#meaning they’re part of the ‘ineffable plan’

[skz-miroh]

No because part of Crowley’s rainstorm hypothesis is that “they realise they were made for each other”

He believes that Aziraphale and him were made for each other

[aziraphales-library]

I LOOOOOOOOVE the “there was only one bed” trope. Specifically along the lines of the FABULOUS Mon Horrible Cheri, all I need darling is a life in your shape type vibes. Fluff and *spice* is always welcome. Hope you’re all fabulous ✨

Then you will LOOOOOOOOVE our #there was only one bed and #sharing a bed tags! Here are more to add...

Never Too Late by AppleSeeds (T)

It's been thirty-five years since the height of Aziraphale's enormous crush on rockstar Anthony Crowley, but when he sees that Anthony is still performing, Aziraphale feels he owes it to his younger self not to pass up the opportunity to finally hear him sing live. The last thing he expects is for Anthony to actually approach him once the concert is over, extending an invitation that surpasses every fantasy Aziraphale harboured about him as a young man and resulting in the most memorable night of his life.

Meet Me Under the Mistletoe by IneffableToreshi (E)

Earlier this year, popular romance novelist Anthony J. Crowley met the love of his life when his agent booked one "A.Z. Fell & Co." for his most recent book signing. Aziraphale is a huge fan of Crowley's books, and they become fast friends. Unfortunately, Crowley let's his nerves convince him that it wouldn't be right to initially pursue a fan romantically, and by the time he feels it's alright, they've become so close that he's terrified of the possibility of failure. But now it's nearly Christmas - a time for miracles, right? - and Crowley has a plan to, hopefully, make Aziraphale fall in love with him the way he's been dreaming of.

Editor's Note by ghostrat (M)

A.J. Crowley, best selling author of action thrillers and sci-fi dramas, wants to try his hand at romance. When writer's block rears its ugly head, his editor and literary agent suggests a romantic writer's retreat in a last-ditch effort to meet his deadline. Aziraphale can be a miracle worker at times, but there's no way a reclusive month away will spark all the romance he needs to finish... Editor AU: In which two of the least romantic men on earth try to write a romance novel.

coincidences and cosmic signs by theivytree (T)

Everyone in Aziraphale's life was shocked when he decided to attend Nightingale University in the United States. Aziraphale, on the other hand, is excited to get out of his parents' home and find a new life away from his family. Everything seems to get even better when he meets his roommate, Anthony J. Crowley.

The Ineffable’s Guide to Conducting a Courtship by everydayistuesday (T)

“Well, what’d you tell them?” Crowley raises his glass to take a drink. “I told them that I, um—“ Aziraphale means to put it delicately, make it sound logical and perfectly ordinary. Instead, it comes out as: “ImighthavetoldthemthatImiracledyoutofallinlovewithme. Er.” Crowley spits out his drink. “You what?” he sputters. Only a knee-jerk reaction of a miracle saves Aziraphale from being sprayed with talisker. When Heaven comes to the bookshop to ask about the twenty five lazurii miracle, Aziraphale panics and claims it was to make Crowley fall in love with him. Now, they’re sending someone to check. There’s only one possible solution. They have to pretend to conduct a courtship.

Married at First Sight by Aracloptia (T)

“Well, that was a thing,” Crowley said once they were out of earshot. Without talking about it, they were both heading down the field, towards the lake where the photographer (and likely a few more people from the TV crew) was waiting. “That was a wedding,” Aziraphale replied, surprised at his own annoyance that somebody called a wedding a ‘thing’. “Yeah, obviously, didn’t miss that part,” Crowley said with a shrug, and waved abruptly in Aziraphale’s general direction. “Neither did you, from the looks of it, since you’re dressed like a wedding bride and everything.” “Excuse me, I am a—“ Aziraphale stopped himself, and started over. In which Aziraphale ends up marrying a rude stranger who wears sunglasses.

And the one you mentioned...

Mon Horrible Chéri by ghostrat (E)

Apparently, Crowley could ruin his good mood. Crowley was just about the only thing that could ruin it. “Right. So. You and I, is it?” Aziraphale confirmed, just to be clear. “That’s right.” “And how long is this trip, exactly?” “One full week,” Crowley enunciated too clearly, stretching his lips around the words and sharply clacking his k. “Seven whole days.” “Great,” Aziraphale breathed. They both smiled, all teeth and no joy. (Human AU / Enemies to Lovers) • English Teacher Aziraphale gets roped into the sixth form Paris field trip, not realising his worst enemy Science Teacher Crowley is the accompanying chaperone. Are seven days of forced proximity really enough to undo a truly vitriolic relationship? Or, let's be real: How quickly does it take them to fall head over heels for each other?

- Mod D

[crowleysgirl56]

Something that I’ve been thinking about for a good 6 months now, ever since Good Omens season 3 was green lit, and that was the three sentence description of the plot that Neil gave in his official announcement interview:

The plans for Armageddon are going wrong. Only Crowley and Aziraphale working together can hope to put it right. And they aren’t talking.

It really makes me think about the book sequel he and Terry had discussed and what was going to be included in that story.

Season 2 was thought to be that story. But then Neil confirmed after the season aired that it was in fact a bridging season that he wrote deliberately in order to get us to season 3, which would be based on the story that he and Terry plotted together in the 90’s and early 2000’s.

Neil also famously never gives anything about his stories away, always excited to tell us to ‘wait and see’. The fact we get this much of a description is quite exciting.

At first glance it doesn’t seem like anything we didn’t already know:

The plot involves Armageddon: Metatron told us as much when he mentioned the second coming at the end of season 2.

Crowley and Aziraphale need to work together: they have always done so before, so this time shouldn’t be any different.

Crowley and Aziraphale aren’t talking: very evident from where we left off.

But did you notice something else? Something hiding in plain sight? The plans are going wrong. And they hope to put it right. So what are these plans? Why are they going wrong? Who made them go wrong? What exactly does going wrong mean? What does putting them right mean? Also, notice how Neil doesn’t say Crowley and Aziraphale need to work together to stop it. Interesting choice of words right?

Now let’s think about the book sequel for a second. For a moment, let’s pretend that the TV series doesn’t exist (*shakes everyone by the shoulders* HEY, STOP SCREAMING! CALM DOWN! The show STILL exists! Just go with me for a second here, and you can go back to remembering the show in a moment! It’s OKAY! *pats everyone until the screaming subsides*). The Good Omens novel is structured with flashback sequences of Aziraphale and Crowley together over time as the story of the Anti-Christ and the Non-Ageddon unfolds. What if the three sentence description of season 3 that Neil gave was the actual tagline of the book sequel? Like, this is literally what he and Terry came up with? Something happened between Aziraphale and Crowley between the end of book 1 and the beginning of book 2, and the second book is telling us the story of the second coming, whilst at the same time providing us flashback scenes of exactly what happened between A&C? That part of the book is the mystery of why these ineffable husbands who spent the last 6000 years together were suddenly no longer talking.

Can you imagine reading that blurb and thinking “WWWHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAATTTT?”

Whether the intended sequel involved the story of a memory wiped Gabriel is up for debate. But I understand why Neil devoted an entire season to telling this story, because I don’t think there would have been room to do the second coming storyline and devote enough time to exploring the relationship breakdown at the same time in just 6 episodes.

And if my theories are correct, this is why I don’t think we will get any further flashback sequences in season 3. If we’re really lucky, maybe we’ll get a 1941 part 3 flashback, and a “what happened when they went back to Crowley’s apartment and body swapped” flashback (I’ve drafted some wildest dream posts on these, so look out for them coming in the near future). But unless they’re relevant for the plot, I think we’re out of flashbacks. This next season is likely going to be focusing specifically on the second coming, the consequences, and answering the question what does putting it right mean?!

This is obviously all opinion and conjecture and I could be completely wrong. I just like putting my thoughts down and sharing with others. So if you want to discuss comment or reblog! Let me know your theories! (And as always, please don’t tag Neil)

[may--hawk]

Play On

Summary:

Most demons make it their goal to stay as far away as possible from their Room, except for those who go mad. Beelzebub knows exactly where their Room is, can picture it like a point on a compass wherever they go in Hell. They can even feel it the few times they’re on Earth; can feel it above them, out there, all around. Like entropy. Their Room is in the Velvet Wing, three corridors off from the cafeteria, up a set of spiral stairs that tightens around you as you go. There’s a thunderstorm at the top, always, making the metal rungs slippery and treacherous. There are three Rooms up there, bunched along a small, narrow metal pathway. Your hair gets wet, walking to it, your face. Water beads in your eyelashes. Their Room is the one in the middle. They know it’s theirs because they can feel it. Because every time they’re near it, they lose a fly or two, can feel the flies slipping away from them, squeezing in the cracks around the door, and - Beelzebub doesn’t know where they go from there. They can’t feel them anymore, can only feel the lack, the loss. Beelzebub’s not mad, but they do wonder, sometimes.

Rating: G

Hell is limitless, vast, an unfolding, spiraling labyrinth of misery, damnation, and flickering fluorescent lights. Although the shell is, of course, the basement of a vast and unknowable office building rented from Ineffable Holdings LLC,1 much of Hell has been built by the demons in it, both intentionally and unconsciously. The Pit, of course, has always been there in the universe, a deep dark core, perhaps its very center, perhaps the very first thing She created, perhaps, even, what she created everything from, pulling matter out from the Pit in the metaphysical equivalent of pulling a rope, hand over hand, from a well. Certainly the Pit has the power to unmake and remake. A demon, once out of it, is always aware of it, of their proximity to it at any given point in time or space.

The basic architecture of Hell, its infernal scaffolding, is there when the wretched demons pull themselves out of the pit: the Dark Auditorium, the river Styx running through the cafeteria,2 the hallways, the vast chamber that would later become the Filing Room. Lucifer assembles them, puts them to work. They begin construction with a handful of barely legible plans and unfamiliar bodies, shattered beyond recognition. A few dozen of them are sent out as cartographers; three return.3 What the demons discover, when they begin to disperse, to spread out, to get some distance between them, are the Rooms. They don’t know what the Rooms are, not at first, largely because a demon is perfectly able to go into another’s Room, and return unharmed, provided they have the normal immunity against, say, piranhas, or fiery infernos, or being buried alive, or locusts, or a Black Friday sale at an appliance store circa 2002.

The demons only really begin to understand the meaning of the Rooms when a demon discovers their own Room for the first time. There has not yet been a single demon who has, upon entering their Room, been able to escape it. It’s part of the design. The demons, still traveling in packs at that point in time, still have each other’s backs. A horde of half-unravelled angels prowling the darkened halls of a still-unfamiliar place. Beelzebub4 is with the first pack of demons when they go down three levels, over two, and take the elevator up and to the left. There they find the first Rooms, jammed into corridors, a dizzying array of Rooms, some of them non-Euclidian in their geometry, opening on each other in a never ending maze. Some stand with their doors open. One Room is just a long empty space of nothingness, pure nothingness. Another is a dinner party with a creeping sense of unease and tardiness; still another is a train station. There is a Room of Mirrors, reflecting you back at yourself, monstrous and deformed;, in the very center of the Room, you are shown as you had been, as an angel, before. Pure and whole. Other Rooms are firmly shut and latched, chained and barred, leeching enticing scents of perfume, or food, or the dead, from within, a specific lure to each demon the Room is for. Some Rooms waft out the sounds of chamber music, or low voices, or a single, long, drawn out violin that goes on and on and on and on.

Continue reading at AO3.

[giantmushyfriend]

The Ineffable Husbands are ABBA coded (I went overboard on this one) (S2 SPOILERS) (I’m not sorry)

I see your “the ineffable husbands are so Hozier coded,” and your “they’re so Taylor Swift coded,” and I raise you a “the ineffable husbands are incredibly ABBA coded.” 

Listen, I know we all know about Aziraphale’s playlist having Angeleyes on it, which makes perfect sense given where Series 2 left us. I mean, come on; 

“Look into his angel eyes

One look and you’re hypnotized. 

He’ll take your heart and you must pray the price” 

And

“Sometimes when I’m lonely, I sit and think about him 

And it hurts to remember all the good times 

When I thought I could never live without him 

And I wonder, does it have to be the same

Every time? When I see him, will it bring back all the pain? 

How can I forget that name?” 

It’s obvious that this song, from a post-Series 2 standpoint is Aziraphale (and also Crowley) analyzing their relationship. It’s them admitting to themselves that although the other caused them pain, they still miss and love each other, even if they aren’t willing to admit it yet. 

However, this isn’t where the ABBA train ends. We can see Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship, both the highs and lows, in several different ABBA songs. Do you want to talk about how Crowley is probably feeling after the finale? And how he’ll probably be feeling when we get our AziraCrow reunion in S3? Let’s look at The Winner Takes It All. The entire song relates to how Crowley see’s the split and different aspects of their relationship. 

“I’ve played all my cards

And that’s what you’ve done too

Nothing more to say

No more ace to play

The Winner takes it all

The loser’s standing small” 

Tell me this is not his confession scene. Crowley laid it all out there, and it wasn’t enough. They both have laid out what they think is best, and neither of them was pursued (mostly because of the bad communication). Heaven’s influence on Aziraphale and his inherent want to do good won out, the cards were never in Crowley’s favor in this situation. He’s left with essentially nothing when Aziraphale leaves, his one constant, his one tether to this world, is gone. 

“I was in your arms

Thinking I belonged there

I figured it made sense

Building me a fence

Building me a home

Thinking I’d be strong there

But I was a fool

Playing by the rules”

Talking about how Crowley built a home within his relationship with Aziraphale, and how he feels like a fool for relying on it after its been stripped away. 

“The gods may throw a dice

Their minds as cold as ice

And someone way down here

Loses someone dear” 

In reference to God’s ineffable plan, if Aziraphale leaving him and choosing Heaven is really a part of it. To God, this separation is just a smaller part of a larger scheme, insignificant, but to Crowley, it is life-changing. He’s lost his best friend, seemingly for good, all in the name of “the greater good.” 

“Somewhere deep inside

You must know I miss you

But what can I say?

Rules must be obeyed

The judges will decide

The likes of me abide”

COME ON. Crowley doesn’t believe that Aziraphale could ever love him, he’s a demon, and to the rest of the world, he is inherently below Aziraphale. Those are the “rules” of the world, and this is a dejected Crowley saying that maybe they can’t rewrite them. This is him, in his darkest moment, telling himself and Aziraphale that there is nothing they can do, rules in the end have to be obeyed and the likes of him have to abide by them eventually. 

To an extent, Aziraphale is the “winner” in this split. He’s the one that gets to leave, seemingly unbothered by the pain he is causing Crowley. We as the audience know differently, but Crowley doesn’t. In his perspective, Aziraphale has won the game. 

And their reunion in (hopefully) S3?

“And I understand

You’ve come to shake my hand”. 

Admitting defeat. Good game. 

You want Aziraphale to reflect on his mistake of leaving Crowley, which he inevitably will? Look at One of Us. 

“My picture clear

Everything seemed so easy

And so I dealt you the blow

One of us had to go”

Aziraphale is obviously still working through his toxic relationship with Heaven as an institution. In his eyes, with his belief in the greater good, everything seems easy. He can go to Heaven, make it worthy of beings like Crowley, and make it better. But when Crowley says he doesn’t want to go with him, Aziraphale knows he has to make the choice. And because of his inherent belief that Heaven can and is good, he chooses them, dealing the blow to Crowley with that final “I forgive you.” 

“One of us is crying, one of us is lying 

In a lonely bed

Staring at the ceiling

Wishing she was

somewhere else instead

One of us is lonely, and one of us is only

Waiting for a call

Sorry for herself, feeling 

stupid, feeling small

Wishing she had never left at all”

The entire chorus is Aziraphale wishing he could take back what happened that day. It’s him wishing that he was back on Earth, in his bookshop with Crowley. It’s him wishing that Crowley would come back to him. It’s him completely enveloped in regret. 

“I saw myself 

As a concealed attraction. 

I felt you kept me away 

From the heath and the action. 

Just like a child 

Stubborn and misconceiving

That’s how I started the show 

One of us had to go 

Now I’m changed and I want you to know” 

As we’ve already discussed, Aziraphale believes that Heaven is inherently good and thus must just need a push in the right direction. To him, he could be that push. When Crowley stands firm in his belief that Heaven won’t change, a part of Aziraphale had to have taken offense to that, because he’s partially hearing “Heaven won’t change, let alone for you”. Aziraphale, for his entire existence, has been told his efforts aren’t enough. So when he’s given the chance to make an impact, to finally do what he thinks is right, he jumps for it. He’s stubborn in his core beliefs that there is an inherently good and inherent evil, which we as the audience have come to learn isn’t true. To us, and probably to future Aziraphale, his past self was misconceiving. This is both present and future Aziraphale admitting that he made a mistake choosing Heaven over Crowley. This is Aziraphale pinning for the life he could have had with Crowley, for the life he gave away for what he thought was right. 

You want both of them to look back on the good times of them traveling the world throughout time before all of this Second Coming shit went down? Look at Our Last Summer. 

“I was so happy we had met

It was the age of no regret” 

“We took the chance

Like we were dancing our last dance 

I can still recall our last summer

I still see it all

In the tourist jam

Round the Notre Dame

Our Last summer

Walking hand in hand

Paris restaurants

Our last summer

Morning croissants

Living for the day 

Worries far away

Our last summer

We could laugh and play”

Do you want some angst where they both are looking back at what went wrong? Look no further, SOS has got you covered! 

“I try to reach for you, but

you have closed your mind. 

Whatever happened to our love? I wish I understood”’

That’s literally their final argument before Aziraphale leaves with Metatron. It’s them reaching for each other, both of them saying “Stay with me” but the lack of communication has shut down all hope. 

“When you’re gone, how 

can I even try to go on?”

“You made me feel alive,

but something died, I fear

I really tried to make it up

I wish I understood” 

Crowley in his last stitched attempt to make Aziraphale stay: the kiss. He tried to make it up, but it didn’t work and he doesn’t understand why it really didn’t. 

Oh, are you tired of angst? Do you want some happy ineffable husbands? ABBA beat us to it! You better believe that Crowley jams to Take a Chance on Me at least once a day. 

“Gonna do my very best 

and it ain’t no lie

If you put me to the test, if 

you let me try

Take a chance on me” 

“‘Cause you know I’ve got

So much that I wanna do 

When I dream I’m alone 

with you, it’s magic

You want me to leave it

there

Afraid of a love affair

But I think you know

That I can’t let go” 

“Oh, you can take your time baby

I’m in no hurry

Know I’m gonna get you” 

The entire song is Crowley asking Aziraphale to just give him a chance. To let him prove how much he loves him. 

Do you want them talking about that first Doomsday where they turned against their respective sides for each other? Fernando. 

“There was something in 

the air that night

The stars were bright, 

Fernando

They were shining there 

for you and me

For liberty, Fernando

Though we never thought 

that we could lose

There’s no regret

If I had to do the same

again

I would, my friend, 

Fernando” 

How about them talking about how much they love each other? I’ve Been Waiting For You, Waterloo, Super Trouper, and Lay Your Love On Me sums it up perfectly. 

I’ve Been Waiting For You:

“You’re something I’d been

pleading for

I love you, I adore you

I lay my life before you

I’ll have you want me more

and more

And finally, it seems 

my lonely days are through

I’ve been waiting for you” 

Waterloo:

“Waterloo

Promise to love you

forevermore

Waterloo

Couldn’t escape if I

wanted to

Waterloo

Knowing my fate is to be

with you”

“And how could I ever refuse

I feel like I win when I lose”

Super Trouper:

“So I’ll be there when you

arrive

The sight of you will prove 

to me I’m 

Still alive, and when you

take me in your arms

And hold me tight

I know it’s gonna mean so much tonight” 

Lay  All Your Love On Me

“It was like shooting a 

sitting duck

A little small talk, a smile

and baby I was stuck

I still don’t know what

you’ve done with me

A grown-up woman

should never fall so easily

I feel a kind of fear

When I don’t have you

near

Unsatisfied, I skip my pride

I beg you dear”

“I used to think that was sensible

It makes the truth even

more incomprehensible 

‘Cause everything is new

And everything is you

And all I’ve learned has

overturned

What can I do?” 

In conclusion, the ineffable husbands are probably the most ABBA-coded thing I’ve seen in a while. And no one talks about it! Absolutely no one! I think part of it comes from the fact that Series 2 of Our Flag Means Death has already been lumped with ABBA, but they both can be ABBA coded! Aziraphale and Crowley inspired all of the songs on the Mamma Mia set list, and you can pry that fact from my cold, dead hands. 

[thatlonelycactus]

I’m going to sound literally insane but I have a theory about what the “ineffable plan” might be. Is it right? Probably not but my fevered brain feels like it has some merit to it.

Anyway, in the book Crowley suggests that “Maybe it's all part of a great big ineffable plan. All of it. You, me, him, everything. Some great big test to see if what you've built all works properly, eh? You start thinking: it can’t be a great cosmic game of chess, it has to be just very complicated Solitaire.” and it is a quote that I’m quite sad didn’t make it into the show (I’m pretty sure). But back onto todays nonsensical rant: my proposal is- what if the Almightys plan is to try to make people/celestial/occult beings realize they need to work together and move away from the binary of being right or wrong. It links two of the major (imo) themes of the story in that a) it’s about connection and love and that and b) there’s no such thing as “good” or “bad” on a moral scale, there’s only shades of grey. What if the Almighty let the fall happen (as Crowley says earlier in the exchange mentioned earlier: “why did it happen, eh? I mean, it didn’t have to, did it?… Anyone who could build a universe in six days isn’t going to let a little thing like that happen. Unless they want it to, of course.”) to not only let the angels experience free will but to also let them learn, to work together, to love, to grow. What if they laced humans on earth with their range of morals beliefs, etc and showed how they, even when they are self declared enemies, can still work together? The most prominent point for the second idea is the bonds between Newt and Anathema, Shadwell and Madame Tracey, Beez and Gabriel, and obviously, Aziraphale and Crowley. I’ll talk about the witch/witch-hunter pairs first because I think the big thing here is that it all starts with humanity. Newt was essentially pulled into being a witch-hunter through circumstance, he never had any hatred for Anathema or any witch for that matter, it all just kinda happened (remind you of anyone sauntering vaguely downward???) but they’re both quick to accept the other for who they are. Shadwell took a little bit more time to realize that Madame Tracey was neither a witch nor evil. He just had to realize that they were both human and that she was, well, that she was kind. After realizing this, Shadwell began to change (def for the better), he left an order he had been with since the 60s because he realsied it was outdated and pretty much pointless in the scheme of everything, of humanity. I bring these two pairs because they remind me slightly of Aziraphale and Crowley, and Beez and Gabriel respectively. I won’t go into too much more detail but these relationships show that the hatred between heaven and hell is arbitrary, angels and demons aren’t hereditary enemies, they don’t even have to be enemies, they just decided that’s what they needed to be. These relationships prove that there’s more than just good and evil because I don’t think that any of us would refer to either Crowley or Beelzebub as “evil” nor Aziraphale or Gabriel as purely “good”. That’s what the Almighty is trying to get everyone to understand that there is no good, there is no evil, there’s just US and that’s the only side worth fighting for.

I have so many reasons why this can’t be the ineffable plan but yeah. Anyway that leaves me with one question: why did they do any of it? Whats the point of starting a 6000 year long conflict to show that the way you’d started it all out was best even though you were the one who ruined it? Whats the point of creating an entire universe and then planning to destroy it to prove this point?

Unless the universe was the apple in Eden.

Thats what makes it ineffable

[cobragardens]

In the first essay in this post Maya Gittelman articulates something that I think is really important: it's not just the gender(fuck) of the characters' coding that makes Good Omens a queer story, it's that the story is about queerness itself.

Gittelman's essay:

The thing is, this is the shit I’ve been waiting for my whole life.

Before I knew the words, I was impacted by how every epic romance, every classic adventure, every story I had access to and enjoyed was cishet. I needed to translate either the story or myself to find myself in it—every single time. I grew up in the oughts, in the days of the Tumblr fandoms you’re thinking of. I wrote about this a bit more in my essay on the first season of Our Flag Means Death last year, and that first line applies here—queer heartache has never felt this good.

I’ve been able to consume a lot of queer storytelling lately—mostly white cis m/m, but not exclusively and more than I’ve ever been able to in my life, because I’ve been searching for it for a long time. Yet as we know, there are a lot of mainstream stories with queer “rep” that at their core about what marginalized queer people have been cautioning around for generations—normalization. Assimilation. Respectability. See, we can be just like you. We too desire to marry, participate as cogs in the violent machine of imperialism. We too want the right to give you our service, our allegiance. We too want to join your armies. I certainly can enjoy plenty of that media, but I’m still desperate for queer storytelling that’s not sanitized, not flattened out to fit cishet beats, something that tells a good story that’s queer on every level. And that means we deserve to see queer characters who are messy, who hurt each other, because sometimes, love isn’t enough.

While Good Omens in some ways still white cis m/m, it’s also not entirely, and what works for me is that it actually delves into asking the damned question: What if this love is a threat, actually?

What if this love is something that does disrupt your norms, your ways of life? What if it’s an open danger to the systems you’re used to? What if this love could disrupt everything? What if it goes against God’s will and Satan’s too, what if it flies in the face of the ineffable plan?

What I’m saying is, I’ve wanted stories that let queer people be characters, with all the nuance and complexity that entails. Stories that are queer, intentionally, in both subtext and text, that aren’t asking an audience to justify their right to exist. Instead, they’re giving voice to the specifics of queer experience that don’t typically get mainstream care, multi-season tenderness. We deserve queer love stories that are wistful, epic, tragic not because they’re of the “same gender” but because the tangled truths of safety and trauma are inextricable from queer love. We deserve stories that are queer as subtext and text, metaphor and central plot and side plot too. We deserve queer stories that explore how queer love is infinite variety. We deserve genre stories that explore what immortality or something close to it does to pining, to longing, for wanting the one person in the universe you can’t have.

We deserve queer stories without homophobia that still explore the traumas of marginalized desire, in which neither party is truly the villain, just victims of the same system, at different stages of knowing it.

Show me what it looks like beyond the happily ever after, the will they/won’t they, the beats of a privileged cis white coming out. Breathe arcs of nuance and poetry and history into it. We deserve that epic romance, and we deserve to see how much it can hurt, because the depths of that wound evidence the ferocity of that love.

Growing up queer can feel monstrous, and I need to see that on screen. When you get preached at that people like you go to Hell for what you are and the ways you want, you start to relate to the demons. When you’re taught the truest, most joyful parts of you are unholy, it’s fair to ask—why should I respect the authority of a system that hates me for reasons I can’t control?

You learn to disguise your desire, and it changes you. It changes you to choke down your feelings, to deny them, to believe that they are sin. You learn to pour them into the hidden language of love that arises between you and whoever you’re lucky enough to share it with, so you don’t learn how to say them aloud. (Their arrangement, “little demonic miracle of my own,” the fourth alternative rendezvous. This is what queer love has looked like for millennia: something beautiful and true, despite, despite, despite.) Unlike those whose love has only ever been legal, permitted, “normal,” “holy”—your relationship is inescapably shaped by the threat behind it. You don’t get to see them as often as you like. You don’t get to talk, either to them or about them, because it might disturb the precious existence you have carved out together. You have to make up excuses, you can’t admit to anyone exactly why you can’t stop going back, and in this way you don’t always have to confront it yourself.

At the same time, that’s why queer love can be one of the most powerful forces in the universe—it saved the world last time, even if they didn’t call it that, yet. Aziraphale and Crowley don’t know so many details about each other’s lives and yet they know nearly everything important.

This is love—this natural state of slipping into the truth, until you awaken to it, inevitable and encompassing, all around you.

You might find yourself almost helpless to the magnetism. You can’t stop going back, finding your way to them, taking the risk, basking in the thrill of the comfort of their company.

And that’s why this finale, this story, this couple works so well for me—it’s queer in the telling, and while it always has been, this season literalized it on a new level and that matters.

[theclaravoyant]

Fluff prompt #15 + ineffable partners???

15. "I wouldn't trade you for all the stars in the sky"

AN ~ that's the thing I'm sensitive about !!! This is distinctly more hurt/comfort than fluff, but I swear it's heavy on the comfort. Set Post-S2/post-canon, established relationship. Read on AO3 (~800wd) prompt me

-

The planetarium show opens with what he has to assume the humans are using ironically: in the Beginning. Crowley leans over and whispers something about “having it on good authority…” and Aziraphale has to chuckle. He swats Crowley on the arm, and leaves his hand there, and if it gradually makes its way to being intertwined with his then well, that’s just a bonus isn’t it.

This is nice, he thinks, being an us.

But he has a feeling that’s not what causes Crowley’s running commentary to die on his ever-snarky lips as the humans weave their stories about the stars and the telescopes and rockets and the formation of the Earth and the heat death of the universe. Space dances around them in the highest definition and farthest-reaching images that have yet reached the human eye. By the time the show is wrapping up Crowley is staring, silent, reverent. Naked yellow eyes, positively enraptured.

“They’re bloody brilliant, aren’t they?” he murmurs.

Aziraphale longs to capture this moment. He could sit in it forever.

The house lights have other plans.

“We should-”

“Right. Yes.”

Crowley’s eyes snap away and hide as he clumsily shoves the dark lenses back onto his face and all but charges out of the room. Aziraphale’s heart seizes, and he can only follow, brushing through thank-yous and vague excuses for missing the impending canapes and he’s not sure what to say- not sure what to say- not sure what to say. He’s always been so clumsy with intimate moments and he’s quite sure it’ll kill him if he somehow makes this worse.

He catches up with Crowley, where else but the Bentley. He’s waiting outside of it, on a nearby bench, safely obscured behind his glasses even as the long stretch of a mirror-like water feature ahead of him reflects a black and blue and sparkling night.

“Sorry,” he says, barely looking as Aziraphale comes to take a seat. “Didn’t mean to leave you alone in there I just- I haven’t seen them like that in quite a while.”

Aziraphale frowns. “How long might that be?”

“Well.” Crowley waves a hand. “The light’s a little strange with these things, you know, and they’ve never been very good with distance.”

Aziraphale has a terrible feeling, a terrible knowing, that he’s not talking about the glasses.

“Oh, Crowley.”

“There’s no need for all that, angel,” Crowley insists. “Honestly. It’s a very old wound. It just took me a little bit by surprise.”

Part of Aziraphale wants to gush love and apologies and try and heal that innocent little angel with the tuft of red hair. Another firmly reminds him that he’s promised (himself, more so than Crowley) not to bring up who Crowley insists he isn’t and doesn’t want to be. Mostly though he’s more than a bit shocked, a bit hurt, a bit sorry that he somehow didn’t know that all this time. They’ve really got to stop doing this to each other.

But then Crowley smiles. It’s a smaller smile, but it brings a bit of sparkle back that had been temporarily chased away.

“Actually I can sort of see it in ultra-violet instead, which is pretty cool. Can I show you?”

He offers his hand and Crowley takes it. They take a deep breath together and a miracle works, and the world fades and changes around him. It looks mistier like this. A strange and beautiful blue. It reminds him of somehow standing under an ocean rather than a sky, the pinpoint lights don’t stand out so much but rather merge and combine and gently glow, swirling around them like the softest fabric.

They let the breath out, and it is gone. The sky rearranges itself to the way Aziraphale is more familiar with it. His chest aches a little, bittersweet.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes.

“Yes.” Crowley still hasn’t let go of his hand, or his smile. “See? I told you. I’m alright.”

Aziraphale shifts in his seat so that he can lean a little more against Crowley’s chest. He rests his head back. Their breathing is the only sound for a long stretch, until some waterfowl alight in the reflection of the sky. He’s always been clumsy with intimate moments. But something - surely not The Spirit - compels him eventually to speak.

“I never meant to imply that you were not.” He swallows. “Or - I suppose I did, but I only ever wanted to help. But I understand now. I never meant to undo you or change you or… I mean, I never wanted you to go back to being them. I only wanted you to be happy. Safe, as much as I could make you.”

Alright.

It’s something that’s been understood between them better for a long while now but still, something heals putting the words to it. “I only ever wanted you, Crowley,” he vows. “I wouldn’t trade you for all the stars in the sky.”

[hekate1308]

Fictober 2022, #25

Prompt: “You know I’d do anything“

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: G

Pairings: Ineffable Husbands

They were busy putting the last touches on their new cottage. Of course Crowley had brought his plans, and Aziraphale his books; and yes, this had meant that they had had to miracle the inside a little bit bigger than the outside, but really, in the grand scheme of things, especially because things were still there even though they hadn’t been supposed to, that didn’t mean anything.

Crowley was currently berating one of them for another spot because now that they were living in the country with his angel, they certainly had no more excuses.

Suddenly, two warm arms wrapped around his waist. “Don’t be too hard on them, dear” Aziraphale said softly. “They might still be reeling from the move.”

“They’ve had two whole days to get used to things. I will not tolerate anyone slacking off.”

“They’re not, they’re lush and beautiful” he said, reaching out to stroke a leaf near him.

That was one thing they would still have to talk about. Aziraphale kept spoiling them with compliments when they were meant to be quaking in fear lest they got ideas. At the same time, he was always so happy when he was doing it that Crowley couldn’t bring himself to ask him to stop.

“Well, if you say so.”

“I do” Aziraphale declared and pressed a kiss below his ear. “It’s time for tea anyway.”

“Alright” he decided, putting down his plant sprayer. “You got off lightly this time, but don’t think for a moment that I will allow this to go on any longer.”

After all, afternoon tea had become a cherished tradition as soon as they moved in together – to be more specific, as soon as Crowley brought his things over to the book shop, after a very satisfactory mutual discussion as to where they now stood and what they wanted to be moving forward. Part of him was still shocked that Aziraphale agreed with him.

“It’s China, dear.”

Crowley’s favourite.

“Thank you, angel”.

Aziraphale beamed and poured them their tea. “We also have a few biscuits…”

Of course they had. Wouldn’t be his angel if he didn’t have something to nibble on. Crowley could only smile at him as he grabbed a biscuit, more so that Aziraphale would be happy rather then because he felt peckish.

In the next moment, he felt a small shiver crawl down his spine. But of course – it was October, and the fall cold was finally seeping into the weather and his bones. That’s the price one paid for being part snake.

Aziraphale, of course, noticed immediately. “Dear? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, angel, just the usual at this time of the year” he assured him.

“Oh, I completely forgot, Here –“  And Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the temperature rose just enough for Crowley to be completely comfortable.

“Angel –“

“We better take care that you’re not cold during fall and winter” he told him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “This is your home too”.

With his heart beating wildly in his chest, he asked, “Won’t you be hot?” At least the book shop had never been particularly warm, although now that he thought about it, he seemed to recall that over time, it had almost always been the perfect temperature for him when he dropped by.

“Oh dear, when you have to deal with the cold inside, certainly I can stand that!”

“IT’s just that it’s really not – “

"You know I'd do anything – for you, I mean” he said lightly as if it was nothing and Crowley all but gulped down his glass with his drink. What – he had never – no – it wasn’t that he hadn’t thought Aziraphale would be ready to do things for him, it was just that… that…

“I don’t think that will be necessary” he managed. “A few degrees more, and I’ll be perfectly happy.”

Happier, at any rate, than he already was. Even though he would gladly have put on any sweater Aziraphale thought fit to borrow him.

He watched as his angel continued having tea as if he hadn’t just said – as if this was nothing. Deciding that he had to say something, he finally cleared his throat. “You know that – me too, right? That ding anything for you, business.”

“Oh Crowley dear, I am very aware of that, you don’t have to worry..”

Well. He supposed that was something. He nodded. “Good. Good. That’s all I wanted – just to make sure, you know –“

Aziraphale nodded happily at him and Crowley decided the best thing to do was shave another biscuit, if only to have something to do.

“By the way, dear, I think we’ll need to buy more tea soon.”

“Don’t worry angel, I’ve got it” he promised because he had spoken the truth.

Anything for his love.  

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

I know you’ve talked about how all the Cullen pairings are eventually going to implode - glad someone said it - but I was wondering if you wanted to talk a little bit about what you think Meyer INTENDED with the pairings - tropes and whatnot? And what you think would have to change in her narrative to make what was intended what we actually saw on the page? Or — what do you think each cullens’ Perfect Spouse would actually look like?

Anon is referring to this post.

And well, you've certainly given me quite the challenge.

Some Musing Ramblings Before We Begin

Sort of like asking me to make Dramione work, I'm not sure I'm the person to ask this. Anyone who reads my work knows that... well, that's a lie, every story I secretly write is a love story. But it's not Twilight in any way shape or form.

Twilight simply isn't a story I would set out to write. This isn't a good thing or a bad thing, it just is, which means that asking me to make Twilight work the way Meyer intended is probably not your best bet.

But I'll try regardless, it's what we're here for.

Bella/Edward

Meyer intended Bella Swan and Edward Cullen to be the best and brightest of all the pairings in Twilight. They have the love and devotion of Carlisle and Esme, the physicality and sexual attraction of Rosalie and Emmett, and are such a grand love that even depressed Marcus takes note. This is the love story that drives the entire series.

Edward is an improvement upon Carlisle, a Carlisle with even better control, and the most beautiful man you ever did see. He's also a gentleman, a man of his time and from an era where chivalry was alive and men courted women. Bella is one of those disturbingly altruistic people who makes you feel bad about yourself just by being in the same room. She's incredibly selfless, kind, and also quite brave.

Together, despite their ups and downs and the many obstacles in their way, they're disgustingly perfect.

However, that's not what we get. On Edward's end he's... Edward about loving Bella. On Bella's end, she has no idea who Edward even is but she does know he's beautiful and special.

And to get what Meyer actually wanted... Christ, Anon, I'll try.

So, the first problem, if Edward was truly a good person then Twilight would never happen.

Edward would have his first day of Biology, miraculously maintain control, and flee to Alaska as he does in canon. However, he would not return. Edward in canon returns due to his budding obsession as well as his wounded pride, in fleeing Forks he feels he has lost to Bella. When Carlisle later points out that a girl's life is on the line, that Edward is foolishly endangering this girl solely for his ego, Edward refuses to acknowledge this.

A good man would never have returned from Alaska, the Cullens would have moved in short order, and Bella may or may not have died in a parking lot or in Port Angeles.

That said, what if Bella is not, in fact, Edward's singer? Then there's not this constant debate of him eating her or his creepy, budding, obsession with his personal brand of heroin.

Well, the trouble with that is that Edward would then never notice her. Even were Edward not a colossal dismissive dick, required per this ask, Bella is one mortal out of many and someone he shouldn't grow close to. Associating with her just exposes her to unnecessary danger from him and his family. Edward is a guest in our world, nothing more, and a kind Edward might chit chat with her in Biology but even if he had a growing crush he'd keep his distance.

As he tried and failed to do in canon, actually.

Basically, change Edward alone, and it's not enough. The Edward Meyer wanted would never get together with Bella. At least, not without a lot of AU-sauce.

But let's look at Bella for a moment. Bella's character also has to be entirely stripped down. The Bella of the books is extremely depressed and her infatuation with Edward is fueled in part because of this. Edward's obsession with her gives her worth.

Obviously, in this new and improved edition of Twilight, Bella can't use either Edward or Jacob for validation. She has to be able to stand on her own two legs. If she does use either for validation, then the relationship must come to an end, as she and her significant other realize just what it is Bella's doing.

The trouble is, what does this not-depressed Bella have to fall in love with? Yes, Edward's beautiful, and that certainly goes a long way, but in canon he's a dick. Bella even thinks to herself that he's a complete dick (even when he's trying to be charming). Luckily for Edward she later decides that this is cryptic and therefore appealing.

Well, in AU land, Edward might be so damn charming that Bella likes him anyway but we come back to Edward keeping her at a polite distance.

So, what we need is a terrifying villain. Let's call him Angelus (though per Twilight this would probably be James). Angelus is a vampire that will force Edward's hand. For whatever reason, he decides to torment and ruin Bella's life, ending the hunt in either eating her or turning her into his bride. Angelus' existence forces Bella to be in the know and for Edward to have to take extreme action.

The pair become closer, grow through undoubtedly horrific trauma, and through said trauma Bella understands not only the pros of being a vampire but the terrifying cons.

Basically, it'd be this story. Just replace the name "Carlisle" with Edward and "Edward" with James.

Alice/Jasper

Alice and Jasper are supposed to have this ineffable, mystic, connection where they're together because... Alice saw them together. And in a way, that's true, but it's supposed to be a thing of beauty, soulmates if there ever were any, and instead it's this dumpster fire with nothing holding them together.

This one's easier in a way, well, sort of. Alice would have to be a completely different character and we'd have to see a lot more of Jasper.

Alice has a bad habit of treating those around her, even those she loves, as chess pieces. She'll put them in significant danger, court their misery, so long as it gets her the future she wants.

And she's extremely controlling.

Right away in the opening of Midnight Sun we see this and how it affects her and Jasper's relationship. The novel opens with Alice hovering, scanning the future for Japser fucking up, while Jasper just sits there in misery. Due to her obsession on making sure Jasper doesn't eat students, she actually misses Edward's plan to massacre Biology and his many plans to eat Bella Swan.

Even if she wasn't, this isn't good for anyone to live with. Jasper has very little concept of free will, whatever happens to him, whatever he'll do, Alice tells him and the worst possible option is always on the table.

For Jasper/Alice to work either Alice's gift needs to go (and that's... sort of all Alice is) or she has to tell no one any vision ever unless under extreme circumstances.

Which would be devastating for Alice. Rather than this mostly well-adjusted, perky, girl, Alice would be crippled by her gift. The weight of the world, everyone's free will, rests on her shoulders and she has to constantly avoid temptation to simply pick everyone's future for them.

Without the attitude Alice has in canon, I think she'd go mad with such a gift, or else be consumed by the responsibility of it.

Then we get to the mess that is Jasper. Jasper's complicated, and I don't want to get into it here, but his love story would have to be... too large to be put to the side like that. The redemption he'd need is not one that can be shoved into a few paragraphs told to Bella, it's frankly the kind of story that would drive an ordinary story.

So we'd have to see a lot of Jasper and Nouveau Alice. Which, of course, detracts from Bella/Edward which is the main point of the story.

Honestly, I take it back, there's no salvaging this relationship. They would have to be completely different people to the point where they're entirely different characters wearing nametags 'Alice' and 'Jasper'. Alice couldn't have her gift, which informs her entire character, and we'd have to see way too much of Jasper who is ultimately a tertiary character.

Carlisle/Esme

Thoughts on Carlisle/Esme.

Carlisle and Esme is a very 'spiritual' relationship per Meyer. They're... mom-bot and dad-bot. Alright, fine, they're the perfect parents with this deep love for each other and a very parental bond with Edward especially. It's the relationship Edward admires the most in his paired off family.

I don't even know how to fix this one.

Again, they'd have to be such different people. The trouble with Esme and Carlisle is that they share no values and are plagued by massive miscommunication. The Carlisle who is perfect for Esme... No, wait, this Carlisle is perfect for her, but that's because she's in Esme Land.

The Carlisle that would be perfect for a grounded Esme is not the one that exists. She'd want someone who would always put the family first, who would treasure her above all other things, that's not Carlisle.

Carlisle, similarly, would want someone that truly shares his ideals. That's not Esme.

So, we're back to nametag land, because one or both have to completely change for this to work. (Not to mention that Esme's probably not supposed to be Esme).

So, I've got nothing for this.

Rosalie/Emmett

I actually think these two are what Meyer intended. They love each other but are mostly held together by attraction. They're a very physical couple and good for the most part but inherently lesser than Bella/Edward.

Sure, I'd argue that they're the most put together couple in the house, but I think they're meant to have flaws. They work well together, but every other relationship in the Cullens has to be a step up or at least have something more to it.

Something Edward and Bella can be better than.

Conclusion

Dear god. Did I only manage to somewhat address Bella/Edward? Was that it? This was worse than I thought.

[in-my-feels-probably]

INEFFABLE - Kaz Brekker

Chapter Ten

If you would like to read this on Wattpad, it’s on there as well, my @ is in_my_feels_probably and there’s a few visuals and better descriptions and stuff on there. otherwise, enjoy, let me know what you think, and you can check out my masterlist for updates and more. don’t forget to read the prologue, it’s important to the story!

INEFFABLE – Kaz Brekker

ineffable (adj.) too great to be expressed in words, utterly indescribable; too sacred to speak of. 

Chapter Ten

The Crows quickly navigated the palace halls, trying to get to Jesper at the meeting point as quickly as they could. He was supposed to be waiting outside the escape route, standing watch, overlooking the carriages, which was their escape plan, and Elham was praying he was ok and waiting for them so she could get as far away from the Little Palace as possible.

She was cursing herself the whole way, punishing herself for not getting Alina away from the Darkling. She didn't have much time to ponder how colossally they had failed, or how pissed Kaz was going to be for her not telling him that she was an Inferni, although he would have plenty of time to sulk on the way home, because he had finally led them outside, spotting Jesper.

They trudged over to him, Kaz now very obviously limping, and Elham looked even more worried than Jesper did.

"Wow, Elham. I've never seen you in a dress. Interesting."

She sent a glare his way, and he immediately reeled back.

What happened, you ok?"

Inej's face lit up. "She's real, Jesper. She made the light sing."

Kaz grumbled next to Elham. "We lost her."

Jesper chuckled, turning towards the carriage, a smile on his face, his voice full of amusement.

"Did we?"

Kaz squinted his eyes, before speaking. "Well, we don't know where she is."

Jesper was still chuckling. "Don't we?"

Elham froze, before catching up to Jesper, spinning him around by his jacket.

"What can I do for you, love?"

"Jesper, very much not the time for you to be joking. What do you mean?"

"Just ask."

"Jesper!" Elham let a flame pool in her palm, and Jesper immediately gasped, taking a step back.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

Kaz stepped up as they began climbing into the carriage. "We don't have time for this, just get in, and you can give us all a very well deserved explanation."

His tone was menacing, and Elham sunk into her seat she had taken next to Inej.

"Do we have a fix on where the target is?"

Jesper glanced towards the back of the carriage, before smiling, snapping the reigns. The carriage jolted forward, and they began making their way off the palace grounds.

---

It had been a few minutes of riding in silence, and the air was thick with tension. Elham pretended not to notice Inej's glances toward her hands she had clenched in her lap. Jesper kept glancing over his shoulder at her, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

Kaz hadn't turned around once, eyes set straight ahead.

Jesper finally broke the silence. "So...do you want to tell me what the hell that was?"

Elham took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. Through clenched teeth, she spoke. "I'm an Inferni."

"Well that's obvious, love. I think we all gathered that. Why the hell didn't any of us know? And why show us now?"

Elham thought back to the orphanage she grew up in, to being tested and taken to the Little Palace. Meeting Nina, training with Baghra, finding out about the Darkling. Escaping and coming to Ketterdam. Going through a year of pain, meeting Kaz and becoming part of the Dregs, then the Crows, part of a family.

Kaz still hadn't turned around, but she knew he was listening. Inej had turned to face her, contently listening.

"Ok, ok, alright. You all know I'm an orphan, I grew up in Karamzin until I was 10 or so. I don't know who my parents are, what happened to them, or why they didn't want me, I just know I was born in Novyi Zem and I was taken to the orphanage, and I lived there till the Grisha came to test the new children. They tested me, and took me to the Little Palace to become part of the Second Army, to start training."

Jesper turned around slightly, eyeing her. "You're telling me you lived here, and didn't wanna tell us any vital information to get us inside?"

"I didn't want you to know, ok! It wasn't exactly the best time of my life here."

"Why not?" Elham felt a tear roll down her cheek, and quickly wiped it away. "I'm an Inferni, but I'm not like the rest of them. They have to use something to create a spark, they can't just summon it like I can. The problem is, it's unpredictable. I never got a hold on it, so they would rarely let me use it in training. I had to learn physical combat skills instead, which did actually come in handy in the Barrel."

Inej had grabbed Elham's hand now, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Kaz had slightly turned in her direction.

"Anyways, everyone thought I was a freak, people were scared of me, they didn't want to be around me. Besides Nina."

Kaz fully turned around towards her at that, and you could almost detect a tone of hurt in his voice. What else hadn't she told him? "Really? You know Nina?"

"Knew. I haven't seen her since I was 13. She was one of my only friends in the Little Palace, and even then, I hardly saw her. Etherealki don't interact much with Corporalki, each type of Grisha generally sticks to their own order. Nina left before me though, she was quite skilled, and the Second Army needed new soldiers. I wasn't anywhere near ready, so I was left alone. Baghra took a liking to me, and made me her personal project."

Inej quipped up. "Who's Baghra?"

Elham's lips turned to a frown. "The Darkling's mother."

"What? Isn't the Darkling like a hundred years old?"

"Yes. And so is she. He just plays her off as an older mentor that had joined when he first came into service for the King. Which wasn't in the past hundred years, by the way."

Jesper sounded exasperated. "What does that mean?"

Elham almost laughed, and she would have if there wasn't a pit in her stomach and she felt like she could burst into tears at any moment.

"The Darkling, and the Black Heretic...they're the same person. He's been faking his death every few hundred years and coming into the service of a new King, now he serves the Lantsov line. I'm sure he was alive when the first Lantsov became King, he's that old, and so is Baghra."

Inej gasped, her face going pale. "The Black Heretic, the one who created the Fold...the Darkling did that?"

"Yes."

Kaz finally spoke up. "How the hell could you possibly know all of this? I find it hard to believe someone decided to tell all of this to a 13 year old girl."

Elham narrowed her eyes at him. "They didn't have a choice. Baghra had to tell me, it was the only way she could get me to leave."

Jesper was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Saints, Elham, alright, I'm gonna need you to explain a little bit better than that."

Elham nodded, sitting up straighter. "As I said earlier, Baghra started watching over me. She didn't like the idea of a Grisha not being able to defend themself. So she made me choose a weapon, and master it. She had me running drills, practicing sun up to sun down. Saints, I've never been as tired as I was training with her."

Elham chuckled, but it was pained, and her smile didn't meet her eyes. "She taught me some ways to try and control my powers, but I would never be as good with them as I was with a sword, and I think she knew that, so she let me master it before she started training me with my powers. We would practice away from the other Grisha, she didn't want me distracted. One day, the Darkling sat in on my training."

She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. "He never told me why he was there, and Baghra lied and said he just liked to check in on the training sessions every once in a while. It's awful to say, but Saints, I would have done anything to have people look at me like he did when he watched me use my powers. He didn't look at me like I was some freak of nature, he saw my potential. I was so naive, I should have known."

Kaz was intently staring at Elham, watching the emotions change in her face. "Know what?"

"That he wanted to use me. My powers are different, I can summon them whenever I want, and the more I used them, the stronger I got. I could blaze down a whole forest if I wanted to and not even break a sweat. He made sure Baghra was teaching me to control them, and then he started taking me to training sessions himself, asking me questions."

Kaz's jaw was clenched. "Like what?"

"Like if I was scared of his powers. Or if I was sick of people looking down on me. When I started getting a grip on my powers, he took me from training out into the forest to practice more. And then...he--"

Elham choked down a cry, rubbing her hand down her face. "He wanted to see if he could use my powers with his. He had me create a flame, and he would twist darkness into it, making the flame grow. He could pull the flame towards him, moving it without me having to. Saints only know what I could have done with an amplifier."

"What's an amplifier?"

"An object that a Grisha can use to enhance their power. The Darkling is one himself, he was by far the best method to me controlling my powers."

Inej squeezed Elham's hand again. "I don't understand, why'd he take such interest in you?"

Elham couldn't stop the tears from falling this time. "He wanted to use my powers and his in the Fold. He wanted to light the whole thing up. It would have been a mountain of fire and darkness. He never wanted to destroy the fold, he wanted to make it a weapon." She chuckled darkly. "I didn't want to believe Baghra when she told me. I was just beginning to feel like I belonged, and it felt like she was ripping that away from me. I'm not completely heartless, though, I never would have let him use me like that. I have no love for Ravka, but I could never add to his incessant need for destruction and power. I escaped, and never thought about coming back."

Jesper laid a hand on her knee. "I'm sorry you had to come back."

She gave him a small smile. "It's alright. I think I needed to. I needed to face this, I needed to face him. Besides, I had to at least try and get Alina out. When you all went into the palace, and I had to try and find another way in, I took the trail I used to escape. It led right to Baghra's hut, she's the one who helped me get inside the palace. I had to see if what everyone was saying was true, if the Sun Summoner was real, so I went to her."

Elham was actually smiling now, and Kaz's shoulders eased at the sight of it. "You know, she was the one who gave me the sword. The one I had all those years in Ketterdam."

The smile faded. "The one Pekka Rollins broke. I had almost forgotten about that."

Kaz watched her face fall, and despite himself, his heart clenched at the sight. She continued.

"Baghra told me that I needed to get Alina out, and I promised her I would. That kind of power in the hands of the Darkling, it would be catastrophic...oh, Saints!"

"What?"

"Baghra! If Alina escaped, the Darkling is going to find out who let her go, who told her about him. He's ruthless, he'd kill his own mother. If anything happens to her..."

Elham trailed off, unable to speak. Despite not knowing the right thing to say, Kaz couldn't bear to watch her in pain, and watch her sit there suffering. He hesitated then spoke.

"You know, she is the Darkling's mother. She's survived all of these years before him, I'm sure she'll long outlive him. If she's anything like how you talk about her, she has nothing to worry about."

Elham sniffed, nodding at him gratefully. "So...now you all know, I guess. About me, and everything. Surprise?"

Inej let out a laugh, and Jesper was grinning. "Hey, El...want to know another surprise?"

She eagerly nodded, directing her attention to him. He glanced around at the Crows, leaning in. "The Sun Summoner? She may or not be in the back of the carriage in the trunk. Allegedly, of course."

There was silence for a few moments, and nobody moved, stunned. Elham just stared at Jesper, who was grinning like a fool. Kaz relaxed against his seat, his lips curled into the smallest grin.

"Well. Maybe there are Saints after all."

---

A/N - hi guys, i'm really excited to get into the stuff i've had planned since before starting this story, i've got a lot of elham and kaz content coming, hope y'all are ready for it all. let me know what you thought, feel free to reach out, and thank you for the support!

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! Could you recommend me some gen fics (I want to send them to my mom too and she prefers no romance) that are long(ish) and show how wonderful Aziraphale is and how much he cares? I've seen many amazing stories that focus on Crowley and his side of things, but I really want to see some good stories centred on how much Aziraphale loves Crowley and how much the angel's been through, too. (No human!AU please) Thank you!

Hello! Here are some more Aziraphale-focused gen fics for you!...

On the Celestial Hierarchy by PeaceHeather (G)

Post-apocalypse. A package arrives for Aziraphale from Heaven, making both him and Crowley nervous.

“Go on then,” he said, “tell us what it says. See what Heaven’s up to lately, that they’re sending you cards rather than making you go Upstairs in person.”

The Prodigal Sword of the Principality by herebewyverns (G)

In which the flaming sword of the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate and Defender of Humanity will most certainly not stand for being given away a second time. No, the angel in question doesn’t get a say in this.

Or: The Bentley had to be well-loved to learn how to love its Master in return. The flaming sword had loved its Master from the Beginning, and now it wants to come home.

Spilt Milk by burnttongueontea (T)

‘What on Earth did you do?’

Aziraphale sighed heavily.

‘Oh, nothing really. I mean, at first I thought it might be because – ’ He closed his mouth suddenly, looking uncomfortable. ‘Well, never mind, apparently it wasn’t that. I made enquiries. As it turns out, the relevant committee only meets once a year, and somebody missed the deadline for the paperwork first time around, so there you are – two years’ grace, as it were. And then, whoops! You’re quietly enjoying your nice little spa day when this great big hole opens up in the ground in front of you, and down you go! In your towel. I suppose I was asking for it there – an angel sitting in a sauna, not very appropriate, is it? What can you expect?’

To Speak the Unspoken by ihamtmus (T)

“Uhhhh… Hi,” Crowley started lamely, scrambling to find a way to explain the situation as quickly as possible. His mind was refusing to work properly, thoughts slow as if doused in oil. He hadn’t really thought about what to say on his way here – he’d been too busy focusing on the getting here part before he would collapse. “I was wondering if I could… If I could maybe die in here, if you don’t mind..?”

The expression on Aziraphale’s face changed abruptly, telling him that the angel did, in fact, mind.

(In which a mortally wounded demon just wants to get somewhere quiet to die but his Adversary will have none of it. A story of how they both learn just how much they care.)

If We’ve Got Nothing (We’ve Got Us) by Kedreeva (G)

Two months after the failed apocalypse Aziraphale finds the first dark feather growing in his wings.

A story about middle grounds, ineffable plans, and what happens when the world doesn't end.

Stay Here by maniacalmole (G)

Aziraphale gives up his shop for a good cause, but that means he needs somewhere to temporarily stay. And there's really only one person he could ask to store his most treasured possessions. Temporarily, of course. This was partly inspired by my college roommates, whom I miss. Living with other people has its ups and downs.

- Mod D

[prettybirdy979]

Seriously just gonna keep going with the random prompt rolls until somebody tells me to stop, haha. I love your writing and it's so nice seeing your ficlets come across my dash each day.

Prompt list #1 Fluff #46: “You’re hurt. Please just let heal it.”

Aww, thank you! Please do keep sending prompts, either from the lists or not! This prompt is from this list - please anyone feel free to send me any other prompts from it or any of the ones in this tag

‘I did try to warn them,’ Aziraphale says sadly, watching the humans fight in their new languages and start to gather in groups defined by them. ‘I really did try.’

Crowley snorts. ‘Humanity. Never going to listen and that was before this new thing of Hers. What is it called again?’

‘Languages,’ Aziraphale sighs. ‘I do wish it hadn’t meant splitting families over it.’ He nods down at the poor mother screaming in one language as her child weeps in another. ‘They hardly deserved it.’

Narrowing his eyes Crowley turns towards Aziraphale. ‘Not doubting Her are you?’ Please don’t angel. I... I don’t think you’re cut out for down there and... and Earth would be strange without you, he thinks but does not say.

‘Oh no, never. She has Her wisdom and this must be a part of the Plan. You know. Ineffability and all that.’ He looks down at the screaming child, now being held by their mother despite the language gap. ‘Just it is a rough Plan to watch happen.’

Crowley laughs at that. ‘It is indeed angel. Come on, I hear there’s some wine left over by the builders and they’re hardly in any state to drink it. Can’t let it go to waste, I hear it’s sinful.’

Aziraphale’s eyes light up. ‘Oh, they did have such good wine. Yes, we mustn’t let it go to waste.’ 

He takes a step forward and his leg goes out from under him. Crowley only just manages to catch him, one arm under his shoulder and one around his waist. Aziraphale groans and flinches and Crowley pulls up his robe. 

Decorating Aziraphale’s chest is brusies and the movement of his robe reveals the cut on his leg. They are ugly marks, clearly recent, and Crowley’s sure a couple of Aziraphale’s ribs have broken too.

‘You’re hurt,’ he says stupidly as Aziraphale pulls the robe down.

‘Like I said,’ Aziraphale says primly, like he’s not panting in pain and holding his side, ‘I tried to warn them. They ah, were not appreciative.’

‘Oh angel.’ Crowley looks around, then reaches out his senses. ‘No one’s watching, why haven’t you healed them yet?’

Aziraphale stands stiftly, then flinches and relaxes a touch. ‘I can’t. Heaven... Heaven made it clear this was to happen and that really, no need to be here. They’ll scatter by themselves.’

How can you keep being so kind? Crowley thinks. You have to know Heaven won’t reward your kindness?

‘Let me then,’ he says before his mind catches up to the words. 

‘What?’ Aziraphale gives him a confused look, with a touch of suspicion.

Well, Crowley’s in it now. Might as well keep going. ‘Let me heal you.’

‘You can’t,’ Aziraphale snaps. 

That’s rude. ‘What do you mean I can’t?’

‘Demons can’t heal.’

‘Can so!’ Crowley snaps back, letting outrage fill him. ‘Look angel... You’re hurt. Please just me let heal it.’ He shrugs. ‘If it doesn’t work, then you’ll be no worse off than you are now.’

Aziraphale considers for a long moment, before lifting his arms and closing his eyes. ‘Okay then. You can try.’

Crowley just nods and lays his hands on Aziraphale. It’s harder than he remembers but he knows how to heal and this is not going to be something his Fall took from him. He can do it.

‘Oh!’ Aziraphale cries as the bruises vanish and the cut closes up. Crowley feels his ribs snap back together as the breaks seal. ‘Oh!’

‘There you go,’ Crowley says backing away. ‘Now we can go get wine without anyone limping.’ 

Aziraphale opens his mouth, probably with some nonsense like thanks. 

‘Don’t!’ Crowley cuts in. ‘Don’t say it. Come on, we’re missing out on alcohol.’

‘Of course my dear,’ Aziraphale says and Crowley shivers. That’s a new term for the angel to use. ‘Of course.’

[otherpeoplesheartachept-2]

Wings

Pairing: Simon/Baz

Rating: G

Length: 1076 words

Warnings: None

Summary: Basilton meets an angel in the garden of Eden. They’re supposed to be enemies on opposite sides of a cosmic war, but something about this Simon draws him in anyway. 

Or, a short Good Omens AU

Read the fic on Ao3 or below the cut!!

It wasn’t hard work. How could it be hard to convince someone to do bad when they didn’t know what that meant yet? Of course the human, Eve, had eaten the fruit; and God had to have known that would happen. God put the tree right there in the middle of the garden. It could have been on the other side of the planet. It could have been on the fucking moon. Frankly, Basil thought, the Tree of Good and Evil could have not existed at all.

“Makes you wonder what God’s really planning,” Basilton said to the angel standing beside him.

He was beautiful. Angels are supposed to be beautiful of course, but this one was particularly beautiful in Basil’s eyes. He looked strong and soft all at once. His skin was pale, and covered in lovely brown freckles. His large wings were covered in white, brown, and gold feathers. The sunlight peeking through the clouds cast the angel’s wings in a creamy golden light. They reminded Basil of one of the new birds he’d seen in the garden. He wondered briefly if this angel had taught the bird its song.

Basil stood a few inches taller than the angel. His skin was a smooth reddish brown. His wings were made of black scales, resembled those of the serpent whose form he had taken to temp Eve.

“It’s best not to wonder,” the angel Simon said, shaking his head. His bronze curls literally shimmered with the movement. “It’s all part of the Great Plan which is beyond our simple understanding,” he paused for effect,” it’s ineffable,” Simon finished with a self-satisfied grin, as if that’s supposed to mean something.

“Ineffable,” Basil repeated, rolling his grey eyes. Though he supposed Simon was correct, Basilton had never understood how any of this works. And that’s what got him the status of demon in the first place: asking too many questions of God, trying to understand. Questions that were deemed blasphemous.

It seemed Simon the angel was not burdened by these kinds of thoughts; he simply accepted his place as a pawn in this confusing ineffable game. It’s what good angels should do—no wonder he was tasked with guarding the garden. Except…

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” Basilton asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at Simon’s noticeably empty hands.

“I uh-” the angel stuttered, his cheeks turning bright red. A lovely blushing cherub. The sight did something to Basil.

“What, you lost it already?” the demon jeered.

“No!” Simon defended himself, “I-I… I gave it away,” he muttered, embarrassed.

“You what?” Basilton’s slitted pupils widened. Maybe Simon wasn’t as mindlessly loyal as he had thought. The idea thrilled him.

“I gave it away,” he repeated firmly, daring Basil to question that decision. “There are ravenous animals out there, and it gets freezing in the night, and she is already expecting a child! I don’t think it was wrong to try and help them,” Simon crossed his arms and rolled the muscles in his back and wings as he stared at the demon. Even standoffish and angry he looked beautiful. His blue eyes were piercing.

Simon was expecting him to argue, but Basilton agreed. It seemed unfair of God to thrust the humans into the wilderness with nothing more than the leafs on their backs. He was supposed to be evil, and it was partially his fault the humans ended up cast out of Eden, but he was sympathetic towards the pair. (And Basil would argue God had given him the role of antagonistic demon, so could he really be blamed for playing the part and tempting Eve?)  

(Perhaps he was the one mindlessly accepting his role in this stupid universe.)

“No, I think you did the right thing,” Basil admitted, “besides, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do wrong,” he said disparagingly.

Simon relaxed at hearing that. He gave Basil a small smile. “Oh well, t-thank you. I was kind of worried, you know.”

“It would be a bit funny though, if you did the wrong thing with the flaming sword, and I did the right thing with tempting the humans,” Basil said, only half joking.

He was a bit concerned about it. If he were playing the role God assigned to him, and that role included tempting the humans, then wouldn’t he technically be doing what God wanted? Which would make it a good act, right? He could get into a lot of trouble for doing good if the lower-downs in hell found out about it.

The angel chucked a little, “yeah,” then seemed to fully grasp what Basilton had said. “No! No, are you mad? It wouldn’t be funny at all. It’d be very bad,” Simon insisted.

The demon opened his mouth to say something about their good and bad deeds balancing each other out, but a crack of thunder startled the pair. The clouds had gotten darker as it was about to rain for the first time ever.

Simon and Basil watched the sky as cold water began to fall to the Earth. It was beautiful. Even the demon could appreciate the wonder of some of God’s creations.

He quickly learned he did not like the feeling of this particular creation, however. The rain had soaked him through, and chilled his body that was used to the scorching heat of hell. Basilton pulled his black wings in close and shivered.

Simon lifted one of his wings and smiled at the demon, an invitation to take shelter from the cold rain. Basil was wary. He could just return to hell. His work was done; he had no need to stay on the planet, but he chose to step closer to the angel.

He was careful not to touch Simon, but still felt heat radiating from him. He was a being was filled with light and warmth and Basilton should have despised that, but he couldn’t find the hatred in him. He was only grateful for the warmth, and desperate to stay in the presence of this angel.

He wanted to think the angel offered his wing because he cared for Basil too, the way Basil was starting to care for him. But that was foolish thinking. Simon could not care for a demon. They were hereditary enemies. Despite that, he did hope he would get to see Simon again, even if they were destined to fight on opposite sides of the war.

[baconwaffle2016]

Melizabeth Week, Day 1: Freedom/Flight

So, I wasn't going to do this this year, but something inside me screamed to stop being a coward and at least attempt something.

And so, I did.

Just to let you know: This is an AU based off a book/tv series many of you probably know about already (especially if you look in the tags), where I sort of twist the prompts to suit the little universe and story I want to show you.

Hope you enjoy!

Part 1: The Garden

Their story begins approximately six thousand years ago, just after The Beginning.

It was a nice day, as all the other previous days had been. There had been less than seven so far, and rain hadn’t been invented yet. But as the first storm clouds gathered ominously over the Garden, the angel standing over the Eastern Gate stared off into the distance, her blue eyes flooded with worry— but not for the coming storm.

Her gaze focused on the two humans who had stepped out of the Garden, their eyes bright with the knowledge that had flooded their minds with the bite from that forbidden fruit. The man was carrying a weapon and leading the journey, while the woman stared around warily, her hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. Although their eyes remained bright with knowledge, they also were wide with fear and nerves, and for good reason. They were walking on Earth for the first time, and many dangers were there.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.”

The angel jumped, letting out a little scream as she whirled around— then her expression went flat. “Oh, it’s you.”

The demon smirked, his eyes— the same emerald color they’d been when he whispered in Eve’s ear— gleaming over at the angel. “Hello, again. Fine day, isn’t it?”

“It was a very nice day, until you showed up,” she replied. “And now look!”

“What? I barely did anything. Those two did all the work for me.”

“They’re basically children!”

“Oh, please.” He rolled his eyes, then frowned in thought. “I don’t get it, all this fuss over a fruit! What’s so bad about the humans having access to that knowledge anyway?”

“W-w-well, I mean.” The angel paused, her cheeks a light pink in her fluster. “It must be bad. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been asked to— you know— do all this.”

The demon shrugged, his arms folding over his chest. “All they told me was to come up here and start some trouble. Didn’t give me any details, really.”

“Oh…”

There was a brief silence, one where both the angel and demon stared off, still observing the First Humans. A lion had dared to approach them, snarling with hunger, and the man had flown into action. He lifted the flaming sword above his head and threw it down onto the lion’s, the impact echoing a meaty sound. The angel cringed, while the demon raised an eyebrow and then narrowed his green eyes.

“Hang on a minute,” he muttered before throwing a look at the angel. “Isn’t that your sword?”

The angel began sweating. “Uh—”

“Yeah, that is! How in the world did they—?”

“...”

“What’s that? You mumbled.”

“I gave it to them, all right?” yelled the angel, before she cringed, her eyes darting skyward in fear. Then she sighed, her hands toying with the edges of her white robes. “I didn’t know what else to do. They’ve never been out on their own before, and she’s expecting already, so—I had to do something.”

The demon stared at her. Then, slowly, he began to smirk. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“Just thinking. Wouldn’t it be interesting if it was the reverse this time? If I had done the good thing, and you’d done the bad thing? Would put quite the wrinkle in God’s Inevitable Plan or whatever.”

“Ineffable. Her Ineffable Plan,” corrected the angel in a rather prim tone, as if on instinct. Then her eyes widened with realization. “Wait, no, that’d be awful! Oh, sugar snaps, I could be in so much trouble—”

“Relax, angel. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Just then, as the angel’s eyes met with the demon’s again, the storm clouds finally broke above their heads. Rain poured down on the Garden, on the Earth, for the first time. The demon cringed as his head grew wet, the water sinking into his dark robes, and he sent a glare skyward— only to be blocked by the tip of a white feather. He blinked and realized that the angel had spread her right wing out over his head, to shield him from the rain. He stared over at her, saw the pink in her cheeks spread down her neck, even as she kept her head turned away from him.

“Oh, well then.” He coughed into his fist, unsure what to think. “Thanks, angel.”

“D-d-don’t mention it,” stammered the angel before she also coughed and gathered her composure. “Foul fiend.”

The demon snickered.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Heya! For the soft ineffable fic prompt, maybe seeing each other in pyjamas for the first time could work?

This took a bit, and went a few different directions, but I think I’m mostly satisfied!

--

“Er, Crowley? Are you…finished in there?”

“In a minute!” He glared into the mirror, adjusting every hair to lay perfectly in place. Rumpled, but not too rumpled. As if he cared, but didn’t…actually care.

Finally satisfied, he checked his teeth one last time (perfect, as always, though it was always good to look for a spot of green veg or the fangs that sometimes appeared when he was nervous) and ran his hands down his new pyjama shirt. It was black – very black – and a silk so smooth it felt like water, cool to the touch. All of his clothes were a combination of the finest designer wear and even-more-designer versions that he manifested himself. These were from one of the more exclusive shops in London. He had a simple pair that he usually miracled up, but for tonight…he needed something special.

“Crowley, your third cup of tea is about to grow cold, at this point it’s just irresponsible—”

“I said one minute!”

He eyed the door anxiously.

It wasn’t the first time they’d, well, made a night of it. Crowley had fallen asleep on Aziraphale’s sofa for decades (usually, though not always, after a night of heavy drinking). That first night in Crowley’s flat, awaiting the judgement of their former sides, they’d held each other for dear life, Crowley briefly falling asleep with his head in Aziraphale’s lap.

Afterwards, well, things had gotten interesting.

Neither angels nor demons had any natural desire for physical intimacy – sexual or otherwise. But the two of them had always been curious. And Crowley, at least, had learned very quickly that he liked few things as much as he liked the warmth of Aziraphale at his side, the press of their fingers twined together, the weight of the angel’s head on his shoulder as they sat together and talked of anything, or nothing.

He also discovered that he slept much better when he had…company.

They approached the idea cautiously, nervously. Sometimes, when Crowley stayed too late at the bookshop and sought his usual spot on the sofa, he found Aziraphale sitting there already, offering a lap to rest his head on, soft fingers to brush through bright red hair. Other times, when Aziraphale visited his flat, and they sat on the balcony watching the stars (light pollution didn’t dare intrude on Crowley’s domain), Crowley would drift off, curled up against that soft, warm chest.

But always as a sort of accident. This was the first time it was…deliberate. Planned. And, if you got right down to it, in a bed.

Crowley’s bed. Their bed, now, he supposed. Maybe. If it went well.

He glared at his hair again, and the silk of the pyjamas. Too clinging? Not clinging enough? What was the…the appeal with that? Was he supposed to show off…he tugged at the collar, wide like lapels, and felt slightly at a loss. Collarbones? He thought he’d heard they were considered…attractive.

“Crowley, do I have to come in there and—”

“I’m coming.” He slid his glasses back on and stepped out the bathroom door. Aziraphale stood down the hall, next to the bedroom, with an impatient look, a mug of chamomile and…

“Are you seriously wearing that?”

“I don’t know what you might be referring to.” Aziraphale glanced down with a frown. He wore an ankle-length white shirt, loose from the mid-chest down, with collar and sleeves fitted almost as closely as those of the shirt he wore during the day. On his head was a night-cap, long point hanging down to his shoulder, with a tartan puff ball at the end of it.

“Angel…that’s…it’s not…fashionable.”

“Isn’t it?” He swung his shoulders, sending a ripple down the voluminous lengths of fabric. “They were all the rage the last time I slept. Quite the modern thing, I’d thought. Before that, we slept naked.”

“Eurgh, yeah. I remember.” Crowley walked down the hall and took the mug from Aziraphale. “These days people wear…well…this.” He gestured to his carefully selected and perfectly arranged black silk ensemble.

“Oh. Well. I suppose that’s comfortable enough. Very, ehm. Chic.” His eyes flitted up to Crowley’s carefully arranged hair. “How do you keep your head warm while you sleep?”

“Central heating?” He raised the mug to his lips, scowling. “No one wears a night cap anymore, Aziraphale. Or…that.” He gestured to the nightshirt.

“I see.” Aziraphale twisted his fingers together. “Ah. Look. I. It would appear I’ve gotten this wrong. Oh. Bother…I just…”

Crowley felt a twinge of guilt. He knew that look on Aziraphale’s face, and he never wanted to be the one who put it there. “Look, Angel, it’s not that big a—”

“No, no. I’ve made a-a dreadful faux pas. Probably made the whole affair…er, that is…I’ve made things…Why don’t I just, well, I could change into…”

The angel raised his fingers to snap, but Crowley intercepted them, caught them in his hand. “Hang on. Are you comfortable?”

“I generally am in this. But that doesn’t mean—”

“S’fine then.” Crowley shuffled a little closer, shyly, not quite sure what to do with the hand he held. “Look…no one’s gonna see it but us. And I’ll be asleep. So, you don’t have to please anyone but yourself.” He shook his head, wishing he could figure out what he wanted to say. “I want you to be comfortable. Here.”

“Er. I am. Usually. I just. Do you like it?” He looked up with hopeful blue-grey eyes.

Crowley leaned down, brushed his lips across Aziraphale’s cheek. It was still new – still strange – but he liked the tingling rush it gave him, the way the round curve of Aziraphale’s skin dipped just slightly under pressure, the way Aziraphale smiled as Crowley stepped back. “Suits you.”

“Ah. Good. And yours is…” he tilted his head. “Very, er, demonic. I like the…black.” He gestured vaguely. “And the…collarbones?”

“Yeah, I think they’re supposed to, umm…” Crowley tugged at the collar again, “look like…like this.” He coughed and took a large gulp of chamomile. “Right, shall we?”

But Aziraphale was still studying Crowley’s outfit with critical pursed lips. “Something doesn’t seem quite right. Something is missing.”

“Nh. And you’re the expert now? You haven’t thought of sleepwear once in two hundred years!”

“One hundred-fifty, actually, but that’s a story for another time.” He stepped closer, tugged at the pocket of Crowley’s pyjama shirt. “And I do happen to be an expert in you.”

“You’re not going to add tartan, are you?”

Unfortunately, Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “I know just the thing!” And before Crowley could object, he snapped his fingers.

At first, it appeared nothing had changed – black silk, shirt, trousers. It was only when he tugged at the collar again that Crowley found them.

At the widest part of the pyjama lapels, two embroidered ducks had appeared – on the left, a red one with little horns; on the right, a white one with a tartan bow tie.

“Angel!”

“Quite right.” Aziraphale rose up on his toes and pressed his lips to Crowley’s collarbone. He was getting to like that a lot, too, the hot press, the lingering warmth, the roll of breath across his face as Aziraphale stepped back again. “It suits you.”

“Mrrrrgh.” Crowley groaned and shuffled his feet, and downed the last of his chamomile, before he sighed and conceded: “They do, don’t they?” That earned him another angelic smile.

Crowley slipped his hand around Aziraphale’s waist, and together they turned to face the glass-fronted door of the bedroom. “Are you ready?”

Aziraphale leaned his weight against Crowley’s side and nodded.

And together, they stepped across the threshold.