#whitelyfoster

[ivegotdimpleswhenismile]

Everytime I see Pride Month art and Good Omens fanarts combined together my heart just fills with pure joy.

Happy pride to everyone!!! Stay safe out there! You are loved!!

[pyracantha14]

Made some yummy Vietnamese coffe in my snug hug mug! @whiteleyfoster here’s your mug in action! 💖

[pyracantha14]

@waldos-art & @whiteleyfoster having a hug mug off in the cabinet tonight! Fat Pony looks judgmental! Dunkin Donuts cares not.

[pyracantha14]

Prompt: Cleaning

OK, just FYI this BARELY counts as an answer but I got sidetracked. Also I wanted to tag @whiteleyfoster for an assist on the BAMF!Aziraphale & @smudgeandfrank for the assist on how an angel might heal a blessed wound kind of like Crowley healing Aziraphale from some wayward hellfire. Thanks! Obviously I love your work!

"Fuck, oh fuck, ANGEL!”

The panic in Crowley’s voice focuses Aziraphale’s entire world down to a pinpoint of light right in the center of the eyes of the demon facing him. He still seems to think he has the upper hand and is continuing to point the dagger in his hand towards the angel while smirking at his two compatriots.

“I thought you said you heard this guy was a warrior? He looks like he wouldn’t know which end of a sword was up!”

He laughs while gesturing at Aziraphale. He hadn’t noticed the angel moving towards him. The demon to his right suddenly sucks in a sharp breath.

“He’s glowing. You better, uh, stop him right there or…”

He never gets the chance to finish his sentence. Both of the demons in front of Aziraphale are gone, vaporized, the dagger clanking loudly to the pavement. The one demon left gapes as a voice that can only be described as terrible, in the original meaning, rings out like a bell.

“Take this message, Hell will NOT have him.”

The demon, blinded, tears streaming down his face, turns and runs.

Aziraphale turns sharply and drops to his knees next to Crowley who is cradling his arm.

“Show me, quickly, dearest.” He gently pushes Crowley’s hand away from his arm. The dagger has stabbed straight through his bicep.

“Angel, fuck, it feels like acid. I keep trying to heal it but it’s somehow worse whenever I...” he groans and slips farther down the wall he’s leaning against. His eyes are starting to roll up his head but he screams when Aziraphale starts to put pressure on the wound. Crowley wrenches himself away from the angel’s hand, breathing heavily, he shakes his head. He can barely speak.

“It feels like it’s getting bigger” he grits out.

Crowley is bone white, paler than Aziraphale has ever seen him. He looks at the wound again, realizing with a shock that it looks familiar.

Aziraphale bolts back to where the dagger is laying on the pavement. He picks it up and it immediately flares, wicked blue flames along the blade.

“A blessed blade” he hisses out. No wonder Crowley couldn’t heal himself. Aziraphale tucks the dagger into his jacket pocket and turns back to him. He kneels back down at Crowley’s side.

“Crowley, can you hear me? I need you to focus, darling.”

Crowley is panting with the pain but he grimaces and nods. Aziraphale reaches out his hand and tries healing the wound directly. Crowley screams again, high and thready, and then passes out cold. The wound is now getting exponentially worse and Aziraphale can see that if he isn’t quick about this he might actually lose Crowley altogether. Bile rises in his throat at the thought. He has to be fast. Aziraphale puts his hands over the wound and thinks about poisons, about magic and pulling water from a well. He just barely catches at the holy edge of the power in Crowley’s arm and pulls. Not too hard or too fast, it’s like winding silken threads on a spindle. He can feel the moment it leaves Crowley all together. He pulls it all into himself with a gasp. He reaches for Crowley’s arm and is able to knit the skin and muscles back together again. Crowley groans as he regains consciousness.

“Angel” he rasps, “what, and I cannot emphasize this enough, the FUCK?”

Aziraphale lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Sarcasm, even breathy, barely conscious sarcasm is the best sign.

“That was… well... I’m really glad that worked. I didn’t know if it would actually and...” here his breath hitches with a suppressed sob.

Crowley sits up and wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Hey OK, OK, angel. It’s OK.” He gentles his hands though Aziraphale’s hair as the angel struggles to pull himself together, arms wrapped tightly around Crowley. They cling together for a few moments, eyes wet. Crowley pulls back and looks into the angel’s eyes. He places a gentle kiss on his mouth and then pulls him back into his arms. They sit for a few more moments and then Crowley’s hands still as he thinks back over the whole encounter with the demon goons.

“Angel, did you? Wait, did you INCINERATE those guys?? Angel, what WAS that?” he pulls back again to look at the angel’s face and laughs a bit hysterically. Aziraphale looks a bit smug but also viciously angry.

“I won’t lose you” he says with a bit of that angelic ring back into it. Crowley looks stunned but pulls him back into his arms. After a few minutes he whispers into the shell of Aziraphale’s ear, “Hmmm. I shouldn’t find that hot and yet, here we are.”

Aziraphale gives a watery chuckle at that and leans back to look Crowley over. Patting him here and there making sure he is really alright. He clears his throat.

“We should really get back to the shop and get you cleaned up.”

He stands and holds his hands out. Crowley lets himself be pulled up and once again into the arms of his angel. His soft, very snuggly, extremely dangerous angel.

Fic on AO3

[jointed-custody]

This print, by @whiteleyfoster , makes me so incredibly happy that I had to have it in a form I could carry around with me. Like these notebooks, for example! #crowleyxaziraphale #goodomensfanart #goodomenspride #whitelyfoster #blanknotebooks 
https://www.instagram.com/p/CBoC4nKHnKo/?igshid=rlez5qnuki68