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asexy-phoenix · 3 years

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I don't mind

Good Omens fic about autistic!Aziraphale

Crossposted to Ao3

A/N: Takes place before the bulk of the main series, so pre-canon, and definitely pre-relationship. Crowley is still pining, though.

Aziraphale's issues with the word "meltdown" are heavily based on my own personal experience, so that's why it's in there in case anyone was wondering.

“…and so, in short, I expect those reports on my desk filled out in full by – “ Gabriel stopped talking. “Aziraphale? Are you listening?”

Aziraphale tried to straighten up his already perfect posture by another few inches. “Yes,” he said, resisting the urge to rub the edges of his vest between his fingers. Tucking his hands behind his back, he continued, cutting off Gabriel’s next question. “Reports. On your desk by Monday?” he hazarded a guess.

“Monday will do nicely,” Gabriel said with a smile on his face. “Now, why don’t you head on back to Earth since you’re so eager to get started, hmm?”

He didn’t set a deadline yet, Aziraphale groaned internally as he went through the motions of thanking Gabriel and transporting himself back to Soho. Why can’t I just do things right?

Inside the bookstore, it was bright and cheerful and entirely too noisy. The quiet classical music Aziraphale had left playing when he was summoned to Heaven was jangling against his senses, and the cozy lamplight was flooding his eyes. Feeling a bit like he was standing in the middle of one of the underground clubs Crowley had enjoyed in the sixties, Aziraphale bit back a moan. It was loud so loud why so loud and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Angel?”

The knock at the door that accompanied the question would have been entirely innocuous under most circumstances but now it scraped along the back of Aziraphale’s neck like a set of claws. “What is it?” he asked, trying not to let the strain he was feeling slip through into his voice.

Crowley opened the door, the jingle of the bell adding to the cacophony of noise in Aziraphale’s head. “Figured I’d stop by for a bit,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “See if you wanted any company?”

“Why would I want that?” Aziraphale asked peevishly, only just able to keep himself from snapping.

Crowley raised an eyebrow above the frame of his sunglasses. “Today’s your annual check-in with Heaven.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. The added information: why does he keep track of that? Does he care? Why would he care? I didn’t know he cares. Why does he keep track of that??? landed on top of the stack of sensation and confusion in his mind. He could feel himself coming close to the breaking point; all he needed was a single tipping point, one pebble to start the avalanche.

“ – gel? Oi, Aziraphale!”

Crowley’s shout (normally nothing much, just slightly above speaking volume) was deafening. Almost without thinking, Aziraphale clamped his hands over his ears. It helped reduce the noise from but everything still felt loudloudloud toomuchtoomuch and he wanted to scream except that wouldn’t do any good. Instead he groaned, feeling the noise vibrate up through his vocal cords. It helped, was slightly grounding, but it wasn’t enough, not even close.

Keeping his hands tucked over his ears, Aziraphale took a staggering step towards the sofa and then another. He needed to sit down, needed to curl up in a ball and block out all the bad sounds and light and noise. He couldn’t do that unless he was on the sofa, though, so step by step he made it over there. He didn’t realize until he was seated that Crowley had followed him.

“Angel, can you – can you tell me what’s wrong?” the demon asked, his normally laid-back voice on edge. “Are you okay?” Crowley’s hands fluttered nervously at his sides, and Aziraphale watched them, the movement oddly calming.

“Noise,” the angel finally managed to get out.

Crowley’s left hand moved in a familiar swoop and the music ceased as well as the sound of traffic from outside the bookshop. Aziraphale almost moaned in relief. It was so quiet now, the noise in his head dulling significantly.

“Thank you,” he managed to get out.

Above his head, Crowley chuckled. “Only you would think to thank someone in the midst of a meltdown, angel.”

Aziraphale stiffened. Meltdowns, that’s what the other angels had called them. They had told him to go away, find somewhere else to be, told him to sequester himself ostensibly for his own good but really so they wouldn’t have to deal with him. It was a word that meant bad, wrong, unwanted. Aziraphale moved his hands away from his ears and wrapped them around himself, squeezing tight as he closed his eyes. Meltdowns were bad, and he only had them when he was doing something wrong.

“Oh shit,” Crowley murmured somewhere far away, “bad word,” and then, “hey, angel, can you hear me?”

Aziraphale managed a small, shaky nod.

“Can I sit next to you?”

Another nod, and the couch cushions moved with the weight of another person next to him.

“Can I touch you?”

Aziraphale hesitated and then shook his head. A light touch would feel bad, like it was crawling along his skin and stinging as it went. He tried folding his arms even closer to his body, like he could hold himself the way he wanted another person to hold him.

There was a pause from beside him and then: “Do you want to be squeezed?”

Aziraphale would have felt shocked but he couldn’t process that right now so instead he just nodded again.

“Okay,” Crowley said quietly. “Now, I’m going to try something so, uh, don’t worry, okay?”

Another nod. Aziraphale couldn’t have worried about anything if he’d wanted to at the moment.

Crowley’s presence shifted at his side and then it shrank and changed. Aziraphale opened one eye and saw a large black snake coiled where Crowley had just been. It hissed and nosed at the air beside Aziraphale’s hand.

Guessing what the snake was going to attempt to do, Aziraphale nodded again and sat back slightly. The snake slithered into his lap and then up around his rib cage and onto his shoulder. It felt good, heavy enough that it pressed into Aziraphale’s skin. When the snake was positioned where it wanted to be, it hissed one more time and began to squeeze gently.

It was like a hug, only it was the most all-encompassing hug Aziraphale had ever felt. He breathed deeply. The stream of noise in his head had faded to a trickle and he felt almost relaxed. “Thank you,” he whispered into the snake’s scales. It hissed, almost sounding self-satisfied.

They stayed like that for a while, minutes or hours Aziraphale couldn’t tell, and then finally he breathed deeply one last time. “You can shift back now, darling,” he told the snake.

Hissing, it slithered back to the cushion beside him and turned back into the demonic approximation of a man it had been before. “Hey,” Crowley said quietly. “Good to see you’re back.”

Aziraphale looked down, hands fluttering at the hem of his vest. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” he apologized. “It was extremely uncouth of me and honestly – “

“Hey, no, that wasn’t what I meant,” Crowley protested. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just meant that it’s nice. To see you not having a meltdown.”

That word again… Aziraphale felt a sudden flash of annoyance. “That wasn’t what happened,” he said coldly.

“Well, what do you want to call it?” Crowley responded.

“A meltdown is when I lash out, have a temper tantrum, make everyone else’s lives worse with my violent temper,” Aziraphale continued, having barely heard Crowley’s question. “I don’t do that anymore.” He scowled at nothing in particular. “I got overwhelmed today, that’s all that happened.”

Crowley shrugged. “Okay.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. “Really?” he asked. “I mean, I was awfully – “

“You were nothing of the sort,” Crowley interrupted.

“I just snapped at you!” Aziraphale protested.

“You got overwhelmed,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale had the distinct impression that he was being winked at through the demon’s sunglasses.

“Well, all right then,” Aziraphale sighed. “As long as you don’t mind.”

Crowley took a long breath and a longer pause. “I don’t mind,” he said with finality, hidden depths lurking in his words.

Aziraphale looked around, taking in his bookshop. It was back to being the warm, cosy place he knew. Outside, the sky was dark and inside there was welcoming light in the form of the lamp in the corner. He breathed in deeply, taking in the smell of old books and the faintest hint of sulfur. He looked over at Crowley. “Would you care to stay for a drink?”

Slipping off his sunglasses, Crowley smiled affectionately at him. “Absolutely, angel.”

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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Hey, everyone! I’ve been saying for a bit I want to get some fics from prompts I’ve written onto AO3 but...it’s so hard...ok it’s not hard, Executive Dysfunction is just kicking my butt. I’m going to post some of them to Tumblr today. If you want to help these babies get on AO3, they need: titles, tags, you pestering me in the comments. If you don’t think they’re good enough for AO3 - fair enough, just hit the little heart if they make you smile!

Prompt: Aziraphale reading to Crowley

(Requested by @zadusk and @lyricwritesprose)

“Sorry, can’t help you,” the innkeeper said, “just rented out our last room.”

“What?” Crowley crossed his arms, huffing through his nose. This was Bethlehem all over again. “This town is in the middle of nowhere, it has three inns, how can they all be sold out?”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” The innkeeper shut the ledger. “Everyone’s headed down to London, and we’re on the way. Now. I can offer you a hot meal, and for, let’s say, half the price of a room you can sleep in the stables. The hay loft is clean, apart from the mice—”

“Stablesss!” Crowley hissed, slapping his hand on the counter. “Do I look like someone who sleeps in stables?”

The innkeeper didn’t appear remotely impressed. “You look like someone who is going to be sleeping in a hedge. Looks like a storm tonight. Good evening.” And he spun away, calling out to the cook in the back room.

“Oi!” Crowley shouted. “Get back here, you—!”

“Crowley! Whatever are you doing here?” The familiar voice was half delighted, half scolding. Aziraphale appeared beside him, same white suit as the last time they’d met, top hat tucked under his arm. “I thought I made it clear we shouldn’t see each other so often. Since I opened the shop, it’s been—”

“Yes, I know.” Crowley waved a hand and turned away. “I’m not here for you, Angel, I have actual business in York.”

“Really?” Despite his words, Aziraphale trailed behind him. “How interesting. I’m just returning from York – oh, no, you don’t think they’ve sent you to undo all my work again, do you?”

Crowley snorted. “No bet.” He dropped his voice into a low whisper. “This is why we need to meet up more often. Look at all this time we’re wasting! And now I have to march through the bloody night in the rain because there’s no place to sleep—”

“Oh! Well, I wouldn’t dream of it. You can share my room.”

“Ngk?!” Crowley’s brain crashed into his skull with all the speed and grace of a train wreck. “Mf. Yk. No I can’t – Aziraphale!”

“Oh, my word – obviously, I’m not planning – that!” His voice dropped even lower and he tugged on Crowley’s elbow. “Don’t be crude, dear fellow. I have a room with a bed that I’m not intending to use. You can have it. I just need a chair to sit in while I read.”

“Jgk.” Crowley turned away, taking a deep breath through his nose. It made sense. He could sleep. Aziraphale could read. No getting soaked, or lost in the dark, or needing to fight off highwaymen or anything of the sort. “Fffine. We can. Er. Do that.”

“Jolly good.” He could practically hear the angel straightening his waistcoat. “Now that’s settled. I’ve already had my supper and was about to head up. Unless you’re hungry—”

“No, no, now is fine.” He still couldn’t quite meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “Lead the way.”

The room, it turned out, was nearly as advertised.

A double-sized bed with a straw-tick and a quilt. A little stand with a pitcher of water and bowl for washing up. Windows that could be tightly shuttered to block out some of the city noise.

The only thing missing, really, was the chair.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s fingers tapped on his book and he glanced around, as if a seat might be hiding in the corner. “Well, er…”

“It’s fine. I can leave.” Crowley turned on his heel and reached for the latch.

“Absolutely not! I won’t hear of it. You get settled and I’ll – ah – I’ll miracle in a chair.” He peered around the narrow room. “Somewhere.”

“Look, I can—”

“No. Miracle yourself a nightgown or whatever it is you need.”

“I—”

“Hush!”

Resigning himself, Crowley waved his clothes into something more comfortable for sleeping and crawled under the blanket. It was…slightly better than sleeping in the stables, he supposed. The straw was lumpy and the sheet covering it coarse, but the pillow was well-stuffed with goose-down, a luxury he could get used to. He shifted onto his back, trying to find a comfortable angle.

Instead, he found Aziraphale, standing beside the bed, staring blankly at the wall. “There…well…it would appear there isn’t room for a chair,” he confessed. “Not one that will fit my, er…my current corporation comfortably, that is.”

Crowley looked at the ceiling. He could sleep up there, but it would mean abandoning the pillow. Or. Or.

“Look, Angel,” he said as casually as he could. You can, um, you can sit on the bed. I’m not going to be offended or anything. It’s fine.”

“No, I couldn’t – couldn’t possibly—”

“Aziraphale. It’s really fine.”

The quilt tugged, folded back, and with a rustle of straw Aziraphale settled into the mattress. He sat straight, stiff, and so close to the edge he might topple off.

Even so, he was alarmingly close.

“You, um. You need the candle?”

“No, my own light will be sufficient, thank you.”

“Yeah. Obviously.” Crowley tossed his glasses onto the little table and waved a finger at the candle, which immediately snuffed out, leaving the room dark except for the soft glow of Aziraphale, gently illuminating his book.

Crowley closed his eyes and prepared to fall asleep.

He turned onto one side. No good, too close to the edge.

He turned the other way, or started to, freezing when he felt how close the angel’s warmth was.

Then he lay on his back again. The whole room fell very, very still.

“Bless it, Aziraphale, will you relax?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I can practically hear your muscles creaking. How am I supposed to all asleep with all that – that tension barely six inches away!”

“I don’t know what you might be referring to. I am – am perfectly relaxed here, reading my book and you – you interrupt with these – these pointless accusations.”

Crowley gave up and turned on his side, facing Aziraphale, giving him as hard a stare as he could manage. “Your book is upside down, Angel.”

“Is it?” He swallowed. “I mean, of course it is. I am training myself to read upside-down text, a highly useful skill, which I’m sure—”

Crowley shut his eyes. “This was a terrible idea.” He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Look, Aziraphale, neither of us is actually comfortable with this. So I’m just going to head out. If I leave now, I might make it to the next town before the rain starts, and maybe they’ll have a room. You can have this one and—”

“Crowley,” he said, voice much softer than expected. “My dear fellow. I won’t be able to relax knowing you’re out there. I know you won’t be in – in any real danger but…I would rather know that you’re safe.”

He stared ahead, sitting perfectly still in the way that only beings who aren’t really alive can – no breath, no heartbeat, no tiny motions.

Then, slowly, Crowley pulled his legs back under the quilt and lay on his back.

“What’s this book about, anyway?” he asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

“It’ll help. Trust me. What is it – poetry? Ancient epics about glorious wars? Not Hamlet again, I hope, that play is a gloomy mess of—”

“No, nothing of the sort. It’s…well, it’s a sort of love story.”

That didn’t sound too bad. “Sort of?”

“Well, yes, it’s more a – a study of the manners and traditions of courtship. Our heroine is the second of five sisters, and there’s a great deal riding on finding them suitable husbands, but her choices are, well…not especially appealing.”

“Does she tell them to go jump in a lake?”

“Not in so many words,” Aziraphale said disapprovingly. “But yes, she has so far turned down two proposals quite bitingly. Although I think she was a bit hasty in her judgement of one of the young men.”

“I like it.” Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, and found the angel had relaxed, and moved just a little closer. “What’s it called, anyway?”

“Pride and Prejudice.” His fingers tapped against it. “Just released last year. I must try and find the author’s other work when I finish.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me how it ends.”

“Oh, are you…interested?”

“Hmm,” Crowley settled his head a little further into the pillow. “I do like a good drawing room drama. Perhaps I should pick out a few dresses and spend a year or two back in those circles.”

“As I recall, you were always deceitful and wicked and caused many a scandal.”

“I should hope so. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Aziraphale smiled down at him, and it made Crowley feel light-headed in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. “Then I imagine you’ll be brilliant at it.” He suddenly turned away, looking at the shuttered window. “Oh! Do you hear that? The rain has started.” The first drops were tapping against the shutters fitfully.

“Good thing I didn’t go out.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale looked at the book again. “Er, would you like me to…to read it to you? Just the first part, until you fall asleep.”

“I…” Crowley cleared his throat. “Yeah. I mean, your voice puts me to sleep half the time anyway, so…”

“Oh, yes, absolutely wonderful. Let me just get the first volume.” He hopped out of bed and hurried over to his jacket, rummaging in the pocket to pull out another hardcover book. When he returned to the bed, it was with almost no self-consciousness, wriggling comfortably against his pillow only a few inches away from Crowley.

“Now, let’s see…yes, here. ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife…’”

It was strange, seeing the angel from this angle, round face slightly lit by his own glow, little smile curving up his lips as the words bubbled out excitedly. His voice rose and fell as he read, trying to paint a picture of Longbourne and Netherfield and the lives of the Bennet sisters. Crowley could get used to it, the look, the sound, the soft familiarity of it all. Not that he was likely to have an opportunity.

He didn’t close his eyes. Not yet.

“‘But I can assure you,’ she added,” Aziraphale was quite enjoying the voice he had chosen for Mrs. Bennet, raising it now in slightly erratic excitement. “‘that Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting his fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing.’” He shifted again, raising his arm to better articulate the dialogue. “‘So high and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with!’” He dropped his voice into a vicious hiss. “‘I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set downs. I quite detest the man.’”

He glanced to his left, grinning, hoping to see Crowley’s reaction to his bit of acting, but the demon had at some point fallen asleep. He lay half on his back, still facing Aziraphale, shock of red hair across the white pillow. His mouth hung slightly open and something emerged that was almost a snore, but rather too small to really qualify. It was drowned out by the wind and rain outside, rattling the shutters. Now and then, in the distance, thunder rumbled.

“Well. I suppose…yes, you sleep now.” Aziraphale turned to put the book down, thinking to find the second volume and pick up where he’d left off.

“Nf.” Crowley turned onto his side, one arm flinging out towards Aziraphale’s waist. “D’n stp,” he mumbled. “Jus’ gettn gud.”

“Er, are you…awake?” The arm tightened slightly, and Crowley pulled closer, pressing himself against Aziraphale’s side. “Crowley, er, dear…you’re…”

“M’fine.” He sighed, not seeming aware of the world at all. “S’nice.”

For a long moment, Aziraphale stared at the demon who had – had invaded his space. Had settled against him in a most – most awkward and undignified way.

Well. There was really only one thing to do.

Aziraphale slid a little lower against the pillow, until he’d surrounded Crowley in the crook of his arm. “Is that better, dear?”

“St’ry.” But he settled into that space between Aziraphale’s side and his arm with a content sigh, arm now draped across the angel’s chest.

Oh, dear. This is not going to be easy to explain when he wakes up. But that wouldn’t be for several hours, at least, and right now, there was a very small smile on Crowley’s lips.

“Well. Chapter four. ‘When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him…’”

Thanks for reading! Pride and Prejudice was initially published in three volumes, in 1813, attributed simply to “The Author of Sense and Sensibility.” I have no idea what was going on in York in 1814 - I mostly needed someplace they could walk to but would take several days - so feel free to attribute whatever historical events you can think of to these dummies!

#good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #there's only one bed #aziraphale and his books #sleepy cuddles #sleepy snusband #short and sweet #fluff #good omens fluff #my writing #writing prompt #good omens prompts

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charliechick117 · 3 years

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Apparently there’s this AO3 tag game going around and I thought “Hey! I wanna do it!” so here I am. I stole it from @smuttysmuttysmut so thanks! I’ve been in fandom well before Ao3 so this will be super interesting.

How many works do you have on Ao3?

45!

What’s your total Ao3 word count?

444,138 (but going up!)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Coffee Shops and Lawsuits

According to You

The Sight of a Scribe

It’s an Old Song

A Week of Dwalin/Ori

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

It depends honestly. I try to respond to comments that make me happy or need like, a follow up, I guess? For a while I didn’t reply to anyone and then I tried to reply to everyone and now I’m kind of in the middle.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Um... I don’t really write angsty endings? I guess in “It’s and Old Song” there’s a sadness to the ending where Crowley and Aziraphale don’t remember their old lives together, but they start a new life and I really feel like that was a better story - to choose each other again even if you don’t remember.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Definitely “According to You”! It’s the happiest ending because there was so much angst to get there.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I don’t publish crossovers but when I was in college, like eight or so years ago, I wrote the biggest crossover in history based on an OC who was able to travel through every single piece of media I ever consumed. I’m talking Merlin, Doctor Who, Supernatural, The Walking Dead, Torchwood, Good Omens, etc.

It ended up being almost 400 pages long and I still think about adding this OC into everything I write.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I don’t think it was hate so much as misunderstanding. This was an old fic on FFN and I was young and made a choice in characters that didn’t sit well with a reader. I don’t think they hated the fic so much as they hated that choice. And, to be fair, it was a cop-out choice so I can’t even be mad about it.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope. I write some more... suggestive things (but I’m an adult so there) but it’s never full on smut.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I did have someone do a podfic of one of my fics!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Kinda, sorta, not really? My sister was writing this AH pirate fic and I helped her write some of the scenes, but it was her fic.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

This question is unfair. I’ve been around the fandom block for over a decade - how can I pick ONE favorite ship? But, I guess, for the sake of this, if we wanna talk favorite ship to write about? Probably Dwalin/Ori. They’re the two I wrote the most fics for and their dynamic is endlessly entertaining for me. It’s been, what, almost ten years since The Hobbit came out and I still wanna write fics about them? So I guess that counts.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Oh, I have so many. The one that I think fills me with the most regret is “Everything Is Permitted” which is an Assassin’s Creed AU fic for The Hobbit. It’s so self-indulgent and I loved the story and the world I ended up building for it. I really enjoyed adding different AC elements to the world of the Hobbit and I so want to finish telling that story - but I don’t think I ever will.

I also have this Good Omens fic that I’ve been trying to finish - I have the last two chapters but not the three before it so it’s been hanging there, unfinished, for months. Again, the regret of not having it finished it is what really haunts me because it’s got SUCH a good ending once I get there.

What are your writing strengths?

I’m pretty good at characterization. Before I even think about writing a fic, I spend so much time consuming media and taking notes about the characters. I try to find their strengths and weaknesses, what drives them, what they love or hate, who they care for and why they care. I studied psychology in college and nothing brings me more joy than to nail down characterization.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I am SO BAD at describing things. I’ve never been good at describing locations or places or clothes or like... even my characters? Like if someone asked me to describe what my OCs look like, all I can say is what kind of people they are. Sooo yeah, definitely my weakest point.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think unless you’re fluent in the other language, just stay away from it. My parents both speak Korean and English and there are nuances in both languages, idioms and the like, that are difficult to translate if you don’t speak the language semi-fluently. A direct translation is impossible so, unless you know the language, it’s not worth the risk.

The funny thing is that this also applies to sign language. It’s so easy to just assign sentences to sign language and mark it as sign instead of spoken. But sign language is also impossible to directly translate. It’s something I didn’t realize until my sister took ASL in college. And sure, I get that it’s hard to have a deaf character sign and stuff, but I think it’s important to know that sign language is also a foreign language.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Can I date myself with this? I wrote Red vs Blue fic on Deviant Art. How’s that for old?

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably “According to You”. It was one of the first fics I wrote where I had a clear vision of what I wanted to execute and it actually went to plan? I feel so proud of how the whole story turned out, how the pacing went and the dramatic ending. It’s one that I’ve been seriously considering editing and publishing because I’m just that proud of it.

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

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Insecure

When gaggles of women start flooding his shop on their lunch hours just to gawk at his sexy husband, Aziraphale begins to succumb to the new doubts and fears that come as a result of going native.

Luckily, Crowley has a cure for that. (2260 words)

(AO3)

Aziraphale has noticed a disturbing trend in the customers who come into his shop lately. No longer do they seem to be interested in purchasing one of his many immaculate and prized first editions (thank God), but, instead, they come to gawk at his husband, who spends a great deal of his time draped over a chair in the corner reading. Or pretending to read. He’s mostly there to annoy Aziraphale – make suggestive remarks when the angel bends over, persuade him take long lunches and close up early, rearrange the books by random indicators like whether there’s an animal featured on the cover or not, the author’s hair color, or their perceived sexual orientation. Since Aziraphale can’t afford to waste miracles, that means he has to spend all day reorganizing his shelves.

Or leave them as is, which is Crowley’s aim really.

But the gaggle of teenaged girls who come in before and after school, and the business women who stop by on their lunch hour, annoy him more.

He’s tried to juggle his times of operation to avoid them – open later, close earlier, take off Mondays. But they don’t seem to mind being late to where they’re going just to catch a glimpse of his demon.

And it’s beginning to wear on him.

Crowley doesn’t seem to notice the attention. Aziraphale brought it up to him once over lunch, asking how it felt to be objectified by the female clientele that his presence has been attracting day after day after day (in part because he was irritated and in part because he was genuinely curious), to which Crowley said, “You’ve been getting customers? When was that? Last week?”

Since Aziraphale can usually tell when Crowley is lying, and he wasn’t this time around, that was the end of that discussion.

But this influx of admirers has begun to spotlight certain doubts in Aziraphale’s mind that have been hiding there for some time.

Do they belong together? Are they really a match?

He’s not even talking about the angel/demon dynamic. A lot of people would say that opposites attract and well, you can’t get much more opposite than good and evil.

Then again, they’ve come to discover that Crowley isn’t completely evil, and Aziraphale isn’t necessarily 100% good.

And that’s part of the point.

So many things have changed for Aziraphale lately, ever since he and his demon became husbands. Changes in life, changes in his shop … changes in him. Inadequacies, doubts, fears, no longer simply about himself or his job efficiency as an angel, but about this relationship – a relationship that had been a constant in his existence, one he didn’t have to think too hard on or worry too much about. Perhaps it’s a side-effect of going native, but being married to a sexy demon on a planet that values youth and beauty over wit and intelligence makes him question a lot of things, things he hadn’t thought to question for all the years they’d been friends.

If Aziraphale has begun to notice these things, will Crowley begin to notice them, too?

Will they become important to him?

Crowley is a demon, bound (for the most part) by demonic rules. When one takes into account the seven deadly sins - a page straight out of the demon playbook - technically, they already should be.

The door to the shop opens and a new wave of women walks through. Aziraphale rolls his eyes mentally but confronts them with a smile. He walks straight up to them, effectively blocking their way further than the counter unless they admit to wanting a book, which, at this point, he may just be willing to sell them if it means they leave without the requisite drooling over his husband.

“Good morning! May I help you young ladies?”

The three of them do their best to get around him, but with the only entrance into the belly of the shop being the narrow aisle behind him, it would be impossible to do without shoving him to the side.

Which one lady in a houndstooth jacket and blonde bob looks fully prepared to do.

They try to peek over him but to no avail as the chair his husband lounges on has been moved out of sight of the door. All three women deflate when they realize their trip to this otherwise dull and dusty little shop has all been for naught, and they sigh in unison.

“Uh … no. No, we’re … okay,” one of them says, and they turn and leave the shop, grumbling about the pudgy old troll popping out from under his bridge to ruin their fun.

The door slams shut and Aziraphale sighs, returning to his task of restocking the shelves.

“Now what was all that about?” Crowley asks, coming up behind his angel, having caught the final few seconds of that unfortunate interaction.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale replies, doing his best to try and smile as he tosses books onto shelves, barely paying mind to where they belong.

“Is that so?” Crowley rescues the next book, which had missed the shelf, before it lands on the floor. “The way you’re abusing these poor books, it doesn’t seem like nothing. What has …” He glances at the cover of the one he’s holding before sliding it into its place on the shelf “… Allen Ginsberg ever done to you?”

Aziraphale stops. Full stops. Stops stocking the shelves, stops smiling, stops trying to pretend. In the grand scheme of the universe and God’s ineffable plan, Aziraphale’s problems seem shallow and petty. But they are his problems, and right now, they’re bowing his back, weighing his shoulders down.

“Why did you ask me to marry you, Crowley?” he asks, staring down at his husband’s snakeskin shoes and hugging the remaining three books to his chest.

Crowley smirks since he knows full well his husband can’t see. “Well, it was about flippin’ time, wasn’t it?”

Aziraphale’s head snaps up, his eyes, full of angelic fire, meeting Crowley’s behind his dark glasses. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Crowley doesn’t fear that fire. He welcomes it.

“It means I’ve loved you forever, Aziraphale. And the second I got my head out of my arse and figured it out, I wanted to make it official.”

Aziraphale nods and goes back to the task of examining his husband’s shoes. Crowley takes the books out of Aziraphale’s hands and places them on the shelf so he can wrap his husband up in his arms.

“Tell me. What’s this really all about, hmm? Does it have anything to do with that wench that called you a troll?”

“Don’t say that. I’m sure she’s a perfectly nice young woman, all things considered,” Aziraphale murmurs, not sounding all that convincing.

“Well, she’s a perfectly nice young woman who just dropped her lunch, missed her bus connection, and now has a huge runner in her stockings, so hopefully that makes your day a little bit better.”

Aziraphale smiles softly into the fabric of his husband’s shirt. “No. But I thank you for the effort.”

“What do you care what these mortals think of you?” Crowley squeezes his husband tight, hoping for a giggle. “You’re an angel! You’re Mr. Holier-than-thou! You perform miracles! You fight for the greater good! You’re not concerned with those things, right?”

“No.” Aziraphale clears his throat and straightens his back in an attempt to pull himself up from his bog of self-pity. “Not at all. At least … I wasn’t. I don’t know. This new life of ours … it’s doing things to me.”

“Well, I should hope so,” Crowley growls.

This time, Aziraphale does giggle. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Look …” Crowley leans back a few inches to look into his angel’s eyes “… you chose your human form, right?”

Aziraphale’s head bobs left to right, giving that some thought. “More or less. There were parameters.”

“And if there was something you didn’t like about it, you could change it?”

“I guess.”

“So, why haven’t you? I’ll tell you why. Because deep down inside, you like yourself just the way you are. You like your face because it’s kind. And you don’t mind the shape of your body because you feel your favorite clothes suit you. You’ve never had a single negative thought about yourself that wasn’t put into your head by someone else. You love yourself. And so do I. Because you’re not your body, Aziraphale. You’re your heart and your soul and your mind. You also happen to be one hell of a, as they say, bad ass.”

“Really?” Aziraphale says with a bitter little hiccup. “And how do you figure that?”

“Aziraphale! You wield a flaming sword! You stood in front of Satan himself, ready to defend the world! Humans who walk into this shop every day should genuflect and worship you.”

“That would fall under the category of false idols, so that’s a no-no.”

“Plus - and this is a huge plus - you’re the only being I know who’s looked Beelzebub in the face and asked for a rubber duck! Do you think there’s anyone else on this measly little planet that even compares to you? Because, to be honest, if there were, that would be terrifying!”

Aziraphale rests his head against his husband’s chest, melting into his words of praise. He’d never considered any of that, which proves how native he’s actually become. Humans, he’s noticed, do the same thing. What do degrees and accolades and charitable works matter so long as you’re aesthetically pleasing to any and all sexes? But he can’t allow his husband to lead him into the sin of pride. He knows Crowley isn’t trying to tempt him. He’s being supportive.

But as a demon, leading Aziraphale astray would fall under the umbrella of an occupational hazard.

“Would it make you feel better if I made a few alterations to my form?” Crowley asks. “Give myself a bit of a pooch? Perhaps a double chin?”

“No! I know how much you like the form you’re in. I know that you’re afraid to lose it. I don’t want you to go changing yourself for me.”

“Now that’s funny, because I feel exactly the same way about you.”

The clock on the wall strikes the hour and Crowley looks up. Through the window, he sees another wave of women heading for the shop, huddled together as if they’re embarking on a secret quest. “Do you really want to stop those women from coming in here all the time?”

“Not that I’m purposefully trying to drive away business …”

“Of course not.”

“… but it would be nice.”

Crowley pinches his angel’s chin and gives him a wink. “I’ll handle it.”

The bell over the door tinkles as it swings open. This time, instead of the shop’s portly proprietor greeting its customers, the tall, slender man they’ve been coming to see – the one who fills out a tight fitting shirt and black jeans like no one else in the world - does, and they’re instantly delighted. Their collective eyes brighten when they see that the object of their lustful gazes has finally risen out of his chair, and is now standing in front of them to see.

“Hello, ladies,” Crowley says to the obnoxious tittering of all, and Aziraphale shakes his head. How this is supposed to keep the birds out of the roost, he had no idea. This will probably make them stop by more.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“We didn’t realize you worked here,” one woman says, her eyes glowing with the possibilities.

“Ah, yes, yes. Alas, I do. Is there anything you ladies need? Something to tickle your literary taste buds?” Crowley meets them glasses to eyes, flashing the most charming smile he can conjure. “Some Shakespeare, a little Whitman … some Wilde, perhaps?”

“Why, yes,” one brave woman dares, taking Crowley in from head to toe, not even being subtle about it when her whole head moves, which makes the smiling brood beside her titter even more. “As a matter of fact, there is.”

“Well, well, well. One second and my husband will help you.”

It takes a moment for those words to hit, but the fallout is precious.

First comes the silence, then the confusion, followed by the disbelief.

“Husband?” Aziraphale hears one of the women say before Crowley grabs him around the waist, pulls him against him, and kisses him hard.

The gasp from their lips is positively delicious. Aziraphale would guffaw if not for his husband’s mouth on his, his serpent tongue slipping between his lips and giving him the most inappropriate things to think about in public. By the time Crowley lets his husband come up for air, the women are gone – vanished as if in a puff of smoke since Aziraphale never heard the bells over the door ring to announce their departure.

Of course, that could be because of the thoughts his husband had been projecting into his mind using a soupçon of his demonic power.

His sexy serpent has one vivid imagination.

“So, that’s the solution you came up with?” Aziraphale fixes his vest, tugging at the hem, pretending to act scandalized by the whole process even though the smile he can’t suppress begs to differ.

“Yup. I’d say it worked a treat, too. Besides, the best part about it is …” He slaps his husband playfully on the ass before he finishes “… we get to do that again for every lot that comes in.”

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fanfic #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #Frankie writes

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pengychan · 4 years

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[Good Omens] Winging It - John 15:15

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: A good chunk of what happened in this chapter was not planned. I am really bad at planning.

***

“All right, let’s see - three options, no?”

“Yes. Owen Brown, Lawrence Brown, and Rusty Brown. According to the information--”

“It’s Rusty,” Crowley spoke up, causing both Gabriel and Aziraphale to fall quiet and turn to look at him. Gabriel was utterly confused; Azirapale just raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain that knowledge. The demon shrugged.

“I refuse to believe any parent whose surname is Brown would willingly choose to pick Rusty as their child’s name, unless there was a demonic intervention. It’s a bully magnet. Must have picked it himself when older. The man’s got a sense of humor.”

A chuckle. “We raised a child whose mother named him Warlock,” Aziraphale reminded him, causing Gabriel to blink.

“You did-- what?” he asked. To his knowledge there were a lot of things an angel and a demon were not supposed to do together - they were supposed to do nothing together, really, except trying to thwart each other at every turn - and Gabriel suspected that ‘raising a child’ came rather close to the top of that list. Maybe slightly below ‘stopping the Apocalypse’.

Crowley ignored him, rolling his eyes. “You know the Satanic nuns of the Chattering Order of St Beryl must have had something to do with it.” “The who and the what now?” Gabriel tried again. This time, it was Aziraphale to ignore him.

“That is… fair. But we cannot rule out the possibility his parents did pick the name, and that therefore he is not our man. May I remind you we once knew a lady called Farting Clack?”

Crowley chuckled. “Ah, Victorians. That was a fun time. Except when we argued because you wouldn’t give me holy water.”

“I did eventually, give it a rest.”

“You did what!” Gabriel exclaimed, outraged. Only to be, again, ignored.

“Took you a good while, is what I’m saying.”

“Well, excuse me for worrying you might accidentally--” Aziraphale trailed off like something had struck him, and Crowley flinched. They both turned to Gabriel at the exact same time; Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, Crowley’s were hidden behind glasses.

And Gabriel was very, very confused.

“... What?” he asked. The demon’s expression stayed unreadable, but Aziraphale’s anxious one melted in a smile. A very nervous smile. What in the--

“So, three options,” Aziraphale exclaimed, clapping his hands together with exaggerated glee. “Best to start looking into them, no?”

“Er… yes, I suppose. I do need to figure out where they live, at least. Then I suppose I can go by exclusion, visiting each of them.”

Crowley nodded. “Well, good thing we have an expert in tracking people down right here,” he said, and turned to Aziraphale. Gabriel followed suit, only for Aziraphale to blink at both of them like a particularly confused owl.

It… didn’t give Gabriel much confidence over his supposed expertise in tracking down people.

“I am-- no expert in tracking down people.”

Crowley’s turn to look confused. “You tracked down the Antichrist.”

“I had a book full of prophecies to give me pointers. I suspect that counts as cheating.”

“Or as an intelligent use of available resources,” Gabriel suggested. Aziraphale chuckled.

“That does sound better.”

“Ah. Right. We sure could use something like that now,” the demon muttered, and pulled out a phone from the… frankly ridiculously tiny pockets of his trousers, where no phone would fit unless there was a literal miracle at play. “... But at least we have the names and birthday, so there’s that. All right, first one, Owen Brown…”

***

“You’re shitting me.”

“Mr. Brown, I can assure you angels do not do that, either.” Uriel’s voice was calm, but her hands did grip the clipboard a little harder. She had hardly ever visited the lower spheres of Heaven where mortal souls resided before that ordeal, and now she was beginning to see why. “Please, do try to control your language.”

“Right, right, sorry,” Daniel Brown waved his hand, leaning back on his seat. “Not in front of a lady. Got it.”

“... I am an angel, Mr. Brown,” Uriel pointed out flatly just as the man’s wife, sitting by him, raised an eyebrow.

“Since when do you try not to curse in front of ladies? Because I can’t recall you holding back much in the twenty-something years we have been married.”

“You’re not a lady, you’re the wife. You knew the cussing was part of the package by the time we got to the altar, shouldn’t have married down,” Daniel Brown pointed out, and smiled. “Still not a clue why you gave me a chance when we met.”

She smiled back. “One too many drinks.”

“Ah, a drunken mistake, then.”

“The second best mistake of my life.”

“... Wait, what’s the first--”

Uriel held back a sigh. “Yes. Well. Regardless, what I have told you is true. You do have a brother as opposed to a sister as you believed.”

Daniel Brown rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I repeat, there is no need to involve him,” Uriel droned. Mortals were a lot more difficult to deal with than she remembered, but then again last time she had directly dealt with any had been a few millennia earlier, when the trend was showing up with several pairs of wings, a few heads, wheels of fire and a handful of eyes here and there. They would occasionally die of fright but for the most part, once the screaming had ceased, they were cowed enough to politely listen.

And never did accuse them of, quote, shitting them.

“Right, I-- sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I just-- it’s a lot. First I die, it’s kind of, I mean, new. Then I met my wife again - wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but I thought I had lost her for-- well, it is a lot.” He cleared his throat again; Liv Brown reached to take his hand and squeezed it. He held it back. “Then, turns out the slightly weird but not-bad-at-all guy who helped me land a job and befriended me was the literal Archangel fuck-- the Archangel Gabriel in exile. And now you’re telling me that Alison is not… Alison anymore, and that I wasted over a decade searching for her-- him-- on wrong information.”

Well. Perhaps it was, indeed, a lot to deal with for any human mind. Uriel made an effort to smile. “Gabriel is currently working on locating him so he can give him news of your passing. If there is anything more specific you wish him to know, within reason--”

“Within reason?”

“Except letting him know you’re sending this message from beyond death. That, I am afraid, is forbidden by current guidelines.” Uriel took a blank piece of paper she had on her clipboard and placed it on the table, along with a pen. “It will be given to Gabriel, and he’ll relay your message once your brother is found. It’s what he does best, after all.”

“... Heh. From announcing the birth of Christ to telling my brother I’m sorry I was a dick. Bit of a downgrade, but life is shi-- crap, anyway.” Daniel Brown chuckled and took the pen, but didn’t start writing yet. He looked at her questioningly. “… Why was he cast out? What happened?”

He’d asked before, and Uriel had told him it was none of his business, if not precisely using those exact words. When that had happened, her memories of Gabriel were few and in-between, and she was no longer sure the events had been precisely as they’d remembered and recorded for future reference.

Now that those memories were back - only of Gabriel, none of them had dared bring up the possibility of trying to remember other angels who were no more - she could tell him the details, if so she wished.

She did not, in fact, wish to. But it was not for her to decide.

“... I will ask Gabriel whether he wishes us to share that information with you,” she finally said. Daniel Brown seemed to realize it was the most he could hope for and he just nodded before he looked down, swallowed, put the pen to the paper, and began writing.

***

“He’s writing back!”

“Is he?”

“Yes. That’s what the dots mean. He’s typing.”

“This was… surprisingly easy.”

“Oh, I know. Whatever demon worked on Zuckerberg got a promotion, I heard. Got to admit, that Cambridge Analytica affair was a stroke of genius.”

“Ah, so that was Hell’s doing.”

“I’m amazed you doubted that for even a moment.”

Gabriel supposed he might have guessed what Aziraphale and his demon were talking about if he focused, but he did not: all he could do was stare at the screen of Crowley’s phone, at those dots as the man at the other end - Rusty Brown, a man with rather debatable taste in t-shirts who, according to his profile, had indeed been born in Plymouth seventy years earlier but did not resemble Daniel in the slightest - wrote his response.

Maybe it is him, he thought. It would be a stroke of luck for Daniel’s brother to turn out to be the only man they’d been able to find and approach through social media; an easy way to deliver a message if there ever was one. That would be good. Too good, given Gabriel’s recent luck.

And, within moments, a message came to confirm as much.

“I’m afraid you got the wrong man, I have two sisters and no brothers,” Rusty Brown had written. “Sorry - best of luck with your search.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Ah, I supposed that would have been too easy.”

“No such thing as something too easy. I like it when things are easy.” Crowley frowned at his phone. “And here I thought he was the most likely candidate. Let me see…” he mumbled, and began typing. Gabriel craned his neck to see the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking if his sisters are among his friends.”

“... Why?”

“If their parents went and named him Rusty, I’m curious to see-- ah, Scarlet and Sandy Brown. Not sure I want to imagine what grade school was like for them,” he muttered, and blocked the screen. “Well. One’s out, two left.”

“And we did find one Owen Brown on the electoral register whose age fits,” Aziraphale added glancing at Gabriel. “If only we could figure out the place of birth, we’d know if he’s the Owen Brown on our list. But it’d be quicker to go speak to him, he lives in Luton. No phone number - probably no landline.”

Gabriel, who had only a very vague idea of where Luton was, nodded. “I’ll go find him, then. I took the rest of the week off specifically for this,” he added. What he was doing for Daniel was of paramount importance, of course, but he was also needed at work and disappearing with no warning would have been extremely unprofessional.

Aziraphale waved a hand. “It won’t take long. Crowley and I can take you--”

“Absolutely not," Crowley declared, cutting him off. Aziraphale turned to glance at him. Crowley crossed his arms and tilted up his chin, clearly ready to stand by what he’d said.

A sigh. “Crowley, it wouldn’t take more than--”

"We're not going with him. We'll put him on the first train, give him a map, and good luck to him."

"Now, dear. Luton is not that far, it would take less than a hour with the Bentley and you wouldn't even need to take the M25--"

"It’s not the M25 that’s the problem,” Crowley replied. “After driving down it while on fire, I don’t think it’s going to ever feel like a problem on a normal day again. Luton is the problem.”

"... Something in particular about it that I don't know about?"

"Last time I was there, I got stabbed."

"Oh. That does sound bothersome,” Aziraphale conceded. “What did you do to--"

"I walked in a pub."

“And then?”

“Nothing. I walked in a pub and got stabbed by someone who decided he didn’t like the way I was looking at him.”

“Were you not wearing sunglasses?”

“Of course I was.”

“Then how would he know--”

“He didn’t. He just was in a stabby mood.”

“Charming,” Aziraphale muttered.

“Luton,” Crowley huffed.

“Well, it was probably quite a while ago--”

“The Nineties were not that long ago.”

“I… can go on my own,” Gabriel dared intervene, trying not to sound overly worried by what he was hearing. “I’ve taken trains to come here, after all. It wasn’t difficult.”

Aziraphale seemed a little concerned regardless, but in the end he relented, and Crowley did drive him to the station the next morning, to catch a train for Luton. With that, the address and money for a cab, Gabriel was rather sure he was at no risk of getting lost.

And he’d make sure not to step in any pub, just in case.

***

“... Not the bloke you’re looking for, no. Sorry, mate.”

“Ah-- well, I suppose it was worth a try. I’ll be on my way. My apologies for the intrusion.”

“No, wait - I was about to go have a pint with some mates, come with us. It’s on me.”

“Really, I cannot accept--”

“You can, young man. Won’t let you go your way looking like someone kicked you. A pint or two always makes it better - just a quiet night out with the lads.”

“Well…” Gabriel hesitated a moment, then relented. A pint or two was nothing he couldn’t take - he’d had nights out like that in Southampton, first with Daniel and then with other colleagues. And besides, the man was in his late sixties; surely, things wouldn’t get too out of hand. In the end, he smiled and nodded. “... Only if you let me pay the second round,” he said.

He did pay the second round. Owen Brown paid the third. A friend of his paid the fourth; Gabriel insisted to pay the fifth.

Afterwards, he wouldn’t be entirely sure any of them was paying at all.

***

Ever since regaining his memories of Gabriel - and before then, really - Sandalphon had wondered what meeting him face to face again would be like. Last he’d seen him, Gabriel had been terrified of him, hiding behind Beelzebub of all beings; it was not a pleasant thought.

He could speak with Michael without fear now, at least, and Sandalphon hoped it was only a matter of time before he would willingly summon him, too, so that they could talk. Clear up, if possible, even if it would be a difficult conversation.

What he had not expected was for Gabriel to summon him by drunkenly shouting his name in the back of a pub in Luton, England, before the eyes of a group of drunken humans who cheered at his appearance like it was a magic trick while someone from inside yelled about not firing fireworks close to buildings.

And Gabriel looked… almost more dishevelled than he’d been when he had been cast out of Heaven, except that now he had No blood on him and a smile on his face almost too wide to be physically possible.

“San-dal-phon,” Gabriel had slurred, throwing an arm around his shoulders before he could say a word and turning to the humans. “This is my friend, guys!”

“I, uh…” Sandalphon had blinked as the humans raised their glasses and cheered. He chose to give a polite smile. “Greetings,” he said. Some responded to his greeting, some just drank, someone put a glass in his hand, and he stared at it for a few moments before realising they expected him to drink.

“Good,” Gabriel was muttering, arm still around his shoulders. Strange as his behavior was, it was… nice to see he was not afraid of him. “Good stuff. Try.”

Ah well, Sandalphon thought, may as well do as he asked. It wasn’t like a glass of whatever concoction the humans had offered him could hurt an angel, anyway.

***

“Uuuugh.”

“Owww.”

“Head hurts.”

“Where are we?”

“... Earth?”

“This isn’t Heaven for sure.” Gabriel sat up, fighting back a wave of nausea, and blinked blearily to put his surroundings into focus. They were in… someone’s back garden, it seemed, on what looked like a semi-inflated camping mattress. “Probably still Luton,” he muttered, rubbing his face, and turned. Whose house was that? He’d only seen Owen Brown’s home from the front, so it was hard to tell. God, they must have been blind drunk to crash like that. The sun was just rising, and he barely remembered a handful of moments from the night before.

Behind him, Sandalphon was struggling to sit up as well, his suit all wrinkled; Gabriel suspected his own suit looked about as much of a mess, and went to uselessly smooth down the front. “You… miracled the glasses full a few times, didn’t you?”

“I think? I-- ah, yes. Yes I did. In front of witnesses.”

“Drunk witnesses. They will either forget about it, or think they dreamed it up.”

“God, I hope so. If Michael finds out, I’m going to be in trouble.”

“You can sleep on my couch if they cast you out,” Gabriel tried to joke, trying to brush back his hair and entirely missing the uncomfortable look Sandalphon gave him. “Agh, my head…”

“Wait, I can fix that.” A touch on the back of his head, and the pain was gone - as was the hangover as a whole, the unpleasant taste in his mouth and the ache in his lower back. Gabriel stood, glancing down - his suit was once again clean and pressed, too.

“... Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He heard Sandalphon standing up as well, and turned to look at him as he miracled his own clothing back in pristine condition. He adjusted his collar, and cleared his throat. “Well, that was… an unusual evening.”

“It was,” Gabriel agreed. “Er… why are you here in the first place?”

“You summoned me?”

“I did?” Ah, he probably had. “... My apologies. I was intoxicated.”

“I could tell. But-- still better than having you scream and hide behind the Prince of Hell, no?” Sandalphon added, clearly trying to joke. His smile froze when Gabriel flinched - at the mention of Beelzenbub, namely, but Sandalphon couldn’t tell. “I mean-- sorry. Shouldn’t have brought it up. I know you have… good reason to want us to keep away.”

A sigh. “Do I?” Gabriel muttered, turning to face him fully. “I knew you wouldn’t have harmed me again. And I knew you didn’t have a choice when you did."

“But we sort of did,” Sandalphon said, meeting his gaze. “We could have refused and-- gone with you.”

“Rebelling to God on my account?” Gabriel repeated, and found himself unable to contemplate the thought. “You’d have found yourselves in Hell, and not Earth, for something like that. It doesn't bear thinking about,” he added, realizing the truth of it only as it passed his lips. Say that Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon had indeed refused to carry out God’s order - what then? They would have faced God’s wrath, probably thrown down in Hell, while Gabriel was stripped of his wings and cast down on Earth anyway.

And Gabriel found he couldn’t bear the thought.

“We… we should have--”

“It doesn’t matter. The outcome wouldn’t have changed,” Gabriel cut him off. “It was… out of your hands. No point thinking about it now.”

A long breath. “All right. But I am-- glad we still remember you.”

Something about those words warmed up a spot in Gabriel’s chest. He smiled. “Thank you. I’m glad I never forgot you.”

“If there is anything you need-- anything at all--”

A sudden whistling noise caused Sandalphon to cut off, and Gabriel to pull out his mobile phone from his pocket. The battery was still full - a little miracle by Aziraphale ensured it never ran out - and there was a flashing icon on the screen, that of a text message. The number was not among his contacts, but Gabriel suspected he could guess who it came from.

He simply didn’t really know anyone else whose number could possibly be 666-666-666. No one he was on speaking terms with, anyway.

Are we still on speaking terms?

Gabriel forced himself to ignore the thought, and opened the text message. There was a name, an address, followed by only three words: it is him.

Gabriel read the message again, then put the phone back in his pocket. He briefly touched his breast pocket, where the message Daniel had written was. He had memorized it, of course, so he could relay it to his brother, but what he hadn’t thrown it away; the reason why he had not were a few brief lines Daniel had written on the back of it that were not addressed to his brother.

They were addressed to him.

Thank you for doing this for me. Sorry I didn’t believe you when you said who you were but, I mean, come on. I miss having you around. You’re a good man, what does God know anyway? Hug my brother for me and give the guys at work a pat on the back. PS - Fabrizio was right, putting cream in carbonara does land you in Hell. Warn Łukasz to stop.

“Gabriel? Everything all right?” Sandalphon asked, and he looked up.

“... Yes. I do need a favor, though.”

“Anything.”

“Could you give me a lift to Devon, by any chance?”

***

In the end, Lawrence Brown hadn’t moved too far from his old home in Plymouth. Or maybe he had, and made the decision to return to Devon in his later years; not something Gabriel could blame him for. Built by the sea, Paignton seemed a good place to live.

The house Gabriel found himself looking at, too, seemed the perfect place to spend one’s retirement; a small white cottage with flowers in the garden, and a tree for some shade. However it seemed that no one was home, which was not something Gabriel had really prepared for. After knocking the door a few times to no avail, and briefly considering writing a message with his phone number - not viable, as he didn’t have a pen - he decided it would be best to try again later. Before he went, however, he tried to glance in through the window, just in case--

“... May I help you?”

A voice called out behind him, causing Gabriel to flinch and turn. He found himself facing what, for a moment, looked very much like a cloud; a very white and very fluffy cloud, with four legs, black eyes and a lolling tongue. A-- yes, a dog. Gabriel had been long aware of their existence, of course, but would never cease to be perplexed by the sheer variety of shapes and forms within what was essentially the same animal.

He’d never really wondered how humans had achieved that, but then again, humans were capable of more than he had thought possible for a long time - up to looking at some of God’s most efficient killing machines on Earth and somehow deciding they were going to make friends out of them, tying themselves to said killing machines with a length of rope. Or leather. Or fabric.

In this one case, it was leather specifically that tied that giant, smiling cloud of a dog to its human. A woman, somewhere between sixty and seventy, with gray hair pulled up in a bun, a rather oversized jumper, and thick black-rimmed glasses. She was looking at him questioningly, and Gabriel cleared his throat, giving his best smile.

Come on, he told himself, you’re the Messenger. You have delivered far odder messages than this one. Just don’t start with ‘do not be afraid’. They always freak out when you do.

“I think you may, yes,” he said, still smiling. “My name is Gabriel Archer. I’m looking for Mr. Lawrence Brown. I understand he lives at this address?”

“Oh,” the woman said, “I’m afraid my husband is out for some errands, but he should be back shortly. I don’t believe we’ve met,” she added, not stepping closer. A little wary of a stranger she found peering through her window - Gabriel supposed that was normal, even if he hadn’t showed up in the midst of golden light with a vast array of otherworldly and, he could see it now, frankly unnecessary features for the task.

The fluffy white cloud made a boofing sound, just kind of smiling at him, and Gabriel could see why she wasn’t counting too much on it being of any protection should he turn out to be… what did humans seem to fear again? Axe murderers? Gabriel certainly hoped he didn’t look like one.

“No, we have not,” he said. “Nor have I had the pleasure to meet your husband yet - I have… a message for him. From his late brother,” he added quickly.

Whatever she had been expecting, that was not it. She blinked, recoiling a little. “... From his brother?” she repeated.

“Yes. Daniel Brown,” he said, and saw some recognition in her eyes.

“He… talked about him, a few times, but not much,” the woman muttered, and it was easy to tell, from her expression alone, that it had been a sore spot for Mr. Lawrence Brown - the brother who had rejected him so long ago. She finally took a step forward, clearly reassured he was someone with an actual reason to be there that did not include mugging or violent murder. “Late-- has he passed away?”

“... I am afraid he has. I am sorry,” Gabriel murmured, and he truly was. It felt wrong, on every level, because it should have been Daniel to stand where he stood, to finally see his brother again after so long. He was meant to be a messenger but ah, he wished he didn’t have to be now. “I am here on his behalf, or… at least I picked up the search where he left off.”

“Are you his solicitor, or…?”

“Only a friend. Daniel had been looking for your husband to make amends, but he didn’t know… his current name.”

A sigh. “Of course, he would not,” she murmured, and finally stepped closer, holding out her hand. By her side, the cloud-dog kept wagging its tail, tongue still lolling. “I’m Berenice,” she said. “Lawrence’s wife, though you gathered that much. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Archer. ”

Gabriel smiled. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said, shaking her hand. When he let go of it, it immediately went to rest on the dog’s head.

“Well, it is awfully rude of me to keep you standing at my door like a salesman. Do come in. Lawrence should be back soon, or else he would have taken his walking stick. I still would very much prefer if he took it for short walks as well. He has a bad knee and I always tell him that his stupid kneecap doesn’t give a toss how long or short the walk is, when it decides to give in it gives in and he’d be in for a nasty fall without the stick. But he’s a stubborn old goat, of course. Pushing seventy and still acting like he’s twenty.”

Gabriel smiled, thinking back of the numerous occasions Daniel had insisted on picking up more weight than he could reasonably carry in the warehouse, just to show off, only to spend the entire evening complaining about his back ache… and then do it all over again the next day. “Seems stubbornness ran in the family.”

A chuckle. “I am sure he’ll be glad to hear more about what his brother was like,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. Gabriel hoped it would help, although nothing could change the fact he was there to inform Lawrence Brown of the untimely death of his younger brother.

“... I do hope I can give him more than bad news,” he said, and followed Berenice inside, daring to pat that dog-shaped cloud on the head to receive a soft boof and a very pleased look.

Maybe, Gabriel reasoned, the humans were on to something when they took killing machines and chose to make friends out of them.

***

"I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you." -- John 15:15

***

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#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #crowley #aziraphale #sandalphon #archangel uriel #winging it

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mikaa-mina · 4 years

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At Garden’s Edge- Chapter 5: In which bad days are had, assumptions are made, and sweets always taste better with good company

This is a very sweet and silly chapter, and also my longest chapter for this fic yet clocking in at just over 5k!

A small content warning, there are some descriptions of depression/feeling down and apathetic in this chapter. They are primarily right at the beginning and I promise there's a bunch of silly fun in this chapter and it ends on a happy note. (No seriously, these characters can be so silly sometimes!)

Nevertheless! Even though there is nothing heavy in this chapter, if you for any reason feel uncomfortable reading a chapter (any chapter in this fic) please don't hesitate to reach out to me. I will try to summarize the chapter without going into whatever the subject is that is an issue. <3

As always, this was beta'd by the lovely lovely Tarek_giverofcookies who has helped me multiple times when I was banging my head against writer's block.

At Garden’s Edge

Chapter 5- In which bad days are had, assumptions are made, and sweets always taste better with good company.

It had been a bad day. In fact, there had been rather more than seven of them so far. He hadn’t opened the shop in three of them and couldn’t honestly recall the last time he’d stepped out of the building at all. Living above the shop, or rather more in the antique armchair in the back room of the shop, tended to have it’s own perks and disadvantages. The perks being that he didn’t really have to leave home to work, was constantly surrounded by books, and he never had to leave the building unless he was out acquiring new books. Unfortunately, these same perks were also the disadvantages.

It made the days when the fog grew thick and oppressive that much more harder. It was difficult to convince oneself to leave the building when instead he could just stay in working on commissions. And what if he missed a customer while out and about?

When his head felt full of cotton, and fatigue lingered in all his limbs, the quiet thoughts would slip inside. What harm would it really do to close the shop early? For the day? Why move from this armchair at all, he deserved a day off. He’s in the middle of a chapter and it’s raining out, no sensible fool would bring an old antique book to be authenticated or repaired in the pouring rain.

Three days into this he realized he couldn’t recall what the last book he just finished reading had even been about at all. It was as if he was eating food and yet tasting none of it. Stale and unappealing. The horror that books had become that for him.

It was temporary, he knew. He had figured out with help how to help manage this, but knowing how to do so didn’t make the actual doing of it any easier. It took another day of bargaining with himself before he managed to call up a friend. Unfortunately she was out of town, but talking to her still helped. She stayed on the phone as long as she could and before ending the call she gently suggested taking a walk through town, just to be around other people without having to talk to anyone if he wasn’t up to that just yet.

“Or maybe dearie, you should go see that florist friend of yours,” Madame Tracey suggested with what was surely a twinkle in her eye.

Aziraphale himself didn’t really feel one way or the other about it, instead of insisting Crowley was just his florist and not his friend he just hummed non-noncommittally. (Who would want to be friends with a stuffy boring older man like him? He knew what he was like and was content with it but others hardly liked it.)

Failing to get the reaction she was hoping for made her stress again him getting out. Maybe visit that bakery he liked so much.

Instead he found himself wandering the city, and not too unsurprisingly, wandering into the flower shop and plant nursery, Garden’s Edge.

There was some sort of bee-bop playing in the shop, quietly at first and then increasing in volume as he wandered towards the back.

And then he heard it. Someone… singing. Not particularly badly but not especially well either. Though that may have been helped by the fact that the song they were singing to seemed to be more of a spoken song than the newer bee-bop Aziraphale’d heard in the shops downtown.

It got louder as he followed it all the way to the very back of the shop. When he reached the check out counter he could see the door to the back propped open as someone sang about… French novels and the absurd?

Aziraphale glanced around, but no one else was in the shop, so slowly he edged around the corner of the door to peek into the back room because surely the only person it could be was Crowley. As far as he was aware, Crowley was the only person who worked here. So it had to be him. But singing?

A quick glance in and all he saw was a flash of black and red. A pity he didn’t carry any mirrors on his person any more.

Steadying his breathing again he looked around the corner again through the door way. He had meant it to be a quick glance again but he found himself stopping at the sight he had caught. It was indeed Crowley. Crowley in his black leather jacket and absurd snake skin boots, eyes closed as he sang into the end of the broom in his hand. His hips were… doing something? Moving in some way, perhaps this was a new fangled form of dancing, and his arms were gesturing grandly as he sang and moved about the room.

“-And some kinds of love The possibilities are endless And for me to miss one Would seem to be groundle-EH?! Ah-AZIRAPHALE?!?”

Aziraphale startled, nearly fell from his precariously balanced position, but Crowley was worse, his eyes having opened as he turned about the back room mid spin, he faltered, eyes landing on Aziraphale and broom flinging from his hand. It crashed into a large iron shelving unit that rattled dangerously and sent Crowley lunging in that direction to catch some of the pots that had rattled right off the edge.

“Oh dear,” he rushed forward to give Crowley a hand, “terribly sorry to frighten you. What can I do to help?”

“Wah-gah- huh??”

Aziraphale bit back a smile, he was rather adorable when flustered. His face was turning red, his eyebrows high on his face in confusion and disbelief, his arms fluttering around in nervousness and nearly dropping the pots he had managed to catch.

“Here,” he dipped down and picked up some of the pots scattered on the ground. Thankfully most of the ones that fell seemed to be the cheaper plastic ones. Temporary pots for young plants or plastic pots made to look like stone.

Straightening back up, arms full of (thankfully clean) pots (just think of what would have happened to his coat) he smiled at Crowley. It was a bit more customer service polite smile than the genuine one he’d felt earlier as the fog settled back in, but he didn’t want Crowley to feel as if it was his fault. “Where shall I put them?”

After a string of unintelligible sounds, Crowley gestured towards a table slightly helplessly. He croaked out a thanks, plopped his own load down and stared at the table for a moment.

Just as Aziraphale was starting to sink back into that state where he felt rather detached from everything Crowley’s head snapped towards his.

“Uh… how.. how much of that did you hear?”

“I couldn’t really make it out until I got to the back somewhere around something to do with filthy french novels and the absurd?”

Crowley’s blush renewed itself, darkening in color and then spreading down his chest and up to his ears. It was adorable.

“Y-you can’t tell anyone!”

Aziraphale cocked a brow, slightly amused but mostly confused. Perhaps that was the fog again- maybe it had obscured something that would make this make sense.

“About what dear? You singing?”

“No! I mean yes, that too, but no the-uh...” Crowley gestured in an extremely un-illuminating way.

“...I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

The strange half starts to words and sentences falling apart in Crowley’s throat sounded off again before he finally settled from his wild gesticulating to stare rather firmly at something on the other side of the room from him. “Can’t tell anyone I like that kind of stuff.”

Aziraphale was hopelessly lost. “...Singing?”

Crowley’s mouth twisted. “No-yes, well, I don’t care so much about that. It’s the...”

“...the?”

“thesingingaboutlovegunk.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“…. it’s the, whole, uh...” every word seemed to take effort, though for what reason Aziaphale had no idea, “it’s the love thing, okay?! I just- it doesn’t fit my image and people don’t need to know that I- that- people don’t need to know that!”

Oh.

A smile twitched at the edges of his lips again, not enough to force the smile through the fog, but enough to make him feel a bit warmer. He took in Crowley’s defensive posture, the hot blush upon his face and chest, his burning ears, and the steadfast way he wouldn’t look at Aziraphale.

A bit softer and sweeter than Aziraphale had originally pegged him as.

He turned the smile begging at his lips from something too soft and fond into something more benignly friendly. “Of course.”

A beat of silence and then Crowley finally turned his head back towards Aziraphale’s, shoulders hunched up by his red ears. “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

There was a beat of silence before Aziraphale found his mouth speaking quite without his permission. “So. A secret romantic then?”

Crowley just groaned in dismay.

“Did you come here just to mock me?”

The smile slid off his face. He’d meant to reply with something funny, or a bit teasing, but now that he was reminded of the real reason he’d stumbled across this scene, things didn’t seem as funny as they were a moment ago. Still, he knew wallowing in it wouldn’t help matters, so he tried to marshal himself back up to that trusty customer service smile and said, “oh, I was just out.”

He didn’t even realize he was avoiding eye contact with Crowley until the man side stepped back into his vision, leaning down a bit to try and catch his eyes.

Crowley hummed, rocked back on his heels, bit his lip, seemed to cast around for some words and finally offered up a, “wanna talk about it or not talk about it?”

Aziraphale’s eyes rose to meet his. He hesitated.

Crowley gave him a wry sort of smile, dusted his hands on his jeans, then clapped them together to make a loud sound that startled Aziraphale. “Right! Let’s go then.”

Aziraphale blinked, watching Crowley sway right out the door and into the main shop. Following him a bit bewilderingly he echoed, “go?”

“Yup. Going!”

Crowley stopped by the front door, pulled Aziraphale’s still wet umbrella out of the stand, handed it to him, then fished out another umbrella from the stand for himself. It was still raining outside.

Crowley opened the door with a flourish, keys jangling from his pinky finger as he popped open the umbrella with his free hand and gestured to outside. “Out.”

Well. Alight then. ‘Out’ it was.

Aziraphale slid open his umbrella, stepped out, and watched in a sort of detached curiosity as Crowley flipped the sign to closed and locked up the shop. Then he turned with a grin and said, “not too far.”

Well. That explained one thing and nothing else. Still. Aziraphale followed him, noting distractedly that Crowley’s umbrella seemed to have ducks faintly patterned on it. The slick shine of rain highlighting the faded ink as the textures ran different than the rest of the unmarked umbrella.

A few blocks, some turns down some alleys, and they arrived at the shop front of a lovely little cafe bakery. Aziraphale stared at it before Crowley marched right up, ducks swimming in the rain above his head, and opened the door. He made a dramatic sweeping ‘after you’ gesture and Aziraphale was surprised by his own quiet snort of laughter.

Walking in, the air hit warm and dry against his face, and the light was brighter than outside’s overcast weather, but dimmer than some of the more mainstream restaurants liked to have. He shook off his umbrella and left it in the umbrella stand by the door and took his first good look around the place.

The best way to describe it was that it was charming.

It had the standard bakery wide windows in the front of the establishment but instead of just slatted blinds, there were also soft gauzy curtains pulled to the sides and secured with a soft tasseled rope. Aziraphale’s eyes gravitated to the back corner of the cafe where there were two bookcases set against each other creating a corner, filled with mismatched books, and sat in front of it was a squishy looking couch, armchair set, and low coffee table.

The shop had a few other tables set with soft seating of the like, while the rest scattered about the shop were the more standard fair cafe chairs and tables. There was music playing quietly in the background, the colors of the cafe were soft and easy on his eyes, and there was the biggest set of two bakery display cases he’d ever seen in a shop so small. He could hear Crowley’s quiet chuckle as he gravitated towards the counter.

How he’d missed this place he’d never know. (Spoiler: it’s because he never leaves his shop unless it’s to go to Crowley’s shop or to go buy new books)

He was looking down at the most scrumptious looking assortment of pastries when a young woman popped up from behind a strange chrome contraption that Aziraphale could only assume was used to make fancy coffees.

“Oh! Hi, welcome to Knead to Know, how can I- Oh AJ!”

Her eyes flickered between the two of them before a smile began to spread across her face wide enough to cause some alarm to Aziraphale. She propped an elbow up on the counter, set her chin in her hand, and grinned properly at Crowley. She had pink bangs.

“I assume you’re not here for your usual? Or are you and you just brought him with you today?”

Crowley, completely oblivious it seemed to the teasing just shook his head and said, “Nah, I’ll come tomorrow for the usual. Today’s different.”

“I’ll say,” she agreed, raised her eyebrows and flicked her eyes towards Aziraphale who was finally starting to feel a bit of nervousness or embarrassment filter through the fog. It was hard to tell which was which.

“Yup,” Completely Clueless said, “so I just want my usual drink but get whatever he wants.” He gestured to Aziraphale with a tilt of his head before turning to look at him proper. “From what I’ve heard, the Brittney things are good and anything chocolate’s pretty popular.”

Behind Crowley’s head the young cashier rolled her eyes dramatically, mouthed ‘totally clueless’, winked at Aziraphale and then said, “chocolate’s only the most popular because of who you bring them to.” She faced Aziraphale again, smiled, and said “The Cheese Brittney is good, and our baker has recently got on a kick of sponge cakes so personally I’d recommend the Tres Leche Cake.”

She pointed to each in turn. Both looked scrumptious but which would taste better right now? The moistness of the Tres Leche might be what he needed to chase his dry and crumbly feelings away but at the same time a Cheese Brittney with it’s flakey and crunchy pillow might be just the soft landing place he needs.

As he debated internally, he tried to shove away any distressing thoughts of if it would be as bland as his books have been, while Crowley chatted with the barista.

“Find anything your heart settled on? Or your taste-buds?”

At the barista’s question Aziraphale startled, he’d lost track of time while dawdling and had probably spent far too long trying to decide. “Oh! I, well, you see they both seem so scrumptious that it’s just so difficult to choose.”

Crowley hummed for a second then tipped his head to the side and asked, “why don’t you just get them both then?”

“Oh, oh wouldn’t that be too much?” Too greedy, too gluttonous, too excessive. How often had he been taught that pleasure had to be earned? What had he done to earn either of them, let alone two pastries? He’s only been stuck in his head, shop not even open, for days and-

Crowley shrugged, completely unbothered, and said “eh, one of life’s pleasures, issn’t?”

Aziraphale stared at him, derailed from his negative self-talk suddenly and jarred by it.

Crowley must have mistook it as an objection to what he had said because then he defended it with a “Wut? Don’t give me that look. Life’s about living for the good stuff, yeah? So get ‘em both. Enjoy them.”

A moment to process that and then Aziraphale gave a quiet acquiesce, “alright.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale mustered a small smile in return for Crowley’s crooked grin, “yes.” Turning to the barista, who suspiciously looked like she was trying to smother a too wide grin, he said “I’ll take them both, please.”

She let the grin out in full force, “yes sir, right away sir!”

“Ah... thank you. Er, how much will they be?”

“Oh, AJ already covered it,” she winked at him but he was too busy turning to Crowley and protesting to see it.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets and gave a sort of shrug with his shoulders, “eh, we’re friends, ‘s what friends do.”

There was a growing warmness in Aziraphale’s chest heating up, something fond and soft, starting to glow like a lighthouse in the sea fog. Friends. “Oh.”

Crowley flashed a small smile, a smile unlike the flashy smirks and cocky grins, before turning away towards the back of the shop. “C’mon, I know that book nook’s practically singing your name you big ol’ bookie.” And then he sauntered off, ears a bit pink at the vulnerability maybe, and Aziraphale was left, for just a moment, alone with that warm feeling. At being announced a friend where anyone could hear. Proudly, unashamed.

The warm feeling tentatively spread.

“I’ll bring y’all’s food and drinks in moment, go ahead and sit down.”

He startled a little, glanced at the barista to find her smiling and said, “thank you dear girl.”

She grinned a little then teased, “go on, he’s an impatient man if I’ve ever seen one though he doesn’t seem to mind waiting on you.”

Not quite sure what to make of that he made his way over to the table where Crowley seemed to have made lounging an art form. He was spilled all over the arm chair head turned to frown at the books on the shelves to his left.

Normally Aziraphale would be all over those books. Carefully going through the titles, trying to see what the people here liked. You could tell a lot about a person from the books they chose to keep. Though the rules tended to vary when it came to shops, you weren’t catering to just one person’s taste after all, but many. But even then, he found it an enjoyable little game to see if there were any hidden gems in restaurants like this. Sometimes places you didn’t expect to, would have a valuable or rare book without even realizing it. Even rarer still, they might have a book Aziraphale wanted to get his hands on.

But his stomach rolled a little when he glanced at the books, remembering the morning and his apathy for reading. He did not want to try again so soon. He didn’t want to pick up a book, expecting to enjoy it, or even hoping to enjoy it, and find it as bland and unenjoyable as before. No, it was simply best to wait. He didn’t want to be turned off of books for any longer than he probably already was going to be.

So he sat in the surprisingly comfy armchair, looked up at Crowley, and realized he had no idea what to say.

Thankfully, Crowley seemed quite reluctant to let an uncomfortable silence descend and instead jerked his head towards the bookcase and said, “would’ve thought you’d be all over these.”

Well. Not the conversation he wanted but, beggars and all that.

“Ah, perhaps later.” A thought hit him, “do you have a favorite?” even if he couldn’t get enjoyment from reading right now, perhaps he could still get some enjoyment from talking book tastes and just getting to learn more about Crowley. Crowley who abruptly closed up shop without warning in the middle of the work day and brought him here.

“Oh dear, was it really alright to close up shop? I hadn’t realized earlier...”

“Yeah. ‘S fine. Wanted to take you here.”

“But...”

“Eh, it’s raining. Had only one customer all day, so who cares if I take a long lunch break? Hell I could probably take the rest of the day off what with the downpour scheduled for all day. Was only cleaning when you came by.”

The warm feeling spread a bit. Heated up a bit more.

“Ah, I don’t think that’s quite true, dear.”

“What? No, you saw-”

A small smile bloomed on his lips, “I saw you dancing and-”

“Nrk- nuh, yuh- you said you wouldn’t!-”

Aziraphale chuckled lightly, feeling a bit lighter, a bit less bogged down, “and I shan’t. Alright, tell me about what you like to read.”

The barista came by, delivering a tall drink to Crowley, the pastries and a plastic cup of water to Aziraphale. She bid them a good meal and left, turning to reveal a pony tail that ended with pink tips to match her bangs.

Crowley took a long sip of his drink, leaned back, and announced, “don’t read.”

Aziraphale, about to take a bite of the Tres Leche Cake paused, fork hovering mid-air, and stared horrified at Crowley.

“Pardon, can you repeat that?”

“I don’t read.”

“Wh-How- How can you not read? No, that’s not true- I’ve seen you read the labels of the plants and soil bags!”

Crowley’s head tipped back with a loud guffaw.

“Crowley! Don’t laugh at me, you were the one trying to pass off that you’re illiterate.”

A grin spread like wildfire across Crowley’s face as he tilted it back towards Aziraphale. He shifted in the chair, flinging one leg over the arm of it in a truly improper way, and dangling the other off the side. Honestly it was like the man couldn’t sit proper in any chair. “Saying I don’t read doesn’t mean I’m illiterate Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, you sure took great pleasure in making me jump to that conclusion.”

“Naaah, honestly didn’t think you’d jump there. Just wanted to see what you’d do when I said I don’t read. And I don’t. Read, that is. I listen to audiobooks though.”

“Audiobooks?”

“Yeah. Letters can’t jump in front of each other in audiobooks.”

Ah. “Well, that’s still reading.”

“Is it? Could never tell. Everyone’s got a different answer.”

“Well, I consider it still reading. What’s your favorite book?”

Without hesitation, “the James Bond series.”

Aziraphale blinked, then a soft chuckle bloomed. “Yes, I can see that. Rather does fit you, doesn’t it? Flash, action packed, crafty, and full of gadgets.”

Crowley flashed him a grin, “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, not at all.”

“Alright. Your turn. What’s your favorite book?”

“Oh... Well... Hm...”

A few moments of thinking apparently gave Crowley his answer.

“Too many to choose from?”

“Rather. It’s like trying to pick a favorite food.” Aziraphale left enough time for Crowley to interrupt before saying, “I admit, I was expecting you to jump right in and announce your favorite food just to contradict me.”

A hand wave and a sip of his drink, “ehh, not so much a food person, me.”

“No?”

“Nah. Do you have a favorite?”

“Oh dear, well, if we’re talking desserts then it’s... hm, well, no, if we’re talking pastries then it’s- but wait, no... drat. Is it still considered a favorite if you have five favorites?”

Crowley chuckled. “Same problem as with your books.”

Aziraphale hummed an agreement, finally biting into his nearly forgotten Tres Leche Cake. The cake was as moist as he had hoped, melting almost against his tongue, softly sweet.

He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until Crowley inquired about how it was.

“It’s good. Very good.”

And Crowley had smiled at that.

They talked quietly for a while after that. About light things, small things, interests and hobbies. Aziraphale found that Crowley liked to play online games with a friend called Anathema, that he enjoyed star gazing late at night (“gotta be out of the city though- too much light pollution here.”), and that as fond as he was of cats, that he was allergic to them.

“Been thinkin’ about getting a snake though.” He’d added as if that wasn’t one of the most unusual pet choices Aziraphale had ever heard of.

“A snake?”

“Yeah. They’re great animals really. Strong, elegant, some of them have the most brilliant color patterns too. I dunno, there’s just something about them that I really like.”

And after some thought on it, Aziraphale had smiled. “I think I might be able to see that. Perhaps if you do get one, you can introduce me.”

Crowley blinked at him, surprised as if he wasn’t expecting that and as if, maybe, he was a bit flattered and flustered by it. “Uh- okay.”

They talked about Aziraphale’s favorite plays, how he collects the playbills from them as his own sort of scrapbooking (“When I go back later and look at them, I can recall the play better, remember how it made me feel, reminisce... I’m sorry, that must sound terribly boring.” “No, not at all.”), and how he’s been searching to find another hobby to enjoy other than reading.

“Not that I’ll give it up at all! It’s just, I’d like another enjoyable activity to participate in, I think.”

“Makes sense to me. I’ve got plants and star gazing and video games.”

“It’s just, I haven’t been able to find one. I’ve tried pottery, which was far more messy than I anticipated, cooking, knitting, and bowling.”

“Bowling, really?”

At Crowley’s surprise he admitted, “a friend talked me into it. I wasn’t bad at it, it just wasn’t as... enjoyable as I had hoped. I’d have rather sat at home reading than gone bowling.”

“How long did you do it for?”

It was strange in a way, having someone be as curious about him and his hobbies as Crowley was. It was strange having what seemed to be a genuine friend. One who cared and was interested in him, one that had silly conversations over plays and quiet conversations in the back of a cafe over everything and anything.

“A season. She’d signed me up for the team and neglected to tell me until the first match. I didn’t want to leave them a person short so I finished the season with them while making sure they knew to find a replacement for the following season.”

Crowley tilted his head back with a thoughtful hum, the man was reclined the wrong way across the armchair. Head falling off of one arm, both his legs thrown over the other, cup held at a precarious angle.

“Maybe you could teach me some tricks for it.”

“For bowling?”

“Yeah.” Crowley scowled up at the ceiling, “don’t tell anyone but just about every damn time I go I land on my arse at least once.”

And now Aziraphale couldn’t help but picture it. And he was probably picturing it perfectly. Crowley was so tall and gangly and he didn’t seem to know how to use his hips or legs like everyone else so he could only see him going up to the line, trying to throw the ball while sweeping one leg behind the other like you always see the professionals or people in films do. And sweet Crowley with his swaying hips and long limbs, would probably overshoot and go sliding.

Aziraphale rose a hand to cover his grin. Yes, he could see how he’d go down.

“Oi. I can hear that.”

“Hear what dear boy? I haven’t said a word.”

“I can hear you grinning. Stoppit.”

Aziraphale nearly laughed. “You’re staring at the ceiling, and how would you ‘hear’ a grin anyhow?”

Crowley turned his head towards Aziraphale’s and brandished a bright grin. “Y’learn.”

The barista chose that moment to return with a refill for Aziraphale’s water and to ask if they needed anything else. After they declined she turned to go before stopping and turning back to Crowley.

“Are you still coming to pick up your order tomorrow?”

“It’s the 3rd Monday, ain’t it?”

“Just checking.”

Crowley pursed his lips, suspicious but unsure of why, “sure.”

After she had bounced off Aziraphale turned back to him and, because he was ever so lovely when flustered, teased “coming back tomorrow without me?”

Crowley blinked at him before spluttering, incoherent for a few moments before Aziraphale gave a small chuckle. “Relax, I’m just teasing.”

“Nuh-no, it’s- uh, guh...” He raked a hand through his hair, which was apparently a bad idea because he got it stuck in a knot halfway through and he started quietly cursing while trying to free his hand. Hand free and cheeks pink he crossed his arms with a huff and, not looking at Aziraphale, asked, “you doing anything tomorrow?”

Probably not. The fog was receding but he wasn’t sure he was up to customers just yet. “No, I don’t think so, why?”

“Uh, it’s, hm, easier to show you? Would you meet me here at 11 tomorrow?”

“Sure, but are we eating here for lunch or-”

“No. I mean, not that I’d say no to having lunch with you- just that- that’s not the purpose. Of tomorrow I mean. I- I get an order from here and take it to somewhere else.”

“Alright. And this somewhere else is...?”

Crowley had his head hanging off one arm of the chair and both legs slung over the other but just for this he twisted himself up, bracing his weight on one forearm planted in the seat to look straight at Aziraphale from behind those dark shades. And then he exaggerated the most dramatic wink Aziraphale had ever seen so that it was obvious even behind those dark sunglasses that he was winking. “It’s a secret.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “you wily thing. Alright, have it your way. We’ll meet here tomorrow at 11.”

Crowley smiled back. “Great.”

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mostfacinorous · 4 years

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GO Whumptober Day 26: If You Thought the Head Trauma was Bad... [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25]

Crowley drifted more than anything, not really falling asleep-- mostly out of fear of the God based dreams that may well chase him there.

Instead, he just lay, trying not to focus on his discomfort and failing miserably, while trying to focus on the nearness and warmth and scent of Aziraphale, and basking in it.

That didn’t help much, though, when the numbness he’d been feeling faded, and instead he began to feel the pounding ache of a headache.

He tried healing it, an unthinking reaction, but even the action of moving hurt his head, and the attempt at using his power caused a wave of agony, chased by a second wave of nausea.

He moaned pitifully and rolled onto his back.

“I take it your nap’s not helped much?” Aziraphale asked, thoroughly concerned.

“Can’t nap-- m’brain hurts.”

“And you can’t heal it either, I suppose?”

“Tried. Hurts worse.” Crowley draped his arm over his eyes to block out some of the light that was hitting his eyelids.

“I didn’t even get this kind of hangover from being in Heaven.”

“You might now, though, what with the brands in place. But I don’t think She intended to hurt you-- that is, she sent greetings and said we were meant to get closer, rather than googling…” Aziraphale trailed off.

“Do you-- that is, you can say no of course, but… perhaps She meant I was to heal you? She said it was my turn to help you.”

Crowley groaned.

“I think if you try to help right now, my corporation’s brain might explode. No offense.”

“Well I certainly don’t want that.” Aziraphale said softly. He placed a cool, soft hand on Crowley’s forehead, and Crowley leaned into it. “You’re warm, Crowley. Would you like a wet cloth, maybe?”

“Hnnnghn.” Crowley answered, unsure whether that would help or hurt more. He felt the bed move as Aziraphale got up, and made a pitiful little noise at the loss.

“I can’t help you if I don’t move around a bit.” Aziraphale told him, and Crowley could hear the smile in his voice.

“You could. You could just stay here.”

He heard the tap start, then stop, and the sound of a cloth being wringed out. Then he felt it being laid across his brow.

“Alright. In the interest of getting closer, I won’t leave unless you ask me to, from here on out.”

Crowley smiled, and tugged the cloth lower, to cover his eyes.

“That’s more like it.” He said.

#GO Whumptober2020 #Crowley #Aziraphale #Good Omens Fic #kinda similar prompts soz #Whumptober #that writing thing I do

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ineffably-good · 5 years

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Final Flufftober: Flowers (Good Omens)

Just realized I never posted my final flufftober entry on here!

If you’ve enjoyed these snippets, please be aware that this is part twelve of a larger series you can read on AO3, all about these two and their developing relationship! Go read The Serpent and the Seagull here. :)

Angels sow good will in the world and demons sow discontent, or so the established sources would have you believe. However, as in all things ethereal, the reality is somewhat different. The fact is that both creatures, angels and demons, spread their emotional and spiritual energy out into the world, whatever those energies might be. A happy, content angel spreads seeds of love, joy, and contentment out around him or her in waves, and a happy, contented demon (if such a thing ever existed) can easily do the same, although to a less effective degree. Equally, an irate, grumpy, discontented demon causes waves of discord to appear in the world around them, and an upset angel can do a scaled-down version of the same, unless they are carefully shielding against it.

Which is why, Crowley thought, he was constantly finding himself in this annoying situation – he’d be somewhere nice with his angel, maybe lazing around in the park on a blanket or sitting under a tree, having a lovely time – and suddenly they were surrounded by a field of daisies that didn’t exist before, or large pink blossoms would be dripping off the tree above them and landing in their drinks.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale would say with a sheepish grin, picking a flower out of the demon’s wine glass. “I forgot to hold it in again.”

And what could Crowley say to that? Couldn’t exactly be mad at someone for being so happy with your presence that they made the whole freaking world bloom, could you?

No, you couldn’t.

Besides, he had his own effect on the world around him when he was feeling especially contented. After a great day with Aziraphale he had a bad habit of unintentionally turning stop lights to green and ensuring that people got their tax returns on time instead of late, and of burning random people’s parking tickets to a crisp and deleting them from official record without even consciously thinking about it. It was quite mortifying, really, to find oneself subconsciously doing good deeds. He didn’t really think Aziraphale was aware of it, which was his only saving grace. He didn’t think he could handle the embarrassment if the angel ever found out.

Even more annoying than his effect on the outside world, happy Aziraphale had a way of infecting his houseplants with his enthusiasm, particularly after they’d had a romantic evening at home. Without fail, the next morning, Crowley would drag himself awake and go perform his morning plant inspection, looking for spots or droop or wilt, and find at least two of his definitely non-flowering plants covered in blossoms.

It was all well and good out in the park, but when it was one’s own carefully tended plants, it got rather bothersome.

So it was not a particular surprise when the morning after their two year anniversary, Crowley rolled out of bed and sniffed the air suspiciously for any hint of floral scent or pollen. He had the sensitive nose of a serpent, after all, and could pick these things up from some distance away.

They’d had a wonderful night. It was likely their last anniversary as a dating couple rather than married people, so they’d gone all out – dinner at the Ritz dressed up in their nicest suits, then a walk along the Thames, followed by the very rare opportunity to take a night flight using their wings, which ended up with them hovering on top of Westminster Cathedral and swooping down across Parliament in sheer abandon. Then, breathless and giddy from their acrobatics, they came home and just fell into each other for a glorious end to the night in each other’s arms. Crowley tried to express his love in every form he knew, over the course of that evening – in words, in touch, in kisses, in fun, in indulging his angel, in holding him close. It was romantic and lovely, and he had to admit he woke with a bit of a smile on his face.

Crowley sniffed again and sure enough, he could smell the flowers from here. He couldn’t wait to see which of his plants had been corrupted this time.

He tied on his ornate silk robe and padded down the stairs to investigate.

Aziraphale was waiting at the bottom of the stairs with a large, steaming cappuccino and an extremely sheepish look on his face.

“Now dear, before you step out of the back room, please keep in mind that I didn’t do this on purpose,” he said, thrusting the cup into the demon’s hands and smiling at him most urgently. “Please don’t be mad?”

Crowley groaned. “Oh no. What have you done now, angel?”

The angel continued to block his way.

Crowley stepped to the right.

Aziraphale stepped to the right.

Crowley stepped to the left.

Aziraphale stepped to the left.

“Oh for the sake of –” Crowley said. “Move.”

The angel let him pass, and Crowley came out through the back room and through the stacks towards the office – where he was met by the most absurd profusion of bloom he’d ever seen.

Every plant in the shop had burst into technicolor flower, blooming with huge, blowsy buds that were not in any way native to their species. Several of his plants had sprouted vines which were winding across nearly every bookshelf and winding up into the oculus, all dripping with blossoms. Blossoms which, definitively Did. Not. Belong. There.

Crowley stood in the middle of the central hub and turned in a slow circle, gobsmacked. He didn’t even know what emotion one should summon in response to this… this absurd inflorescence.

Aziraphale came up beside him, chuckling nervously. “I – well – hrm,” he said. “That’s a bit bigger than the usual, isn’t it?”

Crowley turned and looked at him. “Yeah, you could say that,” he said, dryly.

Aziraphale gave him an imploring look. “I’m sure we can prune everything back to normal.”

The demon sighed and put an arm around his love. “I’m not upset at you, angel,” he said softly. “You were so happy and in love last night that you filled the entire shop with flowers. How could I be mad about that?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks dimpled and he gave Crowley his most wobbly, beatific smile. “Oh, thank you, my dear. I would so hate to upset you after such a lovely night.”

“I’m flattered, if anything,” Crowley said, giving him a kiss on the temple. “I’m glad I make you so happy.”

“You do!” the angel said. “Plus, you know, you do a bit of this too.”

Crowley froze. “I do what?”

“Spread good will in the world when you’re especially happy.”

Crowley peered at the angel. “I do not! Take that back!”

Aziraphale smiled lovingly. “It’s nothing anyone else would notice, my dear – it’s just little things. Really, nothing to be embarrassed about.”

The demon frowned and thought he would be the judge of that, thankyouverymuch. “What kinds of things are you talking about?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “Well, for example today, all of my clothes were extra-freshly pressed when I went to get dressed even though I know I left them crumped on the chair. And all the papers on my desk are beautifully stacked and organized just the way I liked. And I swear, the tea tastes especially good on mornings after we’ve had a nice evening.”

Crowley groaned. “You make flowers appear in the world and I do a little secretarial work for you when I’m happy? Angel that’s completely pathetic!”

The angel laughed softly. “No, love, it isn’t. You do things for me that make things just the way I like them, without even thinking about it. Your energy just flows around the shop making everything nice for me.” He gave the demon’s hand a squeeze. “I’ve known about it for a while, my dear.”

Crowley flopped down on the couch and tried to die of shame. He tried hard. “I’m a terrible demon,” he moaned.

“No, you aren’t,” Aziraphale said, sitting down next to him. “You’re just a really excellent fiancé.”

“Oh, good lord,” Crowley said, “kill me now.”

But he was smiling, the angel thought, so that was all right.

Crowley snapped his fingers and a couple of pruning sheers appeared in his hand. “Just because we’ve established that I’m an utter sap doesn’t mean you’re not helping me clean some of this up, though,” he said, handing a pair to the angel. “And no magicking the plants back to normal, it’s not good for them.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Of course, of course!”

“And no telling them how beautiful they are,” he admonished. “Don’t go around undoing all of my hard work or you will be in trouble.”

The angel smiled and nodded. He set to work, softly humming as he filled vase after vase with the miscreant blooms. And if he whispered a few sweet nothings to each plant he touched, what of it? He didn’t see anything wrong with sharing a little of his good mood. The plants would keep his interference a secret, he knew.

#good omens oneshot #flufftober #ineffable husbands #Aziraphale x crowley

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ourloveisforthelovely · 5 years

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Time to Waste 3

Good Omens story.

As always a big thank you to @brokencasbutt67-writer

Warnings: smut warning

Link to Chapter 2

Pairings: Gabriel x Reader/Crowley x Aziraphale

______________

You followed Gabriel to a small cafe that was off of the main street. Stepping inside, you knew why he had brought you here. It was small, quiet, and nobody really was in the place.

“At least you know why I brought you here.”

Gabriel said as he led you to a small table in the back. The table was blocked by a rather large bookshelf.

More privacy…

You looked back to the archangel with a displeased frown. He was lucky that he was so handsome. Had he been any other random guy; you would have left him by now.

“Reading my mind is rude...again.”

Gabriel chuckled. He already liked your face. It was too bad that he couldn’t “let” himself fall in love with you. That would be letting Michael down. It would be letting all of heaven down!

He tried not to let himself frown too much. Gabriel had always stuck by the rule book. If there was a job that needed to be done then Gabriel got it done.

“You’re not going to smite me are you?”

He said in an extra sassy tone. You looked down at the ground as Gabriel stepped forward. He reached down and tilted your chin up so you had to look at him. Why did he have to be so dreamy?

“There is nothing wrong with what you are. You are one of the most powerful creatures in creation. You deserve some respect.”

You stepped forward so that your body was pressed against the archangel.

“Then why are you coming onto me?”

Gabriel chuckled and stepped back and sat down at the table.

“Maybe I like you.”

You sat down across from the archangel. His eyes were focused on you like a hawk.

“I think you are interested in me because of my power. You strike me as someone that likes power so much that you would do anything for it.”

You replied with a pleased smirk. Gabriel was clearly a bit surprised by your answer but quickly recovered.

“What is wrong with liking power? I get that you don’t trust me. It seems like you have been let down by a lot of people in your life. Not everyone is out to hurt you, beautiful. Let me gain your trust.

You considered his words. Gabriel was right about one thing. You weren’t one to trust anyone. Again, you thanked your mother for that one too. Anytime that you had trusted someone resulted in you being hurt!

Would Gabriel hurt you? What if his intentions weren’t fucked up and he was a good lover? You really weren’t giving him a fair shake by just going off of Aziraphale and Crowley’s word.

You trusted Aziraphale. Maybe that's why you were afraid to trust the archangel. That’s left you with your father’s opinion. Crowley would probably say anything to keep you from Gabriel.

“Nothing is wrong with liking power. I have to keep myself safe. It isn’t my father, Aziraphale, or Beelzebub’s place to keep me safe.”

Gabriel frowned.

“You know Beelzebub?”

You nodded. Of course, you knew the prince of hell. They had been trying to win you over for ages now. It was a bit of a shock when the prince of hell turned up on your doorstep one day telling you your whole life story and wanting to “get to know you.” It was no secret to you that the prince of hell really didn’t give a damn about knowing who you were. They were interested in the power that you could bring them. It was definitely an awkward friendship! Awkward was the best way to put it. The two of you didn’t go to the movies or out to eat. There was no Friday “friends” night where the two of you did anything.

It was just Beelzebub turning up at your doorstep and questioning you about your latest doings or how your powers were working out. They would lounge about your apartment for a day or two before disappearing again.

For the first few months of your “relationship” with Beelzebub, you wondered if the prince was interested in you in the “romantic” sense. That was quickly shot down when you nonchalantly asked if they “dated” often. The poor being just looked at you with wide eyes. After that Beelzebub's visits became few and far between.

You hadn’t even told Crowley of your friendship with Beelzebub. After learning of your father’s last run-in with the prince of hell, you had often wondered what exactly it was Beelzebub’s interest was with you. It didn’t take you long to figure it out. It was the power. If the prince of hell had you on their side then they could potentially be unstoppable.

Feeling like a bit of a hypocrite, you smiled at Gabriel. Maybe the idea of power was appealing after all. If you accepted his advances then you could have plenty of power at your disposal as well.

“Yes. I know Beelzebub. I don’t know if you would consider it a friendly relationship or not. Maybe just an awkward acquaintanceship.”

Gabriel laughed.

“I’ve met Beelzebub. It wasn’t the best of days.”

You smirked.

“Oh I know all about that day in your life.”

Gabriel’s smirk fell instantly and for a moment you were afraid that he would try to attack you. You stood up with a smile and walked behind the archangel. He didn’t move but instead looked at the table in front of him furiously.

Maybe the two of you could have a pleasant exchange of powers after all? You knew that Crowley would probably through the biggest hissy fit known to man. You could practically hear him yelling all the way from the house at the meet thought of sleeping with Gabriel.

Aziraphale...you didn’t even want to think about that one. You felt guilty about that one. Aziraphale was the one person that you didn’t like to think of hurting. You could only hope that if this thing with Gabriel turned into something that your family would understand.

As you stood looking at Gabriel’s back that feeling of attraction came surging right back. You snapped your fingers, leaving yourself dressed in a long black dress that left little to the imagination.

With a smirk you walked behind Gabriel and wrapped your arms around him. The archangel stiffened for a moment before he slammed you against the wall. His eyes looked hungrily down your body.

“I think you like to play games. I must say that I am not at all surprised.”

Gabriel lifted your thigh and placed it over his hip.

“You are playing hard to get then you are dressing like this for my attention. Here I am. I think you are just afraid to get with me because it would upset daddy Crowley.”

The taunt hit you on a new personal level. You scowled at Gabriel a moment before reaching out and pulling the overgrown archangel to you.

“Kiss me, asshole.”

Gabriel looked a little surprised by your sudden outburst. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was slow at first before increasing to a hungry passion driven make out. You had the feeling that he was about to be bossy or as Crowley put it “the biggest bitch on the planet.” Even his kisses were commanding.

“I want to know what the rest of you tastes like...unless you want to get your father’s permission first.”

Gabriel said in your head as he pressed himself against you. Your eyes snapped open. For some reason, you were afraid to see Crowley standing in the corner ready to kick Gabriel’s ass back to heaven. Upon realizing that there was no Crowley in the corner, you focused your attention back on Gabriel.

“Just get me somewhere, angel.”

Gabriel pulled you tighter to him.

“I thought that you would never ask!”

When you opened your eyes again, you stood in a hotel suite. Gabriel stood behind you taking his suit jacket off. He backed you against the wall and held your hand over your head.

“You’re mine.”

Gabriel said in a deep commanding tone. You pressed your legs together. God, why was his voice like a vibrator on your clit?

Before you could give any objection, Gabriel’s mouth was on yours. You knew that you could fight back and be difficult. The idea sounded fun, however, at the same time, the human in you said no. Your human side wanted to be dominated. The human in you wanted to be weak for the archangel. The demon in you, however, was fighting mad! How could you let some angel show you who was boss?!

The better question was how were you not supposed to start developing feelings for the archangel? One date in and you were beginning to feel “things.” Why you weren't sure? Gabriel still hadn’t “warmed” up to you. There was nothing in the date that showed that he would be a “sweetheart.” What were you supposed to expect anyway?

“You’re mine to touch. Mine to have and mine to please.”

You swallowed as his teeth sunk into the soft flesh of your neck.

“Gabriel...”

You whimpered his name as he continued to suck deep purple bruises on your neck. How would you explain that on to your father, you had no idea. Crowley and Aziraphale weren’t stupid. They would both certainly know what love bites were.

You could always say that you got into a bar fight and some jerkwad punched you in the neck. There was no way that they would fall for that.

“Stop thinking about your parent would you? I am trying to make love to you.”

Gabriel said coldly. He barely lifted his mouth from your mouth before biting down harder. You whimpered Gabriel’s name as his free hand squeezed your ass.

“Yes. Keep saying my name. Say that you are mine.”

“Gabriel.”

“Say that your mine.”

He said, curtly. Gabriel knew that those words would be a real struggle for you today. He slowly stood up straight before letting his finger traced his finger over your cleavage.

“You’re mine, Y/n. I think that you like knowing it too. The demon in you makes you not want to say yes. I also know that you want to make love as much as I do. I won’t touch you until you give me what I want. I’m going to break you in, Y/n. You’ll be submissive to me whether you like it or not. You can be sassy as much as you want but you’ll give me what I want too...”

You swallowed as he slipped a hand up your thigh.

“Damn it, yes!”

“Sorry?”

He replied, innocently.

“I’m yours.”

“See. Was that so hard?”

Gabriel waded you legs apart and lifted you up by your thighs. You reached out to pull the archangel to you by his tie. Gabriel quickly grabbed your hands.

“Naughty girl. Tell me, has anyone touched you? Some nasty human maybe?”

You shook your head quickly. Gabriel was clearly pleased with your response as he pressed his body against yours. You wrapped your legs around the archangel’s waist.

“I like a girl with fight in her.”

“You struck the jackpot then.”

You sassed. Gabriel's hand squeezed the plump flesh of your ass. You hissed as the heat seared through you.

“I also like a girl that I can break into what I want.”

Meanwhile,

Aziraphale stood in the kitchen making his fourth cup of tea since the time that you left. He looked up when Crowley walked into the kitchen looking confused.

“Is Y/n still not home?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“No, I tried calling her phone and she’s not answering. I’m a little worried, Crowley.”

Crowley put his hands on the counter and looked down at the floor.

“How long does it take for a girl to pick out a face wash?”

Aziraphale shrugged.

“I don’t think 5 hours is a suitable amount of time.”

Crowley muttered a few curse words under his breath.

“I am going to put a GPS on that girl! If she is with that archangel, I am going to find Adam and asking him to change his mind on restarting the apocalypse. Screw that, I am going to find them myself.”

Aziraphale winced.

“Do you really think that it is a good idea to go out and stalk around London looking for her? We don’t even know where Gabriel would have taken her.”

Crowley spun around.

‘I can feel her. Kinda like a sixth sense….I’m following that! You stay here in case she gets home before me!”

Aziraphale put a hand over his face. It was about to be a long night in London.

__________

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#Good Omens #Gabriel x Reader #Good Omens fan fiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #Crowley #aziraphale #Gabriel #Time to Waste #Good Omens reader insert #reader insert #Time to Waste Story

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lady-wallace · 4 years

Text

In Extremis (Good Omens Fic)

A commission fic for @tessseagull Hope you enjoy ^_^

During a daring rescue while in Rome, Aziraphale and Crowley end up on the wrong side of some slavers who want retribution—and money. When Aziraphale ends up in the Colosseum to fight as a gladiator he thinks it’s all over, but he might just find help from an unexpected quarter.

~~~~~~~

This had been a terrible idea from the start.

Well, not entirely, Aziraphale supposed; after all, they weresaving children and that couldn’t possibly be a bad thing, but the plan itself left a little to be desired.

“Would you hurry up, angel?” hissed his companion urgently.

Aziraphale bit his lip. “Yes, I’m coming.”

Mainly he wasn’t sure about the fact that he was working with the demon Crowley. Yes, they had consistently been meeting purely on accident and, well, notthwarting each other, but Aziraphale still wasn’t entirely sure whatthat really meant and it wasn’t like notthwarting was the same thing as working together. Though sometimes, their…understanding call it—worked out quite all right for things like this, really.

Aziraphale had just been about to leave Rome on orders to go to Britain, when the demon, who he thought had left Rome days ago, had found him, looking a little urgent.

“Whatever is it?” Aziraphale had asked.

“Well, you see, there’s this bunch of kids…” Crowley had explained that a group of slavers in town had a bunch of children they were planning on shipping off to the salt mines the next morning. The salt mines meant certain death to anyone—hard to work and had the tendency to turn one mad. Aziraphale had been shocked at the idea that someone, even slavers, would think to throw children in one, but then, humans never ceased to surprise him with their cruelty.

“Look, I can’t…go around saving kids. Can get into a lot of trouble for that.” Crowley looked down as if he had indeed gotten into trouble for the same thing before. “But if I take out the guards, do the bad bit, then you can go in and save the kids—do the good bit. Then neither of us will get in trouble with the bosses.”

And of course, Aziraphale had agreed because they were children, which led to him creeping through the night with the demon with no real plan but that Crowley would take out the guards and Aziraphale would be the one to actually do the rescuing.

They were currently crouched behind a low wall that led to the place the kids were being kept. There wasn’t so much a guard as a man sitting half-drunk outside the door.

“We could just go in,” Aziraphale said.

“More inside,” Crowley told him. “Look, you head around the back and wait for me to open the door for you.”

Aziraphale nodded, and the two slipped off into the night, Crowley blending in a lot better with his dark clothing. Aziraphale tripped a bit on his toga as he hurried along in a slight crouch. He felt, rather than saw, Crowley roll his eyes and yanked the material up indignantly. This was certainly not one of his favorite pieces of clothing.

He slipped around the back of the building where there was a door and watched as Crowley disappeared around to where the front was. He wondered what the demon would do and suddenly had the fear that Crowley would kill them. He certainly didn’t want to be part of any plan that involved people, even slavers, being killed.

But he heard the low murmur of voices and, after a few more minutes, some thumps and then, after a couple minutes more, the door opened and startled Aziraphale.

“Well, come on, angel,” Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale stepped inside and gasped as he saw bodies on the floor. “Oh, Crowley, tell me you didn’t kill them!”

“Relax, they’re just asleep,” Crowley muttered. “Now come on.”

Aziraphale hurried after him and toward the barred door at the back of the building where at least twenty children were crammed into a small cell. They looked frightened at the appearance of the two supernatural beings, so Aziraphale smiled, trying to reassure them.

“Hello there. Don’t you worry, we’ll have you out of there soon enough.” He snapped his fingers and the lock on the door broke, and the door swung open. He stepped inside, and then noticed that all the children were locked to a chain, manacles around each of their ankles.

“Oh, just a moment,” he said and reached down to touch the chain. He gave it a slight flick and the chain and manacles rattled open to the ground and the children looked up in shock and perhaps a little fear at the angel. Crowley stepped forward and beckoned to them.

“Come on, we’re getting you out of here!”

Finally, a little boy stood up and the rest followed, trooping out of the cell as Aziraphale and Crowley herded them into a group.

“Everyone out? Good, good,” the angel said, then turned to the demon with a hiss. “Now where are we taking them?”

“I know a place,” Crowley said. “They’ll be safe. And there’s someone there who can find out where they belong, or if they don’t have anywhere, find somewhere for them to go.”

Aziraphale nodded and motioned for Crowley to lead the way, when there was the sound of a door shutting and a voice called out.

“Septimus? Porcius? Where the hell are you?”

“Damn,” Crowley muttered. “There must have been more at the house.”

Two pairs of footsteps could be heard coming their way and Aziraphale looked around, making a sudden decision as he reached to one of the unconscious guards and gingerly slid his sword from its sheath.

Crowley’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do with that?”

Aziraphale looked at it helplessly. “Cause a distraction, I suppose.”

“Wot?”

“Look, you know where you’re taking the children, get them out of here. I’ll hold them off.”

Crowley looked skeptical. “You? With that?”

“I know how to use a sword,” Aziraphale said indignantly.

“Oh, that’s right, losingthem was always your problem.”

“I gave it…oh never mind. Just go!”

“I heard something in here,” a voice called from the other room and Aziraphale practically pushed Crowley toward the door where the children were huddled in fear.

“Go!” he hissed.

Crowley nodded and opened his arms to usher the kids outside. “Come on, let’s go!”

The kids hurried out, Crowley behind them, and Aziraphale just barely shut the door behind them before two men barged into the room, swords raised. Aziraphale whipped around with his own weapon up. The two men stopped, frowning at the bodies on the floor then at Aziraphale when they saw he was alone, and then their eyes widened as they saw the children were missing from the cell behind him.

“What is going on?” One man, who seemed to be the one in charge, demanded. “Who are you?”

“Me? Oh, er, no one of consequence, I assure you,” Aziraphale stuttered.

“What did you do with those slaves?” the other man demanded, gesturing with his sword.

“Slaves? What slaves?” Aziraphale tried bluffing, but he had always been terrible at it.

“You know what I think?” the leader asked in a low, dangerous voice. They both advanced, forcing Aziraphale to back up, his sword held out in front of him. “I think you work for Maximus and he thought he could send you here to steal our property for his own profit.”

“What? No! I would never work with slavers,” Aziraphale said indignantly. But his back was not pressed against the bars of the cage and he had nowhere to go unless he miracled himself away.

“You know what I think?” the other man asked, a nasty smirk on his face. “A man goes for a bit of money to the Colosseum. It’s only fair, after all, him losing us all that money. He can start to pay it back.”

“Oh, oh no, that’s not…I’m not a warrior,” Aziraphale tried to protest, trying to find a way to get out of this.

“That’s all right. There’s plenty of other things they can use you for if that doesn’t work out, I’m sure,” the second man said with a leer as he lunged forward and lashed out with his sword.

Aziraphale blocked the blow and staggered back, only to crash into the other man from behind.

An arm snaked around his neck, and he fought, but the other man grabbed his sword arm and slammed it against the bars of the cell door. Aziraphale cried out as he lost his grip on the sword.

A fist was slammed into his stomach and he folded over with a gasp. Another was smashed into his face and he saw stars. He felt blood drip from his nose.

“Don’t damage him too much,” said the man still holding Aziraphale. “They won’t want him if he looks all thrashed. Get the chains.”

Before Aziraphale could do anything else, his hands and feet were clamped into manacles and he was being dragged outside to a cart and thrown in the back. He looked around for any chance of escape, highly disgruntled.

He really should have known better than to get involved with one of Crowley’s plans. And yet…well, he really just hoped that Crowley was able to get the children to safety.

Now he just had to figure out how to get himself out of his current bind.

READ THE REST HERE: Ao3 FF.net

~~~

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#good omens fanfiction #one shots #my fics #roman era #crowley asked aziraphale for help #captured aziraphale #crowley also gets aziraphale out of trouble #historical #friendship #pre-arrangement #commission fic

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starsailorstories · 5 years

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fatalcookies

replied to your

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Does anyone actually wanna know about the...

Uuuuh please

*deep breath*

*steeples fingers*

@fatalcookies

ok so LIKE

In a deviation from canon, Shade’s only on earth because armageddon is coming someday, and she’s the Almighty’s most trusted strategist. I know this is also veering way off all conventional understanding of the hierarchy of angels, but I think our girl’s a seraph. I mean come on--little miss “think nothing but devotion”? The character who was so over the top in her praise of her boss that a complete third party called the relationship “an altar” to be “sacrificed on”? Seraphim is translated as “the burning ones” and Shade is burning inside and out in any version of her you want to construct. She’s way beyond goodness, she’s about PURITY. She is a slave to the theoretical ultimate perfection of the divine plan. Holy holy holy, bitch!

But...she has a secret.

It’s the same secret she has in canon.

She loves life.

She doesn’t know why and it kind of scares her. She has eternal bliss at her fingertips if she just keeps following all the rules, and she’s great at following all the rules. But at the same time, perfection is simultaneously incredibly hectic and kind of boring. After an eternity of serving at the height of passion, unchanging, unerring, a body gets a bit worn out, and starts to think it might be nice to just, curl up with some brief ephemeral story. Something a bit less than perfect, a bit less than eternal--just to see what it was like. And fortunately the divine, in her unerring wisdom, was just on time to tell one, which started, “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.”

And so she goes to earth, and she’s just barely constrained in a quite handsome--entirely bespoke!--human body, whose eyes she only occasionally lights up with white flame, and promptly occupies herself with performing understated miracles of toy repair for random children, dressing like the pits of fashion, sipping espresso in cafes, skulking around the edges of literary society Orlando-style but in a theoretically specifically benevolent fashion, and justifying everything to herself one way or another.

And yes like...Shade is pretty sensible, she’s not going to get into the exact same nonsense on earth that Aziraphale did, but if you really think she’s not going to get into any nonsense at all then I feel really bad for you because clearly you’ve never met...wlw in general

She’s kind--never indulgent, but kind--and polite, and nobody really minds her above or below, because she’s very careful to maintain her Purity by never questioning anything or really putting anything in place besides that which she’s been told to. One of her main justifications for everything she’s been getting up to is to assume that if the Almighty didn’t want her to do it, she wouldn’t be able to, because she certainly doesn’t have free will...does she?

Shade is a pseudonym she took on to represent the humility of her human side, by the way, signifying its total inferiority to the radiance of God. I don’t know what God calls her when she’s a blinding, burning figure at the side of the great throne. Perhaps it’s Lux.

Now. Bolt. You may have been asking yourself, “How are you gonna cast the sweet, soft, motherly team healer as the demon in this? Even Crowley has it in him to be a bit of a curmudgeon sometimes and Bolt just doesn’t” and that is true.

But I have this to say:

Hell hath no fury like a tenderhearted gay disaster scorned.

Okay, it’s not all, like, completely personal. The majority of the soul reaping that Bolt accomplishes doesn’t require her to do anything besides exist. Because she’s a sweet, pretty, competent woman who listens, and she’s also the biggest lesbian in the world, and her numbers look fine back at home office because men are just like that. She doesn’t have to tempt anybody she’s literally just There

But sometimes, with the ladies, it’s more, and sometimes she is there for an extended period, and sometimes she feels something beyond pragmatic compassion and that something quickly turns to heartbreak. Because she will never not be a demon, and humans will never lack the ability to redeem themselves. With them she’s never more than a temptation, a distraction, a stumble on the straight and narrow--never chased, never cherished, never allowed to grow old beside. They abandon her, they hurt her, just like God did, and they never regret it, because it was the right thing to do. So, you know, every once in a while, when it’s really too much to take, when she really has to do something for once, to hell with them.

The thing is that in vol. 1 Bolt certainly feels enormous degrees of love, but she doesn’t really have a moral code beyond “make the people around me happy so that they’ll like me and pay attention to me.” If she felt underappreciated in heaven, would she run to Lucifer’s side knowing she would be praised and made to feel special there? Abso-HECKING-lutely.

Of course, it takes more than just her feelings to make her fall. As with canon Bolt, she falls FOR someone.

Who does she fall for, in this universe?

Ready for this?

Eve.

Oh, it wasn’t entirely selfish. She certainly THOUGHT about the unfairness, the way God set them up for the Fall. And yes hell sent her to make it happen, so she can certainly claim to have just been doing her job. BUT…

She honestly might not have done it the way she did it, if she hadn’t thought, just a tiny bit, just way down deep where she could almost ignore it, “Maybe, if they could choose, one of them might choose me.”

Down the road, one of her few real resume builders downstairs is inventing the spinal block epidural--which REDUCES human suffering, but how are they scoring this thing anyhow?--as a middle finger to heaven and an apology to her first crush

+Bolt grumbling+ “‘In pain you will bring forth children’ ASSHOLE it wasn’t her fault!”

Also putting her in the actual plot rather than just the universe of Good Omens simplifies things nicely, the nuns aren’t needed anymore at all. Boltie will be the first to tell you that without her Systems and her assistants, she’s perfectly capable of misplacing a baby on her own.

I just want to mention here that she dresses like the exact midpoint between Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe with a slightly more infernal color scheme and her sunglasses are those red plastic heart kind

Also, because I do the same shit in every AU, she has the exact relationship Crowley has with Queen with, GUESS!!, Dolly Parton

I definitely think one of the most interesting things about this (it’s one of the things I think is most interesting about canon Good Omens too although they never go a l l the way down this road) is that Shade quietly suspects that Bolt is better at being Good than her. Oh sure she loves all God’s creatures but Boltie can get them to love her back. It seems that, unless someone has hurt her personally, one of her main motivations for pushing back against heaven IS compassion

Bolt for her part feels immense guilt about the fact that the only reason she EVEN lets this crap happen anymore is out of bitterness. She hears heaven offers humans unconditional love, even now that they have free will. Where was that deal when she wanted free will, huh?

From that setup on out, you don’t REALLY have to change anything--about EITHER source text! But it’s kind of fun to customize certain stuff for them

I feel like in that scene where they’re drinking in the bookshop they’d get into an exchange that’s like

Bolt, sitting with her legs slung over the arm of a chair, her pantyhose all bunched around her ankles, her high heels in one hand and a glass of red in the other: And that’s the other thing, if we go back they’re not gonna let us be cute anymore

Shade, sitting at her desk with her tie loose and her collar open beside a half-empty bottle of very nice whiskey (I told you the aesthetics were reversed): My goodness Boltie that’s really what you’re on about at a time like this

Bolt: Well take a second to appreciate what you’ve got down here angel, we look fine as all get out! If they send us back I’m gonna probably be back to bein’ a snake for all eternity and you’re gonna have to be a, a flaming wheel or some shit. You know you’re not gonna be able to get made-to-measure for THAT

Shade: …Damn, you’re right

Is this a good time to mention that in my head, Shade sounds decidedly English and Bolt sounds like she’s from Cleveland

Except also I really want Shade to carry Boltie across consecrated ground like in that one post

#fatalcookies #silly GOOD OMENS AU STUFF

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