#metatron dear door

[zak-dar]

I just want to Sid be happy and loved (even if it’s by Metatron)

[semiramis-audron]

When your team is fucking weirdos, hated by the fandoms, with half of them involved in gay drama and you're just trying to stay in your lane...

Aka my collection of problematic Metafaves

I thought about actually drawing them all, but i dont think i would ever manage...

Legend under the Cut (links to character pages provided, open at own risk for spoilers)

Enoch (Metatron) from El Shaddai Ascencion of the Metatron (both video game and tie in Mangas, the game is fucking underappreciated!)

Metatron from Dogma (he is sarcastic baby)

Metatron from Good Omens (TV Series) (innocent until proven guilty, the book one looked kinda like #15)

Metatron from Supernatural (unfortunately proven guilty, because they copied #9's homework)

Metatron from 7 Heavenly Virtues Anime ("Nanatsu no Bitoku" kinda NSFW, big tiddy anime )

Metatron from Shin Megami Tensei video game series (obligatory, cause first mayor video game appearance)

Metatron (Enoch, Sean Christian) from Devils and Realists Manga ( "Makai Ouji" sad little meow meow, reminder to always read job descriptions )

Metatron from Omniscient Readers Viewpoint Webnovel (I have not collected enough spoons to read all of it)

Metatron (Enoch) from His Dark Materials Novels (+TV) (If you think his ego is big, you should see his dick. He's thinking with it. )

Metatron from Dear Door Webtoon Manhwa (Yeah... I'm not gonna link this one. The story and art is amazing, but there is also so much gore and even more hardcore gay sex in like every single chapter. Google it and read it yourself, but... Dead Dove, do not eat - unless you're into that or are a fast scroller )

Metatron from Spawn Comic Series (She's so pretty, and the Spawn comics are just visually cool)

Metatron (one of several forms) from the Puzzle&Dragon Games (They are so pretty... acursed Gatcha games!)

Metatron from Angel Sanctuary (nostalgia, he did nothing wrong, baby with evil twin)

Metatron from Dating Game Miraclr (He has red hair and his Storyline is... just Metatron, just Metatron...)

Metatron ( Eternity (Earth-TRN781) ) from the Marvel Comics (Obligatory cause marvel is everywhere and I put the Spawn one)

Im aware there's some more in various other gatcha games but those usually dont have any story to them... and the other animes, im not yet familar with (or role is too minor)...

Collection is still open if anyone has some Metatron's to drop off...

Honorary Mention:

[weepingfireflies]

I finally read Dear Door on recommendation, and holy shit, that was a really convoluted love triangle-road map thing

[yuuminni]

im just so disappointed that so many times a story abt bad ppl falling in love will either end in a tragedy where the love interest outright hates and rejects them or in a happy ending where the love interest somehow reciprocates them. not once have i ever seen a story ends in the utterly devastating state of their crush caring about them but never to the same degree they care abt their crush. wheres the friends with unrequited crush representation

[aziraphales-library]

I know y’all are super busy but I really need season 2 fics. I’m ugly crying rn

You haven't said if you want to feel better or worse, so here are some of the currently most-kudos series two fics...

I Wanna Fade Away with You by kademeow (G)

Aziraphale realizes, after entering the lift with the Metatron, that Heaven doesn’t have what he wants, or needs, at all.

How's the View by Etheostoma (T)

“May I come in?” Crowley blinked. “No,” he declared, and slammed the door in Aziraphale’s face. He slunk away away from his apartment door and snatched the half-full glass of merlot he had left atop one of his plant stands, downing the entire thing in one gulp. “May I come in?” he mimicked, scrunching up his nose and raising his voice. “No you bloody well may not,” he yelled at the door, before dropping the glass to shatter across the unforgiving concrete floor.

I do love nothing in the world so well as you by elf_on_the_shelf (E)

My take on the S2 fix it. I honestly think that Neil will fix it in S3 but that will be a while and I am sad rn. So basically, here goes: Someone criticises Crowley in Heaven and Aziraphale has had just enough of that to be honest so he decides that maybe - maaaaaaaaybe - it would be better for everyone for him just to return to Earth and to his demon. Obviously - Season 2 spoilers - like...all of them.

tales from a bookshop by Rizandace (T)

Post-season-two. Crowley's moping, Aziraphale wants to fix things, and turns out, there's enough blame to go around. ----- “You’re being ridiculous.” Crowley very nearly falls over. Like, actually. He very nearly loses balance for no reason at all and tumbles to the sidewalk next to his car. He’s been playing Aziraphale’s voice in his head for weeks, he’s been trying very hard to drown out the sound of it, in fact, and now suddenly, abruptly— “What are you doing here,” is all he can think to say. He whirls around, and there he is. on Crowley’s right, standing there like he’d never left. Where he belongs, Crowley’s mind helpfully supplies. He wishes he could punch himself in the brain, knock the thoughts right on out of there.

May You Be Forgiven by Haydenn11 (E)

I forgive you. Satan, he was an idiot. How could he think his wasted heart would ever compare to Heaven asking Aziraphale back with open arms, as Supreme Archangel, no less? Crowley never stood a chance. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to dash across the street and into the celestial elevator with Azriaphale, principals be damned, or blessed? But, Crowley couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t. He had at least that much self-respect left. He’d never belong in Heaven; he could never be happy there. And neither could Aziraphale, but his stupid, stubborn angel never could reconcile that fact. ___ After the events of episode six of GO2, Crowley must learn to live without Aziraphale and Aziraphale must navigate his new life as Supreme Archangel of Heaven.

But You, My Dear, Are An Ocean by megzseattle (T)

After Aziraphale's defection, Crowley tries to figure out how to live life for himself.

- Mod D

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 13!!!

Wow, you're probably thinking - That was fast, Puffin!! Yes. I saw the votes come in and was stuck with sudden inspiration and HAD to get this done and up before bed. Huzzah for manic creative energy!!

You're either going to love it or be very angry with me. Not sure which (maybe a bit of both) - but here we go!

Beginning || Previous || Next

*****************

Newt was worried.

Now, this wasn’t uncommon so it wasn’t normally a problem. This time, however, he was very certain he had a very good reason to be worried – and it was, in fact, a problem.

He couldn’t find Muriel.

It is here, dear Reader, where I need to take a moment to remind you of a few things. First of all, we all learned, not so long ago, that not everyone can manage to stay in a building and keep their sanity. Not even in a place like Aziraphale’s bookshop, not everyone. Second, it is very possible to reason things in a way that makes them seem harmless. Third, everyone makes mistakes. Newt is just learning that some mistakes cost more than others.

In his defense, things had seemed safe enough at the time. Newt and Anathema had been keeping in touch, and she’d told him about the Metatron tailing them at Heathrow. He had therefore come to the conclusion that the Metatron was keeping tabs on Anathema’s group. It made sense, what reason did Metatron have to watch the bookshop when his biggest threat was traipsing around America openly looking to disrupt his plans, and with no wards to keep them safe. Besides, it was just the cinema. It wasn’t even very far away. The plan had been a short trip to see a Disney film, then straight back with no distractions. It would have been a couple of hours at most. What could go wrong? Right?

Everything, of course. Everything could go wrong.

It was fine at first. The film had started, and the film was fine. Muriel was enjoying themselves. Then Newt had got up to use the toilet, whispered to Muriel that he would be right back, and left. When he came back, he couldn’t find them again. He looked. He found their seats. Then he thought perhaps they just needed to use the toilet too, so he sat back down and waited. After a minute he remembered that angels don’t need the loo, and thought that maybe Muriel had wanted more snacks. The film finished, and still Muriel hadn’t come back. Newt looked through the entire cinema. He asked the employees if they’d seen his friend, but none of them had. They helped him look in other screens, the lobby, all the toilets, everywhere. Muriel was gone. In a move of desperation, Newt returned to the shop, hoping beyond hope that Muriel had simply gone home without telling him, but no. The windows were dark, the shop was still locked and empty (although the doors were kind enough to unlock themselves for him).

Now he sat on the floor of the kitchen, breathing heavily into a cup of tea that was doing a very poor job of calming his nerves. He had to do something. He took a final deep breath before pushing himself off the floor and into one of the chairs at the table. Alright, panic time was over, now he needed to think. The only thing he was very certain of was that something had gone very very wrong. While he wasn’t entirely certain where Muriel was, by now he felt he could make a reasonable guess that they were back in Heaven. It was possible they had left of their own accord, something going so terribly wrong that they had needed to leave immediately without time to leave a message. It was also possible that nothing sinister was taking place. But the fear that had put him on the floor a moment ago was that Muriel had been taken by the Metatron back to Heaven against their will. And his biggest problem right now was that he had no idea which it was.

So he considered his options. If he messaged Anathema, he ran the risk of separating them. Their mission was important, and they had discussed at length before leaving why splitting up the group would be a bad idea. If he messaged them, they might drop everything and come back to the shop to help find Muriel, and end up playing right into the Metatron’s hands. At the same time, he wasn’t sure what he could do without them. It wasn’t as though Muriel had a phone that he could call.

Although...weren’t angels and demons basically the same? Like, they started from the same place right? And he knew by now that people could summon demons. Maybe he could just...summon Muriel back? He got up to go back into the front room of the shop �� he was fairly sure he’d left his phone on the desk when he came in – and his foot caught on the area rug, making him trip and fall face first into the hardwood.

He groaned as he pulled himself up. Now wasn’t the time for this. He looked back to find out what he’d tripped over, and instead saw that the rug had pulled up a bit to reveal white lines on the floor underneath it. Huh. Now that was something. He got to his feet and pulled away the rest of the rug, revealing the entire drawing. By this point in his relationship with Anathema, he recognized a summoning circle when he saw it, and clasped a hand to his mouth in equal amounts of surprise and relief. Thank goodness! He could use this to summon Muriel! And it would bring them straight back to safety! Then he swore to Agnes Nutter he wouldn’t ever suggest they set foot outside of the bookshop again until this whole Second Coming business was well over.

Alright, candles. He knew he needed candles.

He searched the entire shop, and the only candles he could find were battery operated. Unorthodox, surely, but after considering for a moment, he decided that if Aziraphale had these candles around, then they must be good enough to do the job. He began placing them around the circle, similar to the way he’d seen Anathema do on the solstice. Seven places, seven candles. Made sense. If Newt recalled correctly, Heaven liked sevens for some reason. He turned on the last candle, placed it on the designated spot, and stepped away. Anathema had told him once that things could go wrong if someone stepped into a summoning circle, so he made sure to watch his feet and stand well outside of it.

Great. That was done. Um...now what? He wasn’t a witch. Or wizard. Or warlock? Or whatever a male witch was called. Alright, time to think again. He was trying to contact Heaven so...well, people usually did that by praying, didn’t they? Carefully, he brought his hands together and raised his eyes towards the ceiling of the shop. He felt downright silly, but no worse than he had in church while growing up he supposed. Besides, literal angels and demons were his life now apparently. And Muriel was depending on him.

“Um,” he said, honestly unsure of how to begin, “Hello, my name is Newt. Is...um...is anyone there?”

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but a pillar of white light appearing between the candles hadn’t been it. His hands separated on instinct and he stumbled backwards in surprise, nearly topping a pile of books as he did. Wow, alright, so that worked. Huh. Strange feeling actually – things didn’t normally work quite so well or so quickly for him.

Anyway, focus up!

“Uh, right,” he continued, bringing his hands back together – it only felt proper now that he knew someone was actually there and listening. “I, er, well you see I’m looking for an angel called Muriel is...um, are they there?” Silence. Newt cleared his throat and tried again, firming his tone to feign confidence. “I summon the angel Muriel!”

This time the light blinked. A tone sounded. A tone he recognized actually….was it….no it wasn’t...dial-up was it??

But that’s what it was. The dial-up tone from Newt’s childhood internet experiences come back to haunt him. After a moment of blinking and beeping, a voice finally responded. Calm, yes, angelic, also yes, and oddly generic. Definitely not Muriel.

“The angel you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try your prayer again later.”

The light disappeared, leaving the room dark and the circle dull once again.

Well bugger.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[crowleysgirl56]

Wildest dreams wishes for Good Omens Season 3 which will probably not come true but I can still hope hey!

Number 11.

I cannot tell you how desperately I want some kind of post-Second-Coming-Aziraphale-and-Crowley-are-finally-together interaction with Mr Brown.

Whickber Street. Our heroic duo head towards the bookshop. Crowley breaks off to grab coffees from Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. Aziraphale continues onto the shop. Suddenly out of nowhere he’s accosted by Mr Brown.

“Morning Mr Fell! I thought that was you, we haven’t seen you in such a long time, pleasure to have you back on the street again!”

“Ah, y-yes, good t-to be back”. Supreme Archangel Aziraphale, who faced down the combined hoards of Heaven and Hell and won, destroyed the Metatron*, and saved Earth against the second coming, still finds himself a nervous and stuttering prisoner of Mr Brown’s presence.

Eyes darting from side to side, and fiddling with his signet ring, Aziraphale attempts to conjure a polite escape. Quite impossible when he can’t get a word in edgewise as Mr Brown prattles on and on about the politics of the Whickber Street Shop Keepers Association, how business is so poor lately, youths today are such trouble, and just how lovely Aziraphale’s jacket is today, is it new?

Crowley finally emerges from Give Me Coffee, drinks in hand, and spots his angel down the street, the familiar look of “please get me out of here” stricken across his face. Crowley takes Mr Brown into his sights and with a devilish smirk quickly strides down the footpath.

He reaches the pair in time to hear Mr Brown describing a lovely new little bistro down the road, loudly interrupts him mid sentence proclaiming, “Coffee Angel!” and thrusts one of the cups into Aziraphale’s hands.

“Ah Crowley! Thank-mmph!” Aziraphale is slightly taken off guard as Crowley plants a long and hard kiss on his mouth. It is certainly not unwelcome.

“-you dear” Aziraphale continues once the kiss is broken. For a brief moment no one speaks, Crowley staring at Aziraphale, who in turn darts his eyes back and forth between the other two men. Finally Aziraphale breaks the silence, “Mr Brown here was catching me up on everything that happened while I was away.”

Crowley finally turns to look at Mr Brown, as he snakes an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Hellooo!” he drawls in a not too dissimilar fashion to the time he greeted a certain someone in the pub after they had stolen his chair.

Mr Brown can do nothing but stare, mouth ajar slightly as he attempts human speech again. “Uuuhhh…”

Aziraphale pipes up before Mr Brown can recover, “Well it was lovely catching up but we must really be getting on!”

“Byeeee!” Crowley bares his teeth just a little longer than necessary as he bids farewell and Mr Brown blanches at the sight. It will be quite a while before he even casually greets Aziraphale in the street again.

“Well that was one way to scare him off. You certainly have a way with people my dear” Relieved at the rescue, Aziraphale wraps his free arm around Crowley’s waist.

Crowley, very pleased with himself, rumbles back, “I didn’t hear you complaining Angel.”

Sensing a moment for playful banter Aziraphale replies, “Perhaps I should be accosted more often”.

Crowley arches an eyebrow, “Now that would be tempting”.

They reach the bookshop doors arm in arm, and pause out the front a moment gazing and grinning at each other.

“So we going in or what?” Crowley finally asks.

A wicked grin crosses Aziraphale’s face, “Get behind me foul fiend” as he unlocks and opens the door.

“Anything you want Angel”.

*here’s hoping!

Phew, that was longer than expected! But I’m glad I got that out of my head. I hope you enjoyed it too!

[cannebady]

It's the future. How far into it, really, is of no matter here. The important bit is that they've finally reached some degree of an understanding.

There's an angel back in a bookshop in Soho, enthusiastic in his separation from the holy host and distinct lack of separation from the original tempter.

Well, he supposes lack of separation is a relative term.

Right before, well, before. Not Before of course, no, not that far back, but before their second, second chance he and Crowley were as close as they'd ever been. There were talks and walks and good lord the touching. They were so close then, right on the precipice before the Metatron and Aziraphale's most shameful cowardice yet.

Crowley had tried, of course he had. Brilliant, brave, honest Crowley throwing his heart into the ring in the final hour, a pleading hail Mary met only by an angel's repitious distance and foolish devotion to the wrong entity entirely.

Crowley does have reason to be vexed with him.

But that's behind them too, because they've always been stronger together and now, after all that's transpired (which shall be discussed at a later date), they've begun to establish a new normal.

And Aziraphale is grateful, well and truly, deeply grateful for the wellspring of forgiveness, or possibly acceptance, that proliferates in his dear demon. His best friend, the love of his life, a pure anomaly that Aziraphale had coveted since before he knew it was sinful to.

He certainly doesn't give a toss about the concept of sin now. Not now that his apology (a rather garish, lengthy spin on their apology dance that included no fewer than eleven doves, four streamers, twenty-seven individual steps, and one heartfelt apology made while holding the hand of a shell-shocked demon who looked nearly as relieved as he was conflicted) has been cautiously accepted.

They started small. Coffee once a week at Nina's shop to hash out their thoughts and catch up under the watchful eye of someone far wiser than them.

It was after the fifth coffee date (they're not dates, he keeps reminding himself, to little effect) is the first time it happens.

It, in this instance, is a moment of tension as one of them almost breaks the silence on the one piece of the Debacle they haven't bled out yet. They talked about the difference in their "exactlies" and how Aziraphale had always needed to fix things to feel worthy and how Crowley's loneliness had been nearly crushing, and that's really saying something for a demon.

But they hadn't talked about the kiss. About Crowley's desperate, last-ditch-attempt kiss meant to show Aziraphale what he could offer.

They hadn't talked about how it was almost enough to rip Aziraphale from his self-imposed duty. Or how he hadn't gone one day, not ever one hour, since without thinking about how wrong it was that he didn't kiss Crowley back with everything he was.

So upon the steps of the bookshop, after the fifth coffee not-date of the rest of their lives (part two), they prepare to say goodbye as the angel frets about whether it's too soon to invite his favorite demon inside (or to spend the rest of their lives together, either would be lovely). While preoccupied with invitations and proposals, he fumbles with the key to the shop door, enough so that Crowley reaches around him with a, "Let me get that for you, angel," in just enough time for Aziraphale to turn around and look him in his ochre eyes.

Time feels paused. Considering Crowley's abilities, it may have actually stopped. But Aziraphale can't think about that because they're so close, closer than they've been since before, and all he can think of is dragging those red lips down to his own and showing Crowley the depth of his devotion.

Crowley seems similarly caught in the liminal space of the moment, frozen on an event horizon that is as terrifying for him as it is exciting.

Aziraphale almost leans in, he's so close to it that it's almost an inevitability, but then he sees a trace of panic cross Crowley's features and time starts again instantly.

It's too soon. They haven't talked about it. Once they have, perhaps he'll be permitted a second go at tasting his demon, but he won't force Crowley across any more lines. It's his turn to match speed.

So he pulls back slowly, with a smile he hopes conveys his understanding and acceptance. Crowley looks uneasy for a moment, stuck in where they almost landed, before he too, pulls back.

They say a warm, if stilted, goodbye and Aziraphale locks himself in the shop for the rest of the day. They're working through it, but sometimes he can't believe his own stupidity. He left this behind and he can't even fathom why at this point.

---

It happens again because of course it does.

The next time they're coming back from Aziraphale's favorite sushi place, because they've graduated to a coffee not-date once a week and one dinner not-date in the same week and he's tickled about it.

Crowley has been his sparkling self all evening, funny and sharp and silly and Aziraphale's so ridiculously charmed by him he feels like there's glitter in his performative veins.

The Bentley stops outside of the bookshop and Aziraphale's heart aches for a time in the not-so-distant past when it would've been natural to ask Crowley in for a nightcap.

For now, he turns to thank him for a lovely meal, but when he shifts he sees that Crowley's staring at him in a way that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His gaze is locked on Aziraphale's mouth and he seems completely caught in his own mind. Aziraphale can only imagine he's remembering, because he's also remembering and good lord his self control is waning.

Suddenly, Crowley snaps out of it, turning his head sharply and grinding out, "Night angel, see you Wednesday," as Aziraphale takes his cue to get out of the car and head inside the shop. It's longing and abrupt, but they don't look at one another. Something in that breaks Aziraphale's chipped heart just a bit more.

It hurts, but he's brought it on himself for being a fool. He allows himself a cocoa, then a stiff glass of whiskey before he settles in with a copy of Persuasion and pointedly thinks of nothing.

---

Three months or so in, and it's happened so often that Aziraphale wonders if it's a cosmic joke or some kind of karmic backlash for his hallmark poor decision-making.

They've had so many almosts it's doing his head in.

There was the one at the drive in where they saw Casablanca and Crowley had looked so handsome limned by the screen light that Aziraphale almost lost his better judgment.

There was the pub where Aziraphale won a game of pool with a move so complicated and borderline impossible that Crowley looked like he may just swing him around and plant one on him in pride. Aziraphale wishes he would've. But that same shuttered (shattered) look crossed Crowley's features and Aziraphale found himself challenging Crowley to a second match to pull him out of his spiral.

Then there was the farmers market, and the duck pond, and the beach, and every other bloody place they went to and if the tension didn't break soon Aziraphale was concerned his patience just might.

But he doesn't complain because Crowley comes to the shop at his leisure now, walking in like he has a claim to it (he does, he does, he does) and that makes Aziraphale so happy he could almost lose consciousness.

But he's starting to wonder after his own ability to keep letting things go as, presently, they're both on the sofa in the room above the shop, in front of a roaring fireplace that came loaded with a divine miracle to keep it from burning or even singeing a single page, (a condition of Crowley's that Aziraphale was happy to acquiesce) and the exact right amount of wine in their systems to know better but not necessarily do better.

It's a dangerous combination because good lord does the firelight make Crowley incandescently beautiful (or possibly, it's Crowley doing so to the fire, as he's always beautiful) and Aziraphale is weak.

He realizes, after a moment, that it's quiet save for the crackling of the fire and last he'd remembered before getting lost in his head Crowley was talking but now, the air is thick with familiar tension and he can feel those serpent eyes on him.

He looks over and is caught in the softest, hungriest gaze he's ever seen directed his way. He can feel his own cheeks flush in sympathy and he watches Crowley notice, watches Crowley take in the click of his throat as he tries to swallow his want lest he tarnish this delicate balance of theirs, and watches as Crowley's hand comes to his own and trails upward, feels heat and goose flesh break out on his arm (his sleeve is rolled up, there's no barrier, oh fuck) in the wake of those elegant fingers as they travel higher, and loses his measured breathing as it traverses his bicep, his shoulder, dear lord his neck, then settles holding his cheek.

There is no mistaking it this time. No broken glances, no rage, just heat and static and love.

Oh, Aziraphale can feel the love pouring off of them both and it's like his thirst being slaked for the first time in ages.

"Crowley," he starts, and before he can continue he hears a rough, "Yes, angel. Just yes," and that's all he needs.

He grabs Crowley's lapels, a gentle mirror to before, and brings his lips to his beloved's and a moan rings out that both will blame on the other and both will be right to.

Crowley's lips are syrup sweet on his, his hands grasping with a whole different kind of desperation, the kind the screams "I love you, and I've loved you, and I'm going to continue to until the Sun burns out and then I'll find a way to love you some more", and Aziraphale is torn asunder by the heat building in his chest.

Crowley's breathing is a mess of gasps and low growls and Aziraphale answers with moans, and hums, and his arms wrapping around his perfect, brave serpent until the demon is in his lap, right where he belongs.

Ever the egalitarian, Crowley gives as good as he gets, cleverly licking into Aziraphale's mouth, biting his lip just to soothe it with his forked tongue, and Aziraphale has his hands lost in blood red hair and his mind lost in Crowley's blood hot embrace and he's crying but Crowley's crying too so it's alright.

They kiss for ages, allowing the second one to make up for the millions of times they should've done it before, until Aziraphale rests his forehead against Crowley's, stroking a thumb down his cheek to his jaw. Letting them catch their unneeded breath.

"I am terribly, irrevocably in love with you", Aziraphale whispers between them. It's about time he took the leap first.

Crowley's breath hitches and his eyes snap up to Aziraphale's. He looks into his blue eyes and Aziraphale lets him find what he needs reflected there.

"Angel," he starts before losing his breath again, "I never thought-" and fresh tears well on his lovely face.

"My dearest, you needn't say anything. Say what you will in your own time. I'll love you regardless," he jumps to reassure. Now is not the time for him to demand reciprocity. It will hurt and he will wait. It's alright.

The demon almost scoffs, but it's stopped by a small, sincere smile. "Of course I love you," Crowley replies, voice low and earnest, and impossibly steady. He says it as if it's an undeniable truth. It is.

Aziraphale makes his own desperate noise as he hears his devoted love returned to him and he's kissing Crowley again before he knows it.

They're finally here, in this world they've protected together. Finally on the same side and the same page.

As Crowley drifts off some time later, with his head on Aziraphale's shoulder and Aziraphale's lips to his temple, the angel allows himself to let their future take shape in his mind.

There will be peaks and valleys, he imagines, but it'll be perfect anyway.

[mimisempai]

Unscathed

Summary

"Why did you need holy water so badly?"

Aziraphale and Crowley were having a quiet evening until the angel asked a question that turned everything upside down. 

Aziraphale wanted to know.

Crowley could not talk about it.

Would they be able to go through this and come out unscathed?

Notes

Learning to talk together is a never-ending process.

On Ao3

Rating G -  1303 words

Crowley slammed the bookshop door behind him and walked to the Bentley. He leaned against it, ready to leave, breathing heavily, unable to calm himself.

He put his hand on the door handle, then stopped himself.

No, he couldn't do this.

The last time he'd left like this, he'd almost lost Aziraphale.

But what could he do?

It was the first time they'd had a disagreement like that since they'd been together, and it hurt.

Much more than at the bandstand, much more than in front of the bookshop, even more than when the Angel had almost left with Metatron.

Because this time there was more to lose than ever before.

If only Aziraphale hadn't asked him that question.

The one he wasn't ready to answer.

They were both on the sofa in what was beginning to become their favorite activity.

Crowley stretched out on the sofa, his head in the angel's lap as he read, Aziraphale's hand, not holding the book, playing with the demon's hair.

The angel put the book down and said quietly, "Crowley? May I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"What happened in 1827 when you were snatched up by, I presume, hell, so that you would ask me for holy water in 1865?"

Crowley froze and didn't answer.

"Crowley, I--"

The demon interrupted in a clipped voice, "Angel, don't ask me that. I can't."

Aziraphale insisted gently, "But..."

Crowley sat up abruptly, "I can't and I don't want to talk about it."

"But one day you'll have to."

Crowley stood and said harshly, "No, I won't have to. I'll never be able to, so if you can't accept that I'm not going to talk about it, I think I'd better go now."

"Crowley, wait..."

"No, Angel! This isn't like our other disagreements! I'm not changing my mind!"

He turned and walked towards the door, in his distress he didn't hear the Angel's call and walked out of the bookstore, slamming the door behind him.

He let go of the car door handle.

No, not this time. 

He might not be able to tell Aziraphale, but he could at least try to make him understand.

He took a deep breath, straightened up, and retraced his steps toward the shop. As he put his hand on the door knob, he saw that Aziraphale was doing the same on the other side.

They both breathed a sigh of relief, and the demon let the angel open the door. 

He stepped inside, and after Aziraphale closed the door behind him, they found themselves in almost the same situation as last time.

Aziraphale smiled shakily and simply held out his hand.

Crowley saw it tremble slightly and raised his own, placing it in the angel's outstretched hand. Their trembling fingers immediately intertwined, and he wasn't sure which one had pulled the other to him, but they were now in each other's arms, now in a tight embrace, and in that moment, Crowley knew that all was not lost.

"I'm sorry..."

"I'm so sorry..."

They pulled away a little but didn't let go.

Aziraphale raised his hand and placed it on Crowley's chest, saying in an emotional voice, "Crowley, my dear, I'm so sorry-"

"Ange--"

"No, let me continue, please. I'm sorry I was insensitive and didn't let it go when you refused to talk about it. I'm not going to lie to you and say that it doesn't hurt to know that something has deeply traumatized you and that you can't talk to me about it. But I do understand and accept that. I really do. I know it's not a matter of lack of trust, and I'll wait until you're ready to talk about it, if you ever are."

Crowley pulled the angel close to him and, with his chin resting in his hair, said in an equally emotional voice, "Thank you. I don't know when or if I'll ever be. Thank you for accepting, but Angel..."

He put his hands on the angel's shoulders to pull him back, "Don't apologize. Let's agree not to apologize to each other this time. We both responded with what we know. It's natural that you wanted to know. It's more important for me to know that you accept the fact that I can't talk about it right now."

Aziraphale nodded and raised his hand to gently stroke Crowley's cheek before saying, "I accept it, no questions asked, but just know that I'm sorry you've suffered so much for doing something good."

Crowley shook his head, "Angel, I can't... I"

"I know, Crowley, I'm not asking for anything. I just sometimes wish I could erase all the suffering you must have endured."

Crowley replied softly, "Unfortunately, you can't, but thanks to you, to us, the memory of it is much more bearable now."

Aziraphale slid his hands down the demon's arms and, grasping his hands, led him to the sofa where he made him sit down and then sat next to him before pulling him close and pressing him against his chest.

Crowley wrapped his arms around him, pressing even tighter against the angel, and Aziraphale whispered into his hair, "I've got you, my Crowley, I'll never let them hurt you again."

Crowley lifted his head and asked, looking so vulnerable, "Do you swear it?"

Aziraphale, seeing how fragile he looked, pressed a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead before saying, "I give you my oath.

"Thank you..." the demon breathed before snuggling up to the angel again.

They stayed like that for a long moment, Aziraphale showering the demon with caresses and words of comfort.

Then Crowley, his head on the angel's shoulder, said softly, "I hate how Hell and Heaven have messed us up. Each in their own way. You and I never deserved to be treated the way we were. But one thing I'm sure of is that I could never have endured what I had to endure at times without you. Knowing that you were out there somewhere was always my lifeline, the last hope I held on to, Angel."

Aziraphale pressed another kiss to the demon's hair and replied, "I'm glad I could at least give you that, even if I didn't know it."

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment and then asked, "This is the last time I'm going to talk about this, and I promise you that next time you'll be the one to talk about it, if or when you can. But do you still have the holy water somewhere?"

Crowley shook his head and replied, almost smiling, "That's easy to answer, I don't have it anymore. It was very useful to me, actually."

He told him how he had used it to protect himself from Ligur and Hastur and the tragic end of the former.

Aziraphale, a little horrified by the image, said, "I'm glad you don't have it anymore, and especially that it was finally used to protect you. At least I don't have to regret having given it to you."

Crowley chuckled slightly and replied, "And I finally get to say thank you."

Then he turned serious again and continued, "But I don't need it anymore. You're my reason for living, which allows me to endure anything."

Aziraphale replied, "And we're going to do everything we can to make sure you have nothing more to endure, you and me both."

Crowley extended his hand and said, "Deal?"

Aziraphale took it and replied softly, "It's a deal," then turned the demon's hand in his and gave it a lingering kiss on the palm before pulling Crowley close again.

They remained entwined in silence for a long time, but the silence wasn't heavy. It was filled with the realization that they had weathered a storm together and that they had made it to the other side.

Unscathed.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[aziraphalesdiaries]

31 st. January 2024

Dear diary.

It has been a while now, since I departed to Heaven.

Since I left earth.

Since I left my bookshop.

Since I... left Crowley.

Crowley... He was so angry, when I offered him to come with me to Heaven. To be an angel again. To be my second in command. I was confused first, wondering, what was wrong with him. Why wasn't he happy? But I was confused by the entire situation. His words.. they didn't make any sense.

He ... confessed that we'd been a team for at least 6000 years, denying that we are. Then, he brought up the idea of running away again. But this time, he seemed so... desperate. He seid, that we 'could have been...us'.

Before I could get any of my thoughts together, he stepped towards me, grabbed me by the coat and ... kissed me.

Good heavens, I can't describe the feeling, can't describe what happened to me.

All these years of disguise, of performing a charade ... a charade of not liking that nasty, courageous and caring, brave, sneaky, charming, dashing, daring bastard... all this collapsed over me like a gigantic house of cards.

I didn't even have the chance to sort out the pieces, when he suddenly pulled away. His eyes, these wonderful yellow eyes, glared at me, awaiting what I had to say. And me? I stuttered, stumbled over my tongue and could onlz think of the sentence, I always said after we had a fight. The sentence that always made everything well again.

'I forgive you!'

Not this time.

I could see his eyes shadow, something broke within them.

'Don't bother!'

He went pale, turned on a heel and stormed out of the bookshop.

I stood there like back in Jericho again, when the walls came tumbling down. Or those poor humans of Sodom who were turned into pillars of salt.

My trembling hand touched my mouth... where his sweet lips had been moments ago. It already felt like eternity.

Before I could calm my thoughts and blink away my tears, The Metatron entered and urged me to leave.

It must have been a reflex. An escape reflex.

The next thing I remembered, was crossing the street at The Metatron's side, stepping towards the lift. Where he told me, what the ineffable plan really was.

The Second Coming.

All colour drained from my face. They're trying it again. And this time, it was, as Crowley had said 'The Big Thing'.

I was wrong.

He was right.

He'd been right all along.

I turned to my bookshop, where Muriel was about to close the door. But my eyes were on Crowley. My dear Crowley, as he stood next to the Bentley, waiting for me to turn away and run to him.

I could feel my heart breaking.

Because I didn't.

I had been tricked.

But if I wanted to save Humankind, if I wanted to save Crowley, my dear beloved Crowley, I had to go to Heaven. I had to be in charge and make a difference. It was the only way.

Heaven would never change.

So it had to be stopped from the inside.

I need some time to get used to my new title. Supreme Archangel Aziraphale is way too complicated, but Heaven insisted on that. So I go along with it as long as I can.

The first days and weeks were just a blurr, since there were so many things to be done. Michael and Uriel hadn't been very helpful. The Metatron kept a very close eye on me, but since I hadn't brought Crowley, his suspicion faded day by day.

I tried to feel at home, at least a bit, but every day without earth, the streets of London, Nina and Maggie and food and coffee and my 4 o' clock tea and - all over that- Crowley, was just bitter and empty. It drained all laughter from my face, made it a cold and stony mask.

I start to understand Gabriel, why he was, like he was. I even feel pity for him.

So I spend my days existing, listening to the orders given from above and give them to others

But today I miracled a small book, a pen and I allowed myself some time to process all those things that happened.

I have to be very cautious, listing all that happens up here in Heaven so that dear Crowley will know properly to make the right preparations.

Because I won't let them down.

Not after I gave away my flaming sword .

I won't let him down. Not again.

Sincerely yours

A. Z. Fell

[ablincoln666]

A Light in the Darkness

Part 4

Annabelle grinned at Aziraphale. She looked him up and down before standing up and being pushed back down by Michael. Aziraphale pushed her away from Annabelle before looking Annabelle in the eyes. “What are you dear?” Aziraphale asked, glancing at her face quickly before drifting back to his chair. 

“Hmm, what am I?” Annabelle sarcasm contemplated “I’m the asshole you had your angels drag from my band class, and the one they decided to shoot with arrows in front of 4 dozen middle school kids. That’s who!” Aziraphale glared at Annabelle before turning his attention to Michael and Uriel. “You and me should talk, Aziraphale. We need to bring our attention to the elephant in the god forsaken room. And without these idiots, if you wouldn’t mind.” Annabelle said, flicking a finger at the gasping angels as they tooken her words and her use of the lord's name.

“It's the Supreme Archangel to you brat!” Uriel said before having Aziraphale stiffen and forced her and Michael out. Annabelle smirked at the angels as they left furious. 

“Dear I understand that you might be scared and all but please remain calm and explain to me what you were doing with a miracle in a public place. And if you wouldn’t mind maybe stating your name.” Aziraphale sat at his chair and waited for Annabelle to sit but she just stood there frowning as she stared at him. She crossed her arms over her chest, she climbed in the chair, but stood up in the chair and sat on the back of the chair instead. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow as he thought of someone that he once knew that would have copied the child.  

“Annabelle, my name is Annabelle Griffin. Happy?” 

“Most certainly, my dear.” 

“Now for the problem and the solution I'm guessing?”

“What problem……” Aziraphale dragged on the silence as he searched through the catalogs of angels. Not finding a single Annabelle Griffin or even an angel that looks like the child sitting in front of him. “You aren't in my files dear. Are you even an angel?” 

“Yes and no……I guess but really I don’t really know how to explain it other than just showing you, but not here.” Annabelle jumped off the chair and pulled the hairs out of the way of her tinted glass. She didn’t even realize them until now knowing that her identity was still safe towards Aziraphale, but those angels knew what her eyes looked like. That will come back to bite her in the ass but for now there is no need to worry when she still has to worry about what she might do next. 

“Aziraphale we need to leave now. Or I won't make it back to earth alive with Metatron around. We need to get to your bookshop now. Aziraphale we have to go!” Annabelle pleaded from the door of Aziraphale’s office. 

“Oh dear, I can’t just leave. I have duties to uphold here and I..I can’t go back there is someone I don’t think wants to see me ever again.” Aziraphale looked down at his shoes before standing up and walking towards Annabelle, placing a hand on her shoulder and directing her to the chair. 

“I’M GOING TO DIE YOU IDIOT! I DON’T WANT TO DIE, SO GET YOUR ASS UP AND GET US BACK TO EARTH!!” Annabelle yelled at his face. “You can’t sit around when the world is going to end over me, and you and a friend of mine are the only ones that can help me stop it. And this friend happens to be in Soho, London so let’s go before the world turns to goo!” Annabelle waved her hands around, gesturing to Aziraphale that the world is going to end but all he did was stare at her. Almost like he was trying to look through her tinted glasses to her eyes. “AZIRAPHALE!!” Annabelle yelled to get his attention.

“Dear I really can’t, I have to stay here.” Aziraphale said again, trying to make a point but getting nowhere. 

“Just come for a bit, okay? And at least meet my friend and then I can show you what you really do need to see.”

“(sigh) Okay dear, I will come but only to meet your friend and for you to show me this important thing of yours, okay?” Aziraphale said not knowing what he was getting himself into. 

“Great!” Annabelle said as she gripped his wrist and walked him out of his office and towards the elevator to Earth. She grinned as passing a couple of angels before entering the elevator with Aziraphale and pressing the Earth button. The elevator rang and the floor began to move down. Once they reached Earth the door rang and the two of them popped out in Soho, London right across from the bookshop. Annabelle grinned even more when she saw the Bentley parked outside and movement within it.

Part 5 coming soon.....

[yourfavecupcake]

Aziraphale's heart didn't need to pump, but it pumped nonetheless, out of his God-forsaken chest. The elevator soars for an eternity, and the damn Metatron was blathering on, but all Aziraphale could hear was the blood rushing through his veins and his short, even breaths.

If he were to lose Crowley for Heaven, If HE were to LOSE CROWLEY for bloody HEAVEN, then he would be DAMNED if it wasn't worth it. Yes. He was going to make CHANGES. The elevator dinged pleasantly and the doors to the great white expanse of Heaven's offices opened.

"Aziraphale? Have you not heard a word I've said?" The Metatron snapped haughtily. "No my dear, and do shut up," Aziraphale said, waving the Voice Of God away as if they were a mosquito.

By now, the archangels had appeared and the group watched his act of defiance in shock. "Now. First thing's first," he commanded, and with a flourish that suggested capital letters, he announced, "A Suggestion Box."

[alex51324]

Little snippet of a GO Fic

Not sure if this is anything? It started with the image of if Crowley called the Metatron's bluff re: restoring his angelic status, and then he's just up there wandering around Heaven in full demon mode, and everyone's too polite and/or scared to point out that they can tell he's not actually an angel.

Then I started thinking about plot, and it's not as funny as I was thinking it was going to be. Like I said, not sure if it's going to be anything, but the opening scene turned out OK. I'll be interested to hear if anyone has thoughts on where it could go from here.

Standing by the car, torturing himself with hope, Crowley watched the Metatron lead his only friend away.  The Metatron was explaining something to him, false-genially, and even from across the street, Crowley could see the moment when Aziraphale understood what he was being summoned back to Heaven to do. 

The Metaton stepped into the Transporter, and Aziraphale, who had been pointedly looking nowhere near where Crowley stood, now turned, at the threshold, and looked sidelong at him, pleadingly.

He looked very small, and very alone, and before he could think better of it—before he could think at all—Crowley had pushed off the side of the Bentley and was crossing the street, calling, “Oi, Angel.  Wait up.”

Aziraphale turned to look at him more directly.  Crowley could see him take a deep breath, the kind that shuddered in your lungs.  “Yes, Crowley?” His voice was steadier than Crowley thought his own would be, in the circumstances.

“Are you.”  Crowley swallowed hard.  “Are you sure you want to do this?  Really sure?”

Aziraphale glanced in toward the Metatron.  Crowley kept his eyes focused on Aziraphale’s face--he didn’t care to know what kind of expression the blessed bastard was making—and saw the glint of steel shining out from the cloud of doubt and reluctance.  “I have to,” he said, which wasn’t what Crowley had asked.  “It’s where I need to be.” 

Of course it was.  Aziraphale hadn’t even entertained the notion of running away last time.  Crowley wasn’t sure if his angel was once again thinking—hoping—that he could just explain it properly and the rest of Heaven would see the world was a mistake. 

But even if he’d learned from last time, he’d still think he had to give them the chance.  Even if they threw him in Hellfire for it. 

“Right, then,” Crowley said, turning his face toward the Metatron—still without looking—and flashing a brilliant smile at him.  “If you’re that certain, then we’d better give it a try.”

Aziraphale’s face softened and his eyes widened.  “You mean…?”

Crowley nodded.  “You, me, Heaven.  Doing Good.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his hands coming up to clutch at Crowley’s.  “Are you sure? It—”  His eyes flicked toward the Metatron.  “It could be awfully hard work.”

“Course,” Crowley said, stoutly.  Now he did look at the Metatron.  “If the offer’s still open.”

 The Metatron’s face was very still.  He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again when Aziraphale said, “Of course it is, you dear old—”  He giggled, shrilly.  “Dear old angel, I should say.”

“That’ll take some getting used to,” Crowley said, stalling for a bit more time to get up the nerve to step into the elevator to Heaven, for the second time in as many days.

“Perhaps,” the Metatron spoke up, “you have affairs to settle here on Earth, before you, ah, assume your new role?  Your,” he looked over at the Bentley, “material possessions?”

“Nah,” Crowley said, taking that crucial step.  “I’ll pop down sometime later and sort that out.  I’m sure we have loads to do up there.  Don’t want to miss anything.”  He turned to face the lift doors, shoving himself in between Aziraphale and the Metatron.  Then, before he could chicken out, he reached across the Metatron and pushed the button for Up.

As the doors closed, Aziraphale looked toward him, and gave him the faintest trace of a real smile. 

Crowley checked the angles of view and carefully, where the Metatron wouldn’t see, tangled their fingers together. 

The ride seemed to take much longer than it had when he’d ridden up with Muriel before.  The doors opened onto the same featureless not-space he’d seen in his most recent two visits to Heaven, but it didn’t seem quite as awful, somehow, with Aziraphale’s hand in his.

He would have let go, when he saw Michael, Uriel, and Saraqael there waiting just outside the doors, but Aziraphale clutched his hand all the harder. 

It helped, a little, that the trio of archangels looked at least as nervous as Crowley felt. 

The Metatron glanced at the two of them.  “Would you, ah, like to make the announcement yourself?”

Aziraphale, with his free hand, made an after you gesture. 

“Very well.”  Turning to the archangels—the other archangels, of the second rank—the Metatron said, “I’m sure you’ll be as glad to hear, as I am to say, that Aziraphale, here, has accepted the position of Supreme Archangel and Commander of the Heavenly Host.” 

They were all too well-conditioned by millennia in Heaven to say What the fuck?, but Crowley could see them thinking it.  Uriel recovered first, and said, in a strangled voice, “Congratulations, Aziraphale.” 

“He’ll need to be brought up to speed on the Next Phase,” the Metatron continued.  “I’ve read him in on the basics, of course, but the rest of you can brief him on all the details, I’m sure.”

The archangels fell all over each other to say that yes, they could, certainly, whatever the Metatron wished.  Michael, with a nervous flick of a glance at Crowley, added, “Although the plans so far hadn’t included any…close liaising with Downstairs.” 

Crowley affected an air of innocence and waited to see how the Metatron was going to deal with that one. 

Not very well, as it turned out.  “Ah, yes,” he said, and then seemed to run out of ideas. 

Glancing worriedly around the little circle of them—Crowley, Metatron, archangels, Crowley again—Aziraphale squeezed his hand and said, “Crowley resigned from the Other Firm a few years ago, as it happens.”  There was a hint of a question in it, and he looked imploringly at the Metatron.

“Yes,” Crowley said, looking at him also.  “I’ve been freelancing for a bit.  Consulting.  But apparently the Supreme Archangel has broad latitude to choose his second-in-command, so….”

Saraqael blurted out, “You can’t mean—” and then abruptly shut up, folding her hands primly. 

“I do,” said Aziraphale, just as primly.  “Crowley and I have worked together on a number of projects.  There is no one I trust more.” 

“But he’s—”  Uriel began. 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, and nobody said what Crowley was.  Neither did the Metatron explain how this difficulty would be dealt with.  In fact, he began making little I really must be going sort of motions. 

If he thought the Metatron had the means to actually grant what he had offered, Crowley would have happily let him avoid the subject as long as possible.  But as it was becoming increasingly clear that he hadn’t, Crowley slid the needle in a little further.  “Yes, just how is this supposed to work?”  “The, ah.”  He gestured with his free hand.  “Change of status?”

The Metatron looked at him for a moment with intense and open dislike, before the genial mask slipped back into place.  “Well, I should think the place to start would be Form 26-B, Change of Rank.”  With a gesture of his fingers, the form in question appeared, on a transparent glass desk—or, rather, the idea of a glass desk—that had also appeared in front of them. 

Aziraphale picked up the idea-of-a-pen that was next to it, and clicked it.  The first line read Name of Angel.  “Should I put—” Crowley saw his mouth form the shape of a Name that hadn’t been spoken since the Great War, but the sound that came out was, “Crowley?”

The Metatron said nothing, and Crowley answered, “Anthony J., I should think.  Just to be thorough.”

Aziraphale wrote that, and on the line for Previous Rank, put “Hell’s Emissary on Earth, European Division.” 

“Technically, I was a Baron of Hell as well,” Crowley added.  “Order of the First Fallen, Chapter of the Fiery Lake.”

The relevant section of the form expanded to several lines as Aziraphale filled in this information.  “Should you properly be styled Sir Anthony J. Crowley, then?” he asked.

“Eh.  I never used it.”  It had been a small rebellion; everyone else in Hell made as much as they could of whatever titles they had. 

The next line was for New Rank.  Crowley eyed it with wary curiosity.  His old, old post had never been filled, as far as he knew.  He supposed he could bear it, if that was what Aziraphale decided to put. 

But instead, Aziraphale wrote, “Special Consultant and Second-in-Command to Supreme Archangel,” and glanced a question over his shoulder at Crowley.

“To Supreme Archangel Aziraphale, I think would sound better,” Crowley suggested.  Not that Heaven was likely to try to keep him if Aziraphale left, but he didn’t want to take any chances. 

Aziraphale made that change.  “There.  I think that’s all in order.”  He looked round the group with a pointedly pleasant expression, and got no objections.  After signing the document in both ink and a blaze of celestial Light, he pushed it toward Crowley and said, “Your signature, there, on the second-to-last line.”

Crowley studied the form carefully.  In Hell, even a requisition for lavatory paper involved five paragraphs of small print, but Heaven had never quite caught on to the value of a really twisty contract.  All it said was who Crowley was, and the job he was taking.  There was no word of it a lie. 

Swallowing hard, he took up the pen.  Carefully, he wrote, Anthony J. Crowley.  Then, with a glance at Aziraphale, he licked his fingertip and signed his demonic sigil in Hellfire. 

Absolutely nothing happened.  Crowley had known that nothing would, and was definitely not either disappointed or relieved to experience no change whatsoever in his appearance, perceptions, or ontological status. 

If Crowley was any judge of Aziraphale’s facial expressions—and, after six millennia, he was—the Supreme Archangel was also not-experiencing the same jumble of feelings. 

“Well!” the Metatron said, bringing his hands together in a clap, like a primary-school teacher.  “That’s the formalities taken care of.  I’m sure you’ll both want to get right to work.”

While the archangels of the second rank were busy exchanging looks of disbelief, Aziraphale said, “Yes, I believe the office is—this way?”  They hurried off before anyone could get up the courage to say anything.

[gayforanthonyjcrowley]

ineffable parents pt3

First of all, Happy New Year everyone! Im sorry it took so long to post this, I was sick and then the holidays, but anyway, here is part 3. Enjoy :)

————

In heaven the angels are busy discussing and making plans, the child needs to be destroyed. “ a demon angel kid! That can’t be good, it needs to be destroyed! ” the Metatron is determined. “ it doesn’t need to end like this, they are a really sw- ” Muriel tries, but got muted by the Metatron. “ Michael, Saraqael, I need you to figure out a plan! ” saying that the Metatron disappears with Muriel.

Crowley doesn’t know how to tell Aziraphale what the plan is, so he hands Aziraphale the piece of paper Beelzebub gave him. “ Walls have ears, Angel.. ” Aziraphale grabs the piece of paper out of Crowleys hands, but doesn’t open it immediately. He looks at Crowley with burning eyes, the tears are slowly spilling over, Crowley reaches forward and hugs him tight. “ We’re gonna figure this out love, we’re gonna do everything in our power to protect Robin. ” he whispers in his angels ear. “ I don’t like the plan, but it’s the safest for Robin, please look at the paper. ” Crowleys voice breaks, but he keeps talking. “ It’s gonna be okay, heaven can’t take our kid, it’s not gonna happen, Angel. ” Aziraphale stops crying, but still has a little trouble breathing, he doesn’t need to breath, but he got so used to it, it feels weird not to. “ I trust you, Crowley. ” he tries, but it comes more as a whisper. Crowley pulls back from the hug, but his hands are still on Aziraphale’s shoulders, he slides one hand down over his arm and grabs is hand. “ I need you to sit down before you read the plan. ” Crowley starts walking towards the couch, holding Aziraphale’s hand and leading him. “ Sit. I’ll make us some tea. ” “ Thank you, dear. ” Aziraphale says quiet.

“ Please! Don’t kill them! ” Muriel begs. “ shut it! I can’t trust you, you need to stay here! ” the Metatron places Muriel in a bright white room sort of thing, there is nothing, no walls, no floor, not anything, but still, Muriel isn’t able to move. With a snap in his fingers the Metatron disappears again, leaving Muriel behind. “ Please! ” Muriel shouts into the nothingness.

I’m gonna pop down to hell. I need to tell satan what happened and what heavens gonna do to Robin. I need you to You must prepare Robin for hell, Crowley. They need to stay there, so we can fight heaven. I’m sorry, but that’s the only thing I can think of. I’m sorry. -Beelzebub

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, “ Fuck! Crowley, we can’t- it’s not.. it’s hell! I know they love Robin down there, but still! They are demons! And I don’t even want to think about what could happen if they get in contact with hellfire! I mean.. they are a demon angel mix, but we don’t know if they ca- ” Crowley shuts Aziraphale down with his finger on his mouth. “ I know. ” he says. “ Fuck, I know, Angel! But what else can we do? In hell the Angels can’t get to Robin, the demons will protect them. ” Crowley starts to sob “ I’m sorry Aziraphale. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sor- ” Aziraphale grabs Crowleys face with both his hands. “ Crowley, don’t. Don’t say that. Your right… it’s safer in hell.. but I’m.. I’m scared.. ” Crowley looks Aziraphale in the eyes, “ I- I know.. me too. ” he wants to lean forward and lay his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, but he gets stopped by a knock on the door.

————

I put the link to part two here, so you don’t have to scroll down to read it. I hope you enjoyed part 3 and I’ll do my best to post part 4 as soon as possible. Let me know if there are any grammar mistakes!

[nicgoldomens]

The Metatron sat across from him and spoke kindly, softly and persuasively. Aziraphale found it hard to keep his focus, listening to the words spoken by the chosen Voice of the Almighty. The words repeated to him over and over like a prayer

" I told you he doesn't love you Aziraphale. I told you he would never come with you. He despises angels. I'm sorry you have been used and manipulated by this evil demon calling himself Crowley, but believe me it gives me no pleasure to tell you the truth of it. He doesn't love you, he never did, he has no capacity for love. "

The Metatron's voice sounds soothing and musical as he continues to speak, no matter how cruel and devastating what he says is to Aziraphale. Aziraphale stares ahead at an unseen spot past the Metatron's head and squeezes his fingernails into his palms to stop the tears from flowing. He mustn't show any sign of feeling but it's so hard to keep control. Could it be true, what he is saying? How could it be? He thinks of yellow eyes and soft snarly lips but the Metatron is still talking softly, rythmically

" I told you he doesn't love you Aziraphale. I told you he would never come with you. I'm so sorry but as I showed you, the footage we reviewed proves this demon, Crowley, has used you for 6000 years. Yes, I'm afraid to say right from the moment you met he decided for his own amusement to take advantage of you and garner favour with Satan. He saw your weakness when you gave away the flaming sword and knew he had an angel he could turn from God! Turn away from us, your Heavenly family. Now don't cry Aziraphale, the truth may hurt but you need to hear it. Crowley doesn't love you, he never did. He was laughing at you all this time, I really am truly sorry. I know how deeply you loved him, but it was all a lie, a ruse performed for Satan's entertainment. Listen to my words Aziraphale"

The Metatron's voice was even softer and his eyes connected finally with Aziraphale's own as he glanced upwards but could no longer stop the tears from falling. Could it be true? How could this be true? He gripped his head with his hands and closed his eyes, trying to block out the Metatron's voice. He thought of holding Crowley's hand, the softness and suppleness of Crowley's fingers, he remembered dancing with him in the bookshop. The Metatron appeared to sense his renewed calm and continued with words which now dripped like poison

" I told you he doesn't love you Aziraphale, I told you he would never come with you. It pains me terribly to say this, but why would Crowley love you, why for that matter would anyone love you? You are a failure and a disappointment to everyone who has tried to help and guide you. You are lucky that in our infinite mercy Heaven does still have a place for you so be cheered by that. But you must admit your mistakes, confess your wrongdoing and accept that this demon whom you have held so dear to your heart, was in fact empty of light and goodness all along. Your 'friendship' was never real and he does not love you. Crowley never loved you Aziraphale, he never will."

Aziraphale listens to these words, which have been spoken to him day in, day out ever since he returned to Heaven. He clenches his eyes shut and imagines Crowley's face in front of him. He wraps his arms around himself in a hug and rocks gently whilst the Metatron watches. Aziraphale begins to mutter under his breath, then louder and stronger

"He does love me he does love me he does love me he does love me he does love me!"

Aziraphale smiles, his eyes still closed and presses his fingers to his lips. He can still feel the fierce pressure of Crowley's lips on his and the exquisite taste of the tip of his tongue on his own tongue. The Metatron sighs angrily and walks to the door.

" Well Aziraphale, we'll talk again tomorrow. I know you will be made to understand eventually, we have all of eternity to convince you"

He waits until he hears the Metatron lock the cell door and walk away, footsteps echoing in the cold emptiness. Then Aziraphale whispers

"Crowley will be here tomorrow. That was the plan. He loves me and he's coming for me. He would never leave me on my own"

[aziraphales-library]

Hello, thank you for the work you put into this blog. It might be a bit early, but are there any S2 fix-it recs yet?

Hi! We have a plentiful #fix-it tag now! Here are some more to add...

you're the victim of your crime by JustNerdyThings (T)

It's a simple decision, really. It's simple in the way things rarely are, in that it's not much of a decision at all. Whatever Aziraphale might stand to gain by staying in Heaven, it cannot possibly compare to what he's already lost down on Earth. So Aziraphale leaves. He miracles up his letter of resignation, pretends to clear out his still-empty desk, and leaves. And he hopes against hope that somehow, someday, Crowley might forgive him.

hungry work by CCs_World (E)

“You must understand,” Aziraphale had whispered. He was on the doorstep of the bookshop, months after his departure, looking in at Crowley — disheveled, both of them. Broken, both of them. Afraid, both of them. Hopeful, both of them. “I understand, Aziraphale,” Crowley had said back. They had stretched out a hand to Aziraphale. “Come on. Let’s think of a plan together.” And they had. Somehow, miraculously, ineffably, a second apocalypse had been averted. Heaven and Hell were cut off. They were free — truly free. And they had all the time in the universe. So, naturally, they left London. OR: After the Second Coming does not Come, Crowley and Aziraphale move to the South Downs. However, living together is difficult when there are over 6000 years of tension between them - tension which must be resolved if they are to have their happily ever after.

Trembling with tenderness by HolRose (T)

When the former demon Crowley is surprised in his Mayfair flat by a visit from his erstwhile boss and their ex-Archangel partner asking for assistance, Crowley has that familiar sinking feeling that something he did in the past has come back to bite him on the arse. When the current Supreme Archangel materialises in his flat shortly afterwards, Crowley knows the time has come for them to really talk at last. Just as soon as they’ve got rid of their visitors, that is. A post Season 2 fix-it fic in which they communicate properly, and Aziraphale demonstrates just how crafty, and also loving, he can be. This is one for those who might like something genuinely soft and romantic after the ending to Season 2.

We'll make Heaven a place on Earth by arabellas_court (E)

Aziraphale unfolded the piece of paper slowly beneath the horrid lighting. He cleared his throat and looked around, the corners of his mouth faltering just a second when he landed on Crowley. He looked down at the paper. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth—” “Jesus Christ,” Crowley grumbled. “No, dear, he came later, remember?” ------ Crowley knows his worth. He can't take Aziraphale back immediately after how hurt he's been. And for once, Aziraphale has to work for that forgiveness. Both of them are a mess. Both of them go to therapy—unexpectedly, together. Angst with a happy ending.

Snogging on Heaven's Door by Tetrisbiene (M)

What if Aziraphale actually said, 'Do it again. Please. Right now!'? A Post-Season 2 Fanfic. Aziraphale has to go to Heaven to thwart the Second Coming, and Crowley just can't let him go alone. Follow the pair as they meet old and new faces, go to heavenly meetings, sow mischief, and tempt some angels to fall in love with humanity. May the two find a flat surface to talk things over with each other before this big promotion can tear them apart. This is the story of our ineffable idiots in a roller coaster ride of emotions, heavenly bureaucracy, and stolen kisses against doors. Have some angst, some stupid puns in the chapter titles, and an elevator ride that's basically an excuse for me to write a cheesy alternative ending to help me get over the actual finale.

In the cracks of light, I dreamed of you by sunrisesinthesuburbs (T)

Aziraphale stares back at the Metatron with renewed optimism. “I know where my loyalty stands, Sir,” he starts, even managing a small smile. “And I do not need to prove myself to them. When the Time comes, they will enjoy what I’ve been working on.” He sounds convincing, really. Honest, reliable and responsible. Crowley decides this is a good time to whistle: “Someone’s getting all professional up here.” Aziraphale dares to peep in his direction, hoping to convey with one brief look everything he is thinking about: ‘Shut up, will you? I’m trying to do something here.’ Crowley smirks, of course. He really is so annoying. “Well, Aziraphale, you may not need to prove yourself to them,” the Metatron reaches for something inside his jacket, “but you need to prove yourself to me.” Aziraphale fails Heaven's test (of course), and now he has to fix an even bigger mess. Throw a messy break up and a Second Coming in the mix and, somehow, you get a getaway car and a cottage in the South Downs. A lot can happen in a day. (Post Season 2; my very own attempt at fixing things.)

- Mod D