i've been working on this idea since valentine's day and decided to skech out a cover (even though i literally only have a few out of context pages sketched lol)
over explained au idea under the cut
it's an au in which crowley is a human running his own plant store and aziraphale is a cherub that was kept in heaven after the eden/sword mishap. He runs the human archives in heaven and has been obsessed with humans ever since he met adam and eve. he's been schemeing for millenia to get a chance to go to earth (having only watched earth from the scrolls in the archives).
serendipitously, aziraphale finds an old file called the Cupid Project, a defunct project wherein angels would foster love amongst humans by helping them make connections (via celestial arrows to the heart, yeah. there was a reason it was cancelled). Seeing his chance, he pitches a reboot of the project to help more humans find love (and get his ass to earth). Annoyed, the archangels finally agree, if only to get him to stop pestering them. Under their terms, the archangels set a test for aziraphale to prove the project's worth. They pick a human for aziraphale to successfully find love for and give him one year to make it happen.
Anthony Crowley is a man that doesn't like to be bothered. He has a few 'friends' that check in on him from time to time, but really, he prefers to be alone with his plants. Really, he does. He's grumpy and prickly and pushes away anyone that gets too close. Which is what makes him the perfect candiate for aziraphale's test. Snickering to themselves, the archangels pick a man that couldn't possibly open himself to love. And when the year is up, aziraphale will be back in the archives, where he's promised not to bother them ever again.
tldr: human!crowley, angel!aziraphale, flower store, aziraphale as cupid. slow burn and strangers to friends to lovers. sappy romance, pining
some bonuses: the flowers crowley is holding are gardenias, which represent secret love. The flower's in the corner are cupid's dart, because of obvious reasons
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Soldier On, Come Down - Chpt. 1. - - Ineffable Husbands WW2 au human!Crowley angel!Aziraphale angst multi-chapter
(TW this chapter contains light gore (st*bbing so that bit will be marked with the first and final world in red text)
London, 1939
Aziraphale, Principality and Angel of the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden, loved humans.
He had lived amongst humans since his assignment on Eden had ended, and he quite enjoyed his role as Heaven’s official ambassador to humanity. It had been a shock to receive such a coveted position (as much as Angels could covet, anyway).
The job had its downsides, like any, but for the most part, Aziraphale could overlook these. The books, food, wine and art made it worth it.
Humans were amazingly clever creatures, with a knack for imagining purposeful, advanced creations to Angel in Heaven could have ever dreamed of, if they did dream. They were masterful artists, poets, writers, inventors. Aziraphale, nearly six thousand years into this extended assignment, stood in awe at the inventions of the human race.
The motorcar, however, was an exception.
On a Saturday evening in Soho, Aziraphale was particularly bothered. He had plans to attend an Opera at the West End. These plans were interrupted when the driver had stopped him miles from the theatre. It was drizzling, as it often did in London lately, and Aziraphale crowded himself underneath a canopy to avoid getting soaked.
Aziraphale could have miracled the driver to take him to the right language, but with the state of England and the war going on, he felt it was best to cut down on miracle usage just in case he needed them for something important, which he probably would. And he didn’t want to risk Heaven the memo from heaven about too many frivolous miracles.
“Are you going in?” a voice spoke beside him. Aziraphale turned, ready to offer his apologises
He hadn’t realised he had been standing in the entrance way to a storefront.
But he was stuck on the words as he came face to face with the man.
He was perhaps the most beautiful person Aziraphale had ever laid eyes on.
Aziraphale was still staring when the stranger cleared his throat.
“Oh, my apologies.” Aziraphale said too loudly. The gentlemen was dressed in black and grey, which would have struck Aziraphale as unusual if, immediately after, Aziraphale noticed his striking copper hair. He wore it longer than was the fashion. He was also very tall, and slender. He held a black umbrella that he seemed to be in the process of wringing out his umbrella before he’d noticed Aziraphale.
“Are you alright?” the gentlemen said with concern. Aziraphale was still staring, so he tore his gaze from the gentlemen’s face.
“No. Yes. I mean.” Aziraphale stuttered. “I just got caught in the rain.”
The man nodded, the small smile still on his face, then he held out his umbrella.
“Would you like to borrow mine?” he said without hesitation. Aziraphale looked up him again ready to insist he was fine, but stopped when he noticed his eyes.
They were the colour of liquid gold, except for the ring of green surrounding his pupils. It was deep, Earthy green Aziraphale last recalled seeing in the Garden back when he’d first received this assignment.
“No. No thank you.” Aziraphale said softly. “I think I should like to stay here.”
*
My Dear Anthony,
I hope by the time this letter reaches you in England that you and Anathema will be quite settled in, with Annie at university and you doing your things (I must confess, I don’t quite recall the word you used to describe your profession. It may come to me one day.)
I must admit, dear brother, that although you grumble when I express sentiments to you, that I will miss you terrible when you return to England. There shall be a Crowley-shaped hole in my heart, I should think, for a long time till come. Please do come back and visit us in California.
Thank you for taking care of Anathema. It has always been her dream to attend Oxford. Do you remember when she was a little girl, with her book on magic and fairytales? She’d take it with her everywhere.
She can be quite stubborn at times, but she is a remarkable young woman, and I know that, under your guidance, my dear Annie will be something great. Please give her my love.
Take care of yourself.
Your Loving Sister,
Lucy
-
Crowley smiled down at the letter from his sister. He would never admit it, of course, but he missed his sister terribly. California, too, with its bright, sunny weather. The rain and fog of London coloured the world bleak in comparison.
Crowley had been back in London for a month. Anathema, his niece, was due to start at Oxford, once she got her acceptance, in three months.
She was a standout in stuffy old England, with her American wardrobe, accent, and mannerisms. She stood out in LA, too. She’d spent the days
Crowley had an apartment in Soho that he’d rented out in the year he’d been in America. The death of Lucy’s husband and Anathema’s father had hit their family hard. With their pieces stitched haphazardously back together, Anathema had decided that Oxford was her calling. England was a fresh start, and Crowley had to return at some point. Her mother had, after some convincing, agreed.
He was meant to meet Anathema for dinner that evening at the pub they frequented later on. With nothing else to do, Crowley decided a walk and some fresh air would do him some good, and stepped out into the English rain.
*
The Drooping Donkey had all the grace of a typical Soho bar on a Saturday evening. There was a group of soldiers crowded around a pretty young woman playing the piano, a lively war-tune Aziraphale recalled hearing over the radio on the BBC earlier that morning when he was rearranging his Atlas collection. They nursed warming bears. Chatty patrons took up the tables. There was luckily one spare (Aziraphale may have the ability to have any table he wished to, however he believed in ethical use of miracles) and, after ordering a glass of the house red, Aziraphale made his way over to it and took a seat, content to wait out the storm before going home.
When Aziraphale looked up, he made eye contact with the red-haired gentlemen from earlier. He was alone at the bar, and when Aziraphale looked at him, he did something completely surprising. He smiled.
An hour later, Aziraphale was still recounting the event in self-pity. He could leave now, as the handsome stranger had left. In truth, he’d been too shocked by the gentlemen (who had, upon meeting him, offered him his own umbrella?) and had been unable to use his brain. He had no choice but to enter the bar after the gentlemen, who had held the door out for Aziraphale. Even now, Aziraphale replayed the memory of that brief, awkward interaction over and over in his head. It was pointless. It wasn’t like Aziraphale would ever see him again. He was a human. A handsome, kind human. Still, he had appreciated that small show of kindness. It left a warm feeling in Aziraphale’s chest. The war was getting to him. Â
It was dark outside by the time Aziraphale exited The Drooping Donkey. The rain had cleared and, while the street maintained most of the business of a typical Soho Saturday, the sidewalk was mostly deserted. That’s why, when Aziraphale heard a noise like a group of hushed voices and a loud banging sound, he immediately rushed to the source.
The redhead man from the bar laid crumbled against the wall of a deserted alley. He was bundled behind bags of rubbish. Aziraphale hurried over to him, kneeling down to see better and miracleing a source of light. Aziraphale’s checked that the man was still breathing first, which he was, but was barely conscious. In the light, Aziraphale could see immediately that he had multiple injuries. His face was bruised, and his knuckles and hands were red. Then, Aziraphale spotted the spreading red across his stomach. Just below it, there was a knife.
It lay discarded in the wet, tossed carelessly, as though it had not just killed a man.
The stranger groaned as Aziraphale lifted the fabric away from the knife wound to locate the stab wound. It didn’t take long to find it. Blood gushed down the man’s abdomen from the puncture, and bile threatened to rise in Aziraphale’s throat as he realised that the kind stranger likely wouldn’t survive it. He had lost too much blood. Aziraphale had no idea how long he had been here, left like this. There was no time to take him to a hospital. He hadn’t been with a wife or friends at the bar. He would likely die here, cold, and alone.
Aziraphale reached down, pressing a hand against the wound, and healing it. It was overkill, to heal it completely, but the man looked in enough pain that Aziraphale couldn’t help but want to help him as best as he could. He spluttered at the motion, coughing harshly. Aziraphale stood up quickly, miracleing his trousers clean from where they had been stained by water and blood. He also miracled the stranger unconscious.
Aziraphale would have liked to have stayed with the stranger to make sure he got better, but he couldn’t answer the questions the man would obviously have. With any luck, the gentleman would wake up with a nasty hangover, with little recollection of what had occurred the night before. He’d likely interpret the black eye as being the result of a minor drunken scuffle. He would not remember Aziraphale, and Aziraphale would never see him again.
A kindness for a kindness was all it was. Miracling him out of sight, Aziraphale turned, and walked away.
EDIT: 8/16/19 Hello, after input from followers and doing research, I decided to edit the drawing and turn the triangle right side up. It was my mistake for not incorporating the reclaimed version of the pink triangle. My apologies if I caused any harm, it was never my intention!
Warnings: alcoholism, the lightest shade of implied suicide, minor violence
Tags: Canon divergent, Crowley Big Bang, cured!Crowley, human!Crowley, human!Castiel, demon!Dean, road to redemption
Relationships: Genfic, Crowley & Castiel, Destiel if you squint
Characters: Crowley, Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester (mentioned)
Summary: The Crossroads pub, at the corner of two Kansas back roads, is known to be frequented by hunters, one particular fallen angel, and the last of the Winchester brothers. The lonely, meager lives Castiel and Crowley have carved out for themselves collide again when a demon with a familiar face reappears to wreak havoc. Canon-divergent from late-S10, taking place in S13-14. One-shot, complete.
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Summary: When Sam successfully cures Crowley, the ex demon is permitted to stay in the bunker while he adjusts to life as a human again. After having to deal with all the bad he had done over the centuries. Moving on from the guilt and depression is something to celebrate. - Or, the one where the boys get drunk and sing karaoke.
Artist: @hectatess​
Author: @ncdover1285​​
Rating: T
AO3 Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Crowley, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel
Relationships: None
Tags: drinking, human Crowley, karaoke, silly boys, depression, moving on
Word Count: 1k
Created as part of the 2021 Crowley Resurrection Reverse Big Bang!
Sam Winchester, Crowley, implied Dean Winchester x Castiel
Word Count: 2,082
Warnings: swearing, violence, grief, blood
Dean threw the church doors open, and his only thought was to find Sam. He did a double-take when his eyes caught Crowley in the fetal position on the floor, but he shook it away. He sprinted across the room, searching like a mad man through the discarded pews and destroyed confessionals for any sign of his baby brother.
      “Sam!” Dean screamed, throwing chunks of wood haphazardly. “No, no, no….” Blinding panic roared in his veins, his hands shaking so bad he couldn’t properly grab at anything. “Sammy!” Dean paced back and forth, kicking at stray pieces of debris, his hand moving to tug on his hair as tears welled in his eyes. “SAM!”
The decision to slam the gates of Hell had been an easy one for the younger Winchester; he didn’t care what it cost him if it meant millions of people would be safe. Just before finishing the final trial, Sam could feel it; he could feel the trials killing him, but he didn’t care. He found peace in knowing his soul would find happiness in Heaven, and one day his brother would join him. The final words rang out, loud and strong after Crowley’s last injection; Sam dropped to his knees, smiling at the ceiling despite the cell-deep agony tearing through him.
The first thing his brain recognized was the sweltering heat that seeped in the marrow of his bones. The agonizing wails were the next thing to register; the sound resonated in his head, making him coil in on himself, but his arms didn’t move. Sam tugged, but something was holding his wrists and ankles down, and that’s when the fear set in.
      “Well, well, well,” a throaty voice sang. “Someone’s coming around.” Sam’s eyes shot open, snapping around the dim room; his hazel eyes dropped down to the figure across the room. Their dark form shifted and twisted before his eyes, their face coming into focus the longer he stared. If it wasn’t for staring into Lucifer’s true face for hundreds of years, Sam was sure the demon’s face would’ve terrified him. Once the thought crossed his mind, realization slammed into him, forcing his eyes to open wider.
      “No,” Sam whispered.
      “Oh yes,” the demon hissed. “Did you really think you’d go to paradise after slamming the doors? Hm?”
      “Bite me,” Sam barked, lunging as far forward as he could.
      “Oh, darling, I’m going to do much worse than that,” the demon laughed, slithering across the room. The bottomless pits the demon called eyes trailed over Sam’s body, and he could’ve sworn the demon looked in awe. “I don’t know how I managed to get the Boy King on my rack, but I couldn’t be happier.”
      “I’ve been tortured by the devil himself,” Sam laughed bitterly. “What can you do to me?”
      “Whatever I want,” the demon snarled, its rancid breath curling around Sam as it loomed over him. “And nothing is stopping your soul from twisting and warping this time.” The demon’s manic laughter echoed off the wall, mingling with Sam’s screams as it made the first cut.
Cas would disappear for weeks, leaving Dean alone in the eerie silence of the bunker. He knew he couldn’t follow Cas to Heaven, but that didn’t stop the aching loneliness from settling around him like a thick fog.
      “Ah! Squirrel.” Dean jumped at Crowley’s voice, shuffling up to sit properly in his seat; he scrubbed at his face before looking in the direction of the ex-demon’s voice.
      “Crowley,” Dean grunted.
      “Feathers still off on his mission above?” Crowley dropped into the chair on Dean’s left; it was still unsettling to see Crowley in anything other than a three-piece suit, looking more human than ever.
      “Yeah,” Dean hummed, crossing his arms on the library table. “This is the last trip. If he can’t find Sam’s soul, it’s not in Heaven.” Dean tried not to dwell on the thought, but it was getting harder and harder to look at the bright side.
      “Are you ready to accept if he’s not there?” Crowley whispered, dropping his gaze. The hunter’s head snapped up, ready to tear into the other man, but he deflated when he caught the unfamiliar pained expression on Crowley’s face.
      “I don’t know,” Dean whispered honestly. If Sam’s soul wasn’t in Heaven, that left only one place it could be, and it made him want to blow chunks. The library fell silent, and every pop and groan of the bunker sounded like bombs going off; Dean’s ringtone pierced through the room, almost sending Dean tumbling out of his chair. “Heya Cas.”
      “Hello Dean,” Cas sighed. Dean could hear the rumble of Cas’ truck in the background and his heart sank to his feet.
      “He’s not there,” Dean mumbled absently.
In a desperate attempt to save the world from Abaddon, in between scouring the Earth for a way to find Sam, Dean shouldered Cain’s burden. The Mark of Cain was like an itch Dean couldn’t scratch; a constant ache under his skin that screamed for murder. Dean’s fingers spun the beer bottle on the table, the ring of condensation making it glide easily against the wood. The only indication that he didn’t hear Cas’ approach was a twitch in his finger; Cas’ warm hand cupped the back of his neck, nimble fingers massaging away the tension at the base of his skull.
      “I think I’ve found a way into Hell,” Cas whispered, his grip on Dean’s neck tightening.
Cas peaked around the corner, waving Dean on when he found the hall empty; the pair crept down the hall, their heads on a swivel.
      “Dean Winchester.” Dean jolted upright, turning slowly towards the voice, swallowing the sigh to match Cas’. He could see the outline of at least another 15 demons in the shadows at the end of the hall, and the Mark screamed, nearly pulling him down the hall.
      “Where’s my brother?”
      “Ballsy to demand answers when your outnumbered,” the demon snorted, crossing its arms.
      “Have you met us?” Dean huffed, spinning the angel blade in his hand. He didn’t waste another second, and Cas followed close behind; they bobbed and weaved, dodging punches and slamming their blades home. Dean ducked as Cas jammed his blade through the chin of a demon sneaking up behind him.
      “Enough!” The hallway fell silent, aside from Dean and Cas’ labored breathing, as the fighting came to an abrupt halt. Dean squinted at the figure moving through the shadow at the end of the hall; he glanced over at Cas, who only shrugged and turned back to the approaching figure.
      “And who the hell are you,” Dean snapped, straightening his shoulders. The figure stopped at the edge of the shadow, its head tilting slightly.
      “I’m hurt, Dean,” the demon chuckled. “I thought you’d recognize me.” Dean took a closer look, but their features were too dark to make out anything. The man looked relaxed; the lapels of his coat flared out where his hands were stuffed in his pockets; Dean’s eyes moved higher over the stupidly tall figure, stopping at his head. He could make out the swoops of hair around the man’s shoulders, but the most striking thing was the outline of a crown perched on the top of his head.
      “Alright, I’ll bite,” Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. “Who are you.” The man chuckled, lifting one left dramatically before stepping into the light of the hallway; his head dropped down to his left with a cocky grin twisting across his face. All the blood drained from Dean’s face, his body suddenly feeling too hot and too cold; Cas gasped from behind him, taking a step back.
      “Surprise,” Sam chuckled, lifting his head, black eyes staring back at them.
      “S-Sam,” Cas croaked, sniffling softly.
      “Ah, Cas,” Sam hummed, smirking at the angel, blinking his hazel eyes back.
      “Get out of my brother,” Dean growled, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
      “Dean,” Cas whispered. “That is Sam.”
      “No, no, that’s bullshit,” Dean stuttered, shaking his head violently.
      “Is it?” Sam snorted, tilting his head again. “I mean, I was destined to be the Boy King of Hell.” Sam’s smile looked more like a snarl, and it made Dean’s skin crawl; that wasn’t the boyish smile of his little brother anymore. “Since you’re here, I should probably thank you.”
      “What,” Dean stuttered, glancing at Cas again.
      “Well, you opened the gates of Hell for me,” Sam laughed, slowly wandering closer. “I didn’t even have to do anything.” Sam continued forward, his hazel eyes shifting back and forth between Dean and Cas; the demons still hovering nearby moved away. “On top of that, you even made my reign easier!” Sam smiled again, and it was so painfully familiar, Dean felt the ache of grief in his chest.
      “What do you want from us?” Cas snarled next to Dean’s ear.
      “You,” Sam replied, licking his lips. Dean spun on his heels when Cas groaned; two demons stood over the angel, holding him on his knees. The older Winchester turned on his brother again, his dull green eyes pleading, yearning for a tiny bit of the old Sam to still be in there.
      “Sam, please,” Dean cried softly, fight the tears threatening to roll down his face.
      “Oh, brother,” Sam cooed, stepping into Dean’s personal space. He flinched when Sam’s giant hand rested on his cheek, but his touch was gentle. “Do you really think I don’t know about the Mark?”
      “No!” “What about it?” Cas and Dean talked over each other; Cas struggled, but the demons held strong.
      “I originally thought you were going to be useless to me but now? Now I have something the kings before me didn’t,” Sam whispered, his thumb brushing against Dean’s stubble.
      “Please!” Cas cried, grunting and struggling against the iron grip on his arms.
      “I’m gonna have an angel under my thumb,” Sam started, glancing over Dean’s shoulder.
      “Cas will never work for you,” Dean cut in, glaring at Sam.
      “How cute,” Sam chuckled, patting his brother’s cheek. “You think he has a choice.” Sam nodded at someone over Dean’s head, and when he tried to look, Sam’s hand closed around his chin, yanking his head back to face him. “And on top of my angel, I’ll have my own personal Knight.”
      “Knight?” Dean managed through his puckered lips.
      “I wish I was surprised at how stupid you can be,” Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. “When you die, the Mark will bring you back as one of the most powerful demons: A Knight of Hell. Sooo, aside from bringing me an angel I can twist and shape, you gave me a Knight! Thank you, brother.”
      “Don’t do this,” Dean whispered, blinking hard at the burning in his eyes. Sam looked over his head again, and his face darkened, a twisted smile spreading across his face.
      “Sh, watch the show,” Sam whispered, turning Dean to face Cas. The angel was bucking and screaming, trying to whip his head back and forth away from the bleeding wrist of the demon looming over him. Despair flared up in Dean’s heart, tears steadily rolling down his face as he watched the demon jerk Cas’ head back by a fist full of hair; blood smeared across Cas’ lips as he choked on it, letting out a low distressed sound. The demon clapped a hand over his mouth when he removed his wrist, hissing something in the angel’s ear. Cas slumped back on his knees, his head hanging and his shoulders pitching up with each inhale when the demon released him.
Cas finally lifted his head, bearing his blood-stained teeth, and locking eyes with Sam over Dean’s shoulder. “Fuck you, Sam Winchester.”
      “I’ll pass,” Sam chuckled. “Wouldn’t want to make my brother jealous; you are his angel.” Dean slumped back against his brother, his expression broken and empty. Cas retched forward, crying out and panting, his body convulsing. “Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll still let you have your fun with the angel as long as you behave.” Sam’s breath puffed against his ear, and he felt his heart shatter in his chest; he didn’t even realize Sam had shifted behind him. “See you soon.”
Dean gasped when the blade pierced his back; he looked down at the angel blade protruding from his chest before shifting his gaze back to Cas. Steadily dulling blue eyes were the last thing he saw before everything went black and his body hit the floor.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Anthony J Crowley is not having a good day.
The Bentley has broken down and now he’s stuck in the middle of the road, with rain pouring down onto him. Fuck- this is a no-good, terrible, bad day.
Until, that is, the broken car leads him to one angel of a mechanic, with soft hands and even softer heart. What is initially a purely accidental meeting ends up spurring a gentle, warm romance between the two of them.
A human AU meet cute about genderqueer mechanics, lovesick photographers and… one charity calendar. Updates (hopefully) every other Saturday!
First chapter of How To Improve Your Mileage (And Other Romantic Shenanigans) is now up! Rated T, 4.7k words as of right now, 7 chapters + epilogue planned!
