beehammer

Aziraphale actually does have quite an extensive collection of pornography in the bookshop. Like most of the questionable things in Aziraphale’s life, it’s Crowley’s fault.

Angels can sense love. Too bad they can also sense when there’s a decided lack of it. Crowley’s motives behind putting in an appearance are, as always, somewhat questionable.

Crowley and the cold make for one hell of a combination, and Aziraphale could have gone another six thousand years without knowing it.

---

“You show up after hours, out of the blue and frozen half-solid, drip a gallon of rain water all over my kitchenette, and all I get by way of explanation is a half-hearted ngh,” Aziraphale sighed.

“‘s what I get for--” Crowley shuddered, and Aziraphale reached up and tugged the blankets back into place. “--taking public transport.”

After spending six thousand years in Aziraphale’s company, the only thing Crowley’s sure of is that he can’t touch the angel without hurting him. Too bad he never bothered asking Aziraphale about it.

---

If Crowley could still feel the soft give of rich cloth under his clenched fists, surely Aziraphale could still feel the scorching heat of a demon’s hands on his skin.

If they made it out of this alive, Crowley decided, if there was anything left of the world afterwards, he’d be damned a second time if he ever put his hands on the angel again.

Crowley’s little demonic miracle with the books lets Aziraphale stop worrying about whether or not Crowley loves him back and just get on with it for once.

---

Any other night, Aziraphale might have let Crowley go, circled back to him in a bit, tried to mend things without being too forward about it. But it was tonight, and Aziraphale had come perilously close to being discorporated for God only knew how long, and Crowley had still, after all this time, thought to save his books--and Crowley was still, after all this time, thinking about holy water.

There were worse things in the world than spending three days working through the lingering effects of Scarecrow’s latest rampage, Hal was sure. For instance, having to ask Bruce for help. Also on the list? Having to deal with his feelings.

---

Hal looked at the contraption in his hand. It reminded him of nothing so much as an epi-pen, which he also had no idea how to use. “So you just… have this. On hand. Ready to go.”

“One doesn’t earn the coveted title of Mr. Contingency Plan by being unprepared,” Bruce told him, and Hal winced. He hadn’t meant for Bruce to overhear that, had he? Then again, he’d said it loud enough that any Martians left kicking it in their ruins had probably heard him, over Barry’s strenuous and utterly futile attempts to get him to pipe down, so he hadn’t exactly not meant for Bruce to hear it, either. “Instructions are on the package, and there’s a bathroom just down the hall to your left if you’d prefer to administer it in private.”

If Hal wanted someplace to get his shit together for a few seconds, Bruce meant.

(archived from tumblr)

Given that Bat-Cow is a real legitimate thing that actually happened, I feel like Red Hood needs a goat.  Like, a foul-tempered, vaguely sinister, apparently-completely-normal goat that Damien runs across on some mission, and everybody else calls “Not it” before Jason even knows what’s going on, and suddenly he’s got a goat.

And he tries to leave the goat at the manor, but he gets home and finds the goat in his walk-up, somehow.  All the doors and windows are still locked, security system hasn’t been tripped, nobody will admit to having put it there.

“You’re telling me that not one of you is responsible for this.  That a goat somehow got itself down ten miles of subway, navigated a switchover to the el-train, climbed six flights of stairs, let itself in, and then locked back up afterwards.”

“Goats are very nimble, Jason.”

And he keeps trying to leave it with petting zoos, but it’s the same thing every time, it always winds up back at his place.  Maybe he eventually grudgingly accepts it because it is kind of nice to come home to someone, even if it is just a goat, and it is kind of helpful.  He’s lost count of the number of times he’s come home to find that somebody’s clearly broken in--maybe just a thief, maybe someone after him specifically, but whoever they were they got headbutted right back out a window for their trouble.

The goat’s never the worse for wear.

Then he winds up in serious trouble, and in swoops the whole rest of the family at the last second, and he’s like “How’d you find me?” because he’s an independent vigilante who is not wearing a bat-tracker, dad.  And Bruce just looks pained and says it doesn’t matter, and Dick does his best to be very serious and tells him that Hood-Goat told them Jason was in trouble, and Barbara’s just like “We’re not calling it that.”

(They are totally calling it that.  Turns out it’s really hard to come up with good nicknames based off “Red Hood,” and neither Bruce nor Jason will accept Bat-Goat.)

Jason doesn’t believe them.  Tim and Steph immediately whip out their phones and show him videographic evidence, which in this case amounts to the goat jumping around the cave and waving his favorite leather jacket--now half-eaten--around like a flag.  Which, okay, is one of the weirdest things he’s seen in a month, and doesn’t explain how the fucking goat got from his apartment to the batcave, but he’s like “Okay, sure, but how’d you find me?”.

Steph fast-fowards to the part where the goat headbutts a map case open and stamps its hoof on the warehouse they’re all standing in right now, and Jason’s just looking at the goat, who is of course now loitering in the background like there’s nothing unusual about this at all, and going “You guys didn’t bring it with you, did you?”

And then Jason’s looking at Bruce, because of course they didn’t bring the goat with them, and going “Do you think maybe Zatanna could...?”

And Bruce is like “It’s your goat, Jason.  Part of being a responsible adult is arranging for its exorcisms yourself.”

Meanwhile Damien’s assuring the goat that it’s just perfect the way it is and probably doesn’t need the devil cast out of it.

Then the outlaws phase hits, and Roy is just so unbelievably stoked about the goat, and Jason realizes that he's stuck in a live-action reenactment of Goat Simulator.  And he is so 1000% done with life. Every time one of the other Robins or Bruce asks him for help, he just texts a picture of the goat in yet another Arsenal-provided get-up and tells them that they did this to him and he's never helping them again.

Franklin “Foggy” Nelson is a slick New York City attorney whose parents may literally die of heartbreak if he doesn’t make it to their new home in some sleepy village in North Country for Christmas.

Matt's a small-town lawyer with a prickly exterior and a heart waiting to be melted, if only Foggy can figure out a way to keep his foot out of his mouth for five seconds.

Unfortunately, Foggy's job tends to follow him around like a lost puppy, and Matt has his reasons for not trusting the holidays.

---

“Aren't you with Landman & Zack?” Karen asks. “Or did I hear your parents wrong?”

“I interned with them,” Foggy clarifies, “and they did offer me a position afterwards, but I wound up with HC&B instead.”

“Because Landman & Zack are basically supervillains?” Karen hazards.

“I signed about fifteen different non-disclosure agreements that prevent me from agreeing with that assessment in public,” Foggy tells her, and Matt huffs a laugh, something Foggy wasn’t sure he was capable of. It’s a nice laugh, and Foggy wants to hear it again.