#crowley's bizarre belongings

[sighed-the-snake]

You know what Good Omens book character deserves more attention from fandom?

Crowley's unconnected fax machine with the intelligence of a computer (but not the computer with the intelligence of an ant).

We're all Bentley this, Bentley that, but what about the fax?

There you go faxy bby I'll just tuck you into the fanfic riiiiight there

[elves-and-androids]

I see a lot of people talking about Crowley using his plants as a reframing device for his trauma and negative self-image, but nobody’s talking about Aziraphale doing something similar with his books. He loves rare first editions and bizarre misprints -- books that many people wouldn’t be interested in outside of that niche of collectors. Books that are “incorrect” or “wrong” because they break the mould or go outside of the status quo or breach people’s expectations. 

Because he himself has fallen short of the expectations of his heavenly peers time and time again, and is acutely aware that they think he is “wrong” for being that way.

Perhaps he keeps the bookshop stuffed to the brim with misfit books and is always hunting for more because he sees himself somewhere in them. He likes them for being different and recognizes himself in how they are outcast for being that way. So he chooses to surround himself with them, not only to remind himself that there is no such thing as “perfection” but also to remind himself that it is possible for a misfit to be loved and to belong. It’s like his own little fortress of misfits where he can be comfortable being himself.

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Postcards From Paris

Crowley has just moved into his Mayfair apartment and finds a postcard addressed to the previous tenant. With no return address, he's left to collect and read the mysterious A.Z.F.'s adventures across Europe, where he hunts for bizarre bibles and rates ridiculously expensive wine in his free time. The question is: How will A.Z.F. react when Crowley finally gets his return address and writes back? It was different, he knew, to accidentally read someone else’s postcard versus intentionally perusing one in place of good newspaper over coffee. Crowley decided he was allowed that indecency, to balance out the good deed of safeguarding the mail in the first place. He kicked his feet up onto his desk, scooped up the takeaway coffee that was brought around by their newest intern, and settled in to read some of the most densely crowded handwriting he’d ever laid eyes on.

Length: 12,331 words

AO3 Rating: General Audiences

Best for: Safe in Public, Pick-Me-Up, Fluff, Human AU

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

*Minor Spoilers* I am hurrying to write this post before it hits midnight in Australia so that I can say HAPPY BIRTHDAY @mrghostrat!!! Bilvy is one of my favorite creators here, not only for their amazing art but because they back it up with excellent writing every time. I genuinely am so impressed with the amount of work they do, I can't imagine how it all gets done so quickly with this level of quality. Thank you for all that you do, and I hope that you had a great birthday!

Anyway, you're here for the story! For it's length, this is such a rich story. You quickly fall into this world as our anxious and lonely Crowley starts receiving postcards that belonged to the previous tenant from the mysterious A.Z.F. Soon he starts writing back, and well, you can guess how it'll go. What Bilvy does so well, is take some pretty standard romance tropes and finds a way to do them uniquely and at 100. Every one of their stories feels like it could be a real rom-com and I mean that as a compliment. The pacing, the dialogue, the little details all come together and make their stories so engaging.

This is such a sweet treat, it's a perfect pick-me-up. You just can't help being charmed by this story. Completely safe in public, the only thing you'll need to worry about is how much you'll be smiling during this. Happy Birthday Bilvy, we're so lucky to have you!

I can't post about them until they are finished, but you guys should also be reading Big Name Feelings and And They Were Streamers! They're so good!

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

[di-42]

Crowley protects the books

If you had been standing in a particular street in Soho, looking at the doors of a particular bookshop for long enough on one particular morning in our story, you'd probably be left wondering what was wrong with the customers coming out of the shop. They all (in fairness, not many) would suddenly stop in their tracks, look around themselves in bewilderment, stare for a moment at the books they were holding in their hands and then go back into the bookshop, only to reappear a minute later holding no book at all.

If you had been curious enough to look around for possible causes of this bizarre behaviour, your gaze might, or might not, have fallen on a particular black classic car parked outside the bookshop. Had you looked for signs of life inside the car (a 1926 Bentley), you might have spotted a shape collapsed on the steering wheel, made of red hair and black clothes. The face belonging to the red hair and black clothes bore signs of misery, boredom and hope. That's how the demon Crowley had got in the habit of spending his days, on that particular morning in that particular street in Soho as we caught up with him: miracleing away would-be customers of the establishment known as A. Z. Fell & Co. What brought the demon Crowley there were the aforementioned misery, boredom and hope together with a rather unhealthy pull toward being set on fire.

[nemiravens]

Chapter 3: The Young Guest

Nemesis

I am not a girl.

Ace

Eh?

Nemesis

It's just as some students say.

I'm a boy with a feminine physique and mannerisms.

Ace

Are you really...?

Kalim

Haha! It looks like Vil's assumptions are correct.

Nemesis

My mother raised me this way because she wanted a daughter, not a son.

Ace

What kind of mother would do that?

That's not enough reason to force your son to grow up like a girl.

Nemesis

I don't really mind.

Besides, my mother loves me. She wouldn't hurt me as long as I do what she wants.

Ace

...

Vil

...

Kalim

...

Nemesis

(Wow. That was a really bad attempt of a backstory.)

(I feel bad for making them sympathize over something fabricated.)

(But I'm glad they believed me at least.)

Crowley

Still, it doesn't change the fact that this school is no place for non-magic children like you.

I deeply apologize for I have to return you to where your home is.

Nemesis

I understand, Headmaster. I'm sorry for the commotion I caused...

Crowley

It is the school's responsibility as the owner of the Dark Mirror.

You need not apologize.

*murmur*

Crowley

Things may have been problematic but the entrance ceremony was still a success, thanks to everybody's cooperation.

Dorm leaders, please escort the new students to your respective dorms.

Leona

Looks like the freak show is over. Time to get back to the dorm.

Savanaclaw students, follow me.

Riddle

Listen up, new students.

Here in Heartslabyul, I am the rule. Break them and it's off with your head.

Crowley

Hmm? I don't see the dorm leader of Ignihyde and Diasomnia at all.

Mandrake

I came to fill in Idia's absence, Headmaster. Please allow me to escort the new Ignihyde students to our dorm instead.

Crowley

Why is it that the vice dorm leader of Ignihyde is way more responsible than the actual dorm leader?

Vil

That's why I'm suggesting for him to take Idia's place as dorm head instead.

The position is already being offered to him. All that's left for him to do is to accept it.

Mandrake

I respectfully decline.

Vil

And both are just as stubborn as one another.

Nemesis

(A vice dorm leader?)

(Ignihyde has a vice dorm leader?)

Lilia

I was right. Malleus didn't really show up at the ceremony.

The invitation must've lost its way again.

Azul

My deepest apologies. We didn't mean to exclude him.

Lilia

Nothing to worry. I will fill in his place instead.

This way, Diasomnia students.

Boy with Black and White Eyes

...

Nemesis

...!

(That student from Diasomnia...)

(Isn't that... my older brother?)

Boy with Black and White Eyes

...

Nemesis

(He didn't see me...)

(...)

(It doesn't matter. There's no point in asking what he's doing here.)

(Dreams are made to contain the most bizarre of situations anyway. I could just tell him about it when I wake up.)

*student chatter*

*silence*

Nemesis

(Everybody's gone off to their dorms now.)

Crowley

Nemesis.

Nemesis

...

Crowley

Do not fret for the Dark Mirror can guide you back to where you came from.

Just picture your home very clearly and everything will be fine.

Nemesis

...

Dark Mirror

...

Nemesis

(Would I like this dream to continue? I'm not so sure of the answer myself...)

(Maybe the Dark Mirror can help me wake up. However...)

(I still want to see the end of the story on my own accord.)

(...)

(Either way, I'll accept whatever route is available.)

Crowley

Oh, Dark Mirror! Guide this one back to the place he belongs!

Nemesis

...

Crowley

Ahem... Oh, Dark Mirror!

Dark Mirror

It is nowhere.

Nemesis

(...)

(Looks like I'll be staying here for a while.)

Crowley

I don't understand. The Ebony Carriage fetching a student without a talent for magic. The Dark Mirror failing to find the origins of a student.

This is the first time it's ever happened ever since I became the headmaster.

My child, where exactly did you come from?

Nemesis

Well...

Crowley

I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the place.

Perhaps the library has the answers.

Crowley

This is strange. Even the library held no records of your home even to the farthest points of history.

Is that really the name of your homeland? Aren't you by any chance lying to me so I'll be forced to let you stay in the school?

Nemesis

I-I would never...

Crowley

There's also a possibility that you might be from another world.

Nemesis

That might be the case but answer is still uncertain...

Crowley

This is concerning. I can't let someone who can't use magic stay in the school.

Nemesis

...

Crowley

As a teacher, however, I can't just shove a helpless child out on the street without anything to fend for himself.

For I am gracious!

You shall stay in the unused building in the campus as your temporary shelter. And I promise I will help you find your way home.

Nemesis

Can... Can I really?

Crowley

Of course! I should make sure my guest is comfortable during his stay in my school at least.

Nemesis

Thank...

Thank you so much, Headmaster!

*bump*

Crowley

Oh-

Nemesis

I feel extremely indebted to your kindness.

I promise to do my best not to cause you trouble. I will also prove myself useful during my stay here in return.

Crowley

Going as far as to hug me...

*sobs* If only the students in this campus are as sweet and innocent as you.

My graciousness shall ever be limitless to a sweet little boy like you! I truly am a model for all teachers!

Nemesis

(...)

(Wait a second...)

Crowley

We had better be on our way. Let's head to the dormitory.

It may be a bit old, though there is a certain charm to it you might like.

Nemesis

(Where's Grim?)

[aquaburst3]

Take Me Down the Rabbit Hole

Chapters: 29/29

Fandom: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game), Disney - All Media Types

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Pairings: Jamil Viper/Yuu | Player, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters: Yuu | Player (Twisted-Wonderland), Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Grim (Twisted-Wonderland), Jamil Viper, Kalim Al-Asim, Original Male Character(s), Yuu | Player (Twisted-Wonderland), Dire Crowley, Riddle Rosehearts, Cater Diamond, Trey Clover

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Attempt at Humor, Male-Female Friendship, Female Friendship, Male Friendship, Aged-Up Character(s), Swearing, POV First Person, Spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Magic, Dimension Travel, University, Friendship, Alternate Universe, Alternate Worldbuilding, Partying, Drinking, Action/Adventure, Violence, Pre-Relationship, Developing Relationship, Rewrite, POV Female Character, Fix-It of Sorts, Isekai, Ace Trappola Being Ace Trappola, Grim Being a Little Shit (Twisted-Wonderland), Disney References, Yuu | Player Has a Different Name (Twisted-Wonderland), Female Yuu | Player (Twisted-Wonderland), Betaed, Canon Rewrite, Twisted-Wonderland, Spoilers

Summary:

All Adriana wanted to do was work at her part-time job and take yet another year off before heading to university. Instead of any of that, she's dragged through her bedroom mirror to a bizarre dimension where magic is real, some people vaguely resemble Disney characters and fantasy creatures...including actual furries humans with ears and tails that belong to different mammals, exist.

Adriana is now in survival mode, doing whatever it takes to get back home—even if it means working as a janitor at an all-boys university. This goal is easier said than done, especailly when she deals with a monster in a mine and an angry dorm leader.

(Covers the Prologue and Heartslabyul arcs)

[mortifyingideal]

adjective issues Crowley’s flat was… well, there was no two ways about it. It was horrendous. Aziraphale knew his own tendencies when it came to interior decor erred on the cluttered side of things, and there were obvious and already-experienced hazards that came with living in what amounted to a pile of kindling, but this polar opposite lifestyle of Crowley’s really was taking the cake. He wasn’t entirely against Brutalism as an aesthetic— how could he be, when it had led to the Barbican’s creation? There was a sort of passion to be found in such ascetic architecture. Crowley’s flat held no such passion, however. It held no such anything, as far as Aziraphale could tell. A bed, the plant room, the ridiculous throne room with its marble slab desk and wall-mounted television at such a bizarre angle Aziraphale didn’t understand how Crowley had avoided a permanent crick in that serpentine neck. This was, in Aziraphale’s explorations of the space, the sum total of Crowley’s belongings. All the other rooms were barren, concrete and slick flooring with nary a sign of life to contrast the raw building materials and turn them into something beautiful.

It was, to put it lightly, completely insane.

Aziraphale tried his best to approach the subject with some grace that evening, but had been a little distracted from pursuing the topic entirely due to their impending doom. 

“Well, you certainly have lots of space here, don’t you!” Aziraphale had said. 

“I think the wisely part is a dig, somehow. The old witch mocking us from the great beyond. If she’s so clever, how come she’s dead, that’s what I want to know,” Crowley had replied, and that had been that. 

He’d been reluctant to bring it up again, and really there was no reason to now. The bookshop was back. They’d won. Life carried on as normal. Aziraphale didn’t need to go to Crowley’s flat, because Crowley was always at the shop. Only… Crowley seemed to like his creature comforts. Certainly seemed to like Aziraphale’s, anyway. Storing endless leftovers from their meals together in Aziraphale’s fridge, stretching out to his full length on Aziraphale’s tatty sofa, even commandeering Aziraphale’s bathtub for a week once in the lead up to a shed. The angel had taken all of this in his stride, happy to provide a space where Crowley felt safe to use what he needed. Then, Crowley had started making suggestions. Leaving little hints around the place.

IKEA magazines appeared with furniture items circled in red pen. Aziraphale would turn on his computer and find his browser open with several MADE.COM tabs left open. Nothing was being purchased, not even added to the basket, but Crowley’s intent was clear. Aziraphale’s things were not up to his exacting standards, and this was the demon’s not-so-subtle way of letting him know. Things came to a rather tumultuous head when Aziraphale was confronted with a woman on his doorstep claiming to be a personal home stylist who just wanted to pop in and see what she could do with the space, and he should have warned her about the whole wood-and-dust vibe happening because they’d seriously have to rethink their entire colour scheme if this was what she was working with. He transported her somewhere far, far away, and stormed upstairs to confront Crowley.

“Demon!” Aziraphale roared, kicking open the bathroom door.

“Angel,” Crowley replied, quickly batting away the horns he’d made for himself out of bubbles.

“If you take issue with my furnishings, I’d rather have you tell me to my face,” he said, crossing his arms firmly. “You’re not usually half so sneaky when insulting my taste. Out with it. What’s brought all this on?”

Crowley, to Aziraphale’s surprise, flushed a little. “Notice that, did you?”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “I may be a little slow on the uptake, but it’s rather difficult to ignore when some young woman who fancies herself Ray Eames asks me my opinion on perspex.”

“She wasn’t supposed to arrive until this afternoon,” Crowley said, sinking into the water. “I was going to chat to you about it before then. It’s not for you, anyway. Don’t want you to get rid of your stuff. You love your stuff, I love your stuff. This would be for me.”

“I’ve seen how you live, Crowley. You’ve never seemed bothered about owning household ephemera before,” Aziraphale sighed, moving to perch on the lip of the tub. “And why drag me into all of this? Why leave all these things out where I might see them? Are you— did you want me to buy you gifts?” 

“No! Not gifts, I mean, if you were feeling generous, I wouldn’t say no but. I was going to pay you back,” Crowley said. “It’s just… embarrassing, alright?”

“Wanting me to spoil you is not embarrassing, Crowley. I just want to know why you felt like you couldn’t talk to me about all this.”

“You’re going to be insufferable about it,” Crowley pouted.

“I promise you, I won’t be insufferable. I will endeavour to be sufferable about it at most,” Aziraphale grinned.

But an angel could hardly be blamed for immediately breaking his promise in the face of an explanation from a demon who was mortified at the prospect of buying anything known as household goods.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Do you think you can come up with a scene out of the potential Ineffable Husbands x Adventure Husbands fic? I'd love to read something from it. (Or might it be an actual AO3 fanfic in the future?)

I can do a little scene for you guys here, though I'd like to see a bit more of atwi80d before I really focus on making a fanfic out of this au. Also, I wanna write a few more chapters of More Than What You Know as well, so I don't abandon it haha.

Summery: A boat trip gives the large group a break from the events of the past few days, and it gives Aziraphale and Crowley time to watch over the two look-alikes they've seem to have taken a shine to.

Warning: takes place after episode two, on the boat for the Suez Canal, mild spoilers, uses elements of my Guardian Angel au and that one ficlet of Will meeting Phileas on the train in Italy, Aziraphale is aware of his feelings for Crowley (and is somewhat aware that Crowley likes people who look like him) but can't act upon them because Heaven Is Always Watching (tm)

On with the fic!

--

"They're off to a start, it seems."

Aziraphale snapped out of his wandering thoughts, turning to the demon who approached him, standing in his usual spot next to him. They were on a ship, headed for Egypt, another spot in their long, long journey to travel the world.

They had arrived on it an hour ago, after a long, exhausting train ride. Aziraphale pondered briefly how much the damage to that train car would cost, considering they dismantled nearly everything of it for fuel for a two hour ride to save a child.

Yes, Crowley and Aziraphale each could have spared a miracle to help, but Phileas was so determined to make his plans work so that little boy would live a long and happy life, that the two supernatural beings joined in on the destruction. Crowley clearly had fun with it, even getting a few laughs out of everyone as he did.

It was rather nice that he had helped, though Aziraphale would never say that out loud. Crowley was talking to him again, but a lot of it was just centered on this Arrangement he dragged the demon into, they haven't spoken casually since he pulled Crowley into coming along for help.

And he had to admit, Crowley was willing to do so, he was curious of the bet, of the results, and of the awkward, quiet human that looked identical to him. Crowley had commented to Aziraphale during their first day of the trip that Phileas was like Crowley if Aziraphale was running around in his body.

What a bizarre thought, Aziraphale running about as Crowley.

But then again, he could just as easily say the same about the mysterious addition to the group.

Will Charity, who they met on the train the night before, seemed to have drawn himself towards Phileas quickly. Aziraphale didn't know him well, even though they both had ties to the British Museum, particularly in antiquities.

Yes, they had crossed paths before, but Aziraphale worked from home, Will ran off to do his job, to explore the world and keep artifacts and the like out of the hands of bad people. Aziraphale admired that, really, things should be left where they belong, unless given permission, of course.

After all, a few things in the collect at the museum were now in the bookshop, for their own safety with permission (and because Aziraphale knew they can never return home, so why not he hold onto them where they will last forever, right? Specifically a few scrolls and clay slabs that reference a wily redhead or a bumbling blond, yes?)

But because of their difference in their work, they didn't interact enough, but Aziraphale knew Will. Crowley seemed to have taken a shine to him, always the sort that drew attention to themselves in spectacular ways. The demon did have a soft spot for adventure stories, and Will was a walking example of one.

It also didn't pass Aziraphale by that he shared a similar face to Will, and Crowley was always drawn to that, Aziraphale had observed. He saw how Crowley was around Nero all those years ago.

Not that Aziraphale could talk, he had found himself, often, in the same circles as Casanova back in the day.

And now, it was probably a similar situation, as Crowley seemed to have found a new person to circle around. Will certainly was more of a fitting choice for him, but Aziraphale couldn't comment, he didn't want to get them into trouble.

He blinked, watching Crowley lean over the railing, looking down at the deck below. Aziraphale looked down as well, seeing that Phileas was sitting on a chair, with Will talking to him. The shorter of the two seemed to be telling a story, animated with his actions as Phileas listened with a rare look of delighted interest on his face.

It brought a small smile to Aziraphale's own, he had been so worried about his friend since last night, the man had been so tired, so sad, so emotionally beaten down from the humiliation he endured from people within his usual circle of society.

A harsh reality, and he wished that Phileas had been more eased into it rather than having it slapped in the face, but Crowley had spoken to Aziraphale later in the evening, a passing conversation. He had said he convinced Will to talk to Phileas, get him to speak to someone who knows the situation better than a bunch of rich bastards.

From what Aziraphale had seen the next day, Phileas had still been in a sad mood, but he had been a little better, a little more thoughtful, instead of lost in his mind.

Then he seemed to be in a more chance-taking mindset when the track was damaged, being clever and quick to see a solution. Will had commented to Crowley, within earshot of the angel, that Phileas had the makings of a true adventurer in him, he just had to figure out how to unlock it.

Aziraphale was proud of his personal human, watching as the brunet seemed to asked something with an excitement he hadn't seen since the balloon flight over the Alps. He smiled more, turning to Crowley.

"I think you're right, oh, I do hope that this becomes a friendship. Poor Phileas doesn't have many, and even then, they're terrible to him. I think it's really just myself and Ms. Fix's father, and possibly his old valet, but that poor man is a few books short of a full collection."

"Wouldn't hurt, but you're still his friend, don't worry. He still sees you as a guardian angel of sorts, helping him in the right direction." Crowley replied, eyes on the two below. "Will wants to do that too, I think we should let him help. You and I have traveled the world, but never like this, never a full trip around, but Will has experience."

Aziraphale couldn't help the twinge of something bitter in his heart at the tone in Crowley's voice when speaking of Will Charity, but he shouldn't let that bother him. Why even let it, he and the demon couldn't have anything more than what they had now anyway, and besides, Crowley was still mad about the holy water, he just knew it. Would explain the clipped conversations, being all business.

But then again, Crowley looked so relaxed right now, looking at the two humans with some sort of thoughtful look on his face. Maybe... maybe this was a sign that they could try to fix the damage that was-

"I'm gonna go see what Fix and Passerpartout are up to, keep an eye on 'em down there, angel. Ciao." Crowley was already off, making his way to another part of the ship, leaving the angel alone.

He sighed, his attention now on the water instead. Well, so much for that then.

And yet...

"He called me angel." Aziraphale whispered to himself, with just a smallest upward tug at his lips.

[azurevi]

Can i request a scenario angst 1 with Jade, please? Def not thinking about mc returning to their world when I saw the prompt I wanna die with angst and cry 😂😳🙏 thank you and take care of yourself 💘

1. “Why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?” with Jade

This could've been more angsty but I tried my best🥱 hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting!!

You had no idea how to tell Jade.

Your footsteps were especially deafening in the empty corridor, every step heavier than the other. Crowley's words were still replaying in your mind, plaguing your every thought.

"I have found a way for you to return to your world,"

If he'd done it a few months earlier, you would've gladly taken the chance to leave this bizarre, foreign place. You never belonged, after all. But a lot had changed since then, and you couldn't say that you were still the same person. With the help of everyone else you managed to adapt to studying in a college made for magicians as a non-magic user, and even made some friends of your own. Having them close by was a silver-lining, but that wasn't enough reason for you to second guess your choices.

There was but one person who was making it so difficult for you -- Jade. Your friends might've been of great help, but Jade was the one who was truly there for you, offering his hand at your most pathetic moments, reassuring you that even on this unfamiliar land there was still someone you could rely on, someone you could go home to. Everything had been going so well that the idea of leaving had vanished completely from your thoughts, but Crowley's helpful discovery felt like a big slap to your face, like a punishment for your ignorance.

You were bound to leave one day. There might be someone on the other side of the mirror waiting for your return, some important things that awaited you, but at this moment you couldn't bring yourself to care at all. All that was on your mind was how you were supposed to break it to Jade, to tell him that you were going to leave and break his heart after all those wonderful times together.

You tried to tell him while helping out in Mostro Lounge, but he'd been so occupied that you couldn't find the chance to butt in. It's no use attempting to voice it during your dates, as you would always be way too happy and end up forgetting all about it.

It was simply too hard.

"Is something on your mind?" Jade asks, fingers teasing the crimson petals in front of him. The two of you were strolling inside the botanical garden, appreciating the various species of flowers in the place. As a mountain climbing lover, Jade had quite the knowledge about plants and herbs. It had become one of your favourite places to go to and you had enjoyed every minute spent there, but tonight it just didn't seem the case.

"I'm just tired, I think." you shake your head.

That's not a lie. You've been staying up until unreasonable hours, trying to figure out how to deal with the matter at hand. It had gotten so bad that you found it hard to concentrate in class, and dates with Jade were like cruel reminders that your time was running out. As much as you would like to enjoy spending time with him, you just couldn't get rid of the fear of losing him so soon.

"We should head back then," he got to his feet and helped you up, his hand intertwining with yours tightly. No matter how late it was, he always insisted on walking you back to the dorm.

You stole a tentative glance at him and noticed how at ease he looked -- lips slightly curled upward and hair fluttering in the chill night breeze. 

Your hand tensed against his, and he turned towards you with a curious look. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you're quick to deny, flashing him a weak smile as if it would help convince him. But Jade wasn't gullible. In fact, he had been noticing your uneasiness for the past few days. He just didn't want to force you into telling him when you're not ready.

"Well then. I'll be here when you're ready to talk," his eyes disappeared into slits as he grinned, moonlight illuminating the side of his face. It was getting harder to look away because you knew it would be stolen away from you soon.

Time had already passed by as you drowned in your thinking. It wasn't until you stopped in front of the door that you realized the walk was already over.

"Sleep well, my love," Jade let go of your hand, waiting for your move. You had a feeling that this was the best opportunity for you to put everything out in the open, but your heart was beating so hard it was the only thing you could hear.

"Actually-" you regretted it the moment the word came out. Jade looked slightly excited, finally able to know what's been going on in your head. How were you supposed to tell him you had to leave him soon, to wipe the smile off his face so cruelly? "I just wanted to thank you for everything. You've been helping me a lot ever since I arrived here and… you mean a lot to me." there was desperation leaking from your voice, like there was so much more you wanted to say but something was forbidding you from doing so. 

"Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?" Jade's chuckle was light, his eyes softening as he leaned in to give you a faint peck. "You mean a lot to me too. I'll see you tomorrow then," 

He moved his hand away from you, hand lingering on your skin for just a moment longer. You could only breathe when he turned around the corner and disappeared from your sight. You couldn't say anything after all, but somehow it felt as though he already understood you.

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 13 - Good Omens

Day 13: Oxygen Mask Fandom/setting: Good Omens, approximately 10 minutes after #11 (Defiance) Read on AO3 Read on FF.net @witchingwhovian ;) 

~*~

Part 3/3 [part 1] [part 2]

Crowley peeled his eyelids up with a groan. His head swam, stomach churning, face sore. The entire world seemed wrong somehow, so he closed his eyes again. Something tickled his cheek, which his foggy mind eventually determined to be his tie, which didn't generally belong anywhere by his cheek. Hence his confusion. His hands were up over his head, which was also bizarre, and it took effort to bring them back down.

Ah... that was because he wasn't bringing them down, he was pulling them up, because he was upside down.

Pleased with himself for having solved the mystery, Crowley once again squinted his eyes open in the hopes of determining why exactly he was upside down.

It all came crashing back when he twisted to one side to see Aziraphale hanging upside down beside him, unconscious and bleeding from a gash on his forehead.

The cult who had kidnapped Aziraphale.

The compound he had rescued the angel from and burned to the ground.

The cult leader, seemingly hyped up on angelic power he'd stolen from Aziraphale during his captivity, coming after them, the car chase through the countryside, the resulting deadly game of Chicken.

"Sorry," Crowley muttered thickly to the car, reaching out to pat its dashboard but aborting the move when it took too much energy. He let his arms flop down—er, up—once again and twisted his head painfully to look out the window in search of the other car.

It was on its side close by, burning. These modern cars, Crowley thought with a sniff. Couldn't hope to keep up with his Bentley. He squinted golden snake eyes in the direction of the flames, barely able to make out the silhouette of a body in the driver's seat. Reaching out with his senses, Crowley was relieved to determine there was no heartbeat. The cult leader was dead. Aziraphale was safe.

Well, maybe. Crowley's eyes were growing heavy but his head lolled in Aziraphale's direction one more time, wishing his friend would wake up, as he'd been unconscious for the entirety of his rescue. There was no knowing yet what exactly had been done to him.

"An-angel," Crowley coughed. No response. He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and Crowley sank into the painless black.

The next time he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of flashing blue. Voices, indistinct but getting louder, surrounded him for all sides and he no longer felt disoriented in space. Crowley sat up with a gasp only for a hand to fall on his shoulder.

"Easy, sonny," a voice cautioned him. "You— whoa, those are some contacts you have, gave me a good fright there—you were in a bad wreck, you were. Best not to move too much. Can you tell me your name?"

"Where's-" cough "Aziraphale?"

"Is that the other fellow? Funny name, innit? Got him out too, just you don't worry. We'll have you both loaded up soon, soon's the other ambulance gets here. The other driver didn't make it, I'm afraid."

"Good riddance," Crowley growled, throwing back the blanket that had been covering him. He ignored the protests and the angry questions that followed him as the demon made a beeline for the gurney where Aziraphale was already strapped in and ready for transport. His face was covered by an oxygen mask, which wasn't a good sign but did at least hide some of the horrible bruising left by the muzzle the cultists had had on him.

A medic was hovering over Aziraphale getting some sort of reading with some sort of instrument. Crowley ignored him, shoving his way in and patting Aziraphale's cheek harshly.

"Come on," he muttered. "Wake up, damn you, wake up. Aziraphale, it's Crowley, don't you dare leave me here."

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to-"

"Aziraphale?" Crowley gasped, holding his breath as the angel finally started to shift and moan.

It took him a second too late to realize that, after a week of captivity spent chained and gagged, this was not the way Aziraphale needed to wake up. Crowley's eyes widened in dismay as he quickly yanked at the gurney straps.

"Get that mask off of him!" he shouted to the medic as Aziraphale's eyes snapped open in panic.

The angel immediately began to thrash, choked and garbled sounds coming from behind the oxygen mask. Crowley just managed to rip the strap around his arms away, freeing the angel to claw at the mask covering his face. Though he was awake, Crowley could tell Aziraphale had no idea where he was or what was happening or why he was being held down. The medic was likewise alarmed and baffled, but the second he tried to grab Aziraphale's arm to stop him from pulling the mask off, Crowley could see the angel's panic shift to pure instinct.

In the split second of time they had, Crowley abandoned his task and grabbed the ambulance medic instead, flinging both of them as far away from Aziraphale as they could, and then everything exploded in light.

All around them, medical workers and police officers shouted in shock and fear and probably pain as well. Crowley covered the medic on the ground, burying his own head against the brightness. He'd left his sunglasses at the compound and his demonic eyes were all the more sensitive to the celestial light of an angel enraged. Damn it, he should have gotten that mask off first thing, of course Aziraphale was panicking. Crowley had to bring him back to reality.

"Stay down!" he shouted to the medic over the chaos and the heavenly ringing getting louder and louder and the unearthly wind of Aziraphale's power. The demon clapped his hands over his ears and clambered to his feet, head still ducked against the blinding brightness. Step by step, he inched closer to his friend against the wind.

"Aziraphale!" he yelled. "Angel! Angel, it's me! It's Crowley, you're safe! You're alright, they're not going to hurt you!"

The intensifying ringing wavered, then the light dimmed fractionally.

"C-Crowley?"

The demon's eyes were streaming, even squinted as close to shut as he could and still see what he was doing. Letting go of his ears, Crowley ducked his face into the crook of one arm and reached out blindly with the other.

"Aziraphale! I've got you!"

His hand brushed something solid and Crowley gripped what he was pretty sure was Aziraphale's shoulder. He squeezed gently.

"Angel... I've got you. You're safe, I promise."

"Crowley..."

The ringing stopped, the light dissipating as the wind died down, and then another ragged gasp. Crowley peeled his head up, face feeling raw as though sunburned, but he sagged with relief to see Aziraphale looking back at him with wide, damp eyes. The angel's breath hitched, and Someone damn it, the lingering fear Crowley saw in his face made him wish he hadn't killed so many of those cultists so quickly when they clearly deserved a slower, more painful death. He put that aside for now, though, wrapping himself around the angel in a bracing, grounding hold.

"They... they took..." Aziraphale whispered, burying his head in Crowley's shoulder.

"I know," the demon growled. If nothing else, Aziraphale's show of power was enough to prove they hadn't even come close to draining the angel completely, or else they'd been letting him recover between "extractions". "But you're safe now, I swear it. I killed them, every single one of 'em."

Aziraphale inhaled and for a second Crowley expected a reprimand, but then the angel nodded. "Good," he whispered.

Then, Aziraphale pulled back and looked at the scene around him with a soft cry. "Oh, I- I've hurt them! Crowley, I never meant to-"

"I know," Crowley assured him, snapping his fingers vaguely at the human bystanders. One by one, they all started to shift and climb back to their feet, dazed and foggy but completely unharmed. "You didn't hurt anyone, angel. Just gave them a fright, and I've made them forget all about it. They think it was just the other car they came out here for, and you and I only stopped to see what the trouble was, and now we'll be on our way. Oh, gotta fix Bentley up, too... But that won't take a moment and then I'll have you headed for home."

And then there would have to be conversations. Crowley needed to know what exactly had happened to Aziraphale, whether there was anything Crowley could heal or help. He would have to soundly berate the angel for having traded himself for Crowley to begin with, to insist that Aziraphale never do anything like that again—even though they both knew that either one of them would always do the same, the unspoken Arrangement.

They might be safe, but there was still some healing left to do, and Crowley would spend as long as it took until Azirpahale felt himself again.

That was what friends were for.

[lady-divine-writes]

31 Days of Ineffables - “Making an Effort” (Rated T)

Summary: Every morning, Aziraphale sneaks out of bed to go for a run without telling his husband.

One day, Crowley finds out. (1839 words)

Notes: Written for @drawlight’s ‘31 Days of Ineffables’ prompt ‘warmth’. Warning for talk of anxiety and self-esteem/body issues.

Read on AO3.

Slap … slap … slap … slap …

The soles of Aziraphale’s trainers hitting the wet asphalt sound exactly the way he thought they would.

Like the shoes of a fat man hitting concrete.

It’s not that difficult a thing to describe, nothing poetic about it.

He could definitely do with a break, stop into a nearby shop and warm himself up with some cocoa and conversation, but he won’t let himself. He’s committed to this. Committed to changing, to evolving, to becoming something better than he is.

Something better than he sees when he looks in the mirror.

He erases thoughts of warmth and cocoa from his mind and tries to focus on the positives of being out here … jogging … alone … in the early December gloom.

At this hour of the morning, he gets to see the glorious sunrise. It brings him closer to God, bolsters a connection he’s felt lacking as of late.

Though if that’s not entirely his fault, he won’t own up to it.

At three a.m. when he starts his fitness quest, he gets to revel in the peace and quiet that comes from London still abed.

Oh. But that reminds him that his claim to London, his claim to the world, is also still abed and asleep without him.

Crowley.

He’d rather be with Crowley.

He’d rather be in bed with Crowley, warm and toasty, sipping cocoa and watching the grey clouds pave their way across the sky from behind closed windows.

Crowley doesn’t want this.

He doesn’t know about it, but if he did, he wouldn’t want this.

But won’t he be proud of Aziraphale when he sees the change? The looser clothes, the smoother skin, the closer hugs?

Aziraphale doesn’t have to tell Crowley about his plans in order for his husband to benefit from them, so keeping him out of the loop isn’t a bad thing …

… necessarily.

Great.

Now he’s cold and tired and keeping things from his husband.

How can this morning get any better?

“Looking good, angel.”

A wolf-whistle follows those words and Aziraphale’s heart shudders.

That’s how, he guesses.

Serves him right. He could never really keep secrets from Crowley, could he?

If not, Crowley would have never walked down the aisle of that church, hopping like a drunk jack rabbit, and saved Aziraphale from getting blown to bits.

Aziraphale debates running on by, but he knows Crowley will simply miracle himself to the next bench and wait for him there. And if there isn’t a bench, he’ll snap one up.

Aziraphale slows to a stop, panting from the stress exercise takes on his human form.

“You don’t have to make fun of me.”

“Not making fun,” Crowley says, waiting for his angel to give up the stubborn attitude and come sit beside him. “I mean it. You look good. Of course, you always look good to me, particularly when you’re red in the face and working up a sweat. I just wish you’d stay in bed with me and do it proper. It’s colder than fuck out here!”

Aziraphale glances over at his husband curling in on himself and shivering dramatically in the cold – a subtle attempt to get Aziraphale to cave and sit next to him.

Which he does because dramatic or not, he hates seeing his demon shiver, knowing how thoroughly the cold seeps through his skin. With a snap of his fingers, Aziraphale miracles up his own coat and slips it over Crowley’s shoulders, wrapping it around him, frowning when he sees how loosely it bunches on Crowley’s thin form.

“What in the world are you doing out here at this hour of the morning?” Aziraphale asks, as if the answer weren’t ridiculously obvious.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked you first.”

Crowley watches his husband sit flush up against him, their arms touching, but from the expression on his face, he couldn’t be farther away. “Well, if you must know, it’s a sad and pathetic fact that I can no longer sleep without you.”

“Is it now?” Aziraphale says dryly.

“Yes, it is.”

“Sorry about that. But it’s easier to run in the morning.”

So I wouldn’t find out? Crowley thinks with a chuckle to himself. “And why’s that? Because that’s how the humans torture themselves, so you have to do it that way, too?”

“Because there’s less foot traffic,” Aziraphale defends. “Less chance of bumping into other runners.”

Or one runner in particular, Crowley surmises, knowing that Gabriel runs these paths on occasion for no reason Crowley can begin to comprehend.

Correction, he does comprehend it. But if he admits it, he’ll be running up the escalator to Heaven’s offices with all his might to punch himself an Archangel.

“If you’re really concerned with avoiding foot traffic, I could get you a treadmill. Or a stationary bike. Or one of those bizarre floaty contraptions that look like they’re from a sci-fi movie.”

“An elliptical?”

“Yes, an elliptical. Then you could exercise till your heart’s content in the comfort of our flat, and I’d get to sit on the sofa and ogle you all day long from behind.”

Crowley winks.

Aziraphale tuts and rolls his eyes.

“But that’s not the point, is it?” Crowley continues. “Because you’re not actually out here to improve yourself.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Aziraphale grumbles. “You know, sometimes you really are a snake.”

“You’re a supernatural entity, Aziraphale. You don’t have to exercise. Not really. You’re not concerned with your heart and your blood pressure. If you wanted to look fitter, you could snap your fingers and do it. Or I could do it for you so Heaven won’t find out.” Crowley lifts a hand out of his coat cocoon for emphasis. “I’m a demon. Expert at taking things apart. One snap and …” He makes an obscene sucking noise “… instant liposuction.”

“So what am I doing, in your expert opinion?”

“You’re punishing yourself, angel,” Crowley says softly. “And you’re doing it over nothing. Over no one that matters.”

Aziraphale wiggles uncomfortably on the bench. He doesn’t move away, but that distance Crowley felt earlier begins to grow. “H-how would you know?”

“Because I know you. I’ve known you for thousands of years. I know your thoughts, your desires, your heart. And I know that the voice in your head, the one that tells you you’re soft, you’re fat, you’re a pathetic excuse for an angel – that voice doesn’t belong to you. It never has. And it doesn’t belong to me either.”

Aziraphale sniffles, digesting those words while he watches the sun rise higher in the sky, lending light and life and hope to a weary world.

And one weary angel.

“It’s … been there for such a long time,” Aziraphale only half-voices, “and I … I don’t know how to get rid of it.”

“Does waking up at the butt crack of dawn and running the soles out of a pair of shoes till your bum knee aches get rid of it?”

“For a while.”

“Is there a chance that … making love to me gets rid of it?”

Aziraphale swallows. When he answers, his voice shakes. “For a while.”

“Then why don’t we do that instead?”

“Because it’s not an easy thing to admit to.”

“I know that.”

“Really?” Aziraphale scoffs. He steals a quick, angry glance down Crowley’s trim body hiding beneath his bulky coat, but never meets his eyes. “And how’s that?”

“You don’t think I have a few voices in my head, too? They might not be your voices, they may not say the same things, but they’re bastards, I’ll tell you that.”

“How do you get rid of them?”

“By doing the things I love – driving my car, drinking, sleeping. But mostly by hanging out with you.” Crowley threads an arm through the sleeve of Aziraphale’s coat and takes his angel’s hand. “Which is part of the reason why you haven’t been able to get rid of me since the day you left Heaven and I left Hell.”

That remark coaxes a partial smile out of Aziraphale. “I’ve been wondering about that.”

“Well, now you know.” Crowley lifts Aziraphale’s hand to his mouth, kisses across his knuckles one by one. “Listen, if you wanna keep jogging, be my guest. I’ll even help you.”

Aziraphale shoots his husband a comical look. “How?”

“I’ll … I’ll … I’ll chase you all over this damned park! I’ll throw ducks at you …”

“Crowley!”

“I’ll scream that you stole my wallet till the cops come running!”

Aziraphale does his best to look appalled by his husband’s suggestion, but the laughter twitching his lips at the image it paints wins out in the end.

“But only if you’re doing it because you want to do it. Otherwise … what good does it really do you?”

Aziraphale nods. He goes back to staring while he thumbs through his options, but the thought of Crowley throwing ducks and crying out in fake distress lingers so vividly, he’s certain Crowley keeps planting it there.

“I don’t want to jog anymore,” Aziraphale says finally.

“You don’t?” Crowley asks, not even hiding his non-surprise.

“No.”

“Are you, maybe, in the mood for some crepes? I know a great breakfast spot not too far from here.”

“No,” Aziraphale says with the firm resolve of a man triumphing over demons he’s been battling for decades.

But seeing as Aziraphale married his demon, his answer becomes less convincing.

Crowley raises an eyebrow at him. Aziraphale looks resolutely away.

But he smiles, too.

“Yes, I am,” he relents. “But I think I’d like to stay like this for a while, if you don’t mind. Sitting by your side, holding your hand - I want this more.”

Crowley rests his head against his angel’s shoulder. “So do I.”

They sit in silence together and watch the sun climb into the sky.

“This is nice,” Crowley murmurs, closing his eyes to block out the bright and focus instead on the warmth on his face.

“It is,” Aziraphale concurs. Over the thousands of years they’ve spent as friends, and the months they’ve spent as lovers, this is something they’ve had yet to do. They’ve been together in the presence of the sunrise, of course. And the sunset. But sitting together and letting it command their full attention – this is a first.

“You know, maybe I was wrong,” Crowley says.

“How’s that?”

“Maybe we should get up early and do this every morning. Not the running. Just the sunrise.”

“Perhaps. It might be nicer to watch it from the balcony instead.”

“Of course, of course,” Crowley agrees, close to falling asleep. “Much less chance of encountering foot traffic up there.”

“Quite.” Aziraphale breathes in deep, then breathes out deep into the cold, crisp winter air. He should have brought a book. And a Thermos. And a snack. “Can we go get those crepes now?”

“Yup.”

“And after the crepes, can we have sex?”

Crowley grins. “Oh absolutely.”

[theradioghost]

hey, can i pester you for some podcast recs? something with a good dose of humour and not too many episodes to catch up on. a sprinkle of queer romance would be a nice bonus. my fave so far is tsco starship iris, and i also loved greater boston, wooden overcoats, the bright sessions and caravan. and thanks always for all your great recs! you’ve brought many hours of joy into my life :)

We Fix Space Junk -- Two intergalactic repairpeople -- a knowledgeable cyborg veteran and a former socialite on the run -- travel the universe meeting people and fixing things at the behest of the terrifying intergalactic corporation they’re trying to work off their debts to. Hilarious British sci-fi sitcom featuring Evil Space Capitalism, many many wonderful AI characters, and an absolutely delightful teenage space wasp-human-cow hybrid princess who is probably off accomplishing her grandiose special destiny somewhere offscreen while the main characters deal with things like their bosses possibly trying to kill them (again).

Death by Dying -- People have a tendency to die in odd ways in the small town of Crestfall, Idaho. Luckily the town also has an Obituary Writer, an eccentric and nameless but impeccably stylish fellow whose closest friend is the Angel of Death, and who has a knack for solving murders even though that’s definitely not his job description. Throw in walrus haikus, extremely rude ravens, Something Mysterious And Malevolent Lurking In The Dark Woods Outside Of Town, disappearing childhood homes, silent nuns, ghost bicycles, and three man-eating cats, and you get something like a delightful cross between Wooden Overcoats and Lemony Snicket. (Also, OW is peak Canonically Bisexual Dumbass.)

Less is Morgue -- Riley is a paranoid, reclusive teenager with a fondness for conspiracy theories who lives in their parents’ basement. They’re also a predatory ghoul who feeds on human flesh. Evelyn is a cheerful, outgoing young woman with questionable tastes in media. She’s also a ghost, ever since she was killed by a falling stage light at a Nickelback concert 16 years ago. And since Riley dug up and ate Evelyn’s corpse, they’re roommates! Will they ever manage to record a coherent episode of their podcast without something going ridiculously wrong and/or Riley eating one of the guests? Probably not!

Victoriocity -- The steampunk buddy-cop comedy-mystery thriller you never knew you needed but definitely do! Featuring Inspector Fleet, a grouchy, extremely driven policeman looking for the murderer of the Empire’s greatest inventor, and Clara Entwhistle, an even more driven and unfailingly upbeat rookie journalist who has just arrived in the island-spanning, bizarre cityscape of alt-history Even Greater London. Come for some of my favorite sarcastic British narration since Adams and Pratchett, stay for characters-are-begrudgingly-forced-to-work-together-until-they-come-to-genuinely-and-deeply-care-about-one-another-as-friends trope. (Also for Tom “Eric Chapman” Crowley as the aforementioned grumpy detective.)

Quid Pro Euro -- From one of the other leads of Wooden Overcoats, this doesn’t have a typical plot as such but has made me laugh so hard I pulled a muscle despite the fact that I know nothing about the EU. Which is what this near-surreal, Look Around You-style comedy is about: Felix Trench’s vision of a simultaneously hilarious and terrifying alternate European Union, seen from the perspective of a serious of educational tapes from the ‘90s predicting what the EU would look like in the 21st century. It’s hard to describe this show in any way that does it justice, but it’s incredibly funny.

Time:Bombs -- A miniseries by the exalted creators of Wolf 359, which (because they are madmen) was written, recorded, and produced in the space of one week. Also, a comedy about an NYC bomb retrieval squad on New Year’s Eve, most of whom are just trying to get through the night while their leader attempts to break a record for most bombs cleared before the calendar ticks over. Chaos and hilarity ensure.

Superstition -- Wisecracking, bi, Jewish, definitely-a-private-eye-just-don’t-check-her-qualifications Jacqueline St. James receives a message from her father, which is weird, because her parents disappeared years ago. Following the trail leads Jack to Superstition, Arizona, a town in the middle of the desert where everyone’s got secrets, assorted ghosts/monsters/cryptids harrass the locals, and the missing persons rate is the highest in the nation. As a protagonist Jack is Looking For Trouble And If She Cannot Find It She Will Create It, so while Superstition isn’t a comedy per se, it’s got a fair share of laughs and is also just so, so excellent in general.

Standard Docking Procedure -- A self-declared hopepunk scifi workplace comedy about the somewhat dysfunctional staff of Pseudopolis Station, effectively a high-tech interstellar truck stop. It’s funny and heartwarming, nothing truly bad happens, and Julia Schifini is there.

Solutions to Problems -- A morally-questionable human named Janet who has defintely never done any illegal time travel and an easygoing, physically indescribably alien who likes to go by Loaf host an intergalactic advice podcast. Are you tired of your species’ insistence on solving everything via ritual combat? Not sure how to talk to your partner about whether body-swapping has a place in your sex life? Dealing with being a superpowered teenager summoned into being by the collective will of an apocalyptic groupthink cult? Janet and Loaf have you covered! Provided that Janet’s on-and-off girlfriend, the AI who supplies the air they breathe, doesn’t kill them all first. Oddly heartfelt comedy in the form of a relationship advice radio show from the Space Future.

Middle:Below -- This show’s tagline is “Remember: bad things WILL happen,” and that is basically a lie. This is actually a short, incredibly heartwarming and frequently funny show about Taylor Quinn, the only human with the ability to pass between the land of the living (aka the Middle) and the land of ghosts (the Below). Meaning, of course, that the dead call on him to fix all their problems, with the help of a girl named Heather, a ghost named Gil, and a cat named Sans. (Also, some of the most comparatively wild live shows I’ve ever heard.)

Inn Between -- Ever wonder what fantasy characters get up to between adventures, during all that time they seem to spend at inns? This show skips all the adventuring, question, and action, instead focusing on the quiet moments between where what is Definitely Not A D&D Party meet and progress from bickering strangers brought together by circumstance to close-knit found family -- all at the inn, of course. (Lots of queer folks in here also, although there’s no romance at least in the first  couple seasons.)

The Godshead Incidental -- A relatively new but very exciting and so far really enjoyable show!! Following a young woman who writes an advice column through her life in a familiar, and yet strange city where anyone might be a minor god -- your editor, your landlord, that weird guy on the street who was shouting about how he’s the God of Memory and you got into a fight with him and now you keep forgetting everything? Also, your apartment is full of pigeons now because you found out the aforementioned landlord is secretly the god of doorknobs and he’s panicking. Good luck! (Starring Ishani Kanetkar, aka Arkady from Starship Iris!)

Gal Pals Present: Overkill -- Madison, a middle schooler at a Girl Scout camp, agrees to play a game with a somewhat tastelessly bright-pink Ouija board. However, Madison doesn’t know that she’s a natural medium, and now sarcastic mid-2000s 19-year-old Aya Velasquez has joined the many ghosts who are for some reason haunting scenic Harding Park. Aya, however, will not rest until she can solve her own murder (and possibly get to know that other ghost girl a bit better, who says romance has to stop when you’re dead?). Absolutely hilarious writing of a narrator who is almost definitely wearing spectral Uggs during the entire show.

Dark Ages -- The Rivercliffe Museum of Mostly Natural History is one of the finest museums anywhere! Or it would be, if anyone ever actually visited it. Or maybe if the staff weren’t a disastrous and dysfunctional collection of criminals, weirdos, wannabe immortals, idiot bisexuals who can’t just admit they like each other, and one extremely uptight elf with no people skills. Also, it would probably help if the legendary and fearsome Dark Lord, finally returned from his millennia of dormancy to complete his prophesied conquest of the world, wasn’t hanging around watching the chaos unfold because they’ve got his crown on display. (Fantasy workplace comedy with a theme song that did not need to go that hard?)

Brimstone Valley Mall -- It’s mid-December 1999, and at one mall in South Central Pennsylvania, a group of demons are going about their evil work -- namely, working at various dinky kiosks and restaurants, hoping of achieving every demon’s dream of getting to work at Hot Topic, trying not to do too much evil because Earth is way more fun than Hell and no one wants to get promoted back home, and preparing for their band's triumphant opening performance at the upcoming Y2K party. Just one problem: their lead singer is missing. Another absolute masterwork from The Whisperforge.

Arden -- 10 years ago, Hollywood starlet Julie Capsom vanished into the woods of northern California, leaving behind a car containing a human torso that may or may not have belonged to one Ralph Montgomery. Now, private eye Brenda Bentley and reporter Bea Casely, both of whom were among the first at the scene and both of whom have their own very strong opinions on the case, are setting out to solve the mystery on their true crime podcast, Arden. Providing, of course, they can stop arguing with each other long enough to solve it. (Or, a not-really-parody-but-definitely-comedy “true crime” podcast where the crime is a retelling of Romeo and Juliet -- and even knowing that, it’s still a genuine mystery with twists and a surprise ending! -- and the hosts are wlw Beatrice and Benedick from Much Ado About Nothing. In other words, it’s perfect. Season 2 is upcoming soon and is adapting Hamlet!!)

Alba Salix/The Axe and Crown -- Another high fantasy workplace sitcom, this one a medical comedy about the titular not-very-personable witch who runs the kingdom’s House of Healing and the various shenanigans she gets into, between her somewhat scatterbrained sister and brother-in-law the king and queen and her assistants, an overly-whimsical fairy and a wannabe monk forced to do community service. The same feed contains The Axe and Crown, a spinoff set in the same world that manages to simultaneously be a sitcom about the staff of a local pub trying to stave off foreclosure and come up with schemes to beat their business rivals, and a heartfelt story about gentrification and recovery starring a gay veteran with PTSD? Which is possibly one of my favorite podcasts? (Also contains one of the most unbelievable crossover cameos possible: Leon Stamatis.)

The Adventures of Sir Rodney the Root -- Also a high fantasy comedy! When a witch transforms heroic Sir Rodney into a small piece of wood, his closest companion Sir Gilbert must set out to cure him by collecting several highly powerful and dangerous relics, accompanied by a snarky dwarfen thief, an imperious princess, a slightly creepy human child raised by fairies, a picky elf sorcerer, a dead unicorn possessed by the ghost of a stoner, and a bard who breaks the fourth wall too much for his own good. So far as I can tell, nobody is straight.

The Amelia Project -- A dark comedy about a secret organization that helps people fake their deaths. Which is honestly a pretty full summary, barring the two important points that 1. this show contains possibly the most continuity-warping crossover event of all time (it’s the center point of this absolutely chaotic diagram), and 2. in one episode Felix Trench plays a character named Bartholomew Fuckface Chucklepants Knucklecracker.

[earsofducks]

Day 4 - Blogging

Hello and welcome to blogging and online dating and such an intense crush, my gosh.

@ineffablehusbandsweek​ - thank you for reblogging everything, and thank you for putting this together!!! Why did I not say this before?? You’re fantastic and I appreciate you.

One of Crowley’s favourite things about being a full-time blogger is that he can sleep whenever he wants to for however long he wants. For example, it’s two in the afternoon on a Tuesday, and he’s only just rolling out of bed and no one is judging him. What a good life.

He yawns, stretches, finds some water and drinks it. He stalks past his plants with a hypocritical “don’t you dare slack off.” He fetches his laptop from the living room and takes it with him into the kitchen, where he sets it on the table and then rummages in the fridge for some eggs.

Eggs are timeless. Eggs are always appropriate to eat. Crowley loves eggs.

Once he’s beaten and scrambled them to his satisfaction, he sits down at the table and opens his laptop.

20,000 hits. Not bad, he thinks, grinning to himself.

It helps that he used to be a network-employed journalist. He was good at it, too, at asking questions, at wheedling until an interviewee caved and told him the whole truth. But it felt restricting, being assigned things, only writing what his bosses handed him, so once his name got big enough he left the network and started a blog.

And somehow, it’s providing him with enough to live on.

He scrolls through the comments section, telling himself that he’s not looking for anyone in particular and knowing full well it’s a lie. He’s just about given hope when there’s a ping, a notification, and he clicks on the little pop-up, hoping that maybe…

And it is.

Angel1941: This was absolutely lovely, my dear. I have been so enjoying the chronicles of Frances the Fern. I hope that she starts behaving for you. Have a good week!

Crowley doesn’t bother hiding the massive grin that spread over his face the second he saw the user name. Angel, as he’s been calling the commenter in his head, started commenting on his posts about four months ago, and has been taking up progressively more space in Crowley’s mind.

He gets up from the table, grinning like a loon, and sets about making coffee while reflecting on how he should respond. It’s not like he can just say what he’s thinking. (What he’s thinking is something along the lines of “when did I develop a crush on you? Why did I develop a crush on you? We’ve never met each other!” Not the sort of stuff you can just post online.) He’s got to be clever, subtle, allude to the fact that Angel brings him joy without stating it explicitly.

He can do it.

*

Except he can’t. After a couple of hours, he gives up and replies in some little blurb about how Frances will shape up if she knows what’s best for her, and it’s good to hear that someone’s reading. Not even close to the witty, heartfelt content he was hoping for.

Discouraged, he goes searching for his phone and then pulls up a dating app when he finds it. Nothing to get your mind off of silly internet crushes like the cathartic left-right-left of Tinder. (Crowley is just enough of a public figure that sometimes people accuse him of catfishing, which is always fun. He enjoys catering to their suspicions, sending increasingly wacky and grammatically incorrect messages, until they report him and he gets to pull the ‘surprise! It’s really me!’ card.)

Crowley starts swiping, starting to warm to his work, and then a profile slides across his screen and his heart skips a beat.

Angel1941.

There’s the angel, beaming up at him, wearing a truly bizarre tartan bowtie and a suit that looks like it belongs in the 1800s. And he’s using the same username. What an old-fashioned... But he’s smiling, he’s happy, he’s beautiful, and Crowley can feel himself melting into the couch cushions.

He can’t swipe right. Angel won’t like him, not in real life. They’ll talk for a little bit and then Angel will, wisely, decide that Crowley is too much and he’d rather not have him in his life. Crowley won’t get comments that make him Snoopy dance internally. Crowley won’t have anything to look forward to.

(Crowley might just be enough. Angel might just like him. All his dreams might just come true.)

Not probable, but the possibility will be much more concrete than if he doesn’t take the risk.

Well, shucks, he thinks, and swipes right.

It’s a match! the screen congratulates him, and Crowley’s insides flop around like fish out of water.

Well, that’s done now, he tells himself, and sets his phone down resolving not to look at it again unless he gets a notification.

He picks it up a few minutes later.

*

After agonizing nearly the entire afternoon over whether he should send a message, Crowley’s phone pings from across the kitchen and he dives for it, nearly toppling his glass of wine as he does so.

Angel1941: Well, hello there! Perhaps I can hear about Frances in real-time updates. :)

Crowley sags against the counter and clutches his phone to his chest, smiling hard enough to hurt his face.

*

Angel - Aziraphale, actually, it turns out, but habits are hard to break - is a brilliant conversationalist, and seems to somehow enjoy Crowley’s pathetic attempts at responding in kind. Crowley doesn’t know why he seems to be so tongue-tied (as it were) when he’s speaking to Aziraphale - he’s a writer, for goodness’ sake - but he’s grateful that Aziraphale doesn’t mind.

As far as he can tell, anyway.

They chat off and on for nearly two months, and Aziraphale comments on every blog post and then gives in-depth reviews to Crowley later, and Crowley is having the time of his life. He gives Aziraphale his number and they switch from Tinder to texting.

Aziraphale starts calling him ‘dear.’ (He nearly chokes to death on his coffee the first time.)

He learns that Aziraphale works at the local library, that he loves sushi and hates hot dogs, that he goes to St. James’s every weekend to feed the ducks (frozen peas and things like that, of course, because bread is bad for them. Did you know that? Crowley hadn’t, but had been glad to find out.) and take a stroll, that he wants to go to Paris for the crepes.

(All the way to Paris just for crepes, angel, really?

I’d do a good many things for crepes, dear. You ought to know that by now.)

After two months, Aziraphale sends him a message that nearly sends him into cardiac arrest.

Angel: I’ve got something I’ve been meaning to say.

Crowley physically winces and sets about trying to brace himself for something like ‘you’re fun to talk to, but I’ve had about all I can’ or ‘I’ve had enough of you and your nonsense’ or ‘this was all a cruel joke and I’ve never actually cared about you.’ (He may be, possibly, a little dramatic.)

Crowley: ask away

Crowley tosses his phone onto the couch and paces his flat restlessly. He really, really, really doesn’t want to stop talking to Aziraphale. He’s gotten more than a little attached, and he doesn’t - he can’t -

His phone buzzes and he lunges for it.

Angel: Very well.

Crowley, it has been an absolute joy texting with you, but

Crowley’s heart sinks. He hasn’t opened the message. He doesn’t really want to. He looks at his lock screen until it goes black, and then he finds that he wants to know. (Needs to know, even.)

Angel: Very well.

Crowley, it has been an absolute joy texting with you, but I must confess that I’d dearly love to see your face and speak with you in person.

Would you consider joining me for dinner sometime this week? If you’re free, of course.

I’d very much like to take you to the Ritz, if you’d be amenable.

Crowley laughs. He laughs and jumps up and down like an excited toddler and clutches his phone to his chest and holds it at arms’ length and chucks it at the couch again.

“Yes!” he cries to his empty apartment, “yes!”

After he’s celebrated enough, he picks up his phone again.

Crowley: I’d be amenable.

Angel: Oh, good! Shall we say Sunday? 9 pm?

Crowley: It’s a date.

[marril96]

The Distance Between Us

Epilogue: What the Future Holds

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Five years later...

A/N: Here we are, folks. This is the end. I would like to thank everyone who helped me get this story to where it is. From my wonderful editors to my faithful readers — I appreciate every single one of you amazing people. Thank you so much! For reading, commenting, helping me out, talking to me, believing in me, encouraging me to continue even when it was hard. I hope the ending is satisfying enough, and that we will hang out soon when I work on my other projects. Best of regards, Mariana. ♥

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

There was nothing better than a wedding to get the old gang back together.

It had been a while since you'd seen everyone all at once.

Five long years — ever since you'd graduated high school.

There were times when it felt as if it had happened yesterday. As if you'd just said goodbye to your friends before everyone went their own way, their own direction, colleges and jobs calling.

Time sure liked to fly.

You made sure to stay in contact with everyone. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram; all tools you readily used. They were your friends. Some distance couldn't change that.

The seven of you had your own Facebook chat group that was filled to the brim with messages. Memes were shared. Laughs exchanged — in emoji form, but laughs nonetheless. News, good and bad, were told. Advices asked for and given.

It almost felt like old times.

Almost.

But not quite.

The truth was, despite how hard you tried to maintain your friendship, things changed.

Life happened.

Sam had gone to Stanford on full scholarship, dreaming big of contributing to the world, helping save it. With the way things were going, you were confident he would do it. If anyone could help make the world a better place, it was him.

In his free time, he liked to give speeches on healthy lifestyles, which, for some bizarre reason, consisted of consuming a lot of kale.

A kale smoothie had become a signature of his, the cup seemingly glued to his hand.

He'd become a hit on the internet for it. A meme everyone in your friend group shared and poked fun at. Light-heartedly, of course.

Dean was convinced Sam was doing it to embarrass him.

Sam, in turn, had told him a healthier diet would do him good.

Dean wasn't interested, and, a few hours later, had posted a picture of himself stuffing a big, greasy hamburger into his mouth with the caption #DownWithKale.

Sam was not amused.

Crowley had changed his name as soon as he'd turned eighteen. Crowley had officially become his name, Fergus long forgotten, thrown in the trash where he felt it belonged.

His family still called him Fergus.

Well, Rowena and his mother did. Gavin, the good boy that he was, had always referred to him as Crowley, which was why he was Crowley's favorite family member (his only family member, if he had any say in it).

He'd gone into studying business, rich businessman future planned out to the smallest details. He'd intended to work his way to the top; it would take a while, but he was confident hard work, combined with his cunning, ambitious nature, would earn him the throne.

Maybe, he'd mused, he could eventually open his own company. Be his own boss. Set his own terms.

May he have the best of luck.

Castiel had gone into teaching. A surprising choice of career, especially considering his awkward nature, but it was what he wanted to do. Helping kids. Guiding them by his own example.

He certainly had the drive for it.

Who knows? Maybe kids would like him. Maybe they would like his awkwardness.

Meg, not really the scholarly type, had gone to community college and had found herself working in a supermarket.

She hated her job, and she hated the customers even more. The chat was frequently filled with her rants about one thing or another that had occurred at work that particular day.

Funny stuff, usually.

Especially when she snapped at customers and got reprimanded for it, but kept doing it anyway because her boss knew all too well he couldn't afford to lose her as an employee.

Instead of a college, Dean had gone into trades. He'd opened his own little mechanic shop back in Lawrence. It was hard work, far from ideal, paid just enough to cover the costs of living, but he enjoyed it. He was happy.

That was all that mattered.

Rowena had worked hard on her intensive at Joffrey. It was a difficult three months; she was always practicing, always dancing, on her feet from dawn to dusk. You'd barely gotten to talk, aside from the weekends, which you'd spent in front of your phones or laptops, Skype open, smiles wide as you talked about each week's events.

You'd missed her so much.

Too much.

But, as with all things, the intensive had eventually ended and you'd gotten to have her home for a week — a whole week! — before college officially started.

The two of you couldn't keep your hands off each other that entire time.

It wasn't enough — seven measly days was far from enough — but it was something.

After three months of drought, it was the welcome, desperately awaited rain.

Parting for college was even more difficult. You'd each gone your own way, different as you were, each pursuing your own dream.

It was a struggle, but, like the intensive, you'd made it work.

You'd kept in contact. Skyped at every available moment. Traveled to one another's schools when the opportunity arose. Made sure to spend the holidays (the most important ones) together.

And, just like that, years had gone by, and soon enough school was behind you and you were together once again.

The decision to move in together was a mutual one. It was more of an understanding, really. With school behind you, jobs calling, and the relationship stronger than ever even all these years later, it just made sense to take it a step further.

Why wouldn't you live together?

You did everything else together, so you might as well, to quote Crowley every time he walked in on you making out, get a room.

So you did.

You rented an apartment in Manhattan. A small one that, despite its size, was warm and pleasant and felt just like home.

Your and Rowena's home.

Sometimes it felt like a dream.

As if, every moment now, you would wake up and realize the last five years of your life were nothing but a fantasy, a product of your sleeping mind.

Then you would kiss Rowena's cheek, take a sip of tea from her mug just to tease her (her glares and pouts were adorable), and smile, and the reality — your reality, one you'd worked hard to accomplish, your so wished for future — would settle in and all the silly thoughts would go away as if they'd never existed.

You'd made it.

The future you'd dreamed of, that you and Rowena had planned for so thoroughly, had come to be.

It wasn't perfect, but it was yours.

Rowena had found work at Broadway. She was a dancer, and an excellent one; with Joffrey on her resume, the job was hers the moment she'd stepped into the audition room.

You were having difficulty with finding employment yourself, but, luckily, her pay was enough to cover the living costs of the two of you.

You felt bad; the last thing you wanted was to look as if you were taking advantage. But she'd made it clear she didn't mind. You were together. A family, for no other word could describe what you had, what you'd built and grew together. What was hers was yours, and vice versa.

Being a housewife wasn't your ideal profession, if one could call it that, but it wasn't bad.

It was, dare you say it, fun.

You found yourself enjoying awaiting Rowena's return after a long, exhausting day on her feet — literally — with a loving hug, a peck on the lips, and a warm meal on the table — a delivery from a restaurant or a warmed up can, for cooking was a skill you were still far from perfecting.

You were happy.

And so was she.

The two of you made it work.

Lately, Rowena had been considering joining the Royal Ballet. It was a big step, one that required careful thinking and plenty of discussions.

Moving to another city was one thing.

Moving to another country, half across the world, on the other hand…

She'd made it clear she wasn't going to make the decision without you. This concerned you, too; if you wanted to stay in New York, you would stay.

Both of you.

She just wanted you to think about it, weigh in cons and pros.

And you did.

You'd been thinking about it for weeks.

Bless her heart, Rowena was patient. She didn't push you, or rush you, or try to guilt you. She left you to your own pace.

You were immensely grateful for it.

By the time the wedding came, you were pretty sure you'd made up your mind.

In a day or two — hell, maybe even today, after the ceremony — you would tell her.

It was a small wedding, closest family and friends only. Sam was never one for parties. He and Eileen had rented a small cottage with a beautiful yard they'd decorated themselves. Quite cheap, as far as American weddings went, but lovely.

This was a wedding for love, not luxury.

When Sam had announced he was engaged in the group chat a year ago, you weren't surprised. You'd always had a feeling he would go for it first. While Dean was a one night stand kind of guy, Sam was more the settle down type. The kind of guy who kicked ass at work during the day and then cuddled with his wife and kids at night. The picture of a family man.

And, god, would he be a good one!

He was sweet and caring, a wonderful friend, and, no doubt, an even more wonderful boyfriend. Husband material, if you ever knew one.

Eileen was equally sweet, equally amazing. A lovely girl who treated everyone like a friend and loved Sam with all her heart.

They were perfect for each other.

Seeing your gang together after five years, in person, in full color, was an experience that was almost supernatural. There was screaming and squealing and hugging and teasing. You'd forgotten how noisy you were all together.

Your mind flashed back to high school, to afternoons at Biggerson's, sipping at your smoothies and coffees and stealing fries off each other's plates.

Those were the days.

There wasn't much difference to either of you. You were older, but other than that, you still looked the same. You teased each other as you'd used to, joked as if you were still that bunch of high schoolers who had the whole world under their feet.

There were changes, obviously. Inevitably. Some subtle, others not so much.

Sam's hair was an inch or so shorter, or so it looked in the pictures (he was still getting ready, having not yet shown himself to the guests).

You followed his example, having never been one for big change. Shorter hair was shorter hair, even if only a bit.

Dean bore — proudly — a few scars. Work injuries, though you were willing to bet he'd earned a couple in the bar fights he liked to brag about.

"You should see the other guy," he always said.

You never had any particular desire to.

Crowley had a small beard, and wore it well; it made him look older, more mature.

Emphasis on look, for he and Rowena still bickered like brats.

Gavin, the actual child of the family, was more mature than the two of them.

Rowena wore less sparkly clothes (she now saved those for special occasions). Instead, she preferred to wear dress pants and blouses that you found strangely arousing.

Sometimes you got her to role-play in them. She made one delicious businesswoman.

Castiel dressed the same, trench coat over everything (even wore the damn thing to the wedding), looked the same, acted the same, however, his change was big.

It tied right into Meg's for she was seven months pregnant, and her stomach was appropriately swollen to showcase it.

She'd gained a bit of weight and dyed her hair blonde, but her character remained the same.

She was still that same foul-mouthed, opinionated firecracker of a girl.

And you loved her for it.

"You look great!" you told her first thing you saw her. Then you threw an arm around her, your other one wrapping around Castiel, and said, "I couldn't wait to congratulate you guys in person! I'm so happy for you!"

You were.

Happy from the bottom of your heart.

Ecstatic.

Proud.

The two of them had done well for themselves. Like your and Rowena's, their life wasn't perfect, but they made it work. They lived it to the fullest.

They were happy.

In love.

Excited for the baby, a joyous little accident.

You weren't the parenting type, (neither was Rowena), however, while raising a family wasn't your particular dream, you couldn't have been more excited for them.

This was what they wanted.

What kind of a friend would you be if you judged?

Families came in all shapes and sizes.

As did dreams. Ambitions. Aspirations.

Supporting them, wishing them well in any and every form — that was the true meaning of friendship.

Meg and Castiel would make amazing parents.

Weird and eccentric, but still amazing.

That baby would be one happy, very loved kid. Surrounded by a large family of aunts and uncles, all loving, caring, eager to spoil them.

Blood-related and not.

As far as Meg and Castiel were concerned, your group was family.

It was definitely better than some actual family members.

Like Castiel's father, good old Principal Shurley, who'd, a couple years ago, gotten himself into quite a bit of trouble for embezzlement.

The news didn't quite shock you as it should have. There was always something about him.

Lucifer never stopped getting in trouble. Only, once he was out of school, his daddy couldn't sweet talk his way out of it (not that he hadn't tried; Castiel talked quite a bit about Chuck's restless attempts, and failures, to save him) and thus the darling little angel had gotten himself quite a record.

Assault.

Harassment.

Battery.

You name it, he'd done it.

It turned out that the police didn't give a damn about what daddy Shurley had to say about his son's character.

They surely gave even less of a damn now that he was serving his sentence for embezzlement.

Lucifer was currently with him, doing a two year stint for… something.

It was hard to keep track when it came to him.

The current Lawrence Hugh's principal was Amara Shurley, Chuck's sister, because of course she was.

Nepotism for the win!

Though, from everything you'd heard, she was, so far, doing a great job. Far better than her brother ever did.

Castiel had cut all ties with his father and brother. He'd considered doing so earlier, but now that he was expecting a child, the decision came with ease.

He didn't want his child around criminals. Didn't want them to set the wrong example.

That alone told you he was going to be a great father.

The ceremony, modest as it was, was beautiful. Eileen, in her snow-white dress, looked like a princess. No — a queen, the veil a doubling as a crown. Sam was equally handsome, clad in a black suit that made him look somewhat older, more mature, a fairy tale prince come to life.

They said their vows with so much love on their faces you were one hundred percent certain they would make do on them to the letter.

Til death did them part.

There were smiles. Tears. So much joy it was overwhelming.

Meg was the lucky one who caught the bouquet, only to promptly, in a deadpan tone, say, "No," and shove it in Crowley's hands.

Crowley shoved it in Dean's, who shoved it back to him and started what was basically a struggle over the damn thing.

Not marriage material, your group.

Sam was the black sheep.

Laughter was exchanged.

Food — delicious! — eaten.

Drinks downed and refilled.

Dances had.

Aside from the newlyweds, Rowena had proven herself to be quite an attraction with her precise, professional moves. Everyone wanted to be her partner.

Not a dancer yourself, you had no problem with it.

However, after what had to be the tenth request, you considered charging people to dance with your girlfriend.

It was only fair.

The celebration extended long into the night. There was enough alcohol to keep everyone going.

The place, located in the middle of nowhere, was perfect for a party. No neighbors to complain about the noise. No busybodies sticking their nose in. Just a group of people having the fun of their lives, drunk out of their minds.

By the time you and Rowena arrived to your hotel, you were exhausted. There was more alcohol than blood in your veins. Your feet were killing you. Your throat ached from singing and shouting.

You hadn't even removed your clothes — shaking off your shoes, you plopped on the bed, curled up against each other, and drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, Rowena was looking at you with a smile on her face. Your head pounding as if someone were whacking it with a hammer, eyes stinging, it took a bit of willpower to pull on one of your own.

"Were you watching me sleep?" Your voice was raspy, broken. You cleared your throat. Sucked in a breath.

God.

Singing had been a mistake.

Her smile melted into a smirk. She shrugged, nonchalant. Denying not a single thing. "I was just thinking."

"Should I be worried?" you teased.

"I'd hope not."

Her face grew serious.

Uh oh.

Now you definitely were worried.

Morning — a hungover one at that — was the worst possible time for serious conversations.

It wasn't a surprise, though.

Rowena prided herself in her unpredictability.

"What is it?" you asked, light draining from your face. Preparing for news that, at best, would be unpleasant, and, at worst, absolutely horrible.

"Sam and Eileen seem happy."

They did.

They were happy.

You nodded.

Rowena sighed, "Do you think we're happy?"

What was she trying to say? Heart racing, lump forming in your throat, you uttered a tad too defensively, "Do you think we're not?"

"Of course not!"

She seemed genuine, so there was that.

You allowed yourself a moment of relief. "Me, neither. I'm happy."

"As am I."

Good.

That was good.

You were on the same level.

She was silent for a few moments. Thought her words through. "I was just wondering if we should… take it a step further."

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

You had an inkling, but you wanted to hear it from her.

You wanted her to confirm it.

Rowena swallowed. "Get married."

It was as if all air had vanished from your lungs. Your throat was dry. Heart, once again, running a marathon. Hands shaking as if you were cold.

You weren't — you couldn't be — for as soon as the words left her mouth, a wave of heat flooded you, filled you up from head to toe.

Marriage wasn't on your list of priorities.

Wasn't on any of your lists, as a matter of fact.

You and Rowena loved each other — you didn't need a piece of paper to prove it.

But…

It would be a lie if you said you hadn't considered it once or twice.

What would it be like to call yourself her wife? To wear her ring; a promise in the form of shimmery gold?

"Or maybe just get engaged," she said after a few moments of uncomfortable, deafening silence. "Wear the rings."

You looked at her, eyes wide. Mouth trembling.

She gulped. Uncertain. Frightened. Nervous to the bone. "We don't have to. I was just… thinking out loud." She pulled on another smile — a fake on this time, hurt flickering over her face no matter how hard she tried to mask it. "Forget I said anything."

"No." You reached for her hand, twined your fingers with hers in a tight knot. "We could try."

She was stunned. "Really?"

"I don't see why not."

What was the worst that could happen?

You were already together. Already happy and crazy in love.

"We could try the engagement thing, see if it works," you said.

You had nothing to lose.

At this point, you could only gain.

Rowena beamed. A chuckle escaped her; lovely, happy. Adorable. "Okay!"

It was a perfect arrangement.

"I will get you a ring," she added. "Make it official."

"How about we both get rings?" you said. This was kind of a mutual proposal, after all. And also… "There's nice jewelry shops in the UK, right?"

It was her turn to be confused. "What?"

Your decision.

The one you'd been planning to relay to her.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect.

"We don't have to get engaged in USA, right?" you said. "Think about it. You, a Royal Ballerina. Me, a not-so-royal couch potato. That's a romance movie right there!"

Rowena gasped. Swallowed. Breathed in and out in attempts to contain her excitement. "You want to move to Britain?"

"That's what I'm saying, aren't I?" You grinned. Squeezed her hand. "I've been meaning to tell you. I figured now's the perfect time."

"Y/N, I…" She brought your linked hands to her mouth, kissed your knuckles. "Thank you! I just… Thank you, darling!"

You locked your lips with hers. Deepened the kiss, melted into it. Thought of millions of more you would share.

The future was yours.

All you had to do was seize it. Take it. Dig your claws in and never let go.

"Don't you forget me when you become a world-famous ballerina," you teased.

"Och, darling," she purred, "don't you know by now you're quite unforgettable?"

You chuckled. "Just making sure."

She pecked you on the mouth. "I love you."

"Me, too."

You'd loved her for five years.

You'd loved her when she was bad, and even more when she became good.

You'd loved her when she was away, and you'd loved her when she was here.

You'd loved her in your apartment.

You'd loved her in the United States.

And you would love her in the United Kingdom.

You loved her now, and you would love her in the future.

Forever.

And ever.

Til death did you part.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock

[aquaburst3]

Take Me Down the Rabbit Hole

Chapters: 28/28

Fandom: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game), Disney - All Media Types

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Pairings: Jamil Viper/Original Female Character(s), Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Grim (Twisted-Wonderland), Original Female Character(s), Jamil Viper, Kalim Al-Asim, Original Male Character(s), Yuu | Player (Twisted-Wonderland), Dire Crowley, Riddle Rosehearts, Cater Diamond, Trey Clover

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Attempt at Humor, Male-Female Friendship, Female Friendship ,Male Friendship, Aged-Up Character(s), Swearing, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Magic, Dimension Travel, University, Friendship, Alternate Universe, All of the NRC and RSA students are 18+, All of the Canon Characters are a Few Years Older, Alternate Worldbuilding, Partying, Drinking, But Everyone is Legal Drinking Age, Action/Adventure, Violence, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Pre-Relationship, Developing Relationship, Rewrite, POV Female Character, Fix-It of Sorts, Not Canon Compliant

Extra Notes:

Since Night Raven College is an actual university, aspects of the school and story in general have been altered. But the supernatural elements of the story remain the same.

All of the canon characters have been aged up by a few years.

All of the NRC and RSA students in this AU are 18+ adults.

All of the "chapters" beyond the Pomefiore arc will be completely original and different from the game.

All of the special events besides Fairy Gala and Wish Upon a Star along with possibly Bean Day will be omitted completely.

The worldbuilding and some of the terms will be completely different from the game was well.

A lot of parts of the story will vastly differ from the game in general to keep things more entertaining.

I'm not using Japanese honorifics in this. NRC in this AU is set in an analog for the UK, but has elements of Japanese and American schools, due to a headcanon I had before the official world map came out for a number of different reasons, so the characters using those in this story would make absolutely no sense.

You don't need to play the game to understand the story. Only an understanding of Disney media. Jump on in!

Huge shout out goes to Shel_BB, Otome Ayui, Kanadesmusingsblog and AmiYoshiko along with all the translators on the wiki. I can’t read kanji/katakana or speak Japanese, so they’re a huge help for me to understand what’s going on. Thank you for your hard work, you guys.

Summary:

All Adriana wanted to do was work at her part-time job and take yet another year off before heading to university. Instead of any of that, she's dragged through her bedroom mirror to a bizarre dimension where magic is real, some people vaguely resemble Disney characters and fantasy creatures...including actual furries humans with ears and tails that belong to different mammals, exist.

Adriana is now in survival mode, doing whatever it takes to get back home—even if it means working as a janitor at an all-boys university. This goal is easier said than done, especailly when she deals with a monster in a mine and an angry dorm leader.

(Covers the Prologue and Heartslabyul arcs)

[ladyoutlier]

Here Today Gone Tomorrow

In which God drunkenly restarts the universe and Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves in the role of Adam and Eve. 

[Read on AO3] |  [Read My Other Fics]

Chapter 1: Take it from the Top

God really thought Armageddon would do it. She really thought that after 6000 years of buildup, surviving the End of the World would’ve pushed her OTP into pure, raw romance. But that’s not what happened. Sure, they were closer now than ever. They fully embraced being on their own side. They awaited a future together. Them against the world. But they still hadn’t so much as hugged not to mention something as simple as saying I love you. The world had almost been destroyed, and they still weren’t together together!

They were still playing their little dance that they had been since literally the beginning of time, and God was quite done with being subtle. She was going to do something about it, but first, she was going to get mad drunk. 

Now, a drunk God is a really, really scary thing. Absolutely anything can happen. Suddenly, gravity works in a completely different way. The less mass an object has, the greater its gravitational pull. Or maybe a new species gets invented. That is how the platypus came into existence after all. Alcohol and God is simply not the most calming of combos. And this time… oh it was something to be very scared of, indeed.

God had drank roughly an ocean full of liquor when She decided on a plan. “Fuck it!” She cried, stumbling over a pile of creation dust. “If they won’t just get to—together on their own. I. Me, I’ll just do what I did with the hu—hum… monkey people. Garden all to themselves. Only them. Take it from the top!”

And with that, God pulled the great big lever that reset the entire universe.

*

Aziraphale woke in a garden absolutely and completely naked. The name Adam, circled in his head as if he was for some reason now meant to be called that. Poppycock, he thought. That name isn’t fitting at all.

This was quite the bizarre scenario. He was sure he had been in his bookshop the night before. He and Crowley had shared quite a few drinks celebrating the averted Apocalypse. Now, he was quite definitely not there. To add to the strangeness of the whole thing, he had never slept before in his life, and yet, he had most definitely awoken here. In Eden.

Eden? Why did he want to call this Eden? And why did he think the name Adam belonged to himself? This couldn’t be Eden. It hadn’t existed for thousands of years! He sat up, blades of grass tickling his naked skin as he moved. This wouldn’t do at all. He snapped his fingers, and his familiar outfit returned to him.

This was Eden; he was sure of it. The plant life. The looming surrounding wall. He was in Eden and suppose to be Adam. How ridiculous! This must be a dream. He had never slept before, but he must have now. Only that could explain this absolute absurdity. A faint breathing took his attention back down to the ground beside him.

Oh. Oh, he most definitely was dreaming. On the ground beside him, nearly touching him, was Crowley who was sporting his birthday suit just as much as Aziraphale had moments ago. He was Adam, and Crowley was… Eve. He was supposed to be Eve. Oh, this had to be a dream.

Before the angel could think another thought, the demon stirred awake. He blinked his eyes several times in a confused manner before he spoke. “Ad—Aziraphale, why in the name of Satan is the name Eve floating about my head? And why did I almost call you Adam?” He took the same wild look around that Aziraphale had moments ago. “And why are we in bloody Eden?”

“So, you’re just as confused as I am, and this isn’t a dream?”

“I’d think not. Unless we’re both having the same one.” 

Aziraphale stared at him. As peculiar as the situation had found itself, it hardly worked as a distraction from Crowley’s current, ahem, lack of clothing.

“Wot?” The demon glanced down to himself. “Oh for the love of—” He snapped his fingers in a rather hasty, upward movement, and his signature style returned to him. He looked back to Aziraphale with a rather exasperated expression. “As if it’s not something you’ve seen before.”

“Oh, yes. Quite right. Bigger things to attend to. Or not bigger. Poor word choice. More important, yes. Like what’s going on.” The angel quickly stood and brushed himself off before charging into the wilderness in front of them.

“Right…” Crowley drawled on, still baffled by, well, everything. He took a moment to raise an eyebrow to Aziraphale’s words before tailing him into the wild.

Somewhere on an ethereal plane, God, in a drunken slur, cursed. She hadn’t really been listening to anything that was said. If She had, maybe She would’ve controlled Her rage a bit more. As it was, all She was able to register was that they both had put their clothes back on much too quickly.

Aziraphale and Crowley walked in silence for a few minutes, pushing past leaves and branches as they delved deeper into Eden. Every detail down to the pebbles half-buried in the dirt was completely accurate to the Eden the two of them remembered from 6 millennia earlier. But why it existed now and why they were here was a complete and utter mystery.

“So do you have a plan or are we just taking a nice stroll through Eden for the scenery?” Crowley asked, swatting the branch of a fruit tree out of the way.

“Ah, well, no. I figured exploring our surroundings would be more effective than just sitting in the same spot completely baffled. As for a specific plan, I haven’t got one.”

“Think it’s some trick? Some dastardly plan from Above and Below given their inability to kill us?”

“I don’t know how they would manage a thing like this. Something as large scale as this could only be accomplished...”

“By the Almighty.”

“Indeed.”

That was a horrifying realization. The Almighty hadn’t directly interfered with the world since Noah built his ark or since Jesus lived. To even consider that God had altered the world so much, especially with the knowledge that the End of the World was supposed to be the day before… it invoked shivers.

Crowley rather fumbled with his words as his mind raced on laps ahead of his mouth. A series of fragmented sentences was all he was able to verbalize. “But God can’t have—I mean why would She—what purpose would it—and us as Adam and Eve. Why?”

“I don’t know. Um, careful with the questions, Crowley. You know where they lead.”

“What? Going to Fall again, am I?”

“No, I mean that you’re supposed to be Eve. Eve hasn’t taken from the Tree of Knowledge yet.”

“What the Hell are you on about? Is another me going to show up? Hardly need that. I’m a bigger sinner than Eve could ever dream of being. Don’t need some pathetic fruit to prove that. And—” He waved his arms about wildly. “With that logic, we should both be walking around with a lot more bare skin exposed. Adam and Eve were hardly all that modest before eating the apple. Rather not do that though. Mosquitoes are more Hell incarnate than demons are. I’d say we’re in the post-apple stage if anything.”

Aziraphale absorbed Crowley’s words. A rather frustrated wrinkle appeared on his brow. “I must say, none of this really makes any sense.”

“You think?!?” the demon huffed, stomping in a quick circle. “We save the world one day and wake up the next to find it reverted back to day one. Gabriel really was an idiot for his God doesn’t play games with the universe remark. Complete knob head.”

“Where do you think he is?”

“Dunno. Up in Heaven I presume. Why should I care?”

“If we’ve found ourselves in a new role… perhaps the rest of the universe has as well.”

“That sure would make an even bigger mess of things, but it’s not like they deserve it any less than we do.”

“Deserve would imply that we did something wrong. That the Almighty is punishing us. If that’s the case, I have no clue what for.”

“Yeah, crazy to think God would punish us and not explain what for. Completely out of character that. She probably just got piss faced.” Crowley took a few steps back and faced the sky. “She can bloody well just put it all back now!”

“Crowley! You can’t just yell things like that!”

“Why the blasted Hell not? Earth was the only thing we had going for us, and now it’s gone swirling down the porcelain throne.”

“The Almighty seems to be paying more attention now than ever. You might have been able to get away with such blasphemy before, but now She might be a bit more, um, testy.”

“If She wanted me to be all holier than thou, then She shouldn’t have left me a demon when She reset the world.” He grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You should be pissed too. She took everything away. Everything. Remember that little talk we had before we decided to avert the Apocalypse? All those human luxuries that were worth saving? All that’s gone. No more fine wine, sushi dinners, cars. Your books are gone, Aziraphale. All of ‘em. Just like that.”

“They—they’re just physical things. Nothing I can’t live without.” Despite his words, the angel’s expression said otherwise.

“How can you say that? This isn’t some minor inconvenience like if a waiter brought you the wrong dish. Everything’s screwed.”

“We still have each other.”

And that was a comment that Crowley couldn’t argue with. He released Aziraphale and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. Yeah guess so. That’s something. More than something.”

“We’ll figure out what’s going on. Fix it if we can.”

“And if we can’t.”

“Learn to live with it. What else could we do?”

“Challenge God?”

“That sounds like a good way to turn a bad scenario into a worse one.”

Crowley shrugged in mild agreement. “Hasn’t worked out well for me in the past.”

“I guess the next step would be to find somebody, so we can properly determine the extent of the problem.”

As if God Herself heard that (She didn’t. She was too busy fighting the cork off a bottle of wine to be bothered by Her failure of an OTP.), someone showed up.

“Eve. Oh, Eve. Aren’t you getting hungry?” a rather familiar ribity voice asked.

Crowley about choked on absolutely nothing upon hearing that. He and Aziraphale turned to the source of the voice. Pitch black eyes of a rather enormous frog stared back at them from a rather prickly bush. Although this particular demon wasn’t known for this particular form, Crowley recognized him nonetheless.

“No!” Crowley whined. “They didn’t get you to do my job, did they? Ugh, a real classless act. No style.”

The frog that was Hastur, Duke of Hell, leapt out from the bush and transformed back into his more humanly appearance, wearing a night dark robe. “It’s your own fault, Crowley. You betrayed us. Of course you lost your job.”

“Yeah, but you? Literally any other demon would’ve been a better fit.”

That seemed to hit exactly the nerve Crowley intended. Hastur narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m only supposed to get you to eat the apple. Otherwise, humanity might’ve not had a future this time around.”

“Wait. So many questions. You’re just fine with this strange world reset thingy? And what’re you on about with that humanity’s future bit.”

“Ha. Like I’m telling you anything, traitor.”

“Sorry to intrude on this reunion,” Aziraphale, who had been watching silently, now spoke up. “But I must insist, whoever you are, that you tell us what you know.”

Hastur turned his attention to the angel. The frog on his head caught a fly from the air. “I don’t take orders from those Upstairs. You’ll have to go to one of your own for answers. Although, I heard they’re more of Hell than Heaven nowadays.”

“Explain yourself!”

A sly smile grew from Hastur’s lips. “You haven’t heard? Archangel Gabriel has found himself, ah, demoted. His position has been taken over by Lord Beelzebub.”

Crowley burst into a fit of laughter. He heavily leaned on a tree for support. “Even though that’s obviously a bald-faced lie, it’s absolutely hilarious.”

“Don’t believe me? Why don’t you ask him yourself? Heard his new job was guarding the Eastern Gate.” Hastur gave a quick smug glance to Aziraphale before looking back to Crowley. “And do eat the apple before you go. It is part of your job as much as it is mine.”

Crowley plucked an apple from the tree. “Angel, let’s go meet the new you then.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, still eyeing Hastur rather warily. “Perhaps he will be more willing to provide answers.”

Two pairs of wings, one black and one white, entered this earthly plane and appeared on their respective angel’s and demon’s backs. With a forceful take off, Aziraphale and Crowley took flight to the east, leaving the Duke of Hell behind on the ground below. Crowley tossed the apple in his hand a few times before chucking it at the shrinking form of Hastur.

“You might’ve got my job,” he called down. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll help you do it!”

God snorted off wherever She was. Either She had finally drank enough to become slap happy, or She had forgotten how funny of a stubborn bastard She had made Crowley. Honestly, it was likely a bit of both.

*

Crowley forgot how clean the air was in the beginning. The sky of Eden felt a whole lot healthier than the 6000 year old one of yesterday. Of course, it hardly mattered as the demon didn’t do much flying back in modern day. It just wasn’t worth the miracle it would take to alter people’s memory after a nice flight.

“Crowley, who was that? One of your old coworkers obviously, but which one in particular?”

“Hastur, Duke of Hell. Although guess he’d have my old name if we’ve got Adam and Eve’s. Crawly. Ugh, can’t believe I went by that as long as I did.”

“For confusion’s sake, let’s just address everyone by their proper names. I prefer to think of the new names as a bestowment of a role rather than a replacement identity. I rather like being me.”

“Works for me. Don’t think I could call anyone else Aziraphale beside you anyways.”

As the Eastern Gate neared, it became obvious that there was indeed someone guarding it. A winged figure grew into view, but this individual didn’t have just two wings as Aziraphale and Crowley did. No, this person had six, three layered on each side. Only a few specific angels had wings like this, and all of them were Archangels.

“Do you suppose that Hastur fellow was being honest?” Aziraphale asked in response to seeing the Archangel’s form.

“It’d be a first for him,” was the extent of Crowley’s reply.

They landed on the Wall. A wave of uncomfortable deja vu flooded through Aziraphale. This was all like a memory but one that was corrupted by a nightmare. There indeed was a Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and it most certainly wasn’t him but rather Archangel Gabriel just as Hastur had said. The Archangel even sported the same robe that Aziraphale had worn all those years ago. However, unlike Aziraphale, Gabriel still wielded his flaming sword.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale called rather hesitantly. He was hardly comfortable around the Archangel considering he had sentenced him to death just the day before. “Would you mind explaining what’s going on?”

Gabriel turned to face them with his infamous false-happy grin plastered to his face. He looked less than surprised to see them.  “Uh, obviously the Almighty was upset that The End of the World didn’t go off as intended, so She reset the whole universe to make it happen this time. And we all got new jobs because of our failure to perform, duh.” He shook his head as if Aziraphale was the most stupid being he’s ever come across.

“That—that’s hardly a logical deduction!” 

“Do you think this happening after you and your demon pal’s mess up is just a coincidence? This is a direct result of your actions, Aziraphale. Although I guess that name is mine now.” Gabriel’s smile turned rather bitter.

“Yeah, he’ll be keeping his name.” Crowley took a step between the two angels. “And if God really got all pissy that the end times didn’t kick off, She could’ve jump started them Herself. Would’ve cost roughly the same amount of energy as doing this!”

“Back off, demon,” Gabriel replied, pointing his sword towards Crowley. “Sure, holy water left you unscarred, but I doubt this will.”

God abandoned the bottle of wine She had been nursing and instead summoned a bag of freshly popped popcorn. Now, this was entertainment: the demon acting as a shield between his love and Gabriel. Maybe this plan was working out.

“There’s no need for violence!” Aziraphale cried, pulling Crowley back to his side. “I think we can all agree that we’re quite unhappy with our given arrangement and would like things to return to normal. Can we not agree to that?”

“Yes. I think we can all agree to that.” Hastur’s voice caused both Aziraphale and Crowley to turn around rather quickly. The Duke of Hell had joined them on the Wall, black smoke still pooling from where he landed.

“Funny. Thought you would love this, Hastur,” Crowley replied, sauntering over. “You get all of Satan’s fun jobs this go about.”

“I don’t enjoy the idea of living in your shadow for the next 6000 years.”

“And I thought you said Lord Beelzebub has taken over Gabriel’s role. That seems more than advantageous for Hell. Why would you want to give that up unless, of course, you were lying?” Aziraphale asked in a very passive aggressive tone.

“Oh, I’ve got the answer for that one,” Gabriel answered. “Beezy’s not that well off up there. They may have stolen my job, but they are very much still vulnerable to holy water, and oh, we’ve got a lot of it up there.”

“You didn’t kill them did you?!?” Hastur growled, charging directly up to Gabriel.

“Ah, no not going to answer that one. Now back away, demon, or I can assure you that you’ll never find out.”

Gabriel waved the sword between himself and Hastur. The Duke of Hell backed up in a rather quick fashion with a less than intimidating expression on his face.

“If it was my choice, of course I would’ve chosen to keep my old job over something as lowly as this.” Gabriel turned to speak to Aziraphale. His sword, however, remained pointed at Hastur. “But this was the Almighty’s decision. Do you really want to go against God’s Plan, Aziraphale? Are you left with any faith or has your demon left you with none?”

“Of course I trust the Almighty!” Aziraphale replied, taking a step forward. “But just as I believed that She didn’t wish to destroy the world, I can’t imagine She wanted us all to be so unhappy. Wanted to undo everything that’s been done.”

Gabriel lowered the sword and approached Aziraphale, halting just a few inches in front of him. “This isn’t permanent. Is that what you think? That God has done this for good? Honestly? You really should’ve spent more time Upstairs when you had a chance. Could’ve picked up on some things. No, this is obviously some kind of test, and once we pass, everything goes back to normal.”

“If it is so obvious, could you please inform the rest of us on what exactly this test involves?” Aziraphale asked, still staring the Archangel in the eyes. He leaned ever so slightly forward into Gabriel’s personal space. Just a few days ago, he would’ve never dreamed of speaking to a superior in such a strict, demanding way, but the End of the World had changed all that.

“Just do your job well,” Gabriel replied with a shake of his head. “The Almighty gave us new ones for a reason. So do good work. Get rewarded. In this case, everything goes back to normal. Simple.”

“Wait,” Crowley began with a hand on his hip. “Your idea of what’s going to fix all this is for us all to pretend to be someone else as if we were actors putting on a play for God? That’s what’s going to put everything back to normal?”

“Well, don’t just copy what’s already been done. Do it better. Like how I’m holding onto this sword and not losing it. Make improvements like that.”

“Improving Crowley’s work is far from a difficult task.” Hastur said, still keeping his distance. His petrification from Gabriel’s threats may have worn off, but the lesson remained learned.

“Really? Can’t wait to see how you handle that,” Crowley replied, not even bothering to turn around.

“Any other demon would’ve been a better fit...” Hastur responded, throwing Crowley’s own words back in his face.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the two bickering demons before looking back at Gabriel. “How are we supposed to do a more outstanding job than Adam and Eve? Can you even improve upon a job with no criteria?”

“Uh, not my problem. You two need to figure out how to make a human together or something. You’re the Earth expert. Not me.” The Archangel gestured to Eden below. “For starters, I’d get back down there. Adam and Eve lived in the garden. Not on the Wall surrounding it.”

“Is that actually all you’re going to give us?”

“Uh, yeah. I really don’t like you.” Gabriel’s eye twitched. “Now go. And take the demon with you. Both of them actually if you can.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Come on, Crowley. I’m rather done here.” He grabbed the demon’s hand, which was currently flipping off Hastur, before he could reply and jumped off the Wall with him.

They freefalled for a moment before catching the wind and soaring back up into the air. They only heard a few final words as they left the Eastern Gate to return to Eden below.

“I think we’re scheduled for a talk, Archangel.”

A demon and an angel stood on the Wall of Eden, but it very much so was the wrong angel and demon. A thunderstorm rumbled in the sky. It would be the first rain of the new world, yet there would be no act of kindness shared up on the Wall during it. All of the kindness would be left down in the greenery of Eden this time around. But God didn’t mind. She was instead rather captivated by Crowley and Aziraphale holding hands as they soared through the air.

[Chapter 2]