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sushiandstarlight · 4 years

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Prompt: So crowley and aziraphale can make themselves sober after drinking right? Easy fix to not be drunk. Imagine like, crowley getting so drunk he can't sober up and az has to take care of him? :)

Collecting a Demon

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Aziraphale knew there was something going on before he even got to the door of Crowley's flat. It wasn't beebop trying to pound it's way through the wall and into the hallway. In fact, he stood on the other side of the door several moments, trying to be sure he was hearing correctly. But, yes, the mournful, heartfelt string music was coming from Crowley's flat. There was no denying it. He wondered if, perhaps, following him over here had been a bad idea. Still, now he was even more curious so he knocked.

It took a few moments and there was a bit of banging going on inside, but eventually Crowley's face appeared from behind the cracked door.

“'ziraphale?” The yellow of his eyes has eclipsed the white and splotches of pink stained his cheeks and neck.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale's mind was at war, wondering in the same breath if he should be worried about Crowley's state or his own distraction- how far down did that blush go?

“Yeah... yeeeeeah, I live here.” He was slurring, actually slurring. And also, gone, with the door still cracked.

“Do you now?” Aziraphale asked the empty hallway. Well, the door was opened, so he might as well follow the demon inside.

He watched Crowley try to saunter his way to the sofa, but it was more like a lop-sided slither. He honestly wasn't sure if he'd make it. And, even when he did, he kind of toppled over the back of it and ended up in an uncomfortable-looking sprawl of limbs which he tried to make look casual. Aziraphale didn't comment on that, edging around the room to turn down the stereo.

There were empty wine bottles on the table... and the floor. The only wine that appeared to be left was the half-full glass perched on the edge of the table by the sofa. Crowley was eyeing it. Aziraphale crossed the space and snatched it up, drinking it himself.

“He-heeeeey!” Crowley frowned for several beats and then it slid off of his face as he stared at Aziraphale.

“Hmm, well, at least you've shown some taste... good vintage.”

Crowley just stared at him, brain obviously addled. Aziraphale crossed the room and stood over him. Crowley kept starring, but he could see that there wasn't much going on behind his eyes. It was one thing when they drank together and talked all night, it was another to see him so far gone while being sober himself.

“Really, if you're going to drive us back home you should sober up.”

“Neh?” Crowley's eyes were slipping shut, seemingly against his will. Aziraphale reached out and shook his shoulder lightly. “Hrng!”

“Crowley, wouldn't you rather...” Aziraphale was going to say share a bottle with me at home but he paused and looked around the room again: the empty wine bottles and the poignant strings. His heart gave a lurch. “Or... would you like me to leave you be?” At that, Crowley sat up and swayed, looking very serious. Or what a very drunk demon might consider very serious.

“Don't leave.”

“Okay.”

“Have something...” Crowley's face twisted in concentration, “something very important to tell you. Bu'I'don'wan'you'to'be'mad.” Aziraphale had had thousands of years deciphering Crowley's slurred language, but it still took him a second.

“I promise I won't be mad.” He hoped, desperately, that he could keep that promise. But, what could Crowley have done? The demon's hands were in his own lap, picking and pulling at his own fingers. Aziraphale reached out and lifted the demon's chin. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“You're sure,” Crowley swallowed hard, “you're sure you won't go?”

“Not without you.”

Aziraphale could see the wheels in his head trying to turn. This conversation would be so much easier, he was sure, if Crowley would sober up. But, it appeared he'd forgotten how. Or, at the very least, there was something way more pressing that the man had on his mind.

“I'm'n'love'w'you.”

“Well, darling, I should hope so.”

“Dreh?”

Aziraphale reached down and grasped his hand, lifting it up so he could see the gleaming white gold ring on his finger. Crowley stared at it in confusion and then wonder and then additional confusion. “I'mmarried?”

“You are.”

“To who-whom?”

“Oh, me, you great dunderhead!”

Crowley's face slipped into a thoughtful pout, his lip jutting out. Aziraphale tried not to be distracted- that lip was glimmering in the light and he rather wanted to bite it. It was a nice thought- did lovely, warm things for him- but if Crowley couldn't remember their wedding it might just push him over some kind edge.

“So you know, then?”

“What's that?”

“How much I love you?”

“I think I have some idea, yes.”

“Home.”

“Yes.”

“No, you said home.”

“Yes.”

“But, I am... I am home.”

“Your old home. You were only coming back here to pack up your plants, don't you remember?” Aziraphale looked across the room and saw them: all packed up in crates and waiting to leave, petals trembling in confusion.

“Would like to.” Crowley was rubbing his head now.

“Come on,” Aziraphale patted his knee, “let's get you sobered up, hmm?”

“Yeah.”

Crowley sat up a little straighter- which is to say, still rather to one side- and took a deep breath, concentrating on emptying his body of the alcohol. When he looked over at Aziraphale again, his eyes were clearer and ringed in white. The pink hadn't left his cheeks, though.

“Oh,” he said very eloquently.

“Oh, indeed. Feeling better?”

“Feeling a bit silly.”

“What on earth happened? You've been gone for days!”

Crowley winced.

“I thought... well, I thought you had changed your mind.”

“Haven't!”

“What happened, then?”

Crowley was picking at an invisible thread on the sofa (which, being leather, was seriously lacking in threads, but Aziraphale let him have his moment anyway).

“I was just thinking... I was packing them up and thinking...”

“Yes?” Aziraphale's patience was being tried. Drunk Crowley spilled things almost unintelligibly, but sober Crowley had a habit of talking around things instead.

“I don't want to pack them up again later.”

“Why would you do that?”

“If you decide you don't... you don't like the arrangement.”

“Is 'arrangement' a euphemism for our marriage, Crowley?”

Crowley nodded.

“Please come home and bring your poor damned plants.”

Crowley looked up at him sharply and Aziraphale stole the moment to lean forward and his his husband soundly, drawing him into the kiss and into his lap. He broke it slowly, not really giving Crowley much of a chance to respond, and framed his face in his hands.

“Do I do anything without carefully considering my options? Am I impulsive, my dear?”

“Well... no.”

“Have I not known you for thousands of years?”

“Y'have.”

“Do you think I don't know what I'm getting myself into?”

“Well...”

“No, I know perfectly well who I married. I know you. I want you. I have rather missed you these past couple of days. Please, come home?”

“Fine,” Crowley pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's and peered into his too-close, blurry eyes, “but tell me one thing.”

“If it gets us home faster, anything.”

“Who put on this horrendously emo music?”

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #prompts #collecting a demon #alcohol mention #this one got a bit away from me #haha #thanks for the prompt!#mintymallo

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heylinfanclub · 2 years

Text

Talk with therapist today lead to a many discoveries in my racing brain—- including a need to make a list of Mindless Activites. My issue is all my hobbies are super mentally intensive and my brain HATES that when I need to chill (/feel overwhelmed), but I can’t just play video games for DAYS ON END or I feel ewie.

I just got told by my brain a few days ago that all my fun hobbies just so happen to also be ‘work’. Or at least. How I engage with them. Art, writing, blogging, activism, sciences, languages—- it’s TIRING. It involves socializing and recalling pre established rules and events and—- and when I’m already tired from LIFE CHORES, it’s so fucking sad I can’t even engage with my hobbies because they’re too much work,,,,, I can’t break it down into small enough chunks for myself and it’s the 1 reason I miss school.

The practice is one of my ideas that’s helping with that! I wanna draw so much more, but it’s so much mental energy to think of what to fucking dRAW, so I can outsource the ideas to the masses—- and I can just do Sketches so I’m not Overwhelmed by Perfectionism. Bam. Art but Mindless (or less intensive).

Mindless activites….. hrngng…. practice sketches for others; I need other drawing activites that are pre generated that eXTERNALLY MOTIVATE ME; rocking/bouncing stimm; consider turning oFF YouTube/Tumblr if necessary (or turn on a crash course video and chill); play with candles; go outside and bREATHE; snuggle a toy; play with cat—

Also need to really return to a routine so I don’t constantly feel like I’m behind on self care. Hfhfh. I need to figure what needs to be done. Daily weekly monthly. Truly. I’ve lived on my own long enough to have a good idea fer how it’s gonna work now! Things that need to be done monthly can be done the first week cause the first week is gonna be Survival Week given I’m most anxious during the first week hfhfhf. Cause new Month needs a New To Dos and I can take that on first week while taking care of myself and NOT STRESSIN ON HOBBIES HRNG

#therapy.#me.#(ignore my inane rambles of insanity

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