#and harsh lines and colors for Crowley | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heartinajarofpickles · 6 months

Text

Dinner Is Not Over

Part 6

I really wanna draw the line! when you wanna keep me out of my mind, you want to put me down until I'm fine

Things have never been more interesting, although the state in which Crowley was, was far from ideal, the peaceful (and boring) sleep had already finished, ever since he woke up he had kept on moving, the demon was on the road and nothing was stopping him. It wasn’t a good thought the one the angel was having, but it was not like he was going to tell anyone about it, after what felt like a zillion years of repeating their actions something was finally happening, of course he felt guilty about enjoying this, but the demon dancing around earth brought him so much pleasure, he just couldn’t hold back, so he indulged one more time for old times’ sake.

As good as it was to have him back the angel realized that everything he had purposefully interfered with one way or another drove the demon into madness, fist that goodbye which leaded him to steal and drink viciously, then the messages on the voicemail, that made him destroy his beloved old machine, and finally not watering the plants became the starter for the destruction of the flat in the hands of its owner, somehow even after all that, after all the mistakes the angel had committed, he still jumped to his Bentley and drove to the library, even after everything he had messed up Crowley still went to him when everything was crashing down.

Aziraphale couldn’t pay as much attention as he would’ve wanted, it was his little secret after all, so he watched her get in the coffee shop when Uriel came and scolded him for not having things ready on time, so he had to pretended to fill out a solicitation form, and while he looked away just for one second, when heaven once again stole the angel away from the demon, Crowley got hit by the car, once his attention drew back to the dark figure on earth he observed it there laying on the ground.

Thankfully for both of them, as one couldn’t stand the pain and the other couldn’t stand seeing him that way, Muriel came out of the library and helped her get back on her feet, doing what Aziraphale so desperately wanted to do.

It wasn’t just a detail that looked different, absolutely everything have changed, even just by taking a look at the entrance the angel felt like he was going to faint. Since he saw Muriel selling the books 3 years ago Aziraphale refused to take a look at his shop, instead of paying attention to his business he focused all of his energy and thoughts to the demon, vigilating, watching over his dreams praying that they wouldn’t become nightmares, keeping vigil on their soft vulnerable state; So to see such a minimalistic place with all the books in metal shelves with bright white lights and those funky chairs, stole all the breath from Aziraphale, his space on earth, the one that he had rightfully owned from many many years was deformed, twisted in the hands of what was assumed to be his successor, change wasn’t wrong of course but no one really asked Aziraphale if these changes could be done. Not that it mattered, first because the only time they asked for his opinion was as a way to show support, he was always part of the statistics never the leader of the campaign, on a second note he would’ve said no; If anyone asked him for permission to change things up he wouldn’t have let them as the bookshop was already perfect as it was, this probably being the reason why no one asked him.

As he was staring at the screen everything slowly became prettier, the harsh image dissolving, the absurd colors mixing, the world was blurry now, a shield his body crated to protect him from his new sad reality, so he embraced it, he let the tears run through his face, play on his cheeks and land on the floor, first one by one but then allowing others to join many of them came and once they arrived it became impossible to make them leave, the only way they left was when they landed on the papers scattered on the ground, but instantly being replaced with a new one that had emerged from that holy eye, just as this was happening Michael came to retrieve the solicitation forms Uriel had sent Aziraphale earlier, when they saw the archangel in an awful state.

— “What is your problem?”

Nothing, Aziraphale wasn't registering any information around him, for once the world was quiet, heaven hell and earth for an instant shut up, they left the angel there, all alone, so he could grieve, grieve the space he lost and his favorite guest there, tears holding onto the past and incredibly terrified of the future.

All of this was wrong, and he couldn’t do anything but watch, that’s what he has been doing all along right? Just watching, watching how Crowley invented those beautiful stars, watching how Crowley tempted those humans all through history, in order to instigate curiosity, to make them made choices, freeing them or dooming them, the ways in which he made sure they live their lifes, that they could exploit their humanity and push them through the edge so that they could break their fragile minds and understand more, ask more, want for more, all of that just using her mind, perhaps putting them a few inconveniences on the way, he was a demon after all, but never doing anything that would truly hurt them, in the end his chore was to observe the humans, to accompany them, and Crowley was a being of word, he would stay there for them. But what had Aziraphale done in that time?, besides enjoy all of the earthly pleasures without giving the humans something in return, of course he was nice, but that was his nature, the sword too but that was so many years ago and he was created to be nice, a few miracles here and there, sometimes not even being committed by him, he was perfect because that’s the way it was intended to be, he was an experiment gone right on every single way; unlike Crowley that put so much effort into defying all the ideas others imposed onto him, that it became incredibly tiring for everyone, especially for herself, if only they inverted that time into being actually evil, they would’ve been Satan's voice already.

If it wasn’t clear before Aziraphale aspire to be like Crowley, but Aziraphale never had to hide, perhaps because of their agreement, but they were equally involved, so if they discovered them (like they did years ago) they would still have the other, but that’s not what he wanted, he wanted to be wise, he wanted to know, he wanted to ASK, he craved the skill that the demon have developed for thousands of years but that he wasn’t able to explore without being punished for, so he could only stare at pages full of knowledge and the demon by his side.

The glimpse of a light ceasing to exist pull him out of his string of thoughts, as he was watching around he realized Michael was standing there and that the earth between them had disappeared.

— “WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM AZIRAPHALE?” Michael repeated yelling.

— “Please put it back on” came out of the angel's throat in a desperate attempt to keep feeding his soul with torment.

— You are not on lookout duty, that's for the angels below, but of course you aren't making your job, are you? I'll be surprised the day you do something! Just look at you, you pathetic excuse of an angel, the only thing you have done is stay in that little store of yours, you have committed more sins than the whole building and word says your faith is as weak as that friends of yours, do you want to end up like him? It would be ridiculously at this point that you would go against any of this, any of us, all the power you hold is thanks to us, everything you have has been given to you by heaven, including that demon you follow around like a puppy, and this is how you repay us? Wasting your time fixated on that screen looking at him, we have been generous but if this continues we might have to do some adjustments.

With each word Michael get closer and closer to Aziraphale’s face, until their noses met their eyes did too, although the archangel eyes were staring deeply into Michael's, Michael was nothing but a white and gold mass in Aziraphale’s crystalline eyes, he was there, but his soul was still on the image trying to rebuild it to its old state of glory, his consciousness was becoming incredibly small to search between the atoms, and then too big to be sorting through galaxies in order to find a glimpse of hope through all this mess. The yells from the most experienced angel make him weak, he wasn’t feeling good and his environment just made him feel worse, he fell into the ground and just like before everything went quiet, Michael was still shouting, or at least that’s what it looked like, their face was moving cheeks all blushed up veins popped and little drops of liquid emanating from their forehead but even like that Aziraphale wasn't listening, he stared in amusement and fear seeing how the universe kept moving leaving a passenger behind.

13 notes · View notes

zackcrazyvalentine · 3 years

Note

i am the anon who asked earlier about the character limit ! i’m ready to send my ask now-

so could you write something about a female mc (or gender neutral it’s up to you !) that doesn’t take a shit form anyone ? like when someone bother she just “tsk” before threatening them and the bois are like “wtf that was kind of hot tho-“ .

i can see them just simping for her like we simp for them and it’s making me laugh-

also i’m not really sure if you write for them but a small reaction of perhaps side-characters to her ?

i’m really asking for too much skdkdjdksowkw-

thank for reading it and i hope i’m not bothering you ! ( ´ ▽ ` )

Alright, for this one, anon allowed me to pick some Twst guys to react to MC

But, ahem…. hope they’re (and y’all are) happy with the way I carried this out

Neige (& dwarves) + Che’nya are also included, as they wished to see side characters react to this MC too

Let’s get started (bc it’s loooong)~!

HAPPY 1st ANNIVERSARY, EVERYONE!! 🥳🎉

-- -- --

OVERVIEW

Heartslabyul: Riddle is very surprised at her behavior and may scold her for it, but he secretly admires the confidence and will to stand up for herself. Trey is also taken aback, but well… if that helps her get through NRC, fine by him (he pretends not to see). Cater SIIIIIIMPS like duuuude THAT ATTITUDE IS WHAT HE DESIRES TO HAVE AGAINST HIS SISTERS (she’s his role model now). And man, do I even need to say what Ace and Deuce think? PLAIN FUN, and they simp, Deuce a little more than Ace.

Savanaclaw SIMPS and simps HARD. Ruggie and Leona due to females in Afterglow Savana being overall more respected. Not to mention IRL lionesse are in charge of hunting and female hyenas are the dominant ones in pairs. Jack I see as someone who admires people who are strong and can stand for themselves, and a no bullshit MC is wow… but perhaps he thinks maybe she could be a little more polite.

Octavinelle is a little hard to read. Azul first is very surprised and a bit offended, but once he finds out she acts this way towards everyone and anyone… Be ready to become his 3rd bodyguard lol. Leech Twins adore to annoy her, Floyd provokes her more with tugs and shoves while Jade can just throw ANY comment her way with that smile to trigger the instinct; she’s become their little plaything of sorts.

Scarabia: Kalim is SHOOKED!!!! The first time he hears her comments leaves him with a surprised pikachu face. Jamil is startled a bit, but man… SIMPS, and is like "you speak my inner thoughts".

Pomefiore: Vil is also VERY surprised, but admires the way she so willingly defends herself with only words and harsh glares (anger looks very pretty on her). Rook SIMP, yuuup. He's amazed at how just one comment and death stare from her has magic wielders cowering in fear, gets goosebumps from excitement when those are directed at him. Epel simps too! Like DAMN HE WANTS TO STAND UP FOR HIMSELF LIKE THAT!!! No more stupid etiquette classes, time to be tough! (Vil quickly turns his plan to dirt tho lol)

Ignihyde: Idia is ?????? At times, he's very intimidated by her, but on other occasions he's ready to talk back (this especially when he's communicating through the tablet). Ortho is shook, too. For someone who comes from another world and is scared by many possible scenarios in this Wonderland, they're surprisingly brave. He likes her! Get ready to be his Big sis

Oh man, Diasomnia… Malleus is surprised when he first sees the change of attitude, since she's nice in his nightly visits to Ramshackle, but very soon he'll be like "I like this human" Slowly becomes her simp. Lilia is VERY amused by her behavior and sometimes likes to provoke her. As soon as a threat is thrown his way, however, he'll be ready to throw one back as he smiles brightly. Silver is surprised, they all cower before her, how?! He may or may not simp, but he absolutely looks up to her (wishes to be more assertive like that). Boy oh boy… Sebek… SHOOKED; just try to say something rude to his Young Master, get ready for the loudest "EXCUSE ME?!" and following rant. Shooked and shooked TO THE CORE.

ALL the staff are very irritated by her antics, but the ones more vocal about it that have a little back and forth with her are Crowley and Crewel. Sam just laughs it off, besides it's rare for her to threaten him (mainly bc he gives special discounts for her).

BOY...RSA… Neige is SHOOKED, but rudeness never stopped him from making friends and pull a smile out of them (well, ya better stop right there bc she's ready to PUNCH). Needless to say, majority of dwarves are surprised too… except, Grant who just chuckles and says like Jamil "speaking my inner thoughts". Che'nya acts as if it's the most normal thing, doesn't flinch back or anything ("we're all mad in our own ways~ it's the norm here")

In the end, all of them simp for her, one way or another~ (and let her get away with a handful of stuff bc simps)

Heartslabyul

"Aren't you the cutest little thing~? Look at your lil' nose sniffing my finger so adorably!!" The [color] haired girl gushed at the hedgehog in her hand, carefully petting its colorful quills.

Someone sighed in irritation at her behavior, "Stop that! We're not allowed to pamper the hedgehogs like that, so cut it off!"

[Color] eyes narrowed at the intruder, "And who here says I care what you, or the rules, say? They're animals, pets practically. You need to show them affection for them to live long, happy lives, dumbass."

At the small scene, Trey interrupted, “Let's please act accordingly. Come on, we need help painting the roses." The 3rd year signaled the other Heartslabyul student to follow.

"What?! No, not fair! How come she's not getting punished for this when we get scolded for it?!" He raised his voice.

"Hey now, leave [Name]-chan alone, she isn’t bothering anyone. Be a good kouhai and listen to Trey-senpai. Remember vice dorm leader is just as respected as dorm leader here." Cater cut in, trying to somehow make things lighter.

"Bull-!" Before the guy could even finish his sentence, Riddle appeared.

"What seems to be the matter here? At this rate, if you keep getting distracted with unimportant things, we won't have our preparations ready." The redhead followed their gazes to the girl sitting on the floor surrounded by a rainbow of hedgehogs.

"Ah, I understand." Riddle nodded.

"Thank-!" However, the student was once more cut off by the 2nd year.

"[Surname] was appointed by me personally as hedgehog caretaker. Her activities consist of cleaning cages, feeding, and the important task of pampering them with affection and love." Heartslabyul's dorm head explained, "We do play croquet frequently, and many 1st years don't treat our animals superb. Not to mention, it is said the Queen of Hearts herself would pamper her hedgehog just like [Surname] is doing… Admirable, don’t you think?"

"Are we clear now?" Slate grey eyes looked sternly at his dormmate.

Defeated, the boy accepted. "Yes, dorm leader Rosehearts."

"Go help Cater and Trey with rose duty." Riddle dismissed the boy.

On his way out, a certain troublesome 1st year made an indirect comment.

"That's why you get informed before complaining about things~" Ace teased.

Deuce smacked his friend on the back of the head, "Shut it, we committed the same mistake when we first saw [Name] baby talking the hedgehogs."

"H-Hey! There was no need to reveal that!"

Savanaclaw

Full cafeteria, the worst scenario ever. Not to mention both [Name] and Grim were starving.

So, when she saw an opportunity to get in line for the (oddly) short line for [fav. food], she did. However…

“What the fuck’s up with you?! Just because you’re a girl ya think ya get special treatment, dumbass?!” Some random rude student said.

Oh, bad move, idiot.

All [Name] had to do was throw an icy glare their way and turn away slowly for the boy to tremble in his socks.

Human and Grim picked their full and finally headed to any empty spot available, which resulted in them sitting with the Savanaclaw students, who watched the scene unfold.

“[Name]-san, that’s some temper you’ve got-” Ruggie began talking, but was immediately silenced by the same icy stare.

“To hell with that, I am hungry and ready to destroy the world, so better keep your mouth shut to see your future.” The girl grumbled, taking the first bite of her precious meal.

Three pairs of ears flattened in shock, looking at one another to agree on what they experienced right now.

“Wait a second…” Ruggie thought, breath hitching after receiving such cold glare.

Jack kept a watchful eye as he drank his water, strange warmth crawled up his face. “That was…”

Leona, for once, looked awake enough. Green eyes with a tinge of respect reflected in them, teasing smile slowly developing on his face. “Seems like the herbivore has some fight in her… Nice, very nice…”

“That was… very attractive…” The trio gulped down whatever they were eating, before averting their gaze elsewhere to hide the blush. Except Leona, he chuckled silently before looking down at his plate to recover from the little display of power from her part.

Meanwhile, the otherworldly student and cat monster shared a confused look. “Weirdos… Do they enjoy seeing me eat? Yeah, not sitting down with them again.” [Name] decided.

Octavinelle

"Keobi-chan~!"

"Not again…" [Name] grumbled between teeth. Just as she thought she was out and away from the whole Octavinelle trio, these two come again for her.

"Let's go, koebi-chan! Azul wasn’t done talking with you~” Floyd grabbed onto her arm and tugged.

“You two never know when to stop, or do you?” Grim swiped at Floyd’s hand as best he could from the girl’s shoulder.

Then came the chuckle she hated most, that instantly ignited that fight or flight instinct in her. “Please, Floyd is simply stating the truth. Azul is adamant in speaking to [Surname]-san, it’s only expected of her to allow him some time. After all, he was so gracious to lend his help when she most needed.” Jade linked his arm with her free on and began walking.

“Oi! Get your hands off me! I’ve heard enough from Azul! I’ve declined the offer more than enough times for it to get through his head!” The [hair color] stood her ground as much she could, but the two towering eels still dragged her to their destination.

Floyd laughed, “Little shrimp fighting for her life when she’s already lost~” He shot Jade a look and his twin immediately knew what he wanted to do. They lifted her from the ground and began swaying side to side.

“What the hell?! Let me down, let me go! I’ve had enough of you! We’ve helped Azul more than enough already!” [Name] and Grim were left to flair and yell more protests while the twins chuckled and laughed at their predicament.

Eventually, they arrived at Octavinelle and the two-halves-of-a-whole students were plopped down onto the couch inside Azul’s V.I.P. office. The tweels left them with those sinister pointy teethed smiles of theirs, sending chills down the duo’s spines.

“Now now, [Name]-san, Grim-san, do keep your voice down. I’ve got a deal much better than our last offer. Hear me out, now would you?” Azul spoke, suave and sleazy as ever.

“No, cut it out already! Just accept I won’t-!” Her complaints were interrupted by the octomer’s firm statement.

“One meal!” After noticing he had their attention, the dorm leader continued, “One free meal for the two of you each day, along with some Madol… All for [Name]-san’s intimidation services and Grim-san cleaning dishes.”

“Make it TWO meals and it’s a deal!” Grim quickfired.

“NO! No, no!” The [color] eyed refuted. She leaned close to Ashengrotto over the desk, eyes narrow and eyebrows furrowed, “...Make it two free meals AND drinks daily, with a nice pay… and throw in some deluxe tuna cans from time to time…”

Grim perked up at that, eyes shifting from human to merman as they stared each other down to see who relented first.

Azul sighed, “Very well…” A gloved hand came forward, “Have we got a deal?”

[Eye color] looked into baby blue, before nodding and shaking his hand. “A deal it is, but” [Name] leaned even closer, right on the gray haired’s face, “Let it be known that just you fail once on giving the pay and it’s over, Ashengrotto.”

He snorted, “Oh, no need to worry about that, I always hold onto my end of the contract.” Taunting gaze mocked the [hair color], “The thing is, can you?”

“This damn Octavinelle people..!” [Name] felt fire light up her veins from anger and irritation at his words.

Scarabia

“Grim, look! We once more have a delicious cream cheese for you to enjoy with crackers!” The ever excitable Kalim exclaimed, reading a pair of crackers to feed Grim.

Before his hand could get any close to the scared cat’s face, [skin tone] hads grabbed his wrist to stop him. “Kalim, how many more times do I have to tell you?! Stop that!” An exasperated sigh followed her words. She let go of his arm.

Kalim (and pretty much all of Scarabia) looked at her. “No, not those big round cute ruby eyes…” The girl thought, feeling herself relent already. “Only for you… only for this ray of sunshine will I try to be less on the fence…”

[Name] cleared her throat, “W-Why don’t you… try asking Grim properly if he would like some first, instead of just shoving the food in his mouth!” An awkward giggle left her lips. “Was that better?! That did not sound better, at all! No!! It was harsh!”

Silence carried on afterwards, making her feel even more awkward and nervous of her actions. There’s a first time for everything.

“She’s right on that. You understand, don’t you, Kalim?” Jamil broke the silence, turning everyone’s eyes to him now. “As host, you should offer your visits amenities correctly, not force them upon them.” The dark haired boy remained focused on his plate of curry while he informed his dormmate.

“Oh! Of course, of course!” The dorm leader snapped out of his zoning out, “Apologies! Grim, would you like to try the cream cheese?” Kalim recovered his pep, bringing close the plate of cheese and crackers to Grim.

“Ah… No, thank you…” The monster declined. “However… I would like to try the dates you have over there.”

“Sure, no worries! Try as much food as you like! This banquet is for everyone to enjoy, after all!” Just like that, everyone’s spirits were lifted, and the party returned to its full swing.

From across the table, Jamil threw the [hair color] a smirk and a nod. She looked away with a faint blush on her cheeks.

Pomefiore

“She dares show her face here, dressed like that?”

“And with a stinky, dirty raccoon hanging from her shoulder.”

“As always, these pretentious idiots…” [Name] tried to steel herself, taking deep breaths as she carried on towards the Pomefiore common room. Vil asked for her presence here for some idea he had in mind and wanted to carry on.

“Fuh-nyah, this place always smells like perfume… Has me sneezing all over, eugh.” Grim rubbed his nose to ease the itching.

The girl giggled lightly, petting her companion. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the smell in a few seconds.”

“Ah, Trickster [Name], Monsieur Hirsute! Bienvenue à Pomefiore!” Rook welcomed them, as colorful as ever.

“[N-Name]? You’ve been… summoned here, as well?” Epel seemed surprised to see his friends here.

Vil stood up from the throne, “And just in time you’re both here. Could’ve done with a few extra minutes of head start, but at least you’re here and didn't arrive late.” The elegant 3rd year went over to explain his idea to the 1st years.

However, as the dorm head explained, the comments continued…

“Seriously, can’t she take the hint she’s not wanted here?”

“As a girl, she should know to take better care for herself.”

“Alright that’s it.” The Ramshackle prefect took a very deep breath and interrupted Vil, “Yeah, uh, apologies for cutting you off, but let me take care of some matters.” Turning around, the [color] haired looked over at the group that kept saying unasked opinions.

“Hey, you pompous people with deliriums of grandiose!” At the start of her screaming, Vil and Rook braced for the worse while Epel drew a very big smirk.

Everyone kept their dignified faces, sure that their dorm leader and vice head would have their backs.

“I dress bad? I don’t take care of my skin, nails, lips, hair? Grim isn’t always smelling nice?”

“Hey! What with that, [Name]?!” “Shush, you…”

“Just because I’m a girl you dare assume what I should act like?!” She scoffed, “Well, let me see you survive in a world far different than your own, disoriented and with no means to go back, live on a tight budget along with your equally as disoriented monster friend, with the only clothes you own being very mistreated and old uniforms students left in a rundown dorm!”

Everyone looked at her and murmured.

One of the students spoke up, practically laughing at her face, “What? Want us to feel pity for you? Sounds to me like you’re not trying hard enough.”

Grim himself was ready to burn this scum to a crisp, but thankfully, someone else stepped in to defend their friends.

“Oh? Like you’ve clearly not been doing?” Vil glared at the boy harshly. “Don’t think just because you’re good looking you have an immediate pass to be a student of Pomefiore, of NRC. Your grades are lacking, and for someone in this dorm to be that terrible in alchemy is ruinous. Seriously, an F in potion making? You strive to be as resourceful and tenacious as the Beautiful Queen by not being able to brew even a simple potion?”

The mob cowered back, shocked at their dorm head speaking that way to them.

“Doesn’t feel good to have yer flaws n’ failures spoken of, eh?” Epel yelled from a few miles back. He could see Schoenheit stiffen at the use of his distinct accent, but the farmer boy could care less in this moment… and so did Vil.

Rook stepped over with a friendly smile, placing a hand on the student's shoulder and on Vil’s. “Please rest the case, lest we want our hearts and faces wrinkle up from anger and stress.” The hunter squeezed the boy’s shoulder, applying pressure on one of the nerves to get the message across. In case that was not enough, narrow green eyes spared him a side glance full of ill-intent, “Any more comments like that, and your heart will be carved out of your rib cage and go in a jewelry chest to display as a trophy.” Was his message.

“Y-Yes, Rook-senpai!” The mob immediately answered and made their way out to somewhere else.

The actor rubbed the bridge of his nose at the scene, “I apologize on behalf of my dorm, those types of comments are absolutely not tolerated, but there seem to be more potatoes to wrangle than what I imagined.” He sighed, “But anyways! Let us continue with our original plans. [Name], Grim, Epel, follow me. We shall start with having you all take a nice bath and do proper skincare...and furcare, I suppose.”

“Oh, I would very much like some hypermosturizing serums and a bathbomb or oils to help destress, please!” The [hair color] said.

Vil chuckled a bit, “After that, you need all the lavender oils in the water.”

“Wait, does that mean…?!” Epel became unsettled and looked at Grim.

The monster finished the lilac haired boy’s thought, “We’re gonna end up smelling like a potpourri or somethin’?!”

Rook came behind them, pushing them lightly forward to walk in the other two’s direction. “Come now, moniseurs! Bath time is a great time to spend relaxing and planning your activities for the day!”

The rowdy duo only groaned at his words.

Ignihyde

“Oh, [Name] [Surname]-san, that was an amazing play!” Ortho congratulated while spectating the game going on between you and his brother.

The girl chuckled, “Thanks, Ortho… Did that specifically to show your brother not to underestimate a magicless human’s abilities in games such as this.” Sizzling could be heard coming from the older Shroud as he silently fumed, but his flaming hair betrayed his silence.

“That’s right, get mad and lose your temper. It’ll be easier to defeat you like that… defeat you once more.” [Color] lips turned into a mocking smile. “Talk shit, get hit, bruh!”

Idia desperately played his following moves, a supposed combo to take you down considerably. “I don’t believe you’ll keep that smile in your face for long.”

She chuckled, ominously now, “Ohoho, I believe I will be keeping this smile… and victory with me~!” The 1st year kept laughing as she played her last strategy, leading to his defeat for the 6th? 10th? time today.

The dorm head took a deep breath before he could yell his frustration out, hair turning a shade of dull red, telling the other occupants of the room of his temper.

“How’s that for underestimating the skills of a human, Idia? Tired or eating your dirt yet or not? Told ya this would only lead to absolute defeat-!” Before [Surname] could boast some more, Idia stood up and dropped himself on his bed, back turned to them all.

The robot boy floated over to the enraged 3rd year. “Big brother? Your vitals are erratic, heartbeat is quick and body temperature is on the raise. Would you like some help relaxing?”

“I believe it’s better to let him be, Ortho.” The girl reassured. “Wanna play a game with me? See if you can beat me?” She suggested.

The android quickly cheered up, “I would love to!”

- Few minutes later -

[Color] eyes stared at victorious play.

5 times… It had only been 30 minutes and already 5 times… She was beaten by the younger Shroud 5 times already!

Ortho smiles at her (or at least she assumed, with him keeping his mouth coveron). “This is entertaining, [Name] [Surname]-san! Can we play one more time?” Those innocent yellow eyes looked up at her tired, irritated ones.

“I- uuuh… S-Sure, Ortho..!” A strained smile stretched her lips.

Idia sat down somewhere near, teasing pointy smile on his face now. “How does it feel, [Surname]?”

“Shut the hell up, Shroud, you’re no one to speak like that.” The girl whispered through gritted teeth.

Diasomia

Blah, blah, blah… chatter, chatter, chatter…Loud booming voice annoying everyone around.

“Alright, damn it all!” [Name] slammed her hand on the table. “For the love of all that's holy, shut the hell up, Sebek!!”

Everyone was stunned for a moment at the outburst, Silver jumped awake at the shouting.

Sebek looked at her with the most indignant look, “Excuse you?! That is something extremely rude to say! Even more so because you interrupted my conversation with the Young Master!”

“What do you even mean?! You interrupted my conversation with Malleus in an even more impolite way first!” She reminded her fellow 1st year.

Zigvolt scoffed, “Only because you don’t possibly have anything of interest to speak with Master Malleus.”

“Sebek I swear to god!”

“Silence, human! Stop pestering us!”

“You are the one doing the pestering here!”

And just like that, both students began bickering.

Silver looked at Lilia, “Don’t you think we should do something about this?”

The old fae sighed into his tea cup, placing it back down before taking a sip. “We absolutely must, Sebek’s voice was already inflicting a headache, now we have... that…” Red eyes looked at the brash underclassmen arguing.

Malleus, meanwhile, rubbed his temples at their antics.

“Children, stop it now or else-” Vanrouge noticed how his words were going unnoticed, so he decided to raise his voice some. “Children-” More shouting, silencing his call for attention.

“Children!” Lilia’s voice boomed around the room, along with the stomping of his heel on the stone floor. The surround sound effectively made the misbehaving students shut up.

“Thank you.” He said with a closed eyes smile, “Now, to settle your senseless screaming, why don’t we try asking Malleus himself what he believes happened, hm?” The bat suggested, turning to look into lime eyes to urge his master to speak up.

“Oh..! Hmm… Well… It is true Sebek interrupted the conversation I was having with the child of man,” [Name] looked at her friend with an I-told-you-so smile, “And I disagree with him, [Surname] was telling me very interesting things about her life and experiences in this Wonderland.” That made the girl stand even prouder.

“However,” The pistachio haired male looked at his superior with hope in his eyes, “I agree with his comment on how interrupting conversations the way [Surname] did is very rude.” Now it was his turn to boast a little. “But let’s not forget he interrupted us first, and therefore is rude himself.” Sebek deflated at that.

Lilia clapped his hands with a bright smile, “Problem solved! Now,” The fae looked at the tall 1st year, “Sebek, dear, [Name] is our guest today, treat her with respect. She is Malleus’ specially invited guest, let her spend her time occupying our leader’s time as she pleases. He invited her for that reason, after all.”

“U-Understood, Lilia-sama…” Zigvolt agreed against his will.

“Thank you, Lilia!” [Name] thanked at the same time Sebek spoke.

“Very well, let us enjoy our tea time in peace now.” Finally, the youthful soul sat down and picked up his cup to take a much needed sip of the amber liquid. “Young ones these days, I swear...”

NRC Staff

Shouting and yelling resounded around the meeting hall, leading Mozus to rub the bridge of his nose to try and ease the oncoming headache.

“Hello-!” Vargas was cut off.

“Not now, Professor Vargas, I need to knock some sense into this crow!” The 1st year yelled at the muscular P.E. teacher.

He sat down near Trein with a sigh, “They’re at it again this week?”

“Yes, they are…” The old man grunted.

“Been at it for 20 minutes now, can’t believe it.” Crewel tapped his finger on the wooden table in irritation, “Headmaster Crowley should already relent and give her more allowance if it means we can get our meetings done!”

“Absolutely not,” Trein disagreed, “[Surname] should learn to handle her finances better, budget things appropriately and spend the least on useless things.”

Crewel let out a single mocking laugh, “Really now? Have you heard what biweekly amount of money he gives her?! It’s not even enough to buy a steady supply of meals from the shop for a week!”

Soon enough, the two teachers joined their respective sides in the battle of Crowley vs. [Name], while Vargas watched with the most uncomfortable look.

And, after a good more minutes of shouting, the last call was given…

“You know what?! I’m done!!” The [color] haired girl made her way to the exit, “It’s always “Because I am so kind” blah blah blah! But you never do anything to help me!” She made a bad impression of the Director on purpose.

“It’s not only me in the dorm, it’s also Grim! And he’s a sizable cat, he needs to eat properly and plenty, too!” She turned around before leaving, “Seriously, Headmaster, I don’t know anymore how to scream at you that we need help! We’re sleeping on dirt every night, we’re breathing mold and dust everyday inside the rundown dorm! We need food and clothes and bedsheets and hygiene products!”

[Name] had to take a deep breath before saying her last words, “If you’re not going to help me search for a way back home, then… at least help me make that crumbling building feel like home…” With that, the heavy door shut close.

The young girl quickly made her way out of the building, trying her best to keep her emotions at bay and not let them overflow. Out of habit, or maybe it was her consciousness trying to search for comfort, her feet carried her to Mr.S’s Mystery Shop.

The simple ringing of the bell signaling a new customer already made her feel better.

“Welcome, little devil! What can I help you with today?” Sam greeted with his typical energy.

The [hair color] sighed in relief, making her way to the counter. “Hello, Sam.”

“Aaah, another fruitless fight with the Headmaster?” The shopkeep inquired, identifying that tired tone in her voice.

“Indeed…” She let head lay upon her crossed arms as the rest of her body leaned on the counter. “I ask myself why I even keep trying it, nothing will ever change…”

A shadow friend pat her head to try and comfort her.

“Because you’re perseverant and a fighter, and wish to have a school life as nice as the one your friends in established dorms live. It’s not an unjustified fight.” The mysterious clerk said, full confidence in his words.

“You believe so?” Curious [color] eyes looked at his moving figure.

“Of course! Everyone else has a nice room to sleep in, why shouldn’t you? Besides, the Headmaster decided to take you in, a responsibility he can’t ignore.” He placed a small mug in front of your head, “Go ahead, take a drink, it’ll help you in more ways than you can think of.”

Carefully unwinding from her position, a hand took the mug and brought it under her nose. One sniff and the girl could tell this was [fav. drink]. “Sam, I’m-! How did- How did you know this is my favorite?!” A pleasant surprise that brought a smile to her lips.

“You always buy it, guess you must really like it.” Magenta eyes watched as she took a sip, “Comfort food and drinks are perfect after an upsetting experience.”

[Name] threw him a tender smile, “Thank you, Sam. All you do for me and Grim is very appreciated… Don’t think I don’t notice those special discounts.”

All he did was wink at her as he turned to welcome a new customer.

Royal Sword Academy

Helping put up a stage was not an easy task. Could anyone really blame her for being so mad at everyone who got in her way after being overworked like that?

Who knows how many times she yelled at people to hurry up and move away from her path already.

And it just so happened a playful cat decided to scare the soul out of the 1st year at the worst moment, just as she was trying to take a short power nap.

“Found mew (pronounce it as m-you-w pls)!” A floating head and apparently dismembered arms appeared before [Name], hands falling on her shoulders.

She screamed bloody hell at the boy, “WHAT THE F-CK, CHE’NYA?!?!” A coughing fit followed due to the sudden loud yelp, “That was,” Cough, “My heart I just spat out!”

Meanwhile, the RSA student laughed his head off at the startled girl.

It irritated her, “And what do you think you’re doing laughing like that?! I could’ve tore a vocal cord or actually have a heart attack, you dumb cat!”

Oh… Never in his life had he been called that, at least not that he remembered.

They remained in silence for a while.

Eventually, Alchemi giggled once more “Aha~, nice to see you’re mad too! Told nya it was the norm here~”

The [hair color] nodded in mock agreement, “Yeah, can finally see all of you are damn BONKERS!”

~°~ ~°~

This boy… what is his problem?! Suddenly approaching a stranger all smiles and good vibes? [Name] knew this was a twisted world, but this was plain creepy…

So, of course, the fight or flight instinct kicked off.

Yanking her hands out of his hold, [color] orbs sharpened to the meanest glare she could muster right then and there. “What do you think you’re doing? I am not a princess, and I definitely am not your princess! That’s way too creepy to tell someone you’ve just crossed eyes with.”

A multitude of gasps was heard. “Ah, that’s right, he has tiny friends with him…” [Name] could only inwardly sigh and groan.

Neige himself gasped too, what a rude person!

A little giggle was heard, “That’s exactly what I wanted to tell him.” Grant whispered, amused by the whole scene.

“Alright, okay, uh… Gotta go now. Pleasure, or not, to meet you. Goodbye.” The NRC student walked past the strange students. “And I thought there was nothing crazier than NRC… B O I was I wrong…”

The dwarves looked at their stunned friend.

Dominic tugged at his pant leg, “Neige, are you alright? Just let her be, I’m sure she reacted like that due to being cautious about strangers.”

“Yes, I’m fine…But,” Round chocolate eyes remained on her retreating form, “Nothing has ever stopped me from befriending even the grumpiest of people! Or has it, Grant?” The brunet smiled at his friend.

“I suppose not- Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?!” The redhead complained while the rest laughed merrily alongside LeBlanche.

-- -- --

THE MADWOMAN DID IT OMGGGGGGG MY EEEEEEYES ASDFGHIMKLF

HAPPY 1ST ANNIVERSARY!!! What other way than to celebrate with LOOONG request including most, if not all, of the Twst characters!!

LET US SHARE MANY MORE MEMORIES TOGETHER!! CHEERS TO US ALL!!!

(P.S. OMG if you see shifting between fem pronouns, they/them pronouns and "you" stuff... PLEASE FORGIVE ME!! My brain got a bit confused in a part! Hopefully I corrected it all)

799 notes · View notes

lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Good Omens - Addiction (Rated NC17)

Summary: Aziraphale is addicted to affection. Addicted to touch. But being an addict, he can't seem to manage to find a healthy relationship, nor make any relationship last. After his latest break up, he decides to forgo the emotion and go straight for physical satisfaction.

... He just wants to find someone who needs his body. He's not particularly picky as to who - or what - that entails. (5792 words)

Notes: A major re-working of another piece I wrote. If you guys like this one, I will complete the scene that should come after it ;) Let me know. Vampire Crowley. Warnings for mention of blood and blood sucking. Sexual content.

Read on AO3.

Aziraphale walks slowly around the perimeter of his bed, eyeballing the outfits he’d laid out earlier, scathingly critical of every item he chose even though, had you asked him two hours ago, he would have claimed each as tied for favorite. He’s 90% dressed already - cream colored trousers and a matching long-sleeved button down, a pale blue waistcoat (one he’s been told matches his eyes perfectly), tartan socks, and his best cocoa brown Derbys. All he needs now is a bowtie.

Does he need a bowtie? He doesn’t know exactly what the protocol is regarding neckwear where he’s going. He definitely prefers to wear a bowtie. Would not wearing one send some sort of message? Aziraphale assumes forgoing a bowtie might make him appear more casual. At ease. But in the context of the place he’s headed, might it also mean that he’s easy?

He sighs. He’s thinking too hard about this. This place he’s going - he’s paying to be there! What the Hell does the possible hidden innuendo of wearing or not wearing a bowtie matter under those circumstances? He hasn’t left the house without a bowtie on in over four decades!

He’s wearing the bowtie.

His gaze slides over his bed, the ties in the running lined up side by side on his comforter. He reaches for one, fingers hovering just above before he changes his mind and goes for the one beside it, picking it up between pinched fingers and holding it to his neck. He turns to his full length mirror and takes a peek.

“This one?” he asks no one, appraising the plain, gray fabric. “No. No, that won’t do.” He tosses it back on the bed and grabs another one - a tartan tie that matches his socks.

Heaven’s Dress Tartan. His family’s tartan. It’s pretty much the tie he wears for every occasion.

Naively, it makes him feel protected.

“This one?” he muses, already nodding his head. “Yes, this one.” Aziraphale slips the narrow strip of fabric about his neck and ties it. He looks himself over in the mirror, chest puffed with pride, but it doesn’t last long.

What is he doing?

He’s too old for this.

Maybe he should pack it in, wrap up his libido and call it quits. He’s had a good run, hasn’t he? He doesn’t need the physical. No more hugs, no more kisses, no more sex - that wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Aziraphale’s eyes drop from his smart outfit to his feet.

Except it would.

It would for Aziraphale.

He can’t give up touch. He’s never done well without some speck of it in his life.

Deep down inside, he knows he can’t survive without it.

It’s not as simple as feeling lonely or unfulfilled. His need for affection goes beyond that. And it’s stronger - so much stronger - than him.

Being an addict is no small burden. Aziraphale knows that firsthand. He’s seen what addiction can do to people. He’s seen how it can devastate families.

He sat around for years and watched, powerless, as it destroyed his own.

Addiction tore his father apart – his need for money, a lust for more, more, more that he valued over his wife and child, turning him from parental figure into perfect stranger well before Aziraphale’s formative years, then into an enemy when Aziraphale decided against going into medicine, law, or business (the big three that would ensure the family fortune would multiply and thrive long after his father was gone) and instead majored in linguistics and literature.

His father’s addiction led to his mother’s. She’d hit the bottle to numb the pain of watching her husband, the man she’d loved since secondary school, drift away, drinking herself stupid until she couldn’t remember what day it was, where she lived … or that she had a son.

But addiction isn’t only cause and effect. It can be hereditary. It spread through the Fell family like wildfire, jumping from generation to generation. It started with Aziraphale’s great-great-great-great-grandfather on his father’s side and trickled down. Since Aziraphale is the last living Fell, his family’s vices have caught up to him, pooled around his ankles with nowhere else to flow to.

Threatening to drag him under.

Aziraphale has an addiction, too. Anyone who talks to him for about five minutes would say that his drug of choice is books, and indeed there are a good many reasons to believe that. Aziraphale loves books. He’s amassed such a collection that he even became an antique book dealer, but mostly as an excuse to find a place big enough to house his vast collection.

No, Aziraphale gets addicted to people. To affection. To whatever feels like love at the time. And he can’t live without it. He’ll take it from anyone willing to give even a smidgen of it, usually finding himself in relationships that dry up before they fully blossom with people who weren’t worth his time to begin with. Not that these relationships would have gone anywhere if given the chance. That’s part of the problem. Aziraphale tries so hard to find the tenderness stolen from him at too early an age, he doesn’t necessarily look for substance. He plants the seeds of his affection in ground long wrung out, spots where rain won’t ever find them, away from the sun’s nurturing rays.

Tonight, walking alone through the city streets at a truly ill-advised hour, he’s suffering the aftershocks of one such break-up. But this time, Aziraphale was prepared … somewhat. Which is to say he saw the signs. He knew the end was coming, even if he couldn’t stop it. But instead of doing the adult thing and cutting ties painlessly, he let it play itself out, sucking from it every drop he could. And afterwards, when he’d brought home his obligatory box of random stuff from his ex’s apartment – toothbrush, shaving cream, CDs, a few shirts, underwear, the possessions that he’d used to stake his claim - he knew where he would go.

He arrives at the obscure establishment before ten o’clock, having fooled himself that he’s ready to move on even before his ex’s side of the bed is cold. He’s doing right by himself. No more leaping into empty relationships just to have his mind messed with and his heart broken.

He’s skipping straight to the physical.

This is the way to go.

But there is also the chance that he’s being phenomenally stupid.

Aziraphale has paid money for questionable things before, things that he’s looked back on and regretted, shoving them as far behind him as he could so as not to think about them ever again.

But paying to feed his addiction - he’s never done that.

The place he’s gone to, with its ornate wooden door set into the face of an everyday brick wall, looks like a day spa if anything – a rather foreboding day spa. In a way, Aziraphale had expected it to look that way. That or a bar. Where else did these kinds of transactions take place? A bordello, perhaps? He’d heard about one that operates out of a hotel downtown, but this one got far better reviews from people in the know.

Let it never be said that Aziraphale didn’t do his research.

From what he’d heard, this place isn’t only the most exclusive of its kind in London, it’s the most discreet.

Silent as the grave, he’d been told.

There is no buzzer, no knocker, not even a door knob. No indication at all that anyone is allowed in but Aziraphale knows better. He sends a text to a number he paid a hefty sum for, along with a selfie that takes longer than he’d care to admit to take, but that’s not entirely his fault. There are strict requirements for this photograph - angle, background, head tilt, etc. The phone number is one-time use. After he hits send, he won’t be able to follow up with another message, so his picture needs to be up to spec.

Each selfie he takes, he despises immediately. The first one … well, the first one always bites, doesn’t it? In the second one, his face is too fat. Chubby chipmunk cheeks and puckered lips? He looks like a frickin’ cherub! The third one … ugh! Where was he even looking? The fourth one - definite serial killer with that awkward, thin-lipped grin.

He can’t keep doing this. He has to pick one! He’s running out of time! Ten o’clock sharp the message had said! If he’s going to do this, he can’t afford to be even a minute late!

He decides that his next picture will be his absolute last. Whatever comes out of this shot, he can’t take another one. He holds his phone up at the pre-determined angle, holds his breath, plasters on his most sincere smile … and prays to God.

Just then, the unthinkable happens.

He fumbles his phone.

He’d been holding so hard to it and his smile that his fingers had begun to sweat. He loses traction, the traitorous thing sliding out of his grasp. The shutter clicks, the flash fires, and his phone makes a lyrical trill of affirmation.

Aziraphale’s stomach drops like a lead balloon straight to his feet.

That noise - that skipping of high-pitched notes that he chose at random because they reminded him of Rites of Spring - indicates that the picture sent without Aziraphale having a chance to double check it first.

“Oh … Hell!” he curses. He should have taken the damned thing at home! The glow from his reading lantern would have given his skin a soft, golden cast; made him look younger; mysterious; but he forgot that a picture would be required. In every photo he’s taken in this doorway, illuminated only by a chemical bulb above his head, he looks anemic, harsh shadows thrown by the overly bright flash elongating his nose, hollowing his cheeks, sinking his eyes into their sockets. But this one, snapped off while his phone was negotiating gravity, is likely to be the worst one yet! Instead of a solid face, he’ll look like a blur.

A middle-aged blur with absolutely no relationship prospects. Not even a cat.

Aziraphale scrolls frantically through his gallery to try and find the picture, see what disaster he’s unleashed, but he can’t locate it.

“Where are you, you little …?” he mumbles, heart thrumming so hard it’s beginning to make him nauseous. The picture isn’t in his saved file. Not on his SD card. It’s not in his sent messages. So where the frick is it!? Aziraphale has to see it, has to know what he’s done, has to know if he’s failed. Has to know if it’s worth waiting out here, or if he should turn tail and head for his bookshop. Somewhere in between bribing his phone and threatening to smash the screen to bits, the door pops open with a click.

Aziraphale’s blood runs cold, his head shooting up like a prairie dog’s on its guard.

The door.

The door is open.

He mustn’t have sent a horrifying photograph after all!

But it may not stay open for long so he’d better move his arse!

He pushes the door further and steps inside. It closes behind him the moment he’s through. He turns quickly to see who shut it since he didn’t notice a doorman when he entered.

But there’s no one.

He’s in the foyer of this large, imposing place completely alone.

As far as he can tell.

He has the distinct feeling he’s being watched.

Of course he’s being watched! he scolds himself. They probably have security cameras everywhere in a place like this! There’s nothing sinister about that! Why, he went to a thrift store not too long ago that had a security camera installed over every aisle, and the most notable item they had for sale was a velvet painting of Margaret Thatcher! Pull yourself together, Aziraphale, for Heaven’s sake!

Now that he’s inside, the place reminds him more of a bank than a spa: long stretches of empty hallway decorated in shows of old school wealth - leather chairs, ornate mirrors, glossy wood drawing tables, a long Persian runner leading him to his destination with chandeliers marking the path every ten feet or so. There’s been more money invested in this one hall than Aziraphale’s father could afford to put into their entire house, even with his lofty inheritance.

He can’t help thinking it would make the old man pea green with envy if he were alive to see it.

Little does Aziraphale know that there are two other hallways ahead of him just like this one.

Aziraphale walks through a total of three locked doors to get to what could be deemed ‘the main lobby’. He’s not escorted, but he does need to be buzzed through, the same melancholy voice asking him to repeat his name through an intercom at every checkpoint. Aziraphale marvels at the embassy-level security but he can’t help but wonder: is this a common practice at these places? No one mentioned anything about this.

What sort of trouble are they trying to prevent?

Aziraphale imagines most people might turn around at this point, go back the way they came and forget all about this place, but not him. As he approaches the final door there is no going back for him now. Not when he’s so close to what he wants.

He goes through the procedure one last time – name and then buzz. But this door is heavier, takes a bit more strength to push open. Black lighting overhead engulfs the room, creates a void that makes everything within indefinable. A few feet in, a wraparound counter fluoresces purple. Aziraphale sees only a single occupant in this room - a man sitting behind the counter who looks, from the outset, like a regular human being.

Of course, Aziraphale has never met a vampire before. He has no idea what one should look like.

He walks up to the counter, the door behind him swinging close and shutting with the same poignant click as the rest. But once this door seals, it takes the light with it, plunging Aziraphale momentarily into near complete black.

The man doesn’t look up at Aziraphale’s arrival. Aziraphale clears his throat to get his attention.

“E-excuse me?” he says nervously, his stomach flipping somersaults from his pelvis up to his neck. His voice sounds thin and disappointing to his own ears. Then again, he barely speaks to anyone from day to day. Maybe it sounds exactly the way it should.

The man sitting behind the counter – dark-skinned but with an ashy paler - blatantly ignores Aziraphale, who’d be standing practically on top of him if not for the counter between them. He flips exaggeratedly through the pages of his magazine (Aziraphale can’t tell which one in the unhelpful light), but doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale repeats, louder but still weak.

The man sniffs the air. He shifts only his eyes to address Aziraphale, looks him over, then returns to his magazine. “Wot do you want?”

“I … uh … I have an appointment. F-for a session.” Session. Is that the right word for it? No one Aziraphale talked to about this gave him the in on the lingo. “With a man by the name of Crowley.”

The disinterested man flips another page. “An appointment, huh?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s eyes dart around, looking for anyone else who might be willing to help him. For as popular as this place sounded, it’s surprisingly deserted. Aziraphale can’t see a single other soul anywhere. Of course, aside from the glowing furniture, it’s so dark in there – a darkness his eyes refuse to get accustomed to – someone could be standing right beside him and he might not know it. “I’m … uh … sort of new at this.” His statement is met with a silence as thick as a brick wall. He chuckles, anxiety starting to get the better of him.

He feels vaguely like he might be in danger.

If he backed out now, walked out the door, would the man behind the counter even notice?

Then Aziraphale realizes fuck! He’d probably need to be buzzed out the same way he was buzzed in. And the man behind the counter might have to be the one to do it. He has the same dry, unenthusiastic tone in his voice as the one that greeted Aziraphale at every door.

The man glances Aziraphale’s way, then blows out a breath, obviously annoyed he’s still there. “I’ll tell him you’re here Mr. …”

“Fell. Aziraphale Fell.”

“Aziraphale Fell,” the man repeats but doesn’t reach for a phone or make a move to inform anyone that Aziraphale has arrived. He gives the air another disdainful sniff and scrunches his nose, raising his magazine to cover it. “Did you have sushi for lunch, Mr. Fell?”

“Uh …” Aziraphale clamps his lips together tight, self-conscious of what he must smell like to a creature with super-sensitive olfactory organs. He did have sushi, but that was days ago. There’s no way he could still smell like it, especially with the amount of Listermint he uses daily.

“Was it refrigerated properly? Or do you buy your food from the day-old section of your local market?”

Aziraphale’s hackles rise. He disregards the feeling that he’s in danger in defense of his favorite restaurant. “I really don’t think that Hot Stone would stoop to selling day-old sushi!”

“Did you even remember where you were going when you left your house today?” the man scolds without listening to him. “I mean, have some respect, for Satan’s sake!”

“That’s enough, Ligur.” A new voice, amused but stern, says from the shadows. “If you don’t stop badgering the customers, we won’t have any, and then how will you afford your flat? Hmm?”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir,” Ligur replies, barely bringing himself to care.

Inconceivably quick, their new guest goes from standing in the light to standing before Aziraphale. Ligur snickers at the move, like he’s seen it too many times before, but Aziraphale doesn’t pay him any mind. Ligur might not be impressed, but Aziraphale can’t. stop. staring.

Aziraphale has never seen such a man.

He’s never imagined a man like him could exist. He’s sure he could spend his entire life trying to think him up and still never come up with him. He captivates Aziraphale in a matter of seconds, mystifies him without lifting a finger. He’s tall, slim, and fair. He reminds Aziraphale of a prince from an old world fairy tale. In fact, Aziraphale knows just the book he’d find it in. He intends on searching for it the moment he returns to his shop (he thinks hopefully). The man’s eyes, even in the absence of light, are piercing, simmering in their depths with a light all their own.

The man doesn’t walk up to Aziraphale. He stalks. And the way he carries himself leads Aziraphale to believe he can take anything he wants with a snap of his fingers. At the moment, he’s stolen Aziraphale’s voice, his breath, practically every thought in his head.

Aziraphale’s entire focus becomes this man.

The man moves a step forward. Aziraphale takes a subconscious step back.

“I believe that you are my ten o’clock,” the man says.

Aziraphale nods, not sure if he’s expected to speak ... or if he’s allowed. “Are … are you … Mr. Crowley?”

“In the flesh. And you must be Aziraphale.” Crowley’s tongue curls around his words, the hint of an accent making an appearance. Several accents, actually. At his root, the man sounds English, but not born. But his accent is acquired, not practiced, bred from immersion. There are other touches here and there - a dash of Birmingham, a little cockney perhaps, an Irish brogue, peppered upon a foundation that sounds firmly Scottish. Lilts and rolls add flavor to Aziraphale’s name so that he feels he’s hearing it spoken out loud for the first time. Even lost in that dialect soup, Aziraphale doesn’t think it’ll ever sound more perfect than it does rolling off Crowley’s tongue. It tickles his eardrums, silently begs Crowley to say it again.

“I am,” Aziraphale says. “Aziraphale Fell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It will be soon.” Crowley winks. “Follow me, Mr. Fell.” He smiles, teeth impeccably straight and disarmingly white. It could be a trick of the black lights, but those teeth … that smile … make him look predatory, and Aziraphale considers again if coming here was the smartest idea, especially since he did so impulsively, took no precautions. He was so distracted by his break-up, so wrapped up in shoulds and shouldn’ts, what people would think of him if they ever found out, that he didn’t tell anyone where he was going.

What if he simply disappears?

No one in his life would dream of looking for him here, and he left absolutely no clues to point them in this direction.

Regardless of the warning bells tolling in his head, new ones firing off with each pound of his heart, Aziraphale follows Crowley down several vacant hallways. The place was dark to begin with, but this section is nearly pitch black with the exception of a red light bulb here, a green light bulb there, their faint illuminations doing nothing more than throwing shadows on the walls – shadows deep enough to disappear in. Crowley walks swiftly. Aziraphale almost loses him twice, but he slows in a hall lined on both sides with doors. Aziraphale hears moans come from behind several of the doors and his heart speeds in his chest.

It slams to a stop when he hears a man scream – strained and blood curdling.

Aziraphale can’t tell if the man is screaming in pleasure or in pain.

Aziraphale points to the door. “Um … is he going to be alri---?”

“Right this way, Mr. Fell,” Crowley interrupts, opening the last door on the left. “This is my private office. No one will dare disturb us in here.” Aziraphale hesitates but decides to go inside, not because he feels any more comfortable with this than he did a moment ago, but because if he doesn’t, he might run the other way. Crowley waits patiently till Aziraphale steps in, then shuts, and locks, the door. “Now … what can I help you with today?”

Aziraphale paces the room, examining its violet walls with their black-and-white photographs mounted in minimalist glass frames. It isn’t much brighter in here than in the lobby, but it’s more inviting - the sort of space created specifically for people to spend time in together, get to know one another. A round, wooden table in the center of the room holds a pair of crystal flutes and a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. Candles cover every level surface - some thick white pillars, some long white tapers, in holders of brushed gold, and scent the air with the sweet fragrance of vanilla. Their dancing flames reflect off the glass, the constant flickering making the room appear to sway. It’s disorienting. It gets Aziraphale’s adrenaline pumping and his heart racing, which Aziraphale assumes is the desired effect.

He’d heard that a speeding human heart can be a powerful aphrodisiac for a vampire.

They apparently get off on it.

Against a far wall sits a plush, red sofa, and against another, a four-poster bed.

Aziraphale bypasses the bed (it isn’t his gut decision, just the safest seeming one) and heads for the sofa. “I … I have a problem. An addiction.”

“Go on.” Crowley strolls over to join him, each step he takes deliberate, noiseless, as if his feet don’t make contact with the ground at all, gliding on the air right above. Aziraphale watches Crowley settle onto the far end of the sofa, sitting catty-corner to keep his amber eyes on him. That predatory expression he wears moves from his smile to his eyes, which track Aziraphale’s movements with unnerving precision. “Well, I … I’m addicted to affection, a-and everything that comes with it - touching, holding, kissing, sex, from anyone who wants me, really. And I fall irrationally in love with the wrong people over and over because of it.”

“A-ha.” Crowley crosses his legs. He draws it out, diverting Aziraphale’s attention purposefully to them. “So tell me why you think I can help you.”

Aziraphale swallows hard, mesmerized by the way Crowley moves, the fluidity of limbs that would look spindly on a human but not on him. Not in the slightest. “Because even though I need companionship, nobody seems to need me. But from the things I hear, you gentlemen … do.”

“We’re not desperate, Mr. Fell,” Crowley groans, rolling his head back on his neck, his eyes following along.

“Oh, no! No, no, no! That’s not what I …!”

“We service a distinguished clientele. We have certain expectations.”

“I understand that.”

Crowley gives Aziraphale a thorough once over with eyes that burn through him, every move Aziraphale makes telling Crowley more than his words.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Fell?” Something about the way Crowley repeatedly calls Aziraphale ‘Mr. Fell’ shoots right to his stomach and lower, twisting everything up inside him, making him feel compliant, confused ...

“I’m an antique book dealer,” Aziraphale replies.

Crowley chuckles. “Ah. So you hawk old, worn-out romance novels to elderly women wanting a tingle in their lady gardens?”

“Uh … no,” Aziraphale says with a chuckle himself because, he has to admit, he’s gotten one or two of those in his lifetime. “Mostly literature, first editions, rare texts, misprinted Bibles, that sort of thing.”

“And you make a living from that?”

“I do,” Aziraphale says, a tad uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Not that I need to. I live mainly off the interest of a generous inheritance. I get to do whatever I want mostly.”

“I see.” Crowley’s tone shifts, as if Aziraphale passed some sort of test. “And where do you currently live?” With a flick of Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale’s hand crawls up his own shirt, reaching for his bowtie. He grabs a tail and pulls it, unties it, then goes after the top button. He toys with it, undoes it, feeling constricted, uncomfortable while it’s fastened.

“I live over my store front in Soho.”

Crowley slides an inch closer. “With a roommate or …?”

“A-alone.” Aziraphale moves on to the second button. “I live … I live alone.”

“Impressive. And your blood type is AB negative?”

“As far as I know.”

“Interesting.” Crowley moves another inch closer. “Alright. Let’s give you a shot.”

“A-and how do you do that … exactly?”

“Give me your arm so I can take a taste. Then I’ll know if we can use you.”

Crowley holds out his hand, long fingers with black painted nails motioning for Aziraphale’s, but Aziraphale doesn’t take it. He has a second of doubt, of Are you nuts!? that stays him. But it’s been so long since Aziraphale has felt truly wanted. And this man … or this creature … wants what he has to offer. Aziraphale can see it in his eyes. It’s cut and dry. No muss, no fuss, no emotions involved. Giving in should be easy. This is what he came for.

“If you’re nervous, I could always …” Crowley makes a gesture toward Aziraphale’s neck and smiles an alluring, toothy grin – charismatic, hard to resist. But Aziraphale might not be ready for what Crowley’s proposing. It seems a little too intimate.

“O-oh no.” Aziraphale rolls up his sleeve. “It’s not that. I was just … uh … thinking.”

“Oh.” That single syllable sounds tragically disappointed. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, of course. But just so you know, it’s always an option.”

Aziraphale gets a sudden image in his head of Crowley lying on top of him, licking down his neck, his fingers undoing the rest of his buttons and reaching beneath his shirt, nails scratching lightly down his skin. He envisions Crowley removing his clothes one piece at a time, marking his flesh with kisses, with bites, taking small sips as he paves a trail to his trousers. Sharp fangs slice through the threads that keep the button sewn on and he pulls down the zip with his teeth. There’s a mouth on Aziraphale’s cock, sucking, hands massaging his chest, the gentle brush of silky hair against his thighs, the occasional sting of a cut opening, a tongue collecting, and Aziraphale writhing with the sweet agony of it. He doesn’t picture himself cumming quickly, but sees himself sliding along the beveled edge, getting to that point, hanging from the crest of it, just to be sent back to the beginning, to start the process over again.

It feels planted, a suggestion. Aziraphale isn’t sure how. He’s not savvy to the abilities of vampires beside the blood sucking thing. It’s not real. Aziraphale knows he’s still dressed, can feel the fabric of his shirt sleeve balled in his fist, but he starts to sweat at the thought of it. His cock aches because of it. That’s what he wants – the give and the take.

It changes his mind, stops him rolling up his sleeve.

“You know,” Aziraphale says, gaze fixed to Crowley’s seductive eyes, “that does sound like it could be … nice.”

Crowley grins. It’s almost too easy. “Oh, it will be,” he purrs. “I promise.”

Aziraphale scoots closer until they’re sitting beside one another, knees touching. Crowley wastes no time kissing Aziraphale’s neck, cool lips pressing against hot, sensitive skin. Aziraphale moans. God, it’s been so long. And whatever Crowley is doing with his tongue, circling the same spot, nibbling with just enough pressure to make it tingle, feels so intense, it overshadows the hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, creeping up steadily to his crotch, squeezing along the way as the excitement of kissing builds.

As Aziraphale’s heart beats faster and faster, until individual thumps are no longer distinguishable from the whole.

Crowley wraps an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, fangs lengthening as he searches for a place to sink in and drink. He finds the perfect spot and bites. Aziraphale’s eyes go wide.

“Oh … God.” He becomes rigid as the sensation of smooth and sharp assails his skin, but he succumbs to the sublime numbness and melts into Crowley’s arms. “Oh … oh God …”

Crowley retracts his fangs, licking them clean. “This isn’t really the place to be praying,” he says, inhaling Aziraphale’s scent – fresh, rich, healthy, untainted blood. The blood all vampires crave - not from unconscious drunks in the alley behind a night club or filled with preservatives like the bagged gunge they have the option to buy down at NHS Blood and Transport. But whole, pure, and willingly given.

Oh, yes – Aziraphale is an exquisite delight. A rare treat. He’ll make Crowley rich … if he can bear to share him.

Crowley might just decide to keep Aziraphale to himself.

It’s not just Aziraphale’s blood that tempts him. There’s something else, something sizzling beneath his skin that Crowley suspects Aziraphale doesn’t even know about himself. But it sends sparks through Crowley’s skin with every touch, a white light that nearly burns too hot to hold but fuck it all! The second Crowley moves his hand away and it’s gone, it makes Crowley want him more.

“I’m … I’m sorry,” Aziraphale mumbles, following Crowley’s mouth, whining like a kicked puppy when it seems he won’t be returning to the task of biting his neck. But it’s not that. Crowley has every intention of taking his time with Aziraphale. Savoring him. He wants to hear Aziraphale beg for it, beg for Crowley’s teeth buried deep into his neck, beg for the euphoria that comes with being fed upon.

“Do you like that, angel?” Crowley murmurs into Aziraphale’s skin. He punctuates his question with a nip around Aziraphale’s jugular, carefully so as not to prick it.

“Yes,” Aziraphale whimpers, his shaking hand grabbing Crowley’s knee and squeezing. “Yes, please.”

Crowley hums, lips pressed to Aziraphale’s neck so the vibrations travel down his skin. He licks over the pinprick marks, exploring with his tongue for a spot to take another bite. “You know, I think we might be able to help each other out.”

“You … you do?” Aziraphale rises from the sofa in a trance, following Crowley when he moves their soiree to the bed, preparing to make Aziraphale his own private nightcap.

“Oh yes.” Crowley lays Aziraphale out on the mattress and crawls over him, like in the vision. His fingertips creep up Aziraphale’s neck, up his cheeks, the pads coming to rest against his temples. A blue spark, an arc of static electricity, and Aziraphale’s brain fills with images that cloud his vision over so that Crowley’s eyes disappear, replaced by what promises to be a long night in this room, and all the methods of pleasure Crowley plans on using to distract him while he feeds. Skin against skin, Crowley’s hands covering his as Crowley enters him, his body possessing his. Aziraphale can already feel how hard Crowley would claim him, how sore he would be after, and Aziraphale wants it. Wants it more than life itself.

And he’s willing to pay with every drop to have it.

The vision rolls on. With every fantasized thrust of Crowley’s hips, it monopolizes all five of Aziraphale’s senses - his own moans in his ears with Crowley’s voice dripping honey underneath, the pungent smell of sweat and sex around them, the coppery taste of Crowley’s mouth, the slide of a flesh against his so smooth it feels like marble, and Crowley’s eyes - those snake-like eyes with pupils razor blade thin - watching unblinkingly as Aziraphale comes apart beneath him.

Trapped beneath Crowley’s body on the bed with Crowley’s fingertips rubbing circles against his skin, Aziraphale watches this fantasy in awe - open-mouthed and without an inch of fear. He shudders when he sees himself coming, the memory of similar sensations igniting every nerve in his body, turning fantasy into reality. Crowley absorbs every tremor, the way Aziraphale thrums beneath him, his hips bucking up in search of friction. Crowley smiles, reaches between them to start unbuttoning his own uncomfortable trousers.

And let the feasting begin.

“Oh yes,” he whispers, nose nuzzling against Aziraphale’s neck, following the pounding rhythm of his heart for a place to tuck in. “I could become very addicted to you, Aziraphale Fell. Very addicted.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

65 notes · View notes

trashboatprince · 3 years

Text

I said I’d wait to write for this au after I finished with the Reverse Big Bang, but I at least wanted to put out a cute one-shot for the Ineffable Gardener’s au.

Summery: How Francis and Crowley first met, completely inspired by the first drawing for this au.

Warning: None, just Crowley making a fool out of themself in front of Francis (And Francis is NOT Aziraphale, he’s his own character in this au, same with Nanny Ashtoreth)

On with the fic!

Francis looked up from the small slip of paper to the building before him. It was the right address, but why did Francis feel like he was at the wrong place? Piece of Eden looked very much like a café, there was even a little sign indicating it as so, but he had been informed it was a greenhouse.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to go inside, he could use a nice drink.

Francis opened the door, surprised to find the café itself was rather small, with just a few tables, the counter was only about fifteen feet from the door, and it was about the size of a living room. He then noticed that one wall was completely occupied by obscured windows and a single door.

He wanted to slap himself, he hadn’t even realized that this building was much larger than he had paid attention to. He had been so distracted by the confusion of the café outside that he hadn’t noticed the large attachment that clearly indicated a greenhouse. “Oh, you silly man.” He mumbled to himself as he approached the counter.

A young woman with long, dark hair, and large glasses stood there, smiling a bit at him. “Good morning,” Oh, she was American, how fascinating, “what can I get for you?”

Glancing up, Francis took notice to the chalkboards hanging over the counter, each written with different menu items. One was for their various coffees, another for teas, then pastries, sandwiches, and soups, then information for the store like a website and such.

The tea menu caught his attention and he ordered something called ‘The Tree of Knowledge’. The woman, whose name tag read ‘Anathema’ smiled a bit more. “That’s a good one, you’ll like it.”

“I rather like the name, it’s strange though, never been to a place that sells Biblical themed teas.” He spotted another one up on the menu called the Serpent of Eden, and under that was Guardian of the Eastern Gate.

“Oh, those are just the only ones we have, the original owner was named Eden and thought they were funny. The new owner kept the teas, says they’re good flavors and they found the names as a tongue-in-cheek joke.”

“Well, I still like it.” Francis smiled brightly, paying for the drink before stepping aside to wait for her to make it. He looked towards the doors with the frosted windows, he could make out the shadows of plants through the distorted glass. “Is the greenhouse open, miss?”

“Yep, the owner’s in there now, bet they’re giving those plants a good tongue lashing.” Anathema chuckled as she put the lid on a to-go cup. Francis raised a bushy eyebrow at this, was she making a joke? He thanked her and gave the cup a sip, pleasantly surprised by the strong yet delightful taste of the tea.

He may have to come back here to try some of the other flavors, he thought as he made his way to the door of the greenhouse, stepping inside.

It was much warmer in here than he thought, goodness, he shouldn’t have worn a sweater over his button up. He could hear music playing from somewhere inside the building, which was surprisingly bigger than he had expected. There were beautiful plants all over the place, many of various species and colors! It was rather beautiful in here, and Francis would love to plant some of these on the church grounds.

However, he had nowhere to start.

Looking around, Francis perked up when he heard a voice from somewhere around a corner. “-if I see anymore spots, it’s the mulch pile for you!” He shrunk back, oh dear, that sounded a bit harsh.

Someone stepped into his line of sight, and Francis blinked, for some reason, he felt a bit warmer.

The stranger was dressed in clothing that should be worn by someone who was modeling, not working around plants. A dark green apron, embroidered with pink flowers on the bottom of it, was over the expensive looking outfit, with a little name tag pinned to the front.

This employee, they had to be the owner from what Anathema said, had a fiery mane of red hair, pulled back and clipped in some sort of ponytail. They also seemed to be sporting dark shades across their freckled face.

Francis swallowed, feeling a bit flushed, before approaching them as they were misting what looked like a fern. He brightly smiled at them when he came to a stop. “Ah! Excuse me, my dear! I’m the new gardener at the local church, and I was hoping you could help me out!”

The owner, whose name tag read AJC, seemed to stare right at him, while their hand around the mister seemed to tighten suddenly, putting cracks into the cheap bottle. “Sure.” They said in a rather calm voice, despite the damage they gave the bottle.

The blond winced. “Are you okay?!” He asked, reaching out to gently take the broken bottle, just in case they cut their palm or fingers.

They seemed to register what was happened and stumbled back, their face starting to turn a bit red. “Y-yeah! Fine, sorry, was, uh, just had a- how can I help you?” They quickly replied, trying to cover up their fumbling with a customer service voice.

“Oh, right, uhh... do you mind helping me figure out what is best for the church grounds? I’m the new gardener for them, and, sadly, I am not exactly blessed with a green thumb. I fear I might do more damage than good if I don’t have a bit of help.” Francis chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a little overwhelmed.

The owner seemed to have eased up, smiling just a little bit. “At least you’re admittin’ you need help, most people think they can do it but then I get complaints that their plants died in a weak. Sure I’ll help you, uh...”

“Francis, lovely to meet you.” Francis smiled, holding out a hand.

They took his hand, giving it a small shake. “Crowley, same. So! Let’s pick out some plants!”

If anyone would like anymore, I’m happy to write up more for these two as a ship.

#good omens #anthony j crowley #brother francis #anathema device #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable gardeners #john's drabbles

7 notes · View notes

somethingjustsouthofbrilliance · 5 years

Text

Tears of an Angel (Crowley/Aziraphale)

Right... so I saw this beautiful, heartrending artwork post and... I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t think I could ever do this, but... I’m sorry. I am truly sorry.

Warning: Major Character Death

Tagging: @tonystark5ever @giulisetta @swanheart69

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

Adam’s wedding day is beautiful – a gorgeous, sun-stroked jewel of late summer, imbued with an intoxicating scent of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass. Not a hint of clouds in the brilliant blue sky that smiles down at the happy mingle of guests: some chatting amicably with those around them, others indulging, somewhat furtively but with obvious pleasure, in the impressive spread of refreshments heaped onto the white-clothed tables, others still swaying blissfully to the soft, enchanting sounds of music.

It’s perfect. And Crowley wouldn’t have expected it to be anything but. Adam, after all, is still, to this day, the Spawn of Satan, whom he so bravely, so brilliantly rejected all those years ago. And that means, reality is very much still his to change the way he pleases.

Crowley can’t find it in himself to complain.

He leans casually back against the side of a gazebo, arms crossed on his chest. Smiles fondly as he watches Anathema drag Aziraphale out into the dancing area, the angel shooting a pleading look Crowley’s way before submitting to the inevitable with a resigned huff, hurriedly shoving the remainder of a strawberry tart into his mouth.

Oh, angel…

“Interesting setup you got here.”

He straightens out instantly, all sense of leisure gone from his posture, tension bleeding from every line of his body.

“What do you want, Hastur?”

“I’ve been watching you two,” the demon drawls out ominously from behind him – an oppressive, dangerous presence just off to the side, just out of his line of sight. And Crowley fights the urge to turn around; suppresses the frisson of unease the demon’s presence sends down his spine.

“What do you want?” he repeats in a growl of forced annoyance, even as his metaphorical heart clenches in mounting fear. Hastur’s been watching them. All these years. Does it mean he figured out their swap? Does it mean he knows?

“I know you tricked us,” Hastur answers his unspoken question, a note of smug satisfaction in his voice telling Crowley the demon noticed his panic despite Crowley’s best efforts. “I don’t know how you did it, but…” There’s an ugly bark of laughter – like a crack of a dry twig underfoot, followed by rustle of clothes and an overwhelmingly strong presence, dark, magical. “I don’t really care.”

And Crowley can’t help turning around now. Can’t help looking down at Hastur’s gloved hand, at the wicked-looking knife held cautiously in its grip. Can’t help the nasty, cold feeling that claws at his chest when he sees the flame-red sigils carved into the darkened blade.

“Oh, good, you recognize it.” Hastur’s smiling at him now – a dark, sadistically gleeful grin. Turns the blade in his hand in a mockery of awed contemplation. “A hellfire-forged blade with holy sigils – a perfect weapon against any being, ethereal or demonic.” Growls out low, his upper lip curling in predatory anticipation, “Heaven and Hell will be happy to see both of you gone. Me personally? After watching the two of you for a bit? I think killing just one of you will make for a far better torture.” He waves his free hand in the air, a look of almost blissful dreaminess spreading across his face.

Crowley grinds his teeth together in helpless rage, glances back out to where his angel is fumbling dreadfully across from Anathema in a poor imitation of dancing, blissfully unaware of the danger lurking only a few feet away. Flinches when he feels Hastur shift closer.

“I’m feeling generous today, Serpent,” he murmurs, the smell of swamp and rot wafting over the side of Crowley’s face. “I’m gonna let you choose.”

Choose. A bitter smile twitches at the corners of Crowley’s lips, his eyes never leaving the achingly dear white-haired form in a cream color jacket. What is there to choose, really? His choice has been made over 6000 years ago, standing on that wall in the Garden of Eden next to a beautiful, mystifying angel who gave away his sword to protect humans and then proceeded to shield a demon from the First Rain.

He doesn’t even have to think about it.

“Me,” he states calmly, ignoring the sharp pang in his heart at the thought that this is it for him, that he will never see his angel again. “Take me.” Turns briefly back to his unwelcome companion to glare murderously into the bottomless dark pools of his eyes. “But thisss isss it, Hastur,” he hisses, low and menacing, putting all of his venom, all of his demonic, serpentine conviction into the words. “After thisss our debt isss paid in full. Nobody touches the angel, understood? Not your lot, not the Heaven. And you will make sure of that.” He leans in closer, eyes bleeding a terrifyingly hypnotic, poisonous yellow. “You will make sure of that, Hasssstur, or I swear on all that is unholy, that I will find a way to come back, and I will make you wish you were the first one through my office door that day instead of Ligur.” He lets his upper lip curl, lets his fangs slide out in warning. “Undersssstood?”

Hastur’s lips twist in an echoing snarl, but Crowley can see the minute perturbation on the other demon’s face, knows his threat (bluff, yes, but Hastur has no way of knowing that) has hit its mark.

“Meet me in the cemetery behind the church,” the Duke of Hell spits out, nodding blindly in the direction of the small village church that hosted the wedding ceremony a mere hour ago. And disappears in a cloud of thick gray smoke.

Crowley remains where he is a moment longer. Lets his gaze linger on Aziraphale for one last time, drinking in the sight of his dancing angel – so blessedly carefree, so endearingly clumsy, so unfailingly good, so… so… beautiful. He sighs, smiling despite the traitorous, anguished tremble of his lips. Closes his eyes, letting that final image of Aziraphale become engrained in his memory. And follows Hastur to his doom.

He doesn’t see Aziraphale turning to glance in his direction an instant before he disappears from view.

***

He reappears but a moment later in the place of Hastur’s choosing. Stumbles a bit on the uneven surface of a freshly laid grave.

And gasps, his breath choked off and stolen, as sharp pain explodes below his ribcage, doubling him over with the force of the blow. A wave of power rushes through him – angelic and demonic, woven together to create a monumental, monstrous hybrid of destruction. Cold and fiery, deadly and unstoppable, sluicing through his veins to tear him apart, piece by piece by piece.

He reaches forward on instinct, grabbing blindly, convulsively for the support of the putrid smelling shape that materializes in front of him. Groans pathetically as Hastur shoves the blade deeper with a hard, vicious thrust. And shudders, his fingers unclasping, nerveless, from the demon’s sleeve, as Hastur yanks the blade out and steps quickly back out of reach.

“We are even now,” Hastur observes dispassionately as Crowley sinks to his knees before him onto the clumpy ground, one hand pressed uselessly against the bleeding gaping hole in his chest, the other seeking purchase in the loose dirt. Cringes with sympathetic fear as Crowley draws in another harsh, labored wheeze of a breath, face twisting at the ever-mounting pain.

“It was quicker for Ligur,” he notes darkly, sheathing the blade and putting it away into the folds of his coat. “Merciful almost, compared to yours.”

His cheek twitches minutely, a fire of grim satisfaction flashing in the black depths. Then, suddenly, he squats down before the injured demon, stares unblinking into the wide, pain-glazed eyes.

“But perhaps you can be thankful for a chance to say goodbye.” He cants his head to the side, nodding at something in the distance.

Blearily, Crowley follows his motion, and the cold that fills his chest no longer has anything to do with his impending death. Because there, weaving his way toward them between the maze of tombstones, is the angel, his angel.

No.

He grasps for Hastur’s coat again, gritting his teeth at the fresh flare of pain that rips through him at the unsanctioned movement.

“Your promisssse… re… remember your…,” his voice cuts out, his throat spasming from a sudden buildup of pressure that drowns the rest of his words in a vicious gurgle of a cough that spills forth in a spectacular spray of blood.

He gasps, breathless, against the intensity of it. Squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, missing the grimace of disgust that flits across Hastur’s face as the demon raises his hand to vanish the bloody splatter that carried from his former colleague to settle on his face and clothes.

“I have not forgotten, Serpent,” he grouches, extricating himself once again from Crowley’s feeble grip. Straightens back out, making a show of dusting off his forever-filthy coat. His cheek twitches again – a tell of discomfort, as he forces out the parting words of (questionable) reassurance. “Have a nice… death.”

A snap of fingers and the Duke of Hell vanishes from sight, and then the angel is there, kneeling on the ground before Crowley, hands pawing frantically at the darkened, bleeding hole in the middle of his chest; grasping Crowley’s shoulders as he sways alarmingly on his gradually weakening knees.

Crowley tries to steady himself, tries to look strong for his angel, but the devastating power ravaging his essence has already done too much damage, and he can’t help but succumb, slumping forward into Aziraphale’s chest with a helpless groan.

“Crowley?”

The angel’s voice trembles, tinged with desperation and fear, and Crowley can feel the same anxious tremble in the arms that wrap themselves around him; can hear the panicked beat of the angel’s heart. This will not do, he thinks, sluggish. He can’t leave his angel like this – so desperate, so panicked. He has to–

“I can’t… I can’t heal it. What…. Crowley, darling, please, what’s–?”

“Shhhhh….” He forces his head up, forces his weakened hand to move. Presses a shaking finger to the beautiful plump lips that he has been so fortunate, so privileged to taste in these past few years. How incredibly, insanely lucky he was!

“Shhh,” he repeats, running careful, gentle fingers across the angel’s cheek, wiping away a streak of golden tears that trails down the soft pale skin. Frowns when fresh tears begin to trickle down the same track. This isn’t right, he thinks. Aziraphale shouldn’t be… he can’t…

“Don’t cry,” he pleads, voice raspy and shaking with pain that is becoming harder and harder to conceal. But he will try. He has to try. For his angel. “S’okay… Zira… sss’okay. I cho…chose this… My choicssssse…”

Tear-filled blue eyes widen in understanding, the angel glancing briefly at a spot where Hastur stood only moments ago, before shifting his grief-stricken, horrified gaze back to Crowley.

“No…,” he whines, tears falling harder now, as his arms tighten around Crowley’s shivering form in mounting despair. “No, Crowley… Crowley, you can’t….”

Crowley blinks at him fondly, a faint smile pulling at his blood-stained lips. “S’okay,” he exhales, fighting to speak against the gradually thickening blanket of darkness that begins to weigh down on him, threatening to pull him under. He can’t let it happen. Not yet. He needs to get the angel to understand, needs to explain. He knows that, once he surrenders to that darkness, he won’t get another chance.

“I had to… They won’t… won’t bother you now. Not any…anymore.”

It’s important that Aziraphale knows this. Because it’s something that’s been bothering the both of them all these years – the fear that Heaven or Hell or both will be coming for them any moment. It dampened the serenity, the pleasure of that short time they spent together, forcing them to constantly look over their shoulders. But no more, no more…

What little strength he has left to keep himself upright runs out and he sags, boneless, in Aziraphale’s feverish embrace, their foreheads touching.

Aziraphale is saying something, the angel’s breath hot and suspiciously wet against his skin, but Crowley can’t hear him, not anymore – the darkness pulling at him, engulfing his senses.

“Kiss me,” he asks instead – a barely there whisper.

He can hardly feel his arms anymore, but he manages somehow to raise one, to hook it feebly around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, smearing blood onto the white curls. Tugs, trying to urge the angel closer.

There’s barely any discernible pressure behind his gesture, but Aziraphale follows it nevertheless. Surges forward with a choked off sob, closing the already negligible gap between their mouths, latching on to Crowley’s lips as a man wandering for days in the sweltering heat of the desert latches on to the refreshing watery escape of an oasis.

The fear of loss, the desperate denial, the frantic need to hold on, and the love – overwhelming, all-encompassing, unfaltering love: Crowley reads it all on the trembling, tear-stained lips that cling to his own. It’s warm, the angel’s kiss. So beautifully warm against the numbing, agonizing cold that fills his entire being.

He closes his eyes, sinks deeper into the kiss, trying to capture as much of that warmth as he can, to bask in his angel’s essence before darkness pulls him away for good.

It isn’t long now, he can feel it. Can feel himself falling, breaking will-lessly away from the soft anchor of Aziraphale’s lips – the warm light of his angel’s presence growing dimmer and dimmer, until only a tiny spark remains in the thick, stifling darkness that swathes his mind.

He latches on to it, weakly, stubbornly. Peels his eyes open, unsurprised to find the angel leaning over him, his face – a pale, haloed blur for his failing sight. But even now, faded almost beyond recognition, he’s still the most beautiful thing Crowley has ever seen.

He tells him so. Releases the truth of it on the final exhale his corporation’s lungs allow him. Along with a faint susurrant confession, “Love you… angel…”

A soft, wet splatter of a warm, golden tear on his ice-cold cheek is the last thing he feels.

FIN

#good omens #good omens fic #crowley/aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale #hastur #character death #tragedy #angst #hurt #i broke them #i didn't mean to #somethingjustsouthofbrilliance writes #sjsob good omens fics

237 notes · View notes

ldybluerse · 4 years

Text

The Nice and Accurate Tale of Beauty and the Beast

Chapter Six: Beauty and the Beast Good Omens AU

There is little for a Fallen to do when they are not getting into trouble; they are only really meant for trouble-making. Not to worry though, most Fallen love making and getting into trouble, they love it even more when they get other people involved in their troublesome trouble.

All Fallen, but one.

Crowley didn’t mind the idea of trouble or even making smaller amounts of it, nothing that would really hurt someone unless that person was inclined towards harm already. Crowley also was not a fan of going into town during some peak trouble-making hours (when the shops are busy or at night when there was less people out but more nefarious sorts of trouble are lurking around).

This meant that Crowley had a lot of time on his hands. He dedicated his extra time towards the gardens in and around his castle. As he did not have anyone else to speak to most days, Crowley would talk to the plants. Though, perhaps “talk” was too gentle of a term for what Crowley did. He put the fear of Crowley into the plants, making them the most lush, colorful, and vibrant plants in all of France. His roses were extraordinarily terrified, which is why they always minded their thorns and never curled a petal. The colors of the roses were beyond anything anyone would find outside of the greenhouse and the scent of those roses could be considered intoxicating to the human nose.

But it was not the roses that Aziraphale saw first. It wasn’t their sweet fragrance that he took note of right away. It was not even the perfect display of colors and verdant leaves that gave Aziraphale reason to pause just inside the door. The roses were the furthest thing from his mind as he gave his full, undivided attention, to the mass on the floor amongst the flowers.

Crowley was asleep, his serpentine lower body coiled in a loose circle while his upper body draped lazily over a portion of his lower half. Aziraphale watched as slow and even breaths moved the large Naga’s chest in a pattern that marked Crowley as asleep before Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to the thick lashes resting against a speckled cheek. Being careful to not make a sound, he approached taking in every detail that he could of the Naga before him.

Aziraphale admired the long mess of red curls that spilled over pale and slender shoulders. A smile playing at the curve of his lips as he noticed the freckles that blemished those shoulders.

He studied the way that sleep softened Crowley’s angular face, took away harsh lines of unease and distrust. It made what was striking, tender instead. From closed off to relaxed. From beast to beauty.

Aziraphale noted the lack of wings, meaning that Crowley could easily “put them away”, as it were, if he wished. The Favoured’s smile made a small appearance as he thought of the earlier display with them out was all for intimidation and show. With lazy strides he walked his way slowly around the Fallen, admiring the sheen of obsidian scales in his magic light. Crowley’s hair had tumbled in a way that Azirphale could see how the black snake scales continued up his back, tapering as it ascended his spin. He wondered if the scales of his tail were as smooth as a snake’s?

Was his hair as soft as it looked?

The Favoured should, strictly speaking, strive for asceticism, a life of rigorous routines and self-denial. And while Aziraphale could pretend that he was like that, the truth is, he is a hedonist. Indulging in earthly pleasures never gets in Aziraphale’s way of doing what he thinks is best and being a helping hand as much as he can, yet it means he was far from able to avoid temptation. He collected books, pretending that he sold them was his cover story to the higher ranks that helped cover his love of “material objects”. The utter joy and delight he gained from reading, how utterly enchanting the written word was.

Pretending to be human meant that Aziraphale had a reason to enjoy food, sip all manner of drinks, relax in beautifully crafted clothing. He loved it all. Which should be enough to tell anyone that Aziraphale was not very good at resisting temptations. Especially small ones, that meant no one was harmed over.

Aziraphale’s hand raised before he was fully aware of it. He hesitated, withdrawing his hand back and shaking his head a fraction. As if needing a leash on the wayward right hand, Aziraphale held his fingers with the left; thumb and pointer playing with the gold signet ring on Aziraphale’s right pinky finger. He looked Crowley over again, once more noting he was indeed asleep before he allowed his hand to reach up and graze the fire locks.

The corners of Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled as his brows raised, yes, the hair was as soft as it looked, if a bit messy. His smile was no longer hiding as he gently touched the Fallen’s curls. Tenderly he brushed back the hair to get a better look at all of Crowley’s sleeping face. His fingers were light as they tucked some of the long strands behind a pointed ear, his fingers lingering over the snake tattoo that rested before Crowley’s right ear.

~*~*~*~

Crowley came awake to the soft strokes of someone brushing his hair. The temptation to allow this to continue as long as possible was too great. Keeping his eyes closed, Crowley relished in the tender sensation. It had been so long since someone touched him so gently, so long in fact he couldn’t pinpoint when the last time such a thing had happened. He was certain he never had his hair brushed for him since he became a Fallen, living in isolation. Crowley questioned whether someone had ever brushed his hair even before his curse. Favoured were not the touchy-feely type.

He decided that he didn’t want to think about the past or how lonely he had been, instead he would focus on the soothing hands playing in his hair. There was no tugging or harsh scrapes against his scalp, even when the Favoured came across a tangle in his hair, it was worked out with the utmost care. He was at ease in that moment, Crowley should have been panicked, at the very least worried; he was in a vulnerable position with his supposed enemy extremely close at hand. He should get mad because the Favoured clearly did not follow orders to stay out of the West Wing.

Crowley couldn’t bring himself to be anything but in relaxed bliss.

When the brushing stopped, he almost let out an audible whimper because it was over far too soon. The brush was replaced by deft hands that was working the hair. Crowley could feel that something was happening but had no clue as to what the Favoured was doing. “What are you up to…” It was in that moment Crowley remembered he did not actually know the other man’s name. A few strangled sounds later, after Crowley was done tripping over his tongue, he tried again, “What are you up to Angel?”

Aziraphale was surprised by the nickname, Angel, what a strange thing to call him. Humans created the mythology of Angels and Demons to explain the strange things that happen when Fallen and Favoured are about. Who is to say that Favoured were not Angels but by another name. Still, it was an odd thing to call him just because of the human stories. “I am braiding your hair Dear.”

Dear?! Crowley had not expected an endearment in return. “Yes, well… uh...ngk…” Crowley was worse than tongue-tied as his brain short-circuited and left him without any response at all.

Aziraphale was enjoying how Crowley’s pointed ears turned as red as his hair when he blushed. Who knew something he called everyone would have such an impact on Crowley? “When was the last time you tended to your hair? It was in such a state.”

“I think a couple of days, I had a long nap before my “mail delivery”. I didn’t think I needed to brush my hair before I left.”

“Ah yes, the matter of you delivering, what I am hoping is medicine. Although that Baker child got sick so suddenly she may have gotten ill due to poison.” Suddenly the hands that were styling his hair stopped. They were barely touching him but Crowley could feel the stiffness. “You are not at fault for people getting sick are you?” Aziraphale was horrified that he had just now thought of such a thing.

“Of course not! I have nothing to do with anyone getting sick. And I don’t hurt kids, my kind might do that sort of thing but that isn’t something I would do.” Crowley glanced as best he could over his shoulder to where Aziraphale was standing.

“Oh… you can hardly blame me for being suspicious you are a Fallen. A working apothecary that belongs to a Fallen would produce poisons, not medicines. That is why I wanted to ask you.”

“And you would believe me if I told you I didn’t poison random people?”

“Well, no? I supposed I should not.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I have no reason to believe or trust you.”

Crowley decided he didn’t want to hear how much of a beast he was because of the curse. “And why have you been poking about the West Wing, when I expressly told you not to.”

“You must realize the best way to get someone to do something you do not want them to do, is to tell them not to do it. Besides, I wanted to know what you were up to and hiding. Whether or not there was a cause for concern.”

“Of course there is cause for concern. It’s not like I am a nice person.”

“Mmhmm… do you mind terribly if I pluck a few roses?”

“You’ll do what you want anyway, so why ask?”

“You can hardly blame me for being curious,” Crowley felt the loss of heat from the Favoured’s body as he stepped away and towards some of the roses. “We have just met and did not speak much…”

“You wanted to stop talking,” Crowley interrupted. He received a raised brow and stern look for that one.

“Yes, well, we hardly spoke. It is my job to know what you are doing and to stop you. I see no reason to stop you from healing sick children, as I now know that is what you are doing.” Aziraphale walked back once he selected several beautiful white roses that would accent Crowley’s hair and eyes.

Crowley stiffened ever so slightly when the other was back, his fingers working with his hair once more, weaving the flowers through the tamed mane.

“Besides, I found myself rather bored. There is not much for me to do besides explore. Were I not your “prisoner”, I would happily be out of your hair and back at my bookshop.”

Crowley made an undignified sound, “We both know you are no prisoner Angel. So there must be another reason you are staying.”

“Curiosity. About you, you do not act like other Fallen I have come across or heard about. Ah, there we are. All done, and such a lovely sight.” Aziraphale beamed as he looked over his work. “I have been rather rude, as I have not properly introduced myself yet. I am Aziraphale.”

Crowley took several long moments for his brain to process everything Aziraphale had said in those short few sentences. “Yes..well.. Uh… You own a bookstore?”

“Yes, it is my disguise as I investigate the Fallen activity in this area.”

“You need a disguise?”

“If I wish to blend in with the humans, I should act like one.”

“People don’t notice things Angel. They happily go about their lives without ever noticing odd things happening. I suppose this means you like books?”

——————————————————

I regret nothing.

17 notes · View notes

carryonmywaywardwriters · 5 years

Text

Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: There! Finally got it to a more tolerable place. As usual, feedback is always incredible. I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Smut right from the get go. Pranking.

Word Count: Roughly 3,400

“God, Sam.” You moaned out; not caring who heard past the thin walls in the bunker.

His long fingers turned out to be good for something. As they stroked inside of you, you were sure you saw heaven. His mouth trailed hotly across your skin. Stopping only to suck here, and nibble there. So confident that it was nearly criminal. Almost as though he'd been trained to hit every sensitive spot a woman's body possessed.

Sam crooked up into your g-spot while his other thumb rubbed firmly over your clit. Driving you to the breaking point with every touch. You clawed at him. Begging him to give you more. He didn't give in, though. Not until you were screaming his name as you came.

The erection lining up to you was thick and heavy when you were able to focus, again. Your hips lifted, trying to meet him in the middle. Desperate for more. He wasted no time, pushing into your waiting body in a single thrust. Groaning at the slick feel of you squeezing around his dick. Sliding in a little deeper at your broken whimper.

As soon as you were ready, he picked up speed. His hand braced on the bed beside your head. The other guided your hips. You moved with him willingly; demanding everything he could give in the process.

His thrusts slammed your body further up the bed. The headboard rocked roughly into the wall. But, nothing slowed him down. If anything, you both fed off of the harsh sounds until you were crying out his name in another orgasm.

When you came back to earth, he paused just long enough to smirk down at you. Sweat stuck the chestnut locks to his forehead. His lips were a deeper pink from all the work he'd put in. Huffing deeply, he shattered the fantasy, “So... who's the one who can't last?”

Your eyes shot open at that arrogant line. Only to realize that you were alone in your bed. Again.

It was official. Sam Winchester had somehow, successfully destroyed your mind and ovaries. Using nothing more than his veiled threat the week before.

The first dream could be labeled as a fluke. By the fifth? It was undeniably a pattern.

With an annoyed groan, you climbed to your feet. A slow waddle to the mirror only proved the horrible truth. Your cheeks were still too warm. Eyes too dark and dilated. A light sheen of sweat still coated your skin.

The large jerk had ruined you. You curled your lip at the thought. Internally, you started talking yourself down.

Just because you two had one weird moment where sex charged the air didn't mean that you had to sleep with the man. It didn't matter that your body and subconscious had locked onto him. You'd sooner find a stranger.

You changed into a pair of jogging shorts and a loose tank top that had once been Alice's. Your phone was strapped to your arm, and headphones plugged into your ears before you headed out on your morning run; determined to get the younger Winchester off of your mind.

After all, remaining in the bunker after the night before would be dangerous. A small smile played on your lips as you jogged out into the daylight. Enjoy your day, Sammy...

–

“Just like that.” Sam coached in your ear as you whimpered lightly; grinding yourself against his erection.

His hands kneaded into your thighs in encouragement. It was a new experience. Being in complete control over you. Making you writhe. Forcing you to lose the never ending sass. It took every piece of self control to not turn his head a little further and clamp down on the damp skin of your throat.

You sank down on him slowly; digging your nails into his shoulders. A heavy gasp escaped your lips as your body stretched to accommodate his length. It was his turn to moan as he felt your wet heat squeeze lightly around him.

One hand gripped your ass, and the other dug into the flesh at your hip forcing your body to move how he wanted instead of the slow grind you'd tried to start. You'd been on the edge before he'd pulled you onto his lap from all the time he'd spent teasing your clit with his tongue. All it took was two deep, hard thrusts and you exploded around him with a scream.

When you started settling down, he kissed deeply along your throat. Yanking harshly on your hair enough to give his mouth access to the damp skin he'd wanted to taste. Resisting the urge to sink his teeth into the soft meat of it. Sam didn't give you much time to recover. A broken whine left your lips when his hips shoved upwards.

“Sam...please.” He wasn't quite sure if you were begging him to end the torture he'd been putting you through or if you wanted more. He just knew he didn't want you to stop.

“We're nowhere close to being done, Y/N.” He promised huskily, moving you along him with vigor.

“You're going to- oh!” Your head was thrown back as he hit a particularly sensitive area. “Kill me.” You panted out, scratching deeper into his bicep.

“That's the goal.”

In no time, he had you screaming yet again, “Sam!”

Sam's eyes opened slowly. To his empty bed. He was so hard it hurt. Far from the first occurrence. He'd started dreaming about you since your night of failed rebellion. His mind stuck on the unusual tension that had sprung up between the two of you before.

Over the week alone, Sam managed to keep you contained; much to your displeasure. You were clueless when it came to the inner workings of vehicles. Meanwhile, Sam had learned from the best- his older brother. It had been child's play.

The only downside? You were around nonstop. The dreams muddled his mind. Forcing him to zero in on you whenever you were within proximity.

The more he tried to ignore you, the more you seemed to pop up. He'd gone on a run the night before, thinking it would help clear his head. He'd almost crashed into you about a mile down. It was as if he had pissed off one of the fates again.

To make matters worse, you'd decided that he was the devil. Not Lucifer or Crowley.

You shot him dark looks, knowing he was the one who'd disabled your vehicle. However, that was far from the end. The meals had stopped; leaving him to fend for himself. His laundry ended up removed from the washer- sopping wet and soap filled- and left in the clothes basket. A million tiny things. Nothing compared to what he knew you were capable of, but it crept under his skin all the same.

As he climbed into the shower, he couldn't help but to acknowledge that he'd lucked out as a whole. You'd been more than merciful over the last few pranks. That is, until the noticed that the water running over his body carried a trace of grit.

“What the-” Sam looked up at the shower head, and sure enough, the water was the color of fresh blood. “Y/N...” He gritted his teeth tightly, tasting the hint of watered down koolaid that dripped over his face. He'd gotten too comfortable too soon.

The water ran cold before the water was usable. But, he was a hunter. He could tolerate that. Anything to get the cherry red dust off his skin. Sam settled into the spray, only to find that his soap wouldn't lather up. Closer inspection showed that it was covered in a clear sheen of nail polish. Distrustfully, he tested his shampoo. When his chest hair didn't simmer off, turn color, or any other noticeable side effect, he used it as a body wash.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the end. As he sprayed his cologne, Sam discovered it had been replaced with perfume. Not any perfume, though. It was a cloaking brand that filled his lungs until they burned.

When he turned on his computer afterwards in an attempt to find an excuse to leave the bunker, he couldn't access any of the icons on his screen. It took him roughly five minutes to figure out you'd hacked into it. You'd deleted all of his icons after changing the background to a screenshot of his usual desktop.

Having had enough, he shot to his feet. Slamming into your room, he found it empty. Every inch of the bunker left him suspicious. However, you were nowhere to be found.

Sam tugged out his cell to give you a piece of his mind. Only to find his phone stuck in Japanese. It took him half an hour to fix that one. He had no idea how you'd managed it all without him realizing, but he was too furious to appreciate the work you'd put into your revenge. He didn't even bother to call you when he was done fixing the device. Too wound up to speak coherently. Even to your voicemail.

When he went to attempt to prepare something edible to hold him over since you were on strike, the eggs wouldn't leave the carton. You'd glued them down. He smashed two, trying to pull them out. Sending the yolk all over his clean clothes. By the third, he thought he'd gotten clever. He cracked the egg over the pan. Instead, nothing happened when he'd carefully maneuvered it. Only to discover that it had been soft boiled. Just enough to throw him off, and keep him hungry.

The coffee he made ended up being a bitter tea. When he tried sweetening it a bit with sugar to make it more bearable, he discovered it was salt. The Oreo he went to eat was filled with toothpaste. Nothing in the bunker was safe to him after that.

It was an easy fix to get your car up and running. He was determined to get something to eat that hadn't been tampered with before hunting you down. As soon as the vehicle turned over, the windshield wipers went up; staining the window with black window paint right across his line of sight. He figured it would be a simple resolution. Only to find that there was no windshield wiper fluid left.

You might not have known how to work on a car, but you'd had no problem 'cleaning' the windshield until it was gone before dumping out the spare kept at the bunker. If he wanted to leave, he was going to have to scrub it off of the windshield the old fashioned way. Further delaying him.

He decided at that point that you were well on your way to being a Knight of Hell, at the very least. Crowley was less of a pain in the ass. Cursing your name, again, he slammed his head down on the horn.

“Hey,” Dean walked into Sam's room in the early afternoon.

“Hey, when'd you get back?” Sam pulled his shirt on. Still damp from his second shower of the day.

He'd been hoping to run into you during a jog, but you'd obviously found a way out of the bunker. The hunter hadn't seen you all day. It wasn't difficult to piece it together. You'd either sweet talked Bane into giving you a lift, or had hitchhiked the hell out of the area. He grudgingly acknowledged that you'd planned it all out rather well.

“About ten minutes ago.” Dean glanced out to see if anyone was around before he shut the door. Making sure you didn't walk by to hear what he had to say. “Now...what did you want to talk about?”

Sam had called him that morning, raving like a lunatic. Demanding to talk everything over with his older brother. Apparently the reminder didn't settle well with the younger man. He winced at the memory.

“Just needed to be sure of something.” Sam ran his hand through his damp hair. Looking more sheepish than ever before.

“Shoot.” Dean nodded warily, leaning against his brother's desk.

“You and Y/N... you're not...” Sam trailed off with a pointed little, awkward, shrug. Saying it without actually having to say, or rather ask, it.

“Oh.” Dean straightened up as if he'd been stabbed. “Oh, no.” His face scrunched at the very idea. “I mean, she's...she's something real special. I'd have to be blind not to have noticed. But, no.” A shudder ran through the hunter. After a moment of thought, he continued. “Kissed her once. Not too long after I met her. It was just... not passionate.” He wrinkled his nose at the memory. It'd been the most awkward romantic experience in his life. Then, it clicked who was asking the question. “Why?”

“I always...well, I kind of thought...” Sam trailed off, and nodded to hedge the idea out. Dean got the message loud and clear. His face contorted at the very thought. “It's stupid. Never mind.”

“Damn right, it is.” Your best friend hissed out in dismay. “What the fuck brought this on, anyway?”

“Not what you're thinking.” The younger brother managed dryly.

“Then what, Sam?” Dean wasn't convinced. There was just something about his brother's face. Sam had almost looked relieved to hear it from him.

“She just went out, and it got me thinking.” Sam brushed it off, kicking his feet up on his bed. “Didn't seem quite right for her to go out to try and get laid if she had something going on with you.”

“Right.” He didn't buy it for a second. His eyes narrowed in obvious warning as he looked over at the taller of the two. “She's going to be back in a few hours. No paybacks, Sam. As far as I'm concerned, you two are even. I'm not getting caught in the middle of this. Again.”

“You don't want toothpaste stuffed Oreos?” Sam's smile twisted up wryly.

“You're the one who hit hard first.” Dean pointed out, loyally. “She just took it up a notch. Don't dish it out if you can't take it, Sam...” Trailing off, he turned to sniff. A second followed. He'd noticed it when it first came in, but it was getting stronger with the door shut. “Dude, why does your room smell like lavender?”

“Y/N. Hidden air fresheners. I've found three so far. ” He glowered as he took a deep breath.

At first he'd thought it was a kind gesture. A peace offering of sorts. Then, it had grown to be overwhelming as time went on. His eyes watered from the strength of the stench.

It was revenge. Plain and simple. He'd never be able to smell lavender the same way. A hell of a problem since most women seemed to be fond of it.

“Well,” Dean didn't bother to try to hide his grin. “Could have been worse. Could have been Cod, like I suggested...”

“You were helping her?” Things were rough enough with the one against him. Sam would be powerless against both.

“She didn't listen to anything I suggested.” Dean shrugged; his lip popping out in a small pout. “I guess she did okay on her own.” Okay? Sam's mind couldn't wrap around the word. You'd passed 'okay' on the prank scale once you'd hit his computer. You'd excelled at the war.

“Whose side are you on?” Sam asked, grudgingly. Wondering just how much ammunition you'd been given.

“I'm neutral territory, Sammy.” Dean grinned broadly. Then, it fell slightly as his mind started working.

“What?”

“You're my brother...I'd do anything for you...” Dean's jaw worked as he forced the words out. “I'm asking this as a favor to me, not for her. She'd kill me if she knew I was talking to you about this...” Sam narrowed his eyes a bit. Not liking where it was going. “Lay off a bit. She's having a hard time, lately.”

“You think I'm the cause?” Sam didn't buy it. Not with how you'd risen to battle.

“Part of it.” Dean answered honestly. “I think there's more to it than that, though.” His hand came up, wiping across his face lightly. “She's living for us, Sam. But, she never gets out. She never gets to meet new people...”

“Dean.... no-”

“I want her to come out on the road with us. It's been a bit since she's been out on her own. She's probably a bit rusty. With both of us there, there's no chance of her getting hurt.” Sam didn't agree. At all.

Dean was going to get you killed. He was sure of it. When he'd tried to mention it, Dean was unconvinced. Sam wasn't getting a choice in the matter. Great. Just great.

–

You'd stayed away until you were absolutely positive you had Dean as a buffer after the- totally justified- warfare tactics you'd thrown towards his brother. You hadn't seen him until Dean called you to dinner.

The table was lined with take out. He had no idea what you'd contaminated during your prank frenzy, and didn't bother to find out. Smart man. You were the only one who knew what all had been hit.

It was hard not to take great pleasure in the bit of hesitancy Sam had when he saw you. It took him too long to sit. As if the chair would fall apart beneath him. You weren't that juvenile. You'd simply hit where you knew it would hit the hardest. His chair hadn’t been included in the mix.

Small talk filled the room as you all scarfed down the Chinese. About the current hunt. The upcoming one.

“We want you to come with us.” Dean stated simply, making your fork stop before it could reach your open mouth. Slowly, you lowered it back to your carton. Your brows pinched together as you replayed the word 'we' in your mind. “Right, Sam?” Dean looked pointedly at his brother, who appeared to be more put out than anything. But, he nodded, and even tried to send you a friendly smile. Now, that's new. Your eyes narrowed distrustfully in response, making Sam turn to his brother with a look that said 'told you'. “See? It'll be great.” The older brother did his little fake smile, as if he was truly convinced the hunt wouldn't end in death of you or Sam. “Please?”

“I want my own room-”

“Deal.” Dean agreed, slamming his hand down on the table hard enough to make you and Sam both jump at the sound. Wide eyed you stared at him. He cleared his throat lightly, and pulled his food closer to him. “It's settled then.” He took a bite, looking down to try and play cool.

“You didn't even hear the rest of my stipulations.” You pointed out, a small smile pulling your lips almost downwards as you tried to hold it back.

Dean's head shook fiercely, “Doesn't matter. We'll do it.”

“We will?” Sam turned to his brother as if he'd sold his soul again. A grunt followed a thump, before a pained look your way. You had little doubt that Dean's boot had hit Sam's shin. A pitiful, entirely false, smile was sent your way before he gritted out, “We will.”

“Well then,” You grinned towards Sam, mischief glinting in your eyes. “Who am I to say no?” If looks could kill, you would have been a goner.

Dean carried an air that was a little apprehensive, but determined. You? Sam would describe it as devious, and plotting.The older man saw something else, though.

You appeared more thoughtful as you glanced over at Sam after a moment. Almost hopeful. As if you wanted the chance to prove yourself to the other half of the Winchester duo. He turned his eyes back to his sibling. Sammy kept peeking your way when he thought it was clear.

Something had shifted. It was subtle, but undeniable. Dean chewed his food, looking between you two for a second time. He definitely hadn't imagined it. As if it hadn't been bad enough before...

Part Five

Tag: @burningmusicmachine @missmarrinette @sherlockedtash88 @rathersuspiciousbumblebee @sasbb23

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger

223 notes · View notes

alysmarylin · 5 years

Text

I love you - I know (Good Omens fic)

Aziraphale was reading in the living room of Crowley’s apartment, sitting in an armchair that Crowley bought for him along with the floor lamp. The armchair and the lamp were completely out of style with the rest of the room, and Aziraphale never thought that someone, as obsessed with style as Crowley, would commit such a horrible crime against the integrity of the interior design. The armchair was light-yellow and the lamp was warm brown, almost identical to the one he had at the bookshop. Crowley offered to buy them himself, the first time Aziraphale said he’d like to read in the living room while Crowley sleeps when he doesn’t want to sleep himself.

“Choose whichever you like” – he told Aziraphale, - “Just make sure it’ll fit”.

“But what about the style?” – Aziraphale asked him, - “Such a… patch on otherwise perfect composition of colors and textures. It will bother you when I’m not here”

“No, it will remind me of you. It will be my favorite spot” – Crowley told him. It was during the first weeks of their relationship. Now it has almost been a year since they lived together.

Aziraphale heard illegible noises from Crowley’s room. Some of them sounded like Crowley’s voice, some of them – like rustling of blankets and sheets. It seemed like Crowley woke up. Sadly, Aziraphale knew what that meant – nightmares.

Crowley never woke up in the middle of the night if nothing bothered him. He liked to sleep until nine or ten in the morning at the very least. Frankly, so did Aziraphale. But Crowley always got up before him to make breakfast. Aziraphale knew it was one of the ways Crowley demonstrated his love. One of the many ways. Even now, within a year, the magnitude of Crowley’s love for him, both fierce and tender, astounded Aziraphale. He couldn’t be happier to be loved like that, as he was madly in love with Crowley himself, except for one thing. Crowley’s fears. Fuel for nightmares.

They never really talked about what happened the day Aziraphale’s bookshop burnt down. Ever since the non-Apocalypse, they focused on each other and their respective feelings and only memories they liked to discuss were those of the times they spent together. He didn’t know much of what happened when the bookshop burnt, only that Crowley came there – even after everything Aziraphale told him – and thought that Aziraphale was murdered by either Heaven or Hell. Aziraphale hated to think of Crowley, walking into the flames and screaming into an empty room, knowing full well his stupidity caused that trouble. He also knew that Crowley gave up on his fleeing plan, and instead chose to wait for the world to end and for himself to be destroyed by Hell, while drinking in some pub, grieving for his best friend. It was only then when Aziraphale finally realized that Crowley loved him and he hated himself for his obliviousness. Only when he knew that Aziraphale wasn’t gone, Crowley decided to fight for the world – he drove through fire and stopped the time, but somehow Aziraphale knew it wasn’t done to save humanity. Crowley did that to stay with him. Aziraphale tried to make amends for all the cruel things he told Crowley, and, hopefully, those wounds were healing, but he couldn’t wash away the horror of that fire from Crowley’s memory.

Crowley never told him it was the fire that troubled him in his nightmares, but Aziraphale understood it without words. As Crowley woke up, he always asked where they were and demanded to turn the light on, to see Aziraphale’s face. He demanded to touch him as well, and that broke Aziraphale’s heart every time – “he wants to know if I’m real”. After that Crowley told him that everything was fine and either went back to sleep or got up. Several times Aziraphale tried to talk to Crowley about the fire, but Crowley always refused. “Maybe later”, he said. He also double-checked all the sockets in the bookshop and once made a huge scene when saw Aziraphale lighting a candle – that was their first real fight. Aziraphale hated his helplessness. All he could do was be there for him when he woke up, sweating and shaking.

He entered Crowley’s room and saw him sitting on his bed. He turned the nightlight on and sat by Crowley’s side.

- Angel… - Crowley said, breathing heavily. – Where are we?

- At your place, love. East End. – Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and kissed his forehead, to let him know he was real. Crowley’s forehead was sweaty.

- It’s not a bookshop? – Crowley asked, looking confused, his eyes golden without a single white spot.

- Does it look like my bookshop, Crowley? – Aziraphale said, taking Crowley in his arms. – Don’t say anything, my love. I’m here.

- Crowley closed his eyes and nuzzled in Aziraphale’s neck. Slowly, his breath was calming down. Aziraphale let go of him, and Crowley sat straight on the bed.

- Do you want to go back to sleep? – Aziraphale asked.

- No, I’ve had enough, it seems. – Crowley sighed, stretching out. – What time is it?

- Around three in the morning.

- Stay here, please – Crowley asked him, getting back under the blanket. – I’m not ready to get up yet. Want to hug you.

Aziraphale got under the blanket, and let Crowley wrap arms and legs around him while putting his head on Aziraphale’s chest. Crowley loved to do that, and Aziraphale loved it even more. Crowley was physically stronger than him, more emotionally stable (even with all his dramatic gestures), he did all the housework and cared about Aziraphale in every possible way, protecting him from the world he deemed too harsh and cruel for his beloved angel. But when he lied like that he was vulnerable and small, needing protection and warmth himself, and Aziraphale loved to see him like that.

- “Crowley”. – Aziraphale said quietly, breathing in the smell of Crowley’s hair. – “What do you think of a little road trip?”

- “Where to?” – Crowley muttered, sleepily.

- “Oxford” – Aziraphale said. – “Let’s go to Oxford. Might even stay there”.

- “Hmm. Yeah, why not. I like Oxford”. – Crowley’s voice became louder and less drowsy – “I remember a lake there… There were…”

- “DUCKS!” – they said simultaneously and laughed. Aziraphale kissed Crowley on the top of his head. Crowley let out a pleased moan and moved his head to a pillow near Aziraphale’s head.

- “We might even stay in Oxford for some time”, - Aziraphale went on, - “It’s lovely there this time of the year”.

- “Hmm, what about your bookshop?” – Crowley asked.

- “Forget about the bookshop”. – Aziraphale scoffed. – “I’ll find someone to look after it. In fact… If you’ll like it there, we may move”.

Crowley looked genuinely surprised.

- “You can’t be serious. You? Leaving London?”

- “Oh, please. I can leave London if I wish. I managed to live without London for some long centuries”.

- “When?!” – Crowley’s eyebrows raised in amazement.

- “When it hadn’t been founded yet, Crowley!” – Aziraphale turned on his side to be face to face with Crowley. – “Look, what I’m trying to say that everything has changed. If we want to, we can move. It still will be home”.

Crowley smiled.

- “Well, Oxford it is, then. But no earlier than six o’clock. What are we gonna do till then?”

- “We can watch telly? “

- “And listen to all that Brexit crap, please… I already have a headache.”

- “Watch a movie?”

Crowley looked like he was thinking about something very serious.

- “Well, hghm…” - Crowley said, frowning – “We’ll have to pick the right movie, then…”

- “Crowley”, - Aziraphale said with a smile. – “I know perfectly well that you love Keira Knightly period dramas. I’ve known it since 2003. Come on, I like them too”.

Crowley didn’t answer and looked somewhat puzzled and nervous.

- “Darling”, - Aziraphale went on, teasingly – “I am your husband. You really don’t have to be ashamed of that. You’ve got plenty of other things to be ashamed of…”

- “Like what?!” – Crowley said, struggling not to smile and sitting up.

- “Like those trousers you wore in 2005, for a start…” - Aziraphale went on, giggly, sitting up too.

- “Those pants were just fine!” – Crowley exclaimed with fake seriousness, now smiling broadly.

- “They were a disaster, dear.”

- “You were still in love with me!” – Crowley said, grinning

- “I was”. – Aziraphale made a fake-sad face. – “And it broke my heart. Your allegiance to Hell, for one thing, and the pants. But mainly pants…”

- “You’re a smug pants-shaming bastard, you know that?” – Crowley laughed. – “Come here, come!”

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale in his arms, as they both were still giggling and murmured something, as he kissed Aziraphale above his temple, in the mess of blonde curls.

- “What are you saying, Crowley?” – Aziraphale asked.

- “You know”. – Crowley answered while nuzzling in Aziraphale’s hair.

- “No, say it properly”. – Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley let go of Aziraphale and looked him in the eyes with a happy smile.

- “I love you”. – he said, looking blissful.

- “I know”. – Aziraphale answered.

Crowley raised his eyebrows and made a face that said “I’M INSULTED”, but smiling with the corners of his lips.

- “I know”? “I know”?! That’s all I get, princess?”

- “It was Han Solo who said that line, not princess Leia” – Aziraphale said arrogantly, smiling himself.

- “Oh, a Star Wars expert here?” – Crowley laughed.

- “Well, more of an expert than you…”

- “What, now you’re gonna tell me you were best pals with George bloody Lucas?”

- “No, that was Stanley Kubrick”. – Aziraphale answered with a smug smile.

Now Crowley was genuinely shocked.

- “You’re lying!” – he shouted, still smiling.

- “No, I’m not”. – Aziraphale answered calmly with the same smile. – “I’ve got pictures with Stanley if you don’t believe me”.

- “No way, absolutely no way” – Crowley went on. – “Kubrick was my favorite, I’ve been to every premiere, I never saw you there!”

- “That’s because I was behind the stage.”

- “Where?” – Crowley’s face reflected his deep disbelief.

- “A Clockwork Orange, for a start…” - Aziraphale said, with a smirk.

- “Enough!” – Crowley grabbed Aziraphale and pinned him to the bed. – “Enough with the cinephilic lies. I’ll put an end to it.”

- “I’m not lying”. – Aziraphale sneered, lying on his back.

- “A lying arrogant snobbish know-it-all of an angel”. – Crowley said with his grin softening to a gentler smile – “That’s what I got for putting my car on fire…”

- “Any regrets?: – Aziraphale asked, playfully.

- “Ogghhh, never” – Crowley lowered down to kiss him – “I adore you…”

Aziraphale loved the kiss, but still couldn’t help but giggle. It made Crowley laugh too.

- “What?” – Crowley asked, grinning himself – “What is it with you today?”

- “Ah, Crowley”. – Aziraphale said mockingly – “If I knew how you’d react on that Kubrick thing I would’ve bragged about it a long…”

- “Alright, I’ve had it” – Crowley interrupted him, struggling really hard not to laugh. – “I’m gonna turn that light off and…”

Crowley leaned to a nightlight, but couldn’t reach it.

- “What is it with you and the lights, Crowley? Are you timid, afraid to be seen? “– he asked, teasingly.

Crowley now couldn’t help laughing and leaned back on the bed, burying his face in Aziraphale’s chest, while wrapping his arms around him.

- “Crowley, you do know that I love you more than anything, don’t you?”– Aziraphale said, suddenly serious.

Crowley stopped laughing and moved further, to look Aziraphale in the eyes.

- “I do”. – he smiled gently.

- “Do you want to talk about…” - Aziraphale didn’t finish, but he knew that Crowley understood what he meant.

- “Not yet”. – Crowley answered, a bit sadly. – “So… Oxford?”

- “Yes”. – Aziraphale answered. – “When you’re ready to get up”.

- “Breakfast?” – Crowley said, smiling gently.

Aziraphale shook his head.

- “Well, then” – Crowley said. – “We’ve got plenty of time. I’m not shy about the light, I’ll show it…”

#aziraphale #crowley #good omens fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #fluffy #fan fic #fiction #fanfiction #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #crowley aziraphale #aziracrow #aziraley

38 notes · View notes

sierrajanesims · 5 years

Text

A Demon's Garden Tips

“Crowley tries to teach Aziraphale how to water his plants.”- @the-chemical-defect

Thanks for the prompt!

The first time Aziraphale visits Crowley’s flat was the 25th of April 1953. They had been drinking and debating about DNA and what the humans might do with the new knowledge when on the way back to Aziraphale’s shop the angel remembered that he didn’t have any scotch and he was really craving some that night wouldn’t you know; so Crowley turned the Bentley around and made a stop off at his place to get “supplies”. He hadn’t meant for Aziraphale to follow him up to the flat. Hadn’t meant for the angel to sit down primly on the stiff, fashionable couch in the living room and wait for a glass. He absolutely did not expect Aziraphale to see his plants in the next room.

“Oh! Oh, my dear! What lovely plants you have.” He exclaimed and gratefully took the glass filled to generous three fingers.

“Wha? Oh yeah.” The demon muttered making a vague hand gesture towards them. “Guess they’re alright. They definitely looked better before I left last week,”he growled to seemingly no one in particular and somehow Aziraphale missed the shudder of the leaves, “but I’m sure they’ll right themselves.”

“How do you water them while you’re gone? Do you have a drip system?” The angel inquired taking a deep sip from his glass and wiggling in pleasure at the warmth spreading down. Oh he did love a nice scotch.

“Huh? Nah...I just encourage them to stay hydrated while I’m away. Usually not gone a whole week though and miracles really do dull the colors of them.”

Aziraphale perked up and with the most beatific smile he offered, “Oh! Well if you need a plant sitter the next time you’re away do let me know, dear! I’d be so glad to help.” Crowley looked the angel up and down with a smirk.

“Angel, I’ve seen your plants over the years. I’d trust you with my plants just as soon as you’d trust me with Holy Water.” The angel grimaced at the comparison and icily replied, “Ah. So never I take it.”

* * *

Turns out that would happen a lot faster than Crowley or Aziraphale imagined, but neither thought about the plant discussion until August of 1969 when Crowley had been instructed to spend two weeks in America.

“Some bloody music festival I guess.” Crowley muttered into his wine glass three nights before his scheduled departure. “Won’t even bloody need me there. Humans’ll do all their own tempting.” Aziraphale nodded along supportively and leaned to refill the demons glass.

“Truly a pity my dear. Just bad luck it’s in America as well.” He mumbled with a very slight smirk. Crowley, ever eagle-well, snake-eyed noticed and called him out on it.

“Something funny about this angel? Hmm? Want to share with the class?” The blond gave him an exasperated look and shifted in his seat.

“Really, darling, must you always be so contrary? I’ve said nothing.”

“Yes but you’re thinking something, I can tell. Have you forgotten how long those bloody flight to America are? Don’t get me started on the state my bloody plants will be in when I get back.” Aziraphale glanced up innocently.

“Well, dear, I do believe you said you wouldn’t trust me to care for your plants until I trusted you enough to give you holy water and I do believe there is a certain thermos in your possession now…” He trailed off suggestively and Crowley stared at him blankly.

“You want to water my plants for me?”

“Well yes. I’d like to assist you if possible. After all, the Arrangement...lend a hand whenever necessary…” They both pointedly ignored that the Arrangement didn’t include any personal favors.

The demon scowled at him for a moment and then seemingly gave in.

“Fine. Come by tomorrow afternoon and I’ll show you the routine.”

“Excellent. More wine?”

* * *

“-And this is the Chinese Evergreen plant. Make sure the sun stays away from it. The soil has to be moist at all times and don’t let that temperature drop below 15 degrees alright? Now, I’ve told you all the watering and light information there’s just one more thing.”

The angel who-God bless him-had brought along a notepad and pen scratched a line to show a separate topic and looked up studiously for the final piece of instruction.

“Now, I’m sure you’ve heard about that german fellow Fechner or whatever and his whole ‘talking to plants’ spiel.” Aziraphale had not but he nodded along anyway to speed up the process. Crowley eyed him like he knew but beyond arching a brow he made no show of confrontation.

“Right, well I try to spend at least ten minutes a day talking to the plants. You’ll find that this side of the room responds best to threats of underwatering, whereas this side really reacts to the sound of the garbage disposal. If any of the bastards start showing you any trouble don’t hesitate to shred em.”

There was a stunned silence.

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale queried calmly.

Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Pay attention angel I said-”

“-I know what you said! I think maybe I’m misunderstanding.”

Crowley nodded along and replied, “Ah ok I’ll give you a demonstration then.” Lanky legs swayed over to the Chinese Evergreen and Aziraphale certainly noticed the shaking this time.

“Listen here you little shit. My acquaintance Aziraphale here will be keeping an eye on you for a couple weeks and I swear to Satan if you step out of line I will be very cross, and you all know how I can get when I’m cross.” He snapped his fingers and in the room next door the garbage disposal roared to life and the room sounded as if a harsh breeze were blowing through.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted. The demon looked over to find his little sweet angel vibrating in anger. “I don’t think the point of talking to the plants was to terrify them!”

“Seems to work for me, Angel.” He replied easily, glancing at all the lush, verdant plants around them.

“I won’t shout at your plants Crowley.”

“C’mon Angel, you said you’d do what I told you!”

“Within reason Crowley! I don’t think it necessary to threaten the foliage.” He sniffed disapprovingly and Crowley threw his hands in the air.

“Great. You’re gonna bloody pamper them aren’t you?” The angel wisely chose not to answer and instead stashed his notebook.

“I think I have the required information, my dear. Now, if you’d be so kind I think I could really use a glass of....whatever you have handy.”

Crowley would return two weeks later to a plant room that not only felt stiflingly of Love, but a Chinese Evergreen that had somehow blossomed despite not being the type to flower.

Aziraphale was promptly banned from plant care and even decades later in a cozy cottage in the South Downs a demon could be heard berating his greenery into peak form while an angel quietly and secretly undid the psychological damage at night while the demon slept.

#good omens #drabble #ficlet #longer than I intended #crowley #aziraphale #ineffible husbands #plant #plant abuse #thank god for google #prompt #fanfic prompt #authorchick13

19 notes · View notes

postmastered · 5 years

Text

You’re My Best Friend

A/N: wrote my first official fic!!!!! its good omens!!!!!! surprise!!!!!!!!!!! OH ALSO

bladow Ao3 link!!!

Warnings: crying, alcohol, getting drunk and sad

Words: 1,582

Aziraphale and Crowley had just had a very nice dinner at the Ritz, eventually leading them to go back to the angel’s shop to, well, to quote Aziraphale, “have some of this delicious wine I’d gotten so long ago” but he’d never gotten the chance to drink it himself, bookstore duties and such kept him busy. The two went into the shop, Aziraphale removing his coat and bowtie as to not accidentally spill liquor on them. It had happened before, and he’d made a single malcontent noise and Crowley had gotten rid of the stain immediately.

Crowley, on the other hand, had sauntered his way over to the back end of the shop, searching for wherever Aziraphale kept that fabled wine of his. “Angel! I can’t find the blasted alcohol!”

Aziraphale hurried over soon enough, shifting about the corner of the shop and eventually finding it in an even smaller corner of the corner of the shop. How queer. It was resting on a stack of books, mostly Jeffery Archer books. He stretched to try and grab it, going on his tiptoes and only merely being able to brush it with his fingers.

Crowley rolled his eyes, moving over and snatching up the bottle easily. Aziraphale turned around to face him and pouted slightly. “I’d almost gotten it, I didn’t need help.”

Crowley chuckled, petting the other on the head and waltzing back to the center of the shop. “Yeah, yeah, and I’m a normal mortal with an odd obsession with witches.” He’d smiled slightly at Aziraphale’s yell of “Mr. Shadwell is a very good man!” and flopped onto a nearby cushiony chair as the angel waddled into the room. Not walked, waddled.

Aziraphale stood for a couple seconds in thought before visibly having an epiphany and moving over to the record player, picking up a couple of them and plopping them into Crowley’s lap.

Crowley looked at the first record on the stack, smiling a big, toothy smile at the cover art. He looked back up at Aziraphale, the angel shifting his weight from one foot to the other in nervousness.

“Do you like them?” He asked quietly. The demon stood, Aziraphale moving back respectfully. Just as to not get into his personal space, as any good being would do. Crowley’s smile went slightly softer, and Aziraphale did not just feel his heart skip a beat, whatever do you mean?

“I love them, angel.” That mere sentence led them to where they were now, drunk as all Heaven, stumbling about in an odd attempt at dancing and singing slightly off key to various Queen songs, Aziraphale eventually slumping in a chair and giggling as he watched Crowley dance to Keep Yourself Alive, not having as much stamina as the demon. As the song ended, Crowley sat on the floor next to Aziraphale’s chair, listening to the other’s little giggling fest he had going on with himself, going to a halt as he heard the first couple notes of My Fairy King trickled from the record player. The two supernatural beings, occult and ethereal, looked at each other, Crowley’s glasses propped up on his head, Aziraphale’s eyes not blinking a single time.

Crowley’s lips stretched into a smile as he quickly stood, nodding his head once to make his glasses fall back onto his face and grabbing Aziraphale’s hand, the other going up with a yelp, stumbling as Crowley tugged him over to the center of the shop. Crowley sauntered in a circle as he sung the lyrics to the song, Aziraphale rushing to do the same. Crowley only stumbled occasionally and slurred his speech slightly, but he still sounded wonderful. Aziraphale didn’t know the lyrics too well, but he did try and sing the accompaniment.

“In the land with horses born with eagle wings and honey bees have lost their stings, there’s singing forever…”

“Ooh yeah!” They occasionally sung parts together, otherwise it was mostly Crowley singing the actual lyrics while Aziraphale stuck to what he knew.

“Lion’s den with fallow deer, and rivers made from wine so clear flow on and on forever, and baby lambs where Samson dares to go on…” Eventually they went from only Crowley singing with Aziraphale piping up ever so often to the both of them singing to the best of their abilities. After the next few lines they got to the third and fourth verses, much more exciting than the previous two, which is when Crowley linked their arms and brought them into a march around the center of the bookstore, raucous singing included.

“Then came man to savage in the night! To run like thieves and to kill like knives, to take away power from the magic hand, to bring about the ruin to the promised laaaaaaand!” They eventually spun about the little shop with hands tangled with hands, singing the fourth verse with as much joy and happiness as supernaturally possible. “They turn the milk into sour like the blue in the blood of my veins!”

“Why can’t you see it?”

“Fire burnin’ in hell with the cry of screaming paaaain!”

“Son of heaven set me free and let me go!”

“Sea turns dry no salt from sand, seasons dry, no helping hand! Teeth don’t shine like pearls for poor men’s eyeeeees!”

“No more!”

They broke apart after the fourth verse, back facing the other’s. Their voices turned soft, Crowley singing with the memories of heaven he’d held so dear before he’d fallen, Aziraphale singing with the softness he still has.

‘’Someone….”

“Someone…”

“…has drained the color from my wings…”

“…b-broken my fairy circle ring…” Aziraphale stuttered in that line alone, just because he could physically feel the bittersweet softness in these lines alone, it nearly made his heart break, and as a being of love, that would not be ideal.

“…and shamed the king in all his pride…”

“…changed the winds and wronged the tides…”

“Mother Mercury, look what they’ve done to me…” In this moment, Crowley stretched out his wings, Aziraphale feeling them brush against his shoulder blades. His breath hitched, feeling tears well up in his eyes. Crowley had fallen just because he’d hung around the wrong people, asked too many questions, as he said. Aziraphale lost a flaming sword, raised the wrong child, lied directly to the Almighty, and yet he was still an angel. It wasn’t fair. He should be the fallen one, he should be the demon, not Crowley.

Crowley never did anything wrong.

“…I cannot run, I cannot hide…” Aziraphale sung softly, albeit he was slightly choked. He heard the gentle sound of wings retreating back to fold against their owner, then disappear. He heard the record being removed from the player, and soft footsteps walking over to him.

“Angel?” Crowley’s soft voice made Aziraphale’s bottom lip quiver, a single tear rolling down his face. A sound that heavenly should not have ever been allowed to leave heaven.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

Everything. The angel-angel, sure, what a phony-did not say the word directly, but the thought pounded in his skull. He distantly felt Crowley slowly tilt his head toward him, and that’s when Aziraphale broke, letting out a harsh sob, stumbling forward to bury his head in Crowley’s chest and sob.

“I-It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have been cast out, y-you never did anyt-thing wrong!” Aziraphale yelled, his cries of anguish turning to wracking sobs and screams. Crowley unfurled his wings again, curling them around the other in a cocoon of soft feathers as the ethereal being sobbed into Crowley’s shirt and clung to his jacket. Crowley sobered up, as to keep his head about things, burying his fingers into the angel’s hair as Aziraphale shook in his arms and wings. Crowley smelled like licorice and slightly of alcohol, like a muted sweetness that made Aziraphale pull him even closer, the demon not hesitating to wrap his arms around the other, murmuring words of comfort and affection as the angel sniffled softly. Crowley picked him up and brought him over to one of the plush couches in the store, kneeling next to it and cupping Aziraphale’s tear stained cheek, covering him with one of his wings, eventually pulling a soft blanket over him and letting his wings fold up and disappear once again.

“Get some rest, angel.”

“But we don’t need sleep-“

“There’s nothing better than a nap after a bit of an emotional breakdown, just trust me on that one…’’

“I- Okay. Can you stay here though, please?”

Crowley looked unsure for a moment before softening and letting Aziraphale curl around him like a koala on the couch. He gently pulled the blanket over the two of them, Aziraphale’s cheek smushed against his chest, staring at the other’s soft smile before his own appeared on the angel’s face. He settled, hands slowly letting go of his jacket, Crowley realizing the angel- his angel, had fallen asleep from pure emotional exhaustion. He smiled to himself as he miracled the lights in the store to turn off, removing his glasses and settling in to doze off. He distantly thought that Aziraphale should have sobered up before falling asleep, but then remembered angels probably couldn’t get hangovers. Probably. He fell asleep, dreaming of whatever he liked best, (Aziraphale) and neither of them let go of the other in their sleep, keeping each other close all throughout the night, nor Heaven, Hell, or anyone else for that matter even thinking of disturbing the two.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #go aziraphale #go crowley #tw crying #tw alcohol #tw alcohol mention #tw angst #HHHHH IM SO EXCITED TO SEE EVERYONE'S REACTIONS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

11 notes · View notes

ethereal-addy · 5 years

Text

{ about addy; the musical angel, good omens oc }

name: addy

title: principality addy / the angel of song / music

appearance: she has caramel toned skin and dark chocolate brown eyes. while the eyes are nothing special from afar, they have little flickers of gold in them that tend to flare up when she gets passionate, she has short pixie cut hair that stands at a very light blonde almost white color. she also tends to wear very harry potter-esque glasses with a black frame and large lenses that are moreover for looks rather than actually seeing as she's an angel with perfect vision.

fashion / style: when around other angels, addy tends to wear a very masculine type of formal outfit consisting of a white fitted button up shirt, a light almost pale blue bowtie, a light-toned grey fitted blazer jacket, light-toned grey dress pants, and white mens funtasma platformed shoes. she also has light blue suspenders to match her bowtie and while it's only visible when she takes off her blazer jacket, she almost never tends to take it off so it's more of a given aspect of her outfit. / when in public and back on earth she tends to wear outfits that are more reminiscent of korean fashion or 'soft' fashion as it has been referred to as by mortals. she will usually wear either white or light pastel short sleeved croptop or longsleeve white croptop sweaters with different logos and words upon them of all kinds, and these tops will usually be tucked into or be paired with a checkered pencil skirt, shorts, or faded light blue denim jeans. however if she's feeling a bit more confident, she will wear more vibrant, dark colors such as a black long-sleeved sweater with the sleeves rolled up and a watch on the wrist, dark blue denim jeans, a black and white grey-toned flannel tied securely around her waist and black platformed boots. that is something that doesn't really tend with her outfits, as she tends to wear either light pastel, white, or black formed boots or shoes of some sort to make herself appear taller.

height: addy stands at 5'0, so she's a little on the short side

sensitive(?): physically wise, her skin is very tender and sensitive so she bruises easily, but she tends not care or just wears outfits that cover it up. mentally wise, she's actually a very sensitive person, known to blow certain things out of proportion. but she's also sensitive in the sense that she tends to instantly become happy or her day and eyes just sparkle and brighten whenever someone calls her a nickname or something of the sort, the same thing for when she's sad, but she usually just isolates herself and breaks down. ( can we sense a bit of a.. espresso depresso angel who tends to repress her feelings? )

wings: as addy is smaller than the average angel, her wings are shorter as well. while the average angel wings are usually maybe double their actual height hers are only a foot larger than her actual height. her wings can outstretch to 2 meters ( 6 feet ) and when folded behind her back, they are a good foot above her head to show the height. her wings are a very light shade of pink, close to being white and have small glitters of gold in them that are more prominent when in the sunlight

flying(?): while angels are known for flying as per their wings and the human depictions of them, addy can't fly as well as other angels. flying city to city is no problem for her, but state to state or country to country is too much for her to handle and is more of a miracle thing. of course whenever armagedon is coming and addy goes back up to heaven, she has to gear up for a fight, but she's not a strong flyer, so instead they had be a healer ( where are my mercys at? )

abilities: of course being an angel means that she can perform miracles and heal people, her healing abilities differ as she is an angel of song. from healing broken bones, healing bruises, reviving wilted flowers and fixing uprooted trees, her healing abilities are a little different than other angels. she has the ability of being able to manipulate / control life energy to heal or restore living beings back to their original state, and while it sounds a bit overpowered, her powers are weak. she can't do anything worthwhile without her abilities, the most she could do is heal a cut on your arm from scissors. but with music involved? now we're talking. when she plays an instrument, her powers are conducted through the instruments making them stronger than before, but it doesn't automatically get amplified, it also depends on how into a song she is. for example, she was once in an old park, one that hadn't been cared for in many a moon, so whenever she came along with a guitar in hand began to play and sing a song? butterflies came back to a garden that was once again filled with life. yellowing grass brightened to a vibrant green, dulling flowers bounced back to life with color and went into full bloom, and birds were chirping along with her singing as she closed her eyes, getting into the song. now that being said, her powers are a bit unstable, out of control you might say, so she really has no control over what they might do whenever they kick in

voice part: as the angel of song, she's well versed in all voice parts, however her vocal range is an alto, but she does have experience singing other parts and can sing them if needed

instruments(?): of course's able to play a wide variety of songs and all types of instruments, she tends to stick to a few of her all-time favorites, those being the ukulele, piano, guitar, and the violin. however as they are her own, usually they're either pale pink, white, or wood with white lace designed across them for design.

favorite music genre(?): that being stated, addy knows and loves a wide variety of music, however her more recent favorites are: rock, pop, remixes / dubstep, and alternative / indie

sexuality / gender: as addy is an angel, she normally should've even be thinking about love, right? angels don't even think about getting together with other angels, let alone mortals as it's not necessarily against code, but it's a stupid thought to think about in simple terms. but nevertheless, addy has found herself open for love, as she has related herself with the term: 'pansexual' as she doesn't have a preference about who loves her, she just wants it. / addy might be a female angel, but she mostly refers to herself as 'they / them' and although most of the other angels don't listen, she's managed to get gabriel to at least correct himself from time to time if she gives him a pointed look. however aziraphale has actually freely called addy 'they' without her having to tell him twice. but she doesn't mind 'she / her' she just doesn't prefer it as much.

relationships: she gets along well with mortals despite not having to be on earth, and not even supposed to be there, but she is. mostly for her musical purposes with her instruments and all. however with angels.. she doesn't exactly have the best relationship with them. gabriel is someone that she feels as if she can call friend, the only issue is she has been told by the angels several times that her using instruments does't help her abilities, when in reality is has, so she can't exactly tell him that she uses music to conduct her healing abilities. but other than that, she does tend to talk to him and she would call them good friends, but unbeknownst to her he does know that she uses music for her healing abilities and honestly has grown to be okay with it. he's just waiting for her now to tell him so he can accept her and apologize her about the past. aziraphale, on the other hand, is someone who is fully aware of her using music and honestly loves it. whenever she does tend to sing on her own and he's around, he seems to tear up, as her voice was practically sculpted by the gods. while her speaking voice is normal, her singing voice has that affect on others. but he and her are the best of friends, she tends to spend most of her time at the bookshop and usually sings to herself while singing or just plays a little song for aziraphale when days are harsh at the shop. crowley is someone who addy never saw herself getting along with, but eventually the two became the best of buddies, like how she is with aziraphale. the three of them are like the three musketeers in a sense, however addy usually gets the feeling that she's more of a third wheel and crowley tends to assure her that she's not and has been a shoulder for her to cry on more than once. michael is someone who isn't very fond of addy. she tends to keep her distance from her and while she likes her sense of style, she doesn't enjoy her company. it's more among the lines of addy being lower than her, rather than her personality. while her personality is a whole 'nother thing on it's own, she's mostly distant because she's a higher rank than her, but when in public, they're mutual. uriel is someone that actually gets along with addy. it's surprising to be honest as uriel is very strict and rarely smiles, but addy and her are acquaintances, but at least it's better than being mutual. the two can hold a conversation for at least 10 minutes before having to part ways, but they'll get there one day. now sandalphon, he's someone who almost.. detests addy, is that the right word? they're both unsure, but he doesn't like her. while addy has been known to make him laugh, he tends to glare at her in disgust out of the corner of his eye. the most interaction they'll have is give a nod saying that they acknowledge their existence but that's about it.

physical affection(?): so as angels aren't supposed to get together with mortals or anyone for that matter because of the whole immortality thing, she's actually really touch deprived. she's good at giving physical affection but mostly loves to receive it as she tends to literally craves affection and if you accept or give her a hug, she will cling to you for 5 minutes, so just be prepared for that. but she's honestly all for it, being a shoulder for you to cry on, someone to just hug and break down on, she's all for it, anything that will get her closer to having somebody to love and care about her

verbal affection(?): she isn't very good at giving it to be perfectly honest, she's more of a receiver on this part, she loves being called a nickname or being complimented. some people tend to just compliment her, this being aziraphale or crowley because they love to see her eyes light up and sparkle with those flecks of gold

favorite color(?): anything pastel, however her more favorite colors are anything purple, mostly violet and lavender, it's part of the reason why her and gabriel get along as she tends to compliment him about his eyes and his wings bc they're lilac and she really loves them, she even started writing a song about purple because of him

favorite foods(?): while angels aren't normally meant to like food, or 'gross matter' as gabriel puts it, addy has a few selective foods that she'll eat. these foods are: tiramisu, salads, bubble tea, ice cream, and vietnamese sandwiches

caught up on human culture(?): given that human culture is hard to keep up with as it's constantly changing, she's only caught up with a few things such as technology, running jokes, and some religious customs

exercise(?): just as gabriel jogs when he's stressed, addy tends to actually go to the gym when she's stressed. when she goes, despite her small frame and stature, she's able to lift 35 lb weights and when she's really into exercising she will run on a treadmill, do pull-ups, sit-ups, and push-ups in sessions that last up at least 3 hours.

cursing(?): if archangel 'hecking' gabriel is able to curse, you'd think she would too right? wrong, she tends to only curse when stressed, as most angels do but the most she has ever gotten to cursing is 'hell' but she doesn't say it that much anyways as she doesn't let herself get that stressed to the point where she might even be cursing.

extra(?): please feel free to message or ask her anything!!

#good omens #goodomens #goodomensoc #good omens oc #muse #oc

7 notes · View notes

muses-darling · 5 years

Text

A Seduction of the Darkside - A Star Wars AU - CH.2 Korriban

Master Gabriel had sent him to the library where Jedi Master Librarian Aziraphale had kept faithful watch over the whole of knowledge that the Jedi possessed. “While it may be your home world you have not been there in some time you will need to know all you can about it. Master Aziraphale will have all you need to know before you leave for your mission, remember Kit there is no ignorance, there is knowledge. Embrace the knowledge we have to offer and you will find victory and above all peace.Return safe and until next we meet my one time apprentice, may the Force be with you....”

The Jedi Archives were numerous and the whole of the library extended two stories tall and was so wide that he couldn’t make out the individual books on the shelves beyond. The great windows, glowing book spins, meticulously stacked Jedi Holocrons, and other data storage devices of knowledge.

The Jedi Master Aziraphale was one of the oldest living and without a doubt the most delightful and genuine, who was simultaneously a bastard and a dear. He could be heard tittering to himself about the fact that some youngling or apprentice had left a book just sitting on the table. He shook his head and asserted to himself that the child most likely was not right in their right head. A floating stack of books no doubt from Aziraphale using the force.

Kit had assumed this wrong as he came nearer seeing that the Master himself was holding up the stack of books. “Master Aziraphale?”

“AH!” The Jedi Master was startled. “Good Lord! You ought to have made your presence known!” He admonished Kit setting the books down and frowning from the other side of the books at him.

Kit grinned at the older Jedi Master.

Aziraphale’s expression softened at seeing Kit. “Kit! Hullo there! What brings you here?” He fretted about in Kit’s direction but seemed rather happy to see the young Jedi Knight.

“Master Gabriel said that you would have some information to be found about Alderaan, Darling.” Kit held out his arms to Aziraphale. “Allow me to help you?”

“Oh, ah, yes that would be nice, thank you, you know some people don’t really offer that often. Not that I mind, but thank you.” Aziraphale lifted the books with the force and set them in Kit’s open arms. After putting away that which was found awry Kit was soon set up with a new stack of data disks and set before one of the readers so that he could learn.

“Alderaan? Lovely around this time of the cycle. They have such good nerf steaks!” Aziraphale swiveled, fixing him with one of those charming smiles of his peering over Kit’s shoulder. “Whatever are you going there for? If not for the steak, or the pastries.”

Kit couldn’t help but appreciate the kindred soul that was Aziraphale, “A scout report came back revealing that the Sith Empire may move to take it next. Who better to send than someone who can blend in?” Kit offered up as an explanation.

Aziraphale frowned in thought for a moment then brightened. “Well best of luck to you, let me know if you need anything at all. And if you see Master Crowley do send him my way, we were supposed to go eat half an hour ago!”

Kit chuckled, Master Crowley was likely lost in meditation in the Jedi Temple Gardens...

_______________________________________________________________

Kit’s head rang from being knocked unconscious after he had surrendered. Hurtling through hyperspace in Darth Ignis’ Dreadnought the Tartarus, Kit sat up from the floor, was that a voice? It was! Turning his vision coming to focus next from his time on the floor.

“...good, good you’re awake.” Darth Ignis walked towards, him waving a hand the viewport opened revealing the stars moving passed in lines as they moved from Alderaan to their destination. “I thought I would be the first to tell you of your new home.”

Kit could only stare at the man, feigning emotionlessness on the outside but the inside of himself was barely contained as emotions sought to claim control.The viewport snapping to focus as they left hyperspace revealing the brilliant dusk colored planet of Korriban, the home planet of the Sith. So seeped in the darkside few ever left untouched, in fact he had yet to hear of a Jedi leaving alive or as a Jedi. Even Master Crowley rarely spoke of his time there. Kit felt himself move back trying to distance himself from the sheer evil that radiated from the planet,eyes flicking to Ignis.

“Oh so you can feel fear?.” Ignis told him. “That will make this easier.”

Easier? He couldn’t help it! Years of Jedi training and it all drained like the blood from his face. There was much that the Master’s could teach but keeping one’s self aligned to the light when surrounded by so much darkness wasn’t a test but a trial by ordeal. So this was what the force willed? That he be tested, tormented, and possibly lost? He didn’t want this test. What if he failed? He closed his eyes to the sight of it all seeking the wisdom of the code, There is no emotion there is peace! Peace. He began breathing calmly to steady his nerves. “No matter what you try to do you will not bury me in the darkness of Korriban. I will instead be a light you have brought light to Korriban in me and I will shine like a beacon.”

“Was that supposed to be inspiring?” Ignis asked. “Just asking... While you do keep me a captivated audience, your subject leaves much to be...desired.” He offered as smile. “Though I am intrigued to see how long you last.” He walked to the view port his face taking on the color of fire illuminating his eyes even more.

Kit tried to steady his breathing again before closing his eyes, “There is no emotion; there is peace, there is no ignorance; there is knowledge, there is no passion, there is serenity, there is no death; there is the Force.” He repeated this again. “There is no emotion; there is peace-”

“- Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.” Ignis replied, turning to look at Kit as he moved towards the young Jedi. “They have lied to you Kit, all your life, there has never been peace. I sense so much they have repressed in you, there is a life in there, a passion. Such strength could overturn any in your wake, like a swath of the path of your lightsaber you could make all enemies fall to their knees.” They had begun their descent to the planet below, using the force lifting Kit to his feet. “As much as I enjoy seeing you kneeling, we will be landing soon. I intend on showing you to our Emperor. He is visiting Korriban overseeing the training of our apprentices. Perhaps he’ll let me tutor you personally in the ways of the darkside?” He let his eyes wander over the Jedi’s face stopping on his mouth before looking up suggestively. “Among other things.”

Kit took a step back wrapping the force around him trying to find solace in it.

Hades hid his disappointment as he let in the guards.

Kit’s mind was racing to his time spent at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant:

“Remember young Padawan, the darkness always yields to light.” Gabriel told him with a smile pressing his hands into a much younger Kit’s shoulders. “We are always with you even if it is only through the force. You are never truly alone, even in the darkest nights does the stars above not shine?”

“Yes Master,” Kit’s younger voice filled his mind as the memory reminded him that he had been suffering from night terrors.

Being brought from the memory by a jolt of the ship entering the atmosphere from gravity shifting hold onto the ship as they made their way to the surface. As they neared, he could feel the arms of darkness, in multitudes reaching out their fingers extending as claws burrowed deep into him to drag him down:

There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.

The hatch opened revealing the harsh overbearing sun of Korriban the desert sands blowing into the otherwise neat black interior of the ship. Guards of the the Sith entered coming behind Kit nudging him forward. Darth Ignis walked into the desert before them hood shielding his eyes from the setting evening sun.

Kit stepped from the cold interior of the ship into the swirling sands of Korriban and felt the scorching unforgivable sun. Yet even here among the unseeable darkness, was a light still. Kit sought solace, letting out a peaceful sigh to the dismay of his guards.

Ignis turned to face him a brow raising, “Enjoying the Korribanian sunset?”

“Even here in the darkness who knew one would find such a clear source of light.” Kit offered a cheerful smile out of his repertoire.

Darth Ignis tried to ignore the soft flicker that teased at his core at seeing such a smile. Where had he last seen such a brilliant smile? He had no time to contemplate it before it was dashed from Kit’s face.

The blow struck by Darth Vesania, “I’d love to see how well you smile when we are done with you Jedi.” He spat the last word out with all the venom that he had flowing through his veins.

Kit rocked back on his feet the smile gone for only a moment before it broke into a soft laughter. “I saw you hit harder in battle don’t tell me fatigue has caught up to you now?”

Darth Vesania raised his hands lighting crackling across them but his body became rigid as the force held him in place.

Darth Ignis gritted out, “Lord Vesania, you forget yourself, I allow you the blow you struck but with this you go too far. We need him alive, do not allow yourself to become so lost in your anger that you forget what it means to have purpose. Or before you forget that there are plenty who’s anger out burns yours.” The last part snarled before Vesania was sent back with the force from Kit.

Kit watched before looking to Ignis, “I feel as though I should thank you.”

Darth Ignis turned on Kit, “Do not mistake this for Kindness Jedi Knight, your only useful alive.”

“An act of kindness may come in many forms.” Kit commented. “Even your convoluted actions are a balm in the scorching heat of hatred.”

Darth Ignis’ eyes flared a deeper red as anger soared through him and he moved to Kit standing before him menacingly. “You will wish I had let him end you before this is through.” He had a reputation and this Jedi and his beautiful smile could send it falling down.

“Aww afraid you’ll get attached?” Kit asked flashing that irritatingly beautiful smile.

“You are hardly worth remembering.”

“Oh darling, lies may be the tools of the Darkside but you’ve yet to master them to deceive my ears.”

Darth Ignis felt himself taken aback by the Jedi’s daring. “And humbleness must not be a requirement for Jedi seeing as how you have none. Take him to a holding cell till the Emperor is ready to see him.”

Kit was lead to the dark and dank cell, that most certainly smelled of rot. Something definitely scuttled in the darkness near him. He closed his eyes and began to meditate.

________________________________________________________________

Darth Ignis flung the doors of his private sanctum open with the force. That smile! Those EYES! How dare this Jedi! Who did he think he was?

“Lord Ignis you’ve retur-” He reached out crushing the servant flinging the body away. “Leave me be, or your fate will be the same. Unless it is the Emperor I wish to be left alone.”

“Yes Lord Ignis.”

Darth Ignis closed his eyes undressing himself before washing himself from the battle watching the cloth become reddened with blood of the fallen. Finding fresh robes of his status as a Dark Lord of the Sith he knelt before the comm when it pinged. “My Emperor it is done as you have asked. Alderaan is fallen, we have acquired many to make acolytes of. Lord Vesania even captured the Jedi leader of the resistance forces of Alderaan. The Jedi Knight known as The Emerald of the Order.”

“Well done my good and faithful servant.” A cruel smile came to the face of the Emperor. “I look forward to meeting this Emerald Knight. See that his will isn’t broken yet, don’t let him feel any hope, we don’t need him getting ideas of escaping.”

#CH. 2 A Seduction of the Darkside #SeaCoastCity SWAU #SW:ASD

1 note · View note

kat-hawke · 6 years

Text

Character Sheet: Kat Hawke

Character Chart

Character’s Full Name: Katanie Anne Kerridan-Hawke

Reason or Meaning of Name: Was just a randomly picked name. Her birth surname ties into another story arc while the one from her mothers remarriage is what she currently uses and goes by.

Character’s Nickname/Alias: Kat

Reason for Nickname/Alias: The name she prefers to go by, it’s just a shorter version of her full name.

Birth Date: June 30th

Physical appearance

Age: 22

How old does he/she appear: Late twenties, often mistaken for old because of the way she moves and speaks. Few people see her act her age.

Weight: 157lbs / 71.2kgs

Height: 5″5′ / 167.64cms

Body build: Athletic, muscular definition primarily in back, core, and legs.

Shape of face: Square

Eye color: Amber

Glasses or contacts: None

Skin tone: Tanned / Sun-kissed

Distinguishing marks: Circular scar on her left collarbone, large scar below left rib cage, stab wound scars on lower left abdomen and lower right back, slash wound scar running parallel to her spine. Several small scars littering her hands

Predominant features: Sharp jawline, strong gaze.

Hair color: Raven Black

Type of hair: Just below the shoulders

Hairstyle: Well maintained and straightened to curtain more to the left side.

Voice: Usually use Eliza Taylor as a vocal reference when asked.

Overall Attractiveness: Based on other people’s judgements, High.

Physical Disabilities: None

Usual Fashion of Dress: Business casual

Favorite Outfit:

Jewelry or Accessories: Two silver loop piercings in the upper cartilage of both ears. Silver ring with small runic engravings and embedded red gem on her right middle finger. A small blue stone hanging from thin silver chain around her neck.

Personality

Good Personality Traits: Honest (subjective), trustworthy (subjective), caring, ambitious, confident, decisive, adaptive, charming.

Bad Personality Traits: Moody, emotionally unstable, controlling, conceited, possessive, paranoid, bitter, spiteful, power-hungry.

Mood Character is Most Often In: Neutral, leaning to annoyed.

Sense of Humor: Witty, sarcastic, dark, and/or dirty.

Character’s Greatest Joy In Life: Watching the “untouchable” fall.

Character’s Greatest Fear: Losing control and succumbing to the dark magics within her.

What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil? The death of either Jessica Shaw ( @jesdena ) or Xylia Reid ( @library-of-the-forgotten )

Character Is Most at Ease When: At home, with a drink.

Most Ill at Ease When: Out of Stormwind, or forced into melee combat.

Enraged When: Her people or “family” is harmed or threatened.

Depressed or Sad When: She begins to dwell on the dark parts of her past.

Life Philosophy: “People don’t want to hear the truth because they don’t want their illusions destroyed.”

If Granted One Wish, It Would Be: Freedom from the shackles of her magic.

Character’s Soft Spot: The young and misguided.

Is This Soft Spot Obvious to Others? Yes, those who get to know her.

Greatest Strength: Administrative prowess.

Greatest Vulnerability or Weakness: Magical exploitation.

Biggest Regret: Not getting out sooner...

Minor Regret: Letting someone get too close.

Biggest Accomplishment: Surviving

Minor Accomplishment: “Removing” small criminal rings.

Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about: Her extensive list of criminal charges against her.

Character’s Darkest Secret: Murdering her own people in cold blood.

Does Anyone Else Know? Not anymore. “Three can keep a secret if two are dead.”

Goals

Drives and Motivations: Knowledge and control of power.

Immediate Goals: Keeping criminal rings in check.

Long Term Goals: Retirement, a quieter life.

How the character plans to accomplish these goals: Manipulation and blackmail for the immediate. Not dying, or getting caught, for the long term.

How Other Characters Will Be Affected: Those caught in her web of manipulations will probably be resentful when they find out.

Past

Hometown: Gilneas

Type of Childhood: Well taken care of, only child.

Pets: None

First Memory: Stargazing over the water with her parents.

Most Important Childhood Memory: The day her father never came home. It was a harsh reality check for her.

Childhood Hero: Darius Crowley, due to her fathers influence.

Dream Job: Mercantile sailor.

Education: Preliminary schooling, cut short by her abduction.

Religion: Church of the Light

Finances: Middle / Working Class

Present

Current Location: Stormwind / Elwynn Forest

Currently Living With: Nobody

Pets: None

Religion: None

Occupation: SI:7 Administration, Director of Unit Eight

Finances: Upper Class

Family

Siblings: Arthur Hawke (step-brother), Nora Hawke (step-sister), Jasper Hawke.(step-brother)

Relationship With Them: Strained, conflicted. Arthur and Nora confirmed deceased. Jasper’s death confirmation is spotty at best, loosely speculation.

Spouse: None, previously engaged.

Relationship With Them: N/A

Children: None

Relationship With Them: N/A

Other Important Family Members: None to list.

Favorites

Color: Violet

Least Favorite Color: Tan

Music: Big Band / Jazz / Swing

Food: Rack of lamb, herb and lemon

Literature: Any, preferably fiction.

Form of Entertainment: People watching or drinking.

Expressions: Slightly narrowed gaze and a smirk.

Mode of Transportation: Foot.

Most Prized Possession: Her mother’s necklace.

Habits

Hobbies: Excessive drinking, people watching, lingering at the club.

Plays a musical instrument? She can play a piano or violin, but prefers not to.

Plays a sport? She’ll engage in friendly competitions on agility courses.

How he would spend a rainy day? Indoors with a stiff drink, watching the water fall against the window.

Spending Habits: Moderate. Rarely splurge spends.

Smokes: Rarely, only in high stress situations.

Drinks: Excessively. Whiskey is the drink of choice.

Other Drugs: Magical gemstones, when needed.

What does he/she do too much of? Drinking...

What does he/she do too little of? Sleeping...

Extremely Skilled At: Bookkeeping / Record Keeping

Extremely Unskilled At: Heavy melee combat

Nervous Tics: Rubbing her nails against the side of her thumb.

Usual Body Posture: Straight, arms hanging at her sides, weight on one leg.

Mannerisms: Professional approaches, using more formal names until comfortable with the person.

Peculiarities: Low hums in thought, loosely using words such as: luv’, dear, sweetheart in her vocabulary.

Traits

Optimist or Pessimist? In between. More of a realist.

Introvert or Extrovert? Extrovert.

Daredevil or Cautious? Airs on the side of caution with unfamiliar people, otherwise she’s a bit of a daredevil. She has a hard time turning down a challenge.

Logical or Emotional? Both. Completely situation and setting dependent.

Disorderly and Messy or Methodical and Neat? Methodical and Neat.

Prefers Working or Relaxing? Complete Workaholic.

Confident or Unsure of Themselves? Confident.

Animal lover? Definite. She prefers animals over people.

Self-perception

How She Feels About Herself: She keeps the monster inside hidden away.

One Word Character Would Use To Describe Themselves: “Observant.”

Paragraph Description on How They’d Describe Themselves: “I keep an eye on many things. Be them people or places, doesn’ matter. Everyone has secrets, luv’. More times than no’ they lay in wot goes unsaid rather than wot is, read between the lines and find wot people don’ want ya’ to know. All just part of the job...and a bit of a hobby.”

What does the character consider his/her best personality trait? Defensiveness for those close to her.

What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait? Manipulative

What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic? Her eyes.

What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic? The leather bracers she always wears.

How does the character think others perceive him/her? Depending on the crowd; either notable and trustworthy or a manipulative peacock.

What would the character most like to change about himself/herself? The effects her magics have on her.

Relationships with others

Opinion of Other People in General: Headache

Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others? All the damn time.

Person Character Most Hates: Sky Captain Chambers

Best friend(s): Jessica Shaw ( @jesdena), Xylia Reid ( @library-of-the-forgotten), Weston Shaw ( @thewolfintruder), and Rinnessa Hayweather ( @tinybewitchedgilnean )

Love interest(s): Emotionally Unstable.

Person Character (Would) Go to For Advice: Jessica Shaw

Person Character Feels Responsible For: Rinnessa Hayweather

Person Character Feels Awkward Around: Any other SI:7 leader, sometimes Alexa Imortis ( @preyontheweak )

Person Character Openly Admires: Tess Greymane

Person Character Secretly Admires: Jaina Proudmoore

Tagged by: @summysparklesprocket

Tagging (I suffered through it, now you can too...or don’t): @preyontheweak @xyveth-heartbane @library-of-the-forgotten @shaeli-dawson @a-warsaint @tinybewitchedgilnean @shewolf-jacqueline @jesdena @thewolfintruder

#tagged #prompt #completed #this was long

11 notes · View notes