:___

i saw some pictures of flower crowns earlier and couldn’t get touch-starved! crowley making some to keep his hands busy out of my head

aziraphale and crowley are having their picnic in the park, resting on a shared blanket, the air between them sizzling with the unfamiliar feeling of sweet freedom after the no-apocalypse

crowley’s hands are twitchy, he doesn’t know what to do with them, doesn’t know if he’s allowed to reach out now, doesn’t know if the angel longs for his touch as much as crowley is pining for his

it’s been 6000 years and yet, the yearning still floods his throbbing chest, still swamps his jittery body

he’s always been gone on him

but there are no sides anymore, not for them at least, no heaven or hell to fear - times have changed

so of course (and how could it not), a silent, aching what if starts nagging on the back of his mind; he’s anxiously waiting for a signal, some sort of sign that the angel craves this too

crowley needs to keep busy, needs to occupy himself with something, anything that will distract him from the overwhelming desire to brush over aziraphale’s skin, to stroke over his rosy cheeks, to caress the wrinkles on his forehead

while aziraphale is savouring another one of the treats they’d bought on the way to the park, cheerfully chattering about the last few days, crowley begins plucking daisies from the meadow

it’s something, but it’s not enough

he sneaks a look at the angel, the soft white curls on his head drifting gently in the summer breeze, igniting a rather absurd idea within him

really, it’s a foolish thought

captivated by the image of aziraphale with the flowers in his hair, his hands abruptly stop obeying him and seize the daisies

he snaps his fingers, adding a bunch of other wildflowers to his growing collection

crowley makes one, then - reluctantly - another flower crown, twisting the fragile flowers until he’s somewhat satisfied, somewhat pleased with the result

only afterwards, aziraphale holds his tongue; he quietly takes note of the demon’s slender hands, possibly on the verge of trembling again now that he’d finished the crowns

“for us?”

nodding bashfully, crowley curses the lack of confidence he feels in this fleeting moment

aziraphale picks one of them, cautiously placing it on crowley’s buzzing head, his soft fingers pressing lightly against his long hair, lingering to adjust it again and again until he’s finally content

crowley’s barely breathing anymore when aziraphale grabs his hands, directing them towards the second crown, encouraging him to do the same for him

touching aziraphale - even just briefly - feeling the smooth texture of his hair, getting a taste of angel that he’d once believed he’d never experience - it is blissful, a marvellous sensation he fervently wishes to lose himself in

“thank you, my dear”

hazel eyes meet crowley’s amber ones as their heartbeats are adapting to a speedy, but steady rhythm, bodies almost embracing, almost intertwined like the invisible string tugging on their chests, pulling them closer to each other

tenderly, aziraphale draws crowley’s hand to his mouth, plush lips planting a hint of a kiss on his warm palm

and just like that, his fingers stay still for the rest of the afternoon, crowley’s earlier unease abandoned, long forgotten, eradicated by the angel’s soothing peck

they have the rest of their lives ahead of them, a study of touches just around the corner

In addition to my pic for the @aceomenszine, I also did the cover art! I wanted to avoid showing a very specific portrayal of both asexuality, and of Aziraphale and Crowley themselves, so I thought a little nod to time spent together (in the asexual flag colors!) would be nice 🖤🤍💜

I also did the little bumper pieces at the end of fics through the zine, and a postcard, to match the cover motif-

if the last shot of s03 isn’t crowley and aziraphale on a bench a la the ending of Notting Hill what was the goddamned point

bonus for The Book of Love playing as the camera pans out

The Final Fifteen as 12th Doctor quotes

Hear me out: Crowley being held prisoner in Hell in S3. Aziraphale says fuck it to his Supreme Archangel duties and sneaks into Hell cosplaying as a demon to rescue him.

When the lady who sells you coffee mentions a naked man at your bookshop and now your husband thinks you're stepping out on him:

I love that God's entire plan for humanity literally hinged on what She knew would happen, which was Aziraphale being so distracted by how hot Crowley is that he'd just epicly fail at Apple Tree Guard Duty. How did the demon even get around the angel to tempt Eve? wonder the Biblical scholars of the Good Omens-verse, unaware that the answer is because said angel forgot his own damn name checking out that sexy serpent.

Have you heard of our lord and savior Bildad the Shuhite? ❤️

I have, but I am yet to worship at his shrine in all his live glory. I await his coming.

I've seen a number of posts taking Aziraphale to task for hesitating over the word "friends" in 1941 and here's my take.

Neither of them names their relationship before 1941. It's always The Arrangement, and they deny anything else because Heaven and Hell are always listening/watching (many many great metas on their coded language elsewhere so I won't get into it here).

But then this happens in 1941:

"It would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it."

Crowley just SAYS it. (Code again, always, but said out loud.) Then the books. The touch. The "oh."

It's not JUST the books. It is that Crowley has NAMED them, named this. Admitted what they had to deny in 1601.

So not a half hour later Aziraphale says this. In public!

He takes the very next possible opportunity to communicate to Crowley - "I heard you. I understood you. I feel the same."

AND JUST TO BE SURE, he says it again, in private, with softness in his look and his voice.

Look at the way he glances away just before the word friends. He wants to use another word, but can't. So he will say it again, in code, but again so Crowley understands.

"I see you. I understood. I understand. I feel the same."