mckiwi

[mckiwi]

Christmas is Better Spent Together

Chapter Eight: 2023

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Rating: General Audiences

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Good Omens

Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley, The Metatron, Muriel

Words: 1069

7 times Aziraphale and Crowley spent Christmas together (and 1 time they didn't)

Soho, London, England - 2023

The neighbours kept asking him about Aziraphale. 

“I haven’t seen Mr Fell in quite some time.”

“Mr Fell didn’t put up any decorations this year. He’s always put up decorations.”

“Mr Fell hasn’t ordered anything from my shop in months.”

“Mr Fell hasn’t… gone, has he?”

“Crowley, are you okay?”

He startled, “What?”

Nina sat in front of him, looking as if she had been trying to get his attention for a while. “You were spacing out again. Haven’t even touched your tea. You alright?”

The Demon hid his face in his hands, “Yeah.”

“You don’t get to keep my shop open this late and then lie to me.” 

“I’m not lying.”

“Prove it, then. Drink your tea.”

He peeked between his fingers and glared at the six shots of espresso and cup of tea he’d ordered out of habit. “It’s not mine.”

Nina sighed and picked up the tea to drink for herself. She grimaced. “Mr Fell liked his tea sweet, huh?”

Crowley noticed the use of past tense. “Nah, only on special occasions, or when we come here.”

Nina, in turn, noted the present tense. “From what you’ve told me, he seemed pretty determined to leave. Do you think he’ll come back?”

He would not cry. 

“I don’t know. I mean, he’s said this kind of stuff to me before. We’d argue. Say things we don’t really mean. Not see each other for a long time. Centuries, even. A few months is nothing. It’s nothing new. Nothing different.”

He would not cry. 

Nina nearly didn’t hear his broken, “Then why’s it feel so different?”

—————

Heaven - 2023

“Supreme Archangel Aziraphale,” The Metatron began, “What on Earth are you doing? Is there a problem?”

He wasn’t on Earth, that was Aziraphale’s problem. “Oh, hello, there. I was just, um, well, you see, I–”

“Speak plainly, Angel.” The Metatron interrupted.

That was another problem Aziraphale had. Angel. Always said like a title. Always said harsh, cold, and straightforward. Not at all like the lilted angel Crowley used. The way he could make one word convey so many moods and tones. He wasn’t sure when Angel had softened into angel, but he could hear it with stark clarity now and missed it dearly. 

The fact everyone interrupted him while speaking or outright ignored him was another issue altogether, but one he had already gotten used to and dealt with for ages. 

“I was looking to see if we had any Christmas decorations,” Aziraphale answered, though it sounded more like a question even to his own ears. 

The Metatron laughed haughtily, “Christmas decorations? That’s a clever joke. What were you really looking for?”

“C-Christmas decorations,” Aziraphale said nervously. “Christmas is soon, and my office is looking a bit plain, per usual, so I thought I’d… decorate a bit.”

The Metatron was no longer laughing. Aziraphale would rather him laugh. Would rather him do anything but look at him with such pity. “We kept you on Earth for far too long. I apologize.”

Aziraphale shifted where he stood, “Oh, it’s no bother, really. I actually quite enjo–”

“We don’t celebrate Christmas in Heaven, what a ridiculous notion. The humans celebrate Christmas as the birth of Jesus Christ, but that was only His body. The Son of God has been here all along, just as long as God Herself. There’s no reason to celebrate the creation of His corporation. His body’s sole purpose upon being born was to die. The Salvation project was nearly completed by then, and His time in Hell was the final component needed. Christmas was a business transaction, nothing more.” The Metatron said. 

The Angel knew better than to ask questions, to argue, or to say what was on his mind. 

The angel, however… 

—————

Crowley knew he needed to stop sulking. His angel wasn’t coming back. Not anytime soon, anyway. While some things he couldn’t change, no matter how much he tried or pleaded, there were other things he could do, such as decorate. 

Aziraphale had always been the one to decorate the bookshop for Christmas. Past tense. He wasn’t here to decorate this year, and Muriel was still struggling with the concept of Christmas as a whole, but Crowley could. Granted, he had never decorated before (sans reaching the top of the Christmas tree), but he’d seen Aziraphale do it often enough. 

He strung garlands along each bookshelf. Threw a tartan blanket over Aziraphale’s spot on the couch. He lined candles up on the windowsills and strung paper snowflakes between the shelves. It didn’t quite match the ‘chaotic order’ Aziraphale had somehow achieved in Christmases past, but it was better than nothing. It didn’t look much different, overall, if you looked at it from far enough away.

All that was left was the tree. 

Crowley decorated the tree with red and white ornaments. Red and white was reliably festive. A safe option. It meant candy canes, peppermints, and Father Christmas. A far safer option than black and white, which meant nothing whatsoever. He searched through the box and found the star to put on top of the tree. This was something he had done nearly every year for decades. It had started as a joke back in the 1940s, when Aziraphale had first bought the star. Crowley had taken the star from his hands and placed it on the tree for him, claiming he was too short to reach the top. His joke had backfired, as they often seem to do, so Crowley was therefore responsible for the star in the following years. 

He placed the star on top of the tree, but something was off. He took it off and put it back on again, yet it still didn’t feel right. He tried turning it and tilting it every which way, but still nothing worked. He took the star down and put it back in the box. 

The bookshop was missing an Angel, so Crowley went and got one. An Angel to put on top of the tree, that is. It still didn’t look right to Crowley, but Muriel liked it and thought it was cute, so it stayed. Crowley stepped away to go make himself an extremely alcoholic dinner. 

The Angel began to slide off the edge. It leaned dangerously over the steep drop, and before long, gravity took over. Crowley wasn’t in time to stop it before–

—————

–the angel started to Fall. 

[mckiwi]

🎄Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories🎄

a Doctor Strange x OC fic

genre: angst, catharsis, eventual healing...and above all love❤️💚

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OC); established relationship

word count: 2.8k

Chapter Three

Lunch--and Hope, who had brought along a tray to his study with enough of the promised meal for the both of them--had been over an hour gone, and Stephen had made no progress at all.

He had been trying to delve into a freshly discovered manuscript that appeared to have been penned by The Ancient One when she had been apprenticed to Merlin, during his tenure as the Londinium Sanctum Master. Though it should have been a fascinating read, a slew of intrusive thoughts continued to hold his mind in an unforgiving grip.

What made it worse was they had nothing to do with the recent battle in Africa, nor the loss of life suffered or serious injuries incurred. It turned out the battle he was facing at this most inopportune time was trying his damnedest to keep the wall holding back his painful memories from collapsing after so many years of it being secure and reliable.

Dozens of now inescapable recollections surfaced the harder he tried to focus on the task before him, causing his eidetic memory to send a cascade of images from his youth--all with their attendant feelings--to cloud his mind. Christmases on the farm, the Christmases of his childhood, those carefree days before loss wreaked its terrible toll upon his heart. His mother, Beverly, gone before he'd graduated college. His sister Donna, whose tragic death cemented the course of his life to become a man of medicine. A man who had lived--despite his trademark arrogance--to save others in the best manner available to him, because he couldn't save her.

Setting his reading glasses atop the manuscript, Stephen sighed hard and covered his eyes with one hand. Leaning back in his chair, he considered if trying to meditate could be the remedy he needed. In answer, a long-forgotten image asserted itself behind his closed lids.

His mother, smiling down at him softly, as she accepted a drawing he'd made for her in school that afternoon, one of the last school days of the year before Christmas vacation. The afternoon light was brightly streaming through the window above the kitchen sink, a few dust motes swirling about within it.

That very particular quality of light--which always accompanied those final, wonderful, anticipatory days before Christmas, and ever left a warm, contented feeling in his chest when the season brought it back, even after he'd walled that memory away--shining in full upon his mother. How young and free of care she had appeared then, before silver strands had threaded her hair and sorrow had etched itself in the lines of her beloved face. Why she was the sun and the moon to me at six years old, Stephen realized. So gentle and understanding and beautiful to me. Tears prickled his eyes. And like Hope, a well of Christmas kindness.

Beverly Strange. The maleable blue-green of his eyes were one of her gifts to him, and a lifetime love of music in its many forms. Beverly Strange had been a music teacher before she ever became a farmer's wife. And for most of her life--despite how stony her husband grew over the years, grimly implacable in the face of what he found to be frivolous--she had done her best to fill their household with music. It was no fluke that Stephen developed such a great love for music that his prodigious intellect maintained a mental catalog of music trivia encompassing multiple genres.

Beverly had given private piano lessons as much for personal fulfillment as for the extra money the family had needed in lean years on the farm. Until the birth of Stephen's younger brother Victor, she had also volunteered as Choir Director at the community's small Lutheran church. Stephen could remember spending many an afternoon in the weeks leading up to Christmas and Easter in the choir loft, coloring quietly and humming along while Beverly conducted practice. Once her youngest child, Donna, had been old enough to sit in a church pew under Stephen's supervision (for their father rarely attended weekly services) Beverly had resumed a place in the choir and was often featured as a soloist during the holidays. Stephen had been damn proud watching his mother sing her favorite carol, Oh, Holy Night; how straight she had stood, free of his father's angry shadow, and of how flawlessly (to him, anyway) her notes had risen--in his child's mind he had been sure they had reached Heaven itself.

Most of all, though, he had always been proud to see when some parishioner or another was moved to tears by the purity of her rendition. Decades later, he could easily recall that feeling if he allowed himself to remember, could hear her in his mind--but the pain of Donna's death and the toll it wreaked upon his mother had long since precluded him from indulging in such sentimental recall. Beverly's music had fallen mute the day his sister had drowned; she had never sung in church again, nor had Stephen ever heard her sing in their own home in the too short years that followed before her grief prematurely aged her into the grave.

Stephen himself had adopted a stoic mien in the wake of losing Donna, internalizing the blame he felt for failing to save her, and by extension, their mother. Nearly two decades later, it still hurt too damn much to remember the first--and very rare--people who had loved him unconditionally, as both had been lost to him well before their time. And as his most vibrant memories of them included Christmastimes, he had turned his back on all but the most superficial of holiday celebrations.

He had kept his painful thoughts and memories buried deep in all the years since and had only confessed them to Christine (whom he realized in retrospect was the third soul to have loved him unconditionally) one sloppy, drunken night two months after his accident. She had given him what solace she could, gently urging him to not be so hard on himself, reminding him that both Donna and Beverly would wish for him to seek some healing, and staying with him until he drifted into a dreamless sleep. When she returned to check on him the next day, he had closed himself off again, rejecting her concern as unnecessary. Brushing off the incident as impertinent to his current life and goals.

But now...oh now! A wee bit at a time, Hope--who loved him as unconditionally as his past dear ones--had been chipping away at that wall. Reintroducing Christmas into his life by osmosis, without a hint of pressure for him to embrace the season. As she'd promised over two weeks ago, she'd gone about her Christmasing without the sort of fuss that might bother him. With each little Yuletide advance she had made in the Sanctum, he had found himself relaxing and accepting, smiling in concession, happy to play witness to her happiness in the season. With Christmas closing in, Stephen had begun contemplating what sort of gift he might manage for his own Who-girl. He'd been hoping to find a gift that spoke his heart clearly, but each idea that had come to mind fell flat soon after he thought it up.

His attempt to study The Ancient One's chronicle seemed doomed to fail today, for Stephen now found himself additionally distracted not only by the question of what to give Hope, but also by the carols she was playing in the living room portion of his quarters. Celtic Woman, he told himself with no effort to recall the facts; released October 2006, peak chart position number one on Billboard for US Worldwide Albums. The trilling of the all female group was pleasant enough, but not at all conducive to the study he was attempting.

Meaning to simply ask Hope to lower the volume so he could concentrate, Stephen rose and headed the short way to the main room of his suite. The fragrances of cranberry and evergreen greeted him as he drew near, for she'd made a substantial investment in candles for the season, and they were clearly alight as she wrapped presents. Hope was deep in her element and happy to be so.

The music paused between tracks, and when it resumed, it stopped Stephen in his. The opening strains of O, Holy Night filled the air, and in a heartbeat they landed upon him, sending him back to his youth, well before he had known loss and heartbreak. To those crisp, cold Nebraska evenings when his heart had swelled with love and pride to see his mother sing. Unprepared as he was for those powerful images and sounds to fill his senses, Stephen backed away, his eyes stinging with tears of mixed grief and recollection. Tears he'd put off for far too long in his quest to avoid the pain. And yet he knew that just several feet around the corner was the very soul who had given him the exact comfort, love, and strength he'd needed to complete the dreadful journey he had undertaken to save this Universe from Thanos--and that she'd be only too glad to learn this part of his past and help him find healing. If he, at last, could brave facing it.

By some remarkable coincidence, or as if she'd heard his thoughts, Hope's answer came unbidden, her voice blending in as though it had been meant to be a message for his ears alone.

'Sweet hymns of joy, in grateful chorus raise we..., ' she sang as his heart seemed to crack open in bittersweet relief. 'Fall on your knees, O hear the angels voices...' Stephen wrapped his arms across his chest while he wept to remember the love and warmth that had been his in the little church and in every moment spent in his mother's company. How had he made himself ignore such a miraculous gift? Surely the joy of it far outweighed the sorrow! How foolish to have gone so long without allowing himself such comfort.

The carol now drew swiftly to it's close, and still his Hope sang sweetly, following the notes faithfully, unaware that she had reawakened a dormant part of his heart. 'O night,' she crooned, in happy harmony with those recorded singers, 'O night divine!' He swiped his tears away with both his palms, deciding he must tell her this part of his story. His reasons for divorcing Christmas from his life. And that he understood at last that every day of this beautiful season, she'd been patiently showing him that love was stronger than even grief.

The decision made at last, Stephen steeled himself to share what he had hidden from even himself for far too long. Drew several slow calming breaths with the discipline of his Order. Silently ran through the things he wished to share with Hope. And then patiently channeled the energy of his aligned chakras to bolster his resolve and his ability to share not only his story, but all of the feelings filling his heart.

Calmer now, feeling a quiet peace he had never dreamed of achieving regarding the sad experiences of his younger self, Stephen wiped away the last of his tears. Though Hope would likely read what he was feeling in just a few moments anyway, he didn't want to alarm her--for in the end, the revelation to come would be good for his soul and for the future that they were building together.

Her back was turned to him as he rounded the corner so that Stephen paused a moment to take in the sight of the homey Christmas that Hope had created. The tree she'd designed to please him topped with her family heirloom star. The lighted evergreen garland dressing the fireplace mantle and archways between the hallway and next room. Flameless candles in the windows. Lovingly wrapped presents beneath the tree, the paper on each accented with an ornament or decorative trinket. And her latest addition, personalized stockings hanging from the mantle. His, of course, was blue & red and featured a felt version of the Eye of Agamotto (her own creation) and other mystical symbols. Hope had added a light blue, sequined butterfly ornament to her own red & gold stocking, attached near the hanging loop--a lovely reminder of how they had met, a couple of months before The Blip.

A wave of love and gratitude seemed to envelop him. Hope hadn't just made his suite of rooms--indeed, the Sanctum itself--homey. She had turned it into a home. A home the like of which he hadn't experienced since his childhood.

Gently, he cleared his throat to get her attention. "Hope...honey..." he started, but then fell silent when she turned his way.

Her sunny smile greeted him, but just as he had expected, she read his face, the mix of all his emotions writ there, and was immediately on her feet and heading his way. "Stephen, is...is everything okay? Are you alright? Is there...some word from Kamar-Taj?"

"I'm fine, honey. Everything is fine." She stood before him studying his face, trying to decide if he was attempting to downplay whatever appeared to be troubling him. Stephen took her hand. "Come sit with me a bit. There's something I want to share with you," he told her, leading her back to the sofa,"Something I've done my best to ignore for far, far too long." The concern on Hope's face only deepened. "You don't have to worry, sweetheart. For the first time in what feels like forever, I'm ready to face the ghosts of my Christmases past--and finally keep them from spoiling a most wonderful Christmas present."

Hope gasped in soft surprise, and Stephen raised her hand to kiss it, then assured her, "Because both you--and I--deserve the brightest Christmas we can make for one another."

(just one brief chapter left to go)

🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

tagging: @strangedreamings @ben-locked @aeterna-auroral-avenger @hithertoundreamtof23 @mckiwi @ironstrange1991 @darsynia @icytrickster17 @aphroditesdilemma @veryladyqueen

[mckiwi]

Life cycle of our Sun, from beginning to end~

[mckiwi]

Happy Crowy Yule! It's a reall whose who of Yuletide.

[mckiwi]

ghostwatch

[mckiwi]

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate!!

[mckiwi]

Christmas is Better Spent Together

Chapter Seven: 2019

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Rating: General Audiences

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Good Omens

Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley, Madame Tracy, Seargent Shadwell, The Them, Adam Young, Anathema Device

Words: 1024

7 times Aziraphale and Crowley spent Christmas together (and 1 time they didn't)

Soho, London, England - 2019

“I look stupid,” Crowley deadpanned. 

Aziraphale placed a hand on his shoulder as he appeared behind him in the mirror, “I think you look rather endearing, myself.”

Crowley nodded enthusiastically, staring bitterly at his reflection, “That’s my point! ‘M not supposed to look endearing.” Aziraphale studied his handiwork, manually turning Crowley around while the Demon rattled on. “When I agreed to wear a red jumper you’d made, I thought you meant a dark red, nice jumper. Not this… child’s rejected art piece. No offense. And I did not agree to green!”

“It’s meant to be ugly. It’s an Ugly Christmas Jumper competition. Mine is just as bad.” Aziraphale countered. “And red and green are festive!” He did one more glance over Crowley's jumper and was satisfied with the results. 

“It’s got snakes on it, angel! Snakes aren’t very festive!” 

“Maybe not, but they’re very you.”

“Exactly, I’m a snake. The snake. And snakes sleep during the winter, which is what I’d much rather be doing instead of attending this party you’re dragging me to.”

“I’m not dragging you anywhere. You’re driving us.”

“Eugh!” Crowley groaned dramatically, throwing his head back and willing himself to not melt into a puddle on the floor like Ligur had. 

Aziraphale tutted, “You’ve been to other Christmas parties with me over the years. Why is this one any different?”

“Because,” Crowley explained, “I actually see these people on a somewhat regular basis. I don’t need them to see me like this. I have an image to maintain.”

“We’ve already told Anathema and Newt we would come. We can’t back out again like what we did with their Engagement party.” Aziraphale reasoned. 

“Fine,” Crowley sighed. “Gimme a minute. Need to move the plants to the back seat.” 

Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgement, “That’s quite alright. I need to fetch the tray of mince pies anyway.”

—————

Tadfield, England

A relatively short drive later (thanks to Crowley’s speeding) found the Bentley pulling up to a cottage that was the very embodiment of ‘deck the halls’. 

“If a single person so much as looks at this jumper, I’m leaving,” Crowley muttered as the door swung open. 

Madame Tracy opened the door and smiled warmly at them. “Mr Fell! I’m so glad you were able to make it. And I see you brought Mr Crowley with you! I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear anything that’s not black. Red and green look so fetching on him!”

Crowley wordlessly turned around and made it two steps towards the car before Aziraphale grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back into the conversation. He laughed nervously, “It’s very good to see you, Madame Tracy. Would you mind showing us where the events are being held?”

“Of course!” Tracy opened the door further for them to enter and showed them to the dining room. Several people stood around with drinks in their hands, talking amongst themselves. “You can put your tray beside the Figgy Pudding Mr Shadwell brought.”

Crowley could feel the fingers still around his wrist tighten minutely. He smirked and spoke into Aziraphale’s ear, “Eager to leave so soon, angel?”

Aziraphale faltered. For a moment, Crowley thought he had gotten his way, until the Angel set his shoulders determinedly. “No. We need to do this. It was very kind of them to invite us to this party. We need to at least pretend to like it… and its participants.”

“‘Aye, it’s the Southern Pansy!” Mr Shadwell shouted from across the room. 

Aziraphale’s jaw clenched. 

“Change of heart?” Crowley asked with a lopsided grin. 

Aziraphale pursed his lips and shot Crowley a Look. Something mischievous flashed in his face. “Hello, Mr Shadwell! What do you think of the snakes on Crowley’s jumper?” Aziraphale was met with a look of utter shock and betrayal by the Demon. 

Mr Shadwell observed Crowley’s jumper, “Oh, well, it’s surely–”

“Aziraphale keeps books written by witches because he thinks they’re funny.” Crowley snapped. 

Aziraphale gasped, appalled. “He’s lying!”

“Am I?” Crowley challenged with a Look of his own, knowing Aziraphale kept a comedically inaccurate book of prophecies on the end table in case he ever needed a good laugh. 

“Those witches spread only lies and trickery!” Mr Shadwell jumped at the opportunity to share his area of ‘expertise’. Aziraphale and Crowley both sat through the proceeding lecture. Aziraphale chimed in with the occasional ‘oh nice’ or ‘mhm’ while Crowley didn’t even bother to mask his disinterest. 

—————

The Them attempted to get Aziraphale to Miracle them a brand new PS4, which Aziraphale withstood gallantly. Crowley watched the entire debacle with clinical interest, giving Adam pointers on how to properly perform a Temptation. The boy may have renounced his Unholy Father, but some of the Hellish power still flowed in his veins. 

Aziraphale ended up Miracling a chess board for them to play with, just so they would leave him alone. 

—————

“This roast is simply delicious, dear girl. Absolutely scrumptious!” Aziraphale complimented.

Anathema smiled, “Thank you! I found the recipe in one of my mother’s books.”

Crowley, mouth burning and teary-eyed, took several sips of water and exhaled heavily. “I didn’t think you liked spicy food, angel.”

Aziraphale looked at the Demon curiously, “This isn’t spicy.”

“Wot? Yes, it is.” Crowley argued and looked to Anathema, “What all is in this?”

The witch looked puzzled, “Nothing out of the ordinary, I wouldn’t think? It’s just a roast with some garlic, oregano, sage, and rosemary.”

Crowley promptly choked and spit up into his napkin. 

“He’s allergic,” Aziraphale explained in response to Anathema’s concerned expression. He’d rather tell a little white lie than make the poor girl feel guilty about unintentionally giving his Demonic counterpart purifying herbs. 

—————

“I think that went well,” Aziraphale said later that evening, watching the darkened roads quickly pass them by. Crowley grumbled something unintelligible from behind the wheel. “And you won the ugliest Christmas jumper!” Aziraphale cheered, placing a paper crown back on Crowley’s head. Crowley nodded, making the paper crown nearly fall off. Aziraphale reached over and fixed the crown back into place with a smile. Crowley heaved a sigh and accepted his fate. 

[mckiwi]

Christmas is Better Spent Together

Chapter Six: 2013

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Rating: General Audiences

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Good Omens

Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley, Warlock Dowling

Words: 1285

7 times Aziraphale and Crowley spent Christmas together (and 1 time they didn't)

Winfield House, London, England - 2013

“But how does Santa get down the chimney? We don’t even have a chimney,” Warlock wondered. 

Nanny Ashtoreth shook her head cluelessly and finished tucking the boy into bed, “I don’t know, dear. Magic, I suppose.”

Warlock wasn’t convinced, “And how does he know when you’re sleeping or awake? Does he watch us?” 

“I don’t know,” Ashtoreth said for the twentieth time that evening. Maybe this is why She didn’t like my questions, she thought tiredly. “You can kidnap him and torture the information out of him when you’re older.” 

The little hellion turned onto his side and pulled the blanket up to his chin, “But then Santa wouldn’t be able to give any other kids gifts. We need to share what we have with those less fortunate.”

Ashtoreth raised a brow, “Did Brother Francis teach you that?”

“Mmhm,” Warlock confirmed. “So really, Santa doesn’t even need to come here. He can just take my gifts to some other kids.”

“You don’t want to hold Santa hostage and keep all the gifts for yourself? Everything you could ever want?” She Tempted half-heartedly. 

Warlock thought for a moment, “Not really. My parents always buy me stuff. Like last week, my dad said he would come to my Spelling Bee, but he forgot. Then he bought me a new computer.”

Ashtoreth remembered all too well the Spelling Bee. She had been there to watch Warlock, but neither of his parents had. His father had gone to play golf with his colleagues while his mother went out with her friends. Warlock, of course, tried to act like it didn’t bother him, but what kind of a Demon couldn’t sense feelings like disappointment and a desire for things unobtainable? What kind of child doesn’t seek parental validation and attention? The two of them had gotten ice cream afterwards and sneakily displayed his gold medal beside Thaddeus’s golf trophies. 

She decided to change the topic, “You need to go to sleep so Santa can come tonight.”

“Is Santa even real?”

This was definitely outside of her pay range. “Ask your parents in the morning, darling.” She pulled her coat a little tighter around herself and walked towards the door. “Get some rest, tomorrow is a busy day for you.”

“Alright. Good night, Nanny. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll be back on Monday. Sleep well, Hellspawn. Dream of the death of your enemies.”

Ashtoreth closed the door behind her softly and sighed. The sun had long since set over the Dowling’s home, with only the scarce light of the stars to guide her way through the path. She didn’t need the light to know where she was going, anyway. She knew the way to the Gardener’s abode like the back of a certain bookshop. 

Knock… knock knock… knock

“Good evening, dear. How was your day?” Aziraphale, who had been off duty as Brother Francis for the past two days, asked as he opened the door wide enough for her to slip through. 

Crowley began kicking off her heels and letting go of her Ashtoreth disguise as soon as the door had closed. “Jolly,” she replied in her usual, bored tone. Not the soft, slightly Scottish one she reserved for her ward. “Warlock’s been interrogating me about Santa Claus all night. Stupid Americans with their stupid American traditions.” She pinched the bridge of her brow. “A chimney. They’ve got Santa going down a chimney, Aziraphale. A chimney!”

Aziraphale passed Crowley a glass of wine, “So I gather.”

“And you haven’t helped either!” Crowley accused. “You’ve got Warlock thinking Santa doesn’t even need to come here 'cause he gets everything he wants anyway.”

The Angel smirked, “Oh, so he was listening after all.”

Crowley downed the entire glass in less than four seconds, “He’s a kid. Kids are always listening, even when you don’t want them to. Ask any parent, they’ll agree.” She held out her glass for Aziraphale to refill, to which he complied. She sipped at this one much slower. “I kinda feel bad for him.”

“He’s not just a child, he’s the Antichrist. We have to remember that,” Aziraphale reminded, though his heart wasn’t in it. 

“Yeah, I know. I know.” Crowley slumped further into her seat. 

Aziraphale draped a blanket over the Demon’s shoulders and sat next to her on the large couch. “Do you have to work tomorrow?”

“No, they’ve given me the rest of the week off to go be with my ‘family.’ They also gave me a £50 gift card and a Christmas Spice scented candle. So thoughtful of dear ol’ Thaddeus.” Crowley answered, every word dripping with sarcasm. 

“You think he picked out the candle himself?” Aziraphale asked insincerely. 

Crowley laughed, “Oh yeah. He spent hours in the shops picking out a candle that reminded him of me. It was picked out with love and careful thought, I’m sure.” 

“You know,” Aziraphale began, “If you’ve got nowhere to be, and they’re expecting you to be gone anyway, well then… perhaps we could go somewhere?”

Crowley recognized her own Temptation being thrown back at her from all those hundreds of years ago. She smiled sadly. “Where?”

Aziraphale shrugged, “I was thinking somewhere warmer. Perhaps coastal?”

“You mean go south?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, that’s a splendid idea!” Aziraphale agreed excitedly, buying more and more into the idea. Crowley’s heart seized painfully. “We’ll rent out a little cottage for the weekend! What do you say?”

Crowley nodded, “I’d say that would be great. I wish we could.”

Aziraphale visibly deflated, “What? You wish? Why can’t we?”

“Angel, Heaven and Hell are watching us now more closely than ever. The end of the world is in just six years, in case you forgot.” Crowley said. 

“Of course I remember the world is ending, it’s all I can ever think about these days!” Aziraphale bristled. “Every time I see that boy running around in the flower beds or, or trying to feed the squirrels, I get reminded of the fact he’s meant to destroy the world, and yet… I can’t picture it.” 

Crowley, for once in her very long life, let her questions go unasked. 

Aziraphale continued, “I have to constantly remind myself not to get too attached. He’s not human, no matter how much I may want to think of him as one. He’s here to destroy everything we love. Everything we’re fighting to protect. We’ve spent the past four thousand years knowing the Prince of Darkness is coming, but as it currently stands, the Prince of Darkness is sleeping under a tartan blanket and glowing stars on his ceiling. We’ve not had a moment’s rest in several millennia. The world will continue spinning if we take one sodding weekend off for a holiday.” 

The Angel’s racing thoughts were cut off by slow clapping. “Alright,” Crowley stated. “I’m sold. We’ll make a Tempter out of you yet.” 

“So you’ll do it?” Aziraphale asked hopefully. 

“After getting preached at like that I’d be hard-pressed to disagree,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale clasped his hands together joyfully, “Oh, wonderful! I won’t have to cancel the reservation, then.”

Crowley baulked, “The what?”

“I rented a cottage in the South Downs for the weekend,” Aziraphale answered. 

“… When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday?! I hadn’t even agreed yet.”

“Oh, I know. But I convinced the Dowlings to let you be off this week, so I knew you would be free. I also know how hard these past few months have been for you, and you’d be more likely to entertain the idea of a holiday.” Aziraphale said smugly. 

Crowley stared, “You’re a right bastard, you know that?”

“And you’re a bad driver, yet I persist. Go get your car keys, we’re going on holiday.”

[mckiwi]

i can't find the original post but I've been thinking about this nonstop

During spiderman far from home when peter ended up in the Netherlands and he borrowed a strangers phone to make a call, he starts the dial a number but then he stops, thinks, and then dial again. It's because he was going to call Tony for help but then realized he couldn't

[mckiwi]

okay, yes, I know that comma isn't supposed to be there but I want the reader to take a breath! I want a pause! Stop trying to correct me, I'm trying to control the flow of reading

[mckiwi]

Your nose ever get so runny you just shove a tissue up your nose and call it a day

[mckiwi]

i wanna talk about this shot

[mckiwi]

Christmas is Better Spent Together

Chapter Five: 1968

Read on AO3

Start << Prev < > Next

Rating: General Audiences

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Good Omens

Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley

Words: 789

7 times Aziraphale and Crowley spent Christmas together (and 1 time they didn't)

Kennedy Space Center, Florida, USA - December 21st, 1968

“It’s a lot bigger in person,” Aziraphale said, staring out across the horizon to the space shuttle. 

“I know! It’s great, isn’t it?” Crowley exclaimed, smiling ear to ear. Aziraphale had rarely, if ever, seen the Demon this excited. It was as endearing as it was disturbing. “First humans to ever orbit the moon! Ha! Soon enough they’ll be walking on it! Wouldn’t that be something? Oh, I can’t wait!”

“Apollo is an interesting name choice, I think. Greek god of the sun.” Aziraphale commented, noticing the ship’s name. 

“They’re trying to get to the stars, angel.” My stars went unsaid. Crowley had never told Aziraphale of his time before the Fall. He had never once mentioned his role in creation or his fascination with the cosmos. Yet, sometimes, Aziraphale would look at him the same way that Angel did all those millennia ago, and Crowley thinks his angel might already know. Might remember. 

Aziraphale looked at the Fallen Angel beside him. He looked at the sharp features highlighted in the first rays of the rising sun, just the same as it did during the very star’s creation. “Indeed they are, dear boy, and look how far they’ve come.”

Crowley’s soft smile turned prideful, “You know, this is probably my favourite project I’ve done so far. Don’t get me wrong, the whole turning a motorway into Odegra thing is fantastic. Going great. We’re finishing up the plans for it now and they’re supposed to start building it in the early 70s. But this ‘Space Race’ is… it’s fun, Aziraphale.”

The Angel raised a brow in surprise. “I didn’t realize this was some of your work. How many commendations have you gotten for having the two most powerful countries in the world compete over their research?”

“None, and there won’t be any,” Crowley admitted. “I don’t plan on reporting to Hell over this. This is a personal investment. There’s nothing evil about seeking out knowledge.”

“You told Adam and Eve the same thing and look what happened,” Aziraphale pointed out, not unkindly. 

Crowley gestured to the thousands of people around them, anxiously awaiting the Apollo 8 launch. “This happened! I may have regrets, but giving Eve that apple is not one of them.”

Aziraphale pondered the other’s words, then chuckled to himself, “Imagine that. Knowledge spread worldwide because of an apple.”

The Demon’s eyes lit up almost immediately. His formerly prideful smirk turned downright devious. “Apple. Now there’s an idea.”

Before Aziraphale could contemplate the landslide of technology developments he’d indirectly just inspired, a countdown started. 

“10… 9…”

Thousands of people gathered. 

“8… 7…” 

Thousands of backgrounds unified. 

“6… 5…”

Thousands of voices heard. 

“4… 3…”

Crowley watched something breathtaking. Aziraphale watched Crowley.

“2… 1…”

Thousands of years shared. 

“Takeoff.”

They all came together and joined in the wake of something unprecedented. 

—————

Soho, London, England - December 24th, 1968

“There we are! All set up and ready to go.” Crowley stated, standing over the bulky television set he’d brought over from his flat. He turned the television on and tuned it to NASA’s broadcast before throwing himself onto the sofa beside Aziraphale’s. 

(The TV wasn’t tuned to pick up the broadcast’s signal, but Crowley didn’t know that, and so the TV didn’t either and opened to the correct channel anyway.)

Aziraphale stared at the screen in confusion. “So they’re meant to be making an announcement?”

“Yup. Any minute now.” Crowley confirmed. “I bet it’s gonna be something cool. ‘Humanity has brought light to the dark side of the moon’ or something poetic like that.”

Aziraphale sat back in his chair, at ease. “Humanity does love their literature.”

Crowley hummed in agreement, “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Static crackled and an image appeared on the screen. Something round and pale. Crowley sat on the edge of his seat while Aziraphale gaped, “Is that–”

“Yeh!”

“The moon?”

“Yea! They did it, angel! They really did it! Ha!” Crowley barked a laugh and his hands flew to the back of his head. “They made it!” 

“We are now approaching lunar sunrise,” a voice sounded through the static. “And uh, for all the people back on Earth, the crew of Apollo 8 has a message that we would like to send to you.” 

Crowley leaned in eagerly. 

“In the Beginning, God created the Hea–”

“What kind of bollocks is this?!” Crowley snapped in disbelief, much to Aziraphale’s amusement. Despite the harsh words, Crowley couldn’t find it in himself to quite hate the Book of Genesis, not with its third chapter.

“–And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you on the good Earth.”

[mckiwi]

The fact that the universe was saved only because Tony Stark saw a photo of Peter Parker and now there are no photos of Peter anywhere and the universe has forgotten the very person who inspired its salvation… One of the greatest tragedies in all of cinema.

[mckiwi]

Christmas is Better Spent Together

Chapter Four: 1843

Read on AO3

Start << Prev < > Next

Rating: General Audiences

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Good Omens

Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley

Words: 1087

7 times Aziraphale and Crowley spent Christmas together (and 1 time they didn't)

London, England- 1843

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Crowley asked, glancing over at the Angel. 

The two of them sat side by side to watch the first-ever showing of A Christmas Carol. Aziraphale was an avid fan of Charles Dickens, so of course he took up the opportunity to see it performed live on stage. If Crowley just so happened to go to the same theatre and sit in the same row as Aziraphale, then that was pure coincidence. The fact they had gotten a late lunch together before the showing was completely unrelated, obviously. 

Aziraphale turned away from the closed curtains, “What was that?”

“I said this brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Crowley asked again, a little louder. 

“With Hamlet, you mean? Well, yes. It does. A much livelier audience this time, thankfully.”

Crowley had to strain to hear Aziraphale’s words over the chatter of the other patrons. “You could say that.”

“And much more comfortable,” Aziraphale added. “Have you gotten the chance to read the book yet?”

“It just came out a few weeks ago, angel. No. Though I’d bet you’ve read it four times by now.” 

“Not at all, actually. I haven’t even gotten the chance to buy the book,” Aziraphale answered so sadly that Crowley had to suppress his smile. He self-consciously patted his jacket pocket. “I go shopping for books at the beginning of every month, except I was in Yorkshire so I couldn’t go this time.”

“Oh, your poor thing,” Crowley teased. His comment was lost on the Angel, however, as the curtains opened and Aziraphale squirmed happily in his seat. 

Cheers rang out as the theatre’s manager crossed to centre stage. “Merry Christmas! And welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to A Christmas Carol!” More cheers echoed through the room. “We are so glad you decided to join us on this thrilling show of Ebenezer Scrooge and his haunting encounters with the ghosts of Christmas! Keeping in line with the Christmas spirit, I have an exciting announcement to make. We have a very special guest here with us tonight.” Everyone waited with baited breath. “Make sure to stick around after the show to see who it is.”

Disappointment and frustration surged from the audience so forcibly Crowley couldn’t help but laugh. The Demon may take credit for some of humanity’s cruelty at times, but he let Dickens take it all when it came to the invention of the cliffhanger. 

For the most part, the play continued like any other they’d seen together. Aziraphale oohed and awed at the appropriate times while Crowley considered the Hellish logistics of Marley’s chains. Eventually, the curtains closed. The actors bowed. The audience clapped. And the manager came back out a short while later with the much-awaited news. 

“Please welcome Mr Charles Dickens!”

Aziraphale’s hand latched onto Crowley’s arm. Crowley looked over in alarm, fearing something might be wrong, but only found Aziraphale completely and utterly captivated by the stage. His eyes were wide and his mouth slightly open in a silent gasp even as the crowd roared around them. 

Possibly the most famous author of their time crossed the stage to stand beside the manager. They shook hands before Dickens began, “Hello, everyone! It is an honor to stand before you all and I’m so glad you enjoyed the play! I am looking forward to meeting some of you!” 

Before anyone could question what that meant, the manager spoke up, “Those of you who donated to the theatre were also enrolled in a raffle. Five of you will be randomly selected to meet Mr Dickens and get an autograph! You will find a number on your ticket. If your number is called out, please make your way to the stage.”

Aziraphale perked up considerably and scrambled to find his ticket. 

“First we have Ticket 157!”

A woman yelped with joy somewhere behind them. 

“Ticket 023!”

A man held up his ticket with pride. 

“144!”

Another man stood from his seat. 

“079!”

Aziraphale looked at his ticket with growing dread as a woman cheered. 

“And finally Ticket 191!”

The audience began to gather their things as Aziraphale remained still, staring longingly at the stage. Crowley stood to smooth out his jacket when his ticket fell out of his pocket. He picked it up and went to stick it back in his jacket when he noticed. 

191. 

“Hey, angel! Look!” Crowley immediately shoved the ticket into Aziraphale’s hands. 

Aziraphale’s face did brighten just a smidge upon seeing the winning numbers, but his smile didn’t quite beam like it ought to. He handed the ticket back to the Demon. “Oh, that’s great, Crowley! Tell him hello for me.”

Crowley shook his head, “What? No. Here. Take it.” He extended the ticket out again. 

“That’s really kind of you, but I shouldn’t.”

“Why not? You love his stuff. Here. Take it.”

“You can’t just give away your ticket.”

“You’re one to talk! I’m not giving away my ticket, I’m giving it to you.”

“But then you won’t have a ticket.”

“I’ll trade with yours if it makes you feel any better.”

“But they mi–”

“Aziraphale.” The Angel stopped arguing and looked up at his companion. “Take it.” Crowley pressed the ticket into Aziraphale’s hand and didn’t pull back until he felt the other’s fingers tighten around the paper. “I’ll meet you at the exit once you’re done.”

“I don’t even have anything for him to sign,” Aziraphale tried weakly. 

Crowley chuckled softly, “Yeah, about that. You remember 40 years ago when you gave me a gift? I thought I should return the favour.” He pulled a book out from his coat’s inner pocket and gave it to Aziraphale. “I was going to give it to you later tonight, but it looks like you’ll be needing it now. Sorry, I didn’t have time to wrap it.”

Aziraphale gasped at seeing A Christmas Carol written in gold across the cover. “There was no need for that, my dear. There was no favour to be returned.” 

“People exchange gifts, angel. You were due one. Now go get your autograph before they close things down.” Crowley nudged Aziraphale towards the stage. 

Filled with renewed vigour, Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically, “Okay, I will. I’ll meet you in a few. Thank you so much!”

The two parted ways. Aziraphale made his way down to the stage while Crowley shuffled along to the exit. Even with Charles Dickens in front of him, Aziraphale frequently turned and scanned the masses looking for Crowley. Crowley only knew this because he, too, was looking.

[mckiwi]

"you are addicted to screens" no no you see i am actually addicted to my friends. unfortunately they live in there