Happy Holidays, cursiell_4!
Dec. 12th, 2024 05:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeRating: General
Summary: For the past year, the weather in Hepworth had been rather seasonable. Not extremely seasonable, you needed real divine power to make sure that the hottest days of summer took place between exactly the first and third weeks of August and so on, but things were more pleasant than they might have been. Particularly within a fifty-foot radius of one of the larger cottages near Caperstraw Bridge. This was not the result of deliberate miracles so much as the intensity of Aziraphale’s satisfaction, interest, and, yes, love. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure if he was even aware he was doing it.
Aziraphale and Crowley discuss Jane Austen.
For the past year, the weather in Hepworth had been rather seasonable. Not extremely seasonable, you needed real divine power to make sure that the hottest days of summer took place between exactly the first and third weeks of August and so on, but things were more pleasant than they might have been. Particularly within a fifty-foot radius of one of the larger cottages near Caperstraw Bridge.
This was not the result of deliberate miracles so much as the intensity of Aziraphale’s satisfaction, interest, and, yes, love. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure if he was even aware he was doing it. (He was not. If he’d known he was doing it, he would never have been able to.)
As it was, they headed into their first winter on the South Downs with the snow obediently holding off for the moment, but also with much more than a nip in the air, frequent rainstorms, and a stiff breeze every time you went out that made you tug your scarf closer to your neck and instinctively hunch your shoulders. It made Aziraphale say, “Phew! Well, I'm not going out today,” so many mornings in a row that Crowley began to grit his teeth even before the initial sigh made its way out of Aziraphale’s lungs.
Still, he had to reluctantly admit, Aziraphale knew the right way to handle the cold. A roaring fire, a two-hundred-year-old wool quilt, horribly ugly thick socks, and constant cups of tea or cocoa. It would have been too treacly sweet to bear if it hadn't been so damned cozy. Crowley could very much see the appeal, and typically joined in in his own way (with cashmere socks and a plush throw).
Oh, and of course Aziraphale took it as an opportunity to read. Sometimes it was fun to try to distract him, while at other times Crowley reminded himself that nobody human, occult, or ethereal could see inside their home and gave in to the urge to pamper and cherish with biscuits and tea top-ups; sometimes he simply sat near Aziraphale and scrolled on his phone, trolling if he saw a good opening.
One damp Thursday afternoon, he finished composing just the kind of tweet reply that would drive a particularly prolific wellness influencer into a tizzy, dropped his phone into his lap for a rest after a job well done, and surveyed Aziraphale, who looked extremely human with his hair mussed and his quilt rumpled. (That was a compliment.) He peered at the cover of the worn hardcover on top of the quilt.
“Persuasion, eh? Surprised.”
“What?”
“You know. Surprised you haven't … gone a bit off old Jane. Since the whole —” Crowley waved his hand vaguely in the air. “Ball crashed by demons thing.”
Aziraphale looked as though he’d never considered that, eyes going unfocused for a moment as he reassessed. Then he shrugged. “Well, she's been an old friend for so long — that’s hardly more than a, a blip, isn’t it?”
“A blip? You call having to throw encyclopedias and fire extinguishers at a horde of demons trying to discorporate you a blip?”
“What else would you call it?”
Crowley was lost for words.
“Anyway.” Aziraphale settled back in the chair, squirming slightly as though he might burrow into it. “I love the justice of the endings. That’s why these are perfect reading in this horrible winter weather.” He smiled on horrible.
It was the perfect opening for a pointless argument. “Oh, justice,” said Crowley dismissively. “The lovers getting together and all.”
Yes, it was perfect: Aziraphale bristled. “And? Isn't that just?”
“But what about everyone else? What about all the annoying side characters?” Crowley made another dismissive gesture and took a sip of his whiskey. “They just go on being awful.”
“The ones that really deserve it end up … oh, you know, discredited with society and all of that,” argued Aziraphale. He took his finger out of the book, replacing it with a proper bookmark and focusing all of his attention on Crowley, which was more warming than the fire or the whiskey. “Everyone knows about how underhanded Mr. Elliot’s been in seducing Mrs. Clay.”
“Okay, but he still gets to seduce Mrs. Clay, is the thing,” said Crowley, “and inherit the baronetcy ten or twenty years down the line, is the thing. And Anne Elliot’s family never even really acknowledges that they’ve been wrong about her, so — so what’s that all about, then?” He sipped at his whiskey again, half in agony over the admission he’d been making and half hopeful that Aziraphale wouldn’t pick up on it.
“Well, the best revenge is living well and all of — wait a moment.” Oh, his tone changed from happily argumentative to smugger than smug. He’d caught it. “You seem highly conversant with what happens at the end of this book, Crowley.”
“Mph.”
“For someone who doesn't read Jane Austen.”
“Well. I might have picked up … one or two.” Because you like her books so much, he didn’t say, but Aziraphale’s ears turned pink anyway, as though he heard the unspoken subtext. “Wanted to see what she was getting up to when not planning diamond heists.”
“Of course.”
Oh, the angel was not going to forget this in a hurry. He was taking it as an admission that he’d been right, Crowley could tell, and he was seconds away from actually saying that out loud. A distraction was necessary.
“You know, she told me about a novel she was planning out at one point. Set in a seaside resort. I thought it was one of those things, you know, where humans talk about how they’re going to write a book or a play or a film one day, but I guess she was really going to do it.”
And that worked, Aziraphale’s eyes sparkling with interest. Crowley allowed himself one (1) very fond smile. “Sanditon? She told you about Sanditon? What did she say? What was it going to be about?”
“Murder mystery. Someone does for the old lady and then the country girl from out of town has to figure out who did it.” Aziraphale made an inarticulate scoffing noise, looking away and then back. “It was the companion, by the way.”
“You can’t expect me to believe that Jane Austen was writing a murder mystery.”
Crowley shrugged languidly and leaned back in his own chair. “None of my business what you want to believe. It’s true, though.”
“It is not!” Shuffling himself forward, Aziraphale reached behind himself for the floppy old velvet cushion he liked against his lower back and tossed it at Crowley by one tasseled corner; Crowley shifted his weight and let it go by his ear nonchalantly. “Jane Austen was not inventing the murder mystery.”
“Like I’ve said, she was a dark horse.”
The rain outside was turning to sleet, and would be snow by morning. Crowley thought he might walk into the village for a trumped up reason the next day, and let Aziraphale fuss over how cold and wet it would make him. Maybe he’d pick up a packet of the really nice caramel biscuits, and watch Aziraphale eat them one by one next to the fireplace over Emma.
He definitely had thoughts about Jane Fairfax to casually spring on Aziraphale at some point.
Lovely!
Date: 2024-12-12 02:25 pm (UTC)Delightful!
Date: 2024-12-12 04:10 pm (UTC)Comicgeekery
Date: 2024-12-12 11:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-13 03:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-14 07:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-17 12:52 am (UTC)THANK YOU SECRET AUTHOR
Date: 2025-01-02 03:41 am (UTC)HAHAHA Aziraphale not believing murder mystery would be Jane Austen's next stop is so very funny and Crowley teasing him about it just great!
Thank you secret author, I needed this.
Re: THANK YOU SECRET AUTHOR
Date: 2025-01-11 10:51 pm (UTC)Re: THANK YOU SECRET AUTHOR
Date: 2025-01-12 01:51 pm (UTC)