Crowley glances over from his spot on the couch, his eyes the only visible part of him. ‘Shut up.’
Aziraphale smiles and looks down at his book. Three, two, on-
Another miracle. Looking up, Aziraphale isn’t surprised to see another blanket on top of the pile of Crowley. It has to be a least six blankets thick by now, and it’s still not even mid-December. Crowley’s can’t last this long like this.
‘Are you sure I can’t light the fire?’
‘No!’ Crowley glances at the fireplace like… well like it’s on fire but in a bad way.
‘My dear it would be so much warmer! And it’s contained, within the fireplac-’
‘Angel, please. No.’ Crowley looks devastated, and oh God above is he crying?
Something sinks in Aziraphale’s stomach, the utter heelness of his words echoing in his head. ‘Of course my dear. I’m so sorry I pushed.’
‘Angel-’
‘I shouldn’t have!’ Aziraphale says in a much louder voice. Crowley’s never told him what happened but there are enough clues around that Aziraphale thinks he has something of a picture.
Crowley wriggles a little, so more of his face is visible. ‘You don’t need to apologise.’
Aziraphale opens his mouth to protest that no, he really does before closing it. They’ve had this argument before and it’s an exercise in circular logic. Neither of them are willing to bludge.
Besides, it doesn’t solve the problem. ‘Move over,’ Aziraphale says, putting his book aside.
Blinking, Crowley shifts his pile down the couch. Aziraphale gets up and slips into what space is left, pulling at the blankets until he’s comfortable.
Then he pulls Crowley over, so the pile of blankets is on top of him, instead of beside him. So he’s holding Crowley, as he never could before.
‘This would be better with me under there but I doubt my body could handle the heat. So, we’ll warm you up a bit and then snuggle under a lesser pile.’
‘I am a demon,’ Crowley grumbles, ‘I do not snuggle.’
Undermining his argument, he snuggles into Aziraphale’s chest like a small dog seeking pats. Aziraphale places a kiss to the top of his head.
I’ve been thinking about the opening hours for Azriaphale’s bookshop in good omens (apologies for the bad quality)
And if you look closely at the handwriting…then you’ll also notice it’s written with the same penmanship as this:
Both of these were written by Neil, which leads me to believe this:
The Bookshop Hours supposedly were written by Aziraphale, and the Holy Water note was written by Crowley. BUT, if these two have the same handwriting, then what if Aziraphale didn’t actually write his Opening Hours, but it was actually Crowley instead?? It’s a logical conclusion, I think.
But also think about it this way:
What if Aziraphale’s handwriting is actually super messy, and so when his shop opened, he very well may have written his opening hours, but when he showed Crowley, the demon couldn’t even read it. What if he just took the paper and said, “Angel, no one can read this, just–just give me the pen, I’ll write it for you.”
Conclusion: Aziraphale has messy handwriting and Crowley wrote his shop hours for him :)
“Okay angel, shoot.”
Aziraphale around, puzzled. “Shoot what?”
“Nothing. ’S a figure of— figure of whatsit. Just say what you want me to write. Dictate.”
“Oh. Righty-o.” Aziraphale picked up the bit of paper he’d originally written the sign on (though Crowley was going to have to take his word on that, as it looked more like one of the sheets of lines they made people write in Hell— after they’d put their hands on backwards) and began to read off it:
“I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10am.”
Crowley looked up from the page. “Good to hear we’re being specific.”
Aziraphale shook his head. “I can’t think what you mean. As I was saying,” he continued reading, “while occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday–”
“Tuesday?”
“Hmm?” Aziraphale looked slightly annoyed at being interrupted mid-flow. “Yes?”
“Since when do you do anything different on Tuesdays? First I’ve heard of it.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale was suddenly very interested in the patch of wall directly over Crowley’s left shoulder. “Yes, well. Perhaps it was Thursdays, or Mondays… or maybe Good Fridays. Still, you’ve written it now. Might as well leave it as it is.”
Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Might as well.”
“I tend to close about 5:30pm, or earlier if something needs tending to. However I might occasionally keep the shop open until 8 or 9 at night, you never know when you might need some light reading.”
Crowley looked up at the various heavy tomes around him, and snorted. Aziraphale ignored him.
“On days that I am not in–”
“Satan’s balls, Aziraphale! You mean there’s more?”
“I like to be precise, Crowley.”
“Precise!” Crowley looked down at what he’d written so far, then back over at Aziraphale, before deciding that in that direction lay only madness. “For Satan’s sake, angel!” he whined, picking a safer route. “You’re going to give me carpal tunnel at this rate!” (As it happened, both angelic and demonic corporations were immune to this particular problem, but Crowley didn’t see why that was worth bringing up now.)
“You were the one who didn’t want me to use the original sign.”
“I was the one who wanted to make it legible.”
“Shush!” Crowley shushed— largely out of indignation at being told to do so— and Aziraphale went on reading. “Ahem. On days that I am not in, the shop will remain closed.”
“Y'know, I think they might be able to work that one out for themselves.”
“On weekends, I will open the shop during normal hours, unless I am elsewhere. Bank holidays will be treated in the usual fashion, with early closing on Wednesdays–”
“Wait, is this Wednesdays in general, or just the ones that happen to coincide with a bank holiday?”
“–Or sometimes Fridays. Oh, and in brackets please put ‘for Sundays, see Tuesdays’.”
Crowley did so, and then looked down at the thing he’d just written with the same expression he’d had the day he found out about the existence of coconut flavoured Quality Streets.
“C–can I borrow this?” he asked at last. “To take downstairs? I think it might be worth a commendation.”
“I think you must be confused, dear boy,” Aziraphale said firmly. “It’s my side that likes lists of rules and things. I always imagined your lot as preferring chaos.”
“Yeah, of course,” Crowley said, struggling to tear his eyes away from the page. “Because there’s nothing chaotic about that.”
Aziraphale seemed not to hear him. He was suddenly very busy rearranging the books on the shelf in front of him. Crowley watched for a while, then grew bored. “Angel.”
“Hm?”
“Is it an early closing day today?”
Aziraphale looked away from his shelf. “Why?”
Crowley smirked. “Because I’ve just written out possibly the most ridiculous and bloody-minded shop sign in the whole history of shop signage, and now I need a drink.”
Aziraphale very nearly managed to keep a straight face. “Well, yes.” His lips twitched. “I suppose that could be counted under the heading of ‘something needs tending to’.”
With a snap of his fingers, the sign on the shop door flipped to ‘closed’, and the two of them headed for the back room, bickering over what they were going to drink.
Outside, a small group of potential customers came up to the shop door and sighed when they saw that it was closed already.
“It’s always shut whenever I come here!” one moaned. “When does this place even open?”
“It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humour.” Charles Dickens
It was really Aziraphale who started it.
They stayed at the bar for a good while, long after the crepes had been thoroughly devoured. They ordered more drinks, they shouted over the din to hear one another, and, after a while, they sat in a comfortable silence, trading fond glances and smiles. Finally:
“Well, shall we, then?” Crowley clapped his hands on the bar.
But the demon was met with silence. Aziraphale just stared at his long-drained drink. He looked almost confused at first, trying hard to work something out. Crowley cocked his head to the side, now also trying to solve the mystery of what the fuck Aziraphale was doing.
Aziraphale plucked the tiny paper umbrella from his drink. He held it up to his face, squinting a little.
“Aziraphale?”
Not for the first time that night, Aziraphale held up a hand in Crowley’s face, evidently not finished with his thorough examination of the paper umbrella. He finally turned to Crowley, and thrust the umbrella in the demon’s face, almost accusingly. Crowley’s eyebrows went up in anticipation. He locked eyes with Aziraphale. The angel looked frightfully earnest.
Aziraphale leaned forward, now almost conspiratorially, still clutching the tiny umbrella. He swayed a little in his spot as he moved, and Crowley caught him by the shoulders.
Look, it wasn’t the only tiny paper umbrella on the bar, do you dig?
Aziraphale let out a little huff of breath, eyebrows knitted together in growing frustration. He looked deeply into Crowley’s eyes.
“Crowley.”
“Yes, Aziraphale?”
“What is this for?” The angel whispered.
“Wh-what?” Crowley’s lips parted in confusion.
“What is this for?!” Aziraphale shook the tiny umbrella for emphasis.
Crowley blinked rapidly. He leaned back in his seat, his hands still planted on Aziraphale’s shoulders, and really took in the current portrait of the angel he loved. Aziraphale: sitting at a trendy Christmas pop-up tiki bar in New York City, the only creature for miles and miles in a tartan bowtie, the smartest being Crowley had ever encountered, the love of his bleeding life… drunk on rum and utterly, sincerely perplexed by a paper umbrella.
Fuck, he was a goner.
The first little snicker escaped Crowley’s lips, and that was it. He threw his head back and absolutely cackled. It was the best kind of funny thing; one that he couldn’t have explained at a later date if he tried, but that, in that wonderful moment, seized his whole self with utter joy and happiness. He laughed because he loved Aziraphale so much, loved him when he was terribly clever and composed, loved him when he was an absolute mess who couldn’t figure out a garnish.
“I’m serious!” Aziraphale pouted, now holding the little umbrella against his heart.
“I know you are. That’s the best part,” Crowley managed to gasp. He was practically crying now.
Aziraphale’s offense quickly melted, and he started to smile a little too.
“I’m being ridiculous,” he conceded. “I know what this is for.”
And he leaned forward and held the little umbrella up above Crowley’s head. Which is what made Aziraphale start to laugh, which only made Crowley laugh harder. They flung their arms around one another, nearly toppling out of their bar stools, which made them laugh harder still. They laughed until they cried, because not all cliches are strictly bad, I think.
And when their laughter finally subsided, Crowley ran his fingers up and down Aziraphale’s back, and murmured into his ear:
“What d’you think, angel? Ready to go home?”
And Aziraphale was. He nodded into Crowley’s shoulder, and held the demon even tighter.
Because sometimes loving someone is as silly and small as totally losing it in a bar over a tiny paper umbrella, and sometimes loving someone is as significant and vast as home.
A couple of days ago I was trying to read one of my favorite Good Omens fics of all times, and unfortunately I discovered that the author took down their page/works over at AO3.
The fic I’m talking about is called “Angleterre” by the marvelous Scusi. Anyone know if this particular author can be found anywhere else? Or if anyone knows how to get a hold of a copy of that fic? My brain won’t let me focus on anything else and this is driving me crazy
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
-
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.
“Youare! You’re thwarting me. We’re on our own side now. You don’t need to do that anymore.”
“Thwart! I’m not thwarting you! If I’m thwarting you, you’ll bloody well know it.”
“Are.”
“Are not.”
“Crowley.Lions do not eat peanuts! And there are signs,” Aziraphale gestured broadly, “posted all about forbidding people from feeding the animals.”
Crowleywas not pouting. “Well where’s the fun in that.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a fond look and cupped the demon’s face in his hands. “The poor demon. Are you lacking enrichment, dear? Do I not take you out enough, too busy with my studies?”
“Am a bit neglected.”
Aziraphale clucked his tongue. “Poor thing. Shall I make it up to you then?”
Crowley brightened. “You’ll let me feed the lions?”
“Of course not. I’ll let you feed an angel though.”
Crowley wrinkled his nose. “You want the peanuts?”
“No, Crowley,” Aziraphale said with exasperation. “But there’s a new café that opened up round the corner from the shop that I hear has a sinfully decadent cheesecake.”
“Sinful, you say?”
“Mmm. You can have an espresso and watch me eat it.”
“Right! Off we go then.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the spot in front of the lion enclosure at the zoo was suddenly empty, peanuts scattered across the ground.
-
from prompt writing with @mamamichine. The prompt was the words “angel lion nuts,” and we had to take a good minute to snicker like fools before we started.
angstemberby@whisperingwainscot (Ao3 waxing_crescent) Rated G-T (Series contains 2 human AUs. Part 3: Groundskeeper C & Dr. A; Part 4: Slave C & pirate A)
Ineffable Husbands AU Week 2020by Estrella3791 Rated G-M (series contains several human AUs. Part 3: C & A are neighbors; Part 4: Ineffable wives: Mechanic C & customer A; Part 5: C & A meet online; Part 6: Prince A & caterer C)
make your own kind of music by@tastymoves (Ao3 Sway) Rated E (Series contains several human AUs: Parts 4 & 12 are in the Devour series (sex worker A). Part 11 is in the Strawberry Shortcake series (Male market vendor C & female baker A). Part 13: C & A are in an established relationship. Part 16 goes with the fic i like my sugar sweet (Ineffable wives: sex worker/sugar baby Aziraphale) Part 19: Cam boy A & client C)
Not specific lost fics, but I’ve spent weeks looking for fics likes these and haven’t really managed to find any, so we’re throwing them out in the hope our followers know of some!…
1. Hello! I’ve just heard of the trope from mr. Niel’s comment section about Crowley’s love literally setting him on (unharmful for him ofc) fire. I couldn’t find the tag :c - anon
2. Hullo! I’ve heard many times before that Crowley loves Aziraphale but he hates that he loves him. It is so inconvenient! It’s the most annoying thing that’s happened to him since arriving on Earth. (I’m pretty sure I’ve heard Michel Sheen and David Tennant saying this, even.) What I want is more fics that play into this. I want a Crowley who’s absolutely besotted with Aziraphale and so so so annoyed by this fact. I know I’ve read some meta about this, but I’m not sure I’ve seen it on fic before. Do you (or your followers) know any? Thank you, kindly. - anon
3. Obviously I adore every “Crowley has sex with Aziraphale because he thinks it’s all he’ll ever get from him and Aziraphale is giving him this out of pity” fic, but are there any where Crowley thinks that’s what’s about to happen then stops it because he knows it’ll mean too much to him and he wants more? Or the same but with Aziraphale? Thanks so much!! - anon
4. Any recs for fics where God is explicitly depicted as amoral/cruel/generally shitty (other than Tri-Phasic, which I already love)?I’m glad lots of people are getting joy out of the “God is secretly good” fanon, but my exvangelical trauma can’t handle it lol. I’m much more comfortable with stuff where God is just bad, vs. “God wants you to be happy *eventually*, but first here’s 6000 years of fear and distress.” - anon
5. howdy! do you have any fics where either aziraphale or crowley question/doubt their relationship? preferably if they aren’t in a romantic relationship yet… thank you in advance!! - @terumisitia
Please reply with any recs and include the number of the ask!
Chapter 3 now up! Morning telly, London weather, and a playdate. Sherlock has a request.
“And it’s meant to be about the imminent End Of The World, and I’m sure you can’t guess where they’re headed.”
“Tadfield,” I said hollowly. Something thumped on the windscreen and slid off over the hood. I saw a finny tail before it disappeared.
“Drive very quickly,” he suggested.
Rated T, 6 Chapters, ~ 12K words, completed, posting a chapter every 2-3 days
John’s anger at Sherlock over Mary’s death meant a long break in their friendship, and it’s only precariously patched up. But now he’s back in the sitting room of Baker Street, listening to a plump little bookseller and his dire-looking companion explain why they need Sherlock to help them find a certain boy before the impending End Of The World.
Rains of fish, violin playing, fast driving in a Ford Fiesta, and Sherlock and John working out what they mean to each other in the shadow of Armageddon.
