#uh oh aziraphale does not like what he finds out

[jac-is-procrastinating-again]

Chapter 6:

Aziraphale goes to the Great Library to look at the Book of Life to see what Crowley was supposed to have done to merit Falling. It makes him very uneasy indeed...

Heaven, Now

“Ah, Saraqael.” Aziraphlale hadn’t realised she was there so he jumped like a rabbit when she came out from behind one of the bookstacks. Hopefully she hadn’t noticed. “I just want to get this Crowley business out of the way before we really get stuck into the war preparations.”

“The Crowley business?” Saraqael stopped her wheelchair.

“Yes. The Metatron was saying that it might be sensible to reinstate him as an angel so we can get him in on the business at hand. Bit irregular working with a demon on the end of the world, but he’s the only one who knows humans as well as I do, of course, so he’d be invaluable…”

“To the war? Crowley?” Saraqael raised an eyebrow. “Six thousand years must have changed him. Still, he’s very capable, there’s no denying that.”

What did that mean? But Aziraphale was too conscious that the clock was ticking down, fast. He could ask questions later. “So how do we go about it?”

“Well, it’s not something that’s really been done before, reinstating an angel. There were a few compromises we made after the Great War, I think… Follow me.” Saraqael set off between the rows of shelves, through the datafiles glimmering in stacks, back to the big old hardbacks and beyond, to the scrolls and the stone tablets. She paused at one of the very early ones. “There.” She pointed her reader at the shelf and the datafile shimmered down into it. She flicked forward and back; faces flickered and jumped in the air. Lucifer, Gabriel and Beelzebub spitting imprecations at each other, Metatron looking troubled, Uriel, Michael and Crowley arguing between themselves. Why was Crowley with the Archangels? Had he been an Archangel? Aziraphale supposed he must have been though he couldn’t immediately remember the details.

“Here.” Saraqael flicked up a document. It scrolled on and on and on. “It’s not an easy thing to do but….” She scrolled to the end. “It’s not impossible. Looks like we need to start by assembling all known records of the entity involved and then going through them. If we can put together enough evidence that whatever wrongdoing has been redeemed or repented, we can assemble a panel to hear the evidence, and ultimately take it to the Metatron for approval.”

Aziraphale didn’t like the sound of that. It sounded… lengthy. “And then?”

“If it all gets approved we make the amendments in the Book of Life, and once that’s set, it all goes very easily.”

“Okay, the Book of Life. And that’s where the records are too?”

“Indeed. You prefer the actual book format to datafile, I believe?” Saraqael asked, setting off again. “I can subsection according to Crowley’s immediate contacts and impacts if you like.”

“Please.” He followed her to a wide table with an array of chairs around it.

She gestured and a large pile of books came down to rest on it. “I’m afraid you can’t take them away, but they’ll be here whenever you need them. They’ll autoplay as needed too.” A set of notebooks stacked themselves neatly in a corner along with a blue fountain pen. “Please be careful not to blot the books; it can cause a lot of trouble if it’s not authorised. Any problems, come straight to me, or if there’s anything you need. I’ll be at my desk by the door.” She started to leave.

“Saraqael?” Aziraphale hesitated.

“Yes?”

“You knew him, didn’t you? Crowley?”

She paused. “Not by that name, of course. But we worked together on the Horsehead Nebula before the Fall. Some of his best work, I truly believe. The song of the stars is quite something, and that was all him. He always did have a way with music.”

Aziraphale looked at the pile of books and found himself afraid to open them. “Were you surprised? When he Fell, I mean?”

Her face grew sad. “Yes. And no. I’d hoped it wouldn’t happen, of course, but…it was inevitable. Being who he was, it couldn’t have happened any other way.” She opened her mouth as if to say something, but visibly changed her mind, putting on a neutral expression. “I suppose that’s not something you remember? So many of us were traumatised after the Fall, we had to wipe a good few memories.” She looked away. “It was a terrible time.”

“But you remember it?”

“We’re scribes, Aziraphale. We are the ones – sometimes the only ones – who do.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked down at the notebooks in front of him. “That sounds hard. And… lonely.”

She nodded. “And yet sometimes it is all we can do, for the Greater Good. To remember what came before and do our best to make sure we learn from our mistakes.” She turned her chair. “But time is short. Feel free to call if you need anything.”

“I will,” he called after her. “Thank you.”

He sat down at the table and opened a notebook, running his finger down the join so that it lay flat. Then he opened the first book and caught his breath; a line drawing of Crowley as he had been right back at the beginning, his face open and shining with joy. He’d looked like this the first time Aziraphale had ever met him, when they fired up the Nebula together. “This is how you should look.” Not that saddened, pain-worn expression that haunted his face when his guard was down. “How did you get there from here?”

= = =

Link to the rest of the chapter:

[raz-writes-the-thing]

A Fair Few Questions

Aziraphale x Crowley x GN!Reader

In which the Reader finds out Aziraphale and Crowley are Supernatural entities and has a fair few questions for them.

Requests are: OPEN

“So… let me get this straight,” you say, “those are not coloured contacts… Zira, you’re an Angel, and Crowley is a Demon.” You blink as though it will clear the shock and confusion from your system. “And not as in cutesy pet names ‘Angels’ and ‘Demons.’ Real, biblical, Heaven and Hell ‘Angels and Demons.’” Oh, you might just faint if you weren’t careful.

Crowley sticks his bottom lip out thoughtfully for a moment, swishing his wine around in his glass. “‘Bout sums it up, yeah.” 

You let out an exasperated sound that’s not quite a word but not quite a formless sound either. Your hand comes up to rub at your forehead. A habit you’ve grown into. You were going to get wrinkles if you weren’t careful.

“I don’t- what do you mean,” you reply, frustration eating at your brain. “I have so many questions.” 

Aziraphale smiles comfortingly, patting his lap. They’re both sitting on a two seater lounge next to each other- Crowley splayed out in his usual fashion. You let out a little noise of protestion before immediately caving and going to lay across the two of them, head in Aziraphale’s lap. 

The headache immediately eases, and you wonder just how much Aziraphale had to do with it. Anything was possible, right? And now you were thinking about it, all of your aches and pains mysteriously disappeared when he was near. Odd, but suddenly making a whole lot more sense.

“Oh, my dear,” he coos, one hand coming up to play with your hair softly. “I know it’s hard to understand. Humans aren’t quite as aware of us as they used to be.” He looked to Crowley, who was downing some more of his wine ever-so-helpfully. “Crowley, love, do you remember back at the beginning- the Human’s recognised us as Angels and Demons by sight? It’s certainly not like that anymore.” 

“Mm, right,” Crowley replied, laying a hand over your legs and shifting them more comfortably for you onto his lap and not seeming a might bit bothered by the idea that humans did not recognise him by sight anymore. “You have questions, then?” 

You flustered for a moment, looking between the two of them. 

“Are you allowed to answer things?” You ask cautiously. You didn’t want to get them in trouble. Could they get in trouble?

“Uh, sure,” Crowley shrugged, setting his empty glass down on the side table. He propped his elbow on the back of the lounge so he could face towards you. 

“Is… God real?” You asked with another moments hesitation. 

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale replied, a reverent look on his face. “Most definitely, I’ve spoken with her once or twice.” 

You swallowed thickly and thought you might just move on from that line of questioning. The implications of what that meant were astronomical and way too much to focus on right now. 

“Do pets go to Heavan? Oh, please say yes.” 

Crowley chuckled and gave the outside of your thigh a comforting pat. 

“Yes, love, pets go to Heavan. I believe they have a rather nice park, too,” Aziraphale smiled, brushing his thumb between your eyebrows to ease the tension there.

“And- how old are you, really, then?” 

“Oh, we’re about six thousand years old,” Crowley says tiredly. You can empathise. Six thousand years is a long time. You’d be tired, too. You rub a hand down across your face, snuggling into Aziraphale’s tummy a little. “We’ve been here since the beginning.” 

“Since the beginning? Wait- does that mean- what about the Dinosaurs?” 

Crowley looks at you with a sly grin.

“That might’ve been us, I’m afraid, love.” You eye him in a way that says what-exactly-does-that-mean? To which he laughs, and replies, “it’s a joke Humanity hasn’t got yet.” 

You groan and cover your eyes, horrified by the information that has now been shoved at you. You don’t know what to do about any of this information. 

“Oh, dear, Crowley,” Aziraphale chuckles, looking down at you with such love. “I think we might have broke our favourite human.” 

Crowley squeezes your thigh and chuckles. “Mm, unfortunate. Might have to get a new one, eh, Angel? What do you think?”

“I rather think you might be right,” the literal Angel replies softly. You glare up at the two of them between your fingers, “but I do quite like this one.”

Crowley reaches over to pull one hand away from your face, bringing it to his lips to kiss softly. You cheeks heat at the intimate look in his eyes. His, you now realise- entirely real eyes and not at all contact covered. You lose yourself in them for a moment as he rubs your knuckles, lips pressing into the skin.

“Will you tell me something?” You ask, brushing a finger over Crowley’s cheek. “Something interesting you’ve done. I’m sure six thousand years worth of stories is a lot.” 

“Mm,” Crowley replied thoughtfully. “I suppose we do. As long as it’s not the fourteenth century. I hated the fourteenth century,” he makes a face. You filed that away to ask about another time.

“Oh, I know,” Aziraphale said, cheeks about to burst with the strength of his smile. “Shall we talk about the court of Henry the eighth?”

Crowley lets out a barely contained bark of a laugh. “Oh, yes. Now that was an interesting assignment. Bit close to the fourteenth, though,” he added with a hint of a warning.

“You’ll live,” Aziraphale brushed him off as he began to tell you all the interesting tid-bits that only someone who was there at the time could tell you about. 

The three of you talked for several hours about different eras of history. You asking questions, Aziraphale being quite factual, and Crowley adding all the juicy facts and drama into the mix to keep things interesting. 

As it turned out, they had a lot of information about a lot of things, and you were looking forward to asking them questions about everything under the sun, before the sun, and everything in between. 

Heavens, you really did love them. 

And they loved you too.

[actual-changeling]

Uh. Hi! I'm Alex and I love writing pain.

I've seen the angst war going on and I am incredibly tempted to contribute; I'm not quite sure of the rules (if there are any) so feel free to bring me up to speed. Updates will be at whatever pace is fun/doable for me, interactions, asks etc. always very much appreciated 💚

@goodomensafterdark @daneecastle @gleafer @gahellhimself-blog @vavoom-sorted-art @kotias

I will put appropriate content tags on every chapter and make a masterpost once I have a handful of posts. Please keep in mind that this series is going to deal with a heavy dose of unreality, self-injurious behaviour, substance abuse, erratic behaviour/mood swings, and more. There will be a happy ending.

Now, without further ado, the first instalment of what is going to be us following Crowley down the path of (hopefully temporary) insanity.

rest your head \\ chapter 1

(~800 w, no additional warnings)

Sleep deprivation, while usually not fatal, is not the least bit pleasant. Human brains require sleep to function—and not just their minds, either. The entire body breaks down oh so slowly as every system designed to keep it alive deteriorates without the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.

However, the actual cause of death is yet to be identified, and luckily Crowley's corporation functions on the principle of 'what it doesn't know won't kill it'.

Over the centuries, earthly indulgences have become more and more common, pleasures easily sought and found no matter where he went, although nothing ever beat a good night's (or decade's) rest. Sleep calms his mind and allows him to drift through time without a care, surrounded by ever-shifting dream clouds and the occasional vivid interference. In short, it takes away the pain, and Someone knows there is a lot to carry when he returns home for the first time in four years.

No dust had dared to settle on the furniture, and the familiar smell of damp earth welcomes him. Locking the door behind him, Crowley blindly finds his way through the corridors, kicking off his shoes as he goes and throwing his glasses onto the nearest surface. When he pushes into his bedroom, which is just as pristine as he had left it, the anger churning in his gut cools.

Home. Has he ever had a home? Once upon a time, maybe, before time had been born, surrounded by breathing nebulae and void, and then—

Eden. Him. Right, that's done.

A snap of his fingers and his clothes change into a set of silk pyjamas, the fabric brushing over his skin like liquid silver, and the black-out curtains snap shut. Darkvision is one of the advantages of being a demon, but he finds the dark has nothing to offer him today, so he closes his eyes and pulls back the sheets to curl around a pillow.

Images flicker in the pulsating emptiness left behind, piercing blue eyes and fluttering hands, a press of lips against his, words digging into his skull like tadpoles making a home within his brain matter. Electricity crawls over his slowly numbing body, urging him to disappear, to sink into nothingness and waste away until he is a dried stain on the mattress. 

No one will come looking for him, after all.

Maybe the world will be brighter once he wakes, the pain duller, the loneliness less aching and all-consuming. Within his chest bleeds a hollow, jagged wound, dripping black blood and drowning the radiant remnants of Aziraphale's presence; his essence is familiar, it's- home. 

Crowley does not need to sleep, yet somewhere between Rome and the present, he had forgotten about it, his corporation shifting and changing, craving rest and punishing him for its absence. It will not kill him, it does not even occur to him that it might, but there are countless fates worth than death and he is already living one of them. What's another added to the mess his life has become?

His nails dig into the pillow case, his consciousness choking on the scorched battlefield of the day, but no matter how hard he tries, how desperately he commands his body to bend to his wills, sleep refuses to come. A new, different kind of pain rises, worse than fatigue and infinitely more addictive. Its sting is battery acid on his tongue, infusing him with a restlessness that is scratching on his bones, and when blue irises keep mocking him behind closed lids, he forces his eyes open, turns onto his back, and stares at the ceiling, waiting.

Light wanders and shifts, barely visible through the heavy fabric adorning his windows, and it dips behind the horizon before reappearing on the other side. Crowley stares at white paint and counts the moving dots gradually clouding his vision, absently pressing his knuckles against his sternum over and over—whether to calm himself or to chase away mental pain with physical is beyond his awareness. 

Both, neither, maybe. 

His too-human body protests and whines, and once he begins to see blue shadows in his periphery, Crowley bites his tongue and gets up. Coffee will help, then a hot shower, and yelling his plants back into order is going to occupy most of his afternoon anyway, so what's a night without sleep?

The next one will bring him the rest he needs, and Aziraphale's eyes will stop striking him down whenever he blinks. He is alone now (alone in London, alone on earth, his chest constricts and twists at the thought, stealing his breath) and he will have to get used to it; it'll be fine eventually, right?

—

Three days later Crowley is staring at his bedroom ceiling, impatient, restless, exhausted, and attempting to chase away the bone-white teeth hovering underneath lightning-blue eyes.

"Fine, have it your way," he snaps eventually, his voice too loud in an empty room, and feels the smile breathing down his neck all the way to the kitchen.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello dear mods!! This is kind of a random, oddly specific ask but do you have any fics where one of our lovely Ineffable Husbands uses really cheesy pickup lines?

I’m a sucker for cheesy pickup lines, and I’ve come across one or two in the wilds of ao3 and they were hilarious and adorable.

Human au/other aus or just regular Angel and Demon are perfectly fine!! Thank you!! <3

Hey! Here are some fics with pick up lines for you...

If I told you you had a nice body, would you hold it against me? by involuntaryorange (T)

After several months of mounting frustration, Crowley turns to the internet. Humans seem to have figured out relationships, he reasons; or, at least, they’ve figured out how to get into them, and that’s the part he needs help with. An hour of googling and two rather nice bottles of pinot noir later, he has a plan. a.k.a. the one where Crowley decides to try out some pick-up lines.

Did it hurt? by madlysanecatlady (T)

An exercise in shitty pickup lines.

do him! by orphan_account (T)

Crowley is an astronomer who does a side gig as a stand-up comedian on Fridays. One Friday he sets out to introduce a new segment to his routine, a bit where he makes fun of the audience's expense. Though when he's asked to make fun of a gorgeous man, he says something brash and regrets it, and then later goes to introduce himself and apologize to the kind man. - “Hello there!” Crowley said, chastising himself for being too loud when the man jumped. “Oh, hello. Er, may I help you?” The man said. “Uh, yeah. I’m Crowley.” He said, reaching his hand out to shake. “Aziraphale,” the man said, taking it. “I just wanted to apologize for making that joke, it was wrong of me to cross a boundary like that. I was simply caught in the moment and I thought you looked pretty. I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable that you had to run out.” Crowley said.

Wingman by writeonclara (T)

“Do you understand what will happen to you if you don’t smash your demon buddy? And since you’re”—Gabriel paused to search for the proper adjective to encompass all of Aziraphale’s Aziraphaleness, then settled on—“you, God commanded me to help you. And buddy, you need all the help you can get.” Or: Gabriel’s assigned to be wingman for Aziraphale to keep him from Falling. He’s about as good at it as you’d imagine.

The Pumpkin Patch by AppleSeeds (T)

Aziraphale visits a pumpkin patch and meets Crowley, a farmer with a fondness for cheesy seasonal pick-up lines. After a while, he starts to get the impression that Crowley might actually be flirting with him, and tries to work up the courage to reciprocate.

The Steps to Courting an Angel by ReginaPapilio (G)

Crowley entrusts his love life to a "Love Guide" upon finding it in Aziraphale's bookshop. Now he just needs to follow it until the angel is finally his, but things don't go his way that easily.

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan (E)

"All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?" Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval.  "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening."  AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it.

- Mod D

[avocado-writing]

Could I request some reader/Gabriel, or reader/Jim? Either with Gabriel’s musings over falling for/being fascinated with a human(?) partner, or reader and Jim indulging in soft courtship and just being idiots in love with each other? Thank you so much for doing these, love your writing so much! 💛

this was fun! I love jim 💕 enjoy!

Jim x reader w/ background aziraphale x Crowley

The first time Jim hears you singing, he’s the only customer in the coffee shop. Aziraphale trusted him with a ten pound note and an order in his head. You clearly don’t even realise that he’s there, you simply belt along with the music you have gently playing over the speakers as you set up the espresso machine. 

It’s lovely. He’s so enchanted by it all he can do is listen. 

When you turn, you yelp. A look he doesn’t realise crosses your face - it’s embarrassment - and you bristle. 

“How long have you been standing there?”

He blinks, put off by your hostility. 

“Not long,” he states. You still seem to want something more from him. He doesn’t know what it is, so instead he offers the truth. “I like your voice. What song is it?”

You seem surprised by that, and it drops your guard and your irritation. 

“You don’t know this song? It’s pretty famous.”

Jim shrugs. 

“No.”

“It’s Take A Chance On Me by ABBA,” you tell him. Jim listens to the music for a bit, enjoying the tune, then smiles at you. 

“I like it more when you sing it.”

You’re a bit taken aback but finally end up smiling. 

“That’s very kind, uh…?”

“Jim.”

He reads your name off your employee badge and commits it to memory, only to find he’s totally forgotten the drinks order. 

🪽 

He next hears you sing when you’re closing up a few weeks later, but it’s okay - he works there too now. Aziraphale let him get a job there under the promise he’d behave. And he does. He’s quite a natural at it, actually, he enthuses about the coffee to every customer who comes through the door and they’re happy to chat with him. 

And he’s pretty easy on the eyes which doesn’t hurt. 

You’re singing under your breath, he can hear the music you have playing quietly on your phone. As he wipes down the tables, he peers over your shoulder. 

“Is this ABBA too?”

You laugh, not unkindly. 

“Huh? Oh, no. This isn’t ABBA. This is I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston.”

“Oh.” He listens to a few bars. “I like this one too, I think.”

You take it easy on him. Apparently he has amnesia, so that’s probably why he doesn’t remember a lot of music. You start the song again, louder this time for him, and hum along to it. 

He listens to your voice more than the song, and finds himself getting a strange fluttery feeling in his chest. When he goes home and asks Aziraphale about it, he’s told it might be affection. 

🪽 

He listens to the radio a lot when he’s in the bookshop now. 

The classical stations, the oldies, the top 40. All of it. He listens and he listens. He makes a mental note of what he’s heard you singing, because those are the ones he likes the most. He uses the internet - under watchful supervision - to research the artists he knows you enjoy. He likes to be able to keep up a conversation with you, likes the way you light up when you talk.  

He likes you. 

🪽 

“Are you sure about this, angel?” Crowley asks, narrowing his eyes. Aziraphale straightens Jim’s tie. 

“Yes, I think it’s a perfectly lovely idea.”

When Jim suggested he would quite like to ask you out to dinner, Aziraphale had decided it would probably be fine, under the condition that if you declined he wouldn’t bother you about it again. Jim didn’t know much about human culture but understood that it was frowned upon to pursue someone who said no, so agreed. 

And now here he was. In his little suit Aziraphale had loaned him. A bunch of flowers in his hand. Waiting for your shift to end. When he sees you coming out of the shop and locking up, Aziraphale sends him off with an encouraging pat on the back. 

He and Crowley watch from the window. 

“If he remembers who he is, this could turn into a nightmare.”

“Perhaps. But look at them, they make each other so happy. I think… maybe they both deserve that.”

Aziraphale loves love, and Crowley loves Aziraphale, so keeps his mouth shut and watches the scene unfold. 

[evilasiangenius]

“Aziraphale, a celestial harmony is literally just one note.”

“So? Perfect unison is a musical interval.”

“Yes, and absolutely the most boring one. If I had to go Upstairs and sing that one note again forever and ever for all eternity, I would rather sit around rotting in Hell for all eternity. At least Downstairs we have twelve-tone rows. Oh, and the diminished fifth. Or is it the augmented fourth? Whatever it is they call a tritone, I don’t remember the human names for these things-”

“May you be forgiven,” Aziraphale said and the bland, polite smile on his face set Crowley’s teeth on edge.

“Yeah. Well. That's not going to happen.” Crowley sighed, crossing his arms as if hugging himself. “I...was hoping. That maybe we could finally have breakfast-”

“At this hour?” Aziraphale chuckled. “It’s already past noon, my dear. It’s far too late for breakfast."

“Yeah, well,” Crowley shrugged. He did not look at Aziraphale; he did not want to get his hopes up. “Thought I’d ask. Lost track of time, I suppose. Erm, what about lunch?”

“No,” Aziraphale said reflexively, and then he frowned, expression troubled. “Wait. I suppose lunch can’t hurt, even if it is with the Adversary. We should probably have a meeting anyway to discuss the current situation and where our respective sides stand. And we could do that over lunch. Well, a quick lunch, that is. What are you in the mood for, Crowley?”

Crowley’s breath caught at the familiar question and it took him a moment to get the right words out, the words that he had planned on saying. “How about...lobster and celery salad? With French fried potatoes?”

A sudden sharp expression of pain crossed Aziraphale’s face, and he pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh.”

“Angel, are you all right?”

“Yes, I…” Aziraphale tried to smile, bravely. “I-I-I don’t know what came over me. I must be...having a Moment. But I’m not sure why. Oh dear, I’m so sorry-”

Crowley offered him his hand. “Do you want me to-”

“N-n-no. Please. Don’t touch me. That would be...absolutely untoward and unfitting. Unsuitable. After all, besides being a demon, you are the Representative for Hell.”

“Yeah. I am.” Crowley’s hand fell lax to his side.

“Lunch! Luncheon…” Aziraphale said, an artificial smile plastered painful, brittle upon his face and yet the cracks showed through anyway and so he took out his handkerchief to brush away tears that had somehow come unbidden to his eyes. The strength of such a sudden upwelling of strong emotion was confusing, and so the angel tried to ignore it. “W-where does one have such a dish for lunch? It seems more like something you’d find on a holiday…?” The words ran out and Aziraphale turned away from Crowley as tears streamed from his eyes.

“Ah, ah…” Crowley panicked, not knowing what to do, wanting to take Aziraphale in his arms and comfort him but knowing that would probably scare off the angel. “I uh, found a place while you were...erm, out of town. They make it with freshly broiled lobsters. I hear they turn the shells into soup, but I’m not sure how that works. Do they grind it up? Is that a thing, ground-up shells soup? Anyway, the salad’s quite tasty. Especially if you mix the French fried potatoes in the sauce that comes with the lobster. Come on, let’s go angel. The car’s parked out front but- oh, why don’t we walk? It’s a lovely day for a walk...”

x

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 16!!!

My friends! I have heard your cries! You are worried about Muriel and yearn to know what has become of them! Rest assured, they are in this installment.

Let's do this.

Beginning || Previous || Next

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

After a moment of commiserative silence, Sardis gets up to go to the bar for another round of drinks. He says sometimes magic just isn’t as good as a properly mixed drink, and leaves. You’ve barely had a sip of your fishbowl.

Jesus is a 13 year-old boy who is white and rich and lives in Los Angeles with his rich parents. The world is doomed.

Your brain is still simmering in the sauce of despair when Anathema suddenly leans in close, pushing glasses to the side as she does. She gets as close to the middle of the table as she can, and you look her up and down because you’re pretty sure the table is sticky (and you’re too scared of the answer to wonder why).

“Okay, listen,” she says urgently, “I need to tell you before Sardis gets back. I got a call from Newt. Muriel’s missing.”

Whatever you were expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. You feel like you’ve suddenly been dropped into ice water. Muriel’s….missing.

“Missing how exactly?” asks Crowley.

“Like missing missing,” Anathema says. How is it that something so vague can clarify her meaning so well? “They went to see a movie, and Muriel just disappeared. He hasn’t been able to find them anywhere.” You don’t have the words to speak yet, but the expression you turn towards Anathema seems to be enough for her. “Listen,” she says to you, “They had every reason to think that it would be okay. The Metatron was after us, remember? He wants us.” You turn your eyes back to the table, wishing that Anathema hadn’t moved your drink away. You could really use something to hold on to right now.

“Right,” Aziraphale begins in a take-charge kind of way, “Tell him that there’s a summoning circle on the floor in my bookshop--”

“-- He tried that already. He says he just got voicemail, and...uh...dial-up.” You’re not looking but you can feel Anathema’s expression without seeing it. Who in the universe still uses dial-up??

“Oh,” Aziraphale sounds deflated.

“Maybe they just popped out to the shop?” Crowley suggests. The question sounds ridiculous and even sarcastic, but what he means is maybe they’re okay and not actually in any trouble at all, and maybe they’ll come back safe and sound and everyone will have a good laugh about it later.

“I mean, it’s possible,” Anathema answers, apparently also understanding what Crowley meant, “But honestly, I don’t think it’s likely.”

“Well regardless,” says Aziraphale, “I highly doubt the Metatron would do anything to harm Muriel. Heaven doesn’t work that way, least of all him.”

“No,” agrees Crowley, “They usually outsource that sort of thing to Hell. Might be able to twist an arm and find out if they...ah...mmm…know anything.” You haven’t looked up yet, but you’re pretty sure Crowley noticed that you haven’t said anything halfway through that suggestion.

Muriel is missing. Your friend. Your wholesome, lovely friend, who came to earth dressed like a lighthouse and who you persuaded to adopt argyle. Your friend who spun around to music with you even though they don’t dance. Your friend who watched the first time you had to calm yourself down from a panic attack and gave you a button to help you with the next one. It’s still in your pocket, you remember. You pull it out and stare at it in your palm. A good large-but-not-too-large plain green button. A good thing to fiddle with whenever you’re anxious. Suddenly you feel tears around your eyes, and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you can’t exactly fight them back. The most you can do is keep yourself from sobbing with worry. Everyone else is still discussing what to do.

“Listen,” Anathema is saying, “I know it’s hard, but we can’t stop saving the world to go back and look for them. The Metatron could be using Muriel as bait for all we know, and we’d be playing right into his hands.”

“Well surely we can’t just leave poor Muriel either,” Aziraphale replies.

“No,” Anathema responds, “I suggested he call Adam. If anyone can help him, Adam can.”

“Do you think” You finally say, “that Muriel knows? That they know we’re coming to find them?”

“I don’t know,” Anathema sighs, “I like to think that they know us well enough to have hope. Wherever they are.”

“Perhaps we could send them a message,” Aziraphale suggests.

“Mmnn,” Crowley seems to agree, “We need to make sure it’s something the Metatron wouldn’t pick up on. Like a secret code or something.”

The three of them start to discuss what kind of message or code you could all send Muriel. Meanwhile, the only thing you find yourself able to do is fidget with the button. The debate has gotten the other three nowhere when a lightbulb goes off. The button.

In dramatic fashion that only Crowley could match, you slam the button on the table. Everyone stops their discussion to watch as you grab the miracle enabler out of your pocket and tear off the number 2 with your teeth. As you spit it to the side, you watch and notice that it stays gone. The miracle went through. Anathema blinks.

“Okay,” she starts, “First of all, I get that you’re upset and that’s perfectly reasonable. But this stuff is important so next time can we please forgo the dramatics and discuss with the group first?”

“Sorry,” You say, even though you’re not.

“What message did you send them?” Crowley asks. In response, you hold up the button.

“You see this? Muriel gave this to me before we left. To help me with my panic attacks. As...as comfort.”

“Okay...” Crowley says. You see Anathema and Aziraphale exchange a look.

“So I sent them an exact copy,” You finish.

“That’s rather clever,” Aziraphale sounds impressed.

“Yeah, not bad.” Anathema agrees. “But next time please tell us first.” You nod in agreement and take a sip of your drink just as Sardis returns with more for everyone else.

Hang tight Muriel, you think to yourself, or Muriel if they can somehow hear you, We’ll find you. We won’t leave you on your own.

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

Muriel scrivened away at their desk. It was hard to come back to scrivening after having such a lovely time on Earth, but they had been told it was an emergency and that they would be able to come back later once everything had been sorted out. Muriel hadn’t realized that what they’d meant was paperwork. They looked around their office and sighed. Every square foot of it was covered with teetering towers of file folders, leaving no way to see anything else. Not that there was anything else to see ever, it was Heaven after all. They had so much to catch up on.

“How are you doing in here, Muriel?” came a voice from among the towers of folders. Muriel jumped in surprise.

“Oh! Ah, I’m doing alright Metatron,” they answered, “It’s a lot to get through, but I’m starting to make some headway I think!”

“That’s excellent!” The Metatron replied. He wound his way through the stacks until he could see Muriel’s face. He smiled kindly. “I really am so grateful that you were able to return and lend us your help. As you can see, things have gotten a little out of hand in your absence.”

“Yes,” Muriel said, “Of course, Metatron! I didn’t realize that I was leaving everyone with so much. Please pass along my apologies to them.” The Metatron nodded with a thoughtful hum.

“It is the nature of our work, Muriel,” he said, “That we do now know or understand our own importance or place in the workings of things while we are doing them. It is not for us to know, after all! But when someone strays from their role, when they leave for a time and their absence is felt, then we often find out just how vital we are. Not one of us is a ‘nobody,’ we are all incredibly important in the workings of God.”

Muriel nodded. “Yes, Metatron, of course!”

“Ah Muriel,” Metatron said fondly, “You are a most diligent and dedicated soul. Be well assured that the Almighty knows just how grateful we are for you and your continued contributions.”

“Oh! The Almighty?! Really?? Wow! Thank you Metatron!” Muriel sat in awe. They had always thought that they were nobody really. But this whole time they had been so important that even God knew! Muriel looked around at the endless towers of files with new inspiration and purpose. If God knew that they were valuable, then they must do their very best to live up to it! “Don’t worry, Metatron, I’ll get all this sorted out!”

Only…

“I have utmost faith in your abilities, my dear,” Metatron began, “And yet I do sense a small seed of doubt. Is it perhaps something I can help you with?”

Muriel nearly jumped again. Could he read minds? How had he known?

“It’s nothing really,” Muriel said sheepishly, “It’s only...I wish I could have said goodbye. Newt must have been so worried for me to just leave so suddenly. My friends might all be very worried about me.”

“Well why would they be worried?” The Metatron asked jovially, “You’ve come back home! You’re much safer and happier in Heaven than you could be anywhere on Earth.” He looked at Muriel’s unconvinced expression, and relented to a thoughtful smile. “Although I suppose we could send them a message for you. Let them know that you are perfectly alright, and have returned at our request to save us from all of this,” he waved his hands to gesture at the mountains of paperwork. Muriel brightened.

“Oh that would be wonderful! Very kind of you, really Metatron. Thank you ever so much.”

“My pleasure, my dear Muriel,” Metatron cooed, “I shall be back to check on you later, shall I?”

With that, he left and closed the door.

“Ah! Metatron!” Saraquel called to him, speeding over, “Your Grace,” she nodded her head in deference, “Is there anything you would like for the Scriveners to...well...scriven? All of our paperwork has been redirected elsewhere and now I have scores of angels with nothing to do.”

“There is always something to do, Saraquel,” the Metatron smiled kindly, “I have the utmost faith in your abilities to lead. As always.” And he left.

Back inside the office, Muriel was beginning to feel much less...enthused. Now that Metatron was gone, the fatigue of tedious work was returning. There was just so much to do. And to think they had left all the other scriveners with all of this. They felt terrible for that. This was…horrible. This was...just so overwhelming. Muriel took a selfish moment to drop their head into their arms. This felt endless. For a short time, Muriel focused on breathing, before a small clatter made them look up. There was a green button on their desk. Carefully, Muriel poked at it. It was definitely a material object. How strange! They picked it up and examined it for a moment before recognition hit them. Oh! They knew what this was! They had given a button just like this to their new friend! The one that God had sent to help save the world with Aziraphale and Mr. Crowley! A smile of relief spread across Muriel’s face, and despite themselves they hugged the button close like it was the most precious thing in all of Heaven. Thank God. The Metatron had sent them a message, and now they knew everything was alright. For a minute there, Muriel had been worried that he wouldn’t.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[edosianorchids901]

Where You Go, I Go

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "a fool's quest"

On some level, Crowley was always waiting for Aziraphale to contact him. It might be months, years, or even decades between their encounters, but that didn’t matter. While he went about his job and exploring Earth and trying new forms of alcohol, he still waited.

The instant he got the message this time, he happily dropped his boring assignment to inspire gambling and rushed off to meet Aziraphale at a little tavern on the outskirts of Florence. It was a decent tavern, with good wine, but not nearly as high class as Aziraphale’s usual choice of establishment. That alone made Crowley curious.

He got even more curious when he spotted Aziraphale. The angel seemed to be in disguise. Still his usual colors, mostly beige of various shades and a bit of blue. But it wasn’t nearly as fancy as his usual outfits.

“What’s this about?” Crowley asked as he approached. “You look like you’ve gotten a role in a play as a… a… wealthy farmer?”

“Shh! No one can know that I’m not a farmer.” Aziraphale looked around, and Crowley shook his head. “I’m undercover.”

It was all Crowley could do not to laugh as he sat down. He put on his best serious expression and sniffed the wine. It was an expensive vintage, at least for this part of town. “Really?”

“Mhm. Quite successfully so far, although I’m afraid I did have to use a few teensy-weensy little miracles to convince people that I wasn’t a French spy.”

“Shoulda just tried speaking French at them,” Crowley said in his most serious tone. “That definitely woulda convinced them.”

Aziraphale pouted at him. “Crowley, you’re very rude.”

“Yup.” After a gulp of the wine, Crowley lifted an eyebrow. “So. I’m guessing you’re not here on one of your language learning kicks.” Aziraphale cycled through those every few centuries, although he had a fondness for various versions of French. He was terrible at it, and at every language he tried to learn the hard way. “What’re you up to?”

“Well. Do you remember that book I talked about?”

Crowley stared at him. Aziraphale didn’t seem to understand why he was staring. “No. Can’t say I remember one specific book out of the sea of them.”

“Oh. I suppose there is that.” Widening his eyes theatrically, Aziraphale learned forward. “Everyone said it was a fool’s quest, but I’ve found it.”

“It?”

Aziraphale went off on an extended ramble that ranged from Rome to Constantinople to Baghdad, and finally to Florence. Crowley listened, trying not to be impatient. He always enjoyed being with Aziraphale, even if it involved listening to an incredibly boring story about a book being copied about a million times.

But when Aziraphale detoured onto talking about book binding, Crowley finally intervened. “Angel. What does this have to do with you pretending to be a farmer?”

“Oh! I suppose I should explain.” Aziraphale chuckled, glanced around surreptitiously again, and spread his hands wide. “I’ve tracked down what, as far as I can tell, is the last copy of the book. I remember reading a few of the stories when they were being written, and they were wonderful. But I thought they’d all been destroyed at one point or another.”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley still wasn’t getting it. Then it clicked. “Ohh, hang on. Does the book happen to be in the private collection of some guy or other who own farms?”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Yes! Isn’t it clever?”

Crowley never thought Aziraphale was foolish for his quests to find books that seemed to have all been destroyed. Copies of stuff turned up all the time. This, though? This was foolish.

“I can think of about a billion ways it could go wrong,” he said, unimpressed.

“Goodness, yes. I can too.” The bright smile on Aziraphale’s face never failed, which was incredibly suspicious. “But I know a way we can avoid that!”

“What?” Crowley barely got the word out before it clicked. “Wait, no. Nonono, I am not joining you on your bloody quest to pretend to be a farmer so you can steal a book from someone. That’s ridiculous, Aziraphale, even for you.”

“I wouldn’t be stealing the book! You would.” Aziraphale pouted at him, eyes big and pleading. “And you wouldn’t be pretending to be a farmer, obviously. You’d have to a member of the household staff or something.”

“No.”

The pout intensified. “Please?”

And there it was. Just as Crowley was always waiting for Aziraphale, he was always waiting for that, too. A chance to help. To be needed.

He sighed, resigned, and Aziraphale clapped his hands with delight. “Oh, good. I knew you’d agree. It’ll be awfully fun.”

Crowley highly doubted that it would be particularly fun. Heists were a lot less fun to do than they were to hear about in stories, since actually doing it involved the possibility of being stabbed or something. But it did involve spending a lot of time with Aziraphale, and that made it worthwhile.

[zero-is-nebulous]

Uuuh here's my art dump for the reverse omens au I made

I can't remember which artist came up with the moth demon Aziraphale but credit goes to them, I just liked it and decided to run with it (I'll see If I can find them to drop a name sometime l8r)

Text ver under the cut

Aziraphale - really a quite terrible demon (original temptor)

Moth broach

Walking stick

Same outfit p much

Hair pattern silly

Majic man style coat

Eyes...

Moth antenna

Raphael - bored Archangel, human expert and healer (Crowley)

Outcast Archangel

Azi's pocket watch

Moth pendant

Devious smirk

How 2 draw skinny jeans?

Shoes...

Snake tattoo

(Text pages at the end, typed out below)

The story goes like this...

Aziraphale, thinking that keeping the diffrent between right/wrong from life is silly. He believes it's the right thing to do to introduce it to the humans. He is past looking to the all-mighty for morality, and really just does what he thinks is right. He disguises himself as an angel to offer the fruit to Adam + eve, and then discorporates the angel of the Eastern gate (unnamed angel, soon to be demoted for being bested so easily) to give the humans their flaming sword. He watches them go from the top of the Eastern gate, now non-disguised

Archangel Raphael is bored, hating how heaven is run but not wanting to ask questions after the fall of their last 'example'. He loves his stars, and wishes the world would be as interesting as them. He often visits the garden, so he sees Aziraphale on the wall and, bored, goes to be nosey

Crowley: the principality for this post taking a break?

Aziraphale: looks it, doesn't it? Whoever they were, they did quite an awful job. The humans are already a mile beyond the wall. Perhaps heaven is doing it all wrong then, hm?

It turns out, demons are quite talkative. And interesting

Crowley: hm, so you're saying you don't know what happened here?

Aziraphale: not a single clue. I suppose that's to be expected though, no?

Crowley: oh? What makes you say that?

Aziraphale: well, it's as she said. I'm not quite meant to ask questions. Her plan is ineffable, after all

Crowley: ineffable?

Aziraphale: quite. Silly, isn't it?

Crowley: I never said a thing, uh,

Aziraphale: Aziraphale

Crowley: Aziraphale

Crowley: how tf did u get captured by the Spanish inquisition?

(Dressed 2 the nines)

Crowley: I'm gonna myrical u outa this bc I have a heavenly duty but let it be known I think you're one of the dumbest motherfuckers I have ever met

Aziraphale: teehee

(No longer a fashion icon)

Crowley: dramatic ass demon

Sorry this is so terribly layed out tumblr kept changing it after I posted

[ahyesmygoodomenssideblog]

Why Crowley leaves.

Crowley walks out of multiple fights and the reason why matters.

In the bandstand scene, Crowley and Aziraphale are unable to reach agreement about what they're going to do once they find the Antichrist. Aziraphale by that point knows exactly where the Antichrist is, but he chooses to hide it from Crowley. The crux of their disagreement is not about whether to kill the Antichrist - Azriaphale is on board with that much - but he thinks he's too good to be the one getting his hands dirty:

A: And then what? We eliminate him? C: Someone does. I'm not personally up for killing kids. A: You're the demon. I'm the nice one. I don't have to kill children. C: Uh-uh-uh- A: If you kill him, then the world gets a reprieve and Heaven does not have blood on its hands. C: Oh, no blood on your hands? That's a bit holier-than-thou, isn't it? A: I am a great deal holier than thou. That's the whole point.

That is when Crowley first tries to leave. But Aziraphale asks him not to, so he doesn't.

C: This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous. I don't even know why I'm still talking to you. A: Well, frankly, neither do I. C: Enough, I'm leaving. A: You can't leave, Crowley. There isn't anywhere to go. C: It's a big universe. Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we can go off together.

Crowley tries to talk to Aziraphale. He tries to communicate. Aziraphale refuses to listen. He doubles down. He says terribly hurtful things to Crowley and he is the one to end things. That is when Crowley leaves for real:

A: Go off together? Listen to yourself. C: How long have we been friends? Six thousand years! A: Friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common, I don't even like you! C: You do! A: Even if I did know where the Antichrist was, I wouldn't tell you, we're on opposite sides! C: We're on our side! A: There is no "our side", Crowley! Not anymore. It's over. C: Right. Well, then. Have a nice doomsday.

Crowley was 100% in the right. He stays as long as Aziraphale is willing to talk. Right up until "It's over."

This is a direct parallel to their fight over Gabriel in s2e1. Crowley imo is once again being far more reasonable about it than Aziraphale.

Angel, this is the supreme archangel of all Heaven, your former boss, who tried very hard to cast you into hellfire and destroy you. He is not our friend.

There are similarities where Aziraphale wants to keep trying to help others while Crowley prioritizes protecting himself and Aziraphale. It's more murky here than in the bandstand scene because at the bandstand, Azriaphale is withholding crucial information from Crowley. Crowley thinks they're out of options because it's the night before the apocalypse and he's left waiting for Shadwell to find the Antichrist. The setup with the Gabriel situation is more even about their different approaches.

But in the end it still comes down to the fact that what Crowley wants just doesn't matter.

A: Well, he doesn't have any friends, so he needs us. C: What I need is for him to be nowhere near me, and the precious, peaceful, fragile existence that I have carved out for myself here. A: I thought we carved it out for ourselves. C: So did I!

Aziraphale sees this as them working together, but it's not, and Crowley knows it. It's just Aziraphale's way or the highway. The way this fight ends, and the reason Crowley leaves this time is:

A: Very well. If you refuse to help me, then of course... you're at liberty to go. C: To go? Oh, right, this is how you wanna do it? A: No, I would love you to help me. I'm asking you to help me take care of him. But if you won't, you won't. C: Yeah, I won't. You're on your own with this one.

Once again, it isn't just Crowley unilaterally deciding to leave. Just like at the bandstand, Aziraphale is the one drawing the line in the sand. Crowley can either give Aziraphale exactly what Aziraphale wants, or there's no point in talking about it at all. What Crowley wants just is not a factor to Aziraphale.

And Crowley recognizes this pattern. They've done this before! "This is how you wanna do it?" Aziraphale comes off so sleazy here. I don't think he means to be manipulative, but he really is. He would ~love~ for Crowley to help him; he would love for Crowley to help him take care of Gabriel. But if Crowley doesn't give Aziraphale what he wants, then Crowley is the one choosing not to help. Right? If Crowley "refuses to help", he is "at liberty to go".

Crowley's concerns about their safety aren't worth discussing at all. Aziraphale won't budge. Crowley leaves.

(And Aziraphale is arguably straight-up taking advantage of the fact that Crowley likes to help him here. He knows how much Crowley wants to help him. "Rescuing me makes him so happy.")

Anyway, they then continue to play out the same pattern as before.

After the bandstand fight, Crowley kills time at the movies. Hastur and Ligur confronts him about losing the Antichrist. They are out of time. Crowley goes back to Aziraphale.

C: Angel! I'm sorry. I apologise. Whatever I said, I didn't mean it. Work with me, I'm apologising here. Yes? Good. Get in the car. A: What? No. C: The forces of Hell have figured out it was my fault. But we can run away together. Alpha Centauri. Lots of spare planets up there. Nobody would even notice us. A: Crowley, you're being ridiculous. Look, I-I-I'm quite sure if I can just– just reach the right people, then I can get all this sorted out. C: There aren't any right people. There's just God, moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us. A: Well, yes, and that is why I'm going to have a word with the Almighty, and then the Almighty will fix it.

Once again, Crowley's concerns about safety don't matter. He tells Aziraphale "The forces of Hell have figured out it was my fault" and Aziraphale does not address that at all. Aziraphale is too preoccupied with his deeply flawed perspective. Crowley can't convince him, so he leaves again:

C: That won't happen. You're so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid? A: I forgive you. C: Oh… I'm going home, Angel. I'm getting my stuff and I'm leaving. And when I'm off in the stars, I won't even think about you.

Now with s2, I am extremely curious to know how often Aziraphale has tried to weaponize forgiveness against Crowley. Like, Crowley is completely in the right about this. And it is such a shitty thing to say, it reinforces the idea that Aziraphale thinks he's better than Crowley. Crowley is a demon and Aziraphale is an angel and that power differential matters. It affects their relationship.

Anyway, the Gabriel fight. Things change when Beelzebub talks to Crowley. One difference is that Crowley is in a better position this time. Beelzebub makes him an offer: "You find Gabriel for me and you can have whatever your nasty little heart desires. You could be a Duke of Hell." And Crowley doesn't even consider it, which is correct and the best approach because Hell and Heaven both suck. It is also extremely sad fresh off the heels of Crowley trying to protect the fragile existence he carved out for himself because he can't even seem to convince himself that him and Aziraphale are on their side at this point. Crowley is just going it alone.

That's beside the point. The point is, once again, the stakes raise. "Anyone found involved in Gabriel's disappearance will be erased from the Book of Life. They won't just be gone, they will never have existed." Crowley, naturally immediately rushes back to Aziraphale.

This difference in framing is notable, that this isn't Hell coming out after Crowley again. More of the danger is on Aziraphale this time. Crowley could, in theory, stay out of it and let Aziraphale deal with the consequences of his actions. But instead, Crowley does the same thing as last time. He apologizes when he doesn't mean it, now complete with dance. Aziraphale doesn't concede an inch. There's another difference here in that Crowley doesn't try to explain his perspective this time. He doesn't tell Aziraphale about the Book of Life and I don't blame him. He has zero reason to believe that it would sway Aziraphale.

Crowley adapts to Aziraphale's plan and tries to come up with the best way to protect Gabriel since they can't just get rid of him. Once again, Aziraphale won. They're doing it Aziraphale's way. We all saw last time how that went up in literal flames and the trauma this approach caused Crowley specifically.

S2 digs in on this problem with their relationship. After this, that Aziraphale commandeers the Bentley, again overriding Crowley's wishes. They aren't tackling the problem together. At some point, to whatever extent, it's just Aziraphale using Crowley. He takes Crowley for granted.

And Crowley enables this dynamic. He can't stay away. Aziraphale is his only friend and the loneliness seems to bother him more than it bothers Aziraphale. So Aziraphale takes advantage and is never forced to reflect on how he treats Crowley because it never really affects him in the end. Aziraphale gets what he wants and Crowley is the one to suffer for it.

At the end of the season, this same fight plays out only worse. Crowley is told to ~just communicate better~. This approach makes sense to an extent with the framing that they had to hide their relationship for millennia, so it's only relatively recently that they really could have communicated openly. But it also stings when the things Crowley is trying to communicate here are fundamentally the same things that he said before at the bandstand.

And the framing of this one really drives home the fact that Aziraphale is in the wrong. It starts with Aziraphale dismissing Crowley right off the bat:

C: It's probably best if I start off doing all the talking, you do all the listening, 'cause if I don't start talking now, I won't ever start talking, right? Yes, so... A: What's that lovely human expression? Oh, yes! Hold that thought. You see, I… I have some incredibly good news to give you. C: Really?

The look on Crowley's face when he says "Really?" gives me life, he is legit so fed up. Anyway, Aziraphale explains Metatron's offer. The Metatron is blatantly lying to him, but Aziraphale has a consistent and disturbing lack of self awareness: "You're a leader, you're honest, you don't just tell people what they want to hear." Bet. But he eats it up.

Then this happens:

A: You could come back to Heaven and... and everything, like the old times. Only, even nicer. C: Right. And you told him just where he could stick it, then? A: Not at all. C: Oh, we're better than that, you're better than that, Angel!

This time, Aziraphale is in favor of "our side". Why wouldn't he be? He got Heaven's seal of approval for it - under the condition that Crowley joins him. And Aziraphale doesn't even think about it. It isn't just that he's brainwashed and convinced that this is for the best. It's that it doesn't even seem to occur to him that Crowley wouldn't be happy. They've been arguing about their different perspectives for millennia. Aziraphale should at least be aware that Crowley wouldn't want this. Crowley has made his feelings about it all very clear, but for whatever reason, Aziraphale assumes that Crowley is going to see this as a good thing.

They rehash the bandstand fight:

C: You don't need them. I certainly don't need them! Look, they asked me back to Hell, I said no. I'm not gonna be joining their team. Neither should you. A: But... Well, obviously you said no to Hell, you're the bad guys. But Heaven… Well, it's the side of truth, of light, of good.

(Once again, Heaven is superior. Heaven never has blood on its hands.)

C: When Heaven ends life here on Earth, it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it. Tell me you said no. A: [silence] C: Tell me you said no. A: If I'm in charge… I can make a difference.

They are beat-for-beat rehashing the bandstand fight. This is something s2 makes clear about Aziraphale with the flashbacks: Aziraphale backslides. He learns better, then he backtracks. He sees a bit of gray in his black-and-white world, but he can't hold onto it. He polarizes problems and deludes himself into living in this rose-colored fantasy world. Whatever Aziraphale learned during the apocalypse about their side, him and Crowley being fundamentally the same, Heaven being just as bad as Hell - none of it sticks. So they have to go through it again.

It's at this point that Crowley makes his love confession. He doesn't seem to think it'll work, but he tries anyway. He tries to communicate. He says a lot of things, and they aren't all true. He's still trying to see this relationship as better than it is I think. This is some of what he says:

I didn't get a chance to say what I was going to say, I think I'd better say it now. I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We're a team, a group. Group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't. I mean, the last few years, not really. We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic. We need to get away from them, just be an us. You and me, what do you say?

Crowley spills his heart. They don't have the apocalypse looming over them this time. He isn't being pushed to latch onto Aziraphale out of fear as the world ends. He knows what he wants and he says it.

Aziraphale's counteroffer is:

Come with me... to Heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference.

This time, Aziraphale is more on board. This time, they can be together, on their side - but on under Aziraphale's terms. Only under the delusion that Heaven is the "right" side. And even then, Crowley will never be Aziraphale's equal in this. He will always have to defer to Azriaphale's orders when it comes down to it.

At the bandstand, Aziraphale says: "You can't leave. There isn't anywhere to go." That's when Crowley first suggests running away to the stars, first proposes their side. This time, Crowley is the one who wants Aziraphale to stay.

C: You can't leave this bookshop. A: Oh, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever.

The way this next bit plays out is so important to me, so I'm adding cues and editorializing a bit:

C: No. No, I don't suppose it does. [puts on glasses] Good luck. [walks towards the door] A: Good luck? Crowley! Crowley, come back - [Crowley stops, turns to face him] - to Heaven! A: Work with me! We can be together! Angels... doing good! C: [says nothing. doesn't leave] A: [getting desperate] I... I need you! C: [doesn't react. doesn't believe him? still doesn't leave. hears him out] A: [switches tactics] I don't think you understand what I'm offering you! C: I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do. A: Well... then there's nothing more to say.

Crowley gives Aziraphale every single chance. Crowley is a flawed, fucked up individual with his own biases, but he does see reality a whole lot better than Aziraphale. Aziraphale deludes himself and Crowley is the one who suffers for it. And once again, it isn't just Crowley deciding to leave. It's Aziraphale telling him to go. From "There is no "our side", not anymore, it's over" to "Well then there's nothing more to say."

But it still doesn't end there. Crowley doesn't just leave. This is how it ends:

C: Listen. Do you hear that? A: I don't hear anything. C: That's the point. No nightingales. You idiot. We could have been... us. [kisses Aziraphale] A: I… I forgive you. C: Don't bother.

That's when Crowley finally leaves.

Before, he ended it with: "I'm getting my stuff and I'm leaving. And when I'm off in the stars, I won't even think about you." He then did not leave for the stars. He stayed on Earth and confronted Hastur and Ligur with Holy Water and bought Aziraphale just a little bit more time to come around. Crowley never followed through on his own plans for what he thought was best. He always stayed, always waited for Aziraphale, at any cost.

At the end of s2, Aziraphale leaves Earth without Crowley.

The point of all of this that, yes, Crowley is always the one who walks out of their fights. But it isn't a problem of him being too stubborn about his beliefs, or not communicating his feelings well enough, or giving up too easily. The problem is that Aziraphale doesn't listen to him and doesn't respect him.

The last time they talk in season 2, they fight. Crowley leaves. I think and hope he'll stay away this time. Aziraphale can be the one to face the consequences of his actions this time.

[mimisempai]

I know your kindness

Summary

When Crowley wakes up in the morning, he does not expect to be the object of such solicitude from Aziraphale. A little chat with Maggie makes him realize that sometimes it's good to accept being thanked for your kindness.

Notes

Where Aziraphale finally gets to say thank you...

On Ao3

Rating G -  1817 words

When Crowley awoke, he found that Aziraphale was already up. He wasn't surprised, since Aziraphale was an early riser, while Crowley was the opposite.

He stretched before deciding to get up. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he spotted his clothes and was surprised to see them perfectly folded on a chair, everything that made up his outfit neatly arranged.

After getting dressed, he went downstairs to find a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him on the table, even though he could see that Aziraphale wasn't in the bookshop. Next to the cup was a note written in the angel's elegant handwriting.

My dear Crowley,

A salesman contacted me this morning and I decided to take Muriel with me to show them another side of what I do here. I think we'll be home sometime this afternoon.

Don't forget you promised Maggie you'd visit her as she needs your services.

Yours.

Aziraphale.

Crowley was pleased to see that the daily newspaper was on the other side of the cup. 

Aziraphale was thoughtful. Crowley already knew that. But that didn't stop him from being surprised by all the little gestures he had encountered this morning. He flipped through the paper while sipping his coffee, and when he'd finished, he stood and picked up his glasses, which were resting in their place on the small horse-shaped statue.

Out of habit, he was about to clean them, but found that they were already perfectly clean. He remembered a small smudge that had been there the day before, and that it was gone this morning. 

Aziraphale's care again.

He left the bookshop and headed for Maggie's. As soon as he reached the record store, the blonde woman came up and greeted him, "Oh, Crowley, I'm glad you came. I... here's uh... a buyer wants to buy 5 record collections from me, and the problem is that if I have to have them delivered or take the train..."

"I'll take you." Crowley cut her off.

Maggie was quick to thank him, and a few moments later they were loading the Bentley with boxes of records, and as he closed the trunk of the car he noticed that it was spotlessly clean, and when he opened the door it was the same inside.

Once they were on the road, he was lost in thought, unable to stop thinking about all the angel's kind attentions he'd noticed since he'd woken up.

"Crowley?"

Maggie's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he hummed in response.

"Did I do something wrong to you?"

"What?"

The blonde woman continued, "Because it's been half an hour since we left town and you're not talking to me."

Crowley replied, "I've just been lost in thought."

Maggie, looking a little dubious, nodded.

Crowley gave her a sideways glance, then said casually, "Maggie, you and Nina seem to be relationship specialists. So let's say someone who is already very caring towards you shows you even more caring than usual by doing little things like, uh, I don't know, making your coffee, cleaning your glasses... that sort of thing."

Maggie seemed to think for a moment, then replied, "Well, the first reason I can think of is that they must love you very much. But as you seem to be saying, they're already a particularly thoughtful person, so it's either forgiveness or thanks."

Crowley muttered, "He has nothing to be forgiven for..."

Maggie, overhearing, replied, "Then it's to thank you. Probably because you're nice or you did something nice."

Crowley chuckled, "I'm not nice. Anyway, we're not talking about me."

Maggie nodded knowingly, "If you say so. It's amazing how similar you and Nina are. You both try so hard not to let anyone see who you really are. But you know, Crowley, I have a revelation for you. The ones who love you know who you really are. So no matter how hard you try to hide it, we know. That's why we sometimes resort to little tricks to thank you. You don't want our thanks, so we find another way to give them."

She paused and pointed to a house at the end of the street, "It's that way. We've arrived."

Crowley parked in front of the indicated house and when he started to get out to help Maggie get the boxes of records out, she stopped him, "It's okay, wait for me here, I'll be fifteen minutes."

Crowley nodded.

He couldn't stop thinking about what Maggie had just said. All the times he'd refused Aziraphale's gratitude under various pretenses.

"Well, you're lucky I was in the area."

The angel, his hands still bound by handcuffs, replied with a scowl, "I suppose I am. Why are you here?"

Crowley replied nonchalantly, "My lot sent me a commendation for outstanding job performance."

Aziraphale, offended, retorted, "So all this is your demonic work?" 

Crowley immediately replied, "No. The humans thought it up themselves. Nothing to do with me." 

Then he simply snapped his fingers and the handcuffs opened and fell to the floor.

Aziraphale rubbed his wrists and said, "Well, I suppose I should thank you for the, uh, rescue."

Crowley stood and said aggressively through clenched teeth, "Don't say that," then, standing in front of the angel, he continued, "If my people hear I rescued an angel, I'll be the one in trouble. And my lot do not send rude notes." 

Aziraphale replied, "Well, I'm very grateful. What if I buy you lunch?"

A knock on the car window snapped him out of his thoughts. 

He saw that Maggie had returned as she got into the car and they drove home. The woman, probably sensing his need for silence, said nothing and smiled softly.

"Where are you?"

The demon, still under the effects of the laudanum, staggered and looked around for Aziraphale. The angel reached out and grabbed him, making him turn around, "I'm here. I'm here."

Then, holding him under his arm, he said softly, "That was very kind of you, Crowley. You saved that young woman."

Crowley pushed him away and said in a slightly aggressive voice, pointing his finger at the angel, "Not kind! Off my head on laudanum. Not responsible for my actions."

**********

As they stood in the ruins of the blown-up church, Aziraphale took off his hat and said gently to Crowley, "That was very kind of you." 

The demon immediately replied, "Shut up." 

Aziraphale insisted, "Well, it was. No paperwork, for a start." then suddenly, he exclaimed in horror, "Oh, the books. Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh, they'll all be blown to... "

Crowley bent down, snatched a bag from the hands of one of the nazis under the rubble and handed it to him. It was the angel's book bag.

He said softly, "Little demonic miracle of my own."

Then, without noticing the angel's look of amazement, he added as he walked away, "Lift home?"

Moments later, as the Bentley sped through the burning streets, Aziraphale turned to Crowley and said softly, "You know... that was a very nice thing you did for me."

The demon turned his head toward him and replied, just as he had the first time, "Shut up."

Aziraphale, always insistent, replied, "There must be something I can do for you in return."

The demon didn't take his eyes off the road and said, "Forget it, will you?"

*********

As gunfire replaced paintball outside, Aziraphale approached the demon and said softly, "You know, Crowley, I've always said that deep down, you really are quite a nice..."

He was interrupted by the demon, who grabbed him by the collar of his coat and pinned him against the wall, almost spitting in his face, "Shut it! I'm a demon. I'm not nice. 'm never nice. Nice is a four-letter word.I will not have-"

Lost in thought, he was unaware that they had arrived.

Maggie turned to him and said softly, "You know, Crowley, it always comes back to what Nina and I told you that day. You need to talk. You just have to ask him."

Then she put her hand on his arm and continued, "Anyway, thank you for today, you didn't have to, but you did me this favor. Thank you for your kindness."

Crowley was about to protest when she just raised an eyebrow, so he sighed and replied, "You're welcome."

As she got out of the car, she said as gently as ever, "See, this is how easy it is."

A few moments later, Crowley entered the bookshop and was immediately greeted by Aziraphale who walked up to him, kissed him on the cheek and said softly, "Hello, my dear, how did it go with Maggie?"

As he asked this, the angel removed Crowley's glasses and placed them on the horse-shaped statue.

Crowley told him about his little journey, and when he was finished, the angel remarked, "Anyway, it's very kind of you to do this for Maggie."

Aziraphale paused, as if expecting the demon's usual denial. But instead, Crowley asked him, "Does it bother you that I never let you thank me or tell me I am nice?"

As they talked, they came to the sofa where they sat down together, and turning to him, Aziraphale replied quietly, "Only because every time, it makes me feel like you think you don't deserve it."

Crowley asked, "And all those little gestures today? Was that to thank me, too?"

Aziraphale gently put his hand on the demon's knee and replied, "For that, and also because sometimes small attentions are more proof of love than grand gestures. Like removing a paint stain from a coat, or salvaging books from the ruins of an explosion."

"I get it," the demon murmured.

Aziraphale tenderly touched the demon's cheek and asked, "Would you let me thank you?"

Crowley nodded slowly and Aziraphale leaned toward him before gently pressing his lips to the demon's right cheek and whispering, "Thank you for rescuing me from my cell in the Bastille," then kissing the other cheek, he whispered, "Thank you for saving my books." 

He then kissed Crowley's left eyelid and whispered, "Thank you for getting the stain off my jacket." 

He did the same with the left eyelid and whispered, "Thank you for coming to my rescue every time I called or not."

Then, cupping the demon's face between his hands, Aziraphale looked into his eyes and said, "You are kind, Crowley, and you deserve to be thanked for all your kindness." 

He pressed his mouth gently to Crowley's, pouring into his kiss all the gratitude and love he felt for his kind demon.

When he pulled away, Crowley wrapped his arms around him and held him close. Then, his mouth in his hair, he whispered, "You're welcome."

Against him, Aziraphale sighed in contentment, happy that for once the demon had simply accepted the gratitude he deserved.

Because he deserved it.

_________

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)

[soupandtissues]

Pretty late for fall prompts but if you’re feeling it, G/ood O/mens? 🤧🍁🤐

late again, but the husbands enjoy the fall weather or at least one of them does.

A Yellow Wood

“Well I like spooky.  Big spooky fan me.”

That wasn’t a lie Crowley did enjoy the whole spooky season as it were.  The atmosphere, the ghost stories, the whole slant towards wicked deeds, but not in a destructive way usually.   He took credit for the pumpkin spice craze and as a mid-level annoyance to off-set rounding up every cat he could find for safety during the plague times.  And if he was still doing that with a shelter back behind the garden shed well Aziraphale pretended not to know about it.  It really was a wonderful season they’d come up with.

He just didn’t, you know, like being outside for any of it.

Ironic that when everything was mostly dying off or bedding down for winter it bothered his nose so much more than when everything was popping up fresh in spring.  Not to mention it was embarrassing whoever heard of a demon allergic to fall for Satan’s sake!  Now at their cottage thankfully there was little cause for concern.  Not one stray leaf, or speck of pollen, or spot of mold dared to enter his garden.

The local craft market however not so much.

Aziraphale insisted on attending, going on about getting along with their neighbours and window shopping.   Crowley was coming too obviously, what was he going to do not spend the afternoon with his angel?  Of course not.

So having popped a few meds in the vain hope they would help and discreetly tucked several tissues into his pockets they set off, crunching through the fallen leaves on the ground. The sound alone seemed to bother his nose and he rubbed at it, stepping back a half step so Aziraphale wouldn’t notice.

Thankfully his angel was easily distracted taking time to admire every stall and talk to those running them.  Less thankful was Aziraphale grabbing a potent candle shoving it directly under his nose.

“I think this will be just lovely in the lounge, don’t you agree, Crowley?”

A sharp snap of his fingers was all that kept the sudden burning urge to sneeze at bay.

“Uh, yeah it’s-it’s great, Angel.”

Aziraphale turned to pay for three of them and Crowley managed to slink off and duck behind the nearest tree, though that certainly didn’t help matters, as he fumbled for the tissues and pressed them to his face to stifle the fit.

“hh’NXXtch! heh’GNITChh! Huh-huh…Hh’itSHHhh!”

Another snap of his fingers managed to clear his sinuses for the moment.  Crowley adjusted his sunglasses so they weren’t pressing so tightly against the now tender areas.  While still keeping his eyes covered, and forced himself not to rub them.  Then he went back to his angel, purchasing a snack he didn’t even like so at least he would stop offering for him to smell everything.

***

When the afternoon was finally over Aziraphale went about setting up the all new items he’d purchased humming pleasantly.   Meanwhile Crowley dragged himself off to the bedroom, dumped his glasses on the nearest surface and sat down on the bed with a congested sigh.  Rubbing at his eyes trying to relieve the pressure that had built up as the day wore on.  The constant use of miracles had left him drained and tired, and keeping all the congestion back had now turned it in to firm cement which was only exacerbating his headache.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“Is something wrong?”

He shook his head as Aziraphale sat down beside him.

“Well it’s just that you seem rather…distance.”

“Don’t mean to be, Angel, it’s just my a-heh-allergies,” he confessed too tired to bother hiding it anymore.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, to what?”

Crowley just gestured vaguely to the window as a few stray leaves passed by in the wind.

“But why wouldn’t you say something?”

Crowley shrugged. “You wanted to go out today and I like watching you like things.”

He curled his fist under his nose as it began to twitch.

“Heh-heh-snf! Just overdid it a bit trying to keep myself under control and-huh-huh…uhhh…ugh, sorry.”

There was a warm hand on his shoulder. “Crowley, you don’t have to do that.”

“Can’t do much else I-ihhh…hehh…”he huffed out another sigh at losing the sneeze once more.  He was just so stuffed up.

“Oh, do let me help.”

Aziraphale moved them fully on the bed and began moving his thumbs between his eyes in a gentle massage.  Working to slowly dislodge the congestion and as it worked he covered Crowley’s nose with a conjured soft beige handkerchief.  

As his fingers stroked up and down his nose Crowley couldn’t help but notice through his watery eyes that his angel seemed rather flushed.

“You know I think snf! You’re getting more enjoy-heh-enjoyment out of this than I am, Angel,” he said, his breathes coming in softer pants as the teasing of his nose continued.

“Do let me concentrate, my dear,” he answered, as he moved his finger pointedly down again.

Crowley jerked back reflectively as he hit a sensitive spot and the tickle flared up hard.

“A-Angel I…huh-I’m gonna-ahh…really sn-snehhh…sneeze this time.”

Aziraphale nodded and pulled him close again.

“Let them come, Crowley, I assure you I don’t mind.”

“Ehhh-ehh’ESHHhh! ASUHHHh! ISHHUu! I think that’s all-ahh’EASHHhh! huhh’ESUUHHhhu!...snf! Thag you.”

Aziraphale kept the handkerchief firmly in place and allowed Crowley to clear himself out.

When the demon at last pulled away from him Aziraphale spent far too long admiring his pink nose and then glanced down sheepishly.  “You were right, Crowley I do enjoy it, but was I too forward?”

Crowley smirked. “Like I said, Angel, I like watching you like things.”

The End

[kerryweaverlesbian]

for the ask thing->😅🥺🤡😈🛒✨️💌❌️👀🧠🤲✅️ (for the 🧠 i choose cas hehe)

omg thats so many but 👉👈 yk

mwuah <3

I just spent a FULL half hour trying to find the post this was from and I finally found it by remembering I reblogged it from @castielsprostate and getting to August 6th from another post and scrolling down to august 4th from there. Anon if you're out there....my answer is crossing time and space to reach you....also BIG KISS FOR Y9OU AS WELL

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

I'll be honest, I think this one, ineffable husbands observatory date was kinda cowardly haha. In it I pretend like Aziraphale wasn't fully about to shoot a kid. I think I should have let that be a true moment of darkness! These days I wouldn't shy away from it I think.

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

uargh. 'I don't need to be taken care of' 'but I WANT to take care of you'. Kills me dead every time.

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

haha almost every fic I write has something that made me laugh!! An undervalued one, from my Jo/Bela heist fic:

She doesn’t get like this. She doesn’t get distracted on the job, she doesn’t get flustered over sly little compliments, she doesn’t want to be seen. Why did it have to be here, now, on her biggest job in years? “You know,” Jo says, unperturbed by the mental anguish she was causing, biting off the end of the thread with her teeth, “since we’re partners, we should get matching balaclavas.” And why was it for someone so stupid? “All balaclavas are matching,” Bela says, and Jo smiles up at her cheekily, proving she only said it to wind her up, “and we’re not partners.” “We’re totally partners! We look out for each other.” “No. You’re not on my level. It’d be like saying Michelangelo and his finger painting niece were partners.” “Fine,” Jo huffs, “accomplices?” “You are an accessory at best.” “Yeah? Do I rate above or below your shoes?” Bela pretends to think about it. “So far my shoes have done more quality work for this shindig than you, so I suppose the jury is still out.”

Actually you know what. Fuck it I'm doing 2. You can't stop me!!!! This is from my Cas timetravels to the episode Faith fic

"What year is it?" Cas asks suddenly. "Uh." Maybe he shouldn't tell him. That's one of those concussion questions, right? He doesn't want to fuck up his examination. "What year do you think it is?" "It is certainly within the AD range," Cas says, deadpan, and he doesn't laugh when Dean does but his frown does lighten. He looks expectant, so Dean caves: "It's 2005. The year of the rooster. Or, as I like to say, the year of -" "Cock. Yes. I've heard it before."

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

hmmmmm! There is one in one that I'm writing right now in fact! This is Endverse Cas, talking to Dean about Endverse Dean:

"Did you know," Cas says, leaning right into Dean's space, the smell of weed and dank sweat rolling off him, "He trusts me. He needs me. He - what did he say? Oh, yeah. He couldn't do this without me."

A cruel play on the Crypt scene - "I need you". Maybe people won't pick up on it but I have the intention of being mean.

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Themes....you ask me of themes...would you ask mozart of staves...jdsavbhfav I'm kidding about. I love themes my book club and anyone I've beta'd for will tell you!! In my own work, I like animal imageryyyyy. Dean is a dog (and sometimes rabbits), Bela is a rabbit, Jo is a horse, Cas is birds. I like scenes characters talking around things but both understanding what they mean. OR, the inverse, when one of them THINKS they're being perfectly clear and straightforward and the other one is coming to very different conclusions. And grief. And absence highlighted by an intense focus on objects. I think that last one is most clearly done in The Aftermath, Time/Body Problem and Brought to the Flame. I OBVIOUSLY love make-out scenes lol. Scenery used as character! It is the only way I am able to write scenery!!

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

I am...good at weaving scenes together. Dialogue and exposition and jokes and deeper character moments. Pacing, I think, would be the word. I heard some advice from the guy who wrote Not Going Out: if you end a scene high, the next "should" (usually) start or become low, and vice versa. We did it! We fucked it up. Things are looking fucking bleak. There's a moment of hope!! Peaks and valleys yknow. See here I am deflecting my compliment to someone else's advice ajkfsjbv. I write good original characters who don't distract from the narrative, how about that!! And titles! You didn't ask but my favourite titleset I've ever done is my [aged up]Bela/Edward kinky series Frames of Mind. The first is called Metacognition because Edward is thinking about Bela thinking about him (and metacognition means thinking about thought) and the second is Projection because Edward is mentally prjecting himself into the threesome Bela is in. And Bela's putting him in there too, in her mind. Also, I do a lot of stupid jokes in these, I was seriously debating a third in that catagory. I suggest that Edward turned one of his pet mice into a vampire, and that Bela's being lusted after by a swamp monster. <3

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

I LOVE THEM. I LOVE I AM IN LOVE. To any person who has ever commented on anything I've ever written (apart from that one bot lol) I kiss you I kiss you I kiss you a thousand times. Knowing that people took the time to read my works and say what they thought, even if they thought "<3" or "nice"...it's so kind. Also every beta reader I've ever had, I keep their joyful comments active so I can reread them over and over <3 shout out to @sonorousangels @eboyeasy @homoangel @sweater-soup and @mrcowboydeanwinchester <3

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

Never, huh....? Hm. I like a lot of things, I think there's a way to make pretty much any trope interesting if you think about it long enough. I think it's unlikely that I'd ever write something with a matchmaker!character, like, get a life? lol. It's often foisted on Sam or ANY nearby female character. BUT I do think you could make that interesting potentially, if that character was the protagonist. Like, why ARE you so obsessed with them, why DON'T you have anything going on in your own life, how can you break out of that and come to see your friends as people again instead of dollies?

btw, complete tangent, one time at [redacted] I met an old lady and told her my name and she said. "You have the same name as my dolly." Not even, the doll has the same name as ME. I have the same name as HER DOLL. Horror movie type interaction.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

Perhaps I should have preread these questions and mentioned my smoking sequel here lmao. OH WELL. I will talk about another!

I am working on a Cas timetravel fic wherein (late-)s4 Castiel (who is considering rebellion) gets pulled to...s15? ish? And Dean is NOT coping well with having a younger Castiel who doesn't have anything to resent Dean for yet, and Cas is trying to reconcile his jealousy and his resurfaced guilt (this Castiel hasn't done any of the things Cas despises himself for yet, and he's lonely and untethered, but he's also not as much of a Person and Cas can only take so much Angel Mode Bluntness and he misses Jack while Castiel it there). Also. Well the Castiels do make out but I mean. It's my fic. It was sort of inevitable.

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them. Castiel.

Cas is the tv angel!!!!!! He doesn't read very much, he watches tellyvision! He watches old sit coms at any available moment, and he does NOT get the MAJORITY of the jokes but he adores the laugh track and I love him. And, king of sick burns that he is, he'd pick up some good ones. I think if he was explaining it, perhaps to Dean, he'd say something like that he likes that "Humans have, with every theme and concept available to them, so often chosen to imagine a softer world, where the consequences are limited to a punchline, and there is a constant unity and connection with others. When you laugh at Niles Crane, you laugh with every other being in that room at that time. A snapshot of the past, with its defined limits, to a timeless creature such as myself, it has a remarkable beauty. Also, I enjoy the antics of the little dog."

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

I REALLY should have read ahead haha. This is frommmmm I can't really say what it's about without spoilers. Um. It is a plot fic wherein Cas returns post-empty and Dean is a little TOO happy about it. This is from the opening:

Cas wakes up in a car wreck. He pushes himself up from the smoking bonnet gingerly, and hears the crumple of metal below. He'd made an impact; a whole stack of rusted vehicals have been crushed beneath him, threatening the integrity of the surrounding towers of scrap. He doesn't remember the fall. The last thing he remembers is - Dean, the confession, the debt being paid. There's a pervasive ache in his muscles and his heart is beating at a sickening pace, as if he'd been running for a long time. It's possible that he had been. [...] "Dean?" Cas asks, and gets an answer he didn't expect. There's a tired sigh on the other end of the line, and Sam's voice says: "Who is this helping?" "Sam, it's me. I'm at Bobby's. I need someone to pick me up." A faint, plastic-y creak. Cas imagines Sam pressing his flip phone against his forehead. His voice is distant, mournful, "Can't you guys leave any bodies in the ground?" "Sam?" "It's not going to work. I wish you'd all stop trying." Closer, now, louder, "Just leave him alone, you hear me? You better leave him the hell alone!" The line goes dead. Cas tries calling again, but even with his Grace it doesn't go through...

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

Haha, Meg. Okay, serious answer...............whenever I do sex it always turns romantic and sweet at some point. Even the "rough sex" in my jo/bela heist, it IS rough sex and then ALSO Jo says "You're really special and I like you". In my kinky vampire rimming fic! When they just reference having other sex offscreen in my struck by lighting blowjob fic! The closest I get to not going crazy romantic is in the pseudo-sex scenes of my grace feeding fic but even then it's echoed in a sweetie darling honeypie way later.

I think I may deep down be a romantic at heart.

Uah the end!! Did you know I have posted 54 fics to Ao3??? That's wild. 39 of them are for the CW's Supernatural. Thank you sooooooo much for asking meeee as you can see I love talking about my own writing. I put a lot of thought into it!

[grillsdontcry]

Tbh Good Omens season 2 was a little weird to me. These are just my personal thoughts on it.

Everything was a little off. You see how Crowley and Aziraphale have obviously known each other a long time, but they didn't really show how they know each other, the way really old friends do, friends who have helped and (pretend) fought each other for centuries. Idk, I think it's because they didn't really show any of the casual intimacy they should have.

Also: I think Crowley and Aziraphale should've been living together. Crowley was living in his car, and Aziraphale already had that room that he gave to Gabriel. It would've made sense, and would've given them the intimacy that I didn't really notice in this season? Like, people were already calling them husbands from the first season. They had that domesticity, but then it was gone in this one. Crowley could've kept his plants in the shop, and it could've shown how Aziraphale has also gotten into the habit of talking to them like Crowley does.

Besides that, it felt like we didn't really need some of the plotlines, like the zombies or Nina and Maggie, most bc we didn't see why Maggie was in love with Nina. We saw her pining over her, but we didn't see how it started, or why they might be good together. Aziraphale really didn't have to use them for his lie.

Aziraphale and Crowley also felt a little out of character compared to the first season. Aziraphale a bit too naive, and Crowley a bit too serious. Obviously Aziraphale isn't jaded by any means, and Crowley isn't the sort to be excessively jovial, but they had just successfully outmaneuvered both Heaven and Hell and averted the apocalypse. I feel like there's room for more complex characterization.

I liked Beelzebub and Gabriel's romance, but I think there could've been more. Instead of the zombie episode, we could've had one dedicated to Beelzebub and Gabriel, who both also seemed out of character in the show, ngl. Beelzebub came off as a little too open from the start, and I like Gabriel with a softer personality but that's definitely not what he was like in the beginning. I think they could meet up that one time and complain about the Apocalypse That Wasn't, and how it starts is that they would wonder why the Hell (Heaven in Gabriel's case) an angel and a demon would work together to save the world, what is it that's so good about Earth? And so, they would decide to find out. They would investigate Earth's joys together. There could be a montage where instead of just showing them meeting a couple times at a few places, they go anywhere and everywhere, they go to amusement parks and get soft serve ice cream and try ice skating and watch movies and experience so many things together. Basically they go on a whole bunch of Not-Dates around the world and experience the pleasures that humanity has to offer for the first time. And then after all that, they could be sitting at the pub, and the song would be playing in the background, and there would be a Vibe.

Beelzebub, with dawning horror: Is this...?

Gabriel, bemused, This Close to an Epiphany: Are we...?

They realize it at the same time.

Both: Oh no.

They both vanish. They ran away.

But then, unable to stay away, they meet up again. They stare at each other.

Beelzebub, unusually flustered: Well. I figured it out. What about you?

Gabriel, blustering: I also figured it out. But, uh, I think you should say what you figured out...to make sure we figured out the same thing.

Beelzebub: I want to hear you say what you figured out first.

They get nowhere. They go get drinks.

With several empty beer mugs on the table, Beelzebub says: Alright, on three, we'll say it at the same time. Ready? One...two...three.

Neither of them say it. They both take gulps from their beers. Cut to the table being absolutely stacked with empty tankers. The bartender's like, 'Uh, I think I should cut you off,' and Beelzebub does something demon-y to scare him and he's like 'Nevermind, have as many as you like, no need to pay!'

Cut again. There's a fortress of empty beer mugs.

Beelzebub, thoroughly drunk: Wha' wassit you wanned ta' say?

Gabriel, absolutely plastered: I think...it was...uh...I think...

He thinks about it. He's thinking so hard right now. Finally, he wrestles it down: Are we in love?

Beelzebub, pointing: Tha's whot I figured out, too!

And last but not least: Crowley and Aziraphale. It really didn't need to end the way it did. And I think that Metatron's first choice to replace Gabriel shouldn't have been Aziraphale, but Crowley. He would decide to return him to his full former angelic glory. Even better than his former angelic glory, actually. Aziraphale would caution him that Crowley would refuse, but Metatron would request that he ask him anyway.

Cut to Crowley's response.

Crowley: #!$*_!\":$€&`[·§Г^}￦ฯ!$% (censored for sensitive ears)

Cut to Aziraphale informing Metatron of his answer: He said no.

Metatron sighs and says: Very well. And you, Aziraphale? What do you think of taking Gabriel's position?

Aziraphale, smiling politely: I'm afraid I have responsibilities down here that I must see to. I can't let just anyone run my bookshop, you know. They might sell my books.

He turns away, and we see from the way his expression changes out of Metatron's sight that he feels he's just dodged a bullet on fire being chased by the snapping jaws of a crocodile which is followed by the gaping maw of an enraged grizzly bear which is overshadowed by an oncoming meteor the size of Birmingham. Basically he makes this face -> 😬

Metatron, meanwhile, is somewhat put out: I suppose I have no choice, then.

He tells Gabriel he can return to his former position.

Gabriel: Hm...nah.

Cut to Metatron sitting hunched in a chair with his face in his hands.

Muriel: Would you like some hot chocolate? :)

Metatron looks at her. His other options are Michael or Uriel.

He asks her.

Meanwhile, at the shop, Crowley is sprawled in his favored armchair while Aziraphale hands him a cup of tea. "Everyday" is playing on the record player.

Aziraphale: You know, I quite like this song. I think it's grown on me.

Crowley: Not me. I'd like it if I never heard it again. He played it every day, all day, that feathery bastard. The only reason I didn't break the record is because you'd be cross.

Aziraphale, smiling at him: That's the only reason?

Crowley: If you're implying I actually love that song, don't. There's no secret love here.

There's a pause.

Aziraphale: You know, if you really wanted to visit Alpha Centauri, I could...make some time in my schedule.

Crowley: Oh, yes? Your schedule of not selling books?

Aziraphale: Yes, that one. You let me borrow your car, after all. It's only fair I do something for you.

Crowley, scoffing: You do plenty for me. You're the one who fixed the car in the first place after it burned up spectacularly, you let me move in--insisted on it, actually--

He holds up the cup: -You got me tea.

Aziraphale: Well, I--I want to. I want to do those things for you.

Crowley, pausing (he doesn't quite know what's happening): It's good tea.

Aziraphale: Well. Good.

There's another pause.

Aziraphale: Crowley, please tell me if you don't want this.

He takes Crowley's cup and sets it aside, and then he places his hand on Crowley's shoulder and leans in, closing his eyes.

Crowley pulls his head back, a look on his face like what's happening?!

Aziraphale doesn't see it since his eyes are closed. He kind of stays in place, eyes squeezed shut, lips puckered.

Crowley's alarm fades as he stares at him. After a moment, he leans in.

Their kiss is soft. They're so in love and it's so sweet and domestic and tender I might cry

I think it could've been really nice

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Thank you so much for your hard work, people :D I found lots of amazing fic from here and I must say, I very much appreciate it. The titles you people recommend are always amazing.

I wanted to ask for your help on recommending me fics in which Crowley is a human and Azi an non-human, if possible? Preferably Azi as an angel, but anything is fine. I've read when it was Human Azi and Demon (or other non-human entities) Crowley, so I was searching for the opposite. Once again, thank you!

Hi! You can check our #human crowley for more fics like this. Here are some to add to the collection...

The likeness of a man by hapax (G)

There was something … wrong … about Aziraphale. Well, not wrong, exactly, but not right either.  Not … normal. No matter how nice he was, there was no getting around the fact that Aziraphale was too weird to pass for a high school student. That didn't mean that Crowley didn't want to be his best friend.

out of touch, out of time (out of my head when you're not around) by popcornizuku (T)

"Uh, are you a demon?” His face crumbles, clearly distraught by the implication, and Crowley winces. He shakes his head vehemently, “Oh, Heavens no. Quite the opposite, really.” Before Crowley can question whatever that means, he raises a brow, considering, “Were you attempting to summon a demon? I don’t believe that would be a very wise course of action. Awful company, demons are. They have never been known for their manners, I can assure you.” “Er, right. I’ll take your word for it… Wait, no, I wasn’t trying to summon a demon!” (Or, Crowley accidentally summons an angel, attempts to find his soulmate, fights some demons, and falls in love.)

Guarding Anthony by Magnolia822 (E)

When middling angel Aziraphale is assigned as guardian to one Anthony J Crowley, aging playboy and heir to an industrial fortune, he finally has the chance to prove himself to Heaven and earn his place on Earth. Armed only with the compendious yet vague Binder of Guardian Angel Protocols, he must learn to trust his own instincts if he is to stop Crowley from self-destructing. Anthony Crowley has been living his life in the shadow of a tragic incident from his past. He never expects help to come from the most unlikely quarter: a dowdy, yet intriguing, bookseller named A.Z. Fell. Neither of them expects to fall in love. But on this crazy place called Earth, anything can happen. Can't it?

Pure of heart by taj_mahal (G)

After a particularly harrowing day in heaven, trying to avert the Second Coming from the inside, Aziraphale decides to treat himself to a visit to earth to indulge in one of his most treasured earthly delights – a meal at a new up and coming restaurant in London. He is not prepared for what he finds.

Who wants to live forever? by jessescreations (NR)

Antony Colby is a young man living in London, who is suddenly plagued by nightmares of fires, angels and demons. In search for simple answers he discovers big errors in his life - trying to make sense of things, he comes in contact with a bookshop owner who seems to know more than he wants to admit and the longer the search goes the larger the pile of questions grows - in the end of it all Antony Colby has to make a choice or Crowley is punished with a mortal life and does not remember the past 6000 years.

The Mourning Star by RavenMelon (M)

In the aftermath of the thwarted Apocalypse in this alternate universe, Crowley has forcibly lost his memory and taken on a humble life as a greenhouse keeper in Upper SoHo. Meanwhile, Aziraphale, believing Crowley perished during the tumultuous events of heavenly punishment, has adopted a young girl he named Nebula in his process of healing. Their paths unexpectedly cross when Aziraphale seeks horticultural knowledge for Nebula, leading to a heart-wrenching reunion with a forgotten past. Will the Angel be able to find new happiness? Will he bring his Crowley back to him from beyond?

- Mod D

[chocolatepot]

It's a new day, and on to 2.04 in my more critical rewatch ...

"I'm in the mood for something modern - but not bebop!" Oh my god I cannot tell you how many times I think to myself, oh, bebop when I'm being ridiculously anachronistic in my own music tastes. I do love Moonlight Serenade, excellent decision by the Bentley.

Aziraphale not wanting to pick up the hitchhiker - selfish!!! And the episode description is like "his kindly decision to pick up a hitchhiker" - uh, no, Shax had to force him into it because he would have left this woman on the road in the middle of the night.

"What a piece of junk this car is. You'd think he would have upgraded sometime in the last ninety years" - Aziraphale and I both take that to be about him. And then she says, "Sometime in the last 80-90 years, I remember hearing that you and Crowley were an item," so yeah.

I'm not sure if he knows Crowley takes risks for him and he likes it, or if that little eyebrow raise signifies that he knows Crowley has Depths. I'm trying not to find everything he does unbearably selfish but I can't help but think it's the former.

I do love that Shax tricks the answer out of him because making him think she got confirmation from him when he was deliberately being aloof in order to make him crack fits perfectly.

I find it hard to imagine that the dead Nazis would remember Crowley's name from hearing it once right before a really traumatic death, but I would have accepted it if that had been the extent of their involvement ...

This is the theater from Mrs Henderson Presents!

I'm not sure the "miracle blocker" thing really works, it feels a bit out of nowhere to me for the purposes of this one minisode (that I don't even think should exist, so I'm biased) - why aren't all of the demons miracle blockers so they can defeat Heaven in the big one? The extended rising-from-the-dead scene, eating the drunk, singing the drunk's stupid song ... such a waste of time. Everything with the zombies is such a waste of time that I'm not going to comment on it anymore.

Crowley's American GI impression is worth some of this nonsense, though. And then he pumps up Aziraphale with confidence <3

The bullet catch pamphlet uses Royal Signage. The font I always recognize! It's the standard modern "Victorian" title font so it's everywhere. Also, a bit of a scam at that price when it uses a real bullet and a real gun?

The gag about Crowley forgetting angels and demons who know him is funny. Finnemorian?

Beelzebub is willing to let Shax do her thing because they know she can't actually get to Gabriel in the bookshop. But why does she actively want her to do it?