By Katie Beardmore

Neil Gaiman really said, friends to lovers, slow burn, 300,000 words, incomplete

guard snake

Bilbo says 'my poetry is pretty mediocre' and 'I think elves are just entertaining me for the fun of it' and then drops the most heartwrenching wonderful beautiful epic hopeful dramatic soulful poem you've ever heard and excuse me while I stand in the corner and contemplate the meaning of life.

Banned by Łukasz Frączek

Falling Star by Witold Pruszkowski (1884)

You is Fantabulous

Hey you

You, reading this post. No, not the guy behind you I'm talking about

YOU

I hope you're having a good day.

If not, take a deep breath. One foot in front of the other.

you got this.

I believe in you

You're worth it

Awww

So, I feel like I’m losing my mind. I keep seeing metas about how Aziraphale wants Crowley to return to Heaven and be an angel again because he wants them to be on the same side/be good/change/etc., etc., etc. but I don’t see that at all. I actually see it as the very opposite.

Aziraphale loves Crowley just as he is. But there’s something more. Something huge.

Aziraphale loves Crowley and because he is an angel who is stuck in seeing things as black and white, he constantly praises Crowley for being nice. For being good. For being kind.

Aziraphale has watched Crowley on and off for 6,000 years. He watched him thwart the plans of Heaven and Hell because it was unjust. He spared the lives of innocents. He did small things that made Aziraphale happy just because (like making Hamlet successful and saving valuable books). And because Aziraphale sees things in black and white, he sees all the things Crowley has done as nice, as good, as kind.

Crowley vehemently attests he’s not nice or good or kind.

He’s not exactly wrong nor is he lying when he says this. When Crowley spares goats during a cruel bet over a righteous man and swallowing laudanum to prevent a suicide, when he prevents Armageddon by working with Aziraphale and stopping the Anti-Christ from being the Anti-Christ, he’s not doing the nice/good/kind thing.

He’s doing the right thing.

Crowley chooses to do the right thing without hesitation. He is better than all of Heaven and Hell who have callous and dispassionate view of all existence because he questions, because he makes choices. Crowley sees the world for all its messiness and he sees himself. He sees a place where he fits in. He sees the blurred edges.

And Aziraphale sees that, even if seeing the blurred edges is hard for him.

But here’s the thing that Aziraphale can’t voice.

It’s the reason why he told Crowley about being allowed to return to Heaven and become an angel again. He doesn’t want Crowley to change. He doesn’t think Crowley is flawed. Or not enough.

It’s something that is so monumental that it cannot be put into words. Because to put it into words would be more than blasphemy. It’s down right unthinkable for anyone in Heaven, Hell, or Earth to say what Aziraphale knows deep in his soul.

God was wrong to cast out Crowley.

Aziraphale believes Crowley can/should return to Heaven because he knows that Crowley should never have fallen in the first place. He wants him to be forgiven because when Crowley fell it was unjust. Aziraphale is trying to correct a mistake. He’s trying to do the right thing.

Yes, Crowley would never accept returning to Heaven. And Aziraphale was wrong to even suggest it (although that conversation is another can of worms to unpack).

Aziraphale loves Crowley. He loves him exactly as he is. He doesn’t want him to change. Aziraphale knows that Crowley the best of all of them. He wants to change Heaven because of it. Because God was wrong and Aziraphale knows it.

Aziraphale may have difficulty seeing beyond black and white, but when it comes to Crowley he sees everything crystal clear and in vivid color.

Hiya, could you pretty pretty please do a 12. and 33. prompt for the ineffable husbands? I keep thinking of Bentley just locking them in and not letting them out until they talk cupboard trope style 😔

Yessssss :D

---

"Now you listen to me Crowley, you are going to tell your car—"

"Our car."

Aziraphale stops. Blinks. Gives up on fighting with the door handle.

"What did you say?" he asks.

"It's our car," Crowley repeats, more of a mumble this time, looking away from Aziraphale. A raindrop runs down the window, and he follows it with his eyes until it pools at the bottom, joining the great conference of former raindrops gathering there. They're in for a night of it, by the looks of the sky. "You said that. You made that true. So you're as much at fault as I am for it locking us in."

"I don't see how this is my fault. You kidnapped—"

"Kidnapped? I rescued you. That's. That's what I do. That's what the almighty made me for, I think," he huffs, still not looking at Aziraphale.

One rescue does not a rift mend. He's owed an apology. And even though everything's gone to heaven, like he predicted, he still hasn't gotten one.

He'd take a lot less. He doesn't need to hear that he was right. He needs to hear that Aziraphale's sticking with him this time.

The Bentley is, at least temporarily, seeing to that. Crowley gives the steering wheel a gentle pat. He genuinely has nothing to do with the doors being locked and apparently immune to miracles or temptation, but he thinks it's trying to help.

If nothing else, the constant itch of not being able to reach out and touch Aziraphale, if he wanted, has vanished for a bit. The ache of missing him has eased back just a fraction. It's a good car. A good, loyal car.

"You're cold," he says, shrugging out of his jacket without even having to look at Aziraphale. It's cold out tonight, in the middle of bloody nowhere, and he gets cold easily. Crowley doesn't want him to be cold.

"You'll be cold," Aziraphale says as Crowley shoves his body-warmed jacket at him.

"Demon," he says. "Don't get cold."

Theoretically, an angel ought not to get cold either. Thing is. Aziraphale's never actually been a very good angel. Not that Crowley would ever tell him that to his face.

Besides, he's his angel. He's allowed to be not very good.

"Thank you," Aziraphale says, taking the jacket and spreading it over himself like a blanket.

Silence, except for the pit-pat of rain against the car, falls. And Aziraphale's breathing. Crowley's missed the way he breathes.

He literally twiddles his thumbs in his lap, trying to think of something to say or do.

"Things are a bit of a mess," Aziraphale says after what might have been several eternities. Crowley's lost count.

He opens his mouth to say something—something comforting, like that it's not all that bad, or that they'll figure it out, they're a team, they always figure it out.

And then Aziraphale continues, "and you tried to warn me."

His voice sounds so small that Crowley, naturally, like he always does, deflates like a sat-on whoopee cushion. Because the thing about Aziraphale is that he always really is trying to do the right thing. Because he still believes there's one true Right Thing to do. Because he's precious and wonderful and optimistic and good. Not a good angel. But a good person.

"Did you ever wonder why I might try to do that?" Crowley asks.

He's not sure he wants an answer. Either one's going to hurt.

Aziraphale falls silent again, which is probably for the best. The way the moonlight's hitting the window now, Crowley can see him reflected in it. Still the same Aziraphale. Heaven hasn't really changed him.

"Do you really think God created you to look out for me?"

Crowley sighs. "I don't know. Plan's, y'know, ineffable."

"Well it would explain why you keep doing it," Aziraphale says. "If it's all in the plan."

"Right," Crowley draws in on himself. Not getting through right now, then. "No other possible explanation for it, really."

"Well. There is one other possible explanation," Aziraphale offers hesitantly.

"Oh?" Crowley asks.

"Well... you might. I suppose. Be fond of me?"

Crowley glances over at him. Sighs. Okay, well. He's come to that conclusion, then. It's only taken a little over six thousand years. Practically no time at all.

He takes his sunglasses off. Stares out of the windscreen. Wonders if he can actually be discorporated by way of stomach knots. Gnaws on his lip.

And then gets very, very brave. "I might be," Crowley says, forcing himself to look Aziraphale in the eye. "I might even be in love with you."

Aziraphale swallows. He looks like he might either be sick or pass out from what Crowley realises at the last second isn't disgust.

It's nerves.

"You might," he says, looking away as he fiddles with Crowley's jacket. "And. And if you were. That would be very convenient for me. Because I... I think I've been in love with you for a very long time."

Crowley means to say something to that, but the nice satisfying thunk of the Bentley unlocking beats him to it.

"Well," Crowley says, running his tongue over his teeth. "That's probably enough to save the world, then. Shall we?"

Aziraphale lights up, bright and beautiful and good as always. "I think we really must."

https://www.tumblr.com/accidentalslayer/730435796999553024

A picture of you was taken in the wild and I must say you are ADORABLE

I squint my eyes at thee but also fawn over the THE CROW IT HAS LEAVES AND IT IS CROW AND AWWWWWW CROW CROW CROW 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛

I agree, strike down those whO DONT LEAVE ME BE

Leave Me Alone | Run by Aaron J Groen