#ya this one's angsty folks what did u expect

[morosexual-aziraphale]

38 for the prompts pleaseee

38. Please don’t forget me.

Here, take some Ineffable Partners angst because I love writing pain, crying, and comfort!

“I can’t do this,” Crowley growled, standing up from the bookshop’s threadbare, overstuffed sofa. “I can’t do this anymore, angel!”

Aziraphale stared at him from his armchair, teacup poised halfway to his mouth. “Do... what?”

“This!” Crowley gestured between them. “This... this tension! This not-talking-about-things! This ‘there’s something there but neither of us are going to acknowledge it because Aziraphale is afraid of feelings’ thing!”

Aziraphale blinked. “I don’t understand, Crowley.”

“I love you,” Crowley said, blunt and emotionless. “And you don’t love me back. Not the way I love you. And I... I can’t do it anymore.”

“Crowley...” Aziraphale set down his tea. “Crowley, I—”

“Don’t, angel,” the demon interrupted. His voice was flat. “I’m... I’m leaving. And I’m not coming back until I forget about you.”

He turned and headed for the door, but paused just as he opened it. “And don’t come looking for me, either,” he added, “because you won’t find me. Just... live your life. Be happy without me. You’ve done it before.” And then he was gone.

Aziraphale stared at his door, bewildered and dazed. “Right,” he said faintly, and then he sank back in his chair and grew lost in thought.

Crowley loved him. This was a fact. This was something Aziraphale had known for a very long time. Of course Crowley loved him, when had Crowley not loved him? Their relationship was built on the fact that Crowley loved him.

Aziraphale hadn’t even given thought to how he might feel about Crowley in return. He was so busy thinking about Heaven and Hell and the Antichrist and the Apocalypse, and then afterwards, his bookshop and London and the people who lived around him, that he’d never even stopped to think about his feelings for Crowley.

Did he love Crowley? Well, of course he did. Angels loved everything, it’s what they were meant to do. It’s what they were built to do. So of course, in a general, generic sense, Aziraphale loved Crowley. (Agape.) But he also thought of Crowley as an ally, a confidant, a companion, someone to talk to and confide in and lean on when things were difficult. He trusted Crowley wholly. So of course, in a friendly sense, Aziraphale loved Crowley. (Philia.) Crowley to Aziraphale was also his main source of fun. They would go to the cinema together, and have lunch or dinner. They would share a bottle or six late at night, talking about nonsense and laughing. Sometimes they would play cards, or charades, or “Who Am I?”, or Twenty Questions. They would tease each other, laugh with each other, whisper inside jokes to each other. So, in a joking, teasing, playful sense, Aziraphale loved Crowley. (Ludus.) 

Aziraphale could not deny that Crowley was also beautiful. In all of his forms, through all of the years, Aziraphale has always thought that Crowley had a sort of forbidden, serpentine beauty to him. If he were to be perfectly honest, he had spent a good portion of the last 6,000 years just staring at Crowley, watching the way he moved, admiring the way he dressed. There was something enchanting about Crowley’s corporation. So, in a sensual, superficial, almost lustful way, Aziraphale loved Crowley. (Eros.) But the cherry on top, the real kick in the teeth, the thing that gave Aziraphale pause, was the last way he loved Crowley. It was a love that had built up slowly, slow enough that he hadn’t even realized it. It was a love that made Crowley the most important thing in the Universe to Aziraphale. It was a love that put Crowley above humanity, above Earth, above Heaven. It was a love that made Aziraphale choose Crowley again and again. It was a love that sent Aziraphale running into the demon’s arms, seeking him out, at every turn. When he was hopeless, he found hope in Crowley. When he was depressed, he found joy in Crowley. When he was lost, he found himself again in Crowley. So, in an eternal, enduring, all-consuming way, Aziraphale loved Crowley. (Pragma.)

Aziraphale blinked. He noticed, vaguely, that he was covered in dust. He had a feeling a lot more time had passed than what it had felt like. “Oh,” he said, voice hoarse and rusty. “Oh, dear. I’ve been a terrible fool, haven’t I?” he asked his bookshop. The bookshop didn’t answer. That was alright. He knew the answer.

Slowly, he stood, shaking off the dust and stepping out of the door. It was much chillier than it had been when Crowley left. He assumed he’d been sitting there for at least a month, but probably much more. Which meant...

“He could be anywhere,” Aziraphale murmured in horror. “How will I ever find him?”

“When I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you!”

“Unless...” Aziraphale said slowly. “No. He wouldn’t. He’d know I’d find him there.”

Unless he wants you to find him, somewhere deep down, he thought.

“Well. It’s as good a place to start as any,” Aziraphale decided, and spread his wings, shocking and awing a good portion of Soho as he took off from the street and propelled himself through the atmosphere and into space. “Second star to the right,” he muttered, “and straight on ‘til morning.”

*

Crowley was there, because of course he was. Of course he’d wanted Aziraphale to find him.

He hovered in chilly space, wings spread, eyes closed, floating in the vacuum. Alpha Centauri was a bright spot, providing some heat and light to him, but frost still glittered on his hair and skin. He floated in and out of consciousness, barely thinking. His arms were wrapped tight around himself, curling up in something close to the fetal position, self-soothing even as he broke his own heart.

“Oh—” Aziraphale began, and drew himself up beside Crowley. “Oh, Crowley, darling, please, wake up. Please. Please, don’t forget me—I love you, I love you like you love me. I think I have for a long time, my demon. Please wake up.” He gathered Crowley into his arms, then, and cradled his stiff body. “Do wake up, my love, don’t leave me here.” Tears pricked in his eyes and froze on his cheeks, the ice counteracting with the hot press of sorrow. “Don’t leave me here, Crowley.”

“Mmnnnh. ‘Zirfle?” Crowley mumbled through numb lips. His eyes cracked open slightly. “What...?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelped, and almost crushed the demon in the hug that immediately followed. “Crowley, oh, my darling, oh, my love. I found you, I can’t believe—why would you do this to me?”

“I... you didn’t... you don’t...” Crowley tried, blinking sluggishly. “Thought you didn’t love me.”

“Well, of course I love you, silly demon,” Aziraphale chided through a grin and his tears. “How could I not, after everything? After all that I’ve seen you do? After everything we’ve done together? Of course I love you. Of course.”

Crowley blinked again. “Oh. Huh.” Then, “Took you long enough.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and drew Crowley in for a kiss, warm and joyful and saturated in love. “Come on, my demon. You’re in desperate need of cocoa.”

“‘S long as you kiss me again,” Crowley said, dazed, lips quirked in a smile.

“Oh, a million times a day, my love,” Aziraphale smiled.

And they went home together.

[its-deputy-caleb]

Ok uhhh, how about Sean as a ghost? Haunting the gang post-Rhodes, but in a chill way

OOFT anon this was a hard one. I had no idea if i got what you wanted right and this is a whole mess. I kinda got weirdly angsty but tried to keep the "sean is a chill ghost vibe" so here goes nothing.

also a huge thank u to the 700 followers <333 even tho most of u are not from the rdr fandom oop.

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Fuck did things go bad in Rhodes and while you weren’t necessarily there yourself, you wished you had been. Maybe then you could have saved him.

You’re sitting out by the dock at Shady Belle, hoping the bottle of whiskey in your hand will drown out the negative thoughts again. Throwing little pebbles and sticks into the water is a nice distraction for a while but that voice in your head always comes back. The voice that tells you to relive the moments when Arthur rode into camp with his hat held in his hands as he told you the news about your beloved Sean.

Everyone knew how close you two were, how much you cared for each other. You were just a bunch of outlaws causing mischief all in the name of love. Of course, both you and Sean understood the risks that came with this sort of life, knew what could happen as an outlaw but you never imagined you’d see it so soon.

You never thought that some random sunny morning would be the last time you ever saw him. No, you always thought it’d be a train robbery or some other reckless job. You remember the day clearly, sat on guard duty watching as Sean, Bill and Micah all mounted up to head into town. He gave you a wink and a cheeky smile, yelling he’d be back for dinner with pockets full of cash and that had been it. The last time you ever saw Sean alive.

“Whatcha doing over here crying for darlin’?”

You’re startled out of your thoughts by a voice behind you, one that sounded so much like Sean. Jumping up and spinning around, the whiskey bottle in your hand smashes to the floor at the sight before you.

There standing in front of you is Sean. Well not quite, it’s still Sean only he’s covered in a greyish cloud of what you could only guess to be smoke. He seemed to hover slightly above ground and had an almost translucent appearance, it was all quite odd if you weren’t in such shock.

“SEAN?! What the actual fuck! You’re dead, I saw them bury you for chrissakes!”

“You thought I’d only take a couple of boozed up rednecks to get rid of me? Get’outta here love, gonna take a helluva lot more than that!”

Sean’s arms are open like he wants a hug and you’re mind is still trying to process what exactly its seeing that you just simply let it happen.

It seems Sean is still getting used to his apparent new appearance too as he falls straight through you. When you turn around, just as shocked Sean’s mouth is open in surprise. It seems he wasn’t expecting to nearly fall flat on his face.

-

Sean sat with you for the next few ours, telling you that he had no real idea of waking up a ghost or exactly how he got there. In fact, there was so few details that apart of you was sure he was only a figment of your imagination. But God it felt nice just to hear him again, to see him in front of you— even if you’d get called crazy for it. You wanted so badly just to lean your head on his shoulder like you had done many nights before but clearly his current state did not allow that.

Eventually Sean wanted to pester away at the rest of the gang, so in a spring of energy he bolted for the main campfire where many on the gang were sitting.

It seemed everyone was just as shocked as you to see Sean waving his hands about like an excited child— like nothing had happened.

“Looks like ya can’t get rid of old Dead Eye Macguire that easy eh? Oh lighten up a little guys, ya look like ya’ve seen a ghost! Wheres the whiskey fellas.”

Trust Sean to make a grand entrance, floating high above the fire so he could address everyone huddled around it. The flame turned the greyish smoke a bright amber and it matched the colour of what his hair used to be, for a moment he looked almost normal.

Everyone was completely shocked just as you had been. Javier had stopped playing the guitar while Dutch’s cigar burnt out slowly, completely forgotten in his hand. The silence was only broken when Pearson dropped the boiling stew all over the mudded ground.

“Williamson why so sour all the time? Lighten up will ya! Now that the life of the parties back. And Arthur! Wheres me hug aye?”

Sean spent the rest of the night going around to each member to see what they’d been up to, mostly it was just to annoy them but on this particular night I don’t think any of them minded.

At some point, your dear friend Charles came up to stand beside you with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Charles… I’m not hallucinating am I? Thats really him?”

The shock of what had happened was slowly easing away and now all that was left was how tired and emotionally drained you were. First you were grieving and now you’re not? You didn’t know what to think.

“I’m afraid so, the annoying little fella is back… but everyone is happy to see him back.”

Charles always had a way of cheering you up. Knowing exactly the right time to throw in light hearted jokes and comforting reassurances, he was the one you could go to when dealing with Sean’s death was a little too much to bear sometimes.

A smile comes to your face as you watch Sean laughing with the other members, trying to drink a bottle of whiskey but failing as it went straight through him. Memories from when Sean returned from blackwater came flooding back and all the other times you’d spent with him and the gang. You couldn’t help but feel at home once more.

-

At some point you call it a night, wanting to get a least three hours of sleep before the sun would eventually come up. You’re lying under your blanket, trying to sleep when Sean comes flying through the wall of the tent to hover over you. It’s clear he can’t hug you like he used to but he sits beside you the whole night and for the first time in a while, you’re not afraid to go to sleep.

He’s humming some old Irish folk song gently under his breath and you’re slowly relaxing, letting sleep take you.

The last thing that you hear before you drift off to sleep is the soft whisper of his voice.

“Ain’t gotta worry about me leavin’ any time soon…”