#please look at aziraphale's makeup

[uneasyallyofthebody]

sexy wives ✨

[idliketobeatree]

yeah yeah 1941 crowley's outfit dapper and beautiful but why does no one talk about how red his lips are. "shut uppp" he says, while smacking some serious cherry lip tint on after the church bombing. you sure there's nothing aziraphale can do for you in return?

[worrynoodle]

Okay. Now that I'm caught up, I would like to put in my two cents on this.

⚠️Warning, if the whole fandom panic thing stresses you out, please go ahead and skip this, but I tried to make it reassuring. There's no need to go worrying yourself over rumors and hearsay. ⚠️

For one thing, there's no amount of asking and pressure that is going to make any of the show creators reveal the ending. That isn't how tv shows work. You wait, you watch, you see. It also isn't fair for those of us who hate spoilers for them to constantly be asked for.

Two. I know that a lot of us on here are neurodivergent and have anxiety, and a HUGE part of that anxiety can be the unknown, especially about things we care very deeply for and identify with. This show and its characters hold a very special place in our hearts, and we fear not knowing the ending, especially with a big bang cliffhanger like s2e6. But please try to sit in that discomfort and allow yourself to feel your feelings without panicking.

Third, this story has been beloved for 30 years, yeah? Of course, OF COURSE, it's not going to be a bad ending! It's obviously something that all of the creators involved have been passionate about. Why on earth would it end badly? And all of them - Neil g, Terry p, the directors, the actors, the cast and crew, set and costume designers, the hair and makeup crew, ALL these wonderful people - put an unfathomable amount of care and thought into every aspect of the story.

Next, please, please, please try to remember the show on its own, right? All the details, all the scenes building Aziraphale and crowleys history individually and as a pair weren't put in there for no reason. Take what we actually see on screen and separate that from metas, theories, fanart, and fanfiction. We all love diving into what each detail could mean, but remember, it's all speculation until it concludes.

The story, what we have so far, is kind of a mostly completed puzzle. There's a lot of missing spaces, that's the season three bits. And right now we can't see the bigger picture but you have to remember that each piece of the puzzle was made by the people who painted the whole picture. Every piece that we have was made to fit with the whole story so once we have all the "season three pieces" they're going to fit right into place as they're supposed to.

And maybe, if you have very very high expectations - like very specific headcanons for how you think a perfect ending would look like - maybe it wouldn't be too bad to lower your expectations and open your mind to new possibilities. Ones that can be just as good!

So please, take a deep breath. Count to ten. Get your hot chocolate, your tartan blankets and comfy chairs, pull up some happy-ending fanfics and remember that it's all going to be alright. It's 2024 and this isn't Sherlock

[queer-reader-07]

a love letter to trans romance

because i can't be normal about media and i'm making it y'all's problems

hi hello and welcome to my mildly unhinged ramblings about love and gender. this post comes to you in three sections, enjoy <3

--

t4t romance novels made me believe in love again

the first romance book i ever read was The Feeling of Falling in Love by Mason Deaver. TFOFIL is a t4t (trans for trans) romance that follows a teenage trans boy, Neil Kearney, and a figuring-out-their-gender teen, Wyatt Fowler, as they get themselves wrapped up in peak YA romcom shenaniganary and eventually fall in love. cute, right? just a fun little romcom, not much more to it?

yeah well that's what i thought going in, but coming out of that book i was in tears. tears because i'd never read a story about trans love before. tears because at that point in my life i'd never allowed myself to fully claim the word "trans." tears because Wyatt made me feel so seen and so real.

there's this one scene where Wyatt is talking to Neil and they describe themself as being the kind of person who sometimes wants to wear makeup and dresses, but other times they like their body hair and scruffy beard. and i just remember nodding along and then absolutely melting because Neil takes it in stride, he comforts Wyatt and let's them know that they don't need to have it figured out just yet. Neil makes it clear that he's there, and that Wyatt doesn't need to come out to anyone unless they're ready.

Mason Deaver has another t4t romance, Okay, Cupid. and that similarly had me in my feels because there is something so special about finding people who embrace you for all that you are.

every t4t romance I've read has one thing in common, the fact that the love interests do not love each despite the other's transness. their transness is not an obstacle to love or to attraction or to adoration, it is an object of it. their transness is something to be admired and to be loved and to be cared for. it is not something the other has to "get over."

reading The Feeling of Falling in Love was the first time i ever thought to myself "maybe, just maybe, i can call myself trans and still be loved." because up until that point i hadn't let myself accept that i was some flavor of trans. up until that point i'd said "not cis" without ever saying trans because i was so scared my being trans would make me unlovable. t4t romance books showed me how wrong i was. they showed me that my ability to be loved was not dependent on my girlhood.

ha you thought i could write something this long on tumblr and NOT mention good omens? think again bestie

i have held a trans reading of crowley since i read the book and the show only solidified it for me. crowley canonically plays with gender.

he's dressed femme during the crucifixion scene, his modern look is a mix of men's and women's pieces, his hair is a Whole Thing in and of itself. i could go on but i digress.

but it's not just the way he plays with gender that informs my trans reading of him. it's also how his character arc can very easily be read as an allegory for transness.

an angel who falls (a girl who isn't a girl anymore)

a fallen angel turned demon (a girl who is a boy now)

a demon who isn't really a demon anymore (a used to be girl, a thought to be boy, is now nonbinary)

girl = angel and boy = demon is entirely arbitrary in this please don't read into it

now, you may be thinking "A how in god's name does this apply to trans romance?" to which i say, aziraphale falls in love with every version of crowley. aziraphale beams heart eyes at angel!crowley before the beginning and loves crowley as a demon for millennia and is so deeply and unabashedly in love with crowley in his not-quite-demon form of s2.

aziraphale loves all the versions of crowley because crowley's angel or demon-ness (gender) is not the reason aziraphale loves crowley. aziraphale doesn't love crowley because he's a demon or because he used to be an angel, aziraphale loves crowley because it's crowley. crowley in whatever clothes he chooses to where, crowley with whatever hairstyle he's fancying at the moment, crowley as he inhabits the shades of grey just a little more.

to me, that is so easy to read as a trans love story. you could argue it's t4t depending on how you read aziraphale, but to me, it's at the very least a love story between a mostly-demon who gets down to some gender fuckery and an angel who loves him very much.

fuck it let's talk about fanfiction

i don't think i could make this post without mentioning @ineffabildaddy's fic I'm Beginning to See the Light.

i have a complicated relationship with my body. i don't plan to ever medically transition because i don't want to make any permanent changes to my body. but there are days where all i want is to have a flat chest and hips that are flush with the rest of my body but instead i'm stuck with tits and an hourglass figure cis people always seem to focus on.

i don't hate my body, but the idea that anyone could look at it and not just see A Woman is beyond me. i walk through life being perceived as a very feminine woman even on the days that i feel the most androgynous. the idea that a lover could look at my body and still see me for who i am feels like a dream that could never happen.

and IBTSTL slapped me (lovingly) across the face with the message that, actually, i can be loved as my whole self and that there are people out there who don't look at me and see A Woman and those people don't love me any less. IBTSTL made me feel safe in my trans body because it said "you are worthy of love and adoration because your transness is not something to get past it is something to admire. it is something to love."

--

i think the point i'm trying to make here is this: trans love stories are so special to me. they've been so vital in my own journey to love and accept myself. they're the reason i can imagine myself maybe having romantic love in the future.

representation matters, it can quite literally change your life.

[mycrofts-umbrella]

Hiii! 28 fem here, I'm **not** replacing anyone, just looking for anyone who would be interested in more stories with me. I have more time to write so if you are 21+ please don't hesitate to send me a dm! Most random stuff but willing to do original characters as well! I love talking ooc, it helps keep me engaged and I love plotting and collaborating! Can do some days of rapid fire responses, other times it might take a few days. I know real life comes first and I will always be patient so no worries. Would love to hear from you!

Here are some of the fandoms with pairings/tropes I like:

**Spock/Kirk** - Wholesome sci-fi adventures, potential for shorter procedural missions, would ideally want to expand and write other members of the enterprise as needed (such as Bones, Sulu, Nyota, Chekov, Scotty, Nurse Chapel, etc.), would play/write either characters

**Charles/Erik** - Friends to Lovers to Enemies, would do either post xmen first class cherik or would do older versions of them, darker themes, I would prefer to write Erik in this because I don't think I can do the optimistic Charles justice, we need to plot further with this one cause I would be down for lots of ideas

**Deadpool/Spider-Man** - slooooooow burn to even get to friends then maybe 🌈, would mainly start as Deadpool and Spider-Man running into each other doing work/patrols in the city and mexican food, prefer to write as Deadpool but would be willing to write Peter

**Deadpool/Wolverine** - post movie, Logan has nightmares, differences in their timelines, Logan visits this universe's version of the X-Men. Would be open to writing either.

**Harry/Hermione** - my preference would be to start sometime during deathly hallows after Ron left and Harry and Hermione are still dealing with the Horcrux, and writing either is good with me

**Hannibal/Will** - MURDER HUSBANDS 4EVER, post fall, (or I also have very many ideas for this ship, oh man), I would loooove to play Will for once in my friggin life but I would also understand that your sweet soul could not handle Hannibal and I have experience writing hanni

**Lestat/Louis** - set season 2 finale, during the hurricane, sweet *sweet* depressing vampire cuddles while mourning our daughter crying blood, but I get that's a LOT to start so also start of s3 rockstat era, Louis doing Lestat's makeup, would write either, genuinely love these two, tho more experience writing Lestat

**Daniel/Armand** - devil's minion era, or post season 2 TV show devil's minion, Armand IS ALICE au(?), open to writing either (would also do a one shot for Daniel/Louis)

**Crowley/Aziraphale** - I prefer writing Crowley but that's cause I have a very specific view of him and his feelings for Aziraphale, however I do like writing Aziraphale too, post season 2, or lots of different ideas for this one too

**Joker/Akechi** - set p5r term 3, OR Akechi has a palace that they do after Sae’s palace and before Shido’s cause I think Akechi should get to do a patricide, or whenever joker sleeps and goes to the Velvet Room, Akechi is there or they know they are the two tricksters from the start and Joker starts in the metaverse with Akechi and Joker knows about Akechi’s murders but Akechi is his only family until he finally meets the phantom thieves and starts to pull away from Akechi and wants to turn him in

**Lucy/The Ghoul/Cooper Howard** - heterosexuals strike again, post season finale as they track down Kyle McLaughlin and figure out what is happening, would probably prefer to play The Ghoul but I would also like Lucy too so IDK not a hard preference actually

**Hughie/OC** - AU he leaves the boys and lives a normal life and is cherished for ONCE in his ridiculous existence, would be fine with either male or female OC just not starlight sorry Annie January you have a cool name but your powers kinda suck and ur personality is idk I just think him and Kimiko would have been cute 🥰

**Homelander/OC** - again I'm fine with male or female and would prefer to write the OC but am open to it. OC could be someone new joining The Seven or someone he somehow met during his childhood (maybe even Sage or Hughie)

**Tyrion Lannister/Daenerys Targaryen** - rewind a few seasons, take things slower then follow the journey to King's Landing and the Red Keep, maybe when they first met, would write either but have more experience as Daenerys. (Sidenote: I also ship Jorah/Dany and Tyrion/Varys so same thing)

**AU / Tropes** I like and would do with ANY of the ships and characters above or even OCs:

Soulmate AU

Hanahaki disease

Teammates/Roommates

Childhood best friends

Enemies-to-lovers

Coffeeshop (always - one exists in every fandom and ship)

Stockholm syndrome 🕊️

Powers OR (No Powers for fandoms that have supes, mutants, magic, etc. )

Amnesia where person A wakes up and doesn't remember person B but wrongly (rightly) assumes person B is their spouse/significant other or just memory loss of critical moments

If you're interested at all, my dms are open! Thank you! 🖤🫶🏼🩵

[coffeecat1983]

Just a little fetching (Femme Crow/Az AU fluff)

"What in Heaven's name did you do to yourself?!" Aziraphina nearly screeched. The year was 1966 and Aziraphale and Crowley had physically shifted a few years earlier to female forms. Wanting to fit the change, the Angel had changed her name. Crowley however, kept hers, figuring she could be any name she damn well pleased.

She looked up from the dressing table, tilting her head at the other, clearly flustered woman. "Care to rephrase that?" she asked, crossing her legs to show off the sleek black nylons. Aziraphina swallowed hard, eyes lingering on the long legs and shiny black high heels. "I um, I m-meant your lips, what have you d-done to th-them?" she stammered out.

"Oh. That." Crowley glanced back in the mirror, pursing her lips to show off the jet-black gloss. "Got it off a sweet little thing at the club last night. You don't like it?" She posed on the plush stool, hands draped over her knees to show off the long fingers decorated with oynx rings and ruby red nails. Her outfit was a black silk short skirt, stopping just above the knees and wrapping tantalizing around her hips. Her top was black, sleeveless, and the collar low cut with a red belt loosely hanging around her waist. The look was completed with her dark sunglasses and a black hat with red trim, both of which were on the dressing table. Long, red curls hung down, neatly framing her face.

"It's, well it's not that I don't like it..." Aziraphina mumbled. Her dress was a simple coffee-with-cream, with little pearl buttons going down the top half. Simple white flats, plain cream nylons, and a cream ladies overcoat suited her. The look was finished with a gold broach depicting angel wings over the left breast of the coat. Her makeup was light, a touch of blush, pale, sensible pink lipstick, and faintly tan eyeshadow. "I admit, it looks rather fetching on you." she said, glancing away. Crowley stood and coming over, teasingly ran her nails across Aziraphina's face, trailing down her cheek to her neck. She savored the trembled she felt beneath her fingertips. "Look me in the eyes when you say that darling." she coo'd. Leaning in, she drew the other into a kiss. Breaking the tender moment, Crowley smirked, her thumb lightly sweeping over Aziraphina's lips and the black smudge she had left. "It looks quite fetching on you, too."

By "CC"

[cobragardens]

I am literally begging the makeup dept to adjust the foundation colors lighter and put some translucent powder on its victims. Please. These people are not Donald Trump, they are not meant to be dying of jaundice, and yet the foundation is so egregiously out of step with their skin or any human skin that they look like they're wearing a coat of unwiped wood stain.

It is really distracting, especially in a show that relies so heavily on its characters' appearance to create context clues.

The lip colors continue to be fucking outstanding, Aziraphale's stage makeup for Fell the Marvellous is achingly vintage, Mrs H's makeup is chef'a kiss, so I know y'all have eyes. Actors' faces should not contrast with their necks! 😤

Crowley’s Hairstyles in Season 2, as shared by Hair & Make-Up Designer Stevie Smith

See also: [ Season One's Hair ] Source: [ Stevie Smith Makeup Instagram ]

[journeytogallifrey]

I'd love to know more about Everything That’s Meant. Celebrity & Actor AUs are one of my favourite tropes.

You picked that one because you knew it was my favorite, didn’t you? ;) First Good Omens AU I ever started planning - it has a 63-slide PowerPoint and almost 40k words written so far!

Aziraphale Fell is a classically trained actor known for powerful biopics, hindered by the insistence of his brother (Gabriel, head of Celestial Studios) that he stay in the closet. Anthony J. Crowley is known for playing flashy villains and wonders if a hero role will ever be in the cards for him. They’re cast in a series adaptation of Agnes Nutter’s Prophecies, Aziraphale as the angel Raphael and Crowley as the demon Asmodeus, but something feels off... until they realize one late-night rehearsal that it works better if they switch roles! (yes, it’s a roleswap AU within an actor AU lol) Now all they’re up against is a haunted set full of nefarious occurrences, not to mention their own growing feelings for each other, which exhilarate Crowley but terrify Aziraphale as the two become closer and closer.

Fun facts and excerpts under the cut...

Fun facts:

Past Aziraphale roles: SO much Shakespeare, historical/period dramas, Oscar-bait biopics, a heart-wrenching drama called House of Water, mentorly roles in YA genre films, children’s character Dr. Zed Imagination

Past Crowley roles: countless franchise villains with his trademark CGI eyes (Star Trek, Doctor Who, Tron, Avengers), the killer in the Hallows’ Eve films, a recurring villain role on a superhero show called Absolute Powers, some horror cult classics, a few charismatic Disney villains, voice work (the dragon in Goldbreakers, the car in Ride by Dusk)

They meet at a BAFTA afterparty after Aziraphale has given his statuette away

Crowley has trauma-induced photosensitivity from a fall at university. He got the snake tattoo to cover a scar on his temple. He does the makeup cover of it for roles by himself unless the makeup department prefers otherwise.

Aziraphale’s influential family started the angel-name tradition. His mother’s vengeful ex Luke started the demon-name tradition. Now it’s all over the industry, all the way to Hollywood.

Crowley is genderfluid. The tabloids keep spotting ‘mysterious women’ leaving his flat and speculating about why. They’re never right.

Some articles about them...

Excerpt One:

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a look.

“Eminently helpful,” said Aziraphale drily.

Crowley laughed. “No kidding. Why don’t we have a crack at the refreshments table before they take it all down?”

Aziraphale had been eying it all night, and of course Crowley had noticed. “Oh, yes, please,” said Aziraphale, rubbing his hands together and following Crowley over.

Crowley had not been prepared for the sight of Aziraphale eating a chocolate-covered strawberry. It was almost sinful, the red of it against those pink lips, the way Aziraphale closed his eyes as he took it in. It really was a shame no one ever cast him as the sexy lead. He could have pulled it off in a heartbeat.

Crowley had to think of something to say before it drove him mad.

“I loved you in Ordinary Saints,” he said finally, and then mentally kicked himself – sure, be a fanboy, that’s what he wants to hear.

But Aziraphale simply responded with a pleased smile. “Oh, really? I didn’t know you were familiar.”

“Cry every time I see it. Only tragedy I’ll watch, mind – usually I prefer the funny ones.”

“It wasn’t a tragedy. The couple lived happily ever after.”

“Yeah, but you died!” Crowley could feel his hands growing animated but couldn’t stop them. “After everything you did for them! Beautiful death, by the way, but really.”

Aziraphale’s smile grew wider, amusement dancing over his face. “No one’s ever quite defended me that way before.”

Excerpt Two:

“Is it all right that I call you angel?”

Clearly, Aziraphale had not been expecting that. He processed the question for a long moment, then shifted closer to Crowley in the dark. Of course there was still nearly half a sofa between them, but Crowley felt the movement tingling in his bones. “You know, I think it is,” said Aziraphale, hushed, like a secret.

“I don’t want to remind you of – of all that if you don’t…”

“But you see, it doesn’t make me think of that at all.” Aziraphale’s blue gaze turned to the ceiling, contemplative. “It only makes me think of Prophecies. And – and of you. And – you’ll think me silly for this…”

“Not at all,” said Crowley immediately.

“Well. It makes me think that, perhaps…” Aziraphale returned his gaze to Crowley. He had a habit of roaming it over the rest of Crowley’s face – lips, cheekbones, forehead. He seemed to take in Crowley’s expressions, despite the sunglasses, in a way few people ever had. And Crowley was good at communicating around the glasses. But Aziraphale picked up on nuances even beyond his wildest dreams.

Right now, though, Crowley didn’t want to force Aziraphale to do that. For the first time he truly thought about how off-putting it must be, staring back at your own reflection. He lifted the glasses up onto his head and met Aziraphale with his true eyes.

This earned him an intake of breath and a slow, wide smile.

“It makes you think…” Crowley prompted.

“It – right.” Aziraphale seemed to shake himself a bit and return to the moment. His face was wistful and a little awed as he looked back at Crowley, nothing but air between them. “When you call me… angel. That I might be… finally living up to what Mother wanted me to be.”

Crowley couldn’t help the tears that sprang to his eyes. He glanced away at the carpet, blinking them into submission.

So yeah, that’s the actor AU! Hoping to get it out in the next couple of months, but we’ll see. I appreciate anyone who read this far <3

[onthecrosslook]

Ineffable Husbands hurt/comfort for the writing requests thing please?🥺👉👈

Something Quite Unlike Most

Anthony J. Crowley liked to pretend that he didn’t care. He was awfully fond of acting indifferent and cold to other demons of Hell, and even occasionally to his friend*, Aziraphale. Demons like him, well…they didn’t actually exist. He wasn’t really a demon* at all, to be entirely honest.

He wasn’t sure what he was.

But he knew damn well that he was kidding himself if he thought he couldn’t care less about Aziraphale.

Especially once he received a very urgent phone call from the angel himself.

His phone rang once. Crowley didn’t pick up.

His phone rang again. Crowley glanced at it once or twice and didn’t pick up.

“I’m not going to pick up,” said Crowley as he picked up the phone upon hearing the third ring. Muttering a few colourful curses, he placed the receiver to his ear. “Yes, hullo, Angel, how are you?”

Aziraphale breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Crowley? Oh, hello, dear! Er- well, I’d be doing well, but I’m in a bit of a pickle.” He chuckled nervously and yelped. “Well, you see…”

“What the dev- Er- God? What have you done, Angel?” He tried to hide the urgency in his voice as he tapped his fingers against his desk, but his concern* was clear.

“I may have…er…well, don’t laugh at me, Crowley!” Aziraphale demanded with a slight whimper.

“I won’t bloody laugh, just tell me what’s wrong!” Crowley demanded.

“Someone gave me an old book,” Aziraphale confessed. “He was a really, really lovely gentleman. He was very tall with rather wavy ginger hair and had very odd eyes and cheekbones.”

“What?” Crowley asked in a mix of astonishment and blatant horror.

“Oh, yes! I was quite fond of his eyes, multi-coloured. Looked like the stars!” Aziraphale smiled pleasantly while simultaneously wincing in pain. “Said his name was Ben*.”

“Ngk,” said Crowley.

“Something wrong, dear?” Aziraphale asked in classic angel fashion (even whilst being in pain).

Crowley sputtered out a string of nonsense in an panicked attempt to tell Aziraphale to throw the book into the Pacific Ocean. “Tha- that wasn’t some kind bloke, Angel. What was the book called?” He was seconds away from bolting out the door.

Aziraphale sounded sheepish. “Well, it had a different cover at first. I thought it was a first edition copy of Huckleberry Finn, can you imagine that? Then when I opened it up, the first page said ‘The Lesser Key of Solomon*. Bless me, I’ve- ow!- no idea what that means.”

“It means that an undesirable just- oh, bloody- oh, b-bloody, good G- Satan. Shit!” Crowley knew exactly who he was talking about, especially when he mentioned his former boss*. “Angel, I’m coming over right now!”

“Oh, take your time!” Aziraphale said kindly, before letting out a dainty “fuck” as a result of the excruciating pain he was in. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Goodbye, Crowley!”

And then he hung up.

“Damn it, Angel!” Crowley hissed as he sprinted out of his flat and to his beloved black Bentley. He knew he only had a few minutes before Aziraphale* burst into flames or- worse! Something much worse!

Not realising he didn’t have his keys, Crowley accidentally willed the car to start and started driving like a man possessed. The other cars on the road parted in waves as he slammed down the accelerator and sped to Aziraphale’s bookstore*.

On its own, the car’s radio dial spun around and landed on a station that was blasting ‘The Show Must Go On’. Crowley glanced at it in surprise and adjusted his sunglasses, still not slowing down.

Inside, my heart is aching…

He spun around a corner and nearly hit a jaywalking pedestrian.

My makeup may be flaking, but my smile…

Crowley swallowed a lump forming in his throat, heart racing.

…still stays o-O-NnN- Nearly there, Crowley!

He flinched as the familiar voice of his ex-employer crept over him. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Oh, don’t fret, darling. I’m sure he’ll be just fine.

“What do you want?” Crowley demanded, his voice shaking. “He didn’t bloody do a thing!”

But you did, didn’t you? You betrayed me, Crowley. What ever happened to our side?

“There was never any ‘our side’,” he spat. “You wanted to- to destroy the world!” Crowley scowled and tried to turn off the radio, but it sent an electrical shock coursing through his fingertips. “Shit! Shit!”

Don’t be so foolish, darling. Shame about that human, though. If Aziraphale dies, well…hahahahaha…

“Shut up!” Crowley roared, and just like that, the radio clicked off.

Silence filled the car as tyres screeched and the Bentley arrived at the bookshop.

“Angel?!” Crowley shouted as he slammed his car door shut and rushed inside.

The bell tinkled and Aziraphale looked up. “Oh- ow!- C-Crowley, hello, dear!” he said weakly. He was slumped against a bookshelf, his wings visible and extended for some reason. His pleasant smile hid an obvious truth.

He was dying.

Crowley’s gaze, frozen with fear, landed on his friend’s wings with horror. They were turning black with some sort of secreted oily goo and the feathers were falling off, and Aziraphale was pale. Paler than usual. Circles were dark under his unusually dull eyes, and trickles of blood were making their way down his lips.

“How do I fix this?” Crowley said in despair. “How? D-do- do I- I…Miracle. I can do a miracle, can’t I, Angel?”

Aziraphale lifted his head and met Crowley’s terrified eyes. “Dear, listen, I’ve…I’ve tried it. Didn’t work, I’m- I’m afraid.” He let out a little chuckle. “Foolish of me to check. Should never have- well…sit with me, dear. For a bit.”

Crowley nodded and gingerly sat by Aziraphale. “Angel, there…must be some-something. Anything at all, I’ll do. Please.”

“It’s all right, Crowley,” Aziraphale reassured him, before coughing loudly and dabbing a bit of blood away with a handkerchief. “We could have run away together, you know? You wanted to.”

“Alpha Centurion,” Crowley murmured. “There’s nothing?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale whispered. “Take my hand, dear. Only for a while?”

Crowley nodded again and intertwined his fingers around Aziraphale’s own. “I…I…Please, Angel. Don’t leave me.”

“We’ve had six thousand years, Crowley. Isn’t that enough?” Aziraphale tried to smile, but he grimaced instead. “I’m…sorry.”

“No,” Crowley said. “It’ll never be enough. I…I love you, Angel. For six thousand bloody years, and now I’m going to lose you because of- of- fucking Satan!” Tears dripped down his sharp nose and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “Angel?”

Aziraphale did not respond.

“A-Angel?” Crowley mumbled, sniffing and pushing his shoulder. “Angel, please…”

The ‘please’ didn’t work.

Crowley swallowed and stood up. He took a shuddering breath and staggered to Aziraphale’s desk.

“DAMN IT!” he shouted, but it didn’t feel like enough. “DAMN IT! DAMN IT, DAMN IT, DAMN- SHIT!” Crowley picked up the cursed book and threw it across the room. “WHY HIM? WHY- WHY HIM? FOR GOD’S- FUCKING! HELL!”

He didn’t notice, but he was radiating a power that hadn’t been seen in centuries as he sank to his knees in despair. His wings sprouted painfully from his back, black as night, as he struck the floor with his fists in anguish.

“AZIRAPHALE!” Crowley screamed* with such vigour that the bookstore shook, the lights of London flickered, and the ground trembled. “GOD!” He pounded the ground and cried out for someone, anyone, to hear him. The Powers that Be had decided to be especially cruel that day, leaving him to ponder why they had chosen Aziraphale- his* angel.

Crowley, for the first time in his entire existence, sobbed. All at once, his anger went away, and all that was left was a crushing sadness that left him slumped against a pile of books in unwavering agony. His soul was shattered and his mind was empty, an awful combination for a heartsick demon-but-only-just.

He was silent for a long time. The only sounds in the bookshop were the occasional shuddering sob, and even that steadily dissipated until the world finally quieted down.

A hand lay on Crowley’s shoulder.

He looked up.

“Do you love him?” an elderly woman asked.

Crowley blinked and nodded, trembling.

The woman smiled. “I suppose it is possible, then. For a demon to love an angel. For one to change one’s plan. One’s destiny.” She tilted Crowley’s chin up with delicate fingertips. “I ask you again, Anthony J. Crowley. Do you love Aziraphale?”

“Yes,” Crowley whispered, and his heart ached because he meant it, really and truly meant it.

“Well,” the woman whispered, her fingers beginning to glow golden, “it is decided. Your angel must be returned to you. It is not his time. And you have proven yourself worthy, Crowley. May you forever keep my trust.” She turned towards the fallen angel (the truly Fallen one) and waved her hand over his pale forehead.

A light bathed over Aziraphale, and his wings fluttered and straightened themselves, the colour returning to a radiant white. The blood vanished from his lips and his eyes grew bright. Then, slowly, carefully, his chest rose and fell with the effort of taking easy breaths.

Crowley couldn’t help but stare in astonishment. “Thank you,” he murmured, unsure of what else to say. “Can I ask, er…” He rubbed his forehead and crept to Aziraphale’s side. “Who- what are you, exactly?”

The woman laughed softly. “I’m ineffable,” she said gracefully, and her form flickered and dematerialised from the bookshop, leaving Crowley to wonder if he’d just witnessed a true and genuine, bonafide Miracle.

Aziraphale’s eyes slowly opened and gazed adoringly at Crowley. “Hello, dear,” he whispered, his cheeks rosy and healthy. “I must apologise for leaving you, if only for a moment.” He smiled sheepishly.

“You bloody bastard,” Crowley sniffed as he pulled Aziraphale to his chest and held him tightly. “I thought I’d lost you. For good.”

“I never want to leave you, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied. “Not for another thousand years, at least. You still owe me crapes, don’t you? Can’t possibly go without trying those.”

Crowley chuckled as his eyes burned. “As many crapes as you can eat, Angel.”

“You really are quite nice. The nicest demon I’ve ever met.”

“I dunno. I dunno if I’m a demon anymore.”

Aziraphale looked puzzled. “Then what?”

“I’m yours,” Crowley said, and took Aziraphale’s hand in his to lead him out of the bookstore.

In the end, they were all right.

It really was ineffable.

༺═──────────────═༻

*friend, meaning the Olde English and Germanic ancestor of the word ‘frēon’, which in turn originally meant ‘one who loves’.

*the demon I refer to, of course, is based on the Greek word ‘daimon’, which is defined as a ‘divine power, fat, or god’. Crowley was neither. The real translation means ‘replete with wisdom’. Crowley didn’t have that, either.

*this marked the sixth time Crowley had ever been concerned in his life. They all, of course, had been concerning Aziraphale in some way, shape, or form.

*if this sounds familiar, then it should.

*another name is ‘Salomon is Regis’. It’s a cursed grimoire of demonology. Demons fear its power.

*Satan couldn’t outright kill an angel, but he could trick an angel into killing himself. He was quite fond of stealing faces of popular celebrities to do this. Aziraphale, being Aziraphale, didn’t recognise him.

*the curse was so horrific that Aziraphale could not miracle himself free.

*he had the location memorised to demonstrate how little he cared for Aziraphale.

*it is said his grief was so great that it shook the Heavens.

*Crowley never truly wanted anything more in his entire life.

[howmanyholesinswisscheese]

HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP YES YES YES YES IM GOING SAVAGE I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT SOULMATE AUS AT ALL BUT YES YES YES YES YOURE A GENIUS WE ARE GENIUSES PLEASE AAAA

AZIRAPHALE DOESNT REALISE WHAT THE SHIFT BEHIND CROWLEY'S EYES IS FOR A MOMENT, DOESNT KNOW WHAT IT MEANS - HE REALISES HIS FOUNDATION HAS STARTED RUNNING, AND HE LIFTS A HAND INSTINCTIVELY TO COVER IT, CAUGHT. HE WONDERS WHY CROWLEY IS LOOKING AT HIM LIKE THAT - HE'S NOT CONFUSED, WHY IS HE NOT CONFUSED? OR ANGRY? OR-

AND THEN CROWLEY LIFTS A HAND AND PULLS HIS TURTLENECK DOWN UNTIL THE SIDE OF HIS NECK IS VISIBLE. UNTIL THE SOULMARK HE'S HIDDEN WITH SCARVES AND TURTLENECKS AND MAKEUP THROUGHOUT HIS LIFE.

AND AZIRAPHALE'S OWN CONFUSION MELTS, LIKE THE FOUNDATION SEEPING DOWN THE SIDE OF HIS FACE, INTO UNDERSTANDING.

"You mean like a sudden rainstorm forces them together beneath the canopy. They look into each other’s eyes, and realize they were made for each other."

VAVOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

[dietraumerei]

Whumptober 2021: Passing Out

You can read this, and my other Whumptober stories, on AO3 here: Hurts So Good: A Whumptober 2021 Collection

Summary:

A very busy day leads to a spat -- and a very worrying few minutes in Crowley's life.

“Bloody hell, where've you been?” Crowley whispered. “I waited for you as late as I could!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Aziraphale puffed, sliding into her seat beside Crowley. “I was in a meeting with some delegates. Gosh they can talk.”

“All day?” Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale shot her a look. “I made it on time,” she whispered back.

“Barely,” Crowley murmured, and then they had to be quiet and listen as the priest read the blessing. She felt prickly and off; she didn't love these big court events, and had been hoping to get ready with Aziraphale. She'd waited too late and rushed and felt off; her eye makeup was wrong and she was annoyed, even though it wasn't exactly Aziraphale's fault.

Only, well, she could have begged off! She had to get ready too! And of course she looked beautiful, her gown hugging her curves. She had worn a corset even; laced her waist tightly and her bosom was soft and round, and so were her hips.

For one small, awful moment, Crowley hated her for being.

They sat quietly together, very still, neither of them sneaking a hand to hold the other, both looking straight ahead. Crowley glanced over at one point to see Aziraphale very pale with just a bright spot of colour on her cheek; she was angry too.

Good.

The prayers done, the king stood and spoke, and the visiting ambassador stood and spoke for a very, very long time. It was warm in the room, and Crowley had to work not to squirm. At least she didn't have to do anything; Aziraphale had to stand and speak her part at one point, something about sheep. Most things in Terra involved sheep.

It was hot and stuffy and Crowley was annoyed and this stupid, stupid meeting was going on forever and she hadn't seen her wife all day, and was angry at her to boot.

It was Aziraphale's turn, now, and she stood, and Crowley had to admit she was beautiful, wearing an old, very fine gown as she spoke, her trained voice carrying low and sweet through the room. She was good at being a Librarian, and they were lucky to have her.

“Last year, we had a surplus of --” Aziraphale paused, stumbling over her words. She swallowed, and touched her forehead. “Excuse me, I'm so sorry,” she said, and fell over in a dead faint.

Crowley's brain stopped, and she just – reacted. She caught Aziraphale and helped her down, fingers already on her throat, oh God oh God grant me – but of course she was still alive, her pulse fine, even as she was unconscious.

“Send for the physician,” the queen ordered someone, and in the same breath she ordered everyone to go off to a nearby room and continue business, and give the Maestra some privacy.

“Has she been poorly?” she asked Crowley, voice sharp enough to call her back to herself.

“I don't know. I barely saw her today,” Crowley said numbly. “Her corset – she's laced it so tightly...”

The queen helped Crowley turn Aziraphale onto her side, and quickly loosened the laces, but she remained still and pale.

“Oh, love,” Crowley whispered, and touched her face. “Wake up, love, please wake up for us?”

It wasn't until the physician arrived, though, with assistants and a stretcher, that Aziraphale stirred, opening her eyes slowly and groaning.

“There we go,” the physician said cheerfully, and patted her shoulder while Crowley succeeded in not crying. Four years together was enough time to get through a range of mishaps –two sprained ankles among them – and of course to be mad at one another. So she wasn't blaming herself.

Not really.

“Ngh. What happened?” Aziraphale asked, while she lay, head cradled in Crowley's lap. “Oh no,” she said in her next breath, and covered her face with her hands. “I passed out. In front of everyone.”

“Happens to the best of us,” the Queen said. “How do you feel, dear?”

Aziraphale groaned, and Crowley stroked her hair softly.

“No, really,” the physician said. “How do you feel?”

“Weak,” Aziraphale admitted. “Tired. Embarrassed. My head aches horribly. But nothing...” she shook her head and sighed. “No, I know what it is. I've not had time to eat today, and hardly to drink, and I laced myself too tightly, and it's so warm in here and just...everything.”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley said softly, and helped her sit up, discreetly closing her gown in back. It wouldn't fasten over the loosened corset, and that made Crowley frown – Aziraphale usually let her dresses out. Why was she keeping this one?

Azirpahale made a face. “Tell me about it.”

“To bed with you,” the physician ordered. “And I'll have a good meal sent up. No work until day after tomorrow, but I won't bother you – you just need a bit of rest and a good meal.”

Aziraphale smiled, crooked and sad. “Everyone saw me, didn't they?”

“Afraid so,” the queen said. “But as I said, happens to the best of us. No one's upset with you, dear. I promise.”

Aziraphale smiled politely, and finally rose with Crowley's help, and Crowley carefully kept her close by, offering her arm for Aziraphale to lean on.

They took their time going up to Crowley's rooms – for that was closer, and it would be easier for Aziraphale not to work there. And because Crowley wanted her in the big bed, able to stretch out and be easy, to rest and let Crowley amuse her.

“Well, this is one way to get you to stop being angry at me,” Aziraphale noted ruefully, as Crowley settled her on the bed and started to undress her properly. Of course, she had plenty of nightgowns here, which Crowley stole and wore regularly.

“Next time you can just apologize,” Crowley teased her gently, and touched her chin. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Aziraphale promised her. “I'm sorry I frightened you.”

“Good, you ought to be.” Crowley's gentle hands belied her words, of course, and she soon had Aziraphale stripped to her skin and then into her softest, most worn nightgown – and into bed, just as a platter with a good thick sandwiches arrived.

Aziraphale ate carefully, not bolting the food, but she nearly cleared the platter, and her eyes were so much brighter when she was done, and was just nursing a cup of tea.

Crowley had a sandwich as well, and changed into something softer and less formal before curling up with her head in Aziraphale's lap. “I'm sorry I was mad at you. It's not really your fault.”

“Thank you, love. I'm sorry I couldn't be there to get ready with you. But I'm glad you were beside me.” Aziraphale smiled, tracing the edge of Crowley's hairline with a fingertip. “Not least because I trust you to catch me nicely.”

Crowley smiled, and turned her head to kiss Aziraphale's leg. “As nicely as I could, I promise. I love you. Do you feel better?”

“I love you too.” Aziraphale's gentle touch felt almost as good as the words. They loved each other. Anything else could be handled. “And I do, thank you. I'm afraid I...gave the impression of being more poorly than I am.”

“You're still pretty poorly,” Crowley reminded her, patting her knee. “Stay in bed today. I know you'll be right as rain tomorrow, but you did faint.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I promise, I'll be a good girl today. It is nice to be able to take a deep breath and all.”

“Azi?” Crowley rolled over to look up at her, to ask about what troubled her the most. “Why were you laced so tight? That gown doesn't fit anymore, and you were hurting yourself...”

Aziraphale looked at her for a moment, and broke into a smile. “Oh, Crowley. It's because it was the only thing I had clean and appropriate, I promise. I haven't had time to let it out yet – honestly, I think that one's a lost cause, if you want me to take it in for you. I squeezed into it because I had to, that's all. I promise.”

“All right.” Crowley smiled up at her, going cross-eyed when Aziraphale tapped her nose. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Not getting any silly ideas? That's other courts, my dear, not here.” Aziraphale said. “By the by, do you want that dress?”

Crowley made a face. “Not really? It's lovely, but it...doesn't have good memories, exactly.”

“I'll give it to someone else, then. Oh, darling. I really scared you, didn't I?”

“If I passed out in your arms, you wouldn't be scared?” Crowley parried.

“Terrified. And useless.” Aziraphale cuddled over her for a moment, and kissed her forehead. “I'm sorry.”

“You can make it up to me by staying in bed and sleeping long and late as you like tomorrow,” Crowley said, curling over, petted and loved in Aziraphale's lap.

“Promise.” Aziraphale's hands still traced out gentle patterns on Crowley's hair, and they were still together, simply resting and letting the frightening memories fade ever further into the past.

[mortuarybees]

It looks like this:

Crowley stands at the counter in sweatpants and combat boots, muttering to himself as he counts out bills with hands shaking from the release of adrenaline for a bag of chips (he’s always starving after a gig) and a pack of cigarettes (Aziraphale is going to tut at him and refuse to kiss him until he brushes his teeth, but he insists the nicotine will settle him). Aziraphale is beside him, his crisp white collar smudged with lipstick; his cheek and lips are stained red.

(It looks like this:

Crowley does drag every Saturday night, and has for almost twenty years. Aziraphale has been at nearly every one of his shows, and he always sits right by the stage, always stands up to cheer at Crowley’s act, always throws a flower on the stage--when they’re both gainfully employed, he’ll buy one; when they’re not, he’ll pick one, from a rose bush outside a bank or a patch of pansies in the park, or even a weed if he must, never picked from the flowers Crowley keeps on their small and structurally unsound balcony--and when it’s over, he’ll make his way to the green room, and the moment he enters, Crowley will drop his makeup wipe and run to him, fling himself into his arms, pepper his face with kisses, dizzy with the energy of a show, and the other queens will roll their eyes and groan and hide their smiles behind makeup brushes and hands, and sometimes Aziraphale, if his back isn’t bothering him too terribly, will spin him around--he always did when they were younger, but retail is hell on the body--but he’ll always tell him he did wonderfully, he looks beautiful, it was his best show yet, and he says it so earnestly Crowley can’t help but believe him)

He holds the duffel bag with Crowley’s costume in it and his heels, because Crowley is not going to put those wretched things back on; he might’ve strutted home towering over London at twenty-five, but he’s going on forty now, he’s too old for that, and he doesn’t need heels to make his ass look great, thanks. Or so Aziraphale tells him, and that’s the only opinion that matters, he supposes. There’s glitter falling off him every time he moves; it’s in his hairline, and smeared on the bills. The cashier has worked this shift for months now, she’s used to it.

(It looks like this:

Almost every Saturday, on the walk home, Crowley begins complaining that he’s hungry, and Aziraphale will tell him that he told him so, he wanted to bring biscuits but Crowley said no, he’s cutting back on the sweets, it’s all lean greens for him, here on, just you watch, angel, I’m going vegan, and Crowley will whine until he agrees, and they’ll stop at the corner store and Crowley will pick out some junk food or another, admitting he sees now the foolishness of healthy living, who cares about sodium or sugar, everyone dies eventually, if he dies of cheese puffs, he’ll count himself lucky, and sometimes Aziraphale will get a snack cake if he’s feeling peckish, and when they go to the counter, he’ll nonchalantly ask for a pack of smokes. And Aziraphale will remind him, quite archly, that he said he was quitting, and Crowley will say, “I am, angel, just this once, i’ve gotta settle down somehow or i won’t sleep” and Aziraphale will point out he bought a pack last week, and if he isn’t smoking them, why does he need to buy another pack tonight? And Crowley, who is terrible at lying to him, will avoid his eyes and mutter about losing them or Hastur at work bumming off him on breaks, which isn’t technically a lie, the bastard.)

The florescent lights are harsh, and they look all wrong on Aziraphale, who seems to radiate a kind of warm lamplight that contrasts oddly with cold overheads, but Crowley catches his distorted reflection in the locked glass case of cigarettes, and vain as he is, he thinks they look nice on him, making the cut of his cheekbones look harsher than they are, the red of his hair bloody, the hollows between his knuckles dark. His hands look old, he thinks, like he’s lived much longer than he has.

He and Aziraphale make an odd pair, he knows, admiring them in the reflection. Aziraphale, wearing an argyle sweatervest and a plaid tie, in his tweed jacket and corduroys and round glasses; Crowley, sloppily-removed makeup staining his face, in an ONLY ANARCHISTS ARE PRETTY shirt that’s older than the cashier whose screen-printed text can hardly even be read anymore, and his flash Valentino sunglasses he found in a charity shop and loved so much they took out of their savings for, and then of course their AC window unit stopped working two days later in the middle of the heatwave, but Aziraphale swore it was worth it, handsome as he looked in them. They look odd, he knows, but he likes it. He loves it.

The cashier hands him his receipt and his change with his pack of cigarettes, and Crowley holds the door for Aziraphale on their way out. He lights a cigarette, and Aziraphale grouses at him to go and walk on the other side of the street if he’s going to be smoking one of those awful things, but he lets Crowley take his arm, lean his head on his shoulder, even takes a drag when Crowley offers him one, his lips meeting Crowley’s fingers on the filter. He’ll never accept the cigarette if Crowley tries to pass it to him, but he nearly always will if Crowley puts it up to his mouth, holds onto it himself. Crowley doesn’t know why; he still coughs and makes faces and says how awful it is, but he likes it, so he doesn’t ask.

“I wrote tonight’s song for you,” Crowley tells him in the dark street, and Aziraphale huffs a laugh; it’s more well-trod ground between them, familiar and never boring.

“You wrote I Really Like You by Carly Rae Jepsen for me?” Aziraphale teases, and Crowley nods solemnly. “How grand of you, dear, writing me another pop sensation.”

“Gotta tell the whole world,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale rolls his eyes, as if he’s joking, which won’t do, so he says, “I’m serious! I’ll tell everyone, angel,” and he raises his voice to shout into the quiet street, “I really, really, really--”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolds, but he’s laughing, “it’s one in the morning, people are trying to sleep!”

“What’re they dreaming of that’s better than what we’ve got?” Crowley says, and Aziraphale blushes at that, ducks his head to hide his smile, and Crowley takes a drag of his cigarette, pleased with himself, pleased with the man on his arm, pleased with the lipstick on his cheek that matches the stain on Crowley’s mouth, pleased with the glitter on the cigarette where he holds it between two fingers, pleased with the stamp of his old boots echoing in the street.

(It looks like this:

In the morning, Aziraphale will wake up early, bustle around in the kitchen trying his best to be quiet so he doesn’t wake Crowley on his one day off, but the kitchen as small as it is, Aziraphale as clumsy as he is, the walls as thin as they are, it’s a hopeless cause, and he’ll leave for church, and Crowley will roll into the warm spot he left in the bed. He’ll fall back to sleep with his face pressed into the pillow that smells like his shampoo, thinking that it’s a good thing he’s already got everything he might pray for and God had nothing to do with it, or else he might have to get up and go to church with all the other sorry bastards (and Aziraphale, who he thinks prays for inner peace and money and probably begs forgiveness for whatever blasphemy Crowley’s been cheerfully spewing the past week). Really, he thinks the hours are the whole reason he left the church. He could never worship a morning person.

Or at least, given Aziraphale’s tendency to wake at dawn, not another one.)

[ingravinoveritas]

Another fashion opinion post, made by request of @let-me-dream-with-the-stars​, who asked me to rank Michael Sheen/Miles Maitland’s outfits in Bright Young Things. I’m starting from the beginning of the film and covering most of the outfits (save for the one in the last scene, which is still too heartbreaking to watch).

So, without further ado, here we go...

This is possibly my favorite ensemble that he wears in the entire movie. The oversized collar and tight-fitting vest are giving serious “Aziraphale as a Shakespearean rent boy” vibes (which is also helped by whatever the hell is happening here). The dark eye and lip makeup accentuate his features beautifully and the wild curls complete the look, manic and untamed in stark contrast to the utter grace and poise with which he moves through the party, particularly after doing lines in the bathroom and walking like he is the fiercest bitch in the room (which he totally is). YAS QUEEN. 10/10.

Okay...the capelet. Again here is Michael in a garment in white that I’m not sure anybody else could pull off. I also love the shimmery blue and silver vest, jacket, and silk bow underneath, which are complemented perfectly by the blue eye shadow he is wearing. It all comes together in a very “1930s disco ball meets sassy goth grandma” way (thanks to the black nail polish and pearl earring he has on, and can we please have more roles where Michael gets to show off his piercing?). I enjoyed the glimpse we got of the long, black boots he is wearing as well, though I’m not crazy about the poofy, checked pants (maybe would’ve worked better in a different color). 9.5/10.

Oh, Michael, honey...no. I get that this is probably supposed to be how Miles dresses when he has to be in (more) polite society, but the tuxedo is just boring and sedate compared to what he’s worn before. And the HAIR. It’s some unholy combination of Crispin Glover in Willard and Steve Buscemi in The Wedding Singer and when paired with the suit makes him look like a funeral director who’d rather be at a drag show. The shaped, arched eyebrow still gives that hint of fierceness, though, and I’m glad we get a little faint eyeliner, too. 5/10.

Another flawless outfit. This is what you wear when you’re about to bottom for your closeted lover and a hay bale in a dimly-lit stable is your only option. The overcoat, jacket (with matching trousers!), and sweater pull this into a fully realized look, and the beret and sunglasses and hint of red lipstick add a delightful touch of camp to another setting where Miles perhaps can’t be as flamboyant as he’d be at a party. The sunglasses actually give me a “Thorne Jamison in the 1930s” vibe, which fits well in this era considering Michael played Thorne just a year after this was filmed. Excellent outfit overall, especially considering the jacket could look like a gingham tablecloth on anyone else. 9.5/10.

Another absolutely favorite outfit, so good I needed to include two pictures. The eyeliner, red lips, and curls draped over his forehead (shown beautifully in the first photo) make him look positively angelic. The camel overcoat works gorgeously with that hat and yellow (another color most people can’t wear) vest, and that bow tie adds delicious flair. This is top!Miles in perfect form, confidently striding over to his sexy race-car driver boyfriend to squeeze his angel botty and not giving a fuck who sees it. Only makes me wish there was a Good Omens AU with Crowley as a race-car driver who invented tinted windows because he wanted Aziraphale to suck him off while he’s driving. “What is it about boys in goggles,” indeed. 10/10.

---

So, there you have it! My officially unofficial semi-serious opinion of Michael’s outfits in Bright Young Things. If you’d like my opinion any of Michael’s other outfits (or any of David’s, or Michael and David together at any red carpet or event), feel free to comment on this post. Thanks for reading! xx

[shiplessoceans]

I keep seeing questions and commentary about the this and how it's just like the kiss in good omens and why can't they kiss properly instead of faking it and like...for real?

You think these guys agreed to be cast in a gay pirate romcom, knowing their character arcs, and somehow they are still no-homoing it so hard that they're out here aiming to miss the lips when it comes to the kissing scenes?

Alright then, have a promo still:

Fun fact, promo pictures are quite often taken during lighting and blocking REHEARSALS. This is why sometimes you'll see promo pics where a character doesn't have their full makeup or costume on yet. (See: Pic of Crowley and Aziraphale in pub where Crowley isn't wearing the glasses.)

These rehearsals are a good time to take Promotional Stills as the photographer won't disrupt or be in the way of the filming cameras, they can test how the lighting is gonna look and use a proper good quality photo camera as opposed to pulling stills from the video which would be of a different quality and shutter speed.

The above picture was most likely taken before they started rolling and while they rehearsed to work out how the scene would play out. We know in the actual episode Ed tilts his head to his left, not his right, and Stede is one who grabs him and starts to deepen the kiss. So this was taken before they'd settled on the choreography for the scene.

Which means they were potentially fully kissing BEFORE THE CAMERAS EVEN ROLLED. Or at the very least, during an earlier take that wasn't used.

Every shot used in a show is very intentional. Ed meant the kiss to be a quick, soft one and we are meant to be further away from it to appreciate that they are finally together under the moonlight in a parallel to Season 1. We don't need to be watching their lips because that's not the intention of the scene, their body language is the more important thing to depict as it shows how both of them are feeling about the kiss. Ed is only reaching forward with his head and a hand on Stede's forearm and they aren't embracing, just kissing. It's chaste, tentative, meaningful but hesitant. Then Stede leans forward and his posture changes and we realise, ah, Stede has been waiting and dreaming of this and he's not about to let a chance to be closer to Ed pass him by. Then we see Ed pull back etc.

The story point they are getting across is 'Stede and Ed are at the stage where they feel comfortable initiating kissing and being more intimate, while both understanding what that means. They also come to an understanding of how to progress physical intimacy in their relationship and that they don't want to rush things, but are clearly in love and well on their way.'

As to the reference to Aziraphale and Crowley's kiss and how it was off centre, that's perfect for what the scene was. Both Michael and David have kissed male co-stars before and it was never an issue so why was that kiss such a mess?

Tell me, in a scene where two characters are having a complete breakdown in their relationship dynamic, trust and communication, why would a sudden, surprise passionate kiss not land perfectly?

It's almost like it was on purpose. It was poorly planned, desperate, didn't connect properly and didn't resolve anything. It's a metaphor for their entire situation.

All this to say: Please give actors more credit than that. No-one signs on for a role that involves a romantic relationship on screen hoping they can flub through the touchy feely bits. You take on a role when you feel you can do it justice and that you want to tell the story from that characters perspective. You don't have to be attracted to your costar, whatever their gender may be, in order to do that.

That's why it's called acting.

Do Taika and Rhys ever actually kiss each others' lips? Maybe it's just my eyes, but it always looks like they are kissing just above or just below each others' lips lol like the moonlight shot looked like Taika was kissing Rhys' chin and Rhys was kissing Taika's 'stache

[angelofrainfrogs]

Blush

Fandoms: Good Omens

Description: It's difficult to put make-up on a ticklish angel, but Crowley is determined to get Aziraphale dolled up the human way before their date.

Rating: G

Genre: Fluff

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137629/chapters/71532234

Note: This story was written for the Ineffable Wives Femslash February 2021 event. A masterlist of all my fics posted to tumblr for this event can be found here (they’re also contained in a multi-chapter collection in the Ao3 link above).

“Angel, if you don’t stop moving around, this is never going to get done.”

“I’m sorry, my dear, it’s just—ha ha! —I didn’t realize it would tickle so much—oh!” Aziraphale let out a breathless laugh as Crowley stood up, the demon’s eyebrow raised in mock annoyance.

“I’m just doing your make-up; it’s not supposed to tickle.”

“W-Well… it does for me.” The angel pursed her lips and closed her eyes, shifting into a more upright position. “Anyway, please disregard my earlier distraction; I’ll try not to move so much. If we don’t finish up soon, I’m afraid we’ll miss our dinner reservation.”

“You know I can just stop time if we’re running late, right?” Crowley asked, but Aziraphale merely wrinkled her nose in response. The demon rolled her eyes with a loving sigh and picked up another brush and a palate of blush. She leaned forward, brush in hand, then paused.

The angel’s face was pleasantly flushed from her earlier laughter and mild embarrassment, a light pink tint to her cheeks that only served to accentuate her features. She looked absolutely breathtaking, and Crowley’s mind short-circuited.

“…My love?” Aziraphale asked after a moment, cracking one eye open to see why she hadn’t yet felt another swathe of makeup. Crowley was leaning forward, mouth slightly parted, staring at her with the most love-struck expression the angel had ever seen. “W-What is it, Crowley?”

“You’re… you’re so gorgeous,” Crowley managed to choke out. “I don’t… How did I get so lucky?”

Aziraphale’s blush deepened, and this time she was the one unable to find any words. Instead, she pulled her love into a sweet kiss, dinner plans temporarily forgotten.

The reservations would miraculously still be there a few hours later, anyway.  

[bewitchedfeathers]

A Cold Performance (Part 2/2)

[COLD PERFORMANCE PART 1 HERE]

(Please do not reblog if you are not a kink blog. Thanks!)

Crowley returns from the stage to try and get himself back together in his green room. Aziraphale comes to help tend to his poor sick love.

“Bloody Hell. Hh-Hih...Hih’GGSSHuh...ngh. Just need to to get it together before the closing act,” He muttered to himself rubbing roughly at his nose. He darted a look to the dressing room mirror and grimaced at how much of the makeup on his nose and upper lip he’d rubbed off, leaving it looking bright red. “Hh...c-come ah...on...Heh-CHUSSHoo,” His nose teased him for a moment before he let loose another sneeze towards the floor and pulled out some tissues, blowing his nose.

Aziraphale noticed Crowley rushing off stage and politely excused himself as he left before the next performance could begin, making his way backstage with the pass Crowley had given him. 

He knocked lightly on the door and heard a rough “Just a sec!” followed by the sound of two muffled sneezes. Then the door opened to Crowley looking sniffly and annoyed, which immediately changed into a brighter surprised expression when he saw who was at his door. “Angel, hey. What are you doing here? You’re gonna miss the main performance,” He said with a chastising frown.

“I’m actually here for the opening act and the closing funnily enough,” Aziraphale snarked as he stepped into the dressing room, Crowley moving to let him inside with an affectionate sigh. 

“I’m fine, Aziraphale. You don’t need to be...be back here,” He said his voice just slightly wavering as his nose gave a twitch. 

Aziraphale shot him a disbelieving look tinged with fondness. “Well I want to be here. So unless you ask me to leave because you don’t want me here. Then this is where I’ll be,” He said firmly, gently leading Crowley to sit back down in the chair he was previously occupying. Aziraphale pulled up a small ottoman and settled next to his lover.

“Don’t want you to leave,” Crowley admitted begrudgingly with another sniffle. Before Aziraphale could respond Crowley’s face collapsed into sneezy desperation, his face turning away from Aziraphale as his breath hitched wildly. “Heh….Hh...Hehhh...Gonna...g-gonna sneh-sneeze….Hehhhh-SHUH...Hh-Heh’CHUSHOO...hh...Hh’HUHAESSHuh…”

“Gesundheit, sweetheart. Here, blow your nose when you can,” He said bringing up a bunch of tissues and pressing them to Crowley’s dripping nose.

“Heh’MMPSSH-MPHSSHuh….Heh...HEH’AESSHoo...Hehhh-TCHOO...HMF’SHUH,” He sneezed into the tissues completely overcome, and Aziraphale placed a hand on the back of his lover’s neck to help steady him until he finally was able to blow his nose and get some relief from the constant tickle.

“Goodness, such a cold you have dear. Salud,” He murmured as he wiped Crowley’s nose clean with a gentle hand. 

“Christ in heaven,” He cursed under his breath, blushing bright red. “M’sorry I’m so disgusting right now. Was it...erhm...obvious when I was on stage?” He asked rubbing his nose as he looked away from Aziraphale’s soft gaze.

“No, darling. You were excellent. I wouldn’t have been able to tell if I hadn’t already known,” Aziraphale offered gently tilting Crowley’s face back towards him. He pressed a light kiss to his sick lover’s cheek, knowing Crowley would fuss over contagion if he kissed him on the lips. 

Crowley smiled back, “Thanks, angel.” 

“Now come lay down on the couch, you still have quite a while til you need to be back on,” Aziraphale said urging Crowley to stand.

“I shouldn’t, I might fall asleep and I need to fix my makeup still,” He said nibbling his lip as his anxiety showed through.

“I’ll wake you with plenty of time dear. Promise.” Aziraphale dragged him gently over to the couch and got his lover settled with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, legs draped over one of armrests. Aziraphale pet through his hair soothingly, and Crowley’s eyes drooped sleepily even as he shot his lover a look that said ‘don’t mess up my hair’.

“And I’ll fix your hair, daring,” Aziraphale said bemused as Crowley was already drifting off. Then he was left in the quiet with only his lover’s snuffling and breathy snores. He petted Crowley’s hair and watched the clock, hoping to let Crowley sleep as long as possible.

Crowley started wriggling a bit in his sleep and Aziraphale noticed him rubbing his twitchy nose against the blonde’s pant leg. Aziraphale smiled slightly down at his love in sympathy, poor thing he thought to himself.

Then Crowley’s breath hitched and he sneezed himself awake against Aziraphale’s tan slacks. “Hiiih….hh….hh-Hh..Hih’Gssshuh...Hih’Esshoo...snf Heh’TSHuh...nggh…” He groaned rubbing groggily at his nose and looking up at Aziraphale as he took in his surroundings. Then his eyes widened a bit as anxiety kicked in. “What--TSSHoo...what time is it?” He asked sitting up with a flail and another abrupt sneeze. 

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, “You have plenty of time, darling. Deep breaths. We’ll get you ready with time to spare,” He said as he took a few deep breaths himself, giving Crowley something to match his own breathing to.

Crowley let out a sigh of relief and let himself go lax in Aziraphale’s arms, his heart slowing from his initial burst of adrenaline. “Gesundheit, darling. Let me get you a tissue,” Aziraphale offered, making to get up but as Crowley made a displeased sound Aziraphale resettled with a bemused smile. “You’ll keep sneezing if you don’t blow your nose, sweetheart,” Aziraphale reminded Crowley gently. He’d seen him during the height of ragweed season and Crowley could sneeze and sneeze for ages if he failed to blow his nose.

Crowley frowned but his expression had taken on a distinctly sneezy edge, proving Aziraphale’s point. The guitarist reluctantly leaned forward to let Aziraphale get up and grab a box of tissues and bring it over just as Crowley began to sneeze. “Hh….Hehhh….Heh’KTCH-shoo...Heh’AESHuh….Hh…” Aziraphale held a few tissues to Crowley’s nose encouraging him, “Blow your nose for me, sweetheart.” Crowley blew his nose wetly and then let out a quiet sigh as the urge to sneeze faded.

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley said softly, looking up his lover with flushed cheeks, embarrassed at what a pathetic sight he must make.

“Love you, my dear. No need to be embarrassed, I’m happy to care for you,” Aziraphale murmured softly pressing a kiss to Crowley’s forehead. 

“Love you too, angel. Sure you don’t want to catch some of the show?” He asked rubbing at his nose with two fingers.

“I’m sure, darling. Let me help you with your makeup,” He said while gently guiding Crowley up and over to the vanity seat with firm implacable hands. Crowley didn’t bother protesting after that, knowing how stubborn his beloved could be. He smiled softly to himself, feeling incredibly lucky to have Aziraphale as his lover and partner in all things.

“Oh dear your nose is quite red, poor dear. Perhaps if you hold your breath while I try to cover it?” he offered without real belief that it would help when Crowley’s nose was this sensitive.

“Can’t hurt anything,” Crowley muttered and took a breath.

Aziraphale tried to move quickly but Crowley’s nose was so red it was going to take him several layers to cover and almost immediately Crowley flinched away from the brush to sneeze off to the side of the chair.

“Heh’AESHUH ...HEHHhh-AAAESSHUH….Hah’RRushoo...ugh damb it. SNF Sorry Zdira,” Crowley said stuffily, cheeks pink and eyes downcast as he struggled with feeling embarrassed over his pathetic state.

Aziraphale frowned with concern, and rubbed at Crowley’s shoulder sympathetically. He offered Crowley a tissue and the guitarist dabbed gingerly at his nose, sniffling wetly against it.

“No need to apologize, love. I’ll try to be quick, dear.” But it didn’t seem to matter even a pass of the brush over the top of Crowley’s nose set his breath hitching and he managed to hold back his sneezes only long enough for Aziraphale to pass over his nose with the powder twice before he turned to sneeze again.

“Hh...Hihhh...HIEEHSHOO...hh-Heh’TSHOO...Heh’GSShh...Bloody hell. Damb cold,” He swore his voice horribly congested. His eyes were watering from sneezing as well and he tried to dab at his eyes and nose carefully to not disturb his makeup.

“Salud, darling. Do you have any cream based concealer perhaps?” Aziraphale suggested with a worried frown.

“Ndo snf dodn’t usually like how heaby it feels on mby face,” He looked miserably down at his lap, hands picking at his nailpolish, “I’ll try dnot to sdneeze this timbe.”

“It’s alright if you can’t manage it dear. We have time, even if this takes a little longer than usual,” Aziraphale promised, heart aching as Crowley looked down at his lap ashamed at his inability to fight off a truly terrible cold.

Again the powder filled brush passed over Crowley’s nose, which was slowly becoming more skin tone as his red tender nose was covered by the makeup. His breath started hitching, face falling immediately but he tried to hold still and when he couldn’t hold back anymore he stifled as best he could trying to keep still so Aziraphale wouldn’t have to keep stopping.

“Hihhh Hh-hh...f-fuck HGXSHTuh...hh..HXTSHT...HGGSSHXT….Heh-HEHPTSSHoo,” He sneezed wetly across Aziraphale’s hand and a bit of the brush as he couldn’t manage to stifle anymore as the brush tickled and tickled his nose.

“S-sorry Ah-HAHssshuh Andgel, fuck I did’’t mbean to Heh’GGSHHuh get you. I..IIEESHUH..” His eyes were growing teary from sneezing so much and from starting to get a little emotional over how unable he was to keep his cold ridden nose in line.

“Oh sweetheart it’s alright, I know you couldn’t help it.” He bit his lip as he tried to figure out how best to help Crowley blow his nose without taking off the makeup they’d just applied.

Azirapjhale pressed the tissue up just under Crowley’s nostrils, pinching just around the skin to the sides of his nose, leaving it likely that Aziraphale’s hand would end up catching some as well. “Blow you nose, love. I’ve got you,” He said gently, rubbing Crowley’s shoulder soothingly with his free hand.

“A-hah-angel I’ll get your..your HGSHXT-guh...ha’d…” But Aziraphale just looked at him firmly and Crowley yielded just to keep from sneezing on his hand instead. He blew his nose wetly several times until finally he managed to clear the tickle from his nose for the moment and he sighed.

Aziraphale pulled his hand away when Crowley was done, trying to surreptitiously wipe off his hand with a clean tissue. “Bit better, dear?” He asked gently wiping Crowley’s eyes with a light touch of his clean hand.

“Yeah. Christ, thought I’d sneeze my bloody head off. Sorry about making a mess of things, angel” He said not quite able to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured softly, gently tilting Crowley’s face up by the chin, “You are doing just fine, my love. No need to be embarrassed by a few sneezes. I love you in sickness and in health.”

As expected Crowley took on an exaggerated offended look, “Really angel? Bringing marriage vows into this?”

Aziraphale grinned cheekily, “As is my wont when faced with my beloved’s handsome visage.”

Crowley gave a hearty sigh but his eyes had a bit more twinkle in them than before. “Such a sap, angel,” He chastised before following it with a soft affectionate, “I love you.”

“And I you, darling. Now let’s get you ready for the stage,” Aziraphale said as he settled in to take care of Crowley as well as he could for the evening. Happy to take care of his love even in less than ideal circumstances.

The End! (I think)

AN: Comments and kudos always appreciated! I also am taking prompts so feel free to message me with them or drop a comment! Thanks!