What about “no matter how much he loves food, Aziraphale simply cannot cook, no matter how often he tries”?
The thing about God that Aziraphale had known for his entire existence, after the fact that She loved all of her creations, was that She was petty.
Oh, certainly this had manifested in myriad ways since the beginning of time, but it was not new then, either. Aziraphale had seen the transgressions of Noah’s folk and he had known, before She ever uttered a word of instruction, that it was going to push a button. The flood hadn’t been a surprise. Neither had the rainbow after. In fact, none of the things that set her off in the epochs of Aziraphale’s existence came as much of a surprise beyond the first few.
The apocalypse, such as it was, now that was different. That wasn’t petty. That was vindictive. That was cruel. Petty would have been taking all the angels and demons off the planet just for the satisfaction of watching the humans flounder and fail without them. It had felt wrong, the interference of the antichrist, and the angels and demons pushing for a war between themselves. It wasn’t like Her.
What was like her, absolutely and entirely, was Aziraphale’s inability to cook.
It was not that he couldn’t combine ingredients in the right amounts, in appropriate dishes, but the actual cooking part, with the flames and/or heat... well. She had come to him and asked him what he’d done with the sword, and he’d liked to Her face, and She had decided that was fine. But if he was going to give away one flame, he couldn’t just have another.
This was, as must be imagined, inconvenient, as Aziraphale loved food a good deal, and was completely unable to make any dish that involved heat of any kind. Even his cocoa and his mulled wines only came to temperature if he directly miracled them that way, no cooking or heating involved; a fact which had gotten him into a lot of trouble with Gabriel before the apocalypse hadn’t happened.
It was not, Aziraphale had argued, a frivolous miracle to heat his tea. Gabriel had been unimpressed with this argument, which Aziraphale holds is only because he simply refused to try any tea, hot or cold.
So Aziraphale frequented human shops for food, and ate cold dishes when he was staying in for the night, and went out to dine with Crowley when he wanted something warm. It was a perfectly fine unspoken Arrangement, and one which he had thought Crowley understood, until the very first night Crowley had suggested they stay in and cook.
“Ourselves?” Aziraphale asked tentatively. Both of us? was what he really wanted to ask, and Crowley must have heard it because he gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Or I could cook for you, if you don’t want to cook,” Crowley said, not quite looking at him. “Or if you don’t know how.”
“I know how,” Aziraphale said before he could stop his indignation from spilling the beans. He flushed a little, but straightened his jacket and stuck up his chin a little. “I just... can’t.”
Crowley’s smile sneaked into a grin. “Rubbish at it, are you? Is that why we’re always going out?”
“I’m not rubbish at it.” Aziraphale decided that he was already in for a penny, he may as well make it a pound. “I just... can’t use fire. You know... the whole gave it away thing.”
Crowley’s nose crinkled in distaste. “I thought you said she never mentioned it again?”
“Well, she hasn’t,” Aziraphale hedged. “She hasn’t had to, has she?”
“Suppose not,” Crowley said, a little low, a little sad. “I can’t- I haven’t... fire’s not really my thing, either. Not since, y’know... the shop and all.”
Aziraphale studied him for a moment and then brushed aside the anger within himself, and the pain of seeing Crowley hurting, too. “My dear,” he said instead, “how do you feel about ordering in? I hear the humans are getting quite good at it lately.”
jointed-custody replied to your post “May we have a size comparison between the snake Crowleys? You said...”
Would you be okay with me recreating some or all of these as photos? I have a ridiculous number of (toy) snakes that are just aching for the chance to be Crowley, and these pics you’ve given us are amazing and beautiful inspiration!
@jointed-custody as long as you tag me! i would love to see them :)
commissioned fic by @jointed-custody! some 2012 tmnt old donatello well down the line in his life, reminiscing about people he’s lost and the people he still has.
sort of set in my Mecha Turtle fanfic universe, but generic enough to be read as a standalone.
Staring out across the wide lawn of the farmhouse, Donnie enjoys the momentary peace of his own company. In the dull heat of summer warmth, seeping through everything around him, the ache in his joints eases enough he can sigh softly, rotating his stiff ankles. Too many hours on his feet this week, and he’s far too old to be doing that.
Maybe if he were twenty years younger- heck, maybe even just ten, he’d be fine. But ninety years and some months is hard on a turtle, even a mutant one with enough knowledge to cure just about anything.
Can’t cure old age, though, much as he’s tried.
Cells break down, replication becomes flawed- bodies get old along with the mind, even if the soul remains strong and youthful. Donnie is no young soul, certainly not by this age, but he likes to think he’s still got some gutso in the tank, even if he can’t quite pull all-nighters anymore.
It doesn’t stop him from trying, as often as that results in him passing out at his desk. He’s scolded for doing that by nearly every person he’s close with, as if they have any room to talk.
Even if it’s not genetic, as Donnie has suspected for decades none of them are related that way- stubbornness is certainly a family trait. Stubbornness to admit defeat, stubbornness to take care of themselves properly. They’re all as equally bad as him, especially now days, with old age catching up with them and just how much they can do anymore shrinking down.
That doesn’t stop Donnie from doing his work, and it certainly hasn’t stopped any of his brothers or surviving friends. Hell, Raph is up in space at the moment, along with Casey, the nutball old men they are. Donnie at least has had the sense to stay on earth; his brother and friend are still out there in the wide open cosmic ocean, getting into who knows what kind of trouble. If they’re all lucky, Donnie won’t have to reattach any of Casey’s prosthetic limbs when he gets back, or recalibrate Raph’s implants, again.
Donnie might have become a bit of a homebody in his late years, but at least he’s one of the three members of his family that hasn’t had to replace a part of themselves to keep ticking along. Leo has the excuse of it being from their teen years, fixing that bum leg of his so he could still walk by himself; Raph and Casey are just reckless fools, even if they’re as wrinkly and liver spotted as Donnie is.
But Donnie thinks of the vastness of space, of the planets they all saw as teens, of the societies filled with people that barely even blinked at him and his brothers, years before earth accepted its mutant population as people and not monsters- of the adventures they had together, outside the race to find the black hole generator pieces before the Triceratons, where they bonded and laughed and were free, even just for a few hours- and he sighs, wistful and longing.
A part of Donnie admittedly wants to be up there, too. He’s old, sure, but he’s not so old he’s forgotten how it feels. The rush of adrenaline, the breathlessness of a fight- terror and exhilaration mixing together in a way that made him feel alive. His youthful years made him an unwilling adrenaline junkie, after repeated exposure to danger and adventure, and a part of him misses those years. The bizarrely mixed freedom and entrapment of being who he was in a society that just wasn’t ready for any of them.
It also was psychologically and emotionally scarring at times, not to mention so painfully isolated it left them all stunted and bent in important places that took years of therapy to even somewhat correct. The adrenaline rushes were great, yes, but the wars, the fighting, the losses… they’d just been kids; Donnie and his brothers and their friends. Dealing with all those things messed them up thoroughly, to the point Donnie still triple checks anyone’s background before letting them get anywhere close to his family.
They’d been heroes at times, been on top of the world and felt like gods- but they’d been so young, back then. So many enemies bearing down on them, so many fractures and wounds put between them by their own bad choices… it’s a wonder any of them lived past thirty, let alone nearly a hundred and still remained as tightly knit as they are.
A flock of birds passes overhead of the farmhouse’s porch, swooping in a swirling cloud of blue feathers. Donnie watches them with lazy attention, and hums to himself.
Tightly knit as they are now, it’s not to say they never had ups and downs. There were years in between the good ones and the great ones, where they hardly spoke at all. Even Mikey. Especially Mikey. There’d been a period of nearly five years where Mikey just… disappeared. No note, no hint of when he’d return. Just… gone, off into the universe with only his nunchucks.
That’d been triggered by Leatherhead’s passing, Donnie recalls with a soft pang of grief. Their first and most dependable mutant friend, and their second friend ever. Mikey’s best friend, even with the decades spent apart because of Dimension-X. Leatherhead had been old even while they were young adults; worn and scarred because of the war he’d fought on behalf of earth and them. When he’d finally passed… the old crocodile had gone quietly, lying down one day and never waking again.
Donnie remembers he and his family had been roughly in their late twenties at the time. That, as he recalls with a tired nostalgia, had been the worst of their budding recovery years.
After holding himself together through their father’s death, and the fracturing of their family following that… Donnie remembers seeing Mikey finally cracking somewhere. And that crack had spread through him, leaving Mikey veritable a spider’s web.
And so he’d run, from the loss, from the grief- from everything. Donnie still can feel the ache Mikey’s absence had left in all of them, even now. He’d very nearly lost his brother for good during those years, and Donnie… still doesn’t know if he’d have recovered from that.
Mikey had come back, of course, but Donnie knows it’d been hard for Mikey to do that. Out of all of them, Mikey has somehow always been the most dependant and yet independent member of their family. Dimension-X proved he could be on his own, as well as all the years he spent wandering; but the way he’d hugged them all upon returning proved he still very much needed his family, even if being in the city where they lost so many people hurt him deeply at times.
Donnie is lucky he’s never lost someone quite like Leatherhead. The people he’s closest to are still alive and healthy as anyone their age can be. Perhaps he should feel a deep stabbing grief for his father’s untimely death, like he knows Raph and Leo still sometimes do… but for whatever reason, Donnie doesn’t feel that.
Everyone Donnie loves is still here with him, spread out as they sometimes are. He’d never had the same relationship his elder brothers did with Splinter, and he’s old enough now to tell that’s likely why Splinter’s death didn’t gut him as much as it could of. Donnie misses his father, but not as much as he would miss any one of his brothers or friends, should they have been the ones who died.
Leo nearly died, years before Splinter actually did, and because of that Donnie knows for certain. His father’s MIA status during those months didn’t affect him nearly as much as Leo’s coma. In the end, it seems the people Donnie did and still does cherish most are his brothers, and the two humans who stuck with them through everything.
April and Casey. Donnie doesn’t know where he and his brothers would have ended up without them. Never mind all the times the two humans bailed Donnie’s family out of trouble at the last second- without April, it’s likely that the world wouldn’t be what it is now. If the Kraang had gotten a hold of April, used her for the terraforming invasion they’d planned… Donnie nearly shudders at the thought. Everyone would be dead or enslaved if they hadn’t rescued April that night, and if she hadn’t taken the hanging threat over her life and spat on it.
Really, if April O’Neil hadn’t been the woman she became, Donnie doesn’t doubt things could have gone so much worse.
He could’ve done without the possession and temporary death, though. That had been… less than enjoyable. Za’naron gave everyone nightmares for months afterwards, most of all Donnie and April. They’ve long since moved past that night, grown out of the strain it’d put on their relationship… but some nights it still comes to him, same as every trauma Donnie has ever been through. He knows April suffers the same way, however little she’s ever spoken about it.
They’re still close, regardless of any fissure put between them before. Regardless of the years their entire family ended up drifting apart, miring in their own griefs and regrets and wanderlust to do and see more than fighting… he and April are still dear friends. Living together, sharing their kitchen and workspace and living room, is proof of how dear they are to each other.
Maybe not how his younger self imagined, but… Donnie is more than content with that. That crush became genuine affection over time, and that genuine affection grew into steady, true love. Again, not the sort his teenage self ever thought would happen, but Donnie as an old and aging turtle likes it just fine. It’s the sort that lasts, that keeps on through decades. The sort that April shares with all of Donnie’s siblings, and Casey, too. The sort that brought them all back together, in the end, and has kept them closely linked ever since.
He’s old, and he’s sentimental, and that’s probably why he’s sitting on a porch by himself and thinking cheesy thoughts about his family when he could be working.
Still, it’s good to come back to this scene ever once in a while. Though it had at first been a place of grief and time spent waiting for miracles… the farmhouse became a staple to them all in years passed. It was the first place Donnie and his brothers could walk freely under the sun, and that’s not something any of them would ever forget in a hurry.
It’s a place his entire family can come back to, and be together like they used to. A place where the world seems distant and there is only warmth and long summer days to be had.
Donnie chuckles to himself. He really is getting old, thinking things like that.
His hearing might be going, too, seeing as a hand is gently laid on his shoulder, and he heard no footsteps approaching.
“I was wondering where you got off to,” says Donnie’s very first best friend, and he turns his head to look up at her.
April smiles, crinkling the few crow’s feet that line her eyes. “Your assistant told me you threw quite the fit at the board of directors today,” She smirks, just as amused as she always is when this happens. “Would you mind telling me why you’re skulking in here, while there are important meetings to be had?”
Donnie looks at his friend, and feels the surge of nostalgia that’s been sweeping him the past few minutes. April has nearly pure white hair now, wrinkles beautifully lining parts of her face. She’s old as he is, and yet…
Donnie knows some of it is makeup, to ease the suspicion that she isn’t quite human. Donnie knows he and his brothers have a few decades yet before their mutant bodies really begin to breakdown, but April?
April was designed to conquer worlds, and what scientist would build a weapon that truly aged?
He suspects April, who walks with a straight back and steely gaze even now, will be around to terrorize rival companies for a long while yet.
“I’m ninety, April,” Donnie says, smirking back at her. “I’m allowed to have moments of elderly madness.”
She rolls her eyes. “Would you mind avoiding tossing papers into employee’s faces? They’re high-strung as it is.”
“Hm, I’ll try my best, but no promises. Old men tend to forget things, you know.”
She swats him. Donnie laughs, giving in and rising from his seat. “Alright, I’ll go apologize to the plebeians. But if they make another try at getting me to retire, I’m firing someone.”
“Not before I do,” April says, clicking her tongue. “I’ve already had three of them this year encourage me to start looking for a proper heir. Money grubbing fiends.”
“Shall we show them we still got it, then?” Donnie offers, holding up an elbow.
“Agreed,” April says, taking the offered arm. The simulation of the farmhouse ends as they turn away from the summery scene, leaving a single bench where Donnie had been sitting.
Exiting the holo room in the experimental testing wing, his droves of personally picked scientists and engineers scurry out of their CEO’s way. April’s little heels click on the floor as they do, sharp clacks like whips as they stroll through the hallways. Her ninja skills haven’t dulled at all over the years, including the art of intimidation.
Donnie is content to simply be a looming and wizened figure, a tad on the scary side thanks to his scars and severe looks when he gets in a mood. Leave it to April to actively play up the intimidation factor.
She doesn’t really need to, being the most powerful known psychic in twenty galaxies, but Donnie supposes a ninety year old woman needs to get her kicks somehow.
They nod briefly at the people exiting the elevator as they get in, and Donnie hits the button for the middling upper levels. As the elevator ascends the height of O’Neil Technologies, Donnie feels a pleased little smile tugging at his lips.
Their teen and young adult years had been brutal, and the decades it’d taken to fully integrate mutant, alien, and human society together had been harsh. But now he’s standing in a polished elevator with his best friend and fellow CEO of the most powerful technology company in the world. His brothers and friends are all still alive and causing the chaos they always have.
Mikey, on the ground levels of New York, free to make any friends he pleases and wandering without a care in the world- Leo, off with Karai and Shinigami, tittering to themselves as Karai’s adopted daughter tries to run the Foot Clan with her uncle and mothers leaning over her shoulder and making comments on things- Raph, up in space and still a roughhousing curmudgeon, even with ocular implants he needs to see and old man bones- Casey, the only fully human member of their family, down half his original limbs and still insistent that he’s fit as he was at fifty and just as reckless as he’s always been about danger.
And April, at Donnie’s side, just as lovely and terrifying as she’d been at twenty, as the two of them continue to build and shape earth’s future with technological advancements, and strong-arming the government officials into not being power hungry idiots.
They’ve lost so much, and yet, gained plenty to make for that. And that is why Donnie can smile, and feel content with the life he’s lived, and will keep living.
jointed-custody replied to your photo “tiarasntea-shop: tiarasntea-shop: Sakura Matsuri is LIVE in the...”
Yay! I was hoping Pomme would be returning! It’s literally the first tea I ever had that I liked immediately, without having to doctor it up with honey and milk. I’ve been hoarding what little I have left, because I will miss it when it’s gone!
I’m sorry I’d been sitting on them for so long, but now that money is super tight and I have no idea how I’ll be making bills this month, I went ahead and re-opened tea orders (including the new one!)
