“Man Is Least Himself When He Talks In His Own Person. Give Him A Mask, And He Will Tell You The Truth.”

I wrote something and I actually like it and I don’t have anywhere else to put it so here! It’s kinda sad, so be warned.

As The World Caves In

Summary: What if the world actually ended? What if Aziraphale and Crowley spent the last moments together? What if they danced?

Crowley had always been an optimist, had always believed that things would turn out his way. When delivering the Antichrist, when raising Warlock, even after realizing they’d been looking after the wrong boy, all the way up to the end, Crowley held the firm belief that everything would be ok.

Now he couldn’t find it in him to believe that. Now it really was the end.

He and Aziraphale tried, they really did. They looked everywhere, followed every clue, every possible lead, exhausted all of their resources and came up with nothing. In about half an hour it would all be over, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Which is why they were, instead of stopping Armageddon, sitting on the sofa in the back room of the bookshop, sharing a bottle of wine. It was a very nice and expensive vintage, but the world was ending and they certainly weren’t going out drinking cheap wine.

“Twenty five minutes,” Aziraphale said solemnly, looking over at the clock on the wall.

“Don’t remind me,” Crowley replied, taking a sip of his wine.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale looked down at his glass, sounding hurt.

“It’s fine. Not your fault, I just… it’s not fair. I don’t want this to end,” Crowley sighed.

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “Neither do I.”

Crowley couldn’t help but recall the conversation they’d had after the antichrist had been delivered and he was trying to convince Aziraphale to help him save the world. He remembered listing the things Aziraphale would miss, and that he, by proxy, would miss too. The bookshop, music, food, all gone. Forever.

“Crowley?”

Shit. There were tears in his eyes. He should’ve left his sunglasses on.

“I’m fine,” He said. Aziraphale must not have seen the point of arguing, because he didn’t. Crowley, however, felt the need to fill in the silence. “I just- I’ll miss this. Music, the bookshop, wine, you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale gave him a look he couldn’t decipher. “So will I.”

“Maybe we could put a record on?” Crowley suggested. Anything to take his mind off of what was about to happen.

“Of course. What about that Queen one you sent me back in the nineties?” Aziraphale said. Crowley was almost surprised at the suggestion.

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds nice.”

Aziraphale took a few minutes, there were just twenty left now, to find the record. It started to play Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, a song that had always secretly reminded Crowley of them, and then somebody to love after that.

“We should dance,” Aziraphale said unexpectedly.

“What?” Crowley blinked, nearly dropping his wineglass.

“I- I said ‘we should dance’. I mean, may as well, what with the world ending and all, and I thought it’d-“

“Yes,” Crowley cut Aziraphale off before the angel could spiral any further. “I’d like that.”

He stood, as did Aziraphale, and they moved to the center of the room, which had suddenly become vacant of furniture.

Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, Aziraphale put a hand in Crowley’s waist, and they began a simple waltz. Aziraphale had never gotten the hang of any dance that wasn’t the gavotte, but he’d read enough to know the basics of how to waltz, and Crowley had always been good enough for the both of them, so while it was awkward, they made it work.

At some point, Crowley started to softly hum along to the song, head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“I’ll miss you, did I say that?” Crowley murmured after a certain song about nightingales, which had not been on the record, started.

“You did,” Aziraphale confirmed softly.

“I mean it, y’know. I’ll miss you more than anything else here,” Crowley’s voice broke, tears welling up in his eyes. It felt like a confession, a weight off his chest.

“I’ll miss you too,” Aziraphale said.

“More than your Wilde collection?” Crowley asked, half joking. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Yes, more than all the books in this shop combined,” He replied, and although there was a begrudging note to his voice, it was sincere. 

A distant explosion sounded. Crowley choked on a sob. We’ll Meet Again by Vera Lynn, another song that had not been on the record started. They stopped dancing, and just held each other.

At that moment Crowley knew he had to say it. Now or never, and he needed Aziraphale to at least know.

“I love you.”

Aziraphale tensed, and Crowley’s stomach dropped, because he hadn’t quite considered the possibility that the last thing he’d ever hear his angel say would be a rejection.

Then after a moment, quietly, almost tentatively: “I love you too.”

Crowley pulled away slightly to look Aziraphale in his beautiful, sky blue eyes. “You do?”

Aziraphale nodded, breaking into a watery smile. “Of course, dear boy. Since that time in 1941.“

Another explosion sounded, this time close enough to shake the bookshop and make the windows rattle in their frames.

“It was Eden for me. God, we wasted so much time,” Crowley choked back another sob.

“Either way, I’m glad you told me,” Aziraphale said.

“Maybe- I mean, if you’d like…” Crowley took a deep breath. “Can we kiss? While we still can?”

Aziraphale responded by leaning in first, putting his lips to Crowley’s, kissing him softly and sweetly. Crowley kissed back, pulling the angel closer as tears slid down his face.

And as the world caved in around them, the angel and the demon kissed and held each other, making quiet promises of forever that they both knew they couldn’t keep.

New S1 pics 👀

from :)

Freddie as a guardian angel!

He’s playing his music from a magical recorder that reaches whoever needs it ❤️

For mrbadguymercury

How the “Must Rescue the Angel” obsession began!

Enjoy another Eden Adventure!

what abled ppl think is a massive problem for disabled folks: 13 year old on the internet faking something

what is actually a massive problem for disabled folks: "well you don't LOOK disabled, are you sure you're not faking? I'm not giving you accommodations until you PROVE you're not faking. Please give me, a stranger, your medical info and explain your condition to me in detail so I know you're not faking and only then will I respect or take you seriously"

infatuation makes your heart race love is quiet. love sets you at ease.

and because most of my pieces are mental screenshots of little scenes in my head, here's the scene:

Crowley was tugged into consciousness bit by bit. The afternoon light slowly filtered in, as well as the hum of music from the other room and the weird angle his neck was at. He was warm and content and wanted to sink back into his nap, but the threads of sleep fluttered away the more he tried. Finally, he took a deeper breath, shifting in the armchair, and cracked an eye open just a sliver. There he was, the angel, sitting at his desk. Had hardly noticed Crowley was awake, engulfed in his task of retouching a damaged page. Looking at his hands, Crowley became aware of the fuzzy warmth covering his own and peeked down to see a blanket tucked around his shoulders.

The feeling hit him so hard he let his head loll to the side, eyes closed. His chest tightened and he just…buckled. Finally came undone under the weight of his love for Aziraphale. Its inexorable, steadfast pull which he had been pushing back against for millennia, it had finally caught him off guard, sleepy and vulnerable and so tired from holding back, from refusing to name it. It was a quiet surrender. Crowley looked back at Aziraphale with the understanding of a man meeting his end and embracing it.

Perhaps he could gently pull the blanket to the side and get up. Perhaps he could cross the few steps to the desk and place a freshly made cup of tea to Aziraphale’s right. Perhaps he would hold his gaze, for longer than needed to answer “Don’t mention it”. Perhaps he would ask him if he would like a scone with that. Perhaps Aziraphale would understand that this was not about the scone at all. And yet, what Crowley was asking of him was also exactly about scones. And tea. And quiet afternoons together. Perhaps the angel would finally put down his sword, too, and the world would let out a breath it had been holding for millennia.

the soulmate to this piece, i guess.

Hot beverages from season 2 ☕️

I made these into stickers hehe

passing that single brain cell back and forth between them

That's it. That's the post.