Home is Where You Are - Good omens, Aziracrow, Short one shot - (287 words) - 2026-06-22
← Rain sounds
It’s starting to rain, small insignificant droplets grow in size and quantity. Aziraphale lets his eyes flutter open, a droplet landing squarely in between them. Crowley’s charcoal wings reach up to shield Aziraphale from the shower.
“It’s really something else..” Aziraphale says, swiping a rain drop away from his temple.
“What is?” Crowley puzzled.
The angel smiles, reaching his arm out into the pellets of rain, letting them soak his robes.
“Seeing it all from the ground, you know? The sky looks glorious at night, the vacant deserts sand in the hot morning sun. All of it.”
Crowley gazed open the figure beside him, partially soaking and strangely giddy.
“Yeah, guess it is all pretty spectacular.” He hums.
Aziraphale lessens the space between them, careful to keep just enough distance. Together they watch the pitter patter of the rain falling beneath them, looking off into the fog of the mossy mountains ahead.
“It’s silly but, I’m glad you’re here Crawly.” Aziraphale says with an honest smile.
“Yeah I guess I’m a pretty good umbrella huh.” Crowley chuckles, only to be met with an elbow to the side.
“Oh, you shush!” The angel giggles. “Seriously though, I am.”
Crowley looks at his cute pout, cherry cheeks and soft white hair, trimmed and well maintained. He feels the same, he’s happy he’s here, With him. To be honest he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.
“You know I think I like earth.” Crowley mused.
Aziraphale raises a brow, “Yeah?”
“Mm.. I think I wanna stay for a long while.” The devil adds, Aziraphale nods.
“You?” He questions.
The angel sighs a long breath into the cold air. “I wouldn’t mind it.”
Aziraphale leans into the other’s side, “Not at all.”
Fate’s holding space between us - Good omens, Aziracrow, amateur poetry - (89 words) - 2026-07-19
The two of them like swinging pendants, coming close to each other from time to time yet never touching.
Each time they met a millennium of time created an entirely different person than before, aged by people and places.
They would have fit together perfectly every time, as if it were whole broken cleanly in half.
Though that unity never will come. Only eons of chaste greetings. Only that one chaste movement of a hand on the other’s lips.
Always meant for each other, but never meant to be.