Dec16, Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley, Revision
Title: Revision Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley Rating: PG Note: For magnetic_pole, who wanted HP or GO, any characters, "writer's block – solved."
"What are you doing?"
Crowley lounged on Aziraphale's lumpy antique davenport, managing somehow to make the aged furniture look both chic and comfortable.
"Writing," Aziraphale answered in his crossest tones, ripping a sheet of paper from the tablet, crumpling it, and dropping it to meet a good two dozen of its fellows in the waste basket beside him. "What does it look like?"
"It doesn't look as if you've actually written anything," Crowley observed, his eyebrows raised.
Aziraphale restrained himself from throwing the contents of the waste basket, and possibly the basket itself, at Crowley's head. The demon always brought out the worst in him. "If you must know, I'm having writer's block. I'm trying to write my report on recent events, and I can't think of a way to do it that isn't liable to result in reprimands or worse for both of us."
"Why Aziraphale, I didn't know you cared," said Crowley in an outrageously foppish voice, and batted his eyelashes at the angel.
"Of course I do." Aziraphale scowled at the next blank sheet of paper and tapped the old-fashioned fountain pen against it, leaving a blotch of ink. He ignored it, doodling.
"Who reads these reports of yours?"
Aziraphale shrugged. "I've never known. I send them to Metatron, but perhaps no one actually reads them."
"Hm. Why not write it up in some format other than a standard report, then? It might be easier, and certainly would be more interesting."
"You mean like a poem?" said Aziraphale doubtfully.
"No, no." Crowley shook his head. "A story. A novel. Who knows? Perhaps you could even publish it as fiction for humans to read; you have all sorts of contacts in the book trade, haven't you?"
"Well, yes, but I don't know..." said Aziraphale slowly.
"I know." Crowley got up and padded over to Aziraphale's table, reaching for the writing tablet and pen. "Give me those. We can write it together, and publish it jointly under fake names."
"Why are you so anxious for me to get this written?"
Crowley's smile seemed to have too many teeth in it. "I owe Hell a report, too."