#aziraphale and crowley as.... REAL enemies now..... oh boy.

[topaziraphale]

BREAKING NEWS I HAVE JUST HEARD OF THE COFFEE THEORY AND WHILE EVERYTHING I JUST SAID STILL STANDS AS A THEORY, THIS MAKES MORE SENSE HOWEVER BOTH OUTLOOKS ARE JUST AS INTERESTING AND REGARDLESS HAVING A COMPROMISED AZIRAPHALE AS PART OF THE MAIN CONFLICT FOR SEASON 3 IS GOING TO BE SO FUN AND HEARTWRENCHING TO WATCH.

Hi I still haven't gotten out of bed but I'm already fully armed and ready to shoot down anyone that tries to say Aziraphale doesn't care about Crowley anymore or WORSE, never loved him THAT much in the first place.

Crowley is quite literally his top priority, he made that very clear with how distraught he is when Crowley leaves. Why would he shout "Don't go!" "Crowley, come back!" and "I NEED YOU!" if Crowley wasn't always at the forefront of his mind? Why is he so visibly striken and upset when he gives him that last, longing look, begging for Crowley to come with him and be with him forever, before deciding to step into that elevator? When he gets in there, his entire purpose shifts. He IS going to make everything better, and he IS going to make Crowley see the error of his ways.

I can promise you all Aziraphale is going to stop at NOTHING to get Crowley to come be with him forever, as an angel. He is going to do WHATEVER it takes, now that he is the acting Supreme Archangel. It's Crowley he wants first, Heaven he wants second, and, sadly, due to the Mettatron making this offer, a life on Earth he wants last. And that sets up such a FANTASTIC conflict for S3!!!!!

Aziraphale, our beloved, fussy, STUBBORN Aziraphale, is now compromised. He is compromised with POWER. Power as the LITERAL, SUPREME ARCHANGEL. Is this NOT SUCH AN EXCITING AND HEARTBREAKING PROMISE FOR A WILD S3 EXPERIENCE??

Guys, we ALL know Aziraphale let Crowley down, but you have to see that Crowley let Aziraphale down in his eyes. Just as much. That's what makes this scene so tragic. We know Aziraphale isn't thinking the way we and Crowley thought he would, or HOPED he would despite how the world Didn't End. How despite everything in how S1 ended, he was still left with an uncontested sense of superiority that we were all too elated to see was something Left Behind within him.

This season brought all that stuff out:

"We will win of course. Obviously. Heaven will triumph over Hell. It's all going to be rather lovely."

"You were an angel once..."

"Why, yes, I am a great deal holier than thou, that's the whole point."

(after gabriel/beelzebub leave in s1) "See, Crowley, it's as I said--" (back to what he said in the Bentley in S1E2, how Evil always plants the seeds of its own destruction and Good will always win out in the end)

These types of thoughts, and him spending all of the 6,000 years he knew Crowley separating them as one inherently good and one inherently wicked.... guys, that won't just go away after only 4 years of being on their Own Side. We hoped it would. We wanted it to. But it doesn't make sense. Yes, even if the earthshattering realization Aziraphale had that Heaven never truly cared about what was Good did change his character and essentially complete his arc in S1... it didn't change everything.

His arc in S1 was completed when he learned that Heaven wasn't for him. That they never cared. That only he and Crowley could save this world. But this is where the show deviates from the book - Aziraphale in the book is angry. Bitter. Scorned. Aziraphale in the show is just heartbroken. He mourns for the only ever family he knew. He mourns what he always saw himself to be. That mourning isn't just going to go away after 4 years. What is 4 years to a creature that has lived for a possible billion before the Creation? 4 years on earth to 6,000? That terrible wound he suffered that day is still VERY much fresh. It's an open wound he didn't properly take care of. And the Mettatron noticed, didn't he? Yes, you can understand that someone or Something isn't FOR you, and know all the reasons why, yet still wish you could go back... it's how abusive relationships work. You confuse nostalgia with remorse. You confuse nostalgia for real love.

Of COURSE he would seize the opportunity to get what he felt he lost back. And HE could do it. HE has the power. He can make it ALL RIGHT again, everything he's ever wanted...

...and this is why he completely breaks down when Crowley doesn't want to be beside him to do it. Rewatch it. Look at him. Look in his eyes. The way he winces when Crowley kisses him. His internal conflict (Heaven/Crowley vs. Our Side/Crowley) is externalized through Sheen's brilliant acting. His arms coming up to embrace him, but they never fully commit, they just graze him and hover around his body. The way he launches himself backward, away from the kiss, but his body is still slightly leaning forward. When he brings up his shaky hand to touch his lips, and not crying. Never crying. Because he is an Angel, and Angels don't cry. Not like a Demon would. Crowley is all he wants, but now, Crowley doesn't want him. Not like this. Not anymore.

Because, well, Aziraphale said it, didn't he?

Nothing lasts forever.

[finleycannotdraw]

Guess what? I’m re-binge-reading Good Omens. And here are some Obervations that I forgot about and some things I might put in fics. Also things I found funny. Basically my dumb commentary on the book.

Crowley actually flees Sister Mary. He doesn’t saunter vaguely away. He flees.

Ligur is rather more thoughtful than he’s portrayed in the show

Anathema likes to read about herself, and her teachers are confused because she spells words like Agnes Nutter

Crowley apologizes

By page 41, it is mentioned at least twice that Aziraphale and Crowley Do Not choose each other’s company for any reason other than that they are constants, that they have an Arrangement, and that they are Friends because being Enemies got boring.

Aziraphale blushes!!!!!!

The Drunk Scene is fuckin hilarious and it’s actually a lot longer than it is in the show, and really you ought to read it. (Book pages 47-50)

My mom (who has a PhD in human development) would probably like to talk to Crowley about upbringing because they seem to agree on how important it is

War has always looked 25, and had a vulture that died of fatty degeneration

Pollution is very cleverly compared to actual pollution

Warlock has Kermit the frog overalls, and Nanny Ashtoreth is described as someone who “advertises unspecified but strangely explicit services in certain magazines”. The tutors are present for about four paragraphs. Warlock is good at math and likes banana flavored bubblegum.

Crowley has a slice of angel cake. Aziraphale eats it. Aziraphale also eats deviled eggs. Hm.

Crowley calls Aziraphale angel casually enough to suggest he’s been doing it for a long time

Some girl at Warlock’s party calls Aziraphale a f*ggot

Crowley glares suspiciously at a gerbil. It is suggested that Hell has, in the past, sent hell-gerbils in place of hellhounds.

“Oh dear,” muttered Aziraphale, not swearing with the practiced ease of one who has spent six thousand years not swearing, and who wasn’t going to start now.

Adam and his friends play in a place called The Pit, where shopping carts go to die, apparently

Crowley is the first one to mention sides in the book!??!? Also Crowley goes on about how humans are more evil than Hell (but he calls himself evil—is he calling himself human already?)

Aziraphale yells “get off the road, you clown!”

“What’s a velvet underground?” *love confession???* “you wouldn’t like it”

Aziraphale is a bit rude to Crowley in the “flashes of love” scene and Crowley is less panicked about it

Crowley glares at the Bentley and it fixes itself

Anathema’s bike is called Phaeton

COULD THEY ACT ANY MORE MARRIED OH MY GOD

Aziraphale speaks like. Like ugh. “FlOUndeR on tHe rOcKS of inEquiTY”

“Thirty seconds later someone shot both of them. With incredible accuracy.” *cuts to a random pleasant story about Mary Hodges* *cuts back to where Aziraphale has fallen into a rhododendron and Crowley licks the paint before he knows it’s paint* dumbasses

Crowley does not slam Aziraphale into the wall

Crowley is actually pretty impatient and doesn’t argue with Aziraphale when he’s worried

“Nothing but dust and fundamentalists” “that was nasty” “sorry, couldn’t help it”

When the radio sings “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,” Crowley sings “for me” and then screams

Crowley asks Aziraphale if he’ll keep in touch, and Aziraphale doesn’t say tickety-boo, and then Crowley says “right” and feels very alone

the international express man is small and has glasses, and wears green woolen socks

The sword, which turns out to be Aziraphale’s, is described as having an aura of hatred and menace, which makes me think of how it could’ve gotten that aura from Heaven or from humanity or from War...

In the book Pepper has red hair and freckles, which makes it a cool comparison to War’s appearance and the defeat of War

Adam is excellent at slouching, apparently

Occasionally, as Aziraphale reads the book, he would very nearly swear

“He wouldn’t have said ‘that’s weird’ if a flock of sheep had cycled past playing violins.”

“If you had told him there were children starving in Africa he would’ve been flattered that you’d noticed.”

“...that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.” (151)

Wensleydale watches David Attenborough programs

Shadwell’s voice is described as “the color of an old raincoat” and seems to fake smoking cigarettes

Aziraphales cocoa is moldy and solidified by the time he calls Arthur Young, and has a thin layer of dust on himself too

Newt says that the walls look like nicotine and the floor looks like cigarette ash, and he suspects both are, actually, coated with these substances

Newt looks a bit like Clark Kent, and people seem to like Shadwell for some reason, much to his annoyance.

Aziraphale calls Shadwell “dear boy” on the phone

Agnes Nutter called God a daft old fool #goals

Adam is wayyyy too good at video games

Smelling Anathema’s perfume makes Newt uncomfortable

Adam suggests that Pepper ought to have Russia cause of her red hair (huh)

Anathema and Newt actually have decent conversations?? Like?? Show??? C’mon, man. The show kinda butchered their relationship.

Trees, apparently, make a ‘vvrooooommm’ sound when they grow very fast

“He suspected that Crowley was from the Mafia, or the underworld, although he would have been surprised how right he nearly was.” Shadwell also thought Aziraphale was a Russian spy. Wow, Shadwell.

Aziraphale calls Crowley and actually says “shut up” to him, and then when the answering machine beeps, he tells Crowley to “stop making noises” and then he swears for the first time ever.

The fuckin’ footnote on page 227

“A sleek computer was the sort of thing Crowley felt that the sort of human he tried to be would have.” I like the word choice here. He’s not pretending to be a human, he’s trying to be one. That’s a really important distinction.

It never actually says what Crowley does to his plants.

Crowley’s flat is very white. Wow, Crowley. It just looks dark because of the lighting. Heaven imagery and symbolism out my ears, goddammit.

Why does Hell say Crowley’s name so much when talking to him?? Honestly, I think that’s an intentional dig at his chosen name, using it in their speech to scare him. Wow, Hell. (And wow, Finn, excellent sentence)

Whenever the book says something is shaped like something, it definitely isn’t that thing. “man-shaped” “dog-shaped” “car-shaped”... makes it pretty obvious they aren’t men, dogs, or cars, huh.

The code to Crowley’s safe is 4004. The year he “slithered onto this stupid, marvelous planet”... and the year he met Aziraphale, of course. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, Crowley, my dude.

Crowley consideres sticking Hastur into his car until he turns into Freddie Mercury but then decides even he isn’t that cruel

Actual text that I feel like nobody really agrees with: “Madame Tracy was by many yardsticks quite stupid”

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” “...imagine me out of uniform, sir, and what kind of man would you see before you? Honestly?” “A prat.”

I’m crying. The fucking bookshop fire scene made me fucking cry. I’m literally crying.

“...on all fours in the blazing bookshop, Crowley cursed Aziraphale, and the ineffable plan, and Above, and Below.” “The police and firemen looked at him, saw the expression on his face, and stayed exactly where they were.” “...a crack of thunder so loud it hurt....” *the sound of Finley sobbing into their cat*

The shortest biker in the cafe thing is 6′2, what the fuck

War, Famine, Pollution, and Pop Trivia 1962-1979

“Pollution removed his helmet and shook out his long white hair. He had taken over when Pestilence, muttering about penicillin, had retired in 1936. If only the old boy had known what opportunities the future had held.” HMMMMMMMMMMM

“There were no bitches in Hell either.” I know it’s talking about female dogs, but I rather thought Hell was full of bitches.

“Why are you talking like a poofter?” “Ah. Australia.”

“gOsh, aM i on teLEviSiON?” (Basically Aziraphale gets passionate about stuff and likes to talk).

Crowley is actually an optimist and doesn’t dwell too much on how sucky the world is. He doesn’t go get smashed in a bar. He just finds Aziraphale’s notes in the book and heads to Tadfield. And also, his new pair of sunglasses just... materializes out of his eyes. And he likes to whistle.

“Death and Famine and War and Pollution continued biking to Tadfield. And Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty to Animals, Things Not Working Properly Even After You’ve Given Them A Good Thumping But Secretly No Alcohol Lager, and Really Cool People traveled with them.”

“on top of the pile a rather large octopus waved a languid tentacle at them. The sergeant resisted the temptation to wave back.” Honestly dude, if an octopus waved at me I’d wave back.

Wait Agnes was apparently talking to Shadwell and not God when she said yowe daft old foole. I dunno

Madame Tracy: You old silly. Shadwell: 

Aziraphale does not know how to get rid of demons. Canonically. “Had never done other to get rid of demons than to hint to them very strongly that he, Aziraphale, had some work to be getting on with, and wasn’t it getting late? And Crowley always got the hint.”

The road to Hell is paved with frozen door to door salesmen, apparently. The question is where it is, because the demons always seem to just stem out of the ground.

“Heigh ho,” said Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway. I love this sentence during that scene. 

I bet Hastur gets really mad whenever he hears Aziraphale’s voice from now on

Crowley isn’t breathing the entire burning Bentley scene

ADAM. SAID. “But I reckon you can make your own side” AND WE FUCKIN IGNORED IT?

The temperature above the M25 was simultaneously 700ºC and -140ºC which makes me think of something I read about magenta not being real. The M25 is magenta.

I feel like “Agnes” is just going to become an inside joke between Anathema and Newt at this point, and it will drive Crowley insane because he knows who she is but somehow still doesn’t get the joke.

I’m six inches taller than R.P. Tyler, and apparently according to the back sleeve of the book jacket, I’m very similar in height to Neil Gaiman

R.P. Tyler thought Shadwell was a ventriloquist’s dummy, and then sees cows doing somersaults

“That’s terrific. Much obliged,” said Crowley. — “Funny weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” “Probably because your car is on fire.” .... Also the fact that Crowley looks like a young man which I find interesting.

“The Four Button-Pressers of the Apocalypse”

“Where is Armageddon, anyway?” “I’ve always meant to look that up.” “There’s an Armageddon, Pennsylvania”

Famine is the one that says “that’s one big avocado”, and also, I find it interesting that War, more than once, talks about love. (All is fair in love and war much?)

Anathema threatens the guard with a stick, pretending it’s a gun

Aziraphale, of course, asks Crowley to sort it out because he, Aziraphale, is “the nice one” and then proceeds to sort it out himself. Because of course he does. Because what else could he possibly do.

I just ADORE THIS BOOK OKAY

I’M PROBABLY GOING TO READ IT AGAIN IN A MONTH

Aziraphale and Crowley are so fuckin married I can’t

[29-pieces]

The New Arrangement -- Good Omens fanfic

Snippet from chapter 3 of the ongoing fic Softly, Gently ^_^ Extended chapter to be posted in the next few days!

~*~

“Back to the bookshop, then?” Aziraphale suggested. “Or would you rather go round to your place? We should talk a bit, and I’d much rather not be so out in the open.”

“Mng,” Crowley agreed. “Naw, better go to yours. I haven’t cleaned Ligur off the floor yet, bit damp.”

“I’m sorry, you haven’t…?”

Crowley was fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt sleeves now, not seeming to want to meet Aziraphale’s eye. “Ah, right, erm… well, there wasn’t time to get into the story, what with you being discorporated and then the Apocalypse and all, then the swap…”

“Yes, well, I should say there’s time now. What do you mean about Ligur? The duke, isn’t he? One of the really nasty ones?”

Crowley snorted. “They’re all really nasty ones, angel. Look, it’s nothing to be too worried about, he’s gone now. Made sure of that.”

With a harrumph, Aziraphale stood and straightened his coat. “I think we’d best head to your place after all, dear boy. I can help you tidy the place while you tell me exactly what you’re so cleverly trying to not tell me right now.”

“It’s really nothing,” Crowley weakly tried, already hurrying after the angel. “Even gave Hastur the slip—”

“Hastur?” Aziraphale gasped. His stomach began to tighten. “So during your trial, that’s what they were talking about? All they said was that you had killed Ligur and I couldn’t exactly ask for more details when I was the one meant to have done it. That was at your home? Crowley, they came for you at home?”

“Don’t get all worked up, angel. That little ‘insurance policy’ I got from you, you remember? What in the blazes did you ever think I was going to do with it, hm? I said it was for if everything went pear-shaped, and it did, and I used it exactly the way I always meant to. Now Ligur’s dead and I’m not, so keep calm and I’ll tell you all about it, I promise.”

And he did, in hushed tones until they reached the car, and from there to the flat in Mayfair. Aziraphale’s head was positively dizzy with it all.

“So you see I really did want it to use on them,” Crowley couldn’t help but pointedly remark as the two stood over the now congealed pile of what used to be a Duke of Hell in the main doorway.

Heart still constricting in a terrible way just to think about Crowley facing down actual Dukes in his own flat, without any backup at all, Aziraphale nodded and looked down at the mess.

“I might have lost you anyway. I was just trying to keep you safe, and I… I might have been the reason you… You couldn’t have fought them off without it, you— you would have—”

Crowley straightened. “Now hold it, let’s not forget I am the wily serpent, aren’t I? Only had enough holy water to take one of ‘em out, had to get away from Hastur the old-fashioned way, and was right clever about it if I do say so myself. Trapped him in the ansaphone and everything, it was brilliant!”

He was obviously trying to lighten the mood a bit, but Aziraphale was having a hard time feeling any sort of amusement. All he could think was of their argument by the water that day so long ago, how Aziraphale had not only assumed he had plans to hurt himself if necessary, but had in fact left him defenseless.

…Trapped him in the ansaphone?

The ansaphone…

Aziraphale’s head shot up in shock and indignation.

“Now wait just a moment!” he exploded, making Crowley let go and take a startled step back. “When I called you, you said…”

Crowley grimaced with guilt, which was more than enough to confirm Aziraphale’s sudden suspicion.

“You said you had a friend over!”

“I mean… what was I supposed to say instead, eh?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe that Hastur the Duke of Hell was attacking?! How about that?”

Crowley’s grimace shifted to a frown, more serious than chagrined. “And what if I had, what then? What would you have done?”

“Why, I would have arrived immediately to help you, what do you think I would have done? Crowley—”

“There you go, and that’s exactly why I didn’t say anything, angel.” His expression was still so serious and somber, something haunted flashing in his eyes so that it quieted Aziraphale even in his outrage. Crowley turned away, resting one arm on the front door and tipping his head forward to lean against it.

Aziraphale waited a beat, then softly said, “Crowley?”

“Couldn’t risk it. The only reason I went along with the swap was because—well, for one thing, there was literally no other way out of our little mess—but I knew Beelzebub would be hurrying things along and they wouldn’t have time to get really evil."

“I’m afraid I’m not following.”

Crowley huffed. “Look, you’re not scared of anything, but sometimes you should be. I know you, angel, you go up against an enemy, and you want to fight. Me, I’m a coward, I’d rather run away any day, and that’s the only reason I’m alive now. You would have tried to fight Hastur, and maybe you would have even won. You’re no slouch with that sword and he hasn’t had a proper fight in ages, but if we’d lost?”

Crowley’s hands clenched into fists. “You, in Hell? And them with all the time they wanted to— Forget the end of the world, that would have been— no, I would rather the world end.”

Aziraphale was still trying to catch up on the idea that Crowley thought he wasn’t scared of anything. He stepped closer and carefully settled a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. He felt the demon tense, then loosen slightly under his touch. “There’s so much that I’m afraid of,” he admitted gently. “Not least of which is losing you. And yes, you’re right that I would have fought him. But what I’m most afraid of isn’t him, or even being killed by him—”

“Try ‘tortured for all eternity’.”

“And yes, that is a truly petrifying notion, but even more than that, I fear something similar happening to you and me not knowing you need help because you kept it secret. Oh,” he said, straightening suddenly. “I know what I want, then. If this is going to work between us, Crowley, this is what I want. Won’t you look at me, dear boy?”

He waited as Crowley turned himself slowly back around, then carefully reached up to slide Crowley’s glasses down enough to make real eye contact. Crowley blinked slowly but didn’t protest.

“No secrets,” Aziraphale said. “Not like that, at least. You don’t have to tell me absolutely everything, we’re both due some real privacy if we want it, but if we’re going to be together, I want to be together. If you’re in trouble, it’s my trouble, too.”

Crowley’s eyes flicked down. “I can’t put you in danger.”

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale said with a soft snort of laughter. “You must admit we’ve been putting each other in danger from the beginning, whether that was ever our intention or not.” He sobered. “I’m sorry, Crowley, but I must insist on this. Please don’t try to protect me, not like that. Don’t keep things like that a secret, and I promise to do the same, no matter how hard I admit it is. Whatever one of us faces, we’ll face together. Alright? Please.”

Crowley’s yellow-red eyes focused back on Aziraphale, regarding him silently for a moment. After a while, he nodded.

“Yeah, alright then,” he agreed. “But I want a promise in return.”

“That’s fair. What is it?”

“You’re the fighter, and you’re damn good at it, and you’re clever to boot. But being sneaky and wily is the game I’ve played best from the very beginning, and if there’s trouble, there won’t always be time to clue you in to what I’m thinking. So what I need is for you to trust me. If we’re in a tight spot and I tell you to do something that doesn’t make any sense or maybe even goes against everything you want to do, please… please just trust me.”

Aziraphale thought it over, slowly nodding. “But you wouldn’t use that to trick me into letting you sacrifice yourself?”

“No sacrifices. No tricks.”

“Only plans that end with us both coming home in the end?”

“I promise.”

Well, he couldn’t very well trust Crowley on all other things but not trust him on this. Aziraphale beamed and held out his hand. “I promise, too. That’s the new Arrangement, then.”

He was rewarded with a relieved smile from Crowley, then an amused smirk. The demon took his hand and squeezed lightly.

“The new Arrangement.”

[dickwheelie]

Day 22: Embrace

For the @ineffable-valentines prompt list!

A bit of an AU where the Arrangement is just a little bit spicier. This one’s very self-indulgent, so apologies for that.

__________

Not for the first time, Crowley marveled at his own patience.

It took a special kind of patience, he supposed, to wait for fifty, a hundred, sometimes over two hundred years at a time. Maybe that sort of patience was only attainable by a being who had been around since before the stars were made. Still, waiting around for centuries could be a right bastard, even for Crowley.

The wait was made both worse and better by the fact that there were no guarantees. He and Aziraphale rarely scheduled their meetings, and more often than not Crowley ran into him in the most unexpected of places. The bar in Rome had been the first real surprise, and had turned an otherwise rubbish and fruitless trip into a delightful one.

They hadn’t really begun their little entanglement, as Aziraphale liked to call it (with a bit of an uptight air), until the fourth or fifth time they’d run into one another unexpectedly. It had been sometime around the sixteenth century, at an estate somewhere in the French countryside, where a party for the upper class was being held. The moment Crowley had finished with his demonic work there, he’d escaped into the back garden with a full bottle of Pinot, fully intending to try and enjoy himself, away from the stuffy aristocrats and nobles, for the remainder of the evening.

Aziraphale had beaten him to it. The angel was already sitting on a bench in a secluded corner of the garden, halfway through a bottle of chardonnay. They greeted one another and chatted idly, complaining about their respective duties at the party and catching up on the last century or so since they’d seen one another. As the night wore on they grew steadily drunker and more merry, and one thing led to another, and, well—as Aziraphale would say, they entangled.

Well, Crowley amended, it wasn’t so scandalous as all that. They’d held one another, and kissed for a while, and it was all very nice and enjoyable. It was a bit awkward, and Aziraphale was clearly more experienced in such matters than Crowley, but they had their bit of fun regardless.

It hadn’t meant much, at the time.

But the evening’s events stuck with Crowley for weeks afterward. He kept picturing Aziraphale’s face, blushing from the wine and perhaps the company as well, his curls mussed from Crowley’s hands running through them—and the feeling of those curls, the softness of them, like running his hands through clouds. The softness of Aziraphale, how his body felt in Crowley’s arms, how his hands felt on Crowley’s face as he kissed him. And oh, the kissing. Even in his drunken state, Crowley had known he was experiencing something important the first time Aziraphale kissed him. He’d made the conscious effort to memorize the feeling, lest it never happen again. But he needn’t have worried; after Aziraphale kissed him for the first time, he pulled away for only a moment, barely long enough to take a breath, and then he was kissing Crowley again, like he couldn’t stand not doing it again. It electrified Crowley all the way down to his toes.

He thought about that particular moment a lot, afterwards.

Crowley had fully expected it to be a one-time thing, which he was fine with. Aziraphale was first and foremost a friend (yes, yes, and his mortal hereditary enemy for the rest of time, et cetera et cetera), and Crowley was perfectly fine with that arrangement.

However, the next time they saw one another, at a masquerade ball in Italy about half a century later, they both got rather tipsy again and ended up sneaking into a back room together. Aziraphale could barely manage to pull away from Crowley’s lips long enough to lock the bolt on the door.

“I missed you,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, as he pulled Crowley onto a sofa. “I kept thinking about us, in the garden, at that dreadful party.”

Crowley didn’t reply for quite a few seconds because he was too busy mouthing at Aziraphale’s throat. “Same here,” he said, pulling back for a moment. “Wasn’t sure you’d want to do it again.”

He felt Aziraphale tug at his collar, and Crowley allowed him to pull him up to his lips, kissing him thoroughly. Crowley made a noise in his throat that he wasn’t entirely proud of. “My dear boy,” Aziraphale said against his lips, “I have wanted to do this again every day for the past fifty-eight years.”

So it began. They were cautious, they had to be, and they ever set a date or counted out the years, but every time they noticed one another across the room at a party, or in the crowd at some public spectacle (and if this happened more often than was strictly probable, neither of them ever mentioned it), they took the first opportunity to steal away into an alleyway or closet or unused guest room and kissed and held one another like they were in danger of discorporating if they didn’t.

It was wonderful. Well, while it was happening, it was wonderful. It was the decades in between that were unpleasant. It was the waiting that made Crowley marvel at his own patience again and again.

Crowley, of course, didn’t blame Aziraphale. He blamed, primarily, Heaven and Hell, the two most glaring reasons he and Aziraphale couldn’t just shack up in a cottage somewhere and forget about the rest of the Universe whenever they liked. As it was, however, they both had to maintain a level of plausible deniability about their situation, lest their head offices start getting wise.

At least, that was how it was a week ago.

Now, Crowley supposed, everything was different. He’d no longer have to come up with any excuses, or wait for decades to see Aziraphale; at most he’d have to wait ten, twenty minutes to account for traffic on the way to the bookshop. He could get there even faster if he speeded. They’d no longer have to hide away in back rooms to kiss; they could do it in broad daylight if they wanted, or perhaps somewhere more comfortable like the sofa in the bookshop, but the point was that it was their choice. They could do it wherever and whenever they liked.

It was a week after Armageddon, and Crowley was standing on the front stoop of the bookshop, holding a bottle of good French chardonnay and trying not to fidget. He’d been patient this long, what was a minute or two longer?

After a handful of seconds that seemed to stretch to hours, Aziraphale opened the door. “I’m terribly sorry, but we’re—Oh, hello, Crowley!” he said, surprised. He glanced around the street outside. “Why didn’t you just come in, dear boy? You know the door’s always unlocked for you.”

Crowley stepped into the shop as Aziraphale opened the door wider for him. “Wanted to get you this,” he said, handing Aziraphale the wine and not really answering his question. In truth, Crowley wasn’t too sure of the answer himself. It just seemed right to do it this way. Formally. Politely. Patiently. The way Aziraphale deserved.

“Oh, this is very nice,” Aziraphale was saying, examining the bottle. “But what’s the occasion? We’ve already celebrated the end of the world.”

Crowley took a breath. “We’ve been—erm, meeting up for a while now. Whenever we can. All secretive. But now we don’t have to, you see? We can, erm, do it whenever we like. The. Uh. Entangling, I mean. If you still want to. With me.” It was not a very good speech. Crowley wasn’t even sure it made any real sense at all.

But Aziraphale, as he always did, understood him. Very slowly, he put down the wine and approached Crowley, coming to stand very close, their noses almost touching. He reached up to tug at Crowley’s collar, to rub at his shoulders, to hold his hands in his. “I didn’t even realize,” he said, marveling. “In all the excitement, I’d forgotten—it would be so easy, now.”

“You—don’t think it’ll be too boring, now, do you?” said Crowley, weak beneath Aziraphale’s wandering hands. “Without the sneaking around, the thrill of the clandestine meeting, y’know—”

Aziraphale kissed him. Right in front of the open windows of the shop, right in the middle of the day. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said as he pulled away. “Here, let’s move to the sofa, so I can really get my hands on you.”

“Angel,” Crowley laughed, following the familiar tugging across the room, “we don’t have to do it now, I was just checking in—I brought the wine so we could—”

But Aziraphale had already flung the both of them onto the sofa, and had started kissing him again. “The wine can wait,” he said, between kisses. “I can’t anymore.”

“Oh, Angel,” said Crowley, running his hands through those curls with what could only be described as reckless abandon, “if you only knew how much I agree.”

[lxvenderjewel]

YESSSS SOMEONE ASKED ME TO ELABORATE

uhhh everything under the cut 👍 i don't know i'm new to tumblr

we're gonna go in album order, so are you

...Ready For It?

i'm so sorry for that, moving on...

“Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him” let’s turn to the episode where aziraphale is gallivanting around trying to get people to come to the shopkeeper’s association ball and crowley’s right behind him like a godblessed guard dog? i bet you real dollars that half the people aziraphale asked immediately complied out of fear of crowley

“Some, some boys are tryin' too hard

He don't try at all, though” outwardly it looks like crowley literally does not care what anyone thinks of him and mostly that is true like he could not give less of a fuck what any humans think of him. he’s not even scared of gabriel he breathes fire at him and then tells him to jump out of the fucking window

“I see nothing better, I keep him forever” do i NEED to explain this is just crowley and azi about each other

“I-I-I see how this is gon' go

Touch me and you'll never be alone” was literally crowley at eden

“No one has to know” for YEARS they keep it secret from their higher ups that they regularly interact (granted they’re also fucking stupid but)

“In the middle of the night, in my dreams” crowley is the one out of the two of them that does actually sleep and likewise is probably the only one out of the two that has experienced dreaming

“I know I'm gonna be with you

So I take my time” crowley is aware that aziraphale returns his feelings he’s just biding his time like that’s very clear

“Knew I was a robber first time that he saw me

Stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry” crowley literally falls for aziraphale as soon as he admits he gave the flaming sword away

“And we'll move to an island, and” crowley asking aziraphale to run away to alpha centauri with him

“Every lover known in comparison is a failure” literally their love transcends time and space get out of my face

“I forget their names now, I'm so very tame now” crowley literally forgetting every demon/angel he’s ever interacted with like he does it with saraqael and with furfur (i think) this man is too infatuated to think about anyone else

“Never be the same now, now” so if you believe that s2’s opening scene is canon (which i’m a little iffy on because of The Magic Trick You Didn’t See) then like. crowley probably wouldn’t have fallen if he hadn’t met azi. Have you guys seen the neil gaiman post where someone points out crowley’s wings getting slightly darker while he’s talking to aziraphale and neil says “it’s a thing we worked very hard on” that was INTENTIONAL. he would not have fallen if he never met aziraphale. marinate on that

“Baby, let the games begin

Let the games begin

Let the games begin” will just be season 3

End Game

“I wanna be your end game

I wanna be your first string” crowley @ aziraphale

“Oh, you and me, we got big reputations” after the armageddidn’t crowley and aziraphale are definitely well known in heaven and hell

“Ooh, I got some big enemies” everyone down there probably hates crowley. if they came across him they would not hesitate. also the m*tatron

“Oh, you and me would be a big conversation” let me turn you to when shax hitchhikes with aziraphale and tells him there were rumors about him and crowley in hell so people had to have been talking about them incessantly

“I'm so stoked, I need a toast” them at the ritz

“I'm one call away, whenever you need me (yeah)” just like. crowley for aziraphale. as soon as he gets free of hastur he races to the bookshop to figure out why aziraphale called him.

“I got a bad boy persona, it's what they like (what they like)” crowley pretends to be tough and evil but he’s kind and caring like we know this we’ve seen this over and over again

“You hold me down and I protect you with my life (my life)” there will be a point in s3 where crowley has to protect aziraphale whether it’s from the m*tatron, angels, demons, it will happen i believe in it

“I don't wanna miss you (I don't wanna miss you)” crowley @ aziraphale

“I don't wanna hurt you, I just wanna be

Drinking on a beach with you all over me” crowley and running away to alpha centauri

“Knew her when I was young

Reconnected when we were little bit older” when they were young is the s2 opening scene, when they were a little bit older is eden

“Even when we'd argue, we'd not do it for long” they argue during s1 and they still end up together

“And you understand the good and bad end up in the song” like at the end of s1 aziraphale finally understands heaven is not on his side

“For all your beautiful traits and the way you do it with ease

For all my flaws, paranoia, and insecurities” crowley will always be scared of rejection no matter how confident he is in the fact that aziraphale loves him back. and though it was a dumbass move i have to respect how confident aziraphale was that crowley would accept going to heaven with him

“I've made mistakes and made some choices, that's hard to deny” they’ve both made many mistakes do i need to explain this

“We tried to forget it, but we just couldn't” is so real like aziraphale trying to focus on his duties in heaven and crowley trying to move on but neither of them can

“And I can't let you go

Your hand prints on my soul” look to the line above

“It's like your body is gold” most of the angels have golden markings on their body, aziraphale probably will too

“You've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks” nina and maggie call him out for the first time in his existence about aziraphale

I Did Something Bad

“I never trust a narcissist

But they love me” could god be considered a narcissist?

“'Cause for every lie I tell them

They tell me three” this applies to both demons and angels they’re never truthful to anyone

“This is how the world works” and crowley has just accepted this fact by now. aziraphale hasn’t

“I can feel the flames on my skin” this one is just too obvious guys

“If a man talks shit, then I owe him nothing

I don't regret it one bit, 'cause he had it coming” can we say this about satan? can i say this is how crowley sees satan after s1?

“They say I did something bad

Then why's it feel so good?” on falling

“They never see it comin'

What I do next” this is just general consensus on crowley he’s quite unpredictable to hell

“This is how the world works

You gotta leave before you get left” is definitely crowley’s philosophy especially after s2

“He says, "Don't throw away a good thing"” was literally aziraphale in the s2 finale

“They're burning all the witches, even if you aren't one

They got their pitchforks and proof

Their receipts and reasons” idk what it was called when all the demons collectively fell out of heaven but that. this lyric is about that.

“So light me up (light me up), light me up (light me up)

Light me up, go ahead and light me up (light me up)” crowley is self-sacrificial train is now boarding! aziraphale might fall and if he does crowley will raise all something to get him… unfallen i guess

next three songs coming like tomorrow probably ✌

the entirety of reputation is so Crowley coded i absolutely will elaborate if anyone asks

[caesarclowningaround]

I was tagged by @flightsofwonder! Thanks dearie!! This was interesting and fun!

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 favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Felt With the Heart (MCU, 1123 words) Jane fiddled with the skirt of her dress for the thirtieth time. 

The Pure and Simple Truth (MCU/Mr. Robot, 2500 words) Gods and monsters. It’s all real. Who knew? For some reason, Elliot wasn’t at all surprised as he stared across the room at the ‘god’ before him. 

Next Stop (Good Omens, 620 words) It wasn’t that Crowley meant to smack his shoulder into the other man’s as he walked through the subway car… but he meant to. 

voulez-vous coucher avec moi? (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast, 1163 words) Adam could have anyone he wanted. This wasn’t just hubris, it was a fact. 

Shadows (Trouble in the Heights, 561 words) The room is a swirling mass of color and fabrics. 

my happy ending is right next to me (IT movie franchise, 246 words) Richie couldn’t wait to dive into the champagne at the reception. 

Baking Without Flour (Good Omens, 961 words) Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he entered Crowley’s apartment, but he at least expected that he’d be unpacked by now.  

Violet Skies (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast, 42622 words (and counting)) Another day, another suitor. This one was from the far west with flowered silks and bright pastels. Prince Adam from France. 

Horizon (Star Wars, 1397 words) It was so different than anything Armitage could have imagined. And oh, he had imagined.

the booze and the bell chimes (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast/2015!Cinderella, 6272 words) 11:00 AM - 6 HOURS BEFORE THE WEDDING “BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY ROCKIN’ EVERYWHERE” Jafar nearly jumped out of bed, his heart pounding in time with the pounding in his head. 

The Dream (MCU/Loki: Where Mischief Lies, 602 words) There is pain as he feels the grip tighten around his throat. He struggles for air, knowing it to be futile at this point. Then, a sharp crack of agony… and he’s gone.

Submerge (Star Wars, 8750 words) His father had warned him many times as a boy to stay away from the Dark Shoals. When Kylo took to the sea as an adult, still his father warned him that morning.

Good at Waiting (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast, 618 words) Adam wasn’t sure where he was at first. But as the world came into focus around him, he remembered. He remembered dinner the night before, celebrating their six-month anniversary. 

Boom, Clap! (Crash Pad/MCU, 12175 words (and counting)) I need to lay off the weed. It certainly wasn’t the first time Stensland had thought this (or even attempted to put the thought into action soon after), much less the first time he had thought it the moment he had woken up from some batshit crazy trippy dream.

The Ocean Under the Moon (2019!Aladdin/They Call Me Jeeg, 1525 words (and counting)) Fabio had a weird, mostly unknown love for thrift stores. 

a lil something (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast, 728 words) Jafar’s phone vibrates in his pocket for the second time in the past ten minutes. 

Love is a Battlefield (The Old Guard, 1328 words) There was an excitement in the air as they all stood in formation. Syrus pawed at the ground, his hoof kicking up grass and dust that hung around his legs. 

when push comes to shove (2019!Aladdin/Trust, 1371 words) It had started with Jafar grabbing fistfuls of Primo’s ass and a mocking comment about how thin his pants were, which somehow had led to Jafar assuming Primo wasn’t wearing anything under the blue trousers. He assumed correctly.

play us an encore (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast, 2400 words) “Open your robe.” Jafar didn’t move from where he was standing in the bathroom doorway. Dressed in only his silk red robe, he stared back at Adam, who was smiling in a way that Jafar couldn’t read.

break the bubble (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast/2015!Cinderella, 1092 words) “Love is like a bomb, baby, c’mon get it on…” The lights flashed as three gorgeous men walked onto the stage, lip synching with the loud lyrics of Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me" playing over the speakers. 

Analysis:

First of all, the fact that 11/20 of these are crossovers is pretty telling of what my favorite thing to write is. Most are either Aladdin crossovers or Marvel crossovers (and involve either Jafar or Loki, respectively) so there’s that.

This list goes back about two years, which is interesting because in the past two years I’ve been working on bigger projects most of the time. Notice how most of these fics are under 2k? Most of these started as small fic prompts or 2am spur-of-the-moment ideas and the longer ones are the more self-indulgent fics.

5 of these fics start with a line that’s mostly used to catch a reader’s attention before a tag, which is then followed by a bit of exposition or action. Twice I use song lyrics as a way of grabbing attention because the POV of the character is also having their attention grabbed.

Several times I just jump right into a character’s POV and begin with them thinking about something or essentially telling the reader “what is happening is normal” or “what is happening is not normal” depending on the situation. It’s also sometimes a quick recap or the statement of a fact about our POV character.

Most of the time, I just jump right into the action to get the story moving. I’ve noticed I prefer to do this over giving a description of where we are. If I do give a description, it almost always comes after the opening line. With the exception of Shadows, none of these opening lines are a setting description.

I really do have a thing for crossovers, especially the weird ones LOL I just love the idea of two different worlds connecting in some way and having the characters themselves connect on another level. D*sney’s been crossing over their stuff since well before I was even born, so while it’s not surprising to see a disney crossover fic, I do think there’s something to writing that odd lil ship I’ve written about 7 fics for (dang!)

I tend to deal with themes of forbidden love in various ways and how the characters make those connections despite the fact they shouldn’t be together. Whether it’s as simple as unrequited romance, or they’re enemies, or they’re not necessarily enemies but they really shouldn’t be together... and yet they always find a way. IDK maybe I’m just a romantic at heart who loves seeing love stories about love conquering all. But that being said, the obstacles these characters face aren’t typical ones?? Like, from this list at least, love triangles aren’t something I’m interested in, but if there is a third party (like in Violet Skies) the third party is never really considered to be a “threat” to the main couple. 

That’s probably another reason why I dig crossover ships, because they inherently shouldn’t be together. they’re from vastly different worlds with maybe one or two things in common (like genre or setting or a character detail or just a vibe).

Or I’m just here to have fun and I’m dragging these characters into the fun zone whether they like it or not :P

But really, all of these are love stories in some way or another. Not that I’ve never written gen fic and I love reading gen fic! But I guess my fave fics to write are the shippy stuff. I just enjoy exploring these types of relationships, despite whether or not they “should” be together. Heck, a couple of these do not have happy endings nor should they. It’s really interesting seeing exactly how drawn to that stuff I am.

FAVE OPENING LINE This is kind of a weird thing to say, but I really don’t care a lot of my opening lines most of the time. I think they are what they need to be, but they don’t hit me the way they should? Some of these I kinda wish I could go back and change, though that’s mostly cuz out of all the lines in each of these fics the first lines I’ve read and reread the most. So it’s mostly me being my own worst critic, but I think my best writing comes more in the middle and ends of my fics, not the beginnings. 

That said, I gotta go with Violet Skies: Another day, another suitor. This one was from the far west with flowered silks and bright pastels. Prince Adam from France.

This is one of those opening lines I’d never change. The fic starts off from Jafar’s POV and he is bored of these princes coming and going and starting this big fic off with him being like “here we go again” with this basic description of Adam is exactly where the fic needed to start, so by the time the reader gets to the end of the first chapter, we know this is definitely not “here we go again” with Prince Adam~

TAGGING: @pigsinablanketfort, @heroofshield, @thenightisfullofangels, @raptorwhisperer, @theresatvjoe, aaaaaaand anybody else who wants to do it!!!!

[ineffable-endearments]

Interpretive translation of the bandstand breakup (because I think there’s a truly absurd amount bubbling just underneath the surface)

Bold text - What the brokenhearted celestials actually say.

Regular text - What they’re trying to say, but can’t.

This is just my interpretation, obviously. I’m basing it on the other things that are going on at the time, what the characters are doing during the conversation (for example, Aziraphale keeps glancing around nervously), and what I know about the characters.

Also like...feel free to talk back to me about this...I’d rather have gentle disagreements about what the characters really mean than not talk about any of it.

===

A: “It’s the Great Plan, Crowley.” = “This is much bigger than the two of us, and whatever happens is inevitable. I want us to plan for that.”

C: “For the record, great pustulent mangled bollocks to the Great Blasted Plan!” = “Oh yeah? Well it SUCKS. Everything is cruel. I don’t want to obey.”

A: “May you be forgiven!” = “I really want you to find a good place in all this, and I wish you wouldn’t tempt fate with these curses. They might be listening.”

C: “I won’t be forgiven. Not ever. That’s part of a demon’s job description. Unforgivable. That’s what I am.” = “I’m a scapegoat. That’s my whole role in the universe. Heaven has decided there’s nothing else to me, and you know what? I embrace it. I don’t need approval from people like that.”

A: “You were an angel once.” = “But no, scapegoating is not what you were made for. Not originally. Maybe you could be an angel again. (Please, for me, try. I’m an angel, you know.)”

C: “That was a long time ago. We find the boy. My agents can do it…” = “I’m telling you, I really don’t want to be an angel. But listen, we can still change the plan. We can have it all.”

A: “And then what? We eliminate him?” = “You’re changing the subject away from Heaven and I don’t like it because I was trying to make a point. But sure. Let’s go down that road. Now our only option is killing the boy, which neither of us wants to do.”

C: “Well…somebody does. I’m not personally up for killing kids.” = “I don’t see any way around it. It kind of seems like it has to happen. I can’t do it, but you have justified it when God did it in the past...”

A: “You’re a demon. I’m the nice one. I don’t have to kill children.” = “You just peeled this conversation away from my alternative, rejoining Heaven. If you want to stay a demon so badly then accept what that really means. You’re choosing the side that does the bad things.”

C: “Uh huh.” = “Heaven has no real moral superiority. Nothing about their morality ‘really means’ anything. Look at all the horrible things they did in the past.”

A: “If you kill him, the world gets a reprieve and Heaven won’t have blood on its hands.” = “God decided we have a good side and a bad side. You’re saying you’d rather stick with the bad side, so it’s your job to do the bad thing. Weren’t you just embracing your unforgivability? Are you saying you don’t want to be on Hell’s side?”

(Note that here, Aziraphale is tipping his hand a little - by saying “Heaven won’t have blood on its hands” if Crowley kills the Antichrist, he’s implying that he thinks Heaven will kill the Antichrist if they have to. And indeed, that is his whole plan. It was his plan when he talked to the Archangels before arriving here at the bandstand, and it’s still his plan when he leaves and talks to Gabriel. This argument is definitely NOT about keeping Heaven’s hands clean. Heaven’s hands haven’t been clean since the Beginning. For those reasons, I believe Aziraphale is not actually attempting to convince Crowley to kill Adam - I think this is instead an attempt at convincing Crowley it would be better to come back to Heaven and hope he either takes the hint or outright changes his mind. Of course, Aziraphale can’t say that plan outright, because that would be dangerous for both of them.)

C: “No blood on your hands? That’s a bit holier than thou, isn’t it?” = “So you’re saying you’re inherently better than me and that’s why I’m supposed to take on the dirty work, including things I’m horribly uncomfortable with?!”

A: “I’m a great deal holier than thou. That’s the whole point.” = “This good and evil stuff is decided by God. It’s FORCED on us. We can’t DO anything about it, except obey. If you came over to Heaven’s side you wouldn’t even have to worry about it.”

C: “Then you should kill the boy yourself. Holi-ly.” = “If everything you choose to do is good by default, then just kill the Antichrist. It inherently doesn’t mean anything for your moral standing. It’s already right.”

A: “I’m not killing anybody.” = “This is not about my actual, personal moral beliefs. This is about what I’m trying to orchestrate with the powers that be. And incidentally, i’m trying to orchestrate it so that nobody is asking me to kill YOU.”

C: “This is ridiculous. I don’t know why I’m even talking to you.” = “Aziraphale, it’s really fucked up that you would ask me to bend the knee like this to your creepy angel cult. I can’t believe after everything, you still believe in them.”

A: “Frankly, neither do I.” = “So then why are you bothering with me at all?”

C: “Enough. I’m leaving.” = “I thought you were going to actually help, but if you won’t, if you’re still this stuck on Heaven, then there’s no point to us talking.”

A: “You can’t leave, Crowley. There’s nowhere to go.” = “Wait! Neither of us has any other option! You have to come with me, or Hell will punish you!”

C: “Big universe. Even if all this ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we could go off together.” = “Actually, we do have an option. We could just leave this war behind. We could choose each other over Heaven and Hell, and we could choose to escape no matter what happens to Earth.”

A love confession.

A: “‘Go off...together’? Listen to yourself.” = “Wait...what? I suppose you do have another option, then. But you're confessing this now? When you want me to leave Earth? I can’t.”

C: “How long have we been friends? Six thousand years?” = “We both know we’re each other’s most important people.”

A: “Friends? We aren’t friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing in common. I don’t even like you.” = “We were fated to be mortal enemies from the start. Now you want me to give up the Earth, our one common ground, the one thing that brought us together, the place where we became “us”? I can’t leave...you said we were going to be godfathers. For my own sake, for the Earth’s sake, I need to believe I can let you go. For your sake, you need to go without me.”

C: “You do.” = “I know you’re posturing. You care about me deeply. You care about what we’ve got. Choose me or don’t, but please don’t put conditions on it.”

A: “Even if I knew where the Antichrist was, I wouldn’t tell you! We are on opposite sides!” = “Fine. You got me. I adore you. But the only plan I can think of is to go to Heaven for help with saving the Earth. And the Earth was ‘our side’ until you just decided it wasn’t. It would be dangerous for both of us if you got involved with the Antichrist while I’m trying to lead Heaven to him.”

C: “We’re on our side.” = “You care more about what we have than about Heaven. It’s always been the two of us versus Heaven and Hell. I know it. And you trust me more than you trust Heaven, too.”

A: “There is no our side. Not anymore. It’s over.” = “Yes, but I can’t leave the world to its destruction. Protecting the Earth is as important to me as defying Heaven is important to you. So we can’t help each other. We’re a danger to each other. I am severing our ties.”

C: “Have a nice doomsday.” = “Fine then. But Heaven is going to disappoint you. I’m hurt. I don’t understand how you could believe Heaven is going to be the key to saving the world after all of our experiences with them. I’m overwhelmed and I can’t keep having this argument.”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 9

(This one got a few re-writes and wound up not very connected to the prompt. Sorry! CW for some violent intrusive thoughts, but not very graphic.)

This is part of a single story for the @goodomenscelebration​ “Theme” prompts.

Parts 1-6

Part 7

Part 8

Doubt

It’s a trap. He’ll hurt you. Destroy him.

The whispers were starting again, but the Antichrist waved them aside. The first ones were always easy to ignore. Once, he’d been able to go weeks – almost a month – fighting them off, but the times when he could be himself were getting shorter and shorter. Maybe soon there would be no time at all.

He studied the demon crouched beside him for another moment. Dark clothes, red hair, sharp features. He’d been wearing a pair of sunglasses before, pitch-black lenses curved over his face to hide the glint of his bright yellow eyes from most angles. Now they were in his hand, the metal arms (black with bright red flames) hidden.

He didn’t look like a demon, not really. The eyes did, the black wings he’d briefly revealed, the sigil on the hinge of his jaw.  But apart from that, he looked human. Demons didn’t usually bother to look very human.

“So,” he started, ready to teleport the demon as far as possible if he didn’t like the answer, “if you’re not supposed to bring me back to the war…why are you here?”

“Looking for an angel.” The demon glanced around, his eyes distant. “Not even sure where to start.”

The Antichrist nodded. Some of the angels and demons were sworn enemies, locked in eternal single combat. “Your Adversary?”

The demon grinned, but there was nothing bloodthirsty about it. “Oh yeah.” He stood up, brushing himself off, then held out a hand for the Antichrist. “Had him in my clutches this morning, but he slipped away. And now…” the grin faded.

Ignoring the hand, the Antichrist stood up. “The nearest fighting’s down by the coast. Brighton, when I ran, probably spreading from there. Th biggest is over America…” he closed his eyes to concentrate. “Yeah, New York. And smaller fights in what’s left of the Amazon, and somewhere over the mountains in Asia and…” he looked at the demon again. “Is this angel good at fighting?”

“The best,” he said, with some kind of strange pride.

“Probably America. That’s where I’m supposed to go next, but…”

“I don’t think so.” The demon wandered back to the inn, where a still-partially-green plant in a red pot sat in the box planter. Tucking the glasses in his pocket, he carefully picked it up and walked back. Was it some sort of weapon? He hadn’t heard of that type of biological warfare, but you never knew. “He was here, my Adversary. Or not too far, anyway. I And he doesn’t really like America. He’d stay close, I think.” The demon sauntered past the Antichrist with hardly a glance. “Just gotta keep looking.”

More whispers, destroy him, forget him, find your destiny, but the Antichrist pushed them away again, and found himself following after. “Is he on one of the Retrieval squads? They’re supposed to be some of the best fighters. The Guardian of Humanity only picks the best.”

“I don’t know about Retrieval Squads,” the demon said. “He doesn’t get on well with other angels. But Guardian of Humanity…that sounds like his kind of scene. They keep the humans safe?”

“It’s what they say,” Adam said darkly. “If he’s mixed up in that, I can’t help you.”

“Adam, if there’s anyone who can help me, it’s you.” The demon frowned, studying the buildings lining the road behind them.. “Can probably help me figure out what happened here, too. This…” He tucked the plant under one arm and waved a hand at the last house, bricks melted to mud. Across the street, the remains of a stone wall and a marker stone of some kind, broken down and scattered as if kicked over by an unruly toddler. “This is wrong.”

“Dunno. Same thing that happened to all the villages.” Rumor had it there were still a few holdouts, but they tended to be destroyed a few hours after the Antichrist arrived. Having an army of demons will do that.

He didn’t realize the demon had stopped until almost too late, and the Antichrist very nearly walked into him. “Look. This is going to be a lot easier if you just do your mind-reading trick. I give you permission.”

“No,” the Antichrist said firmly. “I don’t – not anymore.” He shuddered, trying not to remember the last time. The feel of maggots on his flesh, the voices in his head. Rip his arm off, one of them suggested, rising a little above the whispers. That’ll teach him some respect.

“Adam? What happened?”

The Antichrist knew if he looked up again, he’d see golden eyes watching him. Might even see an expression he’d never expected to find on a demonic face, on any face ever turned to him again.

He kept staring at his shoes.

“I…didn’t want to fight. Kept teleporting home, even though no one was there. They’d drag me back. One day I read their minds and told them their battleplans were stupid.”

The demon chuckled at that. “That’s my boy. Bet they were stupid.”

“They were glorious,” the Antichrist said, bitterly. “Battles that would rip apart the Earth, shows of power that would make everyone quake in fear. And more than half our forces would be lost in the first three years.”

A long pause while the demon glanced around, taking in the destruction, the boiling red rivers cutting across the field, the pond reduced to an empty pit with a black tar at the bottom. A swarm of locust rose from the dead grass, the only sign of life. “I take it you didn’t convince them to change their plans?”

The Antichrist raised his head to meet the demon’s eyes, but wasn’t ready for that. It was easier to stare at his shoulder. “They. They locked me in a cell with a pair of demons.” His throat grew tight. “Made me read their minds. Over and over. Every…nasty thing they’d ever done, all their awful thoughts…”

For days afterwards, he’d thought like them. Gloried in the idea of ripping people apart, destruction for the sheer joy of it. Even now, one voice whispered, Hurt him. Rip his wings off. Lock him in a church and laugh as he tries to escape. He didn’t even think there were any churches left, not around here.

“Hey. Adam.” The Antichrist let his eyes flick up for a second, meeting the golden eyes of the demon. Like a cat. Or a snake. “Let me guess. Hastur and Ligur?” He nodded. “Nasty pieces of work. And you were…all alone? No friends? No dog?”

The Antichrist shoved his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t really have any friends. All those rich kids, we just tried to outdo each other, you know? Who had the better toys, who could throw a cooler birthday party. Never really talked with any of them. When things turned bad…” he shrugged, frowning. “As for the dog, he finds me sometimes, drags me back to the fighting.”

The demon scratched his head, looking confused. “Your dog does that? ‘S not right. You should be able to control him. He was designed to obey you, be loyal only to you.”

“You’re kidding.” The demon didn’t look like the kind to joke around. “How’s a kid like me supposed to control a Hellhound?”

A long silence. The Antichrist wished he knew what the demon was thinking about, but he still refused to read his mind. Refused to allow another voice in. Finally, he stepped in front of the Antichrist, making it very hard to look away. “Call him by his name, Adam.”

“Killer?” His expression crumpled into pained disbelief. It would have been funny, if anything in the world could still be funny. “I know. The kids at the party suggested all these really violent names. Widow-Maker. Throat-Ripper. Luger. They said a bit scary dog needed a big scary name and…I didn’t want to look lame.”

“What did you want to call him?” the demon asked.

“Dunno. I had one I liked but…I mean…it was dumb,” he confessed. “Stupid kid stuff.”

“Call him that next time, Adam.” A hand with long, thin fingers fell on his shoulder, squeezed gently. “Every creature prefers to be called his real name.”

The demon started walking again, and Adam followed.

--

--

For those curious, Crowley’s new glasses:

I wanted something a bit more relaxed post-Apocalypse. He’s started letting the walls down a little, so we’ve lost the side-shields and gone for a Ray-Ban-style design. I think Aziraphale helped him pick them out, in that Aziraphale was there, saying vaguely encouraging things for each pair of glasses while not really having a strong opinion.

[creepy-crawley-crowley]

Naive - Crowley X Angel Female Reader

This was requested, and it was requested byyyyy: @adela-topaz-caelon

My lil request is a Crowley x Angel Reader where said Angel is an angel who was booted out of heaven because she's vaguely out of character for an angel, but is definitely one, and often helps the two men and they blatantly love each other but don't know, and Aziraphale is so tired of it, because he's noticed it since the beginning, and he just had enough. I don't mind if it's fluffy or smutty, or both, if you decide to take it on. I just would love your writing on this 😊

One: I FUCKING LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH PLEASE SEND MORE I BEG YOU

Two: Oblivious but in love idiots are the best idiots haha

Warnings: uh, spicy at the end but it isn't full smut because I won't write full on smut like the furthest I will go is clothes removal you can imagine the rest.

You all know the drill, right? Gimme a shout if you wanna be on the taglist, too.

"Oh my, they are...hopeless! Oblivious! Absolutely...agh! Fools in love, that's what they are...ugh." Aziraphale groaned. He was pacing in the back room of his bookshop, fretting about his two closest friends.

Now, the context of this situation: Crowley, a demon, Aziraphale's best friend, is hopelessly in love with Y/N, an Angel, also Aziraphale's best friend. She's also hopelessly in love with Crowley. Why is Aziraphale so annoyed? Because they're so obvious! But yet neither of them seem to notice.

See, it all started at the start, in the Garden Of Eden. Aziraphale was stood on the wall, watching Adam and Eve, yada yada, and Y/N was with him. Y/N was...unique. She'd been kicked out of heaven for being...out of character. Hadn't fallen, though, not really, much to Aziraphale's delight.

And then Crowley came along. He slithered up the wall, and stood beside the two Angels. He knew instantly who Aziraphale was, but who was that? Who was the other one? The thing that confused him most, though, was that Y/N's wings were a mix of black and white.

Was she fallen? Kinda. Was she a Demon? No. An Angel? Yes.

Crowley felt his confusion grow by the minute.

In fact, he was intrigued. He was going to get to know this stranger, whatever it took.

The next time the two really met was in Paris. Aziraphale had gotten himself into a spot of trouble, and Y/N had seeked Crowley out, and dragged him to Paris. Aziraphale, after being set free, wandered off, probably to get food. Perhaps some crêpes.

This left Y/N and Crowley to talk. And talk they did. They'd met many, many times before Paris, obviously, but it had been a while since they'd had a proper chat...3000 years, give or take.

Aziraphale thinks that this moment is when Crowley realised how hopelessly in love he was with Y/N. Aziraphale could see it on his face, they way he looked at Y/N with gentle eyes from behind black glasses. Crowley denied it whenever the subject was brought up. "We're just friends!" He would protest, scrunching his face up in faux disgust.

Or maybe he had fell in love when Y/N had ran off after a unicorn, and returned riding it, smiling as if she had just won the lottery, although that didn't exist then. In fact, that occurred during the Noah's Ark problem.

Aziraphale was a being of love. He knew love when he saw it. He saw the love in shared glances when they thought nobody was looking, he saw the love in the way they spoke to each other, he saw the love in the tiny touches they shared. He saw it all.

He thinks that Y/N fell for Crowley when he saved his books after blowing the church up. Not that it was his fault...kinda. Anyway, Y/N had flown in on trembling wings, having seen the bomb go down, and knowing who was there. She had literally tackled both of them in a hug, engulfing them with her wings too.

"You idiots! You stupid, stupid idiots!" She had yelled. "I can't believe - who made the bomb fall?" She seethed, and Crowley had sheepishly raised a hand, and she had glared that him for a few moments, before her gaze softened, and she smiled, yet again hugging the Demon.

Or perhaps she had fallen for him in Rome.

Don't even get Aziraphale started on the 80's. They were at their worst then, Crowley was trying to hide his obvious feelings, and so was Y/N, but they did terribly, and only worsened the situation, because they both most certainly did not get drunk, and certainly did not drunkenly make out. (They did.)

Yeah, that never happened, as far as Aziraphale thought they knew. But Aziraphale knew, of course he did. That was one image he couldn't erase.

And then there was the 90's. They weren't so bad, actually, Aziraphale had decided. They had fallen out after an argument about Crowley and his need for holy water. Y/N had assumed the worst upon being told.

"You what? Aziraphale gave you holy water?" She had screamed at Crowley, wings out, and her eyes were narrowed to the point that they were mere slits. Crowley had nodded, slightly frightened by Y/N's reaction. "Crowley, you can't have holy water! You know what it'll do to you! It'll...It'll destroy you! Or is that why you wanted it? An easy way out?" And as soon as the words had left her mouth, Crowley had reacted.

Aziraphale shivered at the memory. It hadn't been pretty, actually. Crowley had accidentally burnt a few books in his momentary anger, although as soon as Y/N had left, he regretted it, turning to face Aziraphale, his golden eyes wide, looking rather shocked.

They ignored each other for seven years, which had mildly impressed Aziraphale, who hadn't thought they'd even be able to stay away from each other for a week. But no, both of them were even more stubborn than a mule, and boy oh boy, could they hold grudges.

They managed to fix things in '99, when Y/N had been in the bookshop. She had had a run in with a few demons, and although she had never revealed what had really happened, it had scared her to the point where she was quivering in the back room of the bookshop, curled up, cocooned in her wings. And that's how Crowley had found her. Originally he'd come in to find Aziraphale, but he had heard gentle sobs from the back room, and went in, curious. Upon finding Y/N he had darted over, closing the bookshop with a snap of his fingers as he fell to his knees in front of her.

Not realising it was Crowley, Y/N had scuttled away, backed into the corner, trembling. Crowley was confused, that was for sure, but more than anything he was concerned for his friend.

"Y/N? Y/N what's wrong?" He had asked softly, sitting in front of her. Y/N had looked up with bloodshot eyes, peeking out from behind her black and white wings, and she had flinched slightly. "What happened?" He repeated, removing his glasses. Y/N had shook her head, and Crowley had frowned.

"There were some demons." Y/N had whispered, so quietly that Crowley could barely hear her. She didn't say any more than that. She had then slowly shuffled forwards, towards Crowley, and wrapped her arms and wings around him, burying her face in Crowley's shoulder, and that's where they stayed for a while.

They went back to their usual antics after that.

Aziraphale was relieved that they were back to normal, but now he was dealing with them dancing around their feelings again, and there was only so much dancing he could take, and he loved dancing...and food.

But now Aziraphale was just about done with them both. He was going to take things into his own hands, and began planning his master plan. There was no way it wouldn't work, right?

So, the next day, he led them both into the back room, and then locked them in there together. He had pinned a note on the door, the side that they'd be able to see, and Crowley ripped it off, reading it, and Y/N witnessed a rather amusing event. Crowley went red, and then sighed, and read it out.

"Hello Crowley and Y/N, this is Aziraphale, and I'm not sorry for locking you both in here. You two need to talk about stuff, and when I think you're done I'll let you out." Crowley read, grumbling, and Y/N chuckled.

"We can sneak out, you know." She stated, and after saying that, she shrunk herself, and wandered out, under the door. Crowley followed.

They snuck out, to the Bentley, and they both got in after returning to their natural sizes.

Aziraphale was state in the back, much to their surprise.

"I knew you'd try to sneak out, you know." He stated, smiling brightly. "This was my plan all along! Now I can talk to you both." He grinned. "You two are the most oblivious people ever, and I have therefore decided that I must do this myself."

Crowley realised what was happening, and hissed. "Aziraphale, don't you dare!" He growled, although there was no real threat. Y/N looked on, merely confused.

"Crowley, do it, otherwise I will." Aziraphale sighed. Crowley turned to face Y/N, and made a strangled noise, one of objection. "You can do it!" Aziraphale encouraged.

"No I can't! I've had...since the Ark to do it! If I could, I would have done it by now, Angel." Crowley managed to say.

"It's okay to be scared, Crowley." Aziraphale said, rather softly. Crowley hissed, almost angrily.

"I'm not scared! I'm just...just..." Crowley's shoulders fell. "I'm not scared. I just don't want to lose anyone."

"Hey, can someone tell me what's going on?" Y/N huffed, folding her arms, mildly annoyed, but confused, and overly curious, as usual. Crowley and Aziraphale looked at her. Aziraphale then looked at Crowley, who shrugged, then sighed.

"Don't...worry. Uh, it's not that important." Crowley smiled. Y/N sighed, knowing he had lied. "Okay, okay, Aziraphale get out, just for a minute." Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who smiled at him, before getting out of the Bentley.

"Y/N, I know it's stupid but there's something I really need to say to you." Crowley started, and his eyebrows fell as he tried to think of what to say. "I know I'm a Demon, and you're an Angel, kinda, and were supposed to be enemies, but there's nothing I could do. I tried to fight it because I didn't want to be like a human." He bit his lip, then removed his glasses, and his golden eyes stared into Y/N's. "I...I uh, how do I say this?" He mumbled. "I...like you? I really like you?" He blurted out, sounding slightly confused. Y/N smiled.

"I mean, it'd be problematic if you didn't." She chuckled, not realising what Crowley mean. The Demon groaned, mildly annoyed by her obliviousness.

"No! That's not what I meant! I meant that I really really like you and how on Earth do I say this? Okay...I don't like you as a friend, I like you as...more?"

Y/N realised what he mean, and her eyes widened, and she suddenly disappeared, leaving Crowley by himself.

Y/N had actually teleported herself inside the bookshop, and she had sat down, near Aziraphale. Aziraphale took notice of her shocked expression, and sat next to her.

Crowley stayed inside his car, groaning loudly, instantly assuming that the worst had happened and that she didn't like him back. That she didn't love him. Crowley growled at the thought. Love. What a useless thing.

"Y/N, my dear, what ever is wrong?" Aziraphale asked, confused. Y/N laughed softly, but as she laughed, she seemed to slowly descend into madness.

"He said he liked me as more as a friend, Zira. More than a friend! What does that even mean?" Y/N snorted, and Aziraphale sighed, glancing outside. Crowley was still sat in his Bentley, but now he was listening to Queen...probably.

"Y/N, it means he wants to...date you, I believe that is the correct modern term." Aziraphale hummed quietly. "It means he loves you. Y/N, I know you love him too. Everyone in Heaven and Hell might as well know, you two are so obvious! You've been dancing around each other for hundreds of years and I am just about done with it! Now go and talk to Crowley before he drives off and goes and does something stupid. Go." Aziraphale explained, and Y/N nodded, and ran back outside, clambering into the car.

"Crowley, let's go home, please." Y/N said, and Crowley raised an eyebrow, but drove anyway. "I don't want to cause a scene in the middle of a street. I have no idea what's going to happen next, Crow, but I'm hoping it's good." Y/N added, and Crowley raised an eyebrow, looking at her.

"Explain." He mumbled, mildly confused.

"Okay, okay...just...get inside first." Y/N said, rushing inside, to Crowley's flat. Crowley simply teleported, and sat on his throne as he waited for Y/N. Y/N ran in, and Crowley smirked slightly. "Okay, Aziraphale had to explain what you meant but I know now and I like you more than a friend too, or as Aziraphale said, love you and I guess he's not wrong." Y/N blurted, and Crowley suddenly coughed, standing up and walking to her. "And you're a really...cool demon too, so, I guess that's a bonus. You're pretty nice-" Y/N continued, and Crowley snarled, automatically darting forwards, and he (though gentler than usual) pushed Y/N against the wall.

"I'm not nice!" He snapped, and Y/N blinked. "I'm...not...nice!" Crowley repeated, through gritted teeth, and then he suddenly felt a gentle hand cup his cheek.

"Huh, Zira wasn't lying when he said you didn't like being called nice." Y/N mumbled, and Crowley didn't miss her eyes quickly flitting from his lips to his eyes. Or glasses, rather. He smirked, and edged slightly closer.

"You knew exactly what you were doing, damn. Little Miss Innocent isn't as pure as she seems." He remarked sarcastically.

"Well, obviously, I was cast out of heaven for a reason." Y/N stated, rather dryly. Crowley snorted, and Y/N smiled, and down her eyes went again, and back up, and Crowley hummed softly. "Are you just gonna stand there then?" Y/N asked, starting to shift slightly so she could get away. Not that she really wanted too, but it worked, because Crowley rolled his eyes, before pressing his lips to hers.

It was everything that Y/N had wished for and more. His lips were soft and gentle against hers, and might have well been puzzle pieces, slotting perfectly against hers. She realised that she could faintly taste wine, ands she smiled into the kiss, hands coming up to wrap around his shoulders, holding him as close as possible. Crowley's glasses were hard against her features, but she didn't mind because, finally, after thousands of years she was getting what she wanted. Crowley pulled away, quickly removing his glasses.

"How long?" He asked quietly, and Y/N smiled, lips still brushing against each other.

"Since Rome." She admitted, and Crowley hummed softly. "What about you, Crow?"

"Since the Ark." He mumbled, and Y/N smiled more, before seeking out his lips again.

Crowley gently held her hips, absentmindedly rubbing circles into her skin with his thumbs. "I love you too." He whispered, and Y/N nodded slightly, playing with the ends of Crowley's red hair. She connected their lips again, a little more force, a bit more want, and lot more need and Crowley knew where this was leading but he didn't mind. Besides, he was a demon, he was supposed to sin.

So he went along with it, revelling in the moment, and he unintentionally let Y/N take the lead. But only for now, he thought to himself. But he was still a Demon, and still decided to tease Y/N a little, his hands sometimes moving a little lower than they should've.

Y/N's only reaction was to huff, and gently bite his lip, which would cause Crowley to gasp, and allowed Y/N to have her way, not that Crowley minded. He certainly didn't.

He soon grew tired of just enthusiastically kissing though, and pulled away, pressing a uncharacteristically soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, and he began to trail kisses down to Y/N's neck, humming 'Somebody To Love' as he went. Y/N's grip on his shoulders tightened, and Crowley smirked, gently nipping at her skin, causing Y/N to gasp quietly.

"Crowley, you better not leave marks!" She hissed, and Crowley merely winked, before grazing his teeth across her skin again, before suddenly just nuzzling into the small crook of Y/N's neck. Y/N blinked, confused, but she smiled anyway, resting her chin on top of Crowley's head.

Then Crowley did the opposite of what Y/N had told him. He left a hickey.

Now, Y/N could pretend to be angry all she wanted, but she wasn't really, she never really could be. After all, it was Crowley. Who could be mad at Crowley? (A lot of people.)

So instead, she softly flicked him when he was done, and sighed.

"You're lucky I love you, Crowley." She grumbled, and Crowley shrugged, and pecked Y/N's lips, smiling. He then began working on the buttons of Y/N's shirt, and, well.

The rest is history.

Tags: @dekahg , @steampowerednightvaler

[ineffable-snowman]

Day 12 & 13: Carolling & Wrapping Paper

combining two prompts again to catch up

***

There were two rolls of wrapping papers in Brother Francis’s little garden hut: a silver one with little angels and a tartan one.

The two harmless objects upset Crowley so much that she stormed out of the hut without getting the woollen coat as intended (who needed a coat anyway, it wasn’t that cold, coats were for wimps, not for demons!). She stormed through the garden, kicking a bush who had dared to grow out of line (who Aziraphale had let grow out of line). Out of spite, she set fire to the fairy lights, thus effectively shutting down the whole building’s electricity. There was confused shouting from the dark mansion but that was not her problem anymore, she had the weekend off.

Time to get drunk in a bar. You see, in 2000 years Crowley had never gotten a Christmas present from Aziraphale, even though she gave one to Aziraphale most years when they were in the same area. It was alright, she understood why Aziraphale did not give her anything. Because a present would be physical proof of not only a working but also a personal relationship. She knew that Aziraphale, if he were free from Heaven, would gladly give her presents. Aziraphale liked giving presents: giving the humans his flaming sword, bestowing blessings, putting food outside for a hedgehog, giving money to a beggar… But Heaven did not always allow him to give as much as he wanted.

It used to be alright. And Crowley did get something in return: a grateful and happy smile and an invitation into the bookshop for a drink or two. It was enough, more than enough. Just – seeing the wrapping paper had thrown Crowley for a loop. Imagining Aziraphale thoughtfully selecting Christmas presents and wrapping them for some random people – for whom? Warlock, that was okay, Crowley herself had bought the little Antichrist a spooky musical box with a skeleton on top of it. But also for Mrs. Dowling and her idiot husband? Maybe for the cook and the cleaning staff, too? Humans Aziraphale had barely known for a few years? It felt stupid. Crowley felt stupid. She didn’t even like Christmas. And anything Aziraphale would give her would probably only clutter up her flat and not go with her style at all. She didn’t need soppy Christmas presents, a glass of Whiskey would do just fine. But…imagining Aziraphale carefully wrapping something for her, putting a bow on top, adding a name tag…

Well, look who was soppy now.

Next Monday, she told Mrs. Dowling that she would be fine to stay for the holidays.

“Oh really?” She looked immensely relieved. Christmas usually put humans through a lot of stress (some of which Crowley was responsible for). “I thought you wanted to go home to celebrate Christmas with…um…?”

“I don’t have family. Or anyone else to celebrate Christmas with.”

Aziraphale chose that precise moment to come into the hall. Crowley quickly looked away.

“Then you are very welcome to stay with us, of course,” said Mrs. Dowling. She then went off to work.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I take it you’re not coming over to the bookshop then? On Christmas, that is?”

“No time,” Crowley said.

“Well. I’m sure Warlock will be delighted to have you here with him.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“I suppose there’s really no reason for the gardener to stay for Christmas, is there?”

Crowley averted her eyes because she hated to see Aziraphale looking so sad. She realised that Aziraphale did not have anyone to celebrate Christmas with either. “It’s not like we do anything special for Christmas when we meet. I mean, we eat, drink, talk – same things we always do, right?”

“Yes, of course. Anyway. I’ll get to work.”

Crowley snorted. “Sure.” As if Aziraphale ever did any work in the garden aside from feeding the birds and talking to slugs.

***

Christmas with the Dowlings wasn’t exactly a fun affair. On the 25th they were hosting a huge dinner party but as Mr. Dowling was on an important Christmas party every day and every night, all the preparations were left to Mrs. Dowling (and in turn to the overworked staff). Warlock was keyed up because he could not wait to finally get his presents. The atmosphere could not really be described as festive. Crowley tried to teach Warlock how a clock and a calendar worked and how to tell the time so he would stop pestering everyone by asking when it was finally time to unbox his presents.

Christmas morning was still tolerable. Warlock enjoyed most of his presents (even the boring storybook wrapped in tartan paper) and only threw a minor tantrum when he did not get the right Star Wars action figure. The Dowlings gave Crowley a completely useless gift voucher for a spa treatment. Warlock also had something for her, and it was wrapped in tartan paper, making Crowley’s hands shake a little when she unwrapped it. It was a hastily drawn picture that was labelled in a familiar handwriting: it said “Warlock” next to the biggest stick figure, “Nanny” next to a slightly smaller and black stick figure, “sun” next to a yellow oval and “birds” next to a blue…well, scribble.

“Ah, very minimalist, very abstract, I like it.” Crowley tousled Warlock’s hair and swallowed down the lump in her throat. Then she carefully rolled the paper up and safely put it away.

By midday, the Dowling’s were having an argument again and the cook was close to a mental breakdown (Crowley smuggled the gift voucher for the spa treatment into her bag). Warlock stayed with Crowley when his parents were shouting in the living room, and that meant Crowley could not even get drunk on the eggnog in peace. There was a loud bang from the front door, than the crunching of the gravel as a car sped away. Warlock was trying to behead his action figure. It was ridiculous, what was Crowley even doing here? The world was about to end in a few years and she moped and Aziraphale was lonely in his bookshop and the humans argued over wrong presents and dinner parties that they did not even enjoy, and the present for Aziraphale was in the Bentley’s glove compartment.

“How do you feel about going outside?” Crowley suggested.

Warlock nodded in relief.

When they ran across Mrs. Dowling in the hall, she quickly wiped her tears away and put on a brave smile.

“Do you mind if Warlock and I head out for a bit?” Crowley asked.

“That’s a good idea, thank you, Miss Ashtoreth. What are you going to do?”

“Er, sleighing,” Crowley said the first thing that came to her mind but of course there was no snow in London, “I mean, carolling.” Or whatever it was humans usually did on Christmas.

“Oh, that sounds lovely.” Then she lowered her voice so only Crowley could hear her. “It’d probably be better if you stayed away for a bit longer until, you know, things are back under control here.”

“No problem.”

Mrs. Dowling exhaled in relief. “You really are a godsend, Miss Ashtoreth.”

Crowley winced but managed to control herself.

“What’s carolling?” Warlock asked later from the backseat of the Bentley.

“Eh, we go to some houses and sing Christmas songs very badly and only stop if they give us money or sweets.”

Warlock was all for it and they spent the drive changing the lyrics of several Christmas songs to make them more interesting.

It was fun, standing primly and serenely next to Warlock while he sang the most outrageous lyrics with his cute face. Most people were so out of their depth that they just didn’t say anything but simply gave him sweets and threw Crowley somewhat nervous looks.

When Warlock grew bored and cold, Crowley suggested they go and see Brother Francis. Aziraphale was thoroughly taken aback when they knocked on his door and Warlock was pretty confused, too.

“What happened to your eyebrows, Brother Francis?”

“Oh, I – I trimmed them. For the holiday.”

“And your teeth?”

“Hm?” Aziraphale quickly turned aside and then turned back with his large front teeth miracled back on. “Whatever do you mean, Master Warlock?”

“You look different!”

“Why don’t you come inside?”

“We must carolling first!”

“Carolling, how lovely! What are you going to sing, young Warlock?”

“Jingle hell.”

“Oh dear.”

Nevertheless, Aziraphale listened through the whole song (but sometimes winced slightly). “I believe we have to practise the lyrics a bit”, he said afterwards. “It seems like Nanny mixed up a few things.”

Warlock giggled. “I’m not stupid, Brother Francis. I know that’s not the real song. We changed it.”

“Well. Ahem. What would you say to some hot cocoa?”

Warlock was all for it, and Crowley could not believe she was spending Christmas with her hereditary enemy and the Antichrist drinking hot cocoa that did not even have alcohol in it. It was ridiculous but not nearly as ridiculous as the morning at the Dowlings’.

Aziraphale asked Warlock about his presents and the boy went on another rant about the wrong action figure he had gotten. A few minutes and a gentle lecture from Aziraphale later, Warlock gladly handed Aziraphale the action figure, who planned to give it to some poor kid who had not gotten anything for Christmas. Crowley supposed it was only fair if Aziraphale was allowed to do some influencing towards the good after she had taught Warlock rude carols, so she let Aziraphale do his angelic job now.

Then Warlock went to explore the bookshop, which had Aziraphale on edge. He hovered behind Warlock and shooed him away whenever he got too close to any of his books. “Ah, Master Warlock, these books are really not for young children. They are very old, very boring, you wouldn’t like them. I could –” he frantically looked around until he found what he was looking for “– I could read this to you.” He brandished a first edition of Winnie-the-Pooh.

It was ridiculous enough that there was no alcohol in her hot cocoa but now Crowley was even listening to Aziraphale reading Winnie-the-Pooh, enthusiastically doing all the voices.

“This is boring,” she hissed, “there isn’t even anyone dying.”

“It’s not boring,” Warlock protested. “Come on, Brother Francis, read!”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a smug smile. Crowley didn’t really mind. She just had to, you know, protest for the sake of it – like Aziraphale had to protest against rude carols.

It did not take long for Warlock to fall asleep on the couch. Crowley would have liked to stay but it was already getting late.

“Suppose we should head back,” she said softly.

“Ah, yes. His parents might worry.” Aziraphale wrapped Warlock up in a tartan blanket and Crowley picked him up. “Thank you for coming over,” Aziraphale whispered. “It was nice having you here.”

Crowley did not really know what to say to that, so she just sneered in return and hoped it did not look too nice. She had unobtrusively left the present for Aziraphale in the kitchen when she had gotten them more hot cocoa while Aziraphale had been reading to Warlock. She really wanted to stay.

“So what are you up to now?” Aziraphale asked.

“Get the little hellspawn into bed, see if there’s any decent food from the party left, tempt a few of the politicians there – the usual stuff. You?”

“I’m going to bring a few presents to the children in the neighbourhood who didn’t get anything.” Aziraphale nodded towards the huge bag with presents, to which he had added Warlock’s action figure.

“Ah. Good deeds.” Crowley tried to sneer again. She was not sure if she succeeded. She never wanted it all to end, not even Christmas, hot cocoa, Winnie-the-Pooh and Aziraphale’s good deeds. She also didn’t mind chaotic Christmas parties and rude carols but she really liked all of this, this crazy, exciting little planet and all the humans and the angel on it. “So, er, merry Christmas or whatever.”

“And happy holidays to you, too. Oh, and thank you for the present.”

So he had already noticed. Crowley could feel herself blushing. “Shut up.”

[itsclydebitches]

A fifth of the way through! Who’s proud of me? :D

Noisy - After a certain seance Aziraphale is feeling insecure about how much he talks.

Aziraphale was speaking.

Had been for the majority of their meal, pausing only to take bites of the Norfolk crab with ossetra caviar, veal fillet with asparagus in a wild garlic sauce, chocolate and hazelnut mousse for dessert with a second order of the fruit sorbet because he hadn’t been able to decide and really, why not both?

Why not both?, Crowley agreed. He adored watching Aziraphale eat. All those quirky mannerisms that positively screamed his personality for all to see. The way he would slide each fork-full from his mouth with agonizing slowness, ensuring that he’d picked up every morsel from between the tongs. Raising his napkin after every fourth or fifth bite, whether there was a mess to clean up or not. Aziraphale went deathly still when he ate, as if he couldn’t bear to distract from the taste with any unnecessary movement. Except when he’d taste something new or unexpected and then it was all wide-eyed surprise; that absurd little wiggle. Aziraphale flipped his spoon before taking a bite because, “The mousse should hit my tongue, dear, not the roof of my mouth. Obviously.”

Obviously. On nights like this Crowley was grateful they hadn’t had to keep up their ruse any longer. One look at Aziraphale-as-him digging into that popsicle and the whole jig would have been up.

And Crowley could never hope to re-create this.

So yes, he loved watching Aziraphale eat. He loved hearing him speak more though.

Why not have both?

“So I told the dear girl—quite firmly, I should say—that we would have to undergo a true apocalypse before I gave her those sigils. Hell would need to freeze over and such. Though I suppose you could manage that if you put your mind to it.” Aziraphale took another bite of his sorbet and dropped a wink that sent a flush rising up Crowley’s neck. “Anathema is a brilliant young woman but really? Giving her access to Enochian symbols? I can only imagine the horrors that would produce! And trust me, dear boy, I have quite the active imagination.” Another bite; another flipped spoon. “She swore she only wanted to study them, but if any mortal is capable of sketching out a true celestial circle it would be that witch. Then where would she be? Accidentally killed, that’s what. Or worse, getting through to them! Can you imagine Anathema summoning Metatron into that little cottage? No, no, no. We’ve had quite enough upheaval for one millennium, thank you.”

Crowley had long ceased trying to get a word in edgewise. In truth he didn’t want to. Six-thousand years together, but so little of it spent together. They’d meet randomly or clandestinely and it would never matter which because they knew it could only be for a brief moment or two. One side could always be watching them. Both, even. And it took Crowley decades to realize how much of that precious time was just spent posturing. Aziraphale feigning shock at their latest arrangement. Crowley pretending like that actually annoyed him. They had their routines down, a script they read from, and though Crowley had learned to love that for its familiarity, he hadn’t realized just how much he’d been missing. Hearing Aziraphale wax on about oysters or give summary accounts of Hamlet couldn’t compare to this: hours upon hours of meandering, casual thoughts.

Crowley settled his chin further into his hand. Beneath the table his free fingers circled in a clockwise motion, a bit of extra energy spent on slowing down time. Nothing terribly noticeable. It wouldn’t even affect the humans. Much. Just a devilish little miracle that would give Aziraphale more time than what the real world had to offer.

Because they’d been sitting here four hours now and Crowley was fully prepared to sit another four.

“What do you think?” Aziraphale asked. He downed the rest of his La Grande Année and smiled over the rim of the glass. Like he somehow knew that, whatever Crowley’s answer, it would be well worth knowing.

Problem was, Crowley hadn’t the faintest idea what Aziraphale had just said.

Hmm. Distraction via flipped spoon. It happened. Not that there was much danger here. Aziraphale had the distinct talent of being able to talk about a single topic for hours—if not days—on end. Always easy to slide into.

“Really, angel? Giving me a say?” Crowley pushed his own, untouched tart across the table. “I thought you’d already made up your mind about the witch?”

He’d meant it as a bit of light teasing. Poking fun, making jokes, being a nuisance and all that. So watching Aziraphale’s expression fall took the breath right out of Crowley’s lungs.

��Oh,” he said, voice suddenly soft. “Yes. I have been prattling on, haven’t I?”

And Crowley, in a moment of incredible insight and sensitivity said,

“What?”

Aziraphale had been reaching for the tart but now drew his hand back, beginning to fiddle with the edge of his vest instead. “I’m terribly sorry. Rather rude, isn’t it? All things considered. I promise to make more of an effort in the future and you must stop me if I suddenly start rambling once again. You deserve to—” Aziraphale’s mouth suddenly clicked shut, eyes popping wide as he realized what was happening. Crowley could see his jaw working for a long moment. “I want to hear what you have to say too,” he said. Simply.

Meanwhile, Crowley’s elbow had slipped off the table and he nearly took the rest of the food with him. When he came back up there were splashes of champagne on his sleeve.

“I—why—?” Crowley tugged his glasses just low enough to take a good, long look. “I haven’t got anything to say.” Which wasn’t true exactly. Plenty of ribbing to indulge in when it actually managed to land, but right now Crowley had bigger fish to fry. Flay ‘em, cook ‘em, and serve 'em up with lemon butter so his angel would actually smile again. “What precisely are you on about?”

Aziraphale shrugged. He never shrugged. “Just thought I might be...”

“Be?”

“...talking too much.”

Crowley slipped off the table a second time.

“It’s just—”Aziraphale said, clearly trying to explain without continuing to talk. Which most people will realize is rather the lost cause. “Madame Tracy. Or rather, her friend. Or perhaps not a friend exactly. A client? Follower?” Aziraphale scowled when Crowley just went on blinking at him from halfway out of his seat. “A woman asked to speak to her dead husband and being an angel currently existing between planes I accommodated her and he told her to shut up.” He exhaled after all that, lips trembling. “Separated for who knows how long and the only words he had for her were ‘shut up.’ Because she’d never let him have his say. I... I would never want you to feel the same way, dear boy. I couldn't stand it. ”

Jesus-H-Bloody-Fucking-Are-You-Kidding-Me-Christ.

If Aziraphale wanted him to talk more he was shit out of luck because Crowley’s voice had died a mangled, embarrassing death. Giving up the ghost via shock was like that. And oh sure, sure, plenty of things he could say if his vocal cords kicked back in. Like how Aziraphale was stupid for thinking he could compare them to some random human couple who clearly needed therapy. Or ask if Aziraphale had ever paid one ounce of attention these last six thousand years because if Crowley wanted to say something? He’d damn well say it. No fussy angel was going to stand in his way.

(Not unless he asked really nicely. Or looked at Crowley in that particular way of his. Or so much as thought about wanting him to shut up. Because those were all entirely different situations.)

Speech seemed to be the enemy now. Which was all kinds of horrible since Crowley liked Aziraphale speaking and had hoped to soak up another couple hours of it before the night was over. Who could put something like that into words though? Even when words were an option? Not Crowley.

So instead he summoned up a small black book and slid it across the table.

Aziraphale blinked. "What's this?"

"Read it."

Just a small, ironically innocent notebook. Every demon had one. Standard issue for the bastards lucky enough to go topside. Recounting your deeds was all well and good provided you actually remembered what evil deeds you’d been up to each day. Too often demons melted back into hell having forgotten half of what they’d done. They might not be good at record keeping down there, but there was something like an effort. So, yeah. Write it all down like a good little worker bee.

“Go on,” Crowley said, keeping his voice at a whisper. Aziraphale hesitantly took the book in hand. “Out loud.”

Crowley hadn’t written a deed down for thousands of years.

“June—” Aziraphale paused, having opened to a recent date. He swallowed hard. “June 3rd. Angel went on about gilding again all through lunch. Improper heating techniques and wet vs. depletion. I currently know more about pretty books than any decent demon ever should. Good thing I’ve never been decent.

“June 4th. Got reamed out for going over 90mph again today. Wonder how many times I can get Zira to squeak like that? Half-hour lecture to follow. Gonna start just as soon as he gets back with the shawarma. In three... two... one...

“June 5th. Talked a lot about knitting today. Thinking of picking it back up before winter. Zira had a whole pro/con list for crocheted vs. knitwear but honestly? If it’s warm?? Who cares??? Angel, apparently. There were many thoughts on socks.

“June 6th. Some bugger on the bus had his music blasting while I was trying to hear Zira’s latest Gabriel impression. The kid is gonna end up with wet jeans one way or another for the next week.

“June 7th. Right. Zira might have been onto something with the whole crocheted socks rant. Pretty sure this is one of Beelzebub’s inventions—Crowley.”

Aziraphale finally looked up, his eyes wet in a way that made Crowley shift uncomfortably in his seat. “You keep a diary.”

He winced. “It’s not a diary!”

“It most certainly is,” Aziraphale crowed, flipping through some of the older entries. “I'm astounded at what a faithful record this is—especially since Armageddon—and so many of them are about me. They're...” The impact of that last bit seemed to hit Aziraphale all at once, stilling his hands. “Oh. They’re all about me.”

Talking.

Crowley shrugged. Because he was the one who shrugged in this relationship. He pressed the little book back into Aziraphale’s hand when he tried to pass it back. Crowley’s fingers ran over his knuckles then, soft and slow.

“Keep it awhile,” he said. “For the next time you get some ridiculous idea stuck in your head. Now, what were you saying about the witch girl? My memory’s worse than a goldfish’s, angel. You know that. Best you start from the beginning."

Aziraphale wasn’t much for public displays of affection, but he did bring their still-intwined hands up to his lips, resting them there for a moment.

When he started speaking again Crowley’s skin was gifted with the very first words.

[dolphin-bouillabaisse]

GO-ctober Prompts, 3

Inktober except without the ink, and with drabbles instead.

Prompt #3 - Bait

(previous | next | beginning)

(find it all on Ao3)

(Note: a more experimental thing without a story line really. Just a snapshot, because I really want more Crowley&the Them interactions, but it’s surprisingly difficult to write??)

The phone rang, echoing through the bookshop.

It used to startle Crowley, months ago. Nobody called the bookshop except for himself, and he was right there on the couch, so unless the cellphone in his pocket had decided on a rather unnecessary buttdial, something was off. He and Aziraphale had swapped worried looks as the angel got up to pick up the phone – was it Heaven? Hell? Who else would've known this number?

(They'd both conveniently forgotten the fact that a business such as a vintage bookstore was usually something that might end up in the yellow pages or other such phone listings online. Funnily enough, no one before had ever bothered to phone a shop that was well known for being absolutely disinterested in gaining any kind of customer base.)

Nowadays, Crowley barely reacted when the phone rang. They both knew who it was.

Neither had truly figured out how Adam had gotten the number, though.

(They'd both also conveniently forgotten that the Anti-Christ was a human teenager who knew very well how to use the internet to search for a phone number that was, as previously stated, on several business phone lists.)

So he just twirled his glass of wine while listening to Aziraphale pitterpatter over to the phone and answer it in the same friendly way he always did now.

“Why hello Adam! How nice of you to call. Mhm, yes. Oh, all's fine on this end of the line!” He giggled and Crowley groaned.

“Ah, I see. Mhm. Is that so? Well, that sounds quite interesting. Yes. I might have to stop by tomorrow to see it, then. Would that be alright? Splendid. See you then!”

Crowley's eyes trailed along with the angel as he sat back down again, picking up his book.

“What did the boy want this time?”

“Oh, he's found some books in his grandfather's attic, and some of them sound quite rare. I thought I might give them a look over, see if there's anything Mr. Young would be willing to part with.”

“You'll need a ride to Tadfield, then.”

“Oh, would you?” Aziraphale beamed at him, as if there had been even a second of doubt where it was not absolutely clear that Crowley would drive him. He didn't even need to pout to get the offer. “That'd be lovely, Crowley. I'm sure the children will be happy to see you too.”

“Mhm.” Crowley twirled his glass again. He knew what was happening here.

“Don't think I don't know what you're doing.” Crowley almost hissed at Adam, who'd come up to him sitting on the patio to the rather nice garden of his parents. The rest of the Them were inside, cross-legged around the living room floor as Aziraphale unpacked the giant suitcase stuffed with books and commented on every other book with some kind of story about authors and saucy rumours from way back when and other tales that they wanted to hear more about.

“I was just gonna ask you if you wanted to come inside. Mum's making tea.”

(Mum wasn't quite sure why she was absolutely okay with the two older gentlemen making regular visits to their home. She also wasn't quite sure how and where her father-in-law had acquired this collection of rare books and why he was so willing to part with it. Neither did he.)

“That's not what I'm talking about.” Crowley's eyebrow rose above his glasses, a stern look of only-almost-disapproval directed at the former and still-slightly Anti-Christ. “I mean the calls. All the things you find, and have to tell him about.”

He waved a hand towards inside, where Aziraphale was currently deep into a story about how absolutely ghastly the people had treated that fascinating young Shelley lady, while Pepper was almost glued to his lips.

“The books. That historic settlement they uncovered a few miles from here. The traditional Latino dishes Anathema keeps trying out. The flea-market full of antique snuffboxes and angel statuettes. I know you think you're being clever, but that only works because Aziraphale is too good for his own good to notice.”

“What's he supposed to notice, anyway?” Adam huffed, almost defensively.

“It's bait. All perfect Aziraphale-bait.” Crowley gave Adam a short smirk. “Don't get me wrong, you're doing a great job of it, and I should know – used it all myself often enough – but it's so very obvious. You could just tell the sodding angel you want him to visit, you know? It's not like he doesn't like popping down here for a visit.”

“I know.” Adam shuffled his feet, staring at the floor tiles. “It's not really that, though.”

Crowley tilted his head, enough to pull more stuttering words out of the poor boy.

“S'just, if I ask him for a visit, he'll just apparate down here – is that the right word, apparate? For the thing you do? When you just, like, poof up somewhere?”

“I don't think there's a word for that. Call it whatever you want.”

“I think I read somewhere that it's called that.”

(Crowley was not about to tell him that the 'somewhere' he'd read it was probably the Harry Potter books, because that would mean both admitting that he'd read them himself, and also admitting that it was probably very much not what you would call it in real life. He instead decided to use the term himself from now on.)

“And what's so bad about him apparating to here? Much quicker and simpler than driving all the way.”

“Yeah.” Adam shuffled again. “But you need the car if you want to take stuff back to London, right?”

“I mean, I don't know how the angel does it, but yeah. I can't really carry five different kinds of empanadas back without making a mess.” (He'd tried. It had taken a while to shower off the sugary residue of eclairs stuck to his wings, and Aziraphale had tried very hard not to laugh as he'd suddenly appeared in the backroom covered in chocolate sauce and strangely exploded choux pastry.)

“You see. That's why.”

Crowley stared at Adam. He did not see. He didn't really understand. Talking to this kid was like pulling teeth. He was always mumbling, looking away, asking about random things that barely ever seemed to get to the point he wanted to get to, making jokes and being cheeky instead of answering questions, and generally being a pain in the-

wait a minute. Just how much time had he spent talking to Adam each time Aziraphale had dragged him down for a visit?

“You're not baiting Aziraphale to come down here.” He finally got it. “You're baiting him to bring me.”

“I guess.” Adam shrugged his shoulders, trying to appear cool, not as if Crowley had figured out exactly what he felt so awkward about. He hadn't, really, as proven by his questioning look.

“But why? Aziraphale's the one with all the stories-” another wave to the inside, where Aziraphale had gone from Mary Shelley over to Shakespeare in such a round-about way no one was really sure quite how he'd gotten there, least of all he himself “-and the treats and the, the interesting stuff.”

“I know. But.” Adam thought about how to phrase this, and failed spectacularly. “He's not the one who knows stuff. Stuff I want to know.”

“You don't want to know about Shakespeare's secret lovers?” He shot a glance inside, where Aziraphale was quickly switching to a more age-appropriate history lesson as Adam's mother set down the tray of teacups and biscuits.

“I mean stuff I have questions about. You know. Stuff about people like us.” Adam gave Crowley a sideways glance, and luckily it didn't take as long as it had before for him to understand this time. His voice was almost kind now.

“Demon stuff.”

“Yep. I don't think an angel knows a lot about that, right?”

“You know you're not really a- I mean- a demon is-”

“I know. But it's close enough, alright?” Adam sighed. “At least closer than an angel would be to what I- was. Am? I don't know. Things are weird and I don't know anything about it and I don't want to mess anything up but stuff keeps happening and I just. Don't know anyone I could talk to except you.”

Crowley stared at him, a blank expression on his face. He was very skilled not to show his reactions on the outside, after centuries of practice at chatting with the supposed enemy one was not meant to mentally draw hearts and sparkles around any time they smiled at you.

(On the inside, he was simultaneously screaming and swearing. Raising the supposed Anti-Christ as a kid was one thing, but he was not at all prepared to have “The Talk” with a teenage Satan. He would have to talk about powers, and morals, and all sorts of icky stuff. And feelings, probably. He was not yet skilled at that.)

He hadn't realised at least a minute must have passed while he was still staring without a reaction. Adam seemed more and more nervous, for obvious reasons. Crowley sighed.

“Guess I'll have to give you my number now. So you can stop conjuring up random things that should not exist to get Aziraphale to visit.”

“I didn't conjure- I just thought about what kind of stuff might interest him, and then it showed up.”

“Yep, that's a thing we'll need to talk about as well at some point.” He sighed again, finally getting up from the bench. “Let's get some tea and biscuits in you first before your friends finish them on their own. Or Aziraphale does.”

Adam snickered with a quick look inside, where Aziraphale was on his 8th or maybe 9th biscuit by now, before looking up into eyes hidden behind sunglasses with a fond sort of look on his face that Crowley knew too well.

“Thanks.” And then, after he'd waited for the usual “Don't thank me” that surprisingly never came, but instead was handed a scrap of paper with a number on it that had miraculously appeared in Crowley's hands, “is it ok if I ring Aziraphale too, though? He's fun to have around.”

“Sure. When it comes to helping out the Son of Satan, we're sort of a package deal anyway.”

[creativenicocorner]

5, 10, 19?

Aaay! Thank you so much!! @dreamcrow

5. What’s a crackship you love?

As a crack ship gfdkgsd oh man, my heart is set on Blinky/Strickler on that one ahaha. I already adore whatever dynamics they have together on screen - or even when referencing one another!! And honestly I think they’d make great friends!! Heck they could bond on Roman pennies, and mechanical engineering (seeing as Blinky helped build Jim’s Vespa, and Strickler made a super accurate replica of Merlin’s amulet) and don’e get me started on the quick witted beautiful back and forth they’d have

Once tried writing a Good Omens AU with all this in mind, but never quite had the energy to finish it. Let’s face is the two of them have great Aziraphale / Crowley energy haha  

10. Mutual pining or enemies to friends to lovers?

Oh man oh man, mutual pining. It leaves so much potential open!! Heck even the enemies to friends to lovers could happen within the umbrella of mutual pining (especially if one of the two isn’t ready to admit to their pining -wink- ) 

That and I’m just a sucker for two people being so equally into one another but just, not quite having the confidence to learn how the other feels. It’s so juicy and can be played oh so deliciously in so many fun ways!

19. What’s your favorite character head canon?

Weeeell there’s certainly one HC I’ve been hinting at for quite some time and have been meaning to make a proper post about - but here is what I’d like to call the Meat and Potatoes (super lean edition) of the Etruscan Strickler HC ヽ(o♡o)/

(please keep in mind I’m not a qualified historian, or anthropologist, or archeologist - but an avid lover of history )

So the Etruscans and the peoples of Etruria have been around for a loooong time, in fact there are some who believe the Etruscan language is one of the building blocks of many italic languages. And for a good amount of centuries they thrived! 

Then Rome happened, which was perhaps inevitable seeing as they were on the same peninsula - and because of that the size of Etruria changed depending on which century map you’re looking at. And although at some point Etruria spanned from Umbria to just grazing into the region of Lazio - its biggest consistent chunk existed in what we know today as modern Tuscany.

Because of this I should perhaps make it clear that I believe Strickler came out through the fetch after 32BCE during the already decline of the Etruscan language (in which Etruria is already absorbed and occupied by the Roman Empire). In fact by then only a select few, unless they were Etruscan, knew the language Marcus Terentius Varro for example, the Roman Emperor Claudius (though he probably learned it from his first wife, Plautia Urgulanilla who is believed to be Etruscan).

Now I hear what you’re probably thinking: But his/ his familiar’s name is Waltolomew Strickler? That’s not very Latin sounding for a name. 

 And you’re absolutely right!

However, Etruscans (despite occupation and absorption into the Roman Empire - and more so before) were known to be seafaring, trade was very important from Egypt to what we know today as the Greek islands and to the northern coast. Import and export was important and (as well as fighting pirates, but that’s a very fun wiki rabbit hole to fall through another time haha), and with trade comes awesome exposure to other cultures and other peoples from that culture! 

Case in point the vague similarities and non similarities between certain deities between the Roman Greek and Etruscan Pantheon! Of course each pantheon has its own variants and deities that don’t exist in another pantheon, as well as different takes on certain heroes i.e the Greek Heracles, and the Etruscan Hercle -which through a lot of found art, is perceived to be a very popular hero for a number of reasons. 

I could also go into the account of Etruscan soothsayers being well praised even by Cicero - but that’s another rabbit hole for another time - as well as a reason I like to indulge in the fact that Strickler can come across as rather superstitious at times! 

But I’m getting off topic XP TRADE we’re talking about trade, and it was important be it Egypt to the Balkans 

And with that in mind it isn’t impossible for a Northern Germanic man to fall in love with an Etruscan woman.  

1) women were treated far better in Etruria, as opposed to Rome and Athens. In fact Romans thought they were more promiscuous because of how freely and equally they were treated. 

 2) Germanic tribes treated their woman on a similar level of equality. 

 3)   As a culture of partnership, heck we are still discovering more and more about the Etruscans but we can make educated guesses through their sarcophagus covers (the reclining lovers and so on). This celebration of life lived even in the face of death. 

Very on brand Strickler imo, and if we from history can see how they treated marriage in death we can assume how marriage was treated in life. As loving and equal as possible. In short Strickler grew up with that respecting women juice (at least compared to Roman and Athenian standards) 

So name wise, Waltolomew Strickler can come from the Norther Father’s name. Vel for short, as names beginning with ‘w’ aren’t very common in Latin, Etruscan, or Italian. In fact if you go to Italy today and introduce yourself as idk, William -  there’s a good chance they’ll pronounce William as [Vee-lee-am]. 

However in Latin the use of ‘v’ often replaces the ‘w’ and ‘u’ sounds. u = v and a double u = vv (aaay get it?) And just like that a VValtolomevv is named haha

Enter the name Vel slowly over time becoming Walt over time. I could go on for paragraphs, but I know I explained the whole congnomen thing in Terpsichore, I’d have to re-check and I fear this is already getting…ah…crazy long so I’ll try and wrap it up ^^’’

Initially the real Waltolomew was supposed to be left in the woods to die at the mercy of nature because it didn’t look like the infant wouldn’t survive anyways, but when they went back to check in the woods to find who we know as Strickler the host family Strickler saw it nothing short than an auspicious miracle of the gods, or that their child managed to strike a deal with Vanth (a death god), there’s a lot of theories between the family members to try and explain how Walter’s survival is possible - but all the same Waltolomew is raised in a rather loving family!  

There’s the quiet and slightly distant Northern Father (who is occasionally homesick) and mainly tends to the olive grove. The Mother that settles the finances. The Uncle that runs shipptrades and sells the family olive oil. And, of course, The Grandmother who is very proud of living Etruria thank you very much, openly mocking romans, quick with an opinion, morally gray, with a sparkle of mischief - and someone who pretty much elbowed her way into the very serious child Waltolomew’s heart in such a way the changeling wasn’t sure if she knew his secret or even cared! 

Eventually Roman payments became too steep, the Northern Father racked up a bit of debt and was sent into the army…the Northern Father never returns presumed dead in action. The resentment of Romans grows even more in the Strickler household because of this. 

Which is one of the reasons why later in life Stricklander chooses to occasionally pass as ‘British’ aka one of the peoples the Romans couldn’t occupy and conquer, as opposed to siding with a people who absorbed the population of his home peninsula that would later be known as Italy.

 In fact I believe after being forced to work at Hadrian’s wall (which was a laughable failure, although as a Cesare Hadrian was well praised), and returning to find his host family home repossessed by Romans Walter would flee to Gaul (another location where Romans couldn’t conquer).

It wouldn’t be long until the Romans called on a 13 ½ year old Waltolomew to enter into the military just in time for the Hadrian’s Wall debacle. Where Waltolomew grows a respect for the peoples of the British isles for being able to hold off Rome for so long and so much. Afterwards he returns to the peninsula to find his home repossessed by Romans, his grandmother having passed, and his mother and uncle closer to the port and not doing so hot. This spurns Strickler’s dislike for Romans more, an incident occurs, and Waltolomew flees to Gaul (another area famous for being able to hold off the Romans), but this time to join the Gumm-Gumms 

More on that another time cause ooo boy this is a long response XP I’m sorry this got so out of hand!! 

I wanted to add my thoughts as to why and how I came to the conclusion of this HC but like I said this response is crazy long already so I’ll keep it short (for now) to: That classic ‘Roman Nose profile’ of his, the pale olive skin tone, the vague roman/greek helmet he has in his office, how his Italian VA did not do an English accent in the dub, and - uh, well, I like the idea of it haha

Oh! And here’s a picture of a supermarket outside of Sarteano named ‘Etrusco’ Look at that lil face! It probably doesn’t mean much, but it does spark joy haha

Thank you so much for your questions!! I deeply appreciate it!!♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ) 

[bobones]

Priest Au info

Info about the Priest au I'm currently writing and drawing stuff for (will reblog to my art and writing blog too)

In this au Aziraphale becomes a priest to help spread the word of God more effectively. He also has a small area in the church dedicated to children and is often found reading to any children there.

Crowley is basically the same. Except for the fact that he has longer hair (about to his waist almost).

Another thing is Aziraphale doesnt know crowley is a demon. This is because all the times in the past when they have met, crowley was either a snake or his face was hidden in human form. (This is because crowley didnt want his supposed enemy to know his face and be able to recognize him while doing temptations)

At first, crowley doesnt recognize the priest as aziraphale. This is because it's been quite a few centuries since they'd last met. Though he does get the feeling that the priest is very holy and has a voice and smile that seems very familiar.

Aziraphale goes Azra.

Crowley goes by Crowley, but later Anthony. (Because crowley was too close to crawley and he was getting anxious)

I dont qamt to get too into what happens later on because I do plan on writing it, but I can say a few things I think

When crowley does find out the priest is aziraphale l, he has a hard time acting normal and not calling aziraphale angel. (He really sucks at this)

Also at that point crowley starta to realise how he feels and is like: oh fuxk, oh shite, oh damn, I'm in Love with a priest who happens to be an angel who happens to be my enemy

Aziraphale knows crowley as been acting weird all of a sudden, and notices the odd blushes and almost being called something else, but he doesnt push it. Yet.

Crowley of course has to report back to hell about how hes tempting this priest, and accidently leaves out the fact the priest is an angel.

Of course hell finds out, and let me say... oh boi

Heaven doesnt find out about any of this until beelzebub goes whining to gabriel like the little fly bastard he is.

And thus heaven and hell go wild.

Heaven orders aziraphale to get rid of crowley (aziraphale is like??? Hes a human! Hes fine!)

And hell is all, crowley go kill the angel, kill the angel, do it or else (to which crowley is like!! Uh, um, Ngk, who's crowley?)

Anyway yea. Crowley does go into his snake form at some point, to which aziraphale does notice and is like!!! Bad demon, shoo shoo. Of course crowley doesnt and because azirphale is easy to get talking, asks about the human aziraphale has been talking to recently. (Tryna figure out if hes been found out) and aziraphale practically combusts in blushing mess and crowley is like, oh, oh

When crowley tells aziraphale hes a demon, he forgets to say hes Crawley, so aziraphale is like, but anthony!! Your so nice!!! You couldnt possibly be!! Basically thinks crowley isn't a bad demon, just like a low level one or something

Crowley does the whole, I'm not nice, that's a four letter word! Thing and just thinks that's good and aziraphale gets it.

So when he transforms into his snake form (will not say why ;) ok it's because of hell) boy howdy is he surprised when aziraphale freaks out and suddenly wont talk to him. Yeah he gets real sad basically and like. Sad snek. It lasts a bit, but dont worry it gets resolved eventually

Yeah that's all I got right now! I might make a part 2 if I think of more

[anotherhawk]

Death for Immortals Ch 3 - Good Omens Fanfiction

On a 12th century battlefield Crowley struggles through flashbacks to the war in heaven. Aziraphale can’t save him but still longs to help.

On AO3 here or below.

1132 C.E.

They weren’t soldiers. They were builders, dragged from their homes to take part in this stupid war, forced to construct war machines and massive platforms to break the siege. They didn’t want to be here; Crowley could see it on their faces. Maybe they’d had an opinion about which side was right and which was wrong at some point, but that didn’t matter much, because here they all were and the world was on fire.

She could taste smoke on the air. Death too, and she winced at the whistle of a trebuchet, at the explosion of stone and the screams that followed.

Cowardice was a sin, wasn’t it? Desertion certainly was, she knew that first hand. “You could run,” she suggested to the builders, temptation wrapped through her words. “All this noise, all this confusion, the soldiers probably wouldn’t even notice. Even if they did, they couldn’t catch all of you. Maybe they couldn’t catch any of you. If you were quick. If you had a little luck.”

Another explosion, somewhere even closer. Orders screamed across a battlefield. Blood. A bitter taste in her mouth. For a moment she could hear the beating of terrible wings.

“You could go home,” she pleaded. “Things could go back to the way they were before.”

“We can never go back,” someone said, his eyes fixed out across the fields towards the burning moat.

The builders built their platforms. Their families – women, children, the elderly and infirm – were forced to gather materials to fill in the moat. And when they died – and they died, and oh, they died, they died – their bodies were left in the moat to support the platforms their men built.

They stood on a wall of corpses to storm the Silver City. We can never go back.

“You can’t just – “ she tried, and the ground shook, the world went grey, and she was breathing smoke and gunpowder and fragments of wood and flesh and bone. The builders were gone. The soldiers were gone. She ran, not knowing where.

She had been a builder once. She had built stars and set them spinning, and it had been good. She couldn’t remember now the steps that had taken her away from the stars to this place of screaming and pain, with blood dripping down her face, but she must have done something terrible. There had…she’d had questions? Were questions terrible?

A man-shaped figure holding a flaming spear stepped out of the smoke towards her. He was shouting but she couldn’t make out the words. She took a step back and he thrust towards her, more figures joining him, their holy weapons raised aflame.

Maybe answers were terrible.

Fire dug deep into her side and she screamed, waving her hand towards them instinctively, and they were gone, vanished like they’d never existed, only the black blood trickling between her fingers proof that she hadn’t imagined it.

She had to go. She had to…find someone. Someone on her side. There had to be someone left on her side, didn’t there?

Moving hurt. Breathing hurt, only she couldn’t remember how to stop. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, to a Name that burned on her tongue. “Please…someone?”

There was a hollow. A crater, maybe. She stumbled down into it and almost tripped over the little group of people huddled in the mud. They stared at her, the taller ones, their faces lined and grey, standing in front and behind them…fledglings. Kids.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she told them. “Can’t kill kidsss.”

They didn’t seem to understand, and then the world tilted a little and the old woman was holding her up by the arm, dabbing a filthy rag against her eye and making a sort of concerned clucking sound that Crowley thought she might be content to listen to forever.

The fledglings were staring at her, all huge eyes and trembling lips.

“It’sss going to be alright,” she promised them. “You’ll be alright.”

She was lying. Why was she lying?

More explosions, drawing closer, and she could hear the whistling arcing towards them, could smell the impending death on the air. “No!” she screamed in defiance towards the sky.

Time s-l-o-w-e-d.

Without regard for whether it was possible, she gathered them in her arms, these people, her people now, and spread her wings over them like a shield and willed feathers to steel. Fire and rock smashed against her and she dug her heels in and didn’t break. “No. No. You’ll be alright. You can’t kill kids.”

And it was over, and she was lying in the mud, crying in the mud, dying, and there were gentle hands on her, cries of alarm, and for a moment she was ready to sink into oblivion but then another voice rang out from above and she looked up and caught sight of white, pure and unsullied, and realised that here was another angel, come to finish them off now she was weak.

No. Not today.

She hissed sharply, and she couldn’t stand so she crawled, her wings extended still, putting herself in between the others and this new threat.

The angel was talking, still above her, no flaming weapon to be seen, thankfully, but he raised his hand, reaching for her, and she lashed out viciously and watched in satisfaction as golden blood dripped into the mud. It was barely a flesh wound but still the angel took a step back. “You can’t have them,” she managed to say, and even her own voice sounded distorted and wrong in her ears. “They’re not dying today.”

The angel reached out for her again, talking loudly, sounding frustrated, and this time he jumped back before she managed to land a strike. Pity. “Fuck off, sssoldier boy,” she hissed.

Her arm suddenly decided to launch a rebellion, refusing to hold her up any more, and she collapsed, only just managing to catch herself on her other, more cooperative, elbow. This could very well be It. One last blow with a holy weapon and it would all be over. Kinder than the Fall, probably. Though her wings were just as broken now as they had been then.

The angel was crouching on the ground. He was going to get mud on his nice pristine clothes. Serve him right. See if she would miracle it away for him now. His voice was good though. Soothing. She wondered if he would make that soft clucking noise if she asked….

*

Crowley’s wings faded away as she died. There was a burning in Aziraphale’s chest as he felt that too-familiar wrench of emptiness – loneliness and grief that he knew he shouldn’t feel but couldn’t bear to call sinful. His hand trembled as he reached out to brush the bloodied red hair away from her face.

Immediately his hand stung with sharp pain and he looked up in surprise to see the humans huddled together, glaring angrily at him. One of the little ones had just thrown a rock. They were protecting her, he realised, immediately guilty at his own surprise. He had no idea what relationship Crowley had with these people but clearly she had at the very least saved them, judging by the strength of the miracle that had attracted his attention.1 And they had seen her trying to keep him away, trying to protect them from him - it made sense that they would be protective of her, even in death. And that they would treat him like an enemy.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her,” he said helplessly, wishing that he’d managed to pick up more than a couple of words in the local language over the past couple of days he’d been here. “I just want to help – I know her.”

Crowley hadn’t known him though, his mind whispered to him, and he remembered the fear and desperation in her eyes, the anger, the hate… (Soldier boy. Was that really what she saw when she looked at him? Yes, that was the Purpose he had been created for, but he thought he was more than that now. He thought that his long sojourn on Earth and his acceptance of his role here had given him a new purpose.)

Most of the humans eyed him distrustfully. The old woman ignored him completely and moved forwards to Crowley’s body, dabbing away the blood from her face while she clicked her tongue sorrowfully.

The dull ache in Aziraphale’s chest seemed to spread. Enough. This was enough.

He stood up slowly, brushing off his hands fastidiously before clicking his fingers, and all at once the noise of battle seemed to fade, as though everyone fighting was experiencing a sudden moment of confused peace. “Right then,” he said brightly, holding out a hand to the humans. “Let’s get out of here.”

With a bit of effort and a minor miracle he was able to pantomime his intentions clearly enough, and he ushered them as quickly as he could across the battlefield, sticking close behind them and allowing peace to break out in his wake. He tried not to imagine the talking to he was going to get for all this blatant celestial interference. “Why did I decide to stop my observations to protect these particular humans, Gabriel?” he muttered under his breath. “Oh, no real reason. I just thought my demon would want me to. That is to say, not my demon, she’s her own demon. Or, rather, she’s Hell’s demon, I mean.” Somehow he didn’t think that would achieve the desired result.2

The old man carried Crowley's body across his shoulder. Aziraphale longed to take her from him, to carry her himself. She hadn't recognised him. He wasn't even sure if in that moment she'd had any idea where or when she was. Blood had been trailing from both her ears, and her face had been a mess of shrapnel gashes, the remains of her dark glasses digging deep into her face. And her wings! He wasn't certain if he could have saved her even if she had let him get close enough to try. Oh, he wished she'd let him get close enough to try; if nothing else he could have eased her pain.

He rubbed his thumb across the scratch she'd left on his hand, absently healing it.

He could only hope that it was the damage to her physical corporation that had her so lost and confused, because if it was the trauma, and if she hadn't managed to snap out of it when she got back to Hell...well, he shuddered to think. He didn't know what the forces of evil would do to a traumatised demon but he doubted it involved a nice cup of tea, a warm blanket and a kindly listening ear. Come to think of it, he couldn't imagine that being discorporated while saving humans was going to look good for her either. Oh, dear. He bit his lip hard. They wouldn't...destroy her, would they? No, they couldn't, she did good work, or, rather, did bad work well. But he knew from a couple of things she'd let slip over the centuries that Hell could be just as violent towards its own as to the humans. “Oh, Crowley,” he murmured fretfully. She would be fine. She'd be just fine and she'd be sent back to earth in no time.

They had reached a farmhouse – he wasn't absolutely certain who it belonged to, but the humans all walked in like it didn't matter so he joined them. By this point they seemed to accept his presence. He even got some gap-toothed smiles when he produced some candied fruit for the children. And then it was him and the old lady in a bedroom, Crowley's body laid out on the bed, and the kindness with which she prepared the demon's body for burial brought a lump to his throat.

“I'm sorry, dear girl,” he said, as he washed the blood away from her face. “I wish I'd reached you in time.”

*

On previous occasions it had taken a few years for Crowley to make her way back up from Hell. Five, Aziraphale had found, was about the average. Infernal bureaucracy at work, no doubt. And he was kept busy enough, trying to heal the latest papal schism and told himself he wasn't worrying – but then he turned around and ten years had gone by. A decade, and not even a hint of his demonic counterpart.

He worried. In the relative privacy of his own mind, he worried, and he hared across the globe after every suggestion of demon activity, hoping... but it was never Crowley. In fact, sometimes it seemed like he'd found every demon except Crowley, and he'd foiled more possessions and devilish schemes than he ever had before. He'd even ended up discorporating a few minor demons – in self defence, of course, but he still received the standard memo of praise from heaven.3

It was forty years before Crowley came back. Aziraphale wasn't certain at first, but he left the monastery behind to investigate demonic energies in Rome and found Crowley lounging in a bar that surely couldn't be the one they'd once shared a drink in back in 41, but certainly seemed to be roughly in the same place and, quite possibly, was using the same glassware. Without having washed it in the interim.

Not quite sure if it was safe, he sat down at the table next to the demon and stole careful glances at his friend. (Or, rather, acquaintance. Or, rather enemy.)  Crowley looked paler than normal, though that could be the new corporation, and she moved stiffly as she reached for her drink.

“Paint a picture, it'll last longer,” she said irritably without so much as looking at him.

“It's been a very long time,” he whispered back. “I was beginning to think you weren't coming back.”

“Yeah. Well.” She shrugged with painful indifference. “Paperwork gets a little bit more hellish every time. Did you miss me?”  

Yes. “What do you think?”

“Right.” She drained her drink. “Stupid question, really.”

“Are you alright?” he dared to ask.

She shrugged again. “'m fine, angel.”

“About last time - “ he began, and she interrupted immediately.

“ - there was a battle. I died. Don't remember more than that. Don't need to remember more than that. Got it?” The threat was sharp.

He sighed and nodded.

“Good.” She smiled. “Let's get drunk.”

Hours of drinking went by and before he knew it the bar was closed and somehow they'd been locked inside. Crowley opened a new barrel and Aziraphale miracled what he thought was the appropriate money onto the counter.4

“I don't like it when you're not here,” he told her, as she walked back to their table, tripped over a stool and ended up lying flat on the floor, still holding the carafe upright somehow.

She peered up at him, yellow eyes bright over the top of her glasses. “Can't just stay with you all the time, angel. Your side wouldn't like it.”

He shook his head, frowning. “No, thas...that's not what I meant.”

“My side wouldn't like it either, come to think of it.” She poured the wine directly into her mouth, somehow managing to do it pensively. “An' I don't want them to be angry with me, least f'r a while. Someone's been giving them ideas. And little pointy hooked things.”

His blood ran stone cold. “My dear,” he said tremulously, kneeling on the floor by her side now, his hand clutching hers. “My dear, you need to be more careful. Please.”

She scoffed. “'Careful' is a four letter word. It's all good, angel. 'sss all fine.” She turned her head away, and her mouth was trembling. “'m gonna sleep now, 'kay?”

“Of course, dear,” he said quietly. “I'll keep watch.”

He didn't let go of her hand till morning.

1As a matter of fact Aziraphale had already been heading in Crowley’s general direction, due to a vague but growing sense that he was needed. This was probably a coincidence. Certainly it would be somewhat presumptuous to characterise it as Divine intervention.

2In point of fact it would, if the desired result was to make Gabriel stop asking about the miraculously-saved humans – mainly because on hearing that the Archangel Gabriel would suddenly have many, many more pressing matters to discuss with his erring subordinate. Thankfully while Aziraphale was not a convincing liar the idea that an angel would attempt to…obfuscate the truth…to their heavenly superiors was unthinkable and therefore Gabriel, with his supernaturally limited imagination, never thought it.

3He also earned a reputation in Hell as a tenacious and deadly opponent, which had the happy side-effect of helping Crowley's reputation as well.

4In reality the currency in question hadn't been used in a good thousand years or so. Fortunately for the tavern owner the coins were made of solid gold.