So I do write fanfiction on A03 because obviously I do, so here are links (I'll try and keep this updated) to them! I'll post the link for the collection, then the individual posts in the collection!
(Also, yes, I can't spell, no, I don't check anything before I post it, and yes, I will eventually update them to be spelt correctly. Can I be assed right now? Nope. Enjoy my bad writing!!)
(I do also make edits on tiktok, so go check that out if ya want! I'm @datagaywithdaboiz over there!)
Mouth And Peanut
○ Everyone Must Stand Alone. - Wade/Logan
○ What To Do Once You Save The World - Deadpool and Wolverine tumblr rants reposted to A03 (because they are practically fanfictions anyway).
○ A Feeling 200 Years In The Making - Wade/Logan.
○ And They Were Gamers! - Wade/Logan.
○ A Gift In The Making - Wade/Logan Christmas Special 2024!
○ Silence Is Deadly - Wade/Logan.
○ A Familiar Name - Wade/Logan. Kind of.
○ It's The Simple Things - Wade/Logan. (Drabble from Tumble).
The Doctor And The Science Officer
○ Drunk Because Of You - Spock/Leonard
○ The Time Spent Loving - Spock/Leonard
○ The Musical Story Of Mr Spock And Dr Leonard Horatio McCoy - Spock/Leonard
I hope yall enjoy reading em (if you do)!
( @onecinder here ya go! What To Do Once You Save The World has the dyslexic post in it!)
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content - christmas with john in your first house together :)
word count - 1.1k
you were nothing short of ecstatic as you practically skipped up and down the basement stairs, boxes full of christmas crap in your arms.
it was mid december, and you had moved into this apartment in early august. john had gotten the surgical residency at county general he wanted so badly, you were doing the same in pediatrics, and you even convinced him to adopt a kitten. you had some friends and family close by, and things finally seemed like they were going to work out.
john was sitting on the carpet in the living room, trying to untangle a ball of lights. there was a roast in the oven, a fire in the fireplace, and all sorts of christmas stuff scattered around the kitchen and living room. an undecorated, real fraiser fur was up it its stand in the corner. “the carter tradition,” he’d called it.
there was about a week until christmas, and you could hardly contain your giddy excitement. best of all, you were hosting friends and family this year, meaning you could go all out with an elaborate, festive menu.
“you need help?” you asked, closing the basement door with your hip since your hands were full.
“got it, babe, thanks,” he replied, smiling up at you briefly.
“don’t look like you got it,” you said in a sing-song voice. in the corner of your eye you saw that he was halfway wrapped around the string of lights, but you chose to ignore it for the time being. you moved to put the boxes down on the kitchen table, placing them down with a thump.
“i got it, babe,” john repeated, and scoffed a laugh, “do you mind grabbing me my glasses, though?”
“sure,” you smiled, grabbing the little case and puling them out for him, checking if they were clean before handing them over. when you were close enough, he rested his hand on the back of your neck gently to press his lips against yours.
your nose brushed against his when you pulled away. “hi.”
“hi, sweetheart,” john laughed softly. he placed his hand on the small of your back as you crouched down next to him. his cheeks were pink from the cold, and his eyes were the warmest shade of brown. you felt mushy looking at him. his sweater was old and cozy and his back was warm from sitting facing away from the fireplace.
“i’ll be done in a sec and then we can do ornaments, okay?” john said softly, bumping his nose against yours gently.
“okay,” you agreed with a nod, reluctantly getting up and padding back to the kitchen. the dark, hardwood floors creaked under your fluffy-sock clad feet.
he managed to get the lights unwrapped without tangling them further while you quickly checked on dinner and took the ornaments out of their padded cardboard boxes. some were from your families or ones you made as kids, others were newer, nice ones from department stores.
“do we really need to keep this one?” you asked with a laugh, holding up one that was a snowflake with a picture of you stuck to the middle, probably from around kindergarten.
“what?” john made a sarcastically incredulous face, “that one’s a gem baby. goin’ smack dab in the middle.”
you would’ve protested, but the next ornament you pulled out was one of john. “look at those cheeks!” you exclaimed, holding it up to show him. it was a cut out of his face in the middle of a paper wreath, with a little hook at the top. his cheeks were chubbier, but those bright eyes and bunny teeth were the exact same.
he laughed and his face went a little pink. “touché,” he snatched it from you. “it’ll go right next to yours, then.”
it took you about half an hour to put all the ornaments up, then the tinsel messily wrapped around and the star at the very top, before storing the boxes away. by then, dinner was ready and you and john were starving.
you ate and admired your hard work. the tree was a little wonky but still beautiful. you decorated the mantle with greens and candles, and put other little things here and there all over the home. you and john’s apartment, even without the christmas madness, was coming along quite nicely. it felt like home, especially after he felt unwelcome in his own for so long.
“do you wanna play mancala? …or rum?” you asked, putting your dish in the sink.
“mancala sounds good. if you go set it out i’ll clean up dinner.” john offered. in passing, he smooched your cheek, making a gross mwah sound.
you scrunched your face up, but really didn’t mind at all. “you’re the sweetest,” you smiled.
“i try my best.”
you set the game out on the living room table, putting whatever christmas movie happened to be on tv as background noise. after being beat by you three times in a row, john gave up.
“hey, you can’t do that!” you exclaimed jokingly, leaning over to kiss him.
“do what?” john asked when he pulled away for a breath. he shifted to face you on the couch.
“i’ll let you win if you play me just one more time,” you started, and placed your hands gently on his thighs.
“no can do, baby. for my ego,” john continued, and kissed you again with a bit more vitality. he moved his hands up to cup your face, and you felt his face get warm. it was rare that he was so forwardly affectionate with you, but it was much appreciated when it did happen.
after making out for a while longer, you flopped back into the couch cushions, redirecting your attention to whatever crap was on tv. your eyes drifted to the half-packed suitcases next to the stairs; a reminder of your late-december munich trip coming up soon. you decided, after much consideration, that you could do christmas eve with his family, christmas day with yours, spend a couple days in germany at churches and christmas markets and whatnot, and then celebrate new years with friends.
would this plan realistically fit into both your rigorous schedules? no, probably not, but you would try anyway.
“i love you,” john said, turning his head to look at you. your faces were a mere couple inches apart.
“i love you too,” you replied sincerely, and gently brushed your lips against his. “i’m so happy we get to spend the holidays together.”
“me too,” john pressed his lips to yours again, for real this time. outside, snow fell and cold winds blew, but inside your little apartment that you called home, it was warm and full of love.
Many in London moved there to find their soulmates - something everyone has. It’s a pull you get once you’re within a 160 kilometre radius of your soulmate. You just start having this pull of thoughts in the back of your mind until you find the person you’re meant to spend your lives with. Neither Sherlock nor John had felt this pull, much to Mrs Hudson’s dismay. Unlike John, Sherlock didn’t care to find his soulmate. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, it’s that he didn’t have time.
One day Sherlock and John were called to investigate a crime scene. One that Sherlock had thought would be good, just for it to be an open shut case once he got there. The scuff marks on the floor showed a struggle, the broken window showing how the killer escaped, it was rather simple. What wasn’t simple were the intrusive thoughts Sherlock was getting. Both John and Lestrade could tell something was wrong with the detective.
“You alright, mate?” John asked his friend after he spent a minute staring at a shard of glass on the floor. A shard of glass that used to belong to the now broken window. It took Sherlock a second to respond, which made John even more alarmed. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter,” Sherlock responds, straightening up. Sherlock started walking off, causing John to quickly say goodbye to Lestrade, who had all the details he needed to make the arrest.
Meanwhile, the neurons in Sherlock’s brain wouldn’t stop firing, annoying the man. The stairs he’d now walked down in the stairwell was 56, no, 57…anyways, that wasn’t the point. What was the point again? Man walking his dog, normal, 32 years old, banker, his girlfriend’s dog. A woman with dark brown hair was 21 yet already a divorceé, according to Sherlock’s deductions. Then an army man, short-ish, dirty blonde hair…oh wait, that’s John. And apparently he’s speaking. “What?” Sherlock responds to his friend.
“Something’s wrong. I don’t know. Which way is it again to Baker Street?” Sherlock asked John, further concerning his doctor. Sherlock knew the way back to Baker Street, it’s that part of him was clawing for control against his logical mind, wanting him to go in the opposite direction of where home was. John started walking to the tube, but Sherlock hailed a cab instead, prompting annoyance from the doctor. If anything showed how posh Sherlock Holmes was, it was the fact that he had a perfectly fine oyster card but still chose to waste so much money on cabs when he also owned a car and could drive. The farther they got from the crime scene, the better Sherlock felt. His pulse was normal, the thoughts were leaving his head, yet he felt…emptier. It was like coming down from an intense high.
Apparently the Yard was hosting a gala, which Sherlock had called “a great use of taxpayer money”. Nonetheless, John and Sherlock were expected to attend. Sherlock hated such events, but John was fine with the publicity. Sherlock knew to let John do the talking, he knew he often said the wrong thing to people. Sherlock meant well, it just always came out as an insult.
The event was formal, with some publicity. For a police department it was alarming the amount of officers that were actually doing their jobs instead of being here. On the way to the event, the intrusive thoughts came back, except this time pulling him towards the event. It was as if he couldn’t get there fast enough, like he was running late.
John had never seen his friend so eager to get to an event before. Once getting through security, it was a lot of rich people and coppers talking. Lestrade and his wife - seems they’re back together at the moment - were discussing champagne with another couple, whom Sherlock believed to be Lestrade’s boss and his wife. Anderson was talking about his stock investments, ones that Sherlock knew would not make Anderson any wealthier, despite the man’s insistence that in a year he’d be a millionaire. Despite Sherlock’s usual disposition to correct Anderson, he felt his legs moving away towards another part of the room. And then someone tripped, bumping into him.
He heard apologies from a Southend voice, and his brain stopped. He turned. “I’m sorry, I-“ but when her eyes met his, she stopped speaking. It was as if she’d felt it too. Sherlock snapped out of his reveries, and analysed what he could. Her outfit was something she’d made herself, her features were plain, her makeup was very little. She was in her early thirties, a romantic, a journalist. She knew who he was, he could see she knew what he was doing. She was doing the same thing too. “What are you doing?” Sherlock asked her, afraid he already knew. “Cataloguing you,” she smoothly responds. Ah, investigative journalist. He saw her eyes sweep over his lack of cufflinks, the shoes John had insisted buying him from Oxfam because it was “for a good cause”, and she listened to his attempt at a quip to neutralise the situation. And she laughed. She laughed at his joke.
She and Sherlock drank cocktails while watching John flirt and dance with others. Being a wallflower with her was the calmest Sherlock had been in a long time. As the night went on, the duo got more and more pissed. It was like he was bewitched and under her spell. John eventually came over to check on Sherlock, surprised at his quiet complacency this whole night. John could tell from a mile away that Sherlock was definitely not sober. “Time to go home, Sherlock,” John told his friend. “No, no, the party’s just starting,” Sherlock slurred out. “Yeah, it’s not even midnight yet,” she adds to Sherlock’s argument. “Nope, come on, closing time for us,” John says. Despite Sherlock’s training in combat, nothing could beat the actual experience of a soldier. It didn’t take too much effort for John to start dragging Sherlock away. Sherlock’s brain was rapid fire again. He never got her name, he didn’t spend enough time with her, this chance encounter wasn’t enough. And now Anderson was talking to her as if he’d been only waiting for Sherlock to leave. Her eyes were on Sherlock, and he could tell she would follow him if not for the person talking to her. Sherlock couldn’t take it.
Sherlock couldn’t hold his own against John, but he could outrun him. Sherlock got out of John’s grasp and ran, plummeting towards Anderson and her. When he got there, he wasn’t thinking, not a little bit, not at all. Sherlock did what his brain was screaming at him to do, and he kissed her. It was new, it was amazing, it felt like the world had stopped and everything had clicked into place. Even though Sherlock didn’t notice it, there were cheers from Lestrade. John knew what happened, Sherlock had finally found his soulmate. And now that he’d found her, he’d never be letting go.
Moving into 221C Baker Street was supposed to be a fresh start. A new home, a new business, and hopefully, a few friendly faces. You'd barely finished unpacking when you decided to make a batch of ginger nuts—your signature recipe. The scent of warm ginger, cinnamon, and caramelized sugar filled your tiny kitchen as you placed the golden biscuits on a plate. A proper introduction was in order, and what better way to make friends than with baked goods?
Balancing the plate carefully, you climbed the stairs to 221B and knocked. A muffled voice—John's, maybe—called, "It's open!"
Pushing the door open, you stepped inside to find the famous Sherlock Holmes sprawled across the sofa, long limbs draped carelessly, his eyes shut in thought. Dr. John Watson sat in the armchair, glancing up from a newspaper.
"Hello," you said, offering a tentative smile. "I'm your new neighbor, Y/N. I live in 221C. I wanted to introduce myself." You lifted the plate. "With biscuits."
Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He sat up abruptly, scanning you from head to toe. "Homemade?" he asked, already deducing everything he could about you.
"Yes," you said.
He stood, crossing the room with quick, measured steps. He plucked one from the plate and took a bite without hesitation. His blue eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Ginger nuts." His voice was softer now, almost pleased. "My favorite."
John gave you an apologetic look. "You'll have to excuse him. He doesn't usually have manners."
"It's fine," you chuckled, watching Sherlock chew thoughtfully.
"You're a baker," Sherlock announced. "Professionally. Not just a hobby. The precision in the texture suggests experience. You moved in alone—no partner, no children, but possibly a pet, judging by the faint scent of flour mixed with animal dander. You don't mind early mornings, and..." His gaze flickered across your face, then softened just a fraction. "You're quite lovely."
Heat crept up your neck at the unexpected compliment. John nearly choked on his tea.
Sherlock, oblivious to his own words, continued, "I'll require more of these."
"Require?" you echoed, raising a brow.
"Yes," he said matter-of-factly. "I'll pay, of course."
John sighed. "Sherlock, she's not your personal baker."
Sherlock ignored him. "When can I expect the next batch?"
You laughed, amused by his bluntness. "I'll see what I can do."
Sherlock's lips twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile.
Yes, moving into 221C was already proving to be interesting.
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Summary: John knows that something is wrong, even if you're pretending it isn't.
Companion piece to:
Dreamer (NSFW) - John dreams of you when he’s with someone else.
Little John - You try to keep John’s mind off the task at hand.
The First One Is Always The Hardest - You comfort John after the death of a patient.
Forget-Me-Nots - John wakes up hung over in a strange bed and with an unexpected memento of the night before.
Speak Your Truth - John speaks his truth in the aftermath of a tragedy.
Trauma - John makes a realisation after his confession.
Fever - John gets more than he bargained for when he attends a friend’s stag party in a Chicago Speakeasy.
Minx (NSFW) - John had no idea he had such a deviant little minx on his hands.
Always - You and John discuss the reasons behind your dancing.
Diamonds - John’s friend and rival makes you an offer you can’t refuse.
The Stethoscope - John’s world is turned upside down when he finds your stethoscope in his locker.
Elderberry Wine - You come home to find John waiting for you.
Sex, Lies and Cocaine Dreams - John takes his revenge on the man that shattered your dreams.
By The Grace of God - An unexpected ally goes to bat for you during your beard hearing.
Choices - You and John discuss your options moving forward.
The Benefits of Being Selfish (NSFW) - John teaches you the benefits of being selfish.
The Sexual Revolution (NSFW) - You decide to give John a private show before the event.
A Love Story - Your performance sparks an unexpected conversation with Gamma.
The Problem With Winning The War - The problem with winning the war is that you don’t expect the second attack.
Mack The Knife - You come face to face with a nightmare in John’s apartment.
The Merry Go Round - Reality starts to crash down on you in the wake of your recent trauma.
Rounds - John’s his first thoughts are of you upon waking up from surgery.
Love & Duty - John’s recovery at Gamma’s leads to friction in your relationship due to a laundry disagreement.
The Wishing Fountain - John reflects on his life before you.
Physical (NSFW) - John gets an erection for the first time since the attack.
Reconnecting - You and John reconnect for the first time after the stabbing.
Scar Tissue - John doesn’t realise you can tell when he’s mishaving.
Life Support - John realises he’s missed a couple of things during his recovery…
The Mulder To My Scully - The circumstances surrounding John’s patient lead him to think about the future.
The North Star (NSFW) - There’s a whole lot of history connected to your engagement ring.
Ms Carter - After a small hiccup you and John finally tie the knot.
The Envelope - John’s father turns up at the apartment to discuss a legal issue.
One Year (NSFW) - On the one year anniversary of the stabbing John knows exactly what you need.
The Portrait - You come home to discover a new addition to your decor.
When Harry Met Sally - There’s a rumour going around about the identity of the Deb’s baby daddy.
Diminished Capacity - You discover the real motivations behind the annulment.
100 Lifetimes Of Us - John thinks the two of you were always meant to be.
The Invitation (NSFW) - John finally gets the invitation he’s been waiting his whole life for…
Something is wrong.
John can sense it under the surface as he watches you move around the E.D like a dancer, dodging obstacles, reading from a clipboard as you scribble notes. It’s a skill the way you work, purposeful, focused but it’s also a method of hiding, of burying your head in the sand when something unbalances you.
It’s a subtle shift but he can see it in the rigidness of your shoulders, the slight furrow between your eyebrows as you chew your lower lip.
He runs through all the important dates in his head.
Birthday, wedding anniversary, the night you first had sex.
He’s not forgotten anything important so it must be exterior, something someone else has done. He pushes up from his stool, his back protesting as he surges to his feet. It’s one of his bad days, he always has them in the winter. He’s taken a couple of ibuprofen to chase away the pain but still it’s there, a dull ache at the base of his spine reminding him of one of the worst events of his life.
He flicks through his rolodex of dates again.
Maybe that’s it, maybe…
No, he realises, that day has come and gone. He must have been so caught up helping with his grandfather’s affairs that it had completely passed him by. He thinks it was the same for you, you’ve been helping him sort through John Carter I’s things as he figures his way through the complications that come with having power of attorney.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He murmurs as he captures your elbow and draws you into the store room that Malucci was sneaking out of earlier. He’s got a girl, John thinks, someone at the hospital he’s keeping quiet about, which is rare for Malucci.
He turns the light on, and the bulb swings above the two of you in the cramped space as you hug the clipboard to your chest, leaning back against the shelves.
“Did I do something, did I not do something?” He asks, his forearm resting on the shelf above you, caging you in and you raise your eyes to the sky as if you’re trying to fend off tears.
“Your mom came by after you left for your shift this morning.” You tell him, swallowing hard against the ache in your throat. “She had some things she wanted to get off her chest.”
“What kind of things?” His voice is soft, gentle but underneath it there’s an element of steel, a harshness that he feels in the depth of his soul at the mention of that woman.
“John.” You plead but he shakes his head, because that… that doesn’t fly with him, and you know it.
The fact you don’t want to tell him means she said something awful, something so heinous that you’d rather stew in it then let it poison him too. He can make a few guesses as to what that might be.
“Crys.” He says, capturing your face between his hands. His thumbs chase over the apples of your cheeks, tender and reassuring as he looks into your eyes. “If she hurts you, she hurts me too. I want to know what’s making you so upset. Will you tell me?”
You sigh and he knows he’s won. You don’t keep secrets from one another, your relationship is forged in honesty, no matter how hard the truth might be to hear.
“She said it was my fault that you were stabbed…that I’d played you and him off against each other and that’s why he…” Your voice breaks, a choked sob you try to hide behind the back of your hand. “I know it’s not true but it just…”
It hurts, he knows it does. It’s like a knife stabbing into your kidney, twisting until there’s nothing left but damaged meat.
“Crys, he was entitled piece of shit, he tried to hurt you, he tried to…” John can’t bring himself to say the words, he can just taste the bitterness on his tongue as he remembers lying there in the rain, bleeding out onto the concrete. “What was she hoping to gain by saying those things to you, why would she…”
You give him a look, and he already knows the answer to that question, in fact he can take a bet it’s sitting on the kitchen table in a brown envelope, handcrafted by this mother’s lawyer. His mother, she has this way of finding a weak point, of exploiting it do that you’ll do her bidding.
“You aren’t divorcing me.” It’s not a question, it’s a fact because he knows despite those horrific things she said to you, you would never do that to him. You would never leave him to navigate this world alone, never let him feel that he was unwanted or unloved.
That’s the promise you made when you married him, the one you’ll keep for all eternity.
“Never.” You whisper, your lips brushing over the base of his palm, reassuring him this time. “But we need to get your mom and dad under control. Between the annulment last year and this… I’m not sure how much more of their bullshit I can take.”
Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here!
So a small ramble purely cause I have no one to talk to and need to just rant-
But does anyone else have no contact with family members but still sometimes want to talk to them?
Like, I don't talk to my dad anymore or my brother, or my aunt or grandfather on my dad's side, but sometimes I do miss doing certain things with them?
Like, I have ALOT of issues with my dad, but he was the only person I could talk to about nerdy stuff? And I miss playing Minecraft with my brother and talking about random shit with my aunt?
Sometimes I just want my dad and my brother, but not the versions they are now.
My favourite thing to do is just disects and look at how terrible some of my favourite movies and shows are.
Come one, star trek is insane- specifically original star trek-
ONE OF THE MOVIES IS THEM GOING BACK IN TIME TO SAVE WHALES AND THATS OBVIOUSLY MY FAVOURITE ONE
Another great example is Columbo and Murder She Wrote.
Amazing shows, love them with all my heart, some of the acting is insane????? The most insane shit ever?? Some of the stunts- if you can call them that- and the production is crazy????
AVALANCHE IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE MOVIES AND ITS THE WORST FILM EVER MADE
I do have to obviously mention MST3K because without them I wouldn't have seen some of my favourite terrible movies, such as Mac and Me and Gamora.
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Another Good Omens 3 ramble, I'm not even apologising it's stuck in my head and no one else I know has watched it 😭
"Why give me Crowley? Why make me complete then take it away?"
We gotta look at this more.
It says a lot about how Aziraphale has changed. The way he words it- "then take it away"- that's him finally acknowledging that God controls everything. That he can't change what happens because God is the dealer and he's just being handed the cards in a specific order.
Like an hour earlier in the finale Aziraphale is still saying that he just wanted to change it- that he could change it if he just got to be in charge- and Crowley is telling him that "no, you can't, God controls everything, you're a pawn on her chess board." and even then Aziraphale is still saying that he isn't, that he can fix things.
It takes a lot, but Aziraphale has finally broken free of the claws Heaven had dug into him. He's finally accepted that God controls it. That he tried so hard to be good, to be the best Angel he could, but none of it mattered because God was always going to destroy everything, and God was always going to take Crowley away, and everything was exactly how God wanted it to play out.
It's also a big thing for him to say out loud. He's never verbally stated that sort of thing before. He's shy and blushes quickly and doesn't really do things for himself- just does things for others or for good or for god- and this was him finally doing something for himself.
This was his chance, and he is taking it.
That's why he says it's Crowley's choice. Because realistically, he probably knows that if he said what he wanted- him and Crowley to just be together and be happy- that Crowley would feel bad for suggesting that they save humanity. That Crowley might've changed what he said. And that's him being both selfish and selfless. They both know what's happening, they both know what it is, but both of them can't do it. Aziraphale can't take away Crowley's wish, and Crowley doesn't want to risk saying he wants Aziraphale just incase. He also knows that, deep down, humanity is important. It should be given another chance- a chance that is actually free from some great plan.
Anyway, ramble over, probably more to come in and hour.
LOOK I GET THE WHOLE "SO NOTHING MATTERED AND NOW THEY ARE HUMANS AND IT SUCKS" STUFF BUT HEAR ME OUT
It took them meeting once to get together as humans.
Once.
That's all that they needed- take away everything that was in their way- take away heaven and hell and the weight of the world on their shoulders and the first thing they do when they see eachother is falling in love.
It fits. It sucks that it's the ending and we could've had more but it fits them so fucking good.
And yeah, okay, maybe they could've been happy. Maybe they could've been selfish enough to just have eachother and let humanity be forgotten but that's not them. They love humanity- they spend 6,000 years together fighting for humanity- and there is no world in which they let that fall away to nothing.
The ending isn't perfect but it fits, and they are happy- they are happy when they disappear together and then find eachother again as humans.
Now, them wanting to save humanity- to let humans be who they truly want- that felt super in character for them both. I loved it personally, and I think some people maybe miss the point.
Their is ALOT of people (on tiktok anyway) that I've seen mention the fact Aziraphale wants Crowley to say that he just wants him- that he is finally ready for it- and Crowley does what you probably expect Aziraphale to say "saving humanity".
Now, I think it fits.
Crowley is selfish in season 2 because instead of agreeing to go to heaven to make things right, he begs Aziraphale to leave with him- to let them be an us. He just wants to have Aziraphale and that's it, that's all he cares about- while Aziraphale is the one being selfless.
We all know Aziraphale feels the same, has done for more years than Crowley even knew he loved Aziraphale, but he never takes the leap- the closest we get is the dancing. At the end of season 2, even though he knows he's ruining his relationship with Crowley, he goes up to heaven because he wants to fix things. He wants so badly to fix everything and for everyone to be happy, even if that means him being unhappy in return.
Now, this all flips in the finale.
Crowley is stood their, wanting Aziraphale and him to finally be happy together, but instead his wish is about saving humanity.
Aziraphale wants to save humanity but is finally ready to be selfish, wanting him and Crowley to get their turn at being together.
It fits perfect. They flip, but it's not out of character.
Crowley is never really selfish. He's a demon sure, but he's always helping people and avoiding actual evil tasks. His soul focus is Aziraphale- saving him, getting him food he enjoys, saving his books- fucking walking in a church?! So in season 2 it makes sense that he chooses them.
In season 3 he's finally doing what is best for everybody, and says what he knows Aziraphale would want and also what he secretly wants too.
Now I wouldn't say Aziraphale is selfish, but he does have a lot of religious trauma basically. He feels this need to be good and do good, feels like he is never doing enough and like he's bad if he isn't actively helping people. So his decision in S2 makes complete sense.
In S3 he's finally ready to take what he wants, finally ready to have it, but he knows that deep down that isn't the right thing to do.
They both do what they know is the right thing, despite both wanting the selfish thing.
"you were able to value your love for him" brother what????
Aziraphale left him for heaven- and yeah okay, there is more to it than that- but Crowley valued his love for Aziraphale MORE than Aziraphale did his love from Crowley.
And they both love eachother fully, I'm not saying Crowley loves Aziraphale more than Aziraphale loves Crowley, but Aziraphale always pushed it to the side while Crowley did it open and honestly.
I'm not saying he didn't value his love but damn- that felt like it was more fitting for Crowley than Aziraphale- especially with the whole "demons can't feel love" thing??
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So....while I did like it, my one huge annoyance was Crowley's reaction to Aziraphales question to God.
Firstly, let's look at what he says because damn.
"Why give me Crowley? Why make me complete then take it away?"
Now, my issue is not with the question at all, this felt like a really nice way to do Aziraphale finally having his confession, but Crowley doesn't even flinch.
Crowley just stands there , says "you won't get an answer" and that's it??
Crowley doesn't even fucking react to Aziraphale finally admitting his feelings for him basically??? Not one little flinch? Not one side eye?
And his response? It felt so out of character and weird to me? And I have no clue if it's just me, but it's the one huge thing I found with the finale.
I get that there are definitely other scenes that felt alittle out of character, but this one felt the most out of the norm.
I think Crowley should've had some reaction, stood up alittle and looked at Aziraphale for a moment, not said what he did in response, just let it linger for a moment. Let God say what they said in response, then have the two talk.
Crowley's comment just confused the hell out of me??
Okay so......I have no body else to talk too about this so Tumblr will have to suffer for it.
The finale was good. I enjoyed it.
Did the whole "they turn into humans and fall in love thing" feel slightly cheesy and cheap? Yeah, but ya know what? It was way better than what I thought we would have.
Also, you can clearly see where episodes would cut or where extra detail would've been in a longer show. I do think this was probably how it was going to end originally, but with way more build up and time.
Muriel doing their little detective thing definitely would've been more prominent in a 6 episode series, we would've had more build up surrounding the angels and everything, we definitely would've had more Crowley being depressed and struggling with going on- but I think, realistically, they did really good with it.
I love all of the fanfiction tropes? Bookshop AU? Crowley loving stars AND writing books about it??? Aziraphale being a little bookshop helper?? The house and the garden and the nightingale??
They did really do everything we wanted in a way.
But yeah- seriously- I think it was really good. Again, not 100%, I have some issues, but I was so much happier with it than I thought I'd be.
