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crack_van2010-08-09 10:45 am
laceymcbain.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2010-08-09 10:45 am
Entry tags:
Next Time I Fall by Ambular (PG-13)
I don't typically rec two stories by the same author, but I happen to love both the previous rec and this one, and sometimes it's nice to explore older stories that many of us may have missed if we haven't been around the fandom that long.
Fandom: GOOD OMENS
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley (implied)
Length: 8071 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amberdiceless
Author Website: Stories at the Good Omens Library
Why this must be read: We all know the demon Crowley as "an Angel who did not so much Fall as saunter vaguely downward." However, this story takes a closer look at what exactly the Fall was and what it meant for those that rebelled. Where this story really shines is in its depiction of the actual Fall and the landscape of Hell, seen by Aziraphale when he inadvertently stumbles into one of Crowley's nightmares. Although that section of the overall fic is short, it's told with such vividness that the images will stay with you and give you an entirely different view of the Crowley we know.
One of the interesting things about being an earth-bound angel was that, even after thousands of years, Aziraphale occasionally discovered things he hadn't known he could do.
Of course, being the only angel in history to spend significant amounts of time in human form, rubbing elbows with a likewise humanformed demon, probably had a great deal to do with it. It wasn't as though he could pick up a book on the subject. Though there were occasions when he dearly wished for a copy of What to Expect From Your Eternal Adversary, or something of the sort....
Somehow, though, Aziraphale suspected that even if such a volume did exist, his latest discovery would be a little beyond its scope.
He hadn't meant to do it. He hadn't even known it was possible, and if he had, he would never have dreamed (no pun intended) of invading Crowley's privacy in such an outrageous fashion. Work-related snooping was one thing, but this was a deeply personal matter. There were some things that one simply didn't pry into, not even (or perhaps especially) with an old friend who was, technically speaking, the Enemy.
They'd been fighting, as they so often did, until one of them (Aziraphale couldn't remember which one, and it hardly mattered) had finally paused for a breather and asked what exactly they were fighting about. When neither could come up with a satisfactory answer, Crowley had said very sensibly, "Right. Sod this for a lark; let's go get plastered." And so they had.
Somewhere in the course of a long and pleasantly blurry evening, Crowley--who had got thoroughly sodden on a particularly excellent lager indigenous to the region, and regaled Aziraphale with several spirited, off-key and extremely tasteless pub songs, which fact the angel was now saving up as blackmail material for some future date--had set his mug on the table with a loud thud, announced that he was knackered, and promptly passed out where he sat.
This was not so unusual, and Aziraphale, after verifying that his companion was still breathing, had thoughtfully shoved aside a few empty glasses and ashtrays and arranged Crowley with his head pillowed in his crossed arms on the table. He had meant to get the poor dear up to a room to sleep it off in privacy, really he had; but the pub's common room was so quiet and homey, the beer really was quite superior, and it seemed such a long trip up the stairs...
Things had got progressively blurrier from that point, and Aziraphale still wasn't quite sure how he had misjudged his own capacity so badly. You'd think after nearly six millennia, he ought to know how much alcohol his body could reasonably process in a given span of time (or at least have remembered that Crowley nearly always managed to drink him under the table, and not the other way around.) But whatever the case, at some point the details of the cozy little pub had gone completely out of focus. Shortly thereafter consciousness gave it all up as a bad job, and fled.
Read the story: Next Time I Fall
Don't forget to feedback the author - it doesn't matter how old or new the story is. Authors love to hear from you!
Fandom: GOOD OMENS
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley (implied)
Length: 8071 words
Author on LJ:
amberdicelessAuthor Website: Stories at the Good Omens Library
Why this must be read: We all know the demon Crowley as "an Angel who did not so much Fall as saunter vaguely downward." However, this story takes a closer look at what exactly the Fall was and what it meant for those that rebelled. Where this story really shines is in its depiction of the actual Fall and the landscape of Hell, seen by Aziraphale when he inadvertently stumbles into one of Crowley's nightmares. Although that section of the overall fic is short, it's told with such vividness that the images will stay with you and give you an entirely different view of the Crowley we know.
One of the interesting things about being an earth-bound angel was that, even after thousands of years, Aziraphale occasionally discovered things he hadn't known he could do.
Of course, being the only angel in history to spend significant amounts of time in human form, rubbing elbows with a likewise humanformed demon, probably had a great deal to do with it. It wasn't as though he could pick up a book on the subject. Though there were occasions when he dearly wished for a copy of What to Expect From Your Eternal Adversary, or something of the sort....
Somehow, though, Aziraphale suspected that even if such a volume did exist, his latest discovery would be a little beyond its scope.
He hadn't meant to do it. He hadn't even known it was possible, and if he had, he would never have dreamed (no pun intended) of invading Crowley's privacy in such an outrageous fashion. Work-related snooping was one thing, but this was a deeply personal matter. There were some things that one simply didn't pry into, not even (or perhaps especially) with an old friend who was, technically speaking, the Enemy.
They'd been fighting, as they so often did, until one of them (Aziraphale couldn't remember which one, and it hardly mattered) had finally paused for a breather and asked what exactly they were fighting about. When neither could come up with a satisfactory answer, Crowley had said very sensibly, "Right. Sod this for a lark; let's go get plastered." And so they had.
Somewhere in the course of a long and pleasantly blurry evening, Crowley--who had got thoroughly sodden on a particularly excellent lager indigenous to the region, and regaled Aziraphale with several spirited, off-key and extremely tasteless pub songs, which fact the angel was now saving up as blackmail material for some future date--had set his mug on the table with a loud thud, announced that he was knackered, and promptly passed out where he sat.
This was not so unusual, and Aziraphale, after verifying that his companion was still breathing, had thoughtfully shoved aside a few empty glasses and ashtrays and arranged Crowley with his head pillowed in his crossed arms on the table. He had meant to get the poor dear up to a room to sleep it off in privacy, really he had; but the pub's common room was so quiet and homey, the beer really was quite superior, and it seemed such a long trip up the stairs...
Things had got progressively blurrier from that point, and Aziraphale still wasn't quite sure how he had misjudged his own capacity so badly. You'd think after nearly six millennia, he ought to know how much alcohol his body could reasonably process in a given span of time (or at least have remembered that Crowley nearly always managed to drink him under the table, and not the other way around.) But whatever the case, at some point the details of the cozy little pub had gone completely out of focus. Shortly thereafter consciousness gave it all up as a bad job, and fled.
Read the story: Next Time I Fall
Don't forget to feedback the author - it doesn't matter how old or new the story is. Authors love to hear from you!