#You put your hand on Uriel and he freezes up and chokes a bit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queenburd · 5 years

Text

good omens swap au written bits and concepts:

Eve, pointing at the apple Crowley is currently eating: how are you not dead? Mother said eating from the tree would surely bring death crowley, blinking at it: oh? huh. well, it's not poisonous. Rather, it teaches you things. Eve: it teaches? crowley: Yeah. it teaches you right and wrong eve: but that doesn't sound bad at all! crowley: erm. well. you're free to eat anything in the garden, I won't stop you, but make good choices. eve, as crowley is walking away: .........what are choices.

Strike One. That was how Gabriel phrased it.

Fell found him on the wall, right after the humans left. Croliel was mid panic attack. “It’s all my fault,” he kept saying. “They’re going to die out there because of me, and heaven wants me to follow them, to watch. And nobody to take care of the garden. It’s all my fault. Can’t do bloody anything right, can I?” “My dear,” fell says, because croliel isn’t fallen but he’s very scared and lonely and heaven is already punishing him for something barely his fault. “Surely they’ll survive. Tougher than you give them credit for.” Croliel looked at him with wild eyes. “She’s expecting already. There are wild animals out there. There’s a storm coming—“ he chokes a laugh or a sob, “the very first. How are they supposed to eat? It’s a desert.” Fell looks at him, looks at the sword in his hand, blazing and warm. “Allow me, my dear.”

When they meet again at the ark croliel looks heartbroken "i tried to ask them why--why not at least the kids. and, and gabriel just--" he cant seem to breathe. "he asked me if I was questioning the Plan."

"I wanted to at least, to, to--there has to be space, but they were angry, they said no, and she said no, and I can't, I can't do anything."

Fell looks at him, in near tears, again, with another storm on the horizon, and then tells him to fly in the opposite direction.

"Im going to do some wicked deeds, you know," he says, placing a hand on a child's shoulder. "if you stay and watch, you might have to thwart me."

he once nearly tempted crowley, millennia earlier, without meaning to. they were both roaring drunk, crowley didnt have glasses just yet, and fell kept looking at him and wanting and wanting, looking at his soft long hair. and then crowley had looked at him, and not looked away, and his eyes had gone lidded and his breath all fast, and he leaned forward and fell just about toppled out of his chair when he realized what was happening, and he sobered up immediately, covering his eyes, and Crowley had blinked sharply, and sobered up as well and Crowley would have smited him out of righteous fury if Fell didnt look so caught off guard, if Fell hadnt so abruptly broken it off the second crowley had let go entirely the next time they see each other, crowley has tinted glasses.

croliel: lets just run away! let's go off together, we can't find the antichrist, but I dont want to fight, let's just go fell: no, I need to stay, I need to be here, because-- croliel: what, you want to witness the end of the world? you want to fight in this stupid war that kills everything we've ever liked? fell: that isn't-- croliel: should've known. you're still a demon. still bask a bit in war and hell and sticking it to Her. fell, actively hurt: oh, yes, still a demon after all this time. unforgivable, evil, that's me. thank you ever so much for remembering. croliel: right, fine. i'm leaving then. fell: fine. run away. run off while I do the hard thing once again! croliel, freezing: what. did you just say. fell: oh, you heard me just fine, Croliel. you go, you run off to the stars, wherever you like, and I'll stay here and try to fix this mess, like I've always done for you! croliel: how dare you-- fell: how DARE I? of course I dare! I'm a demon, yet I've done all the good things you never got the courage to do because if Gabriel even glanced at you you'd piss yourself. let's face it, I've put more work into this planet than you ever have, and I'm not about to drop all my hard work just because YOU want to leave. so go on! run! and I'll take care of it all again!

All angels had been holy warriors at one point, with preferred weapons and styles with which they used to smite. Sandalphon fought like a boxer, aiming for tender points with precision and force. Uriel themself preferred martial art styles that humans had not even learned yet. And Croliel—

Well, Croliel fought like a human. That is to say, dirty.

You couldn’t go 6000 years without learning a thing or two to defend yourself. Croliel had been witness to them all, from “you’ve got something on your shirt” to feinting, to blinding opponents with dirt—all of them. He’d stockpiled them in his excellent memory to defend himself, because Croliel might have been an angel, but he wasn’t stupid.

The strike to his stomach had hurt, but he’d seen the motion moments before it had happened, had prepared himself for it, and when it came, he acted as though it had caused more damage than it had. He bent double against the wall, and Uriel leaned over him with a sneer.

“Your little demon boyfriends going to be in deep trouble too. I expect there’ll be nothing left when we’re done with h—“

Something hot pulsed both in Croliel’s gut and his head, and he brought his large forehead (full of stress lines and wrinkles) forward and down hard towards Uriel’s nose.

There was a satisfying crack. Uriel reeled back, but not fast enough, because he’d wound his fist tight into their coat collar. Golden ichor was already sliding out of one nostril. He smiled grimly.

“If you all don’t mind, I have a call to make.”

fell: sunshine Im sorry, I'm so sorry for all the things I said, but we have to go, there's no more time. the forces of hell, they're coming for us and we have to go NOW. we can go wherever you want, alright? croliel: you--you're being ridiculous. l-look, I'm going to have a word with Her, I'm going to talk to Her and get Her to understand and stop it all. fell: th....that won't happen! you, why are you--how can someone so clever be so stupid!? croliel, looking over Fell, smiling rather sadly: Someone once said bravery was stupidity with a different face. I forgive you. fell: Q~Q

“I’ve always been yours.” Croliel’s thumb stroked Fell’s cheek. It was warm. “You know that, right? Since you found me in Eden. You saw me, panicking, terrified for some humans you didn’t care about in the slightest. You saw me, in tears, and the first thing you ever did on this world was be kind to me.” Fell turned his head and kissed that thumb. “Of course. Sunshine, I saw you, in all your emotional glory, terrified for someone else’s sake. It was so different from all of Heaven, all of Hell. Of course. You’ve had me since the start. I knew I’d do anything to keep you like that, to make sure you stayed kind and caring. You were perfect. You’re perfect.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #this is swap stuff!!!! bc i sit around thinking about it but dont WRITE the dang thing

46 notes · View notes

cryptidkieren · 5 years

Text

come around (3/6)

waddup guys!! this one took forever but its 4000 WORDS so i hope that explains my absence :)

ao3 link

-----

“What about this one, angel?”

Aziraphale looked up from the soft yellow cardigan he was holding, people scurrying around them with their own shopping. He wished he hadn’t.

Crowley held aloft a maroon sweatshirt with what looked to be a drawing of Jesus… sneezing into his elbow?

“I don’t get it.”

The mischievous smirk on the demon’s face instantly disappeared. The bustle of the shopping center around them seem to grow louder in the silence that hung between the two supernatural beings. “What d'you mean, you don't get it?”

“I mean,” Aziaphale wrinkled his nose as he neatly folded the cardigan back into place, turning back to face his companion. “That I don’t know why a sweater of Jesus Christ sneezing is an appropriate gift for the son of Satan.”

Crowley, for whatever reason, seemed to be absolutely baffled. “I- What- Sneezing? For all the bloody-”

The angel stifled a laugh and plucked the sweatshirt out of the sputtering demon’s hands. He hummed as he looked it over, inspecting it for any mistakes in the stitching, as Crowley attempted to pull himself together.

Just as Crowley opened his mouth, most likely to criticize him for still culturally living in the 19th century, Aziraphale interrupted with a cheery “Actually, I think we should get it!” The angel quickly placed the garment into their basket as he watched, looking positively bewildered.

Aziraphale chuckled at Crowley’s expression; he was a bit of a bastard, after all.

“I cannot believe you, angel,” Crowley sighed, rubbing his temples rather vigorously as they continued their hunt through the department store. The angel only smiled serenely in response.

The festive season onslaught was in full swing by that point, people rushing about trying to finish up their Christmas shopping and attempting to dodge the snowdrifts that had piled up throughout the previous days. Loud, cheery holiday music blared in every store, while vendors on the sidewalk sold hot chocolate and warm pretzels to passersby.

It was Aziraphale’s favorite time of year, and Crowley’s least.

While the angel adored the general sense of goodwill and cheer that permeated the air during the holiday season, Crowley always saw it as more work. Every year without fail, Hell expected him to tempt and irritate humans more and more than the previous year.

He also hated Christmas music with the passion of a dying star.

The two unearthly beings had been through numerous shops in downtown London that day, trying to find the perfect gifts for their human friends. They wanted to do it the “proper way,” or Aziraphale wanted to, at least, since they had never bothered to before.

They had been in their current store for around 15 minutes, Crowley picking up joke gifts with all the seriousness of a clown while the angel reprimanded him fondly. At one point, the demon had eyed an over-the-top festive ugly sweater with growing mischief. Aziraphale only shook his head and steered him away, knowing the sweater would end up in Anathema’s pile of gifts at some point.

The angel perused the selection of sketchbooks the shop was selling, noting with a touch of disdain the ones made to look like antique tomes, as Crowley trailed behind him. He paused, however, when he saw something that caught his eye. It was a glittery notebook with a curly-headed dog on the front. The dog was sitting happily, tongue lolled out in a canine grin. It wore a black collar with a skull and crossbones, a human skull resting at its feet. ‘Bad to the Bone’ curled around the image in a pretty cursive script.

“I think you’d like this one, Crowley!”

The distinct lack of a sarcastic response made Aziraphale pause, turning to see what could have distracted his companion so thoroughly from him.

“Crowley?”

Crowley, however, was nowhere in sight.

Scanning the immediate area revealed nothing as to where the demon could have gotten off to. Dread steadily crept up Aziraphale’s spine as he dropped the notebook and quickly headed to the front door of the shop.

It seemed that the temperature had dropped since he had last been outside, the wind whipping snow around his ankles and blowing flakes down the stark road. The streets had emptied as the hour grew later, leaving Aziraphale alone on the sidewalk, with only the parked Bentley to keep him company. The angel stood there, freezing and panicked, torn on which direction to start searching.

A noise from the alley next to the shop caught his attention. It was a sort of wet sound, like slicing through meat, accompanied by what sounded like a muffled cry of pain. Vicious laughter followed, a sound that was as familiar as it was horrifying.

Of course the angel followed it.

What he found made Aziraphale’s blood boil and his Grace to erupt out of him in incandescent waves of light, violently enough that it almost discorporated his human body.

There was Crowley, tossed into the snow and bleeding from a large gash on his chest. His glasses lay broken by his feet, a cut across his nose oozing dark blood down his face. A bloodied hand was raised in front of him, as if to shield himself from an incoming blow.

The demon looked terrified. He looked as if he knew he was moments from death.

Above him stood Hastur and a squat, mean looking demon unknown to Aziraphale. Hastur looked as grotesque as ever, though both demons had curled in on themselves in fear as the angel’s fury reached them.

One of Hastur’s arms was covered in what looked to be a thick latex glove that reached his elbow, not unlike the ones used to handle dangerous chemicals. His protected hand held a golden dagger that radiated a soft white light, undimmed by the black ichor dripping off the blade. Aziraphale felt his breath falter for a moment.

He knew that weapon. It belonged to Uriel, though it hadn’t been wielded in millennia.

He also knew it was made of the best celestial steel Heaven could offer.

Celestial steel that, of course, could destroy demons permanently, as it was forged using holy water.

Aziraphale felt the tenuous control on his anger snap. His wings exploded out behind him, white feathers swirling with the untouched snow by their feet. They spanned so large that they completely blocked the entrance to the alley, making the glow of his Grace even more blinding in the dim light. When he spoke, it was as if a thousand other voices echoed his words.

“Hastur, Duke of Hell, how came you by this Heavenly blade?”

The two standing demons were quick to cower away from him. After a moment, Hastur dared to sneer up at the enraged angel.

“It was a gift, from the Archangels Gabriel and Uriel. They only allowed my possession of it for killing the demon Crowley and,” the demon paused then, straightening a bit when nothing happened to him. He licked his lips, a disgusting smile stealing its way onto his face. The demon next to him seemed to have gained confidence along with Hastur, grinning maliciously up at the angel.

“And they were hoping that by killing your boyfriend, you would go running back into their arms like a child. I believe they planned to make an example of you, Heavenly scum.” Hastur laughed wickedly, along with his little cronie.

While the two demons laughed themselves silly, Aziraphale stole a glance at Crowley, who was still sprawled in the quickly blackening snow. He was pale, a hand clutching at his bloody chest, while his golden eyes were wide in fear and… awe? He must’ve hit his head on something, because that couldn’t be right.

“Silence!” Aziraphale’s voice boomed around them, immediately putting an end to the two demons’ merriment. They were back to looking petrified, at least. “You forget yourself, Duke of Hell. One angel can destroy twenty demons without a thought. What could a Principality do?”

“Y-You can’t!” cried the undersized demon, wagging a trembling finger at the angel. Hastur was frantically trying to quiet him. “We have o-orders from Lord Beelzebub themself! The demon C-Crowley must die!”

With that, the demon ripped the celestial blade from Hastur’s grip. Aziraphale watched in frozen horror as he screamed, the skin of his palm already steaming and bubbling from coming into direct contact with an object from Heaven.

The angel snapped out of it when the demon raised a trembling arm above Crowley, poised to strike a killing blow. Time seemed to slow to a stop around them as Crowley’s life hung in the balance.

“NO!!”

A blinding flash of light and a bang that seemed to shake the very Earth. Uriel’s blade clattered to the pavement, a smouldering pile of black ash where the short demon previously was. Aziraphale’s outstretched hand (when did that get there?) trembled in the air. His breath wheezed out of him as he realized what he had done.

In all his many years, the angel had never killed anything, let alone destroy something so completely-

‘He was going to kill Crowley.’

And just like that, all of his guilt slipped away like water down a riverbed. His breathing evened out and his arm stopped wavering, dropping back to his side with a sense of finality.

Hastur, who had started screaming incoherently when he saw what had become of his partner (again), snapped his attention back to the suddenly calm angel. He looked even more terrified than before, and rightly so.

Aziraphale slowly approached the demon, who frantically tried to get away. Miraculously, his feet appeared to have been stuck fast to the ground, making his escape impossible. The angel rose himself the few inches difference between them to stare directly into Hastur’s soulless black eyes. His own were reflected back at him, burning an otherworldly blue.

The demon twitched as the angel’s Grace enveloped him completely, forcing little choked off sounds of pain from his throat. Aziraphale gripped Hastur’s white blond hair in a tight fist, burning the side of his face where they came into contact.

“You’ll tell everyone down there that no one shall harm what is mine. I am the angel who walked through Hellfire and never Fell, so please think before you act against me.” Aziraphale pulled Hastur closer, making the demon cry out in agony as the angel’s wrist pressed more firmly to his cheekbone. “Do you understand me, Duke of Hell? If any future suffering comes to Crowley from Hell, I’ll hunt you down first.”

“I do!” he croaked, squirming to get away from Aziraphale. The skin where they connected was bubbling up, smoke rising from the prolonged exposure. “I’ll tell them! I swear!”

“Good.” With that, he released the grip he had on Hastur, flicking his fingers to unstick his feet. The demon scrambled away from him, disappearing not a moment later.

Aziraphale floated softly back to firmer ground as he reigned in his Grace and wings, releasing a noisy breath. A pained whimper from the gutter had him scrambling towards Crowley, ignoring the sharp sting of falling so quickly to his knees on cement. The edge of panic that had kept its place in the back of his mind finally took control, making his hands shake with adrenaline and fear.

“Crowley- Oh-” The angels hands fluttered over the still bleeding wound. “Let me-”

“No,” Crowley rasped, coughing wetly to the side. A few drops of black blood stained the previously untouched snow. He caught both of the angel’s hands firmly in his own. “No, Aziraphale, don’t heal me like that. I wouldn’t survive it.”

Aziraphale was bewildered. The demon had never denied a healing opportunity from him before. Then again, nothing the angel had ever healed for him had been this serious. “What- What do you mean? I’ve healed you plenty before!”

The demon grinned up at him tiredly, white teeth stained black. “Your Grace, angel, it would kill me. It’s t-too big of a wound-” He turned to cough again, blood spilling over his lips.

His resolve hardened then. Aziraphale quickly hooked his arms under the demon, ignoring his weak protests, and gently lifted him into his arms. “Fine, but we’re not staying here. They could come back at any moment.”

“Wh-” Crowley swallowed thickly, his arms wrapped limply around the angel’s neck. “What a-about the sword?”

Aziraphale glanced at Uriel’s blade, still laying on the ground. The hilt had fallen into the ashes of the demon he killed, smearing them into the creases of the ancient binding around it. They would probably never come out, since miracles couldn’t work on Heavenly objects.

“I’m afraid I have to set you back down for this, darling,” Aziraphale said regretfully. He wanted nothing more than to run away right then, get as far away from that alley as possible with Crowley. But he had to send the blade back to its owner, lest it fall into the wrong hands. Again.

He also wanted to send a message, granted it was a nonverbal one.

“No no, it’s fine, I’ll just bleed q-quietly over here, n-no trouble,” the demon snarked as he was gently set to lean against one of the walls of the alley. Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly before getting to work.

Using the fallen demon’s ashes, Aziraphale quickly sketched out a messy sigil on a cleared area of the ground. It was reminiscent of the communicating sigil he drew all those months ago, with a few minor details switched around. Instead of being able to send messages, it would allow the celestial dagger to be sent straight to Uriel and whoever else was with her.

Sort of like a Heavenly mail chute.

The blade disappeared in a flash of light and the ash drawn circle blew away, leaving nothing behind but Crowley’s blood in the snow.

Aziraphale quickly gathered his demon (yes, his demon, God damn it; he had made his intentions perfectly clear, just then) and fled to the Bentley.

He only prayed no other forces were after them that day.

-----

Getting Crowley back to his flat was difficult, as any sharp turns the angel made caused him to groan in misery from the back seat. Aziraphale had never driven a day in his life, either, so that made the panic in his chest double as the speedometer steadily rose.

They screeched to a stop in front of Crowley’s stark building, the smell of burning rubber following them up the front steps. Aziraphale made it so no one would pay any attention to them in the lobby, because what was another miracle at that point?

The lift ride to Crowley’s floor seemed to go on for eternity. The demon had refused to lean against the wall for support, instead choosing to cling to Aziraphale as they rose through the building. The angel tried to ignore the wetness seeping through his shirt and jacket as he gripped Crowley closer to him.

When the lift stopped, the small jolt forcing a pained gasp out of the demon, Aziraphale quickly got them into the dark flat. He gently led the demon back to the bedroom, knowing that the unused couch in the living area was as uncomfortable as it was expensive.

“There we go, that’s a dear,” the angel muttered mindlessly, trying his best not to hurt Crowley further as he was set onto the soft mattress. He stared at the demon, fretting on how to help him, when he heard a breathless laugh.

“Calm down, angel,” Crowley said as he smiled up at him, exhausted golden eyes half lidded. “I-I’ll be alright. Don’t worry your p-pretty head about it.”

Aziraphale glared at him, snapping his fingers loudly to miracle away the demon’s unsaveable shirt and jacket. “I will not ‘calm down,’ Crowley! They sliced you open!”

“Alright,” the demon breathed, his eyebrows attempting to join his hairline. “Alright, Aziraphale, it’s o-okay. I’m okay, thanks to you.” He took one of the angel’s hands into his own, so gently that the angel almost started crying right then.

He sniffed instead, swallowing his tears back as he held onto the demon’s hand. “I-I have to help you, my dear. You’ll bleed out if I don’t do something about this, and then you’ll be discorporated.” The angel pushed back Crowley’s disheveled hair from his forehead, keeping his touch light, trying not to startle him with the affectionate gesture.

Crowley, however, appeared to have stopped breathing for a moment, his eyes wide and astonished. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Aziraphale blinked, surprised at how easy it was. Usually, the demon fought him every inch of the way when it came to healing him.

“Yeah, do your thing, angel,” the demon said, smiling weakly as a touch of redness crept onto his cheeks. “I trust you.”

Aziraphale felt as if his heart was going to burst. Not wasting any more time, he held his hands over Crowley’s mangled chest and called for his Grace to heal him. He was so absorbed already in what he was doing that when Crowley screamed bloody murder, the angel fell onto his arse.

Scrambling back to his feet, he hovered over the demon, not touching him but trying to help nonetheless. “A-Are you-”

“Keep going!” Crowley grunted and reached for those fluttering hands. “You can’t s-stop, Aziraphale, or it hurts more.”

The angel nodded briskly, readying himself before allowing his Grace out once more. The demon started screaming again instantly. His back arched to a painful looking height as the muscles and tendons knit themselves back together, his blood flowing backwards into his body.

It only took a moment, but it felt like it lasted for an age. When the open wound looked no worse than a shallow cut, Aziraphale retreated so quickly his back hit the far wall, the glow of his Grace dimming to nothing. Crowley dropped back to the bed like a puppet with its strings cut, panting and trembling minutely.

The angel felt his heart shatter, knowing he had to do it, but not liking it one bit. “C-Crowley?”

It took a moment, but the demon eventually answered. He sounded wretched, like he had been tortured for days instead of being healed. “Yeah?”

“Can I- Is it-”

A sigh and a flopped arm interrupted his babbling. “Just get over here, angel.”

Aziraphale let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Double checking that all of his Grace was firmly tucked back into himself, he quickly approached Crowley. The demon was sweating heavily, his golden eyes had a hazy sheen over them, and he was still bleeding from another slice on his arm.

But he was alive. Aziraphale hadn’t killed him, his body hadn’t discorporated, he was alive-

“Hey hey, angel, it’s alright, everything’s okay,” Crowley said gently, if a bit anxious. The demon reached up to gently wipe at one of his cheeks. “There’s no need to cry, love, I’m fine.”

Aziraphale realised then that the tears had finally escaped as all the adrenaline in his system lessened. He sobbed with his next breath, holding the demon’s hand to his cheek. The angel fixed him with a stern, if watery, glare. “Never do that again, Crowley. I mean it.”

The demon chuckled weakly. “I swear I won’t allow Hastur and whatever goon he’s toting about get the drop on me again.” His thumb brushed against Aziraphale’s cheek, catching the tear there. The angel smiled at him, feeling so soft and full of love for this man- demon- being, he was surprised Crowley himself didn’t feel it.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Aziraphale gently took the demon’s hand off his cheek. “Oh look at me, you’re the one who’s injured and yet you’re still consoling me for being overemotional.”

Crowley smirked up at him, looking fond. “Well, what else would you have me do, angel? Let you cry all over me like a tissue?”

The angel snorted, rather inelegantly, as he scrubbed at his damp face. “You menace. I assume you keep a medical box somewhere?”

“Now why in the bloody Heaven would I do that?” Crowley raised an eyebrow at him, his smirk growing wider. “I’m a demon, Aziraphale, I can just wish my injuries away.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the dramatics. With a snap of his fingers, a fully stocked medical kit sat next to the demon’s hip. “You’ll have to sit up for this one, my dear.”

He helped Crowley up to rest against the headboard, the fluffy pillows almost swallowing him whole. The angel climbed onto the bed beside him, getting comfortable and opening up the first aid kit.

He tried to make quick work of stitching up Crowley’s arm, knowing the demon hated needles. He was interrupted, though, when Crowley made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“I’m almost done, my dear,” Aziraphale hummed. In truth he was only halfway through the cut, going slower than he usually would to prevent as much bleeding as possible.

“What? No, that’s fine, wasn’t even thinking of it,” The demon huffed, looking to steel himself against whatever he wanted to say. The words came tumbling out anyway. “Back in the alley, what- what did you mean by ‘no one will harm what’s yours?’”

The angel paused, his heartbeat kicking up a couple notches as he scrambled to find something, anything to say. Embarrassment made his cheeks flush hotly, keeping his focus on his work as the demon tried to catch his eyes. “I- Well, I think I rather told them what I think when I chose you a-and humanity over Heaven. Earth is ours, and humanity has us to protect it against- well, against everything else.”

Aziraphale risked a peek at Crowley. He looked pensive, his bloody face making him seem like a real demon. The angel jumped slightly when he was caught staring at the demon. Crowley smirked at him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, he seemed... Well. It was like he had accepted something, though the angel couldn't fathom what.

“Let’s hope we’re a bit more competent on that front, eh?”

Aziraphale chuckled weakly as he turned back to his task. He made short work of the last few stitches before running off to the kitchen to get a bowl of water. Crowley still looked like a bloodbath, after all.

The demon slid down the sheets to lay fully on the matress once more. He didn’t seem to mind the constant touching as Aziraphale carefully cleaned and wrapped his wounds.

He did hiss halfheartedly, though, when Aziraphale was accidentally too rough on his split nose.

“Sorry,” the angel cringed, prodding gently at the cut. He carefully stuck a plaster on it, just to be safe. “It doesn’t seem like it’s broken, so there’s one upside.”

“Praise be,” Crowley deadpanned. His tired smirk drooped a bit at the edges, but it was there nonetheless. The sight made Aziraphale shake his head affectionately, his chest growing tight once more.

The angel sat back when he was finished patching up anything hurt on his companion. “That should do it, then.”

Crowley hummed softly in acknowledgement, his eyes already closed. Aziraphale stared down at him, a quick flash of horror tearing through him as he thought of how close the demon had come to death. A warm hand on his knee quickly brought him back to reality.

“R'lax, angel,” Crowley slurred. He hadn’t even bothered to open his eyes, the hand thrown on Aziraphale’s knee now slowly moving back and forth. It was quite soothing, honestly.

“Sleep now, darling, you’re exhausted. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“F’got how scary you were. Still beau’ful, though,” Crowley muttered as he shifted about, getting comfortable. Of course, the angel immediately flushed to the tips of his ears.

“Wh-What was that, my dear?”

When all the demon said in response was a soft hum, his hand stilling, Azirphale let out a heavy sigh.

The angel risked a chance to run his own hand through Crowley’s fiery hair, smoothing it away from his steadily bruising face. He continued when the demon didn’t stir, effectively petting him at that point.

Though the angel himself was exhausted, for the first time in a few centuries, he refused to lie down beside Crowley (no matter how much he longed to).

Aziraphale took the remaining scraps of courage still within him and sat guard. He would wait, either for Crowley to wake or for the forces of Heaven and Hell to come for them. Either way, he would wait.

Nothing would harm Crowley ever again, not if Aziraphale had anything to say about it.

-----

[beginning] // [previous chapter] // [next chapter]

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #anthony janthony crowley #aj crowley #a.z. fell #im writin #fic: come around #in progress #aziraphale/crowley #5+1 fic #5+1 things

24 notes · View notes

imagine-darksiders · 7 years

Note

I saw your scenario for the horseman, Karn, and I think Samael getting a shy kiss on the cheek from their human companion, so I was wondering if we could get the same for Azrael, Wicked K, the Crowfather, Uriel, Hunter, and Draven plz - gotta love them underappreciated characters :3 (I was gunna say Abaddon as well, but I can't think of a way that wouldn't be creepy - he scares me...)

Azrael:“Angel of Death. Serve me one last time..”

Azraelopened his mouth to speak, eyes flickering between War and you beforehe shut it slowly and nodded with a solemn frown. The angel raisedhis hand, ready to send War, in a blaze of fire, to meet theDestroyer. But Azrael was interrupted, only momentarily, by a smallhand tugging on his sleeve. He raised an eyebrow, surprised andglanced down to see you standing on the ground with a sad expression.

IgnoringWar’s huff of impatience, you frantically wave Azrael down closerto your height. He smiles amusedly, dropping to the ground andlowering his face so that you don’t have to strain so far.

Quick as a flash, you bounce up onto your toes and land a short, amiable kiss on his slender cheek.

Azrael’s jaw goes slack for a comical moment, his eyes bursting wide open simultaneously and he releases a tiny ‘oh’ of astonishment. The angel remains bent low over even as you pull away and move to stand next to the horseman.

You call out to the stunned angel, “Just wanted to say ‘Thanks!’ For helping War.” The horseman gives you a quizzical look as his eyes flit between you and Azrael, who blinks hard, his lips pulling into an elegant, wonder-filled smile. Coughing gently into his fist, he steps towards you and places a hand almost lovingly on your cheek.

“I was glad to have been of some assistance,” he murmurs, “it’s the least I could have done, considering what….what I…..” he trails off. You frown at his self-deprecating expression and without too much thought, you place your hand over his and squeeze it against your cheek.

“I don’t blame you,” you whisper earnestly. His smile grows so wide, you’re sure his face will hurt tomorrow.

WickedK: Had you not just witnessed K leap to your defence, valiantly guarding you from a pair of ferocious Grappleclaws, you wouldn’t really believe that it had happened at all.

Time and again, the insane, theatrical wicked had jumped at the chance to connect with someone he considered ‘of a refined taste’. Evidently, he’d taken a liking to you and if you were perfectly honest, his rather charming persona and often overwhelming gentlemanliness had caught you off guard. You found yourself actually liking the weird, old wicked.

After he’d dispatched the demons, K had scooped you up and, oddly enough, flown you out of the immediate vicinity, sitting on the top of his hat. He set your giggling self down delicately in relative safety outside one of Vulgrim’s caves.

The wicked bows low over his bent arm, top hat in hand and cane hanging from his elbow. “There we are! Right as rain`,” he declares with a flourish of his hand. Still laughing at the sheer absurdity of your escape, you leap at K. Ignoring the rotting skin and stench of decay, you cup one of his cheeks in your hand and plant a kiss above the split of his jaw. The wicked’s brilliant, red chest flashed brightly for a second, illuminating the dark cave and forcing you to shield your eyes against the glare. When you looked up at him, K was beaming from ear to ear. “Such a marvellous gesture!” he cheers, pressing two fingers to the place you’d kissed, “simply marvellous….”

You quirk an eyebrow up at him whilst he stares into space with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Okay, so…I’m going to love you and leave you,” you begin with a clap of your hands, edging backwards towards Vulgrim’s glyph on the ground. K’s eyes snapped back into focus and his eerie, pale gaze landed on you. Despite his friendliness, that white stare always served to unnerve you. The wicked grins widely and throws you a wink.

“But of course,” he sighs, “The merchant will get you back to your beloved horseman…Speaking of whom. Tell the old fellow, ‘I look forward to when next we meet….”

TheCrowfather: The old one sat on his crooked throne with a dark scowl on his face. You perch on the arm of it, absentmindedly stroking the feathers on his collar as you ponder on your new friend’s mood. The horseman, your friend Death, had, for lack of a better word, dropped you in the Crowfather’s lap whilst he left to search for an artefact deep below the old one’s realm. Somewhere far too cold for someone like you to survive.

You couldn’t help but to feel like a bit of an inconvenience, given the Crowfather’s attitude. He hadn’t said a word, the more you thought about it, the more you started to think that perhaps he might have appreciated a ‘Thank you’ every once in a while. After all, God knows that Death would never say it, and the old one was expected to just babysit you for at least a day or so, all without a word of thanks.

Deciding that you had to rectify the situation, you lean your elbow on the back of the throne. “Crowfather?” The Old one opens his eyes, seemingly roused from a light nap.

“Hmm?” he hums with a tired sigh.

Hoping that you don’t over step your bounds, you press your lips against the Crowfather’s wrinkled, sunken cheek. “Thank you so much for putting up with me today.”

He almost choked, coughing violently and thumping his chest with a gnarled fist. You blanch and place a gentle hand on his back. “Oh wow, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” He nods breathlessly, spluttering a moment until he composed himself enough to turn his scrutinising gaze on you.

Uriel: Elatedly, you bound over to the angel as she lands on the precipice of the White Tower, having just returned from a mission with the rest of the Hellguard. She catches you when you all but crash into her and grips your shoulders, steadying you.

“Y/n!” she exclaims, “Be still, friend! Are you that excited for my return?” You nod up at her enthusiastically, grinning.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been stuck with Jamaerah all evening, all he wanted to do was talk ‘systematic filing’. Like, no offence to the guy, but after the first two hours, I wanted to beat my head against a brick wall.”

Uriel fixes her scolding frown on you, but the way her lips twitch upwards is a clear indication that she was far from disappointed. If she were really angry about your ‘insubordination’, you’d be in for a rather stern lecture.

“Anyway,” you chirp, flinging your arms around the startled angel’s neck and pressing a quick kiss onto her soft cheek, “glad to have you back. I was worried about you!” Uriel waits for you to release her before straightening up and sending a glare at two of her Hellguard warriors who were finding the whole display highly amusing. Vaguely, you think you can make out the slightest glimpse of a blush begin to form on the cheeks you’d just kissed, but that could simply be the embarrassment of having been seen with a human hanging from her neck.

Hunter: Perhaps it was the thrill of finding another human, alive, against all odds, in the dead-centre of an apocalypse-torn world. Perhaps it was an overwhelming need to show Hunter that he was still worth something despite having been utterly alone for the past few months.

Whatever the reason, you realise that it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. It was simply worth the look of total bewilderment on Hunter’s face when you threw your arm over his shoulder, laughing at some old-world reference he’d just made and Death’s complete lack of comprehension. With a smile, you bump the corner of your mouth to Hunter’s rugged cheek and kiss him at an angle. The man freezes, his own chuckle cutting out entirely and you hear him swallow audibly as you lean into his side. After a few seconds of quiet, broken only by the crackling of the small fire that Hunter had built to roast something questionable over, he finally moves. Tentatively, the man turns his head to regard you with something irrevocably sad haunting his dark green eyes. “What was that for?” he breathes.

“Well,” you start, “I just thought I ought to say thank you. I mean, you saved Death from that Phantom Guard earlier-” The horseman scoffs from the other side of the fire “-and you’re putting us up for the night. Heaven knows I needed some human company, no offence Death.” The Nephilim waves his hand dismissively whilst you throw him a wink. Turning back to the human, “You’re a good man, Hunter,” you finish and lean your head on his shoulder with a yawn.

From his position opposite, Death watches Hunter’s face morph from one of content, to something more conflicted and unsure. “If you say so….” he mumbles.

Draven: The Blademaster growls as he watches the Chancellor berate you, once again, for your lack of civility in the presence of The Dead King. It was an unfair, uncouth scolding that was also completely unwarranted. Even the King wouldn’t say that you’d done a thing wrong. But the Chancellor seemed to have it in for you. Death seems to believe he envies your ‘alive’ status, but you aren’t so sure.

Nevertheless, Death isn’t here right now, which meant the Chancellor could swoop in, undeterred, and strive to make your day a miserable one. What he hadn’t counted on, was Draven. With a snarl, he marches off the training circle, up the old, wooden stairs and grabs your arm, tugging you behind himself and staring the Chancellor down. The smaller ghost narrows his eyes and bares his teeth up at Draven, but doesn’t find the gall to say anything further as you’re guided back down into the relative privacy of the Undercroft.

“You okay?” he asks, slinging an arm over your shoulder and giving you a comforting squeeze. You smile up at him and nod, your arm around his waist as you return the gesture.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Takes more than a few choice words from that blowhard to upset me,” you reply. Draven laughs whilst you move your hand from his side to his head and pull him down until you can reach his face.

“Oi, what’re you-” He’s cut off when you place your lips against his cold, dead cheek. You pull away and look down shyly when Draven touches a hand to the spot where you kissed him. “Hell Y/n,” he coughs, smirking, “f’ I had any lips, I might return the favour.” The casual flirting is nothing new, so you giggle and shove at the Blademaster humorously.

#darksiders #imagine darksiders

77 notes · View notes