fledermausforstrauss

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 13 - Ash

Aziraphale is given a vague warning. Crowley has a nightmare. 3845 words.

This is part one of two! The second part won’t be out for a little while, but it is mostly finished already. Thanks to @pie1313 for help!! 

-----

79 AD

Misenum was a beautiful seaside city at the northern end of the Gulf of Naples that held the Roman Empire's biggest and most important fleet of warships, which was led by roman naval commander, Pliny the Elder.

Pliny was well travelled and knowledgeable. He had spent years studying an assortment of subjects, recording any and all findings and compiling them into reports. Those reports he compiled together into books. Those books he compiled into a collection he named ‘Naturalis Historia’ and Aziraphale was itching to get his hands on all 37 of them.

He was standing at the edge of a dock, looking out at the formidable fleet of warships, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Aziraphale!” 

Cold chills ran up his spine, but he brushed the feeling off as he turned to face Archangel Gabriel.

“Oh, hello, Gabriel. What brings you here?”

“I noticed you were in the area and I felt it’d be in our best interest to warn you.” Gabriel smiled, sending another wave of chills up Aziraphale’s spine. 

“Warn me?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“...Of?”

“Stay away…” Gabriel’s smile widened “From Pompeii.”

“Stay away from Pompeii?”

“Isn’t it fun to say?” Gabriel’s smile widened as he laughed. “But seriously, something big is going to happen and you don’t want to be there. I suggest you just head out now, in fact.”

“Oh, oh. Yes. Alright.” Aziraphale nodded, trying to return Gabriel's smile the best he could. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll be getting out of here soon.”

“Good.” Gabriel said. “Wouldn't want to deal with any unfortunate mishaps, would we?”

“Of course not…”

Gabriel nodded and turned to leave.

“Could I ask…” Aziraphel started. “What’s going to happen in Pompeii?”

“Oh, Aziraphale…” Gabriel said in a condescending tone. “No.”

“Oh.”

“Just stay away…” Gabriel said, gesturing to Aziraphale.

“...From Pompeii?”

“You got it.”

-----

Crowley had been told to check out Pompeii. 

There was word travelling around that there would be some sort of fireshow, a real sight to behold. Usually, his higher-ups would have more information for him, but this time there was nothing, just a vague ‘You should check it out'. 

An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, so he instead hung around some of the towns surrounding Pompeii, surveying the area. 

It was actually quite nice. Villas decorated the edges of the valley, vineyards sprawled across the mountain sides, and the towns were bustling with all sorts of people. One of the towns was perched on the edge of a mountain, facing the ocean. He looked out towards the water, catching glimpses of it between some buildings.

Crowley looked up at the highest point of the mountain, wanting to get the best view of the ocean before the sun set. He followed a path upwards, weaving between buildings then eventually through trees.

A large villa at the top of the hill was decked out with angelic statues, varying from plump little baby cherubs to graceful ballerina-types holding their arms out in a welcoming gesture. He followed the steps up to the building, stopping to study some of the statues along the way, pacing slowly with his hands behind his back, bending forward slightly to take a closer look at the details.

When he made it to the top of the path, he couldn’t help but stare.

To one side of the building was the ocean, what he had come up to see in the first place. The setting sun sparkled off the waves, glinting like diamonds in the sun. To the other side was a beautiful view of the valley, the vineyards spreading out in every direction.

And right between the two views was one more angel. A real one.

-----

Aziraphale did as he was told and stayed away from Pompeii.

Gabriel didn't say he couldn't hang around Stabiae. A beautiful little Roman town known for its lovely views, fancy villas, and delectable wines. In fact, one could have a wonderful time in Stabiae sitting up in one of the hill-top fancy villas, enjoying some delectable wine, and enjoying the lovely view of Pompeii, which by sheer coincidence, sat a mere 3 miles away.

Aziraphale tapped his toes nervously as he stared out the window, neglecting the new book in his hand and the panoramic view to focus solely on the small glimpse of Pompeii he could see. 

Gabriel’s warning ran through his mind again.

"Stay away from what?" Aziraphale mumbled to himself. "Why?”

“An angel could get in trouble for asking questions, you know.”

Aziraphale jumped at the voice, turning around to see Crowley standing behind his bench. Aziraphale could feel a slow smile spread across his face.

“What are you doing here?” Crowley asked.

“Me? I, uh…” Aziraphale gestured out the window with the book in his hands. “I came to enjoy the view.” 

Crowley raised a brow over his tinted glasses.

“Oh, alright.” Aziraphale sighed. “They told me to stay away from Pompeii.”

“So… you came to Pompeii?”

“This isn’t Pompeii. That’s Pompeii” Aziraphale pointed out the window. “I’m in Stabiae, and only by sheer coincidence. What are you doing here?”

“They told me to come check out Pompeii.”

“But you’re not in Pompeii.”

“Yes, well. I’m not too keen on this one. I’m only getting vague details on what’s going to happen. Something's off, I just know it.” Crowley muttered. “They usually give me more information.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, surprised.

“‘Course. How else am I supposed to do my job.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a second longer, then turned to look out the window again.

“...Do they not tell you anything?” Crowley asked.

“Not when it’s something big.” Aziraphale shook his head, still looking out the window. “That’s why I’m worried.”

“Hm.” Crowley hummed.

Aziraphale thought back to every major event he had been kept in the dark on. Part of him suspected that Gabriel kept things from him to keep him from meddling, part of him was sure it had to be for his own good.

“...I just wish they’d give me something. Is it really that hard? How am I supposed to do what I’m meant to if I’m never told anything? Why--?”

“Stop.” Crowley warned.

“I just want to know why--.” 

“Sstop.”

“But--!”

“Angel.” Crowley growled. “Sssstop. Asking. Questionssss.”

“Why should I?” He puffed up his chest, meeting Crowley’s stare. Who was he to tell Aziraphale what to do, he was a demon. “You certainly ask a lot of questions, why can’t I?”

“Because I can’t fall any further.” 

There was a long beat of silence where something finally clicked in Aziraphale’s mind.

“...Oh.” Was all Aziraphale could say.

“An angel could get in trouble for asking questionssss.” Crowley repeated, no real venom in his tone.

“...Oh…”

Crowley twitched as if he had been startled out of a thought, his face twisting into a scowl. He turned around, leaving through the door he came in.

“Wait--.” Aziraphale stood from his bench.

“Ssorry for interrupting your evening, Angel.” 

Aziraphale froze in place and watched the demon walk out, leaving down the winding stairs. He stayed there long after the sound of his footsteps faded.

-----

The following day, the area was shaken by an earthquake, startling Aziraphale out of the eleventh booking his new collection of ‘Naturalis Historia’. The villa he was in shook a fair bit, the statues rattling in their places, but it settled quickly.

He closed his book as he stared intently at Pompeii. Nothing seemed to be too different, no fault line had opened to devour the city, the structures seemed to be intact, and there were no visible flames. He sat back in his seat, wondering why the Archangel Gabriel went through so much effort to warn him of a minor tremor.

Just as he was about to reopen his book and find where he had left off when the ground started shaking again, more violently. Aziraphale pushed his bag under the bench and left out a side door, getting a better look at the surrounding area from the balcony.

The tremors continued as a thunderous noise roared out from the mountain behind Pompeii.  An enormous explosion of black ash spewed out from the top, catching in the wind like a dark cloud and heading for Aziraphale, directly over the city between them.

Aziraphale stared wide eyed at the city below. He looked up at the cloud of ash that was already starting to fall, then back down at the city.

“Please forgive me.” Aziraphale whispered.

Aziraphale manifested his wings, spreading them out  wide before jumping the railing.

-----

Crowley sat straight up in bed, looking around at the shaking walls with deep confusion, certain he was still sleeping. The minor tremor faded quickly, leaving him tangled in the bedsheets, feeling lost. He stumbled out of the bed, pulling his glasses on and heading out the door of his room.

As soon as he stepped into the main room of the inn, the building started to shake again, making him lose his balance. He caught himself before he hit the ground and headed out onto the street, looking around. There was a deep, bassy rumble that rolled through the ground.

Crowley followed the path of the fault line as it bisected several buildings. 

The inn behind him started to collapse, keeling towards him. He jumped out of the way, tripping backwards into the wall of the next building and slamming the back of his head against the crumbling stone wall, putting him into a momentary daze.

Crowley leant forward, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to regain his senses in the middle of an earthquake. His glasses slipped off his nose and clattered on the ground, the lenses shattering when they hit the stone.

He opened his eyes and was even more disoriented. 

His tinted glasses were gone, but it was just as dark. Crowley looked up at the sky that had been clear only a moment ago to see a great big, black cloud blot out the sun. His eyes darted along the cloud, looking for any clue to what was happening, when he spotted something that made his panic spike even higher.

Aziraphale was flying across the sky, his pearly white wings a stark contrast against the dark cloud behind him. Crowley was frozen in place until the angel left his sight, headed in the direction of Pompeii.

“Oh, you fool.” Crowley cursed. “What are you doing, you’re going to… Oh, Angel.”

He manifested his own wings and pushed off of the ground, but as soon as his feet left the ground, the disoriented feeling only got worse. He wobbled as he took off, fighting the urge to land.

Crowley growled, frustrated, and righted himself, looking for the angel ahead of him. As his eyes scanned the horizon, the shock of what he was seeing made him lose focus and he slipped, falling to the roof below him.

He hit the tiles roof hard, rolling over himself and landing on his back. He lifted himself up on shaky arms to take into the destruction, his mouth falling open.

The mountain behind the city of Pompeii had erupted. The black cloud that was blotting out the sun was ash that had blown into the sky, and it was already starting to fall on the valley. 

Pompeii was right in the line of fire.

And Aziraphale was heading right for it.

Crowley tried to shake off the dazed feeling and took off again, fighting to steady out his second wobbly takeoff as he headed straight for the city. The wind kept catching him off guard, making his wings dip whenever he lost focus, which was very easy with the ringing in his ears. 

The ash was starting to collect on the ground, a fine layer of black dust settling on every surface that he skimmed over. He flew low enough to disturb the ash, kicking patches of it up with the gust from his wings as he swerved between trees, keeping close to the ground in case he lost his balance again.

When Crowley made it to the outer wall of the city he tried to fly over it, planning to circle over to try and pinpoint Aziraphale, but his vertigo spiked with the change of direction and he slipped out of the air, hitting the stone road at the entrance.

He growled in frustration, his head spinning as he looked around. People were running through the streets, panicked, grabbing their valuables and leaving as fast as they could.

“Angel!” He yelled, getting to his feet, but his voice was drowned out by everyone else's screaming.

He started running through the streets, occasionally tripping over his own feet as he forgot how legs worked.

“Angel!” He yelled again, desperately searching for a sign, a flash of white, anything.

He took a deep breath to yell again, but the ash that had started to grow dense in the air got caught in his throat, making him cough. Every cough aggravated his headache which only worsened his vertigo. All of which didn’t help his panic.

He fell to his knees, his breath rasping as he stared at the ground below his knees, trying to regain his focus.

He needed to find his angel.

“Crowley.” 

He lifted his head to look down the street ahead of him.

Aziraphale stood before him, eyes wide, staring back.

His hair was a mess, he had dirt and soot on his face and hands, his robes were torn and singed, and his wings…

Crowley let out a sob, crumpling forward, his body finally giving out. He hit the ground and curled onto his side, his vision going dark as he fought to stay awake.

Aziraphale’s wings were black.

-----

The city was in just as bad a shape as Aziraphale had feared.

A few of the larger buildings had toppled in the earthquake and a layer of hot ash had already settled. People were running away as he flew over, barely paying him much attention. He landed in the centre of town, his wings kicking up a cloud of ash.

He wasted no time running through buildings, pulling people out of their useless hiding spots and pushing them towards the exits, shielding them from the ash with his wings. He ran through the streets, his heart aching as he realized he couldn’t do much to help. It was too much.

He couldn’t save them.

“Angel!” 

Aziraphale turned at the sound of Crowley's voice and started to run towards it.

“Angel!” 

He came around the corner of the main street to find Crowley on his knees, hunched forward.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale breathed.

The demon uncurled, peering up at him with a look of shock. 

He looked terrible.

He was on his knees, covered in ash and gasping for breath. His glasses were gone, showing his eyes, and more importantly, his pupils, which were blown so wide they took up the majority of his gold irises. Blood was dripping freely from his head.

The demon choked on a sob and tipped forward, falling onto the ground.

Aziraphale jumped into action, running the rest of the distance. He fell to his knees next to Crowley, carefully placing one hand on his shoulder and one hand on his forehead.

He healed the open wound on his head just enough to stop the bleeding.

Another earthquake rolled beneath them, making Aziraphale lose focus and open his eyes. More ash had fallen while he had been healing Crowley. He stood, using his wings to shield the two of them as he looked around.

The city had grown quiet.

Anyone who could make it out apparently had. 

Those who couldn’t…

Aziraphale looked down at the demon curled on the stone below him and brushed the quickly collecting ash off his cheek. He gathered Crowley in his arms and took off, heading for the last bit of blue sky he could see.

-----

Crowley had always asked too many questions.

Ever since his first day in existence, before the concept of time was even a thing, he had always had too many questions.

Curiosity at first. He had so many things to learn, and he wanted to learn it all. Every new thing he had the chance to know was exhilarating. 

Interest came next. He found certain things more interesting than others, and while that never stopped him from asking about everything and anything, he certainly had favourites. Among those were the new plants that had started to gather in heaven, the stream of new angels that came after him, and what would eventually be called ‘The Great Plan’.

Concern was quick to follow. The plan certainly was great, but Crowley was worried it wasn’t particularly… good.

The last word he said in heaven, the last syllable he uttered as an angel, contained all of his concern for the newly created humans and the path they were being led down. He had poured his whole heart and soul into it that one word, staring into the blinding light above him.

“Why?”

The pain was immediate. Like a strike of lighting, it tore through him, ripping his angelic grace from his very essence, and continued on through the ground, dragging him down with it.

A guttural scream clawed its way out of his throat as he plummeted. 

Sparks danced along his wings as every feather caught fire. 

He twisted his neck to look at his once white feathers turn black, but something caught his eye just beyond his wing.

Another figure was falling next to him. Their wings in a similar state, burnt and tarnished, cocooned around their body.

He reached out, running his fingers through the other’s feathers gently, as if they weren’t dropping through the air at high speeds and also on fire.

The wings unfurled.

He was met with a shock of white-blond hair and a pair of brilliant blue eyes.

He gasped, pain shooting through his heart as if he had been struck a second time. His blood boiled and his eyes burned, making him squeeze them shut, screaming out in pain again.

In the darkness, a hand reached out and took his, holding tight.

-----

Aziraphale’s exhausted wings, having been overworked after being inactive for too long, combined with the extra weight of Crowley, made for a bit of a rocky landing. He had tried his best, not wanting to jostle the demon in his arms too badly, but he was just lucky he hadn’t fallen flat on his front. 

He had landed on the balcony of an inn on the outskirts of a town north of Pompeii, out of reach of the ash. He pushed the curtain aside as he entered the small room, immediately heading for the bed to lay Crowley down. 

As soon as the demon was out of his hands, Aziraphle felt the muscles in his body give out to exhaustion. His shoulders slumped and he leant his head forward, letting out a sigh as his he started pulling his wings around himself for comfort.

He froze at the sight of them.

They were a deep matte grey, nearly as dark as Crowley’s.

His mind raced.

He reached out for his feathers, hesitating before he could lay a finger on them. He took a deep breath and pushed his fingers deep between his coverts, ruffling them slightly. 

Relief coursed through him when dust poured out onto his fingers, drifting slowly to the floor, leaving behind glimpses of white under the ash.

He let out another deep sigh, shaking his wings out to get as much of the dust out as possible. Small piles collected on the floor.

Aziraphale stepped over the ash piles and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked down at the demon’s face, peaceful in the moonlight. He placed a hand on Crowley’s forehead and his brow twitched under his fingers. He watched as the demon frowned in his sleep, his head turning away from his touch.

He pulled his hand away and watched as a pained expression spoiled the calm features on Crowley’s face.  The demon mumbled something and winced, his wings curling around his frame.

Aziraphale held his breath, his hand inching back towards the demon.

Crowley screamed. It was a panicked scream, full of terror and fear. 

Aziraphale jolted forward, taking the demon's hand in his own and holding tight.

Crowley shot up in the bed, ripping his hand out of Aziraphale's and backing into the corner, his wings puffed up as he searched the room with wide eyes.

“Oh, Crowley…” Aziraphale held his hand up to calm the demon, but hesitated, backing away slowly. “...Are you alright?”

Crowley’s eyes finally settled on Aziraphale. 

“Angel… You…” Crowley whispered, studying him. “Your wings…”

“Yes, I know. They're a mess.” Aziraphale shook them again, making more ash fall to the ground. 

Crowley stared for a minute, blinking while tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He let out a deep sigh, collapsing back to lean against the wall. He winced as his head hit the wall and reached up to investigate.

“Oh, I wouldn’t touch that.” Aziraphale said. “You got a pretty nasty bump on your head back there, and I don’t have enough left in me to heal you.”

Crowley just stared at him.

“You’re going to want to rest a bit.” Aziraphale said.

Crowley nodded.

“Do you remember anything?”

“...Unfortunately.” Crowley rasped.

“What happened to you?”

“I…” Crowley looked away. “I’m not sure.”

It was obvious Crowley wasn’t saying something, but Aziraphale wasn’t one to pry, so he nodded. They sat in silence for a short while, Crowley letting his eyes close as he gently rested his head back, careful of his injury. 

“...You went directly against orders, you realize that.” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale nodded again, looking out the window at the cloud of ash in the distance. He could hear the Archangel Gabriel’s warning in the back of his mind.

“Something could have happened to you.” Crowley whispered, interrupting Aziraphale’s thoughts.

Something finally clicked in Aziraphale’s mind.

He looked at Crowley to find his eyes open, staring back at him out of the corner of his eye. His pupils were still dilated, but they were more diamond shaped than full-blown circle.

“That's why you followed me.” Aziraphale mumbled.

The demon just closed his eyes. 

After a few moments, Aziraphale realized the demon had dozed off. He stood from his spot on the bed and went back out to the balcony. Ash was still pouring out of the mountain, getting caught up by the wind and being blown south, away from where they were.

The villa he left his new collection of ‘Naturalis Historia’ would certainly be covered in a heap of ash. Just as everything else would be. The whole valley. Everyone who wasn’t fast enough, or lucky enough...

Aziraphale wings closed over his shoulders. He ignored the mess they made in favour of the comfort they brought him.

(TBC)

#good omens fic #good omens #aziraphale #Crowley

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 12 - Dragon

Sir Aziraphale is asked to slay the dragon that has been terrorizing the locals, much to his confusion.  2463 words.

-----

3rd Century, Arthurian England.

Aziraphale was en route to his next job when he stopped in a little town to find directions, his squire and horse waiting by the front gate while he slowly meandered his way through the town. He had been taking his time wandering through the marketplace, listening to the bustling atmosphere and following the delectable scents of the local food when he overheard something that made him stop in his tracks. 

“Please, Sheriff! Is there really nothing else we can do?” A woman asked. She sounded desperate as she clung to the arm of an official-looking man.

“No, this is the only way.” The Sheriff said, pulling away from the woman and dusting off his sleeve. “You know how this works, you know what has to be done, and you know the consequences we will face if we don’t.”

"What about the knight?” She cried.

“The knight we sent for weeks ago?” The Sheriff said, his tone mocking. “You still believe anyone is coming to save us? What would you have me do, wait until they show their face? No, by the time they arrive, if they arrive, it will be too late. We have to do this. Today.”

The woman covered her mouth with her hand, muffling a sob.

“I suggest you use this time to say your goodbyes.” The Sheriff said, turning to leave.

The woman fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands. 

Aziraphale approached, bending down to rest a hand on her shoulder. The woman pulled her hands from her face and looked at him with damp eyes, her bottom lip wobbling. 

“Excuse me, sir.” Aziraphale said to the Sheriff, making him turn around again. “I may not be the knight you’re looking for, but I am a knight nonetheless. Could I be of some help?”

“You?” The Sheriff said, frowning again as he looked Aziraphale over. “A knight?”

Aziraphale stood and fixed his tunic, showing the symbol of the Arthurian Knights emblazoned on his chest. There was a spark of recognition in the man’s eyes.

“You’ll really help us?” The woman said, pinching the end of Aziraphale tunic between shaky fingers, pulling slightly.

“I’ll try…” Aziraphale bent down again, taking her hand and giving it a couple reassuring pats, trying to settle the woman’s nerves. “I’ll try.”

“...Alright. Then it’s settled.” The Sheriff said, shrugging and turning to the crowd of people that had slowly been gathering around them. “You heard him! Anyone willing to accompany Sir…”

“Aziraphale.”

“...Sir Aziraphale, we will be gathering by the front gates.” The Sheriff said, raising a fist into the air. “Let’s put an end to the dragon’s reign of terror, once and for all!”

The townsfolk shouted in response, some of them scattering off to prepare to leave.

“Did you say…?” Aziraphale slowly turned his head to look at the man behind him, his brows knitted. “Dragon?”

-----

“--Because of this, you see, we’ve angered the beast… Are you listening?”

“Hm? Oh, yes.” Aziraphale lied, nodding absentmindedly. “Angered the beast.”

Aziraphale and the Sheriff were leading a group of men up the side of the nearest mountain. The Sheriff was dressed in fine garb and had a gilded sword hanging by his hip. The rest of the men were dressed in shabby, mismatched armor, wielding farming tools in a way that showed their inexperience as fighters.

Aziraphale had been distracted for most of the hike, trying to imagine just what they were about to fight, because it certainly wasn’t going to be a dragon. 

“It started getting worse when the beast made itself known to us.” The Sheriff continued. “We’ve tried our usual solutions, but it only seems to make it… angrier…”

“Hm.” Aziraphale hummed, still not paying attention.

“It’s right up here, around the corner.” The Sheriff slowed to a stop, turning to talk to the men behind them.

Aziraphale continued on, turning the corner of the path to find the mouth of a large cave. It was jagged and dark, looking exactly like the kind of cave a dragon would live in, if it existed. He got closer, frowning when he felt warm air coming out of it.

“Sir, wait--!”

There was a blast of fire that shot out of the mouth of the cave, passing over Aziraphale’s head .

“WHO DARES TO APPROACH MY LAIR?” A loud voice boomed out from the cave, echoing through the surrounding hills.

All the men froze in place, staring at Aziraphale.

Another shot of fire blew through the cave, flashing an enormous shadow on the wall of wings that stretched open. A growling hiss vibrated through the air, loud enough that Aziraphale could feel it in his chest.

The men started backing away, looking from the cave to Aziraphale and back. The growl turned into a roar that shook the ground and the men turned tail and ran off back into the woods, followed closely by the Sheriff. Aziraphale frowned as he watched them trip over each other as they clambered into the bushes, screaming.

"DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?" the voice rumbled again.

Aziraphale frowned to himself, ignoring the voice and marching right into the mouth of the cave, snapping his fingers to shed some light on the situation.

Crowley stood in the shadow of the entrance with his wings outstretched, his eyes wide in surprise and his mouth in a perfect 'o'.

"Angel." Crowley's voice still had a hint of an echo to it. He cleared his throat and straightened up, folding his wings closed. "...What are you doing here?"

"I've been asked to help slay a dragon." Aziraphale asked, raising a brow. "What are you doing?"

"...Having fun?" Crowley shrugged, his wings following the motion.

"Terrorizing the locals?"

"Terrorizing is in my job description, which is what I'm doing. My job. Just that. nothing else.” Crowley looked over his shoulder at the back of the cave. “Now, if you'll excuse me…?"

"What are you hiding?" Aziraphale asked, trying to peek over the demons shoulder to see what he was looking at.

"Nothing!" Crowley startled, his wings flaring wide to block Aziraphale's sight. "Nothing, I'm not hiding anything, why would I be hiding something?"

Aziraphale gave him an unimpressed look and walked around the demon.

“Alright, okay. You caught me.” Crowley laughed, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’m hiding… Gold. Lots and lots of gold. Nothing you’d be interested in, so don’t even worry about it.”

Aziraphale tsked and threw another look over his shoulder at Crowley, seeing right through the demon’s bluff and continuing into the cave.

“Wait, angel, wait, wait, wait--.” Crowley grabbed his elbow, stopping him in his tracks. “Please, you have to believe me, I didn’t do it on purpose this time. I know it was my fault last time, but this time--! I swear, I don’t know why this keeps happening to me.”

Aziraphale looked the demon over, head to toe, taking in his distressed and embarrassed expression. Crowley let his hand slide off Aziraphale’s arm with a sigh, nodding his head towards the back of the cave, letting him continue.

As they walked through the cave, the light from the entrance faded away and a glow started shining from within. Aziraphale squinted into the darkness as they turned corner after corner, eventually coming to an opening.

A campfire burned in the middle of the room, lighting up a small gathering of tents. Various necessities were strewn about the room with a sense of organized chaos, and several bedrolls were pushed together to make a blanket fort or sorts. The ceiling above glowed with some sort of bioluminescence, sparkling like stars above them all.

Eight children sat around the fire, staring at Aziraphale with wide eyes.

“Oh, Crowley…” Aziraphale looked around at the children. “...Again?”

“Yes, yes, angel, I know--.”

“Where do you keep finding them?’

“They found me!” Crowley threw up his arms, his wings flapping behind him.

“Is the ‘dragon’ kidnapping children?”

“No!” 

“That’s a little low, even for you.” 

“That’s not--! they’re--!” Crowley groaned in frustration, pointing at the children. “They were sacrifices!”

Crowley’s voice echoed down the tunnel, ringing in Aziraphale’s ears. All he could think about was the woman pleading with the Sheriff and the ‘price they had to pay’ that she was so desperately trying to avoid.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Crowley bit, snapping his wings shut and crossing his arms. “‘Oh.’”

The children’s eyes bounced back and forth between the two of them, looking unsure. Crowley sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“The locals believe the Beast who lives in these caves is responsible for all the bad luck they’ve been having. Droughts, fires, earthquakes, you name it… They’ve been trying to appease the Beast by bringing… ‘offerings’.” Crowley said, his voice low. “I was just wandering through when I found one of them, hiding in the cave and starving.”

The demon pointed at a girl who shifted uncomfortably, giving Aziraphale a shy wave. He waved back, still trying to process what Crowley was telling him.

“Before I knew it, the locals were back with another.” Crowley pointed at a young boy sitting in the lap of one of the older children. “...I panicked. Thought I could scare them away with some theatrics.”

“Didn’t work, obviously…” Aziraphale mumbled.

“No, just made them try to appease the Beast more.” 

The children continued whatever they had been doing, chatting amongst themselves as the two beings thought in silence.

“...So, what now?” Aziraphale asked.

“I don’t know.” Crowley admitted. “Take them to the next town over? Make sure they find somewhere to stay?”

“Most of these children probably have families…” Aziraphale said, thinking about the pleading woman again. “I’d like to at least try to bring them back home. And just disappearing isn’t going to stop the locals from doing it again.”

"...What if…" Crowley started, mid thought, stroking his chin. "You said you were here to slay a dragon… What if you did?"

"What?"

"Just waltz back into town with the missing children and tell them you slayed the dragon." Crowley said. "No one is going to double check whether you actually did or not, and even if they did, all they'd find is an empty cave."

"...That might actually work." Aziraphale said, deep in thought. "And I could send a letter to get the Sheriff replaced with someone less keen on sacrificing children."

They listened as the children laughed amongst themselves. They seemed cheerful and well taken care of, bringing a small smile to Aziraphale's face as he looked out the corner of his eye at the demon.

"You know…" Aziraphale started, his smile clear in his voice.

"Shut up." Crowley warned, his shoulders tensing.

"I’ve said it before…” Aziraphale turned to look at the demon. “But I’m really starting to think…”

“Angel.” Crowley growled, refusing to look at him.

“That, deep down, you’re actually quite nice for a demon.”

“Ngk.” Crowley winced, crossing his arms. “I told you--.”

“I know, I know.” Aziraphale laughed. “But If I keep finding you in situations like this, what else am I meant to think?”

“That I always have an ulterior motive. The only reason I’m helping these kids is… Well...” Crowley’s scowled deepened and his wings twitched. “They, uh. It’s… They’re... I have my reasons, alright? Nefarious reasons. Because I’m a demon. And demons aren’t ‘Nice’.”

Aziraphale continued to smile, making Crowley growl again.

“Alright, kids!” Crowley called, walking away from him. “Get your stuff together, it’s time to go home.”

“Really?” One of the children, the eldest girl, asked, looking up at Crowley. “We’re going home?”

“Yes, yes. Finally free of being trapped in here with me, You’re overjoyed, I get it.” Crowley waved his hand at them. 

“Trapped?” The girl repeated, sounding confused. “We’re not--.”

“Get a move on, kid.” Crowley was quick to interrupt, his wings fidgeting. “We don’t have all day.”

The children started to gather their things as Crowley cleaned up the rest of the room with the snap of his fingers. Aziraphale watched from the side, his smile growing every time Crowley moved to help a child. When everything was either gathered up or miracled away, they followed eachother out the cave, single file with Aziraphale and Crowley at the back.

The children slowed as they reached the entrance, collecting just outside on the grass and turning around to look at them. 

“This is where I’ll be taking my leave.” Crowley said, trying to sound bored. “Aziraphale is going to be taking you back home from here and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“But--!” The eldest girl started. 

“No ‘but’s!” Crowley snapped, but there was no real venom to his words. “Now listen carefully. If anyone asks--.”

“The Dragon was real.” The eldest girl nodded.

“Yes. Good. And--?”

“Sir Az… Azri… Azir…”

“A-zir-a-phale.” Crowley said, slowly.

“Sir Aziraphale killed it.”

“Good job.” Crowley smiled.

It was such a genuine smile, one that Aziraphale rarely had the chance to see, but it only lasted for a split second before Crowley seemed to realize his slip up. The demon cleared his throat and frowned, looking away.

“Now get going.” Crowley said.

The eldest girl threw herself into a hug, grabbing Crowley around the waist.

“Thank you.” She said, squeezing tight.

Crowley’s eyes were wide and he opened his mouth to protest, but before anything came out, the other children piled on, nearly knocking him over. His wings flapped wildly as he tried to maintain balance, squawking as he righted himself and gently pried the children off of him. 

Aziraphale covered his mouth with the palm of his hand, trying to hide the smile and stifle the laugh that tried to escape him. Crowley looked up from his struggle and glared.

“Not. A. Word.” He hissed.

“I wasn’t saying a thing.” Aziraphale shrugged, still fighting to contain himself at the sight of Crowley covered in giggling children.

Crowley hissed again.

“Alright, children. Let’s give Crowley one more goodbye and we’ll get you home to your families.” Aziraphale called, taking a step towards the walkway back to town. 

There was a chorus of disappointed sighs and ‘aw’s from the children as they finally let go of the demon and started following Aziraphale. He nodded once at Crowley as they started the trek down the mountain, leaving him behind.

A few of the children waved at Crowley as they started losing sight of him around a corner. Aziraphale looked over his shoulder and caught a flash of Crowley waving back before the demon crossed his arms, pretending to be disinterested.

The eldest girl tapped his arm to get his attention, frowning up at him.

“A-zir-a-phale, Sir, you do know he wasn’t actually keeping us trapped, right?” She said. “That he was actually helping us?”

“Oh, Of course I know.” He said, recalling the smile on Crowley’s face only moments before. “Of course.”

#good omens #good omens fic #aziraphale #Crowley

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 11 - Snow

An argument about wine. 1369 words.

Hoping this will cheer up a friend.

-----

Crowley had every imaginable article of clothing on. 

Two pairs of socks, a pair of real, physical boots, long johns, thick pants, an undershirt, a tee shirt, a jumper, wooly gloves, a scarf, and finally, a blue knit toque a certain angel had given him decades before, all wrapped up under a down jacket with the hood pulled tight.

He looked out the corner of his eye at the angel walking next to him, tucking his nose into his scarf to hide a smile as they walked down a tree-lined snowy path. Aziraphale was wearing a scarf and a heavy coat, but Crowley knew both were only for show.

Crowley huffed a laugh behind his several layers of fleece, wool, and down, jealous of the angel’s natural warmth.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, smiling at Crowley.

“Nothing.” Crowley laughed again, his voice muffled by the fabric over his mouth. He pulled his hood back and tugged his scarf down to talk. “What did you think?”

“Of the wine? It was wonderful.” Aziraphale said. “I haven’t been to a proper wine tasting in nearly a decade, and I haven’t been to the Alps in almost a millennium. This trip was a brilliant idea, dear.”

"Figured it was about one we swung through here, and what better way to check on things than to take a wine tour?" Crowley asked. “So, where do Switzerland’s wines end up on your list? Are they a new favourite? You really seemed to like that rosé.”

“Oh, yes, the rosé was good, but…” Aziraphale hummed, looking thoughtful. “...I think France is still my favourite.”

“France? Your favourite is--?” Crowley scoffed. “Tch. Why am I not surprised.”

“Why would you be surprised?” Aziraphale asked. “You’ve seen my wine collection? It’s nearly two-thirds French.”

“I thought maybe they paired well with those crêpes you like so much. Didn’t realize they were actually your favourite.”

“Just what is wrong with French wines?” Aziraphale asked, offended.

“They’re not Italian, for starters.” 

“Italian?”

“What’s wrong with Italian wines?” Crowley echoed Aziraphale’s question.

“France has a long history of wine, unlike Italy. They have higher standards, unlike Italy. And they follow strict traditions that keep their wine consistent-- Unlike Italy!”

“Consistent--? I think you mean boring.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “France knows how to make, like, three wines, and they make them well, don’t get me wrong, but Italy know how to have fun.”

“Three--.” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley’s words, falling behind as his steps faltered.

“Italian wine may not be the fanciest, but it is the best. Less restrictions means more room for experimentation. They have a higher alcohol content.” Crowley started to count on his gloved fingers. “More varieties of grapes, including some exclusive to Italy’s climate. The wine is bolder, brighter, and on all levels, just plain better. And I think you’re forgetting Italy’s history with wine predates France’s by a long shot.”

“Oh, please.” Aziraphale shook his head. “What Italy was making back then could hardly be called wine.”

“How dare you--.”

“Besides, France has Italy beat with sheer quality.” Aziraphale said, a smug look on his face. “Fancy or not, you can’t argue the complexity of a Bordeaux.”

“Can too. Watch me.” Crowley said. “Complexity means absolutely nothing if that's all a wine is. A complex wine is not inherently a quality wine. It could have all the hints of that and notes of this, but if it's bland, its bland! And Bordeauxs are so bland--.”

A shock of snow collided with the back of Crowley’s head making him yelp, flakes falling down the back of his neck, trapped by the folds of his scarf. He turned on his heel to find Aziraphale standing with another snowball already in his hand.

“Bordeauxs. Are not. Bland.” Aziraphale frowned, but Crowley could see a smile tugging the corners of his lips. He wound his arm back as a threat. “You take that back.”

“Only if you take back what you said about Italy's first wines not being wine.” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale chucked the snowball right for Crowley, but he jumped the snowbank that lined the walkway, ducking behind the wall of ice.

“Ohoho.” Crowley laughed, gathering fistfuls of snow in his hands. 

Crowley stood and threw his snowball at the angel, missing him by mere inches when Aziraphale dodged expertly. The angel threw one back without missing a beat, aiming right for his face, but Crowley ducked at the last second. The snowball skimmed the top of his hat, pulling it crooked.

“Alright, angel. You wanna play?” Crowley growled, gathering a large armful of snow. “We can play.”

He stood and raised his arm back with a snowball bigger than his head balanced in his hand, stepping backwards into a lunge, ready to chuck it with all of his strength. 

“You’re going to regret starting this.” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale looked unfazed. The angel lifted his hand, a smirk curling his own lips slowly. He snapped his fingers.

There was a loud crack above Crowley, but before he could look up, he was buried beneath a mountain of snow. 

-----

Aziraphale’s smirk gave way to a laugh as Crowley laid buried beneath the snow that had been sitting along the branches of the tree the demon had unwittingly backed himself against.

“Oh-- My dear.” Aziraphale said between laughter. “The look on your face was priceless.”

There was no response. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Oh, stop your pouting.” He approached the pile of snow and started brushing away the layers. “Just admit you lost and we can get back to the cabin for some Châteauneuf-du-Pape.”

Aziraphale was quick to find the blue knitted hat he had given Crowley, and beneath it, a shock of red hair. He pulled the snow away from the demon’s face to find a shivering form and chattering teeth. The force of the snow had knocked his tinted glasses off, letting Aziraphale see just how tight Crowley's eyes were squeezed shut.

“Oh.” Aziraphale siad, a sudden realization hitting him. "Oh, my dear, I wasn't thinking, I'm so sorry." 

Aziraphale pulled the shivering demon out of the snow, wrapping one arm around his waist and pulling him close.

"Let's get you warmed up."

-----

Crowley hummed in contentment, wriggling deeper into thick blankets. A hand was playing with his hair as the crackle of a fire pulled him from his sleep. He opened his eyes to find his head resting in Aziraphales lap. The angel smiled down at him, a hint of guilt in his eyes. He brushed Crowley’s hair from his forehead and sighed.

“I’m sorry, dear.” Aziraphale said softly. “I got a little carried away. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Ss’alright.” Crowley mumbled. “I’m warm now, that's all that matters.”

Aziraphale’s smile twitched and he ruffled his fingers through Crowley’s hair again. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the fire.

“...I got you something.” Aziraphale said, reaching over the arm of the chair and lifting a wine bottle up, holding it out over Crowley’s face and turning it to show the label.

“Masseto?” Crowley sat up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders with one hand and taking the bottle with the other, inspecting the label. “Is this your apology? I accept.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, popping the cork on the bottle and materializing two glasses in his hands. He held them out for Crowley to pour into and traded him a glass for the bottle to put it on the side table.

Crowley swirled the wine around like the sommeliers had at the wine tasting that morning, watching the way the dark liquid splashed against the sides.

“Do you know why Masseto is the most expensive Italian wine?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley quirked his brow at the angel.

“French grapes, French techniques, and French oak-barrels.” Aziraphale said, trying to keep a straight face and only slightly failing. “It's also a Bordeaux.”

“Shut up.” Crowley muttered, but his scowl was quick to disappear after the first sip. “Oh, that’s actually not bad.”

“Shall we call it a draw then?” Aziraphale smiled.

“Alright fine.” Crowley huffed a laugh, taking another sip of his wine. “It’s a draw.”

#good omens fic #good omens #aziraphale #Crowley

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 10 - Pattern

Aziraphale worries Crowley will eventually grow bored of him. 1115 words. Thanks to @pie1313 for putting up with me

-----

Aziraphale let out a quiet sigh as he stared at Crowley.

The demon was sprawled out on the antique couch in the bookshop, his limbs dangling over the edges, his head leant back on the armrest, and his eyes closed. He had a serene look on his face that softened his sharp features and distracted Aziraphale form his book.

In the months since the Nonpocalypse, since they had confessed their poorly hidden feelings for each other, Crowley had slowly slithered his way into the bookshop, his belongings sliding into place with Aziraphale’s in a way that fit like pieces of a puzzle. Plants tucked themselves into corners and thrived in the loving atmosphere, Crowley’s vinyl collection slotted into a bookshelf in the back room as if Aziraphale had left room for it on purpose, and the once rarely-used bed above the shop was decked in fine silks and blankets. Everything fit perfectly, as if it had always been there.

They still went out for dinner, Aziraphale would pick the place, and come back to the bookshop to have a few drinks before they would make their way to the bedroom where Crowley would sleep and Aziraphale would stay up reading.

Aziraphale was content. Crowley seemed content. Everything was going well, they had fallen into the same pattern they had before, just more frequently. 

Which is what had Aziraphale worried. 

Crowley had always seemed to be on the go, always keeping himself a step ahead of everyone else, always looking for the next thing. Aziraphale was worried that the demon would eventually tire of doing the same thing day in and day out and realize how boring life had become.

“What are you thinking about?” Crowley mumbled

“Nothing.” Aziraphale lied.

“You haven’t turned the page in almost an hour.” Crowley said, opening his eyes to look at Aziraphale with a raised brow. 

“Hm.” Aziraphale hummed, snapping the book in his lap shut, not bothering to bookmark his place. He hadn’t been paying attention at all, he was too busy trying not to stare at Crowley and thinking depressing thoughts. He was going to have to reread from the start.

“C’mon.” Crowley said, his mouth curling at the edges. “Spit it out. What’s got you scowling like that?”

“I’m not scowling.” Aziraphale said, carefully schooling his scowl to look more neutral. 

“Angel…” Crowley’s fond smile grew.

Aziraphale put the book aside and sighed again, unable to return Crowley’s smile. 

“Am I… Boring?” Aziraphale asked.

“What?” Crowley sounded confused.

“It’s just that… Well…” Aziraphale looked down at his hands, thinking. “It’s just that we haven’t done much of anything since the world didn’t end, it’s been the same old routine, and I was just thinking… I’m quite boring, aren't I?”

“Angel--.” Crowley sat up on the couch.

“And I was worried, more specifically, that, well-- you would...I was--.” Aziraphale fumbled, losing steam as he talked. “I just…”

“...You’re worried I’ll get bored of you.” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale nodded, unable to look at the demon’s face.

“We really have fallen into a routine, haven’t we?” Crowley breathed a laugh. “I suppose you could say it’s been boring, but after the lives we’ve lived, I feel like we deserve a little bit of boring.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale sighed. “...So I am boring.”

“I didn’t say that!” Crowley said, sitting up in his seat. “No-- Angel-- You are far from boring.”

“But--.” 

“I’m always blown away by how little you think of yourself. Boring. You.” Crowley scoffed. “After over six thousand years, I’m still learning new things about you every time I turn around.”

“You...” Aziraphale searched the demon’s face for a hint of sarcasm. “What?”

“Every time I think I’ve figured you out, you always find a way to surprise me. How can I ever get bored of that?”

“What are you on about?” Aziraphale asked, trying to think back to recent things he could have done that would make him ‘far from boring’.

“Just this week I found out you make your own tea blend. It’s such a small thing, you probably think nothing of it... But I spent decades, centuries even, trying to find the tea you liked, just to find you make yours one-of-a-kind. Such a small fact, but it's something new.” Crowley said. “And something very you.”

“That’s nothing.” Aziraphale argued. “Making my own tea doesn’t make me less boring. I would argue it makes me more boring.”

“No, angel. That’s not-- uhg.” Crowley frowned. “The other morning I heard you humming in the kitchen. I’ve never heard you hum before. You sounded wonderful. You started off with a hymn I hadn’t heard since-- Oh, since forever-- Then you slipped right into ABBA without missing a beat. It was so painfully you.”

“So I can hum.” Aziraphale huffed, his blush rising. He didn’t understand whatever Crowley was trying to get at and he was starting to regret bringing it up. “Still boring.”

“You’re--.” Crowley let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t--.”

Crowley took a deep breath, looking as though he was deep in thought. Aziraphale clenched his fists in his lap, feeling as frustrated as Crowley sounded. 

“...These are things I didn’t know about you. After 6000 years, I’m still finding new things… and you may not think all these things are the most exciting…” Crowley talked slowly, as if he were carefully thinking out every word as he went. “But they're what make you you. So if you’re trying to tell me that you are boring… Well, then, I guess I like boring. Because I know I like you.”

Aziraphale’s face slackened and his fists loosened. He watched as Crowley stood from his seat and crossed the small space between them. The demon put his fingers under Aziraphale’s chin and lifted his face to look him in the eye.

“What I’m trying to say is…” Crowley leant in close, their noses brushing. “...I can never be bored of you.” 

Aziraphale sighed happily as he closed the distance between them, planting a kiss on the demon’s lips before pulling back with a small smile on his face. 

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale said, his voice low. “I needed to hear that.”

“You really were worried about me leaving, weren’t you?”

Aziraphale nodded. 

“Oh, angel.” Crowley hummed. “I’m not letting you go so easily.”

Crowley resumed the kiss. It was slow at first, but Aziraphale deepened it, looping his fingers over the demon’s belt and pulling him into his lap, eliciting a surprised noise. Crowley wrapped his arms over Aziraphale’s shoulders and pulled back enough to press their foreheads together.

“See? Always full of surprises.” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale laughed and pulled Crowley back in for another kiss.

#good omens fic #good omens #go #aziraphale #Crowley

[fledermausforstrauss]

WORDS TO USE INSTEAD OF: BEAUTIFUL

Do you ever find yourself over-using the word “beautiful” to describe things/people/etc in your writing? Try using these words instead:

stunning

gorgeous

breathtaking

mesmerizing

lovely

beauteous

cute

alluring

charming

dashing

pretty

majestic

ravishing

dazzling

striking

adorable

enticing

captivating

dreamy

astonishing

[fledermausforstrauss]

Some writing resources - a running list

As I go through the process of drafting my own manuscript, I’ve been keeping track of writing resources–both paid and free–that have been genuinely useful, and wanted to share these with everyone. It’s not a huge list, but they’re all things I’ve been using a lot that have made a real difference. I also started a running list, at the end, of resources that I have tried and found disappointing.

I’ll be reblogging/updating this list as I continue through the process. If you have any others you’d like to add or recommend I try, let me know!

For World Building and Character Development:

Free:

- Inkarnate, a map-making website. It has nice icons for making detailed maps. I think you can also upgrade, but I probably won’t be doing this. See example below. 

- Timeline builder, an in-browser place to make timelines. It has paid options but you can do a free trial without putting your credit card in. If you have historical events happening outside of the timeline of your story, it’s a nice, basically visually-pleasing way to create a timeline (see below). You can also generate PDFs of your timeline for download, but they’re rather ugly. The overall site has other world-building features, but I haven’t explored them yet. 

- Google Slides has been useful in the past for creating short character bios. Since switching to Scrivener, I no longer use it, but if Scrivener isn’t an option right now, this is a nice, portable way to world-build, especially if you download the Google Drive app. I’ve added notes to my character slides on the go, from the train or when grocery shopping, when something has occurred to me. 

Paid:

TBD! 

For Drafting:

Free:

TBD!

Paid:

- 750words.com - $5/month after the first month. It’s an online, completely private browser-based place for you to write. It gives you a little scorecard at the top, and every day that you hit 750 words, you get a little check. It’s a nice way to keep yourself accountable and get in the habit of writing daily. I’ve been using it since 2014 and it has absolutely contributed to how prolific I have been, especially in the last year. It also gives you stats, over time, on your writing (see image below): 

- Writeordie - $20 one-time purchase for the desktop app, but you can try it in-browser. I bought it years ago for $10 when it first came out and have used it since then, and I think it’s worth the $20 if you struggle to “get started.” Set a timer, set a level of “consequences,” and go! If you stop typing, after a set period of time, it makes annoying noises and other customizable irritations. It was great help during NaNoWriMo at various points. 

- Scrivener - $49 one-time purchase. Oh my god do I love Scrivener. At first, I was so skeptical about Scrivener, but it really has made an enormous difference in the revision/editing process. It is so much nicer than toggling through a Word doc or various Google docs, it has version history, it has multiple ways of tracking the status of each “scene,” and gives you an easy, user-friendly place to keep stuff like worldbuilding/character notes in the same spot as your writing. If you’re not experienced with revising and only write “hot off the press” fic, then Scrivener is probably not worth your money - but if you want to draft novels, I can’t recommend it enough. See below for a screenshot - note the “status” and “label” options on the bottom right, and the various folders on the left. 

For Editing/Revising/Fixing Story Issues:

Free:

- helpingwritersbecomeauthors is a blog and a running podcast. So far, this is the only writing blog that I have found useful. She has posts with concrete, actionable advice on outlining, character arcs, world-building, drafting, and more. I also like that with every technique, she provides real-world examples, from books and movies, that have both done things well and not done things well. I don’t create an outline anymore without opening her blog and refreshing myself on story structure.

Her podcasts changed how I think about story structure, back in early 2018, and I have visited her blog probably once a day through the revision process. 

Paid:

- @batmansymbol - price varies. She is a published author and provides an editing service! Having just used her for the first 1/3 of my manuscript, she provided really in-depth feedback on plot and characters in addition to line-editing. 

- Eats, Shoots & Leaves - $10, cheaper used editions. I don’t agree with all of this book (you’ll pry the Oxford Comma from my cold, dead, and bony hands) but it’s a nice reference that I’ve used and has some good reminders. 

For Prepping for Querying:

Free:

- Manuscript Wishlist lists agents in alphabetical order and includes their “wishlist” and interests. 

Paid:

TBD!

Less Useful Resources:

- Stephen King’s On Writing. People rave about this, but it’s a lot of words to say some pretty basic things. If you’re looking for a fun and meandering read on the craft, go for it (to be fair, it is considered a memoir). If you’re looking for quick, actionable advice that will make a difference - don’t bother. 

[fledermausforstrauss]

Days 9 - Swing

Crowley overthinks things.

Someone told me that posting this would make me feel better. Let's see if I can't prove @pie1313 wrong.

-----

2004

Crowley leaned back in the playground swing to stare up at the handful of stars that fought their way through London's light pollution. He could only make out a few, but he tried to picture where the others would be, wondering if he could come up with an excuse to turn off all the lights in London to see the stars. He pushed the swing to rock back and forth, dragging his heels in the gravel as he frowned at the sky.

He had been in a mood all day. Truthfully, he had been in a mood all year, but it had all come to a point that morning. It was an anniversary of sorts, one that he usually quietly celebrated on his own with a drink and a night in, but every once in a while a milestone would pass and his sentimentality wouldn’t let it go.

It had been six thousand years since the day he met Aziraphale up on the walls of Eden. A milestone worth celebrating properly, he thought. He was hoping to invite the angel to dinner, possibly followed up with some vintage wine he had tucked away in the Bentley for the occasion, but he couldn’t bring himself to even go near the bookshop.

He wandered around the neighbourhood all day, trying to work up the courage, and eventually ended up taking a stroll through St. James park to try and clear his head. As the hours passed, Crowley’s thoughts only got more and more muddled. The park eventually started to empty, leaving Crowley by himself in the light of the streetlamps.

He couldn’t think of a single way to invite Aziraphale to dinner out of the blue that didn't feel too forward, too fast, and with the threat of the angel pushing him away again, he hesitated. He didn’t know if the angel would even realize what the occasion would have been if he had asked.

He pushed the swing again, letting it slowly rock as he let himself get wrapped up in his spiralling thoughts.

“Crowley?”

Crowley tore his eyes away from the stars he was imagining to see Aziraphale standing on the path in front of him, his hair backlit by a streetlamp to give him an appropriate glow.

“Angel?”

“What are you doing out here this time of night?” Aziraphale asked, stepping over the small half-fence surrounding the playground.

“I could ask the same.” Crowley slowed his swinging.

“Oh, I just needed to get some fresh air. Clear my head. It seemed like a nice night for a walk.” He pointed at the swing next to Crowley. “Mind if I join you?”

Crowley shook his head and watched as Aziraphale sat daintily in the swing, flicking the end of his coat over the seat like a maestro sitting at a piano bench. Crowley felt a smile pull at his lips.

They sat in silence for a moment as Crowley debated mentioning the anniversary. He stared up at the stars that he couldn’t see, opening his mouth to finally tell the angel what was on his mind.

“It’s been six thousand years since we met.” Aziraphale said, softly.

Crowley’s mouth snapped shut and he stared at the angel, sure he'd heard him correctly.

“Since Eden.” Aziraphale clarified, looking down at his hands, his voice still soft. “...I didn’t know if you knew.”

“Of course I knew.” Crowley blurted.

“Oh.” Aziraphale sounded surprised.

“I was--.” Crowley swallowed, looking away. “I was on my way to ask if you wanted to celebrate with dinner.”

“I was going to call you to ask if you wanted to celebrate with dinner.” Aziraphale said, laughing quietly.

“You were?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, but I…” Aziraphale said, continuing in a hushed tone. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“No. No, no, no. That wouldn’t bother me at all, angel.” Crowley said. “I gave you my number for a reason.”

“But I-- I didn’t think-- I was--” Aziraphale stuttered to a stop, looking away, blush on his cheeks. “...Anyways, it’s a bit late for dinner now, don’t you think?”

“Hm. In that case…” Crowley snapped his fingers and was suddenly holding two glasses and the vintage bottle of wine from the Bentley in his hands.“Let’s skip dinner and move right on to drinks.”

Aziraphale smiled and took a glass, holding it out for Crowley to pour into. Crowley filled both their glasses and set the bottle down on the ground, twisting it into the gravel to keep it standing up. Whe he sat back up, Aziraphale was holding his glass up.

“Cheers.” The angel said, a smile on his lips. “To six thousand years.”

“To six thousand years.” Crowley said, clinking their glasses together.

#good omens #good omens fic #aziraphale #crowley #go

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 8 - Frail

Crowley’s been keeping things bottled up. 982 words.

Thank you to @pie1313 for helping me with my mush brain.

-----

“I can’t wait to catalogue all the new book adam has added. You said there were some over my desk? I can’t imagine those are the only ones.” Aziraphale chatted happily in the passenger seat of the Bentley as they made their way back to the bookshop after dinner. “I wonder what else is tucked away. I might have to reorganize my whole collection to find space for them…”

They turned the corner sharply and Aziraphale grabbed the handle on the door on instinct, too busy mentally picturing his bookshop to reprimand Crowley’s driving, not that the demon would ever listen.

“Maybe I should just make a whole section for him… Depends on what he’s added, I suppose. Maybe it's just a few books here and there, but what if it’s a whole shelf’s worth? A whole bookcase? Oh, I’m really going to have to think this through.” Aziraphale’s gaze softened at the sight of his bookshop sitting safe and sound on the corner of the block ahead. “There we are…”

Crowley parked the Bentley in front of the shop, turning off the engine.

“Oh, it really is just as I left it. Not a brick out of place.” Aziraphale turned to smile at Crowley, but the demon was unusually tense, his jaw clenching. “...Is everything alright, dear boy?”

Crowley nodded and let himself out of the Bentley heading for the front door off the bookshop. Aziraphale followed, watching the odd way the demon was holding himself as he walked. Crowley slowed to a stop in front of the doors, letting Aziraphale lead the way.

With a wave of a hand, Aziraphale unlocked the door and let himself in, quickly peeking over his shoulder to make sure Crowley followed him in.

It took Aziraphale less than a breath to notice the changes. Everything was a bit off, but not in an unpleasant way, just as if all of the furniture had been moved two centimetres to the left. He was quick to pick out a handful of books peppering the shelves that he couldn’t remember having, but he was too distracted by a singular glaring detail. 

None of the books were in the right spot. There was no sense of organization, not even the basic dewey decimal system was in place. Authors were separated to either side of the shop and books that had nothing to do with each other were intermingled. 

Just from where he stood, he could see half of Naturalis Historia slotted in the middle of a partial assortment of Shakespeare's playbooks, and was sure he would find the other half tucked somewhere qually as confusing. A paperback of Nancy Drew, which he was sure was one of Adam’s additions, was in between a leatherbound copy of The Iliad and a worn out Wuthering Heights. One whole bookcase appeared to be organized by colour.

“Oh, I really am going to have to reorganize everything.” Aziraphale mumbled, walking over to the nearest bookcase and running a finger over the spines. He smiled slowly, tilting his head. “I suppose it’s better disorganized than burnt to ash…”

Aziraphale turned around to say something to Crowley, but stopped when he found him frozen in the doorway, staring across the room behind his dark shades, clutching his hand over his heart.

“Crowley?” When there was no response, Aziraphale walked back towards the door, ducking his head to try and catch a glimpse of the demon’s eyes behind his shades, stopping right in front of him. “...Crowley, my dear, are you alright?”

He searched his face, looking for a subtle frown or a twitch of a brow, but Crowley showed no signs of hearing him. He slowly reached to take hand where it was twisted, white knuckled, in the front of his shirt, but as soon as there was the slightest hint of contact, Crowley collapsed to his knees, startling Aziraphale.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale dropped to the floor after him, reaching out to take either side of Crowley’s face in his hands. “My dear, what’s wrong?”

The demon finally looked at him. When he finally spoke, Crowley’s voice was frail, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“It’s over.” He whispered. “We did it.”

Aziraphale sighed, his shoulders sagging in relief. 

“You’re-- You’re here. The bookshop is still standing. The earth is intact.” Crowley’s voice wobbled, his lips turning to the smallest of smiles despite trembling. “We did it. It’s over. We’re... We’re safe.”

“We’re safe.” Aziraphale repeated, running a thumb over Crowley’s cheek bone to catch a tear.

 He took the corner of Crowley’s tinted glasses in his fingers and waited for Crowley to pull back enough to let them slip off, not wanting to make Crowley lose his barriers against his will. Crowley’s eyes were rimmed with red, telling Aziraphale that it wasn't the first tears to have escaped. He ran his thumb over the demon’s cheek again as the demon’s tears doubled.

“”I thought I lost you.” Crowley whispered, the loss of his shades finally letting Aziraphale see the mix of pain and relief in his eyes. 

“I’m here.”

“I know.” Crowley’s smiled wobbled again. “I don’t deserve--.”

“You deserve everything, my dear.” Aziraphale interrupted. “You deserve to feel safe, to finally be able to relax, to get back what was taken from you.”

A soft sob escaped the demon and he pressed a hand over his shakey smile. Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s hand away from his face, smiling.

“And you deserve everything that comes next.”

“That comes next--?”

Aziraphale pulled him into a kiss, catching Crowley’s words and turning them into a soft hum. He tangled his fingers in the demon’s hair, holding him close for a brief moment before he let go, leaning back.

“I-- I’m sorry, I should have asked--.” Aziraphale stuttered, blush high on his cheeks.

Crowley pulled him back in, continuing the kiss and throwing his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

#good omens #good omens fic #aziraphale #Crowley

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 7 - Enchanted

Aziraphale tries to save some books from a library and is caught. There's a few rodents and some bad ballroom dancing. 1602 Words. -----

1480, Italy.

Aziraphale smiled as he circled the dancefloor, watching the dancers spin around each other as he made his way around the fancy costumes. The outfits were stunning, all frills and feathers, sparkles and gold, the ball gowns practically floating across the dancefloor as the dancers waltzed, gilt and rhinestones shimmering in the candlelight.

His own outfit was adorned with diamonds and gold trim, with a matching mask that gave him a halo of white feathers.

He stepped out of the main ballroom and into the quiet hallway, looking around to make sure he wasn’t being watched. When was sure that the few stragglers that were tucked into corners were otherwise occupied, buried in their own lace and frills and kissing drunkenly, Aziraphale made his way down the hallway towards the stairs.

He stopped at the top of the stairs at an opening that looked out over the dancefloor, tapping his fingers along the railing to the music. He spared the swirling colours of the dancers one last glance before he turned away, heading for one of the side rooms and opening the door just enough to slip inside, closing it carefully behind himself and turning around.

He couldn't help the small gasp.

It was one of the most beautiful private libraries he had ever seen.

Triple tall ceilings, wall to wall, packed to overflowing, with a maze of shelves in the middle. Books upon books, ranging from ancient to up-to-date. Fiction, nonfiction, medical texts, and autobiographies.

“Oh, Lord.” Aziraphale sighed, a smile on his face.

He started on one end, taking his time to study the volumes he passed, turning down every aisle with a gasp of delight every time he spotted something new. He pulled out the occasional book, leafing through pages before putting it back in its spot. After only a few rows, he heard the door to the library open and close.

He ducked along the aisles, making his way to the nearest balcony and slipping out the door into the cool night air. He sighed, and leaned on the railing, listening for the sound of the intruder leaving the library so he could go back inside.

The moon was full and bright, lighting up the beautiful garden below. He could make out a few couples hiding amongst the bushes, clinging to each other, and sighed.

He froze as he heard the latch on the balcony door open behind him, his eyes wide. He turned on his heel, an excuse ready on his tongue, to find a woman smiling at him.

She had a large, red ball gown with black lace and gold trim. Her mask matched her dress with black lace and feathers twisting into wild red curls. A large gold necklace, curled to look like a snake, sat with it’s head just above the neckline.

Aziraphale glossed over the entire outfit to stare into her eyes.

They sparkled like gold.

“Hello, Angel.” She said. “Running away from the party so soon?”

Even on ruby lips, the smirk was unmistakable.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale smiled.

“What are you doing out here?” Crowley asked, shutting the door behind herself and joining Aziraphale by the railing. “Too much spinning for you?”

“Ah, I’m not here for dancing, though it does look like fun.” Aziraphale said as looked back at the door to the library. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’ve been asked to ruin the party, so that’s what I’ve come to do.” Crowley said. “Thought I’d enjoy it first, though.”

“...Just how do you plan on ruining the party?” Aziraphale turned his head to give her a side-look, suspicious.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing dangerous.” Crowley said, the smirk back on her face. “Just a little fun, is all.”

Aziraphale felt oddly reassured, despite the fact that the demon’s idea of fun could still be dangerous.

“Are you done up here?” Crowley asked, stepping back towards the door. “I'd be getting out of here pretty quick if I were you… I wouldn’t want you to get caught in the tide.”

“Did you come out here just to give me a warning?” Aziraphale asked, raising a brow.

She shrugged, slipping through the door.

“Hold on, Crowley.” Aziraphale called, making her pause with her hand on the door. “How… distracting is this going to be?”

“Oh…” Her smirk grew more mischievous. “Distracting enough for you to make away with at least a dozen books, if you’re careful.”

“How--! I would never--! That’s ridiculous!” Aziraphale said, trying to sound as offended as he could.

“Oh, of course. Sorry to assume that you snuck into this darkened library in the middle of a masquerade ball to nick some old books that have been marked to be donated to a public library, which we both know how that always turns out.” Crowley said. “That is ridiculous of me, isn’t it...”

“Quite.”

“My deepest apologies.” She twisted he hand as she mocked a bow, her eyes sparkling with quiet laughter. “Enjoy your night, Angel.”

She closed the door and disappeared from sight.

Aziraphale gave her a moment’s head start before he headed inside, snapping his fingers to materialize a bag strapped over his shoulder.

Crowley was right. Most of the library was in the process of being donated to a public library, and that was exactly why he had come. There were books that were too precious to be put in danger like that.

They had both witnessed far too many library burnings.

Hence why he felt he had to save at least a few books from their inevitable fiery fate, adding them to his collection to keep them safe.

He slipped the books he had come for off the shelves, piling them into his bag. He made his way through the aisles again, quick paced as he grabbed a few more books to take with him, feeling the anxiety of choosing which to save and which to let go. When he was done, meaning, when he couldn’t possibly carry another book, he stepped back out into the hall, stopping to look out over the dancefloor again.

He could make out Crowley spinning her way through the ballroom, switching partners as she neared the centre of the dance floor, the dark colours of her dress standing out against the bright ones. She stopped in the middle of the room and looked up, scanning the upper balcony until she spotted Aziraphale.

Aziraphale could make out her smile from where he was standing as she grabbed the front of her large dress, lifting it slightly.

Rats poured out from beneath her dress, scattering across the floor.

There was an eruption of screams as the rats made there way to the edges of the room, chasing the dancers who tripped over each other in their haste. The rodents ran up tablecloths, knocking over glasses of champagne and gnawing on the hors d'oeuvres, crawling up the legs of the guest who didn't run away fast enough and tearing at the expensive fabrics.

Aziraphale covered his mouth with his hand, gasping as he stared down at the chaos. He turned and made his way down the stairs, pushing his way through the doors until he made it down to the dance floor, the wave of rats giving him a wide berth as he walked through them.

By the time he made it down to the main hall, the rest of the guests had left. He could hear muffled shouting from outside the front doors.

“Well?” Crowley asked as she turned in place, her swaying dress noticeably less full.

“A bit over the top, don’t you think?”

“Efficient, is what it was. Rats are underrated and underused, they are just so versatile.”

“Is that why you were wearing a dress? To hide rats?”

“Yes and no.” Crowley said, spinning again to make the fabric swirl. “They’re also just nice to wear.”

“It does suit you rather well, I’ll admit.”

Crowley slowed her movements, looking at Aziraphale.

“Angel.” She said, holding out her gloved hand. “Share this dance with me?”

“Oh. I don’t…” Aziraphale looked at her hand hanging in the air between them. “I don’t know how to.”

“It’s easy, you can just follow me.” She said, looking around the room at the remains of the chaos. “Just seems a waste of a party, figured we could fit in one final dance.”

Aziraphale hesitated for only a second longer before he took Crowley’s hand.

“Put your other hand on my shoulder.” Crowley pulled him closer, putting her other hand on his waist. “There we go. Just don’t step on my feet.”

Crowley took the lead, spinning Aziraphale as they made their way through the room, laughing  every time either one of them misstepped. Her smile was infectious, and the way the candlelight made her eyes shine had the angel positively enchanted. He couldn’t look away.

They made almost a full round of the floor when Crowley dipped him clumsily, nearly toppling the both of them over.

“Easy.” Crowley said, holding the dip at the lowest point as she smiled. “See--?”

They both turned their heads towards the sound of the building’s main doors opening.

Aziraphale let go in panic, dropping to the floor with the added weight of his bag of books. He scrambled to stand, looking at Crowley with wide eyes.

“I-- I better be going.” Aziraphale stuttered, pulling the strap of his bag close. “It was nice seeing you again, Crowley.”

He looked up at her startled expression before he turned quickly, heading for a side door out to the gardens.

When he looked over his shoulder, she was gone.

#good omens #good omens fic #aziraphale #Crowley #fem!crowley

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 6 - Husky

It’s the 1920′s and the infectious disease, diphtheria, is taking too many lives for Aziraphale to sit by and watch. He wears himself out, using all his energy to try and save as many as he can, but just when he thinks his job is done, there’s one last trip to make. 2074 words.

Thanks to @pie1313 for putting up with me.

—–

When Aziraphale first heard the news of the pandemic sweeping north america, the average yearly death count was already reaching ten thousand and was steadily climbing. 

An infectious disease was spreading through the continent, targeting young children. Fevers and coughs were the only warning before their throats would swell, cutting off airflow and eventually leading to death.

Aziraphale had to help.

He closed the shop, hanging a note on the door with a vague excuse and an indecipherable return date, and left as soon as he heard it on the radio. 

By the time he arrived, the average yearly death count had reached fourteen thousand.

He expended all of his energy on a near-daily basis trying to help with the spread of the infectious disease. He jumped from town to town to help with the worst cases and place blessings on hospital after hospital. 

As the death count grew, so did his desperation. He worked day and night, never stopping to rest. It wore him down.

He was suffering from aches and pains he hadn’t felt since the black plague, his hands burned from too many miracles and his shoulders ached from the constant stress of trying to save lives.

It took until he passed out in the middle of trying to help a young girl for him to realize what he was doing wasn’t working, it wasn’t enough to slow the disease’s progression, and it was likely to destroy him if kept going the way he was.

When news of a new antitoxin made its way through the medical field, he jumped at the chance to offer his help making sure it made its way to people in need, personally transporting shipments across the continent just to make sure the vaccine made it to where it needed to be. 

When he received the notice that the average deaths were finally dropping, he collapsed. His work was done, he had helped save lives, and the relief of the constant tension made him fall to his knees, thankful that the nightmare was over. He could go home and get some much needed rest.

—–

“You’re not going anywhere dressed like that.”

Aziraphale shook his head, pulling himself from his drifting thoughts. 

It had been a week since he had received the good news and had started his trip home, fighting off the urge to rest until he made it back to his bookshop safely. 

But more news broke out, making his heart ache.

Which is why he ended up in Anchorage, Alaska, holding a crate of antitoxin and being fussed over by yet another nurse.

“No wonder you look like death, sir.” She said, dragging him into the locker room by the elbow. “You’ve got to be freezing. You’re lucky you haven’t keeled over yet.”

“I’m fine, I assure you.”

“I can’t in good faith let you go out there dressed like that.” She said, pointing at his clothes. “ It’s negative forty-six out and I can’t have you freezing to death before you get there, otherwise, what’s the point?”

Two coats, long johns, boots, gloves and a fur-lined hat were hastily shoved onto him. She piled him with all sorts of warm clothing, to the point that he found it difficult to move. He pulled down the large scarf to talk.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He tried his best to smile, but he was sure he had it wrong. “Now, can you please direct me to the train station?”

—–

Aziraphale rested the crate on his lap and crossed his arms on top, watching out the window. The snow was coming down too thick for him to see anything, and the overwhelming darkness beyond the light of the train was making him feel unusually wary.

He shook off the odd feeling and looked around at the empty train car he was in. It would be a handful of hours before the train would reach its last stop.

He felt his eyelids droop. He looked around the car once more and let his head fall onto his arms, closing his eyes. He let the repetitive rhythm of the tracks lull him, his breaths evening out as he let himself drift.

The train lurched, the squealing cacophony of the emergency brakes ringing in Aziraphale’s ears. He clutched to the crate before it could slip off of his lap and looked out the window to see the blur of the passing snowflakes slow as the train rolled to a jolted stop.

He stood, looking over his shoulder as the sound of footsteps approached. The door of the car opened and one of the train attendants came through, a worried look on his face.

“Sir, there’s a blockage on the rails.” The attendant said. “A minor avalanche has knocked some trees in the way.”

“How long?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, with the snowstorm…” the attendant winced. “Eight hours?”

Aziraphale nodded absentmindedly, looking down at the crate of antitoxin in his arms. The task of getting the medicine to its destination was time sensitive, there were human lives at stake. 

He tapped his finger on the crate in thought, gauging how much energy he had left. Without a proper chance to rest in months, he was drained. He sighed, adjusting the crate in his hands as he started heading for the door.

“Sir?”

“I’m just going to take a look.” Aziraphale said, pushing the side door open with his foot and slipping outside, ignoring the stammering attendant.

Aziraphale frowned as his feet crunched into the fresh snow, making him lose his balance momentarily. He steadied himself and trudged towards the front of the train, squinting through the snow to find the headlights. 

He slowed as the block came into view.

It looked as though an entire mountain had sprouted on top of the train tracks. The train’s headlights were pointed directly at a sheer wall of ice that towered over them.

“Minor avalanche.” Aziraphale grumbled, repeating what the attendant had said. “Some trees.”

It was too much for him to be able to just miracle away. He couldn’t afford the strain of clearing the path and the chance of the train crew going into shock at the sudden disappearance was too high.

“Dr Fell!” The attendant called out an open window. “What are you doing?”

“Thanks for the lift!” Aziraphale shouted back, marching out towards the trees. “I’ll be fine from here!”

“Nenana is still seventy-five miles away!” 

Aziraphale ignored him and continued out into the darkness, out of sight of the train lights. 

Under the cover of the darkness and the snow, he manifested his wings, stretching them as he found himself enough of a clearing to take off.

He pushed off the ground with a strong flap of his wings, kicking up a cloud of snow in his wake. 

He stayed low enough to the ground to be able to follow the vague outlines of the train tracks he could just make out through the snow, weaving between tree tops. He closed his eyes against the stinging wind and dropped a few feet in the air as he struggled to keep level. 

The snow stung his skin as he flew, catching on his eyelashes and scratching at his numb hands. Aziraphale regretted not keeping the scarf and gloves the nurse in anchorage had wrapped him up in.

He shook his head and tried to focus on flying, but his energy was running out much faster than he had been counting on when he first took off. He dipped again as the wind caught his wing the wrong direction, throwing him off course.

The longer he flew, the more the wind tossed him around, and the slower Aziraphale was to correct his sudden drops and turns. The burn of old muscles and the months without rest were catching up to him at the most inopportune moment.

He tightened his grip on the crate and squeezed his eyes shut, remembering why he was doing what he was doing. The lives at stake, the children who would suffer if he failed.

One of his wings dipped in a sudden gust of wind and clipped the top of a tree, throwing him into a spiral. Branches snapped as he fell through them, wrenching his wings into painful positions. Not wanting to break his wings, he tucked them back into the aether, letting himself fall into the fresh snow below with the crate hugged close to his chest. 

He landed flat on his back and stared up at the falling snow through the deep imprint he made. He tried to push himself to move, but he could barely manage keeping his eyes open. He finally let them close as the snow started landing on his face, unable to muster the energy to wipe the flakes from his lashes.

He was exhausted. 

“Oi! Blackie!” a voice shouted from far into the trees, muffled by the snow. “Where are you going?”

Aziraphale could hear something running towards him, snapping branches as it plowed through the powder and breathing heavily. He could hear it sniff as it approached where he had crashed, looking for something, looking for him.

Before his sluggish mind could react, a snout pushed into his face, shuffling the snow off his eyes. A warm tongue licked him up his cheek, making him finally look.

A great big black dog stood over him, sniffing at his face and body, his nose hovering over the crate for a moment. He looked Aziraphale over once more and sat in the snow next to him, pressing his warm body close.

The dog threw his head back in a howl.

Several more large dogs dodged between the trees, coming right towards him, following the first dog’s trail. They piled around him, sniffing and licking his face. 

“What are you all doing out here? We’ve got a train to meet. C’mon– Oh!” A man rounded a tree, holding a lamp up to shine it on the dog pile surrounding Aziraphale, the crate of antitoxin right in the centre. “Oh. You must be Dr Fell.”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Don’t know what you’re doing all the way out here, but it’s nice to see you either way.” The man said, holding out his hand to help Aziraphale up. “Let’s get going, we’ve got a town to deliver these to.”

Aziraphale held up the crate and placed it in the man’s open hand, placing every last bit of his energy as a blessing on the antitoxin, before he let the creeping darkness finally catch up with him. He passed out.

—–

Aziraphale awoke to a cold wet nose pressed to the palm of his hand.

He opened his eyes slowly to find himself in a hospital bed, wrapped in blankets, with a large black and white husky standing with its paws on the bed, wagging its tail lazily.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

Aziraphale turned to see a nurse standing in the door, a clipboard in her hands. She smiled. 

“He’s been coming by your room every day since you got here.”

“…Blackie?” Aziraphale asked, pointing at the dog, his voice raspy. 

“No, although I did hear he was also head over heels for you.” The nurse said. “Do you not remember?”

Aziraphale shook his head, regretting it when all it did was make him dizzy. The dog whined softly and pressed his nose to his hand again.

“You were pretty out of it, I suppose.” She nodded. “When the final sled made it here–.”

“The sled relay!” Aziraphale gasped, sitting up. “The antitoxin!” 

“Safe and accounted for, and currently saving lives.” She said. “You made it, Dr Fell.”

Aziraphale looked at the husky again, relief pouring through him. He reached up and scratched the dog behind his ear.

“I made it.” He mumbled.

“We were amazed when you and the sledder showed up after having run through the worst of the storm, we were sure you guys would get lost… That, on top of the avalanche blocking the train, and I know there’s a few people who want to ask how you made it all the way to the outskirts of Nenana…. By all accounts, this whole relay shouldn’t’ve worked as well as it did.” She said, marking something on her clipboard before turning to leave the room. “It was nothing short of a miracle, honestly.”

Aziraphale huffed a laugh and the husky wagged his tail.

#good omens #good omens fic #aziraphale #go

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 5 - Build

Crowley doesn’t approve of Mr Dowling’s bland taste in cars and tries to introduce Young Master Warlock to the concept of style. 943 words.

-----

"Nanny! Nanny!"

Crowley rolled his eyes and slid his high-heeled boots off the table, sitting up straight and patting his skirts down just in time for the Warlock to come running around the corner of the study. The boy had a box clutched to his chest that rattled as he ran up to him, sliding to a stop on the hardwood floor.

"Nanny!" Warlock smiled, bouncing in place with excitement.

"Hello, dear." Crowley said, a warmth to his voice despite himself. "What have you got there?"

"Another kit!" Warlock said, holding out the box for Crowley to take. "Will you help me build it? You always make the little bits fit right."

Crowley flipped the box over in his hand, frowning at the picture on the box. It was another model car kit for some sleek new supercar to add to Warlocks collection.

Mr Dowling didn't seem to realise that the kind of car kits he was buying for his son were a bit outside of an eight-year-old's league, but Crowley didn't really mind. It kept the kid busy, and it kept Crowley from dying of boredom, so he wasn't going to complain. He flipped the box over to read the message on the back as Warlock continued to bounce in place.

"It's a McLaren 675LT." Warlock stated proudly, pointing at the words on the box. "Father says it can go from zero to one-hundred in three seconds and can go overtwo-hundred miles-per-hour! Isn't that cool?"

"That is cool." Crowley agreed, flipping the box over to look at the picture again. "But isn't it a little… Boring?"

"Boring?" Warlock asked.

"It looks just like the one we built last week." Crowley pointed out. 

"Last week's was the McLaren 650S." Warlock said. "And it was red. This one is blue."

"Yes, but…" Crowley scrunched his face. "Don't you want to make something with a little more style?"

"More style?"

"Well, what if, instead of building the same old thing over and over again, we do something different? Something much cooler?” Crowley reached behind his back, materializing a new box in his hand. He passed it to Warlock with a smirk on his face, gesturing to it like a show-host on a game show.

"Whoaaaaa…" Warlock stared at the box. "What is that?"

"A 1933, 3.5 litre Bentley.” Crowley said, his voice full of pride. “It can go zero to one-hundred in one second, with a top speed of three-hundred miles-per-hour... It’s one Hell of a car."

“Whoaaaaa!”

“If we start now, I’m sure we can have it done by supper.” Crowley said, taking the box back from the boy and opening one end, pulling the pieces out and setting them on the table.

Warlock pulled a chair out and jumped up, propping his elbows on the table to look over all the pieces with a smile. Crowley watched him from the corner of his eye, a soft look on his face at the boy’s obvious excitement.

They started to organize the different parts, clicking bits together and assembling the frame. Crowley took the lead, like usual, and they quickly had the body of the car together. It rested on the table as they both tried to fit the wheels and rims together.

“You’re so fast at this.” Warlock said, struggling with his first wheel and comparing it to the three Crowley had already finished. “And we aren’t even following instructions this time!”

“I don’t need any for this one, I know it front to back.” Crowley said, starting to work on the spare tire for the back. “This was my first-ever vehicle.”

“Really?” Warlock asked, his eyes wide. “You drove one of these?”

“Mhm.” Crowley nodded. “Best car in the world.”

“Wow.” Warlock stared at him in awe. 

“Drove it brand-new-of-the-lot and it was the best purchase I’ve made in my entire life.”

“Brand new?” Warlock asked, tilting his head and resting the wheel in his hands on the table. “I thought you said it was from 1933.”

“...It had been on the lot for a while.” Crowley said quickly, scrunching his nose. “Almost done that wheel there, dear?”

“Right! Yeah!” Warlock jumped in his seat, going back to fiddling with the wheel in his hands.

-----

Warlock held the miniature Bentley to his chest as his paraded it around the house, showing it off to anyone who would pay attention. It sat on the table next to his plate of food as he ate dinner with his mother and followed him into bed at the end of the night.

The boy clutched it tight as Crowley threw the blanket over him with a flick of his wrist, tucking him in. 

“Alright, my dear.” Crowley said, gently pulling the Bentley from Warlock’s hands and placing it on the nightstand. “Time for you to go to sleep.”

“Hey, Nanny?” Warlock asked, peeking over the top of his blankets.

“Yes, dear?”

“Thanks.”

Warlock was looking up at him, a big smile obviously hiding behind the blanket. Crowley huffed a breath, a soft look on his face again. He found himself doing that more

“What did I say about ‘thank-you’s?” He reached down and ruffled the kid’s hair, making him giggle. 

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses, letting out a resigned sigh. He shut off the bedside lamp, putting the room in complete darkness, and snapped his fingers.

The little headlamps on the model Bentley flashed on.

“Woah--!” Warlock gasped, his surprise turning to confusion. “--Wait, what--?”

“Good night, dear.” Crowley hummed, kissing the top of the boy’s head before leaving the room, closing the door behind himself carefully .

#good omens #good omens fic #Crowley #nanny ashtoreth #warlock dowling

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 4 - Frozen

Crowley is late, Aziraphale is worried. Crowley does something stupid, Aziraphale Tries His Best. 1,821 words.

Always thankful to @pie1313​ for the help, she gives me too many good ideas. No such thing as writer’s block with her around.

—–

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at the front door, waiting for the little bell above the entrance to ring in the particular way Crowley always seemed to make it ring.

They had made plans for the night. A new musical was opening up in the Playhouse Theatre and Crowley had bought them good tickets. Aziraphale had been waiting for him, but he hadn’t shown up in time for them to make it to the show, which left Aziraphale wonder where he was.

The walk from Crowley’s flat to the bookshop wasn’t long, and it was an even shorter drive, especially in the Bentley, which Crowley would certainly be driving with the weather the way it was.

It had been steadily snowing the whole day, piling up on the streets and impeding traffic, turning London into a wintery wonderland. 

For a moment, Aziraphale worried the Bentley might’ve got stuck in the snowy streets, but he knew better than to doubt Crowley’s pride and joy. If the Bentley could make it through a wall of fire, it could make it through a bit of snow.

It had only been a few moments since the show had started, but Aziraphale was really starting to worry. He tucked a bookmark into the book he hadn’t been reading and put it aside, pulling his coat on.

He stood at the front door, his hand on the handle as he looked out the window. It had grown dark, the orange glow of the street lights reflecting off the mounds of snow and the still-falling flakes that continued to fill the air.

There was a familiar shape in the snow, taking up the parking spot in front of the bookshop.

Aziraphale’s frown deepened as he pushed on the door, only to meet resistance. He stood on his toes and pressed his face against the glass to look down at whatever was blocking the door and gasped. He pushed the other door open and knelt in the building pile of snow, reaching out to brush the snow off the form curled against the door frame to reveal a shock of red hair.

He worked frantically to clear the demon of snow, muttering to himself as panic made his heart race. Crowley was curled tight on himself, his skin as cold as ice.

Aziraphale gently took the tinted glasses off and pressed his hands to Crowley’s cheeks, patting the side of his face gently.

“Crowley? Come on, wake up.” He took the demon’s hands in his own, finding them frozen stiff. “Oh, dear.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, reaching out with all available senses. He could feel just the faintest trace of Crowley’s essence still coiled in his corporeal form.

He hadn’t discorporated. Yet.

Aziraphale scooped Crowley into his arms, carrying him into the warmth of the bookshop, placing him on the couch and brushing the damp hair from his forehead. He pulled the tartan blanket off of the back of the couch and tucked Crowley in, trying to think back to his knowledge of the treatment of hypothermia.

As soon as the demon’s form was covered with a warm blanket, Aziraphale snapped his fingers, replacing his damp clothes with dry pajamas, drying his hair, and adding another thick blanket.

“Alright, now I just have to…” Aziraphale looked Crowley’s form over, trying to remember what came next. “…Ah. Right.”

Aziraphale pulled his chair next to the couch and sat, his entire frame tense as he bit his lip. 

“Now I just have to wait.” Aziraphale mumbled.

He took Crowley’s hand in his own again, running his thumb over his knuckles and studying the paint on the demon’s nails. He could feel the skin of Crowley’s hand starting to warm under his fingers and let go of the breath he had been holding.

The old clock in the corner of the bookshop ticked away as Aziraphale tried hard not to count the seconds between each of Crowley’s breaths, but it was the only thing he could focus on. They were far too slow, and so shallow that he was sure he would miss them if he wasn’t giving it all of his attention.

He leant forward and rested a hand on Crowley’s cheek, confused and concerned when his skin still felt icy to the touch. He furrowed his brows and slid his hand under the blankets to find the demon’s chest just as frozen.

“Why aren’t you warming up…?” Aziraphale muttered to himself, running his hand along the chilled skin of the demon’s arm until he found himself holding his warm hand again. His mind raced for a moment before his face fell slack in realization. He ran his hand down his face, feeling like an idiot. 

Their corporeal forms were fundamentally human. Aziraphale had been treating Crowley’s hypothermia as he would a human’s, and in any other case, that would work just fine, but Aziraphale had forgotten a key fact in his panic.

While it was true Crowley’s body was human-like, the demon was, at his very core, a serpent. 

Remembering back to something he had read long before, snakes were incapable of creating their own body heat, meaning Crowley could spend days tucked under thick blankets and he would still be just as frozen as he was when he went in. He needed a source of heat.

Aziraphale looked around the bookshop, trying to come up with something that could gradually heat Crowley. It couldn’t be too hot or too fast or he had a chance of harming Crowley more than helping him. 

He looked down at their clasped hands again.

The only part of Crowley that had any warmth to it was the hand Aziraphale had been holding.

He couldn’t help the slow smile that formed on his lips as he had idea.

—–

Crowley awoke wrapped in warmth.

He wriggled deeper into the comfort surrounding him, a soft hum escaping his lips.

There was a breath of a laugh much too close to his ear. He pried his bleary eyes open to find himself staring into a familiar pair of blue eyes. He blinked a few times, his mind sluggishly catching up.

He was curled into Aziraphale’s arms, his own limbs wrapped around the angel’s waist with a tight grip. They were buried under cozy blankets and squeezed into the limited space of the antique couch Crowley liked to lounge on, their legs tangled together in a mess of limbs.

He pushed back just enough to study the warm look on the angel’s face only inches from his own.

“Am I dead?” Crowley whispered.

“You sure tried you best, my dear.” Aziraphale’s smile twitched. “But no. You’re going to be just fine.”

“What happened?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me.” Aziraphale said. “I found you curled up on the doorstep, frozen solid in the snow.”

“The snow…” Crowley repeated, thinking. He blinked owlishly. “Oh no.”

“Crowley?”

Crowley ignored the angel and rolled backwards off the couch, falling to the floor with a thud and taking the blankets down with him. He scrambled, flailing his limbs and he fought his way out of the fabric, stumbling to his feet and taking a step towards the front door.

He paused, looking down at himself.

“Angel….” Crowley said, aghast. “What the Hell am I wearing?”

His usual attire had been switched out for a set of pajamas patterned with Aziraphale’s favourite shade of tartan. He pulled on the front of the shirt to glare at the offending pattern.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I had to get you into something warm and dry.” Aziraphale frowned, sitting up on the couch. “You were soaking wet from sitting out there–.”

“Right.” Crowley interrupted, remembering what he was doing and continuing on his path for the door.

“Crowley, where are you going?” Aziraphale asked, rushing to follow him towards the door. “Don’t go back out there! I just got you warm!”

Crowley ignored the angel and pushed the door open, immediately filled with chill and regret, but not willing to give up so quickly. He knelt in the pile of snow that was still growing, reaching his hands into the mound and searching around the spot where the imprint of his body was faintly discernible.

He pushed snow aside and dug his fingers through the ice, hissing at the cold, feeling around until he caught the corner of a metal case. Just as his fingers clutched at it, he felt strong hands grab him under his arms and drag him back into the warmth.

They tumbled back into a heap on the floor as the door slammed itself shut, the little bell over the entrance swinging wildly.

“What were you thinking!?” Aziraphale demanded, pulling as much of Crowley’s shivering body into his lap as he could and holding him tight.

Crowley clutched the case to his chest, his teeth chattering and his fingers burning from the cold. He smiled shakily at the angel’s worried look and let the case fall into his lap.

“A-Apparently…” Crowley stuttered, struggling to open the latches with numb fingers. “Sss- Ssome people k-keep bookss in– In temp– Temp–  In Cold roomss. D-Did you know th-that?”

“It can help keep them preserved, yes.” Aziraphale said, confused.

“W-Well. I didn’t.” Crowley frowned. “Sss–Sseemss ssilly, keeping b-bookss cold.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley huffed a breath in frustration, snapping his fingers to unlock the stubborn latches. He opened it to reveal a smaller wooden box with intricate carvings embedded with sparkling gems.

“I wasssn’t prepared for how c-cold it wass. Then the bassstard wanted t-to sstand around and bloody chat about books.” Crowley said, disgusted, wrinkling his nose at the idea. “In the cold room!” 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale said, his voice low, a curious smile curving his lips. “What’s in the box?”

Crowley opened the lid to reveal a black leather-bound book, gilded with shimmering gold-leaf. The title was elegantly scribed in the same gold, catching the low light of the bookshop beautifully, reading ‘The Canterbury Tales’.

Aziraphale gasped softly.

“It’ss one of o-only ten copies.” Crowley stuttered, puffing his chest out in pride. “And the only p-private copy in the world.”

“I know.” Aziraphale’s smile grew. “Where did you find this?”

“I told you.” Crowley said. “In a very, very cold room.”

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale dragged his eyes away from the book to look at Crowley. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” Crowley said. “B-but I wanted to. And it would have been f-fine if it weren’t alsso sso bloody cold outsside.”

The angel gave him a fond smile, shaking his head.

“Guesss we missed that play, though.” Crowley frowned. “Ssorry about that.”

“That’s quite alright.” Aziraphale said, the fondness of his smile seeping into his words. “I think I’d rather stay inside in this weather anyways. Curl up under some blankets with a warm cup of cocoa… Care to join me?”

“Always, angel.”

#good omens #go #good omens fic #ineffable husbands

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 3 - Bait

Thanks for all the nice messages! I'm really nervous about posting my stuff. This is going to be a bit of a stress test on my ability to share. 

Just a short one. Only 508 words. And a bit ooc, but I'm always a sucker for bamf!Aziraphale, even if its a little vague.

-----

“Care for a cream puff?” Aziraphale asked, holding up the little pastry in his hand.

“What?” Crowley asked, looking around the room.

“What about a madeleine?” Aziraphale asked, gesturing to the assortment of pastries on the table. “A macaron? A macaroon?”

“No, angel--.” Crowley held up his hands, still looking at their surroundings. “Why--?”

“Oh, perhaps just a cup of tea, then.” Aziraphale propped open the lid of the fancy tea pot that sat in front of him. “I don’t know what it is, but it smells devine--.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted, finally catching the angel’s attention. He gestured wildly around the room. “Why-- Wh-- What the fuck is going on?”

Aziraphale looked around.

He was sitting at a table in the centre of a cute little patisserie, his table stacked high with pastry towers filled with every imaginable dessert. The tea set in front of him was fit for a queen, dainty, ornate, and sparkling in the light. The whole place was beautifully decorated with a classic style. Wingback chairs pushed into claw foot tables surrounded the room, all white with gold filigree accents.

Around his table, sprawled out on the white marble floor, was a small collection of bodies. They were piled on top of each other, completely lifeless.

“Oh.” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley. “Don’t mind that.”

“Don’t mind--?!”  Crowley struggled for words, still gesturing at the bodies.

“They’re not human, if that’s what you’re thinking. And they're not dead.” Aziraphle said, selecting a profiterole off the tower. “Just empty corporeal forms.”

“I know that.” Crowley said, exasperated. “I can practically smell the grace in the room. I’m asking why you’re surrounded by empty corporel forms.”

“Oh. Well.” Aziraphale frowned. “It’s been a bit of a day, you see.”

“I’d guess.”

“A new patisserie opened up down the street from the bookshop.” Aziraphle said. “I wanted to check it out, but it was obvious what was going on as soon as I stepped in the door.”

“A trap, then.” Crowley nodded.

“A poorly devised one, at that.” Aziraphale said, sounding bored. “They thought they could bait me with sweets--.”

Crowley raised a brow over his tinted glasses, staring at the angel who had a pile of pastries selected on a plate in front of him. He had a speck of chocolate at the corner of hip lip and his fingertips were dusted with powdered sugar.

“--Alright.” Aziraphle rolled his eyes. “So they successfully baited me with sweets. But I had it handled. It’ll be awhile before they try that again.”

“Can’t believe they tried it in the first place.” Crowley said, poking one of the disturbingly human-like forms. “This is looney-tunes level trickery.”

“All's well that ends well.” Aziraphale smiled. “Mille-Feuille?”

Crowley took one more look around the room, then at the pastry Aziraphale was offering him. He let out a long-suffering sigh.

“...Yeah, alright.” Crowley said, stepping over one of the empty bodies on the floor to pull the chair across from Aziraphale out.

The angel grinned and started to pile sweets onto a second plate.

#good omens #go #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #you guys have been really sweet so far

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 2 - Mindless

Another idea thanks to @pie1313, 

Crowley is kidnapped. Aziraphale is ‘worried’.

1,770 words, Good Omens, ineffable husbands.

-----

Crowley really should have seen it coming, but he had been a bit distracted.

He and Aziraphale were spending a sunny afternoon in the park, people watching, duck feeding, and just enjoying the little things life had to offer. Aziraphale had offered to get them some ice cream and had wandered off in the direction of the cart, smiling at the people he passed.

Crowley watched from the bench, a warm smile on his own face as he studied the angel’s every move.

A bag was pulled over his head and he was lifted over the back of the bench, all while he was clawing at his throat and kicking wildly. His shouts were muffled as he tried to make as much of a scene as possible, but no one seemed to react.

Sudden pain bloomed out from the back of his head, making him dizzy.

Everything went dark.

-----

The stench of sulfur wafted through the room, making him wrinkle his nose.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.”

Crowley groaned, letting his head fall forward as his mind struggled to fully come to. He was pinned to the wall, his arms and legs strapped open like the vitruvian man. He subtly pulled on his restraints, grimacing when they didn't budge.

He lifted his head and opened his eyes, searching the corners of the dark room he found himself in before turning his eyes to where he was restrained. Big metal cuffs with sigils carved into them were embedded directly into the grungy wall behind him.

“Unbelievable” Crowley muttered. He looked out at the seemingly empty room. “Is this really necessary?”

“After the show you put on last time?” Hastur slid out of the shadows, a smirk on his face. “I’m not taking any risks.”

“Hastur!” Crowley smiled, greeting the other demon like an old friend. “Long time, no see! How’s it been?”

“Just peachy.” Hastur said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Glad to hear, wonderful news.” Crowley said, still trying to sound unbothered. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just thought we’d have a little chat, is all.” Hastur said as reached into the darkness, pulling out a cart that rattled with an impressive array of knives and tools.

“Ah…” Crowley nodded slowly, his fake smile falling as he stared at the rusted instruments.

Hastur ran his finger along the different tools, making a show of picking the biggest knife available. He lifted it up, turning it in the dismal amount of light to show off where it obviously hadn’t been cleaned in well over a century.

Crowley grimaced again.

There was a crashing sound outside the room, catching both their attentions.

“Someone’s having fun.” Crowley muttered in the general direction of the noise, then sneered at Hastur. “Couldn’t even fork out for a private space? What, you couldn’t pull some strings to get the nice torture chamber? Would they only let you use one of the entry level ones?”

“This is a private room.” Hastur growled, turning to the exit.

There was another crash, accompanied by a shout. It was much closer than the first time, making Hastur freeze in place.

“Oi!” Crowley shouted at the approaching disruption. “Can you keep it down out there?! You’re ruining the desolate ambiance!”

The room lit up with a white light that poured through the gap at the bottom of the door.

“What is that.” Hastur deadpanned.

“Oh, great.” Crowley rolled his eyes, fighting the grin that threatened to split his face. “There goes the whole ‘endless-black-void’ thing you had going on.”

“You...” Hastur looked over his shoulder at Crowley. “You have something to do with this, don’t you?”

“Me?” Crowley raised his brows, trying, and failing, to sound innocent. “I wouldn’t dream of ruining such a well put together torture session. The spooky shadows, the dirty tools, the old-fashioned manacles… Very well put together. I appreciate all the hard work you must have put into this…”

There was another crash outside the door.

“Unfortunately, he doesn't.” Crowley nodded towards the light under the door that was growing steadily brighter. “Not quite in his tastes, all this doom and gloom.”

There was a bang on the door, rattling the room. The light flared, casting stark shadows of Hastur and the cart of tools.

“...But you know how angels are.” Crowley said. “Their sense of aesthetic can’t be helped.”

“Angels?” Hastur uttered, his eyes growing wide.

Crowley couldn’t help the smug look on his face.

The door busted open, letting all the light into the room. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look. He heard a struggle, then the sound of a body falling to the floor.

His ears were ringing and he felt as though he was standing in the full force of the sun, a fierce wave of fury that wasn’t his own hitting him the chest. Intertwined with the fury, there was an underlying feeling of familiarity.

“Angel. Knew you’d find me.” Crowley sighed in relief, keeping his eyes shut. “Didn’t think it would be so fast, but I’m not going to complain.”

There were no words, but Crowley could feel worry coming from in front of him.

“I’m alright, you got here just in time.” Crowley said, his voice soft. “You did wonderful, angel.”

The light continued to shine, still feeling like intense rays of sunshine, just as the fury and worry continued to fill the room. It was becoming overwhelming.

“I’m here. I’m safe. You got me.” Crowley said, bowing his head to shield his closed eyes. “You can calm down. Come back to me, angel.”

The light dimmed a bit, making Crowley sigh in relief.

“That’s it, love. You got me, I’m here, now I need you to come back so we can get out of here.”

The light shut off and the fury dissipated, leaving Crowley seeing spots on the inside of his eyelids.

“Oh, my dear.”

Crowley lifted his head to see Aziraphale standing right in front of him, looking at him with the same worry that had nearly been drowning him seconds before.

“There you are.” Crowley smiled.

Aziraphale stood on his toes and pulled on the manacles, ripping them out of the walls. He let them fall to the ground with a clatter, catching Crowley when he slumped forward, his muscles still worn out from hanging for an unknown amount of time.

“Quite the show you put on.” Crowley said, steadying himself on the angel’s shoulders as the last of his restraints were yanked off.

Aziraphale looked over to Hastur’s gently smoking form.

“I don’t think he’s dead.” Crowley said, squinting in the dark room. His eyes still not quite right after nearly being blinded.

“Damn.” Aziraphale muttered.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley gasped.

The angel just huffed a laugh and put his arm around Crowley’s waist and leading the way back out. They passed quite a few more demons along the way, all gently smoldering.

“Wow, angel. You really went all out…”

“I couldn’t think of anything but getting to you, by any means necessary.”

“Trying to burning Hastur’s face off was necessary?”

“I…” Aziraphale frowned. “I was worried.”

“No...” Crowley looking over their shoulders at the path of destruction that led to the torture chamber. “You were furious.”

“Alright. That too.” Aziraphale admitted.

“Aw, angel…” Crowley gently pushed Aziraphale as they walked. “You really do care.”

“Obviously.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Now let's get you back to the shop. You can have that ice cream I bought you."

#good omens #good omens fic #go #ineffable husbands

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day One - Ring

Decided to write every day for inktober. Here's day one, Ring, with an idea from @pie1313.

2,279 words. Good Omens. Ineffable husbands.

Keep an eye out for more over the next 31 days!

-----

Crowley was on his knees in the middle of the empty bookshop, staring at the gold ring on his pinky finger.

They had been enjoying a lovely evening in, drinking wine and snacking on the small collection of pastries Crowley had brought along with him, when things started to go wrong. Aziraphale had just poured himself his fourth glass of wine and had been holding the bottle up in an offer, but before Crowley could accept, the bottle crashed to the floor, Aziraphale’s glass quick to follow.

“Angel?” Crowley had asked, leaning forward in his seat.

“Crowley--.” Aziraphale’s voice was strained. “I’m--.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley ignored the broken glass and the spreading puddle of wine on the floor and knelt in front of him, resting his hand on the angel’s arm.”What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s wrist and pulled. Crowley watched in confusion as the angel slid a golden ring onto his pinky finger.

“Angel, what--?”

“Don’t come looking for me.” Aziraphale said, desperation clear in his voice.

Then, in a blinding blast of light, he was gone, leaving Crowley to stare at the golden ring on his pinky finger, alone and dazed.

As soon as Aziraphale had put the ring on his finger, he had an odd feeling, like a buzzing in the back of his head or a ringing in his ears. The skin under the ring blackened, letting off an alarming smell.

He hissed a breath and looked closer. The ring was much too holy for someone like him to bear wearing for too long, it was slowly burning through his flesh.

He was sure to lose a finger if he kept it on too long.

Crowley staggered up from his knees, a determined look on his face.

It just meant he had to find Aziraphale as soon as possible.

-----

It didn’t take a genius to figure out who would have taken Aziraphale. There were very few beings who could drag Aziraphale away from earth in such a dramatically bright fashion.

Crowley parked the Bentley out front of his and Aziraphale’s prefered entrance to both Heaven and Hell and stared at the front doors. His scowl deepened as he played with the ring, almost his entire pinky blackened and burnt from fiddling with it.

He took a deep breath and stepped out of the Bentley, readying himself for what he was about to do.

-----

The ring on his finger burned more the farther he got. Crowley took it as a sign that he was going in the right direction.

Very few angels had spotted him along the way, but before Crowley could do anything they ducked their heads and left the space. He smirked, glad his reputation had made its way upstairs.

The burning from the ring reached a nearly unbearable level. He pushed through the nearest set of double doors, swaggering in with the most confident smirk he could muster, knowing that flat out anger would get him nowhere with a group of Archangels.

Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel stood in a semi-circle around Aziraphale, who was tied down to the same chair Crowley had been sitting in for the ‘Trial’, with his head bowed to his chest, all looking at Crowley with varying levels of shock and confusion.

“Fancy meeting you lot here.” Crowley drawled, approaching the group casually.

Aziraphale raised his head at the sound of Crowley’s voice, but Crowley decidedly didn't look. He couldn't look. Not when he was trying so hard to keep calm.

“How did you get in here?” Gabriel sounded more confused than concerned.

“I mean, if holy water isn’t enough to do me in, you really think being here is going to do anything to me?” Crowley crossed his arms, fighting to keep himself looking nonchalant. “Nah, this is a walk in the park, really.”

“A walk in the park. Hm.” Gabriel tightened his lips, looking like he was offended Crowley even dared talk to him. “And why are you here?”

“Oh, yes, well. Glad you asked. I’m here for Aziraphale.” Crowley said. “We were having a wonderful evening until you interrupted us.”

“And you think you can just waltz in here and take him just like that?” Michael asked, taken aback.

“I’ve always been a bit of an optimist.” Crowley said in a mocking tone, wrinkling his nose at the archangel. “Now if you’ll excuse me--.”

Crowley took a step towards Aziraphale but was stopped when Uriel put their arm in front of him. They tilted their head, challenging him to try to continue.

“Oh, C’mon.” Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically, taking another step.

Uriel swung their fist towards Crowley’s gut and he squeezed his eyes shut behind his glasses, hoping he could brush off the pain and keep his cool, but the impact never came. Instead, the ring burned hotter and Uriel growled in frustration.

Crowley blinked his eyes open to find Uriel shaking their hand out. Crowley raised his brows, looking from their face to their fist.

Uriel tried again, and again Crowley felt nothing but the burn of the ring.

“What are you?” Uriel sneered.

“Too much for you to handle, apparently.” Crowley said, a smile pulling at his lips.

Uriel growled again, swinging back for another try, but Gabriel put his hand on their shoulder, holding them back. Crowley smiled and sidestepped the both of them to stand next to Aziraphale, tucking his burning hand behind his back.

He finally looked at Aziraphale. The rage and relief that rolled through him at the sight was almost enough to put him on his knees. He was glad his back was facing the archangels so they couldn’t see the look on his face.

Aziraphale had a black eye and a bloody nose, a shimmer of gold mixing in with the red blood of his corporeal body. There were various bruises on his face and neck, and his suit was wrinkled from being grabbed. The eye that wasn’t swollen half-closed was wide, staring up at him with shock before his brows lowered.

“I thought I told you not to come looking for me.” Aziraphale said.

“What, not even a ‘thank you’?” Crowley muttered, pulling one of the ropes around Aziraphale’s wrist until it fell away, keeping his injured hand tucked out of the angel’s sight.

Crowley turned around to face the other angels, letting Aziraphale undo his other wrist. They stared at him in confusion, unsure what to make of him.

“Now, if you’re quite finished…” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in his undamaged one and pulled him out of the chair to stand next to him. “We were in the middle of dessert.”

Crowley led the way through the group and out the doors, pulling Aziraphale along behind him.

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale said in hushed tones as they walked down the hall. “Your hand--.”

“Don’t worry, angel, it’s fine.” Crowley lied. He could feel the skin of his finger charring with the proximity to Aziraphale. He didn’t want to know what it looked like.

“No it’s not.” Aziraphale pulled on Crowley’s other hand slowing him to a stop. “Take it off, it’s hurting you.”

“I’d rather not.” Crowley said, pulling on Aziraphale’s hand again. “Let’s keep moving.”

“But your hand--.”

“Is fine.”

“No it’s--”

“I’m pretty sure your ring is the only thing keeping me from spontaneously combusting. ” Crowley said, looking over his shoulder at his angel. “It can wait until we’re out of here.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale said. “Oh.”

Crowley picked up the pace, pulling Aziraphale towards the exit.

-----

As soon as they made it into the Bentley, Crowley held his hand out for Aziraphale. The angel took his wrist, gentle as ever, and pulled the ring off, careful of the burn.

The blackened skin had spread across most of Crowley’s left hand, up to his wrist. His middle, ring, and pinky fingers were all damaged, his pinky suffering the worst of it.

“Oh…” Aziraphale said, his voice breaking.

“What are you? A broken record?” Crowley smiled, trying to cheer him up. He couldn’t stand the look on the angels face.

He started to pull his hand away from Aziraphale to rest it in his lap, but the angel’s grip tightened. Crowley looked up, brows knitted as Aziraphale’s eyes started to well up with tears.

“Angel?”

“Please, forgive me.” Aziraphale whispered, his voice wavering. “I wasn’t thinking… I didn’t…”

Crowley opened his mouth to say something, but Aziraphale cut him off with quick words.

“Why didn’t I think? I only meant to-- Oh, why am I such an idiot? Of course it would burn you. Why wouldn’t it? It might be mine, but it's still holy-- I hurt you, I always hurt you, why can’t I just-- I only--.”

“--Angel--.”

“I only wanted to protect you.” Aziraphale said, his voice ragged.

“You did, angel! You did!” Crowley said, getting Aziraphale’s attention. “I’m here, aren’t I? How else would I have been able to face those bastards like that. Uriel could've done some serious damage.”

“But I hurt you!” Aziraphale argued.

“It’s worth it.” Crowley said. “You’re worth it.”

Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut and he looked away, a frustrated blush on his cheeks.

“And after this, they’d be fools to try and take you away from me again.” Crowley mumbled, putting his good hand under the angel’s chin to turn his face back towards him.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, sighing.

“Now, I’m pretty sure there’s still half a box of pastries waiting for you back at the shop.” Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s chin and snapped his fingers, bringing the Bentley’s engine revving to life. “And I think I’m going to need a drink.”

-----

No amount of words would make the angel stop fussing over his wounds.

“Why won’t it heal?” Aziraphale muttered, snapping his fingers for the dozenth time.

“Holy burn.” Crowley said over the top of his wine glass, watching the way the liquid moved as he swirled it.

Crowley sat on the couch, one hand holding his glass of wine and the other in Aziraphale’s lap. The angel was bent over, inspecting the wound critically.

“Holy burn…” Aziraphale repeated.

“Happens every time.”

Aziraphale looked up from his scrutinizing, a concerned look on his face. The bruises were faded, and his black eye was nothing but a brush of colour.

“Don’t worry, It’ll heal up on its own with time.” Crowley gestured vaguely with his glass. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You’ve done this before...” Aziraphale mumbled, looking Crowley over before things seemed to click. He gasped softly. “The church.”

Crowley looked away, taking a sip of his drink.

Aziraphale sighed, snapping his fingers. A first aid kit appeared on the angel’s lap, spilling over with all sorts of medical debris. He pulled out some cream and started to apply it to the burn, only heistating a second at Crowley’s quiet hiss. He carefully worked his way over the wound.

“...How many times?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“Hm?” Crowley hummed, pretending he didn’t know what the angel was asking.

“How many times have you hurt yourself to save me?”

Crowley took another sip of his wine. When he didn’t answer, Aziraphale’s movements slowed and he looked at Crowley with a horrified expression.

“...Not as many as you’re thinking, angel.” Crowley said, his voice soft. “But it’s like I said before, you’re worth it.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, his jaw clenched as if he were trying to stop himself for saying anything. Crowley waited, ready to argue anything the angel was going to say about his perceived self-worth, but Aziraphale instead opened his eyes and continued tending to his wound.

Crowley watched the angel’s hands, the glint of the gold ring back on Aziraphale’s pinky finger catching his attention.

“It’s your halo, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale ignore him, his jaw clenching again as he started wrapping a loose layer of gauze around Crowley’s burn.

“It felt weird, you know. Not the burning. The, uh, it…” Crowley took a second to put his words together properly. “Before it started to hurt, it made me feel a little, I don’t know, dizzy? Tingly?”

Crowley could see the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth turn down into a frown.

“It was nice, but. Familiar. In a wrong way. Incompatible, I guess.” Crowley said, trying to stitch his words together. “Took me a moment to recognize the feeling, but once I did, I realized what you’d done. “

“I was trying to protect you.” Aziraphale said, looking at him again. “A stupid, brash decision, but I hoped… Well. It’s my halo, and I wanted to keep you safe, so I figured it would do. I was also sure that, in turn, you’d keep it safe… I didn’t think I’d need it where I was going, and I was hoping it would still be intact when I came back.”

“Where you were going...?” Crowley repeated. Then it clicked. “...You thought you were going to Fall.”

Aziraphale nodded.

“And you told me not to come looking for you?” Crowley hissed.

“I knew I’d find my way back to you eventually.” Aziraphale said tying the gauze up and resting his hand on Crowley’s wrist. “...I wasn’t sure how long they’d keep me down there, but I knew I’d come back to you.”

Aziraphale started to let go but Crowley took his hands in both of his own before the angel could pull away. He didn’t have any words but he needed to do something.

Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss onto his ring, pulling away before it could burn him and letting their joined hands rest between them.

“That’s never going to happen, angel.” Crowley said. “Not if I can help it.”

#good omens #go #goodomens #ineffable husbands #good omens fic

[fledermausforstrauss]

People watch tragedies on purpose. People watch stories about hope on purpose. Pulling the rug on the narrative promise of your story and switching tracks isn’t clever or interesting, it’s just lying about the genre.

If Midsummer Night’s Dream ended with everyone brutally dying, I’d feel kind of betrayed. If Macbeth ended with everyone getting happily married, I’d also feel kind of betrayed.

[fledermausforstrauss]

I’m printing this tweet and putting it on my desk