#because one they treat this as being Aziraphale's fault and two it's again treated as canon

[tenok]

.

[actual-changeling]

i know i just posted a 6k+ fic today but have this ficlet from aziraphale's pov as a treat before i disappear for the night.

@dancingcrowley a lil gift for u

-

In hindsight, it is entirely his fault for getting way too drunk.

"The... point?"

Crowley is looking at him without blinking, his head hanging upside down off the edge of the sofa, his legs hooked over the backrest, and it is either by pure luck or a subconscious demonic miracle that he hasn't slid to the floor yet. His wine glass is empty and has been for a while, probably since around nine when Aziraphale swapped his glass for the bottle and began pacing around the backroom with an increasing frenzy.

"Yes! The- the point of," he vaguely waves his free hand, unsure what exactly he is even referring to, "of it all."

Another swig of red chases the dryness out of his throat and causes his next words to tumble out of his mouth like a glacier-fed waterfall in early spring.

"The point of being here, like, earth, you know?" Crowley does not, in fact, know, that much is obvious from the expression on his face, but he shifts around a little, and that's good enough for Aziraphale.

"She put me in in in the SKY, and then there was WHOOOSH heaven, all white and empty, and suddenly, oh, look, humans! Humaning like, like rabbits or something. All doing things."

Emptying the wine bottle takes him less than a few seconds, heat rising to his cheeks and blushing down his chest, and Aziraphale briefly considers taking his waistcoat off when Crowley flings himself upright and slithers into what can loosely be called a sitting position. In reality, it is closer to what you would get if you put wet spaghetti on a dollhouse chair.

"There's no point, angel," he says, sounding vaguely bored, and maybe it's his growing disinterest; maybe it's the apocalypse that should have happened two years ago but didn't, maybe it's the fact that Aziraphale has been thinking one too many times about the last time God had actually talked to him.

"There fucking HAS to be a point, Crowley. There has to be! Otherwise, what's the- why would I- there wouldn't be a reason to-"

A reason to do good except to be kind, but he could live with that. He can live without knowing Her plan or being able to return to heaven, he can even live without ever hearing Her voice again, not that the last few millennia have ever offered any of that to him.

No, the point is, and Aziraphale has a point, he is sure of that even as the room begins to spin slightly, the point is that if there is NO point, there's no reason to deny himself anything.

...fine, not anything.

Crowley. Without a point, he could have- THEY could have- but they can't because there is a point.

"I just- just can't see it," he finishes out loud, uncaring that Crowley has not been privy to the argument in his head.

"There is a point," Crowley repeats, his voice dipping into a tone he knows from late-night dinners at the Ritz and casual temptations. In the low, golden light, his face is half-covered in shadows, and he sprawls across the sofa like calligraphy drawn with watered-down ink, flowing apart at the seams.

Or maybe Aziraphale's just way too drunk.

"There's a point."

Falling back into his armchair and coming close to immediately sliding onto the floor, Aziraphale tries to settle down and returns the bottle to its place on the side table. Maybe he should sober up and steer the conversation into safer waters, but he is still busy chasing one last question around his head.

What would we do if there wasn't a point?

Who would they be, then?

Crowley is already who he would be, always has been, and the parts of him that aren't are anchor points of the red thread weaving between them.

The real question is who he would be, and the truth is that he already knows the answer.

He feels Crowley's gaze on him, his eyes glinting amber in the relative darkness of the room, and Aziraphale looks back, chews up the bitterly familiar answer on his tongue, and swallows it like he always does.

"Hungry?" Crowley asks, already grabbing his shades from between the cushions.

Aziraphale lingers for a second, watching the smooth flex of his muscles as he pulls on his jacket and the tip of his tongue when it darts out to wet his bottom lip, but he smiles when Crowley turns back towards him with raised eyebrows and concern tight on his face.

"Starving."

[dee-morris]

An Overdue Rant and a Christmas Fic

I wrote this Hallmark AU last December. It was supposed to be a jokey little one-shot, but man it ate my brain. My average daily word count is 500-1k words a day, and I think I was doing 2k to 5k a day until it was done. I couldn't fuckin stop, and it was glorious.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43616245/chapters/109670092

This is very important to me, because I came to fanfic like a dying traveler comes to an oasis. After the pandemic I became deeply depressed and I developed chronic writer's block. Marketing was an uphill slog, and not being able to go out and socialize at events made it unbearable. When I did go out, the anxiety I felt about COVID made it not fun. I wasn't sure if I was ever going to write again.

Writing fanfiction was a welcome reprieve from all that: no deadlines! No SEO! No depressingly tiny royalty statements! Positive reinforcement with no dollar signs attached! So it was nice, it was fun, but I didn't really get my groove back until I wrote HallMark. That wasn't just fun. That was drive. That was passion. And it was glorious.

After it was done and posted, I couldn't forget about it. I had to know what it was about that story that grabbed me by the brain cells like that. So I went back and read it again, and I read the comments (thank you all kind people you're the best), and I realized that it was about Aziraphale and Crowley, but it was really about my feelings towards how children are raised.

*I'm not going to completely spoil the fic here, but feel free to go read it before we get further bc I'm about to discuss some thematic elements.*

Crowley is raising the Antichrist to be the destroyer of worlds on the surface, but underneath it he cares about the world, and he cares about Adam too. And that is the side of him that Adam responds to, and why he turns out the way he does. And that's what parents don't understand about children. They are only kind of listening to your words. What they respond to, and what nurtures them, is your behavior towards them and towards the world you're raising them in. If you tell your kid that Jesus loves everyone and we should help the poor, but you vote for people who will cut welfare bc you think you'll get a tax break and a new boat, your kid sees you. If you tell your kid that it's a sin to judge others but you glare at a tall woman going into the ladies room bc you think she might be trans, your kid sees you. They might grow up to be an asshole or they might grow up to think that you're one, but either way you lose.

And if you tell your kid that his destiny is to destroy the world and that living things are fit only to be ground under his heels, but you make him sandwiches and worry about him when he's out of your sight and buy him stupid Christmas crap because it makes him happy, your kid might not turn out as evil as you thought.

(don't actually tell your kid he's the Antichrist, btw, this fic is hyperbole for symbolic thematic purposes and not a parenting guide)

Anyway, my point is if you love your kid and treat him right, if you treat other people right, and give him a stable home and maybe a dog if you can afford it, he'll probably turn out pretty much okay. The rest is just flavor.

Parents stress too much about things that don't matter, but it's not our fault. You have to run the gauntlet a couple of times before you can filter out stuff that matters from stuff that doesn't, because the books and guides and parenting classes will just try to scare you about everything. Let me assure you that your baby does not give two shits if you feed with breast or bottle. But your child will remember whether you were happy, and whether you took pleasure in their presence in your life.

So what sucked me in about this fic was the reversal of what I've seen in the real world. My brain conjured a fantasy of someone who's a good parent despite themselves, instead of a bad parent with a church habit and a fat bank account. Of course I had to bring that fantasy into the world. It's how things become real.

[wanna-b-poet31]

Abuse by Any Other Name

So I am fascinated by Trauma and Abuse (both as a scholar and as a survivor of a toxic home environment myself) in Good Omens. This is an extension of one of my multi-part theory segments

Heaven’s Masquerade

Good Omens shows us Aziraphale and Crowley constantly coping (although often unhealthily) with the after-effects of their respective abuse and trauma. Both entities reference the way Heaven claims to “love” their angels but not once does Heaven actually cultivate healthy relationships with Aziraphale.  Instead, they masquerade as “love”.  

What they’re really asking for is ”control”. 

Example: Intimidating An Angel

Let’s examine one of the most blatant examples of Heaven’s abuse. Three angels corner Aziraphale. His supposed “siblings” who should be his closest allies, his most understanding companions,  his “side”, attack him. We can see in the above gif that although Uriel loosely holds his lapels Aziraphale is visibly shaking and terrified. Which is evident that it’s contact without consent. 

He immediately responds to the imposition wi terror, he knows that the could, and more likely would, be harmed by this contact. Which, is later seen to be correct when Sandalphon (not pictured in the Gif) punches his stomach as an act of intimidation.  Unlike Crowley’s mirrored actions, Uriel’s physical invasion of boundaries lacks respect and demonstrates an unequal power struggle.

Compare that altercation to the one that is Mirrored by Crowley:

Look at the immediate difference in body language. Sure, in the first Gif Aziraphale is surprised but the lunge, but he’s not intimidated by the attack. At first glance, it would seem Crowley’s invasion of boundaries is more aggressive and violent than Uriel’s.  However, upon closer inspection, the second gif shows that he’s not being pressed into the wall or lifted into the air. Crowley respects Aziraphale not to actually hurt him or put him into a position where Aziraphale could not escape.  There is no sign of struggle between the two. 

Whereas with Uriel Aziraphale is clearly panicking, there is no such concern in Aziraphale’s face with Crowley. There’s no shaking, no fear, no threat of death with Crowley, so we can presume that the boundary Uriel violated has not been crossed.  Rather, the consent to be touched hasn’t been violated. And that the closeness from Crowley while unexpected, is not unwelcome. In fact, Aziraphale takes advantage of the situation by taking the time to longingly inspect Crowley’s profile. 

While not the “nicest” way to be approached by his partner, Aziraphale is not scared. In fact, there’s an intimacy to the closeness. Besides the obvious hip thrust a la Crowley, and the nose touches, the second Gif shows a delay between Aziraphale’s reaction to the ex-satanic nun’s interruption and his gaze at Crowley. There’s an erotic element to the shared looks and a sense of trust here that Uriel’s attack does not share. 

Crowley’s goal is to “prove” his no-niceness, but Uriel’s goal is to intimidate. Crowley isn’t pushing against Aziraphale to show how “superior” he is to the angel, he’s doing it to show that “nice�� isn’t a word he’s comfortable with. Uriel wants to make Aziraphale feel inferior to them.  

For Uriel and “the gang” it’s a means of controlling Aziraphale for his disobedience to Heaven. 

For Crowley, it’s intimacy. 

So...How Does Aziraphale Start Healing?

Aziraphale specifically needs to come to terms with the fact that Heaven, (not just angels, not just the bureaucracy, not just God, but ALL of Heaven) is the emotionally abusive, neglectful, cruelly judgmental, physically intimidating, and unsupportive “parent” to Aziraphale.  However, for much of the story, he hasn’t acknowledged it yet. 

This isn’t to say he doesn’t notice when Gabriel is cruel to him, or that Sandalphon is about .25 seconds away from smiting everything and that’s dangerous behavior, or that his calls to God are left unanswered, but he denies that these behaviors are inherent problems. The “Heavenly” behaviors we see directed towards Aziraphale, his interests, and his loves are disrespectful and belittling, but he still treats them like unquestionable authorities.  

The first step for a healthy recovery is admitting that there is a problem in the power dynamic.  At the very least, he needs to see that the terms and conditions of Heaven are unjust. 

Now, we do see Aziraphale push against his system of abuse, he lies to God for one thing, and maintains a relationship/agreement with Crowley, consequences be damned for another. But his rebellions still hold Heaven above all other relationships. It is still where his loyalties lay. At least, it’s where he claims his loyalties are, but he’s lying to himself. The bandstand scene shows us a rationalization to excuse Heaven’s treatment of him. 

Until he can admit that Heaven has hurt him, he can’t undo their damage.

Road to Recovery

I argue that the first step in Aziraphale’s recovery is when he admits that he has a problem with the end of the world. It’s not a full admission of Heaven’s fault, but it is an admission that when he does not feel comfortable with Heaven’s actions he should and CAN intervene. 

Before, with Noah and Jesus, he watched, even though he objected and was horrified by the actions against innocence. We see this again when he seems visibly upset with “all the smiting” that Sandalphon does at Sodom and Gamorah. Despite his misgivings, he doesn’t intervene (at least not on-screen). Look at the below gif. He’s clearly pained by God’s decision, but he bites his tongue. It’s not that he doesn’t want to question, it’s that he can not question. He must soldier on.

We can see that when Gabriel brings up the possibility of “something big is coming”, he is visibly perturbed. Then, once Crowley tells him about the coming of the Anti-Christ. He recognizes that his love for humanity and his life on Earth is a tipping point that he’s unwilling to give up.  But, he still does it by operating within the framework of Heaven.

The next crack happens when Aziraphale realizes Heaven is unsupportive of his efforts to save Heaven. His face visibly falls when Michael says they’ll forgive him for is an inevitable failure. He’s also upset by Gabriel who does give him encouragement, but in a tone that is clear, he thinks Aziraphale’s efforts are fruitless.  Heaven makes it clear that war is more important than love for God’s creatures.

Then Aziraphale goes to Heaven, wielding information about the Anti-Christ. He knows where Adam is, he knows the beast is released, and he knows that Armageddon is days, if not hours, away.  Yet, he falters. He’s all anxiety and nerves when he’s forced to talk to his so-called “side”, in a way he’s never like with Crowley. But this scene’s pièce de résistance is his choice to lie about the location of Adam. After first mentioning Crowley and all his wiles, he suddenly becomes uneasy. Gabriel asks “where” and Aziraphale recognizes that no one in the room cares about protecting humanity. Now, instead of the end of the world being his biggest problem, Angels (not yet Heaven) are.  This is further supported by their intimidation of him after the break-up on the bandstand.

While this scene is certainly progress towards naming his problem, he’s not all the way there yet. He meets with Crowley, and Crowley scares him because he’s not ready to admit Heaven is intrinsically abusive the same way Crowley is. He still believes that Heaven, and the angels, are on his side, that they’re doing right. He’s mortified about the very realy possibility that if he chooses Crowley, he’ll lose his divinity. His later scene summoning Metatron shows that he believes so badly that if he can only get ahold of God, everything will be sorted. But, it isn’t.  

It is only when he recognizes “hello god, it’s me Aziraphale” won’t get him shit, that HEAVEN is his problem. Not Crowley, not angels, not Hell, but Heaven is his abusive parent and he needs to pick which side he wants to be on.  

So what does he do? When he finally is pushed to the breaking point?

He chooses Crowley.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[inkwell1013]

Garden Woes - Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley

Genre: Angst with a happy ending, Oneshot

Word count: 1335

Warnings: Arguing/Domestic dispute

Summary: Crowley always bullies his plants. Aziraphale babies them. They both think they are doing what’s best for their plants and its causing some conflict in their otherwise perfect relationship. One day, all the tension that's been building up explodes and an argument ensues.

Notes: I completely forgot about this fic. It’s been on ao3 for ages, but I forgot to post it here. I hope you all enjoy!

- - - - -

Armageddon had been stopped and all was well in the world. Crowley and Aziraphale had both been fired of course; that was to be expected after what they had done. Neither of them wanted to associate with either side now anyway.

Aziraphale’s awkward confession was accepted and requited and the two of them decided to move in together. There was just one small issue with that. They couldn’t decide who should move in with who.

Crowley’s studio apartment was too small for the two of them and quite frankly, Aziraphale didn’t really like Crowley’s neighbourhood. There was nothing wrong with it really, but Aziraphale didn’t enjoy being in areas full of negative energy and hatred. It made him feel unwell. Also, whenever he met someone going down a bad path, he felt a strong urge to show them the glory of God, which did not make him a popular person in those parts. Old habits tended to die hard after all.

They tried to move Crowley into the top floor of the bookshop but that didn’t work either. Aziraphale was far too protective of the books he sold and Crowley tended to pick them up with dirty hands or dog-ear the pages, infuriating Aziraphale to no end. There was also Crowley’s unfortunate habit of walking around the bookshop shirtless, completely oblivious to the shocked stares of the customers. None of Aziraphale’s customers seemed to like Crowley very much and Crowley was always picking fights with the customers who got angry and threatened his angel.

Neither option was working. When Crowley was flipping through a newspaper early in the morning, he found an advertisement for a cottage in the outskirts of London’s suburbs. It was perfect. It had enough space for the both of them, an empty home library for all of Aziraphale’s books and a huge garden for all of his many plants.

He brought it up with Aziraphale and was met with positive feedback. They met with a realtor and arranged the purchase of the house, buying it with their collective savings and moving in on a rainy spring afternoon. The house itself was dusty but otherwise clean. The garden however was full of weeds and overgrown grass. It was a bit of a fixer-upper but with time, it would be manageable.

The two fell into a comfortable rhythm of unpacking their things and fixing up the garden. Aziraphale was apprehensive at first, worried that he would mess it up, but got into it pretty quickly. The grass was mowed and weeded. They whipped up a few raised beds and sowed a few seeds. When they didn’t start growing straight away, Aziraphale got annoyed and Crowley had to remind him that these things took time.

Aziraphale wasn’t the best at waiting for things; whenever he wanted something to be ready it was, all it took was a small miracle. The only thing this didn’t work on was plants. He had tried it a few times before but they always withered away from his ethereal energy. The only thing to do was wait.

The waiting itself was excruciatingly boring, but when the plants first began to sprout, they were both really excited. A few weeks passed, and they were growing well. There was only one problem.

They just couldn’t agree how to treat the plants. Crowley insisted on what he called tough love, whereas Aziraphale tended to baby them. So they divided the plants between the two of them.

Crowley watered his plants daily and pruned the dead branches. If they grew, they grew. If they died… then… they died. He also yelled at them to make them grow better, which they did out of pure fear. Aziraphale thought this was just cruel and would go behind Crowley back to be kind to the plants, giving them compliments and encouragement.

Aziraphale on the other hand carefully watered his plants regularly and spread fertilizer on a weekly basis. He weeded the beds and gave the taller plants support beams so that they could grow straight. He was always chatting to them and complimenting their appearance, making them grow brilliantly, trying to please him. Often he found himself searching through his once forgotten gardening books for new tips and tricks or to help him diagnose some obscure disease or insect infestation

Their tactics couldn’t have been more different. That was where the arguments came from.

It was a quiet Sunday morning and Aziraphale was in the garden spraying insecticide on his cabbages and scattering some slug repellent when he notice black spots on some of the leaves of Crowley’s roses. He had heard of this before. Diplocarpon rosae. It was an invasive fungal infection that could decimate rose plants if nothing was done.

Crowley would probably just cut off the affected branches and burn them. Aziraphale planned to tell Crowley when he got home and went to go inside but he stopped himself. He had some fungicide in the shed and Crowley didn’t have to know. He fetched the fungicide and sprayed it on Crowley’s rose bush, before going inside.

Crowley got home from the city, where he worked. He didn’t tell Aziraphale much about it because he never really asked. It was dull but well paying. He took of his coat and went to check on the roses – his favourite plants. When inspecting them, he caught a waft of something strange. It was a sharp and chemical smell. He took a closer look and smelt it again.

He recognized it. Fungicide. Aziraphale had tampered with his plants. He was pissed and went to confront him about it. Crowley thundered into the kitchen. Aziraphale was sat at the kitchen table sipping his tea. Crowley slammed his hand down on the table, making Aziraphale jump.

“Crowley, Dear, I hadn’t realised that you were-“ said Aziraphale before Crowley cut him off.

“You tampered with my plants didn’t you? We agreed to keep our plants separate. You promised me that you wouldn’t mess with my plants!”

“It’s not my fault that you’re so mean to them,” mumbled Aziraphale.

“What did you say?” asked Crowley.

“It’s not my fault that you’re so mean to your plants!” yelled Aziraphale, standing up and raising an accusing finger. “Your so mean to them all the time and it’s not fair on them,”

“My methods work Aziraphale! Babying them will do them no good in the long run,” Crowley muttered.

“I don’t have to deal with this,” said Aziraphale, throwing up his hands in defeat. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” He stormed up the stairs, leaving Crowley alone. As soon as he saw Aziraphale leave, he regretted what he said. Sighing, he put his head in his hands.

Aziraphale was reading while sat cross-legged on the bed. He was furious at Crowley. Why was he being like that? He angrily turned a page. When the door cracked open, he didn’t look up. Crowley cleared his throat and spoke.

“I’m sorry. I guess everything got a bit much for me. It’s difficult for me to admit but I miss the way things were sometimes. When everything was familiar you know? Everything is so new now” he said sheepishly.

Aziraphale closed his book and set it on the table. “I think I know what you mean. It’s been months but I still try to call the head office and worry about getting caught with you. It makes no sense but in a strange way, I miss it. Having a purpose and a place to be, I suppose,” he said, laughing weakly. “I think we’re both a little in the wrong here, dear. Shall we shake hands and move onwards?”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “I’m sorry,”

“So am I,” smiled Aziraphale “But try to be nicer to your plants, okay?”

“I will,” agreed Crowley, with a yawn. “Are you about done reading for the night?”

“I think I am,” said Aziraphale, switching off his lamp.

“Goodnight dear,” he said as Crowley crawled into bed next to him.

“Goodnight Angel”

[lady-divine-writes]

More than Words ... but They're Nice Anyway (Rated PG)

Summary: Aziraphale is distressed when Crowley won't admit to saying 'I love you' ... even though he's been saying it for weeks. (1559 words)

Read on AO3.

“I love you.”

“What?” Aziraphale looks up from his plate of crepes and across the table at Crowley busy buttering his slice of toast and, by all outward appearances, paying Aziraphale absolutely no mind.

“Hmm?” Crowley mutters, setting his first slice aside and starting on his second.

“Wh---what did you say?”

“When?”

“Just now?” Aziraphale glances around the dining room on the off chance someone else is about, maybe hiding in the shadows.

Someone who … loves him?

“Would you please pass the marmalade?” Crowley asks, extending a hand.

Aziraphale’s brow crinkles, curious how in the world he heard I love you if Crowley asked for the marmalade. None of those words sound even remotely alike!

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, handing the marmalade jar across the table. “Of course.”

“Thanks.”

“Is … is that what you said?”

“When?”

Aziraphale sighs in exasperation. “Just now?”

“Yeah. Why?” Crowley’s eyes meet Aziraphale’s. “Did you hear something else?”

Aziraphale holds Crowley’s gaze several long minutes before he decides he’s being ridiculous. Crowley has never exactly been shy about any of his feelings. If he loved Aziraphale, he’d simply come out and say it.

Obviously, that’s not the case here.

“No,” Aziraphale lies, returning to his crepes, his appetite gone. “No, I … I heard nothing.”

***

“I love you.”

“Wh-what!?” Aziraphale yelps, fighting to be heard over pedestrians screaming in terror as Crowley squeals around a corner and jettisons straight into traffic.

“What?” Crowley returns. “What was that?”

Aziraphale white knuckles the dash harder than required for him to keep his seat, frustrated that this volley of words above the screeching of rubber must continue since Crowley refuses to slow down and drive safely enough to engage in normal conversation.

“What … did … you … say?” Aziraphale asks through gritted teeth.

“Oh.” Crowley’s brow furrows, his eyes glued to the road as he maneuvers between cars, nearly clipping the curb when he passes a rather large lorry on the wrong side. “I said hold onto your seat. The ride’s about to get bumpy.”

Aziraphale shoots Crowley a side-long look. ‘That’s not what he said!’ he thinks. ‘That’s nowhere near what he said!’ Even if he didn’t say what Aziraphale thinks he said, he only spoke three words. Not that Aziraphale was facing him directly. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road for a second when Crowley drives in case he needs to miracle some poor innocent out of the road. Aziraphale caught Crowley’s lips move in the reflection of the rearview.

But his sleuthing gets knocked clear of his thoughts when Crowley veers to the left, throwing Aziraphale across the seat and into the door. Aziraphale swallows hard, pushing down the heart that’s lodged in his throat ready to propel itself out his mouth and escape this demonic death trap.

“I’m sorry but … it’s a bit … too late … for that … my dear.”

***

“I love …”

“What?” Aziraphale rounds in front of Crowley, stopping him in his tracks. “What is it you’re going to say? And be honest now! Because if you’re not saying what I think you’re saying, I might just be going insane!”

Crowley blinks behind dark lenses at the white fire glowing in the angel’s blue eyes despite them being outdoors in the afternoon and surrounded by humans. “I … I was about to say …”

“Yes?” Aziraphale leans in aggressively, forcing Crowley back a step.

“… that I love walking through the park with you. Reminds me of old times. The good old times, anyway.” Crowley pauses, waits for a response. He grows uncomfortable in the silence under the scrutiny of Aziraphale’s piercing glare. “You know, before we knew that feeding ducks bread was bad for them?”

Aziraphale huffs at Crowley’s attempt at humor, but only slightly. “Are you certain,” he says, enunciating each word carefully, “that that’s what you were going to say?”

“Yes?” Crowley replies unconvincingly, and with the addition of an emphatic nod. “That’s exactly what I was going to say. Why? Is there something the matter?”

His answer infuriates Aziraphale, deep down to his core.

A joke!

He’s treating this like a joke!

How can he be so cruel?

He’s a demon, yes, but this isn’t just run-of-the-mill evil.

It’s Evil.

There’s a great many things Aziraphale can stand Crowley joking about, but not this. He’s about to tell him that, too, in no uncertain terms; give him a lecture he won’t likely soon forget. But when Crowley offers the angel his arm in a gentlemanly fashion and knocks him a little bow, it topples Aziraphale’s defenses.

Aziraphale can’t fault Crowley for his feelings … or lack thereof.

He can’t be angry at him because his pride is bruised.

He takes the offered arm and winds his through.

“No, my dear,” Aziraphale says, returning to his place at Crowley’s side, matching his steps when they start strolling again. “Nothing at all.”

Aziraphale breathes in deep and exhales slow. He’s not being fair. He doesn’t know that Crowley doesn’t love him. If he didn’t love him, would he have begged him to go off to the stars as often as he did? And if that’s the case, Aziraphale doesn’t need the words if they’re what Crowley means to say. He and Crowley are supernatural entities. Their thoughts and emotions can’t be measured on the scale of common, human words. Why, he’d heard a passage in a charming older movie Tracy made him watch that explains it perfectly.

“Words, words, they're all used up, they're hard to say. They've all been wasted on the shampoo commercials, and the ads, and the flavorings. All the beautiful words. I mean, how can you love a floor wax? How can you love a diaper? How can I use the same word about you that someone else uses about a stuffing? I'm exploding with love for you and I can't use the word!”

And he was right. The distinguished older man with the unfortunately large nose who recited those words was right. What he and Crowley have goes beyond words – especially mortal words. No need for those overused and abused words!

I love you? Who needs them!? Not him! Not at all!

But once, he thinks with a heavy heart as he squeezes Crowley closer, just once … it would be so nice to hear them.

***

“Explain to me again – what are you taking me to see? Because I don’t think I understand.”

“It’s called Sixty Second Hamlet,” Crowley explains for the fifth time but with the same giddy chuckle as the first.

“So, we’re driving to a theater over two hours away to watch a performance of Hamlet that’s only a minute long?”

“Yup! And it’s worth every mile, I’ll tell you that! Someone finally figured out a way to make that damned play a helluva lot less dreary. Just wait till you see it! You’re gonna love it!”

And there’s that word, hanging in the air, directed at something other than him. And as much as he swore to himself that he wouldn’t let it bother him … it bothers him.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

Aziraphale hangs back a step as Crowley leads him to his car, giving himself enough time and space to say what he needs to say before they go any further. Not just for now and not just for today, but for every day forward. “Before we do anything, I … I wanted to say something.”

Crowley stops with his hand on the door handle and turns around. “Yes?”

“I …” Aziraphale looks at the demon in front of him – six-plus-feet of conceit and ego and swagger that, despite himself, Aziraphale can’t see ever getting over if he lost him. Sure, they don’t need the words. But he wants the words. And if he’s the only one willing to say them then … so be it. “I love you.”

The blank expression that answers that declaration downright terrifies Aziraphale. If Crowley were human, Aziraphale swears he’d expect him to turn tail and run, leave his Bentley behind in favor of a swifter, more expedient exit on foot. Being the insufferable demon he is, he doesn’t react - not for a while. But then he grins ever so slowly, clapping his hands together in delight. “Finally!”

Aziraphale’s head jerks, taken aback by that response. “What? What do you mean finally?”

“I’ve been saying I love you for weeks, but I couldn’t get you to say it back!”

Aziraphale’s lower jaw drops of its own accord. “But … but I … I thought I was imagining it! When I asked you to repeat it, you’d say something else!”

“Because you looked so confused. A few times, you looked angry. I thought that maybe you … you know … didn’t want to hear me say …”

“Hear you say … what?” Aziraphale fishes.

Crowley’s triumphant grin becomes softer, fonder. “I love you.”

Aziraphale nods. He’s fighting not to smile. After everything Crowley has put him through, he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

But he’s losing.

“You’re quite the idiot,” he says, his lips twitching uncontrollably at the corners. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” Crowley steps away from his car and wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s waist. “But I’m your idiot. And there’s no getting rid of me now.”

[theoverlordmisha]

I saw this art by @whiteleyfoster and this follow-up piece by @alicerovai and had to write something. Now, I don't normally write fics because I get easily distracted, but I was inspired.

Rainy Days & Art Galleries

The British Museum Cafe had been the number four alternative rendezvous spot for decades. It wasn't used very often - the bench near the duck pond at St. James park being the preferred meeting location. Nevertheless, with the apocalypse averted and some extra free time on their hands to finally openly enjoy each other's company, an angel and a demon decided to duck into one of their old haunts to avoid an unexpected midday rain shower. There was no real need to escape from the rain, it tended to slide off the pair like water off a duck, but the duo had been feeling extra mischievous on this particular Thursday afternoon. 

Crowley held the door open for Aziraphale, who meandered towards the pastry display, brushing imaginary rain drops off his suit coat. Eyes full of desire for the delicious treats, Aziraphale licked his lips and peeked over at his companion. 

"Anything particular you're looking for today?" asked the young lady behind the counter.

"Oh, well that scone looks particularly- no, that cake, wait, um," the angel replied, glancing over at the demon. Crowley was of no help, still processing the glimpse of red from Aziraphale's tongue. "We'll just have the afternoon tea, please."

"Coming right up."

The pair strolled over to a nearby table and settled into their seats. A few minutes later, the tea arrived with a platter of pastries, and Crowley settled into his favorite activity: watching Aziraphale enjoy food. Something about the short pause and almost-silent moan from his partner when he took his first bite always distracted Crowley, and there was nothing else that could attract his attention. And Aziraphale was never one to pass up the chance to enjoy a meal or snack. Aziraphale reviewed his selection, grabbed a small cake covered in chocolate icing, and took a bite. If he conveniently licked his fingers after the bite, well, it wasn't his fault that he noticed the demon's eyes lingering behind dark lenses. Crowley cleared his throat, breaking out of his daze, and poured himself a cup of tea. 

Crowley finally spoke. "You know, I don't think I've ever gone inside the gallery." 

"Really, dear, you've never made it past the restaurant?"

"Well, I've been to the shop," Crowley mused, "always love those little shops. Guilt visitors into spending £20 on a souvenir they don't want? You'd think I had a hand in that."

"That does seem like your kind of thing," Aziraphale opined. "Well, we really must take a stroll. Not like there's much to do outside until the rain clears." 

A crack of thunder from outside seemed to echo Aziraphale's idea. The demon sighed and relented. "If we must."

The pair finished their afternoon refreshments and made their way through the different galleries. Paintings, statues, artifacts stolen from other civilizations - the different items brought back memories of days past. 

It was about halfway through the museum that Aziraphale suddenly stopped and paled. "Oh, bugger, I had forgotten that was here." 

Across the walkway was an oil painting of a man sitting with his back to the painter. The man was sitting on a blue cushion, his head turned to the side. A particularly soft man, with a mess of white curls atop his head. Crowley balked, once again at a loss for words. 

"Is… is… angel, is that you?" Crowley finally uttered.

"Don't be ridiculous," Aziraphale countered, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks.

"Angel, you know, in 6000 years you have not gotten any better at lying."

The angel scoffed. "I'll admit, I did spend some time with Rubens in the 17th century."

"Did you now?" Crowley teased. "Inspire him with your angelicness?"

"Oh, really Crowley." Aziraphale rolled his eyes before grabbing the demon's arm and dragging him to the next painting. If he noticed the demon's eyes wandering back towards the previous painting, he pretended not to notice despite the smug grin on his face. 

It was a little while later when they arrived at the Renoir. Aziraphale, who had just managed to finally recompile himself, turned a deep shade of red. Crowley's eyes hardened and his body stiffened. Just under his breath, Crowley whispered, "I don't like this place."

Confusion and guilt passed through Aziraphale. How did two paintings of him, mostly nude, end up in the same museum? He had really not thought this through when he suggested they stroll through the museum. The pair continued along their way, but the demon was noticeably quiet and aloof. Aziraphale fought the urge to explain himself, knowing the demon would eventually bring the topic up. By the time the duo made it back to the Great Court, they had barely said a few words to each other. Crowley passed through the shop towards the doors. Aziraphale, unable to distract himself among the trinkets, followed his partner out of the museum and over to where the Bentley was parked. 

Once the pair were back in the comfort of the bookshop's back room, Aziraphale finally broke the silence. "Crowley, you- you're not mad are you?"

Crowley huffed, loath to admit his feelings. Aziraphale continued to stare at the demon and after a pause Crowley couldn't help himself. "'m jealous," he muttered, sitting down onto the worn couch. 

Aziraphale was at a loss for words. The demon was jealous? Of what? "What do you mean, you're jealous?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," Crowley whined. He wasn't sure why it was affecting him so much. Crowley had sat for a number of painters over the years, inspiring and tempting them. 

"Oh, dear." Aziraphale lowered himself next to Crowley. After a moment the demon spoke.

"I guess I just didn't realize you had done that sort of thing." 

"Honestly, Crowley, we've been around for 6000 years. It would have been stranger if I hadn't attracted the eye of an artist once or twice."

A chuckle escaped Crowley's lips, and soon he had broken out in a fit of laughter. The angel stared at the demon, unsure how to proceed. "I- I guess you're right," Crowley admitted. "I just hadn't expected to see so many humans admiring your backside."

"Well, why not?" Aziraphale scoffed, leaning back on the couch towards the demon.

Crowley snuggled closer. "Angel," he mused, "it's a nice backside." 

Later that evening, hidden under the smell of old books in a dimly lit bookshop back room, an angel and a demon were entangled on a worn-out couch without a care in the world except for each other. 

[c-is-for-circinate]

On Good Omens, queerbaiting, and heteronormative bullshit

Theory: Good Omens the miniseries and the way it treats relationships feels maybe a little weird and hits some of the same mental buttons as queerbaiting not because Aziraphale and Crowley are insufficiently gay, but because the entire rest of the show is.  In this essay I will actually write this essay, because no, really, I think it’s A Thing and I might even be able to prove it.

There’s a lot of nuance to both sides of the whole queerbaiting/not-queerbaiting argument, and I don’t want to neglect any of it, but I think my big takeaways have been as follows:

On the ‘this is uncomfortable and queerbaity’ side:

Good Omens the miniseries ramps up the emotional relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale to be the heart of the entire show.  Both demon and angel are coded as gay in a number of different ways, both individually and in terms of how their relationship is portrayed as a romance.  And yet despite being the core of the show, they never make any of it explicitly romantic.  There’s not a kiss, there’s not an ‘I love you’.  The entire relationship is built from implications rather than explicit statements.

Years and decades and centuries of storytelling have given us gay relationships that we have to look for.  That we have to find in implications rather than explicit statements.  Sometimes stories were written that way for plausible deniability, so that content creators could keep mainstream/straight fans happy while also luring queer fans with crumbs and promises.  Sometimes stories were written that way for plausible deniability, so content creators could slip hidden gay messages past censors.  Sometimes stories were written that way for plausible deniability, so content creators could stay literally, physically safe.  But either way, it’s exhausting.  It’s been so long.  We want to see ourselves on screen.  We want somebody to admit out loud to what we’re seeing.  We’re tired.

Also, when things get heated: the opposing side are apologists and boot-lickers, ready to bend over backwards to defend their Precious Author Faves in hopes of receiving whatever crumbs they can get.  (Please note: this is an ad hominem argument with like ten different logical fallacies in it, and also it’s just mean.  We will be assuming that all parties in this discussion are attempting to act in good faith with a healthy dose of frustration, and largely ignoring this point.)

On the ‘no, this is Good Representation, really’ side:

Aziraphale and Crowley are in a queer relationship--it’s just not a gay one.  They are two genderfluid beings who mostly present as male out of preference or convenience, surrounded by additional similar genderfluid beings who may present as male, or female, or both, or neither.  Their relationship is both romantic and asexual.

The fact that those ‘explicit milestones’ of kissing, sex, etc are absent from the show is in fact part of the point.  Not only does it make sense for the characters themselves, but it means so much to see a relationship that is obviously romantic, that is the center of an entire story, where the key turning point is about something other than sex or marriage.  A relationship can be super important, can be important enough to build an entire life around, without sex, without kissing, without wedding rings.  It’s so good to see one that is.

Also, when things get heated: the opposing side are aphobes and probably transphobes, whiny babies who don’t really care about representation, they just want their kind of representation.  (Please see above note about ad hominem attacks and logical fallacies.

There are a few points that everyone can agree on.  Crowley and Aziraphale follow the plotline of a romance, and their relationship is the core of this show.  They do not kiss, or have sex, or explicitly fall into any behavior that conventionally says, ‘yes, this human couple is dating’.  Other characters in the show mistake-them-for-dating, but those characters are always uninformed about the real complex nature of this relationship.

One side says: it all comes so close to being a thing we so rarely get to see, to reflecting ourselves on screen.  Why promise and not deliver?  Why come so close and then shy away?  Aziraphale and Crowley, with all they are to each other (with Aziraphale’s shop in Soho and his time in a discrete gentleman’s club, with their so-religious families that will disown them or worse for this relationship, with everything they are an have been) are a metaphor for gayness that refuses to commit past the point of metaphor and just admit it already, and it hurts.

The other side says: it has exactly hit the nail on the head of being a different thing we so rarely get to see, to reflecting a different portion of ourselves onscreen.  It just so happens that the thing it’s reflecting is by nature a little confusing and undefined, is close to the kind of queerness you’re expecting without getting there.  Crowley and Aziraphale (who’ve been alive for six thousand years, who have seen so many different ways humans love each other and swear to each other, who are not bound by our conventions or definitions and maybe show us that we don’t have to be either) are a metaphor for nothing.  They parallel a lot of familiar narratives of a lot of kinds of queerness, without trying to be anything but what they are.

Two sides, everybody so starved for representation that they’ll grab for it and name-call and scrabble desperately when they almost get it.  One relationship.  One divided fandom.

.

Look, it is obvious by this point that this is a case of everybody fighting over our one specific instance of representation because there isn’t enough to go around, right?  If gay relationships were more common throughout fiction, it wouldn’t be so important that Aziraphale and Crowley were among them.  If ace relationships and alternative relationship dynamics were portrayed as frequently or given as much weight as sexual ones, it wouldn’t be so important.

And it’s not just about what’s important, it’s about what’s noticed.  If there were gay relationships--or if there were ace relationships, or other kinds of queer relationships!--all over fiction, then being explicit would matter so much less.  It is important, in this world, that queer relationships in fiction announce what they are out loud, because in this world they are so often brushed over or ignored.  They have to clear a much higher bar than conventional straight, sexual relationships.  If there were more representation in the world, everybody would be primed to notice Aziraphale and Crowley as a romance.  We wouldn’t need it spelled out--one, because we’d already know, and two, because it wouldn’t be such a big deal if somebody else didn’t.

Of course, there’s more representation these days than there used to be--little dribs and drabs of it all over.  There’s just enough out there that somebody can say, ‘look, we’ve seen basic gay romances, let us have this thing here, let us have this nuance’.  And meanwhile half the audience (who may be gay, or bi, or ace, or transgender or genderqueer themselves in all sorts of ways) is gaping, because...okay, maybe gay romance exists in some places, in corners, but there’s still so little of it.

We’re all living on crumbs.  It’s hard to appreciate nuance when you’re just a few steps past starving.  It’s hard to appreciate the grace of ambiguous and open endings when you’ve seen them twisted against you again and again, and you just want something that’s yours.

.

Here’s another thing, an important thing.  Humans are used to seeing patterns and we’re used to seeing stories.  It can be very hard to tell whether a storyteller is trying to give us something new and strange told well, or something more familiar told badly--especially if we’re used to seeing the familiar thing told badly.

And: if the audience cannot tell whether an author is portraying Thing A well or Thing B badly, at a certain point it doesn’t really matter which it is.

And: sometimes the only way to tell if a story is trying to show you Thing A and succeeding or Thing B and failing, is to look around the story to see if you can spot Thing B done right, anywhere else.

In other words: How do you make a difference between an audience that is collectively sure that Crowley and Aziraphale are some specific, slightly-hard-to-define but very definitely queer thing (and sometimes being hard to define is an intrinsic part of queerness), versus an audience divided amongst themselves over whether or not they’re just a bad, cowardly approximation of ‘gay’?

You put actual, explicit gay somewhere else in the story.

And that’s where we run into problems.

.

The problem with Good Omens the miniseries and how it does queer representation, how it does Crowley and Aziraphale and their romance, is the same problem that Good Omens the miniseries has across the board.  The problem is that half the writing team is gone, and so is half the story.

In the miniseries, Aziraphale and Crowley are, hands down, the main characters.  This is their story, and everyone else around them--Anathema and Newt, the Four Horsemen, Heaven and Hell, the Them, and even Adam himself--are just bit players.  I don’t fault Neil Gaiman for that, exactly.  I’m sure he did his best, and his best meant he poured the heart and soul of the story into these two characters and the relationship they share.  He gave them as much richness and depth as he possibly could.  (That’s part of why we all love them enough to fight over them.)  But the fact is, the rest of the story around them suffered.

Adam and the Them, Anathema and Newt, even Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell--humans, all of them, and very much the people who actually stop the apocalypse.  Considering the way Anathema kick-started Adam along his path towards Armageddon, they’re even the people who started the apocalypse.  Very, very fundamentally, Good Omens is a story about how humans don’t need heaven or hell--not to be evil, not to be good, and not to keep being human.  Except that the miniseries wrote the humans off to the side, and that cracked things a little.  In some places, it cracked things a lot.

Don’t get me wrong: I love the miniseries.  I love Crowley and Aziraphale at the heart of it, and the richness and depth of their relationship.  I love the story about how an angel and a demon are so very very human, even though they think they aren’t.

But it’s a story that only works with enough of a contrast.  We can only appreciate Aziraphale and Crowley as an angel and a demon who’ve become very-nearly human if we know what the differences are in the first place.  We can only appreciate their similarities if we see enough humans acting the same way: with want, with fear, with desire, with pettiness, with love.

The difficulty with the miniseries is that we see a great deal of Crowley and Aziraphale being full of very, very human emotions and reactions.  We see their worry and desperation and how much they care about each other.  Nothing we see from any other character in the whole show comes close.

Anathema lives a life in service to (a prophecy, not a Host, but is it so different?) a thing she doesn’t quite understand and nobody can explain to her, that she just has to trust--but we see Aziraphale deal with Gabriel and Heaven again and again, and we see so little of Anathema’s fear and doubt.  Newt is fired from (a nothing job, not God’s endless love) a world he vaguely understands but isn’t good enough for, and finds himself in a strange, confusing place where he’s probably smarter than his boss and everything smells a bit weird and it might technically be his job to hurt people except maybe he doesn’t want to--and we get none of it, compared to what we see of Crowley, six thousand years post-Fall.

Adam is human and not-human, full of powers that can bend the world around him to his whim, that can make things how he thinks they should be.  He decides not to, because of love and selfishness, because he’d rather be human.  He makes the exact same decision Aziraphale and Crowley make.  We just get so much less of the weight of it.

The thing about telling the story this way is that it turns Crowley and Aziraphale into the only real people in the whole show, with everyone around them in silhouette and abstract.  It stops being a story about how this angel and this demon are, effectively, exactly the same as everyone else--oh sure they’ve got some differences, powers and abilities and age and shape-shifting (and mutable gender, and vague non-existent sexualities), but hell, people in general are full of differences in all of those things anyway.  

All of a sudden, the differences between baseline human and celestial being start to feel weird and cheap.  If Aziraphale and Crowley are the only real people in the story, and they’re not reacting in the way most people would react--it’s not just because they’re individuals, with specific individual wants and needs and reactions.  It’s either a statement or a weird error.  If the only real people in the story aren’t people, everything starts to fall just a little bit apart.

.

And so we come back around to sexuality once again.

A deeply, deeply unfortunate side effect of the Good Omens miniseries fleshing out Heaven and Hell and neglecting the humans is that all of the queer content--all of the nonbinary characters, our one shining non-heterosexual relationship, all of it--went to characters who were not human.  It makes so much sense, on one hand.  That’s where all the new depth came from, so of course that’s where all the new queerness went.  And why should non-human characters subscribe to human definitions of gender and sexuality?  Of course they wouldn’t.

Because, right: the idea that sexuality is in and of itself a primarily human thing, which most non-humans lack but some experiment with for fun (and that is Word of God and that is explicit in the text of the show and the book)--that idea’s not actually inherently bad.  The idea that sexuality is a requirement of humanity, that it comes part and parcel with love and ‘becoming more human’ (which is, after all, the best thing you can do according to show or book)--that idea is in fact bad.  But if all of your desire for sex goes to your humans AND all your queerness goes to your non-humans...that gets real unfortunate, real real fast.

The problem is, just like the show neglected to give the full depth of human characterization and emotion to its actually human characters, it failed to give them the full depth of human sexuality and gender, too.

The humans in Good Omens are painfully heterosexual.  It’s not simply that the Newt/Anathema and Tracy/Shadwell relationships are straight--it’s that they fall into place as though straight is the only choice.  Both relationships are so very much a picture of no other options.  Anathema and Newt are facing the end of the world, about to probably die, and also have been prophecied to get together under these circumstances for centuries.  Shadwell and Madame Tracy are both very deeply alone, and getting older, and if they want to be anything but alone their only choice appears to be each other.  These four people appear to default their way into traditional m/f relationships, whether it’s falling into (under) bed or moving to the country to retire together.  They hit all of those ‘explicit markers’ we were talking about before, and they don’t do it with emotional build-up.  They don’t do it with any real exploration of the individuals involved or why they’re making these choices.  There’s barely any acknowledgement that these are choices.

The thing is, gay humans do exist in the world of Good Omens!  We spend time is Soho, and we hear about a very specific extremely gay gentleman’s club, and we know it’s there, somewhere, hidden.  We just never get to see it.  Crowley and Aziraphale (who are our only touchstone to those queer areas, which the other human characters never seem to encounter) are the Only Queers In The World.  And it sucks, and I think it happened completely by accident.

I suspect that the lack of human queerness was literally just a side-effect of the lack of human anything--Crowley and Aziraphale are in fact the only queers in the world specifically because they’re the only people in the world.  None of the already-existing human characters were given enough additional development to add much of anything, including any new gay.  The human world of Tadfield and the Witchfinder Army wasn’t given enough development to make it worth creating any new characters, let alone queer ones.

It just means that, all of the sudden, straightness gets accidentally equated with every single non-child human we spend more than two lines with, and queerness becomes exclusively the province of demons and angels.  That’s really bad.  It’s one of those unfortunate accidents that happens sometimes, because the world ain’t perfect, but it’s pretty not great.  And that’s where our problems come from.

In particular that’s where this current debate comes from, because if sexuality = human and human = straight, and nonhuman = asexuality and queerness = nonhuman, then we’ve accidentally said some pretty damning things about humanity and equated all queerness with lack of sexual desire all at the same time.  And it’s subtle, and it’s easy to miss, because it’s all about a lack of queer humans that’s all mixed in with the lack of humans at all, but it feels off.  So we go looking for reasons and we go looking for scapegoats.  It’s so easy to fixate on and blame the only queer relationship (the only developed, real relationship) we get at all, writ huge and impossible-to-miss all over our screen, rather than all the invisible ones we don’t.

.

Here’s what I take away from all of this: Crowley and Aziraphale are, in every real sense, the most important characters in the Good Omens miniseries, and their relationship is without doubt the most important relationship.  It’s a well-developed, believable relationship.  It’s neither a straight relationship, nor an explicitly sexual gay relationship.  It is a different thing all its own, a thing that does not easily fit conventional human labels, that may or may not include sex at some point but certainly does not require it to be devastatingly important.

And I like that.  I, me, personally, who would rather find a reason to feel heartened than a reason to feel angry, am really glad to see something so extremely not-straight at the emotional center of a story I care about.  That’s me.

In the absence of anything that is an explicitly sexual gay relationship, this nebulous complicated thing at the core of this story looks an awful lot as though it’s trying to be gay and not getting there all the way.  And that sucks.  And for a lot of people, that hits some very specific buttons that have been made tender over many years of stories that try to be gay and refuse to go there all the way.  The flaw, though, is in the contrast and the context around the relationship--not in the relationship itself.

Stories are hard.  Telling stories, and making sure that they get heard on the other end the way we want them to, is hard.  Figuring out why certain things resonate the way they do, why some people feel connected while others feel alienated when we’re just trying to make our point, is sometimes the hardest thing of all.

I don’t blame Neil Gaiman for not magically figuring out that this would happen with the story he was trying to tell, partially because I haven’t seen anybody else in this great big argument of ours notice it either.  He tried to tell a story that was similar to but distinct from a story a lot of people wanted, and he didn’t make it clear enough.  I still really like the story we got.  I like all the slightly-different fanfic versions, too.  I like liking things.  That’s me.

If you’re still mad, if you’re still hurt: legit.  That’s valid.  But I don’t think arguing over this one specific relationship, what it Should Be and Shouldn’t Be, is helpful.  

Basically: I don’t want to sit around getting angry at each other over why Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t get the same traditional markers of Happily Ever After as Newt and Anathema, as Tracy and Shadwell.  I want to know why those couples didn’t have to (didn’t get to) EARN their happily-ever-afters with all the feeling and wanting and fearing and deciding that Aziraphale and Crowley did.

[applepiewinchesters]

Fatal (Aziraphale x Reader)

Requested by: Anonymous

Warnings: Angst, Sad sweet bean angel

Prompt: (I combined two requests because they were very similar, hope that whoever requested them does not mind, thank you) You’re sick, really sick, and you haven’t told Aziraphale or Crowley about it because you can’t think of the right way to tell them. Crowley doesn’t exactly like you taking up all his angel’s time, so he’s a bit bitter towards you most days, finally, you reach your breaking point and tell him, and Aziraphale in the process, how he’ll have his angel all to himself soon enough.

 It was a bad day. Most days for a few weeks had been bad, but you’ve been managing to hide the pain you constantly felt, and the weakness you’ve come to get used to.

You were surprised Aziraphale, nor Crowley, had picked up on the fact that you were sick, it seemed obvious to you some days, but it’s possible they thought you were tired. No one ever said they were the most competent angel and demon to walk the earth.

Telling Aziraphale was probably going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, he really truly loved you, maybe more than his extensive book collection. You didn’t want to imagine the pained, hurt expression that would ruin his angelic features.

You shook the thoughts away, coming back into the main area of the bookshop with mugs of tea for the three of you, when you handed Aziraphale his, he smiled, leaning forward to softly kiss your lips.

On the other hand, when you handed Crowley his mug, he said, “Let’s hope you made it right this time.”

Ignoring the demon, you went and hopped up, with a little effort, onto the desk Aziraphale was sitting at, watching him comb through a recent book he’d acquired, if you remembered correctly, it was from the 16th century.

It was after a few minutes that Crowley groaned, “Do you really have to be here if you’re just going to sit there staring at him?”

He was talking about you, obviously, you really didn’t know what it was, but ever since you two had met you’d become civil enemies, you sometimes tolerated each other’s company, other times you spat insults back and forth until Aziraphale finally stopped you both.

“Crowley, you know Y/N is welcome here whenever she likes, and you are as well, you two are just going to have to learn to get along at some point,” Aziraphale spoke, turning to give Crowley a pointed look.

“But she’s always here, we barely ever talk anymore angel, everything is about you and this little human,” Crowley spat out.

You were gripping your mug tightly, trying to hold your tongue, you were rather tired today, you hadn’t slept much because of the pain, and Crowley’s words honestly stung a bit more that usual.

“Dear boy, we’ve had plenty of time to spend with each other, you’re the only one I’m hung around consistently for the past six thousand years,” Aziraphale argued.

“Well, the last six thousand years were better without her around,” Crowley said, obvious disdain in his voice.

That was it.

You slammed your mug down onto the desk, hopping off and marching over to where the demon stood, “Then you’ll be very happy to know that I won’t be around much longer to be such a bother, you’ll have your angel all to yourself again soon enough!” you shouted, hot tears beginning to drip down your cheeks.

Aziraphale stood from the desk, pulling off his spectacles, a concerned look on his face, “What do you mean love?” he asked.

Shit.

Sighing, you turned towards your angel, trying to wipe at the tears that just kept coming, “I-I’m sick… I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn’t know how to say it,” you sobbed.

“Sick?” Aziraphale asked, tilting his head to the side.

You nodded, “Cancer, stage four, the doctor said it was too far along, fatal,” you spoke, your voice hoarse, “that’s why I’ve been so tired, everything hurts all the time.”

You could see in Aziraphale’s face that his heart had just broke at your words, he seemed speechless. Reaching out, you grabbed him, wrapping him up in a hug as you sobbed into his chest, you were sort of coming to the realization that you were dying, you weren’t going to come back, and you would have to leave your angel behind.

Crowley on the other hand felt like absolute shit, he really had no reason to hate you, Aziraphale was his best friend, but he loved you more than anything, and him being with someone was bound to happen eventually. He would really need to learn to share the angel.

“I-I’m sorry, I need a minute,” you said, pulling away from Aziraphale and walking quickly to the back room, slamming the door shut behind you.

It was silent between the angel and the demon. Aziraphale sat down in the closest chair, burying his head in his hands, when his shoulders started to shake as he cried, Crowley could feel his guilt start to worsen.

You really did mean the world to Aziraphale, Crowley was just rude to you because, well, it’d just been him and the angel for the longest time, and now here you were taking up most of the time Crowley usually spent with him.

But you were such a sweet person, he could see it in your face every time he spat an insult at you that it hurt, but he kept doing it, he was demon after all. You were still kind to him though, getting him tea when you got it for yourself and Aziraphale, inviting him along on dates (even though he always declined), even making sure to order him food when you and Aziraphale got take out, even though Crowley didn’t eat much.

For fuck’s sake, he was such a prick.

Crowley hurried towards the back room, he had to help somehow, he couldn’t see his best friend like this, and he knew Aziraphale would lose himself once you were really gone.

He knocked softly on the door, he could hear you crying inside.

After a moment the door opened and you stood there, eyes rimmed with red, face wet with tears, “Come to brag?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Crowley shook his head, pushing past you into the room, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, unsure of what to say at first.

“I just…I just wanted to say I’m sorry, there’s no reason I should treat you the way that I do,” Crowley said.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock,” you spat back.

“Truly, I’m sorry,” Crowley told you, he wasn’t lying, you could tell when he was.

“Well, sorry isn’t really going to fix anything now,” you said, wiping at your eyes.

Aziraphale appeared in the doorway, he looked so heartbroken, and knowing it was your fault only made you more upset.

But he wasn’t angry, he didn’t yell, he just strode over to you, wrapping you up in a hug, “I’ll help you get through this, whatever you need, I’m there,” he spoke softly.

You laughed a bit, pulling away, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I should’ve told you weeks ago,” you said.

“How long have you known?” Aziraphale asked.

“A few months…,” you said quietly, making Aziraphale sigh and kiss your forehead.

“How much longer do you have?” he asked this time.

“Um, I don’t know, could be weeks, could be months, no one knows exactly,” you shrugged, looking down.

“For hell’s sake,” Crowley suddenly said, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from Aziraphale. “Stay very still.”

Crowley put his hands on either side of your face, closing his eyes, you did the same, not really sure of what was happening.

Put as you all stood there silently, you could physically feel yourself grow less tired, stronger, you didn’t feel nauseous like usual. It only took about a minute before you finally felt normal again.

When Crowley let go of you, you opened your eyes, “What did you do?” you asked, obviously confused.

“Healed you, angels can’t intervene in the normal cycle of human life, but demons can, less people going to heaven,” Crowley shrugged, like it was no big deal.

“I’m fine?” you asked, a feeling of elation spreading through your body.

“Yes, completely, long happy life ahead,” Crowley said, smiling.

You shocked the demon when you reached out and hugged him tightly, “Thank you, thank you so much!” you said happily.

“I-It was nothing, more for angel than anything else,” Crowley muttered. When you pulled away from the hug it was Aziraphale’s turn, he quickly wrapped the demon into a huge hug.

Crowley was obviously uncomfortable with all the affection as he gently peeled the angel off of him, “It was nothing, really,” he told Aziraphale, “just saw how much she means to you.”

Aziraphale had tears in his eyes as he spoke, “I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” he said, walking back over to you and hugging you tightly, pressing his lips against yours.

“Thank me at the wedding,” Crowley muttered, leaving the room, too much love, too little space.

A/N: Sorry I didn’t post anything, been having writers block. I’ve got three more imagines to write and then requests will be open again! Maybe send me some fluff this time, haha, I’ve been writing too much angst, I did ask for it though and you guys definitely delivered! Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it! Love you all! ~ Sara :)

[preraphaelitepunk]

Fictober19 Day 20: Clipped Wings

Prompt #20: You could talk about it, you know.

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley

Rating: Teen (bit of swearing)

Warnings: Memories of peer neglect/rejection

On AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843936/chapters/50218805

He’d always thought that Crowley’s wings were gorgeous. Their black feathers gleamed, little hints of iridescence flickering on his tertiaries, every feather aligned and glistening and looking so impossibly elegant. Aziraphale had only seen them a few times over the millennia, but they always left him breathless.

And now he could touch them. Crowley was more fastidious than Aziraphale and his wings only ever needed a touch-up, if that. But, though he’d never admit it, he was also generous to a fault with Aziraphale and never refused an offer of preening. He seemed to know how much it meant to his angel.

“Thank you for indulging me, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured as he finished, giving a last few delicate strokes on the glossy feathers.

“Hnghk. I should be thanking you. That felt amazing.”

Aziraphale lightly kissed the center of the demon’s back, right between the wings. “It makes me so happy to hear you say that, darling. I love grooming your beautiful wings.”

Crowley put his wings away and turned on the sofa to face Aziraphale. “And I love being groomed by you.” He gave a lazy, hopeful smile and said, “Can I return the favor this time? Once I can move my arms again; too blessed relaxed right now.”

Ah. There it was, the only problem with getting to play with Crowley’s impeccable wings: the demon always wanted to reciprocate.

“Perhaps next time, darling, but thank you,” Aziraphale said brightly. Now was the time to change the subject, make his escape. “I’ll go make us some tea; I’ve got a lovely Kenyan orthodox black that I’ve been wanting to try—”

Crowley grabbed his hands before Aziraphale was halfway off the sofa; apparently he was not actually too relaxed to move his arms. “Not this time, angel. Why won’t you ever let me groom you? It’s not fair.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all.”

“Yeah, but I do. This sort of thing is meant to be reciprocal, innit? I mean, it’s a bonding activity, like birds preening each other, or gorillas picking nits off each other.”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “Charming image.”

“That’s not my point. My point is that it only works when it goes both ways. You give to me, and I give to you, but you won’t let me give. What’s up with that, angel?”

“You give to me so much already —”

“So what difference if I give a little more?”

“It’s just,” Aziraphale swallowed, searching for the proper words. “It’s just not right.” Crowley made a confused sound, so he continued, “It’s just not something that happens. Someone else touching my wings. Inflicting that on them.”

“Angel, you’re not making any sense. There’s a backstory to this, am I right?” When Aziraphale nodded, the demon squeezed his hands reassuringly. “You could talk about it, you know. Help me understand. I want to know what’s wrong.”

Aziraphale laughed nervously, unable to meet Crowley’s eyes. “You’ll think it’s silly. It’s nothing, really.”

“I won’t think it’s silly. It’s obviously upsetting you. Please, I want to know, Aziraphale.”

With a shaky exhale, Aziraphale relented and began the story.

He'd been returning from a debriefing session with Gabriel when he'd seen the grooming circle. They were in one of the garden squares that used to be so common, little foci of concentrated peace in an infinite realm of peace. A tiered fountain provided a soothing background burbling, fruiting experimental citrus trees twisted and gnarled in the corners, and the little cluster of angels sat in a cozy circle on the tiles, each running their fingers through the feathers of the angel in front of them, preening and straightening and chatting comfortably.

It had looked so nice, so welcoming, like love embodied. He could use a little bit of that right now. The other angels usually were distant toward him, but surely they wouldn’t mind including him in such basic socializing.

So, Aziraphale had tried to join them. It wasn't rude to do so — angels joined social grooming circles all the time, even with those they didn’t know well, budging up to a participant and working their way in with shared smiles and warm glances.

It only worked, though, when the circle members acknowledged your presence beyond a dismissive glance, an eye roll, a slightly too pointed turning away. Any wings that he tried to touch flickered away from his fingers, a little too consistently for it to be chance.

Finally, one of the angels turned to him, exasperated. “Did you want something, Aziraphale? We’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

They didn’t want him. Whatever sharing was going on, they didn’t want to share with him.

He'd stammered excuses that no one was listening to, not even the angel who’d snapped at him. It was if he had ceased to exist again. He shuffled away, burning with a sensation he couldn't name then. It was only later that he grew to recognize the emotions all too well: shame, embarrassment, mortification. Loneliness.

“So you see, it’s really all very silly,” Aziraphale concluded with false brightness. “No high drama, no cataclysmic trauma.”

Crowley’s grip was getting uncomfortably tight. “Bastards. Utter bastards.”

“It was their right. Nobody should have to groom anyone they don’t want to, especially someone as odd as I am. A misfit.”

“Even now you’re defending them?” Crowley growled. He shifted off the sofa and knelt beside Aziraphale, golden eyes blazing as he looked up at the angel. “They were being petty, childish, exclusionist pricks. It’s like refusing to shake hands with a human: a deliberate snub.”

“Not every human likes shaking hands,” Aziraphale pointed out. “There are germ phobias, touch aversions, compromised immune systems —”

“None of which was going on here! They had no legitimate excuse to treat you like that, angel. It was personal, and it was petty, and if I ever find out who they were I will make them regret it.” Crowley’s grip tightened on his hands. “They were idiots who couldn’t recognize how amazing and wonderful you are, and I hate that they made you feel unworthy because you’re the most precious, fantastic, maddeningly idiotic being ever.”

Aziraphale laughed damply. “I could say the same about you, my love.”

“Blessed right! We’re two absolutely fabulous idiots, and we deserve nothing less than each other.” Crowley stroked his thumb against Aziraphale’s cheek; apparently a tear or two had escaped without the angel noticing. “Thank you for telling me, angel. And I’d still like very much to groom your wings. Not right now, if you don’t feel up to it, but sometime soon. Whenever you’re ready.”

Tentatively, Aziraphale said, “Perhaps — perhaps we could try now?”

The delight on Crowley’s face made his eyes glow. “I’d love that. If it gets to be too much, though, you’ve got to promise to let me know. Okay, angel?”

“I promise.”

It did not get to be too much. It was, in fact, wonderful, and if Aziraphale cried a little, it was only because he had never before felt so safe, loved, and, above all, accepted.

[thisbitchinthecorner]

998 AD- Day 20 Reindeer

Reindeer prompt! For @drawlight

Reindeer Prompt

998 AD

In an old Norse village, at the top of the world, an angel has been sent to make certain that Christianity takes root in this pagan territory. As it happens, a demon has been sent to spur the people to their old gods and to go out and explore the world outside.

“Why shouldn’t you find new lands to conquer and explore? Who is to say what is out there, beyond the sea?” The demon purred to a strapping young man with a lust for adventure.

“What will I find out there? Will I come back?” The man questioned.

“If you are hard of heart and strong of will.” The demon whispered back.

Better you than me. I have no desire to go to that wretched land mass. Crowley mused to himself as he watched the man stride confidently away.

“Hello Crowley!” A familiar voice rang out.

“Aziraphale, what the devil are you doing here!”

“You mean besides freezing!” The angel joked. “I’m meant to be spreading the word of our Lord. Well, my Lord as it were.”

“And how is that working for you?” Crowley said snidely.

“They are rather fond of violence, and blood and spirits.”

“How is that different from your Christian ways? Seems like God is awfully fond of death and bloodshed.”

“That’s blasphemy, Crowley!” Aziraphale said as he fidgeted his fingers.

“Is it now?” The demon laughed. “Well, can’t fault me for questioning God, now can you?”

“Oh come now!” Aziraphale frowned as he rubbed his arms in attempt to warm. “And why in God’s name is it so damn dark all the time? Honestly, I can’t tell if it’s morning or night. I hate being so cold, it’s just miserable!”

“How do you think I’m fairing?” The former serpent seethed.

“Fancy a drink?” Aziraphale smiled in spite himself. “The last time we met, I believe it was your treat. This time, it’s mine.” The angel miracled a handful of coins in his hand.

“Lead the way.” Crowley said with amusement.

The village was indeed small and isolated, there was also a distinct lack of inns and bars for them to partake in, thus causing them to make do with what they could find.

“This is just dreadful.” The demon grumbled. “No decent place to drink, no where warm to sit.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and before them, two thick fur blankets and modest shelter to keep out the wind. The angel raised his eyebrow as he shrugged his shoulders.

Well, I can play this game too. Crowley performed a minor miracle of his own; creating several jugs of wine, the kind they had enjoyed together the last time they were in Rome. He then created a roaring fire, contained within the hut, giving off a pleasant warmth. The demon smirked at the angel who simply rolled his eyes.

They sat down on the furs, comfortably settling down beside the fire. “Pity there’s nothing decent to eat in these parts. I enjoy fish, but not when it’s rotten. It’s ghastly!” The angel sighed.

“Tisk! Pity they don’t have any of those fancy oysters of which you’re so fond.” Crowley teased.

“Pity.” Aziraphale pouted; his lips pursed as he batted his eyes. “I would be terribly grateful for anything remotely edible.”

Crowley snarled as he snapped his fingers creating a tray of figs, almonds, honey, unleavened bread and grapes.

“Oh! Thank you!” Aziraphale grinned. “Care for another glass of wine?”

“Wine not.” Crowley laughed at his own pun, while Aziraphale was less amused.

They drank and drank and drank some more, the fire continued to glow while their cheeks became increasingly red.

Without warning, a dazzling display of lights filled the sky; flashes of green and blue danced before them.

“Are you doing this?” Aziraphale asked softly, clearly admiring the unfolding spectacle.

“It’s not me.” Crowley murmured as he removed the glass coverings from his face. “It’s beautiful.” The cascade of light reflected in the glow of his eyes.

“Beautiful.” The angel whispered as he stole a glance at the being beside him.

“The earth has many wondrous sights.” Crowley smiled as he continued to watch the lights as they danced across the sky. “Shame to think all of this will come to an end one day.”

“It is a shame.” The angel admitted.

“Funny thing for an angel to agree with a demon.” Crowley laughed aloud as he poured them both another glass of wine.

“Just because I believe this world is lovely, that doesn’t mean I agree with you.” Aziraphale shook his head as he took a swig from his glass, spilling more than consuming.

“See those creatures over there?” Crowley pointed towards a herd of reindeer making their way through the ice and snow. “Such animals spend their entire lives looking to eat, sleep and fuc...”

“Language!” Aziraphale chided as he playfully slapped the demon on the arm.

“Fine, fornicate.” Crowley tried to stand but stumbled back onto the ground. “Anyway, they don’t care about anything besides what is directly in front of them. They’re God’s obedient creatures, well, more so than humans are.”

“Humans can be obedient.” Aziraphale attempted to argue.

“Oh can they? Let me ask you, this lot you’re meant to convert; are they really interested in learning about your God or would they rather keep believing what they believe to be real?”

“They will embrace Christianity, eventually.”

“Why didn’t God just make them Christians to begin with? Why give them a choice?” Crowley asked pointedly. “Why the need to make them convert in the first place?”

“Because...um...what I mean to say...” Aziraphale fumbled for words. “Oh I don’t know. Seems I’m out of wine again!”

“I don’t have any answers either, and I’ve run out of wine.” Crowley lamented as he drained the last of the liquor from the jug.

“Well, consider this your lucky day!” Aziraphale chuckled as produced another jug of wine from behind his back.

“You’re worse than I!” Crowley threw his head back in delight.

“Is that so?” Aziraphale said coyly. “Who’s to say this isn’t blessed and meant to cleanse you of your demonic ways?”

“Shut it and pour the damn wine.”

They remain in their modest shelter for the remainder of the night, the sky here was dark for the sunlight did not come during these long winter months. The wine was finished, and both demon and angel were more than a little intoxicated.

“I haven’t been this drunk in well...I can’t remember.” Aziraphale tried to settle his eyes on the demon.

“I...ugh.” Crowley tasted a foul taste in his mouth. “Alright, I’ve had enough of this. Sober up?”

“Yes, I think that’s a fine idea.”

They both forced the liquor from their bodies, as unpleasant as the task was, they knew what awaited them in the morning if they did not.

“Crowley,” the angel began. “This was, well, an enjoyable way to pass the time.”

“Better than freezing my ass off.”

As they passed through the little fishing village, they found themselves in front of an old woman selling her wares.

“Care for a talisman, good sirs?” She asked. “They’re meant to ward off evil spirits.”

“Evil spirits, you say?” Aziraphale laughed as he nudged the demon in the side. “I’ll take two please.”

“Two?” Crowley said skeptically.

“One for me, and one for you.” The angel smiled as he placed the clay pendant upon a leather cord in the demon’s hand.

Crowley looked down at the simple necklace with a crude drawing etched into its surface. Such a small token, but given freely and without expectation. Such a kindness he had not known before, not even before his fall from grace.

“Farewell Crowley, until we meet again.” Aziraphale gave a smile before vanishing.

“Goodbye, angel.” Crowley looked over the pendant once more and felt his heart beat quicken. He slipped it around his neck before disappearing into the darkness.

[codicesandflora]

Ineffable Inktober-Day Twenty Seven: Wings

Yep, this is me, ignoring the fact that October is over and still working on finishing this....

This takes place a couple of years after the Notpocalypse. And just as a heads up, there are some brief mentions of an injury and pain in this one.

Barriers Broken (AO3 Link)

“Angel? Are you all right?”

Aziraphale started and looked at Crowley with a hasty smile. “Oh yes, everything’s tickety….”

Crowley frowned. “Angel, if you say ‘tickety-boo’, I’ll set your Oscar Wilde’s on fire.”

Aziraphale’s lips formed an ‘o’. “You wouldn’t dare,” he spluttered.

Indignation lit up Aziraphale’s eyes which relieved some of the tension that had been building up inside Crowley. At least the angel could still be offended. That was a comforting sign.

“I might,” Crowley said with a half smirk. “I still haven’t forgiven you for the mess you got us into just so you could get that copy of A House of Pomegranates.”

“That was hardly my fault. No reasonable person would respond to an offer of generous financial compensation with a request for a gun duel.”

“And no sane person would stick around to see what happens after a threat like that.” Crowley sighed and gave him a fond smile. “Come on, angel quit trying to change the subject. You’ve had that look on your face like someone actually managed to worm a book away from you all morning. What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t just the expression on Aziraphale’s face that had Crowley worried. There was also pallor the angel had and the way his features were pinched with pain. Aziraphale’s step had been sluggish and punctuated with the occasional stumble. Now, beads of sweat were appearing on the angel’s forehead, and Crowley refused to put his questions off any longer.

Aziraphale shook his head and pulled a small handkerchief that had embroidered golden wings on the corners out of his pocket. He wiped his forehead with it and frowned when he pulled it away from his face.

“I, I’m afraid I might have to make an appointment to visit Heaven soon. And I’m really not looking forward to it.”

Crowley let out a huge breath. Neither of them visited their former head offices in the two years since they had been released after the Nearpocalypse. Although he never said a word about it, Crowley was certain that Aziraphale dearly wanted to avoid Heaven.

However, if the angel was truly ill, a visit to Heaven might be necessary. The fact that Aziraphale was considering it meant that, whatever this was, it was serious.

“Why?” Crowley asked. He hadn’t meant for that to come out as an accusation, but the worry that had frayed his nerves had also stretched his vocal cords past sounding casual or simply concerned.

“I….” Aziraphale cast his eyes downward. “It’s my wings. I think there is something wrong with them.”

At that moment, Crowley was grateful for the sunglasses on his face because he doubted that he could hide the terror that was sure to widening his eyes. While their wings were usually kept out of the physical plane, that didn’t meant that they could be ignored or that they couldn’t be injured.

Even worse, because an angel and a demon’s wings were so intertwined with their True Self, a severe injury or a minor one that was neglected could spread to the rest of the non-corporeal form. And if that was allowed to happen…it meant a death as sure and as permanent as one delivered with holy water or Hellfire.

“What happened?” Crowley said, his voice morphing into a low growl.

“I…there was a demon who visited the shop a couple of weeks ago,” Aziraphale replied. “They was looking for you. But after I refused to tell them anything, I suppose they decided to get rid of me before continuing their search.”

Crowley’s hands curled into fists, his jaw tightening. “I warned them. Looks like I’ll have to….”

“No, not really,” Aziraphale said, holding up a hand. “I already Smote them. Quite decisively too. They won’t be back for a long while. But I’m afraid they did manage to land a nasty gash to my right wing before I dispatched it. I, I thought I could take care of it on my own….”

“Open your wings,” Crowley cut in. Aziraphale took a step back from him, and Crowley struggled to ignore the twist in his heart at the sight. “Look, I’m not going to do anything to them unless you want me to, but we got to see how bad the damage is, right? So please, angel. For me?”

That last part was blackmail, and Crowley knew it, but he was too worried to focus on that right now. He would deal with the repercussions of that later when he knew that Aziraphale was going to be all right.

The angel ducked his head and nodded. Slowly, he pulled his wings out of the celestial plane and into the physical one. Once they were fully out, Crowley did another sharp intake of breath.

Aziraphale’s wings were beautiful, but they were also horribly messy, full of broken and disheveled feathers and what looked like a molt that hadn’t been completely cleared away. Worst of all though, was a long slash in the upper part of the right wing. The wound was scarlet through the fluff of sparse feathers that stuck to it and it was trickling stray drips of a green ooze.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed. “This…this is….”

“Crowley…I’m, I’m afraid that I….”

The angel put his hand to his forehead again, his eyelids fluttering and his posture wavering. Crowley immediately took the hint and rushed over just in time to catch him before Aziraphale fell face first onto the floor.

‘Shit! Shit, shit, shit...!’ “Hey, I’ve got you,” Crowley said, struggling to sound reassuring. “Ok, I’ve got you. Can you walk? Angel? Hey, can you hear me?”

Aziraphale didn’t respond. His head flopped onto Crowley’s shoulder, and the demon didn’t have to see his face to know that Aziraphale was likely unconscious by now. Deciding not to waste any more time on conversation, Crowley hoisted Aziraphale over his shoulder, the angel’s wings draped around him like a shroud.

“It’s ok,” Crowley babbled. “It’ll be all right. We’ll get you fixed up and it’ll be fine. Just hold on, Aziraphale, ok? I’ve got you.”

He continued the steady stream of comforting nonsense while using a miracle to move both of them to the bedroom and as he lowered Aziraphale onto the bed. A bed which suddenly became much larger and wider to accommodate the wings and both of them being on it. Crowley snapped his fingers to brighten the light in the room, because despite the discomfort it would cause, he needed to be able to see even the smallest details of what he was doing.

Crowley ripped the sunglasses off his face and tossed them aside as he climbed onto the bed. He turned Aziraphale face down so he could examine the wing from a better angle.

‘Don’t think it has spread through the whole wing yet. So at least there’s that. Hard to tell though with how they look right now….’

Crowley frowned. It was obvious that the angel hadn’t taken care of his wings at all and the neglect had exacerbated the trauma of the wound. He was going to have a talk with Aziraphale about this when the angel woke up, but for now, he needed to focus on the bigger problem at hand.

“Angel, if you can hear me, I’m going to treat your wound, all right? So, I’m going to have to touch you and….”

That got a response, but not one Crowley had hoped for. Aziraphale’s wings trembled, curling away from him and there was a pained whimper. Whispers laced with shame and agony.

“Please…please don’t, Crowley…please….”

‘Damn him.’ Crowley’s eyes stung. To do nothing would mean death, and he already knew which he would prefer if he had to decide between Aziraphale loathing him and Aziraphale not existing.

“Aziraphale,” he said, his voice deliberately stern. “If I don’t take care of this…you know what will happen. I’m sorry, I know you don’t want me to do this, but…ngk….”

He could have said more. He was a tempter, and damn good at his job. He should have been able to find the words to convince Aziraphale, but words could break through the hurt he felt at the husky sob he heard from the angel.

‘Please,’ Crowley’s heart cried out. ‘Please, Aziraphale…’

Slowly, awkwardly, Aziraphale’s wings stretched out again, still trembling, but steady enough so that Crowley could work.

‘Right….’ Crowley snapped his fingers and a stack of soft, green towels appeared on the stand next to the bed. Another snap and some tonics he had stored at his flat sat next to them.

There was so much Crowley wanted to do to Aziraphale’s wings. Not just heal them, but fix them. Straighten and clean them so that they could be as beautiful as Crowley remembered them being in Eden. But doing more than what was necessary to save Aziraphale’s life would be a violation of trust at this point. As much as he burned to do more, he swore to himself he would make this quick.

Crowley looked through his tonics, chose one, and sprinkled a tiny pool of it onto his hand. “Ok, this will sting a little, but I promise it will help, ok?”

There was no response, but Crowley knew better than to assume that Aziraphale hadn’t heard him. More likely, the angel just shut himself down to conserve his strength and as a way to cope with what was coming. But Aziraphale was probably still aware, and Crowley made sure that that remained at the forefront of his brain throughout this.

Gingerly, he rubbed the tonic into the wound. Aziraphale moaned and shuddered, but did not open his eyes or make any other sound. Crowley rubbed the excess away with one of the towels, mopping up the green goo that had congealed on the nearby feathers.

Crowley took a deep breath. “Ok, this is going to be the worst of it. But I’m going to make this as fast as possible, I promise.”

There was still no reply from the inert form on the bed. Crowley slowly blinked and then placed his hands on either side of the wound. A harsh cry rang out, and Crowley almost let go. But then he reminded himself that this was coming and held on.

Then he closed his eyes and focused everything into drawing out the poison and repairing the damaged flesh. The poison turned his stomach. The knitting of soft tissue drained him. But Crowley was sure that none of it could compare to how dreadful Aziraphale felt right now.

Once he was certain that the wound was purified and healed, Crowley let go, releasing a long sigh as he did. Aziraphale was completely out, boneless, his wings drooping over the sides of the bed.

Crowley scooted to the foot of the bed, lying down and curling into a ball on his side. He wanted to be there when Aziraphale woke up. He told himself it was just to make sure that Aziraphale was going to recover.

It hurt too much to acknowledge that it was also because he couldn’t bear the thought of Aziraphale being alone after all that.

[wanna-b-poet31]

An (I should really retitle this series) 4-part Good Omens Meta Part 5: An Angel in Recovery

~~~Hey, look at me back at it again talking about abuse in Good Omens~~~

So like real talk, I could write a whole damn book on just trauma studies with Aziraphale and Crowley. Like no joke, I’m drafting my dissertation on disability and trauma. Expect at least 2 more parts of this multi-layered Meta because I have all the thoughts.  #sorrynotsorry for how long this one is. 

An Overview of Recovery

One of the things I just can’t get over is the ways in which Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship enable each other down the path of recovery from their respective abuse

I’ve been throwing around the word “recovery” pretty freely in my other installments. So, before dissecting their relationship, we need to know: what exactly DOES a recovery from an abusive environment actually look like? 

Generally speaking (and I mean like really, really generally), trauma recovery has 3 goals: 

establishment of safety, 

remembrance or mourning of abuse, 

the reinstitution of self/ sense of individual normalcy    

It’s important to note that most recovery paths are non-linear and deeply personal. Meaning, no two paths are the same not even if they’ve undergone similar trauma or trauma from the same source/event. Some practitioners will cite as many as 10 steps, while others still say recovery is reached when the survivor shift from a place of unpredictable abuse/trauma to a place of safety   >SOURCE <.  

Aziraphale’s Recovery Needs

Throughout the series, Aziraphale is constantly threatened, subject to unsafe work/family dynamics, and forced to endure emotional abuse.  Heaven’s stakes are unconscionably high, unfairly looming over the angel’s head. He constantly has to deal with the threat of falling, coupled with the constant belittling, and dismissive nature of the other Angels. His environment makes it hard for Aziraphale to recognize that Heaven is abusive. It doesn’t help that his primary coping skill is denial and repression. As long as he can’t recognize the problem, he simply can’t address the underlining issues causing his problems.  

Consequently, he doesn’t acknowledge that Heaven isn’t the perfect, righteous power he thinks it is. Heaven isn’t safe. It’s violent, unforgiving, and more than willing to drop him like a rock. There is no security if something as small as asking questions, or loving Humanity (his job) is grounds for falling or permanent death. Yet, this is the place he idolizes, above even his lover best friend. 

He can’t even consult other Angels to form his own sense of security in Heaven. None of the relationships we see (excepting Crowley) offer him solace, comfort or anything but abuse. If we include his human alliance with Shadwell, there’s another layer of homophobic abuse piling on his emotional abuse and physical intimidation.   

To heal, Aziraphale’s recovery journey has five distinct stages: self-identification of his abuse, securing a safe space, confronting his abusers, cultivating a healthy relationship (with Crowley), and embracing his sense of self.  

Abuse By Any Other Name

Aziraphale needs to come to terms with the trauma inflicted upon him by Heaven. And this isn’t to say he doesn’t notice that Gabriel is cruel to him, or that Sandalphon is about .25 seconds away from smiting everything and that’s dangerous, but he denies that these behaviors are inherent problems.  Their behaviors, particularly toward him, his interests, and his loves are not respected, but he still treats them like unquestionable authorities.  Admitting that there is a problem in the power dynamic, or at the very least the terms and conditions of Heaven are unjust, is the first thing Aziraphale needs to do to begin recovering from his toxic environment and toxic relationships.

Now, we do see Aziraphale push against his system of abuse, he lies to God for one thing, and maintains a relationship/agreement with Crowley for another. But his rebellions still regards Heaven above all other relationships. It is still where he claims his loyalties lay. Until he can admit that Heaven does not have his best interest at heart, he can’t undo their damage. 

I argue that the first step in Aziraphale’s recovery is when he admits that he has a problem with the end of the world. It’s not a full admission of Heaven’s fault, but it is an admission that when he does not feel comfortable with Heaven’s actions he should and CAN intervene. Before, with Noah and Jesus, he watched, even though he objected and was horrified by the actions against innocence. We see this again when he seems visibly upset with “all the smiting” that Sandalphon does at Sodom and Gamorah. Despite his misgivings, he doesn’t intervene (at least not on-screen). Look at the below gif. He’s clearly pained by God’s decision, but he bites his tongue. It’s not that he doesn’t want to question, it’s that he can not question. He must soldier on. 

We can see that when Gabriel brings up the possibility of “something big is coming”, he is visibly perturbed. Then, once Crowley tells him about the coming of the Anti-Christ. He recognizes that his love for humanity and his life on Earth is a tipping point that he’s unwilling to give up.  But, he still does it by operating within the framework of Heaven. 

The next crack happens when Aziraphale realizes Heaven is unsupportive of his efforts to save Heaven. His face visibly falls when Michael says they’ll forgive him for is an inevitable failure. He’s also upset by Gabriel who does give him encouragement, but in a tone that is clear, he thinks Aziraphale’s efforts are fruitless.  Heaven makes it clear that war is more important than love for God’s creatures.

Then Aziraphale goes to Heaven, wielding information about the Anti-Christ. He knows where Adam is, he knows the beast is released, and he knows that Armageddon is days, if not hours, away.  Yet, he falters. He’s all anxiety and nerves when he’s forced to talk to his so-called “side”, in a way he’s never like with Crowley. But this scene’s pièce de résistance is his choice to lie about the location of Adam. After first mentioning Crowley and all his wiles, he suddenly becomes uneasy. Gabriel asks “where” and Aziraphale recognizes that no one in the room cares about protecting humanity. Now, instead of the end of the world being his biggest problem, Angels (not yet Heaven) are.  This is further supported by their intimidation of him after the break-up on the bandstand. 

While this scene is certainly progress towards naming his problem, he’s not all the way there yet. He meets with Crowley, and Crowley scares him because he’s not ready to admit Heaven is intrinsically abusive the same way Crowley is. He still believes that Heaven, and the angels, are on his side, that they’re doing right. He’s mortified about the very realy possibility that if he chooses Crowley, he’ll lose his divinity. His later scene summoning Metatron shows that he believes so badly that if he can only get ahold of God, everything will be sorted. But, it isn’t.  

It is only when he recognizes “hello god, it’s me Aziraphale” won’t get him shit, that HEAVEN is his problem. Not Crowley, not angels, not Hell, but Heaven is his abusive parent and he needs to pick which side he wants to be on.  

So he chooses Crowley. 

Sanctum Sanctorum

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 100 times. Heaven is an empty, cold, and unloving place. There is no joy in its walls. There is no love for the Angels who dare enter. It’s a place where the Archangel Fucking Gabriel is willing to burn his “traitor” in a fire without a trial. In short, it’s unsafe. Aziraphale is, at the very least, unsafe their. Unsafe from judgmental eyes, unsafe from intimidation, and physically separated from the rest of the angels during every meeting. 

Soho, in contrast, is very different. It’s very clear that Aziraphale’s shop is warm and alive with love. It’s where Aziraphale eats, prays, loves, and lives. He knows, even before he can name his problem, that Heaven isn’t home. So he creates one, a little oasis where he can invite Crowley for drinks, he can maintain his ever-growing book collection, and center himself. 

He is safe here, on Earth, because it’s of his own choice. Agency (or the ability to make choices) is crucial for coping with trauma. It empowers survivors to maintain their recovery and help give them back control over their lives. In Heaven, Aziraphale has no agency. There is no food for him to taste, no lover best friend to go on dinner dates with, no books to quench his thirst for knowledge.  In his bookshop though? He has all the freedom to be as hard or soft as he pleases, read whatever he pleases, eat or drink whatever he pleases, and love whomever he pleases, without fear of discipline.

It’s VERY important to note that 1 solitary character respects his sanctuary -- Crowley. Gabriel and Sandalphon barge in unannounced frequently, belittle his work and expect him to drop everything at a moment’s notice. Shadwell breaks and enters, calls him homophobic slurs and “kills” him. Sure Crowley miracles the locks open unannounced, but it’s only when the shop’s on fire and damn it Crowley has an Angel to save.  

Every other character, except Crowley, belittles Aziraphale’s love of books and food, and warmth. Where other characters barge into his home uninvited, Crowley always asks express permission (minus when he’s being an action hero) to enter Aziraphale’s inter-most place of safety. Unlike everyone else, Crowley respects and loves Aziraphale enough to help him maintain a place of safety from the abuses of Trust they both find in Heaven. 

The One Where Gabriel’s a Dick And Aziraphale Says FUCK YOU to Hell

Aziraphale realizes that the line between Heaven and Hell’s abuse is a fucking thin one. They team up to actively destroy the two things he loves and has been gaslighting, attacking, or traumatizing him to do it. As a way to start coping with the tremendous loss and trauma inherent in Armageddon't he comes to terms with his abusers. 

There are three distinct moments where he does this. First is to Shadwell. The idiot of a man is constantly berating him, a presumed ally, with homophobic slurs. While ultimately a small moment, it’s one that Aziraphale desperately needs to confront if he has any hope of confronting his other abusers. When Aziraphale faces Shadwell, he does it with so much style. Not just does he reclaim the homophobic slur, but he also puts Shadwell in his place for using it in the first place. Honestly, Michael Sheen and Miranda Richardson deserve Awards for their performance here. 

The second biggie is when he stands up to (the bastard archangel) Gabriel.  Although I don’t doubt Aziraphale could cut someone with his flaming sword, his most powerful weapon is his words. He defends Adam’s choice to not destroy the world and confronts Gabriel’s use of the “great plan” vs. the ineffable one. Aziraphale knows that poking at Heaven’s excuse for destroying humanity won’t hold up. There is no rationale for waging war except “to see whose gang’s the best”. Speaking up like that, against a director of war, is ballsy, but Aziraphale does not care. He needs to confront the horrendous way Gabriel/Heaven has treated him, humanity, and Crowley. 

And who supports him through this cathartic moment? Crowley. With a single glance, Crowley interjects and comes through, supporting Aziraphale’s (actually really clever) plan to protect Adam and the world. Crowley realizes Heaven and Hell don’t actually know what they’re doing, and that Aziraphale has them dead to right. Stepping closer to Aziraphale, protectively behind Adam, he pushes until Heaven and Hell are forced to admit defeat. 

It’s a beautiful confrontation. A perfect Fuckkkkk you to 2 abusive entities. 

The third distinct moment is the switch. While Hell specifically hasn’t actually targetted Aziraphale, they have done something worse. Attacked his support system. So, Aziraphale returns in kind, confronting his partner’s abusers head on. And look at the absolute GLEE he takes in showing off how indestructible to Holy Water his partner is. He’s making a performance of daring all of Hell to come after them, terrorizing them like they terrorized Crowley and him.

It’s also him coming to terms with the fact that yes, it’s him and Crowley against the (divine) World. The switch is so significant for so many reasons, but the primary one is that it allows Aziraphale the ability to face his biggest fear -- Hell -- and not flinch. The Threat of falling (like from Uriel/Michael/Sandalphon) and going to Hell terrifies our loveable bastard angel. He knew that he was disposable to Heaven, but he’s indisposable to Crowley. This confrontation allows him to come to terms with the unhealthy power dynamic of Heaven and begin the rest of his life with Crowley as equals. He’s not fully recovered (recovery is a process, not a finish line) but he’s faced all of his abusers.   

Our Own side

His relationship with Crowley is the only damn thing that Aziraphale can always rely on. Heaven’s love is conditional. Humans live short lives compared to Azi’s immortality. And Hell wants him dead simply because he’s an Angel.

But Crowley? Dammit. Crowley will run into a burning building to save him. He’ll run into a church to save him, and then save his books because Crowley knows Aziraphale would forget. He’ll race to France DURING A REVOLUTION, to a PRISON to rescue Aziraphale. He’s Aziraphale’s constant companion, and really the only support he can always trust. 

Crowley is the one to pull Aziraphale out of his abusive environment, enable him to act in the face of injustice, and support him as he faces down his abusers.  He also respects the angel’s boundaries consistently, and while he’s been accused of going too fast, he’s patient, never pressuring Aziraphale to do something he’s truly uncomfortable doing. Normally, it’s already something Aziraphale wants to do, but can’t rationalize a reason to do it that would allow him to disobey Heaven. All the way up until shit hits the fan does Crowley refrain from making Aziraphale uncomfortable, and even at the breakup scene, Crowley forces it because he knows Aziraphale has to make a choice. Him or Heaven. 

But, it’s Aziraphale choice and Crowley REFUSES to make it for him.  

Heaven never consults Aziraphale on policy decisions, never initiates open communicates with Aziraphale, and certainly never treats Aziraphale as an equal. Crowley does. Crowley could easily have forced Aziraphale into his car and flew to Alpha Centurai. He could have forced Aziraphale to go with him in the bandstand. He could have forced Aziraphale to do any number of things without his consent, but he chooses not to. He chooses to be the honest entity Aziraphale needs in his life. He chooses Aziraphale, just as Aziraphale chooses him.

Even when they’re arguing, they share strong conflict resolution skills. Either they choose to talk it out unit they reach an understanding or, Crowley gets some fresh air, before consulting Aziraphale again. There is one moment when Crowley calls him stupid with any real bite to it, and it’s because Aziraphale, who is so close to admitting he has a problem, and that problem is Heaven, can’t make the last leap. Crowley, for the only time in the series, really insults Aziraphale because he needs one last ditch effort to take off the blinders, preventing Aziraphale from recognizing his trauma.  

And after that? When Crowley is heartbroken and rejected for the second time? He still goes looking for Aziraphale. Unwilling to let anything damage the integrity of their relationship.  

Crowley’s acts of kindness and love allow Aziraphale to finally recognize his past was unhealthy. But more than that, Crowley fulfills all the criteria needed for a healthy relationship according to The National Domestic Abuse Hotline. 

And A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square

So What does this all mean? Where are we left at the end of the series? In a pretty good place actually.  I said the final step was establishing a sense of self. Where was he before the abuse started? Or, if that’s impossible to know (given our data) What does he want his new normal to be? 

A life with Crowley.

It’s clear that when Crowley invites him to stay at his place (if Aziraphale likes) the night of Armageddon’t, Aziraphale does because they both deserve. There’s a slight smile when Crowley offers, and like in 1941, the romantic music swells. Only half-heartedly does Aziraphale say his side wouldn’t like it, but both of them know they’re on each other’s side. Not Heaven. Not Hell. Just them.  

Quite simply, he’s already told us what he wants moving forward. He wants to be with Crowley, perhaps one day the could go for a picnic, or dine at the Ritz, but always together.  So, he does. 

Recovery is not a destination, it’s a process. Thanks to Aziraphale’s healthy support system that is Crowley, he is able to start his recovery journey and end the series in a much healthier place than it started.  Aziraphale is not “cured” by the end of the novel, but he is coping, and he is recovering. So long as Crowley’s by his side, he’s well on his way to healthy coping mechanisms, and living in a safe, loving environment with a partner who loves and respects him. 

TLDR:  Aziraphale is recovering from 6000 years of abuse and trauma. Crowley loves, supports, and helps heal him on his journey. 

For More on this Series:

In Part 1 I wrote about how Heaven is hella abusive towards Aziraphale, but Crowley’s love facilitates his recovery

In Part 2 I wrote about how traumatized Crowley is, but thanks to Aziraphale’s love which facilitates Crowley’s recovery

Part 3 is the one where Aziraphale Has some Dubious Coping Skills

Part 4 looks at Anthony J. Crowley’s Poor Coping Skills+ the One Surprisingly Healthy One

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk

[dragon-kazansky]

Can you write imagine what if Crowley had a sister? Drabble list #2 22,34,66,91

2. “None of this is your fault.”

22.  “What if one day I wake up and you don’t?”

34. “ Are you testing me?“

66. “If I die, I’m never speaking to you again.”

91. “We’re all a little stronger than we think we are.”

Here is another one based off the events in the show, but these quotes worked perfectly for these scenes.

Crowley was deemed a handful whether you were related to him or not, but being his sister made his nonsense all the more fun. It was probably because you both got on so well and you found humour in his teasing and joys of the human life.

Despite all the fun and games you shared with one another, you were one of two people he could go to when situations arose. For instance the watching over the Antichrist, who wasn’t the Antichrist and just a spoiled brat at the end of the day.

Aziraphale and Crowley had no idea where the boy they wanted was. They had no record of where he was now and had to keep their respective sides from knowing they messed up.

“None of this is your fault.” You told him, leaving forwards from the backseat.

Crowley was grateful you were there as he kept a calm demeanour and tried to think carefully about what they would do next.

Things became a huge mess as the week went on and Crowley had taken you with him to the book store to make up with Aziraphale after arguing about leaving together or staying to try and speak to the higher ups.

He wanted his best friend back, but the store was on fire when you arrived there and Aziraphale was no where in sight. The only thing you could think was that he was dead.

Crowley and yourself later found yourselves at a bar, drinking your worries away. Your brother made a speech about how he didn’t ask to be a demon and that he was because of him you were here too.

You just couldn’t get over losing Aziraphale and couldn’t help but wonder what else could happen. Hell wasn’t exactly loving you both right now and you worried about your brother.

“What if one day I wake up and you don’t?”

Crowley stared at you after emptying his glass in one go. He set it down gently as he reached for your hand and looked you in the eye.

“Don’t think like that. You’re all I have left and you’re not going to lose me to them either. If they think they can separate us they have another thing coming.”

“Armageddon?”

“That as well.” Crowley raised his glass and asked for another drink. You just stared at him as you drank the remainder of your own.

As it turned out Aziraphale wasn’t dead, but he did have an issue with his body that he needed to sort out. He promised he would find himself a body and meet you both in Tadfield, Crowley had the book he needed, so there was still hope.

Unfortunately, the road was burning with rage from angry drivers who weren’t going any where. It was Crowley’s fault they were stuck in this situation and you would be cursing him to Hell if he wasn’t already a demon.

“Are you testing me?“

Crowley met your glare and resisted the urge to roll his eyes at you. He wasn’t sure who’s patience was being tested more.

"No. How was I supposed to I was going to get stuck in this situation when it mattered most?”

“I don’t know, but you better think of something quick. I have a feeling Hastur will turn up soon and I don’t want to be here when he does.”

“Neither do I.” Your brother gritted his teeth as turned his car to speed alongside the traffic. He was driving quite quickly towards to the wall of fire blocking everyone in.

You gripped onto your seat tightly as you stared wide eyed at what he was doing.

“You can’t possibly think this is a good idea.” You look at him shocked.

“I’m a demon. I don’t do good things. This is perfect!” He grinned. He was going as fast as he could.

“If I die, I’m never speaking to you again.”

Crowley only let out a loud laugh and pushed his foot down as far as it would go. His grip on the steering wheel was tight and soon the car reaches the flames.

You sat there hoping this wasn’t going to be the end of you. All you could hear was the car taken the force of the heat and your brother chuckling beside you.

Somehow you made it to Tadfield in one peace, the same couldn’t be said for the Bentley. You stood to the side with Aziraphale, I’m another body, as your brother mourned his car.

“Crowley…”

He demon stood up and came back to you and the angel, about to help you all get inside. His plans were interrupted by four children on bicycles rising through the gate.

As if the day couldn’t get weirder. Then it did.

You just witnessed those four children take down three of the four horsemen and Satan himself. It was definitely a day to remember.

Then came the settlement in Heaven and Hell for respective parties. Aziraphale and Crowley had turned into one another to get out of their punishment, fear filled both ends when they walked away unharmed.

Aziraphale kept his promise to Crowley to help you get out of your punishment in Hell too. The prince of Hell didn’t take chances with you and the holy water, so with persuasion from ‘Crowley’ you walked away unharmed.

The three of you met up in the park, the boys switching back to themselves and you laughing like a crazy person at how well they all went down.

“We’re all a little stronger than we think we are.” You chuckled. “That was very clever on your part.” You looked to your brother.

“I should thank Aziraphale for keeping his word of keeping you safe.” He smiled at the angel who smiled right back at him.

“Just doing what was right.”

You and Crowley smiled at the exact same time.

The boys treated you to dinner and then the next chapter came to be. Heaven and Hell were off your backs for now and you could guarantee you and Crowley were going to get into trouble.

Aziraphale would be there too.

Let’s just say, you had the best brother in the world and every day was an adventure with him. You just looked forward to whatever came your way next.

Crowley felt the exact same.

[bearfeathers]

“Why do I even bother” ineffable husbands prompt thingy, please!!

Thank you so much for the prompt! I had fun with it. :D I also really like the idea of Crowley and Aziraphale remaining part of Adam's life so... I doodled a little with that idea lol

[PROMPT ME!] | [AO3]

***

When Adam had reset the world, he'd done so in a way that meant most things had gone back to the way they were before. Most things.

One very noticeable difference was that Mr. and Mrs. Young seemed to be under the impression that a certain angel and demon were their son's godfathers. You see, Adam had thought that continuing to have them about would be quite useful—or at the very least entertaining—but that perhaps his parents would be alarmed if he were suddenly in the company of two strange adult men. So he fixed it.

Crowley had admittedly been a bit perturbed to find that Mr. Young now believed him to be an old school chum with an incredibly rare eye condition. He was always wanting to talk about things like whether Crowley had watched the football game or “the old days.” Crowley had to bite his tongue more than once when he was tempted to tell Mr. Young that his old days and Crowley’s old days were not even remotely the same old days. But he got used to it. Eventually. However, when Crowley and Aziraphale had attempted to explain to Adam that they were not, in fact, a happy couple as he had made his parents believe, the boy had merely shrugged and told them that he was pretty sure they were.

Interestingly enough, with a little time, he wound up being right about that.

In any case, today is an exciting day for Adam. Today is the first day of a week-long stay with his “godfathers” in a cabin they'd rented away from the city. And today they'd gone to the beach.

Aziraphale had immediately begun to establish ground rules: Adam would need sunscreen, he would need to return every two hours for reapplication, he was to wait thirty minutes after eating before swimming, he was not to leave their line of sight, he was not to talk to strangers... Adam had made a beeline for the ocean long before the angel could finish. 

"Why do I even bother?" Aziraphale sighs.

"He'll be fine," Crowley declares, watching Dog hurry towards the waves after his master. "Probably just will the sun not to burn him or something."

"He can't just use his powers for everything," Aziraphale protests, spreading their blanket on the sand by the rocks.

"And he's not, really," Crowley says, driving the pole of their umbrella into the ground. He watches the angel smooth the blanket out and place weights on the corners to keep the breeze from lifting it. He grins. "The sunhat is cute, by the way."

Aziraphale turns to glare at him from beneath the brim of the floppy sunhat in question. "Don't tease."

"Who says I'm teasing?" Crowley asks.

It's a fair assumption, though. Getting Aziraphale to the beach had taken some doing. It wasn't that the angel disliked nature, it's just that the beach was... well, he just felt rather uncomfortable with all the necessary steps with going there. Adam had reasonably pointed out that Aziraphale couldn’t expect to go to the beach in his usual attire and while this had made sense to the angel, it hadn't made him like the idea any more. 

After twenty minutes of debate, Adam and Crowley had finally managed to convince him to put on swimming trunks. Only when he had finally miracled up a pair, they looked as though they had been ripped from the early 20th century. It had taken another thirty minutes to convince him to come out of the bathroom and that they were sorry they'd laughed.

"I think it's an interesting change of pace, all this," Crowley says, nodding towards where Adam is jumping into the waves.

"Interesting is a good word for it," Aziraphale agrees, settling on the blanket and pulling out a book. “If you told me a year ago I would be taking the Antichrist to the beach on holiday, I’d’ve thought you were mad.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Crowley says, flopping onto the blanket beside him. “Though in all fairness, I think the ‘mad’ bit might still apply to both of us.”

Aziraphale makes a face that clearly says he can’t disagree. Reaching into their basket and nudging aside a few water bottles, Crowley retrieves the bottle of sunscreen the angel had packed and taps his open book with it.

“Lube me up?” he asks with a sly smile.

Well, Aziraphale can hardly say ‘no’ to that.

***

After splashing about in the waves had become tiresome and he had been pinched in the nose by an evil, evil crab–that he was very innocently inspecting, mind you–Dog retired to the shade of the umbrella to curl up beside Aziraphale and have himself a short nap. His master was busy making a sand castle with Crowley and so Dog felt he would be well looked after in the short span of time that Dog’s eyes were not on him.

“Is he going to stay under that umbrella all day?” Adam asks, packing sand into a pail. He could simply will a sandcastle into existence but that’s hardly any fun, really.

“In all likelihood,” Crowley tells him, decorating the outer wall with seashells. “He’s a bit fussy, as you may have noticed.”

“And you’re not,” Adam says, looking the demon dead in the eye.

“No, I’m particular,” Crowley corrects him. “There’s a difference. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Just like how I’ll start to like girls?” Adam says with a suspicious air.

“Yeah, well... Girls. Boys. Both. Neither,” Crowley says, waving a small plastic shovel as he talks. “Doesn’t matter, really. Humans tend to be narrow-minded about all that business anyway.”

Then again, humans can’t will their genitals in and out of existence and have a relatively short shelf-life compared to a demon so that may account for some of it. 

“Alright, water break.”

Crowley looks up to find water bottles being shoved in both their faces by Aziraphale, who has finally emerged from beneath the safety of his umbrella. Technically Crowley doesn’t need a water break, but being human, Adam does. The two of them tended to mirror his needs in regards to eating, drinking and resting—both because they didn’t want him to feel odd doing these things on his own and because they just enjoyed doing them anyway.

Rather than retreat back to the blanket after making his delivery, Aziraphale crouches beside them and takes in their handiwork. Crowley sips from his water bottle slowly as he watches the angel gradually realize what it is they’re building.

“This is an interesting choice,” Aziraphale hums.

“Crowley says it's what it used to look like,” Adam comments. "Kind of smaller than I thought it would be."

Aziraphale looks to the sand and stone and seashells artfully placed together in an imitation of Eden. To Crowley’s surprise, he smiles. “You know, I used to be in charge of this part. And over here is where Crowley and I met. Though, he was Crawly back then.”

Adam snorts a laugh. “Crawly?”

“I was a snake and Hell has no imagination,” Crowley says in his defense. “Neither of those things are my fault.”

"Still a dumb name," Adam declares.

"Why do you suppose I changed it?" Crowley asks, flicking a seashell at the boy.

"Was Crawly always your name?" 

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows at the question, watching as Adam packs on more sand to the southern wall. It's an... interesting question. The boy had asked it in a way that leads the angel to believe he already knew the answer. Crowley sucks in a breath through his teeth, studying the shells in his hand.

"No, it wasn't," the demon answers.

"What was your name before?" Adam asks, looking up at the demon from beneath a mop of unruly chestnut hair.

It's a question that not even Aziraphale knows the answer to. Crowley doesn't like to talk about... Before. Before the Fall. Before the War. And Aziraphale had never felt comfortable pushing the subject with him, no matter how much it seemed to bother him or how close they may have become. Aziraphale can't help but feel as though a cloud has just appeared on the horizon of an otherwise perfect day. The silence stretches on between the three of them, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the cry of the gulls above them filling the void. 

"You know what? I'll tell you something," Crowley says suddenly.

Aziraphale can hardly believe his ears. He's really going to say? Right now? Right here?

"This beach trip needs ice lollies!" Crowley shouts, jumping to his feet.

Ah. Of course. Aziraphale can't help but feel a bit disappointed as Crowley flicks the brim of his hat and asks them each what flavor they'd like. The angel sighs as he watches his partner walking alone up the beach under the guise of getting them all a treat.

"I don't understand why it's a big deal," Adam says. "It's just a name."

"Well, it is and it isn't," Aziraphale corrects him. "Crowley's old name—his first name—isn't something he likes to talk about. Not even I know what it is."

"Why wouldn't he tell you?" Adam asks, standing up and brushing sand off his trunks. "I thought he'd tell you everything."

"I wish it were so simple," Aziraphale says, rising to follow the boy back to the blanket. "But that name is from a time that most of us don't discuss. It was before the War that divided Heaven and Hell. Before your fath—before Lucifer was cast out and his followers with him."

"So Crowley was one of his followers," Adam surmises. He lies on his side beside Dog, scratching the sleeping hellhound's ears. "And he was kicked out with him."

Aziraphale sits beneath the umbrella, pulling off his hat and running a hand through his curly hair. "As I said, it's not all so simple. I wouldn't call Crowley one of Lucifer's followers, exactly, more like... well, more like he was just curious. Lucifer presented questions and ideas that most of us had never even considered and on some level that appealed to Crowley."

"It's a bit stupid to kick people out just for asking questions," Adam says. "I mean, you gave away a flaming sword and you got to stay."

"Yes. Um... well," Aziraphale says, clearing his throat.

"And anyway, if we did that all the time then we'd all end up alone eventually, don't you think?"

Aziraphale can't really argue with his logic. But it's different for humans than it is for them. Humans have the ability to choose—who they are and what they do. Angels and demons are bound by their nature to be just that.

"In any case," Aziraphale says, moving the conversation along, "what Crowley has told me is that his Fall was gradual. Until one day it just... happened. What you need to understand, Adam, is that when an angel falls, it's painful. To Fall is to have God's presence... ripped out of you. It's been said to be unbearable and I can only pray that I never have to experience it myself. Which is why I haven't ever tried to force Crowley to talk to me; because I can empathize, but never truly understand. Though, if he ever wishes to discuss it, he knows that I'll listen. I've made certain of that much at least."

Adam hums thoughtfully, rolling onto his back and staring up at the cloudless sky. For a few moments, he says nothing more and Aziraphale thinks that's the end of it.

"I don't think I can fix that," Adam admits. "I tried it just now but it felt sort of like the time I rode my bicycle into the side of my dad's car."

Aziraphale feels an unexpected rush of fondness at his words. He had always assumed that the Antichrist would be, well... rather hellish. But Adam has proven himself to be just as complex as any other human. And in that complexity, Aziraphale has seen a genuine wish to make things better for others—even if his methods aren't always the best choice.

The angel had quite liked the idea when Crowley had posed it some twelve or so years ago; the two of them being godfathers. But finding themselves actually playing the role now, Aziraphale is even more taken with it than he had thought he would be. There's something truly rewarding in directly impacting someone's growth, rather than the subtle, peripheral work he's used to undertaking with the human race. Even a mere year after they had first met him, Adam already seems to have changed and grown into another version of himself. He'll keep on growing and changing, just the way all humans do, but in a way that is decidedly different. Special.

"Well, there are certain things which are beyond even your control. But it was good of you to try," Aziraphale assures him with a smile. Seeing Crowley making his return trip across the beach, he knows it's time to put the matter to rest. For now, anyway. "Let's save the rest of this conversation for another time, shall we?"

Adam sits up, pursing his lips as he studies the angel sitting beside him. For a brief moment, Aziraphale wonders if he's not going to drop the matter so easily. But the Antichrist seems to deem this a wise decision and dips his head in a form nod. Aziraphale knows this won't be the end of this particular conversation, but it's best reserved, as he'd said, for another time.

After all, they have plenty of it.

[shkspr]

Uuuh please tell us about your love triangle fic concept???

okay i am SOOOOO sorry for how long this got fdkjlfdljk i literally just copy/pasted a bunch of rambling i did in the discord several months ago and i guess it was more rambling than i thought. anyway long version below but if you want the short rundown of the Dynamics at play in this love triangle, read these posts and these short funnies: 

1 2 3 4

gabriel and crowley bonding over what a bastard aziraphale is? while still also hating each other a lot? chef's kiss. very jacob & edward in that tent in eclipse 

even if az could carry on some sort of Thing with both of them at the same time it still wouldn't be a two hands situation it would be like. crowley has both of az's hands and also his heart and mind and soul, and gabriel gets to occasionally be near him 

gabriel: So, Aziraphale, Wh - / aziraphale: [checking his watch] listen do you want to fuck or not because i've got shit to do

gabriel can kiss my ass with the sole exception of how delightfully stupid he is. i have taken him under my wing and made him a big gay idiot instead of the big rude idiot he is in canon.

az & gabriel only works for me in the scenario where gabriel is enthusiastically into az & az puts up with him on occasion when he's bored and horny. there's no romance or even friendship potential there

i like to think that az and gabriel used to have a friendly workplace rapport and gabriel was actually one of the least unbearable angels to be around during the rare times when az had to interact w/ other angels face-to-face but then when az started to recognize his feelings for crowley and his distaste for the way that heaven handles things, he started to kind of pull away and gabriel noticed and that's when he was like wait do i like aziraphale? and then he tried to talk to az about it and az was like oh. uh. hmm. i don't think so, honey. 

and gabriel did not like being turned down and over the years watching az & crowley together he's just gotten more and more bitter to the point where he's now an insufferable douchebag but especially to aziraphale bc they both try to pretend none of that ever happened but they both Know and it's super awkward and gabriel covers for it by being even more of an ass.

i'm also imagining like. aziraphale giving in to gabriel and allowing something physical to happen right after he's had a big fight with crowley. like aziraphale trying to convince himself he doesn't need crowley, he's got plenty of other people to fraternise with, obviously, and he's trying so hard to not be heartbroken that he edges a bit too far into Emotionless territory, starts something with gabriel and he's cold and not nice about it but gabriel wants it so bad and aziraphale needs a distraction and neither of them are aware of what it means to the other.

gabriel is so wrapped up in the angelic notion of being worshipped and praised that he doesn't understand why aziraphale doesn't want that, because he'd give him that, he'd sit through every magic trick and he'd clap and he'd love it and he doesn't get it! he doesn't get that aziraphale is fundamentally a person and he doesn't want a partner who worships him he wants someone who knows him and loves him and tells him when he's being embarrassing and when he's being ridiculous and when he's being a bastard.

gabriel is... a fan. gabriel is a Fan of aziraphale when aziraphale needs a Friend. 

we've talked about aziraphale and gabriel having this fucked up unrequited crush casual sex thing and that being why gabriel is so personally hurt by aziraphale's betrayal, right.so i'm imagining gabriel being like. well, this is the end, right, aziraphale's going to be gone, forever, and he's angry but he's spent enough time around humans and around aziraphale to know what regret is, and he knows he'll regret it if he doesn't say something.

so he just nips in before the whole hellfire deal, just tells the others to wait in the hall, i just need to have a few words with the traitor before he dies. and he goes in and. confesses? yells? cries? propositions him, one last fuck for old times' sake?

only like. that's crowley. it's crowley and he looks like aziraphale and gabriel thinks he's aziraphale but he's crowley.

and i'm imagining in this scenario, crowley never knew about the thing between gabriel and aziraphale, never found out about it because aziraphale was always too ashamed, and crowley and aziraphale still haven't let their six thousand years of tension come to a head, so now crowley's finding this out and he has to react as if he's aziraphale and then proceed with the whole not-dying thing

crowley tears up a little bit and he says something appropriately bitchy but his voice breaks on it just a bit and gabriel is like. oh maybe he gets it! does he get it? does he understand how hard this is for me? finally?? and then everything is Wrong and he's like i don't know i don't know what's happening i don't know what to do

but the whole time crowley’s dying on the inside, trying to convince himself that gabriel was fucking with him, gabriel was just saying things he thought would get aziraphale upset, none of that actually happened. but he's not very convincing. and then when they see each other again, what is he supposed to do? is he meant to pretend he didn't find this out?

and with aziraphale decidedly not dead, what is gabriel going to do with the fact that he poured his fuckin heart out? sure, heaven and hell are going to leave them alone, for a bit, but gabriel is different, isn't he? surely, he thinks, he must be different. and with aziraphale not dead, now he has to actually process all his feelings, and decide how to proceed with their not-relationship

so like. big angst on gabriel's part, HUGE angst on crowley's part, aziraphale caught between a rock (an archangel who hates him but also loves him and also wants him dead and also wants to keep casually fucking him and also wants to marry him a bit) and a hard place (a demon who's been in love with him for six thousand years and just inadvertently found out that he's been sleeping with someone else for several hundred of those years and is deeply, deeply hurt over it)

gabriel pictures crowley and aziraphale down on earth, laughing at him, mocking his unrequited feelings, or he pictures them happy together, never thinking twice about him at all. and he thinks about how aziraphale never really wanted him, never wanted anything to do with him, was always just using him and he knew it on some level and he let it happen because he needed to be near aziraphale. and he thinks, surely a demon can't love him the way i can, surely he doesn't have the pure and bright and clean love inside him that i have. does aziraphale need him, the way i need aziraphale? is that what's going on here? and then he dreams, he wouldn't call it dreaming but he dreams of rescuing aziraphale, even though he knows that's not what he wants, he knows that aziraphale has something with crowley he could never have with gabriel, but he can pretend, he can hope, that aziraphale might open his eyes someday and see him there.

and aziraphale being sort of. not afraid, per se, but. he must know, on some level, that gabriel's feelings for him are a big part of the reason he's alive. and he doesn't want to crush gabriel, because he doesn't want to be cruel, but also because he doesn't want to burn that bridge, as tenuous and reluctant a bridge as it is, because he doesn't know what will happen if gabriel really truly gets over him and decides he doesn't care if aziraphale dies 

and az is like. it's just practical, crowley, i don't see what the issue is. and crowley is like..... he has FEELINGS, angel.

crowley's like....... i'm literally The Authority on being in love with you, and i say this from six thousand years of experience: it fucking sucks. loving aziraphale and not being loved back? or, not knowing if you're loved back? it's the worst pain imaginable, and i wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, and you know i'm not exaggerating because gabriel is literally my worst enemy.

az: excuse me, my love, my sweet, my dearest one, are you fucking siding with gabriel over me? / crowley: i'm just Saying, i can empathize with his plight / az: empathize with my plight for a moment, please, imagine gabriel never fucking leaving you alone, ever. / crowley: i don't leave you alone either! the only difference is that you love me back! that's not his fault!

az: crowley you don't understand.... he's so enthusiastic about everything, it's so irritating. / crowley: angel what are you talking about. / az: he practically BEGGED me to let him eat me out. Ugh. / crowley: y. you. what? he. you're upset because he wanted to? go down on you? w. what??

aziraphale is so hurt and when he's hurt he gets defensive and so he's trying to justify how he's treated gabriel, while crowley's deep deep deep in his own mind, remembering every time he's been a pest in the same way that aziraphale has just admitted he hates

eventually aziraphale pulls enough teeth that crowley explains it fully: "everything you've said you hate about gabriel, that's all stuff that i do, that's all me. i follow you around, i ask questions, i care about appearances, i act like i know everything, i don't like to eat, i want to be near you all the time. and you've just told me that's unbearable. that you hate gabriel, because he's exactly like me." 

and aziraphale softens, softens so much he's practically a puddle. looks at crowley with the biggest, most pitying eyes. and he doesn't feel like he can properly characterize what makes crowley so different, so unlike gabriel. because it's true, he has to admit, those similarities are there, but he's never wanted crowley to go away. he's never wanted crowley to want him less.

gabriel's questions are... judgey. even when he doesn't mean them to be. even when he wants to learn, for real, about humanity, to get closer to aziraphale. his questions are always... they have this undertone of "i don't understand this, but that's only because i have been worrying about more important things." and when aziraphale tries to explain food to him, or alcohol, he just doesn't get it. and he tries his best to pretend that he could maybe be on his way to getting it, because he thinks the not getting it is the biggest obstacle between him and aziraphale, but he'll never get it and he doesn't really want to?

when crowley asks questions, it's because he's thought about it. it's because he's thought about it a LOT and he needs now to talk about it. and aziraphale likes that, because when crowley asks him a question, he's not looking for an answer, he's looking for. a conversation. and a bit of support. when crowley asks a question, he wants aziraphale to tell him yes, it's okay to be unsure about this, i'm unsure too, let's work it out together. but when gabriel asks a question, he wants aziraphale to tell him you are good for wanting to know this, and here is a straightforward answer.