The Machine Of A Dream

Central Park Blues

#sensualitysense #Central Park Blues

Parks were nice, Asmodeus decided. There were no actual parks in hell, only a few cacti and one hellish poison jungle on the 6th circle, but then again, human parks came with the downside of actual humans in them. Small humans, who were shrieking and gigivng him a headache.

Sill, it was better than staying in hell right now, which, if he was being honest with himself, Asmodeus was actively avoiding today. It was rare for him to leave for earth so often, especially without an urgently pressing work asssignment that needed his personal attention. Asmodeus was basically administration, not a field agent, and only went here on special occasions.

The fact that this was his third earth visit this month would have alarmed him, had he not chosen to get as far as physically and metaphysically possible from his office.

So here he was, in a random park of a random city, skirting around the playground and heading towards the calmer area filled with shade-giving trees, benches, and a pond bordering on the yellowish-green expanse of scraggly grass.

While his hair and height made him stand out, Asmodeus had taken care to dress plainly, in dark trousers and a matching shirt. He knew he would have had to cover himself in sackcloth from head to toe to keep people from staring, but as long as he kept a tight leash on his glamour, at least nobody was outright accosting him.

Dodging a foolhardy pidgeon, he wandered down the path.

It took a few moments before Bentley figured out what was nagging at her mind -- well, who, rather.

Really, the person who seemed to hold her eye didn’t stand out much. He was very attractive, sure, but there were a lot of those out and about, with the weather being lovely today.

She didn’t think he looked familiar, but... well, maybe she’d run into him before sometime. It was possible, if unlikely.

...sitting here wasn’t going to help anyone, really.

Getting to her feet, Bentley walked towards him, pausing when they were a few feet apart.

“Do I... know you?” she asked, frowning slightly as she tried to find something about him to jog her memory. People didn’t really like being forgotten, after all.

Central Park Blues

If, at some point just after it started, Bentley had been asked about the situation with Crowley, Aziraphale and Ellie, she would have shrugged and said that while it was awful for everyone involved, it would blow over soon enough and everyone and everything would be back to normal sooner rather than later.

She’d started to doubt that when Crowley remained missing for a week without so much as a phone call, Aziraphale had holed himself up in his room and only spoke if spoken to, and even Ellie seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet, as little as Bentley usually cared for her. Right now, with the only difference from before being that Crowley had taken to calling on occasion and picking up when she did while both of them danced around the heart of the subject, things seemed further from ‘okay’ than ever.

She’d promised to come visit him in London soon, but considering the state of affairs at home with Aziraphale, she didn’t feel like she could leave Angel behind just like that. So she put off hopping on a plane indefinitely, waiting until either Aziraphale showed any sign of crawling out of his room of his own volition or she couldn’t wait to see Crowley any longer. Whichever came first.

With the atmosphere in the flat getting unbearably stifling by now, though, Bentley had to admit she spent more time wandering the city streets than anything. Lately she’d been ‘borrowing’ some of Aziraphale’s heftier books, making her way to a coffee place or a park bench, and sitting there until people started to get suspicious.

Today was a day for The Spirituality Of Wine (a gift from Crowley somewhere along the years, apparently, judging by the message scribbled on the inside of the cover) and coffee on a bench in Central Park. Halfway through the fourth page, though, something seemed to catch Bentley’s attention, and she looked up in mild confusion.

jesatria

There is a Good Omens fanmix on 8tracks consisting entirely of classical versions of Queen songs.

#((aesthetic))#Queen

subbsole-deactivated20141226

a good omens AU where everything is the same but the bentley turns everything into taylor swift

subbsole-deactivated20141226

#but imagine the demons trying to contact crowley in TAYLOR SWIFTS VOICE

FUCKING CHRIST

moonbittern

#she’s cheer captain and i’m- LORD BEELZEBUB

openthedooritschip

you’ll be the prince and I’ll be the princess it’s a love story baby Y O U C A N H O P E F O R N O T H I N G B U T T H E M E R C Y O F H E L L

tamilhobbit

“Bebop,” sniffed Aziraphale.

#((beautiful))

Checking In

"Of course," he answered with a half-smile, absent-mindedly smoothing a crease in the bedsheets. He clung to her every word, reaching out to the cheerful sound of her voice the way a man reaches out to water in a desert. He didn’t want it over, just as he didn’t want a return to the static-filled silence in his room."Get your rest, sweetheart," his voice was low and soft, half way between a warm embrace and a lullaby. "I’ll be here whenever you need me."

#checking in #swallowwingsandserpentwiles

Bentley brushed her thumb over the side of the phone, biting her lip. "Alright," she murmured eventually. She'd be a wreck if she kept this up much longer, even if she did want to keep talking for the rest of the night. "I'll call you again soon to let you know when I'll be there, okay?... Goodnight."

Checking In

It would normally have been right about now that he’d point out that Ellie did, in fact, count as someone to look after Aziraphale. If not for the knot in his stomach, the lump in his throat, or the vice around his temples, that is.

Instead, he glanced around the room silently, practically feeling his sense of self-worth shaking its head at the sight. Feathers -- some black, a few white, of varying shapes and sizes, congregated in corners and between folds of the bedsheets. A prone, mostly empty wine bottle and a half-eaten dinner now called the bedside table their home. The lamp, deposed not two days prior, had resigned itself to the floor.

”Please. As if there’s any way I won’t be there the second you step off the plane,” he joked. She couldn’t see him like this. He’d find someplace else.

#swallowwingsandserpentwiles #checking in

"True enough," Bentley said with a grin. "You'll have already rented a limo and reserved us both a spot at the Ritz, am I right? Looking forward to that."

Stifling a yawn, Bentley stretched out and rolled over in her bed, switching the phone to her other ear. "It's late," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I'm going to try and get some sleep, okay? I'll call you when I can make it."

ultrafacts

(Fact Source) Follow Ultrafacts for more facts

#Queen

citizen-zero

How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? None. Angels can’t dance. That’s why they’re always depicted as white people.

#basically

Checking In

"So you’ll come?” Crowley sat up, more eager than he usually allowed himself.

First good news he’d had all week. He took a deep breath, getting his tone back to its old composed self.

"It’ll be good to see you."

Bentley giggled. "Once I've made sure the angel will be fine without someone to look after him," she said. "You'll need to send me the address so I can get there, though."

This was probably a bad idea to be promising she'd come. She wouldn't be able to make sure the angel would take care of himself. But she really did want to see Crowley...

Checking In

"Yeah…" his voice trailed off. He should ask. He had to. It was all his blessed fault.

His lips parted, and closed. Then once more, and closed again. Just three. simple. words.

How is he?

He couldn’t.

He was almost grateful when Bentley unknowingly spared him. He jumped at the change on topic.

"West London," he answered with certainty. I think. It took no small effort, and no small amount of wounded Pride, to admit, even to himself, that he’d spent the last week either too sloshed or too sorry for himself to bother setting even one foot outside.

"Room above a place… The Firelighter or something. It’s a long story."

#Checking In #swallowwingsandserpentwiles

The Firelighter?... It didn't ring any bells at all. Then again, maybe that's why he'd picked that place. She wasn't sure if he still owned the London apartment, but maybe whatever he was doing out there required at least some anonymity.

"You'll have to tell me when I get there, then," Bentley said lightly. "Sounds like an interesting tale to hear..."

She stifled a yawn, glancing at the clock. She was dead tired, but on the other hand, Crowley was right there and talking to her. Just keep it together for a little while longer...

Checking In

A knot built up in Crowley’s stomach. He wanted nothing more than to hold her. To tell her everything would be all right. To see her smile.

He thought of what would be waiting for him back in New York. The hurt look in Aziraphale’s eye; the heartbreak in his voice even as he insisted that Crowley break his heart further. Ellie’s presence, her aura easily within reach; not knowing if he could even look her in the eye. The thought of her, happy in the angel’s arms -- or worse still, not. To say nothing of the things his return might have stirred up.

"Too early to say, sweetheart," better to just keep away. Better to keep Bentley out of the mess. Better she cope with his absence, not have.. not him ther--

"You could always pay me a visit,” a glimmer of hope slipped through. “You, me, London. Just like the old days. What do you say?”

#Checking In #swallowwingsandserpentwiles

...she could. It wasn't like she had any real obligations here. Just hop on a plane, go and meet him. See the Ritz with her own eyes, St James' Park, the Mayfair flat that she knew by heart even before she had one...

On the other hand, though... Bentley's gaze was drawn to the approximate area she knew Aziraphale was most likely to be this time of night. What about him, then?...

"I'll think about it," she said instead, smiling into the phone out of habit. "Can't leave the angel alone. He'll get lost in his books without someone to tempt him into some indulgences, you know? Where are you, though?"

Checking In

Crowley kicked himself again. He’d just up and left, without sparing a thought to what -- to who he was leaving behind.

Stupid, self-absorbed…

"I just had to go take care of something."

At least he didn’t sound as blessed pitiful as he felt. He’d done enough damage with his disappearing act -- she deserved better than to be dragged any further into this mess -- into his mess.

"You… you know I’m just a call away whenever you need me, right?"

"I know..." Bentley tried not to sound like a petulant child. She could give him the space he needed to take care of everything. Really! ...admittedly, that didn't mean she would like it, though.

Hugging her pillow, she asked, "Do you know when you'll be back?..."

Checking In

The room was dark, save for a few over-eager shards of morning sunlight, creeping through the closed blinds, and the oscillating glow of the high-definition television that had arrived sometime earlier in the week (via delivery van - It was one thing to wish a stack of bed-shaped framework and matching linen into existence. Conjuring a collection of wires, circuitry, receivers and a whole set of other things you needed a string of letters at the end of your name to even begin to make sense of, not to mention assemble? That took a miracle. Er.).

The sound of some sort of decade-old panel show rerun filled the room, likely the norm for this hour (or it could just have been that the channel in question was Dave). It was all background noise anyway - only there to keep thoughts at bay. A role it shared with the bottle of two-thirds-empty Craig on the bedside table (the absinthe had run dry) and an app-rich smartphone.

Sprawled onto the silken bedsheets, mildly ruffled wings spread out underneath him, Crowley stared numbly at the screen, vaguely focused on some sort of racing game - the latest in a long line of game-based distractions.

He was about to fling the phone to one side and sit up for a refill when the screen lit up. A familiar smile flashed up onto the screen, and the speakers blared with an equally familiar tune.

[When love breaks up…]

He stared blankly at the phone, and through it, as his mind caught up.

[When the dawn light wakes up…]

He briefly chastised himself for not thinking to leave a note. Then, for the first time in the last week, he smiled. A small, pained smile of the sort that came with the sighting of lantern in a pitch-black tunnel. But it was a smile nonetheless.

[A new life is born…]

Sitting himself upright, he straightened a loose feather, willed (most of) the alcohol out of his system, and took a deep breath.

[Somehow I have to make this final breakthrough … Now!]

"Hi."

Bentley was debating hanging up, figuring it'd go to voicemail sooner or later and wondering if listening to his voice there would be enough, but then he picked up. If it were possible to curl around someone's voice, she would have.

What was she supposed to say here? 'Please come home' would be what she wanted to say, but that wouldn't be fair to him, since he probably had somewhere to be.

"...hi," she decided on eventually, starting to smile. "Where have you been? I was so worried..."

Checking In

It had been a week since Crowley had left and she was this close to cracking.

Crowley had left his phone the last time, but after carefully turning over every pillow and checking every shelf and drawer, Bentley decided that either he was really good at hiding it somewhere or he had it with him.

She'd tried to give him some space, but with no one but a severely unhappy Aziraphale for company at home and not wanting to intrude too much on her new friend, it was awfully lonely, and the temptation to call grew stronger by the hour.

Bentley didn't know what time it was when she made the decision to call -- probably well past midnight -- but making that decision felt like a relief. Her phone was on the bedside cabinet, so she unhooked it from the charger and selected the phone number she'd been avoiding for a long time, dialling it.

This is stupid, Bentley thought as she huddled deeper into her blankets, curled around a hot water bottle (not that it helped much, cooling rapidly in this weather). He wasn't going to pick up, she was just being clingy...