Running Over The Same Old Ground What Have We Found? The Same Old Fears Wish You Were Here

CW : gore

can we please just imagine aziraphale going absolutely feral after they told heaven and hell where to shove it, like-

he is feral, but in his victorian-ghost-in-your-childhood-bedroom feral. he’s not the type to take crowley to bed after 6000 years of pining. he will court him, and i’m talking full wooing manoeuvres like god intended. for years he’s been on the receiving end of all these acts of service, now he’s releasing centuries of pent up romance. 

he’ll get crowley flowers every damn time they go out. he’ll find the nicest restaurants with the best wines, and he’ll pay every single meal. he’ll shower the poor demon in gifts and affection, though he’ll avoid most physical contact driving crowley absolutely crazy. he’ll offer him his arm when walking, and his coat when it rains or when it’s a bit too cold. he’ll be straight out of How To Be The Perfect Gentleman 101.

meanwhile, crowley will discorporate once a week out of frustration or embarrassment. though he complains out loud about having to walk with aziraphale’s jacket, he’ll secretly love it, because that’s just how he is.

i need aziraphale going bonkers with courtship rituals y’all.

you know how it is

Source | Day 89

Aziraphale’s phone rings.  He answers, expecting it to be Crowley.  But to his surprise, it’s a demon he’s never met.

“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.

“Hi, angel.  Lunch on me?”

I admit defeat, won’t be thinking about anything at all tonight but you.

- Admit Defeat, Bastille

Alternate version below the cut

served my duty as an autistic artist and made a bunch of autism creature reaction images