#v0litioncheck

[existentialflirt]

@v0litioncheck said: ‘ i made coffee. ’ ( aziraphale to crowley )

"Wot?"

Of the many combinations of three little words he liked hearing from Aziraphale 'I made coffee' was not one of them. The last time he'd tried to make coffee at Crowley's flat, it was only a literal miracle that had stopped him from blowing up his sleek, complicated espresso machine.

He rubbed his eyes. Honestly, he was relieved to have the distraction after staring at a computer monitor for the past half hour. Crowley wasn't sure how real teachers did it. He supposed he could just miracle teaching materials out of thin air, but to be honest, he was having a rather good time playing tutor. Anyway, when it came to creative or intellectual endeavors production from miracles could be a bit of a mixed bag.

"Define made." Crowley's tone conveyed suspicion. He didn't smell anything burning so that was a good sign at least.

[wickedlehane]

@v0litioncheck {aziraphale} continued from here [x]

"Yeah," Faith confirmed with a chuckle in her voice. "It was pretty wicked- my girl Willow did some sort of a spell, went all Gandalf the White, and unlocked the stupid 'you have to wait until one dies' rule. We didn't exactly have time to give every potential a heads up, but we're trying to some damage control now. Sort of a Slayer welcome wagon."

After a beat, she added, "Where I'm from, wicked is a good thing. Mostly."

The brunette looked around the book shop, wondering just who this guy was. He didn't seem the typical dyed-in-the-tweed Watcher, but he was sitting on a pile of books they'd probably pitch a tent just looking at. Most of it wasn't super interesting to her, but who knows- with Willow by her side, maybe Faith would learn to love a book or two. Or just the nerds who read them.

"Good. Any book with a chapter on me isn't worth keeping in a place like this," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Not like she needed a total stranger having access to her prison records, accounts of murder and betrayal, and all that. "I get weird dreams sometimes, psychic stuff. A highlight reel of the ways all the other Slayers have died, as a sort of 'don't let this happen to you' instinct. I've never been deep into the mystic mumbo-jumbo, but Buffy got some visions. And Will- the witchy redhead- also has some experience thanks to all her mojo."

She pursed her lips with amusement before answering his last question. "Can't say no to a bacon cheeseburger, but I'll eat just about anything I can get. That's not a Slayer thing- well, the metabolism is. Not the burger," she explained before extending a hand to shake his. "I'm Faith, by the way. You Mr. Fell, from the sign?"

[laughingmagi]

@v0litioncheck said: ' you won't even know i'm here. ' ( from oliver who possesses a natural stillness when he wants to )

John snorts. It probably would be true for anyone else, but he isn't just anyone. Oliver hadn't been spared John's strange comments, stories, or his eeriness for that matter. The man didn't seem to give two shits about the broad implications that John could do fantastical things like step into Hell like he was walking into a corner store for a pack of fags or that he doesn't simply believe in angels, gods, and fairies on superstition or faith but because of plain certainty. He'd roll his eyes, grunt with disinterest, or seduce him to shut him up. (The latter being the method John prefers by far.)

Maybe that's why he likes him despite Oliver being a more than a bit of a twat. Even if they're true, he's less impressed with anecdotes than he is with the quiet way John's hunches are usually correct or the coincidences, synchronicity, and high strangeness that follows him around like a loyal dog. So John just shrugs and lights a fresh cigarette. It'd be nice to have back up for this particular con job, anyway.

"Doesn't matter if I know or not — An' y'know I will," John can't help but to add smugly. "Jus' don't need y'gettin' the wrong kinda attention. Maybe I dunno if ye'll be able t'blend. This ain't some kinda board meeting, sweet'eart."

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

"We’re partners..." he paused for drama. "In disguise." He's referring to the redhead he was seen with before. Aziraphale might have also thrown a wink there. Let's hope this human bought his lie and rolled with it.

Things for Richard: ALWAYS ACCEPTING

II @v0litioncheck

"Aye. Riiiigh'," the Scotsman nodded slowly, brows pinched together as he tried to read off the other's expression surrounding what exactly that meant. "Erm, in disguise from wha', may I ask?" Did he mean that the two were miming a partnership, or perhaps he meant that he and the red-headed fellow before him were dawned in a particular disguise. Some sort of spies, perhaps? Either way, Richard couldn't help but feel that there was something... 'Other' about the man before him.

[laughingmagi]

It was a point of wisdom to treat your local angel well. Mind, it wasn't exactly advice he was good at following, but maybe that was the wisdom finally kicking in his old age. His attention pissed off that cranky old snake, too, and it was impressive that it was for the right reason. Aziraphale had unknowingly stumbled into the very dirty trick of owing John Constantine somewhere down the line.

Heaven truly was incompetent if they hadn't warned such a sweet thing like Aziraphale about him. He used to think maybe that was why Crowley slunk around him. Aziraphale needed a bodyguard and the demon had either assigned himself or Heaven and Hell were working together again. Turned out to be much more mundane. Poor bastard was in love. With a goddamned angel. As though reality really could be some young adult novel.

"Cor, y'know, holy objects put me on edge. Don't mind usin' 'em, but don't care much to keep 'em round me house. Hate to see it wasted, tho. Maybe keep it for a holiday. Do you lot celebrate holidays? Christmas? Halloween?" A sly look. "Anniversaries?"

"Dunno how y'feel bout beer, but this stuff might change y'mind. Found it sortin' out an old storage locker. Reckon it's still good t'drink, jus' don't let y'demon have any. It's blessed." (for Aziraphale, cos some things need to be threaded) @laughingmagi gave an angel a most tempting gift.

There was once a time when his bookshop had the resemblance of a tea house, empty save for a table and a pair of comfortable chairs and the bell attached to the front door rang for only one. As centuries passed and his collection grew, new people and strangers started coming and going as they like. The bell turned into a brass herald of the coming of a customer so that Aziraphale could prepare to put them back where they belonged—outside and nowhere near his precious collection.

It was odd that he didn't hear the bell. Luckily, angels had an innate ability to sense the presence of others. It made them good at their job. He felt the presence in his shop, sharp like the kick of the old gin and tonic in the back of one's throat. There was also another, no less significant but unmistakably divine. That confused him.

"Oh. It's you," said the angel with about as much enthusiasm as someone awaiting a root canal procedure. Without much of a greeting the man explained his latest gift (and he had been giving ample gifts for a period of time. It was starting to worry Aziraphale. No, correct that, it was starting to worry Crowley). It looked unassuming, as a bottle of beer went. A thin layer of foam on top, perhaps due to its journey in John's coat pocket, with a crystal crispness about the bottle that made you want to touch it, pop the cap and drink deeply. It was, unmistakably, the source of that odd divinity he felt earlier.

Aziraphale turned his attention back to the man, the latest magician in his long bloodline. He was a little wide-eyed when he asked, "Are you sure you want to be giving me this?"

[gilesian]

if anybody wants to cry about good omens with me... hit me up. also i write aziraphale over at @v0litioncheck​ thought you lot should know.

[existentialflirt]

@v0litioncheck prompted: [ TOUCH ] az to crowley <3

[TOUCH ]:          while touching the receiver’s waist, the sender’s hand briefly dips beneath the hem of their shirt, skimming briefly across the bare skin of their waist.

Aziraphale didn’t bother opening his store on Sundays. Not that the bookshop had ever turned much of a profit. It was a miracle that he kept such prime real estate in Soho. Literally. He had probably been burning miracles by the year just to avoid the nastier bits of being a business owner. The demon didn’t begrudge him. It meant the angel lingered in bed without Crowley doing any extra convincing.

Even after being introduced to the wonders of sleeping (Crowley still didn’t understand how its charm had been lost on his hedonistic angel), Aziraphale was usually up at least five hours before the demon even started to stir. Lately he’d been disturbed by how little reading he’d been getting done since the antichrist had been sent to Earth and all the ensuing chaos. As things had settled down, Aziraphale had taken to bringing books back to his flat. Never anything too terribly valuable. Those stayed at the bookstore, but Crowley was starting to worry he might have to actually install a bookshelf to keep them in some kind of order. He didn’t like the clutter, even if it was Aziraphale’s clutter.

As he drowsed comfortably beside the angel, he became starkly aware of his wandering touch. Only one hand was being occupied keeping his book open, after all, and the other had strayed to Crowley’s waist and slipped under the impossibly soft tee shirt he was wearing. Aziraphale’s touch burned, it always had. The first few times they’d been intimate, he’d been convinced the angel’s touch would brand him indelibly. Crowley had secretly been disappointed when it hadn’t. He sighed as the soft touch left fire in its wake, making him squirm under Aziraphale’s fingertips.

“You readin’ or teasin’?” Crowley grumbled as he shifted to his side. The angel’s caress followed the motion, making him shiver as it ghosted just below his navel. “Cos y’can’t do both, angel.” His voice was still muzzy with sleep, ever so slightly heavier and darker than usual.

[existentialflirt]

He should have been back to Heaven ages ago. If he were to be honest, he had no idea why he’d been assigned to watch over Eden. It wasn’t his usual scene, but then again the angel had always been the odd one out. Since the creation of all the stars, galaxies, and other heavenly bodies, he’d become utterly obsessed and his fascination had only grown during his time on Earth. Since the war, he’d started to realize that he didn’t belong in Heaven, yet not blasphemous enough to be cast out. Instead his kin huffed and rolled their eyes in his general direction. The mad angel who whispered to the stars. 

Crowley — the name he had quietly taken for himself because names held power — stood as he sensed a presence behind him. “Give me a few more minutes, something amazing is about to hap…pen,” he trailed off as he turned and realized he wasn’t being retrieved by an archangel. Instead there was a man…well, man-shaped person taking confident strides across the garden walls to meet him. 

He was a bit shorter than Crowley, but that did nothing to diminish his bearing. There was something about him that drew the eye, quite beyond the fact that he was nice to look at with his softly curling hair, black shot through with a dark shade of grey, much like the colour of his robe. Crowley knew he wasn’t an angel. Something about the way he moved closer, his eyes dark as pitch, intent on him in a way that made Crowley painfully self aware that he was in the company of a Fallen One.

“Oh. Hello,” Crowley greeted warily, wishing he hadn’t mislaid his weapon. Not that he'd use it but it would make him feel a bit safer in the face of a demon that was looking at him like he might devour him. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear as the wind buffeted his reddish-gold curls.

His trepidation evaporated as a bright streak of light illuminated the sky. Crowley gasped and turned his attention back to the skies. He gripped the demon’s upper arm and pointed to the skies. Crowley could barely breathe as the stars seemed to fall from the skies. 

“Will you look at that?” the angel gasped. “It’s more beautiful than I imagined.”

@v0litioncheck for demon!Aziraphale

[existentialflirt]

@v0litioncheck

She’s sexy and domineering. … Mission accomplished!

[existentialflirt]

London, 1860

A revenant rose out of the ground in a cemetery not far outside of London. He was tall and moved like someone fresh off a miner’s shift. His clothes were just as filthy too. Once upon a time, they would have been stylish, trendy even, but now they were tattered and torn. Tangled red curls framed his narrow face, both just as filthy as his clothing.

Dark clouds gathered in his wake, as though the weather was reflecting his mood. As he neared the metropolis, his countenance became more determined and he began to move more quickly. If anyone noticed him, they would have simply imagined he was trying to escape the rain that had started to pelt the sidewalk. They also might have noticed that his clothes ceased to be in poor disrepair and he began to look, while no less tired, considerably less like a shambling corpse. Not even the downpour touched him. Then again it was a misty, foggy night in London, a city in no way foreign to high strangeness. 

Perhaps he was just an avid reader eager to reach an eccentric shop and its owner.

He stood on the stoop and slapped the front door so hard the glass in the window cutouts shivered. The lights were still on at A.Z. Fell and Co.’s. They usually were as the proprietor appeared to live there and partake in his wares more than he sold them. The man outside hit the door again, this time with a bit less force. His exhausted expression began to edge on desperation. It looked like he wanted to scream but instead his voice came out as a low growl, rusty from years of disuse.

“Angel.”

@v0litioncheck // for Aziraphale

[existentialflirt]

@v0litioncheck prompted: ❛ i’d be home with you. ❜ ( az to crowley; accepting the offer to stay at crowley's place after his bookshop burnt down but the rest happened like in the book—no swap, just a sweet, happy ending )

Crowley found himself a little surprised by the answer. He didn't know why, but things felt different now. In a good way. They were unencumbered on a bus stop bench. Still an angel; still a demon, but no longer on opposite sides. Granted they hadn't been for a very long time, but standing together against God's Grand Plan, in defiance of their bosses, it was just a whole different scene. Not a bad one, either, even if he had no idea what would happen tomorrow.

Well — He was reasonably certain he'd wake up with Aziraphale next to him. Probably reading some obscure book from the seventeenth century, wearing those ridiculous glasses. Crowley was so happy he felt like something disastrous might happen, as though sheer joy was too bright an emotion for him to contain.

So he kissed him, because desire was much more familiar and easier to parse. Crowley rested his hand against the side of his neck, gently tilting Aziraphale's face up. They stayed that way for quite some time, absorbed in each other like they hadn't been in far too long. The apocalypse had been many things, but most of all it had been quite the mood killer, replacing quiet nights spent in each other's company with existential dread.

The head lights of a bus that shouldn't have been coming round at this hour drew them apart. It was also miraculously going exactly where they needed to go. Crowley didn't know who he should be thanking and wasn't exactly the grateful sort anyway.

"I'm famished," Crowley sighed , not too interested in getting up until the bus rolled to a stop in front of them. He realized that he hadn't been this exhausted since...ever, really. "Hopefully that Chinese takeaway a block up from mine is still open, eh?"

[existentialflirt]

Crowley didn’t hate sushi, even if he found it terribly bland. Wasabi helped but not by much. Then it just tasted like horseradish and what was the bloody point of that? What he did like, though, was sake and watching Aziraphale eat. As far he was concerned, introducing the angel to food was among his finest temptations. Centuries later, a bit tipsy, Aziraphale had declared that he was quite cross with him over that first meal. Fortunately for Crowley, the angel seemed incapable of holding a grudge very long. At least, it seemed, when it came to him.

Before leaving, Crowley had ordered a bottle to go and tipped highly after Aziraphale paid the bill. Just as Aziraphale had mentioned as they’d planned their date evening plans, it was indeed a beautiful night. Even the light pollution of such a metropolis as London couldn’t dim the stars, scattered like diamonds across the sky. He idly wondered if it was one of the angel’s small miracles. Aziraphale could be terribly romantic.

The drive home was typically short due to the demon’s reckless tendencies behind the wheel. It was a quiet weeknight, however, and they made it back to his without any near misses or much complaint from Aziraphale. He only ever felt slightly self-conscious about the emptiness of his flat when the angel visited. Not that he ever said anything about it, but Crowley thought he looked so out of place in such a cold and modern space. 

Aziraphale bustled off to his stark kitchen with the bottle of sake. Crowley would have been content to drink it cold, but if the angel wanted to heat it up, he wasn’t the demon to stop him. He was more concerned with the French doors that certainly hadn’t been there this morning. Crowley scowled at them and their delicate, sheer white curtains. Beyond the glass doors was a large wrought iron balcony with a couple chairs and a tiny table between them. A certain angel really had thought of everything. Crowley huffed a soft ‘oh, honestly’ as he opened the curtains, then the doors, and stepped onto the balcony. Admittedly, it was a gorgeous view.

“Guess you'll find me on the balcony,” Crowley called as he half leaned back inside. His tone was only slightly venomous with sarcasm.

@v0litioncheck // for Aziraphale

[existentialflirt]

@v0litioncheck said: "We were wearing togas, so having sex was really easy to do without taking any clothes off." [ az to crowley. it's not text because az doesn't have a smartphone. also he's probably very, very drunk ]

"Have you been...drinking?"

Not that the angel never drank without him. He usually polished off a couple glasses of wine over dinner, but it was exceedingly rare that he'd get near to rat-arsed. His brow furrowed, thinking he'd only been gone for a couple days. It usually took a fortnight before they truly started missing each other like the ache of a phantom limb.

He couldn't help but worry that it was something worse. It had been a year since they'd aided in the diversion of Armageddon, and for as much as he'd been enjoying the silence, he was on pins and needles, too. When either side finally decided to deal with them, what was that going to look like? He only hoped their overall incompetence was taken into account.

"Are you okay? Nothin' interesting gone down since I've been away, hassit?"

[existentialflirt]

Crowley ha lost track of the days since he'd delivered the antichrist into the care of his Earthly hosts, a week maybe more. Aziraphale had walked back into his life that same night. They'd made up, likely for the duration of the apocalypse. Who could say how long it would last after it got sorted? Hell, Crowley wasn't even sure how to go about it. He had a few ideas but wasn't sure what would work best in execution. Not to mention the wild card of Aziraphale. The demon embodied unpredictability. Would he really go along with whatever plot Crowley pulled out of his brain? He hadn't exactly been thrilled by the fact that Crowley didn't want to outright kill the boy.

He stretched a long leg that was draped over Aziraphale's thighs. They'd just gotten back from a dinner out and continued drinking. Their brains had been pickled in liquor and lust since they'd reunited, and if Crowley were to be perfectly honest, he hadn't been thinking that much.

"Wot if...wot if we...I dunno. Got involved in his upbringing?" Crowley drawled. "I could be his nanny and you could be...." He looked at the other demon thoughtfully. "Do you still play music sometimes?"

@v0litioncheck for d!Az

[existentialflirt]

“You don’t hear what I’m saying, do you?” ( az to crowley because sometimes they're both stubborn? )

"Course I do," Crowley replied with an easy, nearly dismissive shrug. They really shouldn't be drinking when in the weeds on some endless philosophical debate that they probably started around the turn of the first millennium. "I just think you're wrong."

Liquor tended to rob them some veneer of civility. It would take another solid hour of drinking before they got downright rude, but for now they were just getting annoyed with one another. The demon stretched his long legs on the couch, and pointed at him with the finger of the hand wrapped around the wine glass.

"You lot never look at the details, all broad strokes innit? You're not like them, tho, and I don't understand why you insist on clinging to these ideas when you know it's bloody nonsense."

[laughingmagi]

@v0litioncheck said: "I'm a hard habit to break." ( ollie, our favourite company man)

John gave him a sidelong look. That was quite the answer to John's mild question of 'do you know why I rang you?' Arrogant prick, he thought with something close to fondness. It was hard to be fond of Oliver Sampson. Not only because he could be a twat but because he really didn't want anyone to be. It really was such a pity that he was an excellent shag.

"Aye, fair enough, that is usually the reason," John conceded before taking a sip from his drink. The bar was mostly empty but the quiet, ambient music didn't make it seem too uncanny. "Not this time, tho."