The First Day Of

When the rain got worse, the two of them returned within the walls. Aziraphale had to report back and he was certain Crawly had somewhere else to be as well, but neither of them wanted to make the trip in such weather, so they waited it out in the garden.

Aziraphale was slightly aware that he should have gone anyway. To tell people about Crawly being here and being the tempting one and all, but the rest of him decided that the truth of the matter wouldn’t change no matter how far out the report was, so he might as well make sure he looked the part for when he did tell the others exactly what it was that went down.

Continue reading “The First Day Of”


An angel and a demon shared the same taste in their alcohol.

Most people wouldn’t assume that. They would think one had a more cultured tongue and the other would take the cheap stuff, but really it came down to what they had. Aziraphale and Crowley would drink anything, but when they could have their preferred glasses they most definitely would throw the other sets in the street.

Aziraphale presented him a bottle of whiskey that Crowley hadn’t seen in a couple of decades. He whistled.

“Crown Royal, eh?”

“Seemed like a good occasion,” Aziraphale said.

Continue reading “Drinks”


If anyone thought that a car was just a car, Crowley would have beaten them upside the head with his own sunglasses. Or had something terrible happen to them where he didn’t have to raise a hand, because that would make more sense.

His Bentley was his. Crowley never bothered having too much. Just mementos of certain things that didn’t see the light of day. But his Bentley he would show off.

The silent sports car.

How did she catch his eye? Who wouldn’t she have caught the eye of?

And he could tell that sometimes Aziraphale was jealous.

Continue reading “Bentley”


Don’t wake up, Crowley told himself.

In any other situation, it wouldn’t have seemed important. He sat on the couch. Golden Girls played on the screen in front of him. He had his feet up on the table in front of him, next to the wine and the fruit platter.

None of that mattered. The angel sitting on the couch next to him was what mattered. And not just sitting there next to him. Sitting right next to him. Leaning into him, Crowley’s arm around him.

Not his usual dream. Crowley dreamt a lot*, as often with Aziraphale in it, but not as casual as this. It was usually them going out, doing their normal. Or staying in, doing more usual. Or doing things that they had never done. Dreams were like that, Crowley sometimes let his mind go on without deliberate input.

Continue reading “Fantasy”