#bc eve was never told about the apple!!! god told adam not to eat it before he made eve

[roseworth]

NEW DISCOURSE TOPIC: did god violate the geneva convention by giving collective punishment to all women for eve’s sin

[crystalgirl259]

Guilty Pleasures Chapter 1

SUMMARY: A demon Kai and an angel Zane, longtime acquaintances who, having grown accustomed to life on Earth as representatives of Heaven and Hell, seek to prevent the coming of the Armageddon...

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Current theories on the creation of the universe stated that if it were created at all and didn't just start it came into being about fourteen billion years ago. The Earth was generally supposed to be about four and a half billion years old. These dates were incorrect. Some medieval scholars put the date of the creation at 3760 BC while others put creation as far back as 5508 BC. But these were also incorrect. Archbishop James Ussher claimed that Heaven and the Earth were created on Sunday, the twenty-first of October, 4004 BC, at nine in the morning.

This too was incorrect, by almost a quarter of an hour.

It was created at 9:13 in the morning. The whole business with the fossilized dinosaur skeletons was a joke that paleontologists haven't seen yet. This proved that God did not play dice with the universe. He played an ineffable game of his own devising. For everyone else, it was like playing poker in a pitch-dark room, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiled all the time. To understand the true significance of what that means, we need to begin earlier.

A little more than 6,000 years earlier, to be precise.

Just after the beginning. It started, as it will end, with a garden, in this case, the Garden of Eden, and with an apple. It was a nice day, but all the days had been nice. There had been rather more than seven of them so far, and rain hadn't been invented yet. But the storm clouds gathering east of Eden suggested that the first thunderstorm was on its way, and it was going to be a big one...

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Zane fretted as he stood near the lip of the stone ledge, his shining robes shining in the light along with the white, almost glowing, feathers of his large wings. The first two humans off in the distance, Adam and Eve, had barely made their way out into the new world and they were both already in danger. A large male lion made a beeline from nowhere toward them and was now intending on making them extinct. The young angel didn't think this was going to go well.

Thank goodness they weren't unarmed, the angel consoled himself.

Before they left, he gave Eve his shurikens of ice gifted to him by the high angels. He was surprised to see Adam wielding a sword of fire, a weapon not of Heaven, but considering what had happened, he wasn't too concerned about it. Knowing that they had means of protection helped Zane's mind rest, but only a little. The weather was fair, aside from the rapidly building clouds. At least that was a comfort to know. A kind, warm breeze fluttered his clean robe around in a playful way.

It felt wonderful to the angel, but even better how it ran through his unsheathed white wings.

He flexed them out to get a better feel. It felt good to have them free from their confines. He had been practicing getting used to having them put away for his assignment on this new planet. They had warned him upstairs that he couldn't afford to be seen by 'God's Little Projects' down here. Those were their words, not his own. Before Zane embarked, God himself told him they wouldn't be able to handle it due to now learning 'jealousy', whatever that meant.

When he asked him what it was, he said the young angel would find out in time, plus all the other ones.

He still didn't know why God didn't tell him, but God had always worked in mysterious ways. Don't interfere too much. That was the rule all angels lived by. Be ever watchful, a mentor if needed, provide guidance if asked, but that was it. Not too difficult, or so they kept telling him, and already he broke the rule. Now he had more trouble on the mind. There was only so much to do when watching over the birth of a new species. To be so limited to what needs to be done simply wasn't fair.

Not that he condoned rules should be broken.

But this was not going to be easy. His toes curled on the hard surface when he felt that other presence approach closer. It was a sort of tugging sensation that came from deep inside him. He thought it was curious. That never happened before, except when that thing first showed up. He knew it was nearby anyway. At times it felt as though it was hovering just out of sight, watching. But he had hoped it would leave. It felt different than anything he had ever known, and he didn't like it one bit.

Not when everything was so new.

So he promptly chose to ignore it. It was just a lowly serpent demon anyway. Granted, that filthy Hell beast was most likely the reason he had a chance of being fired before he could do his job. Perhaps everyone would understand. They were angels, after all, forgiveness and compassion were at the very root of their cores. Zane rubbed his temple. He had only one job. He hadn't even been here for very long and already he morally mucked it up.

He would be the laughing stock upstairs.

The only other thing he could possibly get wrong now is if Eden caught fire. Then he would officially be out of a job. Zane started wondering if he should have been more aggressive about it and really told that serpent what for. He never was very good at this soldier of Heaven thing or asserting himself in general. Zane truly believed that someone else would be better suited for this than he.

"What do you make of it?" A voice suddenly asked, shattering the silence. Zane jumped, the voice startling him from his own musings. He hadn't noticed he was no longer alone. He was shocked that the creature had yet to attack him, wondering if they were friendly, but that would be outlandish because the very thought is preposterous, blasphemous even. Their kind would never mingle with his. Not without bloodshed, anyway. It simply wasn't done.

The angel turned to his left and couldn't help but do a double-take to the creature next to him.

It was male, dressed in dark red robes, with amber snake-like eyes, beautiful tanned skin, a toned body, and brown hair shaped in a way that reminded Zane of fire. The back of the demon's hands and up his arms were dusted with dark red snake scales. His finger and toenails were incredibly sharp and black. Zane couldn't take his eyes off it, completely transfixed. He almost didn't believe that that was the serpent. He didn't know it had a vessel, let alone a silky pair of feathered, crimson wings with black tips.

When Zane saw the wings he realized that this was not just some ordinary demon.

It was one of the Fallen. That was fascinating to Zane, as he had never met one of them. In fact, if Zane was entirely honest with himself, this dark one was a mixture of striking, exotic, and becharming. Now it was staring at him with those amber serpent eyes. For some reason, they didn't repulse the angel. It was then that Zane remembered that the snake had asked him something and it was probably best to respond. He should also stop thinking of it as an 'it'.

That demon was evidently much more than that and Zane suddenly felt like he was being rude, even if the demon couldn't read minds.

Zane smiled awkwardly, then concluded he had no idea what the creature said.

"Sorry, what?" Zane asked and the brunette pointed out towards the humans.

"That, right there, the whole tiger thing." He clarified and Zane followed the demon's finger.

"That's a lion." Zane corrected.

"Whatever, don't you think it's a bit much? I mean, they just got out, are finding their footing, and the first thing they come across on this big round planet is this aggressive beast?"

"No one said it would be easy," Zane said, even if the other had a point.

"It's trying to eat them!" The demon gawked at him.

"Look, I don't like it any more than you do, uh...?" Zane trailed off when he realized he hadn't gotten the demon's name if it had one. The brunette quickly caught on to why Zane paused and smiled faintly.

"Kai." He answered the unasked question.

"Kai, thank you, but these things are not our decisions to make."

"You're not about to sprout some Holier-Than-Thou jibberish at me are you?" Kai asked as he gave him a peculiar look. Zane wasn't sure how to answer that. That was all anyone ever talked about upstairs. The very idea that someone wouldn't want to, let alone calling it jibberish, preach about it and discuss its many glorious wonders was unheard of. When the angel didn't answer, the dark one rolled his eyes.

"You were, weren't you?"

"There's nothing wrong with that." Zane countered.

"No no, of course not." Kai mocked. "You're within your right to justify a reason as to why God's human race failed at the get-go."

"I'm not trying to do any such thing!" Zane said, growing flustered. "B-Besides, look! The male seems to be fending its adversary off brilliantly on his own! They're obviously capable of taking care of themselves; I only hope that this will be the worst of it, at least for today." He frowned in concern as a roll of thunder broke in, causing them both to look around for the source. Detecting it was from the sky, they exchange looks then went back to watching the battle for survival in front of them.

They stood in oddly comfortable silence before Kai broke it.

"Wait, so that's a lion?" He gasped, almost in awe.

"Yes, It is."

"Never seen one of them before."

"Sorry?" Zane blinked in confusion.

"I said, I've never seen one of those before."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've never seen a lion before, so I would never have known they looked like that." He shrugged and Zane could only stare. "What?" Kai asked in a rather prickly manner.

"Nothing," The angel squeaked as he turned away, a slight blush framing the tips of his ears. He didn't realize he was ogling again. "Just, find it surprising that one dead animal isn't familiar with an equally dangerous one."

"It's not like I was there when they were created, was a little bit busy with another matter at that time, as you well know." Kai returned as another boom of thunder rumbled closer over their heads. Only this time it had been accompanied by a shocking bright snap of light that streaked across the sky. Both of their sets of wings flinched outward and lightly fluffed at the surprise of it. Zane let out an embarrassed chuckle and willed his feathers to settle down.

He could see out of the corner of his eye the other trying to do the same.

He cleared his throat and thought it best to continue where they left off.

"So, therefore, am I left to understand that, based on what you've said, you've never witnessed a tiger as well?" He asked and Kai immediately clammed up.

"Why do you ask?"

"It's a simple question."

"I don't know about that."

"Really? Do tell, I'd love to hear it."

"Has it gotten a bit stuffy out here?"

"No, I find it quite pleasing in all truthfulness."

"More cloudy things are building up."

"Stop trying to change the subject, please." Zane all but begged and Kai eyed him carefully.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being ridiculed?"

"I would never," He said with all honesty. Kai looked around as if someone might hear, grimaced, and leaned in.

"Promise you won't tell?"

"Oh, may the Lord himself strike me down if I should ever utter a syllable to another living soul," Zane promised and he clasped his hands as if in prayer. Kai gave him a doubtful look, but eventually relented and grumbled with an obnoxious huff.

"No, are you satisfied now?! I've never seen a tiger, a lion, or fucking whale!" The demon cried as he closed his eyes and flinched again when more thunder rumbled closer. The sky was turning all below it several shades darker, growing ever so closer to swallowing the bright sun. The angel was oblivious to this, however.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've never seen a whale either." Zane smiled. It took a moment, but Zane noticed the smirk flit across that surprisingly pretty face.

"It doesn't," Kai replied as he glanced at him all the same with those gemstone eyes and once again they slipped into a pleasant silence. Zane suddenly had a thought. If Kai didn't seem to know about other animals, did he know about himself?

"Now Uhm, don't take this the wrong way but, you do know what you are, correct?" He asked carefully.

"You mean besides an angel-turned-demon who's damned for all eternity?" Kai said in a sarcastic tone.

"Yes."

"Then, of course, I know."

"Excellent! Care to say it out loud?"

"I already told you; my name's Kai," The demon grinned. He felt his heart miss a beat, and not in a good way. The thump was alarmingly prominent like his vessel-body was trying to alert him to take note of what this creature was saying. There was no possible way this demon could be this naive. Something else was amiss.

"Yes, I know your name, but I'm asking if you know what you are; do you know what you are?" He asked again and Kai's expression gradually changed from enjoyment to being perplexed. His brow furrowed as he stared off, eyes flicking around as if searching for something but simply grew more confused.

"What am I?" Kai finally asked, getting annoyed by the question.

"A serpent, dear," Zane replied for the demon. Evidently, Kai's face fell back to puzzlement once more and Zane's mouth fell open. It was evident that word meant nothing to the demon. "You don't know what a serpent is, do you?" He asked, almost sadly, Kai shrugged it off.

"What of it?"

"That's what you are!"

"So? What's so important with needing to know the ins and outs of a serpent? Why do you care if I know or not?" Kai snapped, experimenting with the new word in his mouth.

"No need to get upset, I was only trying to help," Zane said as he raised his arms in defense to try to quickly diffuse the tension. He watched Kai focus on the humans again, and it was clear something he had said or done bothered the demon immensely. He felt terrible, and then suddenly that scent came back. Only recently Zane had caught this aroma in the air. It comes and goes with the wind, but the longer he had been here the less deniable it had become.

Never had it been invasive or overbearing, but the angel noticed he could pick it out no matter what kind of stronger scents surrounded it.

Right now, this very moment, it was hitting him stronger than it ever had before.

"Looks like the lion's down," Kai added, noting how successful the humans were doing so far. Another rumble of thunder accompanied by that bright flash pushed ever closer. Perhaps Kai had caught a whiff of the scent?

"Do you smell that?" The angel asked, sniffing the air.

"What?" Kai asked and Zane realized he had made a poor judgment.

"Never mind." The angel shrugged off awkwardly, but thankfully the demon didn't push it. They stood there in silence for a short while, before Kai glanced over at Zane, and his snake eyes suddenly narrowed.

"Wait, where are your shurikens anyway? I thought you had a pair that froze anything they touched?" He asked and Zane froze in fear. "Did you have one, or didn't you? Because now I'm confused."

"How do you mean?" The angel asked as he began to feel uneasy.

"Well, your presence here no longer makes sense, so what are you doing here Snowflake?"

"I'm-"

"Are you lost?"

"No, I'm... you're trying to confuse me." Zane accused as his heart started to race,

"I'm trying to confuse you?" Kai almost laughed, and this made Zane even more defensive.

"Yes! That's what your kind do and I will not be swayed into it!" He stated in the strongest voice he could muster at that moment, his chest puffing out slightly as he did. Zane knew he was being cornered. He knew this whole thing was a setup to get him to lose ground or faith or doubt himself in his duties for the choices he'd made and how thanks to him everything was ruined. But that wasn't what upset Zane. He was upset that he fell for it.

He had failed again.

God must have been testing him early and he has failed another one. Or perhaps not? He may have caught it in time, he could still redeem himself if he stayed strong.

"You're the one who's doing the confusing here," Kai lectured. "You're supposed to have some freezing shurikens, which I could've sworn you had, and that would make sense for a Cherub to have in order to guard the Garden of Eden, but let's face it, you're terrible at guarding, and you don't have your shurikens so I ask you again; what are you doing here?" He scowled and a boom of thunder emphasized the demon's point. Zane took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, eyes closed.

All he had to do was be honest, true, and stop being distracted by the alluring visage before him.

"I...I gave them away."

"You gave them away?!"

"Shh! Not so loud!" He panicked, already forgetting the pep-talk he gave himself. "I don't want the head office to hear! Besides, they're not lost or anything; they're right there, see? The humans have it now." The angel explained and pointed to the humans slowly fading in the distance with a pair of remarkably bright-looking objects in the hands of one of them. Kai looked back to the tiny figures, then to the angel. Then back to the figures, and once again to the angel.

Then suddenly, what Zane could only describe as a ridiculously big stupid grin spread over the demon's face, the creature did an unexplainable thing.

He started to laugh, laugh, and laugh some more. It became so severe they turned into fits, gripping his stomach. That damned thing lost its balance and fell to the floor. He rolled around, it wracking his body to near spasm levels, and during it all, he had the utter nerve to speak to the angel at the same time.

"Oh, I would love to be there for your first report! Glad to know I'm not the only one who interfered." He cackled, and his grin grew when he saw the confusion on Zane's face. "What? Where did you think Adam got that flaming sword from?" He laughed and Zane gasped at the realization that Kai had been the one to give Adam the sword, a weapon of Hell. "I hope it doesn't turn out that they aren't too bright yet when it comes to violent weaponry and the use of fire and ice so they somehow kill themselves!"

Zane's paled, even more, when Kai's words sank in.

The angel finally realized that he could get in a great deal of trouble for this. Everything Kai pointed out was more than plausibly true and may happen once the humans were out of sight. This was serious. Even so, he couldn't stop a giggle bubble up to the surface. Watching Kai, he found out, was contagious. It started small but soon grew to a level that was painful to hold in. He tried to stifle it, tried to bite it back with his teeth against his tongue, but it was hopeless.

Zane covered his mouth and did his best to hide it from the cackling demon.

"That's not funny, I beseech you, stop laughing!" He tried to say normally but cracked on the last word. He clenched a fist and nearly begged the other to spare him. Kai rolled to face him and Zane was almost lost again when he saw tears running down his cheeks. He had no choice but to turn away and fisted his hands tightly by his sides. "No! No, I refuse to believe in your trickery! This isn't a joke!" The angel yelled, not caring what he said so long as this lark would end.

Within time, Kai calmed down, breathing heavily.

"They're going to be fine, Snowflake, I'm only teasing you," He said while a chuckle or two still found its way out. "Look how well they have handled themselves against their first threat, and they've only just set foot out there; if I hadn't given them that sword and you hadn't given them the shurikens they would be torn to pieces by now, we saved them." Zane heard from behind him a tired sigh. The loudest thunder roll cracked out, the very appearance of the clouds above threatening their next level to come soon.

The flutter from inside Zane's chest came back.

But, somehow it was stronger this time around. He turned back to face the other being and took notice of how Kai laid there. Wings relaxed, hands resting on the stomach, one leg bent. He was comfortable. Kai, an evil enemy, was content to lay there in his presence. Zane could easily smite him. He would technically be within reason, for what Kai had done concerning the apple. It would be simple, quick, and clean. But that never even crossed his pure mind.

He strode over to the brunette and reached down a hand with a winning smile of his own.

"My name is Zane; it's nice to meet you." He introduced and Kai's eyes widened. He wasn't expecting that. He stared at the hand as if he had never seen its kind before. He appeared unsure of what step to take next. Zane gave him time, not pulling away yet. Soon enough, Kai eventually smiled.

"Hello, Zane, it's nice to meet you, too," He replied and reached up with his own hand, clasped the inviting one, and was hoisted up. Zane nearly dropped the demon, however. Once they touched, the contact was not at all what he was expecting. He cried out, yanking his hand away, and jumped back. His other hand clasped it around the wrist and pulled it close. Zane stared from his hand to Kai in either astonishment or fear. He couldn't decide which it was.

Kai just raised an eyebrow at him, perplexed as to what had happened.

"Oh! Forgive me but, you're so hot! To the touch, I mean!" He stammered as he did his best to explain but not offend.

"Naturally." Kai shrugged. Zane shook his head, confused.

"This is a normal occurrence?"

"Of course," The demon said casually, amused by the reaction from the angel. He crossed his arms, took a deep, over-exaggerated breath. "Being a fallen angel, or more accurate, a demon from the fiery pits of Hell now, so to answer your question; being boiling hot is normal for demons like me," He smiled. The next boom of thunder rumbled on for some time. It was as if the sky was growling its impatience for being ignored.

"Is that all?"

"Yep," Kai replied, but he didn't seem to care. The brunette then opened his mouth and exhaled. The air in front of it appeared to ripple several inches outward. Zane walked up to it, mesmerized, and like a baby who was still testing out the world for the first time, he reached out a hand and ran it through it. It was warm, heated air coming out. It wasn't painful in the slightest. The angel beamed as he wiggled his fingers around it. He kept it up until Kai closed his mouth, grinning at Zane's blush.

Zane was about to agree, then stopped himself and wondered why this was brought up in the first place.

"Anywho, going back to your shuriken conversation with His Almighty, if you can't find humor even in the direst situations, then what's the point of it?" He asked and Zane visibly shook his wings at the way Kai mockingly talked about the Lord. Ignoring that, however, Zaen wasn't sure what he thought of that advice, but he secretly tucked it away in the back of his mind all the same.

"You'll be alright, he loves all of you unquestionably," Kai added and Zane paused. Did he hear that right? Had a fallen angel, a being who willfully rebelled against God just casually admit the Lord adored all of them? Without a second thought about it? What was going on here? Zane turned his head and glanced at the demon. The brunette was rigid stiff. Amber eyes hard, staring intently straight ahead. Jaw clenched. He could see the dark one's fingers turning white from how hard he was gripping his own arms.

So it was a mistake.

He didn't mean to say it. Now at least something about this villain makes sense to him.

"I wonder how far up we are?" Kai suddenly blurted out with a jerk of his head, and then just took off, running over and standing right on the edge of the wall cliff. His red and black wings thrusting out just so as to counter the body weight from tumbling over. Zane gasped and ran after but stayed himself some steps later. For a split moment, he chastised himself for the idea of wanting to save the enemy. But most of the time he was too busy worrying about the brunette disappearing suddenly from his sight.

The wind had picked up some, and was a tad rougher on Kai's clothes and hair, yanking and blowing it around like a dare to take another step.

The demon suddenly moaned, but Zane couldn't tell what he meant. The angel moved fast and was standing next to them once the groan had been uttered.

"Are you alright?" He panicked.

"I don't like heights," The demon mumbled. The eyes were closed and they appeared to be swaying.

"Then get away from the edge, you silly thing!" Zane shouted, grasping the other and guiding him down to safety. When he unclosed his eyes, he got defensive.

"I just wanted to see how far down it was!" He hissed angrily, but Zane just rolled his eyes and neither of them said anything more on the subject. Water from the skies began to fall. When it hit them they shied away from it on the first drops. Zane figured it out quicker than the other one did. Kai seemed a little lost to this experience, unsure of what to do or how to react to it. Kai must have sensed eyes on him, for he turned to catch the angel's icy orbs.

Zane, at this point he stopped trying to reason it, opened an arm, lifted a wing, and beckoned the other in.

To say he was surprised the demon actually moved closer was a hardball to juggle. So many unusual and unexpected things happened in such as short time. He wasn't even sure how he felt. He didn't seem the least bit repulsed when Kai stood so close they nearly touched shoulders, and he could feel the heat of the other's temperature radiating onto him. The demon kept glancing at him, shifting on his bare feet. Eventually, he opened his mouth and asked what seemed to be on his mind.

"No hard feelings between us, yes? After all; I was only doing what I was so ordered to, on pain of repercussion, and all that." He said, looking a little nervous. This made the pale angel go quiet. Unsure of whether to trust what this thing was saying or if he was lying to him and this was planned the whole time. Whichever it was, he hadn't the heart to be cruel.

"No, I daresay, no hard feelings; it's too early for that yet." He replied and another silence surrounded them. Every once in a while, they would both stick their hands out to catch the water droplets on their palms then bring them in under the protection of the angel's wing. Even if they both refused to admit it, Kai and Zane felt at peace at that moment. Where it was just the two of them, huddled together as they experienced the first rainfall with the young planet Earth...

[softlyblues]

30th April 1876, Paris

Very little from the exhibition actually sells, because this is before they are very much in vogue, and Manet is still young with a spring in his step, and Renoir still follows Monet with hope in his eyes and a brush behind his ear. It is 1876, the second Impressionist exhibit in Nadar’s studio, and they are all young and full of vigour, skin so thick as to shrug off criticism because what would they know?

L’homme Distrait is a painting in the corner of the room, below a collection of Renoir’s studies of water. People’s eyes pass over it, oddly put off, although there isn’t much wrong with it. At first, anyway.

It is by a young man named Alfred Sisley, and it is odd because Sisley is known (already) for his landscapes. It is a very small canvas, all light and the spill of shadow,  the press of a hand against a pillow, the fall of hair along bare shoulders, a shirt slipped down to cup the upper arm, to reveal a smattering of intimate freckles along the back of the neck, trailing ever-downwards. Morning sun spills through the window the figure looks out of, and his face is hidden by the picture, captured from behind. His fingertips press into the pillow, clutching a little of the fabric, and what little the viewer can see below him shows bare feet tucked underneath bare legs, a tantalising peek at whatever else might lie beneath. It is tender.

Three paintings are sold, at the second Impressionist exhibit, although the publicity is a lot greater than that of the second. Two are sold to an art collector from Normandy, who has felt the way the wind is blowing -

And the third is sold to the strange man in the old-fashioned suits, who came every day of the exhibition to stare at the Sisley painting in the corner, an odd look of yearning in his eyes, his hands neatly tucked behind his back as though he doesn’t trust himself not to touch. He pays in cash and vanishes.

☼

2nd September 1889, London

Aziraphale does not have many houseguests, but he makes an exception for a few of his favourite people. It is just before the decade turns, and Oscar cuts a pompous figure lying on his chaise-longue with a wine glass hanging from his hand, but he’s a lonely soul and his young man - his Alfred, an undergraduate at Oxford just turned twenty - is chasing him. Oscar comes to Aziraphale to complain, wryly, that young men will chase without any of the idea the hurt they can cause, and Aziraphale is there with wine and an ear to lend.

“That painting,” Wilde says, waving a hand at the corner, “Often I’ve wondered about it. My tongue is too loose, but my friend - yours is too tight.”

Aziraphale doesn’t have to turn to know which painting Wilde refers to; over the years, he’s wondered if he should discard it, but every time he tries to his hand stills. “I found it in the Impressionists,” he says lightly. “A trifling thing.”

“An odd choice of subject matter for the air-silly men, surely,” Wilde says. He can be astute when he wants to be, damn the bastard.

Aziraphale shrugs. “I thought it was unique, and Sisley was only too glad to sell.”

“Do you know who the sitter is?”

“No,” Aziraphale says.

Oscar’s eyes, mostly full of self-pity, swell with gentle laughter. “My friend - you never did learn how to lie.”

“I don’t know him,” Aziraphale says, “I - I know his name.”

“Oh?”

Aziraphale fills his glass, and then Oscar’s when he holds it out. “His name is Anthony,” he says steadily, and wills his voice not to tremble overmuch, “But we have - that is to say, I do not see him anymore. I haven’t in a long time. I saw the painting at the exhibition and it seemed like I ought to buy it, although I never told Sisley my name and I cannot imagine Anthony would be too happy to know I bought it.”

Wilde laughs. It isn’t a very happy laugh. “You and I,” he says, and tips the edge of his glass against Aziraphale’s, “Must be the most miserable men in all of England. Our lovers run away.”

Aziraphale doesn’t disagree.

☼

And On The Seventh Day, He Rested

That is not even close to how it begins, but it is a view of things from the other side of the mirror.

Crowley doesn’t remember his life before the Fall, only that he must have had one, and that he must have had a good reason for leaving Above and going Below. He remembers the pain of it, of everything burning and the feathers on his wings scorching black with the heat, a God angry at the rejection of one of Its children. Crowley remembers screaming, and then blackness, and then Hell.

He hadn’t liked Hell at all. When they asked for volunteers to tempt on this new experiment God was creating, Crowley had jumped at the chance, back when he was still just Crawly and nothing much separated him from all the rest of the poor bastards down there who had just wanted to know why.

And he got up there and found out that the world was open and airy and beautiful, and things smelled of peaches, and Eve was nice to him, stroking a finger along his scaly back. “You’re pretty,” she tells him now.

This is how it begins.

“I will call you a snake,” Eve tells him, and Crawly rears up all proud of himself, because he has a name someone else has given him and it seems to fit him as though it always has. Like a glove. “You are a snake because of the hiss you make.”

To make her happy, Crawly does it.

Her laugh is beautiful, and he is proud of himself for making it - that is something he has done himself, created all on his own, and it feels so good to create joy in the air, especially for Eve. Crawly likes her ever so much more than he likes Adam, who is a bullyish man, stomping about the garden and forcing names on things that don’t suit them at all. A part of Crawly wonders if Adam will be happy about snake.

“Hello.”

It is a few days later, and Crawly is testing out his other form, sitting on the wall of the garden and swinging his legs over the side. He’s eating an apple. It’s green, juicy, running down his chin, full of good flavour and a sharp bite, and this is why he volunteered - because there are no apples in Hell.

“Hello,” something says again, and a vision all in white settles beside Crawly.

Crawly scrunches up his nose. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a Principality,” says the angel, almost apologetically. “I think I’m meant to be guarding Eden from temptation and things like that? It’s all quite exciting. I’ve been speaking to Adam, a lot.”

“Good,” Crawly tosses his apple over the wall, where it rolls into the barren sand.

(And why is Eden the only place of life? What has made it special?)

(Something takes root.)

“You’re the temptation, then, I gather,” says the angel. He is quite pretty, objectively, a spray of short white hair over an amicable face, a sharp little nose and bow-shaped lips. His robes fall to his ankles, suitably demure, and his hands are folded in his lap as though he’s awaiting a lecture from God Itself.

Crawly shrugs, and feels very sinful. “I’m the temptation.”

(Later he thinks this is part of the Holy Punishment. It must be. To love, and to never be loved in return - a black hole, a void in reverse, giving and giving and never receiving. This is the last and first joke, by a God cruel enough to laugh at it, placing the one thing Crowley wants in front of him and saying: this is not for you.)

“You look very benign,” the angel says, like an apology. “I - oh! I’m very sorry. I’m Aziraphale, Principality. Your name can’t just be temptation.”

“Crawly,” Crawly says, going scarlet at the saying of it aloud. “Although I’m thinking of changing it.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” says Aziraphale politely, and Crawly thinks oh so this is what it’s like to see the sun rising.

He doesn’t mean to tempt.

Truly, he doesn’t.

“Oh, snake,” whispers Eve one golden night when the sun is hanging over the sky, a guest that refuses to leave, “I am so sad, and I don’t know why. I wish you could speak to me, snake - sometimes it feels like you’re my only friend.”

Her and Adam sleep at opposite ends of the Garden. Eve curls beneath a bush, her hair bouncing over one breast, and shivers in the cold; she has nothing to clothe herself in, and even in the desert the nights are freezing. Crawly can’t imagine surviving with warm blood in his veins, instead.

You are my dearesssst friend, Crawly hisses, his tongue flickering out to brush against her cheek. He can’t help it - and anyway, Hell would tell him if he was doing anything truly wrong. Right.

“He hurts me so,” Eve says. Water pools underneath her pupils, and spills over her cheeks, and when Crawly bumps his nose against it he tastes warm salt. “I wish he didn’t, snake, but he does, and he expects me to forget and be his wife. Loving. I love him, and he says he loves me!”

Love is cruel, Crawly says to ears that cannot hear him. As though he knows anything.

“But if he loved me he would be kind.”

Crawly is silent, but his eyes are drawn to the tree in the centre of the garden, and he wonders… all he wants to do is help.

“I wish I knew! For good or ill, I wish I knew!”

And Crawly wraps around her shoulders, and whispers in her ear, and Eve hears.

They leave soon after that.

But Aziraphale gives them the flaming sword, and surely that must count for something? Something meant for good will turn out badly, but something meant for good might still work the way it was intended.

Crawly leaves, belly flat in the sand, and behind him an apple tree takes root, and a single Principality takes flight, dove’s wings in the burning blue of a sky too new to be clouded.

☼

Summer 1194 BC, Troy

The funeral is solemn. The sight of the pyre, hot and sticky in the air of summer, makes bile rise in the back of Crowley’s throat, although he hides under the wraps of a mourning widow in the crowd, unseen to most everyone - he doesn’t want to be bothered, doesn’t want to be talked to.

What a fucking waste.

He is present at the council, too.

“The boy asked for his ashes to be mixed with-”

“But that’s it. He is just a boy, and a war hero, and that other-”

Crowley adds his voice to the chorus. “Achilles is a hero,” he says roughly, dressed now as a war general and not a widow, “And a hero deserves to have his last wishes honoured, does he not? Come to your senses! Would any of you, any of you, wish to be buried in a way not of your choosing?”

For a brief second he holds the sway of these powerful men, men who have grown powerful by getting rid of the caring. He can see them considering. But -

“Achilles was a war hero,” says someone roughly, in a voice much stronger and less stricken than Crowley’s, “And Patroclus was nothing but a man in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was Achilles’ one blind spot, and we can forgive the man, but we cannot let this continue past his death. Patroclus was a murderer.”

“Let them be,” Crowley says, one last attempt, “Let them be.”

He is shouted down.

“Hello,” Aziraphale says softly.

Crowley is sitting by the seashore, already deep into his cups with no sign and no intention of slowing down yet. “Hello, angel,” he says gloomily. “Come to gloat?”

To his surprise, Aziraphale sits down beside him, rather heavily. The two of them tend to avoid each other, still, even with all the awkward camaraderie of the ark and the garden and the following the Israelites around their sorry mission - Crowley just can’t get past it, somehow, the way Aziraphale looks. The way he moves. The way it strikes a yearning in his heart.

“Gloat?” Aziraphale sounds injured at the very thought of it. “I thought - I thought they would let them rest. They were so young.”

Wordlessly, Crowley passes the wine over. “It was Pyrrhus, in the end, who swayed them. I think he was embarrassed by it all. Patroclus-”

“They were in love,” Aziraphale says softly.

Crowley looks across, although he tries not to.

(When he meets Aziraphale, he tries always to look away, because the sight of the angel brings him such unbearable pain, deep down in his heart where he can’t heal it away. Aziraphale is always ringed in a peculiar light that doesn’t glow, as though Crowley’s eyes can see what Crowley often forgets; that Aziraphale is a heavenly body, and Crowley is not.)

Aziraphale is dressed like a foot soldier resting, half in uniform and half out, his undertunic white, a little smeared with sand. His hair is the same as it always was, because he doesn’t seem inclined to change as much as Crowley does, and the straps of his sandals are done a little messy. He is crying big, fat, ugly blobs down his cheeks, two streams meeting at his chin and dripping off to plop on his hands. “They were in love,” he says again, “They didn’t deserve it.”

“Oh, Aziraphale,” Crowley says. He tries to say something else, and then stops.

Aziraphale passes back the wine. “They didn’t deserve it.”

“Deserving has nothing to do with anything,” Crowley says before he can stop himself, “Nobody deserves what they’re given. You should know that by now.”

Oh, and does he feel like a heel when Aziraphale turns blue-stained eyes on him. “How can you say that!”

“All those people who drowned to make a new world. Those children, those babies,” and Crowley is only letting himself say this because he’s drunk and bitter, “All those people who died for Its purpose - did they deserve to drown? Did Noah deserve to live? Does Pyrrhus deserve to continue when Achilles is gone? Did Patroclus deserve to die? None of it has to do with who deserves anything. It’s all a game, angel, and all we are is another pair of playing dice.”

“You don’t believe that,” Aziraphale says. He sounds hurt, beyond hurt.

Crowley digs his fingers into the sand. “I have to believe that,” he says. “Because if Achilles deserved to die, if Patroclus deserved to die, for nothing - just for being in love - then nobody deserves to live at all.”

“Crowley-”

He’s done talking. He doesn’t want to talk about love with Aziraphale, on a beach, the smell of burning body drifting down the wind, Patroclus trapped and Achilles sent to the heavens, Troy falling and soldiers revelling. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, and perhaps he sounds so small that Aziraphale listens.

Although they only have one jar, the wine never runs empty, not until the sun rises and Crowley turns beside him and sees only marks in the sand where an angel should be.

☼

Autumn 570 BC, the Leucadian Cliffs

The woman on the cliff is a small, white-haired, bent-over lady, who holds herself with the poise of a woman who knows she was once beautiful beyond compare. She does not cry.

Crowley is here, but Aziraphale he hasn’t seen in almost a century.

“My love,” she says to him. “I miss you ever more by the day.”

Crowley reaches out, grabs her by the shoulder; in this body, a young woman from Lesbos itself, the strongest thing about him is the red of his hair. His translucent hand goes right through her. “Please, my love,” he says, in a voice high and flute-like. “Don’t do this.”

Sappho smiles at him sadly. “You are but a ghost,” she tells him. “The ghost of my one love. Claudia - Claudia. When I die I will see her in Hades, and that will be more gift than this - this existence on a rock.”

“Please,” Crowley says again.

(He has been discorporated for the last five years, the female body he liked so much, killed by a lingering disease, but he hasn’t yet had the courage to go Below to ask for a new body. And so here he is, hanging around the woman who fell in love with him, avoiding the angel he’s fallen in love with by a haunting. He wishes he couldn’t. He wishes she wouldn’t.)

“My Claudia didn’t love me, truly,” Sappho says. She’s still beautiful now, and Crowley sees her as the small, vibrant woman she was and is - black hair wrapping around her waist, blue eyes strong and seeking. “My Claudia loved another, but she never would tell me who. Would you tell me, spirit? Before I die?”

“I’ve given my heart to an angel,” Crowley confesses. The sea hits the rocks below, and almost drowns him out. “Please-”

“And the angel is well deserving of it,” Sappho says.

She doesn’t scream, on the way down. She only smiles.

Is this what Crowley deserves?

☼

21st April 33AD, Golgotha

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Crowley replies, and it should be a joke but John is sobbing on the grassless ground and Aziraphale’s bottom lip is wobbling and all he can hear is Mary wailing for her son. Her son. Not anybody else’s. What’s the point in a father that never shows up?

Aziraphale’s hand touches his arm, and Crowley tries not to startle; instead, he turns his palm up, and Aziraphale’s falling fingers touch Crowley’s, and then their hands are linked without either of them quite knowing why.

Crowley doesn’t let go. Neither does Aziraphale.

“I tried, you know,” Aziraphale says dazedly. “I think it was the wrong thing for me to do - but I met him in the desert, just before he came here, and I told him he could have all his Father’s love if he just - if he didn’t-”

“Ineffable,” Crowley says, voice dull. “I met him in the garden. I told him not to do it. I told him he could have the world, he could have John if he wanted, and he said he couldn’t. I tried.”

Three years ago, and Crowley is in the crowd, when Jesus meets John, and just as the clouds part for the dove he sees Aziraphale on the other side of the river. Aziraphale smiles at him, a look altogether too fond although they have been working more together these days, less likely to fall apart, and John touches Jesus very gently, as though he might break.

“My lord,” he says.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, on the other side of the river now as though he’d always been there, and if he speaks in the same tone as John he prays (hah) that nobody notices.

Aziraphale is smiling. “They’ve found each other, Crowley! I always knew they would. Oh - oh, it can’t go wrong. He’s the one, you see?”

John follows Jesus through Israel, and Crowley and Aziraphale follow in turn, part of the faceless crowd that grows every time Jesus goes to speak. He preaches on mountains, on boats, in towns, in villages, by wells, in the countryside, by grass that no longer grows, and John supports him and helps helps baptise the converted and Crowley watches him fall in love. It is beautiful to watch.

They collect the forgotten, on the way. Peter, skinny and young and growling in displeasure; James and the other John, fishing boys who drop their nets, Phillip, Thomas, Matthew, the other James… Thaddeus, Simon, Bartholomew. All too small, all too young, all full of fervent faith. He and Aziraphale meet often, in this time.

It feels like the end of the world is coming.

“John loves him,” Crowley says. They’re sitting on the top of an inn where Jesus is preaching, on the roof where nobody will disturb them.

Aziraphale is eating olives very daintily, his lips wrapped around each one. He looks divine. “Jesus loves him too, I’m sure,” he says like he’s never had cause to doubt it, “They pair of them are - well. Made to be together. I was speaking to John in the last house they were at, and I’m glad for him. I think Jesus feels the strain.”

Crowley relaxes, looks into the starry sky. John loves Jesus. Jesus, the Christ Child. John, the man. “They seem very happy. That can’t last.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sounds so disapproving, “I do wish you weren’t such a cynic about love.”

I’m not, Crowley thinks. “I’m not,” he says.

Aziraphale laughs and pats Crowley’s knee, a single spot of burning warmth. “You always have been, my dear, ever since I’ve known you.”

I’m trying to convince myself, not the rest of the world.

Crowley doesn’t say that bit out loud.

And Judas comes later, the youngest of them all, sixteen and wary, round brown eyes under curly hair, robes that don’t reach his ankles and feet dusty with dirt that isn’t ever properly washed. Crowley sees him and thinks you poor child, and he sees in the way Judas looks at Jesus that there is love, too, with no hope of ever being returned.

John the Baptist kisses the Emmanuel under a fig tree by moonlight, with Aziraphale and Crowley the sole watchers, strolling along the gardens. “Oh,” Aziraphale says softly.

Crowley wonders what it is like to do that - to do as John does. Cup his lover by the cheek, a thumb under the jaw, tip the face up so lips can meet, eyes brushing shut and eyelashes tangling, hair mussed, robes slipping from their fastenings, the sounds of two young people in love drifting over the air.

He looks at Aziraphale, and wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.

Judas finds nobody, in all their three years of wandering. Crowley wills him to, most desperately. Love is not what you think it is, he tries to say without saying, but Judas doesn’t want to hear.

Which brings them to this hilltop, this place, John beating his fists against the ground and weeping apologies to a God who planned this all along.

“We both tried to do the same thing,” Aziraphale says, as though in a daze. “I wonder - does that make me good, or you evil? Is this the good outcome?”

“You cannot look at this and tell me this is good,” Crowley snaps.

On the cross, Jesus has long since stopped making noise, and the sight of his body makes Crowley feel a little sick. Surely one human shouldn’t have that much blood in them; surely one human shouldn’t look so twisted, so wrong. The thorns have torn the skin on his scalp, and the blood has run down his face, down his cheeks, like some sort of awful parody of tears. John is screaming. It is the only sound in the world.

“I can’t believe God would ever,” Aziraphale says, and stops, and his face is twisted in anguish, “I mean - this is so awful. There must be a good purpose behind it. There must.”

Otherwise what is there?

“He truly loved him,” Crowley says softly. “And now he’s dead. What will John do now?”

He can’t wait to hear Aziraphale’s answer - he doesn’t think he can bear it. It’s the work of a second to slip into the skin of a snake, the animal Eve loved the most, and to slither away under the scrubby apple tree clinging to sand to survive.

☼

14th February 1212, Cologne

“This is foolish,” says Crowley. He doesn’t have to look to know Aziraphale is beside him.

“Crowley-”

“They are children, Aziraphale!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, and he sounds broken. He’s dressed like a German shepherding man, this time, and it oddly fits with Crowley, dressed as he is like a minor noblewoman from the Rhineland. They blend into the crowd here, listening to the child Nicholas speak, shaking his tiny fist in the air. Encouraging his crowd to war.

The cheers are high-pitched, because not a single voice among them has broken. The crowd must be thousands strong, tens of thousands, all whipped up into holy fervour by the dreams of one child, and now they’re going to march to war.

“They are children,” Crowley hisses. “You can’t talk to me about the ineffable plan. Not now. Don’t have the gall to speak to me about that.”

“Come with me,” Aziraphale says. His hand wraps around Crowley’s, like they did at Golgotha, and holds him tight. “I can’t do anything, and I can’t watch any longer.”

Aziraphale miracles them away to a quiet mountain in the southern part of the world, somewhere that will be found by Columbus in a little bit, somewhere that the native people call only home. This mountain is remote, tall, and huge trees spread their branches over the top of it, casting shadows that protect the pair of them from the watchful eyes of the sun.

As soon as Crowley balances himself from the miracle performed, Aziraphale is letting go of him and pressing his hands to his eyes. “They’re all so young,” he’s shouting, and he sounds angry. “So young! What do they know of the Holy Land!”

It almost frightens Crowley - he’s used to Aziraphale explaining it all away, calling it ineffable, saying it’s part of the Plan, and to have this -

This uncertain Aziraphale -

Crowley’s heart aches for something he’ll never deserve.

“Angel,” he says, and catches Aziraphale by the wrists, prying his hands away from his eyes, “Aziraphale - oh, don’t. Please don’t.”

Aziraphale’s eyes are rimmed in red. “They’re all going to die,” he whispers. “What are we going to do?”

Crowley doesn’t say there’s nothing they can do, because Aziraphale surely knows that, and it would hurt too much to say. He just keeps holding Aziraphale, underneath a wide and spreading tree, and curses Above and Below until he’s sure to be blue in the face, until he can curse no more.

He doesn’t know when they sink to the ground, only that they do, and Crowley can do nothing but sit as Aziraphale wipes wet eyes on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he sniffs. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“You had nothing to do with it,” Crowley says, and he says it as though it’s fact.

(Although in truth, he’s had very little to do with Aziraphale this past decade; he just assumes, and knows he’s right to do so, that Aziraphale would never do anything that would lead to something like this.)

“But he’s doing it in the name of God,” Aziraphale’s voice sounds wet.

“Angel,” Crowley says, and cynicism makes a home in his heart even though he doesn’t mean it to, “You know as well as I do that God has nothing to do with what happens down here.”

He sits, and lets the angel wring himself dry of the tears. All the same - it is a long time before they go back to Europe.

☼

in between, always, everywhere

Crowley learns from humanity, the lessons he’s been taught himself since before time began. Love is patient, love is kind… love is cruel, love is blind. He and Aziraphale meet and tangle, and hold hands, and once Aziraphale holds him by the cheeks and kisses him drunkenly on the forehead. They are wrapped together, and the world seems far too small to hold the both of them.

Crowley loves him. Nothing more, nothing less.

Aziraphale is beautiful, and in his laugh and his smile and the crinkle of his eyes Crowley finds a very particular peace. He can live without having the love returned, so long as he gets to exist around him.

He tells jokes, and he likes fine wine, and he reads poetry, and he never stumbles on quotations when he’s drunk. He goes very fast and very slow, all the time, flitting from country to country and then staying in one village for a hundred years. He does good deeds and bad deeds, and when he sees Crowley after a long absence, his eyes soften and his mouth opens and he says oh my dear, i’m so glad to see you! and something inside Crowley’s chest grabs him tight. Holds him. Vice-like, it says You Love Him and stubbornly Crowley refuses to listen.

Love is patient, love is kind. Crowley watches Aziraphale eat, watches him flirt, watches him be as cruel and dismissive as the harsh sting of a winter morning, watches him pour blessings like water to a flame, and watches all the while.

Nothing more, nothing less.

☼

5th October 1589, Cornwall

The wedding isn’t a very happy one. Crowley hovers in the crowd, wrapped in his shawls, and watches the bride walk down the gravel path to the church, her face stormy, the bruise on her cheek stroking the skin there like the kiss of a mother. The groom is inside, and walking with a limp.

This far South, the Romans and the Christians after them were pretty successful in wiping clean the slate of Celtic spirit, which Crowley finds quite a shame. He always enjoyed the spirituality of the druids, the manic chanting, the fun behind the myths - but he can’t quite complain, either, because the Celts haven’t quite as much fear of demons as the Christians. The Celts would have befriended him.

Still, in Cornwall the old ways cling on a little, and the wedding is between two peasants without a single bean to their name, and no need to care about the Christian path. The couple are Bakerson, Robert and Millie, and they are marrying through an arrangement with their parents, so somebody can inherit the small village bakery and the farm that goes with it. The Bakersons are a wealthy family.

“Poor girl,” says a voice in Crowley’s ear, and before Crowley can jump Aziraphale’s hand grabs his wrist. “It’s only me, dear.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley manages. “I-”

“She was in love with the tinker,” Aziraphale says sadly. He’s wearing the clothes of a travelling gentleman, and looks quite out of place in a crowd of peasants and their cousins; all the same, nobody looks at him twice. A simple miracle.

“I know.”

“He was in love with the bootboy.”

“I know,” Crowley says again. An odd bitterness fills him. “I’ve been here for almost ten years, angel - I know these people. I was trying to let her run away with the thrice-damned tinker, much good it did them, and the bootboy was never meant to get cold feet.”

“Temptation,” Aziraphale says disapprovingly.

“I tempted them to nothing,” Crowley says. The church bells ring. “I only tempted them to forget the wills of their parents and do what their hearts told them, and look what that got me.”

“Honour thy father and mother,” Aziraphale quotes. In his mouth the commandment sounds soft and gentle, like something to encourage.

Crowley feels ill. He is gone before Robert and his new bride emerge, glowering in the light of a new day, although Mr Fell stays in the village a while longer, and for a long time their little community is blessed with incredible good fortune - the travelling tinker man stays several months, next time he visits. Miss Crow, though, is never seen in the place again, and rumour has it she was herself a spurned lover, and something happened between her and the fine gentleman. Mr Fell will never confirm nor deny, but he looks awfully sad when she’s brought up.

☼

1st December 1801, London

They are drinking in Aziraphale’s bookshop - drinking rather expensive wine - and Crowley is so, so tired.

He gets like this sometimes. Tired of existing maybe, without a break since the world first began, tired of loving Aziraphale for so long and knowing this is all he’ll ever get in return, tired of living in a world that was never designed for him to exist in. This is why sleep is the only real human indulgence he goes in for. He needs to rest.

“You need to drink,” Aziraphale hiccups, and splashes more wine into the cup in Crowley’s hand. “You look so cold, my dear, you need to drink!”

“I don’t really think I do,” Crowley says, but he does as he’s told. Does what Aziraphale wants.

(Hah!)

They’re drinking a very fine whisky; Crowley’s spent a lot of time in Scotland, and has developed quite the taste for it, orange fire down his throat. It burns. Aziraphale doesn’t like it as much, says he prefers the wine and port and drink of southerly places, but Crowley likes alcohol made only to keep you warm at night. Either freeze, or drink fire. Either way you end up dead.

Aziraphale winces when he next takes a drink, but he doesn’t say anything. Crowley watches him out of the corner of his eye, as he always does, otherwise he’d miss it.

The bookshop is a new addition, one that has arrived since the last time Crowley saw Aziraphale - although that was a very long time ago, almost half a century. Seventeen-sixty-three, when Aziraphale had been sent by heaven across the water to one of those continents untouched by human hands yet, when Crowley decided to wander over to Ireland on sabbatical. Fat lot of good that had done him. United Irishmen? Hah.

But the bookshop suits Aziraphale down to the ground, it does. He’s always been a lot more rooted to places than Crowley, who prefers to be on the move, through the change… Aziraphale likes to pick a place and settle into it like  a mother hen ruffling into a dirt bath. Cooing. Content. And this way, Aziraphale has his collection to hand without anyone trying to burn him for witchcraft, which is always a plus - considering.

A drunk finger lands on Crowley’s knee. “Stop thinking,” says Aziraphale with the gusto of the happily tipsy. “You think too much. Stop it.”

“I can’t help but think,” Crowley says, even as he takes another deep slug of the whisky.

“Ridiculous. Should be against the law.”

“Thinking?”

Aziraphale nods. “Precisely.”

But none of this helps the fact that Crowley is still so very tired, and all he wants to do is sleep for a hundred years. He wants to stop loving Aziraphale. It hurts too much, and even more because he knows there is no reward - there is no breaking point, no place he can hit that makes everything alright. He just loves and sinks and keeps loving and sinking, and Aziraphale shines with all the brilliance of a thousand suns and that’s all Crowley will ever be, right up until the end of the world.

“Angel,” he says, and then stops, shocked at how cracked and broken his voice sounds. “Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale looks briefly alarmed. “My dear boy-”

“I’m very tired,” Crowley says, a little lamely. “Do you mind if I skip out on the after-drinks?”

“No, no, but-”

“I’m tired,” Crowley says again.

None of this helps that, even in the breaking point, he knows he’ll never stop loving Aziraphale. This is as low as he’ll ever go, and even then -

And even then -

It never ends.

☼

the first day of the rest of the world, London

“Where did you get that painting?”

Aziraphale had spent the night after the apocalypse in Crowley’s flat, where they’d shared the bed and stayed up all night, each convinced the other was asleep, wondering how on earth to proceed without making the other feel uncomfortable. Now, though, they’re in the bookshop with some tea and buns, because nothing feels more solid than a scone with butter and jam on the top.

(Crowley refuses to mention which way round. He doesn’t want to anger the Cornish.)

“What painting?” Aziraphale stops with his cup halfway to his mouth, looking a bit confused.

“That one,” Crowley nods towards it. In truth, he recognises it well enough, even though it’s been over a hundred years since it was painted; Alfred was such a lovely man, so accommodating, and Paris in the 70s (no, not those ones) had been such a friendly place. Full of so much - newness.

He’d only woken up to refresh himself, really, because sleeping for almost a hundred years does take it out of you, and by chance he’d wandered onto the streets of Paris and found himself in a bundle of men in black hats, all talking very excitedly about colour and light and how absolutely mad it was that nobody would let them in. It had all been rather fun.

“Anthony,” Alfred had said, a little breathless, “Won’t you let me paint you? I have excellent studio light, and you beg a painting. I can see it. Please?”

“Oh, if you must,” Crowley had said, as though it meant nothing.

It had been nice, the kisses. Very soft. Alfred loved him and didn’t seem to mind that his Anthony was detached, because it was Paris in the 1870s and you took what you could get and you didn’t care about the secrets everyone was hiding. It had been nice.

So  -

“Where did you get it,” Crowley asks again, in the now, after everything.

Aziraphale looks a little flustered. “I - it was in Paris, you see, and it was almost going to be seventy-five years after I’d seen you… you remember that sleep you took, all of the nineteenth century, and I - well, one of my friends, a sort of… he was a confidant, you see, Oscar and everything, and he mentioned this delightfully odd art movement in Paris, and so I went. Sisley was very… delicate. And that awful art critic was there. And-”

“Did you ever learn who the sitter was?”

If possible, Aziraphale looks even redder. “Um. Sisley never said-”

“But you know,” Crowley says. “You recognised it.”

“I hadn’t seen you in almost a century!”

Crowley shrugs. “I told you I was tired.”

“And then I saw you in that painting, so of course I was going to buy it,” Aziraphale looks almost angry at him now. “Alfred Sisley! And of course, when I asked where you’d gone he said he’d had his heart broken by you and he had no idea. I spent all that time looking for you, and then-”

“I was asleep.”

“You could have told me!”

“I did,” Crowley says, watching Aziraphale get more and more frantic with a sort of wild confusion, “I said I was tired, and that I was going to bed, and I’d see you in a bit. I thought… I didn’t think you’d mind at all, really.”

“Mind!”

“Uh.”

“Of course I would mind!” Aziraphale doesn’t often raise his voice, never mind making the sort of shrieking yell he is now, so when he does it makes Crowley shut up and listen. “Crowley - you idiot! Of course I would mind, you frustrating, ridiculous, stupid-”

“I did it because I was in love with you,” Crowley says.

Silence.

“I was in love with you and I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I went to sleep. For a long time. I thought when I woke up I would be over it.”

Silence. There’s a blob of strawberry jam on Aziraphale’s nose, where the scone he was eating had obviously proven a bit too unwieldy.

Crowley finishes his cup of tea and sets it on the table, very deliberate, and quite loud. “And that’s the end of it,” he says, “And I hope there’ll be no more. Any scones left, or did you eat them all- mmf-”

Aziraphale is not a good kisser, and neither is Crowley, because until very recently both their Head Offices looked down on immortal beings going in for sins of the flesh. That doesn’t matter. That doesn’t matter at all, because they’ve both waited for far too long for it to be anything other than a good kiss.

“L’homme distrait,” Aziraphale says breathlessly, a little while later. “I always wondered - the man, distracted by what?”

“You shouldn’t need to ask,” Crowley says. And kisses him again, because he can.

[ineff-abled]

i like to think that crowley indirectly tempted aziraphale into both his first taste of human food, and later, apples.

perhaps it all started when aziraphale had been puttering around in sumer in 3652 BC and he had grown tired of simply watching the humans at a distance and occasionally interfering, so he decided to miracle into existence his own house of mudbrick and live among them. only for the ease with which he could thwart any evil wiles if the humans believed to know him well, of course, not because he actually wanted to live like a human.

naturally, after a while, his human acquaintances thought it odd that they never saw him at the market or eating at social gatherings, so one day his neighbors invited him over for a meal. aziraphale claimed he was busy that time, and the next, and the next, but eventually, he realized this course of action was too conspicuous. he reasoned, surely he could eat just a little—just enough to keep up appearances. besides, he further reasoned when he’d been seated and the food had been laid out before him and the small family he was joining that afternoon, it wasn’t as though any forbidden fruit had been proffered, simply lentils and fowl and such. there were even dates, which had been one of the approved and acceptable-to-eat fruits in the Garden, so he figured, surely he could be accused of no wrong doing, especially considering he was only doing this to keep up appearances.

but then, aziraphale thought the dishes that day were absolutely divine in their own right, and he couldn’t help himself from indulging in human food every now and again. the Head Office never questioned him (not for a few millennia, at least), so what was the trouble, really? though, of course, he always made certain to avoid apples.

and here is where crowley’s actions had tempted him into first eating. it was the sense of security that came with knowing he wouldn’t be consuming fruit the demon had tempted adam and eve into eating, though that had, of course, resulted in their banishment from Eden and the subsequent creation of human civilization, so perhaps eating the foods humans had cultivated was the same as eating an apple itself. regardless, it was avoiding the temptation crowley had laid out all those centuries ago that allowed him to fall into the temptation of something else.

though he kept eating to keep up appearances, and rather enjoyed it—he could admit to himself—aziraphale managed to avoid apples for quite some time. it wasn’t until 352 BC in ancient greece that he finally ate one. he had been sent by the Head Office some years ago for a bit of heavenly intervention, though crowley had beat him there. the demon had tempted socrates into speaking against athens, and suffice it to say, it had gone poorly for the man. somewhat comfortingly, crawly seemed not the least bit pleased at what his actions had spurred however, and he’d soon thereafter taken off, telling aziraphale he’d be in persia if the angel needed him, though aziraphale couldn’t imagine why he’d ever need crawly.

aziraphale had occupied himself in greece for quite some time with various plays, writings and philosophical gatherings—he must say, he rather likes plato, but he’s not overly fond of aristotle—and of course, the food. he enjoys wine, however watered down it may be, fish, vegetables, and oh, the honey cakes. yet the greeks love apples, they’re absolutely everywhere. they sell aplenty at the markets, they’re in first courses, main dishes, desserts—everything. and one day, he figured, what’s the harm? yes, the first humans originally got in trouble for consuming apples when specifically instructed not to, but such was no longer the case. the torah says nothing on the matter. plenty of people—including adam and eve—have eaten apples and gotten into Heaven. it seems the first couple’s only punishment for the act was living out their mortal days on Earth, and Earth was lovely. far, far besides—he didn’t even know why he was thinking about this, truly—the whole apple thing had been crawly’s idea to begin with, it’s not as though Hell had told him to do it. though, yes, God had marked the apple tree off-limits, but like he reasoned before, that was only in Eden, and even if he faced some extreme punishment like a Fall, crawly had Fallen and here he was, on Earth, in the very same place as aziraphale, so really, what’s the harm?

so he ate one. just one, at first. it was a delightful, cooked, honey-glazed apple meant to mimic hera’s golden apples. he took his usual small, appreciative bites until it was gone. afterward, nothing ethereal or damning happened, and he was glad he’d given into the temptation. although, perhaps he shouldn’t call it that.

it took a few centuries for him to become comfortable with eating apples rather than nervous and sweaty—which truly says something considering how often (never) angels perspire. the first time he eats one in front of crowley, the demon smiles

[athyriiium]

Okay, I’m back at it again with another long ass, symbolism heavy theory. I would heavily suggest reading my other theory here before you read this one since I will be referencing that one often in this. There’s a tl;dr at the bottom fyi!

To begin, the symbolism and art shown in Blood, Sweat, and Tears (BST) is very religion heavy. It is to be expected when pulling from work from the 17-18th centuries. I’ve seen some people theorize that Jin is the one behind all the “evil” the boys have done in RUN and I Need U (INU). I agree with this, though I don’t think he is necessarily evil, but more of a tempter.

In my previous theory, I discussed how I believed Jin to be Sinclair and Tae to be Demian, acting as a force to influence Sinclair as a mentor. I still believe that to be true. Each boy has his own storyline that is tied back to Jin, including Tae, but it’s a little confusing.

Let me backtrack: When Jin kisses the statue like Sinclair kisses Demian, they become one. Sinclair talks about not being able to see Demian anymore and realizes Demian was just a part of himself. So the metaphorical Tae that I spoke about previously is a part of Jin. Jin has realized himself fully and has accepted both the light and darkness in his life.

I also heavily discussed the concept of duality in my last post. There is the “other world” as Sinclair often mentions it which is the darker side of the world, which also means there is a light side of the world. This is a limited, binary viewpoint though. And the Spring Day mv told us there is more to the world than that through the usage of “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” (short story) and “Snowpiercer” (film). Both stories show there are sides of gray in life. In the Omelas story, everyone is happy enjoying life at the expense of a miserable child. The knowledge of the child gets out and there are people who live that can’t live a life of blind happiness at the expense of others. BTS are the ones who walk away from the feeling of blindness and absolute happiness.

Snowpiercer is a film that depicts an apocalyptic world in which the last surviving humans live on a train. It is best known for its blatant ridicule of the class system but also depicts two sides of life. The tail end or back end of the train is where the poor are, living in oppressed squalor while the head of the train lives in complete luxury. But, both ends of the train are blind to the truth. They accept the train as the world, it’s safety and warmth. The middle of the train is the only place with windows where you can see out of the train. The middle of the train people, or middle class, are the ones who are educated with propaganda instructing them that the train is the world. BTS are those of the middle class, but also the two middle-class people who eventually escape the train. They sit and accept the truth that they are told until they see the colors of gray, or the world around them, and eventually leave the train.

Now you might be asking what about the two Jungkooks? That’s where the concept of duality comes in. the train JK sees the Omelas JK and that’s the spark to leave. Train JK is the passive one who accepts the truth, while Omelas JK is the boy who defies what is given to him. This is the spark to leave the train and explore the outside world. But I digress. Let me get back to the JPN BST mv.

The concept of this passive vs active duality is also seen in Jin especially in the newest JPN BST mv. Jin has been seen very passive around the boys, never really joining in on the fun just standing on the sidelines and filming. There is plenty of evidence out there, but if you want specifics let me know.

The Jin in the JPN BST mv, is not like that at all. He seems to play an active, almost antagonistic role. So, as I said there is lots of religious symbolism in the BST mvs and to explain what I think happens in the JPN ver I have to use some material from the KOR ver.

So I believe Jin is the tempter, acting as the snake (and depending on who you talk to, indirectly the Devil) in the story of Adam and Eve. After going back to watch the KOR BST it makes more sense since Jin was shown while Namjoon quoted the Demian line about Demian being a tempter. This may seem far-fetched but hear me out.

Jimin, who was seated on Jin’s left in the KOR ver BST table scene, is often showed with apples. It is seen in the JPN BST, KOR BST, and Jimin’s short film. Apples, in the biblical sense, are tied to Adam and Eve. To briefly recap the story, Adam and Eve were the first humans created. They were allowed to eat, use, and generally do anything in the Garden of Eden except eat from the Tree of Knowledge. A serpent tempts and eventually convinces her to do so to “open her eyes” to be like “God, knowing all good and evil”. After she eats the fruit, she shares with Adam and both are condemned by God and sent out of the Garden of Eden.

I didn’t put this together until seeing Jimin finally eat the apple in the JPN BST. He’s just been holding it or looking at it up until now like he was tempted. Jimin, also being on Jin’s left, is important. The left side in many people who believe in the bible is associated with Satan/the Devil. I’m not saying Jin is the devil. Some people believe the snake was Satan in disguise, but I think it’s more of a vector of temptation sent to taint God’s creations. But this isn’t the time for bible debate.

It also fits because the serpent implies that Eve’s eyes have been closed. Jimin is also often seen with a blindfold or having his vision blocked, by a certain someone (Yoongi). I thought previously that Jimin was turning a blind eye to something, ignoring something that was causing him pain, and I do still believe that, but I also think it has another meaning. If the serpent convinced Eve that she was blind, that she couldn’t see everything, then wouldn’t she think of herself as blindfolded? Then wouldn’t the one blindfolding her, be God? Just as I am not saying Jin is the Devil, I don’t think Yoongi is God. He is symbolic of him. Yoongi serves as a protection/barricade between Jimin and Jin. He doesn’t want Jimin to follow Jin into darkness. That’s why we see two Jimin’s. The one Yoongi protects, and the one that follows Jin into darkness.

So if Yoongi is symbolic of God, how come he fights Kookie in RUN? Many times in the bible, God is shown, for lack of a better term, a practitioner of tough love. See Noah’s ark for example, where floods come and kill many people and animals except for the one’s on Noah’s ark besides the people had lost the way of God. The people killed were the descendants of Adam and Eve, who I believe are the other boys since Jimin and Tae were the first tempted.

So if Jimin is symbolic of Eve, Yoongi of God, and Jin of the Devil, then who is Adam? At first, I thought it was Hobi since he is OFTEN seen with Jimin, but I have Hobi has something else going on I will get to soon. So that lead me to Tae. We see Tae struggling with temptation/sin often. The act of graffiti and an insane amount of suicide imagery associated with him in HYYH is too overwhelming.

Tae sits on the right of Jin in the KOR BST mv. If the left is associated with evil, then the right is associated with good. Tae was “good” which is why there is so much angelic symbolism near him. But, he was tempted, probably by Jimin since he is symbolic of Eve and Eve is the one who gives Adam the fruit to eat.

Jin, could also have been the one to tempt Tae and the other boys since in the KOR BST all the boys are shown around a table with no real food besides apples in front of them. So, Tae and Jimin are the first ones tempted.

Now, when Adam and eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden, they could no longer understand the word of God, since they were no longer his children. So this leads me to believe that nothing heavenly could help either of them. Which is where Hobi and Namjoon come in.

I’ll start with Namjoon, since his story is somewhat laid out already. Many times Namjoon is shown running to a telephone booth and many people assume it’s because Tae is calling based off evidence from Namjoon and Tae’s films. But, Namjoon is never able to reach the phone or get into the booth. So, since Namjoon isn’t tempted YET, he is still considered heavenly, therefore, he can never help Tae.

Namjoon is eventually tempted and falls into alcohol, specifically absinthe. Absinthe is portrayed as an addictive, alcoholic hallucinogen. So he becomes addicted to drinking the beverage and eventually forces Jungkook to drink it (seen in the JPN BST mv). But, I don’t think Namjoon falls as deeply into temptation as Tae does. He learns to accept it. Namjoon is shown around a lot of mirrors either obscuring his reflection (JPN INU) or shattering the glass (Reflection). But, in JPN BST he is shown looking directly into his reflection. He’s learned to accept temptation as a part of himself. Reflections are often symbolic of showing one's true self which is why we say Jin’s reflection crack in KOR BST bc he hasn’t accepted his whole self (passive and active).

Before I get to Hobi, I’m going to finish Jungkook’s story. Before, I wasn’t sure where Kookie sat in the Demian/Sinclair story. I believed he was “Beatrice” but since he is often on the outskirts dipping his toes in good and evil I think he is symbolic of Abraxus. We don’t know who convinced the boys to leave Omelas, but from what I discussed earlier, it was most likely Kookie who convinced the boys to leave the train in Spring Day. He also tries to help Yoongi in RUN, who is struggling with his own problems. This is the good Kookie dabbles in. The bad is all the new stuff we saw in the JPN BST mv: the hallucinations and fighting off Yoongi who is trying to help him. Also, depending on what theory you believe, the shooting of the other boys in Not Today.

Now last but not least, Hobi. I think Hobi was once tempted, proven by the abuse of pills. But rather than accept temptation, he rejects it and fights it. This is seen by the throwing away of his pills, twice now. We also often see Hobi pulling a bow and arrow and now a dart on those tempted, usually Tae. Now, I believe Tae has fallen deepest into temptation and Hobi mourns the loss of his friends' purity, shown by the Pieta in KOR BST. He takes on the biggest challenge first, Tae. Which is why we see him throwing or going to throw the dart at Tae in JPN BST and pull the bow at Tae in KOR BST. Hobi is the descendant that God spoke of when cursing the serpent. God said that Eve’s descendant will bruise his foot by smashing the head of the snake. Basically, he will have to sacrifice something to get rid of the tempting serpent.

Hobi is also shown dancing under the fresco painted on St. Nicholas’ ceiling painted by Guilio Quaglio. I can't find a lot of info on the painting but it looks like a depiction of a world of light or heaven? So it looks like Hobi is reaching for salvation, but he isn’t the only one. Jimin is too.

Jimin, aka Eve, has realized what he has done wrong and has suffered for it. She lost her son Abel at the hands of her son Cain and was placed with pain after she was cast out of the Garden of Eden. This is why we see Jimin suffering/being uncomfortable so much while in water. Water is symbolic of purification, so Jimin is repenting for his wrongdoings but is also suffering because of the temptation he gave into.

We also see Jin circa INU era twice in this mv. Once in the bed of the truck, lying similarly to how he is lying in the bed in INU. In INU lilies are very present. They are also present in BST. Lilies symbolize innocence after death. Passive Jin wants to be innocent after he dies but is prevented from that because of tempter!Jin. This is why the lily petals are burned; all hope of innocence after death is gone. I believe both Jin’s are aware of each other having met in the Awake film, but since tempter Jin is the stronger personality, he has prevented watcher Jin from moving on. Which is why he is still interacting with the boys in the INU era but only passively.

The scene at the end of the mv is one of the first setups to Jin’s temptation of Namjoon. We see the effects in the INU era.

TL;DR: as seen in INU there are two sides to youth: the dark and light. This is further expressed in RUN and BST (both versions). Each boy has a doppelganger, opposite from what they are typically shown to be. Jin’s doppelganger, the tempter, has tempted the boys to do things they shouldn’t seen in RUN and INU. Hobi, the savior, is trying to fight Jin’s hold on the boys.