#askbox ficlets

[kedreeva]

7) Crowley reacting to humans finally reaching the stars, which means it may eventually be possible for him to be among his creations once again

“They did it!” shouted a tinny voice on the other end of the telephone as soon as Aziraphale had gotten it off the cradle.

“Who did it?” Aziraphale said, confused. Crowley sounded happy but he was shouting awfully loudly even though Aziraphale knew he was well-aware that telephones could carry even small sounds great distances. “And what did they-”

“They made it to the moon!” Crowley crowed over the top of him. “They actually did it- I had my doubts, when they were making a fuss about going, I’d never heard of any plans up top that involved them getting off the planet, but they did it, Aziraphale.”

“Yes, quite- quite right,” he agreed, not terribly less confused. “I’m sorry, who made it to the moon, now?” He really hoped it was not Hell, as demons really were supposed to be barred from going out among the stars again. They’d been cast down.

“The humans! The humans- Angel, don’t you ever- nevermind,” Crowley said, talking himself in a quick, tight circle so fast it was astounding he didn’t get dizzy. “The humans took a rocket and blasted it up to the moon.”

“When?” Aziraphale asked, casting a glance around for the radio he was sure he’d had just the other day. He really couldn’t be expected to listen to it all the time, the humans were constantly getting up to things, but perhaps if they’d escaped the terrarium, it was time to pay attention. “Where are they headed next?”

“What?” Crowley asked, overly loud. “Next? Nowhere, they’re just- they went up, and then they’ll come back down again.”

Aziraphale stopped rummaging through a pile of books and looked at the receiver he’d been holding at the end of its wire. “You mean they went to all the trouble to get off the planet, and now they’re just going to turn around and come back?”

There was a long silence on the other hand, and Aziraphale thought maybe Crowley had hung up, except that there was no tone to suggest it. “W-they... they can’t breathe up there,” Crowley said, sounding as confused as Aziraphale now. “They had to come back.”

“Didn’t they take any air up with them?” Aziraphale asked.

“Angel!” Crowley said, exasperated. “The humans have gotten up in to space for the first time.” He stressed the words in a way that Aziraphale gathered should be significant, but Crowley couldn’t possibly be worried about them escaping Earth; he was, after all, the reason they had escaped anywhere in the first place. “Space.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the excitement,” Aziraphale admitted. “If they’ve come right back down again-”

“They’ll go back,” Crowley said quickly. “I’m certain of it. And someday, when they’ve gotten very good at it, there’s a chance I might be able to get back up there and see... you know. Stuff.”

Oh, Aziraphale thought. “Your stars,” he said aloud. He’d nearly forgotten Crowley was a starmaker. He’d confided it so long ago, on a grassy knoll, back before humans had put so much light into the sky that the stars lost their shine. “You could go back to them.”

“I could go back to them,” Crowley agreed softly.

Aziraphale’s mind tripped around over the implications for a moment before he managed to string together one coherent thought. “Should we celebrate?” he asked tentatively. “Maybe a nice bottle of Cheval Blanc?”

Crowley’s voice warmed. “Be there in two shakes,” he said, and the line went dead.

[kedreeva]

One of the ineffable idiots accidentally drunk-Summons the other?

A very long time ago I asked for askbox prompts and I still have a bunch of them and I am in the mood for a few, so I’m going to be filling them! New prompts are, however, still closed.

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Crowley felt the tell-tale tingle start at the base of his spine just as he reached his front door. “No, no, nonnono,” he said, grabbed onto the handle of his door and dropping the parcel in his hands to do so. “Not tonight, come on!”

The spell which grabbed at his essence didn’t seem to care about his plans, and only a couple of seconds later, the world twisted around Crowley and he found himself jettisoned through the material of Earth’s dimension and tossed out on the other side.

He was on his feet in a second, a snarl on his lips, vision still blurry from the forced teleport. His wings ached but he kept them mantled threateningly until the blur around him resolved into… into the bookshop of all places, with Aziraphale sitting on the floor with a book upturned on the floor and a nearly-empty tumbler in his hand. The sour-sweet tang of whiskey pinched at the air and Crowley could see the sticky liquid dripping down Aziraphale’s forearm where it had sloshed from the confines of the glass.

“It worked!” Aziraphale exclaimed first. “Oh, I didn’t-”

Crowley lets his fangs retract and his wings droop and he pressed against the magic that bound him into the sigils on the floor. “Aziraphale,” he started.

“We’ll have to destroy this one,” Aziraphale said, grabbing up the book with clumsy fingers. “We’ll have to destroy every copy of it, that’s for sure.”

“The book?” Crowley asked, pressing again. It was just as surely binding as if a human had cast it, but not more so. Aziraphale must have found an old human-made spell. “You’re going to destroy a book?”

“It could summon you!” Aziraphale said plaintively, motioning with the whiskey tumbler and sending the liquid sloshing dangerously again.

“It did summon me! You summoned me, you twit!” Crowley said, gesturing to the magic all around him. “What were you doing casting demon summoning spells?”

Aziraphale scooped up the book and wobbled to his feet to come show it to Crowley. “I was worried, you see,” he said, nearly upending the glass over the pages. “We’re all we’ve got, and what if someone- if someone-” A hiccup interrupted him and he looked surprised by it. “Well, I- I couldn’t let that happen.”

Crowley softened. Aziraphale had obviously got to drinking alone, and that had led to worrying, and there was plenty to worry about. “You could have summoned anyone,” he said gently, leaning his forehead against the sigil walls. “You’re lucky I was the closest demon.”

Aziraphale gave him a strange smile, a bit too watery. “I knew it would be you,” he said. “You’re always the closest demon.”

A wave of his hand destroyed the sigils, and Crowley fell forward a step, until he caught himself. He took a second to straighten himself up a bit before he reached over and plucked the volume out of Aziraphale’s hands, followed by the glass. “Come on,” he said gently, “let’s get you cleaned up a bit, and you can tell me what brought all this on.”

“I missed you,” Aziraphale said ruefully as he allowed Crowley to direct him toward the downstairs kitchenette. “And I thought, it would be nice if I could summon you here so I wouldn’t miss you, and I thought, I thought if I could summon you then anyone could, and I’ve books, you see-”

“And so you just had too much to drink and started testing the theory?” Crowley asked, trying to keep his amusement out of his voice. It really had been dangerous, after all.

Aziraphale’s cheeks pinked a little as the stepped into the kitchenette. “I might have had the drink before the idea,” he admitted a bit fretfully.

Crowley held Aziraphale’s hand around the back as he stretched his arm out over the sink, rinsing off the alcohol and then patting it dry. Aziraphale held still while Crowley rolled his sleeve back down over the skin, and then patted his wrist. He could have miracled it away, but a lot of miracles didn’t interact well with alcohol – for the caster or the recipient – and anyway he tried not to miss chances to touch Aziraphale.

“I’m getting you a mobile in the morning,” Crowley declared before pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple and moving around him to get two new tumblers and pick a new drink. “And then if you miss me, you can drunk dial me like a human.”

Aziraphale gave a little snort of laughter at that, but his smile seemed genuine. “I’d like that.”

[kedreeva]

What about “no matter how much he loves food, Aziraphale simply cannot cook, no matter how often he tries”?

The thing about God that Aziraphale had known for his entire existence, after the fact that She loved all of her creations, was that She was petty.

Oh, certainly this had manifested in myriad ways since the beginning of time, but it was not new then, either. Aziraphale had seen the transgressions of Noah’s folk and he had known, before She ever uttered a word of instruction, that it was going to push a button. The flood hadn’t been a surprise. Neither had the rainbow after. In fact, none of the things that set her off in the epochs of Aziraphale’s existence came as much of a surprise beyond the first few.

The apocalypse, such as it was, now that was different. That wasn’t petty. That was vindictive. That was cruel. Petty would have been taking all the angels and demons off the planet just for the satisfaction of watching the humans flounder and fail without them. It had felt wrong, the interference of the antichrist, and the angels and demons pushing for a war between themselves. It wasn’t like Her.

What was like her, absolutely and entirely, was Aziraphale’s inability to cook.

It was not that he couldn’t combine ingredients in the right amounts, in appropriate dishes, but the actual cooking part, with the flames and/or heat... well. She had come to him and asked him what he’d done with the sword, and he’d liked to Her face, and She had decided that was fine. But if he was going to give away one flame, he couldn’t just have another.

This was, as must be imagined, inconvenient, as Aziraphale loved food a good deal, and was completely unable to make any dish that involved heat of any kind. Even his cocoa and his mulled wines only came to temperature if he directly miracled them that way, no cooking or heating involved; a fact which had gotten him into a lot of trouble with Gabriel before the apocalypse hadn’t happened.

It was not, Aziraphale had argued, a frivolous miracle to heat his tea. Gabriel had been unimpressed with this argument, which Aziraphale holds is only because he simply refused to try any tea, hot or cold.

So Aziraphale frequented human shops for food, and ate cold dishes when he was staying in for the night, and went out to dine with Crowley when he wanted something warm. It was a perfectly fine unspoken Arrangement, and one which he had thought Crowley understood, until the very first night Crowley had suggested they stay in and cook.

“Ourselves?” Aziraphale asked tentatively. Both of us? was what he really wanted to ask, and Crowley must have heard it because he gave a noncommittal shrug. 

“Or I could cook for you, if you don’t want to cook,” Crowley said, not quite looking at him. “Or if you don’t know how.”

“I know how,” Aziraphale said before he could stop his indignation from spilling the beans. He flushed a little, but straightened his jacket and stuck up his chin a little. “I just... can’t.”

Crowley’s smile sneaked into a grin. “Rubbish at it, are you? Is that why we’re always going out?”

“I’m not rubbish at it.” Aziraphale decided that he was already in for a penny, he may as well make it a pound. “I just... can’t use fire. You know... the whole gave it away thing.”

Crowley’s nose crinkled in distaste. “I thought you said she never mentioned it again?”

“Well, she hasn’t,” Aziraphale hedged. “She hasn’t had to, has she?”

“Suppose not,” Crowley said, a little low, a little sad. “I can’t- I haven’t... fire’s not really my thing, either. Not since, y’know... the shop and all.”

Aziraphale studied him for a moment and then brushed aside the anger within himself, and the pain of seeing Crowley hurting, too. “My dear,” he said instead, “how do you feel about ordering in? I hear the humans are getting quite good at it lately.”

Crowley perked up a little at that. “My treat?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed with a smile.

[kedreeva]

Isla da Queimada Grande. Also known as "Snake Island", full of lethal snakes... just saying, Crowley might have found a great place for relaxing.

Snakes are, in general, solitary creatures. They spend the majority of their lives on their own, slithering about their business, eating the locals and sleeping in the sun and, very occasionally, hooking up with the best prospect that wanders their way for a bit. There were exceptions, of course, like the way rattlers or garter snakes denned up, sometimes by the hundreds, to wait out winter. 

Which is why Crowley finds it so surprising when, in a hissy fit, he retires to a remote island - one across the ocean and all the way in another hemisphere - and finds himself surrounded by small, golden bodies.

He had coiled himself up in a clearing big enough to fit him, one which had made a hole in the canopy that will close quickly enough but for now leaves sunlight streaming down. He had expected to take a short nap, maybe a year or two, but as soon as he lays his head upon the spongey undergrowth, he hears a soft hiss and the slide of tiny scales rasping along his own.

There are snakes here. He tunes his senses from human languages to snakes, and he can hear their whispers all around him. He is bigger than any of them, hundreds of times bigger, and they are curious. They are fascinated. He lies very still and they emerge from the foliage and surround him, exploring and tasting the air and asking him questions.

Where has he come from?

How old is he to have grown so large?

Why are his scales black and red instead of golden?

Can we see your fangs?

He answers them patiently for days, and every passing hour only seems to bring new snakes until he is surrounded by thousands of them. Some of them have climbed the fallen tree that made the hole in the sky, so that they may rest atop him, warmed by the sun on his blackened scales.

When he tells them he should go, they ask for him to stay. He tells them he must sleep, and they vow to watch over him as he does so. He falls into peaceful dreams to the lilting of their voices in songs known only to those who share his serpent’s aspect, and it will be several decades before he wakes again.

[kedreeva]

Something kissy and cute, like Aziraphale's eating ice cream and ends up with some on his nose, so Crowley kisses it off 😍 (Btw thank you for all your writing, you're incredible!!!)

They could, of course, get ice cream at any time of the year. The grocer sold it from their freezer and even if they hadn’t, a snap of one set of fingers or another could have brought them ice cream from anywhere in the world. They could have created it straight from firmament, or at worst made it themselves shaking milk and cream and sugar in a bag of iced rock salt. Pepper had shown them how two years ago and Aziraphale had made so much of it he hadn’t been able to eat it for months afterward.

And yet... there was something special about ice cream untouched by celestial magic. Aziraphale didn’t exactly miss ice cream over the winter months, but the little spark of excitement he got in the spring, the very first time he saw the cart in the park, was always one of his favorites. It left him warm and pleased and expectant and, more recently, with a sense that everything was going to be okay.

This was the same cart they had gotten ice cream at after they had prevented the world from ending. It was the same cart where the worst of the worst Aziraphale could imagine happening - being ripped away from Crowley and both of them sent to their potential dooms - had not happened. The cart’s re-emergence every spring was a small, shining symbol that one more year had passed the world still turned and they were both still here.

So it was that he got a little overenthusiastic taking his first taste of his cone, and ended up with a spot of sweet, sticky vanilla ice cream on the tip of his nose.

He went a little cross-eyed trying to see it, surprised, and actually got a laugh out of Crowley for his troubles. “Need some help there, angel?”

“Oh yes, please,” Aziraphale said, holding his hand out for a serviette.

Instead, Crowley leaned it close, lips parted just a little, and gave the tip of his nose a little lick, followed by a kiss. Aziraphale’s nose wrinkled, eyes closing as he smiled, and whatever chill was left in the spring air vanished as his cheeks flushed. Crowley gave a breathy chuckle, gently bumped their foreheads together, and then setled back into his own personal space again.

“All good?” he asked.

“Very good,” Aziraphale told him, opening his eyes. “You’re so helpful.”

It was Crowley’s turn to pink a little around the ears. “Shut up,” he said, still smiling, and they both knew he didn’t really mean it.

Aziraphale just smiled back, and took more care on the second taste of his ice cream.

[cerulean--blues]

I want to do a warm up drawing. I also want to do some more Eight x Rose stuff. Anybody wanna send me an askbox ficlet to warm up to? Give me some fun Eight x Rose headcanons or scenes! ♡♡ (Please?)

[bookkbaby]

When Dean and Cas finally get together, Balthazar is ROLLING in it from all the bets he made. (Balthazar is definitely not dead. Nope.) On the other hand, when a month goes by and they haven't had sex, he has to pay up, and he is VERY miffed by the degree to which cuddling eclipses carnality in their relationship.

Balthazar thought for certain they'd be going at it like bunnies.

In the bedroom, up against a wall, on the kitchen table, in the shower, in any dark corner... really, the opportunities they had were endless. Surely they should have (repeatedly and blissfully) consummated their relationship dozens of times before the month was out. (Hell, Balthazar had figured on consummation immediately following the declarations of love.)

But after a month goes by... nothing. Balthazar would assume that they were just waiting, that sex was just over the horizon but imminent, but...

Dean and Cas seemed so settled. They'd skipped the newlywed 'tear-each-other's-clothes-off' phase and gone right to 'married-for-thirty-years-cuddles' phase. There was no build of erotic tension. There were no makeout sessions that got carried away until one of them called a blushing halt to the proceedings.

There was plenty of kissing, at least. The kind two people share just for the joy of being together and being able to lock lips, not the kind that led anywhere.

Balthazar is half-tempted to fly down there and demand an explanation for the lack of sex going on, but the expressions his beloved brother makes stop him.

Cas is, for once, completely and uncomplicatedly happy. He doesn't seem to be missing anything or longing for something; he certainly doesn't seem to feel his love life is lacking.

And if Balthazar is being honest... Cas has always been something of an odd duck, and when he really thinks about it, the idea of Cas engaging in carnality is even stranger than the idea of Cas not.

So he pays out the money he owes, grumbling about the wealth lost, but secretly?

He's happy for Cas.

[bookkbaby]

Dean doesn't know how to say those three magical little rules, and that's a fact. That's something that will never change, and when he tells Cas he loves him, well.. That's just going to have to be good enough. Cas, on the otherhand, has only known love. As and Angel of the Lord he was created to Love and to Destory, and to have all of that passion focused on one tiny being in the great expanse of the universe was something otherworldly.

Dean's always had a hard time saying the words. Sometimes they fall unbidden from his mouth in the heat of the moment, when the world has shrunk down to just him and Cas and warm, wet bliss.

But in the light of day when their clothes are on? Yeah, the words stay trapped in Dean's throat and never make it so far as the tip of his tongue.

Cas, on the other hand, has no problem saying the words.

He'll whisper it to Dean while they're out grocery shopping and make Dean drop the soup cans. He'll say it in the morning while Dean is making breakfast, heedless if Sammy is right there and snickering. He'll shout it, furious and scared, after Dean's done something stupid and nearly gotten himself killed.

And sometimes, he'll repeat it like a refrain as he lists all the reasons he loves Dean. This, at least, he keeps to the privacy of their bedroom, where he can kiss and press the words into Dean's skin, as though willing Dean to believe he's worthy by the power of osmosis.

It's in those moments that it hits Dean just how powerful Cas's love for him is, how fierce and intimidating and entirely too much for someone who doesn't even deserve the love of another human being.

As though Cas can still hear his thoughts, it's those moments when Dean's thinking about his unworthiness that Cas looks him in the eye and says, with absolute conviction, that he loves Dean, that he Fell for Dean, and would do so a hundred times. A thousand.

Cas would find him in every incarnation, in every lifetime, and Fall for him again.