#who deffo cares more about a lunch date than the food

[creeping-crowley]

♰ Angel at My Shoulder ♰

12:46

44 minutes until lunch with Aziraphale.

The day had not yet gotten to the eventful part as Crowley went about minding his own business tending to the veritable trembling rainforest that made up his London flat. A careful golden eye was fixed on the time. Not too carefully, mind, for a fashionably late entrance was often favourable for the demon. After all, quaint little lunches and well-timed teas were Aziraphale’s fancy- it only felt right for the angel to remain the one appearing as the most outwardly keen of the two.

The lunch was what Crowley had planned for. What he had not planned for was the driving pull that sucked his essence out of the London flat with the force that one might be pulled from an aeroplane should the door be opened mid-flight. A forest of fearful foliage had now been replaced with candles, the smell of chalk, old cedar, books a few ages old and a pot of salt in the far corner by the door. The distinctive smell of burning sage tainted the air, making it cloud up as though someone had failed catastrophically at cooking something. Why did everyone seem to burn sage these days as though it could fright the devil? Plants had no godly power over the satanic realms or those who dabbled in them. If anything, (thanks to Crowley) plants possessed a healthy fear for the demonic and would likely ask to be removed from any supernatural settings whatsoever should they have the ability to express any opinion.

Collecting himself in a disorientated haze, Crowley stumbled, drunk on the sensation of the room spinning and the assault over the senses that all the items within seemed to cause.  It certainly wasn’t hell. The stench wasn’t anywhere near bad enough. Besides, hell didn’t smell like…Were those vanilla candles? Crowley grimaced in disgust.

Why did some fool have to be performing an evocation today?

The woman looked like a witch. Well as much as a woman with long hair, an extensive candle collection and sage bundles could as she stood facing him, clutching a bible to her chest. Did witches keep bibles?

“I call upon the demon whom holds the name Crowley.”

A slow sinking sensation settled upon the demon as he watched the reverse exorcism play out. Evocations had been a phenomenon that humans dipped their toes into less in the modern age, but it was not entirely unheard of. Crowley had never been subject to a direct summoning, however. It was not an honour. It was a chore. A dangerous one, at that.

An instinctive dislike of the space had Crowley’s feet prowling, attempting to pace (as much as the small expanse would allow). In a somewhat rash endeavour, he tested the boundary with a precursory flick of a finger- a flick that proved startlingly sore as though he had stuck his finger into a white-hot coal as it approached the barrier of the circle. With a hiss, the demon snatched the appendage back, popping it into his mouth as a moody child does with a lolly to take the sting away.

Ah.

Perhaps this was some sort of cruel retribution for the total tits-up of Armageddon. Some attempt to bind him to the world he cherished so much, to imprison him there as some sort of genie in a summoning circle, or other novelty for humans to enjoy and him to…enjoy less.

Crowley’s face slipped into a flat glare.

“You know, most god-loving people don’t dabble like this. Trust me when I tell you that God doesn’t tend to like dabbling.” If the bible was anything to go off, this woman seemed to have some value for scripture. Crowley could work with that.

Crowley merely dabbled with Adam and Eve, reminding them of their will of choice.

He had also dabbled with God’s plan (Or had it all been part of God’s plan?).

He had dabbled with Lucifer and the gang. (It had only been once. Well. Once before he had been outcast entirely, that was).

The demon had dabbled with earth (On multiple occasions. Dabbling on earth had become a favourite pastime of his).

Crowley had also dabbled with Aziraphale. (A treacherous occupation as far as both sides were concerned).

One could not get through life without dabbling, but if Crowley could convince the woman stood before him otherwise, then he would take every measure to accomplish such a feat. After all, as far as dabbling went, God’s rules were more stringent than others.

“God didn’t answer my prayer.”

Oh.

“Satan answered my prayers. He gave me your name directly.”

…Oh.

Well this was a remarkable little plot twist. One that inspired a little more hope than his latter presumption. Yes, there was rather the unfortunate mention of him directly by Satan, but he wasn’t dealing directly with Satan. He was dealing directly with a human.

A low, stirring sound brewed about Crowley’s voice as his bemusement furrowed his expression into a tangible question mark.  

“Listen, if demon hostages worked the whole world would be doing it. I don’t do the ‘three wishes’ thing. Not my brand.”

Steadily, the demon began to slink towards the threshold, punctuating his words in a low snarl.

“I don’t do good things. I don’t do favours. I don’t even take suggestions. So if you think that summoning a demon will get you whatever you were asking from God then I think you’ll find that you’re—”

A sharp action from the woman caused Crowley to bite his tongue. Quite literally. It was probably for the best, because as the demon had set about plastering himself as close to the threshold as he could get, the woman had become more and more tempted to throw the substance from the vial in her pocket over him and start over. For an awkward stretch the vial remained upheld , shaking a little from the weight of her arm and perhaps some nerves as she held it aloft as one does with a gun they have no clue how to fire.

Yellow eyes could not help but widen a touch.

Holy water.

Why, oh why, did it have to be today?

“Where the hea—” Crowley fumbled, correcting himself amidst the acrid unmistakable smell of the water. “—Hell did you get that?”

When Crowley had previously used the word ‘hostage’ he had intended it as a joke. It appeared, however, that the subject of his misfortune, had not.

“I’m not going to summon a demon without having some means to protect myself.”

“Oh yes, that’s very good. Very clever, really.” Crowley drawled mildly with a condescending note slithering through his words.

“A bit of overkill, you could say since I’M STUCK IN A CHALK CIRCLE!”  It was laughably humiliating, although Crowley was not laughing. If any of his comrades could see him now, they would be howling with laughter. A demon tethered to a human floor as a dog is tied outside of a shop. It was a new low for Crowley, one which he appreciated the lack of audience for.

Somewhere far away in the dim light of his London flat, the plants breathed a sigh of relief at his sudden absence. And somewhere within the flat was a clock, and the clock struck one hour into the afternoon, chiming a loud scream into the empty marble halls.

13:00

30 minutes until lunch with Aziraphale.

The woman had winced at the shout, but seemingly realised that discorporating the very being she sought out would be rather wasteful. She had noted the efficiency within which the chalk playground appeared to confine Crowley and this inspired faith in her boldness. She had heard of how demons liked to trick those who summoned them, worming their way out of their confines and infecting the space in which they were summoned.

Demons, like most twisted things were often favourable at a price. The same goes for Satan. In giving the demon Crowley’s name to the human, he had imparted his own price upon her. Once the use of the demon Crowley was done, she was to add the holy water to the chalk and draw a new circle about him to close the séance – to get rid of him, as it were. To ensure her safety, just as she was so conscious of doing. Nobody wanted a demon lingering around after that sort of thing, usually.

Throughout his frustrations a thought did occur to Crowley. If the woman was not on the side of God, then perhaps she would be easier to influence into creating a more lenient agreement regarding the confinement. Humans were awfully stupid at times, and weren’t half as well versed on the capabilities of demons as those who were demons. The only downside was that bargaining with the human would take time. And he didn’t have time. He had a lunch to get to.

He’d ask her for a drink. A tea. Perhaps even a coffee. That was what a good host did, after all, except he had visions of her boiling a nice hot cup of holy water before adding the rest and the thought was enough to make his stomach churn.

Slowly, the demon settled (as much as one could when standing in a cramped slightly asymmetrical circle). His wings folded neatly between his shoulders, taking care not to touch the threshold. The woman stood there expectantly, almost as though waiting out the tantrum of a small child. Piercing golden eyes scanned the room, scanned the doors, scanned the windows, scanned the nearby books. Moodily, Crowley slumped into a posture that spoke less of  ‘I want to maul you’ and more of ‘I am a human who has not slept in a week’. If anger and arguments won, he would be discorporated at worst and severely delayed at best. It was time to change tactics. It was time to adapt a little.

13:37

7 minutes late.

“Fine. What do you want?” The voice was tired, but not without residual irritation that bubbled beneath the surface.

Just humour it long enough to find an out. That’s all that needs to be done.

“My grandfather died. And I need you to bring him back.”

The demon’s nose wrinkled.

Now. There was an obvious out within this scenario- one that many a demon would pick up on quite swiftly. A dead body was a perfect soulless vessel- one that could possibly transcend the bond of the initial summoning. It was an out. A gross out. But a possibility.

It did not, however, appeal to Crowley, who was in an awful rush and fond of cutting corners.

“That’s it? That’s what you want?” Serpentine eyes tested the woman’s for a long moment as his mind wove about a solution for himself.

“…I’m going to need something that belonged to him.” Ah yes, the fabled art of a tether- it was ridiculous in most cases, but humans seemed to think it made sense.

“An old tie, a sock, perhaps a gold chain or a pair of sunglasses…” A glimmer of hope caught in the woman’s eyes and she took off, turning to focus on her mission of finding a suitable article from the deceased whilst Crowley continued his spiral through the five stages of grief at his containment. By the time she began searching the second room, Crowley was sat cross-legged on the floor, one hand cradling his cheek in a tableau of swallowed impatience. Soon the woman would come back. Soon he would demand she gave him the article she had found. And she would. She did, after all, agree that it made sense for some part of her grandfather’s essence be included in the ritual. What she was not accounting for, by the demon’s reluctant act of compliance was that within his plan all along was the part where he waited for her to break the confines of the circle by means of delivering any object or appendance through.

Quietly, the demon’s spare hand began to tap a soft rhythm onto the floorboards.

Somewhere distant in a restaurant a clock ticked to the same rhythm.

13:59

(( @gaily-gavotte ))

[randomidiocyncrazies]

re: ask meme, your newest ship?

time…. is an illusion….. so i’ll take this opportunity to yell about Jin Ling/Lan Jingyi some more

Who said “I love you” first

Jingyi. they weren’t even in a romantic relationship the first few times he said it

(look. Jin Ling would rather die than admit all that sappy stuff with words. what an absurd notion. absolutely mortifying.)

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background

no smartphones in ancient china…. 

in a modern AU it’s both of them, but Jin Ling is way secretive about having his favorite pic of Jingyi as his background even though everyone knows this already. Jingyi switches out the pic from time to time (most of them objectively unflattering, for a given value of ‘unflattering’ when it involves one of the handsomest dudes in their generation)

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror

again, assuming we’re talking about modern AU, neither does it as a habit—Jin Ling freaked LJY out a couple times when he forgot to erase the evidence of some last-minute post-shower budget calculations tho

(”THE GHOST IS BAAAAACKKKKKKKKK!!!” ”for the last time, the apartment is NOT! HAUNTED!”)

Who buys the other cheesy gifts

Jingyi is definitely the one who gives random stuff like “this is a cool rock i found and you were complaining about running out of paperweights, so here u go”, while Jin Ling goes for Grand Romantic Gifts

(there was a period where his gifts to Jingyi were all marked by the golden peony motif. he thought it was a clever way to propose; Jingyi just thought he was re-gifting stuff because Jin Sect was in financial trouble and he’s too stubborn to admit it)

Who initiated the first kiss

tbh i can see it going down either way? Jingyi is more impulsive, but Jin Ling gets riled up easily, especially by Jingyi. they’re essentially an echo chamber of chaotic banter and impulsive action…

Who kisses the other awake in the morning

Jingyi. turns out being drilled to get up at ass o’clock from childhood leaves a strong impression, and he’s usually up before Jin Ling even though he wishes otherwise

(also, it’s funny when the young mistress gets all flustered, though admittedly less so when he sics Fairy on him)

Who starts tickle fights

oh Jingyi for sure. it doesn’t take much for Jin Ling to abandon his dignity and retaliate tho

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower

they’re canonically teens so i’m gonna. skip this question.

(to get clean after a particularly vicious night hunt they—along with sizhui and ouyang zizhen and the other juniors—just kinda scrubbed down asap so they could go tf to sleep quicker)

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch

Jin Ling, when the two are in the same area. look, the cooks in his employment are amazing, especially compared to the bland food the Lan clan serves, and he knows LJY has a bottomless pit for a stomach

(this has absolutely nothing to do with an old conversation between them—who cares if the idiot said he’d happily marry into whichever sect as long as they feed him well? not Jin Ling, that’s for sure.)

Who was nervous and shy on the first date

most of their ‘dates’ involve subduing various monsters and ghosts with their cohort, so Jingyi is deffo nervous—just because you know how to destroy a possessed corpse doesn’t mean it’s not still scary af

in the rare instance where they don’t have a night hunt and it’s just the two of them together, Jin Ling tends to get flustered. 

(also, it is entirely possible that Jingyi hadn’t really quite realized their first date was a romantic date until like three-fifths through, but that’s a story for another time)

Who kills/takes out the spiders

Jingyi, while screaming the entire time

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk

both. happens more often with LJY because of his (low/nonexistent) alcohol tolerance, but JL is surprisingly sappy once he gets in the zone