Happy Holidays, irisbleufic! Part 2
Dec. 20th, 2018 06:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Crowley went almost as pale as the man who had just knocked at the door that evening. It was him. Crowley had hoped to avoid him, here in a little village in the middle of nowhere. No one came here of their own free will, so why him? How?
“‘Sup,” the pale man greeted Crowley with a smile. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. What are you doing here, Pestilence?”
“Just passing through. No worries. Or maybe so. Maybe you should worry. I told you we’d meet again. Do you remember the last time?”
Of course, he remembered the last time. He remembered all the times in the last five years.
The first time had been in Paris, May 1348. Crowley had heard rumours about the deaths of Europeans. The plague took everyone, man, woman, child.
It didn’t stop for the rich, it ravished the poor, it even took the clerics. And then (Crowley couldn’t quite believe it), there was Pestilence, in the same little tavern as him, casually stealing from Crowley’s meal as if he were Aziraphale!
The second time had been one year later, in a town whose name Crowley wasn’t able to remember. Pestilence greeted him again like an old friend, with kisses on both cheeks. The fact that the skin on Crowley’s cheeks started to detach afterwards wasn’t as bad as the feeling of hunger when Famine came around the corner. But even this wasn’t so bad compared to the feeling of complete hopelessness when he saw the long red hair of War. They were here, all three of them, and the fourth one couldn’t far away.
Crowley wasn’t able to get out of spending the evening with them. They loved to hear compliments about how they’d made Crowley’s life as a demon so much easier, how easy people were to tempt in this age when they were all together.[8]
([8] He didn’t tell them that the only tempting he had been doing these days had been to convince himself not to flee to an unpopulated island far away from Europe. His superiors would not have appreciated it.)
The third time was in 1450, at the borders to the kingdom of King Casimir. They both had not been allowed to enter — Pestilence because he was visibly infected with the plague, Crowley because he wasn’t able to prove that he was not infected and should go to quarantine. Pestilence didn’t mind. He’d come back later, he had told Crowley before he turned around his equally sick-looking horse and vanished into the forest.
Crowley couldn’t bear to live in a region affected by the plague. It wasn’t so much the people’s deaths; people had died every day for over five thousand years now, and Crowley had almost stopped blaming himself. If you were able to see the right and wrong in the world, death was a small and worthy price to pay.
No, it was the people’s feelings. He hated feeling the numbness and panic of the people in cities affected by the Black Death. Who was going to be infected next? Was it you? Was it your lover? Was it your neighbour?
With the biggest headache in the history of headaches,[9] Crowley surrendered to his fate. He tried to find a way not to be drunk all around the clock and to survive the century. He sent a short message to Aziraphale, saying that they wouldn’t be able to be in contact with each other until the plague died out, then fled to the countryside.
([9] Even bigger than the one of Candice Dixon from Santa Barbara, California, on the 28th of November 1978, whom had, in fact, the biggest headache of any mortal being ever.)
The angel would certainly have his hands full enough doing whatever is was angels do. A few years apart meant nothing.
He found himself in a small village, far away from other towns, where not a single person was affected by the Black Death. Life was okay there. He helped an old woman in her house after her only remaining son had left her for a better life in the city many years ago. He was probably dead by now. She gladly accepted Crowley’s help, thinking he was her grandchild.
Crowley justified his life in this small village, which didn’t even had a market, by saying he was focusing on corrupting the souls of this handful of people in order to find new and more effective ways to do so in the future.
It was something every proper demon should do every thousand or so years: live a peaceful life as a peasant to hone your craft.
Yet, there was always that dull, steady sense of desperation, fear, and uneasiness, especially when travelers came through the village, but it was bearable. At times, Crowley even forgot it was there all together.
Crowley was able to sleep again, and, more importantly, be sober.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed, trying to shield his house and his (in a way) adopted grandmother from Pestilence. “You’re not supposed to be here!”
For the first time in ages, the old panic came back. These people, his people, were all going to die! They were not supposed to die! Not now, it wasn’t their time yet.
“Who is it, dear?” Edith shouted from the back of the house.
“Is it Thomas?”
“No, it’s not Thomas. It’s a stranger. A wanderer,” Crowley answered over his shoulder. “A person who’s not supposed to be here!” he hissed in Pestilence’s direction.
“That hurts, Crowley,” the white man answered.
“Why don’t you ask him to come in? It’s already dark and supper’s ready. He can share a meal with us.”
“Yes, why don’t you ask me to come in?” Pestilence asked with a smile.
“Why don’t you leave immediately?” Crowley answered.
“Now, that’s rude.”
“It’s preventative. You’re Pestilence, after all.”
“And you’re a smart boy,” the Horseperson answered and pushed past Crowley into the house. “It’s a pleasure, sweet lady,” he said to Edith. “I’m but a simple wanderer, and in these hard times it’s always nice to get a warm meal.”
“Stop sweet-talking her,” Crowley said and closed the door. “There isn’t any warm food for you here. We’ve got some bread and cheese for you. No meat, and nothing else either!” He didn’t want to share. Pestilence could never appreciate it. Pestilence didn’t deserve the food. He only made Crowley’s life miserable, so why should he get the pleasure of being allowed to eat?
“Anthony, don’t be mean,” Edith said as she put an additional plate on the table. “We love to share.”
“No, actually, we don’t.”
“You’re too kind, dear woman,” Pestilence answered and bowed slightly. “It is appreciated. Your gesture will not be forgotten, not in this world nor in the next.”
Edith actually gave him some of the meat that was meant for her. Meat! Meat was scarce and they didn’t eat it often! But Edith was the sweetest woman - as always. After all, she’d also taken in a demon just because he had told her that he was her grandchild, and without needing further proof. Without any hesitation, she gave Pestilence water to wash himself, and blankets for the night.
Pestilence gave Crowley a smug smile, and started to entertain them with stories of his travels. Crowley didn’t know how many of them were true, how many of them happened once in a fever dream, and how many of them were just a figment of his imagination. He didn’t care.
All he cared about was that Pestilence didn’t get too close to Edith, in hope that his white and deathly grip wouldn’t take hold of her.
He didn’t dare to sleep that night.
Pestilence left in silence in the morning, shortly after sunrise.
Two days later, when Crowley and Edith were tending the vegetables in the garden behind the house, she started to cough.
Crowley was sure his heart had stopped beating for a whole minute in his shock.
She wasn’t the only one in the village to start coughing after Pestilence’s visit. Almost everyone did.
Crowley started to panic and almost started drinking again.
The plague had finally found him!
It hadn’t.
Just as Pestilence had promised, he hadn’t forgotten Edith’s kindness. It was just a common cold due to the chilly and wet autumn.
Crowley, and his village, were still safe.
1381
Aziraphale, an angel in human shape; wearing the clothing of an English noble, slightly old and out of style.
Crowley, a demon in human shape; wearing the clothing of an English noble, very new and much in style.
Several animals, in cages.
London, the Tower, Royal Menagerie.
(There are loud noises outside, people are shouting. The noises are muffled, though, it isn’t possible to understand what’s going on.)
Crowley: What’s all that noise outside?
Aziraphale: Oh, I think some people are mad about something. I think it’s taxes.
Crowley: So like the Jacquerie in France?
Aziraphale: I don’t know. I’ve never heard about that before. What was it?
Crowley: Some revolt in France. I coincidentally passed it when I decided to go to France for a while after the Plague. I think it was in ‘58? It was- (he takes a deep breath) very exciting. I felt very much alive.
Crowley: (to himself) I felt so alive because I was fighting to keep every cell in my body alive, instead of spontaneously discorporating. I barely managed. The anger, the hatred, the desperation of the people — a demon like me can only feel so much.
Aziraphale: I understand, my dear.
(They continue to walk in silence. They’re currently passing first a female lion with some cubs, then a male lion. The animals start to get nervous when the two beings get close, and then calm as they pass.
Or maybe it’s just Crowley’s presence. He stays for a moment to watch the lion cubs while Aziraphale continues on to the male lion, who stays calm.)
Aziraphale: (when Crowley returns to his side) Lovely animals. They remind me of Jerome and his lion. Do you remember?
Crowley: (you can see that he doesn’t think the lions are lovely. He makes them nervous just as much as they make him nervous. Yet, he knows that he’s perfectly safe with Aziraphale by his side.) No, I’d never met them. I was in Moscow during that time.
Aziraphale: He was a lovely fellow.
Crowley: Jerome or the lion?
Aziraphale: Why, the lion, of course. Jerome was such a prick. He even cursed me when I dared to disagree with him (he smiles fondly at that memory). I was right, of course. Moses never had any horns! He's not one of your lot!
Crowley: (he looks offended, having tried horns once and deciding that they didn’t suit him.) Actually, if he ever did come down to us, he'd receive quite a good position. He’s already got a gold star for the things that went down in Egypt back in the day.
Crowley: (to himself) It would have gone worse for me if I’d been in Egypt during that time than it has this century. Instead I took a liking to China, and especially that one little shop with the most delightful food, which is now, unfortunately, long gone.
Aziraphale: (annoyed) Moses didn't do anything in Egypt. That was Pharaoh's fault!
Crowley: Actually, it was His fault. If He’d wanted to, He could have found a way to free the Israelites without killing half of Egypt.
Aziraphale: (not listening to Crowley) And what does that even mean? A gold star? Why does Hell give out gold stars?
Crowley: Oh, it's a game we came up with ages ago. For every major catastrophe caused by your lot, the person who did it gets a gold star. If they get ten, someone delivers a message asking them to Fall. Even Gabriel has gotten a star. He shares it with Michael for destroying Sodom and Gomorrah.
Aziraphale: Ha! Serves Gabriel right!
Crowley: I just hope it’s the only one he ever gets. I don't want him to be my boss, too.
Aziraphale: No one wants Gabriel as a boss.
Crowley: Agreed.
(They walk in silence for a while. Crowley opens the door to a lion’s cage, but as soon as Crowley isn’t looking, Aziraphale closes it again.)
Aziraphale: Have I gotten any stars, yet?
Crowley: No. But if it makes you happy, He’s gotten three.
Aziraphale: Oh.
Crowley: (pointing at a cage) What’s this?
Aziraphale: Some kind of monkey.
Crowley: I know it’s some kind of monkey! What kind of monkey?
Aziraphale: How should I know? I’m here for the first time, just as you! I haven’t have any reason to visit the King’s animals before. Why should I? I’m not part of his court! I’m seeing this kind of monkey for the first time. It’s not a vervet, I can tell you that much!
Crowley: No need to get angry.
Aziraphale: (cold) How long do you plan to stay in London?
Crowley: (hesitating, he doesn’t like it when Aziraphale sounds that cold towards him) I don’t know. It depends on what’s going on outside. If it gets too bad, I’m going. There’s no need for a demon in a rioting town.
Aziraphale: That might be true.
Crowley: Are the riots caused by your side?
Aziraphale: I have to admit I don’t know. If I recall correctly, they want less taxes. That sounds more like something of yours.
Crowley: It does? My folks are all for high taxes. They cause people to commit more atrocities.
Aziraphale: Odd. Mine are currently on the side of high taxes as well.
(They walk for a while without exchanging words. After a moment, Aziraphale notices that Crowley isn’t at his side anymore.)
Aziraphale: My dear?
Crowley: (he comes strolling around a corner) I’m here.
Aziraphale: (he hesitates, realizing something) Did we just make a rhyme?
Crowley: I know that rhymes are in their prime,
But we are too dumb,
And those rhymes would be really plumb.
So let's leave the rhymes for the pros,
Because if we do it, it only blows.
Aziraphale: I’m not dumb and neither are you!
Maybe we should try it in another language, too.
Crowley: Wellen wir sprechen diutsch?
Aziraphale: (unable to find a rhyme) Nein, mîn tiurlich junge.
Crowley: (smiling) Good. Let’s keep talking in English and no more rhymes.
Aziraphale: Agreed.
(Once again they walk in silence. Crowley thinks about the conversation they had a few moments ago. Eventually, he has an idea, much to his surprise. Normally, he has to think a few years to come up with a good argument. Aziraphale is thinking about where to take Crowley out for dinner.)
Crowley: Maybe the people are blame for what’s happening on the outside.
Aziraphale: Don’t be ridiculous, my dear. Humans aren’t able to get those kind of ideas.
Crowley: Why not?
Aziraphale: It’s ineffable.
Crowley: They have free will. They’re able to tell the difference between good and bad. Why shouldn’t they be able to get the idea to riot all on their own?
Aziraphale: They’re only peasants!
Crowley: So what? Peasants are humans, too. You know that.
Aziraphale: (it’s obvious that he doesn’t like the topic) We’ve already discussed this enough. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
(They reach the end of the menagerie. For a few moments they discuss what to do next, Aziraphale invites Crowley to dinner in a nearby pub. They leave.)
1399
Aziraphale was late. He’d promised in his last letter that he’d show up a few days ago, but he was still not here.
Crowley was annoyed. Crowley was so annoyed by the angel’s behaviour that he took his friend Jan out for a drink until the angel arrived, hopefully yet today. He didn’t want to spend the night alone. He didn’t even want to sleep tonight.
It was New Year’s Eve. Aziraphale and Crowley had decided to celebrate it together. Theoretically, it some regions it was already next year, in others, not even close. But after a short discussion, they’d decided to ignore all the other New Year’s Days out there. They’d follow the Julian calendar: January 1 was the first day of the year.
Crowley had been looking forward to it. This century had been… a lot. It had almost been too much, Crowley had to admit. But only almost.
Celebrating the beginning of a new century together was a small tradition they had started with the Arrangement. They would just sit together and drink some wine, nothing special at all. And yet, to Crowley it was special.
The Arrangement. Wow. They’d already had their Arrangement for almost 400 years and it still worked perfectly, even though they were technically arch-nemeses.
They could be so much more…
If only Aziraphale would arrive!
Crowley ordered more wine. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be totally hammered when Aziraphale arrived. If he arrived.
Maybe he forgot, Crowley thought. Maybe something happened, and he didn’t have time to tell me. Maybe he told me but I didn’t get the letter. Maybe I messed up the date and it’s tomorrow. Crowley could already see himself all alone in the pub. Jan would get bored after a while and leave to go home. Crowley would stay and no one would seek out his company on their own. Crowley would get more and more drunk and-
No. Everything would work out fine. This was Aziraphale. Maybe he had gotten lost; maybe he had been distracted by some nice books and was looking at the illuminations. It would all work out.
“Anthony, I’m talking to you!”
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked you if- oh, forget it. What time did you say your
friend was coming?”
“An hour ago! Or three days ago!”
“He's not very punctual.”
“He has no sense of time,” Crowley agreed.
His thoughts wandered from Aziraphale as he engaged in a conversation with Jan.
Crowley could sense Aziraphale before he saw him.
If you’re a demon and you know what to look for, you can feel an angel’s approach. Crowley knew what to watch for and, after being apart from Aziraphale for almost two decades, he felt it quite intensely. It felt like the first rays of the sun after a long and brutal thunderstorm.
Crowley was able to smell Aziraphale before he heard him.
He smelled like freshly baked bread. He smelled like a flower bed in spring. He smelled like dust and a room full of books.
“Crowley,” he said, sitting down beside the demon, reaching for his cup of wine and taking a sip as if he owned it.
For a second, Crowley beamed up at him. He only hoped that Aziraphale was too deep in the cup to notice it.
Jan had noticed, though. He raised an eyebrow, but Crowley only shook his head as if to tell him that this was nothing to worry about.
“It’s good to see you. Do you want to introduce me to your company?” Aziraphale asked with a smile after putting down Crowley’s cup.
“Sure. This is my friend Jan, from the town of Husinec in South Bohemia. He’s studying theology here in Prague at the university. Jan, this is an old friend of mine from England. His name’s Aziraphale.”
“From England?” Jan leaned over the table, a certain sparkle in his eyes. Crowley knew it. Jan always got that look during certain religious discussions. “Do you know of the writings of John Wycliffe?”
“Why, yes, dear boy, of course I do,” Aziraphale answered.
Crowley rolled his eyes. He’d lost both of them now. Why was he friends with these people again? Maybe he should be more involved with artists, musicians or actors in the future. They would certainly not ditch him for theological discussions.
For the next several minutes, they discussed Bible stuff, as Crowley called it, while he observed the people around them. They were mostly students trying to lose their last brain cells.
He left his seat for a couple of moments to get some more wine for himself, a cup for Aziraphale, and to loosen a few stitches in several people’s shoes. In a few days, the good fellows would lose their soles, and be miserable all day, which would then affect anyone around them. It would be way more effective than tempting each person individually for years. With each and every year, there were more humans in the world.[10] It would soon be impossible to corrupt every soul one by one.
([10] Plague years not counted.)
“But I don’t want to keep you from enjoying each other’s company. We can continue this another day,” Jan said as soon as Crowley was seated again. He knew how much Aziraphale and this day meant to Crowley, who hadn’t stopped talking about it for what had seemed like weeks. “You should visit me at the university soon,” he added.
“I most certainly will,” Aziraphale answered with a smile as they shook hands.
“I guess we’ll see each other soon, too, Anthony?” Jan asked Crowley.
Crowley nodded. “Someone has to show Aziraphale where to find you, after all.”
“Of course. Until then.” With one last smile, he walked towards the door, free of his obligation to keep Crowley company, and able to spend the evening as he liked.
“Why did you show up so late?” Crowley hissed as soon as Jan had left the pub.
“What are you talking about? I turned up right on time.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Oh, it’s about time they invent clocks that fit in your pocket! I’m here now, so stop worrying.”
Crowley wasn’t worried. Not anymore. The angel was here and the day was going to end well.
Smiling, he started to inform Aziraphale what he had done in the years since their last meeting, which drifted off into a long debate about events that had happened in this century that they hadn’t yet been able to discuss.
“What I really hate about this century,” Crowley stated at one point, “is that it was so cold and so wet. I bet half the population of Europe didn't die of the plague, but because there was no food.”
“Don't remind me.” Aziraphale shuddered. “I feel like I haven't had a dry bone since 1312. It's always raining, raining, raining. I swear there was a year when it didn't stop raining from April to November. One of the worst years, as you might guess. Not even the common people had anything to eat, so I had to renounce it voluntarily. That way, at least they had a little bit more for themselves.”
Crowley emptied his cup. All the good things were gone now. It had been a hell of a time. He refilled his cup and emptied it again.
Aziraphale noticed and laid a gentle hand on Crowley’s arm to calm him.
“Where are you going next?” he asked to change the topic. “Or will you continue to stay in Prague?”
“Oh, no, I’ve already had enough of this city. I’m thinking about going south. I think I might start in Constantinople. And then I’ll move around the Mediterranean coastline all the way to Gibraltar, visiting every pub along the way. I’m not going to write a single bloody report for the next ten years.”
Aziraphale raised his brows. “You still have to write reports?”
Crowley looked back in surprise. “Of course, I do. You don’t?”
He froze. “I don’t. Not exactly…”
“Not exactly?”
“Well, you see…”
“Yes?”
“Officially…”
“But unofficially?”
“I’m going to hand them in later!” This was one of the many reasons almost no one in Heaven liked Aziraphale.
“Your shirts are getting scandalously short,” Aziraphale suddenly noticed. It was almost as if he’d grabbed at the nearest straw to shift the topic away from himself and his behaviours. His eyes slowly wandered up Crowley's legs. “If you stand, it's easy to see your bottom.”
Crowley rolled his eyes, hidden behind the darkness of his sunglasses. As if Aziraphale had ever spared Crowley's backside a thought. “It's fashion, angel. Not that you'd know fashion. It could assault you in a dark alley and you wouldn't notice it.”
“That isn’t true. I do care about fashion; I just don't see why anyone would want to wear anything but a robe. Robes are classic and timeless.”
“They get dirty easily, especially if you live in a city. Or if it's raining all day but you still have to go out to your fields.”
Aziraphale sighed. “Fashion always moves way too fast. You just get used to something and the next day it's as if only old people are wearing the thing.”
He took a deep sip from his cup. It automatically refilled itself. Aziraphale took another sip.
“Your bottom, Crowley,” he said, his voice much heavier with wine than before, saying every word painfully slow. He blinked, then continued talking at his normal speed. “It's as if you're running around naked. It's just not something you should do these days.”
“I’m just being fashionable, thank you very much,” Crowley answered coldly. Aziraphale didn't have to say right to his face that he was disgusted with human bodies. It's not like he had any influence on what people wore these days.
Aziraphale looked embarrassedly from his cup to Crowley. He opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. His eyes wandered around the room, trying to find something to inspire a new topic, but found nothing. They landed back on Crowley. If Aziraphale leaned back in his chair a bit, he was able to see the demon’s unique eyes. He didn't lean back. Instead his head fell forward and he looked down at the table as if the wood grain was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Is there anything you’re really going to miss about this century?” Aziraphale asked after a while. He‘d been having a staring contest with his cup of wine and was about to lose.
Crowley thought for a moment, their last topic not forgotten, but shoved into a little dusty corner of his brain (where it would be found again much later when Crowley lived in a certain cottage and he needed to find an argument against Aziraphale in a heated discussion. He would just blurt out ‘My bottom!’ at that moment, and Aziraphale would be so confused that he’d forget what they’d been arguing about).
So many things happened during this century Crowley thought, .I can't really… oh. I can.
“Illegal dice games in the middle of the night in graveyards.”
Aziraphale laughed. “Yes, everyone started forbidding them by law during this century, didn't they?”
“Yes.”
“You’re right, those were quite fun.”
Crowley looked at the angel. “Huh?”
“Oh, I happen to… stumble across them. Once or twice. I just couldn't say no to the lads.” He sounded embarrassed.
“You went looking for them,” Crowley mocked, knowing exactly that tone of voice. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I didn't! I didn't search, at least. I knew exactly where to find them. Someone told me even though I didn't really want to know!”
“Aziraphale, you’re one of a kind!”
Aziraphale brightened and finally decided that looking at Crowley was much more interesting than looking at his cup. “I’ll take this as a compliment.”
“Do you know what the worst thing is about today?” Crowley asked.
“No, tell me, my boy.”
“It's the beginning of a new century. It can't hardly be as momentous as this one was.”
“I understand what you mean. It's good that it's over.”
Aziraphale’s hand lay next to Crowley’s. They both smiled, and together in peace watched the dawn of the new century.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-20 09:41 pm (UTC)Aziraphale: Why, the lion, of course. Jerome was such a prick." Lol
Alternating epistolary genre, classic narration and theatre was a bold and interesting choice!
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-21 08:06 am (UTC)But oh my goodness the Pestilence scene was CHILLING. Rrrn. Ad the idea of Crowley running off to protect his own little village and be sober gives me all kinds of feelings.
"there was Pestilence, in the same little tavern as him, casually stealing from Crowley’s meal as if he were Aziraphale!" YEEK how distressing a thought can you get!
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-21 11:16 am (UTC)I always love it when Pestilence shows up in historic GO fics, because we never really got to meet him in the book.
And War and Famine are always a treat, of course! <3
Poor Crowley, though.
"people had died every day for over five thousand years now, and Crowley had almost stopped blaming himself"
>> aaaaaaaaw, Baby :(
"Even bigger than the one of Candice Dixon from Santa Barbara, California, on the 28th of November 1978, whom had, in fact, the biggest headache of any mortal being ever"
>> AHAHA! XD Poor them!
I love the bit that is written like a stage play!
And Hell giving out gold stars and writing letters to the winners, omg XDD
And the part were they speak old German! :D
"It felt like the first rays of the sun after a long and brutal thunderstorm."
>> :'))
"reaching for his cup of wine and taking a sip as if he owned it"
>> classic Aziraphale
An angel always arrives right on time, Crowley. They're like wizards.
I can't actually blame Heaven for being annoyed at Aziraphale. People not handing in their stuff in time is horrible!
I always love it when Pestilence shows up in historic GO fics, because we never really got to meet him in the book.
And War and Famine are always a treat, of course! <3
Poor Crowley, though.
"people had died every day for over five thousand years now, and Crowley had almost stopped blaming himself"
>> aaaaaaaaw, Baby :(
"Even bigger than the one of Candice Dixon from Santa Barbara, California, on the 28th of November 1978, whom had, in fact, the biggest headache of any mortal being ever"
>> AHAHA! XD Poor them!
I love the bit that is written like a stage play!
And Hell giving out gold stars and writing letters to the winners, omg XDD
And the part were they speak old German! :D
"It felt like the first rays of the sun after a long and brutal thunderstorm."
>> :'))
"reaching for his cup of wine and taking a sip as if he owned it"
>> classic Aziraphale
An angel always arrives right on time, Crowley. They're like wizards.
I can't actually blame Heaven for being annoyed at Aziraphale. People not handing in their stuff in time is horrible! <_<
"Not that you'd know fashion. It could assault you in a dark alley and you wouldn't notice it"
>> HAHAHA! XD Robes are classic and timeless, Crowley!
“Your bottom, Crowley,”
>> You are very obsessed with that topic, Aziraphale ;)
"He‘d been having a staring contest with his cup of wine and was about to lose."
>> Aaaaaaaaaaaaahahaaaaaaa!! XDD
"where it would be found again much later when Crowley lived in a certain cottage and he needed to find an argument against Aziraphale in a heated discussion. He would just blurt out ‘My bottom!’ at that moment, and Aziraphale would be so confused that he’d forget what they’d been arguing about"
>> Oh my GOD, the last few sentences of this fic and you're coming back to kill me, AHAHA XDD
:OOO Aziraphale! No respectable angel goes dice gambling in the middle of a graveyard!!
But it's so cute how he brightens up when Crowley calls him "one of a kind" :3
And now I'm through! What a wonderful story!
I love how many historic details show up in this fic and how we see glimpses of Crowley's life in this century and get to know why he hated it so much.
And, of course, I love all the interactions with Aziraphale <3 They're both cute and funny, which is the best combination :D
I'm certain your recipient will love this, you did such good work! <3
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-21 12:20 pm (UTC)"If you’re a demon and you know what to look for, you can feel an angel’s approach. Crowley knew what to watch for and, after being apart from Aziraphale for almost two decades, he felt it quite intensely. It felt like the first rays of the sun after a long and brutal thunderstorm." This just brought on an attack of the warm and fluffies.
“Is there anything you’re really going to miss about this century?” Aziraphale asked after a while. He‘d been having a staring contest with his cup of wine and was about to lose." Hmmm, wine has a habit of doing this...
And the "bottom" conversation... wonderful!
What went on during "the most bloody boring hundred years on God's, excuse [Crowley's] French, Earth" has always been a bit of a mystery, and this has given a bit of an insight into what was going on during that time. Historical facts are interwoven with the characters so well - it's a lovely read.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-22 03:54 am (UTC)Pestilence actually left them alone! Wow
"he looks offended, having tried horns once and deciding that they didn’t suit him." OMG
Also I LOVE Gabriel getting a gold star XD I can imagine his face when he received it lol
Omg their rhyming, they're too adorable.
I also love Crowley trying to come up with an argument while Aziraphale is thinking about taking him to dinner XD
I love that they celebrate the start of each century together!
"Your BOTTOM, Crowley" oh my. And him trying not to stare at Crowley after that XD And using it in an argument later. oh my gosh.
This was great! Poor Crowley, in this awful century--but at least he had Aziraphale there for some of it :)
From irisbleufic:
Date: 2018-12-22 08:24 am (UTC)Candice Dixon
Date: 2018-12-22 08:38 pm (UTC)OK, weird note: I actually know a Candice Dixon who lives in Northern California and suffers migraines (among other things). I don't know if she has ever lived in Santa Barbara, however. I'll have to ask her next time I see her.
Re: Candice Dixon
Date: 2018-12-23 04:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-23 04:43 pm (UTC)I'm not sure if Gabriel knows that he got a gold star. I don't think they send them a message. It's a surprise if they get enough and receive the recommendation from Below.
Thank you for reading and your comments <3
Re: From irisbleufic:
Date: 2018-12-23 04:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-23 04:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-23 04:51 pm (UTC)Thank you for your comment <3
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-23 04:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-23 04:58 pm (UTC)>An angel always arrives right on time, Crowley. They're like wizards.
I'm crying.
Thank you for your lovely comments <333
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-23 09:53 pm (UTC)From irisbleufic:
Date: 2018-12-23 10:11 pm (UTC)This century is the one on which I focused in painful detail starting in my penultimate year of college (and on through six years of grad school). I read GO for the first time my last year in college, so...only a year after I’d begun to research this astonishing whirlwind of a century. That’s why the line about Crowley and his emotional relationship with the 1300s was ao profound. And I think you captured it beautifully with this:
Crowley: (to himself) I felt so alive because I was fighting to keep every cell in my body alive, instead of spontaneously discorporating. I barely managed. The anger, the hatred, the desperation of the people—a demon like me can only feel so much.
I couldn’t have asked for more on this subject. Thank you for the gift <3
(no subject)
Date: 2019-01-04 01:34 pm (UTC)and i love how the horsepersons popped up, and the effects they had on Crowley were very vivid! i hope he gets to avoid them for some time now!