#Which we all know in Crowley's case is a much richer red.

[thegeorgiatennantblog]

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

Le Démon Déchu - Chapter 1: Nouveau Départ

Summary: The summary is kind of long so please check a previous part or my masterlist if you want to read it.

Warning(s): implied/referenced trauma, swearing (this goes for probably every chapter, but I’ll keep putting it here)

Word Count: 2.8k+

Inspiration: Do You Know What Eternity Is? by Elderly_Worm on AO3, Great Omens (The Big One) by falsepremise on AO3, Pray For Us, Icarus series by Atalan on AO3, Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm on AO3, Doctor Who (don’t ask) and, of course, Good Omens itself

A/N: This was probably a bad idea, considering I have three other series on the go right now as well as a one-shot that isn’t done yet, but life’s too short so here it is. Updates on all of my works are going to be a bit slower from now on now I’m back at school (I’m in Year 11 too so I have even less time to write these days), so just bear with me. I promise I have a plan for the next twenty chapters at least, I am planning for this to be longer, but I haven’t decided where I’m going to take the rest of the story yet.

By the way, you can imagine Eloise to look like whoever you want because I’ve been a bit vague with her descriptions, but I imagine her to look something like @angelknives13 on TikTok.

As I do for most of my stories, I’ve made a Spotify playlist for this fic! Just copy and paste the link below to listen and remember that I’ll probably keep adding to it. Please listen at your own discretion because some of the songs contain spoilers. Just be wary of that. Also, some of the songs’ lyrics don’t actually make sense/relate to the story, but they’re on there because they fit the general vibe of the story. Hopefully, that makes sense.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6BaXMlb26dBYyhRCqXrEeP?si=6rY8lOkeSSmE8LRDC_Cb5w

Taglist: @bhmay​ @briarrose26​

Ask or comment to be on my taglist! Let me know if it’s for a specific fandom(s) or series. Full list is in my bio.

Fool (upright) + Six Of Swords (upright)

New beginnings. Transition. Shaking things up a bit.

 She called herself ‘Eloise’. That wasn’t her real name. She hadn’t been referred to by her real name for an awfully long time. No, Eloise is what she called herself so Eloise she was. Somewhere along the line, humans had decided that one’s name should have a meaning, and in some cultures that that name should tell of your past and also of your future. Eloise had been all for this notion, thinking it a marvellous idea. She’d then found out that the meaning bestowed upon her chosen name was ‘famous warrior’, which she thought was rather accurate. For before all else, Eloise was a fighter. She had fought tooth and nail to carve out the identity she had cultivated for herself and by God was she willing to fight again to keep it that way. It was an identity that she kept in her metaphorical left breast pocket, right next to her metaphorical beating heart; right where she could have it close to her, always and forever, but also where she could take it out, hold it in the palm of her hand and just admire it from time to time before popping it back in the metaphorical pocket, safe and sound. Art for art’s sake. It was an identity that she had chiselled out of the finest marble, chipped at to perfection or the closest thing to it, so that now it was the image of a Roman bust, of an ancient and long-forgotten deity. It was taller than giants and softer than the clouds above her head, richer than the finest food that the humans could create and more complex than the human mind. It burned with the heat of a thousand fires, never to be doused nor tamed. It flowed freer than the flow of a thousand rivers, winding and twisting through the corners and crevices of her mind–

She looked at it for a second longer before placing it back ever so carefully in the metaphorical pocket. It’s healthy to admire one’s soul every now and again but look into its depths for too long and you will get sucked into your own vanity. So, she returned it home to the pocket, where it belonged.

After all, there were things to be getting on with.

 *************

 I would like to see that light once more. […] The light of the hour before the sun goes down. When every object begins to glow with its own light and gives off its own particular colour.

– Christa Wolf (Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays)

 *************

 There was something about evening sunshine. The sun beats down on every little thing without mercy during the day, but five o’clock rolls around before long and everything turns sweeter. The usually red bricks of identical townhouses glow orange as they cast shadows down on passers-by, the leaves of oak trees turn golden-green as they sunbathe, not all that different to the humans that seek them for shelter. The breeze blows a little cooler, the sun shines a little softer, the sky rejoices in the oil painting below it. Sunbeams caress your face, holding you in an embrace that’s warm and comforting and oh-so-familiar. It feels like returning home, and in some ways it is.

Aziraphale loves to read at this time. Though nothing should be inferred from this, as Aziraphale loves to read at any and all hours of the day and night. Aziraphale would read all day, every day for the rest of time if he could. Unfortunately for him, he can’t do such a thing, but he does read an awful lot, and he likes to make a point of always reading in the evenings. He would swap his east-facing desk for the comfort of his lapis-coloured armchair, where the window that peers over his left shoulder tries to read with him in comfortable silence. The sunlight spills into the room, casting the soft pages beneath his fingertips in a homely, golden glow, illuminating and enhancing the words printed on them. Dust particle dance like fairies in this natural spotlight, but Aziraphale is, more often than not, too engrossed in his reading to pay attention to things like these.

He is not, however, too oblivious to notice sudden noises. Unfortunately for him, Aziraphale tended to find them too loud to ignore most of the time.

His head popped up like a meerkat when he heard the bell hanging above the bookshop door ring, its tune singing out and filling the quiet of the room. The noise of outside chatter and traffic disappeared as quickly as it came as the door swiftly opened and closed. His brows furrowed in confusion, for he was sure that that door had been locked ever since that phone call he’d had with Crowley which had eventually resulted in the latter coming to stay with him, and as far as he knew, Crowley was upstairs somewhere, probably watching yet more reruns of Golden Girls. He rose cautiously and ventured into the main shop, worst case scenarios flooding his mind with every step he took.

“Hello? I’m sorry but we are most definitely closed, as you would know if you read the sign on the door…”

He faltered when he finally came face to face with the intruder. She looked at him with dark eyes wide with curiosity, her gaze intense but at the same time comforting, as if you could get lost swimming, drowning in them if you searched for too long. She then softened with the realisation and nostalgia of reuniting with an old and long-forgotten friend, her smile small but full of unbridled joy. Her voice was no louder than a whisper but held a power that compelled you to pay attention as she murmured, “Oh, there you are.”

Aziraphale’s throat ran dry with an emotion he couldn’t quite pin down, couldn’t quite name, an emotion that was on the tip of his tongue yet so out of reach. He scrambled to gather his senses because for goodness sake, this is a complete stranger whom you have never met until now, pull yourself together. “I-I’m not quite sure how you got in, but the shop is very much closed so I-I must ask you to leave,” he managed to stammer out, much less confident than the Aziraphale from a minute or two ago.

“Oh no,” she said reassuringly, her joyous expression never waning for a second, “I’m not here for a book.”

“Angel!” Crowley suddenly called out from upstairs, melting some of the awkwardness that was hanging around the room like a rather awful smell. Aziraphale noticed how the stranger’s eyes lit up even further, smile grew even wider, and more and more questions swirled around his head. He forced himself to look away from her as he heard Crowley saunter into the room from behind him. “Angel, I’m just about to put the kettle on, did you want a cup of tea or–,” he stopped when he finally noticed the other presence in the room, “I thought the shop was still supposed to be closed?” he asked warily, something in the back of his mind telling him not to trust the stranger.

“It is,” Aziraphale replied uncertainly while she waved awkwardly at them, “I don’t know how she got in, but she said she isn’t here for a book.”

Her face twitched slightly as if she wanted to comment on being spoken about like she wasn’t even in the room, but quickly decided against it for the sake of politeness.

Crowley’s face morphed into the epitome of confusion as he asked, “Well, if you’re not here for a book then why are you in a bloody bookshop?”

She looked at him as though the answer was blatantly obvious, “The bookshop has an owner, does it not? Or two unless I’m very much mistaken. It’s you. I’m here for you two.”

Crowley was quick to defend his image, “’S not my bookshop. I’m just, you know, here,” he gestured vaguely at his surroundings.

She nodded with understanding, then seemed to shake awake, “Sorry, I’m forgetting myself. Do you mind if I sat down? It’s just I’ve been travelling for an awfully long time; it’s been a while since I’ve been able to rest.”

Aziraphale nodded almost immediately, “Yes, yes, of course. Be my guest.” He didn’t think he’d be physically able to refuse her if he tried, there was something, something about her, “Could I get you a drink, or something to eat, perhaps?”

She smiled gratefully as she took a seat on the ancient looking yet somehow almost pristine armchair in the corner of the shop, “A glass of water would be lovely if that’s okay with you.” Aziraphale was gone in an instant, bustling around the make-shift kitchen in his backroom, quite glad to have something to do with himself if he was honest.

Crowley, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes at the stranger ever so slightly. Her story so far wasn’t adding up in his mind; if she’s been travelling for as long as she says she has, then why was her only luggage a handbag that she’d discarded on the floor when she’d sat down? And then there was the nagging in the back of his head that he was trying to stifle as best as he could. He stopped his train of thought dead in its track when he noticed that she’d been staring at him the entire time, still grinning like the Cheshire cat. There was something in her eyes, those damn eyes, that momentarily made him worry if his whole thought process was being projected above his head. She was observing him with a scrutiny that made him positively squirm. Finally, he said something, managing to stutter, “I’m gonna, erm, go, yeah,” he awkwardly pointed his fingers in the direction of where Aziraphale had left before sighing and making his much-needed exit.

She just nodded even though he could no longer see her, then suddenly sat up straight and let out a shaky breath. “Here goes nothing,” she whispered to herself. This was about to be the biggest risk she’d taken in years.

She took a deep breath and let go.

 *************

 “Do we know her?” Crowley asked from his seat on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a child and cradling a cup of coffee in his hands, “Or is she just some random stranger who couldn’t read the ‘closed’ sign?”

Aziraphale looked at him as though he wanted to comment on his bluntness but had decided against it for the sake of not wanting to pick a fight, “I don’t recall meeting her at all. Surely, she would have mentioned where we know her from…”

Crowley looked at him knowingly, “But yet she seems oddly familiar and you can’t for the life of you figure out why?” His face softened when Aziraphale’s eyes widened in shock, “I know what you mean. It’s off-putting. Her, I mean, not you, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled softly at him before looking away and asking, “What do we do? Do we ask her to leave?”

“Okay, you know as well as I do that you’re too curious for your own good,” Crowley smirked, “You want to find out everything you can about her, and that’s exactly what you’re gonna try and do.”

“I, well, um,” Aziraphale stammered out, face flushed bright red much to Crowley’s amusement, “Well, when you put it like that, I sound awfully nosy.”

Crowley snorted, “Well, you are a bit but where’s the fun in minding your own business?”

“Oh, hush, you wily old serpent,” he said, pursing his lips in mock discontent.

“Ah,” Crowley grinned, “Haven’t heard that one in a while. ‘Wily old serpent’. What ever will you think of next?”

“Stop it,” Aziraphale smiled with no real malice behind his words, playfully swatting Crowley with a tea towel that he’d miracled into his hands for that precise purpose, “Now get down from the counter, we can’t put this off forever.”

“Why not?” he asked as he jumped down with a swing of his legs. That earned him another swat from Aziraphale and his evil tea towel.

They continued to bicker as they reluctantly made their way back to the front of the shop, the unease in the atmosphere palpable to point where you could cut it with a knife. Neither one was quite sure why they were so nervous to talk to the stranger.

Crowley noticed it before Aziraphale did, stopping dead in his tracks and holding a hand out for Aziraphale to stop and just notice.

For standing in the middle of the bookshop with her back to the pair of them was the stranger and it was now painfully clear that she was in no way human.

A giant pair of wings sprouting from her back, spread out with pride, not unlike their own except they were the most beautiful shade of grey. The grey of an elephant in the sunlight, of the cobblestones shining in the rain, of shields from empires of long ago. They were the mist that lay on the sea in the moments before dawn and the oh-so-cold breath on a frosty morning. They were the fog that lay on a path yet to be crossed, the ashes of people long gone. They were almost hypnotising with not only their beauty, but also with the colour itself, and a hundred questions were swirling around their heads.

Who was she? Where had she come from? And, how on Earth did she come to have grey wings?

It was only when Aziraphale’s cup smashed to the floor when the stranger whirled around to finally meet their eyes, her expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked down the mess on the floor, and she smiled warmly at one very shocked angel before forcing the mug to reassemble itself in Aziraphale’s hand with a flick of her wrist, “There, no harm done.” Her smile faltered when she noticed their blank expressions and she sighed, “I think we best sit down, don’t you?”

The pair of them exchanged a nervous glance, speaking a language with just their eyes, before wordlessly following her suggestion and taking a seat on the sofa next to Aziraphale’s desk, while she perched on the chair opposite. “So, I’m guessing you have a lot of questions–”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Crowley scoffed, earning him a small glare and pursed lips from Aziraphale who just wanted to know what was going on, thank you very much.

“No, Aziraphale, it’s okay, he’s right,” she said, holding a hand out to stop him. The silence that followed was thick with unease and uncertainty, but she didn’t notice until it was too late, “Oh, shit,” she said simply, bracing herself for their reactions.

“How do you know my name? I didn’t tell you my name, how do you know it?” Aziraphale asked, the words tumbling out of him before he could even think about what he was saying.

Her eyes widened in alarm as she rushed to settle him, “Aziraphale–”

“Who put you up to this? Who sent you here?” He was standing now, blind with panic because what if they’ve found us, what if this is it, what if these past few months were all we were going to have before they came for us-

“Aziraphale, please,” she cried before looking at Crowley for help, not quite sure what she was dealing with here.

“Angel,” he said, voice as gentle as he could make it, smiling slightly when Aziraphale finally looked at him, “Just hear her out, okay?”

The angel stayed standing for a moment, collecting his thoughts because the worry in her eyes, no one from Heaven or Hell could even pretend to care for him so much. Finally, he nodded and sat down again, a trifle warily, a blush dusting his cheeks with a sad kind of shame.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you like that,” she murmured, voice a lot quieter, a lot less confident, but tenfold more sincere. She let the moment hang and dissolve, and then she perked up a bit, getting back to the manner at hand, “And no, no one sent me here. I came of my own accord, alone, just like I always do,” her eyes trailed away for a split second. They can’t see the memories if they can’t see your eyes. They can’t see the pain if they can’t see your face.

She felt Crowley’s eyes linger on her face with curiosity, grateful that he let the flicker of hurt wash over her face. After a second, he asked, “Who are you?”

Silence followed, for a moment. She sat there, thinking to herself, because who are you is a tricky question to answer when you have things that need to stay hidden. “My name is Eloise–”

She was cut off by a loud noise that must have come from upstairs, sounding not altogether dissimilar to someone crashing through the roof, followed by an overwhelming sense of divinity.

Eloise could only find it in herself to sigh and mumble, “Fuck.”

[hekate1308]

New Acquaintances

More siren!Cas/Addams Family inspired AU. Enjoy!

It’s a week before his wedding, and Dean is freaking out. Not because he is getting married; no, he’s more than ready to spend his life with his wonderful siren.

But he’s about to call Bobby, who he hasn’t spoken to in years, and, well...

Thing is, Dad is dead, and to Sam, Dean is as good as, so he won’t have any family at his wedding unless...

He dials the number.

When Bobby picks up, he blurts out, “It’s Dean... Dean Winchester.”

Silence. Then, slowly, Bobby says, “Boy, you sure took your time.”

“I –“

“I’m damn glad you called.”

“You are?” he asks before he can help himself.

“Of course. So, what gives? I ain’t so flattered at the attention that I assume you called without reason.”

“I’m getting married.”

“You’re – congrats! Who’s the lucky lady?”

“His name is Castiel.”

Another pause. Dean’s heart starts beating faster.

Then, Bobby asks casually, “He treating you right?”

“I – yes. He does. And I was going to ask if you – if you’d like to come to the wedding.”

“Of course I want to! When and where?”

“Next week, but Bobby, there’s something else... Cas. He’s a siren.”

This time, Bobby is silent for almost a whole minute, and Dean’s about to freak out when he asks flatly, “How long have you been dating?”

“Two years” he replies, somewhat confused.

Bobby sighs. “Thank God, I was worried for a second there... so you’re nourishing him with true love.”

“You know how this works?”

“Come across a monster or two in my time” Bobby says simply. “Had to make sure, is all.”

Dean nods, even though he can’t see him. Somehow, he’s not that surprised.

Many people do have prejudices against monsters – he should know, thinking of Dad – but Bobby is a business owner, and smart, and he wouldn’t shy away from meeting them if it meant more clients, which it probably does.

“So you’re okay with...”

“Yes, but who cares about that – Dean Winchester is getting married! Never thought I’d see the day.”

Dean laughs. “Cas changed a few things for me, let’s stick with that.”

Bobby arrives two days later, determined to help with whatever hasn’t been dealt with. Dean is still a little hesitant to introduce him to all their friends, considering his age, but he takes to Cas easy enough.

“You make that boy happy, you hear, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

“I wouldn’t dream of anything different, sir” Cas replies and Bobby’s expression softens. “Just call me Bobby.”

Naturally, Dean can’t wait and prepare Bobby and make him meet all their neighbours during a nice dinner.

Because of course Crowley pops in when he’s not even settled in. “Squirrel, Feathers, there are some dwarves who are requesting permission to pass through, they are on some quest or another, didn’t ask, figured we don’t have the time to hasten to Mount Doom and back, with the wedding and everything –“

And he’s obviously held one of his rituals again. Great. Just great.

“And who is this, may I ask? Is he annoying you? Should I get rid off him?”

“Crowley –“

“Alright I won’t kill him but I could –“

“He gets somewhat... hyperactive after his beloved rituals” Cas tells Bobby, “He should be soon back to his old lovely self.”

Dean snorts.

“What is – what are you, exactly?” Bobby asks.

Crowley grins, thankfully calming down somewhat.

Even though he lets his eyes slowly turn red, the bastard.

And yet, god damn it, Dean wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Ah. Demon” Bobby says calmly.

“Yep.”

“Friend of yours, I assume” Bobby says.

“We’re besties, actually. Boys would have been lost without me when they first moved in.”

“Because our life has been so much richer for frog tornados” Dean mumbles and Bobby throws him a suspicious glance. “I’ll explain later.”

“Anyway, name’s Crowley, as you heard” the demon says “You need someone vengeful, I’m your guy. Just ask for a deal.”

As if Dean doesn’t know that he’d never make a deal with someone they’re close to.

“I’ll keep that in mind” Bobby answers as he shakes his hand. “Is it just me” he adds after Crowley’s vanished to deal with the dwarves, “Or is he... rather well behaved for a demon?”

“That’s Crowley for you. A bit annoying now and then, but you know... Don’t worry, you’ll meet the more stable population soon enough.”

“There’s Charlie and Gilda, for example” Cas says. “You’ll like them.”

“Yeah, well... gotta get settled first. You leave the boy alone for a few years, and he ends up...” Bobby continues to mumble to himself as he walks to their guest room.

“I think that went well” Cas mumbles, drawing Dean close and kissing him.

Dean nods. “No problem keeping your powers in control?”

Cas shakes his head. “No. I knew he was coming, and you keep me well-fed.”

Dean kisses him. “I love you.”

“I know” he deadpans.

“Sometimes I regret having introduced you to Star Wars.”

“No you don’t, my love.”

Dean shakes his head. He has no idea how he got so lucky.

Bobby seems fine when he comes down again, ready to take a walk and meet everyone. Maybe he seems a little too eager – as if he can’t wait to get it over with – but really, he’s going through quite a lot today and Dean can’t fault the guy.  

“That’s Crowley’s” he says, pointing to the house next to theirs.

“Looks...” Bobby trails off before determinedly finishing the sentence with “nice”.

They all know he was about to say “normal” but no one mentions it. He’s here, and he’s trying more than Dad would have, Dean’s certain.

“Hey, what’s going on at Charlie’s place?”

The house is indeed a side to behold. Plants are freely flowing out of every window except for the upstairs bedroom – a tree is busy growing out of that.

“We should check on them” Cas says and off they go, as always. There’s a reason Crowley calls them “the leaders of our group” to outsiders.

Only when the reach the home does Dean realize that Bobby’s at their side.

“Bobby...”

“It’s just flowers. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Gilda’s magic can do all kinds of stuff with flowers though. “Charlie? Gilda?” he calls out.

“Was just about to call you, brother. Acquaintance passed by and called me” Benny greets him, stepping up to them. “Cas.”

“Benny.”

“Bobby Singer” he introduces himself. Benny shakes his hand. When he notices Bobby subtly checking for any signs of monstrosity, he grins and flashes his teeth.

“Ah. Vampire” Bobby says matter-of-factly.

“That’s right. Wife’s human though – for now. In case that makes you feel better.”

“I’m not –“ Bobby frowns. “species-ist? Damn it, boy, is there a word for that?”

“We haven’t found one yet” Dean says simply; he and Cas are already busy checking out the plants.

“What do you think? Are they in there?”

“It seems to be too full with...” Cas trails off as they lock eyes.

If Charlie and Gilda were in there...

“There’s definitely magic going on” Dean decides. “Best call Rowena.”

Cas nods.

“A witch, I assume, since we’re talking magic?” Bobby inquires.

“Yes. Crowley’s mother, actually –“

“Crowley’s what –“

“It’s a long story, sorry, we have to –“

Rowena picks up quickly enough, thankfully. She may live in a hut in the woods, but she has always been fond of modern technology, one of the few traits she shares with her son. “Dean.”

“Hi Rowena, look, sorry to disturb you, but we got a situation here at Charlie’s...”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” She hangs up, knowing Dean well enough to realize that when he talks about “a situation” things are about to get ugly.

“They don’t appear to be growing anymore” Cas announces, “or at least, only as slowly as they normally would.”

“So whatever it was, it’s slowed down considerably. That’s something” Dean says.

Benny reaches out and carefully touches a leaf. “Nothing poisonous, as far as I can tell.”

“Alright, doesn’t seem so bad. Now if only – Cas, any word from Charlie or Gilda?”

Cas shakes his head. “I only got their mailboxes.”

“Doesn’t mean they have to be in there. Might just be at the movies, you know Charlie...” Dean begins with more conviction in his voice than he feels.

Damn it. Charlie and Gilda were looking forward to seeing them get married and party with their two best friends.

“Hey” Cas takes his hand. “We don’t know anything yet, Dean.”

“That’s true” he mutters. “What would I do without you?”

“When’s the witch coming again?” Bobby asks.

“Here I am” Rowena dramatically announces behind them, “And who is that impatient man?”

“That’s an old family friend, Bobby Singer. Bobby, Rowena – mightiest witch you’ll find this side of the Grand Canyon.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere. Now, let me look at that – she’s made quite a mess of it, hasn’t she.”

“You know what’s going on?”

“Of course, it’s –“

They are interrupted by Charlie screeching “Gilda your growth potion! Did you leave it on the stove!?”

As it turns out, they did indeed go to the movies and have only just returned, and everyone was too busy with the raging flora to hear them.

“Thank God” Dean breathes and draws Charlie into a quick hug. “Good to see you, Red.”

“I’d say the same, only our house has turned into something Mowgli and his friends could play in.”

“I’m working on it” Rowena says, taking a few ingredients out of her bag.”

“What are you going to do?” Gilda, who is very attuned to nature due to her being a fairy, asks.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll turn them back into spores and roots; they’ll still be alive, only not yet grown.”

Gilda relaxes as Charlie introduces them to Bobby.

The cleanup after the spell is remarkably easy, and soon, they’re back home.

“Does this happen often?” Bobby inquires.

Dean shrugs. “Not that often.” Technically, something happens almost every day, but since that something isn’t often Gilda ruining her potions, it is not technically a lie.

Bobby sighs. “I better get used to it, then.”

Dean doesn’t really know if he fully believes he can. But three days later, when he wakes up at night and finds Bobby and Crowley drinking in the living room because ���we just dealt with a basilisk having crept into your house, Squirrel, we deserve it” he realizes Bobby won’t even have to try too hard.