Body Swap

It was supposed to be only something they could do on purpose. So when Crowley woke up in the bookshop, he knew something was wrong. He didn’t even have to move to know something was wrong, because the body he found himself in hadn’t just been sleeping. It had sat in front of a book in an armchair that was far too squishy. As well as the body he was in. More squishy than his own. Continue reading “Body Swap”


The thing was, it always smelled like Aziraphale.

Books and tea and dust. Most people didn’t care for the last part, but most people couldn’t catch it when the dust wasn’t actually there. Aziraphale had made a place that reflected himself. Crowley had watched it happen with interest, because he didn’t think Aziraphale thought about it like that.

It explained even more as to why he didn’t want anyone inside. As good of a person as he was, Aziraphale had a lot of barriers up.

That explained why Crowley didn’t really want anyone inside. This bookshop was Aziraphale and he didn’t think anyone else really had earned the right to see the inside. That Aziraphale would try to chase others out, but not him, told him how much he was right.

But different bookshops? That was different.* Continue reading “Bookshop”

Ice Cream

“Crowley’s Milk As Good as Any Better’n Some”

Aziraphale choked on his tea and looked at it again. “J.K. Crowley?”

It was an old carton. Early 1900s, if he had to guess. Aziraphale had gone through an old chest and found it there – thankfully void of milk. He had no idea how it had gotten there. He had probably spent more time than he should have staring at it. Enough time for someone to knock at the door for the third time.*

“Angel, what are you doing in there?” Crowley asked, letting the door open and pretending it hadn’t been locked the entire time. Continue reading “Ice Cream”


Aziraphale had never seen that particular piece of art before.

It was made of ivory and it was old. That was really all that needed to be said about that part. The artistry of it was familiar to him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Phoenician, he believed. It was a plaque, dug into to display an angelic figure. Or perhaps it was a human, with the wings in the background shielding them from something. It was hard to tell.

“Crowley?” he called out to the other room, not taking his eyes off of the figure.


“Do tell me about this one. I don’t remember it.” Continue reading “Mesopotamia”

Alpha Centauri

At nine precisely they will dine
Living through each other’s lips
Perhaps through words without the scripts
Hands passing by, they refill the wine

And through the cracks where stars align
Choosing a new place their feelings eclipse
Ever at nine they will dine
Needing nothing but words on each other’s lips

Through the stars which split through time
And new horizons which tell him “mine”
Under too many bottles, as laughter tips
Resting beyond an absent Apocalypse
Impressing that in any place, at nine they dine


“Please, please, look where you’re going!”

“I’m looking out the window,” Crowley said, as though Aziraphale wasn’t having a panic attack.

For his part, Aziraphale wondered what heart palpitations felt like. He practiced breathing because he liked it and it made things natural with mortal beings, but he had never really let his corporeal form deal with the complexities of a heartbeat beyond the normal kind.

“You’re looking out the wrong window.” Continue reading “Reverse”


Aziraphale didn’t think much about it at first. Crowley had left one of his coats on his settee. The angel made a note to himself to remind Crowley about it as he hung it up on the coat rack with the other objects which had been accidentally left within the bookshop.

A pair of shoes was much stranger. Aziraphale had forgotten to mention the coat. Crowley had picked it up without him saying anything, but had left another one in its place a few days later. As long as he knew, Aziraphale decided, that was what mattered. But shoes? Those couldn’t be just left out. Aziraphale put them away and later phoned Crowley asking how he could have possibly left a pair of shoes there.* Crowley said he took them off and forgot to put them back on. Aziraphale stared out at the gloomy weather and rain and was appalled. But the next time the demon arrived, he wore shoes, so Aziraphale put that aside.

When Crowley started leaving his music around, that was another thing entirely. Aziraphale didn’t want it on** but at the same time he didn’t want to touch them and mess them up in some way. He had done that before and had felt awfully guilty about the entire mess. So he didn’t. He let Crowley show up and turn it on and off as he so wished. Just as long as Aziraphale could get his records on as often as he wished, it was fine.

It all came to a head when Crowley had left an entire room in the back of the bookshop.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said lowly, “what is this?”

“It’s what you told me to do.” The demon shrugged it off. “You said you had a particular order to things and you didn’t really mind, but I see it bothering you. I’ll just leave it all in here then.”

Aziraphale mouthed wordlessly as Crowley threw his coat on the bed. “I… suppose that is well enough,” he ended up saying lamely, though he didn’t actually feel that way.

Crowley looked at him, almost over the top of his sunglasses. “You keep telling me not to worry about it-”

“-well I don’t want you to worry about it-”

“-and you keep setting my things aside-”

“-because you forget them-”

“-because you tell me to put them down.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale.***

Crowley paused, craning his neck around before looking back at Aziraphale. “You… mind?”

“Not in the slightest!” Aziraphale said before even thinking about it. “I just was caught off guard.”

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Crowley sighed. “Oh, here we go. What about your room at my place?”

“What about it?” Now Aziraphale was completely confused, not just slightly. “What does that have to do with this?” He thought about it. “You had that room to start with!”

“Yeah, but it’s just… you know… the- the thing of the matter.”

Crowley had utterly failed to explain himself. Yet, perhaps because of that utter failure, Aziraphale understood completely.

“I see.” He smiled at his friend. “You know, dear, you should have just said so.”

“Said what?” Crowley asked, feigning confusion.*****

Aziraphale strode over, placing a hand on Crowley’s arm. “Never mind that. I believe it’s about time for lunch.”

The other stared at him for a bit, before relaxing with a shrug. “Where would you like to go, angel?”

And if the extra room didn’t actually keep all of Crowley’s things from showing up all over the bookshop, well! Fair was only fair. Aziraphale had taken over Crowley’s place too.

*Aziraphale had never seen Crowley without some sort of shoes. Or socks, or something. They usually looked scaled in some way, which Aziraphale thought looked tacky on anyone else but suited Crowley immensely.

**Well, some of it was fine, but he was very adamant about some of it. You know the ones.

***Ah, in this circumstance, meant that the narrator was showing a very one sided perspective of the beginning of the story, and Aziraphale had indeed been the reason why Crowley had left those things behind. But he was just being nice, so he had thought, though in one particular instance he remembered being very demanding about Crowley leaving one of his records behind.****

****“For fuck’s sake, angel, it’s a CD. One step even above tapes. Come on, now.”

*****Dear reader, he wasn’t feigning anything. Aziraphale simply believed he had to be, so that is how it is written.


Edith waited in the rain, as she was supposed to. Her cigarette wouldn’t stay lit, but that wasn’t the point. The only thing keeping her hair looking good was the wide brimmed hat she wore, which amazingly survived the onslaught despite how improbable it was.

“Wh-what are you doing out here?”

She looked up. The man standing there, she knew. But she wasn’t supposed to. She saw the realization dawn on him as they were both playing different roles. They had to be strangers.

Sometimes that was fun. Sometimes it was obnoxious. She couldn’t wait to see what this time would be. Continue reading “Eden”

At the Ritz

It was raining outside, but no one really noticed or cared. It was strange, how an entire restaurant of people could go from feeling however it was they had when entering to all deciding that everything was a lovely time. Even obligations that awaited them outside of their dinner. Everyone, customers and staff, couldn’t have imagined going anywhere else.

Normally Crowley would have asked the angel why he was going so overboard, but not even Crowley could care right now. Plus, he could always catch some of them with something terrible when they left the Ritz. If he felt like it.* He had felt like it extraordinarily before their little dinner date, but after the concert and now the Ritz Crowley had long since put those dour moods behind himself. Until right now.

Continue reading “At the Ritz”