#and yet Aziraphale can’t help but remember as he looks out across the sky after arriving home from hanging out with Crowley | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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HEy Dude/person/amazing writer, I had a tiny lil prompt/idea for a story that I would love for you to try... I don't even know if you would consider it but basically Crowley has a terrible dream where 'Zira dies in his arms (idk if this is pre/post apocalypse) and when he wakes up there's concern and a bit of cocoa (author's choice for what happens). Anyway I love all your fics (I binge-read all of them last weekend) and please continue your amazing work. Much love, ur Canadian pal Emma

WELL. Turns out I wanted to try this very much. So thank you!!

CW for a very grim nightmare (T rated for physical pain, emotional pain, and apparent MCD). Nightmare hurt/comfort.

(Also partly inspired by yesterday’s @goodomenscelebration prompt, “Through the Ages”)

The Forgetting Place

Crawley only ever had one nightmare.

Humans dreamt of falling, dropping from an undefined height, jerking awake at the last second to land, safe but terrified, on their beds.

Not Crawley.

His nightmare started with the landing, the pain of it, limbs shattering against the stone floor. He always began with his face in the dirt, on his stomach. Blind in the darkness, doubled over with hunger. Usually screaming.

They didn’t hear him.

There was always a they.

Far above, voices echoing down the long, long stone-lined drop. Clamoring but indistinct.

When he managed to roll onto his back, which wasn’t always, he could see the walls stretching up, up for eternity, the opening high above smaller than his thumb, but the light of it blindingly bright still.

They were feasting up there. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was certain, a feast that went on forever as he writhed in pain, starving, begging for a scrap, begging for relief, anything.

He was never hungry in reality, but in his nightmare the hunger never ceased, gnawing, aching, growing inside him as he twisted and howled at the bottom of the well.

He thought of it as a well for a long time; only much later did he learn the word for it.

Oubliette.

He didn’t have the nightmare every time he slept. If he did, he’d never sleep again.

But when it came, it was always the same.

Little changes. Different bones broken. Different spots in the tiny cell. Sometimes there were spikes, if he’d been really stressed about something.

But always, the diners above carried on, ignoring his cries.

And why not? What was he but garbage, cast aside, discarded, gone from sight and soon forgotten?

Oubliette.

The forgetting place.

Crawley didn’t remember when the first change appeared. Some time after Eden, which didn’t narrow it down since that was when time began.

He rolled over, looked up. And someone looked back.

Someone, please. He begged in the dream. Never seemed to be able to stop himself.

I’m still alive down here! Please! Help me!

The pangs of hunger twisted in him. His stomach didn’t growl, it was far beyond that, just a long unending pain through his gut.

God, Satan, Someone! Please! I’m starving! Please!

And then, one night, as that distant face gazed at him, something tumbled down. Small. Glinting just a little in the light.

It bounced against the walls, ricocheting from one side to the other, again and again, to land with a crunch somewhere in the corner.

The face disappeared.

Ignoring the scream in his limbs, both legs broken this time, one arm as well, he forced himself back onto his stomach, searched the pitch shadows for any sign of the object.

There. A patch of darkness that was a little less black.

He wriggled towards it for an eternity, arm reaching, straining, until it finally touched something other than hard, smooth stone slick with Crowley’s blood.

Rough on one side, silky on the other, the curve inside glittering with faint opalescence.

An oyster shell.

For a thousand years, they tumbled down, the cast-offs of the feast.

A chicken bone.

Shattered nut shells.

A sprinkling of wine, so dispersed he could only just taste it pressing his tongue to the stone.

More garbage, thrown down to be forgotten beside him.

Or, perhaps, a gift. An offering. A lifeline.

A spark of hope in the darkness.

It should have made the nightmare easier to bear. But it did not.

There was a reason the Greeks considered hope an evil.

Every time the dream began, he fell anew, his bones freshly broken. Yet at the same time, he could remember all the torment of the thousands of years before.

So, this time, as he twisted his broken spine until his eyes found the light above, he searched for that distant face, for the scraps of food thrown to him.

Instead, another body fell beside him, landing with a crunch, and a scream.

What’s happening? Where am I? Help! Someone help me!

Crowley tried to turn towards the voice, but his back was too far gone. He strained his neck leaning back tear-filled eyes.

He knew that voice.

Aziraphale!

Can anyone hear me? Help! HELP! Oh, God, please, his voice broke into sobs, I’m down here, help me!

Crowley screamed his name, over and over, pressed his limbs to the ground, ignored the pain as he moved, inch by negligible inch, across the endless, endless floor.

Crowley woke up with a gasp, hands reaching out, still trying to grasp the pale form in the dark. But there was nothing, no one in the room but him.

As always, he had to command his heart to stop hammering, remind his lungs how to breathe, in then out. Had to fight the feeling that something was wrong, that reality was shifting. That the dream was the truth and this the lie.

But this time, he had more to contend with than the memories of his own screams.

Barely pausing to dress – tunic, shoes, cloak, more than enough for the middle of the night – he tore through the streets of London. It was only his third time in the city since its founding. Still wasn’t sure he liked it – even less in the midst of a storm, rain pouring around him, thunder echoing across the land – but it had made a good meeting spot to discuss certain points of future business. Certain Arrangements.

The rooms Aziraphale rented were on the other side of the city.

He collapsed against the door, hammering on it, choking for air amidst the slashing raindrops. “Angel! Aziraphale! Can you hear me? Aziraphale!”

The door swung open, and he very nearly collapsed onto the soft figure within, blue eyes blinking in the low glow of the fire. “What – what are you playing at?” Aziraphale’s face collapsed into a scowl. “We agreed not to meet again for the rest of the year.”

Crowley ignored that, grasped the tunic, soaking wet fingers sinking into the soft white wool. Of course Aziraphale was fully dressed in the middle of the night, as if he may be summoned to the king’s court any moment.

“Are you…” The angry frown softened into something more like concern. “My dear fellow, are you alright? What happened?” He leaned out the door, glancing up the street, trying to penetrate the gloom. “Did someone…contact you?”

It seemed foolish now. Obviously, obviously not, but he had to be sure.

“Aziraphale did you…do you…” He swallowed, gripped Aziraphale’s tunic a little tighter. “Do you ever have nightmares?”

“Nightmares? I never dream at all, that I can recall, and I hardly ever sleep.”

“But did you – I mean…” Get a grip, Crowley. “When was the last time you slept? Not tonight?”

“Good lord, no, not for at least forty years.” A soft hand landed atop Crowley’s, gently pulling it free, clasping it. The fingers of the other hand stroked Crowley’s knuckles. “Are you alright, dear? Do you…wish to speak of it?”

He had never, ever spoken of it before.

A streak of lightning cracked the sky, and the thunder chased after it.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Crowley pulled his hand free. “I was just…I just…” He tugged at his unbelted tunic, pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders.

“Are you…having second thoughts? About the Arrangement?”

In the darkness, a voice screamed for help, begging, pleading, but only in Crowley’s mind.

“What? No.” He scoffed, tossing his head. “Not a chance. You – Angel – you’re the one with the doubts.”

“Only because – Oh, I know you think me a fool, but I know what they would do to you if they found out.”

He was a fool, of course. There was nothing they could do to Crowley that they hadn’t already done. He was, in a twisted way, completely safe.

It wasn’t what they could do to him that scared Crowley now.

Aziraphale! Aziraphale! I’m right here!

Oh, God, somebody help! Help me, please! I can’t – I can’t breathe – my ribs – Help me!

They’d fallen at the same time tonight. Crowley reached, grasped, pulled himself across the floor, inch by pain-wracked inch. Not even three feet separated them, but it may as well have been the length of the universe.

Please! Please! I’m down here! I don’t know – Please! I’m still here! Help me!

Crowley strained his arm, but it still fell short. Aziraphale! Right here, just – just reach for my hand, I’m right here!

But no matter how he called, Aziraphale never heard him.

Finally, Crowley threw back his head and howled. You bastards! You fucking animals! He’s one of you! He doesn’t belong down here! Take him back!

The diners up above never hesitated in their meal.

Over the centuries, the dream changed very little.

Sometimes Aziraphale begged for help, for food, for a thought from his compatriots above.

Other times he whimpered in pain, in hunger, in loneliness.

Every time, a little weaker.

Every time, Crowley landed three feet away, but they may as well have been trapped in different cells, a continent apart.

Lying there, seeing the pain on his best friend’s face, watching the angelic glow drain from his body, was the worst torment Crowley had ever suffered.

One night, Aziraphale crashed to the ground, and made no sound at all.

Angel?

The hand stirred in the darkness, but nothing else moved.

Paralyzed from the ribs down, Crowley pressed his hands to the floor propelling himself forward. Centimeter by centimeter.

Aziraphale. I’m…I’m here…

The head turned to face him. Blue eyes glazed, distant, unfocused. He coughed, blood leaking from his mouth. C…Crowley…?

Yes! Oh, Someone, yes, it’s me. I’m here. I’m here, Aziraphale!

I can’t… he coughed again. Can’t see you. The hand fumbled vaguely. Are you…?

Crowley reached, but was still too far away. I’m coming, Angel. Hold on. Hands pressed again to the slick stone, another push.

They aren’t coming for me. Not ever. Aziraphale’s lips twitched. I think I don’t exist anymore.

Crowley flung out his hand, his own cracked and broken nails falling just short of Aziraphale’s, still well-manicured after all this time. No, no, you’re here. I’m here. Just hold on.

I’m sorry, Crowley. I can’t…I don’t…

He could see the life fading from those eyes.

No! NO! One more push and he was past the hand, reaching for the white robes, probably stained with the blood and the mud and the filth of the hole, but he grabbed them, pulled Aziraphale to him –

Already cold.

Crowley woke up screaming.

Aziraphale lifted his eyes from his book, frowning with concern in the soft glow of his angelic light. “My dear fellow, whatever is the matter?”

“No – I – I –” Crowley kicked the blankets aside, squirmed across the bed, pressing himself against Aziraphale, until he could feel his warmth, his heartbeat, fingers burrowing into that tartan flannel.

“Crowley…”

“Here…” he gasped holding on as tightly as he could. He never cried while awake, but his voice felt close to breaking. “’M here, Angel. Right here. I just…I’m…”

After a moment, the soft slide of a book placed on the bedside table.

And two arms, strong as steel, soft as clouds, warm as a summer’s day, wrapped around Crowley.

“Hush now, dear. It’s alright. I’m right here.”

“It was just a dream,” Crowley said, though he still hadn’t let go of Aziraphale’s hand. “Bad dream, but…you don’t need to fuss.”

“Nonsense.” Rain tapped on the kitchen windows as the kettle finished its boil. “Anything that scared you so badly is worth fussing over. Though I will need this hand to finish making you cocoa.”

“Don’t need cocoa,” he muttered, staring at the black mug with the coiled-serpent handle. But he didn’t need to see the angel’s face to know how those eyebrows were raised. Groaning, he let go of the hand, instead wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s soft middle, burying his face in the back of his shoulder.

“That’s a little better,” Aziraphale chided, voice gentle.

Even in the middle of the night, their cottage was bright, warm, open – everything the pit in his dream was not. No sound but that of the rain outside. Cozy was not something Crowley would ever admit to wanting, but right now, he soaked it all in, shivering despite the hot mug in his hands.

Aziraphale led him to the sofa, settling down in the corner, and held his arms wide. Crowley slowly sat beside him, still hesitant, still waiting for it to hurt again, for it to all go dark.

Until he leaned back into that bottomless warmth, felt those arms twine about him, pulling him close, keeping him safe.

“Now, why don’t you tell me about it?”

Crowley shook his head.

“Come on, dear. I’m sure –”

“Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t real.” He took a sip of the cocoa. Just a quick cup of the cheap stuff with hardly a dash of milk, but it wasn’t bad.

Aziraphale tutted, but instead of complaining, he asked, “Do you just want to sit here for a bit? Not talk of anything?”

Crowley nodded. Aziraphale settled in a little more comfortably, pressing his lips to the back of Crowley’s head, and didn’t say another word.

Another sip of the cocoa. Really, not bad at all. It was like ambrosia. Food for the gods at an unending feast.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I only ever have one nightmare…”

It seemed to take hours to tell, but at the same time there was little to say. It helped that he wasn’t looking Aziraphale in the eye, instead staring out the rain-streaked window, at the ghostly shapes of the rosebushes tossing in the wind.

“You never said anything,” Aziraphale finally managed.

“Nh. Wasn’t real. Nothing to talk about, is there?”

“Crowley.” A hand brushed through his hair. “You’ve been watching me die by inches for a thousand years. How is that nothing to talk about?” A shrug. “And you say it’s one continuous dream?”

“Yuh. I fall in fresh every time, but the rest is…yeah.”

“And…next time?”

Crowley shrugged, feeling his shoulders glide across Aziraphale’s chest. “Same as ever. Trapped in an oubliette. Alone. Forgotten. It’s never going to change.”

“What about me? Where will I be next time you have this dream?”

Crowley sat up, pulling himself away from the warmth, letting the cold air wake him with a slap of reality. “I…I dunno. Doesn’t matter.” He tried to take another drink, but the mug was empty. “I guess…maybe you’ll be back up at the feast. Where you belong.”

“That doesn’t seem likely, does it?” Aziraphale asked softly, taking the mug and setting it aside. “Besides, that’s not where I belong.”

“Maybe you’ll…you’ll die again. Every time. Just those last few seconds and then…gone.”

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale took his hands. “I’m not sure that fits the pattern, either.”

Crowley cleared his throat, but didn’t trust his voice to stay steady. “You might.” He cleared it again. “Might still be there. Your body. Just lying there. And I’ll watch it…Mmmmmh.” Clenched his jaw. “I’ll have to see it…” The sob he’d been holding back finally escaped, and he squeezed Aziraphale’s hands hard enough to break a human’s. “I don’t want to see that, Angel. I know it isn’t you, it shouldn’t matter, but I can’t – I can’t watch that…”

Once more, Aziraphale gathered him into his arms, and for the first time, Crowley cried. Great, hiccupping sobs, tears pressed into Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale rubbed his back, waiting for the storm to subside. He finally asked, gently, “How often do you have this dream?”

“Dunno. Never really tracked it.” Crowley sniffed miserably, head still resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Couple times a century? Once or twice?”

“Then we have time.” Aziraphale pressed his hands to Crowley’s shoulders, pushed him to sit upright and face that beaming smile. Then he cupped Crowley’s face in his hands, brought him down to press foreheads together. “And we will find a way. To stop the dream. Or to change it. Or to put me – the real me – in there with you. I don’t know. But we will find a way.”

Crowley nodded wordlessly, and Aziraphale looped his arms around his neck, pulling him closer so their noses brushed as well.

“Because, my dear, you are never alone. And you will never be forgotten.”

(Thanks for reading! Shout out to my friend Tod who, when asked for a dramatic and angsty nightmare death suggestion, quickly outlined his take on oubliettes, which I thought made a powerful metaphor.)

(However, my historian brain compels me to add that despite the nightmarish name - the opening is called an angstloch, too - oubliettes were almost certainly used for some kind of basement storage, not as cells and torture chambers. Victorians and their Gothic imaginations are to blame for the more common tropes...)

#Good omens prime #Good omens #hurt comfort #nightmare #good omens fanfiction #reader prompts #aziraphale and crowley #hurt crowley #hurt aziraphale #main character death #but only in a dream #ineffable husbands #good omens celebration #goc2020 #oubliette #My writing #angst #good omens angst

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pendragyn · 4 years

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First Line Tag

I was tagged by @gaslightgallows

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics read or written and then tag others to do the same.

Tagging: @raevenlywrites @froglesbianwriting @mperialscribe @teaflint @writingamongthecoloredroses @moniquill @napoleonscat and I know I am forgetting people, please join in on the fun and tag me if you do!

So.. Er, haven’t read much of anything but my own stuff on AO3, trying to get back into writing because everything sucks rn. It’s Good Omens with a dash of Discworld all the way down, below the cut.

In The Garden; pre-fall, pre-canon fic of them in the Garden of Eden.

BEFORE THE BEGINNING...

…Was darkness. That’s what happens when the sun isn’t up, and as it was almost the middle of the night —the first night, leading into the first day in the Garden of Eden— darkness was only to be expected.

The Great Plan was being set in motion. The countdown to start the countdown to the end of the world had begun. Things were getting down to the wire and the Heavens were in a tizzy to make sure everything went off without a hitch during the official launch.

Down in the Garden of Eden, all was peaceful. This was also to be expected. The only living beings in the entire Garden were two corporeal but unconscious angels reposing among the roots of the Tree. They’d been held in stasis since their incorporation a number of days earlier and weren’t due to wake until things were officially under way. Ostensibly this was to allow them to acclimate to corporeality, but in reality it was to keep them out of everyone’s metaphorical hair.

Of course, even the best laid plans never do go quite as planned, do they?

There was no Heavenly fanfare heralding the occasion, no Celestial sign except the eternal march of the stars across the sky, nothing at all to indicate that something was being set into motion as midnight of the day in question rolled around.

But down in their resting spots, the angels awoke.

Serpents And Ladders; what happens after the end of In The Garden.

After the fall of the Garden, for the first time that any could remember, change came rapidly to Heaven in the form of the instant adoption of corporeal forms amongst most of the archangels, much to the bafflement of some of the oldest Celestials who were gently prodded to a quiet retirement out among the stars. Heaven itself shifted to accommodate their altered forms, which forced the rest of the Celestials and the Elementals who did most of the day to day operations to adopt similar seemings.

Of course, Aziraphale and Crawly knew why it caught on, not that anyone ever thought to ask them. The reasoning was simple enough, if multi-faceted. Firstly, corporeality is a surprisingly potent antidote to knurd[1], with built in buffers against the harshness of reality. Really no surprise that it was popular.

Secondly, Celestial beings come in a great many shapes and sizes and types and having them all conform to one generally accepted shape was much more convenient, especially when it came to paperwork. (No one knew where paperwork had come from, since paper was technically not a thing yet, but there you go. It’s ineffable.)

Thirdly, with the increasing tensions between certain factions within the Host, having your firmament safely ensconced inside of flesh and bone made it that much harder to be spied on, making secrets that much easier to keep, especially once they discovered how to hide their wings.

And last but not least, though it took Aziraphale and Crawly a long while to fully comprehend the ramifications of it, it was because the humans began to believe, in great enough numbers, that that was how Heaven and the Host looked.

1. Being knurd is to be unintoxicated to such an extent that all comfort stories are stripped away from the mind. This makes you see the world in a way 'nobody ever should', in all its harsh reality.

Ask Not For Whom The Bell Tolls (It Tolls For They); the church in ‘41 and what happens, and doesn’t happen, after. (total tearjerker)

Crowley ran, ran and ran, heart pounding, almost blind with panic, hissing with pain as their foot hit the edge of consecrated ground, but it didn’t matter, because they were in time and like a snake shedding their skin the panic slipped away as they yanked open the door and hot-footed their way into the church under the confused eyes of a trio of nazis and an angel moments away from a fate worse than death.

A church, for fuck’s sake? Can’t the angel see it’s a setup? A trap? Dealing with nazis on holy ground, giving them holy books, even if it’s supposed to be a double-cross, a double double-cross. “Sorry, consecrated ground. Ugh, like being on the beach in bare feet.” Crowley fervently kept that thought in mind, because in reality, it was far far worse than that. Crowley was very good at imagining not being on fire, and that belief was all that was keeping them from falling to ash inside that church.

Aziraphale continued to stare at Crowley in shock, for a moment wondering if they were actually hallucinating the way humans could during moments of high stress. Because consecrated ground discorporates demons, and yet. And yet, Crowley was somehow really here. Why the he heaven is Crowley here? “What are you doing here?” Aziraphale hissed, the nazis and the gun momentarily forgotten.

“Stopping you from getting in trouble,” Crowley hissed back, dancing from foot to foot just an arm’s length away from Aziraphale. Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool, if you panic you’re both done for.

Stacking The Deck;

Harriet wanted to be asleep. She’d just had a baby a few hours earlier, and all she really wanted was sleep. They had given her something for the pain, but it didn’t stop her having to use the restroom, which was NOT FUN right now, and it took a while for things to settle back down and she just. wanted. sleep.

What she got, was voices.

A few she recognized, distant and muzzy, as the nuns who’d helped deliver the baby. There was also the one not-nun who’d shuffled in during the chaos, wrinkly as an old apple with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, who had actually delivered the baby before quickly shuffling back out again. The nuns had treated her with deep respect, whispering to each other about ‘a touch of the Old Adam’ she carried about her.

There was now a lot more raucous laughter coming from down the hallway, and some singing of what were definitely not religious hymns. Mingled in were the voices of men, which some deep part of her brain realized were from her supposed security detail, who’d abandoned her the minute the live feed with her husband had ended.

But under those voices was another voice, one that she’d learned to listen to when it whispered a little too loudly to ignore. And it was telling her to check on the baby, to check on Warlock. Right Now.

With a muffled groan Harriet slid her legs over the side of the bed and eased herself to her feet. With the dimmed lights and muddled by whatever they had given her, it took her a moment to realize that the bassinet wasn’t there. No Warlock. And no guards. And no nuns.

The coolness of the linoleum felt good against the bottoms of her feet and she shuffled dreamily out of the room into the empty hallway, too well medicated to feel panic, but the little voice was getting louder. And it was talking with an odd accent, which was weird. And it was calling her by her full name now, which was even more unusual. Find your baby, Harriet Sibyl Dowling. Find him now or lose him forever.

Nature vs Nurture; raising the antichrist

After the handshake, Crowley left in a hurry to set some of their plans into motion, with promises of talking soon and a casual ciao tossed over their shoulder before slipping out of the shop and roaring off down the road. What Aziraphale didn’t see was the demon pulled over a few blocks later, pressing their forehead against the steering wheel of the Bentley and letting out a shuddering sigh of relief that the angel had finally, finally, agreed to help them save the world. And wondered, briefly, if God hadn’t been right to kick Crowley out, because how much of a right proper bastard did you have to be to knowingly ask your best friend to do the most dangerous thing they could ever possibly do?

Aziraphale’s first course of action was to make sure the shop door was locked before retreating into the back room to think, away from the demon’s so very temping influence. It didn’t take the angel long to convince themself that it had to be the right thing to do, because otherwise it wouldn’t be hell starting the war, but heaven, and surely heaven didn’t want a war. Once that was settled, Aziraphale began to really set their mind to finding the solutions to the multitude of problems their scheme would surely entail. The second course of action was to retrieve the ancient tome of magic they kept safely secured in a secret room on the second floor of the shop and settling it reverently on to the desk to start their research.

Setting Things To Rights; Adam Young gets a visit from Agnes Nutter after the world doesn’t end.

“Come back. Please.”

Adam stared down at his best friends in the whole universe, sure his heart was breaking as they turned and ran away. He knew then he’d messed up bad, maybe beyond fixing. He tried to call them back, to beg even, but no sound would come and he closed his eyes against the sting of tears. Come back! Please! he wanted to say, pressing his hands to his tear-dampened face. I’m sorry!

You don’t need them. You can have new friends. Better friends. All you have to do is show us the way.

A low growl and a familiar waft of doggy breath as a wet tongue lapped at his cheek had Adam opening his eyes, and he hugged Dog tightly in relief. “Oh Dog! I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered hoarsely, smiling when Dog licked him again. “I am sorry, you know that, don’t you?”

Dog whined and licked him again in answer.

“Thanks boy.” Adam let out a much heavier sigh and rubbed at his eyes when tears threatened again. The dream had been so real, too real, more memory than dream, and frightening in ways he didn’t want to think about. It hurt, knowing he’d hurt his friends so bad they’d stopped being his friends. And even though they’d forgiven him in the end, would they ever really trust him again? Especially when he could still do what he’d done? Would he trust someone who had done that to him?

In the silence there were two faint but distinct knocks that Adam heard clear as a bell. Dog’s ears perked up and Adam blinked and they both looked around the room for a source of the noise. There wasn’t much light but it was more than enough to show that nothing was out of place.

Still, Adam found himself saying, “Who’s there?”

A faint glimmering form stepped through the door. It was an old woman, dressed in really old clothes. “I have waited a long while for this meeting, Adam Young.” She bowed at him, a faint smile on her lips. “I be Agnes Nutter, witch. And ghost.”

Ineffable Bastards; the one I’m stuck on. :/

Groaning brakes pulled Crowley from their thoughts and they led Aziraphale off the bus, waiting until it had pulled away to turn towards their building. There was a sharp twinge in their stomach when they looked to the empty spot where the Bentley was usually parked. They felt another twinge when they looked at Aziraphale, who was staring up at the building with a distant blankness of expression that Crowley understood all too well. “C’mon, angel, I think we could both use a drink.”

No sound came at first, but Aziraphale managed to croak out, “Yes,” after a moment. They felt strangely distant from their feelings in the odd silence and they trailed behind the demon into the flat, which was both nothing like and exactly like what Aziraphale would expect from Crowley. The art got a few blinks but there was no energy to consider what they might mean after the day week decade they’d had.

Unlike the bare concrete walls in the other rooms, the kitchen was slick with creamy white marble and terrazzo tiles, ebony cabinets that gleamed and stainless steel appliances that had never been used or even plugged in, though they were well stocked with food and drink. Crowley grabbed a bottle at random and a couple of glasses, bringing them over to the chrome and glass table with a small collection of colorful orchids in the center. “Salute.”

The angel lifted their glass to toast before downing the drink and holding it out for a refill. Crowley obliged and they sat in silence for a while before Aziraphale asked, “Now what?”

“Eh, now I fall down and sleep for a while and you…” Crowley pulled off their glasses and gave the angel a long look. “You don’t really sleep do you? You should try it, great for getting away from your thoughts.”

“Rarely. Doesn’t seem to work that way for me, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale sighed and shook their head. “I just keep thinking about Agnes’ prophecy. Face the fire.” They shuddered a little. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Rubbing at their tired eyes, and the sting of unsheddable tears, Crowley nodded. “You’re in big trouble, angel.”

“You know full well we’re both, as they say, in for it,” Aziraphale corrected, smiling a little when Crowley gave them a look. “I’ve toed the line for a long time, but you, my dear, have danced around it to the point that I’m not sure they even know where they drew the line to begin with. If Heaven is going to ‘fire’ me, what’s Hell going to do to you?” Saying it aloud had tears burning in their eyes and they wiped at them hastily.

Wilde Card; my take on why Aziraphale had a set of Oscar Wilde’s works.

“Aziraphale?”

“Hmm?”

Crowley tried to find a subtle way to ask, but curiosity had been eating at them to the point of distraction since the former angel had let slip that humans could have preternatural ancestry. “When you said, you’d never… with a human.”

Aziraphale gave them a confused look that melted into amused understanding when they realized Crowley was blushing. “My dear, are you asking me about my experiences?”

“Uh… Just, I seem to recall you mentioning a lot of gentleman’s clubs...” Crowley let their head drop back against the couch and covered their face when Aziraphale chuckled. “Ugh, angel!”

“I won’t judge you, you know,” Aziraphale murmured, smiling tenderly when Crowley looked at them. “If you, uh, found human companionship-”

“No! Ugh, no, it’d be like… no, I can’t help but think of them as children,” Crowley admitted. “Even Nanny Ogg, which tells you something about me I suppose,” they said, making Aziraphale laugh.

“I am in complete agreement with that sentiment,” said Aziraphale. “And it wasn’t just gentleman's clubs I frequented, there were quite a few for women if you knew where to look and who to talk to. You do know a lot more went on in the clubs than just sexual intercourse, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I should’ve known better, just, uh...” Crowley reached over and took Aziraphale’s hand. “There must have been quite a few poor smitten fools vying for your attention.”

Apple Of My Eye; complete fluff I wrote because of a pic I saw on tumblr

Crowley looked up from their mobile, barely able to contain their grin. “Hey, angel-”

“No.” Aziraphale didn’t even have to look up from the book they were reading to know the former demon was up to no good.

“I haven’t even said anything yet!” Crowley protested, still grinning at seeing the amusement crinkling around the reformed angel's eyes.

Aziraphale looked over at them with a feigned put-upon sigh. One look at Crowley’s grin had them asking, “Oh somebody, do I even want to know?”

If anything, that only made Crowley’s grin grow. “So I’m thinking maybe it’s time I branch out, try some different styles of shades. Whaddya think?”

Aziraphale spluttered into startled laughter when Crowley turned the mobile around, revealing a pair of spectacles where the rose tinted lenses had been shaped into breasts. “Why in the world-”

“Ain’t humans grand?” Crowley said, grinning down at the picture before sliding a sly look at Aziraphale and raising a hand, fingers poised to snap. “I could just…”

“You would too, wouldn’t you,” Aziraphale said with a shake of their head, pretending to go back to reading but watching Crowley sidelong. “Well I would rather you didn’t but I can’t stop you from going around looking, looking like a right proper tit if you want to,” they said with feigned primness, barely hiding their smile when Crowley laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to make a spectacle of yourself.”

“Alright angel, alright, you’ve convinced me. Wouldn’t want to put you off being seen with me.” It was a joke, mostly, and Crowley was still grinning as they said it, but inwardly that age old doubt still lingered.

Aziraphale knew it was there of course, having many of the same insidious worries about their new togetherness, and gave them a fond smile. “I assure you my dear, that having adored you in spite of that dreadful hairstyle you had in Paris, I would barely blink to see you in a pair of breastacles.”

Crowley blushed at the mention of adoration, sneered at mention of the hair and burst into raucous laughter at the name. “Only you’d think up a proper sounding name for it. Breastacles. Brilliant.” They darted in and grinningly kissed them. “And here I thought you’d appreciate me seeing the world through rose-titted glasses. But, as you wish.”

Aziraphale laughed and beamed at the phrase, taking their hand and lacing their fingers together. “Thank you, dearest. For everything. And especially for sparing everyone that.”

#Good Omens #good omens fanfic #snippet #first line tag #tag game #Pendragyn writes #long post #readmore #ao3 #Ineffable Bastards

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neurodivergentcosmos · 4 years

Text

Wherever You Go, There’s a Forest of Arden (Ch. 2)

Here’s the final chapter! Thank you everyone for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! You can find Chapter 1 here.

Arden gingerly sat on the edge of couch, wrapping the tangle around their fingers, unwrapping, and then rubbing it between their palms. They took a deep breath, letting the sound of their hands against the tangle calm them for a moment. “Here you go,” Mr. Fell said as he handed them a mug of hot cocoa and sat in the chair across from them, hands clasped in front of him. “Thank you,” Arden replied and held the mug close to their chest and took a few sips before putting it down on the table.

Mr. Fell gave Arden a soft smile, “What is your name?”

“Arden.”

“Oh!” Mr. Fell beamed. “I was just looking over an edition of As You Like It, I don’t know if you are familiar with it…”

“I actually chose to name myself Arden after I read it for the first time!” Arden flapped their hands excitedly. “It’s gender neutral and all of the characters just discovered in the Forest of Arden what the world could be like and could express themselves freely…” They trailed off and noticed their hands. I can’t move like that I need to keep that…They saw Mr. Fell flapping his hands with an expression of complete joy. Oh…I can flap here.

Mr. Fell’s expression shifted to concern as he asked, “You don’t have to tell me, but I am wondering if something happened?” Arden hesitated, “I-I don’t want to burden you…” “You won’t,” Mr. Fell responded firmly. Arden drank and stimmed with the tangle, nerves rising. “It’s trivial really but um I’m getting a flu shot for the first time tomorrow. I know that’s a weird thing to be anxious about… well for context I’m autistic and when I was diagnosed my mom turned to anti-vaccine ideology for answers. She… she wanted a neurotypical child.” Arden took another steadying breath. “That ideology was all I knew; I didn’t know of any other way to live. To everyone, being normal was the only way to live a good life. I worked hard to be a normal person, but I always failed. Because I believed all this, I felt…um…that my whole being was wrong. A couple years ago, I suddenly just couldn’t try to be normal anymore. Thanks to the Internet, I learned the truth. I realized that I was born autistic and that it isn’t a bad thing to be. I needed to accept myself so I can live. The people around me refused to understand so I moved away when I could. The shot tomorrow has caused a lot of the fear I internalized from that time to come back and I’m just scared that maybe that I will always have that fear.”

Arden looked up nervously, Oh God was that too much?, but Mr. Fell’s expression was different. For a moment, his face embodied a deep rage that remained within yet encompassed years of witnessing the world’s injustices, making Arden wonder, how many people have come here at their lowest point and told him of their pain? His expression then shifted to quiet sadness, “Forgive me, dear, it is just that your experience happens to remind me of my own. You’ve been very brave. In an ideal world, being who you are should not have to be brave, but sadly the universe doesn’t seem to be there yet. While my experience is different, the, um, community I came from held a worldview of the universe that’s similar.” Arden leaned forward, listening intently.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It was more of a strict view of God’s plan,” Mr. Fell continued. “It was very ‘This is the One Truth and one day everyone will realize that.’ I believed in their view deeply, but the community always treated me as inherently wrong no matter what. I suppressed anything odd about the ways I move and speak, yet that didn’t change anything. Then I met Anthony.” Mr. Fell’s face lit up with the light of infinite suns. “He showed me such a new way of thinking about the universe. His vision of a world where everyone has autonomy was so beautiful. For the first time, I saw that perhaps I could live a life of my own choosing. At first, I tried to nip my new ideas in the bud, but I began to question the community and became disillusioned. Anthony’s vision of the world was now my vision too, and we could make that vision reality together. So I chose to reject it all and start anew. Now Anthony and I have been partners for a long time. I run this bookshop while he tries to yell at his plants less in our flat above when he’s not in the bookshop. While I often do have difficult days where I feel ashamed of my past, I know I have this life right here and I couldn’t be happier.”

Arden felt that they could breathe again for the first time in a long time. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I don’t have a lot of words right now, but I didn’t think I’d ever get to meet someone who went through a similar experience and I just—thank you.” “Of course,” Mr. Fell answered.

Arden leaned back in the chair, lost in thought. “ I remember that when my mom told me about the anti-vaccine treatments, she said that my ‘recovery’ was a miracle thanks to God. That really messed up how I feel about God. Did you struggle to believe after everything?”

“What you believe is entirely your choice. I was disillusioned over the community’s view of God, but I wanted to have faith in Her. So I chose how I believe in Her. The way certain people twist who God is to harm others…” Aziraphale paused, passion rising as he went on, “I think, Arden, God created you as you are because She believes in you as you are. God transcends any idea of “normal” so you never need to be “normal” for God. Miracles are not about attempting to take away an identity essential to who you are. They’re about being alive. Taking in a beautiful view of London at sunset is a miracle. Surviving the worst and using your experience to help others live is a miracle. Discovering who you are is a miracle. In those moments, I think God is present within us. I got carried away, but I hope that helps.” Arden, lost for words for a minute, took a few breaths to process everything. But Mr. Fell’s belief gave them peace that they didn’t realize they were looking for until now. “I’m still questioning my beliefs, but your words help enormously. Your view of God is beautiful. You make believing in God make sense.”

“Thank you, I’m truly glad,” Mr. Fell replied.

“I hope the world can be more built for people like me one day.”

“So do I.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a couple minutes, Arden in wonder over the sequence of events. I’m not alone in this. “Oh! I’m afraid I have to cut our time short—Anthony is coming home soon to take us to try a new Italian restaurant tonight. I really enjoyed talking with you and please come here whenever you’d like,” Mr. Fell wiggled with joy. “I really enjoyed talking to you too, and I definitely will come back,” Arden flapped. As they put the tangle back in the stim box—

“Arden? Before you go...” “Yeah?” “I see that you’re struggling to move forward. Perhaps you could remember the Forest of Arden. Once the characters stepped in it, they could reject the norms of the court and learn what the world could be without that. They became better people. Everyone transformed because the forest gave them freedom to discover themselves for the first time. As you continue to discover yourself, you’ll flourish. Then others with similar experiences who feel lost can find you and you can help them grow into Forests of Arden for even more people. So many people have transformed the world that way. I think you could be a Forest of Arden.”

“God, you’re going to make me cry,” Arden smiled and ran a hand over their watering eyes. “You are one too. Thank you, for everything.” “Of course.” Arden walked out of the bookshop on to a quiet street, sun setting in front of them. They stood still, watching its purple, pink, and orange hues transform the sky into something so extraordinary that even that word couldn’t capture the wonder of it all. Arden tipped their head back and hummed. I’m transforming, and it’s a miracle.

#good omens #good omens fic #my fic #aziraphale #autistic aziraphale #autistic original character #arden #cw trauma mention #cw ableism mention #cw anti vaccine mention #as you like it #guardian angel aziraphale #arden is going to be okay #maybe that means i'll be okay too

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plantanarchy · 5 years

Text

On Flora

good omens fic, crowley & aziraphale, 1.2k, mostly meta

summary - a stroll through one botanical garden or another. aziraphale doesn’t trust a single one of the leafy bastards. that’s it. that’s the fic.

(sorry to anyone on mobile who the cut does not work for!! didn’t have anywhere better to dump this)

“Geraniums,” Crowley says with a soft g, a drawn out 'awww' and a disdainful snarl. “Whoever authorized those ones should feel very bad about themselves. They're like tottering old men who can't find the restroom. They're like the plant equivalent of a beige knit jumper.”

“It's Ger-ain-iums, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “And I think they're quite lovely for a plant. Very sensible.”

“Guhr-awww-niums,” the demon says with exaggerated aplomb. “Of course you like them, you love beige knit jumpers and tottering old men.”

“I'll show you tottering old men.”

“Angel, you are one.”

“Anyway, I am certain it's pronounced Jer-ain-iums. In this part of the world at least. Though there really are far too many names for the lot of them.”

Aziraphale gestures widely at the multitude of plants that surround them. They're in one botanical garden or another on a fine, sunny morning. Botanic gardens in no way come close to The Garden, but it's amusing to see the small ways human being have attempted to claw their way back there one carefully crafted display of blooms and foliage at a time. The angel prefers to keep a fair distance between himself and the botanical kingdom, but Crowley's barely-disguised affection for plants has led them on frequent trips and visits to the various gardens and collections of the world.

Aziraphale has always found it charming that, despite initial instructions containing no stipulation about naming the plants as well as the animals, the humans had gone and done it anyway and with vigorous enthusiasm.

Most animals were given only their respective names in each of the many languages of the world, but plants were bestowed with proper names and common names and folk names and alternate, updated scientific names until some had dozens each and a new one every decade or so.

Aziraphale doesn't blame the humans for their superfluous and erratic naming practices. Plants are wily, devious, and endlessly hard to pin down, even for angelic beings such as himself.

Though plants are distinct and sentient entities, their initial purpose in the grand scheme of creation, as far as anyone could tell, appeared to be Scenery. Part of the backdrop same as the sky and the stars and the mountains, so that the birds and the beasts and the humans didn't have to enact their roles in the great and ineffable divine plan in a flat, blank plane of nothing.

After the Fall, they took on a different role, but the nature of that role exactly is still not quite clear. Both sides claim many plants as angelic or demonic agents, with some even pointing out that the humans had apparently cultivated many agents of their own. But very few from Heaven or Hell have had much success in maintaining communication with plants in any meaningful way so as to ascertain what they are plotting.

And they must be plotting something, Aziraphale thinks.

After all, there is still some debate about whether the Forbidden Fruit was the Almighty's idea or whether the tree itself came up with it unbidden. Or perhaps was tempted into it along with the first humans. (There is an ongoing, unrelated debate about the exact variety of tree itself, since no one had yet thought to name it.)

Crowley, for his part, has gone to greater lengths than many when it comes to fraternizing with plants, but he has never been as wary of the chlorophytic creatures as Aziraphale is and so never seemed to ask the right questions. Granted, the domesticated versions Crowley tends in his little flat are eons removed from their wild cousins.

You may have as much luck asking a toddler about particle physics as trying to discuss the Amazon rainforest with a Philodendron living in a London flat. Let alone a discussion about their role in the greater scheme of things. When Aziraphale had last tried, the viney creature simply shivered in confused silence for a beat before asking please sir may I have some more of the nitrogen water, maybe a touch of phosphorous, a sprinkle of magnesium, thank you, sir, much obliged.

Crowley was not behind the concept of houseplants as a whole so much as he was responsible for the continued popularity of many of them.

“Snake Plants,” he says in the botanic garden, pointing out a plant that grows in a cluster of spear-shaped leaves. Or pointy, serpent-tongue shaped leaves, if you may. “Now those are reliable, upstanding plants that can still have a bit of fun.”

“I don't trust them,” Aziraphale says. “You could have a fake one right alongside and be hard-pressed to tell the difference.”

“Devil's Ivy,” Crowley says, gesturing to a Pothos climbing its way up a scraggly palm tree. “Never have to worry about that one causing a fuss. Never a leaf out of place.”

“Angel's Trumpet.” Aziraphale beams as they come upon a tree with drooping flowers. “Now have you ever seen or smelled anything more heavenly?”

“One of ours actually. Highly hallucinogenic. Prime temptation material.”

“Ah,” says the angel.

“Though Devil's Trumpet is a bit of a toss-up surprisingly,” Crowley says. An upturned, white flower glows on a sprawling shrub. “You know, on account of the witches.”

“Right,” Aziraphale says. “Witches.” Most human witches he trusts about as much as plants, mostly on account of their ilk certainly having been in cahoots with the most untrustworthy of herbs and towering trees and various devious flora for centuries.

They step through a scalloped archway into an outdoor section of the garden, where verdant green grass stretches for hundreds of yards away from them, broken up occasionally by curly-cue swirls of beds teeming with annual flowers.

Turf grass, Aziraphale is fairly confident, is on a similar unholy tier as some of the most diabolical of demonic entities.

“Lawns,” Crowley says, drawling the word with disgust.

“Certainly your side's doing.”

“No one's claimed responsibility,” the demon says. “You'd think something as truly evil as uninterrupted turf grass would earn big whopping promotions Down Below but nada. Zilch. Mum's the word.”

“Crysanthemums,” Aziraphale says. “I do like those somewhat.”

“Dreadful. Absolutely abominable. Preposterously untenable in every way.”

“Tell us how you really feel, my dear.”

“Have you ever looked up close at a Crysanthemum? Really looked?”

“I don't believe I would ever dare.”

“Exactly.”

The pair wander the rest of elaborate gardens, elbows brushing at times, footsteps in sync. After a time, they stop beneath an ancient apple tree, its twisted boughs just beginning to be weighed down by growing fruit.

“Do you think it remembers?” Aziraphale asks. “Same as we do?”

“That's assuming it's even the right tree. Some say, you know, pomegranate.”

“Doesn't have quite the same cadence to it.”

“No,” says Crowley, and he stares in contemplative silence up at the gnarled tree, dappled sunlight flickering across his pointed face.

The mysterious presence of the tree looms before them, feeling as ominous and unknowable as it always has, even in that first Garden as the plants spread their first fronds, drank deep with searching roots from the first springs, and swept the first glimmers of sunlight up with their fresh pigment.

Seemed an awful lot of effort to waste on simple Scenery. Seemed an awful lot of weight to put on one, simple tree at the center of a Garden. Perhaps their true nature would remain always another of the Almighty's mysteries, never to be fully grasped.

“Absolute bastards, all of them,” Crowley says with distinct fondness in his voice, and Aziraphale, for once, can't help but share the sentiment.

#long post #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #except this is mostly gen #if these two can ever really be gen #i'm fanfiction on main now i guess oh well #anyway i'm somehow both aziraphale and crowley in this it's great #and if i had my way this would be 800 times longer #it's relevant to this blog at least

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atreefullofmonkiesonnitrous · 4 years

Text

Snow Queen - Sleigh Bells - day six

Somewhere in the Arctic - 1855

Crowley stomped across the frozen waste, bundled in so many layers he most look round from the outside. It was dark, but that was hardly new, it had been dark for at least several days. Why in Satan's name they would send him to this frozen wilderness he didn't know. He did his best work abid the teeming crowds of cities, where all it took was a push on the right person to set off a cascade that could run for years. Besides with was no place for a reptile, they should have sent a Legion, they are warmblooded, and if one of them died out here they'd just make another.

He thought he heard a sound, something out of place, bright and cheerful. He looked around but couldn't see anything but the featureless white world. He resumed walking. He wasn't even entirely sure where he was, of where he was going. He'd come up from a meeting below straight into the nothingness. He was going north, he knew that much. He'd never be completely lost when under the stars. But north From where and To where he wasn't sure. They just said get out and head north.

The sounds came again, like laughter or water. He strained his eyes but still couldn't find the source. The correscationg lights that danced across the sky were beautiful, but the odd illumination they left wasn't the best for distance viewing. They created shadows where none should be, that moved like living things. He knew he was more menacing than any umbral haunt, but they did make it blessed hard to see. He could barely trace the line of his own footprints, disappearing into the night.

A third time he heard it, echoing through the still night. He'd hear an owl hoot maybe an hour ago. Sometime before that he'd heard an arctic fox digging in the snow. He was too far inland, wherever he was for any of the more abundant life of the coasts. No bloody bears at least, they were all sleeping nice and warm in their dens like sensible creatures. He wished he were too.

When the sound came this time he finally saw something. Flashes of light from behind him. He strained his eyes to see more. At least if he could see what it looked like he'd know a bit more about where he was. The chiming sounded metallic, which was less helpful than it would have been a few hundred years ago. Whole place was getting smaller all the time these days. People finding other people, which was going a whole lot better for the finders than the found. Missionaries were as bad as (most) angels. High and mighty words about "saving people" but let someone say they are quite happy as they are, no saving needed thanks, and oh don't the whips and knives come out. Makes sense they work for Heaven, act just like them.

The lights and sounds were getting closer, and the sounds finally resolved into bells. What sort of benighted fool would be all the way out here and still bothering with sleigh bells. Not bloody likely to have to stop short. If there was another pedestrian within 50 miles he'd eat his hat. Whoever this fool was it strained credulity for them not to be Crowley's objective out here, which made him dislike them on principle. He still had no idea what he was meant to do to the idiot that they hadn't done to themselves just by being out here.

As the vehicle got closer, the animals pulling it became more distinct. Once he'd realized he was hearing sleigh bells and not harnesses jingling he'd ruled out dogs. At that point he'd expected horses. Bringing horses up here seemed like the kind of move that would go with the sleigh bells. He was wrong. What he did see were a matched pair of reindeer as white as the barren landscape. Their harnesses must have also been white, since he couldn't see them, excerpt for the spots where they were gleaming with the golden bells he had been hearing. Their antlers were wrapped in greenery, though they weren't close enough yet for him to say what, other than some sort of vine. If he knew a blessed thing about reindeer they might tell him something about where he was, to bad he didn't.

Once he could finally see the sleigh that didn't help much either. It looked like a fantasy of a sleigh and not like any particular type he'd ever seen. It was made of something shimmering and translucent, like glass or ice. He was beginning to feel distinctly odd about this. The winter fairytale vision began to slow as it approached. He noticed no driver sat up front, the reins lay loose, the reindeer seeking to know where to go.

Crowley felt his heart seize up. His strange assignment coming into focused, and if he was right, this was a test, and not one he knew how to pass. He could see the passenger now, and for a moment, even though his fears had just been completely confirmed, he clean forgot them. She was breathtaking, as in he forgot to breath for a solid minute. For one thing she was a "she" which was unusual enough. Aziraphale rarely took on a female shape, but when she did she was glorious.

Her hair was long, as it almost never was, a starlight spill down her back and shoulders, crowned by a spiky coronet that looked like shards of ice. Her throat was defined by a choker of the pale blue stones and depended lower in an elaborate necklace. She was all in white velvet with traceries of the same gems glittering across the bodice. The soft, pleasant curves she always had were magnified now, he could see her magnificent bosom and could imagine the extra fullness in her hips, currently hidden beneath the white furs that blanketed her lap. He wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to wrap himself around her and hold her tight. He stood rooted to the spot as she pulled to a stop next to him.

"Crowley, what on earth are you doing all the way out here. There can't be much tempting to do here?" At the angel's words, the reality of the situation came crashing back to him.

"I think you are the reason I'm here," he replied. "They just said go up here, go north, you'll know it when you see it. And the first thing I saw was you in this stunning fairytale rig. What are you up to in this get up?"

"Oh, I'm supposed to be a vision, they think the arctic needs a saint, but the people here don't seem to go in for that sort of thing. Lot of stuff and bother if you ask me. But it was rather a direct order my dear, I'm afraid I can't can't just let it drop."

"Nah, best you don't, think I'm going to have to be seen 'doing something' about it." He turned back to the snow.

"Cowley," Aziraphale called, "I can at least let you ride along a bit of the way. Not too far, mind, but it's dreadfully cold."

Crowley considered the danger they were being watched already, but if they were, they'd already been seen talking. He climbed in and Aziraphale budged over to make room, but the sleigh really was built for one so it was a tight fit. Crowley didn't mind at all. He leaned as far into the angel as he thought he could get away with and lost himself for a time in the warmth against his side, and the chiming of the bells.

Eventually they stopped. "The village is just a few hours north on foot," Aziraphale looked over sadly, "it's probably best you go on alone from here."

Crowley got up reluctantly, "You're right, Angel, thanks for the lift anyway. If say good luck, but well…"

"Yes, well, I'll see you after?"

"I hope so, my lot didn't arrange transport home either." With that he stepped out of the sleigh and began to walk. The reindeer started moving again and quickly the entire conveyance disappeared again into the white world. The last thing to go was the sound of bells.

Crowley walked the rest of the way into the town, which hardly warranted the name. He hid himself and set about dropping some eves. His luck was apparently back, as he overhead the most fascinating bed time story. He left the town and came back in, openly and carrying a great pack. He told the curious people that he was a scholar there to collect stories, especially fairytales. He proceed to sit in the warm Central meeting house, and copy down every story told. Hey was quickly joined by every child, and no few of the adults.

He had only been at it a few days when the children started telling their own stories. They had seen the Snow Queen in the woods. Most of the adults laughed then off, but Crowley, the kind scholar, listened quite seriously and wrote down their stories with the rest. He told them how clever and brave they were to remember their old stories and get away from the dangerous fairy.

After a couple of weeks the children stop having new stories of the Snow Queen in the woods, and the old folks have finished telling all their tales. Crowley promises to send them copies of the book he will make, and put the name of each teller with the tale. (And he actually does.) He leaves the town with a pack of provisions an skis he now knows how to not fall down on. He goes much faster than when he was on foot.

He's gone half a day when he hears the bells again. The reindeer are their normal dun now. The sleigh is wood, painted blue and silver. The occupant looks as he usually does, in a long white coat, his gloved hands on the reins, his short white blonde curls peeking out from under his hat. The sleigh comes to a stop nearby, and Crowley skis up.

"Need a lift again?" Aziraphale asks. Crowley grins.

"I won't say no to one, at least as far as a town if regular routes south, or a port." He climbed in. Stowing his skis and pack on the back. With a flick of the reins they were off again.

"So, you going to tell me how you thwarted me this time?" The angel was smiling as he asked.

"Me? I didn't really do anything. Just sat in the village and let them tell me stories. Gonna make a book of it so their traditional beliefs don't disappear." He gave his best guileless grin. Aziraphale looked unimpressed.

"Pull the other one, it's got bells on."

Crowley laughed. "No, really, this is all on your bosses. They sent you out rigged up as a local fairytale who steals children. Once I get it printed, you can take them the book."

"They get more and more out of touch every century." Aziraphale said with a grimace. "Most likely they were hoping a child would try to 'banish' me, which is basically a fake miracle and would make a fake saint. How does that even help?"

"I can't say, almost sounds like one of our sort of schemes. If I didn't know better, I'd think someone in our chains of command was sharing notes." As soon as the words were out of Crowley's mouth his spin felt even more icy than the clime could account for. If Heaven and Hell were comparing notes, it would only be a matter of time before the Arrangement was found out. He realized he needed a plan for when that day came. He could see similar trepidation on the angel's face.

"You know what, I think that route downstairs was somewhere near here. Might be best if I went back that way." The sleigh immediately began to slow.

"Yes, that might be a good idea, my dear," Aziraphale agreed. "Do mind how you go, though."

"Course I will, Angel, just got some thinking to do." Crowley replied. He retrieved his pack and skis and headed off. He needed to think of some kind of insurance against Hell.

For @drawlight‘s 31 days of ineffables -- hoooo boy am I behind! Work Conference sorry!

#31 days of ineffables #day 6 #sleigh bells #good omens #good omens fic #my fic #ineffable spouses #fem!aziraphale #crowley (good omens)#crowly x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #gomens #drawlight

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royallyanxious · 4 years

Text

The star that shines bright

Fandom: Good Omens

Ship: Aziraphale/Crowley

word count: 1256

summary: Christmas at Aziraphale’s bookshop

AO3 link

Ko-fi link

“Oh, dear God. Why this tree must be so tall…” pondered Aziraphale, carefully stepping on the third step of the ladder. The big, shiny star blinked at him as if it was confused about why would Aziraphale complain over a Christmas tree that he chose himself.

Another step up and yet another.

One could think that after years and years of going up and down, Aziraphale would grow used to using stairs, steps, and elevators - nothing could be further from the truth though. Aziraphale wholeheartedly proclaimed his hatred towards ladders and stairs the day he was assigned to appear in Jacob’s dream about the ladder. What was an in-depth religious experience for Jacob, was also a source of constant nightmares for Aziraphale.

“Need some help, angel?” Crowley threw, leisurely sprawled across the sofa. His shades were subtly slipping down his nose, thin pupils taking in the fantastic view that Aziraphale offered to him.

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder, perplexed as though Crowley had just suggested something highly inappropriate. (He didn’t know, he couldn’t know that Crowley would gladly suggest hundreds of other things that were more inappropriate than hanging a star on the top of Christmas tree. Things like soft cuddles, and holding clammy hands. Debauchery in the purest form.)

“Seeing that I am an angel, I’m more of a fit for the task of putting the star.” Aziraphale pointed, the ladder under his feet shaking a little bit as he reached the final step. His gaze, however, softened as he took in the relaxed posture of Crowley on his couch. “But, I suppose, you may light up the light.”

Crowley arched his eyebrows upon hearing the offer. Aziraphale loved the lights. He had always loved them. Crowley knew that as a matter of a fact the angel bought at least a couple of new sets of lights every year.

“You sure, angel?” he asked just to make sure.

The smile Aziraphale sent him was as bright as the color of the star he was holding in his hands.

“But of course, dear. There’s no fun in decorating a Christmas tree when you do it alone.”

(Crowley had to admit that it was undoubtfully true. He tried decorating the plants in his apartment the day before. It went terrible and ended with a couple of sharp threats until the plants let him sparkle some glitter on the leaves.)

“If you say so,” Crowley murmured, shrugging his shoulders. There was grace, there was finesse in that movement - he mastered that skills a long time ago and he called it “fashionably unbothered” ever since.

Nodding and sending yet another bright smile Aziraphale turned back and finally placed the star at the top of the Christmas tree. Somehow it appeared to be much brighter than seconds ago.

“Damned, angelic miracles…” muttered Crowley under his breath and snapped his fingers to turn on the lamps. He couldn’t possibly stay behind in their little game of outdoing themselves in silly miracles.

Aziraphale gasped, still standing on the ladder. His face, comically surprised, was lightened up with dozens of colorful sparks. Perhaps it was the closest to Aziraphale’s real form that Crowley would see on earth.

“Crowley, my dear, that’s cheating!” the angel pointed out, gently touching one of the light bulbs. “What’s the fun in this, if you turn it on with your fingers?”

“I have plenty of fun as I am here,” laughed Crowley, gesturing on his body still sprawled on the sofa. He could feel Aziraphale’s eyes on himself but he didn’t mind the attention. They were past that point already. “Besides, what’s a better day for overusing miracles then Christmas?” he asked after a moment.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale, with the greatest precaution, managed to step down the ladder. It was clear that he felt much safer standing on the ground. Who would have thought? An angel who feels safer while touching the ground.

“What better time for that indeed,” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully, pouring the wine into two tall glasses and then handing it to Crowley. He saved this bottle of wine, especially for Christmas.

For a couple of minutes, they stayed like that - sipping wine and enjoying the warmth coming from the fireplace. It was no different from their casual evenings spent together - the evenings that Crowley loved the most when all of their heavenly and hellishly job was done and they would simply hang around like a normal demon and a normal angel.

“Do you remember it?” Crowley asked, leisurely. The question itself seemed careless and almost mundane but it had been tinging the tip of his tongue for at least a couple of centuries. “The original Christmas day?” he added when Aziraphale looked at him.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t in December.” laughed the angel in reply, “But yes, yes I do remember it.” he provided a tiny blush tinting his cheeks.

Crowley prompted on his elbow and raised his eyebrow. “Well? How was it? Did he cry a lot?”

Upon hearing that Azirphale laughed awkwardly and took another sip of wine.

“Truth to be told, my dearest, I wasn’t exactly there…” he said vaguely. If Aziraphale hoped that Crowley would drop the subject - he was wrong.

“Come on, angel.” purred Crowley, setting his shades aside. “You can’t leave me hanging with an answer like that.” he clicked his tongue, “Let me start if you’re so shy. I clearly remember that on that very day I was somewhere in the north of Palestine, learning the olive farming. I swear, I never got even one perfectly round olive.” he grumbled.

Aziraphale snorted loudly but quickly tried to conceal it by sipping his wine. The smirk that Crowley sent him said plenty about the effectiveness of his attempt.

“If you must know, Crowley, I was actually on the other side of the country.” declared Aziraphale at last. “I wanted to be there, I really did but you see… Gabriel decided to throw up a party above Nazareth’s sky and, well, let’s just say that I was never fond of Gabriel’s parties.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale with his eyes widely opened (which - granted - was quite funny considering how thin his pupils were).

“So what you mean,” started the demon slowly,” “is that you ditched God’s son’s birth - you an actual angel - ditched God’s son’s birth because you didn’t feel like attending some sick baby shower organized by an archangel? An actual archangel”

“I wouldn’t call it a baby shower.” Aziraphale waved his hand. “It reminded more of a party that you throw once you finish an important project or something… Lots of nectars and none of them were wine. Sadly.”

“Sadly.” echoed Crowley and put his shades back on.

He couldn’t risk, he didn’t want to risk, Aziraphale seeing his eyes softening. He didn’t dare to look at Aziraphale just right after the angel melted Crowley’s heart like that. Surely, he would see all the love, all the affection hidden in these yellow irises. It was impossible really how after all these years Aziraphale could still surprise Crowley, could still make him fall into him like he did that fateful day in the Eden Garden.

Crowley smiled to himself and drank the rest of his wine. The warmth was filling up his body and twitching under his skin.

“Don’t worry, angel. Who knows, maybe you will be present there on the day when the anti-Christ comes to earth.” Crowley laughed whole-heartedly.

He was wrong. It would be him - not Aziraphale - he would be there but that’s a story for another day.

The end.

#not ts #good omens #good omens fic #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #good omens fluff #fluff #vic writes

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metaphorical-love-for-a-car · 5 years

Text

Wretched And Devine-- Aziraphale x Reader

Request; “Can I get a aziraphale x human reader? They're madly in love but aziraphale refrains himself cuz being an angel etc. but he's in pain but turns out she's one of the heavenly beings god put among humanity but she just doesn't know and really dramatic & romantic confessing scene maybe?”(@imaginesyes)

Warnings; reader is an Earth Angel, I recommend skimming the article just to get a general idea of what it is

Word Count; 3.2k (buckle up, folks! it’s gonna be a hell of a ride)

Notes; my last Aziraphale fic got flagged, hopefully this one will stay up 🤷🏻‍♀️

You had a relatively normal childhood. You were born to an average working-class family. Your parents called you their 'miracle baby' because just when they thought they were unable to have children, you came about.

You graduated from school with good grades and went on to search for a decent job. But as you began to experience the world on your own, you realized that you weren't quite as normal as one would assume. Things seemed to move around your small flat on their own accord. The movements were never a hassle. In fact, they were always beneficial. Yet you could never remember physically moving the stuff yourself. You brushed it off, joking that either a ghost lived with you, or you had superpowers. Either way, you didn't mind.

Your flat was situated in the middle of Soho, and you often found yourself wandering the city during your free time. One of your favorite places to visit was the park. Sometimes you would go to sit, read, and relax; other times, you would bring some bread with you to feed the ducks. Among the crowd of regular visitors, there was one particular face that you looked forward to spotting. His spiffy choice of clothing and light, curly locks never failed to draw your attention. There was something about him that you found endearing and slightly... nostalgic. You couldn't quite place your finger on it, but you made it your mission to get to know him.

It started small, commenting on how you liked his bow tie then introducing yourself. After a while, the two of you were able to have a steady conversation with one another. He eventually invited you to his bookshop for tea. The two of you just seemed to hit it off, and, soon enough, you were popping into the bookshop on your way home from work nearly every day.

The more time you spent with Aziraphale, the more you felt yourself falling. You thought he felt the same way, but he started to grow distant. He would disappear for days on end or give excuses as to why he couldn't make it to dinner. It was all odd. You couldn't figure out why his demeanor had suddenly changed, and it was tearing your heart to shreds. He was slowly pushing you out of his life, and you wanted... no, you needed to find out why.

Crowley lounged across the sofa and warily watched Aziraphale pace back and forth across the small room. He was muttering under his breath and occasionally chewing on his thumbnail. The demon rolled his eyes. "I just don't see what the big deal is." A cynical chuckle left Aziraphale's throat.

"Oh, I'm quite sure you do." Crowley scoffed and sat up.

"Okay, so, you're in love." As soon as the 'L' word had left Crowley's lips, Aziraphale froze, staring at the demon with wide eyes. "Don't try to deny it. It's painfully obvious. But despite that, you're pushing them away. Why?" The angel grimaced for a moment. He looked as if he would discorporate at any given moment.

"Because... because they're..." Aziraphale huffed, unsure of the right words to say. Crowley nodded.

"Right. They're human, and Heaven won't be too fond of that." Aziraphale quickly shook his head. A pained expression flooded his features.

"No, it's not even that." Crowley looked confused and watched the angel expectantly. He continued to pace for a moment before stopping with his back turned toward the demon. "Earth angel. You know the one I'm talking about," Aziraphale explained bitterly. Crowley leaned back into the sofa, face darkening.

"Do they know? Have they remembered anything?" Aziraphale sank into his chair and shook his head. He could feel Crowley's gaze burning into the side of his head. "Are you going to tell them?" The angel opened his mouth before quickly closing it again. A suffocating silence filled the room. Aziraphale sighed and finally met Crowley's gaze.

"No. They can't know." His voice cracked midsentence. The angel avoided Crowley's gaze once more, not wanting any pity from the demon.

You tried to phone Aziraphale several times throughout the evening, but there was no answer. You paced through your flat like a caged animal. Running a hand through your hair, you decided that you couldn't take it anymore. You grabbed a coat and made sure to lock the door on your way out.

The sky was dark. It was late, and dark clouds were gathering overhead. Most people were either home with the family or in a pub with a glass in their hand. As you stood on the sidewalk, staring at the bookshop's sign, you wondered if Aziraphale truly did care for you, or if you had just read the signs all wrong. Either way, you were set on giving him a piece of your mind.

You first tried to open the door. Of course, it was locked. Peering inside, you knew he was in there somewhere. There was a light on in the back, and a shadow would flicker by every now and again. You raised a fist and rasped on the door. You held your breath, hoping that he would answer.

You had stood there, knocking on the door for God knows how long. The sky was growing angrier by the minute, with thunder rumbling overhead and the beginnings of a storm hitting the pavement. You huffed. Enough was enough. You opened your hand flat and pressed it against the door. Closing your eyes, you focused all your willpower on the door and its lock. Your nose wrinkled in frustration. The door swung open with a force you didn't know lurked inside you. As you stepped into the shop, thunder roared through the air. You couldn't help the smirk that formed across your face. You apparently had a knack for badass entrances.

Crowley and Aziraphale both leaped to their feet when they heard the door crash open. When they rushed into the shop, they didn't expect to see you standing there with silvery glowing eyes. Neither of them knew how to react when you waved your hand, causing the door to close behind yourself. "We need to talk." Aziraphale swallowed hard and cast a worried glance at Crowley. He returned his gaze to you, nodding.

"Yes, I suppose we do."

You stood in the back room with your arms crossed. Aziraphale filed in and closed the door. His back was turned to you. "How long have you known?" You scoffed.

"Known what? That I have superpowers? Since I moved out of my parents' place. I've been getting better at controlling them lately." You stopped and shook your head. "But that's not what we need to talk about." Aziraphale turned on his heel, giving you a shocked look.

"I most certainly think it is! You obviously don't know what you're capable of. You could—"

"I could what? Hurt somebody? I think I can handle myself," you snapped, eyes glowing even brighter. Aziraphale's jaw tightened until he noticed the tears that were beginning to spill down your cheeks. His throat tightened. It hurt him more than words can describe to see you this upset.

"I think it's probably best that you go home." You shook your head.

"Damn it, Azi. Would you just please quit shutting me out and talk to me?" you pleaded.

"I— er— I don't know what you mean."

"Stop with the bullshit. You've been avoiding me. It's like you just cut me out of your life, and I—" your voice cracked. You sniffed, wiping your nose on the edge of your sleeve. "I can't keep going like this. I love you, Aziraphale. And you might think it's stupid, but I thought you might have loved me too." The angel's shoulders sank. Before he could even process what he was doing, Aziraphale rushed over to you, sweeping you into an embrace. You clung to him as tears flowed freely.

"I love you too," his voice was as faint as a whisper, but you heard it. A weight had been lifted off his chest. It felt good to finally say it, after all these years. "But it won't work." He pulled away from you, taking a few steps back. Hurt and confusion filled your being. As he scanned your features, he noticed how red your nose and cheeks were, and how your eyes were beginning to return to normal. Aziraphale shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. "This. Us. It just... won't work. We can't be together. We shouldn't even be interacting for all they care." The words rushed out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"What do you mean?" You eyed him expectantly. Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek, knowing that he had slipped up in mentioning anything. He panicked for a brief moment, but as he stared into your teary eyes, he knew what needed to be done. Aziraphale sucked in a breath and moved closer to you. He carefully placed two fingers on your temples.

"This might hurt a bit."

"The Almighty has big plans for this universe, which is why we need all the help we can get. Everything has to be designed perfectly. Each of you will be assigned a task for creation," Michael announced. Various angels were sorted off and given a job. You eyed the crowd, excitedly waiting for your task. You noticed an angel with red hair and golden eyes approaching you.

"Raphael," you greeted politely. He flashed you a grin.

"Your assignment is to help me piece together the cosmos. The Almighty's already planned the major bits, but we can get creative after that." Your eyes lit up as your smile widened. Raphael laughed at your reaction. "I'm excited too. This is definitely one of the more fun assignments if you ask me. Ready?" You gave him a firm nod.

"Let's go."

The Universe was just beginning to come together. It was a hatchling... a newborn... a baby... and things were already falling apart. Lucifer and his band of merry angels were, as most liked to put it, revolting. And because of that, they were getting thrown out of Heaven. You could rationalize that. It was logical. Rebel and you get the boot. But then you heard about Raphael. It was a mistake. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and asked the wrong questions. He shouldn't have been thrown out with the rest of them. He wasn't /evil/.

The rest of the archangels had gathered all of Heaven's angels. They recounted their version of the events. Your brows furrowed as your fists tightened. They made it out like he was a part of it all. Raphael, the angel of healing and your closest companion, was now the enemy. As they continued their spiel, you noticed a bright light being emitted from the front of the large room. It was sweeping over the crowd, and you realized what was happening. They were changing history, altering memories. Nothing would be the same after that. So you tried to slip out as quietly as you could, but a curly-haired angel stopped you. His dark eyes bore into yours. "Where are you going?" his tone was hushed, not wanting to cause a scene. You wracked your mind for an excuse.

"I was given an urgent task." He raised a brow at you. It was clear he didn't believe a word you said.

"And what exactly are you doing?"

"You shouldn't interfere with the Almighty's plan. It's ineffable." You glanced towards the front of the room. The light would be approaching your section at any moment. The angel's eyes widened, and he quickly stepped aside.

"Of course! My apologies..." he trailed off. You gave him your name, and he smiled at you. "Aziraphale," he introduced himself. You started to leave but stopped to put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's important that you speak to no one of this." He nodded solemnly. With that, you left. You disappeared for just a blip of a moment. It wasn't long enough for anyone except for Aziraphale to notice. By the time you had returned, the light was gone. The archangels were finishing their speeches. You managed to slip back in without suspicion. It wasn't long after that everyone was dismissed.

A handful of angels were put in Eden, and you were one of them. You were surprised to see Aziraphale again and even more so when he remembered you. The principality always kept you on your toes. He wasn't like most angels, and you quite enjoyed his company.

The two of you were standing guard on the East wall, watching the first storm roll in. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a snake slithering towards the two of you. You were vaguely aware of who it was. A demon, obviously. But it was the very one that tempted Adam and Eve into eating the forbidden fruit. You watched it carefully as it began to transform. Aziraphale pretended he didn't see it happening. He was always more strict on following Heaven's every whim. You were curious to see what the demon looked like, as you hadn't actually encountered one. As soon as you saw the fiery red hair, your heart dropped. It was Raphael, but slightly different. He had the same hair, and his eyes were still golden, but they resembled those of a serpent's. He made a comment about a balloon, but you weren't paying attention to anything he said. All you could think about was how justice failed your friend. As soon as Raphael laid eyes on you, his face fell. You quickly looked away, not wanting him to see the angry tears that were building in your eyes. "I've got to go. Important stuff. Sorry, Azi." The angel gave you a worried look but nodded nonetheless. You glanced towards Raphael and gave him a sad smile. His brows furrowed, and you nodded, just to let him know that you still remembered. With a flap of your wings, you took off towards Heaven.

You stormed down the long, empty corridor. Once you found the door you were searching for, you froze. There was only half a moment's hesitation before you pushed the heavy door open. There was a single desk in the vast room. An old man was sitting behind it, with dozens of scrolls littering the desk. Three archangels stood around him. Even though you had never met him before, you knew it was the one and only Metatron. They all snapped their attention to you. "Knocking is a common courtesy, (Y/N). I suggest you do it more often," Gabriel growled.

"Yes, we are discussing a matter of great importance. You will have to wait," Metatron huffed. You shook your head.

"I can't. I've already waited long enough." You knew you had their attention. You sucked in a deep breath and silently prayed that you wouldn't fall for any of the things you were about to say. Then you just laid it on them. You ranted about how Raphael didn't deserve to fall, how justice had been skewed, and how they were supposed to be the good guys. When you finished, an uncomfortable tension filled the air. Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose.

"How do you remember that?"

"I left the meeting." That's when all Hell broke loose. It was almost like a screaming match, who can say the meanest thing the loudest? You folded your wings around yourself. Half of you regretted even coming here and just wanted to disappear to the stars again. The other half told you that it was the right thing to do. You clung to the hope of Raphael returning and stood firm.

"Enough!" Metatron's voice boomed. Silence fell over everyone. He stood and grabbed a scroll off the desk. His eyes scanned the document as he unrolled it. Metatron handed it over to Gabriel. "We cannot have any more outliers, but condemning another angel so soon would cause chaos. Perhaps this will be a happy medium," he muttered. Michael and Uriel leaned closer to catch a glimpse of the scroll. They all nodded in approval. "Then it has been settled." Metatron slammed his hand down on the desk, then everything went black.

It happened over, and over, and over again for centuries. New life. New pain. New suffering. Grow old. Die. Round and round you go. No end in sight. You didn't remember every single detail of your lives, but you would catch glimpses of memories. Most would consider it deja vu. You called it a curse. The longer you stayed on Earth, the more you forgot about your past. You forgot about the curly-headed angel. You forgot about the angel-turned-demon with golden eyes. And, for a while, they forgot about you too. With an ever-changing existence, it was hard to keep track of you. Who could blame them?

Your knees buckled. Aziraphale caught you and helped you over to the sofa. A broken sob shook your shoulders. You reached over your shoulder and ran a hand over your back, where your wings used to be. When Aziraphale placed a gentle hand on the small of your back, you bolted upright with wide eyes. "Did you see them? The memories?" Panic settled into your core. What if he saw them? What would Heaven do to him? You couldn't let anything bad happen to him.

"No, I only pulled them for you to see." You sighed and relaxed again. He seemed hesitant to touch you again, so you leaned into his side. Aziraphale wrapped an arm around you. A few stray tears slid down your cheeks. He carefully wiped them away with his thumb.

"Thank you," you whispered, "for showing me who I am." He nodded. The two of you sat like that for several minutes. You were almost too afraid to move. You didn't want to ruin the serenity of the moment. You felt Aziraphale take in a deep breath.

"Maybe..." He paused, trying to figure out what to say. "Maybe we could figure out a way for this to work." You sat up to get a better look at him. A soft smile graced his lips, and his eyes were full of pure adoration. It was clear that he meant it when he said he loved you. You could practically feel it radiating from him at this moment. You leaned closer to him until you could feel your breath mingling with his. Aziraphale closed the gap between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours. It was sweet and gentle, everything you'd imagine it would be and more. After a moment, he pulled away from the kiss and rested his forehead against yours.

"Forbidden lovers," you hummed, gazing into his eyes. "Like Romeo and Juliet. But hopefully without all the death." Aziraphale pulled away from you and laughed.

"Well, yes, I should hope so." He gazed at you with a bright and loving smile. You took his hand into your own, tracing shapes in his palm.

Neither of you knew what tomorrow would bring, but the least you could do was enjoy the moment... together.

~*~*~

Tag List;

@kawaiiusagichansan

@fatbottomedboi

#good omens #good omens x reader #good omens aziraphale #Aziraphale #aziraphale x reader #good omens crowley #good omens crowley x reader #crowley #crowley x reader #good omens angels #michael sheen #michael sheen x reader #david tennant #david tennant x reader

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samaraclegane · 5 years

Note

I heard you're taking Good Omens prompts! I'm aching for some hurt!Crowley and Zira taking care of him.

author’s note: yes! I’m a total sucker for this, too. I can totally see Aziraphale worrying about Crowley and mother-henning him haha. I wasn’t sure if you meant physically hurt or mentally/emotionally hurt, so I squeezed in a bit of both. hope it’s alright for you! thanks for the prompt :)

-”I’m fine, angel,” Crowley insists. actually, he’s been insisting this for the past fifteen minutes, since the angel turned up at his doorstep, demanding to be let in to take care of the demon.

-at first, he’d considered turning the angel out. after all, Crowley was a demon. it was in his blood to be cruel. he wasn’t a child, he wasn’t even human; he could look after himself just fine. even if he had had a close encounter with a few rogue demons and a couple of angels carrying holy water wanting to destroy his being forever, what did that matter?

-even so, as he had been the entire time since his arrival, Aziraphale persisted. “no, Crowley, you aren’t. let me look after you, please.”

-Crowley grumbled. as though throwing a juvenile tantrum, he refused to sit down. the angel had set up a makeshift bed for him on his couch, treating him like he was sick or otherwise incapable of anything, and Crowley wouldn’t stand for it. he would protest by, well... standing.

-”for hell’s sake, angel,” he sighed, exasperated, “I’m fine. it was nothing. I got away unscathed, and I haven’t seen them since. you don’t have to baby me.”

-Aziraphale gave him a pointed look and, seeing he was getting nowhere with his words, instead dropped the pillow in his hands and came to stand before Crowley. the latter held his breath, but let it go once the angel took his hand and brought it before his face.

-”do you see this?” he asked rhetorically, voice dripping with worry, thrusting the scalded limb into his eyes, “this doesn’t look ‘unscathed’, Crowley.”

-”well, I’d be able to see it if you moved it further away.” Crowley had to respond sardonically, in an attempt to make the angel laugh or otherwise drop the subject entirely. instead, Aziraphale put his hand back down to his side, then ushered him to sit down with a hand firmly planted on his back.

-”you need to rest, Crowley,” Aziraphale continued to repeat, as though trying to brainwash him into believing it, “I don’t want to come here and find you dead next week.”

-”charming,” Crowley retorted, but let himself be pushed down into sitting. so much for his protest. “you’re not tucking me in, by the way. that’s where I draw the line.”

-Aziraphale tried to look disappointed, but the pleased grin that stemmed from him finally being able to get Crowley to at least sit down seeped through, making him look overall overjoyed.

-”alright,” he resigns, meeting Crowley half way, smirking at him though still looking kind, “I’ll let you do that much yourself.”

-Crowley complies reluctantly, bringing the offensively bright blanket up to his waist, refusing to let it any higher through fear he might actually fall asleep. he looks at Aziraphale through squinting eyes, almost suspicious of the angel’s good deeds.

-”what are you doing here, anyway?” he asks, tone just a little more than accusatory, as though the angel had no good reason to want to care for him. “don’t you have some heavenly work to do?”

-”they haven’t been in contact,” Aziraphale explains, then adds with a nod towards Crowley, “not since... well, you know. it seems they don’t like angels that don’t disappear from existence when doused with holy fire.”

-”not doused,” Crowley says absently, “they didn’t douse you - I mean, me. whoever it was, they didn’t pour it on us, you can’t pour fire. at least I don’t think you can. can you?”

-”yes. I mean, no, you can’t. quite right,” Aziraphale looks stilted, at a loss at having had his English corrected by the demon. he instead motions towards a nearby chair and asks, “may I?”

-”go ahead,” Crowley consents, and the angel promptly takes his seat, bringing it ever so slightly closer to the couch he’s lying on. “so, you’re not doing anything lately? not even rebuilding the bookshop?”

-”not that one. it was obliterated, after all,” the angel speaks matter-of-factly, “but I might start another. build it from the ground up. who knows? I might even add a quaint little coffee shop inside.”

-”oh, you are a rebel,” Crowley teases, “sky’s the limit when heaven won’t send you a rude note about your frivolous miracles anymore, eh?”

-Aziraphale smiles, but it seems a little said - detained. he gesture to Crowley’s hand, which looks to be peeling, that rests atop the blanket. “is that what that is? hell’s rude note to you?”

-”this?” Crowley raises the hand, and sees how Aziraphale’s chest collapses at the sight, “it’s nothing. they could’ve done much worse. they have, actually, for much less serious things.”

-”oh,” is all Aziraphale can say, and it comes out all airy and hollow. Crowley almost feels bad, like it’s his fault, but then suddenly the angel is standing once more, after having been sat down for only a minute.

-Aziraphale moves tentatively across the floor, and Crowley’s eyes follow him the whole way. he seems somewhat uncertain of his intention, but when he reaches the demon, he instantly settles at the foot of the couch, perching beside Crowley, as though afraid he’ll wake the man who is not yet (and doesn’t plan to be) asleep.

-the red haired demon waits. though he doesn’t strictly need to breathe, it still feels strange when he doesn’t. he finds he can’t because he doesn’t know what the angel is planning on doing. he merely watches Aziraphale relax, then refuses to let himself flinch as the angel’s hand comes nearer to him.

-Aziraphale’s touch is gentle. he thinks he feels it on his face, but he’s proven wrong by his senses. perhaps, he reasons, the angel’s aura is warm, so as to cast sensations of closeness on all nearby platforms, but he doesn’t care. as soon as the angel’s fingers land in his hair, brushing lightly against his scalp, he can’t feel anything else, and he doesn’t want to.

-if he were anybody (or anything, strictly speaking) else, he might keen into the touch. he might purr, curl up and let the angel touch him, coax him into sleep. he might look into Aziraphale’s eyes lovingly, he might even tell him how he really feels, but he can’t.

-he’s spent so very long holding those words in, he’s not sure he remembers how to form them. he can’t physically say them, which is why all he’s left with is shutting his eyes and sealing them, not wanting the rest of the world to get in. all he wants, in that moment, is to feel Aziraphale’s touch - the miracle-working hands, reserved for only him, even if just briefly - and to feel at some sort of peace.

-he could cry. he could let out his emotions, the ones he didn’t know he had, the ones he so often refuses to acknowledge, but he doesn’t do this either. he simply lets the angel tempt him, feels the light pressure of his nails delicately run along his head, combing his hair, and lets himself fall drowsy.

-so maybe he can’t sleep. maybe he doesn’t need to sleep, maybe he’ll never need to sleep, but he can enjoy this. he can enjoy the presence of the angel - his angel - who is the only being in creation to have ever reached out to him first. the only being to want to talk to him, to want to help him, to not look at him like some sort of monster.

-he might not be sleeping, but he certainly feels like he’s dreaming whenever he’s with Aziraphale.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #send me prompts #send me stuff #send me anything #send me asks #send me questions #SEND ME REQUESTS #crowley x aziraphale #aziracrow #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley #mine #prompted writing #prompted works

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princessdianaartemis · 5 years

Text

The One Where The Almighty Has Had Enough

Prelude: I was working on something else when I thought: Well, if Sandalphon was responsible for Sodom and Gomorrah, what if he was responsible for the Nephilim massacre, too? And what if his counterpart for ‘punisher of illicit love’, was Asmodeus, demon of Lust (those posts about Aziraphale asking Crowley if that’s what he changed his name to)...this was born.

Enjoy.

Also, here’s part two.

It was a crisp, early autumn morning when something in London shifted. There was a different feeling in the air, a mixture of ozone and sulfur that felt out of place in the foggy London morning, especially for the occult and ethereal being that realized their vacation was coming to an close.

The phone at the bookshop rung once before Aziraphale, who had been standing expectantly at its side, picked it up.

“I think it’s best you get here, my dear. I feel it’d be best to meet here than on the streets of London.”

Crowley, who hadn’t even been able to slip out an ‘angel’, answered, “Hmm, alright. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“No rush,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t think they expect to do anything with us until we are together.”

With the promise of more hellfire and holy water, Aziraphale began to influence his visitors to remember appointments they’d previously forgotten (and then realize, halfway there, that the appointment was tomorrow) and closed the shop. He didn’t bother locking the door. Lock or no lock, Crowley—or the others—would find a way inside. There was time, he expected, so he made himself some cocoa as he waited.

The sound of the Bentley coming to rest along the street eased the slight tension in the angel’s shoulders and he took a sip of the cooling cocoa. When the door opened, he raised a hand from behind his pile of books.

“In here, love.”

Crowley would’ve blushed if he had the time for anything other than fret.

“No sign of them yet?” he asked and settled across from Aziraphale.

“Not yet, but I don’t think they’ll be long.”

It had been about a month since Adam had contacted them about the angel and demon duo that were hunting down evidence of the, as he had heard it, indecency causing Heaven and Hell so much grief. Since then, they had felt the light push and pull of one side or the other. The wave of righteousness and tail end of the tan overcoat Sandalphon took to wearing on Earth or the outpour of lust that ended with the outing of politicians and other important members of the community which Crowley knew reeked of Asmodeus’ influence.

But, they figured the honeymoon was over and it was time to face their demons—well, demon and angel as it were. They weren’t disappointed when a few minutes later, the crackle of otherworldly magic appeared at the door. They prepared themselves, standing side-by-side as they always have.

The door opened with a light jingle of the bell at its threshold, but it wasn’t angel nor demon, but a boy with blond curls that smiled when he saw the confused duo.

“You didn’t think I’d let you face them alone, right?” he asked with the overconfidence of any eleven-year old as he strode over to them and stopped between them.

Crowley reacted first, hands on his hips, “What are you doing here?”

“This really is no place for you, dear boy.”

Adam just raised a challenging eyebrow, “Mum and Dad suddenly had a desire to come to London for a day trip. They’re having a break at the café across the street so I asked if I could come over to the bookshop. I think—I think it’ll help if I’m here. After all, your gangs still want their fight and they still think they can’t have it without me. They won’t hurt you as long as I’m here.”

They looked between each other, Crowley gaze a little more firm than Aziraphale who gave him a wide-eyed, puppy-dog look until the demon sighed, “Ah, alright. But both of you buckle up, we’re in for a whole lot of ugly.”

“Oh, it’s okay—nothing is uglier than Greasy Johnson and I look at him all the time.”

Crowley felt the quirk of a smile before another wave of magic, this time older and angrier, pushed through the door. The bell wasn’t a jingle but more of a terrified rattle as four bodies walked through the door and stood in a semi-circle at the center of the rotunda—demons to the left, angels to the right.

Aziraphale and Crowley stood likewise with Adam in the middle, all three matching in posture, shoulders back, and head high as they faced their superiors and the two hunters. Gabriel, with his condescending smile stepped forward, hands clasped before him.

“Wonderful, you’re both here,” he said, gaze sliding down to the boy. “Wish you weren’t—don’t want you to witness what we’re about to do to your friends.”

“Godfathers,” Adam said. “They’re my godfathers.”

There was a light preen from each of the beings at his side as Adam took a step back and closer to their warmth behind him. Gabriel’s smile almost slipped before turning to Beezlebub and sharing a disgusted look.

“Right, well, I’m sure the two of you know why we’re here,” Gabriel said and gestured to Sandalphon. “My friend here has been researching about the two you and your torrid affair. He’s found some pretty—well—”

“Damning evidence,” Beelzebub said, a wicked curve of zir lips. “And Asmodeus is here to verify just how damning it is. We should begin immediately, I am anxiously awaiting thizzz outcome.”

Sandalphon stepped forward and glared at the angel-demon duo in front of him, “I haven’t seen such audacity since the incident with the Nephilim. Their relationship, the arrangement as they call it, is an illicit and gross misuse of their power and immortal time. I would say that the demon has corrupted a holy being—but Aziraphale was barely holy to begin with.”

Crowley took a step forward, the fist he’d made at his side sparking with fire and he radiated that heat of demonic rage. Adam glanced back with a raised eyebrow, but it was Aziraphale that reached over and brushed his shoulder, drawing his attention away from the floor and towards him.

“It’s not worth it,” he said.

“You are worth it,” Crowley said. “I’m damned enough as it.”

Aziraphale shook his head, “I won’t let you, so you can stop thinking about it.”

The sparks disappeared and the hand that had been hovering at Crowley’s shoulder dropped to give a light squeeze to the uncurled fingers and they remained that way, hand-in-hand. Gabriel gave a dramatic gasp, hand flying to clutch at his lapel.

“See,” Sandalphon said. “They’re brazen in their affections; even right in front of us they’re not even ashamed of it. It’s abominable.”

“My, Aziraphale, how you’ve broken,” Gabriel said. “But, you still have another chance. We can still save you from the Snake’s influence. Now, Beelzebub does your—hunter want to put in anything or are we saving them for the punishment?”

Beelzebub turned to the demon who had been quiet and gestured for them to start talking. They did.

“I didn’t know that angels inspired lust,” they said, the voice slippery and sounding different to everyone in the room. “But this angel has been very, well, naughty even if he himself hasn’t done anything of the sort. The demon, too, but it is his job. What’s so strange about him is that he’s had less than demonic thoughts—love of all things.”

Crowley tensed and felt as the Prince of Hell’s eyes raised to look at him, but the hand that held his gave it another squeeze and the tension drained. In front of them, Adam scoffed.

“Since when is Love a bad thing?”

He was ignored as Gabriel laughed, “Well, it seems the two of you have a few little things to atone to—well, atone in whatever way Hell makes that happen. So, we’ll start with our little angel, why don’t we? Aziraphale, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Aziraphale glanced over to Crowley at his side, then down at Adam before puffing up and addressing the Archangel, “It’s as Adam said, since when is Love a bad thing? We’re meant to be beings of love and we should express it towards everyone. Yes, my love for Crowley is different, but we have known each other for a ridiculous amount of time so of course it would be different.” He squeezed the hand in his, “So, do whatever you must, but I see nothing wrong with my actions.”

Sandalphon made a disgusted sound and leaned over to Gabriel, whispering something in his ear. Gabriel nodded and turned to the demon at his side who turned to her subordinate.

“What about you, Crowley? What do you have to say?”

Crowley hissed, long and extra-snaky, “What Aziraphale ssssaid.”

“Very well,” Gabriel said and turned to the two hunters. “Sandalphon…Asmodeus, you know your orders.”

“Adam,” Aziraphale said, a breath of a voice. “You need to get out of here.”

He frowned and turned an incredulous expression on the angel, “I’m not leaving you alone. Besides, everything will sort itself out—you’ll see.”

Almost as if he had summoned it, and it wasn’t too far beyond the realm of belief that he had, a roll of thunder ripped through the sky and shook the bookshop. Then there was a bright light in the area between the court of eternals and those accused and when it disappeared, there was a woman standing there.

Saying that there was a woman standing there was actually inaccurate. Saying it that way was like saying that a nuclear explosion had caused a bit of a mess. What is more accurate is saying that there was a corporation of a woman, if this woman were housing inside her a nuclear plant of ethereal Love, Peace, and Light. She was smallish, smaller than the men-shaped beings in the room, but not as small as Beelzebub and Adam. Her smile was more of a smirk as her eyes flickered from one side of stunned eternals to the other.

“Right,” She said. “That’s quite enough of this. I think this has gone on too long. It’s time I get involved.

Gabriel, reacted first, getting to a knee and dragging Sandalphon down with him, “It’s—it’s an honor, Your Holiness.”

“Quite. Now, get up, you’re making a fool of yourself Gabriel, dear. Beezy, Asmo, lovely to see you two. And you two,” she said and turned her attention to the pair of Earthbound beings, “you sure have brought me quite a bit of memos.”

Adam frowned as he studied Her, then his face lit up with understanding, “Hey, Grandma.”

She smiled, “Lovely to meet you, Adam, dear.”

“I know you’re in the middle of something, right now.” he said, “But can I ask a quick question?”

“Of course,” She said, “Curiosity is quite a human thing—and we are meant to encourage it. What is your question, dear?”

“Am I going to be smote?” he asked. “Smite? ‘Cuz Anathema was talking to me about the Bible and how half-angel kids were all killed because they weren’t allowed and then she said how Lucifer—that’s my not-dad, right—that he was an angel, which would make me half-angel so I’d be a Nephilim, right? So—is that guy going to smite me?”

Adam waved his hand towards Sandalphon who blanched, even more when She started to laugh.

“No, dear, you’re in a class all on your own. No one will smite you. No one’s being smote at all,” and She turned to the Archangel and Prince of Hell, “You two have been rather persistent, haven’t you.”

Gabriel cleared his throat, “He’s tainted, your Holiness, we can’t just let that slide. He’s been fraternizing with a demon, he stopped the Great Plan in its tracks. He’s—he’s immune to hellfire, there was something we had to do.”

The Almighty turned Her cryptic smirk on him, “Could it not be argued that you have fraternized with demons. You and Beezy have been communicating about this little hunt of yours. Sandalphon’s been tracking with Asmodeus, yet you call Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship illicit.”

“It izzzz,” Beelzebub said, voice rather quiet. “There are feelings involved.”

She turned Her attention on the demon, who made zirself smaller, then straightened the grey blazer she wore, “Alright then. It’s time you listen to me for a change. I think it’s high time my children stop acting like brats.”

Adam stifled laughter by hiding his face in Aziraphale’s coat. And the Almighty began Her speech, arms spread out before Her like inviting them all into a hug, though the eyes grew stormy:

“The Great Plan was stopped because I willed it. Don’t you think if I wanted it to pick back up I could make it so? No, they stopped it because it was part of the Ineffable Plan,” She stopped when Gabriel’s back straightened painfully and Her smile quirked, “Yes, they were telling the truth, dear, those two are quite different.”

She turned to face Crowley and he found his glasses disappearing with a light flutter of Her hand, “Crowley, dear, you were never meant to Fall. You were made to question—I made you that way. But your questions should’ve fortified Heaven, unlike Luci and his main crew,” then She turned a frown at Gabriel, “I shouldn’t have left them in charge—they got paranoid—and overzealous and down you tumbled.”

Crowley’s exposed eyes showed too much, they were wide and red-rimmed as they gazed upon the Almighty. He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and found a thumb sweeping along the back of his hand.

“But I suppose it’s a good thing that you did fall, if you hadn’t—you might not have met Aziraphale,” She said and turned Her attention to the angel who was providing comfort to the demon. When he found the Almighty’s eyes on him, he tensed. “You—my dear, I did good with you. Perhaps a bit too indulgent, but where it counts you’re a great angel. You were always meant to be with Humans, didn’t expect you to hand them your sword, but no matter. Yes, you two were exactly what Earth needed so I’ll grant you what you deserve—your own side.”

She reached into Her jacket and pulled out a sword, very similar to the one a certain Horseperson used, and She willed it over to Aziraphale who took it in his free hand and glanced up with a confused expression.

“A sword. Not one to protect Eden, but to protect Earth,” She said, “Mind you, you shouldn’t need to use it, but it’s a reminder to Heaven of what you are—protector, Principality, and Soldier of Earth, no longer of Heaven.”

Gabriel sputtered from behind her, “Excuse me? Your Holiness, excuse me, but Aziraphale cannot belong to Earth. That’s preposterous. There is Above and there is Below and Aziraphale, as great as you say he is, should be with us, Above. It wouldn’t be right for him to continue—dawdling on Earth. It’s what’s making him so soft in the first place.”

The Almighty’s shoulders tensed and, from above, there was a threatening roll of thunder. She turned in a slow shuffle, an orbit if you will, until She was facing the petulant face of the Archangel.

“Gabriel,” She said, Her voice was cold fire and everyone in the room felt it’s hot-cold rush on their skin, “I really don’t like doing this. But if you are acting like a brat, so you leave me no other choice.”

Again, She waved Her hand in a dismissive fashion and the next time Gabriel opened his mouth, he found that he couldn’t get a word in edgewise, no sound came out. He glared around the Almighty at Aziraphale who shot him an indulgent smile and waved with the hand holding the sword. The Almighty looked at Sandalphon who snapped to attention.

“If he fails to carry this message, it’ll be up to you to deliver it: Aziraphale is no longer of Heaven. He is still an Angel, but he carries my duties out on Earth. He should not be bothered and he will not bother you,” then She turned to the demons who twitched under Her attention. “Same goes for you.”

Beelzebub gave a shallow bow and She turned a wide smile towards Crowley. He was frozen in place, white-knuckled grip around Aziraphale’s hand (it was a good thing that circulation of blood was not needed in their bodies otherwise the angel would’ve found himself losing that hand).

The Almighty took a step towards them and reached a hand out towards the demon, “Take my hand.”

Shaking, he raised the free hand up and let her cool fingers wrap around his overheated ones. Aziraphale made to move away, but Crowley pulled him closer, bringing Adam closer as well.

“I don’t know what to give you, my dear,” She said, giving him a sweet smile. “An apology wouldn’t be enough. I can Forgive you, but it wasn’t me who damned you in the first place. But I could give you one thing. I could Raise you.”

Behind Her, the eternal court all gasped and a little bit of shock ran through the room. She could feel Crowley shaking, an unrelenting shudder that shook him from head to foot. Even Adam had wrapped his arms around Crowley so that he could stop feeling shivery.

“You mean—”

“An Angel again, can you remember what denomination you were—ah, doesn’t matter,” She said with a dismissive shrug. “I’ll make you a Principality too and then you’ll be equals. And, of course, the same rules will apply for you, no meddling from either Heaven or Hell while the two of you protect Earth together.”

Crowley’s eyes were yellow from end to end, and they dilated at Her words. He pulled out of Her grasp and turned to Aziraphale, dislodging Adam from place and the boy made his way around to his Grandmother. He almost glowed with promise and he reached across, surprising Aziraphale to a point that he almost missed the opportunity to miracle away the sword before Crowley impaled himself. He took both of Aziraphale’s hands in his, a wide smile spread on his face.

“What do you say, angel? Both of us—together, equals in the eyes of Heaven and Hell. No more worries, no more back alley dealings, no more fraternizing. We’d get to do everything we always wanted and were too afraid to do,” Crowley said, eyes tearing up. “Say the word and I’ll do it, I’ll say yes. Say it’s what you want.”

From the court, Sandalphon took a step back, reaching up for his chest and sharing a concerned look with Gabriel. The demons did the same, though their glances looked a little sad as well.

Aziraphale’s own eyes softened and he shook off Crowley’s grasp on his hands to reach up and cup the demon’s face with them both. He took a step forward, closing the breath of space, left between them and pressing their foreheads together.

“My love,” he said, and Crowley shivered against him. “Heaven does not deserve to claim an Angel as good and kind and dastardly beautiful as you. They’d try to destroy the Earth just to gain your attention, they’d go to war to gain your affection.

“I wouldn’t belong to Heaven, I’d belong to Earth,” Crowley said, eyes closing, though he might’ve just said ‘I’d belong to you’. “Just think of what we could be—I wouldn’t have these eyes for one, I’d be washed away of all Sin.”

“Humanity needs us as we’ve always been,” insisted Aziraphale. “Besides, would you even want to be around a barely holy being when you’re holier than me? And your eyes are beautiful, Crowley, no matter what you associate it with, I associated with my best friend—from the beginning.”

When Crowley opened his mouth again to argue, a simple ‘angel’ slipping out before Aziraphale shifted enough so that their noses brushed. It stopped Crowley dead in his tracks, red tracking up his face.

“Besides,” Aziraphale said with a chuckle, “how can I be your angel if we’re both one? You’re perfect, my love, exactly as you’ve always been—it’s never mattered that you were a demon, just that you could be destroyed because of me.”

Crowley’s frenzy dropped as the thumbs along his cheekbones began to stroke and he reached up to place his hands atop Aziraphale’s and mimicked his actions atop the backs. He chuckled and nodded, their noses brushing once again.

“Alright, my angel, you win,” Crowley said. “Sata—Go—oh, bugger it, I love you.”

Aziraphale gave a satisfied little hum, “Well, it’s mutual, obviously.”

Crowley pulled away, Aziraphale’s hands in his as he turned to the Almighty.

She gave him an all-too knowing smile as he shrugged, “Sorry. I think we’ll keep our arrangement the way it’s been. Hasn’t been all that bad.”

She gave a little laugh, “Well, I would like to give you something. Heaven and Hell won’t bother you, that I can assure you,” and She shot the beings behind Her a glare before turning back. “But you deserve something, my dear Crowley, and don’t say the cheesy thing you were thinking.”

Adam at Her side gave a loud gasp and tugged on Her sleeve. She bent down so he could whisper in Her ear and whatever he said had Her lighting up.

“Right, well,” She said and turned around, clapping Her hands together. “Guys, you’ve got to get on your way…and remember what I’ve said.”

The door to the bookshop opened behind them. Beelzebub looked like ze wanted to say something more, but a light nudge from Asmodeus had both of them bowing and exiting the shop with nothing more than a glare at Crowley.

Gabriel looked indignant as Sandalphon pulled his sleeve. He met the eyes of the Almighty and frowned, but when She raised an eyebrow, he just shook his head and let his companion pull him away. Then She turned to Crowley again.

“I owe you a favor,” She said, a twinkle sparking in Her eye. “You’ll know what it is—if not, Adam can help you with it. Unless—you know what it is now.”

He gave Her a small smile, “I think I do—but I think I should probably do it the proper way, don’t you think? Deserves to be done the old-fashioned way: roses, chocolates, candlelit dinner or a picnic, big public display, ceremony with all our friends—not that we have a lot of those, but I have a feeling book-girl would be disappointed if she missed it.”

The Almighty laughed and the lights around the shop sparked with it, “That he does—and that she would. Alright, next time you pray, I’ll answer it. Be safe, my protectors of Earth. Grandson, you’ve made me proud. Till next time.”

“Your Holiness,” Aziraphale said, addressing Her for the first time. “I—I know I shouldn’t ask but, well, curiosity is a human thing and it should be encouraged. Why now? Why did you come to our aid now?”

“Because, it’s time for the Ineffable Plan, this plan,” She said and gestured between them, “to come to fruition—it’s about five thousand years overdue.”

And with no more fuss, She disappeared much like She appeared—with a roll of thunder and a flash of light.

The bookshop fell silent. The buzzing of London bustling outside the only sound of life as they attempted to gather their wits. Adam spun around and pulled on Crowley’s sleeve until he bent, ear to mouth, and he whispered something. Crowley’s laughter pierced the silence and he ruffled Adam’s curls on the way up.

“Of course, kid, you’re the only one I could want,” he said. “Now, I think you’ve hoodwinked your parents long enough. Go on. I’ll be in touch.”

Adam smiled, a genuine, ear-to-ear smile that lit up his face, and he ran off, “Bye Crowley, Aziraphale, thanks for letting me hang around,” as he rounded out the door he threw a last minute, “Love you,” and they puffed with pleasure.

Like that, the two were left alone in the bookshop just as they’d been earlier. Crowley rubbed his thumbs along Aziraphale’s palm as he turned back to face him. They shared small and soft smiles as their foreheads came to rest against each other’s again.

“Protectors of Earth,” Aziraphale said with a laugh. “Well, my dear, what would you like to do now that the riff-raff is gone for good?”

“I’d like to get drunk and sleep,” answered Crowley, noses brushing. “But, I have things to do so that might be for another day. Do you mind if a raincheck for the imbibing of copious amounts of alcohol to forget that we were almost smote today?”

There’s a pout on the angel’s face that Crowley almost leaned into, but he laughed and pulled away instead. He brought the hands in his up to his lips and he placed a light kiss onto the knuckles. The pout on Aziraphale’s face slipped off as his jaw dropped a bit and he blushed bright.

“Don’t make plans for tomorrow,” Crowley said, finally let go to reach into his jacket and pull out a new pair of glasses. “I’m taking you out for a celebratory dinner—or would you prefer a picnic at lunchtime. Ah, we can do both—we have all the time in the world.”

Aziraphale just watched him, “My dear…are you alright?”

Crowley patted the pocket he’d pulled his glasses from and his smile grew again, “Just tickety-boo, angel. Picnic, dinner. Don’t even bother opening the shop tomorrow, I’ll be around for you during lunchtime.”

With a little wave over his shoulder, he was gone.

The pout on Aziraphale’s face returned as he waved a hand to lock the door and readjust the sign to say that the store would be closed for tomorrow as well and to pardon for any inconvenience. He settled in his chair, the book he’d been reading before everything sat next to his now cold mug of cocoa, but he didn’t feel like reading. Instead, he willed the cocoa back to a warm state and sat there, fingers running along his knuckles, wondering what tomorrow’s outings would bring.

#i have more...#if anyone's interested in the rest #about their date #Good Omens #go #gomens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #gomens!crowley #fanfiction #gomens fanfic #gomens fanfiction #ineffable husbands fanfiction

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padfootagain · 5 years

Text

A Not So Restful Summer At The Beach (II)

Part 2: The Calm Before The Storm

Here we go with a second part for this series! I hope you all like it! Tell me what you think about it, okay? I’m still worried about how I portray these two cutipies.

Gif not mine

Word Count : 3395

"Sunscreen was a terrible idea. Hell, I could have invented this one! This is so annoying!"

But Aziraphale didn’t answer. Instead, he kept on blankly staring at the wall opposite him.

They had hurried the end of their dinner after the angel had sensed someone, or something, coming from Heaven nearby. They had gone back to their hotel instead, and were now both in Crowley’s room. The door between their two bedrooms had been left open, and the demon reckoned it would not be closed for as long as their stay might be. The thought made him both happy and nervous. They had lived under the same roof in Tadfield for a while, but this open door turned the whole situation into one bedroom and two beds. Which was, all in all, quite different from the two bedrooms that had been first planned. And there were things Crowley was still afraid to show his friend.

Crowley focused on Aziraphale again. The angel seemed more than worried and deep in thought. His blank blue eyes seemed focus on nothing, his body slumped as he sat on the edge of the demon’s bed a vivid contrast with the way he always sat so straight. The demon slowly approached his best friend, and sat down next to him.

"It might be nothing, angel," he tried to reassure Aziraphale, who merely frowned in response, his gaze still lost in the void before him.

"It might be everything we feared," he shot back.

"Are you sure there was something?"

"I’m sure. I could feel it, Crowley. And whatever they were, they were close…"

"Maybe they’re not here for us."

"Do you think so?"

Finally, Aziraphale looked at him with his full of hope. A fool’s hope, Crowley recognized the shimmer. And maybe it wasn’t a good thing to try to reassure the angel after all.

Crowley heaved a sigh.

"If it comes to that, we could still leave Earth. I’d miss it, but if there’s no other way…"

"You’re going to talk about Alpha Centauri again, aren’t you?" Aziraphale interrupted him, a tender smile on his lips.

"It’s a lovely place," Crowley shrugged.

"But it’s not home."

Crowley intensely stared at his best friend. He could have told him how he truly felt. That if he loved living on Earth, if he cared for humans, anywhere he was with Aziraphale was his home.

He kept the truth for himself for now though.

"We knew this day would come, angel."

"I don’t know what to do, Crowley," Aziraphale shook his head.

Around the blanket and the edge of the mattress, the angel’s fits tightened. He seemed ready to cry.

"We can’t run away forever, Crowley," he went on. "But we can’t fight back either. Two against Heaven and Hell combined, we don’t stand a chance."

The demon looked for the right words to speak, but for a couple of minutes, he couldn’t find anything to say.

"We don’t even know what they have sent yet. We can’t plan what to do as long as we’re in the dark."

"What if they sent someone in Tadfield too… what if Adam…"

"The boy’s just fine, angel," Crowley interrupted him with an annoyed gesture of the hand. "He’s not the anti-christ anymore, they’ll leave him alone."

"How can you be sure? We shouldn’t have left."

Something in Crowley broke, a crack that drew deeper, wider. A wound that bled a little more in his chest. Because this didn’t sound like fear of demons’ and angels’ wrath. This sounded like Aziraphale pushing Crowley away again.

He hadn’t done so the previous year. He had been the one offering that they would share a house a Tadfield. And Crowley had been careful at taking baby steps all the way. But Aziraphale had welcomed all his offers with a bright smile, which was a wonderful change, of course. And the angel had offered dinners as well, they even had picnics now and then. The words the angel had spoken decades before in his Bentley still echoed in Crowley’s very soul and still distilled the same amount of pain as they repeated in his head again and again.

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

He had waited 6000 years, and he wasn’t even bitter about it. Aziraphale had not doubted Heaven and Hell like Crowley had. He had respected rules and had been led by them for a long time. And moreover, these things were not the kind to be controlled. Crowley had expected nothing but friendship for millenia, and he would still be content with having Aziraphale as a friend now. But no matter how their relationship had been, he had thought this past year that it would evolve. Was Aziraphale insisting to go back to Tadfield because he was taking a step backwards? Was it all there was to it? Crowley had sensed that something was wrong as well, but he couldn’t have told if it was a mere feeling or a real threat. He had not felt a presence though. And when Aziraphale had felt something, he hadn’t. Was it normal? He could always feel Aziraphale’s presence, but he had been able to do so for as long as he could remember. Did he feel Aziraphale’s aura simply because he was an angel, or because of how Crowley felt for him?

Then… had Aziraphale lied to find an excuse to stop their holidays and go back to Tadfield?

The very thought was breaking Crowley’s heart. Was he going too fast again?

He struggled to swallow back the lump in his throat, and forced a gentle tone for his voice, although a hint of pain could still be heard, if one paid enough attention.

"If you feel like we should, we can go back to Tadfield."

Aziraphale heaved a sigh.

"I don’t know what we should do, Crowley. I’m worried for Adam. But… I’m sure you’re right and he’s safe."

Crowley clenched his jaw, struggling to let out the words as they hurt him so deeply.

"If you don’t think this vacation is a good idea anymore, we can leave."

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, finally reading in depth his expression, and his own features saddened and softened, as he recognized the demon’s worry.

"Oh, Crowley…"

He gave him a tender smile, before slowly raising his hands to the demon’s face. He gently held his black glasses, and Crowley stiffened at the gesture, but let the angel take them off anyway. They stared at each other for a moment, blue eyes meeting golden ones, and there was so much love oozing from Aziraphale, even Crowley could feel it. Or at least, he assumed it was love. It was tender and warm and comforting and deep and it made him feel valued and safe. But then he was a demon, and he didn’t really know how it felt to be loved. He knew how it felt to love someone though, and he reckoned that the feelings were similar, but could he be certain? He realized it didn’t matter. If it wasn’t love, he didn’t even mind. It was such a good feeling all the same.

"I’m sorry," Aziraphale breathed. "I’m just worried. You've planned everything so well, and I’m being such a killjoy right now. And if I’m worried about Adam and wonder if we should go back… it’s just because I’m worried. I don’t want to go back. I… I haven’t changed my mind about this, dear."

Crowley’s sorrow turned into relief, and a grin slowly formed on his features. For the second time that day, he almost moved his hand to touch Aziraphale’s, but didn’t.

"I think we should wait and see," Crowley spoke again. "We have to be careful, but we can’t take any decision while we don’t even know what we are up against."

Aziraphale nodded.

"Alright then."

"Good. Now that we agree on what to do next, I’m off for a shower. This sunscreen thing is so sticky! Argh! I’m never doing this again."

Aziraphale couldn’t refrain an amused chuckle as the demon stood up and headed for the bathroom.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The evening went on uneventful. And the night grew dark and then brighter again, shadows settling down upon the world and then being hunted down by the first rays of sunlight. Nor Crowley nor Aziraphale slept well that night, too much worry twirling in their troubled minds. But with dawn came a new wave of peace. If nothing had happened in the darkest hours of the night, then perhaps the world could give them one more day in the sun.

They took their breakfast together. Tea and toasts and marmalade, in the garden behind the little hotel. The young sun licked the rooftops till they shone, and in its warmth, the two friends couldn’t help but forget the dangers they may have yet to face.

Aziraphale looked through a tourist guide he had bought a few days before their trip, looking for places to see and things to do. Meanwhile, Crowley was sipping on his honeyed tea, slumped upon his chair, looking at the sparrows flying across the bushes and trees, his newspaper resting on his laps.

"Alright, we could either go to the fair, or to this observation tower," Aziraphale proposed. "I would love to go to the aquarium too."

"It’s very hot today," Crowley pointed out. "Aquarium sounds good."

Aziraphale gave him an excited smile.

"Wonderful!"

His gaze grew a little bit more worried, as he asked the question that had been burning his tongue.

"Have you noticed anything strange since yesterday?" he asked in a whisper, discreetly glimpsing around him in search for anyone who could be listening to their conversation.

"Nothing. You?"

Aziraphale shook his head.

The angel opened his mouth to speak, but thought better. Because right at that moment, the sun was warm and bright in the sky, the garden was peaceful and filled only with the morning breeze and families laughing. The birds sang in the trees about stories long forgotten even by him, and the bees were already busy with flying from flower to flower. And in front of him, Crowley was sipping his tea and reading the Infernal Times – that he kept on receiving for some reason, and as he liked the newspaper, he didn't try to unsubscribe – wearing his dark sunglasses, but as they had just enough slipped down the length of his nose, Aziraphale could still see the golden orbs travelling back and forth from left to right on the page. The sun was getting caught in his hair, setting the red lock ablaze. He seemed peaceful, like everything would be alright, and Aziraphale wanted to believe so as well, even if just for a moment.

So instead of speaking again, he took a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving Crowley's features bathed in the morning sunlight, and he pushed away all thoughts. Because maybe, just maybe, they could be okay for one more day.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley just couldn't help it. He tried, he tried so hard to stop the feeling from spreading through his entire body, through every fibre of his being. He was trying so hard not to feel this way, but he couldn't help it. He had been unable to control this feeling for 6000 years after all, why should it suddenly change in the Sea Life of Brighton?

As he looked at Aziraphale with the stupidest of grins on his face and eyes round with wonder, watching the colourful jellyfish drifting through the water, his face lit up by the bluish light, Crowley just couldn't refrain the tidal wave of affection that washed over him. Aziraphale really was the stupidest, most loveable being he had ever encountered. How could Crowley's heart stand a chance?

"I have to admit that I have always loved these ones." Aziraphale grinned, turning to Crowley.

"They can't even swim, Angel," Crowley replied.

"But they're so graceful. They're slow… don't you think it's lovely? That at least one thing is still going slowly these days, when the entire world is speeding up?"

"I guess… They're still pretty much useless."

"Everything doesn't have to have a purpose in life, Crowley. That's the beauty of these kind of animals."

"I'm not even sure they have a brain…"

"You're purposefully missing the point."

"I'm not."

"Don't you think they're beautiful?"

Crowley, heaved a sigh.

"They are rather… graceful," he admitted, making Aziraphale's grin widen.

"See? I knew you liked them. But which are you favourite?"

"I thought you had to love every creature…" Crowley raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Oh, I do!" Aziraphale replied with a frown, almost offended. "But the fact that I love all of God's creatures doesn't mean that I have no preferences."

"Really?" Crowley kept on teasing, and Aziraphale kept on falling for it.

Or well, actually, the angel knew perfectly what game the demon was playing at, but let's say that he didn't dislike these teasing arguments with Crowley, so why not play along?

"Well, of course. I prefer jellyfish to… frogs. And I prefer cocoa to coffee. And books are one of my favourite things ever. You see?"

Crowley's amused smile slightly diminished as he leaned against the glass of the tank, staring at Aziraphale. In the dim light, his dark glasses were perfectly hiding his eyes, and the angel wished he could see them to try and read through them.

"I see… I wish…"

But he stopped mid-sentence. How could he tell Aziraphale that he wished he could have different ways to love too? That he hoped Aziraphale had different kinds of love. Because he didn't want to be loved the same way the angel loved jellyfish or cocoa. But from what he could remember from his time as an angel, there was only this one kind of love that surrounded all things. A massive bubble everything could fit into. Was it really all that there was? Or did he remember this feeling simply because, at the time of his fall, he had not encountered anything that would call for another kind of love yet?

He pushed the thought away. It wasn't the moment to get into a heart to heart discussion with the angel. He just wanted to spend a nice time with his best friend, that was all.

"I wish you could prefer frogs to jellyfish. At least they have brains, angel. They even can jump, and do that weird 'croak croak' sound. Do you know what a jellyfish can do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Aziraphale's glance grew tender as it lingered on Crowley's features. He was about to propose that they move on to see the seahorses, when Crowley's entire body tensed up.

The feeling was strong and there was no way the demon could be wrong about it. He hadn't felt anything similar since the almost-end of the world, the last time he had been near another demon…

The change in his expression gave his fear away before he could speak, and Aziraphale grew anxious as well.

"What's wrong?" the angel asked in a whisper.

But instead of answering, Crowley merely grabbed Aziraphale by the arm and dragged him down the hall, passing before the fish without paying any attention to them, nor to the children that excitedly ran about, nor to their parents chasing after them. All he was focused upon was this feeling of a demon being near and this fear tightening his heart to the point that he wasn't sure it was beating anymore, that this demon could reach Aziraphale and hurt him.

"Crowley, you have to tell me what's going on."

The demon snapped his fingers, and at the next turn, they stepped into the deserted ocean tunnel.

Above their heads, a shark and a turtle lazily swam though the water set all around them. On each side of the glass walls, coral and sea anemones coloured the scenery. Groups of fish swam quickly to and fro. And under any other circumstances, Aziraphale would have loved the view. But all he could think of for now was a) whatever was scaring Crowley so much and b) the sensation of Crowley's hand wrapped around his arm in a firm grip, and yet not tight enough to hurt him, just enough to make sure the angel would follow him.

"Crowley?" the angel insisted. "What's going on?"

The demon finally stopped and turned towards Aziraphale.

"I… I think there might be… a demon in the building."

Aziraphale's eyes grew round.

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Crowley answered with a wince, releasing his hold on the angel's arm.

"We need to get out."

"We can't. They would see us."

"What do we do then?"

Crowley took a moment before answering, passing a hand through his hair.

"I'm thinking about that…"

"Crowley!"

"Well, any idea is welcomed, angel!"

"You're the demon here, you know better than me how they're going to ac…"

But Crowley shushed him, pressing his palm against the angel's mouth. He seemed to be focusing hard, and so Aziraphale didn't dare to move. Indeed, Crowley was trying to focus on this feeling, this sensation moving around him. It seemed it was becoming more and more intense though… like a ripple slowly approaching the shore.

"They're coming closer."

Crowley turned to Aziraphale again, and suddenly realized that his hand was still pressed against the angel's soft lips. He took his hand away in a hurry, as if the contact had been burning him, while he tried to stop his heart from beating so fast.

He cleared his throat, trying to refrain his blush, although he knew that he was failing. He was almost certain that Aziraphale was blushing too though, and the thought reassured him.

"They're coming. There's no way out," Crowley let out in a low breath, his voice deeper than usual.

They stared at each other for a moment, silence filling up the space between them, the light distorted through the water above them drawing strange lines on their silhouettes, and fish and sharks and turtles still swimming as if nothing wrong was happening, oblivious of the fear that shook the two friends under them.

"Crowley I…"

"I can hold them back," Crowley interrupted him. "You make a run for it."

"What…? Crowley, don't be ridiculous."

"I can't be burnt, and they think holy water has no effect on me, they won't kill me."

"They could."

"They have bigger chances of killing you than killing me, angel. Just… go. Go!"

"Never! Do you really think that I would leave you behind?"

Crowley let out a frustrated cry, burying his face in his hands.

"Why do you have to be such a… a… an angel!? It's not the time to be the selfless being of love right now!"

But Aziraphale shook his head, taking a step closer to Crowley.

"It has nothing to do with me being an angel," he replied, his tone soft but firm all the same, and Crowley knew that he could not change his friend's mind. "I will not leave you behind to face danger alone, Crowley! I will not! Never! Do you hear me? I could never leave you behind. Of all people, certainly not you."

Crowley's lips parted a little, the expression on his features changing from frustration and fear to something fragile, something softer and usually hidden. He almost started as Aziraphale took his hand in his.

"If there is a danger to face, then we will face it together, dear," Aziraphale whispered with a warm smile curling up his lips.

"Angel…"

His voice broke before he could finish to speak. But Crowley reckoned that there wasn't really any need for words, actually. Instead, he could simply hold Aziraphale's hand in his too, give it a tender squeeze, enjoy the feeling of Aziraphale's skin upon his, how his warmth ran through his fingers… and maybe that gesture, and the way Aziraphale looked at Crowley, and how Crowley looked at Aziraphale, was enough to say it all.

Footsteps broke the holy silent that had settled around them, and they both knew what was coming, although they both chose to not turn towards it just yet, stealing a few more seconds staring at each other and silently saying everything that mattered instead. Oh, but they knew what was coming towards them all the same…

A demon.

******************************

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#ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fanfiction #ineffable husbands fanfic #ineffable husbands imagine #good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens imagine #crowley #crowley fanfiction #crowley imagine #aziraphale #aziraphale fanfiction #aziraphale imagine #imagine #fanfiction #writing #fanfic

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ialwayscomewhenyoucall · 5 years

Text

Shadows Flickering, My Heart’s Jittering

aziraphale x crowley .. ~900 words

. + . + . + .

When they talked about a cottage in the country, Crowley had thought it would be quiet. And in some ways it is--they don’t have an endless stream of vehicles driving by all night, there are no noisy neighbors for Crowley to glare into silence, and he can’t remember the last time he heard any type of siren.

What they do have is wildlife. And quite a lot of it. Who knew that frogs and insects could be so loud at night? Owls hooting, bats batting--it’s a wonder anyone can sleep out here in all this “quiet.”

And yet they do. They don’t actually need sleep, but the same way they eat because they enjoy it, a bit of sleep now and then when you’ve existed for over six thousand years can be quite nice.

Especially with his favorite angel wrapped around him.

So when he wakes far too early one morning to the sound of a rabbit trying to get past the slightly miracled fence he’s put around his vegetable patch* he simultaneously growls at being awakened, grins (internally, his face refuses to be happy at this hour) at the rabbit’s confusion, and reaches out for Aziraphale.

But aside from himself**, their bed is empty.

His hands quest for any residual warmth, his body creeping across the bed to at least move into Aziraphale’s space. But it’s too cold, and there’s only a hint of his scent on the pillow. How long has he been up?

Crowley saunters*** from the bedroom toward the sound of clattering dishes in the kitchen. “Honestly, Aziraphale,” he calls from the hallway, “isn’t it a bit early for breakfast? The sun won’t be up for hours yet, and you left the bed all--” Both his words and his feet stop when he reaches the kitchen doorway.

“Aziraphale,” he says slowly, eyes taking in the whole of the kitchen before focusing in on the angel, “why are you baking at four in the morning? And by candlelight?”

For every surface not covered by baked goods holds a burning candle; warm shadows dance across the walls. Aziraphale, flitting between his baking and a book propped open near the kitchen sink, practically glows.

A slight flush rises in Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Well, I can’t always help when I get peckish. I woke up a few hours ago with a craving for biscuits. The jar was empty, so I baked some fresh. The ones you love, with the pink icing.”

“I don’t--”

“Yes you do, love.”

Crowley rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. “Alright, that explains the biscuits. But what about the scones? And the muffins? Not to mention the candles?”

Aziraphale looks at Crowley with exasperation all over his face. “Why are you so hung up on the candlelight? Makes things cozy, don’t you think?”

“Our bed is cozy,” Crowley grumbles.

“Oh hush, you. It’s not the end of the world to sleep alone for a few hours.”

A stab of...well, of something goes through Crowley at this. The end of the world. The last days that weren’t. Standing in Aziraphale’s bookshop, surrounded by flames, screaming at whoever would listen that his best friend was gone…

His heart pounds at the memory.

“I slept alone for millennia. I don’t want to do it again.”

Aziraphale’s face, always so endearing and empathetic, somehow softens even more. “Oh Crowley, I--oh, I just didn’t think. I’m sorry, love.” He opens his arms and Crowley steps into them, pressing himself into Aziraphale’s warmth. Breathing deep, the unexpected tension in Crowley slips away, replaced by the scent of flour and sugar and a hint of cinnamon.

“Sit, sit,” Aziraphale says, ushering him to the kitchen table. “Have a biscuit. I’ll make tea. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“You think you can buy me off with a biscuit?”

“I daresay not,” says Aziraphale. He winks. “How about two?”

Crowley squints up at him. “And a muffin. Are those chocolate chips I see?”

Aziraphale, beaming, puts a plate of biscuits and muffins on the table beside the two waiting mugs. “I do like chocolate.”

The kettle sings, and Aziraphale hums softly^ as he fills their mugs with the steaming water. Finished with his bustling he sits, scooting his chair close to Crowley’s. Their knees press together under the table.

“We can walk after we eat. The sun will be rising soon.”

Crowley remembers another colorful sky, that one a sunset.

“Yes,” he says, briefly brushing Aziraphale’s cheek with the back of his fingers before curling his hands around his mug. “Yes, alright.”

. + . + . + .

*Crowley is particularly proud of the simple genius of this fence. When a rabbit finds a way through the fence--and somehow they always do--it will find itself instantly teleported to a spot about six feet away. Outside the vegetable patch, of course. So the poor rabbit that wakes Crowley this morning is squealing its displeasure and repeatedly charging the fence, getting more and more dizzy every time.

**Plus the piles of opulent pillows Aziraphale insists on.

***Even in the middle of the night Crowley saunters. His body may be all sharp elbows and spindly legs but his movement is always smooth as glass.

^Crowley is amused when he recognizes the tune as “We are the Champions.” It’s taken a while, but Queen finally got into Aziraphale’s head.

. + . + . + .

The title comes from Queen’s “You and I”...one of my favorites. 💙

#lirael writes #ineffable husbands #good omens fic #domestic fluff #the cottage in south downs #p.s. no rabbits were harmed in the making of this fic. just...moved. and irritated.#((is it bad that i want a fence like this to keep the rabbits away from my roses??!?!)

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gayestnerdsinfiction · 5 years

Note

Good Omens Prompt: "I can't help you if you won't let me."

my first attempt at a good omens fic!

Crawly lies sprawled atop a large,flat rock, basking in the light of the midday sun. His tousled curls areflopped lazily across his scalp. He stares up at the sun in all its brilliance,feeling nothing more than unusually cold and excessively bored. He hadn’trealized that the whole rebellion thing would wind up being so dreadfully dull.Though, it’s not like Heaven was exactly a hub of excitement. He sighs,wondering if the fall was worth all the trouble. He’s been doing a lot ofwondering lately.

A shadow blocks out the sun and hesquints, sitting up halfway to see who turned out the lights. “Ah,” he says,reclining against the rock once more. “It’s you.”

“So you do remember me,” Aziraphalesays. “I thought, after last time—well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now.” Heclears his throat delicately, moving away from the sun and into Crawly’s fieldof vision. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the desert?”

Crawly waves a long fingered handnonchalantly. “Relaxing,” he answers, despite not feeling relaxed in theslightest. “Enjoying my newfound freedom.”

He purses his lips, seeming quietlyoffended by his choice of phrasing. “Of all the places on Earth to relax,” hesays under his breath. “Look, I’m here on business, so I can’t have youor… or your people mucking things up.”

“What business could you possiblybe conducting out here?” Crawly drawls. “There’s nothing for miles. Exceptlittle old me, of course.” He lets his head loll to one side, gazing up atAziraphale with his unblinking yellow eyes. “Don’t tell me you came all thisway just to pester me.”

“Nothing of the sort,” he replieswith a little indignant huff. “There’s a miracle that needs performing for aman who should come through here any day now. Something about a well and somesheep. Very important, obviously.” He narrows his eyes, looking suspiciously atCrawly. “You haven’t been sent to thwart me, have you?”

Crawly scoffs. “Please. I’m not anangel anymore, angel. No one sends me anywhere.” This was, in fact, entirelyuntrue. As much as Crawly wanted Aziraphale to believe that his new life ofdamnation was all sunshine and free will, it ended up being a pretty lateralmove. He was still a pencil pushing pawn being used in service of some GreatPlan that he couldn’t be bothered to care about. The fact of the matter was hehad been sent to this region to whisper temptations in the Pharaoh’s ear. Itwas, as he had been told, a very important job. But Crawly did not feel veryimportant for having done it.

Aziraphale, once again, looksoffended. But there is something else in his expression, something almost toosubtle to place. Disappointment? “Don’t you miss it?” he asks, lowering hisvoice as if worried about eavesdroppers. “Don’t you miss being good? Just alittle bit? I mean, you seem to be having a lovely time, er… relaxing, as youput it, but—well, didn’t it feel good to have a purpose?”

Crawly sits up abruptly, bristlingat the accusation. “I have a purpose,” he grumbles, trying his best not tosound pouty. “And, what’s more, I didn’t need anyone else to give it to me. Soyou can take that holier than thou attitude and… and… get rid of it. I don’t know.But I do know that I don’t need you to tell me I’m somehow better off onyour side.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Hefusses with his crisp, white robe, smoothing and adjusting it almost nervously.“It’s not what you hoped for, is it?” he asks after a while, his tonesoftening.

Crawly feels something inside himsink and he looks away. Was he really so miserable that even an angel asoblivious as this one could see it? “It’s not so bad,” he says unconvincingly. “Just…a bit more tedious than I anticipated.”

Aziraphale nods knowingly. “Thingsoften are, once you get down to it.”

He studies the angel. Despite hiscomposure and overwhelmingly prim manner, he seems wearier than an angelshould. His eyes aren’t quite as bright as Crawly remembers from their firstfew encounters, and his face seems to sag a little as he looks at Crawly. Hescoots to one side of the rock. “If you’re going to be out here for dayswaiting to enact your little miracle, you might as well sit.”

He hesitates, eyeing the spaceCrawly had made for him. “It’s a bit… dusty.”

Crawly rolls his eyes but, with aswish of his hand, shoos the dust away. “Better?”

Aziraphale smiles, eyes crinklingat the corners. “Well, it’s nice to see that some demons still have manners,”he says, taking a seat beside Crawly. “There’s hope for you yet.” He remainspoised and proper, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he sits. But he doesseem to relax a little. And perhaps Crawly relaxes a little too.

“You know,” the angel begins,lowering his voice yet again, “I could put in a good word for you. Upstairs, ifyou know what I mean.” He says this with a shy glance up at the sky.

Crawly heaves a sigh of annoyance. “Youangels always find a way to ruin everything,” he mutters. “It’s very good ofyou to offer, but I don’t need any favors. I’m doing quite alright right here,thank you very much.”

“Oh, come on Crawly,”Aziraphale says, frustration disrupting his carefully crafted demeanor. Up untilthis moment, Crawly hadn’t really been sure the angel even knew his name. “Justadmit that falling wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and it’s not actuallyany more fun or worthwhile than being on our side—the winning side, Imight add—and just… stop being so stubborn about the whole thing. And then youmight be able to come home.”

“I’m not being stubborn.”

“Oh, yes you are, you absolutelyare!”

“If anyone’s being stubborn it’syou, angel.”

Aziraphale turns his nose up at thecomment. “I don’t know the meaning of the word,” he says piously.

“Shouldn’t be so quick to throw itaround, then, should you?” he mutters, sounding very much like a petulantchild.

He gives Crawly a look, demonstratingthat he, too, realizes how childish the argument is. “Look,” he says carefully,“I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t needany help, then.” Crawly sticks his forked tongue out, flicking it rudely at Aziraphale. Perhaps he’s not quite through being petulant after all. “Have fun with your miracle but, as it turns out, I’m needed elsewhere.”

“I thought you said no one sendsyou anywhere anymore.”

“They don’t!” he splutters. “I’m—it’snot—I’m sending myself!” And, with an exasperated groan, he transports himselfto the other side of the continent. “For an angel, he’s quite a bit of abastard,” he grumbles to himself, beginning to trudge in what he thinks is thedirection of a city. “Really, it’s the only thing that makes him halfway tolerable.”

#fanfarekid #ask #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #crawly #go #gotv #fic #my fic #writing #my writing

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 5 years

Text

Early Days, Chapter 1 (excerpt)

Hello, all! Today is Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day, but since I’ve only been writing long enough to post a few fics, I thought I’d show the community a little appreciation by sharing some of my AO3 fic on Tumblr. The following is 750 words or so from my ongoing Good Omens fic, Early Days. After the initial scene in the Garden of Eden, Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves left to their own devices - no orders, no instructions, no idea what comes next. What’s an angel and a demon to do? Argue, mostly.

While this fic is not yet complete, I hesitate to call it a Work In Progress: all five chapters are written and edited, to be posted on upcoming Saturdays. The story is scheduled to be completed on September 14. I hope you’ll give it a look! If you enjoy, please leave a comment! :)

Yes, human legs were much better for tearing across desert sand. Well, faster, at least – Crawley suspected the heat wouldn’t be as unpleasant to a snake. But changing back again would take time.

Suddenly, beyond the curve of the wall, he spotted the white robe – and hair, and face – of the angel, wandering along as if lost in thought. Crawley stopped abruptly, grabbing the jutting stones of the wall to keep from falling over. Snake body was certainly more maneuverable.

“Angel!” he snapped, mostly from exertion. “I thought you’d be gone.”

“Gone?” Aziraphale glanced up as if he hadn’t noticed Crawley’s approach. His eyes seemed a bit dazed. Perhaps he’d dropped one of those big rocks on his own head? “Why would I be gone?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Crawley said, waving his arm at the sky. “Big glowy happy light from above? Doesn’t that just scream ‘Angelic Superiors Come to Give New Orders’?”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale began walking again, and this time there was a distinct unsteadiness. “That wasn’t…exactly my superiors. It was the Almighty.”

Crawley had to scramble a bit in the loose sand to keep up, but he was getting the hang of this. “The Almighty? God actually came to talk to you, personally?”

Aziraphale managed a high-pitched noise that may have been “Mm-hmmm.”

“And? Was it new orders?”

“Mm.” This time the tone was indistinguishable, but Crawley caught a tiny head shake.

“So what – you’re not in trouble because of me, are you? What I did in the Garden?” As a demon, he was never bothered by the results of his Temptations, so the unpleasant twist in his stomach was probably vertigo from being bipedal so long. “I mean, there was no guard on the underside of that Garden. That’s practically an invitation to a demon. I could, uh, write a note? Explaining?” He was pretty sure Heaven was still big on notes and reports.

“No, that…that didn’t come up.” Aziraphale was certainly looking paler than usual, an impressive feat as his primary colors were white and cream. “She asked…asked about my sword…”

Crawley winced. “That didn’t take long. What’d you say?”

“I said…” Aziraphale took one more shuffling step, then seemed to forget the next. His eyes stared straight ahead in a sort of panicked wonder. “I said…I put it down…around here…somewhere.”

For the second time since meeting the angel, Crawley found himself speechless, his words wiped away by a flood of complex emotions that he couldn’t begin to name. “You… lied ?” He finally managed.

“N-no! I didn’t!”

“You lied to God ?”

“It – it wasn’t – I’m sure the humans are still around here. Possibly.”

“God asked you – an angel – a direct question, and you lied?”

“No it – I was just delaying until – I’m going to – stop laughing!”

Crawley couldn’t hold it in any longer. He howled with laughter, staggering back to lean against the Garden wall. He’d never, ever laughed like that, not in as long as he could remember. His sides were actually aching; he could feel tears gathering in his eyes. Between it all, he managed to gasp, “I don’t think you...Understand...I’m a demon and...And I’ve never...I don’t think I could ...Actually lie to actually God . And you –”

Abruptly, Aziraphale’s knees buckled and he collapsed so quickly Crawley had to grab his arm to help lower him safely. Settling into the sand next to Aziraphale, he realized the angel’s face was now a picture of wretched misery. “Alright. I’m not laughing anymore, see?”

“I can’t do this. I feel awful. I’m going to have to tell – someone – the truth. It’s the only way.”

“Won’t that just get you into more trouble?” It turned out the angel’s face could get even more wretched. “Alright, what do I know? I’m just a demon.”

“That’s right.” Aziraphale managed something like wounded indignation that would never fool anyone except possibly himself. “Demons don’t know anything about the truth. You’ve probably never told the truth a day in your life.”

That was patently absurd, but Crawley let it go. “So, what, you’re going to call up one of your Archangels and confess? Only give me some warning, I don’t want to be around for that.”

“Oh, I don’t – don’t think there’s any call for that.” The angel’s eyes somehow grew even wider. “No – no, I can just…I’ll wait for them to contact me. For a report, or…or something.” For a moment, it seemed he was going to fall over again, even though he was already on the ground. “Yes, when they ask…I’ll say something…But in the meantime…if they don’t ask…that’s not lying , is it?”

Thank you for reading! You can see the rest of chapter one on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20225332/chapters/47931631

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale and crowley #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 link #ao3 #sawdust of words #My writing #good omens fanfiction

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ineffablewitches-blog · 5 years

Text

Witches Work Under The Stars - Good Omens Reader Insert

Ship: Anathema Device x Reader’

Characters: Anathema Device, Adam Young, Brian, Pepper, Wensleydale, Crowley, Aziraphale

Type: Series

Plot: Upon crashing your bike in the middle of the woods, a group of kids guide you to a cottage that smells of lavender and sage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter One: One Side of a Silver Coin Never Shine as Brightly as the Other

Most books on witchcraft will tell you that witches work naked. This is because most books on witchcraft were written by men. In reality, witches prefer to work, fully clothed, under the stars.

Of course, there are several mediums in which a witch may work. She may work under the beaming sun or a cloudy sky. She could study indoors or in an open meadow, in a treasured car or an ancient bookshop. She could even, if she truly wished, work naked. But the most common place of practice is under the night sky.

The stars bring power to a witch whose brow is furrowed in concentration as she leans over her text. There is an old legend that states witches who pass become stars themselves, gazing over their generations with wisdom and appreciation.

The stars comfort and guide, and thus they are widely adored.

In fact, one particular witch preferred this method most of all. Miss Anathema Device, Foresayer of the Future, She Who Deciphered the Prophecies of the Witch Past, Descendant Who Defies Her Title as Such nearly always found herself perched beneath the constellations during times of intense study. The only exception seemed to be the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, as there simply wasn’t time to be particular.

On the days in which the world was not coming to an end, she was very particular indeed. So much so that even the weather couldn’t sway her, as she always found a way around it.

This particular night was no exception. Anathema crouched under an umbrella stuck deeply into the mud, heavy rain drizzling around her. The stars had not yet begun to shine, but the sun was tucking itself behind the hills in the distance. Dark clouds circled overhead, but she did not deem them ominous. She thought they brought comfort, as if they would wrap themselves around her as tightly as her plaid coat. She sat in tranquility, unbothered by the world around her.

You, on the other hand, were not having such a pleasant night. You had gotten lost, receiving some rather confusing directions from a man with fiery red hair and round shades. Something about the smirk that crept through his words and the quiet protests of the shorter man beside him told you he had sent you off on purpose, but you were in too much of a rush to notice in the moment. You make a note to confront him if you ever made it back home.

Home, where you were supposed to be now. Instead you found yourself lost in the woods as night began to draw closer, soaking wet from the relentless rain. Your pale bicycle rested at your feet, the back wheel flat. It had given out some time ago, leaving you utterly stranded. As you sat near a tree, knees folded beneath you, you felt tears begin to prick at your eyes. Perhaps it was silly to cry over a flat tire, but stress had been building inside you all day.

You pulled your light coat tighter around yourself as you cried. Hanging your head you allowed yourself to finally shed the stress that had been tightening in your chest for longer than you could remember. The rain mixed with your sobs, drowning out the world around you. This ultimately blocked the sound of cautious footsteps from reaching your ears, and you only noticed the small band of children standing before you when a pair of brown boots stepped into your line of sight.

You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes and looked up, meeting a variety of expressions. The boy in the brown boots stood closest to you, he couldn’t have been more than twelve. Worry and hesitation danced across his features, seemingly fighting for dominance as he looked down at you. Behind him stood three more children, all in a row beside your broken bike. The four of them were clad in ponchos and raincoats, the young girl’s a deep red. She looked at you with a hint of distaste, the boys beside her staring ahead blankly.

“Are you all right?” The boy closest to you asked, the small dog at his side tilting his head quizzically in your direction. Rather embarrassed you simply nodded, pushing yourself off of the wet ground and grimacing as the mud caked your palm.

“Well obviously you’re not alright, or else you wouldn’t be crying.” The boy with glasses commented, to which they all nodded in agreement.

“I’m fine, really. I just got lost, and had a little trouble with my bike.” You gave them a faint smile, wiping your eyes once more with your clean hand. “It all got a bit overwhelming.”

“It’s a girl’s bike. With a basket.” The girl commented, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yes, well, there’s nothing wrong with that.” You answered, unsure of what else to say. She didn’t seem pleased, but didn’t comment on it further.

“I’m Adam. This is Pepper, and Brain, and Wensleydale. And Dog.” The boy with the dog pointed them out, seemingly their leader.

“I’m (Y/N). it’s a pleasure to meet you all. I’m sorry it’s been under such strange circumstances.”

“That’s alright.” Adam told you, shrugging it off. You bit your lip, shrinking down as a drop of rain hit your eye.

“Do you kids happen to know a place I could stay for the night? I’m afraid I’m too far from home, but maybe there’s a hotel around here?”

Adam exchanged glances with the others for a moment. “No, no hotels. But I think we know someone who might be willing to take you in for the night.”

“She’s a witch.” Brian admitted. “She lives in a small cottage and hands out sweets to children and studies the moon.”

You chuckled, but they didn’t seem to share your amusement. You cleared your throat, moving to pick up your bike from its side. “Right. Well, if she’s generous enough to let me wait out the rain I suppose I can’t be picky. Could you take me to her?” Adam nodded, moving in front of you. He called for Dog to follow, and the others weren’t far behind.

You walked your bike behind them, watching them as they played. They began to act out a situation quite foreign to you, chanting about angels and prophecies and all sorts of celestial rubbish. Pepper cried out as she slayed an invisible foe, proclaiming herself to be Peace. Wensleydale became Abundance, Brain Cleanliness, and Adam Life. Dog was their loyal stallion, on which all four of them rode to greatness. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched their antics, no matter how strange they seemed.

After a few moments of playing Adam turned to you, studying your physique. “You need a role, too. What do you think?” He turned to his companions, and they chatted quietly amongst themselves.

“We could always make them Satan.” Brian suggested.

“Or God, since we’re the opposites of the Airbase Menaces.” Pepper pitched in, causing the others to grin.

“That’s a perfect idea. (Y/N), you’re God, all right? She’s a woman, and she’s sent us, The Them, to save the Earth.” Adam triumphantly placed his hands on his hips, clearly satisfied with himself.

“Oh, alright.” You shook your head slightly, unsure of how to play your character. “Um, The Them! You must go forth and save the world! It is corrupted, and damned - I mean darned. It is your duty to restore my creation to its former glory!” You spoke in an odd accent, raising the pitch of your voice and waving your arms about. The Them looked at each other before bursting into a fit of giggles.

“You’re weird.” Pepper informed you, skipping after her friends as they continued their quest.

You sighed and followed behind them, praying that the alleged witch would actually be kind enough to lend you her home for the time being.

#goodomens #goodomensfanfic #goodomensfanfiction #goodomensreaderinsert #goodomensxreader #anathemadevice #anathemadevicexreader #iwwitchesworkunderthestars

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