1Applethief
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Summary
After the fight in St. James Park, Aziraphale has a long time to imagine Crowley coming back to him.
Once, Aziraphale imagined, he would be out flying - oh, he did it once a decade or so, he knew Crowley wouldn’t believe it, but sometimes it got too much, sometimes Aziraphale had to, had to feel free - and so he’d go up onto the roof of the shop and take off and fly, oh, for hours, and he’d imagined, of course he’d imagined, that he would see another speck, dark and large, would fly towards it, even as it was flying towards him, that they would meet, Crowley’s hair windswept - and alright, it’s a fantasy, so sometimes Crowley had long hair, and sometimes had dark robes, and once, just once, his hair was curling and flopping and his eyes were so, so dark, and his robes were white, and that constant frown was gone from his face, that tension from his jaw, and Aziraphale would capture his hands, and say, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” They would fly together. Sometimes, Crowley would say, “Let’s go all the way up, as far as we can,” and they would. Even up in the clouds he was haunted by Crowley. Is this how it’s going to be, from now on? He’d thought.
Series
- Part 4 of the waste land
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Summary
Everything’s gone to shit. Aziraphale’s fucked off back to Heaven, and Crowley’s stuck down on Earth with a new angel who asks the most annoying questions, like they’re some kind of divine punishment. Then there’s all the weird dream he’s been having, the same one, over and over. Oh, yeah, and the bookshop’s haunted.
Or,
The shop’s always been able to do what it wants, within reason. There’d been that time in 1973 when it had manifested an extra room to hold Aziraphale’s unexpected stock of National Geographic magazines. Or the time Aziraphale brought in a new copy of Alice in Wonderland and they’d each had to answer a riddle to go down into the wine cellar. But Crowley’s never come across a single locked door in this bookshop in two hundred twenty-four years. It’s just - it’s not done. Something’s up with the shop. There’d been the thing with the jazz music from Crowley’s dream. Crowley’d figured it was just another one of the bookshop’s quirks, although the bookshop’s musical taste tends largely towards classical, naturally enough, with, of course, the exception that any Shostakovich left in the shop too long turns into a copy of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours.
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Summary
Crowley’s spent an awful lot of time dreaming. He’s really very good at it. He’s been doing it for nearly six thousand years, after all. And if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that the surest way to tell if you’re in a dream is that your miracles don't work.
So when his miracles are blocked on the West End Stage, what’s a demon to do but assume he’s been knocked on the head in a church bombing, and this is all just one great big dream? It would certainly explain why Aziraphale had apparently propositioned him in the blessed Bentley just for saving his books.
So if it’s a dream, why shouldn’t he take Aziraphale up on his offer? -
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Summary
Forty years after the holy water incident, Aziraphale and Crowley still haven’t spoken. That is, until they come to on the floor of an unfamiliar cottage and are presented with a very specific conundrum by their superiors.
“Excuse me, what?” Aziraphale says.
Beelzebub stares at him like he’s stupid. “You two got a month.” They look between him and Crowley. “Yeah? One of you’s got to kill the other one, or both of you die.”
“Oh, and you can’t leave,” Gabriel says. “Equalizes the playing field. We’re really looking forward to this, you know.”
“We?”
“All of Heaven.”
“And all of Hell. So don’t muck it up, Crowley,” Beelzebub sneers.Bookmarked by 1Applethief
09 Nov 2025
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Summary
They make a black hole: a star made so heavy and so gloriously much, so much star, that it’s ready to collapse under its own weight. Crowley nods at them to do the honors. Beelzebub closes their eyes, and reaches out, gathering gasses and metals and weight and light and sound, and packs it all into the star, more, they think to it, more, more, more, you want more, and then the star wakes up, as it were, and realizes it’s hungry, and with a roar it takes a deep breath in and holds it. The universe begins to slip and tug into it, faster and faster, and Crowley barely yanks Beelzebub back in time, a hand fisted in the back of their robes.
“Thanks,” Beelzebub says.
“Don’t mention it,” Crowley says, and then he says, “Fuck, Beez, look at what we did.”
“Should we have, do you think?”
“Well, it’s too late now,” Crowley says.Series
- Part 1 of Beelzebub