The Subtext Is Rapidly Becoming Text

Fix-it ver. Angel with A Shotgun Derringer

Fic summary: An old enemy is on the hunt for the demon known as Crowley, and it will take all the powers of one very protective angel to save him. But in keeping Crowley safe, Aziraphale will uncover more of the terrible truths of Heaven than he ever wanted to know.

Chapter summary: Some wounds are healed, more are inflicted, and no questions are answered just yet.

Ok, so. I’ve seen so many takes about how Aziraphale was done dirty in the finale. And I agree. But I also want to scream that Crowley was done dirty too. Actually, that’s not even the right way to put it. He was done freaking spotless, and somehow that feels even worse to me.

[At least Aziraphale was a sidekick to a princess. And I’ve never really felt an emotional connection to princesses. I always found them a bit boring. You know, prisoners of the story being told, predictable. It’s the sidekicks that were interesting to me. Exciting.]

Crowley was my comfort character. I loved Aziraphale, but I was obsessed with Crowley. And I will be again, I promise.

What I loved about him was that he felt like a decent person. Not perfect. Decent. He enjoyed pranks (at least in the book), looked way cooler than he really was, and hid behind attitude and swagger. He stepped in when he saw suffering, even when it could bring him harm. He loved deeply, protectively, but also to an unhealthy degree. Ready to flee from everyone and everything except Aziraphale. He was flawed, emotional, avoidant, caring. You know. Human.

And that’s exactly why he meant so much to me.

For me, the finale butchered that by turning him into the very best being in the universe. Someone so incredibly selfless that he is willing to give up not only his own happiness, but even the existence of his one true love, for the abstract concept of true free will.

And I completely detached from him at that point.

Don’t get me wrong. There are people out there who have done extraordinary things for others. But most of us? Most of us would sacrifice a lot for the people we love, but not really for strangers or big ideals. Not when the sacrifice in question is the death of not only you, but also the person you love most.

Work 9: Edinburgh, chapter 2 of 2

This chapter is Rated M

Through-The-Ages Theatre's Halloween night celebrations continue. Will Aziraphale be able to tell Crowley about Tracy’s offer? Or will a spot o’ bodysnatchin’ get in the way?

Chapter Excerpt:

Crowley weaved his wobbly way through the crowd of customers towards the entrance. But he was forced to pause at the pub door when he found it blocked by two women from the Halloween-themed hen party. They were trying, unsuccessfully, to get a disheveled mannequin that was dressed as what he could only guess to be Frankenstein’s monster out through it.

As the girls swung the mannequin around to see if they could fit it through the doorway easier horizontally, Crowley had to quickly shoot out a startled hand to grab one of the legs and stop it from hitting him straight in the face.

“Oi! This one's ours, ya bastard! Go get yer own!” shouted the angrier of the two women, who was dressed as a ragged Victorian street urchin. She had a label stuck to her that said ‘The Bodysnatcher’.

Series Summary:

Aziraphale and Crowley met in a garden — well, to be more precise, a kindergarten — at a private religious school called Eden. After forming an unlikely friendship, we follow them through their time at Eden and beyond. Will they be able to turn their lifelong friendship into something more? And can they work out an Arrangement that allows them to create a happy life for themselves? A fluffy ‘through-the-ages’ inspired AU that starts, as it will end, in a garden — while hitting every ‘age’ in between. 

Each work in this series will focus on one ‘age’ from canon, with the ratings and tags maturing as they do. Once they are adults, some of the works in this series from 'Rome' onwards will be rated Explicit.

Read now on AO3

Or start from the beginning

TW/CW: Sexual harassment (not by Crowley or Aziraphale).

Thank you so much to my wonderful betas for all of your help and patience: @brenna, Kuri_risu and @laudaddysmitten!

Inspired by this poll.

*Note: I have both worked professionally in kitchens and do most of the cooking in my home. My opinions are infallible and correct, deal with it.

Stede - Disaster. Goes in with his classic overconfidence. Thinks he doesn't need a recipe because he's been eating all his life, he knows what good food is supposed to taste like! Has no concept of cleaning as he goes so at the end of the night there's an apocalyptic load of dishes in the sink.

Ed - Different kind of disaster. Gets hyperfocused on trying to recreate one recipe he vaguely remembers, stresses when he doesn't have the right ingredients. Results actually aren't too bad but because it doesn't align with his vision he self-sabotages while serving, warning everyone it's probably shit while also making it very clear he will start crying if anyone agrees with him.

Jim - Goes in with confidence because it's just food, how hard can it be? Realizes quickly that it's way harder than they thought but refuses to admit they're in over their head and ask for help. Foulest language you've ever heard emerging from the kitchen for over an hour before they emerge with something that they sling wordlessly onto the table and storm off to throw knives.

"Oh no, Angel, we are NOT listening to THAT cassette in THIS Bentley!"

Crowley was emphasizing his words in a dramatic way, to show that he meant what he said. He even gestured as well, which would have been comical if Crowley didn't sound so enraged.

"But why, dear? Aren't you tired of listening to Queen all the time?" Aziraphale inquired in a much more calm manner.

"YES!" Crowley shouted in agony.

Crowley hit the steering wheel, then howled. He held his hand and rubbed it, looking even more upset.

"In the beginning it was fine, but when "she" got a crush on Freddie's voice, there was no going back. You know everything gets changed to Queen after a fortnight. If I was in the business of selling counterfeit Queen albums, I'd be loaded. I am not that kind of person and if I could pay her to NOT change my cassettes, I would." Crowley explained. He had stopped rubbing his hand.

"Crowley, the Bentley likes me, and when I drive her by myself, I can listen to anything." Aziraphale bragged. "Problem is, you treat her like you do your plants."

"Angel, I have the greenest, hardiest plants around! Know why? They know what they should be doing and do it!" Crowley was getting impatient with the conversation.

"I bet if you talked sweetly, they would be even more luxurious and leafy." Aziraphale sounded smug, as if he'd ever grown a plant before.

"Look Angel, never you mind about my plants! The argument is whether you will be allowed to play your cassette." Crowley pulled his glasses down to his nose and glared at the Angel, but Aziraphale remained calm. He was going to talk to the Bentley, as Crowley was being ridiculous.

"Bentley, girl, would you enjoy some new music? I have a cassette which has never been played before." Aziraphale felt optimistic when the Bentley made her engine purr.

"This can't be happening, my car is listening to you. Mind, she is a demonic car, at that." Crowley folded his arms and grumbled while Aziraphale loaded "Buddy Holly's Hits" which wasn't particularly long, since he had died young in a plane crash.

Buddy Holly's voice played over the speaker, and Aziraphale waved his hands. Crowley was having a bit of a fit, but turned on the gas anyway, and off they went.

Neither spoke as the music played until Crowley looked over Aziraphale who was smiling away and slightly dancing.

"Charmer." was the one word he let slip from his lips.

"Beg pardon?" Aziraphale asked, even though he knew what Crowley had uttered.

"You're a charmer, you would make one Hell of a demon with that charm and your looks. You could snatch the Queen's soul, except someone already did long ago." Crowley turned sharply, and Aziraphale frowned.

"Crowley, I'm an angel, we can charm as well. I mean, I charmed you-didn't I?" Aziraphle smiled a mile wide.

"Angel!" Crowley raised his voice, then sighed and gripped the wheel. He knew that he'd do anything for that angel, didn't even have to tempt him . Aziraphale, again sat smug as the scenery flew by. He often wondered if this was like being in a jet plane, as fast as they went.

Aziraphale reached and turned the cassette over, the Bentley again purring. He then began to sing and Crowley lost it. He slammed his foot on the gas and they went even faster.

"What's the matter, the 1950's were fun, don't you remember? I thought you liked rock and roll?" Aziraphale shrugged as he whispered the lyrics to the song.

"The 1950's were filled with squares!" Taking his hands off the wheel of the car he made the outline of a square with his fingers, which made Aziraphale scream and grip his heart.

"Do you want to get us discorporated?" panic filled his voice as he gripped the seat.

"Relax, you are safe with me, you think I'd let my angel get hurt? Nope, even though you are playing that ridiculous music. Crowley wrinkled his nose up as if he smelled garbage.

"Too many rules, to many white picket fences….and Elvis! People still claim to see him as if he is a demon. Perhaps he is, as he would be no angel. The 1960's, however, now that was a decade. "Groovy" even, and "Swinging London!" it was Crowley's turn to grin.

Aziraphale wasn't hip to all Crowley was saying, but he remembered Crowley's clothes and the tartan thermos of Holy water he gave to his friend. He had no idea what became of it, only that Crowley was here and grumpy as ever, just as he liked him. The cassette ended and Queen popped back on. Crowley sighed as now everything was back to normal.

Good Omentober drawing challenge Day 9

Stargazer

Another deviation because I can't help but draw my fav.

🪶 A GO Regency AU - Rated E - for @addledmongoose via @fandomtrumpshate

🪞 Chapter 1 of 11 - “The Angel” (7.6k)

🎩 Completely written (around 80k in total) | Updates every Wednesday | Fake/Pretend Relationship | There Was Only One Bed

💜 Beta: the one and only @beerok23

1811. Returned to London after the death of his father, infamous rake Anthony ‘Crowley’, Duke of Morningstar, has three months to restore his tattered reputation and secure himself a proper match, on pain of having his title stripped from him. Enter the irreproachable Lord Aziraphale, newly minted Viscount Eastgate, who would very much like to discourage his many suitors from lining outside his door in Mayfair so he can go back to enjoying his peaceful existence on the shelf. After a chance meeting at a gentlemen’s club, it appears the two may lend each other a helping hand after all. While a fake engagement will not solve their problems once and for all, it should buy them enough time to put their respective affairs in order. If only the ultimate goal of their Arrangement would remain as clear and unchanging as it should…

🪶Read it here on AO3 🪶

Excerpt from Chapter 1 - “The Angel”:

Stormy grey eyes widened in surprise and then slowly roamed all over Crowley’s face, moving even further south, along his waistcoat, his pantaloons, down to the blood red tassels of his Hessian boots. Now, in polite company, such attention could only be described as rude. However, Crowley prided himself on being as far from polite company as one possibly could be and it was clear, at least judging by the unfocused intensity of the man’s expression, that he hadn’t quite realised what he was doing. Besides, Crowley liked to be ogled. Thrived on it. There was no other reason for wearing pantaloons that tight. In his experience, the more he could get people to concentrate on his appearance, the more successful his deceptions. So he grinned and folded himself on the chair with the snake-like gracefulness he’d cultivated over the years. “Am I more or less interesting than your book?” The angel frowned and drew back, cheeks pinkening and eyes blinking in sudden awareness. “Why, I never–” Crowley smirked and popped a roasted potato in his mouth. “Don’t answer,” he said, mouth full. “That was terribly forward of me. Rude, even.” A wrinkle appeared between the angel’s eyebrows, something akin to recognition not so slowly dawning on him as he straightened his back. “According to what I have heard about you, I should not expect anything less.” “Oh, my fame precedes me, then.” He speared another potato as obnoxiously as he could. “I am afraid it does, Your Grace,” the angel said, lips almost comically pursed in disapproval. “What are you doing at Angel’s?” “Same thing you are, I wager.” “Somehow I doubt it.”