They were like hummingbirds who had also never met.
foreverdirt has a very funny list of similes taken from GCSE essays,
and asked for fic that would use these frightening examples of the
English language. So here are two drabbles.
Springtime in London
More bloody rain. Crowley turned his heating up, imagined the tedious talk he’d get from the angel about how rain made the flowers grow. If, of course, they were talking to each other again. He wanted to get out, go somewhere with sunshine. It was no fun being cold blooded in London — bloody hell, the rain had turned to hail. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease. Crowley thought about that a moment. Oh. That would explain why Aziraphale had run away screaming last week. Maybe he should apologise. Maybe.
* * *
No Man’s Land
Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do. Crowley gritted his teeth and pulled the dying boy backwards, cursing. His nerves suddenly could take no more and he jumped up.
“Give it a fucking rest!” he screamed at the enemy lines, noting with satisfaction the sniper’s sudden death.
He picked the boy up easily and sprinted back, healing him as he ran.
“Sorry,” the boy whispered.
“It’s Ok, you’re not dying.”
“You’re. . .glowing, Sir.”
“I said, you’re not fucking dying. Cut that out.”
His men pulled them to safety. He couldn’t
take this much longer.
Screw Hell’s plans.