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outivv · 3 months

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That stupid doctor and his stupid favoritism. His idiocy causes for you to have twice the work that normal just to keep up with his schedule on top of your own! You’re already Dottore’s assistant, but now you also have to go along to all his meetings, supervise new clones with him, sometimes go on trips with him, and do your own research. He truly thinks you can do it all, and have no problem either- but you’re not like him. You can’t casually make a fake god out of some trans boy and a chess piece, you don’t even know why he hired you for this job, you were kicked out of the akademiya for… poor grades, and then Dottore just scooped you up and gave you a job here. It’s baffling, really- but… to be fair the job pays well, and Dottore gives you special treatment. “Don’t touch that. It’ll melt your face off.” Dottore warns sternly, because if you were anyone else- he wouldn’t warn you.

“But what if I wanna be an odd, oblong goo face?” You say, almost smug as you look at Dottore- who promptly looks… disgusted.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s foolish, and a waste of your time.”

“But anything that makes me happy isn’t a waste of time in my opinion.”

“Would that really make you happy?”

“I dunno, would it?”

Dottore looks unimpressed. He just looks at you, and you can feel his annoyed glare from under his mask- especially as you play with the vile of face melting liquid. He can’t help the sigh that comes out of his mouth, getting a headache from you… damn you, and being his favorite. “Must you always be so difficult?” Dottore grumbles, his sharp teeth showing off for just a moment as he returns to what he’s doing. “I think you quite like my difficult-ness.” Your smug attitude is not helping the situation. “I mean, I heard from Pantalone that you asked for quite a large sum of money for a ‘gift’ of some sorts. Course, he wouldn’t tell me the details.” Fuck you caught onto him. Dottore curses, and mumbles under his breath something about that ‘stupid banker and his stupid fat mouth that won’t shut up for two goddamn seconds’. Yes, well- Pantalone is known as quite the gossiper and chitchatter, and you have tea with him on the weekends. Unbeknownst to Dottore.

The sigh that escapes him again is one of defeat, and would put any other person into a coffin just at how frustrated he sounds too. “Yes? What if it?” Oh, now look at Dottore trying to be all nonchalant about it, well- luckily for you… you’re nosey. “I heard it’s a new creation, hm?” You say, examining your nails a bit, before your eyes flicker up to the doctor, and he just taps his fingers against the table in… such fucking annoyance. “Mhm. I usually go to Pantalone for funding. This time was no different.” Dottore says, acting like he’s not about to explode- but he could never do that to his favorite assistant. “Did you not hear me when I said that Pantalone specified that it was a gift?” Your snark is gonna get you nowhere yet… everywhere with Dottore, as he pushes away from the table he was standing at, and starts walking away. “Come now.” He beckons, not even looking back, but soon hearing the tap of your shoes following him. You simply go over to Dottore’s main workbench, and he sits down- pulls almost a billion little things out of drawers, and then… he assembles a box.

“What’s this?” You say, just curious, really. “Well you open it, and you look inside.” Oh, now he’s gonna be snarky back with you, huh? You roll your eyes, before gently lifting the lid of the box, and you’re disappointed to find a music box. How cliché of him. As if expending that, Dottore gently slides the box over to himself, simply twists the knob and then… a whole projection appears. The room, turns to an elegant ballroom, with figures dancing elegantly across the floor, and with you and Dottore in the middle. You’re stunned, shocked… other words for surprised- and you reach out to try and touch one of the projected people. Your fingers go right through them, until Dottore reaches out through the person, and grabs your hand.

“At the last… fatui event, I noticed you were rather… shaken up. I assumed it was because of the people, considering you seem most comfortable around the lab even when it’s just the two of us. No segments, no people, no distractions. And now, it’s the same in the ballroom…” Dottore says, taking his mask off, and nearly holding his breath as he looks down at you. Dottore has never been a man that you’ve known to be nervous, let alone reveal his thoughts to you in any way… he’s always been some kind of enigma, but that’s probably because he pretends to be this complicated man of extreme power and science. Now, he seems like something simpler, with his red eyes staring at you, as if begging for you to approve- and express some kind of gratitude. He’s arrogant, but even he needs validation.

“Dottore… this is fucking insane.” Is all you can say, you your hand ends up holding his, so… he’ll assume that it’s good? “That’s what people usually say to me.” He says, almost… playful?! Who the hell is this man and what has he done with Dottore who you one time saw eating straight up mayonnaise out of the container. “I mean, when you have elaborate ideas like this, I suppose I wouldn’t blame them.” You mumble, curiously looking at Dottore. What’s his aim here? What does he want from you? What is he trying to get. Before your mind can ask too many internal questions, Dottore clears his throat, and closes the music box, making the projection stop in the blink of an eye. “Well, there? Satisfied with knowing your gift before you were supposed to even get it? Brat.” Dottore says, almost angry, while he glares at you- and puts his mask back on. “Yeah, I appreciate it. Thank you, this is my favorite gift I’ve ever gotten…” you genuinely say, holding the box as Dottore practically shoves it into your arms and he starts dismissively walking off. He pretends to not hear you, but you can see the burning red of his ears. Damn him and his favoritism towards you.

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hikarry · 8 months

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Girl, sit down. I'm about to slap you with another imagine

*claps hands*

Ready?

Imagine: 1802, Russia. Czar Alexander I in power

Crowley infiltrated the palace as a war General.

A maid just handed him an envelope while he was walking around the gardens, and he was quick to open it with his finger. It was Aziraphale's, from Soho, London. A long one, as they usually were.

He scanned it quickly, just taking the general idea - he would read more calmly when he was home, by himself, and not feeling like he was being watched.

At the end of the second page, finally, something actually caught his attention. Aziraphale was going to Krasnaya Polyana, around a day away from Moscow. Apparently, there had been a spike of demonic activity there, and Heaven had sent him to investigate. He was asking if Crowley had anything to do with it, but he clearly didn't. He had been stuck in Moscow for 7 months now. But, alas, he also had no idea who it could be. He was not informed that another demon was topside in this region. And, for some reason, the angel going to the encounter of an unknown demon was not sitting well with him. He folded the letter and hid it in his jacket's pocket.

Aziraphale was a big angel. He could look out for himself... yet that did not mean Crowley couldn't try and find out who was causing mayhem in Krasnaya Polyana, did it?

As soon as Crowley got home that night, he wrote a quick note to one of his contacts in Hell, asking for information and readied himself to wait for at least 3 days before he got an answer. Surprisingly, it took only a night. When he woke up, there was a small note on his bedside table. He picked it up and turned it around, reading quickly. He sucked in a sharp breath before re-reading the note, just to make sure he was understanding correctly.

Asmodeus was topside. Along with Vine. A Prince and a Duke of Hell, and Aziraphale was walking right to the lion's mouth by himself.

Right. Okay.

Crowley read it one last time before burning it in his hands.

He had to find an excuse to get himself sent to Krasnaya Polyana as soon as possible, preferably before Asmodeus and Vine caught Aziraphale's scent around. The angel might be an ex-cherubim, but Satan knew what a real Prince of Hell could do to him and Crowley was surely not going to sit in the sidelines to find out.

A week and a half later - way way later than he expected - he got himself in Krasnaya Polyana. As soon as he got out of the train, he was hit with the smell of sulfur and a heavy feeling of evil all around.

With no bags to carry or to worry about, he just closed his eyes and reached out for Aziraphale's essence. He could feel it, barely. If his senses weren't mistaken, he was somewhere in the mountain.

Could Crowley help it, he wanted to avoid meeting both the Prince and the Duke. He only hoped Aziraphale was still off their tracks.

It was snowing heavily. The mountain was covered in ice, and the wind was frigid and white, somehow. It made it very, very hard to see or even focus enough to grasp Aziraphale's essence and keep following it.

His boots sank in the snow, and it didn't take long for his legs to start hurting and his insides to feel raw from the cold.

At the peripheral of his vision, he could also feel two very distinguishable demonic essences. The stronger one was in the city, which Crowley had already left behind, and the other was barely visible, somewhere on the top of the mountain, but considerably far away from Aziraphale.

The angel was alright. Probably he was in one of those ski places slightly up the mountain. And, confident in that thought, Crowley forced himself to stop and enter a bar nearby. Exhausting himself would not help the angel, so he needed a little break to recover and be able to continue to climb the bloody mountain.

He was sitting at a table, half full glass of vodka between his hands, when a loud groan was heard outside and the whole building shook, all the lights going out. People around him gasped and yelled, holding themselves to the furniture and each other until the tremor stopped.

"Oh goodness, what was that?" A woman asked near the bar with a very heavy French accent, both her arms around a man that held her just as close.

"An avalanche." The bartender answered, walking around to light up some candles. "And a strong one at that. There might be replicas, so everyone should stay put for at least an hour or-"

Yeah...so, Crowley didn't exactly hear the rest. He just tossed the vodka down in a single swing and got up from his seat, slithering around the people in the bar until he reached the door. He felt a hand on his arm, trying to pull him back when he reached for the doorknob, but he shook it away, finally getting outside.

The layer of snow outside was so thick now that his boots didn't dig into it. So he ran. Which didn't help with his respiratory system and, consequently, the rest of his body feeling raw and frozen all at the same time in less than few seconds. It took longer for his legs to get tired, but he was already tired, regardless. Still, he soldiered on, all riding on adrenaline and low-key panic.

"Aziraphale!" When Crowley started feeling his essence more clearly he started calling out for him, trying to see through the fog and the snow still falling. Not even his demonic eyes were helping on that task.

Eventually, he got to a spot where he could feel the essence so strongly that he actually felt its warmth, so he stopped and looked around, his heart hammering against his chest and his breath rasp and heavy.

"Aziraphale?" He turned on himself. There was no sign of Aziraphale anywhere... but he could swear the angel should be right here... and suddenly, it clicked. "No..." He was under the snow, wasn't he? "Fuck. Aziraphale!"

Crowley took a few steps to the left and fell to his knees, his trousers getting ice cold soaked as he dig the snow as fast as he could. He had no idea how much time had passed, but finally, he found some cream fabric under the snow.

"No, no, no, no. For fucks sake, Aziraphale!" Still digging, he started talking to himself, mainly not to let the panic spiral and keep himself grounded. "Why is it always you?! Don't those wanker archangels have any other angel to throw into a frozen nightmare after their bloody death?!"

From there, it was rather easy to dig his torso and his face from under the snow.

Aziraphale was frozen to the touch, his lips were an awful shade of bluish-purple and his corporation was not breathing.

Okay. Crowley. Just. Don't. Panic.

He held Aziraphale by the shoulders and pulled him the rest of the way out of the snow.

"Angel?" At some point he had thrown his gloves to the side to make digging easier, so now he placed his equally frozen, wet and trembling hands on Aziraphale's cheeks. With his demonic essence, he tried to reach out for Aziraphale's and the angel's essence reached back instantly like a cougar attacking its unattentive prey, surprising the demon, who staggered back, hands away from the angel, snapping his essence back inside his own corporation.

Alright. Aziraphale was quite clearly still here, and he was either so out of his mind he pounced on Crowley with the default intent to smite him, or he was just plainly terrified.

Carefully, both his hands once again on the angel's face, he slowly reached out, this time more prepared for when Aziraphale's essence jumped on him.

Aziraphale wasn't trying to smite him. He was reaching for warmth.

Crowley's corporation shallowed as he sat back and pulled Aziraphale to his lap, upping his body heat as much as he possibly could. It didn't feel great. In fact, it felt like he was having a very bad fever, and his mind swam a bit with the sudden difference in temperature, but he had to try and keep the angel warm. On a metaphysical level, Crowley's True Form surrounded Aziraphale's, as tight as metaphysically possible, trying to keep him stable. Keep him here. His essence was flickering a bit, and Crowley wasn't having any of it.

"Don't you dare discorporate, you bastard."

Crowley looked around. There was nowhere warm where he could take the angel close enough. Try as he might, this was only a temporary solution. One that wasn't doing much at that.

Suddenly, his head snapped back to attention as he felt a demonic presence getting closer.

Fucking Heavens, that was exactly the last thing he needed right now. There was nowhere to hide, and even if he found some place, the Duke would feel Aziraphale's essence and hunt like a starved dog.

Right. Think. Preferably before Aziraphale fucking discoporates in your arms.

The only idea that came to mind was miracling a small cabin or whatnot into existence right then and there. It would be a big ass miracle, and he would be exhausted afterward, but his priority was keeping Aziraphale here. So he took a long breath and snapped his fingers, a small wooden cabin showing up right behind them.

Gently, Crowley got up and took Aziraphale in his arms, walking them both into the cabin. At least inside there was no more wind or snow, and whatever body heat his body produced would remain trapped between the four walls.

Sitting Aziraphale on the floor with his back against the wall, Crowley detached his cape from his shoulders and wrapped it around the angel before turning his attention to the door.

Vine would find a cabin in the middle of a bloody mountain suspicious, as he should.

Crowley was tired, both physically, mentally and metaphysically, and his miracle reservoir was quite affected by that and the big ass miracle he just performed, but he had to put up wards around this place that not only masked the cabin, but both his and Aziraphale's essences from the Duke's radar. It was easier said than done, but he had no time to dilly dally. With each snap, he felt his mind go foggy, and his vision tilt to the side. Yet, he kept going until everything was more or less in place. All he could do for now was pray. Or not pray. He was a demon. Demons didn't pray

He sat on the floor next to Aziraphale and pulled him into his lap, hugging him against his chest and upping his body temperature once again. This time, he was invaded by a sudden nausea, and his eyes unfocused, but he kept it up, trapping Aziraphale's True Form with his own once again.

"Stay with me, angel." It was more a wordless request than a whisper.

There they stayed, Crowley with his head leaned against the wall and Aziraphale unconscious on his arms.

Slowly but surely, Aziraphale's skin started warming up, and his lips changed to a very pale pink, but pink nonetheless.

Crowley was exhausted. Part of him was begging him to close his eyes and sleep, but if he did his body temperature would go back down to normal and his essence would spring back to his corporation, letting go of Aziraphale and that wasn't an option. Not until he was concious.

In the back of his mind, he noticed when the demonic presence got dangerously close to where they were. Instinctively, he hugged Aziraphale more tightly, holding his breath. He felt truly frozen in place while the Duke slowly walked by them and only allowed himself to somewhat relax again when he was far away enough. Yet, he didn't put down the wards. They were consuming a lot of his energy, and his body was growing somewhat numb, but he refused to let go.

Aziraphale's corporation took a deep breath and slowly started shaking.

Good. That was good. He was coming back to himself.

It was a slow process, but when the night fell outside, Aziraphale finally stirred, opening his eyes with quite the effort.

"Crowley...?" His voice was sluggish, but Satan was it good to hear it. The demon was too weak to answer with words, so he only hummed, gripping him more strongly. "What happened...?"

Gradually, Crowley let his body heat fall to its normal temperature, and he let the ward hidding the cabin fall. It was like someone had taken a boulder off his chest, but his mind was still somewhat slow. He looked down at Aziraphale, his sunglasses lost somewhere in the snow outside while he had been digging.

"There's was an avalanche. You got trapped in it. Buried yourself 7 feet under a block of ice."

Aziraphale moved slightly on his lap, straightening himself up so he was actually sitting.

"You're supposed to be in Moscow."

"Observant."

"What are you even doing here, Crowley?"

He thought about dropping his arms from around Aziraphale, but he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"Saving your arse once again, obviously. If I had stayed in Moscow, right now your corporation would be a popsicle and you would be upstairs getting an earful from Gabriel or that wanker Michael. So, you're welcome."

The angel didn't say anything else. Instead, he let his head fall on Crowley's shoulder, and both of them stayed in silence, only their ragged breathes and the wind outside making themselves heard.

"You need to leave Russia. Or, at least, Krasnaya Polyana."

"I can't." His hand was gripping the front of Crowley's jacket, the demon wasn't sure he was aware of that. "I have an assignment to complete."

"It's completed." Aziraphale's head snapped up, looking the demon in the eye. "You came here to figure out why there was a spike of demonic energy here, yes? There's a Prince and a Duke of Hell. Asmodeus and Vine. That's why."

"I can't just leave these people in the hands of two demons! I have to find out whatever it is they are trying to do!"

"That's not part of your assignment. You had to know the cause, now you know. You will write your report as soon as you can and get the heavens out of here before they sniff you out."

"Crowley, you're being ridic-"

"You are leaving, Aziraphale." Now it was his turn to look the angel in the eye, his voice as cold as the ice outside. "You've never dealt with a Duke of Hell, much less a Prince. You've mainly dealt with me and, let's be honest with ourselves, I give you little to no trouble. You are not prepared to face either of them. Asmodeus could easily discorporate you on sight. Or kill you. Actually kill you. Destroy your essence. They are not some random demons you can waltz to and have a polite conversation with." Aziraphale stayed quiet, unmoving. "You are leaving and that's final."

"You can't order me around."

"I'm trying to save your bloody life, Aziraphale!" His arms let go of the angel, and his hands came up to grab his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "This is not a joke. They will not stop by to have tea and biscuits and discuss the weather while you convince them to leave. Stop being fucking stubborn for once in your damn life! You did what you came to do. Just tell Gabriel that they are here and leave." Aziraphale looks down to his hands. "I'm serious, angel." He held the angel's chin, pushing him to look up at him again. "I'm not leaving you here with them. You either come with me to Moscow or go straight back to London to the bookshop."

Crowley feels the vibrations of Aziraphale humming on his fingers.

"Very well, my dear. Whatever you say." The angel got up from his lap and the demon followed him, swaying on his feet. Aziraphale held his arm, stabilizing him. "Are you quite alright?"

He kept his eyes closed for a few moments until his mind stopped feeling sluggish. Probably because he took too long answer, Crowley felt Aziraphale's fingers brushing his. He finally let down the two last wards and took the deepest breath.

"I'm fine. Just. A lot of big miracles. And you grabbing at my essence and True Form like a dehydrated man in the desert." Aziraphale's hand flinched away and he was about to open his mouth to say something, but Crowley cut it, holding his hand, squeezing it. "I said I'm fine. Let's go back to civilization, shall we?"

They did go back to civilization. To Moscow in the first train out from Krasnaya Polyana, to be more precise.

Aziraphale stayed with Crowley in his flat at the capital for 3 days. He wrote the report as soon as they arrived, and both waited to hear something from Gabriel in the next few days, but silence was all they got. On the 3rd day, when Aziraphale had his train back to Paris and then to London, Crowley insisted on seeing him out, so he had to leave the palace in quite the hurry, with no chance to switch out his uniform.

"Thank you for seeing me out, dear. Or should I say..." Aziraphale tapped Crowley's hat. ", General?"

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly, smiling in response.

"Shut up."

"I'm not jesting. You've always looked rather... fetching in a uniform. When was the last time you wore one? American Revolution?"

"I believe so."

Aziraphale hummed, fixing Crowley's left shoulder pad.

"You always wore them much better than I did."

"Usually you are at the hospitals saving lives, angel. Not in the battlefield."

The angel snorted.

"Not like you are in the battlefield actually fighting yourself."

"Oi! I have fought!"

"Mmh. I've never seen you holding a gun. And the last time I saw you brandishing a sword was back in the Gallic Wars, back in 58 BCE."

"Ngk."

Aziraphale chuckled, taking a step back, grabbing his suitcase.

"Will you be back in London?"

"Myeah. Should be done here in another year or so."

"Shall I keep watering your plants?"

"You've got the key, don't you?"

"Indeed." They heard the train making the last call and both looked towards the noise before looking back at each other. "Do try to not get yourself discorporated."

"Likewise. I'll see you in a year, angel."

Aziraphale nodded and started walking away, dragging his suitcase behind him. Before stepping through the train's entrance, he looked back, spotting the demon exactly where he left him, still watching him. Crowley winked and saluted him, pulling a chuckle out of Aziraphale's throat.

Crowley was ridiculous.

And so the angel went back to London. Alive. And out of the rather of any demonic entity, apart from the one he wanted to stay in the radar of.

#yes i was watching Anastasia and this got stuck in my head. i had to offer yall my little vision #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley

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