#crowley cannot ride a horse

[irate-iguana]

Good Omens fanfic writers please consider incorporating this bit of lore into your Wild West fics.

#crowley cannot ride a horse #crowley #anthony j crowley #good omens #book omens #original post

[pommedepersephone]

Buck up, Hamlet! or how Aziraphale and Crowley's blocking helps communicate the evolution of their relationship

Can we talk about the blocking?

Specifically, I have been rewatching S1E3, one of my favorites. I love how the development of the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is shown through these little vignettes. There have been some great explorations of the costuming and dialogue, but what always strikes me is the BLOCKING. The way their placement and movements add such depth and tell the story of living as a queer person, having to communicate in coded language.

Through the episode, we get 4500 years of history - Eden, Mesopotamia, Golgatha, Rome and Wessex - to see Aziraphale and Crowley standing on their opposite sides. Aziraphale always on the right, Crowley always on the left. But after the Arrangement, their blocking changes drastically and becomes much more fluid and nuanced. Each scene after this is distinct but the scenes in at the Globe and the Bastille have the most development, and I find myself rewatching them A LOT. Here is what I see. 

All the World's a Stage

This is the first meeting we see that isn’t a chance encounter, though the two try to stage it as such. It takes place in a theatre - and they are acting, playing their roles as demon and angel. Even the humans are complicit in this performance, with Shakespeare stepping in to address the two "in your roles as the audience." Oh, delicious.

But once it's been firmly established for anyone watching that they AREN'T friends, they DON'T know each other (cough cough) the following moves are clearly choreographed and have been played out many times before. Crowley sashays to the right, opening the dance, and Aziraphale accepts the invitation to dance with: “What do you want?” 

“Why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly want something?” Crowley is just playing his role as cheeky demon offering up a temptation - but his position to the right of Aziraphale speaks to the fact that they are both very complicit in this performance.

“You are up to no good.”  “Obviously. And you are up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds?” Just standard character establishment, here.

“No rest for the, well, good." Ah, this line, the inversion of the well known idiom. Because the line between good and evil (and between angel and demon) maybe aren't so distinct, and Aziraphale acknowledges this with his words. We are moving into negotiations now. "I have to be in Edinburgh at the end of the week. A couple of blessings to do, and a minor miracle to perform. Apparently, I have to ride a horse.”

“Ah hard on the buttocks, horses. Major design flaw, if you ask me. I’m meant to be headed to Edinburgh too this week. Tempting a clan leader to steal some cattle.” The way Crowley moves AROUND Aziraphale here, intimate but also careful, watching for his reactions.

“Doesn’t sound like hard work.” Said with a little sideways look, because Aziraphale can see where this is going. And he's open to suggestion temptation.

“That was why I thought we should… well, bit of a waste of effort. Both of us going all the way to Scotland.”

“You cannot actually be suggesting what I infer you are implying?” A little bit of pretense, because Aziraphale has to pretend to be tempted, right?

Crowley presses. “Which is?” Because he is willing to play the part of tempting demon, but only if it is clear this is a farce, that this is indeed mutually agreeable. He is making sure they are doing the same dance.

"That one of us goes to Edinburgh and does... both. The blessing and the tempting."

Yes, they are doing the same dance, and what is left is the formality of concluding the dance - a moment of Aziraphale expressing his concern for Crowley, the coin toss - they both know how it ends. It's a ritual, an act of give and take.

But if it were ONLY the Arrangement, a simple quid pro quo, it would have ended there. It doesn't. Instead, the two offer each other a more intimate exchange - "It'd take a miracle to get people to come and see Hamlet."

Aziraphale doesn't even have to ask with words, just a look, and Crowley happily agrees. That is the final part of the dance, a small acknowledgement that this isn't just about making their jobs easier.

A Free Man in Paris

Paris is something else. This is a HUGE step beyond making sure that audiences like a show your angel is particularly fond of. This is a stolen dangerous moment, an OUTRAGEOUS flirtation that takes place outside of time, conducted in clear view of others but beyond their understanding. Isn’t that how their entire relationship is now conducted, hidden in plain view and so clearly affectionate? 

And look, Aziraphale is BITCHY in this scene. Peak That Bitch. He's just purchased a bookshop, he's creating a very permanent place for himself here on earth - Aziraphale is feeling quite proud of himself. In fact, he's preening a bit that he has figured out how to exist, even in some small limited way, as himself within the confines of the system of Heaven. Buuuut he may have gone just a bit too far, and gotten himself in a spot of trouble. He has landed in a prison, threatened with "death" and stuck because he's already gotten a warning about being frivolous with his miracles. Oh jolly good that Crowley is here to save the day!

There is something raw being communicated here here, where both Aziraphale and Crowley are presenting themselves to the world in ways that are dangerous. Aziraphale's reaction tells us that Crowley's look is doing things to him, but also in a way that it is NOT socially appropriate. Aziraphale may have showed up in all the trappings of an English aristocrat, but here is Crowley as a French royal sympathizer. NEITHER of these are safe choices in the middle of a revolution. The costuming is so critical to fully appreciating this scene, so check out the amazing clothing overview with @cobragardens.

When Crowley arrives and stops time, he and Aziraphale find themselves situated facing one another, but angled so they aren’t facing straight on. Interestingly, from Crowley’s perspective, he is where he is supposed to be - the left of Aziraphale. But Aziraphale, from his perspective, is also to the left of Crowley. It was Aziraphale after all who initiated this situation, who put himself in danger by being too… Aziraphale. It’s dangerous to be yourself when you don’t fit into heteronormative social expectations, isn’t it? Still, the two keep up a very flirtatious banter as they discuss the situation, and Crowley maintains his very-intentionally-unbothered sitting position up until Aziraphale goes too far and thanks him for coming to his rescue.

While Crowley is also flirting with danger in the way he is dressed, he also didn't just pop over for a nibble dressed this way. And whatever he might have been up to was interrupted so he could rescue Aziraphale from the consequences of his own reckless authenticity. After removing the chains, Crowley pushes Aziraphale to reconsider his honest expression of himself in this exact place and time - for the sake of survival.

Aziraphale, willing to risk himself alone, rather quickly adopts a more acceptable appearance when it might impact Crowley. It is only after Aziraphale is safely disguised and returned to his proper place to the right of Crowley, ONLY then does Crowley restart time. They can go enjoy lunch now, with the proper precautions and masks in place.

For these two particular human-coded occult beings, this is also such an honest moment. They both showed up damn authentically - Aziraphale so fabulously ostentatious, focused on chasing down some pleasure (in this crepes) and Crowley wrapped in a clear protest against the current violence. Just as Aziraphale indicated with his "Oh good LORD" as he looked the demon up and down with obvious thirst, Crowley's request to Aziraphale to change his appearance and mask better is done in such a way that affirms that Crowley LIKES who Aziraphale is without the mask.

The scene is so playful on the surface, the body language and dialogue flirtatious. It's something so familiar to the queer experience, making light of the absolute danger that we must sometimes navigate just to exist. The more I watch it, the more obsessed I become.

A Spot of Bodysnatchin'

It is worth remembering that we didn't get this scene in S1.

I am going to go through it soon, because again they dance back and forth beautifully in this minisode, but suffice to say we all know... it didn't end well for Crowley.

No Walk in the Park

The moment in St. James Park is brief, and it wasn't until S2 and the meeting at Edinburgh that we got the full context for this meeting. But even without this, we can clearly see that things are weighing heavily on Crowley. The scene in the Bastille took place in a prison, with the threat of execution over their heads. The juxtaposition of this conversation taking place in a park - a place that is not only NOT inherently dangerous but looks lovely and welcoming - only highlights the change in Crowley's attitude. He still attempts to be playful, but he's afraid. Look at that paper, it's a bit crumpled, he's been carrying it around for a while.

They are firmly entrenched on their assigned sides for the entire conversation, both very stiff. It feels uncomfortable to watch. When Aziraphale refuses his request, and indicates whatever is between them is just "fraternizing" with the enemy, we get a glimpse of how fearful Crowley really is. In none of these flashbacks has Crowley ever spoken to Aziraphale with the anger we see here. When they part in anger, it feels wrong.

Take Me to Church

So there is a long break between meetings now. But then, ah, the church. The place Aziraphale realizes his feelings. (Look, if Michael says this is where Aziraphale realized he'd fallen in love, I am not here to argue.) What I love is that again we see Crowley and Aziraphale swapping sides. Crowley is here to save his wayward angel, AGAIN. Despite feeling the ill effects of walking on consecrated ground, Crowley is here to save his angel and defeat Nazis. It's definitely not remotely evil intentions.

It isn't like the Bastille, but some of the parallels exist - Aziraphale failing to grasp the risks of his actions. And the silliness of his little dance coupled with just how deadly serious this situation is harks back to their flirtations in the prison.

Crowley is to the right of Aziraphale from the time he arrives until the bomb drops. Then in the rubble, with the danger past, we see them on their assigned sides again. UNTIL Crowley hands Aziraphale the books he saved with a "little demonic miracle of my own." He then crosses Aziraphale, and we see the look of absolute adoration as the angel watches him walk away to the right.

Sweeeeeet baby Jesus, baby girl has it BAD.

Always Crashing in the Same Car

This extremely heartbreaking scene has been dissected, chewed over, breaking our little hearts with it's sharp pieces.

But it is purposeful that this scene took place in the Bentley. Being in the car is symbolic because Aziraphale is here making an offering to Crowley, in his space, something that he Aziraphale feels is WRONG which is highlighted by his placement to the left of Crowley. He is scared, acting against all his own desires, but he does it anyway because he cares for Crowley. It's simple, powerful placement. Need to hurt more? Yeah, thought so. Take a deeper look at the dialogue with @zionworkzs.

#good omens meta #look the blocking has me feeling things #just brilliant #i am very normal about them #neil gaiman #good omens #just theatre kid things

[kotana-x]

Supernatural

Tribe!AU So, a semi-nomadic tribe, Iron Age - stopping to collect forges and make all sorts of tools (mostly edged weapons) and other things. Then they take off and move on. There is an excuse for cutting your hair and shaving - it is a ritual so that hostile kikimors do not grab your hair.

Castiel is the tribe's shaman, who is most often present somewhere near the tribe, but on the outskirts. He prefers collecting: honey, herbs, mushrooms, that’s all, which can then be smoked for a whole yurt. Part-time healer. He speaks strange languages, hears voices, asks wild questions and does not always behave like a human being (and this is not necessary. The rituals are similar to those in the 2002 film “Cuckoo”). An introvert and a virgin, because magic loves purity (the leader does not agree with this thesis).

Crowley is a leader who won his place by unconventional methods, but he cares about the tribe, so he has many supporters. Rumor has it that he uses black magic, even necromancy. He knows the secret of the "devil's fire" (gunpowder, yes), but does not share. Despite the many concubines, he raises only one son, “so that the heirs themselves do not fight and tear me to pieces.”

Hunters are hunters again, but now they can cut up a killed monster and drag it to the breeding table. The elder brother only chooses black horses to ride. The younger one is interested in literacy and reads everything that looks like letters or signs. Perhaps that is why he is possessed by a terrible evil spirit, which neither the shaman nor the leader can cope with yet. They are friends with the shaman, although the elder hunter cannot stand his chants at all, and in principle he does not like witchcraft.

Shaman in his habitat

#supernatural #spn #fanart #traditional art #art #castiel supernatural #crowley supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #tribe!AU #AU #markers #shamanism

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ I couldn't help myself writing a little one about Crowley, Aziraphale and horses XD Inspired by this post .

-

It was far from the first time Crowley’s bony frame crunched into the red dirt. His jaw locked together and his knees scraped up. He remembers something about staying loose and it hurting less, but he’s so pissed off at the massive hellbeast they keep insisting on putting him on, that rage-tension makes sure everything hurts as much as possible.

“Ho, there!” cries a voice, an unusual one in this place and time. “Are you alri-”

The stranger takes Crowley’s hand and locks eyes at the same moment. Not such a stranger after all, helps pull him to his feet.

“Crowley?”

“Don’t wear it out.” Crowley does his best to stretch and flex his limbs, and brush off his clothes at the same time. He looks around for the horse. Hell help him if he’s lost it.

“She’s over there,” Aziraphale advises. “It looks as though she’s taken a fright. What happened? Perhaps she saw a snake?”

He chuckles a little, trying to lighten the mood, but Crowley glares past him.

“Perhapssss.” He stretches it out deliberately. It’s petty. She’s a horse. But something tells him she knows how to be petty - the bastard of a horse is now nibbling at something by the side of the road, as cool and calm as anything now that she’s got what she wanted.

Aziraphale scampers ahead of him to fetch the horse before Crowley can discorporate her with the power of his displeasure. He takes a piece of something from his pocket, and the fickle beastie pricks her ears and takes it with a delighted snuffle. She towers over the angel, a sleek and thick well-muscled blacker-than-night type Hell insists is befitting an agent of chaos. But perhaps the accursed creature can sense Aziraphale’s Heavenly Affinity for the Creator or some such. Crowley has never seen her so gentle, in fact, she seems to enjoy putting on the Hellfire show for more than just him - it’s what drove Hell to choose her for his Earthly Steed. But here they are.

“And who is this marvelous creature?” Aziraphale asks, leading her over and offering the reins back to Crowley.

“Lilith, Aziraphale,” Crowley introduces, with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Angel. Lilith.”

Aziraphale laughs, his face lighting up. Crowley almost smiles.

Fortunately, Lilith bares her teeth and snaps at his hand to interrupt the moment.

Aziraphale frowns.

“Um,” he offers, “Perhaps you’d like to dinky Hannah for a little?”

He gestures toward his own mount. A chubby little Palomino, because of course she is.

“I cannot,” Crowley spits. “Ride that Thing. And we’re going opposite ways.”

And I don’t ‘dinky’. He leaves that part unspoken.

He’s pretty sure Aziraphale just rolled his eyes, but before he can take offense or so much as open his mouth to mock the Angel, Aziraphale twiddles his fingers and a little stool appears by Lilith’s side.

“Alright. Hop on then.”

“I’ll walk,” Crowley insists.

“It’s miles.”

“I’m a demon.”

“Think of the optics.”

Crowley scowls. He snatches the reins and takes to the stool - he might as well, especially since his hips are violently protesting any attempt to get on from the ground. Aziraphale keeps hold of Lilith just under her chin. Looks her in the face and - Crowley will never tell anyone as long as he lives - impresses upon her,

“Be nice.”

Half-expecting to slam into the ground again when she steps aside or some other nonsense, Crowley raises a leg over her back. She doesn’t object. He sits.

“There now,” Aziraphale says. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Crowley gets the feeling he’s not just talking to the horse.

“Right then.” He kicks. Maybe a little harder than he needs to. Lilith shakes her head impetuously, but she moves.

“Wait- Crowley-”

He turns, and sees Aziraphale picking something from the dirt. Black glass. They’re uncovered. Breath catches, twists in his chest. He can’t speak for a moment, but the Angel doesn’t seem to notice. He only waves a hand over the glasses, un-smashing the lens, and passes it up to Crowley. He pauses, and tells himself it’s not for one last look in those uninterrupted eyes.

“Thankyou,” Crowley finally manages. 

At last, Aziraphale lets his eye contact drop.

“Don’t mention it.”

#ineffable spouses #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens #gomens fic #special appearance by snek eyes because reasons #clara's fic tag

[jessicaellenart]

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale/crowley #aziraphale x crowley #crowley good omens #inneffable husbands

[orion-lake]

Happy December 2023! I present you with my favourite creations for November 2023. If there is any content that is not public or work safe, it will have an *asterix next to it. Please, take a look and remember to like and reblog any content that you enjoy.

YELLOWJACKETS APPRECIATION WEEK | favorite dynamic by @saws2004

your soul... by @lopeirce

mr. crowley, won't you ride my white horse? by @matlillard

"the rich and the powerful take what they want. we steal it back for you." by @blueskiesandstarrynights

they whisper in the hallway, “She’s a bad, bad girl” by @lavenderhazes

Lucrezia Borgia, the envy scandal of Italy. by @usergif

Taylor Swift Autumn → A Guide For the Best Time of Year by @sadbeautifutragic

"When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives." by @weylersource

stiles stilinski set by @prettiestcaptain

"Our parting was like a stalemate. Neither of us won. Yet both of us lost. And worse still... that unshakable feeling that nothing was ever really finished." by @weylersource

Can See You (Kanthony’s Version) by @chrrispine

“Do you understand the violence it took to become this gentle?” by @weylersource

Once More, with Feeling – Aired 6 November 2001 by @cal-kestis

emma swan + up close and personal by @vanessacarlysle

↳ CLAUDIA JESSIE AS ELOISE BRIDGERTON by @candicepatton

BRIDGERTON LADIES APPRECIATION WEEK 2023 ↪ Day One: Favourite Character(s) by @snikkts

Taylor Swift albums + Zodiac signs by @mrperfectlyfinetv

q u e e n    of    d a r k n e s s  by @lochiels

Everyone wants a magical solution for their problems, and everyone refuses to believe in magic. by @india-stoker

“If you cannot hold me in your arms, then hold my memory in high regard. And if I cannot be in your life, then at least let me live in your heart.” ― Ranata Suzuki by @remusjohnslupin

every surprise song on the first leg of the eras tour (x) by @cascadeoceanwave

TAYLOR SWIFT ALBUMS as postcards by @midnightsdeluxe

Happy 33rd Birthday,  Taylor Swift! (born on December 13th, 1989) by @mrperfectlyfinetv

“Fearless was an album full of magic and curiosity, the bliss and devastation of youth. It was the diary of the adventures and explorations of a teenage girl who was learning tiny lessons with every new crack in the facade of the fairytale ending she’d been shown in the movies.”  by @mrperfectlyfinetv

Wyler Time Loop AU the day of the Harvest Festival. by @weylersource

WYLER + tried and true romance tropes & symbolism by @weylersource

#fav post #favourites #favs post

[spoops-screams]

Edit: She's got her new sprite <3

Name: Anne "Ange"

Notes: She's changed her last name so many times due to being immortal in a world where magic was not prevalent that she's long since forgotten her original one

Age: Unknown

Notes: She had lost count of her age several decades ago but distinctly recalls being at least over 300 years old (she’s closer to 600 actually but her perception of time has been horribly warped by a dangerous amount is time travel)

Best subject: Potionology

Birthday: July 21st

Class: 3B [No. 16]

Notes: Vil did try to get her in class 3C but, while he wasn't able to stop her from getting accepted, Crowley did want to keep Anne separate from Vil as some sort of ineffective punishment for going against the school rules. She does a significant amount of self study to ensure that she is up to a third year NRC student standard academically though she does go overboard with it

Club: Horse riding club

Height: 5'7/ 170cm

Hobby: Sewing/ clothing design

Notes: Her hobby was the reason that she met Vil through her opening of a clothing shop which had become more successful than she expected to make a living when she had first arrived in Twisted wonderland two years prior and this shop becoming one that Vil frequented, more to browse the designs and spend time with Anne than to actually purchase anything

Homeland: France [Earth]

Likes: Tea, teaching

Dislikes: Seeing people hurt

Notes: This seemed to be much stronger after her arrival in Twisted wonderland, possibly attributed to her unique magic

Unique magic: A taste of home

Notes: This unique magic creates an area in which every being in the vicinity is coerced into a calm and relaxed state in which they are shown their fondest memories to further calm them down. This magic is not limited only to humans/humanoid beings and only lasts as long as the user is able to upkeep it based on their mental state. However, it cannot completely override particularly strong negative emotions, for example, an overblot.

Click for HQ. Do not repost or claim. Only reblog 💕

#twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst fanart #twst oc #twst anne #twisted wonderland fanart

[thatringboy]

TWST Boys at a Theme Park

They all needed a day off, so they went to the local amusement park. Chaos ensues.

For background

They all go at once

All 24 (including Yuu and Grim)

Including Idia and Malleus

The Security Guard stops them at the entrance bc Grim “needs to be on a leash”

First Year Gang looses it

Leona gets close to the guard and whispers “yo, the raccoon’s with me”

Leona slips the guard 5,000 Madol and everyone is let in

Everyone’s like “wow Leona that was awfully nice to spend so much money on Grim.... are you okay?”

He smiles and says that he got it from Kalim’s pocket

Their Outfits

Riddle, Ace, Deuce, Silver and Azul wear a simple NRC t-shirt and shorts

Jack and Sebek are wearing matching black tank tops and jeans. Their belts match, too. This wasn’t intentional

Vil and Floyd over here in crop tops. Vil’s is long sleeved while Floyd’s is sleeveless

Jade, Malleus, Idia, Ruggie and Trey are in sweatshirts and jeans like reasonable people

Rook is in his infamous cargo shorts, doc martens and polo shirt. And his hat.

Leona is wearing what Laizy-Boy drew for his birthday. It’s really cool and he’d totally wear it

Lilia over here dressed like a goth gf. Imagine that.

Cater is in his own merchandise

Jamil is wearing his usual outfit while Kalim is in his white school uniform

Epel showed up last in overalls like a god

Who went on which rides?

First Year Gang immediately went on the big rides

Azul and Idia walked the fair and won carnival games with Lilia and Malleus

Vil and Leona attempted to stay away from Water Rides, but Epel and Ruggie tricked them

Oh boy which is scarier, Wet Leona or Wet Vil?

Vil overblot much?

Silver and the other second years went on the tea cups and the Mary-go-round (both were Kalim’s idea)

Floyd enchanted the rides to go extremely fast

Jamil fell off twice

Rook followed Leona.

Cater got on the Ferris Wheel with the Light Music Club and they preformed a little bit

Idia and Azul never went on any rides thank god

Azul almost got dragged onto a ride, but Jade stopped Floyd before it was too late

Malleus and Riddle had a deep fried butter eating contest

Riddle won.

How you ask? Well, Trey may or may not have cheated.

He went up to Malleus and whispered that melted butter was made from dead horses and that was it

Malleus spent the next half hour puking and contemplating his choices

Sebek attempted to convince Malleus of Trey’s lies

But Lilia agreed with Trey (what a little shit)

End of the day thoughts?

Malleus doesn’t know what’s real

Azul got a stuffed octopus from a fair game that Yuu and Idia won

Ace and Deuce went on too many rides and now can’t see straight

Sebek and Epel laughed at them

Jamil’s hair is completely screwed up from the rides

Floyd has decided to wear crop tops all the time

However, he lost it.

Floyd lost his shirt.

He cannot find it.

Floyd left the park without a top.

It was never seen again.

Silver and Kalim bought a cotton candy stand bc they’re rich and hungry

Jade and Rook ate too much carnival food

Trey and Lilia feel no remorse for lying to Malleus

Cater caught everything on Magicam with Ortho’s help

Vil had to redo his makeup five times

Leona body slammed Ruggie into a pond

Jack watched in horror

Grim got stuck in a popcorn machine and Riddle kicked it over to get him out

He was on a sugar rush from the deep fried butter

And the teachers?

Crowley did follow them to make sure they wouldn’t get into trouble

He got on one roller coaster and got motion sickness like the old man he is

That’s what you get bird man

Pay back for the event prize being extra lines.

Needless to say, he prevented no trouble.

His students are dumbasses.

And we love them.

I hope you enjoyed!

#TWST #twisted wonderland #Riddle Rosehearts #Trey Clover #Cater Diamond #Deuce Spade #Ace Trappola #Leona Kingscholar #Ruggie Bucchi #Jack Howl #Azul Ashengrotto #Jade Leech #Floyd Leech #Kalim Al-Asim #Jamil Viper #Vil Schoenheit #rook hunt #Epel Felmier #Idia Shroud #Ortho Shroud #Malleus Draconia #Lilia Vanrouge #Sebek Zigvolt #twisted wonderland Silver #Yuu Prefect #twisted wonderland Grim #Dire Crowley isn't responsible

[brightwanderer]

I’ve been rereading “Instructions Not Included” to refresh my memory and get back into the vibe for “Best Served Cold”, and I realise I have one small regret about how I wrote it.

(Actually, no, there are two small regrets, but one of them would be a huge spoiler for BSC so I can’t talk about it. And to be clear they are very SMALL regrets, minor tweaks, the kind of thing that if this had been a published book, I would have changed in the second draft, but because I was writing it as I went, I couldn’t go back and fix.)

Anyway, the one small regret that I CAN talk about is the way I handled the idea that Aziraphale thought Crowley was referring to the Bentley when he said “I lost my best friend”. I don’t think I did a very good job of explaining what Aziraphale’s thinking was there. Most commenters assumed it was because he was oblivious to Crowley’s feelings for him, which wasn’t actually what I had in mind.

Specifically, I see Crowley as someone who tends to only express his big, dramatic emotions about things that are relatively trivial. When it comes to things that actually matter to him, he locks down hard on his reactions. So over the centuries, Aziraphale has seen him weep, rage, roar, and whine about such unthinkable insults as: the weather, the extremely bad local beer, the unspeakable things humans are doing with jello these days, the fact that he has to ride a horse, and someone saying something nasty about his hairstyle.

Aziraphale has almost never seen him break down over something important. And while Aziraphale knows very well how much Crowley cares for him, Crowley has never ever ever said that out loud, and tends to react badly to the idea that he ever would express that sort of softer sentiment.

So to my mind, here’s what went down in the scene where Aziraphale finds Crowley in the bar. Aziraphale can’t see Crowley, doesn’t know where he is or what he’s doing. He sounds really upset, but Aziraphale is already primed to think of that as meaning that things AREN’T serious. And then Crowley says, “I lost my best friend.”

And Aziraphale absolutely cannot parse for even a second that Crowley could mean that exactly the way it sounds, without any sarcasm or double meanings. That the wobble in his voice is genuine heartbreak. That Crowley is talking about him, is actually coming out and using such a heartfelt, honest term to describe their relationship. At the same time, he’s not an idiot, and Crowley does sound actually heartbroken rather than just playing it up...

So he jumps to the conclusion. The Bentley. Crowley loves that car. He’s always so dramatic about anything happening to it. If something really has happened this time, if it’s something he can’t fix... well, Aziraphale doesn’t want to tease him about that, and certainly not right now, so he doesn’t really know how to respond, and, well, “So sorry to hear that... ANYWAY”.

And then Crowley turns up in Tadfield with the Bentley a burning shell and Aziraphale thinks, “oh GOODNESS no wonder he was so upset”. (And then is slightly peeved when Crowley has his Moment, because to his mind, Crowley already DID that and should be past it, at least for now.)

Later, they swap stories about what happened between their argument outside the bookshop and their reunion in Tadfield, but they do it in their typical, meandering way, and when Crowley tells Aziraphale about crossing the M25 and discorporating Hastur on the way, Aziraphale just mentally slots their conversation about Tadfield in after that. He assumes Crowley was heading out of London to try and escape from Hell’s revenge, that he was driving the burning Bentley at the time Aziraphale spoke to him, and that he already knew he couldn’t restore the car from this. Aziraphale figures that the fact that he ends up getting to Tadfield with Madame Tracey first is because Crowley had to drive slower than usual to keep the Bentley together. (Insert ironic laughter here.)

It all makes just enough sense that he never digs into it any deeper, particularly since Adam restores the Bentley. And Crowley is embarrassed by his honesty to Aziraphale in that moment, is grateful that Aziraphale doesn’t bring it up, and also never mentions it again.

And yeah, on a re-read, I really didn’t get that across at all. Which is a pity, because it makes Aziraphale look like he’s completely oblivious to how much Crowley cares about him, which actually isn’t the angle I’m going for in this series. It’s more like, they both care, they both know they care and the other one cares, but they have got so good at not talking about it and not thinking about it that it’s taking a really long time to unpick all their layers of nonchalance and denial.

I almost wonder about going back and editing, actually, except that I have a general policy of not doing that with published fic. But it’s kind of an important character note. I shall give it further consideration.

#good omens #instructions not included #best served cold #fanfic #my fic #a certain celestial agency #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley

[princip1914]

Re: WIP game - I always want to know about any fics involving horses! Please tell us about Crowley learning to ride. Also, are you a horse person?

Regrettably (because they are dangerous, expensive, and a lot of work) I love horses. I grew up with them, and taught riding part time for a while when I was younger.

Anyway, the premise of the fic is that Crowely has to learn how to ride for some reason or other (they’ve won a raffle for riding lessons? a publicity stunt for the business Bee runs and they work for?).  Aziraphale is Crowley’s very patient but slightly exasperated riding instructor. Aziraphale cannot understand how it is possible for someone to be that bad at riding. In the first scene of this fic, Crowley attempts to get on a horse and overshoots the saddle falls off the other side. In the last scene, they manage a passable canter into the sunset with Aziraphale. Progress--in terms of both romance and equitation.

Here’s a little snippit:

"Surely you must have had a horse girl phase at some point." Aziraphale said, grasping at straws. "Everyone has a horse girl phase. Maybe in elementary school or…?"

"What makes you think I'm a girl?" Crowley snapped, white faced and clutching the reins all wrong already. 

Aziraphale paused, considered, looked up at Crowley with a long, searching glance. "You know, I've always thought of horse girl as a gender neutral term. There can be boy horse girls, and girl horse girls, and I suppose neither-one-nor-the-other  horse girls too. Since we're going to be getting to know each other quite well over the next six weeks, I hope it's not too forward of me to ask--what kind of horse girl are you?"

"That last one," Crowley said and then let out a small noise of abject terror; Brutus had dropped his head to itch his nose against a foreleg. 

"Ah, so you agree then," Aziraphale said with the waspish satisfaction of pedantry. "You do like horses after all" 

#wip ask game #princip writes #aziraphale/crowley #horses

[araluenrangerdanger]

AU where Halt and Crowley knew each other long before they met in “the Hibernian”

One day, Halt goes on a diplomatic mission to Araluen with his father. He’s just thirteen years old but his father thinks that, as the future king, he should start participating in diplomatic things (Ferris, much to his anger, stays in Hibernia with their mother and Caitlyn)

They are going to stay at castle Araluen for a few days while they agree on a treaty between Araluen and Hibernia

By sheer coincidence, Pritchard and Crowley are at Araluen to hand in some reports

Crowley’s three years older than Halt and in his second year of apprenticeship

They meet in a corridor - they literally bump into each other

Crowley’s not sure how to act. He’s familiar with prince Duncan and knows what he can and cannot do, but this is a total stranger and he’s just not sure

This uncertainty of his ends when Halt steps in and asks if he’ll show him the castle grounds. He’s feeling trapped alone in a castle when his father attends one of the more important meetings

Crowley agrees. He just has to go and ask Pritchard. Halt trails after him and that’s when he first meets the Ranger corps (or at least Nicholl and Pritchard - but these two are basically the icons of the former corps)

Crowley shows him the castle grounds and maybe shows off his skills a little bit and Halt is genuinely interested in how he’s doing that his eyes must be playing tricks on him

In the afternoon Halt obtains permission from his father and they saddle up their horses and go for a ride

For the first time in his life, Halt feels free

He’d really like to do this Ranger stuff but he’s already a prince-

He’s truly mature for his age and he and Crowley become good friends

Seeing the boys together, Pritchard agrees to stay at Araluen for a few days because he’s never seen Crowley so happy with a friend

In the mornings, Halt has to attend meetings with his father, in the afternoons, he and Crowley go out, sometimes Halt teaches him the basics of foreign languages, sometimes Crowley shows Halt how to hold a bow

But then it’s time to return to Hibernia

Saying goodbye hurts so much. Neither of them knows if they’ll ever see the other again

A few years later when Ferris tries to kill Halt and Halt runs away, he meets Pritchard

And they both go “You’re Crowley’s friend/mentor!” 

When Halt’s ready to go to Araluen, Pritchard tells him that Crowley has become the Ranger of the Hogarth fief

in the Hibernian, Halt is actually on his way there

In the inn, he recognizes that red-haired Ranger

He would recognize him anywhere because Crowley barely changed at all

On the other hand, Crowley can’t believe that this is the same Halt he knew when he was younger. This man, the prince? All doubts disappear when Halt starts talking about Pritchard and Hibernia

Halt doesn’t take the path to Gallica. Instead, he goes with Crowley. They’re best buds now. They’ve been for a long time

#WHY AM I MAKING RA AUS WHEN I SHOULD BE STUDYING #it's nearing midnight here and there is a paragraph of one text left #and a whole other text that i already translated #but need to do the necessary edits #and write a commentary on it #that means i'll end well after midnight and tomorrow i'm starting nice and fresh with a 9 am lecture #nice i'll need a coffee #ranger's apprentice #halt o'carrick #crowley meratyn #ra au #ranger's apprentice au #why do i voluntarily suffer? #asking the real questions here #mine

[ineffablegame]

i am begging you on my digital knees, knight of the round table aziraphale and princess crowley. "i thought you were the black knight?" "evil must be fermented everywhere, angel. id rather a dress to armour anyday."

omg I’m sorry but this got so long...  (also published on my Ao3)

537 A.D.

The moment Aziraphale lays a hand on the cloaked figure’s shoulder, intent on dragging him off his horse, he knows he’s made a terrible mistake.

A familiar hum of demonic energy shudders through his gauntlet and up his arm.  He recognizes the aura – sun-warmed scales, shelter from the rain.  Aziraphale releases his grip, but too late, and the momentum topples the figure to the ground with a cry.  The horse gallops out of sight, eyes rolling with fear.

Aziraphale pulls on the reins and half-climbs, half-falls off his own horse.  “Terribly sorry, dear boy, I didn’t mean…”

His voice dwindles as the figure – Crowley, of course it’s Crowley, up to his usual mischief – hobbles upright and pulls back the hood of the cloak. Long, red curls tumble over slim shoulders.  Aziraphale stares.  “Oh. Er.  Dear girl, I mean.”

“That’s dear lady to you,” Crowley snaps.  She presses a hand to the small of her back with a wince.  “Did you have to be so rough?”

“I did say I was sorry.” Aziraphale takes in his adversary’s appearance, curiosity piqued.  He hasn’t seen Crowley like this since the crucifixion.  His eyes catch on her wrists as she pushes the hair out of her face, slim and pale and delicately-veined.  “I thought you were the queen.”

“Incredible.  It’s almost as if the diversion was intentional.”

“So, you’ve sided with Mordred,” Aziraphale surmises.  “Typical.”

“Of course,” says Crowley, gathering her hair back.  Her fingers, deft with the ease of long practice, tie it into a single plait.  “And for the record, Arthur’s not nearly as shiny and perfect as your lot pretends he is.  You’d know, Sir Aziraphale of the Table Round.”

The angel drags his eyes from Crowley’s fingers to meet her golden gaze.  It’s no less disconcerting.  “You know I’m not consulted on these things.”

Crowley scoffs and tosses the plait over her shoulder, head tilted back to expose the pale line of her throat.  Aziraphale drops his gaze to her feet.  Much better. “Why—why the change, if I may ask?  You were the black knight not a fortnight ago.”

“Evil may be fomented in any form,” Crowley says.  “Besides, I’d rather a dress than armor any day.  Much less chafing.”

Aziraphale grudgingly nods. The armor really is abominable, heavy and stuffy and rubbing in all the worst places.  “Well, when you put it that way…”

“You should give it a try.” Crowley steps up to Aziraphale’s steed, eyeing the beast warily as her hand moves to the saddle bags.  The horse pins back its ears but otherwise remains still. She digs around in the bags, pulls out a flask with a grin.  Popping out the stopper, she adds, “You’d make a very pretty lady.  All the lads are mad for your coloring.”

Aziraphale feels his face heat.  “Don’t tease. And that’s only water.”

“Not anymore, it isn’t.” Crowley tips back the flask for a drink. “Tell you what.  Let’s stop fomenting and do a little fermenting instead.”

“I—I can’t,” Aziraphale says.  “I have to find Guinevere and return her to Arthur.”

Crowley waves to the darkening sky above.  “She’s long gone now.  Look, you’ve made the effort; Heaven will be very proud of you.”  Aziraphale dithers, and she adds, “Tell them you came across a young woman alone in the woods.  Deeply troubled.  Possibly Fallen.”  Aziraphale shoots her a look and she waggles her eyebrows.  “C’mon, angel.  A little temptation never hurt anybody.”

Aziraphale feels his resolve – never fortified to begin with – crumble under the demon’s logic.  He plucks the flask from her hand and takes a heavy draft, tasting complex spices, a crisp-fresh finish.

“Well,” he sighs, “best make up a fire, then.”

They spend the next few hours drinking and talking, pleasantries giving way to jokes as the wine loosens their tongues.  At some point, Crowley nicks Aziraphale’s visor and puts it on.  She play-acts a great mouth, opening and closing the lid with each word.  They find the whole thing uproariously funny.  The flask they pass back and forth never runs dry.

Later, drunker still, Crowley announces she has grown weary and lies down to sleep.  Aziraphale watches the dying firelight play across her curves and angles, lighting her hair to polished bronze.  Hand pillowed under one cheek, she watches him watching her.

“Well, don’t sit there like a stone,” she says.  “Come sleep beside me.”

“I…”  Aziraphale’s throat is thick, his tongue clumsy.  “I don’t need to sleep.  Neither do you.”

Crowley shrugs, eyelids drooping.  “S’nice. That’s all.”

Her eyes close, and for a long while, she is silent.  Just when Aziraphale thinks she has fallen asleep, she murmurs, quietly, “He threatened to throw her to the dogs, you know.  Let them tear her apart.”

Aziraphale tenses. Were he sober, he would know better than to take the bait, but the heady fug of alcohol has robbed him of his wits. “Who?”

“Arthur.”  She sounds almost too tired to be scornful – tired after the day’s ride, tired after centuries of watching humans throw one another to the dogs.  She yawns, settles.  “Not so shiny and perfect, after all.”

She falls asleep after that, and Aziraphale watches her long into the night.  He has never learned the human trick of slumber – has never seen a need. But perhaps the drink has something to do with it, or perhaps it is the soul-deep contentment of watching Crowley, still and peaceful.  The sharp angles of her body seem to soften, the nervy strain eases.  He tries to recall the last time he saw her so calm. He finds he cannot.

It may be a waking dream or a figment of his muddled imagination, but sometime later, swimming up from a deep darkness, he feels a light touch on his face.  He is still seated, elbows propped on his knees, but his mind floats elsewhere.  A familiar gaze brushes the edges of consciousness.  A sense of security stretches around him like the boughs of a great, ancient tree.

The next thing he knows, Aziraphale is blinking, muzzy but alert, and the night has given way to dawn. The fire has been covered in dirt and a protective ward laid around the clearing, humming with demonic power.  As Aziraphale stands, dazed, the ward vanishes. He is alone and his horse is gone. Taken by a certain Fallen woman, no doubt.

A scrap of parchment sits on the grass where Crowley had lain, soaking up the morning dew. Aziraphale picks it up, shakes off droplets.  The note is scrawled in charcoal, in a hand known only by angels and demons.

Angel,

Nasty battle coming up.  Camlann.  I’m leaving before it gets really out of hand.  You should do the same.  DO NOT give me cause to come back.

-C

“Foul fiend,” Aziraphale mutters.

Sighing, he tucks the note away and rises stiffly to his feet.  The trudge back to Camelot is long and lonely, but he will get there eventually.

#sappphica #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfic #long post #good omens word prompt

[mintly]

I must know what Horse 🐴 is, please!

This is the fic I'm doing for the OTP Prompt event!!! Right now it's mostly notes. Wessex era, riding horseback is terrible, and the one demon tries to break some rules or maybe make some.

Aziraphale spurred his horse faster, kicking up dust behind him. Crowley groaned, ever dramatic, and sped to match. His horse huffed, nonplussed.

"Oh come on, don't be rude," Crowley said. "It's just a bunch of humans in clanky metal suits at a table. And it's round! Terrific! What's next? Maybe a nice trapezoid?"

"I'm not rude," Aziraphale interrupted. "You simply cannot come with me, Crowley."

"I meant the horse, angel."

Aziraphale turned to glare at him. Crowley was fighting back a grin and doing a terrible job of it. Aziraphale said nothing but narrowed his eyes.

#I'm thinking of combining it with the Mwawwiage WIP but we'll see we'll see. #ahhhh this one's rough but oh well #mintly speaks

[willowfoot]

🐍

As the years pass, and the humans get more and more thorough with their records-keeping, it’s a given that Aziraphale and Crowley are forced to get a bit creative with their human personas in order to blend in.

For instance, birthdays. Neither angels nor demons have birthdays precisely, at least not any comprehensible by human standards of time, so they’re obliged to make one up. It’s not quite as simple as picking a single year and sticking to it, because people tend to look at you askance if your ID states a year of birth from several centuries ago. So every few years, the two of them update their “birthday” to match with their current corporation’s apparent age.

For the sake of ease, the month and day of their “birthdays” stay the same. After some dithering (and influences from a certain Globe performance around 1599), Aziraphale settles for March 15, and is unreasonably smug over the joke of it. (“But angel, isn’t that technically mocking the murder of an actual human? How very… unangelic of you.” To which Aziraphale only swats a smirking Crowley’s shoulder and refuses to dignify him with a response.) Crowley, rather predictably, chooses June 6. (“Really, my dear?” “What? I have a reputation to maintain.”)

But while Aziraphale tends to pluck a random year that’ll set him at roughly middle-age, then proceeds to forget about the whole business for two decades or more until Crowley reminds him about it, Crowley is decidedly more methodical in choosing his years of birth. 1893. 1929. 1941. 1965. (Plus other years before and in-between.) It takes Aziraphale a while to notice a pattern, but eventually he realizes; Crowley’s birth years are all twelve (or some multiple of twelve) years apart. Perhaps it‘s simply a matter of convenience, but Aziraphale knows Crowley, and suspects there’s some deeper meaning to it.

He tries to subtly (or not so subtly) bring up the subject in conversation in the hopes of getting an explanation. “I do believe it’s that time again,” he says as casually as he can on one occasion, while he and Crowley are dining at the Ritz one lovely afternoon in May 2009. “Mrs. Wang down at the manicurist said something to the effect that I look remarkably spry for a person of fifty-five. No danger yet, of course, but I felt it best to… amend my birth certificate, somewhat, just in case.”

“Good move,” Crowley says, though he looks far more interested in aiming a piece of mashed potato with an improvised spoon-catapult at a businessman sitting nearby, dressed in an expensive suit and loudly berating a young waiter.

“I was thinking of changing it to your current birth year, in fact,” Aziraphale continues. “1965. How does that sound?”

“Mm.” Crowley fires his projectile once the waiter leaves the table. The businessman sputters and turns scarlet as the mashed potato lands neatly in his cup, spilling red wine all over his suit.

“Stop that,” Aziraphale scolds, though he discreetly twitches a finger and ties the laces of the man’s Oxford shoes together beneath the tablecloth. “I was thinking that perhaps you also ought to change your birthdate to save yourself the hassle later. Perhaps the year,” Aziraphale pretends to think, “1976?”

“Nope,” Crowley says cheerfully, popping the ‘p’. “1977”.

“What a coincidence,” Aziraphale says triumphantly. “Isn’t that exactly twelve years after your last birthday?”

“It sure is,” Crowley says, and digs right into his slice of angel cake without a word more on the matter.

Aziraphale gives up.

It’s very much a reverse Dick Turpin situation. Much as Newton Pulsifer desperately hopes for someone to ask him why he gave such a name to his car, Aziraphale unsuccessfully tries to get Crowley to explain the pattern behind his birth years, while Crowley blissfully ignores the angel’s increasingly obvious hints each time.

It takes another nine years, one failed Antichrist-raising, and one Armageddon’t later, when Aziraphale finally gets his answer.

A month after the first day of the rest of their lives, Aziraphale and Crowley are mildly tipsy in the bookshop’s back room, Crowley sprawled across the sofa and Aziraphale settled in his cozy armchair.

“You know, we didn’t celebrate our birthdays this year,” Crowley says, swilling his wine around his glass. A few drops spill out, but have the good sense not to stain Crowley’s shirt or the sofa cushions.

“We don’t have birthdays,” Aziraphale points out, somewhat fuzzy with drink. “Those dates are only for our records. You know that.”

“We can do yours first, since yours comes before mine,” Crowley continues as though Aziraphale hasn’t spoken. “But even so… the Ides of March? Really? That was the best you could come up with?”

“It’s a ref’rence. A clever one. Shakespeare said it,” Aziraphale mutters. “And you’re one to talk. Your birthday is bloody 666.”

“Technically only 6/6. Haven’t had a six in my birth year since… oh, 1965.” Crowley sighs happily. “That was a good one. Put it on my annual report to Hell and everything. Dagon didn’t appreciate it, unfunny bastard never does, but I swear I saw that arse Asmodeus nearly laugh.”

Aziraphale sits up straight in his armchair. Even sobers up, because he wants to remember this after trying for decades to find the truth. Crowley sees the revived clarity in Aziraphale’s eyes and sobers up, too.

“Angel? What is it?”

“Why are your birth years always twelve or some multiple of twelve years apart?” Aziraphale demands. “I’ve been trying to figure it out for ages, but I never could, and you were never any help. Don’t try to fool me, you old serpent. I know it must mean something.”

Crowley looks startled for a moment, then slowly begins to grin. “Why, angel. I thought you’d never ask! I wondered how long it would take for you to break and ask me outright instead of dancing around it like you always do.”

Aziraphale huffs. “Fine, you win this round. Now tell me — why?”

Crowley sits back on the sofa, cross-legged, yellow eyes alight with eagerness.

“D’you remember when I stayed in China for a spell, around 560 A.D.?”

Aziraphale frowns. “Yes, of course I do. That was when you bought me that lovely vase from Hangzhou. What does that have to do with anything?”

Crowley grins again. “I was assigned to carry out the temptation of a noble, but I ended earlier than expected and took the rest of the week off.” What he doesn’t mention is that the noble in question had already thrown himself headfirst into a thoroughly immoral life before Crowley even arrived in the country, leaving him twiddling his thumbs as he tried to figure out what to do next. “I was staying at a hotel near the Yangtze River when I heard from the locals that some sort of big event was taking place nearby.”

“And this was?”

“You see, apparently this event had been in the works for years. Sanctioned by the emperor and everything. It was going to completely revolutionize the way the Chinese used their calendar.”

The story begins to sound vaguely familiar to Aziraphale.

Crowley grins again. “They gathered some of the most popular animals together in order to host a race. A Great Race. The first twelve animals that could cross the river and reach the finish line would have the privilege of becoming part of the new Chinese zodiac… forever.”

“Crowley, you didn’t,” Aziraphale says, realization dawning.

“Oh, I sure did.”

“You invented the Year of the Snake?”

“There wasn’t a single serpent among all the contestants! Seemed a bit prejudiced, if you ask me, unless a snake was invited but simply didn’t show. So I just,” Crowley waves an airy hand, “slipped into something more slithery and lined up with all the rest.”

“I cannot believe your nerve.” Aziraphale sighs, but a smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

“Rather a neat job, wasn’t it?” Crowley beams. “I came in sixth, and so the snake became the sixth animal in the Chinese zodiac, representing the birth years of millions of humans around the world for the past two millennia.”

“And that’s why you always choose birthdays that are twelve years apart — so you can be ‘born’ in the Year of the Snake each time.” Aziraphale shakes his head in fond disbelief. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it sooner.”

“Well, I invented it, didn’t I? Would be a shame if I wasted my contribution.” Crowley thinks for a moment. “Your current birth year is 1973, isn’t it? That would put you in the Year of the Ox.” He smiles at the angel. “Tough, clever, set in their ways, strong sense of justice, a tendency towards scholarly pursuits… fits you pretty well, I’d say.”

“And you’re a snake, of course. Crafty, passionate, optimistic, observant, and loyal to those they love.” Aziraphale gets up and moves to sit beside Crowley on the sofa, taking his hand. “Sounds about right to me.”

“Tell the whole blessed world, will you,” Crowley grumbles, though there’s little heat to it. He burrows his face in Aziraphale’s neck.

They sit there contentedly for a while, enjoying the silence and each other’s presence. Then Aziraphale frowns.

“Didn’t you ride a horse to get to the finish line?”

Crowley slowly lifts his head, cornered. “Er.”

“You did, didn’t you? That’s how the story goes, at least. The snake hides on the horse’s hoof to cross the river, then startles the horse at the last second, so that the snake finishes in sixth place and the horse in seventh.” Aziraphale narrows his eyes at Crowley. “I thought you disliked horses. What really happened?”

Crowley groans. “It wasn’t my fault, honestly. I was in the middle of crossing the river when I nearly got stepped on by that blasted creature. I only managed to avoid discorporation by latching onto his leg. I kept yelling at him to stop running, for Somebody’s sake, but he didn’t notice me, at least not until he looked down near the end and gave himself a fright.” He shudders at the memory. “I didn’t so much as cross as I was thrown over the finish line. 臭马,” he mutters.

Aziraphale kisses the pout off Crowley’s lips. “Well, look at it this way. At least you ended up finishing before him, my dear.”

—

(I’m a snake zodiac myself, so of course I had to write this.

Some notes:

I did my best but this isn’t very historically accurate, apologies. However, the Great Race that I mention here is the actual myth behind the formation of the Chinese zodiac.

In Chinese astrology, the snake and the ox are said to be “heavenly compatible”, relationship-wise. 👀

Thanks for reading!)

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aj crowley #go tv #good omens tv #gotv #fanfiction #fanfic #willowfic #personal #chinese zodiac #snakes #this is my sole contribution to the zodiac discourse #i know Nothing about the western zodiac but i am chinese so here we are #also if youre seeing this twice i reposted it bc of tag mixups #snake crowley

[apocryphalia]

WIP Wednesday

I swear this is at least the second-to-last time you’re getting anything from the monster fic for this, because I refuse to keep working on it into March and I will finish it, dammit. But in the meantime, have some terrible plague metaphors:

----

Something is spreading slowly across the map, the spilled contents of a toppled inkwell. Once released, it cannot be put back into its pot. It passes from fiber to fiber, sinking deep into fragile human bodies and breaking them down from the inside.

They call it the Black Death, the Great Pestilence. Crowley sees it coming from the east, watches it begin its corrosive iron-gall spread across the continent toward Europe. He watches humans fall like flies from the poisoned air, their bodies swelling and their lungs expelling blood. He watches as they gather their dead and toss them unceremoniously into pits, the bodies piling up too quickly to fuss over proper treatment. Panic spreads alongside it, leeching across the map hand in hand with death.

He hears some proclaim the pestilence a punishment from God. Crowley remembers weeks of unending rain and the high wails of drowning children, too many to be saved. He remembers the smell of burning flesh as fire rained down upon Sodom and Gomorrah, and he wonders if they’re right. The irony, of course, is that God’s most devoted are hit the hardest as they try desperately to nurse the affected back to health, to offer comfort while they thrash in pain through their final moments. Crowley watches holy men and women of every faith succumb to the illness, and he thinks of Aziraphale, cloistered among his books in what must soon become the site of another mass grave.

He rides his horse through the night to get ahead of the dark stain, to get back to the angel and warn him before it is too late. He stops only a handful of times, sleeping in fits and spurts when his horse is unable to continue. By the time he reaches the shores of England, the severely weakened palfrey left behind across the Channel, his face is drawn in a permanent state of exhaustion. He is hollow-cheeked and deathly pale, dark shadows creeping under his eyes, a walking preview of the news he carries with him.

#wip wednesday #good omens #fanfic #here be dragons #gratuitous ink metaphors #black death

[moonflower-31]

Journey To A Dream - Sabriel Rapunzel AU

Part 6 

Part 5 

Part 4 

Part 3 

Part 2 

Part 1  

Sam immediately let out a laugh as he started running around in the grass, launching old fallen leaves into the air and splashing water from a nearby pond.

"Does grass always smell this good?!" He exclaimed, bringing a bunch of pulled blades from the ground to his nose before moving onto something else. "Water is way more cold than I thought it would be!" He exclaimed, chucklimg to himself as he dug his fingers into the dirt and sighed happily at how it felt.

Gabriel watched this turn of events with a confused expression and a raised eyebrow.  This guy really had never left that tower for 21 years. All of his life. That was something that Gabriel could barely fathom.

Gabriel couldn't even be in Heaven nowadays for that long without pulling his feathers from his wings out.

Gabriel shook his head and just watched Sam freak out. It was quite entertaining, if he were to say so himself.

Sam continues to freak out for five minutes, just being happy to be out of that freaking tower. After a few moments he finally runs back to Gabriel, laughing happily to himself.

"Thank you!! I cannot believe I'm doing this!" He grinned, pushing his dark brown strand behind his ear as he turns to leave the clearing.

Gabriel again raises an eyebrow at the strand, but shrugs it off, walking after him. Immediately, ideas began to run through his head though. This guy hasn't seen the real world, right? So Gabriel could technically scare him, right?

Sam almost danced away from the tower, running through trees and just enjoying the spring wind on his face. Sure, he knew that he would have to go back, but he was going to enjoy it while he could. Azazel obviously wasn't going to let him. And besides, what was so wrong with the world that Azazel wouldn't let him go out?

Gabriel walked behind Sam slowly, his hands in his pockets as Crowley hung onto Sam's shoulder.

"So... you live in that towet alone?" Gabriel asks, running a hand through his golden brown hair.

Sam finally stops running and shook his head, humming a tune under his breath as he walked ahead of Gabriel.

Gabriel raised another curious eyebrow. "So, who else lives with you?" He asks, lowering his head as Crowley gave Gabriel a glare.

Sam turned his head and frowned. "U-uh... my father. He's away right now. Actually thats the only reason I've been able to even get out of the tower in the first place." He says, smacking Crowley a bit for being rude.

Gabriel smirked a bit. "So, you still live with your father? Aren't you afraid he might... I dunno... come home early and find you gone? Wouldn't he search the ends of the earth for you?" He asks, plucking a flower from the ground, sniffing it innocently as Sam stopped in realization.

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, and began to worry. "He... he would, wouldn't he..." he mumbles, beginning to fret.

Gabriel fought back the urge to smile more. "And wouldn't you crush his heart, knowing you left after he asked you specifically not to?" He asks, still walking forwards, but not very fast.

Sam widens his eyes even more, beginning to pant. "Y-yeah... yeah he would..." he syas nervously, shuffling his feet.

Gabriel shrugged. "Well, if you want my opinion, I think we should just cut you out of this deal. Take you and your rat home, I get my satchel, and then you and your father will have a great relationship untainted by betrayal-" he starts, turning around to see a miffed Sam who stomped over to him.

"No! I am seeing those lanterns!" He insists, brandishing the pan in his hand. "You will take me to see those lanterns conscious or not." He threatens, moving the pan threateningly close.

Gabriel finally stops walking, and pushed Sam's pan away as he starts to try and talk himself out of the deal when the bushes begin to rustle, and a far off sound of voices make Sam jump and hide behind Gabriel.

"Is is Angels? Hunters? Have they finally tracked my hair down?!" He squeaked, making Gabriel give him a dumbfounded look.

Then, out of the bushes outsteps a moose. Gabriel snickers. "Look, its just another version of you, Samsquatch. Don't worry, it can't smell fear." He teased. Sam huffed and smacked Gabriel's shoulder.

"Shut up! Hunters and angels have wanted my hair for as long as I can remember." He says, pushing his hair back as he begins walking.

"What makes you say that? Why would, hypothetically, an angel want your hair?" He asks Sam, confused and laughing at Sam's excuse for being scared.

Sam huffed again. "My father told me-" he starts before he reevaluates his decision. "You know what? No. Its none of your buisness." He says in a scowl before he stomps forward, making Gabriel roll his eyes.

Gabriel wanted to say that it was his buisness, but that would reveal more than he wanted to. Then an idea hit him.

Gabriel quickly caught up with Sam. "You know what? I'm hungry. Are you? Cause I know a great place for lunch." He insists, smiling.

Sam raised an eyebrow, softening his face. "Really? What's it called?" He asks.

Gabriel chuckled. "Its a surprise, come on. Let's go." He says before he grabs Sam's hand and leads him down the hill towards the place he had in mind.

Sam kept looking around as Gabriel led him through the forest. He was still in awe of the world and wondering still how his father saw the world as so cruel.

Eventually, after a short while Gabriel led Sam to a building lit up in a sign that said 'Harvelle's Roadhouse'.

Sam smiled at the place. "Its nice..." He says, smiling as he admired the building.

Gabriel forced a smile onto his face. "Right? Come on, lets go in and eat." He says, grabbing Sam's wrist and dragging him up to the door and bursting the door open. "Ellen! Your best table, please." He says in a fake accent, which Sam follows up with a gasp.

Sam's eyes wander the restaurant, seeing hunters everywhere. A few at the bar, a few playing darts, some looking through lore books, before they all looked up at Sam and Gabriel.

Gabriel forced Sam through, almost dragging him through the crowd of literally blood covered hunters. "Joe, nice to see you, Ah, Polly, nice to see you got that stab wound fixed up." He says, making up names for each of the hunters as they walked. "See, these giys are nice. But if they unsettle you that much, why don't we just ride on back to your little tower-" he starts before he bumps into a larger hunter, one who looked like a real drunkard.

Sam gulped as he looked into the hunter's blue eyes, backing away from the man. Then, another hunter, one who had her name etched onto her cap 'Jo' picked up Gabriel by the collar. She pulled out a wanted paper and showed it to him.

"This you?" She asks, smirking at him.

Gabriel looked at Jo for a moment and shook his head. "No. Trust me you definitely have the wrong guy-" he starts. Then, another female hunter comes up, gripping a fistful of Sam's hair.

"Really? Why would someone come in here, looking exactly like the fugitive Loki, with a sissy of a partner with this much fucking hair?" The blonde hunter hissed, glaring at Gabriel with her own blue eyes.

Sam yelps and pulls his hair out of the hunter's grip and accidentally bumped into the other hunter again. The hunter grumbled and looked at him again.

"Would you stop that? Can't any of you idjits leave me alone?" He grunts. Sam sighed and muttered a 'Sorry' before he sunk away.

Gabriel raised his hands and almost admitted defeat. "N-no, look, that isn't me. See? The faces don't match! Especially the nose!" He insists, trying to be put down.

Then, finally, another hunter grabs the wanted poster and chews out the nose portion. "Now does it look like you?" The hunter asks, murder in his eyes.

Gabriel gulps somewhat and the hunter smirks. "Ooh I'm gonna love sending you off to get your head cut off like the vamps that I kill." He smirked, hoisting Gabriel up by his collar and hanging him on the wall as all of the hunters in the room began to discuss what they were going to do with the prize money.

The hunter Sam had accidentally bumped into multiple times sent a hunter by the name of 'Garth' out the door to go get 'Dean'. Sam could only guess that 'Dean' was the guards.

"Go on, ya idjit! Go send for Dean! You know how much he wants this mother's head." The hunter huffs before he goes to try and break up the fighting. But Sam beat him to it.

Sam stood up on top of a table and launched his hair, pulling back one of the loose rafters before calling out. "Hey!" And letting go, hitting the dark skinned hunter who had put Gabriel up on the hook on the head.

Immediately everyone's attention turned to Sam, and they started to move towards him.

Sam then began to panic. "L-look, I get it. You all probably aren't able to afford much. And him falling into your laps is probably a godsend. But please, he's my only ticket to see the lanterns the kingdom is sending off tomorrow before I have to go back home. It's been my dream forever. Please, find it in yourselves to let him go. Haven't any of you had a dream once in your lives?" He asks in a huff and with limited air.

The gruff hunter that Sam accidentally kept bothering got extremely close and took a long swig of his beer before he tossed it into the garbage, where it promptly shattered.

"What's your name kid?" He asks in a rough voice.

Sam gulps before he answered. "Sam, my name is Sam." He answered.

Gabriel face palmed against the door, knowing that was a stupid mistake with hunters.

Bobby ponders this a second before he extends his hand. "The name's Bobby Singer. You a hunter?" He asks. "You don't look like one. All that hair would get you killed." He says.

Sam chuckled nervously. "N-no, no I'm not...B-bobby." He says.

Bobby nods before he starts speaking again. "Well Sam, yeah, I did have a dream. A long time ago. My dream was to marry the girl of my dreams. Keep up my ranch of horses. But that all caved in on me when a demon possessed my wife and I had to kill her." He answered, opening a new beer.

Sam raised his eyebrows, frowning at Bobby's story. "I... I'm so sorry." He says, suddenly feeling bad for the hunter.

One of the female hunters stepped up. "Me? My dad was possessed by an angel. The angel got him killed. My mom died cause of one too. Don't let them fool you. They aren't cherubs." The blonde hunter hissed. "You know what my dream was? To have my family back." She says.

Sam sighed, grippimg his hair. Then, another hunter stood up, this was the darker skinned one. "My dream? To avenge my sister. She was turned into a vampire amd I had to kill her. But revenge never satisfies anything." He says, sharpening his knife against the table.

Sam looked around, seeing multiple hunters step up and tell their stories and their crushed dreams. It made Sam's heart ache. He flashed his puppy dog eyes at everyone, feeling terrible.

The very last moment, one of the other hunters took hold of Gabriel's collar and put him down. "What about you, Trickster? Ever had a dream?" The hunter asked.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Sorry guys but uh, I don't share well with others." He says, before a few hunters took out their knives and Gabriel rolled his eyes again.

"Fine. My dream, was to get away from my family. Start a new life full of sex, riches and lots and lots of sugar!" Gabriel started out meaningful, like he was going to actually take it serious, before he finishes, giving a seductive pose that no one was fazed by.

Bobby scoffed. "That's a terrible dream." He says. Gabriel shrugged.

"You asked." He says, trying to walk away triumphantly. The other hunters lifted him up again, aiming their blades near his body. He looked almost unfazed, but he had to keep up the facade. So he made a look of terror and gulped.

Bobby turned back to Sam. "Now you, Sam. Tell us your dream." He says, sitting back and sipping his beer.

Sam smiled and stood up a bit taller. "Well... mine isn't as precious as yours. But, for me? Every year on May second, I open my window from my tower and I see almost a thousand lanterns launched into the sky. I always wondered what they looked like in person. My father never let me out of the tower." He says, leaning towards Bobby for a second. Bobby gives him a skeptical look, before continuing to listen.

"So, since Loki has been to the kingdom I'm asking him to take me to see them. The agreement was that he'd take me and then take me home but... if I'm honest? The more and more time I spend outside of my tower? The more I want to stay out." He admits, smiling to himself.

Bobby smiled and opened his mouth to speak as Garth charged into the bar again, fixing his hat.

"I found him! And the guards!" He exclaims. Bobby widened his eyes and grabbed Sam's wrist, pulling Gabriel along with him. He pulled them behind the bar, and pulled a lever, showing that there was a tunnel let out under the floorboard.

Bobby sighed, and smiled at Sam. "Go on, live your dream. Find peace or whatever." He says.

Gabriel stares into the dark cavern and smirked. "Oh I will, don't worry..." he says in a whisper. A loud thud is heard above the bar as the horse from earlier stamped his hooves against the bar counter.

Sam covers his mouth so his yelp isn't heard. Bobby rolls his eyes and smacks Gabriel in the back of the head.

"Your dream, stinks. I was talking to him." He says in a scowl. Sam smiled nervously and hugged Bobby for a moment.

"Thank you," he whispers before he escapes into the tunnel behind Gabriel. Bobby then closes the hatch, hoping to give them some time.

As Bobby stands back up, Dean walks over and greets him in a hug.

"Bobby, long time no see, huh?" He asks. Bobby nods, smiling a bit as he hugs back.

"Well if you weren't so busy all the time," he starts in a huff. Dean chuckled.

"Bobby, we've talked about this. You know why I search so much. I need to find him. I promised him I'd protect him the day he was born. I failed him on that. So now I gotta find him. Bring him home." Dean says, looking over at the horse.

The horse tries to mess with the floorboards where Sam and Gabriel had been able to escape through.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Cas? You find something?" Dean asks, walking over. He sees the boards are unusually cut, and starts to inspect it a bit.

Castiel rolled his eyes and pressed his hoove against a hidden lever, opening the tunnel.

Dean smiled victoriously. "Great job Cas. Now, lets get this filthy Trickster." He grins before one by one the guards start to pile into the tunnel, making Bobby sigh and hope for the best for Sam and unfortunately, for Gabriel.

#spn #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn fandom #spn fanfic #sabriel #sabriel/tangled #supernatural/tangled #sabrielspn