Hey Jonny, would you happen to have sheet music for Gunpowder Tim vs The Moon Kaiser?
My friend, I'm afraid you may have misunderstood what sort of band we were. Writing sheet music would very much have required a level of diligence and professionalism that we simply did not possess, and the music changed so often and so significantly that if we had written any it would have been obsolete within months. As far as I'm aware there is no sheet music for any of it.
That said, there almost certainly is sheet music for some of the WW1 songs we based bits on (Goodbyeee, Gassed Last Night, Over the Hills etc) and Teatime with the Kaiser was a riff on "Kicking Horses on Brokenhill" by Godspeed You! Black Emperor, so that might be something to look into
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y'all already know i'm about to present you with angst based on this post so without further ado, here you go. these bitches always end up way longer than i plan. thank you to @createserenity for putting this scene into my head
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He is about to leave. His palm is pressed against the door, already pushed open enough for the noise of the street to slip into the dusty silence of the bookshop. 'I forgive you' is echoing around his head as if someone had turned it into a bell and hit it with a hammer, every vibration another flash of needle-sharp pain.
Crowley should most definitely leave.
But.
There's always a but with him, with them, and he wouldn't have it any other way. So, with one last sigh and a prayer to no one that he won't regret it, he drops his hand and watches the door drift shut with a tiny, fading tinkle. Behind him, barely contained sobs are escaping Aziraphale despite his best attempts, and if his heart weren't already broken, it would shatter now. They're just as good as hurting each other as they are at loving, but somehow the former is the only reality they are ever allowed to experience.
Crowley turns back around, and, fuck it all, he might as well take his glasses off, too. After this, there is nothing to hide anymore, not really.
In the aggressively cheerful rays of sunlight shining through the windows, the tears gathered along Aziraphale's waterline glint like tiny sapphires and break up the stormy hyacinth of his irises. He blinks once, twice, and they carve a wet path along the lines of his face as he allows his tears to drip from his jaw. Crowley inhales, shaky, nervous, angry, and so, so desperately in love, and barely feels the sting of his own tears as they roll down his cheeks.
The question in Aziraphale's eyes is simple yet impossible to answer.
Still, he knows why he turned around, and even after everything has been said, there is one sentence—three words—that he needs him to hear. Something to erase 'I forgive you' from both their memories before it festers and grows thorns like particularly mean poison ivy, ripping them apart from the inside out.
"Crowley?"
Hope. There is a spark of hope in Aziraphale's voice, and he has to bite back a low whimper of pain - he cannot leave now, can't even look away. Tremors run through his hands, causing his glasses to clink together, and before rational thought can set in, he drops them to the floor. This is a horrible idea; he already screwed them up, left, came back because Aziraphale asked him to, kissed him, left again - and now he came back all on his own.
Because-
"I love you."
All the air leaves his lungs, the confession is carried by a sigh, and the tears begin streaming down his face in earnest, hot enough to burn like acid. Aziraphale freezes, and for a second Crowley is worried he accidentally stopped time, but then his fingers twitch, his mouth opens, and he can hear the breath he sucks in like a drowning man.
"I love you," he says again, because now it is the only thing he can say, and Aziraphale presses his fingertips against his lips with something akin to reverence.
"Do that again," Aziraphale whispers into the unfurling silence, words muffled by his hand, but Crowley understands them nevertheless.
"Do that again, please, right now."
This time, they're both moving, their bodies drawn to each other by the same gravity that has been at their centre while they have been orbiting each other for millennia. Warmth, heat, salt, iron, and touch-touch-touch—their world narrows down to the glide of tear-slick lips and hands grasping for anything they can hold onto.
Crowley cups his face, allowing his palms to slide along his cheeks until he can bury his fingers in his hair, and he kisses him the way he has always wanted to kiss him—breathless and urgent, and with every heartbeat screaming, iloveyou over and over.
Pulling him in as tightly as inhumanly possible, Aziraphale slings one arm around his waist and the other around his neck, cupping the back of his head and scratching his nails over his scalp. His mouth opens for an airless moan, and in the tiny break, their eyes fly open, gold meeting aquamarine as the colours of the world seemingly flow apart. Nothing matters except the twin thrum of their hearts.
"I love you," Aziraphale gasps, choking on his breath and turning it into a sob. "I love you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Crowley, I love you too."
They fall back into the kiss, their cheeks wet with tears, and there is no telling whether they are tears of joy or regret, anger or forgiveness. Within seconds, though, all of that stops mattering, too.
Unable to resist, Crowley leans back just enough to dart his tongue out to taste them, peppering tiny, fluttering kisses along his jaw, still crying.
"I know," he breathes, pressing their temples together and nudging against him until their foreheads meet. "I know, angel. I love you."
It does not fix them. It doesn't fix anything, but right now, neither of them cares. They need the time, want the time, and Crowley inhales the taste of love from Aziraphale's lips and gives them as long as they need and more; no one, not even God, can break his hold on reality.
Not when it means he gets to kiss Aziraphale againagainagain.
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