#Heavenly Tartan

[catastrfy]

confirmation from peter anderson studio that the tartan behind aziraphale and crowley when they're perched on a soho rooftop is aziraphale's tartan! only took me til this past week for my brain to suddenly go "wait a minute...."

[wanyinchen]

uh oh you hurt his demon, whoospies

He may be a big softie but DO NOT push his buttons.

Hello everyone! I'm "new" to the fandom :D (LIES i have been lurking for the last two years before summoning the courage to draw for it, yes, i am like that, unfortunately)

[vivenecii]

It's all I drew in the last two weeks. Who could've guess I'll be this busy when uni starts. (It's me, I should've guess, and yet every year it surprises me anew)

And now let me disappear again for another indefinite period of time to study all the irrelevant informations I most definitely do not need for my degree

[drconstellation]

No, that's not the Heaven's Dress tartan, that's the colour scheme for the tartan that Aziraphale gives to Jimbriel on the blanket. Its different. Its Jimbriel's Second Coming tartan, so its all about Gabriel there.

The green on the outside of the pub is for the resurrection and the yellow inside...yes, its the same yellow as inside the bookshop!

I started work on re-writing the colours but put it down again and haven't got back to it. Unfortunately yellow is a complicated colour, so I want to explain it properly in due course.

Angelic Bar Keeper. Why is the bar keep in The Resurrectionist is wearing the tartan pattern reserved for Angels?

[enthusiasteditor]

They are more interested in getting the look exactly right, rather than being vain.

BBC: Did you work very closely with Michael and David?

Claire Anderson (Costume Designer): Yes. They were both involved in creating their looks. When you put something very distinctive on them, that helps them find the character. They are more interested in getting the look exactly right, rather than being vain. We had mood boards - light for good, dark for evil. Michael’s costume is ethereal. He wanted something timeless that wouldn’t look out of place now or in Victorian England. He found a way of contemporising his Victorian look. We were able to use aspects of his costume all the way through.

We gave him a tartan bowtie, but all tartans are owned, so we had to design our own specifically, incorporating golden thread and heavenly aspects. He also wears a Victorian waistcoat that is almost bald. We dyed things a lot to get the pale blue on his shirt that would give him serenity and warmth. He wears soft suede shoes and soft light cashmere trousers. It’s about balancing colours with his very white hair to give him the right look. He needs an ethereal aura, and all of the colour palette needs to emphasise his heavenly glow. He’s deliciously cherubic.

BBC: How did you go about creating David’s look?

Claire Anderson: It really started with his 1940s look. The tailoring is very crisp and aligned. It’s hard and sharp. Under the colour of every suit, we put red felt which was like the belly of a snake. Underneath that loucheness, David is slightly rock-starry and Keith Richards-esque. His black leather gloves have a tiny red line to emphasise his snake-like characteristics. We also found a 1980s jacket that had a quilted quality. We worked on it until it had a textured feel to it, like snakeskin. It’s all about semiotics.

Full interview here

[fellthemarvelous]

Imagine, if you will...

Seriously, this isn't a canon prediction or anything (honestly I might attempt to write a fanfic with this idea in mind). It's just random thoughts that go through my head and this is my attempt to make sense of them and write them out coherently.

We have Saraqael, an angel who seems to be more intelligent than most, with tartan cuffs and collar on their heavenly attire.

We have Muriel, a 37th class scrivener with a love for reading and a curiosity that none of the other angels seem to have, wearing tartan that matches Saraqael's.

So, I would assume that Muriel works under Saraqael, especially since Muriel went to Saraqael with the matchbox before either of them approached Michael and Uriel.

We see Jimbriel wearing Aziraphale's tartan blanket like a toga once he takes refuge in the bookshop.

And, of course, we have Aziraphale, former cherub and guardian of the eastern gate of Eden, always incorporating tartan into all aspects of his life on Earth.

What if the tartan that we see Muriel and Saraqael wearing is a symbol, perhaps a way to identify others who might want to dissent from Heaven's plans? What if it's a growing symbol of resistance?

Maybe Saraqael picked Muriel to observe the things happening on Earth because Muriel is good at appearing unassuming and aloof.

Maybe Muriel being asked to stay on Earth was what Saraqael was hoping for.

Saraqael told Aziraphale they would be sending an angel to log and verify the miracle. He knew Heaven would be keeping tabs after that.

What was Muriel reporting back to Saraqael? We saw what they shared with Michael and Uriel, but is that information that Saraqael told them to share? Did Muriel give Saraqael a more detailed report first?

Saraqael showed Crowley the truth of the trial despite declaring him the "enemy".

Could Saraqael have had anything to do with getting Aziraphale back into Heaven? Is it possible Saraqael thinks Heaven needs Aziraphale then?

Crowley now has information about Heaven that can be shared with Hell. Crowley knows Heaven would rather erase the memories of angels who want to walk away from Heaven instead of casting them down into Hell.

And Saraqael immediately followed Crowley back down to Earth without question.

What if Saraqael is the murder hornet? What if Saraqael is choosing to trust Crowley and maybe help Aziraphale in Heaven because Heaven sucks?

Saraqael has the device that erases memories, and more importantly, allowed Crowley to learn that information when showing him the footage of Gabriel's trial.

And now Saraqael will be in Heaven with Aziraphale while Muriel remains on Earth and most likely in contact with Crowley.

Mix this with the idea of Crowley taking up a position as a Duke of Hell and having that link to Heaven through Muriel, who remains in contact with Saraqael, who is working with Aziraphale, who wants to change Heaven because it's a mess.

[nosferatini]

🕊️ The Season of Nightingales 🕊️

Chapter 31/36

Only 5 more chapters to go!

Summary

The Second Coming looms large. Supreme Archangel Aziraphale vows to fix Heaven without asking the impossible from Crowley. As their effort is complicated by unexpected friends, a guileful Metatron, and a Heavenly floor full of the Blessed Dead—Aziraphale and Crowley find navigating their relationship is not mutually exclusive from saving the world from Armageddon.

Chapter 31 - The Talk

Excerpt:

Crowley nestled himself into Aziraphale’s chair beside the desk. It might help, he thought, to put himself into the angel’s shoes, as this would be a bit more of a stretch than any feat he’d previously performed. But with Aziraphale having headed up without time to think or plan, it was Crowley’s best shot at protecting his angel’s mind. 

He closed his eyes, wrapped himself in the tartan throw blanket, and took a few deep breaths of the sandalwood fragrance that had saturated it. 

He blinked with more eyes than he’d used in six thousand years, allowing them to adjust to the celestial light as he peered through Aziraphale’s true form. There was a great deal of light at the moment, but all of a sudden, the view darkened significantly. 

Crowley blinked with Aziraphale’s eyes again, trying to absorb everything he saw. This deck was as vaguely familiar as deja vu.

As in, you don’t remember having been through it before, until you go through it again. 

*Ah,* Crowley thought , *it’s got a Confidentiality miracle on it. Of course it does.*

Read Chapter 31 on AO3!

Or…

🕊️ Start From the Beginning!🕊️

Huge hugs and gratitude to my beloved betas, @dbacklot99 @demonsandpieohmy @addledmongoose and u/blackjeans93 from @goodomensafterdark for helping me scrub and polish my beloved fic!

@whickberstreetwriters

[lezzybeaverman]

So my ridiculous wife was having trouble sleeping, so she looked up weaving patterns for the tartan blanket Gabriel is wearing (as one does) and pointed out to me a Thing I had not noticed! Which I'm sure everyone else has already seen, but just in case: Gabriel is NOT given his Heavenly Dress tartan. It's different, with a teal stripe. However, when Aziraphale gives the holy water to Crowley (and when he changes his collar during the swap), it IS his tartan. Because you only share your tartan with your family, and I just...AGH. They are so sweet and in love. (and so very deeply stupid, of course)

[postsforposting]

Saraqael recognizes Metatron when he gets to the bookshop. Look at her face when he walks in and starts talking. That's some high stress and "oh shit". They make the same face every time Michael pipes up with "get him out of here", a "I can't say anything but PLEASE shut the fuck up".

Saraqael had just rewatched the trial with Crowley, and saw Metatron again. Something weird during the trial though--Metatron had a glowing smear of light, like the halos on lights you see at night if you wear high power glasses, around his face. The other angels did not have that.

Urlel and Michael were also at the trial, so they ought to have recognized Metatron, since that was just a few days ago--but they don't. Why? It can't be because it's not him, Saraqael sees him and knows it's him. Does Metatron somehow not stay in people's memories after a few hours or something? Again, both Crowley and Saraqael just saw him at the same time.

About the Metatron's black coat--Heaven isn't just in white, we see Michael and Uriel here in gray suits. Gabriel had gray too in flashbacks with Beelz. Gabriel's suit in heaven was darker gray. Weirdly Saraqael is in white, but has a bit of blue tartan on their cuffs and collar--maybe we're seeing who's truly "heavenly" and on the side of real good? Muriel is also in pure white, and she helps Crowley and indulges in human things.

In the trial, the floating heads videos whitewash color, making the shades of gray they angels are wearing into whiter, lighter colors--perhaps the environmental storytelling here is saying that being in heaven makes anything they do seem acceptable, while on earth it's more obvious it's not that simple.

[caspianthegeek]

I saw a Twitter post saying: “when the distant morally grey antihero knocks on the hero’s door in a rainstorm gravely wounded and says “I’m sorry… I didn’t know where else to go” before passing out and waking up fully bandaged.”

Aziraphale is injured. He goes to the being he is always safe with.

The soft tapping at the door could hardly be described as a knock. In the past, Crowley would have ignored it. But his heart ached. Anything to distract him from the constant tearing of Aziraphale’s absence was welcome. He dragged himself from his throne and to the door.

Throwing the door open had been a mistake. It was the only support for the angel who stumbled forward and instead fell into Crowley’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whispered as he dragged his gaze up to meet the demon’s beneath a bloodied forehead. “I didn’t know where else to go.” With the words uttered, his eyes slid shut and he sighed quietly.

For a moment, Crowley was terrified the angel had come to his door only to discorporate in his arms, but he could feel Aziraphale’s steady heartbeat, and there was a shuddering breath. <i> What the actual fuck.</i>

With a concerned glance out the door, Crowley lifted him and slammed it shut. He spared a moment to cast a quick protective spell as he made his way down the hallway, angel carried in his arms. There was so much blood, and he realized not all of it was from Aziraphale’s corporation. The sight of golden ichor made the demon’s stomach drop. What had— no time. Address the problem, then ask questions.

Crowley carefully stretched Aziraphale out on his bed, a part of him wistfully thinking this was not how he’d expected that moment. The angel whimpered quietly. Concentrate, he scolded himself as he let his focus slide to Aziraphale’s true form, always there a little beyond the earthly realm.

The torn feathers horrified him, but he hurriedly pushed past. The demon searched finding the wounds and one by one winding his true form around where golden blood fell from Aziraphale. Black coils tightened around the resting angel, providing pressure to slow the flow and he hoped it would be enough to allow healing. By the time he was done, he was entwined so closely they could have been one. But finally, the flow of grace had stopped, held in place by demonic scales. Crowley’s mind raced, a million questions flittering and being discarded. Anger welled through him for a time, but with nowhere to direct it there was no option but to let it flit away.

Days snuck by as he kept Aziraphale together but with each passing day, the angel’s presence grew stronger. Until one day he became aware again.

Crowley had been staring out the bedroom window, plotting revenge when he heard the soft oh fall from Aziraphale’s lips. The angel beneath didn’t writhe, trying to break free. If anything he curled into the embrace of his demon, as if snuggling deeper into a warm blanket.

“It’s safe,” Aziraphale murmured. “I did it. You’re safe.”

Realization washed over Crowley as he took in the injured angel. He knew his words should be kinder, more thankful for whatever it was that Aziraphale had accomplished. All that could escape him was, “You <i> idiot.” </i>

“Argue about it later,” Aziraphale breathed out. “Rest now.” And with that, he sank back into slumber and Crowley was left once more keeping watch with only a hint as to what had happened.

When he was sure the bleeding had stopped fully, Crowley allowed himself to pull back and away despite the sleepy protests from the angel. He wrapped a tight blanket around Azirpahale and miracled healing ointments and clothes.

The red blood that stained Aziraphale’s clothing worried Crowley far less. The outfit was a heavenly uniform that Crowley removed and discarded before slipping the angel into soft, flannel tartan pajamas. He carefully wiped any remaining blood away, his fussy angel did so hate to be messy. The few spots that required bandaging were easily dealt with.

Crowley waited. As the sun rose and set, he curled next to Aziraphale’s side. At times he reached out, ensuring the wards he’d placed around the flat were still there and strengthening them. Despite the promise of their safety, someone had done this. They could still be coming.

It was a week before Aziraphale blinked himself awake. A soft, “Crowley?” as he searched the room for the demon.

“Here. I’m here,” Crowley blurted as he took the angel’s hand.

Aziraphale’s brows drew in, concerned. “You should be angry with me. You’ve every right to be, I’m so sorry I had to make it feel real—” he broke off as Crowley brought his hand up and kissed the back of it softly. “They were watching. The Metatron,” Aziraphale murmured as he turned his hand and cupped Crowley’s face. “I am so sorry.”

Crowley had never excelled at staying angry. Even at their Mother, all he wanted were answers. And he had no hope of holding out against the angel in front of him. He leaned down, this time carefully allowing Aziraphale the choice to cross the final distance.

When the angel wrapped his arms around Crowley’s back pulling him in, the demon was still surprised.

And then he had no thoughts as their lips met. Instead of hungry desperation, it was soft and gentle. Aziraphale poured his love into the kiss and any questions Crowley had fell from him as there was only the soft touch his beloved.

When it broke, the angel pulled Crowley down into the bed next to him, clearly loathe to let go.

“What happened?” Crowley asked as he pulled Aziraphale into his arms.

“The Book of Life. Metatron was going to write you out of it,” Aziraphale confessed. “I wanted to tell you, to work on it together. I needed you, but I couldn’t let you be in danger.” A few tears slipped from his eyes and Crowley hurriedly wiped them away. “So I went. I became the Archangel they wanted. And when they finally trusted me enough to leave me unsupervised… I went to the repository. I destroyed it, Crowley. It’s gone. It can’t hurt anyone ever again,” Aziraphale finished with a satisfied grimance. “You’re safe. We’re safe. We can leave, go wherever you want.”

“How… didn’t…” Crowley stuttered, “Wouldn’t that destroy life?”

“No different than destroying a spell. Life continues, as She meant,” he kissed Crowley’s nose. “And I am here with you, as I meant. Where would you like to go?”

“Can we stay just here for a bit?” Crowley whispered as he leaned in for another kiss.

Aziraphale’s only response was a pleased hum.

Originally posted on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52436122

[catastrfy]

over 7 hours to go here, but wonky sleep cycle means i'll post it now: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

and NOW i'm wondering if Aziraphale and Crowley are in their #DeadpoolAndWolverine costumes... what say you all? (they are in my icon, after all)

& are Wade and Logan in their Crowley and Aziraphale costumes?

oooh. WHAT IF IN BOTH UNIVERSES THEY HAVE THE SAME HALLOWEEN TARTAN AS DECORATIONS!??

[cinnamonspicevanilla]

"in what way do you express coquette?"

(a tag to talk about our inspirations, icons, basics and blueprints)

what are your main inspirations and in what way do you express your personal concept of coquette?

꩜ im a huge vintage girly, i grew up loving old movies and style, so i took a lot of inspiration from movie actresses and their characters, specially from exploitation or avant-garde movies from the 60s and 70s and cool girls that i saw on 90s tv shows, i would say that 50% of my personal style (that covers not only the way i dress, but also decor and lifestyle) stems from that, the other half ot it is influenced by my passion for gothic motifs, music and literature, which includes religious imagery, statues, a darker color palette, flowers (specially those saw on funerals) and the whole haunted aspect, that i like to mix with more delicate and feminine details to resemble a creepy, almost uncanny doll.

꩜ all those things help me to craft my perfect coquette look, that i would put on the coquette noir category. is also very inspired by aspects of my personality, which i consider to be sullen, sardonic and kind of mysterious but also very sweet, i think this goes too well with the mix of edgy with femininity.

what media and people directly influence your look and lifestyle?

꩜ some of my favorite media that inspires me in the way i dress (also some personal philosophy) are movies like la ceremonie, as meninas, marie poupee, daisies, la belle personne, heavenly creatures, ms. 45, trashy europeans erotic films from the 70s and basically every godard movie from the 60s.

꩜ figures like tina aumont, anna karina, isabelle huppert, faye wong, early 90s mariah carey, strawberry switchblade, rachel weisz, sherilyn fenn, sade adu, hope sandoval, lana del rey, ayo edebiri and françoise dorleac also are big icons to me.

finally, list some of your coquette basic staples.

꩜ i consider my basics to be denim, black or tartan miniskirts, thights (specially dark colored or printed with flowers), lace dark tops, chokers, necklaces with pendants, dark shoes such as boots, loafers and mary janes, mini dresses (either floral, tartan or plain black), lots of mascara with 90s lip combo, berry lipstick, nude or slightly dark eyeshadow,and obviously my fringe.

do it too!: @lovesickbrat @lonelystarlet @iridescentdarliing @dark-nymph3t @miss-mademoiselle and basically everyone that want it

[thepaleys]

Alexandra's death sent a shock wave through the European Courts. She was so young, and the tragedy so unexpected and so cruel. From Balmoral, Queen Victoria petitioned her granddaughter for the full details, and when no satisfactory answer came she turned to Elisabeth's elder sister: "What brought on the fits? As a usual thing - a wrong state of the kidneys produces these convulsions if not attended to; & the labour must then be brought on (wh. is quite easily done) but the danger is very great." Her heart went out to Pavel's children; Marie was only seventeen months old and Dmitri needed constant nursing for the first few months simply to keep him alive. The Queen hoped that Elisabeth and Sergei would be able to assume responsibility for them both. As the months passed, Elisabeth kept her grandmother in touch with the progress of her widowed brother-in-law and his family. They were all finding it hard to come to terms with what had happened: Pavel needed emotional support from his brother and sister-in-law but their own grief was still strong. Almost a year after the tragedy Elisabeth and Sergei travelled to St Petersburg to share Pavel's name day, and she told the Queen, "it is heart-rending to see him so resigned but so utterly broken down, his little boy was with us until now as we had heavenly weather at Moscow & Ilinskoie…. he is a sweet little fat healthy Baby with a merry character but the real beauty is his sister - I have rarely seen a lovelier child. Poor motherless Darlings, it is too sad…. how happy all were a year ago. .. What a year it has been for us all, wherever one looks sorrow.' Time brought no relief. Another year passed, and Elisabeth wrote, 'Paul comes from time to time to see us - he & the Babies are quite well but his poor aching heart cannot heal although he is in better spirits, yet he never for a moment forgets his sorrow poor, poor fellow." The Queen invited them all to Balmoral and in September 1893 they left Russia with Elisabeth's lady-in-waiting Princess Troubetskoy and the Grand Prince's gentlemen, Count Steinbock and Baron Schilling. The children remained in Russia with their nurses. The visit to Balmoral was a happy interlude that gave the brothers a rare chance to see their cousin Prince Henry of Battenberg, the Queen's son-in-law, who shared their memories of the childhood autumns at Heiligenberg. Pavel had the same birthday as Henry's youngest son Maurice, which was celebrated at Balmoral, and the Queen was careful to see that her Russian guest was not forgotten. While the two-year-old enjoyed his new toys, Pavel was given a posy of flowers, a wrapper (probably in good Scottish tartan and a cigarette case. With his brother and cousin he went hunting and visiting in the neighbourhood (...).

"The Romanovs 1818-1959" - John van der Kiste

[ddagent]

43!

Nina stared at him like he was going crazy. Maybe Crowley was going crazy. It would certainly explain the last few weeks. After a moment of staring long and hard in his direction, her gaze turned to the man sitting at the table in the corner, adjusting his tartan bowtie. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"Yep," Crowley said, popping the plosive between his thin lips. "Empirical evidence that there is an afterlife, a system of judgement, and an almighty that doesn't care much for me."

Nina scoffed. "No. It means you had an angelic being in your presence for three weeks and you've already ruined him."

"Oh. Yeah. That."

Crowley and Nina both turned back to the table at the corner of The Dirty Donkey where Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, was sipping on a glass of red wine and proclaiming his delight to every passer-by. Crowley stared at his Angel – his Guardian Angel, sent from on-high to turn him to a life of salvation rather than sin – and collapsed his head against the bar. Of course, his Guardian Angel would be beautiful, and wonderful. Of course, Crowley would ruin him, like he'd ruined everything.

"You have to help me," he said, turning to Nina.

Nina shook her head. "And get on God's bad side? Not a chance. You broke the Angel, Crowley - you fix the Angel. Get him back doing heavenly miracles."

Crowley tugged at his hair. "Oh, he still does them. Miracled an umbrella for a pregnant woman just outside. But it's the other things he does. He's insatiable, Nina. Insatiable."

Nina's eyes widened. "Crowley. Please don't tell me you fucked an Angel."

His mouth gaped. They hadn't...per se. But Aziraphale had been utterly fascinated by the human corporation he was in and delighted in all the wonders of the senses, all the delights of the human experience. From getting wet in a sudden rainstorm to the feel of Crowley's hair under his fingertips, Aziraphale enjoyed every sensation. And it was growing harder for Crowley not to be smitten by his enthusiasm, his zeal. His sounds of delight. God really shouldn't have made an Angel this gorgeous, Crowley thought to himself - not for the first time. So, that's really on you, God.

"I might. I might fuck an Angel, Nina." He sighed. "I really want to fuck him."

At that, Nina just got up and walked away. Crowley did not blame her. But that left him, alone, with the most perfect of God's creations. For the first time in a long while, Crowley felt like praying. Well, getting on his knees, at least.

Downing a whiskey, Crowley re-joined his Angel.

Give me a number - that’s how many seconds I’ll spend thinking of an Aziraphale/Crowley AU to write for you in 200 words or more.

[aziraphalalala]

Good Omentober #5 "Heaven"

It's time to stop giving Crowley a hard time, and check in with Aziraphale for a change.

^^^^^

The desk was too clean. There was too much space, and not enough… things to fill it with. Aziraphale felt exposed to the elements, even though this was Heaven and elements simply did not happen here. He had a long running list in his head about things that did not happen in Heaven. Books. Sushi. Good music. Cosy reading chairs. 

Crowley.

Aziraphale harrumphed to himself in irritation. Not the time. He could spend all his time ruminating, and to no avail. He straightened his bow tie - white, gold-flecked, tartan, not-quite-standard issue, thank you very much - and sat up straighter. 

There was work to be done.

If you were an angel and looked upon the Supreme Archangel at this moment, what you would see is this: a grey three-piece suit, immaculately starched to stiffness, so very pale that it seemed white. Blond, fluffy hair. A golden mark, like a shining eye, smack dab in the middle of his forehead. A pale tartan bow tie below sharp, seaglass hazel eyes. He was sitting at his desk, back ramrod straight, as a proper angel should.

You would also see him muttering to himself. This would not be cause for concern: the higher angels tend to bend to habits that are best described as, well, ineffable, and left well alone. Luckily, no one was around right now. The Supreme Archangel was free to see to his Heavenly Duties as he saw fit.

Aziraphale was not seeing to his Heavenly Duties. In fact, he was shirking them with the skill of someone who had already spent several thousand years shirking his duties with - a demon friend.

Well.

Aziraphale opened a file with a layout of Heaven. As he zoomed in and out of various buildings, streets and the occasional military drill site, he kept checking the pages of a notebook, covered from margin to margin with symbols most of us would consider gibberish.

He read every language that had ever been written, including gibberish.

“Ahhhh, excellent!” he muttered to himself, as a purple symbol lit up in one corner of the map. He took note of the location, and waved his hand with a flourish, vanishing the map, the notebook, and everything on his desk. He stood, and as he turned around, he smiled an awful, menacing smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Your time is up, old chap.”

---

Thanks for the prompt @disaster-dog!

My earlier Good Omentober posts:

#1 "Pre-fall"

#2 "Stars"

#3 "Fall"

[what-if-queen-camilla]

Chapter 35

New Year's Day 1996

"Do we really have to do that?", Camilla asked for approximately the tenth time and looked at Charles with puppy eyes. It was half past eight in the morning on New Year's Day, and she felt as if they had just gone to bed about an hour before. It had been a really lovely evening with a heavenly menu, fancy drinks and lots of fun and family games and some great dances. Anne and Tim had shown up yesterday, too, as well as some other good friends of the Queen Mother's so they had been quite a lot in the end and it'd been a great party with lots of fun. But today, the part Camilla had been dreading ever since she had received the invitation was planned to go ahead: She'd have to accompany Charles, his sons and the Queen Mother to New Year's Day Service at Crathie Kirk. Of course, Thea was coming, too, so she had to pull herself together even more as she didn't want her poor little daughter to feel afraid as well but deep inside, she was terrified. It was going to be their first ever public outing as a couple, and also Thea's first appearance, she had no idea how the people would react but after everything she'd been through ever since their affair had first become public, she was frightened as hell. "Yes, darling, we have to, but you don't have to be afraid.", Charles tried to reassure her and tenderly stroked her face. She looked so incredibly beautiful and he couldn't wait to finally show the world that this wonderful woman was his, let alone their sweet daughter who was all his pride and joy. "I'll be by your side all the time and protect you if necessary. But it won't be necessary. I promise you.", he added, taking her face into both of his hands, kissing her passionately which made her chuckle. "Darling… behave yourself!", she admonished him jokingly, but looked at him with eyes full of love. She knew exactly that he was just as nervous as she was and usually she was the one to encourage him, so this was sort of new but she thought that he was doing exceptionally well motivating her. She could only hope and pray that he was right and everything was going to alright.

She had commissioned a new, flatteringly tailored, red coat with a bit of tartan on the collar and sleeves, Rothesay Hunting tartan, as Charles was known as the Duke of Rothesay in Scotland, and she knew that it was one of his favourites. Actually, Fiona had talked her into red, she herself would never have chosen such a vibrant colour as she had always preferred to stay as inconspicuous as possible, but her friend had insisted that she had to get out of her comfort zone and shine for her Prince so eventually, she had given in, but wasn't so sure about it anymore when she stood in front of the mirror in their room. It looked good, without a question, but it was also impossible to overlook her now and the last thing she wanted was to overshadow anyone else. At least she wasn't alone in this, as she had commissioned the same coat for Thea as well and her sweet little darling looked like a real Princess when she came down the stairs together with her great-granny, who was regally (and much to Camilla’s relief way more conspicuously than her) dressed in a vibrantly yellow coat with an extravagant fur collar and a giant, matching hat. She herself had opted for a small fascinator and was more than happy to see that she was definitely not going to outshine the old lady, though it was probably not humanly possible to outshine her at all. The Queen Mother was known for her fancy clothes and despite her age, she was the brightest shining star on every stage anyway. Charles had been reading the news as everyone else had been getting ready and gasped for a few seconds as he first caught a glance of his two favourite ladies in their matching coats with his beloved Rothesay Hunting tartan. "Oh my God…", he whispered and didn't even know where to look first. "You both look absolutely beautiful!", he gushed, tenderly putting his hand around Camilla’s waist, trying to pull her closer, but she winced and kept her distance. William and Harry were going to come down every moment and she didn't want them to have to see them like that, not yet, not after yesterday's dispute, not to speak of the Queen Mother's presence that would have made her feel deeply uncomfortable displaying affection. She looked at him excusing and hoped he'd understand. And indeed, the boys came down just seconds later, both dressed in dashing suits like their father. "Looking good!", William said to Thea and the little girl blushed which made Camilla smile. She had been such a good girl ever since their arrival, she had been behaving so well and to see how sweetly and lovingly she had already bonded with her great-grandmother, and how kind the old lady was to her, made Camilla’s heart almost burst with pride and joy.

They departed to Crathie Kirk in two cars; one was carrying Charles and the boys and the second one the Queen Mother, Thea and herself. As their visit had not been announced and nobody expected members of the Royal Family in Scotland on New Year's Day, it was just the usual handful of faithful members of the community who showed up for the service, but of course their eyes widened as they realised who came out of the black Audi that had just stopped in front of the church: Charles had driven the three of them himself and the ladies had had a driver, and once their car had parked next to the black Audi, the Prince immediately rushed over and first helped his grandmother out, and then gave his girlfriend a helping hand, much to the enchantment of the onlookers, who had gathered together at the entrance of the church and watched the scenes with great curiosity. Thank goodness, there were no photographers or reporters around, but Camilla noticed two of the younger attendees leaving the area and heading towards the village again, there'd most certainly be more attention when they were going to depart after the service but she didn't want to think about that now, it was already nerve-wracking enough just trying to follow Charles as unobtrusive as possible without stumbling and falling over her own feet as they made their way to the entrance of the church, where the priest, who was just as surprised to see them as everyone else, welcome them kindly, first the Queen Mother, then Charles and then boys: "Happy New Year, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highnesses.", before bending over to her and Thea, kindly wishing them both a happy new year as well. "Thank you and the same to you!", Camilla replied, rather automatically, and hoped it had been alright. They followed the party inside of the church and took their seats in the first row, with the security officers who were accompanying the four royals sitting down right behind them.

The service lasted for about an hour and somehow, it helped Camia to calm down. The music was beautiful and the prayers and readings had something meditative, but her nervousness returned as they got up and made their way up the aisle again, as she knew exactly that all eyes were on them, especially her. She tried not to think about it, but she couldn't avoid the glances and smiles the people in the back rows gave her as they walked past them. Surely, not everyone gave her smile, some didn't even look at her, two or three older women gave her a rather judging glance, but most of them happily smiled and waved at them which was quite a wonderful experience. However, as the doors flung open for them to exit, her heart stopped beating for a few seconds, as, for a small village like Crathie, quite a massive crowd had gathered in front of the church, excitedly cheering at members of their royal family. Camilla remembered the two youngsters who had gone back to the village after their arrival - they'd probably let everyone know and apparently brought the whole village here. Thank God they had the Queen Mother with them, who never minded meeting people and immediately rushed over to one side, pulling all of her three great-grandchildren with her. The Queen Mother couldn't have been more delighted and excited to introduce her sweet little great-granddaughter to the community of the village that has always meant so much to her and, much to Charles and Camilla's relief, who watched the scene from the corner or their eyes, everyone seemed enchanted by their little darling. Thea wasn't a naturally shy child but of course this completely new situation and all of the strangers were intimidating and she hid behind her great-grandmother at first, until William took her by the hand and sweetly walked side-by-side with her behind the Queen Mother. Charles' heart almost exploded at these wonderful scenes and, in contrast to Camilla, he didn't even seem to notice that Harry, who was walking behind William and Thea, carrying the Queen Mother's walking stick, didn't look too happy at all. But before she could've thought twice about it, Charles motioned for her to follow him to greet the people lining the other side of the path, but she just looked at him in panic. "Darling, no…", her lips formed silently, but he just nodded reassuringly and tenderly patted her back, gently pushing her in the right direction. The public reaction was overwhelming and Camilla felt like in a movie or something as she slowly made her way along the well-wishers, terrified at first, but all of the smiles and handshakes and good wishes made her feel more secure, confident and comfortable after few minutes. One women handed flowers to her, an exceptionally lovely posy, explaining to her that she had been given them for her birthday on the 30th but wanted her to have them instead. "I'd have bought some for you but the shops are all closed…", she explained and Camilla laughed. She couldn't believe how kind and lovely they all were, she'd expected them to hate her but in fact it was quite the opposite. Of course, it was only just the reaction of one small village, and didn't represent the whole United Kingdom, but given Crathie's special and long-standing connection to the Royal Family, it seemed quite an important and significant one and that made her incredibly happy, especially the warmth they had welcomed Thea with, who couldn't stop talking about her experience all afternoon, her eyes lit up in excitement.

They were having tea in the Queen Mother's drawing room after they had returned to Birkhall. The boys had left the party in order to join their cousins and Laura for a few more games without the adults, so it was only Charles, Camilla and Thea joining the Queen Mother. It was lovely, but though it was only just early afternoon, Camilla was so tired she could have fallen asleep immediately. It'd been a wonderful morning but quite a lot to take in. "Your Majesty, darling -", she asked the Queen Mother and the Prince. "I'm genuinely sorry but I'm afraid I… I have to lay down for a little while.", she said, desperately trying to suppress a heartfelt yawn, much to the Queen Mother's amusement. "Don't worry, my dear, it's been quite a morning, hasn't it?", the old lady asked and Camilla nodded smilingly. "Just go upstairs and rest for a few hours, see you at dinner tonight.", she said, and Camilla got up, questioning looking at Thea, asking: "What about you, sweetie? Wanna come with me or stay here?" Thea happily jumped up and over to Charles, throwing herself onto him, which caused all of them laughing, before she declared: "I'll stay with Daddy!"

Camilla actually did have a red coat with Rothesay Hunting tartan on the collar and sleeves made for their honeymoon in 2005. In the story, I imagine her to wear exactly this outfit and a smaller version of it for Thea ❤️