#Only just barely above Crowley

[ineffableigh]

Wait what the hell is Aziraphale mouthing here. Lip-readers sound off!!

This is RIGHT before "The Metatron! I don't think he's as bad a fellow - well I think I might have misjudged him."

His line was: "I, um... [mouthing something]" THEN the above line.

This can't be nothing. Can it? "We need to get out"??? Not sure. EDIT: I agree with @maximumpenguinpuppy here, I think he's saying

"WE NEED HELP."

Further deep dive on the most painful conversation I've ever seen:

Azi makes the most INTENSE EYE CONTACT I'VE EVER SEEN during "I think I might have misjudged him."

"PLEASE HEAR WHAT I AM SAYING TO YOU RIGHT NOW."

After a few intercuts with the flashbacks we get to the really painful bit.

"He said that I could appoint you... to be an angel." His voice is so strained and high pitched even for him, here.

"Like the old times, only even NICER!"

The super nice old times where you couldn't be together at all, eh?

Crowley starts his confession and we get the "What the blazes is he doing?" face as he starts to realize Crowley is NOT picking up on any of this. Azi's breathing heavily here, revealing how very stressed the fuck out he is.

After this point is when things get really hard to interpret. Aziraphale sounds so genuine about "Come with me!" and "We can make a difference, I'll run it and you'll be my second in command." It feels like Crowley starting his very real confession broke through the charade of 'The Metatron knows something and we're in fucking danger'.

He blathers about Angels and Doing Good before breaking again, letting the "I need you!" slip. We get this HALF A SECOND look of the most profound sadness right before the "I don't think you understand what I'm offering you."

"You idiot. We could have been us."

Azi looks like he can't believe just how badly this went. This is right before he looks away.

OH NO NOW I'VE SEEN CROWLEY'S FACE RIGHT WHEN HE STARTS TO GO OVER FOR THE KISS AH MY FEELS

Azi is not hiding his emotions well, right before the grab:

Then of course we get the I Forgive You, which sounds like his most bitter one yet. A flash of anger and resentment, frustration, immediately followed by remorse and grief.

Having seen all that, my best guess now is:

Metatron made the (barely) veiled De Facto Partnership threats, implying he knows about the body swap and, implicitly, threatening Crowley with Holy Water, at least to some extent.

Aziraphale tries his damnedest to communicate to Crowley that Something is Fucking Wrong and they Have to Go to Heaven to Fix It.

Crowley, having been primed by the various chats with Nina and then the 2v1 chat with Nina and Maggie RIGHT before this, clearly timed by the Metatron, fully misses all of this and takes it all at face value.

Crowley starts to give his confession and Aziraphale realizes what he's trying to say, tries to adjust his Heaven Pitch to hinge on staying together as a team to fix things."

"You cannot leave this bookshop." "Nothing lasts forever." Azi has chosen the worst way to make another attempt at saying he has no choice but to leave the bookshop. I don't think this is about the Second Coming, given his reaction to the info later.

Everything deteriorates from there as Aziraphale tries again to imply something is Fucking Wrong by going back to the "Angels! Doing good!" shtick, but it's too late. It's always too late.

"I don't think you understand what I'm offering you." He doesn't but Azi is also communicating it very badly, likely because the Metatron is indeed watching.

Crowley thinks this is all real so he gives his No Nightingales line, etc etc. Aziraphale can tell there's no fixing this, gives up.

Crowley swoops in with The Kiss as a last ditch effort to get Azi to listen. Azi WAS listening, but cannot respond other than in anger and frustration that Crowley, in his view, refuses to listen to him again, has called him an idiot again. This happens multiple times throughout the show so there's history to fuel that assumption.

This is the precise outcome the Metatron was vying for, to split them up and emotionally/psychologically weaken them, to ensure there was no chance of a united front as there was for Armageddidn't.

My heart hurts, ow.

[vidavalor]

Hey, so...

Have you all noticed *how* Crowley and Aziraphale are drinking in 1941? And by this I mean... that they barely are? <wink>

Crowley has been drinking for millennia by this point. He gets drunk as Bildad the Shuite in 2500 B.C.. Aziraphale has been drinking since sometime prior to the scene in Rome, which is also when we see them drink together for the first time. *This* scene is 1941 so countless years and meet ups between Crowley and Aziraphale have taken place since and considering how these two drink together in other situations-- like how completely wasted they were in the "eleven years ago" scene in S1-- this one here in 1941 is *interesting.* Why?

Because friends, that is *one bottle of wine* on the table beside Aziraphale and I can still see wine in it above the label, which means what's currently in their glasses is less than the first half of the bottle... which means the glasses they are sharing now that Aziraphale just poured are their first drinks of the evening... and neither of them are really drinking much of it. That signals an intent not to drink very much at all-- the open bottle probably being plenty for the two of them. They're going slowly, without an intention to get drunk, but not really just to savor together a particularly interesting vintage. They don't seem to be noticing or tasting the wine at all. Aziraphale poured them both a good amount but not overkill but both of them so far in this scene just take cautious, *small* sips of the wine... and they don't need to conserve it, ok?

It's not the war. It's canon that Aziraphale has a case of Chateauneuf-de-Pape that he picked up in the 1920s sitting in the back of this shop at this very minute that he doesn't bust open until "Eleven Years Ago" in the future of S1 and Crowley is a bootlegger in this moment in history lol and also they're both literally magic. They could miracle wine from halfway around the world if they wanted to. There's wine to drink if they want to get drunk...

...and they both have silently agreed that they don't want to.

It is the *only* time that they drink together in a scene that we've seen where they have a mutual agreement to not drink that much. Even when Aziraphale *didn't drink*, he still got *food* drunk while Crowley was drinking in the Job minisode.

But when they're having a drink together in 1941, both of them are very clearly, by a kind of unspoken agreement from the vibes in the room, *not really drinking.* Just a little. A few sips that will lead to a glass or two a piece total, at most-- that bottle split between them would be a lot from the air of and the pace of them in this scene.

And I mean... forgetting for a moment that Aziraphale will get drunk without issue in other scenes, we all know Crowley, right? This Crowley...

In S1, part of *God's narration* lol includes that Crowley and Aziraphale had been drinking for six straight hours in the bookshop together in "Eleven Years Ago." Rome is one thing because they had just had just met up so we don't know how sloshed they got over oysters at Petronius' new restaurant (and would seem likely that they did) but in every other scene when they drink together, basically, they drink quite a bit and both of them usually wind up drunk, especially Crowley.

So why is 1941 different?

Because they're drinking like people who both want to mess around, that's why.

Yeah, people mess around while drunk and I'm sure the same can be said for any of the few Effort-curious angels and demons outside of these two but Crowley and Aziraphale are not a casual hookup to one another-- they're in love, they're best friends, and they haven't been together before after literal millennia of pining and yearning for it. It's not something that's happening while they're drunk. They want to be sober and for it to be special and the evening here in 1941 has really got everything lining up for a perfectly romantic night, if they want it to be. All the rescuing one another and little glances and now Aziraphale's asked Crowley back to the bookshop for a late night drink and they're both drinking like they want it to be tonight.

They're both silently telling one another they want something to happen by the fact that they're drinking with no intention to get drunk. They want to be present. They want to remember. They want each other's explicit consent so they're barely drinking the wine so that it's evident that if things get intimate, it's not because either or both of them are drunk, and no one has to stop over concern over that.

Aziraphale is looking at Crowley looking all dashing, unusually quiet for him, maybe a bit nervous and still hiding a little behind his glasses-- Hell's biggest lush taking the world's smallest, barely-there sip of that wine lol-- and is like how many more tiny sips do we need to take before I can crawl onto his lap...?

Aziraphale's like omg, the sex is going to be amazing... thank God I don't yet know in this moment that something-- like some Zombie Nazis, probably-- will stop us and we'll still be on trying to kiss one another 80 years from now...

[twst-darling]

˗ˏˋSomewhere in the Sands of Timeˎˊ˗

Pairing: (General) Lilia Vanrouge x Fem!Reader [or Fem!OC]

Summary: The spell to send you home backfires, and you land the past where you encounter one General Vanrouge.

CW: Smut [porn with very little plot, vaginal fingering, blow jobs/skull fucking, facials, degradation, snowballing, hate fucking?, spit, rough sex, use of words like whore, slight dub-con (but the reader is into it)], Language, Violence [threats of violence, threats of murder], 1st Person Point of View, Fem!Reader, AFAB!Reader, Tall!Lilia

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I initially wrote this with my OC in mind. However, it is vague enough that it can be read as a reader insert. Song title is taken from Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down

Having a sword held against my throat wasn’t on my bingo card for ‘Strange Happenings in Twisted Wonderland.’ Then again, neither was a very tall, very angry Lilia Vanrouge. His hair cascaded down his back like an inky black waterfall. Rage simmered beneath his vermilion irises—a bizarre sight, given how friendly they usually were—and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would behead me, given the opportunity.

This Lilia is not my Lilia. Not yet, anyway.

This Lilia has fire in his blood and brimstone for bones. I can feel his heat radiating through the tough leather armor that covers his body. He bares his fangs, crimson eyes sharp and unyielding. Long gone is the cute upperclassman I’d come to know. 

The whole thing is rather fuzzy. One second, I was walking through a portal that was supposed to take me home. The next? I’m sprawled on the ground with a gleaming blade made of gemstones and magic thrust against my jugular. 

I can barely breathe with how Lilia’s knees dig into my ribs. It’s intentional. And though I know I shouldn’t waste my breath, I can’t help but whimper. My hands lay unbound by my head, but I dare not move them. Not even an inch.

“Your boldness is admirable, yet foolish, mortal scum. Sneaking into fae territory shall wreak nothing but the most exquisite suffering.”

“I-I didn't—”

Lilia presses forward, practically crushing my lungs. “I didn’t say you could speak.”

The edge of his sword—cleaver?—cuts into my neck, and I yelp. “Lilia, please don’t do this, we’re friends!” 

“Lies!” he hisses. “You cannot sway my mind, mortal, with your feeble magic. I hold no familiarity for you, nor shall I ever.” His lip curls, nose wrinkling as if smelling something foul. “I will take great pleasure in crushing the bones in your body until they are dust to be scattered by the wind. It seems only fitting for a human spy who has made it so far behind our barricade.” 

Oh, Sevens, he was serious. 

“Wait, wait, wait, please—!”

“Begging won’t save your life, worm.”

“Let me explain—”

“You tiresome, incompetent creature, I demand you cease this incessant—”

“—I’m from the future!”

It shouldn’t have worked, but my frantic cry made him hesitate. Maybe it was my clothes—the uniform skirt I had sewn looked out of place compared to Lilia’s armor—or my hair. Or maybe, just maybe, Lilia sensed something was off about my arrival the whole time. 

My knowledge of Lilia's time as General in Meleanor's army was limited, a vague impression left from a magic induced coma. But it was nearly impossible to deny the facts as they were shoved right in my face. (Err, against my neck?)

Somehow, Crowley's spell had backfired and not taken me back home to my dimension, but into the past.

Lilia braced his arm next to my head, his long hair forming a curtain around our faces. His nose is inches from mine, but I feel no comfort in the proximity. “Talk. Before I grow tired and find something else to occupy that mouth.”

Lilia’s thick cock rams down my throat mercilessly. I grip his thighs, allowing the fae to use my mouth as he pleases. From above, he grunted, baring his sharp teeth like a predator snarling. Globs of spit and drool dribbled past my lips and down my chin, splashing to the dirt below. The thick leather straps of his armor gave away to my nails as I dug them deep, allowing Lilia to use me as he pleased. My throat burned from the harsh, stuttering movements of his hips. He fucked my face so hard it was murderous as if he were trying to make up for not beheading me before.

Yet another stamp on that infernal bingo card—but I can’t say I hate this one.

I would have been incredibly embarrassed at my gagging noises if the burning between my legs had not taken precedence. My eyes roll back, briefly catching a glimpse of the General’s ecstasy-clouded expression. His pink lips parted in a silent gasp, gaze raised to the heavens. 

Abruptly, Lilia pulls out and begins fisting his cock. His movements are furious as he hunches over. “I’m going to smear that filthy human expression with my seed—paint you white, since I can't paint you red. Maybe I'll leave you like that, so your brethren can see your betrayal written across that pretty little face. Mmm, just like this.” 

I close my eyes just in time for thick, hot spurts of Lilia’s cum sprayed over my face. My knees trembled, and I stifled a moan between my teeth and tongue.

Lilia wasn’t done.

He pushes me, and I fall into the mossy underbrush. Lilia takes my knees and peels them apart, staring at the feeble scrap of cloth, preserving what little dignity I have left. I’m trembling again, fixated on the sheer size of Lilia’s hand as it practically swallows my thigh in his massive grip. 

“How pathetic,” he coos. Lilia drags one finger down my thigh, ghosting the hemline of my panties. “You’re drenched.” He touches the mound of my pelvis before hooking his index finger around the gusset and prying it aside. “Never have I seen a human so eager. The rest of your race would be dumbfounded to know their kinsmen loved choking on faerie cock.”

I bite my lip, a blush burning my cheeks. The cold forest air kissed my exposed skin, but I felt none of it. Only the intense searing sensation of General Vanrouge’s stare, his slitted pupils sharp like knives. His digits danced across my lips, collecting slick, teasing my poor throbbing core. 

“Ah, but you said we would be friends in this future. Pupils.” Lilia snickers, brushing against my clit. “Perhaps it’s not so strange after all. Perhaps you let me have my way with you as much as I’d like—like the sweet, foolish girl you are.”

Lilia crawled up my body, reminiscent of the one he’d had me at not so long ago. Only, this time, I didn’t need a sword to my neck to keep me in place. Lilia sunk two fingers knuckle-deep inside my pussy, abating that hollow feeling inside. 

“General,” I moan.

He chuckles again and licks a broad stripe across my cheek. He surges forward, curling his fingers at the same instant our lips meet. My mouth opens, but Lilia swallows the cry. He snaked his tongue into my mouth, pushing a copious amount of his cum for me to taste. It passes between us until I swallow it, painfully aware of every second it seeps down my insides. He pulls away too soon, but not before spitting on me for good measure. It lands in my mouth, still agape and from panting. 

“Such a cute, little faerie whore. It’s almost endearing.” Lilia spreads the fingers he’s buried inside my cunt, and it’s magnificent. He’s so deep, his slender digits pressing into spots I could never dream of touching. “I ought to fuck you open, now. That’s what you want, isn’t it, pretty one? I can only imagine how this hot little hole of yours will squeeze me.” Lilia slips his fingers from my cunt, only to deliver a sharp smack to my clit. “If there’s one thing that comes from your hellish future, I’m glad to know I shall have a tight cunt to warm me, even if it is a human’s.”

I could correct him. I probably should. But the instant his swollen cockhead breaches my pussy, all coherent thought dissipates into a lusty puff of smoke.

I'll never be able to look Lilia in the eye again if I ever get back.

[brainwormcity]

No matter how many times I watch the final fifteen... I feel wrecked all over again. The way Aziraphale just barely wraps an arm around him with his left hand and the fingers of his right flutter over Crowley's shoulder, fighting the urge to hold him against him. His eyes falling shut and the almost imperceptible way he moves and lets Crowley pull him closer. The way his right hand hovers, the next time we see it, just above Crowley's back before he pulls away...

Meanwhile, Crowley with a white knuckle grip on his lapels and sweat on his brow. You can see him shaking. There's so much desperation and this air of futility, like one last ditch effort towards thwarting the apocalypse all over again.

The bitter frustration in Crowley's voice when he says, "don't bother," probably more closed off to Aziraphale than he's ever been since they day they met. Yet, he still stands there and watches the only creature in the universe he's ever loved disappear into the grips of a fascistic bureaucracy that has not only mocked him for millennia but mere moments before was threatening to destroy him.

6,000 years. 6,000 years! He knew. He absolutely knew that Aziraphale loved him too. There was no doubt in his voice when he remarked on how they could always rely on each other and how they had denied themselves their relationship all of their existence. He just hoped that Aziraphale would have chosen their side instead and not ask him to change. It's all so goddamn heartbreaking.

[wafflesandd1ck]

Weird little thought I just had.

"You have to be a dominion, throne or above" Muriel when explaining to crowley why they can't access, Gabriel's file.

Crowley flips it open and says. "I wasn't always a demon, and they never change their passwords."

In the first scene, we get of the inside of crowleys flat, we see a giant throne and matching desk.

Here's a behind the scenes pic for a better view.

I don't think God/heaven only dropped crowley. I think they dropped his entire department into hell

I think aziraphale was right. "Rumor has it, in 6,000 years they will be shutting all of this down again"

Ok bare with me, this is gonna be such a sloppy tangle of thoughts.

I think God has no intention of trying to make humans and the Earth again.

Crowley, being the ever-present sass master, told God off and said something along the lines of "you need me to make galaxies. " try to twist God's arm.

God said "oh ok bro" and dropped all of it AND gave crowley snake eyes.

The idea of "you created the stars you are blind to, you can keep your thrown but you only have power because WE gave it to you" feels totally up heavens alley. Making crowley take the thrown he fought for and got cast down for would be such a stab.

He helped create billions of galaxies, and what does he have to show for it? A damn chair.

And not just any chair mind you.

Crowleys throne also has symbolism. Now, the prop itself is called a "king Solomon throne," and it sells for roughly 3 thousand dollars.

THATS CROWLEYS EXACT THRONE.

Here's the kicker, though. King Solomons throne is a real thing that's mentioned in the Hebrew bible.

"The throne was seen as belonging to David, or to God Himself. In 1 Chronicles 29:23, it says, "Solomon sat on the throne of the LORD as king"

HOWEVER!

The throne is described in 1 Kings 10:18 as being made of ivory overlaid with gold, with six steps, a round top, and two lions standing beside it. Meaning it looks like this:

This painting (not the official. Its digital rendition) is called 'the throne of solomon' by Raphael.

Remember how Crowley HATES the 14th century with a passion? Hated it so much that he tried to sleep through it? Ya wanna know what became insanely popular in the 14th century?

A "14th century throne of Solomon" refers to the concept of a royal throne heavily inspired by the biblical description of King Solomon's throne, which was often depicted in art and used as a symbol of power by monarchs in the 14th century, particularly in Europe, where the imagery of a richly decorated, elevated throne with a canopy became a common representation of royal authority; essentially, it was a symbolic representation of Solomon's throne rather than a literal artifact from that time period.

Crowleys. Throne. Was used by monarchs to stroke their own egos. Crowleys throne became so popular that the humans started using HIS throne as a symbol of unjust judgment and believing they deserve to judge others as they judge themselves. As crowley judged God for wanting to shut down the universe.

Idk. Maybe I'm overthinking it, but I think the symbolism here, intentional or not is really cool.

Crowley was stripped of every inch of his power and position and was hacked out of heaven like garbage. could you imagine your boss firing you and hating you so much, he threw out your desk and chair too?? That's next level, petty. Then your own boss, hundreds of years later. Dedicates an entire art and religious movement around rubbing your nose in your mistake?

Sorry, this is so wordy and scrambled. I just wanted to share it.

[dalliancekay]

Crowley is not stupid, Aziraphale is not an idiot and other assorted thoughts

Or how nothing is black and white and my bullying home and religious trauma is a metaphor not a direct translation to what our immortals experience. And vice versa. -

I don't know what it's like to hang out on Earth since the beginning but I'm sure it is richer than we can imagine we could imagine.

Our two favourite, currently men shaped beings, are captured for our storytelling enjoyment when their time on the Green Planet is about to be cut off.

One has been thrown out from their family home ages ago, we are not sure for what misdemeanour exactly, and is now working for a dumpy place where they don't mind inflicting pain if you misbehave nor do they care whether a trial is fair. So, a mafia, basically. And our hero is tasked with collecting new additions to the unhappy family on top of that. He doesn't much care for it and seems to do the bare minimum only.

The other has been sent to the young planet to guard the indigenous humans and told something vague about an Ineffable Plan that will all work out when there's a War in a few thousand years, which 'our, the Good, side' will win and everyone will be happy. Just tell the humans to behave and if they don't kick up a fuss, we will welcome them Here.

And Here is a vast, empty place, well lit, with busy, lonely bees working and filing, and checking, making sure rules are in place and are followed as written and everything is ticking over; the higher ranks' punishments rare but swift. Everyone has learnt a lesson when half of them were unceremoniously fired when someone said some nasty things about the CEO. So things might not be perfect but at least if you stick to your tasks you will be left alone.

So, we meet demon Crowley, whose family threw him out as mentioned above and his job sucks and he hates it but it's not hard and his placement is rather a nice place so he does his best to not to lose the position. Sometimes he wonders what is the point of it all and that's when he runs into his adorable archenemy, the angel Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was sent to Earth and given a job, one that doesn't seem to quite work out (or does it?) as he follows his heart instead of the rules almost immediately but surprisingly is not punished for it by the CEO. So he spends his time helping the natives, following orders he receives as best as he can and when he runs into his archenemy the demon, he feels a certain strange tingle and flutter in his heart at the sight of the rulebreaker.

They have done a fair job of it for 6 millennia. They avoid getting fired and even manage to take on each other's tasks to lighten up the load and the (pointlessly) random business trips (does anyone Up or Down there ever heard of geography?)

When we meet our heroes in present day-ish, they've been told the End of the World sequence has been triggered and life as they know it is about to end. 

How do they feel about this? Well. Our demon is appalled. He knew this was coming. But not really. It's just something to sort of work towards right? After all, the Earth has been developing rather nicely. The alcohol got better, the food for his Angel, the music got interesting, the clothes tighter... He's having a good time. Yes, he pushes his luck sometimes. Sleeps too long, gives in and saves someone instead of ruining them. He gets into all kinds of tangles to spend time with his crush. He is rash but he's not stupid. He knows what's at stake. But he's angry. And sometimes that's hard to contain. He does go too fast. But Aziraphale is always there to catch him. And if he can't, he waits and worries and is there when Crowley returns.

So about the angel? He knows he should dislike the demon. He knows he should follow his directives. He knows he should not meet or talk to Crowley. And what does he do? Gets himself arrested in his fanciest silks so they can have crepes when the world and humanity is bringing them down with their relentless hate towards each other. He puts on a magical performance when the demon fails to deliver some contraband liquor in the midst of the Blitz bombing.

And, now. Here's the funny bit. Angel has gotten himself a part time job in the past few centuries. He's had a few before, but not quite like this. He has a place he loves now. A safe, cluttered place where a demon is welcome. It's not much like his original home. You could say... it's rather quite the opposite of it. In any case, he never really got on with his managers but tbf he likes his job. It makes the humans happy and he loves the humans and loves making them happy.

He also does not want the world to end. But his fam has always told him that once this bit is over, an even better one will come along. What that bit is was never quite explained but then, asking questions was always frowned upon and rather vehemently so. He's noticed this from the get go... unlike a red headed angel he once knew...

What is my point?

That neither Crowley or Aziraphale are wrong. Or right. Doing the correct thing. Or not. Me. You. We come from broken families, we have been friends and lovers with bad people, we have escaped religions, cults, home countries. Lies. Rules. Hate. We have fought for our love to be recognised as love.

Crowley and Aziraphale live in a world where Heaven and Hell is real. Where Satan rules over a smelly place with mould on the walls and God is engrossed in her sci fi novels and seems to have forgotten about Her Earth project.

You can't call Aziraphale stupid for believing in God. She exists. Whether She has a plan is open to debate, sure. She seems to have claimed so at some point, but then, we all change don't we. Maybe She changed Her mind and forgot to tell the upper management. Maybe She thought She didn't need to spell out all the details to them so they kill Job's kids. Maybe She was vague on purpose much in the style of King Henry II and Thomas Beckett.. Anyway. Back to Aziraphale, our angel on Earth. He is kind, has hope, wants to believe after thousands, millions of years. And this is not stupid. Aziraphale does and is brave, courageous things. And he's slowly learning to trust himself more too. To know the difference. It started with the sword and his overthinking on the giving away of it. He made a decision to protect Job's children. Risked Falling for it. Trusted the demon over his bosses. Not because Heaven is WRONG. Yes, they are. But the thing is they don't care. And Aziraphale does. He cares about humanity. And he cares about Crowley.

Nobody noticed (or did they) how our two field agents fell in love (neither did they tbf) and how fiercely they guard the little secret they share. The smiles and the glances, the small flowers of hope that things can change one day.

And they did change. Plan A, War and Destruction, did not work out. The youngster they sent from Below decided he likes the new place and refused to ruin it. They both learned things. They are still learning. The demon how to trust again. The angel how to question things.

So what's next? The place Above is going to send their trusted agent. He followed the rules last time seamlessly. It did not quite work out but no problem, they'll send Him out again. With a rather more final arrangement.

In the meantime, the disgraced and rather troubling Earth agents have been lying low. Unsure of their places and overall safety, they went on with their lives as best as they could until the angel happened to help his former boss run away with his paramour from the other side and is visited by the Big Boss.

Big Boss wastes no time and suggests to our angel he should come back Upstairs and take the place of his disgraced superior. To use his skills. To be better looked after I suppose. New opportunities. To be close to the big upcoming decisions or - under a close watchful eye.

Aziraphale, not surprisingly, refuses. He does not want to put any of his 'skills' to any good causes but his own. But then. THEN. He is not so subtly made aware that his dangerous liaisons with the other side have been noted and his help in the latest Complication might not go unpunished if he's not careful.

And this job offer suddenly seems FAR more sinister than it did 15 minutes ago. Especially when it is handed over with a coffee (that he does not much like) from a place called Give Me Coffee Or Give me Death.

Our angel goes home to cautiously tell his demon about the trouble they are in and his world comes crashing down around him.

This post turned out to be completely different to what I originally wanted to write. Is there a point? You decide.

Aziraphale's decision makes complete sense, he loves the Earth, his home and Crowley over and above everything else. And he WILL fight for their safety. AND the humans in the process if he can.

This is my very first Tumblr post. Way to go me etc. Please be kind.

[benevolentcalamity]

Vil Schoenheit as a boyfriend

If someone wants my thoughts on another character, just hmu cause I have TWST brainworms and nobody to ramble for hours on them about. (That was barely English, but I held on and a sentence came out.)

Anyway.

Also these'll be SFW, if you want NSFW just ask.

-He's your living alarm clock for your skincare and vitamins (if you choose to take any). He makes sure you're using everything in the right order, down to remembering sunscreen. Your morning and bedtime routines are shared, for that's when you have time to talk to each other outside of the brief breaks in his schedule.

-Whenever he performs, he looks for you in the crowd, putting his entire chest into it once he sees you. Above all, not only does he want to be the fairest in the land, but he wants to be someone you can be proud of. Likewise, he encourages your dreams and aspirations, harsh as his words can sometimes be.

-On days he has nothing to do, you're his first thought. He asks you to pack your bags and it's an immediate vacation. Unless your desire is to be home, then you guys just spend the day drinking tea and talking. He loves both of these, dearly.

-Crowley doesn't do his job right, so it's frequent you sleep together. From when one confesses to the other, even, it's decided. And given he's a dormleader he isn't questioned. Between all of us though, sleeping with you is a more enjoyable thing than performing. Because of him you have a habit of frequently washing the bedsheets.

-He can't stay away from you fresh after a shower. Hair up in a towel and pajamas on? Bathrobe? Big shirt and underwear? Yes, please. You smell divine and you're extra soft. Especially no pants, be it in a nightgown or big shirt; he really likes to just lay his head on your lap. Not in a seduce-y kind of way, but just being near you.

-How much power do you have over this man? What is your secret? Grim screams, for he does not know.

[cyber-dump-171]

Chapter 4: Crewel & Crowley

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

← Chapter 3 | Masterlist | Chapter 5 →

Word count: 4.5k.

WARNING: brief mentions of possible drug addiction and smuggling pills.

Note: this is more of a filler chapter, but, Heartslabyul's arc begins next chapter. Enjoy!

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The door opens with a rather loud creak, giving way to an empty office plunged in darkness, the only thing he can see is the mahogany desk illuminated by the silver moon and some pictures depicting the “Great Seven” slowly floating up and down a few meters above the floor.

If someone asked Crowley why his workspace is so austere, the crow would reply, "less is better". It's more professional, cleaner, makes a better impression, and can also be intimidating. But in reality, he rarely uses this space, preferring to work in the office of his subordinate and “close friend,” Divus Crewel.

His office is much more cozy than his, the reduced space and furniture-lined walls can be claustrophobic to some, but to him, it is just perfect. Besides, Crewel's taste in decor and color is trendy yet classy, and the crow man understands why the fashion enthusiast and scholarship science nerd ended up as the Pomefiore dorm leader during his high school years.

Originally, Crewel found it frustrating that the bird man was constantly swinging by to his workplace, already annoyed that he barely had any alone time during the day and then the flamboyant man was invading and working in his personal office. 

It started with their papers and files getting mixed up, then Crowley left empty cups and plates strewn around his desk, and the breaking point was when he found the crow man’s mask and coat hanging from his office chair.

Crewel told him to get lost and use his own office. 

Crowley offered to double his salary and extend his vacation days in exchange for using his office. 

A deal was quickly struck.

And he'd be working there right now if he hadn't been so rudely kicked out by the potionology teacher. A little birdie (Sam) told Crewel that Crowley had placed the magicless kids in the health hazard that is the Ramshackle Dorm.

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Crowley's concentration is interrupted when the office door bursts open and Crewel steps in, his fluffy white and black coat nowhere in sight. His eyebrows are furrowed so tightly that they might melt together as he shouts angrily at the headmaster. “Explain to me why, in the name of the Great Seven, you thought it was okay to put these children in that house!?” his screams echo through the room.

“Good evening to you too, Divus,” the man in front of him sneers before slamming the door and walking over to the desk, hands on his hips. “Don’t ‘good evening’ me! Answer the damn question!” the crow man can already feel the headache coming on as his brain pounds at his friend's screams.

“Well, where else was I supposed to put them? I wouldn't let them just walk out of here, this world is very dangerous! You know I'm a very benevolent person,” he mutters the last part with a grin, proud of his actions. On the contrary, Crewel wants to gouge out the crow's beady little golden eyes and slap him across the face. “Benevolent!? Dire, just last week we were talking about tearing that thing down after the ceiling almost collapsed on Trein!”

Ah, he's on a first-name basis now, that’s not good.

“If you feel so bad for them, why don’t you house them, then?” Crowley proudly retorts, finally lifting his gaze from the paperwork, noticing his friend’s flat and unimpressed expression. “I live in a one-bedroom apartment. I’m not about to add three teenagers into the mix and force them to sleep in the sofa bed.” 

That's a lie, it was actually a two-bedroom apartment, but he turned the other room into a walk-in closet with a huge mirror... What? He ran out of room for his clothes!

“What about your house? I know you have plenty of space,” Crewel crosses his arms, remembering last year's staff holiday party that Crowley begrudgingly hosted in his home after pulling the short stick from the pile. The crow man scoffs, offended by the idea. “There’s not enough space for the four of us there.”

“Dire, you live in a mansion!” “I value my space!” “And not mine!?”

Crewel sighs, throwing his head back exhausted from this pointless conversation. He fails to understand why his “friend” is so reluctant to give these kids a proper space to live. “Did you tell them that they can get food from the cafeteria? Or to use the gym showers?” Crowley quickly averts his gaze, shyly twiddling his fingers as he remembers the deal. “I… um… well…”

“Crowley,” the potionology teacher warns in a low tone and the crow man can feel the rage that emanates from the man, making him even more nervous to admit what now seems like a really bad idea. “I kinda… told them that… well, that they'd have to work for their food and clothing,” he watches in horror as Crewel goes slack-jawed, the color draining from his face as he processes the sentence. “But! Don’t worry, I’ll give them a good salary and plenty of time to rest!”

He says this as if it were a good solution.

“Child labor!? Crowley, we’re going to get sued!” 

“They can’t sue us, they don’t have valid IDs!” 

“Not them, the government, you moron!” Oh… 

“Well, I'll just draft some contracts to cover our ass, we'll be fine, don’t worry!” 

“They're minors, they can't sign them without their parent's permission!” 

“One of them is 18! The blonde one... I think…” 

“And the other two?” 

“Well, if you're so worried about them, why don't you adopt them!?” 

“Because, legally, they don't exist in this world! Also, I'm too young for children!” 

“You're 32!” 

“Shut up! You're older!”

Ah, this conversation is getting nowhere.

Crewel runs his fingers through his hair, completely ruining the hairstyle he spent a few good minutes on this morning. This is bad, terrible, even a disaster! Throughout the entire debacle of the entrance ceremony, he watched from the sidelines in pity as the faces of the three children fell in horror and shock when the mirror declared that their home didn't exist.

He can't imagine it… suddenly being ripped away from your world and thrown into a dimension where your only support system is two strangers close to your age and an idiot headmaster who can't even house you properly while forcing you to work. He gets it, it's expensive enough to maintain this school and repair the walls and hallways from other students' mischief, but...

For the sake of the Great Seven, he lives in a mansion and enjoys a good salary that's close to six figures, so he can spare a few thaumarks! Besides, Crowley can't even use the excuse of “crow-like nature” to take and keep shiny things. That is the behavior of a magpie!

Despite all the talk about "disrespectful puppies" and his desperate need to take a long break from his students, Crewel still loves and cares for them. And these three kids struck a chord with him, reminding him of his childhood. 

It was also heartbreaking as he walked by the Ramshackle dormitory and watched the three students cover the lower half of their faces with their shirts as they shook the dust off the blankets and old pillows they were going to sleep on tonight. 

The teacher turns to face the headmaster, who has taken his silence as an indication that the conversation is over, and returns to his paperwork, scribbling something unintelligible on the manila pages. Ugh, if only he could get out of his office to think of a solution... Wait a minute! That's it!

“All right, since you're so stubborn and selfish, you can't set foot in my office or talk to me until those kids are sleeping in a safe place and have proper food and clothing!” Crewel grabs the back of Crowley's coat, the crow man gasping in surprise as the teacher tucks the documents that were sprawled on the desk under his arm. 

He was going to threaten to quit, but he needs this job. That set of platinum rings his favorite designer released the other day won't pay for itself.

“Wha- Divus, what in the world!?” the door of the office flies open as the headmaster is unceremoniously kicked out into the hallway, a heavy pile of papers shoved hard against his chest, causing him to momentarily lose his breath. “I said what I said... I'm changing the lock on my office as well. Goodbye now.”

As soon as the piece of wood is slammed shut, Crowley snaps out of his stupor and turns to the blocked entrance, papers falling to the floor as he loudly bangs his decorated fists on the door. “DIVUS, I'M SORRY! CAN WE PLEASE TALK!?” a muffled groan interrupts his tantrum, but the potionology teacher does not attempt to get up from his chair and reason with the crow.

Whining and yelling, the headmaster continues to demand entry and a calm conversation, the complete opposite of his current childish behavior. In his stupor, the crow man fails to notice another member of the staff rounding the corner of the antique hallway, the fluffy, chubby cat in his arms yawning sleepily as his golden eyes suddenly focus on the Headmaster. 

And his owner gazes horrified at the scene.

“Crowley! What is the meaning of all this shouting!?” the booming voice of Mozus Trein echoes through the walls as the crow man turns to face the sound, his beady golden eyes widening in relief as he sprints towards the faculty member.

“Trein! Thank the Seven! Divus has gone mad! He kicked me out of my office!” before the older man can even process the scene unfolding in front of him, Crewel's angry voice intervenes from the other side. “It's MY office, Crowley. Yours is at the top of the building!”

“I thought you weren't talking to me!” he's being petty now, and he knows it, but he can't help it. “Yes, because you're making a ruckus and not respecting my boundaries! GO AWAY!” the two of them return to their pissy fight, Lucius, Trein's cat, ducks his head with an annoyed “meow” and covers his ears with his little paws.

“Enough of this display! You two should be ashamed of yourselves, you're grown men fighting like children. Imagine what would happen if a student saw you two like this. And answer my question, what caused this kerfuffle in the first place?” as Crowley opens his mouth to explain, Crewel cuts him off and sums up the situation in a matter of seconds.

The hall is filled with a palpable and tense silence as Trein's eyes narrow on the headmaster, who nervously shrinks his shoulders and twiddles his fingers. Man, he forgot how intimidating the old man really is, no wonder the students are deathly afraid of him. "Crowley, this is incredibly irresponsible of you," the crow man groans, slapping his face in frustration at the phrase that has become a mantra in the last few minutes.

"UGH! But what was I supposed to do?" he acts like a petulant child, his hands falling harshly to his sides in exasperation. From the other side of the door, Crewel coughs loudly and slips in a comment that irks Crowley to no end. "Don't put them in that dump." "Are you talking to me now!?"

“Quiet you two!” Trein interrupts again, holding his furry companion a bit tighter in his arms, a prominent vein adorning his forehead as he grows increasingly exhausted by his colleague and boss fighting like an old married couple. 

"We'll deal with it tomorrow, but I agree with Crewel that it is dangerous to let them stay in that house. Either fix the building or move them to another one."

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And that’s how the crow man finds himself stuck working in the cold office, HIS cold office, a pout on his lips as he lays the crumpled documents on the desk. Fucking Crewel, why did he suddenly turn into a mother and defend those children so much!? None of them complained when he took them to the building, even that Yuuken kid seemed excited to meet the ghosts!

Ah, whatever, he’ll deal with that later. Right now, there's the more pressing matter of repairing the Ceremonial Hall after the fiasco caused by the blue flame monster and finding a replacement nurse since the other one is on maternity leave.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the dimly lit office as the headmaster quickly scribbles unintelligible words on a piece of paper. The antique clock hanging above the doorway ticks away the seconds, the hands nearing together at the top, signaling that it will soon be midnight. Outside, the commotion of students running amok as they finish their dorm welcoming parties is long gone, replaced by the singing of the owls and the howling of the cold wind.

The silence and stillness are shattered when Crowley's pointed ears perk up at the sound of hurried footsteps approaching his office. He groans softly as a pair of knuckles rap urgently against the old wooden door, the crow man pushing back his fatigue as a quiet "come in" falls from his lips.

The door opens slowly, a few seconds later a recently familiar head peers over the opening and Crowley recognizes the slightly familiar face. What was your name... "Ah, (Y/N), how may I be of assistance?" you take a few steps and stand awkwardly in the doorway, curious eyes scanning the room.

Crowley thought you were the most "normal" of the three non-magical students. Figaro creeped him out during the walk back to the dormitory, sharp eyes watching every move and pestering him with rather invasive questions. In contrast, Yuuken's reactions to the ghost made the crow man think of him as an endearing, if not bizarre, naive boy. At the entrance ceremony, he mostly took you as a panicked person attempting to maintain a level head while processing copious amounts of new information.

He can't blame you. If he were in your situation, he might go crazy, too. Let's hope you don't turn into a troublemaker, he already has enough headaches to deal with.

“Sorry for barging in so late, but can I steal a few minutes of your time?” how polite! My, after all the rudeness he experienced today your well-mannered question is more than welcomed! He extends a hand with a small smile and silently beckons you to come in and not wasting a single second, you hurriedly shut the door before walking over to the desk.

“I saw a student behave and carry something suspicious while exiting the infirmary,” ‘oh well, darling, if you stick around long enough, you’ll find out that everyone in this school is suspicious, but, do spill the beans,’ he thinks while nodding along at your sentence, before stopping abruptly as a puzzled look crosses his face.

“Infirmary? I swear that door is supposed to be locked,” he whispers under his breath, brows furrowed as he urges you to continue. You tell him everything that you witnessed during your late visit to the library: the student’s erratic and twitchy behavior, the mention of a “Master” and most disturbingly, the syringe with the mysterious liquid. 

Crowley's chin rests flat on the back of his gloved hands, his elbows digging into the wooden surface as golden eyes stare off into the distance, processing the myriad thoughts floating through his mind. “Were you able to see who it was?” you give some of the details you managed to catch under the dim light but admit that you weren’t able to truly see who it was. The crow man simply nods, jotting down your words on a piece of paper.

An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of the headmaster's stomach. Originally, he thought you might have caught some students smuggling pills or antibiotics out of the infirmary, an unfortunate incident that has happened several times before, which is why the room is always locked when there isn't a nurse in it.

But this...

As if a switch had been turned on in his head, Crowley clumsily yet hastily searches through all the drawers of his desk before finding a rectangular device tucked away under some papers and trinkets. His phone. He unlocks it, his golden claw clacking harshly against the glass as he types out an urgent message to the faculty and dorm chat groups:

“ATTENTION: it’s been reported that a student has broken into the infirmary and was spotted carrying a syringe containing an unidentified liquid. The student has the following characteristics: approximately 175 cm tall, pale skin, black, dark purple or blue hair, and green or brown eyes. He was spotted exiting the room at around 11:55 p.m. wearing ceremonial robes.

It is mandatory for dorm leaders to search for this student and make a surprise inspection of each dorm room. You will be allowed to skip the first three periods of classes and have the option to have two other people assist you. Please report their names in this group chat to report them as excused from their responsibilities. If you find the person and/or object, report immediately to faculty.”

“Um, that’s all. I don’t know if you need me for anything else, so, I’ll go,” you’re about to scurry out of the cold office when Crowley calls out your name, asking you to wait. An idea crosses his panicked mind, and he knows that Crewel will definitely have his head for it, but with this incident and the lack of a nurse, he can’t leave the infirmary unoccupied. “(Y/N), how much do you know about medicine?”

The question catches you off guard, and your eyes widen momentarily in surprise before returning to their normal state as you contemplate his question. Crowley remembers your actions at the entrance ceremony when you cleaned the wound of the blond boy (whose name he doesn't remember, but the crow man associates it with a cat). 

The small homemade first-aid kit you pulled from your bag tells him that you've at least had to constantly deal with treating wounds or that you're an over-prepared person. Either way, you would work.

"Well, I've taken several first aid courses and have basic medical knowledge," the headmaster half-listens to what you mutter under your breath, something about "university" and "medical school." Eh, he doesn't care to know about the details. "Great! You're hired! Instead of reporting to the courtyard, go straight to the infirmary tomorrow morning. I expect to see you there at 6 a.m. sharp!"

A stunned gasp escapes your lips as your eyes scan the headmaster, confused by the sentence you just heard and hoping inwardly that he was joking. Instead, Crowley simply tilts his head to the side, an innocent smile on his partially covered face as he decides that this is a wonderful idea. Why, this could be an experience for you!

“H-Hold on! Isn’t this the job of the nurse!? Also… what would happen if during my shift someone gets stabbed or comes in with a broken leg!? T-The bone poking out of the skin and everything!” the crow man momentarily grimaces at the mental image, but he quickly regains his composure as an evil thought crosses his mind. 

“Do not fret! You’ll deal with superficial or minor injuries. If anything serious were to happen, just give Professor Crewel a call using the office’s phone! He'd be more than happy to help you!" Crowley exclaims as he rises from his desk, the velvety chair making a loud noise as its legs scrape against the floor. 

With a grin that could rival that of the infamous Cheshire Cat, he jots down the potionology professor’s number on a ripped piece of paper before handing it to you. ‘That’s payback for the office!’ He saunters over to the entrance, completely ignoring your horrified expression as you stare holes at the paper in your hands.

“Ah! That reminds me…” his voice snaps you out of your detrimental thoughts, curious eyes turning around to watch as the headmaster opens the door. “I’m aware that your current situation is far from ideal. Therefore, until you are back on your feet, please use the showers in the gymnasium and your meals from the cafeteria," he proudly puffs out his chest as he watches your eyes light up and you nod excitedly, quietly thanking him.

“Also, feel free to take anything from the ‘lost and found’ box in the library. We have a policy that the items that remain there for more than three months can be taken by anyone. From my knowledge, the objects there have remained for more than five months,” he adds as you head out into the hallway, and Crowley can't help but feel proud of himself. “My, aren’t I so kind?”

He ignores your face as it shifts from one of gratitude to one of disgust, too busy enjoying his generous actions. “Uh, sure… t-thanks man,” his beady golden eyes follow your figure as it fades into the distance. When you disappear as you make a right turn, Crowley gently closes the door before sighing, fingers pinching his forehead as he feels the oncoming headache.

Alright, now, to deal with this situation.

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You take your time walking back to the dorm, admiring the starry sky with each step. Your head swims with different thoughts, fueled by your chronic insomnia, as you ponder once again where you are and what you have seen. A world where magic exists and where there are ghosts, flying broomsticks, monsters, and a bunch of crazy people.

If someone had told you the day before that you would end up in a magic school, living in a dormitory that would fall if you looked at it the wrong way, you would have laughed your ass off.

Fucking hilarious.

You yawn, hot crystalline tears clouding your eyes as you rub them vigorously. You groan as the cold wind kisses your skin and you feel more awake than tired, even though the exhaustion of everything you have experienced today weighs heavily on your bones and muscles. You feel restless, but not tired. 

Frankly, you kind of hate your body.

The dead leaves and twigs crackle beneath your soles as you stuff your hands into your pockets, a morbidly familiar building creeps up from the horizon, but you watch in confusion as two pairs of lights move erratically in through the windows. Seconds later, Figaro and Yuuken almost kick down the front door as they emerge from the house, their hair disheveled and their eyes red as they sneeze and cough violently.

Your walk turns into a light jog as you approach the two men, the blond one letting out a sigh of relief when he sees you. It turns out that during your failed adventure to the library, the three ghosts of the house decided to play a prank on the Finnish man by ruffling the white sheets covering the nearby furniture in his bedroom, causing a huge cloud of dust to rise from the fabric and enter his nostrils.

On the other hand, Yuuken awoke to a tickling sensation on his hand, only to almost punch a hole in the nearby wall as a spider seemed to be happily walking on his appendage. Then part of his back began to itch and he panicked, thinking he had some kind of rash from the dirty blankets. However, when you pulled up his shirt to examine him, all you found were some red marks from his nails and, thankfully, no small bumps or any sort of physical ailment.

You, on the other hand, recounted the events and swore that the porch lit up with Figaro's excitement as you informed the two men of Crowley's offer. He even started bouncing on the balls of his feet at the mention of a free shower. But when the chatter dies down and the only sound is the song of the nocturnal animals, the three of you stare back at the intimidating building.

“I’m not going back in there,” Fígaro whispers in a scratchy voice, his eyes still watering from the sneeze attack. “Where else are we supposed to sleep though?” you retort, not too thrilled about the idea of going back to the house and laying your back against the stiff and dirty mattress. Yuuken is rather quiet, a thoughtful hand scratching his chin before an idea pops into his head, bright eyes turning to look at you both.

“Why don’t we sleep outside? It’ll be like camping, just without a tent,” you almost snort out loud at the sight of Figaro's face contorting into an expression of astonishment, eyes wide open as the blond man is rendered speechless. “Are you mad!? And what, get our eyes clawed out by some bizarre three-headed night creature!?” the Kendo student crosses his burly arms over his chest, quietly clicking his tongue in disapproval at the Finnish man's words.

“Is either this or you sleeping back inside that dust-infested room… Or you can also clean out another bedroom, but, Pembroke and I aren’t going to help you, we’re tired,” the booming voice of Yuuken echoes through the dilapidated porch, his intimidating side finally coming out to the moonlight. But, Fígaro doesn’t seem to back down, even though he’s quietly stunned for a few seconds. His body rapidly turns around to you, blue eyes scanning your face. “Please, tell me that you’re with me on this one.”

“Eh, I’m not. I’ve slept on the balcony of my house multiple times and nothing happened, so, Yuuken’s idea is fine by me,” you shrug, the blonde man gawking at your words. To be honest, you've slept in worse places and the idea of falling asleep under the stars doesn't bother you at all. “Dude, calm down. The most that will happen is that we’ll get some bug bites.”

You would have thought about it more if you'd been a little more awake, but all your rationality was thrown out the window as you suddenly felt more sleepy and tired. Finally.

And so, with two votes against one, you found yourselves lying on a thick blanket spread out on the dead grass, the branches of a nearby tree serving as your cover, at Fígaro's request. The whiny blonde is snuggled between you and Yuuken's back, having insisted on the spot because he was cold and “forced by both of you to participate in such an activity.”

The Kendo student didn't give a damn about his complaints, shushing him between sleepy yawns, too exhausted to argue with him about the stupid place in the makeshift bed. Meanwhile, you were more concerned about the fact that you'd only be able to sleep for a few hours before you had to go to work. Will you have enough energy?

You hope so. A good shower and a strong cup of coffee should give you a boost tomorrow morning.

As the blades of grass gently nudge your back, the three of you say a quiet good night. Your heavy eyes finally begin to close, the cold wind gently kissing your skin as the soft snores and tired breaths of your new roommates lull you into a deep sleep.

The three of you fail to hear the horrifying screams of Crewel and the booming laughter of Ashton Vargas, the gym teacher, as the two faculty members watch you sleep under the tree.

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Tag list:

@rotknox @agaygothicmushroom @sherryclover @mielle-estelar @yuriluvr2000 @Shironakuronatasa @yourlocalhot-simp @stvrbrighttt @tearsofgenshin @mewmew-dream @lehn2206 @coleisyn

[kotias]

We Are in Our Eden - Until Our Stars No Longer Shine

A little reprieve from the angst war @opscuritas

Fluff story written with @daneecastle

Word count: 1492 words

Crowley was out for the day, and had stopped by a cliff close to Aberdeen, with the grandest view to the ocean he could experience in the country. The wind was strong, almost pushing him away, and he laughed. What a view! The waves crashing against the rocks beneath him, the smell of iodine taking into his nostrils, and most of all, the view of the sun setting on the infinite horizon, spreading its yellows and reds and purples onto this side of the world. But it was only when he lifted his head and watched above that he noticed- He took his phone out of his pocket and called home. “Angel! Come here! Cruden Bay, the highest cliff you can find!" He knew he had an unexpected squeal in the middle of that call- well, it was guaranteed to give his angel some form of curiosity, at least. He looked up again, a bright smile on his face.

“Cruden Bay? But why? It's almost time to eat!" he heard over the phone, and didn’t say a word. Just the next second, he heard the familiar flutter of white wings behind him. “Crowley, what is it?”

He instantly caught his hand, dragged him a little further up, feeling like a teenage girl eager to spend time with her crush. He was jittery, smiling, squealing- "Look!" He pointed to the stars. Shooting stars in the sky, crossing the ozone layer, lighting up like fireworks. He could barely stay put, looking at them with the wonder of a child- and he knew it was an unreasonable reaction- he knew! But this was the first time he had the opportunity to watch them with Aziraphale. Pressing his fingers around the angel’s, he looked back at him, caught the adoration in his eyes, the immensity of his love for him, trapped behind those perfect eyes, changing with his emotions, and the slight blush he was showing. Crowley was over the moon- it mattered not whether the angel had really looked at what he was trying to show him. And the stars- the stars! So close to his reach! 

An idea came- he raised Aziraphale's hand and kissed it, before letting go of him and coming to the very edge of the cliff. Raising his left hand and snapping his fingers, he said "Here, boy!" And one of the shooting stars changed directions entirely, flinging in their direction and stopping right at his feet for him to collect two good pieces of it. He tapped it like a good dog and snapped his fingers again, leaving it to go back to its path. The rocks between his fingers were hot, almost crisp in his hand. And they smelled... so unique. He turned to Aziraphale again and showed them to him. "There's something I love about those shooting stars," he said, looking at the rocks like he would a child.

“What is it?” Aziraphale asked with a sweet, enamoured voice, never looking away from him. “I would love to know.”

He let out a small giggle. "It's a piece of Heaven, wrapped in the fires we find in Hell... falling on Earth. It feels like home. And also-" He turned to the shooting stars again. "My eyes aren't the best at seeing far. I miss a lot of the star lights that you describe to me. But the shooting stars? I can see them."

Aziraphale stepped closer to him, his deep blue eyes draping themselves in an emerald shroud. "Maybe…” He lightly touched his arms, caressing them with his thumbs. “Someday we could ask God to have your eyes changed back, so you could see the splendour of the world you helped create." He kissed Crowley's forehead. "I'm sure, after all you've done, She wouldn't mind."

Crowley shook his head slightly, losing his train of thought as Aziraphale’s slight sadness in his voice was gnawing at his euphoria. "Ah, yes, well- I think you'd miss the yellow in my eyes, wouldn't you?" 

"I would, I won't deny it, but-" He kissed him one, twice, and reverted back to his little star babies in his hand. "Here, hold this-" He handed him one of the two rocks and cradled the other between his two hands. "Let see if I can still-" His eyes lit up as he felt his power surge into it. "Yes!" When he uncovered it, it was glowing like a little sun, and he beamed at his angel, who couldn’t take his eyes from it, shining in unison with it. For a moment, he paused, only looking at him and how beautiful of a sight his amazement was, everytime he showed him something different from what he knew.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, now-" He held the little star up, pointing it to the darkening skies. “What do you want to be called, little one?" It was like an old music sheet had been rediscovered. The little star glowed, surrounded his hand in affection. He smiled. “Ah, I see. How about-" The little star extended to his forearm. “Oh!" He gave a glance at Aziraphale. “Naming it would mean giving it to the sky. I believe it doesn't want that, it's clutching onto me right now." He pulled his hand back to their levels as the angel chuckled. “Perfect little thing, why would you insist on staying with me?" he asked, like one would to a small child. 

“What wouldn't want to be with you?" he heard Aziraphale answer with a dreamy sigh, and he chortled.

“You’re barely objective, angel, we’ve known each other for-” A little power coursed from the star to his chest. “Oh-" Tenderly, he passed his fingers on the edges of the little thing. “Okay then- Angel, could you give me the second one? Thanks," he said as he received it, and kissed his nose. “Okay little star, do you want to help me, then?” He weighed the rock and the star; then, pressing the rock a little harder, he parted it in halves. The little star lightened excitedly. "Yes? That what you want?" He approached his two hands until they touched, and the little star crossed them to engulf the two new little rocks. He smiled and looked at Aziraphale. "It wants to stay with us, you see- so it's preparing a nest. I hope- I think you'll like the result."

The little star melted into the rocks, and the rocks melted into the star. Glowing brightly into Crowley's hands, they were exuding a homey warmth, and he let the three elements figure out what they wanted first, before guiding them gently into a form. For a second, his eyes darted to Aziraphale's hands, and he got back to work. They were shining so beautifully, he thought, as they let themselves be moulded by his attentions. After about a minute of working together, he blew on them, revealing two rings; one obsidian, textured like the meteorites coming from space and speckled with little twinkles all over it; the other perfectly white, gleaming like a happy little star, with a thin, tiny little black snake coursing its way all around it. He looked into his angel’s bright eyes, asking the question silently. Would you like me to put it on your finger? To make you mine for eternity? 

Aziraphale gasped as he watched the rings come into existence, shining like their very own little stars, tethered to the world that they had called their own. He felt stunned, overjoyed and excited, on the verge of tears as he realised what they were meant for, what Crowley had done to them, bearing the promise of their eternal loyalty to one another. For quite a long time, he was staring at the rings, far from Crowley’s expectant eyes, until he shook himself off; they knew, the both of them, and many years had passed since they had truly needed the words to express this intense sentiment they felt for one another, or the promise of an everliving love for one another. Yet, he gave a vocal answer. “Oh, you silly demon… Of course I would.”

His smile warmed him like a fireplace during the winter, his fingers wrapping around his hand made his heart flutter, and his kiss felt like a cloud.

The white ring slid perfectly on his finger, and he felt its otherworldly warmth on his skin, draping around him and offering just a bit of Crowley’s essence to mix into his own, his final oath in this union they were making for themselves.

The demon slid his own, dark ring on his finger, then passed his hand into Aziraphale’s hair and sealed their lips and their Vows together with a kiss. Together like they had been since the beginning, and never intending to part, they were an us, like God most certainly had intended.

[ingravinoveritas]

It's been just barely three days since the announcement of DJ Qualls and Ty Olsson's engagement, and after seeing the interview DJ did on a podcast where he broke the news, I am struck by the parallels between his comment above and things both Michael and David have said over the last five years about growing old together.

I can still remember when Michael first posted the tweet in the screenshot in 2019, and how much it stood out to me because of what was left unspoken. That he's thought about Aziraphale and Crowley growing old together. That he doesn't separate Aziraphale from him or Crowley from David--something we knew five years ago, and have become even more keenly aware of now--and was maybe, by extension, thinking of him growing older with David.

This only seems like it was cemented further by what we saw in the GO 2 interviews last year. Michael is again talking about Aziraphale and Crowley being old, but more specifically about him and David playing them that way. Seconds later, the idea of a theatrical tour is mentioned, and this time it's David who becomes the more vocal one. In this one entire moment, we have Michael revisiting that idea of playing the characters old, and David responding in a way that lets us know--without hesitation, without question--that he very much enjoys the thought of growing older with Michael.

So in thinking of what DJ said about Ty and how he wants to grow old with the person he loves, it just seems so incredibly similar to what Michael and David have said and are saying now. That they are going to be old men together, however that might look, in whatever form it could take. And given the incredibly positive reaction from the fans toward DJ and Ty (which Michael may have seen, since he does follow Misha Collins, who tweeted about the news), I would just like to hope that's what would be in store for Michael and David, too...

[laudaddysmitten]

You had me at

"Crowley In a Lab Coat"

by LaudaddySmitten

(GOAD Writer's Guild presents!)

I continue my theme of writing Good Omens fanfiction - WITH SCIENCE! 🥼 ♥️ 🔬🧪 ♥️ 🥼

I teased the artwork on this baby a bit in the past while (hint, amazing photo from the BAFTA's), see below the AO3 info for more on that!

Summary

Aziraphale's eyes were immediately drawn to the triangle of bare skin at the base of Crowley's throat, and all queries died before reaching his tongue. Crowley's deliciously deep v-neck henleys, which he always made even more enticing by undoing more buttons, fit just out of sight under the lab coat's lapels, showing off the curve of his clavicles and the deep suprasternal notch between them. With a start, Aziraphale realized he’d been blatantly staring at Crowley's throat and upper chest for heaven knows how long. Mortified, he snapped his eyes to Crowley's, which, uncovered, only further fueled his lust for the enticing botanist. Aziraphale was surprised to see that Crowley was sporting a smirk that looked…pleased. “Enjoying the view?” He arched an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh my, I er…..” Aziraphale gulped and looked down at his wringing hands. “How rude of me. I'm…ah, terribly sorry…” “Angel. Don’t apologize. I was actually…hoping you would.” Hands instantly stilled, Aziraphale looked up quickly. Had he heard that right?

CW: Rated E for Explicit sexual content. Read the tags on AO3!

Continue Reading on AO3:

This photo was the artwork tease/ clue:

Now that you've seen the artwork you probably know why. But just in case...

David Tennant (Crowley, ofc) + Jeff Goldblum's most iconic movie pose (from Jurassic Park):

Equals: Crowley In a Lab Coat by @lexarturo (She killed it!)

My original post/ tease on the matter:

Thank you betas of awesomeness, especially @ladybracknellssherry !! Also thanks to you and @riverstyx125 for the very last-minute help!

And help ages ago from other awesome people: @unapologetic-apathy @gingerhaole (for reference/inspiration art) and a couple other betas whose usernames I will find and add b/c tumblr hates me rn! lol @ezomind-the-other-one

And of course thanks to the Writer's Guild of @goodomensafterdark !

[ineffabildaddy]

you're a mirror i cannot avoid

south downs crowley pov ficlet for @voluptatiscausa, inspired by this! explicit content incoming!

-

I realised something, when we moved here. Discovered something new about you, just when I thought I had nothing more to learn. I made an observation, now that we have a medicine cupboard above the sink in the bathroom, its outer panels silver and shining and reflecting the room just as it appears.

You'd never owned a mirror before.

Not to my knowledge. The bookshop didn't have one, nor did your previous dwellings. If we fed the ducks at St. James's Park, you never gave the water's surface more than a glance. You always loved to pause before shop windows, to admire the Savile Row tailors and the Greenwich Market goods, yet you never stopped quite long enough to catch the sight of your face gazing back at you. Instead, you either ducked into the shop without further ado, or bustled on by.

There's nowhere to duck into now, angel, nowhere to bustle towards. You have nothing to acquire but more moments of me, nowhere to be but where we are.

Maybe that's why I see you looking in that bathroom mirror, sometimes. After all, we are country men, now; there is nothing to do here but sit with oneself, nothing to understand but the intricacies of one's own likeness. I can see you trying, as you always have, to grapple with the meat and bones of yourself. Only now, the worry with which you once attempted to reconcile your self-impression with the cold fist of Heaven has flown, like a restless bird whose mother feared it would fall from the nest, soaring high into the cotton tuft of the springtime clouds in adolescent rebellion.

I like watching you look at yourself. Sometimes, when I see you standing still before the bathroom sink, I slink up from behind you, so you can see me coming.

(You always see me coming, angel. Every time. Even when you greet me, as a French prisoner greets his lawless rescuer, with breath-hitched surprise.)

When I've reached you, I splay one hand out on the broad plane of your shoulder, brush idle fingers against the tense of your thigh. I feel you relax beneath me, my nose buried in your shell-pink cheek, watching you drink this new sight in out of the corner of my eye.

You enjoy this, seeing us together. Not still and unchanging like a photograph, but moving, fluid, alive. Once, I even joked that we should acquire a larger mirror, so you could see the look on my face next time you took me on all fours. You chuckled, and asked me would I get lunch started, because you were off out - you had errands to run in the village.

You took the Bentley, came back with a full-length 'looking glass', as you called it. Used a miracle to get it in the car, used a miracle to get it out again, lost the patience to manoeuvre it up to the bedroom. You unpacked it from its box downstairs while I dished up lunch, tugged me up from my seat and backed me into the drawing room once you had eaten your fill.

You pulled our hips together and gripped my jaw to tip my chin up, to bare my neck for you. I felt the surface of your skin whisper a pearl-white wisp of relief when I pressed the pads of my fingers to your bare forearms, just below your rolled-up sleeves. You sunk your teeth into the flush of my throat, the side of your thumb stroking my collarbone, and my core pulsed, my knees wobbled. You smiled wide against my skin.

I begged for you, of course. It's a practice I maintain, though you never deprive me. It reminds us both of the old days, when we met only under cover of darkness and you handled my cunt like it was a cradled secret.

You had me on my hands and knees, pushing back against the upward curve of your length, in no time. You've always been impatient, angel. You barely mustered the composure required to take me by the waist and angle me just right before the mirror, so hurried was your need to feel my hilt flex on the fat tip of your dick.

(I reckon I know why you're partial to having me this way. Even resting my weight on my elbows, I find it a strain to cover my mouth. You can feel what you do to me when you fill me, from the trembling in my thighs and the sheen of sweat coating the small of my back, where you reach to pin my wrists behind me once I surrender my hands to you and collapse my weight onto my shoulders. Still, you like to hear me, though my whimpers emerge twisted and warped from my mouth, my cheek crushed against the soft carpet.)

It was hard to make out where your gaze was focused, from that angle, but when I did look in the mirror as you fucked me slow and deep, I registered that your eyes were fixed upon yourself. Not with vanity, no - pure pride, as the lower curve of your gut rested on my ass, and the strength of your spine helped you hold me steady with one lengthened arm.

You were seeing yourself as you truly were, as you have always been, though you may not have known it till we arrived in the countryside; my guardian, my protector, my one true equal. Your eyes flickered down towards mine, and though my lids were drooping in languid ecstasy, I knew you saw it all within them; every kindness you allowed me to offer you over the years, every truth you internalised when I expressed it over the millennia.

You saw me, and I saw you, and together, we saw something different in each other, something entirely new; that you were no longer yourself, and I was no longer myself. We were no longer small, separate stars, but one bursting supernova, in which neither of us knew where you ended and where I began. We were changed, in a word, we were home, for the very first time, all our wildest hopes fulfilled.

There's a looking glass in every room, now, each one a different size and shape to the next. New ways of looking, new ways of seeing, abound.

I want to go and feed the ducks again. I want to watch you look in the pond, properly this time.

I want to behold what you will find there.

-

thank you so so much for reading!! comments and reblogs are always always appreciated💙 also available to read on ao3 here:

[yourmomisdateingme]

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted something but here’s a Yuu angst story for you!

Yuu is gender neutral also I’m not the best at writing but I tried my best with this I hope you like it!

XXX

I can’t hold my rage anymore

It was a day like any other day, but there was something in the sky that was giving a warning. When every house warden showed up to the meeting including Crowley….. but something was missing, not something but someone. At the the thought of the yuu not being there, there was a sudden pounce of thunder and lighting at once. It was so unexpecting because of how it was sunny all day; everyone in the room had all jumped from the sound.

After everyone has relaxed after the commotion there were loud and fast foot steps as if someone was running with all there force. You could hear it echo down the hall. There was a split second when it stoped but then the door slammed open.

“ILL KILL YOU!” Someone had screamed and pounced at Crowley, that’s someone happened to be yuu!?

“AGH!” Crowley had yelped when his body hit the ground. Yuu had a dagger at Crowley throat ready to slice and dice.

“What the-?!” Leona had gasped in shock as to seeing yuu attack.

“Yuu! Stop!” Azul has yelled with wide eyes as he jolted forward to help.

“I’m sorry yuu…..” riddle whispered under his breath as he took a deep breath. “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD” riddle had yelled activating his unique magic.

Riddle was always very lenient about using his powers against someone he cares about...especially with what happened to him back then, But this right now was a serious matter.

The heart shaped collar wrapped around Yuu's neck shocking them as the dagger had fallen from their grasp. Crowley quickly took advantage of this as he kicks the dagger into the corner of the room.

“AGH! Get this stupid thing off me!” Yuu had yelled in anger, they then start grabbing at the collar trying desperately to get it off.

“I’m Sorry Yuu but no... I can’t let you do this!” Riddle yelled trying to reason with yuu.

“Yuu-kun, what's gotten into you?!” Kalim yelled in desperation, kalim couldn’t believe anything that just happened and frankly he didn’t want to.

“Y-Yeah...W-We never see you like this before…” lida said barely above a whisper, he eyes show clear concern for his friend.

“Why did you tried to attack Headmaster Crowley?” Malleus asked butting into the non-existent conversation. They all wanted answers but yuu wasn’t answering them. In the meantime Crowley was completely silent, almost as if he knows the reason for the attack.

“Why?” Yuu had chuckled angrily and he facepalmed there self. Yuu glared at the dorm leaders, who surprisedly all flinched, seeing the look in there eyes... It was a look that scream anger, hatred, & rage.

“Why?! DON'T GIVE ME THAT BULL! You All Know Why! You Were All There When It Happened!!” Yuu snapped out at them, his body was trembling with anger and….. sadness?

They all looked down at their feet, a guilty conscious set adrift in their hearts.

He was right. They all know why he's mad.

Because...of what happened to...

The only thing you could hear from the center of the destruction was yuu’s sobs. They were crawling at the ground screaming at the sky.

“Grim...GRIM!!!” Yuu yells pitifully.

“Y-Yuu-kun... You know I had no choice.” Crowley didn’t even have an ounce of remorse for yuu’s lose, he didn’t care what happened, the only he cares about is his reputation.

“BULLSHIT! YOU HAD A CHOICE! YOU JUST CHOOSE TO GET RID OF HIM!!!” Yuu quickly took Crowley by the shoulder, all Crowley could see was the absolute anger in yuu’s eyes.

“THERE COULD'VE BEEN ANOTHER WAY! ANOTHER WAY TO SAVE HIM!!!! W-WHEN HE OVERBLOTED...!” Yuu started to sob uncontrollably, the death grip on Crowleys shoulders only tightening.

“WHY??!” Yuu sobbed out, they wanted answers but in the back of their mind they already knew the answer to her question.

It happened right after Malleus' Overblot...

After eating Malleus black blot stone Grim becomes a giant chimera while everyone, including Yuu, is watching. Seeing his best friend become such a monster, ultimately destroys Yuu, inside out.

Yuu was devastaded. Grim has been with him ever since the very beginning of his stay in Twisted Wonderland. Sure he may have caused lots of problems for him there was no denying that Yuu also cares for Grim.

Grim have showed to have grow kind of fond & compassionate of Yuu.

Grim could've just left Scarabia alone and left Yuu behind but he didn't. He stayed...he stayed for Yuu. They went on many adventures together and they became more than just master and servant.

They formed a bond with each other...but now...that bond was gone.

Yuu had tried everything to call out for him and try to snap him out of it. He even had to approach him but sadly...overblot Grim wouldn't recognize them, instead glaring at them with irrational hatred, no trace of his old memories coming back.... He was no longer Grim. But a monster overbolt.

The dorm leaders had no choice but to get Yuu away from Grim while Crowley showed up...and made his own decision to end Grim's life because he viewed him as dangerous. Despite Yuu's pleads, Crowley ignored him and put Grim out of his misery.

Everyone stayed silent but vil couldn’t stand to see the beautiful, kind perfect sob in-front if him. He didn’t know what to say to the only thing that left his mouth was “Oh Yuu...” but it was so quiet no one heard.

“Yuu...You understand that if I were to let Grim live, he would've-“ Crowley wasn’t even able to continue his pathetic excuse as Yuu started yelling again.

“I DON'T CARE! I DON'T CARE NO MORE ABOUT YOUR STUPID SCHOOL!” They said standing up and grabbing at there chest.

“GRIM IS GONE BECAUSE OF YOU!” Another yell came from yuu’s quivering lips.

“SO WHAT IF HE OVERBLOTED?! LOOK AT THEM!” Yuu particularly screamed at the top of there scream as they pointed to the dorm leaders.

“Riddle overbloted because of the expectations of his mother and everyone else!” Yuu started to rant, trying to make everyone see what happened to grim doesn’t justify shit.

“Leona overbloted because he was constantly compared and upstaged by his brother!” Leona’s ears fell down in shame.

“Azul was bullied as Jade & Floyd's loss of existence caused him to overbloted!” Yuu pointed at Azul.

“AND HOLY SHIT DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THIS ONE!” Yuu grabbed there own hair and pulled it as he yelled.

“Kalim never overbloted because Jamil took his place! Though I wouldn't be surprised if he did after Jamil's betrayal!” Yuu started laughing at themself as tears were falling down Crowleys mask.

Yuu bent down to get on Crowleys level. “Oh I’m not even fucking done yet! GET UP ON YOUR FUCKING FEET!” At yuu’s raised voice Crowley stood up quickly and brushed himself off.

“Vil's Overblot was valid due to conspiracy of staying beautiful while being jealous! And Idia overblotted because he was overwhelmed of his curse lineage!” When Yuu mentioned ldia he jumped backwards.

“Then Malleus overblotted and put everyone to sleep because he felt the need to save them!” Malleus face instantly turned into a frown as he was mentioned.

“Please understand! The situation was different!” Crowley tried to defend himself but they only lead to Yuu laughing at him.

“Oh good excuse!” Yuu’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING, CROWLEY! EVERYTHING! TO HELP KEEP EVERYONE IN THIS SCHOOL STABLE FOR YOU! BUT YOU COULDN'T DO THE SAME FOR ME!” The sky outside turned dark and gloomy, it’s started to pour rain and thunder could be heard.

“Yuu! Enough!” Riddle tried to defuse the situation.

“Herbivore...We get it...just chill out for a moment.” Leona was following after riddle.

“Please Yuu...Calm down...Headmaster Crowley understands your anger and-?!” Azul tried to reason but was cut off with yuu’s screaming.

“YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND MY ANGER!!!” That quickly got everyone to shut up, they all were silent not knowing what to say.

“If you did...You all wouldn't be on his side.” A bitter laugh was heard.

“I'll never forgive you,

Crowley...Never...Because of you...Grim is DEAD! DEAD! NEVER COMING BACK!” There was a dark overwhelming power that started to surround Yuu.

“Oh no...” that was all ldia could say.

“This power I'm sensing... there Overblotting?!” Malleus quickly took out his wand to help you.

“I thought he couldn't use magic...” leona yelled out loud also grabbing his wand.

“That's impossible! The collar around his neck should be draining any magic from there body-?!” Riddle tried to understand the situation.

“NEVER FORGIVE! NEVER FORGET! I'LL KILL YOU ALL!!!!” ink poured onto there body.

“NO! YUU!” Azul pleaded but it was useless.

“STOP YUU! PLEASE! THIS ISN'T YOU!” All vil could do was watch their dear friend transform.

“EVERY LAST OF YOU! JUST DIE!!!! GRIM!!”

Everything happend so fast you couldn't even blink...Yuu overblots and transforms. Grims overbloted version was there right beside Yuu. Just liked they promised, to always be by each others side.

“Oh No....What Have I Done?” Crowley said fearful.

Then...The Twisted Wonderland World Was Shrouded In Dark Blue Flames and Darkness....

[anxiousgaypanicking]

I noticed that you're accepting requests for good omens 👀 aziraphale coming back from heaven after leaving Crowley and things escalating up to apology sex/giving Crowley the opportunity to let out his pent-up frustrations? Whoever's the top or bottom is up to you

Apology

Warnings: pretty standard sex

Aziraphale stands idly on the steps outside what was formerly his bookshop. Despite having entered and exited these doors plenty of times, he now feels unsure of whether or not he was welcomed inside.

He had seen Muriel pass by the doors, holding an unsteady stack of books in her arms. Seeing her reminded him of his first days on Earth, and even of the first books he got to hold in his hands. He hoped she hadn't given any away, but he wouldn't blame her if she didn't understand their value. Those books were important to him, and he'd abandoned them anyway.

It wasn't the only important thing he'd left behind.

Just barely visible through the window of the door is Crowley. He's laying back on one of the comfortable couches Aziraphale's ex-bookshop houses. Normally, when he'd stretch out on the piece of furniture it was when he and Aziraphale were engrossed in witty conversation. Now he looked as though he was miserable, if not rotting away on the cushions.

Aziraphale didn't blame him in the slightest.

Fear of rejection is the only thing that keeps him hesitant outside the doors. He doesn't deserve Crowley's forgiveness, but he's prepared to beg for it anyway.

Swallowing the spit in his mouth, Aziraphale heads inside.

As he pushes the door open, the bell above it jingles, and though Crowley doesn't stir, Muriel's feet can be heard excitedly pattering towards the doorway.

"Hi!" she exclaims, before she's even before the door, "welcome to A. Z. Fell & Co..." Muriel trails off before she can even finish her sentence. She gasps when she fully processes who is standing before her.

"Aziraphale!" she exclaims, though Aziraphale has a hard time interpreting whether it's out of surprise or excitement.

The proclamation of his name has Crowley whipping around in his seat though, staring at Aziraphale with his eyes obscured by his familiar black glasses. Aziraphale swears it was just yesterday when Crowley felt comfortable enough to slide his glasses off every time he walked into the bookshop. Now here he was wearing them just to lay around.

"Hi, Muriel," Aziraphale says, though his voice is unsteady, as though he's trying to keep a shuddering sob suppressed. "Hi, Crowley."

"I've kept everything tidy for you!" Muriel states, smiling, though her eyes reflect a certain disbelief. "And Mr. Crowley told me you didn't want any books actually sold."

"How sweet of him." Aziraphale smiles at Crowley. Crowley scowls in response, turning away from him in such a way that drew attention to the cold air wafting between them. There's thick tension that settles along with the silence, which has Muriel bouncing on the heels of her feet awkwardly.

"Why don't you go... tidy something up in the back," Aziraphale then urges Muriel, as soft as he can. She seems relieved at having something to do, and nods at the request, before walking off and leaving Crowley and Aziraphale alone.

For a few seconds, Aziraphale waits, wondering if Crowley will say something. He doesn't. And so, Aziraphale clears his throat and breaks the silence, stating "I came back."

Crowley doesn't stir.

Taking a few small steps toward the sofa Crowley was spread out on, Aziraphale adds "I suppose this warrants a lot more than the apology dance?"

"I don't want to talk to you right now."

Aziraphale's chest aches at the words, but still he presses onwards. "Crowley..."

"I don't even want to see you."

That has Aziraphale's eyes feeling wet. He blinks away the tears before they even have the chance to fall, and sets his hand gently on the back of the cushions, standing behind Crowley's head. So close, Aziraphale could reach forward and cup his face.

"I'm sorry."

That has Crowley drawing in a sharp breath. He doesn't answer Aziraphale, inviting him to say more. Apologize again, or plead his case maybe?

Whatever the reason, Aziraphale knows this is potentially his one chance to make things right.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, believing it to be a good place to start from. "I shouldn't have left you. I shouldn't have left Earth. I was... I was hoping that, as the Supreme Archangel, I could make a difference. I could allow Heaven to see just how special Earth was, and... that I could have you with him. But I couldn't have either." Aziraphale's voice shakes. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but I don't know what the right thing is anymore. Everything is so skewed."

He has to take in a breath to keep himself from slurring his words.

"Jim... or, Gabriel, told me when he'd lost his memories that being around one particular person would make things okay. That if you had nothing else, and you were lost, that one particular person could make things feel better. You are my person."

Crowley is still. Aziraphale continues.

"You don't have to forgive me. I... I don't even know if I'm asking for your forgiveness. But let me at least be with you; I beg of you." Aziraphale's hand slides from the back of the sofa down to the armrest Crowley's head was leaning against. His fingers slowly crawl up Crowley's cheek, caressing his tattoo oh so gently, before cupping his angled jaw and just holding his face.

"I'll do whatever it takes to make things right," Aziraphale promises, and he means it. Once more, his shining eyes are welled up with tears. He's gotten so good at reading Crowley throughout the years, but as Aziraphale looks at him now, he hasn't the faintest clue what he could be thinking. Truthfully, as much as Aziraphale wanted Crowley to accept him, he knew he just as rightfully deserved to be turned away.

Finally, Crowley sits up. He just stays sitting, facing away from Aziraphale for a few moments, before turning back to him and scooting himself to the arm of the settee so that they're face to face.

"I'm still angry with you," Crowley states. Aziraphale smiles sadly, and nods his head.

"I figured you would be. And- it's justified, of course."

"What made you leave?"

The question surprises Aziraphale a bit, but he supposes it makes sense that Crowley would want to know, especially after Aziraphale had begged him to come with.

"I missed you." Aziraphale stares into Crowley's glasses, finding only his sad reflection within them. "I missed the world. I missed my world."

Aziraphale's fingers travel upwards, dancing against the side of Crowley's glasses. Upon being met with no resistance, he slowly slides them off of Crowley's face, and sets them aside. Crowley's eyes are wet, but otherwise hard to read.

"I'd like to be on our side, if that's okay," Aziraphale quietly says, speaking those words to Crowley and Crowley alone. A side that would consist of just the two of them. A group of the two of them.

Crowley's hand sets itself atop Aziraphale's, holding it against his face, before it slithers upwards, sliding over the length of Aziraphale's arm until he's holding Aziraphale's own soft cheek, studying his countenance.

"I shouldn't forgive you," Crowley utters, voice raspy and low. "But after six-thousand years of being around you, it was devastating not feeling your presence on Earth."

Aziraphale exhales, shaky and apologetic, sighing as his eyelids flutter shut momentarily. When his eyes reopen, Crowley is still staring at him, but his gaze has softened in such a way that Aziraphale can sense forgiveness, though both of them know things are different now. For once, they both seem to agree on where they stand in relation to Heaven and Hell, and in relation to one another.

For a few moments, they just stand in each other's presence, Aziraphale leaning against Crowley's hand while his own thumb rubs over Crowley's cheekbone. Then Crowley's pulling him closer. Slow, at first, as though testing the waters, urging him to bend down so that they're face to face.

"Am I moving too fast?" Crowley whispers.

"I should be asking you that question," Aziraphale responds, feeling relief wash over him at the way Crowley's looking at him. He's still angry - he probably will be for a while - but at least temporarily Aziraphale is forgiven.

He can feel Crowley's warm breath on his lips, but there's a pause. Perhaps Crowley is waiting to see if Aziraphale will pull away, or if he'll truly make up for his departure by connecting their mouths in a much softer fashion than Crowley initially had. Regardless of the reason, Aziraphale can't take the lingering much longer, and so slowly tilts his head to the side and presses their lips together.

It's gentle, as most things with Aziraphale are, and just as apologetic as he is. Though he hesitates, his hands eventually find Crowley's shoulders, no longer afraid of embracing him. Crowley lets him move at his pace, and his hands slowly grasp Aziraphale's coat, keeping him close but not pulling him in as he had before. They're close enough as is. Close enough for their foreheads to rest against each other when Aziraphale pulls away slightly, leaving an air of fluster between them.

"So..." Aziraphale speaks, voice low and unsure. "What now? No apology dance?"

Crowley finally snorts, a smile creasing the corner of his lips just barely visible as he turns his head to the side. It helps soothe Aziraphale further, and finally allows him the ability to smile as he straightens back up.

"No, I suppose not," Crowley answers, as he smooths out his pants and leans back against the couch. "Though, if you're still insistent on making things up to me somehow, I have a few ideas."

That has one of Aziraphale's eyebrows quirking up, as he replies "oh? I'd love to hear them, if you'd be so..." he stops before saying 'kind,' and uses "willing" instead, smiling after. Crowley smiles briefly at him in turn, before his face falls to a more neutral expression, and then a more contemplative one.

"I have one that I'm particularly inclined to suggest, but I'd like to know before I suggest it that you'll be completely honest with me," Crowley states, as he finally works his glasses off his face, allowing Aziraphale to see his gleaming yellow irises. He looks serious, though.

"I will be," Aziraphale affirms.

Crowley stares at him for just a few seconds, before pushing himself off the sofa and taking Aziraphale's hand, lightly enough for Aziraphale to pull away if he so desires but still firm enough to lead him forward. He takes them upstairs to the now-vacant bedroom Gabriel-turned-Jim previously used during his temporary stay. Aziraphale's eyes him curiously, having not yet caught on to Crowley's implications, up until Crowley's fingers are sliding beneath his coat and pulling it off of him, slowly slipping the coat down Aziraphale's arms and running his fingers down them all the same.

"Oh..." Aziraphale breathes, eyes darting from Crowley's hands to his face.

"Is this okay?"

Aziraphale lets his coat fall to the floor, and despite his urge to pick it up and hang it over a chair or something, he stays planted where he stands, Crowley's fingertips lingering over his knuckles.

"I suppose," Aziraphale answers, shying away from Crowley's gaze. "Though, it's a bit unfair."

Aziraphale reaches for Crowley's jacket, and Crowley lets Aziraphale pull it off of him, though he does comment "I thought this was all about making it up to me. This was my idea after all."

"I'm just making a few suggestions of my own, Crowley," Aziraphale replies, pulling Crowley's grey, skinny-scarf off of him as well. "If you disagree with them, you can say such."

"No, no," Crowley is quick to say, face warming at Aziraphale's casual nature. Despite this quite literally being Crowley's choice, Aziraphale had adapted rather quickly, and with a lot more relaxation than Crowley truthfully expected. "I have no complaints with this."

"Good." Aziraphale's hands still pertain a little bit of hesitancy, as doubt fills any silent moment they have, but he pushes himself to continue anyway. Who's going to stop him from touching Crowley now that he's finally allowed? No one is.

He's had Crowley's body, but he's never felt Crowley's body, and there's a clear difference between the two. And Crowley just stands there and lets him run his hands along his sides, fingers pushing against his ribcage and hip bones before ever so slightly sliding beneath the waistband of Crowley's tight pants, and it's only there that Crowley stops him.

"You'll probably need some help with that bit," he states, though Aziraphale's eyes shine at the joking manner in which Crowley speaks. While he would much prefer to go the more humanly route of properly stripping Crowley down, he knows that logically Crowley's pants probably can't slide down further than a couple millimeters without coming to an impasse.

Pulling his fingers up, Crowley makes a quick flicking motion, and in a matter of seconds his clothes are miracled off. If he has any shame about standing nude in front of Aziraphale, he's doing a great job of hiding it, and instead just takes to unbuttoning Aziraphale's vest.

He's careful with the angel's clothes, sliding them off his body slowly and making sure they land on an area of the floor where they won't be accidentally trampled. Aziraphale has little shame in being naked either; he's been alive for six thousand years, he's been indecent once or twice, but the way Crowley looks at him once his pants are dropped makes him burn internally, as though Crowley is igniting hellfire inside of him.

"Look at you," Crowley murmurs, so soft Aziraphale takes a step forward to hear him better. "You're gorgeous."

His hands linger above Aziraphale's chubby stomach, wanting to touch but hesitating despite their mutual vulnerability. Hovering upwards, Crowley instead holds Aziraphale's face, pulling him forward and leaning down to kiss him again.

It reminds Aziraphale of his time spent in heaven, longing for the taste of Crowley's lips. They'd been the last thing he tasted before departing, and he hadn't realized just how much he'd craved them until they were unattainable.

A moan slips past his lips, which has Crowley pulling away immediately.

Startled, Aziraphale almost goes to apologize, but is quickly rendered speechless by Crowley tilting his head upwards and thumbing over his lips.

"Beautiful," Crowley breathes, so delicately Aziraphale could have believed the word emerged from the wind itself. "I wish it hadn't been muffled."

"I'm sure the others won't be," comes Aziraphale's assurance, though both of them go pink in the face at his implications.

"Well," Aziraphale then begins, clasping his hands together in a flustered bid to move things along, "shall we mount the bed? I assume that's why you brought us up here in the first place." Aziraphale nods at the mattress, and Crowley looks between it and Aziraphale as though his initial plan hadn't just involved wanting to move away from the downstairs windows.

"Right, yes, of course," Crowley exclaims, nodding and pressing his lips together into a thin line. "After you."

Aziraphale smiles softly, though pulls Crowley slowly to the bed, urging him onto it first. "No, please. I insist."

Surprised, but interested, Crowley lays himself back on the bed, scooting partially up the mattress until a pillow hits the back of his shoulders. Aziraphale crawls onto the bed after him, sliding between Crowley's thin legs until their bodies are pressed together, guiding Crowley's calves around his waist.

"I never would have expected - in all of six thousand years - to be doing this with you," Crowley admits, as Aziraphale's soft hands glide over his bony figure. Unlike Crowley, who displayed more reservations about touching, Aziraphale has no trouble getting right to it. They've never properly embraced, he's realizing, and now at their most vulnerable they're going to get to.

"Have you thought about it?" Aziraphale asks, as his fingers dance down Crowley's pronounced hip bones, and then over his thighs.

"Yes."

Aziraphale nods, not saying anything in response, though his cheeks flush at the confession.

His hands slide back to Crowley's hips, rubbing over his prominent ilia, before he sheepishly asks "who... who do you want to be in control?"

He would take the reins himself if Crowley so desired, but felt it necessary to ask. This had been Crowley's idea after all; he might have had a specific way he wanted this all to go down. Besides, after no doubt feeling out of control during Aziraphale's leave, he may want to be the one to guide things.

But surprisingly, he takes Aziraphale's wrists, and pulls them until Aziraphale is falling forward, hands planted on either side of Crowley's face.

"You can take the lead," Crowley says, slurring his words a bit in an attempt to be smooth. "Might as well, with the position you're in."

Very lightly, Crowley's fingertips brush through Aziraphale's curly hair, as he feels Aziraphale's stomach press against his body. Aziraphale stares into his eyes, before they're both moving to kiss in tandem, soft and slow, appreciating the other for all they're worth. To some extent, every kiss in the near-future will be a somewhat bittersweet reminder of Aziraphale's absence - and even his initial rejection - but it was sweet enough to be worth tasting. Addicting enough to have Aziraphale pulling away to catch a breath, before kissing Crowley again, his own arms shaking in a desperate bid to keep his body from laying flat against Crowley's own while kissing him feebly. Pleasure courses through his body, but he doesn't place why until he's being lightly pushed back.

"Angel," Crowley gasps, turning his head to the side to prevent Aziraphale from kissing him once more. "You mustn't tease me."

Aziraphale goes to ask him what he means, but as he sits up he sees that Crowley's hard, leaky cock was trapped between their fronts, no doubt stimulated by any miniscule movement. Aziraphale's own cock - also hard - was in a similar position, explaining his previous arousal.

Aziraphale sits back on his calves, leaving Crowley to prop himself up on his elbows as he watches Aziraphale curiously wrap his thick fingers around his cock, and give it a few unintentionally teasing strokes.

Crowley's fingers dig into the blankets at the pleasure, and his teeth grit as he muffles an embarrassingly loud moan, tucking his head briefly into his shoulder until he can steady himself. When he sees Aziraphale watching his face with pink cheeks, he's quick to spit "well? Get on with it then!" He can feel the blood rushing to his own cheeks, and he knows Aziraphale's noticed after witnessing the angel's lips form into a soft, embarrassed smile.

Performing a small, quick miracle, Aziraphale summons a small bottle of lube. He pours some onto his fingers, and then makes sure the digits are fully coated before pressing his fingertips against Crowley's hole.

Bitterly, Crowley objects "is this really necessary?"

But Aziraphale's response is firm and sweet, as he states "of course it is. Safety first."

Two of his fat fingers then push into Crowley's hole, spreading him open leisurely as Aziraphale focuses on stretching him out. Crowley groans at the feeling, sliding his forearm over his mouth to muffle his sounds as he leans his head back against a pillow. Aziraphale watches the way his Adam's apple bobs each time his fingers slowly thrust inside.

Crowley says something, and though Aziraphale can't understand it due to his arm in the way, he can assume it's something along the lines of "hurry up." It has Aziraphale huffing, but he wants to please Crowley, and so scissors him open just a tad longer before retracting his hand, musing at the whine that slips from Crowley's throat in the process.

The bottle of lube is reopened once more and spread over Aziraphale's thick cock, before it's shut and set aside with Aziraphale's hands taking hold of Crowley's hips once more.

The tip of Aziraphale's cock presses against Crowley's hole, before slowly sliding into him, with Aziraphale leaning over Crowley as he moans. That has Crowley gasping, as he slides one of his arms around Aziraphale's body so that his hand is pressed against his back. His nails just barely sink into Aziraphale's soft flesh, but he's careful not to hurt him.

"This is quite the apology," Aziraphale murmurs, voice light and breathy as he his cock pushes fully into Crowley. "Much better than the dance, I think."

"I quite like the dance," Crowley utters in response "Perhaps I'll have you do it for me when we're done here."

Aziraphale snorts out a laugh, before he's kissing Crowley's throat. This was truly a great deal of exertion, but it was worth it to see Crowley's cheeks glow red with each bit of affection Aziraphale gave him, despite having been the one to initiate this level of intimacy.

"Tell me when you want me to move," Aziraphale then says, voice gentle. "I want to go at your pace."

"You can move now," Crowley states, almost immediately. "Don't make me wait any longer." His arm falls from his face in order to cup Aziraphale's in turn, before Crowley whispers the softest "please" Aziraphale has ever heard.

Aziraphale is filled with the upmost desire to please, and so pulls his cock halfway out, before pushing it back into Crowley, shivering at the gasp the latter lets out at the action.

Here Crowley was telling Aziraphale he sounded beautiful when his own noises were just as addicting in their own right.

Aziraphale is slow and precise with his movements, and though his eyes watch Crowley's face contort with curiosity and pleasure, his mind is dually focused on making sure Crowley feels as best as he possibly can. And maybe - rather selfishly - Aziraphale is focused on the way his cock feels buried in Crowley's ass.

He tucks his face into the crook of Crowley's neck, trying to adjust to the rather sensitive sensation of having sex for the first time. As generally sexless beings, Aziraphale would never have guessed they'd do something so human. But humanity, to some extent, was what brought them together, so really it only made sense this would happen eventually.

Eventually. Aziraphale flushes as he thinks of that word.

It's rather intense though. Sex is. His nether regions are sensitive and his body is warm, especially as it presses against Crowley's.

His lips rest against Crowley's skin as he thrusts slowly into him, and despite his urge to keep his face tucked beneath Crowley's jaw, he pulls away after a few seconds, pressing a parting kiss to Crowley's sharp collarbone.

He brings one of his hands to Crowley's cheeks, running his thumb along his cheek, before he goes "your eyes truly are gorgeous. I missed you, of course, but I missed your eyes especially."

Crowley groans at the attention, and immediately slots an arm over his eyes to obscure them. Immediately, Aziraphale is tutting and quickly grabs his hand, peeling it away from his face and pinning it to the bed beside his head. He entangles their fingers, and scolds him softly for trying to hide any bit of himself.

Under his breath, Crowley grumbles about Aziraphale being a tease, but Aziraphale just kisses him into silence, grinding their bodies together as he attempts to speed up his thrusts. With hard thrusts, he pulls himself most of the way out, and then snaps his hips all the way in, stretching Crowley open with each movement.

Crowley's own cock slides against Aziraphale's squishy stomach, stimulated relentlessly while Aziraphale moves atop him obliviously.

Suddenly, Aziraphale's hand is being squeezed by Crowley's own as he breaks away from the kiss with a loud cry, head falling back as his back arches off the bed.

Aziraphale's thrusts slow immediately, unable to read the reaction as pleasured or pained.

"Are you okay?" he asks, tightening his fingers against Crowley's hand, only to flush when Crowley doesn't even try to repress a trembling moan.

His eyes are squeezed shut as he answers "prostate..." followed by a panting "sensitive area," which has Aziraphale going red in the face as he nods wordlessly.

His body presses further into Crowley's as his cock speeds up again, this time with Aziraphale looking considerably more focused as he attempts to aim solely for that spot over and over in order to make Crowley feel the best. And he does a considerably good job, with the tip of his cock repeatedly jutting against Crowley's prostate, making the demon moan with each thrust.

Crowley's legs squeeze around his angel's chubby waist, helpless to do anything but squeeze his eyes shut and suck in shaky gasps for air. He's only able to focus on the intense onslaught of pleasure that he's facing.

He expected this to be a learning experience for both of them, but Aziraphale is surprisingly good at this. He wonders briefly if Aziraphale has ever done this before, and then thinks about how they definitely need to do this again in a non-apologetic context, before he's being quickly distracted by another thrust to the sensitive bundle of nerves within him.

Choking out a moan, Crowley grabs Aziraphale's upper arm and clings to it, nails ever so slightly digging into his skin as he forces his eyes open to watch the way his angel's stomach looks rubbing pleasurably against his slick cock.

Aziraphale's stomach engulfs it, sliding over it, before lifting up slightly and letting Crowley see the strings of sticky pre connecting his cock to Aziraphale's pudge, before he leans back down and once again squishes Crowley's shaft beneath him. Aziraphale himself feels hot, and pants as he works to please them both.

"Angel," Crowley pleads, as warmth overtakes his body. He can feel sweat building on his brow, trickling down the sides of his face.

"What do you need, Crowley?" Aziraphale asks, knuckles white with how firmly he's holding Crowley's hand. "Anything, and I'll do it." And he means it.

Yet, he doesn't expect Crowley to suddenly grit out "come in me."

Clearly, he's embarrassed as he asks for it, but Aziraphale is equally as flustered to hear it, and can't help gasping at the request as he presses his forehead to Crowley's. Against Crowley's lips he breathes out "okay, okay," while Crowley moans between his affirmations. He's straining to hold back his orgasm, waiting for Aziraphale. Always waiting for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale's own eyelids stay lightly shut as he lets out a moan of his own, soft and barely audible, driving his cock into Crowley with increasingly sloppy thrusts before his breathing picks up, face red as he presses his body fully against Crowley's. Chest to chest, as close as they could possibly be, Aziraphale thrusts his shaft deep into Crowley a final time, before coming hard inside of him. He moans as semen spills from his cock, thrusting through his orgasm, before he feels Crowley jolt beneath him.

Breathing heavily, Aziraphale pulls back in order to watch Crowley bite his bottom lip, muffling a guttural groan as his back arches into Aziraphale's chest, scratching Aziraphale's arm as he comes, before falling back against the bed with a dramatic huff as he struggles to catch his breath. Aziraphale stays above him momentarily, before pulling back and sliding out, sitting on his knees between Crowley's legs - that remain loosely wrapped around him - as he sees the mess Crowley made of their stomachs, and his own mess spilling out of Crowley's hole.

Aziraphale rubs Crowley's thigh until they've both calmed down, before he asks "would you rather miracle away this mess, or clean it up the traditional way?" which is promptly answered by Crowley waving his fingers and miracling himself a clean pair of boxers, and their mess to be wiped clean.

"Ah. I suppose that answers that."

Aziraphale slides off the bed with shaky legs, and grabs his own boxers off the ground. He slides them on carefully, before turning back to Crowley, who is staring at him as though he's holding back a question.

Smiling, Aziraphale wordlessly gets back into bed, and watches the way Crowley lets out a quiet sigh of relief, lightly wrapping his arms around Aziraphale as Aziraphale slides his arms around Crowley's back, tucking Crowley's face into his chest.

"I'm not much for sleeping, but I know you enjoy it," Aziraphale says softly. "How about you get some rest, and when you wake up we can talk about things over tea."

"And a bit of gin?"

Aziraphale laughs, gently rubbing his hand over Crowley's back. "Whatever you'd like, Crowley. Whatever you'd like."

[fearandhatred]

falling like the stars by crowleys-bentley-and-plants, fearandhatred

the extended constellation poem here!!

The Starmaker wore the freckles on his face without shame, each and every one of them representing all the stars he had ever created, all the fragments of grace he had put into them—that was before the fall. Millennia later, Aziraphale maps his own stars on Crowley's skin in the form of angel kisses.

individual sections below for easier reading and ✨️details✨️. the full unformatted text is under the cut, the clearer version + text is on ao3! any and all support appreciated <3

soooo... my beloved @crowleys-bentley-and-plants and i were on the topic of calligrams and we got carried away as usual. many, many, many ideas stacked on top of each other later, we ended up with this half-fic half-poem calligram artwork piece...? we are the absolute masters of "what if" statements tbh. love u bestie we are the unstoppable force that meets the immovable object (the definition of a poem)

text below the cut!

they all left marks, dotted warm and feather-light on my skin; that was the first i'd known of gentleness. the very first star swelled all-consuming in my palms, fiery and bright, twinkling with laughter. that's when i felt that first heat, and when i looked, there it was: a singular freckle stamped over my heart.

they all left marks, when i created star after star after star, on the hands i used to mould them into shape; on my collarbones where i pressed them into me; on my cheeks that i bore exposed to their splendour. and when i exploded the universe into being, the stars burned through all that i was, and i was.

they all left marks; they were mine and i theirs, and i was as much of them as i was myself. this must be love, i thought, cosmic and selfless, agape and divine. and if everything else were ever stripped away from me, i thought, i could still cling to the evidence that i had created something, that i was a part of something, that i was something.

they all left marks, and i knew them completely, like the back of my hand, like the constellations of my skin, and as i knew them completely, so also had i thought that i would have them completely.

but then i fell away

from them

and

they

were

gone.

He hadn't realised it then, in the seconds or centuries after his fall. It had been a while before the earth and before nights, before he was allowed to drag himself out of the fire and into the throes of humanity. All he'd known was that his freckles were gone, the only proof of his creations he could have had in Hell, where steel walls and a whole world separated him from the skies, and thus from himself.

So Eden was good, where his serpentine form meant that he wouldn't have to look at his skin, smooth and newly unmarred in its taintedness, in his failures. And he had a purpose. Not an deed of selflessness or love or pride, but a purpose nonetheless, where before he had none, and was nothing. And it was good.

Then came the first night.

He would have thought that the stars were just too far away for him to recognise them, looking up at them now, but no. He recognised them all—and none of them were his. There were the pre-aged stars, scattered around haphazardly by the more senior angels; newly formed ones birthed from other star factories; none of his.

He would have thought that the burning away of the marks from his skin when he'd fallen—searing and gaping bare like cavities—meant nothing, if it wasn't for the little bits of grace he remembered offering up to his stars when he'd made them. If it wasn't for the evidence above him now that when he'd fallen from grace, his stars had, too.

The thing about giving is that there's always someone else who gains. But sometimes when you lose, others lose just the same. You give too much, the sky told him. You lose too much. And then it turned away from him.

Stars as they are commonly known are full of light, powerful and giving; that's how he'd made them, and that's how he loved them. It was the kind of overpowering love you felt helpless in the face of, and he'd thought that was just how love always was. But then there was God, and after God; his stars and their deaths. It was only then that he realised that there was such a thing as too much: too much love, aggressive and selfish, blinding and devouring.

He was a star that trapped light, that swallowed darkness, that wrenched all he loved into himself, consuming, destroying, until he himself collapsed under the weight of his own gravity. Until he blew apart and brought everything else down with him. There was no saving him from himself, not unless one wanted to play a losing game. No light escapes a black hole, and nothing comes near it and leaves unscathed.

That's how it was. That's how it always would be.

. . .

The park, too, is how it always has been, even years later. The same expanse of lake, the night wind blowing soft ripples on the surface; the same pavements marked with a million footsteps; the same worn benches that Crowley sits on, with Aziraphale next to him.

There's a silent peace between them now that they're free from their respective sides, a security of being. But Crowley isn't… settled. All these years, he's carried himself as an amalgamation of parts with pieces missing, pieces that were destroyed and could never be replaced. When he rests, his parts fall against each other in jagged edges and loose fits, waiting for the inevitable collapse.

And although he holds onto that peace, to Aziraphale's presence, they can't be stuffed into and mend the cracks. All they can do is keep him upright. There's a breeze on his face, the sky painted a shade of deep blue, freckled with stars visible and unseen, young and long dead. He sits on the park bench, Aziraphale next to him, an angel and a broken man looking up at the stars.

I love you, Aziraphale says, easy as anything. Crowley loves him too. How could he not?

Are you sure? he asks.

Why wouldn't I be?

There's nothing left of me to love, he says, as a statement of fact. All I am is loss.

You haven't lost me, Aziraphale replies.

Did you know that black holes are invisible? They don't reflect light, or emit it. It's like trying to see in the darkest cave. There's nothing there. Crowley tilts his head up to the sky, where the only things they can see are stars. You can only tell where black holes are because of everything around them that they ruin.

He draws his knees to himself, and imagines sucking in all his stars, powerless to stop himself from annihilation. He imagines that the stars are Aziraphale.

Then he feels Aziraphale's fingers on his chin, gently turning his face towards him. I see you, Aziraphale says. I see you, and I love you.

That's how it always starts. And it always ends the same way.

It doesn't have to, this time.

It's not a choice I make, Crowley tells him, to ruin things. It just happens, over and over. It's only a matter of time.

Then I will gladly take all the time you give me, Aziraphale says quietly. Crowley looks away.

Aziraphale leans over and presses a soft kiss to his cheek, tender and aching. As he pulls away, Crowley gasps at the sensation, and there on his cheek is a singular, twinkling freckle.

it would be easier had i not know you then, the angel you were in both body and soul, creator and mirror of the universe.

for years i shouldered the burden of witness to the spattering of stars across your face as they burst into being. you called them gorgeous, i remember, and though i agreed i was looking only at you. but i knew even then that you and your stars were one and the same, and so i saw that you were gorgeous, and it was enough.

it would be easier had i not seen you then, but it is not an ease i want to bear: to have known you then is to know you completely now. and to know you completely is to love you completely. in your face then i saw all of creation as it had been; in your face now i see all that can be created.

i know there are marks on you, the type that are permanent, that rub you raw and leave you gasping. i know that all the marks you carry with you now are marks that you wish you never had, and that the marks you long for are long gone. i know that nothing i do could give them back to you, that some feelings, once lost, are lost forever.

but i can only hope that i can give you something new, a feeling that does not replace but understands. i can only hope that you consume me completely, draw me into you, and that when i stay, and stay, and stay, you realise that the strength of your love could never be a bad thing.

i can only hope that i can trace the streaks of light across your skin, kiss new constellations onto your cheeks, and that it would be enough.

[seawater-aurelia-writing]

Broken { The Break; Chapter 2}

Pairing(s): Fem!MC/Yuu/Reader x TBD

Summary: MC awakens after her fall but the reactions of others make her spiral worse - but not all is as it seems.

WARNINGS

I am not the best at labeling warnings or triggers but I can say that this story is laden with neglect, self-depreciation, self-neglect, anxiety, possible depression and attempts to justify the above. There could be more labels that I can add but i’m unsure how to word them - so please exercise caution.

I liiiiiiiiiiiive! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ I restarted this SO many times and yet I could never get it to feel...'right'...So I hope this lives up to yall's expectations! Sorry for the bad summary lol

One last disclaimer though! I have not seen the entirety of Chapter 6 and I have avoided pretty much all content for Chapter 7 as far as i'm aware. So I may not have everyone exactly in character in new things were revealed for them.

When M/C awoke, she half expected to be in the infirmary as she was when she was knocked unconscious during the Magift Tournament. But the other half of her? 

She didn’t expect much. Be it the stillness of the void around her, or the library floor if Professor Trein left her where she fell – there wouldn’t be much difference. It's what usually happened anyway; She could handle her injuries herself if that was the case. However, she supposed there was some form of upside to being in the infirmary. 

If she was left in the void, how else would she know firsthand how she burdened and upset those around her.

‘It’s so late…’ She thought to herself, gazing out of the window across from her bed. She could barely make out the faintest shape of the moon – a crescent. Even the moon was smiling at just how pathetic she had to look at this moment.

“-C. M/C!” 

Why was it so hard for her to hear? Even as she turned her head slowly, moving her eyes to gaze up at the headmaster beside her, it was as if someone had placed her in a tub of mud. She moved so slowly, without much feeling other than a sharp pain as she tried to rest the side of her head down onto the pillow.

“…Hng..”

“Thank goodness, you’ve finally awoken! It’s been two days already! What on earth did you drink to cause you to create such an awful mess of the library?! You know very well that you cannot ...poultices as other students do because of ... Furthermore, I believe I ...use it for research not as ...a playground!” He ranted but his voice faded in and out as he spoke. But why? Why can't I hear him?

Only an idiot would zone out at a time like this.

Crowley sighed, clearly exasperated when she didn’t attempt to speak.

‘He hates that he let you stay here. Who can't do simple chores?He wishes he never helped you.’

“Once you are ...leave, you are to clean up ...the library. Luckily, ...the matter with you ...I can see.” He continued after a moment, his arms folding over his chest as he gazed down at her. Slowly, it became easier to focus but the ringing in her ears never  "Actually...Our nurse is ...but I see no reason ...release you myself."

“…Y-yes…sir.” She rasped, voice dry and hoarse from lack of use.How long had she been unconscious? But again, did it truly matter? But what did that matter? Clearly, the pain in her head wasn’t real and not a sign of something worse. Why should she expect something else?

'He wants you gone.'

'You're taking up space.'

'Stop being selfish.'

'Because you think you're worth more than you are.'

Ace, Deuce and Grim came to visit her that day at lunch just before her release but the visit felt hollow. They laughed and teased her for her clumsiness, even Deuce smiling a bit at the dramatics of Grim, but none seemed to notice the forced smile that M/C put on her face. None noticed how her eyes twitched at the sharp, spike of pain that formed when they grew louder. 

‘They’re only here because they’re forced to be. Stop thinking about yourself.’

'Just smile. Don't make a scene.'

When M/C had been released earlier that day, she was urged straight to attend the final class of that day rather than go straight to Ramshackle. 

‘Please let this go by fast…’ She thought to herself, letting Rook lead the way to their class as the pain in her head continued to grow. M/C closed her eyes for a moment, missing the way Rook glanced back at her and shifted his body to walk closer to her. 'Please...'

Yet it did not. 

MC felt as if she was on autopilot as she sat in class, sluggishly marking notes where needed and nodding along with the lecture but nothing seemed to sink in, no matter how many times she willed herself to focus in. Rook would boisterously comment on things, his voice jolting her to the present long enough for her to gaze at him and then the teacher before her focus waned once more.

‘You’re so needy.’ Why couldn’t she just move past her little incident? Everyone else already had moved past it, so it clearly wasn’t very important. She had no right to wish that others worry about her. They had bigger things to worry about, more important things to focus on.

Right?

‘Why can’t you handle this on your own?” Why couldn’t she? It was only one day just like the others! It wasn’t even hard! Ruggie had gone without meals more than she had! So obviously, she was just exaggerating. Vil had more things to worry about than she did including an actual career! What right did she have to complain about doing a few favors?

‘You’re pathetic.’

‘A waste of space.’

‘What good is someone who screws up a simple thing?’

‘No one cares.’

‘You’re replaceable.’

‘Forgettable.’

As class ended, MC prepared for her cycle to begin once more and so it did. Rather than go to  dinner, Kalim latched onto MC the moment she was out of the classroom. The pain in her head returned full force with his boisterous volume right beside her ear but she still smiled. 

He offered to help the next time she went to the library since he knew ladders were tricky. 

‘They aren’t tricky. He’s pitying you’

“Kalim, leave her alone. She needs to rest.” Jamil finally said after a few minutes, his eyes not leaving her  as he spoke. He almost seemed to study her before adding, “She isn’t looking well.”

‘Pathetic.’

“Huh,? Oh right! I’m sorry! Go, go rest up! We can plan a group dinner later!” Kalim practically beamed before ushering her away from the cafeteria despite Grim’s many protests and her own stumbling feet.

“B-But -” 

 But they were already on Main Street by the time MC attempted to speak. Why was she always so hesitant when it came to these things? She barely uttered a word in the entire conversation and despite Jamil’s eyes on her, it was as if she wasn’t really a part of the conversation. Just a figure meant to listen but not contribute. 

Always there but never meant to fully be there.

MC didn’t register her body moving as she went towards the direction of Ramshackle, her form practically shrinking in on itself as they went. Grimm was rambling on and on as he floated beside her, while she let her body guide her on a path she had now memorized. 

“…Just…pathetic…” She mumbled, one hand coming up to grasp at the other elbow. That’s what she was, wasn’t she? She didn’t stand out other than being magicless but even then people seemed to forget. No one cared that she couldn’t magically make a situation better, but they expected her to do it anyway. Just like no one seemed to care about her wellbeing but they expected her to always be okay. Thoughts of Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, and Vil drifted into her mind - how each of them experienced their own breaks during the Overblots, how they opened up about what hurt them, how everyone listened and tried to help them. She thought about how Crowley actually brought in special healers and therapists just for them for weeks after their incidents and how they still have check-ins with him to ensure they’re on the right track. 

Where was that for her? Her body couldn’t produce magic, she couldn’t  Overblot to make others realize how badly she was hurt mentally, physically, emotionally. She couldn’t voice her worries because who would listen? Even when she tried to warn her friends about the smallest of dangers, they simply brushed her off. Her words didn’t matter; so why would her thoughts matter.

‘Is that it?’ She wondered, a sudden cold feeling filling her form. What if she truly was the issue? Why was she so focused on having her thoughts and feelings acknowledged when she knew that all others wanted was for her to help them? They are all more important than her pathetic emotions, right? They have a life and future here in their world and it’s clear she’s just an anomaly who may never return to where she was once from. Was she - overvaluing herself? Was it all-

“It’s your fault, you know!” Grimm yelled suddenly, directly in front of her.

MC stopped suddenly, a cold chill rushing through her body at the words. Her fingernails slowly began digging into her skin as she looked into Grim’s eyes. “W-what?”

“It’s your fault!! You know, I had to do cleaning duty!” He complained, his little paws resting on his hips as he scowled. “I wanted to pick up some of that discount tuna before Ruggie got all of it but I was roped into cleaning! Not to mention those creepy twins came at me about something you forgot! And you forgot the library today! I'm not cleaning that just because you're lazy and took a fall! You’re my henchman, not the other way around! Don’t be selfish! ”

M/C this. M/C that. Clean the weeds. Fetch my things. Deliver this. Talk to this person. Clean this, clean that. Keeping busy, always busy.

'It's for the best. They have other things to focus on-'

She stopped walking, her head hurting more and more, as if a little thing was smashing cauldrons over and over against her brain. Her heart joined the rhymed pounding so hard, she gripped her chest in a vain attempt to calm it.

"Stop-" She gasped but couldn't say more as she stepped back, her throat clenching.

'They are more important. Don't deny it'

'They will never care about you.'

'You don't belong here.'

“I know as the Great Magician that I am, that I need to carry the both of us since you're useless without magic but you need to watch it with the - huh? MC?!” Grimm continued, his tone shifting to something MC didn’t want to hear – something she couldn’t hear.

She backed away, one step and then two before rushing off towards the entrance gates of the College. Not once looking back.

Her surroundings blurred as she ran, not taking into account where she was truly going - just knowing that she had to get away, far away. From the Grim, from all of the others, from Night Raven College, from everything.She just wanted it all to go away!

'Useless.'

'Magicless.'

‘Selfish’

"Stop! Stop it!" She sobbed, her breath catching in her throat. Her chest began to hurt more than her head caused her to stagger in her stride. M/C felt herself tumble down and crash down a slope, the brush scratching her as she went down before she hit something hard and frigid. 

She sobbed as the thoughts continued to repeat in her head; Every overblot, every chore, every demand, every reprimand, every expectation, and every sign of disappointment. Why was she truly like this? She wasn’t good for anything but menial tasks due to her lack of magic and still she can’t do any of that right. 

“Make it stop, make it stop, makeitstop…”

She didn’t know how long she laid there, nor how long she was sobbing, begging and screaming for the pain to go away, for the thoughts to go away. The pain in her head only grew the more she cried, and as it grew  - so did that pain and tightness in her chest.

‘Useless.’

‘Useless!’

‘USELE-’

Until the darkness took her under again.

But unlike before - the chill of the darkness grew stronger and more intense until it was the only thing she was able to feel. Just as the voices were the only thing she was able to hear. Repeating their words over and over, in a hell that she couldn’t wake up from.

After what seems like ages, a gradual warmth began to seep into  the darkness around her. A spreading, far reaching feeling spreading across her body but oddly focused around her back and under her legs. 

‘What is…’ She wondered as another sensation came to her slowly, a rocking kind of motion accompanied by a lightness. It reminded her of the gentle swaying of the waves of Coral Sea but was swiftly ruined by the sound of harsh thunder reigniting the pain in her head. A flash of brilliant light flashed across her eyelids, causing her to whimper.

“Are…-ake, dear?” A familiar, deep voice crooned, not loud enough to hurt her head any further but enough for her to hear it clearly.

‘This voice…I know it…I..Why is he-’

‘You’re wasting his time.’

“Shhh, your heart…racing again. You…it’s Lillia…Focus on my breathing, little one.” Lillia’s voice soothed, as the rocking motion slowed - was she being carried? M/C registered the warmth tightening around her slightly as her breath quickened unintentionally.  “Shhh, focus…. You can do it. Think of nothing else but my voice and deep breaths.”

It took what felt like ages before M/C was able to focus on the steady rise and fall of her head in time with Lillia’s breathing. The ache in her chest lightened but the pain in her head did not, only worsening as she attempted to open her eyes. Another flash of lightning, red eyes and furrowed brows.

“It’s best if your eyes remain closed. The storm will only worsen the pain of your concussion.” Lillia remarked, just before more thunder rumbled. “ You worried us all, dear. Especially dear Malleus.”

“C-concussion? B-but I…don’t have a-” She mumbled, turning her head to hide from the storm before a thought flashed through her mind. “T-The library! I didn’t clean i-”

“You will not be cleaning anything nor doing any chores for the foreseeable future, little one.” Lillia cut her off quickly, his soft voice containing a firmer tone than she was used to hearing. “You are injured and have been pushing yourself too hard. Far harder than you should have.”

‘He knows you can’t do it. That’s why he said that.’

‘He knows you’re pathetic.’

“No, n-no I’m not. It’s fine. If anything I need to push harder, heh.” She forced out a laugh, attempting to lighten the atmosphere but Lillia merely sighed.  “I-It’s nothing really!”

“You’ve barely been eating, little one. Silver told me as such and I witnessed it myself; We were going to ensure you ate this evening but you didn’t show. In addition, you’ve been having more accidents than usual and have been unfocused. You. Are.Exhausted.”

“No, it’s fine. I just, if I just finish this one thing then it’s fine. I-I can clean the library super fast and it’s all okay!” She pressed, fighting the urge to cry once more. Had her screw ups been that apparent? She didn’t mean to; She was doing her best!

“But it’s never just one thing, is it?” M/C faintly registered the sound of his shoes upon cobblestone, were they back on campus?  “After this, then there’s another favor that’s asked of you, another assignment, another mess to clean. But – have you had time for yourself, little one?”

“…I-I do at night I have-“ The words trailed off as she tried to think of something. She did have time to herself at night but it was never for long, especially when her thoughts would become so loud or she would get those odd dreams of things she swears she’s seen but can’t fully remember. 

“But you live with Grim,yes? Who boasts about how tidy you keep your shared room…so I can only wonder how much alone time you get in there at all.” He hummed,and for a brief moment MC felt the brush of something soft and silken brush her face. Lilia seemed to shift slightly, curling into her  before the gently swaying became an airy sensation, like she was adrift but his warmth continued to steady her.

“…”

“And let us not forget that Malleus often takes his nightly walks in your area; Often alongside you, yes?  He’s told us that he’s seen lights on in Ramshackle as late as the early morning hours even after he’s escorted you home.”

“Ramshackle…isn’t my home.” She mumbled, her eyes growing hot and tears welled within. “This isn’t my home, I don’t belong and that’s why this doesn’t matter. I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with me; you have better things-”

“Do you know what’s the scariest thing in the world?”

“Huh?”

Lilia’s voice was low as he continued to speak, “Asking for help. You have to open yourself up and admit to yourself and someone else that you need help. That you need someone there to help you stand until you get your footing once again. There’s not many people who can open themselves up to doing that. Magically inclined or not.”

MC thinks of everyone who asks her for help. “No one seems to have that issue here…”

“They do love to ask you for things but not for those matters that are oh-so  troubling to them. Most would rather keep to themselves and allow their thoughts to consume them before they incite their pleas. Does that sound familiar?”

MC bit her lip, her eyes opening partially as her tears finally began to fall. She vaguely noticed the dim setting around them, but nothing was truly familiar as her tears blurred her sight. “All of you already have so much to worry about and futures to plan and…it’s just…better if I don’t ask.”

“And what, praytell, about your future, little one?” Lilia pressed as MC shakily used her hands to wipe her tears away.

“I…don’t think I have one. I don’t have magic so I can’t really….. I’m a magic-less student in a magically-based academy – how am I even going to use what I’m being taught? I’m just pathetic and worthless-.”

“Enough. I refuse to listen to you slander yourself in such a way, Child of Man.”

MC tensed as Malleus’s voice rang out firm from somewhere in front of Lilia and herself. She slowly parted her fingers, blinking so as to get a clear peek between them but quickly came to wish she hadn’t. She wished she could go back to that unknown area where Lilia had taken her from and just melt there where she wouldn’t have to deal with what was in front of her and the implications it all held.

Standing before her, in the main room of Ramshackle Dorm, were the Dorm Leaders , Grim and Sam with various expressions across their faces. -----------------------------taglist-------------------------------

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