Apathy really do be a tragedy.

I'm writing an essay on the 9/11 controlled demolition theory and was wondering if anyone had any interesting facts or points for the theory?

And like Azi monologues abt his husband while cooking and sometimes a 'mysterious redhead' pops into frame to taste whatever has been cooked and Crowley sometimes gets like tea or baked goods either handed to him or placed on his desk by someone just out of frame by someone who he calls Angel but who he refuses to talk abt because he needs to keep his personal life personal.

Literally nobody on the internet puts two and two together that they are together. Despite the fact that the cups and plates given to crowley are the same ones that shows up on azi's streams.

Weirdly enough, the two attract similar types of people despite their vastly different content.

And like:

Crowley once dropped a mug after getting jumpscared and the same mug, cracked in the same places shows up on azi's stream the next day, superglued back together

Sometimes the mysterious redhead tries to steal like a spoonful of sugar and gets hit with a spatula and called a 'wily serpent'

Crowley acts all tough on stream until something vaguely scary/creepy happens then he starts screaming

At one point, in the background, someone notices that Crowley is watching Azi's stream on mute and people start making jokes that he needs comforting.

Once, Crowley, whilst on stream, messaged on azi's chat to ask for food. When Azi said yes, Crowley said 'brb' to his chat while Azi put a plate just off-screen for him. Crowley then came back with food. his chat went crasy.

Crowley constantly has Anathema on a discord call. She acts as a mod but just doesnt do anything other than occasionally unmute to make fun of him. Eventually, she gains a coworker(nina)

Muriel and maybe Jim are college students (Either all of them are pretending to be human or they actually are), Azi and Crowley's niece or something who have been staying with them because they live far away and it's easier. Both of them randomly appear on both's streams.

Once Crowley mentioned plants and the chat got really excited so sometimes he either streams talking abt plants or has a 'plant of the week'

Once Crowley did a cooking stream. In azi's kitchen. using azi's stuff. On azi's account. Halfway through, Azi appeared in frame and said 'what are you doing here' and Crowley just. kept cooking. He was using snake oven mitts that then began to be used in Azi's streams. Everyone remembers that because Crowley is so shit at cooking.

The peaceful.

I was wondering, would anyone want to play a similar campaign? I’m happy to DM, but if anyone else wants to, they can too. Basically, everyone has to play any character from any written media. I have a system to play over discord, all will be explained in said server if anyone’s interested. You don’t need to already know how to play, I can teach you.

So, I had the idea to reformat a game or show or something into a novel-sort format? Like maybe Stardew Valley or TSPUD or even Goat simulator, or a show like Gravity falls or even something like House MD or something in those veins.

I got an ao3 account. Sorry I’ve not been updating my fic but I have been busy reading all of the good omens novel twice and rewatching the show.

it was my mums bday and didn’t have time to write this yesterday so I present to you, Chapter 2!

context

Chapter 2

Aziraphale wanted to contact Crowley. 

He didn’t know why- god knows why he wants to be around him at all- but he had an inexplicable urge to speak to him.

Gabriel had just spoken to him, saying something about clothes not existing soon??? And that Crowley was to do with it??? So, he probably should call the demon to make sure that he wasn’t about to erase pants from existence or something.

He walked over to his telephone and quickly punched the number that he had memorised at this point into the keypad. 

It rung and rung for a while until Crowley picked up.

“Ngk. What,” a groggy voice said from the other end of the line.

“Hello, Crowley, Gabriel spoke with me today,” the angel began.

The demon interrupted, “was it about Armageddon?”

Aziraphale made a silent “oh” sound. That’s what Gabriel had meant. “Yes. Can we meet somewhere?”

There was a pause. “Er, I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“Oh?”

Crowley sighed. “If we must speak in person, Tadfield. 17 hog back lane. Er, in an hour..”

“Why there?”

“You’ll see.”

A click and the line went dead.

Crowley was always difficult. Aziraphale sighed. And confusing. 

He considered calling again, but knowing Crowley, he’d probably thrown his phone across the room. There was really nothing he could do.

About an hour of procrastination and an uber later, Aziraphale was standing outside a quaint little cottage in lower Tadfield. Why would Crowley want to meet him here rather than one of their usual meeting places? He didn’t know.

He tried the door handle- unlocked. Inside was dark, just a small lamp illuminating the house. A soft snoring was the only sound. Creepy, Aziraphale thought.

He stepped further into the room, looking around. The front door connected to a lounge room that was cluttered with boxes of plants. Crowley’s plants.

As his eyes adjusted, the Angel noticed a single lounge chair pushed up against a wall. And draped across it was Crowley, out cold with something in his arms.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called to him, stepping closer.

“Ngk,” said Crowley, jumping and looking around wildly. When he noticed the Angel, he said, “oh. It’s you.”

He sat up, carefully wrapping his arms around whatever it was that he was holding.

“Yes, you did tell me to come here.”

“Right. Er, what was it that I was telling you about?” Crowley wondered aloud to himself, then snapped his fingers. “The antichrist. On earth. Now.” A beat of silence. “Son of an American diplomat, I think.”

“What? Like, right now? Are you sure it’s the antichrist?”

He grunted. “I should know. I delivered the baby. Well, not delivered, delivered. Just handed him over.”

“An American diplomat, really? As if Armageddon was some cinematic film they wish to sell in as many countries as possible?”

“All of the countries and kingdoms in the universe,” Crowley echoed distantly, absentmindedly patting the bundle he was holding.

Aziraphale hesitated. “We will win, of course.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Of course I do,” the angel said irritably, “Heaven will likely triumph over hell and rule for all of eternity! It will all be rather lovely.”

“I have an interest,” Crowley said, “how many first-class composers do your lot have in heaven? ‘Cause Mozart’s one of ours. And Beethoven, all of the Bachs…” he trailed off.

“They’ve already written all of their music-“

The demon cut him off, “and you’ll never hear it again. It’ll all just be celestial harmonies.”

“Well-“

“And that’s just the start of what you’ll lose when you win. No more fascinating little restaurants where they know you, no gravlax and dill sauce, no more old bookshops!”

Ouch. Demons sure know how to hit you where it hurts. 

Aziraphale tried to reply with some clever retort that he hadn’t thought of yet, but a shrill cry cut him off before he could do so.

He heard Crowley mutter, “shit,” below his breath. 

“What’s that?” The angel asked, but the demon didn’t seem to be listening.

He had his head down, looking at and rocking the bundle in his arms, and making little shushing sounds.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale asked again, firmer this time, “what’s that?”

***

Crowley was forgetting something. He always was, but today more than usual. He had thought back to the earlier events of the day. He’d spoken to Hastur and Ligur, taken the antichrist, gave it to the nuns, and taken the surviving baby of another couple in the church, after they and the excess baby had perished in a fire. But something felt… off. Like that wasn’t quite true.

Oh, well, he was currently shushing said baby that he’d taken, and Aziraphale was questioning him. This was fun. 

He looked up slightly. “His name is Adam.” He looked back down during the pause that followed, “he’s my son.”

An exasperated voice half-shouted, “What?” 

“Shh! You’ll upset him more than he already is.” Crowley snapped his fingers, making a bottle appear from thin air, and gave it to the baby.

Slightly quieter, the same voice asked, “what do you mean, your son? Who- what- HOW?”

He snorted. “Adopted. Just after I dropped off the antichrist, the hospital burned down.” Then, quieter, “The antichrist and his family escaped. Adam’s parents didn’t. I couldn’t leave him there.” Even as he said it, it didn’t feel right. 

Crowley was avoiding Aziraphale’s eyes when he said, “Shut up, I know you’re going to make some dumb comment about me being nice, so shut up.” Adam had stopped crying by now and was happily drinking milk from the bottle.

The angel smiled. He loved seeing how soft Crowley was with children. It was infuriating. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” Obvious Lie. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around it.”

“Anyways,” the snake said, “I have a plan.”

“Hm? For what?”

“To stop the apocalypse of course!”

“You can’t stop the apocalypse, Crowley. It’s inevitable.”

“Yes, but I have. A plan.”

“No!”

“Yes. Please, Angel. I know you want to help.”

“I think this is the first time you’ve ever said please to me.”

“Yes. Did it work?”

“Absolutely not.”

Crowley sighed. “Alright. Picture this,” he said, standing up. A big mountain. A bird, once every thousand years, comes and sharpens its beak on the mountain-“

“Don’t get philosophical with me, Crowley. Plus, Is this bird immortal or something?”

“Er, let’s say it is. So, every thousand years, it sharpens its beak on the mountain. And it does that forever, until the mountain is all worn down-“

“How would a birds’ beak wear down a mountain?”

“Angel, let me finish. Once the mountain is all worn down, not even a moment of eternity will be done. And, I heard that the Almighty really likes the sound of music-“

“Ugh. Don’t mention it.”

“And you’ll be watching it over. And over. And over. For all eternity. How fun will that be? And you’ll never be able to eat ever again. No cakes nor sushi. Nothing. And no bookshop-”

“Alright. I get it,” Aziraphale said, “I’ll help you with your plan. I don’t want the world to end either. What is it?”

A smirk spread across Crowley’s face. “Good.”

I wrote chapter one! Two will be out soon.

Context

Chapter 1: 

“ShitshitshitSHIT. Why now? Why me?” 

Crowley sped down the old road, away from the cemetery. His hands were shaking.

He took a turn way too fast and the basket in his backseat slid across the car. 

“BECAUSE YOU’VE EARNED IT, CROWLEY.”

Shit. Crowley was very disappointed with how his day had been going.

He hesitated, “Thank you very much, lord,” he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“WE HAVE GREAT FAITH IN YOU, CROWLEY.”

“Thank you, lord.”

“THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT, CROWLEY.”

“I know.”

“THIS IS THE BIG ONE, CROWLEY.”

“I get it, I get it. Just leave it to me.

“THAT IS WHAT WE ARE DOING, CROWLEY. AMD IF IT GOES WRONG, EVERYONE INVOLVED WILL BE PUNISHED. MORE SPECIFICALLY, YOU WILL BE PUNISHED, CROWLEY.”

“Understood, lord.”

“HERE ARE YOUR INSTRUCTIONS, CROWLEY.”

A shiver went down his spine. And he knew. He hated how downstairs gave him information. They very well could have just told him, but apparently that was out of the question.

He hesitated, “Understood, lord.”

He gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles going white. His brain went through all possible ways out of this.

But he couldn’t. Can’t be a demon and have free will, can you?.

Unless…

A flicker of an idea formed.

He froze. No, he couldn’t do that…

But what if…

The idea flickered again in his head, brighter this time. Like a firefly. 

He shook it off, but it grew brighter again, a bonfire.

The turn into the hospital was coming up. He hesitated. He would be killed if he didn’t do this. But, he couldn’t end the world that he had been a part of for so long.

He drove past the old mansion. The idea wouldn’t go away now, and he didn’t want it to. It was like a full star, the ones he knew all too well.

He let out a bitter laugh. This was a terrible idea. He sped back to his apartment in about twenty minutes. The basket was still in his backseat slid across seat. No turning back now.

Crowley miracle-d a bunch of boxes into existence, and carelessly shoved his few possessions that he cared about inside. The plant mister, fax machine with the intelligence of a computer, Mona Lisa, a first edition “Monty python” dvd, his collection of astronomy books and a soft blanket that he’d made sometime in the fourteenth century to pass the time that had a flawless depiction of the night sky, including a few constellations that most people left out. It pissed him off when they did that because they always left out his favourites.

He then carefully packed up his precious houseplants one by one. The fussy bastards would die if he was too rough. 

For the second time in half an hour, he laughed. The angel would never let him hear the end of this one.

Crowley packed the boxes into Bentley. About a decade ago, he’d stopped adding the “the” whenever he referred to it. It had been with him so long and basically had a mind of its own at this point.

The baby in the basket began to cry. What was he doing? He didn’t know how to handle children! 

He gingerly took the baby out of the basket and held it in his arms. This was his first time actually seeing it. Him, he corrected himself. This baby was a boy.

The antichrist paused his crying and looked up at him wonderingly. He had big blue eyes and golden hair. 

Crowley smiled softly, a warm feeling growing in his chest. A heart attack, probably.

He gently placed the baby back in the basket. 

The Bentley, the demon and the Antichrist sped off into the night.

Crowley suspected and knew that an old cottage had just been put up for sale. What a coincidence!! Oh, and what a coincidence, it belongs to him now mmhm yes so odd that that would happen he didn’t expect that!!

He made it to the small village, Tadfield, rather quickly. It was easy to locate his new cottage. What wasn’t easy was realising that he had no furniture and the only thing left in the house was a single lounge chair with the label, “gift”. Hm. He’d need to get some tomorrow. He should have thought of this earlier.

After bringing his few possessions into his home, he sighed and resigned himself to sleeping on the lounge chair.

But… the baby was crying again. So high maintenance. He stepped over to the basket and carefully pulled out the baby, holding him against his chest.

The antichrist seemed to like that. It was odd, thinking of this tiny, pathetic little human as the antichrist, angel of the bottomless bit, spawn of Satan, Yada yada. 

“I should probably name you, huh,” he thought aloud. 

Crowley hummed for a second. “How about. Um.” He said the first name that came into his head. “Adam.”

Adam didn’t seem appalled by this.

“Alright, Adam,” Crowley said, padding over to the lounge chair once again and sitting down, “Welcome to your new home.”

***

God looked down on the serpent of her garden. This demon was more dense than she realised. How emotionally constipated.

She sighed. Or the equivalent, not having lungs and all.

She performed a quick miracle, erasing the fact that Adam was the antichrist from both Crowley and Hell’s memory. He was going to owe her for this one. 

Quietly, she alerted the Angel of the Eastern Gate that he should contact Crowley. Neither would realise that it was her, Aziraphale would just think, oh, I should talk to Crowley!

idk, I’m bored but hear me out.

Crowley, after being given the antichrist, panics and rather than giving him to the youngs, keeps him. Once he realises that there’s no turning back now, he packs up all of his plants and other material possessions and moves to Tadfield on impulse, not telling Aziraphale, and naming his newly acquired son Adam Crowley. He opens a Hell finds out, of course, and does some kind of miracle to make Crowley forget that Adam is the antichrist. Aziraphale, after a few days, calls Crowley because he seemed to have disappeared and discovers that Crowley had accidentally become a dad. So the two of them are still looking for the antichrist while Crowley raises a child and Azi steps into a sort of uncle role where he shows up randomly and almost every weekend to hang out with Adam and Crowley. Also:

Crowley starts a florist. He stops yelling at the plants because it scares Adam. Over the years, he collects a few snakes and a duck (long story) who hang out in the plants. Adam still makes friends with the Them, who all think his goth dad(mum?) is hot. Crowley and Azi start to suspect the antichrist is Adam’s mean friend Warlock. Whoever the antichrist is has to be a boy and is somewhere around Tadfield. Adam keeps trying to set Azi and Crowley up. eventually, the Them catch on and join in. they are the shippers and will help us get our happy ending with nightingales. Crowley ends up being the Them's collective father/mother figure. The ultimate emergency contact. Also, they host many sleepovers in their back room, a greenhouse with a telescope and a bunch of plants. The Them ask Crowley why sometimes he's Adam's dad and sometimes his mum; He ends up being the one to educate them on why some people are trans, non-binary etc. Hell doesn't do much more than erase the memory of Adam being the antichrist from Crowley's memory because they assumed that just being in his demonic presence will be enough to corrupt him. They were incorrect. Adam convinces Azi to start making cooking streams. The Them make skits and eventually a fantasy YouTube series in the hogback wood, completely filmed and edited by them. Anathema has a blog. Newt doesn't only because he would accidentally blow up his phone. In the backgrounds of all of these, there is Crowley, either being chaotic off camera or in the background, and he becomes somewhat of a minor internet deity, loved by many. Eventually, Nina and Maggie also gain a wily serpent in their internet presence. Crowley is thought of as just an odd single dad/mum by the townsfolk. he is ok with this. In Armaggeddon't, Adam doesn't just make Crowley and Azi his parents but also makes Satan's fiddling Shite. On his dad's advice.

If people are interested, I can make art/fics of this au but i don't have an ao3 account so it'll just be posted here. I just had this thought but it sorta grew on me.

I've heard that most people either have an inner monologue or pictures or both. For some reason, I Sometimes have an inner monologue of like fifty channels or smth, and sometimes have really vivid pictures and sometimes both, but most of the time, its just nothing. Like, the pictures arent there, the voices arent there, my brain is just. Empty. It's so weird.

Then, on top of that, I've generally got a decent memory, but then sometimes I'll realize that I don't know what pain feels like or what it feels like to be confused or not know something. I'll generally pinch myself and figure it out, but my brain just throws the sensations out.

So me and some friends have been making our own pokemon region and here are some of the pokemon I've made.