The Rats of NIMH

Let there be matter, let there be gravity, let there be everything from pages 11 to 3,000,602 inclusive... (Funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21080057

1. Introducing: Aziraphale (cat), I imagined him as a British Shorthair✨

2. Aziraphale's must have! You cannot possibly adopt him without each one of these essentials!✨😺

But MOST OF ALL:

3. They're a set, do not separate. (and consider to give them a room... they're quite loud)

🩷🤭✨

Somewhere in Bethlehem, a long time ago…

Aziraphale: What on EARTH are you doing?

Crowley: Trust me, angel, these are gonna catch on.

I had planned to do something lush for St Stephen’s Day originally but when my spouse came up with this idea I nearly fell off my treadmill I was laughing so hard. I hope it gives you a chuckle.

To start off, some facts:

-White wine is made from sweet pulp inside of the grape (minus the seeds).

-Red wine is made from both the skin and the grape (and the seeds and stems…sometimes? Can’t remember).

-Tannin is the substance found in red wines, coffee, dark chocolate. Tannins are responsible for the bitter taste in those foods.

-Tannins are found in the skin of the grape, as well as the seeds and the stems. Therefore, most red wines will have tannins, versus most whites will not have tannins.

-Red wines vary in level of tannins, depending on variety of grape, climate, and fermentation process. Pinot noir tends to be very low tannin. Shiraz/Syrah, choice of poison for our beloved brunette surgeon, is very heavy on the tannins.

-Some white wines (most commonly Chardonnay) are aged in oak barrels instead of metal containers. Oak barrels have tannins, which seeps into the wine during the fermentation process. That’s why Chardonnays tend to be “drier” aka it has tannins.

-White wines like Sauvingnon Blancs are usually fermented in steel barrels (aka no tannins. Aka usually very fruity and light and sweet).

Your ability to taste tannins is genetic.

There is a genetic marker determining whether your taste cells are sensitive to tannins.

Basically two people can drink the exact same wine and have wildly different reactions because: 1. Person A can’t taste tannins, so they taste the actual wine flavor. 2. Person B can taste tannins, and that tends to overpower ALL the other flavors in the wine. Basically all they taste is tannins and none of the wine.

I am super tannin sensitive, so if I drink a wine like Cabernet Sauvignon (very tannin heavy, aka “very dry”, it tastes like bitter ethanol alcohol to me, whereas my best friend can’t taste tannins so the same wine is maybe a little bitter but they can actually taste the grape and different flavors. To her, a wine like Sauv Blanc is too sweet, tastes like sugar water. But to me it tastes good.

So unless it’s the taste of the alcohol or all wines you hate, chances are you might hate the taste of red wine, especially the heavier red wines, because taste the tannin overpowers everything else. And all you taste is bitter bitter ethanol bitter more ethanol. 

More tannin info: -Tannins bind to fat.

-This is why tannin heavy wines are recommended with fatty foods (Shiraz and steak). Whenever you eat food with high fat content, the fat builds up on your tongue. A sip of red wine will bind with the fat on your tongue and clear it away. That’s why the sip of wine between bites of fat heavy foods is considered a palate cleanser.

-By that logic, this is why white wines are recommended with low fat foods, like fish. Salmon is fattier than most fish, which is why Chardonnay (tannin heavy white wine) or Pinot Noir (low tannin red wine) is recommended with salmon.

-People who are sensitive to tannins can drink tannin heavy red wines with fatty food and generally the wine won’t taste gross. The fat on your tongue (from that steak) will bind with the tannin and neutralize the tannin taste. Aka the only time I ever drink Cabernet Sauvignon or Shiraz is with a steak or heavy, creamy pasta. Aka never bc I don’t often eat either.

-The reason dairy helps coffee taste better is because the fat in milk/creams binds with the tannins in coffee and neutralizes the bitter taste. This is why people who can’t taste tannins can generally drink coffee black without milk (sugar is a different story). It’s also why almond milk in coffee is the worst idea (almond milk is already bitter and has no fat).

More wine facts: -90% of the “aromas” of wine are marketing BS

-You know the labels that say like “cherry with a hint of blackberry?” There’s no real way to infuse cherry or blackberry into grape wine without screwing with the fermentation process. It’s all created by the wine marketing industry to sell you win. Sometimes if you smell cherry before you drink the wine, you might taste it in the wine (because majority of flavor comes from smell). Or if you think there is cherry flavor in the wine, your brain can trick your taste buds into tasting it.

-The only true flavors found in real grape wine are grapes (obviously), oak/earthy flavor (the barrels), vanilla (barrels, oak sticks), tannins. (There are a few others but can’t remember. I think maybe cinnamon?).

-People’s perception of wine often affect how good it tastes to them. Social psychology studies show that people will rate the exact same wine differently if they’re told the wines are different in price. (They rated the more expensive wine as tastier).

Looking for a fic where Aziraphale(?) is coming out of surgery/anesthesia, and very upset that they have taken his hat. Very attractive nurse?doctor? Crowley is there to flirt with.

I recall it being fairly short. Went back through my bookmarks to read it again but think I didn’t maybe actually bookmark it?

Hello my dear! You're looking for:

They Took My Hat by AppleSeeds [Rated T, 2500 words]

After waking up from surgery, Aziraphale is delighted to meet the incredibly lovely and handsome Mr Crowley, who has come to check on him after his operation. The drugs may have lowered Aziraphale's inhibitions, but the good news is that Mr Crowley seems quite receptive to his advances. Before he can think about anything else though, Aziraphale really needs to find out what happened to his hat.

(Inspired by the 'they took my hat' post-anaesthesia video)

Aziraphale does not need to learn and see how awful Heaven is

Gif by @crowlixcx

Does not need to suffer to 'deserve' Crowley

He suffered and cried enough (and so did Crowley)

He does not need to explain to Crowley why he spent millennia 'pretending' they are not friends

Crowley knows why.

Gif by @capinejghafa

Aziraphale does not need to apologise for how he'd turned Crowley away again and again

Crowley knows they can't really run away. Not for long. Not when the whole Universe is set to be destroyed when the Earth is done with. Not when they are always watched.

Aziraphale does not need to Fall to understand Crowley or be worthy to be with him or to understand anything better

Crowley loves him as the angel he is. And Aziraphale loves Crowley exactly as he is. A demon. A demon with a soft heart.

Crowley doesn't want Aziraphale to change. And Aziraphale doesn't want Crowley to change either.

BONUS

Crowley is IMO not self-destructing because Aziraphale left. I think he understands why he did. And I think he will help him willingly. Because Crowley loves Earth too.

It's not like S1 when the world was about to end and Aziraphale was gone.

Mini-Meta Musing (#4)

I've been brooding for a long time about, of all things, Aziraphale's worn velvet vest and the long cream jacket he's kept in "tip top condition for over 180 years now." I love the sweet familiarity, but this is the same angel who popped across the Channel and almost lost his fluffy-topped head in 1793 for dressing like an aristocrat.

"I have standards!"

He's the height of elegance, extravagance even. A dandy. We've seen the same at the Globe Theater 1601, Edinburgh 1827, and even as a Knight of the Round Table in 527 Essex, where he's wearing a glorious pelt across his shoulders! However, sometime after Edinburgh 1827, Aziraphale's stylish extravagance ends. He adopts the dress of distinguished but modest gentility. No seamstresses strain their eyes for days hand stitching ruffles and trims for him any longer. When we next see him in 1862, his clothing is refined, simple, and serviceable. It becomes his uniform, with only minor replacements. Why? What happened to change him?

Edinburgh 1827 happened. And his encounter with tragedy ran over his sensibilities like a locomotive.

Look at her

Most convincingly of all:

She needs an extravagant layered pearl necklace immediately.

Think of how dramatic she is. The absolute drama of a good set of pearls

GET THIS BITCH SOME PEARLS TO CLUTCH

And then Crowley will do something like start humming. He’s wandering around the bookshop, idly rearranging things. Aziraphale doesn’t have his books arranged by the alphabet or Dewey Decimal–no silly human classification. He’s not an animal, he has a system, it’s just that only he knows what it is. And Crowley, maybe. He seems to have figured it out, or otherwise is using his demonic instincts, because he’s putting the books he plucks from the shelves in exactly the worst place he could put them. Aziraphale would be mad, but it gives him something to look busy doing when customers come in asking questions. 

He can’t place the tune. It’s familiar, so familiar, but he can’t place it. He doesn’t realize at first that he’s been following Crowley around the shop, brows furrowed, following the sound like a bee tracking pollen. 

Crowley finally notices him, but doesn’t stop, making contact through his glasses as he reshelves a book. The humming gets a little louder, a little more pointed and teasing. 

“What is that tune?” Aziraphale finally asks. “It’s driving me mad.” 

Crowley quirks a grin, taking a moment before he stops to respond. “Willard Bourke. Pianist. We saw him play in the 70s, in that little tavern, you remember. You thought he was handsome.” 

Aziraphale blushes, but, yes, he does remember now. They’d been there for a drink, and Aziraphale had been mesmerized by the man’s deft fingers. “Ah.” Aziraphale clears his throat. Crowley says the 70s, like there’d been only one of them, but it had in fact been the 1770s when they’d heard him play. “I do remember, yes. I thought he’d be famous. Pity no one remembers.” 

“We do,” Crowley says, and goes back to humming. 

Or that time he stops by Crowley’s flat, just for some tea, just for a chat. He finds Crowley in the middle of cooking, cursing quietly to himself. The demon looks frustrated. He’s positively glowering when Aziraphale enters. 

Aziraphale surveys his ingredients, face screwing in confusion. “Whatever are you cooking?” 

“Stew,” Crowley responds glumly. “Or, at least, I’m trying to. I can’t get it right.” 

“Part of the joy of stew is that you don’t have to get it right.” He waves his hands. “The pot does most of the work.” 

Crowley hisses, raising his fingers to rub against his eyes. “No, it’s … It’s a specific stew. I’ve been craving it for ages, but no one makes it anymore. It came with these little roasted dill seed bread balls and …” He cuts himself off. 

“Crowley–” Aziraphale squints suspiciously. “How old is this recipe, exactly?” 

Crowley sighs, already defeated. “Mesopotamia?” he ekes out, abashed. 

Aziraphale laughs. “Oh, good! It’ll be a challenge, then.” He pulls the spoon from Crowley’s hand, taking a sip. “Juniper berries,” he decides. “You need juniper berries.” 

Or when Warlock is young, maybe 6, not more than 7, though Aziraphale finds it so hard to keep track. He and Nanny Ashtoreth are sitting in the garden, drawing. It’s one of the rare moments when they’re both calm, worn out from a long day of chasing and yelling and plotting. 

Aziraphale pretends to mind his rosebushes, but he’s been watching them for some time. Finally, he breaks and walks over. 

“Ah, young master Warlock,” he says, peering over their shoulders. “What a wonderful drawing you’ve done. You like dinosaurs, hmm?” 

Warlock looks up, colored pencil held tight in his fist. “Nanny is teaching me about extinct animals. Like dinosaurs and thylacines and unicorns.” 

Aziraphale shoots Nanny Ashtoreth a look. She doesn’t look back. 

Warlock pipes up again. “Nanny invented dinosaurs, did you know?” 

“Did she now?” Aziraphale asks. It’s hard to keep his voice straight, because he knows this to be a fact. Crowley had been quite drunk at the time, but he thought it would be hilarious. “Big ‘ol lizards,” he’d said, “just huge, you know. Like a dragon, but they’ll think they’re real, see. Biggest things ever. ‘ould barely fit in the garden, them. Big buggers.” 

Warlock nods. “My favorite is the T-Rex. Nanny says it would eat you in one bite.” 

Aziraphale hums, discontented, as Nanny Ashtoreth quirks a grin. He spares a glance at what she’s drawing, and stops. It’s the most beautiful drawing of a passenger pigeon he’s ever seen. The reds and blues of it, every detail in its feathers. They’d seen them together, before, before they’d all gotten hunted out. 

“It’s a lovely drawing, Nanny,” he says, voice a little more earnest than he means it to be. 

The pencil stops, then keeps going. 

Warlock looks up at him again. “Nanny says she ate the last one.” 

“I did,” Nanny Ashtoreth responds. “And don’t you forget it.” 

It’s the little things, the things that, by himself, Aziraphale might not remember. It’s the feel of the earliest silk, the thrill of his first moving picture, the clamor of a Roman marketplace on a hot day. Aziraphale is good at the experiencing, but Crowley has always been one for the remembering. Things stick with him. Things that, otherwise, would have been lost to time. 

They’re curled up in bed, two commas together, and it’s been one of those days. Every shine is the glint of a sword, every wayward noise a battle cry, and Aziraphale can’t seem to stop remembering. He remembers the mess and the horror of it, he remembers the loss. All six-thousand years of loss. 

Aziraphale swallows, and he hates how thick his throat feels. “Tell me good things,” he asks, meek, tired, and Crowley hums and presses a kiss into his shoulder. 

Do you remember? Crowley asks, and keeps going. Do you remember, do you remember?

Yes, Aziraphale responds. Yes, yes, I do now. 

They lay there, and remember together, six-thousand years of good and light, and fun and joy, and it’s easier. It doesn’t take away all the bad that he’s seen, but it’s easier. He remembers the food and the smells and the heavy cotton, and the music and the laughter and his first taste of wine. The bad isn’t gone, but there’s good, too, pushing it’s way in to make room. 

Do you remember when we met? Crowley whispers, their hands linking. 

Aziraphale pulls them up to place a kiss against his knuckles. It was so long ago, a lifetime, but yes, he does. 

BBC: Did you work very closely with Michael and David?

Claire Anderson (Costume Designer): Yes. They were both involved in creating their looks. When you put something very distinctive on them, that helps them find the character. They are more interested in getting the look exactly right, rather than being vain. We had mood boards - light for good, dark for evil. Michael’s costume is ethereal. He wanted something timeless that wouldn’t look out of place now or in Victorian England. He found a way of contemporising his Victorian look. We were able to use aspects of his costume all the way through.

We gave him a tartan bowtie, but all tartans are owned, so we had to design our own specifically, incorporating golden thread and heavenly aspects. He also wears a Victorian waistcoat that is almost bald. We dyed things a lot to get the pale blue on his shirt that would give him serenity and warmth. He wears soft suede shoes and soft light cashmere trousers. It’s about balancing colours with his very white hair to give him the right look. He needs an ethereal aura, and all of the colour palette needs to emphasise his heavenly glow. He’s deliciously cherubic.

BBC: How did you go about creating David’s look?

Claire Anderson: It really started with his 1940s look. The tailoring is very crisp and aligned. It’s hard and sharp. Under the colour of every suit, we put red felt which was like the belly of a snake. Underneath that loucheness, David is slightly rock-starry and Keith Richards-esque. His black leather gloves have a tiny red line to emphasise his snake-like characteristics. We also found a 1980s jacket that had a quilted quality. We worked on it until it had a textured feel to it, like snakeskin. It’s all about semiotics.