Nanny Ashtoreth has certain concrete rules when it comes to good garden care.

“I’m Crowley’s replacement,” the demon says.  “He’s not done anything impressive lately, and Downstairs doesn’t like how ineffective he is at keeping you in line.  So now he’s shuffling paperwork and scooping up hellhound shit while I do his job for him.”

“Ah… I see,”  Aziraphale says icily.  “Well, I most assuredly do not look forward to working with you.”

The demon laughs.  “Feeling’s mutual.”

Twenty-four hours later, the demon is very surprised to find himself discorporated in his sleep.  He can’t explain what happened, he has absolutely no idea.

“Don’t let it happen again,” Beelzebub says, annoyed, and sends the demon back up.

After a mere three days, the demon ends up discorporated again.

A new replacement is sent up.  This one lasts for a week and a day.

A third replacement is sent up.  This one lasts for exactly four hours.

Three demons are sent up next time.  Two manage to stay alive for at least five months.  In that time, they botch four very important temptations, and the citizens of London inexplicably find their daily lives much improved in thousands of little ways.  Traffic and pollution are nonexistent, injury and illness are miraculously avoided.  Church attendance is up five hundred percent, and every politician and CEO is struck by the urge to donate as much money as possible to charity.  There’s a general feeling of contentedness and goodwill in the air that wasn’t there before.  It feels downright heavenly.

Suddenly, Beelzebub is having a very hard time finding anyone to take Crowley’s post.  Bribes and threats make no difference.  The rumors have spread and only grown more disturbing in the telling.  Not one demon is willing to go up there and face the cold, calculated, merciless wrath of the angel known as Aziraphale.

Crowley absolutely loses it when someone gets around to telling him.  “Y’know, I could’ve warned you,” he says gleefully.  “Been working with him for thousands of years.  I know exactly how much of a bastard he can be.”

After running the numbers and seeing how many souls they’ve lost to Heaven in the past year, Beelzebub gives up and concludes that trying to replace Crowley is a massive waste of resources Hell can’t afford.

After one year, Aziraphale receives another phone call.  He answers, with bated breath, and nearly shouts for joy when he hears a familiar voice.

here are just a few selections from my "hozier tweets" tag:

“Who is this for? Full Cart is perfect for hard working individuals and families looking for a way to extend their grocery budget.

Why is there no charge for the groceries? Full Cart partners with generous companies and organizations you know and love to cover the cost of your meals. All you pay is shipping.“

The angel in his arms is sweaty and cold. Why is he cold? Shouldn’t he be healing? Is he not healing?

Crowley draws a shuddering breath and grits his teeth. Don’t be stupid. He can feel every twitch and tremble of the wounded wing with how tight he is gripping Aziraphale. He can feel severed tendons growing back and blood vessels recovering, slowly webbing across the delicate inner map of a corporeal angel wing. He grimaces at the wet crackling sound of hollow bone mending its shattered fragments back together. It’s slow and the bloodstains won’t come off without a molt or a miracle but he is healing.

It doesn’t do much to reassure him, Crowley notes grimly, not when Aziraphale is so cold. It’s wrong. Angels, or just this one, fuck if he knows, shouldn’t be cold. Aziraphale has always been warm, almost like the sun, in a way that makes Crowley amenable to the idea of completely forsaking his favourite shape in favour of spending the rest of eternity coiled around the angel.

His breath hitches and he curses, fuck, Aziraphale will be fine, stop crying. To distract himself with something, if just for one moment, Crowley moves on the straws to lean against a wall and attempts to make himself more comfortable. He pulls Aziraphale closer, lifts a shaky hand to the side of his head and gently cradles him against his chest, thumb softly caressing the silvery blond curls. They are cold and damp at the roots and Crowley hates it.

The demon doesn’t pay much attention to the time until the first light of dawn trickles from the cracks in the hovel’s walls. It promises warmth that’s not yet there but will be, in due time. A lone ray of sunlight kisses the angel’s cheek and as if by some sort of magic he wakes up.

Crowley feels him stir and has to bite back a sigh of relief - it wouldn’t do to let the angel know how worried he was - resulting in a much more acceptable huff. However, he doesn’t look at Aziraphale even when the angel shifts in his arms to look up. There is a soft inhale, as if he saw something that touched him to the core. Crowley clenches his jaw. Too soft. 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale starts but the demon cuts him off.

“Shut up”, he says, voice rough and tight. “Shut up, it’s fine, couldn’t very well leave you out there, now could I. Shut up.” 

(I'll update this everytime I post a new one)

• Shrike but you're sitting by your open window during a thunderstorm

• In The Woods Somewhere but you're actually somewhere in the woods during a summer night, sitting by a campfire

• No Plan but you're sitting on an empty beach looking out on the sea

• Almost (Sweet Music) but you're sitting on a porch during a thunderstorm

• Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene but you're driving through a snow blizzard at night

• Wasteland, Baby! but you're driving at night through rain

• As It Was but you're sitting on your windowsill, watching the thunderstorm that's going on outside

• Sedated but you're underwater

• Wasteland, Baby! but you’re right at the edge of a dark forest, sitting by a bonfire

• Run but you’re sitting by a lake. The sun just went down and you lit a bonfire to keep yourself warm

• From Eden but you're sitting in a field by a small river. It's a nice sunny day & the birds are chirping

• Arsonist's Lullabye but you're all cozied up in front of an open fireplace

• NFWMB (Acoustic) but you’re in the middle of a forest at night, sitting in the entrance of your tent in front of a bonfire

• In A Week by Hozier but it’s coming from an unknown source in the distance; you’re laying in the middle of a field, insects are buzzing around you

• It Will Come Back but you’re sitting at the edge of a cliff looking out onto the ocean and the thunderstorm that’s raging in the distance

• Foreigner’s God but you’re walking through howling wind

• Work Song but you’re on an empty beach, looking out onto the ocean while the daylight fades

• Dinner & Diatribes but it’s playing at a fancy cocktail/dinner party

• Would That I but you’re sitting outside on a windy day enjoying the way the trees move and the leaves rustle all around you

• Movement but you’re lying on your couch next to an open window, enjoying the thunderstorm that’s going on outside

• Like Real People Do but you’re in the forest, actually digging up something (or someone?)

• Work Song but sung by a woman/female!Hozier

• Run but sung by a woman/female!Hozier

• Take me to Church but sung by a woman/female!Hozier

• NFWMB but it’s playing from an old truck radio. You’re at the edge of a forest at night, cuddled up to your lover in the makeshift bed in the back of the truck, listening to the sounds of their breathing and heartbeat

• Better Love but you’re in the treetops of the jungle, listening to the sounds of the animals in the forest below

• Talk but you’re on a walk in a forest

• Cherry Wine but you’re in your hammock on your veranda with a glass of wine, listening to the rain and the insects in your garden