Jan 24
CROWLEY IS SUCH A SUPPORTIVE BOYFRIEND, bfdhsjdbksl HE WOUDL FOLLOW AZIRAPHALE EVERYWHERE
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CROWLEY IS SUCH A SUPPORTIVE BOYFRIEND, bfdhsjdbksl HE WOUDL FOLLOW AZIRAPHALE EVERYWHERE
Supportive
providing encouragement or emotional help
Not Quite Like in the Romance Novels
General Audiences | 3,594 Words | Read on Ao3
Summary: Ever since Aziraphale learned what Crowley’s lips felt like against his own, he’s been trying to figure out whether it was just that kiss he didn’t enjoy—or whether he simply doesn’t understand the appeal of kissing at all.
And if it’s the latter, however is he supposed to tell Crowley he might not be the right person for that one fabulous kiss? Especially when all Aziraphale wants is for Crowley to understand just how deeply he loves him.
“Oh Crowley, that was scrumptious,” Aziraphale said, beaming as he licked the last trace of rich chocolate mousse from the corner of his mouth. Crowley, with his unrivaled talent for discovering the places that offered the most exquisite desserts, had truly outdone himself for this occasion. Aziraphale looked across the table, meeting Crowley’s knowing smirk with a radiant smile of his own as he dabbed at his lips with a napkin.
“Guess good food was hard to come by amidst all this holiness,” Crowley muttered. It could have passed for teasing, if the tight set of Crowley's jaw hadn’t turned the words bitter.
Aziraphale’s smile faltered. He looked away, feeling queasy as though the mousse had suddenly become difficult to stomach.
So this was it. Their reprieve was over. No matter how euphoric their reunion had been, some things couldn’t be cured by a hug—even one so tight he hadn’t been sure they would ever let go again.
They had worked together so seamlessly in these past months, ridding earth of lingering heavenly and hellish influences, that it was easy to forget the pain. But now, in the stillness of the bookshop, its insistent VERY CLOSED sign firmly in place, and without the takeaway food to distract him, Aziraphale couldn’t help but acknowledge that it had been presumptuous to think they could simply move on. That they could avoid the conversation he feared would hurt them both all over again.
But there was no use. Unspoken words hung between them, threatening not only this fragile illusion of joyful celebration but whatever future they might try to build.
“I'm glad you enjoyed dessert, Angel.” Crowley’s voice disrupted Aziraphale’s thoughts, and the soft tone almost eased the sting. Crowley’s attempt to uphold his usual nonchalance was disrupted by the nervous bounce of his leg. They were both navigating carefully now, caught between lingering wounds, tentative relief and, in Aziraphale’s case, a crushing fear that he was about to fail the one person he needed to be safe and happy.
Aziraphale folded his napkin and set it gently on the empty plate. “You’ve always known how to indulge me.”
Aziraphale & Eddington.
Neil has confirmed us that David Tennant *actually* exists within the Good Omens universe. Thus, we may assume that the whole of his filmography, except for Good Omens, also exists. We may assume as well that Aziraphale has more or less followed Doctor Who over the decades, and that somehow, with time, the actor of his favourite doctor earned an eerie similarity to Job. But this isn't about him, right now. This is about his son in law.
I would like to think Aziraphale did enjoy the utterly handsome Eighth doctor, ending up glued to the screen and getting deeply excited about this incarnation. He probably got upset because of his only appearance on TV, but would still be delighted to see the series coming back to the BBC in 2005. The Ninth doctor may have appeared a bit tough to him at first, but there was something deeply endearing about him. Maybe it was the way he rocked that leather jacket, or his sense of humour, or his bravery, or his charming accent... He never really knew, but it was sad to say goodbye so soon again. "Who will be the new doctor?" He thought to himself. "Will they be blond? Taller? Will they wear a vest? A bowtie perhaps?". When the young man appeared on screen before Rose for the first time, Aziraphale was left completely mesmerised. The young man was... Different. He had slightly long hair and, honestly, he really liked how the leather jacket suited him too. Once the credits rolled, he found out his name: David. "Oh, that's a lovely name," he thought to himself. "That's the name of a king!".
He followed his seasons very carefully, blushing with his cheekiness, chuckling with his jokes, and loving how adventurous and fair the man was. Thanks to Crowley, he even dared to go to "the videoclub" and rent some of his earlier works. Oh, how handsome the man looked in The Last September, what a dear he was in Takin' Over the Asylum, how lovely he was in Duck Patrol, and what a cocky detective he was in Blackpool... Although, he admitted not being too focused on observing his labour as a detective there. The young man was rather handsome. Aziraphale flushed, could this be love? How silly of him! Falling in love with an actor! He was an angel! Which, inherently, also meant he was born to love. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't something bad. It could be silly, of course, but forgivable.
One afternoon, Aziraphale went to the videoclub on his own, and found a movie he hadn't checked out yet. Einstein and Eddington, a scientific movie it was. The young man looked wonderful in those glasses and stunning sandrift linen suit. Humans may say one mustn't judge a book by its cover, but this dvd already seemed perfect for him! Thus, the angel rented it and decided to treat himself with the film. He laid on his white cream sofa, got under his soft tartan blanket, and pressed the play button. A smile came across his face when he saw the man in those light refined clothes. What a delight to the sight that was.
The angel felt it deeply when he learnt that Eddington was in love with a man he couldn't have, but his heart did not only wrench there, no. It was when he saw the man stand before the orrery when things got clearer. He had to pause the video. Aziraphale got up and sat close before the screen, brushing his fingers against the image. "Crowley..." He mumbled. The only thing in his mind was the image of the spectacular ginger angel he met, in their neat white dress, creating a whole universe in front of his eyes. The way their thin fingers moved, the eagerness in their voice, the dark greenish of their gaze, way more breathtaking than the vastness of hues of the newborn nebulae. And when the blond saw, further on, the physicist crying desperately for his vanished love in the wide green garden, his heart shattered into shards.
He would not admit it, but he did not watch the movie just once that night. Not twice either. Eddington was just like his dear boy, not specifically the angel, nor specifically the demon. It was him. With their curiosity, and their passion, and their deep care, and hunger for answers and justice. He felt warm tears threatening to fall from his eyes and his mind started wandering. Because, what if. Just, what if Crowley had ever felt like Eddington? What if he was worried that one day he would never see his angel again? What if there were feelings trapped in his chest he feared never being able to express? Would he be like the astronomer and, once again, question God for her ineffable decisions? It took Aziraphale a good while to get away from the screen, from that eerily familiar image fueling his heart. It took him days for his sorrow over the fictional Eddington's life to lighten, after being the root of many, many wondering.
The next time the angel met his partner, he was certainly still caught up in his thoughts. The demon noticed, so he decided to ask him about his series and that actor that had truly drawn his attention. He didn't really know what he saw in him, but it didn't take much to notice the pure bliss in his blue eyes when he told him about his character's adventures. The way his words flowed in excitement and his hands often moved around to help with it. The angel was finally enjoying himself in something else than books and occasional music, and seeing him so cheerful did really brighten the demon too.
"How are things going with your binge watching? Have you gotten your hands on another series, or...?"
Aziraphale slowly lifted up his head and stared nervously into Crowley's eyes. He did not know what to say, how could he put into words his worry? Even worse, how to explain where all this came from? The ginger would probably laugh. Worrying that deeply about a character? A movie character? The angel got dewy-eyed. Please no, not in front of him, not like this, he prayed. The demon frowned, he sensed there was something his beloved couldn't easily tell.
"Aziraphale? Is everything alright?" The ginger asked softly. The principality breathed deeply and finally, managed to speak, as he fiddled with his vest.
"I- I just watched a movie, a sad one I must say. It made me think." The demon hummed, and answered.
"I get it. It's understandable, and if that David guy is really that good as you say, I bet his acting can move tons of people." Aziraphale's gaze brightened, he couldn't believe what he had just heard. "I mean, I can see him being very talented. From what you've told me, the man does really have a range for acting. That's always important, to be able to adapt-."
"You really listened." Crowley was about to keep on rambling when he saw the angel in awe.
"Well, I have ears, what else am I supposed to do with them if its not listening?"
Tears fell off the angel's eyes. Crowley did not hesitate to get closer, inviting him into his arms. In a matter of seconds, the blond was in his embrace. He hugged his Angel tightly, and let him cry as much as he needed, caressing his back. He could not help but mutter in a caring tone.
"You and your stories, Angel."
A Soft Kind of Strength
February is over, but here’s another longer prompt fill for one of the remaining @fluffbruary prompts, Day 24′s “soft” (with a cameo appearance of “surprise” as well)! Featuring love, metaphor, and... well, softness.
A Soft Kind of Strength, rated G, 1.6K words
“Y’r soft,” Crowley mumbles one day, drowsily nuzzling into Aziraphale’s well-cushioned lap. “Ssosoft.”
Aziraphale blinks, smiles bemusedly, and ruffles his partner’s hair. “Yes, dear, I’m well aware. Go back to sleep.”
It’s not the first time he’s been told as much, and he knows it to be truth. Aziraphale is undeniably soft, in almost every sense of the word. Soft of body, soft of heart. It is not always meant as a compliment, when others point it out — among the other angels, pointing out his many weaknesses both literal and metaphorical, and his perpetual inadequacy at being a lean, mean fighting machine — it certainly never was a positive trait. But from Crowley, he doesn’t mind hearing it.
With Crowley, Aziraphale is more than happy to be soft. Strength and hardness are overrated, he finds himself thinking more and more often these days. He especially thinks that when it means they can sit together like this, Aziraphale and the most softhearted demon he’s ever met, Crowley dozing off while Aziraphale sips tea and they share in the domestic content of closeness.
“Ssssoft,” Crowley repeats, more insistently, and it seems he hasn’t quite dozed off again after all, fixated now on whatever thought grabbed his half-asleep and half-inebriated brain. He lifts his head, rolling so he’s looking up into Aziraphale’s face. “You. Soft. S’good. Good thing. Y’know that, that, that s’good, right?”
“I… what?” Having consumed his own share of stronger beverages earlier in the evening, it takes Aziraphale a minute to piece the words together and process the question. Apparently, that’s a minute too long, because Crowley abruptly sits up altogether, head almost knocking Aziraphale’s teacup out his hand on the way up.
“Soft is good,” the demon repeats, emphatically and somewhat less incoherently than before. Aziraphale suspects him of having sobered up, at least part of the way.
Mildly taken aback by the force of his partner’s declaration, Aziraphale follows his example. “Thank you?” he tries, cautiously, when his own system is once again mostly free of alcohol. And then, since Crowley doesn’t look satisfied by that answer, he adds, “Did you, er. Did you have something else you wanted to say about it?”
“Nnh.” Crowley looks and sounds unsure of what, exactly, he wanted to say… but determined to say it anyway. “Just, well. It is.”
“Ah,” Aziraphale says wisely. “Well, then. If it helps, I quite agree with you.”
Really, he does. It is no six-thousand-year accident, after all, that Aziraphale is who he is. Whether it be giving a sword away or eating a plate of sushi, his softness is a long-established series of decisions… and even back in those days when he used to wrestle with the fear that being soft was not Good, even when he couldn’t admit the distinction even to himself, that was still never precisely the same thing as believing that it wasn’t good.
And evidently his expression of agreement does actually help, because Crowley nods approvingly, and now he does at least attempt to add a bit more elaboration to his statement. “‘S nice.”
“Isn’t that a four-letter word?” Aziraphale teases.
“You’re an angel, I can call you all the four-letter words I want. Soft has four letters, too.”
“I see. Do you know, I was just thinking about how soft your hair is when I was petting it a moment ago. You and your hair both.”
Crowley makes barely even a token attempt at an affronted glower; if Aziraphale has become much more comfortable embracing his own softness of late, then the same could be said of the demon’s willingness to acknowledge his own four-letter side.
“Anyhow,” Crowley goes on, when it is clear to them both that the attempted glower is an utter failure. “I was saying. You’re soft. And ’s good.”
“Indeed,” Aziraphale concurs patiently.
“Makes you… comfortable. To be with. And safe. Kind.” Crowley grins. “There you go, more four-letter words.”
“Ah.” Aziraphale’s cheeks grow pleasantly warmer, ridiculously touched. “Well.”
“Also makes you a good pillow,” Crowley adds, with the exact same amount of gravity.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Aziraphale returns gravely. “I daresay you would know better than I.”
“I do know,” Crowley confirms with more than a little smugness. “Anyway. Comfortable, safe, kind, good pillow. And, uh.” He pauses, seemingly searching for any other descriptors that he might have missed in his apparent mission to dissolve Aziraphale under an onslaught of sweetness. “Strong!” he adds.
“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale says before he can help himself. That last was… not expected. Comfortable, certainly. Safe, he hopes. Kind, he tries. Strong, though?
Finish reading on AO3
(More of my Fluffbruary prompt fills here!)
Depth of Beauty - Good Omens Fic
New Good Omens fic - Ineffable Wives! Written for @bingokisses prompt: Air Kiss and Braiding Hair.
Aziraphale needs a change. She wishes she felt beautiful, confident - more like her wife.
Crowley, though, sees the beauty within her. She just wishes Aziraphale could see the same.
--
Aziraphale leaned towards the mirror, thick black pencil trembling in her unsteady grip. Already her eyes were framed in carefully blended blacks and greys and golds, but they didn’t look smokey so much as…smudgy. And rather reminiscent of a racoon.
How did Crowley do this? Every time Aziraphale tried, the pencil tugged uncomfortably at her eyelid and left a dark, uneven blotch, a stuttering line much thicker on one eye than the other.
She glared at the mirror, but it was no good. She couldn’t miracle the cosmetics on unless she understood how they worked and she…didn’t. The last time Aziraphale had made her face up, the fashion had been for thick white paint and large red circles on the cheeks, and that had been trial enough. But this?
She sighed. Right. Lipstick.
Aziraphale selected a tube and twisted the bottom – oh, my. That was very red. But she was sure she’d seen Crowley wear it before, so that must be right.
Now what? She pursed her lips as if kissing the air and smeared the lipstick across her bottom lip—
A loud banging on the door. “Are you finished, Angel? It’s been almost an hour!”
“N-nearly!” She turned back to the mirror and – oh, bugger, there was a bright red line from the corner of her mouth all the way up to her cheekbone. Aziraphale grabbed a towel and tried to scrub the entire mess off, but it merely smeared, turning the entire bottom half of her face pink as lipstick, powders, and liquids all blended into paste.
Could…more foundation fix this? Or perhaps that’s what the concealer was for? She searched through the jumble of supplies, scattering them across the bathroom counter – a bottle of Crowley’s perfume teetered, toppled, and shattered on the tile floor.
“Blast!”
“Aziraphale?”
“No! I – I have this under control.” She started sweeping the glass shards into a pile by hand, planning to miracle them whole, but the sharp end sliced her finger, drawing out a bead of lipstick-red blood.
It was barely any pain at all, but of course Crowley sensed it immediately.
“I’m coming in.”
“Don’t—”
The bathroom door flew open and there – framed against the backdrop of their new bedroom – stood Crowley, tight black dress showing off every curve she could eke from her narrow frame, thick red curls framing a face made even more glamorous by dramatic makeup. One perfect eyebrow arched. “I see you’ve changed.”
“Yes, well.” Aziraphale stood up, tugging at her new dress. She’d thought it very fetching in the shop, belted tartan with wide lapels, short skirt and sleeves, neckline a little daring. But compared to Crowley, she looked…dull, uninspired. Frumpy, even, with the skirt well below her knees. “I’ve been wanting to…experiment a little…”
“You have? Since when?”
“Ah. Well. A month or so. Since…since we moved.” Aziraphale waved her hand vaguely to indicate the entire cottage. “I thought it might be nice to – to try something and, well, since it’s our first night out on the town, it seemed as good a time…” She tugged at her newly-lengthened hair. The plan had been for shoulder-length curls, tighter than Crowley’s, but as they’d grown, they’d simply become more unruly, transforming into a frizzy, tangled mess. A disaster. A nightmare.
This was why it was better not to try.
Well, that was easy enough to fix. One snap of her fingers would undo the night’s work, restore her usual appearance. But as she raised her hand, Crowley stepped quickly next to her, heels clacking sharply on the tile floor. Fingers tipped with red nails sharp as daggers gently enveloped Aziraphale’s hand, while Crowley’s other arm slid around her waist, as if they were about to dance.
“Angel. You look beautiful.”
She huffed. “Stop it. This is hardly the time for flattery.”
“You do.” Crowley pressed her lips to Aziraphale’s forehead, which must have been disgusting with blended oils and powders, but she didn’t react. “Would I lie to you?”
“Hmph. You say you don’t, but that could be a lie, too. I know how wily you are.” But Aziraphale leaned into the embrace, sliding her hands up Crowley’s back and finding quite a lot of exposed skin. Aziraphale really shouldn’t even have bothered with this silly outfit.
Crowley’s now-free hand settled into Aziraphale’s hair, nails gently scratching at her scalp. “You are always beautiful. You are,” she added before Aziraphale could object.
Sighing, Aziraphale stepped back to look up at her wife, clasping her hands. “Thank you, my dear. But I think we can agree that this is one experiment that rather failed? Or do you honestly think I can go out like this?”
Crowley pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes until the long black lashes concealed them as completely as her glasses once did. “Well...a few adjustments might be in order. Just a few. Will you let me try?”
What did she have to lose? Aziraphale rose up on her toes and pecked the corner of Crowley’s mouth, carefully, to avoid smudging the bright red lipstick. “If you think it will do any good.”
Read the rest on AO3!
hey! I’m new to ur blog but I love it all the same :-) would you happen to have any hcs/ideas for zira and his anxiety? sorry lol he’s one of my comfort characters and I relate to him way too much
Hi! I’m so glad to have you all the same! 😊😊😊 I absolutely have hc for anxious Zira!
I think that Aziraphale can get anxious over very little things, like loud crowds and some social situations, because he’s terrified of being named a “disappointment.” Angels are supposed to be perfect after all, and he thinks it makes him wrong somehow.
And when the apocalypse fails, and they’re allowed to be together, Crowley becomes his support system, something he’d never had before. He doesn’t ask, of course, he’s hidden it all these years, but Crowley notices and he researchs what to do.
One day they’re at a restaurant and it suddenly gets very loud and very crowded and Crowley sees Zira spiraling into the beginnings of a panic attack. He’s awkward as he goes through the exercises but manages to ground the angel.
“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale apologizes, “I know I’m not supposed to be like this- it must be such a nuisance...”
“Angel, you’re not a nuisance. You’re you, and that’s absolutely perfect. It’s okay that sometimes life becomes too much for you, look at what we’ve been through. You’re the strongest person I know, your brain going haywire doesn’t make you any less strong.”