Emfandomitewrites

She/Her. Demi/Ace. Author of LGBTQ+ Paranormal Romantic Suspense (and Good Omens fanfic)

[emfandomitewrites]

If you're looking for some GO fic to read, or you're reading my posted chapters of Trust Fall and want to know what happened before, might I suggest Born of Starlight (it comes in both mild and super-spicy 😏):

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52159429/chapters/131928235

Or

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55699651/chapters/141391873

[sunkissed-strawberries]

throwback forward thursday or whenever this post finds you ♡

Rule: post the first lines from your current wips (or your favorite lines, whatever floats your boat! everything's made up and the points don't matter!!) and let your followers vote on which lines intrigue or excite them the most. Original idea by @carry-the-sky, tagged by @quitequaintrelle, thank you both for including me! (saw the same post on @firelikestars' blog and decided to be brave and take part in the tag for once!) Since I'm currently working on one single wip (Somewhere, A Place For Us, my own version of good omens season 3), here are five of my favourite quotes from various chapters (not telling which ones, of course!) 1. Up there, no one listened to the Starmaker when he said he wasn’t lonely. That was because they knew a liar when they saw one. 2. What he really felt, nestled at the endocarp of the stone he called a heart, apple-shaped and rotting at a speed a whole lot faster than light, was anger. A swamp-coloured, flesh-eroding, reason-stifling broth in which he had simmered for far too long. 3. Are you perfect, yet? Are you shining through the cracks of my soul, are you making me whole? Are you making me proud, are you making me forget? 4. They stared at each other. If either of them moved, flinched, twitched, or even breathed a little too hard, they would go for it, forsaking everything for one night, for a few hours, or just for a minute. They longed for each other's touch way too much, and it was too hard, and much too late now, to tell craving from aversion, fondness from dislike and above it all, love from hatred. Any blunder, any at all, and clothes and pride alike would be left at the door. 5. "Think of all you could do if you channelled all that pain—all that anger that he left in his wake—” "Mmmh, keep salting the wound, I'm close—"

Which quote tickles your fancy?

Quote n°1

Quote n°2

Quote n°3

Quote n°4

Quote n°5

Remaining time: 8 hours 3 minutes

No pressure tagging: @fellshish @gingiekittycat @thebookshoparoundthecorner @afrenchwriter @emfandomitewrites @di-42 (sorry if you've already been tagged!)

[emfandomitewrites]

I have been summoned to participate 😏... So here goes.

Here are five lines, from five separate WIPS. One is from my current GO fanfic WIP, Trust Fall. The rest are from original fiction novels currently in various stages of completion.

(from Trust Fall) Crowley's left hand covered his, the silence around them broken only by the almost imperceptible metallic tap of their wedding rings coming together and the quiet sound of their mingled breathing, even as Crowley's hand tightened slightly and he tipped his head forward to rest his forehead against Aziraphale's in a wordless plea for comfort. (It's GO fanfic, so

2. (From Guadians, inc's The Silver Kiss) Josiah stood at the kitchen island, staring off into space with a wistful look on his face, clearly having forgotten the no longer steaming cup of coffee and the small stack of papers on the island in front of him. Judas took the opportunity to study the gorgeous Air, tracing the strong line of Josiah's jaw -- highlighted by the close beard Josiah sported -- and the familiar, sharp profile cast by his aquiline nose, firm chin, and those full lips. No surprise, like all Airs, he was distinguished and gorgeous. As the Holy Son, he had a regal poise that couldn't be taught, that made him look untouchable. Especially by the tainted hands of a Fire half-breed. Didn't mean he couldn't look, Judas thought with a small, tender smile. Right now, Josiah looked lost in thought, and Judas wasn't inclined to intrude.

3. (From Black Lake Agency's A Sky of Falling Stars) The legends got it all wrong. There was no divine destiny, no prophecy, no cool old castle, mansion, or even hermit’s cabin. No wizened old mentor, full of the decorum of other worlds and a deep understanding of either the Natural or Deep magics. In fact, there wasn't even some ancient but whip smart -- and equally fleet of foot -- familiar. There was only him. A hot mess in a small flat on the fifth floor of a Warterloo walkup. The closest he came to a mentor -- outside his professors -- was the somewhat creepy guy who ran the independent bookshop where he perused books on magic. And the closest he came to a familiar was Alfie -- the arthritic old dog who followed him home from the shops and adopted him or, much more likely, his flat.

4. (From Project Prometheus' Crimson Rose) "The Dhampir and the Chimera are in my territory." Magdalena didn't even look up from the plants she was pruning. She didn't need to -- the man standing like a statue in the doorway was one of the only two people on the planet she could trust. "They are hunting."

5. (From Legend of Tirum's Storm Singer) Kane's frown deepened into a scowl, and his hand circled her wrist, tugging her into a shadowed alcove, hidden from the view of passing servants and soldiers. Trapping her against the wall, he leaned in, and her breathing evened as his forehead touched hers, his strong fingers stroking her captive wrist lightly. This was a familiar position -- the gentle pressure of their touching foreheads more intimate and sacred to her than any sexual liaison could have been. She breathed in the heady scent of sea, wind, and steel clinging to him, and serenity she found nowhere else slid through her. Kane was more than her friend. He was comfort. He was home.

Which bit most intrigues you?

Trust Fall ( No. 1)

The Silver Kiss (No. 2)

A Sky of Falling Stars (No. 3)

Crimson Rose (No. 4)

Storm Singer (No. 5)

Voting ended onJul 18

I don't tag people, but anyone who wants to play along you can reblog and give us your WIPs 😏😊

[nimaygreen]

A Good Omens Fan Manifesto

We do not all agree.

And that is perfectly all right.

Some of us loved the ending.

Some of us were heartbroken by it.

Some of us are still trying to understand it.

None of these feelings cancel the others.

Being a Good Omens fan has never meant thinking alike.

It has meant asking questions.

It has meant looking beyond simple answers.

It has meant believing that kindness is stronger than fear, curiosity is stronger than certainty, and compassion is stronger than judgment.

We are not united because we share one interpretation.

We are united because, somewhere along the way, this story mattered to us.

It made us laugh, think, cry...

It reminded us that choosing each other is sometimes the bravest miracle of all.

Loving Good Omens does not require accepting every creative decision without question.

Questioning a story is not betraying it…

Stories belong to their creators.

But they also become part of the people who carry them forward.

That is why there is room here for criticism.

There is room for celebration, is room for grief, for hope, for disagreement.

But there should always be room for each other.

If Good Omens taught us anything, it is that the world rarely changes because everyone suddenly agrees.

It changes because someone chooses understanding over division.

So let us disagree.

Let us analyze, write, draw, us create, keep talking.

Not because the story is unfinished.

But because what it gave us is still alive.

And perhaps that has always been the real miracle.

💛

Epilogue

Perhaps one day we'll stop arguing about the ending.

Perhaps we won't.

But years from now, very few of us will remember who won those arguments.

We will remember the people who stayed.

The people who shared a piece of art that made us smile, who recommended a song, who wrote stories that helped us through difficult days.

The people who answered a lonely post with kindness.

The people who reminded us that there was still something beautiful worth looking at.

Fandoms are remembered less for their arguments than for the communities they build.

PS: Not accepting the ending does not mean rejecting the story.

Loving the story does not require everyone to love the ending.💫💞

Personally, I don't give up on the values ​​of Good Omens, even if I don't accept or agree with how the story ended. ✨💚

[emfandomitewrites]

THIS! 👆👆👆💯

[liberalsarecool]

Stay engaged.

[emfandomitewrites]

Keep fighting. It might not seem like anything's happening, but it IS happening... quietly, behind the scenes, and sometimes loudly, in the streets, our voices are what makes a difference. So keep fighting.

I feel it in every cell of my body... Accountability is coming.

[emfandomitewrites]

"This is Blood"

~Esther Mitchell, 2026~

"This is Blood."

Words scrawled on a street,

In smalltown America.

Lawlessness committed by the Law,

Terror perpetrated by the Elected,

Against the Electorate,

The sound of gunfire,

Where it never belonged.

"This is Blood"

Spilled by the protected,

The immigrant,

The citizen,

The patriot.

Where our nation's blood was already spilled once,

Throwing off a tyrant's yoke from across the sea,

The price of the freedom now under siege.

"This is Blood"

Spilled at the hands of masked terrorists,

Faceless, nameless, wearing bulletproof vests,

While they are the only ones firing the guns,

Against the unarmed,

The vulnerable,

The gentle,

The activist,

The guardian angel,

Against us all.

"This is Blood"

It is ours,

Every drop of it a stain we can't erase,

A pain we forever carry,

A harm we cannot forgive,

A crime which must meet justice,

A death we must avenge.

More than just blood,

We give our slain back their names, in honor:

Keith Porter, Jr. (k. California, 2025)

Ruben Ray Martinez (k. Texas, 2025)

Silverio Gonzalez (k. Illinois, 2025)

Renee Good (k. Minnesota, 2026)

Alex Pretti (k. Minnesota, 2026)

Lorenzo Salgado Araujo (k. Texas, 2026)

Johan Sebastian Guerrero (k. Maine, 2026)

We demand their killers be unmasked and named,

To face the sins they have committed,

And pay the price for their crimes,

Because even if time eventually washes the blood,

From the streets, the snow, the sand,

That blood has already seeped into us all,

And we will never forgive a single, precious drop.

[emfandomitewrites]

Having a giggle over a bit I just jotted down for the GO historical fic I've got in bits and pieces ... A bit at the lunch after the Bastille, where Crowley admits to accidentally starting the American Revolution when all he was SUPPOSED to do was start some unrest the British would then make a crushing example out of.

Crowley being in France suddenly is "plausible deniability" (in his own words) 😂 Here's the unedited bit (I haven't filled in all the action/tag lines):

“Where have you been?”

“Boston. I was supposed to start a rebellion. Dump some tea in the harbor. Y’know, cause unrest. Then the Royal Army would put it down. Lots of bloodshed and grumbling, and souls Hell wanted.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“Plausible deniability,” Crowley muttered. “Those blessed colonists were more determined than I planned on. They were still fighting when I got myself out of there, before Hell got wind it got all fucked up. ‘Least if I’m here, I can claim it was to start all this, and I had nothing to do with,” he waved one hand in the direction of the Americas, “that.”

Aziraphale hid an indulgent smile behind his wine goblet. "You really are terrible at being a demon, sometimes."

"Says the angel who, up until an hour ago was locked in the Bastille, waiting to be discorporated, because he wouldn't use one teensy miracle," Crowley bantered back.

Can we tell I've just been watching Hamilton and GO back-to-back? lol

[emfandomitewrites]

JUSTICE FOR LORENZO.

DEFUND ICE.

THIS CANNOT KEEP HAPPENING.

[emfandomitewrites]

To my 14 year old friend...

To the entire (large) queer section of the Good Omens fandom who, like myself, have been deeply disturbed by the message presented in S3 telling us that God would rather destroy the universe than let us live in it, and the only way we can make the world better is to remove ourselves: Please listen to Monte.

We have the human right to exist, to be ourselves, to feel loved and accepted as we are, and to see those rights/values represented in film.

And for any other queer person out there who needs to hear it, and needs to know, you are loved, you are wanted, and you belong. 🫂

Here, in my socials, all my queer siblings, no matter how you identify, are loved and safe. 🫂❤️ This unassuming panromantic demi/ace girlie turns into a claws-out, fire-breathing Mama Dragon when someone tries to come after my community.

[starmaker-astral]

I think we don't talk/write enough about Aziraphale's time in heaven, we only talk about Crowley's 3 years post-divorce

While Aziraphale too, was alone

And without familiar anchors, without the earth and all his habits and everything he can enjoy

Just light and pure, blinding white everywhere, endless paperwork, and a constant, endless emptiness for three long years.

No music, no food, no fancy restaurants or old bookshops

Only celestial harmonies

For (what seemed like) eternity

[emfandomitewrites]

Oh, but we can... And I did... Right after S2 dropped.

Enjoy? 🤷

From Born of Starlight:

Heaven -- Eight Months Later

It was a bland, bright day. All days were equally bland and bright. Nothing changed. Not even the constant, exhausting talk of war. Had Heaven always been so blood-thirsty and colorless? So stark? So cruel? Surely not. He remembered a Heaven full of color and warmth, back in the Before. During his six millennia on Earth, Heaven became steadily more sterile and sinister than it had been before the war. When he'd been up here during first the Job situation and then, much more recently, the Antichrist mess, he'd wondered about it, but he'd had so much more important things on his mind both times. That last time, he'd been too desperate to stop another war, so he wouldn't have to give up his life on Earth, and even more, Crowley.

He was so tired of war. After six thousand years of watching humans slaughter each other, anyone was bound to be tired of war. His own final straw came in 1914, trying to piece back together a dying boy he'd promised to protect.

(AUTHOR NOTE: The rest of the scene is under the cut, for length)

With a sharply indrawn breath, he forced the painful memory away and swiped at his face to rid himself of his tears. He was all too aware of how Heaven treated softness. He'd been pretending a coldness that stabbed him deeper every day he had to appear to think like Heaven.

It hadn't taken very long, being back full-time, to realize how wrong he'd been to assume he could fix anything. Aziraphale, former Principality and Angel of the Eastern Gate and now Supreme Archangel of the Heavenly Hosts, looked around the gleaming white walls, white floors, white... well, everything and ached for a comforting sight. Just a hint of golden yellow would certainly brighten his day and ease the empty ache in his chest.

He frowned, his gaze going -- as it often did -- to the glowing, blue-white globe in the center of everything, and he wondered yet again if he might have made a mistake. Surely, he'd been clear, before he left. He'd said enough, in the coded speech they'd developed over the millennia, for Crowley to understand. He was certain he had.

Except... If that were true, where was Crowley? Why hadn't he at least heard from the demon in the entire time he'd been here -- so long now he'd lost track of everything except the hollow ache in his chest and the fear Crowley hadn't actually meant all those beautifully heartbreaking words, or the kiss Aziraphale clung to when every other hope was gone. He fought constantly against the niggling little doubt that asked what he would do if that hope, too, was gone.

Aziraphale took several steps toward the globe, the ache in his chest increasing with every step. It couldn't hurt to check in on the bookshop, right? Surely, it was within his purview as the Supreme Archangel to check in on the angel in charge of one of Heaven's embassies. Never mind that Michael and Uriel regarded him with varying degrees of jealousy and suspicion, or that Saraqael watched him with blatant pity on their face. He knew he wasn't the only one who grew more and more certain he didn't belong here with every day since he arrived. The longer he was here, the further he felt from his truth, and that just wouldn't do. His truth was always love. His truth was Crowley.

He would go to check on the bookshop. That would help him feel better, even if he'd had no sense of Crowley's presence there since he left.

To the bookshop it was, then. He just needed to make sure everything was running smoothly on Earth. Decision made, Aziraphale turned on his heel and headed toward the lift. His chest grew tighter with every step, until he could barely breathe. He bounced on his feet as he waited for the doors to open and entered the lift. His hand shook as it paused for a beat over the button with the blue-white globe on it, and he asked himself for the first time what he was really going back to Earth for. He could just send someone else, if he was really checking in on the bookshop.

Familiar, yellow eyes and a shock of sinfully red hair danced through his mind, and his breath exhaled on a soft sigh as he swore he felt a small, electric jolt in the center of his chest. Certainly, he could send someone else to check on Muriel. But he couldn't exactly ask anyone else to look up Crowley, make sure he was all right. After all, Aziraphale expected to turn around and see the demon there every day since his return to Heaven, and it never happened. He was worried sick something happened to the demon. For what felt like an eternity, now, he hadn't been able to breathe, for the fear Crowley was in danger. Had Hell come after Crowley, now that he couldn't hide from them in the bookshop?

No. He shook his head, clearing the familiar fear. For a while, now, he'd been telling himself he was simply borrowing trouble, as the human expression went. Most likely Crowley had simply not understood the message and was off somewhere sulking.

Aziraphale pressed the button for Earth, renewed determination flowing through him. Whatever happened to Crowley, he was going to get to the bottom of it. Maybe then, they could sort out what to do about this whole Second Coming mess.

Together.

They always worked best together.

They were supposed to be together. An us, Crowley always called it. Aziraphale had never let go of that dream -- that goal. He wasn't about to start doubting it, or Crowley, until the demon told him to.

[emfandomitewrites]

Just finished Broadchurch S3. Here's how it ended for me...

Ellie: "Do you want to go to the pub? We've never been to the pub."

Me (not missing a beat, before Alec can respond in the show): "We're in the pub now."

😂😂😂

The brainrot is utterly alive and well.

PS - Anyone who's seen Broadchurch, remember that ending scene on the bench? Go look at it and tell me you don't get flashbacks from A Companion to Owls. 🤭

[emfandomitewrites]

Watching Broadchurch right now.

Alec Hardy (played by David Tennant): "People are unknowable."

Me, tilting head to the side: Ineffable, perhaps?

😁😁😏

[muddypolitics]

[OC] SOMEDAY A MORTICIAN GETS TO SUPERGLUE HIS LIPS SHUT, Seen in Cleveland

[emfandomitewrites]

😂😂😂 👆👆👆💯💯💯

[emfandomitewrites]

Hey, World, here in the US for the World Cup, can you do us, the actual American people, a huge favor?

When you go home, the next time the Orange Twatwaffle in the White House and his Minion-rejects in the Republican Party do something to fuck things up for everyone, can you PLEASE remember that we actually love y'all, and that mess in DC doesn't actually speak for We, the People, right now? Remember, he lies like he breathes, and wasn't voted in by the majority he claims. He got there because nearly 90million of us forgot that we have a civic duty to vote, and just faffed off and didn't bother voting.

And, yes, this applies to Canada, Venezuela, and Iran, too.

We love our Canadian neighbors, and no, it never crossed ANY of our minds to want to annex you. We love you as our Northern cousins, and we love seeing your Maple Leaf flags flying at our borders just as much as our Stars & Stripes. I'm sorry the Twatwaffle said those things, but he did NOT speak for us, and we've been saddened by your hate toward us because of the words of one man.

Venezuela, there aren't enough words to apologize to what was allowed to happen to some of your people. Please believe, we, the US people, were and remain appalled and furious on your behalf. There will be a reckoning, and I have to believe it will be soon. We love you all.

The Iranian people... There aren't the words to apologize. How your players and fans have been treated at this World Cup is sickening, and if you ask the American on the street, we're ashamed of what our government and the FIFA organization have done to you. And we are even more angry at our government for attacking you and starting a war that's cost your people so much, but not given you any of the freedoms you were protesting for. I, personally, wish I could give you all a big, warm American hug. The World Cup should have been a place to help heal some of the pain, not inflict more, and I'm deeply sorry for that.

Anyway... That's all I wanted to say. From this proud but empathetic American, a great big American-super-sized hug to the people of the entire world. Lots of ❤️, and good luck to all the teams still in the World Cup!

[sirkayleeofcamelot]

*becomes a knight strictly because the local bard is cute, and I want him to write songs about me*

[big-blog-of-cheese-day]

*becomes a bard strictly because the local knight is cute and I want to write songs about him*

[thyrell]

*becomes the village idiot because of a chemical deposit in the well behind my house*

[the274]

*becomes the evil wizard because the local strong knight is cute and I want to get beaten by them.*

[evilwizard]

*dumps my evil chemicals in the well behind some random dude’s house*

[emfandomitewrites]

*becomes a cleric because some random weirdo is dumping evil chemicals willy-nilly, an evil emo wizard needs a hug and healing after being beaten then rejected by a moron of a knight who may or may not be currently making ridiculous heart-eyes at a bard who's somehow both oblivious and badly off-key, and someone has to sort this mess out*

[laudnumdrinker]

Before the finale I really didn't care much to see Aziraphale and Crowley get married with wedding rings, but after seeing Asa and Anthony get that and not our angel and demon, I want the real A&C to be properly married so badly.

I want Crowley to be the one to propose only a few months after they get together because he's a hopeless romantic and he can't help but move fast, but Aziraphale accepts because after 6000 years it's not actually too fast at all. I want Aziraphale's ring to be diamond encrusted and for Crowley's to be engraved with a snake. They don't need to have a real wedding because who would they invite anyways, but I do want them to exchange vows that they will never abandon or give up on one another. I want them to refer to each other as "my husband," which feels more accurate to their relationship dynamic than anything else ever did.

[emfandomitewrites]

I'm sure you're going to get tons of these types of scenes, now, since you asked for 'em 😏 But just in case you don't, here's a scene (long, but who's really complaining, right? 🤷‍♀️) for you (though the rings are plain, for a very good reason). There's a second wedding scene, because I couldn't just stop with one, could I? No, that wouldn't do. You know, human legalities and all. 😉 But while it's touching in its own way, the actual ceremony of the second one is a little... well, it's not as romantic or them.

Anyway, here's the first (and most important) of the two marriage scenes, from Born of Starlight (I put most of the scene under a cut only due to length. You can find the full story at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52159429/chapters/131928235 (PG-13) or https://archiveofourown.org/works/55699651/chapters/141391873 (NC-17) ):

Crowley made his way around the hallway created by wrought-iron rail on one side and crammed-full bookcases on the other, to his and Aziraphale's bedroom. Once inside, he crossed the room to stand in front of the over two-foot long and nearly as tall statue of two nude beings locked in a highly suggestive stance, golden wings on one, coppery-red wings on the other. Icarus and Apollo, grappling over the sun, according to the artist. At the time he'd stolen it, back in Rome, it'd represented something he hadn't even been able to articulate to himself. Since 1862, it'd come to represent escape. And since 1941... One thought tugged at him as, lean muscles straining, he carefully removed the statue from its pedestal and laid it on its side on the bed, revealing the small, spring-loaded depression latch that opened a secret compartment on the bottom he'd had added to the statue in 1862, after he'd finally been released from his punishment in Hell following the Edinburgh incident. At first, it held enough cash to help him disappear if he couldn't risk using any demonic miracles. Then, in 1941, he realized he wasn't going anywhere, but needed the statue to hide something far more valuable to him. Now, he slid his thumb into the small depression that opened the compartment, revealing the small brown envelope stored inside.

An envelope hidden there since 1941, sealed away from any chance of discovery by Hell, back when he faced his truth, but was still too afraid to even voice his hope. His wish.

He'd been so terrified of losing everything, all this time...

Crowley retrieved the envelope and slid it into the pocket of his jeans, closed the compartment, replaced the statue, and headed back toward the spiral staircase into the main bookshop, his mind already playing over how to tell his angel how he saw their future. What he'd wanted for the past eighty-four years.

At least he learned from his mistakes. The biggest lesson he learned in recent years was secrets never ended well. No matter how much they could tell each other in a single glance, there was no way Aziraphale could know what was on his mind if he didn't say the words.

The angel was still seated on the end of the settee where he'd been reading to Jemmy, though the book he held was considerably more advanced than Paddington Bear. In fact, it looked suspiciously like one of the two books he'd gifted to Aziraphale when his angel first opened the shop.

"Dante? Really, angel?" He quipped as he entered the sitting area. "Haven't you had enough of that fourteenth century drivel?"

Aziraphale lifted one eyebrow, but continued to read as if he hadn't heard a word Crowley said. The demon laughed quietly, completely unoffended.  After that little pout, earlier, he knew the game his beloved angel was up to. Supreme Archangel he may be, but there was still a great deal of the awkward, uncertain Principality in Aziraphale -- the lost, lonely angel who just wanted to be loved as much as he loved humanity and all of Creation.

That angel didn't need seduced or tempted to do or be anything. What he needed, and Crowley was more than happy to provide, was the reassurance he was, in fact, perfect just as he was -- loved utterly without reservation, and as completely as he loved.

"I have an idea, angel." He dropped down to sprawl across the settee, sighing in delight as his head came to rest against Aziraphale's pillowy thigh before smiling up at his angel. "Maybe it's time to buy a cottage somewhere. You can just enjoy your library, without having to worry about figuring out how to keep people from buying books..."

Aziraphale looked down at him with attentive blue eyes -- slightly obscured by the completely unnecessary spectacles he wore -- and an adoring smile. "And what would you do?"

Crowley stretched slightly and nuzzled the angel's plush midsection, pressing a loving kiss there as a familiar, soothing lassitude slid over him. It was Aziraphale's presence. Just being near him soothed Crowley. Listening to his angel speak was like a comfy blanket or a warm sunbeam to his soul. Yeah, he totally understood why their daughter begged Aziraphale to read to her.

"Dunno," he mused hazily, closing his eyes. A smile stretched slowly over his face. "S'pose I could garden. Or I could raise goats. Jemmy would love that. Kids love animals..."

"Really, Anthony," Aziraphale's voice was full of gentle chiding, but the thread of humor underneath told Crowley his angel found his plan both ridiculous and amusing. "Do you think raising goats is a good idea? Last time you were around any, you were threatening to destroy them."

"That wasn't my idea. And I didn't actually hurt them."

"I know, love. But if we moved to the country, you'd be bored within a fortnight."

Crowley cracked one eyelid, peering up at his angel. "Who says fortnight, anymore?"

"Lots of people do. Quit changing the subject." Aziraphale stroked a hand absently through the demon's hair, and Crowley groaned faintly, nuzzling into the touch, even as he reveled in the flow of his angel's voice over him. "I need to stay close enough Muriel can find me, if they need me, and this is really the most convenient spot. Besides, I thought you liked it here."

Crowley's eyes opened. "I love it here. But that's because it's where you and Jemmy are. I'd happily live out of the Bentley again, as long as you were with me."

Aziraphale's lips twitched in a smile. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that, shall we? I think stability is best for Jem, right now. We can revisit the cottage idea later. Maybe as a place to get away for a bit, but not permanently. I rather like what we have now, don't you?"

"Yeah. But if we're staying put, can I suggest one change, angel?" Crowley took hold of Aziraphale's hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the backs of his fingers as he held the angel's gaze. "I hate watching you cringe and stress every time some human looks like they might buy a book. Neither of us needs that stress."

Aziraphale sighed, the sound full of agreement. "There's not much I can do about that, Crowley, and you know it. Human law dictates that the ground floor of this building must remain a shop, since that's what it was set down as when built in--"

"Yeah, yeah." Crowley waved off the angel's recitation of building law. "But there's no law that says you can't change how you do business, is there?"

The angel's eyes narrowed. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing. I'm just saying, why not get a regular stock of more modern books and set those out in the front. Change the counter and shelving around a bit, and make your collection lend-only, and only with your permission. Keep up the restorations and book-finding by request bit, too, since I know how much you enjoy that, but you won't have to stress about anyone buying your special editions and such."

Aziraphale's face lit with a bright smile. The beauty of it took Crowley's breath away, and he couldn't resist. Leaning up, he hooked a hand behind his angel's head and brought their mouths together in a deep kiss. He felt his angel melt into the kiss, tasted the soft sigh on his lips, and eased away to meet the angel's beautiful blue eyes as his heart trembled in his chest, fluttering too fast to be called beating.

Was this his moment? He'd been trying to figure out how to bring the subject up, even before Muriel showed up with Jem, six months ago. For Satan's sake, he'd been all ready to ask that morning, but things got out of hand before he could get the words out, and then Muriel was pounding at the door and before they knew it, they had a new daughter and all the chaos that came with that responsibility.

He hadn't been able to find the perfect moment, since. But maybe that was the whole point. Maybe every moment was the perfect one, and he was overthinking this, like Mrs. S kept suggesting. Maybe this was the very reassurance his angel needed.

"I... think," he dragged the words out, trying to calm his galloping heart. He felt Aziraphale tense, and hurried through, "weshouldgetmarried."

The angel blinked at him, then frowned, removing his spectacles and laying them and his book aside. "Come again?"

Shit. Am I fucking this up, again? Crowley drew a calming breath, and reminded himself this was his angel, whom he'd loved even before he realized he was capable of loving. They were on the same page, now, about most things. And when they weren't, they talked things out. He could do this. Drawing slow, steady breaths, he cupped his hand against his angel's face, slowed down his speech, and repeated, "I said, I think we should get married."

Aziraphale's cerulean eyes widened, before pain and disappointment settled there. "That's not funny, Crowley."

Doubt crept in on Crowley. Shit. Was he rushing ahead, again, before his angel was ready? Oh, well. Too late now. Best to just get it over with. "Good, 'cause I'm not joking. What d'you say, angel? You and me? Forever, this time?"

Pulling the small jeweler's envelope -- brittle with age -- from his pocket, he opened it and tipped out the two simple gold bands into his palm. Then, like he had on a morning two years ago, Crowley held his breath, listening to the old grandfather clock's gears turn in the space between the seconds, as he waited on the love of his existence's response, afraid he was going to be turned down again. Go easy on me, angel.

Unlike the last time, however, Aziraphale's expression melted with so much love Crowley was forced to blink against very different tears from the last time, even as his angel whispered, "Yes. Forever."

Crowley fought down the tremble threatening to overtake him, his heart thundering against his ribs as if it meant to break free. He looked up into the love shining out of Aziraphale's blue eyes, and managed a hoarse, "Right now."

A flash of surprise passed through the angel's gaze, and Crowley feared for just a second that he'd finally pushed beyond his angel's limits. But this felt right. Deep down in his soul, he knew it was right. It'd been him and Aziraphale against all the odds, for millennia. They didn't need anyone else present to make this moment sacred. It already was.

As he watched, a smile spread slowly across Aziraphale's face, telling him his angel understood, and agreed. Aziraphale nodded excitedly. "Right now, love."

Closing his hand carefully around the wedding bands, Crowley swung his feet to the floor and sat up. Nerves trembled through his whole body. It wasn't that he wasn't ready, or that he had any doubts about this moment or his angel. He just hadn't let himself believe, since that morning in 1941, that it would ever be possible to be here. A moment of optimism, fueled by feelings he hadn't been sure at the time he could contain, carried him into that jeweler's shop, eighty-four years ago. Every minute of the following eighty-two years between that morning and the morning Aziraphale got on the lift to Heaven was an exercise in why they could never be.

Finally having the dream become reality had his entire being running mad. He swallowed hard, opened his hand, and selected the ring he already knew would fit his angel perfectly -- after thousands of years of secretly watching the angel's hands and wondering how they would feel on his bare skin, he knew every detail of Aziraphale's hands long before 1941. Tenderly, he slipped the ring on Aziraphale's left hand, gazing into eyes bluer than the sky as he whispered, "I've loved you for longer than I knew what love was, angel. You are my universe and my home. All that I am, for as long as I am, is yours."

He watched loving tears gather in Aziraphale's eyes, until the angel's eyes glowed under the lamplight, somewhere between cerulean and periwinkle, as he lifted his free hand and covered Crowley's with a whispered, "Oh, Anthony..."

He felt his angel's hands shake around his and knew it was the same blend of nerves and excitement, before Aziraphale released him and took the other ring from his open hand. Crowley watched, barely daring to breathe, as Aziraphale kissed the ring in blessing, then brought Crowley's hand to his lips, as well, kissing just where the ring would eventually rest, before looking up at him through blond lashes as he murmured, "I've loved you since before the word existed. You are my compass, and my night sky. All that I am, my love, for as long as I am, is yours."

As the warm metal settled against his skin, a depth of peace he couldn't recall ever knowing -- not even in the Before -- settled over Crowley. Because of Aziraphale, he truly belonged somewhere. Now, all of Creation and beyond would know he belonged with someone. For eternity.

He liked the sound of that.

Leaning in toward his angel, Crowley cupped Aziraphale's face between his hands and brought their mouths together in a kiss reminiscent of the one they shared eighty-four years ago, brushing his lips gently over his angel's for a long moment, before deepening the kiss as Aziraphale whispered "more" against his lips.

This time, when they finally broke apart, Crowley looked into blue eyes swimming with happy tears as his angel remade him with three very different words than left his mouth two years ago.

"I love you."

[emfandomitewrites]

There's been a lot of "Only Book/S1 GO should be canon." I understand the sentiment. I really do.

But here's my thing: As a writer, I really enjoy S2 (most of it, anyway). The Book and S1 are great. Amazing in their own ways. But aside from the conversation about "the really big one," most of the Book/S1 story is wrapped up (except the historical jaunt in Ep. 3) by the end of the respective Book/season. There're only a couple of vague ends left dangling, and most of those were due to added facets of Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship.

S2 offers oodles of loose threads to pull at. Pots of them. Pullable threads everywhere. It's more creatively fun to jump off of.

And, yes, I prefer some of the softer edges of both Aziraphale and Crowley in the show, over the book. As essentially second-string characters in the book, their more rough edges makes them interesting, because they can be exactly as much of a bastard/demon as they wished, and it comes across as fun and clever. But.... At least as far as this little panromantic demi/ace is concerned, those rough edges don't make for a good romantic story and, in the spirit of full transparency, I don't write satire (sarcasm, yes, but satire requires a level of ability with situational irony I just can't sustain), and I sure as hell don't write tragedy. I write LGBTQIA+ Romance. I write love, and love always ends with at least a "Happy For Now."

So a demon who kills people/animals? Not in my story, thanks. But a demon who has a soft spot for children and animals? That makes for an excellent character arc, as he opens himself to the possibility of actually feeling love and accepting it back.

🤷 Just my opinion/choice of headcanon. I'm keeping S2 (yes, including the Final 15). But S3 never existed, as far as I'm concerned.

[emfandomitewrites]

A Very Different End to the Second Coming

For those of you who (like myself) were deeply traumatized and offended by the GO Finale... may I present a completely different ending, which is to say, not an ending at all, but the beginning of a new chapter of the World, after the Second Coming.

Here ya go (the bulk is under the cut for length only)... This is from Born of Starlight:

As they crossed the street back to the café, Crowley caught sight of something he'd been too focused on Aziraphale to notice, before. Tucked back into the alleyway alongside Marguerite's was what looked like a small shrine he was almost certain hadn't been there in the past. Curious, he detoured in that direction, coming to stand in front of what was definitely a shrine. On the wall, artistic hands had painted permanent renderings of what he had no doubt were someone's memories of the battle here on Earth. He flinched from the familiar sight of demons in all their war regalia, swarming through the streets of Soho. Rising in front of the terrible images was a small stone altar, with lit jar candles, surrounded by cellophane-wrapped arrangements of cut flowers, handmade cards, and little pieces of paper with prayers and memorials written on them.

His gut twisted and his eyes burned at the sight, and the simple knowledge of how strong humanity's faith in a better future always was. Regardless of the horrors they experienced, they still believed there was some great, cosmic force, some Providence, that would somehow salve all their worries, fears, and pains. They believed in God, or in many Gods, and their belief alone gave them strength to endure through even the most terrifying atrocities existence could visit upon them. Even when God was the one doing the visiting.

"It's a memorial for the lost. We decided it was only right."

Nina's voice dragged his attention around, and he saw the sorrow and strength of humanity reflected in her expression as she came to stand beside him, looking down at the shrine. "We fared okay, here. I think that's because Whickber Street had Mr. Fell, and you. We had someplace safe to go, and people capable of giving us the means to protect ourselves. Overall, I think London fared better than anywhere else, because of Muriel. Don't know what they did, but they did something to the pipes, to the water. Made London safer."

Crowley blinked, impressed. He hadn't known the Scrivener had it in them. "Holy Water. Amazing. That little Scrivener blessed all the water in London."

Nina shrugged. "Thought that might have been it. Whatever they did, London suffered a lot fewer losses than anywhere else. This memorial's for the rest of the world. A lot of people died, and I don't even know if anyone really understands why."

A scoffing laugh slid loose from Crowley, even as a frown tugged at his face. "Not sure any of us really understands why, Nina. Just glad some of us understood why we couldn't let it happen."

"Yeah, I'll give you that one. For what it's worth," she touched a hand tentatively to his upper arm. "I'm glad Mr. Fell came back, and that the two of you worked things out. Mags and I worried about you, after he left. She said you looked rough, when she saw you in the pub."

Her words formed a lump in Crowley's throat. Aside from Aziraphale, he'd never had anyone worry about him, before. He had to admit, it felt kind of nice. Swallowing hard, he managed a hoarse, "Yeah. Thanks for that."

She withdrew her touch with a nod, then turned and went back to the café. Crowley stood there, staring at the proof of humanity's strength and resilience, as the sounds of the party washed over him. He was barely aware of the passage of time, except for the shifting of sound around him, and the eventual quiet -- or as quiet as a busy Soho street ever got in the daytime -- that indicated everyone had returned to their normal business.

Finally, feeling weary to his soul, he muttered a quiet, "Sorry" and miracled in a single white stargazer lily, its roots sunk into the soil of a rainbow glazed clay pot. Aziraphale told him, back just before the Flood, that God created the rainbow as a never again type of promise. This seemed an appropriate time and place for a similar promise. If he ever had anything to say about it, humanity would never face this kind of horror show from Hell, again. He'd tear Hell down with his own two hands, first.

"It's lovely."

He turned at the quiet words, spoken in a voice as familiar as his own soul, to find Aziraphale seated on the bench across the alleyway, a small, sad smile on his angelic face and his hands folded in his lap as primly as ever.

Crowley winced. No one was supposed to see what he just did. But, if anyone was going to, at least it was his angel. "Angel, I..."

Aziraphale rose from the bench with a sigh and closed the distance between them, reaching out to take hold of the demon's hand even as he rested his head lightly against Crowley's shoulder. "You don't need to explain, love. Let's just leave it at 'it's lovely'."

Crowley nodded, steeling himself against the sudden urge to glance around and make sure no one else saw this moment of tenderness, before pressing his lips to Aziraphale's temple. He still battled the fear someone would notice and hurt Aziraphale to get to him. Hell could still try to seek revenge, even if they couldn't drag him back, or directly harm Aziraphale.

A glance around and a brief scan told him no one paid them any attention. There were no agents of either Heaven or Hell about. Just humans, going about their business. If anyone even glanced down the shadowed alleyway and saw them, they didn't say anything.

And for the first time in nearly a century, Crowley let himself relax, knowing his angel was finally safe.

For the rest of the story...

Born of Starlight (Pg-13): https://archiveofourown.org/works/52159429/chapters/131928235

Born of Starlight (NC-17): https://archiveofourown.org/works/55699651/chapters/141391873