#Aziraphale is screaming without s

[lamiue]

Head empty. Just Crowley in 1941, West End.

[hearts4court]

want them.

thinking about the difference between crowley and aziraphale eating you out.

az practically worships you like his god he is so obedient for, murmuring praises against your trembling thighs as he presses gentle kisses to your clit. he caresses your hips like they were made for him, like art he’s spent a century trying to find, and gently coaxes your orgasm out of you like a lullaby through the dark.

crowley, on the other hand, eats you out like hell is coming to drag him back down when he’s done. he devours you. leaves nothing behind. he’ll suck on your clit until he’s got you crying his name. he’ll grip your hips so hard there will be bruised in the shape of his hands. he’ll plunge his forked tongue into you and hum against your cunt, lapping up everything your orgasm gives him — and more, until you’re quite literally pushing his head away from the overstimulation.

and don’t even get me started on the pair of them together.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 24!!!

Guess who finally had the time and spoons to write?? ME. I DID.

I promise I'll update as much as I can, but finding time to sit down and write for fun is hard in grad school, folks. It's also on my To Do List to put this whole thing on AO3. Most importantly, I wand you to know that I love this story too much to abandon it.

Okay, that being said, let's do this.

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Metatron had drawn a number of conclusions while studying the developments in the Book of Life. First of all, he gathered that the book was a ways behind on the transpiring events – given that it had some catching up to do, it seemed. Second, the longer the human remained, the more permanent the new story in the book became. The white tape in the first few pages now being impossible to scratch away, while the alterations were still possible in the pages currently being written. The third, and most important development was the one that had brought him, once again, to Earth. This time, however, he found himself staring at the tall shelves of an institution known as Waterstones.

Although it was much less of a mess than Aziraphale’s bookshop, it was just as crowded. He held back a sigh. Something about this planet seemed to have every being desperate to collect as many blasted things as possible. Movement in his periphery drew his attention, and he saw that a shop employee had appeared to his left, looking confused. Of course the young man was confused, it wasn’t British behaviour to approach customers to ask if they needed help. But when you happen to be The Metatron, things (and people) seemed to anticipate your needs. Indeed, he reflected, The Lord Provides.

“Can I help you find something?” The employee asked. He shifted as he stood, clearly uncomfortable with the interaction.

“Ah, yes,” Metatron replied, “I am, as a matter of fact, looking for a book, and it would seem that I need some assistance in finding it. Might you be able to tell me where I may find a book called...Good Omens?”

“Oh, yeah,” the young man said, “It’s in the Fantasy section, right this way.”

“Fantasy?” Metatron mused, following the employee through the shop to the shelf in question, “How quaint.”

The employee raised an eyebrow as he handed Metatron a copy of the novel. Metatron took it, and flipped through the pages, an amused smile spreading across his face.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” The employee asked uncertainly. He was clearly hoping for the interaction to be over with as soon as possible. Metatron raised an eyebrow, quietly surprised the young man was still there.

“No, thank you,” He said, “I believe I have all that I need.”

He left the shop without paying. No alarms went off, and no one noticed.

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

You may be hyped up on adrenaline right now and a hair’s breadth from screaming just to release some of the pent-up energy running wild through your brain, but Jeremy – the entitled, rich, teenage son-of-God-re-incarnate – is cornered. Anathema and Sardis have cut off his retreat, you and Aziraphale have his front and side options covered, and Crowley stands towering above him.

“Well, well, well,” Crowley drawls with a devilish grin, “It’s been a while, now, hasn’t it?”

You see Jeremy stumble back, watch his eyes flick to the three of you in front of him, then to the side as he realizes there are more people behind him. Thank goodness you spent all that time starting at gifs of Micheal “Acting Choices” Sheen, because you’re able to see the calculating look that flickers behind his gaze. He’s assessing his options. It takes all of a second before he straightens up, folds his arms, and cocks his head to the side.

“How much?” he asks. Clearly, this is not the response that Crowley’s expecting, because you can see the demon’s face scrunch. He exhales loudly.

“Oh well, gotta be at least,” Crowley glances back to Aziraphale with a shrug “At least...what would you say...’bout...two thousand years, give or take...” Aziraphale shrugs back, and Crowley returns his attention to the teen. Anathema smacks her forehead with her hand.

“What??” Jeremy asks. He’s looking at Crowley and Aziraphale like they came from outer space. Well, he wouldn’t technically be wrong. “I meant money, dumbass.”

“Whoa,” You say, “Uncalled for, kid.”

Well, you all did just chase a child through alleyways and commit at least three traffic violations in the process so….okay, maybe the kid deserves one. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“You chased and cornered a child,” Jeremy replies, arms still crossed, “I could call the police and all of you would be arrested on the spot.”

Dammit, he’s smart.

“Look,” Crowley starts, “We just need you to come with us.”

“Yeah...” Jeremy drawls, “I don’t think so.”

“Listen here!” Crowley’s voice is getting louder. He’s not shouting just yet, but he’s on the verge of it. Jeremy sees an opening.

“What? Are you gonna make me?” The teen is almost laughing. He’s not trying too hard to hold back his giggles as Crowley’s face grows red with anger. Aziraphale takes a step forward, placing a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. It keeps him cool – barely.

“We need you to come with us because we need your help saving the world,” Aziraphale says calmly.

Oh no, he thinks he can be reasonable with a rich, entitled, teenager. Now the kid actually starts laughing.

“Wow,” You say, looking at Crowley and Aziraphale, “You two are really bad at this.”

“You are welcome to try if you like,” Aziraphale says through gritted teeth. Oh crap. Well, you walked right into that one. You clear your throat – may as well give it a shot.

“Listen, kid,” You say. Jeremy forces his laughing into submission and looks at you like he’s waiting for the punchline to a joke. “For real, these two here are magical beings okay?”

“Pffffff, right. So am I. It’s called Being Rich.”

“No, but they can do miracles. Like actual miracles!”

“Yeah, me too. It’s called Being Rich.”

Okay, so it turns out you're not any better at this than Crowley and Aziraphale are.

Not that you thought this was going to be easy, but you realize that this is still going to be a LOT harder than you thought. And you really don’t think time is on your side.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

I'm gonna set the poll duration to 3 days this time. Give people a chance to see that I've updated (and remember I exist ^_^" )

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[possibility-left]

WIP tag game

you are given a word - share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of that word!

@carry-the-sky tagged me with TIME, ty!!! I also have about nine million WIPs (all Good Omens though) so I will pick a different one for each excerpt.

T: This felt like -- there really weren't words for it in English, which Crowley had gotten into the habit of thinking in. It felt like he was touching Aziraphale from the inside, but without the messy bits that sex included. It was like feeling the essence of angel, but specifically his angel: the crisp sound of a turning page, the click of china against saucer, but deeper than that too -- the precise glimmer of the angel's true self leaking out, like sunshine along the edge of a window blind, a symphony of voice and violin, infinitely welcoming but in the specific, welcoming to him, to Crowley, a sharp love-desire-need-want-hold-keep sort of feeling that rolled over Crowley like an ocean wave. He staggered with the strength of it.

I: In the distance, Aziraphale heard someone screaming. They screamed on and on, without stopping for breath, long past the capacity of human lungs. It was far enough away that Aziraphale could barely hear it, and then the screaming stopped suddenly.

M: Maggie had sent her two links to cats doing cute things on Instagram, and a reminder to pick up milk. Nina liked the domesticity of it all. They weren't living together -- it was way too early for Nina to be comfortable with that idea -- but Maggie stayed over sometimes, or she stayed over at Maggie's, and they'd finished off the milk at Nina's last night making some sort of creamy sauce that hadn't been so bad.

E: "Either they'll find us and execute us on Earth, or the winners of the conflict will fold up the universe once they're done fighting and squash us like… fish," Gabriel said. He was proud of the sentence. He'd managed not to say, "When Heaven wins and destroys the forces of Hell," because he and Beelzebub had agreed not to talk about politics. And he had managed to think of another Earth thing that he was pretty sure would squish, to avoid having to mention insects, because that really felt like a rude thing to say in front of his lover, the Lord of the Flies.

No pressure tags for: @may--hawk, @curiouspupsicle, @di-42, @ngkiscool and anyone else who wants to play. And your word is KNOW.

[edosianorchids901]

Ere the Sun Rises

Ace Omens Hugfest prompt - "a morning hug"

When Crowley snapped awake for the fifth time, gasping and drenched in sweat, he immediately rolled over and grabbed his mobile. He flipped it up, then mashed the home button when the screen decided not to light up.

1:10 am.

“Crowley?” A hand landed on his arm, and he yelped. “Easy, easy. It’s only me. It’s Aziraphale.”

“Hi.” Shivering, Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself, and then flopped back to the pillow with his mobile still clutched in one hand. “So. How about that morning, eh?”

“Morning?” The soft sound of a closing book, and Aziraphale moved closer. He slid his hand under Crowley’s, lifting it, and kissed his knuckles. “Is it already? It’s so dark out.”

Crowley held up his mobile without comment. This time, the screen decided to light up.

Aziraphale was silent for a moment. “Um. I don’t think that technically counts as morning, Crowley.”

“It’s after midnight. That makes it morning, by my book.” Hissing, Crowley flung his mobile back to the bedside table and rubbed his eyes. They were crusted with dried tears. “I’ve had it. I’m done. No more sleep for me, at least for now.”

Slowly, Aziraphale laid down beside him and fussed with the blankets. “You do seem to be having an awful lot of nightmares.”

“Could say that.” A few more tears rose, and Crowley quickly rubbed his eyes. He might not remember crying, but he’d apparently already done plenty of it. “It’s nothing huge. Just, y’know. Humans coming after us, demons coming after us, Archangels coming after us, that sort of thing.”

Mostly, though, it was the thing he never talked about if he could help it. All of today’s nightmares involved humans and demons and angels coming after them, and destroying Aziraphale. And then Crowley running around, screaming for his angel, unable to find him.

Aziraphale gave him a worried look, and Crowley quickly looked away. “Um. That sounds rather ‘huge’, in truth, even though I know it’s not exactly abnormal for you.”

That was an understatement. He still had nightmares almost every time he slept, although they were usually loads less horrible than this. Usually, they were just mildly disruptive of his sleep instead of shattering it.

“It’s not terrific,” Crowley finally admitted. “And I’m definitely not going back to sleep. So. What grand adventures shall we have today?”

He tried to say it sarcastically, but his voice cracked. And there were those damn tears again, threatening to break free.

Aziraphale gave a little sympathetic pout. “I think we ought to start with the grand adventure of having a lovely hug. Is that okay?”

“Gosh, yes.” Managing a faint smile, Crowley curled towards him. “S’ always a good way to start the morning.”

This time, Aziraphale didn’t challenge him about the definition of morning. He curled a hand around the back of Crowley’s neck and drew him closer, cradling him to a warm, reassuring chest. “There, now. Everything’s okay.”

Everything very much did not feel okay, even here, but Crowley found himself breathing a little easier. He closed his eyes again, sinking into Aziraphale’s warmth, into the endless field of love that hummed through the cottage at all times. Sometimes, he thought he could stay right here forever.

At the moment, he was tempted to try to stay right here forever. Normally, he didn’t like to be held for too long, feeling trapped. It was different after nightmares. He didn’t pull away, even when Aziraphale’s arms loosened and a kiss brushed to his head.

“My dear?” Aziraphale murmured after a few minutes of him not making a break for it. “Are you okay? Did you fall back asleep?”

“Nuh, not back asleep. Just… comfortable.” Which was a novel feeling, after the panic of thinking he’d lost his angel again. “I love you so damn much. You know that?”

“I do know that.” With a soft hum, Aziraphale nuzzled into his hair. “And I love you dearly, as well. Please tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Nnnnh.” Even now, after all these years, Crowley hated asking for help. “Maybe… can we just stay here a while longer? I know it’s morning, but the sun’s not up yet. Won’t be up for a while, so I can’t go out to garden or anything.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You can see in the dark.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think the plants would appreciate being woken up this early. And it’s cold.”

With another chuckle, Aziraphale slid one hand down and rubbed Crowley’s back in slow, careful circles. Then, with the same care, he pulled the blanket back up. “It is indeed a touch nippy. Therefore, I think it would be perfectly acceptable to stay right here until sunrise.”

“Mm.” Crowley wasn’t quite sure if he was that patient. That was hours away, and he wasn’t very good at remaining still for hours. But even a shorter time in Aziraphale’s arms would soothe him and chase away the lingering chill of his dreams. “Definitely a grand morning adventure.”

[ezra-fell-and-co]

Aziraphale & Shostakovich

The moment in the record shop when Aziraphale said he was picking up a Shostakovich record I had So Many Thoughts.

The symphony he's listening to is Symphony No.5 in D Minor, Op. 47, composed in 1937 and premiered in Leningrad to a thirty+ minute long standing ovation. Prior to this piece, Dimitri S. spent many nights sleeping in the hallway outside of his apartment so that his family wouldn't see if the government police in charge of enforcing Stalin's brutal rule came for him in the middle of the night. His last pieces had been received harshly by critics and called unpatriotic, which was just about the worst thing a composer living during The Great Terror (1936-1938) could do. Those who were not loyal to the regime and explicitly portrayed it in their art were branded as traitors and sent to gulags or were straight up executed.

The San Francisco Symphony describes the 5th symphony as "the story of a fall from grace and redemption.". Shostakovitch has gone from being a golden example to being eyed as a traitor almost overnight, the 5th Symphony becoming his redemption back into good graces.

So basically Dimitri S. was a man with contrasting ideologies to the powers that be, so to say, who was living under the threat of death, torture, or excommunication from his homeland. Haha, so weird that Aziraphale would want to listen to his music specifically.

(If you've never listened to Symphony No. 5, I highly encourage you to go listen!)

To set the scene-

From The Houston Symphony's 2018 Fighting the Barbarian Artist article on Symph. 5:

"In January 1934, Dmitri Shostakovich scored one of the biggest triumphs of his career with the premiere of Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District, a work official critics hailed as the first great Soviet opera. Based on a nineteenth-century novella by Leskov, it follows the misadventures of Katerina, the illiterate wife of a well-to-do country merchant who is driven to murder in order to be with her handsome but unworthy lover, the laborer Sergei. By turns satirical and tragic, Lady Macbeth explored themes of oppression with a potent combination of sex, violence and some truly beautiful music that played to full houses for two years. Then on January 26, 1936, Stalin went to see it. Two days later, on page 3 of Pravda (“Truth”—the newspaper that continues to serve as the official mouthpiece of the Russian Communist Party to this day), Shostakovich found an anonymous review of Lady Macbeth headlined “Muddle Instead of Music.” One representative quote declared that the opera “tickles the perverted tastes of the bourgeoisie with its fidgety, screaming, neurotic music…��" ...

There is debate about if Stalin himself wrote the review to make a point, or if he just signed off on it being printed. It's also unclear if Shostakovitch was being targeted specifically, or just because of his notoriety to prove that no matter how big a name you are you're not safe if you don't fall in line, or if he was just being used as a pawn in the ongoing power struggles of the day.

Either way, he was very aware that he was in danger. A friend of Stalin's was vanished when he wrote to Stalin in defense of Shostakovitch's work after the fateful review.

The 5th was a result of Dimitri knowing he needed to get back into good graces, so he had to give them something that they wanted. Or at least something that sounded like what they wanted.

Symphony No. 5 is very sneaky in how it subverts the expectations and requirements of Stalin's Russia.

For one, it's form- a symphony is a very structured form and very Western, popularized by Beethoven and co. It's also instrumental, which allowed Shostakovitch to hide a lot of references, subversions, and musical sarcasm/critiques without the untrained critics and government officials being any the wiser.

D minor, the main tonality of the symphony, has been described by various music theorists about what kind of emotional experience it portrays. John Mattheson in 1713 described it as "Serious, Pious, Ruminating. Melancholy, feminine, brooding worries, contemplation of negativity."

However, for our purposes, Aziraphale is listening to the fourth movement, which is also the most political. (More excellent write ups about the entire work can be read here, here, here, and here. There is a PBS documentary about it here.) ((It also shifts to an ironic D Major as one point, which Mattheson describes as "Triumphant, Victorious War-Cries. Screaming hallelujah’s, rejoicing in conquering obstacles. War marches, holiday songs, invitations to join the winning team."))

The fourth movement is bombastic, letting the brass section loose right at the start. The main theme in this section is from an unpublished song that Shostakovitch had written as a setting for a Pushkin poem. The piece as a whole and specifically this movement is a direct critique of Stalin himself.

The poem?

With sleepy brush the barbarian artist The master’s painting blackens; And thoughtlessly his wicked drawing Over it he is daubing. But in years the foreign colors Peal off, an aged layer: The work of genius is ‘gain before us, With former beauty out it comes. Thus my failings vanish too From my wearied soul, And again within it visions rise, Of my early purer days.

Which I think speaks for itself in what kind of mentality Aziraphale might have listening to the symphony.

I'm not sure which recording he listens to, but in the record shop we are shown that it's a record with a blue label on the disk. There are several recordings that have blue labels including the 1972 Moscow Philharmonic with Kiril Kondrashin and the 1989 Scottish National Orchestra with Neeme Jarvi. Leonard Bernstein and the NY Philharmonic have a very famous recording as well.

But I think the most likely is the 1962 Vienna Philharmonic with Constantin Silvestri. Why? Well, here's the record:

[planchettettv]

True Love Under a Awning

So GOS2 has ended me, sent me, screaming, crying, balding. Something I noted was that all of s2's romance shenanigans seems to follow a similar pattern to Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship. Most importantly though, is that Crowley comes up with the plan to get Maggie a girlfriend, and that the best way to do that is for them to get stuck in the rain under an awning because its the fastest way to fall in love, so he says.

LIKE THIS???? Does he think it's the most effective way because that's how it was for him and that he's just boldly stating it to Azriaphale without even realizing what he's saying because they're both idiots??

[ubepurplelove]

WHAT IF!!!! S3.... For some reason the demons (Furfur? Shax?) get their hands on the Book of Life to erase Aziraphale....

...Maybe Heaven and Hell did end up going to war because of the thing with the halo and to win is to take down the leader ie. Supreme Archangel, or the Duke of Hell

...Maybe Metatron did something, delivered the Book to Hell, manipulated things, convinced the Demon council, framed AZ

...Just something triggers an event that motivates a high tiered leading demon to target and take down Aziraphale...... solution - they use the Book of Life to erase him from existence.

And at that apex, the peak of the battle, in a climactic defining moment, as the demon(s) - maybe both Shax AND Furfur. They hold the Book of Life towering over Aziraphale - who is pinned down by other demons, as they begin to write Aziraphale's name on the page.

Crowley running, struggling to try and close the distance between him and Aziraphale, trying to stop Shax and Furfur from writing his name in the Book but the crowded battle of angels and demons slows him down and just when he gets through... a blockade of demons halts his progress, just steps away from Aziraphale, he's screaming, frantic, calling out for Aziraphale, begging them to stop!

As each letter is written, maniacal demonic laughter from Shax and Furfur fills the room and they ask Aziraphale: "Any last words angel?"

Aziraphale... lifts his head, eyes holding back tears, as he locks eyes with Crowley. Crowley without his glasses. His real golden orbs exposed. True eye contact between the Angel and Demon. Their gaze linger, connection so deep, as each feel the inner wrenching turmoil of the inevitable end. The loss that is about to happen.

He struggles to speak but when he does, it's shaky and cracks. He finally breaks when the words are spoken, tears so dense run down his cheeks... Every. Word. is True. and carries the weight and purity of what he's harboured in the deepest recesses of his heart. His feelings is so powerfully impalpable that time almost stops for all Angles and Demons in battle. With his words, it's as if all the memories of their time together, across millennia and nebulas, travels through from heart to heart - to store and to hold for the rest of his(Crowley's) existence.

"Crowley...

I love you...

Always have."

And does his best to end it with a smile, though his lips continue to quiver. His eyes never break away from Crowleys. He speaks them so quietly, almost a whisper in his weak and sorry state. Yet it was the only thing that could be heard. It made the world beyond worlds that held the divine battleground still. It almost made every beings heart ache.

It was only a moment but it felt like a century. Crowley doesn't realize the tears that welled and began to flood his cheeks. He didn't even realize he was screaming. His lungs burned like it was the source of hellfire, he couldn't even hear what he was saying. But it snapped everyone back, Shax and Furfur who's "cold blooded devilish hearts" almost wavered, returned their focus on the Book of Life to finish writing Aziraphales name.

His name. Crowley was screaming Aziraphale's name. Like a battle cry so desperate and so in love. A surge of strength washed over him and he breaks through the blockade of demons. He runs up towards the high ground that kept Aziraphale pinned down. He reaches out to Aziraphale who had managed to struggle out and away from his captors, empowered by Crowleys show of strength. They manage to embrace as Furfur gives the final strokes or Aziraphales name in the Book of Life.

They hold onto each other tightly, imprinting their scent, their warmth, sensation of each other in their arms as they wait for the angel to disappear amidst the maniacal laugther of the demons.

Their laughter that grow more and more awkward and tappers off to confusion as they see that Aziraphale is still undoubtedly amongst them. Crowley and Aziraphale slowly detach but still clinging onto each other to make sure this was still real, afraid that if they fully let go, the Angel will disappear. It's quiet. Everyone looks over at everyone. Waiting. Confused. Asking the questions with their eyes.

Shax and Furfur look to the book. Then to each other. Then back to the book. Squinting. And then Shax's says: "Did you spell his name right?"

BONUS:

Furfur has the audacity to ask: "Ummmm.... Aziraphale.... So how do you spell your name..exactly?"

Crowley get's up all scowling, badass mode, still holding Aziraphale's hand, takes defensive protective husband stance and somehow unlocks level 666 and is enveloped in hellfire... maybe takes on some cool attack form... but still holding Azi's hand and with the other, summons a fireball and chucks it at the Book of Life. Burning the book and sends Shax and Furfur running to be dealt with by some other else.

Then Crowley turns to Aziraphale: "So......... You love me"

"I do"

"I love you too"

Then THEY KISS AGAIN (YAAAAAYYYYY!!!!!!) - a "real" kiss this time around. One where they look deeply into each other's eyes and they lean into each other for the kiss, caught in a loving embrace and melt into each others arms!!!

And nightingales sing (yaaaaayyy!!!!!!)

[kaz3313]

20 question writer meme!! Tagged by @jaggededges123

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

I have 122!

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

239,332. :D a lot more then I thought!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

So I’m a “i write what I fancy” BUT my top fandoms I’ve written for are MDZS,Nope, Good Omens, and Danganronpa (if combined all my fics of each series together). My current fandom I’m writing for is Team Fortress Two where I have too many wips 😂

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Kidnapped? Rescued? Lies or Truth? - Svsss, 500 on the dot, Shen Jiu/Tianlang-Jun, Not rated

Can Peacocks Swim? - MDZS, under 1k, Jin Zixuan/Wei Wuxian, Teen

Talk Dirty To Me (In that Unnatural Voice of Your’s)- Scream, under 1k, Billy/Stu, Mature

Crowley is a very bad demon who does terrible things. Like take care of a bunch of orphans. - Good Omens, 3k, Teen

A Mark Without Pain- TGCF, under 1k, Qi Rong/Lang Qianqiu, Mature

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Almost always! Unless a comment makes me uncomfortable I try to respond to everything! Ive recently got some “more” comments that I haven’t but even comments that are just emojis i respond to. I love comments and love reading them so I try to get across to people I really appreciate them ☺️

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I remember you… Do you remember me? ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/36298375 ) I had a whole 2022 Whumptober yet I think this one takes the cake on angst. So angsty I had to write an alternate less angsty ending 😂

7. What is a fic you wrote with the happiest of endings?

A New Beginning (https://archiveofourown.org/works/37391902 )

So I’m taking this as something that has angst but a happy conclusion - and I feel this fic is one of those.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Surprisingly no? I’ve gotten a few comments that are kinda iffy but most comments are very sweet!

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Lots of smut- so much in fact most of its in my Works in Progress 😭 I’m so terrible at finishing smut but I usually go with darker themes ☺️

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Oh!! Their all in my wips 😭 I did start making a Mdzs/Nope crossover which would probably be my strangest if I ever finished it up

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope, but one time one of my aus I made with a friend got stolen! But that’s s story for another time

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Unfortunately I don’t have the link of the translation but my fic Pocky got translated into Russian ! (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27507364)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before

Nope

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Statistically speaking- if going by number of fics- Aziraphale/Crowley. However, I have to say an all time fav would be Jessie/James (Pokémon) a ship I’ve never read nor wrote for. Just one of those childhood nostalgia ones.

15. What’s a wip you want to finsih but probably never will?

All of them 😭 In all serious though I’m terrible with long fics and while I have grand ideas it’s hard for me to stick through them. My Danganronpa/TGCF AU will forever be in my heart (and full planned on a discord server) but will likely never see any light of day.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’ve been told my dialogue flows well and that I have a good hold on how people would react.

17. Writing weaknesses?

… Smut? I feel I’m slow on making it because I overthink it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Oh!! I’ve done this!! It’s fun and also terrible. I feel I’m getting translations wrong but I do my best. I did once try to write a whole fic in another language— unfortunately that fic is lost to time.

19. First Fandom I wrote For?

On ao3 Rick and Morty. On amino, though, I wrote for Undertale first. And my first fics were mini comics I made at home for Pokémon.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

The Inter(Viewers) ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/40985745/chapters/102715464)

It’s the longest finished fic of mine and I’m really proud of that fact! I put a lot into it and it has some of my favorite scenes.

Tags: I’m sorry I don’t know who to tag- please my fellow writers jump on this if you want to do this!

[rcreveal]

The Trouble with a Keen Manager (Chapter 3)

Synopsis-Crowley is having some escalating troubles with his Home Office under a keen new manager. Needing help from old and new friends puts Crowley in some unusual situations as he fights to get his old power and autonomy back...and just to avoid discorporation. But how can he get help without exposing his reliance on any of them? Takes place in 1990's London before the birth of the Anti-Christ (yeah, I know that's not canon compliant for the book, but it could be for the TV series, right?) with canon-typical behaviors for Aziraphale and Crowley growing their relationship to the point that they'd be willing to work together so closely against Armageddon. Down in Hell, Shax and Furfur's acquaintance develops and we find out why noone in Hell was upset that Usher got the Holy Water treatment at the end of S1.

Chapter 3 Shax’s heels clicked as she navigated the crowded hallways of Hell.  Demon’s wove through the wandering damned.  Piles of offal were being carted over to the hellhounds.  Screams were faintly heard coming from Punishment.

Shax rounded a particularly moldering corridor to find Usher’s name on a tarnishing plaque.

The little demon was of the old-school; he looked like a snub-nosed baby crocodile blown nearly spherical by corpse gas, with wings.  Wings which were functional, as he hovered over a desk full of reports.  Chuckling happily to himself, Usher swooped down with a red pen, “Denied. Denied! Learn to spell!  Do it again!”

“Lord Usher?” Shax inquired, “I have your reports,” she held out the stack of papers from Furfur.

Usher wafted down to his desktop, putting the pen into an inkstand like it was a lance and selected a staff of office taller than he was, that nonetheless, didn’t come up to Shax’s chin.

“You aren’t the usual courier!  Where’s that little worm, Furfur?”

“Furfur didn’t want to waste your valuable time, when he has so many reports to prepare.  He requisitioned me from my duties,” Shax improvised.

“That’s rich!  How could a little pissant like Furfur requisition a demon to his aid….though, I could authorize him to requisition demons to my department!” Usher sounded delighted with the idea.  He turned to his desk, and rapidly wrote, “Furfur may requisition demons to aide in his work for the Accountability office. Authorized by Lord Usher”

Waving the piece of parchment at Shax, Usher said, “Take this to Furfur!  Yes, I should have all the demonpower needed for this monumentous task!  The waste!  Such waste!  That could be reserved for the great battle to come, Armageddon!  Well, not on my watch!” he waved proudly to a curio case lined with little stuffed dolls.

“Little dolls are being confiscated to promote the success of Armageddon?” asked Shax.

“Little dolls?” Usher flew over to the shelves, “No!  This is how I’m keeping tabs on my demons!  Each of these poppets lets me prevent the demon agents on Earth from wasting resources!  Look at the case closely!  It’s my own design, improving on some ideas those humans had!”  Shax leaned in to look at the inlaid miracle blocker, healing blocker and many other blockers on the case and shelving.  The paint was drying on the glyphs of some of the blockings.  “This system ensures that the demon agents on Earth use no extra miracles, no healing, nothing unnecessary.  They get what they’re requisitioned!”  Usher said pompously.

Appreciating Shax’s attention, Usher was pleased when she asked, “How do they receive their requisitions?”

“I’m glad you asked!  See how each poppet is in its own isolation vessel?” said Usher.

“The teacup saucers?” Shax pointed out helpfully.

“Waste not, want not!  No one was using them in the tearoom!” Usher complained, then flew up to drop a little token into a teacup saucer.  “There, I’ve given Hastur a miracle.  Let’s see if he uses it carefully?”  The little token disappeared, and Usher sniffed.  “Well, that was short-lived.  See me giving him another free miracle!”

Shax noted another little poppet rocking around before it appeared flattened all on its own.

“Lord Usher, why did it do that?” she pointed to the flattened poppet.

Usher sighed, “Go down to the re-incorporator and bring that fool up here!  That’s the third time he’s been discorporated this week!”

***

Some little while later, Aziraphale came down the stairs to find Crowley slouched down on the Chesterfield sofa, arms tightly crossed over his stomach, widely spread knees sticking out from the kilt, bare foot tapping impatiently with a frown on his face.

“Are you done, then?” Crowley said shortly.

Aziraphale smiled serenely, “I'm done getting everything started.”

Crowley lunged upward from the couch, “Whaddya mean, started, you've been at it for ages!”

“Some of those stains had really set in.  Come back in a couple of days or three or four.  Really, the state of your wardrobe.”

“You're stealing my clothes!” exclaimed Crowley.

“I’m not stealing your clothes! I'll have them back to you Thursday, Saturday on the outside.”

“Saturday on the outside! If this isn’t stealing, it's certainly something not on!  I'm meant to be tempting financiers to keep lining their pockets by creating complicated financial instruments that entice everyone to make a quick fortune but are sure to fail and take down large swaths of the market!  I can't do that barefoot, in a kilt and leather waistcoat!”  

“Oh yes, I brought you some shoes,” Aziraphale said, holding up a pair of gold colored Doc Marten lace up boots.

“I can't wear those!” 

“Certainly you can.  They're your size," said the angel reasonably.

“They're gold-colored. Demons do not wear gold colored anything!”

Changing the boots in his hand to a less offensive color Aziraphale made to hand them over again.

“I am not wearing shiny black vinyl platform boots either!  This is clearly thwarting!”

Changing the offending shoes to scuffed, dull, black, leather, steel-toed Doc Martens, Aziraphale handed them over to Crowley saying blandly, “Thwarting’s allowed.  I've got unlimited license to thwart.”

Crowley dropped the boots on the floor with a loud thud, “You are making that up!”

“Not at all!” the angel reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheaf of cards and started to shuffle through them, finally pulling one out with a triumphant, “Ah-hah!” before handing the little cream colored card to the simmering demon.

It read:

‘Aziraphale, Principality, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate, is granted unlimited license to all materials and miracles needed to establish and maintain an embassy of Heaven in Soho, London, and to thwart the wiles of the adversaries of Heaven’s Great Plan.  Signed Supreme Archangel Gabriel’

Delicately plucking the card from Crowley’s fingers as he made surprised goldfish noises, Aziraphale tucked it away, saying smugly, “So you see, thwarting is definitely authorized.”

Crowley was still looking at him with his mouth open, so the  angel suggested, “If you don't want to wear these clothes, why don't you ask for ones from Requisitions?  Surely, you have Requisitions or a Quartermaster or something…”

“How’d you get sodding Gabriel to sign off on that bulls…!”

Aziraphale raised a warning finger.

“Tosh.  I meant to say, tosh,” mumbled the demon.

“Well, when I had a keen manager, I just made the required requisition requests for what I needed to do the job.  You said your new manager liked itemized reports.” Aziraphale said blandly, while a look of malicious glee crossed Crowley’s face.

“And don’t forget to requisition payment for your laundry and mending,” reminded the angel.

Crowley’s face fell, “I haven’t got any money!  I need miracles to make money.  If I had miracles, I wouldn’t soddin’ need help with my wardrobe!”

“Well, if you want me to keep this favor ‘off the books’, then you will need to pay me for the service.”

“With what!?” exclaimed Crowley.

“You could always get a job,” Aziraphale said reasonably.

“A what!?”

“A job. Employment.  Work for reimbursement with money. There’s a ‘Help Wanted’ sign over the road.” Aziraphale suggested, straight-faced, but with a little twinkle in his eye.

Crowley just gawped at the angel, then started making incoherent noises when Aziraphale didn’t budge.  Finally, the demon turned on his newly shod heel and stormed out of the book shop.

“Do have fun!  I'll see you on Thursday, maybe Friday, Saturday on the outside,” Aziraphale called to the demon stomping across the street.

Peeking out the window as Crowley strode toward the “Help Wanted Sign”, bare arms and calves blinding in the sunlight, Aziraphale took out the blow-in advertisement and picked up his shop phone to ring a particular publisher in New York City.

“Hello!  This is Mr A. Z. Fell from London.  May I please speak with Cynthia James?  Thank you so much. Cynthia, delightful to talk with you! I was wondering if I could call in that little favor.  Could you get me a copy of the new Hubble telescope book with all the lovely photos?  It's just finished the first run?  That's so kind of you! When do I need it? Well, it’s for a special client, so the sooner the better. Oh, that's marvelous! Thank you so much! Tah!” There was a spring in his step as he walked around the shop to raise the blinds and throw open the door.

[knifeforkspooncup]

Oh oh oh shit this made me contextualize some nebulous thoughts (incoming essay that takes this silly post wayyy too seriously.)

I think a huge point of a lot of the show before The Kiss is that they are ALREADY a couple. Maybe not a couple in the allo sense of the word (which I'm inferring is what anon means when they say "couple.")

But by the end of S2 it's clear they are a pair, a group of the two of them, an us. A COUPLE and have been for quite a while (how long is up for interpretation ofc but in Crowley's own words it is quite a long time.)

Everything is pointing us to that conclusion with a bright screaming neon sign.

Traditional storytelling often ends when the couple gets together. The guy gets the girl, the enemies become lovers, all sealed with a big kiss. And then it's just "they lived happily ever after." Because the ultimate outcome is they become a couple, and how they become a couple is by big displays of physical affection. Things that scream COUPLE /s. Vavoom amiright?

But if Crowley and Aziraphale were already together, if they already KISSED for godsake, and they don't have their happily ever after yet...what now?

The traditional answer to that is another big kiss to reunite them and make it all better, or at least an explicit confession of romantic feelings (a la Nina and Maggie.)

But the narrative has been telling us, no screaming at us, that none of these tropes are gonna work this time.

Imo the actual desirable outcome for Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship, the one that would be most satisfactory for their characters, is that they get to actually BE the couple they already have been for a long time. They get to just BE. We never get to see them just be, just love each other how THEY want. The closest we get is S2 BEFORE the final 15.

And maybe that looks like kissing or falling into bed together or holding hands or touching in a big "couple-y way." Sure. I have no doubt there are things they both wish to be doing that they can't explore because of circumstances. But none of that would be what makes them a couple.

Most definitely it looks like dinners and the theatre and getting sloshed and bicker flirting and little thoughtful acts of service and all the things they ALREADY were doing despite it being dangerous. But just without the fear, without the hesitation or an axe over their heads. Without the binary of Heaven and Hell dictating their relationship. Without having to pretend they're anything but already hopelessly devoted to one another.

They're relationship doesn't need to be more for them to have been a couple all this time. It just needs to be free to be what it is already.

They need to be free.

I really want to believe in the idea that they're already a couple but I just wish we'd seen something besides the kiss. Even a hug or a touch that felt more like a couple, ya know? I know there's the hands on the bus and little things but I mean something that screams COUPLE.

That kiss really is the ultimate magic trick. The way it made the couple-y little half-hug and the dead sexy "leave it to me" just vanish entirely from a lot of your memories is truly a feat. 😉

[sometimeseffable]

headcanons from the south downs cottage

- There is, of course, a large library that doesn’t seem like it can fit as many books as it does (it’s bigger on the inside)

- And, of course, a spacious garden for Crowley to terrify the most gorgeous greenery in England. Their cottage is set far away enough from other houses that people aren’t usually disturbed by the obscenities flying across the yard, but Aziraphale miracles up a high fence around the back anyway. Just in case.

- The cottage’s interior design is an absolute trainwreck of mismatched aesthetics. We’re talking 1800′s velvet chairs with severely modern art hung behind them and black leather couches with Heaven’s Dress tartan blankets tossed over the back

- The Statue is left in the garage with the Bentley. No, Crowley, it can’t go in the bedroom, we have standards

- They go to the farmer’s market on Sundays for cheese and fruit and whatever else they could use for the week

- Every Sunday, Crowley sneaks off to buy a small bunch of flowers for Aziraphale from the nice young lady who runs the flower stall

- Every Sunday, Aziraphale acts surprised when he is presented with said flowers and kisses him on the cheek

- Crowley cooks, Aziraphale bakes. 

- Crowley swears there’s something about Aziraphale’s pastries that set them leagues above the rest, and no, angel, it isn’t love, stop being ridiculous

- (it’s love)

- Their first winter, Crowley has a minor meltdown when he comes home from a trip to the garden center and there’s smoke coming from the cottage. Aziraphale had forgotten to open the grate when lighting the fireplace, so no real harm done, only it takes Crowley the rest of the evening, three pots of tea, and no shortage of hugs to recover from memories of burning books and screaming Aziraphale’s name to no one

- When they get their first chickens - three young egg-laying hens - Crowley gleefully names them Tisiphone, Magaera, and Alecto, after the winged furies of greek mythology

- Aziraphale is not amused (but is a little amused deep down)

- This post where Crowley also calls them ‘fat little monster trucks’ and ‘horrid beasties’ and Aziraphale calls them ‘the ladies’ or ‘the dames’

- Crowley and the hens got off to a rough start (snake vs chickens) but after a while they come around. Aziraphale most pointedly does not bring up how sometimes he hears Crowley gently cooing at them whilst collecting eggs

- Aziraphale makes friends with the local knitting circle almost immediately. Most of the time ‘darling Anthony’ is too busy at work to join them, but occasionally he comes to skulk Martha’s house when he doesn’t want to be far from Aziraphale

- This always backfires, because the ladies start fussing over how dreadfully thin he is and eventually, somehow, Crowley ends up holding Aziraphale’s yarn without even realizing it

- Bad thunderstorms tend to remind Aziraphale of Heaven (Gabriel showed up in a lightening strike in ep 6, among other examples) and in the country there’s no metal-wrought cityscape to soften the blow of thunder and lightening

- During particularly bad storms, Crowley makes sure the living room is full of lit candles and soft blankets and tasty snacks he’d bake that morning or otherwise picked up from the farmer’s market. They play card games and scrabble or watch a movie if the power hasn’t gone out and cuddle on the couch til it passes

[nyctolovian]

Oh my goodness! My first Good Omens fic!! I finally did it! So yeah uhhhh enjoy this weird thing

Summary: A pair of wedding rings had somehow come into Crowley’s possession (it was purchased) and she decides she might as well do a marriage proposal while she’s at it.

It was an entirely human concept—marriage, that is. If anything, this was an attempt at blending in. They were already so often mistaken as a married couple. They might as well play the part. So yep, the pair of rings Crowley bought was a front. All to fool any onlookers and play the role they have already been assigned to by the humans.

Surely, Aziraphale would understand.

Or at least, that’s what Crowley told herself as she sat in her Bentley, practically bouncing in her seat with nervous energy. It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon, many months after the Not-pocalypse.

No angel nor demon had ever bothered them since and the two have settled back into their previous lives before being so rudely interrupted by plans for war. Perhaps “settled back ” was the wrong term because it had felt more like coming home for the first time, shucking off a stiff coat they’ve been wearing all this while and flinging it onto the coat hanger at the end of a terribly long day.

They were finally able to simply be without worrying about how they should take their next breath. No need to think or overthink.

So it was no surprise that between spotting a lovely pair of rings, and envisioning slipping them on (one on a spindly, nail-bitten finger and the other on a plump, manicured finger), Crowley found herself outside the angel’s bookshop with the pair in her pocket. Completely without proper thought, on autodrive, drunk on serendipity.

After all, it was a well-known fact that while Crowley was brilliant at coming up with ideas, she was godawful at thinking them through.

Gingerly, Crowley fished the pair of rings out of her pocket. Crowley couldn’t be blamed for her impulsiveness. They really were quite gorgeous. Perfect for them even.

Crowley collapsed further into the driver’s seat with an aggravated sigh. Oh, who was she trying to kid? This was most definitely a selfish romantic gesture that bordered on possessiveness. Unbecoming of a demon, really. Or perhaps rather appropriate given that greed was a sin. Not that anyone was keeping track of her demonic work anymore.

But what would Aziraphale say?

Somewhere between the not-pocalypse and present day, they had silently settled into a romantic relationship. The Day After The End, something—some sort of clear dividing line between the two of them—dissolved. And somewhere between then and now, they had settled into a romantic relationship. The tipping point was not clear but where they’ve landed was immensely so. A result of literal thousands of years dancing around each other in overly complex rituals and choreography for fear of being caught red-handed. It was difficult shaking off certain habits, and the two still found safety in playing out their usual game of implications and knowing glances so it simply continued past the need for it.

These rings however… Quite frankly, it would utterly shatter their defensive veil of pretense and dance. The nature of the relationship would be out in the open, and that wasn’t even getting to the fact that the rings were a direct request for something more; greedy demon that Crowley was.

With a noise between a groan and a growl, Crowley grabbed the box of cheesecake in her passenger seat, threw the car door open and sauntered to the bookshop with conviction.

“Hiya, Angel!” she said as the door to the bookshop swung open at the snap of her fingers.

A rather exasperated Aziraphale was attending to a red-faced young lady, who clutched an ancient-looking book in her hands. The corners of his eyes, however, wrinkled with delight at Crowley’s voice and he spun around, hands clutched together in front of his belly. “Oh, Crowley! I didn’t know you were coming!” he said. “I love it when you tie your hair up like that. It’s very lovely.”

“You say that no matter what I do to my hair,” Crowley muttered. She felt a blush grow on her cheeks nonetheless.

“That’s because it’s always true,” he replied. Primly, he turned back to the agitated lady and said, “I’m afraid we will have to close shop this instant. Seeing that we cannot come to an agreement, I’m afraid I cannot sell you this book.” He slid the book right out of her hands and pushed it into the bookshelf.

“But—” The lady’s face got even redder. Crowley wondered how much blood this woman had in her to turn this shade. “Just tell me what price you’re willing to sell this for!” she yelled.

Pursing his lips in annoyance, Aziraphale said, “As I’ve said, you decide what price you’re willing to pay and I’ll decide if that’s the price I'm—”

Throwing her hands up, the lady let out a screech of frustration. “This is impossible!” she screamed as she marched towards the door, shoving past Crowley with a scowl.

“Do come back another day if you wish to re-negotiate,” Aziraphale called.

“I’m never setting foot into this bloody shop ever again!” she yelled back from the door. “Go to fucking hell!”

“I already have,” Aziraphale, the cheeky bastard, looking much too pleased with himself, replied as the lady slammed the door shut.

As he flipped the door signage to “Close”, Crowley stuck a hand in her pocket nervously. After clearing her throat lightly, she said, “Arrived at a convenient time, didn’t I?”

“Oh,” he said, “you have no idea. That lady has been badgering me for the past hour. I admire the tenacity but I’d appreciate it if she didn’t use it for acquiring my books.” With a small pout, he looked at Crowley. “Can you imagine parting with a First Edition Oscar Wilde?”

Crowley let out a grunting hum that conveyed a simultaneous sort of non-understanding and sympathy. She raised the box of cake and said, “Got several gifts.”

“Ah!” the angel said, clapping his hands together, his frown disappearing altogether. He peered into the bag before heading towards the kitchen. “Do take a seat, my dear. I have just the right tea to go with that lovely cheesecake.”

Crowley nodded stiffly and crumpled into her armchair. She shifted in her seat anxiously, unable to find a comfortable position. Where were legs supposed to go again? Surely her skinny jeans were never actually this tight. And perhaps wearing her hair in a loose bun like this was a terrible idea, too much fringe and curtains.

Before the snake demon could sort herself out, Aziraphale returned with a tray of plates and tea and slid it onto the table. With nimble fingers, he opened the box and cut out two neat slices of the cake. As soon as Crowley took his plate of cake, Aziraphale wasted no time and gently used his fork carve out a bit of the cheesecake. Crowley watched intently as he popped it between his lips and moaned around the mouthful, his eyes fluttering shut with pleasure. He slid the fork out of his mouth and his pink tongue ducked out to lick off some of the cream coating his lips. How on earth the angel could make eating practically pornographic was beyond Crowley’s comprehension, but she absorbed the view like a dehydrated sponge.

Aziraphale noticed her gaze. “This is absolutely scrumptious,” he said after swallowing.

A smile slid onto her face with ease. “Hm. ’s that so?”

Crowley proceeded to devour her slice, and then spent the rest of the hour watching Aziraphale slowly work his way through the rest of the cake.

Despite the lovely distraction, however, Crowley found her mind wandering back towards the tiny ring box in her pocket. She squirmed as the thoughts invaded her mind again, like locusts upon a field. It wasn’t too late to just let the day go by and never mention the rings. This was far too impulsive anyway. Aziraphale might not even appreciate it. Maybe Crowley would be going too fast for him again.

But, her mind also supplied, Aziraphale was the one who gave Crowley the keys to his flat above the bookshop. Not that Crowley needed it—she could always miracle her way into his flat if she needed to—but it was about the symbolism and implication. An invitation. An invitation that she took because ever since, she had only entered her flat at Mayfair to collect her belongings and settle scores with the plants.

Maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t mind. Maybe he’d be delighted. Maybe the keys to his flat were the hints. Maybe he was waiting.

But what if she was reading it all wrong? She never was good at reading, snake eyes and all. He could very well be—

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, startling her. The plate clinked lightly as he placed it on the table. “Is there something wrong?”

“Hnk! Nothin’. Nothing’s wrong. ’s all fine. Why d'you ask?”

“Your sunglasses…”

Crowley made a punched out noise and writhed a little in her chair. “Angel, I—” Her voice snagged on her throat and her lips flapped open and close silently.

It was now or never. And never was a dreadfully long time for an immortal being.

She raised her ass off the seat so she could reach into her jean pocket and yank out the tiny box. Aziraphale’s bottom lip jutted in confusion. With a deep breath (which Crowley’s corporation frankly didn’t need), she slid off the couch, ripped off her sunglasses and dropped to her knee before opening the box.

There, neatly sat a pair of rings with identical feathered-wing designs at their open ends. Aziraphale’s name was neatly engraved on the inner curve of the silver ring and Crowley’s on the black one.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Crowley,” he breathed. “You don’t mean—” Cheeks tinted pink with surprise, he leaned forward.

Crowley swallowed the uncomfortable lump in her throat. Her arm gradually lowered as she muttered, “If… it’s too much—”

“It’s not,” Aziraphale said quickly. “This–” He cleared his throat. “This is a… um… proposal, yes?”

Crowley nodded.

“Fancy that. Getting married,” Aziraphale mused, fondness dripping from his voice. “Wouldn’t it be lovely?”

Crowley let out a huff of relief and she fought against the soppy smile tugging upon her lips. She fumbled with the box and her trembling fingers were barely capable of holding the black ring. Gently, she cupped the angel’s hand. Those soft hands curled lightly over her fingers and she swore she must have been blessed or something because a shock ran down her spine.

This must be a dream, she thought giddily as she slid the ring onto his fourth finger. She glanced up to see Aziraphale’s radiant glee, a grin that wrinkled his cheeks and the corners of his eyes and spread into his temples.

No dream could match the ethereal blessing of that smile, Crowley knew. This is absolutely real.

“Humans and their little inventions, y'know?” she whispered in reverence.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale replied. “I do quite enjoy it when they do that. It can all be rather, well, exciting.”

Crowley couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “S'pose that’s one way to put it,” she mumbled.

He leaned down to pick up the ring box. The cool ticklish sensation as he slipped the silver ring onto Crowley’s finger drew the most delicious shade of rose out of her.  “Do you suppose we should have a wedding?” the angel asked.

The demon faltered, pulling back with a slight frown. She twisted in her spot, struggling for a coherent thought, before she mumbled, “Anything’s fine, honestly. As long as there are no churches involved.”

Aziraphale burst into the most pleasing belly laugh as he pulled her into a tight embrace. “Of course, my dear.”

[charlottemadison42]

Timepiece

A new short story on AO3, 2.3k words, rated G, dedicated to the very dear @musegnome!

----

Crowley got a new watch at least once a year.

He liked them sharp and cutting-edge, bespoke and exclusive and expensive. By the time anyone else heard of the craftsman or the brand, he was ready to cast it off and find something better. From the first decorative clunkers of the early 1500's to the quartz revolution, he was always up to speed on the best of the best. Connoisseurs in Geneva and Tokyo and Dubai kept a lookout on his behalf these days. When they called, doubtless raving about a new mechanism or a new maker, he always picked up.

He didn't think about why he liked watches. If anyone had ever asked Crowley (nobody did) he'd have shrugged. His corvid instinct to collect shiny status markers was reason enough.

(And if every skip of the second hand offered proof of his progress away from the fourteenth century -- one step farther from Golgotha, farther from the flood, farther from the Fall -- that thought was seldom admitted entry to the fortress of his mind. Crowley looked forward, not back.)

Aziraphale had owned a total of four watches in his life thus far.

He liked the kind of timepiece that required winding by hand, with a little key, although he often forgot to. Luckily when he needed to know the exact time, his watch obliged him anyway.

It was conceivable that Aziraphale enjoyed the sensation of suddenly remembering, "Oh! I forgot to wind my pocketwatch!" because he delighted in having some small duty to do, a simple task at which he could not fail, a way he could help the world tick along.

For -- what was a mechanical pocketwatch, if not an elegant dynamic sculpture of the universe as humans experienced it? Aziraphale waxed philosophical about such things in the comfort of his favorite reading chair, while he smoothed the shiny etched surface with his thumb til he knew every groove. He meditated often and fondly about his watch as a Metaphor for Things.

(But the angel never asked where it might be leading him. Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at history with a loving melancholy sigh, watchfully guarding over the sum of human experience. But he did not look ahead. He hated endings.)

+++

Warlock Dowling went through an especially rambunctious phase at age six. He was old enough that his parents' neglect was starting to emerge from the background of his young reality into a Phenomenon that he Noticed. And the more Warlock Noticed it, the more he Did Not Like it, and he took it out on everyone within reach.

Nanny Ashtoreth's attempts to dress him resulted in arching and kicking and flailing fists. Brother Francis's nature walks ended with tantrums in the dirt. Warlock began to enjoy ruining things when he learned that he could: tearing up his own drawings, ripping leaves off the tulips and ferns, pouring grape juice on white linens, breaking toys. It made him feel powerful.

"Hell could learn a thing or two from this one," Crowley muttered.

"I expect they're going to, since he'll be running the show if we fail to do something about this," Aziraphale snapped in reply.

Neither angel nor demon had been prepared for the inexhaustible physical frenzy of an outraged six-year-old Antichrist.

But when Warlock finally smashed Aziraphale's pocketwatch on a paving stone in a fit of rage, the poor child broke through something else, too.

Warlock stared at the pieces of glass and the crushed face on the ground, at the minute hand all bent out of shape. He looked up at Brother Francis. He looked at Nanny, running across the lawn toward them.

And he started bawling. ...

[Click through to read more or finish on AO3]

Warlock knew that watch was special. He knew it was very old and delicate. In fact, the watch was the reason he'd learned the definitions of "fragile" and "breakable" and "irreplaceable." Once he had command of those words, he'd been allowed to hold it while seated on Brother Francis's lap. He'd even learned how to wind it, awestruck by the action and the shine. He always included the watch when he drew pictures of Brother Francis, attached by a chain of lumpy circles to the pocket of his baggy trousers.

Now the fragile breakable irreplaceable thing lay in pieces on the garden path.

Aziraphale was terrible at hiding his feelings. He was shocked and saddened, and it showed all over his face, though he did his best to suppress it. Every time Warlock looked up at him, the child cried harder.

Aziraphale was rapidly realizing that if he miracled his watch back together, even discreetly, Warlock was old enough that he would notice its reappearance. Warlock noticed everything. So the watch would have to stay at home, unworn, for several years at least -- perhaps until the end of the world. It had survived the Blitz, the trenches, the Seven Years' War, the Crimean War, and a number of unfortunate dining mishaps (though it was perhaps helped along by a few frivolous miracles). Aziraphale had not gone without it since he purchased it from the watchmaker himself back in 1689, in a dim workshop on the outskirts of Zürich. The angel felt some epoch ending. Endings made him sad. Especially these days, when they reminded him of The End.

But Crowley was there; of course Crowley was there. She scooped Warlock up in her arms even though he was getting big for that. She held him tight as he sobbed.

"Here's a how-de-do," she groaned, assessing the situation.

Aziraphale had been crouched over the ruined watch for so long now that his knees were stiff. He stood up and sighed heavily. "I suppose it's...it's only a watch," he said, dispirited. "I shouldn't grow so attached to worldly goods. ...And it's an opportunity to teach compassion, model forgiveness, and discuss respect for others' things, as well." He was letting the accent slip in his sadness, but Warlock was as far from paying attention as he could be.

"He's six! He can't track all that!" huffed Crowley.

"Well he's certainly tracking the bit about crushing the world under his heel!"

"Nnnnnrrrrrrgh," Crowley snarled in frustration. She was caught between her mandate to teach Warlock to be fantastically evil and her fear that succeeding would bring about the end of the world.

In the end, though, Warlock surprised them both by doing something entirely human, entirely his own. He cried himself out for several minutes on the lawn, and once he could speak again, he asked Aziraphale:

"Brother Francis, why did I do that?"

Then he looked to his Nanny, silently repeating the question to her with his bleary eyes.

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at one another, blinking.

"Um," said Crowley.

"...Why d'you think ye did, me lad?" asked Aziraphale, retreating from his hurt feelings into his ridiculous bucktoothed persona.

Warlock sniffed. "I don't know. I din't think it would feel like that." He squatted and poked the exposed paper of the clock face.

Crowley knelt down next to him. "Can you put it back together?" she asked.

"No."

"So what do you think you should do now?"

"Nnnno!"

"That's not even...nngh." Crowley looked helplessly to the angel. But they were both at a loss.

"Can we go inside?" Warlock finally pleaded.

And so they did. As Nanny and Warlock walked away, Crowley restored the pocketwatch with a snap of her fingers without even looking back. It was good as new once again.

But Aziraphale knew that its time had come. He picked it up, enjoying the way it fit just so in his palm -- the comfort of a handful of crystallized time -- and then he clicked it shut and sent it back home to the bookshop, where it would have to stay for now.

That evening, just before supper, Warlock showed up on the porch of the greenhouse with Nanny in tow. His little face was wrinkled up in concern and contrition and other Very Grown-Up Feelings as he presented Brother Francis with a card. It featured a colored pencil drawing of all three of them holding hands, and yellow triangles on the ground to represent the afternoon's event. The unsteady lettering inside read "soRRY for yuor wAtch From wARLock."

"I made you this," said Warlock, and he handed over the most awkward little handcrafted project. It was roughly disc-shaped, and it featured play-doh, pipe cleaners, and glitter glue. The face was sharpied directly onto the half-dried crumbling clay, and the chain was made of taped rings of construction paper.

It plucked every heartstring the angel had. He melted on the spot.

Crowley rolled her eyes as Aziraphale poured out fond words of thanks for his new watch and forgiveness for the old one, embracing Warlock between tearful phrases. But Crowley also had her least cruel smirk on, the one that was very nearly affectionate.

Before they left, Crowley also noted in a low voice that there had been no more trouble with kicking and screaming and tearing up houseplants today. Warlock had been upset twice, but had managed to calm himself down without help both times.

After she took Warlock away, Aziraphale tried to miracle protection over his new handmade treasure so that the play-doh wouldn't crumble and the paper wouldn't crush -- only to find that Crowley had already done so.

+++

Two nights later, on a crosstown bus bound for Soho, Aziraphale noticed that the lanky redheaded passenger in front of him happened to leave behind a small shopping bag when he disembarked. Aziraphale folded up his newspaper and slipped into the empty seat to take a closer look. Inside was a wooden box wrapped in plain black paper. It was marked "AZ" in black ink that was only detectable by its slightly more reflective shine.

Aziraphale opened it right there, and of course, of course it was a new pocketwatch. From Crowley. Crowley knew watches. And Crowley knew Aziraphale.

It was hard to date this one exactly, but he estimated the 1820's, and English-made; it was thin and modern and elegant, much lighter than the other. It was in excellent condition, although pleasantly worn with time. He spent the rest of the bus ride home admiring it, listening to it, growing familiar with the new face, wondering who it might have belonged to before. When he reached his stop, he slipped it into the waistcoat pocket meant for the purpose, and he felt like a new angel.

Gifts. How strange. A gift from Warlock, and a gift from Crowley. Gifts of time, restored.

Perhaps there was still time enough before the end of the world. Perhaps there might be time, after.

Aziraphale set the new pocketwatch down on his desk back at the bookshop, right next to his old favorite of several hundred years and his handcrafted masterpiece from Warlock. He had never thought to own more than one pocketwatch at a time. Now he had three.

He picked up the telephone to call the responsible party and offer sincerest thanks, but after some dithering, he decided not to. Crowley hated thanks. Crowley could even be endangered by thanks, if the two of them weren't careful.

Perhaps, instead, Brother Francis could show the new timepiece to Warlock and Nanny in the morning. He could explain how precious this watch was, since it was a gift from a friend. He could say that breaking something irreplaceable was sad, but it was not the end, not as long as the world spun on. He could talk about the way new things follow old ones -- and though the new things might be different, they could be lovely too. New things were worth holding out hope for, and worth learning to treasure, given time.

And after explaining all of that to Warlock, he could give Crowley a wink.

Which would communicate his thanks for the gift far better than any phone call.

+++

Over the next few years, Crowley found himself browsing for new wristwatches more and more often in his spare time. He bought them at a faster clip, too -- three in the year Warlock turned seven, six the year after that. Each was sturdier than the last, made to withstand impacts and temperatures and pressure that no watch was likely to encounter in the wild. But Crowley could feel the world running down, he could see the future he looked forward to contracting into nothing, and he burned with protective instincts as everything in him rebelled.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale spent more and more time with his books, especially history and memoirs. As he looked back over the story of humanity that he loved, the story he'd spent so much time recording and remembering, he felt it all spinning up to something awful indeed: The End. When Warlock turned nine, Aziraphale turned to his books of prophecy, feeling no small amount of distress. Looking ahead was painful for him, especially now. The future was unsafe, it was wild, it was ineffable, and unfortunately it looked to be very very short. Aziraphale did not forget to wind his pocketwatch anymore. It was a tool now more than a treasure, as The End drew near. It seemed important to remember what time it was, these days.

+++

As it happened, Aziraphale almost didn't notice when his fourth watch joined the collection.

In his defense, it was rather a busy day.

And since the new pocketwatch was identical to the one that Crowley had given him, down to the last molecule, it was unsurprising that making the connection took the angel a little time.

But some weeks after the End of All Things didn’t quite, Aziraphale realized that the watch in his waistcoat pocket was a gift as well. And this time it wasn't from Crowley.

When the thought occurred to him, sitting in his favorite chair in his restored bookshop, Aziraphale gasped faintly and set aside his well-worn copy of Now We Are Six. He had been revisiting children's literature lately for some reason. The Just William books had set him on a roll.

"Crowley, dear," he said.

"Nnnnghm?" Crowley hummed from the couch, where he sprawled limbless and relaxed as a squashed spider might if it were sort of into being squashed.

"We really ought to go and visit Tadfield sometime soon, don't you think?"

"Ngk."

"I have a great deal to thank Adam for, after all. And we should check in on everyone."

"Mmf."

Aziraphale palmed the fourth watch he had ever owned and ran his thumb over the back. "Do you think a wristwatch would be an appropriate belated birthday gift for someone Adam's age?" he asked absently.

Crowley windmilled himself up off the couch and sauntered over to give Aziraphale a peck on the cheek. "Hell if I know. Prob'ly. Maybe. More tea?"

"Yes, it's about that time, isn't it? Thank you, darling. Ever so."

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

Le Démon Déchu - Chapter 2: Réponses Et Plus De Questions

Summary: The summary is kind of long so please check a previous part or my masterlist if you want to read it.

Warning(s): threat, swearing

Word Count: 6.8k+

Inspiration: Do You Know What Eternity Is? by Elderly_Worm on AO3, Great Omens (The Big One) by falsepremise on AO3, Pray For Us, Icarus series by Atalan on AO3, Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm on AO3, wasteland, baby by john1513 on AO3, Not of Us by ShesAKillerQueen98 on AO3, How to Win a Lifetime Achievement Award for Services to Television (and how not to) by GaryOldman on AO3, Doctor Who (don’t ask) and, of course, Good Omens itself

A/N: Okay I took a bit of a hiatus from writing literally anything for about five months so sorry about that but I’m back now!! That’s the main thing. Also, I’ve left high school now which is very exciting! That does mean I’ll have so much more time to write and I’m definitely going to try and use this summer to establish some kind of routine for writing so that when I start college, I won’t get too overwhelmed with both my studies and with updating my fics. That’s the plan anyway so don’t hold me to that lmao. With any luck, now I’ve actually said that it’ll have to happen. (I wrote that part of this note back in May when it was the start of the summer. It is currently September and I’m just about to finally publish this chapter and I assure you, I am cringing at my own optimism.) Sorry this took so long to post. This chapter has been in the works since May (yes, I know I’m terrible) but I actually got a lot more writing done in that time that what you just see in this chapter. All will be revealed soon. I just promise that I have been productive. Once you’ve read this chapter, you have my blessing to translate the title of this fic. Hopefully it will make sense.

I just wanted to point out something about the playlist I linked in the previous chapter. I am well aware that there are some rather problematic people in it, namely Sia. I want you all to know that I don’t support her in any way (I don’t like her at all I think she’s a complete ableist twat). Her songs are only on there because of how well they fit with the story (a lot of this will become clearer as the story goes on).

I also wanted to point out that I know that if angels do exist, then their true forms probably wouldn’t look anything like humans. I’m well aware of that, I’m not an idiot, I don’t know if any of you remember when people started googling ‘angel true form’ and some people got scared lmao. The point is, we’ve all seen the pictures. But for the purpose of this story, and honestly just to make it easier for me to describe what the characters are doing, we’re going to have to pretend that they did look like humans. Can I claim creative license with this one? Maybe it got lost in translation because there is probably no way someone could describe how an angel truly looks in any human language? I don’t know, just roll with it.I know that this chapter had so much exposition and explanation in it but I can promise you two things. One, there is still much to be revealed. Two, I promise this isn’t just bad writing on my part. Just trust that I needed to put this all in this early on.

And how is everyone doing after the season 2 announcement? I mean, at the time of writing this specific part of my notes, it only got announced about an hour ago lmao. I’m very fucking excited, oh my god. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since I found out I can’t lie. Catch me trying to finish this before it comes out in case things occur which means I have to change things in this story. I can’t be arsed for that. Oh well. Hopefully it’ll read like those Sherlock fics that people wrote in between series 2 and series 3 if that doesn’t happen.

Taglist: @briarrose26​

Ask or comment to be on my taglist! Let me know if it’s for a specific fandom(s) or series. Full list is in my bio.

Hermit (upright) + Five of Wands (upright)

Conflict. Reflection. Resurfacing memories.

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

Let’s admit, without apology, what we do to each other.

We know who our enemies are. We know.

– Richard Siken (Detail of the Fire)

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

“Fuck.”

The angel and demon exchanged glances of what could only be described as thinly veiled panic, while the woman in front of them just looked annoyed at the most.

“They couldn’t wait five minutes, could they?” she muttered, pinching at the bridge of her nose in frustration before standing up again, “Look, just stay down here, I’m gonna go sort this out. With any luck they won’t have actually realised you’re here too.”

“Wait, how do you know they’re here for you?” Crowley asked, suddenly curious as to what business Eloise might have with Heaven.

“Just a gut feeling,” she said before making her way to the spiral staircase behind them, muttering to herself, “If they were here for you, I feel like they would have at least used the front door.”

The other two waited until she’d run upstairs before exchanging a quick glance, an unspoken word, and following her up.

Meanwhile, Eloise was hovering outside a room at the end of the corridor which she could only assume was the bedroom. She was strangely hesitant, not out of fear of them, simply out of fear of the unknown. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in that room for millennia, and something told her that this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat. She took a deep breath, even though she technically didn’t need it, letting a wave of faux confidence wash over her, and stepped inside. Don’t crumble now. You’ve come too far to crumble now.

“Ah, Mariel, long time no see,” Gabriel smiled coldly, brushing the dust off his white suit. Flanked by two other angels, he stood in the wreckage of the bedroom without even acknowledging the damage they must have caused when they crashed in. Beside him were Beelzebub and Hastur, who both looked as though they had been dragged kicking and screaming to come here. Beelzebub in particular kept shooting metaphorical daggers at Gabriel, who remained perfectly oblivious. The entire ceiling had caved in from the impact of their crash, the setting sun painting the doorway where Eloise stood in a pale gold and casting a dark shadow over the others.

She’d grimaced at the use of her old name; it was too unfamiliar, too ancient. Mariel was the name of a long-dead version of herself. Once upon a time, she’d embraced it, but that was once upon a time. Once upon a time long gone.

“Almost like I’ve been avoiding you on purpose,” she muttered, leaning against the doorway as she stared intrusively at each person in the room, observing, assessing. She silently revelled in the blatant discomfort in each of their faces.

“No need to be so rude,” Gabriel said, doing anything to avoid her eyes, his previous confident façade now shattered.

Eloise stared at him in disbelief, “What exactly were you expecting? A fucking welcome party? I haven’t seen any of you in over six thousand years and you just crash through the roof of my house, unannounced and uninvited, so yeah, forgive me for being a little irritated.” She couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty. She’d barely been in Aziraphale’s bookshop for fifteen minutes and she was already pretending she owned it.

She watched smugly as he squirmed under her gaze, desperately looking to the others to say something in response. A moment or two passed before Beelzebub’s head suddenly snapped up in confusion, “Are you alone?”

Shit. She’d hoped that they wouldn’t have noticed the presence of the two who were definitely not downstairs like she’d asked. She swallowed, trying not to let any kind of emotion show on her face, trying not to give the game up that quickly, “Yeah, I live on my own.” She watched the whole group of them squint in concentration, trying to sense any other beings in the house. She sighed, changing the subject before they could comment on it any further, “Look, what do you want? I don’t have all day so if you could make it quick then that would be much appreciated.”

Gabriel looked back at her, his suave exterior unfortunately making a return, “Hey, we just wanted to check up on you, see how you’re doing-”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she snapped. She pushed herself off from the doorway, stalking towards the others, “You have had six thousand years to ‘check up on me’, don’t pretend you’ve only started to care now.”

She was met with only silence as Gabriel and Beelzebub glanced at each other awkwardly, looking very much like chastised children. Suddenly the latter groaned and cried, “You can’t just leave Hell!”

“Oh, here we go,” Eloise muttered, rolling her eyes, bored already.

“You can’t! You Fell from Heaven, so you go to Hell, there isn’t a third option!”

“Well, apparently there is,” she shrugged.

“No there isn’t!” they argued, face screwed up like a petulant child.

“Then what do you call this then?” she asked, unfolding her wings for the second time that day. She studied their reactions closely, scrutinising coal-black eyes piercing through their very souls. She was searching for any hint of shock, of recognition, of anything that could clue her in as to what was going on in their heads at that moment. All she could find, however, was pure, unadulterated confusion. Which was annoying when her wings were supposed to be an answer to their unasked questions.

Gabriel stumbled over his words, “Good Lord, how did you even-”

Eloise cut him off curtly, no longer having the patience to listen to his incoherent mumbles. She instead turned to Beelzebub who at least had the decency to look a little more composed, “That would be what you could sense then. I’ve got both Heaven and Hell in me, that’s a lot of energy to pick up on.” She stared right through them, daring them to say anything else.

“Must be,” they replied slowly, though they didn’t look at all convinced.

Gabriel held up a hand, his eyes darting about as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing, “No hold on, how did you even manage that?”

“I left Hell,” Eloise said simply, “Why should I have black wings? I’m not some demon who ran away from everything. I left. Permanently. I looked Hell in the eye and walked away. You know what? Fuck it, I looked Satan in the eyes and walked away.”

“You what?” he stuttered.

“Yeah, you heard me. You have a problem with me leaving Hell then go on! Take that up with the bloody devil,” she said, staring them down, daring them to retaliate. She smirked when she was met with pure, uncomfortable silence, “Except you won’t, will you? Because you don’t actually give two fucks about me. Just like I said, if you did then you would have chased me up a long time ago. Quite frankly, I think you must have been glad to have me out of your hair,” she sighed, half sad, half amused when they couldn’t even meet her eye. She paused for a moment, wondering how far she could push this, before asking, “You know what I think is really going on here? I think the pair of you are feeling a bit bruised after the absolute shitshow that was Armageddon last year, which, by the way, fucking hilarious. I think your egos are feeling a little sore after a literal child stopped you from ending the world, so you’re thinking ‘hmm, what would be an easy win so that we don’t feel like total shit? Oh yeah, what about that demon who ran away all that time ago? That should be easy to sort out.’. Well, love to disappoint, but you’re not getting me that easily, especially when not a single one of us actually wants me back, and Sandalphon, take one more step further I swear I will dropkick you back to Heaven,” she snapped, glaring at the angel who had been menacingly inching closer while she had been talking. He reluctantly stepped back alongside Gabriel, looking a little more than miffed that his plan hadn’t worked out. “You really want me back? Get your bosses to talk to me because I don’t actually see why it’s any of your business. No middle men. Just God, Satan and me. I’ll see what they have to say about all this. Questions?” she asked, tone snapping from one extreme to another, almost as if she had just been possessed.

Gabriel stared at her, mouth gaping like a fish, “You can’t just boss us around like that.”

“What? Like how you bossed us around all those years?” she replied without missing a beat, real rage, real danger seeping into her voice now, “I think we’re done here.”

“But-”

“I said, I think we’re done here,” she said, leaving no room for arguments. She gestured to the sorry excuse for a room around them, “Now, if you wouldn’t mind cleaning this up.”

“Why can’t you do it? You can miracle things too,” Gabriel said, desperate for any kind of leverage over Eloise.

“You’re right, I could, but I didn’t make this mess, and I personally believe that you should face the consequences of your actions, Gabriel,” she said pointedly, watching as he visibly gulped. In a matter of seconds, the room was restored to its original state and Eloise was left alone in the room, no indicators that she was ever with any other people remaining.

She sighed and all but collapsed into a chair that may or may not have existed a few moments ago, confident façade shattered completely. She breathed heavily in exhaustion, as if she’d just run a marathon; she supposed she had just run a mental one. Her emotions were bugging her to no end. It was strange. She wasn’t scared, per se. There was very little that Gabriel or Beelzebub could do to her that would frighten her anymore. She tried her best to compose herself, writing off the tsunami inside her mind as just plain old adrenaline, before calling out, “You can come in now. I know you guys are outside, it’s okay, you can come in.”

Crowley and Aziraphale walked into the room, one looking considerably more sheepish than the other. Aziraphale perched awkwardly on the freshly reconstructed bed, “We’re sorry–”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, we’re not.”

Eloise and Crowley exchanged a glance, amused looks on both of their faces while Aziraphale simply looked distressed. Eloise turned back to him and smiled sympathetically, “I told you, it’s fine. I would have done the same,” she admitted, looking away before collecting herself once again, “So, I’m guessing you have a lot of questions–”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Crowley muttered as he took a seat beside Aziraphale, although it was a very loose definition of ‘taking a seat’.

Aziraphale glared at him while Eloise just sighed and reluctantly said, “I think it might be better if I just show you.”

Crowley cocked his head in confusion, “Show us what?”

She brought her chair closer to the edge of the bed and put out her hands, “Take my hands. Brace yourselves.”

Mariel was standing before a crowd of angels, dozens upon dozens of disgusted faces staring right at her. She couldn’t quite remember getting there. She had been in the pitch-dark holding cell and the next thing she knew, she was here. Blinding white light surrounded them, harshly illuminating her vulnerabilities before all of Heaven. She tried her best to keep her chin up even though she absolutely hated the fact that they could see the bruises from when she had been arrested that were now blooming on her face. She frowned as she noticed the lack of measures preventing her from escaping. All that was keeping her there was Gabriel’s presence at her side, cold violet eyes pointedly ignoring her. He really was an arrogant bastard for assuming that she wouldn’t even try to make a run for it. Just because he was right this one time, it didn’t mean that he shouldn’t have come prepared. Mariel sighed and looked up at the angels staring down at her. Michael was sat higher than everyone in the centre of the crowd, face void of all emotion as she said, “The Principality Mariel. You’re on trial today for betraying the will of the Almighty, rebelling against all that is good and light in the universe...”

Mariel blocked the rest of her pretentious speech out as she droned on about all the awful things she’d supposedly done to deserve this. It was all lies anyway. She knew the real reason she was here. There were a few things that stood out to her despite it all, things that nearly made her laugh. She’d known that they’d needed to conjure up some reasons for condemning her, but this was just ridiculous. Gabriel really had gone to extraordinary yet desperate lengths to slander her in her final moments in this Someone-forsaken place. She was surprised that the angels gathered to watch her downfall believed a word of this. She tried her best not to resent them, though. It wasn’t like they had anything better to believe in. Especially considering the amused smirk that had crept its way onto her face.

She returns to reality just in time to hear Michael ask, “What do you have to say to defend yourself?”

“I’ve done nothing I need to defend,” she said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

“Don’t make this worse for yourself than it already is,” Gabriel muttered dangerously from where he stood beside her.

Mariel turned to look at him in disbelief. “How the fuck could this get any worse, Gabriel?” she hissed, fury flaring up in her eyes.

He just looked back at her condescendingly, “Do you really need me to answer that?”

She pointedly refused to reply, turning back to face Michael, determined to ignore him.

The next part goes past in a blur for Mariel. Michael speaks again, though she doesn’t listen. Then suddenly there are shouts of anger, screams of rage, coming from the gathered crowd. They spit with venom as they hurl insults at her. She doesn’t hear a word. It’s as though her head is under water, completely submerged in the stone cold anger that seeps through her body, and suddenly Mariel is drowning in the realisation that this is really happening, oh God this is really happening.

Why? Why is this happening to me? You listening, God? Look me in the eye and tell me why this is happening.

She doesn’t get an answer, and though she wasn’t expecting one, it still hurts. Because she knows that she’ll never get an answer from Her again now.

Eventually she feels a tug on her arm from where Gabriel has been standing, dragging her away from the crowd and out her of current state of mind. She could feel her senses coming back to her as she stumbled backwards, but everything was crashing down on her too quickly, too harshly. She did her best to shove the rising panic as deep down insider her as she could. There was no way she would let anyone here see her in that state. She couldn’t let them think they’d won.

She didn’t even realise she had reached the edge of the ground she was standing on, the edge of Heaven itself, Gabriel no longer grabbing her arm. She nearly found herself peering over the edge, but stopped herself before she could lean too far. It may have helped her in the past but now was not the time to give in to her curiosity. And she didn’t trust Gabriel to not push her the moment he had the chance. She turned her head to glare fiercely at him, piercing holes in his very soul. She could slowly feel her anxiety being replaced by cool rage as she found herself saying, “Any institution that tries to silence anyone who opposes them is inherently corrupt.” She stared knowingly at his discomfort as he forced himself to face her. He knew what she meant by that. He knew.

He took a second to compose himself before practically scoffing in her face, “Don’t preach at me.”

Mariel cocked her head as she studied him. She watched as his eyes subconsciously flicked back to the crowd, to the other Archangels. He blatantly wanted nothing more than to re-join his fellow angels, the only beings who understood why he was doing what he was doing, or were at least supposed to understand anyway. Somehow she doubted they were all as cold-hearted and self-absorbed as the angel in front of her. She considered him for a moment before saying simply, “Your quest for power will kill you in the end.”

He furrowed his brows in somewhat amused confusion, “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s the truth,” she blinked at him before leaning in and murmuring in his ear, “It will be your downfall.”

“The only one who’s going to Fall around here is you,” he said dangerously. Mariel leaned back and watched the lethal glimmer in his eye wither and die under the intensity of her gaze.

She just smiled. “We’ll see.” She let herself look at him for a moment longer before blinking away the tears and cautiously taking a small step backwards. She could feel where the ground ended beneath her feet and was sure not to step any further. She took one last look of the place she once called home, embracing how it felt for the last time though she knew she wouldn’t miss it.

She closed her eyes for a moment and fell back.

Mariel was Falling. That bit she knew, but much more than that? Everything was happening too fast for her to notice. And yet, it was as if she was existing in slow-motion. She worried for a moment that this was, in fact, her fate; doomed to remain in a perpetual state of limbo, of Falling, for all eternity. The only thing telling her otherwise was the view of Heaven above her, which she realised only too late was slowly shrinking into nothing. Mariel found herself reaching her own arms out, grasping for Heaven. They were opposite ends of a magnet being roughly pulled away from each other by an invisible force.

You hear that God? Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? And don’t you dare tell me it’s all part of your plan because right now, the only thing I want is to be back where I should be and I can’t even have that.

She pulled herself out of her mind and back into reality; she’d have plenty of time in Hell to yell at a God who’d never listen, let alone answer. She only just started to register her surroundings, the fact that she was actually Falling, who knows how far and for how long, tumbling through the air at an unimaginable speed, plummeting towards a place that could be anything from seconds to hours away. The deafening wind that screamed in her ears, drowning out the screams which may have been coming from her mouth or her mind, who was she to say? Air whipped around her body, icier and more painful than any words that could ever be uttered by the angels above her. It wasn’t until she could no longer see any hint of Heaven on the horizon that she started to feel the tears finally fall, trickling down her face and floating slightly due to the force of the Fall.

Then suddenly it came. She felt it in the very tips of her wings first, a strange tingling sensation, as though hundreds and then thousands of pins were skirting the edges of her corporeal being. It spread over the rest of her wings, and then her body, at a faster pace than she could keep track of until her whole being felt as though it was burning. The pain grew, and it grew, and it grew, and she didn’t think she could physically take any more pain when she looked up in horror at her own freshly blackened wings. Her beautiful, holy wings which had once been the softest, purest white, were now stained with evil and ash. For the first time since she started Falling, however long ago that might have been, she let out a choked sob that racked through her whole body and through the ever-changing air around her. Nobody heard her cries. Nobody heard her screams as the searing pain in her chest grew stronger. She couldn’t even begin to work out whether it was physical or emotional but it was there and it burned a hole, a gaping wound, through her soul, leaving a scar fated to never heal and to forever haunt her-

Eloise was crying. She’d tried so hard to prevent the steady streams that were now running down her cheeks, but that was a memory that she’d never wanted to relive. She looked upwards for a moment, trying to regain control of her emotions and her breathing, before peeling her hands away from the two sat in front of her. She roughly wiped the tears from her face, and suddenly the only thing telling you she had been crying were the bloodshot eyes that Crowley tried to ignore as he said bluntly, “I’m still confused.”

“Crowley, give her a minute,” Aziraphale chastised him, furrowing his brows at the demon before he turned back to Eloise with kind eyes and a kinder heart, “Are you alright, my dear?”

She nodded without much hesitation, “I’m fine, it’s okay.” She certainly wasn’t fine, nor was it okay, but the last thing she wanted was to have to deal with her feelings in front of two people she was trying her best not to scare off. She looked back at Crowley, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

He looked at her in understanding, for if anyone knew her thought process in that moment, it was him. “Right, so you Fell and became a demon. Then what?”

“Well, you know what Hell’s like,” she started, looking pointedly at Crowley. She waited for him to nod before continuing, “Not my scene at all. I just point-blank refused to do anything they asked of me. Naturally they didn’t like that much. Eventually I was called in to see Satan about it. I remember thinking, ‘well, that’s that then. Terrible knowing you all.’, because I didn’t think I was going to survive that. Turns out he was just annoyed that I was being a bloody nuisance to everyone else, but he was too amused to really do anything about it, so he basically just told me to piss off. Leave Hell, don’t come back, and I won’t tell anyone where you’ve gone or that you’re even alive. Not exactly a deal I could refuse, so I left, came to Earth, been here ever since. I think everyone just assumed he’d killed me,” she shrugged as if she hadn’t just destroyed the whole idea of eternal damnation with just a few sentences. She smiled to herself as they gaped at her for a moment, though she doubted they realised they were doing it.

Crowley somehow managed to gather his senses quick enough to hold up a hand and say, “Wait, but when you were talking to Gabriel and Beelzebub and that lot, you said they had six thousand years to check up on you. Why would you say that if they thought you were dead?” He narrowed his eyes at her. He wasn’t altogether quite sure why he seemed to be so keen on finding any gaps in her story, but he needed to be able to trust that she was telling the truth. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Yes, and they didn’t exactly seem surprised to see you alive.”

Eloise grinned. You two are gonna be fun, I can tell. “You’re both very observant, I have to give you credit for that.” She paused in thought for a second before starting carefully, “You see, the trouble with me is that I’m not really one for keeping a low profile. I’m too noisy, so to speak, and I don’t even realise it most of the time. This demon I hadn’t exactly been the nicest to back in Hell saw me in Babylon, gosh, it must have been eighteen thirty something BC? Anyways, he ratted me out to Beelzebub who must have told Gabriel all about it. I had about a decade of this bloody demon trying to discorporate me just to see if it would force me to go back to Hell, then one day he just stopped, and I never saw him again. Beelzebub probably told him to piss off.”

They were both quiet again for a little while. Eloise didn’t even think to say anything. It might be a rare occasion, but she did know when to keep her mouth shut when it mattered. She could see the cogs turning in their heads as if it was projected in the air above them. Eventually Crowley murmured, “I didn’t even know you could do that, you know, leave.”

She shook her head with a strange kind of sympathy that came from recognising an experience you had far too long ago, “Neither did I. It stills shocks me sometimes if I think about it too much.”

A few seconds passed before Crowley cleared his throat abruptly and said, “They called you Mariel. I thought you said your name was Eloise.”

She hesitated before answering. She knew exactly what he was doing, she’d been doing it for the whole of their conversation thus far, but just because she tended to bury her emotions, it didn’t mean that she liked it when others did it. She decided to ignore the hypocrisy of that thought, how ironic, she thought to herself, and instead explained, “It is. Mariel was my angel name. You know how it is,” she looked pointedly at Crowley again, hoping that Aziraphale would be able to put the pieces together. She didn’t actually know how much he knew about what it was like to Fall and become a demon.

“Oh, so is Eloise your demon name?” Aziraphale asked politely.

“No,” she said curtly, instantly feeling guilty when she saw the hurt that flashed over Aziraphale’s face. She grimaced and explained in a gentler tone, “I chose it for myself when I came to Earth. Hell tried to change my name after I Fell but I just refused.” She studied him for a second, watching his eyes dart about, before saying, “You want to ask something, I can tell. What is it?”

He looked a little startled at being caught out, momentarily glancing at Crowley for support, probably subconsciously, Eloise noted with a smile. “I, well, I couldn’t help but notice that you mentioned Armageddon. Back when you were speaking with, um, well, you know. H-how did you know about that?”

“I might have been there.” The words rushed out of her mouth in a much less casual manner than what she’d been aiming for, coming out in a sort of jumbled heap that took Crowley and Aziraphale a moment to decipher.

Crowley, the poor sod, could only think to lean forward and ask a simple, “You what?”

She jumped to defend herself, wanting to avoid the onslaught of questions if she could, “Not actually at the airbase, but I was in the area. I was living in Tadfield at the time.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, although the hint of a smirk on his face told her it was more in amusement than suspicion, “How did you know it was at the airbase?”

Eloise couldn’t help but chuckle to herself because of course, they’d notice her choice of words, “I knew Adam and his mates. I ran an ice cream shop, would you believe it. He came and told me all about it the day after,” she smiled fondly before suddenly coming alive with excitement, “That’s actually how I found out about you two. That’s why I’m here. Because I thought I was the only one trying to stop the world ending, but apparently I wasn’t. I had to see for myself.”

A moment passed before Aziraphale asked quietly, “You were trying to stop it?”

Eloise, not noticing the newly subdued atmosphere, launched herself into a painfully over-enthusiastic explanation, “Yeah, it was quite clever really, if I do say so myself. I made sure Adam was swapped with the American baby in the hopes that he would have a human enough upbringing to perhaps change things. Seems to have worked,” she shrugged, before finally taking in the two shocked faces that were staring back at her. Her brows furrowed and her face fell as she asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You switched the babies?” Crowley asked blankly, although it came out as more of a statement than a question.

Her face screwed up as she tried to work out how best to explain herself. “Well, I say switched, it was more of a ‘made sure the demon dropping the antichrist off went to the wrong delivery room’ kind of thing. Feel sorry for the poor sod who had to deal with that but needs must.”

Crowley blinked at her and said bluntly, “I was the poor sod who had to deal with that.”

Eloise looked at him for a moment as about five different jigsaw pieces finally clicked in her head, before she threw her head back in realisation, “Oh shit, so you were. I knew your name sounded familiar.”

“You bastard, we spent six years raising the wrong child because of you!” he exclaimed, wagging his finger at her and jumping off of the bed at one point before Aziraphale tugged him back down. Eloise didn’t know whether to laugh or run for her life, for the menace in his words was betrayed by the disbelieving laugh in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you did what now?” she asked, only just processing what he’d just said, and she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips at his dramatic antics. She knew not to push it when Aziraphale just lifted a finger and pursed his lips with the look of someone who’d rather never bring up said event again.

“Oh bloody heaven, I can’t believe this,” Crowley shook his head, chuckling to himself. Although part of him resented it, he couldn’t help but look at Eloise differently now as they laughed like little kids together. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed so much more like them now, so much more human. Or maybe it was the fact that she had been trying to stop the apocalypse and all the implications that came with the fact. Suddenly he just wanted to know more about her, but he quickly silenced that thought. One thing at a time.

She raised her shoulders with a confused look on her face, giggling as she said, “Sorry? Well, I didn’t know, did I?”

They locked eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter again at the sheer absurdity of it all, leaving Aziraphale slightly bewildered and more than slightly exasperated at the pair. It took them a few moments to finally calm down but once they did, Crowley sobered his tone of voice as he asked, “Right, back to what happened before we came in. Anything we need to keep an eye out for?”

Though he didn’t say it, Eloise could see the unasked question in his eyes. Are we safe? She smiled softly, “Nah, you two’ll be fine. Basically I told them if they want to talk to me, then they need to get their bosses involved, and somehow I highly doubt God and Satan are gonna pop down for a friendly chat any time soon. Even then, you two should be fine. I don’t think any of that lot clocked on that you were here.”

Crowley nodded in understanding, and it didn’t escape Eloise’s attention how the remaining dregs of tension visibly dissipated from both of their bodies. Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other for a moment, the relief palpable from the pair of them. Eloise averted her eyes, giving them the privacy that they didn’t necessarily need but probably did want. She allowed herself a moment to ponder their relationship. They were very in tune with each other, very in sync, that much was obvious. Are they in love? The question sounded ridiculous the moment she thought it. Of course they are, look at them. She’d seen that look time and time again over the millennia. Although when she thought about the way they looked at each other further, that lead to another question. Do they know? The hint of yearning in their eyes was subtle but it was there. No, absolutely not. They’re too comfortable with each other. They’re a unit, that much she could tell. A unit that might not want to be disturbed.

Oh dear.

She looked back up at them hesitantly, unsure of what to say for the first time that evening. Eventually she said, “I’d better go. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome.”

Crowley frowned. Hadn’t she said she’d been travelling for a while? “You got somewhere to stay?”

Eloise paused. She’d definitely not been expecting that response. “Not yet. There is a flat I was going to rent but the people haven’t moved out yet because of the lockdown and it seems rude to miracle them away. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

“Stay here,” Crowley said almost instantly, then pulled a face of confusion at how quickly he replied, “I mean, only if you want to.”

Eloise blinked at that. Surely, they wouldn’t want her there? What reason could they possibly have to want her there? “Wait, are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Crowley just shrugged, “It’s not a problem. What are your options anyway? No hotels are open, and you can’t stay with anyone.”

“Only if you’re sure,” she murmured, still wary for a reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She glanced at Aziraphale for confirmation; it was his bookshop after all.

He nodded firmly, “Of course. I’ve been told the sofa is remarkably comfy,” he added with a twinkle in his eye, to which she grinned broadly.

A short while and a few miracles later, the sofa downstairs had become a makeshift bed that was significantly larger and softer than it had remembered it being. Eloise was currently settled on it; all it had taken was ten minutes for her to completely crash out. Aziraphale and Crowley had left her in peace with a chuckle, heading up to the bedroom they shared (that wasn’t out of choice, mind you. Simply because there was only one bedroom in the bookshop. No other reason.) One slightly confused item of furniture aside, all seemed to be well in the bookshop.

Upstairs in the bedroom, an angel and a demon were sitting in the same bed. Neither of them had thought to turn off the lights, so they were sat in thick silence in the bedroom. Aziraphale didn’t usually come up to bed, not as used to sleeping as Crowley was, instead opting to read the night away downstairs. However this seemed impolite considering their new guest, so he’d come up with Crowley. And while Crowley was mulling this over he finally stumbled upon why he felt so uneasy.

Aziraphale hadn’t brought a book up with him.

As bizarre a concern as that may seem, Crowley could always trust Aziraphale to bring a book up to bed with him on the rare occasion he came up at night. That was one of the things he lo- liked about him. Liked. He looked at Aziraphale curiously, noting the slight frown on his face as he stared into space. How deep in his head must he have been to forget a book? “You alright, angel?” he asked as softly as he could so as to not startle him.

He looked at Crowley with wide eyes that darted away almost instantly as he started to play with his hands in his lap, “Yes, my dear, I’m fine. I just realised something, is all.”

Crowley cocked his head in interest, “Oh really? What was it?”

He was silent for a little while before saying in a voice no louder than a whisper, “I think I was there when she Fell.”

Crowley felt his eyebrows raise in shock, looking away for a second to try and compose himself. “Right. Well, that’s a thing.”

“Quite.”

He furrowed his brows as he tried to make sense of what this meant now, “And was she telling the truth? Did all that actually happen?”

“Yes. I remember it perfectly well. Clear as day,” he managed to choke out with a forced smile before going back to his routine fidgeting.

Crowley laid a gentle hand on top of Aziraphale’s, stopping what he was doing and getting him to actually look him in the eye for longer than a second. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I am quite well. Don’t fret,” he said, and despite Crowley’s concern, he couldn’t pretend that the smile on Aziraphale’s face wasn’t genuine, however small it may have been.

He reluctantly let it go, changing the subject quickly, “You alright with her staying here? I know it just sort of happened.”

The smile on his face only grew, much to Crowley’s surprise, “It’s alright. After all, wasn’t it you who said we’re on our own side now? I think she’s the first person we’ve met who might understand what that means.”

Crowley tried not to think too much about the fact that Aziraphale had actually listened to him when he’d said that, let alone remembered it, instead opting for a casual, “Yeah, I suppose so. Right, I’m gonna get some sleep. I, um, yeah,” he stammered out awkwardly, cursing his brain for not thinking of literally any other decent response.

Aziraphale simply smiled fondly at him, “Indeed. Goodnight, my dear.”

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

Hello my love,

At the time of writing this, I do not know what the future holds. For me it’s an uncertain, unstoppable force, and it’s not one I think I can fend off for much longer. I’ve tried, please believe that I’ve tried. I’ve tried for your sake to prevent the inevitable. But it’s coming. I can feel it. It won’t be long now, I don’t think.

If you’re reading this, it means I was right, and I have Fallen. I know you’re probably confused and scared and that there is a biting anger bubbling inside you. I wish I could tell you why this is happening. I wish I could tell you that this is all a huge misunderstanding that will be resolved soon.

I wish I could tell you I love you one more time.

But I can’t. There are many things I can’t do now, and it’ll do me no good to dwell on this any longer than I have to. To survive we must focus on what we can do, and that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do.

If I know myself as well as I think I do, there are many things I would have liked to have said to you upon our final farewell, but didn’t because I wanted to make sure you were alright. Don’t feel guilty about this, my love. Think of it as my last debt to you being repaid.

I have a plan. Well, it’s more of an idea, and it might not work. And it’s because of this that I shan’t tell you exactly what it is. It seems cruel to allow you to hope for something that might never come into fruition. But please put your faith in me, and in our love, for we will prevail. One way or another.

I hope that you didn’t wait to read this letter because you were scared of its contents, though I’m sure this isn’t the case. You were always brave. It was always something I loved about you. Your quiet, beautiful, roaring courage in the face of such turmoil and anguish. You always had the courage to be kind and to love with all your being, even when everything was against you. No one would have blamed you if you had turned cold and bitter, and yet you chose not to. I admire you for it every day. My idea, should it work, will require us both to be incredibly brave. But more on that another day. It’s that bravery and that strength that you will need to rely on now. That, and the thought of me. Though I may not physically be with you, but I hope that my love’s own soul is enough.

I won’t sign off this letter, because this is not where our story ends. There is much left to be written. And I need you to remember that each day we are parted. Until the next time, my love.

[megastarstriker]

~{Unfortunate Events}~ 𝑨𝒛𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓  𝒙 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒚 ---------------------------------------------- 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓛𝓞𝓖𝓤𝓔 •·················•·················• ===============

“Faithful Encounters”

   Part One

=================================

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Aziraphale x reader x Crowley

𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙢: Good Omens

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1,298

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: She was just the new angel that day, only to be casted out on the spot, like a baby bird being thrown out of its nest to learn how to fly on its own against its will. She was an outcast and had no place or purpose there or even in the pits of fire. Now she finds herself reliving her traumatizing nightmare when she was child, as she counts the final days of the world’s demise as she plans ruining ‘The Lady Above’s Great Plan’.( I do not own Good Omens or its characters only the ones I create.)

𝑲𝒆𝒚𝒔 :

(Y/N) = Your Name 

(S/C) = Skin Color 

(B/T) = Body Type

(H/C) = Hair Color

(H/L) = Hair Length

(H/S) = Hair Style

(Y/A) = Your Accent

(C/N) = Country Name

(P/N) = Pet’s Name

(F/C) = Favorite Clothing

=============================================================

Falling..........

Falling...........

I  was Falling..........

At least that’s how it felt. The strong pressure of the fall and whistling of the wind as my eyes were closed not daring to look at what was happening and not being able to almost as if it was forbidden to me. I screamed but my voice was silent and only pitch ringing of church bells stroking were only heard through my ears. As my wings carried me downwards as I tried to flap my way up, I felt a burning sensation at the tips of my wings feathers. A haze of smoke traveling through my nose  causing me to panic. The pain of the burns wasn’t excruciating but it was indeed painful. Moving downwards I could picture the pure white clouds in the sky; feeling their delicate and soft touch grazing barely against my skin through my outstretched arms, small beads of sweats hanging at the tips of my (S/C) toes. My eyes releasing a cold liquid substance onto my (S/C) rosy cheeks, sticking to my skin as my (H/C),(H/L) hair flew gracefully in the wind surrounding me.

Was it the rain in the sky falling or was it my tears silently leaking down my face?

 I would never find out..

Because as soon as I opened my eyes...

I saw a group of shadows above....

a choir of laughs and whispers reaching my ears.......

Although blurry, my sight was focused on them...

I begged them, screamed, and shouted for help as I tried to fly my way out of harm’s way and towards them.

But they then disappeared...

Vanished.....

I was angry at them for being so selfish and insensitive that they couldn’t help...

I tried my best to steady my wings and force them to go up as I hissed in pain.....

But as I looked down to see the state of my hurting wings.....

I realized that my wings were missing and there was nothing residing on my back at all only glimpses of what looked like to be solid ground a couple a feet or miles away from me.......

I screamed at the top of my longs as soon as the solid ground were only mere inches away from my falling, (B/T) form.

__________________________________________

I bolted upright on my bed, as beads of sweat rolled down and dripped my freezing forehead, as I gasped for air. Propping myself on my elbows, I turned the lamp on my bedside table, and looked at the clock on the wall. As it was making a bell chiming noise, that alerted me it read.

𝟕:𝟎𝟎 𝐩.𝐦.

Then the chiming from the Victorian clock dissipated as soon as it hit ‘7:01′ A few moments later.

❝Stupid Clock❞, I muttered angrily in my American/(Y/A) accent.

Grabbing and throwing my pillow that was resting on my bed, at the wall a few feet below were the clock was pinned up, but purposely trying to hit the clock.

I groaned tiredly rubbing the dirt of my sleepy eyes and stretching my eyes as a small yawn came out of my lips. I then stood up, causing a slight creak as my weight left the warm, cozy covers and comforts of my bed. I approached the curtains and tugged them to the side to reveal the bright world and beaming sun from the other side of my window. It was quite sunny without a doubt, a great day for outside activities, like picnics, and walks on the park. I smiled a bit as I thought of going for a walk, as I looked down at the people who were walking across my apartment on the streets of London. That’s Right.

I live in Soho, London.

Not the grandest thing like I would’ve liked back in Sweet America/(C/N), but well enough to enjoy, I guess. Besides, I could switch countries whenever I want, its really one of the perks and miracles of well you know an angel.....or a demon....I really don’t have a clue right know, but I really couldn’t care less right know as much as I wanted to. My mood quickly changing its sour and angry demeanor to a sweet and giddy one as I watched the world doing its wonders and works. 

❛Speaking of works❜, I thought as I remembered my ‘human’ friend,❛Gotta get ready, wouldn’t want her to scream her head off because of me.❜ 

I laughed softly to myself wondering the look on her face, the color of a cute tomato in fury as she yelled at me for being late to meet her at the Ritz for some ‘sweet news’ and ‘gossip girl talk’ on her job as she liked to call it.

❝Well, better not keep her waiting❞, I muttered softly as I looked ahead at the window’s view from outside.

❝Right, Socrates❞, I said while not turning my head and still keeping my gaze fixated on the view.

I then heard a slight hiss from the glass box near the table next to me, keeping the beady and slit-pupiled eyed creature secured who was looking at me in a sassy manner.

I laughed lightly at its response. I had many names for Socrates, because well I didn’t know a name good enough for it to be official, so usually I would call him Socrates or (P/N) just to be respectful.

As I brushed my silky and soft (H/C),(H/L) hair, I thought about that horrible dream much said nightmare last night. It felt real, thinking about it gave me chills and goosebumps. Never even want to mention it or talk about it much.

I shook my head in thought and looked myself in the mirror after I finished brushing my hair and did it nicely into a (H/S) style. I then made my way over to the closet and picked what I thought would look nice and was great for days like these. I picked out a gallant looking suit it was grey and looked very sketchy but cute overall and it hugged my perfect figure nicely. It almost made me look like a business woman of sorts. I was still debating whether to wear this or something else from the other clothes I had, but I guess I’ll go ahead and try this for today and if the weather gets a bit hot for me I can always bring my personal (F/C) to wear later.

I then went down stairs and went to my bookshelf of my old collection of editions and went and grabbed one entitled ❛The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri❜ 

I hummed satisfied as I looked at the polished cover and took it with me in case I was bored and wanted to read. I put it in my bag and as I finished putting on any needed accessories on myself. I was off the doors of my household and walked down the pavement of the streets of Fancy Soho, London. Happily humming a sweet tune of  ❛Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen❜  as I walked with each step of my feet as a sort of dance.

Halfway at my destination I swore I spotted a familiar vehicle parked a few feet away from...a very classy Bentley and a beautiful one too. A very similar now that you can remember. I then heard a horn going off as I walked halfway past it abruptly stopping as I did. I then stopped and looked at it closer.

❛Hmm....❜, I squinted a bit at it but then kept whistling and humming Queen songs as I did and occasionally a few classics like Beethoven,❛ It couldn’t be ....I’m just imagining things ,huh.❜

Then as I kept walking through a crowd of people, I could catch a glimpse medium and wavy flaming red and ginger hair walking between the crowd of people. Then while I was distracted, I bumped into someone causing me to stumble slightly. I then looked up and saw something that made my eyes widen slightly and my heart beat faster. The person had ginger flaming medium length hair that swayed freely with each step and wore Jet black glasses, a very nice combination of outerwear consisting a leather jacket and greyish black shirt and pants with very classy dark shining shoes. What made him stand out the most was unnoticeable hidden tattoo of a snake below his sideburn.

❛ Crowley !!❜ , I thought.

But before I could confirm my suspicions he was gone in a flash and I lost sight of him.

❛ That could’ve been any ginger head man.... Right?❜,  I thought as I made my way to the restaurant.

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This part one of the Prologue of my Good Omens Series on the next part we will maybe have an encounter with a lovely angel friend

I hope you enjoy~