#yeah this probably belongs in there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

knaccblog · 8 months

Text

Ready Now

"Aziraphale has told Crowley he loves him, many times by now and showed him that he loves him many more times as well. But there are still years and years of rules and habits learned through their long association that are complete rubbish now, harmful even. It's going to take awhile to sort them all out." aka Crowley and Aziraphale are both messes but they love each other so they're going to work it out. Also available on A03

One action packed road trip and one world saved (again) later, Aziraphale and Crowley are finally back in London but things are very different than before. For one, Heaven and Hell are officially and forever off their backs. No more being technically traitors or ex-employees or anything, just a miraculous and permanent severing of their individual allegiances (without any real change to their state of being) and a promised immunity from any further meddling. It was a bit dizzying to think about, to be honest, so often Aziraphale would not, instead choosing to focus on the most exceptional, truly unbelievably wonderful thing that had happened along the way which was that Crowley had accepted his feelings (once Aziraphale had finally found his courage and told him) and returned them eagerly with words and kisses of his own. There may even have been a slight drizzle happening throughout the whole confession that was neatly blocked by a nearby apple tree, though to be honest, the details of everything besides how it felt to hold Crowley in his arms were a bit fuzzy.

They'd been home for about three days so far (and by home, Aziraphale means holed up in his bookshop) and they'd gotten up to all manner of things that Aziraphale had barely ever even hoped to try together. He'd even, after a bit of convincing, attempted sleeping, which he'd found enjoyable enough, at least on a short term basis and as long as Crowley was curled tightly around him. This morning had started much the same way as any other had since their return; lots of kissing, breakfast, more kissing, talking about some inane subject for hours on end, kissing and so on. Aziraphale had been assuming that the terribly similar morning would roll on, transforming into a terribly similar afternoon when, to his surprise, a knock had come on the bookshop door while Crowley was in the back finding more wine. Aziraphale had nearly sent whoever it was away when he'd just heard, barely audible through the heavy wood and glass, the declaration that they were, in fact, from the International Express Delivery Service and had a package for a Mr. Fell that required a signature if at all possible.

Aziraphale had sprung up, hurrying to catch the delivery person before they slipped away with a book that he'd ordered nearly two years ago now that had somehow, between the pandemic and a surprising chain of postal mix-ups, miraculously gotten waylaid just long enough to arrive at the bookshop very close to his own permanent return to it. Funny old world and all that. To be honest, until that very moment, Aziraphale had basically forgotten all about it but the instant he opened the package, he felt his breath catch in his throat. The cover, a beautiful, polished crimson leather and it's contents, pages and pages of detailed facts about snakes paired with equally detailed gouache paintings of them were collectively even more stunning than they had seemed in the auction catalog all those years ago. He'd opened the book reverentially to the beginning and, without looking up, drifted his way carefully through the familiar obstacles of his bookshop and over to his couch. This was going to take some seeing to, he was certain.

****

Aziraphale looks up some time later from a particularly stunning illustration of a Red Bellied Black Snake to see Crowley pacing around the bookshop aimlessly. He tilts his head. "Is there something going on? Perhaps something you need to do, my dear?"

Crowley's gaze snaps up to meet Aziraphale's as he stops pacing. "Right, I'll just- get out of your hair then?" Crowley puts his sunglasses on and starts to head towards the door.

Aziraphale feels a sudden rush of panic. Something seems off. "Crowley, wait!"

Crowley stops dead in his tracks and turns back to him. "What?"

"I-" He waves a hand in little circles. "I don't understand what's happening. Do you have something else you need to do or not?"

Crowley grimaces. "Technically... no."

Aziraphle sighs. "Then why are you leaving?"

"Well," Crowley shrugs, "you're busy-"

"Ahhhhh of course!" Aziraphale nods and smiles. Now he understands everything. How long had it been since he'd even looked up from his book? An half an hour, maybe an hour even. He hadn't meant to get so absorbed really. Crowley must be going mad. He wonders why he hadn't just wandered off all on his own really. Perhaps he hadn't wanted to leave without saying anything but he also hadn't wanted to interrupt Aziraphale? Crowley always had been terribly considerate of him. "Well," he smiles, "Just make sure to take the keys when you go then?"

Crowley's mouth flattens. "Right," he nods stiffly, his tone brittle. "Wouldn't want to be in the way." He heads for the door faster this time.

Before he even quite knows what he's doing, Aziraphale's snaped and the door becomes temporarily uncooperative. Crowley gives the handle a little tug and then sighs.

Aziraphale's stomach sinks. He's a fool. It's suddenly quite clear that he'd been nearly completely wrong with his previous theory. Luckily for him, he's starting to see the shape of it now. There must be a second conversation happening, one he can't perceive, that's making Crowley very upset. He sighs and squeezes his eyes closed. "Crowley, I don't know what I said but please just talk to me. I can tell you're quite upset."

Crowley jiggles the door knob one more time and then turns around. Even in the sunglasses, he won't meet Aziraphale's eyes. "It's just, I've been here what, three days? And you started reading and I figured, ya know, that was my sign to go. I mean, you're bound to get sick of me sometime. I'm just trying to, mmm, keep ahead of it. Stay out of your way."

Aziraphale's chest aches at that and he frowns. "Crowley, I love you-"

"Right," Crowley snaps, "and we wouldn't want you to change your mind about that now, would we?"

Aziraphale feels like he's been punched in the stomach. He closes his book completely and sets it on the arm of the couch. "Alright, that's enough of that. Come over here right this instant." His face is stone and his tone brokers no argument.

Crowley squirms as if fighting himself and then goes limp. "Fine, since you haven't given me much of a choice." He saunters over, his feet dragging a little. "Here?" he says, standing in front of Aziraphale, his tone a bit mocking though which of them he's making fun of isn't clear. (Probably himself)

Aziraphale shakes his head and pats the couch next to him. "Here please."

Crowley visibly rolls his eyes, even in the sunglasses, and then plops down, a wild sprawl of limbs, "And wh-"

Aziraphale reaches across and grabs Crowley by the far shoulder, pulling him rather effortlessly down so that his head is now resting in Aziraphale's lap. Crowley's jaw falls slack and his cheeks darken just slightly.

Aziraphale immediately tangles a hand in Crowley's hair and lets out a contented sigh. Ever since they'd gotten together and he'd started getting to touch Crowley whenever he wants, doing this had always made his heart skip a beat. Somehow it's even more lovely than he'd always thought it would be. He hopes that someday he'll get to feel it at all of the wonderful lengths he'd missed out on touching over the years. "I love doing this." Aziraphale beams down at Crowley as he continues to run his fingers through his hair. "Do you like it as well?"

Crowley stumbles for a moment before finally getting out, "Mmmmm yeah. Course I do." He smiles a little shyly and looks away. "I- I don't know what this has to do with anything?"

Aziraphale sighs and meets Crowley's eyes as best he can with the sunglasses. "I need you to understand something: I don't really ever want you to go away. Like of course we'll do separate errands sometimes or you'll get bored and go for a drive or I'll go to a book sale and you won't want to come. Or perhaps you and Muriel and the girls will go to some loud concert and I'll stay home. And that's normal and fine. I'll even be happy you're having a good time without me. But I am never going to be gladdened by just your absence, you understand? I'm always happiest when you're here with me."

Crowley swallows. "You can't mean that-"

"Do I sound like I'm joking?"

"Well, no but-"

"I have spent enough time playing coy and pushing you away and I'm sick of it. But also," Aziraphale frowns, "you have to talk to me. I am, unfortunately, not a mind reader."

"Honestly, that's for the best," Crowley says, under his breath. "Don't know what I'd do if you'd been reading my mind all these years and just never told me. Discorporate out of sheer embarrassment probably."

Aziraphale rolls his eyes just slightly.

"Right, sorry, what do you want to know again? It's just the," he gestures at his own head, "fingers are a bit… distracting and all."

"I can stop-" Aziraphale teases, ceasing his gentle touches for just a moment.

"Don't you dare!" Crowley's hand flies up as if to grab Aziraphale's wrist.

"Fine," he smiles and resumes his caresses. "I wanted you to clarify why you were so upset. Did I do something?"

"Nnnn nah," Crowley shrugs. "I mean I already said it, didn't I? You were reading and I didn't want to be in the way."

"And that's it? Nothing else?"

"I mean," Crowley grits his teeth, and then frowns. He looks like he wants to run away again. "In the past," he says, voice small, "you really were asking me to go? When you'd do that."

Aziraphale frowns. Of course he's right. Aziraphale is aware that he'd often pushed Crowley away over the years. That's why he'd tried to be crystal clear on how he feels about Crowley being around now. He just really hadn't thought about how confusing this new state of their relationship could possibly be feeling from Crowley's side. Aziraphale has told him he loves him, many times by now, and showed him that he loves him many more times as well. But there are still years and years of rules and habits learned through their long association that are complete rubbish now, harmful even. It's going to take awhile to sort them all out.

Aziraphale nods. "Right, I see. That is why I started by saying what I did. But perhaps… what if I promise to tell you directly if there ever does come a time when I do need you to go for some reason? No more you needing to read between the lines?"

Crowley quirks an eyebrow, his voice hesitant. "You think you can do that?"

"I can very well try," he sits up a little straighter.

"Alright, so from now on, I just what? Have an open invitation to the bookshop and you just want me milling around whenever I want to be, yeah?"

"That is the idea, yes."

"Well alright then," Crowley looks stunned. "I'll… do that then." They sit there in quiet bliss for a moment before Crowley adds, "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth but uhhhh, why exactly are we sitting like this?"

Aziraphale startles. "Oh yes! Sorry about that. My idea, if you'd be amenable, is that we could sit like this while I read. I thought it sounded… nice." Aziraphale smiles shyly.

Crowley opens and closes his mouth a few times before he says, "Mmmm yeah, that could work."

"Oh good," Aziraphale beams down at Crowley.

The corners of Crowley's mouth turn up just slightly.

"You don't think you'll find it too boring?"

Crowley takes off his sunglasses and tucks them into his jacket pocket. His small smile gets a bit larger. "I think it'll take me a while to get sick of this, Angel." He grabs Aziraphale's hand and kisses it gently before setting it back in his hair and closing his eyes. "Now, don't let me keep you from the wonderful world of ophiology. I think there may be one that's a rather good likeness of me somewhere around the halfway mark if memory serves."

Aziraphale smiles and chuckles slightly. Then, sighing contentedly, he figures out how to reopen his book, now one handed, and settles in for a nice long read, certain that there is no better way to spend a Thursday afternoon in the entire world.

#Good Omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #aziracrow #aziraphale #good omens crowley #good omens fanfiction #ineffable spouses #My GO Thoughts and Feels #my fanfic #GOS2 Spoilers #maybe I'm not sure really #this is set after a theoretical season 3 because it's the space I thought would be the most enjoyable to write in #there will be at least one more chapter for this but there could be more if I can believe in myself or something #Crowley has CPTSD and so do I #yeah this probably belongs in there

17 notes · View notes

youssefguedira · 2 years

Text

surprise! iron maiden joe sequel snippet

It's going fine, until it's not.

Joe's too close to the edge, is the thing. Caught off guard by the fact that he's better, now, when it comes to being near the ocean, and there's a low railing. Not paying as much attention as he should be because of the chaos around him. He's only just started going on jobs again, and he's still getting used to guns.

Which is why he doesn't notice how close he is to the railing, or the soldier raising his gun. Nicky shouts a warning, but it comes too late. There's two sharp cracks, and then pain explodes in his chest, the force of it sending him stumbling backwards, until he hits the railing and then there's another shot and Nicky is shouting his name in terror-

-and then he's falling, over the edge, into the water.

The next thing he knows is that he's drowning, and terror seizes him as he lashes out, trying to get to the surface because he's not too deep yet but his oxygen is running out because he's panicking too much to remember he needs to-

…

try to conserve it and he's sunk deeper in the time he'd been dead and the surface is getting further in further and he doesn't want this again, has spent-

…

so long like this but now he remembers what it's like to be out, to not be drowning, and he doesn't want to be trapped again-

…

so he fights harder than he ever has but the water is so heavy, he'd forgotten just how heavy it was, and he still can't calm himself down long enough to do-

…

anything other than lash out blindly but he doesn't stop fighting because he can't because he doesn't want to drown again-

…

and then there's something, someone, reaching for him and he feels them grab his arm before he drowns again-

…

and then he's in blinding daylight, something holding him tightly, and he thrashes against it and screams and screams and screams as the something - no, someone - whispers in his ear, words he can't make out over the sound of the waves and a strange humming that seems to be coming from everywhere at once, and then the someone - Nicky, it must be - is running a gentle hand over his hair, rocking them both back and forth gently, and only then does Joe stop screaming.

"I've got you," Nicky whispers in Joe's first language, the one he always defaults to when Joe panics like this, though it's never happened this badly because he's never actually drowned since getting out. A wounded sob escapes Joe's throat, and Nicky hushes him gently. "You're safe, Yusuf. I've got you."

Finally, Joe looks around - they're on a boat, which explains the humming, and he's seated in the middle of its deck, away from the edge on all sides, between Nicky's legs with his back to Nicky's chest, Nicky's arms tight around him. They're both soaked through, meaning Nicky must have been the one to pull him out of the water. Nile is sitting on a bench nearby, watching him worriedly, though smiles at him when he meets her eyes.

"It's okay," Nicky whispers. "You're out, Yusuf. You're out."

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

Joe can't seem to stop shaking.

Nicky sits beside him in the car on the way back, as close as he can be, holding his hand. But Joe still can't stop shaking, nor can he breathe properly, like iron bands are clamped around his chest and preventing him from taking a full breath. He keeps his eyes closed and listens to his family talking around him, but doesn't say a word.

When they arrive at the safehouse, Nicky leads him straight to their bedroom, still holding his hand. He lets go only to dig through the dresser, passing Joe a change of clothes wordlessly.

Once Joe's changed, he takes Nicky's hoodie from where he'd left it on the bed that morning before leaving and pulls it on, partially for warmth and partially for comfort. When Nicky turns around, having changed too, and sees him sitting on the edge of their bed with the hood pulled up over his head, he smiles, reassuring but sad at the same time.

"Will you be able to eat anything?" he asks softly, sitting down beside him.

Joe shakes his head.

"I'm going to check on the others, then. You'll be okay by yourself for a few minutes?"

Joe nods this time, and Nicky smiles again, slipping his arm across Joe's shoulders and pulling him close, turning his head in to kiss the top of Joe's head. "I'll be back in a moment."

With that, he leaves, and Joe is alone in the room. The house is quiet except for the sound of Nicky's footsteps, deliberately hitting every creaky floorboard between their bedroom and the rest of the house. Joe sits there for a moment longer, then stands, crossing to their window and pulling the curtains open. It's dark, now that the sun has set, but he doesn't turn on the light. Just stands by the window and watches the moon for a while.

It's a clear night. There's only a few clouds in the sky, and they're far enough from the city that the stars are mostly visible above. Joe's hands won't stop shaking. He's so tired.

He's better, for the most part. But he still dreams about the ocean more often than not, still has days where he can't handle being in contact with water, moments where he thinks it's all a dream and he'll wake up in the coffin any moment and can't seem to remember how to breathe. There are still things he just doesn't know about this new world, languages he can't speak the way he used to. It still haunts him, even though he's better, and he can't get away from it, no matter how much he wishes he could.

Nicky doesn't speak at first when he returns, just closes the door carefully behind him. Joe doesn't turn to look, but he can hear him moving around.

This safehouse is one of their nicer ones, and so there's a CD player in the bedroom, with a small stack of CDs beside it. There's some way to play music in every safehouse they've been to since they left Malta - if there isn't, they get one. There's a few albums or songs Joe likes to have wherever they are, but there are others they pick up at random from thrift stores nearby, so each safehouse's collection is slightly different. He listens as Nicky picks one up and opens its case, then places the disc in the tray. He skips forward a few tracks, and then lets it play - it's one of Joe's favourites, familiar and gentle.

Only then does Nicky approach him, still careful to step on the creaky floorboards so Joe can hear him coming, wrapping his arms around Joe's waist from behind, taking both of Joe's still-trembling hands in his own. He begins to sway them both back and forth in time with the music, not quite dancing, just keeping Joe grounded.

Joe lets his head fall back onto Nicky's shoulder without really thinking about it. For a long while, neither of them speak, and bit by bit the iron bands around Joe's chest begin to loosen, letting him breathe properly.

"I don't want to feel like this anymore," Joe says finally. "I don't - I want to be able to stop thinking about it. I want to be able to feel like it was just a nightmare. I want-" His voice breaks. "I hate this."

Nicky's fingertips brush the backs of Joe's hands. "I know. But you've come so far, Yusuf. This won't change that, and it will pass, I promise. You won't feel like this forever."

"And what if it doesn't, and I can't ever get past it?" If the bad days never go away?

Nicky kisses the curve of his shoulder. "I'll be here," he says simply. "Always. If you want to take another break from jobs and go back to Malta for a while, or if you want to stay. I'll be with you, whatever you decide.”

Joe nods.

He won’t make any decisions tonight. They’ll rejoin the others later, and maybe tonight he’ll dream of drowning again, and maybe he’ll scream himself awake, and maybe he’ll be okay in the morning but maybe he won’t. For now, he closes his eyes and listens to the music.

(If he dreams, Nicky will be there when he wakes. And if he’s okay in the morning, Nicky will help him decide what to do next. And if he’s not, then Nicky will stay with him until he is, no matter how long it takes.)

(Joe will be okay, with time.)

#neon writes #the old guard #kaysanova #iron maiden joe #had. an interesting day. so wrote this enjoy #this belongs in a longer sequel i'll probably write eventually that (mostly) explores joe experiencing More Stuff that didn't make it into #the first fic. but yeah i couldnt stop thinking about this this morning.#the song nicky plays is canzone dell'amore perduto by fabrizio de andre which! fun fact was almost the song in the second to last scene #of libero libero but i changed my mind at the last minute so its actually mona lisas and mad hatters #however i still wanted amore perduto in there somewhere so. this it is #i simply think joe would like it.#anyway! happy tuesday #userlyde #userlinax #lazynbored

79 notes · View notes