WillowandMist



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    "All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?"

    Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval.

     "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening."

     AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it.

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    06 Mar 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 59

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    Whoops ouch S2e6 broke my brain so I wrote something that will of course not occur but might make things hurt less if I pretend well enough and squint real hard.

    In other words, the hour following the end scene.

    (Idk I guess this is a two-shot now).

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    27 Feb 2026

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    “I read the books about you,” Muriel said matter-of-factly.

    Crowley wasn’t following. “The books about me?”

    “The letter books to Aziraphale’s friend Diary? You must know them. They must be an angel, but I don’t think I’ve ever met them before.”

    Crowley coughed heavily. “You’ve read Aziraphale’s diary?”

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    24 Feb 2026

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    “But you admit it! You did tempt me!”

    “I offered you warm food during a storm,” Crowley argues. “If you call that temptation, I’d hate to see you talk to an innkeeper.” Aziraphale scowls some more. Crowley shrugs. “Besides, no harm done. You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

    He has Aziraphale there. “Still,” he says, spreading his hands wide. “It has to be said—” He glances up to the sky. “—for anyone listening, that I am not at fault for my appetite.”

    “Never said you were,” Crowley says. “Just said you liked the oysters.”

    or, an examination vis-à-vis food and forgiveness

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    23 Feb 2026

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    Post-season-two. Crowley's moping, Aziraphale wants to fix things, and turns out, there's enough blame to go around.

    -----
    “You’re being ridiculous.”

    Crowley very nearly falls over.

    Like, actually. He very nearly loses balance for no reason at all and tumbles to the sidewalk next to his car. He’s been playing Aziraphale’s voice in his head for weeks, he’s been trying very hard to drown out the sound of it, in fact, and now suddenly, abruptly—

    “What are you doing here,” is all he can think to say. He whirls around, and there he is. On Crowley’s right, standing there like he’d never left. Where he belongs, Crowley’s mind helpfully supplies. He wishes he could punch himself in the brain, knock the thoughts right on out of there.

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    19 Feb 2026