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finleycannotdraw · 4 years

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Guess what? I’m re-binge-reading Good Omens. And here are some Obervations that I forgot about and some things I might put in fics. Also things I found funny. Basically my dumb commentary on the book.

Crowley actually flees Sister Mary. He doesn’t saunter vaguely away. He flees.

Ligur is rather more thoughtful than he’s portrayed in the show

Anathema likes to read about herself, and her teachers are confused because she spells words like Agnes Nutter

Crowley apologizes

By page 41, it is mentioned at least twice that Aziraphale and Crowley Do Not choose each other’s company for any reason other than that they are constants, that they have an Arrangement, and that they are Friends because being Enemies got boring.

Aziraphale blushes!!!!!!

The Drunk Scene is fuckin hilarious and it’s actually a lot longer than it is in the show, and really you ought to read it. (Book pages 47-50)

My mom (who has a PhD in human development) would probably like to talk to Crowley about upbringing because they seem to agree on how important it is

War has always looked 25, and had a vulture that died of fatty degeneration

Pollution is very cleverly compared to actual pollution

Warlock has Kermit the frog overalls, and Nanny Ashtoreth is described as someone who “advertises unspecified but strangely explicit services in certain magazines”. The tutors are present for about four paragraphs. Warlock is good at math and likes banana flavored bubblegum.

Crowley has a slice of angel cake. Aziraphale eats it. Aziraphale also eats deviled eggs. Hm.

Crowley calls Aziraphale angel casually enough to suggest he’s been doing it for a long time

Some girl at Warlock’s party calls Aziraphale a f*ggot

Crowley glares suspiciously at a gerbil. It is suggested that Hell has, in the past, sent hell-gerbils in place of hellhounds.

“Oh dear,” muttered Aziraphale, not swearing with the practiced ease of one who has spent six thousand years not swearing, and who wasn’t going to start now.

Adam and his friends play in a place called The Pit, where shopping carts go to die, apparently

Crowley is the first one to mention sides in the book!??!? Also Crowley goes on about how humans are more evil than Hell (but he calls himself evil—is he calling himself human already?)

Aziraphale yells “get off the road, you clown!”

“What’s a velvet underground?” *love confession???* “you wouldn’t like it”

Aziraphale is a bit rude to Crowley in the “flashes of love” scene and Crowley is less panicked about it

Crowley glares at the Bentley and it fixes itself

Anathema’s bike is called Phaeton

COULD THEY ACT ANY MORE MARRIED OH MY GOD

Aziraphale speaks like. Like ugh. “FlOUndeR on tHe rOcKS of inEquiTY”

“Thirty seconds later someone shot both of them. With incredible accuracy.” *cuts to a random pleasant story about Mary Hodges* *cuts back to where Aziraphale has fallen into a rhododendron and Crowley licks the paint before he knows it’s paint* dumbasses

Crowley does not slam Aziraphale into the wall

Crowley is actually pretty impatient and doesn’t argue with Aziraphale when he’s worried

“Nothing but dust and fundamentalists” “that was nasty” “sorry, couldn’t help it”

When the radio sings “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,” Crowley sings “for me” and then screams

Crowley asks Aziraphale if he’ll keep in touch, and Aziraphale doesn’t say tickety-boo, and then Crowley says “right” and feels very alone

the international express man is small and has glasses, and wears green woolen socks

The sword, which turns out to be Aziraphale’s, is described as having an aura of hatred and menace, which makes me think of how it could’ve gotten that aura from Heaven or from humanity or from War...

In the book Pepper has red hair and freckles, which makes it a cool comparison to War’s appearance and the defeat of War

Adam is excellent at slouching, apparently

Occasionally, as Aziraphale reads the book, he would very nearly swear

“He wouldn’t have said ‘that’s weird’ if a flock of sheep had cycled past playing violins.”

“If you had told him there were children starving in Africa he would’ve been flattered that you’d noticed.”

“...that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.” (151)

Wensleydale watches David Attenborough programs

Shadwell’s voice is described as “the color of an old raincoat” and seems to fake smoking cigarettes

Aziraphales cocoa is moldy and solidified by the time he calls Arthur Young, and has a thin layer of dust on himself too

Newt says that the walls look like nicotine and the floor looks like cigarette ash, and he suspects both are, actually, coated with these substances

Newt looks a bit like Clark Kent, and people seem to like Shadwell for some reason, much to his annoyance.

Aziraphale calls Shadwell “dear boy” on the phone

Agnes Nutter called God a daft old fool #goals

Adam is wayyyy too good at video games

Smelling Anathema’s perfume makes Newt uncomfortable

Adam suggests that Pepper ought to have Russia cause of her red hair (huh)

Anathema and Newt actually have decent conversations?? Like?? Show??? C’mon, man. The show kinda butchered their relationship.

Trees, apparently, make a ‘vvrooooommm’ sound when they grow very fast

“He suspected that Crowley was from the Mafia, or the underworld, although he would have been surprised how right he nearly was.” Shadwell also thought Aziraphale was a Russian spy. Wow, Shadwell.

Aziraphale calls Crowley and actually says “shut up” to him, and then when the answering machine beeps, he tells Crowley to “stop making noises” and then he swears for the first time ever.

The fuckin’ footnote on page 227

“A sleek computer was the sort of thing Crowley felt that the sort of human he tried to be would have.” I like the word choice here. He’s not pretending to be a human, he’s trying to be one. That’s a really important distinction.

It never actually says what Crowley does to his plants.

Crowley’s flat is very white. Wow, Crowley. It just looks dark because of the lighting. Heaven imagery and symbolism out my ears, goddammit.

Why does Hell say Crowley’s name so much when talking to him?? Honestly, I think that’s an intentional dig at his chosen name, using it in their speech to scare him. Wow, Hell. (And wow, Finn, excellent sentence)

Whenever the book says something is shaped like something, it definitely isn’t that thing. “man-shaped” “dog-shaped” “car-shaped”... makes it pretty obvious they aren’t men, dogs, or cars, huh.

The code to Crowley’s safe is 4004. The year he “slithered onto this stupid, marvelous planet”... and the year he met Aziraphale, of course. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, Crowley, my dude.

Crowley consideres sticking Hastur into his car until he turns into Freddie Mercury but then decides even he isn’t that cruel

Actual text that I feel like nobody really agrees with: “Madame Tracy was by many yardsticks quite stupid”

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” “...imagine me out of uniform, sir, and what kind of man would you see before you? Honestly?” “A prat.”

I’m crying. The fucking bookshop fire scene made me fucking cry. I’m literally crying.

“...on all fours in the blazing bookshop, Crowley cursed Aziraphale, and the ineffable plan, and Above, and Below.” “The police and firemen looked at him, saw the expression on his face, and stayed exactly where they were.” “...a crack of thunder so loud it hurt....” *the sound of Finley sobbing into their cat*

The shortest biker in the cafe thing is 6′2, what the fuck

War, Famine, Pollution, and Pop Trivia 1962-1979

“Pollution removed his helmet and shook out his long white hair. He had taken over when Pestilence, muttering about penicillin, had retired in 1936. If only the old boy had known what opportunities the future had held.” HMMMMMMMMMMM

“There were no bitches in Hell either.” I know it’s talking about female dogs, but I rather thought Hell was full of bitches.

“Why are you talking like a poofter?” “Ah. Australia.”

“gOsh, aM i on teLEviSiON?” (Basically Aziraphale gets passionate about stuff and likes to talk).

Crowley is actually an optimist and doesn’t dwell too much on how sucky the world is. He doesn’t go get smashed in a bar. He just finds Aziraphale’s notes in the book and heads to Tadfield. And also, his new pair of sunglasses just... materializes out of his eyes. And he likes to whistle.

“Death and Famine and War and Pollution continued biking to Tadfield. And Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty to Animals, Things Not Working Properly Even After You’ve Given Them A Good Thumping But Secretly No Alcohol Lager, and Really Cool People traveled with them.”

“on top of the pile a rather large octopus waved a languid tentacle at them. The sergeant resisted the temptation to wave back.” Honestly dude, if an octopus waved at me I’d wave back.

Wait Agnes was apparently talking to Shadwell and not God when she said yowe daft old foole. I dunno

Madame Tracy: You old silly. Shadwell:

Aziraphale does not know how to get rid of demons. Canonically. “Had never done other to get rid of demons than to hint to them very strongly that he, Aziraphale, had some work to be getting on with, and wasn’t it getting late? And Crowley always got the hint.”

The road to Hell is paved with frozen door to door salesmen, apparently. The question is where it is, because the demons always seem to just stem out of the ground.

“Heigh ho,” said Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway. I love this sentence during that scene.

I bet Hastur gets really mad whenever he hears Aziraphale’s voice from now on

Crowley isn’t breathing the entire burning Bentley scene

ADAM. SAID. “But I reckon you can make your own side” AND WE FUCKIN IGNORED IT?

The temperature above the M25 was simultaneously 700ºC and -140ºC which makes me think of something I read about magenta not being real. The M25 is magenta.

I feel like “Agnes” is just going to become an inside joke between Anathema and Newt at this point, and it will drive Crowley insane because he knows who she is but somehow still doesn’t get the joke.

I’m six inches taller than R.P. Tyler, and apparently according to the back sleeve of the book jacket, I’m very similar in height to Neil Gaiman

R.P. Tyler thought Shadwell was a ventriloquist’s dummy, and then sees cows doing somersaults

“That’s terrific. Much obliged,” said Crowley. — “Funny weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” “Probably because your car is on fire.” .... Also the fact that Crowley looks like a young man which I find interesting.

“The Four Button-Pressers of the Apocalypse”

“Where is Armageddon, anyway?” “I’ve always meant to look that up.” “There’s an Armageddon, Pennsylvania”

Famine is the one that says “that’s one big avocado”, and also, I find it interesting that War, more than once, talks about love. (All is fair in love and war much?)

Anathema threatens the guard with a stick, pretending it’s a gun

Aziraphale, of course, asks Crowley to sort it out because he, Aziraphale, is “the nice one” and then proceeds to sort it out himself. Because of course he does. Because what else could he possibly do.

I just ADORE THIS BOOK OKAY

I’M PROBABLY GOING TO READ IT AGAIN IN A MONTH

Aziraphale and Crowley are so fuckin married I can’t

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itsevidentvery · 4 years

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Watch you eat cake

Look, ‘slither over...watch you eat cake’ would. Not. Let. Me. Be. So here is The Obligatory Quarantine Ficlet, in which Crowley does watch Aziraphale eat cake over Zoom, and slithering is at least strongly implied.

Crowley’s always known, vaguely, that Aziraphale has a computer. It is a clanking, whirring behemoth of a thing, for which ‘rebooting’ does genuinely involve the vigorous and repeated application of a kick to its side. It’s been souped up gradually under the ministrations of the whilom Sister Loquacious, and Aziraphale’s blithely rattled off specifications sleeping mildly under its battered hood that would make a NASA mission control room seem overpowered. Crowley suspects there are nuclear launch codes lurking underneath the crocheted runner draped alongside it. There’s something… comforting, Crowley thinks, fitting that something of such awesome power rests beneath that unassuming exterior.

Crowley knows, intellectually, that the machine’s capable of accessing the internet. It probably has its very own internet slumbering underneath its tartan cover. But today is the first time he’s ever come face-to-face with the possibility that Aziraphale might exercise that function.

‘You – you know about the internet?’

Aziraphale – visible over a webcam of a resolution so stunning no earthly internet connection could be responsible for it – is wearing an expression of mild puzzlement. ‘Yes. That is where Wiki Pedia lives.’

‘Wiki - ’

‘I have had,’ says Aziraphale, ‘some – er – minor disagreements about the Lutheran Apocrypha.’

‘You’ve had death-matches about the Lutheran Apocrypha on Wikipedia?’

Aziraphale turns pink and mutters something Crowley can’t quite catch about rationalskeptic666, with whom the angel seems to have a particular grudge.

‘All right,’ says Crowley, who suspects the history of this particular beef could easily fill its own Wikipedia page, ‘but why Zoom?’

‘Is that what this is called?’ says Aziraphale. ‘Oh, because it’s so fast, I suppose. How delightful.’

‘No, I – never mind. Angel, why are you calling me?’

‘Well,’ says Aziraphale, pinkening again, ‘you offered to watch me eat cake.’

‘I offered to slither over and watch you eat cake,’ says Crowley. He’s still a little stung at the rebuff.

‘Yes,’ says Aziraphale, ‘but of course, that would never do.’

‘Right,’ says Crowley.

‘There are rules,’ says Aziraphale, and there seems to be a certain emphasis in his voice. ‘It wouldn’t do to break the rules.’

‘Suppose not,’ says Crowley.

‘I couldn’t break the rules,’ says Aziraphale, and there’s a certain pleading in his voice.

‘No,’ says Crowley. ‘You mustn’t break the rules.’

‘No,’ says Aziraphale, leaning forward until his nose nearly bumps his screen, ‘no, I mustn’t break the rules.’

‘So you said,’ says Crowley. He’s a little irritated that Aziraphale seems to feel the need to hammer home the point like this.

‘Right,’ says Aziraphale. He seems to have deflated a little, Crowley can’t tell why. ‘But I did bake a cake, you see.’

‘You’ve baked several, I thought,’ says Crowley.

‘Yes,’ says Aziraphale, ‘but I just baked a cake.’

‘All right,’ says Crowley, a little baffled. ‘Er- enjoy?’

‘I intend to,’ says Aziraphale, ‘but I thought you might – you said you – you offered to watch.’

‘I offered,’ says Crowley, ‘as I believe I’ve said before, to slither over and watch you eat cake.’

‘You did,’ sighs Aziraphale, ‘but I thought that we could. Er. You could. Watch. Even if you couldn’t slither. As it were.’

He lifts a china plate with a slab of something gooey and rich-looking to his webcam.

‘Oh,’ says Crowley. ‘Oh!’

‘Sachertorte,’ says Aziraphale, his voice caressing each syllable. ‘I had to miracle myself the apricot jam, of course, but I thought - ’

Crowley miracles himself a fainting couch so quickly he pays no attention to the upholstery – a particularly vile chartreuse that does his colouring no favours – and sits back. ‘Go on.’

Aziraphale poises his fork over the cake, with all the ceremony of a high priest anointing a monarch, and cuts himself a delicate sliver. Crowley watches his eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

‘Are you watching?’ asks Aziraphale, his voice lower than usual.

Crowley nods and then, seeing that Aziraphale’s eyes are cast down, says ‘Yes.’ His voice, in sharp contrast, is rather higher than usual.

Aziraphale raises his fork to his lips and takes a small bite. His eyes close all the way and he lets out a little sound. Crowley, leaning forward, watches his Adam’s apple move as he swallows.

‘Oh,’ says Aziraphale, on a dreamy exhale. ‘That was - ’

‘Take another bite,’ says Crowley, as Aziraphale’s eyes open.

Aziraphale’s eyes are a little darker than usual, in the flickering candle-light of the bookshop. ‘Another?’

‘Yes,’ says Crowley. ‘Take – take a bit with the cream.’

Aziraphale’s nostrils flare a little. ‘All – all right.’

He takes a slice of the cake, with a tiny cloud of cream, buttery-golden.

‘It’s hand-whipped,’ says Aziraphale. His voice lingers on ‘whipped’.

‘Is it,’ says Crowley. ‘Take some more.’

Aziraphale obliges, and lifts his laden fork to the camera for Crowley’s inspection. ‘Will I do?’

Crowley swallows. Aziraphale says ‘Is this what you want?’

Crowley’s eyes fly to Aziraphale’s and he says ‘Eat.’

Aziraphale’s eyes turn even darker. He raises the fork to his mouth and takes what any reasonable observer would consider to be a pornographic drag on the tines of his fork.

His eyes lower by torturous millimetres. His head falls back a little and his hands rest on the tabletop in front of him. Crowley sees them, soft palms up as if in supplication. Crowley’s own hand reaches out to cover it on his screen before he snatches it back.

Aziraphale savours. He chews, slowly and methodically. A little moan passes his lips.

‘What,’ says Crowley. ‘What’s it like?’

He’s never wanted to know before, but here, now, he wants to reach through the screen and into his angel’s head and join him.

Aziraphale swallows. ‘It’s,’ he says, ‘it’s rich. Decadent. Complex.’ His eyes open, and Crowley gasps at the weight of their gaze. ‘It’s not the same.’

Crowley’s throat is very dry. ‘No?’

‘No,’ says Aziraphale. His tongue swipes, slowly, over the corner of his lip, licking away at the trace of cream that had been lingering there. ‘It’s not the same at all.’

‘Shame about the rules,’ says Crowley. ‘otherwise I could…

‘…Slither over,’ says Aziraphale, and Crowley buckles at the sound of the words in Aziraphale’s mouth, ‘but Crowley, the rules.’

‘The rules,’ says Crowley, watching Aziraphale.

‘The rules,’ says Aziraphale. ‘If you did, Crowley – why, you couldn’t leave.’

‘Couldn’t I,’ says Crowley, watching Aziraphale.

An emphatic shake of the head, curls quivering. ‘You’d have been exposed, don’t you see? You couldn’t. It wouldn’t be responsible, Crowley. I couldn’t let you.’

‘Oh dear,’ says Crowley. ‘Still, you’ve got some cake on, yeah?’

A dimple appears. ‘I’m baking gateau opera.’

‘My favourite,’ says Crowley, who wouldn’t be able to pick out gateau opera in a lineup. ‘Get the claret out, will you?’

‘They won’t arrest you, will they?’

Crowley grins and looks down at himself, where his skin is shifting and settling into gleaming black scales. ‘I don’t think the rozzers have powers over ssssnakes, angel.’

‘Slither over,’ is what Crowley said, and ‘slither over’ is what he meant.

#my fic #good omens #good omens tv #ineffable husbands #a very ineffable quarantine #Good omens quarantine #good omens lockdown

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readbythestarlight · 4 years

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HAPPY GOOD OMENS DAY

Title: What pairs better with me than you? Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley Summary: A sort of alternate ending/continuation of the Good Omens Lockdown short. Crowley says goodnight and hangs up, but Aziraphale finds he can't just leave it at that. Disclaimer: author knows nothing about wine pairings

cross-posted to my Ao3 (not linking here because tumblr sucks, but you can find a link to my ao3 on my blog or else look me up: emiwankenobi.)

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“…You know, I could hunker down at your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle, a case of something drinkable?”

Aziraphale frowns, and habit brings denial to his lips before he can even think of a different reply. “No, I—I—I’m afraid that would be breaking the rules. Out of the question!” A deep breath. “I’ll see you when this is over.”

A half second of quiet before the reply comes. “Right.” Aziraphale frowns, hang on, that’s not right. “Yeah... I’m setting the alarm for July. Goodnight, Angel.”

“Hang on, Crowley,” Aziraphale begins, but the line has already clicked dead in his ear, the call disconnected before he can say anything else. He stares at the phone for a moment before slowly returning the receiver to its cradle, disappointment settling heavy in his chest. Now what on earth was that all about? Had he said the wrong thing? Crowley had certainly sounded unhappy. And for him to simply hang up like that, that wasn’t like him at all.

“I wonder what’s gotten into him,” Aziraphale muses, allowing his worry to flow from his voice into the very, very empty air of his shop.

“I’m sure he’s alright,” he added, pausing again, but of course nothing answered back. His cakes and his books were all entirely non-interested in the subject, it would seem. Aziraphale fretted.

“He needn’t have hung up like that. And really, that isn’t how it’s supposed to work,” he went on objecting aloud. He had thought—well, that had always been the way it had worked before; he would say oh no and oh dear and we couldn’t possibly—

And Crowley would counter with what if and why not and come on, Angel, and no one will know. And then, whatever it was, they would. Dinner, a concert, raising the supposed antichrist with the goal of avoiding Armageddon. At the start of every proposition he would say no, and Crowley would say but why not yes, and it was simple as that. It was a game they’d played almost since the very beginning.

But not this time, apparently, and Aziraphale can’t quite put a name to the feeling that settles in his chest at the thought. Can’t quite help but wonder why not this time.

“What has gotten into him?” he once again asks his empty shop, and once again he receives no answer. Admittedly he is rather lonely here, with no one coming and going. Even those pesky would-be thieves had been almost pleasant company after days all by himself.

“He won’t really sleep until July, will he?” he wonders aloud, and experiences a sinking feeling of certainty which he doesn’t like at all. “Oh dear.”

Without really realizing he had come to some sort of decision Aziraphale dials the only number he knows by heart for the second time this morning, his ancient phone connecting. He does not fidget with the cord while the line rings one, twice—

“What?”

The greeting is much the same as the first time he called, sharp and annoyed, and Aziraphale realizes much too late that he hasn’t actually decided what he wanted to say.

“Ah, Crowley? It’s me—sorry, yes, you know that. Um—I—you see—yes.” A painful half second’s pause. “Hello again.”

Across the line he hears a sigh, and can easily imagine Crowley pinching the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “Something you forgot to say, Angel?” he asks, sounding just on the edge of his patience. Aziraphale knows he needs to say something, and quickly.

“Yes, actually. Um. I forgot to mention,” he begins, stalling for time. He looks around the room for inspiration and finds it in the half eaten remains of the schwarzwälder kirschtorte. “Wine.”

“Wine.” Crowley echoes, impatience now mixing with bewilderment.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says again. “Yes, wine. You see I made a lovely schwarzwälder kirschtorte, I think I mentioned it?”

“You had to miracle the cherries, yeah,” Crowley confirms. “What’s that got to do with wine? Or me?”

“Oh, well, you see, I’m afraid that I’m running rather low on a good wine to—to pair with a few of my desserts,” Aziraphale said, absolutely refusing to acknowledge how utterly ridiculous he must sound just then. “Specifically something that pairs well with chocolate, and…”

Silence descends as he trails off, the kind filled with static from his ancient phone line and absolutely nothing else. It goes on for long enough that Aziraphale begins to wonder if maybe they’ve been disconnected—or worse, that Crowley has hung up on him again. He fidgets as he says, “Crowley?”

A stirring breaks the silence. “Yeah. Yeah, Angel, I’m here.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale answers, and presses on before silence can fall again and make things even more awkward. “Then, I, um… I don’t suppose you know where I would be able to get some. Wine. That would pair well with the kirschtorte.” He clears his throat. “ A nice pinot noir, perhaps a whole case?”

The sound of movement crackles through again. “I’m fresh out of pinot noir, I’m afraid,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale feels fresh disappointment beginning to creep in, alongside embarrassment.

“Oh, I see,” he begins. “Well—”

“I’ve got some port though,” Crowley interrupts. “A whole case, even. That pairs with cherries and chocolate well enough, don’t you think?”

Had Crowley told him he’d gotten his hands on a second copy of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies Aziraphale could hardly have been more pleased. It’s only ages of practice that allows him to reply with any semblance of being calm, and even then glee slips through that he can’t hide. “Oh, oh yes, I believe a port would do very nicely.”

“Good,” Crowley says, and “Great. I’ll just, er, pack up a few bottles and pop over, shall I?”

He sounds uncertain, and small wonder really, Aziraphale thinks, considering that very same proposal had been dashed down by himself not ten minutes before. Only here it is again, Crowley reaching out and leaving it for Aziraphale to decide. Just like always. Probably waiting for Aziraphale to hem and haw and come up with a reason why they shouldn’t.

Not anymore, he thinks, determined, lips pressed in a thin line as if to hold back the old habits of objection. Certainly not today.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asks, after too much quiet. Doubt has crept into his voice, doubt and resignation. He thinks he knows what’s coming, and it’s that which finally spurs Aziraphale into saying what he knows he ought to have done long, long before now.

“Yes,” he says, with a deep breath and six thousand years of tenderness creeping into his tone. “Yes, please. I’d like that very much.”

#Good omens #good omens lockdown #good omens day #ineffable husbands #crowley #Aziraphale #crowley/aziraphale #good omens 30 #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #my fic #GO fic #i edited this like four times and if i didn't post it now i never would so here we go

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superwho-am-i-kidding · 4 years

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Shoofly Pie

For the lovely Erin, thanks for the idea! Send in your own requests!

...

“It turns out, I have a whole cookbook section here in the bookshop!” Aziraphale told Crowley proudly. His voice softened, “And, I got peckish…” Crowley listened to the angel on the other side of the phone ramble on about everything he’s made so far with a soft smile. “And then, once I’ve baked them, I have to eat them all myself,” he pouted. “Which is why I was so delighted–”

“To send your burglars home laden with baked goods. Yes, I follow,” Crowley shook his head. “You know, I could hunker down at your place.” He shrugged, “Slither over, watch you eat cake, and then bring a bottle of–a case of… something drinkable.”

“I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules,” Aziraphale stammered. “Out of the question! I’ll see you when this is over,” he said, hoping Crowley would pick up his hints.

Crowley took in a disappointed breath and stretched out his back as he stood from his throne. “Right. I’m setting the alarm clock for July. Goodnight, angel.” Aziraphale looked at his phone as the line went dead. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He hurriedly dialed the demon’s phone number again. “What?” he drawled out on the end of the line. “I was just slithering into bed.”

“Come over at once,” Aziraphale demanded, all attempts at being sly gone.

Crowley let out a string of surprised noises. “You just told me–”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t expecting you to actually listen to me, Crowley! You are a demon, you’re supposed to do the opposite of what I tell you.”

“That’s not how demons work,” Crowley shook his head, smiling nonetheless.

“It is in this instance. Now come–” he stopped talking as Crowley appeared in his kitchen wearing silken pajamas that were unbuttoned far past scandalous and a bottle of what Aziraphale imagined was something red and expensive. His eyes didn’t make it too far past the pale triangle of skin on the demon’s chest, freckles and a light spattering of red hair capturing his absolute attention. “Over,” he stammered, finishing his sentence, his eyes flicking back up to meet Crowley’s.

Aziraphale thought he saw a faint blush on Crowley’s cheeks. “Well, I’ve come,” he said, “come over,” he tried to nonchalantly toss in at the end. “Now show me what you’re up to.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale smiled pleasantly. “I’ve most recently made what the Americans call ‘Shoofly Pie.’ And it is marvelous, my dear!”

Crowley raised a judgmental eyebrow. “Fly pie? Sounds appetizing.”

“Oh, but you must try it!” Aziraphale turned to the pie tin, only to find it empty. “Oh, my,” his voice fell. “It seems I’ve overindulged myself again… I must try to work on that, lest–”

“Angel, if you say something like ‘lest I get softer,’ I will restart the apocalypse.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands together in front of his belly. “Gabriel did have a point, my dear, and I have been enjoying a rather large amount of desserts lately…”

Crowley groaned, ready to smack the daft angel in front of him. (But he didn’t. He only pretended to. In his mind, of course.) “So you enjoy the sweeter sides of life. Who cares? I, for one, like you just the way you are.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up with a beaming smile. “Oh, thank you!”

Crowley felt his insides go mushy, and he tried to push the conversation forward before it showed through. “Show me how to make this buggy pie of yours.”

Aziraphale sent another smile towards Crowley as he hurried to the small fridge that barely clung to life in the corner of the small kitchen. He made several trips, pulling out more ingredients than absolutely possible from the small box. Some of them weren’t even cold, like the flour and salt. Crowley just shrugged the confusion away and miracled an apron onto his lean frame. Aziraphale turned at huffed at the saying on the front of the red apron. “Really, my dear?” He sent an unimpressed gaze across the black lettering spelling out ‘YOUR OPINION WASN’T IN THE RECIPE.’

“I’ve got one for you, too,” Crowley smirked, snapping his fingers. Aziraphale looked down and the tartan patterned apron that read ‘OH, CRÊPE’ and laughed. “Now, how do we start this?”

Aziraphale took a rolling pin and began instructing Crowley how to roll out the crust. Once that was measured to fit the pan and set to chill in the fridge, he took an old mixing bowl and began unceremoniously tossing ingredients into it. The flour billowed out onto them when he accidentally dropped an entire egg, shell and all, into the bowl. “Oh, drat!”

“Would you like some help, angel?”

“No,” Aziraphale batted his hands away. Crowley raised his hands in surrender before backing away.

“Shall I start the topping, then?” he asked, glancing over the recipe with his ridiculous sunglasses slipping down his nose. Another puff of flour erupted when his glasses slid completely off his face and landed in the mixing bowl. Crowley looked down at them and grimaced before fishing them out. He returned the messy glasses to his face and grinned cheekily at Aziraphale. Crowley scrunched his nose as he tried to follow Aziraphale’s hand up into his hairline. The manicured hand came back with several pieces of eggshell.

“Wonder how that got there,” Aziraphale smiled.

“Haven’t the faintest,” Crowley smiled back.

Aziraphale turned to hide a blush as he grabbed a whisk for Crowley to begin the topping. “Do try to be a bit neater this time.”

Crowley’s smile faltered as he took the whisk. “Sure, angel.” They worked in silence until they set the pie to bake in the oven. “How long do we wait?”

“Nearly an hour, I would say.”

“In that case,” Crowley held up the bottle of what was indeed an expensive red. Forty-five minutes later, an angel and a demon were absolutely sloshed in the middle of a bookshop. “I bet,” Crowley slurred, “I bet you could put some of Belbze– Bubzl– Behbulibuah–”

“Beelb– Bezb–” Aziraphale tried to help.

“Fly dude’s flies in your cake,” Crowley finished.

“It’s, it’s a pie,” Aziraphale muttered. “And there are no real bugs in it.”

“Then why’s it called shuffly?”

“Shoofly,” Aziraphale corrected, sobering up slightly as he heard a timer begin to ding.

“Mmm, wha’ever,” Crowley gestured wildly with his arms.

“Americans,” Aziraphale shrugged. “They have strange names for things.”

“I once… I once had these two American buggers call me Cr-OW-ley, not CROW-ley. Like, they said ‘ow’ like I’d schmacked ‘em or something.” He hiccupped as the timer rang a second time. “’S that the cake?”

“Pie,” Aziraphale mumbled, sobering up a bit more. “Sober up, dear, and let’s eat.”

Crowley let out a whine and Aziraphale left him in the den to do his business. The demon sauntered into the kitchen a moment later looking a bit worse for wear. “Better be worth me getting sober,” he muttered.

“I like to think my company isn’t all that intolerable,” Aziraphale smiled as he served Crowley a slice.

Crowley scoffed. “Most of the time it isn’t.” He took a bite of the warm molasses and hummed. “You’re right, this is pretty good.”

“Why, yes, I’m glad you–” he paused and frowned. “Most? Crowley, what do you mean most of the time?”

#ineffable husbands #but they're not husbands yet #haven't even kissed #or held hands #they'll get there #maybe in another prompt????#crowley #aziraphale #good omens #my writing #shoofly pie

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animetrashlord-007 · 4 years

Text

M.I;; Chapter Seven

Word Count;; 4.3k

Genre;; Fluff, Suggestive, Eventual Smut, Slowburn

Pairing;; Oikawa x Ushijima

Side Pairing;; Kuroo x Sugawara

Summary;;

Them boys eat cake.

Published;; 08.14.18

Notes;;

My Masterlist

Mutual Interests Masterlist

It was two o’clock in the afternoon and the cafeteria was bustling. Students congregated in small groups and the noise level continued to rise as people poured into the large, open space. Most teachers chose this time slot for their meal break so the majority of students followed suit. Since it was one of the few times everyone in the group had available most days, they often joined in on the lunch rush madness.

Kuroo and Oikawa were bickering over something inconsequential, as per usual. Ushijima stared between the two, taking small bites of his hayashi rice. He had planned to wait for them, since that was the polite thing to do, but it became obvious pretty early on that his food would go cold before they settled down enough to eat.

“I was being a bro and this is how you repay me.”

“What does that even mean?!”

“I did a quick tidy up in my room and freshened up the place before you arrived and gave you time and space. The ultimate bro move.”

“You call that a tidy up?! Your side of the dorm was a pigsty! How can you say it was for me? If you weren’t being a pervert, I wouldn’t have had to go to your bed in the first place!”

“Well, I’m a little too busy to make the bed everyday, you know.”

Ushijima nodded at the approaching figure, clearing off the garbage from the table and brushing off the empty seat beside him. Oikawa and Kuroo continued their conversation, their tones rising to match the volume of the rest of the student body. Ushijima held back a sigh. Weariness doubled the effort and drained the limited energy he had. He took another bite of his rice.

“What, too busy screwing Suga?”

“Ah, but Oikawa-san, you misunderstood the situation.” Kuroo, who was just about to respond as well, slammed his mouth shut and turned to face their approaching friend. Suga’s warm smile was contagious and soon the entire group perked up. Ushijima pat the seat next to him, a silent plea to the setter to sit between him and the others. “We weren’t having sex.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo piped in. “You could have come in.”

“As if!”

“It was just some light BDSM. What’s a few spanks between friends?”

Suga laughed, though his smile no longer reached his eyes. “Kuroo is just a really good friend. He’s straight, after all.”

“Exactly. See, he gets it. It was just some fun between friends.” Slapping his knee, Kuroo cooed at Suga and called out to him as one would a pet, drawing out his words and blowing small kisses at the end of his sentences, “Now come here, sweetie pie. We missed you.”

With his wide smile and twinkling, sweet eyes, Suga slapped Kuroo upside the head before sitting next to Ushijima.

“Ouch! You’re gonna leave me by myself? Sugar buns? My lollipop? Baby cakes?”

“You’re not by yourself, Kuroo-san. Oikawa-san is right next to you.”

Kuroo chuckled, swivelling around to face his usual target, mischief brewing in his eyes. Following Oikawa’s groan and pointed glare at Suga (who threw up a peace sign in response and started eating), the two delved back into their usual bullshit.

“Cheer up, plum pudding. I’ll let you sit on my lap if you’d like.”

“Stop calling people weird names!”

“Honey bear, do you need a hug?”

“Get lost, Kuroo-chan!” The two began to wrestle, Oikawa throwing off Kuroo’s arm while Kuroo inched closer and closer to the setter. It wasn’t until Suga was taking a sip of his drink and the table slammed against him, spilling the drink onto his shirt, that the two stopped. The fearsome aura Suga exuded was enough to stop even the heartiest person dead in their tracks. With a smug laugh, Oikawa continued, “No one wants you around, not even Mr. Refreshing, sweetum.”

“I can’t believe you’re angry at me just because you wasted your chance to fuck Ushijima.”

There was absolute silence at the table for seven seconds, just enough time for the words to be processed. Once everyone was back on the same page and Kuroo’s implication was explicitly understood, the floodgates of Hell were about to shatter.

Ushijima choked on some grains of rice, coughing and spluttering as he reached for his water bottle, a tinge of red on his cheeks that matched his watering eyes. Suga, who had been in the middle of pointless small talk with the ace, let his jaw hit the ground while snapping around to face the others, shock written plain as day across his features.

“Not again,” Ushijima managed to gasp out between gulps.

“Again…?”

“Are you telling me again that I need to bone Bakatoshi?” The air chilled around the group as a murderous atmosphere surrounded Oikawa, his eyes darkening and all traces of his cheerful facade erased.

“Again?!” Suga squeaked, looking between each of the boys while slapping Ushijima’s back.

“Yeah, because you need a good dicking, you little bit-”

“Kuroo-chan,” - a shiver ran down Suga’s spine at the whispered words, the air around them further darkening - “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Ushijima knew he wouldn’t get around the table fast enough to stop them before they embarrassed themselves in front of a large majority of the school. He also knew that his energy was too low to keep them both in check right now, especially after the effort it took just last night when he felt somewhat less crappy than he did right now. What he fully understood, though, was that he had to do his best to stop them anyway. That’s what friends do, after all.

And it was in this moment that Ushijima knew there was a heaven as four angels descended upon the group, their bright eyes dancing in anticipation as they bounced and skipped and beamed at the boys. Soft, gentle smiles greeted them and their voices were melodic and calm. Giggles erupted between them as shy glances were exchanged.

“We’re sorry to disturb you!” One of the girls started, twirling her black hair between her fingers, oblivious to the scene that had been playing out only seconds prior.

“We saw you from across the way and, well…” the brunette on the right chimed in, trailing off when she made eye contact with Oikawa who was already back in character, his face brightening as he watched them each in turn.

“I made extra treats today and thought…” the second brunette added but also fell victim to his heartstopping smile and gorgeous chocolate eyes.

“Oikawa-san, you like milk bread, right?” It was the black-haired girl again. She was more confident in herself, voice nor gaze wavering as she spoke. “Ushijima-san, Kuroo-san, there’s plenty for you as well. Cookies and cupcakes, too, if milk bread isn’t your thing.”

“And some for you too, cutie,” the tallest girl in the group, the leader if her strong tone and protective stance in front of the others was anything to go by, winked at Suga as she placed the bag of goodies on the table. She had short, wavy blue hair with dark roots peeking out at the top, a few black strands braided from her fringe and pinned to the back. She was spunky and cute, the type of woman that would never put up with Oikawa’s bullshit, and was obviously doing this for her friends.

“Thank you so much! You’re all so sweet and beautiful!” Oikawa grinned, jumping from his seat to stand next to them. He towered over the girls, even the leader, which in turn caused the two shy brunettes to back away and hide further behind their friends. Honing in on this, Oikawa smiled at them and asked their names, opening the gate for mindless chatter and casual flirtations.

Kuroo pretended to gag as he listened to Oikawa and his honeyed, fake words before joining the new group, wrapping an arm around Oikawa’s shoulder and nodding along with him. There were a few others around the room (mainly women) that allowed their curious eyes to land and linger on the group, gaping at how smooth the two men came across. Charisma oozed off their tongues, lulling their admirers further into a trance.

“So… again, huh?” Suga murmured, his volume low enough to avoid being overheard.

“Yes. That’s part of the reason they started fighting last night. Kuroo is having too much fun riling Oikawa up and Oikawa is stressed over something. He’s letting his guard down and letting it get to him. The idea that he wants to sleep with me is absurd, but Oikawa isn’t himself lately and is allowing the idea to fester and irritate him.”

“Or maybe he wants hot, angry, hate sex.”

Once again caught in a coughing fit, Ushijima smacked his fist against his chest, a blush reddening his ears. Suga laughed, the sound loud and joyous, gaining a curious look from the girls. He waved them off and as soon as their attention was focused elsewhere, Suga nudged and prodded the ace, raising his eyebrows in a rapid, suggestive notion.

“Not you, too, Sugawara-san. That’s exactly what Kuroo said…” Ushijima sighed and let his head fall against the table.

“You sure are taking it in stride.”

"It’s all speculation created for the sole purpose of upsetting Oikawa. It’s baseless.”

“Hmm, true. I guess the real question is, would you do it if it were true?” Ushijima didn’t respond. He didn’t want to provide any more ammunition but that didn’t stop Suga from taking it how he wanted. “You’re a super trooper, Ushijima-san! A real man! No wonder he wants to sleep with you!”

“Who wants to sleep with that idiot?” Oikawa hissed as he slithered into his seat, his eyes sharp like knives as he glowered at Suga.

“You,” Suga sneered, pointing his finger at the brunet.

“I know where you sleep, Suga-chan!” Oikawa laughed, taking a bite of the milk bread left behind by the girls who had since disappeared.

Slapping Oikawa’s back, Kuroo fell into the seat beside him. He slung his arm around his shoulder once more and tugged the setter to his chest. “Listen, Oikawa, I think we should be each other’s wingmen. You’re hot. I’m hotter. We’re loveable, at least until they get to know you better. We’re perfect for each other.”

“Honestly, I hate to admit it, but you’re not wrong about us making a good team. Very wrong about who’s hotter. The other stuff, though? I’ll give it to you. And yet here I am” - grabbing Kuroo’s wrist and bending it backwards, Oikawa waited until the blocker cried out in pain before flinging his arm away - “preferring to die rather than spend unnecessary time with you.”

“Geez, when did you become so violent? Stop spending so much time with Suga!”

“Get lost.”

“Yeah, get lost, sweetie,” Suga snapped.

“Fine, fine. I can tell when I’m not wanted. You’ll miss me soon enough, anyway. Bye-bye Ushijima, see you back at the dorms.”

With a wave, he departed, stopping to chat with a few members of the volleyball team on the way out of the cafeteria. Now that the aggravator had left, both Suga and Oikawa calmed down, placid smiles resting on their faces as they chatted. Their lunch break was coming to an end and Ushijima was considering taking a nap instead of attending their study session when he felt someone tug at his shirt. Blinking twice, he tried to refocus and clear his bleary eyes, yawning in the process.

“Ushijima-san, are you okay?”

“I think…” Oikawa started, squinting as he observed the ace. “I think he got brain damage from that shelf.”

“Don’t joke like that!”

“I’m okay, thank you for your concern.”

“So boring! Why couldn’t it have rewritten his personality and made him fun!”

“That’s what we say about you, Oikawa-san!”

“‘We’ as in you and your lover?”

“How many times do I have to tell you it isn’t like that!”

“He called you Koushi. That seems a bit intimate, especially given the circumstance. Wouldn’t you agree, Bakatoshi?”

“Perhaps. But you call me-”

“See? We all agree. You’ve hit rock bottom, Suga.”

“For the last time - we’re not dating!”

“That’s worse, Suga-chan. It truly is an act of desperation. A cry for help, even. Do you need someone to talk to? Because Ushijima is right here and he’s a great listener. It’s one of his only strong points. Just don’t expect a meaningful reply.”

“You’re such a dick, Oikawa-san! Be more considerate of his feelings!”

“It’s fine, Sugawara-san. I’m used to it,” Ushijima shrugged, indifference and exhaustion etched into every fiber of his being.

“You’re trying to change the subject, aren’t you? Everything you do makes me think you’re on a downward spiral.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Suga muttered under his breath, his hands covering his face as he tried to regulate his breathing and let the other setter’s words roll off his back.

“Idiot 1, comfort Idiot 2 while I go find Kuroo.” Oikawa nodded to himself as he stood. He pointed a long finger at Ushijima and tutted. “Do us all a favour and just listen to him, don’t try to speak. You’re shit at it.”

“I can’t decide who I want to kill more. Ushijima-san, let’s change schools.” Suga looked up at the ace once they were alone. When he saw Ushijima’s lip twitch and a small chuckle echo from within his chest, Suga continued, “Or at the very least, let’s ditch those two and become roommates instead.”

“I’m worried they might do something illegal if left unsupervised.”

“Ha! That’s a good point.”

They finished their food in comfortable silence. Once they cleaned off the table and divided the baked goods into fourths, they left the cafeteria and walked toward their usual study spot: the library. The librarian seemed pleased at the lack of the rowdier two members of the group, offering additional, friendlier help. It was a nice change. The peace and quiet was more than welcome but the group felt lacking at the same time.

Settling down in their preferred seats and pulling out their respective textbooks, both of the boys read and studied in silence. Ushijima didn’t need any help with the current curriculum and Suga was working several weeks ahead. It was a relaxed session, with the two chatting on occasion and sharing their cookies and drinks. After a few hours passed, Ushijima closed his books and packed up his supplies. A headache was starting to fog his already exhausted mind.

“Are we done?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, Ushijima-san.”

“Sugawara-san… I apologise for earlier. I should have been quicker to respond to you and given you a proper explanation.”

“Huh?”

“You were obviously concerned and when Kuroo-san and Oikawa-san didn’t answer, I should have taken it upon myself to answer instead. We were all tired but that’s no excuse. I hope you can forgive us all.”

Suga scratched his head, a nervous bead of sweat rolling down his temple while he watched Ushijima bow in apology, the whole situation becoming too formal and stuffy. “It’s fine, honestly. I hope you can forgive my outburst as well.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t apologise for those jerks, though. They don’t deserve you as a friend-”

“Well, well, well. Look at you studious nerds,” Kuroo chuckled, walking behind Suga and placing his arms around his neck, resting his chin on the setter’s head.

“You have no room to talk, Kuroo-san. You have a hard-on for Chemistry.” Kuroo scoffed, placing his hand over Suga’s heart in mock pain and pretending to cry. Knocking his hand away, Suga glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, “Where’s Oikawa?”

“Why would I know?” Suga and Ushijima shared an exasperated glance. “I haven’t seen him since I was banished by you all.”

“I’ve decided, Ushijima-san. I’m going to kill Oikawa.”

Oikawa strolled into his dorm an hour later, his skin glowing and bright. His face was void of stress. No longer wearing a mask (in both a metaphorical and literal sense. The green tea soothing essence masks he bought last month do wonders), his face was relaxed and smooth. He hummed to himself as he put away his spa bag. Once settled in, he acknowledged the simmering ball of fury in the corner of the room. He never made eye contact with Suga’s two oversized bodyguards, both of whom waited behind the silver-haired setter, one with a frown and the other a smirk.

“What’s wrong with you? Did Ushijima speak or something?”

“How did your talk with Kuroo go? You know, the one where you were going to lecture him and belittle him like you did me. Or maybe, and I know it’s a long shot, you’d grow up a little and work out that petty bullshit between the two of you?”

“Oh! I forgot about that!” Oikawa’s eyes widened as he tilted his head toward the blocker, the words bouncing off the tip of his tongue. “Kuroo-chan, you’re trash and Suga deserves better.” Flashing a peace sign and a large, fake smile, he looked at Suga again. “All done!”

“I told you I’m way better than him,” Kuroo snickered, shifting on his feet.

“I know I deserve better, which is why I’d never date him! How many times do I need to say this?!”

“Oi, I’m right here!”

“Did you work out your issues, then?”

“I have no issues!”

“Stop lying!”

“Like you can talk! Stop denying your feelings!”

“I don’t have any!”

“You can say that again,” Kuroo snorted. When everyone stopped to glare at him, he threw his hands in the air and huffed. “You know I’m right!”

Suga left first, rolling his eyes and mumbling about needing a drink. Kuroo followed behind, waving goodbye to his dormmate and flipping Oikawa off with a sneer. When it was time for Ushijima to leave as well, his legs wouldn’t listen to him. He remained grounded in place. Oikawa tapped his foot in impatience, holding both of his forearms with his hands, resting them in front of his chest.

“Well, Idiot 1? What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Not really.”

Oikawa waited. He waited for Ushijima to leave. He waited for him to at least move. He waited for his line of sight to shift, to break eye contact. He waited for him to speak, to explain something, to explain anything. When no answers arrived and instead new questions began to surface, Oikawa gave in.

“Come on then, let’s go.”

Oikawa interlaced their fingers, holding onto Ushijima’s hand as he dragged him out of the dorm and through the school. It became clear where they were headed so it came as no surprise to Ushijima when Oikawa stopped in front of the gym. Grabbing the spare key that was hidden under a rock (an obvious spot, but how Oikawa knew to check there was beyond him), Oikawa unlocked the door and pushed Ushijima inside.

“Alright, let’s play.”

“Right now? Should we even be here?”

“I’m offering to work with you, to set for you and your first response is to question me? You really are an idiot. Can’t you just live in the moment and enjoy yourself?”

“... Okay.”

Oikawa grinned, triumph stretching across his face as he bounded across the court and wheeled out the volleyball trolley. With Ushijima’s help, they got the net up and the court ready. Without warning, Oikawa took his shirt off and tossed it to the side. Quirking his eyebrow, faking confusion as he tapped his finger along his lip, he motioned for Ushijima to do the same.

“What’s wrong? We’ve seen more of each other than this before. Besides, there’s somewhere I want to go after this and we need to be presentable.”

The tables turned when Ushijima stripped down to just his boxers, leaving Oikawa flabbergasted.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“You said we need to look presentable.”

“How does that equal stripping down to your damn underwear?!”

Ushijima shrugged. “It makes sense to me.”

It was nothing new and yet it felt like Oikawa was seeing him properly for the first time. He looked attractive, and Oikawa hated it. He rubbed the back of his neck as Oikawa stared at him, his arm muscles flexing and bulging. Oikawa continued to look him up and down until their eyes met. He refused to be outdone or intimidated. With a light laugh, he brushed the unspoken exchange off and went to stand in the middle of the court, gesturing for the ace to follow before taking off his own pants.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was odd to play in just their boxers. Oikawa found himself losing focus more often and ended up spiking the ball out of court when he saw Ushijima bend over to collect some of the stray balls. After a few more rounds of serving practice and setting some spikes for the ace, Oikawa called it quits. Even though the majority of fault fell on him, Oikawa blamed Ushijima for the practice failing.

“I thought volleyball would be fun since it’s something we both enjoy but you’re hopeless, Bakatoshi.”

“Maybe we should try with our clothes on?”

“Maybe if you weren’t being a pervert and staring so much, it wouldn’t be a problem!”

“I wasn’t-” Oikawa’s irritated tapping echoed throughout the room, his foot setting a relentless pace. It was getting late and Ushijima could just about pass out at this point. He was in no mood to argue. ”Sorry…?”

“Whatever . There’s a bakery nearby. Let’s wash up and go.”

If playing in their underwear was hard, trying to wash together was worse. Oikawa shut it down pretty fast, forcing Ushijima to wait until he was done even though the shower room was huge and they could have each taken opposite corners. It proved more troublesome for Oikawa, however, as his mind kept wandering to how built and muscular Wakatoshi was. There was a voice in the back of his head that wouldn’t cease, that insisted he reenter the shower and approach Ushijima. It would be easy. There was no one around. He could just walk in, help him scrub his back, wash off the extra soap, clean his hair. Would it be weird? Was why he even thinking this way about Ushiwaka of all people?

He wanted to blame Kuroo, to say he poisoned his thoughts with all his suggestive, crude remarks, but in the silence of his mind, he knew the truth. He was starting to fall-

“Oikawa-san, do you need help?”

“What?!” He squealed, latching onto the nearest towel and pressing it against his body. His distraction had cost him too much time. Ushijima was dressed again, looking as handsome as ever, and staring at him with concern. Oikawa was still undressed, water dripping into his eyes from his wet hair, his clothes waiting for him by the mirror and sink. “I’m fine! Get out!”

“Okay.”

The walk to the bakery was silent and awkward. Oikawa refused to look Ushijima in the eyes and neither would speak. When Ushijima thought of something to say, the timing felt wrong so he looked off toward the horizon instead. The sun was setting and the air was beginning to chill. The streets were empty as they navigated toward the family-owned bakery. A few street lights flickered on here and there but the plethora of colour dripping from the sky was enough to keep the roads bright and clear. Once Oikawa announced that their destination was just a few stores ahead, Ushijima noticed that most of the other family-run businesses were closed already.

“Will they be open at this time of night?”

“Would we be going if they weren’t?”

The sharpness of his tone ended the conversation, cutting it short with brutal efficiency, leaving no room for even a peep or murmur. It didn’t help that Ushijima was practically a walking corpse by this point, either. His body threatened to give out under him with every step. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and seek out the comfort of his bed but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the rare moments he spent alone with Oikawa.

As he had been briskly informed, the bakery was indeed open. The elderly couple behind the counter beamed when they saw Oikawa. The man disappeared behind a makeshift curtain into the storeroom while the woman greeted them, talking with Oikawa as one would a son.

“Tooru-kun, take a seat. We’ll get your order right out for you, okay? Do you and your friend want some tea?”

“Thank you, ma’am! We’d love some!”

With a bow that each of the boys reciprocated, she wobbled to the refrigerator and grabbed out a jug of iced tea and started to cut some fresh lemon slices. Ushijima sat across from Oikawa. Without his usual cologne and fragranced body wash, he smelled musky. His hair stuck up in every direction, unkempt and carefree much like the setter himself. His eyes were distant, as if he was deep in thought. After a few minutes, the couple brought over the tea and a small cake. When they were alone again, Oikawa pushed the dessert to Ushijima’s side of the table.

“I didn’t know what to get you. I didn’t want it to be too personal and for you to think we’re friends or something. I figured you liked volleyball, and cake is standard for birthdays…” Oikawa laughed in embarrassment, his cheeks tinged pink as he continued, “I didn’t plan it very well though. It was a last minute, snap decision. I really screwed it up, though, huh?”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Bakatoshi, only you would say that. Well, whatever. Happy birthday.”

“You remembered?”

“Of course I did. What do you take me for? Do you think I’d willingly hang out with you for any other reason?”

“I didn’t think anyone knew.”

“Idiot.”

“Thank you, Tooru.”

“Just shut up and eat the cake already.”

#ushijima x oikawa #oikawa x ushijima #ushioi #suga x kuroo #kuroo x suga #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction #hq #hq fanfic #hq fanfiction #sugawara x kuroo #kuroo x sugawara #oiushi #anime #anime fanfic #anime fanfiction

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irishvampireboy · 4 years

Text

i wanna talk about the good omens lockdown thing because i have THOTS!!!

so, we know crowley offered to “slither over and watch him eat cake”, could he flirt more obviously??? i just.... okay not the point!!! stay focused!!!

so that happens, and aziraphale kind of panics and is like “oh no, no no that’s not a thing you should do you should stay home for sure definitely dont come here!!!!” and like.... the whole time we hear them speaking, the camera is moving slowly, and a bit intimately, over aziraphale’s tables and desks and showing his cakes and his tea and cocoa and books. books about demons. some of them very specifically about crowley... just... books about crowley lying on his tables just out in the open where anyone could see them, if they so happened to slither over to watch their angel eat cake.

what i’m saying is, aziraphale was missing his demon and reading fucking books about him and then said demon offered to come over and just BE with him and instead of just miracle-ing the books away like the smart angel he is, he panicked at the thought of crowley seeing those books open and just shut that shit down immediately. and then crowley said he was sleeping til july and aziraphale was probably beating himself up because really???? all you had to do was snap your fingers and it would have been neat and tidy and now the snake is going into a coma, well done angel, you panic like a pro.

#i just have a lot of feelings about that phone call you guys...#good omens #good omens lockdown #innefable husbands #crowley and aziraphale #crowley x arizaphale #mine

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sushiandstarlight · 4 years

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“Cardinal”: NaNoWriMo 30 Days of Prompts

Prompt One / Prompt Two / Prompt Three

This one is a bonus!

Read this story on AO3

After it was over they purchased a cottage in South Downs, but they didn't settle there at first. No, first they traveled. They went to places they had been before, but couldn't enjoy because they were there on official business. They went to places that hadn't been official business, but they hadn't been to together. They traveled to cities that they had watched spring to life, but were altogether different now than they had been at the beginning. New places that didn't exist until now.

Somehow, they wound up in a tiny town in the northeast of the United States just before Christmas time. The town was a tiny place, barely a dot on Google Maps. They didn't have their own newspaper, nor their own post office. And yet, they were in full swing for the holidays. A towering live tree dominated the town square, reaching towards the clouds and covered in as many lights as it would hold: a dazzling array of whites and golds and reds and greens. Garland dripped from every telephone pole and streetlight. A small red and green hut sat dwarfed beside the evergreen, proclaiming that Santa would be there for the good boys and girls of the town between the hours of 5pm and 7pm right up until the day before Christmas. There wasn't a night in the twelve before Christmas that the jolly voice of carolers couldn't be heard drifting from one street or another. Most houses offered them cocoa or cookies as payment and protection from the cold. Every house fought the darkness of night with thousands of tiny lights.

“Crowley, dear, it's more about good will towards all men, loved ones, gifts, and warm bellies nowadays. We should enjoy the revelry. It's thanks to us, at least in part, that they're still getting to enjoy it!” Aziraphale was delighting in the season whole-heartedly. He'd booked them a room in the only tiny little bed and breakfast near the town (which had taken a miracle and a half, let him tell you, with all the people returning home to be with family for the holidays!) and, while there, spent every evening baking sweets with the elderly lady that ran it. In the morning, he'd find them both tuckered out and snoring away on the matching oppressively floral recliners in the sitting room, sugar and icing-covered aprons still on.

Crowley would sip his black coffee and perch in the bay window, watching the snow gently falling against the backdrop of the rising sun, and he would want to hate it. He would really, really want to. But, he couldn't quite manage it. There was something different about celebrations this year. Maybe it was the newfound freedom they had. It pushed him to feel that little bit more human. They were here by choice, not assignment. They could leave if they so chose, and they chose not to. The energy the humans were exuding was positively contagious. The snowy weather made him cold to his very bones, yes, but watching Aziraphale enjoy himself? That warmed him well enough to be worth the chill. He blew a warm breath on the window pane in front of him a drew a snowflake. Then, smirking, he drew a serpent slithering around it.

“I made you something.”

Crowley jumped and hissed, nearly spilling what was left of his coffee.

“Sorry, I thought you would hear me coming.”

Crowley grumbled and shrugged. Normally, he would have. Something about this place had made him drop his guard. He blamed all the damned coziness. He set down his coffee and turned away from the window to face Aziraphale and held out his hand.

As he had suspected, Aziraphale placed a cookie in his palm. He hadn't expected the cookie to be delicately piped in a non-christmas design. Turning it to face him, he supposed the original shape was to be Santa's toy sack. It was a lumpy shape and he couldn't imagine what else it might have been. But, Aziraphale had re-imagined the shape. Now it was a coiled black snake with a red belly and golden eyes. A lump formed in his throat and he tried, desperately, to swallow it. His eyes were stinging, too, and that just wasn't fair. Not over a cookie.

“I thought, well you know... The whole Santa myth is nice. And angels and Christmas trees and presents are good and well. But, my Christmas wouldn't be right without you in it, Crowley. Christmas is about time with family.”

“Th-” Crowley coughed and cleared his throat, “piping's pretty good, Angel. We might have to put you to work.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale waved him off, “you should see all the cookies that didn't make the cut while I was figuring out how to do this.”

“Could I see them?” Crowley just knew.

“Certainly not, they're all...” the angel sniffed, “disposed of.”

“Meaning you ate them.”

“To remove the evidence!” He was puffed out like an agitated bird and it took every bit of Crowley's self control not to laugh.

“Too right, can't have the evidence laying about.” He looked back at the cookie, the idea of eating it made him a little sad. Aziraphale had obviously put a lot of work into it.

“You can eat it, I won't be upset. I made it for you. Her recipe really is positively scrumptious.”

Crowley peered down at the cookie, glanced back at the expectant angel, and then back at the cookie. He then did the only thing that seemed right: he stuffed the entire thing in his mouth and chewed.

“Now, really.”

“Wuff?” Cookie crumbs went everywhere.

Aziraphale just laughed and cuffed the back of his head gently before turning back towards the kitchen.

“Wuss good, Angel, fanks!” Crowley called after him, gulping his coffee to help ease the cookie lump down his throat.

That night, everyone left their homes late in the evening. There was almost no need for the streetlights-although they were lit- the festive houses shone in a rainbow of Christmas revelry that did more than enough to fight the night back. Families came out and greeted one another, walking together. Adults laughed at the children as they squealed and threw snowballs at one another. Grandparents tutted about wet clothes on a cold night, but still smiled as if remembering what it had been like to not care about such things.

Crowley joined the crowd that left the bed and breakfast together, but lingered behind them. He had hoped Aziraphale would join them, that he was only lagging behind for some reason. But, the angel was nowhere to be seen. So, he followed the group to the square, wondering what this was all about.

Arriving in the square, he saw that there were lines of tables on either side of the Christmas tree. One side was laden down with dozens of baskets of ornaments. Old ones, clearly antique (and probably ridiculously breakable. New ones, covered in gaudy glitter that somehow looked beautiful when placed near the twinkle lights. Strands of garland, tinsel, and popcorn- the birds were sure to have a field day with that! The other line of tables were covered in all kinds of treats: one contained warm beverages from coffee to tea to cocoa. Another contained festive foods: turkey, ham, stuffing, rolls, mashed potatoes, and gravy. And, nearest the tree, was one covered in cakes, pastries, pies, and hundreds of cookies. Behind that table he spotted Aziraphale next to the woman that ran the bed and breakfast. They were laughing as they watched a small child eat one of the cookies, getting more icing on his face than in it.

Something relaxed in his gut, just seeing the angel again. Just knowing he was here, after all. Aziraphale had said that Christmas wouldn't be the same without Crowley. Crowley was beginning to think none of his days would be the same without Aziraphale. All the time they had spent apart over the last 6,000 years and now he didn't want to spend more than an hour or two without him.

“What, no Christmas snakes for the table?” his breath puffed out into the air between them and dissipated.

“As it just so happens, I did make you one more.” Aziraphale reached for a tiny paper plate that was hidden behind the other mounds of goodies and handed it to Crowley. It was another snake, like the one before. But, this one had cookie crumbs delicately placed all over it's snout.

“You know what, Angel?” Crowley could feel the laugh bubbling up from his belly and twitching at the sides of his lips.

“What, you old serpent?”

“I absolutely deserve this.”

Aziraphale's laughter rang out over the square, traveling into Crowley's ears and, somehow, curling at the bottom of his spine and making his limbs tingle. Or, you know, it could be frostbite. He would blame frostbite, for sure.

They both turned, smiling, to watch as the town folk gathered around the ornament tables. Everyone plucked up something, small or large or gaudy or delicate. The children grabbed whole baskets and skipped merrily to the tree. Someone was high above on an electric company lift, hanging giant baubles around the top. Everyone down here would only be able to decorate, at most, to the seven foot mark. Still, by the time they were done, the whole bottom half of the tree glittered and twinkled with so many decorations you could hardly find any tree beneath them.

As voices rose together in song between the tables and the front side of the tree, Aziraphale joined Crowley around the back side, handing him a steaming cup. Crowley sipped it: coffee and cocoa with marshmallows. Not his usual fair, but still good. He took a big swig, feeling it warm him from the inside out while the voices warmed him from the outside in. “I'm glad we stopped here for the holiday.”

“Hmm, me too. Though, I wasn't exactly expecting you to enjoy it.”

Crowley shrugged and took another deep sip, licking the melty marshmallow from his upper lip.

“I have one more thing for you.”

“You didn't have to get me anything.”

“I know, but I wanted to. It's half store-bought and half homemade. Little chintzy, really. You don't have to pretend to like it if you don't.” Aziraphale was dithering and shifting on his feet.

“Well, let's have it, then.” Crowley put out his hand and waited.

Aziraphale eyed him seriously for a moment then reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box covered in red paper, tied with a opalescent white ribbon. He passed it over and then turned to face the tree.

Crowley drank the last of his cocoa-coffee and sat the cup on the ground at his feet so he could open the box. Inside, nestled amongst some tissue paper, was an ornament: it was a green wreath and inside it were perched two birds, a cardinal and a dove. The cardinal had clearly been a part of the original design. Whatever had been perched next to it- probably a second cardinal- had been carefully removed and replaced with the dove.

“Didn't know you could sculpt.”

“I had some help from one of the innkeeper's grandchildren, to be honest. Do you... do you like it?”

“I think it's lovely.”

“Really?” Aziraphale seemed to let out a breath he had been holding and relax, “Oh, I'm glad. I mean, it would have been okay if you didn't...”

“But, I do.”

“Yes, good.”

They spent another moment looking at the tree instead of one another before Crowley broke the silence.

“What does it mean? I'm sure there's meaning here.”

“Well... in a literal sense, cardinals are said to be messengers of love and signs that angels are near. Or angel, as the case may be. Doves are a sign of peace. Peace and love, Crowley.”

Crowley looked from the ornament to Aziraphale and back.

“And, figuratively?”

“It's our first Christmas together... as, well, as family. Our side. And, this is our reward... peace and love. That's what we're free to receive. Well, from one another.” The angel swallowed, staring pointedly ahead.

Crowley side-stepped closer and hooked his arm in Aziraphale's.

“I like that even more.”

Aziraphale shot him a glance and his stormy eyes were glistening, but he smiled.

“Let's put it on the tree then,” Crowley tugged him along by the arm, “we'll find just the right spot... Ah, here!” he removed a glittery red and green plastic ball and hung the new ornament in it's place, right next to a golden light. He pulled Aziraphale closer into his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. A moment later, the angel relaxed and tilted his head to rest on Crowley's shoulder. Crowley placed a kiss on his forehead and rested his own head on top as he gazed at the ornament.

“Happy Christmas, Angel.”

“Hmm, Happy Christmas, dear boy.”

The voices on the other side of the tree dropped off one at a time as people dispersed to their warm homes, ready to crawl under covers and greet the bounty of gifts that were to be found in the morning. The couple stayed behind, content in their closeness, until everyone else was gone. Then they held hands as they made their way back to the bed and breakfast by light of the moon and the towering Christmas tree.

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x arizaphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #30 days of prompts #christmas #christmas fic #christmas fluff #i said it all probably wouldn't be christmas #but i never said that some of it wouldn't be...

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moveslikebucky · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: lockdown - Freeform, Fluff, Pining, also a mouse is there, First Kiss, Love Confessions, the love language of wax seals, two months shouldn't be a long time for immortal celestial beings, but when you're pining, with art!

Everyone and their mother is writing a Lockdown fic and here is my contribution! Featuring them actually staying apart for the full 2 months, Aziraphale having a lot of introspection and befriending a mouse, and little clips of Crowley sleeping away 2 months of time xD.

My magical airplane friend @akinmytua2 did beautiful and amazing art for this fic and I cried about it a lot; so if you read this for nothing else go read it for her beautiful art and show her some love! <3 <3

---

“You know,” Crowley drawls through the phone, “I could hunker down at your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle, a case, of something drinkable.”

And wouldn’t that be something, Aziraphale thinks to himself. Some company right now would be lovely. The burglars had been unexpected but not entirely unwelcome. The thought of Crowley here with him drinking wine and watching him eat sends an all too familiar thrill through him.

Things had been nice lately. More relaxed. Clandestine meetings were now just days spent at the park. Lunch was no longer a means to an end, but something to be enjoyed together. None of the rendezvous points had names anymore (except when Crowley was feeling particularly ridiculous) - they were just places that they visited together. Gazes lingered, hands brushed over glasses of wine. Crowley spent more time sleeping in Aziraphale’s backroom than he ever had in the past. But, inevitably, he’d still wake up and go back to his flat - murmuring something about the plants on his way out.

“Hunkering down” seemed like a lot. There was no way to know how long this would last at the outset. Crowley could be stuck here for months. Lots of time to get sick of one fussy angel; lots of time to remember just how much Aziraphale had done wrong by him.

Besides that…they’re living by the rules of humanity now. Their own side - them and humanity. That’s what they had agreed to during their long lunch at the Ritz all those months ago. This is the important thing, to take care of them, even if it means being apart for a while longer. They’d risked everything for humanity, to save them from the forces of Heaven and Hell (actual level of usefulness notwithstanding). It wouldn’t make sense, none at all, to throw it to the wind now.

“No, I… I… I… I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules,” Aziraphale stammers out before he can stop himself, falling back on that comfortable old pattern. “Out of the question! I’ll see you… when… this is over?”

He hopes Crowley can’t hear the sadness in his voice. That he doesn’t do what he always does and circles back. Tempt, deny, tempt, give in - their well-worn dance of centuries and millennia. Aziraphale knows if Crowley insisted he wouldn’t be able to say no.

“Right.” Crowley says with resignation in his voice. “Um... I’m setting the alarm clock for July.”

July is so far away, Aziraphale nearly tells him to stop, to not go to sleep. They can chat on the phone again, be with each other that way. Spend time together over this distance with the sound of their voices at least. He says none of this. His coward’s tongue remains silent even as his sadness builds.

“Goodnight, angel.” Crowley says in a voice soft as anything before hanging up the phone. Aziraphale sits in the silence of the darkening bookshop and tries desperately not to imagine hearing that every night.

Across town at his flat in Mayfair, Crowley taps ‘end call’ on his phone. He heaves a heavy sigh, setting a reminder for 10am on July the 1st and rolls over onto his side. It’s not all bad, he’ll see Aziraphale when this is over. Maybe he’ll tell him when all of this is over, the extent of these emotions that eat him up inside. His eyes start to fall shut as sleep begins to overtake him, and he wraps his arms around a pillow pretending that it’s an angel.

Two weeks in and he’s getting sick of it already. Aziraphale has a sweet tooth, of course, but there’s only so far that can go. He’d really love to sit down to a nice plate of gravlax and dill sauce, or maybe a coq au vin. Something luscious with a nice bit of umami. Savory, earthy, perhaps a bit spicy.

For the good of humanity he is stuck here in the shop, so he peruses his cookbook section for something a bit more savory 1. He misses restaurants. He misses the waitstaff; someone else pouring the wine for you is always a bit of a treat. He misses the clean linen tablecloths and opening a menu, starting a new journey of his own with every new establishment. He misses getting to know the chefs, blessing them and their businesses. He misses softly playing music and the chatter of humanity in a background hum around him. He misses yellow eyes behind sunglasses across the table from him. He misses clinking wine glasses together in a toast to whatever the thing of the moment is. He misses a Cheshire Cat smile, mischievous but fond, flashed at him in these moments. He misses…well, he misses a lot of things. Best not to go down that road at the moment. Nothing to be done.

He stops on an old volume called A New Booke of Cookerie , taking a second to smile to himself at how languages change and evolve. He opens it and flips through for a bit, landing on a recipe for, of all things, pickled oysters. “Halfe a pinte of white Wine, and halfe a pinte of white Wine vinegar.” Oysters sound delectable. Though maybe not pickled. But maybe…on the half shell. With some lemon juice and a bit of honey. Mixed with just a bit of wine. Briny and salty, that would be the ticket, just like-

Oh.

Just like Rome. Petronius and those oysters; good wine and good company. That had been the first of he and Crowley’s, well, he didn’t want to say ‘dates’. Actually, he did want to say dates, he ought to say ‘casual friendly lunches’. Right now though, in the still and silence of the bookshop, he can’t quite bring himself to care one way or the other.

He holds the cookbook in his hands and thinks. Thinks about the way Crowley’s long fingers curl around the stem of a wineglass. About how open and unguarded Crowley is while he drinks his espresso, content to let Aziraphale eat his fill, wanting nothing for himself. About how right now Crowley could be here, watching him eat cake.

And Crowley had said that, hadn’t he? Aziraphale hadn’t imagined it, he’s sure. An odd thing to want to do with a friend, outside of an eating establishment at least.

He puts the cookbook back on the shelf and sighs, not feeling much like cooking anything now. He has an old Milton that needs re-binding, he’ll distract himself with that for now.

Seven weeks left to go.

Snrrtt

In a flat in Mayfair, under artificial pitch black darkness (bit of a demonic miracle), a demon snores away. He snuggles up to his pillow, arms still wrapped around it. A faint mumble that could possibly sound like “Aziraphale” escapes from his lips as he continues to sleep.

Skitter skitter skitter

The scratching and skittering is driving Aziraphale up the proverbial wall. Soon enough, possibly the actual wall, if that’s where he has to go to get away from them.

Currently, he’s on his hands and knees with a broom handle, arguing with a very stubborn little mouse. It’s taken up residence under one of the larger bookshelves and refuses to see reason2. All the mouse does is stare at him with his beady little eyes while he rubs his tiny hands together.

Aziraphale does not trust the tiny little hands. Too much mischief.

He has his face pressed to the floorboards, one eye closed. He can see the mouse there, sniffing at the broom handle. He’s trying to be gentle, moving the handle slowly, trying to coax the little thing out of hiding. “Come on then, little one, not gonna hurt you,” Azirpahale coos at it through gritted teeth. “Just going to catch you and drop you outside, everything will be tip top then.”

The mouse stares at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale stares at the mouse.

The next events happen in such quick succession that they must be broken down accordingly: The mouse, sensing impending danger, shoots forward directly towards Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale, sensing an impending mouse, jumps back and screeches in a high pitched tone that only occurs when one hits the high notes in some of the harder celestial harmonies. The shelf behind him, sensing an impending angel, braces for impact as he knocks into it. Twelve of the books on the shelf, sensing impending floorboards and being able to do nothing about it, fall with various thunks and thuds, most of them landing directly on Aziraphale’s head.

[Continue reading on AO3]

#link #fic #my fic #good omens #good omens lockdown #ineffable husbands #crowley #Aziraphale #and there's mouse there #his name is Theodore #my good friend Tarek drew amazing art for this fic and you can see it on AO3 or in the post I'm about to reblog from her XD

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ineffably-good · 5 years

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I Will Follow You Into The Dark (6/10) (GO Fics)

Read the whole thing on AO3 - it’s done!

Summary: In which there is cake and pancakes, and a healthy dollop of deep concern.

“I believe someone said something about cake?” Aziraphale said with a smile as they walked back into the shop after the short drive home. Anathema and Crowley trailed after him, Anathema clutching the bag with the book in it to her chest.

Crowley couldn’t help but grin. He was still concerned but if cake was the angel’s first thought, he couldn’t be doing too poorly.

“Checkup first, then cake,” Crowley said, trying to appear stern, as he led the angel tenderly to the couch. “Sit.”

Aziraphale sighed and did so. “Dearest, I’m fine, I wasn’t even there twenty-four hours. Let’s not overreact.”

Crowley frowned. “And approximately how much blood did you lose?”

“You know it’s not the same for angels, Crowley,” the angel said. “It really doesn’t matter as long as it wasn’t ALL of it. I’ll replenish. It’s not like I can get anemic.”

“How much?” Crowley repeated.

“Well, I’d have to guess,” the angel said, turning his attention inward and trying to figure it out. “Approximately – five pints? Possibly a bit more?”

Anathema looked shocked. “That’s half!” she said. “Half of your blood. How are you standing?”

He shrugged. “I’m not human, my dear, you know that.”

“Nonetheless,” Crowley said, “you’re taking it easy for a bit.”

Aziraphale made a gesture of submission and smiled at his two caretakers, who seemed to marginally relax. He leaned back and unbuttoned his waist coat, looking contented.

A second later he got up again. “I’ll just get some tea first, shall I?” he chirped brightly, heading towards the kitchen.

“SIT DOWN!” both Crowley and Anathema said in unison, then blinked at each other.

Aziraphale sat back down, amused.

“That was quite impressive, my dear,” Aziraphale said as Anathema headed to the kitchen to gather the tea things. “You at the tube station, I mean. Fighting off that bastard. It was so hard to sit there frozen and not be able to help you! I was so afraid you were going to be hurt and I wouldn’t be able to stop it!”

“I didn’t have time to try to free you,” Crowley said apologetically. “Had to move fast, not give him time to think up anything worse to try to do to either of us. As it was, I was lucky to take out one of his hands. He was more powerful than I expected.”

“Not as powerful as you,” Aziraphale said with a proud grin.

Crowley cleared his throat self-consciously. “Well,” he said. “Right then. Glad that’s over. But really, how are you feeling?”

Aziraphale gave it a moment’s thought. “I feel tired. A little woozy,” he said. “But not too bad. I think I would be completely all right after a little snack…”

He gave Crowley a side-eyed glance of silent, pouting appeal.

Crowley laughed. “Still angling for cake, then?” He snapped his finger and a platter full of individual cake slices of different types appeared in front of him.

“Oh my!” Aziraphale said, delighted. “Enough for everyone!”

“I should probably head back to Tadfield,” Anathema said after the cake and tea had been depleted and everyone was a little too stuffed. “Newt will be wondering what happened to me.”

Aziraphale reached across the table to the armchair she was perched on and took her hands in his. “My dear girl,” he said, “I owe you such an immeasurable debt for helping out Crowley and me today. Thank you seems completely inadequate.”

“It’s not, and you’re welcome,” Anathema said. “And I’m getting used to becoming embroiled in strange things with the two of you.”

She sounded, the angel thought, as if it were truly no big deal to help rescue a supernatural entity from a magician, just something one might do on any random day of the week if you were an occultist who lived in the same village as the antichrist and had personally stopped the four horseman from initiating a multi-strike global nuclear assault.

Then again, Aziraphale thought, maybe she had a point.

Crowley walked her out to her car, which was parked close to the Bentley and under its spell of protection from tickets. He held the driver’s door open for her as she got in, then leaned down to speak to her through the open window.

“Really, book-girl,” he said. “Thank you. You ever need my – our – help, just say the word. We owe you.”

“Call me if you need anything,” she said, reaching out to touch his hand. He found he didn’t mind it, this time.

Crowley watched until she was safely down the road and around the corner.

When he walked back in, he found Aziraphale at first trying to stifle a yawn; he soon gave up the pretense and openly yawned hard enough to nearly split his head in half.

“Sorry, dear,” he said, before being hit with another enormous yawn.

Crowley smiled softly. “I think we need to get you to bed.”

The angel couldn’t argue with that in his current state.

They headed upstairs, where Aziraphale was oddly touched as Crowley insisted on ridiculously helping him into his pajamas, standing by protectively while he brushed his teeth, and helping him into bed. The demon curled up beside him and pulled the angel into a tight hug.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Crowley breathed against him. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Do what?” Aziraphale protested. “It’s not like I summoned myself!”

“Even so,” the demon said, aware he was being nonsensical. He wrapped his arms a little more tightly, and Aziraphale was glad he didn’t have to breathe. “Just say you won’t.”

The angel nuzzled his head into his shoulder. “I won’t, my dear.”

Despite his usual aversion to sleep, the angel drifted off almost immediately. Crowley, however, laid awake long into the night, thinking about close calls and threats one could never foresee.

The next morning Crowley was surprised to wake up before Aziraphale. That had only happened a small handful of times that he could recall. He rolled over and looked at his watch on the nightstand and discovered it was almost nine a.m. Aziraphale was sleeping peacefully. Was he pale? He looked a little pale. He really must have lost a lot of blood.

He tried, he really tried, to stop himself.

He failed.

“Angel,” he said, giving Aziraphale a gentle poke. “Angel! You asleep?”

Aziraphale murmured something unintelligible and tried to roll away.

“Angel,” Crowley said, louder, continuing to poke. “Wake up! It’s late!”

“Oh you are a pest, aren’t you?” Aziraphale said sleepily. “All right, I’m awake.”

“It’s nine a.m., angel!” Crowley protested. “I was getting worried.”

“It is?” Aziraphale said, sitting bolt upright. “How did I sleep so long?”

“I’m going to go down and make breakfast,” Crowley said. “What do you want?”

Aziraphale thought. “I don’t know – surprise me?” Then he grinned. “Or pancakes. One of the two.”

Pancakes it was, then. Crowley got to work, determined to make the best blueberry pancakes the angel had ever had. He could hear the angel moving around upstairs, and if it took a little longer than usual for him to appear, that seemed like nothing to worry given the circumstances. Nonetheless, Crowley made a mental note of it. He’d simply have to nurse his angel back into health.

Aziraphale came down the stairs and made a brief detour into the shop to retrieve an equally sleepy-looking Frederick before sitting down at the table. “I missed this little guy!” he said to Crowley.

Definitely pale, Crowley thought.

The angel poured a saucer of earl gray and set Frederick on the table where he could easily dip his tongue into it, then set about quietly sipping his own and watching Crowley finish cooking.

“Here you go,” Crowley said, placing a plate heaped with pancakes, blueberries twinkling out of their steaming tops, in front of Aziraphale. It wasn’t quite the angel’s usual portion but it was pretty close. He’d run out of batter a little sooner than he’d planned after trying to flip two of them without a spatula – one was still stuck to the ceiling and the other hand landed on the side of the cupboard.

Frederick, done with his tea, slithered up to curl around Aziraphale’s neck.

WHERE’S MINE, SNAKEBIRD? he howled.

“Snakes don’t eat pancakes,” Crowley said absentmindedly.

I COULD LEARN! I’M NOT STUPID! YOU’RE STUPID!

“Angel, the snake wants a bite of pancakes,” Crowley said. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows questioningly and Crowley nodded. “Please give him some, so he stops abusing me.”

The angel cut him a small piece and held it up to Frederick’s mouth. He sniffed it hesitantly, then flicked his tongue out to taste it.

SMELLS WEIRD, the snake yelled.

“Well of course it does, it’s a pancake. It’s not made of meat.”

Frederick sighed and tried to swallow it. It did not go well. Several minutes of hurking, coiling snake later, he managed to cough it up onto the table top with a maximum of drama.

Aziraphale petted him consolingly and the snake curled around his wrist again and looked up at Crowley.

SOMETHING STILL SMELLS WEIRD, he shrieked.

Crowley sighed and picked him up. “Then don’t eat any more of it, you ridiculous baby,” he said, taking him back to his basket.

When he came back, Aziraphale had put down his fork and was folding up his napkin, despite eating only about half of his breakfast.

“Don’t tell me the snake put you off your meal,” Crowley said.

“No, not at all,” the angel said, his face a little drawn. “I’m just – not as hungry as I thought I was. Thank you, though, it was wonderful!”

Crowley watched the angel walk out towards his desk and sit down to start sorting through various record books. Since when had his angel ever not been able to finish a plate of pancakes?

Crowley watched him like a hawk for the rest of the day. The angel seemed to rally a little with tea and cakes around mid-afternoon, but he remained low energy.

The demon watched him lifting his teacup without even extending his pinkie finger with his usual flair, when he suddenly realized something.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, suddenly serious. “Where is your sigil ring?”

Aziraphale blinked and looked down at his naked finger on his right hand. “Oh!” he said tiredly. “That bastard took it. And my phone. I’d forgotten.”

“You forgot – “ Crowley ran a hand over his face. “Don’t care about your phone. Phones can be replaced.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and concentrated. “It’s in the tube station office,” he said. “I can feel it.” Before Crowley could stop him he raised his hand and snapped downwards in his usual ‘pulling from heaven’ motion. There was a subtle shift in energies and the ring appeared in his hand with a bright gleam.

“There,” he said with a ferocious little grin to Crowley. “All better.” He slipped it on his finger, looking smug, and then collapsed back against the seat cushion in fatigue.

Crowley grabbed a large section of his hair and pulled. Hard. “Angel, have you lost your – how much energy did that take?” he snapped.

“Just enough,” Aziraphale said. “Now stop fussing; I’m sure having the ring back will make me feel stronger.”

Crowley hoped he was right.

After a short walk, Aziraphale returned to bed and slept for another four hours before waking up again, and when he did, Crowley found him sitting heavily on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He knelt down in front of him and peeled the hands away.

“Angel,” he said firmly, “tell me what’s going on. You’ve slept for fourteen of the last twenty hours. You couldn’t finish your breakfast. Are you sick? Did Sebastian hurt you more than I’m aware of?”

“I’m just not feeling my best,” Aziraphale said, a grumpy expression on his face. “I’m not sure what’s wrong. I’m a little dizzy and everything feels like it’s moving a little bit.”

Crowley laid a hand on the angel’s forehead and found it warm. “Did Sebastian do anything to you besides take your blood? What all happened over the course of the day there?”

Aziraphale thought. “Well, he took my blood three times. And before the first time he threw me around a little bit, but I healed most of that.”

“What about all the scratches and scabs on your hands and knees?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, I hit the ground hard a few times – once or twice from him, and at least once from my own efforts to get out. Just got scuffed up a bit.”

“And was there anything else?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who was gazing at him with intense worry in his eyes. He hated to concern him further for something he was pretty sure had been untrue.

“Angel,” Crowley said warningly. “What is it? Don’t even think about not telling me.”

“He said he’d injected me with something,” Aziraphale admitted rather against his will. “When I first got there. But I think he was lying. I checked thoroughly and couldn’t find a puncture wound. And I saw no further evidence of it at all.”

Crowley rocked back onto his heels and tried to bite down the hot surge of anger that soared up his solar plexus.

He failed.

“He injected you with something?” Crowley shouted. “And you didn’t think that JUST PERHAPS this might be some information that I would NEED TO KNOW?”

Aziraphale flinched. This was also not his usual behavior, which worried Crowley even further. Healthy Aziraphale argued back; he didn’t flinch. Healthy Aziraphale took exactly zero amount of shit from his favorite demon.

“I thought he was lying,” he finally said. “I did try to check.”

Crowley stared at him in frustration and then grilled him on every detail of that conversation with Sebastian, and on pretty much everything else the magician had ever said. Then he repeated all of it to see if he could get Aziraphale to remember anything else. Then he started in on a third time, when the angel finally interrupted him.

“Crowley,” he said plaintively. “Can we please stop? I’d like to go downstairs and maybe sit on the couch and read. There’s nothing else to tell you, I promise.”

Crowley stared at him, still displeased, then pulled out his phone. “I’m calling Anathema,” he said. “Stay here.”

The call was picked up on the third ring.

“Crowley!” she said, sounding unsurprised. “I had a feeling you were going to call. What can I do for you?”

“If Sebastian died,” Crowley said slowly, “will his spells still affect Aziraphale, or are they dead too?”

He could hear Anathema pulling out one of her kitchen chairs and sitting down.

“Why? Is he okay?”

“Just answer the question, please?” Crowley said, barely managing to keep his frustration under control.

Anathema organized her thoughts. “Some spells die with their casters – spells that require concentration, for one. But a lot of spells don’t – many of them have a duration and they just continue until the duration is complete. Or until they’re removed.”

“What about objects, or potions?”

He could feel Anathema fighting the desire to ask questions. “Things that have been enchanted usually aren’t affected by the death of their maker – they usually stay unchanged. So talismans retain their power, and the magical sword stuck in the stone is still magic when someone pulls it out, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Aziraphale’s not well,” Crowley said, “and he says Sebastian injected him with something.”

“Not well how? And with what?”

“He’s tired, he’s dizzy, he’s not eating… just not himself at all,” Crowley said, “and I think it’s getting worse. And he doesn’t know what it was, but he said the man told him it was something to make him more pliant.”

He felt like he could hear Anathema biting a nail. “Pliant? Why would he need that with the summoning circle and the sigils?”

Crowley had a gut feeling about the answer. “It’s not easy to entrap someone as powerful as Aziraphale, if you’re a human, even with the sigils. He’s a cherub, after all. All those eyes. And he’s stubborn as all get out. Famous for it.”

“So he needed something to break through a little further, so he could maintain control.”

“Any idea what would do that?” Anathema asked.

“No idea,” Crowley said. “I was hoping you might know. Since the person who could tell us is dead.”

They agreed that she would come back up first thing in the morning to see if she could help.

Aziraphale continued to sleep like the dead. He went to bed shortly after Crowley was off the phone, and woke up the next day in the late mid-morning, when the sun was almost fully overhead. He staggered downstairs dressed in trainers and jogging pants – jogging pants! If the angel ever wanted to pick out an outfit to deliberately terrify the demon, it was this one. His angel did not wear athleisure, period, full stop.

The angel seemed out of temper and threw a bit of a fuss when Crowley informed him that Anathema was on her way back to London. A sick or injured angel, Crowley thought, was never a pleasure to deal with. Especially when the angel was his spoiled principality.

“I’m quite all right, you infernal meddler,” Aziraphale snapped. “I’m just tired and busy remaking five pints of angelic ichor. It’s quite difficult, you know.”

“Perhaps,” Crowley said, “but it’s not like we can take you to the doctor, so Anathema is going to take a look at you.”

She arrived shortly after noon. From his perch on the couch, Aziraphale could hear them whispering at the front door. Frustrated, he got up and stalked over confront them both.

“Now listen here,” he said with some heat. “I won’t have you whispering about me in corners like I’m some sort of child. If you’re discussing me, do it in front of me.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Who are you and what have you done with Aziraphale?” he admonished. “I’ve never seen you not greet a guest.”

Aziraphale had the grace to blush. “I’m sorry, of course. Hello Anathema. I’m terribly sorry you’ve been dragged back down here. As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

He did not look fine, Anathema thought. He looked feverish.

The demon marched him back to the couch and Anathema came to sit next to him.

“I want to see if I can sense any spells at work on you,” she said. “May I touch you?”

Aziraphale wasn’t much of a toucher, except with Crowley, but he indicated that he’d allow it. She urged him to lean back, then she laid both hands on his chest lightly. It felt like two small birds alighting on him, Aziraphale thought. Her touch was deft and gentle.

“I can sense something magical – a spell or a potion.” She said finally. “I can’t tell you what it does.”

“Can you remove it?” Aziraphale asked.

“I can try,” she said, “but the way we try to do that with humans might not work with you. Do you have an egg, to start with?”

Crowley got her whatever she requested, and they tried pulling the spell into the raw egg. They tried saltwater and incantations. They tried crystals and roses and sage. They tried chanting and singing and counter spells. In the end, Anathema sagged back into her seat with defeat.

“The only thing I can tell you is that something magical is weakening him, and quickly. I don’t know what.” She sounded frustrated. “It doesn’t seem to be tied to his physical body, so I can’t reach it.”

Crowley bolted up. “If it’s not in his corporeal body, it could be in his ethereal body! I can see his essence!”

“That’s a little personal, Crowley dear, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said peevishly.

“Shut up, angel,” Crowley said lovingly. “You’re not thinking straight.”

Anathema felt his forehead. “You’re burning up,” she said. “It’s affecting him like an infection.”

Crowley motioned for Anathema to change positions with him, and he sat down next to Aziraphale on the couch and leaned in, first to hug him tightly, then to pull back a little so their foreheads were resting together. With Aziraphale’s nod of permission, he stretched out into the ethereal plane and touched the angel’s being with his own.

At first he thought nothing was wrong – the angel was shiny and golden and his wings were present and didn’t look harmed. But when he delved in deeper he could feel it. Something was swirling through the golden glow at Aziraphale’s center, something that looked like dust. It seemed to be leaching something away, bit by tiny bit.

Crowley took his own essence and spread it comfortingly across Aziraphale’s, blending them together as they sometimes had in the past. The angel murmured softly and seemed comforted, then pushed him away.

“Not in front of Anathema, dear,” he said with a weak smile. “That’s just for us…” And then he closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep.

Crowley swallowed and his eyes met Anathema’s across the room. He wasn’t sure which of them looked more worried.

#good omens fanfiction #Aziraphale x crowley #anathema device #ineffable husbands #Aziraphale whump #angst

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paimaniagalaxia · 5 years

Text

Hunted: Aftermath Part 1

Enter Lilith: Mother of Demons

written by: Paimania Galaxia and Jordanthecat11

Summary: Word gets out that Beelzebub has been defeated, as it travels all the way to Lilith’s garden of sins. Hearing this, Lilith hands the care of the infantile Beelzebub into arms of Crowley. As Lilith has plans for her husband once she gets out of Hell.

Paimania Galaxia

Meanwhile in Hell, Lilith, the Mother Of Demons, was sitting in her black aesthetic garden. Just the Eden, but with a more gothic, dead touch to it. She was tending to her black roses as she was humming to herself as she works.

JordantheCat11

As the Mother of Demons was tending to her roses, a black wasp vibrated his wings furiously while carrying a small snake-insect bundle in his arms. He darted full speed ahead as he approached the garden, slowing down as he landed in front of Lilith while avoiding stepping on the rest of her plants. He bowed before her in respect and greeting.

Paimania Galaxia

“Oh... Waspper... What do you want?” Lilith grunts in disgust before seeing Beelzebub in the wasp’s arms. “Oh poor dear, what has you reduced to such an indignantly infant state...?”

JordantheCat11

The infant Beelzebub just cried and shrieked in defeat, unable to speak. Waspper buzzed his explanation to Lilith, saying that his master was vanquished and forcefully reincarnated because of a herd of lower demons led by her husband, Satan.

Paimania Galaxia

“Oh that happened now... My own husband destroyed another higher demon, with idiots by his side...?” Lilith tenses her fist as slivering vines come around Waspper. Squeezing him tightly before the bug’s head and body explode. Shooting bug goo everywhere.

JordantheCat11

Waspper felt a gradual amount of pain as he was being squeezed to death. Once his body was destroyed, the baby had fallen, rolling over to Lilith's feet as he continued to sob.

Paimania Galaxia

Lilith scoffs and kneels down. She picks Beelzebub in her arms before walking over to an apple tree. “Quit your sniveling... I have to give you to someone to watch over you...” she curses under her breath.

JordantheCat11

Beelzebub immediately silenced his cries, the last of the tears falling down his cheeks as she carried him over to the apple tree.

Paimania Galaxia

“CROWLEY!!” Lilith shouts angrily. As she had the snake demon, once a close friend to her husband and taken away when he was spending time with him over her. She had the demon’s neck chained to the tree of what turned her into the monster that she was.

JordantheCat11

The serpent awoke as he heard the sound of his 'mistress's' screeching. He hated this woman for napping him from his old master, as well as being chained up to the tree that he had her eat the apple from out of temptation. He thought to himself, I knew karma was a bitch, but this is ridiculous.

He sighed and rolled his snake eyes as he slowly slithered forward, only stopping a small distance away because the chain was too short. "Yesssss, my Lady?" he hissed at Lilith.

Paimania Galaxia

“Good to see that you’re awake...” Lilith grins as kneels down before the serpent. It was one of her favorite ‘pets’ to keep. Her other one was taken away thanks to Caligrafía’s nagging of wanting a ‘pet’ of her own. This was a ‘fair trade’.

“I need you to watch over someone for me...” she orders and shows Beelzebub.

JordantheCat11

"Hmm? What is it?" Crowley asked before lifting his head to see the babe. Beelzebub's face was scrunched up as if he were about to cry again, but dared not do so in front of Lilith.

"Oh bloody Hell..." he cursed. "Why do you have to put me on babysitting duty now of all times? Can't you get Hastur to do it?"

Paimania Galaxia

“Hastur is a pyromaniac when it comes to children... Loving to burn them.” Lilith gives her reasoning and rubs Crowley’s snake head. “But you need a better form than...’That’...” She sneers with a disgusted look on her face.

Crowley slightly glared at Lilith in annoyance, knowing he didn't have any other choice in the matter. After all, he was a demon, a creature made by Satan who had to obey those who were just as high in stature. Especially his bitch of a wife.

JordantheCat11

"Can you at least get this neck chain off me so I can transform and not choke in the process?" Crowley asked sincerely. "You can cuff me again in the ankles afterwards so I don't escape. Demon's promise."

Paimania Galaxia

Lilith sighs, as much as she liked seeing the serpent tied down like this— But he did make her an offer that she liked. It was more than a simple collar and leash. An ankle on a chain was more demeaning.

With a snap of her finger, she sets Crowley free.

“Fine. Transform now... And no running away out of this.” She warns. “I don’t want to kill another demon...”

JordantheCat11

"You have my word, my Lady," Crowley gave his vow as he bowed. Then the serpent stood up tall as his body changed to a more anthropomorphic form. He now had paper white skin, a pair of black horns, short red hair, a black suit to match, and a pair of shades that he didn't need to wear, but chose to anyway. He sighed deeply as he held out his arms. "Alright, hand Beelzebub over."

Paimania Galaxia

The mother of demons didn’t like how he looked, but it will do. Lilith hands over Beelzebub over to Crowley. She then snaps her fingers, ankle chaining the anthropomorphic toon to the tree again.

“There we go. That looks more pathetic...” she smiles a bit.

JordantheCat11

Crowley just rolled his eyes, as he was used to her degrading him like this. But as soon as he looked down at Beelzebub, the baby began to cry harshly again. Now this was going to get on his nerves for quite a while.

Why me? He groaned mentally.

Paimania Galaxia

“If you need me, I’ll be out...” Lilith replies back. “If you can stop him from crying... I can let you see your master again.” She offers, knowing this she can still have him in her grasp.

JordantheCat11

Crowley fell silent as the Mother of Demons spoke of his master. He knew her promises were true if her subjects did as they were told. He hoped to see him again someday, as the two shared a strong connection. Not just as master and pet, but as friends. And if that meant getting this baby to shut up, then so be it.

He took a deep breath as he began to sing to the screaming infant:

"Go to sleep and dream of pain,

Doom and darkness, blood and brains,

Sleep so sweet, my darling boy,

You will rule when Earth’s destroyed."

The singing was enough to soothe Beelzebub as he yawned deeply and closed his insect eyes, rolling his head on one side as he fell asleep.

Paimania Galaxia

Once she heard that the bustling baby demon was put to rest, Lilith gives a heavy sigh of annoyance. She had to put up with the likes of these morons long enough. It was about high time for some changes around here, only if she was in charge. Like that was EVER going to happen. The mother of demons then opens a portal, once she was far away from Crowley and Beelzebub. As she was going to pay a visit to a certain traitorous husband of hers.

As she ventures through, she exits out of the portal and enters into a dingy alleyway. The streets were bustling in the light as toons and humans alike pass by from her point of view.

"Urrgh... This place is disgusting..." She comments under her breath with distaste.

JordantheCat11

Meanwhile, just around the corner was a woman made of ink, strolling along the sidewalk. It was hot that day, so having to step foot on the sun-absorbed cement burned her heels. She had been walking for miles since leaving the godforsaken studio, which made her even more exhausted. But as soon as she saw the alleyway on her left-hand side, she dashed inside and sat herself down, fanning herself as she takes in the cool shade casting over her.

Paimania Galaxia

As soon as Lilith saw the woman come dashing towards her, she stepped back a bit. She gives a cold stare back as this miss looked like a mangled up mess, with some beauty to her as well. Horrible, but willing to speak to.

"Hot than hell, isn't it?" She asks.

JordantheCat11

The woman slightly jumped by surprise to hear another voice inside the alleyway. She looked up to see another female being standing tall and firm, looking down at her with sharp eyes. She wasn't sure why someone of her stature would be in an alleyway, but she was willing to get acquainted while resting.

"Y-yes," said the woman, her voice distorted from the gash on the left side of her face. "I suppose it is."

Paimania Galaxia

"I have been through worse..." She retorts back coldly, leaning up against the wall. "Let's just say that I live in that very place... But came up here for a mission to do. Personal wise."

JordantheCat11

The woman raised her eyebrow in confusion, not knowing the context of what she just said. The moment she shifted closer to take another look at her, she recognized her from the books she read back in the days of working for Joey Drew.

"Oh...oh, I see!" the woman replied. She then politely bowed before the Mother of Demons. "Your excellency...it's an honor. I am Alice Angel. But I assure you, I am far from holy."

Paimania Galaxia

"Susie Campbell is your name... I have heard of 'Alice Angel', and you don't look remotely like her..." Lilith retorts in an annoyed manner. Taking someone else's identity was a pet peeve of hers. "But I get what you mean, you want to be perfect like the Angel, sorry dear. But someone took that cake and ate it too. Along with making a family of their own behind your back..."

JordantheCat11

Hearing that name struck a nerve in Alice. "Don't. Call. Me. SUSIE!!" the angel shrieked, ink spreading out in the form of wings to surround her and the devil woman. She pants heavily in rage, not wanting to hear another word of that fake who took everything from her. And she vowed to find her so she could kill her and claim her son back.

"I already know of that family...of that 'Dancin' Demon'...even Asriel." A smirk appeared on her face when she said that name. "My one and only son who ran away from home...all because he was blinded by the light...all he had to do was stay and I could've raised him as my own...not run away to join the circus."

She realized that her words were only falling on deaf ears. She gave in and sigh as she retracted her wings back into her skin, then turned away. "Oh, who am I kidding? You don't care. Why don't you go and carry on your mission instead of wasting your time with the likes of me?"

Paimania Galaxia

Seeing her get so mad, amused Lilith a bit. Seeing her enraged and speak in spite of the Daemonium family was just what she wanted. Her own husband use to hate them, but now since she harmed Beelzebub and became good-- This could be her plan B. To finally break this pathetic family apart.

Lilith then leans over and places her hands onto Alice's shoulders as she coos with a happy, sadistic laugh.

"Oh my dear, many apologies... You really want that family to be yours, don't you?" She asks in a kind, manipulative tone. "Having that Asriel, who's a demigod no less-- All to yourself, don't you? I can tell you where he is... And how to capture him..."

JordantheCat11

Alice slowly lifted her head. Lilith's words were intriguing her. She could get Asriel back all to himself now that she was out of the studio. Her body was stable enough since coming back out of the machine, along with some other dark power inside of her. This was her chance at revenge.

She turned herself back around, standing up on her feet as she looked into Lilith's eyes. "I'm listening."

Paimania Galaxia

"I can create a special perfume for you to wear. To only Asriel can sense and follow you every word, even locking his other beings inside of him while he is under your control..." Lilith explains, letting go of one of Alice's shoulders and summons a small black, crystal glass bottle with a golden spray nozzle and pump.

"He lives in a mansion outside of town, a little north from here with a huge fountain up in the front. The doors have Bendy door handles on them. A dead giveaway for the Daemoniums..."

JordantheCat11

The more Alice glanced at the black bottle, the more wide her grin grew. This was excellent! A spell that could make Asriel hers forever! She took the bottle with ecstasy, holding it gingerly in the palm of her hand.

"Yes...this is genius," she commented as she kept her eyes on the bottle. "Once I reach the Daemonium mansion, I'll use this to lure my boy in. Soon he'll be mine once again...and we shall run his so-called 'family' to the ground." She chuckled evilly, bringing out more demonic distortion in her voice.

She then put the perfume in her cloak and bowed once again. "Thank you, My Lady."

Paimania Galaxia

"You are most welcome... All you need to do is just lure the boy away. That is all... I will handle the family. Taking them out one by one..." Lilith instructs Alice to follow her word. "I will be going by to see my husband of all things, since you do roam around a lot here... You wouldn't perhaps know where he goes on a daily basis?"

JordantheCat11

"If you insist..." Alice sighed. "But leave the other angel to me. I have a personal score to settle with her."

As soon as Lilith asked her about the Ruler of Hell himself, she tapped her finger against her chin twice. "Hmm...well, now that you mention it, I did feel the devil's presence from this 'Bendy look-a-like.' I was quite surprised honestly. But anyway, he went into this shop called 'Bow's Emporium.'" She stepped out of the shadows to show Lilith the way, pointing her finger over behind. "It's about seven blocks down and to your left. It'll be next to the bakery and this set of apartment buildings on Mean Street. Shouldn't be too hard to find."

Paimania Galaxia

Lilith looks over to where Alice was pointing at. She was glad that she knew who she was referring to, and had a way of getting to him. Finally enacting on her own revenge. An evil grin stretches across her face before cackling to herself.

"Much appreciated there Alice... I do hope we meet again, for now. I have a husband to punish..." She declares.

JordantheCat11

“Yes...this certainly was a delight,” Alice replied. “Best of luck with your dark endeavors, Lady Lilith! Until we meet again!” She went back into the alleyway to rest up some more, letting Lilith go her separate way. She would continue her own mission once evening fell so the heat wouldn’t be so overbearing and she could travel without witnesses.

Paimania Galaxia

"Until we meet again... Some sunny day..." Lilith muses to herself before smiling pleased with herself. Knowing full well that this family was going to have some hell to pay. As this was going to start with the demon who betrayed Hell, her dear husband Satan. This was going to feel so good, to her that is.

-The End-

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #batim au #bendy and the mafia crew #story collaboration #hunted arc #hunted arc aftermath #batim oc #lilith #good omens #crowley #anthony j crowley #alice angel #susie campbell #beelzebub

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eveningstarcatcher · 5 years

Text

Day 14: Eggnog

“What’cha doing?” Crowley curled next to Aziraphale on the couch, handing him a mug of cocoa.

“Just looking over the list. We still have a lot to do and only ten days left to do it!” Aziraphale took the mug with a happy little wiggle and took a sip.

“What have we done?” Crowley took a sip of his coffee and leaned his head on the angel’s shoulder to look at the list.

“Caroling, snow angels, decorating the tree, set out the nativity, wrapped gifts, saw the Nutcracker, made s’mores -”

“Is that a Christmas thing?” Crowley asked.

“I’m counting it!” Aziraphale nudged Crowley gently in his side and continued reading the list. “Ugly Sweater -”

“No. We did not do ugly sweaters. I did the ugly sweater. You still have to.” Crowley corrected,

“Okay, okay! Spent and evening by the fire, roasted chestnuts, kissed under the mistletoe.” Aziraphale’s voice got soft at the last one.

“Did we? I don’t remember.” Crowley smirked.

“Don’t remember! Crowley, how could you - OH!” Aziraphale’s mood shifted back to playful when he saw the grin on the demon’s face.

“Remind me?” He leaned in.

“Foul fiend.” Aziraphale shifted to lean in and the two met, lips soft and warm. Crowley nibbled on the angel’s bottom lip, which earned him a small yelp and he broke away, laughing.

“Didn’t like that?” he asked.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it, I was simply surprised.” Aziraphale blushed deeply.

“Sorry,” Crowley said as he nuzzled against Aziraphale’s neck.

“No need to apologize, my dear.” Aziraphale soothed, his fingers running through red hair.

“So, what’s next on the list?” Crowley asked.

“Well, if you’re up for it, I’d like to go out and try some of the traditional food items.”

“Of course you do.” Crowley smiled and pecked Aziraphale on the cheek and slithered off the couch. “Let’s go.”

“You don’t mind?” Aziraphale stood tentatively.

“An afternoon out sounds good, angel.” He held Aziraphale’s coat out to him.

“So, what’s first?” Crowley asked as they walked arm in arm.

“There’s this lovely little bakery just down the road that I’d love to pop into. I’ve heard they have lovely holiday treats available.” Azirphale tilted his head toward the warm rays of the sun peeking through the clouds and his pale hair glowed.

“Anything in particular?”

“Nothing was specifically mentioned, just that they’re very good.” Aziraphale beamed in anticipation. “I am looking forward to this.”

“I know you are. I can practically feel your stomach rumbling from here,” Crowley teased.

“Well, it is always best to enjoy food when one is hungry,” Aziraphale tutted.

The two turned the corner and could see the bakery’s sign. Aziraphale put a bit more bounce into his step as they approached. Inside, the shop was warm and decorated in bright colors - pink, turquoise, lime green, yellow, gold, and silver. Ornaments were hung from fishing wire suspended from the ceiling, giving the illusion that they were floating. They also hung in the window, suspended by ribbon covered in glitter, and on the small tree in the corner.

Aziraphale nearly pressed his face to the glass of the pastry case in his excitement. He had heard right - the case was filled with beautifully decorated pastries, cookies, and cakes of all flavors.

“Do you know what you want?” Crowley asked.

“I think I do!”

The small table was covered with plates of sugar plums, fruitcake, gingerbread men, and various pastries. Crowley held his coffee in his hand, as there was no room for it to be placed down, smiling over the top if it at his companion, whose hands flitted from plate to plate, nibbling from the many sweets. He gasped and exclaimed and moaned as he tried each one, savoring every flavor and texture, commentating like he was a judge on one of the baking programs that Crowley definitely did not enjoy watching, no matter how many times it just happened to be on his telly.

“These are all truly scrumptious!” Aziraphale set down his fork. “Would you like to try?” His blue eyes were wide with joy and sparkled in the lights that twinkled around the shop.

“What do you think I’d like?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I think this.” Aziraphale broke off a piece of a gingerbread man and held it out.

“Why this one?” Crowley asked, taking it, but did not eat it yet.

“Oh, it’s divi- I mean delicious. Spiced just right so as to still be sweet. It’s not over baked, nice and chewy, and the icing is light and the technique used is exquisite!” Aziraphale spouted off without any hesitation, beaming the whole time.

“Well, when you put it like that.” Crowley lifted the cookie piece to his lips and popped it in, chewing slowly, trying to understand what Aziraphale had said. It was chewy, not at all hard or dry, and it was a nice balance of spice and sweet.

“And, it seemed right. Gingerbread for the ginger.” Aziraphale smirked.

Crowley inhaled to laugh and a crumb hit the back of his throat, throwing him into a coughing fit. He dropped his coffee mug, which shattered on the floor, spilling what was left of his coffee.

“Oh, dear! Are you okay?” Aziraphale stood and knelt by Crowley’s side.

“M’fine,” Crowley wheezed. “Need a drink.”

“Here,” Aziraphale handed his cocoa to Crowley, who gulped it down, soothing his cough. “Better?”

“Better,” Crowley nodded. He looked up and there was an employee cleaning up the broken mug. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It happens,” he shrugged. “No big deal.” He shot a smile at Crowley and Aziraphale and dropped to the floor to wipe up the last of the coffee.

“I’ll get us new drinks, dear.” Aziraphale moved back to the counter and placed the order. He glanced back at Crowley as he waited for their drinks to be made and smiled.

Crowley rearranged the table, stacking empty plates, and shifting them around to make room for their mugs, which Aziraphale set down upon his return.

“What’s this?” Crowley asked looking down at the liquid that was definitely not coffee.

“Eggnog! Freshly made, I’m told!” Aziraphale beamed. “And I have a box waiting at the counter to bring home!”

“Eggnog...with eggs?” Crowley cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, yes dear. It’s very good. Just try it?” Aziraphale was heading towards disappointment and embarrassment and Crowley wouldn’t stand for that. He obliged and took a sip. It wasn’t bad really. Warm, creamy, sweet and spiced, and just a hint of…

“Is that rum?” Crowley peeked over his glasses at Aziraphale, who grinned.

“I might have added that.”

“Angel!” Crowley laughed.

“I’ve heard that’s what makes it especially warm!” Aziraphale tried to seem scholarly with this point, but Crowley could see through it. He knew Aizraphale just liked alcohol and was glad for it. It’s always far better to drink with a friend than to drink alone.

“F’course. Spiced rum, yeah?”

“Yes. I’ve read that you can add any number of alcohols and it would be good, but this one seemed like it would be lovely.” Aziraphale placed his mug down.

“Lovely,” Crowley agreed. He moved his hand across the table and placed it over Azirahale’s.

“Lovely,” the angel said softly, blushing a gentle pink.

When they had finished with their feast of treats and their mugs were quite empty, the two stood and moved to the door.

“Wait!” Aziraphale turned back to the counter and picked up a box with the name “A. Fell” scrawled across it in marker.

“What is it?” Crowley asked, offering his arm.

“A buche de noel!”

Crowley stared blankly.

“A Yule Log, dear. It’s a lovely cake! You’ll like it.” Aziraphale batted Crowley’s elbow away softly. Crowley stepped half a step away in shock and let his arm fall limp at his side. He needed both hands available to cradle the cake. Crowley opened the door and followed out after the angel.

Once outside Crowley started to walk back toward the bookshop, but Aziraphale cleared his throat and he stopped. Aziraphale looked shyly up at him, his hands were full, but it was clear that he didn’t want Crowley to be too far.

Crowley moved back and wrapped his arm around the angel’s waist. Aziraphale hummed happily and let Crowley lead them back to the bookshop.

#31 days of ineffables #good omens #Aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #drawlight #drawlight's 31 days of ineffables #my writing

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oblivcscence · 7 years

Text

DISPLAY OF SWEETS.

A devilish smile dances across his lips as the Xantrophn leans against the counter watching Kaia stock the treats up for the upcoming day. All the selection someone would love to eat, be it chocolate, vanilla, or peanut butter. She had it all, there was no limit to what Kaia could make. She was naturally born for this line of work and the display the Ischyros was showing off now clearly told anyone who came to purchase one of the yummy sweets. “So what’s on special today? Is it Ischyros fondue?” Damon purrs, tail bending up as he flicks it in the air. “Or maybe Kaia’s cream? That’s my favorite.” His voice becomes a deep sensual husk, winking at the busy bee stocking her shelves. The slightest hint of a blush could be seen tinting her cheeks making a laugh erupt from the demon that was across from her. “No, it’s actually Fudge-filled Vanilla Chip Cookies.” With the smile plastered on his lips, eyebrows raising and golden eyes shining the emotion of amusement he speaks in a surprised tone. “Oh really. I thought it was something more complex like your devilish angel cakes or the killer pies that everyone compliments on.” His head rests against his open palm looking down at the said cookies. They looked fluffy, littered with white chips and sprinkled with sugar powder to add some decorative approach. “Do you not like them?” The disappointment that flooded her voice made him want to roll his eyes at her doubt. “When did I say that? Never. I think they look tasty. In fact,” Picking one up from the pile she had stacked, he took a bite of it watching the fudge ooze from the bite he had just delivered. “Damn, that’s good.” He proclaimed, looking up from the cookie back to his girlfriend. Her grey eyebrows were high in disbelief, bottom lip sticking out in a pout and her eyes reflected an emotion he couldn’t quite place. “Damon, no.” She whined, quickly placing the plastic lid on the container and moving it further away from him. “What did I say about eating my products?”

It took him a moment, maybe longer than it should’ve to respond. Not that he was trying to think on what she had said, Damon could remember that as easy as the day prior. Which it might’ve been. Instead, he had just taken another bite before he’d answer. It was just too good to let go and even though it may seem spiteful, it had nothing to do with the fact he wasn’t allowed eat it. A long groan could be heard coming from the Ischyros as she once again opened the container and started stacking, this time putting distance between her and the Xantrophn. “Something about not being able to eat it… or was it more along the lines of not using it during foreplay.” A chuckle shook his shoulders, seeing the blush that had been on her cheeks already start to flare more. It was what he enjoyed most about her, the timid and shy nature he could so easily take advantage of. “Erm, the first one.” Her mumble came out quietly. “So does that mean I’m allowed to use it during foreplay?” Pushing off of the counter, he made his way around the display case moving to the side she was on. The slightest tick from his black claws giving her the knowledge of his movements. She didn't respond to his question but the soft sigh that passed her lips gave him enough to know what the answer was. “Lighten up.” He prods, resting a hand on her head, ruffling the white strands. Soon purple irises looked up at him gleaming with uncertainty. “I can't. I have to stock these before we open.” She seemed to stress, the emotion in her eyes clear as day.

“It's not going to be the end of the world.” Damon huffed, helping her doing what was left on the sheet. It took a few minutes, picking up a cookie then gently placing it down on a sheet or in a basket for display. As Kaia placed the second last cookie down, she turned to Damon with a smile. “One more.” However, the Xantrophn rose his hand shaking a digit. “No, no more. This one is for you.” Taking the last Fudge-filled cookie he moved closer to her, black claws skimming against her neck as they moved to the tip of her chin where he forced her to look up. Golden eyes gazed into purple waters, his darkening with the love he had for her. “Open.” It was a simple command one he hoped she understood what he wanted. Once her lips parted a satisfied smirk lifted Damon’s own. Soon he extended the cookie, bringing it to her lips offering for her to take a bite. Soon three fangs sunk into the delicious dough as she pulled back, drips of fudge smearing across the corner of her mouth as she took another piece. “See, isn't it good?” His voice was deep as the beast lowered down discarding the cookie. A golden tongue slipped from his mouth using the thickness of it to lick the remains of fudge from the corner of her lip, he'd do so slowly, sensually, the wealthy color continuing to gaze into her eyes as he did this. Damon could smell her sweet innocence, feel her hot breaths against his lips, she was so close...

Soon he'd pull back, putting down the treat on the display case. Turning to her his claws reached out to snatch her wide hips, lifting her up and placing the Ischyros down onto the counter. The grip on her waist tightened, pulling her close so he could feel the heat in between her thighs. His tail slithered out, sliding around her ankle tightly as Damon pushed himself against her. He didn’t waste another second, a hand unlatched from her hips to hold the back of Kaia’s neck, pulling her to him as blue lips collided with purple in a dance of hunger. He was starved to taste her. Like a dog lapping up water, his movements became rough. His golden tongue sought to explore her mouth, tail crawling up her leg. Her thin arms wrapped around his neck, the small suppressed moans that tickled his lips cause them to heighten into a grin. Damon hazily moved down, kissing her chin, along her jawline and down the curve of her neck coming to the end of her scarf. The grip on her neck loosened, moving the fabric to slide it off the hidden shoulder, revealing more skin he could press his affection into. His lips trailed down the curve of her arm, pausing only to move back up. His gaze followed the markings that spiraled on her neck, retracing them up until irises caught the emotion on the queen’s face. Her eyes were half-lidded gazing him down with the subtle want of her own. He could see the smile that tilted her gaped mouth as a dreamy sigh whispered passed. “You’re right, my king, it’s a very delicious cookie,” her words were laced with pleasure. As his lips latched behind her ear, Kaia could help the hitch of her breath that made it’s way through. Her legs wrapped around his waist, feeling the hand that had grazed her shoulder travel down to grip the bottom of her thigh. His black claws poked at the delicate material that she wore, as if on queue the grip tightened, lifting her hips to the heat of his groin. A groan fell from his lips, his head falling back in the intimate touch.

None of them expected to hear the door chimes go off or to hear a surprised gasp draw from the lips of a woman. Damon’s eye pulled from Kaia’s own looking over at the intervening person. Golden irises that were flared with lust filled with another emotion, irritation. Slowly his lips lifted, revealing his fangs to the customer, his tail which was wrapped around Kaia’s kneecap flickered angrily. He didn’t want to leave her, he forbid the moment to end. “I was expecting my order of two cakes to be ready when I got here, but it seems they aren’t.” The lady huffed, grey eyes glaring at Damon in particular, displaying her disgust. Kaia knew that someone had entered once the sounds of heels came to her attention. ( Oh no. ) It was the older woman who needed cakes for her work meeting. Four ears lowered in concern, her hands pushing against his chest, though he didn’t budge. “Damon, please.” She whispers, looking up at him. For a second the devilish gaze stays on the woman before falling to Kaia’s. Dark eyebrows rose in affection, a reluctant huff leaving him as the Xantrophn stepped back. It seemed there was always something to get in the way for him to get pleasure for himself and Kaia. Even if it was back on Deftinus there seemed that there was never enough time for them. His eyes reflected his disappointment, black claws gripped her hips once more to help her onto the floor. “I’m so sorry, ma’am for the wait, your cakes are ready, I’ll go get them. Turning around she was about to leave until a rough and strong grip held her hand, Damon’s claws prodded her skin as he leaned down to her ear. His voice holding a series of emotions as he spoke. “We’re not done yet, little one but next time tell me you have an early customer.” His tone wasn’t pleased and the arch of his eyebrows told Kaia that. Suppressing his mixed emotions, Damon released the hold he had on her seeing her disappear behind double doors.

#👑 { Demon Damon It's All The Same. }#👑 { Omitted Creature. }#battleborn #bbfanficjam #bbfanfictionjam #battleborn fanfiction jam #bb oc #oc #bb #drabble #drabbles #damon #kaia #👑 { Docile Hope. }#;nsfw-ish

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