#i decided to spice up aziraphale's name | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic · 1 month

Text

Good Omens Fic Rec: in your own time

Aziraphale and Crowley grew up together as next-door neighbours on Hogback Lane, classmates at the local Catholic school, and inseparable best friends. By the age of eighteen, both were hopelessly in love with the other, despite the knowledge that they were doomed to live apart, as Crowley aimed to pursue university study in London and Aziraphale committed himself to remaining in Tadfield, dedicating his life to the Church. After almost twenty years spent away from his hometown, renowned botanist Crowley decides to come and visit Tadfield again at a moment's notice; the purpose of his visit is to speak at a Careers Day for the school he and Aziraphale, now a beloved priest and a frequent helper at the school, attended. The twenty-four hours that follow will change both of their lives for ever.

Length: 33,632 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, After Dark, Human AU

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by ineffabildaddy

*Minor Spoilers* I'm proud to say that I was the third hit count on this one and I had no idea it was being posted. This is a STUNNING priest AU, and this is going to be a long rec post.

Crowley and Aziraphale are estranged childhood friends here. Aziraphale was put on track to become a priest, and could not walk away. Crowley had to leave and find his own path. Personally, I love that plotline because it gives me a connection to their 6,000 years of friendship that I like to see revisited in Human AUs. We only get brief flashbacks to their youth, but it is enough to know how much they loved each other then. They go through life content, but incomplete. Each aware that their soulmate is out there, but reconnection feels impossible. That magic is not gone yet, and an unexpected reunion was just the spark they needed.

Crowley's portrayal here is especially soft and tender. His blend of anxiety and genuine confidence is as charming as ever, but it's his understanding and acceptance that truly shine. He never blames Aziraphale for the way things have unfolded. There's no punishment for the past from him, only unwavering support and love. He's so loving and safe, praising and doting on Aziraphale with pet names. I know Aziraphale is going to be cared for now.

Aziraphale's relationship to God and the Church was such a gorgeous journey. He was put on this Earth to do good and provide comfort to his community. Just like the canon though he'll need to separate out the Institution (Heaven/The Church) from God. His moral compass is so strong, "heavy, gilded, reliable". He just needed to learn to trust that voice. And not the voice of those who have forced him to conform to their will. The narrative never villainizes Aziraphale for staying with the church. He just needed some separation and someone to catch him. To be shown that love is holy. The church is not God, he will not be destroyed for acting on his love. I won't quote the whole thing but on Crowley's side, there is a stunning description of what he finds holy and worth of worship. That I am going to reread 1 million times. This story speaks to the late bloomers, the closeted, and the repressed—the queers who have hidden and suppressed their desires to conform to please others. It's for those whose lives seem to have slipped by, filled with missed opportunities and immobilizing fear. It holds us close and tells us, "It's never too late, my love." I often get stuck on "lost time", times I've felt I've wasted in my life. So reading, "It's never too late to do whatever it was you were always meant to do, as long as you do it when you're ready. It's never too late to look into the future, to conceive of a world which makes you grin with excitement and banish all dread from your mind." well, it made me emotional okay!!

Oh and it's hot as fuck. So there's also that. Like seriously, it'll creep up on you here. It'll be some gorgeous line about the human condition or whatever, and then the filthiest most delicious line imaginable! It was like an electric shock to me. The confessional scene had me weak in the knees!!!! I can't say enough times I love this story. The first several chapters are safe in public, but you will hit a point that it is not! Proceed at your own pleasure

Read it here, fic by ineffabildaddy

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fanfic rec #aziracrow #good omens fic rec #aziraphale x crowley #in your own time #ineffabildaddy #mostly safe in public #after dark #human au #religion au #plants au #five flames #faves of the blog #medium

53 notes · View notes

feraltuxedo · 10 months

Note

Hi! I hope you are doing well! I decided to spend my evening like Crowley, asking an important question from fellow GO writers! What's your current favourite story you yourself have written? Tell me why you like it!

Oh my gosh that's such a lovely ask... as a writer I'm sure you know just how shy we can get when it comes to talking about our writing in a positive way. But since you've given me permission to brag...

I'm very fond of all of my long fics, they're the works that take the most amount of time and have a tendency to nest in your mind even long after completion - but there is one short fic I wrote that has the same effect despite the writing (and posting) of it being quite a fast process:

First Thing In The Morning is a 5 chapter AU in which I combined some favourite and very comfortable story tropes (authors, getting back together, British politics) with some new to me writing techniques, namely dual POV and dual timeline.

I like how I wrote Crowley and Aziraphale in this fic, and how their characters change in the three decades between the two timelines - Crowley turning from a cocky teen king of chaos to a sensible but somewhat insecure adult, and Aziraphale who is standoffish and anxious as a boy, quite different to his confidence in the later timeline.

Adapting the prose to the two POVs and timelines was a challenge I loved. Thinking about what to reveal where, and playing with perspective like that. So much fun.

I also like how this fic is plotted. I always enjoy a good reveal or plot twist, and sprinkling in details and foreshadowing and hints in earlier chapters, and I think I managed to do that quite well here. There's lots for the discerning reader to pick up on.

The dual settings of modern day London and a 1990s secondary school were fun to write and I like to think I did them both justice in such a short story. As always, there is a distinctive political theme that snuck into this fic as soon as I realised part of if would be set at a school thirty years ago.

Still, I like to think that despite the heavier notes, this is overall a warm, heartfelt, and positive story. It strikes a good balance.

And lastly, this fic has an entirely gratuitous and extended smut scene just for a bit of spice. Quite pleased with that one.

Thank you so much, Mirjam, for this ask and the opportunity to go on about my writing ❤️

#good omens #good omens au #my writing

36 notes · View notes

snarky-synesthete · 5 months

Text

Snippet from "Deadly Sins and Cardinal Virtues"

Have a snippet from our new fic (written by myself, @corancoranthemagicalman and @cryptic-queer-cryptid)

Featuring Furfur's obsessive stalking of Crowley, misunderstandings that run as deep as the Pit, POV-switches that will cheerfully give you whiplash, and lots of introspective character-study stuff for Furfur. This section takes place after Furfur has decided to spy on Aziraphale and Crowley in their South Downs cottage.

~~~

Furfur wasn’t a stag the entire time, obviously. He even went into the little village nearby on occasion, dressed in his cleanest and most unassuming clothes, smiling at passers-by and trying out the two competing coffee shops. It unsettled him, frankly, how seamlessly people seemed to just accept him into their day. Granted, they had an angel and a demon living just up the road beside a sunflower field. Still, you’d think that the creeping sense of unease that Furfur specialized in would have at least given people some shivers. But no. They smiled back, for fuck’s sake.

Who even did that, these days?

It was…odd. Furfur even felt odd. Clearer, somehow. He tried to remember the last time he’d spent more than a few measly hours out in the forest over the past few thousand years. Used to be so different, in those early days, he thought to himself. He was sitting outside a cafe, nursing a coffee - something sweet and spicy that he couldn’t remember the name of...he’d never been one to enjoy human food before, but recently he’d been craving anything dark and sweet. Chocolate, spiced coffee, black tea with honey, whipped cream and cinnamon…

He shook his head, trying to re-catch his train of thought. Different, it was, sure. Hell was new, still…and we demons were new. We didn’t know what we were supposed to be - just that we’d somehow been tied to the Earth in a way the angels weren’t. We’d fought the filthy fight and then…after the Fall, after the change…it was like we could ramble over the Earth as we liked, for a while. Furfur’s face darkened as he remembered the days before the Ark. The days of Nephilim. While some of the other demons may have discovered the sins of the flesh before him, Furfur’d been the first demon to figure out how to plant his seed so it would actually grow, grow into something new. Not that anyone remembers that now, he thought bitterly. The one thing I ever did first, the one thing I was proud of, and no one even remembers it was me as did it. Furfur had been so fuckin proud of them, his babies, toddling on too-long legs, fawn-like. Other demons discovered the trick to it later, of course, but Furfur had been the first demonic sire.

The Nephilim grew at an alarming rate: taller than their mothers, certainly taller than Furfur. Strong, they were, my kids, he thought, pride still zinging through him even after thousands of years. I helped make them strong. I planted that seed and gave it strength to grow healthy. Something about their prodigious size and strength had always tickled his pride, but there was something else there, too: something that tickled at his awareness, something like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. Something about how the Nephilim were stronger than their human cousins, but kinder and more clever than their demonic sires. Something about being greater than the sum of their parts. Too bad we never had a chance to find out what they could really do, Furfur thought glumly, finishing off his coffee. He popped the lid off the cup and licked the spiced whipped cream from the underside. Too bad we never knew what they could grow into.

For a moment he wondered, and then wondered why it had never occurred to him before: Would they have been the same if I’d been the one carrying, with a human sire? I’ve changed up me bits a time or two…wonder why I never thought of that, back then…dunno…

Furfur did know that the rules had started getting stricter, after the Ark…started feeling more like they were just an outpost of the old Heavenly order, if any demons were prepared to be honest with themselves. (They weren’t, of course. Honesty, being a Virtue, wasn’t really any demon’s strong suit.) They were allowed less and less time up in the clean air of Earth; more and more of their time and energy was demanded in the Pit, in the Circles, in the Offices, in the Court.

“Not all of us, right,” Furfur grumbled out loud as he tossed his empty coffee cup into the garbage bin, walking back to the village footpath. “Not all of us forgot what the free air tasted like.” He stopped suddenly, looking over his shoulder in wonder.

He stared at the bin.

The garbage bin, into which he, Furfur, demonic force and minion of Satan, had just obligingly tossed a bit of trash into. Mindlessly. Like he cared about the place. Keeping it tidy.

Like a good fucking citizen.

Feeling like the fresh air might be getting to his head, Furfur bolted.

#good omens fic #furfur #good omens fanfiction #furfur good omens #good omens fic rec #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #crowley #good omens #go fic recs #go fic #character study #crack taken seriously

9 notes · View notes

aziraphales-library · 3 years

Note

Hello, recently I read an excellent fic, To Seduce, Beguile, and Entice by sleepymccoy,

which made me crave more fics where Aziraphale does temptations for Crowley (or just tempts people in general). Would you have any recs for those? Thanks!

Hi. Here are some fics in which Aziraphale does some temptations...

These Violent Delights by redundant_angel (E)

Worried that Crowley will eventually grow tired of him and the Arrangement, a lust-struck Aziraphale pulls out all the stops to make an impression with his temptation abilities. Only, tempting a demon who already finds him irresistible may earn the angel more than he bargained for...

______

Crowley crossed one long leg effortlessly over the other, set aside his dark glasses, and fixed the angel with a smoldering look and a wicked grin.

“Tell me, angel. Do you like what you see?”

The Conventional Rules by thealmightyh (E)

Prompt: As per the Arrangement, sometimes Aziraphale performs a temptation and sometimes Crowley performs a miracle. This saunters vaguely downhill when one or the other wants to watch.

Summary: Crowley wants to watch.

“I want to see you do it.” They were in Soho, surrounded by books, drinking a 1961 Haut-Brion with ample spice. Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed to very suspicious slits. “See me do what, exactly?” “You know, it .” “What?!” “Not that you utter pillock."

Temptation by emmagrant01 (T)

They’ve had The Arrangement for centuries now. Turns out Aziraphale’s been doing it wrong.

Never Gonna Let You Down by Ladybug_21 (G)

Aziraphale, as it turns out, is extraordinarily bad at executing Crowley’s demonic tasks for him.

Executive Game by walkwithursus (T)

The year is 1951, The Arrangement has been in place for several centuries, and for the first time ever Crowley decides to watch Aziraphale perform a temptation. Secretly, of course.

Bleak Without and Bare Within by Princip1914 (E)

Perhaps Crowley was right, Aziraphale thought. They were both working very hard in sometimes very awful places and for what? It was obvious that they couldn’t give up on temptations and blessings entirely--someone would notice, they had to surely--but combining forces here and there? What had Crowley called it, lending a hand, when necessary? It didn’t sound too bad. It didn’t sound like a good idea either, but Aziraphale supposed that was the whole point. It was a morally neutral proposition, and everything would still get done in the end.

“I agree.” Aziraphale said finally. “As long as you accept that we’re going to have to teach one another.”

Or, an angel learns to Tempt, a demon learns to Bless and things get a bit out of hand at the beginning of an unusual Arrangement.

And of course, the fic you mentioned:

To Seduce, Beguile, and Entice by sleepymccoy (T)

Aziraphale had performed seductions in Crowley’s name before, not eagerly but out of an assumption that it was a tactic that Crowley himself regularly employed. Apparently not. And if Crowley were ever tested on it by Hell, he would have to do better than some bumbling insults followed by a panicked exit. There was no choice, then. In the name of The Arrangement, Aziraphale must teach Crowley how to be succesfully seductive.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #the arrangement #temptation #mod d

242 notes · View notes

aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

124 notes · View notes

manatehispants · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, Angel

Christmas! It’s without a doubt Aziraphale’s favorite holiday. Sure the humans have dates, times, and much of the true history behind the holiday wrong, but oh how the angel still loves this time of the year! The way the holiday lights lit up every corner, all the people smiling as they passed by different shops trying to decide on gifts for their loved ones. The treats and new meal ideas that came out each year. New flavors of hot chocolate was always a highlight for Aziraphale. Oh and the Christmas music! The way fresh snow sparkled in the early morning hours before humans had a chance to walk around in it. There was just so much to love about this time of the year, but what they loved the most was love and compassion that came out of human kind during this time. Everywhere they turned Aziraphale could see humans helping one another in some way. It was so beautiful. It was the day before Christmas now and all month......Yes, you heard right......Month Aziraphale had been driving Crowley up the walls with what the demon felt to be stupidness.

Every year it felt as if Aziraphale found a way new way to be even more obnoxious about one of the most meaningless holidays to ever exist. What in the name of Satan was so wonderful about Christmas? How could the angel not see that all this time of year is, is an excuse for people to buy some cheap gifts and pretend to give a damn so that they can feel good the rest of the year about not caring at all? All is Christmas is, is a show of who can present the most fake face of compassion to the world. The weather is too cold and everything has a disgusting smell of peppermint, cinnamon, pumpkin spice, or pine needle to it. Seriously, why did humans have to put these sickening flavors into everything? It showed a real lack of creativity when it came to food and drink if you asked Crowley. Not that anybody has asked their opinion on this in years now.

Aziraphale was putting some final Christmas touches on their bookshop and once again redecorating the tree they had set up in the back of the shop. They had a piping mug of hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon in it on an end table near his white as snow loveseat. It’s a loveseat that still looks almost new, but they have had it for well over sixty years now. The tree was a stunning almost seven foot tall tree. It was an impossibly beautiful green with unnatural white tips at the end that made it appear as if fresh snow sat upon the tree. It was decorated in a way that Martha Stewart herself would have been jealous of and would easily put Macy’s displays to shame. A smile played on their face as they yet again rearranged some lights on the tree as classic Christmas played throughout the store. Their mood was so uplifted by this all that they had almost forgotten Crowley was refusing to stop by tonight for a gift exchange. Not unusual for them at all. Crowley was a known Grinch around this time of the year. Well, any time fo the year really. They are a demon and it can’t always be helped. This was something Aziraphale had to constantly remind themselves of and avoid taking any of it personally.

The Serpent of Eden wasn’t as far off from Aziraphale was one might think they would be tonight. They weren’t off on Ring Nebula like they had sarcastically told the angel they would be. This had earned Crowley an annoying side comment from Aziraphale about how they should take their attitude and go off to Crab Nebula instead. Not at all funny though Aziraphale thought it to be a real “stitch”. But, no, Crowley wasn’t off on some Nebula. They were still very much on Earth. In fact, they were only kiddie corner away from the bookshop at a small pub attempting to drink as much of the bar as possible. They felt oddly......bad (and not the good kind of bad!) about raining their misery down on the Angel’s stupid parade of cheer of Christmas by refusing to be part of it. They shouldn’t feel bad about it. Aziraphale and Crowley have known each other for over six thousand years and every year its the same when it comes to Christmas. Why should this year be so bloody different? What because they saved the world together and finally established that they are......”friends” Crowley is expected to stop being a demon and give a damn about a holiday that only reminds them of how much they lost in their fall?

Christmas and all the praise to Heaven felt like an ice cold slap to their face every year. Why Aziraphale didn’t understand this frustrated Crowley to no end then again could they really blame the Angel for not understanding something that has never been told to them?

“You never open up about your feelings.” That was one Aziraphale’s new complaints now that the two had saved the world and no longer worried about being on one side of the another of a Holy War. Again, Crowley wasn’t quite sure what it was Heaven’s most ineffable angel expected. What made them think that Crowley was going to change their behavior of over six thousands basically over night? And why should they talk about their feelings? Both had been doing just fine before the whole end of the world thing without talking about them. Why was Aziraphale trying to fix something that wasn’t broken and why was Crowley sitting at the bar feeling guilt for it? The silver tongued demon downed their......who even knew what number whiskey as they slouched almost comically low in their chair.

“I don’t feel bad. They should feel bad. Their the one shoving this crap down my throat! I’m only trying to some drinks and cause some mild chaos. That’s all.”

The now rather intoxicated demon said to the empty chairs at their table. The ever present sunglasses fell down the bridge of Crowley’s nose. Taking their index finger they pushed them back. They clamped one hand on the back of their chair and slid themselves back up into a straight sitting position. Somehow their glass of whiskey was once again full. They stared at the glass had they refilled that through their powers or had the bartender stopped by and refilled it? It was that stage of the night that Crowley had now become so intoxicated they weren’t sure what the answer to this was. Whatever. It didn’t matter. It only mattered that it was full and that they definitely did not feel bad leaving the Angel alone on Christmas Eve. Crowley picked up the glass, putting it to their lips they downed the liquor rather enjoying the way it burned down their throat and warmed their insides.

“They only asked me to join to be polite ya know? They don’t really want me there. Their happier on their own......Spending Christmas Eve......Alone......”

Crowley trailed off. The mental image of someone who so dearly loved the company of people they cared being alone on a holiday they considered so important bothered the demon. It made their whole itch and their skin crawl. Crowley’s face scrunched up as if they had bit into the world’s most sour lemon. They already knew they would be getting no peace of mind no matter how drunk they attempted to get. No, the only way they were getting any sort of peace tonight was by doing the one thing they swore they didn’t want to do......Spending the night with Aziraphale and letting the Angel have their stupid oh so pointless holiday cheer. Crowley pushes their chair away from the table. They purposely scrapped the chair hard against the floor while doing this making sure the whole place could see, hear and feel how much they despised what they were about to go do. Letting out a dramatic groan Crowley rose to their feet. They didn’t walk out of the bar, but rather did an almost stumble like dance out of there.

Now, had the demon been a tad less drunk it would have crossed their mind to do what they always do when too drunk and make themselves instantly sober up. Instead they remained drunk as a duck and just barely managed to make their way to Aziraphale’s shop without falling down. Through the shop windows and door Crowley can see the soft glow of lights. The outside is covered with different arrangements of Christmas decorations and the demon can already smell that sickening Christmas scent they so hate. It’s making them wish they had stayed back at the bar. In fact, Crowley even looks over at their shoulder and back to the bar almost longingly. It would be so easy to go back there. Easier thing in the world Crowley tells themself, but then that pesky image of Aziraphale alone for yet another Christmas comes to their mind. They scowl.

“Aziraphale should be fine! They have hot chocolate and a tree. I know they do. They called me five times to tell me about it!”

Crowley said out loud looking at the sky as if they were attempting to be plea their argument to God. Beg the All Mighty to take their guilt away and let them go back to the bar in peace. Yeah, right. Like that was ever going to happen. Crowley lets out a sigh of defeat and opens the door to the bookshop. Aziraphale always leaves it unlocked when they are there though Crowley had warned them time and again to lock it after hours. Damn Angel was way too trusting of humans following the rules and not entering their place of business because “The sign says closed”. You’d think they would have learned better by now. Crowley shakes their head as they entered shop. They have to hold onto different counter tops and shelves for balance as they walk towards the back.

“Angel! You left the door unlocked and now you got a demon in your shop!”

The cold breeze and sound of the bell above the door had been dead give aways somebody had entered the shop. Aziraphale was curled up on their loveseat reading their latest find. A rare book that dated back to the seventeenth century it was writing entirely in Latin. Looking up from their book Aziraphale was going to call out that the shop was closed when they heard a voice they knew all too well. A smile came over the Angel’s face as they placed their book down and got up. It was obvious from the way Crowley’s words had been slurred the demon was drunk, but oh!! That doesn’t matter at all! Not one bit! What matters is that they had cared enough to show!

“Okay, deep breath, Aziraphle. Don’t make a big deal over this. Mustn’t point out that this was kind of them.”

Aziraphale whispered to themselves trying to contain their excitement. They knew how much Crowley hated it when they point out the demon did something that was good. The last thing Aziraphale wanted to do tonight was make Crowley cross with them. But still! This was a big moment. It’s the first time in over six thousand years of knowing each other that Crowley has agreed to spend Christmas Eve with them.

“ANGEL! Did ya hear me? Don’t tell me you ate yourself into a food coma with all the sweets you’ve been baking up.”

It wouldn’t be shocking if the latter had happened. Aziraphale was infamous for their love of human treats and this time of the year they always had a habit of overdoing it. Since the start of December every time Crowley entered the shop there was some new assortment of Christmas treats laying out and along with a new recipe for hot chocolate. Although Gabriel was an insufferable jerk they may have a had a point about Aziraphale overindulging with human food. The smell of pine needles, fresh baked good and Christmas cheer was making the demon already feel annoyed. But then came Aziraphale from the back of their shop. The angel had the biggest dumb grin on their face as they walked towards Crowley arms wide open.

Crowley had a hand on the nearest bookshelf for support as they watched their life long friend. It was a struggle to maintain a grump exterior seeing the one being who Crowley Gabe a damn about so happy and knowing they were in part the reason for the happiness. It felt dare they say good? A chill ran down their spine. Nope! Demons don’t feel good! It most definitely did not feel good and wasn’t nice to see! Now, normally a small smile and nod of their head would have been plenty greeting from Aziraphale to Crowley. But today the angel was caught up in the holiday spirit and the kindness of Crowley being here. They did something they have never done before and usually wouldn’t have dreamed of doing. They wrapped their arms tightly around the ancient serpent and hugged them tightly. The gesture immediately had a sobering affect on Crowley. People didn’t hug them and especially not Aziraphale! Their whole body went stiff. A million and one thoughts raced through their head. What are they supposed to do? An angel hugging a demon......That can’t be good. They should shove Aziraphale away and earn the Angel never ever to do this again. After that the two should definitely never again speak of this moment. They will agree that during the holiday season they will now both stay far away as possible from each other and Crowley really will start spending the holidays on Ring Nebula!

But, the hug it feels so warm and damn it to Hell......They like this. How long has it been since Crowley allowed anyone at all near them? Have they ever allowed someone to be near them in this way? Crowley tried to think back and recall, but they can’t. Crowley swallows hard and slowly they wrap their own arms around Aziraphale. Their hands lightly pat the angel’s back. It’s an awkward pat and obvious that Crowley has never done this before or hasn’t in a long time. Now this is without a doubt the best possible gift Aziraphale could have got. They had fully expected for Crowley to pull away from them and complain about the hug. Aziraphale had even been preparing an apology mentally. There is a simple beauty in what is happening. Aziraphale gently pulls Crowley closer in. Crowley feels their body melt against Aziraphale. It’s the alcohol. They drank too much and weren’t thinking clearly. Once they sobered back up this would be one of those things the two never spoke of it at least that is what Crowley planned on. Against better judgement and everything being a demon tells them they lean into the hug. Their chin ends up resting on top of Aziraphale’s shoulder as they inhale deeply. Sugar cookies, pine needles and chocolate with a faint hint of sandalwood. All scents that Crowley claims to hate and now? They couldn’t get enough of it. Their nails dig into the absolutely hideous Christmas sweater Aziraphale is wearing. Crowley’s lips are almost against the Angel’s ear.

“Tell anyone about this and I am burning the shop to the bloody ground.”

Any other time the threat might have concerned Aziraphale, but they know Crowley would never do this. It’s a threat that is almost endearing because all it does is show that the demon trusts them. Crowley is letting them get close in a way they had never let anyone else get to them before. All the threat did was show this and show that Crowley also understood how much the shop means to Aziraphale. Slowly the blond haired angel lets go their dear friend. There is almost a sound of protest from the wily serpent, but pride manages to override their intoxicated state and they keep it in. Knowing someone for as long as these two have known one another you learn to read their unspoken words and you become aware of the movements they not only will make, but the ones they want to make. Aziraphale is all too aware that Crowley wants more and they be lying to say they didn’t too. However, now wasn’t the time.

“You’re drunker than I’ve seen you in years and you know very well if you did that I would never speak with you again.”

Aziraphale said with what was nearly a hint of amusement. There was no hint of the start of a lecture in their tone of voice. That was what Crowley had come to expect from Aziraphale in moments such as these. Crowley lets out a laugh. They can’t even try to deny what has been said. Straightening up their sweater Aziraphale puts their hands on Crowley’s shoulders. Their bright blues eyes really are beautiful Crowley thinks themself. The eyes remind them of the oceans just off the coast of Greece. The water there has the same sapphire blue to them. They should really get back there sometime.

“Either sober yourself up or go sleep this off in the back.”

“What are you my mother now? I don’t need to sober up and demons don’t sleep. Not at all. I’ve been plenty more drunk than this before.”

Aziraphale doesn’t argue back. They only nod towards the back room. Crowley rolls their eyes, but listens and stumbles their way. Immediately the demon is sprawling themself out across the loveseat that only moments ago had been occupied by Aziraphale. Waiting till Crowley closed their eyes before they turned and headed back out front. Keep their eyes closed Crowley spoke up.

“Angel where are you going?”

“To lock up the shop so that you don’t give me more grief about it later on.”

Lazily raising their right hand in the air Crowley snapped their fingers. After doing this their hand dropped down to arm rest. Aziraphale didn’t even need to ask. They already knew what Crowley did. They had locked the door. Usually Aziraphale would have told Crowley that they are capable of doing something their self. Instead they only shook their head.

“Well, thank you. I suppose I’ll finish my hot chocolate and book now while you......Lay there and sober yourself up.”

“Angel.”

Crowley half mumbled and half slurred. The demon patted their lap. Aziraphale raised a single brow. They were tempted to miracle the demon back to sobriety at this point.

“Come here.”

The angel face turned bright red. They were glad Crowley still had their eyes shut and they couldn’t see the reaction Aziraphale was having.

“Absolutely not! You’re....INTOXICATED!”

Aziraphale said they last part as if they were one of the most scandalous thing in the universe. It earns them a drunken chuckle from Crowley. Something is frustrating and somehow also endearing. The angel moved over by Crowley to grab their mug before they can pick it up the demon had reached an arm out and wrapped it around Aziraphale. They pulled the other being onto their lap causing a fresh wave of warmth to come over Aziraphale’s face. Much to Crowley’s shock they didn’t pull away or fight this. Really, how could Aziraphale fight this? They’ve wanted to be closer to Crowley for many years now, but for one reason or another they both always pulled back.

“For Heaven’s sake, Crowley!”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer to him and the most protest the angel could muster up was a roll of their baby blue eyes. They could feel Crowley chuckling against their body. It was strange how shockingly well......Nice this felt. It shouldn’t feel nice. Aziraphale is an angel sitting on the lap of a demon! Nothing about this should feel good! But Aziraphale is realizing this is where they want to be more than any other place in the universe. Right here on Crowley’s lap.

“Promise to sleep this off if you stay put.”

Clicking their tongue to the roof of their mouth Aziraphale put on a fake what could almost be described as a pout. They lean back against the one being they should never be so close to and yet feel so right being near.

“You just said demons don’t sleep.”

“Demons also lie a lot. I’ll go to sleep.”

There are a thousand arguments and lectures which Aziraphale could come up, but instead they go silent. They find their head is now leaning against Crowley’s chest and they swear they can FEEL the ancient snake of Eden smirking.

“Very well, but only if you actually sleep.”

Another small laugh from Crowley. They pull Aziraphale closer. Both are cursing themselves for how right something so forbidden feels, but they aren’t only cursing themselves for that. They are also cursing themselves for not acting on this soon; for time lost and wasted.

“I need to tell you something.”

Aziraphale finds that their throat feels dry. Their nervous that at any moment Crowley is going to come back to their senses, push them off and leave the shop. Maybe this will be the thing that finally pushes their dear friend away for good. They don’t want to answer the demon. They are scared for the first time in a very long time that they may say the wrong thing. It takes effort on their part to make the words come out.

“Yes?”

“Merry Fucking Christmas, Angel.”

Blinking a few times Aziraphale opens their mouth to lecture Crowley on the language and instead they find themselves laughing out loud. They very lightly elbow the demon who’s lap they now occupy. Crowley let out a playful groan. One that sounds suspiciously more pleasure filled than playfully pain filled. Nope! Aziraphale was absolutely not going to think on that!

“Merry Christmas, Crowley.”

With this being said Crowley kept their word to their good friend. They immediately forced them self into a state of mimicked sleep. Aziraphale smiled as they felt Crowley’s breathing slow down into a peaceful rhythm. Like demons, angels too require no sleep and still, Aziraphale finds them self closing their eyes and dozing off too already knowing this will be the best Christmas they have ever had when they awake.

#crowly x aziraphale #christmas #christmas eve #ao3 #fanfic #crowley #Aziraphale #Drunk Crowley #Merry Christmas #ineffable fandom #good ineffable omens #Ineffable Husbands

6 notes · View notes

mostfacinorous · 4 years

Text

GO Whumptober Day 22: Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You? [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21]

A few days later, tired of soups and warm drinks, Crowley suggested they order in something of the other type of hot-- something with some kick, some spice, and something that required some chewing.

He suggested a nearby Ethiopian restaurant that had just opened.

“Oh, it’s been ages since I’ve had Ethopian.” Aziraphale said, delighted by the prospect. “I recall there being a lentil stew that I especially liked…”

“Well, here ya go then,” Crowley said, from his position curled up in the angel’s lap.

They’d found this situation to be best; Aziraphale being something of both a natural heater and natural pillow, and the perfect means of keeping Crowley’s back warm while he faced the fire, and vice versa.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s proffered mobile, carefully not laughing at the fact that Crowley’s bony wrist was the most of his skin he’d seen in days. It reminded him of very different times indeed. But, those times lacked the promise of Ethopian cuisine, and so he shifted his attention to the screen in his hand.

He found the lentil stew he was thinking of--Aser Wat-- and a few other dishes that promised not to be too spicy for him, given he was ever so slightly more sensitive to that than Crowley was.

Crowley took the phone back and placed his own order, and Aziraphale watched on, bemused as Crowley found the spiciest dishes and added them to his basket.

“Well, I suppose it will be clear whose is whose.” He commented, and Crowley snorted.

“You’re welcome to try some of mine if you like,” He ribbed lightly, shifting in Aziraphale’s lap.

Aziraphale hummed.

“How long did it say?”

“Twenty to thirty.”

“Then you have fifteen to twenty to decide if you want to get the door, or if you want to get off of me so that I may.”

Crowley made a face that someone else may have called a pout. Aziraphale would, too, save that he knew better than to put words to the expression.

“It does have to be one or the other.” Aziraphale pointed out helpfully.

Crowley grumbled, but eventually did some sort of looping roll that seemed more befitting of his serpentine form than his man-shaped one, but did the trick all the same.

And with only minutes to spare as it turned out; the knock came on the door not long thereafter.

“I’ll just fetch that then, shall I?” Aziraphale remarked mildly as he got to his feet.

“Thankss angel.” Crowley responded, sounding oddly smug for someone who had spent the last several days turned into a linens burrito.

Aziraphale gratefully accepted the bags from the courier and gave him a little tip, with a tiny blessing on the side, then returned to the demon.

“Alright my dear-- your very spicy foods are in this one.” He passed the bag off to Crowley, who slithered into a slightly more upright position to be able to eat.

Aziraphale was delighted; everything was delicious, and he made a point of sampling a little of each item before he settled down with what he’d known would be his favorite.

Crowley appeared, at first, to be doing the same, but his expression was puzzled.

“Does yours taste funny?” He asked at length, and Aziraphale cocked his head, confused.

“Funny in what way?”

“Sort of a… I don’t know, cleaning stuff, bleachy way?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

“No, not at all-- here, trade me?” He passed Crowley a plate of injera with atkilt wot, azifa, fasolia, and kik alicha piled on top.

“Mine’s hot, remember.” Crowley warned, handing it over.

Aziraphale didn’t recognize the dish right off, but put some of the rich red stew on his injera and took a bite.

It was spicy, that was true, but not horribly so-- he imagined Crowley would be disappointed, if not for the other flavor that had so distracted him.

“I don’t taste anything like cleaning chemicals.” Aziraphale reported, before summoning some milk to banish the uncomfortable tingling on his tongue. Ah, afterburn. He had forgotten that was a thing.

“Huh. Yours doesn’t seem to have it.” Crowley said, but passed the plate back just the same.

“Would you like more of mine? If it tastes better?” Aziraphale offered, tilting the takeout container of fasolia in Crowley’s direction.

Crowley shook his head, his jaw set mulishly.

“Nah, I want the spice. Wonder what it is, though…”

He didn’t comment further on the odd taste, and finished a goodly amount of his food before declaring himself full.

Aziraphale got the leftovers packaged into Crowley’s usually barren refrigerator, and had just settled himself down to let Crowley crawl back into his lap, when Crowley shot straight up, flailed frantically to free himself from the blankets, and made a bee line for the bathroom.

Alarmed, Aziraphale waited, then when he heard the sounds of Crowley being sick, he moved to follow him, rapping on the door.

“Crowley?” he asked, trying not to sound nearly so worried as he felt.

They didn’t get ill, as a rule, and yet… perhaps this was Heaven’s next weapon against them. He didn’t think he’d seen pestilence around of late, but if there were any powers that might harm an angel or demon, he would bet it was them.

“Something in the food.” Crowley said, voice strained, between bouts of vomiting.

“Let me look into it.” Aziraphale offered, then retreated, feeling terrible.

Bad enough that Crowley had to deal with the cold and his old injuries, but now this besides?

Aziraphale located Crowley’s mobile and pulled up the order information, then set about searching up each of the names of dishes, and one thing became very obvious very fast: the spice that Crowley had so craved came from something called berbere seasoning. It was the one thing every dish had in common.

And so Aziraphale looked further into it, and almost laughed with relief when he realized-- not all mixtures had it, but he would bet his signet ring that this one did: rue, also known as witchbane-- and Herb of Grace.

It was, for years, used as the brush by which holy water was administered for blessings, and there were strains of the plant that had been watered with holy water to make it suitable for the purpose.

Not that Crowley ingesting holy water, however diffused it might be, was funny at all, nor was him being sick, but rather-- at least it was a reasonable explanation, and didn’t suggest that they were being targeted again.

He went to report his findings to Crowley, but stopped off on the way to start some water boiling for ginger tea. He had a feeling Crowley was going to want rather a lot of it, very soon.

#GO Whumptober2020 #Good Omens fic #Aziraphale #Crowley #Whumptober #no tacos were harmed in the making of this chapter #that writing thing I do

10 notes · View notes

dickwheelie · 4 years

Text

Day 15: Delicacies

For the @ineffable-valentines prompt list!

Aziraphale’s attitude towards food is similar to mine, except my taste is much less refined. Put good things in your body, kids, whatever your definition of “good” happens to be. Eat when you’re hungry. Treat your body like you would an angel’s. Eating is one of life’s great pleasures; enjoy it.

___________

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale would ever admit it out loud, but it was a well-known secret between them that Aziraphale was very easily tempted. Not necessarily by the wiles of a demon, for his attitude towards Crowley was more in spite of the demon’s wiles than the other way round, but when it came to food, Aziraphale’s resolve was considerably weakened.

This is not to say that the mere sight of a platter of sweets or a feast laid out upon a dining table was enough to distract Aziraphale from his angelic duties. No, it took a certain quality of food to tempt him. He had, after all, standards.

It really began in Rome, with the oysters. Aziraphale had never before heard a recommendation for a restaurant that was based solely on the quality of its food. In those days, any kind of food was considered a luxury. When he first sat down at one of the tables, Crowley taking the seat across from him, there was a strange kind of anticipation in the air. It was odd; he’d never been excited to eat before.

The oysters lived up to all expectations. Although he’d invited Crowley along to try them as well, he found himself snapping up all but two. Crowley, who by then was much more agreeable than he’d been at the bar, seemed more than happy to let him. By the time Aziraphale had swallowed the last delicious bit of meat, he’d decided. If food could be this scrumptious, why bother settling? He didn’t need to eat, so shouldn’t he strive to make it worthwhile when he did?

From then on, Aziraphale devoted much of his time on Earth seeking out the finest dishes money (or anything else) could buy. He traveled to Japan just for the sushi; he risked decapitation for crepes in France; he went out on numerous truffle expeditions just to take home the choicest ones; he dined upon the spiciest sauces and the sweetest meats; his wine cellar was legendary in certain parts of France and Italy; he selected cheeses from across Europe much like the richest people in the world select summer villas.

Gabriel had told him once that he was sullying his body with gross matter. In Aziraphale’s rather self-assured opinion, nothing could be further from the truth.

Crowley, of course, knew all of this. He knew his angel’s demanding tastes, and he knew how excited it made him to discover something new that was of such high quality. And he knew very, very well how happy it made him to try it.

Crowley began to do some research.

First, he attempted to make note of everything Aziraphale had already tried. This took several years’ worth of investigation, but if Crowley had anything after the end of the world didn’t happen, it was time. Every time Aziraphale brought up a food he’d enjoyed in conversation, Crowley would make a note of it. He snuck down to Aziraphale’s wine cellar and jotted down every name. He rifled through his kitchen when he wasn’t home and recorded every item. He racked his own brains to think of every restaurant they’d ever been to that had made Aziraphale sigh with bliss.

Finally, when he had a list that was nearly its own novel, he started jotting down foods that weren’t on it.

This was even trickier than making the first list. Aziraphale had, after all, been on Earth for six thousand years, and had more than made the rounds when it came to sampling its delights. Crowley quickly gave up on alcohol; every halfway-decent brand and year was already in Aziraphale’s cellar or cupboards. It was the same with specific dishes and cuisines; Aziraphale had already tried pretty much everything at least once. Crowley was going to have to get specific.

Ingredients were the next logical step. Crowley searched everywhere for a spice, or fruit, or vegetable, or meat that Aziraphale hadn’t yet tried. But it seemed that anything remotely tasty had already passed through Aziraphale’s kitchen at least once before.

Crowley had felt like he’d hit a dead end, up until one grey, miserable midwinter day, the sort of day that unexpectedly lovely things always seem to happen on. He was passing by a patisserie, when he happened to look up at the display in the window, and something caught his eye.

Crowley pulled up short and stared. He racked his memory. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the pages of notes he’d scanned in. He nodded decisively and perhaps a little victoriously. He entered the shop.

***

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said a few days later, “what is on my kitchen table?”

Crowley looked up from his phone. He grinned. “A brown paper bag.”

Aziraphale turned and gave him the kind of look that could curdle not just milk, but also cheese.

“Well look inside it, Aziraphale, you’ve got hands!”

“It’s for me?” Aziraphale approached it and rolled it open, staring down into its depths.

“Course it’s for you, who else would it be for?”

“I don’t know, maybe it was yours, and you left it here my mistake,” said Aziraphale absentmindedly. He reached into the bag and pulled out a box, colored a dark, classy brown and tied with a dark, classy ribbon. He sniffed it, and his face lifted into an excited smile. “Oh, did you get me chocolates, Crowley?”

Crowley sauntered over as casually as he was able, peering over Azirapale’s shoulder. He bounced on his heels in anticipation. “Open it and see.”

“With pleasure, dear boy.” With eagerness, but appropriate reverence, Aziraphale untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside, twelve little brown spheres sat in white velvet cushioning.

“Chocolate bonbons,” said Aziraphale, with pleased satisfaction. “Oh, aren’t they lovely. Thank you so very much, my dear Crowley. I’ll get right to these.”

“Not just any bonbons,” said Crowley. He closed his eyes to help remember everything. “These bonbons are made with sixty percent pure cacao, milk from the best dairy farm in Europe, and the finest sugar money can buy. The chocolate is mixed with bits of gold leaf. This box of a dozen of them cost over a hundred pounds.” He opened his eyes and smiled at Aziraphale. “You’ve had bonbons, but you’ve never had ones like these.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Well, now, my dear,” he said calmly, but Crowley could hear the excitement on the edges of his voice, that delicious joy that Aziraphale took part in whenever he was faced with a new delicacy, and it was then that Crowley knew he’d been victorious, “you and I both know that money isn’t everything.”

“Too true, Angel,” said Crowley, smugly as he dared, “so why don’t you try one and see for yourself?”

Aziraphale was very easily tempted, this much Crowley knew. One just had to put in the work. Most people probably wouldn’t bother, but it was their loss, Crowley thought as he watched Aziraphale take his first bite. There were some things that were worth the effort.

#ineffablevalentines #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #gwyneth writes

74 notes · View notes

lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Rooted (Rated PG)

Summary: There's a beautiful human tradition to carry around a plant when you travel, to remind you where you came from. Where home is. The first Christmas Aziraphale spends at Crowley's flat, he realizes that Crowley has been carrying a plant with him all along. Aziraphale thinks it roots Crowley to home. But home isn't necessarily a place. Sometimes, it's a person.

Or in this case ... an angel. (1338 words)

Notes: Written for @drawlight's '31 Days of Ineffables' prompt 'pine'.

Read on AO3.

“Oh, Crowley! What a magnificent Christmas tree!” Aziraphale effuses, ambling about the base of Crowley’s tall, lush tree as the demon takes his coat and hangs it up for him. “These branches! They’re so unusual!” Aziraphale reaches out a hand but doesn’t dare touch, no matter how alluring the fluffy, fanned foliage covered in red and gold tinsel may be. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like it!”

“You have,” Crowley says matter-of-factly, dropping onto his sofa and leaving Aziraphale to admire. Aziraphale peeks curiously back at the demon draped over the far corner of his sofa per usual, but more sullen than any being should be around Christmas. With his glasses on, Aziraphale can only guess the direction of his gaze, but he seems to be looking at the tree and Aziraphale at the same time. Because I’m in the way, Aziraphale deduces. And yet … “Humans call it Wollemia,” Crowley explains, “but it’s had many names throughout the centuries. It’s one of the oldest trees on the planet.”

“I see …” Aziraphale waits for something more – an explanation hopefully. When he doesn’t get one, he shelves his concern for the moment and goes back to examining the tree. It isn’t a traditional pine tree – not one that Aziraphale recognizes.

But he does.

He does recognize it.

He recognizes it in a peculiar way - the way one recognizes a face or a street name or the lyric of a song one’s only heard in a dream.

Aziraphale leans closer and breathes in. It smells warm, but Crowley’s flat is uncharacteristically warm tonight – a fire blazing in a fireplace Aziraphale didn’t know Crowley had. And candles burning, each releasing a fragrance attributed to Christmas – cranberry, cloves, cinnamon, mulling spices. Crowley doesn’t often light candles in his flat, not to mention scented ones.

He lit those for Aziraphale. To make him feel at home.

The thought behind that gesture makes Aziraphale giddy.

He switches spots and leans in again, glancing down through the branches to get a bird’s eye view of the intricate ornaments hanging. He spots something interesting at the way bottom of the tree and crouches to get a better look.

It looks like soil – rich and dark.

A tongue of fire rises high in the fireplace and Aziraphale sees more clearly. The tree isn’t in a stand. It’s in a pot. A humongous clay pot filled with dirt and covered by a red velvet tree skirt. Crowley’s Christmas tree isn’t just real.

It’s alive.

A part of Crowley’s stable of plants.

Suddenly, it hits Aziraphale where he’s seen it before. Well, not the tree in its entirety, but cuttings from it – a sprig here and there in a buttonhole, an arrangement, a vase. Crowley keeps a bud vase in his car with a shoot from this tree in it. Aziraphale doesn’t pay it much mind because when he’s riding in Crowley’s car he’s usually fearing for his life and the lives of others. But it’s there.

“This tree,” he mulls aloud but he knows Crowley can hear. “You carry pieces of it around with you. Don’t you?” He turns to face Crowley fully. Crowley doesn’t answer. “How many have you had?”

“Just this one.”

“That … it’s the same tree?”

“Yup.”

“And you’ve been carrying it around for …?”

“Ever since I left the Garden.”

“That long?” Aziraphale gasps. “I’ve heard of that!” He exclaims, blue eyes bright with firelight. “It’s a beautiful human custom – carrying around a plant to remember where you came from … oh …” He blanches, the twinkling lights of the tree supplying color to his face “… I guess … you came up with that.”

“We sort of came up with it independent of one another. It’s not really something I go around advertising.”

A rosy glow returns to Aziraphale’s cheeks. He smiles, slow and long, like he’s come to a grand conclusion, a theory he’s suspected true all along. “I knew it!”

“Knew what?”

“You miss Heaven, you sentimental old fool!”

Crowley rolls his eyes. Even with his glasses on, it’s unmistakable as it moves his entire head. “If you remember correctly, Eden wasn’t in Heaven. It was on Earth.”

“Yes, but it represents Heaven, doesn’t it? Paradise?”

Crowley scoffs. “Not to me it doesn’t.”

“Carrying a plant with you everywhere you go roots you to home.”

“True.”

“And since that plant came from Eden …”

“No, angel,” Crowley says. Agitated, he sits up. “Not rooted to Eden. Not rooted to Heaven.” He sighs. It sounds painful. Sad. “Rooted to you.”

Aziraphale falls silent, his conceit slipping away. “Rooted to me?”

“Yes.”

“But I … I’ve never owned a tree.”

“The day I left the garden, the day we left each other, you were standing under this tree.” Crowley chuffs, shakes his head, looking left and right for a possible bottle of alcohol. “Be just like you to miss that detail. Ignoring a whole huge ass tree!”

“Well … w-why should I pay attention to what damned tree I was standing under!?” Aziraphale stammers. “You were leaving me! I was only looking at you!”

A blink of his eyes and Aziraphale is transported to that day.

After the rain, he and Crowley – Crawly back then – had decided to tour the garden and talk, ponder what the Almighty had planned for Aziraphale now that Adam and Eve had been banished.

Neither angel nor demon knew that She would come looking for Her Guardian of the Eastern Gate so soon.

She wasn’t too happy to find a demon in Her garden.

Lightning flashed. Thunder bellowed. A warning, a clear one.

Crawly knew he should leave.

He transformed back into a serpent, burrowed into the ground, and left.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

“I didn’t go far,” Crowley admits. “I waited until the storm died down, then I snuck back in - returned to that same spot looking for you. Like an idiot, I thought you’d be there. But you weren’t. The Garden was disappearing. I didn’t have much time to look for you. I wanted something to remember you by. So I grabbed a piece of the tree and left. A root piece. Put it in dirt, wrapped it in a piece of my robe, and I’ve kept it. I guess you can say it was the start of my hobby but … it was more than that. It was a way of keeping you close to me.”

Aziraphale’s bottom jaw drops open. “I … I can’t believe you did that.”

“Believe it, angel. At the time, I thought …” Crowley looks at his hands, wishing to Someone there was a glass of wine in them “… well, I thought it would do something. Help me find you. I don’t know.”

“That’s actually rather sweet.”

Crowley slumps into the sofa cushion, disgusted with himself. “Shut it.”

“I always imagined I would be the hopeless romantic.”

Crowley smirks. “You are. That’s why you fell in love with me.”

“How do you figure?” Aziraphale crosses the living room, joins Crowley on the sofa.

“A requirement for being a hopeless romantic is getting involved with the absolute wrong lover, making your relationship ultimately doomed to failure.”

“Then I take it back.” Aziraphale leans into Crowley’s side. Crowley’s arm finds his shoulders and rests there, pulling him closer.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I don’t believe for a moment that you’re the wrong anything. And after 6000 years, I don’t think we’re doomed.” Aziraphale gazes at the tree, at the brilliance of it – the twinkling lights, the sparkling glass ornaments, the star on top. He had no idea Crowley cared about things like Christmas trees or candles or romantic gestures. Well … save once. But apparently they’ve been inside of him all along. And now, Aziraphale gets to share in them. And as much as he’d normally prefer to be alone in his bookshop, he can’t imagine being anywhere else with anyone else now that they officially have one another. “I think we’re succeeding marvelously.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #31 days of ineffables #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #frankie writes

126 notes · View notes

atreefullofmonkiesonnitrous · 4 years

Text

A Moment , Reversed

A Sequel to

https://atreefullofmonkiesonnitrous.tumblr.com/post/617067998703992832/aziraphale-knows-what-they-both-want-hes-trying

Link for AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/23972371/chapters/61455742

"The really good bit, though," Crowley tells the ceiling, "The really good bit is that they tell themselves they like it. That's how you know a bit of work will have legs, when they decide they like whatever awful thing you've thought up for them." The ceiling is paying about as much attention to his words as the angel across the room. Which is not to say that the angel isn't paying attention to him. His words may as well not be spoken, but Aziraphale's attention is positively riveted on his body, the lust pouring off of him feels like it could choke Crowley at any second. If this were a job, it would be all over but the moaning.

This isn't a job though. Crowley will not let himself do anything but offer. It's not exactly subtle, the wide spread of his legs may as well have a neon flashing arrow pointing "Angel Goes Here" but he will not initiate anything. He knows exactly how good at his (former) job he is. Which is exactly why he can't be the one to make the next move. Aziraphale is as good at resisting as Crowley is at tempting. They've gotten this far before and it's come to nothing yet. (come he he he) At this point he's probably too drunk to be that upset. Tortoise and the bunny or whatever. The point is, after 6,000 years he's very good at waiting. As it is, he has more than he once thought possible.

The click of the decanter catches his ear. He lifts his head to see Aziraphale empty the last of the scotch into his own glass. Bastard.

"'S no more?" he asks, which wasn't the brightest thing since he can clearly see that, but he's drunk. It seems worth one last display, maybe that last push will do it. So he grabs the clear decanter and puts on as lascivious a show as he can manage. He closes his eyes and lets his tongue sweep the length of the bottle, imagining where else he'd like to put it to use. He may not be able to get any more scotch but he swallows down the heady lust that rolls over him even more thickly. Then the flow is cut down as that angelic will reasserts itself. He cracks one eye, sees the primly crossed legs, and flops backwards in defeat. That was the best gambit he had, it's time to concede defeat again tonight.

"Sorry, Angel," he says yawning hugely. "Think I might take a little..." he yawns again, deciding to let the alcohol take him off to sleep where hopefully his dreams can rewrite a better ending to the evening.

"Of course, my dear, I'll go find something to read," Aziraphale says, before practically running from the space. Crowley allows himself a small smile at that. He may not have gained the prize tonight, but he's definitely gaining ground. He sees the liquid return to its container and frowns. Rude to go drinking it if he wasn't even going to keep it for long. He has little time for resentment however before the wave of lust intensifies. A drunk mind truly does speak a sober heart, in this case. Or a sober prick anyway.

He twists on the couch feeling it strong, close, desperately urgent, and aimed directly at him. The shame, guilt, and fear have almost washed completely away leaving a lust so pure it could almost be mistaken for the love he can no longer sense. (Sense, not feel, that little lie he's let go of long since, there is no other word for how he feels.) Embarrassment sparkles across the lust like a spice, sharp and hot but not a detraction.

Sleep flies from him as he hears the soft rustle of fabric. He hasn't heard feet on the stairs. The step, three from the top, hasn't let out it's characteristic squeak. Aziraphale is just around the corner, giving himself over to his desires. Crowley opens his mouth and breaths in hard, his tongue lolling out to catch whatever scents are lingering in the bookshop air. He knows the smell/taste of this place as intimately as any home he has ever had. The burnt vanilla of old books, the taste of 200 years of steam laden with tea and cocoa, soot from the fire Aziraphale keeps the city from knowing about, the dry grass and sulfur smell he's left behind himself, and over it all the taste of Azirapale's own presence, like fruit no living human has tasted and spices now vanished from the world mixed with a taste of something beyond the world entire. And today all of that is mixed with a hint, the tiniest appetizer of something bitterly entrancing.

Crowley twists on the couch, hands folded into fists, imagining what the angel is doing just beyond his sight. He can just barely hear the soft rustle of fabric and wonders how much more of the angel is exposed. He's clearly desperate, and oh that is a lovely thought, to not have waited to go upstairs. Is he going as fast and efficient as he can, nothing but his trousers open and his hand flying over himself. Crowley swallows, his hips twisting uselessly. The tight trousers provide plenty of friction, but he will not make anything to take advantage of that friction. He can hardly control himself as it is without things like anatomy and instinct getting involved. The tempter, tempted, and the angel doesn't even know he's doing it.

The groan is incredibly loud for something so quiet. The silence that follows it is deafening. He has to see. He won't touch until he's asked, but he wasn't this hard on Christ in the desert! A demon can only be expected to endure so much. He needs to be quiet. Stealthily, careful to make no starling sound, he wraps himself in scales and slides off the sofa. Black against the darkness and with no footsteps to betray him he slides across the floor. The haze of lust is like a dense fog where he could lose himself.

When his head clears the shelves he is frozen by the sight before him. Aziraphale, in a more debauched state of disarray than he would have dared imagine. His shirt is splayed open, no undershirt at all, yet that prim bow-tie is still perfect, making the rest somehow more lewd. His trousers are hanging open, discarded suspenders at half mast, framing a gorgeous cock gripped in a perfect hand. The other has a white knuckled grip on the bookshelf as if it is the only thing keeping him upright. When Azirapale's hips begin bucking into his fist Crowley's mouth falls open, which is a terrible mistake. The scent of Aziraphale's musk is overwhelming so close. It flows through him,pulling every muscle tight and causing him to coil tightly around himself.

He's writhing now in desperation wrapped in the feeling pouring over him. His coils pulse and curl in time to every movement of soft hand over slick flesh. It's only his own insensibility at this point that keeps him from shooting across the floor and twining himself around the angel. He can feel, physically feel, Aziraphale's desire for him. As if he's choking on a phantom cock, he swallows reflexively, and wonders if it translates back. The feeling flows through him and he is pulled along by the ever rising ever tightening tension. It could be the bursting wave that crashes over him from mere feet away, it could be the sight and scent of his angel in ecstasy, it is definitely partially the sound of his own name as a prayer on those sacred lips, whatever it is, it sends him over the edge. His body is seizing along the entire length of him in rolling waves of pleasure with nothing to anchor them. With nothing to expel or grasp onto, he loses all sense of his physical form, lost in insensate sensation.

He returns to himself blinking eyes that have lids again. He's lying, naked, sprawled on the bookshop floor, gazing at fluffy golden curls on the back of Aziraphale's head.

#GoodOmens #Ineffable Husbands #Anthony J. Crowley #Snake!Crowley #Aziraphale #A\C #gomens #sexy fic #pwp #My fic

5 notes · View notes

sylwritesstuff · 4 years

Text

022) Dreams (812)

Part of the Light to Dancing 100x100 List.

Rating: PG13 (Language)

—-

He'd only meant to have a brief lie down. A quick respite from the ugliness that was the fourteenth century. There was so much death, the humans seeming to spiral into madness. Aziraphale clearly couldn't keep up and was becoming tetchy as a result. It made the humans even less likely to follow his guidance and it was distressing to watch.

Crowley didn't enjoy being distressed and it was, frankly, exhausting to try and tempt towards good so much. Europe, it seemed, was a bit beyond even their abilities for the moment. Miracles left and right and what were the humans doing? Getting more bloody hysterical.

So, really, he'd only meant to have a quick nap and then be back up to convince Aziraphale to let Europe destroy itself. They'd go somewhere else together. It'd sort itself out.

But he'd closed his eyes and been back in Heaven. Not exactly, of course. His robes were black. They'd been a muted gray way back when, but it was bright and filled with clouds as they were still the only things around. Buildings hadn't been invented yet. People still hadn't.

Aziraphale still hadn't, yet a soft angel with white-blond hair watched him out of the corner of his blue eyes. He blushed when Crowley sauntered over, meeting eyes that weren't at all like a serpent's.

A name lost to time, so far even Crowley couldn't remember it, spilled from Aziraphale's lips in greeting. In the dream, he was able to take the angel through the stars, his own wings still pristine and white. He was able to show him exactly how they were made, how their brightness could rival Heaven's.

"They could never compare to the brightness in your eyes, though."

Aziraphale giggled. "Oh, my dear."

In the dream, they were able to hide from God's eyes and Satan wasn't a thought. They watched the war from a perch in the stars, Aziraphale holding him tight to keep him up and whole, not at all singed by the pits of Hell. In the dream, lips met sweetly, unhurried. They had all the time in the universe.

"Oi, Crowley."

His eyes shot open, golden and slit like a snake's. He sat bolt upright, staring at the dark-skinned demon. A chameleon clung to his hair, its eyes black and dead. Crowley frowned. "What is it, Ligur?"

"I've been charged with delivering you a commendation." He sneered. "What were you doing? Having a nap?"

"Meditating," he lied, the word sliding easily off his tongue. Still half-asleep, it was forked. "Helps me with all my bessst ideas."

"Right. Whatever. Anyway, your commendation. It's been the most vile century yet and you're supposed to continue whatever it is you've been doing. Hell's packed with humans. You've even driven the opposition out of this part of the world."

Crowley was too pale to pale, but the corner of an eye twitched. "Just as planned then."

"Whatever. Hell's looking forward to whatever you do in this new century."

"This. Century."

"The fifteenth. It just started." Suspicious, as demons always were, Ligur cocked his head. "You didn't notice?"

"Been working too hard," he replied. "Lost track of time."

"Sure. Well, fuck this place. Hail Satan."

"Right," Crowley replied and Ligur disappeared through the dirt floor of his shack. A shack, Crowley realized, that had nearly been entirely overcome by nature. Vines had grown over his windows. The door fell when he tried to turn the handle.

Shite.

He popped from country to country, desperately seeking a holy presence. He finally found it on the Indian subcontinent, which was shocking. Christianity, therefore angels, weren't popular in this part of the world. "What's that then?" he demanded, gesturing at the bowl Aziraphale had before him.

The angel's head snapped up and, for a moment, it was so much like his dream. Blue eyes lit up, a smile curved Aziraphale's lips, and then he stabbed Crowley with a "You're back!"

Back. Right. He cleared his throat and sat. "Missed me?"

"Oh, no, no, no. You're a demon. Heavens no." Aziraphale cleared his throat. He was a wretched liar. "How's Europe?"

"I don't know."

"You- You don't know? Where have you been all this time?"

"Hell," he lied. He was a smooth liar. "Needed some reorganization at the head office."

"Reorganization?"

"Demons. You know. Awful at paperwork and running things. S'why it took so long."

"Oh. I was wondering. I wasn't worried," he added in a rush. "Merely curious as to where my... adversary had gone."

"Course."

"Right. Well." Aziraphale looked down at his food, brightening again. "Oh! Let me get you a bowl while you're here. The food in these areas is positively scrummy. So many unique spices."

Crowley quietly watched him. Never again, he decided. As sweet as the dream had been, he'd never forsake this reality. He'd never do that to Aziraphale again.

#good omens #good omens fic #100x100 #light to dancing #022 #dreams #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #pining #ligur #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing

8 notes · View notes

wordtotherose · 5 years

Text

Past Does Not Define Present

Also Can Be Read On AO3

“We’re going to have a baby.”

Crowley’s spluttering is fortunately overshadowed by Aziraphale’s gleeful congratulations. He sets his cup back onto the table and readjusts his glasses just to have something to do with his hands. Mrs Scott, the farmer, is somehow now holding hands with both Aziraphale across the table and Mrs Scott, whisky eyes, next to her. It’s like something out of a staged photo and Crowley blames his next sentence on a moment of insanity.

“Don’t give it to Aziraphale. He’d drop it.”

Three pairs of eyes latch onto him and Crowley processes his own words. Repeating them back in his head. His eyes widen and he scoots his chair further round the circular table, away from Aziraphale who looks more affronted than hurt which is good. The Scotts however look both confused and hurt for Aziraphale.

“I would not!” Aziraphale snaps. “Anyway, you’re the one who drove with a baby in a basket at ridiculous speeds then was confused as to why it cried so much.”

“Once! It was handed to me in that basket! What did you expect me to do? Carry it in my lap whilst driving?” Crowley leans forward on one elbow, pointing. “You were the one who gave Warlock a million and one splinters making him build insect houses.”

“It was his own fault for messing around with the wood, he was splintering it into pieces because you told him to squash bugs!”

“He broke his arm trying to rescue a cat from the roof when the cat was just sleeping because you told him to care for all animals.”

“I thought he’d realise that included himself.”

“What is happening right now?” Mrs Scott, whisky eyes, asks; her and her wife have been watching the exchange like a tennis match, becoming increasingly more baffled with every accusation thrown. “Who on earth names their child Warlock? Who let you guys near them?”

Both Crowley and Aziraphale wince, sharing a look.

“Americans name their child Warlock,” Crowley offers at last with a one shoulder shrug, “they’re just like that.”

“We uh worked on an estate, Warlock was an only child so we saw him a lot.” Aziraphale added, smiling unconvincingly.

Mrs Scott and Mrs Scott share a similar look as the men had just shared. “Oh? What were you doing?”

“Gardening,” Aziraphale says at the same time that Crowley says, “Was his nanny”.

“Oh.”

Mrs Scott, red-haired farmer, crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, looking them both over. “Would’ve thought it’d be the other way round.”

“I called dibs.” Aziraphale’s smile is a touch smug at this, Crowley kicks at his ankle and then leaves his foot there, resting.

“How long were you working there?”

“Eleven years,” they say at the same time.

Crowley clears his throat and sips at his drink again, glaring at the smirking Scotts over the rim. Aziraphale tucks into another cheese scone.

“So you’ll be great for when we need you to babysit then.”

Crowley, deep down, had been expecting that and didn’t make a mess of himself this time. Aziraphale however let out a nervous laugh and looked to Crowley with a slight panicky glint.

“Babysitting?”

“For when we have date nights or need to go out of town. You two are our closest, most trusted friends.” Mrs Scott, farmer, says with a genuine smile.

“In fact,” Mrs Scott, whisky and sugar with a pinch of spice, says nervously, “we were uh thinking of asking you two to be godfathers.”

Neither of them say anything. The clock ticks on the wall. Crowley slurps his drink and refuses to let his body instinctively blush in embarrassment.

“You don’t have to decide right now, of course. It’s just…”

“We’d really appreciate it. We think you’d be great and we’ve known you for a couple years now. I would say we know you very well.”

“We’ll leave it with ya, for a while. It’ll be an age before the adoption paperwork goes through anyway so you have time.”

Crowley nods for them both, watching Aziraphale stare off past his half-eaten scone out of the corner of his eye.

***

Crowley is in bed by ten and dozing off by eleven which just so happens to be when Aziraphale decides to try his hand at sleeping. The main light stays off, the angel only turning on the dim lamp on his side of the bed with a flick of his wrist. The curtains are wide open to let the breeze in from the window. It’s overcast outside, Crowley had been trying to lull himself to sleep by counting the stars that would pop out occasionally. Now, he rolls over as quietly as possible (not quietly or slowly enough to avoid Aziraphale’s notice) and rests his head in the crook of his elbow, watching his angel.

Aziraphale takes his time. Manually undoing every button. Folding every item of clothing before putting them on the chair in the corner by the drawers. There’s a framed photo of them on those drawers, taken by Pepper when the Them had come down for a visit to their cottage. Crowley loves that picture. Aziraphale looking up at him with the softest, most affectionate smile in his eyes whilst Crowley, one arm around his angel’s shoulders, glared at Pepper behind the camera. Aziraphale is looking at the picture now, down to only his tartan pyjama bottoms.

“Angel,” he whispers, Aziraphale doesn’t hear him. “Zira.”

The lamp glows a bit brighter as Aziraphale turns to face him, arms wrapped around his stomach. Crowley pushes himself up and hold his hands out, a silent request and an implicit offering. Aziraphale smiles softly, tentatively, and crawls onto the bed, taking Crowley’s hands in his and letting the demon pull him in close until the angel is straddling his thighs.

One of Crowley’s hands breaks away to cradle Aziraphale’s cheek. “What’s wrong, angel?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale says, looking at Crowley’s chin instead of his eyes.

“Angel,” Crowley repeats reverently, like a prayer if ever he spoke one.

Aziraphale lifts Crowley’s hand to press his lips against his knuckles, he holds his hand there. Crowley lets him. Waits patiently for the words to come.

“We weren’t good godfathers before. And we’d have to leave them, when they realise that we’re not...not aging.”

“Or not,” Crowley suggests softly, “we could tell them. It’s been done before.”

“You don’t think they’d freak out? Treat us differently?”

Crowley shakes his head, wrapping his hands round Aziraphale’s waist to tug him closer. Aziraphale curls up in response, sliding down a little to bury his head under Crowley’s chin, ear over the demon’s heartbeat.

“I don’t think they would.”

“We’d be dreadful parents.”

“Good job we’d just be strange uncles then.”

Aziraphale huffs a tired laugh at this and Crowley shifts them so they’re lying down. He presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple.

“I’m not very good with children.”

“I’m not very good with adults,” Crowley says, “we’ll balance each other out.”

***

They take the Scotts out for lunch a few days later. They’re ecstatic.

Crowley hopes they never change, especially when they tell them the truth when the time comes.

#Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #fic #fanfic #Crowley x Aziraphale #my writing #wordtotherose #fluff #crowley #aziraphale #fanfiction

39 notes · View notes

screechingfromthevoid · 5 years

Text

Love Like Food and Wine

And love was so initial then. Aziraphale's vision had become a cascade of colors and he hadn't even noticed. He noticed when he went from black and white to a murky grey scale of objectivity. Right and wrong blended then, but now the world was something so much more. The depth of the world weighed in the cool blues and the burning reds of the Britain midnight sky of 1945.

It was evident to him then that he loved Crowley. The untouched books he treasured only spared by his demonic grace and how little effort it was and how important it became to him. And there was no accident to it. Crowley had meant to save those books that meant so much to Aziraphale. Crowley was crushed to learn of their destruction and he knew Aziraphale would be too. So Crowley saved them. For him.

Love sat weirdly in an angel's body. But then again so did food and wine and speaking most days. Love bubbled around in his chest, making sure he knew he felt it. Love was unnatural to an angel. Unnatural like becoming friends with a demon. He wasn't built with the capacity to love. He only knew what was right and what was wrong as decided by their Lord.

He supposed it was a result of liking humans so much. He started to act like them. He started picking up on their habits. Their quirks.

Aziraphale had heard from a human or two that love is a choice.

"Well that's a load of bollocks, isn't it?"

If love was a choice, would he have chosen to have his heart skip a beat when the strangled noise of his vocal cords filled a room? Would he have chosen the way he stares at the snake tattoo on the side of his face? Would he have chosen the unbearable urge to kiss that tattoo? Would he choose to have very, very strong opinions about what he did with his hair every 50 years or so?

Yes, actually. He would. Because that was the thing about love. It made you believe that it was all your idea. It let you know that loving like that was always your choice. And it was. And Aziraphale knew it. As soon as he recognized it. He knew he had chosen this. And he'd choose it again if asked.

Crowley was always the one to insist they were friends. And embarrassed with the intimacy of merely friends Aziraphale had to deny it. He had to say no. For the sake of his own complexion, they were not friends. How preposterous that an angel and demon could be friends, he reminded himself. Let alone something more.

Aziraphale's mind whirled at the thought. What could he possibly think more might be. Human relationships were so complicated. And so rooted in gender. Why wasn't there a word for your other half? Someone who compliments you has the whole you are but also completes your faults? Soul mates didn't quite cut it for Aziraphale. It felt to separate for his taste. They were something of a unit. They're in no way separate of each other. They are two sides of the same coin, they are two ends of a rope, tugging at each other. They are the yin and yang of their own small world. They are ineffable.

And Aziraphale didn't have to wonder if Crowley loved him. The question is more about does he know. Aziraphale felt his love as Crowley urged him that there was a third side, their side. Crowley had adopted a verbage of "them" a long time ago. To Crowley, there was always a them. From the moment they set Adam and Eve free. They had a side.

There was a reason he asked Aziraphale if he knew who had done the good thing and who had done the bad. Because letting them go, granting them knowledge, Crowley had felt was a blessing down upon them.

And Aziraphale gave them a holy weapon that would be used in the apocalypse by one of the horsemen. A blunder really. But Crowley knew they were in this together. Aziraphale was too kind-hearted to be all good and he loved that.

From atop that great barrier that kept out all of humanity, Crowley, the snake that tempted them into reality, knew that this was his angel. Not Michael. An archangel who was on par with him, same level of fame and power, and a name that should be spelled M-I-C-H-E-A-L, because it was just nicer to look at. Not him. Michael wasn't his angel, though they were the true foils and they should fight one on one in the war to end all wars. No. Crowley didn't like clandestine rivals.

He much preferred someone he could chat with. Someone who saw humans just as he did, chaotic and unpredictable, irresistibly fun. This would be his angel and he'd bother this one every 100 years or so, and he'd enjoy himself. I've tempted an angel of the Lord, I already have him.

And love was never on the agenda. Love couldn't be on the agenda. How could a demon even love? He was the personification of evil. Wasn't love supposed to be pure and magical? But then again. He's seen what love could do to people. And he forgot for a moment karma didn't exist and that he wasn't being punished for being a demon. He remembered being a demon was the punishment. Love was a method of punishment.

Crowley wondered if other demons felt this symptom of their lives. If they felt the burning sting to protect and care for even if it's supposed to be against their nature. He almost blamed Eros himself for this immeasurable longing. But Eros stayed in Bali, making beachgoers fall in love at first sight only to have to romance fade into nothingness without the whim of vacation and spiced rum to back it.

Crowley really should visit Eros.

Maybe with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was an itch Crowley couldn’t quite scratch. He felt the burning between his shoulder blades, a place he couldn’t reach well enough to give it a good heavy itch to satisfy his skin. The only thing that made it go away was being there next to him or doing things for him or making sure their world didn’t end. It seemed like a lot of things were about making sure the world that they both loved so much, that they were able to inhabit together, that they were able to exist together, stayed as safe as possible.

The thought of him pesters Crowley through things he used to enjoy. Like sleeping! It used to be one of the many human habits he loved more than anything. He’d just lay down and be out cold for weeks. But now his dreams are haunted by his round cheery face and how soft that white hair must feel. It was rarely about anything more than a gentle kiss through that soft smile he always does. Anything more seemed… wrong.

And Crowley supposed he didn’t know when it started when he finally fell deeply in love with Aziraphale. When Crowley thought he was dead? No, it was before that. His heart shattered into too many pieces. Or when Aziraphale left him alone in his car without his thoughts, his music, and a weapon that could melt him into nothingness? Of course not, in that moment he knew he loved him more than anything. And he made sure to save the books in Berlin and he was tempted for oysters in Rome. Perhaps it was the moment Aziraphale squeaked out his “I gave it away!” about his sword, as they watched Adam and Eve brave the world together.

Or rather, it was a moment that Crowley didn’t dare to remember; before time and Earth started, before Armageddon and the garden and the temptation. Before everything and they were all angles of heaven. When Crowley saw Aziraphale across the room and his smile lit up and he saw a million smiles like that in his future. And his foot fell out from under him and he had the sudden desire to wear sunglasses at night and paint his nails black. Maybe it was then.

#aziraphale/crowley #ineffable husbands #ineffableboyfriends #I like husbands better but oh well #good omens #sleep drunk musical #drabble #about love and stuff #you should read it if you like mushy stuff #cause i like mushy things with royal purple prose #:D thanks guys

18 notes · View notes