#it just hurts more when he's associating it with Aziraphale's abandonment

[blackscaara]

I'm not completely sure how I'm going to get this all organized properly from the stuff that comes out of my brain, but I'm going to try my best- bear with me. 

To me, and I know for a lot of other people, Aziraphale is perfectly representative of the experience of religious trauma. For those of you who don't know what that's like, I'm here to explain, based on my own experiences. 

For a lot of people suffering from religious trauma, our experiences start when we're very young, we are raised inside the church. As a child inside the church, you are heavily taught to respect your elders and to never question authority (sound familiar?) For me, I was really good at listening to and believing the things my family and the other adults in my life would tell me. 

Along with the concept that children in church are heavily advised to listen and obey, we are also raised to be completely dependent on God and the church's teachings, nothing is more important than withholding our relationship with God and obeying the word of the Bible. (Also sound familiar?) 

We are raised being constantly reminded of and told to follow these rules, and we do, why? Because we will burn for all eternity in Hell if we don't. Imagine an adult sitting in a room telling a group of six year olds that if they don't listen to a book, they will suffer eternally. This is how we were roped into living this life so obediently- they scared us to submission. 

You can see this in heaven, telling the angels to always be obedient and follow God's lead, and having the fallen used as a weapon to scare remaining angels into submission. They have been taught this since the very beginning, to always follow God, and to never ask questions. And the angels now? They've seen what happens to those who ask questions. 

Aziraphale was always a good and obedient angel, just like the rest of them after the fall. He believed and followed everything he was taught because it was a he ever knew, and he witnessed what the punishment would be like for him if he didn't. Children of the church are the same. 

He believes these things so deeply, and trusts so much in God that even the being he loves most, Crowley, can't get in the way of that. No amount of temptation or abuse could get him to truly realize that everything he once knew is not really as it seems. Because it is the only thing he knows, I cannot preface that enough, it's all he knows. 

It's all I ever knew when I was growing up, all I never knew was obedience under the Lord and I will forever be loved, and that's a big thing for people, being loved; and in this, it's big for our little angel too. He's desperate to be loved and he's working for it in the only way he knows. 

And we do see Crowley throughout s1 and 2 tempting Aziraphale and making him do things that heaven would not particularly like, but so far, Aziraphale is not at a point where he can truly realize what is being done to him. 

The church, and heaven, manipulates us, and like I said before, it's all we've ever known, and learning that we were raised unjustly in a manipulative and abusive environment that made themselves seem so warm and loving is a shocking thing for us. But isn't that what abuse is? 

Aziraphale has been abused and manipulated for over 6000 years, and if you know anything about abuse, especially associated with one's childhood, it is really hard for someone to accept that someone they love, and believed they were loved by, is abusing and manipulating them. 

That's it, that's what Aziraphale is doing. Even after I realized all the hurt my family put me through in the name of God I still kept running back to them, I still kept defending them, and I still kept telling people it was all ok, even though it hurt so much to do. Because it is all I knew. It was the only place I felt truly loved, even if it was all a lie. 

That's the relationship Aziraphale has with heaven, he's not abandoning Crowley, he just hasn't fully understood the full story of how much Heaven has truly hurt him. Crowley sees it, witnesses it, was victim to it and he tries to tell Aziraphale that, but Aziraphale is still blinded by the way he has lived for 6000 years. 

I lost people I loved in my life because of the blind obedience I was raised with, Aziraphale is losing Crowley because of that, and I can never ever be mad at him because I know what that's like, I see it, I experienced it, and it's ultimately the thing that brought me to tears the most. 

Even to this day I still find myself defending my family for the things they did to me, even now knowing how wrong it was, don't be mad at him, really, it's not his fault. 

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #goodomens #go season 2 #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #neil gaiman #religious trauma #church #childhood trauma #trauma #mental health

[bakasara]

oh, they are Addams couples. Aziraphale and Crowley, and Ed and Stede, are both a flavor of Addams-type couple. Hear me out--

We tend to associate Stede and Aziraphale, and Ed and Crowley, right?

Aesthetically, you have Stede and Aziraphale both looking like posh Blonde White Man Who's Trouble, while Crowley and Ed both got the Edgy Goth aesthetic going on.

By character traits/narrative role, Aziraphale and Stede are the Covert Bastard who can and will be a bitch; they have both long dealt with living in oppressive systems by way of painful compromises and self-repression, always teetering on the edge of desertion and, sooner or later, called to make a choice to disavow those systems for good.

Crowley and Ed are these brilliant and vibrant minds frustrated by hurt, both betrayed in life by a social system outside their control that cast them down without a choice; they take a Flint-style "this ends when I forgive the system, not the other way around" approach to it in that they openly shun the system back, but the original rejection and its cascading effects still left them traumatized and fragile around the matter.

(Then there's all four of these characters being soooo dramatic and such a Theater-Kid-type person, so they all have that in common.)

However, there is a place where the parallels switch, bringing Stede and Crowley far closer on one side, and Aziraphale and Ed closer on the other. And it has to do with the fact that in both these couples there's a character whose job often tends to be Beach, just Beach Husband, just Husband, opposing the other character who's prone to going into High Maintenance Diva / Mermaid With Melancholy modes.

Aziraphale is quite capable of taking care of himself, but he'll literally fold his arms and play princess in the castle waiting for Crowely to rescue him, because Enrichment. He'll do it in life-or-discorporation situations, like when he's about to get guillotined. He'll do it with minor inconveniences - like with the paintball stain, where it's obscenely obvious he's just waiting to be indulged, wants the satisfaction of seeing that Crowley will treat him. He'll pretend he was reading when Crowley comes back from an argument and make Crowley ring a bell to get his attention. "Pleeease, Crowley, do the bullet catch with me even though you've never used a rifle". "Let me take the Bentley while you look after the bookshop". Et cetera. And Crowley takes to all this like a bee to honey. Follows him around the neighborhood, indulges his every caprice, dreams of Alone Time at the Ritz where they can just treat themselves to brunch and, I guess, where he can watch Aziraphale eat some more, which is his idea of this Absolutely Great Activity that just makes his day.

Ed will lean on the helm and sigh like he's Ariel, yes, but it's more than that. Painting the bride cake topper in kajal to look like him sits at the (narratively fucking ingenious) intersection of "I'm making it me because I'm never there, it's never me" and "I'd really like for once for someone to treat me like I'm precious and worthy of pampering" which reflect feelings we've known about since the beginning of s1, at least since he touched the piece of cashmere in Stede's cabin. He also genuinely swings fast between energized/manic and low energy/feelings of hopelessness, and his brain goes Faster Than Yours, and he gets genius-slash-crazy ideas on the reg. When he needed to call to all of his strength he imagined it as a giant sea creature with huge, all-encompassing arms. Florence Welch Big God Behavior. It's a big personality, and you're either enamored with it or not, you're either happy to follow him around basking in it, or you're not strong enough a suitor to his heart and should abandon pursuit. But luckily Stede's also a crazy maniac whose life goal is riding or dying for that in his Boyfriend Era until he can ride or die for that in his Faithful and Realized Husband Era.

So yeah, there's a lot to the dynamic between these duos - more than this, don't get me wrong! - but I'm VERY appreciative of this facet of them that gets all tongue-in-cheek kinda

#ofmd #good omens #ineffable husbands #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #not to mean that crowley and stede don't also need some pampering and taking care of #or that aziraphale and ed don't pay attention to that #definitely not what i'm saying - not even in the general area of. just to clarify

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 11 Part 1

Oof. Busy day at work today. Resume! The boys have something to talk about...

Discussion this chapter of magical injuries, and we get our first big swear.

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 11

Aziraphale’s upturned face was full of hope. He opened his mouth to speak.

Crowley held up a finger. Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut. Crowley had no idea what his own face must look like, but the sight of it caused the light in Aziraphale’s eyes to snuff right out. The angel swallowed and stared at him.

Crowley tried to collect himself while experiencing twenty-two emotions in the span of ten seconds.

In a cracked voice, he said, “What. The Hell. Are you doing here.”

Aziraphale’s hands wrung together. “I’m so sorry to drop in unannounced,” he said.

He sounded sincere. As if a lack of manners was the issue. Crowley made an undignified noise.

“It must have given you quite a shock. If there was some way to contact you beforehand -”

“I didn’t need another of your notes.”

There was a horrible pause.

“Qu-quite.” Aziraphale looked pale. “Um. Perhaps I should explain?”

An explanation. Crowley flashed back to the day he’d returned to the bookshop, shame-faced and heart-bruised, and found it dark and empty, summoning circle cold for hours, and that one sheet of paper on the bureau addressed to him. His stomach dropped away.

“I came back, because… because I had to see you. The thing is…”

Aziraphale’s lip wobbled. Then it burst out of him like a dam exploding.

“I couldn’t do it, Crowley! I couldn’t sit up there and smile while they all counted down to Armageddon like it was New Years’ bloody Eve. I want no part in any of it. They were going to give me a regiment and - Crowley, I can’t do it. Killing for them, seeing you killed. They’re looking forward to getting to melt the Earth down to a slag heap. I can’t even comprehend it. I’ve seen the world they’re so keen to duplicate down here, and it’s awful, Crowley. Seventy-eight years of Singalong Sound of Music, you have no idea. I can’t take an eternity of that. I thought I had no choice, I thought I had to stick it out, but it got to today and it was all too much and I just had to come and find you. I’ve been an idiot. We should have done this from the start, when Zadkiel wanted to. He was right all along, and I was wrong. We have to escape. This world is going to end, no matter what, but it doesn’t have to be the end for us.”

Nothing could have prepared Crowley for Aziraphale bursting up to him and suggesting they go on the lam.

He managed a croaky, “You what?”

Aziraphale took a step towards him. His eyes held a feverish glow.

“We can do it. I’ve thought it all through, and it’s possible. If we act now. Flee into space, live as a fusion. Heaven and Hell won’t be able to track us. Besides, they’re going to be busy with everything down here. We can have our pick of where to settle down. Er, where’s nice… Alpha Centauri, say? I’m sure I’ve heard you talking about it.”

Crowley said, “Nnng.” It was all he had left.

Aziraphale came closer. He took Crowley’s hand. Crowley stared down at it as if it wasn’t attached to him.

“Will you please come with me?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley forgot what breathing felt like.

Aziraphale noticed something. He glanced down at their joined hands.

“Crowley, why are you wearing one glove?”

Crowley remembered what breathing was. He sucked in a lungful of air. Aziraphale’s face dropped at his expression.

Crowley made a strained hissing sound. Tears leaked out of his eyes and streaked down his face, under his sunglasses. Shit. Shit.

He scrubbed his face. Aziraphale made a soft noise and reached for him.

“Get back. Don’t you dare.”

Aziraphale turned white and backed away.

Crowley shook, face hidden in his hand. Everything was upside down. He didn’t know how to even voice everything he’d felt over the past seventy-eight years. What it was like to cram all the love he had into a box and bury it and go back to work, and keep going back to work, every single day.

“How fucking dare you pull this. I never thought I’d see you again. You abandoned me. You got scared, and you fled and you left me alone. Ran right back to that supercilious lot without a word. I’m sorry you haven’t been enjoying their company these last few years, that must have been really hard for you. I’ve been down here with Hastur and Ligur and half of Hell. I’ll tell you something, I’d rather see them right now than you.”

“Oh, goodness. Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought I was saving your life.”

“Saving my -?” Crowley barked a laugh. More tears came. “What kind of -”

He had to pull his sunglasses off and wipe his face. What was the point in dignity when Aziraphale looked at him like that?

“What happened to your arm, Crowley?”

It hurt. Crowley didn’t know why, but his arm was in more pain than it had ever been since it first happened. He clutched it, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Can I see? Please?”

Why not. The glove felt as though it were compressing the wound, making it swell with pain. Crowley fumbled with it, forgetting he could just miracle it away. Maybe he didn’t want the dramatic reveal of baring it all at once. He peeled the glove down, ignoring the way Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

It looked appalling, he knew. His arm was withered from the elbow down, drained of colour and white as a corpse. Cracks in his skin ran all the way along his forearm; unnatural gaps, as though his arm was pieced together from shards of pottery. Gold shone through them, a strange effect that was not quite liquid and not quite light. It was the colour of angels.

Crowley didn’t understand why the pain had spiked. The injury was old. His jacket covered most of it, luckily. Aziraphale’s face was bad enough as it was.

“My poor Crowley.” Aziraphale reached for his other hand. Crowley let him. He let himself feel the warmth of Aziraphale’s thumb stroking the back of his hand.

“Turns out fusing had some extra perks,” he said, attempting levity.

“What do you mean?”

He might as well tell him. He cleared his throat.

“I was in SoHo. It was… I dunno, nineteen-sixty something. I planned a heist. Got a whole crew together. I knew it was dangerous, but I wanted insurance. Even with you gone, I was afraid Hell might poke around and find the last thousand years’ lunch receipts or something. Figure out I’d got a bit too chummy with an angel. So I hired a team, and we did the job. It was in a church. It went wrong.”

“What were you stealing?”

“Holy water.”

Aziraphale’s thumb stopped moving. His breath trembled out of him. Then he resumed stroking Crowley’s hand.

“Oh, Crowley. If I’d been there. I’m so sorry.”

Crowley had to look away. “Didn’t kill me though,” he said. “I think all the fusing must have made me immune. Slightly. It just… burned.” He winced. It was still burning. His arm and heart hurt in equal measures. “I went home and licked my wounds - figuratively, I don’t want a withered tongue - and I’ve been trying to hide it from the rest of my side ever since. Don’t have a very non-treasonous explanation for it.”

“That must have been so hard. All those years.”

“Well.” Crowley shrugged one shoulder. “What was one more secret?”

He felt exhausted. Whoever said confession was good for the soul hadn’t talked to demons.

“You’re probably immune to hellfire, too, a bit,” he said. “Don’t go testing it, obviously.”

Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley fiddled with his sleeve. He hoped he could cover up soon. Looking at the gold seeping through the cracks in his skin for too long made his eyes go funny.

“I wish I could take all this back,” Aziraphale said.

The pain was subsiding a little. Rather than constant agony, it came and went in waves. Crowley still didn’t know why it had spiked. Looking at Aziraphale made it worse, a fact that hurt almost as much as the physical pain.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, dreading the answer.

Aziraphale’s movements stilled. He sighed.

“I thought I needed to. It was the only way to keep us safe. We couldn’t trust ourselves around each other. Someone had to separate us, and I thought it should be me. I thought I was being noble. It was cruel. I’m sorry.”

Crowley was right. Hearing that didn’t make him feel any better. He didn’t feel worse, either. He’d settled on slightly numb. He wished he could say the same for his arm. It throbbed like poison.

The pain must have shown, because Aziraphale looked concerned. “Is it still bad?”

“Fnn.” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut.

“What’s causing it? It’s not…” Aziraphale sounded suddenly alarmed. “Is it reacting to me? Because I’m an angel? If the wound was inflicted by Heavenly means - oh dear -”

Crowley gritted his teeth. He forced himself to look at Aziraphale. The angel’s wretched expression stung his heart. Some mean, hurt part of him wanted to make Aziraphale feel worse.

“It’s not because you’re an angel, Aziraphale. It’s because I’m angry. At you. I haven’t forgiven you. Seeing you just. Hurts.”

Aziraphale flinched. Crowley felt a wave of vindication. Then he just felt sick.

For a while, no-one spoke.

Aziraphale muttered, “Psychosomatic.”

“Bless you,” Crowley said irritably, ignoring the burst of foul taste in his mouth.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Rolled his eyes -! Crowley was so outraged he temporarily forgot all the other things he was outraged about.

“It’s not just a physical injury. It’s emotional. You associate it with me… abandoning you. Well, I’ll tell you what, you old serpent. I will never abandon you, never. If you’ll let me, I will stay by your side, from now until the end of everything. Which I’m hoping won’t be today. I love you.”

Aziraphale moved closer. There was a determined, blazing look in his eye.

Crowley tried to splutter about demon and feelings and don’t pull faces at me, you bastard, but lost every word in his head the moment Aziraphale pressed closer and kissed him.

They never. Quite got around to doing that before.

A turbulent ocean fell suddenly calm.

Crowley’s arms had fallen to his sides (useless lumps, if they were house-plants, he’d put the fear of him in them). He realised, through the haze that had settled around him, that the pain in the right arm had soothed to a dull sting.

Aziraphale’s hands were on his face, holding him like something precious. Crowley whined. Then he blushed so hotly his head was in danger of melting. He rallied his mutinous arms and wound them around Aziraphale’s plump shoulders.

Time swum, deliciously.

Aziraphale shifted. He broke the kiss, but still leaned his cheek to Crowley’s. Crowley felt as if he lacked any say over his feet or tongue, but did his best to stay upright and form sentences.

“You - ah. Hn.” Going well. “You said you had a plan?”

The unangelic gleam in Aziraphale’s eye was mesmerising this close up. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Crowley wetted his lips and got distracted utterly by recent memory. “Alpha Centauri… ‘s pretty nice this time of year…”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. Crowley took in the love and joy beaming from it and tried to keep a lid on his emotions for both their sakes. He failed.

“Crowley… are you saying you’ll come with me?”

Crowley didn’t trust himself with words. He nodded.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Why not? I like space.”

His happiness was such that he didn’t even kick himself over that line. He suspected he was grinning like an idiot. Might as well commit to the madness fully. He bent down and kissed Aziraphale first this time.

An unknowable amount of time passed.

From the doorway, someone coughed.

Crowley and Aziraphale froze. Their lips unstuck, with a noise that rather burst the bubble of romantic frenzy from moments ago.

Crowley’s eyes flicked past Aziraphale’s shoulder.

An unimpressed eleven-year-old Antichrist was watching them.

There were probably a few ways this could be a bigger fiasco. Probably. Crowley took a half-step back and tried to straighten his clothes out.

“You’re not dead,” Adam said, flatly.

Aziraphale turned and tried to smile. “Erm -”

“And you -”

Adam looked Crowley up and down. Crowley felt that he was being seen right through to his very demonic core. He resisted a panicked urge to fling himself out of the window.

“You’re normally a snake,” Adam declared.

Crowley cringed.

“And imaginary,” Adam added, accusatory.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Crowley said, pointlessly, because he wasn’t entirely sure what it did look like.

Adam gave them both a shrewd look. “It looks like you’re my imaginary friend and you’re a magician I murdered, and you’re planning on running away together into space.”

It was hard to dispute any of that. Crowley opened his mouth to try.

“Can I come?” Adam said.

“What? No.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Are you aliens?”

Crowley glared at Adam, trying to calculate a response. “Why…?”

“Space.” Adam gave him a look, as if it were self-evident. “Plus, you can shape-shift.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, insistently.

Crowley turned to him, hoping he had a brilliant suggestion.

“Is that the Antichrist?” Aziraphale stage-whispered.

Crowley rolled his eyes so hard they sprained. “Yes, that is the Antichrist,” he hissed back.

Adam scowled. “You sound like my mum.”

“Look, er.” Aziraphale tried another smile. “I’m terribly sorry about earlier, but this really isn’t… anything. We were just joking around, you know, and…”

“I know everything’s messed up,” said Adam.

There was a pause.

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked.

Adam shrugged. “Everything. I know… I know stuff isn’t normal. The stuff that goes on in this house isn’t… how things are supposed to be. I’ve had enough of it. I want to go with you. I’d rather live in space.”

Aziraphale shared an uncomfortable look with Crowley. Crowley decided this had gone on long enough.

“Go to your room,” he said, and snapped his fingers.

Adam stayed where he was. He folded his arms, implacable. He was a five-foot barricade, as impassable as a steel door.

“That won’t work, he’s immune to occult persuasion,” Aziraphale murmured to him.

“Oh, now you’re the expert?”

Adam took a step towards them. They leaned back.

“I want to see space.”

Crowley wanted to see space, too, and he could feel it slip from his grasp the more time they wasted arguing with an eleven-year-old.

“Fine, you can come,” he snapped.

A grin split Adam’s face in two. “Really?”

Aziraphale’s head snapped around. “Really?”

“We’ve got between here and Alpha Centauri to ditch him,” Crowley muttered to him.

“I am not kidnapping a child, Crowley!”

“How are you kidnapping him? He’s kidnapping us! Besides,” Crowley lowered his voice further. “Armageddon can’t happen without him. If the Antichrist isn’t on Earth…”

Aziraphale caught on. “Maybe it never happens.”

Crowley still had it. Temptation accomplished.

Aziraphale bustled up to Adam. “Welcome aboard, young man.” He shook Adam’s hand.

“Thanks,” Adam said. He’d forgotten about the whole manslaughter debacle already, by the look of things.

“Now, stay close.”

Aziraphale peered along the corridor. He beckoned Adam and Crowley to follow him. Crowley brought up the rear, wondering how all this had happened to him.

On the way out, they ran into the American cultural attaché. He waved vaguely to Adam as he passed.

“Merry Christmas, son,” he said, sounding a bit uncertain.

“Bye, dad,” Adam said, distractedly.

They left him behind and went out the front door, all three acting as though they were in very different spy films.

As they snuck across the lawn, with maximum drama and minimum stealth, Crowley remembered something.

“Hey,” he said to Adam. “Did a giant dog ever show up?”

Adam looked at him as if he was talking nonsense. “No. I haven’t wanted a dog in years.”

“Cool, cool. Just wondering.”

~*~

In the shrubbery, the enormous and poorly concealed Hellhound put its tail between its legs.

It didn’t understand. It was made for one purpose. If its master didn’t want it, why was it here?

It crept from the shrubbery, far less conspicuous than the three beings it was following, and stalked across the lawn towards the street. It would stay in its master’s shadow, out of sight, until he decided he wanted a dog after all.

---

Musical interlude x2! This chapter has a soundtrack. For Aziraphale’s perspective of the last seventy eight years, go here!

Then, the boys duet about their feelings here!

---

(Link to next part)

#omens universe fic #omens universe #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #steven universe #omg poor Dog #I feel so bad for him #anyway Crowley's injury was a little based on Pink Pearl's #in terms of how much of it was physical vs psychosomatic #it definitely hasn't gone away #it just hurts more when he's associating it with Aziraphale's abandonment #I did a half-hacky thing by making his arm look like kintaro but not directly referencing it #anyway Crowley and Aziraphale get to share their brain cell with an 11-year-old child from now on good for them

[azfellandco]

It’s like this.

Crowley’s been in love since Eden. Utterly smitten. He took one long look at Aziraphale as he justified giving Adam and Eve his sword and he was done for, and he’s been done for ever since.

Aziraphale has known, on some level, since Rome. I haven’t written the fic I want to write about this yet but it comes down to this: before Rome it was always Crowley who sought out Aziraphale, and it usually happens that way after, but Aziraphale just happened to bump into him when he was looking very glum and had just changed his hairstyle and started covering his eyes? Just accidentally? Nope, don’t buy it, more happened there.

So Crowley’s loved Aziraphale since Eden, and Aziraphale’s known it since Rome, and I think he’s always been aware, distantly, that he could love Crowley back if he let himself.

But he doesn’t. He lets Crowley do little favors for him and he gets himself into trouble so Crowley will rescue him and he’ll have an excuse— to look at him so fondly, to spend time with him. And he’s so painfully aware that Crowley keeps coming back because he love him.

Because the other side of Crowley knowing, because he fell, because God cast him out and stopped loving him? The other side of Crowley knowing that even God’s love is conditional is that Aziraphale knows that, too. And what in the world, in the universe, has he done to earn the sort of devotion Crowley has towards him?

Aziraphale is a mediocre angel. He’s never been able to muster up the sort of easy, solid Belief angels like Gabriel and Michael and Uriel and Sandalphon have, that unquestioning acceptance. He wonders in Eden if he did the right thing, laughs in relief with Crowley at the prospect he didn’t before the ramifications catch up with him. He’s selfish and stubborn and he enjoys the world far more than other angels seem to think is Good for him. And Crowley, fallen Crowley, who Aziraphale has to know cannot possibly have the same sort of relationship with the idea of “unconditional love” as Heaven does, loves him. The idea terrifies him (not because it’s a reminder that he’ll never be as Good as he’s supposed to, I think everything and everyone Aziraphale encounters reminds him of that and he’s used to it) because there’s nothing he could ever give Crowley back that could even begin to repay him for it.

And Aziraphale thinks if he doesn’t he’s going to lose him, and he clings, oh man, we make Crowley pretty clingy in fanon but it’s Aziraphale who brings up how Hell will punish him, Aziraphale who thinks Hell will destroy Crowley if they find out about their association, Aziraphale who brings up suicide when Crowley asks him for holy water. I’ve been threatening a meta on how Aziraphale jumping to the conclusion that Crowley wants to kill himself is purely guilt on his part and a faulty assumption to boot for weeks and this is that meta, I guess. Crowley doesn’t ask for holy water because he’s suicidal. Crowley asks for holy water because he’s cautious, and he’s clever, and he plans ahead, and Aziraphale just assuming he wants to kill himself smacks to me of the fear of abandonment. “It would destroy you/hell would destroy you” he says, but what he means is don’t leave me here, don’t make me do this alone. It’s why he looks so hurt about Alpha Centauri, because he finally knows that Crowley never would and it’s too late now. Because Crowley loves Aziraphale and Aziraphale loves Crowley but he’s never claimed it, never let himself, and he knows he has no right to Crowley’s affection and regard if he won’t even admit to him that it’s important and that he feels the same.

And so we come to 1941, where Crowley saves Aziraphale’s books, anticipates that he’d be upset about them and saves them at the same time he saves both their lives, and I think something just. Clicks. Aziraphale expression there has never struck me as anything as simple as realizing he’s in love. He looks devastated, somehow, not upset devastated but dazed, overwhelmed, struck dumb, and the reason is that it’s finally hit him that Crowley loves him the same way he loves Crowley. Without expectation or consequence or desire for reward. Crowley saved Aziraphale’s books as a selfless act because he knows him and he likes making him happy, and I think in that moment Aziraphale realizes that’s all it really has ever been, that Crowley loves him and likes making him happy. That Crowley doesn’t think Aziraphale owes him anything. And I think that stuns him, because he’s been so very, very wrong about the most important person in his world, and I just. I’m hugely sappy about this. To draw on the “the show is fanfiction” analogy, it’s the show’s emotional equivalent of all those fics where Aziraphale realizes that he was wrong about “especially not to you” in the book. Where Aziraphale realizes Crowley is capable of the kind of love that you can feel like that, and that he’s always felt it. 

I dunno, I just. I cannot, I refuse to believe that Aziraphale didn’t know Crowley loved him. “You go too fast for me” are not the words of somebody who’s only realized in the last 26 years they’re in love. That only makes sense as a statement if it’s not about anything recent and is instead about Eden, and Mesopotamia, and Golgotha and Rome and Wessex and every time since then. Aziraphale and Crowley loved each other for a very, very long time, and I think it was partially a misjudgment of what that love meant to Crowley and partially his own insecurities about Heaven and his role as an angel that kept Aziraphale from acknowledging it to himself sooner. 

#meta #amazon series #this is. overwrought #i am overwrought

[lady-divine-writes]

Husband, Guardian, Muse (Rated NC17) Chapter 2/3

Summary: After the untimely death of his husband and muse, Crowley tries to find the simplest, most foolproof way to join him. But in the days that follow, he discovers that sometimes what looks like an ending can turn out to be a beginning, and that no one is ever really gone if we find a way to remember them.

Human au. Warning for death, alcohol abuse, thoughts of suicide, but with a happy ending :)

Read on AO3.

Crowley spent five days fighting his fever, barely able to move, completely unable to keep anything down, and he was grateful for every excruciating second. It gave him something to think about besides the inevitable. Part of him hoped he wouldn’t get better, that the illness would do his job for him. He slept so deeply during that time, he thought he was dead, but instead of a peaceful eternity spent with Aziraphale, there was nothing – endless darkness until he woke again.

And that scared him most.

Because if there was nothing to go to after death, Aziraphale wasn’t only gone in the physical sense. It meant he no longer existed. And after their relatively short life together, Crowley would never see his beloved husband again.

On the sixth day, he had enough. His legs trembled and his stomach threatened to turn him inside out with every step he took, but he didn’t care.

It was time to get started.

Crowley refused to look at his phone. He wasn’t going to check his messages or his emails. He didn’t want to see pleas from their friends begging him to call them back, wondering how he was doing, asking how they could help. He got a taste of that at Aziraphale’s funeral, and each idea they had was the same. From short vacations to year-long trips around the world, they all wanted to take him away from his life, from his troubles … from everything that reminded him of his husband. Crowley knew that they meant well but he couldn’t. He had a connection to this cottage, not because it felt like a home, but because it felt like a mausoleum.

He couldn’t leave.

He did feel like a heel for not letting anyone know that he was alive … for the time being. Especially Tracy Shadwell. But if he texted Tracy or called her, Crowley would probably spill the beans, then everyone Crowley knew would be on his doorstep, ready to spend 24/7 sitting vigil by his bedside to make sure he didn’t down a bottle of pills.

It had occurred to Crowley that planning on killing himself was the worst way he could repay their friends, all of them, for their kindness, their love, and their never-ending support.

In that vein, what Crowley was doing could be considered unforgivable.

But he couldn’t concern himself with that, so he switched gears to something that aggravated the heck out of him, something he wouldn’t be sorry to leave behind.

Crowley knew he’d probably accrued over a dozen messages from village hall, calling with ideas for his painting, and he couldn’t care less. They had paid him in advance. They would get what he chose to paint for them and like it.

So what if they threatened to sue him?

He’d like to see them try.

This first painting, the one Aziraphale had chided him for putting off, was supposed to be a dramatic landscape view from a hilltop east of the county where they lived. He had planned to drive up there and map out the area, do some preliminary sketches, gauge his perspective. But those plans had also included a picnic lunch with Aziraphale, and then outdoor sex on their favorite blanket. Considering that that was no longer an option, Screw it, he thought. I’m gonna wing it.

It wouldn’t be a stretch. Crowley had this particular location set to memory. He and Aziraphale had driven all over it in Crowley’s Bentley. They knew the place by heart - where the roads led, the dips and curves that passed beneath the tall trees, where the creek crossed the old cow road, and the man-made trails that carved their lazy ways up and up.

He and Aziraphale had made love along most of those: in the back seat of his car parked hidden from view, even lying out on the grass under the sun on one or two more adventurous occasions.

One time in the rain.

Crowley sighed.

He was torturing himself now.

He needed it to hurt, or he might find himself content to live with the memories.

He chose a blank canvas from a pile of prepped ones on the floor and dropped it unceremoniously onto his easel.

This wasn’t going to be his best work. Far from it, as a matter of fact.

Why put one hundred percent into it? If you’ve seen one stinking landscape, you’ve seen them all. As long as it was a step up from something he’d find hanging in a Marriott, it’d be fine.

Crowley barely regarded the canvas before he started dropping paint on it, not giving a single fuck when the grass bled into the sky too far on one side, or how the hill looked more like a humpbacked snake than a majestically sweeping expanse of green. In his head, he could hear Aziraphale chuckling, high-pitched and giddy. Crowley grinned at the thought of Aziraphale standing beside him, teasing him over how lopsided his painting was, how it looked like someone taking hallucinogenic mushrooms had created it.

Crowley would shut him up by reaching out a stained hand and threatening his favorite coat.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale would screech. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” Crowley would reply. The painting abandoned, Crowley would chase Aziraphale throughout the cottage, skidding past furniture and dodging drying canvases along the way. Aziraphale would head outside in the hopes of saving his precious books, stacked on every flat surface, from being knocked to the ground. Crowley would follow, purposefully keeping several paces behind.

Because Aziraphale running was adorable to watch!

But not far from the patio, Aziraphale would grow tired and slow up, an old service injury in his knee flaring and causing it to ache. He’d call out breathlessly, “All right, you wily serpent, you! You win! I give! Just … stain it somewhere it won’t show!”

But Crowley wouldn’t ruin Aziraphale’s favorite coat. Not for the world.

Somewhere along the route he’d have grabbed a rag to start cleaning himself up.

He’d still win, of course - overtake Aziraphale in the end.

But only because it was fun.

Which meant he deserved a prize.

He’d grab Aziraphale round the waist and drag his body against him, panting and flushed and simply perfect in every way. The coat would be safe, but bits of paint would end up stuck to Aziraphale’s hair by the time they finished making love, clinging where Crowley ran his fingers through it, streaking the pale strands shades of rainbow. Aziraphale would catch it in a reflection somewhere and frown, but then he’d laugh, his eyes lighting up, the love radiating from them too magnanimous to contain.

Crowley stopped daydreaming when he felt tears leave his eyes. He wiped his cheeks on the sleeve of his work shirt, shoving away memories of an afternoon spent a colorful mess.

Crowley looked at his painting, prepared to mock the disaster he had wrought as a way of leaving that memory behind. He pictured the travesty of having this worthless piece of shit hanging at village hall with his name emblazoned on a brass plaque underneath and felt wryly satisfied. But then he stopped. He stared. His pallet slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor, spattering his shoes and marking the wood.

Gone were the globs of paint and the humpback snake.

During his fantasizing, he had fixed the painting, changed it from monstrosity to memory (and a vivid one at that) of the hillside in spring: wildflowers dotting the grass, the sun a suggestion in the quality of the light and the shadows it threw. If he had been aiming for perfection, consciously attempting to convey beauty and the promise of new life, he could never have been able to come close to this.

But recognition of his own exceptional technique wasn’t what drew his eye.

It was the stretch of road in the distance.

On it, a Bentley drove along with two passengers inside. Crowley assumed he was the one behind the wheel, but the man in the driver’s seat was most definitely Aziraphale, turning to gaze over his shoulder, sublime smile on his face.

He looked so happy, so carefree.

He looked so real.

Crowley reached out a hand, fingertips hovering over the place where Aziraphale’s face looked up at him.

“What the---?”

Honk, honk!

Crowley jumped at the wail of a car horn coming from his driveway. But once surprise subsided, it swiftly turned to annoyance. The idea that someone who couldn’t get him by phone had driven out to his cottage infuriated him!

Crowley considered not answering out of spite, but the urge to throw open his door and hurl insults at this intruder was too overwhelming to resist. He left the painting on its easel and stomped through the cottage to the front door.

Honk, honk!

“Yeah, yeah, I get it!” Crowley growled. “You’re so important, you can’t even get out of your car and ring the damn bell!”

Honk, honk!

“Come on, Crowley! Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

Crowley stopped cold in his tracks.

He stood paralyzed, gaping like a dying fish, choking on the million words rushing to come out but couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything - couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. For what seemed like forever, he couldn’t make himself do anything.

Honk, honk!

“Crowley! You promised me a picnic! I have the blanket!”

“A-Aziraphale?” Crowley ran for the door. “Aziraphale? Angel?” He couldn’t believe he was saying it, as if Aziraphale would actually be there. He wanted to slap himself for even thinking it was a possibility. But there he was, reaching for the knob, hoping against hope for what he would see once he opened it.

Honk, ho -- -

The sound cut off when the door flew open, and for a second, Crowley heard a laugh and saw a flash of blue eyes in the passenger seat of his Bentley.

A Bentley that had been kept covered since the funeral.

He didn’t drive it home from the cemetery. Generous associates had it delivered when they heard it had been towed.

Crowley had been indifferent.

He didn’t think he’d actually drive it again.

Crowley stood in the doorway, his brain trying to reconcile what he was looking at.

A car.

It was just a car.

Nothing supernatural about it.

Crowley stepped outside and looked closer, examining it to find out why it had been honking on its own.

How a cover that fit snuggly had suddenly blown off.

Especially when there was no wind at present.

Crowley searched the driveway, the cottage, and the field beyond for some sign that someone, probably some stupid neighbor’s kid, had been pulling pranks. He covered the Bentley again, concentrating on it other than Aziraphale standing in the driveway honking the horn.

Praying it would stop his hands from shaking.

Crowley took one final look around before retreating back to the cottage. He double-locked the door behind him, feeling ridiculous when he did. He returned to the painting, to the peaceful hillside and the happy couple in the car driving off into the sunset.

A revulsion filled him.

It was too much.

It was all too much.

He couldn’t let village hall have this memory, and he couldn’t put on public display something that would never be again.

He grabbed a bottle of paint thinner and doused the painting, watching the colors run, the couple in their little car smearing down the canvas and dripping over the edge. He watched until the picturesque hillside was reduced to nothing more than slop. Then he turned his back on his memories and went to bed.

***

“Crowley! Are you going to wash my back or not?”

“Hold up, angel! I’m … uh … doing something”

“What are you …? Oh, God! Tell me you’re not masturbating … or something equally vulgar!”

“Ha! What if I am?”

“You know, my love, I’m pretty sure you’re going to wear that thing out with over use!”

“Never!”

“Wait … are you … sketching me!? I’m in the shower!”

“I know. That’s why I’m sketching you.”

“But I’m naked! And I … wait a minute … it … it can’t be that big, can it?”

“Yup.”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Are you …?”

“Aziraphale, I just spent half-an-hour with your cock in my mouth. I think I know how big it is.”

“Oh. Well, continue on, then.”

Crowley woke to the sound of his own laughter. He felt so light, so happy. He laughed so hard, tears leaked from his eyes. It shook his head, which caused him to wake. The more conscious of his surroundings he became, the more aware he was of two things: a grainy texture on his fingertips, and the muted sound of falling water.

It was raining again.

Crowley opened his eyes. He didn’t want to, but he was curious about the substance on his skin. Eyes adjusting to the low light, a sketch pad and charcoal pencil came into view, lying beside him on the bed.

He’d been drawing in his sleep.

Unusual, but it had happened before.

He lifted up on his elbows to get a better look at the drawing. It was crude, but amazingly, one of his best. He blinked away more sleep in order to identify the subject.

Realization shot like an arrow through his chest, but he wasn’t surprised.

He had drawn Aziraphale taking a shower, hands tangled in his hair, steam rising around his body, a sly smile on his lips at being watched.

Crowley loved that smile.

He could get lost in that smile.

He got lost in it now, so lost, he barely remembered the rain. But not rain, he realized as the memory dissolved and Crowley’s mind began to wake.

The shower.

And above the sound of falling water, he heard another, more magnificent sound.

Someone humming.

Crowley bolted from his bed. It had to be real this time! There couldn’t be any doubt! The shower was only a few feet from where he lay. He heard the water and the humming as clear as day. Crowley raced into the bathroom, air thick with steam, mirrors covered in condensation. His heart leapt as the sounds became louder.

“Crowley! Is that you? I …”

Crowley threw the curtains open, ready to embrace his wet husband with open arms.

Everything stopped.

No water.

Steam gone.

The mirrors dry.

He stood in shock, staring at an empty shower of cream-colored tile.

Crowley found himself caught between emotions - a desire to howl in anger along with the beginnings of a complete nervous breakdown.

He chose anger, feeling it best if he stayed sane a little longer.

He tore down the shower curtain. He stormed through the bathroom and pulled the mirrors off the walls, tossed bottles left and right. He punched the tile, cracking the porcelain and cutting his hand. The stab of pain pulled his focus. He stared at his bleeding hand, his chest burning as his heart pounded to break through his ribcage. He stood among the wreckage of the master bath and sighed.

So much rage.

So much sadness.

So much useless destruction.

None of it was going to bring Aziraphale back.

Crowley made his way to the kitchen, past the wasted pallet on the floor, past the painting still dripping acrylic, and headed for the sink. He turned on the cold water and stuck his hand underneath. Head bowed over the basin, he watched the blood from his cuts rinse away. His eyes drifted closed as the water soothed his stinging hand. He imagined Aziraphale draping an arm around him, fussing over him, kissing his temples, massaging his neck, telling him everything would be alright.

When his hand went from stinging to numb, Crowley fumbled for the faucet with eyes closed and shut the water off.

In the silence, Crowley heard a sigh that wasn’t his own.

He didn’t open his eyes.

He wanted Aziraphale back.

But he was done seeing ghosts.

He wanted it all to end.

“Paint it,” Crowley heard a quiet voice say. “Paint what you want.”

When Crowley opened his eyes, the blue eyes he knew had been there were gone.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale

[alysmarylin]

The fic you've been waiting for

Crowley avenging his beloved angel - Sandalphon got what he deserved (don't thank me, reblog instead)!!!!!!!!

Crowley and Aziraphale were unpacking the stuff they bought on a big shopping Sunday, and to this very day Crowley can't remember why and how they ended up talking about Aziraphale's, well... Ex-kin.

"I kinda enjoyed Michael", Crowley laughed. "Rather good-looking. Uriel, on the other hand..."

"Don't get me started on Uriel and Sandalphon", Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I hate their guts"

"Sandalphon was a tough prick, I remember. And uglier than Belzebub", Crowley sneered.

"You don't say. He works in my place now, homophobic son of a... They couldn't have picked a worse candidate", Aziraphale said in a somewhat hurt voice. 

"Don't worry, angel. Soon enough, he will receive some beating from locals, I tell you"

"Yeah, I should've definitely punched that bastard back", Aziraphale muttered under his nose quietly, angrily. 

" Yeah, you bet...", Crowley laughed and then stopped abruptly. "W-w-wait, wait-wait-wait. Back? What do you mean, back?". Crowley stood up from the floor and stepped up to Aziraphale. 

" Nothing, really"

"No, not nothing". Crowley's eyes were widened in shock. " Do you mean, that, that piece of shit HIT you?!"

Aziraphale lowered his eyes. It looked like the memory wasn't pleasant. Crowley was gasping.

"When? When did it happen? How come I didn't know?", Crowley was not yet angry but more frightened. " Angel, look at me. Talk to me. Someone battered you and I know nothing of it?!"

"No one battered me. I was walking back to my bookshop and Michael, Uriel and... And he approached me, I was questioned..."

"Where the Hell was I?" - Crowley asked, astonished.

"You drove home", Aziraphale said quietly and sadly.

Crowley tilted his head backward and sighed with despair. "I should've known... ". He lowered his head and looked at Aziraphale with sadness and pain. Aziraphale looked confused and lost.

" What did he do? Tell me, angel", Crowley stepped closer, putting his hand on Aziraphale's arm, leaning closer. "Tell me. He's dead"

"Don't you dare, Crowley, we got away and I won't..."

"What did he do to you? What? Why didn't you tell me? I was up there, I saw him, I could've..."

"Because I didn't want you to", Aziraphale answered bitterly. " I needed you to be concentrated and cool-headed. You freed me from them, same as I did for you. That's all that matters"

"No, it's not. You look sad, you look hurt", Crowley said, cupping Aziraphale's cheek. " Otherwise you would've forgotten".

"He punched me in the stomach, alright?", Aziraphale said with a lump in his throat. His lower lip trmbled a bit. "It wasn't as painful physically as it was humiliating".

Crowley looked down on his angel's belly - soft, beautiful, beloved and precious - and everything before his eyes suddenly became red as blood.

"I told you because I trust you, but if you dare approach him or pull out something stupid like that, I will leave you, Crowley", he heard Aziraphale's voice from some distance.

"Do you hear me? Answer me, Crowley"

Crowley felt his head filling with lead from within.

"I will not approach him. I swear it"

"Good", he hears Aziraphale say. " I'll finish unpacking"

Crowley stopped Aziraphale, holding him by the arm. He embraced him from behind, wrapping one of his arms around his chest and putting his hand gently on the angel's belly. He buried his nose in his soft blonde curls and muttered: "I love you".

"I love you too", Aziraphale answered softly, "Now let me finish".

Crowley looked at him, picking up paper bags and arranging the stuff around the room, looking small and soft and lovely. Somehow it made his silent rage all the more burning and red became crimson in his eyes. He swore he wouldn't approach that sick fuck who laid his dirty hands - no, he couldn't bear to think of it - on Aziraphale

... But he said nothing of his friends.

***

Crowley pulled his hood further on his forehead

"Pleasure to see you, Jay. You look like a heroin addict in that hoody", said Phil. 

"I have to hide my hair somehow. Rare color"

Crowley was nervous and feeling restless.

"Yep. You're drop-dead gorgeous lad, we get it. To what I owe the pleasure?"

"I need to track someone down. Name's Saldanphon but he changes his IDs every now and then. You'll have to check for anything similar. Don't have a picture, but I draw him", Crowley laid a piece of paper on a table. The drawing looked fairly accurate. " Looks middle-aged, a bit fat, bald, ugly, has a golden tooth. A homophobe might be hanging around gay bars and the likes to preach or intimidate or whatever he does. That's all I have as of now".

"Well", Phil sighed " It's doable. But it will take a while. Any family?"

"No, none at all"

"I see. The golden tooth is indeed something". Phil looked at Crowley's hand. "You got married?"

"Ugh, yeah", Crowley answered looking around. " You know how to, ehm, tell me of the progress?"

"I've been around longer than you", Phil said wearily, and Crowley had to keep his mouth shut on that remark, " You'll know when I find something. Just one more thing. This, ehm, funny-named morality apostle. What exactly are you planning? He's gonna go?"

"No, not go", Crowley said with sheer disappointment "Plainly be taught a lesson. He put his shitty hands where he shouldn't have".

"Are you gonna call our mutual friend?", Phil raised his eyebrows. " If you want to make it clean, it's the best way. They'll never track his men down. Just food for thought, Jay. A piece of advice from the old man"

"That sounds reasonable", Crowley nodded, as if he had had any idea what to do next when he came to Phil, " I'll think about it. Thank you. Wanna count?". He put a book - a fake book, of course - on a table.

"Here? Oh, please. Trust me, if I don't find what I intend to find here, you'll know", Phil put a book in his bag and stood up. " Have a nice day, kid. Next time, wear something else"

Crowley waited for ten more minutes before leaving the diner. It was only when he was in a crowdy underground station when he put the hood off. He had to be cautious. For everyone's sake.

 

***

 

"Do you really think it's a good place, Jay?", said a tall and broad bald man in a leather jacket, trying to sit comfortably on a bench by a pond.

"The best one, in terms of privacy", said Crowley, looking grimly from his hood. " So. You said you owe me a favor all the way back from 1999. I didn't need anything for a long time, but now..."

"How do you manage to look so young, you sick bastard?", the man asked, chuckling, trying to look at Crowley's face. " You look just like my son, and that sad excuse of an heir is 27 now, not something you could tell by the way he speaks, though, I'd give him 10  in that department, still... How old are you, anyway?"

"I use a strong sunscreen. And I have good genes. Good, hardworking Irish people, my entire family. Will you listen or not, Patsy?"

A bald man stopped laughing and sighed.

"Of course. What seems to be the problem?"

"Our mutual buddy, Phil, tracked down a guy I need you to deal with. Here's what I've got on him", Crowley took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to a man without so much as looking at his side. " I want your people to teach him a lesson. He's gotta stay alive. I can't be seen. But I need to watch it from a distance. I know you're ready to do this, but still" - Crowley took out something that looked like a book and put it on Patsy's lap still without looking at him - "this is some additional motivation for you, or a token of a good will, if you wish to call it that way".

Patsy put down an apparently-book-thing in his suitcase and opened a piece of paper. He looked at Crowley, frowning.

" What kind of a lesson do you want him to be taught, exactly?"

"If your boys will do it properly, he'll need new teeth", Crowley said, finally turning his head to his counterpart, looking him in the eyes from beneath his shaded. "The whole damn package. And the old ones, I want to have them. Every single one. Especially the golden one. No internal bleeding, no injuries to any organs. You can break a couple of ribs, but carefully. As you wish. But I need his teeth"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jay", the Patsy man said, looking flabbergasted. " What did this son of a bitch did to you so you became such a butcher"

"He laid his shitty hands where he shouldn't have", Crowley hissed, grinding his teeth. His hands clenched in fists.

" You didn't tell me you were married. Was this your wife?", Patsy asked warily.

"I have no wife, but I am indeed married", Crowley answered. " I know you're one of the few people of your occupation who don't look down on things like that. I love him. But I swore I won't touch this bastard myself. I don't have much choice, Pat"

"I'm sorry it happened to your, well, spouse", Patsy said carefully. " But the guys that I have in my crew are not as open-minded as I wish they were. You know it yourself. Ours is not the most prestigious job. I'll do this favor, but when you're sitting in a car with them, better keep the personal personal". 

They shook hands.

"I'll be waiting for your call. You know which number to call, and which not to", Crowley said, standing up. "I'm looking forward to seeing your team at work".

 

***

 

Crowley was staring into the field glasses, trying looking at two tall men in leather jackets dragging a bald man resembling Sandalphon, gagged and tied up, to a torch on the abandoned parking lot. The jeep where Crowley and his associates were sitting was right in its darkest corner.

It was Christmas Eve, the 24th of December. The snow was falling gloriously, but the place was too grim and damp for the fairy-tale-like spirit.

“You see them, Cap?”, a young driver, sitting by Crowley’s side asked.

“It looks like him, but I need insurance. I remember his voice. Call them”

One of the guys on the backseat dialed a number and one of the bouncers took the phone.

“Our cap wants so be sure it’s the guy. Let him speak”

He turned on the speakerphone. Soon enough Crowley heard Sandalphon screaming something like:

“I’ll give you anything you want, please, untie me, I need my hands, I…”, before Crowley nodded and Sandalphon became silent again. The phone was turned off and Sandalphon was dragged to a small staircase, and Crowley had to pay very close attention, looking into field glasses again, to recognize what was going on.

“Are you sure your people can do ALL the teeth in one go?”, he asked a bit unsurely.

“You insult us, Mr. Jay. It is our signature. One strike, all teeth. Leaves a strong message”, murmured a young man behind him.

“Well, then…”, Crowley started, but then he saw something rather outstanding, that made him make a certain sound: “Oi, woah… That was surprising… Alright, gentlemen, pardon me for my previous skepticism. I take that back. On second thought, I even refuse to take, the, ehm, the evidence”

He then heard his phone ring. It had to be Aziraphale. He had to answer. He quickly took the phone and blurted:

“Angel, honey, I can’t talk, I’m very busy, buying you a surprise, I’ll call you back in ten, love you”, without letting him even say a word. He figured out it would be more secure.

“Wife?”, asked a second young man, with a smile.

“Yeah. Sort of. Listen, I think I’d rather be going, are they done with the teeth? At the end of the day, I’ll think I’m more than happy without them. I don’t wanna take ‘em. I saw what you did, it was amazing. Drop me at the underground station, please… Else my, ehm, spouse, will be suspecting something, which I don’t fancy, like, at all”.

 

Crowley was very relieved when they drove away.

 

***

 

Crowley thought he had never had such a lovely Christmas morning. Angel was by his side, in his lovely tartan pajamas, they were tucked under the blanket, sipping tea and lazily switching the channels on telly.

“I thought I hated Christmas”, Crowley said quietly, as he lowered his head to Aziraphale’s, planting a soft kiss on his temple. “Now you made me love it. What next, angel?”

“You’ll stop wearing all black?”, Aziraphale answered, with a sarcastic smile.

“Naah, not in this life and not in the next”, Crowley said leisurely, switching the channels. Then he saw the news.

“… The victim of this horrific Christmas assault is alive, but severely traumatized – his teeth were…”

That was something Crowley didn’t account for – the bloody news.

“Ugh, what is it with these people”, he said with a trembling voice, trying desperately to sound casual, turning the telly off. “It’s only violence on this television, I’ll better put on some music. And make you some tea”, Crowley said, standing up.

“Dear boy”, Aziraphale said softly. “I’d like some tangerines. Would you be so kind as to bring your husband a plateful of those?”, he smiled. Crowley looked like he was melting from the inside.

“Every time you say the h-word I can’t say no to anything, angel. I’ll be in 15, a’right”

Crowley sighed with relief as he stepped into the kitchen. He was off the hook now, but some time from now, the angel might still learn about what happened. Will he be able to understand?

“All I did, I did for you”, Crowley thought in pain. “I love you so much I couldn’t stop it. He had to pay, my love, he had to”. Crowley felt tears fill his eyes, as he was putting tangerines in a bowl, but he was able to will them away. “I’d kill for you, I’d die for you, Aziraphale”, he thought with anguish. “I hope you know that whatever comes. I hope you will forgive me for what I had to do”.

 ***

 

With Crowley gone, Aziraphale was finally able to read the newspaper.

 

“Broken teeth, that’s a good take”, he thought smugly, as he read the weekly crime report. “See, Sandalphon. What goes around, comes around, next time you want to apply brutal force to your… arguments, better remember this, no? Though I doubt there will be the next time”

Aziraphale smirked. What his husband lacked in logic and cautiousness, he made up in loyalty and protectiveness. Blind loyalty and fierce protectiveness.

“You’re such an idiot, Crowley”, Aziraphale thought tenderly. “Really, A-J? To think I wouldn’t know? Me, famous Mr. Fell of Soho?”

That very evening, when he received a phone call from Phil and heard of some “heroin junkie looking” guy calling himself “Tony Jay” or “A J”, or, God have mercy, “Jay”, of all things, he knew it has to be Crowley.

“Wearing a black hoodie on top of his shades, really. It’s a miracle he didn’t get busted for drug possession”. Maybe it was indeed a miracle.

Truth be told, he wasn’t angry. He couldn’t approve openly, but there was a certain warmness in knowing that a homophobic golden-toothed prick who assaulted him now got what was coming for him.

“But I can’t encourage this sort of behavior in Crowley”, he thought, hiding his smile. “Now, dear boy, you need to control your impulses. At least, most of the time”.

Still, Aziraphale knew that he was one of the luckiest men – well, not really men, but… - alive, for his partner would stop at nothing to protect him.

“If only he would’ve acted a bit cleverer… Well, I suppose you can’t have it all. He’s beautiful, caring, kind, sweet, fiercely loyal and sexy as Hell, in the most literal sense of this word. It’s only natural he has to be a complete idiot to not let me forget myself. Oh, he brought me the cannoli the other day… This boy watched The Godfather too many times”.

 

“Angel!”, Crowley said, entering the room with a bowl full of tangerines. “What are you smiling at?”

“I’m thinking about how lucky I am to have you, dear boy”, Aziraphale answered with a loving smile.

#ineffable partners #it's ineffable #ineffableboyfriends #ineffable tag #otp: ineffable #the ineffable plan #ineffable bureaucracy #crowley loves aziraphale #anthony j crowley #crowley x aziraphale #crowley aziraphale #crowley #protective crowley #azirafell #aziraley #aziracrow #aziraphale #aziraphel #aziraphale loves crowley #sandalphon

[tradingjack]

Hey so uh I forgot that I hate drawing wings lol

Anyways, this is a headcanon I came up with sometime 2 weeks ago and I’m sure someone else already came up with as well and wrote about before I finished this involved-ass drawing and wrote about it myself but I’m sharing it anyway. Of course it involves Good Omens cause uhh that’s the current hyperfixation my dudes

Basically this is the Archangel, Raphael.

About the headcanon under the cut if you’re interested (prepare for a goddamned novel)

So yeah, this is a drawing of the Archangel Raphael. I’m sure those interested have heard the theory by now that Crowley could have been the Archangel Raphael before the Fall, based on the fact that Raphael is not in Good Omens canon (seemingly replaced by Sandalphon or whatever), Raphael’s symbol is a snake wrapped around a staff, and, for me personally, the fact that Crowley can just??? Stop time????? Like what kind of overpowered Bull Shit

(I’m sure there’s a bunch of other things that support this theory that I just don’t know, please look it up some people really go in depth and it’s awesome)

Also, a brief note on angel rankings. I looked it up, and it didn’t really help because there is a lot of conflicting information out there. In the end,  I just kept it at Wikipedia cause fuck it, it is a pretty reliable source in the end. We’re gonna be focusing on the first and third spheres, since the second sphere really doesn’t apply. Basically, the highest order of angels are seraphim, followed by the cherubim and then the thrones. Skip the second sphere, and the lowest three rankings are, in order of most to least rank, principalities (or rulers), archangels, and angels. Now, concerning the difference between archangels and Archangels: apparently the capital letter makes a big ol difference. Archangels with a capital letter are not, in fact, the second lowest ranking but may be interpreted to mean above all other angels, and are the highest ranked angels even among the seraphim. Therefore, the highest angels of the highest are referred to as Archangels with a capital A. (Idk if the Archangels are even really mentioned in the book, I haven’t read it yet, so idk if their titles are capitalized. I’m talking mostly in the context of the Amazon Prime show.)

Quick description of seraphim and therefore Archangels straight from Wikipedia: “fiery six-winged beings; with two wings that cover their faces, with another two that cover their feet, and the last two they use to fly.” (Oh shit I forgot the fire goddamnit I’m such a fuckin idiot oh well it’s too late I wrote this after I finished the drawing)

So, Crowley could be the fallen Archangel Raphael. However, as someone else brought up (and I’ve seen several posts stating this), the name “Aziraphale” is like a bastardization of the phrase “Also Raphael,” meaning Aziraphale could have been the Archangel Raphael but demoted and therefore forced to be renamed. It makes sense that Aziraphale could have been at least of a higher rank than a Principality because he was supposed to be guarding the Gates of Eden, which, in biblical canon, were guarded by higher ranking angels than Principalities (I think they were as high up as cherubim?? idk).

And then I heard, when Neil and Terry were writing the book, both Aziraphale and Crowley were originally just the demon, Crowley. I think it was Terry who made the decision to split that one character into 2 characters instead.

(Also if that isn’t the most soulmate-y shit I’ve ever heard)

But also like... What if that was how it was in canon?

What if........Crowley and Zira............................were both........the Archangel Raphael before the Fall?

Cause like, Raphael (or Israfel, in some religions) literally means “God heals.” Some of the things they’re the patrons are are of “young people,” “guardian angels,” “lovers,” “travelers,” basically everyone in the medical field, and “ordained marriage.” They’re like... everything optimistic and loving and hopeful about humanity. (Nothing about time but like, wtf?? That’s so powerful it’s gotta be the power of the seraphim, it’s at least equal enough to Lucifer’s power that it’s able to give them more time before Lucifer shows up to make a game plan, like it stops Lucifer???? That’s some power to give a lowly-ass demon, that an angel as powerful as a Principality isn’t able to do) It makes you think huh, maybe they care about humanity a lot more than most of the others would. So how would they have fallen?

Well, maybe they got angry at God for testing the humans so damn much. Like Crowley said, a tree right in the middle of the garden that’s super accessible? Literally the only thing the humans aren’t allowed to touch when humans, the most curious and spiteful things in the universe, are more likely to touch something when they’re told not to, when it’s obviously not allowed, and doesn’t appear to present any immediate danger? It’s not very fair.

Another interesting thing; in some canon, Raphael is even considered to be the closest to God, able to talk directly to Her, and possibly even the highest ranking angel of all, even above Michael. So God was likely very close to Raphael in return. (Of course, in the context of the show, it seems that all of the Archangels are very disconnected and are also all on equal footing, it not being entirely clear where Michael, Uriel, and Gabriel stand with each other in terms of ranking even though Michael is usually considered the highest ranked in most biblical canon. One explanation I came up with is that after God banished Raphael, that would be two of the seven archangels that She would have had to banish, her favored, so She could have withdrawn from everything in order to have some alone time, and just became more and more withdrawn as time went on until it was like She’d completely abandoned them.)

And if Raphael started questioning this wrathful god who just kicked out like, half of heaven, including Lucifer, one of her other favorites, I imagine she’d be pretty upset and not willing to hear about complaints right now. But she trusts this angel, so instead of straight kicking Raphael out, she gives them a choice instead. It’s not like they’re trying to straight rebel, anyways.

When Raphael chooses to leave, She doesn’t have a choice then but to cast at least that part of Raphael out, the part that cares too much, who doesn’t want to harm the humans. She says, “crawl under the feet of those you care so much about,” and splits their eyes and casts their staff down into hell cause like, you can’t just have a rogue ethereal being wandering about Earth with the humans, so the newly formed snake which represents all that Raphael chose to leave heaven for is Lucifer’s problem now. 

But in splitting Raphael like that, she’s left with this less powerful being who’s still attached to heaven, who still has the gold of an angel but it looks washed out on their head, and who looks up with sky blue eyes and who looks lost as anything. She doesn’t want Raphael gone, so She pretends this one is also Raphael, but She’s still kinda upset so She sends this “Also Raphael” to Earth to guard Eden. Because they’re weakened, She equips them with a limited edition Flaming Sword™ and sends them to guard the Gates of Eden.

Meanwhile, the Raphael that got sent to Hell gets processed (?) and realizes that they’re now a snake. They really don’t like the name “Crawley” in the future so I imagine that when they joined hell, they were given the name “Crawley” based on the fact that they’re now a snake, and none of the residents of Hell wanna go to Earth since the entire reason almost all the demons in hell got kicked out of Heaven is cause they didn’t wanna love humans. “Crawley,” however, got kicked out for caring about humans too much, so the lords in hell decide to send them. So “Crawley” ends up tempting the humans into eating the fruit, making sure it’s on their terms and happens somewhat safely, and watches the humans leave.

And then he meets “Also Raphael,” and, as someone else has pointed out, Crowley has never had to ask for their name. They just know 👀

Crowley, imo, has been the better of the two, consistently throughout the series. Crowley’s never killed, has always questioned why humans have to be tested and hurt and killed, including motherfucking Jesus Christ, hasn’t even lied to Aziraphale, tries to get out of doing their job consistently, jumps on the opportunity to perform miracles alongside their dastardly inconveniences, has been in love with Aziraphale ever since they found out that Zira helped protect the humans by giving the couple Zira’s own protection??? The “god-given Flaming Sword™?” HELLO THIS DEMON IS IN LOVE AND THAT IS ACTUALLY CANON?????? That, and like... while Aziraphale, who’s still a part of heaven’s whole bureaucracy deal, felt the need to contact god through a whole damn ritual, all Crowley did to try and contact God was just look up and talk. I think Crowley knows about the choice and about who they were before the Fall, but doesn’t associate themselves as Raphael anymore, therefore the “I didn’t chose to fall, (BUT) I just sorta sauntered vaguely downwards.”

(Going off of that, I don’t think Crowley knows that Aziraphale is literally their other half; I like to think that Crowley just thinks Aziraphale was the angel chosen by Her as their replacement in heaven, therefore “Also Raphael” meaning another Raphael and not literally part of them that they left in heaven. They don’t know why they knew that Aziraphale was named Aziraphale right off the bat, but it doesn’t really matter to them tbh; before they fell in love, they thought Aziraphale was just another angel, and then after they fell in love it still didn’t matter cause they were in love baby!)

Meanwhile, Aziraphale’s goodness is either out of fear of disobeying heaven or being nice to Crowley. Which, they’re not even that nice to Crowley when it matters tbh. Or humans, most of the time. Like they protected Adam and Eve but wasn’t gonna blink an eye about all those children being drowned until Crowley guilted them about it.

Although they used to be the same angel, I think that, over 6000 years and even then, in the Garden, Crowley and Aziraphale ended up becoming their own person. Aziraphale, even though God cast out the part that cared about humans a little too much and is basically Raphael’s attachment to heaven and God, ended up caring quite a bit on their own, giving the first couple that sword for protection and growing very attached to the things humans created, and abandoned their allegiance to heaven after losing their faith. Crowley, who is the care and defiance and power of the archangel Raphael, ended up a pretty lowly ranked demon and is pretty damn bitter, especially after the death of Jesus of Galilee, and when they do use their power, it’s usually to fuck with humans in some capacity (unless it’s to help himself or Aziraphale :P ).

TL;DR I think that both Crowley and Aziraphale are remnants of the Archangel Raphael after the Fall because Raphael questioned God concerning the testing of the humans and chose to leave heaven. God wasn’t happy and did some shit that ended up with Crowley and Aziraphale being as they are. But both are still their own person.

#good omens #my art #crowley #aziraphale #Archangel raphael #headcanon #dude I went off jesus I'm not doing a wordcount on that shit but goddamn #thanks for reading all of that if you did #I don't blame you if you didn't