I've read a Good Omens/Dresden files crossover once and was left with a desire to see some more. Please, anon, I will be grateful for any genre and pairing as long as it's slash.
[A/N: Loved Good Omens. This is not so much a crossover as an AU... I guess :3]
You don't want to know what soaked and bedraggled angel feathers smell like. Also, they become as heavy as a pair of chimaeras. Musty, old-carpet-scented chimaeras.
I dragged myself out of the lake, teeth gritted, and rolled onto my back, feathers making squelching noises behind me. Somewhere to the east, Michael was coughing up water and possibly taking the Maker's name in vain. After a nice, bracing afternoon spent slugging it out with one of Hel's childer in the nice, chilly lake, getting mangled in the process, I couldn't quite come up with the mental fortitude to try and reproach him.
The sun was nice and warm. One of the Maker's best creations, in my opinion.
“Harahel.”
And then something wicked always came along. I closed my eyes briefly. “Marbas. Were you just in the vicinity, or did you just feel like trying your luck when I'm not in the mood?”
“I do not use that name any longer.” Marbas had taken to wearing human form of late, and I had to admit it suited him, somehow. The fallen angel looked like a middle-aged man, tall and sleek and silver-haired, with only his cold, dusty emerald eyes unchanged, and he was looking down at me with a curl to his lip, arms crossed. “As I informed you prior.”
“If you're here to have a pissing match, I'm not interested. And if you don't get going, I think my friend might start getting antsy.”
“Amoracchius' bearer presumably is in no shape to go to war. As are you.” Marbas – or Marcone, as he had taken to calling himself of late in his latest attempt to go native – smiled thinly. “You should have accepted my offer.”
“I'm a little more stubborn than Aziraphale.” I held up a hand, managing to concentrate just enough energy to will fingers into the one fingered salute. “Just go away, Marcone, or whatever you're calling yourself right now. I'm not really up to blaspheming right now.”
“I could kill you right now,” Marbas said, though he always smiled a little wider when he said it, like he was joking. It used to creep me out, a few centuries ago, then I just got over it. Fallen angels – particularly ones as old as Marbas, once a lieutenant of Lucifer's during the War – all tended to have their eccentricities.
“You could try. Or you could ask yourself, is Harahel all out of juice, or does he still have enough soulfire in his pinky finger to kick your ass?” I didn't have a good hand of cards, admittedly, and Marbas probably knew it – we'd been squabbling over this piece of the Maker's earth for a very, very long time.
“Have you tried speaking to Aziraphale, at least?”
“Sure. He's good company.” Marbas' eyes narrowed a little at that – weirdly enough – it wasn't like he had anything to get possessive over: Maker's word, but we're on the different end of the mortal spectrum here, technically. “He said that his arrangement with that snake demon was most satisfactory. And then we agreed that different rules probably applied with a Fallen. Crowley's gone mostly native, Marbas. He isn't really of the same stock as you are. You're a tiger wearing a man's skin.”
“And that is so very different from a snake?”
“Honestly? If you were Crowley, I wouldn't have made the deal with you either.” I slapped my palms back on the ground and stretched my drenched wings out a little more. “We've had this conversation before. Lots and lots. Divine memory.”
“How is Uriel?” Marbas asked, so very solicitously, changing the topic. Lucifer's chosen all wore their guises well.
“The usual. Breathing down my neck, asking how many souls I've made all better, when am I going to get rid of the dark stain on my territory, and so on.” I managed to pull aching shoulders into a shrug. Being a guardian angel wasn't a walk in the park. “He means you, by the way.”
Even before the roll in the lake with the ice monster fish... thing... there had been an accident at a school only days before that could have turned catastrophic, a coven of desperate homeless people who had almost pulled something Very Bad from the Bone Plains, various little incidents, and as always, having to keep Special Investigations from getting eaten/burned/dismembered by all the bogeymen that they upturned.
Something occurred to me. “You've been pretty quiet for a while. I mean, after the last thing you pulled with that awful human noise concert.”
Marbas nodded, unruffled. “I've considered a different approach.”
“Give it up, I'll thwart you eventually.”
“We'll see.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “You could save yourself all the trouble and property damage by just 'fessing up right now.”
“And miss out on all the fun?” Marbas chuckled indulgently, and stepped backwards out of reach judiciously when I growled. “We'll speak again later, Harahel.”
“Bastard,” I muttered, if incorrectly, to myself, as Marbas vanished, leaving behind a drifting, dramatic cloud of black feathers. I waved them irritably away from my face and rolled over, forcing myself to my feet, dribbling water and wilting feathers, and trudged over to where the Knight of the Cross was lying on his side and groaning as he finally woke up. “Michael. We need to get back to Chicago, and I don't have the energy to teleport. This means you're driving. Chop chop.”
Michael Carpenter squinted blearily up at me. “I'm going to convert to Buddhism.”
Oh god. Angel!Harry is enough to drive Michael to possibly take the Lord's name in vain and definitely enough to try his patience. And that sort of makes sense, given that from what we see of his interactions with Carlos and Molly, he's apparently a bit of a hilarious bastard to work for. I love it!
Dear author, you can't imagine the happiness you've brought me! (it's actually the first of my prompts anyone filled) I admit that this AU idea haven't even crossed my mind and it just blew me away! Oh, the possibilities... Thank you for your wonderful work!
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Good Omens crossover
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 08:49 pm (UTC)(link)Please, anon, I will be grateful for any genre and pairing as long as it's slash.
Stacked Dice [1/1]
(Anonymous) 2011-03-09 12:29 pm (UTC)(link)You don't want to know what soaked and bedraggled angel feathers smell like. Also, they become as heavy as a pair of chimaeras. Musty, old-carpet-scented chimaeras.
I dragged myself out of the lake, teeth gritted, and rolled onto my back, feathers making squelching noises behind me. Somewhere to the east, Michael was coughing up water and possibly taking the Maker's name in vain. After a nice, bracing afternoon spent slugging it out with one of Hel's childer in the nice, chilly lake, getting mangled in the process, I couldn't quite come up with the mental fortitude to try and reproach him.
The sun was nice and warm. One of the Maker's best creations, in my opinion.
“Harahel.”
And then something wicked always came along. I closed my eyes briefly. “Marbas. Were you just in the vicinity, or did you just feel like trying your luck when I'm not in the mood?”
“I do not use that name any longer.” Marbas had taken to wearing human form of late, and I had to admit it suited him, somehow. The fallen angel looked like a middle-aged man, tall and sleek and silver-haired, with only his cold, dusty emerald eyes unchanged, and he was looking down at me with a curl to his lip, arms crossed. “As I informed you prior.”
“If you're here to have a pissing match, I'm not interested. And if you don't get going, I think my friend might start getting antsy.”
“Amoracchius' bearer presumably is in no shape to go to war. As are you.” Marbas – or Marcone, as he had taken to calling himself of late in his latest attempt to go native – smiled thinly. “You should have accepted my offer.”
“I'm a little more stubborn than Aziraphale.” I held up a hand, managing to concentrate just enough energy to will fingers into the one fingered salute. “Just go away, Marcone, or whatever you're calling yourself right now. I'm not really up to blaspheming right now.”
“I could kill you right now,” Marbas said, though he always smiled a little wider when he said it, like he was joking. It used to creep me out, a few centuries ago, then I just got over it. Fallen angels – particularly ones as old as Marbas, once a lieutenant of Lucifer's during the War – all tended to have their eccentricities.
“You could try. Or you could ask yourself, is Harahel all out of juice, or does he still have enough soulfire in his pinky finger to kick your ass?” I didn't have a good hand of cards, admittedly, and Marbas probably knew it – we'd been squabbling over this piece of the Maker's earth for a very, very long time.
“Have you tried speaking to Aziraphale, at least?”
“Sure. He's good company.” Marbas' eyes narrowed a little at that – weirdly enough – it wasn't like he had anything to get possessive over: Maker's word, but we're on the different end of the mortal spectrum here, technically. “He said that his arrangement with that snake demon was most satisfactory. And then we agreed that different rules probably applied with a Fallen. Crowley's gone mostly native, Marbas. He isn't really of the same stock as you are. You're a tiger wearing a man's skin.”
“And that is so very different from a snake?”
“Honestly? If you were Crowley, I wouldn't have made the deal with you either.” I slapped my palms back on the ground and stretched my drenched wings out a little more. “We've had this conversation before. Lots and lots. Divine memory.”
“How is Uriel?” Marbas asked, so very solicitously, changing the topic. Lucifer's chosen all wore their guises well.
“The usual. Breathing down my neck, asking how many souls I've made all better, when am I going to get rid of the dark stain on my territory, and so on.” I managed to pull aching shoulders into a shrug. Being a guardian angel wasn't a walk in the park. “He means you, by the way.”
Even before the roll in the lake with the ice monster fish... thing... there had been an accident at a school only days before that could have turned catastrophic, a coven of desperate homeless people who had almost pulled something Very Bad from the Bone Plains, various little incidents, and as always, having to keep Special Investigations from getting eaten/burned/dismembered by all the bogeymen that they upturned.
Something occurred to me. “You've been pretty quiet for a while. I mean, after the last thing you pulled with that awful human noise concert.”
Marbas nodded, unruffled. “I've considered a different approach.”
“Give it up, I'll thwart you eventually.”
“We'll see.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “You could save yourself all the trouble and property damage by just 'fessing up right now.”
“And miss out on all the fun?” Marbas chuckled indulgently, and stepped backwards out of reach judiciously when I growled. “We'll speak again later, Harahel.”
“Bastard,” I muttered, if incorrectly, to myself, as Marbas vanished, leaving behind a drifting, dramatic cloud of black feathers. I waved them irritably away from my face and rolled over, forcing myself to my feet, dribbling water and wilting feathers, and trudged over to where the Knight of the Cross was lying on his side and groaning as he finally woke up. “Michael. We need to get back to Chicago, and I don't have the energy to teleport. This means you're driving. Chop chop.”
Michael Carpenter squinted blearily up at me. “I'm going to convert to Buddhism.”
“Shut up.”
-shortfill!-
Re: Stacked Dice [1/1]
(Anonymous) 2011-03-09 01:22 pm (UTC)(link)Marcone's always enticing Harry with an 'arrangement'. :D
He makes a wonderfully disheveled angel.
Re: Stacked Dice [1/1]
Re: Stacked Dice [1/1]
(Anonymous) 2011-03-09 10:27 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Stacked Dice [1/1]
OP here
I admit that this AU idea haven't even crossed my mind and it just blew me away! Oh, the possibilities...
Thank you for your wonderful work!
Writer anon says
(Anonymous) 2011-03-10 09:27 pm (UTC)(link)Tempted to write more when I have the time :3
Re: Writer anon says
I'll wait as long as it takes...
Re: Stacked Dice [1/1]
(Anonymous) 2011-03-11 06:29 am (UTC)(link)