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fandomweekly2019-10-05 08:28 pm
mxcatmoon) wrote in fandomweekly2019-10-05 08:28 pm
Entry tags:
[#026] Devil's Work (Good Omens)
Theme Prompt: #026 - Miracle
Title: Devil's Work
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (a couple of swears, innuendo)
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 883
Summary: Crowley almost ruins a promising night
The witching hour had come and gone, and the city outside was quiet. Somewhere, humans were saving each other and killing each other, but there in the bookshop, all was calm. Aziraphale and Crowley were relaxing after a lovely dinner at their favorite restaurant. They enjoyed the conversation and camaraderie and sought each other's company with increasing frequency.
“I don't mind a miracle or two, once in a while,” Crowley said in a studiously casual tone of voice. He took another long drink of red wine from the bottle in his fist, casting a sideways look at his companion and trying to keep his vision from going cross-eyed. It was hard to focus, for some reason. Wasn't the two bottles of wine he'd had, he had a reputation to maintain. He could hold his liquor better than any demon. Or any Catholic priest, he thought, laughing to himself.
Aziraphale nearly choked on the white wine he'd been sipping from a dainty crystal glass. “You must be joking.”
“Nope,” the demon denied, leaning back in a sprawl of limbs. Pride was one of the seven deadly sins, to be enjoyed as often as possible. Hell, he was going for at least five tonight.
“Actually...I suspected as much,” the angel told him with smug regard. “I've known you to partake a time or two. Or more,” he added sotto voce.
“Not just for you. I've been known to do a few on my own. You wouldn't know about that.”
Aziraphale leaned forward, clearly intrigued by this new thing he was learning about the demon. “Do tell.”
“Well,” Crowley began, waving his finger in the air as if to make a point. It wavered uncontrollably. He put it down. “It's like this, Angel. Miracles are the Devil's work.” He paused to wait for the reaction.
“What are you talking about, you drunkard?!” Aziraphale asked in a scandalized voice.
“Sorry to be the one to break it to ya.”
“That's ridiculous.”
“Makes perfect sense when you think about it. You do a miracle. It sets them up for a false sense of security, it does. Next thing you know, they're expecting more of the sodding things. Then BOOM! The terrible stuff starts happening. Illness, accidents, pestilence. Or something. They are so dish--dis--disillusioned that it turns them to the dark side. I've seen some of 'em stop believing in God altogether after that.”
“That's horrible,” Aziraphale told him with a pinched look.
“Yeah, good times! The worst thing for either side is indifference. Neutrality. Experiencing good makes the bad harder to handle. Miracles are too rare, but like any drug, people want more. When they don't get it, they'll do anything. First thing ya know, they're making a deal with the devil.”
“Miracles give people faith,” Aziraphale insisted.
“Maybe the ones who are firmly on your goody-two-shoes side,” Crowley responded, swinging his feet onto the coffee table to get more comfortable. “But the ones who are borderline...let me tell ya, that tips 'em right over the edge.”
“I don't believe you,” the angel told him. “Miracles are wonderful gifts from God.”
When Aziraphale didn't appear to be as wooed by his supreme logic as he'd expected, Crowley paused in his self-aggrandizement to take a good look at his companion. The angel was looking horrified, and even a bit teary-eyed. That's when the demon realized he'd screwed up.
“Oh bollocks. Look, I was just talkin' you know? Running my mouth. What do I know.” Crowley desperately tried to salvage the evening. “Stupid braggart, that's me.”
“I think you should leave,” Aziraphale told him primly.
“Hell! C'mon, you know me, all talk and no—er, remember, you told me I was nice. Besides, you don't want me driving like this, do ya?” He held his breath as Aziraphale thought it over.
“You'll have to sleep here on the couch,” the angel finally informed him.
“What?!”
“Well, you're very drunk.”
“Miracle me sober,” he suggested, going to his knees in front of Aziraphale. “You know you want to,” he begged, trying to make pleading eyes.
“I never understood why you choose to get drunk anyway,” Aziraphale began a tirade of his own, but Crowley could see he was starting to weaken. “What do you see in it?”
“It's fun,” Crowley defended. “Like eating, and dancing, and...other sorts of dancing,” he said, trailing a finger up the front of the angel's white shirt.
“I suppose you have a point. Perhaps this world needs more miracles. To give people enough hope to sustain them. I see I have a lot of work to do.”
Crowley nodded, sensing Aziraphale was almost where he wanted him. “You can get right on it. Tomorrow.”
“If you promise not to ruin them.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Angel.”
“Have we a deal?” Aziraphale asked, holding out his hand for them to shake on it.
Crowley sighed. “Deal,” he agreed, taking the hand.
“Well, then, now that I've done my first two miracles already, I believe it's time for bed.” The angel got up and started for the back.
Crowley scrambled to his feet, noting he was now stone-cold sober. “Hold on,” he said as he followed Aziraphale. “What was the other miracle?”
“If you're good, you'll find out,” Aziraphale called over his shoulder, with a secretive grin.
Title: Devil's Work
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (a couple of swears, innuendo)
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 883
Summary: Crowley almost ruins a promising night
The witching hour had come and gone, and the city outside was quiet. Somewhere, humans were saving each other and killing each other, but there in the bookshop, all was calm. Aziraphale and Crowley were relaxing after a lovely dinner at their favorite restaurant. They enjoyed the conversation and camaraderie and sought each other's company with increasing frequency.
“I don't mind a miracle or two, once in a while,” Crowley said in a studiously casual tone of voice. He took another long drink of red wine from the bottle in his fist, casting a sideways look at his companion and trying to keep his vision from going cross-eyed. It was hard to focus, for some reason. Wasn't the two bottles of wine he'd had, he had a reputation to maintain. He could hold his liquor better than any demon. Or any Catholic priest, he thought, laughing to himself.
Aziraphale nearly choked on the white wine he'd been sipping from a dainty crystal glass. “You must be joking.”
“Nope,” the demon denied, leaning back in a sprawl of limbs. Pride was one of the seven deadly sins, to be enjoyed as often as possible. Hell, he was going for at least five tonight.
“Actually...I suspected as much,” the angel told him with smug regard. “I've known you to partake a time or two. Or more,” he added sotto voce.
“Not just for you. I've been known to do a few on my own. You wouldn't know about that.”
Aziraphale leaned forward, clearly intrigued by this new thing he was learning about the demon. “Do tell.”
“Well,” Crowley began, waving his finger in the air as if to make a point. It wavered uncontrollably. He put it down. “It's like this, Angel. Miracles are the Devil's work.” He paused to wait for the reaction.
“What are you talking about, you drunkard?!” Aziraphale asked in a scandalized voice.
“Sorry to be the one to break it to ya.”
“That's ridiculous.”
“Makes perfect sense when you think about it. You do a miracle. It sets them up for a false sense of security, it does. Next thing you know, they're expecting more of the sodding things. Then BOOM! The terrible stuff starts happening. Illness, accidents, pestilence. Or something. They are so dish--dis--disillusioned that it turns them to the dark side. I've seen some of 'em stop believing in God altogether after that.”
“That's horrible,” Aziraphale told him with a pinched look.
“Yeah, good times! The worst thing for either side is indifference. Neutrality. Experiencing good makes the bad harder to handle. Miracles are too rare, but like any drug, people want more. When they don't get it, they'll do anything. First thing ya know, they're making a deal with the devil.”
“Miracles give people faith,” Aziraphale insisted.
“Maybe the ones who are firmly on your goody-two-shoes side,” Crowley responded, swinging his feet onto the coffee table to get more comfortable. “But the ones who are borderline...let me tell ya, that tips 'em right over the edge.”
“I don't believe you,” the angel told him. “Miracles are wonderful gifts from God.”
When Aziraphale didn't appear to be as wooed by his supreme logic as he'd expected, Crowley paused in his self-aggrandizement to take a good look at his companion. The angel was looking horrified, and even a bit teary-eyed. That's when the demon realized he'd screwed up.
“Oh bollocks. Look, I was just talkin' you know? Running my mouth. What do I know.” Crowley desperately tried to salvage the evening. “Stupid braggart, that's me.”
“I think you should leave,” Aziraphale told him primly.
“Hell! C'mon, you know me, all talk and no—er, remember, you told me I was nice. Besides, you don't want me driving like this, do ya?” He held his breath as Aziraphale thought it over.
“You'll have to sleep here on the couch,” the angel finally informed him.
“What?!”
“Well, you're very drunk.”
“Miracle me sober,” he suggested, going to his knees in front of Aziraphale. “You know you want to,” he begged, trying to make pleading eyes.
“I never understood why you choose to get drunk anyway,” Aziraphale began a tirade of his own, but Crowley could see he was starting to weaken. “What do you see in it?”
“It's fun,” Crowley defended. “Like eating, and dancing, and...other sorts of dancing,” he said, trailing a finger up the front of the angel's white shirt.
“I suppose you have a point. Perhaps this world needs more miracles. To give people enough hope to sustain them. I see I have a lot of work to do.”
Crowley nodded, sensing Aziraphale was almost where he wanted him. “You can get right on it. Tomorrow.”
“If you promise not to ruin them.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Angel.”
“Have we a deal?” Aziraphale asked, holding out his hand for them to shake on it.
Crowley sighed. “Deal,” he agreed, taking the hand.
“Well, then, now that I've done my first two miracles already, I believe it's time for bed.” The angel got up and started for the back.
Crowley scrambled to his feet, noting he was now stone-cold sober. “Hold on,” he said as he followed Aziraphale. “What was the other miracle?”
“If you're good, you'll find out,” Aziraphale called over his shoulder, with a secretive grin.
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