#like the way i shot out of my seat when aziraphale said he did the apology dance in 1941... WE HAVEN'T SEEN THAT YET!!!!

[girlbloggercrowley]

i am a believer in the s3 1941 kiss

#good omens #it just makes Sense. #like the way i shot out of my seat when aziraphale said he did the apology dance in 1941... WE HAVEN'T SEEN THAT YET!!!! #my delusional theory: they kiss on the night of the zombies/blitz after their gay little romantic dinner #they freak out about it and crowley leaves #GOD what if aziraphale initiated it then. and then he shows up later in the year (?) to do the dance #as an olive branch cause at this point he's painfully in love he just wants to see crowley again #so he does the dance as like. “sorry for freaking you out here's our joke it's all okay right?” #and then crowley has to watch as aziraphale apologizes for kissing him. yeah that works! slams my head into the wall #that would explain the weirdness in 1960s #would NOT explain why aziraphale said you go too fast but like maybe more things happened in between them. #oh my god what if like they fully dated then during those years but had a messy breakup #and then crowley wants to keep going he's sad they broke up but aziraphale had issues with heaven or something so he's scared #every day i hurt my own feelings

[crowleysaziraphale2003]

Happy Easter Monday, everybody! Here's a fic I've literally just posted on AO3, based on the meme someone on here made or posted at least, about Aziraphale and Crowley kissing in the Bentley and Jesus driving lmao. CW for swearing. Enjoy! :)

PS-Happy belated Easter and Trans Day of Visibility! 🩵🩷🤍

Jesus, Take the Wheel

"I still don't see why we need to take him to the US," Aziraphale grumbled.

"Like I said," Crowley gritted out, his grip on the steering wheel firmer than ever, Queen's 'We Will Rock You' playing in the background, "nobody will think to look for him in New York. Even if they do, it's crowded there. He won't raise suspicion among a lot of Americans, either."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. "And why is that, dear?"

"Because a lot of them think he's white, for some reason."

"Fair point. But what if we get him lost?"

"We won't."

"But we could!" Aziraphale insisted.

"How?"

"We lost the Antichrist, last time."

Crowley sighed. "That was different. 'Sides, I'm pretty sure that was you and not me who did that."

Aziraphale turned a shade of crimson. "We were both responsible for that particular mishap," he pointed out as Crowley ran a red light. "Oh, do look out, Crowley! You could discorporate!"

"As if you'd care," Crowley growled, driving even faster.

Shock flitted across Aziraphale's face, which Crowley just about noticed from the corner of his eye. "Of course I do. I always care about you."

"Got a funny way of showing it," Crowley said. "Anyway. Gonna have to make the car fly to get him to America, which'll be difficult, but I think coming up to Scotland will confuse them enough to throw them off our scent for a while."

"Hmm," Aziraphale responded, fidgeting. "Look, are you terribly sure he wants to travel to New York?"

"I'm sure he'll love it," Crowley said, wearing a grim smile on his face.

"Guys? I'd rather you didn't talk about me as though I wasn't there," Jesus piped up from the backseat, where he had been waiting patiently for His turn to speak. "The people in my homeland are suffering right now, why can't I-"

"Shut up, Jesus!" They both shouted at the same time.

"I did ask to be called Joshua," he muttered. Neither of them appeared to hear him.

Crowley turned to Aziraphale while driving. "Too obvious," he said.

"Too obvious," Aziraphale repeated, nodding. "Not to mention dangerous. Speaking of which-do watch the road, Crowley."

Crowley turned back to the road. 'Good-Old Fashioned Lover Boy' began to play. "What did you mean, when you said you always care about me?"

"Well, I thought I'd made that much obvious," Aziraphale replied, a tad haughty.

"Not when you left me. For Heaven," Crowley said, his voice wobbling despite his feigned nonchalance.

"I was doing that for the Greater good!" Aziraphale protested.

"Kidnapping me is for the Greater Good?" Jesus asked.

"Yes, it is, Je-Joshua. See, I got it right," he said, turning around to smile at him. Jesus did not smile back. Aziraphale twisted back in his seat. Crowley was frowning.

"Great mangled pustulent bollocks to the Greater Blasted Good!"

Aziraphale's eyes widened. "Crowley, language! There really is no need-"

"Yeah, yeah. There was really no need to leave me, either, was there!" Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale had had enough of this foolishness, at this point. "I was doing it to protect you!" he shot back, not meaning to shout.

A pregnant silence filled the car for about half a minute. Jesus-or Joshua-knew better than to break it and get between whatever the hell was going on between the two of them.

"What do you mean, angel?" His voice was quiet.

Aziraphale sighed, rather heavily. The car stopped at a red light, for once, as Crowley couldn't be bothered to change it. Besides, this was more important.

"I didn't tell you this, because I didn't want to worry you. But if I didn't go with him, the Metatron said that extreme sanctions could still be taken against those who had been involved with Gabriel's disappearance."

"Extr-" Crowley fell silent for a second, gripping the wheel of the car a bit too hard. He glanced at Aziraphale for a second. God, was he beautiful. "He threatened your existence?"

"I wouldn't particularly care about that. Not me; he didn't want to get his hands dirty, apparently, by doing that to an angel. No, he threatened your existence, dear, and well, I simply couldn't have that. So I went along with him, even though it pained me to no end. I had to. Then he mentioned The Second Coming, and I realised that I had to protect the humans, too. So it was about them as well, I suppose. But still. I thought I could make a difference from the inside, and when I realised I couldn't do that in a corporate environment, I had to get...creative."

Much to Aziraphale's surprise, Crowley let out a chuckle. "So you kidnapped Jesus Christ, instead."

"Yes."

"And you only left to protect me, and to protect the humans?" he questioned, his voice faltering. The light finally turned green, and he went.

"Yes, I did," Aziraphale confirmed, fidgeting a little.

"What he says is true," Jesus added. "Although human too, I do have access to angel's memories, and what he says is recorded in his memories, and the memories of the Metatron. Who, by the way, is a-"

"I would have trusted you to tell the truth anyway, angel," Crowley whispered, ignoring Jesus.

With the hand he didn't have on the steering wheel, he removed his sunglasses and turned to gaze upon the angel, his angel, with such tenderness that Aziraphale found it almost unbearable.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale replied, tearing up. "I'm so awfully sorry, about everything. You needn't forgive me, of course. I hardly deserve it."

"You know, you never apologised for literally kidnapping me-"

"Shut up, Jesus!" They both yelled, again.

"Noted."

Crowley took a deep breath. "Angel, I think I just have."

Aziraphale reached out and squeezed his hand. 'You're My Best Friend', by Queen had been playing for the past few minutes, and was just trailing off. Crowley squeezed his hand back.

"Oh, I do love you, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, with a soft smile that was practically discorporating Crowley on the spot.

Right. Enough was enough, already, Crowley decided.

"Fuck. I love you too, you blessed idiot," Crowley responded, pulling Aziraphale in for a passionate kiss.

Although rather surprised at first, Aziraphale quickly and enthusiastically reciprocated it, savouring the divine feeling of Crowley's soft lips against his the way he hadn't been able to the last time they'd kissed. Crowley ran his hand through the his fluffy, light hair. Aziraphale's thumb was stroking his neck, before he moved his hands and arms down his back in order to embrace him properly. This was nothing like their desperate, angry first kiss. For both of them, was slow, tender, beautiful.

Miraculously, the Bentley hadn't crashed. Yet.

The radio, which had been silent for the past minute, began blaring 'Jesus, Take the Wheel'. Pulling a face at Aziraphale and Crowley's display of affection, Jesus quickly unbuckled his own seatbelt, reached forward and did as He was told.

This was going to be one hell of a journey.

#writers on tumblr #writing #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley #good omens fandom #good omens #ineffable husbands #writing commissions #aziracrow #ineffable idiots #idiots in love #crowley x aziraphale #crowley loves aziraphale #aziraphale loves crowley #jesus christ #writers and poets #writer #writeblr #ao3 writer #writerscommunity #aziracrow kiss #good omens season 3 #the bentley #queen band

[havemyheartaziraphale]

Ok so this is for @melbatron5000 and @somehow-a-human mostly because I want input on your theories and my forming theory. Also, @indigovigilance has some decent screen grabs too. Sorry for having a wall of text here, I'm on mobile and still not used to posting on Tumblr

I absolutely agree with something being passed to Aziraphale during their kiss. I have watched the scene several times now and can spot the thing myself. I can see it in the photos you guys have as well.

I also stand by my theory there's a body swap going on. I wasn't entirely sure when it happened, until probably tonight. I know not everyone agrees with me but right now that's fine. Whatever.

Nightingales is DEFINITELY a code word. Got that straight off, wouldn't be able to tell you 100% what exactly for, except to me maybe it's saying "we need to do the body swap again".

Here's the thing: I had to go back and watch the body swap in S1 before I felt confident in this. I will stand by this theory now because I'm pretty certain of it.

There's clearly missed signals and unsaid things. I think the conversation we see is not everything that was said, based on the camera angles, the fact that so many of those lines can easily be pulled for sound bites and not seem odd/off, and the fact that their actions when out of shot don't entirely match up to what's being said. But the gist of the conversation is the same. They eventually come to the understanding that something needs to happen and they're not going to like it.

Here's where I think things change.

Nightingales is the signal that there's a swap that needs to happen. Crowley has already told Aziraphale that he can't leave the bookshop. Crowley knows this, and he also knows that the only way to get to Heaven is by having an angel escort him there. Aziraphale on the other hand will have no problems going whenever he needs to. Crowley needs to be taken, so he needs his Azi-suit.

With Crowley-as-Aziraphale(CAA) in heaven, he'll be able to do whatever mischief he needs/wants to. He can clearly already access files up there still. We know he has to have been a powerful/higher up angel before his Fall. He just needs a way in first.

When did the body swap happen?

Good question, and it took me a lot of thinking and rewatching of that flipping kiss to finally decide and work out when it was; the moment Aziraphale "allows" himself to hold Crowley.

What am I on about? I'll tell you.

Rewatch the body swap in S1. They hold hands, time stops, and you see them change back. Obviously CAA and Aziraphale-as-Crowley (AAC) are sat in their usual spaces so the characters are in the wrong seats. Once they're back, they look normal. Everything is tickety-boo.

Except in the KISS, they're very much in the same positions. Of course, Aziraphale places his hands on Crowley briefly, allowing for stability, a time freeze, and the chance to switch round before resuming. Probably gives them a little time to confirm some stuff too. There's so many camera cuts and frame changes that allow for this to be true, otherwise why not just show it from one angle? And why is that dang clock also skipping time suddenly yes I know Neil may have said it's just a continuity error at one point but I don't trust him because he also lies and it's way too obvious with that clock in the background

So what about the bullet/metal ball in CAA mouth? Definitely Aziraphale's memories of his chat with Metatron, and anything else CAA may need. (This isn't a repeat, this is a mirror of the bullet catch. Crowley fired the bullet, Azi caught it. This time, Azi fires the bullet, Crowley catches it.) CAA then says the phrase he knows AAC will understand, and that also sounds like Azi to anyone listening, and AAC responds. Like codes. "I forgive you... Dont bother." Exit: Azi-as-Crowley.

Of course Metatron then swans in and interrupts CAA while he's still getting his bearings, and mentions the Second Coming. I don't think even Crowley expected it to be this. Hence the Look he gives AAC.

Metatron still gives CAA a slightly suspicious look in the elevator, which I don't think many people mention enough. And that whole end credits bit of them as they're heading off is just... Odd. BUT, and here's where I'm certain it's CAA, the look of sheer determined destruction on Azi's face is the same from S1 body swap. I went back and checked, just to be sure. That's 100% Crowley right there. And now he has the bullet in his mouth, access to heaven thanks to being escorted by Metatron, and Aziraphale still able to look after the bookshop in disguise.

Points I also want to make

Crowley would not be the sort of person (demon/being) to just stand there and wait for Azi to go up to Heaven. We've seen he'll just go off without a word. At least twice. (When Azi is in thought about Job, and when Nina talks to him after she confirms she'll be at the Street Traders meeting). Crowley doesn't linger.

Crowley would also not be the one to choose to listen to A Nightingale Sang. That is all Aziraphale babyyyyyy. The Bentley knows them both well enough by now. Crowley likes his rock and Bebop, Azi likes his classical, more soothing tunes. Crowley certainly wouldn't listen to a song if he was upset with it. Azi allows himself to hear it before turning it off. He's the sentimental one.

#good omens theories #good omens 2 #good omens meta #body swap

[averywiseanimatedcat]

“I loved him”

Word count: 2820

Rating: G

Summary: Post S2. Aziraphale is getting worried because he hasn’t been able to locate Crowley ever since their fight. He comes back to the bookshop to pick up some reading material. He ends up having an unexpected heart to heart with Maggie.

Tags: Angst. Angst again. Maggie and Aziraphale friendship. Confessions.

Author notes: If you’re on TikTok you might have heard the audio from Einstein and Eddington being used in Aziracrow edits. YouTube clip bellow if you haven’t heard it yet. I always see I being used as if Crowley were saying it, but what I’d Aziraphale did? That’s this one shot. If I have to live with that idea then you do to.

“Mr Fell!”

A voice called out, Aziraphale startled and dropped the keys to his bookshop onto the steps. He looked around, Maggie was trotting down the sidewalk towards him.

“Maggie my dear…”

He said as she reached him.

“Mr Fell! Gosh it’s been ages. We were beginning to think you’d sold the bookshop and left?”

She said breathlessly. Aziraphale smiled politely, bending down to pick up his keys.

“Oh no, still very much the owner of this bookshop.”

Aziraphale said, his eyes darting around the street behind her. He hoped that no one else had spotted him. He didn’t really want to get dragged into to many pleasantries. He wasn’t suppose to be down here for too long, but he’d lied and said he needed a couple of books from his shop. Really he was just desperate for something to read that wasn’t a memo. He also wanted to poke around and see if he could find any sign of Crowley, and Maggie might be able to help him with that.

“Oh I’m glad, I’d be devastated if we lost you as a landlord.”

Maggie replied brightly. Aziraphale brushed past the compliment and asked

“Would you like to come in?”

“Oh…I’m not intruding am I?”

She said, blinking at him

“Not at all dear.”

The angel unlocked the door and stepped inside. He knew returning to the bookshop might be upsetting, but he wasn’t quite prepared for the heaviness that fell onto his shoulders as he crossed the threshold. The bookshop still looked exactly how it did that day, not a single thing had been moved. The smell of ancient pages and dust swept through his lungs as he inhaled, bringing with it a wave of memories that stung like alcohol down the throat. A terrible, sinking feeling pressed on his chest uncomfortably.

He looked down at his feet. The rug by the front door was still creased a little where the demons boots had wrinkled it when he’d stormed out a few weeks prior. Aziraphale always had to adjust things in the shop whenever Crowley had been around. The demon had a rather unconcerned way of moving through space that resulted in things being knocked out of place all the time. He had the compulsion to straighten the rug, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

“Where’s that girl who’s always here now?”

Maggie asked, startling the angel. He’d completely forgotten she was there.

“Oh, Muriel? She’s…well, at head office. Tea?”

Aziraphale said, pulling himself together and gesturing for Maggie to take a seat on the couch. He’d purposefully come down when he knew Muriel would be up in Heaven for her monthly debriefing. She was charming, but he really wasn’t in the mood for a creature so bright and bubbly right now.

“Oh yes…tea would be lovely.”

Maggie replied, smiling politely as she sat down. Aziraphale attempted to smile back and disappeared into the back room to miracle some tea. Maggie was eyeing the various things strewn on Azirpaphales desk when he returned with the tray and teacups. He handed her one full of piping hot tea and took a seat in his arm chair next to his desk. He avoided looking over where his dairy sat atop a stack of books he’d been organising the day before he’d left. He knew exactly what was in the last pages he’d filled out, and he didn’t want to read them.

“So, Nina and I haven’t seen you or Mr Crowley for weeks? Did you go away on holiday or something?”

Maggie asked. The mention of Crowleys name sent a solid something clanging into the angels stomach somewhere near his navel. The answer to his unasked question of if she’d seen the demon was having a similar effect.

“No…I uh….started a new job.”

He said vaguely, sipping on his tea to cover up his disappointment.

“Oh? What’s the job?”

She asked

“Um, management I guess you could call it.”

Azirphale replied, his eyes kept wandering around the desk and out the window. His enthusiasm for this interaction had left quite suddenly.

“Oh. That’s exciting. I guess it must be very important for you to leave your bookshop.

Maggie said

“Oh yes, very important.”

Aziraphale replied distractedly, now acutely aware of Crowleys wide brimmed hat from the 1940’s on the coat hanger only metres from him. He hardly noticed when Maggie fell silent for a long moment.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping….but you seem a little…distracted Mr Fell. Not yourself I mean. Is everything alright?”

Aziraphales eyes darted over to meet hers. The genuine concern in them touched the angel, bless her heart, he thought, a human worried about an angel.

“Oh yes. Just fine, I think I’m just a little tired. Not used to so much responsibility.”

He cobbled together, but even he knew he sounded unconvincing.

“Right…so how come that funny girl is looking after your bookshop and not Mr Crowley? I haven’t seen him for ages either.”

Maggie’s eyes were searching Aziraphales in a calculated, but kind way.

“Yes I was going to ask you about that….has no one seen him?”

He was trying very hard to sound casual. But the question came out in a strained, high pitch kind of way. Maggie’s eyes narrowed

“No….he hasn’t been back here, not that Nina or I have seen. Why?”

Maggies eyes darkened with confusion.

“Oh no reason.”

He replied quickly. There was a pause before Maggie asked

“Do you like your new job?”

Aziraphale had to think quite hard about how to answer this.

“I think the more appropriate question would be, do I think I’m making a difference? And yes I think I am.”

Aziraphales attempt to steer the conversation away from his feelings failed miserably, because Maggie put her cup down quite pointedly and sat forward onto the edge of her seat before saying

“Ok…I’m going to stop beating around the bush. I know somethings wrong. The last thing Nina saw was Mr Crowley storming out of your bookshop and you going off with a strange man. There’s a weird girl who thinks she’s a police officer in charge of your shop. Then after a month you turn up here alone. I come and say hello and you looked at me like I’d just murdered your mother. You’re still looking at me like that actually. What’s going on Mr Fell?”

Aziraphale hid his expression behind a sip of tea

“Nothing.”

He lied

“Mr Fell please be honest with me….I…Well Nina and I, we came over to see Mr Crowley after all that weird stuff happened and told him he should talk to you. If you had a fight or something please tell me I’ve been wondering for weeks and I couldn’t help but feel like it might be our fault.”

She gushed

“You what?”

Aziraphale asked, blinking at her

“Oh I feel terrible….we shouldn’t have said anything it was just…we thought all you two needed was to talk and…”

She rambled

“No dear, that’s not what we fought about.”

Aziraphale interrupted, realising his admission to late

“So something did happen?

She cried

“Oh dear…”

Aziraphale said, exasperated. He lent back in his chair and sighed. Maggie shrunk back into the couch.

“I’m sorry Mr Fell, I’m being pushy. It’s not my business. We were just worried we’d done something wrong.”

Maggie explained a little more calmly. Azirpahale considered her for a bit, she was a sweet, genuine soul. She had no idea really, about the magnitude of it all.

“Well, I’ll just say that it wasn’t your or Nina’s fault.”

Aziraphale said simply.

“Ok, thank you…but that still doesn’t make me feel better because you look miserable.”

Maggie said, gesturing vaguely at him

“Thanks.”

Azirpahale replied irritably

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I mean I can tell you’re upset. Do you want to talk about it?”

She asked. Aziraphale stared down into his tea, he hadn’t said a word to anyone about what happened. He’d kept it firmly locked away somewhere deep in his chest, never daring to let anyone see even a hint of his despair. Not that anyone in Heaven would care, they’d think he was daft for being upset that a demon had left him. Good riddance they’d say, he’ll be burnt up in hellfire after the second coming anyway they’d say. Aziraphale couldn’t in a million years say what he really wanted to.

“I can’t tell anyone.”

He whispered in his teacup, partially to himself. The quiver in his own voice startled him. He’d been holding in these…thoughts for months. They’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere. At first it was just a little soft feeling like birds fluttering in his chest. Then they grew into a yawning ache. Then a desperate desire to say something, and he had been going to. Aziraphale had to admit that he’d been selfish, the ball wasn’t entirely for Maggie and Nina. The Angel had planned it all out, they’d dance, drink and laugh. Then he’d take him out to dinner or breakfast or a midnight breakfast. And he’d tell him. But that entire plan had all come crashing down the second Aziraphale opened his mouth and told Crowley about the Metatrons offer. Ever since, the words he’d been wanting to say had been unceremoniously shoved down and ignored.

Maggie was eyeing him quite intensely now.

“Why not? Can you not talk to your new work colleagues? Friends?”

She suggested

“I can’t I’d…I’d get us both into trouble.”

He explained, placing his teacup carefully up onto his desk. His fingers were shaking a little.

“Well…you can tell me? Nothings going to happen from telling me.”

She reached out and placed a reassuring touch to the angels knee. The so very human attempt at comfort felt like using one of those silly little spray bottles full of water on a house fire. But the gentleness in her voice, the silence in the bookshop and the memories all collided together and Aziraphale could hold it in no longer. They had to come out, these terrible words that had plagued his every waking thought.

“I loved him…”

A quivering sob fell from the angels mouth as he got the last word out. He didn’t even know he could make that kind of noise.

“I know.”

Maggie cooed, placing both hands on his shoulders and squeezing them gently

“I loved him so much…”

The angels lungs heaved with the weight of it all. The locked door in his chest bursting open and releasing a torrent that crashed over him like waves onto the rocky shore. He gasped for air as tears started to pour down his cheeks. Maggie stood up and pulled him into a warm embrace. He cried into her arms, letting the ocean of everything he’d held in smash into his being over and over again until he felt raw and exhausted. Maggie sat on the arm of the chair and held him tightly. She made little noises shushing noises sometimes and rubbed his back soothingly as the flood went on. Aziraphale had never been held like this before. Somehow, he felt her arms would protect him for this time where he was so open and vulnerable. Although he did wish the arms were someone else’s.

The waves calmed after sometime and Maggie let go, returning to the couch. Aziraphale felt extremely embarrassed when he regained his composure.

“Oh dear…I invited you in for tea and now I’m here blubbering like a child.”

He sniffed, producing a napkin from his pocket to dry his eyes.

“Don’t you dare apologise! We’re friends, you forgave me months of rent the least I can do is listen when you’re upset.”

Maggie insisted

“But there’s nothing you can do.”

The angel replied darkly

“Sometimes just talking helps. It’s not healthy keeping these things bottled up.”

Aziraphale thought about this for a bit, there was no harm in confiding in Maggie he thought. And maybe she was right, he might feel better after airing it all out.

“It’s just…I did this all for him, I took this job because I thought we could be together. He was suppose to come with me, I thought it was a perfect opportunity for us. But…well he didn’t agree. Then we had this big fight…now I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.”

Aziraphale rambled, his eyes automatically wandering out to the spot on the roadside where he’d last seen the Bentley parked with Crowley waiting outside.

“Why didn’t he want to go with you?”

Maggie asked.

“It’s difficult to explain…”

Aziraphale started

“To a human?”

Maggie guessed, Aziraphale nodded

“Well, did you tell him how you felt?”

Maggie asked

“I tried to. I don’t think I did a very good job though…”

He trailed off, Maggie looked thoughtful

“Does he feel the same?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, and paused, looking down at the patterned carpet

“I don’t know if he’d call it love…he didn’t use as many words.”

Aziraphale mumbled

“But he wanted you to be together, as a couple?”

She asked, Aziraphale nodded

“Well, you still love him…and if you two have known each other as long as you said you have, then he might come back?”

She said reassuringly

“I’m not sure, he’s very angry with me”

Aziraphale said, still staring at the carpet.

“You don’t know that he is still angry. He might just be hurting, like you.”

Maggie offered

“Then why hasn’t he reached out to me? He must know I’m worried!”

Aziraphale cried, his tears threatening to make an appearance again.

“Hurt and angry people don’t usually do rational things.”

Maggie said firmly. Aziraphale was suddenly bombarded with the memory of the kiss. It all started to fall into place in his mind. Perhaps the kiss was Crowleys way of throwing all the chips onto the table in one go. It was, perhaps, an irrational act by someone who didn’t know what else to say. Crowley always was rubbish with words that had anything to do with feelings.

“Perhaps you’re right…but it’s been awful. If he hasn’t come back here then I don’t know where he would’ve gone.”

Aziraphale said

“You’re really that worried about him?”

Maggie asked, Aziraphale nodded

“He seems quite capable of looking after himself. He might he just need some time to cool off and he’ll turn up again. He seems like the hot headed type.”

Maggie suggested, but Aziraphale did not feel much better. Crowley was hot headed, and a little impulsive, any number of things could’ve happened. Crowley could’ve just gone off to Alpha Centuri without him. Or worse, something might’ve happened to him. Heaven and Hell was still no doubt displeased with their meddling. Aziraphale had rejoined the ranks but Crowley was alone down here now, a loose thread in the carefully crafted tapestry of the ineffable plan. Aziraphale shook his head to dislodge the awful thoughts that were attaching themselves to his mind. He couldn’t think like that, Crowley had kept himself alive for almost 6000 years with very little help from Aziraphale. But he’d never been completely cut off from either side alone before. He had nothing except his wiles, his Bentley and his house plants.

Maggie must’ve been reading his stricken expression, because she offered another comforting hand on his wrist this time.

“I’m sure he’s fine Mr Fell. Maybe he’s just taken a trip to clear his head.”

“I hope you’re right dear. Oh…look at that the tea is cold now.”

The angel sighed when he picked up his cup from the desk and took a sip.

“Keep the faith Mr Fell. I don’t know either of you that well, but from what I saw…it looked like you two really had something. I’m sure he wouldn’t just throw that away over one argument.”

Although her reassurances were helping less and less, Aziraphale appreciated them all the same.

“Thank you dear.”

He said, genuinely thankful as he did feel a little lighter.

“Anytime Mr Fell, if you ever need anyone to talk you, you know where I am. Now, I should let you get back to whatever it was you wanted to do before I interrupted you.”

Maggie said, draining her cold tea and standing up.

“Oh I just came back for a few books. Nothing important.”

Aziraphale brushed off, standing as well. They made their way to the door.

“Do let Muriel know if you see him? She will pass it onto me.”

Azirpahale asked. Maggie nodded with a sympathetic smile.

“Oh and Maggie…”

“Yes?”

“You arn’t going to tell anyone are you? About…”

He gestured vaguely, unsure how to describe what just happened. Maggie smiled warmly at him

“Of course not, keep it between us Mr Fell.”

Then she bid him goodbye. Aziraphale took one last look at the empty curb across the street before slowly closing the bookshop door to be alone with the ghosts inside.

#Youtube #good omens #crowley #aziracrow fanfic #good omens fanfic #Maggie good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowly x aziraphale #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #cat writes

[esthermitchell-author]

[Part 3 of 6] "Rescue Me": Being the Story of an Angel, a Demon, and the Second Coming (Fan fiction based on Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett)

Part III: All Things Between Heaven and Hell

Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death Coffeeshop, Soho, London --

2 Weeks Before the Second Coming

"It's so good to have you back, Mr. Fell," Maggie noted with a wide smile, coming around the counter where she'd been helping her partner, Nina, put together the tray of coffees to hand 'round. "When Mr. Crowley told us you'd been called away on family business so sudden, I got worried about you. I hope your mother's okay, now."

"My... Well, I suppose..." Aziraphale glanced toward where Crowley slouched in his typically indolent manner in the seat beside him. He was touched Crowley thought to tell the humans a lie on his behalf, but then again, was it really a lie? Crowley winked at him from behind his dark shades and he felt the pressure of the demon's fingertips against his spine where Crowley's hand rested on the back of his chair. Ever since they returned from St. James's Park, Crowley kept finding reasons to touch him -- something Crowley had almost never done, before. Fighting down a blush, lest it give him away, Aziraphale turned his attention back to Maggie. "Yes. Fine. Everything is just... fine."

Nina murmured something to Maggie on her way past. Then, setting the tray down with a perfunctory thunk, she seated herself. "Right. So, why did you want to see us? We're fine, as you can see, and it appears you two got over your inability to talk to one another, and I've no idea what that one," she nodded toward Muriel, "is doing here, but she better not ask me about my love life, again."

Crowley snickered beside him. Aziraphale shot the demon a quelling glance, then turned his attention back to the rest of the table as Maggie took a seat. "Right, well. Since you two were present for everything that happened in my shop six months ago--"

"I'm still not sure exactly what happened," Nina broke in, then sank back in her seat with a wave of her hand, before crossing her arms over her chest. "But whatever. Go ahead."

"Very good. Thank you. The reason Crowley and I wished to speak with you is because we believe we can trust you to help us."

"Of course, Mr. Fell," Maggie said, even as Nina piped up with a more suspicious, "With what, exactly?"

"There'll be others arriving, tomorrow afternoon," Aziraphale explained. "Humans, like yourselves."

"Most of 'em, anyway," Crowley put in.

"Right. We'll be meeting over the road, in my bookshop, and we thought you might wish to join us. Seeing as you have something of an understanding of what's happening, and a vested interest in keeping the world as it is."

"Namely, alive," Crowley muttered.

"Your... Mr. Fell," Muriel broke in anxiously, their hand lifted timidly, "why, exactly, am I here?"

Aziraphale exchanged glances with Crowley. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't quite sure he trusted the younger angel to not report him, but after what Crowley told him about Muriel's part in his little jaunt into Heaven during the Gabriel incident, he owed Muriel a chance to prove themselves. Besides, they were part of the plan he spent six months figuring out.

"You're here, Muriel," he said kindly, "so you can decide for yourself whether you wish to throw in with Heaven, or humanity. You deserve the chance to make your own choice."

Muriel subsided with a silent nod and the same anxious expression still written on their face.

"Can we get on with it, then?" Nina broke in. "I have a shop to open."

"Very well. We're here because of the Second Coming."

"Oh, for Satan's sake, angel," Crowley muttered under his breath, then leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table, his attention on the two women. "This isn't your Sunday school watered-down version of Heaven coming to Earth, right? Take every horror film you ever saw, mash it all together, and you still won't have half of what's coming."

"I don't watch those," Maggie put in, earning herself a sideway glance and smirk from Nina.

"What do you expect us to do about it?"

"'Cording to what I hear, you two proved pretty handy, before." Crowley shrugged, leaning back in his seat again. "Figured you might want to have another crack at it. Seeing as it's the end of the world and everything."

Nina's glance turned toward Aziraphale, then, rife with suspicion. "Yeah. I'm going to need a bit more than that to work with, considering last time that one," she nodded toward Crowley, "told me something was wrong, I ended up in the middle of something I still haven't figured out for myself."

"I'm afraid it's quite like he says," Aziraphale told her with a helpless shrug. "I can't tell you any more than that, today. I merely came to ask you to the bookshop, tomorrow afternoon, where I," he glanced toward Crowley, "where we will explain everything."

Nina's eyes narrowed, her gaze going back and forth between them. "I know what you are," she pointed at Aziraphale, "or at least I think I do. But what's your partner's bit in all of this? He hiding another one of those nuclear halo things, or something?"

Crowley's smirk grew, and Aziraphale fought himself not to sigh in pure, hedonistic pleasure as long fingers stroked up and down a short stretch of his spine. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"He's a demon," Muriel popped out with at the same time, then shrank back in their seat under Aziraphale's stern glare, mumbling, "But he used to be an angel?"

Nina and Maggie shared a glance Aziraphale couldn't read, but that looked like a cross between wary and surprised, before Nina loosed a small laugh and slapped both hands on the table, rising to her feet. "Explains so much. Now, I have to go open up. Whatever you decide, Mags."

Aziraphale turned toward his former tenant as Nina headed toward the other side of the café to open up. Maggie smiled back at him. "Of course we'll come and listen, at least. If I can help at all, I will. Nina will decide for herself, I'm sure."

"Quite right," Aziraphale responded with a smile of his own, then glanced toward Muriel as Maggie rose from her seat and left with a smile and a small wave. "You decide what you want to do, too, Muriel. Either way, I will protect you."

"And I," Crowley murmured, leaning close enough Aziraphale was certain no one else could hear his words, "will protect you, angel. No matter what."

******

AZ Fell and Co. Bookshop, Soho, London -- The Next Morning

Crowley sighed to himself, glancing up from where he lounged on the arm of the chair Aziraphale had just vacated for the tenth time in the past three-quarters of an hour to pace about the shop floor. He hadn't seen his angel this worked up since... well, since the last time they'd had to stop Armageddon. Still, there was even more tension hovering around Aziraphale, now. Like he carried all of creation on his shoulders.

The thought didn't set well with Crowley.

"Come on, angel. Sit." He patted the chair.

"I can't." Aziraphale shook his head, his pace quickening. "I've been gone too long. Michael will be sure to have noticed and reported my absence to the Metatron, by now."

"Angel." Crowley snagged Aziraphale's wrist as the angel passed him again, closing the space between them to rest his forehead against his angel's in a way he'd been sure he'd never get the chance to, just days ago. He closed his eyes, reveled in the contact for just a moment, then opened his eyes to meet the purest blue he'd ever had the fortune to gaze into. "Talk to me."

He knew they were odd words, coming out of his mouth. But there was something up, in Heaven, that Aziraphale wasn't telling him. Since when did the Supreme Archangel of all Heaven have to worry about being reported by a subordinate? A low hiss of menace left him. "Tell me those bastards aren't trying to hurt you, again."

The memory of what Heaven did to him, thinking he was Aziraphale, was a thorn still buried deep in Crowley's soul. A trauma he'd probably never recover from. If they'd tried it with Aziraphale for real, he'd burn fucking Heaven down. Nothing was more sacred to him than this angel.

"A-again? Of course not, love." Aziraphale's free hand, pale against the black of Crowley's jacket, patted his chest in soft passes. "But they aren't exactly fans of mine, either, you know."

Crowley's hand tightened slightly around Aziraphale's wrist. He wanted to close the distance, to share a real kiss, rather than the desperate attempt to stop Aziraphale from leaving their last kiss had been. Only, he was trying his best to respect Aziraphale's wish to not give them away in front of Muriel, who could be lurking anywhere in the shop. Until they could avert the apocalypse again -- the intent being to do so once and for all, this time -- there still wasn't an "us" out there for them. Not really.

Releasing his hold on Aziraphale, Crowley muttered a curse beneath his breath as he moved away to the window, to stand with his hands on his hips and his head bowed. "So, you need to leave."

Aziraphale sighed and shook his head. "After the meeting."

"And you'll be back when?" Crowley hated sounding -- hated being -- needy. They'd gone centuries without seeing one another, a time or two in the past. But things changed. Watching Aziraphale follow the Metatron off to Heaven -- to feel an absence in his being he hadn't felt since before the Garden -- had changed Crowley. He didn't know why, but the idea of Aziraphale going back to Heaven again tormented him in a way he hadn't been since he'd been cast out of Heaven.

Aziraphale's heavy sigh hung in the air. "I don't know, love. I hope in a few days."

"And then?"

Another sigh -- this one cutting across Crowley's soul like glass. He braced for what he was sure would be another prolonged absence. "I won't be going back."

They weren't the words he expected. Crowley spun to face Aziraphale. "You... Wot now?"

A ghost of Aziraphale's smile -- a smile Crowley had been craving for months -- crossed his angel's lips. "I meant what I said, Anthony. I love you. I think I always have. I know we have to stop the world from ending, once and for all, because I can't imagine eternity without you. As you said, before, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it..."

Crowley froze as a flame sweeter than any hellfire licked through him. This was the first time his angel ever promised him anything more than the barest glimmer of a maybe. He was damned if he wasn't going to savor it.

#good omens 3 #good omens fandom #azicrow #aziraphale #ineffable spouses #go2 #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow #good omens s2 #fanfic #fandom #ace romance fanfic #ineffable husbands

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Would you like to write a little drabble with some interaction between Crowley and Phileas? :)

I'm shocked no one has asked me for something with these two before! :O

On with the fic!

--

It was surreal, really, to see his face on someone else, but Crowley had been around for a very, very long time, and he's met a few look-alikes over the centuries.

There was that damn Casanova, who got Crowley in trouble with a man in Italy who mistook him for the flirt. There was also that weirdo who spoke like he was from the future, though Crowley had to admit, his sense of fashion was excellent.

Crowley even swore he'd seen a few 'famous' people in history with his face.

But there was something about Phileas Fogg that... fascinated Crowley.

It was like looking in a mirror, if that mirror showed him to be like Aziraphale, in a sense.

The mannerisms, the sense of fashion, even the way he spoke, it was like Crowley had dressed up as Aziraphale and decided to do so with a mustache. It was strange, weird, and made Crowley feel a weird sense of jealousy in his stomach every time he saw the two of them interacting.

But he was aware that Phileas didn't have feelings for Aziraphale. No, he had feelings for the charming globe-trotter who shared a lot of resemblance with Crowley's angel.

Still, the jealousy sat in his stomach, and Crowley wanted it gone. He had no beef with this human, but he did want to see what had Aziraphale so fascinated.

Crowley approached Phileas, finding him easily on the ship. He had gone to the dining hall where a bar was, seeming to be reading quietly while drinking a soda water. Ah, still dealing with sea sickness, it seems. Reading won't help, but... he'll figure that out.

"Hey, mirror." Crowley grinned, sitting himself down in the seat next to Phileas. The human looked at him, a bit startled, then looked away.

"Oh, uh, good afternoon, Mr. Crowley."

"Ah, no need for that! Just call me Crowley, no need for misters and missuses with me."

Phileas looked at him, quite confused. "Missuses?"

"Don't worry about it, you'll probably learn later." Crowley shrugged before ordering a drink for himself. "So, how are you feeling about this trip so far? We're gonna be heading to the Suez Canal in just... three days time, yes? You thinkin' you can handle the next step of the journey?"

The gentleman sighed softly, closing the book, which Crowley realized was one of Aziraphale's, he recognized the condition it was in. "I'm... not sure how I feel about this, Mis- Crowley. Those first few days before getting on the ship, they were quite the whirlwind of chaos! A revolution in Paris, a near fatal injury to a young boy in Italy, and it's just over two weeks into the journey. I fear that more trouble is on the way."

He ran a finger over the rim of his glass, biting his bottom lip. "Do you think I should continue? I mean, I could turn back, at the next port, accept defeat-"

Crowley interrupted with a very loud, rude sound from his lips. Phileas shot him a look but Crowley spoke. "I think you should, and no, you shouldn't accept defeat, you twit."

"T-twit?"

"Look, Phileas," Crowley took his drink when it was offered to him, "I get it, it's... draining, to want to be seen as a success in the eyes of your peers. Trust me, I've been like that for years, many... many years."

He took a long drink. "I know how it feels to want to be seen as good enough, to be known you did something to make yourself proud, but it's not easy. Everyone will judge you, people will never see your little victories when the big picture is there."

"It's..." Phileas wrung his hands, so much like how Aziraphale did. "It's more than just that, Crowley. It's more of what got me out of my chair and onto this journey in the first place."

Crowley looked at him, and he could read Phileas like a book. For once, it wasn't Aziraphale he was seeing in the man, it was himself. "You're doing this for someone." He said as a fact, not a question.

Phileas looked startled, frightful, but then he nodded, looking at the counter. "I... there was someone from my past, who I should have done this journey with so long ago."

Crowley sipped his drink, leaning in close. "I won't tell anyone about this, just so you know." He wouldn't tell a soul, he had his own secret reasons for the things he did, he wasn't going to blurt out Phileas'.

"Thank you, Crowley." Phileas sighed. "But yes, it's more than this bet, it's for myself, and for... my friend, for her. Because I failed in the past."

"I understand completely."

Crowley wasn't just on this journey to help Aziraphale, or to accept the offer the angel gave him. This was more for Crowley to be reliable to Aziraphale again, to mend the damage that he caused with his question.

"Look, it's good to have these reasons that you want to keep secret, but you shouldn't let your worries get the best of you. Come on, you've done so well so far!" Crowley spoke, throwing a hand up in the air.

"Such as...?"

"You saved the president of France by complete accident, and you rode through the sky in a balloon! How many humans can say they've flown through the air like a bird!? And you saved that boy's life, when everyone else had quickly given up hope. Hell, you even figured out how to get that train to go across the tracks. Honestly? Of all the humans Aziraphale has taken an interest in, you're the most fascinating."

Phileas looked at him, confused and mumbling 'human?' before smiling just a bit. "You make it seem like that's the highest compliment."

"Trust me, Aziraphale's approval is very, very important."

The man nodded. "You have great respect for our mutual friend."

"Oh, you have no idea, mirror." Crowley smirked, taking another sip from his drink. "So! The angel told me that you like technology, what do you think of the idea of horseless carriages?"

He saw something light up behind Phileas' eyes and the man quickly started to ramble with great interest. Crowley grinned behind the rim of his glass, ah, he could see why Aziraphale took an interest in this human.

You always tend to drift towards the familiar.

#phileas fogg #anthony j crowley #crowley #around the world in 80 days #good omens #good omens extended universe #john's drabbles #let the adventure begin au

[anonymousdandelion]

A Traffic Jam of One's Own Making

Continuing backposting the fluff ficlets I wrote based on @greenfiredragonfly’s Angstember prompts! Enjoy a dip into the time-honored tradition of Crowley Crowleying himself.

A Traffic Jam of One's Own Making, rated G, 400 words

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said wretchedly. He stared out at the lanes of stalled traffic, stretching ahead of the Bentley as far as the eye could see. “Think we’re gonna be here awhile.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale followed Crowley’s gaze. “I should have brought a book.”

A moment of silence, as the line of traffic scooted approximately three inches forward and then stopped again.

“I should’ve taken us a different route. Sorry,” Crowley said again.

“You had no way of knowing it would be like this.” Aziraphale patted his hand on the steering wheel. “Don’t apologize. It’s not as if the traffic jam is your fault.”

Crowley discreetly avoided commenting.

Not discreetly enough, though. Aziraphale’s hand lifted off Crowley’s, eyes, voice, and aura turning suddenly suspicious. “Dear boy.”

“Yeah?” Crowley said warily.

A short distance behind them, a car honked uselessly. The car directly ahead of the Bentley honked back.

Unfortunately, the noise failed to distract Aziraphale. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“Ngk,” said Crowley. He fumbled for a sufficiently distracting, non-incriminating answer. “Sure. Yeah. Lots of things. Didn’t tell you yet about those symphony tickets I bought yesterday, for instance…”

“Symphony tickets?” Now the angel sounded interested.

Temptation accomplished! “Yep,” Crowley said, a little too enthusiastically. “Front row seats, two weeks from Friday. They’re playing Tchaikovksy, the conductor is—”

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale interrupted pleasantly. “I’d love to hear more about it later. I’m looking forward. Now, you were saying, about the traffic?”

Bless. Well, it had been worth a shot.

Crowley sighed. “Got bored this morning, that’s all. Seemed like fun. Passed the time, anyway.”

“It seemed like fun.”

“Forgot we’d be coming this way later. [1]”

“I see.”

“...Should I say sorry again?”

This time around, Crowley noticed, Aziraphale very noticeably didn’t instruct him not to apologize.

And yet, the angel’s irritated shake of the head a second later looked like it was more for show than anything else. And there was something closely resembling a glint of interest in Aziraphale’s eye when he sighed loudly and said, “Fine, then, tell me how you did it. Since there’s nothing else to do. And then you can tell me about that symphony.” A beat. “We do have plenty of time, after all. Might as well make use of it.”

Crowley grinned. Maybe it wasn’t so terrible, after all, having an excuse to spend some extra time with Aziraphale.

~

[1] Actually, he hadn’t forgotten. In fact, it was exactly because Crowley had known they’d be coming this way that the road had been the first one to come to mind. He just hadn’t thought through the consequences.

Also posted on AO3

(See more of my Fluffy Angstember fics here!)

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #dandelion fics #aziraphale and crowley #ineffable husbands #fanfiction #drabble #fluffy angstember #angstember2021

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Fluff prompt #38? "Are you alright?" "I will be."

Well, this one certainly went in an unexpected direction! The quote winds up a bit altered, but I think it fits the spirit of the thing.

I’m working off this prompt list - send me an ask or @ me with your request!

--

The Bentley rolled to a stop in front of the bookshop just as the all-clear signaled the end of the night’s bombing. They hadn’t been in any danger during the drive; exhausted as he was, Crowley still had the strength to make sure of that. Probably.

Crowley only had to keep it together for another minute, maybe two. His feet ached from the burns, stinging like a sunburn as high as his knees, flaring every time he shifted his feet on the pedals. But he’d made it this far. He was fine, and he could continue to be fine until Aziraphale was in the shop.

He pressed his lips together, kept his hands on the wheel, and resisted the urge to fidget.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, still clutching his bag of books as if it was a life raft. “That was certainly a thrilling experience.” He frowned tartly at the dashboard, making his true feelings for the Bentley abundantly clear.

“Nh. Got you home, didn’t it?” Crowley glared out the window at the shop, shifting his feet between the pedals as inconspicuously as possible.

“Yes, and the fact that we’re still in one piece is clearly the most incredible miracle of the night.”

“You really haven’t changed, have you?”

“I should think not. I am an angel, and the nature of my being is incorruptible, eternal, and unaffected by the comings and goings of mortal beings—”

“Meaning you’re just as much a smug bastard as ever.”

Well. That hadn’t taken long to fall apart.

Really, the entire evening had been one disaster after another. His intelligence had revealed a team of Nazi spies was meeting with a contact at an old townhouse in Soho, so Crowley had settled in to wait it out. He had his fingers in everything these days, from British Counterintelligence to street gangs, and the opportunities for a bit of chaos during the Blitz were never ending.

Then he’d received word that the drop had been changed. And that the contact was a certain local and well-established bookseller. Meaning that the idiot being duped by the Nazis was his idiot. He’d barely been updated on the new location in time, and of course Aziraphale had picked a church, of all the places in the city, a church to meet his bloody spies, and Crowley had to charge in, no plan, no preparation, and now he hurt and Aziraphale seemed determined to make this as miserable as he possibly could, and really was it any surprise after the last time—

Crowley didn’t want to part angry, not again, but his feet hurt and he didn’t know how to stop himself.

In the silence, Aziraphale shifted in his seat, looking at the door but not opening it. “I…Crowley, I am…very glad…that you were there tonight.”

“Don’t thank me,” Crowley blurted, mostly out of habit. “Just. Be safe. Be smart.” One quick glance to the side, then glaring at the windscreen again. “And stay away from Nazis, it can’t be that hard.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t. I just thought…ah, well.” He opened the door, but didn’t try to leave.

“So,” Crowley started.

“So,” Aziraphale agreed.

Deep breath. “Guess I’ll see you next century—”

But at the same moment, from Aziraphale, “Do you want to come in?”

More than anything.

Aziraphale still didn’t face him, and his stiff shoulders gave no hint of his emotions, but Crowley wasn’t going to let this – whatever this was – pass him by.

“I mean…I could…I can…” His hand fumbled for the door latch, popping it open, almost leaping out onto the pavement before the invitation could be withdrawn. In his urgency, he entirely forgot about the pain in his feet.

Until he put his weight on them.

“AAAH!” With a strangled gasp, Crowley collapsed like felled tree.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was beside him, impossibly quickly, hands fluttering over his face and chest. “Oh, my word. What – what happened? What’s wrong? Oh, Lord, is it—”

“Calm down, Angel.” His voice still sounded tight, but there wasn’t much Crowley could do about that. “Told you. Hallowed ground.” With some effort, he managed to sit up, one hand braced on the floor of the Bentley.

“I thought – you said – ‘being on the beach in bare feet’ – this isn’t—!”

“S’nothing.” Crowley eyed the distance to the driver’s seat. He could probably get himself in, but it wouldn’t be dignified. Well. Any and all dignity had long since gone out the window. “Just need to…”

He pulled his legs in and tried to stand – the pain hit him halfway up – and with another cry of “NrrrrrrAAAH!” he toppled over, slamming his head against the street.

“Oh, oh, Crowley!” His eyes blinked open, and behind the flashing supernovae that filled his vision loomed Aziraphale’s concerned face. “My dear fellow, are you alright?”

“Told you. S’nothing.” He’d need another minute or two before trying to sit up. “Be fine in the morning.”

“Yes, I’ll see to that.” Before Crowley could ask what that even meant, Aziraphale scooped him up, one arm under his knees, the other across his back, cradling him like a child.

“What? Angel – stop – you – Ngk!”

“Would you rather lay in the street all night?” He nudged the Bentley door shut with his foot. “Let’s get you inside.”

“But—”

“Hush.” He held Crowley a little closer, the demon’s head against his shoulder, and started walking. “Do hold on to my neck if you need balance, and try to relax.”

There was no chance of relaxing, not when his entire body was pressed into the warm curve of Aziraphale’s stomach, not when his vision was filled with that soft face, jaw hardened in determination. Especially not once he realized he could feel the angel’s heartbeat, steady and calm. His own was racing erratically, and every nerve in his body was raw, on edge.

As Aziraphale stepped past the Bentley into the street proper, Crowley’s heels taped lightly against his side, and sharp pain shot up to his knees. Crowley flinched, just slightly, but immediately Aziraphale stopped to shift his arms, making sure Crowley’s legs wouldn’t swing as much.

“Better?”

“Nh. Yuh.” Not knowing what else to do, Crowley slipped his arm across Aziraphale’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure it was any more comfortable, but he liked it.

Only when they reached the steps to the shop did Crowley realize something was missing. “Your books!”

“Still in that horrid vehicle.”

“But…” Aziraphale loved his books. Especially the prophecy books. He’d carried some of them around the world for the better part of a millennium. Crowley knew that, it was why he’d made sure to protect them from the bomb blast.

But, counter to all logic, Aziraphale just shook his head, as if they didn’t matter at all. “They’ll keep for an hour or two.” He nudged the door with his shoulder. “I have more important matters to attend to first.”

And he stepped across the threshold into the brightly lit shop.

--

It hadn’t changed. Eighty years since his last visit, and everything was still the same.

Oh, there were a few more tacky figurines and baroque sculptures scattered around; the books were piled even taller, suggesting Aziraphale had acquired far more than he’d sold in that time, and cloth bindings seemed to be giving way to leather again. The lights were electric now, but the gas fixtures clearly hadn’t been replaced, merely altered. The shelves, the columns, the furniture – everything was just as Crowley remembered.

He sat on the sofa now, feet soaking in a basin of hot water. Aziraphale knelt beside it, carefully applying angelic healing a little at a time. Crowley’s body couldn’t take much more holy energy without breaking.

His feet were much worse than he’d thought. Bright pink and deep red in patches, covered with angry swollen blisters that started between his toes and wrapped back around his ankles. When he’d rolled up his trouser legs, he’d found smaller burn patches all up his shins, as if the hallowed ground had somehow splashed him almost to his knees.

“Does this usually happen when a demon walks onto hallowed ground?” Aziraphale ran a dampened cloth across Crowley’s leg, gently wiping away a burn.

“Dunno, I’m the only one stupid enough to try it.”

“Crowley,” he murmured, somewhere between warning and exasperation.

“Sssss.” He slumped a little further on the sofa, wiggling his aching toes. “I’ve seen a few demons get close to holy ground or objects. Burns and blisters, yeah, that’s normal. But I’ve never seen it this bad.” Aziraphale’s fingers ran down his ankle, setting off more sparks of pain. “Mmmmph. Should heal though. Almost everything heals eventually.”

Demonic self-healing took time, of course, and hurt all the while.

“They’re coming along,” Aziraphale commented, gently lifting Crowley’s left foot out of the water. His hand on the back of the ankle was as gentle as possible, but still made Crowley squirm.

“Nnnnnnnrk. Why did you have to meet them in a bloody church?”

“I…” Aziraphale carefully brushed the cloth across Crowley’s foot. It tingled – not entirely pleasantly – but the skin left behind was less burned, and the blisters a little smaller. “I’m not really sure.”

“C’mon, Angel.” Crowley shifted again, fingers curling into the sofa cushion. “I know you changed the spot at the last minute. And don’t tell me that was their idea.”

“No…” For a long moment, Aziraphale didn’t say anything further, just continued to wash Crowley’s foot with slow, gentle motions. When he’d cleared the left foot as much as he could, he lowered it back into the water and started on the right. “I just…I was so flattered. To be asked to help. To trap spies and book thieves! To…be part of a team.” The cloth slowed to a stop. “I just…I suppose some part of me hoped that Heaven would look down and, and see…”

You wanted them to be proud of you. Not that he could say it. Aziraphale’s feelings towards his superiors were as complicated as ever.

“Well.” Aziraphale started into his task again, perhaps a bit too briskly. “Good thing no one did look, considering how it all turned out.”

“Angel…” Crowley pushed himself up a little, to better watch the white curly head bent over his feet. “Are you alright?”

“What? Don’t – that’s absurd – you’re the one who’s – why wouldn’t I be—?”

“You trusted her. That woman. And she pointed a gun to your head.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale quickly lowered Crowley’s foot into the water, but not fast enough for him to miss how the angel’s fingers trembled. He gripped the sides of the basin. “Do you…do you think me very foolish? To fall for…such an obvious trick?”

“Not at all.” But Aziraphale didn’t look up, didn’t move from his spot. “This…isn’t the first time it’s happened, is it?”

He shook his head. “Never this bad, but…I always throw my lot in with the worst sort of people, don’t I? Or if I do find decent types, I just – just drive them away. I never learn my lesson. Good lord, there must be something wrong with me.”

“Of course there isn’t.” Crowley wished Aziraphale would meet his eyes.

“And it was so obvious! If I’d just stopped to think for five minutes…”

“You can’t blame yourself for humans being—”

“Why? Am I so desperate for approval, I just – just throw my lot in with whoever comes by? Why do I keep—”

“Because you’re lonely!”

Crowley hadn’t meant to say it, never mind with such feeling. He wanted to take it back, but Aziraphale’s head jerked up, finally met his eyes – oh, yes. He could see how right he was.

Eighty years, with no one but humans for company. Crowley could remember how awful that was. How much worse, when you knew there was another way? When you understood what you were missing?

“Angel…I’m…” The word stuck in his throat. “I’m sorry. I should have come back sooner, instead of just…just sleeping it off.”

“And I could have gone to you,” Aziraphale said softly. “I wanted to, you know. So many times, I just…”

Crouched beside the basin, Aziraphale slid his arm around Crowley’s legs, leaned forward to rest his head against the demon’s knees. Crowley laid his hand on the angel’s head, fingers burrowing into soft, feathery curls.

They didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, not with words at least.

After a time, Aziraphale whispered, “Do you think – is it – are we…alright?”

Crowley stroked his hair one more time. “We will be.”

#good omens prime #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #hurt comfort #hurt crowley #sad aziraphale #love #foot washing #hey finally got a foot washing fic written go me #my writing #prompt fic #tumblr fic

[inkwell1013]

Paint the Streets With Rainbows - Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley, Aziraphale & OC, Crowley & OC

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Oneshot

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Homophobia, disownment

Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale accidentally end up at a pride parade after a rather nice dinner date, and meet a cheerful boy named Jordan. A week later, something terrible happens, and they step in to help out their new acquaintance.

- - - - - 

Crowley and Aziraphale had chanced upon the parade quite by accident, taking a wrong turn on the way back to Aziraphale’s bookshop after spending the morning at a nearby café. Aziraphale would have assumed it was a mere coincidence, but his more fanciful belief in fate and the divine plan belayed this assumption. The way Aziraphale saw it, nothing happened without reason. Them arriving there when they did was fate, nothing more and nothing less.

There were rainbows everywhere. That was the first thing Aziraphale noticed. There were so many rainbows: hung from trees, worn on t-shirts, draped over shoulders like capes, waved from flagpoles, and even fashioned from balloons. He noticed that there were other flags too mixed in with all the rainbows, like flowers growing in a garden, all bright and beautiful and unique.

He wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he assumed it was good as everyone seemed delightfully happy. And there were so many people, more than he could possibly count. He had never seen such an impossibly huge crowd before.

Glancing toward Crowley, he saw a content smile playing across his partner’s lips. “What is this?” asked Aziraphale, gesturing towards the raucous procession.

“It’s a pride parade. Have you never seen one before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Crowley chuckled. “Wow. You don’t get out much, do you?”

Aziraphale huffed - secretly a little grumpy – mostly because he knew it was true. His significant aversion to socializing meant that he spent most of his time alone when he wasn’t with Crowley. Some might call that lifestyle sad, but Aziraphale preferred his quiet life to the alternative.

“Basically,” continued Crowley. “A pride parade is a celebration of the many differences of humanity – from sexual orientation to gender – as well as a way to protest inequality.”

“Well, that’s rather nifty, isn’t it?” said Aziraphale, adjusting his bowtie.

Crowley stifled a laugh. “I suppose it is.”

“Rather a lot of rainbows, don’t you think?” quirked Aziraphale. “I always liked rainbows. They’re a symbol of hope, and it never hurts to have a little hope these days.”

“I agree.”

It was at that moment that a boy pattered up to them. He was young – perhaps sixteen by Aziraphale’s best estimate, though he had never been good at guessing ages – and was tall for his age. He reminded Aziraphale rather a lot of a golden retriever, with his long, floppy blond hair and cheerful smile, which he leveled at them both, joy painted clearly on his features.

“Are you too here for the parade?” he beamed, cocking his head.

Crowley smiled back at him. “We are. Why do you ask?”

“That’s so cool!” exclaimed the boy. “I saw you and your boyfriend—”

“Husband,” interjected Crowley.

“Sorry, husband. And I just got super excited. You guys seem so happy together, and its nice, you know? Knowing its possible. That there’s a future for me, I guess. You know, you see all the sad stuff in the news, and it gets to you. It feels like there’s no hope left, but there’s always hope. I’m probably rambling. I’m sorry for bothering you two.” The boy turned to leave, but Crowley stopped him.

“Wait. Are you here with your parents?” he asked. “We could help you find them.”

“My Dad doesn’t know I’m here,” mumbled the boy. “He isn’t exactly cool with all this stuff, and I’m too scared to tell him. And my Mum… Well, she’s in heaven now.”

Crowley frowned rather instinctually, and the kid immediately backtracked. “It’s fine though. He’s not so bad. It could be worse.”

In a spur of the moment decision, Aziraphale pulled a newly miracled business card that hadn’t existed seconds ago from his jacket pocket and pushed it into the boy’s hands.

“What your name?” asked Aziraphale.

The boy gave him a quizzical look. “Jordan. Jordan Stewart.”

“It’s been nice to meet you Jordan,” beamed Aziraphale. “If you ever need help, call the number on this card.”

“Okay.”

“Good lad,” said Crowley. “Now go have fun. You’re at a pride parade after all.”

Jordan smiled, tucking the business card into his jacket pocket before sprinting away, throwing his arms around a boy with dark, curly hair. The boy stumbled back, only just catching his balance before he tumbled over.

“Ash! You made it,” exclaimed Jordan.

Ash laughed. “You thought I was going to miss your first pride? I’m not that bad of a friend,” he smirked. “Seriously though, how did you get away? I thought your dad was giving you trouble.”

Jordan shrugged. “I told him I was hanging out with some friends at the park.”

“And he bought that?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised too, to be honest. If he asks, tell him we were hanging out at the park with the others.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it.”

Crowley and Aziraphale watched the boy leave with his friend, firmly believing that would be their last encounter. They were both equally surprised when they received a phone call from Jordan just one week later.

Aziraphale was doing a little late-night reading before bed, and Crowley had wrapped himself around his husband, rather like he was trying to constrict him. Neither of them expected the phone to ring.

Crowley had whined and grumbled but Aziraphale insisted on fetching the phone just in case it was something important – a call from a supplier or customer, perhaps.

Aziraphale answered the call and Crowley buried his face in his pillow, still grumpy that Aziraphale had pushed him off. He immediately shot up when he heard Jordan’s voice on the other end.

“I didn’t think you’d pick up,” mumbled the boy. His voice was cracking and coarse, and Crowley knew that he had been crying. “I’m really sorry to bother you so late. I just didn’t know who else to call.”

“Is everything okay?” asked Aziraphale. “You sound upset.”

“My father found out about everything, and he kicked me out. He said that he’d rather have no son than… than me. I can’t believe this happened,” choked out Jordan. “I never did anything wrong.”

Aziraphale cast a helpless look at Crowley who hastily took the phone from him. “Jordan, can you tell me where you are?” asked Crowley.

“The McDonald’s on Main Street. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“That’s okay,” said Crowley, scrambling out of bed and throwing on the first pair of trousers he could find, an effort that was made difficult by the fact that he only had one free hand to do it. “Stay right there. We’ll pick you up.”

“Thank you.”

Crowley’s trusty Bentley got them there quickly, and Aziraphale suspected that Crowley used some of his demonic influence to turn all the traffic lights on the way there green. He wasn’t complaining though. Anything that got them there faster was worth it, regardless of the possible consequences.

Jordan slipped silently into the car, eyes still puffy and red from crying. There was a short silence, before Jordan spoke. “Why doesn’t he love me?” he asked. “What did I do wrong?”

“This wasn’t your fault kid,” said Crowley. “It was never your fault. Some people are just trapped in the past. I understand how you feel. I do. Being disowned by the people who are meant to love you is shitty. It was shitty when it happened to me, and it’s still shitty now. There will always be shitty people in the world, but they’re becoming less common these days.”

“I agree,” said Aziraphale. “Barring the excessive swearing. Let’s try and limit the swear words in front of the young one, shall we dear?”

There was just the barest hint of a smile showing on Jordan’s face, and Aziraphale smiled a little to himself in turn.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” asked Aziraphale.

Jordan shuffled in his seat. “Not really. Ash always said I could stay with him if something happened, but his parents are super strict, so I dunno if they’d be too pleased about that. I wouldn’t want to make things hard for him.”

“You can crash with us if you’d like,” said Crowley. “We have a spare room, don’t we Angel?” Crowley cast Aziraphale an expectant look, almost asking – begging – for permission.

Aziraphale hastily conjured an extra room in his bookshop, complete with fresh sheets and a newly vacuumed carpet, before nodding in agreement. They did now.

“Are you sure I won’t be an imposition?” asked Jordan.

“We’re certain,” said Aziraphale.

“Thank you, it means a lot.”

“It’s really no bother at all.”

They arrived at Aziraphale’s bookshop a little while later and Crowley and Aziraphale lead Jordan to the spare room. The moment he walked into the room, Jordan crumpled, tears streaming down his face.

“Are you alright?” asked Aziraphale. “Do you not like it?”

“No. Its perfect,” whispered Jordan, blinking through tears as he looked around his surroundings. The room was small but neat, with a single bed on one corner, adorned with bright blue sheets. There was a wardrobe in the other corner and a small bedside table as well.

But the thing that Jordan couldn’t stop staring at was the rainbow flag hung up on the wall.

He was safe here. For the first time in years, he knew he was safe.

#good omens fanfiction #pride month #inkwell writes #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens fluff #Good Omens angst #original character

[sushiandstarlight]

Healing Touch

Personal Note: I can’t call this a part of the 30 Days of Prompts because I didn’t use today’s prompt.  Every time I tried it got super sad.  So, I found another prompt and then started writing and didn’t use that one, either.  Oops.  I’m out of control today, I guess. ;)

Read this story on AO3

Rated: G

In a flash the two of them appeared in Aziraphale's shop. Aziraphale himself was hanging heavily on Crowley's shoulder.

“I've told you to look!” Crowley was already yelling, even as he lead the angel over to the sofa to sit, “You have to look for traffic before you cross!”

“It's never been a problem before...” Aziraphale sat heavily, taking in his ruined clothes and wrist that was pointed in an odd direction before wincing and looking away, “I've never been struck by a car before!”

“It was about time then, you never look,” Crowley's voice was tight with strain. 

Ordinarily he would remove his glasses the moment they entered the shop, but he had kept them on. Aziraphale squirmed in his seat, knowing the demon was upset with him. But, Crowley shook himself, kneeling in front of him and taking his arm.

“Ah! Easy!” Aziraphale hissed, trying to jerk the injured wrist from Crowley's fingers, but Crowley gripped his arm above the break and didn't let go, “Careful, oh be careful.” It was only then that he realized he wasn't the only one trembling.

“Let me fix it.”

“Can you... is that something you can do?”

“Think so,” Crowley squeezed his forearm, “but you need to hold still.” Aziraphale did as he was told, watching as Crowley took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It didn't feel like a heavenly miracle and that made sense. This was one pulled up from the ground. A damp cold feeling slithered from the tips of Crowley's fingers, down his arm, and wrapped around his wrist. It squeezed the bones back into place, none to gently. He realized, belatedly, that he had whimpered out loud when Crowley's thumb brushed the inside of his arm in sympathy. Crowley, for his effort, seemed to slouch a bit towards the floor, his shoulders drooping.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale wiggled his fingers experimentally.

“What about the rest of you? Should I check?” His hands were already moving to Aziraphale's knees and up his thighs which made the angel sit up a little straighter.

“No!” he squeaked, “No, no I don't think that's necessary... Just some scrapes and bruises, nothing that can't heal up on it's own, I think.”

“You're sure,” Crowley pulled his glasses off and set them on the table beside the sofa, resuming his kneeling in front of him, “You wouldn't lie to me?”

“No.”

“You have.”

“I- I withheld.”

Crowley's eyes looked so tired when he met them and he felt guilt settle thick in his stomach.

“I am sorry for that. I should have told you what I knew.”

“Are you withholding now?”

“I'm really not. I'm feeling a bit battered and, actually, exhausted... But, I'm okay. I'm okay, Crowley, I promise.”

Crowley stared at him for a minute before appearing to be satisfied with his answer and then he slithered up onto the sofa next to him. The hand that had been checking his left knee was still there, warming his skin through the layers.

“You realize, what with how we managed to piss off all of our superiors in one fell swoop... If either of us gets discorporated, they probably won't give us a new body,” Crowley sat stiffly, staring ahead, but Aziraphale saw his throat bob nervously.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Aziraphale told him, voice hushed.

“You don't know that.”

“I'll look next time. I'll look every time. I'm just... used to traffic going around because I believed it should. I suppose that doesn't work anymore.”

Crowley grunted.

“Could you, Crowley could you look at me please?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale fiddled with his ring, finding with some amount of horror that it was scraped on one side. He would have to have it fixed. He had had this ring for so long and nothing had ever damaged it before. “Please.”

He watched Crowley swallow hard again and then he met his eyes. It was only for an instant, but long enough to see that the yellow of his irises had eclipsed the sclera and they were really, really glossy. Crowley huffed and sniffed as he looked away.

“Tell me what I can do to make this better. Clearly, you're upset and it's my fault.”

“No, it's fine.”

“It's not fine. Tell me.” He chanced reaching out and placing his hand over the one on his knee and felt the tremble that was still working it's way down Crowley's arm.

“Just, I already lost you once, didn't I? Thought you were burned up right here in this bookshop. Really and truly gone by hellfire. I saw that car and I couldn't get there in time and I thought... All of that. We made it through all of that and you'd be taken from me by terrible driver.” Crowley's trembling had become full on shaking now, jostling Aziraphale's knee. He leaned towards the angel but then pulled back.

“I'm so terribly sorry I gave you a fright, my dear,” Aziraphale opened his arms slowly, “But I am still here and I will be more careful. Would you... would you like a hug?”

Crowley leaned towards him again, the same motion arrested again, lost in indecision.

“I think I would like a hug, if that's alright? Even if you don't need one,” Aziraphale wheedled, opening his arms a bit further, knowing there had never been a request he had made that Crowley had turned down. If he had to use that to give Crowley something that he, himself, needed... Well, so be it. Means to an end. And, anyway, he could really use a hug after what happened. He could still feel the gravel digging into his elbows, the steel cracking his wrist bones.

Crowley still hesitated for a moment then leaned in close and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's torso. Aziraphale pulled him in, tucking him into his side and squeezing him. If he watched Crowley's shoulders hitch and heard some sniffles, he swore to himself he would never mention it. He just held the demon and stroked his back. When Crowley pulled back, after a time, his eyes were clearer if rimmed in red.

“You're sure you're alright?” His hand hovered near Aziraphale's cheek and the angel took his hand and pressed it gently to his face, nodding.

“To be completely honest, I am getting a bit sore... All over, actually. I'm not accustomed to be knocked around like that, I think. This body is protesting.”

“Maybe a bath? I could run you a bath,” Crowley sat up straight, obviously excited to have something active to do to help.

“That sounds divine,” he smiled lopsidedly at the demon who groaned, rolling his eyes.

“I'll run up and do that. You follow when you're able. Take your time.” And Crowley was off, jogging up the stairs and disappearing towards the bathroom. A moment later there was water running. Aziraphale lifted himself gingerly from the sofa and made for the stairs, regretting each one as he went. There were parts of his corporation that were throbbing painfully that he wasn't even aware he had previously. Somehow he made it to the doorway of the bathroom where he leaned against it heavily, taking a few deep breaths. Even that hurt. Crowley was kneeling by the tub, dumping in cups of lavender-scented epsom salts. The calming scent filled the room as the steam drifted from the water.

Crowley turned to him, wincing when he took in how he was standing.

“Let me help you get undressed,” Crowley stood fluidly and moved in front of him, reaching to pull his coat off his shoulders.

“I can get it,” Aziraphale waved weakly at his fussing hands.

“Can you? I don't want to do anything to make you uncomfortable. But, you can't see what you look like right now.”

“What do I look like?”

“A friend, in need of some help,” Crowley stood, hands at his side and eyes pleading.

Aziraphale tried to shrug out of his jacket but aborted the motion when pain shot down his spine then whispered quietly, “okay, you can help.”

Crowley went immediately and efficiently to work, stripping off his jacket and setting it aside. Then working the many buttons and layers he wore. So many layers. It took some time and all Aziraphale could think about was sinking into the warm water. When he was down to his pants, Crowley hesitated, pulling his hands back.

“They will have to come off now or later when I get out,” Aziraphale licked his suddenly dry lips and met Crowley's eyes even though every part of him wanted to look away. He didn't see anything untoward in the demon's gaze. No leering and no judgement, only fondness still laced with concern. Crowley stepped behind him to preserve his dignity and then tugged the pants down.

Aziraphale toddled over to the bath, feeling Crowley follow him in case he fell. He sunk down into the warm bubbles with a sigh, breathing deep the smells of other oils Crowley had added to the bath: the pine scent of arnica together with eucalyptus. His eyes had slid shut in pleasure but he opened them, once settled, to find Crowley dithering at the door to the bathroom.

“You can stay if you like,” Aziraphale closed his eyes again, sinking down into the water up to his chin. Crowley miracled a stool and sat by his head.

“You have bits of gravel in your hair,” he warned and then started gently picking them out.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale mumbled, finding himself drifting. The fingers in his hair went from picking to gently combing through and that felt so good he hummed in approval. There were parts of his body that were still upset, even in the warm water with it's calming oils and salts. But the fingers softly brushing his scalp seemed to balance it out. No one, not even Crowley himself, had ever touched him in such a way. He leaned up into the touch and drifted some more.

“You probably shouldn't sleep in there, Angel,” Crowley's voice was very close to his ear. He blinked his eyes open. One of the demon's hands was still buried in his hair, his other arm was stretched out along the side of the tub. The water was a lot cooler than he remembered.

“I don't sleep. Angels don't need sleep,” He knew it was false as he said it.

“Neither do demons, but it's nice. And it does help with the healing.” For the first time Aziraphale wondered how Crowley knew so many remedies for aches and pains. He felt a fission of fury stab through him at the thought of someone hurting the demon enough that he would need to learn these things. It faded with the fingers massaging his scalp. “Do you need help up?”

“Think I've got it.”

“You sound like you're falling asleep again.”

“Feels good.”

“That water can't be hot anymore.”

“No, not the water.”

“Wha- oh, oh.” Crowley's hand paused.

“I didn't say you had to stop.”

There was a pause, somewhat awkward.

“You don't mind?”

“No, it's nice... I don't mind you touching me.” He was so sleepy, though.

“I could,” he heard Crowley swallow, “I could... resume once you're tucked in bed.”

“Are you offering me a cuddle?”

Crowley made a choking noise.

“Because if you are, I'm going to take you up on it.”

“Yeah?” There was wonder in Crowley's voice. Aziraphale liked the sound. He liked it a lot better than the worry and the fear from earlier. He couldn't promise himself that he would never cause such a sound to be in the demon's voice again, but he could promise himself to try.

“Yes.”

“Well, alright then, Angel.” He could hear Crowley's smile, “I'll meet you in there then. Don't be long. There's a towel right here on the stool. He heard Crowley pad over to the door and then pause, “Aziraphale, don't you fall asleep in there. So help me, I'll carry you to bed.”

“Promises, promises,” he grumbled, sitting up. By the time he reached for the towel, the demon was gone. He also wasn't in the bedroom when Aziraphale entered in a towel. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Another time, perhaps, for something like that. He wasn't up for it, anyway. He changed as quickly as he could into soft cotton pajamas and crawled under the blankets in his rarely-used bed.

Aziraphale was unsure how much time passed before he heard soft footfalls pause by the bed. He could feel the uncertainty and was having none of it. He reached over and tossed back the blankets.

“In before all the warmth gets out,” the words ran together and slurred, even in his own ears, but Crowley seemed to understand well enough. He crawled under the covers and lay beside him, “good, now I believe there were cuddles on offer,” he tugged Crowley over by his own shirt, finding it to also be soft cotton. All the better. Crowley went where he was pulled until he was pressed all along Aziraphale's side.

“I'm really glad you're alright, Angel,” Crowley rested his head on his shoulder and draped an arm over his chest.

“Thank you for taking care of me, dearest.”

“Always, Angel, always.” And then he drifted and Crowley let him.

Other NaNoWriMo Fics:

Cocoa or Cider / Feather Duster / Scarf / Family / Hearth / Frosty / Ribbons  / Wrapping / Cardinal / Coal / Unwrap / Blustery

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #hurt/comfort #i will write them to snuggles a million times and a million times more

[perhapsitmaybedragons]

A Little Nudge

The world is garbage and I’m writing fluff so I don’t have to think about it. Good Omens one shot. Fluff. Very dialogue heavy, because I like writing Dialogue.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556994

Or you can keep reading below:

Crowley drummed his nails against the kitchen table as he watched Adam do his homework, periodically wondering which one of them was more bored and whether homework was an invention of Heaven or Hell. Crowley hadn't had a hand in it, that was all he was certain of. Seemed like something Aziraphale would approve of, though.

This had been a new Arrangement, and one Crowley had no designs in. But both he and the angel were certain Adam had retained some, if not all, of his powers. And both were convinced their sides were still up to something, so it made sense to keep an eye on the boy. But it hadn't been intended to be so closely. Just a little while after Crowley had started watching him, he started getting phone calls to come baby sit. Aziraphale, on the other hand, just came by every once in a while pretending to need to talk to the Youngs about mundane things like the weather.

Which just further proved Adam's powers were still there. How else had Mr. Young gotten Crowley's phone number? And how else could anyone explain that both Mr. and Mrs. Young always looked wary around Crowley, but still allowed him to watch their kid? Or that they both got a glazed over, bored look whenever they so much as caught sight of Aziraphale, but still always answered the door when they saw it was him?

Crowley could be patient when he needed to be, and he was wondering when the kid would break and admit why exactly he wanted Crowley to look after him. Especially when his parents had previously left him to his own devices. Adding in an authority figure didn't seem like the kind of thing Adam would decide to do.

But today he kept glancing up from his homework, apparently stealing himself for the favor he was about to ask. Crowley made a point of leaning back in his chair, trying to look relaxed. He was curious and also wanted to get it over with. His mind had gone over all the possibilities for why Crowley had been the one selected for babysitting duty, and none of the options seemed good.

It was unlikely, for example, that Adam wanted to know about his father – he made it very clear that Mr. Young was his father, and the biological one could go back right to where he came from, thank you very much. Possibly he wanted to know what hell was like. Or what the limits of his power were. Or how much trouble he could get into with his powers plus the help of a demon.

But what Crowley wasn't expecting was for Adam to put down his pencil, sit up straight, look Crowley in the eye and ask “Why aren't you and Mr. Aziraphale married yet?”

He folded his hands like he was a business man giving a performance review. Crowley crossed his arms. “And why would we be?”

“It isn't proper,” Adam insisted, “Mum says people in love get married. That's you two, and you've been in love for a while. Is it cause you're both blokes?” before Crowley could respond “I mean, you both look like guys but that's legal, and my dad says,” And here he adopted a gruffer voice, trying to mimic his dad, “'well, it's uh...it's not for me and I don't understand it but there's uh...there's nothing wrong with it'. And Pepper's mum says it's perfectly natural and ok for two guys to get married if that's what they want,” He paused for a moment and added, almost like an afterthought “Or two ladies. That's alright, too.”

“We're not technically male,” Crowley pointed out. “We're not human. Marriage is a human thing.”

Adam brushed it off, “But you're looking like us and acting like us. Wouldn't it help you blend in more?”

“I don't care if I blend in or not,” as though to make the point, Crowley whipped off his sunglasses so Adam could see his eyes. Adam had seen it before, but he always reacted the same way every time.

“Man, I wish my eyes looked like that,” he grumbled. And just like the last few times, his eyes would take on a snake like pupil for just a moment before flicking back to normal. “But you're trying to 'vade the question.”

“Evade?” Crowley suggested helpfully.

“Yeah, that. It's not right to be in love and not do anything about it when you can.”

“Why does a young boy like you care so much about what an old demon and angel are getting up to? Why do you want us to get married so badly?”

“Weddings can be all right. Wensleydale got to be a groomsmen in his cousin's wedding and he said he got a really big slice of a nice cake afterward.”

“You want us to get married so you can have cake?”

“No,” Adam said, pouting now, “I want you to get married because you love each other. And I want you to let me pick out the cake.”

Crowley chuckled in spite of himself. “That angel would probably never let you pick, he cares a lot about food. Probably already knows who the best caterer is in town for this sort of thing.”

“If you're not going to do it just say so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you love him or not? Cause I thought when two people love each other they get married. And you're talking about everything else except whether you love him or not. And when Mr. Aziraphale came to trade gardening tips with mum he looked worried and I think he thinks your side's going to attack soon.”

“You want us to get married to take his mind off of Apocalypse 2.0?”

“Ugh, no,” Adam was getting frustrated. To him, it was the most obvious thing in the world – if you're an adult and you love another adult, you get married. Unless you were married to other people, like in that show his mum watched sometimes. Apparently, then you murdered one of the spouses together and then ran off to Mexico.

But Aziraphale and Crowley weren't married to anyone, and Adam had thought it was obvious that they were in love. At first, he thought maybe it was that part of him that just knew things – the part that had lead to that scary day not that long ago where the world had almost ended. But then Pepper had asked him about them, and Brian and Wensleydale had backed her up. It seemed ludicrous that with everything that had happened, they would all end up focusing on the love lives of the demon and angel involved but well, here they were.

“And have you talked about this with the ang-- with Mr. Aziraphale?”

“No,” Adam said simply, “I think he wants you to make the first move.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow. Here some part of him thought he'd been doing nothing but making moves on that angel for the last few centuries. “You are aware we're not a couple, right? Even for humans, you usually don't go from being associates straight to getting married.”

“I think you are a couple.”

“Those weren't the terms of our Arrangement,” Crowley muttered.

“Doesn't matter. Everyone already can see it.”

“You do know that just because people want other people to be together doesn't make it so, right?” Crowley thought for a moment of calling Aziraphale and making him deal with this, but at the same time he wanted to see where this conversation would go. “And that even if we are in love, the way you seem to think we are, we wouldn't have to get married? Even if we were human, humans don't always get married.”

“Not always, but the tax benefits alone usually make it the better choice than just living together,” Adam said with the authority of a child who had overheard that exact argument said by an adult once and was now repeating it with only the slightest glimmer of understanding. “He does know you're in love with him, right?”

“I thought you said we both loved each other,” Crowley was annoyed by how irritated his voice sounded – there was a twinge of longing there that he would like to have been better at hiding.

“Yeah, but I think he needs you to spell it out for him. He knows, but he doesn't know that he knows.”

“I think your parents let you watch too much tv, you know that? I think I should tell them not to let you watch so much of it, and to keep an eye on what you're watching.”

Adam shrugged. “You can try. But I'll still ask you about when you're going to ask Mr. Aziraphale to marry you. I bet you could propose to him with a book – I don't think he'd like a ring. But maybe he would, cause it could match his halo.”

“So you want me to tell him I'm in love with him and then immediately propose to him? That's the long and short of it there, right?”

Adam nodded. “Dog can be your ring bearer. I think I saw that in a movie once. But the dog ran away with the ring and everyone got upset-”

“You just told me not to get him a ring, why would we need a ring bearer if we haven't got a ring?”

Adam thought it over for a moment, cocking his head to the side as he thought. “Ok. So he could be one of the groomsmen with me. And it's not fair to let Wensleydale be one, 'cause he got to be one this year already. But he can be one of those guys who shows people to their seats. And if you ask Pepper to be a flower girl she's going to think I told you to do it and then she's going to punch me, so maybe ask her to be a groomsperson, too?”

“Have you planned out my entire wedding?”

Adam gave a guilty smile that told Crowley everything. “I will take your concerns under advisement,” Crowley had invented so called 'office speak' and this, along with 'per my last e-mail' was one of his favorite responses. It didn't really promise any action, but people responded as though it did.

“You should probably do it now, cause he's on his way over.”

“For what? Your parents won't be back from the movies this soon and he always checked in with them.”

“I told him she'd need help today at 4 o'clock,” he jerked a thumb in the direction of the clock on the wall. It was almost 4 and Aziraphale would either be a little early or exactly on time.

“You lied to an angel. You realize that, right? Literal being from heaven and you lied right to his face.”

“Did not,” Adam shook his head, “I lied to him on the telephone. It's not as bad.”

While Crowley was pretty curious about that particular leap in logic, he didn't have time to get into it with Adam. Aziraphale was knocking at the front door and Adam had jumped up to answer it.

“Hello, Mr. Aziraphale! Crowley's here, too.” Crowley couldn't help notice that Aziraphale always got a “Mr” in front of his name from Adam, but he was always just “Crowley”. He wasn't sure which way he preferred it, to be honest.

“Oh, hello,” Aziraphale greeted him, but then immediately began to look about for the Youngs. “Adam, where are your parents? I thought your mother needed help with something in the house?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“But that's why you called me,” Aziraphale frowned. “Did you lie to me?”

“Yep!” Adam nodded enthusiastically. “I'm sorry.”

“Doesn't look sorry to me,” Crowley muttered.

“Well, dear boy, you're forgiven, but can I ask why you lied?”

“Needed you to come over so you could talk to Crowley!” Adam admitted, ushering Aziraphale in and practically throwing him into a chair at the kitchen table. The one right next to Crowley. Adam shut the front door.

“Crowley and I talk to each other all the time,” Aziraphale only looked more puzzled now. He gave a small wave of his hand and his coat moved from being on him to being hung up neatly on a coat rack (that hadn't been there when he came in).

“Adam has gotten it into his head that,” And here Crowley stopped. He wasn't embarrassed by the thought that he and Aziraphale were in love. Crowley knew exactly how he felt about that angel. But the idea he had been so obvious that a child had picked up on it was making him uncomfortable. And despite Adam's insistence, he wasn't completely certain where Aziraphale stood on the topic.

“Yes?” Aziraphale prompted Crowley to continue.

“I could leave?” Adam suggested. “Give you two alone time?”

“In your parents' house?” Crowley didn't say it, but he wanted to point out that it wasn't the most romantic of locales.

“I could go up to my room or something.”

“No, no,” Aziraphale shook his head, “It's your house and if it's so important to you that we both be here, we should discuss it. Is this, perhaps, about your uh...non-earthly father?”

Adam pulled a face. “That guy's not my dad.”

“True, very true,” The angel nodded his approval. “But then what did you want us both here for?” He shifted his attention back to Crowley. “I'm sure we'd both try to help, whatever it is. We're both in that unique predicament of no longer being on the side of who sent us, so the three of us are ..ship mates, if you will.”

“Mating's got something to do with it,” Crowley muttered so low that neither of them heard him.

“You're an angel, right?” Adam demanded.

“Well, yes, but-”

“So you're supposed to tell the truth, right?”

“I don't know what you're-”

“And you're in love with Crowley,” Adam finished, his eyes boring straight into Aziraphale's.

“I'm not certain this is an appropriate conversation for us to be having,” Aziraphale sat up, ram rod straight and started dusting at his already spotless pants. “Is there something else I could help with?”

“No,” Adam said stubbornly. “If you're an angel then you should do it right. You have to be honest – do you love him?”

Crowley's breath caught in his throat. It had never occurred to him to press Aziraphale in this manner, though he was pretty certain he wouldn't have, even if he had thought of it. Aziraphale was resolutely looking away from both of them, staring at the floor. He looked like he was having an internal debate with himself. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally spoke up.

“Yes,” he said softly.

“Wait,” Crowley jumped out of his seat and flung his glasses off so that he could look Aziraphale in the eye. “You're in love with me?”

“Well, yes...” he admitted. “But aren't you in love with me, too? I had thought you were. Did I misunderstand?”

“Did you misunderstand?! Did you misunderstand?” Crowley paced back and forth in the kitchen. Adam and Aziraphale exchanged glances, both confused about what was going through the demon's mind now. “I didn't bloody think you felt the same! This whole time! How long, angel?” he demanded.

“At least since Germany...possibly further back. I don't know.”

“And this isn't one of those things where you mean like a friend, right?”

“No. I mean, at first, yes, I loved you like a friend and then it ...it became more.”

“And you knew how I felt and you didn't say anything?!”

“I didn't think I needed to,” he shifted. “I thought you knew and that we didn't do anything because of ...well, you come from there and I come from the other side so I didn't see how it could possibly work.”

“And now?”

“Now what?”

“Now what, he says!” Crowley threw up his hands and looked at Adam, giving a 'do you see what I've been dealing with all this time' look. “Now neither of us is with our original sides – heaven tried to kill you, hell tried to kill me and we were both tossed back here. Aziraphale,” Crowley put his hands on the other man's shoulders, “There is nothing holding us back anymore.”

“There's nothing holding us back,” Aziraphale repeated in wonder. “We could ...I could...”

Crowley pulled him up from his seat and immediately went in for the kiss. Adam looked away, trying not to intrude on their moment.

Aziraphale pulled away first. “There's a child present.”

“It's just a kiss,” Crowley muttered, “That kid's seen way worse on tv.”

“That's true, I have,” Adam admitted. “Neither of you has any secret spouse you're going to have to kill, right? I like you two, I don't want you to have to go off to Mexico.”

“What is he talking about?”

“No idea, angel,” Crowley had his arm around Aziraphale's shoulder and seemed intent not to move it.

“So are you going to get married now?” Adam persisted. “Now that you know he feels the same?”

“But we aren't human-”

“Don't even start with him, it's a lost cause, trust me. Look, Adam, we are not getting married. ….at least not yet.”

“Do you think we should?” Aziraphale looked thoughtful. “If we end up moving in together it would seem more proper, don't you think?”

“And it will save you money on taxes,” Adam offered helpfully.

“We'll revisit the question,” Crowley insisted. “You and I have a lot of catching up to do. You'll be all right then, Adam?”

“Yeah, my homework's done. Will you still come sit with me sometimes?”

“Do I even have a choice in the matter?” Crowley pointed out. Adam gave a crooked half grin in response.

“We all have a choice. You just needed a little nudge this time.”

#Good Omens #Good Omens fanfic #Ineffable Husbands #Aziraphale #crowley #adam young #fluff #also there are some jokes

[cyanidechan]

Hi OP! I love reading your Metas, and I would love to read your opinion about Newt and his relationship with Anathema! I noticed people don't talk a lot about him but I love this character because i can see a lot of myself in him🖤

I have, as you Anon, strong feelings about Newt and I can see a lot of myself in him as well. 

I love how, as many characters in this story, he’s well written and complicate under many aspects, it’s just a bit difficult to see since he’s a secondary character, and maybe at first he doesn’t stand out like the others but at the end, he’s one of the most important characters in the story.

Newt, as we can see in the book/series, has a big self-confidence problem, and I think it depends on two factors:

On one hand, the mother seems to have high expectations for him that he cannot fulfil, such as being a computer genius. This is usually very frustrating because when you are made to believe that plugging a computer is a "science experiment” for your entire childhood when you are in the “adult” world and you discover that you aren’t that great, your whole life becomes increasingly frustrating.

So frustrating that, in fact, in order to don’t disappoint the mother, he will end up lying and saying “It was great at work, and everyone loves me” even if he were fired the first day. See also: Newt prefers to follow Shadwell rather than admit he has failed for the umpteenth time.

On the other hand, the fact that he’s so passionate about computers but can’t work with them is a big blast to his self-steam. He would love to be a computer engineer, he really wishes he was, but he’s not and this is sad because he keeps trying to work with them.

I think that this is sad but, again, Newt’s biggest flaw, destroying everything that is technologic, is his best quality. I love this. I love that is the biggest flaw is the thing that, all in all, saves the world.

Speaking of this, Newt is very brave and brilliant:

When he discovers that he has to enter a military base he panics because let's face it, he’s human and until the morning before he didn’t even believe in the existence of Witches and Occult (or Ethereal!) Things and any sane person would freak out on the idea to enter in a restricted area without permission with the big possibility to be shot at first sight. Newt doesn’t have ancestors who studied prophecies all their life as Anathema. Ain't crazy like Shadwell or Tracy (which I love, but they're both a little bit crazy haha)

Despite this, however, he goes to the base and does everything to save the world. Even if that means to destroy billion of computers (hahah)

He’s the one that figures out how Agnes Nutter’s prophecies system works: it’s useless that they try to guess which card should pick, if Agnes could see the future, she could see what card they would pick, so... let’s pick a random one and it would be the right one. This is brilliant, this is how you should use your ancestor ability to see the future, guuuurl.

Also, he’s the one to encourage Anathema to cut ties with her ancestors. If she would have continued to study the prophecies she would have just followed blindly what Agnes say: aka she would have never acquired true free will.

About Newt I have two big Headcanon that I cannot shake of my head:

1)Objectively, Anathema knows that she did a good thing to burn the book. I know that many of us thought “but why didn’t she give it to Aziraphale?” And this is a good point, but don’t you think that she would be tempted to go to him to know what Agnes wrote? Personally, I think that in future Anathema would panic whenever something bad happens, thinking that maybe, if she wouldn’t have burned the book she could have prevented it. This sounds very stressful, and I like to think that Newt would be there to calm Anathema down. It could be the sooting way he talks, but I feel like he’s someone that is good at ground people in moments of stress. This doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get stressed or worked out, but I see Anathema and Newt like the perfect couple: he’s sooting and calming, she’s fierce and reassuring. They make a good team.

2)I strongly believe that Newt and Crowley could be best pals, like... they both likes technology, they’re both nerds in a different way. Also, I want to remember to everyone that Newt is a Doctor Who fan, and Crowley is responsible for most of the British television shows.

So I like to imagine them, awkwardly seated on the couch, the TV is on and Doctor Who is on: “Oh, I love this show.” Would say Newt. “Oh, yes, it’s one of mine. It started as a way to teach kids about science and history facts because you know… the more you believe in science the more you’re tempted to don’t follow religions, I got a commendation for it.”

“…Did you just said that you invented Doctor Who?”

“I mean, not exactly, I gave the idea to some authors and they did the rest… but strictly speaking, I guess? Did you know that [add here some obscure facts about DW]”

“Can I hug you? It’s weird? I really want to hug you.”

Crowley and Newt during cookouts at Jasmine’s cottage always chat about fun facts, TV series and sci-fi stuff, and the demon enjoys this a lot, but a the same time he’s A Cool Guy™, so he won’t say nothing. 

But his gift for Newt’s wedding is a cabinet in the back of the cottage that looks like a 1:1 version of the TARDIS, it’s a bit bigger on the inside, full of computers that aren’t plugged on anything but they work anyway (and they works for Newt without problems, if they know what's best for them), but there’s also a comfy sofa where he can read his comics and a vintage television that only streams his favourite shows.

Newt fainted the first time he saw it.

#In the last couple of days I asked to send me some questions because i was bored to death but felt too weak to do something #good omens #newt #Newton Pulsifer #Anathema Device #anathema x newton #newt and crowley #Ineffable Husbands #ineffable idiots #doctor who #tardis #t.a.r.d.i.s. #long post #two columns #ask me anything #cyanide and the long ask

[zephyrofalltrades]

Day 9: Possession

CW: Partial demonic possession, strangulation, self-harm, graphic depictions of demonic wounds, swearing

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Aziraphale tugged at the hem of his sweater vest looking at the old abandoned house at the side of the road.

“I like spooky-looking places remember?” Crowley said pulling out his camera from the back seat of his car. “Besides, this place is aesthetic - perfect for my photography class!” he grinned as he looked back at his friend.

“Yes, well, I also heard demons live there,” the blonde shivered.

“Demons aren’t real, angel. They’re just the construct of bed time stories and the magic of cinematography,” he hummed tying his long red locks so as not get caught in the camera straps. “Besides, we’ll be out of there before you could say 'tickety-boo',” he laughed.

"I've got supplies, just in case." Aziraphale piped up, taking out a crucifix, a rosary then a water pistol from his pockets. He patted the last with reverence. "Holiest of holy waters," he announced proudly. "From a bottle my parents got when they visited the Vatican then promptly forgot in a box in the garage."

Crowley bit his tongue from making a comment. He'll be damned if he'll ruin the blonde's fun. But he ought to show a little bout of annoyance to keep his image.

Crowley rolled his eyes at the paraphernalia, and held out the crucifix. "Planning to play as an exorcist dressed like that?" the red-head gestured to his cream sweater vest and tan trousers.

"Hopefully, it won't come to an exorcism," the other sniffed. "Which reminds me, give me your arm."

"Which one?" Aziraphale shrugged so he cast in his right.

The blonde took the rosary and wound it around a sinewy wrist, knowing that the red-head would cuss vehemently if he hung it around his neck. "There," he said with a wiggle. Crowley felt the charged contact and his brain was fried for a moment or two before his senses came back. Looking ridiculous was a small price to pay to keep his angel happy.

Soon they managed to finally step out to the door and let themselves in. It was a usual haunt for teens giving innocent dares or those with questionable hobbies. The graffiti was everywhere. 

“Oh demons! Come say 'hello!'” Crowley giggled as they entered.

“I don’t think you should do that, Crowley. What if it gets mad?”

“Aww, come on angel, the demon can’t get mad because it’s not real!” he laughed aloud, earning a huff from his friend.

After a few shots of the main rooms, the pair decided to venture down the basement. It had the standard level of spookiness with an added bonus of a crudely scribbled occultist's pentagram in one of the musty corners. He gave the blonde a mischievous look and proceeded to flop himself down unto the floor, torso in the middle of the drawing.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale hissed.

"Hey, demons!" the red-head called. "Come get me!"

"Oh dear, please don't…" his friend's voice trembled.

"It's just a bit of fun, angel," he complained, but got up anyway to dust himself off. "If there are demons, they ought to show themselves more if they want to be known. Waste of time to just keep hiding in the dark, if you ask me."

His left hand suddenly came up to slap his cheek.

"Shit! That stings! What the fu-" another slap.

"Crowley, what are you doing? Is this another one of your pranks?"

"This isn't me! This is -" The hand grabbed hold of his sunglasses and threw it against a wall, hard enough to shatter the lenses and bend the frame. "Oi! Those were new!"

The sunglasses were the last straw, Aziraphale knew then that his friend wasn't playing a game. He took his crucifix and advanced towards Crowley. "Now you listen here," he addressed the limb, which Crowley was restraining with his other hand from punching himself in the face again. "Leave him alone!"

They heard an unearthly chuckle from all around them and the room's darkness felt heavier than before.

The blonde jumped and whirled about, searching for the voice's source. Before he could turn back to Crowley however, the errant hand slapped the wrist holding on to the crucifix. The wood fell from his grip but a part of it touched the demonic palm.

Crowley yelped and the hand recoiled. "That burned!" he said more out of surprise than actual pain. They could try exorcising his arm! But how? he thought frantically. Before he could think of a plan, the limb grabbed for a new target.

This time he watched his hand curl around the blonde’s throat. “Stop! No!” he screamed, but his limb took no heed. Aziraphale was holding on to it with both hands to no avail, lifting him from the ground.

Crowley pressed the rosary hanging from his right wrist at it but although it stung the same way, it didn't make it let go of the blonde. Panicked, he looked for the crucifix but it had been knocked far from his reach.

"Po-pocket," Aziraphale gasped out, still doing his best to pry the fingers away.

With wide eyes, Crowley searched his friend's pockets. His fingers touched plastic. The handle of the water pistol. He hoped it was holy enough to combat the demonic arm. He snatched it and pulled the trigger, first aiming at the hand then soaking the rest of his arm for good measure. The pain blinded him but he kept going, wringing every drop of the holy water from the toy. Finally, the fingers slackened.

Aziraphale fell to the floor gasping and watch as his attacker jerked in pain. The skin of Crowley's arm was steaming a sickly green. Bumps were forming from underneath, cracking the skin then popping to excrete a blackish sludge, oozing down to the floor.

Crowley tried not to howl but he couldn't suppress the whimpers. He retched as the smell of sulfur and decaying flesh reached his nostrils. Finally succumbing to the torture, he fainted.

When he woke, the first thing he saw was a crucifix nailed high on clean white walls. He grimaced at it before turning his head to look at the rest of the room. Cots were lined along the walls. It was a ward, he surmised, burrowing beneath the blankets once more and hissing as the sheets slid against his heavily bandaged arm.

"Ah, you're finally awake," came a voice from the other end of the room. A nun was striding towards him with a pitcher of water, a glass, cups and a pot of tea. Behind her was a smiling Aziraphale clutching a tin of biscuits. "Gave us all a fright you, did," the nun chastised. "We patched your friend up as best we could, but you were worse for wear."

She took the pitcher and poured him a glass. He did his best to not choke as he gulped the liquid down. He looked up to find both nun and blonde peering at him curiously.

"Wot? I was thirsty," he said defensively.

Aziraphale chuckled. "It appears you're good to go dear boy. If drinking holy water doesn't bother you, then we have nothing more to worry about."

#racket's 13 days of halloween #good omens fanfiction #good omens #with buzzfeed supernatural elements #i just had to #human au #my fics

[sam-writesstuff]

Family (Crowley x reader x Aziraphale)

Requested: Hey! I was wondering if you could write a fic with a teen!reader where she spends a lot of time with Crowley and Aziraphale, they're like protective dads over her. One day the angels/demons take her to try and get information about Crowley and Aziraphale, obviously they rescue her and they don't want her to bother with them anymore because they don't want her to get hurt so she yells at them?? Very angsty with a lovely fluffy ending xo

Warnings: Ignorant family, Slight child abuse. 

Word Count: 1899

A/N: I know I said I will post a fic last weekend, but due to some technical issues with my computer, I wasn’t able to finish this ‘til today... I’m sorry🥺School’s kind of dragging me behind with literally everything I enjoy doing;( Learning is important, but I miss the days I can just go anywhere and do anything whenever I wanted to😩 I didn't expect this to be turned into a series... But I guess it is? I hope you guys enjoy reading this!

---

Life wasn't fair. 

You learned this way to young. Your mother hated you, specifically because her own life was ruined in the result of your birth. Your father was selfish and ignorant; an arsehole. Weird enough, you couldn't bring yourself to blame either of them. Your mom was a poor victim of society, and your father was a victim to his father. Not enough reason to abandon a child, but the world you lived in taught you things that most people learn in their thirties. When they got divorced, you were handed to your grandmother. When she died, you were handed to your aunt. Handed, like an object. Like a hot potato, keep being passed on and on until the music stopped playing. When you realized that you can decide when to stop your music, you didn't linger longer. You were around thirteen when you first tried to escape from your aunt. 

It was freezing that night. The night was so, so cold. Everything moved slowly, but you kept walking. You didn't have much on you, and you weren't sure what you needed to do now. You were lost. You thought walking might lead you to somewhere. Anywhere. It was devastating. London was huge. Even so, not a single place in this city had a room for you. You once saw the news on the tv inside a store use the word 'overpopulation,' and how the world was so crowded. You wondered if that is why there wasn't any place for you. 

'God created everyone for a reason, there is a place for everyone in this world.' 

Your grandmother was very forgetful. She sometimes forgot that its morning and tried to put you back into bed. Or wake you up in the middle of the night thinking its morning. She sometimes forgot how to use the bathroom. She sometimes thought she was in someplace else and kept screaming. The rare amount of times when she wasn't, she always told you that God created everyone for a reason, and there is a place for everyone in this world. You never took her word for it, but you truly wished for it to be true at this moment. If it was true, now was the time to prove it.

The bookshop across the street was the only place that had lights on. Every other store on the street was closed. You could've gone over to a cafe that was a few blocks away, but you didn't. It was as if you were possessed by something. You were like the little girl that sold matches and the bookshop was what lit up at your sight. That should be the place. That had to be the place. You entered the bookshop and a gentleman with golden hair came out. 

"Hello, I'm afraid we are quite definitely clo- oh, dear. Are you all right?" 

"I-I'm sorry. The lights were on and I - Ah, achoo!" 

"No, it's not a problem. Please, you can sit here." 

The man offered you a sit on a chair. Honestly, you didn't know what else you could do but to sit. There was nowhere else for you to go. Nowhere else for you sit. This was at least somewhere. 

"Tell me, my child. Where are your parents?" 

You hesitated. If you tell him the truth, will he let you stay? Will he care? He might call the police. What will happen to you then?

You were foolish. You thought escaping would help, only to lead you nowhere but to leave you to freeze to death. 

"Do you have nowhere to go?"

He asked softly. Soft enough to get an unwanted child talking.  No matter how high your walls were, that was all it took to collapse. But you knew this. You tried to avoid a direct answer, still, you couldn't resist the tears that formed in your eyes. 

You expected more questioning from him, but he asked you none. Instead, he let you stay in the store for the night. The next morning, he made you promise to come back. 

"Angels will watch over you," he said. 

You didn't say anything back. Not a typical phrase you think you'd hear from a stranger. What a weird man, you thought. But then you came back because you were desperate. And every time he welcomed you with a warm heart. He seemed glad to see you again. You talked, he listened. He helped you, he took care of you. 

"What is your name, my dear?" 

"Y/N," you didn't say your last name on purpose. You didn't like it. Those people weren't even your family. 

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I'm Aziraphale." 

Aziraphale. You saw the name before. Yes, you saw it and not heard it. In the bible. In the dirty, old, dark room you and your grandmother lived, she kept a bible. She'd sometimes read it out loud to you. You were too hungry to care. However, to your curiosity, you had opened it before. 

Not long after you met Aziraphale, you met Crowley. You were terrified of him at first. You swore you saw him yelling at plants once. 

Then one day, Crowley came to your school to see the Christmas play you starred in. You have been working on it for months, and although you weren't the main character, you enjoyed playing your role. You didn't even bother to tell your aunt about it. Instead, you asked Aziraphale if he could come and watch. He said yes, of course. Sadly, on the day of your play, a very important customer to Aziraphale came to the bookshop. Having to deal with him, Aziaraphale couldn't make it to your play. Not knowing that, you waited for him to enter through the door. Your eyes searched among the crowds, but he was nowhere to be seen. Nowhere.

More parents entered, each time waving at their kid on the stage. Some held flowers, probably to give them afterward. 

"Uh, my mum is holding a camera," Harry, who stood beside you, grumbled at the sight. 

"What's wrong with a camera?" You asked. You couldn't understand. What was wrong with a mum trying to savior a memory of her child?

"It is embarrassing. She'll show it to everyone at the Christmas dinner," Harry stated annoyingly. Almost like asking for sympathy. As if you are supposed to feel the same way. As if you too, had such a caring mother who would come to watch your play and record it for showing off purposes. 

"Where is your mum?" Harry asked. It is these simple questions that hurt you the most. All of the assumptions, all of the conditions to be defined as a normal kid. What you hated, even more, is yourself wishing for your mother to enter from that door any moment now, and apologize. 

"I-" You hear a large creek when you opened your mouth to answer. The door swung opened and entered a very familiar-looking person. Crowley.  

Besides the dramatic entrance, he was a very unlike figure to be seen at a school play.  Flaming red hair, wearing entirely black with usual sunglasses; his posture, in general, had a weird aurora. Parents stared at him with questioning eyes and so did you. You queried why he was there, he didn't appear like a parent. He marched over to you, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a large bouquet.

"I am not late, am I?" Crowley said as he looked around the room, "Is the play already over?" 

"No," you took a moment before answering him. You were confused. "It hasn't even started yet. Where is Azi?" 

"Aziraphale couldn't make it, had an important customer to deal with. Wanted me to tell you how sorry he was." 

Disappointed look spread on your face. It wasn't his fault, you knew that. Though, that didn't stop you from being upset. You'll just leave as fast as you can after the play. Your friends will want to take pictures with you but... Well, you didn't have anyone to take the photo for you. If you leave fast enough, you'll be able to avoid all the questions. 

"Don't be so gloomy about it. I'm here."

You looked up at Crowley with unbelieving eyes. "You are not going to leave?"

"What? No. Why do you think I came here in the first place?"

Your teacher announced that the play was starting soon, and Crowley went to find a seat. When he did found a sit, he took his phone out. You expected him to be on his phone instead of focusing on your play, but to your surprise, his camera lens landed on you. Later, himself joined other crowds of parents who scooched in the front row as quietly as possible trying to get the best shot of their children. 

When the play ended, he whistled loudly. It was the loudest whistle you've ever heard in your life. He had a bright smile onㅡalmost grinningㅡand you've never seen him smile so widely. A proud smile. A kind of smile you've never gotten it before. You ran down the stairs after the final bow, towards Crowley and you hugged him tightly. He seemed stunned by your sudden action since you always hid behind Aziraphale whenever you saw him, but he patted on your shoulder in return. 

"This is for you, by the way," he said, handing you the bouquet. Your smile widened at it. The flowers were beautiful. 

Your friends ran over to you, wanting to take pictures with you. Their parents followed with their cameras. You looked up nervously at Crowley, but he was already taking his phone out. When all the picture fiasco was done, he took your hand and led you out to his car. 

"I know my way home. I can walk home," you said but then hopped onto his car. 

"Aziraphale is treating us dinner," Crowley answered fastening your seatbelt. 

"Really?" Your face lightened up in excitement. A family dinner. Something you've never experienced before. 

"Yes. Do you know your aunt's number? I'll call her," he handed you his phone from the driver's seat. 

"I do, but I don't think you need to. Don't worry, she won't care," you didn't take his phone, knowing that she wouldn't care either way. She didn't the day you ran out of the house. She didn't when you came back, so why would she start caring now? 

However, Crowley looked rather disturbed. He didn't say anything, and with his sunglasses, it was almost impossible to read him. You were greeted with Aziraphale when you arrived. 

"Oh, hello, my dear. I deeply apologize for not being able to-" 

"It's okay. Look! Crowley gave me flowers!" 

"They look wonderful," he smiled at you softly before turning to Crowley. His face expression changed quickly and his voice deepened in a serious tone. "Did you film her as I asked you to?"

"Yes, yes. I did. Now come on, she must be starving." 

After this day, you considered Crowley as your family along with Aziraphale. 

You promised to yourself every single day, that one day, you'll give it all back to them. All the kindness they showed, all the things they gave you. You'll pay them back. 

You never thought that your existence would endanger them, or that their existence would endanger you.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens imagine #good omens x reader #crowley x reader good omens #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #crowley x reader x aziraphale #crowley #Aziraphale

[bewitchedfeathers]

A Cold Performance (Part 2/2)

[COLD PERFORMANCE PART 1 HERE]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crowley smiled back, “Thanks, angel.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End! (I think)

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

#sneezing fic #sneezing fanfic #snz #snez #snz fic #snez fic #my fics

[rosethesongbird]

Angelic Illness

Crowley looked on as his best friend of six millennia lay alone in a large bed. He shifted in the armchair next to the bed, serpentine legs desperately trying to find comfort. Aziraphale’s brow—normally so gentle, friendly, and soft—was knitted in a pained grimace, and moist with sweat. He inhaled a shuddering breath, exhale quickly becoming a wet, productive cough; then, a coughing fit. The demon quickly rose from his seat at the sight of the angel rising from the nest of pillows, face in the crook of his elbow, struggling to breathe. 

“Ngk— Come on, let’s get you sitting up a little.” Aziraphale nodded, still choking on air. Crowley supported him with one hand on his shoulder, the other hand fluffing up pillows so he could rest more upright. The coughs finally stilled, and the angel leaned back, breathing heavily. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, sighing. 

“Don’t be, angel,” said Crowley, frowning. “I’m sure you would get rid of this, if you could. And it’s no hardship for me. Not like there’s much else to do.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” whispered Aziraphale. After the Armageddon’t (as Crowley had named it), life had fundamentally changed for them. They both had the same desire to do good or evil, respectively, but no one to answer to whether it was done or not—so they were more like freelancers at this point. 

A soft, cautious knock came at the door. 

“Everything okay?” a head of curly brown hair poked in. “I heard you coughing, Z,” 

“I’m really quite alright, Dawn, and we really should get out of your hair, don’t you think Crowley—“ he said, breaking out into another coughing fit. Crowley’s jaw set with concern as he rubbed his friend’s back. 

“Nonsense,” said the gamine, walking over to the bed. “It’s my pleasure to be able to host you. Not counting the fact that if you were human I’d have you admitted. Although, I’m not sure if I should count you as ‘over sixty-five’ or not.” She smiled and sat down on the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer, smiling. “And don’t lie. It’s not becoming of angels.” 

His smile fell. “Well, um, not—not very well, to be honest.” 

“Let’s take your temperature again, huh? What was it last time, Crowley?” 

“38.5,” said Crowley, a little too quickly. He was worried. 

Dawn froze for a moment while retrieving the thermometer from the cupboard. She laughed to herself. “I was really confused for a minute, then I remembered we’re measuring in Celsius like sensible people. Now open up, tenderheart.” The thermometer let out a small beep as she placed it under Aziraphale’s tongue. Her gaze lingered on the angel for a moment, before brushing white-blonde curls off his forehead. She turned to face the lithe demon. 

“Get any sleep last night?” 

“Don’t need to,” said Crowley. 

“I know, but did you want to?” Dawn asked, accusingly. Crowley only responded with a “Ngk,” and looked away. She was perceptive—an advanced nurse practitioner and American expat whose husband was one of the few stationed at the Tadfield Air Base. She had what she called “the spiritual gift of discernment”—upon first walking into the bookshop on a rainy day, she had immediately “discerned” Aziraphale’s angelic nature, and by “discerned” Crowley meant “she could see the wings for some reason.” Aziraphale had made quick friends with her, although, to be fair, he made quick friends with just about everyone who liked old bookshops. 

The thermometer let out a second digital beep, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Hm,” said Dawn. 

“What, what is it?” said Crowley. 

“39.7,” Dawn frowned. “I think this is bacterial,” she stated to no one in particular. “Have you ever taken medication, Z? Like, would there be any point in me giving it to you?” 

“I’ve never tried. Never needed to,” said Aziraphale, crestfallen. “But, I suppose it’s worth a shot.” 

Dawn ran her fingers through his hair. “I’ll be right back,” she said, a half smile on her face. The door closed softly behind her. 

Aziraphale sighed. “I really do feel awful, Crowley.” 

He looked awful, too. His face was sticky with fever-borne sweat, the usual pink flush to his cheeks was multiplied, the rest of his skin looking so pale it was almost grey, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that normally only appeared when he smiled were emphasized. His sparkling blue eyes were weary and dulled. 

“Well, Dawn said you probably had been sick for a few days by the time she noticed. I mean, have you ever been sick before, angel? Or did the bacteria or whatever make you stupid?” 

“I don’t think so,” said Aziraphale, grimacing and rubbing his chest. “I think I would remember feeling this bad,” 

“What you’d think is that you would have, I don’t know, mentioned something to your lifelong best friend before keeling over in a pile of dussssty old books,” Crowley’s agitation came through in a snakelike hiss. They always came out when he got upset. 

“It came on fast, Crowley! You know I would have said something if I—“ Aziraphale leaned forward into another coughing fit. The wet coughs sounded like they came from the very pit of his lungs, and were so strong they shook his whole body. Crowley reached over and began to rub the angel’s back again, drawing slow circles onto the tartan pajamas he had conjured up in a quick miracle on the way to Dawn’s cottage in Tadfield, the Bentley screaming down the country roads like a—well, like a bat out of hell. 

Dawn had called from Aziraphale’s phone, upon finding him unconscious in the bookshop. She had dropped in with a box of homemade macarons—telling Crowley later that she had intended to use Aziraphale as a guinea pig for new recipes, but he loved sweets too much and would never say which one he liked the best—only to find him lying curled up on the floor, shivering, sweating through his shirt and burning up in fever. Upon waking, he had started to cry (a sight Crowley had only seen a few times, and was not interested in seeing again) and Dawn had been concerned enough to call out of the rest of her day at work and take him to her home. Thankfully, in the past day he had grown much more coherent, but his symptoms had gotten worse. The wet coughing, the chest pain, the sound Dawn described as a “crackling on inspiration” when Crowley arrived and she was still in “work mode.” (Crowley thought he was going deaf when she thankfully explained that she could only hear it through the stethoscope still hanging around her neck.) Dawn had decided it was pneumonia, but none of the three were sure quite how Aziraphale got it in the first place. I mean, they were heavenly beings after all. Aziraphale had said that he felt too weak to miracle it away, so it was up to Dawn and Crowley to nurse him back to health. 

The cautious knock came at the door again, and Crowley was knocked out of his inner monologue to find Aziraphale now still except the rise and fall of his chest. He normally chose not to sleep, unlike Crowley who was quite a fan of closing his eyes and hallucinating wildly for eight hours each day. This illness was taking so much out of him that it was all he could do to stay awake for short bursts of time. 

Dawn entered, Crowley holding a finger to his lips in a “be quiet, the baby is sleeping” motion. She smiled. “I went ahead and called in some antibiotics, but they won’t be ready until later today,” she whispered. “Would you like anything for breakfast?” 

The demon cocked his head, thinking. It was early, about half past six, and the first light was beginning to peek through the curtain. “Cup of coffee might be nice,” 

“Cup of coffee it is, then. Oh, and I brought these,” she set out a bowl of cool water and rags, alongside a cup for drinking water. “That fever’s worrying me, I don’t want to let it get back up to where it was yesterday if I can avoid it. Think you can persuade him to take these when he wakes up next?” she handed Crowley a few pills. “Just aceta-uh, paracetamol, I promise. Nothing sketchy.” 

“I’ll do my best,” said Crowley. “Maybe they would go down a little better if they came alongside some sweets?” 

“Oooh, good idea,” Dawn remarked. “I normally wouldn’t encourage macarons for breakfast, but can I really deny a poor little angel his favorite?” 

“Exactly,” agreed Crowley. “Now you know how I’ve felt for the last six thousand years.” 

A laugh bubbled up from Dawn as she left the room. The bittersweet aroma of coffee snaked through the house.

—

Aziraphale didn’t wake up until it was nearly lunchtime. He had been stirring in his sleep, and started breathing faster and heavier. Crowley almost woke him up, but decided against it when Dawn didn’t seem exceptionally concerned. When he actually woke, however, was a totally different story.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered. 

“Yep, I’m here,” he said, calmly. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, heavens, Crowley,” Aziraphale moaned, eyes glassy. “The books,” 

“What books? The bookshop’s fine, remember angel?” 

“Crowley, the books, I forgot,” the sick angel suddenly appeared frail to Crowley. He grasped at Crowley’s shirt in agitation. His hands were burning like holy water in Hell’s mop bucket. 

“Angel, you’ve got to calm down, I can get you whatever book you want,” said Crowley, confused. 

“No, no, Crowley, my books—“ said Aziraphale, breathing heavily, nearly choking. “The books are going to get blown up,” he grimaced in pain, with a sorrowful groan. “Crowley,” 

Crowley called out for Dawn. He tried shushing the angel. “That was a long time ago, Aziraphale. Your books are safe now, I saved them, remember?” 

“No, no, Crowley, help—“  he broke out in another fit of coughing, gasping for air. Dawn rushed in. 

“What’s going on?” She crouched at the angel’s bedside, opposite the worried demon. Aziraphale jumped and turned to look at her, searching her face. 

“I’m scared, I don’t know what’s happening,” he said, wheezing. “Have you seen my friend?” 

“Sweetheart, we’re right here with you,” she stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “Oh, honey, you’re burning up,” 

“Aziraphale, look at me,” said Crowley, sternly. 

“Oh, Crowley,” said the angel, leaning into Dawn’s hand, cool on his feverish skin. “Please, would you take me home? But, I forgot my books,” he said, relieved at first to see his longtime friend then distraught again at the thought of the unspecified books being damaged. Hot tears began to fall from the blue eyes as he let out a sob. 

Crowley and Dawn looked at each other, yellow snake eyes meeting deep brown. Dawn’s hands moved to the angel’s back as he shook with sobs. 

“Angel, I promise to go find your books, but for now you have to take thesssse,” There was the hiss again. He handed Aziraphale the medication and the water glass, thin bony hands supporting soft pink ones. His hands were shaking worse than Crowley’s houseplants after a bad day. The angel cooperated but did not stop weeping. 

“Which books did you lose, my dear? I can go look for you,” said Dawn, now rubbing small circles on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. 

He sniffed and seemed to calm for a moment, before wailing “I don’t remember,” and going back into hysterics. 

Crowley looked at Dawn again, exasperated, and Dawn shot back a look that so clearly communicated “I’m trying,” that he decided not to speak. 

“Here, how about a snack to regain your strength so we can go look later,” said Dawn, softly. She turned and retrieved a plate with two macarons on it from the nightstand. 

“Oh, yes,” said Aziraphale, tears still falling inexplicably but demeanor significantly changed. “Yes, that sounds good.” His hands still shook as he took the plate, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He quietly started eating the sweets as Crowley and Dawn both took a simultaneous sigh of relief. 

After the snack, Aziraphale thankfully fell back to a fitful sleep. 

“Well then,” sighed Dawn, brushing crumbs off the reddened cheeks. “That was exciting.” 

“You’re telling me,” said Crowley. “Exciting” was not exactly the word he would use. Maybe “upsetting,” “very concerning” or “horrifying” would be better words. 

“I guess I didn’t realize quite how attached he was to his books,” said Dawn, chuckling. She wiped his face with a cool, wet rag. “Whatever they were, they were pretty important,” 

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley waved his hand. “I had to rescue the books a few times. The Blitz, the fire in the bookshop… The whole Library of Alexandria thing was really rough. Had to do a lot of damage control on that one.” 

“Oh, goodness, I can imagine.” 

A beat of silence followed as they both looked down at the sleeping angel. Even sick, a sleeping Aziraphale was practically the definition of “angelic,” between the white-golden curls, upturned nose, and softly parted lips.

“The medicine should bring down his fever,” said Dawn, standing from her place by the bed. “Which I’m pretty sure was the cause of… all that. Shouldn’t happen again, theoretically, but steel yourself just in case.” 

“Gotcha,” said the thin, tall redhead. 

“I have a random question,” she said, coming around to Crowley’s side of the bed.

“Shoot.” 

“Do they have… mothers? In heaven, I mean?” 

“Ngk, not really,” said Crowley, shrugging. “You kinda just… start to be.” 

“Hmm.” Dawn looked lost in thought. 

“Well, consider yourselves ‘mothered’ then,” she said, grinning at the demon. “Everybody needs a mama, especially in tough times.” 

She patted him on the shoulder before leaving the room.

Part 2 here

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable partners #ineffable husbands #whump #hurt/comfort #sickfic #pneumonia #my writing