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tetsuwan-atom · 3 years

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Holy Grail War - Unraveling

(So, this is basically something I’ve been meaning to write for weeks. It’s in a specific verse about a specific event that had unfolded, that was plotted out between a few people. I have decided to give this event a bit of a ‘conclusion’ from the perspective of my muse and canon, to show how the story could have gone, how it could have ended.)

~~~~~~~~~~~

It really was like hell.

It looked like it, felt like it, like this was the most evil place, in all of existence.

Another dimension, another world but not at the same time. An experience that would burn into the retinas forever. A world in a world, like you had stepped into the end of it all.

And it really did seem like it was the end, of it all.

You never expected the Holy Grail to look like this. A beacon of such evil, of apocalyptic catastrophe. The very symbol that brought such chaos, time and time again, feeding upon the greed, the selfishness, of those who sought to use it to it’s truest potential.

But this individual wasn’t here for that.

This person had fought through the war. He had faced countless forces, foes, enemies. How many had to die? How many brought no other option to him, despite his attempts to make it out of the war without bloodshed?

A wishful outcome, that was doomed to perish.

The many he did save, those who joined him on the cause. Those he had to leave behind at the very end. Despite the pleas of those who tried to remain, he knew, he had to take care of this himself.

Because, there can only be one.

And here he stood. He stared evil right in the face, like it was his destiny to face this. There could have been others that would have taken his place, the sibling princesses, the spiky haired schoolboy, the Sorceress Supreme, but in the end he took his objective right to this moment.

He knew he had to take care of this himself.

Bowen Chuuno, The Mighty Atom.

He stared at the embodiment of the Holy Grail. He knew of it’s power, it’s energy, it’s deceit. How it calls out to him even now to turn back on all of his goals and make a wish he so deemed to come right from the heart.

But he knew better than to give in.

Hands gripped his IDND, a step forward in stance. He’s ready. He’s about to take the matters into his own.

To put an end to this.

For goo-

“Oh! There you are!”

Eyes widen in surprise. The male hesitates, stops, lowers his device. He’s not alone after all.

There is someone else here.

A voice, he recognises. A man he knows.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Adachi Shiro.

A supposed detective of the National Police Agency, sent to Academy City to investigate the concerns that were happening literally during the time of the Holy Grail War. A very strange coincidence. One that the male took with quite a bit of suspicion at that, despite his cheerful character.

He only turned his head, to the man in question.

“What are you doing here, Adachi? How did you get in?”

“What do you mean? I just walked through. I was asking your friends where you were and they pointed me here. I gotta admit they were all acting strange. They didn’t want to let me pass, but I needed to see you. They can’t just interfere with police business like that.”

Adachi had been Bowen’s ‘sidekick’ throughout the war. Of course Bowen couldn’t hide it from him when the fighting started getting bad. Even he knew better than to lie to a cop.

“I’m busy. What you require of me can wa-.”

“Hey.” The man interjected. “Is this the ‘grail’ you’ve been looking for? Kinda looks odd for a piece of metal, doesn’t it?”

In case your wondering, yes, this man does get on Bowen’s nerves... especially right now, though he knew to remain calm.

“...........Yes. This... is the Holy Grail.”

“Aahhhhhhhh! Well done! I knew you would be the one to make it! Them bad guys got nothing on you, huh?”

His smile is just... why does it irritate him so much?

“...I guess...”

“So, what you going to do, huh? You said it grants a wish, right? I bet you planned this right from the very beginning, what you wanted out of it. I can’t believe I’m here to witness a man’s dream finally being granted!”

“I’m not going to give it a wish, Adachi.”

“You’re... not?” He looks surprised, for sure. “But you came all this way. I was there as you kicked those guys butts for the good of the world. Why would you come all this way if you weren’t going to make a wish? Weren’t you going to do something for mankind? Weren’t you going to save it?”

Bowen hadn’t told Adachi of his intentions, because he didn’t feel the man needed to know. But now, right at the last moment, when he couldn’t hide it anymore, there was no reason to lie.

“I am going to do something for mankind, I am going to save it.....”

The blonde grips his IDND, as if readying himself a second time.

“....By destroying the grail for good..”

“....”

There was this... pause. A silence, an awkward silence. How long did it last for? Probably a good ten, fifteen seconds, before some form of response was found from the arrival.

“Hmmmmmhmhmhmhmhm...”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!”

...That was an unexpected reaction, one which actually brought the blonde to turn around and face the other, still serious, but with confusion now mixed into his features.

Why the hell was Adachi... laughing?

“You, you really think I’d actually let you destroy this artifact of grand power?!?”

“What... are you on about?”

“Come now. You’ve got a good brain, you can figure this all out. Am I really a cop? Why did I actually hang around you of all people while this shit was going down, huh?”

“......”

”You know. I found it really weird that you showed up out of nowhere right at the start of the war. Then when things started heating up you reeeeallly didn’t act like I’d expect out of a cop. It was like you weren’t too caring when people were driven to death. You were also acting very strange when certain things were going on. I had a feeling you were in this war all along.”

There was this pause, but in that moment, the expression on Adachi’s face began to change... no his FACE began to change. It turned.. paler... in colour.. and his eyes.. they were turning yellow. A sort of... sickly... unsettling yellow.

“....”

“Well it doesn’t matter in the end, does it? I got exactly what I wanted. I played you to ensure you were the one at the very end. Nobody else could match up to you anyway.”

“...What do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me! You know exactly why. Your reputation precedes you far more than what you understand about it! While everybody else was distracted I kept my eye on the real threat. They were so worried about that dumb boy and that girl.. and then the others. They were all so useless. ”

The man then begins to circle the blonde, in conversation.

“Right at the beginning my eyes were on you. But it was quite a ride, wasn’t it? You were so good at minimising the work we had to do, putting people on side, finding some way to drop them from the war without killing them. But man everybody was making it hard, wasn’t it? I almost took advantage of that situation when the lucky kid got sent away. Can you believe it, a fake marriage just for the war! I knew it meant shit at the end of the day. More people, more mess, a whole Kingdom trying to get in on the war, those two princesses asserting their dominance. Remember how you reacted at first? You didn’t like them intruding, didn’t you?”

“...I don’t like getting others involved. But they were here for the same goal. As long as the initial plan was followed there wouldn’t be any problems.”

“But the younger one was such a real bitch about it! Making it out that it wasn’t all about you. You didn’t want to be playing second fiddle as others meddled in your objective... I can relate, for they were meddling, in MY affairs!”

“I had to take a breather after all that. I left Academy City for a bit while you cleaned up the trash. Some ‘fighter’ chick caught me talking to myself one day. I tried to downplay it cause I didn’t want more people coming into it but.. the stupid bitch nearly got sucked into it! It would have been soooo funny, seeing a tourney fighter getting wrecked by some loaded-ass Servant! More junk for the janitors to mop up!”

“But then too... I was laughing at the beginning. You got paired with Stacia Sequenzia! An ‘Atomite’ helping another Atomite! The irony there is laughable! You even tried to put her on the sidelines too, but you know, Servants are there to help their masters! I wonder if you ever had to perform a Mana Transfer on her!”

A laugh escaped the man. He wasn’t looking for an actual answer.

“Then there was that guy who just muscled in just to fight everyone, he wasn’t even IN the war. What a waste of fuckin’ time. And the Makiris, the Einsworths. Those fools were all bickering and bitching and making a mess of things. I nearly lost my cover when the war was to move to England.. but I got to pull some... strings and keep it here where I wanted. They were all so concerned about the lucky kid. I was ‘lucky’ I didn’t get to see Violent Violet or that Crowley moron come around to the war. I got to focus my efforts on you while the families shat on about their supposed ‘vessel’.”

“...Vessel... you mean... Index?”

“You dumb piece of shit. Index. Please. Everyone looks at her like she’s a fucking meal. No. She is not their ‘vessel’. Come on, think. Think reeealll hard. Do you remember a girl that the idiot took under his wing?”

“Her... you mean.. Akatsuki Miyuki?!”

“Mmm! Strange isn’t it? They were going to use her as a vessel. Too bad it wouldn’t have worked. I wasn’t interested. I don’t give a shit about humans and homunculi anymore. None of them lived up to my expectations. I wouldn’t have even used your girl either. No, I only had one person on my mind. I got what I wanted in the end, didn’t I?”

“....That’s... me... isn’t it?”

“Oh. No duh, what do you think? Of course I mean you. The Mighty Atom! The one with the power to change it all! It had to be you. The boy would have just been a candy bar. Those two princesses? I would have just killed them the moment they tried to walk through into my space! It was ME that made you an initial participant, it was ME that got you through right until the end. I knew you weren’t going to risk the suffering of those around you because maybe deep down you knew it had to be you, that anyone else would have died one way or another. They all underestimate my power... even those influenced by gods.. but not you. You knew what I can do... you knew it had to be you.”

“....But then... what are you... if you wanted so much.. out of me?”

“...Do I need to spell it out for you, boy? I AM the Holy Grail!”

That.. that was a bombshell.. he didn’t see that coming at all.

“...Y..you...”

“Yes. Me. But I’m rather an extension of the beast, allowed to roam in a body that people could lower their guard around. Nobody ever expected the beast would grow intelligent, to form a mind of it’s own. I’ve seen it, I’ve seen how greedy and malicious humans can get, for peace and for power. I was never surprised by how much they wanted to take over everything for themselves... I always enjoyed it when they were the ones losing right at the end. And then there’s those that want a ‘utopia’, but still kill, still maim, like any life is a sacrifice for the good of others. And then I kill and maim them, an eye for an eye, along with many many others. I loved playing on their wishes, lulling them in, bringing out their true nature, leaving them vulnerable right at the moment I strike! In the end they all get absorbed... ready for the next war. But.... no matter how powerful they are, it’s never... ever enough..”

“I’m bored of this game, this charade. I’m sick and tired of prancing around in a shit body. It’s still fun to prey on the gullible but, I have always yearned for something far... far greater. What I am... what I really, really am, they never suspect what I can really, really do, what they were playing with from the start. The power they were using. They thought they could play god... for their sick, twisted gains! Through their sick, twisted means!”

“But now I’m actually going to become one... thanks to you.. I’m going to be born, properly born! I’m going to burst forth as the being I should have become in the very beginning. Humanity will crumble as I consume anything and everything. Mark my words this will be the last Grail War because of you. You soul will be used to complete the process... it will make me... me! There was truly no vessel greater than you! Even now I’ve been slowly draining your energy away to grow, to develop... oh isn’t this exciting! You’re going to be a part of multi-universal history, the end of everything! Nobody will get in my way! Your power will make everything happen at once! You, responsible for the end of it all. The beginning and the end, death for life, the rise and the fall! Everybody shall die, your friend, your girl, your family, everything and everyone... and you will be the sacrifice that starts it all! It’s inevitable, boy. You cannot fight what has already happened, what was lead to happen. The game of cat and mouse is over. This is your fate. This is my fate. The less you struggle.. the easier it will be, for both of us!”

...Boy... this was a lot to take in. A LOT to take in.. and he didn’t even have the time to process it all, not when he was actually being affected right now. Inhale, exhale, carefully, gently. Remain composed.. then face the man head on.

“Adachi.”

"You know, as well as I do, I'm not going to willingly give in to you and just let this happen. You know what I am, what I do.. and what I'm going to be doing right here, right now. Your words have further influenced me in the belief that the Grail must be destroyed. And it will be destroyed. I made that promise to everyone, to Camellia, to Academy City, to my world, to Touma... to my beloved. I had an inkling I might have been targeted, that if I wasn't the one doing it, I'd be made to do it. I always had this feeling in the back of my mind that if I let others try ahead of me that they were only going to die in the end... turns out I was right."

His eyes began to glow. The usual process, close the eyes, then open them with sparks flying.

"So rather than causing more death, rather than beating around the bush, I'm going to take the matters as I was always planning to do. This was always my fight, because I was always the target. You wanted me. You have me... but man I'm not going to give up until I have no breath left. I have done so much for the multiverse, for Academy City. I never thought I'd be in a position where it all hinged in the balance like this. I know the stakes... I know what I must do. Whatever it takes, you will be destroyed for good, so that nobody can use you... so that you... can no longer use anybody. I won't let you live. I will not bring your birth. If I have to erase your very soul and existence to end this, then so be it."

“.... Well, so much for making this easy. I had a feeling your resolve was too great to kneel before me. No matter..”

“....But then there is no harm in having one last bit of fun before the next stage of life! And it would be better to wear down your.. rambunctiousness to make it easier for me to devour. Do not underestimate me... either way.. this.. will be your end!”

...And as the darkness swelled, the blonde readied his IDND again, at the man, at the embodiment of the Holy Grail. If this was to be his final fight, so be it.

This... would be the very fight that decides the fate of everything.

Of Academy City, of the multiverse, of everything.

So it shall be.

Game on.......

#DRABBLE #rebirthtxstamentproject #whitecrownsblackthrones #Kinoverse!Bowen #This is the leadup drabble #I don't think I'll write the actual fight scene but #I know I have the ending scene all planned out.#I've had this in my head for AGES #and it would have been better if the original chunk didn't get EATEN #but anyway here we are!#Adachi Shiro : Metropolitan Wolf

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ineffably-good · 4 years

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Prompt: Cursed

Just a little Pirate cosplay with our two favorite ethereal beings. :)

This is for the Good Omens 30th Anniversary Celebration prompts!

Read all the ones I’ve completed on AO3!

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Aziraphale, dressed in high black boots and tight breeches and a billowing white shirt that was much too clean for his current role as a brigand of the high seas, knelt down to open the first of the chests they’d dug up from the sea cave on the eastern Canadian coast. Inside was a heap of silver and gold coins, badly tarnished, velvet bags of jewelry that would need to be sorted through to see if the items they were looking for were amongst them, and, interestingly, a small black box, on the very top of the pile.

The box was about six inches square, lacquered to a high shine, with a large, heavy looking clasp and no further decoration. It was oddly enticing. Aziraphale forgot what he was doing and made a noise of fascination as he reached for it, picking it up to examine it in the firelight.

“Don’t touch that!” Crowley shouted from beside him.

Something in his tone frightened the angel into immediately dropping it to the ground.

Aziraphale brushed his breeches off in frustration and stood. He flipped up the stupid eye patch from his left eye so he could focus more clearly.

“What is your problem?” he said acerbically.

Crowley paused to wipe the sweat off his face and lean on the shovel handle with his arms. Crowley had been doing most of the digging and the puffy white shirt and red bandana he wore were wet and filthy with sweat and exertion.

“Bad feeling,” the demon said. “I don’t think you should be touching that.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow but complied. “Pirate curse?” he asked.

“Something cursed it. Might not’ve been pirates who put it there,” Crowley replied. “Perhaps that’s why they never came back for their treasure, you know? Picked up some cursed loot somewhere, sank to the bottom of the sea.”

Aziraphale uncapped a wine cask that was slung at his side and took a long swig. “Why are we digging up these chests, anyway?” he asked for the fourth time. “We could just – you know – miracle them up.”

“Oh, come on, angel,” Crowley said with a grin. “Where’s the fun in that? We went to all the trouble of disguising ourselves as pirates and getting a ship and hiring a crew all to bring us out here to this god forsaken northern island to follow this ridiculous map and try to retrieve the Queen’s jewels, and you want to just cheat on the last step and miracle the booty up out of the ground?”

“Oh sure, now you become a stickler about verisimilitude,” the angel groused, but halfheartedly. He knew Crowley had always wanted to be a pirate. When they’d both gotten orders to retrieve a certain set of stolen jewels for different aims, it seemed like the ideal time to indulge the demon’s long-held fantasy. He hadn’t even made Crowley work that hard to convince him. The 17th century had been rather boring so far, his responsibilities were at a natural lull, and it seemed like a good time for a quick maritime adventure. That said, that didn't mean he was about to shovel.

“So, what’s in the little black box?” Aziraphale said, nudging it with a foot towards the demon.

Crowley poked at it with the shovel. “Not sure,” he said. “Feels demonic. Not entirely sure we should open it.”

“But you’re a demon,” Aziraphale said, frowning. “Surely it’s safe for you.”

“Possibly,” Crowley said, “but you’re here. And I don’t want to let anything in there harm you.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Very thoughtful of you,” he said. “But we’re pirates. We can handle it.”

Crowley frowned and then pointed Aziraphale towards the mouth of the cave. “Stand over there. I’ll raise a shield.”

Aziraphale moved to where he was pointed and watched as Crowley unfurled his wings from the ether and raised a shimmering strip power that acted as somewhat of a barrier between them. He placed his own body between the angel and the cube, and then prodded at its clasp with his shovel until it sprung open.

A howl filled the cave, along with an amorphous, whirling cloud of vapor that appeared to be screaming. Crowley stepped back, shovel held out defensively and his attention split between the cloud in front of him and the angel behind him. The cloud whirled and began to condense into the size of a figure, and after a moment it settled down into the recognizable shape of a man.

A man who appeared to be dressed in drab, tan-colored robes, grimy and in poor repair, with gloved fingers riddled with holes and his white shock of hair standing up in spikes. Aziraphale blinked in surprise – he’d seen this person before, he was sure of it. It wasn’t until the face came into focus with its smear of boils and the grubby toad on his head that he knew for sure who it was. It was the demon who he’d run across once or twice in the last few centuries – what was his name? He knew it, it was right on the tip of his tongue –

“HASTUR!” Crowley shouted. “What in the name of – what were you doing locked up in a box?”

Hastur rolled his unkempt head around on his shoulders, producing a series of surprising loud crackles and pops as various muscles and bones clicked back into place. He took a deep breath and looked around him, obviously working to bring his eyes back into focus.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said. “Crowley? You’re my rescuer?”

Crowley laughed. “You got yourself captured? How does a Duke of Hell end up locked in a little black box and how did I not hear that you were missing?”

Hastur scowled. “What year is it?”

“1680 something,” Crowley said. “When were you taken?”

“About a decade ago,” Hastur said. “Idiot magician in the court of Spain accidentally did something right. Put me in that box, laid a curse on it so it couldn’t be opened by mortals. If you hadn’t come along…” He looked around and noted Aziraphale by the cave entrance. “Oh great. An angelic witness. What are you doing consorting with the enemy here? I’ll be sure to report about your bad habits of fraternizing with the enemy when we get back home.”

“Seems to me,” Crowley drawled, “that if we hadn’t come along, you’d still have been stuck in that box for a long time to come. Possibly centuries. The tides here are brutal – no human could have been in here long enough to dig you up without drowning. You owe us.”

Hastur hissed and clenched his fingers into and out of fists, clearly wanting to smite something. A few maggots dripped from one of his hands and burrowed into the sand. “Don’t think you’ll get any favors from me, you colossal moron.”

Crowley grinned. “Well that’s all right then,” he said, picking up the black container. “Let’s just take this box –” he stopped and sniffed it dramatically. “—which, by the way, is full of your psychic residue, absolutely confirms that you were locked inside for a decade. So, let’s just take this and pop back to Hell and update Beelzebub and the council about where you’ve been and how you were stupid enough to get locked in a box by a magician, shall we?”

Hastur paled.

“I’m sure they won’t be too angry,” Crowley continued, syrupy sweet. “Probably only send you to the pits for a few years at most. Been a while since you’ve been flayed, hasn’t it?”

“Fine!” Hastur shouted. “What do you want?”

“I want you to forget that you saw either of us here, and I want no reports made about the angel’s presence. We are both here simply pursuing the orders of our direct superiors, who each have an interest in the contents of these chests. There’s no fraternizing going on.”

“No indeed,” Aziraphale said primly from the entrance. “I don’t care for him at all. He’s quite an arse.”

Hastur smirked. “You’re right on that front.”

Crowley made a feint at Aziraphale with the shovel, just for effect, and snarled convincingly. “Please. Like I’d hang out with him. He’s a total drip.”

Aziraphale looked up towards the heavens in his best long-suffering manner.

“So?” Crowley said, flourishing the box. “Are we heading to the dark council right now, or do we have a deal?”

Hastur sighed. “Yes, fine, I won’t say a word about the suspicious circumstances I found you in. In return, you give me the box.”

“Ohhhhh no,” Crowley said, “I don’t think so.” He made a hand motion and the box disappeared, tucked neatly into a small pocket dimension where he kept one of his stashes of valuable things. “I’m keeping it for insurance. Because I don’t trust you, Hastur. Not for one second.”

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day, Crawly,” Hastur sneered. “Should never trust another demon. Stay away from me from here on out, all right?”

He stood up more fully and brushed off his clothing, assembled his tattered robes into something approaching order, and offered them both an insincere and disturbing wave, and melted into the ground.

The last thing they saw was his toad, eyeing them suspiciously, and then that too was gone.

Crowley whacked the ground where Hastur had disappeared with the belly of the shovel. “Good riddance,” he muttered. He dropped the wings and his power and turned to Aziraphale. “Safe now, you can come back in.”

“That was… surprising,” the angel said mildly. “Thanks for stopping me from setting him free myself. One of us would have ended up smiting the other, for sure.”

“Wouldn’t have really minded if it was you smiting him,” Crowley said with a grin. “As long as it didn’t start some long, drawn out war.”

“Well,” the angel said, “shall we get back to it? The crew is probably near onto mutiny by now; if we take much longer we will be flying home.”

Crowley picked up the shovel again and spaded it down into the sand. “On it, angel,” he said, flinging a shovel-full of sand into the corner. “Just a few more feet and we’ve got the second chest. We’ll take them back to the ship and sort it all out there.”

“On the way home, perhaps we can stop at that former Viking colony on the big island up north? I hear there are mermaids about!” Aziraphale said. “Oh, and perhaps we can magic up some proper tea and some little cakes for the trip?”

“You’re a horrible pirate, Aziraphale,” the demon said. “Just the worst.”

#goc2020 #good omens fanfiction #Aziraphale x crowley #are pirates!#pirate AU kind of #not really an AU #ineffable husbands #hastur

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years

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Okay Okay, so I said this in the cut of this post but because I know not everyone will read a cut especially on an innocuous post, I REALLY REALLY just need y’all to see this realization I made when I was writing the post because my meta brain needs validation that it’s still got it, LOL. So I’m going to make this a separate post and expand on it a bit.

Okay so, the church scene.

I feel like there’s a deeper subtext to why Crowley ACTUALLY showed up there other than preventing Aziraphale from “embarrassing himself”.

It was to prevent Aziraphale from Falling.

Think about it (sorry, lots of jumps):

Later in the series, it’s revealed that the reason Crowley fell was because he “fell in with the wrong crowd” (among other revelations, but this is the important one).

Jump back to Azzie and acquiring prophecy books for the Nazis. Unbeknownst to him, he gets recruited by a British Intelligence agent who is actually a spy for the Nazis, who essentially said that Aziraphale is gullible for helping them (which is true in the sense that he always sees the good in people, so he often has a blind spot for the bad... probably due to Crowley’s influence, but I digress). Azzie would have been "working with the Nazis” for a little while to retrieve the books he needed. It’s made clear that he WAS searching for Nutter’s book and possibly gave up when his time ran out to do the exchange, so I’m guessing a couple months or so.

This here, I think, is Aziraphale inadvertently “falling in with the wrong crowd”.

Azzie then thinks it’s a good idea to do the exchange in a church, probably because he felt he would be safe there, especially with him believing he had the British government and God on his side. I feel like he didn’t know that doing the exchange in a church could easily have been his downfall... Why? Because IF the exchange was successful, it would have been a “demonable” offence and Aziraphale would have fallen.

Now, let me get one thing out there: I don’t know the exact logistics of angels/demons and the “laws” of the world of Good Omens (my only knowledge is of the miniseries), but just humour me here for a minute.

A “successful” exchange would have been the Nazis “killing” Aziraphale. I think the gunshot would have sent Azzie directly to Hell. It wouldn’t have mattered that Azzie’s intentions were inherently good. The fact that he was an ANGEL making “a deal with the devil” to put it metaphorically, IN THE HOUSE OF GOD, would have been significant enough for him to be demonized.

Crowley thought his intentions were good when he fell. Well, so does Azzie. And Crowley presumably was “falling” for a lot longer than Azzie was (in more ways than one, but again, I digress), and was demonized for a bunch of LITTLE things and One Big Thing.

Azzie was going all out and doing ONE BIG THING all at once. And the reason Crowley knew about it was because it’s shown that he “senses bad things”, for lack of a better phrase. THAT’S how he knew where Azzie was, and that’s why he showed up, with a bomb in tow, because fuck if the Nazis destroy the only Good thing in his life. The last thing he wanted was for his big, soft, clever, idiot Angel to fall just because the Higher Powers have a thing against perceived traitors.

So Crowley risks his life and distracts everyone long enough to NOT have Azzie shot, have the bombs fall on the church, and save them both. And because he knew that his Angel had a book kink, he saved those precious books because he wanted to make Azzie happy and not feel like a TOTAL moron for doing what he did. Then Crowley brushes it off like No Big Deal™ and his Angel is none-the-wiser.

He was saving Azzie not only from making a fool of himself, but FROM being demonized for trying to help humanity that would have been perceived wrong by the Higher Powers simply because the “evil” was done in a church. He did it because he loves Azzie for who he is and does not wish what happened to him to happen to Azzie.

It’s a sort of reverse-forshadowing with us finding out later that “falling in with the wrong crowd” is what demonized Crowley, and I LOVE it.

It makes you wonder how many other times that Crowley keeps pulling his stupid Angel out of Trouble™ so as to keep him from falling because he’s a gullible gentle idiot.

Also: Super extra of Crowley to send bombs to destroy the people trying to hurt his boyfriend...

Love bombs, indeed.

#my meta #i'm back baby #it's nice to feel inspired again #good omens #go spoilers #go church scene #ineffable husbands #writing prompts #because i'd love to see a five and one of that last line #where the last one is azzie realizing that crowley is saving him #go character analysis

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we-dont-have-a-side-anymore · 5 years

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Back Together Again

Ship: Aziraphale x Crowley x genderneutral!Reader (Good Omens)

Summary: Summary: It’s been a shitty day, but your wonderful boyfriends definitely know how to hug you right.

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It’d been a long, shitty day with loud, shitty people, and all you wanted to do was die. If there was a way to indefinitely disappear from existence, you would’ve taken your chances and said adios. You wanted to scream and cry and break down. Things couldn’t possibly get any worse.

First your jerk ass manager comes in and says you’re being fired, and that you get two more weeks. If you didn’t desperately need the job to pay your rent, then you probably would have thanked him. But you did need to pay your rent. And buy food. Sure, you could probably move in with Crowley, and he wouldn’t object, but you didn’t want to bother him. Honestly, working a lousy barista job was usually alright.

And then several customers come in and ask you stupid questions about which drinks don’t have coffee. It’s a coffee shop. We have coffee, tea, and water. Take a damn good guess, instead of asking you. Some people in this world are true idiots. Those people being Sarah with her gluten-free ice water, Jeremy with his black tea and shit ton of sugar, and Rebecca, who ended up getting an espresso anyways.

Your shift ended twenty minutes late because the moron after you decided not to show up on time, so yay unpaid overtime, you guess. Although that did mean you could take extra tip money, which is always convenient. Especially when you feel guilty for letting the boys pay for everything. They have painfully expensive taste, ranging from dining in fancy restaurants to purchasing flamboyant gifts.

Oh, to top it off on the way home, you missed your first bus. Which consequently made you miss the next three buses. Naturally, those buses only ran every forty five minutes.

Instead of being in your apartment, doing some online schooling by seven, you were home at ten. So instead of getting ahead in Civics like you had planned, you passed out on the bed, in your work clothes. Shoes on and all.

Oh, how your mother would be disappointed in you (again).

A nice, long, dreamless sleep enveloped you for twenty minutes, before some morons knocked on your door. They promptly kicked the door in, and looked around frantically before spotting your sprawled figure.

“Oh, (y/n), thank heavens!” The blurry white figure ran up to you and sat next to you. “You missed our date, and well, we got a bit nervous.” A bit was a gross understatement - they kicked your door in, for heaven’s sake! Honestly.

You fell asleep again, not really remembering what you were supposed to be doing. Excusable, considering how you just wanted to forget today had happened. And all the events that had transpired could be a figment of your imagination. Bad dreams.

Three am rolled around, and you were done with your nap. Yeah, you were probably supposed to sleep through the night, but whatever. Who’s counting?

Crowley and Aziraphale, because they were in the corner of your room, watching you. For five hours. “Oi, (y/n), aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” Crowley stands up and saunters over to you, Aziraphale following in his footsteps.

“Yes, I do remember that you were so tired, you fell asleep without telling us. You gave us quite a scare, you know! But...why aren’t you asleep now?” Aziraphale inquired gently, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

You rubbed your eyes and sat up straighter. “Yeah. Yeah, uh. Yeah, I am supposed to be asleep. But I’m not, so I might as well complete my Civics homework.” You roll to the bedside table to pick your laptop up.

As the keyboard clacking began, your boyfriends laid down on either side of you on the bed. “(Y/n). Baby. Baby goat. Come on. You’re tired, we know you are, Civics can wait a few hours.” Crowley snapped his fingers and your laptop was gone. You didn’t know where. But you trust Crowley, what could go wrong?

You’re suddenly in your pajamas and under the covers, with Crowley and Aziraphale on your left and right sides, respectively. It could be considered pleasantly warm, but it was definitely a little chilly in the room. You need to save money on heat, especially because you were fired.

They snuggled closer to you, making you feel safe and loved. It’s the kind of hugs that make you feel right, that make every bad thing melt away like ice cream. Your back was to Crowley, so he could spoon you and have his arms around you. You faced Aziraphale and he draped his arm over you as you had your leg propped up on his thigh. You curled into a tighter fetal position, and your loves hugged you tighter. It was a wonderful feeling.

Their wings came out, gently wrapping around the three of you. You were fully encased in warmth, from your head to your toes, and it made your brisk bedroom feel like the warmest place on Earth. In the middle of winter, it was definitely not something to complain about.

You felt the anger and frustration melt away. All you could feel was the love radiating from the two beings. You were happy and it was perfect.

“I love you guys…” you murmured. “I love you guys so much…Please don’t leave me?”

You felt Crowley smile into the back of your head. “I love you too, baby goat. I love you too. Don’t worry, we would never leave you..”

“Darling, we will always love you. Always.” Your angel whispered into your ear. He lovingly stroked your hair as you smiled.

And for the first time in oh so long, everything was good.

#good omens #good omens x reader #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #fluff #fanfiction #good omens fanfiction

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fight-surrender · 4 years

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Howlin’ Forever Chapter 6: Let Me Be the Person My Dog Thinks I Am

Hey kids! Here’s another chapter for nobody to read where Simon got bitten by that dog (who actually was were) Bonding ensues since he and Baz share the monster thing now. Thanks so much to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @nunzibelle and @argylefetish for the beta reads.

Word Count: 1517

Read on AO3

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Baz:

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Simon pulls a small black velvet box from the back of his dresser. He drops the necklace inside and snaps it closed.

Snow is such a moron. “Put it back on, “I demand.

“You’ve had ample opportunities to drain me dry, and you haven’t slaughtered me yet, Baz.”

“What about your were form? You wouldn’t be my first canine meal.” I sit on my bed.

“So you sneak around draining household pets and legal game, yeah. As far as I can tell, you haven’t expanded to magical creatures. I think I’m safe.”

“I drained our family dog.” That came out barely above a whisper. What the fuck am I doing? Why did I just say that? Out loud. I’m staring pointedly at my shoes, wishing for combustion.

I feel the bed sag as Snow sits next to me. Too close, he’s too close. In a warm rush of campfire and moss, he puts an arm around my shoulders. “D’ya want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He nudges me with his shoulder. “C’mon mate, who else can you talk to about this stuff? We’re monster comrades and whatnot.”

“You’re an idiot, Snow.”

“Was it a nice dog or a shit dog?”

“Crowley, Snow.” I get up and pace to the window. The proximity was too much. “It was a nice dog. I felt horrible, but the blood lust had just kicked in and I was desperate. I still feel terrible about it.” I put my hands on the sill and breathe in the briny scent of merwolf. Simon’s wolf scent is so much better.

“Blimey, Baz.” He’s next to me again, hand on my back, right at the base of my neck. “That’s awful, but like you said, you were desperate. It was a life or death decision for you, yeah? I mean, it was for the dog too, I suppose, but I’m sure he understood.”

“I tried to make it quick. I loved that damn dog.” I’m crying now. Splendid. This is not what I had in mind when I thought Snow being a werewolf would bring us closer. Where’s my erotic gropefest?

Snow is rubbing circles on my back. “You did what you had to do to survive, Baz. It’s ok. Your dog would forgive you. What was his name anyway?”

My stomach drops to my feet. “Er—”

Simon is looking at me expectantly, “Um,” my mind is on lockdown, I can’t even think of a suitable lie. “Well,” I swallow. “His name was—Rusty.”

Snow wrinkles his brow at me. “Rusty? As in me—Rusty.”

Whatever blood I have in me comes to my face and I look up at the ceiling. “Um. Yes.”

“You named me after your dead dog? The one you killed?”

“Yes.” I wonder, if I jumped out the window, if I could float like a butterfly away. Like, to Siberia.

“Ha,” Snow barks, clapping me on the back. “Blimey, you’re morbid.”

“He was a good dog,” I mumble.

“Well, there’s your redemption then. It’s all good as long as you don’t kill me, yeah?”

“Don’t tempt me, Snow.”

“Speaking of hunger, can you get us into the dining hall? I’m starved.”

***

Baz:

Simon is pacing.

“I hate this, Baz.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. There’s a light sheen of sweat across his forehead.

“I know.” I say, putting down my book.

It’s Friday night, another full moon.

Snow sits next to me on the bed. Too close. He always sits too close now. Like he’s trying to warm me by proxy. His magic is up, blurring his edges slightly. “Breathe, Snow.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I don’t know how you do it, Baz. Living this double life.”

“I have to,” I reply. “What’s the alternative?”

Simon sighs and leans back, tapping his head on the wall behind him.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, “Here it comes.” He starts pulling off his hoodie. My hoodie, I should add, my Watford football one. He’s started stealing my clothes. I don’t mind.

Just as he’s removing his pants, he lets out a strangled groan and falls to his hands and knees. The transition has gotten smoother, faster, but it doesn’t appear to be any less painful. Simon’s jaw is set, his eyes closed as he tries to bear it.

I can’t. Can’t bear it, that is. Seeing him like this. But I do it anyway. I kneel next to him murmuring platitudes. “It’s all right, Snow. It will be over soon. I’m here.” I love you. You’re my best friend. What I really want to say stays locked within my heart.

With a final whine and a snap of bone, a large, bronze-haired dog replaces Simon at my side.

“Hello, stupid.” I say, wrapping my arms around his giant neck as he licks a trail of slobber across my face.

Snow rolls over onto his back so I can scratch his belly. “Who’s a big stupid dog?” I croon as he writhes with happiness, tongue lolling. “Who’s the love of my life? The bane of my existence? That’s right, you are.”

Were-Simon gives a sharp bark then jumps onto my bed, turning around three times and scratching my blankets into a comfortable pile, then plops onto them. He gives me an impish canine grin from within his nest. “You are a bed hog, you gorgeous imbecile,” I proclaim as I spell the bed larger.

I climb in. There’s a brief tussle, as I untangle my blankets from beneath his hulking form. I snuggle close and breathe his wild scent. These nights, nestled beside this version of Simon Snow, are the only nights in my life when I actually sleep. When I don’t lie awake and fret, or toss and turn with nightmares. I feel safe and warm and happy. I doze off to the sound of his gentle huffing snores.

***

This weekend is for hunting.

Simon and I spend Saturday in the wood. Cook Pritchard continues to be thrilled to pieces to provide baskets of food for my “friends.”

Snow bounds through the forest ahead of me. I take my time, draining any woodland creatures that strike my fancy. It’s cold, there’s a light dusting of snow on the ground, but not enough to impede our progress. I’ve cast “warm winter wishes” so the temperature doesn’t bother me.

I hear a crashing in a thicket to my right, I pull out my wand and assume a defensive stance. (Snow has been coaching me.) Before I can get out a spell, Simon (the dog) bursts out and happily sits in front of me. He drops a dead squirrel at my feet and cocks his head at me, panting. He’s positively grinning. (As much as a dog can grin.)

I look at the offering, then at Snow. “Is this for me?”

He gives a quick bark and keeps his eyes on mine, tail wagging like mad.

When I pick up the squirrel, Snow leaps to his feet expectantly.

“Do you want me to throw it or drain it?” He is a retriever after all.

I make to throw the carcass, and Snow sits again, looking a bit dejected.

I shrug and drain the squirrel. When I’m done, Snow is leaping beside me. “You’re a moron, Snow.” I hug his golden neck. “But I still love you.”

We stop for lunch in a clearing. I’m idly playing with Snow’s fur while feeding him most of the contents of the basket. “You know I’ve never had a proper friend.” The dog places his great head in my lap so I can have better access to his ears. He loves ear rubs.

“I mean. I have Dev and Niall, they’re good lads, but they don’t really know me. Do they?”

Tiny yellow birds flutter in the trees above. “You, on the other hand, know my deepest, darkest secrets. Well, one of them.”

I pause in rubbing his ear and he jams his cold nose at me to continue. “Blimey, I suppose you know all of my secrets don’t you.” I take his great face in my hands and squish around his loose skin, making Snow look ridiculous, but also blissfully happy. “I, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, am hopelessly and forever in love with you, Simon Snow.”

Snow just stares idly at the birds above and wags his tail.

The shadows are getting longer and the temperature is dropping as Snow and I make our way back home through the forest. He’s running ahead, as usual. The cacophony of his joyful bounds through the brush a counterpoint to my quiet steps along the trail. Until the moment that I realize the wood has gone silent. Then, Snow’s guttural snarl sends an ice pick down my spine.

I round a bend and catch up to Simon. I find him, hackles raised, slowly advancing on someone backed against a tree.

My heart jumps to my throat as I focus on the figure. Green tunic. Ridiculous moustache.

The Mage.

#carry on #fanfiction #my fic #werewolf fic #werewolf simon #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch

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bewareofchris · 5 years

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61 and ineffable husbands?

Pg? | Aziraphale/Crowley | Good Omens | Angelic True Forms? | “You better shut that pretty little mouth before i put it to work, doll.”

“You better shut that pretty little mouth before I put it to work, doll.”

While the words were far from the crudest thing that Aziraphale had ever heard. (Or truthfully, even the crudest thing he had ever said.) It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what was said, or the meaning behind them. No, it was just that he couldn’t understand why they were being said here.

This was a farmer’s market.

Shoppers in fall sweaters were buying vegetables.

Aziraphale had been deciding between different sorts of jams (but really, he was just going to buy them all. Better to have too many than not enough). He hadn’t even realized that he’d managed to bore Crowley into wandering off until the sound of those base, tasteless words had floated into his ears.

No. The words hadn’t floated.

The words were as pointed as arrows; they’d struck him in the chest and spread like a watery fire until his whole body was hotter than it had been a moment before. He wasn’t aroused by the words and he wasn’t so new to seasons of human stupidity that he was offended. No, there was an edge of anger that was growling out of the pit of his chest, a sort of half-realized thing that was reacting to danger with vile jealousy.

Aziraphale set the jams down with a quick smile and the indication that he’d be back in a moment. He turned toward the sound of the ugly words and found Crowley standing three feet from the overly confident moron that had spoken them. The moron was still smiling, looking like he won a lot of conversations by being a barbarian.

Crowley, for his part, was just standing there staring back at the man and his words as if he’d never heard anything like them before. (But then Crowley had spent a good deal of time being perceived as a woman by humans who couldn’t understand there were more than two options. He must have heard his share of ridiculous statements.) His body language shifted from idle to offended, and his mouth twisted up in anger.

Aziraphale was there in a split second. He didn’t put his hands on Crowley because he hadn’t been invited, but he slid up in the space next to Crowley with an air of what he hoped conveyed partnership. He looked at the man and his ugly mouth before he said, “excuse me. I believe you should apologize.”

The confident idiot looked at Aziraphale with dismissal. He saw nothing of worth and therefore didn’t spare a second glance. “I’m not sorry.”

It was easy to know when Crowley was going to do something unpleasant to the humans. There was a faint whisper of feathers moving just before he did. Even humans could hear it if they listened hard enough but they didn’t understand what the heard. This time, when the shifting of wings started, Aziraphale reached over to put a hand on Crowley’s chest. He stalled the motion before it could be completed.

“I really think you do,” Aziraphale repeated.

The idiot was opening his mouth to say something else that would lower the intelligence of the entire crowd. Trying to reason with him was a waste of time that Aziraphale just wasn’t willing to withstand. Rather than waiting to hear what stupid thing he intended to say, Aziraphale fluttered his own wings. He didn’t let the guise of humanity slip away because this was his real human body and he was quite fond of it. He thought of the way he’d looked before, when there were no humans and no earth. He thought of a thousand unblinking eyes; something so far beyond the human’s ability to understand that just the thought of it would send them into a state of terror.

He grew that thought so it spread from his mind to his body and it enveloped all the space around them. It expanded until it took up all the space in this moron’s field of vision. It ballooned beyond understanding and blocked out all light except the glow that was set deep-deep into the thousands of eyes. They all rolled and rolled in the growing darkness, spinning until they caught site of the crude-mouthed cretin. One after another after another they focused on him.

The human was gripped with such fear, such human terror, that he couldn’t even scream. He stood there, eyes darting side to side, breathing so hard that his chest and his shoulders were heaving with effort. His muscles tightened and loosened and he soiled himself and still he couldn’t scream.

“Enough, angel,” Crowley said to the side.

And it popped, like a child’s balloon, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley standing in front of the man with the very damp pants that smelled unpleasantly of human excrement. The man’s watery-wide-eyes focused on Aziraphale’s pleasant human face and he finally, finally started screaming.

Crowley was frowning at him with his flat mouth, as if accusing him of overdoing it. (But whose fault was it that angels were vastly more terrifying than demons? Certainly not Aziraphale’s.) He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers and brought the screaming to an end. The man stopped, and nobody that had been surprised by the sound remembered there had ever been anything. “Go away,” Crowley said to the man.

“He should have apologized,” Aziraphale said.

“Right,” Crowley answered, “I thought you were buying jam.”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale motioned them back over to the table. “I’ve decided to buy one of each.”

#ineffable husbands #Aziraphale #Crowley #61 Anon #prompt fill #I love aziraphale

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elphenfan · 4 years

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Nesting (Good Omens) 9/9

Chapter One I Chapter Two I Chapter Three I Chapter Four I Chapter Five I Chapter Six I Chapter Seven I Chapter Eight I Chapter Nine

Here you go, last chapter for people. And yes, I forgot again. Hectic life. Sorry

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It was an incredibly legitimate question to ask, considering, and it wasn’t as though it was posed in a way that could be called accusatory at all. In fact, it sounded as though it was a genuine question.

Even so, it hit Crowley like a bucket of ice water to the face, assisted by the realisation that opened and cascaded, or possibly more accurately snowballed, inside of his mind.

The realisation that he had managed to miss and misinterpret a vast amount, if not all, of the things that Aziraphale had done since Crowley had first discovered that he’d started to…well, to nest, really, there was no need to call it anything else now.

All of those changes had been for Crowley’s sake, not anybody else’s and certainly not for what had turned out to be an entirely fictional rival. The one he’d been angry with for…for so many reasons, that had been nobody but himself.

He was the one who hadn’t accepted the nest, had in fact run from it, even if he had physically walked, and not just the once, either. Because he couldn’t face the rejection, yes, the knowledge that his angel was in love with someone but how could Aziraphale be expected to know that? To him, it must’ve felt like he had put himself out there and Crowley had…he’d basically rejected Aziraphale, hadn’t he?

Why on earth hadn’t the angel reacted to that? No wonder he’d looked downcast and dejected but he should’ve been screaming – or had given up. That would’ve been the logical thing to do.

But he hadn’t given up, had he? Unlike the demon, who hadn’t even had the courage to keep his attempts at nesting up for Aziraphale to see, the angel had not just kept it up, he had made alterations to it in an effort to make it more to the perceived taste of his intended.

Alterations which, Crowley further realised with a sinking heart, hadn’t been to appeal to an angel used to heavenly aesthetics but to mimic the style he had at his flat. The lack of clutter, the general streamlining of the interior, the gold ornamentation, the look and feel of the sofa and pillows. For crying out loud, there were marble surfaces and pot plants! How the fuck had he managed to miss that significance?

Furthermore, those alterations had come about after Aziraphale had been to his flat and…oh, bugger, the poor angel must’ve thought that he needed to change it to appeal to the demon. That he had to change something so essential about himself as what his bookshop looked like in order to make his nest a worthy prospect to present to Crowley.

No wonder, then, that he’d made comment about trying to get it right but that he thought he might’ve gone off in the wrong direction.

Crowley’s heart sank further, twisting as it did so. All of that, that effort and dedication and persistent hope and he had failed to pick up on any of it. Nor had he properly realised until now, when it was brought up directly and not when he should’ve done, when Aziraphale had confessed that the nest was for him, that he’d been harbouring wrong assumptions and what those assumptions had wrought on his beloved.

He had, in fact, completely failed his angel and his earnest attempt, all because he was scared, terrified, of losing his angel.

Satan, he was an idiot, wasn’t he? A cosmos-class one, to boot.

His hands found their way back to the blond’s back and he grabbed onto the jacket, fingers digging into the fabric as he tried to pull Aziraphale closer. Meanwhile, he buried his face in the other’s front, both to reassure himself that he was actually there and to keep from seeing the angel’s expression.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, confused and concerned about the reaction to a question. “I…was that the wrong question to ask?”

Crowley shook his head, against the waistcoat as he tried to pull the other closer still, feeling tears, of anger with himself as well as hurt and guilt, prickle. He didn’t want to, certain he’d make things worse, but he knew he needed to say something, to apologise.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his words muffled against the fabric. Wait, that wouldn’t do. If he was going to apologise, it wasn’t going to be unclear. They’d had enough misunderstandings as it was, hadn’t they?

Slowly, reluctantly, he raised his head back up to look Aziraphale in the eye. He didn’t let go of his hold, though, nor did he move his wings back. He couldn’t.

“I’m sorry I’m such an idiot,” he said. “I should’ve realised that you wouldn’t be interested in someone up there…but it seemed the only possible explanation for why you were nesting all of a sudden.”

No, that was making excuses, wasn’t it?

His gaze flickered down, his nerves faltering. “I couldn’t believe it because it didn’t make sense that you’d choose me, but…” He had to fight to keep his breathing under control, “…but I still should’ve seen the truth, though, sooner or later, and I didn’t, not at any point. You made it bloody obvious, didn’t you? And all I could see was further evidence that someone else had managed what I have always wished for. I couldn’t even spot that I was in the wrong and apologise for it when you said that it was for…for me, I just ploughed on like a complete moron!”

“Oh, Crowley…” the angel sighed after a moment or two of horrible silence.

The demon squeezed his eyes shut, the threat of tears clearer. “Yes, I know! I know! I’m so sorry. I’m a colossal idiot that doesn’t deserve – “

“That was not what I meant,” Aziraphale interrupted, his voice gentle even as it was also slightly sharp, at least in part in order to cut through. “Look at me. Please.”

Crowley opened his eyes as he was bid but not immediately.

“I did not say you were, or are, an idiot or moron or whatever else you’ve called yourself, nor do I believe that you are.”

“I clearly am!” How the Heaven could Aziraphale say that he wasn’t? “I know you’re being kind but there’s no need to when I can finally see it myself!”

“Crowley…my dearest, I don’t consider you stupid – “

“I hurt you!” The words, while he hadn’t quite intended for them to come out, he didn’t regret. They were true and he needed to communicate to Aziraphale that he was aware of his blunder. “I didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve been – you’ve been miserable for weeks and it’s all my fault. Because I was too fucking dumb to see what was right there, even when – “

“Anthony J. Crowley, stop!”

There was that steel again, wielded like…like the demon imagined he would’ve wielded his flaming sword back before he’d given it away.

His jaw clacked shut, hard enough that his teeth and jawbone ached.

“That does matter!” the angel retorted. “In fact, that is what matters. I cannot deny that I was very much hurt that you didn’t seem to like what you saw and have not been able to stem that afterwards, or that I’ve been struggling to understand what I’d done wrong since you turned away from my first attempt.”

Crowley’s heart, still in the region of his intestines, twisted horribly. “There, you see – “

“However, that does not equal that I blame you nor that I think you stupid for missing things. You were not to know that it wasn’t an attraction that just suddenly manifested and, well…” He smiled but it was somehow a little off. “It’s not as though I’ve given you much reason to think otherwise, is it?”

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

“To me, it does, my dearest, as it explains it quite sufficiently and I do not blame you. I never would.”

“But – “

“Do you blame me?”

The demon’s nose wrinkled as he made a face of incomprehension. “Blame you? What on earth would I blame you for?”

“For taking so long to see what was inside of me and not mistake it for anything else, never mind gather up the courage to nest for you.”

“No, of course not! I said earlier, didn’t I?”

“Then why can’t you extend that same forgiveness to yourself?”

Crowley opened his mouth, to give a clever answer or perhaps merely a retort. Either would do really, but nothing would come out of his mouth.

Aziraphale smiled again, a more genuine one, as he brought his hands up to cup the demon’s face. For a moment, he just stared at Crowley without saying anything and the ginger looked back at him in turn, confused and nervous but somehow managing to hold the gaze.

Then, after his smile had widened and yet softened, the angel leaned forward. Crowley would have thought he meant to kiss him, and it did seem that way. Except that he stopped far too far away to make contact.

“I forgive you,” he said softly, his voice warm and loving. “I do not believe it’s needed but I forgive you.”

“Angel…”

“My dearest Crowley, you are my beloved and now, at long last, you are my nestmate, too. I will not blame you for making mistakes or wrong but plausible assumptions. Do you understand me?”

“I…yeah. I do.”

“Good.”

And with that, he closed the remaining distance between them.

Even though this was only their third kiss – second if you counted the first two as one with a slight pause in between – it felt as natural to slide into it as if this was their thousandth kiss instead.

It started off as just a press of lips against lips and that was perfect lovely. They could take it slow or even keep it at that, if that was what Aziraphale wanted. There was no actual need to take it further. The intimacy was quite strong as it was.

Within the span of only a few minutes, though, the angel pressed his tongue against the seam of Crowley’s lips. More asking than outright demanding entrance, the demon willingly opened his mouth for the questing tongue, curious to see where and how far the angel would take it and thrilled that he would dare do it at all, considering.

The tongue moved forward slowly, though it seemed as much to be due to a want for slow exploration as hesitation about what he was doing, which made it somehow even better.

Once it reached Crowley’s own tongue, he no longer sat idly by, though. Instead, he came to meet it, pressing against it and twirling around it. Taking it slow so he could explore thoroughly in turn and just get to enjoy this very first moment between them.

At some point while they kissed, one of Aziraphale’s hands slid from its place cupping the side of Crowley’s face, further along until it reached the back of his head, where his fingers slid into the short, soft, thick strands of ginger hair.

There, they didn’t exactly tug but they did still somehow wind themselves into whatever locks they could find, which sent signals down into Crowley’s brain, signals which were very pleasant and just a little distracting.

He didn’t stop the kiss, though. It would take a lot more than that to get him to stop at this point, and even then, he wasn’t sure he would be willing.

Aziraphale wasn’t the greatest of kissers, technically speaking, but he was both trying earnestly and, to his credit, learning quite fast. In any case, it didn’t matter; he could’ve been the sloppiest, worst kisser in the world and Crowley wouldn’t give a flying fuck.

What mattered was that it was his angel. Everything else could take a flying jump.

His own hands slid, too. One went up to grab at the junction where neck became shoulder, somehow managing to slide its way under not just the jacket but both the waistcoat and the shirt as well. The other slipped down to cup the curve of a plush arse cheek. Not with any ulterior motive…well, except for the fact that he’d always wondered what it would feel like. To be honest, he’d wondered at the exact shape, too, the angel always managing to somehow cover or otherwise obscure the shape of his butt, either through relatively loose-fitting clothing or a covering jacket or both.

The best chance he’d gotten was when he’d sauntered into the Globe and had seen just what the angel had been wearing. If he’d been a bit slower going around him from behind just to get a better look at it, what of it?

Not that he was focused exclusively on Aziraphale’s arse. Of course not. That would hardly be fair, for one thing. Actually, he’d wondered what all of him felt and looked like and had formed, he’d thought, a fairly good estimation of it. He’d had quite a long time to work it out, after all.

When his hand made contact, he realised his estimation didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

Furthermore, much to his consternation, Aziraphale broke the kiss to gasp.

“Crowley…!” There was a hint of protest in there but no more.

“Hmm? Am I not allowed to touch?” He didn’t even loosen his grip despite his words.

“Of course, you are, that’s not the point!”

“What is the point, then?”

“That – that you’re deliberately trying to distract and disrupt me!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, angel. Not when you’re kissing me like that.”

The angel bit his lip. “Now you’re mocking me.”

“Teasing you at best and I meant it.”

Aziraphale still didn’t look convinced. “Meant what, precisely?”

“That I would never stop you kissing me.”

“Then we could be stuck kissing for quite a long time.”

Well, now…the implications of that…well. Definitely something to explore at a later point.

“I fail to see the problem,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

The blond giggled a little at that. Then he laid his head down on Crowley’s shoulder, shifting himself even closer while his wings tucked in further to keep them inside the circle of the demon’s.

“You know, you’re going to hurt them if you keep that up,” Crowley pointed out.

With them as close as they were, he felt the urge to reach out and touch the other’s wings again, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Not least because they might be as sensitive as his own and for all the kissing and touching, that wasn’t really the direction this was headed. Perhaps at a later date it would, maybe, but not now.

Aziraphale turned his head slightly to plant a kiss on a prominent cheekbone. Then he lifted his head back up enough to look the other in at least one yellow yes.

“I would…I was rather hoping that you would take one,” he said, voice quiet, eyes hopeful.

Take one? One what? Oh. Oh.

But that…

He turned his head to look more directly at the other, even if they were a bit too close to properly focus. “Angel, are you…but there’s no need to do that.”

There really wasn’t, not from a nesting perspective. Aziraphale had been the one to start nesting, after all, and had placed more than one feather, even though only the one was required, around the nest to signal his intentions – and some other time, the demon needed to go around to take in just what kind of feathers they were. The feathers Crowley had given was a token of reciprocation of the feelings and intentions the nest represented. That he’d gone above and beyond, as it were, was a different matter.

The point was that for Aziraphale to then give one back to Crowley would be…a reciprocation of a reciprocation? Something like that, anyway, and it felt…not wrong, per se, it never could feel outright wrong. But it did feel an unnecessary kindness that would also be painful.

“I know there isn’t,” Aziraphale answered. He didn’t sound hurt, however, nor dejected. In fact, he now had a small smile playing on his lips, which puzzled the demon a little, adding to the pile of confusion, which rather seemed to be the expression of the day.

“Why are you asking me to…to pluck a feather from you, then?”

“Because I want you to.”

“Yeah, I got that. Why?”

“Do I have to have a reason beyond wanting you to?”

“As it’s painful and unnecessary, yes!” He watched an odd emotion flicker across Aziraphale’s face. “No, I didn’t – I just meant that…I don’t need…I do understand. About the nest and everything that…you know. There’s no need for you to be hurt.”

Further, his mind added, quite unhelpfully if truthfully.

Aziraphale, smile coming back, lifted his head up the rest of the way but only so that he could press his forehead against Crowley’s. A part in the back of the demon’s mind wondered at the amount of touch they were both giving now, as though now, when they had permission, they wanted to touch in as many places as they could.

The rest of him knew that that wasn’t exactly it but, in any case, the rest of his mind was otherwise occupied.

Such as with the fact that Aziraphale was willing to pull a feather for him, or have Crowley pull a feather, for no other reason, it seemed, than he wanted to do it. Which didn’t make any sense.

“There is,” the blond said.

“Is what?” Crowley asked, having momentarily lost track.

“Is a need. I want you to pull one, to choose one to take. One that is yours.”

“You’ve already done that.”

Aziraphale shook his head, lightly as their foreheads were still touching.

“No. I have taken ones for the nest. That is not the same. No, my dear,” he added when he saw Crowley’s expression shift, “they were all meant for you. But they were for the nest, for part of…well, how nesting goes.”

“So were the feathers I gave you.”

“Yes, and then again, no.”

“They are!” the ginger protested.

“Yes, they are. But you chose to give me four. Four different feathers, working together to…and they are mine. Mine to keep with me. You wouldn’t do that with the ones I put in the nest, would you?”

Guiltily remembering the thought he’d had about the feather he’d found before Aziraphale had returned, Crowley restrained himself to shaking his head, after pulling back just enough that their foreheads were separated. He wouldn’t really take it, especially not now when he knew who the nest was made for. Feathers for the nest were supposed to stay in the nest.

Granted, many nesting couples placed the reciprocation feathers in the nest, too, but they were not required to as per the norm and ritual of nesting. Just as often, separate feathers would be given to the nesting angel for them and for to be placed in the nest alongside the original ones, signalling their new status.

“No, I didn’t think you would. So…it hardly seems fair that I should be the only one who would have that joy.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue. Then he shut it again as something clicked. Something which almost made his jaw drop again as it sank in.

‘To keep with me’, Aziraphale had said. With him. Implying, together with the pocket it seemed definite he’d just created for them, that he wanted to keep them on him at all times. Well, ‘imply’ with a clue-by-four, really, even for the idiot that the ginger evidently was when it came to these things.

A part of Crowley, and such an intimate part, as well, for angels, fallen or not, that would always be with the angel. Right next to his heart, too, in a specially created pocket that would keep them safe.

In that light, they not only gained even more significance, if that was even possible, it became rather clear, not to mention incredibly heart-warming, why Aziraphale might want to reciprocate.

The thought of having his angel’s feather with him at all times, a tangible reminder of his angel and what they now shared…

He swallowed around a lump he hadn’t been aware had manifested in his throat. It was the good sort, though, if one could put it like that.

“I suppose not,” he managed to get out, his voice somewhere between a croak and a rasp.

“Of course, only if you would – “

“I would,” Crowley interrupted, not giving the uncertainty time to manifest. They’d had quite enough of that as it was. His gaze dropped down to where his feathers had disappeared, where they would live from now until forever, and when he lifted it back up to meet green eyes, Aziraphale’s smile became at once broader and a little bit shy.

“I would love to, angel.”

He slid his hand up the side of the blond’s neck to rest against his cheek, a touch which Aziraphale leaned into immediately.

“Pick one for me,” Crowley said after a moment or two had passed but Aziraphale shook his head.

“You should be the one to pick it, my dear,” he said.

“You didn’t pick the feathers from my wings.”

“No, but now I’m asking you to do it for me. Not because I don’t want to,” he added. “I would but I would rather that you make the choice.”

“Why?” Possibly he shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t rock the boat. But then again, that was always his problem, wasn’t it? One of many.

The angel didn’t seem fazed, however. “Because it is your choice.”

The words sank in and then a moment later, so did the implications thereof.

Oh, fuck, Aziraphale.

Eyes wide as he continued to look his angel in the eye, heart full to bursting even though he’d thought it already was and couldn’t get any fuller, Crowley’s hand slipped from the other’s cheek. It slid down to land on a shoulder which it briefly gripped, as though for anchoring. Then it trailed further down the back, slowly, down to where the fabric of the jacket had somehow moved aside to make room for the wing sprouting from it while staying exactly where it was.

All the while, the hand trembled minutely. It was stupid but he couldn’t have helped it if he tried.

When he made tentative contact with the joint of the wing, that tremble only strengthened but he pressed on, spurred on by the look in Aziraphale’s eyes and the small hitch in his breath.

Oh, and the fact that the wing was, when he continued the path very gently, just about touching, pushed more firmly into his touch, of course. That did help just a bit.

Ignoring the thought he’d had earlier about what reactions touching the angel’s wing would cause, in both Crowley and Aziraphale – he had a purpose now, a reason for it, bless it – the demon trailed his hand further along, not just in terms of the width of the appendage but the length of it, too.

Aziraphale wanted him to choose. To pick the one that he would carry with him always.

For a moment, he felt too overwhelmed to choose. No, it was more than that, really. It was the fact that for the claim, the assertion that it was up to him to choose, not that he didn’t believe the sincerity of that, the symbolism of the feathers still remained. It would still speak volumes which feather he picked in turn.

So, he had to get it right.

One might argue that he could pick any, as he’d already shown what he wanted to say through the feathers he’d given the angel. That if it was that important this feather also communicated something, it really ought to be Aziraphale who plucked it, to signal what meaning he wanted Crowley to carry with him rather than leaving it up to the demon to gain his own meaning and importance.

It wasn’t a bad point. In fact, it was a very good one, but it was nevertheless trumped, or at least countered, by the point that Crowley was given the choice to pick the feather he wanted to have on him at all times. Then again -

The hesitation didn’t go unnoticed by Aziraphale, though. Instead of being uncertain or questioning, however, he seemed to understand immediately this time.

“Don’t think about the symbolism,” he said, smiling in understanding. “Not now. Just the one you’d like best.” He stretched the wing, still within the confines of Crowley’s own circle of feathers, just a little for emphasis.

“I can’t…angel, I can’t not think about the symbolism. It’s bloody well wired in. Well, as good as. You might as well not expect me to…to not hiss!”

“You very rarely do.”

“That’s hardly the point. The point is…the point is that any feather I pick, we’ll both inherently know the symbolism of it is and will form assumptions based on it. Doesn’t mean I don’t get what you’re driving at.”

“Driving at?”

“With the choice. That I am free to choose. But I’m not. Not really. I appreciate the thought, though.” He smiled a genuine smile because he honestly did appreciate it.

“Crowley, please. You are. Forget the symbolism.” The demon opened his mouth to argue but the angel ploughed on. “This isn’t about nesting, my dear, it isn’t about instinct or symbolism or tradition. This is just you and I, together, making a choice. From now on, it’s just the two of us.”

“Even against Heaven?” This wasn’t a case of the words being out of his mouth before he could stop them or even meant as remotely pointed or barbed. It was a genuine question that he wanted, no, needed, to know the answer to.

Why it hadn’t occurred to him before now that this was dangerous, what they’d just done, becoming nestmates despite supposedly being hereditary enemies – of sides that had even less grasp of nuance and grey areas than a recently politically-awakened teen and were capable of the same kind of hyperbolic retribution – he had no idea. It ought to have been flashing in enormous neon lights, surrounded by frantically waving flags, that they’d be at risk from now on.

Of course, there was the undeniable fact that they had always been at risk from either side for associating or, as Aziraphale had put it back at their falling out in the middle of Victoria’s reign, fraternising. It was a risk that they’d worked around for millennia and had, he would say, become rather good at.

This was different, though; it went far beyond their normal interaction. That wasn’t to say it’d be immediately detectable by the denizens of Heaven or Hell even if they were to move their arses down or up here, respectively. Not if they were careful.

Even so…if either side did find out…destruction would be a blessing in comparison.

He looked to Aziraphale, who he expected to look rather like he felt himself; uncertain and worried to the point of terror as the implications set in.

Instead, he found an expression of determination and steel, not unlike what he’d seen before but significantly clearer and stronger.

“Yes. Even against Heaven. And Hell, for that matter. I made that decision when I first became aware that I was nesting, and I am not going to renege on it.”

Crowley felt quite a mixture of feelings at that, the worry and fear didn’t go away but pride at his angel flooded in, mixing with the love, and so did a small amount of guilt.

“Then we’ll have to be incredibly careful that they don’t find out,” he said. “Not exactly known for being understanding, are they?”

Something pained and conflicted flitted across the angel’s features. Despite his determination and decisiveness, it was clear that the decision hadn’t come lightly to him, and why would it? It would be going against the side he’d been on for actual aeons. Which would also go a long way to explain why he’d needed time to come to terms with wanting to nest.

The expression was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, however, the steel back in full force.

“They cannot separate us,” he said.

“They can destroy us,” Crowley pointed out. “Doesn’t mean I would ever want to give this up, mind.” He tightened his hold as the blond simultaneously moved closer.

Aziraphale’s smile could power the entire city. “No. Neither do I. Not for anything.”

“Till the end, then?” he asked, the addition ‘however long that might or might not be’ remaining unspoken but nevertheless distinctly heard.

The angel nodded, moving his wings tighter around them still, which the demon reciprocated instantly. “And beyond, my dear. No matter what happens.”

“The two of us.”

That thought alone, that they were now nestmates and that he was Aziraphale’s as much as the angel was his, in all senses of the word, that was something not just uplifting and warming, but mentally fortifying.

They’d make it through. He had no idea how but if either side, or indeed both, did try to separate them or punish them in some way, he…well, he’d picked up a thing or two from human ingenuity over the years, hadn’t he? Nothing that couldn’t be adapted, really.

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, still smiling. “The two of us – and I am certain it will turn out fine.”

“If you’re about to say anything about ineffable plans, angel – “

“Well, why not?”

“Because an angel and a demon becoming nestmates is hardly going to be the part of any Plan, divine or ineffable or whatever!”

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t know that it is, either. You’re just looking for excuses.”

For a split-second, Aziraphale looked guilty but it was gone so soon Crowley wasn’t sure he’d seen it. Then the smile, which had momentarily faltered, returned.

“I choose to believe that She would not have instilled the nesting urge in angels in the first place if She didn’t want it utilised, as it were. It is built into us, after all. It’d be like blaming the architect for putting door in a house.”

“But you chose to nest for a demon,” the ginger pointed out. “Nesting is meant for angels.”

“And you are fallen angels. Such a lot was taken from you all when you fell, why not take that as well, if that was the case?”

“Why not take our wings, then? Remove all the painful reminders, which isn’t going to happen, because it’s supposed to be – “

“But nesting is something positive, isn’t it?” Aziraphale interrupted. His smile was tinged with a slight sadness. “Hardly painful, at least no more than it is for any angel if it’s rejected by the intended. So why not take that away?”

Crowley blinked. That was…he’d have to concede the point.

“Good point,” he said. “I still don’t believe that Heaven or Hell’s going to look at it like that.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said. There was something else to his smile now, just the hint of…steely devilment? Surely not? “Perhaps not. They haven’t found out yet, have they? And if they do…as I said, I have no intention of giving you up.”

He touched their foreheads together. “I made my decision, my dear, and I don’t regret it.”

“My nestmate. My beautiful angel,” Crowley said, and he let the deep, all-consuming love for his angel that he’d held inside of himself for so unfathomably long, restrained and contained and yet nurtured, show on his face fully, letting go of all restraints.

He pulled back a little and kissed, not the soft lips, tempting though it was, but instead the nose, lingering and soft. “My Aziraphale.”

That last sentence, that declaration, simple and short though it was, contained just about everything, really, assisted by his tone of voice.

If the smile before could’ve powered the city, then the smile now could power the entire South Coast, at least, and that paled in comparison with the love shining in those green eyes.

Yes. This was worth risking discorporation or outright destruction for.

Crowley leaned in again, but he was met halfway and the kiss he got had everything poured into it.

Perfect.

--------------------------------------------

I do have a sequel planned and I’ll most likely write one chapter from Aziraphale’s POV as suggested (so please stay tuned) but otherwise, this is it. A thank you to those who’ve read and especially those that have given feedback! <3

#good omens fic #go fic #nesting fic #Ineffable Husbands #aziraphale/crowley #hurt Aziraphale #supportive aziraphale #idiots in love #loving aziraphale #Nesting behaviour #nesting elphen chapter 9 #defying heaven and hell for each other #feather exchange #apologetic crowley #loving crowley #can't think of more tags

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eisforeidolon · 4 years

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Episode: The Rupture

So I'm off to a cranky start with this one before the episode even properly kicks in. These writers think the audience's memory for canon is just as shitty as theirs, so they feel it's necessary to outright spoil Rowena's death via the content of the previouslies. Let literally anything come as a surprise in this show anymore? Can't let it happen!

There's like, the one scene where Dean is trying to make Sam feel better about Rowena … and that's about all I wholeheartedly enjoyed from this episode. Well, beyond the usual of the actors doing their best with what they were given no matter how dumb it was. Such a talented cast to waste on ... this.

I think the writers were trying to do an in media res type start here, with them already on the way to try a new thing? The problem is, like so much else in the show now, it feels like a no-effort cheat because we didn’t see them work for it or even get an implication they did. Oh, they had literally no idea what to try next last episode and made it out to be a big deal? No problem, they pulled a spell out of Rowena's ass and came up with a plan to implement it since last we looked. Even ending the last episode with Rowena saying something along the lines of, “I just might have an idea” would make this work so much better for me.

And seriously are they out of money to pay extras and get new sets? The group makes their way through the ghost-infested area without a single sign of any angry ghosts until they're in the same old crypt where the show can have “ghosts” bang on the door without having to show any people-shapes.

Rowena declaring they're all going to die would have a lot more impact if significantly more people actually stayed dead on this show for more than a hot minute these days. I admit I found Rowena's meltdown a little over the top, but then again, that is a little unfair because I think it makes sense for the character to be so. She's both generally inclined towards dramatics and used to being able to cut and run when shit doesn't go her way, but with allies she actually cares about and the whole world in danger, that's not really an option. Understandably distressing.

Then we have Dean yelling at Rowena and angrily stocking up on bullets to again, fucking futilely shoot at the ghosts because … oh, right. This episode was written by Berens who seems to think Dean is nothing but an idiotic angry bully. Die mad nobody wanted to watch your shitty cardboard MarySuefest, you little bitch. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh, no! Sam is out of ideas! Remind me what ideas he actually had? Like, I'm not digging at Sam, I'm digging at the stupidity of that line and that I suspect this season is going to give me whiplash with the Winchester hokey pokey of angsty fatalism. I genuinely think it makes sense for Sam and Dean to alternately bolster each other when the other one starts to lose hope. However, when they seem to switch randomly at the drop of a hat, it feels more like drama for the sake of drama rather than being particularly realistic or interesting.

Since the spell Rowena arbitrarily pulled out of her ass didn't work, now it's time for an equally arbitrary McGuffin to come up! Yay. That said, I am actually willing to give a bit of a pass on this one. While it's absolutely absurd that Lilith would have needed an item to control demons (controlling demons was not a problem until the writers were desperately out of ideas of what to do with Crowley)? If the actual purpose is to suck up the power of all those demons, I can buy Lilith having a device for that. (Although what was demon guy gonna do if Rowena’s first spell had worked, since the crook thing only calls souls/demons back from Earth? Edit: They go with his plan because they’re desperate, they’re unlikely to agree to a dubious demon scheme if the ghosts are no longer on the verge of breaking free.)

Oh, and can't forget, there's also another spell! Because apparently in coming up with the first one, it was in no way necessary nor did it apparently seem like a good idea to actually inspect the ghost-belching hell-hole. Uh-huh.

Then we have the part where Sam is apparently witch-like now, because ??? I really don't need Dabb's crew of morons trying to turn Sam into as much of a joke as Wayward/Jack with random abilities falling out his ass. Both Winchesters have cast minor spells all along, just say Rowena likes him better since that's true enough. That would involve not taking any given opportunity to arbitrarily make random shit up, though, and these writers can't have that!

It's almost funny how hard they try to talk up Dean's part in this, which is to sit by a hole with a bag and toss it in. Oooh, so dangerous! Except for the part where we see later that there was literally no danger because the ghosts completely ignored him. Aside from that one line about Chuck being a glorified fanboy, why is Dean even in this episode?

Though at least that's not as pathetic as Castiel's dirty diaper faces. This is about saving the world, you giant baby - you're older than humanity, grow the fuck up. Seriously, do the writers genuinely believe the repeat of Castiel getting talked into being a dumb asshole by some rando is sympathetic? It's really, really not, because all I'm hearing is a bunch of undeserved self-pity seasoned with a hefty dash of hypocrisy.

Almost as annoying is wasting our time with the bullshit of Ketch's death. Look, I really don't care that he's dead. He should have stayed dead the first time. What I can't stand is that these writers are so nonsensically obsessed with “redeeming” antagonist/villain characters by having them change who they are for absolutely no reason so they can have a “heroic” death. And this was sloppier and more transparent that most. Oh, the demon can conveniently read Ketch's totally genuine noble intentions, alas, so sad he dies! Don’t try to tell me that actual, in-character Ketch wouldn’t at least try to pretend to sell them out to outmaneuver random demon #7692. The only way I’d buy this is if he has another get-out-of-death-free spell of Rowena’s in play - and I don’t actually want any more unnecessary resurrections so I also hope that’s not the case.

And why bring that other demon into things, you ask? So we can have a brief demonic power play, with demons fighting over ruling hell. Because that is in no way stale as fuck. I guess the idea is that it needs to be there so demon guy reveals his master plan in front of Cas (and it has to be spelled out that blatantly because the writers see both the audience and Cas as idiots)? Except, seriously? A demon screwing them all over for power? What a completely unexpected turn of events! Not to mention that I agree Cas' choice here is, as per usual, highly questionable. Allowing demon guy to suck in all the souls at least gets those souls off Earth. No matter how powerful it makes him, he's still very much a tertiary concern beyond all of hell's souls getting free to wreak havoc on the whole world and Chuck turning against them. Which is assuming that they actually couldn't have worked with him as the power in hell. Not like it would be the first time - he may have immediately turned on them, but he also may not have. If they wanted this to look like it was about Castiel making the smart decision, they really shouldn’t have spent so much time showing him whining and sulking. As it is, this takes on the implication it’s at least as much about Castiel seizing the first opportunity to take out demon guy for using Jack’s body and not caring about his feeewings as it is about making a necessary or prudent decision. Not exactly a great look.

There is no connection between Lilith's crook and Rowena's spell to heal the not-a-door-totally-a-wound hell-hole, right? One is from demon guy’s secret plotting, the other is entirely from Rowena. She's also not doing the same spell she was before where she couldn't finish it because the ghosts were bangin' on the forcefield thing. So after Castiel kills the demon guy and stops the soul-suckage … why can't they just finish sealing the hole to stopper up more ghosts coming through and then deal with what's already there? See if the solidify-the-shield thing can be done now with less ghosties or just use moar crystals? The jump from something’s gone wrong to, whelp, time to self-sacrifice is extremely fast and unless I missed/forgot something, not an automatic conclusion to come to.

This is why I suspect maybe the meta I've seen hypothesizing Rowena was up to something may be true. When Sam asks her if she has any ideas earlier in the episode, they show her looking at a page in the damned book and quickly closing it to say no with this weird little music stinger in the background. If this isn't a fake-out where she makes this “sacrifice” to get the power and takes over hell instead of demon guy, it's just disappointingly bad melodrama that, so far as I can see, has to happen because the script says so. (She wouldn’t even need to have been relying on demon guy’s failure if she just was considering doing it instead of planning on it and then seized the opportunity when Cas killed demon guy.)

When are Castiel's powers not fucking failing? Seriously. Again, more Castiel is a sad sack of sorrow and I cannot be bothered to give a fuck. You want people to trust you and give you the benefit of the doubt? Maybe stop betraying them and constantly failing to follow through for them - just a thought.

#writer incompetence #anti wayward #anti berens #anti castiel #negativity for ts #long post #spn season 15 #spn 15x03

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dietraumerei · 5 years

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Whumptober Day 12: ‘Don’t Move’

A bit different than my usual -- this is almost book!verse, set before the Apoca-Not, and they are very married, but in a very weird ethereal-occult way.

“I said, don't move,” the man snarled. He lowered his hand, and the circle holding Aziraphale grew even smaller.

“Oh, bugger,” Aziraphale said, and grunted when he was forced to curl in on himself a bit. “I'm telling you, you idiot, I'm not a demon.”

“That's what a demon would say,” the man said. “Besides, I summoned you. What else would you be?”

“An angel, obviously,” Aziraphale huffed.

The man eyed him up.

“What?”

“Aren't angels...beautiful?”

“Oh for--”

Unfortunately, things rather took a turn from there. A stiff upper lip can only do so much against a madman with a grimoire, and Aziraphale was only grateful – in between bouts of frustrated torture on his captor's part and trying to explain that he literally couldn't do what was being asked of him on his part – that the man couldn't call down hellfire.

The magic circle was hardly larger than Aziraphale's body, but it didn't much matter – he was pretty sure he couldn't sit up under his own power, after the last bout of threats. His back felt raw, his coat and shirt shredded, and he curled on his side, too exhausted and in pain to keep from weeping. He was going to be stuck in this stupid circle forever, with this absolute moron who remained convinced, somehow, that Aziraphale was a demon.

The best he could hope for is that somehow Crowley could track him down and show budget Jack Parsons over there what a demon could really do. But then, Crowley was off gadding about Siberia, claiming he could spread quite a lot of demonic workings, somehow, in one of the most sparsely-populated places on Earth. Aziraphale suspected he was really just in search of a peaceful vacation, and he been so annoyed at not being invited along, he hadn't even accepted an invitation for goodbye drinks.

So. He was probably on his own, at least until Crowley got back to London, and got peckish. Bugger.

“If you would just give me what I wanted, it would be so much easier,” the man said. He had graduated to controlling the circle to compress painfully on Aziraphale, crushing him slowly, a little tighter with each word. Aziraphale was pretty sure he'd begun to hear bones break, but everything felt very distant. Discorporation was nothing to look forward to, and Heaven would be quite upset with him, but it was starting to seem the better option, even with centuries of paperwork ahead.

There was a sound like the universe tearing, and Aziraphale figured this was it, when a voice cut through the air. “Let. Him. Go.”

“Crowley!” he didn't exclaim, because he couldn't get up the energy or the will to move his mouth, but he looked up and saw a very, very angry demon.

“Fucking finally!”

“Oh yes,” Crowley said. “Finally. You wanted a demon? You've got one.”

“Give me power, and I'll feed you with souls forever,” the man bargained.

“Oh, no. Oh dear.” Crowley circled where Aziraphale was captive. He walked slowly, easily, his hips doing the thing his hips always did. “You think I'm here to make a deal.”

“Well, aren't you? This one is useless,” the would-be magician said, gesturing disgustedly at Aziraphale.

“Ah!” Crowley held up a finger. “I might – might have been inclined to be merciful. Give you a quick death. But now you're annoying me.”

“You can't kill me,” the man snorted. “Look at you. I can bind you in a circle.”

Crowley made a thoughtful noise, and tilted his head, examining where Aziraphale lay. “Ooooh, is that what you think?”

“That's what I do!” He started to say something in Latin, and the circle around Aziraphale contracted a little further.

To his shame, Aziraphale cried out, with Crowley right there, soft thing that he was.

The demon snarled and snapped his fingers. The circle holding Aziraphale vanished, and he collapsed, moaning but at least able to relax.

Metal bars appeared over the man's mouth, a crude X. There were rivets, and blood, and a muffled scream.

“You idiot. You absolute moron. You didn't even cast a spell to catch a demon – you meant to get an angel,” Crowley snarled.

A frantic sound of disagreement, and Aziraphale rolled over, slowly healing himself as best he could. The man was backing up, eyes wide with terror now.

“Oh, wait, no, hold that thought.” Crowley snapped his fingers and froze time. He dropped to his knees by Aziraphale, fury replaced with worry. “Oi, no, don't move. No, it's too much for you – do you trust me, angel?”

Aziraphale was too tired and hurting and heartsick to do anything but nod. And, after all, he did. For all that they were different sides, they were...what they were.

“Oh, he hurt you very badly,” Crowley murmured. “Oh, Satan. We don't even do shit like this, you've got to be human for this.” Gentle as anything, he passed his hand over Aziraphale's body, stitching together torn skin, healing broken bones, stopping that spot of internal bleeding here, even soothing that bruise there. “My poor angel,” he said, voice truly sad. “I...I'm sorry. I should have known. Should've come before he could do this.”

“Don't be sorry,” Aziraphale managed. “You're here now.” He smiled weakly. “Thank you. I'm not sure I could...”

Crowley nodded, and touched Aziraphale's forehead. “We can go home soon. Let me just take out the trash, and everything will be tickety-boo,” he said, with a wink.

“I've got a wonderful vinho verde with our names on it,” Aziraphale joked weakly.

“Maybe start you off with a cup of tea,” Crowley said. “I'm going to restart time. It might hurt a bit, I'm sorry.”

“I'll be fine, you old serpent. Don't worry about me.”

“Don't tell me what to do,” Crowley said, the argument easy and well-worn on their tongues. He touched his fingertips to his lips, then touched Aziraphale's cheek, a promise for later.

It did hurt when Crowley restarted time, but only a bit. Aziraphale closed his eyes and concentrated on remembering to breathe, while his body figured out that it was healed now – physically, at least.

“You're so lucky he's alive,” Crowley crooned. “Really, you've no idea. You caught my best friend, and you tortured him, and you didn't even know what you had. And yet he's alive.” He smiled, and had too many teeth. “Pity you won't be.”

Aziraphale braced himself for, well, squishy bits, but Crowley just hissed and moved his hand in an odd way. The man screamed, short and sharp, and vanished.

“Where is he?” Aziraphale asked warily.

“Downstairs,” Crowley said. “Up you go, can you walk? Yes, yes, of course I”ll help you – lean on me, yes, just like when you get drunk.”

“I do not get that drunk,” Aziraphale said, his arm around Crowley's shoulders. He had to move slowly, and the demon was carrying most of his weight, but he could walk, after a fashion.

“'Course you do. Just outside – ah, here.” He helped Aziraphale into the Bentley.

“Where are we, anyway?” Aziraphale asked.

“You won't believe me if I tell you,” Crowley said.

“I will!”

“Crawley,” he said, and smiled, and set about breaking every speed limit, and a couple of laws of physics, too.

Aziraphale was too worn out to protest, or do anything other than look out the window and watch relativity scream until it gave up and went home for the evening. Redshift was always very pretty, at least.

Crowley took them to the bookshop and got Aziraphale inside and into bed, promised cup of tea by his bedside.

“I don't sleep,” Aziraphale reminded him.

“But I do.” Another snap, and they were in pyjamas. Matching silk, of course, and Aziraphale just had to sigh and smile and admire the fine stitchwork on his.

“Thank you, by the way,” he said. “I don't know if I got that in earlier. But...thank you. Was getting a bit tight in there.”

“Yes, that's what I thought.” Crowley climbed into bed, sitting up beside him. He leaned over a kissed Aziraphale's shoulder. “Thanks for hanging in there. Would be dreadful to have to put up with a replacement.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “You wouldn't put up with any angel but me, dearest.”

“Well, of course not. You're fun.” Crowley gave a contented little wriggle. “Drink your tea, 's good for you.”

Aziraphale did, and found it quite reviving, though really only enough to encourage him to lie down. He may not sleep, but he could rest, he thought.

Especially with Crowley curled up right beside him.

“How was Siberia?” he asked politely.

“Eh. Quiet. Bit too quiet, if you ask me. Good to be back on the old patch,” Crowley said.

“Indeed. Fancy a bit of lunch tomorrow? Make up for the one I had to, er, miss?”

“That you pissily refused.” Crowley grinned. “Of course, angel, love to. See how you're feeling tomorrow, though. That bastard was a bit of nasty business, I don't mind telling you.”

“I'm quite all right,” Aziraphale said firmly. “Now go to sleep before you worry over me all night.”

“Who said I was worried?” Crowley asked, and to prove his point, turned over and immediately fell deeply asleep, including a little light snoring.

It was complete coincidence that his hand had landed in Aziraphale's, their fingers curling together. And that Aziraphale then smiled over at him, and settled in for a nice, peaceful night.

#my fic #whumptober2019 #no.12 #cw: serious character injury #cw:description of mouth injury #generally a bit more horrific and bloody than I usually write

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littlelovegod · 5 years

Text

between the lines

like this fic? reblogs are always appreciated, or check it out on my a03 (link in my bio) and give it a kudos! ❤️

The Earth kept spinning, the stars kept shining, humanity kept breathing and dying and falling in love. Crowley thought it was quite unfair of life to go on so smoothly when his heart felt as if it had stopped beating the second Aziraphale had left his sight. -

Sort of an outtake of canon, set around the holy water scene. Mostly based on the show.

Aziraphale had made a decision.

He’d been up all night worrying, unable to keep still for even a minute. Of course, angels didn’t need sleep, but Aziraphale, always one for earthly pleasures, often took the night to get some reading done and rest. He loved how serene and still the world became at nighttime. The streetlights outside the windows of the bookshop gleamed gold like dimming stars, and the sounds of people chattering, traveling, and most of all living faded until there was nothing, save him and his books. He quite liked it that way.

But tonight was different. All the noise in the world was inside Aziraphale’s head, and he could not get it to hush up. All this internal chaos stemmed from one thing: he’d heard from a reliable source that the demon known as Crowley was planning a robbery on a church.

If Aziraphale knew Crowley, and he did, then there was only one thing he could want from a church. Holy water. Just over a century ago, Aziraphale had denied his request, with good reason. How could he give Crowley the thing that very well may kill him? How could he live with himself knowing he had given Crowley the means for his eventual death? And yet, he had no other choice — Crowley going out to get his own holy water was far worse.

So he made a decision. He couldn’t stop Crowley. Six thousand years had taught him nothing if not that. The demon did whatever he wanted, no matter what Aziraphale thought about it. It was part of why he — well, that’s not worth discussing. Angels did not think such thoughts about demons. It simply wasn’t the way of things.

Crowley would get his holy water, but he would get it on Aziraphale’s terms. Aziraphale would just have to hope that he never used it.

Crowley had no doubts.

He had no fears, no worries, no concerns about what he was planning on doing. He was sure everything would go just fine, he wouldn’t experience an agonizing death, and certainly a very angry Aziraphale wouldn’t show up. He’d get his holy water and go home. Everything would be great.

At least, that was what he told himself as he slid into the Bentley, taking a second to admire his James Bond bullet-hole windshield decals. A good purchase, that.

He was about to put the key in the engine before he sensed a body beside him. He inwardly groaned. Well, at least that was one thing to check off the “List of Things that Could Go Horribly Wrong”.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, turning his head to look at the angel seated beside him.

“I needed a word with you.” Aziraphale said through tight lips.

Crowley frowned. “What?”

“I work in SoHo. I hear things.”

Crowley feigned confusion, and Aziraphale continued, “I hear that you’re setting up a caper to rob a church.”

So the bastard angel did know. Crowley opened his mouth to come up with some elaborate story that would quite clearly explain why he so badly needed to get into that church, but Aziraphale interrupted his train of thought.

“Crowley, it’s too dangerous. Holy water won’t just kill your body. It will destroy you completely.” The distress in his voice was evident, and Crowley shifted in his seat uncomfortably, turning his head away from the heat of Aziraphale’s piercing blue eyes. He wondered absentmindedly if he was just imagining it, or if Aziraphale truly was so holy that even his gaze could harm a demon.

“You told me what you think 105 years ago.”

(and you think I don’t know how dangerous this is? I don’t like it anymore than you do, but this is a necessity.)

“And I haven’t changed my mind.” Aziraphale responded, prompting Crowley to frown in preparation for another argument. “But”, he paused, “I can’t have you risking your life. Not even for something dangerous. So, you can call off the robbery.” As he spoke, he pulled something out — a thermos. Cream colored, with the middle section a comfortingly familiar tartan pattern. Comforting, until Crowley realized what the circumstances would be if he ever had to use the water. Even as he was trying to find a way to be able to fend for himself, Aziraphale just had to insert himself into everything. That was how things were between them, Crowley supposed. He’d never truly be able to escape the angel, but at least the opposite was also undeniably true.

Crowley’s hands shook as he took the container. “Don’t go unscrewing the cap” Aziraphale warned, as if Crowley would even think of doing something as stupid as that.

“It’s the real thing?” Crowley cursed himself for the waver in his voice, but he knew how much this meant. For Aziraphale to give him actual holy water…

“The holiest.” Aziraphale replied, and something in his voice told Crowley this hadn’t been blessed by just any priest—Aziraphale himself may even have done the deed.

“After everything you said…should I say thank you?”

(thank you so much, angel, this means more than I can say.)

“Better not.” Aziraphale’s eyes flickered to Crowley’s for a second, then away.

Crowley gathered himself, turning his head towards the angel. “Well, can I drop you off anywhere?”

(don’t leave yet, I haven’t seen you in so long.)

“No, thank you,” came the polite reply.

Crowley did his best to school his features (after all, Aziraphale turned him down often, why should he be so upset?) but something must have shown through, because Aziraphale began speaking again, this time with a softer tone.

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could…I don’t know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”

Crowley pouted, catching the apology in Aziraphale’s eyes and knowing it would be impossible to make him stay. Of course he wouldn’t stay. Crowley should never have thought otherwise. Still, he gave it another try.

“I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

(please, Aziraphale.)

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

Crowley turned his head away, knowing that hurt was written across his face, and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Not hard to go fast when you’re barely moving, angel.”

(I’d slow down for you, if I could figure out how)

“I’m — I should be going. Goodbye, Crowley. Use that water wisely, please.”

And then he was gone, and Crowley was left alone, holding the one thing most demons would do anything to get away from. But Crowley had never been “most demons”, had he.

“Most demons” didn’t feel this way about angels.

Several days later, with the holy water locked away in his safe (where it would stay until it was needed, but heavens, Crowley hoped it would never come to that) Crowley was lounging in his apartment, watching Saturday morning cartoons and tossing an occasional glare towards his plants. He had been slacking in that department lately; they seemed to be a less vibrant shade of green. They were probably due for a good scolding.

As much as he tried to focus on other things, his thoughts kept slipping to Aziraphale. More specifically, to their conversation in the Bentley. Something was off about the way the angel had acted, and he couldn’t seem to put it out of his mind.

Aziraphale worried a lot. It was a part of him, one that Crowley had grown to be quite fond of. But something about the tightness of his voice that night was…different. It was fear, not worry. Sure, he was giving Crowley something that had the power to hurt him, but he must have known that even Crowley would take care around such a deadly substance.

Unless.

Unless Aziraphale thought Crowley wanted the water because it had the power to end his life…oh goddammit. Crowley jumped up from his comfortable position in his leather-studded chair, limbs flying as he scrambled to reach his phone.

“Aziraphale!” he shouted the instant the phone was picked up. “You idiot, I’m coming over. Be at the bookshop when I get there.” He didn’t wait for a response, just hung up dramatically and made for the door.

Crowley didn’t bother knocking when he reached the bookshop, easily miracling the doors open and yelling Aziraphale’s name at the top of his lungs. There was one customer finishing up his purchase upon Crowley’s arrival, who quickly gathered his books and left, sensing that this man was not someone he wanted to mess with.

“Yes, yes, I’m right here, Crowley, I can hear you. What do you need?”

Crowley was not one to mince words. “I don’t want to use the water to kill myself, you moron!”

“You — you don’t? I thought you wanted it for insurance, in case it all goes bad?” Aziraphale still looked confused, but Crowley could see a bit of relief dawning in his eyes.

“I do, but if I have to die, I’d rather not have it be by holy water. Miserable way to go. I want it for protection. A contingency plan, if you will. Just in case.”

(just in case you can’t always be there to protect me.)

“Oh. I still don’t approve, but that’s... a little better.”

“What, can’t bear the thought of me being able to protect myself?” At that, Aziraphale gave him a look, and Crowley instantly shut up.

“No, I’d rather you have a plan in the event something happens to me. I don’t necessarily like the thought of you being, ah, alone, but I suppose it’s good to plan for such things.”

“Hopefully I’ll never have to use it. But of course, if I ever get sick of this mortal coil…” Crowley left the end of the statement hanging, giving Aziraphale a crooked smile. It occurred to him that the teasing remark might be a bit much, considering the circumstances, but as any demon worth his salt was wont to do, he pushed his limits.

Aziraphale didn’t return the smile. “Don’t say that.”

“I didn’t mean it, angel.”

“Promise me, Crowley. Promise me you won’t ever use that water—or anything, for that matter—to end your life.” Something in his eyes made the smile die on Crowley’s lips.

“I swear on Satan’s crown, Aziraphale. I won’t.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply, just moved towards Crowley, slowly reaching up to take off his ever-present sunglasses. Once he could see Crowley’s eyes, he tucked them neatly into Crowley’s jacket pocket, then pulled slightly away.

Crowley was silent, just blinking slowly at Aziraphale. It was a good thing he did, because it allowed him to catch Aziraphale’s next words, spoken quietly into the musty bookshop air. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me, angel. If anything, it’s...it’s me who’s afraid of losing you.”

(don’t take that lightly, angel. I never, ever admit I’m afraid.)

Aziraphale exhaled, finally meeting Crowley’s eyes again. “I’m not the one who lives my life so carelessly, my dear. Your people and mine would do awful things to us if they found out about our Arrangement, you know that.”

“I can…” Crowley scowled, “I can try to be more careful, if you’d like.”

“I would like, thank you.” Aziraphale replied, brightening a bit.

“But if I have to slow down, it would be nice if you’d, well, speed up; meet me in the middle?” Crowley asked hopefully, lifting a hand towards Aziraphale’s face.

The moment ended quickly, Aziraphale’s hand flashing up to catch Crowley’s wrist. “Not…not yet. I’m not ready. I need time.”

Crowley sighed, wishing he was still wearing his sunglasses to hide the pain flashing in his serpentine eyes. Aziraphale used to compliment those eyes often. He hadn’t done it for several centuries.

“I’m guessing that means you won’t accept my offer for dinner at the Ritz.”

“I’m sorry, Crowley. Truly. Just, take care of yourself, please.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a pained smile, sliding his hand along the demon’s wrist to lace their fingers together, giving a single squeeze, then letting go.

“Sure, angel. I’ll wait for you. If we’ve got anything at all, it’s time.” Crowley took a step backwards, away from Aziraphale and towards the door.

“I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale nodded farewell, and Crowley felt the angel’s eyes on him until the heavy wooden doors shut with a heavy thud. The sound reminded Crowley of a gavel on a judge’s bench, condemning him to a life far too full of sin for any angel as holy as Aziraphale to want for his presence.

Sometime later, on his knees in the midst of a burning bookshop, Crowley thought he understood why Aziraphale was so loathe to risk losing him. He wouldn’t wish this pain and suffering on anyone.

As Crowley walked out those wooden doors for what he was sure would be the final time, he ran a hand through his rain-slicked hair, feeling the heat of Aziraphale’s funeral pyre on his back. They had run out of time, and now he had no one to wait for, no one to love.

He was going to go get absolutely hammered.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #go fic #ineffable husbands fic #angst #i'm only a little bit sorry about how angsty this is lol #one shot #fan fiction #writings

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amuseoffyre · 5 years

Text

Crossing Paths - 1846-1859 - London & Rome

You know that satisfied sigh that ‘Aziraphale’ gives while he cricks his neck from side to side in the Hellfire? That’s me right now :) I needed this chapter.

1846 – Whitechapel

Crowley hated prophets.

Always had, always would.

They were like the idiot who thinks it’s a good idea to kick a beehive, then acted surprised and offended when people complained about being stung. Most of them were frauds – which he could excuse – but some of them made work a lot harder than it needed to be. And what was worse was when they were right.

Most of them weren’t, but some of them got close enough that it was starting to make Crowley’s skin creep and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

They were talking about Armageddon.

Not just one or two anymore. Every week, someone new popped up and their deadline was suddenly a lot shorter.

The volcano that turned the world icy three decades ago was the start of it all. His favourite comet hadn’t helped. The year after it appeared in the sky, Albrecht and Wesley started putting the fear of God into people. And now, a bunch of loonies were quoting Revelation and shouting from the rooftops about the End of Days and the coming of the Antichrist.

All fine and dandy for the humans who laughed at them and called them charlatans, but not so good when you go into Head Office and they’re just as excited as some of the nutters upstairs. Not long now, they were saying. It’s coming soon.

He’d grinned along with them, then fled back to his house and dug out the ancient battered copy of the Bible he kept locked up in his safe. It was like carrying a grenade around, that thing, but sometimes, it helped to know what everyone was thinking. Also, for coming up with better arguments to throw at the angel. He always got so offended by them.

Crowley put on his heavy alchemist’s gloves and lifted the book down onto his desk, turning the thick vellum pages all the way to the back. The book of Revelations might have been the ramblings of a sun-stroke addled madman on a mushroom high, but he’d got enough right that it was worth keeping an eye on.

Crowley adjusted his glasses to keep his eyes from burning as he read through it, his heart sinking with every word. The four horsemen were legends down below. Everyone had heard of them. If they were involved, then it wasn’t good. Combined with some of the Jewish theories about the timeline – bloody sacred numbers were always annoying – and all the other evidence, it didn’t sound promising.

He sank back in his seat, his hands trembling.

Shit, shit, shit.

They were right. It was coming. It was coming soon. A world that would last six thousand years. They were in the home stretch now. Hundred years left. Maybe two at a push. And then…

And then war.

The Fallen against the Heavens.

Demons against Angels.

The world didn’t matter to them. They didn’t care. It was just a convenient battlefield. It would be left in ash and ruin and no one upstairs or downstairs would even notice. They never had and they never would and everything would be gone and he would be expected to take up arms and stand with them and–

“Shit,” he whispered again.

He remembered the last battle. He remembered the fire in his wings and the pain and worse than anything else, feeling Her Grace being stripped away. It had been like the air in his lungs, as natural as breathing, and then it was gone and all he had done was ask. Was it so wrong to ask? Was it so wrong to wonder? Was he so wrong?

When She had let him Fall, when the only world he had known was ripped from him, he had screamed and raged and wept, everything raw and painful and broken. He had been so sure he was ready to hate Her – hate them – hate everything about the world that had led to their undoing until he was allowed to seek daylight again and felt grass and stone beneath his feet…

And then an angel smiled at him.

Oh God.

Aziraphale.

Lucifer, Beelzebub, the others – they wouldn’t show mercy. The only good angel, they often said, was a dead angel. And Aziraphale – the bloody stupid idiot – had given away his divine weapon. He wouldn’t be able to defend himself against them, not even if he wanted to.

Crowley felt sick, brutal, bloody images slithering unwanted across his vision.

And it wasn’t like he could stand against them, not all of them, if they came after the angel. They would as well. Everyone knew Aziraphale was the Heavenly beacon on earth. He would be a prime target for them, a symbolic kill, head on a pike to show that earth was their domain and battleground now.

“No, no, no…” Crowley keened, his whole body coiling in on itself in horror at the thought.

What the Heaven was he meant to do against the full might of the armies of Hell?

The only advantage he had was that they had no idea that he was sitting on the fence. It wasn’t much of a trump card, but it was better than nothing. They wouldn’t expect trouble from him, especially not for the sake of a Heavenly Principality.

Right.

Okay.

Element of surprise. That was something to use. Something they wouldn’t see coming. Enough to get him and Aziraphale safely out of the way if it came down to it. Anything beyond that, they could worry about when the time came, but now…

He pushed back from his desk. The low-level hum of the Bible’s power was making his skin itch and his head ache. He needed to be away, to think. Holiness was always so…

He froze, halfway out of the seat.

Holiness.

Well… no demon would ever see a holy attack coming from behind them.

He stared down at the Bible, until his face was aching from the prickling of the power. Couldn’t just use a bible. Running around whacking people on the head with a book was a solid mode of attack – Aziraphale had proved that one evening when Crowley had surprised him – but the Bible was more of a slow-burn on contact, not exactly the kind of thing to keep a powerful demon down for long.

Crucifixes?

Nah. Needed to get too close for them to be useful.

He swung out of the chair, pacing back and forward across the room. Relics fired out of a cannon, maybe? Saints could be pretty holy, but then there was the problem of sifting the real bones from the false ones. If he remembered right, the Habsburgs had three left thighs of John the Baptist last time he passed through. He was pretty sure one of those was a cow bone as well.

Also, a cannon wasn’t exactly the most subtle stab-someone-in-the-back weapon.

He went over to the window, looking out on the gloom of the city. Rain was rattling against the windows and he stared at the glass, putting out a finger to track a single from the middle of the pane to the bottom, where it merged with its brethren and flowed down into the gutters below.

“Oh…” he breathed.

Yes.

That–

It wouldn’t just hurt anyone who came after Aziraphale. It would stop them dead. Okay, yes, technically, if he managed to splash himself with it, he would be out of the equation as well, but that was the advantage of not being a complete moron. Precautions could be taken.

But killing…

He sank to sit against the edge of the window, pressing his shaking hands to the frame. It wasn’t as if he wanted to harm anyone, but given a choice of someone like Hastur or the angel. Hell, given the choice of Hastur or himself, it was an easy answer. He was a demon. What were they expecting? Self-interest came with the territory.

“Shit,” he whispered again, knocking his head back against the glass. He pulled off his glasses and tugged off one glove with his teeth, so he could rub at his eyes.

It–

They had time. They had decades. That was plenty, wasn’t it? There had to be options. Some other way that didn’t mean killing one of his own. But if worst came to worst…

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember how to breathe and trying desperately not to think of what the worst could be, of the fire and brimstone and blood and bodies and Aziraphale gone, burned away by the wrath of Hell because Crowley wasn’t there, wasn’t fast enough, couldn’t – wouldn’t – didn’t stop them.

“Shut up,” he whispered. “Shut, up, shut up, shut up.”

1859 – Rome

Crowley couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept.

It was after that volcano incident, but not much. That when things started going a bit squiffy. And definitely before some fancy wanker had decided to stick his name on the comet that the demon had considered his since time immemorial. Saw it first, Crowley had grumbled. Should be my name on it.

Hell was still buzzing with excitement. Portents and doom were in the air. Prophets were still popping out of the woodwork. The proverbial clock was definitely ticking now. Everyone knew it, even if they didn’t know exactly when it was meant to chime.

The demon was crouched on his toes on the edge of the rooftop, staring out across Rome.

The Vatican pulsed with the power of faith, throbbing against his aching eyes. Everything about it made him want to scratch at his skin. If there was anywhere to steal a weapon, this was the place. Trouble was getting inside. Grabbing one of the Pope’s staffs or something blessed by him… not exactly a divine sword, but almost close enough?

The wind made Crowley’s coat flap around him. He shuddered and straightened up, stepping into the air and emerging on the street below.

Every step he took closer to the Basilica and the centre of the church’s power felt like tar was wrapping around his legs, slowing him down and forcing him back. Every step was harder and the closer he got, the tighter his skin felt, until he had to stop, staggering, gasping against a wall. Not even within a mile of the place and he could barely move.

No chance of getting there.

He swore furiously, miserably under his breath. What kind of demon was he if he couldn’t even find a way to steal a weapon of God?

Once he finally managed to gather the energy to retreat to a safe distance, he huddled in the shade of a building overlooking the Trevi fountain, drowning his frustrations in a pricy bottle of wine. Over the bustle of the city, he could hear the constant rush of the water on stone.

Crowley looked out of the window at the fountain, gleaming in the afternoon light.

Back to that, then.

Holy Water. The only substance that could truly kill a demon. Even crosses were only an inconvenience by comparison, but Holy Water…

“Shit,” he breathed against the rim of the glass.

Only place to get the stuff was in a church. Only way to get to it was to step on consecrated ground. If he couldn’t even walk up to the exterior wall of a bloody basilica, how was he even meant to get anywhere near their… well? Plumbing? Spring? Hell only knew where they kept it.

Could kidnap a Priest, he supposed. But a blessing over water under duress probably wouldn’t work anyway. And if he let a priest make some water holy for him, he’d probably find it being thrown in his face a second and a half later.

But he had to get it. No choice anymore. If things went tits up – and all the signs said that they would some time in the not-too-distant-future – it was better to be ready for every eventuality.

Not from a priest. Impossible from a church. Maybe the angel could give him some advice…

Crowley lowered his glass, staring into space.

The angel.

Bloody hellfire.

All this time worrying about how to get the most fatal liquid known to his kind and all the while, he was friends with one of the only creatures in the world who could make it with nothing more than a gesture.

But he wouldn’t. He’d never. Not one of the most powerful weapons in Heaven’s arsenal. It had taken enough to persuade him to do temptations in the beginning. Several centuries of convincing him was all when and good when they had time, but they didn’t. Not anymore.

Crowley prodded at his glass, distracted. Other options first, he decided, and if there was no other way, that was the only time the angel needed to know. Better not to get him worried about what might be coming. He had enough pressure from above. He didn’t need any more.

“Right,” Crowley murmured. “How do I break into a church?”

#fic: crossing paths #good omens fic #good omens #crowley

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