St. James Park

The ducks at St. James had long since come to know who would give the best bread. It could be said that the information was passed down through the generations, as each parent would take their ducklings to a specific pair on shore out of every possible pair. And each duckling would grow to learn the same as their parents.

Other people would come and go. These bread givers were the one constant.

It was a toss up as to whether going to the pair was worth it. The bread was definitely the best, no duck there ever had doubts about that. However, occasionally strange things would happen when the two were around. Suddenly sinking to the bottom of the pond was only one of the strange things. Some ducks didn’t think the bread was worth that shock.

The opposite end of that was when a piece of bread suddenly made a duck fly. Without using their wings.

The lighter of the pair always scolded the darker one and the ducks would be where they should be, but it was that it happened at all. They would leave after that, most of them, yet they would always return. Because perhaps the next time it wouldn’t be them like that. The bread was good. And the strange events didn’t always occur.

Then they were gone. For some years. The ducks were confused. The ducks forgot. Other people brought bread.

“Don’t do anything untoward, please dear.”

“I won’t.”

The ducks approached as they always had, none the wiser.

The bread was the best.

But for some reason, one of them sunk to the bottom of the pond for five seconds.


There were certain places Crowley never wanted to return to. Golgotha was one of them.

“People keep saying it’s here,” Aziraphale said, pointing several times at the map as though Crowley didn’t know. “Why do they say that?”

“Because humans uncover things and then make connections with what they think is true,” said Crowley.

“True, but… well. Hm. I suppose that just means the actual site is as clear as it always is.”

Aziraphale treated the entire thing as though he had done this every year. Or as if this would be a fun trip. Continue reading “Golgotha”


Crowley opened his eyes on the first day after. He stared at the ceiling. At least there was a ceiling here.

It was quiet. Far too quiet. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. After the scores of demons and angels that came to raze the earth together, he didn’t think he could get used to the change. It had been so loud for so long.

Now he sat in silence, after Heaven and Hell had come to destroy the world. If he moved, he could see anything. Crowley didn’t want to. He was too afraid to look. But he didn’t want to close his eyes again. If he did, he might go back to sleep and he was scared of what the world would be like if he slept through it again. Continue reading “Apocalypse”

You Go Too Fast For Me

The room was quiet. Perhaps too quiet. Crowley could have been breathing in the alcohol, that was how quietly he drank it.

Aziraphale could have closed his eyes and Crowley would be gone, that was how quiet he was. Which wasn’t a completely new experience, but it didn’t often follow Aziraphale also being as quiet. Usually one of them filled in the space. Currently neither of them did.

There was more space than Aziraphale remembered. He didn’t know where it had come from. To fix that, he got to his feet and moved over to the couch with Crowley. He already missed his chair, but he had to be here. Continue reading “You Go Too Fast For Me”

First Times

Why had he agreed to do this? He had no idea. Aziraphale didn’t look like he wanted to do it either. If anything, he seemed absolutely terrified, sitting there and staring at the wheel in front of him.

“You turn on the car now.” Crowley’s voice didn’t sound like his own. Had he suggested this? Had the angel? Why were they doing this?

Right, because Crowley hadn’t liked the thought that Aziraphale still didn’t know how to drive. He wasn’t sure why it had ended up that his Bentley was the testing vehicle.* Continue reading “First Times”


Aziraphale remembered when the fountain was first renovated. While he remembered it clearly, he didn’t remember what it had looked like before then. It wasn’t a work of art then. Now it was and it would remain as such for however long people continued to think fondly upon it.

“Crowley, don’t take the coins from the fountain,” he begged.

“Stealing is what I do,” Crowley retorted, fishing them out without even trying to be sneaky about it.

Aziraphale looked side to side, not sure if he wanted someone to call the demon out or not. Not that it would help. If Aziraphale couldn’t get him to stop, other people certainly wouldn’t. Not unless Crowley wanted to make something else out of it.

Or Aziraphale. He rolled his eyes and with a sigh, gave Crowley a hearty shove in the back.

Crowley made a rather undignified sound as he went straight into the water.

Aziraphale pretended not to notice, dusting invisible remnants off his hands.

Crowley resurfaced, absolutely livid. Yet as drenched as he was, he looked too ridiculous to be taken seriously. Aziraphale struggled not to laugh, keeping the corners of his mouth tight to restrain his smile. It was partially successful.

More than Aziraphale looked over now, though noone dared do anything yet. Aziraphale didn’t doubt someone would be coming soon to fish Crowley out.

“I think we’d best be going now?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley reached up and pulled him into the fountain.


It was always the little things. The lights on the tree were shining and Crowley felt a headache coming on just looking at them. It went from fire hazards to fire hazards and energy waste, so that had always been a bolster in his spirits. But then Aziraphale wanted to go and look at all the lights and then Crowley was dragged into the mess.

Too many lights. He couldn’t understand the appeal. He kept his tongue in his mouth, trying not to hiss up at the other lights* and disappear when the angel had his back turned. Continue reading “Miracle”