Crowley stirs and takes a deep breath, clearly sobering up.  He’s sitting up straighter.  Well, straighter for him anyway.  Aziraphale hates this time of night and the fact that it comes about every night they are together now.  Almost like clockwork.  Exactly like clockwork, actually.  He’s allowed it because he doesn’t want to crowd Crowley or tie him down.  Really, he doesn’t have to spend any evenings at the bookshop drinking with him. The fact that he does should be enough.  It should be.  He’s tried to let it be.

“I should be heading out,” Crowley plucks his shades from the table and perches them on his nose, standing slowly.

“So soon?”  He says it before he can catch himself.  It’s such a needy phrase, and he is needy.  He needs Crowley to decide to stay.  He watches Crowley cringe minutely, look to the floor and then the doorway and then the table- anywhere except him.  “Or, maybe not.”  An out.  There’s always an out.

“It’s late.”  Crowley fiddles with his needlessly complicated watch.

“It’s early, really.”

“Really late, then.”

Aziraphale sighs and looks away from Crowley.

“I won’t keep you.”  He won’t.  He won’t pin him down to this bookshop and this quiet life.  Crowley’s always been bigger than that, wilder.  He can’t ask him to stay for his sake.  Crowley has to decide that’s what he wants.  But, after so long, so many years of pushing the demon away… He fears he doesn’t even know how to stay.  Maybe he doesn’t even want to anymore.  Maybe this is all out of an obligation of some kind.

Crowley hasn’t moved and hasn’t looked at him, either.  It’s like the man is frozen on the spot, dithering.

“Goodnight, then.”  Aziraphale stands to usher him out.  Maybe he’s waiting for a more obvious sign that it’s okay to leave since Aziraphale said the needy thing.

There’s another silent pause where nothing seems to stir around them, but something does stir between them.  Something slithering and double edged and very, very old.

“I would rather you did.”  It’s said so quietly that if he didn’t have ethereal hearing, he’s sure he wouldn’t have caught it.

“Did what, dear?”  Aziraphale studies him, taking in Crowley’s stiffened stance and his continued reluctance to look at him.  He watches him swallow hard, but otherwise remain motionless in that way that they can because they aren’t entirely human; they don’t need to breathe or fidget or adjust their muscles the way humans do to be comfortable.  But, they do anyway.  The stillness now is unnerving in comparison.  “What would you rather?  You can tell me.”

“Keep me,” it looks like the words are pulled from Crowley against his will and his teeth clench after the second word as if expecting a physical blow to follow in their wake.

“I would, you know.”  Aziraphale watches Crowley break his stance minutely, glancing his way sharply and then away again.  “For as long as you like.”

“As long as I like.”

“mmhmm.”  Aziraphale feels a bubbling of hope somewhere under his lungs- that he doesn’t strictly need- and his first response is to shy away from it.  Instead he decides to grab it with both metaphorical hands.  For both of their sakes.  “You can’t want me to keep you longer than I would like to keep you, I assure you.”

“You’re so sure.”  But, he can feel Crowley looking at him from the corner of his eyes even though he can’t see through the glasses.  Crowley can feel the same hope, he knows it.

“I am positive, Crowley.”

“Could be a very long time…”  The stiffness is still there and Aziraphale wishes he could smooth it away with his hands, make him breathe again; come to life as the creature of motion he knows.

“I am sorry,” he moves slowly towards Crowley, careful to watch for any sign that he should stop, “that I’ve given you the impression that any amount of time with you could be too much.”

“Any?” Crowley can’t look away from him now because he’s directly in front of him, only a couple breaths away.

“May I, please?”  Aziraphale motions to the glasses on his face and Crowley stares for a moment before taking a steadying breath and nodding.  He reaches up and removes them, setting them on the table behind him before straightening back up to face Crowley again.  “I…” And this is hard for him, too, isn’t it?  But one of them has to cross the emotional minefield between them and take a chance. “… would like you to stay.  Please.”

The tension in Crowley’s shoulders visibly melts as his eyes dart back and forth between Aziraphale’s, looking for the honesty in them and finding it.

“There you are,” he reaches up and strokes Crowley’s cheek, “you don’t have to be afraid of me, darling.  It’s okay to want more here.  It’s okay to ask for what you want with me.”  There were more words he was going to say, but he finds himself being kissed suddenly and so softly it makes his heart ache.  He traces his fingers along Crowley’s jawline, behind his ear, and into his hair; holding tight to prove this is absolutely welcome.

“I want to stay,” Crowley says, sucking in a deep breath as he breaks the kiss.  Not only is he making eye contact now, he’s maintaining it steadily.  Aziraphale leans his forehead gently against Crowley’s, savoring their shared breaths.

“Then stay.  Always.”

Can we talk about the amount of time spent showing Aziraphale realizing he’s in love with Crowley

That, but also: can we talk about Crowley’s behavior? He looks like he chose to save the books on an impulse, and now he has to assume that choice. To me, his face on the second pannel says “Right, the books. The books I decided to miracle safe for my crush. Well. Here we go.” Then he gives Azi the case in a both resolute and uncomfortable way, delivers his line and turns away with a nervous expression. He almost doesn’t dare look Aziraphale in the eye: he promptly goes away, gaze on the floor, as if embarassed, or afraid to see his reaction.

He’s saved Aziraphale’s corporation numerous times, but right here and right now, he has done something terribly nice for him, just out of genuine affection. This is the closest he’s come to declaring himself to his crush in 6000 years, and he knows it. He’s far from casual.

And Aziraphale doesn’t miss any of that.

Aziraphale keeps his most treasured possession in a cigar box that finds its home nestled in the tea cupboard next to the angel's favorite brand of earl grey.

Crowley had stumbled upon it by chance, many decades ago, during a rainy afternoon spent in the angel's company. When he had pulled out the box along with the tea leaves he had been looking for, Aziraphale had started, spilling almost half of his tea in his haste to implore Crowley to be careful.

"Oh, it's nothing important, really, just sentimental, you see, and a bit fragile, so if you wouldnt mind..."

"Something special, then?" Crowley asked as he handed the box over.

"Ah, yes," Azirsphale seemed visibly relieved to have the item safe in his hands. "Very. I treasure it quite dearly." He had smiled softly, then, in that special way that only he did, and Crowley entirely lost track of what he had been planning to say next.

He never did get to see what was inside, which would be why he was asking about it now, on yet another rainy afternoon after the little-apocalyose-that-couldn't.

Aziraphale blushes at the question. "Oh, it's a bit silly," he says, averting his gaze from Crowley's. "You'll probably laugh."

Crowley, laugh. At sentimentality. Crowley, who had asked Aziraphale to head off into the stars with him? Never. "Bet I won't."

The angel suddenly finds the contents of his teacup exceptionally interesting as he deliberates.

Crowley sighs, realizing that he may have overstepped. "Alright, look, I shouldn't have asked, just forget I said--"

"No!" Aziraphale blurts out. His face reddens even deeper at his outburst and he clears his throat. "I mean, no, you can look, it's okay. I... I want you to see."

When Crowley, clearly still unsure, makes no move to open the box, the angel meets his gaze imploringly. "Please?"

Crowley carefully lifts the lid.

Azraphale's most treasured possession is not what he expected. He hadn't been expecting anything really, but this...

It is fragile with age, preserved still only through what Crowley guessed had to be a miracle. Smooth on the inside, rough on the exterior, ("a bit like you, my dear," isnt that what Aziraphale had said?)

"An... oyster shell?"

"From our first time dining together. Do you remember?"

Does he remem-- Of course he remembers! He wants to tell the angel as much, but he can't quite seem to get his voice to cooperate.

"It's not the shell that's important, of course, it's just, I look back on that day rather fondly, and-- oh, Crowley! What's wrong?"

But Crowley can't seem to stop the tears, despite the joyous laugh that bubbles out his throat as he pulls Aziraphale close and kisses him.

And Aziraphale had worried that he was the sentimental one.

Oh! I didn't realize this had reached over 1000 notes! Thank you so much, y'all!

When old ladies look at Crowley, look at his too tight trousers, sunglasses and swagger, they inevitably come to the conclusion that he is a sweet, handsome young man*. A bit of a rogue, but only in the way they’d giggle over. Crowley is VEXED. He is not sweet! He is not to be giggled over! But they’ll fuss over him even more, patting his hand and insisting he has a biscuit and some tea. And Crowley sits there carefully holding his floral teacup, listening respectfully even as he sulks, and always without fail ends up doing some small helpful tasks on his way out. He’s usually back, despite his sulking. And maybe light bulbs stop needing to be changed, and all the highest cupboards are suddenly much easier to reach after he’s been around.

*this is true

When old ladies look at Aziraphale, they see his his fussy mannerisms, beautifully manicured hands, outdated wardrobe, and masterful uses of passive-aggressiveness, and they see one of their own. Aziraphale gets invited to knitting circles. He bakes with them. He gets ALL the best gossip about Doris’s grandson, gets involved in the Tea Discourse, and knows his steamy romances like the best of them. He gasps, puts a hand to his breast, pours the tea Just So, is utterly delighted by anything knitted or tartan, and grumbles about technology. He’s one of them, and he likes it. And maybe they find their memories are a little sharper, maybe he just happens to have a record of the old song their sweetheart used to sing to them, maybe all their favourite old films start playing again on the telly after he’s been around.

I’m years late, decades, honestly, but I did watch Good Omens and this was the one thing I really wanted to draw when I was done.  I did look for it, because I thought probably it existed already somewhere, but I couldn’t find it, so as usual I have to do everything myself.

SO, I don’t think it’s possible to spoil something as old as this, but spoiler warning, I suppose (too late) for Aziraphale and Crowley swapping places.  I don’t think it went like this, but it could’ve gone like this.  My feeling was that, after losing your best friend once, it’d be terrifying to have to walk headfirst into that prospect again.  What if it does all go pear-shaped after all? So, you do it, but it scares you.

And I just really, I REALLY like to draw hugs.  I really like it so much.  Thank you.

Reblogging (only once! But sorry anyway) for the daytime.

Imagin crowley has to stay in hell for a long, long time to do paperwork for whatever reason and he's kinda sad about it.

He won't be able to see aziraphale for a while and he won't be able to drive his Bentley. He just really misses earth in general.

And in the back of his head he knows that all his plans will die in the time he's gone.

Yeah sure he could perform a little demonic miracle so his plants will come back to life. But it just wouldn't be the same.

When he comes back to earth, the first thing he does is get into his Bentley and drive to his flat. He already knows what awaits him there but he still needs to see it. He steps into his flat only to find... Nothing.

Not a single plant is there, the flat seems even more empty without them. He stands there stunned for a second.

But there is only on person who had the chance to get rid of them before him. Maybe the angel didn't want him to find his plants like this. He's still kinda sad about it.

So he drives to aziraphales book shop.

He steps in and there they are. Every single one of crowleys plants. Healthy and spotless. It turns out the angel took care of them when crowley couldn't. After all, aziraphale knows that they secretly mean a lot to the demon.

Crowley doesn't say a word about it but he buys aziraphale dinner on the same evening. Twice.

This is perfect

While doodling I got sappy thinking about Aziraphale falling in love with Crowley. Like he always loved him but I mean LOVING him as more than a friend with all his little angel heart. ;u;

so if the comic look a bit weird is because one doodle became, 3 doodles and then became a 3 page + comic.XD

But it was so fun to make!!

(and the “oh aziraphale” panel is from the bar scene with ghost!Azi meeting up with Drunk mourning Crowley….I just added tears because I have feels.XD)

Nanny Ashtoreth is soft

She has to be, because she is Crowley with a child, and there’s never been anything as soft as Crowley with a child.

Brother Francis loves it, because he is Aziraphale, and there’s never been anything Aziraphale has loved more than seeing Crowley as he should be.

Soft.

He’s seen him with children before, of course, Crowley is always around the kids when he can. He’s seen him play with kids, heal kids, help kids, save kids in countless forms and interactions. But there was always this resistance, this hesitation.

Demons aren’t nice. Demons don’t play with children and laugh about it. Demons don’t heal people. Demons certainly don’t hide a whole group of little humans on an ark to save their lives.

But Crowley does.

So he has to find excuses. Those children clearly were meant to die by God’s hand, so he’s obviously just going against God, not helping them. That kid he healed is probably going to steal a lot more food now (especially when helped with some demonic miracles to go unnoticed by vendors), and stealing is bad, so mark that one down for some more demon-points. He’s not playing with the kids, he’s play-fighting, and teaching humans war early on is just so evil, isn’t it? He’s being evil, angel, evil with the children, and he won’t hear another word of it.

There are moments where he isn’t. Where he’s just smiling, a little boy with a bruised cheek on his lap, nose still running from the crying earlier, but no child cries when they are with Crowley anymore. A little girl hugged to his side as they stand on the marketplace, waiting for her mum to finally find them and hug her close and thank the stranger for caring for her lost child. But these moments are seconds, barely, and as soon as Crowley notices them, he makes them vanish. Aziraphale has seen it countless times.

Nanny Ashtoreth, though? Nanny Ashtoreth can have these moments.

Sure, there is the whole ‘guiding the Anti-Christ to evil’ thing that she has to do, but right now he’s a baby and wouldn’t take any of that in anyway, so there’s no harm in holding him close, swaying back and forth, humming a small lullaby as he falls asleep. Maybe holding him longer than necessary when he’s quietly breathing and snuffling in her ear, feeling the warmth on her chest, the soft and chubby legs under her hand, the smell of babypowder and milk and baby in her nose.

And sure, there’s the whole ‘this kid is gonna destroy the world, so maybe don’t get attached’ thing going on, but right now he’s five and has skinned his knee and what kind of nanny would she be if she didn’t blow on it to make it better, and it actually gets better, the bleeding skin healing over within seconds? And what kind of nanny would she be if she pushed him away as he hugs her close, mumbling thank yous through a stuffy nose?

And obviously, there’s the whole ‘you’re only pretending to be this kid’s caretaker to help the dark side win him over’, but that means pretending to be a proper caretaker to convince everyone, and that includes taking care of the damned (literally..) child. That includes singing lullabies, and running through puddles, and helping with baths after, and reading stories that Brother Francis picked out, and wiping paint off of every surface of child after he’s presented her with a colourful picture of ‘the family’ of the three of them.

Nobody can judge Crowley for doing these things, because they’re what he has to do as a nanny, obviously. Hell can’t say anything against supporting the Anti-Christ. The angel can’t say anything about him being good when it’s just an act.

Nanny Ashtoreth is a nanny, and nannys are soft, so she has to be. So Crowley can be.

And Aziraphale smiles, and understands just why Crowley was so adamant he be the one to play the nanny in this plan of theirs.

(Years later, after armagedoh-no, he also understands why they take so many trips to check up on ‘the actual anti-christ this time, for go-sa-someone’s sake’. Why they must always bring a little gift not just for Adam, but for all of the Them. Why Anathema only prepares tea for herself, Newt and Aziraphale - because she also understands that Crowley is not going to sit down with them for more than a few moments before he’s off with a wooden sword down the fields with the rest of the kids darting around him and trying to slay the demon. It’s not just Nanny Ashtoreth’s turn to be soft now, after everything has ended.)

(Not that she stops, though. Not that Warlock doesn’t get letters and care packages and the odd visit of a magician and his curly-haired assistant on his birthdays. Not that he doesn’t have a number saved in his high-end smartphone he knows he can call at any time of day, even if he’s at the other end of the world, to conjure up a darkly dressed lady with a soft smile on her face within the hour.)

part of the comic you all already saw but colored because a special friend wanted to see Crowley PINK

also bonus of softies:

bedsharing with crowley and aziraphale is such a hilarious concept like the tension is so much more fraught and desperate because a) they don’t need to sleep and b) they could just. miracle a second bed. and despite these things they are just crawling in next to each other lying six inches apart wondering if the other would notice if they touched them with a pinky finger and trying to pretend like they’re asleep. he knows you’re not asleep!! you don’t need to sleep!! he doesn’t need to sleep!! they both Know that they’re just laying there breathing unnecessarily next to one another and yet they still are not only choosing to do it, but wondering if this could mean the same thing for the other as it does for him, and presumably this moment could have been happening on various occasions for six thousand years. incredible. they really deserve each other

These are the fanfics I seek.

(i wrote it, @forineffablereasons hope you don’t mind! it got away from me a bit, length-wise, but hey)

~

in which fanfiction is read and a bed is shared

Never let it be said of the demon Crowley that he does not stay apprized of current happenings and trends—after all, if he doesn’t know what people enjoy these days, how can he know what they will find irresistible? How can he be expected to carry out his wily demonic work if he remains uninformed?

This is what Crowley tells himself as he scrolls through page after page of text on his phone. It’s late at night and he’s alone in his flat, sitting in his throne of a chair, ankles crossed, feet on his desk. A being who didn’t know better would say that Crowley is reading—but they don’t know that Crowley doesn’t read, doesn’t enjoy reading, and certainly doesn’t choose to read in his spare time. And they clearly don’t know the consequences for alleging something so obviously false.

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