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    ""Can I touch you?”
    “Please, go ahead,” Crowley croaks, wondering if this will be something he will have to provide an explanation to Aziraphale later when he remembers. Or if it will be something they’ll simply never, ever mention again. He might die, in that case. Although he might just die now, too, when the angel raises his index finger and follows the shape of Crowley’s eyebrows reverently."

    Or: Aziraphale gets amnesia and thinks Crowley is his husband when he sees him.

    Language:
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    31 Jul 2019

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Aziraphale susses out Crowley's pre-Fall identity, as the Archangel Raphael. With this, he must rethink everything he thought he knew about the last six thousand years, about his own identity and his friend's, and even the Ineffable Plan. There is a fight, expressions of fear and hurt, reconciliation, yearning and confusion, and the sorts of questions that by all rights should cause an angel to Fall.

    Also, at one point, Crowley admits he once lied about breeding rats for demonic ends.

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    English
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    05 Jul 2019

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “What do you want, angel?” Crowley asks before Aziraphale is even properly in the room.

    “Hullo my dear,” Aziraphale sounds cheery but also awfully worried, “I hadn’t seen you since - well, since-” Since they’d swapped bodies back; since Crowley had turned tail and ran from St. James’s Park like the Devil himself had been on his heels.

    (in which Crowley and Aziraphale do not dine at the Ritz after that nasty business with Heaven and Hell, and Crowley has an existential crisis instead)

    Language:
    English
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    8,198
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    2/2
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    04 Jul 2019

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Aziraphale has not shut up in thirty-four minutes. Crowley’s been counting.

    Language:
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    02 Jul 2019

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives.
    ---
    Why? Aziraphale wanted to ask him, why millennia of the way things were, and now this?

    But while Crowley seemed to have little issue upending every unspoken rule they’d ever written for themselves, Aziraphale was not so flexible, and they had spent thousands of years never quite addressing whatever it was this had stemmed from. Words, Aziraphale had always felt, were for bickering about where to eat for lunch, or hashing out ontological debates, or other trivial nonsense; there was no need to trifle with the imprecision of language, with phrasing and the possibility of being misconstrued, when it came to important matters if the other person simply understood, without needing it said. Six thousand years ago, when Aziraphale had met Crowley on the wall of Eden, watching the first two humans set out to begin the rest of history, something deep within him, more central even than his Grace, had thought, oh, it’s you, and that had been enough for him--for both of them, he assumed--for three millennia.

    However much he wanted to ask, he didn’t know how. The words simply weren’t there.

    Language:
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    26 Jun 2019