Another Quirky Example Of Fandom Nonsense To Feed Our Confused Child: @weirdly-specific-but-ok

I've seen people remark on how awkward the 1967 scene is and that is so frustrating because, for me, it is one of the most emotionally resonant flashbacks in the entire series. It is so multifaceted and ripe with implication and that assertion is baffling. As though just because this conversation appears to be hard for them, it must mean that there has to be some sense of weirdness or awkwardness between them?

This scene feeds heavily into my theory that 1941 ended in some sort of aborted romantic moment between the two, most likely initiated by Crowley. Aziraphale can barely stand to look at Crowley because the very first moment he looks him in the face, he can't stop himself from giving him this hooded eyes, barely contained look of longing.

The next thing we see is Aziraphale immediately launching into a statement about his fear for Crowley's existence that is as brutally sincere as it is heartrending. His eyes are wide, his voice is heavy with emotion, and it's clear that he is terrified beyond belief to lose Crowley. Even as he acquiesces and gives him the holy water, you can see that he wants to take it back and deny him it all over again.

Then, of course, Crowley asks if he can give him a lift, which is definitely something that they both know is a totally different question than what lies on the surface, given that they're mere feet from the bookshop and at first Crowley frowns so deeply that it's almost cartoonish but a moment after Aziraphale turns him down you get this glimpse of very real sadness:

Aziraphale sees it for what it is and in an attempt to comfort him, without being able to do what currently seems impossible to him, shares a fanciful but resigned fantasy about spending time together unbothered and unrestrained, all to the tune of these tight little, loving smiles:

When he asks again, you can just see Crowley's desperation for Aziraphale not to go. It's hard to say how long they'd been apart, but it's safe to say that for them, that previous interaction likely is very fresh in their minds.

Aziraphale has always been more fearful than Crowley when it comes to their feeling for each other. You could even potentially look at the holy water as a metaphor for their relationship. In his expressions of concern about The Arrangement, Aziraphale has always been remarking on how Crowley could be destroyed, similarly to his words here. So when he's telling him, "You go too fast for me, Crowley," what he's really saying is, "I'm terribly afraid and I'm not ready to take that step if it means that I could lose you." And it's plain to see by the wistful look on his face that it pains him greatly to say it:

The scene so quickly cuts to Crowley looking intensely at the holy water after Aziraphale has left the car (as if trying to convince you that that was the real point of the scene) that it's easy to miss this devastated expression on Crowley's face:

There's no look of perceived rejection on his face. Just a somber look of resignation. There are so many barriers in front of them, and I think that Crowley was willing to risk it but understood that Aziraphale wasn't ready to.

This is the most honest and laid bare we ever see these two be when it comes to their emotions. There's so much being said without being said and even their actual words (i.e. Crowley remembering exactly the amount of time when the 'fraternizing' conversation happened) are so full of emotion that it might even be a bit hard for some people to watch.

It's not awkward. It's just that the scene is just so incredibly earnest and heavy with coded language that it's easy to be swept up by the fact that the two aren't engaged in their typical banter and bickering. What we truly have here is an incredibly difficult and loving conversation between two people who are stuck in a seemingly impossible situation.

"Gilded Lily," Cults

inspired by @actual-changeling's incredibly painful series of edits :)

Everyone imagine: The day will come where new fans in the future can watch the GO2 final and can jump to S3 Ep. 1 immediately! Enviable! 😅

An angel and a demon walk into a bar.

It sounds like the beginning of a joke, one that would have annoyed Crowley greatly before- before. Maybe it would have been mildly amusing, were it not for the fact that it is a pub, not a bar (a mere technicality that somehow still mattered), and it is the first time in seven months that he is looking Aziraphale right in the face.

He chose the place, walked right out of the bookshop and across the street the second Aziraphale looked at him with his stupid purple eyes and opened his mouth. Same table, same drinks. New silence.

A demon leads an angel into a pub so he does not kiss him again.

Less of a joke, more like the beginning of a nightmare he has had every single time he tried to sleep, woken by whispered words either confirming his worst fears or greatest desires; both incite fear, one way or another.

The low table between them is enough of a barrier to prevent a repeat of their last interaction, it has to be, although this time Aziraphale is looking at him with violet-coloured longing and an apology on his lips, no longer pleading, no longer angry. He is asking for forgiveness, and if that isn't a deeply ironic twist of fate.

Before either of them says a single word, Crowley finishes his drink and raises his hand to order another one, clinging to the familiar sting of alcohol in his throat to burn away the questions lingering on his tongue.

An angel followed a demon into a pub because he loves him.

Aziraphale wishes he could tell himself Crowley looks like he did seven months ago, that he hasn't changed, but he is done lying to himself, to either of them. Behind his shades, dark, darker if that is even possible, he can feel his golden gaze heavy on his face, familiar and the answer to an empty longing in his chest.

His drink goes untouched as Crowley downs one, then another, and it is after the third that he finally begins to talk.

"What do you want?"

Bitter, sharp, spit at his feet with an anger he expected and yet doesn't know how to react to. Underneath it is pain—more pain than any being should ever have to experience—and instead of trying to carry some of it for him, he only added to it.

"I want to apologise."

"Fine." Crowley shoves his empty glass away and gets up. "I don't forgive you."

Reflexively, Aziraphale reaches out and curls his fingers around his wrist when Crowley tries to walk past him, blinking up at him with eyes the colour of dying Myosotis.

Forget-me-nots.

They both freeze, the point of contact a crack in the walls they have spent centuries building and seven months rebuilding, and he knows he has made a mistake immediately.

Crowley stares at him, still as stone, until he suddenly rips his arm out of his grasp, almost cradling it against his chest. With dawning horror, Aziraphale realises he is shaking, tremors running through him like waves breaking apart on a rocky shore.

"Don't you dare touch me." Panic, not anger. Pure, unfiltered panic blooming beside a mountain of fear that could outlast an eternity.

"I-" He doesn't know what he wants to say, what he is trying to say, what he needs to say to make him stay. Oh, the irony of it all.

Crowley leaves the pub, and the Supreme Archangel stays behind.

Not a demon anymore, not technically, he is done with sides, and deeds, and choices; he never makes the right ones anyway. His wrist hurts with the ghost of a kiss, and he cannot get the glint of purple where summer sky blue should be out of his head. 

The Bentley is waiting for him, providing an escape from the noise, the people, him.

Apologies instead of I'm coming back.

A sickening aura of holiness tinged with the burn of ozone instead of books and dust and soft, silly angel.

Seven months of waiting, of pleading with God, of cursing Her, cursing him, cursing the entire fucking world for taking and taking and taking from him without pause, without even a fragment of mercy.

For this.

An angel returns to heaven. Crowley curses the stars and cries.

laura’s 10k celebration (top 30 ships as voted by my followers) ✵ 18 ➳ crowley & aziraphale

↳ “Perhaps one day we could, I don’t know, go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.” “I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

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

I remember that someone somehwere suggested the 'and Co' in A. Z. Fell and Co was meant to include Crowley

And I just--

"..just like the bookshop is technically my shop, but we both get plenty of use out of it" or whatever the quote was

Obviously he wouldn't be able to slap Crowley's name on the entry of his shop. Heaven and Hell would notice.

He couldn't risk that.

But it has always been theirs, i think.

At the very least, it has always been theirs in Aziraphale's mind.

WHEEZE we’re shopping for couches and @thewolveswolf is back at it again with another

“look its aziraphale and crowley”