#aziraphale is a prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses
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The Nephilim
"Why don’t you tell me why you are considering disobeying?” Aziraphale said gently, and Crowley could not help but feel a little twinge of strange emotion at the kindness and warmth in the Prince of Hell’s voice.
“I...” Crowley gulped. “Er, uh, that is...I...”
“Yes?” Aziraphale’s expression was soft, and the way the sunlight gleamed upon those blue eyes, Crowley felt as if he were staring into the sun-dappled sea, and his breath caught at the beauty.
“Just don’t know if I can do it, that’s all,” Crowley muttered.
“Do what?”
“You know...er...eh...” Crowley waved his hands vaguely in the air. “That thing…the...”
“The begetting?”
“The begetting,” Crowley agreed, miserable.
“Perhaps you should ask an expert,” Aziraphale suggested. “Why don’t we call up Asmodeus and ask him? He is after all, a specialist in these matters.”
Crowley turned a few different and interesting shades, and it made Aziraphale take closer notice.
“What’s wrong? Why shouldn’t we ask the demon of lust what to do? It is his department, after all.”
“Um, er...just don’t want to trouble him?” Crowley said lamely, mentally scrambling for an excuse. “He is an important Prince of Hell after all.”
“Quite right. Whereas I am an unimportant Prince of Hell,” Aziraphale teased, amused at the angel’s embarrassment.
“Oh I’m sorry!” Mortified, Crowley stumbled over his words. “I didn’t mean it that way, it’s just that I um...uh, it’s fine if it’s you. I’d appreciate your input, because you are an important Prince of Hell and would... I mean, if you could give me some suggestions. Uh. We needn’t bother anyone else?”
“Well. It’s not so daunting, my dear, once you recall that all animals do it too,” Aziraphale explained in a reasonable manner, pleased by Crowley’s words. “And right now with a corporeal body, you are part animal as well. We all are, really. Just let the animal part take over, that’s easy to do.”
“...guh?” Crowley asked.
“And of course, we must not forget that the Almighty has given out the commandment to be fruitful and multiply.”
“Was that a commandment proper or-?”
“If it weren’t, I would think that the animals and humans would not be so fruitful and mutiplicitous.”
“Oh. Oh! You’re right.”
“Of course I am. But that’s not the problem is it?” Aziraphale intuited. “You’re...shy aren’t you?”
“Shy? Me? Naaaaah. Course not, I’m not shy, that’s ridiculous-”
“Here. I’ll show you something that can help get you started.” Aziraphale held out his hand, offering it to Crowley, and for the first time Crowley noticed the black crown of a ring that Aziraphale wore on the pinky of his right hand, twisting tentacles curved around a round finger.
Crowley glanced up and realized the Prince of Hell no longer wore his crown of meteoric iron on his head. It seemed strange to see Aziraphale uncrowned, and he realized that he had grown accustomed to Aziraphale, so much so that noticing a change in his appearance was unsettling.
Crowley reached out, letting the Prince of Hell take his hand.
“Humans need warming up. You can’t just go straight to begetting my dear, you must build up to it,” Aziraphale said. “May I?”
“Yes.”
And taking Crowley’s hand in both of his, Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s palm that Crowley felt all the way down to the bottom of his feet.
“Ah…!”
“And then, you get closer.” Aziraphale kissed the tips of Crowley’s fingers, one at a time, before turning his hand so that the Prince of Hell could kiss the inside of his wrist, sending shivers sliding over all of his skin.
“Closer yet,” Aziraphale breathed, and a fiendishly strong arm wrapped around Crowley’s waist, pulling him close. Before he could panic, before he could pull away, soft lips pressed against his throat, and a strange sound came from deep inside him that Crowley had never heard before.
“And then you give them a kiss,” Aziraphale pressed his lips lightly to Crowley’s lips, a faint touch of flesh upon flesh that ended as quickly as it began.
Crowley’s lips parted with a breath, and for a moment he did not know where or when or even who he was, just that the sky was awfully blue but not the deep blue of the demon lord’s eyes.
x
#angel crowley#demon aziraphale#good omens#aziracrow#crowley#aziraphale#reverse omens#crowley is an ordinary angel without a flaming sword#aziraphale is a prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses#the seventh prince of hell
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May I be said to be a worthy lover for a worthy love
May I be said to be a worthy lover for a worthy love
by eag
Commanded to Rome by Heavenly decree, the ordinary angel Crowley finds himself taking up the guise of a female courtesan.
But Crowley is caught between fear and desire while being courted Asmodeus, the Second Prince of Hell who has an offer that is hard to refuse, and the quite genuine love of an unconventional young patrician named Lucius who has wandered into this mess somehow.
And of course, there is Aziraphale, the Seventh Prince of Hell who Crowley loves but cannot have, and who definitely can't know about these other suitors...
Words: 1023, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Series: Part 5 of The Seventh Prince of Hell
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: F/M, M/M
Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asmodeus (Good Omens OC)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asmodeus/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)/Original Male Character(s)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gender Non-Compliant Crowley, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Friendship/Love, Lonely Crowley (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Sexual Harassment, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Aziraphale is the Lord of the Octopuses, Crowley is an ordinary angel
From https://ift.tt/MghvHr6
https://archiveofourown.org/works/48404779
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Crowley stretched out his arms, and his right hand found the smooth curve of the base of his harp, and without thinking, his fingers passed over the strings, not enough to sound the notes properly, but the instrument hummed sweetly at his touch.
“Please,” Aziraphale said, his voice registering distress. “Please don’t.”
Crowley blinked and looked over his left shoulder at Aziraphale, who had propped himself up on one elbow and was looking over at him.
“What’s wrong with music? Music is all around us...even the birds-”
“Not fond of them either, really.” Aziraphale said curtly.
“Why? They’re...so nice. They’re… flappy. You know, flap flap flap and off they go! Just like us. And they fly and they swim and they walk and...okay sometimes they’re bitey but at least they don’t have teeth and-”
“It’s not that, it’s...it’s the music.” Aziraphale’s voice dropped to a low murmur. “Reminds me of Heaven. Rather don’t like that.”
“Bad memories?”
“Good memories.” Aziraphale looked away. “I...we don’t like being reminded of the time before the Fall. Because...”
“Because,” Crowley agreed. “Because it would mean that She loved some of us better and others She will not forgive.”
Aziraphale was quiet, so quiet that Crowley thought he had run off, but when he turned to look at the Prince of Hell, it seemed that a strange shimmer of dark colors passed over Aziraphale’s skin before settling back to something that looked almost human.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” Aziraphale lied. “Just a cloud passing over. That happens sometimes. You know, Lord of the Octopuses. We do that sometimes when a cloud passes by and the light changes. We octopuses that is.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.” Crowley sat up, and drew the harp into his arms, hugging it tight. “What if I told you that it’s not like that?”
“What’s not like what?” Aziraphale sounded irritated.
“Um, music. What if I told you that music is not like birds or Heaven. It’s very not much like Heaven at all.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Aziraphale’s eyes were fixed upon the clouds, and Crowley wondered what the Prince of Hell was thinking.
“Human music is absolutely...artificial. Nothing natural about it at all. And none of it comes from Heaven. They make it all here themselves on instruments they craft with their own hands. After all, they can’t ever equal the choirs of angels in their multitude. It’s just...you know, they’re nothing like angels. More like a bunch of yowling creatures trying their best to sound like an ideal that can’t exist here where everything is imperfect.”
“Oh?” Aziraphale sounded curious.
“If you’ll allow me, I’ll give you a demonstration. It...shouldn’t hurt, I swear.”
Aziraphale winced, but he nodded. “All right, I trust you.”
Crowley tuned the strings, watching Aziraphale to make certain that he wasn’t upsetting the prince of Hell. When he began the first notes of the song and sounded the strings properly, he looked away, focused on his fingers.
Fortunate is this prince,
For happy was his fate, and happy his ending.
One generation passes away and the next remains,
Ever since the time of those of old.
The gods who existed before me rest now in their tombs…
Crowley stopped, and glanced over at Aziraphale.
“Did you make that up?”
“What, me?” Crowley grinned. “Ha, no way. I couldn’t make up a song. Wouldn’t know how to. No imagination or free will, remember? I learned from listening to humans. This is one of their songs. They’re quite clever creatures. They come up with not just the words but the music too, and meld them to each other to fit.”
“Like giving the words spirit. Or giving the music heart.”
Crowley nodded, feeling the words settling strangely inside of himself.
“Play me the rest of the song, will you?”
“All right, but I might have to stop if I forget a word. I don’t know it as well as I would like to know it.”
“Don’t do that. Just keep playing. I’ve never heard it before, so I wouldn’t know what’s wrong. Trust yourself and just keep playing.”
x
#crowley#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#good omens#reverse omens#angel crowley#demon aziraphale#aziraphale is a prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses#crowley is an ordinary angel#the seventh prince of hell
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The First Meeting
Dark copper hair gleamed in the sunlight as the angel looked out over the wall, down at the vast desert below, brilliant white wings tilted in counterbalance as the angel peered over the edge.
The angel didn’t initially notice that from behind him came the slithering and squirming of tentacles as a creature made it up and over the mighty wall, suckers propelling the great mass of the beast forward. But the angel did notice once it was upon the wall and the octopus’ skin flexed through a multitude of shimmering colors as it stood on a pair of legs, becoming an angel. A fallen angel, with striking pale hair in sharp contrast to the black feathered wings that unfurled behind him.
“Wait, aren’t you…?” Intimidated, the angel backed up as the Fallen strode forward in in his black robes lined with dark blue, the gleaming silver embroidery of the border reflecting all the colors of Creation. Upon his head he wore a twisted crown of black meteoric iron, in the shape of tangled tentacles.
The angel stared at the Fallen’s robe; it was the blue of the deep sea or perhaps the blue of the deep heavens, and something about that sent a shiver through the new corporeal form that the angel had been melded into.
“A Prince of Hell?” The Fallen looked amused. As he spoke his skin slowly pulsed through a multitude of colors; amber, obsidian, copper... “Yes, of course. Aziraphale, Seventh Prince of Hell. Lord of the Octopuses, Member of the Dark Council. A Lord of Hell. And you are?” With each word, Aziraphale slowly strode forward, his blue eyes fixed on the angel who retreated at the demon’s advance.
“Oh damn, a Prince of Hell. This wasn’t in the training.” The angel’s hands clapped over a rebellious mouth.
Aziraphale’s lips moved into a broad smile as he chuckled. “That’s what I am. Tell me, who are you?”
“Crowley. An angel. A Servant of the Lord God. Angel of the Ninth Choir of the Malachim. Third from the last row, five over from the end, you can’t miss me, I’m the tallest one in that row. Usually sing the middle voice so it’s really just the same note over and over most of the time-”
“You weren’t doing your job, were you? I hear there’s a big fuss going on about the humans getting kicked out of the Garden. Really, what a thing to do for a first offense, seems awfully unfair to me.”
“I, I don’t know? I wasn’t on duty then, I was just put on duty now and-”
“So where's that sword of yours? Didn’t they issue you a sword? I’ve seen them before, big flaming buggers, ready to smite?”
“I...I, well, uh, I was never issued a sword? I’m just a low-ranking angel, standing in for someone more important.” Crowley’s mouth moved into a nervous smile, and the angel slowly began to inch away from the Prince of Hell.
“Oh? No sword?” Aziraphale brightened.
“...no sword,” Crowley drooped.
“Excellent.”
As the angel backed away from the Prince of Hell, Aziraphale stretched out a black-feathered wing as Crowley nearly stepped off the end of the wall, gently nudging the angel back to safety.
Startled, Crowley nearly tipped over again, but once more Aziraphale righted him.
“Tricky thing, this gravity business,” Aziraphale said gently. “You’ll have to be more careful; you can hit terminal velocity rather quickly if your wings aren’t ready to fly.”
“Yes, tha-”
“No, no need to thank me. Best not. Even a Prince of Hell could get into a spot of trouble were one caught saving angels. Let’s just keep this between you and me,” Aziraphale winked.
Crowley felt hot and cold all of a sudden, both at once, realizing what had happened. Had a discorporation happened so soon, so quickly after being issued a corporeal form, it would have been a major disciplinary breach and the thought of what consequences would have come down in head office sent a shiver through the angel. But perhaps discorporation would have been preferred; everything was so much worse than the angel could have imagined now that Crowley was in a bind, doubly indebted to a Lord of Hell within minutes of being assigned to Earth.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Crowley.”
“Sure thing,” Crowley said politely. “It’s nice to meet you too, Lord Azir- uh, or is it Prince, erm-”
“Let’s dispense with the formalities. Just as I’ll call you Crowley, you may call me Aziraphale.”
“All right.” A hint of a nervous smile touched Crowley’s lips.
“Oh how lovely,” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley.
“Gkh?” Crowley asked.
Aziraphale’s eyes lingered on the angel before turning to look up to the iron gray sky. “It’s starting to rain.”
As the Prince of Hell stretched out his arms to welcome the falling water, he stretched out a black-feathered wing to shelter the shivering angel from the coming storm.
x
#angel crowley#demon aziraphale#good omens#aziraphale x crowley#aziracrow#reverse omens#good omens fanfiction#the seventh prince of hell#crowley is an ordinary angel without a flaming sword#aziraphale is a prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses
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The Second Prince of Hell
Pressing his hands over his face, Crowley sighed. It was already a bad day, and while there had been not so many days since the Earth had been formed, it seemed like all Crowley could see ahead was a progression of bad days that only got worse.
Of course, it did immediately get worse, for the next thing that happened was that Crowley nearly ran into someone.
“Oh, sorry about that, my fault,” Crowley muttered, as a pair of firm hands steadied his shoulders.
“How did your meeting go?” A familiar voice, and Crowley opened his eyes, hands dropping to his sides to see Aziraphale standing before him, plump hands resting on Crowley’s slim shoulders.
The angel gasped. “...what are you doing here?!”
“Asmodeus comes up for regular meetings in Heaven, and he asked me to join him today to stand second.”
“Meetings. In Heaven?” Crowley blinked.
“You didn’t know? Well, Beelzebub’s too important for this job, and I’m not important enough, so...”
Crowley’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought we were supposed to be enemies.”
“Oh, this doesn’t stop us from being enemies, my dear boy. Nothing has changed but we must think of practicality. After all, could anything get done if both sides didn’t know what was going on in advance? That would be sheer madness,” Aziraphale said.
“I...” Speechless, Crowley felt the foundations of faith deep down inside shifting, before trying very hard to keep his belief in the system from cracking. “I really should get going. There’s work to be done after all-”
“Oh, but before you go, you should meet my counterpart.” Aziraphale turned to the ladders, offering a hand to another demon who hefted himself up the ladder and out onto the cool gleaming expanse of Heaven. A very tall and blond demon clad in black robes lined in venomous green, crowned with black meteoric iron in the shape of twining serpents, whose sharp green eyes fixed on Crowley the moment that he stepped forward.
Crowley found himself backing up, just a little.
“Crowley, this is Asmodeus, Second Prince of Hell.”
“Pleased to meet you?”
Asmodeus laughed. “Is this the Representative on Earth that we’re supposed to be concerned about? Oh, but a beauty to be certain, a rare jewel in Heaven’s crown with that dark copper hair and those golden eyes. Do you think that Heaven knew what it was doing when it sent this one?”
“Apparently,” Aziraphale said dryly. “After all, Heaven doesn’t make mistakes.”
The two Princes of Hell exchanged looks of amusement.
“My dear Aziraphale, you are ever so lucky to have been named Representative. I think I should have liked to have had the honor.”
“How did you win?” Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, curious, before realizing he should also keep an eye on Asmodeus too, just in case.
“It was down to me and Asmodeus, and I won. So it could have easily been a serpent instead of an octopus that did the tempting.”
“Did you fight for the position? Is that what they do down there? Er, Downstairs.” Crowley wondered, knowing that the honor of being Representative on Earth was merely an accident when it came to Heaven’s decision; Crowley just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when they were looking for someone to be volunteered.
“Oh no,” Aziraphale chuckled, his voice dark with amusement. “No, there was no fight. It was rock-paper-scissors, and I cheated.”
“...oh.”
“Extra arms, you know.” And for a moment, the black-robed Aziraphale had four arms and four legs and then two legs and six arms and then just a lot of arms and Crowley nearly fell over before Aziraphale reverted back to something more recognizable.
“Now I wish I had tried harder,” Asmodeus hissed. “All of the Earth as one’s private garden, and a charming angel to chase around and thwart…now that would have been splendid. I think I would have enjoyed that quite a bit.”
“Uh, I’m right here...” Crowley muttered. “Haven’t left at all.”
“I must say that I’m glad to have been chosen,” Aziraphale said smoothly. “It’s quite an honor.”
“By cheating.”
“Just as a demon lord should do. And if you interfere, Asmodeus, I’ll gut you like a...whatever it is that the humans gut.”
“A duck? A fish?” Crowley suggested, but it didn’t seem that the demons heard.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Asmodeus lied, eyeing Crowley as the Second Prince of Hell paced a slow circle around the angel. “Absolutely wouldn’t dare infringe on your rights, my infernal brother.”
“Good, because if you do, I might have to destroy you.” Aziraphale smiled brilliantly.
“Oh, Aziraphale, let’s not bring up that kind of unpleasantness. It’s far too soon to talk like that when a little torture goes a long way. My dearest brother, I think it’s best to let the angel make the choices of who is preferred. We may not have free will as the humans do, but exercising a little choice is always...wait, where did the angel go?”
“Back to Earth, I presume. Well, good luck on your meeting; it seems that I have some work to do-”
“Aziraphale...” Asmodeus’ voice had a tone of warning in it. “You’re not to leave until we’re done here.”
“Oh, but if you recall the rules are that both Representatives must be on Earth at the same time. Beelzebub has been quite firm about that. It’s a very reasonable rule if you think about it. Have fun at your meeting; say hi to Michael and Gabriel for me.” And with a wave, Aziraphale swung himself down onto a ladder and clambered down fast, multiple arms and legs helping him navigate the narrow ladder back down to Creation.
Halfway down and still in the high heavens, Aziraphale paused and looked down. Beyond the great plumes of clouds where the sky opened back up again, white wings spread wide as the angel glided the rest of the way down to Earth in a slow graceful motion, the small white figure stained with a dark splotch of coppery red that fluttered like a flame, and Aziraphale felt his breath catch.
x
#angel crowley#demon aziraphale#good omens#reverse omens#good omens fanfiction#the seventh prince of hell#crowley is an ordinary angel without a flaming sword#aziraphale is a prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses
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The Supper
“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Crowley asked, fretful and anxious. Was it because he could not be of good service for once? Or perhaps it was because there was already a lot of arms and a lot of hands doing a lot of work and it seemed that for one being, Aziraphale was doing quite a bit of toiling.
“Oh, of course not. Why don’t you have a seat and rest? This would be of course much easier if we were at one of my houses but I can make do with what I have,” Aziraphale said.
“One of your...” Crowley blinked. “Wait, how are you doing that? And how are you standing?” He pointed to the working hands.
One pair was busy roasting a large carp over a hot fire.
Another pair was busy cutting onions and garlic and wild greens that they had found miraculously growing along the banks of the river.
A third pair was kneading dough for bread with strong plump fingers.
And the hands of a fourth pair were overseeing all the details; one stretching forth to add some more wood to the fire, another sprinkling salt from a small pouch onto the chopped vegetables.
Aziraphale shrugged. “Oh, all my arms and hands have a mind of their own. I just let them take care of the work. It’s rather amusing to watch, isn’t it?”
“But that doesn’t answer the question, how are you sta- Oh no, please don’t!” Quick as can be, Crowley stepped in to part two hands that had gotten tangled together and were wrestling each other, fingers moving in strange and distressing angles as they grappled.
“It happens,” Aziraphale said with a shrug. “When I let them do their own thing. Shall I get them under control?” The two hands, one each gripped in Crowley’s hands, slipped out of his grip and entwined their fingers with Crowley’s fingers. With a gasp, Crowley stepped back, shaking off the Prince of Hell as if he had been burned.
“Sorry,” Aziraphale said, though he was absolutely not sorry.
One of the overseeing hands, the one that had been seasoning the food pulled away wriggling its fingers as though it had an idea. It angled around to the other overseeing hand and briefly meshed fingers together before dipping away to pull something out of thin air with a commanding gesture; it was a large ceramic pot, tapered at the bottom.
“Er, uh...so um...would you like some help?” Crowley asked, rubbing his hands together as if to shake off the memory of the touch, and Aziraphale grinned.
“Certainly you can help. Here, why don’t you hold the jar for me. Sit, so you can hold it properly.”
“Sure.” Crowley took the jar from Aziraphale, and noticed that a heady scent wafted up from the rounded lip.
“Smells like stale fruit.” Curious, Crowley sniffed.
“You mean, finely aged fruit,” Aziraphale corrected him. “Carefully aged grape juice to be precise. Try not to drink the dregs, it’s rather full of sediment.”
“You expect me? To drink this?”
“Why not?”
“It’s...” Crowley made a face. “Unnatural.”
“It’s made from fruit and the natural processes of time. How is that possibly unnatural?” As he spoke, Aziraphale drew his hands back, one after another, as the hands finished their jobs, until somehow he was again standing on two legs and had two arms.
Crowley felt a strange sense of relief, even as he puzzled over the problem. “I...uh.”
“Here. I’ll drink first to prove that it’s safe.” The Prince of Hell sat down beside him and took the jar from him, taking a long drink.
Crowley stared as Aziraphale licked a golden droplet of wine from his lips.
x
#good omens#crowley#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#reverse omens#angel crowley#demon crowley#aziraphale is a prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses#crowley is an ordinary demon#cw alcohol
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The Fish Pendant (adapted from the Westcar Papyrus)
Drowsy with the afternoon heat, Crowley leaned against the limestone wall. Feeling the rough stone beneath her palm, she wondered when the humans might call for her to come inside and play. It was cooler here in the shaded colonnade just inside the courtyard than it was inside, but it was also close enough to hear any calls for musicians. From where she stood she could hear something of a ruckus going on in the main hall of the court as the pharaoh moved about his great house, and she wondered what kind of mischief the man was up to. She hadn’t been at court that long, only a few days, but it seemed that the human caused a commotion wherever he went.
Perhaps this would be a good time to take a little nap, she thought, to sneak away and hide out from all the human silliness. But just before she decided to move, she felt the air itself shift, turning a little cooler and damper, and when she turned around, she was no longer alone.
“So.” Aziraphale said, appearing behind her. “What brings you to Memphis this time, Crowley? On assignment?”
Crowley startled at the Prince of Hell’s sudden appearance, flinching back, not immediately recognizing Aziraphale. She had never seen the Prince of Hell like this before, attired like a human being. Aziraphale wore a long plaited flaxen wig, hung with golden ornaments and crowned with dark blue lotuses. Blue eyes were limned with kohl and the voluptuous curves of her body was hugged tightly by a long sheath dress of grayish linen that was woven through with zigzagging lines of dark blue, crimson, and gold. Around her neck was a heavy collar necklace of beads of silver and lapis lazuli of a shade that was the color of the sea at dusk, a luminous blue that verged on charred black.
Crowley glanced at Aziraphale’s hand and there was that iron octopus ring, the symbol of a Prince of Hell, gleaming obsidian.
“My apologies. How do you do? I hope you are well, as I am,” Aziraphale smiled charmingly, and Crowley looked away.
“Eh, you know. Court musician,” Crowley said with a shrug, quickly getting over the surprise. After all, it was not the first time that the other side’s Representative had appeared before her like this. As time passed, it seemed that the surprise was wearing out and the pressing need for a flaming sword was slowly diminishing.
A human walked by, and Aziraphale’s head turned to follow. A moment later the demon’s skin color shifted, becoming a dark umber.
“What-” Crowley blinked.
“Camouflage,” Aziraphale winked.
A pleasant breeze blew through the courtyard, damp and cool as if the wind preceding rain, and the hem of her plain linen dress fluttered in the wind.
“White suits you well,” Aziraphale smiled, her eyes lingering on Crowley. “Makes the crimson of your hair even more striking. Is this sheer linen the style of the court? I should adjust mine to match...”
“White...looks good on you too. Except it looks a bit more, well, gray?”
“Rather. Couldn’t look out of place here where everyone likes their white linens but of course a demon of my stature can’t go around looking like the Opposition.”
“It looks very striking and almost white.”
“Never white, not anymore.” Aziraphale smiled a brittle smile, and then pointed to the pendant that hung from a delicate cord tied around Crowley’s neck. “I see you’re wearing a new necklace yourself. Nice pendant. But don’t humans usually wear such pendants in their hair? Protection from drowning or some such belief?”
“Oh yes,” Crowley tried to suppress a shy smile, touching the cool stone with her fingertips but feeling the heat of its creation inherent in the curves of stone. “But I want to keep it safe. It’s a gift from a friend.”
“A friend? I didn’t know angels were allowed to have friends, much less human friends.” A strangely familiar voice, and Crowley turned, only to feel her heart sink. It was Asmodeus, the Second Prince of Hell, and like Aziraphale, the Second Prince had taken on a female form.
Taller than both Crowley and Aziraphale, the Second Prince was dressed in plain gray linen but with a striking collar of silver and malachite beads. Asmodeus too wore a ring of black meteoric iron, but hers was in the form of a serpent, curled around her finger. Something about Asmodeus wearing kohl around her bright green eyes made her seem particularly nefarious, and Crowley found herself shrinking away before this newcomer.
“Uh...” And Crowley could not speak for a moment, realizing that she did not know how to address Asmodeus.
“You may address me as Asmodeus, darling angel. We’re rather casual here on Earth. It’s not as though this is a formal meeting by any means,” Asmodeus said lightly, tossing back a thick blonde mane that had been braided into long thin plaits, hung with twisted golden ornaments that upon closer inspection were little serpents twined through her hair. “I see you’re here for the ceremony too. Have you come as Representative on Earth?”
“Ceremony?”
“Did you not hear?” Asmodeus said, with a subtle hint of venom in her voice. “Oh, but you’re here for something else, aren’t you?”
“Court musician,” Crowley said, in a small voice.
“Where’s your harp then, little angel?” Asmodeus smirked.
“Not playing the harp? Playing the double pipes. Just made a new set of reeds too...and...” Crowley made an exaggerated gesture of dismay. “Oh no, I really ought to go, I need to replace the reed water and clean out the condensation and-”
“Strange,” Asmodeus said with feigned casualness. “I had it on good authority that you played the harp.”
Speechless, Crowley wondered how Asmodeus would know, and without meaning to he looked over at Aziraphale.
“Well darling,” Asmodeus smiled coldly, “it seems like you’re an angel of many talents. Perhaps we’ll see more of your abilities soon.” With that, Asmodeus strode off, disappearing into the palace complex.
“...wait! Hey!” Crowley startled, realizing that she was supposed to be thwarting any evil that might be coming from a Prince of Hell. But just then, Aziraphale decided to go the other direction.
“Wait!” Crowley cried out, unsure of who to follow.
“Finally, the last one,” a leering court official said as Crowley turned the corner. She had been certain that she was following...well, one of the Princes of Hell, but now she realized she had other more pressing problems. The official was a handsome man of heroic stature in the prime of his life, which meant that he was still a bit shorter than Crowley but it made him nearly a giant among men. Attired like a priest, his freshly shaved head gleaming and the ceremonial leopard skin draped over his right shoulder, the man looked Crowley over with greedy, lascivious eyes. “Young woman, you have a beautiful body and a well-developed bosom. But your hair is not braided. Never mind, someone will do it. Have you been opened by childbirth?”
“Excuse me? I beg your pardon,” Crowley hissed. “You can’t just go around asking people that. It’s...rude. No, of course not, I-”
“Perfect. In you go!” The man gave Crowley a shove and closed the door behind her. As Crowley got her feet under herself, she could hear the click of the door being locked.
“But I’m a court...musician?” Crowley said lamely, to the closed door.
She turned around. Besides herself and two Prince of Hell, there were seventeen other young women who were quickly undressing and putting on beaded net dresses...with nothing on underneath.
“Who was that?”
“The chief lector priest and book-scribe, Djadjaemankh,” a young woman said as she walked past, her voice full of disdain. Crowley blinked; even by Egyptian standards her clothes were particularly revealing.
“He didn’t look much like a book-scribe or a lector-priest,” Crowley said.
“Well, he’s not much of one,” another young woman muttered as she struggled with her clothes.
“Here,” Aziraphale said, waving Crowley over. “Put this on.”
“What’s going on?” Crowley blinked, relieved to see a familiar face. Aziraphale handed her the bead-net dress, long thin blue-green faience beads slithering with a clink in her hands.
“A ceremony,” Asmodeus said, tossing off her form-hugging sheath dress to reveal a body proportioned perfectly to the Egyptian canon of measure, whose smooth lustrous skin and thick braided hair made other human women stare at her with no small amount of envy. She slipped on the bead-net dress with ease, which was not so much a dress as a dress ornament, made in the form of a dress but without any cloth or fabric backing for modesty or comfort.
“They call it a ceremony, but it’s really no more than a diversion for a bored lech,” Aziraphale said with a scowl. “The pharaoh likes to have young women row about his private lake on a boat, before picking one for later.”
Horrified, Crowley nearly dropped the dress. “What do you mean, one for later?”
“I meant exactly what I said. Don’t worry, the odds of getting picked are 1 in 20.”
“Not bad odds, but not good odds either,” Asmodeus smirked. “Though of course, a little demonic intervention means that we won’t be picked.”
“...oh no...” Crowley murmured.
“Oh no?” Aziraphale asked, solicitous.
“I’m allotted only a certain amount of miracles every turn of the moon. And...I might have used them up already?” Crowley said, embarrassed.
“It’s hardly the first few days after the full moon. What did you use them up on? Snacks? Wine? Travel?” Aziraphale teased.
“Healing the sick,” Crowley said. “Kids, mostly. Would have been an epidemic otherwise.”
“Can’t you apply for more?” Aziraphale asked.
“Of course, but I can’t if I’m here. I’d have to report to Heaven, ask the proper authority for permission, then fill out the correct documentation, and wait for it to be processed. Which...usually takes about a year or three. If I need it sooner, I can apply for an emergency waiver, but that usually takes at least five to seven business days to process...and they’ve been very clear what would happen if I go over.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine little angel. As long as you don’t stand out in any way,” Asmodeus’ smile was all teeth. Sharp teeth. “Just keep a low profile and I’m sure you won’t be noticed.”
“Good point. I can do that.”
“Now, you’ll need someone to braid your hair. All those gorgeous curling tresses. Mmm. Unless you’d like to dip into your reserve of miracles...of, which you don’t have,” Asmodeus said, reaching out to touch Crowley’s dark hair.
Crowley’s breath caught, but just before Asmodeus could touch her, Aziraphale batted the Second Prince of Hell’s hand away.
“It’s fine,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll manage this menial task, my infernal brother. You needn’t lower yourself to doing something so beneath your station. Besides, I have quite a few more hands.”
“But you’re a Prince of Hell too...” Crowley protested.
Aziraphale stretched out his hands, wiggling his fingers in anticipation. “Oh yes, but unlike Asmodeus, I’m quite fond of working with my hands.”
Aziraphale’s hands moved gently through Crowley’s hair, and Crowley looked down at her feet, at the plaited leather sandals that she wore, smudged faintly with dust that did not touch her skin. The touch of Aziraphale’s fingers combing through her hair left strange shivering sensations that ran up and down her spine and inadvertently she made a little sound in her throat that surprised herself; as far as she knew she had never made a sound like this before.
“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Aziraphale murmured, as fingers and many of them worked through her hair, some of them combing through long strands, others deftly plaiting her hair into braids.
“No, I’m fine, really,” Crowley gulped. “It feels...er...” And she noticed that Asmodeus was watching with a sharp eye, so she looked down, face hot with embarrassment.
“Hmm?” Aziraphale wondered.
“Fine. I’m fine, it’s nothing,” Crowley muttered.
“He’s rich all right,” Aziraphale said as they pulled the oars of the light skiff, sailing slowly past the pharaoh’s lavish pavilion set up on shore. Crowley turned her head to look toward the pharaoh’s entourage as they passed. Below shaded canopies of fine linen that fluttered in the hot desert breeze the pharaoh sat with the great priests and lords of the land, the men entertaining themselves with drinking and watching the women row the narrow vessel about the lake. Musicians played for their enjoyment on harps, rattles, and double pipes, and servants moved through the jovial crowd, ensuring that the cups were full of beer.
“Ebony oars plated with gold, and the handles made of this expensive sqb wood, plated with electrum.”
“A waste of perfectly good wood,” Crowley agreed. “Wood this fine shouldn’t be immersed in water.” She looked to Aziraphale who sat to her left.
“The two of you should keep it down,” Asmodeus said from her seat ahead of Aziraphale at the front of the boat, pulling at the oars in time with the other young women.
“It’s not like he can hear us. No one can-” Crowley began, but Asmodeus turned back to give her an unpleasant smile.
“No, darling angel, but if he notices you not rowing your odds might go from 1 in 20 to something a lot more unpleasant.“
“Actually, because of demonic interference, the odds are 1 in 18 now,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Which are better odds if you’re gambling and want to be that 1 in 18, as the smaller that second number is, the more likely it will happen. But in your particular case, I don’t think you want to be selected.”
“Surely you wouldn’t want to make it any worse,” Asmodeus added.
“Oh. No, you’re right.” Crowley shut her mouth. Shoulders hunched, she put herself to work, diligently pulling the oars of the light skiff in time with the other women. The sun beat down fierce, and Crowley wondered how many people today would be left with the marks of the bead-net dress as pale shadow lines writ across sun-darkened skin.
Some of the women began to lean over and dip their hands into the water of the private lake, splashing themselves to cool off and it seemed like the right thing to do, to appear as the mortals did.
She leaned over the dark water, and by habit, briefly let go of the oar and pressed the fish pendant against her breast as she leaned out, keeping it safe. When she turned back, she noticed that Asmodeus was watching her. Quickly, she grabbed the oar and continued to paddle without missing a beat.
“A gift from a friend,” Asmodeus murmured to herself under her breath, a sly smile crossing her lascivious lips.
Seven, eight...nine times around the lake and it didn’t seem as if the pharaoh was tired yet of their labors as he directed them from his shaded pavilion on the shore. Crowley felt herself wilting in the heat. She was stronger than the humans, more resistant to heat than cold than any normal human but she was not impervious. A higher-ranked angel might have been given the means to stay almost entirely untouched by the effects of the material world but Crowley was not among those lofty beings.
Again, she leaned over the water, but this time as she let go of the pendant, there was a little sound like a snip, the thin cord snapped, and the pendant went flying toward the dark waters of the lake.
“Oh!” Crowley find herself crying out, trying to grab the turquoise before it fell into the water, but it was too late. With a splash, the stone was gone and Crowley dropped the oar, uncertain of whether or not to follow it in before realizing there was no way she could retrieve it. Once it was underwater, it might as well have been in Hell; there was no way for Crowley to bodily enter the water.
“Are you all right?” Asmodeus asked with false earnestness, and Crowley glanced back to see malicious amusement gleaming in the demon’s green eyes.
“I can’t, I’m...” Crowley stared at the water, at the swaying rushes that edged the lake, at a rising flock of birds in the distance as they took to the sky, as if all these things could yield an answer to a question she dared not ask.
“Can’t?” Aziraphale asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
Crowley’s voice was barely a whisper. “Can’t retrieve things from the water. I’m an angel.” Crowley said, dazed. “We don’t sink.”
“A shame,” Asmodeus said lightly. “It was quite a fine pendant. A fish of some sort?”
“An upside-down catfish...always looking up at the world above from below...”
“Can’t you row?” A harsh voice interrupted, and Crowley jumped, realizing the boat had stopped right in front of the pharaoh’s pavilion, and the pharoah had stood up from his chair to shout at the women.
“Our stroke has become still, without rowing,” explained the one of the rowers.
“I can see that! Girl! Yes, you! The one who stopped rowing first! Why aren’t you rowing?”
Crowley blinked as everyone turned to look at her, the girls on the skiff, the officials and attendants of the pharaoh, the priests, the servants, the great lords. Even the birds seem to pause in their chatter.
“Er...that is...lost something valuable?”
“Speak up!” The pharaoh commanded.
“This...fish pendant? Bout this big? Turquoise? On a string? Er...” Crowley blinked, flinching slightly at the many eyes staring at her. “Uh, erm, I uh, lost. A fish pendant of new turquoise. The cord broke and it fell in the water.”
The pharaoh brushed the fine fabric of his klaft headdress back, the simple plain one he wore when he was at leisure, not like the stiff formal nemes. “All this fuss for a hair pendant? Here. You may take one of mine from the treasury.” He pointed to one of his close attendants, a woman who was wearing a fine pendant of gold inlaid with glimmering stripes of lapis lazuli, carnelian, and chalcedony that hung from a twisted braid. The young woman looked down demurely and began to untie it from her hair.
“Sorry Majesty, but no thank you.”
“What do you mean, no thank you?” The pharaoh sounded peeved.
“I...prefer my own pendant, Majesty. That one is important to me. I’d rather not have a substitute.”
Aziraphale turned and gave Crowley a look of amazement, and Crowley shrugged.
“What, it’s the truth,” Crowley said to Aziraphale.
“That golden pendant is worth ten of the one you lost, at least,” Aziraphale said tartly. “Besides the fact that it belongs to the most powerful man in this part of the world. If you don’t like the one he’s offering, at least take it and sell it to buy a dozen or more pendants of your preference.”
“I’d rather have my own thing.”
“And you won’t continue to row until you get it back?” The pharaoh’s expression changed from irritation to curiosity.
Crowley looked up; she hadn’t realized that pharaoh had been listening in to her conversation with Aziraphale. When she glanced over at Aziraphale, the Prince of Hell was looking a little embarrassed, as the demon had forgotten to mask their conversation from the humans.
“Well, if you really want-” And then Crowley looked around at the other young women. Unlike the Prince of Hell who looked as cool and collected as ever, the young women looked rather bedraggled. Sticky with sweat and splashed with lake water, they were stuck all over with dried bits of algae and duckweed that clung to sun-burnished skin, the kohl around their eyes smeared and runny from rivulets of perspiration. The flowers that some wore in their hair were wilted and dying, wigs were sliding off of lovely heads, and braided hair grew frazzled. Many were starting to sunburn, dark skin growing tender and irritated as the skimpy net dresses provided no protection from the harsh sun. “Actually? Actually, I refuse to row. I won’t continue unless I get my pendant back.”
There was a collective sigh of relief that went through the young women, and they all drew their oars in so that the boat could go no further.
The pharaoh chuckled and waved one of his officials over. “Go and bring me the chief lector priest Djadjaemankh,” he commanded.
Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a look.
“It seems as though you recognize that name,” Aziraphale said, more of a question than a statement.
“Well. He asked me some rather...personal questions. And shoved me.” Crowley scowled.
“Really now. He laid hands on you?” Aziraphale’s eyes grew cold.
“I think he did for all the young women.”
“He did more than push me,” the woman sitting ahead of Crowley said. “He’s disgusting.”
“Terrible.”
“Incredibly wealthy.”
“Powerful.”
“The pharaoh listens to him more than anyone else.”
“We have no say. I don’t even work for the Great House. I was just trying to run errands for my mother in the marketplace and the priests grabbed me and brought me here,” a particularly young girl said, kohled eyes full of tears.
“I wish there was more I could do to help you,” Crowley began, but just then the chief lector priest Djadjaemankh arrived, beckoned over to the pharaoh’s side.
“My dear Asmodeus, I have a suggestion for you...” Aziraphale said, leaning closer to the other Prince of Hell and Crowley startled; this meant that demonic doings were afoot and he needed to be ready to thwart the work of the Adversary.
But instead of overhearing what the two Princes had to say, Crowley was distracted by the pharaoh and the chief lector priest who were both pointing to and looking at her, discussing something that she couldn’t hear. Aziraphale, in the meantime, had finished her discussion with Asmodeus.
“Then we’re in agreement,” Aziraphale said.
“Of course. After all, aren’t we here to sow dissent?” Asmodeus hissed, pleased.
“What are you two-”
And before Crowley could speak, the chief lector priest came to the edge of the water, his hand holding tight to his leopard skin. As he drew closer to the skiff, Crowley noticed that as the priest looked over the inhabitants of the skiff, his eyes became fixed upon Asmodeus, who hissed in a serpent’s voice:
“You will do magic and perform a miracle before all who will witness it.”
Without taking his eyes off of Asmodeus, the chief lector priest Djadjaemankh raised his hands in an attitude of prayer and began to speak, proclaiming that he would perform a miracle in order to retrieve the fish pendant.
A hush fell through the crowd. The pharaoh watched intently, with a child-like curiosity.
The chief lector priest spoke the words of a magic spell, and nothing happened, though the water burbled just a little.
“Watch,” Aziraphale winked.
The chief lector priest spoke the words, again, and the water began to tremble. The girls clung to their oars and each other, and Crowley found herself clinging to the side of the skiff as the water became unsteady.
And for the third time, the chief lector priest spoke the words in a loud, commanding voice, but Crowley didn’t look at him; she looked to Aziraphale and saw Aziraphale’s hand move in a gesture as if drawing something up from below. Suddenly the entirety of water on the other side of the lake lifted up and stacked on top of the side they were on, as if a thick piece of fabric folded in half, though it seemed an invisible dome surrounded the boat and protected its occupants from getting wet. Alarmed, Crowley looked up and around herself. Fish and frogs, insects of all sorts, a diving bird, lily pads and rushes, and even a small crocodile that glided along blithely, not noticing the humans below it. The young women marveled at the sight, crying out to the gods in their surprise.
Crowley’s eyes were bright with amazement. So it was true, she thought, that Aziraphale could make it so that she could see the place where the fish lived herself, without having to go into the water. A warm feeling welled up within her and Crowley found her hand pressed against her breast, in the empty spot where the pendant would have hung.
“Look! I have found the fish-pendant! It lies upon a shard!” The chief lector priest Djadjaemankh shouted, wading into the muck to retrieve it, gleefully snatching it up from the bottom of the lake before wading out again, his entire body splattered with mud, sludge squelching through his bare toes. He ran over and tossed the pendant to Crowley, who caught it despite herself. Later she would wonder; had it been a demonic intervention that landed the pendant so neatly in her hands? Or was it just a good throw? But at the time she was merely grateful for the heat of the love that she could feel within the cold, damp turquoise, the round eyes of the upside-down catfish staring back at her with a curious detached calm.
Djadjaemankh then raised his hands again and said the magic spell, and the water lifted again, unfolding to return its normal place in the lake.
A great clamor went up, and the ceremonial boating was forgotten as attendants and officials alike swarmed the chief lector priest. Asmodeus gave the command to the other girls; they rowed to the dock immediately and disembarked.
“Go quietly home everyone. The pharaoh won’t need your presence anymore,” Aziraphale said. “And keep the dresses, no one’s going to remember that you’ve been given a fortune in faience and leather cord. Though if I were you, I’d be smart about it and take it apart to hock. All right? Good.”
The young women were too smart to cheer, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. Instead, they smiled and waved, saying their thanks before disappearing into the crowds unnoticed and unmolested. As they left so did Asmodeus, who wandered off into the crowd, appearing briefly by the pharaoh’s side before disappearing altogether.
“Just like that,” Crowley said. She was the last one off the skiff, and she held the pendant tight in her left hand as she stepped lightly onto the dock.
Aziraphale grinned. “Just like that.”
Crowley watched as the chief lector priest was feted by the court, the pharaoh calling for him to be heaped with lavish gifts, and she scowled. “Men like him always seem to prosper, don’t they? Shouldn’t have been grabbing girls from the marketplace for the pharaoh’s entertainment. Makes you wonder what other mischief he gets up to. Pervert. Creep. Bast-” She shut her mouth. Walking, no more like stalking down the dock and back, she stopped before the Prince of Hell.
“Aziraphale. You know, I never asked what you were here for.”
“Oh, I can’t tell you why I’m here, Crowley. You know that. Just as you won’t tell me why you’re here.”
“Right.”
“But...” A smug, amused look came over Aziraphale’s face. “Let’s just say that once a man can perform a miracle for a trivial matter, they’ll be expecting him to perform another one when there is a very serious matter. And if he can’t...well, there’s no telling what the other humans will do to such a man.”
“How very diabolical of you,” Crowley said, impressed. “Serves him right.”
“Quite,” Aziraphale smiled. “Say, I think we’re both done for the day now…?”
“About time for supper, maybe?”
“Oh yes.” Aziraphale said, pleased to see Crowley brightening up. “How about a crisp roasted duck with nabk berry sauce? Oooh, and a good resinated wine.”
“And maybe...” Embarrassed to be caught wanting something for herself, Crowley looked away, busying herself by threading the pendant back onto the cord, and tying the cord about her neck, felt the comfortable weight of the pendant around her neck, the stone warm against her bare skin.
Her hands brushed against her as she finished. Crowley paused, feeling the tightly wound plaits, thinking to take them out, but then with a little shiver, remembered who had braided her hair.
“Maybe?” Aziraphale was gentle, giving the angel time, but then noticed that Crowley would not say what it was that she wanted. “It’s all right, my dear, you know you needn’t fear asking me for anything. I won’t get mad at you, I promise. After all, the worst I could say is no. But is it soup? Like that soup we had last time that you liked so much, the one with the fish?”
Crowley blushed, wondering how the Prince of Hell had learned her tastes so well. “Yeah, I guess, maybe soup?”
“Oh of course! Of course we can have soup. We can have whatever you want. I always like a good soup. Have you ever tried one with barley…but is something wrong?”
“We can’t go to supper dressed like this,” Crowley said, gesturing to the bead-net dress that barely covered her nudity. “It’ll be a scandal. And I’m not going back to the palace. I’m losing out on a good set of double pipes as it is but I don’t care-”
“Oh right,” Aziraphale laughed. “Almost forgot.” And with a gesture, both were clothed in plain linen sheath gowns, though Aziraphale’s was of a shade far grayer than the one that Crowley wore.
“Am...am I going to get in trouble?” Crowley could hardly breathe, feeling the power of the miracle forming around her.
“My dear, this hardly counts as a miracle,” Aziraphale said, adorning her own hair with dark blue lotuses, handing Crowley a big white lotus that somehow appeared as the Prince of Hell plucked the flowers miraculously out of the air. “These are just the clothes you were wearing earlier.”
And at that Crowley had nothing to say, but she pressed the flower to her nose, taking in the sweet heady dizzying scent of the lotus as she followed Aziraphale out of the palace grounds and into the vibrant, bustling marketplace just beyond the gates.
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#good omens#angel crowley#demon aziraphale#f/f fanfic#ineffable wives#reverse omens#good omens fanfiction#aziraphale#crowley#ao3 outage#ancient egypt#story originally from The Seventh Prince of Hell#adapted from the third story from the Westcar Papyrus#aziraphale is a prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses#crowley is an ordinary angel without a flaming sword#the fish pendant is a present from Aziraphale to Crowley#here have some reading :)#ao3 outage reading
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The Prince
Looking about at the shadows that the stopped clouds and birds above their heads cast over the field, at the frozen carnage around him, of bloodthirsty men ready to fight yet trapped in a moment of time, the Prince of Hell seemed impressed. “Oh badness, was this you?”
“I guess?” Crowley flushed, embarrassed.
“How did you manage this? I didn’t know such a thing was possible. This isn’t a power that I’ve ever heard of, not in all my existence.”
“I don’t know,” Crowley was mortified. “I just wanted everything to stop, and it did.”
“And yet, it did not touch me. I wonder why,” Aziraphale wondered out loud.
“Dunno,” Crowley mumbled. “Just...stopped everything and I don’t know how to turn it back and it’s just stuck like this and what if it’s like this forever...”
“Yes, well. Wouldn’t that be a problem,” Aziraphale muttered to himself.
“Wait. Would it? Um. Be a problem?” And then Crowley turned to Aziraphale, golden eyes gleaming. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could stay like this forever? Just you and me...”
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#demon aziraphale#angel crowley#aziraphale x crowley#good omens#reverse omens#the seventh prince of hell#aziraphale is the seventh prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses#crowley is an ordinary angel
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‘Dr. Fell, we are very pleased to inform you that alongside the Westcar Papyrus and the Rhind Papyrus, the Actually We Won Papyrus will be known throughout history as one of the great finds of ancient Egyptian texts. Besides that, the Actually We Won Papyrus will be famous as the second-known example of Egyptian war propaganda, after the documentation from the Battle of Kadesh...’
“Bother,” Aziraphale muttered, as he stopped reading out loud. He adjusted his glasses very angrily. “Second? And here I thought I had invented propaganda!”
“Looks like the humans beat you to it,” Crowley shrugged. “At least I can still claim diplomacy.”
“Actually, if you read the rest of the letter, it goes into some depth on the diplomacy initiated around the Battle of Kadesh.”
“So I don’t even get that?” Crowley was offended. “All that work and the humans beat me to it?”
“By about 66 years. But you still got to claim it on your report to head office, that’s all that matters as far as we’re concerned.”
“...head office won’t like it when they find out I didn’t actually-”
“What did I tell you about telling the truth?” Aziraphale said tartly. “In fact, what did you yourself say about reports to head office?”
“That everyone stretches the truth a bit in reports to head office?”
“There, that’s a good angel. Now, let’s forget all about that ugliness while I draft a reply to these lovely gentlemen. Tea?”
“Please.”
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#good omens#reverse omens#angel crowley#demon aziraphale#aziraphale x crowley#ineffable husbands#crowley is an ordinary angel#aziraphale is the seventh prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses#the seventh prince of hell
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The (Unofficial) Meeting
An angel and a demon sat on opposite sides of a stream, small enough so that they could easily pass the wine jar across to each other without crossing over to one side or another, and it seemed that it was better that way; neither one seemed to feel like gathering up the meager amount of motivation it would take to cross a little trickle of water.
“Should we really be doing this? When we’re supposed to be working?”
“I would call this a meeting,” Aziraphale said, taking a deep drink before handing the jar back to Crowley.
“Would you officially call this a meeting?”
“I would officially call this an unofficial meeting, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Officially unofficial.” Crowley’s mouth moved into a hint of a smile. “Only you would think of something so...”
“So silly?” Aziraphale wondered.
“So diabolically precise.” Crowley drank and handed the wine jar back. The wine was good, resinous and strong, and feeling the alcohol heating him up through his belly felt good. Crowley suddenly realized that it seemed that a lot of his more fond memories of living on Earth these days involved wine, and pretty much all of those situations also involved a certain Prince of Hell, and that was getting to be a bit distressing to think about so he tried to focus on work again, and unintentionally caught himself in a conundrum of troublesome thoughts.
“Something the matter?” Aziraphale asked, his face showing nothing but an expression of studious casualness.
“No, no. Of course not it’s nothing, I...” Crowley took the wine jar and drank deeply before passing it back. “I just can’t believe that Heaven and Hell sent us both to do the opposite things, that just seems like...like they’re not communicating.”
“Oh trust me, they’re communicating all right. Like it or not, I think they’re setting us up. To see if one of us can triumph over the other.”
Crowley gasped. “Oh no!”
“Oh yes. Playing out the same old wars, but in miniature.” Aziraphale scowled.
“By proxy.”
“Through us in a small part. But mostly through the humans. Who,” Aziraphale paused to take a sip. “Have hard enough lives as it is without us interfering so.”
“Oh, you really think that?” Crowley brightened, taking the jar.
“Really, I do.”
“Because I think about that exact thing a lot.” Crowley drank some more. “We...really shouldn’t interfere so much. Screws with their sense...their sense of-”
“Free will,” Aziraphale said.
“Free will, yes, that’s it, that’s it exactly!”
“Sending us to micromanage every little detail is rather overkill, don’t you think?”
“We need a lighter touch,” Crowley explained, excited to share thoughts that he had been mulling over for some time now. “Because when we interfere too much, the humans get anxious about doing things the right way and have a hard time making their own choices. They don’t know they can make their own decisions without someone telling them exactly what to do and how to do it every time. And that takes away their ability to make choices for themselves. No one can get anything done if they have an authority breathing down their necks the entire time-”
“Are you sure you’re still talking about the humans?” Aziraphale winked.
“O-of course! Why wouldn’t I be? After all, we don’t have free will.” Embarrassed, Crowley looked away. He felt foolish to have said so much, yet at the same time, he wished he could be more honest and tell Aziraphale directly how he truly felt. But realizing the foolishness of his feelings, he clapped his hand over his mouth, knowing that any more words spoken would tread dangerously into treason.
“Oh yes, of course. Mustn’t forget we have no free will. None of that talk now, it’s dangerous.” Aziraphale’s mouth closed and his lips pursed, faint lines of tension lingering on his face.
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#angel crowley#demon aziraphale#good omens#reverse omens#ineffable husbands#the seventh prince of hell#aziraphale is the seventh prince of hell and lord of the octopuses#crowley is an ordinary angel
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Where Angels Fear to Tread
"And, if you’ll come with me, we can continue together.” Aziraphale offered Crowley his hand.
“Just so we’re not separated. As a matter of practicality.” Crowley reached out, his fingers grazing Aziraphale’s fingers and the slight touch made him sway; it was a good thing gravity was not an issue here because he was easily forgetting which joints held him up and which joints did nothing at all. For some time he had thought about that embrace, back on a sunny hillside and how long ago was that? Not so long that the memory had faded but then again, how could the memory ever fade?
Gently, Aziraphale’s hand closed around his, their fingers intertwined, and a tender emotion welled up in Crowley that he could not quite identify.
“Well then, let’s get a move on, shall we?” Aziraphale beamed, but his fingers twitched in Crowoley’s grip.
“Right.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Eh.” Crowley shrugged. “No reason not to. At least for this.”
“I suppose that’s good enough.” And then Aziraphale drew him close, an arm slung around Crowley’s waist and leapt forward into the darkness, gripping his hand tight.
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#demon aziraphale#angel crowley#ineffable husbands#good omens#aziraphale and crowley#the seventh prince of hell#underwater adventures with the lord of the octopuses
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“We see that you are finally here, Princze Azzziraphale,” a stern voice buzzed as echoing footsteps drew closer, and Crowley realized that this diminutive figure must be the First Prince of Hell, Beelzebub. The First Prince was attired with utmost formality and grandeur, wearing a crown of horns made of meteoric iron and a necklace of jeweled flies over a formal robe so intensely black that it seemed to repel the light. Beside the First Prince of Hell was Asmodeus, the Second Prince of Hell, crowned similarly, as well as some other lower-ranked demons that Crowley did not recognize. Some of those other demons seemed like the type that never left Hell for very long, crusted over with sores and scabs just as angels who rarely left Heaven gleamed with gold.
“Yes, here I am, on time as always,” Aziraphale said lightly, though Crowley could tell that he was uncomfortable. “No dawdling in any sense of the word, none at all. Say, I see you’ve brought Duke Hastur and Duke Ligur as per the memo. Excellent. Cr- that is, erm, uh, fellow Representative of the Opposition, I suppose you’ll want a little introduction. Yes, of course, introductions are in order! Ahem. Proper introductions, of course. Brother Princes and Dukes of Hell, this is Heaven’s Representative on Earth. Now Hastur here serves Beelzebub and Ligur here serves Asmodeus. Oh! And, and of course, can’t forget my, my own Duke, Legion, who acts as my second in command in Hell...heh, would forget my own head...erm uh...”
Legion bowed, a beautiful demon with dark eyes framed in long curling lashes, a polished and charming creature that made Crowley feel drab and ungainly in contrast. “A pleasure, Representative on Earth.” Hair twisted up like two tall horns and carrying a wax tablet, the Duke came to stand by Aziraphale’s side, an elegant figure beside a formidable one. Immediately Crowley shied away from the delegation of Hell.
Aziraphale glanced at Crowley with a lingering look but then immediately looked away as Beelzebub began to scold the lower-ranked Prince.
“You are not ready for thiz meeting, you wear not your regalia and you come not prepared...”
Crowley beat a hasty retreat, glancing back long enough to see Aziraphale’s mouth tighten as he gestured, changing into the formal attire of a Prince of Hell, the blue-lined black robes, the crown of meteoric iron laying heavy on his head.
It had been a long time since he had seen Aziraphale like this, and it made Crowley’s mouth go dry. Of course Aziraphale was a Prince of Hell; that had never changed. And yet somehow over time, it seemed like it was easy to forget that very important detail, especially when Aziraphale did no more than wear a little ring of a crown that signified his status, and leaned lazily on the supper couch chatting about one thing or another, before sitting up to refill Crowley’s cup.
Crowley resolved not to forget, but almost immediately, the thought slipped his mind again when he wondered where they would go to eat after the meeting; perhaps some fried fish would be good...and then he had a momentary panic when he tried to remember if he had changed before coming to Heaven. Quickly, he looked down at what he was wearing.
Crowley patted his celestial robes with relief, glad that he had remembered to change before coming to Heaven. Angels were not allowed to bring material objects from Earth onto celestial plane and anything material that was brought to Heaven would be destroyed. He thought of his fish pendant and frowned imagining someone in the Powers taking a particular pleasure in destroying something that he loved, just because it was material.
“Finally a moment alone,” a familiar, deep voice purred. “Did Aziraphale tell you?”
Crowley swallowed, backing up as he realized he had walked right into the path of Asmodeus.
x
#good omens#angel crowley#demon aziraphale#beelzebub#aziracrow#aziraphale is the seventh prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses#crowley is an ordinary angel#beelzebub is the first prince of hell and the lord of the flies#asmodeus is the second prince of hell and the lord of the snakes and the demon of lust#the seventh prince of hell
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The Embrace
An angel and a demon walked across the muddy battlefield together, hand in hand. Crowley stepped lightly on the surface of the puddles of water. Aziraphale however sank into the watery mud as he walked, but the demon remained untouched by the wet slimy muck. Soon, they were back in the dappled shade of the fruit trees on top of the hill overlooking the battlefield.
And then Crowley realized that Aziraphale was holding his hand and had been holding his hand this entire time. Aziraphale was warm and his grip was firm without being overwhelming and their fingers seemed to fit together just so, interlaced perfectly...and Crowley could feel the edge of panic rise in him.
“Something that you’re doing...is slowing time for me,” Aziraphale said his words sounding careful and deliberate, though that was not of his doing, the sound of his voice lengthening and deepening as time slowed down around him. “And unless you stop it, I fear the time around me may be stopped as well.”
“I don’t know how to stop it!”
“Here.” Aziraphale drew Crowley close against his chest, so that Crowley could feel the heat of the Prince of Hell’s body, the silken brush of his black robes against Crowley’s face, and when Crowley turned his head to look away from the demon, overwhelmed, the press of his ear against Aziraphale’s chest let him hear the slightly asynchronous polyrhythmic beat of three hearts, never for a moment beating in tandem.
Crowley took a deep breath, taking in the peppery, almost spicy scent of lavender that clung to Aziraphale, and another, sweeter, distantly familiar scent. He took another deep breath, feeling almost lightheaded when he realized that it was the scent of the sea.
It was the scent of a cool ocean breeze at night, bringing with it an obscuring fog that left prickles of dampness all over the word in tiny drops of condensation, shrouding the world in a soft blurry haze. He had never before noticed that Aziraphale had a scent, and then realized there was only one other time he had been so close to the fallen angel, and that was ages ago when the world was still new.
Time stood still. Crowley’s eyes half-closed, and it seemed to him that the world was no more than the scent of lavender and the sea, the brush of silk against the bare moments of exposed skin, and the sound of these beating hearts. The warmth of arms around him, the awkward press of his own lanky limbs against Aziraphale, and then he shifted a little, tentatively putting his own arms around the Prince of Hell so that they fitted together as neatly as their hands had interlaced.
There was a calm to it, a peace that he had not known in a long time and in fact it made him wonder, had he ever known such warmth and tranquility? Not alone, not by himself; this was a lesson, he thought, that he could have never learned on his own.
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#good omens#reverse omens#ineffable husbands#aziraphale x crowley#aziracrow#demon aziraphale#the seventh prince of hell#angel crowley#aziraphale is the seventh prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses#crowley is an ordinary angel#in the reversed roles world crowley can't control his time stop powers which are linked to his anxiety
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“Oh, you’ll be fine little angel. As long as you don’t stand out in any way,” Asmodeus’ smile was all teeth. Sharp teeth. “Just keep a low profile and I’m sure you won’t be noticed.”
“Good point. I can do that.”
“Now, you’ll need someone to braid your hair. All those gorgeous curling tresses. Mmm. Unless you’d like to dip into your reserve of miracles...of which you don’t have,” Asmodeus said, reaching out to touch Crowley’s dark hair.
Crowley’s breath caught, but just before Asmodeus could touch her, Aziraphale batted the Second Prince of Hell’s hand away.
“It’s fine,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll manage this menial task, my infernal brother. You needn’t lower yourself to doing something so beneath your station. Besides, I have quite a few more hands.”
“But you’re a Prince of Hell too...” Crowley protested.
Aziraphale stretched out his hands, wiggling his fingers in anticipation. “Oh yes, but unlike Asmodeus, I’m quite fond of working with my hands.”
Aziraphale’s hands moved gently through Crowley’s hair, and Crowley looked down at her feet, at the plaited leather sandals that she wore, smudged faintly with dust that did not touch her skin. The touch of Aziraphale’s fingers combing through her hair left strange shivering sensations that ran up and down her spine and inadvertently she made a little sound in her throat that surprised herself; as far as she knew she had never made a sound like this before.
“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Aziraphale murmured, as fingers and many of them worked through her hair, some of them combing through long strands, others deftly plaiting her hair into braids.
“No, I’m fine, really,” Crowley gulped. “It feels...er...” And she noticed that Asmodeus was watching with a sharp eye, so she looked down, face hot with embarrassment.
“Hmm?” Aziraphale wondered.
“Fine. I’m fine, it’s nothing,” Crowley muttered.
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#good omens#reverse omens#crowley#aziraphale#ineffable wives#angel crowley#demon aziraphale#asmodeus#the seventh prince of hell#aziraphale is the lord of the octopuses
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Aziraphale hummed to himself cheerfully as he cooked, focused as all eight arms chopped and seasoned; ground spices with a ceramic mortar and pestle; mixed flour and water; and added more fuel to the hearth fire. Crowley watched, and even though he wanted to be briefly lost in the wonder of it, guilt gnawed at him and instead he thought about his responsibilities. Being down here in Aziraphale’s house, was this supposed to be part of work? And if so, shouldn’t he be thwarting the demon? He felt a stirring of guilt that he was doing nothing but watching; Heaven had invested him with extra powers and he had better be responsible and do his duty.
So when Aziraphale reached for the pepper, he slid the pot of cumin seeds toward a questing hand. And as Aziraphale went to reach for the fennel, Crowley handed him the coriander. It wasn’t much, Crowley thought, but it would technically count as thwarting?
“I don’t suppose you have much experience cooking,” Aziraphale finally said, exasperated, when he was given a container of sesame seeds instead of the rendered fat from a fat-tailed sheep. “Because none of these things look anything alike, particularly since this is from a plant and not an animal.”
“Oh.” And Crowley didn’t know what to do; he had never been caught out in a thwarting before.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean...I don’t know.” Crowley threw his hands over his face and collapsed onto the mat. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
“Do what?”
“Nothing.” Crowley muttered.
Aziraphale sorted through his hands until he found one that was clean, and reached out to pat Crowley’s shoulder.
“Try to relax, my dear. I know it’s hard and you’re not accustomed to it, having never had one. But everyone needs a vacation now and then, even celestial beings.”
“Yeah. I’ll try,” Crowley mumbled, red from embarrassment.
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#demon aziraphale#angel crowley#reverse omens#good omens#ineffable idiots#aziraphale is the seventh prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses#crowley is an ordinary angel#the seventh prince of hell
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The Observers
“Fancy meeting you here,” Aziraphale’s black wings cast a dark miasmic shadow upon the ground that no human could see, but had one stepped into the shade of those black wings, they would have shivered uncontrollably until they walked away, beyond its demonic influence. And even then they would continue to shiver, just a little, at the memory of that strange shadow that was not a shadow.
“Yeah. Fancy meeting you too,” Crowley muttered, his white feathers stirred by the force of an updraft that did not affect him. His hair rose up around him like a crimson cloud, and then settled around himself as he chose not to let the wind ruffle his hair. Crowley cleared his throat. “Come to watch the slaughter?”
“Oh of course. Certainly,” Aziraphale said, but there was something about the way he looked away that made Crowley wonder what the demon was thinking. “Mustn’t forget that whole Prince of Hell thing, got to enjoy the bloodshed and the maiming and all the accounting of the souls, this way and that...just wonderful, isn’t it, all the mechanics of-”
“Wait.” Crowley stared in amazement, his mouth open with shock. “You’re really not into this, are you?”
“Of...of course I am. How dare you insinuate otherwise?”
“You really don’t want a war, do you?”
“No, of course I do, it’s obviously the right thing to do. The wrong thing, that is,” Aziraphale said, with more than a hint of nervousness that grew as he spoke. “Absolutely the baddest of bad things. Got to do the wrong thing, that’s what we’re supposed to do-”
“Oh my goodness,” Crowley laughed. “Is it possible that-”
“Don’t say it,” Aziraphale scowled, and for a brief moment Crowley thought that he should be afraid, but then again he had known Aziraphale too long to be that afraid of him.
“Do you even want a war between Heaven and Hell?” Crowley asked, guilelessly.
“You know I can’t answer that,” Aziraphale said stiffly, before correcting himself: “By which I mean, of course I am all for the Great Plan. Everyone agrees on the Great Plan. We have agreed upon the Great Plan for ages. Why would we be here but for the Great Plan? After all, there wouldn’t be that fierce struggle between Good and Evil that rages through existence without the Great Plan, right? By which I mean--”
“Actually, I’m not sure I believe in it,” Crowley said suddenly. “And maybe I deserve to be punished for saying so but it’s the truth."
Immediately, Crowley regretted his words. He had given the Prince of Hell too much leverage over him, but then he realized that it had been a few thousand years since the creation of the world, and never had the Prince of Hell used any of the accumulated leverage against Crowley that he had, whether it was saving Crowley from being discorporated (far more than once) or listening to Crowley’s complaints against his Heavenly supervisors (even more than far more than once). And Crowley wondered; did this mean that Aziraphale was even still gathering more weapons to use against him, or could Crowley actually, well, trust him?
And it made Crowley gasp with surprise, realizing that he had been trusting the Prince of Hell all along, and so far that trust was not to be broken. He was so surprised that he had forgotten he was flying, and felt himself begin to plummet as his wings lost lift on the thermal that he had been soaring upon.
"Crowley! Are you all right?” Catching Crowley around the waist, Aziraphale steadied the angel until Crowley was aloft again, his wings catching a current of air that unexpectedly burst forth in strength so that both angel and demon briefly twirled about each other as a strong updraft forced them high into the atmosphere.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Of course I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” Crowley drew away, embarrassed, afraid that someone might have seen them so close together.
Aziraphale’s expression changed, and he withdrew politely. “Of course. Well, these air currents get rather tricky up here, don’t they? Shall we go see how the battle is doing?”
“Yes, let’s,” Crowley said with a sigh.
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#demon aziraphale#angel crowley#good omens#reverse omens#aziraphale x crowley#aziraphale is the seventh prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses#crowley is an ordinary angel
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