caulkhead

Or, anybody else stuck at work/bored at home and want to join in?

Answers in replies by section please, to the appropriate boxes, please or I'll never get it all sorted out!

cut to spare your reading list


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Good Omens crossover, because I couldn't get the plot bunny out of my head. I can't get it go quite the way I want, but what the hell...



In which Crowley's assertion that he's had the Bentley for eighty years without so much of a scratch is something of an overexaggeration*.

"Oh, I say, are you all right? Can you sit up, do you think? Your passenger's fine, not a scratch on him. Gosh, I'm terribly sorry about your car. Only consolation is my old bus looks in an even worse way, if that makes any difference."

Crowley looked muzzily up at the young man trying to help him out of what remained of the Bentley. Even though he'd been driving only ten years or so - barely an eyeblink, by his standards** - it look a quite considerable amount of skill to come anywhere near him. Or an even more astounding lack of it.

"I'll go and see if I can raise someone to get us out of the ditch," he continued, once Crowley had extricated himself from the wreckage. "I'm, er, afraid the insurance isn't quite up to scratch. Better take my card, I'm sure we can sort something out."

The card started to blacken and curl round the edges. Before the lick of flame could quite catch, Aziraphale had taken it from the young man's fingers and shaken it out. He looked at the card, then at the young man, then back at the card again. His eyebrows rose.

"Just so. Quite. Indeed. Here, take mine. You know, I think my friend here could probably do with a drink after all that. I'm sure we can rely on you to let us know when assistance arrives. "

Somewhat to Crowley's surprise, he found himself grabbed firmly by the shoulder and hustled across the road and into the village pub before he could ignite anything at all. It wasn't that he was going to object to whisky, under the circumstances***, but all the same, one had standards.

"What the HELL, angel? That was my..."

"Shutup shutup shutup. You're going to draw attention."

"Drawing attention was the whole bloody point. It was MY...

"Look, I've met the man who's going to deal with this. And he's going to make that young idiot out there far more sorry than you ever could."

"Oh? Because I had plans. Effable plans. And they were getting more effable by the second."

"Trust me. First man to beat me in a rare book auction since 1867. Hell wouldn't stand a chance. Incidentally, he sent me a bottle of really good claret by way of compensation," the angel added wistfully. "With any luck, he might be good for a case."



*Especially as he says this after the regrettable Bicycle Incident and the even more regrettable addition of a bicycle rack with tartan straps.

**Snakes don't blink much.

***Or any others, really.

From nineveh_uk, via Lillburlero.

When you see this, share 3 random lines from 3 WIPs.

Like both nineveh and Lillburlero, choices are 'Not random, of course, but carefully chosen to intrigue and titillate.' (and to encourage me to work out exactly where the plot is going and get on and finish it, this being something of a weakness of mine).


"I may not think that going on an intimate date with a serial killer in one of the worst lit bars in London is the best idea in the world, but I know I've got no chance of trying to talk you out of it."


"No. It's definitely a lobster," said Arthur firmly. "Herrings are floppier."


Listen, there they go again... 'Fizz, buzz, have a banaa-na! Fizz, buzz, have a banaa-na!...' What does it all mean?" "Perhaps they are mad."


And a bonus one, just because:

STAGE DOOR. 8.30. WEAR BLACK. SH

But it might amuse some of you. New CP fic here

http://archiveofourown.org/works/1114369