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sonkitty · 3 months

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The Pocket Trick Touch #5 - Single - Between Door Windows

Action #5 (Episode 6; Single; Between Door Windows)

The Tied Hands kept super busy before this touch happened.

These GIFs are for entering the Heaven elevator. I suspect they were tied in whatever special way this trip required.

The walk is so cute.

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Here is a GIF of Crowley's appearance changing during the exit trip down:

Note that the tassels and clasps are not visible. That means the thumbs and thumb joints are hiding by being pocketed into Crowley's vest.

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This GIF is for entering the bookshop after exiting the Heaven elevator:

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These GIFs are for while escorting Maggie and Nina out, so that's an exit from the bookshop:

In possibly the last frame of the last GIF, they were tied for the last time.

I consider the start of this touch to be at a specific point where Crowley is passing by the open broken window.

However, before that, we get a little Pocket Preamble through Gabriel.

Ta-da!

That's Gabriel using a pocket. Not only that, I'm too used to looking for framing to ignore some deliberate framing in this scene. Why is Michael's foot just outside the circle?

Hey wait a second...Gabriel and Beelzebub look like they have a shared Pocket Frame here. I would guess it's "Standing Chandeliers." Plus, standing chandeliers do light up when the two disappear later.

Well, I make no promises or assurances, just telling you that's what it looks like to me.

After said Pocket Frame possibility, the angels and demons bicker until Aziraphale rings a bell that just so happens to grab Muriel's attention.

A relatively new theory of mine is that Crowley and Muriel are actually good friends and that for this touch, Muriel is quietly assisting even though they and Crowley do not directly interact here. I keep suspecting their white helps hold things.

Alright, let's got onto the part where I suspect the touch actually starts. This touch is so utterly beyond my comprehension, but I'll still describe it.

After Crowley looked in from the window and smiled while looking at Aziraphale, he can be seen as mostly having already passed by the open broken window.

However, his left arm aligns nicely with the window frame, to the point that it is probably intentional for this touch. There is a car behind him that is following along with his movement. That car also has windows. Part of his jacket is indeed layered over the window frame, which is going to be important for the last part of the touch.

We already have our Pocket Chain at the ready, and it's going to do a lot for the benefit of this touch.

Crowley's arms are positioned such that both hands could be in pockets or maybe his left hand is in his left pocket, and he's putting his right hand in his right pocket. You can only guess since you can't see his hands or his pants.

This sequence is specific, so I am going to have a hard time breaking it down, because a lot of the below was written trying to be detailed while still missing details like the tie strands with their link to the hands, not that you can see it much in this one.

Before Crowley even starts to open the door, his head and upper body are positioned such that they are behind four window four windows of the overall group of windows on the door to Crowley's left. That's his chosen frame for that door. His head and body will not reach the two windows above that area.

Moving toward the other door, then his head and body actually do appear behind three windows on the door to Crowley's right. Instead, he does not pass over to the next group of three windows. Tally it up, and those are 7 windows. That's probably not a coincidence though I cannot guess what it accomplishes for the touch itself. The story likes the number 3 and the number 7 in general.

As Crowley starts to open the door, his vest can actually already be seen as partially touching his right hand that is not showing its pocket touch yet. One or both of the strands is visibly out. If it's both, they've merged to the point I can't really tell. There is no visible thumb yet, but the tie is is still visible. The strands are going to be incredibly difficult to track because they will be resting for most of the touch and have a left arm and a door in the way when they do more.

The left thumb joint links with the watch quite early as the door is being opened by barely being visible.

The watch looks like it is touching the left sleeve which is actually making a vertex touch to the door on Crowley's left at his elbow. In fact, that touch is near a push plate, which is what the index finger is going to mess with on the other door.

Instead of the left jacket torso and left jacket sleeve forming a pocket between each other, the jacket left sleeve is part of two pockets towards the door instead. A lower part of the back jacket helps form one of these two pockets. Yet a third pocket is evident between the bottom of the jacket, the pants, and the door. That gives the whole thing three pockets between the jacket and the door while including the pants in the lowest pocket.

The car following along with Crowley is still behind him, and it is most likely why he is allowed to actually touch the astragal as much as he does for this touch.

The left hand starts to open the door. In doing so, four fingers are together on the door with the index finger tip being on the edge of the push plate while the middle, ring, and pinky fingers tips are on the panel. Meanwhile, the proximal phalanges of these fingers are touching the astragal. The tie has been successfully blocked from being fully in view.

The thumb is touching the astragal, and its shadow is extending to the end of that astragal. That makes it look like the actual thumb tip is not committed to the touch yet, but the shadow is doing something important.

I'm not sure if the current point in the touch means we are at threshold-only yet or not for the door, especially with the idea of receiving assistance from the car behind him. If it weren't for the astragal and the pocket, we assuredly would be with three out of five digits. It might be a Triple multiplier for the touch.

The earlier left arm moves such that one of the earlier pockets between the jacket and the door merges into one pocket briefly before the sleeve closes in yet again later. That's when part of Crowley's sunglasses becomes visible from behind the door too. There will even be one video frame of yet another three tiny jacket-sleeve-to-door pockets before the shoulder crosses over in front of the door.

Nonetheless, Crowley keeps moving.

The thumb tip of the right hand is not visible yet.

As Crowley keeps opening the door, it looks like the left thumb is either getting closer or is indeed touching the astragal. It is hard to tell, but the shadow is doing its part for whatever is necessary here.

Meanwhile, the four fingers on the door are shifting down to get that index finger closer to being off that push plate edge, but they still haven't managed it yet.

The right thumb tip just outside the pocket finally becomes visible. The vest is touching the thumb while making sure to not touch the tip of the thumb.

While these finger things are happening, the tie strand clasps are hidden with their tips peeking out at presumably proper places. Since the arms are crossed, and they are obscured, it's hard to tell which strand is even tied to which hand. Eventually, I can gather the tie strand on Crowley's left hiding more in the jacket is the one linked with the left hand by watching its reaction to what the left thumb is doing. That's unusual since there's no evident reflection of Crowley or a nearby human as part of flipping the tied hands' mirror even if the red light is more lit when the strand became visible. I have no explanation and no good guesses. I am defeated and confused yet again.

Back to the digits.

There are still three left fingers on the door panel, a left thumb with a shadow over the astragal, and a left index finger barely touching a push plate edge.

He keeps moving.

The right hand grows increasingly visible while the left hand's digits haven't fully progressed to what they are ultimately going to do. It becomes evident that the shirt sleeve is partly out of the jacket so touching the top end of the hand. I'm not sure what the right thumb joint is being touched by, if anything. It's all dark because of the clothes. Logic suggests it should be the shirt because of how the jacket, vest, and belt are positioned around the general blackness behind that thumb joint. Also, as noted, his shirt sleeve is partly out of the jacket touching another part of the hand.

The left thumb moves and eventually manages to visibly pull itself away or off the bookshop door astragal so that it is clearly not touching anything. It's also starting to hide itself. As that thumb is pulling itself away, the car behind Crowley is having one of its windows nearly pass. The thumb aims for an illusionary touch onto that car's window frame for mainly its front window. Once most of the thumb joint is not visible, the thumb joint has an illusionary touch the front of the rear window.

The thumb was not the only thing acting in response to what that car window was doing while passing by behind Crowley.

Rewinding a little for the fingers..

The index finger acts like it isn't pulling away exactly, but it is effectively pulling itself into a position where it can then shift downward to the door panel. It's not just shifting down. It's like the index finger is trying to pinch the door by itself, which it can't. It made sure to change the nature of its own touch with the move. At about this time, there is a visually evident crease near the pinky area of the right hand. We cannot see the pinky, but it looks like a cue because the left pinky finger is going to start doing things. Nonetheless, the left index finger smooths its own touch to more closely match the other fingers.

When the left index finger successfully reaches that point, four fingers are on the door panel. Aside from the pocket, that on its own would be a threshold-only touch on the door.

The right hand is there with its pocket touch, but Crowley isn't finished.

Again, he keeps moving.

The left pinky has joined the thumb in pulling itself off and away from the bookshop door touch.

At two particular frames, it is clear that the pinky tip is not touching the astragal because its shadow does not meet the pinky tip on the bookshop door astragal. In those two frames, the thumb is not touching anything. There are three fingers with their fingertips touching a door panel. The six visible digits are accounted for as touching either a threshold or nothing. One of those frames is the thumb making its illusionary touch on the window frame.

That is my current best guess as the Pocket Frame touch point to consider due to the following three frames including that thumb joint not making an illusionary touch on the window frame. The above image is said guess.

Additionally, the right hand is positioned in a way that one could guess the pinky in it is cut off from view if one could actually see inside the pocket even though we can't.

Once all is truly said and done, Crowley's own head on his left is framed in a specific way in front of the door panel to avoid the windows and shades of that door.

His shoulder and some of his body is in front of his chosen pocket frame for two of the four windows on the door to his own left from before he entered.

Humans are not as clearly evident compared to past touches, but they are indeed present as generally blurry behind him during his walk toward the door. Plus, a human ended up being a huge assist to the whole thing as the driver of the car.

Instead of a more direct Overhead Light, there is the evident unlit standing chandelier nearby and close to the end of the touch, there is yet another reflective surface much closer to Crowley's actual head, still above and to the left of it.

While the Belt Head doesn't seem to do much, Crowley actually has his mouth open from when he is seen behind the bookshop door windows until the end of the cut. Notably, a human with an open mouth, Yawning Yellow, is going to be a huge assist to The Door Trick later.

For the Rainbow Connection, the this touch started on Red and ended on Orange. Orange will be the starting color for The Door Trick.

More pockets formed between parts of Crowley and parts of the door. I didn't log them all because I don't have the energy to do it. I'll simply note that it happened. If I ever can get the energy, I'll be back.

I can at least show a GIF:

As for the two potential Triple multipliers, I'm biased and am not exactly getting clear help from the game itself at this point, so, sure yeah, I'll give them to Crowley until season 3 says otherwise.

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The Pocket Trick: Basics

#crowley #good omens 2 #good omens s2 #good omens #david tennant #good omens season 2 #good omens analysis #good omens meta #good omens 2 thresholds #good omens 2 multiplicative threshold tricks #good omens 2 threshold tricks #good omens crowley #crowley good omens #good omens 2 the pocket trick

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the-gilbird · 4 years

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so i haven’t really posted anything like this before. but fuck it, because good omens is amazing, and i just shared this with the discord server, and they encouraged me to share it here, so. let’s-a-go, i guess

anyway. so. here it is.

so, we all know crowley is capable of massive feats, in terms of miracles. he can stop time on a whim. he can make a car make it through a ring of whatever the fuck kind of flame surrounded london via the m25, and then have it continue to function for several hours after that. he can pull two other entities (including the fucking antichrist) into what i can only assume to be a pocket dimension or something similar outside of time when one of the most powerful entities in the goddamn universe was approaching their location. and we also know why he is capable of the things he does: his imagination. crowley's creativity and imagination are one of the most powerful forces in the goddamn universe and that's not even an exaggeration. now, the other thing. aziraphale. he's smart, and cunning, and the biggest thing working against him is his lack of confidence in his abilities. he deciphered a large portion of agnes nutter's notoriously fucky riddles in one night. he figured out how to possess someone, despite no angel having done it before. and the reason he isn't higher in the pecking order in heaven is because he's kind, and loves the way angels should; and he is told for six millenia that he is not a good angel, which feeds into the lack of self confidence. but after ain'tmaggedon, he's free of heaven's influence. in fact, the only influence he really has now is crowley. and crowley's loved him for that six millenia, and probably sings his praises as often as he can now that crowley is likewise free of hell's influence, because he is a dumbstruck loveass. so aziraphale is more confident in his own abilities and traits, now. and aziraphale is intelligent. agnes nutter's final prophecy got them out of heaven and hell's line of view, and gave them time. but they won't stay away forever; crowley acknowledged that, right after the switch back in the garden. and aziraphale knows that it's only a matter of time before someone notices some discrepency, and they get caught (there's ten million angels and ten million demons, after all. someone's going to notice). so aziraphale begins to plan.

the first thing he does is plant the seeds, if you'll pardon the pun. after things have been settled for some time, he starts researching. pulling out the oldest ethereal (and occult) texts he owns (which are very old, and very numerous), and researching everything he can about the nature of angels and demons, and the nature of holy water and hellfire. and this takes up some time (seeds need to take root, after all. crowley needs to see him doing the research, after all). and occasionally, exactly as aziraphale knows he will, crowley will ask aziraphale what he's looking into, and aziraphale will say he's looking into protections against hellfire and holy water, for if heaven and hell ever figure out their little misdirection. (and crowley will hem and haw at him for referring to deceiving the entireties of heaven and hell, one of the greatest wiles ever pulled off in all of time, with the same language used to talk about magic tricks. and aziraphale will smile, because he loves every part of crowley.) and this will continue. and eventually, aziraphale will tell crowley that he's made a breakthrough. of course, aziraphale won't actually have made that big of a breakthrough. he has everything he needs by day three. but crowley needs to believe it. crowley needs to believe that aziraphale spent that entire time researching and plotting and planning and reading, because aziraphale is the smartest person that crowley knows, and if anyone can figure it out, his angel can. but what aziraphale tells him is that there wasn't any need of a plan at all, really. all this research has essentially been for moot. well, not for moot, because now they both know, but they didn't actually need to do anything with the information, aziraphale explains, because they're already safe, and have been for some time.

because, aziraphale says, holy water and hellfire can't affect them anymore. because crowley loves him with all of his heart, aziraphale explains, and he loves crowley with all of his. (don't technically have a heart, crowley says, still a bit blown away, what on account of them having corporations and not bodies, and all. oh hush, you know what i mean, aziraphale says back, and gives crowley a kiss on the forehead for his trouble.) and if a demon loves an angel, really loves them, hellfire won't burn them, because hellfire is the creation of demons, beings of destruction, generally, fueled by the hatred of their opposition, and so if a demon doesn't hate angels, it won't burn as strongly. and if a demon loves an angel, just one, then the angel won't be destroyed. and it works the same the other way 'round with holy water, aziraphale says, more excitedly, as crowley watches him enraptured, because holy water is blessed by angels, used to wipe out the opposition which they hate. and so if an angel loves a demon, that demon will be protected from the blessing, even blessings created by other angels. because love is a powerful force, it is the basis of the creation of humanity, when god first whispered the idea of them into being. when you love someone and have that love returned, you are giving yourself, wholely and completely, to another, and everything you are protects them with everything you have. it just so happens, aziraphale finishes by saying, that the respective weaknesses and strengths of angels and demons balance out rather nicely. humans put this phenomenon into very nice words, once; you must be subjected to the mortifying ordeal of being known, in order to get the rewards of being loved. and so they are ready. when they come (and they do come, they were always going to come, eventually), they take aziraphale first, just like last time. but unlike last time, aziraphale and crowley are together when their respective former head offices come to deal the killing blows. holy water said to be blessed by the almighty herself, and hellfire harvested from the deepest pits of hell, fueled by satan's everlasting rage. the strongest stuff there is, just so there is every guarentee. (the water fizzles gabriel's skin lightly, even, as a drop falls out as he carries it over, and the fire roars with a heat that even beelzebub inches away from.) it is volatile, it is deadly, and there is absolutely no hope for the traitors now. (or there wouldn't be, if aziraphale weren't so smart.) and crowley is shackled to the ground, his shoulders restrained by... demons? angels? he doesn't know, and he doesn't rightly care at this point, they're all the same to him, forcing him to face aziraphale, shackled and bound just as he is, being led into a roaring inferno of the hottest hellfire crowley has ever seen. and he knows, he knows they're safe, aziraphale looked into every possibility and he trusts aziraphale, trusts him with everything, trusts him with the name he had before the Fall and even with that he can't help struggling, and snarling, and doing everything he can to get out and run to his angel, trying every trick in the book but it's not working because there are too many enemies abound, too many hands holding him down and restraining him as his head is pulled back by his hair and he is forced to watch as aziraphale is shoved into the flames.

(aziraphale knew this, too. crowley is the heart, out of the two of them, he always was, and heaven and hell want every bit of revenge they can get, they want it to hurt. they know it will hurt worst if crowley is forced to watch the love of his life die in front of him, unable to do anything, and for aziraphale to die knowing that he can't protect crowley from what is coming next.) (really, it's no wonder aziraphale figured out agnes nutter's prophecies so quickly; for being two completely different entities, they think with remarkable similarity.) but aziraphale has already protected crowley. he has already protected both of them, because he is the smartest being crowley has ever known, and because he knows crowley, just as crowley knows him. and he knows crowley is, hands down, one of the most powerful beings in all of creation, and crowley's imagination is a force never to be reckoned with. all that stuff aziraphale spouted, about how a love from a demon can protect an angel, and vice versa? bullshit. complete and utter bullshit. aziraphale found what he needed to in those books he researched, and what he needed was just enough solid evidence for him to convince CROWLEY that it was true. it is the biggest, boldest, most daring lie aziraphale has ever told, and he will never tell crowley the truth because he can't. (he has practice, with this whole lying thing. he's lied to humans, he's lied to heaven, hell, he's even lied to crowley before. and he promised crowley he would never tell him another lie again but this one, this one he really can't help, not if it means keeping them both safe, and aziraphale will keep this close to his chest until the end of time. and he will only regret it for a single instance, and that is when he hears crowley's scream as he is thrown into hellfire.) the hellfire doesn't touch him. it can't touch him, because crowley believes it won't. despite being made of the purest anger the universe has ever known, it wraps around aziraphale like a warm embrace, like a gentle smile, like a 'welcome home.' and as crowley sees aziraphale's figure unwavering in the fire, his cry cuts out, and he smiles even as he is drenched, because it worked, just like aziraphale said it would. (and it worked. just like crowley thought it would, aziraphale thinks, as he smiles and sighs a breath of relief that they are finally (finally) safe.)

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #character study #i think? maybe? a bit of one anyway #draws on elements of headcanon and assumption #but overall aligns with canon i think #aziraphale is a genius #crowley has an imagination #lmk if you want me to tag something else #uh #the mortifying ordeal of being known #the rewards of being loved

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roseskiesandbutterflies · 3 years

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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.

#good omens #good omens headcanon #good omens fic #good omens imagine #crowley #crowley headcanon #crowley imagine #Aziraphale #aziraphale imagine #aziraphale headcanon #Ineffable Husbands

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obsidiancreates · 5 years

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Gray Area

(Okay so I had one idea about Aziraphale and Crowley’s wings turning gray since they’re truly no longer on either side and then I thought about what if they never did the body swap thing and... ta-da!)

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Aziraphale tried not to show his panic. He made himself look confident, defiant, unapologetic. Inside he was falling apart.

Worse, he was sure that down in Hell they were about to kill Crowley.

They had tied him to a chair. The room was terribly empty, just white floors and walls and windows with light that was far too bright shining through.

He wasn’t sure when the light of Heaven had become too bright for him. It used to upset him, the way it stung his eyes as he gave reports of his activities on Earth. It made him feel... as though he didn’t belong. As though he wasn’t a proper angel.

He knew now that was accurate, of course. He also knew that he didn’t mind that it was accurate. He didn’t belong, and why would he want to belong with these people anyway? The light did still upset him, but now for other reasons.

His last moments, and the final thing he would see was some overexposed angels smirking at him.

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Crowley smirked at the other demons. “Nice place here. A bit bare though. Going minimalist, are we?”

He may have been about to be punished, likely never to be seen or heard from again, but he’d be double-damned if he wasn’t going to go with style. He was Crowley, after all. Everything had to have some flair to it.

“Yes, we are,” Beelzebub said, their emphasis on the we making it very clear that Crowley was not included in it. “Webuilt this place for you specially. It shall be your place of trial, and it shall be your place of destruction.”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. He may be dramatic, but at least he was an interesting dramatic. “So what’ll it be then?” he said as nonchalantly as he could, hoping to piss the other demons off as much as possible before he went. “An eternity in the deepest pit?”

He had a feeling that was it. Hell loved it’s torture, after all.

“No no,” said Hastur, a grin forcing it’s way onto his face. It didn’t suit him, not at all, and Crowley leaned away from him slightly. “We’re going to do something even worse. Letting the punishment fit the crime.”

Crowley became aware of footsteps echoing down the hall he’d been lead down just moments ago. Purposeful, quick, but in a way that screamed of discomfort. He turned to watch the doorway.

Micheal walked through.

“Well, that’s unlikely,” he muttered, unable to stop the words before they escaped him. He noticed the pitcher in Micheal’s hands.

Holy water.

So they were going to kill him then. Well, he should have expected as much. Of course...

He froze. Heaven and Hell were working together, and that meant... “What have you done with Aziraphale?”

He heard Beelzebub laugh from behind him. “You two seemed so desperate not to live without each other...”

“So we decided to do you both a favor and not make either of you go through that,” Micheal finished, unable to hide the satisfied glint in their eye. “We thought it merciful,” she lied right through her pearly white teeth.

“And we thought it would kill you to know your little lover boy was going to die because of you,” Beelzebub said. At least they had the decency to be honest about it, not like that helped anything.

Aziraphale was going to die.

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“Ah, Aziraphale.” Gabriel’s voice boomed from behind. He walked into view, and Aziraphale resisted the urge to glare at him. If he was going to die, he was going to die with dignity.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be just a little sassy. Crowley would sass them. He would do his demon proud.

“You could have just sent a message. A kidnapping, in broad daylight?”

Gabriel shrugged and turned to Uriel. “Have we heard from our new associate?”

“He’s on his way.”

Gabriel grinned. “I bet you’re going to like this. I really do! And I bet you didn’t see this one coming.”

Aziraphale clenched his jaw. ‘Hellfire,’ he thinks, ‘You’ve somehow gotten ahold of Hellfire.’

And then he noticed Micheal’s absence. And a chill ran up his spine.

“You don’t get this view down in the basement!” a voice said. A demon walked over, walked on the grounds of Heaven, and smirked at Aziraphale. The demon threw his hands out, and Hellfire shot out at a small circle marked on the floor. The fire went up, twisting into a tornado, and Aziraphale could almost feel his hair singe from where he sat.

“So, with one act of treason you avoided the war. You ruined our entire plan, everything we’ve worked towards for six thousand years.” Gabriel was barely concealing his anger as he spoke.

“Well, I think the greater good-” Aziraphale tarted, knowing he was about to push Gabriel over the edge.

“Don’t talk to me about the greater good sunshine, I’m the Archangel fucking Gabriel!”

Unfortunate placing of the f-word, Aziraphale thought, but he didn’t mention it. Instead he frowned and said, “We’re meant to be the good guys, for heaven’s sake!”

“Well, for Heaven’s sake, we’re meant to make examples out of traitors. So, into the flame.”

The ropes around his arms were removed, and Aziraphale stood up. He straightened his bow tie, his hands shaking more then he thought they ever could. He swallowed. “Well... lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion,” he said, giving them a small smile, determined to take the high road.

“Shut your stupid mouth, and die already.” Gabriel gave the most ingenuine smile ever to exist.

Aziraphale’s own smile fell away. He looked at the fire and closed his eyes. He stepped in.

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Crowley watched Micheal pour the holy water into the bathtub. She could have just miracled it full, but no. No, they had to make a show of it. He could appreciate that, to a degree, but all he could think about was what was happening up in Heaven.

Micheal poured the last of the water. She left the room, and Beelzebub grinned. “Go ahead. Any last words?”

Crowley looked at the tub. Holy water... this was really it. He was... he was really about to die. Forever. He pushed down his feelings and smirked. “This is a new jacket, and I’d hate to ruin it.”

He pulled his jacket off, and his pants, watching as the other demons rolled their eyes. At least he was irritating them. He took his glasses off last.

“Go on already,” Beelzebub prompted. “Or I’ll have Hastur push you in.”

‘I’m sorry Angel,’ Crowley thought. And he got in.

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Aziraphale had expected agony. He had expected intense burning, the pain of having every atom of your being burning up, just unspeakable pain.

He hadn’t expected it to feel rather like a sauna. A sauna that was a bit too hot, but a sauna nonetheless. He cracked his neck and sighed. It was almost nice, really.

He opened his eyes. He still had eyes to open, which was very unexpected but he couldn’t complain. Gabriel and the other angels in the room were staring at him, wide-eyed, all of them much farther back then they had been when he’d stepped in.

He smiled at them. His wings felt especially warm, and they stung quite a bit.

“It may be worse than we thought,” Gabriel said.

Aziraphale’s wings stung more, and began to hurt a bit. He brought his wings in front of him.= to see what was wrong.

They smoldered at the tips, the feathers smoking and graying. He watched the fire flick at his feathers, white singeing to gray, the smoke of the bottom feathers staining the ones higher up.

They were... a soft gray, somehow. Almost silver. The tips of the feathers on the edges were a dark, smoky gray, but the rest were light, pleasant. He rather liked them.

Maybe... maybe if he was okay, he could dare to hope...

“Well,” he said. He looked up and beamed. “It seems that The Almighty has other ideas for me.” He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he wanted the other angel’s to believe it. “Thank you for the fire, I was feeling a bit chilly. May I take my leave now?”

Gabriel nodded, slowly, his lips parted in shock. “I think that would be best.”

“Thank you.”

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Crowley flicked the water at the window, watching with glee as the demons behind it scrambled away. Even the walls sizzled where the water hit them.

But he was fine. His skin was a bit red and irritated, but he was fine! “I don’t suppose anyone here has a rubber duck?”

Hastur just stared, not blinking. Beelzebub and Dagon had both stepped back to avoid Crowley’s splashing. “He’s not one of us, anymore,” Beelzebub said.

Crowley brought his wings out, just to see how much they’d spray the water everywhere with their unfurling. But as they curled around him in order to fit in the tub, he noticed something.

As holy water dripped down his wings it left streaks, streak of gray amongst his other pitch-black feathers. The water stayed clear and pure, but it was... almost like it was washing his wings.

Hastur made a choking sound. Beelzebub ran to the window, where all the demons of Hell (or at least, the ones who were best at shoving through crowds) were gather, watching with open mouths.

“What are you looking at! Nothing to see here, nothing to see!”

Crowley leaned back into the tub. He stared as his feathers lightened in the water, becoming a dark gray, like a stormy cloud. They were even lighter in the places that the droplets had dripped down, streaks of near silver.

He grinned. Oh, he grinned.

Because perhaps, perhaps, if a demon could survive a bath in holy water, an angel could survive Hellfire.

Of course, he wasn’t really a demon anymore, was he?

“I came for the- oh, Lord.” Micheal froze, mouth agape.

Crowley was still grinning. “Micheal! Miracle me a bath towel, would you? This has been nice,” he hissed the last word, “But I think I’m done.”

Micheal handed him a towel, pure white and fluffy as can be. She jumped a bit when he reached out to grab it.

“I think,” he said, sitting up and flicking holy water at the remaining demons in the room, “That it would be best if I was left alone for a while.”

Hastur had backed away so far that he was pressed against the opposite wall, his hands opening and closing like he was trying to claw through it to get even further away. Dagon and Beelzebub stood to the side, still, silent. They nodded. Crowley turned his yellow eyes to Micheal, who smiled nervously and nodded too.

Crowley smirked. “Right.”

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Aziraphale shut the door to his bookshop and leaned against it. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily as he slid down. He miracled the door locked and curtains closed.

He brought out his wings to look at them again.

They were... quite beautiful, in his opinion.

The darkened edges of the outer feathers, the way the lighter ones were pale but still clearly not white, the way they gleamed like silver when the light hit them but seemed to be a simple soft gray when it didn’t...

They were not the wings of an angel, but not the wings of a demon, and he quite liked that.

He stood up and walked to his phone. He was still shaking a bit, and as he dialed Crowley’s number it got worse.

What if he had been wrong, and the demon hadn’t...

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He wouldn’t allow himself to go there.

He was just one number away from calling when he heard the door open, and a familiar voice shout “Angel!”

His heart raced. He dropped the phone and ran into the main room. “Crowley!”

Without a thought he ran at the demon and pulled him into a hug. Crowley froze, stiffed, but after a moment he hugged back.

They’d never hugged before. But Aziraphale didn’t care, and clearly neither did Crowley. They held each other for a long time, just... happy.

Finally Crowley pulled away, gently, and Aziraphale did too.

“Angel,” Crowley said, taking off his glasses. “I- I’m glad you’re okay.”

“And I’m glad you are, my dear.”

Crowley’s eyes shifted, and Aziraphale realized that he hadn’t put away his wings. “Ah, yes, it um, it seems the Hellfire had a bit of a... a side effect?” he tried. “I quite like them, truthfully.”

“I do too,” Crowley said. He stepped back and smiled. “What do you think of mine?”

He got out his wings, and Aziraphale gasped. They were a beautiful dark gray, with streaks of lighter gray that, Aziraphale noted with surprise but joy, matched Aziraphale’s own.

“They’re gorgeous,” he breathed. He laughed a bit. “Do you think... do you think this is because we’re on our side now? Do you think She may have had something to do with it?”

“Who know? Who cares? We’re free, Angel. We can do anything!”

Aziraphale looked his demon, or whatever he was now, in the eyes. “Anything,” he repeated, grinning. “Well... how about we start with lunch? At the Ritz?”

Crowley grinned back. “Sounds good to me.”

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(I am very proud of this! Look at these boys! Living it up! After this the Ritz scene from the show happens, and yeah! They just go about happy! Whoo-hoo!)

@victory-cookies @a-humble-narcissus

#Good Omens #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #fluff #good omens fanfiction #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic #my AU

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goodomensblog · 5 years

Text

Afterward - Part 8

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

(#4 won - but a large number of you voted for #1 and many voted for #4 AND #1, so I felt it was only fair to include some 1 here too.)

Afterward - - Part 8

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

“Angel,” he says, and it comes out breathy - trembling; it’s the furthest thing from cool, and Crowley doesn’t care, not even a little bit. Because Aziraphale is sitting up. He is breathing - smiling.

Mere moments ago, Aziraphale was, was - dying. And to have Aziraphale here, now, looking at him with those kind, soft eyes, his curious fingers brushing Crowley’s face, it’s -

Too much - and yet, nowhere close to enough. It’s a gasping breath after a lifetime without air; the barest taste of everything Crowley has ever wanted.

Crowley loses himself, for a moment, leaning into the touch.

“Angel,” he repeats, throat aching. “Awfully rude of you,” he says, turning his face, and trembling lips brush skin, “nearly dying on me there.”

Beneath his lips, Aziraphale’s hand gives a little shake.

A shiver, Crowley realizes.

Reality, cold and biting, rushes back.

Crowley flinches, his eyes snapping open.

Oh god, er - somebody.

And Crowley is straightening up, scrambling back.

What on fucking earth am I doing? Aziraphale has had a trauma, and here I am wantonly rubbing my lips all over his hand.

Aziraphale’s hand hovers, still reaching. Flushed and blinking, the angel stares down at it; and there is a little crease between his brows, as if he’s puzzling out some great mystery he’s discovered there, in the lines of his palm.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley starts, voice cracking - because he doesn’t even know how to begin apologizing -

Blue eyes look up, but they are shifting past Crowley - up and over his shoulder.

And - oh.

“Right. Forgot about him,” Crowley says and stands.

“Aziraphale.”

“Gabriel.”

“Asshole,” Crowley corrects, lips curving in a thin, sharp line. Spinning on his heel, he swings a fist at the Archangel’s nose.

Gabriel jerks back, but he’s a millisecond too slow. Crowley’s fist catches the side of his nose, and Crowley experiences the, truthfully, rather alarming sensation of cartilage cracking beneath his hand.

Gabriel topples from his perch on the couch, bleating curses all the way down. He’s barely touched ground before he’s up again, one hand on his bent nose, the other curling around the sword hilt which is emerging from the aether.

“That was a mistake, demon,” Gabriel says - or, tries to.

Between the golden blood dripping into his mouth and his crushed nose, the threat comes out garbled and almost comically nasally.

Crowley, in the process of shaking out his hand, catches a glimpse of the sword emerging out of thin-air, and skips back. Snapping his fingers, he summons flame and -

Does a double take. Flipping his hand, he squints at the flame curling in his palm. He blinks once. Twice. Takes off his glasses and blinks again.

There’s no getting around it.

The flame is blue.

“Huh,” Crowley says.

Clutching at his broken nose and holding a sword half summoned, Gabriel has stopped, and is also staring down at Crowley’s hand.

“Okay. Mind telling me what the fuck is that all about?” Gabriel says around a mouthful of snot and blood.

Tilting his head, Crowley wiggles his fingers, watching, entranced as the blue flame dances between them.

Odd.

Holding his hand aloft, Crowley turns to show Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, however, isn’t paying attention to Crowley - or Gabriel for that matter. He’s crouched beside the couch, one hand on Beelzebub’s head, the other on their chest.

“Both of you. Stop it. Now,” Aziraphale snaps, looking up, “Beelzebub is fading. Fast.”

Crowley folds his hand around the strange flame, dousing it.

He regrets it when, moments later, Gabriel whips the remainder of the sword from the aether and - spinning it with a flourish, levels it at Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel says, conversational. “Take a step back.”

Aziraphale, glancing nervously at the blade pointed at his throat, purses his lips. Meeting Gabriel’s eyes, he heaves a frustrated sigh.

“I am obviously trying to help,” Aziraphale says, holding the Archangel’s gaze. “I was under the impression that you and Beelzebub have some sort of business together. Am I wrong in assuming you don’t want to watch them die?”

As Aziraphale speaks, Crowley takes a slow, careful step toward Gabriel.

Gabriel lifts the sword, lightly brushing the underside of Aziraphale’s chin.

“Am I wrong in assuming that you and your demon boyfriend are the last people who would ever want to save Beelzebub - who, by the way - tried to have said demon boyfriend killed?”

“He’s not-” Aziraphale stutters, then frowns, bristling. “Oh for pities sake, quite a lot has happened in the last twelve hours! Satan has, apparently, gone mad and Beelzebub, apparently, has an idea of how to stop him. And we were chased out of London, and Hell hounds followed us onto consecrated ground. And then you tried to murder me. So if you could kindly put down the fucking sword - and Crowley, stop trying to sneak up on Gabriel. Get over here and help me.”

Aziraphale finishes, trembling and red in the face.

“Um,” Gabriel manages, nose dripping. “Satan is what.”

“The sword, Gabriel,” Aziraphale stutters.

Reluctantly, the blade lowers.

Only after the pointy bit is safely away from Aziraphale’s fleshy parts does Crowley hop over the end table. Placing himself very purposefully between Gabriel and Aziraphale, Crowley crouches down.

“I can hardly sense any energy in them, Crowley,” Aziraphale mutters sweeping his fingers over Beelzebub’s temple.

Grimacing, Crowley pokes at the holy burns.

“Yeah,” he says, lifting a part of Beelzebub’s blazer. Beneath, their skin is raw and partially melted. Fighting the overwhelming urge to gag, Crowley drops the fabric. “It’s not good.”

“And?” Gabriel says, irritable and looming. “How about you do something about it, demon.”

“It’s not that simple,” Crowley hisses.

“Yes, you are the expert here, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, turning to give Crowley his full attention. “What must be done?”

Heaving a sigh, Crowley takes a long look at Beelzebub. His finger taps a nervous pattern on the couch.

Crowley can think of, at most, three methods which will maybe save Beelzebub. They are long shots. And are, all of them, far more dangerous than he’d prefer.

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

To save Beelzebub, Crowley reluctantly suggests…

Stealing Hell Fire (from Hell or perhaps, from Heaven - as it is distinctly possible they secretly kept some for themselves after Aziraphale / Crowley’s attempted execution) to bathe Beelzebub within it.

Crowley, though exhibiting strange side effects after giving blood to Aziraphale, is willing to attempt a demonic healing.

Attempting a dangerous, and rarely used ritual, which should be capable of transferring a portion of one individual’s life force to another. Crowley happily suggests Gabriel be the one to sacrifice a bit of his life.

Comment or reblog to vote :)

Read Part 9 Here

#my writing #choose your own adventure fic #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #ineffable husbands fanfic #ineffable husbands fanfiction #otp: ineffable #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #good omens beelzebub #good omens gabriel #ineffable beurocracy

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livingintheworldofstories · 4 years

Text

The Sound of Music

Genre: Angst with a happy ending Word Count: 5169 Summary: After Crowley and Aziraphale failed to stop Armageddon, the War broke out and the universe got destroyed. After the angels finally win the War, Crowley becomes a captive of Heaven. Who better to decide over his fate than his old adversary Aziraphale? Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence (a little) Ao3: The Sound of Music

After the last second of time had run out, after the last star had burned out, after Beelzebub had died and all the walls of Hell had crumbled, the angel Aziraphale sat in a room without books. The angels, thankfully, had had just enough imagination to think them up – after all, rooms weren’t overly complicated, entirely made out of rectangles, which are entirely made out of straight lines. Had there been a curve or a wiggly line involved, the angels might not have managed it.

Aziraphale had only a moment to register the knock and feel a surge of dread before the door sprang open. Gabriel stepped in, as usual radiating confidence, but slower and with his shoulders down. His mouth was drawn in a serious line. The War had changed him, too. In time, he would go back to being his usual cocky, insufferable self – he had after the Fall. But for a while, the images of blood and death would haunt him the same way they did everyone else. It filled Aziraphale with a deep, petty satisfaction. Then Gabriel stepped aside, revealing who was coming in behind him – and Aziraphale’s heart stopped.

“Crowley.”

The word fled out of his mouth out of its own volition. Aziraphale had no say in it.

Crowley was – alive. A captive of Heaven, despondent and worse for wear, but alive. It took Aziraphale a second to recognize the clothes. They were the same clothes Crowley had worn an eternity ago, when they had tried to stop Armageddon and failed. Now his jacket was torn at the seams, his shirt darkened with what might be dirt or blood. His hands were bound behind his back. Two angels marched in after him, maybe to keep him in line. And then Crowley looked up, straight into Aziraphale’s eyes and Aziraphale had known what he’d done was unimaginably cruel and above all unforgiveable but suddenly he was confronted with the reality of how much. Crowley looked at him with eyes that would never forgive and Aziraphale absolutely deserved it. What have they done to you, he wanted to ask. What happened to you?

Someone had extinguished the spark in Crowley’s eyes, someone had wiped the fond smile off his face and Aziraphale couldn’t bear the thought that it had been him, but it had been, it must have been. It could have been.

Crowley was broken and it was all Aziraphale’s fault, only his.

“Have you forgotten…” Crowley started darkly and for one terrifying moment Aziraphale knew that he had. He had forgotten. Drinking fine wine in the book shop, feeding ducks in St. James park, black and red scales, we’re on out own side and I love - “…that there are other colors besides white? Seriously. White everywhere. You guys need to hire a better interior designer. White’s not even a color.” “Quiet,” Gabriel snapped. Crowley closed his jaw and Aziraphale could see him grinding his teeth. “Now, Aziraphale. Since you have proven yourself loyal to Heaven in the war, we provide you with a gift. Your adversary! From earth. Remember? Since Heaven gained victory over hell, as well knew it would, because good always prevails, we are now dealing with the traitors. Like this maggot right here.” Gabriel kicked Crowley’s legs and his knees buckled out underneath him. He struggled to regain his balance but didn’t get up again.

“I shouldn’t say maggot, should I? What was it? Snake? Both writhe and crawl on the floor, so it doesn’t really matter.” Crowley didn’t even look at him, didn’t lift his gaze from Aziraphale even once. Crowley had looked at Aziraphale without sunglasses before but never with such an intensity. Aziraphale couldn’t really read it. Was it an accusatory glare? It seemed to scream I will never forgive you.

“Anyway,” Gabriel continued. “The demon Crowley, the beginning of sin. Now it’s time to end it. I’m sure you’ve been looking forward to this opportunity for a long time.” “A – a long time, yes,” Aziraphale quickly said.

“So, would you please punish the traitor, so that we can all get on with our day?”

“Certainly, yes, yes.”

There was a horrible pause, where Aziraphale’s mind reeled for something to say. Maybe Crowley could sense how uncomfortable he was, just like he always had, because he started to speak, as if to save Aziraphale.

“Ever heard of a color called Pansy Lavender?” A lazy grin spread across Crowley’s face. “I’m sure you’d love it. I did name quite a few paint colors back when earth was still a thing, did you know that?” Gabriel started scowling. “Pea Soup. Flesh. Candy Apple, classic.” Crowley winked.

“If you think you can talk your way out of this,” Gabriel said impatiently, “just remember that you’re in Heaven now. Everything is Heaven now. There is literally nowhere for you to run.”

“You know what I call a place full of demons?” Crowley snarled, his head whipping around to Gabriel. “Hell.”

“Those demons won’t be here for much longer.”

Gabriel’s mouth stretched into his Grin of Superiority. Aziraphale found himself frozen, desperately trying to think of a way to get them out of this. It hurt to see Crowley on his knees. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. But Aziraphale needed to grit his teeth and pretend it was right.

*** Crowley looked back at Aziraphale. He could barely take his eyes off him. It had been so long since he last saw him, so long since… Aziraphale raised his sword at him. Since Aziraphale had made clear once and for all that when push comes to shove, he would never choose Crowley. And push had come to shove. Hard. And he hadn’t chosen Crowley. (And Crowley shouldn’t have expected him to. It was the insufferable hope that festered in his chest. It was quite unbecoming for a demon.)

“I’m just saying,” Crowley said and made his voice sound unaffected, casual and light and everything the feeling ins his chest was not. He had to keep talking, if only to spare Aziraphale from making excuses. If only to prolong what would be the inevitable culmination of a myriad of painful experiences. So, “I’m just saying,” Crowley just said, motioning to the white walls, “a little more love could have gone into -” In an instant, his mouth was burning, his tongue was on fire and Crowley opened his mouth as if to cough out a flame. It hurt to scream and Crowley screamed anyway. The flames went out but the pain didn’t go away, it stayed comfortably behind his teeth. His mouth felt raw and it would have been agonizing to move his tongue, if he had been able to produce a sound with its charred remains in the first place. Crowley only registered the blood when he felt it run down his chin. It must have been in his mouth, but he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t feel anything but the pain. Out of instinct, he pulled, intending to wipe the blood from his lips, but his hand wouldn’t come up. Of course it wouldn’t it, was shackled behind his back.

“That’s enough of that,” Gabriel said, who, with mild effort, had performed the miracle to burn Crowley’s tongue. “You’re a demon. You don’t know anything of love.”

The pain was liquid in his mouth. It seemed to come from somewhere deeper than that, his throat was alight with the memories and pleas he had hurled at God long ago. The War that had taken stage on the universe. The dying demons on the battlefield. He had Fallen with them. He had felt pain with them before. Until then, he hadn’t been able to imagine anything worse than the Fall. Now he knew better. There was no such thing as the worst. It was the kind of thing that added up. And added up. Aziraphale clutched his hands in front of him, so uncertain, so out of his element. He didn’t belong in a world full of nothing. Heaps of nothing. Nothing upon nothing upon more of nothing. There had been other paint colors Crowley had named. One had reminded him of Aziraphale and he’d called it ‘Love Letter’. (He had always been a bit of a fool.)

Gabriel had taken away Crowley’s only weapon now, since the bindings on his wrist also prevented him from performing miracles, and all that was left to do was look at Aziraphale. Feast on it, just for a little bit, before it was all taken away. His angel-white hair. His permanently old-fashioned clothes. He didn’t look happy, though, not one bit, which was quite the tragedy.

Just smile. Just let me see you smile.

Crowley could feel the tears burning in the corners of his eyes. He tried to transport himself back to years and years ago into a bookshop that was long gone and had felt more like home than any of Crowley’s flats. He tried to picture Aziraphale’s face, his soft smile and the exact arch of his eyebrows when he found something funny. He tried to banish the picture of Aziraphale with his sword raised from his mind. “Well then,” Gabriel said, “get on with it.” Crowley looked at Aziraphale and tried to beg him. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t say anything too cruel. Don’t bring your sword down after years and years. “This is between me and him,” Aziraphale said. “I want to… handle this in private.” Gabriel gave a long-suffering sigh. “Alright. See that the matter is taken care of. Someone will come to check on you in… an undetermined amount of time.” As Gabriel left, Crowley faintly wondered if Aziraphale was going to be gentle about it. Grant me a bit of mercy, just a little bit.

He wanted to say something, but it wasn’t just his burned mouth stopping him. He wished desperately he could just swallow the pain down.

This couldn’t be easy on Aziraphale either. He wasn’t a friend, no, Aziraphale had always vehemently denied it and proved in the end that those weren’t just empty words. But they’d known each other for a long time. He was Aziraphale’s somewhat begrudgingly accepted acquaintance. And even if it could never be affection or, Satan forbid, love, Aziraphale’s kindness and all around goodness would make this hard for him.

Aziraphale, gasping for words, stepped closer and even now, Crowley didn’t flinch away. He clung to the same hope he’d hung onto for millennia.

Just have mercy on me.

Stripped of his sunglasses and of his tongue, Crowley felt a breeze of wind could blow him over. A word could knock him unconscious. A tentative touch could break his neck. And Aziraphale – Aziraphale looked at him. And then his hand came up (came up like it had back then, with that blasted sword in his hand -) and Crowley’s breath caught in his throat, caught between the ridges of a throat raw from pleading and bleeding and bleeding. As he anticipated the blow, Crowley was struck with the thought that Aziraphale’s eyes were the same color as they had been so many years ago, but now they were much older. Years had passed, but an eternity seemed to live and upend itself in his irises again and again.

Crowley was waiting for judgment to be passed once again. Hadn’t he suffered enough? (Maybe he had. Maybe this would put an end to it.) And what would Aziraphale’s verdict be? Not good enough for an angel, that was obvious. Not bad enough for a demon. Too supernatural for a human. You are a nowhere-being, why don’t you go back there?

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and then the pain was – gone. He could feel his tongue mend itself. (But the taste of pain lingered.) Aziraphale had given him back the ability to speak. Why? What did he want to hear?

He tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound downright pathetic.

“Angel,” he rasped out. It was as much a plea as an insult as a broken promise and Aziraphale’s face unraveled. Both of his eyes came loose and his jaw fell open. “Long time no see.”

Maybe Aziraphale was eager to fulfill the command he had been given, to have this done and over with, at Heaven’s beck and call like he always had been, but maybe Crowley could tempt him to wait. Crowley’s last temptation. He would pull out all the stops.

“Lovely little room you’ve got here. Why, I would love to stay, thanks for asking. Just like old times.” “Don’t,” Aziraphale said quietly. Well. If he was so adamant on Crowley’s last minutes being unpleasant, so be it.

And what could he even say? Aziraphale didn’t want to hear his begging or his apologies and certainly not his love confessions. All he could think of was the sword that hadn’t even been flaming at the time. Everything had gone to pieces within seconds and Crowley had lost track of Aziraphale in the crowd of angels descending from Heaven and demons rising from Hell. The knowledge of how Aziraphale really felt about him was like a rope around his neck, pulling tight. Preventing any word from escaping. A trapdoor beneath his feet and Aziraphale at the lever. (Why did it have to be Aziraphale? Out of all the angels in Heaven, why him? The upside: he could see him one last time. The downside: it would hurt so much more. So much.)

Crowley didn’t really regret having to die. Not really. He’d already lost the eternity he wanted. He had lost the most stubborn car that had ever existed, he had lost the rare but kind touches of Aziraphale, he had lost the stars, every single one of them. All that he had ever created and all he had ever dreamed of having was gone.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I’m so sorry.” Of course. Of bloody course he was sorry. He was going to do it, he had to, but he would be very fucking sorry while he did it. Small mercies for that. (Maybe he had been sorry back then, with the sword.)

And he could be angry if he wanted to, he could spit poison in Aziraphale’s face, he could accuse and shame and tear apart with words if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Not now. Not when he – they – only had so little time left. So instead, he said: “Don’t be.” It was so hard to summon the words. “I was the one who misjudged. Very badly misjudged.” God – Satan – Somebody, he’d thought it was real. He’d thought they really had something. Six thousand years of something. Aziraphale seemed frozen, in all his bloody sorriness and Crowley couldn’t even be mad. “You were a dream, Aziraphale,” Crowley admitted quietly. “I dreamed you up. An angel who could love a demon. Ha! They did always say I had too much… imagination.” He held Aziraphale’s gaze, even though he had long lost his sunglasses. “This is reality,” he tried to say it full of bitterness, but it came out soft.

“It’s horrible, is what it is. Horrible! What Gabriel just did -” Aziraphale seemed close to tears. “I would rip out Gabriel’s heart if I weren’t quite so sure he doesn’t have one.”

“That’s not very angelic of you to say.” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I don’t care for the bloody ‘being an angel’ business very much at the moment.” Ah. The War had changed Aziraphale, too, then, at least a little. He wouldn’t have been caught discorporated saying something like that years ago.

“You should be careful to say that kind of thing,” Crowley reminded him halfheartedly. “You know what could happen.” “What, you mean I might Fall? Where to? There’s only heaven now.”

“Hng. S’pose you’re right.”

Aziraphale leaned forward, then. “Here, let me get that for you,” he said and miracled the restraints around Crowley’s wrists away. Astonished, Crowley moved his hands in front of himself, suddenly unsure what to do with them. Why had Aziraphale done that? With the restraints removed, he could perform miracles again, at least those he still had the energy for. He could flee, if he wanted to. Well. Aziraphale probably knew that he didn’t.

“Do get up, my dear, please,” Aziraphale said and touched Crowley’s elbow. My dear. Crowley didn’t know if he was still able to cope with being called that. Gingerly, he got to his feet.

“Please listen. I’m sorry about… the last time we saw each other. I should never – I mean, of course, I never really intended to – it was just such a mess and I didn’t know what to do -” “It’s alright, angel,” Crowley said, an almost automatic response to seeing Aziraphale in distress at this point. “It’s not like you ever made me any false promises. You were always pretty clear about how we stood to each other. It was just me who was too -” hopeful, too optimistic, too in love “- well, foolish to believe you.”

“No. No, you really weren’t. Stop saying these things. Stop talking like -” “Like we were just acquaintances? That it never really meant anything? Believe me, I’ve had enough time to realize you never really liked me all that much. Threatening me with your sword was hint enough for me.” There had, of course, been many hints before that, very many, but Crowley had not exactly been quick on the uptake in that respect.

“I was there,” Crowley continued, even though it hurt more than anything, “that was all. I was the only one who would stick around longer than a few decades. That’s why we were -” not friends, never friends “- acquaintances.” Aziraphale looked at him like Crowley had told him God was a vicious bastard. (A gaze Crowley was obviously familiar with.)

“Really, I’m under no delusions there.” Not anymore, at least. “So don’t feel bad about it.”

“I should never have denied you were my friend,” Aziraphale said, sounding suspiciously close to sniveling.

“It’s who we are, didn’t you always say that?” Crowley said. Then, like an old inside-joke: “You should have smote – smitten – smited? - me the second you saw me.” “Don’t say that.” “Would’ve spared you a lot of trouble, I’m sure,” Crowley said wryly.

Aziraphale gave him a long look and shook his head.

“It would have been horribly boring.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” They shared a small, quiet smile. It was the kind of smile that could probably not bring governments or oppressive power structures down, but that could bring something like our side back into existence.

Suddenly, Crowely could feel the phantom touches of the last few years – the shoves, the scrapes, the pushing, the angels from earlier with their commanding fingers, forceful and rough and I hate you almost as much as I hate myself. He thought of angels with burning wings. He thought of drowning demons. He thought that falling is just like jumping without a goal in mind. And he wanted to reach out to Aziraphale as badly as he had ever wanted anything, with every cell of this body and with every scale of his snake form, with every bit of his true essence. He coveted with the whole of his being and a little beyond.

Then he saw the fond way Aziraphale looked at him, just the way he used to. Crowley’s hand moved on its own but stopped just short of Aziraphale’s face. Then he realized that he had almost nothing left to lose, only minutes. This was his last chance – so he touched Aziraphale’s jaw with trembeling fingers.

Aziraphale looked very scared.

“Shame there’s no beds in Heaven,” Aziraphale said, sounding the way he always did when he was trying to sound casual. “I could really use a lie-down.”

“You could always miracle one.” “It won’t be the same,” Aziraphale said and then miracled one anyway. Crowley had his moments of idiotic confidence and this was one of them, so he took Aziraphale’s hand and led him to the bed.

Just once, he thought, just this once. And committed his worst offence. Like a thief, he leaned forward quickly, desperately, and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale gasped in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. This couldn’t have come as a surprise to him, for millenia Crowley had been painfully obvious. For millenia, he had been rejected at every turn. But this one time – this last time – Aziraphale decided to indulge him, to humour him, and kissed him back. Crowley had decided to take and Aziraphale seemed to have decided to give.

It was a last wish fulfilled.

It was everything Crowley had ever wanted, nothing like he had wanted it.

It was Crowley’s sweetest regret.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said after he pulled away and Crowley had no idea how to interpret it. He swallowed heavily.

“We can’t miracle our way out of this one,” he said softly. No matter how much he wanted to pretend they had forever on this bed, in this small room, reality looked different. “I don’t have enough energy to teleport. If you do anything, they’ll know. It’ll show up in the paper work. The thing with the shackles will arleady be hard to explain.”

“Then what do you expect me to do?” Aziraphale said, his voice out of control.

“They expect you to kill me, angel,” Crowley said as neutrally as possible.

“So?” “So… just make it quick.”

Crowley hoped Aziraphale knew how serious he was. There was no way out of this. (He wasn’t sure he wanted a way out of this.)

“No,” Aziraphale said. “No. No. Out of the question.”

Right. It would be hard to make a murderer out of someone like Aziraphale. So this would be his last temptation.

“Listen,” he started in his softest temptation voice. “We both know you never really wanted to get all mixed up with - with the likes of me. You’re not going to give up on being an outstanding angel with a gold star now, are you?” (It would be a little late for that.) “Gabriel and his little band of angels is standing outside that door just waiting for you to do it. They’ll come in and expect to find my remains.” He had tempted Aziraphale to kill before, back when they had still tried to stop the Antichrist. Surely he could do it again? “I would never -” Aziraphale said and was too overwhelmed to speak.

Of course Aziraphale would never, he was bloody Aziraphale. Why did he change his mind about the Antichrist? Right, because he was the Antichrist and about to destroy the whole world. So upping the ante it is.

“I’ve changed, you know,” Crowley said, drenching his voice in bitter sadness that was only partly faked. “The War changed all of us. I’ve… killed.” He tried very hard to sound the way he would if he had committed atrocities in the War. “I’ve ripped angels’ wings from their backs. I set traps of Hellfire for them. I would have done anything to survive.” “No. Stop – stop this immediately. You wanted to run. You told me you did.” “Yeah, but it was a little late for that, wasn’t it? I was caught in the crossfire.” Aziraphale didn’t believe a word he was saying. Crowley started to panic, which is never a good state to lie in.

“At first, I did it just to survive, but then… my demonic instinct kicked in. I started to like it. I wanted to burn every single one of them. For what they did to me. For ruining everything. I wanted to burn all of Heaven. And I did – I burned so many and I didn’t even care.” “You’ve lied better before,” Aziraphale said almost angrily. “Do you really think I would believe that?”

The fight drained out of Crowley, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“It would be easier if you did.” “Stop being so bloody…” Aziraphale seemed to search for a word. “…kind.” “I’m about to die, there’s no need to insult me.” Crowley drew his lips into a wonky smirk. “It wouldn’t even matter, you know,” Aziraphale said, “if you were telling the truth. I would understand.”

Fuck. Fuck. Was there nothing he could say… It was Aziraphale’s life on the line here. If he didn’t comply with Heaven’s orders, they’d kill him too. And Crowley couldn’t let that happen. He just couldn’t.

“Really,” he drawled. “Sparing me an eternity of white robes and Sandalphone playing the harp off-key, that would be a kindness.” “You silly demon. There is nothing you can say that would make me even consider this.”

Crowley sighed, feeling deeply reliefed and anxious at the same time. He cupped Aziaphale’s face with both his hands and started drawing small circles on his cheeks with his thumbs. He wanted to keep this so badly. He wanted to see another sunrise, just one. But he knew Aziraphale had made his choice, years ago, he had made it. And it was the right choice. The only choice. And Crowley was just tired. So, so tired.

“Just put me to sleep, angel,” he said softly and moved his hands further into Aziraphale’s hair. “You know how much I like sleeping. It won’t be so different.”

Aziraphale let out a quiet sob and started to frantically shake his head.

“Just let me sleep,” Crowley said in a last-ditch effort to convince Aziraphale, though at this point he knew that nothing would.

“I can’t.”

Crowley felt like he was trapped in a room with no doors, like he was spinning around searching for one but there were only walls and walls and walls. “You’ve never chosen me before,” he said, like a statement.

“I should have. I would have. On that day-”

Crowley drew his hands back. “You raised your sword at me-” “I was panicking, I don’t know why I did that, but I know I never would have – if you’d just stayed, I -” It sounded unbelievable. He’d thought about that moment so many times over the years, to hear it was different now was – dizzying. He closed his eyes, as though that could somehow keep his head from spinning.

“Can’t we just – run away together?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley’s eyes snapped open.

“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” All of it was, all of it was so late. But Crowley would, of course he would. He would raise a new wold out of the ashes of the old one for Aziraphale if he could. “There’s nowhere to run to anymore.”

“I was looking for you, did you know that?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley was stunned into silence.

“...what?” “All over Earth, I was looking for you. I thought something must have happened to you. I couldn’t find you anywhere, not there, not in Heaven, not in Hell. Not on Alpha Centauri. Until the fighting stopped, I kept looking. Waiting.” A strange sort of joy that felt a little like pain rose up in Crowley’s chest.

“I was on Earth,” he said. “I didn’t try to save the world. But… I tried to save someone. Anyone. I’ve managed it before. Smuggled a few more people on Noah’s arch. But this time I couldn’t. It’s all gone.”

He’d dredged through fallen trees, through the blood, through the dead bodies. He’d kept his eyes open for a survivor. He’d found a little girl in an upside-down car, but he’d lost her. He’d lost everyone. “You didn’t run?”

Crowley was taken aback by the question. “Why would I run without you?”

The tears glistened in Aziraphale’s eyes. He looked like this was news to him. There was nothing new about this. It had been very clear for a very long time.

“You really don’t understand, do you?” Crowley said. “When they cast me out of Heaven, I thought I would never be home again.” “And now you’re back in Heaven?”

Crowley closed his eyes and wished he could be less honest about this. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale even wanted to hear this, but now that he had started telling the truth he could hardly stop. “And now I’m back with you,” he said very softly.

“Then let’s go away,” Aziraphale said astonished. “There must be some corner of this hellish Heaven where we can have our peace.”

“What about the angels?” “Pardon my French, but… fuck the angels.” “Aziraphale,” delight gleamed in Crowley’s eyes, “that’s blasphemy.”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale, who had sounded very confident before, faltered. “I don’t care.”

“Who are you and what did you do to Aziraphale?” “I’m just. Braver. Than I was before.” Crowley’s shaking fingers reached for Aziraphale’s head again. He licked his lips.

“About that kiss…” Aziraphale blushed. “What about it?” Crowley leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Was that… pity, or some sort of deathbed thing-” “It’s not your deathbed,” Aziraphale said firmly. “And… well, I thought… I thought it was…” Aziraphale’s voice got much smaller. “...well. A love… thing.” “A love thing,” Crowley repeated and laughed, a little incredulous of the whole thing. He wanted time, just a little more time, so he gathered the last of his energy and took it. He stopped everything around them, kept them safe in a bubble outside of time. He rushed forward with his head recklessly, almost knocking Aziraphale over. He kissed Aziraphale – and he became a confession against his skin. He pressed a row of small kisses against Aziraphale’s jaw and wach of them was an admission. I missed you. I need you. Look at me through a veil of tears. Let me kiss your eyelashes, let me drink your pain. He let his lips wander all over Aziraphale’s face. Let me kiss the ache from your heart.

Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s chest and pushed him down onto the bed. This space between Aziraphale’s navel and his collarbones was the only holy ground that wouldn’t burn him. The thrumming of Aziraphale’s heart underneath his fingers kept him steady. He settled down half on top of Aziraphale and dropped his head on his chest. He listened to it beating.

Let me rest here. Please let me rest. Let me fall asleep hearing you’re alive and as real as anyone. Let me drift from a nightmare into a dream. Aziraphale carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

(Just hold my hand. Just hold it.) It was nearly too much to bear. Ah. So this was Aziraphale killing him. And he was as gentle as anything. Crowley would stop time for longer, just a little longer. Then they could flee. It was okay. As long as Aziraphale was with him, it was all okay. His mind stopped churning. The memories fled elsewhere. Crowley reached out and entangled Aziraphale’s hand with his. He held it in his own with reverence, with the softest grip - and then he knew. This was how to hold a moonbeam in your hand.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale

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earsofducks · 4 years

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Day 5 - Arranged Marriage

C H A O S

Fem!Gabriel. Crowley doesn’t show up for a good long while. Beelzebub’s role in the castle/relation to the monarchy is very very hazy. Weddings and food and impermanent unhappiness, oh my!

@ineffablehusbandsweek

Prince Aziraphale has been slated to marry the Princess Gabrielle for nearly three years now. It’s a brilliant match for both kingdoms for a plethora of reasons.

Aziraphale is not excited.

Gabrielle is the definition of a proper princess. He realizes this. She’s strong and clever and dashing.

She is also absolutely ravenous for power, and he has no interest in partaking. If he is to be king after his father’s death, he’d much prefer to rule with a gentle hand than look into conquesting and expanding, and this is exactly what Gabrielle would ask him to do. He knows it. She knows it. Their parents know it.

(He suspects that this is part of why she’s been selected. His parents have always thought him too soft.)

At first, Aziraphale was all but resigned to his fate. He’d accepted the fact that he was going to marry Gabrielle, spend a lifetime disagreeing with her and being exhausted, and then die, leaving behind a kingdom that would hopefully be exactly the same size as when he inherited it. He didn’t like that, but it was the way it was.

Now, he’s not so sure it has to be that way.

It’s been a long time since he’s started noticing the way Gabrielle looks at Beelzebub. There’s something in her eyes when she looks at them that he doesn’t see anywhere else - which is saying a lot, because since their engagement Aziraphale and Gabrielle have been spending the vast majority of their time together.

It’s never glaringly obvious. (Aziraphale suspects that Gabrielle has spent a long time figuring out how to keep the things she’s feeling off of her face.) It’s little things - the way she all but beams at Beelzebub when they’re in a meeting. The way she brings up their name in conversation when she and Aziraphale are alone and she’s not carefully monitoring her own words. The way Aziraphale stumbled upon them kissing the living daylights out of each other one time.

The little things.

He’s not sure how to bring it up, though. He certainly won’t tell anyone - it’s Gabrielle’s and Beelzebub’s secret. He won’t breathe a word. If she wants to go through with the wedding, despite her obvious affections for someone that is not him, he won’t stop her.

Oh, but the thought of freedom is intoxicating. The idea of being able to walk away from this marriage that he never wanted. Aziraphale has resolved that if he does get out of it, he’s going to start fighting back. He’s had lots of time to think about it, and he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life with someone his parents picked out for him. He wants to look for his own partner, and, if he can’t find one, spend the rest of his life on his own.

But, of course, if Gabrielle chooses to take the path of least resistance, he won’t stop her.

She shows every sign of doing so. The date of the wedding is set. She spends hours in consultations with his mother, talking about lace and seating plans and cake. Aziraphale tries not to feel disappointed.

His father talks to him about being a good husband and a good king. He hates every second of the conversation.

The date of the wedding draws nearer. Aziraphale finds himself rebelling more and more at the idea of letting this major decision be made for him. He decides to discuss it with Gabrielle. Surely her love for another means that she’ll understand, that she’ll wish to dissolve the union that hasn’t quite been made yet - for both their sakes.

Yes, she’ll understand.

He knocks on her door, well-rehearsed speech on the tip of his tongue. And then her door opens, and her face has tearstains on it.

“Get in here,” she says, and he follows her into her chambers.

“Gabrielle - ” he tries to begin, but words leave his mind when he sees Beelzebub sitting on the bed, eyes swollen and puffy.

“We’ve been talking,” says Gabrielle, and her voice is scratchy, like she’s done a lot of crying, “and we have to do it. For our parents, the kingdoms, everybody - we have to.”

Beelzebub sniffles and leans their head against Gabrielle’s shoulder. Gabrielle presses a kiss to the top of it.

“You understand, don’t you, Aziraphale?” asks Gabrielle. “That this is the way it has to be? Me and Bee behind closed doors, and you and I in front of them?”

Aziraphale’s heart sinks.

“Yes, of course,” he says.

And he does. He understands. He just wishes that it weren’t this way.

Aziraphale’s wedding day dawns bright and early. He feels wretched.

“Oh, I remember how nervous I was on my wedding day!” blusters his father. Aziraphale wants to laugh but doesn’t and instead wistfully imagines what it’d be like if it was just nerves.

The hours before the ceremony pass quickly. Aziraphale hates all of them. He feels like his skin doesn’t feel quite right. He feels like he’s trapped in a nightmare. He feels guilty for feeling like he feels.

It’s awful.

And then he’s getting manhandled over to his post next to the altar, and there are so many people in the room, all staring at him, that his palms get sweaty, and he thinks absently that poor Gabrielle is going to have to hold onto clammy palms while she makes vows that are going to quietly ruin both their lives.

And then she’s marching down the aisle, resplendent in her ludicrously expensive dress. She’s smiling, but Aziraphale can see how empty it is.

How is this happening? he wonders wildly. (Funny how three years of resignation have evaporated so quickly and thoroughly.)

The priest starts talking. He’s a droner. Aziraphale looks at the flowers in Gabrielle’s hair and thinks how ill they suit her, how much better some pearls would have been. Or perhaps some gems.

And then the priest says ‘does anyone object to this union?’ and a small voice says ‘I do’ and all hell breaks loose.

Hours later, after a lot of shouting and quite a few tears and an absolutely exhausting meeting with some lawyers, Bee and Gabrielle are on their honeymoon and Aziraphale is in his room, feeling thoroughly wrung out.

What a day.

There’s a tap on the door and he wants to shout at whomever it is but the knock was so timid and he finds himself saying, “Come in.”

A caterer with bright red hair sticks his head in the door.

“Hope I’m not, ah, interrupting,” he says, and the poor dear sounds incredibly nervous and Aziraphale is still drained but he has the wherewithal to soothe someone’s nerves.

“Not in the slightest,” he says. “Come in, come in.”

“Well,” says the person, backing into the room, and pulling a trolley behind him, “I thought you might want something to nibble on.”

Aziraphale stares.

There’s a feast laid out on the trays - all his favourite dishes, and several perfect desserts, and a bottle of Château Pétrus, and he finds himself tearing up a little.

“Oh, nonono!” says the server, clearly panicked, already starting to wheel it away. “Never mind! I’m sorry! I just thought - it’s been a long day for you and, y’know, sustenance - ”

“It’s perfect,” says Aziraphale, not bothering to hide how shaky his voice is. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Oh,” says the caterer, sounding relieved. “Oh, thank goodness.”

And he wheels it back up beside Aziraphale’s bed.

“How did you know all of my favourites?” asks Aziraphale, slightly awed. It really - everything on that tray is something he wants to eat.

“Just, uh, asked,” says the caterer. “In the kitchens. Y’know.”

Aziraphale is starting to, judging by the bright redness of the person’s cheeks and the nearly palpable anxiousness radiating off of him.

“May I ask your name?” he asks, sitting up and reaching for a biscuit.

“Anthony J. Crowley,” says the person automatically, “but I mostly go by Crowley.”

“Well, Crowley,” says Azirpahale, not missing the way the blush deepens when he says Crowley’s name, “this is absolutely delightful. Thank you.”

“No worries,” says Crowley, starting to back away. “Thanks. To you. For, er, appreciating it.”

“Anyone around here can tell you that I always appreciate a good meal,” says Aziraphale, “and might I persuade you to join me, Crowley? There’s more than enough for two, and some company sounds delightful.”

Your company sounds delightful, he adds in his head, but they just met and he won’t be rushing things, thank you very much.

“Oh,” says Crowley, surprised. “I don’t - uh - maybe - ”

“If you’re busy, I understand,” says Aziraphale quickly, trying not to dwell on how disappointed the thought makes him. “You’ve already indulged me more than enough for one evening.”

“Oh, well,” says Crowley, and he’s stopped moving towards the door, at least. “I don’t - I’m not on duty anymore. Got nothing else on. If you really wanted - ”

“I do!” says Aziraphale, because he really does.

“Not sure it’s exactly proper protocol, inviting the help to eat with you,” says Crowley, scanning Aziraphale’s face for signs that he really means what he’s saying. Aziraphale feels a rush of fondness.

“I’m not sure either,” says Aziraphale, “but it hasn’t exactly been a day for protocol, has it?”

“It hasn’t, has it?” says Crowley, and draws up a chair.

Aziraphale watches him pick at a salad and listens to his account of the panic in the kitchens when it seemed that no one would be attending the feast and feels excited by the possibilities and grateful for what he already has.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt this way.

It’s a good feeling.

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 5 years

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a most holy sin

i watched Bohemian Rhapsody and cried at least 12 times so of course i was (loosely) inspired by it and had to write an ineffable husbands fanfic. i definitely listened to a Best of Queen playlist while i wrote it, too. i hope you enjoy and please forgive historical and medical inaccuracies because im sure there are some. also for some reason the line break isn't working?? i'm going to try to add it again later.

(I know Gabriel does not technically outrank Aziraphale but for the sake of plot he's gonna be in charge of Earthly affairs.)

WARNING: There is usage of homophobic slurs at a point in this story. If you are sensitive to such, either be wary as you read or simply do not read this fic. Don't worry, you won't hurt my feelings if you keep scrolling.

~*~

"I'd like to be temporarily stationed in America."

Gabriel looked up from his desk, every inch of it covered in paperwork. Glasses that Aziraphale knew very well the archangel did not need slid down his nose. Gabriel pushed them back up. "Why?"

Succinct. As per usual. Aziraphale pretended that he was not twisting his ring anxiously around his pinky as he spoke. "Well, I do read American papers every so often, and I've been keeping tabs on a certain, er, an epidemic, of sorts, that is happening over there."

Gabriel removed the silver frames from his nose, folding them and placing them on his desk. "Right. The AIDS epidemic."

"Yes," Aziraphale murmured. "Yes, quite. I assure you that I don't intend to miracle up a cure for the disease. It's best to let humans work through that on their own, I assume. I simply wish to - to ease the pain of those in the final stages."

Gabriel was silent. Aziraphale began to wonder if he was pushing his luck with this request. He'd nearly been discovered with Crowley only two decades or so ago, not to mention his boss was not known for being the friendliest or the most sympathetic of angels -

"Yes."

Aziraphale blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said yes, you may go." Gabriel sighed, scrawling his signature on a document in glittering gold ink before shoving the paper away. "I have also been keeping up with information on the epidemic. Those victims could certainly use some angelic kindness right now, what with so many being rejected by their families even as they're on their deathbeds. Beelzebub undoubtedly has a special place in Hell for those sorts of nasty people, I'm sure."

"And we have a special place in Heaven for the victims?"

"Precisely." Gabriel returned his attention to the stack of papers in front of him. "You're dismissed, Aziraphale. Don't stay too long."

"Of course," Aziraphale breathed, nodding. He was almost unable to believe everything had worked out so well. "Thank you, Gabriel." Not wanting to overstay his visit and risk having the decision reversed, Aziraphale promptly left. He considered taking the back exit out, but it wasn't as if he was in a rush. He still had to pack, after all.

It was quite a shame he couldn't simply miracle himself to America. Airplanes were... Less than enjoyable, in Aziraphale's opinion. But miracles had to be preserved.

He didn't want to think about how many he might have to perform in the very near future.

~*~

America, circa 1990

Aziraphale had ditched his usual tartan suit for new tartan scrubs. He was posing as a nurse, working in a ward delegated specifically to victims of AIDS in the final stages. As much as it pained him, he refrained from miracling them back into health. God probably would not take too kindly to that, what with the circle of life and all, even considering Her infinite generosity. Instead, Aziraphale eased their pain as they passed to Heaven. If nothing else, they deserved to know that good things awaited them on the other side.

"Room 636, Nurse Fell," a woman called to Aziraphale as he walked down the hall. Her voice had the rounded edge of a faint Southern drawl. "He's got family with him right now, but they'll be out soon."

"Right. Thank you." He nodded at her as she passed. Aziraphale had memorized the layout of the hospital before he'd started "working" there - it helped him maximize his time with the patients. Not to mention he had to be back in Soho before the end of the year.

"This is your own fault, you know."

Aziraphale froze.

"You're the who grew up and decided to be a fucking fag, goddamnit!"

He recognized that tone. It was one he heard all too often in the AIDS ward.

"And now that choice is killing you. Just like it killed your little queer boyfriend."

Aziraphale resisted the urge to swear. Of course the voice was coming from room 636.

"Hope you're happy with yourself. Hope you're proud."

The man's words were laced with more venom than the world's deadliest snake could provide. Aziraphale reached for the door handle, only to find that it had been locked. Very much against hospital regulations, but also rather common in these situations.

"This is the devil's consequence. You know why they're calling it the 'gay plague'? Because only fags are getting it." The man sighed, an intensified frustration bleeding into his tone. "You just had to be a queer, didn't you? You had to be the family disappointment." His voice dropped, and he growled the lethal blow. "I can't believe I ever called you my son."

Aziraphale didn't care if Heaven reprimanded him. He snapped his fingers, unlocking the door and entering the room without a moment's hesitation. He straightened his back and stared down the father. "Sir, I am going to have to ask that you leave here immediately."

The man's lip curled in disgust. "A queer nurse? I should have known."

Aziraphale ignored the comment, standing his ground. "I must insist that you leave, or else I'll be forced to call security."

For a moment, Aziraphale was afraid the man wouldn't go. But after a long pause, he left in a furious silence.

Aziraphale rushed over to the patient's bed. He was young, in his late teens or early twenties. Still a boy, really. And that only made it all the more heartbreaking.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." Aziraphale checked the IV in the boy's arm, making sure it remained connected. "You don't deserve to be treated like something is wrong with you."

"Maybe there is something wrong with me."

Sweat beaded the boy's forehead, and Aziraphale's heart ached a little more when he saw tearstains on his cheeks.

"Am I really going to Hell, nurse?" the boy whispered. "Was falling in love really a sin?" He closed his eyes, biting his lip in a clear attempt to keep himself from sobbing. "I loved him. I loved him so much. All I did was fall in love."

"My dear boy." Aziraphale pulled up a chair next to the hospital bed before sitting down. "Of course you aren't going to Hell. Believe me, falling in love is no sin."

"That's not what my father thinks." His voice was bitter. Much too bitter for someone who likely had just started university.

"Well, fathers don't know everything," Aziraphale replied. "Trust me, dear boy. There is nothing you have to fear in death."

The boy wiped tears from his eyes. "Yeah? How would you know?"

Aziraphale snapped his fingers. The Almighty really was not going to be pleased with him. So many miracles only a few minutes apart was sure to get him reprimanded. Or maybe it wouldn't. He never could tell what exactly She would approve or disapprove of.

The boy's eyes widened as he took in the sudden change of his surroundings. He tried to sit up, but Aziraphale stopped him.

"Careful, now. I'm simply giving you a peek into what awaits you."

The boy shook his head in disbelief. "Is this - is this Heaven?"

"Indeed." A part of it, at least. A lovely little spot of paradise that was reminiscent of Eden. Many enjoyed it when they first ascended to Heaven. A place to get acclimated.

The boy stared at Aziraphale. "You're an angel."

Aziraphale's wings fluttered, as if responding to the query. "Yes, I am. I requested to be stationed in America to help ease the pain of those suffering from AIDS. People in the... Final stages of the disease."

The boy nodded. A faint smile appeared on his lips. "That means I'm dying, then."

Young people truly were getting more perceptive. "I'm afraid so, my dear." Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the vision of Heaven dissipated. Regretfully, his wings went, too.

The boy sighed, leaning back more deeply into the hospital bed's pillow. "Would you believe me if I told you that I'm going to miss my father?"

Aziraphale didn't respond. He knew an answer wasn't expected.

"I'm going to miss him. Even if -" The boy's voice cracked. "Even if he hates me, he was the only family I had. I forgive him, and - and I want God to forgive him, too."

"She will," Aziraphale murmured, his voice so low only he could hear it. "She always does."

The boy's heart rate was dropping. Aziraphale resisted every instinct in his body to save him. He could not interfere. It was not his responsibility to influence Earthly life and death.

"At least I'll get to see Miles again," the boy breathed. Tears were trickling down his face. "It's been a long year without him."

He closed his eyes.

The machine flatlined.

Aziraphale could sense the boy's spirit leaving his body. He returned the chair to the side of the room, then slid the curtain shut around the bed.

"I'm sorry, angel."

Aziraphale didn't know when he'd started crying. "I can't imagine even your lot could be responsible for this, Crowley."

There was a pause. "AIDS itself is one of the final gifts of Pestilence unto Earth, despite that they retired eons ago." Footsteps echoed in the quiet room, moving closer to Aziraphale. "But only humans could be so cruel to one another."

"I know," Aziraphale whispered. "And I think that's the worst part of all." He didn't even blink as Crowley stepped in front of him, brushing away his tears with his thumb.

"There's nothing you can do, angel," Crowley murmured. "You know that."

Aziraphale did know that. He hated it, but he knew it all too well. "I just - I just don't understand. All they do is fall in love, Crowley! What could have wrong in human history where they started to believe that love was sinful?"

Aziraphale expected a witty comment in response. A dry quip about Catholics, or the Shaker community. He certainly had not prepared himself for a serious answer.

"When did Heaven and Hell start believing it?"

Crowley's sunglasses slid down his nose. He took them off, tucking them into his jacket. They stared at each other, eye to eye.

"I've been - I've been wondering that myself," Aziraphale stammered. His voice was hushed. "But it's not my place to question it."

Crowley shrugged. "The Almighty has been more forgiving as of late. Since it's you, She just might allow it."

"I - I couldn't possibly."

"I know, angel." He sighed. "I know."

Neither spoke after that. But neither made a move to walk away.

Aziraphale knew he had to leave. He had to report the death of the young man so the room could be available for other patients. But he couldn't bring himself to step away from Crowley.

The stood only inches apart. Aziraphale wasn't certain whether he'd reached for Crowley's hand or if the demon had grabbed his, but their fingers were intertwined and Aziraphale knew damn well he didn't want to let go.

"How did you find me?" he finally asked. "I don't recall telling you I was leaving Soho. Or where I was going." In fact, they hadn't spoken since 1967. The night in the Bentley.

Crowley shrugged. In a rare moment of tenderness, his thumb gently brushed over Aziraphale's knuckles. "The city feels different when you're not there."

"O-Oh. I see." Aziraphale found his gaze drifting down from Crowley's eyes to his lips. He didn't fail to notice that Crowley had lessened the distance between them even further.

"Is love a sin, angel?" Crowley whispered. His free hand moved to cup Aziraphale's cheek. "Because if so, it must be the holiest sin there is."

Aziraphale would have laughed had the tension between them not been almost suffocating. "Well, my dear, I really don't think there's such thing as a 'holy' sin -"

He was cut off as Crowley captured his mouth with his. Aziraphale found himself melting into the kiss, pulling the demon towards him. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's waist, and Aziraphale placed his arms around Crowley's neck.

He shouldn't be doing this. He didn't know why he shouldn't be, because every atom in his body was telling him that this was right, that this was love, that Crowley was all he needed -

But he couldn't.

Aziraphale pulled away, certain that regret was written all over his face. He couldn't bring himself to look Crowley in the eyes. "I'm sorry. You deserve - you deserve better than me."

Crowley laughed. It was harsh. Bitter. "I'm a demon, angel. I don't 'deserve' anything. It's part of the job description. In the fine print. Non-negotiable. You know that." He yanked his sunglasses out of his pocket and shoved them onto his face.

"No." Aziraphale's voice refused to move above a whisper. "You deserve everything, my dear. Anything you want. The whole world."

"I don't want the whole damn world. I only want you."

Aziraphale forced himself to look at Crowley. The demon's expression was unreadable behind the black lenses. "I can't, Crowley. Not now. Not yet."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "'Yet'?"

Aziraphale nodded. "One day, I'll - I'll be ready. To go faster. As fast as you. I swear it. Just - Just not today." And he meant it. More than anything he'd ever said. "Will you... Wait for me?"

A small smile appeared on Crowley's lips. It was a rare sight, but one of Aziraphale's favorites.

"For you, angel? Always."

Aziraphale blinked, and the demon was gone. He didn't know when they'd see each other again. He didn't know what the future would hold for them, either. But when Crowley had left, he'd taken all of Aziraphale's tears with him. As he so often did.

Perhaps his demon had a point.

If love was a sin, it truly was a holy one.

Maybe even one worth Falling for.

~*~

im a mess, y'all. i love these two more than i love myself. i hope you enjoyed! feel free to send me prompt requests for them or for ineffable bureaucracy because both are such good pairings.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #anthony crowley #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #my post #my fanfic #my writing #fanfiction #archangel gabriel #tw: homophobic slurs #aids crisis #amy writes

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renywrites · 5 years

Text

Drinking Buddies

Hey all! I've re-joined a fandom that is near and dear to my heart and I wanted to write something for all of these lovely people. Welcome to Good Omens!!

I'll be taking a break from Voltron for the time being, I need a change in scenery. Sorry to all those who are here specifically for that!

Without further ado; please join me and some drunk demons.

It was the one time a year where Heaven grouped together as a congregation to have their annual Great Plan meeting, where everyone was briefed on the vague idea of what could be happening in the coming year. Nobody was quite sure what to do now that the Apocalypse…. Hadn’t happened. Thus the vague meetings.

It was also the one time a year that Gabriel and Aziraphale dropped their respective demon partners at a bar and left them to their own devices for a few hours.

Despite popular belief, Crowley and Beelzebub got along quite well when there was alcohol involved. On this one day, they were reluctant friends instead of boss and subordinate. It was nice to have a change. Besides, it was also one of the only days that the Prince herself actually banished her flies and ran a comb through her messy hair, all for the sake of a few hours.

“Your Angel left you, too?” Crowley asks after they’d both gotten their drinks and sat in respective awkward silence for a few minutes.

Beelzebub scowls at her drink, a little more intensely than usual. “Yezzz. He’zzz running the damn thing.”

“You should’ve convinced him to cancel.” The snake scoffs, sipping his wine and glancing at the door. Twenty minutes in. This was going to last an eternity.

“I tried! He told me to buzzz off. Bloody angels and their bloody meetings.”

“Amen to that,” Crowley mumbles into his drink, ignoring the dirty look that earned him. Maybe he was picking up a few too many of Aziraphale’s linguistic habits. “So how is Hell doing, after you-know-what?”

“It’s more Hellish than usual, no thanks to you.” She scoffs. “Incredibly hot. Chaotic.”

“You should come and visit Earth more often, you might like it.”

Beelzebub rolls her eyes, knocking back the last of her drink and flagging over the bartender. “You sound like Gabriel.”

He makes a face, shaking his head. “Eugh, I make it a habit not to sound anything like him. Please don’t insult me like that.”

The Prince gives him a smug smile. “You dezzerve to be knocked down a few pegzz.”

Crowley ignores that. “Seriously, Beelzebub, your terrible Highness — coming up here may do you some good. You can… air out, as it were.”

“I quite like my office.” She says dryly, glancing up as the bartender pours her another drink. “It’zz familiar.”

“You’re festering.” He grins.

“I will not hezzitate to throw my drink on you, Crawley.”

“My name is Crowley,” the demon hisses, his yellow eyes flashing.

Beelzebub grins, tilting her head. “That’zz what I said.”

He considers her a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then he sighs heavily, shaking his head and turning back to his drink. “You’re still insufferable, I see.”

“The best of us never change.” She waves a hand. “How izz that Angel of yourzz?”

Crowley pauses, a dopey smile spreading over his lips at the thought of his Angel. Ah, Aziraphale… “He’s… He’s wonderful.”

“Dizzgusting.” She says flippantly.

The smile vanishes, replaced with an irritated scowl. That seemed to be a constant when he was in the Lord of the Flies’s presence. “And what about yours?”

“What, are you expecting me to get all mushy?”

“No, of course not.” He scoffs. “The Prince herself showing emotions? Preposterous. You don’t have a mushy bone in your body, Bee.”

“If I even have bones.” She says absently.

“If you even have bones,” he agrees. “But no, really, how is the Archangel Fucking Gabriel?”

The Prince cackles, throwing back her head. “He’s an azzhole! Juzzt like normal.”

“I never expected anything less.” Crowley rolls his eyes. How Aziraphale had put up with him for so long was a mystery to him — and it was an even bigger mystery how Beelzebub didn’t smite Gabriel where he stood every time he opened his mouth. Perhaps she was just attracted to rude dumbasses.

“He’s quite good in the bedroom, too.” She says, eyeing a couple in the corner who were making out like they would die if they didn’t spend their time swapping spit in a bar.

Crowley short circuits, the breath leaving his corporeal form. Then he smacks his hand on the counter with a triumphant, “I knew it!”

She gives him a flat look, but there was a hint of color creeping up on her sallow cheeks. “What? Did you place betzz?”

“Yes.” He nods. “I believe I won. My dear Angel owes me.”

“Azz if you two aren't fucking.” Beelzebub grumbles into her glass, glowering at him.

“In my defence,” Crowley holds up a finger. “It most definitely is not as frequent as you and Gabriel.”

“So that’zz your problem!” She grins, jabbing him with a bony finger. “You need to get laid.”

“He’s quite soft, he doesn’t do well with frequent, er… activity.” He quips, shaking his head.

“Your job is temptation, right?”

“Well, sure.”

“Then tempt him, you idiot!”

“But…” Crowley entertains this thought a moment, then makes a face. “But he’s so soft…”

“A little too zzoft, if you ask me.” Beelzebub rolls her eyes.

“He’s an Angel!” He scowls. “They’re soft by disposition!”

“No, I think yourzz is juzzt a zzpecial case.” She rolls her eyes, her finger tracing over the rim of her glass. “I must’ve mizzed that model.”

“Gabriel was just designed to be an ass.” Crowley huffs.

The Prince’s eyes go a bit hazy, and quite possibly… dreamy? “He does have a nice azz.”

“Oooh… was that an emotion?” The demon gasps in mock surprise. “Does the great Lord Beelzebub have feelings?”

She scowls into her drink. “Zzilence, imbecile.”

“I’m impressed,” he coos, leaning forward and looking over his glasses at her, eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you going soft, Bee?”

“I’ll zzmite you.” She says flatly, eyeing him.

“I’m already damned.” He snorts, leaning back and picking up his drink again.

“You’re a damned fool, that’zz what you are.”

“Perhaps,” he muses, looking up at the TV in the corner, following the sport with hazy eyes.

“I don’t see how Aziraphale puts up with you.”

He glares at her. “He — He loves me, thank you very much. He’s a very good individual.”

“How quaint.” Beelzebub drawls, rolling her eyes.

Crowley eyes her shrewdly, pursing his lips. Then he huffs. “Tell me about your Gabriel.”

The Prince, who had been taking a sip of her drink, chokes and splutters with a fantastic lack of grace. She wipes her mouth on her sleeve, giving him a deer-in-the-headlights look. “What aboutmy — my Gabriel.”

The demon grins lazily, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know, anything.”

“Are you asking about my zz— my sex life?” She buzzes, concentrating on her words, metaphorical hackles raised.

“Heavens, no!” Crowley cackles. “I couldn’t care less what you get up to in the bedroom. What I mean is,” he wiggles his eyebrows. “Does he make you feel warm and fuzzy, your highness?”

“What?!” She squawks, flushing darkly, her gaze darting around. “No! Of course not!”

“I’m only kidding, relax.” He laughs. There was no need to suffer the wrath of one of Hell’s finest. “But really, what’s it like? Do you get along?”

“We get along well enough.” The Prince offers reluctantly. “He’s quite affectionate.”

“Is he?” That was hard to believe.

“Oh, yezz.” She nods, chewing on her lower lip. “Alwayzz wanting to touch me. He likes teazzing, too. The brat.”

That was shocking. Beelzebub was a prickly little thing. Many a demon had lost fingers for even brushing against her accidentally. “Is that so?” He muses, then gives her a wicked grin. “I’ll bet you love it.”

“You can’t prove that.” She says hotly into her drink.

He snorts. “No, suppose I can’t. Does he come into Hell to see you or do you go Upstairs?”

“What, you think I’d go up to that blasted place?” She scowls. “He comes to me. As he should.”

“How odd,” Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Gabriel doesn’t seem to be the type to come to Hell willingly.”

“He’zz quite willing when I’m through with him.” Beelzebub chuckles. “Angels are rather good bottomzz, aren’t they? Or does your Aziraphale step up?”

“What?” The demon laughs. “No, he doesn’t have an ounce of dominance in him! Although he is quite loud.”

“Yours is loud? Unfair.” She whines.

“It took some coaxing,” Crowley says smugly, unable to help feeling a tad superior. “But it was worth the effort.”

“I’ll take that into conzzideration.” She muses. “Although Gabriel isn’t as zzoft as your Angel.”

“Yes, Aziraphale is quite a soft boy.” He says fondly.

“Gabriel is a little piece of shit boy.” Beelzebub groans. “Speaking of — they should’ve been done by now. What’zz taking zzo long?”

“I don’t know.” He wrinkles his nose. “Maybe they’ll be here soon.”

“They better be.” The Prince mutters, squinting at the clock.

Aziraphale and Gabriel walked into the bar they had left their Demons in to find them drunk and getting along… alarmingly well.

“An’ then I said… I said…” Crowley was slurring. He looks up just in time to lose his train of thought and brightens, looking more like an excited puppy than a fearsome demon. “Aziraphale!”

“Heeeeey — it’zz the piece of shit boy!” Beelzebub crows, in a loud and loose fashion that was definitely nothing like her usual disposition.

“Oh, dear,” says Aziraphale, “they’re quite drunk.”

“Wonderful,” Gabriel says, his expression pinched.

“What did you get into, love?” Aziraphale asks fondly, walking over and steadying Crowley when he reaches for his Angel.

“Nothin’.” He gives him a dopey grin, his eyes shining from behind his glasses, which were knocked askew.

“Gabriel!” The Prince snaps. “Get your bitch azz over here!”

“There’s no need to be rude, Beelzebub.” The Archangel sighs, walking over to his own mess of a demon.

Crowley was looking up at Aziraphale like he’d hung the bloody moon, a dopey, drunken smile on his lips. The Angel chuckles softly, cupping his face and brushing his thumbs over his cheeks lovingly. “I think you’re quite drunk, my love.”

“Psshhh,” Crowley wobbles in his seat, waving a hand and accidentally swatting Aziraphale. “Naw… Jus’ a lil — hic — a lil…” He trails off, getting distracted by the smattering of freckles across the Angel’s nose. “Hmm…”

Meanwhile, Gabriel was in a similar position, trying to persuade Beelzebub it was time to go home as well.

“You alwayzzzzz… alwayzzz ruin my fun,” she pouts up at her Angel, her dark eyes bleary and her cheeks flushed from drink.

“I believe you have plenty of fun on your own, Bee.” He sighs, prying her off the barstool and slinging her over his shoulder. “Come on. Bedtime.”

“See you next year, Gabriel,” Aziraphale calls after them. “And, er… Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He sighs over the Prince’s drunken giggling. “You as well.”

The Angel turns his attention back to Crowley, who’s eyelids were slipping shut as he sagged against the counter. Aziraphale pays the tab, adding a hefty tip for the troubles the demons likely caused.

“Come on, my love,” he says as he helps his demon off the barstool. “Until next year.”

“Next year…” Crowley agrees, stumbling along as his Angel takes him home to tuck him into bed and nurse his impending hangover away.

#renywrites #hi im alive #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #beelzebriel #beelzebub #gabriel #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #drinking #female pronouns for beelzebub

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thisbitchinthecorner · 4 years

Text

Roughly 1 hour after the End of the World that Wasn’t

For @drawlight sorry, it’s a day late

Holiday Card

An angel, a demon and the Antichrist sat on the tarmac of the decommissioned US Air Base in Tadfield. The young boy reached over to pet his dog, the former Hell Hound turned loyal companion.

“So, you’re an angel then?” Adam asked, finally breaking the silence.

“I am.” Aziraphale nodded.

“And you’re a demon?” Adam questioned as he looked at the flame- haired being.

“Last time I checked.” Crowley grumbled.

“That’s it then? We got this whole end of the world business sorted?” The boy shrugged.

“I believe we have. Thanks to you.” Aziraphale patted the boy on the head.

“So what do we do now?” Adam, ever curious asked.

“Not sure, didn’t think we would actually get this far.” Aziraphale confessed.

“You get to make the world how ever you want.” Crowley reasoned. “Reality is listening to you, so you can do pretty much anything.”

“Not sure I want that kind of responsibility.”

“I have a few questions,” Anathema said, as she walked towards them. “Think we could talk?”

“Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale stood and walked off with the witch.

“Can I tell you something?” Adam asked with wide eyes. “I was scared. I was really scared. I kept thinking about mum and dad, and my friends and Dog. I didn’t want them to get hurt, I didn’t want anything to happen to them. I...I was so afraid.”

Crowley beheld the young boy, for he was indeed, so very young and so vulnerable; it was remarkable that he was able to stand up to not only Satan, but to Gabriel and Beelzebub as well. “I was afraid too.” The demon admitted.

“You were?” Adam sat upright, his body lurched forward. “But Hell, I mean, our side could have won.”

“Is it our side?” Crowley asked the child. “Do you consider yourself aligned with Hell?

“I suppose not. Not any more than you do.” Adam picked at the laces of his sneakers. “So why did you decide to stand against Hell?”

“Didn’t want to have to live there permanently. Dreadful place really.”

“That’s not the real reason. The boy pressed. “You know I can tell that you’re lying, and that’s ok. But you shouldn’t lie, at least not to the ones who you love the most.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Crowley frowned.

“You do.” Adam rolled his eyes. “And considering you almost lost, maybe it’s time to be honest about how you really feel. No more lies, ok?”

“But I’m a demon and demons...”

“I can make it so you can’t lie, but I’d rather not.”

“Fine. I didn’t want the earth to end. I didn’t want to fight any angels, especially Gabriel, and I certainly didn’t want to lose Aziraphale.”

“I knew it.” Adam smiled.

“You’re just a kid, what do you know.”

“Maybe you’re right.” The boy paused, biting his lip, unsure how to approach the next subject. “I think God talked to me.” Adam said quietly.

“Oh? How do you know it was God and not someone else?”

“She told me that she was proud of me, and that she loved me. She said that I was the best of what mankind was supposed to be, and that it didn’t matter who my father was; all that mattered is who I am, who I want to be.”

“That’s very nice. I’m sure that made you feel better.”

Adam shook his head. “She also told me to tell you that it’s been long enough, and that you should make your move already. Whatever that means. Care for a sherbet lemon?” Adam offered as he stood up and walked towards the angel and Anathema. Crowley held the candy in his hand and considered how this night might have ended had it not been for the child’s quick thinking. We stood together, he reached for my hand, and he was ready to fight with me. Us. He and I together. The demon opened his hand and looked at the simple candy in his hand. Make my move already?

“Well done, Adam.” Anathema hugged the boy. “You saved us all.”

“I had help.” Adam said as he looked at Aziraphale.

“I’m afraid I was of no use to you, my dear boy.”

“I don’t think I would have had the courage if not for you and Mr. Crowley.” Adam looked at Dog, who barked knowingly. “So why did you help me anyway? Why didn’t you side with Heaven? Seems your lot was really excited about the end of the world.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I’m not like the other angels.”

“I wouldn’t say it like that, I would say that the other angels aren’t like you.” Adam chirped sweetly.

“You’re a remarkable young man, Adam. I do apologize for trying to kill you earlier, I was only looking out for the greater good.”

“I know. Besides, I knew you weren’t really going to hurt me, so no harm done.” Adam said as Dog gave an approving bark.

“What are you going to do now?” The angel’s curiosity got the better of him.

“I don’t know. Grow up, I think.”

Aziraphale smiled at the child. “I think that’s a splendid idea.”

“I...I think I need to tell you something.” Adam began. “I kind of have a message for you. From God.”

“Oh?”

“She sort of spoke to me, back when everything was getting scary, and She talked to me, and then She told me that I needed to give you a message. But I’m afraid it doesn’t make any sense.”

“What’s the message?”

“She said to tell the angel that She likes the milk pot.” Adam shrugged. “Maybe I was just dreaming or hallucinating or so something. Pepper says that the government uses drugs to poison people by means of mind control, so maybe that’s what happened.”

“Milk pot?” Aziraphale mused for moment. “Oh! Oh my goodness! The book!”

“Book?” Adam questioned, but Aziraphale was lost in thought.

That would mean...it’s true. She wanted me to know the truth. Oh Crowley! The angel sighed.

“Adam, your dad is here.” Pepper called over.

The angel and demon froze, fear filling them both.

“You know, your “dad” dad, not that other lot.” Pepper said. “Hello Mr. Young.”

“Adam! What is going on here?” Mr. Young, clearly confused asked as he stepped out of his car.

“One minute dad!” Adam called over. “Listen, I’m not sure about all this...stuff. I have more than a few questions, and maybe you might be able to...”

“Sure kid. Well keep in touch. Send you a Christmas card.” Crowley groaned.

“Of course, my dear boy. You can find me here.” Aziraphale miracled a lovey white business card with gold lettering and handed it to Adam.

“A.Z Fell and co Bookshop.” Adam read aloud. “Thanks. But if I have some questions that aren’t heavenly in nature?”

“Alright. Fine.” Crowley produced his own card, black with raised red lettering.

“Antony J. Crowley.” Adam mused. “What does the J stand for?”

“Jed.” Crowley grinned.

“Jed?” Aziraphale said with surprise. “Beloved of the Lord? Short for...”

“Just Jed, angel.” Crowley snapped. “Farewell, Antichrist.” The pair watched as the boy turned and ran towards his earthly father. “Nice kid.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale nodded.

“Come on angel, lift home?” Crowley grumbled.

“Lift in what? Your car was destroyed, remember?” The angel said gently.

“Oh. Right.” The demon’s smile faded, his shoulders slumped forward.

“I do believe there’s a train station not far from here. If you don’t mind a less flashy from of transportation.”

“I suppose.”

They walked together in silence, both lost in through as they tried to make sense of all that happened in those last few hours. The bench for the train was empty, and they sat down, side by side. Crowley miracled a bottle of wine, of which he promptly took a generous swig. He turned to the being beside him and offered the bottle, to which he gladly accepted.

“Just imagine how terrible it might have been if we’d been at all competent.” Aziraphale mused as he drank from the bottle of wine; dignity and manners went by the wayside given the circumstances.

“Point taken.” Crowley sighed as he tilted his head back, resting his eyes.

“Suppose I should have them drop me at the Bookshop.”

“It’s not there anymore, it burned down, remember?” Crowley said gently, a terrible feeling passed through him. “You can stay with me, if you’d like.”

“I don’t think my side would like that very much.”

“You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do. It’s as Agnes said, we have to choose our faces wisely.”

“Crowley,” the angel said tentatively. “I will stay with you, if you don’t mind.”

The demon nearly slid off the bench at the angel’s words. Desperately, he took another long swig of the wine and cleared his throat. “Alright then.” He had to turn his head, for his grin would surely have given him away. “The bus is here.”

An angel and a demon sat down, side by side once more. Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand, fingers interlaced as naturally as if they were made for each other. Crowley lay his head upon the angel’s shoulder and closed his eyes. It’s time, tonight is the night. He slipped the sherbet lemon into his pocket for safe keeping. A little reminder of the night it almost ended. Almost.

#31 days of ineffables #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #justenoughofabastardtobeworthknowing

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perhapsitmaybedragons · 4 years

Text

God’s a Right Bastard, But Then So Am I

I am very productive lately. It’s a nice change of pace.

As always, AO3 link here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633029/chapters/65660857

Or continue reading below:

Chapter 7

Pepper shouldered her backpack as she, Wensleydale, and Brian got out of Wensleydale's parents' car. The Them were immediately heading for Hogback Wood. They had all briefly wondered earlier where Adam was but had come to the joint conclusion that he must have fallen ill. And while they felt bad for him the kids were still keen to get to their games. School had been a long slog and they all deserved a break.

Besides, Wensleydale had gotten extra copies of the homework and planned to drop it off with the Youngs right before dinner.

“Anyway,” Brian said as though the conversation had never been interrupted, “I figure the Ninja Turtles could prob'bly take the Transformers.”

“So you keep saying,” Pepper complained, “But Optimus Prime could just ..step on them and then they're done for, right?”

“Actually,” Wensley interjected, hurrying to catch up with them “Optimus is a good guy, so he wouldn't fight the Ninja Turtles, I think.”

“Nah, you're missing the first rule of cross overs,” Brian insisted. Brian's comic book collection was growing lately and he was starting to form Opinions on the whole subject. “First rule is if they meet they gotta fight. That's why there was that Batman versus Superman movie that no one liked. First they fight, then they become friends.”

“We're not talking about it like it's going to happen!” Pepper was exasperated. “Obviously that's what would happen if they met in a comic book. I mean if they really were going to fight each other-”

“Now what are you youngsters getting up to?” The Them stopped short. Adults stopping them on their way to the woods or on the way to make mischief was nothing new. But this wasn't R.P. Tyler stopping them while on a walk with his dog or any of the mums who would sometimes fuss at them.

There was an inkling of recognition there, but none of the three could place the gentleman. He smiled at them. Brian and Pepper stopped and studied him, but Wensleydale took a step back. “Sorry sir,” he said, “But who are you?”

“Gabriel,” The smile grew wider. It was making all three of them uncomfortable. Right now Gabriel was basking – the kids weren't able to remember him due to a subtle manipulation on his part. And coming across all three at once like this? Perfect. “You know, I'm actually new here. And I just opened up an ice cream shop,” he twisted a bit and pointed in the direction of the town square. “Officially we open tomorrow but I was just thinking ...you know, it would really be a great idea to get some of the locals' perspective first. Make sure the flavors are uh...”

“Good?” Brian supplied.

“Yes, that would be best, right? Having good ice cream,” Gabriel said appreciatively.

“I mean, it's ice cream,” Wensleydale was still hanging behind the other two. He wasn't afraid, exactly, but something about Gabriel was setting him on edge. “Is it possible for it to be bad?”

“I've heard about there being places in America with like ...garlic ice cream,” Pepper made a face. “You don't have that, right?”

“No, no, not at all. I have all sorts of flavors. If you kids want to come on down? It's just a short walk, you could follow me.”

Smart children should never listen to strange men they meet in the woods (or in this case, right outside of the forest). And normally, the Them were in fact smart children. A little brash and impulsive, yes, but not dumb.

But none of them saw Hastur lurking just beyond, hidden behind a tree. As a demon, temptations were naturally a specialty. And Gabriel's own angelic powers were working in concert to remove the doubt and fear.

“I don't think we -” Pepper started to decline, but Hastur's manipulations were taking hold. “Actually, I can't see any reason not to follow this strange man we just met to go get ice cream.”

“I agree,” Brian said almost woodenly. “We should follow him immediately and without letting an adult know where we're going.”

Wensleydale said nothing. Part of his mind remained unconvinced, but his feet were also moving so that all of the kids were now following Gabriel. If anyone in town saw the group it didn't occur to any of them that something strange was going on.

They came to a shop at the village square with a large sign proclaiming it “ParadIce Cream”. An old style neon sign in the shape of an ice cream cone lit up as the group approached. The door swung open and Gabriel herded them in, taking one last glance around to make certain no one else was watching.

Beelzebub was behind the counter, slicing into the apple pie Gabriel had brought by earlier. Beelzebub plopped a slice on a plate and then scooped out a large portion of ice cream. They repeated this until there were three plates of apple pie, each with a scoop of solid white ice cream on top.

“Can't forget the drizzles,” Gabriel set one slice of pie before each kid, then removed three vials from the inner lining of his suit jacket. He poured the entire contents onto one of the slices then moved on to the next vial and the next slice of pie until all three were now covered in a drizzle. “Eat up, kids,” He handed them each a spork.

The moment they touched their utensils to the ice cream each scoop took on a change. Pepper's became a deep, violent red. Wensleydale's already white ice cream somehow became even brighter. Brian's took on a sludgy looking gray color. If they noticed they didn't say anything. They just ate in silence.

“You're sure they're good for this?” Beelzebub asked, watching them for a moment.

“They're perfect. What's more, they're the Anti-Christ's friends. If he wants them back-”

“Then he'll have to help us,” Beelzebub concluded. “But how will this get the kids to have the powers and get them to work with us? Seems like a lot to hinge on some brats.”

“It's beyond a demon's comprehension.”

It wasn't. Most anyone could follow it. The true difference between humans, angels and demons is that the first humans ate of the Fruit of Knowledge – that apple that Adam and Eve bit into at Crowley's urging. Angels – and demons too, for that matter – had basically had to figure it out for themselves based on what God modeled for them.

But the apple had granted humans the ability to know right from wrong. But as rules get more complex and society has changed the knowledge originally passed down genetically may no longer be right. Everything got all muddled and it's no longer clear. Not without some perspective.

So, a recipe to restart Armageddon:

Take three kids – and the age is important here, because their brains haven't fully formed yet – and give them one of the apples of Eden. Right now, every good thing and every bad thing is playing in their heads like an old time newsreel, coming in so quickly that they can barely comprehend what they're seeing.

In addition to the apple, take the essence of temptation and doubt and pour all over the Eden apple pie (the ice cream just helps it go down more smoothly and to help the store's cover of being an ice cream shop. Can't have an ice cream shop without ice cream or the few humans paying attention might notice something was off).

They were almost done eating now, their movements mechanical. Even hypnotized, Brian managed to spill some on his shirt. He came to momentarily, dabbed at it and then stole a bite of Pepper's ice cream to make up for it.

“Hey!” she snapped out as well, just for a moment. She elbowed him in the rib cage before both of them resumed eating.

Once they'd all polished off the last of it, all three of them passed out, their heads on the table.

“What do we do with them until we're ready to start?” Thinking ahead on things had never been Hell's strong suit, so Beelzebub figured Gabriel must have a plan.

“How the hell should I know? That's your problem now.” And with that, Gabriel disappeared.

“Bastard,” Beelzebub muttered.

After heavenly intervention to make Mr. and Mrs. Young see that their son staying with an older man they hardly knew was, in fact, a terrific idea, Adam was now gearing down and trying to figure out where he was going to sleep. He'd wanted to go back to Crowley's place, but the demon had said no.

“It's safer for him here,” Crowley insisted. Aziraphale had gone along with it, but made it very clear he expected more information from the demon as soon as possible.

“What aren't you telling me?”

“Nothing!”

“Oh?”

“...That I can tell you right now,” Crowley's resolve broke almost instantly. “Just let me try to handle my part. It's a lot and I don't quite have all the pieces fit together yet.”

“We could help!” Adam suggested. “I bet the three of us together could figure it all out. Wensleydale's got all these detective books and I'm great at figuring out what happened and who did it.” He wasn't. Adam just didn't know he was rubbish at it because he never bothered to read the pages at the back of the book that explained the solutions. Even if he had, he would have preferred his own explanations.

“Might be worth it to give it a go,” Aziraphale agreed. “If you keep things from me, however will I help you?”

There was nothing for it. Crowley made them both promise to sit tight and then had run out, saying he'd be back shortly. When he came back Aziraphale and Adam were sitting in the backroom which now had a plush couch (which Adam occupied) and two lounge chairs (one of which Aziraphale was sitting in – the other was presumably for Crowley). Aziraphale offered him a cup of tea, not realizing his hands were full.

“Oh! The gramophone I gave you!” Aziraphale sounded delighted. “So glad you like it-”

“That's not why I brought it,” Crowley said darkly, setting it up on the coffee table that Aziraphale must have miracled up while he'd been gone. “Oi, start talking,”

“About what?”

“Not you, Angel! She knows who I'm talking to!”

Aziraphale is still an angel. There may be a recording of this conversation now.

Aziraphale dropped his tea cup. It shattered on the floor, the tea running every which way and staining the carpet. He was too in shock to clean it up. “...God?” He croaked.

Yes. Hello, Aziraphale. It's been a while.

“Yes, I'd say it has,” he pulled at his shirt collar nervously before turning his attention back to Crowley. “How long have you been talking to Her?”

“It's not like this was my idea!”

“Crowley!”

“I didn't invite Her to my place, had no clue She could do this. She just comes in without a … just wants me to do whatever She asks and I've got to do it, don't I? Can't say no to Her, can I? Damned for all time and yet somehow, someway, She could probably make it worse.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not blaming you for this. I just want to know how long.”

“Ask Her!”

The day of Crowley's birthday. So not long. A few days. ...Happy birthday to both of you, by the way.

“It wasn't even actually my birthday,” Crowley had gone into full fit mode. “And some present you are, anyway. Just show up and start demanding things of me and not even telling us....go on, tell them what you told me.”'

“Is that really God?” Adam sat forward and poked at the gramophone. “I just thought the voice would be deeper...”

“Too many movies,” Aziraphale said dismissively. “But...Lord, if you would be so kind as to explain yourself?”

A sustained sigh came through the gramophone. I needed someone who could act as a free agent. As you know, when I speak to angels things are recorded in the Records Room. If I speak to Humans, they're recorded in the Prayer Room.

“But there's no one listening in to you talking to demons,” Aziraphale was quick on the uptake. “Which means if you spoke to Crowley then no one would be recording.” he turned his gaze in his friend's direction. “Why would you bring Her here? This conversation is going to be recorded now!”

“I know that, but would you have believed me otherwise? Would anyone have? 'Oh, Aziraphale, by the way, God's talking to me and She's using the gramophone you gave me.'. I still remember how that bit went down for Joan of Arc, don't forget!”

“I was there, too, I remember,” Aziraphale frowned. “I see your point. But I like to think I would have believed you. No point in wondering now.”

“No, there isn't. And She is going to tell you the absolute worst part of this whole thing, the part She was hiding from me. Aren't you?”

Yes, Crowley. As we agreed. Aziraphale. ...Guardian of the East Gate. I can no longer see all of Heaven, nor can I peer into all of Hell.

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Judging by how big his eyes were, Crowley figured Aziraphale had heard her just fine. “Crowley, I must have misunderstood Her. It sounds like you're both saying that God ...can't see what the angels or demons are up to anymore.”

“That is exactly what She's saying.”

It's true. I don't know how they managed, but they did. As I told Crowley – I can get a feel for about where they're at and snippets of what they may be doing. But it's no longer clear to me. I can't tell you how to stop them because I can no longer figure out what exactly there is to stop. Just that they're planning something.

“Ah. Well... That is...” Aziraphale stammered for a while. “Disappointing, to say the least.”

“Disappointing? Disappointing?! This is the Alpha and Omega admitting she doesn't know shit!”

“Language in front of the child!”

“I've heard worse,” Adam offered. “A lot worse. Like-”

Aziraphale cut him off before he could finish. “We managed last time. We can do it again, right?”

Crowley sighed. “I dunno. But I'm guessing we have to try, right? No just running off to the stars?”

“That will be Plan B. But for now...why don't you,” he looked at the gramophone, “Both of you, tell me everything that you do know for now. Then we'll start working on Plan A.”

#good omens #my writing #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #aziraphale #crowley #adam young #good omens gabriel #beelzebub #hastur #The Them #Brian #Wensleydale #Pepper

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