#nendrab

[nencheese]

Your Choice

aka. FUCK Boss with english accent

Hey Guys, I actually wrote (part) of a choose your own adventure series! It’s a Boss/Reader fic.

The two meet at the airport (Or do they?). What will happen? Will you get the skelton of your dreams? Find out in: Your choice

This will ONLY be on AO3 since it’s easier for me to set up the links over there. I will infor you about updates.

Now: Enjoy!

[goodduckingomens]

A deep breath

I wrote a new ficlet. Can be found on AO3 here.

It was a regular evening in the bookshop. An evening like many others since the averted apocalypse. Comfortable routine.

Crowley however wasn’t comfortable, but restless. He had been changing his position on the sofa, again and again and again, twisting and turning in every possible and impossible way but he couldn’t relax. He glanced over to Aziraphale who was talking. Crowley was listening to him but he could not recall a word of what had been said. There was an itch under his skin, in his bones, a deep ache in his muscles and blood. The sofa was too giving under him, too soft, or maybe just soft in the wrong way.

Crowley took a deep breath and got onto the ground, away from the sofa, instead leaning against Aziraphale’s chair. The angel’s voice paused, then turned questioning, concerned. Crowley waved at him, motioning to continue. He was fine. He would be fine. The voice returned. The words started to form properly again.

Crowley leaned against Aziraphale’s chair, listening to him. The itch, the ache, were still there. The dim room was too bright. His head was too heavy. With a sigh he gave in. His head dropped, resting against Aziraphale’s leg. The words did not stop this time. The voice stayed but changed, shifting to softer tones, a comforting murmur cradling him. Flowing past like a calm river. Crowley finally relaxed incrementally. Hard and soft, the right kind. He closed his eyes against the too bright dimness. There was a weight against the other side of his head, a movement in his hair, settling. The itch finally subsided. The ache receded. Everything quieted.

He rested his head on Aziraphale, his hand carded through his hair and finally found comfort.

[goodduckingomens]

You remembered?

Crowley had always been fond of knowledge. And for most of his life he had also been fond of Aziraphale. So it wasn’t too surprising that over time, he acquired a lot of very specific knowledge relating to Aziraphale. Aziraphale himself, however, did seem surprised, when after the apocalypse, Crowley started to make use of it.

“Here, have some of the coffee-flavour chocolates, I know they’re your favourite.”

“Oh, you remembered that? Don’t mind if I do.”

“Angel, come on, I bought us cards at the globe for Much Ado! It’s the anniversary of the time you let me win the coin toss after all!”

“Oh really, you act like it was the only time I did. I can’t believe you remember that time.”

“Angel, I got you some new gloves so you can stop dithering about whether to ditch the old ones.”

“Oh, you remembered that? I don’t even recall telling you about it.”

It was the same every time.

Surprise. Gratefulness. Joy.

And while he loved surprising Aziraphale with nice things, he sometimes did get concerned about how often the angel was surprised by it. Made him realize how little Aziraphale expected people to care about the things he cared about. He could only hope to fix it in time.

They were having a nice evening in at the bookshop, arguing amicably with a bottle of wine, and something was off. Aziraphale kept huffing to himself irritatedly. Crowley had written it off as something external at first, like maybe a particularly annoying customer. But then the angel had started to give him looks when he didn’t think Crowley saw, the annoyance creeping into his voice. Until he heaved one more big huff and crossed his arms.

“Alright angel, what’s the problem?” he asked, feeling a tad annoyed himself at this point.

“Oh, you really DID forget then!”

“Forget? Forget what!”

“Our anniversary,” Aziraphale scowled.

“What? Which anniversary!” Crowley griped, baffled.

“Today marks the 3512th anniversary of the first time we ate a meal together.”

“What, no, that’s tomorrow!”

“No, no, I remember it with perfect clarity. We started before midnight, even if the other 6 hours of the feast were the next day. Thus, the anniversary is today. I cannot believe you forgot!”

The angel huffed once more and re-crossed his arms decisively, pouting.

Crowley gaped at him in disbelief, not quite sure what to say. Then he started to grin.

“You mad bastard. So you did expect me to remember after all.”

“Well, of course I do! That’s what it is like when you love someone, you remember important things and celebrate anniversaries and stop laughing, I’m being serious!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Crowley wheezed. “It’s just, I can’t believe I thought I had to worry about you expecting so little when you were actually acting coy!”

The angel kept looking at him with a sour expression and Crowley only laughed harder.

“No, no, angel, you don’t understand I was actually starting to get worried! And then it turns out you’re just as much of a bastard as I thought you were and you get all technical at me about the 30 seconds the feast started before midnight. Come on, that’s hilarious. And also of course I got us reservations for Mongolian tomorrow. You know on the date that’s sensible for this anniversary.”

“Oh, so you did remember!” Aziraphale said, brightening immediately, which sent Crowley into another fit.

Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes. But his mouth was already twitching and it wasn’t long until he joined in.

When they finally both calmed down, Aziraphale was sitting up against Crowley, who had one arm around his shoulders, his own still shaking slightly from laughing.

Aziraphale sighed and snuggled closer into his side, placing a kiss on his jawline.

“I do appreciate all that you do for me. You know that, don’t you?”

Crowley hummed and hugged him closer, which also allowed him to sneak a look at his watch.

“I do, angel. Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, love.”

Crowley grinned and held his watch up to the angel’s eyes.

30 seconds after midnight.

“OH FOR THE LOVE OF-”

Crowley cackled.

Read the rest of the prompts HERE.

[goodduckingomens]

Bodyswap

“So, how’d you propose we do it then?” Aziraphale slurred.

The both of them were spectacularly drunk already, two hours after shaking on the arrangement and starting the befitting celebrations. The world felt pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, less sharp than usual and the last thing Crowley wanted to do was think about technicalities. He wanted to think about results, like getting to spend more time with the angel and less time running around and even less time on a horse’s back and even less less time falling off and getting dragged around by said horse. And maybe some more time for Aziraphale to get dragged. Crowley was certain that would look hilarious.

“We just. Go. N’ do the thing,” he grunted, sinking even deeper into the cushions.

“Buuuuuuuut willit-” the angel was interrupted by a burp, which Crowley, who rarely saw the angel burp found astonishingly funny. The way his face scrunched up! Aziraphale levelled him with a look, which reminded Crowley more of an angry bird. Little puffy bird puffing up its feathers.

“-willit work? Never done anything infernal. Wouldn’t want the stench on my corporation.”

“Wha? Stench??”

“Yes, the stench!”

“I don’t stench! I smell wonderful, like roses and sunshine and butterfly fartsssss,” Crowley hissed, outraged.

“Someone’s farts anyway,” the angel murmured and Crowley gasped, offended.

“And you smell like- like- like a thunderstorm! So there.”

“Yes, that would be the ozone,” Aziraphale said, enragingly unaffected. “But really. We need to- to think this THROUGH. Havta be smart about it. Dunno how to call up infernal energy. Tried before.”

“You have? Why???” Crowley leaned forward, indignation forgotten at the prospect of bastardy.

“Ah, you know. Terrible cooks, book-withholding fiends, the usual enraging things.”

Crowley snorted.

“Should’ve known.”

“Yes, well,” the angel sniffed.

Crowley’s mind was spinning.

“Why didn’t you say? Before we shook on it?”

“Well, I AM quite confident we can find a solution between the two of us, if we actually think,” Aziraphale said haughtily, in a manner that indicated Crowley better have an idea.

Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a long minute, mind completely blank.

Course it didn’t work for Aziraphale. He was so soft. So pretty. And, Crowley would never admit it out loud, he really did smell nice. Unlike Crowley’s corporation.

“We could swap,” he blurted out, suddenly.

“Swap??” Aziraphale said, confused.

“Swap corporations. Never had trouble doing demonic things in my own.”

Aziraphale stared at him. Crowley could almost see the gears turning in his head.

He reached out a hand.

“Lend a hand when needed?” he said with a lopsided grin.

Aziraphale took it. And kept holding it, not doing anything. Just staring at it. Moving his thumb over Crowley’s knuckles.

“Uhhh, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, trying to hide the whatever it was that was bubbling up his throat. Probably something embarrassing.

“Oh, right!” Aziraphale said, startled.

A tingle spread in Crowley. This wasn’t terribly unusual, there were a great many things that made him feel tingly, from nice massages to itchy plants. But this tingle spread from his hand.

“Ohhh this feels weeeird,” Crowley said.

Or had it been him? It had certainly been his voice but now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure anymore. His sight blurred and cleared again and suddenly he saw himself, doing that nose scrunching thing Aziraphale did.

“Ah. How odd,” his own voice said.

“Yuuuuuuup.”

Crowley was kind of glad they were still drunk. That way he didn’t have to question why he suddenly felt so comfortable. So soft. So right.

“Try it then,” he said, his tone sounding wrong with this voice. Too harsh.

“Hmm?” He, no, Aziraphale asked, stopping to touch his face, his body.

Which was probably good because it made Crowley feel odd things indeed.

“Something infernal. Dunk a duck or whatever.”

The reproachful glare looked fundamentally wrong on his own face. Luckily it soon was replaced by consideration, and then a grin that could even be sort of read as mean.

Then the other snapped, and suddenly there was a book in his hand and a certain gleam in his eyes.

“Private collection?”

“Private collection,” the other grinned. “I think I might find myself quite amenable to doing this more.”

Read the rest of the prompts HERE.

[goodduckingomens]

Plans and how they work out

Crowley has been tired before.

This shouldn't be such a big deal.

Sleep shouldn't tempt him to stay home instead of meeting up with Aziraphale, not now that things are going so well between them, not now that things are allowed to be going well. He keeps telling himself this, denial and spite enabling him to drag himself through the City, finally reaching the door of the bookshop. Arrived at the goal...

And then suddenly, he finds himself draped over the old musty couch and Aziraphale, very confused as to HOW that happened but not at all opposed to it.

"Wha-" he manages to get out before a huge jawn takes over.

"Oh, there you are, love," Aziraphale says, smiling down at him. "I found you sleeping against my door. I wasn't sure if that was part of one of your nefarious plans, but I figured this would be more comfortable."

Crowley stretches and wiggles and sinks even more into the comfortable embrace.

"Sure was my plan, Angel. And it worked out perfectly."

[goodduckingomens]

Inheritance

Crowley was sitting in the office, draped in full mourning widow gear, complete with a long black veil, sniffling and occasionally dabbing at his eyes, completely ignoring the other people present who were glaring daggers at him.

“Well then, Misses Krepier, it seems that everything is in order, so I won’t keep you any longer and just give you the keys to the estate. My condolences to your husband passing so soon after marriage, but at least you are already in the will. As for you, gentlemen, I am sorry, but the will stated clearly that the estate was only to be auctioned off for charity in case no wife was present, so I’m afraid you came for nothing.”

Crowley thanked the man again with a high, quivering voice, signing the documents and grabbing the keys.

Then he left the office before he couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore.

His plan had gone exceptionally well, with only very little manipulation of official legal documents, and had allowed him to both piss off people and secure-

“Excuse me, madam, do you have a second to talk about your late husband’s collection of rare books?” came a familiar voice from his right as he stepped out of the building, and he turned.

There he was, Aziraphale, all polite smiles and very obviously with no idea who exactly stood before him. Crowley decided to have a bit of fun.

“Oh, how dare you! He isn’t even buried yet and already come the vultures, circling what’s left of him in this world. Oh, woe is me, this poor, weak woman, who now is left with obligations and no husband! Off you go, may you hang your head in shame!” he screamed, hysterically, accusatory, voice still high and quivering.

The angel had the decency to indeed hang his head in shame, and Crowley nearly lost it right there.

“Oh, oh dear, yes, of course, so sorry for your loss,” he mumbled, almost reflexively.

Then he stopped and narrowed his eyes.

“…Crowley? Is that you?”

Crowley, unable to hold back any longer, laughed.

“Oh, oh it IS you! You fiend! Impersonating a poor woman to steal her rightful inheritance, oh, you-”

“Ahh, shaddup, I’m not impersonating anyone. And you’re just annoyed with me because you already made first dibs arrangements with the charity people. Which, by the way, is a terrible, terrible charity, really angel, you need to start looking into that stuff. They support putting down their strays and all.”

Aziraphale huffed and puffed and would probably have blown a house down if Crowley hadn’t continued.

“And they promised dibs to at least 20 other people. Meanwhile I surely could be persuaded to give someone exclusive rights,” he purred.

The angel’s indignation evaporated like self-respect in a college bet.

“Oh! Oh, well then. Would you care join me for dinner, to talk about the details?”

“Only if you kiss my hand, Mr. Fell,” Crowley laughed. “I have to make the most of my potential to scandalize people while I’m still in mourning.”

The angel rolled his eyes, but he did bow down deeply, taking Crowley’s hand and placing a delicate kiss first on the wrist, and then, turning it, on the palm. Crowley was suddenly very glad for the veil hiding his face, even if, judging by the look Aziraphale gave him when he got back up, the bastard knew anyway.

“Well then, my dear, shall we? I know a lovely Italian restaurant just around the corner. We can talk business and you can tell me how you came to be the late Mr. Krepier’s wife.”

Crowley took the angel’s outstretched arm, making sure to wave daintily at the charity man glaring at the pair of them.

He threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, you know what they say, angel. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas – except for legally binding contracts.”

Read the rest of the prompts HERE.

[goodduckingomens]

Breaking the rules

Crowley had tried everything.

The buying him ice cream. The calculated accidental brushes of their hands. The inching ever so slightly closer on their bench. He’d even resorted to the mumbling obscenities under his breath at the ducks. Nothing had worked.

Aziraphale had done none of the usual unusual things he did now, or well had done and didn’t do now-now, and that was exactly the heart of the matter.

He inched closer once more, their hands touching, their legs touching, how could he be any clearer.

“Angeeeeeeel,” he said in a decidedly annoyed-and-not-whining-at-all tone.

“Oh, I am ever so sorry, my dear, but none of that in public. Apparently it’s decidedly undemonic, your rules not mine. Thus, I really can’t do any of the sort, you understand.”

Crowley sat there, next to his angel, brooding.

Which was more embarrassing. The affectionate behaviour or this.

“Alright I might be open to breaking the rules. Just a little. For you.”

Aziraphale looked at him with a considering look.

“No, no, really, I can’t. I could never disrespect you like that. Especially since I told you it was silly and you insisted, no really, you’ve made your boundaries quite clear.”

Crowley gaped at the angel. The bastard wanted him to admit it.

He fell back into his brooding silence, determined not to break. Even though the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand right next to his was as tempting as the sun gleaming off that first apple.

He wouldn’t admit to being wrong.

He. Would. Not. Break.

Aziraphale moved an increment away from him.

“Alright!” he groaned. “It. Was. Silly.”

Aziraphale beamed, and in the next second he was pulled flush against Aziraphale’s side, a kiss dropped in his hair.

“I am glad we agree.”

Read the other prompts HERE.

[goodduckingomens]

Is this blood?

“Is this blood?” a high-pitched, slightly nasal voice comes from somewhere around the height where the table ends.

Crowley looks away from where he’d been previously watching the crowd (and not at all Aziraphale) and sees a small child, staring at his glass.

“And who wants to know?” he drawls, already finding himself a lot more entertained than he’d been thus far at this odd summer garden fest gathering thingie.

The girl fixes him with a considering look. Calculating. Smart.

“I’m Pepper’s sister. Mum says I shouldn’t tell strangers my name.”

Crowley negates to tell her that telling them your sisters name isn’t much better. He can respect a small act of rebellion. He takes another sip out of his glass.

“But she didn’t say anything about asking questions like ‘Is this blood?’, did she?”

“Not about that one. She only says no stupid questions. But it’s not a stupid question, so I’m allowed to,” she says, with the kind of firm conviction only small children or CEOs seem to have.

He hums, considering.

“Then let me ask you one too. Why would you think it’s blood? Could be anything. Could be strawberry soda.”

She gives him another look.

“It’s not, it’s not fizzy. And strawberry soda is pink. Like fairy juice.”

Crowley idly thinks that he would be more concerned by someone drinking fairy juice than blood. But the girl interrupts him with her very straight forward explanation.

“Pepper says you’re very old. Like super old. And you’re wearing all black, and sunglasses. So I thought you might be a vampire. And vampires drink blood.”

Crowley grins, making sure not to show his teeth and her eyes narrow.

“Well, depends. What do you call a vampire?”

An hour later they still haven’t found common ground on how a vampire is defined, but Crowley has somehow ended up with thistles braided into his hair, because, as the girl had earnestly told him ‘they matched his personality’.

Soon enough her mother comes around to get her home, and Aziraphale finds him with a new glass of red wine. (Apparently some children’s bedtime is even before the sun has set. Wonderful material for causing some chaos.)

When she turns to wave goodbye, Crowley makes sure to raise his glass, and give her a wide smile. And if maybe his teeth look a bit pointier than normal teeth in the evening sun, well. Who is he to not play into a child’s imagination? Read the rest of the prompts HERE.

[goodduckingomens]

An anomalous time event

Aziraphale in his long life (long meaning a bit over 6000 years since time had been started, really, and some before) had experienced many instances in which time seemed to get off-track.

For example the odd sensation of hours passing in the blink of an eye when there was food and wine and good conversation. The stretching of milliseconds into small eternities as you saw something awful happen. The way time slowed maliciously when you had to hold a conversation with someone boring. The odd feeling of reading a good book and being out of time entirely for a few hours. And, of course, the feeling when you truly were taken out of time, as Crowley had done for them at the airbase.

However, there was one anomalous time event he only had the pleasure to experience recently, and it was quickly becoming one of his all-time favourites: The sweet stretch of time that came of sleeping in on a Sunday morning. When time seemed to be encased in honey, still passing but only luxuriously slow, every second a deliciously sweet present.

Not that he was sleeping in, of course. If he would, he couldn’t enjoy this to its fullest extent.

Next to him, in the big bed of the cottage, where the air outside smelled of earth and ocean and plants and life, Crowley stretched just as luxuriously as time itself and yawned.

“G’mornin,” he mumbled, blearily opening his eyes.

Aziraphale put aside his book, in favour of cradling Crowley’s face to his and dropping a kiss on his forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids, his jaw, and finally his mouth.

“Good morning,” he whispered. “Time to get up?”

The sleepy pile of demon underneath the blanket grumbled and moved and pulled him close.

“Nuh. Time to bask.”

“Ah, well then,” Aziraphale said, and cuddled the demon closer.

More time to indulge.

Read the rest of the prompts HERE.

[goodduckingomens]

Liminal Space

Liminal space.

That’s what this was, Crowley thought, this bench on which they were sitting and drinking and waiting. Or well, maybe less the bench and more the space around the two of them, between the two of them. Undecided and in-between and infinite in it’s possibilities and finite in it’s existence. On the verge between what had ended and what was to come.

Aziraphale obviously hadn’t realized it yet. There was a comfort in him behaving just as usual, but partly it was also grating on Crowley. His entire being could feel the change that had just happened, while Aziraphale, stoic as ever, was still bound to how things always had been. Maybe a bit less so, with all the “ineffable plan” rules-lawyering and standing up to Heaven, but it didn’t seem that he’d fully grasped the entirety of it all yet. Crowley couldn’t fault him for it. And he would never pressure Aziraphale if not needed. The angel was smart enough to figure out things at his own pace after all. Crowley didn’t like the odd kind of distance this put between the two of them however. Both one step from reality, one to the left, one to the right.

“You can stay at my place, if you like,” he heard himself say, trying to bridge the gap.

“I don’t think my side would like that,” Aziraphale said, sidestepping in the way he always did.

“You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We’re on our own side,” Crowley said, as gently as he could. Offering his hand, metaphorically of course, like he always had. Reaching into the space between them, offering an old new possibility.

Aziraphale stayed silent.

The bus arrived, and they got on, Crowley distractedly looking for a place to sit, when it happened.

The angel took his hand, not metaphorically but literally, took Crowley’s hand in his own, just before they sat down.

Crowley looked at their hands, intertwined, and then up at Aziraphale, keeping his expression carefully neutral. Aziraphale smiled at him, a smile that showed exactly how tired he was, and how scared, and how hopeful, and how happy.

“You are right, my dear. Our side.”

He squeezed Crowley’s hand gently, and they met in the in-between, and together, went into the what would be.

Read the rest of the prompts HERE.

[goodduckingomens]

The Nice and Accurate wedding of Anathema Device, Witch, which went just as expected

Header image by me, Stock images from Pixabay.

It’s finally up!

My new fic “The Nice and Accurate wedding of Anathema Device, Witch, which went just as expected” is now up to read on AO3.

This fic features great Anathema and Crowley friendship, Anathema getting married, a first meeting, flies and other surprises.

Click here to read Chapter 1.

Seeing as the entire fic is almost 17.000 words I will not be posting it fully onto tumblr, but fret not, AO3 is very very easy to use. You can even leave comments without an account if you just give them any mail adress!

But, to entice you, have a snippet:

Crowley chuckled. 

“Probably, yeah. So, who did you end up hiring for the planning? Assuming you’re doing the smart thing and not taking it on yourself.” 

“Oh, no no, I wouldn’t dream of that. I want to actually enjoy my wedding. I asked Steph.” 

Crowley raised an eyebrow. Anathema and Steph had a long-standing rivalry, caused by both of them being top-tier wedding planners, but also because Anathema disapproved greatly of Steph’s way of handling brides, often pushing them into things they didn’t really need or want to make himself look better. Crowley mostly disliked him because he was a perfectionist dick and insisted on meeting in his office for everything. And his office had shit coffee. 

Anathema elaborated with a mischievous grin.

“I couldn’t imagine anyone better suited, that’s what I told him. It will be great fun to see him scrambling to fulfil my wishes and to counteract Newt’s law.” 

“Anathema.” Crowley said with all the gleeful exasperation of a parent whose child just threw up on the brand-new car of the guy in the village garden committee who called their garden ‘nice for an amateur’ when they both knew who had more experience with plants. Those Geraniums had an incredible amount of blooms, Gareth, and you knew that.

[goodduckingomens]

I found your contact info in a book

“Hey, angel, guess what? I found your contact info in a book today!” Crowley called out as he entered the bookshop.

“Really now, did you? Did you pick up a telephone book? I thought those were only for those of us stuck in the last century?” Aziraphale called from the backroom, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Crowley made his way back there, sitting down on the couch.

“Ah, no, don’t you worry I would never revert back to the old ways.”

He winked at Aziraphale, who rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me they finally managed to put me in the rare book collectors catalogue. They’ve been trying for decades at this point and I don’t recall what my last stalling manoeuvrer was.”

“You faked your death, and a few years later the committee disbanded under mysterious circumstances, don’t think you have to worry about that one anymore.”

“Oh, jolly good! Then do tell me, what book is it?”

Crowley grinned, deciding to have a bit of fun.

“Oh, no, you have to guess.”

Aziraphale looked at him in exasperation, lips twitching.

“Alright then. Some kind of legal documentation thing?”

“Nop.”

“A collection of letters?”

“Mhh mhh.”

“Did you find one of my old diaries in a museum anywhere? If so, you aren’t to read it, those contain highly private information.”

“Of course, angel, I’d never think to. But also no,” said Crowley, making a mental note to talk to his  curator contacts soon.

Aziraphale wrinkled his forehead in thought.

“Hmmm. Oh, maybe the book Oscar promised to write for me finally got published? Though I have no idea why that one would contain my address.”

“Nope, sorry. I do have an inkling that one wont ever resurface again. Probably burnt for the contents, in light of all that happened. I mean, it was pretty risqué.”

“Oh, how would you know,” the angel stopped and stared at Crowley, who stared back until he had to avert his eyes.

The angel grinned, satisfied.

“Please do bring whatever you have by tomorrow. It will be wonderfully nostalgic to go through it.”

Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Sure, angel. Shall I also provide snacks and beverages?” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, which Aziraphale completely ignored.

“Oh, that would be lovely.”

‘Oh, that would be lovely.’ Crowley mouthed in an over-exaggeration of Aziraphale.

Both of them knew it was exactly what he would do however.

Meanwhile Aziraphale was thinking again.

“Need a hint? You definitely know it is in there.”

“Oh dear, don’t tell me it’s one of the library books-”

He clamped his mouth shut. Crowley leaned forward, very obviously interested in hearing more.

“Oh, just tell me already, I am not in the mood for these games, you wily serpent!” Aziraphale said, very obviously flustered.

Crowley laughed and pulled a small booklet out of his pocket.

“The wedding program, angel. I told you it would be a book with all the things you wanted to put in.”

“Oh! It looks lovely, let me see,” Aziraphale said excitedly.

Crowley quickly snatched it back, clutching it to his chest.

“Now, now, there’ll be plenty of time for that later. For now I’m dying to know what your contact information does in library books.”

The angel blushed.

“Ah, well. I only put it there in case someone might want to sell them sometime, just a card. I’ve had my eyed on some in Oxford for the last few centuries, but the bother with libraries is they usually stay intact for so much longer than private collections. It’s only to be seen by people like librarians, or curators-”

“-or wannabe thieves?”

Aziraphale flushed and pouted and Crowley grinned.

“I should make sure to mention this as a fun little anecdote in my speech, you know, about all the reasons I love you.”

“Oh, I’m sure that will be very nice, dear,” Aziraphale said, calculatedly disinterested. There was a certain gleam in his eyes. “Just know that I will make sure to put just as much love and care into mine.

“Ngk.”

“Indeed.”

This is the last one! Read the rest of the prompts HERE.

[goodduckingomens]

Pop Corn

aka Do not challenge me to write a feely poem with a ridiculous metaphor because i WILL

telling someone

about what i feel for you

would be like pouring them out into a pan

all the individual facets, the kernels

and their knowing would heat it up

make them pop all over

impossible to hide

unless you give me the same

molten butter

so we can consume them

together

[goodduckingomens]

Making plans

Aziraphale and Crowley were lightly drunk. They’d just come from their celebratory meal, accompanied by celebratory beverages at the Ritz, and now they’d gone to the bookshop and opened another bottle of something bubbly and sweet, to match the mood.

Crowley was reclining on the sofa, boneless and half swallowed by the cushions, and Aziraphale had joined him, posture more relaxed than Crowley had seen in millennia without the prerequisite of quite a lot more of alcohol, or a particularly captivating book.

And Crowley’s legs were laid out over his lap. Fancy that.

“You know,” Aziraphale said. “It would be nice to have a cottage.”

“Hmm, countryside. Or seaside. Or both. Somewhere with better air quality.”

“Bit more room. Bit more greenery. I do like greenery.”

“Do you?” Crowley grinned. “Then why does every plant you keep in here die?”

“Because it’s inside! You don’t have to worry as much about outside plants. They always get enough sun. And they get the rain.”

Crowley, who knew a lot more about how outside plants worked, just hummed.

“And I like the smell everything gets when it rains in the country. Petrichor. Such a nice word too. There would be petrichor in the countryside. And outside plants.”

“Uninterrupted reading time for you.”

“Long, empty roads to drive on for you.”

“Little farmers markets full of local produce.”

“Maybe a vegetable garden.”

“Room to spread out. Maybe flying.”

“Nice places for a picnic.”

“Maybe an AmDram society. Don’t give me that look, I know you’ve been itching to join one for at least the last century.”

“You could join too. Oh, and we could learn how to cook.”

“I can cook, angel, what do you think I have a kitchen for-”

Crowley stopped, hit by realisation.

“Angel,” he said, voice wavering slightly. “Angel, are we making plans for the future? Our future? Together?”

Aziraphale blinked, slightly surprised. And then a smile spread on his face. A smile that went from surprised, to pleased, to delighted, to beaming.

“Well. I suppose we are.”

Read the rest of the prompts HERE.

[goodduckingomens]

“Here's some cookies, and some very bad news”

Aziraphale was in the library, reading, when it happened.

Crowley came in carrying a tray, on it some tea and a plate with three biscuits. His face was doing the thing where he was scowling to cover up another emotion but then the scowl was softened because he didn’t like to scowl at Aziraphale. He sat up a bit, put down his book and waited.

Crowley set the tray down and then looked up at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale didn’t say anything and just looked at Crowley.

“Alright, angel, here’s some biscuits.”

Aziraphale, ever the virtuous angel, was patient and waited.

“And some bad news.”

Crowley looked very uncomfortable by now. If he were a character in one of his books, Aziraphale was sure he’d be chewing on his lip and crossing his arms and all those other telltale signs. The telltale of the real Crowley in front of him, however, was just a slight movement of his eyebrow. Aziraphale stayed silent but raised an eyebrow.

Crowley caved.

“I ate the rest of them.”

[goodduckingomens]

The myth of creation

You know They tell each other stories About how the world was made Seven days Day and night Land and sea Creatures above and below and everywhere And them

They believe it Even though they don't know it true The same way you do The same way I do too

But the thing noone tells Noone believes Noone knows Is how the world Was made anew When I met you

More here.