#Stoup just makes me laugh way too much

[cloudsrust]

I was researching church stuff for a thing and apparently the English term for the Holy Water Basin is Stoup.. STOUP.

I wanted something ethereal or fancy but this word is just giving-

*loud sip*

"gud stoup. 👌"

[hanabisimps]

•The Black Sheep•

This is my first time writing a short story like this so please give me some criticism and opinions on this.

|| Chapter 1 ||

How Hanabi ended up in Devildom

Warning: may contain some triggers, child neglect, bullying, misogyny

——————————————————————————

It’s the afternoon and Hanabi has just now woken up. The servants usually never bother to come in her room but today they came, she could tell somethings going on.

Maid: miss your father has requested you and your brothers to come to his office immediately.

Hanabi: ..what.? My brothers too?

Maid: yes, now please hurry. You know your father doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

Hanabi: fine...

Hanabi(in her head): all of a sudden we wants to see me? Why now after all these years?

Still half asleep, she gets up and puts on her usual attire that consisted of just a medium length turtleneck dress and a soft pastel yellow cardigan. As she is about to tame the mess that her hair is she looks at a photo and has a sense of nostalgia. But, it wasn’t a very pleasant experience as she immediately grabbed the picture and made it face down her vanity.

The memories that she thought she had buried resurfaced...

(We will now be in Hanabi’s memories)

The smell of sweat permeated through the training room. Hanabi continued to practice while her other groupmate takes a break.

Aira: hey Hanabi! Why don’t you take a break? It was only a minor mistake plus you know how that choreographer is, they were just being picky.

Hanabi: continues to dance I know that it’s just that I can’t help it. If I’m going to do something I want to do it right.

Aira: you’re way too hard on yourself y’know? You’re already plenty smart, talented, and athletic to boot! So just take a break with me already!

Hanabi:* stops dancing* hah.. fine you win... *goes to sit next to her *

Aira: Soo... what did you think of the anime I recommended you a couple days ago? Did you like it? Its beginner friendly and  the main character is really cute too!

Hanabi:  Ah hmm well... I thought it was a fun.. and what was the main characters name again? The really cute one.

Aira: Ruri Chan? 

Hanabi: Yeah that one, I think she's really cute too. But I gotta ask... how do you have so much time to watch animes when we have so much dancing and singing  practice... surely you aren't slacking off when I'm not looking..? *makes a ominous smile*

Aira: Ah! I'm not! I'm working suuuper hard! *breaks out in cold sweat*

Hanabi: Hmmmmm..? Really now...?

Aira: *eyes darting around* Ah..haha..ha... ha..

Hanabi: Airaaaaa..... *pulls on her cheeks*

Aira: Awwwaaa! Em Sowwyy! Iwl prawice! Swo stoup pullgin ma cheechs! (I'm sorry! I’ll practice! So stop pulling on my cheeks!)

Hanabi: *lets go*

Aira: mmmm... *rubs her face and looks at Hanabi*

Hanabi: *sees Airas swollen cheeks* 

Aira: * looks into the practice mirror and sees how red her face is *

Both: *look at each other* pfft... Hahahaha!! 

The two girls sit and chat with each other laughing and playing for the rest of practice...

(Back to reality)

Hanabi’s head starts to ache as she grips the edge of her vanity.

Hanabi: ugh.. why do I have to remember this now... I need to just forget about her already...

With her head still aching she starts to go to her fathers office. She was so deep into her memories she forgot to brush her hair and make it look presentable. But, she couldn’t be bothered by that now, her father was waiting in his office with her brothers.

She hesitates but eventually opens the door only to be presented by her fathers scowling face.

Father: you’re late.

Hanabi:...

Father: go stand next to your brothers already. Waiting for you already wasted enough time.

Oldest brother: *looks at Hanabi in concern*

Middle brother: *scoffs at Hanabi and give her a cocky smirk*

She starts to walk to his desk and stands in front of it like the others.

Father: now, I know you’re wondering why I gathered you all here today. As you know your brother just recently came home from studying abroad. I’m certainly impressed at how you carried yourself there. It’s good that you don’t bring shame on this family *he says that while glancing at Hanabi*

Hanabi: *clenches the sides of her sweater*

Older brother: thank you father.

Father: I also hear that your new company is working out well for you. Good job. I’m looking forward to seeing your results.

Middle brother: yes! Thank you father I’m won’t disappoint you like a certain someone. *looks at Hanabi*

Hanabi: *clenches her fists even tighter but still keeping a straight face*

Father: and you. *he looks at Hanabi straight in the eyes*

This sends a shiver down her spine. She knows that whatever he’s going to say to her wasn’t going to be good.

Father: you are going to get married to one of these men here *he slides a folder on his table to Hanabi* now leave my office I expect you to choose at least 5 of these men by tomorrow.

Hanabi: what?! I’m not getting married! Why should I?! What give you the right -!

Father: QUIET!

The room falls into a deathly silence as soon as he raises his voice. He looks at Hanabi with his piercing eyes.

Father: I’m your father and you will do as I say. This is your last chance to make yourself useful this time instead of disappointing me like last time.

Hanabi: ... shut up...

Father: *gets up from his chair and stands in front of Hanabi while looking down at her*

Hanabi: *clenches her fists even more* you only call yourself my father whenever it benefits you... we may be related by blood but you are no father of mine!

Father: *raises his hand*

Hanabi: *closes her eyes and braces for impact*

Hanabi: ...?

She opens her eyes to see her brother holding back her fathers arm.

Older brother: Father. We’re you really going to hit her?

Middle brother: Let go of fathers arm! Let him hit her! *scowls at Hanabi *This is all your fault! If you just stayed quiet and did what he told you to do none of this would have happened!

Hanabi: what? Did you really expect me to go along with this ridiculous plan to get me married off!?

Middle brother: SHUT UP! Everything is your fault! You’re the one who killed mom! It’s all your fault you-

Father: Enough! Now, let my arm go.

Older brother: not letting go

Father: hah.. fine... I promise I won’t hit her.

Older brother lets go of fathers hand and he starts to walk toward me and forcing me to back away leading to my back being against the wall. Her fathers eyes were incredibly intimidating and intrusive.

Father: you better not be thinking about going back into the music industry again... don’t you remember what happened last time with you and your little “friend”?

Hanabi: *grits her teeth* I... I do remember...but it’s what I want to do.

Father: why can’t you be like other women and be quiet. The only place women belong is at home not on a stage where millions of men look up at you in skimpy clothing dancing for them like a whore.

Hanabi: I don’t want to be like that! I have my own dreams and goals and I’m not ever gonna become what you want me to be and I’m not going to try and seek your approval anymore!

Father: the only goal you should have is to find a husband and give birth to his children! That’s all you good for!

Hanabi, enraged, she bursts out of the office and sprints off with her older brother following close behind.

Middle brother: Hey! Get back her you little bit-

Father: stop, once she fails again and realizes her mistake, she’s going to come crawling back here begging me to forgive her.

Middle brother: ! ... yes father..

Hanabi dashes down the hallway wish great speed with her brother falling behind. She slows down to go down the stairs and that gives him a chance to grab her arm and stop her.

Older brother: panting please... hold..on cough

Hanabi: let me go!

Older brother: *regains his composure* Hanabi please lets go back and talk to father again. I’m sure if we talk to him we can sort this out, we’re all family after all.

Hanabi: family...? Did you see how he looked at me? Did you not hear what he said to me? If that’s how family is supposed to treat each other then I want no part of it! Family? Hah! That’s you’re family not mine. So let me go already!

She had succeeded in shaking him off but pulling her arm from him as hard as she could and that made him topple over on his bottom.

Hanabi & older brother: !!!

She feels her foot slip on the top step of the stairs. She must’ve used way too much force. Her brother stretched his hand out to catch her but he missed. She then gets sent flying off the stairs knowing how large the stairs were, Hanabi was certain that she would fall to her death. She clenches her eyes closed preparing herself when she hears-

Older brother: huh?! What is that?

Hanabi!

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Hanabi:..?

It goes quiet, then she feels a floor beneath her. When she opens her eyes she sees that’s she isn’t at home anymore, she looks up and sees a bunch of men looking at her.

???: Welcome to Devildom Hanabi

[eturni]

Day 31 - Auld Lang Syne

I did it! It’s Day 31 of @drawlight​  advent calender prompt list https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/188869931294/aziraphale-crowley-for-half-an-hour-youve-been and we have Auld Lang Syne. It’s quarter past midnight and I was writing through into the New Year. May this be a sign of things to come.

Song is built into the human psyche. Voices are raised in song as celebration, praise and mourning alongside almost every emotion that touches a life. It was naturally linked to the first angelic choirs providing missives from On High but it seemed built into their hearts. They used their voices to reach each other the same way they reached out in times of disaster or reached out to the stars.

In the right situations and with the right intentions songs can be prayer. Where they hold hope. Where they ask for good to come or try to ease pain.

Auld Lang Syne is like that. A prayer for the future, for better.

It’s 2026 and Warlock has come back to the UK to study at Edinburgh University. Humanities, much to their father’s dismay and a certain demon’s chagrin. Aziraphale declares this the perfect excuse to go back and take part in the Hogmanay celebrations, not to mention refill his stores of the good whiskey and some select delicacies.

Warlock’s friends are entirely enchanted by the demon and angel that turn up for the celebrations. Warlock insists that they will be, under no circumstances, joining the three of them for the celebrations in spite of Aziraphale’s warm assurances that it would be no bother at all and Crowley’s evident glee at the amount of embarrassment that he causes just by being seen.

There are a significant number of “Oh, that explains.” and “They really weren’t kidding, huh?” among the general chatter that ensures Crowley knows there have been stories told about Nanny Ashtoreth and how Warlock was raised.

They’re rushed out of the flat share and towards Edinburgh centre in a flurry of stylish black and glitter that has Aziraphale looking at him with something fond in his eyes. “Alright, knock it off brother Francis.” Warlock glowers as best they can, falling back into the names they still used when they felt the two were treating them like they were still eleven.

“Of course, young Warlock,” Aziraphale grins, like the bastard he is “please lead on. I’ll trust your judgements as to the best spots for the festivities.”

There’s a sense of warmth and revelry thrumming through the city as they wander and Crowley soaks in the latent sins just waiting to be acted upon. Sometimes it’s difficult to be off the clock; especially when opportunities are so rife and spirits are so high.

Continue reading on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/52644403 or:

“Gonna be weird not hearing Big Ben, angel.” Crowley points out instead, bringing Aziraphale’s hand up to brush a kiss against his knuckles. Even half a step in front of them Warlock catches the motion and rolls their eyes.

Aziraphale only chuckles and moves a little closer. “My dear, we’ve been without before when they were doing the maintenance. And for years before. We’ll manage I think.”

“Yeah. Suppose it’s better being with the little terror for the holidays as well. We’re very proud of you by the way, young Warlock.” Crowley grins over to the teen, voice slipping back and forth between his normal voice and nanny’s soft brogue.

“Yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it.” The teen shrugs. Aziraphale all but beams at the redness that tinges Warlock’s as they continue to lead them through the streets and point out places that they went with their new little university friends.

Crowley can see hints of fires in the distance down at Princess Street and hear the pounding strains of music in amongst all of the chatter and cheer.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?

He watches Warlock move ahead of them and thinks of Adam down south at Cambridge. The Antichrist and the child who might have been the Antichrist. Both of them living relatively settled lives, working on bettering themselves, and looking to a future that had seemed all but impossible when Crowley had begged Aziraphale to run to the stars with him.

There had been a time that Crowley was going to try and forget. They’d done enough damage to Warlock in the raising of the child and Adam had more than enough of the supernatural in that brush with the almost apocalypse and everything that had come with it. In the end it had been Aziraphale who’d encouraged him to try and make contact again; sensing how conflicted the demon was at having these two kids, who’d brushed with the forces of Hell, and just leaving them to it.

Now they’re practically true godfathers to two children, and that’s without counting The Them whose memories had been altered after the event but were often far too Knowing regardless and seem to have been left with some sort of imprint to their psyches.

Crowley frequently finds himself looking closely at them and hoping that they’re a sign of the kind of safe hands the world will be in within a couple more decades.

We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet.

Aziraphale and Crowley had spent millennia apart and centuries close and decades together. There had been constant matches about the inherent goodness of humans. There had been constant matches about how unfair it was to expect people to behave just as well no matter the disadvantage you set them up with at the beginning.

No matter what their positions had been at any given time there was almost always a drink to be shared between them.

No matter who was doing the wiling or the thwarting their story had wound together in equal parts ill and good deed and, no matter what, in attempted kindness both given and received.

Crowley had spent so much of his time on Earth committing to kindness to the ‘wrong’ people in the name of subverting the will of Heaven. Lifting the poor, encouraging the downtrodden to revolution. Aziraphale looked back at it sometimes and wondered how he could have followed Heaven’s party line like a shield for so long from the only other person who truly understood the true potential in humans, and the true worth of them.

Aziraphale had spent so much of his time on Earth coming to truly understand the humans. Finding what they needed, understanding what was truly good beyond the rules that they set themselves. He had done without waiting for permission. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Often enough Crowley looked at this terribly brave, terribly hedonistic angel and wondered how he came to be so lucky. If it, too, wasn’t some part of the Ineffable plan that the angel liked to harp on about.

Both had found ways to be kind in a very human sense that fit neither of their roles.

surely ye'll be your pint-stoup and surely I'll be mine.

Crowley grins at the joy on Warlock’s face as they slip into their favourite local and buy a few pints to sup while they watch the world pass by the front window and let the pounding of the music thunder in echo-chamber chests.

“Mom would go absolutely mad if she knew I was drinking.” They chuckle after their first sip.

“Well, over here you’re legal. That’s all that matters to us, right angel?”

Aziraphale tilts his head a little. “Well, that and that you’re sensible when you drink. Have to remember that you don’t need to try to keep up with us.”

Crowley bit his lip at that, seeing the flash of challenge in Warlock’s eye. “He’s not kidding, you know. Aziraphale’s lost a liver before, its really not worth it when you can just enjoy it.”

Warlock takes another gulp before their glass clatters to the table. “Alright, that I have to hear.”

Crowley and Aziraphale look between each other; the angel in warning and the demon in pure glee. The firelight outside catches flame-red hair and shows a hint of truly happy eyes behind glasses. Aziraphale sighs deeply and sits back in his chair. “Alright, so, we were over in the Americas in the middle of the prohibition-”

“Oh, come on! Yeah you’re ancient but you’re not that old.” Warlock rolls their eyes in annoyance.

Crowley snorts a laugh that almost sends ale out of his nose when Aziraphale makes a sort of chalk-board squeak in the back of his throat. “Be that as it may, let me tell my story. You can decide on the truth of the particulars as you wish. Now, it’s at this time I was spending some time with my friend Ms Parker having some discussions about her husband’s behaviours and I’m afraid we got rather deep into some of the more contraband drinks.”

Crowley leans back in his seat; tuning out the chatter and the music and everything else as he watches his partner regale Warlock with old stories. He thinks of how much it’s possible to love one single ethereal being and how little of it should be his. But it is, and it will be for millennia to come. It’s still overwhelming years later and Crowley doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being in awe of it all.

We twa hae run about the braes and pou'd the gowans fine. But we've wander'd mony a weary fit sin' auld lang syne.

After a few more drinks the three of them pass back out into the street and follow streets until they find a familiar path that has Aziraphale gently clutching at Crowley’s arm with a smile. “Oh, I remember this place, my dear. There was a wonderful tailor who lived here back in the fifteenth century.”

Crowley stops in his wandering and motions for Warlock to do the same, happy to indulge Aziraphale for now.

“Yeah, makes sense angel. You always did go for the broken down districts.” He teases softly. It’s what makes Aziraphale the angel that most western humans based their stories on. A guardian angel who turned up in the harder areas and made what difference he could just by being there.

“Telling more tales?” Warlock asks archly with a roll of his eyes. Crowley knows he’s trying to goad another story out of Aziraphale. The kid doesn’t believe the stories, but they’re fascinating nonetheless. And it’s still slightly less bullshit than what they hear from their father.

“Maybe we are. You know, the castle being up on the hill like that? Great for defence but not so great for hunting. All the royals used to love that shit-” “Crowley, language!”

“-that bollocks, so they’d have a whole chunk of land set aside for them to hunt on that the commoners weren’t allowed onto. Now, if you’re an actual demon, and like causing fuss, and the laws of man certainly don’t apply to you, you might find yourself stopping to unleash non-native species onto hunting grounds. You might find yourself in a spot of trouble with the local regent. You might even find yourself helped out of it by someone who’s supposed to be your enemy, and who you thought was hundreds of miles away in Asia looking for early written texts.”

Aziraphale tuts at this. “Too many suppositions, Crowley. You’re telling it wrong. Let me, now-”

Crowley grins and falls into relative silence as Aziraphale tells one of the tales of how he had come to Crowley’s aid a few centuries ago.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn, but seas between us braid hae roar’d

The two of them often had whole oceans separating them across the years. There have been times that midwinters were spent in lonely huts or new year celebrations with mortals whose faces they would not be able to remember in a few decades’ time.

There were years that they were close and yet never close enough. There were years it was a matter of rivers or streams between them.

There were years that it was their own fears alone that separated.

Invariably everything human that either of them did was made all the more special if they could share it together and that had made the last few years something that neither would give away for all the safety in the world.

Seas could roar and oceans could draw chasms between them and yet Aziraphale and Crowley had always been drawn back together, closer and faster each time. It had been pleasant to find that their natural collision actually just led them to settle into the other’s arms. Close enough that nothing but the occasional bickering argument would pass between them again.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere, and gie's a hand o' thine, And we'll tak' a right gude-willie waught for auld lang syne!

The three of them are caught up at the stroke of midnight. The canon being fired at the castle echoes through the streets to cheers and laughter. Aziraphale leans in to kiss Crowley and Warlock politely does Not tell them to get a room.

Before long they’re in the midst of a small group forming a circle and taking up the strains of Auld Lang Syne. Warlock pulls a face as they get past the first couple of verses, entirely lost. Crowley leans in with a smile and leads his old charge through with the smallest of demonic miracles.

At the last verse they cross arms and link hands and Aziraphale can see the pure mischief in Crowley’s face. “Get ready to move, dear boy. We’ll all be heading for the centre.” He warns in Warlock’s ear, knowing that Crowley has no intention of telling the poor thing.

Even Warlock manages a startled laugh as they rush the centre at the end of the song, twisting around each other until they rush away again, facing outwards and into the new year.

Crowley’s face almost hurts from the smiling as he looks to Aziraphale and Warlock; the colours of the fireworks lighting bright faces in the cold night air.

They’ve gained a lot surviving the Apocalypse together and he feels like there’s only going to be more to be thankful for in the future with his heart full to bursting and an angel at his side.

“Happy New Year.” He grins, and it’s almost shy as Aziraphale turns to him practically glowing from within and wishes him the same.

“And so many more.”