#Crowley causing strange weather patterns

[thatskindarough]

The weather has been so bad last night and today, multiple trees got knocked down at my house, not to mention whole roads were being blocked and closed by trees. The powers gonna be out for at least another day or two, and there isn’t even any cell service, let alone wifi. Its meant to be 90 degrees or more the next couple days and there is no power to run AC or a fan or nothing. It’s raining so hard basements are flooding. Crowley must be very sad today :(

[luckyspike]

Day 2 - Snow (Good Omens Advent Calendar Fic)

Hey I managed 2 days! Here we have day 2 of @drawlight ‘s Good Omens advent calendar prompts: snow!

Featuring Crowley and Aziraphale being dorks in love

It’s all fluff and very Soft (tm), please enjoy

- 

The whole mess had started innocently enough: they had been walking home from lunch, the sun bright and crisp on the freshly-fallen snow lining the roads of the village, chatting idly about nothing much in particular. They were on their lane, shoulder-to-shoulder, Aziraphale gesticulating enthusiastically to further reinforce his point about the merits of sustainable fishing, when a drift of pure-white snow caught Crowley’s eye.

They were nearly home, he’d thought. Just a bit farther to go, past the Kaur’s place on the right and Margie’s on the left, and they’d be there. It wasn’t far …

One snowball wouldn’t hurt. Surely not.

That had been forty minutes and perhaps fifteen exchanged volleys of snow ago. Crowley hadn’t even properly hit the angel with the first one, not really; just a little glancing blow off his shoulder that didn’t do much more than give Aziraphale pause and leave a smudge of crystals on his coat.

He’d spun to face Crowley, eyes wide with surprise, and then glanced to his shoulder. “I see,” he’d said, before nodding quietly, bending down, and packing a snowball of his own.

Crowley had spread his arms. “Get one in,” he’d sighed. “Go on, suppose I deserve it, although - oof.”

So long - for eons - had the angel put forward the image of a kindly middle-aged bookseller that sometimes, even Crowley forgot that was not his original nature. Sometimes, Crowley forgot that in the Beginning - before Eden, before the Fall - Aziraphale had been a soldier. Aziraphale had been made to be strong, decisive, and bloody accurate with edged weapons. Now, a snowball certainly wasn’t an edged weapon, but it was a thrown weapon, and although swords were Aziraphale’s speciality, he wasn’t any slouch with projectiles. 

The impact had caused Crowley to stumble backwards half a step, trip over the ridge of plowed snow at the edge of the lane, and fall ungracefully into a drift. “Oh dear,” he’d heard Aziraphale say, as he struggled to untangle his limbs and extricate himself from the freezing cold pile of fluffy precipitation. “So sorry, dear boy, forget my own strength sometimes -”

Crowley rolled to his side, the better to push himself to standing. “No you don’t,” he growled. “You bastard, you did that on purpose.” 

“You did start it, to be fair.” Aziraphale raised a hand and pointed at Crowley. “I only retaliated in self-defense.”

“Yeah, well, think I’ll follow your lead.” He snatched up a handful of snow and started packing. “I didn’t know you over - Oi!” Another snowball caught him in the shoulder, more gently this time, but still startling. He looked up, wide-eyed behind the glasses. “Self defense, eh?”

“You’re clearly readying an attack,” he said, and he already had a third snowball in hand. How had he done that so quickly? Crowley snarled. “Ah. So it’s come to this, then.” He ducked away from Crowley’s second attack, and baseball-pitched the third snowball into the demon’s belly, eliciting a grunt. “Very well. Winner takes all, I suppose. You have no one to blame but yourself,” he added, before he took off running.

That had been forty minutes ago. Initially, they had taken up stations on either side of the back garden wall, engaging in a ridiculous pastiche of trench warfare, but then Crowley had started to use the surrounding shrubbery to advance on Aziraphale’s position, forcing the angel to retreat into the open field beyond. With a yell, Crowley vaulted over the garden wall, fully prepared to charge, but instead he landed in Aziraphale’s dug-out base of operations, ringed with snowballs. Aziraphale himself was nowhere in sight, just drifts of pristine white snow all the way to the cliffs. Momentarily stymied, Crowley groaned, but then the footprints in the snow caught his eye, and he snickered to himself, gathering up an armful of ammunition and cautiously following the trail into the field.

It was open country, and he was exposed, but abysmal though his vision was, he was well-attuned to patches of heat among the drifts of cold. Of which, he noted, there were none. He watched his back as best he could, glancing this way and that, snowballs clutched to his chest, as he walked along the trail of footprints, but nothing appeared, no blobs of heat in the snow, no hint of a brown coat, no quick movement that might have given the angel away. So he went on after the footprints for a while, one snowball ready in his hand, until suddenly they just …

Stopped.

Crowley scowled. “Oh, you bastard,” he growled. “No fair.” He looked up. 

Blue sky stretched around, dotted with wispy white clouds and absolutely no hint of an angel at all. Of course not, part of Crowley thought, he wouldn’t go that far, to cheat and go where I can’t follow. He’s a bastard, but he’s not that kind of a bastard. Still, a larger part of him thought, He likes to win and he’s an utter competitive terror, and so Crowley circled in place, watching the sky for another minute more, before realizing that maybe if he had taken flight, he might have headed back toward the cottage, and already built up an arsenal in the garden …

Snow crunched a little to his right. It was quiet, barely there, but Crowley heard it, and he spun.

There was nothing there, of course. Just more drifted snow, blown and whipped by the wind across the cliffs until it had broom-sweep trails in it -

It’s not windy, thought Crowley, leaning down to study the odd pattern on the surface of the snow better. The marks were strange: they might have been made by the wind, but it would have had to be sustained wind, strong wind, and aside from the cold and snow the weather had been mild. The might also, he realized with dawning horror, have been made by something sweeping the surface of the snow smooth. Something like a brush, or a wing -

“Got you now, chuckaboo!” Crowley spun to the source of Aziraphale’s voice just in time to see one of the drifts explode outwards as the angel shook the covering of snow loose from his equally-white wings and leapt, bearing Crowley down into the next drift over.

“Argh!” Crowley yelped, as snow slid down the back of his coat and into his shirt. He struggled a little, but Aziraphale had him pinned, wings arched over the two of them, doubtlessly re-creating the illusion of just another snow drift along the cliffs. “Cold!” he managed.

Aziraphale looked inordinately pleased with himself. “I’d imagine so. You did start it, dear. Do you surrender?”

Crowley tried to keep his teeth from chattering, and wished desperately that he’d worn the heated coat instead of the flashy wool number. To be fair, though, he hadn’t expected a snowball fight. 

Which he’d started. But still.

“Will you let me up if I do?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Only after a gesture of peace, of course, but yes.”

“Sure, whatever. I surrender.” He grinned, matching the angel’s, because he had a fairly good idea what the gesture of peace would entail.

“Then to the victor go the spoils,” Aziraphale said, smug, as he leaned in and kissed Crowley. In spite of the snow now melting inside his coat, Crowley flushed warm for a moment, propping himself up on his elbows to follow the angel up even as he leaned away, stretching the kiss out just a lovely millisecond longer. Aziraphale pulled back all the way though, and smiled fondly down at Crowley for a beat, idly brushing some snow from his demon’s red hair and folding his wings out of sight, before he said, “You’re shivering.”

“Only for a bit.” Still, he let Aziraphale help him up, and he leaned happily into the angel when the shorter entity looped his elbow through Crowley’s and started leading them home. “Nap’ll fix me right up.”

Aziraphale jostled his shoulder. “None of that; I won’t have you going into brumation when we have the holidays in Tadfield coming up. Besides,” he added, still chuckling with self-satisfied glee intermittently, “we agreed that winner takes all, did we not? We have to settle on what ‘all’ entails.”

“You had something in mind?” Crowley asked, knowing damn well that the answer to that question would be ‘yes’.

“I do,” Aziraphale confirmed. He waited for Crowley to tug open the back gate, and then walked arm-in-arm into their garden with him. They didn’t bother to close the gate, instead treading along the path to the double doors into their shared cottage. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I hope it involves warming up.”

“Oh, it does,” Aziraphale confirmed, “although I’m sure not in the way you’re inferring, you old serpent.” Inside, he began to unbutton Crowley’s coat, pausing only to snap a fire into the grate. He hung the coat on one of the hooks by the fire, and waved a hand toward the bedroom. “Get something dry on, I’ll do cocoa.”

Crowley started backing from the room slowly, still watching Aziraphale as the angel stripped out of his own wet coat. “With you so far. Then what?”

Aziraphale looked out of the doors, and then back to the living room, and Crowley, who had paused in the opening into the hall. “It’s a lovely day for reading, and the sofa does look rather inviting, doesn’t it?” Crowley nodded, unable to help himself and breaking into a toothy (fangy) grin. “I was thinking we’re nearly done with that horror novel of yours, and then perhaps I’ll hold you captive further so you can put on a few episodes of that show with the cakes.” Aziraphale smiled wickedly. “I know it sounds like a terrible punishment, but, dear boy, I will remind you again that you did start it.”

“So I did,” Crowley said, before backing out of the room and turning for the bedroom, hands in his soggy pockets, not minding the cold one whit. “So I did.”

[average-crazy-fangirl]

Adam shouts at his friends and commands them to return to him and he then gives a speech to the Metatron and Beezlebub. Aziraphale and Crowley then give their own speech after B and M try to explain to Adam that it'd the Great Plan, they basically say that it may be the Great Plan, but that does not make it the Ineffable plan, that if it ever involves people, it could be crossed out and changed.

But there are two points that REALLY make them necessary.

1. The mix up.

Let's say, for the sake of this argument, that the job of delivery was given to another demon, the mix up probably wouldn't have happened, as any other demon would have taken great care of delivery to child. This would cause a BIG problem, with Adam growing up with a government official, which would probably make him Evil incarnate.

2. Newton.

If you were to remember Newt stopping nuclear armageddon, do you remember WHY Newt went up?

At first, he asks Shadwell if he can investigate Tadfield, because of the strange weather patterns. At first, he has no interest, then BOTH HIS SPONSERS (Aziraphale and Crowley) tell him to try and find someone for them, who is in Tadfield.

Now, let's say they didn't exist, but the mix up still happened.

Shadwell would have made Newt stay in his office plowing through news papers, looking for witch's. The nuclear war would happen, because Newton wasn't at Tadfield to detroy the machines.

hey quick questions for those who read the good omens book.

in the radio drama, it’s Pepper who gives Adam the speech that convinces him to not destroy the Earth. in the show it’s Aziraphale and Crowley.

who does it in the book. Because if Aziraphale and Crowley did NOT give that speech, that means you could remove them entirely from the book and the ending would be the same and this, as an author, gives me anxiety like you would not believe.