A sentiment unfolding inside his stomach like hundreds of little insects ready to fly, makes Aziraphale walk around the bookshop like a nervous wreck. And oh, it’s not a very pleasant feeling. The situation is itchier than the last time. And the last time Armageddon was around the corner. But the true cause of his loudly pounding heart and his straying thoughts is … just Crowley.
Just Crowley. Somehow, that sounds completely and utterly wrong.
The demon never had the decency to be just Crowley. He came into Aziraphale’s life, bold, noisy, demanding and with an ominous facial expression, looking unspeakably glad to meet him in devastated eras for some reason (though Aziraphale never ascertained why) in a very terribly tempting manner. Over thousands of years that behaviour never changed. Because this is Crowley, not just , but endlessly persistent, hopelessly dramatic, cheeky, sweet and kind Crowley.
Oh. Oh Lord!
Since their delightful dinner at the Ritz, Aziraphale finds himself smiling without valid reason but with increased regularity these days. Every time he studiously shoved the thoughts out of his mind, they came back, more intrusive than before. More disturbingly, he is humming Queen songs all of a sudden, any time his mind slips away. He has that unpleasant feeling that he’s going slightly mad. It’s finally happened. Oh, dear!
It’s been nearly seven weeks since Aziraphale is pretending that it’s a quite innocuous feeling, evolving from their victory and vanishing pretty soon. But it’s not. Actually, there’s something bubbling in his chest, causing ripples like churning waters. There’s no escape, and he knows if he’s resisting he will be swept away by the flood of his feelings and finally drown. But if he lets the riptide just run over without any guardedness, it will wash away everything, leaving a mess behind which is formerly known as his life. A life that will be changed completely.
Summary: After the Almost-Apocalypse Hastur is not pleased with the outcome of the trial and wants to punish Crowley for his crimes. His threats towards the ginger haired demon also include the angel, which makes Crowley more than nervous. It seems the short breathing gap is almost over, and with Heaven and Hell conspiring against them, will it ever be possible for Aziraphale and Crowley to live their happily ever after? Or will they forever be captured inbetween black and white? Crowley has to make some life-changing decisions.
Thanks to:
- the wonderful Dashicra (@ineffableomenshusbands ) who came up with the perfect title for this story and kindly proofread this chapter.
- my friend Allanei who is always encouraging me! Her cheerleading and feedback keep me motivated!
-@teslatherat who generously offered me her help and showed me Google Docs ;)
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.”
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.”
Aziraphale is kind of sad after everything because they are “free” but he also misses heaven a bit (like leaving toxic family vibes?) And Crowley maybe cuddles him and reads him a story? Is a little extra domestic to make his angel feel less lonely in the world?
So, have some soft comfort in the South Downs! 1,225 words
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Crowley peered at his angel from where he was sprawled in an armchair in their new living room. They had finished moving into their cottage in Devil’s Dyke a few hours ago. Aziraphale had puttered about, fussing with books on the new shelves until he finally pulled one down to read. Then he had fidgeted about the living area, fluffing and rearranging pillows, getting a blanket then setting it aside. He finally sat on the sofa, changing his position restlessly until he eventually settled.
Crowley had been scrolling on his phone, but had kept a half eye on the angel the entire time. He had watched all the activity from where he had thrown himself into a plush chair, limbs draped over the arms in what would have been an uncomfortable position for a proper human body that wasn’t sometimes a snake (this didn’t apply to Crowley, so he was perfectly fine).
The angel was now the perfect picture of one entirely engrossed in what they were reading. Only, the last time Crowley had seen him turn a page was a half hour ago.
“Something wrong, angel?” he ventured.
Aziraphale startled and looked up into golden eyes crinkled with concern. He could see them easily, and the emotion they were drenched in, as Crowley had taken his sunglasses off the moment they were inside and hadn’t touched them since. It warmed him to see the demon appear so comfortable. He wished he felt the same.
“Hmm? Why do you ask, dear? Just reading, everything is fine.” He forced what he hoped was a reassuring smile onto his face. This only made the demon scowl.
“Well now I’m even more concerned. What was that? Was that meant to be reassuring? Bit too close to the look you’d give Michael, if you ask me.”
Aziraphale’s face did something complicated at that, settling on perturbed.
“What a ridiculous thing to say, I don’t know what you mean.”
“C’mon, angel. ’S been six thousand years, y’ think I don’t know how to read you by now?” Crowley drew himself up out of his seat like a puppet on strings, then crossed over to sit on the couch beside Aziraphale. He gently took the book out of Aziraphale’s hands, snapping a bookmark into it and setting it onto the coffee table. “Is there something wrong with the cottage? You having second thoughts?”
“No! No, nothing like that. It’s nothing, really, Crowley.” Aziraphale twisted the ring on his little finger. “It’s wonderful. I love the cottage. There’s nothing to have second thoughts over. It’s a lovely village, a perfect cottage, and it’s ours. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
“And yet…?” Crowley asked, sensing words left unsaid.
Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth.
“It’s nothing, really. Terribly silly.”
“Out with it, angel.”
“It’s just. I… even though they were rather awful, and I didn’t feel that I properly belonged… it’s just odd, that’s all. To be cut off from heaven. But it’s quite ridiculous. I’m glad!”
He looked rather more miserable than he did glad, Crowley thought, but he kept that to himself.
“Good riddance. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than on our side,” Aziraphale affirmed, giving a more sincere smile, though it was a bit weak, and his eyes still looked sad.
“It’s alright, you know. It’s alright to miss what it could have been, should have been. It’s ok to miss the home or family you knew, even if it was a bit shit.”
Aziraphale sputtered. “But you hate Gabriel.”
“I do. I want to drop the archangel fucking Gabriel into a pit of bubbling goo… But that’s not the point, Angel. It was all you knew for thousands of years. Unknowable amounts of time. It should have been where you belonged. It’s ok to mourn all that.” Crowley reached out a hand and gave Aziraphale’s knee a gentle squeeze. “And I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere. And hopefully we can build our own thing. Our own side. Our own home, maybe even our own sort of family.” Crowley was thinking of the humans they had befriended over the notpocalypse.
Aziraphale’s eyes welled, and he fought to keep his cheeks dry. He covered the hand on his knee with one of his own.
“You have always been that. Will always be that, to me.“
“Sap,” Crowley accused, though his eyes were overly fond.
Azriphale gave a soft, pleased smile, the best one Crowley had seen all day.
“Softie,” Aziraphale returned fondly.
“Well, so long as you don’t go telling anyone. Here. You get more comfortable, and I’ll go get you some cocoa.” Crowley picked up the discarded blanket and tucked it around his angel, then went to the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later and handed over a steaming cup, with so many little pink marshmallows floating on top that you could hardly see the cocoa underneath. Aziraphale flushed and accepted it gratefully.
“Oh,thankyou.”
“Be right back, Angel.”
Aziraphale looked at him curiously but waited quietly, sipping at his drink.
Crowley went to the bookshelves, trailing a finger along the spines until he stopped at an old red hardcover, pulling it off the shelf. He came round the sofa and settled in the other corner, facing Aziraphale. He opened the book and started reading aloud.
“Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it.”
Aziraphale smiled into his mug, eyes twinkling. Even after so many millennia, Crowley could still surprise him.
“Are you laughing at me?” Crowley demanded, his nose crinkled up. Aziraphale grinned wider before biting it back.
“I’m not laughing, dear.”
“Wot’s that look about, then?”
“Do you object to my smiling?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Mmm?” Aziraphale’s eyes were twinkling with mirth.
“That’s enough of that, then.”
Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up. “Enough of what?”
“You’re distracting me. C’mere.”
Crowley took the mug out of Aziraphale’s hands and set it on the coffee table, earning a befuddled look from the angel. He then grabbed Aziraphale and pulled him around until he was resting against Crowley’s chest, stretching his own long legs out around him. Crowley fixed the blanket back around Aziraphale, then handed him back the mug.
“There. Now, where was I?”
Aziraphale was too stunned to reply.
“Ah, yes. ‘And then he feels that perhaps there isn’t. Anyhow, here he is at the bottom, and ready to be introduced to you. Winnie-the-Pooh.’”
Aziraphale wiggled a bit, getting more comfortable.
“Ngk,” Crowley said. “Stop wiggling about, would you?”
“Sorry.”
“Drink your cocoa.”
“Yes, dear.”
Aziraphale let the heat from his cocoa and the demon at his back seep in, making him feel cozy and settled. Things were different now, and it would be an adjustment. He had a hard time with change, but this was one he welcomed with excitement and hope. He already felt lighter than he could remember ever feeling. By his demon’s side — on their side — dreams he hadn’t let himself entertain were not only possible, but entirely likely. Change could be scary, but for once he looked forward to it.
