woke: the nazis recognized crowley because he was working for british counterintelligence
also woke: crowley didn’t actually know exactly when and where aziraphale’s book deal was going down, he just had a vague idea, so he’d been busting into churches at random for about the past month and a half, hopping around on his burning feet, and each time he did it he Loudly announced his entrance like “here comes anthony j. crowley to save the day!” because he had a whole plan, he was gonna be so suave, but it was never aziraphale, and he ended up interrupting several other clandestine nazi meetings so that word got around in nazi circles of anthony j. crowley, the weird hopping church guy, and then when he finally did happen upon aziraphale’s deal, he was just so incredibly happy to see his angel that he completely forgot his smooth introduction, but the nazis recognized him as the weird hopping church guy so they did it for him.
Also he absolutely thinks “here comes Anthony J Crowley to save the day” is a smooth introduction.
Also Aziraphale would also think it was a smooth introduction so it works.
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So I tried really hard to get a fic done today; it’s another installment in my Sawdust of Words series, based on an idea I had like the first week I joined Tumblr, and it’s actually going well… but I’m only about 2/3 through, and the last third is the difficult part where the two walnuts need to have an actual conversation.
Unfortunately it’s now after 10pm so I’m also too tired to post something else. I was too ambitious and hoisted myself on my own petard (which by the way means I dropped a grenade at my own feet I’m serious look it up).
So! There will be fic updates in the near future, I promise. (How soon, I can’t say—I’m currently working 2 jobs up to 6 days per week so I’m frequently just too tired to words.) I’m also sharing below the first page of this fic, which takes place 48 hours after “Absence of Words” (Tuesday evening after the Apocalypse) and opens on one demon being completely heart-eyes-smitten over the local angel.
(If I get the chance I’ll reblog this with the typed up text of the page, but at the moment… )
Well, I have the 2/3 written up and now just need to figure out the Serious Conversation. Things got uhhhhh sort of increasingly traumatic with every draft, so that was fun.
Anyway, find below the extended version of this scene, as it will more likely appear in the final version on AO3. Warning: almost insufferable softness to follow.
Tuesday evening, after the Apocalypse
They had been talking for almost 48 hours straight.
Talking. Laughing. Listening to music. Drinking wine. Occasionally kissing.
Crowley had never felt so… “happy” didn’t even begin to describe it. He felt as though some terrible weight he’d carried for thousands of years was just… gone. A knot inside him undone, turned to smoke and dissipating on the wind.
He was free. Not from Heaven or Hell or some Great Plan.
The part of him that always held him back was gone. Crowley was free from himself.
He lounged across the sofa tucked in the east corner, watching his angel move about the shop. It was growing dark, but the last few beams of light caught his platinum curls, dying them ever so slightly golden. Picked out a flush of pink in his cheeks that had been all but absent for the last decade.
He was so goddamn beautiful.
A couple had come in to browse. Crowley had suggested just putting up the CLOSED sign, but Aziraphale insisted that “wouldn’t be very sporting.” So now he followed the couple around, helpful, polite, but firmly preventing them from so much as touching a single book.
When his eyes fell on Crowley, watching from the corner, Aziraphale’s face broke into a warm smile, like sun after a rainstorm, like fire on a cold day. Like coming home.
So fucking beautiful.
My perfect Angel, Crowley thought, watching as Aziraphale turned again to herd the customers as far as possible from anything of interest. Behind his glasses, the demon’s eyes never blinked, never moved from the object of his affection.
One of the customers pointed at something, and Aziraphale turned towards it, shoulders giving that little wiggle of excitement they did whenever he saw one of his favorite things. Crowley couldn’t get enough of it. The smile, the wiggle, the gleam in his eye. What he wouldn’t give to see Aziraphale so happy every day.
And he could. That was the whole damn point of being free, wasn’t it? No one to tell him off, no reports to write, no havoc to plan, no high-ranking demons to send him on secret missions… nothing stopping him from giving every moment of his attention to the being that mattered most to him, from giving that angel everything he wanted.
He longed to say that out loud. Not only that, a thousand things, millennia of emotions and confessions locked inside, the words straining against his chest, yearning to escape.
But that was forbidden to the demon. Couldn’t say it. Couldn’t write it. Couldn’t express his feelings in any way, not if he meant it.
And Aziraphale… accepted that. Understood. And loved him all the same. It was enough to make his heart ache as it rattled in his chest.
Finally, Aziraphale escorted the couple outside, having been thoroughly rude to them while still providing exceptional customer service. Crowley heard the door click shut, the sound of footsteps across the shop floor, and then Aziraphale rounded the corner into the little office, blessing Crowley with another smile.
Beautiful.
“So. Finally got rid of the nosy bastards?” Crowley asked, swinging his feet back to the floor to clear the space beside him. “Never seen a more unsavory pair of characters.”
“Oh, nonsense, my dear. They were perfectly charming, apart from their interest in my Jane Austen sets.” He hesitated for only a heartbeat before sitting on the sofa, hands folded in his lap, eyes downcast. Crowley tugged his glasses down so he could better watch the flush spreading across the angel’s cheeks.
“See? I knew it. Might have been planning to rob the place, or worse, buy something.”
“They hardly seemed the type, really, though you can’t be too careful. Though I confess to getting a bit impatient towards the end, as I wished to get back to… more important tasks.” As he said the last part, his eyes flicked briefly towards Crowley, bashful and demure, and his shoulders gave a little wiggle.
“Oh.Oh.Well,” fighting back an even bigger grin. “Hope you didn’t have to do anything too nasty to dissuade them.”
So I tried really hard to get a fic done today; it’s another installment in my Sawdust of Words series, based on an idea I had like the first week I joined Tumblr, and it’s actually going well… but I’m only about 2/3 through, and the last third is the difficult part where the two walnuts need to have an actual conversation.
Unfortunately it’s now after 10pm so I’m also too tired to post something else. I was too ambitious and hoisted myself on my own petard (which by the way means I dropped a grenade at my own feet I’m serious look it up).
So! There will be fic updates in the near future, I promise. (How soon, I can’t say—I’m currently working 2 jobs up to 6 days per week so I’m frequently just too tired to words.) I’m also sharing below the first page of this fic, which takes place 48 hours after “Absence of Words” (Tuesday evening after the Apocalypse) and opens on one demon being completely heart-eyes-smitten over the local angel.
(If I get the chance I’ll reblog this with the typed up text of the page, but at the moment… )
Posted last night as part of @whiteleyfoster’s Write This In Your Style challenge! There’s quite a number of fics there, so browse them all!
Across the centuries, Crowley comes to his favorite chateau, to watch his favorite angel at work and listen to his favorite poetry…
A centuries-long tale of devotion, pining, and love that is at once illicit and elevating, passionate and disciplined, human and transcendent… courtly love.
Crowley’s eyes stayed locked on the trobairitz and the crowd of men hanging on her every word. “What can I say? With entertainment like this, I barely need to lift a finger.”
A mildly annoyed tsk. “I hardly think a little flirtation even counts as wickedness.”
“Does if they’re already married.” She thought over the angel’s statement again, then snapped her head around, eyes wide, to study him. “Hang on, are you saying—”
“I’msaying that I expected you to be here because you always lurk in this corner when we come to Soifort.” The hall had changed very little in two hundred years. The tapestries were more numerous and complex, the stained-glass windows brighter, and the guests more vivacious. Aziraphale had changed even less, though his tunic hung longer and now incorporated a great deal more silk, particularly in the long flowing sleeves, and his cloak was now pinned on the right. But the most startling change was the look in his eyes. They shone merrily in the dim hall, and cast a light, a heat Crowley had only glimpsed a few times before. “Don’t expect me to do your work for you again.”
“Already done. Just taking a well-deserved break.” Crowley pushed away from the wall, circling Aziraphale, the dark train of her bliaut trailing behind her. “Or didn’t you notice this entire region has fallen to heresy?”
“Oh? And I’m to believe this was yourdoing?” He laughed, a delightful sound echoing through the room. “My dear lady, I doubt you could even tell me what Catharism is.”
The Ritual of Propagation has succeeded, and Aziraphale and Crowley prepare to welcome the newest member of Our Own Side, but the Archangels have other plans. No angel has ever been raised outside of their care, and they have no desire to see that change.
In this chapter, Aziraphale struggles to hold onto his faith in the face of their hopeless situation.
Aziraphale stared at his mug, trying to think what it might be. The temperature was fine, and he hadn’t added any milk that might be spoiled. Did it need sugar? But he didn’t like sugar in his tea.
Another sip. Bitter. Slightly metallic. Probably steeped too long. A mistake he hadn’t made in ages, but today certainly had him doing… and feeling… and thinking… strange things.
He managed to force himself to take one more sip before setting the mug down.
“That’s the most I’ve seen you drink all day,” a warm voice said as arms slid carefully around to embrace him under his wings. “Feeling better?” Crowley pressed a kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s head, a slow trickle of love winding around them.
“I… perhaps.” He pushed the mug away and rested his hands on Crowley’s, tracing the shape of his long fingers. “You… could be right.”
“Usually am.” Aziraphale could hear the grin in his voice. “Don’t have to sound so upset about it.”
The ritual of Propagation has succeeded, and Crowley and Aziraphale prepare to welcome the newest member of Our Side! But the Archangels have other plans. No young angel has ever been raised outside their closely guided care, and they have no intention of changing that.
Last week, Gabriel presented them with an impossible choice; in this week’s chapter, Aziraphale struggles to come to terms with it… by diving very deep into denial. And, on a lighter note, coffee!
A gentle touch on his scalp brought Aziraphale back to reality, to the cottage. He was lying with his head in Crowley’s lap, his husband running his fingers through the angel’s curls, eyes full of worry. Crowley was talking. How long had he been talking?
“…make the wards more powerful, double them, triple them if I can get the right ingredients. Mostly herbal, anyway, I have so much of that shit in the garden. If we can hold them off a bit until I move a few markers, we can increase the radius, too, maybe all the way to the edge of the valley…”
Aziraphale shut his eyes, turning away. “Doesn’t matter.”
Crowley’s fingers froze. “What… what doesn’t…?”
“Everything. Nothing.” He managed to sit up, though that seemed to send a twinge through his side. “Whatever you think up, whatever we try. It doesn’t matter.” Aziraphale rubbed a hand across his stomach, and the muscles seemed to unknot, at least.
“S’not like you to give up,” Crowley pointed out.
“I’m not giving up. I’m facing facts.” He stared across the living room at the glass sphere that sat on the mantel, the keystone of the wards that protected them. “If twelve Archangels want to enter this cottage, do you really think we can stop them?”
I’m gonna be real with you chief. If I was a recently fallen angel and I slid on over to to a not so fallen angel (who is supposed to be guarding specifically against me lmao good job on that one buddy) and started up a chat and he actually, like, ENGAGED in the conversation with me and then he revealed that DEFIED HIS ORDERS and gave away his flaming sword because he didn’t want to watch humans be defenseless and have to suffer needlessly (which, like, SAME. I also hate watching humans suffer needlessly. It was a whole Thing) and then and then and THEN he SHIELDS ME, THE GUY THAT FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES HE SHOULD BE FIGHTING, WITH HIS OWN PERSONAL ATTACHED TO HIS BODY WING from the first ever rain? I, too, would’ve been like shit man. Guess I’ll be in love with you for the next 6000+ years.
he even got flustered when asked about the sword!!! he’s freaking adorable?? I really don’t even think it’s strange at all that Crowley’s reaction was basically:
I may have reached a new level of respect for artists that draw comics because I’ve made only three pages and I’m already exhausted. How you do that all day?!
Btw, yes I’m trying to make a short comic inspired by my favorite song, it will be about The Fall, please I know that this doesn’t look good but I’m trying my best.
I’ve been at the Shelter today and I went with a certain images of which couple of kitties could have been THE ONES from the pictures I saw on their site.
Well most of them have been already adopted - thankfully of course - and others were scared as hell seeing me, I was very sad, because I went there hoping and scanning which ones would have coming to me at least for curiosity, then I entered into an other garden - there were two of them with 2 separated cats colonies - and a little White guy with green eyes just went towards me and rubbed himself against my leg “You are the first one!” I said, then I was looking forward to a Black cat as well, being already friend with the white one, there wasn’t a specific black one who was pretty attached the white little guy but they anyway sticked around him friendly as they known each other, so I’ve chosen the Black one who was more calm and chill near him, they actually shared a spot and they are the same age, 2 years and half.
The Black one was very shy around me, never get closer but neither run away, I hope he will warm up to me once they are at home and getting me know better so he can feel safe.
So, hopefully very soon, my new kitties will come home with me! You guys can guess their future names right here :D
You know what makes me sad? There are not many canon parrings labeled as asexual but the existing ones are important.
One of them is Aziraphale and Crowley from Good Omens (at least in the book it was stated that they are both asexual as celestial beings). But many people see them as homosexual couple (even tho they are probably genderless or at least not male in our understanding). It kinda causes the asexual erasure which is hurtful.
And don’t get me wrong I’m a fan of homosexual parrings (as you can see in my previous posts) both canon and fanon.
I just think that every sexual minority has the right to have representation so when you label the asexual parring as homosexual it feels like denying us that right. And it’s sad.
Broke: Crowley had such trouble walking on consecrated ground because he’s a demon.
Woke: Crowley had such trouble walking on consecrated ground because he’s a demon and he doesn’t wear real clothing, so he just magicked his feet into shoes and that was An Mistake.
Bespoke: Crowley doesn’t actually have any trouble walking on consecrated ground at all, he just needs to be the center of attention at all times and wanted an excuse to make an entrance.
Added bonus: He only pretended that walking on consecrated ground was painful so Aziraphale would pick him up, and when he didn’t Crowley had to follow through and continue the hoax for years.
This is officially my favorite add-on to this post because 1) totally on-brand for Crowley but also 2) there’s a second universe where if he did this and Aziraphale didn’t pick him up, Crowley would either 2a) insist that he do so or 2b) just fucking climb him without asking.
I recently saw someone propose that the scene with the books was not necessarily the moment Aziraphale realized he loved Crowley, but rather the moment he realized Crowley loved him.
And that made no sense to me.
After all, Crowley is so obvious about it, surely he must have already known. Surely? They’ve been flirting back and forth for six thousand years (well, just shy of, at this point). It’s clearly a two-way game, is it not? Crowley loves him, he loves Crowley, they play these little games like “haha help me I’m locked in the Bastille”, so on and so forth. He can’t not know.
How does the saying go? If you smell something bad in the morning, you’ve smelled something bad. If you smell something bad all day, who’s the common denominator? If all of the other angels get along and mesh well with each other, but they don’t get along with you, who are you going to think is the problem? You.
You look at life through your own lens. You look at other people through your perspective. He might see the ways Crowley clearly cares about him, but not truly believe himself. He’s a demon. Of course he doesn’t actually love an angel. That would be ridiculous. Who would think such a thing? Even angels don’t care for him this way, why would a demon?
After I considered this, I considered the fight in the 1800s. I considered the way Aziraphale was so reductive about their relationship and how that always seemed kind of odd to me.
Then it occurred to me that this is something I’ve done as someone who also has anxiety, and was taught not to trust their own thoughts, feelings, and opinions.
Saying out loud, “We have a deep and caring relationship,” when you’ve never actually said you have a deep and caring relationship, is an incredibly vulnerable thing to do for someone who is otherwise not allowed to be vulnerable (which is both of them, to be fair). Believing that you have such a relationship is also an incredibly difficult thing to do for someone who doesn’t know if they should trust their feelings.
In this context, when Aziraphale calls their relationship fraternizing, he wouldn’t be purposely trying to devalue the actual feelings they have for each other. He would be devaluing himself, because he assumes they can’t have these feelings for each other, because he’s not worthy of those things. He would also be devaluing his own perspective, and putting Heaven’s perspective of demons above his own experience.
Of course they’re just fraternizing. How could someone care for him this way, let alone a demon?
Of course Crowley would want it as a suicide pill. What other reason would he have?
Of course Crowley thinks he’s an idiot. That’s what he is, isn’t he? The archangels certainly think so, and how could they be wrong? They’re closer to God than he is. After all, he’s here fraternizing with (and loving) a demon, which he KNOWS is wrong and he just can’t help himself. Tsk.
The saddest thing is that Crowley doesn’t see that, making it incredibly hurtful for him.
He has spent the better part of nearly 6000 years showing the angel that he cares about him. He’s a demon, for Hell’s sake, how much more obvious could he be without getting himself tossed into a pool of holy water? He’s so clever, the angel – he can’t not know how Crowley feels. He reciprocates! He knows this, and he’s going to boil this down into fraternizing? Ouch.
But they’re not on the same side with this issue, they’re communicating from two completely different sides. It’s like a wink, only instead of a wink it’s “fraternizing”, and instead of switching the wrong babies they don’t speak for 80 years.
That shifts the perspective on “you go too fast for me” as well.
In the context of a mutual romance that spans several millennia, the notion that anything about this relationship is any kind of fast is pretty comedic.
In the context of a romance where at least one side is continually doubting himself and telling himself that what they have couldn’t be real, it would make sense. If it took him until 1940 and a demonic miracle around his books of prophecy to finally admit to himself that Crowley actually DOES love him, then perhaps nothing “fast” even happened up to that point.
And speaking of metaphors, the Bentley as a metaphor for a vehicle of change is… extremely fitting, considering the 1940s is the first time it’s shown up, and the 1940s would be the first time they’d REALLY on the same page about their relationship.
Then, between either perspective (he either knows Crowley loves him or he doesn’t) there’s also that high-key level of fear instilled by Heaven. Even if he was wrong (right?) – even if he did believe that he was loved, he couldn’t have it. Heaven says he can’t have it. Heaven is a colossus that even Satan himself and his army of angels could not take down; how could he have any hope of fighting against that? More reason to convince yourself that there aren’t actually any feelings there, and therefore nothing to worry or feel guilty about.
It fits in with the continual opportunities and favors Aziraphale asks for – each one is another affirmation that Crowley does indeed care for him. It’s another piece of evidence for someone who is supposed to listen to Heaven over himself, for someone who is taught not to trust his own inner guidance.
It’s an interesting perspective for sure, and one that I happen to relate to a lot. There’s more I have to say in relation to Aziraphale and Heaven in general, but I’ll leave that for another post.
Suffice to say, I’m very eager to see how all of this affects him moving forward on his own side with Crowley. We’ve already seen a glimpse of happy/confident Aziraphale, and I’m sure there will be more. That’s something else I relate to, but again, I’ll leave it for a follow up post.
Yeah I 100% think it is the moment he realised that Crowley loved him. I think he’s known that he’s in love with Crowley for a long time. But Crowley actually loving him in return? Incomprehensible. He gets that he relieves Crowley’s boredom and that the arrangement is convenient and that he’s a friend of sorts in a convenient kind of way. But love? He’s literally never had it before.
Life has been hectic, but here at last is a ficlet for the May @fluffbruary prompt “Eclipse.” We’re just going to pretend it’s still May 14, okay? If Fluffbruary can be year-round, it’s only fair that the fourteenth of the month can take place at any time. ;)
The park is full of people, a disparate crowd come together to witness the eclipse. They’ve been waiting some time for the culmination of the strange, natural phenomenon presently underway… and now, at last, their patience is rewarded. Eerie yet beautiful shadow bands undulate across the ground, rippling lines of darkness and light dancing together.
Near the pond where even the ducks have gone quiet, on a bench somehow left unclaimed by the earlier arrivals to the park, somewhat less ephemeral versions of mingling darkness and light lean close to each other, hands interlocked and faces turned upwards.
There they sit, sharing in the six-thousand-year-old awe of the humans surrounding them as the shadow of the moon hurtles into position to temporarily block the sun. The park is all but silent, the entirety of the gathering seemingly holding its breath into the climax of the event.
Once, eclipses such as this one were thought to be indicative of an impending apocalypse. This pair, having seen the true end of the world come and then change its mind, knows the difference.
“It is rather a shame,” Aziraphale says under his breath, soft enough not to disturb the scene, “that this will be over so quickly.”
“Hm?” Crowley acknowledges with a questioning grunt.
“They never do last very long. This one is supposed to be just over three minutes, I believe I read?”
“That’s what they said on the radio,” Crowley confirms.
“Ah, well,” Aziraphale sighs. “I suppose we will just have to appreciate it while it lasts, then. Live in the moment, as they say.”
“The moment.” There’s a thoughtful edge in Crowley’s voice. “Hm. Yeah. I guess so.”
A lingering pause, the space of a heartbeat or two. Then, from the left side of the bench, there is a soft sound as of fingers snapping.
