#one thing about me is that i love to draw crowley looking over his shoulder apparently lol

[loverboybrightsideghost]

blorbo bleebus → MORPHEUS DREAM OF THE ENDLESS!! and if you feel like doing two: crowley good omens :^)

MY BLORBOS

[vroomvroomwee]

Aziraphale's vest

I'd like to take a second and talk about his vest because I think it's a really good metaphor for Aziraphale's internal feelings.

At first glance it's obvious the vest is quite old. Really old in fact if you note the way it's practically disintegrating.

And it got me thinking a bit. The way the white practically bleeds from the edges of the neck, shoulders and buttons, going further and further, one day if he's persistent enough to wear it, it might even take over the entire vest. You could say that that, somehow, mirrors Heavens influence over Aziraphale. Slowly, slowly, biding their time, until it has completely ridden him of any colour. Until it has completely washed him of his identity, of his originality, of his character.

Take a look at his clothing when he's up in Heaven.

Completely and utterly white. Every piece of clothing he's wearing is pure and untarnished white. Upon entering Heaven, against his own accord, it has stripped him of his uniqueness, of anything that might distinguish him from any other angel who blindly follows orders and who's sole purpose is to do Heavens bidding.

Now, he could miracle the white patches on the vest away easily. But he doesn't want to.

The thing is. He likes the imperfect. He likes partaking in human activities and pleasures, like food, music, etc. Likes to indulge himself in earthly things Heaven would label as sinful or "sullying." And as someone who bas been on the receiving end of Heavens ridicule and passive aggression for millenia, as someone who for centuries has been told that he's underperforming and needs to do better, as someone who is all too aware of his own impurity by the standards an angel should hold and of the quite frankly unholy behaviour in performing immoral temptations and directly going against Heavens orders no more than a few times throughout the eras, it's no wonder he finds comfort in the imperfect.

He keeps the deteriorating edges because they are a perfect representation of his own internal feelings and image. After all, there's no rule that says he can't. And a big kudos to the costume department, for the patches perfectly encapsulate his religious trauma. Without it, he would probably be a very different person. He wouldn't be the same Aziraphale we know and love. The same way he likes being old-fashioned with his clothes and how that is a part of who he is, his trauma is a part of him as well, along with Heavens influence that has shaped him into who he is today, whether he likes it or not.

Every part of the vest illustrates Aziraphale's character and internal feelings, which brings me to another point I want to draw attention to, and that is the BACK of the vest.

It's DARK. And I don't think I'm mistaken when I say that most of us didn't expect it to look like that from behind. We all just assumed that it would be the same beige colour as the front, which is in tune with the rest of his attire. After all, seeing him wearing a dozen different outfits all throughout history, all of them some shade of white, it was the logical conclusion.

But no.

It's not white. It's a dark, slightly viridian or a dark blue colour. "Dark blue suggests a more mysterious depth or ominous quality. Power and authority: Dark blue signifies power and responsibility. "

Not what we would have expected that colour at all. Similarly to how one wouldn't expect an angel to perform temptations or be gluttonous, or envious, or slothful, or hedonistic. Not at first glance anyway.

Not unless you look carefully.

Not unless you know him.

The coat almost acts like a cover. The light over the dark. Almost as if it's trying to hide something. The only times we see Aziraphale not wearing the coat is in his bookshop. Which is logical, of course. You wouldn't wear a coat indoors, obviously. Except he DOES. He wears the coat when he and Crowley are drunk, he wears it when he's reading Agnes Nutter, he wears it when Gabriel and Sandalphon pop in, he wears it when he's talking to the Metatron, he wears it when he's listening to Shostakovich, he even wears it at the Ritz where it would be custom to take off your coat while dining. And it's worth noting that during the events happening (at least in the first season), the season is summer. Which would make it quite ridiculous to be wearing so many layers everywhere you go and therefore risk boiling. But he still wears the coat.

The only times he doesn't wear it is in the first episode after the sushi, when he's all ALONE, and in season 2 at the bookshop when Crowley comes back and in 1941.

And there's something oh so personal about that.

I don't think it's a coincidence that the darker part is specifically the back of the vest. There's always been this natural human instinct to protect yourself by never ever turning your back on a foe. And I don't think this is a conscious effort on Aziraphale's part, but rather genius writing, directing and costume design, and anyone who's watched and read Good Omens knows that almost nothing is coincidental.

Note this is probably the first time Aziraphale has called Crowley his friend, seeing how uncertain and doubtful he was to even say the word in this scene and how quick he was to deny their friendship in the Shakespeare scene. And the camera immediately cuts from Crowley to Aziraphale, who is turned away, whose back is turned to Crowley oh so casually without a care in the world. Just before he calls him his friend. His back is turned, and so is the dark part of his vest.

The dark part he only shows in his bookshop, when he's alone and there's no one there. The part that he now only shows to Crowley as well. Crowley who knows him so well and who's been with him through everything. "I won't tell anyone if you won't." And "you said trust me""and you did". Just this small motion of Aziraphale depicts exactly how much trust he has in Crowley not only that he'll keep him safe and protected but to accept him just as he is, to not judge him, to not demean him for his imperfections as an angel. Practically mirroring Crowley's self-protection mechanism that is reflected in his motions to hide his eyes with his sunglasses (there's a wonderful meta on this by @simply-brightly-zee here )

And it might just be clothing, or it might just be genius symbolism, but note how self-aware Aziraphale is of his looks when Gabriel pops up.

The desire to impress is almost unconscious in this scene, and how does he go about doing it? By making sure he looks presentable. Presentable, despite the white patches and the vest that is falling apart, he doesn't even realise it. Therefore, it's clear Aziraphale puts thought into his clothes, whether consciously or unconsciously.

I personally dont think any of this (the coat, the patches, the way he turns his back, when, where and around who he's most comfortable) is a deliberate and intentional act on Aziraphales part but rather creative brilliance from the directors and producers. So him being shown to expose the back of the vest only in scenes with Crowley (and the one in s2 infront of an amnesiac Gabriel with the intelligence and awareness of a squirrel) is a master move on the costume department's part. The symbolusm being so small and imperceptible, but holding so much meaning. This small metaphor shows how much Aziraphale trusts Crowley and how comfortable he is around him. Crowley who knows about Aziraphale's transgressions, sins, unholy behaviours, lack of interest and dedication to his job, and overall "incompetence" as Aziraphale might put it and how he's "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing". Crowley, who will accept him and love him no matter what. Not despite those things, but because of those things.

They have found their "own side".

Edit: Not that important, but I just want to mention how, despite being tattered and falling apart, the vest is still in perfectly good condition. No matter the white seeping in and draining its colour, the vest doesn't have a single seam torn, not a button lost, perfect as the day it was bought. No matter what it's been put through, it's still kicking, whether by miracle or sheer willpower. Very much like the person wearing it.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Not You

Sam and Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: A few times your big brother Dean scares you.

Your big brother Dean would do anything for you, you knew that. He’d practically raised you, taking care of you when John wasn’t able to. He loved you and Sam more than anything, and you felt the same way about him.

But that didn’t change the fact that sometimes, Dean scared you.

…

You were hunkered down in the back of the Impala while Sam and Dean yelled at each other outside about their new buddy, Gordon.

You didn’t like Gordon, he freaked you out. And while Dean seemed to trust him completely, Sam was more on your side; hence their argument.

You couldn’t hear what they were saying, and you honestly didn’t care that much. That is, until Dean reared back his fist and punched Sam square in the face.

You scrambled to get out of the car before you noticed that Sam didn’t try to reciprocate. They exchanged a few more heated words before finally heading towards the Impala.

You were quiet that night, even after the vampires and Gordon had been taken care of. Your mind replayed the image of Dean punching your brother over and over again.

You felt ridiculous, lingering over something that even Sam seemed to have forgotten. But you couldn’t help but imagine that kind of anger directed at you. If he hit Sam—the brother that had been inseparable to him since basically birth—what did that mean for the others around him?

“Hey kid,” Dean’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. “I’m going for a supply run, wanna come with?”

“N-no I’m good,” you cursed the stutter that came out and forced yourself to calm down. You were only freaked because you’d been thinking about the punch, not because you were actually scared of Dean…

Right?

Your thoughts had once again distracted you, so when Dean made his next move you did something unexpected.

Dean raised a hand to run it through his hair, and your body reacted instinctively, following your current state of mind. You visibly flinched back, away from Dean, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Both Dean and Sam—who had looked up to watch the exchange at the wrong moment—noticed your reaction, and they responded in very different ways.

Dean seemed to freeze, his brows drawing together. Sam on the other hand reacted immediately, standing and taking Baby’s keys from Dean’s hand.

“Actually, I’ll go on the supply run. I need some air anyway, you two hang out here.”

He was gone before either sibling could protest.

The silence stretched on for several long minutes before you realized the problem. You were waiting for Dean to bring up what had happened, and he was waiting for you to bring it up. Considering how stubborn you both were, this could go on forever, so you decided to speak first.

“Why did you hit Sam?”

“Is that why you…” you dropped your gaze to your hands when Dean trailed off. “Hey,” he knelt beside the bed you were sitting on, his face flooding your vision. “C’mon, use your words.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you do that,” Dean demanded, his hand coming up to your shoulder. “Don’t be scared of me, not you. Not ever, I-I can’t…” Dean swallowed. “Don’t you ever be scared of me. I would never hurt you.”

“You hit Sam,” you argued.

“Sam’s different,” he insisted.

“Why?”

“Well for one, Sam’s not a kid, ok? He’s bigger than me, he can take a hit.”

When you didn’t respond, he sighed.

“Look, I shouldn’t have hit Sam, ok? But things are going on right now, things I’d rather not explain. But I promise you, I’m never gonna hurt you. Can you just trust me on that?”

“Ok,” you muttered. I can do that.”

…

You were huddled on Bobby’s couch, your knees curled up to your chest as you pretended not to hear the sounds coming from downstairs.

Your big brothers had caught a demon that could lead them to Crowley, and unfortunately he didn’t feel like talking.

Dean had managed to get a few words out of the guy, so Sam and Bobby were following up on that lead, but it wasn’t enough.

You were so wound up that when your phone rang you nearly fell off the couch. You answered when you saw Sam’s name on the screen.

“Did you find anything?”

“Not quite,” Sam sighed. “I need to talk to Dean, but he left his phone here in the Impala. Can you get him?”

“You-you want me to…” you swallowed down the protest that you desperately wanted to make. “Um, ok, I’ll-I’ll go get him.”

You put Sam on mute as you padded down the stairs towards the sound of the demon screaming.

You hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, your body unwilling to move forwards. Frozen to the spot, you were forced to take in the scene in front of you. Dean, a knife glinting in his hands, had blood running down his arms and splattered on his shirt.

The demon was strapped down to a chair on top of a devil’s trap, bleeding from various cuts, his face steaming from the holy water Dean had just dumped on him.

But worse than the gruesome scene in front of you was the twisted smirk on Dean’s face as he splashed holy water onto his knife and sliced into the demon’s arm, causing more screaming. As soon as the screams died down, you were about to make your presence known when the demon suddenly caught sight of you. His wicked grin alerted Dean, and he turned to see what the demon was looking at.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took an unconscious step back. Upon seeing you, Dean’s features softened almost instantly, but that didn’t take away what you’d seen. His mouth was still twisted in that awful grin, and to have it directed at you was even worse. The scariest thing though, was his eyes. They weren’t angry, which would’ve been scary enough.

There was a cool, harsh indifference in his eyes, as though he could just as easily shake your hand as cut off your head.

But when he saw you, a light seemed to enter his eyes, and the smirk dropped, but the ghost of those twisted featured lingered.

“You shouldn’t be down here,” Dean muttered as he stepped close to you.

“Sa-Sammy called,” you mumbled nervously, holding up the phone.

Dean snatched up a wet rag from a metal table next to him, wiping some of the blood off his hands and taking your phone, but not before noticing how your outstretched hand was shaking. He followed your gaze to the demon behind him, who was watching your exchange with that awful grin on his face. When Dean turned back to you, though, he saw that you were now looking at him.

He couldn’t decide whether the terror in your eyes was because of him, or the demon.

Dean leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “Go back upstairs.”

You gripped onto his arm, trying desperately to find comfort in the familiar gesture.

When he pulled away, you looked up into his eyes, trying to erase the memory of what you’d seen there.

“Don’t,” you were surprised at the strain in Dean’s voice. “Don’t look at me like that. Not you.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. You lurched forward suddenly, wrapping your arms around your big brother, ignoring the blood on his jacket. He reciprocated, and the feeling of his strong arms around you abated your fear. It didn’t matter what he’d done to that demon, Dean was still just Dean.

Dean was safe.

…

“Alright, I’m gonna go in. You wait here.”

“Are you insane?” You scoffed as Sam stepped out of the car. “It’s Dean, I’m coming.”

“We don’t know what he is right now, so no, you’re not.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You saw the black eyes, Y/N. It’s not just Dean anymore. Now I mean it, stay in the car, I’ll be out with him soon.”

As Sam closed his door and walked into the bar, you reached down to unbuckle your seat belt.

“If you wanted me to stay away, you should’ve left me at the bunker.”

…

You couldn’t help it. When you saw Dean for the first time in months, your body grew a mind of its own.

“Dean!” Your features lifted in a grin as you rushed towards your big brother. All the air left your body in a huff when Sam’s arm shot out to stop you, wrapping around your waist.

“What’s the matter, Sammy?” Dean smirked. “Don’t trust me?”

That was when you really took in the scene. Dean looked…different. Like, not Dean. It wasn’t the same as when you’d seen him torturing that demon, it wasn’t just a coldness or a harshness, it was a different person.

But what stood out to you more was Sam. His arm was tight around you, before he maneuvered you behind him. His whole body was between you and Dean, one hand on your arm to be sure you were there, and the other just slightly jutting out in front of him. You knew that stance well; it was his Protective Mode, for whenever he thought there was an imminent, real danger.

And he was using it to keep you away from Dean. That scared you more than anything.

“Go back outside,” Sam ignored Dean’s remark, speaking to you but not taking his eyes off Dean.

“You shouldn’t have brought her here, Sammy,” Dean scoffed. “You know she can never resist her favorite big brother. Even when she was scared of me, she always liked me better than you.”

“Dean stop it,” you stepped around Sam, but he grabbed your arms and held you back.

“Y/N go outside,” Sam grunted.

“Dean, just come home with us,” you stopped fighting Sam, but kept your gaze on Dean.

“My home isn’t with you anymore, baby,” you nearly cringed when Dean’s favorite nickname for you came out in a way that was so obviously not Dean. “Now listen to Sammy so the grown ups can talk.”

“Dean-“

“Hey,” you were suddenly jerked around as Sam twisted you to face him. “I need you to go.”

Nothing less than the absolute terror on Sam’s face would’ve made you relent, but relent you did.

…

“I want you to stay out of there until this is over,” Sam stared you down.

“Is it that bad?”

“We’re gonna fix it, ok?” Sam sighed. “We’ve got the blood and everything, I just need you to stay away from him until it’s done.”

You nodded up at him, and he disappeared into the bunker’s dungeon.

With nothing to do, you found yourself wandering into Dean’s bedroom. You’d been doing that a lot since he’d left, finding the space comforting, as it was so very Dean.

However today was not a day that you would find comfort here. You’d been waiting in there for only an hour or so when you heard it. Or rather, him.

“Come on, Sammy! Don’t you wanna see your big brother?”

Your blood ran cold as you heard Dean’s not-so-subtle approach come closer and closer to you. What was he doing?

You didn’t have much time to wonder, because the footsteps echoing through the hall suddenly stopped outside your door.

What was he doing? If he didn’t want to be here, why didn’t he just leave?

You shouldn’t have stopped to wonder, but you’d promised yourself a long time ago that you’d always trust Dean, so the possibilities of what he really wanted hadn’t even crossed your mind when the door suddenly flew open.

Dean stood there, a hammer gripped in his hand as he stepped inside his old room.

“Hey little sister,” a sickening smirk spread across his face. “I was expecting Sammy, but I suppose I can take care of you first.”

Before you knew what was happening, you were flat on your back, the flat top of the hammer pressed against your throat.

You gasped for a breath, and were horrified when no air came through.

“St-st-st-“ it was no use, you couldn’t speak.

“What was that?” Suddenly the pressure on your neck lessened, but the hammer still was still touching your neck, like some kind of sick reminder that he could cut your air off again at any time.

“If you wanna leave, just leave,” you whimpered.

“Oh baby, I don’t wanna leave. Not yet. See, after what he tried to do to me, Sam’s as good as dead. But first, I’m gonna show him exactly where pissing me off gets him.”

“M-meaning?” You weren’t sure you wanted to know.

“Meaning you’re going first. But before that, you’re gonna get Sammy over here so he can watch.”

Your eyes drifted to your pocket where your phone was.

“Oh no baby, you won’t need that to get him here,” Dean leaned back, lifting the hammer.

“De-“ your plea broke off in a shriek when the blunt object slammed down on your hand. White hot pain shot up you arm, and the edges of your vision started to go fuzzy, black tinging the corners.

“Hey!” A harsh slap across your face brought focus back to your eyes. “Don’t you pass out on me baby, I want Sam to hear you scream.”

“Please,” you sobbed. “Dean, don’t do this to me. Not you. Don’t you do this. Not you, please!”

“Dean!”

“Hey Sammy,” Dean didn’t even turn around at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“Dean, get away from her,” you craned your neck to see Sam standing in the doorway, the demon blade clutched in his hand.

“Or what? You gonna kill me, Sammy?” Dean kept his eyes on you as he spoke to Sam, a cocky grin splitting his face. “I don’t think you have it in you.”

Sam took a half step forwards, but stopped when Dean raised the hammer, barely sparing a glance at Sam

“Uh-uh. I can bring this down on her skull faster than you can reach me, and you know I will.”

“Ok, ok,” Sam lowered the knife as he sidestepped further into the room and into Dean’s line of sight. “Just let her go man. This is between you and me.”

“I don’t think so, Sammy. You brought her into this, and now I want you to watch her die.”

“Dean,” you grabbed onto Dean’s arm, once again gaining his attention. “Dean you don’t have to do this. Come on, it’s me, you-you can’t…” you shake your head. “Th-this isn’t you, you wouldn’t do this.”

“Oh baby it is me,” you whimpered as Dean leaned down to whisper in your ear. “And you should’ve stayed scared of me.”

Dean twisted the hammer in his hand, raising it up for the fatal blow.

You closed your eyes, blocking out the vision of Dean’s pit-black eyes as you waited for the blow.

You kept your eyes closed until you heard Dean cry out, and suddenly his weight was lifted off you. You looked up to see Castiel dragging Dean back, who was fighting tooth-and-nail, a horrible screeching-like scream coming from him.

“It’s over,” Castiel grunted. “It’s over.”

…

Once Dean was secured back in the dungeon, Castiel healed your broken hand before going to help Sam in curing Dean.

As soon as he was clean and out of the dungeon, you didn’t waste a second, running into his waiting arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he breathed.

“It’s ok, Dean.”

“No, no it’s not,” he insisted, pulling away. “It’s…it was…” Dean lowered his gaze, unable to look you in the eye.

Not having it, you ducked your head lower so that your face flooded his vision, and he finally met your gaze again.

“Not you. It was not you.”

[one-black-coffeee]

a list of Good Omens season 2 things from episodes 1-3 that i haven’t seen mentioned in other posts

how much Aziraphale loves music. the way he sighs when his record is interrupted, how he mopes to the front of the shop because he just wanted to listen to the beautiful human creation

the smile Aziraphale has on his face as Jim/Gabriel says “when you don’t know anything at all, and yet you’re totally certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person” because yes! he does know! and Aziraphale is so happy to have that knowledge even if he does almost immediately try to hide it

Aziraphale immediately looking to his left when Crowley walks past him in the coffee shop. Crowley is generally to Aziraphale’s left so, naturally, that’s where he looks as soon as he knows Crowley is approaching. but he’s wrong, isn’t he? Crowley walks to the right.

“Give Me Coffee…” material, human pleasure “Or Give Me Death” immortal, heavenly eternity

“no, I would love you to help me. I am asking you to help me take care of him.” Aziraphale isn’t trying to push Crowley away. not with Jim/Gabriel, not with Heaven. he always wants Crowley with him, helping him. and he tells isn’t pretending otherwise anymore

a fly crawling along the bentley’s windshield even before Crowley gets in the car

the deal Beezlebub gives Crowley is the same as the one the Metatron gives Aziraphale, isn’t it? it’s a choice to go back to Hell/Heaven. the difference is in the way Crowley and Aziraphale think. Crowley sees Beezlebub’s olive branch as a trap, a forfeiture of the contented life he has on earth. the system is too broken to be fixed from a position of power. Aziraphale, though, does see it as an opportunity to fix what’s broken

right after Crowley destroys Job’s goats, cores fly away behind him

Aziraphale loves the romantic aspects of love but doesn’t know how to handle the difficult aspects. Maggie says she’s in love with Nina and Aziraphale smiles. Maggie says Nina has a partner, tells him that the situation is complicated, and he sobers, disappointed

the fact that the walls of Job’s home are the same color as the walls in Aziraphale’s bookshop (aka the color of Crowley’s eyes.) the whole of the Job minisope is to tempt Aziraphale. he tries human food for the first time, he works with Crowley for the first time, he lies to Heaven for the first time! everywhere, Aziraphale is met with temptation

Crowley cares for the innocent and the vulnerable. he humors Jemimah and makes her a blue salamander, he refuses to diminish the importance of the goats. when Aziraphale is worried about being a fallen angel, Crowley’s patient

every time Crowley performs a miracle, he draws his hand from the bottom (Hell) up. Aziraphale, however, draws his hand from top (Heaven) down

Michael, Uriel, and Saraqael (and Gabriel when he’s still the Supreme Archangel) wear a cold white. Muriel and Aziraphale wear a warmer, creamier white. except in the Job minisode. then, all the angels wear the warmer white— before Heaven turns cold and institutionalized. even the lighting of Heaven itself changes

Aziraphale invited Michael, Uriel, and Saraqael into the bookshop. they easily could have walked into the shop before Aziraphale got there, but they didn’t. because Aziraphale really does consider the bookshop partially Crowley’s! for the same reason Shax has to trick Aziraphale to get into the bentley, the angels have to wait for Aziraphale to enter the bookshop

Aziraphale popping up from behind the bentley as Crowley approaches and Crowley immediately offering him a “lift somewhere”

in the opening scene of episode three, the reflection just under Jim/Gabriel is “Give Me Coffee…” Gabriel and Beezlebub do get to choose “coffee.” they get to have their joy together

before Muriel interrupts their conversation, the dialogue between Crowley and Aziraphale in the back of the bookshop is shot from behind and over their shoulders. when Muriel opens the door, the angle shifts to face each of them

Aziraphale is not a good city driver.

the look Crowley gives Aziraphale after he turns Elspeth’s stolen body into bones. Aziraphale is so proud of himself, he even tells Crowley “I did a good things!” but Crowley knows better and he’s waiting for Aziraphale to realize the reality. and then the way Aziraphale hugs the jar with the dead boy’s tumor. he cares so much, he wants so desperately to be good and for the world to be good too

Aziraphale is as proud of his “newspaperman” disguise as Muriel is of their “inspector” disguise. how fond Aziraphale is of Muriel because they remind him of himself. a sweet, kind angel who just wants to do the good thing. an angel who is enamored with the human world. even as he and Muriel have tea together, he look at them so kindly. he knows their hesitancy to try human products but he also knows how thoroughly they would love that cup of tea if they’d just taste it

“it’s a bit different when it’s someone you know, isn’t it?” it’s a bit different when it’s not just some demon, when it’s a demon you know is, deep down and just below the surface, good.

that Aziraphale learns just as much from Crowley as Crowley learns from Aziraphale. episode three is Aziraphale beginning to learn the inequality between the wealthy and the poor. episode three is also Crowley learning balance between “the virtues of poverty” and just setting people up for a good life

Crowley, drunk on laudanum, looking for Aziraphale and not finding him because Aziraphale isn’t to his right like he should be. Aziraphale knows to look for Crowley on his left and Crowley knows to look for Aziraphale on his right

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! All of you do fantastic work! Do you have any fics with like magical curses and true loves kiss? I don’t really care about rating. Thank you again!!

Hello! You can fics along these kinds of lines on our #fantasy au tag. Here are some curse/true love's kiss specific fics...

The Fairy Prince, the Toad and the Snake by KannaOphelia (T)

Aziraphale supposed it was interesting that his flaming sword still managed to flame while underwater, but there were better ways to find out than dropping it down a well. He craned over the side and gazed down, seeing the glimmers of red and orange, far beyond his reach. "You've done it now," said the snake, watching him from the apple tree. "I suppose I have, yes." Aziraphale wondered if he could hook a rope around it or something, and draw it up. He wasn't quite sure how it would work. "Bound to happen," the snake said, not unkindly. "Don't want to go waving a big killing thing like that around. Sssssupposed to be a weapon." A Good Omens retelling of The Frog Prince, for Fairy Tale Inspired 2021

Fairest by lilliankayl (T)

(Snow White Retelling AU) Aziraphale has no memories of his father and very few of his mother. His father died when he was an infant and his mother remarried shortly afterwards. When his mother died just before his seventeenth birthday, his stepfather’s true colors were revealed. Now on the run and taking shelter from those who will help him, Aziraphale must never let the king find him, for it will surely mean his death if he is found.

The Dragon's Greatest Treasure by Sir_Bear (T)

Once upon a time, the kingdom of Eden was protected by the eternal knights. One of these ageless warriors, the healer Raphael, disappeared hundreds of years ago after saving Sir Aziraphale’s life. Now, while escorting prince Gabriel across the kingdom, Aziraphale is captured by the dragon Crowley. The two begin to fall in love, but can a relationship like their's work, when all Crowley sees himself as is a monster, and Aziraphale feels bound by his duty to the knights? *** He shrugged his scaly shoulders, his eyes looking about as if trying to find a change of topic. “Didn’t you have a magic sword?” “Uh…” “You did, you were waving it about and everything. What happened to it?” Aziraphale’s throat made a croaking noise, unwilling to answer. “Lost it already have you?” “Gave it away…” He muttered, despite himself. “You what?” Crowley’s golden eyes went wide, tilting his huge head to the side. “They’d be in danger without it!” He burst out. “There are dangerous creatures out there, not to mention you!”

A Demon's Guide to Love and Curses by cyankelpie (G)

(Crowley has been cursed by a witch, cut off from his powers, and trapped in serpent form. Only a True Love’s Kiss can restore him to his former self. There’s just one problem: demons can’t fall in love.) “So what’s your plan?” Crowley said at last, sounding resigned. “You want me to ssslither into town, find some random human, and see if I can fall in love with them? And get them to fall for me?” “Goodness, no. That would never work.” Aziraphale crossed the floor and pulled his cloak off the coat stand. “My plan is to take you into town, and then, together, we’ll find someone for you to court.”

(Someday I'll Be) Part of Your World by Pearl09 (T)

Aziraphale is a merman who likes human things a little too much. Crowley is a human who just wants to leave the awful place he’s at. A chance meeting, a surprising rescue, lead to more than the two of them ever imagined. Would they truly risk their own souls to be with each other? And, more importantly, will they meet the necessary requirements on time to keep them? A Little Mermaid au/fusion featuring two pining idiots.

hearts and thoughts fade away (I swear I recognize your breath) by Melime (M)

Due to a clerical error, Crowley is cursed by Hell, losing his memories of the past six thousand years. Now, Aziraphale has to regain his trust and find a way to cure him, but the only way to do this is by confronting his own prejudices regarding demons' capacity to love.

- Mod D

[starks-hero]

Iris

Pairing: Crowley x human!Reader

Summary: “When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.” Or, Crowley finally decides to tell you, his human lover, that he is a demon. He's justifiably terrified.

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: hurt/comfort

a/n: shout out to the wonderful anon that chucked me headfirst back into my good omens' obsession. anyway, I'm not saying you should listen to Iris whilst reading this but–

Crowley loved your eyes.

Well, he loved the entirety of you. But there was just something about their alluring shade, the way they watched him so intently and with softness he couldn't recall last being regarded with. Their divinity reflected that of the cosmos themselves. Crowley should know, he built them.

He never really understood the whole ‘eyes are the window to the soul’ line before you. From Crowley's, albeit limited understanding, souls didn't have windows, and even if they did, it wouldn't be a very good indicator of one's character. Even the bleakest of days look more promising from behind the safety of a window.

You were the one to change that perception, to take it in gentle hands and mould it into something softer, more sentimental. You proved to him that maybe there was some truth to the verses he'd heard poets recite again and again over the millennia. When with you, Crowley could feel the unconditional kindness beaming from you like rays from the sun, a readiness and willingness to be good that made him fall for humanity all over again.

And yet despite everything your eyes inspired in him, you were yet to see his own. And for good reason. Crowley still didn't understand what miracle, (or lack thereof) had transpired for you to be with him, but he did know that he wasn't about to put it at risk. You were his anti-thesis; made up of all things good and loveable. The thought of how quickly you'd leave the moment you saw his eyes and all they stood for was one that plagued him daily. But on the other side of the coin, Crowley couldn't disregard the fact that you deserved to know. You deserved the truth. You deserved so much more...

It was time for the bell to toll.

And so, Crowley followed his usual routine of picking you up after your shift, only this time the music was cranked up double what it usually would be (already deafening) in an attempt to drown out his frantic overthinking. The windows shuddered with each guitar solo and Crowley was sunk so far down in his seat his foot was pressed uncomfortably against the gas pedal. If it weren't for the fact that the Bentley was somewhat sentient, he probably would have swerved off the road a mile or two back.

The moment he set foot in your home an uncomfortable burning sensation shot up his spine. He cursed whoever had blessed your house before realising that said uncomfortable feeling was in fact a combination of both his nerves as well as the conscious he forgot he had.

The drive back to the flat was tortuous, for Crowley at least. Your hand was on his thigh as he drove, drawing circles into the fabric. The ever-alluring sound of Freddie Mercury's voice droned on in the background as Crowley rehearsed what he wanted to say, swapping out words and rephrasing sentences before restarting altogether. The closer he got to home the more hopeless he began to feel and by the time he was holding the flat door open for you Crowley fought the urge to find the nearest cave, catacomb or other undisturbed dwelling to take a century-long nap in. He just wanted to wait this whole thing out.

The reminder that you wouldn't be here in a century served as an adequate kick in the arse as he closed the door behind him. 

His shoulders were slumped and his steps slow as he moved through the apartment's halls in all their bleakness. The only room in the entirety of the flat that had any real colour was his conservatory, filled to the brim with succulents and tropical plants. The moment he entered said room he was met with the sight of green leaves and an earthy scent heavy in the air. It was an impressive sight, really; plants that stretched feet off the ground, leaves proudly pointed skyward, (although given Crowley’s presence it is far more likely this display was out of fear.) Ivy vines had begun to climb up the walls, something Crowley had intended to deal with before deciding he was rather fond of how they contrasted the greyness of the polished stone they clung too. 

Among it all, in the very centre of the botanical display, the plant you'd gifted him proudly sat. A purple Iris, its petals bright and its leaves healthy and succulent. Its scent was sweeter than that of the other plants and the flower, despite its size, did not seem intimidated by the impressive foliage that surrounded it. 

Crowley’s fingers delicately ghosted over the leaves. the sentimental side of him liked to believe that the flower’s flourishing beauty was because it had been gifted to him by you. Something about everything growing better with love. The more reasonable part of him acknowledged that it was due to the fact the plant had been placed nearest to the window as well as being the first watered each morning and night. The battle between his sentiment and rationality was nullified by the fact that you were also the reason the plant received such treatment, favouritism having quickly steered his hand.

You just had that habit about you; inspiring beauty whether you meant to or not. 

As Crowley studied the flower that in so many ways reminded him of you, he imagined the leaves becoming dry and shrivelled, of the royal purple petals withering beneath his touch. He pulled his hand away.

He found you reclined along the couch, one arm covering your face whilst the other hung weightlessly off the side of the furniture. Your dramatic pose was reminiscent of some tragic renaissance painting and the sight was one that inspired such fondness Crowley didn't even mention how you had your feet up on the fine velvet.

“Tired, love?” He asked instead.

“You have no idea. Today was an utter nightmare.”

Even whilst talking about the most mundane of things your voice was siren-like, resonant with divinity. Crowley could listen to you for hours, for the rest of his life. Until his immortal heart stopped and the earth beneath him turned to ash.

“I feel better now that I'm here with you.”

The words sent a dagger into his side, the following guilt twisting it in place. He moved to join you on the sofa and with a gentle tap to your ankle, he watched you move your feet before taking a seat beside you.

Your eyes were on him, he could feel it. The tension in his body and the seriousness of his expression was not something you were used to. He spoke before you could voice your concern.

“There's something I want–” He swallowed. “Something I need to tell you.”

“Okay.” Your breathy laugh that encompassed the word was an admirable attempt to hide your nerves but Crowley knew you better. “What is it?”

Silence followed.

Crowley opened and closed his mouth a few times, no words passing from his lips despite how hard he tried to voice them. There was a building pressure in his temples and he felt like his forked tongue was tied in a knot.

“Crowley.” Your hand travelled across the plane of his thigh and grabbed his own. It was a comforting touch yet he fought the urge to pull away. “What is it? You're scaring me.”

Another twist of the dagger.

“I– I just, it's that...” Crowley made a noise that fell somewhere between a groan and a whine. “I... I'm–” foreswearing words altogether, he reached for his glasses. With shaking hands, he pulled them away. “I'm not... good.”

He couldn't bring himself to look at you, to see the horror and fear in your eyes. “I'm quite the opposite actually.”

He felt your hand leave his own, the skin you'd once touched feeling bare. His chest hurt, his eyes stung and when he finally turned to you your fear and disbelief sent another sharpened blade through his chest.

“What–” The word fell quietly, the beginning of a sentence you'd never finish. Crowley took the liberty of answering regardless.

“Demon, unholy horror, the reason children are afraid of the dark.”

When you said nothing, he continued.

“I wanted to tell you. I should have told you. I never meant for this to go so far. I tried to stop it so many times but then you'd say or do something and I– just never wanted it to end. And I know that's selfish but–” Crowley motioned to his eyes. “That's what I am. Selfish, unforgivable– a bad omen.”

As his words set in you remained unmoving. Your eyes hadn't left his, not since he'd pulled off his glasses and laid everything bare.

“Love...” There was another stretch of silence and Crowley felt like he was drowning; like he was back at Mesopotamia with wind and rain at his back and a wave so large it blended with the sky fast approaching on the horizon. “Please, say something.”

You said nothing.

Rather, you raised your hand against his cheek, thumb timidly tracing beneath his eye, as if to ensure it was real.

Crowley flinched.

“This is what you've been hiding from me? All this time.” You asked. “And here I thought you just really didn't like the sun.”

Crowley blinked a few times, lips falling in a frown. He backed away from your touch.

“Crowley...”

“You've just found out that I'm evil incarnate and you're making jokes.”

“What would you prefer I do?”

“I'm a demon.” Crowley ensured to emphasise the word. “I'd prefer you did what anyone else would do.”

‘Leave.’ This part was silent. ‘For your own sake.’

You didn't waver. Your hand fell back against his shoulder, testing the waters and when he didn't pull away you continued.

“From my understanding, demons are supposed to be cruel, unlovable. So if you're a demon,” your hand ventured to his neck, Crowley's eyes falling shut despite himself as you traced his jaw. “Then no offence love but you're not a very good one.”

Crowley couldn't quite place the feeling that took hold of him at your words, but it left him feeling both hollowed and relieved. His eyes stung again, but this time he was smiling.

“You're being far too conversational about this.” His fingers encircled your wrist, he could feel the steady beat of your pulse beneath his thumb. “This really doesn't bother you..?”

You shook your head. “And even if it did, I'm in too deep now to get hung up on something like that.”

Crowley tried to think rationally but instead, he thought of the beauty of the cosmos, of dark purple petals and perfumed air. Of your eyes and their warmth and this time the idea of a withering flower didn't even cross his mind.

“You're sure about this, falling in love with a demon. Dangerous business, that.”

“I'll take my chances,” you mused. “Besides, being without you is the only real hell I can imagine.”

Crowley chortled, boyish and pure, a noise that certainly should not have come from a demon. "Aziraphale been loaning you his books, has he?"

“No, but I am trying to cheer you up." You gently nudged his side. “Is it working?”

Crowley's reaction told you it was. His eyes in all their vibrant brilliance shone so bright you felt you were staring at the sun. When he reached for his glasses, your hand worked on its own accord to stop him.

“Leave them off, please? I want to see you." Your words were cleansing and for the first time in an eternity, he felt worthy. Worthy of adoration, of love, of you.

Crowley kissed you, and you did not wilt.

tag list: @bakerstreethound @miraclesoflove @doozywoozy @mywellspringoflife

[the-apology-dance]

No Nightingales: Chapter One

(This was a little fic I wrote, and I figured I would post it on here as well for anybody who felt like reading it, so ✨Enjoy✨ If enough people like this, I may post the other chapters. Let me know if that is something you’d want✨)

Aziraphale had been making excuses to come down to Earth, each time longer than the last. He felt like he couldn't escape the demon. Everywhere he looked, he seemed to be there. It was odd. His memories projected onto his surroundings, not only of Crowley, but of himself as well. He had made a life down here and to simply be torn away from it all? Book Of Life be damned.

Aziraphale walked about in his bookshop, letting his finger draw a line in the dust on one of the many shelves of books he had acquired over the years. No matter how many times he dusted these shelves, the layer of dust always did seem to regenerate. He was the owner of this bookshop, a word which he used very loosely, but despite that, it was more a place to store his book collection than anything, really.

Much to the confusion of Maggie, Nina, Muriel, and even Crowley in the beginning as he never seemed to sell a single copy of a book, unless he was faced with no other choice. He was truly the definition of a bookworm. Seeming to have first editions of almost every book that he adored. He looked after the bookshop like one would look after their only child.

It was rare Aziraphale found himself in a problem that he wasn’t able to talk himself out of. Well, at least Aziraphale found that to be true, until as of late. The whole cosmic misunderstanding with Crowley seemed to rattle the duo. A massive understatement, and practically one of the biggest lies that Aziraphale had ever said to the demon in the time that they knew each other.

Which was indeed a LONG TIME. More than 6000 years to be precise.

Muriel wore a frown as they saw Aziraphale closely examining the dust, like he would find an answer hidden somewhere in it. He turned in confusion as he heard Muriel chirping in a slightly flustered manner, rocking back and forth on their black buckled flats. The lower-ranking angel had started to profusely apologize to the now Archangel for the state of things.

“That is all my fault, Mr. Fell! I should be taking better care of your bookshop! Especially since I was given specific rules on how to take care of it!” It was now Aziraphale’s turn to be flustered as he turned to Muriel, with an expression not of anger or disdain, but simply hesitation.

‘What did heaven do to this poor angel?’

“No, no! Muriel, excuse me if I misheard, but would you show me these rules?” Muriel gave a quick nod before running off to fetch the “rules” they spoke of. In the meantime, Aziraphale let himself steal a quick glance over at the couch in the back of the bookshop, half-heartedly hoping Crowley would be there, draped over the couch or the armchair in an odd position that would be uncomfortable for anyone but him. There had been a mutual agreement that the armchair was Crowley's. He normally sat there while Aziraphale was working, either in his snake form or his human form, gangly limbs sprawled out on the chair.

He wasn’t surprised when Crowley was nowhere to be seen, yet he couldn’t help the feeling of his heart dropping at the sight. He promised himself that he wouldn’t go chasing after Crowley when he came down from Heaven, yet as time passed the more his mind started to like the idea of breaking that promise. Just a little. On his end, he could feel the love radiating not only radiating from his chest, but his entire being towards the demon.

Muriel appeared once again holding a piece of paper out to him, which he eagerly took. His eyes scanned the page and his shoulders dropped. He would know that scrawly handwriting anywhere. It belonged to Crowley.

HOW TO RUN THE BOOKSHOP 101

-DO NOT SELL THE BOOKS TO ANYONE. (you can tell anyone who comes in looking for one to sod off as quickly and politely as possible)

-Close the shop at 6 PM. Open it whenever you feel like, he never really had an issue with that.

-Nothing FLAMMABLE should be INSIDE the bookshop. (If candles ARE NEEDED, use the electric ones in the drawer with his fountain pens)

-The further back the books are in the shop, the older they are. (Do not touch the ones near the staircase in the back of the shop, they will fall apart)

-This bookshop was created sometime in the 1700s, so everything is pretty old and also very delicate (he never told me exactly when it opened, it was somewhere around there)

-Please dust the bookshelves off at least once every day (or as many times as you’d like)

-Don’t bother moving the books around he has his own odd system that he uses to sort them

Not even at gunpoint. Did he really watch him that intently? Apparently, he was right that you never could tell exactly what he was looking at with his sunglasses on. Aziraphale moved to the back of his couch, sitting down gently on the cushions. He felt his eyes well up with tears, his vision blurring as Crowley’s smell was also embedded in the fabric of the couch.

Just as Crowley seemingly knew what Aziraphale smelt like, he knew what Crowley smelt like. It was unmistakable. Red patchouli, lilac, mahogany, lemon rind, oakmoss, leather, and vanilla husk. The leather could possibly be because of The Bentley he drove most of the time. The sheer scent alone was enough to make Aziraphale feel a tightness in his chest that convinced him that he was going mad. It was like when his wings had been cramped in the ethereal plane for too long.

Speaking of discomfort, his wings sprung free from their confinement from the sheer emotion that was washing over the angel. White feathers fluttered through the air, gently landing on the carpet below him as he sobbed, body trembling. He didn’t know what the demon would truly have turned into within the time they had separated from each other. He didn’t know where he stood anymore. He wouldn’t blame Crowley if he hated him. He probably already never wanted to see him again. This fight was their biggest one of all, and it was the only one that mattered. They had their disagreements before, of course, but this one really took the cake.

Even worse? Crowley didn’t know half of it. Metatron meant to separate them and they weren’t the only ones who could cast a miracle. While sipping his coffee, Aziraphale choked on the liquid when Metatron placed a vial of hellfire on the table across from him. He had simply given himself up, if it spared Crowley. Without question. Not only that, he had decided to press a blade against his throat, which he had cast a vanishing spell on so that Crowley wouldn’t see it, and to ask if his point was perfectly clear.

With a gulp, he nodded and made the wager with Metatron. He’d go to Heaven, but if they touched one hair on Crowley’s head? The deal was off. Not only that. If Crowley got any sense that he was being forced? He would be killed on the spot. The thought of it alone was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

And then it all went to, well, he guessed Hell. Ironic.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Muriel questioned. Aziraphale gave a humorless laugh, nodding slowly. He wasn’t going to let himself be in denial anymore. He knew what he felt. In fact, he knew for quite a long time. He was quite stupid for denying its existence.

It simply seemed it was easier to simply live out their existence and know what they had instead of actually putting a label on it. However, when did Crowley that day? It was terrifying. He wanted to say “I love you.” Instead, that seemed to get caught in his throat and what slipped out instead was “I forgive you.”

It seemed a lot of three-word sentences were giving him trouble as of late. Though they weren’t normally strenuous, they definitely seemed to be posing a challenge for Aziraphale.

He even had the audacity to guiltily raise his fingers to his lips where Crowley’s own ones were. Even to this day, when his mind wandered, he swore he could still feel his lips against his. A feeling which he didn’t let himself cherish as he felt he didn’t deserve it. He had rejected Crowley. More than 6000 years of friendship and comradery down the drain.

Composing himself, he sat up straight once again, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Muriel gave a sympathetic smile as they pointed outside the bookshop’s window. Aziraphale shifted his gaze but didn’t turn his head.

“I have also been making sure to take good care of Mr.Crowley’s car ! He left the Bentley parked outside. Not sure why though.” Aziraphale almost gave himself whiplash from how quickly he turned his head towards them.

“You have The Bentley?!”

[rhosmeinir]

Fictober 2023 #8

Prompt #8 - "Give me that, before something happens"

Fanfiction: Good Omens

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Pairing: Pre-Ineffable Husbands/Aziracrow

Other Notes: Before the Fall, Crowley wants to show Aziraphale something. 633 words!

“Aziraphale!” A strident voice rang through the formless white halls of this particular corner of Heaven, attracting the attention of the industrious cherub, who was just putting the finishing touches on a drawing. “Aziraphale!”

“Over here!” he called in reply, leaning back to admire his work. A moment later, an angel with a curly mop of red hair appeared.

“Ah, there you are! D’you— oh,” he paused, taking in the drawing, “How are the people coming along, then?”

“Oh, quite splendidly,” Aziraphale replied, pleased that his friend had taken the time to notice, “I think we’ve just about perfected the design.”

“Lovely. Do you have a moment?” There was an urgency in the redheaded angel’s voice that took Aziraphale aback, and he turned fully to face him, blinking in surprise. 

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. Look, I’ve got this letter here from Luc—” Aziraphale snatched the scroll from the other angel’s hand before he could complete his brandishing gesture and thrust it inside his robes.

“Give me that, before anything happens! Come here.” He seized his friend’s hand and with a blur and a shimmer, they departed the offices of Heaven and rematerialized near the two star-incubating pillars of gas and dust where they often came to talk. The redheaded angel rolled his eyes.

“I really don’t think that was necessary. What do you think is going to happen?”

“You know what they’ve been saying about Lucifer, don’t you?” Aziraphale straightened his robes uncomfortably, “How they think he’s fomenting discord against the Almighty?”

“Fomenting discord? Really, Aziraphale. And who is they, anyway?”

“You know… they,” Aziraphale gestured broadly, “angels. The grapevine, everyone who gossips!” One scarlet brow arched in the cherub’s direction.

“Do you gossip?”

“No!” Aziraphale retorted, a little too quickly, “But I listen.” The redheaded angel scoffed.

“Just look at the letter!” Hesitantly, Aziraphale pulled the now-crumpled scroll from his robes. He unrolled it, and began to scan its contents. His eyes widened as he read, and he shook his head, curls shaking with affrontery. 

“This is.. this is… well, fomenting!” he cried hoarsely, “If anyone finds you with this—” In a moment of impulse, Aziraphale snapped his fingers on the scro and it went up in a puff of flame, the small haze of its ashes drifting off into space. “There,” he turned to his friend, forced smile betrayed by brows knitted in concern, “No trail now.”

“Aziraphale,” the redheaded angel rolled his eyes, but also reached out to grasp the cherub’s shoulder, “it’s not fomenting, it’s just asking questions! We just want to know—”

“We? We? You and Lucifer?”

“Well yeah, Lucifer and the guys and me—” Aziraphale broke away and put a hand to his mouth, chewing on the end of his thumb. “Come on, cherub! All we want to do is ask God some questions, you know, maybe get Her to let us angels be a little more involved in things, help make some policy. It’s all for the people anyway, you should be on our side here.”

“Your side? What do you mean side?” With one mighty push of his wings, Aziraphale returned to his friend’s side, reaching out to clutch his arm with both hands. “There aren’t any sides here, unless it’s Heaven’s side! Aren’t we all working toward the same thing? Starmaker,” he entreated, “please, please don’t get involved with them. I just… I have a bad feeling about all this.” 

The redheaded angel, startled by this sudden outburst, looked into Aziraphale’s wide eyes, their pale blue glittering with the reflected glory of his nebulae, and he softened. Gently he peeled the cherub’s hands from his arm, and took them reassuringly in both of his own.

“It’ll be alright, Aziraphale. God is Love, remember? What could She possibly do but listen?”

[distant-velleity]

i don't feel like giving this one a proper header and everything because it's only abt 600 words but

Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

(or Davis' first day in Savanaclaw)

-

“So this is the twerp from Royal Sword Academy? He doesn’t look like he fits in Savanaclaw at all.”

Davis feels himself wither under the intense, judging gazes of his new dorm mates.

Sure, he’d been in a rowdy dorm full of horseplay and roughhousing back at RSA, but that had been by their standards. He doesn’t remember being glared at this fiercely under the bright sun and arid atmosphere. And the people he’d known previously hadn’t been this—this built. Or tall. 

Silently, he curses Crowley for leading him here and then promptly ditching him in the maws of a metaphorical (or literal?) beast. What a sham, and then that rude thought is shoved into the pile of things he needs to mentally rid himself of.

“I don’t get why the Dark Mirror assigned me to this dorm either,” he replies defensively, pointedly staring at the gaps between his upperclassmen to avoid meeting their eyes. He knows better than to make eye contact with predators. “So can you just let me through, please?”

The building entrance is right there. It’s so close. Just let me through, for the love of the Seven…

“A real polite guy we got here, huh?” Before Davis can even look affronted, a tiger beastman grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls. “We don’t let just anyone in here, y’know. Gotta make sure the freshmen are worthy, ‘specially pampered lordlings like you.”

A pampered lordling? He isn’t sure whether he should feel offended or depressed.  Are you kidding me? I’m one of the least pampered Royal Sword students you’ll ever meet—

In any case, even though he feels terrified and totally out of his depth like he did when he first came to RSA and met all the “newsies,” Davis grits his teeth. Fingers clenched into a fist with his thumb wrapped around them, like the guys taught him. Braces himself to draw back and—

Someone’s voice, approaching, interrupts everything. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Aren’t you guys in too much of a rush?” A lanky beastman—hyena, Davis recognizes immediately, those ears look like they came straight from a textbook—strolls over with a hand on his hip. “The lunch line is one thing, but this is just some run-of-the-mill guy. Sure, he’s an RSA guy so there’ll be some fun in hazing ‘im, but…”

He laughs. “C’mon, you guys have got better things to do. Unless you want Leona to tell you the same thing?”

The guy holding onto Davis slackens his grip before letting go altogether. 

Even though he’s Davis’ height and skinnier still, this hyena beastman looks right at home with the others… No, that’s not quite it. They listen to him even if they lack true respect for him, or at least back down when he’s around, so the dynamic is slightly different. And invoking someone else’s name means he must have ties to that person in… power…

Oh, thinks Davis with tired resignation, there’s a hierarchy here too. What was I expecting?

As the upperclassmen disperse, the hyena walks over and clamps a hand down on Davis’ shoulder. It’s supposed to seem friendly, but if anything, it feels more like the weight of a collar and leash. “Sorry about that, new guy, but you’re gonna have to get used to it. The name’s Ruggie Bucchi, and”—he smiles—“I’m gonna be one of your roommates for the rest of the year.”

“Davis Jayme,” Davis says, cautiously. “It’s… a pleasure to meet you.”

Ruggie’s smile shifts just barely into something like a smirk, eyes glinting, and that’s all Davis needs to recognize that the next few months will not be easy on him.

[coyotestarcraft]

I Need To Know

Fandom: Good Omens

Poly!Aziraphale x Reader x Crowley

⚠️PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANYTHING LIKE THIS TRIGGERS YOU!⚠️

A/N: It’s been over a year since loss of my grandfather that I miss dearly, there’s a lot I want to say about him, but I’ll wait till the end, if you want to read it or not I don’t care, it’s just a way to show how much I loved him.

So please read this story and know that even though you’ve gotten into many fights or quarrels with your grandparents, they still love you, so go hug them or call them and tell them that you love them. Spend as much time with them as possible, because you never know when you’ll get to have that chance to spend time with them again.

And I call him papaw.

______________________

First Person POV

I sat on that grass ledge expressionless.

I wish I had more time, more memories, more.....anything. I wished had spent more time with him, I wished had given him more hugs and kisses when I left for school each morning.

Now that I sit here and think about all of it, it doesn’t matter anymore....none of it will happen again because he’s gone...forever.

He used to say to me, “I love ya, but I don’t like ya.” I chuckle at that, it’s the first time in a while since a smile has taken over my face.

He used to aggravate the crap outta me, and honestly, I miss it more than I know. I hated it but as I sit here now I want that back more than ever.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice softly calls out, pulling me from my thoughts, I turn to see Aziraphale and Crowley standing between two trees and forest behind them.

“I was just thinking again, about him.” I say as I turn back around to stare off into the sunset that sets just above the horizon out far in the distance.

Maybe, just maybe I could ask.

“Aziraphale?”

He comes and sits next to me along with Crowley who sits to the right of me.

I need to know.

Now.

“Yes my dear?” He wraps an arm around my shoulder, looking at me curiously.

It’s now or never.

“Will you please....go...check on him?” My voice breaks as I try my best not to break down in tears.

“It’s against-“ Aziraphale gets cut off as he looks at my face and sees how much I need him to do this.

“I will see what I can do, if I have to fall to make your pain go away love, then I’m willing to do this for you.” He puts his forehead to mine.

Just one day is all I want, one time is all I need.

“Thank you.” I sniffled, it was hard not to break down, but after not knowing if he’s okay is rough.

I just need that feeling of relief knowing he’s no longer in pain.

*Timeskip To a Week Later*

Crowley’s flat had it’s comforts, he had his plants, Aziraphale had some books stashed somewhere and Crowley gave me my own room with a desk for drawing and to just hang out it when things go to be too much, it was a safe space.

I sat at my desk drawing away, Crowley was in the plant room yelling per usual.

To others it may have frightened them, but I laugh, it’s typical Crowley, the demon I have fallen in love with for a long time.

The sound of the door opening and closing is what draws me away from my desk.

“I’m back loves.” Aziraphale calls out.

I walk out and smile at Aziraphale who gives a wide smile back, he never did that unless it was good news.

He had been gone the past week, up in heaven doing work.

“I’ve got some good news my love,” he opens the door, and there stands my grandfather.

I stand there wide eyed and mouth agape.

“Hey huckleberry.” He says.

Tears fill my eyes and before I realized what I was doing, my arms wrap around his shoulders and I’m sobbing.

“You’re-you’re, okay, your not in pain anymore!” I smile appears on my face, I look at him and noticed how young he looks since the last time I’d seen him.

“Holy crap, when did you look like this! You had white hair and everything since we’d last seen each other!” I laugh.

“Things change dear, even in heaven.” He says.

“I guess so.”

We chat for a bit and I talk about how Aziraphale and Crowley have brought happiness into my life, how I’m working on bettering my mental health, and much more.

Eventually he has to leave, I give him a long hug and a kiss on the cheek, “I’m happy knowing your okay and not in that hospital bed in pain. It hurt when mom got the call about your passing.”

“You know I’ll always be here, in your heart.” He smiles.

“Yeah, I know pops.” I laugh.

“Please come back and visit, I miss you more than ever.” I say.

“Alright, but you know I’ll have to aggravate you.” He laughs, making me laugh along with him.

“Okay.” I say, he walks out shutting the door.

“Do you feel better?” Crowley asks.

I turn to him with tears rushing down my face, but I have smile, “yeah.”

He knows I need him, he knows I love him, he knows I won’t forget him.

THE END!

Rant down below! ⬇️

In case anyone wants to know, his name was John, that’s all I’m giving to keep his full name private.

I think he knew I loved him a lot even though I didn’t show it much, and yes the name huckleberry was an actual nickname he gave me and I hated it, but after he passed I came to like it.

I almost cried while writing this but I stayed strong.

I wrote this not for fun, but to get people to realize that you NEED to spend as much time with your loved ones as possible, not just your grandparents, but your parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, whoever.

It may seem like you have all the time in the world to spend with them, but that can change in a heartbeat.

I feel so guilty that I didn’t spend as much time with my grandfather as I should’ve.

Anyway! I hope you read this story and learned to not take time for granted, you never know when you’ll have that chance to spend time your relatives again.

[leatafandom]

Hi Leata!!!

A couple of sabriel summer prompts have caught my eye. Well 3, but who's counting xD

I've been thinking: water parks + summer job could make a nice and hilarious combo! Imagine Sam getting a job in a water park and gabriel coming to bug him every single time to seduce him. Gabe would so get him fired!

But also thinking of sam and gabe in the beach and sandcastles!!! And idk I like it, fluffy, lots of summer feeling. Wish I could draw it!!!

BUT kissing in the rain? I... isn't that one of the best tropes ever made? Even Crowley from GO thinks so!! Like things are going bad for aome reason, there's some angst. A fight? A confession? Both? And then goes the kiss ❤❤❤

I ... am in a summer mood lmao 😅

I hope one of these ideas catch your fancy! Enjoy your summer :D

Hi love, thank you so much for the prompts! I adore all of these! But the summer jobs/water park totally called to me first. I completely wrote this short version -'cause I may have had a whole idea bout Dad! Gabe and Sam working at a water park but it has turned into a thing- forever ago but then life happened. But I didn't forget, and I do have some other musings on the other ones that hopefully I can turn into something for ya. This one kinda turned into a 5 times Gabriel used a bad pickup line and the one time Sam did. I just really enjoy the idea of Gabriel using the worst water based pickup lines and Sam just digging it. xD I hope you enjoy this little crack fic <3

Summer Jobs and Summer Crushes

Rating: Teen 

Ship: Sam Winchester/Gabriel -Sabriel

Word Count: 3001

Warnings and Tags: Human Au, College AU, flirting, summer job, water park, banter as flirting, bad pickup lines, sexual humor, Gabriel thinks he’s funny, Sam thinks he’s funny too, crack, fluff

Summer Jobs and Summer Crushes

"Hey, someone left the door open." 

"Wonder if someone's in there."

The moment he heard the hushed voices, Sam remembered Bobby's reminder to close the storage door behind him. He groaned inwardly, unable to see them from his searching, and hoped it wasn't some jocks about to steal something. The brunette wasn't in the mood to defend the water park's equipment and hoped they would pass by without a problem. Sam listened for the voices that seemed to stick out amongst the sound of people enjoying the rides and water park. The two seemed to be not far from the open door with their voices low, the two men speaking in hushed tones next to each other. He kept his ears open for them, making sure they stayed at the front of the staff shed as he dug around for the extra boards his boss had told him to grab. He made a sound of achievement when he found them closer to the door. Sam huffed as he climbed over some floaties and reached up to grab the boards, cursing at his wet fingers and slippy grip, his body still wet from his dunk in one of the pools. 

“Damn, I’d let him take a ride on my slip-and-slide.” 

At the horrible line said with too much awe in the lilting tone, Sam snorted. At the sound, a curse sounded and Sam could hear feet moving quickly away. He got a hold of one of the boards, and tilted his head in the direction of the mirror that hung on the corner. His gaze caught two pairs of legs running away, but couldn't be sure who was the one who spoke the horrible line he wasn't meant to hear. The brunette’s brows scrunched, grabbing the few other boards he could see before walking out and closing the door behind him. 

Sam looked around him for the two men he had seen fleeing, but couldn't see anyone. He let out a huff, writing it off as a fluke of the first day of the season. With his broad shoulders and towering form, it wasn’t often that someone approached him, let alone hit on him so openly. He couldn't say he minded, even if it was ridiculous and had him chuckling to himself for the rest of the day, wishing he had seen the person who had said it. Sam figured it was a hilarious one-off that at least had gotten him through the rest of his shift. He had no idea it would be the first of many horrible pickup lines over the course of the summer, or how much he would enjoy the fleeing moments shared with the man that had vanished that day. 

Sam didn’t think about the man again as the week wore on, and he got used to the different parts of the park. He normally worked at the amusement park during his summer break from his college courses, but Bobby had said the water park was the most short-handed this year, and Sam hadn't protested the change. For the most part, it was the same, other than paying slightly more and the different safety courses he had to take. Sam had nearly forgotten about the whispered come-on when he finally heard the voice again a week later. 

“You know, if you love water, it means you love 70% of me.”

Sam nearly choked on his drink, recognizing the voice as the same one from the shed last week. He put down his drink, trying to digest the pickup line as he stared at his recyclable water bottle with wrinkled brows. As he turned to see if the guy had stuck around this time, Sam blinked at the short and dripping man the cheesy line had come from. The man’s brown hair was slicked back with water, but a few strains escaped and remained plastered to his cheeks, framing his face and catching the sun as he grinned at him. Sam felt his mouth dry a bit and couldn't accredit to the heat, his hazel eyes drifting over the shorter and definitely freshly out of the water man whose trunks seemed to cling to him. He felt his lips curve into a crooked smile when the other wiggled his brow. Sam took in the cheeky smile that bloomed across the shorter man's cheeks, taking in his shirtless upper half. Sam let his hands go to his waist, trying to contain his grin at the other's attention, who was bending forward to lean more onto the countertop between them. 

“I hate water, actually," Sam lied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why do you think I’m at the snack shop?” He countered, walking closer to him and glancing around the small space. 

"Bullshit," the man called with narrowed eyes, his smile unfazed as he wagged a finger at him. “Nope, don't believe you," the shorter man declared, smirking up at Sam as he placed his chin on his fist, elbows resting on the countertop. "I’ve seen you in the water, you’re part fish.” His eyes seemed to dance as they drifted over Sam's dimpled smile before looking past him to the rows of candy and bags of snacks. “But, I don’t mind some eye candy while I order my candy," he added with a wink of his whiskey-hued eyes.

Sam rolled his gaze away from the warm eyes and confident smile, denying the heat he could feel on his cheeks as he shook his head to obscure the view of his red that most likely was tinting his face and ears. 

“You’re terrible," he said, unable to contain his smile and huffing chuckle. 

“Oh, hunny, you have no idea," he practically purred in response. His grin was permanent, clearly pleased with himself as he soaked in the sight of Sam. "And here all summer.” 

"I’m pretty sure you’ll get bored before I think you’re funny.” 

The man hummed, tilting his head from side to side, thinking about it, but never taking his eyes off of him. “Nah, you already do.” His grin returned when Sam huffed a dry laugh, dimples dotting his shy smile. “Can I have a large blue slushy, two candy necklaces, a bag of sour patches and jolly ranchers, a handful of the gummy burgers, and an order of cheese fries if you please my new very handsome friend?” 

The brunette's eyebrow raised at the tall order for the small man. “You weren’t kidding about the candy,” Sam grumbled, having a feeling it was all for him, before moving to make his order.

“Wasn’t kiddin’ about the eye candy, either.”

Sam smiled, facing away from him, yet feeling the other's bright eyes tracking down his tall form and feeling himself fix his posture subconsciously. He rolled his eyes at himself, looking over his shoulder at the man that was in fact staring at him unabashed, and finding himself wanting more of the short man's attention. 

“Do you always come on so strong?” Sam questioned, looking away from him to the slushy machine. 

“No, but I only have the summer to get you out of those trunks and onto a date with me, so,” he replied breezily, dragging out the word with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Strong works." 

Sam resisted his urge to laugh, biting his cheek as he set down the slushy and half of the candy he had ordered on the counter between them. 

“That’s not very long,” Sam said as he got the rest of his order. "I'm not gonna make it easy for you, candy man." 

When the nickname got a rise out of the shorter, Sam felt the other's boisterous laugh warm his chest, a smile filling his lips at the win. His eyes roamed over the other man’s dimples, unable to deny his intrigue and pleasure at causing the man to laugh so freely. The shorter man leaned back from the counter as his laughter calmed. The jovial sweet tooth tapped his card over the reader, smiling all the while. 

“Wouldn't be any fun if ya did, hazelnut,” he said with a confident wink, grabbing his bag of treats and fries before turning to walk away. “See ya around!” He called over his shoulder as he sucked on his straw and walked towards the tables. 

Sam watched him walk away, unable to help the slow responding wave he gave or the way his gaze immediately went to the man’s ample backside and wet clinging swim trunks as he sauntered towards the sun-drenched tables.

Damn.

The brunette had expected to see him again on his shift, and couldn’t help the disappointment he felt when his shift was over without another run-in with the flirtatious shorter man that would probably fit perfectly against his side. But, thankfully, for Sam's daydreaming, he didn’t have to wait long to hear another horrible pickup line from the first person to hit on him first since college. 

“Exactly how tall do you have to be to ride this ride?” 

Sam couldn’t help the peal of laughter that came from him, caught off guard, as he turned to the next group in line for the lazy river and was unsurprised to find the short male smirking up at him. 

“Taller than you, candy man,” Sam returned without thinking.

When the man gave him an exaggerated pout that made him want to bend down and kiss him, Sam chose to laugh instead. He chuckled, hand scraping at the back of his neck as he looked around at the families and older people in line, someone with the dirty blonde today. Sam looked over the raven-haired man beside him, who seemed to be chastising him. 

“There are children here, you know that, brother?” He asked in a tone that suggested he knew he did, but felt the need to remind him anyway. 

“Yeah, but,” the man whose hair seemed to be getting more streaks of gold in his hair the more the summer wore on gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, “I’m a kid at heart.” 

That got a huff from who Sam supposed was his brother, the man turned his blue eyes to Sam. “He really is," he said as a means of apologizing, and Sam couldn't help but chuckle and dismiss it. 

"It's fine, though I haven't heard worse yet," Sam admitted, glancing at the line before towards the start of the river just as the raven-haired man pushed his shorter brother forward. 

“Come on, Gabriel, this was your pick. Don't hold up the line with your ogling.” 

“Gabriel?” Sam’s brows rose, a grin widening at getting the name he hadn’t received from the lurid man he hadn't stopped thinking about. "Candy man's name is Gabriel?" His lips spread into a grin as he looked over the man who groaned at his brother. 

Gabriel frowned at the other before looking back at the tall man. “Because I’m an angel.” The words were paired with a shit-eating grin as he gave Sam their tube to hold steady as he slid into his seat to wait for his brother. 

Sam couldn’t help the disbelieving laugh as the other man got in beside Gabriel. He leaned closer to the dirty blonde as he got them into position, smiling over his shoulder. 

“I doubt that very much, Gabriel,” he said in a hushed tone, inclining his head toward the shorter brunette, whose hair was streaked with sun-bleached gold.

Sam reveled in the look of surprise and heat that covered Gabriel's face and filled his eyes as he floated further away with the stream of water. Sam couldn't help but feel like he looked ready to jump out and swim back to him just to have a final word. The idea brought another smile to his face and kept him lighthearted until he ran into Gabriel again. 

When Sam spotted Gabriel later that day, the dirty blonde was exiting the wave pool with a woman that had her red hair pinned and was magically still dry. He grinned at him, unable to help his eyes from wandering the water as it rolled down the stocky man's defined, but not overly, chest and stomach. Sam swallowed, watching him comb back his wet hair and sharing a glance with the woman before looking back at him. 

“Is this the one then, Gabriel?” 

Sam heard the woman ask, as he approached them, seeing the man nod. He chuckled to himself, dipping his head forward, happy to know Gabriel talked as much about him as he did about Gabriel. The brunette couldn’t help but smile the closer he got, his eyes wandering over the bright floral pattern of Gabriel's swim trunks before looking back to his cheeky grin. 

“Hey, candy man, given up yet?” 

Gabriel shook his head with a barking laugh. “Never,” he grinned, a hand motioning to Sam's bare midriff while his other went to his waist, elbow pointed outward. “You are like a gold medal. I won’t stop until I get to you.”

“Oh! That was terrible, luv,” the woman beside him groaned, her green eyes rolling. “Please tell me it isn’t working, dear.” 

Sam shrugged, unable to help his dimpled grin at the terrible line and amused glint in Gabriel’s eyes. “Funny is cute,” he offered with a crooked grin, enjoying watching Gabriel’s infectious smile grow, his eyes lighting with the force of it. "See you around, Gabriel," he said, making sure to add more husk to his voice as he passed them to go to his next station. 

Over the course of the next two weeks, Sam lost count of how many horrible pickup lines Gabriel offered and how many random tidbits he had learned about the forward man. Other than being humor-filled, Gabriel was smart, talented, and going to university to study art. After meeting him Sam always looked forward to his shifts at the snack bar the most, the job giving them the most opportunity for the two to talk without holding up the line. 

After the third week of running into each other, Sam was confident that Gabriel was making full use of his season pass to be there during so many of Sam's shifts. Bobby had even made a point to talk to Sam a few times about it, wondering if Gabriel was bothering him, and then reminding him about using his break time to flirt when it was clear Sam was more than interested in the dirty blonde. Sam promised to make sure it didn’t affect his work, especially towards the end of summer when a heat wave came and the crowds grew.  

Sam was currently swapped at the snack bar, but when he spotted Gabriel in line, he felt an excitement pool in his stomach. His lips rose at the sight of the man, who had gained an impressive tan over the summer, and cloaked in an oversized SpongeBob beach towel. 

“You got a break coming up?” Gabriel questioned, stepping aside after ordering and seeing the line of people behind him. “I could use some help with something.” 

“Yeah?” Sam’s brows scrunched, Gabriel hadn’t ever asked him to share his break. “I can take a break after the rush,” he answered, already moving on to help the woman and her children who were waiting impatiently.

When Sam finally got through the rush and Jo came to cover him, he didn’t have to look far to spot Gabriel sitting with his snacks, still munching on a Snickers ice cream bar. 

“So, what? No pickup lines today, candy man?” Sam called as he walked up towards the picnic table Gabriel was sitting at. 

The dirty blonde turned to him. “Well, actually-”

“I’m sorry I asked,” Sam half-heartedly grumbled, sitting down on the plastic bench beside him. 

Gabriel snickered, smiling as he waved his treat at Sam. “Actually, I lost my phone, and I was hoping you could call it.” 

The laugh that rumbled past Sam’s lips was deep and disbelieving. It was rare enough for someone to even approach him, let alone keep it up for most of the summer with such ridiculous lines that seemed purely meant to get him to laugh. He didn’t think he had ever had someone try so hard to gain his attention, nor was ever so focused on getting a smile out of him. Gabriel's own dimples shone at the sight of Sam's smile, clearly pleased with himself. The brunette shook his head, swiping his hands over his cheeks as he covered his laugh, to no avail. He turned sideways on the bench to take in Gabriel’s jovial brown eyes as he licked over the frozen treat in a way that wasn’t nearly innocent enough. 

Sam couldn't help but watch him as he thought about it, not willing to let the summer be the end of getting to know him. Gabriel pumped his brows, drawing Sam's attention away from his swirling tongue, and forcing a cough from Sam when his gaze shot away from Gabriel's with a bashful smile. 

“Why don’t you give me your phone, and I’ll just put in my number?” Sam asked, holding out his hand and motioning for him to hand it over, color tinting his cheeks and tips of his ears. 

“Wait, Really?” 

Sam’s brows quirked at how surprised he seemed. “Yeah, summer is almost over… I’d like to go on at least one actual date with the guy that almost got me fired.” 

Gabriel chuckled, handing his phone over quickly as if he was worried Sam would change his mind. Sam took the phone as the man handed it over, typing in his number and sending himself a text. Gabriel took back the phone, reading the text Sam had sent himself and cackling. 

All I have is King-Size candy. You think you can take it all? 

When Gabriel's laughter died down, Sam was intent on making sure he made Gabriel laugh more. “So, where are you taking me?”  

“Oh, anywhere you want, Samtacular.” 

[evilasiangenius]

TITLE: Anthony J. Crowley is Going to Burn Down a Goat (Yule)

SUMMARY: …and Aziraphale is going to try to stop him.

PAIRING: Aziraphale x Crowley

TAGS: Aziraphale is So Done with Crowley, Crowley is a Little Shit, Crowley Wears Pink, Love, Fluff and Humor, Food, Travel, Gävlebocken, Swedish Yule Goat, Cuddling & Snuggling, Kissing, Birds, Hot Springs & Onsen, Seasonal but Non-Holiday

STATUS: Ongoing, 1/5

WORD COUNT: 4.2K

For @thelaithlyworm and @sigmastolen.

Chapter One: Crowley in Pink

December 13, 2023

“I, Anthony J. Crowley, am going to burn down a goat.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale looked up from his accounting book. His spectacles slipped down his nose and he adjusted them, glancing at the clock “It’s quite early or very late, depending on how you consider the time, but if you want birria or a kebab for breakfast, do be a dear and give me about fifteen...no, twenty minutes so I can finish this and we can go find something together, perhaps there is something open all night–”

“No, I’m not talking about food, I’m talking about a goat. A straw goat. A straw Yule goat. In Sweden.”

“What about a straw Yule goat in Sweden?”

“I’m going to go burn it down.”

“…Crowley,” Aziraphale began.

“I know that tone of voice and don’t you dare try to stop me. And besides, I wouldn’t be doing it directly, just a little infernal inspiration to some hapless human–”

“Crowley, you don’t work for Downstairs anymore, you don’t need to be–“

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s not that, it’s not for them. This is a matter of Principle.”

“How? Is burning down a straw goat a matter of principle?”

“You wouldn’t understand. Look, I’ll be back in...erm, a few days? Just need to pop over to Sweden and take care of some things. Burny things. Burny goaty things.”

“No, Crowley, don’t you dare–“

“I’m fully daring. I’ll see you soon.”

Soon turned out to be very soon indeed.

“Wasn’t it nice that our seats were upgraded to first class? Overbooked flight,” Aziraphale explained. “That does happen quite a bit these days, what with airline companies trying to maximize profits and then making a mistake in their capacity calculations. Mathematically troubling for them, but quite beneficial for us.”

“I wonder how that happened,” Crowley muttered, eyes obscured with an Aziraphale-provided sleep mask. It was pleasingly pink and ruffled along the edges. The cool silk seemed like it would be quite soothing over his eyes, or would have if he had bothered to take off his sunglasses. He was swaddled in a blanket of the same color, though of a soft-woven woolly material.

“Did you really want to keep wearing that mask? Or did you want me to continue to feed you bites of your breakfast?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale huffed a sigh. “All right, here comes the aeroplane…try not to move the hangar so that I don’t poke you in the nose again with a spoonful of yogurt.”

“Crowley, are you actually asleep under there or do you just like traveling blindfolded?”

“Mmm,” Crowley answered, reasonably.

“All right, so you are actually sleeping...but what a shame. You are missing some very lovely wintry landscape, my dear. All drab and dreary, overcast, with a blue-tinted monotone over whites and grays and black. Stark and snowing just a little bit, but the contrast between that colorless cold and the warm golden light in here makes everything inside seem that much cosier. As I’ve often said, the view from a train is far more inviting and intriguing than that from a plane. Though I suppose to humans, the plane may have more novelty, given that they can’t otherwise see the Earth from such heights without technological aids…”

“Mrrgh,” Crowley responded, resting his head upon Aziraphale’s broad shoulder and drawing the woolly pink blanket up over both of them.

“If this is how you like to travel, how did you ever manage it alone?” Aziraphale wondered, snuggling close to Crowley, stroking the demon’s dark hair where it stuck out in strange directions under the stretchy band of the sleep mask.

“I’m not certain why you insist on bundling up like this in the taxi, Crowley, but will you please, please take off that stupid mask and untangle yourself from this blanket. It’s only four minutes to the square, we could have walked. In fact we should have walked, the carbon emissions we could have–”

“Eh,” Crowley said by way of explanation, nuzzling against Aziraphale’s shoulder, eyes blindered.

“I don’t even know why I am doing this,” Aziraphale muttered. A moment later the taxi lurched to a stop and the angel paid the cab fare. Dragging the drowsing swaddled Crowley out, he slung the pink burrito-esque bundle of gangly demon over his shoulder and headed to the castle square.

[rcreveal]

Last Dance

Nina and Maggie are mortal, Aziraphale and Crowley are not. One day, they will have to say goodbye to their dear friends.

There is no violence here, except that of time, the opponent we cannot win against. This goes out to everyone who has lost a loved one, who has been here, who has said goodbye.

Nano mutt prompt a day challenge Day 28 from Sendarya's Discord server: how you said I love you - When I am dead.

The Bentley pulled up in front of A Z Fell's Bookshop just as Aziraphale walked out, closing up behind himself.  Walking over to the passenger’s door that Crowley had opened for him the angel got in. Crowley looked up and said, “Do you think it'll be today?”

Aziraphale nodded.

Driving through London, Crowley didn't speed, but the traffic lights still changed for him and they made it to their destination with the minimum of delays.  Crowley raised an eyebrow at the angel, who only tilted his head and smiled in acknowledging the miraculous traffic manipulation he'd just pulled.  The building, pleasantly, didn't look like a hospital and the front desk staff, familiar with their resident’s daily visitors nodded them through without the minor formalities that other visitors were subjected to.

The smell of antiseptic was still discernible in the bright, well-maintained hallways where carts holding covered trays or medications parked against the sides of the corridors as they made their steady rounds.

Pausing outside one door, they looked at one another briefly.  Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's arm reassuringly and they went in together.

The figure in the bed was peacefully sleeping, mouth open, gently snoring. The beloved, once full face now sunken about the eyes, the chin no longer firm.  The hands resting on the counterpane showed more veins. In repose, frown lines and laugh lines etched her face.

Crowley stepped over to a computer terminal and made a complicated downward gesture.  The Electronic Medical Record opened to him obediently and he checked on how she'd done overnight.  Good, they hadn't doped her up.  She’d said she wanted to stay clear-headed.

“No pain,” Crowley growled under his breath, looking over at the place where he'd been storing the pain he'd been drawing out of his dear friend.  To his eyes, it was an ugly, pulsing red-ochre ball floating off over her shoulder. It was full again and as he drew it into himself to transfer the pain safely away from here, a hiss involuntarily passed his lips.

“I keep telling you to put that under those people in Parliament who want to decrease spending on hospice care, Crowley,” Nina says, waking gently and smiling at her friends.

It’s a good day, then, “How do you know I’m not doing just that, Nina, dear,” and Crowley grins wickedly, as she expects and kisses her cheek.

“He’s not, you know,” Aziraphale says earnestly, completing their pantomime, before kissing the other.

“Only because you are a terrible spoil-sport,” grumps Crowley. “But where’s the family today?  Usually you’re dripping with grand-nieces and nephews all roaming the corridors and stealing the hearts and candy off the other old people here.”  

“I’ve told them good-bye and they’ve told me good-bye.  I wanted to be with more restful friends today,” Nina says firmly.

“Me, restful?” teased Crowley, mock offended.

“Well, the twins really are a handful,” Aziraphale graciously acceded.

“People who don’t badger me to eat and drink, and who remember her like I do,” Nina looks over at a photo of Maggie, “before the dementia took her.”

Crowley knows that the hospice plans are being followed, that Nina has eaten nothing for over two weeks and stopped drinking a few days ago.  He makes another complicated movement and the room starts to play Nina and Maggie’s song.  The rich, mournful voice of Nina Simone wafts out, 

‘I want a little sugar, in my bowl.  

I want a little sweetness down in my soul’

“Wicked old thing,” Nina smiles at Crowley, “How you snuck that on to play for our first dance at the wedding,” and she holds out her hand to the former demon, who grasps it gently.

‘I could stand some lovin', oh so bad

Feel so funny, I feel so sad’

“I may have had something to do with that, too,” Aziraphale confessed, taking the hand she offered to him.

“Maggie blushed all the way down to her toes.  I thought she was so beautiful,” Nina’s eyes have closed with the memory.

“You both looked lovely that day,” murmurs Aziraphale.

“And you were blushing pretty hard yourself when she snogged you,” reminded Crowley.

‘I want a little steam on my clothes

Maybe I can fix things up so they'll go’

“I miss her,” murmurs Nina quietly, as their song plays on.

‘What’s the matter mamma,  come on, save my soul

I want some sugar in my bowl, I ain't foolin'

I want some sugar

In my bowl’

When the nurse quietly comes by a little while later to check on the two gents who’ve been Nina’s most devoted visitors, she pauses before the threshold, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.  She can see them sitting, holding one another gently as tears shine on their faces.  There's no rush, they can have all the time they need with the deceased.

“Did you see them dancing, Crowley?  Oh, did you see them!?” breathes Aziraphale, shakily.

“Yes, Angel,” Crowley kisses the angel’s hair where his head rests on Crowley's shoulder, “That last dance was as beautiful as the first one.  Just as beautiful. I'm glad we got to be at both.”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

...Now What? (Good Omens Fanfic)

Something short, soft, and silly I found buried in my WIP pile. I have almost no memory of writing it. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

“So,” Aziraphale said, folding his hands neatly on top of the quilt. “…Now what?”

“Ngk,” Crowley confessed, staring a bit rigidly at the ceiling. “Ehrm. I sleep?”

They really should have discussed things a bit more before purchasing a cottage together. Before buying one large bed. Before moving into said cottage and setting up said bed. Certainly before climbing into it.

But here they were.

“And…” Aziraphale, sitting beside the demon, glanced around the room. “And what do I do?”

“Mrph.” Crowley hitched his shoulders—possibly a shrug—and moved a little further down his pillows. They should have discussed the bed linens at least. The combination of black silk and cotton tartan was quite absurd. “Read, maybe?”

Aziraphale gestured around the bedroom, the piles of boxes stacked in every corner. “I don’t have a lamp. Or a book for that matter.”

“Well, I dunno.” Good lord, was he going to wear those glasses all night? He may as well; there was no bedside table to put them on. "Miracle one up?"

“Crowley! For the hundredth time, I do not miracle my books!”

“I don’t see why not!” Crowley folded his arms in a way that looked truly uncomfortable, his back ramrod straight. “S’fine. Doesn’t hurt them.”

“Perhaps I should miracle your Bentley—”

“Don’t even joke about that!” Crowley growled, twisting onto his side. “No one messes with that car except me.”

“Well then.” Aziraphale spread his hands, indicating the discussion was over.

“But…” the demon went on, pointing a finger. “But I will miracle her if I need to. So you can miracle up a bloody novel to keep yourself occupied for eight hours.”

“Eight hours?” Aziraphale lay back, slumping onto his pillow in dismay. “Crowley that is—that is far too long to be sleeping! The sun will be up in a mere…” he glanced out the curtainless window. “Five and a half, I should think.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Crowley flapped a hand. “Eight hours is a perfectly normal amount of time to sleep. Maybe longer. I love a good long lie-in.”

“Longer? Crowley, it’s summer and we have our—our whole day ahead of us! There’s so much to do—so much to unpack—so much to explore—we haven’t even been down to the village yet—!”

“Angel.” He wriggled closer, voice low and threatening. “If you even think of waking me up before ten o’clock…”

“Ten o’clock? That’s much more than eight hours!”

“Well, we can do all that—that—we can do it after noon.”

“We can’t see the sunrise after noon.”

“You don’t want to see the sunrise.” Crowley pushed himself up to glare down at Aziraphale. “Never saw a sunrise in six thousand years.”

“Well. Perhaps I want to start now! Seems a better use of my time than just—just laying here for hours and hours listening to you breathe!”

“Well, no one said you had to!” Crowley pulled off his glasses and tossed them across the room. “If you don’t want to be here, you can go!”

“Perhaps I should, if I’m not wanted!”

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of a single, hissing breath. Aziraphale’s heart didn’t even beat.

“Well?” Crowley finally growled.

“I…am I…not wanted?”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley dropped beside him, so close his ear brushed the tartan-clad shoulder. “Course you’re wanted. You’re always wanted.”

“Ah. Good.” Aziraphale shifted, sliding one arm under Crowley. “I…there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“S’right.” One long-fingered hand reached over Aziraphale, hovering above his stomach until another, softer hand took it, mismatched fingers lacing together. “S’where you should be.”

“Yes, dear.” Aziraphale tugged his demon closer, until their heads touched. “But…we really should have planned this better.”

Crowley grunted, and Aziraphale wrapped his arm tighter, drawing him in, letting him know it was alright to want, alright to be here. With a heavy breath through his nose, Crowley hooked one leg over Aziraphale’s thighs, and slid his head down to rest under the angel’s chin. “Sssssorry,” he grumbled. “We can…get up at sunrise, if you want.”

“I…do want to but…this is…quite comfortable.” His hand came up to rest in Crowley’s hair, lightly scratched at it. Like grooming a wing, really. “I can…try for a few hours at least.” He dug his fingers a little deeper, choosing a spot over Crowley’s ear. Just a quick experiment.

“Mmmmmmmh,” Crowley practically purred, arm and leg tightening, as if trying to burrow into the angel.

“Yes, I…suppose I can find something to entertain myself with.”

“M’gonna be sleeping,” Crowley warned him. “S’don’t…don’t pull any of that soft angel crap.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean.” Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, root to tip, causing the demon to wriggle and bury his face in the angel’s chest. “This?”

“Yrph.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Nfffr.”

Aziraphale tipped his chin down, planted his lips on Crowley’s temple, the only bit of his face he could see. “Sleep well, my dearest.”

“Nhhh,” Crowley objected, muffled by thick tartan flannel. “G’night, Angel.”

Also on AO3

[takuyakistall]

the waves bring forth what one seeks

They say that if you send out a message in a bottle into the ocean, the ocean will find a way to bring that message to someone who needs it. Kalim believed in such stories his elders told him – that the waves bring forth what one seeks. He thought that it was a bit childish to admit that he used to write numerous letters and rolled them into glass bottles only to send them out to see.

Little Kalim used to write letters with random messages doodled on it accompanied with drawings of flowers and rainbows in crayon. Jamil had to stop him from sending out too much as people all over the world have been talking about bottled messages they've been seeing washed ashore. One could only ponder – just how many messages did Kalim send out into the ocean? And did they ever reach those who sought it?

But now he's all grown up, attending high school at Night Raven College with Jamil by his side. He eventually forgot about his frenzy over bottled messages and the remaining bottles he had were tucked away in a box under his bed like a precious memento he can't let go. He has almost let go of the saying "the waves bring forth what one seeks" but there was a tiny incident that made him believe in those silly little things his elders used to say.

A person washed ashore in Twisted Wonderland. Taken under Crowley's wing and eventually became the magic-less student in Night Raven College that did all sorts of jobs for the faculty. He always had his eye on them with the saying fresh inside his head – it was a bit peculiar. His eyes always looked for them in the crowd and his smile would grow a little wider every time they're in the same room.

"The waves bring forth what one seeks." – Aah, he gets it now. Is this what they were all talking about? Were they the one Kalim sought out for? A gift from the ocean that gives and gives, perhaps that's why he loves the water so much. He's never been happier, he found a love that made his heart want to leap out of his chest. It was a euphoric feeling he didn't want to let go.

But he forgot that the ocean can be cruel and daunting. That the ocean can take mercilessly – from the ocean and back to the ocean they went. Good things don't stay forever and that's when Kalim knew that the waves took them from him. He doesn't know where they went, he doesn't know if they were still out there somewhere or if they were in the depths of the ocean slumbering peacefully.

"Kalim," Jamil placed his hand on Kalim's shoulder. Kalim stayed silent, his hand moving at a fast pace as the ink on his pen eventually ran out – that's when he noticed Jamil gripping his shoulder rather tightly. He tilted his head, giving him a curious expression. Jamil could only let out a sigh as his face scrunched up into displeasure, he says, "you have to stop doing this. It's not good for you anymore."

Kalim blinked at him, his demeanor and expression the same as ever but his shaking hand said thousands of words Kalim refused to say. "What are you saying? I'm just writing letters."

"You know sending out messages into the ocean won't work."

Kalim stayed silent. His hand stopping over the glass bottle as he tried holding back the tremendous feelings that wanted to burst through – he didn't want to give up. "The waves bring forth what one seeks."

"... Maybe one day the waves will bring them back to me. All I know is that they're out there somewhere in the ocean... May it be in the depths, or at the shore of some unknown island..."

"This is the only thing I can do to try and reach for their hand."

[britishassistant]

Crowley kid! Yuu gets kidnapped by one of the villain dorms and Crowley is touring the the lair and just come across his kid, just chilling their designated chair snacking and roasting the villains, maybe joking around with the minions a bit and then they see each other and it’s like that Spider-Man pointing meme

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

This kiiinda got away from me a bit, but I thought it would be good since this blog has now reached over 200 followers! Whoo! Thank you all for your support!!

Crowley was just popping by to see how Leviathan’s operation was running.

He liked to do this kind of thing, show up when the supervillains competing for his attention least expected (or appreciated) it and demand they show him how their operations were running. The reactions and sights he got to see where always so much more honest than what a prearranged visit could offer him.

Take Leviathan-kun, for instance.

The young man is uncommonly nervous in Crowley’s presence, not quite stuttering, but clearly not far off from it either. He keeps adjusting his glasses minutely, making the light flash off them even as he rattles out his salesman’s spiel of guarantees and flattery.

The thieving corvid inside Crowley preens. Today was an excellent day for a surprise inspection.

There’s clearly something going on right now that Leviathan was desperate to hide from him, which just makes Crowley want to dig deep and uncover whatever this dirty little secret is and drag that wriggling, struggling weakness into the light.

Great Seven, he loves his job.

It doesn’t take long for him to ferret it out—as desperate as Leviathan is to redirect his attention the loyal minions moving like schools of fish through the lower levels of the lair, he doesn’t have the authority to do anything but totter after Crowley as he strides towards the control room of this fine establishment, his cane clicking against the ground with every step.

Great Seven, he loves his job.

There’s the raised voices of Leviathan’s lieutenants emanating from within, along with...someone else?

Crowley pauses, taking in the scene inside.

There is a person is tied to a chair in the center of the room with one of the Leeches hanging sideways off of their lap, arms wrapped around their shoulders as he leans backwards and swings his legs back and forth. The chair is beginning to teeter dangerously.

“Floyd, if you make us fall again, I’m suing you for damages.” A familiar voice quips.

Crowley’s insides go cold.

“Aha! So mean~ I’d never let you get hurt, Shrimpy~” The reckless and violent twin coos, nuzzling close.

“You already did.” The most kidnapped reporter in this city deadpans. “Twice.”

“Bold of you to assume that you’d be able to press charges in the first place, Yuu-san.” The sadistic and coldblooded twin grins.

“Azul likes me better than you two, he’ll represent me if I sell him my kidneys.” Yuu says loftily. “Plus I have witnesses, like that guy...there...”

Well, that’s ruined his dramatic entrance, but Crowley slams open the doors anyway, making his cloak billow and letting those leeches see the angry flash of his eyes.

“A-hem!” He booms. “What exactly do you think you’re doing? Is this how you think professional villains behave?!”

The sadistic twin stands to attention, bowing shallowly to him, as though that will keep Crowley from noticing how he’s moved in front of the hostage and his violent brother, who’s curled over Yuu with his feet planted firmly on the ground and is cocky enough to think baring his teeth at Crowley is somehow a good idea.

“Floyd.” Leviathan’s voice is clipped, moving towards his henchman and the captive. “My deepest apologies on behalf of my staff, sir. I’ll instruct them to take the prisoner back down to the holding cells to continue the inter—”

“No, you will not.” Crowley commands, swirling towards the aquatic supervillain. “You will release them from your custody immediately, and as I am so gracious, I will be sure to educate all of you about how violating personal boundaries—”

“Oh, come off it, you old crow.” Yuu drawls, one eyebrow twitching. “Don’t start pretending like you care now.”

The sadistic brother makes a small, choked noise. Leviathan has gone so still it’s doubtful he’s even breathing. Even the violent twin is staring at the reporter like they’ve grown a second head.

He clears his throat to hide the small sting in his chest at the remark. “W-why I don’t know whatever you are talking about, stranger I have never met before. I will arrange for an escort to guide you home, as I am so gracious.”

The reporter scoffs. “Well, isn’t that just the story of my life. I told you last time, I don’t want any of your goons within ten blocks of my apartment, remember?”

“Yuu, while I always appreciate your sparkling wit, please stop talking.” Leviathan mutters, eyes focused on Crowley. “Are you aware of just who this person is?”

“Who he is? Of course I know who he is.” Yuu’s exasperation is evident in their voice. “He’s my bio dad.”

Crowley bristles, feeling his feathers puff up in alarm. “Hatchling!!”

Leviathan chokes, wheezing for air as he gasps out, “Bio—what—?”

The sadistic Leech brother is visibly startled, whipping his head back and forth between Crowley and Yuu, lips moving too fast to read though no sound comes out.

“Eeeh~? The big scary boss man is Shrimpy’s dad? No waay~” The violent Leech brother jabs a thumb in his direction. “Who would fuck him?”

“HOW DARE YOU—!”

“Nobody.” Yuu says. “I was born via in vitro fertilization.”

“Hatchling~!” Crowley whines, disliking how wrong-footed his child leaves him. “That is hardly kind!”

Yuu lets out an undignified snort. “Sure, because that compares to dumping me back on Uncle Divvy after a week out of the test tube with instructions to leave me under a bridge somewhere.”

Both Leech twins pin him with equally unnerving stares, and Crowley has to remind himself that he is three times the villain they’ll ever be, that they couldn’t actually hurt him even if they did both attack at once.

Leviathan is just leaning against his desk, mouthing “Uncle Divvy” to himself with the sort of frquency usually reserved for those afflicted by Divus’ hysteria gas.

“We talked about that!” Crowley pleads desperately. “It was to make sure that you could grow strong through adversity! I could hardly expect you to take up my position if you grew up soft and dependent, now could I?”

“Babies are soft and dependent, that’s the whole point. I’d have been dead within the week if Uncle Divvy hadn’t given me to Mom and Dad.” Yuu sighs, slumping back into the chair. “Whatever. I’m never taking over from you and I don’t want any of your money. Can I go home now?”

“I’ll arrange for a car as I am so gracious—” Crowley states firmly at the same time as Leviathan interjects with “Ah, let me take you—”

He shoots a poisonous glare at the young upstart, and then at the unprofessional lackey who’s still clinging to his child.

“No thanks, to both of you.” Yuu sighs. “I’ll just call Yuuken to pick me up—”

“Eeeh?! But Shrimpy, he’s so lame and boring!” The twin in Yuu’s lap whines. “I can’t even squeeze him properly!”

“Yeah, that’s not really a negative here.” The reporter quips, putting up with the way the merman whines and nuzzles into their shoulder, teeth dangerously close to their jugular.

“I don’t like him.” Crowley sniffs. “He’s too good an influence on you.”

“Well, guess whose business that is?!” His offspring asks cheerily, before dropping back into their irritated moue. “Not yours. I’ll spend time with whoever I please, you can go suck an e—”

“I’ve called you a cab, Yuu-san.” The sadistic Leech brother pipes up, pulling his phone away from his ear. “It’s already paid for, so please don’t worry about it.”

The reporter frowns again, before shaking their head with a tired sigh. “Thank you. I need to go sleep off a migraine, so untie me and I’ll see you three next week or something.”

Leviathan moves forward to tug swiftly at the ropes pinning their arms behind their back and pulling his henchmen off of them, finally. “Let me escort you out at least. It wouldn’t do to have any more unpleasant surprises before you got home.”

“Fine.” Yuu pins Crowley with that look that always makes him want to squirm. “Have a lovely day, Dire Crowley-san.”

“Likewise.” He watches his heir walk out as the violent Leech twin calls out “Bye bye, Shrimpy~!”

He turns to those two upstarts, drawing himself up to his full height. “I am certain I don’t need to impress upon you the fact that none of what went on in here leaves this room, yes?”

The sadistic one meets his eye for a moment, spreading his hands wide with an unpleasant smile. “I am unsure of what you mean, Crowley-sama.”

“Yeah, dunno~” The violent one chirps from where he’s now perched in the recently vacated chair.

“Well, suffice it to say that Divus came up with a very interesting potion to affect merfolk, some years ago.” Crowley allows himself a cruel smirk. “One that gives them legs permanently. Shame it doesn’t do the same for lungs. I will not tell him how...carelessly you boys have been treating one of his most prized experiments, as I am gracious, am I not?”

He watches the pair of them swallow reflexively with a thrill of dark satisfaction. “Yes, Crowley-sama.” They chorus.

“Wonderful!” Crowley chirps, clasping his hands together. “Now, I think it’s time for a special lesson on respecting the personal boundaries of one’s hostages, don’t you?”