absolute nightmare.
slow activity multimuse. all of the information are on the task.
trying on a metaphor
i don't do bad sauce passes
we're not kids anymore.
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
Claire Keane
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Xuebing Du

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@v0litioncheck
absolute nightmare.
slow activity multimuse. all of the information are on the task.

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It was the first day of Spring. Crowley hadn’t even had to see a calendar, she’d felt it down to her core. If she were truly committed to her shop, Crowley would have woken up early to arrange fresh bouquets of spring wildflowers. She was far more interested in the greenhouse, teeming with life. Flowers bloomed with every footstep, if not where she intended to go, but in the trees lining the boulevard and fields of suburbia miles from London proper.
By the time she heard his voice, the hothouse was fragrant with fresh greenery and her fingers sticky with pollen and sap. She didn’t remember dressing but became suddenly quite aware of her body and how delicate gossamer silk draped against coppery skin. Crowley’s lips parted when Aziraphale appeared, and she moved toward him. She felt powerful, like she could change the world with a sigh, but the flowering seasons tended to imbue her with such delusions of grandeur.
“Aziraphale,” she greeted him warmly as she put a datura in a buttonhole on his lapel. It was so deeply, virulently purple that it looked very nearly black. “Wine, darling?” She chuckled softly. “During work hours? Well, I suppose I can use the day as an excuse to refresh the shop, maybe decide how much trouble I want to get in for introducing a new hybrid species to the humans.” Crowley chuckled faintly. “As long as it’s not too special, how can She possibly complain?”
"Is it spring? Oh my, angel, I didn't realise I was gone for so long."
One look at her and he knew—the barren lands of his soul was not immune to her spring. Things took root and grow. Aziraphale smiled, the sound of his name on her lips buoyed him like dandelion seeds blown by a gentle breeze. His thumb grazed the flower she put on his jacket as he followed her around as though in a trance. A poisonous, beautiful plant—love despite failings.
"It is traditional to offer libation to my goddess of spring," he said, taking in the extraordinary beauty of her curves barely hidden by the silk she wore. In these moods she would be inventing, creating life and splicing genes. Her hands would take the sharp scents of leaves and her smile alone would nourish a withered sap. Aziraphale would watch and hold her, occasionally spending the entire season by her side like the devoted hound he was. The pull was stronger than ever.
"Mm. She cannot complain. She didn't stop humans from inventing machine guns, did she? Your plants are miracles, my dear."
@v0litioncheck, for Aziraphale (because nothing wakes up the muse better than disappointment
Crowley had been a fixture at the Ritz for months, even more so than before Aziraphale ascended to his new station in Heaven. In fact he was renting a room because money was easy to get, even when he was using minimal miracles in order to keep his paper trail scant in Hell. All he wanted was to be left alone to brood, because what else was there to do now? He’d turned his back on Hell and while he didn’t regret it one bit, it was a lot more lonely without Aziraphale’s companionship.
And for what? The romantic ideal of setting things right? Whatever that meant.
He knew it was petty, haunting this place, bitter and tired where once it had held happier memories, but a demon had to find his kicks somewhere. There were worse places to call purgatory. It was a week night and the dining room was relatively quiet; he was considering retiring for the evening with a bottle of whiskey and head full of ghosts. Brooding was best done with witnesses, otherwise it was just sulking.
And then it happened. A host lead an achingly familiar figure to sit at a table across the room. Aziraphale. Lord knows how he found the time off after all this time, probably quite literally. He was struck dumb for a moment, unused to seeing the angel anywhere outside his dreams these days. How anyone could possibly mistake him for human was quite beyond Crowley, but the real question was if he should acknowledge the angel at all. Who would blame him if he didn't? For a long moment he considered leaving out the back and doing something reckless.
But at the end of every day, it was Aziraphale and he’d loved him since before humans started recording time. So he got up and went him after the host left to get a server.
The bottle of whiskey landed heavily on top of the table, followed by Crowley slouching into the chair across from the angel.
“Knew you wouldn't be able to stay away forever.”
As of late, Aziraphale's smiles were reserved only for the waitstaff. He hadn't much use for them up in Heaven where the mandatory expression seemed to be disdain. A smile meant nothing for angels who had never been on Earth, never interacted with humans. Angels who never even had a mouth that didn't spout holy fire.
And so, as soon as the host left he dropped his smile and sat so still he might as well be another one of the pillars at the restaurant. Wouldn't that be nice? He only wanted to do good, to be a pillar of support and strength. He stared blankly at the silver-white shine of the cutlery until the emotion wrapped around his corporeal throat begin to strangle him, and he let it because yes, this was where Supreme Archangels sneak off to in order to have a little cry.
A dull thud on his table made him jump. The waitstaff knew to leave him alone and he was about to make a pointed remark when all of a sudden he was eye to eye with Crowley. Crowley, who said something that for the life of him he couldn't hear. Who sat himself across from him like it was any other day in what was supposed to be the rest of their lives.
"What?" Oh no, that was all breath, no words. His voice seemed to have left him. Aziraphale blinked the beginning of tears away and tucked his feelings away.
"Crowley," he greeted, his eyes an inscrutable colour. There, that's better. Steadier.
@existentialflirt i just need to do something.
"Crowley? Ah, there you are." His eyes had gone all soft in the radiance of his smile. That was before he remembered himself and the circumstances of their last parting. Aziraphale shifted on his feet, the plush carpets of the Ritz giving him a sinking feeling that went all the way up his corporeal throat. Dear someone but he'd almost forgotten how heavy a corporation was. He was an angelic picture of nerves before he gestured at the empty seat next to the demon.
"Er. May I?"

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in the advent of season 3 may I say... 🎶it's going to be sooo baaad🎶
i watched it. ladies gents others, i watched it. opinions? hit me up.
@existentialflirt surprise starter.
The bell chimed as Aziraphale walked into the shop. He looked around and saw nothing but the cluttered worktop where his angel would have arranged her orders of bouquets.
"Hmm." He tucked the bottle of wine into the crook of his arm. "Crowley?" Was she out? Watering her plants? The latter was more likely since the door was not locked so he let his feet lead him towards the back of the shop where the air grew humid and warm as it opened into a greenhouse. It was no Kew Gardens, but he knew some of the botanists there would have chewed their own leg to acquire some of the species Crowley had in her collection.
"Angel?" He called again. "Are you in here?"
Exasperated as she was, long fiery curls currently a nest of wild knots hurriedly piled on top of her head, cardigan pulled on in such a hurry it was worn inside out, never let it be said that Evalina lost her manners, pushing up a smile and a quick little nod as her feet scurried her across the store past the tall shelves, "Yes, yes, that's just fine, I'm sorry for coming so close to closing,"
A pause as she stumbled over her own feet, hitting reverse as she seemed to realise she had no idea quite which shelf she ought to be searching, reappearing around the bookshelf that she'd only moments before vanished behind, "I ah.. I don't suppose you've got anything on the topic of 'over active plant growth', have you? Had a little mishap with some rose bushes..." An anxious lilt to her smile this time, somewhere between hopeful and awkward. Clearly there was a little more of an urgent issue than too much fertiliser.
The closing time was not quite a lie—it is thirty minutes to his afternoon tea which was a little habit he liked to indulge in private or in selected company. The woman breezed past him and halted abruptly with a question.
"The gardening books are over here." Aziraphale directed her towards the shelf nearest to the window, quite the opposite from where she was headed. "Although I would suggest... shears? There is a hardware store not too far from here which might prove more useful to you," he said with a smile.
wee starter for @linalunalake
Could have miracled it all away, the angel mused, swiping a feather duster against the uppermost shelf. "But that would be cheating," he told himself. Dust motes swirled around him as he stepped down from the ladder with great care. Aziraphale was hardly ever in a rush to do anything.
As he looked around his collection with something very close to pride and satisfaction of a job well done, the shop bell rang. He spun in place, a greeting ready on his lips and dying just as quickly when he realised it was not the one he wanted to see but a customer instead. Looking a little harried at that, too.
"Ah! Er, welcome," he gestured at the woman, smiling affably. "We will be closing in thirty minutes, ma'am."
in the advent of season 3 may I say... 🎶it's going to be sooo baaad🎶

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the reverse kiss: fallen angel, rising star
for my @ineffabildaddy 🩷
we firmly believe that in a reverse au, these idiots would not have taken 6000 years to kiss
they would be the most sickeningly in love obnoxious pda pair of bitchy supernatural entities you ever did see
@laughingmagi surprise starter.
"Ah, John! Come in, come in!" The angel's smile was radiant. It seemed like he had a very good reason to be as he ushered the man inside the bookshop in the exact way he never did for his customers. Those get the musty smell, unwelcome aura, and ludicrous prices.
"I trust your journey had been pleasant. Tea? Gin and tonic?"
Crowley laughed because he couldn't help it. What a ridiculous creature his angel was.
"So? Rich people exist, and let me tell you, no number's too big for that lot. They'll make your life a living hell if they want something you've got."
Not that he really needed to be concerned. Aziraphale, fair and mild-tempered though he was, at the end of the day, he was still a Principality: A guardian and shepherd of mankind. No human could do much more than offend the angel's exacting sensibilities. Crowley was soft for him, though, and didn't like to see him troubled.
"Well...can't you...I dunno, put 'em in a chest and bury it like pirate's treasure?" Clearly, the wine was going to his head just as well.
The angel shook his head vigorously. Then he groaned with regret because the room and Crowley spun like water down the drain. He put his cup down and listed to his side, scrunching his face.
"'m not cut out to be a pirate, dear boy. I'm seasick 'n 'm not even at sea." He wanted... he wanted water and the pounding between his physical eyes to go away. Aziraphale shuddered.
"Oh, that was awful," he said soberly.
Crowley looked at him like he'd sprouted an extra head. it wasn't as though it was an unfathomable prospect. Aziraphale had been obsessed with reading since its invention. If he didn't know better he'd have assumed the angel had inspired the written word.
With a deep sigh, Crowley knocked back the last of his drink, feeling it burn so hotly across his tongue that he thought he might breathe fire on his next word. "Angel," he drawled, looking skeptically over the rim of his dark glasses. "You do realize that means you'd have to actually sell them, right? I don't think your bosses would like you messing with the minds of prospective customers."
Aziraphale pouted but he looked even more determined. It was just like Crowley to play the Devil's advocate. "What are you talking about? No one would want to buy my books. They're very expensive."
The dissemination of knowledge and information in written form as a trade was still in its infancy but people all over the world were keen to follow the trend. It was more convenient than attending talks, symposium, or even theatre, and you can lend it to others or carry it around as an accessory with which to signal others of your excellent pedigree. To be well read was to be wreathed in invisible gold.
"I only need a safe space to put my collection." Paper, quite the opposite of stone tablets of old, are rather flammable. What happened in Alexandria was still fresh in everyone's mind.
@existentialflirt random, nebulous timeline starter
"Cr—hic—Crowley, my dear," the angel spoke, followed by a syrupy blink. They were several bottles into the night and he was beginning to feel it. He motioned for Crowley to come closer.
"I've been thinking. I would—I would like to open up a bookshop."

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ㅤㅤThis damp and grey little island with its unseasonable weather often made it easier for the vampire to venture outdoors earlier than expected, and this early evening was no different, a glance at a shrouded sky providing just enough cover to visit the various boutiques that weren’t often open late ( pourquoi ne pourrait-il pas y avoir une vie nocturne animée? ). The aim was to pay his dearest little mortal David a visit and, given the tantalising nature of their back-and-forth, the blond didn’t want to go empty handed, a recommendation of this bookshop coming from a redheaded snake of a man who sauntered out of a passing conversation ( il était en réalité plutôt séduisant malgré une aura diabolique… ). The shop was all it had been promised to be and more, the tome in question that caught Lestat’s attention revolving around the history of demons and angels, a niche interest that bored him to tears yet knowing it would certainly be appreciated.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ Nonsense, everything has a price. This is a shop, is it not? ” Heavy footsteps continue with his perusal, small round violet sunglasses plucked from his visage and slipped into a coat’s breast pocket, fingertips idly gliding across one of the shelves as if mere touch would garner further information about each volume present. The blond’s gaze narrows with a thread of impatience, the terrible accent always to be expected despite his own neutrality bordering on the favourable when it came to the British, this nation that gave the world the boon of Shakespeare and impeccable tailoring. Listless gait finally draws to a halt. “ It is to be a gift. Surely one of your discerning tastes can facilitate its purchase, rather than disappoint its recipient. ” Such placations had the ability to sway mortals, but behind this bright haired figure, well, there was an alternative vigour about him, iridescent eyes scanning the other’s countenance for any hints of his true nature.
ㅤㅤ“ But, if you do not wish to part with it… then that alludes to it being a special edition. ” Hands clasp before Lestat with a cant of the head, the latter gesture creating a slight tilt of his frame, a grin blooming. “ If so, my interest only augments. ”
"Ah," the angel commented with visible regret. A lot of people would be deterred by signs of distress in the other person. Normally, those would apologise for taking up his time and promptly left the shop.
The Frenchman had been browsing politely, curious eyes taking in the shelves as he seemed to amuse himself with what he saw, up until he found the volume Crowley had left as a joke, oh, several hundred years ago. That seemed to amuse him greatly and he promptly asked for a price. Aziraphale had twitched a polite smile in return for the man's enthusiastic and suspiciously leonine grin.
"That book is only special to me, good sir. You seem to understand the value of gifts well." Aziraphale glanced towards the book in question. "It was also given to me by a dear friend of mine and I simply couldn't bear to part with it."
no idea about the context for this scene cuz I haven't watched s2 yet but I imagine this is exactly what happened :)
based on this Columbo gem: