mortal motivations.<br /> “Oh dear, that looks even worse than I thought it would,” the words practically tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.</p>

<p>With an inward wince he noticed the way that Crowley’s muscles all tensed upon hearing his voice.  Even after all these years, it still was like being plunged into cold water just to hear his voice unexpectedly – he noted with a touch of sadness.  Despite the circumstances, the angel wished for it to be a truly happy greeting.</p>

<p>“Aziraphale!” Crowley cried sitting up and trying to sling one arm casually over the back of his couch, as if the smell of blood wouldn’t have been enough to alert him that something was wrong.  “What are you doing here?”</p>

<p>“I, well,” Aziraphale looked away, unable to bear the terrible guilt that he felt upon seeing the wounds that only existed because of him and this damned ineffable war that he was forced to take part in, “I happened to be in the area and I wanted to check in on you after the whole ruckus at the church. “   </p>

<p>It was far more honest than he wanted to be, but then again when talking to Crowley he was always far more honest than he wanted to be.  No matter how much planning he did, how much he coached himself on the stories he would tell this demon somehow when he saw the angular face with the jaw made tight by pain the truth just flowed out.  Cautiously he took a seat upon the leather chair next to the wounded demon, remembering that the last time he saw so much demonic blood there was a great and terrible fall from grace.  The smell of blood still haunted his dreams some nights as well as the screams.  Honestly he was surprised that Crawley wasn’t screaming now.  Instinctively his eyes began to well up with guilt-ridden tears and the angel tried his best to cover them up with a motion like he was scratching his face.  </p>

<p>“Well no need to check up on me, I’m fine.”  The words came out cold, but you didn’t spend so many centuries near a being to not be able to tell when they were lying.  The avoidance, the casual cold tone of his voice, everything about the demon was dismissive right when things were the worst.  The hiss only confirmed that which he already knew to be true, that which he could see in the dark red ebb of pain in a corona radiata around him in the type of sight that only angels of a certain circle could have when they focused.</p>

<p>“You most certainly are not fine.” Aziraphale got to his feet, sounding indignant and pointing at the stain on the demon’s grey shirt, unmistakably dark.  It wasn’t like he could gesture to an aura, but stains were physical enough that even a half-blind demon could see it.  “I can see the blood!”</p>

<p>“Oh that,” Crowley gave a shrug, “Blood’s in fashion now. War and all that.”</p>

<p>The flippant way that he took a drink from a mysterious wine glass just added to the message.  He didn’t need help, from Aziraphale or anybody.  Heaven forbid that he be allowed to feel the touch of someone who wanted nothing more than to take away his pain.</p>

<p>Well, Heaven might forbid it but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.</p>

<p>“Let me see the wounds, I can help.”  It wasn’t a request, not really.  The angel was going to help him.  There was no rightness in a world that would let someone suffer so dearly for another without respite.  No one deserved such pain, especially not Crowley who had gotten it taking out Nazis and saving knowledge and a life.  Saving Aziraphale’s knowledge and life specifically.</p>

<p>“No, you don’t need to. I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.” The casual tone was almost enough to make Aziraphale scream “I can see in your damn aura that you are certainly not fine, you old menace” which of course he didn’t because a proper angel would never do such a thing but the impulse was still there because he was an imperfect angel.</p>

<p>Making his voice gentle he knelt down, supplication in his silver eyes, “You are exasperating. Listen,” The angel knelt down by Crowley’s feet and gently tugged the blanket off, making him hiss. But his feet stayed where they were.  They didn’t shift into another form, they weren’t illusioned away to look healthy all of a sudden.  That was a degree of trust, the knowledge that he wouldn’t be smote immediately.  Progress.  “You got these wounds helping me. At least I can help make them better as payment.” </p>

<p>Payment was a system a demon could understand, or at least he assumed that they would.  Instead he exploded like a tinder keg being lit up, “Payment?” You don’t owe me payment for anything!” Bright lines of anger lanced through the aura, making Aziraphale’s eyes sting with their intensity.  </p>

<p>Instead of looking away, he maintained eye contact lest it be seen as a lack of trust on his part.  “Then as a favor to you then.”  That was surely the problem, the fact that Aziraphale would have the upper hand in the scales.  Leave it to a demon to always be conscious of who had the upper hand, at least that is the speeches they always gave in Heaven about what demons wanted.  Truthfully Aziraphale just wanted to give him an out that wouldn’t disgrace him in front of either of their superiors.</p>

<p>“Oh? An angel would owe a demon a favor?”  There it was, the smirk that said that everything was okay between them again and that nothing had changed in the centuries of absence.  A palpable feeling of relief flooded through Aziraphale despite the circumstances as he let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.</p>

<p>But what if Gabriel found out he was showing such kindness towards Crowley.  The lining of Aziraphale’s stomach tried to turn itself inside out at the thought of the flames of Heaven trying to burn him alive.  “One angel, specifically me, would owe one demon, specifically you, a favor. Yes.” </p>

<p>“Right. Get on with it then.”  He barked, which was as kind of a permission as a demon could give.</p>

<p>Using the kindest touch he could, Aziraphale practically peeled the remaining shoe of his companion’s foot.  Bits of blood and burst blisters, tendons sticking through the bottom of the soles of his foot – it was all far more messy and grotesque than he had first assumed it would be.   It was a bit of a surprise the shoes held it in as well as they did.</p>

<p>”Oh dear,”  he mumumured, mostly to himself.  Any thought of keeping his suit pristine and white vanished as Aziraphale tried to draw off bits of pain, but there was too much for a simple touch and Heaven would not allow wounds to be made by consecrated ground to be healed with a miracle.   “You really burned yourself badly.” Tears welled up in the angel’s eyes, as he thought of how many years he had gone hating the poor creature who had just put himself through so much pain for his sake “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve these. Not for-“ With a watery grin, Aziraphale broke off.  No, no sense in making all the pain worse by projecting his own guilt onto Crowley.  That was the last thing the demon needed at the moment.</p>

<p>It wouldn’t do to let such a selfless act go punished.  “Be back in a tick.” He assured his hellish companion, trying not to let his gaze linger upon the look of pain etched in every line on the face.  Frustrated, he turned off the aura gaze lest it become a distraction.</p>

<p>Heaven had said no miracles, but they didn’t expressly forbid him from making a salve that could take away any pain.  In fact they had ruled neither positively or negatively about any alchemical processes.</p>

<p>How convenient.</p>

<p>Drawers were opened, but of course Crowley had next to nothing kept in there that was useful.  It wasn’t like he actually used the kitchen in his apartment after all, it was mostly there for show.  At least he had the good sense to keep the fridge stocked, even though Aziraphale knew that he didn’t actually consume the food kept there.  Some herbs there, some water inscribed with sigils that had been lost three hundred years ago to most men, boil the freshly grown herbs with some fat and speed up time just a touch so that everything could be done quickly.  It was a risky move, speeding everything up, and certainly not something that could be done on a large scale but getting the soap to cool was at least a simple, untraceable task.</p>

<p>Bandages came out of the bathroom, kept there for Heaven only knew what foul purpose, and the whole pot of water was brought over as well just for sanitation, with a charm on it so that it would refresh itself without him having to get up and change it.</p>

<p>Thinking of nothing else but wanting to heal the wounds, Aziraphale cast aside the hat and jacket and got to work.  Healing was a delicate art, one that needed time and patience of which he had plenty to spare.  If anything was done improperly the foot might heal crooked or stay bubbled forever, both of which were intolerable to think of.  </p>

<p>It wasn’t til he heard smothered whimpers of pain that it occurred to him that the whole process might still hurt even given the precautions.  “It’s alright if you need to cry out, my dear. I won’t judge you. What you are going through is tremendous. I can’t imagine how much it must hurt.”  Permission.  Sometimes that’s what he thought either of them needed just to break through this awful shell both of them had around each other.  Permission to be themselves, unabashedly.</p>

<p> “No. This is fine. Feels like puppies.” Another bluffed lie, but an allowable one.  Sometimes a being in pain, even an immortal being such as Crowley, didn’t need their entire worldview stripped away all at once.  Sometimes a mask allowed them to be able to be vulnerable even around someone who was supposed to be their mortal enemy.</p>

<p>Heaven protect him and his silly mask of being strong.  Aziraphale would take care of the rest.</p>

<p>With a slow, methodical hand the wounds were cleaned ‘til the water ran clear and the flesh was already beginning to reform thanks to the alchemy ingrained within the soap.  Bandages were placed over it so that there would be no visible proof of what he had done.  When Crowley saw that he was more healed than he should be in the morning it would just be another one of Heaven’s silly little miracles come to roost.</p>

<p>His gaze travelled upwards after the work was done, a tired but satisfied smile upon his face.  There he saw Crowley gazing back at him.  The angular face seemed placid and a crooked smile danced across his face as he rested one hand on his cheek and the other splayed across the back of the couch.  His shirt hung open with a few buttons undone that made him look rakish even despite the full suit and for a brief moment Aziraphale wondered what he would look like with the shirt all the way undone.  Why in this light he looked positively enchanting, calm and strong.  In this moment Aziraphale saw the mercy in the angel that Crowley used to be.</p>

<p>Neither looked away and for a second it almost seemed like permission.  Like he was being the go ahead to make a move, to run his hands through that red hair and place a gentle kiss upon that brown that would show the demon that all had been forgiven and that he could stop suffering because his guardian angel was finally here.  To hold him close and let that frail body for once be able to relax rather than constantly be on patrol for the next threat or person to tempt, to be able to collapse and ramble about life, the universe and everything to someone who could actually understand him.  The only other immortal being who had been on this rock as long as he had been.</p>

<p>But no.  Heaven would not allow such a thing.  Sadness tinged his eyes as he remembered how much was at stake and how Gabriel would flay him alive for even such kindness as he already had given.<br /> With an effort, Aziraphale looked away from the golden fire burning within Crowley’s eyes.  “Good night, my dear.” One last gesture of kindness, a soft kiss above each ankle was all he would allow himself.  A selfish gesture of a world and an affection that should not be, but one he had no regrets about acting upon nonetheless.  “Get some rest. I’ll check on you some time soon.”<br /> “You don’t have to leave, you know. I could get wine and-“  Rushed words and desperation to cling towards a bit of kindness.  It broke his heart to leave, but if he stayed Aziraphale knew he would do something stupid and lovely.</p>

<p>“Another time. There’s a war and I have to go put away my books. But I will see you again. I assure you.”  Maybe next time he would bring some wine.  Crowley seemed to like wine and it wasn’t like either of them couldn’t get drunk without being able to reverse it.  People had cordial drinks with mortal enemies all the time, right?</p>

<p>But it wasn’t thoughts of war that he carried with him through the lightly raining streets of London.  It was the look of utter peace and fulfillment upon Crowley’s face that shone like a beacon upon him.  Trust and vulnerability, something that was rarely seen in anyone’s face.  It was like a weight he had been carrying for centuries learning the gavotte was suddenly lifted and forgiveness was right in front of him.</p>

<p>It was hope.  Hope for something more, something brighter.</p>

[perhapsitmaybedragons]

God’s a Right Bastard, But Then So Am I

I am very productive lately. It’s a nice change of pace.

As always, AO3 link here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633029/chapters/65660857

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Chapter 7

Pepper shouldered her backpack as she, Wensleydale, and Brian got out of Wensleydale's parents' car. The Them were immediately heading for Hogback Wood. They had all briefly wondered earlier where Adam was but had come to the joint conclusion that he must have fallen ill. And while they felt bad for him the kids were still keen to get to their games. School had been a long slog and they all deserved a break.

Besides, Wensleydale had gotten extra copies of the homework and planned to drop it off with the Youngs right before dinner.

“Anyway,” Brian said as though the conversation had never been interrupted, “I figure the Ninja Turtles could prob'bly take the Transformers.”

“So you keep saying,” Pepper complained, “But Optimus Prime could just ..step on them and then they're done for, right?”

“Actually,” Wensley interjected, hurrying to catch up with them “Optimus is a good guy, so he wouldn't fight the Ninja Turtles, I think.”

“Nah, you're missing the first rule of cross overs,” Brian insisted. Brian's comic book collection was growing lately and he was starting to form Opinions on the whole subject. “First rule is if they meet they gotta fight. That's why there was that Batman versus Superman movie that no one liked. First they fight, then they become friends.”

“We're not talking about it like it's going to happen!” Pepper was exasperated. “Obviously that's what would happen if they met in a comic book. I mean if they really were going to fight each other-”

“Now what are you youngsters getting up to?” The Them stopped short. Adults stopping them on their way to the woods or on the way to make mischief was nothing new. But this wasn't R.P. Tyler stopping them while on a walk with his dog or any of the mums who would sometimes fuss at them.

There was an inkling of recognition there, but none of the three could place the gentleman. He smiled at them. Brian and Pepper stopped and studied him, but Wensleydale took a step back. “Sorry sir,” he said, “But who are you?”

“Gabriel,” The smile grew wider. It was making all three of them uncomfortable. Right now Gabriel was basking – the kids weren't able to remember him due to a subtle manipulation on his part. And coming across all three at once like this? Perfect. “You know, I'm actually new here. And I just opened up an ice cream shop,” he twisted a bit and pointed in the direction of the town square. “Officially we open tomorrow but I was just thinking ...you know, it would really be a great idea to get some of the locals' perspective first. Make sure the flavors are uh...”

“Good?” Brian supplied.

“Yes, that would be best, right? Having good ice cream,” Gabriel said appreciatively.

“I mean, it's ice cream,” Wensleydale was still hanging behind the other two. He wasn't afraid, exactly, but something about Gabriel was setting him on edge. “Is it possible for it to be bad?”

“I've heard about there being places in America with like ...garlic ice cream,” Pepper made a face. “You don't have that, right?”

“No, no, not at all. I have all sorts of flavors. If you kids want to come on down? It's just a short walk, you could follow me.”

Smart children should never listen to strange men they meet in the woods (or in this case, right outside of the forest). And normally, the Them were in fact smart children. A little brash and impulsive, yes, but not dumb.

But none of them saw Hastur lurking just beyond, hidden behind a tree. As a demon, temptations were naturally a specialty. And Gabriel's own angelic powers were working in concert to remove the doubt and fear.

“I don't think we -” Pepper started to decline, but Hastur's manipulations were taking hold. “Actually, I can't see any reason not to follow this strange man we just met to go get ice cream.”

“I agree,” Brian said almost woodenly. “We should follow him immediately and without letting an adult know where we're going.”

Wensleydale said nothing. Part of his mind remained unconvinced, but his feet were also moving so that all of the kids were now following Gabriel. If anyone in town saw the group it didn't occur to any of them that something strange was going on.

They came to a shop at the village square with a large sign proclaiming it “ParadIce Cream”. An old style neon sign in the shape of an ice cream cone lit up as the group approached. The door swung open and Gabriel herded them in, taking one last glance around to make certain no one else was watching.

Beelzebub was behind the counter, slicing into the apple pie Gabriel had brought by earlier. Beelzebub plopped a slice on a plate and then scooped out a large portion of ice cream. They repeated this until there were three plates of apple pie, each with a scoop of solid white ice cream on top.

“Can't forget the drizzles,” Gabriel set one slice of pie before each kid, then removed three vials from the inner lining of his suit jacket. He poured the entire contents onto one of the slices then moved on to the next vial and the next slice of pie until all three were now covered in a drizzle. “Eat up, kids,” He handed them each a spork.

The moment they touched their utensils to the ice cream each scoop took on a change. Pepper's became a deep, violent red. Wensleydale's already white ice cream somehow became even brighter. Brian's took on a sludgy looking gray color. If they noticed they didn't say anything. They just ate in silence.

“You're sure they're good for this?” Beelzebub asked, watching them for a moment.

“They're perfect. What's more, they're the Anti-Christ's friends. If he wants them back-”

“Then he'll have to help us,” Beelzebub concluded. “But how will this get the kids to have the powers and get them to work with us? Seems like a lot to hinge on some brats.”

“It's beyond a demon's comprehension.”

It wasn't. Most anyone could follow it. The true difference between humans, angels and demons is that the first humans ate of the Fruit of Knowledge – that apple that Adam and Eve bit into at Crowley's urging. Angels – and demons too, for that matter – had basically had to figure it out for themselves based on what God modeled for them.

But the apple had granted humans the ability to know right from wrong. But as rules get more complex and society has changed the knowledge originally passed down genetically may no longer be right. Everything got all muddled and it's no longer clear. Not without some perspective.

So, a recipe to restart Armageddon:

Take three kids – and the age is important here, because their brains haven't fully formed yet – and give them one of the apples of Eden. Right now, every good thing and every bad thing is playing in their heads like an old time newsreel, coming in so quickly that they can barely comprehend what they're seeing.

In addition to the apple, take the essence of temptation and doubt and pour all over the Eden apple pie (the ice cream just helps it go down more smoothly and to help the store's cover of being an ice cream shop. Can't have an ice cream shop without ice cream or the few humans paying attention might notice something was off).

They were almost done eating now, their movements mechanical. Even hypnotized, Brian managed to spill some on his shirt. He came to momentarily, dabbed at it and then stole a bite of Pepper's ice cream to make up for it.

“Hey!” she snapped out as well, just for a moment. She elbowed him in the rib cage before both of them resumed eating.

Once they'd all polished off the last of it, all three of them passed out, their heads on the table.

“What do we do with them until we're ready to start?” Thinking ahead on things had never been Hell's strong suit, so Beelzebub figured Gabriel must have a plan.

“How the hell should I know? That's your problem now.” And with that, Gabriel disappeared.

“Bastard,” Beelzebub muttered.

After heavenly intervention to make Mr. and Mrs. Young see that their son staying with an older man they hardly knew was, in fact, a terrific idea, Adam was now gearing down and trying to figure out where he was going to sleep. He'd wanted to go back to Crowley's place, but the demon had said no.

“It's safer for him here,” Crowley insisted. Aziraphale had gone along with it, but made it very clear he expected more information from the demon as soon as possible.

“What aren't you telling me?”

“Nothing!”

“Oh?”

“...That I can tell you right now,” Crowley's resolve broke almost instantly. “Just let me try to handle my part. It's a lot and I don't quite have all the pieces fit together yet.”

“We could help!” Adam suggested. “I bet the three of us together could figure it all out. Wensleydale's got all these detective books and I'm great at figuring out what happened and who did it.” He wasn't. Adam just didn't know he was rubbish at it because he never bothered to read the pages at the back of the book that explained the solutions. Even if he had, he would have preferred his own explanations.

“Might be worth it to give it a go,” Aziraphale agreed. “If you keep things from me, however will I help you?”

There was nothing for it. Crowley made them both promise to sit tight and then had run out, saying he'd be back shortly. When he came back Aziraphale and Adam were sitting in the backroom which now had a plush couch (which Adam occupied) and two lounge chairs (one of which Aziraphale was sitting in – the other was presumably for Crowley). Aziraphale offered him a cup of tea, not realizing his hands were full.

“Oh! The gramophone I gave you!” Aziraphale sounded delighted. “So glad you like it-”

“That's not why I brought it,” Crowley said darkly, setting it up on the coffee table that Aziraphale must have miracled up while he'd been gone. “Oi, start talking,”

“About what?”

“Not you, Angel! She knows who I'm talking to!”

 Aziraphale is still an angel. There may be a recording of this conversation now.

Aziraphale dropped his tea cup. It shattered on the floor, the tea running every which way and staining the carpet. He was too in shock to clean it up. “...God?” He croaked.

 Yes. Hello, Aziraphale. It's been a while.

“Yes, I'd say it has,” he pulled at his shirt collar nervously before turning his attention back to Crowley. “How long have you been talking to Her?”

“It's not like this was my idea!”

“Crowley!”

“I didn't invite Her to my place, had no clue She could do this. She just comes in without a … just wants me to do whatever She asks and I've got to do it, don't I? Can't say no to Her, can I? Damned for all time and yet somehow, someway, She could probably make it worse.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not blaming you for this. I just want to know how long.”

“Ask Her!”

 The day of Crowley's birthday. So not long. A few days. ...Happy birthday to both of you, by the way.

“It wasn't even actually my birthday,” Crowley had gone into full fit mode. “And some present you are, anyway. Just show up and start demanding things of me and not even telling us....go on, tell them what you told me.”'

“Is that really God?” Adam sat forward and poked at the gramophone. “I just thought the voice would be deeper...”

“Too many movies,” Aziraphale said dismissively. “But...Lord, if you would be so kind as to explain yourself?”

A sustained sigh came through the gramophone. I needed someone who could act as a free agent. As you know, when I speak to angels things are recorded in the Records Room. If I speak to Humans, they're recorded in the Prayer Room.

“But there's no one listening in to you talking to demons,” Aziraphale was quick on the uptake. “Which means if you spoke to Crowley then no one would be recording.” he turned his gaze in his friend's direction. “Why would you bring Her here? This conversation is going to be recorded now!”

“I know that, but would you have believed me otherwise? Would anyone have? 'Oh, Aziraphale, by the way, God's talking to me and She's using the gramophone you gave me.'. I still remember how that bit went down for Joan of Arc, don't forget!”

“I was there, too, I remember,” Aziraphale frowned. “I see your point. But I like to think I would have believed you. No point in wondering now.”

“No, there isn't. And She is going to tell you the absolute worst part of this whole thing, the part She was hiding from me. Aren't you?”

 Yes, Crowley. As we agreed. Aziraphale. ...Guardian of the East Gate. I can no longer see all of Heaven, nor can I peer into all of Hell.

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Judging by how big his eyes were, Crowley figured Aziraphale had heard her just fine. “Crowley, I must have misunderstood Her. It sounds like you're both saying that God ...can't see what the angels or demons are up to anymore.”

“That is exactly what She's saying.”

 It's true. I don't know how they managed, but they did. As I told Crowley – I can get a feel for about where they're at and snippets of what they may be doing. But it's no longer clear to me. I can't tell you how to stop them because I can no longer figure out what exactly there is to stop. Just that they're planning something.

“Ah. Well... That is...” Aziraphale stammered for a while. “Disappointing, to say the least.”

“Disappointing? Disappointing?! This is the Alpha and Omega admitting she doesn't know shit!”

“Language in front of the child!”

“I've heard worse,” Adam offered. “A lot worse. Like-”

Aziraphale cut him off before he could finish. “We managed last time. We can do it again, right?”

Crowley sighed. “I dunno. But I'm guessing we have to try, right? No just running off to the stars?”

“That will be Plan B. But for now...why don't you,” he looked at the gramophone, “Both of you, tell me everything that you do know for now. Then we'll start working on Plan A.”

[aha-my-villainous-thoughts]

Please, keep me. (Good Omens)

Part 11 I think? Pretty sure. 

This chapter was going to be longer but I got to a point where it made sense to finish. I don’t want to leave it too long (weeping) between chapters, mostly just to encourage me to keep up some form of momentum. At some form I should really put this onto Ao3 but I already have some edits I need to make to the long arc, so I might wait until it’s finished. It doesn’t really matter at present, but i hope whoever reads this will enjoy it regardless! I’m still loving writing it and spending time inside this little world. 

Part 1 is here.  The rest is tagged with ‘please keep me’ and each part is tagged with ‘please keep me part whatever’. I might put a masterlist of chapters together soon, as I’m now into chapter 12 and I think I still have a lot to play with. 

Anyway, here’s Part 11! 

When Crowley woke, it didn’t make much sense to him. Firstly, his form confused him. He had practised his napping skills while in serpent form, avoiding anymore unintentional transformations that might reveal himself, but rousing from such a deep sleep whilst still arranged into this form was utterly bizarre. To accompany it, he appeared to be in semi darkness and inside a cramped space that jousled him and swayed in a motion that was rather alarming. 

He rippled a little, trying to figure out what he’d ended up inside of, and started wriggling his face up towards what he hoped was an exit and an explanation. His snout found a gap in what seemed to be a muslin cloth over him and he emerging, wincing, into the light. 

“Oh, hello there little thing,” 

He found himself looking up at his angel from the perspective of the large wicker basket the angel was carrying in one hand, swaying with each step. Inside the basket, Crowley had been tucked in with a loose white cloth that had several bunches of herbs tied and placed on top of it. He eyes the basket cautiously, flicking his tongue with a certain degree of uncertainty. 

“It’s tremendously lucky you’re so streamlined, I wasn’t sure you’d fit in there but somehow it’s like it was made to fit you!”

Or I was made to fit it. How miraculous… thought Crowley, with a certain amount of annoyance at his subconscious divinity. It was interesting to him, despite Aziraphale’s lack of curiosity at how a seemingly ordinary - albeit charmingly clever and stunning beautiful - snake could alter his size at will, that Aziraphale seemed strong enough to carry Crowley’s entire serpentine weight in one hand with absolutely no effort. In his other hand he was carrying another basket, which clinked a little as he walked. He knew his Keeper was strong, but something about how effortless the small angel made it seem was oddly affecting. Crowley’s virtues as an angel differed from his companions in quite a few ways, favouring speed and a few other tricks above strength, and he had to admit to himself that whenever his knees might be in his current form, they were a little weak at the thought of his angel being so strong and powerful.

“I hope you don’t mind being bundled up, little thing, it’s just that you looked so sweet all curled up that I didn’t want to wake you,” Aziraphale was explaining. They were no longer in the garden with Dorothy, but back in the woods somewhere unfamiliar. Wherever Aziraphale was going, he wasn’t hesitant about the direction. 

Crowley considering wriggling free and leaving the basket to stretch his spine, but a glance at the ground made him reconsider. It looked cold and mossy and uninviting, whereas his basket was warm and the gentle rocking motion was so soothing… 

“You can sleep a little more, if you want to. I can wake you when we’re there, little thing,” came Aziraphale’s voice gently, adding to the seductive pull of sleep that trickled through Crowley and slowly pulled him back into the recesses of the basket. 

He didn’t need to worry, if his angel was with him. He could just sleep a little more… 

The basket being placed carefully down didn’t wake him. Neither did the rustling of fabric, or the clinking of a bottle being unwrapped, or the smell of sweet treats. What woke him was a soft hand reaching into the basket and the fingers running along the side of his jaw in a gentle caress. 

“Come see what we have, little thing,” 

Lifting his head, he didn’t let that hand go, immediately sliding up and along the inside of Aziraphale’s wrist to peek out over the edge of the basket. Aziraphale had walked them back to the bandstand, in the first garden they had found together. A late afternoon sun was filtering through the greenhouse windows high above them, colouring all of the flowers with a glorious golden amber light. The birds had retreated a little, but he could still hear their songs flitting through the air. Aziraphale had spread a blanket in the middle of the bandstand for them, and had unpacked many of the sweet treats from earlier. 

“Dorothy was so kind, she insisted we have a little bit of everything,” Aziraphale was explaining as Crowley extracted himself from the basket. “She gave me the blanket, and explained exactly how one should do this - she said it’s a picnic, and we should have one all of our very own!” 

Dorothy had certainly delivered on that promise. She had packed them a small feast, starting with a large glass bottle of the lemonade and two glasses. He could see a handful of gingerbread men and iced snowflake biscuits, two huge slices of the victoria sponge, and even a large piece of apple pie unwrapped and sitting on its beeswax cloth. There were a small selection of sandwiches cut into small triangles and quite a lot of fruit of many colours. 

Looking at the whole scene, Crowley thought to himself he had never seen such an inviting space - not just the blanket, or the food, but his angel smiling and licking his lips at their bounty, before looking back at Crowley and smiling even wider. Everything in the moment seemed so perfect. 

“Oh, little thing, you look so charming, so dressed up for our little picnic,” 

Crowley flicked his tongue, puzzled, but looked down and realised that falling asleep near a young girl clearly came with risks - he was wearing a large white ribbon around his neck, tied in a large flouncy bow. It wasn’t really his style...

“Such a handsome snake,” Aziraphale said, reaching out his hands to correct either side of the bow gently, before lifting his hands and cupping Crowley’s face in them. 

Ok, the bow could stay. For now. 

Their picnic, hopefully the first of many, went rather well. Since both of them were fairly new to the whole experience, there was an uncertainty to the exact order of events, but they figured it out. Aziraphale lounged along the side of the blanket, looking more relaxed than Crowley had ever seen - even when fully absorbed into one of his beloved books. His delightful ankles were crossed where his legs were free from his voluminous robes, giving Crowley the perfect place to coil his tail over, his scales resting comfortably against the Keeper’s skin. Crowley got to watch closely as Aziraphale chose his next bite with care, his hand hovering over the grapes, before moving towards the sponge cake, but then dancing over to the iced biscuits. Every bite was savoured to its full extent, with Aziraphale holding it reverently between his fingers to bring it to his face, to breathe in the scent, before taking just the smallest taste. Crowley could practically feel the angel’s satisfaction as the flavour filled his senses, the first small bite turning into another, and then another, each accompanied by a sound. A moan, a small gasp, a smacking of lips. Aziraphale’s eyes would drift shut as he experienced the moment with his full attention, and Crowley couldn’t tear his own away - he wanted to remember every moment of ecstasy the angel found as he ate. 

Throughout it all, even when Aziraphale was shaking his head slightly in disbelief at the food, he would open his eyes to find Crowleys and smile indulgently at him. The praises of finding such a bounty for them both went unspoken, but firmly felt. Nothing was said, nothing needed saying. 

It got better. Even as Aziraphale sampled, he never forgot his little companion. He would break a piece off, often the best bit, and offer it to Crowley who would eagerly accept it. It turned out that eating like a snake was not the most elegant process, but he managed to make it work. Aziraphale was patient with him, holding his fingers steady as Crowley figured out how to actually get the food into his mouth. It was a worthwhile effort, as everything Aziraphale fed him was an explosion of flavour, the sweetness and the richness of the food were indescribable.

The bandstand they were in seemed to be lit with a series of stringed lights that emitted a soft and romantic glow over their afternoon together. Crowley didn’t notice as the light around them faded into a pink hue, before tinging with purple and descending into the evening. All he could see was his glowing angel’s happiness as they lay sprawled on the blanket with the remnants of their picnic around them. Aziraphale was laying on his back, one arm under his head to prop himself up a little. Crowley was still partially arranged across his legs, but had graduated up onto his thighs and his head resting on the angel’s delightful midsection. Aziraphale’s robes were becoming crumpled under his steady weight but the angel didn’t seem to notice, or care. Aziraphale was smiling as he dipped his finger into the remains of the pot of cream (to accompany the handfed strawberries, now all happily consumed) over and over again and offered it to Crowley who lapped up the droplet gratefully. 

It was, in his opinion, the best way to consume anything. 

“Oh, little thing, how happy I am,” sighed Aziraphale. “To think, I was living my life without you in it for so long,” 

Crowley rippled gently in delight, pressing his head into Aziraphale’s palm. 

“I never want to leave here,” 

Crowley flicked his tongue around Aziraphale’s thumb in a gesture of agreement. Why would he be anywhere else when he could be looped so lazily over his angel? Aziraphale sighed again, a little critically to himself. 

“I suppose they will have missed me at dinner, but how can one return to the same old honey and bread after such lovely food?” 

Crowley froze. Dinner. That meant the Day bell had already sounded. That meant the Night shift would have already started. He pulled away from Aziraphale’s hand and twisted to look beyond their bandstand, and yes, the sky was dark, the garden was asleep. He missed the bell. He was late. 

Oh Lord, he was late again. 

Aziraphale hadn’t noticed the sudden tension in Crowley’s body, he was too busy lazily tracing a finger through the crumbs of the gingerbread men, looking for another little taste to make the whole thing last just a little bit longer. Crowley slid his tail free of the angel’s warmth, and the sudden contact with the floor felt cold and harsh against his scales compared to the angel, even through the blanket. 

“Little thing?”

Crowley realised a little too late that Aziraphale was talking to him, asking him a question, but he didn’t hear him as he was staring back into the library. He turned back to the angel, who had rolled to his side and was resting one impossibly warm hand on Crowley’s back. 

“Are you alright?” 

Crowley hissed gently, ducking his head and moving to press his body against Aziraphale briefly. He had hoped it to have been a comforting motion, as well as a goodbye. He had never been the one to leave first in their meetings. 

“You have to go? Are you sure? You could stay,” 

Crowley hesitated. The tone in Aziraphale’s voice was almost painful, the gentle ache of loss at being left alone. He looked back and that was another mistake. The Keeper’s eyes were wide and his brows were tilted in that pleading pout that Crowley knew would get him into so much trouble. It was so easy to return to the angel’s side, press his head against the angel’s cheekbone and just hold there for a second. 

“Tomorrow? Please?” 

He met Aziraphale’s eyes, so close to his own. Crowley bowed his head a little, of course. Of course tomorrow. He pressed his head up against the angel’s skin again, and flickered his tongue out, tasting just the smallest shimmer of a tear caught in Aziraphale’s eyelashes. 

It took all of his limited self control to pull away again, away from that warmth.

He didn’t look back, because he knew that if he had to see the sight of his little Keeper sitting under those sparkling lights, surrounded by their sleeping garden, watching him go, he would never leave his side again. 

Aziraphale may have been strong, but Crowley was fast. 

He slithered out of the garden swiftly, finding his way through the stacks with the same confidence that led him to find it in the first place. He had to be quick, he didn’t know what hour it was, if he would be noticed. Once out of the bookshelves, he regained his limbs and tangled his hair away from his face as he hurried. He didn’t bother to read the clock at the far end of the hall, he just grabbed the hem of his robes and ran. 

He climbed the stairs two at a time, one hand on the handrail to hold himself steady. He was counting under his breath as he ran, just lightly counting the stairs, waiting to reach the top for when he could push himself forward off into the Heavens. 

In the back of his mind, behind the numbered steps, a little voice reminded him over and over that he was late, that he was in trouble, that this would somehow ruin everything. 

He pushed the voice away, nearly at the top, rounding the last twist and - 

He stopped in his tracks, body pulled back to stop him crashing into the angel standing at the top of the staircase and blocking his path. He shut his mouth quickly to pull back the gasp of air, but there was no way to the angel a few steps above him hadn’t heard him. 

“Crowley. Finally,” 

The angel was facing away from him, standing and staring out at the scattered unit of Starmakers. His arms were crossed stiffly and his wings were primly and very tightly held against his body, making him appear as a statue. Crowley bit the inside of his cheek a little, fighting the urge to fidget. He wanted to slink away but there was nowhere to go. 

“Care to explain yourself?” 

The angel turned slowly. He was wearing the same dark blue robes as Crowley, but had a second overcoat of thick sapphire blue velvet hung across his shoulders and draping down across his chest, embroidered with small silver stars. 

“Sariel, I -” Crowley started and stopped, finding the words dying on the end of his tongue. He tried to keep eye contact with the angel, but Sariel’s impenetrable gaze made him uneasy. Everything about his stillness made Crowley’s own disarray more obvious. Crowley cleared his throat, reaching to adjust his robes, pulling his unruly hair back. He was aware that his face was flushed from running, his braid tangled and his feet still dusty from the library floor. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, trying his best to quell the thunder in his chest. “It won’t happen again,” 

Sariel regarded him a moment, those grey eyes travelling to observe the details that Crowley’s adjusting had sought to hide. One ash white eyebrow raised a little. 

“You understand what it is we are trying to achieve here, correct Crowley?” 

Crowley’s gaze flickered behind Sariel, to the Heavens, before flicking back. 

“Yes, of course, the Great Pl-”

“You understand we have a schedule, Crowley?”

Crowley didn’t like the way Sariel said his name. It made the skin on the back of his neck shift as if he still had his scales. 

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry-”

“Apologies don’t mean much when you’re not doing as you have been told, Crowley. She gave Her orders, and we are to follow them,” 

“Yes, of course-” “Do you not like following orders, Crowley?”

“No! I mean, yes, of course I follow Her-”

“You understand your place in this design, Her design, don’t you, Crowley?” 

Crowley fought the urge to grit his teeth. 

“Yes, Sariel,” 

The angel nodded, his eyes narrowing just a little as he observed Crowley. Crowley made a conscious effort to release the tension in his shoulders, lifting his chin a little to avoid looking as if he were sulking. He tried to clear any expression off his face except for a suitably contrite arrangement. 

“You must remember your duty in this unit, Crowley. You must remember why you are here, and Who you are here to serve. You must remember that there is no one more important than Her, and Her Great Plan,” 

Crowley nodded, wishing more than anything that he could get this over with. 

“There is no one other than Her, Crowley. No one else,” 

Crowley nodded again, ignoring the tension that was creeping through his back again, twisting into his stomach. 

“Say it, Crowley,” ordered Sariel, his eyes refusing the release Crowley until the angel was suitably chastised. The stillness in Sariel’s body seemed to make him taller, his form bearing over Crowley in a way that seemed to obscure the stars behind him. 

“No one else,” repeated Crowley, hearing the own bitterness in his own voice. He cleared his throat, and said it again. The tension in his stomach refused to release. “No one else,” 

There was a long moment as Sariel’s eyes bored into Crowley, and the Starmaker had a horrendous thought that maybe the senior angel could read him like one of Aziraphale’s books. That he could look into Crowley’s chest and see his heart tangled up in a nest of love notes.

Sariel finally nodded, and released Crowley from his gaze, taking one step back to allow Crowley to pass him. 

“Get to work,” 

Crowley didn’t trust his voice, feeling the bitterness in the back of his throat again. He didn’t want to think about Sariel’s words, but they wriggled and squirmed and dug their way into him. He moved to his area without looking around him, avoiding the gaze of any of his unit who may have noticed his late coming, seen his scolding, witnessed his shame. 

None of that mattered. 

His mind was in a whirlwind, but nothing was landing long enough to settle and form in his brain. He reached for his brushes, his eyes seeing nothing as he was consumed in the tension that had seized his insides. 

Did Sariel know about where he had been spending his days? About the library? Did that mean others knew? Had he been seen going in and out of the library? Did they know about the garden? The books? Aziraphale? 

He drew in a shaky breath, the paintbrush in his hand static. He glanced to the side through his hair and saw an angel far to his right watching him. It wouldn’t do to give them even more to see. 

Pulling himself together as best he could, he drew himself up to his full height. He tossed his hair over his shoulder and schooled his expression into a focussed neutral, and began to paint. 

[ineffably-good]

The Bet (3/4)

For those of you who have not read the previous 2 (or eight, depending on whether you’re reading the whole series) chapters, Frederick is Aziraphale’s emotional support snake who he got while Crowley was taking one of his extra, extra year-long naps. You can read more about the whole thing in the Serpent and the Seagull series on AO3. 

Also check out this great fan art of Frederick from RocketBeagle! 

Chapter 1  /  Chapter 2

Chapter 3 . . Frederick was not, in general, a worrier. Most snakes were not. But he had to admit, he was beginning to feel a strange sensation that was not unlike concern about the two large creatures he lived with. They appeared to be deliberately antagonizing each other almost to the point of distraction, and it was interfering with his nap schedule.

He became particularly worried after the soft, fluffy one yelled loudly at the hard, pointy one and then stormed out, jacket in hand. It was unlike the fluffy one to yell, after all. Frederick was used to viewing him as an almost endless source of good will, snacks, and head boops.

The pointy one also appeared to be not his usual self. After the pale, rounder creature left, Frederick noted, his dark, brimstone-smelling friend wandered around the shop touching things and looking significantly more slouchy and bedraggled than usual.

He eventually sat down on the stool next to Frederick’s perch beside the cash register and began talking to him quietly.

++

“Do you think I overdid it?” Crowley asked Frederick. Of course, he knew the snake couldn’t talk back – he was, as far as he knew, the only talkingserpent in the world.

YES OF COURSE YOU DID, YOU GIANT PILLOCK, Frederick tried to convey through body language. From Crowley’s perspective, this came off as a simple tightening of various coils and loops.

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Crowley admitted. “Just playing the game, is all. Thought he was going to smite me for a minute, there.” He thought for a few minutes while the snake flicked his tongue at him impatiently.

APOLOGIZE TO THE GIANT FLUFFBALL, Frederick shouted psychically, to no avail.

“Perhaps I should apologize. Get him a little gift. A book usually helps when I’m in the hot seat,” Crowley said. “Where did I put my laptop when I moved in?”

He usually did his shopping on Aziraphale’s ancient desktop computer, which he would miracle to work faster than normal, but for this he wanted his own computer with its processing speed faster than a team of snails pulling a sledge. He dug for a good forty-five minutes through various boxes he had never quite finished unpacking, and eventually pulled out his top-of-the-line, high-powered laptop with a flourish.

“Aha!” he said. “Now I’ll just see what’s on the market in terms of highly impressive rare books, and I’ll be back in the angel’s good graces in no time!”

He sat down at the kitchen table, opened the laptop screen, hit the power button, and waited. And waited. And continued to wait.

It took him a full five minutes of staring at it in confusion before realization dawned, all at once.

The power cord. He had thrown it away with the packaging because, to date, none of his electronics had ever needed a power cord to function. They just functioned without batteries, cords, and chargers because he willed them to.

With a groan, he slammed the screen shut and tried out a few of his favorite curse words. Frederick, sensing his distress, supportively joined him by hissing at the offending metal box.

“Ok, fine,” he shouted to the room at large. “I’ll just go out and shop like a normal person! You won’t break me!”

Crowley headed out into the neighborhood on foot, badly needing to burn off some energy and tension. He sorely missed the ability to magic a bit of mischief on various people he passed on the street. He made up for it by committing random acts of civic disobedience – crossing against the light, dropping his recyclable coffee cup in the trash bin, and giving incorrect directions to tourists. It cheered him up just a little bit.

++

Read the rest on AO3 -- it’s too long to post all of it here! 

[occult-castiel]

vampire fic, alt perspective

Aziraphale's perspective from chapter 2′s back half. Originally wanted the whole thing to be from just him, but it got scrapped. I’ll probably store stuff like this on my blog to keep my docs less cluttered. Chapter 3 Thursday most likely

The sound of his name echoed around like the balls of a baby's rattle. His body jerked him from sleep as each reverberation of sound was distorted more and more, until sensations were too clear.

His eyes shot open, and he sucked in a breath of air. His cheat was a chasm that the breath more so attacked than alleviated. It was like he'd been dead, and just yanked back from the grave. It was an airy, tight, desperate plea for life. He would've shot up, grabbed his chest, something, if his limbs hadn't felt like wet, muddy clay bound to ground by rain and suction.

His name- he’d heard his name. 

"What?" He managed to ask.

And then his vocal cords took their vengeance. It was like his own lungs were punching up, sending fists of air through the gaping hole where they should be at, forcing his body to contort and do its evil bidding. Somewhere in that mess, his limbs had decided they should help just the slightest, and allowed him to roll his body away from the light.

It tapered off after a moment, and left his throat raw. Very shakily, he pushed his luck and tried to push himself up enough to sit. A very pale hand was in front of him before he had the chance to find out how poorly it would go.

Crowley, his mind offered as he grabbed it. He tried to smile as a way of thanks. He didn't dare speak.

The smooth coolness of his skin was less intense than he remembered. More like a gentle, early spring breeze. It was a very welcome feeling at the moment, but he slipped his hand away before he could make the man uncomfortable again.

He struggled to focus on any one sight, and only peaked with one half-lidded eye as a warm cup was placed in his hands. It was mostly a blur of white, and a small twinkle of gold the lamplight caught just right

The warm smell of cocoa melted him. The way its heat seemed to message it's way into his skin was relieving, so much so that he, almost unconsciously, placed it against his cheek. Any tension in him drained, his shoulders unhinged themselves, his jaw slacked, and forming knots in his back erased.

He didn't think before opening his mouth, coughing fit temporarily erased from his memory, "Try?"

"You should drink it."

He hummed in agreement. Taking the few sips of time to examine the bit of gold he saw. 

On Crowley's left middle finger sat a thin golden band that looked like it was older than either of them. A warn snake was consuming its own tail.

"That's a lovely ring, by the way." The liquid had done its work, coating his cords in a sticky, sweet relaxer. Talking was much easier. 

He hummed, looking at it like he'd forgotten it was there too, and then reached next to him on the floor for. After some he crinkled around what he assumed to be a plastic bag. He squinted at the object. A candy bar?

"Thought your, uh, blood sugar might've been low."

“Erm, I don't think I should have so much sugar if I did indeed faint, but thank you, dear boy,” he tried to look at him, and smiled, “You’re awfully kind."

And, from what he could tell, that was true. He had offered him very fine wine, tried to cook for him, went out of his way to get him something after fainting. How had anyone thought I'll of him? He’d received far less for far worse in the past.

"Nn, yeah, s'no problem." 

He took another sip as the man hopped up from his crouch. All the aches had vanished, and it suddenly felt odd to be laying down. He took one hand and rubbed his eyes before he gazed over to sit the cup of cocoa down, and instead got his first actual look at his companion since waking.

The red strands of hair that normally stuck up were drooped over his forehead, stuck there by water. His clothes were clung to his skin by more than just design. He… he glistened.

Soaked. Utterly soaked. He scowled as he drug a hand through his newly made bangs. His mouth gaped.

“You didn't walk out there, did you?” he was surprised by the venom in his own voice.

Crowley just looked at him for a moment, “Uh, yes?”

The nonchalant tone, a sign of utter disregard for one's self, in his eyes, made the venom cling. His response was instant. “It’s freezing outside! How reckless are you?”

A smile erupted through a bit of laughter, he looked taken aback. Like it was silly. “I like the rain.” he practically sang, leaning in with the words.

He scoffed, “Do you also happen to enjoy pneumonia by chance?”

“Oh, I don't think I need to worry about that one,” the smile still plastered his face.

He wasn't going to dignify that with a response, and instead went back to his cup of unfinished cocoa. It really did melt him, turned his muscles to putty.

“I could still make some eggs, while you’re,” he paused, “Indisposed.”

He waved a hand to dismiss the notion. He was fine. “Oh you don't have to fret about that, I’m feeling much better.”

“You sure?” Something about his tone caught his breath for the briefest of moments, and found he really couldn’t look away from his cup. It was unusually soft. Concerned. This stranger was actually, genuinely concerned.

How had anyone thought he was a trouble?

He felt his lips pull up. Maybe this shop would word out better than he’d hoped. He took another sip.

“Well, if you insist.”

[televinita]

Books Read in 2019: The Why

In a tradition I accidentally started for myself and now quite enjoy, at the end of the year I look back at my reading list and answer the question, why did you read this particular book? 

Below, the books are split into groups by target readership age, plus nonfiction at the end. This year I have added the category “how I heard of it” as well, because I just think that info is neat.

FICTION

The Visitor - K.L. Slater. 2018. Read because: Ten episodes of The Good Cop weren't enough, so I tried to find something w/ similar characters, and this looked kinda like "TJ as a slightly more withdrawn weirdo." By the time I realized it wouldn't work due to being British, I was too excited by the prospect of a thriller to stop.

How I heard of it: Googling keywords

Like the Red Panda - Andrea Seigel. 2004. The back cover and first few pages reminded me of a friend I had once.

How I heard of it: Library

The Lost Vintage - Ann Mah. 2018. What's that? You've got some secret family history/a mystery from the past to be solved using old personal papers, including a diary? My jams.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls (4th ed.) - Emilie Autumn. 2017. I googled for books that promised unique formatting/art design, and Emilie Autumn has always been an intriguing enigma to me.

I Heard the Owl Call My Name - Margaret Craven. 1967. I know this title, but not why -- when I tripped over it in the teen* section and saw how tiny it was, I decided to find out what it was about. (*it's there because it's often taught in schools. It's here because its intended audience is adult.)

Escape - Barbara Delinsky. 2011. Went looking for an audiobook -- the cover with a woman standing on a small bridge amidst the woods drew me in (I can't find that cover on the internet though), and the idea of abandoning responsibility and driving off to a small town sounded like my dream.

How I heard of it: Library

Saul and Patsy - Charles Baxter. 2003. Another search result from my attempt to cast Josh Groban in a novel -- Midwestern-set and a man very much in love with his wife, no worries about the relationship being wrecked? Sweet! (though ultimately, I had to mentally recast)

How I heard of it: Googling

California - Edan Lepucki. 2014. Needed an audiobook. The title and green forest cover caught my eye, and the off-the-grid life + promise of a mysterious and possibly suspicious settler community described in the plot appealed to me.

How I heard of it: Library

The Lost Queen of Crocker County - Elizabeth Leiknes. 2018. Woman moves back home to rural Iowa in a book described as a "love letter to the Midwest"? Look at all these good choices.

How I heard of it: Library

All The Things You Are - Declan Hughs. 2014. Was looking for a different book w/ this title, but saw Spooky Dark House cover + wild summary and wanted to know how that could possibly happen / what the explanation was.

How I heard of it: Library catalog

Tumbledown Manor - Helen Brown. 2016. Cover love. A book about restoring a historic family manor?? BRING ME THERE.

How I heard of it: Library

The War Bride's Scrapbook - Caroline Preston. 2017. IT'S LITERALLY A SCRAPBOOK. I loved her other one like this.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day - Winifred Watson. 1938. Rewatched the movie and needed to relive an alternate take immediately (especially for more Michael).

How I heard of it: special features on the DVD

April & Oliver - Tess Callahan. 2009. This just screamed "(slightly less storybook) Ned/Chuck AU!!" [Pushing Daisies] at me. There was semi-platonic comfort-spooning in the second chapter, COME ON.

How I heard of it: Half Price Books

A Short Walk to the Bookshop - Aleksandra Drake. 2019. This looked like an even more solid Ned/Chuck AU, missing only the childhood connection/age similarity, with bonus fave keywords anxiety, widower, bookshop and dog.

How I heard of it: Googling

Girl Last Seen - Nina Laurin. 2017. Recently watched "Captive" and wanted a story of the aftermath from the captive's perspective.

How I heard of it: Goodreads (specifically, I looked up an older book by this title intending to check out related recs, but this came up first)

The Road to Enchantment - Kaya McLaren. 2017. Gorgeous cover/title + "single [pregnant] woman inherits late mother's ranch" = an alternate life I want to try on.

How I heard of it: Library

From Sand and Ash - Amy Harmon. 2016. Love between childhood best friends who can’t (well, aren’t supposed to) touch? Sounds like a Ned/Chuck AU to me!

How I heard of it: a book blog post

My Oxford Year - Julia Whelan. 2018. Always here for age-appropriate student/teacher romances -- I had this one saved for a while -- but read now specifically to cast David Tennant.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Reckoning at Gossamer Pond - Jaime Jo Wright. 2018. There's a mystery from the past being solved in the present. Also, "inherited hoarder's trailer" made me v. curious about what was inside.

How I heard of it: a book blog post

My Husband the Stranger - Rebecca Done. 2017. It's Find Books That Remind Me Of David Tennant's Roles Month, and this was my crack at "Recovery."

How I heard of it: Googling

The House on Foster Hill - Jaime Jo Wright. 2017. Fixing up a spooky abandoned historic house + solving a mystery from the past in the present!

How I heard of it: a book blog post

Broadchurch - Erin Kelly. 2014. Fell in love with the show, had to immediately relive it in text form.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Vanishing - Wendy Webb. 2014. Spooky historic mansion from a reliable author for the spookening season.

How I heard of it: looking up the author’s back catalog

The Scholar - Dervla McTiernan. 2019. The Ruin - Dervla McTiernan. 2018. "Hmmm looks kind of like (Irish) Broadchurch but where the detective character has a girlfriend to fuss over and worry about. Nice." Read out of order because the second one had more girlfriend content, and enjoyed it enough to go back for book 1.

How I heard of it: Googling

The Day She Died - Catriona McPherson. 2014. The cover looked perfect for the Spook Season/gloomy weather. Sign me up for insta-families and murder mysteries w/ MCs in possible danger any day.

How I heard of it: library (literally because it was right next to McTiernan)

Still Missing - Chevy Stevens. 2010. Collecting base material for when I play this scenario (abduction/prolonged captivity and its aftermath) out w/ TV characters I like.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

This Is How You Lose The Time War - Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone. 2019. It sounded EXACTLY like a (genderbent) Doctor/Master or Crowley/Aziraphale relationship.

How I heard of it: a book blog post

The Tale of Halcyon Crane - Wendy Webb. 2010. Wanted an audiobook and I like this author (esp. for spook season).

How I heard of it: author’s back catalog

The Child Garden - Catriona McPherson. 2015. I liked her previous book and this setting looked even spookier and more atmospheric.

How I heard of it: author’s back catalog

Quiet Neighbors - Catriona McPherson. 2016. One last dip into this author...because what part of "woman gets a job organizing the books in 'the oldest bookshop in a town full of bookshops' + an old cottage to stay in" does not sound like my dream life?

How I heard of it: author’s back catalog

Doctor Who: The Nightmare of Black Island - Mike Tucker. 2006. After 2.5 months in a Ten/Rose spiral, the time was nigh to pluck one of their novels I didn’t get around to reading back in my original fandom heyday.

How I heard of it: can't remember

Misery - Stephen King. 1987. I just woke up one day and decided I was in the mood to try this infamous mother of all literary whumps.

How I heard of it: can’t remember

The Whisper Man - Alex North. 2019. Went looking for books that would remind me of the father/son dynamic in "The Escape Artist."

How I heard of it: Googling

Open Your Eyes - Paula Daly. 2018. Second crack at a "Recovery"-shaped novel (it failed instantly because I didn’t take the possibility of diversity into account, but suspense is still a good genre regardless).

How I heard of it: Googling

The Last - Hanna Jameson. 2019. "Dystopian psychological thriller" + the gorgeous hotel on the cover.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

------------------

YOUNG ADULT

Blood Wounds - Susan Beth Pfeffer. 2011. Established quality author + (what I thought was a) thriller premise.

How I heard of it: author’s back catalog

Beware That Girl - Teresa Totten. 2016. I wanted an audiobook, and contemporary YA options are limited at the library. The mystery/thriller aspect sounded good enough to spend 8+ hours with.

How I heard of it: library

Trafficked - Kim Purcell. 2012. I am mystified/intrigued by domestic/non-sexual slavery, and have not seen the topic covered in YA.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Wild Bird - Wendelin Van Draanen. 2017. I have long been fascinated by teen reform camps for girls in the wilderness.

How I heard of it: library

The Year of Luminous Love - Lurlene McDaniel. 2013. The Year of Chasing Dreams - Lurlene McDaniel. 2014.

The library didn't have Girl With the Broken Heart, but it did have a fat duology featuring similar elements of horses + tragic illness, and a trio of friends that called to mind Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.

The Pull of Gravity - Gae Polisner. 2011. I was looking for quality male friendships, but the male/female friendship + road trip in this search result sounded like I could cast them as teen versions of Survivor contestants. I forget which ones.

How I heard of it: Googling

The Summer of Jordi Perez (and the Best Burger in Los Angeles) - Amy Spalding. 2018. Established quality author + bright cover, cool title, burger quest, MC's love of fashion and job in a clothing store, and summer in L.A. setting

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Tiger Eyes - Judy Blume. 1981. Found out Amy Jo Johnson was the mom in the movie version, decided to read the book as prep since once again, I knew the title, but not why I knew it.

Darius the Great Is Not Okay - Adib Khorram. 2018. I turned the internet upside down in search of books with quality male friendships, and was pointed here.

How I heard of it: Googling

Big Doc's Girl - Mary Medearis. 1941. Went looking for vintage stories of simple country girls who reminded me of Katharine McPhee's character in The House Bunny. (spoiler alert: this was not it even a little bit, why did I think it was)

How I heard of it: Googling

With Malice - Eileen Cook. 2016. Always here for random teen thrillers, including a fictionalized version of Amanda Knox.

How I heard of it: library

The Girls of No Return - Erin Saldin. 2012. Like I said, I'm big on girls reform camps in the wilderness.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Hope Was Here - Joan Bauer. 2000. Needed an audiobook. This one was short and by a proven quality author.

How I heard of it: library

Rules of the Road - Joan Bauer. 1998. Best Foot Forward - Joan Bauer. 2006. Bought the first super-cheap a while ago because of the cover/road trip aspect/fascinating first few pages; read NOW to keep the Bauer train rolling, followed immediately by its sequel.

How I heard of it: Goodwill/Goodreads

Now Is Everything - Amy Giles. 2017. Interesting format, sympathetic-sounding main character (edit: What Makes You Beautiful - Ha Ha Ha version.mp3), potential for a sweet and protective romance.

How I heard of it: library

Radical - E.M. Kokie. 2016. Survivalist/prepper teen?  Intriguing and underrepresented concept in YA.

How I heard of it: library

Hit the Road - Caroline B. Cooney. 2006. “It's spring, which means it's time to think about road trips.” Plus I just read a fun teen + old lady on the road book (Rules of the Road). It's thematic.

How I heard of it: library

I Am Still Alive - Kate Alice Marshall. 2018. I dig survival stories, especially in the wilderness, and this one was well recced.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Caged Graves - Dianne K. Salerni. 2013. Spook cover!! I MUST KNOW WHY THERE ARE CAGES OVER THESE GRAVES.

How I heard of it: library

Fancy Free - Betty Cavanna. 1961. Found cheap and will read this author always.

How I heard of it: antique store

Once And For All - Sarah Dessen. 2017. Stubborn determination to complete this author's canon and literally no other reasons.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Wired Man and Other Freaks of Nature - Sashi Kaufman. 2016. People in the Goodreads reviews were mad that the guys were so close yet not gay for each other. That's the very specific male friendship wheelhouse I've been looking for! Plus I know this author can write teen boys in a way I can tolerate.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Field Notes on Love - Jennifer E. Smith. 2019. Needed an audiobook and this was on display at the library; it looked cute and fluffy and I was ready for an antidote to the Dessen book.

How I heard of it: library

Midnight Sun - Trish Cook. 2017. Needed an audiobook and sick!lit seemed the most reliable of my options, given that previews for the movie had looked okay and it was real short.

How I heard of it: library

9 Days and 9 Nights - Katie Cotugno. 2018. Sequel to a book that drove me insane, but where I loved the writing style and was frustratingly fond of the characters so I Had 2 Know what happened next.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Your Destination Is On The Left - Lauren Spieller. 2018. Attractive cover + keywords like "nomadic RV lifestyle," Santa Fe, post-high-school YA, and internship

How I heard of it: library

Weird Girl and What's His Name - Meagan Brothers. 2015. X-Philes?? In MY modern-day YA fiction?? (with a side of inappropriate age-mismatched relationship?)  My interest is more likely than you'd think!

How I heard of it: library

All Out of Pretty - Ingrid Palmer. 2018. Attractive design + arresting first page piqued my curiosity

How I heard of it: library

Hitchhike - Isabelle Holland. 1977. Vintage book w/ a puppy on the cover, by an author I like.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Send No Blessings - Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. 1990. Reread from high school after it came up on the What's The Name of That Book? discussion group; felt a strong pull of positive feelings but couldn't remember much.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Year of the Gopher - Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. 1987 Wanted better understanding of the source material before reading an essay about this book and the above in Lost Masterworks of Young Adult Literature.

How I heard of it: another book

Up In Seth's Room - Norma Fox Mazer. 1979 There was an essay about this in Lost Masterworks too. I had read it a long time ago and remembered NOT liking it, but figured I might as well revisit it to review on Goodreads.

How I heard of it: library

Blizzard's Wake - Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. 2002. Happened to be on the shelf when I checked to see what non-Alice books of hers the library had in stock, and figured as long I'm on a Naylor kick, this might as well happen. Mainly ‘cause I saw "deadly blizzard" on the back and was like "WOW this seems useful for my hurt/comfort scenario stockpile."

How I heard of it: library

A Whole New World - Liz Braswell. 2015. Seeing the new Aladdin trailer blew up my heart with FEELINGS for the original, so I went looking for a YA retelling. Can't believe I found an actual Disney-based retelling.

How I heard of it: Library catalog

After the Dancing Days - Margaret I. Rostkowski. 1986. The connection between Roy and the little girl in The Fall reminded me of this book, so I reread it specifically to visualize Andrew as Lee Pace.

How I heard of it: Library

There's Someone Inside Your House - Stephanie Perkins. 2017. I'll read most any teen thriller you throw at me. The more murders the better.

How I heard of it: Library

All the Forever Things - Jolene Perry. 2017. Loved the author's writing style on a previous book, but couldn't stomach the love triangle. Wanted to give her another chance.

How I heard of it: Library

Aristotle and Dante Discover The Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Saenz. 2012. Been on my TBR for a while because quality male friendship; read it now to see if I should keep or get rid of the dollar store copy I bought. (answer: get rid of. it's good but not amazing to me personally)

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Hollow Girl - Hillary Monahan. 2017. Violent revenge fantasy against rapists? Especially to save the life of a guy you like who was brutally beaten during your assault? Heck yeah.

How I heard of it: Library

The Opposite of Love - Sarah Lynn Scheerger. 2014. The hurt/comfort potential was off the charts and it vaguely reminded me of Ryan/Marissa (the O.C.).

How I heard of it: Library

Sophomore Year is Greek to Me - Meredith Zeitlin. 2015. It just looked light and cute, like summer.

How I heard of it: Library

Girl Online On Tour - Zoe Sugg. 2015. Girl Online Going Solo - Zoe Sugg. 2016. Two sequels to a book I enjoyed.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Plague Land - Alex Scarrow. 2017. Plague Land Reborn - Alex Scarrow. 2018. Always here for illness-based apocalypse/dystopia. Would have finished the trilogy but library doesn’t have book 3 yet.

How I heard of it: Library

Pretty Fierce - Kieran Scott. 2017. Spy daughter of spies running for her life along w/ doting boyfriend (named Oliver, a name that has never let me down in fiction)? The ship radar is sounding OFF.

How I heard of it: Library

The Leaving - Lynn Hall. 1980. Will read any LH book, but this one was small and easy to take on an overnight trip plus everything about the summary and first couple of pages drew me in.

How I heard of it: author’s back catalog

Speed of Life - J.M. Kelly. 2016. Beautiful cover, blue collar family, unusual premise (twin sisters co-parenting the baby one of them had, no dad in sight), and I love stories where teens are (essentially) head of household.

How I heard of it: Thrift Books

Freshman Year and Other Unnatural Disasters - Meredith Zeitlin. 2012. Looked light and cute, because it's back-to-school time and lately I've been enjoying study blogs from people just starting high school.

How I heard of it: Library

The Land of 10,000 Madonnas - Kate Hattemer. 2016. Unsupervised teens a-wanderin' through Europe? Sign me up for that vicarious wanderlust.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

A Thousand Boy Kisses - Tillie Cole. 2016. A romance w/ astronomical hurt/comfort potential. (spoiler alert it’s too sickly saccharine even for me)

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Hooked - Catherine Greenman. 2011. Random reread of a book I had come to believe should have been 4 stars rather than 3, but couldn’t remember well enough to feel confident in changing the rating without checking first.

How I heard of it: Library

Appaloosa Summer - Tudor Robins. 2014. Horsey YA + after years of it being on my TBR, the author saw me post about this fact and offered to send me a free paperback copy for review.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

I Stop Somewhere - T.E. Carter. 2018. I too identified as a girl my classmates would never notice was missing (moreso in college, but still). Plus it's getting close to Halloween, so time for spooky/true-crime-esque reads.

How I heard of it: library

What Waits in the Woods - Kieran Scott. 2015. An ideal spook setting for the spook season!

How I heard of it: Library

Illuminae - Amie Kaufman & Jay Kristoff. 2015. The formatting/art design just sounded cool and unique.

How I heard of it: a book blog post

Boot Camp - Todd Strasser. 2006. I went to the library to check out a different book of his, but this caught my eye because WHUMPITY WHUMP (with a side of pining for the teacher he had previously been in a relationship with).

The Last Trip of the Magi - Michael Lorinser. 2012. Picked up cheap at a book sale for the struggling-to-survive-a-winter-night-outside aspect.

A List of Cages - Robin Roe. 2017. Male friendship loaded with hurt/comfort.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

-------

MIDDLE GRADE

Sparrow Road - Sheila O'Connor. 2011. The setting -- an artist's retreat at an old mansion on sprawling estate grounds formerly used as an orphanage -- captivated me.

How I heard of it: a Little Free Library (outside of a mansion repurposed as an art council's center, actually)

Annie's Life in Lists - Kristin Mahoney. 2018. I LOVE LISTS.

How I heard of it: library

Hope is a Ferris Wheel - Robin Herrera. 2014. Still grinding my teeth over Dessen's Once and For All, I was desperate for a sweet middle grade story to refresh my palate. Gimme that bright cover. Ooh, and a trailer park kid?

How I heard of it: Library

The Education of Ivy Blake - Ellen Airgood. 2015. Prairie Evers - Ellen Airgood. 2012. Also intended as a Dessen antidote, I picked up the sequel first due to the incredibly charming excerpt on the back, and then fell so in love with the character and writing style I needed more of her world.

How I heard of it: Library

When You Reach Me - Rebecca Stead. 2009. Rave reviews from friends; mystery aspect sounded intriguing.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Counting By 7s - Holly Goldberg Sloan. 2013. Picked up cheap at a fundraiser garage sale I wanted to support; seemed easily readable.

Summerlost - Ally Condie. 2016. Young!Ned/Chuck AU?? (spoiler alert: maybe if it wasn't so boring)

How I heard of it: Googling

Where The Heart Is - Jo Knowles. 2019. "Country girl taking care of the animals at a hobby farm across the road" = the childhood dream and also I wanted to ignore the summary and hope I could still get a Young!Ned/Chuck AU. How I heard of it: Library

The Wizards of Once - Cressida Cowell. 2017. Twice Magic - Cressida Cowell. 2018. First one: David Tennant reads the audiobook, and literally no other reasons.

Second one: Ah heck turns out I kind of loved how David Tennant read that audiobook and want more.

How I heard of it: Library catalog

My Sister Lives on the Mantelpiece - Annabel Pitcher. 2011. David Tennant reads the audiobook, and literally no other reasons.

How I heard of it: Library catalog

----------

NONFICTION

Seinology: The Sociology of Seinfeld - Tim Delaney. 2006. It's sociology, it's Seinfeld, what's not to love?

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Survivor: The Ultimate Game - Mark Burnett. 2000. At the beginning of the year I was obsessed w/ this show like never before, so a detailed recap of one of its seasons seemed like the ticket to complement that.

How I heard of it: Googling

Jungle: A Harrowing True Story of Survival - Yossi Ghinsberg. 1985. Loved the movie, wanted to relive it in text form.

How I heard of it: special features on the DVD

Lost Masterworks of Young Adult Literature - ed. Connie Zitlow. 2002. There was an essay about Send No Blessings in here. If that's the kind of book this book is about, I wanna hear all about it.

How I heard of it: Library catalog

Animals in Young Adult Fiction - Walter Hogan. 2009. From the same publishing line as the above, which I loved, I figured this was even MORE my specialized reading niche.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Phantoms of the Hudson Valley - Monica Randall. 1996. When I have I ever NOT wanted to read about grand mansions of yesteryear -- especially if some are abandoned ruins?

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Seven Cats and the Art of Living - Jo Coudert. 1996. Picked up cheap at a library sale because cats (and the cute author-illustrated cover painting).

Psychic Pets and Spirit Animals: True Stories From The Files of Fate Magazine. 1996. Random reread of a childhood favorite.

How I heard of it: B. Dalton's (THAT’S how long I’ve had this book, y’all).

Extreme Couponing - Joni Meyer-Crothers with Beth Adelman. 2013. Who doesn't love saving money? But I am not very coupon-savvy and wanted to learn.

How I heard of it: Library

Cabin Lessons: A Tale of 2x4s, Blisters and Love - Spike Carlsen. 2015. Having the money/skill to build my own cabin on MN's north shore is a fun daydream.

How I heard of it: Library

The Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap: A Memoir of Friendship, Community, and the Uncommon Pleasure of a Good Book  - Wendy Welch. 2012. Opening a used bookstore is my impractical dream too.

How I heard of it: Library

Belonging: A German Reckons With History and Home - Nora Krug.  2018. Illustrated memoirs are always awesome.

How I heard of it: Library

The Astor Orphan: A Memoir - Alexandra Aldrich. 2013.

Rokeby was one of the estates that fascinated me in Phantoms of the Hudson Valley, and the content of this one took place around the same era that book was written.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

I'll Be There For You: The One About Friends - Kelsey Miller. 2018. Am I going to turn down "a retrospective" about one of my favorite shows?? I am not.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Season Finale: The Unexpected Rise and Fall of the WB & UPN. 2007. Recommended after the above because I love hearing how network TV stations are built in terms of programming decisions.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Paperback Crush: The Totally Radical History of 80s and 90s Teen Fiction - Gabrielle Moss. 2018. Take how I reacted to Lost Masterworks of Young Adult Literature, and multiply it by "fully illustrated with brightly colored pages." These are the kind of books I’m familiar with and always down to talk/hear about, but hardly anyone else is.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

[theskystealerthebookthief]

Good Omens Fic Rec List

Because I am utterly consumed by this fandom, and utterly thrilled by the waves of content that has been coming through, I thought I’d share some of the fics that have stolen my sleep and stolen my heart. ❤️

A Diamond Sky Above Titanic by SeaBlueEyes

The year is 1912, and one angel and one demon's lives are about to change forever as they embark on the fateful maiden voyage of the R.M.S. Titanic - and a relationship utterly forbidden by both Heaven and Hell.

This. This fic. I found it through Tumblr from an ask answered by @tio-trile . Curiosity led me to google it and read it on AO3 almost immediately, and I definitely don’t regret it. Written in 2011, it’s a mesmerizing story about love and a tragedy history felt. I’m not sure what else I can say about it that can do it justice, save ‘not to worry, it has a happy ending’, so all I can say is read it.

[Complete] [Chapters: 18]

Such Surpassing Brightness by Handful_of_Silence

The revelation that Aziraphale might have been in love with him for thousands of years is surprising. The fact that literal books have been written on the subject comes as even more of a shock.

This fic was a delight to read, with a realization on Crowley’s part and a question of ‘what if Aziraphale was the patron saint/guardian angel of the queer community’. The articles, movies, and books (though mostly made up) were described amazingly and how you began to realize, along with Crowley, that their love was the subject? Astounding.

[Complete] [Oneshot]

Home is where the plants are by Beginte

There's a plant by one of the windows. Aziraphale can't recall getting a plant. He's almost sure he didn't get a plant.

-

Or: they're enjoying the beginning of the rest of their lives and Crowley repeatedly distracts Aziraphale to prevent him from noticing that he's moving in, one plant and pair of skinny jeans at a time.

A fluffy one; this fic uses the tag ‘developing established relationship’ — which is utterly accurate — and has the two slipping into their relationship, being domestic, and just loving each other.

[Complete] [Oneshot]

Bring it back, bring it back [don’t take it away from me] by wednesdaisy

After 6000 years, Crowley finally gives up on ever getting what he wants, and leaves London forever. Aziraphale doesn't like it, has a revelation, and goes after him.

The. Pining. Holy cowering blowhog.

And- and the angst. As succinctly put by the summary, Crowley leaves London and Aziraphale, giving the angel the kick he needs to sort his feelings (though still slow on the uptake).

This is a fic I really really like, with such good characterization and description of Aziraphale’s realization. A definite should read for those looking for angst with happy endings.

[Complete] [Chapters: 2]

For All Time by LynFraser09

Not long after the Armageddon that wasn't, Crowley and Aziraphale grow even closer and cross the line they've been toeing on for centuries.

Love confessions abound! Along with a serving of fluff, a napping demon on a reading angel’s lap, and banter (little bit). I love the dialog between the two in this one — seems so in character to me — and the writing style!

[Complete] [Oneshot]

to carthage then I came by Lvslie

There’s a moment of empty silence before Crowley speaks.

‘See, Aziraphale, I think it’s what I don’t want,’ he says, and Aziraphale is not brave enough to raise his eyes at him. ‘And I don’t particularly want to be your heresy.’

Getting together and moving in but not in the order you would think. This fic, the first time round, took me a while to read (and to get), but oh. There’s pining and longing — and Crowley’s existential dread — and the restraint. A good read, with a happy ending and a second chapter that made my heart hurt.

[Complete] [Chapters: 2]

the sword of damocles by dreamingstarkly

He was afraid of what Hell might do to him. He was afraid of what Heaven might do to him.

He never, ever considered whether he should be afraid of Aziraphale. No, that was so far out of mind as to be practically impossible to entertain.

Until it was too late.

Okay, oh gosh. This one. You know the scene at episode six? Where Aziraphale picks up the sword, and, for a brief moment, you could see terror in Crowley’s eyes? This is a fic about it, written amazingly about these two idiots in love. Angst with a happy ending, it also considers Aziraphale’s side, of him coming to trust, through the ages, that Crowley wouldn’t hurt him.

[Complete] [Oneshot]

What Freddie Said by Cardinal_Daughter

The Bentley decides that if its owner and the angel can’t figure out how they feel on their own, it’ll just have to help them along.

When you have a semi-sentient car who is often times witness to these two dorks, you can’t blame it for taking advantage of the radio and subtly* move them along. A humorous, lighthearted get together fic, a little bit of music is needed to open this angel and demon’s eyes.

* the word subtly is used subjectively

[Complete] [Oneshot]

Absconding with Harry verse* by obaewankenope (rexthranduil)

Harry Potter is stolen by Anthony J Crowley at the age of nine. These are the stories of how Harry James Potter fares with a demon and angel for uncles.

Full of sibilance

“You’re such a freak!” The rotund boy’s words echo across the garden of the house they seem to potentially live at—or at least one of them does—and reach Crowley’s ears easily enough. They instantly make him narrow his eyes behind his sunglasses. “No wonder your parents died! Probably to get away from you!”

What. The. Fuck.

A Good Omens-Harry Potter crossover series done by @obaewankenope! As of yet unfinished, this series is exactly what it is — Crowley absconding Harry away from the Dursleys and raising him, with the help of Aziraphale.

It’s a fun read, with a demon and an angel inserting themselves into Hogwarts to stay close to their nephew, not liking Dumbeldore (who left Harry with the Dursleys in the first place), the mutual pining between them, and smart usage of Parseltongue. I’m following this series closely to see what happens next — I’d love to see how the two interact with Sirius!

[Ongoing]

Thwarting Holy Plans by twyly56

Crowley hides a bunch of little kids in Hell during the Great Flood, so they don't drown. How monstrous of him.

Set after the Noah’s Ark scene, where Crowley abscons some kids and — practically— raises them. Not at all finished, but a good read with our favorite demon being good with kids and Soft. I’m really curious to see how this one continues!

[Ongoing]

Angel Network* by SpinnerDolphin

Aziraphale keeps a list.

—

Islington, caged beneath London (Check the locks upon leaving).

Raguel, LA (be certain his rent is paid).

Michael, Heaven, but adores Earth (keep away from bulls).

Castiel, alternate universe (don't ever go to that horrid place).

and, lately, Lucifer Morningstar, LA, who seems the sanest of the lot. It's all very confusing.

Amenadiel, LA, is also on the list, but Aziraphale reported to Amenadiel in the Rebellion and, well, some things are too strange for him even to tolerate.

Crowley's just tired of flying over the Atlantic. And turns out his boss? Well, he's kind of alright.

A Devil Put Aside (for me)

Aziraphale liked to keep tabs on his celestial buddies, but he was all tied up doing—Crowley didn’t really even know, being a lazy arse probably—so Crowley had gone to LA to check on Raguel.

But instead of a messed up archangel, he finds BLOODY LUCIFER HIMSELF. Bright side--well, weird side--the boss has apparently fallen in love with a human? So that's... something.

[A demon's perspective on Deckerstar. Or, for Good Omens fans, Crowley is totally bewildered when he finds out his boss kind of likes Earth, too. Should read clearly if you only know Lucifer or GO. Murder Mysteries is treated like ancient history, and explained in the narrative.]

Angel Network is ongoing series where Good Omens meets Lucifer, Supernatural, a tiny bit of Neverwhere, and Murder Mysteries (kind of). I utterly LOVE the characterizations in this series, and the fact that it’s a crossover of not two but more different shows/books/stories. If you were looking for that Lucifer, Good Omens, Supernatural crossover, I’d suggest this one!

[Ongoing]

* A series of fics rather than one singular one

[i-llbedammned]

Recovery

Inspired by the numerous fanarts of Crowley being taken care of by Aziraphale after the incident in the church, I decided to write a fic of it.  I will eventually also do a chapter where it is from Aziraphale’s perspective

Title:Recovery Word Count:2111 Summary: After the church scene in WWII, Aziraphale stops by to help Crowley recover from his wounds.

Read on Ao3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273104) or below the cut

It was a stupid thing to do, Crowley ruminated as he limped his way back to his apartment. It was a very stupid thing to do for someone who didn’t even deserve it. For an angel who told him he didn’t want to see him again because he wanted some holy water in case the forces of Hell came knocking at his door. For a stupid angel who looked at him like he was the second coming and whose face when he smiled lit up like the sun. The only angel to look at him with kindness since The Fall. That sweet angel…

Damn it.

It was still a stupid decision, even if he couldn’t convince himself that it was a regrettable one.

His feet ached worse than they had in ages, like he was still walking on broken glass even though he was long since out of the church. As he drove down the streets in his Bentley he was quite sure that he would be feeling the effects of this little bit of heroism for weeks to come. Wounds made by consecrated items and places didn’t heal the way that the typical damages did, a final spiteful spit in the face by the Heavens he supposed. As if they didn’t suffer enough when they fell.

By the time he reached his apartment, he was quite sure that there was blood pooling at the bottom of his shoes. He clambered out of the car practically dragging his feet along the pavement and feeling his socks squish unpleasantly. He wished there was a working lift but with the way power worked thanks to the war it rarely worked. With a snap of his fingers he used a bit of a demonic miracle to send power to it and take him up to his flat. Now was not the time he was going to trifle with stairs, not with how tired he felt after the church incident.

The hallway to his apartment never felt so long. The green wallpaper seemed to be mocking him as he passed it. As he struggled with the key in the door he mumbled under his breath that all of God’s creations seemed to be mocking him. Though he was damn sure that Hell was not watching him at this moment, but sometimes he still cursed existence simply out of gut reflex. What was taking this door so long? Was the lock jammed again? Was he the one responsible for doors jamming when you needed them to open the fastest or was that another minor demon?

The demon practically melted into the soft black carpet on his floor as the door swung open. With flair he flung himself onto the couch and lay for a few moments on his chest, burying his face in the pillows. It was so good to be home. Rolling over onto his back, he pulled his long legs to his chest and pried off his shoes.

Satan’s balls, that was even worse than he expected. There were thick layers of blisters, many of which had popped and spilled dark black blood all over his feet. Oh this was going to take a damned eternity to heal up. The stupid angel better appreciate the books that were saved.

“Oh dear, that looks even worse than I thought it would.” Came a soft voice from his doorway and a thrill of fear went through Crowley as he froze with one leg curled to his chest and the other dangling with a shoe still on at the end of the couch.

“Aziraphale!” the demon cried sitting up and trying to sling one arm casually over the back of his couch, as if the angel could not see his wounded foot from the front door, “What are you doing here?”

“I, well,” Aziraphale looked away, with the pretense of looking at Crowley’s unique décor, “I happened to be in the area and I wanted to check in on you after the whole ruckus at the church. “ He moved and sat down on the large black leather chair, next to the couch, not quite touching the demon, but letting his eyes drift down to rest on the exposed foot. His eyes welled up with tears and for a moment Crowley wanted to kick him out. He was a demon who chose to walk in a church, he didn’t need anybody’s sympathy for that. He knew what he was doing when he made that choice and now he had to suffer for it.

“Well no need to check up on me, I’m fine.” With a flick of his wrist he tugged a blanket down over his foot, sitting up with his legs splayed. His foot screamed in protest of anything touching it, making him hiss loudly despite his best efforts. A grimace was on his face afterwards.

“You most certainly are not fine.” Aziraphale got to his feet, sounding indignant and pointing at the stain on his grey shirt. Honestly, Crowley had no idea why he was suddenly so irritated. It wasn’t like they ever exactly were honest with how they were feeling or their wounds, “I can see the blood!”

“Oh that,” Crowley gave a shrug, “Blood’s in fashion now. War and all that.” He flicked his fingers and a glass of red wine appeared in his hands. Wine wasn’t the best, but a little alcohol helped with pain. At least if he was drunk he would forget about it. He took a long sip, looking over Aziraphale’s head to avoid meeting those tender eyes. “Let me see the wounds, I can help.” The angel’s voice softened.

“No, you don’t need to. I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.” Crowley growled. Between The Fall and living in actual Hell for quite a while before he convinced the others to let him play around the Garden of Eden and Earth, it wasn’t an exaggeration. If he thought about it like that, then the pain was easier to deal with.

“You are exasperating. Listen,” The angel knelt down by Crowley’s feet and gently tugged the blanket off, making him hiss. All the same, he didn’t move his feet away. Part of him wanted his friend to see the wounds he had gotten, wanted sympathy and understanding that he knew he would never get in Hell. “You got these wounds helping me. At least I can help make them better as payment.” “Payment?” You don’t owe me payment for anything!” Anger tinged the demon’s voice. Just like an angel to assume that everything a demon did always came with a price tag. Maybe he was just trying to do a nice thing for once!

“Then as a favor to you then.” Aziraphale had the remaining shoe in his hand, but his silvery eyes looked at Crowley waiting for a nod or something before he continued. How polite of him. Despite the pain a smirk crossed Crowley’s face, “Oh? An angel would owe a demon a favor?”

“One angel, specifically me, would owe one demon, specifically you, a favor. Yes.” The angel looked like he was going to be sick to his stomach which made the other laugh a low, deep chortle. Oh the things he could ask for were he a bit more inclined to be devious.

“Right. Get on with it then.” The expression on the demon’s face was sour, but he nodded and kept his eyes right on the angel as he undid the laces on his black leather shoes and gently removed it. “Oh dear.” Soft fingers brushed against his wounds and it stung, despite all the efforts to be gentle. Socks were peeled off and thrown in a bloody heap on the ground. “You really burned yourself badly.” Tears welled up in the angel’s eyes, “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve these. Not for-“ With a watery grin, Aziraphale broke off.

A non-committal grunt was all Crowley could manage. He was glad for the glasses covering his eyes. Despite his desire for sympathy there was almost something heartbreaking in getting it. It was like all the raw wounds in his heart were being exposed. Yes it was worth it, for him and all of his silly books. He’d do it again and again until his feet poured blood if given the chance.

“Be back in a tick.” A whirl of white and Aziraphale was gone. In the kitchen, Crowley heard the running of water and several drawers being opened. Closing his eyes Crowley drained the rest of his glass of wine, taking strength from the mild burn of the alcohol. With another flick of his fingers he refilled the glass and began drinking once more.

Humming, Aziraphale came back with some herbal smelling soap and clean bandages. Getting down to business, he took off his jacket and hat, laying them across the leather chair he had formerly been sitting on. Knowing exactly how painful this was going to be, he rolled up his sleeves and buttoned them into place. Damn, the angel looked so good when he was in business mode.

Once more Aziraphale knelt down on one knee. Taking one foot, he began to clean it with reverence, slowly and gently. Black blood poured into the tub of water and Crowley bit his lips to keep from crying out. Casting a glance up at him, never breaking his pattern of cleaning, Aziraphale said tenderly, “It’s alright if you need to cry out, my dear. I won’t judge you. What you are going through is tremendous. I can’t imagine how much it must hurt.”

With a grin Crowley shoved aside his pain and bluffed through gritted teeth, “No. This is fine. Feels like puppies.”

A soft murmured laugh came from Aziraphale, but he didn’t argue with Crowley’s perceptions of the world. Bless him, erm curse him? Whichever was the good one that wouldn’t burn him. He just continued cleaning.

Once the blood was clean, a cool salve was put on the wounds. Somehow it took the pain away and it smelled heavenly. “What’s that, angel?” Crowley picked up his head and put down his wine glass on the ground next to him, finishing up the second glass with a long draught.

“Family recipe,” Aziraphale responded, not bothering to elaborate. Heaven blessed medicine? My, he sure was taking a chance bringing that in here. There’d be Hell to pay if he got caught. There was a soft degree of honor, something soft and warm that was poured into his chest when Crowley realized that. This was far more than a misguided sense of pity and it wasn’t just anyone you brought out the heaven-blessed medicine for.

Resting an elbow on his knee, Crowley watched and let a genuine smile inch across his face as the angel worked without looking up. Aziraphale was focused upon the work he was doing, the soft lines of his face made more dream-like in the shadows of the apartment. His soft hands spread the pale blue unguent and wrapped the clean bandages around the wounds. The silvery-blonde hair of his hair made him positively luminous. Crowley watched the way his arms worked, the way that the muscles seemed to effortlessly work beneath the skin and noting how the layers of softness didn’t make the grip any less strong. He sat there admiring the way that the sweat gently beaded on the angel’s forehead and made some stray locks of hair stick in place when Aziraphale looked up.

Rather than looking away, Crowley sat there for a few moments and let their eyes linger upon each other. Electric sparks raced between them and for a moment Crowley wanted to cross the line that the Heavenly Forces had drawn in the sand ages before either of them were born. To let their lips meet and see where that led them. Understanding passed between them and Aziraphale’s smile lit up the whole room before a small, sad look entered into his gaze.

“Good night, my dear.” The angel knelt low and placed a soft kiss above each ankle before rising. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you some time soon.”

On impulse Crowley blurted, “You don’t have to leave, you know. I could get wine and-“

Aziraphale shook his head, responding with the utmost patience “Another time. There’s a war and I have to go put away my books. But I will see you again. I assure you.”

As he left, the ghost of his lips and of the way his hands held his poor wounded feet danced across Crowley’s memory. The grin never left his lips. It was good to have his dear friend back.