#when that is countered by the book itself and crowley in the show

[impishtubist]

Still astounded by the absolutely rancid (and frankly offensive) takes in the Good Omens fandom lately about how someone can't possibly be non-binary because they don't look like it, whatever the fuck that is supposed to mean. Never mind that the writer/showrunner confirmed it and the character said it explicitly on screen!

[vroomvroomwee]

Crowley is Lucifer

(Ok I know some of you don't believe this theory but I highly suggest you give this a quick read anyway. I tried to make it short and easy and I'll be going chronologically, from s1 all through s2)

- First, let's get this out of the way, Lucifer and Satan aren't neccesarilly the same person. Even in the show the devil that appeared in s1 has only ever been reffered to as Satan, not even once as Lucifer.

- In the bible Lucifer was the one to tempt Eve with the apple, and who do we know that does that in the show. Crowley is literally THE snake from Eden.

- An obvious one perhaps, but the red hair is also a giveaway

- In the bible Jesus was tempted by the devil for 30 days, in the show Crowley says "I showed him all the kingdoms of the world", so that's another role Lucifer has that Crowley had in the show

- It's well known (even mentioned in the Sandman) that Lucifer was the most beautiful of all angels, and our demon is played by no other than David Tennant

Now on to season 2 because there's a LOT to unpack here

- He litterally started the engine of the universe which was one of Lucifers roles

- He's the first to say "let there be light", which is pretty fucking huge since that is Gods line

- "I worked closely with upstairs on it" even in the first scene they're telling us Crowley is an angel of very very high rank

- He fell for asking questions, which is litterally what Lucifer fell for, for questioning God. This in and of itself should be a pretty big indicator. "I only ever asked questions"

- Shax: "a miracle of enourmous power only the mightiest of archangels can perform"

Crowley: "How do you know I didn't do it"

And Shax just... doesn't counter that. She looks even skeptical, as if it COULD be a possibility, unlike Uriel who says to Aziraphale don't excpect us to believe you did it. Shax litterally doesn't shut the option down which confirms Crowley has the power not only of an archangel but of the mightiest kind

- In the bookshop with Gabriel/Jim he says "I don't remember. It [gravity] seemed like a good idea when we were all talking about it"

- "You're welcome to come in, you might even spot an archangel" don't tell me this was Crowley just egging Shax on and not being sneaky

- The fact that he could sense the demons coming. "Somethings wrong""It's coming in waves", when Aziraphale couldn't. It could be a demon thing but we saw Sandalphon, an archangel of lower rank, in the first season mention "something smells evil" so obviously angels can sense demons too, they just have to be powerful enough. And keep in mind Sandalphon was already in the book shop for quite some time, Crowley sensed them even before they had arrived (he also sensed the hell hound who was some fucking miles away)

- The.fucking.folder. "You have to be a throne or dominion above" and this dude opens these clasified documents like it's nothing. If this isn't an indicator of his high position as an angel I don't know what is.

- He's worked with Saraqael, another very high ranking angel

- "I'm the only first order archangel in the room"... and the camera imediately pans to Crowley, and for anyone who's read the book and watched the show you know that rarely anything is coincidental

- When the Metatron says they can't lose another prince of heaven. This... this fucking line. So it's relatively well known that Gabriel and Lucifer are brothers, and if Gabriel is one of the princes of heaven I wonder who the other one could be. "Two princes of heaven". And the Metatrons words were very careful, he doesn't say lost as in heaven can't find him, he says it in the context that they won't be sending Gabriel to hell since they won't lose another prince to downstairs

- In the bookshop when no one can identify the Metatron he turns to Crowley who imediately recognises him. Now you have this dude, who's literally on top of the angel hierarchy and is responsible for running heaven and the connection to God themself, surrounded by archangels and a principality you spoke to face to face with just a few years ago and... none of them can tell who you are, the only one who does is the literal demon. That tells us that Crowley has not only seen him in this form, but has probably worked with the Metaron himself personally. "Always asking damn fool questions", 10 million angels and he remembers what this one particular angel was like 6000 years ago

- Crowley is also very reluctant to reveal his identity as an angel. Now if he were just an ordinary angel of no real significance he wouldn't have a problem revealing his name, but... if his name was one that's the literal representation of all evil in this world, then it is understandable he keeps it a secret, in fear he might scare Aziraphale away

- And I wanted to leave the best for last. So you remember in the book when Crowley has to sign his name to start Armaggedon, and Hastur tells him "no, your real name" after which he reluctantly writes it. Now in the book we never see him write anything, but in the show we see him write a sygil, something that looks very mich like an L. An L... A FUCKING L. And now I wonder how this theory didn't come up sooner.

(Also he can fucking stop time, like dafuq)

Edit:

- "Oh looky here it's Lucifer and the guys" we all thought he was talking about someone else, he's just refferencing things other angels have said about HIM. FUCK

- I keep seing people saying Crowleys memories were wiped because he couldn't remember Saraqael and Furfur. But I think people forget, demons lie. He's lying to make them think he's not that angel they worked with, that he's not Lucifer. (In season 1 we hear him a few times refferencing his life as an angel, so he does remember most of it)

- Also saying if the Raphael theory were true then as showrunners they would have mentioned him somewhere for those not that familiar with the bible (or don't read much fanfiction). The refferences for Crowleys past are so so vague that it would be too sudden and confusing if he were Raphael. But there is one name that everyone is familiar with, no matter who you are how old you are or where you're from, a name that needs no introduction.

Edit 2:

- Back to him being the most beautiful angel, I don't think it was ever quite explained how every single demon when they're in hell looks... awful, but Crowley doesn't. Beelzebub has the spores all over their face, Hastur the maggots and the sh-, Dagon the scales etc. But Crowley doesn't, not even when he's in hell, he's always just so, well, pretty.

- I saw a few people asking about how Lucifer started the rebellion and Crowley wouldn't do that. I think it's the same Crowley who wouldn't get stuck in traffic after creating the M25, or the same Crowley that wanted to call Aziraphale after bringing down the entire London network, "you told them you invented the spanish inquisition, and started the second world war""so the humans beat me to it that's not my fault", "so all this is your demonic work?""no, the humans thought it up themselves nothing to do with me"

- Also I think Satan's in charge of hell not Crowley the same way the Metatron's in charge of heaven and not Gabriel (and who can very easily demote angels if he so wishes)

Edit 3:

- like some of you pointed out Lucifer is also known/means Light-bringer. And Crowley was the first to say "let there be light."

- The file he opens with Muriel is Gabriels file, a class A archangel, so if he knows the password to that it means that either he's on the same level as Gabriel, or above him.

[aziraphales-library]

are there any fics about crowley being a spy in the 40s? human aus or not?

Hello!

For this one, I am going to recommend my all time favorite fic:

On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (E)

1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles.

Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning.

Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5.

Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water.

Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.

Here are some other ones I found in my search:

by the way, didn't I break your heart? by rottingflower (T)

Crowley is trying his hand at being a spy during the Second World War. Forgetting the angel he hasn't seen in almost eighty years and trying to work around the orders from Hell is almost a full-time job by itself, though. Especially since Aziraphale isn't very good at keeping himself out of trouble.

(This series is set in a connected and canon-compliant universe, but all works can be read as a stand-alone.)

It Would Take a Real Miracle by The_Bentley (E)

London 1941. Everything about Aziraphale and Crowley’s friendship could change because of one gullible angel, some Nazi spies and a demon who happens to be in the right place at the right time to save the day and the books. Crowley's actions show Aziraphale he's more than just a casual acquaintance. In fact, Aziraphale realizes that the love of his life is the friend he’s tried to keep at arm’s length for almost six thousand years.

The Explicit rating is for the last chapter where those two dorks finally Do It. (Well, it's not the last chapter anymore, but the 4th one).

He may be an idiot, but he's MY idiot by Aaymeirah (G)

The year is 1941 AD. Being a spy for the British counter-intelligence isn't as exiting as Crowley would have liked. Despite his newfound fame in certain circles for accurate information of questionable origin, he still has to occasionally meet up with the local spy rings. Reports and paperwork are unquestionably boring, but sometimes they reveal familiar faces. Familiar faces who just might be in over their heads.

Here's one with Crowley as a spy in the 50s:

Put down the apple, Adam, and come away with me by Arokel (M)

Special Agent Anthony Crowley hadn't assumed infiltrating a lesbian convention to sniff out anti-American sentiments would be easy, but he also hadn't banked on an ambiguously-queer academic with peroxide-blonde hair and a talent for seeing right through him.

~ Mod G

[thatringboy]

The Way A Soul Lives - TWST

To write some Diasomnia angst has been a goal of mine for a while and seeing the new official book and the Diasomnia boys made me want to finish

I’ve only ever written angst a few times, so this was a nice practice. I hope I didn’t go too OOC here, but I think I’m good. I tried a new writing style here that I’m not that confident in, so feedback is very much appreciated!

Warnings: Magic, self inserted theories about Faes, fight scenes, blood, death and the angst associated with that

Word count: 1,615 (a new record I think!)

Sebek enjoyed the night shift. There was always something invigorating about walking around the Draconia castle when only dim torches and moonlight lit his path. A hand on his sword hilt, he quietly marched up and down halls, sometimes stopping in the Royal Library to glance at a book, and always passed by the rooms of the royal family.

However, his blood turned to ice when the Fae noticed a haphazardly opened window and mud tracked on the floor near it. He turned on his heels and ran back towards the room of his fellow guard, taking into account that the muddy footprints were not those of a humanoid.

~~~

Yuu sat down on the blanket and a frown tugged at their lips. “So why did you drag me all the way out here? It’s freezing!”

Cater laughed and pulled his coat on tighter. “Because there’s a Meteor shower tonight and there’s gonna be some fireworks to celebrate the end of Spring Break! Don’t worry, the others will be here soon and we can take some pics for Magicam.”

Principal Crowley had allowed Yuu Prefect to leave Night Raven College for the week of Spring Break and the magic-less human somehow got dragged to the mountains of Pyroxene where the snow had not yet melted. Yuu spent the week posing for cameras with Cater and Vil and learned how to snowboard thanks to Jack’s tutelage. Grim enjoyed the attention he was receiving during the trip and showed his gratitude by becoming a makeshift hot water bottle inside of Yuu’s thick coat.

Two figures approached the clearing. The shorter one talked with their hands in an annoyed voice. “All I’m saying is that you and the potato could really become a modeling duo! You two have the natural talent and certainly the looks.”

The taller figure grunted and sat down next to Yuu. “Not in a million years will you find me modeling sports clothing. Oh, hey Prefect.”

“Hey Jack.” Yuu sighed and looked up at the stars that were starting to appear. The constellations in Twisted Wonderland were different from those on Earth and they seemed to draw large coherent pictures across the sky. Vil sat down on his own blanket and opened his mouth to argue with Jack some more, but Cater closed his mouth.

“The show’s about to start!”

~~~

Sebek knocked on Silver’s door as quietly as he could. He could hear his fellow guard get out of bed and step to the door. Silver opened the door partially and opened his mouth to protest the rude awakening, but Sebek covered it before the human could make a sound.

“There’s an intruder.” Sebek whispered. “I can take the South stairwell to the young lord’s room if you take the West and go get Master Lilia.”

Silver nodded and grabbed his pen. The two men silently went in their directions, Silver to the west and Sebek to the south, and stepped into hidden passages. Sebek broke into a full sprint and exited the passage to see that Malleus’ door was open. A feeling of dread set into his stomach as he tip-toed near the door. What he saw sent a shiver of terror down his spine.

Standing over the sleeping figure of Malleus was a creature made of flickering and ever-changing shadows. From within itself, it produced an awful looking hand with claws the size of kitchen knives. Sebek moved without thinking and drew his sword as he ran to the side of the bed. He swung his sword in a graceful arc and removed the clawed appendage from the monster. It reeled back and shrieked horrifically, making Sebek cover his ears and making Malleus bolt awake.

The dragon Fae assessed the situation and dove out of bed for his staff, but the monster put itself between the two. The amputated limb shook violently in the air before it seemed to regrow itself. Sebek lunged with his sword and put himself in front of Malleus. “Go! Silver and Master Lilia are on their way! Get to the panic room!”

Malleus nodded and ran from the room. Sebek returned his focus on the monster. He had trained for this very scenario for a good portion of his life and he certainly wasn’t going to back down now.

~~~

The night grew colder, but the fireworks were worth it. Yuu clutched onto Grim’s warmth while Cater and Vil shared a blanket and watched the colorful lights explode in the air. Jack, having a naturally high body temperature, didn’t understand the discomfort of his companions, but thankfully didn’t tease them about it. He was sure that if he brought it up, his tail might receive a wicked pinch.

Cater had his phone up taking as many pictures as he could of the show while Vil had only taken a single selfie. Yuu sat in awe of the entire situation and was suddenly very grateful that the Principle had permitted this vacation.

Ew, was Yuu Prefect grateful for the actions of Crowley? The thought disgusted them and made them shiver more than the cold. Grim looked up at them “How cold are you, you weak human!”

Yuu frowned and hugged Grim tighter. “Very.”

Jack leaned forward from where he was sitting. “Here comes the finale! You’re in for a treat, you two.”

Grim and Yuu looked up to see a firework explode above them. A shower of gold sparks rained down as a second firework went off, sending red and blue streams everywhere.

“Truly beautiful.” Vil whispered. He got his phone out and snapped another picture. Yuu assumed that he would be sending it to Rook. Cater laughed and pointed to another firework that was about to explode. It went off and a brilliant lime green glow filled the night sky. Yuu agreed with Vil - the sight was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.

When the lights faded, Yuu noticed that the stars were all out, blanketing the sky with billions of small lights. Jack laid down on his back and looked up at the sky. “What do you know, the Draconia Constellation can be seen this early in the year. That’s usually a Summer Constellation.”

Yuu looked up and sure enough, a large portion of the stars formed a dragon in the air. “Draconia, like Malleus’ family?”

Cater sat back as well, taking the shared blanket with him to the distress of Vil. “That’s the one. The longest Fae line in the world.”

Grim looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vil raised his eyebrows. “I keep forgetting that you are not of this world. Let me explain this for you.”

~~~

Sebek could counter the physical attacks of the monster, but he hadn’t expected it to start hurling fireballs at him. He hissed and kicked himself a little bit whenever a fireball set something of Malleus’ ablaze, but he forced himself to keep his head in the fight.

Where is that lazy Silver? He should be here by now!

The monster jumped up and landed on the bed. Sebek pulled out his pen and fired a bolt of magic, but the mass of shadows absorbed the spell and made that horrible screech again. He grimaced and swung again, ducking under another fireball and was surprised that his sword made contact with something solid, but bounced off.

This creature, it’s changing to match my attacks! Come on, Sebek, think!

He grit his teeth and rolled across the bed, diving behind it to use as cover. If he kept the monster focused on him, it wouldn’t make a break for the door.

The door...

Sebek peaked his head up and noticed that the monster was loading another fireball. He ducked to avoid being hit and made a mad dash for the exit, throwing a rather large textbook that probably held ancient spells passed down from the Fairy Queen herself. Sebek hated to see such literature shredded before his eyes, but he decided that in the moment this would be acceptable behavior.

The monster recovered faster than he had anticipated. It’s claw lashed out as Sebek almost crossed the threshold and knocked him aside. His head hit the side of Malleus’ wardrobe and he felt a stinging pain in his right eye, but other than that was uninjured and got back on his feet. It slashed out again, but Sebek narrowly avoided the sharp talons. His energy was drained and even if he could raise his pen, he would possibly overblot from casting a single spell. He could run for the door again and risk impalement or stay in the corner and be burnt alive. Sebek’s mind, despite the chaos around him and his time running out, started to think of his friends at Night Raven College.

What would they do in his situation? Deuce and Jack would rush in head first, Ace would attempt to create a distraction, Grim would just made more fire and Yuu Prefect probably wouldn’t have even gotten themselves into this mess. Not to mention Epel would probably do any of those things based off of his slightly unpredictable personality. There was little doubt that Epel would also charge the monster, but there was no way of knowing for sure.

Sebek tuned back into reality as a fireball narrowly missed his face. The stinging in his eye and blood trickling down from his scalp made it hard to focus, but his adrenaline was still pumping. He was still standing. He was still fighting.

“Sebek!”

Someone called from the door. The guard - and the monster - turned to see a horrified Silver standing there, his pen clutched tightly. Sebek’s heart froze. He wanted to tell Silver to run, but Sebek’s voice became caught in his chest. The creature of shadows began to prepare another fireball, but Sebek’s body reacted quicker. He dropped his sword and tackled the monster. The two clashed until Sebek managed to force it out of Malleus’ window, but the monster held tight and Sebek felt gravity pull him down to the courtyard below.

~~~

“While most stars outside of constellations are celestial spheres of noble gases and other elements, the stars in constellations are actually souls.” Vil sat back on his hands and looked up at the dragon shaped image in the sky.

Cater sat back up, letting Vil snatch back the blanket. “Oh yeah! My mom explained this to me! Every time a fairy dies, they join their family constellation in the stars!”

“Unlike mortal souls that go to the Isles of Lamentation when we pass,” Vil continued. “The Fae’s immortal spirits are placed in the heavens to dance for all of eternity, or so the legend goes. Some stories say that the Fae came to Twisted Wonderland from the stars and so to the stars they return, but I for one just believe that this is a beautiful story.”

Yuu thought for a second. “So then what about shooting stars?”

Jack put his hands behind his head and got comfortable on the ground. “Nope, those are just regular comets or asteroids or whatever you call them.”

“Fascinating.” Yuu whispered. “Where I come from, stars are just flaming balls of gas in space. I shouldn’t be surprised that magic goes as far as constellations, but I am.”

Grim cleared his throat. “Wait, what about wishing stars?”

Vil put a hand to his chin to think. “You know, I’m not entirely sure. It could be that the magic of the fallen fairies could be the ones granting the wishes, but I don’t believe anyone is sure.”

“One of the universe’s many mysteries.” Cater’s voice dropped to be almost inaudible.

Yuu looked back up at the Draconia Line constellation. “There’s a hole in the dragon’s heart except for that one bright star, is that one Maleficent?”

Jack nodded, which was hard because he was on the ground. “The area around her is probably being reserved for her immediate family, so one day in a thousand years, Malleus and Lilia will join her and maybe even Sebek if he wasn’t too stubborn to die.”

Yuu laughed. “Yeah, that’s Sebek.”

~~~

Everything hurt.

Sebek was sure his arms and several ribs were broken, but other than that he landed from the seventh floor quite successfully. He attempted to sit up, but his body ached too much.

The shadow monster laid prone on the stone next to him. Sebek hoped it was finally dead. His inhuman vision let him see Silver and Lilia looking out the window he had tumbled from. Lilia vanished and reappeared next to Sebek, looking down at him with a sad face.

“Forgive my tardiness, young man.” Lilia knelt down next to Sebek and began to mutter a healing spell. A wave of warmth rushed over Sebek as the spell took hold over his body and he felt very tired.

“What is that thing?” Sebek looked at the monster. Lilia glanced back at it and shrugged. “I suppose a demon created to take the life of our young prince. You did well holding up against it for so long, I’m sure there’ll be a medal waiting for you when you wake up that you can show to all your companions at school.”

Sebek liked that idea. He imagined wearing a new medal proudly for a week to boast about to his friends.

“Oh Jack what did you do over the break?”

“I was just snowboarding at home.”

“Well I single-handedly fought off a demon and saved the young lord’s life!”

If it didn’t take so much energy, Sebek would have smiled from the thought.

Lilia finished his spell and offered a hand for Sebek to stand. It took effort, but the taller Fae got to his feet and leaned against his mentor. They began to walk away from the body of the monster, but out of the corner of his ever vigilant eyes, Sebek swore he saw it move.

Time seemed to slow down for Sebek. He shoved Lilia to the ground, earning an angry protest from the older Fae, and turned to face the monster as its claws sunk into his chest, tearing away his armor like it was paper.

The healing spell must have dulled his senses because Sebek didn’t feel any pain from the attack. Instead, he just looked up at the night sky and the Draconia Line constellation looked back down at him. The monster retracted its claw and Sebek slumped to the ground. He wasn’t aware of the pool of blood that was forming around his knees and he wasn’t aware of the blood curdling scream that came from Lilia’s lips, nor was he aware of the beam of magic that ripped the monster in two.

No, all Sebek was aware of were the beautiful stars inviting him to dance with them.

~~~

Yuu could see the stars from their bedroom in Jack’s house. After packing up for the night, Yuu, Grim and Jack said their goodbyes and returned to the log cabin. They had packed their things for their return to school in the morning, but while the cat-like monster slumbered peacefully on the bed they shared, Yuu found themself staring at the stars again.

They also found themself feeling a pit of dread well up in their stomach. It was cold like a clawed hand reaching up and tearing them apart from the inside. There was no reason that Yuu could think of to have this feeling, but it made them wonder if returning to Night Raven College would yield another overblotting upperclassman.

Yuu pushed the window open and a cool breeze ruffled their hair. They looked up at the dragon constellation and squinted before their eyes widened in confusion.

Yuu didn’t know how or why, but the bright star in the heart of the dragon was now joined by a smaller star that shone just as bright.

[keyrousse]

First line meme

Big thanks to @nottonyharrison for the tag!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some of your favourite authors!

When I started reading my first lines, I cringed at some of them, those from un-beta-ed fics in particular (I have a period of I-doubt-my-English-abilities) ;). Ah, well. People read them anyway.

Tagging @andordean, @marbienl13, @namesonboats and @merulanoir :)

So, okay, the opening lines of 20 of my latest fics (two of them were written in 2007, actually, but I put them on AO3 in 2019) under the cut:

1. It’s like having a target painted on our backs, Adon Carre thinks, his lips pursed and brow furrowed, as he looks at the whole set up: the three armoured vehicles, over twenty law enforcement officers and a government-issued cargo plane. (Consequences - "The Witcher" Modern!AU, sequel to "Appearances" below)

2. The Doctor doesn’t speak at all after they land somewhere remote to prepare the Master’s funeral. Jack and Martha help him as much as they can, setting up the funeral pyre, but they don’t touch the body. The Doctor’s the one who prepares it, wraps it and puts in on the pyre. (Exhaustion - "Doctor Who" s3 finale)

3. Hardy is pretty transparent, Ellie thinks, watching his slim back as he leans against the railing on the upper floor balcony of the station, head bowed, fingers interlocked, ankles crossed. While he can maintain the dead look on his face when he’s questioning potential witnesses, his overall reaction to the case is obvious. (The Shift - "Broadchurch" post s3, sequel to "The runner" below)

4. The day at the beach after Joe’s ‘banishment’ (Ellie prefers the term ‘send-off’) is both joyful and weird. Joyful because they are together, Ellie with her sons, Beth with her family. Weird because Beth does something that isn’t typical for her: she takes Ellie aside and apologises for how she treated Ellie after Joe’s arrest. (The runner - "Broadchurch" pre-s3)

5. One blink and Ciri crashes into something wooden and blue, with a blinking light on its roof and a weird metallic sound coming out of it; she bounces off and lands on the sandy ground, her head spinning, hands and clothes covered in dirt. (The Jump - The Witcher Modern!AU/Doctor Who s2 crossover :) - probably my favourite. This one wrote itself like a movie)

6. “Miss Venger, how long had you been married to Mister Haute?”

“Fifteen years. We divorced two years ago.”

“What was the reason of the divorce?”

“Incorrigible differences.”

“Noticed after fifteen years?”

“After one year, if not sooner.” (Appearances - "The Witcher" modern!AU)

7. “She’s cold, and lifeless. She must have died shortly before we arrived.” (Whumptober 2019 - "The Witcher" - this line is translated from TW3 actually. My whump is more angsty than whumpy and that was the first time I wrote on prompts)

8. “My Lord, we still don't know how Principality Aziraphale and demon Crowley escaped punishment.” (In accordance to... - "Good Omens")

9. Year 1268

[some fragments illegible due to ink smudges and water stains] To the witchers from Kaer Morhen in Kaedwen, by upper reaches of Gwenllech

It is with great sadness and sorrow

that I must inform you

that our mutual acquaintance, [illegible] in arms, dear friend, brother,

witcher Geralt of Rivia, known as the White Wolf

was killed [illegible, later a different ink used] two days ago during the pogrom in Rivia,

while defending the non-humans from the mob.

May [illegible] consolation,

that during his last moments he was surrounded by family and friends. (Bits from the Path - "The Witcher" books and games. The first time I wrote for that fandom in English: translated from "Urywki ze Szlaku" below. Sorry to all the people who watched the Netflix show but haven't read the books. ;) )

10. Siedział przy swoim biurku z głową opartą w dłoniach, palcami zanurzonymi we włosach. Czuł się parszywie. Wielokrotnie sobie powtarzał, że nie powinien, że zrobił wszystko, co mógł, że nie pozostało mu nic innego, jak oddać tę pacjentkę komuś bardziej doświadczonemu... Co za ironia. Ordynator powinien być najbardziej doświadczonym lekarzem na oddziale, a kartę pacjenta przejął jeden z jego podwładnych. (Nic nie rób - "House, MD". One of the two fics written back in 2007/2008. Yes, it's in Polish. Yes, it's a case fic. I was very busy studying dentistry at the time. Sequel to "Stanąć na nogi" below)

11. - Chciałbym zacząć, kiedy stanę na nogi – rzekł wtedy ze spojrzeniem wbitym w podłogę.

- Pański gabinet będzie na pana czekał – skinęła głową. (Stanąć na nogi - "House, MD". Written as the first of two season 0 episodes of the show.)

12. Walsh was wiping the counter and still smiling after Allison's visit, when he heard the door opening. He looked up.

"Delahoy, hi," he greeted. Eric nodded and shook Walsh's hand. He sat heavily by the counter, not looking at Jason. (Secrets - "The Unusuals". There was this short-lived TV show with Jeremy Renner)

13. „Co ja zrobię z winnicą?”, zastanawiał się Geralt, idąc na ciężkich nogach w stronę miejsca w ogrodzie pałacowym, gdzie zostawił Płotkę.

Kiedy kilka godzin wcześniej otrzymał akt nadania mu posiadłości, pierwszym problemem były zwłoki hrabiego de la Croix w piwniczce i strażników na dziedzińcu. Potem, oczywiście, pojawiły się inne, więc kwestia szokująco stałej kwatery została zepchnięta na dalszy plan. (Dom Wiedźmina - "The Witcher" - TW3 game during and after B&W)

14. Jaskier nie zwrócił uwagi na wysokiego, chudego, kompletnie siwego mężczyznę, który kręcił się po rynku. Był zbyt zajęty uderzaniem do pewnej urodziwej panny i potem uciekaniem przed jej braćmi.

Ów wysoki, chudy, kompletnie siwy mężczyzna zwrócił jednak uwagę na Jaskra. I wyłapywał w tłumie jego purpurowy kapelusz z piórem, uśmiechając się do siebie nieco kąśliwie. Siwy chudzielec miał nosa do kłopotów, a ten poecina w purpurze aż się o nie prosił. (Urywki ze Szlaku - "The Witcher" books and games - the beginning of my adventure in that fandom :) )

15. Chas waits for him at the airport.

The patient, reliable, forgiving six foot six and a half inches man, stands by the Arrival gate with his hands in his pockets. Didn't change at all. (Walls crumbling - Constantine (TV)/Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior crossover. Matt Ryan phase :) )

16. “Hello, Molly, can we talk?”

She was tempted to close the door, but Sherlock looked tired and resigned – at least he wasn't high. (Overdue conversations - "Sherlock". I have the last two chapters saved somewhere, I wasn't motivated to post them at the time. People didn't care anyway. Maybe for the better...)

17. When we first met Garry Miller, he was oozing confidence. Even on the photo Bec showed us, there was a little confident smirk on his face. It was a face of a man who knew what he wanted and how he was going to get it. Not to mention, handsome and somewhat exotic. (Crash course - "Blue Water High". I had a Craig Horner phase, too.)

18. They separated when they heard voices coming towards them. They found Richard's belongings in an adjacent chamber. Richard dressed quickly and they set to leave. On their way out they encountered only a few guards who were not hard to fight off. Soon, Richard and Kahlan ran into the woods. (A bit of a coddling - "Legend of the Seeker". Craig Horner phase, as I said. Never finished watching the show.)

19. Solo zdecydowanie wzbudzał emocje.

Pierwsze, co poczuła Gaby, kiedy pojawił się w jej życiu, to irytacja. Amerykanin, ważniak, który coś od niej chciał, nie przedstawił się od razu, nie zdradzał swoich planów, rozbił jej samochód, nie spełnił obietnicy o hoteliku, ugotował risotto śmierdzące stopami (chociaż całkiem smaczne, kiedy wreszcie odważyła się je spróbować). (Nietykalny - "The man from UNCLE")

20. Ostatnich pięć lat „odsiadki” Napoleona zleciało błyskawicznie. Solo by w ogóle przegapił dość ważną datę zakończenia odbywania kary, gdyby nie to, że Waverly pilnował tego terminu lepiej od niego. Na kilka dni przed końcem wyroku przeniósł ich zespół (i siebie) do siedziby U.N.C.L.E. w Nowym Jorku i po cichu zadbał o to, by ich trójka nie miała nic konkretnego – w sensie misji – do roboty. (Okres przejściowy - "The man from UNCLE")

[ineffablegame]

“It’s over. They’re not going to hurt you again.” :3c

I’m sorry this got so long!  Also at my Ao3.

-

Aziraphale is not, as a general rule, overly fond of children.

Oh, they’re wonderful, of course.  They’re wonderful as a concept.  Aziraphale may not be in Heaven’s best books, so to speak, but he still subscribes to their beliefs regarding children.  ‘For the kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children,’ ‘you are all children of God,’ ‘the riches inherited by God’s children,’ et cetera.  Gabriel may have called Adam Young a brat, but Above is – at least officially – in favor of kids.

Broadly speaking, Aziraphale loves children.  He’s an angel, after all.  He loves everyone, and that includes children.

Less broadly – in the narrow confines of his beloved bookshop, for example – Aziraphale is happy to keep them at a distance.  So, when the Them show up at the front door on a cool, crisp day in late October, the angel is understandably alarmed.

“Hullo,” says Adam Young.  He holds the lead for Dog, who stands stock-still beside him, eyes flashing incarnadine.  Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale flank him.  

Aziraphale fends off a full-body shudder with every scrap of angelic willpower he can muster.  Adam Young may be a normal boy at heart, but the rest of him remains very much the occult equivalent of ten million nuclear warheads.  The intensity of his focus is unsettling.

“A-ah,” the angel stammers.  “Adam Young. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Is that him?” Pepper demands.  She eyes Aziraphale, lip curling.  “He doesn’t look like a demon.”

“I never said he was the demon,” Adam replies. “He’s the demon’s friend.”

“Actually, I don’t think demons can have friends,” says Wensleydale.  “Because they’re evil.”

“Yeah.”  Brian wipes a mud stain – the origin of which is a mystery – on his shirt.  His eyes widen and he grins.  “Maybe he’s possessed by the demon?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s quite the case,” Aziraphale fumbles.  He does wish the children would quiet down a little. If Crowley hears them speculating about who’s possessing who, he’ll never let Aziraphale hear the end of it. “You’re… looking for Crowley?”

“Uh-huh.”  Adam angles his gaze past Aziraphale, into the near-empty bookshop.  “He’s here, right?  We need to ask him for advice.”

“Whatever could you need—”  Aziraphale begins, only to fall silent as a familiar demonic presence crowds his senses. He turns and sees Crowley sauntering toward him.

“Angel, there’re a pair of tourists looking quite keen about the Ian Fleming books,” he says.  “I’d get them to clear out if I were you.  I keep telling you, move the Bond books to storage.  You might think they’re drivel, but they have some serious—”

Crowley looks back toward Aziraphale and catches sight of the Them. He draws up short.  “Oh!  Uh. Hey, um, kids.”

Pepper looks even less impressed than before.  “This is him?  Seriously?”

“Yeah.”  Adam strolls past Aziraphale into the bookshop with Dog and the Them in tow. Aziraphale watches the procession pass in bewilderment.

Pepper cuts straight to the point.  “We need you to teach us how to be devils.”

Crowley darts his eyes from the Them to Aziraphale and back.  “Um.  What?”

“For Halloween,” Adam clarifies.  “We’re going as devils.  But we don’t know how to act properly evil, so I thought, why not ask a real-life devil?”

“M’a demon, actually,” Crowley mumbles, apparently immune to the irony of Adam’s statement.  He considers the Them, head cocked.  Then, much to Aziraphale’s horror, he nods.  “Yeah, all right.  Why not.”

“Why not?” Aziraphale echoes.  “My dear, surely you can’t be—”  He freezes when Adam turns and pins him with a speculative look.  Mellowing, the angel stammers, “W-well, perhaps if you took your… er, tutelage outside…”

Adam shrugs.  “I dunno. I think right here is fine.”  He looks around the shop.  “Seems to me that you spend a lot of time here.  Might help you teach us better in your nat’ral environment, right?”

Aziraphale directs a withering look at Crowley, who averts his gaze.  “Uh.  I guess.”

“I really think…”  Aziraphale trails off; he knows when a battle is lost.  He threads his fingers together, knuckles white.  “Please be careful of the books.  They are quite valuable.”

He spins around and stalks toward the counter, intent on taking his wrath out on the first customer to cross him.

The next hour is an exercise in tolerance.  Crowley gets right down to the business of teaching the Them how to be proper demons, his gusto belying the apologetic glances he keeps shooting Aziraphale’s way.  From what the angel can gather in his covert eavesdropping, demonic work mostly amounts to being a nuisance.

“Another good—er, bad act of evil is never replacing the loo roll,” Crowley says. “That one’s a sure-fire win. Never fails to drive the humans mad.”

“I do that already,” Brian says proudly.  “And I never flush.”

Crowley winces.  “Yeah, you’re a proper demon, all right.”

“This is boring,” Pepper says.  “Don’t you do real evil stuff?  Like, killing people and all that?”

“There’s more to being evil than killing people,” Crowley says with startling patience.

“I don’t see why you want to celebrate Halloween at all,” Aziraphale says, stopping by their gathering with an armful of books – a clever pretext on his part, if he may be so bold.  “It’s only a new-fangled American holiday.”

“Actually, you can’t own a holiday,” says Wensleydale.  “America doesn't own Halloween.  Holidays are for everyone.  As long as they’re not religious.”

Aziraphale is sorely tempted to tell the little know-it-all to shove it, but Adam Young’s focus hones in on him with hawkish intensity, so he restrains himself.  “Of course,” he says coldly.

Brian plucks a book off the shelf and leafs through the pages.  “Is folding the corners demonic?  My parents hate it when I do that.”

“Ye—no,” Crowley says, catching Aziraphale’s warning glare.  “Nah, s’not really evil.  Nope.”

Adam glances between the angel and demon.  “Sounds right.”

Pepper looks at the book in Brian’s hand with disdain.  “Ugh.  Peter Pan is so sexist.”

Aziraphale’s temper slips its bonds.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  It’s a children’s book.”

“It is!” Pepper counters.  “It’s all boys doing the fun stuff and Wendy has to be like their mum!  And Tiger Lily—”

“What about this?” Brian says, clearly still stuck on demonic acts against literature.  He jams one finger up his nose and pulls it out, a yellow-green gobbet clinging to the dirty nail.  Then, much to Aziraphale’s horror, he smears the bogie on the inside cover of a first-edition Peter Pan.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chokes.  He’s never fainted in his entire existence, but there’s a first time for everything.

Crowley, much to his credit, keeps a flimsy veneer of composure as he swipes the book from Brian’s hands.  “Books really aren’t the way to go,” he says.  Aziraphale feels the fabric of the universe pop a stitch and re-knit as the bogie dissolves into nothingness.  “Not enough people care about them.  The effect isn’t widespread.”

“Not enough—”  Aziraphale sputters, indignant, only to stop dead when he sees Dog sniffing a shelf with Intent.  “Adam, dear boy, if you could please take, ah, Poochie outside, I would appreciate it ever so much…”

Adam considers the former hellhound.  “Think I’ll keep him with me, thanks.  He’s not used to the big city.”

“There’s a fenced-in yard outside,” Aziraphale says, a trifle desperately.  There wasn’t one a moment ago, and miracling around the logistics of Soho was a trial, but the angel is growing more and more desperate.  “Surely it needs to relieve itself?”

“Nah,” says Adam.  “He’s properly trained.  He won’t make a mess.”

In a feat of truly miraculous timing, Dog cocks a leg and wees on the shelf. Aziraphale’s heartbeat slams in his temples.  Dumping his books on the nearest open shelf, he hurries over to the little beast, waving his hands at it.  “Oh, for pity’s sake!”

“Got it,” Crowley says quickly.  He miracles the puddle out of existence with a snap of his fingers.  “See?  Not a stain, angel.”

“Cor!”  Brian is amazed.  “Can you show us how to do that?”

“Actually, I don’t think we can,” says Wensleydale.  “On account of we’re not real demons.”

“Shoo!” Aziraphale hisses at Dog.  “Shoo, you—you little mongrel!”

“Hey,” Adam says, and while his tone is mild, the rumble of irritation that sweeps through the bookshop is not. Aziraphale should heed it, really he should, but he can’t stand idly by while children run riot and infernal dogs eject fluids in his shop.  He waves his hands closer at Dog, intent on fending him off.  Dog’s lips peel back in a snarl.

Crowley’s voice is strained.  “Angel—”

Too late.  Aziraphale shrieks as Dog’s teeth sink into his hand, flowering fires of pain.  He yanks his hand back and clutches it to his chest.  Dog growls, eyes glittering red.

“I’m sorry,” Adam hastens to say.  “I didn’t think he’d do that.”

“Actually, Mr. Fell,” says Wensleydale, “it was a defense mechanism. Little dogs like Dog have a high prey drive and you got into his space.  Actually, you should have known not to do that, because growling is a warning that…”

“Ugh!”  On the other side of the shop, Pepper tosses a book to the floor in disdain.  “The Iliad is even worse than Peter Pan! My mum says…”

“Look at this, Mr. Crowley!” Brian calls.  “See that book, with the fancy cover?  I bet I can hit it from all the way across the room!”  He hawks deep in his throat.

Aziraphale has never killed anything before, but, frantic, furious, and helpless, he suddenly sees the appeal of cold-blooded murder.  “That’s quite enough of that!”

The Them ignore him, and several things happen in swift succession.  Dog squats on the floorboards.  Pepper pulls a copy of The Odyssey from the shelf.  Wensleydale keeps talking.  Brian spits a wad of saliva and phlegm.

The few remaining customers vanish, dispatched outside the shop with no memory of the past few minutes.  A blazing white light erupts from Aziraphale and floods the room to press, incandescent, against the dust-coated windows.  The dowdy, bookish angel suddenly looms, menacing and full of holy wrath, flaming sword raised to strike.  His eyes glow with the searing heat of Heavenly justice.  Crowley cowers behind the nearest shelf; Dog cowers behind Adam’s legs; the Them stare, spellbound.  Brian’s loogie evaporates with a hiss like grease on hot metal.

“THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH OF THAT,” Aziraphale says.  His voice resonates, multiplied and overlayed like a screaming horde of berserkers.  “STEP AWAY FROM THE BOOKS, PLEASE.”

The Them obey.  They cluster around Adam, eyes wide, mouths ajar.

“NOW.”  Aziraphale sweeps the flaming sword toward the door, which obediently flies open.  “GET.  OUT.  OF MY BOOKSHOP.”

The Them look to Adam, who nods.  “Yeah.  C’mon, I think we learned enough.”  He leads them to the open door, ushers them out.  He gives the angel and the demon a thoughtful look.  “Sorry.  I’ll leave you two alone now.”

He leaves.  The door snaps shut behind them, locks clanking into place.  Aziraphale sags as the holy wrath leaves him, his sword – a mere illusion – melting into the air.  He feels ready to burst into tears.  Or to smite something.  He hasn’t decided which.

“Angel.”  Crowley’s voice is gentle, the tone one might use to soothe a wild creature.  “They’re gone.  It’s over.  They’re not going to hurt you again.”

Aziraphale wraps his arms around himself.  “Don’t tease.”

“Sorry.”  Crowley slinks closer, still wary.  “Gosh. I thought your lot were all for suffering the little children.”

Aziraphale sniffles.  “Well, my dear, I c-could only suffer so much.”

“Ah, angel.  There, there.”  Crowley’s tone is sneering, but the concern in his eyes is genuine.  “Let me see.”

“Wh-what?”

“Your hand.  That little beast got you good, didn’t he?”

“Oh.”  Aziraphale holds out his trembling hand.  “I-I suppose it did.”

Crowley’s fingers enfold him, delicate but sure.  Aziraphale stares at the floorboards as his vision swims and the demon presses gentle touches to the bite marks.  “Didn’t break the skin, but might as well…”

Aziraphale swallows thickly.  The pain evaporates in prickling warmth.  “Thank you.”

“Nnh.  No problem.” A beat.  “I’m sorry.  For letting them stay in the shop.”

“We didn’t have a choice, really,” the angel mutters.

“I don’t know.  Adam Young’s not all bad.”

Aziraphale mangles a laugh.  “I suppose not.  For an Antichrist.”

“Aziraphale…”

“I hate them, Crowley.”

“You’re an angel.  You don’t hate anything.”

“But they’re so loud! And messy!  And annoying!”

“They’re kids.  Trust me, adults are loads worse.”

Aziraphale sighs and wipes his eyes with one hand.  Despite having healed the bite, Crowley still holds his other hand, and he is reluctant to take it back.  “Oh, I know, dear boy.  Please don’t think less of me for it, my nerves are just so…”

“Don’t worry,” Crowley says.  “Tell you what.  Let’s close up shop and open up that Talisker you’ve got squirreled away, yeah?  The eighteen-year one.”

Aziraphale gives him a watery smile.  “My dear, that would be wonderful.”

They close the shop.  As Aziraphale locks the front door, another miracle sings through the air, a plucked harp string vibrating through reality.  He blinks, unlocks the door, and opens it.  A new sign has appeared.

‘No dogs allowed.’

The angel closes the door and locks it again.  He turns, beaming.  Crowley smiles back.

-

That Halloween, the Them go trick-or-treating as angels.

[ziraley-j-crow]

“When I’m 64″ - Crowley x Aziraphale

This one is going to be based on one of my favorite Beatles songs. Each chapter will be based on a verse of the song.

I know some of the lyrics might not coincide with their celestial nature, but we’ll have to make do!

I know Aziraphale doesn’t sleep, but I wanted to work it into my story, I just felt it worked. Thank you!

Here’s a link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCTunqv1Xt4

1.

“When I get older losing my hair, many years from now, will you still be sending me a Valentine, birthday greetings bottle of wine?”

13th February 2020.

The day before Valentine’s Day.

“What do you mean you’ve never celebrated it?” Aziraphale was almost dumbfounded by the words coming from Crowley’s mouth, his hot coca not even meeting his lips.

“What?! It’s just a human holiday! Why do they even celebrate it, anyway?” Crowley said defensively, leaning against the kitchen counter. Another morning gone by without the worry of impending doom looming over both of their shoulders. 

It was a bright and early Thursday morning at Aziraphale’s bookshop. Crowley had found himself in Aziraphale’s kitchen, tinkering around the place before Aziraphale offered him a warm drink. The two sat together, embracing in chat.

“Well, although the humans had made a story about the Saint Valentine, I believe it was the poem by the great Geoffrey Chaucer that really helped boost morale for the holiday! The Parliament of Fowls, if I remember the name correctly..” Aziraphale tried to remember bits of the poem.

“So tomorrow, you will see humans expressing love for their loved ones. Family, friends, partners...” Aziraphale trailed off, smiling fondly. “Just to show them they love them. It’s rather lovely, the whole thing.” 

“Whatever it is, I certainly haven’t dabbled with it.” Crowley said, sounding uninterested. 

Oh, but how we had wanted to. For the past six thousand years pining for the angel, to finally have a whole day dedicated to spoiling him? You bet your ass he was on board with this.

“Oh, well I hadn’t really expected such a devilish fiend such as yourself to celebrate a rather joyous occasion.” Aziraphale said sarcastically, taking a sip from his drink. Crowley sneered at him, getting up from his spot at the kitchen table.

“Where are you going so soon?” Aziraphale asked, setting his mug down on the table, his gaze following Crowley.

“To get ice cream or commit a felony. I’ll decide in the car. Thanks for the coffee!” 

-

Crowley made a beeline for Soho.

“Right. What the fuck do I buy him?” Crowley muttered to himself, gripping the steering wheel as his mind wondered. Ignoring the smell of burning rubber (presumably the tires), he dodged the slower cars ahead of him - rather flawlessly. He needed to get something before tomorrow, and he needed something now.

“Okay, what does he like...” he asked himself out loud. 

A memory suddenly came to him.

~

“Listen,” said Crowley desperately, “how many musicians do you think your side have got, eh? First grade, I mean.’’

Aziraphale looked taken aback.

‘’Well, I should think-’’ he began.

‘’Two,’’ said Crowley. ‘’Elgar and Listz. That’s all. We’ve got all the rest. Beethoven, Brahms, all the Bachs, Mozart, the lot. Can you imagine eternity with Elgar?’‘

Aziraphale shut his eyes. ‘’All to easily,’’ he groaned. 

~

Crowley eventually pulled up outside a rather modern looking vinyl store in Soho. Several artists he had never heard of plastered the names on covers of vinyls, which were so neatly placed in the shop front. He hesitated.

 “Would he even like a vinyl?”

“Of course he would, he hoards the bloody things.” he reassured himself, getting out of the car and approaching the store. He knew all the composers Aziraphale loved. In fact, he shamelessly knew everything that Aziraphale loved. He made his way into the shop, the many names of Aziraphale’s beloved composers whirling around his mind as he scaled along the aisles of neatly stacked and alphabetically organised records. 

A song played smoothly from the shop speakers - a song that can only be described the way the warm sunrise touches your face first thing in the morning, the violins could carry your troubles away and leave you floating in sempiternal bliss.

“When I fall in love... It will be forever...” 

Initially, this wasn’t Crowley’s type of music. But have you ever heard a song that makes you stop in your tracks and think-

“Oh.” 

Because that’s exactly what has happened to Crowley.

-

“To get ice cream or commit a felony. I’ll decide in the car. Thanks for the coffee!”

With that, Crowley was gone. The bookshop was filled with silence once more, the bustling of the streets muffled by the walls of the lonely shop. 

“Oh.. I hope I didn’t offend him.” Aziraphale sighed sadly, turning back to the table. His mind was too focused on what happened, he wasn’t interested in finishing his drink. Had he ruined the wonderful routine he and Crowley had subconsciously slipped into?

“Don’t be absurd, you fool. It was hardly that easy to offend him!” he tried to reassure himself, but his mind wouldn’t lay off as he got up from the table. He paced the kitchen, and when he had paced all he could in there, he paced the whole bookshop, all the while overthinking.

He stopped in his tracks.

“I could call him! It’s not too soon after breakfast, surely?” Aziraphale rushed to his study, almost tearing the old phone from the wire. But he stood still, clutching the phone to his chest. Was it hesitation? Was he nervous? Just call him!

Aziraphale prepared himself for what he would say.

“Crowley! I was just wondering... No, not like that.” 

“Crowley, you wily, old serpent! No, that doesn’t work either.”

He took a deep breath, and dialed in the demon’s number slowly, his heart racing. It’s simple, just call!

He finally pressed dial, each beep feeling like eternity. Any minute now, he’d pick up on the other end and everything would be fine.

Any second now.

With every beep, Aziraphale could feel his stomach churn with anxiety. He could picture Crowley look at the caller ID on his mobile, and scoffing as he tossed his phone on the sofa. 

The call ended without anyone picking up, and Aziraphale brought the phone away from his ear. He considered calling again, his brain trying to think of reasons why Crowley hadn’t answered.

“Perhaps it’d be best not to call again, don’t want to be a bother.” Aziraphale said sadly, and placed the phone down.

-

Crowley didn’t know how he managed to find his way back to the Bentley while carrying a tower of vinyls, but he did. He could have easily miracled them into the car instead, right?

But no. He is an idiot.

An idiot in love, who has no idea what he’s doing, but he like feels he should.

Once he had the vinyls in the car, he got into the driver’s seat, and another memory came to him.

~

“That’s it then,” said Crowley, with a gleam of triumph. He knew Aziraphale’s weak spot alright. “No more compact discs. No more Albert Hall. No more Proms. No more Glyndbourne. Just celestial harmonies all day long.”

“Ineffable.” Aziraphale murmured.

~

Crowley was getting the hang of his gift buying shenanigans. Perhaps he was excited about this? Was he excited about showing the gifts to Aziraphale? To see how happy it would make him? Is this a good deed?!

“Hardly... I mean, technically it’s not a good deed. Because I’m buying these things, that means someone is missing out! Yes! HA!” Crowley reassured himself as he sped back to his apartment. 

As he staggered in the door with the vinyls to his chest, he finally realized he could simply miracle the vinyls into his apartment. While glowering at his plants, who were trembling at the sight of him, he snapped his fingers, and the vinyls disappeared neatly to the kitchen. 

“Right. Glyndbourne. Let’s see.” Crowley flopped down on the sofa, pulled out his phone and worked a few little miracles of his own. 

-

14th February 2020.

Aziraphale’s Bookshop.

Aziraphale didn’t get much sleep last night. His mind was too full from the previous morning’s events. He was ridden with anxiety, thinking he had hurt Crowley with what he thought was friendly banter. And now he wouldn’t answer his call?

The sunlight peeked through his bedroom window, the new day announcing itself to Aziraphale. But he has been awake long before the sunrise. He sighed, sitting up in his bed. He spent most of the night reading to help ease his mind. Perhaps Romeo and Juliet wasn’t the best choice of book

As soon as he was dressed in his usual attire, there was a loud knocking on the shop door. He glanced down at the bedside clock for the time, and frowned.

“It’s not even 9 o’clock yet. Who could possibly be looking for books at this time?” As he let his bedroom he quickly adjusted his bow tie, scanning the room to ensure it was in it’s immaculate state. 

Another irritable knock came from the door.

“I’m here! Just a tick!” Aziraphale rushed to the door, unraveling the blinds on the door, putting on his best shop keeper smile.

It was Crowley.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley said aloud when he saw Aziraphale through the window of the door, and smiled. Aziraphale, who was certain that he felt his heart stop for a solid two seconds, immediately opened the door, letting Crowley in.

“Crowley, I-”

“Before you say anything, Aziraphale, I had no idea what to buy, so I bought everything.” Crowley rushed as he walked into the bookshop past Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was stunned, “Everything?! What do you mean?” He shut the door behind Crowley as he strolled in, and rolled down the blinds.

“Valentine’s Day? Remember? You said people buy each other things when they... Yeah, I bought you some stuff, I guess.” Crowley trailed off, trying to be suave as he investigated the shelved books like he always does. 

And it happened. It was quick, but intense. So intense, Aziraphale thought he had lost his vision. In that moment of realization, a soft pink aura had appeared around Crowley. 

Something in the way Crowley was skimming through the various books had caught Aziraphale in a trance. Crowley had removed his sunglasses to get a better look, his golden snake eyes relaxed as they studied the unfamiliar titles. The sunlight complimented his hair, an illuminating orange, and visibly soft to touch. Crowley had picked up a random book, flicking through the old pages. Aziraphale smiled at how his brows furrowed as he tried to understand it’s contents. The soft glow from the aura was immensely calming.

Love.

“Dunno what that means. Are you alright, angel?” Crowley became uninterested in the book and placed it down, his focus returning to Aziraphale, who was staring at him in awe.

“Yes, I-I’m quite alr-”

“The gifts! I nearly forgot the bloody gifts!” Crowley suddenly exclaimed, and Aziraphale jumped slightly. Crowley snapped his fingers, and every visible surface of the bookshop had gifts of many sorts on top of it.

“I just.. Y’know.. Knew what you liked because you always talk about them.” Crowley explained, almost bashful as Aziraphale gasped at the sudden entourage of gifts. 

Neatly wrapped classical vinyls. Flamboyant bouquets of flowers Aziraphale had never seen. Several bottles of Aziraphale’s favourite wine stood glistening in the sun. There were small boxes in shiny wrapping paper topped with delicate ribbon, with beautiful colors. Aziraphale walked over to the vinyls, all composers he loved dearly. His attention was drawn to the flowers, their smell so overwhelmingly fresh. 

Aziraphale was speechless as he tried to take everything in.

“You don’t like it?” Crowley asked after a minute, seeing how Aziraphale had said nothing for some time. 

The total opposite, in fact. Aziraphale, who had his back to Crowley, felt his eyes welling up with tears of pure joy. He tried to blink them away quickly without them being noticed, but he was so overwhelmed with sheer bliss, there was nothing he could do.

“Angel?” Crowley asked him softly, “I can return them if you want. Can get cash or store credit-.” 

“I love them.” Aziraphale interrupted, not facing Crowley. His fingers gently traced the delicate petals of a pale pink rose.

“Then why didn’t you say anythi- Wait, angel, why are you crying then?” Crowley approached Aziraphale with caution. He’d never seen the angel cry, and was certain he’d never made him cry before.

“Oh no, no it’s fine! I’m fine, my dear.” Aziraphale quickly wiped his eyes, but the tremble in his voice gave it away.

“Please don’t lie to me, Aziraphale. What did I do wrong? What can I do to make you better?” Crowley’s voice was softer as he got closer, stopping when Aziraphale raised his head, and turned to face him.

Crowley’s expression soften, his eyes widened as Aziraphale looked at him with glistening blue hues. Although his bottom lip was quivering, he still managed to force it into a smile.

“Crowley, you have done nothing wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a small smile. “I suppose I’m just overwhelmed with joy!”

Crowley blinked. “Joy?” he studied Aziraphale for a moment. “But you’re crying? I don’t understand...” The angel wasn’t used to such attention from the demon, and tried to avert his gaze.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’ve just never had... This!” he gestured to everything Crowley had gifted him. He took a shaky breath in. “It’s such a wonderful feeling, I can’t even begin to explain.” Crowley was amazed.

“What do you mean, you’ve never had this?” Crowley remained focused on Aziraphale. “Are you telling me, in the 6000 years we’ve known each other, nobody has ever bought you anything? Gifts? Nothing?!”

Aziraphale said nothing, but simply shook his head, somewhat ashamed. Crowley stepped over to Aziraphale and gently gripped his shoulders, which took the angel by surprise. Aziraphale looked up at him, confused.

“Crowley, what the Heaven’s are-”

“I don’t know how many people you have known you throughout the last six millennia..”

Aziraphale couldn’t focus on Crowley as he trailed off on a rant. His eyes, as bright and intense as burning stars, were hypnotizing Aziraphale. He lied to himself. He told himself he wanted to look away, but the thought of shamelessly admiring them was too inviting. It was a sin he was willing to repent for, for all eternity.

There he was, in the middle of his bookshop, face to face with the most delectable and alluring creature he had the grace of walking the earth with for the past 6000 years. There he was, standing in the middle of the room, listening to his demon list every reason why Aziraphale should be cherished. What did he do to deserve this?

That’s when it hit him.

“So whoever hasn’t taken the time to treat you with an ounce of respect is a bloody idiot.” Crowley said, blinking at last. He was about to say something else, but stopped himself, his grip loosening from Aziraphale, and he took a step back. 

Azirphale was speechless. His vision became cloudy, causing Crowley to appear blurry in front of him, but this time he didn’t try hiding his tears, and let them roll down his cheeks. 

“Aziraphale? Did I say someth-”

“How long?” Aziraphale interrupted, his voice a shaky whisper.

“What?” Crowley asked softly. Aziraphale cleared his throat in an attempt to stop the lump in his throat from giving him away, and adjusted his bow tie, a habit for comfort.

“H-How long have you...” Aziraphale gestured to the gifts that were surrounding them. “This?” He felt rather meek, trying to discreetly get his words out.

“Angel, this is not the time for a game of charades.” Crowley said desperately, imitating Aziraphale’s gesturing, causing the angel to huff.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Crowley. How long have you been in love with me?” Aziraphale’s nerves got the better of him, the question ripped itself out, and his hands flew up to his mouth to stop his from saying anything else.

“Now look what you did, you’ve ruined a perfectly good friendship. Well done, lad.” he thought to himself. He couldn’t read Crowley’s expression. Was he angry? Was he going to laugh and walk out? He had to do something. Maybe there was a way he could turn back time to literally ten seconds prior?

“I-I mean, ignore that question. Dear, what I meant to a-ask was-” 

You’ve heard of the age old expression “to take your breath away”, right? Well, that’s what happened to Aziraphale. In a flash, Crowley was gripping Aziraphale’s coat front, their bodies rigid with nerves. Crowley caught Aziraphale in a nervous kiss, which made the angel yelp in surprise. Crowley immediately retracted, not daring to look the other in the eye.

“Angel I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me again. See ya.” Crowley turned quickly and made his way to the shop door, but was stopped from opening it when he felt a hand on his arm, pulling him back.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley didn’t half expect Aziraphale to have followed him, and certainly didn’t expect to be kissing the angel again, this time against the bookshop door. This kiss was urgent, exciting. Aziraphale took in a deep breath, hesitantly putting his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. It was messy, but it was new to them. It’d be like learning to ride a bike, they’d just need more practice.

“Mm.. M-Wait. Angel, wait.” Crowley mumbled between kisses, slowly opening his eyes. Aziraphale stopped immediately.

“Did I do something wrong?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley shook his head, excited, fiery eyes gazing dotingly at the angel.

“No, quite the opposite, But I think we have some explaining to do before anything else happens.” Crowley said with a smile. Aziraphale nodded, his heart beating with excitement, but led Crowley into the living room.

“Have a seat, my dear.” Aziraphale gestured to the couch that Crowley had sat on many times before, and once more he made himself comfortable. Aziraphale sat on the seat opposite him, adjusting his coat. 

However, the two sat in a deafening silence for the first time, shooting quick glances at each other. The streets outside had come alive now, Aziraphale was certain it was past the shop’s opening hour, but that didn’t bother him at all. The ticking from the clock seemed to be the peacemaker.

“Perhaps I should start.” Aziraphale began. He was nervous, good God he was nervous, but at least they had the time and space to say what they felt. They had waited for so long to bring this to the table.

“Crowley, I have been foolishly blind to your emotions. For how long, I do not know.” Crowley stared intently at Aziraphale, listening to his every word. “But for however long I haven’t acknowledged your feelings, I hope you know I am deeply sorry.” Aziraphale finished with a sigh. Perhaps a sigh of relief. He looked to Crowley.

“Sorry? Aziraphale, what could you possibly be sorry for?” Crowley asked, shifting in his seat. “It wasn’t deliberate. You, not knowing how much I... I like you, is not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.” he said with a soft chuckle. “I just wish I had told you sooner.” Crowley said quietly, and Aziraphale smiled softly at him. He thought for a moment.

“My dear, may I ask exactly how much you like me?” Aziraphale asked, the questions sounding more flirtatious than innocent, which took Crowley by surprise.

“H-How much?” Crowley said, and Aziraphale nodded eagerly. Crowley cleared his throat, quickly thinking for the most appropriate action to do next. An idea came to him.

“Would you like me to show you exactly how much?” he asked gingerly, leaning forward in his seat towards Aziraphale. The angel’s eyebrows knit together.

“Crowley, we’ve made this clear. You already have shown me-” He stopped when he noticed Crowley raising an eyebrow. “Oh,” he said softly “Then yes, I’d very much like you to.”

In the blink of an eye, they were on each other once more. With eyes closed, their lips met with an urgent crash, neither of them seeming to mind the blunt force. The kiss meant a number of things for bth of them - comfort, relief, delirium, certainty, worship, love.

Six thousand years of friendship, bonding, judgement, rejection, fighting, all for this moment. And boy, was it worth it.

They were excited, roaming hands touching everywhere they had waited to. Crowley’s hands gently cupped Aziraphale’s face, pulling his lips impossibly closer to his own. He breathed him in through his nose, sighing contently into the kiss. Aziraphale’s hands had snaked their way around Crowley’s waist, and was pulling himself flush against the demon. 

Personal space? Who’s that?

“Mm..A garden saw I... Full of blossomy boughs...” Crowley breathed between kisses. Aziraphale stopped kissing him. The two were breathless, but stayed where they were. Aziraphale was wide eyed, visibly impressed by the words he just heard.

“Crowley? Was that-” Aziraphale voice was excited.

Yes, it was. The poem Aziraphale briefly mentioned to Crowley the day before. The poor demon took it upon himself to study the poem inside and out. Just to impress his angel. 

“Upon a river, in a green mead.” Crowley continued, gazing lovingly at Aziraphale, a tempting smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale wasted no time in returning to the kiss, nearly knocking Crowley down with sheer excitement. Crowley giggled at the behavior of the seemingly quiescent angel

“There as sweetness evermore enough is..”

Crowley slowly trailed his hands down Aziraphale’s back, the angel not seeming to mind the slightest, seeing as one of his hands were busy with Crowley’s hair, and the other was cupping the back of his neck. He certainly didn’t mind when Crowley gently squeezed his buttocks, the thrill of it caused him to gasp and grab a fistful of Crowley’s fiery hair.

“My dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Aziraphale said suddenly, when Crowley moaned at the sensation. Crowley opened his eyes slowly, as if to relish in the feeling. His pupils were fully blown, a sight Aziraphale wasn’t too familiar with.

“I think.. I think I liked that.” Crowley said, his voice was gravelly and he squeezed Aziraphale’s buttocks again, pulling him flush against him, smirking down at the angel as he did so. 

“Oh, is that so?” Aziraphale played along. “What if I did it again?” he asked innocently. Crowley suppressed a moan, and began kissing below Aziraphale’s ear. It was Aziraphale’s turn to moan, pleasure rippling through him at the unfamiliar sensation. The sound Crowley elicited from him was heavenly. It excited Crowley, and he wanted to hear more.

“Better make haste, angel, or I may just discorporate in your arms.” Crowley growled into his ear, slowly peppering light kisses along Aziraphale’s soft neck. Aziraphale sighed in bliss, his fingers threading through Crowley’s hair once more. He’d never felt anything like this.

“Oh Crowley, that’s wonderful.” Aziraphale purred in bliss. The last place he ever imagined he’d be was in the middle of his bookshop, with a demon whispering sweet temptations into his ear.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this..” Crowley said between each kiss.

“Do what, my dear- Ohh my goodness!” Aziraphale moaned in euphoria when he felt Crowley nip a tender spot on his neck, and tugged Crowley’s hair once more, high on pleasure. 

With that, Crowley found Aziraphale’s lips again, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. It was urgent, passionate, and they were both drunk on love, feeding off each other. Crowley gently guided them towards the couch, neither pausing for a breath. Aziraphale collapsed onto the couch, dragging Crowley down with him. The demon straddled his hips, completely flush against Aziraphale. The world could be ending right now, and this is all they would want to be doing. Nothing else mattered at this point in time.

Crowley pulled back from the kiss, the taste of the angel still on his lips. He placed his hands on both of Aziraphale’s shoulders for balance. Breathless, the two sat on top of each other, a childish giggle erupting from the both of them. Crowley could watch Aziraphale’s face light up when he laughed for the rest of his eternal life. The way his nose wrinkled when he beamed a smile was nearly enough to discorporate him. But his laugh - oh, his laugh - gleeful and bubbly, was enough to rid the demon of any negativity.

“Has anyone told you how devastatingly radiant your eyes are?” Crowley said, his tone drenched in awe as he lightly traced his thumb across Aziraphale’s cheek, causing the angel to blush.

“I hardly believe anyone would think such-” Aziraphale hushed when Crowley gently placed his finger on his lips, and gave Crowley a look which translated to “And what is the meaning of this?!” 

“Cerulean blue, like the ocean on the sunniest day. Clinquant in the sun’s brash rays. A sapphire paradise I am eager to drown in, if you’ll allow me to. If I stare any longer, I’ll be floating in sempiternal tranquility. If your eyes are the sea, then I’m shamelessly a thalassophile.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Aziraphale was speechless due to pure astonishment at Crowley’s flawless use of words. Crowley, the now hopeless romantic, was still gazing into Azirphale’s eyes, perhaps staying true to his words.

“Crowley, where on earth did you learn that?” Aziraphale asked quietly, blinking to wake Crowley from his trance. Crowley was visibly pleased with his work, beaming a smile.

“When I first lay my eyes on you, it’s the only thing that went around my mind that day. And everyday since then. Just kept it tucked away until now.” Crowley confessed. 

“Oh Crowley, my dear.” Aziraphale cooed. His brows drew together as he turned a deeper shade of red, looking away to avoid Crowley’s gaze. He was at a loss for words, the charm from Crowley was something he wasn’t used to, and Crowley knew. Crowley gently put his fingers under Aziraphale’s chin to guide him back.

“Hey,” he said softly to get the angel’s attention once more. “Would I lie to you?” he asked, his eyes trailing down to the angel’s plush lips, before lazily dragging his gaze back up to meet Aziraphale’s. 

With a coy smile, Aziraphale pressed his forehead against Crowley’s. “No.” 

The two share a chaste kiss together. Unbothered, peaceful, on a Friday morning in Central London in the bookshop.

Their first Valentine’s Day was a success this year.

[holycatsandrabbits]

“There’s a fire down the street!”

Oliver, who was 10, had been watching the fire trucks race by Mr. Fell’s bookshop, wondering what the emergency was. But you could smell the smoke now, and someone had stopped in with the news. A block of apartments were burning. 

One of the other customers at the window said, “Oh, Mr. Fell, I didn’t realize you had a pet snake!”

Mr. Fell, who had a rather large black snake curled around his neck and shoulders, said absently, “Oh, I don’t.”

The snake’s yellow eyes were open and looking out the window with the rest of them. It tasted the air with its tongue, and then unwound itself and moved off along the floor into the bookshop. A moment later, Mr. Crowley stepped up to the window, adjusting his sunglasses.

“I’m going to go see!” Oliver announced, and before his 13-year-old sister Caroline could scold him, he took off down the sidewalk. After all, if they were old enough to visit the bookshop on their own, that meant Oliver was old enough to walk down the street, wasn’t he? And it was a good thing he had. A moment later, Oliver burst back into the bookshop and exclaimed, “There are people trapped in there!”

Predictably, this upset Mr. Fell, who immediately started moving toward the door. Mr. Crowley was suddenly in front of him, with a rather frightening look on his face, although Mr. Fell seemed unimpressed.

“This is as close as you get, angel, do you understand me?”

“The ambulances won't be this far down,” Mr. Fell protested.

Mr. Crowley literally growled at him. “They won't be necessary.”

Mr. Fell gave his husband an irritated look, but he nodded. Mr. Crowley turned to Caroline. “Stay with him. He might actually listen to you.”

Mr. Fell made a show of rolling his eyes, but he beckoned to Caroline, and they went back to what they had been doing, sorting through old poetry books. Oliver thought the poetry thing was kind of boring, except when Mr. Fell had found a book of limericks. Mr. Crowley walked back into the bookshop and disappeared behind the shelves.

Caroline caught Oliver’s eye. “You’d better go,” she said softly. “In case he needs help.”

Oliver nodded and took off down the street again. When he got to the fire scene, there was Mr. Crowley already, standing between a couple of fire trucks. Nobody seemed to notice him, but he glanced Oliver’s way, and then skirted a couple of firefighters and ran up into the burning apartment building.

He came out a moment later with two people, one of which he was half-carrying. Mr. Crowley’s sunglasses were missing and his black clothes were smouldering. He left the people on the sidewalk and went back into the building.

It took longer this time, and when Mr. Crowley finally came out, he was carrying someone who didn’t seem to be awake. Or possibly alive. Oliver could see Mr. Crowley hesitate, looking at an ambulance which had pulled up to the kerb. But instead he carried the person over to Oliver, who was watching from behind the police barricade. Everyone else looked past Mr. Crowley, unaware of him standing there with yellow snake eyes bright and a fire victim in his arms. But Oliver could see clearly.

“Go get Mr. Fell,” Mr. Crowley told him.

Oliver started backing away. “Your shirt’s on fire, by the way!” he called, pointing.

Mr. Crowley made an irritated face. He looked over his shoulder and the fire on his back went out with a puff of smoke.

Oliver returned with Mr. Fell and Caroline as quickly as they could. No one seemed to see them either. Mr. Fell checked over the person in Mr. Crowley’s arms.

“I bet he’s going to do the wings,” Caroline whispered to Oliver, and she was right, Mr. Fell's wings made their appearance a moment later, shining brightly amid the smoke that was drifting through the street. After another minute, the person stirred, and then Mr. Crowley carried him to the ambulance.

As they walked back to the bookshop, Mr. Fell began to fuss over his husband, which of course, didn’t please Mr. Crowley very much. He produced a new pair of sunglasses from somewhere to hide his yellow eyes, and his clothes mended themselves as well. His shirt was quite burned, but Oliver could see that Mr. Crowley’s skin was unmarked beneath it.

Oliver ran ahead and came out with a glass of water for Mr. Crowley, and Mr. Fell made his husband sit down in a chair and rest. Over the next few hours, Caroline handled a couple of sales at the front counter—mass market paperbacks only, she was trusted not to sell anything important—and Oliver poked around in the stacks, keeping an eye on Mr. Crowley’s glass of water, just in case. Eventually he went into the kitchen and made tea, which Mr. Fell seemed to very much appreciate, and even Mr. Crowley ate a biscuit, at his husband’s urging.

Just before closing, a last person ducked through the door, a woman wearing hospital scrubs. Oliver recognized her, but couldn’t remember her name until Caroline said, “Oh, hi, Rebekah!”

Rebekah gave them a wave. “I heard about the fire,” she said to Mr. Fell. “I knew your shop was just a few doors down, and...well, they were talking about miracles. I just wanted to say thank you, because I wasn’t sure anyone else would know to say it.”

Mr. Fell laughed. “I’m afraid that all I did was a little tidying.” His voice dropped low as he cast a glance at Mr. Crowley. “I’m not allowed to be near fire anymore. There was an incident. So the lion’s share fell to Crowley. I told you he was better than an angel.”

Mr. Crowley made an irritated sort of noise, but rather than respond to that, he just nodded in the children’s direction. “Don’t know what we’d have done without Caroline and Oliver,” he said. “We’ve known a lot of kids in our time. Those two are...special.”

**********

All right, folks, we're almost there. The last fic in this series (#12) is next! It will go live on Friday, Feb 7. We're breaking from tradition here, as it will be longer than ficlet length to give me some room for a bit more plot than usual: the bookshop regulars know that Mr. Fell is an angel. When Mr. Crowley gets mysteriously injured while Mr. Fell is away and unreachable, the regulars rally to save the day. But in doing so, they realize that everybody’s got their own theory about what kind of creature Mr. Crowley is, and thus, how to help him. Vampire? Snake god? Dragon? It's an interesting discussion, to say the least.

Caroline will be our narrator, as she is in Ficlet #1. And a heads-up, actually, that you will definitely want to re-read Ficlet #1 (Are you an angel, too?) really quickly before you read #12 because we're bringing the story full-circle.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has loved this series along with me. It's been so wonderful to spend time at the Bookshop with you! <3

Mr. Fell’s Bookshop series Master Post

Subscribe to the series on Ao3!

[mikaa-mina]

At Garden’s Edge- Ch3 Dead Plants and Memes

Beta read by Tarek_giverofcookies

At Garden’s Edge

Chapter 3- Dead Plants and Memes

“You know,” Crowley drawled with his chin in his hand, elbow braced on the register counter as they both stared down at the 5th dead plant Aziraphale had brought back to the shop, “I’d probably give you a discount for bringing the pots back if I didn’t know it was because you kept murdering my plants.”

“My plants, you mean,” Aziraphale corrected, trying to distract them both from the fact that this was the fifth, the fifth!, plant he’d killed.

Crowley tipped his head to the side, a sly tilt to his grin as he looked straight at Aziraphale from behind those dark glasses. “Do I?” he challenged, a hint of a purr to his voice that sent a shiver down Aziraphale’s spine and gave him a feeling that he was perhaps missing something.

“Well, of course,” he insisted, “I did buy it after all.”

He peered at Crowley trying to figure out that feeling and a hint of awareness of... of something but before he could figure it out Crowley’s grin tripped into an amused smile and he shoved himself to standing, palms flat on the counter.

“Right. Victim #6.”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale’s mouth turned down, offended as much as he was embarrassed but before he could continue on Crowley snorted, gave a dismissive wave and claimed, “teasing, teasing,” and sauntered out from behind the counter to prowl the isles of his shop.

“Well, still!” Aziraphale insisted, trailing after the ginger and worrying the ring around his pinky finger, back and forth, back and forth, “that was terribly-”

“-Rude?” Crowley supplied with a glance back at him over his shoulder, grin terribly bright.

Aziraphale huffed. “-Inconsiderate. Honestly. It’s not as if I mean to kill them Crowley,” he rushed on when Crowley turned around, mouth open to say something, “or feel good about killing them!”

Crowley shut his mouth, twisting it back and forth as if he was literally chewing over his words as he watched Aziraphale in that particular way that made him think he was seeing far more than just Aziraphale’s physical form.

Crowley finally settled on a soft “I know” before abruptly turning on his heel to march towards a purple leafed plant and carrying on in a much lighter tone, “Alright! What about a gorgeous Elephant Ear?”

Aziraphale just watched him for a moment, feeling something else in his chest and a slow wonderment over how very many sides Crowley seemed to have and just how well hidden they all were but the one he chose to front.

Perhaps that quiet admission would have meant nothing or not all that much to someone else, but Aziraphale was used to a lot of his own particulars being brushed aside and yet Crowley hadn’t. The man had been honestly teasing most likely but when it hit a nerve he had paused, looked, addressed it, then moved on to keep from making Aziraphale more uncomfortable. So it hadn’t looked like much, a brush off, a stumble in conversation perhaps, if not for that soft tone of voice. The careful eye contact. The pause.

Aziraphale had nearly thirty years of reading every minutia people revealed in situations more perilous  than this one and even with leaving that life, the skill and passive use of it hadn’t faded. So he noticed it all. Noticed that the loud mouth Crowley, prone to bluster, cutting wit, and dramatics, had decided to stop and be understanding, soft even, for just a moment.

Crowley was still prattling on about the plant, seemingly a touch nervously now.

Ah. He hadn’t yet responded had he? How terribly rude to leave the dear hanging like that after such a kindness. A kindness he hadn’t had anything to gain by.

Perhaps he was still so used to the cruelty of the life he left behind and that was why that small kindness had surprised him and meant so much at the same time.

Crowley picked up the pot and turned to face Aziraphale finally, somewhat half hidden by the plant.

“So. What do y’think?”

Aziraphale smiled terribly fond and reached out to gently run his fingers across a leaf.

“It’s lovely.”

“Ngk.”

-

“You are ridiculous.”

Crowley scowled at the computer screen, knowing that even while being on the other side of the internet that Anathema would be able to tell. “Am not. Shuddup. Are you gonna help me or not?”

She cackled. “With this quest? Sure!” And as if to prove the point, she hexed the monster that had spawned behind them while they were talking and began attacking them.

Crowley groaned, “no you witch,” she laughed and he ignored it, “with the book.”

“For your problem customer? God you really are being ridiculous, just ask him out already.”

Crowley groaned in real life while simultaneously eliminating three more of the threats in their game AlwaysWinter. “Not everything is about that Anathema.”

He could hear her eye roll. “Whatever you say, you closeted romantic. This cave’s clear. Which way?”

“Left. The boss’s right and once we beat him we wont be able to come back.”

They continued for a while, just clearing the remaining monsters and looting the dungeon’s branches, chattering about the game or Anathema’s day. Then as they made their way back to the final cave with the boss and it’s goons, Anathema asked. “What is it about then?”

“What’s what about?”

“Oh don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”

Crowley snorted.

“Crowley.”

He groaned. “Fine. Whatever.” He was silent for a moment, staring unseeing at the boss as they came to a stop just outside of the entrance of the cave. A few more steps and they’d trigger the boss battle and he wouldn’t have to talk.

She’d never let it go if he did that. She’d just hound him as soon as they were done. At least this way, he could just blurt something out and then start the boss battle after she got one line in and maybe the conversation would be dropped after that.

He sighed. “It’s just- he’s, ugh.. this is dumb- ridiculous.”

“Is not.”

“Of course you wouldn’t think it is. You just want blackmail material on me.”

She laughed. “As if I don’t have enough of that already. You’re stalling flower boy.”

He groaned. He didn’t like this. Or he did. It was hard to tell anymore. Was it freeing to be more honest, more vulnerable with someone you could trust? Or was it bloody terrifying?

“He’s ridiculous, fussy, funny, kind, and a bit of a bastard. I just- I’d- I fucking hate this. I just want to befriend him. Is that good enough for you?”

Maybe he was a bit more aggressive than warranted at the end there but Anathema didn’t say anything, just was quiet for a moment. Just as the anxiety was starting to itch beneath his skin at the thought of having pissed her off, she softly said “you really are sweet Anthony.”

“I am not! I shouldn’t have told you- I’m-”

“-yes yes, you’re scary and mean. What I mean is that’s really sweet. You should have more friends and I think it’s sweet that you want to befriend him.”

“Feel like a bloody high schooler saying it like that.” He complained, dragging his hands down his face  in exasperation, careful not to dislodge the headset he was wearing. Two months of sporadic meetings with the man and he still hadn’t figured out a way to befriend him or make it all sound normal in his head.

In a mocking ‘there, there’ kind of tone Anathema cheerfully added, “and you’re just as bad at it as one!”

“Are you ready to start the boss battle?” He asked a touch desperately, trying valiantly to move past all of this.

“Oh fine, you big ba- CROWLEY What the hell are you doing?!”

“I’m not doing anyt-” his indignant tone spluttered to a halt as he dragged his hands away from his face to look up at his screen just in time to see his character charging in through at least three groups of minions and heading straight towards the boss.

“Just because you want to run away from your feelings DOESN’T MEAN LITERALLY RUN STRAIGHT INTO THE BOSS BATTLE YOU-”

There’s a weightless moment where the blood in his veins freezes, his heart trips on the next beat, and his mind throws itself into a figure eight of panic trying to figure out who found him. And then Warlock’s symbol pops up on his screen, three sixes connected by the stems to make a looping circle figure, and then Warlock’s voice itself hacks into their voice chat yelling “LEEEEEEROY JENKINS!” and all of the breath Crowley was holding rushes out in choked off laugh.

“Who the-” Anathema starts but Crowley cuts her off because he can’t help the feeling of pride that just swelled, “my little hellion! You’re getting better- you didn’t even set off any of my firewalls this time.” Not a peep, and that wasn’t easy to do, Warlock really was getting better in leaps and bounds.

“Little hellion?” Anathema mutters lowly, thinking, as Crowley finds all of his control over the computer is stripped away. The mouse, the keyboard, everything but the voice chat left open for him to still communicate with them. He’s pulling out his laptop when she goes, “oh! So this is one of the kids!”

“Not a kid!” Warlock retorts, offended, and this is good, good, because he’s distracted allowing Crowley some more element of surprise.

“Oh? How old are you then?”

“Sixteen!”

“Sixteen? Who taught you Leeroy Jenkins?!”

“Nanny did!”

Bewildered, Anathema disbelievingly repeats, “Nanny?!”

He’s not going to try and retake control over his desktop computer, a hacking tug-o-war over it would be fun but--

“Oi! Do not kill my character Warlock!”

“Well hurry up and take back control of your computer! You’re getting slow in your old age, Nanny.”

“Slow?! Are you telling me you can’t keep a simple character-” now surrounded and being beat on by no less than twelve minions and a boss “-from dying for five minutes? Some gamer you claim to be.”

His character’s health is dropping dangerously low and it keeps getting stunned and really Crowley needs to look away and focus on getting past Warlock’s firewalls, which have gotten better, good boy, “and don’t think I didn’t notice you not helping Anathema!”

She laughs, “I’m just enjoying the show, Nanny.”

At the same time Warlock and Crowley both make noises of objection to that.

“-guh-wah-Anathema!”

“Hey!! Only I get to call Nanny that!”

“Okay, okay!” She backs off with a bemused laugh, “can’t say I expected that.”

“Full of surprises, me.” Crowley snarked back, half distracted by hacking into Warlock’s computer and yet unable resist sassing back.

“Why are you guys playing this lame game anyways?”  Warlock broke in impatiently, trying to hide the fact that no matter how fast he’s picking up the controls and powers, he might be too late to save Crowley’s character from an unfortunate death.

“Because he doesn’t have enough friends to play dnd with.”

“Excuse you! Where are all of your friends to play dnd with, witch girl?”

“Oh my godddd that’s even lamer!”

“Oh as if you didn’t pick the standard tiefling warlock the first time you played, little hellion.”

“Nanny!! How do you even know about that?!”

Anathema’s cackling in the background is the perfect soundtrack for this moment. He hits the last key and lets the grin take over his face as he seizes control of Warlock’s computer at home. “You had your first game online.”

“You spied on me?!”

“Nah. As soon as I figured it was dnd I buggered off, didn’t want interrupt your game with one of our wars.” Crowley paused, finally figuring out just what was in Warlock’s tone just then, “oh? Wait- did you do something embarrassing that I should find out about?”

“No!!”

That was a yes then. Oh what-

“God take back your character already Nanny!”

“Eh, I’ve got something better.”

“Wait- crap-”

“Language-”

“As if! Just- wait before you shut my computer down!”

“...alright. What?”

“My dad’s got this thing coming up and I may have left your business card with him.”

“May have?”

“Okay fine. I definitely left it. And probably forged a promotional email from you to him.”

“Warlock!”

“It’s fine! I swear it’s fine!”

As reassuring as that was, Crowley was still digging through the boy’s hard-drive looking for the evidence, “you don’t even have my business card.”

“Noooo,” he drew out, “but, uh, it wasn’t hard to recreate. Not sure if I got the right paper but dad doesn’t really notice that kind of thing anyways.” A muttered, barely heard, “he doesn’t notice anything really.”

Crowley found it finally and took a moment to sit and look at it. Surprisingly, it was done really well. It matched his business card and website and could, actually, look like a real email from his business. If he was the sort to keep up with emailing. Newsletters were a bit out dated for him and honestly, most emails like that tended to be entirely too annoying to read so he figured he wasn’t loosing out on too much business that way. Though it would ring as more legitimate for his business to have both to a rich snob like Warlock’s unfortunate father.

He’d been quiet too long evidently, because Warlock’s voice came through less confidently than usual as he asked, “was that not alright?”

He probably only meant well, and, well, it’s not like Crowley couldn’t use the business.

“Nah, it’s fine. You did a really good job on the email, almost looks like I could have sent it myself.”

He could practically hear both the relief and eyeroll over the headset from Warlock. “If you ever sent emails you mean.”

“Eh. Outdated. Anyways, when’s this event? Hold on- does this say- it says I’ll set up and arrange the flowers on site!”

“Uhhh… Yeah?”

Crowley groaned, “no no, I’ll figure it out. ‘s just a pain to do by myself.”

Anathema, sensing a weak point, jumped in, “maybe you should hire someone to help you out at the shop then.”

Crowley groaned, “not this again Ana...”

“Don’t call me Ana and yes this again. I don’t understand why you feel the need to work yourself to the bone in that place by yourself.”

“I’ll call you Ana all I want if you’re gonna keep beating this dead horse. I don’t trust anyone else with the plants! Some of them are delicate and I don’t need any clumsy fingered dolts bruising them or-”

“-or harming them or blah blah blah, just get someone to help you transport them then! Or just run the cash register and not touch the plants!”

Crowley groaned.

“Yeeeah, I’m gonna go now,” said Warlock, the son of two parents who didn’t really get along and often fought.

“Ah, shit, sorry Warlock. Not a real fight, just a...”

“disagreement,”

“Dissagreement. We’ve been through this debate a hundred times and Ana doesn’t know when to stop-”

“-Only because you don’t know when to give in!”

“Anyway! It’s after 11pm on a school night, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Well you see-”

“Goodnight little hellion!”

“No- wait!”

A moment of silence and then Anathema asked, “did you just shut down his computer?”

Crowled hummed a deviant agreement before adding, “and all his lights and phone.”

She was quiet for a moment. “That really is evil.”

“Eh. The phone’ll reboot in an hour and he knows how to unlock his computer- hey- wait a minute! When did my character die?!”

He stared mournfully at his dead character, had a moment of silence for his lost exp, and tried not to feel more betrayal at Anathema’s character hiding in the entrance of the cave than the boss and its minions standing over his dead body.

Anathema laughed.

[the-bentley]

The Fear of Crowley (G)

A look at Crowley’s treatment of his houseplants from their point of view.

It had been a few days since he had been around, but the plants knew better than to let their guard down.  He would show up again and there would be cullings if things were not up to his strict standards.  They reached towards to the windows, stretching towards the sunlight that would keep them the best shades of green as only the healthiest colours were allowed.

One or two of them let their leaves lower just a little bit.  While they obviously needed to be at their best when he was in the flat, they did relax sometimes when the coast was clear.  Lately he had not been around much but when he had, he was in a foul mood. They kept what passed for ears in plants tuned to the front door.  Once it slammed shut, they had about thirty seconds to look their best before he entered the plant room.

He chose this room because of the floor-to-ceiling windows all along the west that provided them with as good of light as you could get in the middle of London, supplemented with grow lights hanging from the ceiling.  Terror alone couldn’t make a plant bigger or greener.

But even with light, water and the occasional shot of fertilizer, the onus was on them to always look their best. Many a fellow plant had come and gone, succumbing to leaf spots, wilt or lackluster growth.  Failure to thrive was not an option here.  Nobody would nurse you back to health.  You were verdant, luxurious and healthy-looking or you were unceremoniously shredded in the garbage disposal while the remaining flora was treated to one of his temper tantrums.  If that was your fate, at least you could thank your lucky stars plants did not possess nerves.

The door opened than slammed shut one early afternoon following a several days’ absence.  The terror in the plant room became palatable. Suddenly everyone from the smallest African violet to the tallest Kentia palm immediately perked up.

Must be green!  Must be tall!

One began to tremble. Its neighbors quickly shushed it. They stood at attention but a recently added flamingo flower broke down in the plant version of anxiety.  It had been the target of their owner’s wrath last week because it had yet to produce blooms.  It had a month to grow at least three and was reminded every misting that the clock was ticking.  It was doing its best to produce flower stalks and had managed a small one.  

Footsteps.

Must be green!  Must be tall!

“So.  How are we doing today?”  He stood there in a deceptively casual stance, plant mister held at his side. Yellow eyes darted from plant to plant, inspecting each for flaws.

He caressed the leaves of a rubber plant, the plant doing its best not to recoil in fear.  Close inspections were never a good thing and this particular plant had been warned before.  Its untouched leaves visibly raised; if it had been possible to make itself greener instantaneously, it would have.

“Didn’t we already have discussion a few weeks ago about your poor growth rate?”  he hissed in a soft, menacing voice to it.  “You have one week to give me five centimeters of growth or I’ll throw you off the balcony.  You can rot slowly on the pavement for all I care.”

The flamingo flower was addressed next as he misted them.  It tried its best to shrink to an unnoticeable size in its pot, but that trick was well known by their owner.  Many a plant had tried such a tactic and failed.

“You’re running out of time.  I only see one pathetic bloom stalk.  I want flowers.  That’s the point of you, isn’t it?  Remember what happened to peace lily that wouldn’t bloom?”

The flamingo flower remembered all too well.  He had scooped it up in a fit of anger, showed its lack of blooms to everyone in the room, then left for an hour only to return with an empty pot he set in the middle of the floor.  The plants endured horror-filled thoughts of what happened to their former friend until he decided to remove it three days later.  

They lost another of their friends during that dark time.  A pothos could not endure the pressure, breaking down in a nervous wilt that earned it a trip to the garbage disposal.  Their owner did like a plant that would tremble nicely when threatened, but completely nervous wrecks were not tolerated.

He put down the mister, picked up the watering can and stalked around checking each plant’s soil, occasionally watering one here and there.  A few others received some fertilizer.

“Well.  What do we have here?”  He eyed a small English ivy with one brown leaf tip.  

Its neighbors recoiled, getting as far away from the chosen target as they possibly could.  Its pot was yanked off the shelf it sat on with surprising speed. Those unforgiving yellow eyes examined it while a sneer formed on their owner’s mouth.

“What have you been told about leaf spots?  I will not tolerate anything less than perfect foliage, do you understand?”

The room filled with the sound of rustling leaves as the entire collection of greenery trembled violently.  One could almost hear the offending English ivy crying in fear.  

“Oh dear, there is going to be one less plant in here now, isn’t there?  I suggest the rest of you start putting in some effort before you share your friend’s fate.”

He stalked off down the hall to the kitchen, a room filled with pristine grey granite counters and unused stainless steel appliances.  Flicking on the garbage disposal, he let it run for about thirty seconds while conjuring up a pot identical to the one the plant was currently residing in.  

If foliage could look confused, this one would have as it sensed its owner walking back to the plant room, leaving it by the sink.

“Grow better!”  

The angry voice drifted back to it along with the sound of a ceramic pot clanging hollowly as it was placed on the tile floor.  Footsteps followed as the plant’s owner returned to the kitchen.

It found itself grabbed up, taken out the back door, out of the building and into a car where it endured a bit of a nerve-racking drive before the car was parked in front of colourful buildings along crowded pavements.

Carrying it into one, its owner set it on a counter next to an old-fashioned till in a room filled with books and cluttered with antique items, everything here looking as if it existed because it had special meaning to whoever owned this place.

“Angel!”

“Oh, hello, Crowley.  I wasn’t expecting you for another half hour,” a voice called from somewhere in the bookshelves.  Quick footsteps approached.  There was a pause.  “Culling the plants again, are we?”

“I can’t have leaf spots in my flat.  It just won’t do.  Just a dried tip.  Cut off that leaf, water it when it starts to dry out and put it in indirect light.  It should be fine.”

There was a sigh.  The plant assumed it came from the one called “Angel.”

“That’s the second one this month.  I’m running out of room for your rejects.  You need to learn to live with a few imperfections for once, my dear.”

“Would you rather I really threw them away?  Besides they brighten the shop up.  I think the rest of mine’ll fall into line now so I won’t have to get rid of any more. They were cowering quite nicely while I was lecturing them.  Anyway, lunch?  I’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Lecture?  I do believe terrorize would be a better phrase for what you do.”

“Oi!  Five minutes or I’m leaving without you.”

The door slammed.

The plant, in a state of utter confusion, found itself being inspected rather closely by Angel, who smiled at the terrified thing as he looked it over.

“Hello.  You are a beautiful one, aren’t you?  Such grand foliage, indeed.  And don’t worry; I don’t make it a habit of terrifying houseplants.  Really, he does have a bit of kindness in there somewhere otherwise you’d be compost. I’d better go because he does get dreadfully impatient, but it’ll give you a chance to settle in.  Later today we’ll find you a nice place to sit and soak up sunlight. Does that sound good?”

As the door closed for the second time leaving the plant alone there on the till counter, it relaxed its leaves a bit, thinking it was going to enjoy living here in this shop with the nice Angel who called it beautiful.

[freyjawriter24]

Snek Boi

(working title - suggestions welcome!)

My entry for the Great Good Omens Snake-Off!

You could spot Crowley in a crowd from a mile away. It wasn’t the bright hair that did it – although that had been a major contributor in earlier times, before the humans had figured out how to create a rainbow of hair dyes – nor was it the ever-present pair of dark glasses on his face – although that did stand out occasionally, depending on the light levels. No, it was the way he moved.

Crowley had the body of someone who used to be a snake, and whose corporation had never quite forgotten it. His spine would bend at odd angles, his hips would sway in a way that almost defied physics, and his legs looked like they’d never quite learned how to walk properly. Six thousand years of living in human form, and Crowley still looked more like a snake when he moved than the tattoo on his face did.

Except, it wasn’t quite six thousand years. Not consistently.

Because when Eden was razed and all celestial beings – angels fallen and not – lost the ability to show their wings on Earth, Crowley kept his snake form. He was still able to transform at will, become the thing forced on him by his rapid descent from Heaven, and use it to curl up tight in on himself or slither away through tiny gaps. It was a defence mechanism of sorts, he supposed, and he hated it.

No, that wasn’t fair. He didn’t hate being a snake – he rather enjoyed it, most of the time. He liked the feeling of the warm sun on his scales, and often took to napping like that when he knew no one would see him. He liked the sensation of the ground against his belly, of the smoothness in the way he could move around like that. He liked the shapes he could make in that form, looping himself into a ball or draping himself artfully across branches or furniture. What he didn’t like was what it represented.

The thing about Falling was that it changed you, in ways too numerous and too horrifying to think about all at once. One of the things it changed was vulnerabilities – no longer was immortality certain for eternity, but now it could be ended by no more than a drop of holy water. The demons, of course, had found a counter for that. They could not solve it, and did not have the imagination to make anything new, but when they finally hit the surface of the new place they called Hell, they found the fire there particularly effective at the opposite destruction. All the immortals became mortal when half of them Fell, that was the strange thing.

But another thing Falling did was change your being at a fundamental level. Whereas the celestials Upstairs had their bodies decorated with marks of their angelic nature – gold leaf or silver, soft or bright colours, in freckles or marble cracks or across joints or on keratin – the creatures Downstairs were given a very different aesthetic. Brightly-coloured hair shrivelled and took on a strange new shape. Silvered teeth became sharp and surprisingly difficult to speak through. Dappled gold on cheeks swelled and became sticky, uncomfortable, and alive. Swirls of multi-coloured angelic beauty shrank and condensed and drained to be dark as Hell.

Most demons had an animal they were closely associated with. All demons who had Fallen did, at least – some of the creatures in the celestial basement were never angels in the first place, but that’s a different story altogether. Most of these animals were considered scary or dirty or strange by the first humans – though whether the associations came about because of some knowledge of demons, or whether they were chosen for demons because of the known future associations, God only knows. Flies, toads, moths, scorpions – all manner of insects, arachnids, reptiles, and amphibians. Birds and mammals were rarely on the list, presumably because of their proximity to humanity in terms of empathy, but there were a few exceptions. And, of course, snakes.

Crowley’s snake form was a reminder of everything he’d lost in the Fall. Everything he’d become (through what he still wasn’t convinced was entirely deserved means), and everything he would never be able to stop being.

He hated that this source of comfort, this respite from the angled gangliness of his human corporation, was also such a firm pointer towards his Fallen nature. He hated that even his human aesthetic was bound to it, the snake in him peering through his slashed yellow eyes, showing itself through his scattering of black scales, making itself heard through verbal tics he couldn’t quite eradicate. He hated the shame that came with his looks, the fear humans felt when they saw his eyes, the disgust they showed when they caught a glimpse of the reptilian parts of his skin.

Most of all, he hated what Aziraphale must think of him for all this.

The angel had made his thoughts quite clear on Crowley’s appearance way back in the early days. They’d been stood before three crosses, wincing at the sounds of pain, and the demon had just dared to say that the demonic name the angel had first been told was not the one that fitted right.

“Well, you were a snake.” Perhaps Aziraphale hadn’t meant to put so much derision into the word, but it sounded harsh and heavy to Crowley, and it bounced around his skull decades, centuries, millennia later while he was trying to sleep. There were certain words and phrases that often did, and he could do nothing to stop them, even if he dared try to use logic to scare them away.

Of course, everything came to a head with Armageddon. Now there were far worse things than snake flying around his mind – things involving fire, lots of fire, and an empty, horrifying sense of not-here-ness, of intense, deep loss.

The dreams kept him up at night, occasionally, but were soothed by the calming presence of the angel next to him. Aziraphale would stroke his hair, hold him, whisper gentle things in his ear until the stupid, unnecessary blood stopped pumping at rocket speed through his veins and he remembered how to make this body breathe. He was always there when he needed him, usually sat up reading by the moonlight that would have been too weak for human eyes.

He was always there, always comforting, always safe. And yet he hated Crowley’s demonic snake-iness just as much as the demon himself did.

That was why he hid it.

He didn’t mean to, not really. It wasn’t out of anything malicious or duplicitous. It was more shame, really, than anything else. But it was more that it didn’t ever come up. If by some strange coincidence Crowley would have been able to get them out of a tight spot by turning into a snake, he would have done – with much apology and self-deprecation, of course, but he would have done it. But it hadn’t ever come up, and it never seemed like a good time to mention something so disgraceful, so he hadn’t.

Which was why the demon had never changed form in Aziraphale’s presence, or anywhere that he thought the angel might walk in on him. It was only ever at the Mayfair flat, or out in the desert, back in the day, or when he knew for sure Aziraphale was on another continent. Never in the Bentley, though that would have been nice. Never outside in London, which would cause too much attention anyway. And never, never in the bookshop.

Well. Almost never.

Crowley wasn’t quite sure of the sequence of thoughts that led him to such a reckless action. But it was cool outside, the sort of not-quite-cold freshness that made his skin crawl, and it was warm in the bookshop, specifically in a patch of sunlight magnified by the domed skylight.

Aziraphale had gone out, looking for something specific at the British Library, and he’d promised he’d be back in time for dinner, but what with the time of year and the angel’s tendency to get distracted by books and history, not to mention both of those things together, Crowley knew it’d be dark before he got home. By which time any warmth would have gone from the snake’s scales, and he would have woken up, shaken away the grogginess, and had time to remember how to both look and behave like a functional human being again. So it was relatively risk-free. Or so he thought.

(Perhaps somewhere in there had been a deeply-hidden, long-buried desire for Aziraphale to know the truth. Perhaps the recklessness was a subconscious plea to be known. Or perhaps there was some higher divine nudging in there, just for the drama of it.)

The angel had left, and the demon had locked the door and shut the blinds behind him, and then he’d transformed in the bookshop for the very first time, and enjoyed the sensation of the flooring under his belly, and revelled in the joy of not having to deal with limbs anymore, and moved over to the warm patch of ground and curled up and went to sleep.

The tinkle of the shop bell was what first disturbed his deep slumber, but what actually woke him was the shocked gasp the angel let out when he saw him.

Crowley started up out of his nap in shock, hissing involuntarily, and transformed back into his human corporation instantly. He grabbed wildly at the sunglasses that he’d left casually on a nearby shelf, and shoved them on as quickly and firmly as he could.

“Azsss... Angel, I...”

The demon was shaking, actually shaking, and he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to run, wanted to bolt out the door and never come back, wanted to get in the Bentley and drive off to Alpha Centauri on his own after all, wanted to burrow into Aziraphale’s arms and never come out. But, well. That was the problem, wasn’t it?

“Crowley.”

His voice was far too soft, far too full of fondness and affection and... and love.

The angel took a cautious step or two forward, eyes shining. Crowley felt trapped – not by Aziraphale, who had now paused a few metres away, careful not to overcrowd him, but by the situation, by whatever physical or metaphysical reason that enabled him to shift between his two forms. Whatever that was, was trapping him. Trapping him in his demon-ness: unquestionably Fallen, inescapably different from Aziraphale. And now the angel knew.

He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. Tried to tell himself he could accept Aziraphale’s pity, the I still love you that was sure to come. After all, it was the ‘love’ part that mattered, right? Not the pitying way he would look at him, not the sadness hidden behind those declarations of loyalty, not the ‘despite your flaws’ the whole thing would entail.

Because that was the problem, really. He knew the angel would hate that part of him just as certainly as Crowley himself hated it. Except Crowley didn’t only hate it, because sometimes feelings and emotions just don’t make sense, and he loved being a snake, even if he hated the reasons behind it. Which is why he couldn’t bear to think of Aziraphale’s pitying reaction.

And now the angel knew. And Crowley was about to feel that searing pity first-hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me you can still transform?”

“I, err, um, well,” Crowley blustered, struggling to figure out what to say. “I just, well it never really came up, and I, uh, it never seemed like a good time, I –”

He stopped, and took a breath, focusing hard on a spot on the floor to the right of Aziraphale. He’d never been particularly good with words, but he knew the importance of them. He didn’t know how to get everything he wanted to say across right now, but he knew it was important not to say the wrong thing. He didn’t want the angel crying on him or anything. So he settled on silence, for the time being.

His eyes darted up to look at Aziraphale.

The angel smiled, slightly sadly, and Crowley could feel something tightening around his heart at the pity he knew was coming. He set his mouth in a tight line, bracing himself for impact, and thanked Somebody that he’d had the sense to keep his glasses nearby to hide behind now.

“No, I suppose there is no perfect time to say something like that.”

Crowley nodded slightly, trying to stop his hands from clenching into fists. He watched Aziraphale from behind the dark lenses in much the same way a cornered mouse must watch a pampered housecat, uncertain if the predator will act on its deep-buried instincts.

“I’m glad.”

Crowley’s head jerked up at that, narrowing his eyes at the angel.

“Not that you didn’t say anything, I mean,” the angel clarified. “Just that you have that... outlet. It must be quite freeing, I should think. Like being able to stretch your wings...”

It was a similar sensation, Crowley thought, but not exactly the same. For him, at least, getting his wings out felt like unbinding something that had been pulled taught and held too tightly in place – it was a relief, an ached-after pleasure. Taking on his snake form was, if anything, more of a comfort than a release – he didn’t itch for it in the same way he itched to stretch his cooped-up extra limbs – but the feeling of being in one’s natural state, of feeling calm and content and complete was certainly the same. Often, in fact, the only way he was able to cure any aching for his wings to be free, like they had in Eden, was to become that other form he had been in the Garden; the tight feeling at his back never followed him as a snake. He didn’t like to imagine how uncomfortable it must be for Aziraphale, who had no secondary release like that.

The angel took another half-step forward and smiled again, his eyes searching the black lenses for a hint of the yellow eyes beneath. Then he opened his mouth and continued the thought.

“And I’m glad that you didn’t lose that part of yourself.”

He couldn’t take it. Crowley made some strange, involuntary noise in his throat, then turned and strode away a few paces, crossing his arms defensively and refusing to look back at Aziraphale.

“Crowley?”

He didn’t turn. He’d thought for a moment that he could manage this, but it was too much. He’d never been that great at understanding or dealing with emotions anyway – it had taken him a few thousand years to realise how much he loved Aziraphale, after all – but now it was all too much, too difficult to comprehend, and he could feel himself shutting down. He just wanted it to stop, everything to freeze, for Aziraphale to just forget the conversation and invite him out for a quick bite to eat, not keep talking and get closer and closer to saying something Crowley was going to wish he had never heard.

“Crowley, my dear, I’m sorry if... I’m sorry that this is a sensitive subject for you. I just – I want you to know you don’t have to hide yourself from me, okay? You don’t have to curl up somewhere you don’t think I’ll find you just so you can transform. I really... I really don’t mind.”

And there it was. I don’t mind. He was trying, oh, he was really trying, but it was still there, still seeping through the cracks. Pity, in all its angelic glory. Crowley had to bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping, but he couldn’t help the hiss-like growl that escaped his lips.

He silently cursed that, too. He hated how betraying even this version of his body was – the hissing, the sibilance that surfaced when he was stressed, the scattering of scales that still grazed his skin, his goddamned slitted eyes. Everything about him that wasn’t blatantly human was blatantly snake, and that was the root of the problem – any sign he wasn’t human was a sign he was a demon, and every one of those could be traced back to the form he could still, for some unfathomable reason, take.

Crowley couldn’t see Aziraphale, but he could tell the angel had noticed his reaction. He felt the ethereal being step closer again. “I mean it my dear, I really do.”

“Angel...” Crowley turned around now, unable to stop himself. His arms remained tight against his torso, still fending off Aziraphale’s words, his endless pity. “You don’t have to.”

The angel frowned. “I don’t have to what?”

Crowley sighed, frustrated. He was going to make him say it, wasn’t he? He floundered for a moment, no words coming out of his moving mouth, and then he sighed again. No escaping it. Just bite the bullet.

“Pretend, for my sake,” he said, and turned sideways so he wasn’t presented with the full force of whatever Aziraphale’s reaction would be. “You don’t have to see me if you don’t want to, I’ll make sure you’re away, I’ll hide, I – I mean, I didn’t expect you to see me this time, but I’ll be more careful, I’ll –”

He was stopped by a hand on his arm, stilling him into silence. Aziraphale had stepped right up to him, now, and was using the point of contact to turn Crowley to face him. They were almost chest-to-chest.

“May I?”

Aziraphale had taken his hand off the demon’s arm and now had both of his own raised slightly, gesturing. Crowley hesitated, then nodded. He’d never been able to deny his angel anything.

The glasses were lifted off delicately and placed down neatly on the nearest available surface. Blue eyes met sulphur ones, and the former smiled gently.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” Aziraphale said, slowly, deliberately. “I don’t want you to hide from me.”

A short, consonant-heavy sound rose up, unbidden, in Crowley’s throat.

The angel took a deep breath, then ploughed on, never wavering in his eye contact with the demon before him.

“I love you, Crowley. I love every part of you. And I don’t want you to hide any of it from me, not anymore. Our own side, you said. And together, you said. I want us to be together, wholly together, without shame, without secrets, without fear. And I know a lot of that has been my fault, that we haven’t been able to do it sooner, but now that that’s done with, now that I’m here... I don’t want there to be anything else stopping us. I don’t want you to feel like we can’t... like you... like I’m...”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to flounder, uncertain of how to express what he wanted to say.

Crowley shook his head, unable to make the words come. Please, angel. Stop. It’s okay, I can take it. I’ve been dealing with this for a while, you don’t need to lie to me. Just stop. I’ll go, I’ll hide, it’s okay.

The demon’s eyes flicked to the safety of the dark lenses, put down just out of easy reach. Aziraphale followed his gaze, and his face crumpled slightly when he realised what Crowley was looking at.

“Oh, my dearest. Please, I don’t want you to feel like that. You shouldn’t have to wear those when it’s just us. Please. I love you, Crowley. Please let me see your eyes.”

The demon had shut them tight as the angel spoke, and now he found that he didn’t want to open them again. He shuddered slightly, trying his hardest to hold back tears.

“But you hate them,” he managed, and was thankful that it sounded more like a whisper than a sob.

There was silence for a moment, and Crowley would have thought that the angel had vanished if he couldn’t feel his proximity. Aziraphale didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t breathe for several seconds.

Then he said, in a voice somehow both soft and hard at the same time, “What?”

Crowley shook his head, eyes still tight shut, refusing to believe even for an instant that the angel could harbour anything other than revulsion at any reminder that he was a demon.

“I’ve seen the way you react to them. Always have.” His voice was small, pathetic, but right now he didn’t care. “It’s like you forget they’re there. And then I take off my sunglasses and you...” Crowley shuddered, and this time it definitely was a sob. “You hate them.”

“Please, my darling, please look at me. That’s not true, not even for a second. Please, please just open your eyes.”

It took him a moment to summon the willpower, the bravery, to do so. But then he did, and realised the angel was close to crying, too.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, his face the picture of honesty and earnestness. He stared into Crowley’s eyes as he spoke, gaze flicking between the golden irises, now helplessly expanded to block out any humanising whites. His own pale blue eyes were flooded with love, and the words were almost secondary to the depth of meaning that one look offered.

“Your eyes are the most beautiful thing about you. How could you ever think that I would hate them?”

Crowley’s mind stopped working.

He became incapable of speech for a solid five minutes, but Aziraphale let him work it out, let him garble nonsense syllables, let him hover between belief and terror, let him slowly, slowly get his brain back in order. The whole time, the angel stood there, so close, ready to fold Crowley into his arms at a second’s notice. The whole time, he watched his beloved demon’s face, gazing at the eyes, lingering on the tattoo, and never once flinching at the unbidden elongated sibilants that escaped the occult being’s forked tongue.

“You...” Crowley whispered finally. “You like them?”

“Of course I do, my dearest. I love them. They’re gorgeous. How on Earth could I hate them?”

His voice betrayed no hint of a lie or an exaggeration. His soft face was kindly but honest, not pitying. He was... Crowley hardly dared believe it. Could he be... telling the truth?

“Because they’re snake eyes,” he said, hoping that was enough explanation. “’M a demon. ’S a reminder.”

Aziraphale shook his head slowly. “Darling, the first thing I knew about you was that you were a snake. That’s how I first saw you. That’s how we met. How could I ever hate something that makes you who you are?”

Crowley stared at him for another few seconds. Then all his resolve crumbled, and he practically fell into the angel’s strong, reliable arms, and allowed himself to be held, tight and safe, and basking in the glow of angelic love.

At some point, they ended up on the sofa, wrapped around one another, Crowley allowing all the pent-up fear and shame to tumble out of him in shaking gasps and tears. Aziraphale wiped his cheeks and played with his hair, holding him and soothing him until he’d let it all out.

At some point, Crowley sat up, and tried for a smile, and Aziraphale leant forwards and kissed him on both eyelids, and told him he was beautiful.

At some point, perhaps a long time later, an angel and a demon sat on that same sofa together. The angel was reading in the fading daylight, and the demon was coiled around him in the form of a large black snake. They were happy and comfortable together, and the sunglasses lay long-forgotten on a table by the door to the outside world.

And at that point, they were happy.

[eirikrjs]

Persona Q2 magic circle

Well, here’s another one from me. This bad boy pops up during fusions in Persona Q2: New Cinema Labyrinth.

(if it fails to load again, this or this link should show it… hopefully)

The main inspiration for this one seems to be the pentagram in Éliphas Lévi’s “Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie” (“Dogma and Ritual of High Magic”):

Design has some simplifications, alterations and additions. Only the pentagram itself, it’s shading (more or less), symbols of sun and moon, and the small circle at top are in place.

TETRAGRAMMATON is completely gone. Guess there’s no place for Megaten-style God in collective minds of regular Japanese teenagers that spend their free time battling horrors born from human psyche. The eyes are also gone.

The minor arcana symbols were moved from their positions between the points of the star directly into those points. They also have the same design that you see in Shuffle Time in Persona 3 and 4.

We have the addition of the outer circle which straight up tells you what the five points of a pentagram mean. It rotates clock-wise around the pentagram so no word is technically strictly aligned with any particular point of the pentagram, but it bugs me that I can’t make the minor arcana symbols align with their associated elements. Earth and Air need to be switched for that. Also, EARTH is written weird. Looks more like EARCE…

Side-note. This outer circle is mirrored and rotates counter-clock-wise in case of Fusion Accident. I just find it funny.

The Jupiter symbol (at least that’s what it apparently is) is replaced with the simplified Velvet Room logo from Persona 4 and 5. I guess it makes sense. The SPIRIT part of the pentagram carries the logo of the not quite material place where you sort your mind out.

Now for my least favorite part. The Hebrew text on Lévi’s pentagram reads “Adam”, “Eve”, “Atone”/”Forgive” and “Fear”/”Awe”. It got replaced with “Will”, “Bond” and “Hope”… in Enochian. I have no problem with Lévi’s pentagram having Persona’s own symbols in it, but addition of Enochian seems rather… muddling, I guess, even if Wikipedia claims that Enochian Magic is for summoning spirits. Also, I know that bonds, hopefulness and strength of will hold a large presence in Persona (in terms of mechanics, theme and/or narrative), but to put them on a magic circle like this seems… I can’t pick the words for it, but I don’t like it.

Caduceus, one of the symbols of opposite forces maintaining universal equilibrium, is replaced with the symbol from the back of Persona 3 and 4 Tarot cards. I’m pretty sure it’s a Persona original (possibly inspired by half-shadowed depictions of Greek comedy and tragedy masks). To me it seems to symbolize the two selves one needs to balance to be whole: the self shown to others, the mask we wear, and the self hidden from others, the face in the shadow of that mask. You need to be aware of both to be in personal equilibrium.

Now for the last removal. The letters Alpha and Omega are gone and I can find three potential reasons for it:

It was seen as symbol of God, so followed the fate of TETRAGRAMMATON.

It was seen as a symbol of duality, so followed the fate of caduceus.

It is a part of a very elaborate historical in-joke. Hermetic Order of Golden Dawn practiced Enochian Magic (they were in fact the ones to name the language Enochian, its creators just called it Angelic), but when the Order splintered, one guy in the faction Alpha et Omega tried to forbid Enochian Magic, finding it dangerously incomplete and damaging to the mind of practitioner (naming our old pal Crowley as the most telling example of that). The developers/writers could have decided that it’s only fair that if they add Enochian, they remove Alpha and Omega.

Now for the use of this symbol. As written in the aforementioned book’s volume I (“Dogma”), chapter 5:

The pentagram expresses the domination of the mind over the elements, and it is by this symbol that we enchain the demons of air, the spirits of fire, the specters of water, and the ghosts of the earth.

Armed with this symbol and properly prepared, you can see the infinite by using that faculty which is like the eye of your soul, and you will have the legions of angels and columns of demons serve you.

On surface level that’s all you need. Angels and demons serving you = using Personas. But the book often mentions astral light in which imprints of souls of the dead and reflections of spirits exist, and when you invoke them, those reflections and imprints are what you get. I could have missed it, but it doesn’t seem like Lévi bothered with giving a proper definition to astral light (and apparently claimed that he found it incommunicable), yet the mentions of it sound like something similar to Persona’s use of Collective Unconscious with archetypes and images of figures of myth, history and fiction residing in it. Now, obviously Caroline and Justine don’t do weeks-long rituals, described in the book, to give you new Personas, but the fact that they use film projectors (devices that emit light that bounces of the screen’s surface before we perceive it) for fusion might be a tongue-in-cheek reference to astral light with its reflections.

I know I’m probably reaching for connections where there aren’t any, but I’m an obsessive and biased fanboy. I feel obligated to do that.

P.S. The same book also gives us this take on Seal of Solomon:

Pretty sure we can thank/blame this one for QVOD SUPERIVS MACROPROSOPVS QVOD INFERIVS MICROPROSOPVS in the SMT1 Seal of Solomon.

P.P.S. Link to my original picture of magic circle from Persona 3 and 4, in case somebody is knowledgeable and eagle-eyed enough to definitively identify the symbol next to Mercury one.

______________________________________________________________

WELCOME TO EARCE

And it does make sense as a phonetic rendering of Japanese transliterated “earth” (アース, aasu) back into English. Honestly, that goof probably explains it all: someone on the team was assigned to design a proprietary version of the Levi pentagram and did their best. Occult flavor without any real significance. You know, the usual. You certainly thought about it more than whoever was responsible for this seal!

We use the suffix -rrhea to mean “flowing” (yes, as in diarrhea but also logorrhea for talkative types). Maybe sigilrrhea could be used to describe excessive modern misapplication of these magical symbols! And you are trying to identify the symbol that looks like the PlayStation triangle button?

I looked in my sigil dictionary and couldn’t find it. Doesn’t mean it’s not there, though–there are thousands to sift through. The book even has an index where you look them up by stroke count, just like kanji. Crazy correlation, but definitely valid. This symbol could just as easily be a counterfeit but it contains real, common elements like the circle and triangle. Onerous research for sure.

[just-an-angel-and-his-demon]

“Aziraphale I really don’t understand why you do this. You can just miracle these pastries into existence. Why do you insist on baking them?” Crowley said. Aziraphale could only smile.

“Because it is more fun this way,” Aziraphale said, pulling ingredients from their cupboard. He set them out on the counter and thought for a moment before turning back and grabbing more. He continued this process until every single thing that was sitting in their cupboard was now on their counter. Crowley sighed.

“Aziraphale, this is such a mess. Just miracle it up. It’s easier.” Aziraphale shook his head.

“It’s easier but less fun.” He said. “Now, Crowley, get out some bowls.” Crowley shook his head.

“I am not getting out any bloody bowls.” He snapped his fingers and miracled a cake. “Look how easy that was, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the cake caught fire.

“Oops,” Aziraphale said. He put the fire out and tossed the cake in the trash. “My bad.” Crowley sighed.

“Fine. Teach me how to bake.” Aziraphale clapped his hands and found the biggest bowl they owned.

“What do you want?” Aziraphale asked. “I can do cakes, macarons, cookies, breads-”

“Whatever you want to do, Aziraphale. I’m not going to eat them.” Aziraphale sighed.

“Crowley,” He pouted. “Stop sucking the fun out of it.”

“You sucked the fun out of it when you decided that you wanted to make a cake instead of ordering one or miracling it.” Aziraphale shook his head.

“Please Crowley. Do this just once time for me. If you don’t like it I’ll never make you do it again.” Crowley sighed. He couldn’t be mad at the angel when he spoke like that.

“Alright, fine,” Crowley said. “Teach me how to make cookies.” Aziraphale smiled, seeing as his little manipulation (it wasn’t a full temptation, he knew that would never work on Crowley) had worked.

“What kind?” Aziraphale asked.

“What kind does it-” Crowley caught himself being negative towards the activity and stopped himself. “Chocolate chip,” he said. He knew that Aziraphale was quite fond of that kind of cookie and just wanted to please him at that point. Aziraphale thought for a moment.

“It seems we don’t have enough chocolate chips for that,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley puppy dog eyes, hoping he would do the miracle himself rather than making Aziraphale do it. Crowley complied. Of course he would. This was, after all, for his angel. He didn’t want anything to do with the activity. Aziraphale smiled. “Alright, so the first thing you are going to want to do is set the stove. So that it warms up while we’re baking instead of us having to wait on it later.”

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Aziraphale led Crowley through the process of making cookies, forcing him to have an active role in the baking. Aziraphale loved watching Crowley struggle. There were a couple of times that Aziraphale had to perform a few miracles so that Crowley wouldn’t feel bad or anything because he made a stupid mistake (mistaking salt for sugar who does that? Crowley apparently). By the time the first batch of cookies was in the oven, it seemed that Crowley’s mask of hating the activity had melted.

He, in fact, asked Aziraphale to teach him other things to bake. The angel loved baking. It was a little known fact about him. No one really knew just how much he liked baking. Not even Crowley did. Knowing that Crowley was enjoying the activity too was warming his soul. Besides, with all the extra baked goods, it would give them an excuse to visit Anathema and Newton. They were always happy to take in all of Aziraphale’s extra pastries.

They spent much of the afternoon bent over various recipes for various pastries. Some were easy and required no miracles whatsoever to create. Especially now that Crowley was learning his way around the ingredients. Some required so many miracles to do that both Crowley and Aziraphale began to wonder how humans ever accomplished them without the help of miracles. Every other step in the process required some sort of miracle just to make sure the treats turned out properly. It was a miracle in and of itself that Crowley didn’t give up on those ones right then and there.

As soon as one thing was out of the oven, the next thing went in. Or, if the recipe called for it, the temperature was reset. They used a miracle or two to make the process a bit faster between temperature switches simply because Crowley was not a patient demon. Though, most demons didn’t have virtues, so it made sense.

Before they knew it, every surface that could have been covered with pastries was covered with pastries. Everything from cookies to cakes to breads and other desserts. By the time they’d put the last batch of cookies in and miracled everything to be cleaned up, it was nearly five in the morning. As they were supernatural beings, they didn’t need sleep, so this didn’t bother them so much.

What bothered them was the fact that they had more stuff to give away than they had friends to give them away to. And in today’s day and age, you couldn’t just go up to anyone on the street and start passing out baked goods. That just wasn’t done. People would be afraid of drugs or something. But Aziraphale couldn’t very well let it all go to waste. He didn’t know what to do with it though. He very well couldn’t eat it all. Even the extras once their friends would have picked over it.

“What if we hosted a party?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley shook his head.

“What kind of party would we be able to host that would get rid of all this?” Aziraphale shrugged.

“A party?” Crowley sighed.

“Besides, who would we invite that we wouldn’t just give this stuff to anyway?” Aziraphale sighed.

“You’re right,” He said. “But we very well can’t keep all of this.” Aziraphale smiled. “Oh! How about your demon friends? Would they like any of this?”

“You did not just say that.”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, genuinely unaware of what he might have done wrong.

“What am I going to do? Call up ole Beelzebub and be like ‘yo Lord. Me and Aziraphale have spent the day baking and were wondering if you’d like some. Sorry for not dying in my holy water bath by the way.’ Seriously. Do you think that lot would take anything from us after that whole thing?” Aziraphale sighed.

“No I suppose not.” He thought for a moment. “How about a bake sale. We could send the money off to some charity or-”

“That’s not a terrible idea,” Crowley said. “Or maybe we don’t even give the money to charity. You could always use more books,” Crowley said.

“Well I-”

“And you’re always speaking of that leaky roof that you refuse to miracle away. With bake sale money you could hire a human to fix that for you.”

“I suppose that keeping some of the money to ourselves wouldn’t hurt . . . “

“It’s settled then!” Crowley said. “Bake sale it is. Let’s get this all packaged up and get ready for the show tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Why there’s too much to do before tomorrow!” Crowley shook his head.

“Nonsense,” he replied. Everyone in London already knows about it and we already have all of the legal documents to prove that it is quite alright.” Crowley held up a pile of documents that did, in fact, clear their names to sell their baked goods. “All we have to do is get everything packaged up and ready for tomorrow.”

“What about-”

“Anathema, Newton, Madame Tracy, and Shadwell?” Crowley asked. “Well they’re going to come here and take their pick before we open our doors bright and early tomorrow morning. What do you say angel?” Aziraphale smiled. It seemed that Crowley had already gotten everything taken care of.

***

That afternoon, none of their human friends could believe all of the desserts and breads they had to pick from. Anathema had expected only a little bit of a surplus. She hadn’t been expecting every surface to be covered.

“What is all of this?” Anathema couldn’t help but ask in her shock.

“I made Crowley learn how to bake and turns out he loves it more than I do,” Aziraphale beamed. “So you’re taking whatever you want and we are selling the rest of it.”

“How did you even have-”

“Miracles.” Crowley said. “Lots and lots of miracles.” Newton shook his head.

“You two really are gay, aren’t you?” Aziraphale was the one to reply.

“In human terms, I suppose you could say that,” Aziraphale said. “Though techincally speaking neither one of us have a gender, and you are basing that statement off of stereotypes that the gay community doesn’t particularly like because it can be harmful.” Aziraphale shrugged. “But yes. We baked. We baked a lot. And it is probably going to become a normal thing with how much Crowley enjoyed it.” Crowley nodded.

“This is crazy you guys,” Anathema said. “There is no way you are going to get rid of all of this with one sale.” Aziraphale shrugged.

“Maybe not,” Aziraphale replied. “But at least it will get our numbers down significantly. Hopefully we’ll get enough money to fix that pesky leak.”

“Don’t you guys have magic or something,” Newton asked. “Why can’t you just magic the leak fixed?” Crowley shook his head.

“You tell me,” Crowley replied. “I’ve tried using logic to talk to him about it but he won’t have any of it.” Anathema and Newton finished picking through the desserts, of course stooping to try all of them that they could, but taking with them at least one package of each baked good that they’d made. Once that was all said and done, Aziraphale made cocoa to share, though Anathema and Newton insisted that they’d already gotten cavities by just looking at the pile of sweets that Aziraphale and Crowley had left.

Shadwell had tried to insist that they’d stolen the goods and were now trying to drug them, but Madame Tracy shut him down and took even more than Anathema and Newton did, all the while Shadwell was muttering about “that southern pansey” and how he could exorcize him off the face of the Earth if he wanted to, just by pointing at him. He had, after all, managed to do it before. He didn’t trust the business that the lot of them had running, but he decided against shooing Mr. Fell of the face of the Earth. Not out of the kindness of his heart but because he knew that Mr. Crowley would never be able to get rid of all of this stuff on his own.

***

Aziraphale set out a little table in front of his bookshop. Well, he set out multiple little tables. He’d been grateful that Anathema and Newton had offered to help them with the sales so that he himself could be more focused on book sales (or rather making sure no one was too tempted by any of them) and Crowley didn’t have to be in charge of everything. Aziraphale loved Crowley to bits, but he couldn’t even be trusted to make sure the Antichrist was in the right place. So why wouldn’t he mess this little thing up too? Getting the Antichrist in place was even less complicated than having to deal with sales and everything.

Most people, as Aziraphale had hoped, had stayed out of the bookshop. Aziraphale never had really enjoyed it when people came into his collection. He only called it a bookshop to keep up appearances. He really didn’t like selling the books. He liked dealing with the people who would fight him for the books even less. The nerve some humans had was remarkable.

Every once in a while, Aziraphale would go outside to check on things and make sure everyone was stocked up on all of their treats. They’d been able to get quite a lot on those tables, but not nearly everything. He would take the money in and switch it out as needed (switching the smallest bills and change for bigger bills if they needed that, taking the bigger bills out so they didn’t get robbed).

The overall feel for the day seemed to be that the people loved their pastries. Of course, neither Aziraphale or Crowley had been surprised by this because of the fact that they’d used so much magic to make it happen. Magic tended to do things to food to make it better, even when that wasn’t asked of it. However, when they were asked about any secret ingredients, Crowley insisted that they had just used more butter or vanilla or sugar (depending on what it was) in the recipe to make it good. A number of people informed Crowley that he should open up a bakery because he would be phenomenal at it.

Crowley knew this to be true. He could be good at anything he wanted to be, he was a demon after all. A demon who was, in human terms, dating an angel. The two of them together meant that they would be unstoppable in anything that they decided to do together. However, he knew that in order for him to open up a bakery with the angel, he would have to ask Aziraphale to close the shop. Even the best humans wouldn’t be able to handle running two businesses at once. The angel might have been able to handle it, especially with how few sales the bookshop ended up getting, but he knew that they had to keep up appearances. Especially with how well known the names of Crowley and Fell were in the area.

He could, of course, always go at it alone. But he didn’t want to do that either. The main reason he even liked baking to begin with was because he loved doing it with Aziraphale. If he were to open up his own place without Aziraphale, he would get stuck with all of the work of owning a business without any of the fun as to why he would have opened it in the first place.

As a compromise to the community, the A. Z. Fell and Co. bookshop hosted a city wide bake sale once per month, weather permitting. This gave Crowley all of what he would have wanted in a bakery with none of the stress.

Besides, he quite liked not having a full time job.

[mostweakhamlets]

Good omens prompt, as requested: Aziraphale being sad because the other angels are Back On Their Bullshit, Crowley being a protective mother hen

omg idk what happened i tried making it angsty then i thought about how dorky crowley is and then it kinda turned funny

Below left Aziraphale and Crowley alone for a lot longer than Above did. 

Aziraphale had thought they were safe. After their stunt with the holy water and Hell fire, he thought they would be considered off limits. They had started their new lives together as university students living away from their strict parents for the first time would. They drank wine, dined out, took walks in places other than St. James park, danced, laughed, and found a reckless adventure every so often. 

They were happy. For the first time in 6,000 years they were truly happy. 

There was a cottage in South Downs they had their eyes on. Aziraphale was approaching Anathema to take over the A.Z Fell & Co., training her to find authentic books and repairing them. They were going to embrace “retirement” as humans called it. 

Everything was going well. 

Until Gabriel showed up in Soho. 

“I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me here,” he said, holding up his hands as he walked into the bookshop. “I just have a message.”

Aziraphale stayed behind his counter. “From who?” 

He tried remaining impassive. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. The days of being intimidated by the archangels were long gone. 

“All of us,” Gabriel said. “Turns out having a rogue angel on Earth is less than desirable for Heaven. Who would have known?”

Aziraphale clenched his jaw at the sarcasm. “And what does… She think about it?”

“She’s been AWOL. Needless to say, between Her and you, things haven’t been running so smoothly.”

“Oh, what a pity,” Aziraphale tutted. “What is it you’re having trouble with? Colluding with Hell to kill your own without Her permission?”

Despite having cut ties with Heaven, Aziraphale was still on the mailing list (annoyingly). There had been memos that God wasn’t pleased when she found out about the Hell fire incidence. No one knew if she knew about the holy water in Hell, but Aziraphale could only imagine how Michael was reprimanded. 

“You have a lot of nerve talking about colluding with demons.” Gabriel’s voice was rising. “If you and your demon hadn’t made a mess of things with the apocalypse, none of that would have happened and we wouldn’t be in a mess now. So, shut up and let me finish.”

                                                                ~

Crowley was taking his time getting ready. He didn’t like mornings, unlike Aziraphale who never slept so never knew the torture of waking up. 

They had a routine. Crowley would wake up at a reasonable time and wrap his arms around Aziraphale, who had been sitting up reading all night. Aziraphale would play with his hair until he commented on how late it was getting and how they should really start the day. Crowley would tighten his hold, and Aziraphale would give him five more minutes. Once Aziraphale untangled himself from the bedsheets and lanky limbs, Crowley would pout for another five minutes before finally getting up, dressing, and meeting his angel in the bookshop.

He liked their routine. So, when anything or anyone disrupted it, he felt he had the right to be angry. 

He had heard yelling. 

“So, shut up and let me finish.”

It sounded dangerously close to “so, shut up and die already” and was definitely coming from the same person. 

Crowley was dizzy with anger. 

He ran through the apartment and down the stairs. 

“Gabriel, I’m not going back--”

“You’re a pretty pathetic angel, you know that? You barely do what you’re told for millenia, you interfere with the Great Plan so that you can keep shacking up with your demon, and now you’re refusing to follow our judicial process? We’re trying to throw you a life line. Another trial, and you’re in everyone’s good graces again.”

“But I won’t really be in anyone’s good graces again, will I?”

“Of course not! It’ll just be on paperwork. Do you know how many people up there never want to see you again? You’ve made everyone miserable--”

“Hey!”

Crowley nearly tripped over a book as he ran to Aziraphale’s side, but he recovered. Gabriel rolled his eyes. 

“Great, it’s here, too.”

Aziraphale glared. 

“Whatever you’re trying to get Aziraphale to do,” Crowley began, but paused when he realized he didn’t know where he was going with his sentence. “Just stop it.” 

He bared his teeth, hoping that made up for his weak threat. 

It didn’t. 

Gabriel looked as if he were going to say something to him, but then shook his head and turned back to Aziraphale. 

“This isn’t something you can say no to,” he said. 

“And yet here I am, saying no,” Aziraphale said. 

“It’s a real miracle you haven’t fallen yet. You should have been sent down centuries ago.” Gabriel glanced at Crowley. “Maybe it would have been more to your taste and then you wouldn’t have wasted all our time.”

“Get out.”

“If you don’t show up for this trial soon, I’ll be back and I won’t be so kind.”

“Get out!”

Suddenly, a serpent was pulling itself up to hiss in Gabriel’s face. 

Gabriel stumbled back. The serpent followed from the floor, wrapping itself around Gabriel’s shoes and feigning a few jabs up at him.  

“I’ll be back,” Gabriel said, grabbing the door handle and trying not to fall over the snake. 

There was another hiss. Gabriel almost lost his hand before he escaped through the door. 

The shop was quiet.

Aziraphale sighed shakily and ran his hands through his hair. Crowley walked back to his side. 

“Are you alright, angel?”

His eyes were filling with tears. “No. I’m not.”

Crowley took him in his arms and peppered the top of his head with kisses. 

“This isn’t ever going to end is it?” Aziraphale sniffled. 

Crowley tightened his hold. 

“It will eventually,” he said. “And until then we’ll keep driving archangels out of here. We’ll do it for as long as we need to. I’ll do whatever to keep you safe. You don’t have to stand up to them alone anymore.”

“Yes, but you’re hardly intimidating unless you’re a snake.”

Crowley pulled back to look at his angel. He knew that, but Aziraphale didn’t need to say it.

“And,” Aziraphale went on, wiping at his wet cheeks. “What if someone were around to see what just happened? It’d be a nightmare with animal control. I’d have to get a muzzle for you.”

“I know you’re trying to use humor to cope, but I’m going to say right now that if you ever get a muzzle for me when I’m a serpent, I will tear up your favorite books as a person. I am not above eating them.” Crowley scoffed. “A muzzle. That’s humiliating.”

Aziraphale laughed. It was genuine, though it ended in more sniffling. Crowley smiled. 

“There we go,” he said, kissing Aziraphale on the forehead. “That’s better.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m being silly. It’s just overwhelming at this point.”

“You���re not being silly. You’ve been through a lot because of those guys. They literally tried killing you.” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath, collecting himself. Crowley miracled a handkerchief and wiped away the tears. 

“Should we close early for the day?” They had only been open for an hour. “We can go back to bed for a while and order in for lunch. After that, we can do whatever you want.”

“That sounds wonderful, my dear.” 

Crowley lead him upstairs. They miracled back into their pajamas and curled up together in their usual positions. Crowley laid against Aziraphale’s chest, and Aziraphale pressed his nose into Crowley’s hair. They held each other tight, savoring the silence for a few minutes. 

“Do they even make muzzles for snakes?” Crowley grimaced. 

“Oh, there’s little tricks for makeshift ones for short-term use. There’s plenty of resources on the internet.”

“Why do you know that?” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes. Crowley propped himself up on his elbow. 

“Angel, why are you researching how to make snake muzzles. Angel, answer me I know you’re not asleep. Angel!”

[erideights]

Everything that we never get to say.

Request by @lady-of-black-roses : Our best angel x reader, the moment they met, their relationship through the years and a kiss in the end.

Pairing: Aziraphale x Fem!Reader (Good Omens)

Word Count: 2066.

Warnings: SO MUCH ANGST. Death. War.

A/N: I'm totally fucking sure this isn't what you was thinking this would be, but you wanted angst and I had this horrible idea and... I'm so sorry.

''—and then I said ‘Pardon me, what!? No way.’ My Bentley! Buy MY Bentley! Can you believe it?"

Aziraphale's gaze was lost in the distance through the transparent and clear glass of the window of the back room of his shop, where his most precious books were safely kept in his old desk.

He heard Crowley's voice, but he didn’t listen to him, so when the silence fell, almost like a cue to give his opinion, he just hummed.

It was raining, and the drops of water that slid down the impeccable surface before him were reflected in his eyes, eyes that for the first time in oh, so many years, mirrored a regret, sadness and longing the demon would never have believed possible in the angel.

But he was watching his back, so, in any case, he didn’t witness such an atrocious image.

"—angel, angel! You're listening? Where the fuck are you? Get down from the clouds."

But again, the blonde platinum angel didn’t answer, just sighed deeply and allowed his whole body to rock to the rhythm of that breath.

Only the red-haired demon's hand on his shoulder, who had been forced to leave his comfortable seat in search of his friend's attention, was able to tear our Aziraphale from his daydream.

"Hey, you okay?" Crowley asked when through the eyes of the angel crossed confusion and bewilderment. Question to which, quickly but worse pretended than he would have expected, Aziraphale replied:

"Of course, of course I am! I was just trying to imagine a world in which you existed without the car. But it has been in vain, certainly. I can not visualize you without it."

But it was evident that he was lying, and Crowley knew it.

The sad story our beloved angel was reviving begins a few years before the outbreak of the Second World War.

We are in London, on a lost street in a neighborhood not very rich but not poor either, where sad gray buildings stood to the sky and people walked down the street as if life had been taken from them.

The atmosphere was tense, there was no doubt about it, with the war about to explode at any moment, to allow oneself to be happy and to wear a smile was complicated to see.

But even so, there were always those special individuals, unique in their kind, who with only a slight upward curve of their lips, seemed to radiate their own light and bathe in it all who came and wanted some of its warmth.

She was just like that.

Y/N, a young librarian who worked day and night in the most lost and desolate of libraries in all London, but for some reason, was always surrounded by children hungry for her charisma, her love and, above all, her stories.

The first time he saw her, Aziraphale was desperately searching for a book of prophecies that, people told, had been discovered a few years ago in an attic of an abandoned building by the area, and like most books lost and/or without owner with real value for the state, it ended up in the town hall or in the closest library to his find.

That same day he crossed two large wooden doors, worn, scruffy by time but cozy in its tender, eccentric and strange way. And there she was, hair tied in a bun that after so many hours of work was practically undone, smile in a mouth full of white pearls for teeth and eyes that could make the most insensitive of men fall in love with her.

She chatted animatedly with a group of what Aziraphale considered mothers, their children not many meters away, huddled around a round table like knights in shining armors, reading similar books that they would later exchange and use to create a story to be able to play in the park.

The angel Aziraphale would swear he had never experienced what love was, but the moment their eyes met, the common description of that emotion was the closest thing he could feel in his more than 5,000 years of life.

She was Heaven in Earth.

But as it was habit for him, those feelings that seemed to surface in his skin were completely ignored, buried at the end of a dark chamber that until a few years later he wouldn’t have the audacity to open.

Not until it was too late.

With an affable smile and his hands, nervously playing with the end of his cinnamon-colored vest, the thousand-years-old angel made his way to the counter of the small, old but cozy library, interrupting —without wanting to— the conversation between his charming and mysterious unknown woman and the mothers of the neighborhood, who soon began chatting between them several meters away.

"Good Morning!" she chirped happily, as charming as he had imagined her. He found himself sighing and drawing the most beautiful of his smiles just for her. "How can I help you?"

Over a few years, their relationship developed between —not so— random fortuitous meetings in the library, all caused by Aziraphale under the pretext and the excuse of enjoying the calm that reigned there —he assured that, in other libraries, ‘’the tumult came to overwhelm him’’— and other approaches not left to chance itself, but by the initiative that the young Y/N showed in order to spend more time with him.

She would be lying if she said that after some time she hadn’t fallen in love with those eyes that seemed to hold all the love in the world, that tender and adorable giggle that rang in his throat when he was nervous or how he seemed to treat her as if she were the most precious thing in the universe.

His heart, his lovely personality, his empathy and how extremely intelligent he was also helped to shape those feelings that often reduced her sleep hours and kept the girl away from reality and in a constant daydream.

Oh, c'est l'amour.

But no matter how hard she tried, how many hints she dropped or how much effort she put into it; her feelings for Aziraphale didn’t seem to be reciprocated.

And that was good! She was satisfied, —or so she wanted to think—, with the shelter of his friendship with the angel.

That was enough.

But the war came to London, and one is unable to appreciate and understand the treasure that is the calm of a simple life until something like this explodes in front of you and plunges you into the flames of despair.

Chaos, destruction and crying soon seized the streets of the largest city in England.

The families were divided, the great national treasures were lost among the most atrocious fires, innocents died, and among the ashes, one couldn’t even find consolation in mourning those who lost, because in reality, there were no bodies left to mourn.

Events like this didn’t harm or disturb in the least celestial beings free of all guilt and exempt to die, anyone could think, but from the corner of one of the most lost streets in the whole city, where a small and cozy library used to be, an angel began to cry.

Aziraphale found rubble where walls and shelves once stood up to join the roof and collect all the knowledge that such a place could hold; ashes where thousands of books used to rest, waiting for someone to read again what they had to teach; a huge void in the counter from where, he then knew, the love of his life used to smile at the sight of him arriving.

A sharp thud on the ground, —a huge leather bag full of books of ancient prophecies— signaled the exact second when Aziraphale, in shock, began to walk and enter the chaos he once considered a home.

His lips trembled as did his hands and practically the rest of his body.

No, he didn’t even want to think that...

''Y/N?'' He asked in just a broken whisper, unable to raise his voice, unable to verify whether or not she had been a victim of that disaster.

Please, God, do not let her be a victim of this disaster, he thought.

'’Y/N? '' He tried again, this time louder, so the pain in his voice was so obvious that anyone who could get to hear him would know, in effect, that the soft angel was crying.

The bomb couldn’t have fallen more than a couple of hours ago. He knew it because he was there, with her, begging her to hide and search for refuge before what he thought would be a furtive meeting to hunt the enemy.

Please, God, I hope that she has listened to me, he prayed again.

But soon he would find out that God didn’t have mercy for anything and anyone. That no matter how much Aziraphale prayed, he had no greater power over the grand plan.

Because it was ineffable, right? Everything had to happen for a reason in order to achieve a specific goal.

But why, of all the millions of people that existed on the planet, of all those who perhaps deserved it, his blue eyes, sad, crystalline with tears, had to rest on the unconscious body of the woman he loved?

''No, no, no, please, no.'' He muttered in a choked way and so quickly that he couldn’t even understand himself, rushing to reach the body and hold it in his arms while his corduroy pants were destroyed by the ashes on the ground.

''Y/N...'' he begged, caressing her face, brushing the strands of hair that had clung to her sweet features from the sweat of her skin

She was breathing, but not for too long.

Her heart was beating, but his heartbeat was numbered and the clock was only moving forward in time.

''It's okay.'' she suddenly murmured, her voice no more than a barely audible whisper between her forced breathing and the silent crying of the blond angel.

She couldn’t open her eyes, her body didn’t have the strength to do it, but she could recognize that warmth anywhere; after all, she was in love with him, right?

''It's okay.'' she repeated, knowing that from her first two words, Aziraphale's eyes had been fixed on her face and that he was probably afraid to blink and that when he opened them again, she would no longer be with him.

‘’I’m sorr—’’

‘’I love you, Aziraphale.’’

His breath stopped, he was frozen in place, unable to look away from the lips that, after her confession, had drawn a tired smile.

She should tell him, right? She couldn’t leave without telling him at least once.

''I'm sorry I took so long to tell you.''

Prey of his own panic and everything that perhaps he wanted to say choked at the beginning of his throat, the only way out that Aziraphale found to give free rein to the feelings that for years he repressed in his little Pandora's box was to kiss that smile that so many times it had stolen his breath.

And he did.

Then a blink.

He, again, had allowed himself to be carried back to that memory of more than 70 years ago.

His hands caressed, distracted, the green cover of an old book that Crowley had never seen before and that he, at that moment, peeked curiously from the shoulder of the angel, wanting to ask for it but knowing, inside his chest and for some unknown reason, that he shouldn’t.

If he had, Aziraphale would have replied that it was simply a gift from an old friend.

Actually, it was the first gift he received throughout his long life.

''Do not tell anyone, but I stole this book from some archives of the Senate House Library when I was a child and I have always kept it as a treasure.

It has not prophecies, or stories of religious interest, but I think the love story it contains could make you smile on a dark and rainy April afternoon.

With all my love for my guardian angel,

Y/N.''

[nancywheelxr]

Ok OK now I am ready. This isn’t very specific but if you could find a way for Crowley to have his wings be injured and Zira help him, that would be rad!! (Haha) Maybe you could do a double whump and he gets ill (idk how i already did a holy object prompt but it will be different I’m sure!) and that’s how he hurts his wings. His wings are just so pretty!! So we must DESTROY THEM... right??

Okay, oh my god, I already had a prompt exactly like this about Crowley’s wings so I’m answering them both here, but the illness bit didn’t really work in this story so like, if you want, you can send me another prompt later!

And @umbrella-babies​ here it is!

*

The day had begun perfectly sensible, not too bright and not too dim, just the exact thing you expect from your English summer; a sure sign Adam has got the hang of this Antichrist thing.

Which is why, perhaps, Aziraphale should have known it could only go downhill from there. It’s just how these things go. But alas, he did not and therefore did not pick up on the vague sense of impending doom that loomed by the door when the knocking began.

“Oh, Crowley,” he gasps once the demon comes into view in the sidewalk outside. He’s soaking wet from head to toe, hair plastered to his forehead, and his wings– oh, his wings! They’re torn in some places, a few primaries hanging loose, and his left wing is definitely bent awkwardly. “What have you done?”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Crowley scowls, wiping pitifully the cracked lenses of his glasses. “Didn’t even mean to come here, was trying for my flat, really, but it’s impossible to see in these blasted things,” he takes off his sunglasses angrily, but still tucks them safely in the inside pocket of his ruined jacket.

Well, that explains nothing.

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale begins carefully, sensing Crowley is in a spiky mood and could very well stomp away, bloody wings and all, but finds he doesn’t quite know what to say and trails off awkwardly.

Mercifully, Crowley beats him to it. “Although now that I’m here,” he looks down at himself, turning his nose at the sight, and glances back at Aziraphale, yellow eyes almost bashful. “Would you mind, erm,” he gestures vaguely at his dripping clothes.

“Oh, oh, of course,” Aziraphale hurries out. Truth be told, he had been itching to take a closer look at the damage, see if he can soothe the inevitable pain there, and receiving permission to fuss comes as a blessed relief.

First, he miracles the water away, drying up Crowley in the afternoon sun before the demon caught a cold. Then, he prepares himself to assess the wings, grimacing already at the poor estate they’re in.

“Do come in, dear,” he ushers Crowley in now that he isn’t dripping wet anymore and is no longer a threat to his books, but the demon digs in his heels, spluttering adamant noises about not needing to be coddled.

Absolutely nonsense if you ask Aziraphale.

“If you’re quite done,” he sniffs after Crowley finished talking himself into circles, “the tea is getting cold.”

Crowley huffs.

“Fine. Have it your way, angel,” he glares, then adds haughtily, “but I reserve the right to complain the whole time.”

*

They end up settling on Crowley staying in the small room upstairs since Aziraphale hardly ever indulges in sleeping anyway.

And if it should have been dusty and moldy after not being used in several decades, well, it had never occurred to either of them that that should be the case, so the room had the good sense of adjusting itself.

Crowley’s wings were in quite a state, too, but it shouldn’t take too long to heal, about a week or so if he doesn’t move them much, Aziraphale would say.

While Crowley halfheartedly suggests miracling them better, they both know this kind of things are best left to their own devices, nothing good comes of rushing the ethereal– or, erm, the occult, in this case1.

So now, Aziraphale does his best to clean up the mud and torn feathers, and set the bone right, Crowley standing stock still under his hand and shivering every minute or so.

It must be a bit cold without a shirt on, the shop is a bit drafty, he has to admit.

*

“Crowley,” he says the next day while watching the telly he had set up on the counter of his shop to remind his customers they’d be better off leaving the books be.

“Yes, angel?” comes the silky reply from the backroom.

“The news is reporting a rather interesting story,” he says mildly, “it seems a gentleman was caught wrestling the ducks at St. James yesterday.”

Silence reigns for a minute.

Then, “humans lie, you shouldn’t believe everything you see on TV, you know.”

“Oh, do they now,” Aziraphale smiles amusedly. He can just see the pout Crowley is undoubtedly sporting right now. Still, “but the ducks, really?”

A pause.

“Yes, well, maybe the ducks were being bloody bastards.”

“Of course, dear, I’m sure the ducks had it coming,” he laughs quietly, turning up the volume just a notch, just to be sure it’s heard in the backroom.

*

The strange thing out of all this isn’t having Crowley over but how normal it feels to have Crowley over. It’s alarmingly easy to accommodate him into Aziraphale’s routine and the sight of the demon lounging in sunlit places of the shop is alarmingly endearing. He rather looks like a cat, stretched on the loveseat or curled up in corners, and Aziraphale feels something warm perking up inside his chest every time he catches sight of him.

It’s also quite easy to bid him good night after late night drinks and watch him bound upstairs, a bit unsteadily and giggling all the way, and it’s even easier to huff a laughter at his mussed hair in the morning.

It’s considerably less easy not to follow him up to the bedroom, but Aziraphale is very good at not thinking about things like this. And it’s not as if they’re new, anyway.

That being said, this doesn’t mean Crowley isn’t making good on his word– while he’s not doing anything so obvious as complaining, he’s set on making Aziraphale kick him out.

He whines about the tea and he whines about the coffee, and he whines about having to walk all the way back to the park to pick up the Bentley he left behind2.

But most of all, Aziraphale is dead sure that Crowley is attracting people into the bookshop.

Ever since the demon had taken up residence upstairs, at least three or two people can be found in the shop every hour or so. It’s the most customers it’s seen on the regular ever since being opened and before the invention of ebooks, and it’s understandably very confused and upset. Aziraphale is climbing up the walls to shoo them all out and discouraging them from purchasing anything of true value3.

It makes no harm, but it’s driving Aziraphale mad.

Enough is enough, he thinks, as he steels himself to confront Crowley in the backroom. It should not make him this nervous, it’s just Crowley after all, but Aziraphale has never been terribly good at saying no to the demon. It’s almost impossible, in fact, what with those wide golden eyes staring up at you. Impossible, he swears.

“Crowley,” he says, firmly, and pats himself in the back for his assertiveness, “you must stop this nonsense at once.”

The bell rings at the front.

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about, angel,” Crowley drawls. On his lap, today’s paper is open in the crosswords, halfway done.

“Hello?” a voice calls from the front.

“That is what I’m talking about,” Aziraphale huffs, gesturing the door separating them from the irritating customer in the other room. He gives him a pointed look. “You know very well what you’re doing. It won’t work, anyhow, so there’s no need to keep on with it.”

“Still haven’t the foggiest, sorry.”

“Hullo? Anyone here?”

“It sounds like you got a customer, angel,” Crowley smirks and his amusement is visible even through the sunglasses. It’s written all over him, really. “You should see to that, it won’t do to lose business now, not in this economy.”

“Are you serious– oh for the love of–,” he bustles to the front of the shop, zeroing on the lady by the counter and shooing her right off. “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but we’re closed right now. You’ll have to come back at some other time, or not, that’s up to you, but I must insist that you leave.”

The lady seems quite annoyed at that and not very likely to come back at all, and Aziraphale flips the sign in the front to make it extremely clear they will not be opening today. The door locks, a deadbolt that had not been there before sliding shut.

“There,” he says once he’s back, crossing his arms over his chest to indicate he’s not, he’s not… playing around. “That’s taken care of. I understand it must be quite boring to stay here all this time, but is this really necessary, dear boy?”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “If you’re implying I’m somehow using a miracle or two to tempt people into coming in,” he leans forward on his seat, lips curling into a sharp grin, “then I’d have to say it would be impossible. I am, after all, terribly injured. Unless, of course, you were to agree that twisting a wing or two the wrong way is not so serious as you make it to be.”

Aziraphale narrows his eyes. “That’s all right,” he smiles serenely, “if you say so. But since your corporation is in fine shape, you’ll have no problem in showing the next customers around the shop, then.”

“Now, wait a second there, Aziraphale–”

The influx of customers dwindles drastically after that.

*

“After all,” Aziraphale says by the end of the week, after checking over the now nearly healed injuries on Crowley’s wings. The feathers are soft to the touch again and the bone seems to be well on its way to fully healed. A small part of him, the one he takes great care not to notice too much, already grieves the loss of not having the demon around as much. “What were you doing in the park?”

Crowley ducks his head, buttoning his shirt back on with not so steady fingers, and pointedly not looks at him. “It’s none of your business,” he sighs, “but if you must know, I was meeting an antique’s dealer.”

“An antique’s dealer,” Aziraphale repeats disbelieving. A bottle of a very good red wine appears in his liquor cabinet and he pours them both healthy doses. “You’re thinking of acquiring any more priceless pieces of art?”

He’s thinking of the Mona Lisa sketch in Crowley’s apartment, yes. Crowley gives him a look through his sunglasses the says oh, get off it, enough about the Da Vinci. Aziraphale sips his wine and pretends he didn’t see it. “No, not exactly,” Crowley continues, primly reaching for his suit jacket and bringing out a black box that should not have fit there from the breast pocket. “I was buying this old thing off his hands.”

Curious despite himself, Aziraphale makes for the box, hesitating until Crowley nods his permission. Then, he opens it carefully, half afraid of what might be inside, Heaven knows what could have moved Crowley into sniffing around the antiques black market after all.

A pocket watch.

The answer is a golden, shiny pocket watch that Aziraphale knows will have his name engraved in the back and whose seconds hand always runs just a bit too fast.

He knows this because it’s the pocket watch he lost somewhere in Switzerland around the late 19th century. He had mourned its loss all throughout the 20th century and certainly moaned about it to the demon many times.

“Is this,” he murmurs, gently pulling it out of the box, lets the chain pool on his open hand. “Oh, Crowley.”

“Don’t say anything,” Crowley warns, glumly retreating as far in the couch as possible, as if distancing himself from it. “It’s only so you’ll stop whining about it. It was starting to get on my nerves, is all.”

“Of course it is, my dear,” Aziraphale says with a knowing smile. It won’t do to push Crowley on this, they’ve played this tune a few times over the year and it always sounds best when he lets the demon keep up the selfish appearances. Still, he knows the tenderness, the gratitude, and all this warm, light love must be glowing through his eyes. “Is this what you were wrestling with the ducks for?”

“Yes, the bastards nicked it from my hand when I was distracted,” he scowls again, shoulders easing a little and tension seeping from his edges. “Figured it wouldn’t take much to get it back, but turns out they’re bloodthirsty gits. Below should consider replacing a few hellhounds with them, I’ll say.”

Aziraphale hums distractedly in agreement. Crowley can talk all he wants, go into another one of his rants, and think he’s fooling everyone but the watch doesn’t lie. It’s like back in Tadfield, something is loved enough and it leaves footprints behind. This is no different, it stayed this whole week and a half with Crowley and some of his feelings towards it have bled into the metal.

And Aziraphale knows for a fact Crowley doesn’t care for watches of any kind, much less something so outdated.

He smiles.

“Thank you, Crowley,” he interrupts him mid-rant, watches his eyes go round behind the glasses and his face turn a shade redder. Crowley falls silent, softens.

“Don’t mention it, angel,” Crowley shrugs carelessly, voice is anything but. His wings flutter in the ethereal plane and the air where they would be shimmers. Thank you, he means.

Aziraphale sets the box down in the desk and hooks the watch into his vest. The sunlight reflects off the gold and warms the room. He pours them more wine and it tastes even sweeter with the I love you too floating between them4.

*

1. See, around the fifth century Aziraphale got his own wings in a spot. It was a case of bad landing, really, a silly mistake, but it twisted his right wing wrong at the tips and the bone cracked a bit. Nothing to worry over, and since he had been in a rush, Aziraphale had healed it on the spot.

Never was the same, that one. Always itches when it rains.

2. That had been an interesting conversation and Aziraphale had been amused by it, on and off, for days. Why didn’t you drive it here? he had asked that first night while pouring them both some wine. Crowley had made an affronted noise, soaking wet? It would’ve ruined the leather! the demon had huffed. Why didn’t you dry yourself up, then? And that had been met with an awkwardly guilty silence. Crowley had not thought of that at the time and left the Bentley alone in the park. 

The papers next day had reported love of my life by the English band Queen could be heard playing all night long near St. James Park. 

3. Not that any of them buy anything. They seem to come in very intent on buying rare and early editions of all sorts of books, but they all end up losing interest after a good fifteen minutes. Aziraphale hasn’t sold a copy in the whole week, except for a guide to London to a very lost tourist looking for the Eiffel Tower.

4. As it turns out, the wine is at it’s sweetest when tasted in Crowley’s tongue, but Aziraphale won’t find this until a few days later when Crowley’s wings heal and he shows no intention of moving back out.