The other Principality smiled brightly at his kin, genuinely happy to see him. “A ridiculously long while, I’d like to say,” Raamiel agreed as he entered the shop. “When’s the last time we had a big meeting upstairs where both of us attended? Probably during the colonization, right? About four centuries ago?”

“I’m simply --  Well, I’m quite surprised.  I thought you were rather -- erm -- devout, be it to the wrong side, naturally, but still --  The idea that you’d want to prevent the Great Plan is -- surprising.”  It’s clear the angel has been caught off-guard.  “That said, I --  I do appreciate the support.”  Even if it was not in direct alignment with his own interests.  

“Pardon me, but are you certain that’s how it works?”  He was quite befuddled with her explanation, brows pinching in obvious confusion.  Were computers truly capable of so much?  He would hardly believe it, if she wasn’t taking the time to demonstrate.  “I’ve --  Honestly, I’ve only ever used it to keep track of my taxes, you know.  I hadn’t the faintest idea.”

“Well, now --  I do believe you’re being rather dramatic about this,” he attempts to rationalize.  “What is that popular little idiom?  Ah yes, a blessing in disguise, they call it.  Though the situation may appear rather unfortunate, it’s truly for the best, I assure you.”

“Raamiel?”  Pleasant surprise curves lips into a small smile.  The figure standing in his doorway is familiar, welcoming as a fellow Principality.  “It’s --  It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?  I do hope you’re well.”

“i don’t understand this whole ‘baby food’ thing.  i’m not a big fan of green food  —  or mushy food that isn’t like….  mashed potatoes, or chocolate pudding,  or something.  i ASSUME they don’t recommend feeding one-year olds nothing but chocolate pudding,  right?  that’s probably frowned upon, isn’t it?  now,  i don’t know who ‘they’ are  —  and i don’t know why they’re trying to tell me how to raise my kid, but i’m sure they’d be unhappy with that.  and i know it would be ridiculous to ask if mashed coffee’s a thing,  because  —  well,  coffee’s a liquid as it is,  and i’m sure that’s something else you shouldn’t give babies.  you know,  it must really stink being one.  sure,  you’ve got people attending to your every need,  but you don’t get to eat any of the fun food!”

“Yes, well -- ”  He attempts to intercept her IMPENDING monologue, but the words continue to tumble passed her lips without, it would appear, a single breath gasped between them.  With furrowed brows, Mr. Fell shifts his gaze, plucking up a book from the table ( one of the few he’d personally gifted Lorelai that should have an answer or two within it ) and leafs through the pages with quiet determination.  When he has found a PRECISE explanation, he doesn’t hesitate to point it out, fingertip tapping against a particular paragraph.  

Aziraphale got: The Lovers !!

You’re someone who’s very in touch with your emotions and beliefs. People can’t help but notice how authentic you are — they find comfort in the fact that what they see is what they get and trust you easily. You might be a bit of an oversharer at times, but you have an open heart and are always happy to share it with others.

                  It was always a flash of amusement that washed over him, when the oldest trick in the world worked on the angel; tap one shoulder and appear on the other side. Oh, that he was still falling for that one! It could only paint the smile on the demon’s lips a little wider and fill his metaphorical heart with a certain warmth, that, even though he would never admit it, always seemed to be there, when he ran into the angel by accident, coincidence or FATE? Whatever it was, it was one more reason to celebrate and with a little bit of demonic magic he was suddenly holding two glasses of champagne, of which he offered one to the angel; the cocky wink had to follow, or one could easily think he was too nice! No, not nice. He always wanted to look like he was planing his next big thing; the next BAD influence on something, because that seemed to be what the angel thought the was up to.

— And in contrast to what he wanted to look like, he also managed the perfect expression of SHOCK once the angel had addressed even this suggestion towards him. “Up to something? ME?!” Shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe these accusations, while eyes behind dark glasses shone mischieviously.

                  "I don’t know how you could think that, Angel. I’m just here to have FUN.“ The truth was, that this was actually WHY he was here, but keeping the angel up on his toes was in his job description and it was also part of the fun. Aziraphale sometimes could be rather easy to irritate.SOMETIMES. Maybe when he got out of the bed on the wrong foot, (metaphorically speaking as Crowley was sure the angel still hadn’t found sleep to be as relaxing and comfortable as himself).

                "And I guess you’re up to GOOD then, hm? — Doing a couple of blessings on a party?” The amused tone continued and told every listener, that he didn’t really think Aziraphale was here for a blessing BUT Crowley was curious what had brought the angel here. As he had mentioned before: Aziraphale wasn’t known for being a party-goer!

The glass is taken gingerly between pleasantly plump fingers without an ounce of hesitation.  There was no need to be SUSPICIOUS of the demon’s kindness, not when he had millennia of experience informing him that he could be trusted ( despite what he ought to believe ).  He takes a careful sip, champagne spilling delightfully over his tongue.  Yet, brows quirk as Crowley feigns INNOCENCE, acting as if the accusation was a mighty shock he hadn’t heard over one-thousand times before.  

“Ah yes,” he says, trying his best to HINDER the amusement in his tone.  “How foolish it was of me to believe a demon might be up to something.”  The subtle curve of his smile BETRAYS the attitude of his words, despite his efforts to conceal it with another swig from his glass.  He does, however, sincerely hope that Crowley is being honest with him ( even if demons aren’t exactly known for speaking the truth ).  If they were both present with the sole purpose of enjoying themselves, they would certainly have a wonderful evening, right?

“Well --  Well, of course I’m doing good!  Why else would I be here?”  Naturally, he doesn’t intend on lying.  He may, in fact, perform a few blessings, or even the sparse miracle.  But, this was, admittedly, for his own good more than any other’s.  He doesn’t know if Crowley would UNDERSTAND that necessity, and he wanted to avoid further questioning -- to explain what weighed on his soul would mean recounting the horrors of the war.  He’d much prefer to forget, however temporarily, the PAIN that he was running from, and so far, he’d been doing an excellent job of it.

Crowley rolled his eyes at the demon and drained the glass of wine in a single swallow before pouring himself some more and topping off the demon’s glass. “Yes, it very well is the least you could do.” He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows in some mockery of pretentiousness before snorting and laughing to himself.

“Where did you even get that cake, my dear? I hadn’t noticed it when you walked in.” Crowley would never admit it, but having a chance away from his ledgers was nice, the numbers were starting to crawl together on the page - they usually did after an hour or so, though not as badly as letters did at least. Though he insisted on doing the math himself, there always seemed to be fewer discrepancies than if he’d miracled it.

“Well you know me, I’m always happy to assist -- when it suits my interests,” he replies, obvious JEST in his tone.  He would do almost anything the other asked of him.  True, some tasks could require more convincing than others.  But, he CARED for the angel, and that fact alone was usually sufficient reason to listen.  Boisterous laughter graces his ears, causing the soft curve of a smile.  

Crowley gives Aziraphale an unimpressed look when the other offers what, in the angel’s eyes, is a very lame comeback. “Angel, as lovely as you can be at times, and while I just say that your scent too is quite appreciable, you are not a good bottle of a nicely aged vintage,” he deadpans, hooking his arm around the back of the bench once again. “Some things earn value the more they age. Wine. Certain kinds of cheese. Art. Wood, to an extent. Not clothing. That’s just lazy. You don’t even try to keep up with the times. But I guess is fine, isn’t it? Sloth is a sin, after all.”

If the laugh that escapes his lips after that, and after the demon’s comment about how he always spoils his Adversary, sounds a bit too smug to be angelic, he chooses not to take note of it. “That sort of is my job, isn’t it? Being nice and caring, even with a sly creature as you are. I’m a guardian after all, flaming sword or not. Watching over others and spreading happiness. And by now I know well that the way to make your heart swell brightly passes through your stomach.”

What a dangerous choice of words. At times, when he is alone, mostly with too much alcohol in his system, he wonders what kind of miracle has prevented him from Falling. Sure, he has never said that word that would have been too much, asked that question that would have switched the tides. But he is always so, so close. It isn’t fair and he knows it, even if he has selfishly never shared those thoughts with his old friend.

He almost scoffs. Upstairs they say it too, even if he fakes ignorance to the kind of things they whisper behind his back. They quietly comment on how well suited for damnation he has always been, even if apparently She disagrees. Just as Crowley, in the hidden corners of his mouth, can’t help thinking that, if he should be the demon, then Aziraphale should have never Fallen. God’s ways and Plan are ineffable, but he can’t really wrap his mind about why someone as his opponent has end up in Hell.

“And the picnic was my idea, so I want it to be good. I get my wine, you get your sweets. It’s just fair,” he adds quickly, perhaps too quickly, but he wants to leave those thoughts behind.  Thankfully, the comments he is addressed next offers him the perfect distraction.

“I hope we won’t blend in too well,” he shoots back, his eyes finding the demon’s face from behind his sunglasses. Ignoring the refuelled blush is harder this time, because the warmth is starting to get a bit too bothersome. “Aziraphale, I might be more flexible…absolutely no pun intended, don’t even try it…than the rest of my kind, but that…Uh.” He is digging his own grave, isn’t he? “I’ve never fancied making an effort before and I surely won’t just for…ah, keeping appearances up.”

His lips curl in a displeased frown that he is addressing more to himself than to his Adversary. He can’t be the only one embarrassed. Especially since he got himself in those troubles.

“I’ll…smooch you, if I must, but that’s all.” He tries to shrug, but he doesn’t completely succeeds.but he doesn’t completely succeeds. “Eve thinks we’re married or something, after all. Have I ever mentioned it? And if she, as smart as she is, has that idiotic idea, I bet half of the people who sees us together does too. So, I wouldn’t shock anyone.”

He is rambling by now, and he knows it, even if he would deny if asked. He isn’t even drunk, so he has no excuses. Still, he manages to curl his mouth in a heartfelt amused grin. “Can you picture it, though? Our wedding? I guess I must have carried you all the way through the ceremony. Holy ground and demons don’t get along well.”

His expression turns a bit sour when the other insists his fashion isn’t to be APPRECIATED, even with the level of effort he puts into its maintenance.  Yet, the subject quickly shifts, as does the mood.  Brows quirk as Crowley begins to laugh, and the DANGER in the words that follow press his lips into a thin line.  As much as they might attempt to rationalize his actions as frivolously angelic, they both knew the truth -- the only demonic heart he cared for was Aziraphale’s, and that fact could have dire consequences for the both of them...

For a moment, silence falls between the pair.  

Then, Crowley explains the setting of their little rendezvous, and Aziraphale teases him, perhaps a touch EMBOLDENED by the way his adversary was being so open about the... intimacy they shared ( even if they refused to confront the future fallout of their relationship ).   Of course, the other draws immediate and UNINTENDED conclusions based on his comment.  Words continuously tumble passed Crowley’s lips in response, surrounded by the rosy hue of a vibrant blush.  The sight tugs an amused ( if not also slightly saddened ) smile from the demon.  

A secluded picnic was rather ROMANTIC on its own merit, and he hadn’t meant to imply anything beyond an air of romance between them.  Yet, he quickly receives the offer of a kiss ; it would have been so achingly endearing if not for the apparent DISGUST in the curl of Crowley’s lip.  Aziraphale, for as much as the other appears to cherish him, believes this is only a natural reaction to the idea.  He would never be WORTHY of such affection, from the gentle brush of hands to the complete interlocking of bodies ; he’s a demon, after all -- a horrid, vile, unredeemable creature.  His soul weighed heavy with GUILT without dragging the angel down to his own level, without tempting him so far over the line that he can never return.

 “... Do calm yourself,” he assures.  “I’ve never been one to make much of an effort either.”  A good meal was enough to satisfy him.  Anything more than that would be too much.  “And I certainly wouldn’t ask that of you simply to blend,” he adds.  The shrug he receives momentarily makes him believe the discussion will end there, but it’s almost as if Crowley cannot keep quiet for the life of him today.  

Marriage was out of the question.  He could sign the papers.  He could recite his vows.  Yet, it would require him standing before the Almighty and proclaiming his devotion -- HIS LOVE -- to one of Her most treasured angels.  The sheer audacity of his actions would inspire more than a little DIVINE RETRIBUTION, he has no doubt.  So, isn’t it ironic how well the idea settles in his mind?  Indeed, he can picture it almost as if it were tangible, something he could grasp, a memory to hold close.  He turns away from Crowley. 

“Don’t be foolish,” he chides ever so softly.  “... We --  We wouldn’t wed in a church.”  What is he saying?  “If I were to proclaim my -- ah -- my unyielding fidelity to you before God, I would much rather do it in -- say, a garden -- like where we first met, if you’ll recall.  I -- ”  A bitter sigh that sounds almost like a laugh.  “I might at least be afforded the right to stand on my own two feet before I’m struck down for my insolence.”  He means for his response to exude confidence and rebellion, but it it so EARNEST that it would be hard not to take him seriously.  

it was kind of ridiculous how difficult it’d been to find the bookstore open. the bookstore. it always had such weird hours, and while any other person would have given up, it only made sam steadfastly more stubborn to get in. something about the place was just … weird. like one big mystery. so when he walked down the street and saw the sign actually said OPEN, well — he had to go in. not sure what he’d been expecting, it sure as hell hadn’t been something so ordinary looking with such an ordinary, stuffy — if irate looking — shop owner.  “ sorry — thought you guys were open? ”  he asked, not really feeling all that sorry at all.

@easternblade liked (♥) for a starter!

“If you’re looking for Intimate Books, I’m afraid they’re next door.”  With one shop beside the other, it was a common MISTAKE, especially when searching for the average retailer.  Unlike their competitor, A. Z. Fell and Co. specialized in the rare, the occult, and the prophetic, which were, as one might expect, not to the TASTES of the general public.  However, those particular books were tucked away from the front door, either in the back or upstairs, off-limits to every set of greasy fingers that might poke or prod at FRAGILE pages.  He cares far too much to allow such carelessness to ruin their condition, after all.  

@cloudtorn​ sent:  [ slow dance ]                                                                                                                                  ❤︎

"Ah --  Well, you see . . . ”  He trails off with a touch of reluctance.  Blue eyes shift to the side while brows wrinkle with worry.  Was it SHAMEFUL to claim total ignorance?  He’d learned how to dance the gavotte, at least, no longer completely burdened by two left feet.  Yet, that was a matter reserved to the privacy of a rather discreet gentleman’s club, and he’d never DARED divulge his experience to another before.  Angels don’t dance !!  It was one of the ( few ) characteristics that separated them from the other side.  

However, that wasn’t precisely the problem in this case.  He wasn’t being asked to expose his little SECRET, not explicitly.  She’d been quite reasonable, in fact.  Once the tune flowing from his gramophone graced her ears, she’d requested only a simple slow dance, lips parted by an eager grin and hand outstretched.  The Principality, who had been bound by OBLIGATION to decline, hesitated with his response.  He knew what he ought to say ( what any other devoted angel would ), but . . . how could he possibly reject her?

Elizabeth was waiting patiently, expectantly, hopefully.  Perhaps it was his own fault.  He’d so often indulged her desires, what would possibly make her BELIEVE this is where he’d draw the line?  It was less burdensome than parting with a beloved book, treating her to a fine meal, or tucking her in on a chilly day, quilt and cocoa included.  More importantly, he reasoned, engaging in a dance was far less taboo than FRATERNIZING with the enemy, and he’d been doing that since The Beginning.  Really, who would even notice?

@hellsrhapsody​ / @scottys-rp-blogs​ sent:  The caress of a hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck, followed by the brush of lips. “Have I ever told you how much I like your eyes, angel?”

The weather was becoming rather nippy, but that was hardly an EXCUSE to stay inside.  A walk through the park was a rather lovely way to spend the evening, especially in the aftermath of a scrumptious meal.  The night sky blanketed them overhead, twinkling with an INFINITY of dazzling stars.  Occasionally, the focused light of a Victorian street lamp would wash over their forms, acting as a SPOTLIGHT to their unobserved, unscripted performance.  It was during such an instance that Aziraphale finally noticed his companion shiver with a frigid breeze, and he immediately seeks to SOOTHE him.     

“Please hold a moment, my dear.”  

Once Crowley has paused, a lone brow raising curiously over his glasses, the angel steps CLOSER.  He leaves mere inches between them, but he does not meet the other’s gaze.  Since they’d departed from his shop, he’d been wearing a soft scarf patterned in his signature tartan, and plump fingers easily slip it from his own neck.  With TENDER care, he proceeds to replace the garment around Crowley instead, offering an extra layer of PROTECTION from the cold.  A few last tugs are required to fix and secure its position, but as soon as his task is accomplished, blue eyes finally lock with yellow, even behind tinted glass.

“I --  I do hope that helps,” he says.  “You looked a bit chilly.”

His hold lingers on the scarf as he SAVORS this small moment of quiet intimacy.  He doesn’t even notice when Crowley lifts a hand, but the second slender fingers begin to glide across the back of his neck, his breath catches in his throat.  Lips slowly brush against his own, tantalizingly, teasingly so.  It makes the angel CRAVE for more.  He follows Crowley as he gradually retracts from him, doing his best to maintain the kiss for as long as possible until ultimately separated by their difference in height.  He’d feel ASHAMED of his greed, if not for the way his counterpart smiles afterward.