Happy Pride Month To The Tiny Cowboy And Tiny Trojan Man From Night At The Museum

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Such Great Heights

This is based on an ask:  “ Imagine Crowley having found a book that contained Gustavedore’s artwork and he was looking at the depictions of angels and he casually says to Azirphale, none of them are as beautiful as you ~~~”

So I of course, had to hammer out a nearly 2 thousand word fic in which Crowley is jealous, Aziraphale is oblivious, and (probably excessively) dramatic confessions are made.

Such Great Heights

On a Tuesday in October, Aziraphale found himself in rare possession of a most quintessentially perfect afternoon.

Outside, trees, swathed in resplendent oranges and reds, shivered in delight at the autumnal breeze tickling their leaves. On his desk, steam rose from a freshly brewed cup of tea. And a new book waited, open and ready for his most ardent perusal.

Peaceful. Aziraphale reflected, lifting the steaming cup to his lips. It was peaceful.

Quiet too.

Aziraphale froze, cool ceramic pressing against his lips.

Entirely too quiet.

If Aziraphale were alone, the silence would have been acceptable - welcomed even. But the problem was this: he was not alone.

A few hours ago, Crowley had breezed in, colorful leaves swirling around him, moaning about boredom. He’d then proceeded to prowl around the shop, getting underfoot as Aziraphale read - er, worked - and being the general sort of nuisance that only a demon suffering from excessive boredom can be.

The last time Aziraphale had heard from him was half an hour ago.

As Aziraphale sorted some of his newer books, he’d heard Crowley somewhere near the back of the shop, doing what sounded like a frightful amount of rummaging. Aziraphale had resolved to put a stop to it - only to re-discover a book he’d been meaning to read, tucked, forgotten beneath a pile of texts.

Readying the book, Aziraphale had promptly hurried to brew a cup of tea.

Now, a few pages in, silence hung over the bookshop like a curse.

A loud, bored demon might a nuisance, but a silent, bored demon was dangerous.

Aziraphale frowned, sitting up. Setting the cup aside, he turned a wary glance over the shop.

“Crowley?” he called

No response.

Not good.

Aziraphale rose, swiftly marking his page. Straightening his vest with a determined tug, he marched toward the rear of the store - the last known location of Crowley’s mischief.

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Christ this is so fucking cool

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(Anyone who fucks around on this post needs to pick a god and pray)

If ur arabic ur great If ur arabic and muslim ur great If ur arabic and queer ur great If ur arabic and muslim and queer ur great I know it seems hard to believe but you’re not bad you’re not awful

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