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meltingpenguins · 8 months

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Ineffable.

One of the most beloved and important words in the Good Omens fandom.

But are people aware just how deep it goes in the book? How much, in the book, it is tied to Crowley and Aziraphale's character-arc and development throughout human history?

When the word is first use by Aziraphale it's when he declares that one shouldn't question the Almighty's ways cause they're ineffable, not for people like him or Crowley to understand.

“You’ve got to admit it’s a bit of a pantomime, though,” said Crawly. “I mean, pointing out the Tree and saying ‘Don’t Touch’ in big letters. Not very subtle, is it? I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain or a long way off? Makes you wonder what He’s really planning.” “Best not to speculate, really,” said Aziraphale. “You can’t second-guess ineffability, I always say. There’s Right, and there’s Wrong. If you do Wrong when you’re told to do Right, you deserve to be punished. Er.”

This is in the Garden of Eden. Aziraphale has just been appointed to guard the Eastern Gate, and has given away the flaming sword he had received for that task, meaning he was meant to strike down anyone who tries to get into the garden (i.e. Adam and Eve, at the time), and instead defied God's orders and gave the sword away.

What Aziraphale is doing here is he's using 'ineffable' as a 'get out of jail free-card'. He's using it in a way that pretty much says

'I technically agree with you, but I mustn't doubt the Almighty, what with me being an angel and all, and you know first hand what doubting and questioning God entitles.'

He has his doubts about the whole tree thing and all, but he fears Falling, so he weasels his way around it. Doesn't mean he's not thoroughly rattled at what happened and what might happen:

“I’m not sure it’s actually possible for you to do evil,” said Crawly sarcastically. Aziraphale didn’t notice the tone. “Oh, I do hope so,” he said. “I really do hope so. It’s been worrying me all afternoon.” They watched the rain for a while. “Funny thing is,” said Crawly, “I keep wondering whether the apple thing wasn’t the right thing to do, as well. A demon can get into real trouble, doing the right thing.” He nudged the angel. “Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? Funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?” “Not really,” said Aziraphale. Crawly looked at the rain. “No,” he said, sobering up. “I suppose not.”

Here we have Crowley/Crawly pretty much forget for a moment who he is talking to. He might try to cheer Aziraphale up (he's only mentioning that a demon can get into trouble for doing the right thing) already showing traces of his own kindness, but Aziraphale's dry 'not really' and Crowley's reaction to it show how worried Aziraphale is, and Crowley respects that. Knowing first hand that the angel has all reasons to be worried.

But, chronologically speaking, the next time we see Aziraphale use 'ineffable' it's about 5000 years later:

And just when you’d think they were more malignant than ever Hell could be, they could occasionally show more grace than Heaven ever dreamed of. Often the same individual was involved. It was this free-will thing, of course. It was a bugger. Aziraphale had tried to explain it to him once. The whole point, he’d said—this was somewhere around 1020, when they’d first reached their little Arrangement—the whole point was that when a human was good or bad it was because they wanted to be. Whereas people like Crowley and, of course, himself, were set in their ways right from the start. People couldn’t become truly holy, he said, unless they also had the opportunity to be definitively wicked. Crowley had thought about this for some time and, around about 1023, had said, Hang on, that only works, right, if you start everyone off equal, okay? You can’t start someone off in a muddy shack in the middle of a war zone and expect them to do as well as someone born in a castle. Ah, Aziraphale had said, that’s the good bit. The lower you start, the more opportunities you have. Crowley had said, That’s lunatic. No, said Aziraphale, it’s ineffable.

See the shift? Now Aziraphale is using the term as a 'argument winner'. Like a smug 'I'm right, you're wrong, nothing you can do about it'. Why?

Because over 5000 years Aziraphale really settled into being upper class, posh, privileged. What's he's doing here is very much in the same vein as all those 'if you can't pay rent eat less avocado toast' articles.

He's saying that poor people have 'more' opportunities in life (not just in terms of doing good or bad, looking at it) than rich people, because why should rich people take up jobs for example. It is a twisted logic we still see today from people in positions of privilege.

The kind of people that will tell you you have much more a shot at saving the planet because you can just use paper straws, while they are woefully barred from doing this kind of good because there's only fancy black plastic straws on their private jets and yachts.

And they expect you to agree with that.

Aziraphale has the heart in the right place, but he's still an asshole who has grown very comfortable being part of the human upper crust.

(Crowley, and Hell by extension are more akin to the working class folks, and Crowley endorses it, but that is an analysis for another time)

So yeah, by now 'ineffable' has become more of an argument winner.

One that Crowley throws back into Aziraphale's face at a later point and with great impact, but we'll come to that in a moment.

Because chronologically speaking, we see another shift in its use:

“Listen,” said Crowley desperately, “how many musicians do you think your side have got, eh? First grade, I mean.” Aziraphale looked taken aback. “Well, I should think—” he began. “Two,” said Crowley. “Elgar and Liszt. That’s all. We’ve got the rest. Beethoven, Brahms, all the Bachs, Mozart, the lot. Can you imagine eternity with Elgar?” Aziraphale shut his eyes. “All too easily,” he groaned. “That’s it, then,” said Crowley, with a gleam of triumph. He knew Aziraphale’s weak spot all right. “No more compact discs. No more Albert Hall. No more Proms. No more Glyndbourne. Just celestial harmonies all day long.” “Ineffable,” Aziraphale murmured.

This is when Crowley is trying to convince Aziraphale that this whole Armageddon business is a rotten cause, and let's just not do it and all...

Now Aziraphale uses 'ineffable' in a way more akin to what it was used like in Eden, but with a bit of a twist. Now it's more of a 'I mustn't question God's ways, but dang I have an urge to bite someone'. It's again used as a way to avoid outright doubting god, but he's really grumpy about it.

Curiously, when he uses it again a few lines further down:

“And then Game Over, Insert Coin?” said Crowley. “Sometimes I find your methods of expression a little difficult to follow.” “I like the seas as they are. It doesn’t have to happen. You don’t have to test everything to destruction just to see if you made it right.” Aziraphale shrugged again. “That’s ineffable wisdom for you, I’m afraid.” The angel shuddered, and pulled his coat around him. Gray clouds were piling up over the city.

Now it's more leaning towards argument winner again, but mixed with the above. (but leaning towards argument winner, or better argument ender.)

The next use is from Crowley, when they're both very plastered:

Crowley decided not to argue the point. “There you are then,” he said. “All creatures great and smoke. I mean small. Great and small. Lot of them with brains. And then, bazamm.” “But you’re part of it,” said Aziraphale. “You tempt people. You’re good at it.” Crowley thumped his glass on the table. “That’s different. They don’t have to say yes. That’s the ineffable bit, right? Your side made it up. You’ve got to keep testing people. But not to destruction.”

Crowley is using it part in the dictionary meaning of the word, half in a throwing it back into Aziraphale's face way, as if to say 'hey, here's this nonsensical bit that people keep getting told not to question, cause if they would it'd very quickly fall apart'

However:

“I can’t interfere with divine plans,” he croaked. Crowley looked speculatively into his glass, and then filled it again. “What about diabolical ones?” he said. “Pardon?” “Well, it’s got to be a diabolical plan, hasn’t it? We’re doing it. My side.” “Ah, but it’s all part of the overall divine plan,” said Aziraphale. “Your side can’t do anything without it being part of the ineffable divine plan,” he added, with a trace of smugness. “You wish!” “No, that’s the—” Aziraphale snapped his fingers irritably. “The thing. What d’you call it in your colorful idiom? The line at the bottom.” “The bottom line.” “Yes. It’s that.”

Now (a few lines of drunken philosophizing and stumbling over each other's thought) Aziraphale uses the term very smugly again, in an attempt to get the upper hand in the argument. Crowley's not buying it.

Aziraphale still tries, though:

“Then you can’t be certain, correct me if I’m wrong, you can’t be certain that thwarting it isn’t part of the divine plan too. I mean, you’re supposed to thwart the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren’t you?” Aziraphale hesitated. “There is that, yes.” “You see a wile, you thwart. Am I right?” “Broadly, broadly. Actually I encourage humans to do the actual thwarting. Because of ineffability, you understand.”

(Translation: I -could- do that myself, but I can't be arsed, too much work)

Then, 11 years later, we have this bit:

He thumped the steering wheel. “You’ll be amazed at the kind of things they can do to you, down there,” he said. “I imagine they’re very similar to the sort of things they can do to one up there,” said Aziraphale. “Come off it. Your lot get ineffable mercy,” said Crowley sourly. “Yes? Did you ever visit Gomorrah?” “Sure,” said the demon. “There was this great little tavern where you could get these terrific fermented date-palm cocktails with nutmeg and crushed lemongrass—” “I meant afterwards.” “Oh.”

Crowley uses it in a similar way to how he used it in the drunken talk, but more bitter. And in a 'I know how much you love using this word to win arguments >:Y ' way.

And then comes the bit where everything culminates:

“What’d I do? What’d I do?” said Crowley, pushing open doors at random. “There are people out there shooting one another!” “Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? They’re doing it themselves. It’s what they really want to do. I just assisted them. Think of it as a microcosm of the universe. Free will for everyone. Ineffable, right?” Aziraphale glared. “Oh, all right,” said Crowley wretchedly. “No one’s actually going to get killed. They’re all going to have miraculous escapes. It wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.” Aziraphale relaxed. “You know, Crowley,” he said, beaming, “I’ve always said that, deep down inside, you’re really quite a—” “All right, all right,” Crowley snapped. “Tell the whole blessed world, why don’t you?”

THIS is the ultimate bit of usage of the term between these two. Crowley takes the word that Aziraphale, for 6000 has come to use as a privileged way of winning arguments and throws it back into the angel's face.

And Aziraphale? He catches on, but he also knows Crowley well enough for a glare to convey two things:

That was low, but alright, I get you, and I apologize for using the term to win arguments.

However, I know how much you care about humans and Earth and all, even though that is a thing -you- can't say out loud, so I know you are not happy with the prospect of these people killing each other.

Because after this moment, the term is used twice in a way that seems to have it replace 'fucking' or 'bullshit' or 'ffs can't we just get our shit together about this', by all means:

Good old Malachi. He’d been a nice old boy, sitting there, dreaming about future popes. Complete piss artist, of course. Could have been a real thinker, if it hadn’t been for the poteen. A sad end. Sometimes you really had to hope that the ineffable plan had been properly thought out.

(when we learn more about Aziraphale's collection of prophecies and which prophets he knew personally)

“This is not to say you have not performed well,” said the voice. “You will receive a commendation. Well done.” “Thank you,” said Aziraphale. The bitterness in his voice would have soured milk. “I’d forgotten about ineffability, obviously.” “We thought you had.” “May I ask,” said the angel, “to whom have I been speaking?” The voice said, “We are the Metatron.”

(When Aziraphale's contacting Heaven)

His shades flew to a far corner of the room, and became a puddle of burning plastic. Yellow eyes with slitted vertical pupils were revealed. Wet and steaming, face ash-blackened, as far from cool as it was possible for him to be, on all fours in the blazing bookshop, Crowley cursed Aziraphale, and the ineffable plan, and Above, and Below.

(after Crowley got hit by the jet of water in the burning bookshop)

This ALL brings us to the most amazing double-act in the whole book, the bit that really let's Crowley and Aziraphale's chemistry shine:

Crowley stuck his head in his hands. “For a moment there, just for a moment, I thought we had a chance,” he said. “He had them worried. Oh, well, it was nice while—” He was aware that Aziraphale had stood up. “Excuse me,” said the angel. The trio looked at him. “This Great Plan,” he said, “this would be the ineffable Plan, would it?” There was a moment’s silence. “It’s the Great Plan,” said the Metatron flatly. “You are well aware. There shall be a world lasting six thousand years and it will conclude with—” “Yes, yes, that’s the Great Plan all right,” said Aziraphale. He spoke politely and respectfully, but with the air of one who has just asked an unwelcome question at a political meeting and won’t go away until he gets an answer. “I was just asking if it’s ineffable as well. I just want to be clear on this point.” “It doesn’t matter!” snapped the Metatron. “It’s the same thing, surely!” Surely? thought Crowley. They don’t actually know. He started to grin like an idiot. “So you’re not one hundred percent clear on this?” said Aziraphale. “It’s not given to us to understand the ineffable Plan,” said the Metatron, “but of course the Great Plan—” “But the Great Plan can only be a tiny part of the overall ineffability,” said Crowley. “You can’t be certain that what’s happening right now isn’t exactly right, from an ineffable point of view.” “It izz written!” bellowed Beelzebub. “But it might be written differently somewhere else,” said Crowley. “Where you can’t read it.” “In bigger letters,” said Aziraphale. “Underlined,” Crowley added. “Twice,” suggested Aziraphale. “Perhaps this isn’t just a test of the world,” said Crowley. “It might be a test of you people, too. Hmm?” “God does not play games with His loyal servants,” said the Metatron, but in a worried tone of voice. “Whooo-eee,” said Crowley. “Where have you been?”

These two little shits <3

They know to the rest of Heaven and Hell and probably Earth 'ineffable' has an entirely different meaning than the term has to them. And they are milking it for what it's worth <3

The last word in this, however is not had by either of them:

“Well,” said Crowley, who’d been thinking about this until his head ached, “haven’t you ever wondered about it all? You know—your people and my people, Heaven and Hell, good and evil, all that sort of thing? I mean, why?” “As I recall,” said the angel, stiffly, “there was the rebellion and—” “Ah, yes. And why did it happen, eh? I mean, it didn’t have to, did it?” said Crowley, a manic look in his eye. “Anyone who could build a universe in six days isn’t going to let a little thing like that happen. Unless they want it to, of course.” “Oh, come on. Be sensible,” said Aziraphale, doubtfully. “That’s not good advice,” said Crowley. “That’s not good advice at all. If you sit down and think about it sensibly, you come up with some very funny ideas. Like: why make people inquisitive, and then put some forbidden fruit where they can see it with a big neon finger flashing on and off saying THIS IS IT!?” “I don’t remember any neon.” “Metaphorically, I mean. I mean, why do that if you really don’t want them to eat it, eh? I mean, maybe you just want to see how it all turns out. Maybe it’s all part of a great big ineffable plan. All of it. You, me, him, everything. Some great big test to see if what you’ve built all works properly, eh? You start thinking: it can’t be a great cosmic game of chess, it has to be just very complicated Solitaire. And don’t bother to answer. If we could understand, we wouldn’t be us. Because it’s all—all—” INEFFABLE, said the figure feeding the ducks. “Yeah. Right. Thanks.” They watched the tall stranger carefully dispose of the empty bag in a litter bin, and stalk away across the grass. Then Crowley shook his head. “What was I saying?” he said. “Don’t know,” said Aziraphale. “Nothing very important, I think.” Crowley nodded gloomily. “Let me tempt you to some lunch,” he hissed.

The book leaves it delightfully ambiguous if the figure is Death (who we have seen talking like that so far) OR if this is actually God stepping in and vibes part of their memory because they've gotten a little too close to the truth and it's not yet time. The book's ambiguity really works wonders here.

So, yeah, there you go. It's amazing how much the use of this single little word tells us about these characters and who they are as people.

#good omens #good omens analysis #good omens meta #good omens crowley #good omens aziraphale #long post #book omens

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meltedicescream · 3 years

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Obey Me Bois with an Mc who has No Self Preservation

eyyy im back with my dumbassary

Spoilers for 15-16-17

tw//death, drowning, etc

Tags: Angst

Lucifer

Poor man is loosing any sleep he was getting because of you

He's had to stop you from fighting all of his brothers multiple times because you tried to fight them

He's also had to stop himself from fighting you

This man has caught you telling a lower level demon "do it pussy" because that demon told its friend it would eat you, and he had to immediately pick you up under your arms like a misbehaving cat

He's picked you up like this multiple times

He's genuinely thought about keeping you on a leash because of how often you have strayed away from the group and almost fucking died

Mammon

Loves joining you in almost falling off of a cliff on accident because you thought nothing bad could happen

Actually he doesn't.

He has mini panic attacks when he can't find you

He'll occasionally pick you up when he realizes that you're in a dangerous area

Has caught you before you told a random, really buff demon to fight you, apologizing to the demon profusely while holding you under his arm

He has also thought about keeping you on a leash

He says he doesn't care about you but he's the main reason you don't almost die

Leviathan

This fucker didn't care until he took you to an anime convention and told a very buff cosplayer to fight you

He kind of relates it to an anime character he likes

He's caught you from straight up just diving into his fish tank because you thought you could swim all the way to the bottom, but he knew you would drown

Keeps you in his room most of the time and always keeps an eye on you

He won't let you leave his sight, he doesn't want his best friend dying!

He loves keeping you distracted from fighting someone with viceogames

Satan

Oh boy do you make him angry

One time while you were in his room he had to catch you before you could fall because you had climbed onto a pile of books to reach a book you thought looked interesting

He scolded you so bad

He has to keep an eye on you while your in his room

And when your in the kitchen he has to be at the door to keep you from accidentally poisoning yourself

He hates your guts

But he would hate it even more if you died or accidentally hurt yourself

He has kept you on a leash, at least until Asmo said somethin about it to him

He hates asmo now because thats all he can think about now

Asmodeus

He almost screamed when he saw you on the kitchen counter just so you could reach something on the top shelf

He of course quickly ran over and caught you when you fell

You get scoldings every time he sees you doing something stupid

Sometimes he has to charm lower level demons so they won't actually fight you

He swears up and down he's getting stress acne because of you, but even without makeup he has no pimples in sight

Poor man looses his beauty sleep because of you

Beelzebub

Don't worry, he's got you under control

He simply picks you up if you ever start climbing on counters or trying to fight someone

He's never taken care of someone so short before so its really new to him

But he'll gladly carry you around if it means you won't accidentally fall off a counter and hurt yourself or actually get into a fight

He's done this with Mammon (short king) before, when they were younger, picking up Mammon so he wouldn't get into fights over debt

Even if you're just standing on the coffee table to be eye to eye with one of the brothers, he'll still pick you up to make sure you don't get hurt

Belphegor

heres where the spoilers are oh boy

He never expected a human, something so fragile it could die from just one stab, would be so bold as to stand on a counter to reach a mixing bowl

If it hadn't been for Asmo you would have died again because he wasn't fast enough

And when he was intentionally killing you, he didn't expect you not to fight back, you had simply thought the other brothers would come and save you, but you were sadly killed. BUT YOU LIVED!

He's the reason Beel is like a helicopter parent for you

He asked Beel to keep a close eye on you so you wouldn't fucking die any time you got close to a ledge

He doesn't want to lose you, he cares too much! And he hasn't had as much time with you as his older brothers have had

no more spoilers, dear

Diavolo

Because of his princely duties he didn't notice you climbing onto his desk to get his attention, but he looked up right as you fell, swiftly catching you

You get many a scolding from him, but he feels bad about it so he gives you candy, too

He's asked Barbatos to keep an eye on you, but it seems he can't keep control of you without being right next to you at all times

Poor guy is stressed because of you!

He got one of those dog harnesses for you so he could simply tie you to a table with a leash so you wouldn't climb on something you weren't supposed to

And the amount of times he's heard of you almost getting into fights is astronomical

He genuinely thinks he has to keep one eye open just to make sure you aren't climbing through his bedroom window

Barbatos

Due to him being able to see into the future he can easily control you

Buuuut that doesn't mean he hasn't ran into rooms really fast for some close calls

He was wiping down the dining room table due to Diavolo accidentally spilling something when he suddenly dashed into the kitchen. You had been planning on making some cake for the demon prince but you couldn't quite reach the flour so you climbed onto the counter, only to slip. And in the nick of time, Barbatos ran in and caught you right before you hit the ground

He already has enough on his plate, but he's still very willing to take care of you

He's in a group chat with all of the brothers just so he can send a quick text of "mc's about to walk into the basement, grab them before Cerberus does"

Solomon

Wizard bitch tried to use magic on you to keep you from almost dying all the time because you think you can't die

Since magic doesn't seem to stop you, he uses it to catch you or block you from something

He also used his pact with barbatos to his advantage when it comes to you

He doesn't care all that much though, just as long as you don't die

One time he had to physically catch you because you were a dumbass and decided to do a trust fall off of the dining room table in Purgatory Hall

Simeon

So he had two children to take care of?

He's always holding your hand no matter what as if you were a toddler so you can't run off and almost die

He has went into his full angel form just to catch you before you could slip off of something

He doesn't trust you with anything sharp so he doesn't allow you in the kitchen

He won't let you around anything dangerous out of fear of you hurting yourself

He fucking started crying when you simply slipped in a puddle and scraped your knee. Humans are so fragile and he thought you were going to die!

Luke

The baby can't do anything when you almost die so like theres nothing here lmao

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belphegorbillickin · 3 years

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Leviathan's behavior immediately after the war and his relationship with Lucifer. (Headcannons)

(This was meant to go along with these headcannons here, but they stand on their own imo so I split it up for the sake of easier reading.)

Leviathan was the more traditional embodiment of envy back before Diavolo really got into power imo.

I believe he was worse than Satan was in terms of pure destruction for a long time as well.

I mean, he does just casually summon a mythical beast (easily enough to do it in his sleep too, literally) and wrecks the house often without a single apology.

It's why Lucifer introduced otaku culture to him in the first place and lets him get away with so much despite not being one of his favorites like Mammon or the twins imo.*

Instead of turning it inwards 99% of the time like he does now he used to do everything he could to make other people miserable.

Seducing lovers to break them up, planting false evidence, insulting or physically harming people who got complimented even if he was too for example.

Simply having something wasn't enough to sate his envy. If someone else had it, even if he didn't like what they had, he needed to destroy it if he couldn't have it too.

You can see glimpses of it in his collecting habits. He doesn't just want multiples for safe keeping, he needs to make sure no one has more than him too.

Envy and greed intertwine with each other quite a bit after all, which is part of why he's closer with Mammon than the others.

He's never satisfied with what he has, always wanting more. He can relate to Beel better than he can with his other brothers because of that too imo.

Nothing made him happier than utterly crushing people "above" him and very few could do the same to him since his sin pushed everyone but his brothers away.

Even being envied by those he ruined wasn't as good, although it was a close second.

He was absolutely ruthless in climbing the corporate ladder, his intense obsessions and photographic memory instead focused on people's misery.

He wasn't the type to just tear someone down either, he improved his own skills to best them before doing so. He had to make sure the next demon to come along would be beneath him after all.

He envied angels most of all despite not enjoying his in the Celestial Realm as much as the others.

They were rather hard to get ahold of however, so humans were subjected to most of his rage instead.

Whenever he did have the chance he often teamed up with Asmo to lure angels into temptation.

While Asmo is focused on the most common definition of lust above all else it's not all his sin alludes to. It could also be lust for power, for freedom, or for happiness.

Between Asmo's sly words and Leviathan's complex schemes and power the two were quite effective.

Mammon and Leviathan would occasionally team up to forcibly part people from their riches as well, but Leviathan would often get jealous of his hoard and try to interfere despite not caring for money so it wasn't as common as with Asmo.

Leviathan did get jealous of Asmo's "conquests" of course, but he was never that attached to them so he was more than happy to let Leviathan have them whenever he got bored or they asked too much of them.

The souls Asmo gained from working with him outweighed the sacrifices. Besides, it was always best to keep Levi occupied and set out bait rather than let him try to bring you down on his own.

In the sleeping Demon King's traditional Hell it was tolerated, encouraged even, for the strong to crush the weak.

Even Lucifer had trouble when Leviathan was in his natural element and he never left it unless necessary.

The Demon King would've had him tried for treason for crimes against the royal family and his brothers if Leviathan wasn't so indispensable.

Unsurprisingly Lucifer was targeted fairly often for being the "first." Leviathan had no interest in the responsibilities or his brothers, but he couldn't just let Lucifer have all the prestige without a fight.

Lucifer would've tried to kill Leviathan for it if he didn't feel responsible for his state. The sweet, shy pushover would've never fell from heaven if Lucifer & co. weren't his only friends and didn't push him to join.

Deep down, Lucifer also felt a sick sense of pride in Leviathan. Unfortunately, he can't he say feels the same now.

Despite the fact that he planned for this to happen he still feels a bit disappointed by Leviathan's current state. He feels it's beneath Leviathan and blames himself for this as well now.

It seeps out into his interactions with him and leaves Leviathan feeling like an unloved disappointment.

Diavolo and Satan were the biggest help in introducing Levi ways to keep himself occupied.

Diavolo thought it was necessary for Devildom to change and become safer.

Satan found Leviathan to be the most relatable and shared his coping methods with him until Levi slowly got bored of only misery and let himself get absorbed into books.

It wasn't enough, but it did make it possible for Lucifer to secretly introduce him to something he hoped would completely cut him off from reality.

Whatever distracted Levi he got and the entire household humored him by pretending to envy his collection until he was too deep to get out.

That's why his brothers never do much other than token teasing and few reach out to him.

It's exactly because they know how incredibly dangerous he is that they let him delude himself into becoming a "useless "weak"" hikkimori.

For all his complaints he's actually happier this way too. He doesn't care much about who was above him in this world when he doesn't care much about this world at all.

But if he starts getting attached to someone suddenly the real world slowly starts mattering again.

It might not be the improvement you or the others expect it to be.

*He gets pathetic punishments like being banished to his room when he never wants to come out of it.

I actually wrote most of this a few months before the undatables became datable and I felt super happy and validated to see that Lucifer canonically introduced him to it.

I think the game might actually be hinting at Lucifer being a closet weeb or something else like that, but it still makes my headcannon look more credible.

#obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me Leviathan #imagines #Obey Me Headcannons

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sparkkeyper · 4 years

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Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Word Count: 3,797

Warnings: None

Summary: Old habits die hard. Crowley and Aziraphale’s habits are very, very old. Building their own side is difficult when 6000 years of instincts won’t shut up.

(Originally very loosely-based on the song "Baby, It's Cold Outside" but then it kind of did its own thing, haha. I was originally going to post this for Advent Omens but uhhh you can see that didn’t quite happen. Written as ace but you can read it however you want, really. Guess what fools, it’s Soft Boi hours again!)

(Now on AO3!)

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The snow had started early in the day. When Aziraphale arrived at the Mayfair flat it was just a dusting. But the flurry had become a proper snowfall, and then quickly decided 'go big or go home' and transitioned into a flat-out storm.

This didn't phase the two immortals in the slightest, of course. If anything, the swirling flakes outside made it feel even cozier inside. Crowley's sleek, minimalist flat had grown a fireplace for the occasion, and a very surprised new chimney on the roof of the building found itself venting smoke that somehow managed to bypass three floors.

They sat together on the plush sofa (obtained at Aziraphale's insistence several months prior, on the grounds that he wasn't going to continue coming over if there was nowhere comfortable to sit, and Crowley couldn't have that) and drank wine and talked and laughed and reveled in the feeling of being cozy and warm on a cold, blustery day.

Time had traveled on in the usual manner since Armageddon failed to happen. The two of them were unwinding slowly. Thousands of years of looking over shoulders did not evaporate in an evening, benevolent Antichrist or no, and 'our side' was a concept they were still carefully exploring. But what a glorious exploration it was.

There was no limit to the amount of time they could spend together. It was a dizzying concept that they were both adjusting to, but one that carried a thrill through it all the same. Crowley had been sorely tempted to buy tickets to every concert, play, and musical revue London had to offer and do nothing but attend shows for the foreseeable future, the two of them together. In public. He very well might have done too, if Aziraphale hadn't talked him down amid giddy chuckles. "We have time," Aziraphale had reminded him, and Crowley was ecstatic to realize that it was true.

He had relented to two a week.

It was elating. They stood closer together, they sat beside each other on public transportation rather than one behind the other, they gave each other teasing nudges with elbows.

And sometimes - when they were both at least a bottle in - one of them might even bump their hand against the other's, and fingers might intertwine, and an electric tingle would flood Crowley like a live thing, and most importantly neither would pull away for at least two solid minutes and oh wasn't that alone worth saving the world for?

Crowley spent a previously-unheard-of amount of time at the bookshop and Aziraphale's face always lit up like the sun whenever he walked in. He arrived early, stayed late, sometimes didn't bother going home at all, often showed up with wine or snacks, and they were together and it was wonderful. He had fallen asleep on the bookshop couch in the past, but these months he got the impression that Aziraphale had zoned the piece of furniture as specifically his. There was a permanent place set aside for him in Aziraphale's home, in Aziraphale's life. It made a warmth pool in his stomach to think about it despite the creeping winter chill.

Aziraphale had begun to visit Crowley's flat in return. The angel had never once set foot in the place until the night after the airfield - Crowley had never given him the address, to be fair - but now that permission had been granted Aziraphale was here increasingly often. It was so like the easy evenings at the bookshop, just with more austere surroundings. Music, alcohol, debates and memories and slightly drunken speculation. The occasional temporary twining of fingers. It was good.

It was overwhelming sometimes, this new 'good'.

Aziraphale always left the flat at the end of the evening, usually around ten. He had no reservations whatsoever about chatting until dawn in the bookshop but the flat was a new environment, Crowley supposed. Possibly something to do with propriety.

Possibly something to do with thousands of years of distance that they were both still figuring out how to cross.

But that was Aziraphale, all right: as slow and steady as a glacier when it came to his set, comfortable ways. So much had changed in the past few months and the angel had had to adapt quickly. Crowley didn't begrudge him taking a few things slow. Old habits were hard to break and their habits were very, very old.

Crowley understood well how shadows could linger even in the bright daylight. It was all well and good to say he was off Hell's payroll. It was another thing entirely when instinct crept up on him screaming that he needed to watch his back, to sit a row behind Aziraphale on the bus, to have forty excuses ready for when Dagon came auditing. It took considerable effort to override those instincts and remind himself that 'together' was okay. It was allowed. And still he'd so far only managed to turn the volume down on them, not silence them completely. He didn't know if he ever would. Crowley didn't doubt Aziraphale had similar instincts of his own. If the angel felt better setting himself a curfew, Crowley certainly wasn't going to judge.

But tonight they were here, and warm, and sheltered from the blizzard. As 'retro' had begun to slide back into style, Crowley had picked up a sleek addition to his stereo system that was at once a record turntable, radio, tape deck, and CD player, with added Bluetooth capability for good measure. Strains of Vivaldi swam through the room from a vinyl, mingling with the crackling of the fire and the clinking of wine glasses. Aziraphale was settled deeply into the sofa, his posture several steps short of perfect which was how Crowley knew he was truly relaxed. Crowley, as per usual, was draped over the couch like he'd never seen one before in his life, as though he had too many limbs and didn't know what to do with them all. It was good.

Life was good.

It was a little after ten when Aziraphale spoke up. "It's getting late." His voice was a bit distant as he looked out the window, snow glinting in the reflected light as it fell. "I suppose I ought to be going."

There was a note of regret to his voice, a lack of conviction in his eyes, that Crowley had learned to read over the long years of the Arrangement. A smile pulled at the corner of the demon's mouth, covered up easily by another sip of wine. It was a very old game they played, treading carefully along the outside edges of things that could not or should not be said aloud. Expectations, angelic ones in particular, built a lot of barriers. Aziraphale wanted something that wasn't allowed him - or wasn't supposed to be allowed him - and couldn't bring himself to reach out and grasp it. It was Crowley's job to find ways for him to justify the forbidden something to himself.

In the subtle language they shared, the angel was asking Crowley to tempt him, and how could Crowley pass up a request like that?

"Awfully cold out there," the demon drawled, gesturing languidly toward the window with his wine glass. "Snowing like nobody's business. Wind and ice and subzero chill. Terrible night to be out in."

"I'm sure it's not so bad."

"Not so bad? It's been raging for hours! Look at it! It's knee-high! You expect me to try and drive my poor car out in that mess?"

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at the demon. "Ah yes. Imagine if humans invented other forms of transportation aside from your horrid car."

The demon's argument was all bluff and they both knew it. The Bentley could slice through the snowdrifts like a hot knife through butter if Crowley wanted it to. It wasn't the strength of the argument that mattered - it was whether or not Aziraphale could twist it to bypass the metaphorical roadblocks. Crowley rose to the challenge by sprawling back on the sofa with a smirk. "Other forms of transportation? You mean a bus, in weather like that? And good luck finding a cab out there, angel. City's practically shut down."

Aziraphale stood, giving his back a tentative stretch. "I could walk, of course. I've done it loads of times. It doesn't take much more than twenty minutes, not counting the care that has to be taken for ice."

"Walk, he says!" Crowley tossed back the remainder of his wine like a shot glass. "Think of it - the first angel in history to catch pneumonia! Bad job I'm not working for Hell anymore; they'd give me an award!"

"If doing those temptations in Qashliq for you didn't give me pneumonia, I'm quite sure nothing will."

"Are you ever going to let that go? It was over four hundred years ago!"

"It was February in Siberia, no I will not."

"Suppose you did stay a bit longer," Crowley ventured, changing tactics. It was a risk, coming at the problem from such a direct angle when they were both so used to ghosting along edges. "Bookshop wouldn't go anywhere, would it?"

Aziraphale blinked at the abrupt transition. "Well no, I shouldn't think so. It's just...I mean if I don't return home someone might notice of course and well...people will talk."

Crowley leaned forward over his knees, seriously. "Angel. When, in two hundred years in that bookshop, have you ever given a single fuck what your human neighbours think?"

Aziraphale drew himself up with a huff, and Crowley was delighted to see familiar indignation winning out over nerves. "I am an upstanding member of the community, I'll have you know. And it's not just my neighbours, of course - it's yours as well. That little old lady who lives on the floor below, for example. She always gives me that look when I pass her in the lift."

"What look?"

"You know! That look! Like she thinks she knows what's going on between the two of us."

The demon grinned like a Cheshire cat and gave a suggestive wiggle of his shoulders just for the expression it painted across the angel's face. "You're worried that my neighbours are going to think you and I took a tumble in the sheets?"

"They already suspect! Or at least she suspects." Aziraphale was trying so hard to keep a straight face, but mirth glinted behind his eyes. "Do you know what she said to me as she was getting out of the lift the other day? 'Don't forget to use protection; you don't know where he's been!'"

Crowley howled, leaning so far back in his laughter that he fell off the couch.

"I don't know what's more outlandish, the idea that we're in here having a lurid physical affair or the idea that I don't know exactly where you've been."

Crowley wiped his eyes dry and held out a hand so the angel could help pull him up from the floor. "Remind me to miracle her fridge so that all her milk keeps past its date. 'Don't know where he's been' indeed."

Aziraphale fought to get his own smile under control, for the sake of his argument if nothing else. "Yes, but it just goes to show, Crowley, people do notice. And they will talk, I'm sure of it."

"Let them," he waved it off. "I've seen tissue paper with more durability than human gossip. It'll all get forgotten in a day or two." Crowley leaned over and refilled both glasses.

"Right. I suppose it will." The angel took a tentative sip and sat back into the sofa again. "Silly thing to get worked up about, really."

On a regular night that might have been the end of it. They'd had their verbal tennis, they'd had a laugh, and Aziraphale had accepted another drink. But try as he might, the angel couldn't seem to settle. There was a stiffness, a tension to his spine that would not unwind. He fidgeted with the stemware, shooting furtive glances at the window, the fireplace, the clock.

The ceiling.

The final notes of Vivaldi faded out, leaving the room in silence, and Crowley rose to swap the record. The discomfort radiating off the angel was almost palpable and it made his own spine crawl. "Aziraphale--"

"Only, the wind really looks dreadful," Aziraphale blurted out, jolting to his feet and crossing to the window. "I really ought to go before it gets worse."

"Can't get much worse than it is, I think," Crowley countered carefully. "Best stay where it's warm."

"I don't..." Aziraphale stared out at the London skyline, nearly invisible in the storm. Pale fingers worried absently at the hem of his waistcoat. His mouth was down to a thin line and there was quite a lot behind his eyes. He looked pained. "I shouldn't impose."

"You're not imposing if I'm offering."

"It isn't...it isn't right for me to stay!"

The demon set down the vinyl he was holding, something dangerous layering his words. "Says who?"

"I've been ignoring protocol too much as it is--"

Crowley gritted his teeth, a growl rising in his throat. "There is no protocol on our side!"

"I know!" Aziraphale snapped. There was a beat of silence and the anger in the angel's face melted as suddenly as it had come, leaving his expression frustrated and upset. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes, almost apologetically. "I...I really can't...surely you understand why I can't just..." He ran a hand through his hair helplessly, eyes darting to the ceiling.

The demon set his glass down and moved over to the window.

It was a very old game they played. Crowley was good at his job and Aziraphale was good at the mental gymnastics required to fit through some of the more dubious loopholes. But every now and then they still lost.

He positioned himself in front of the principality, forcing Aziraphale to look at him.

"Angel," he said quietly, as though someone might overhear. "If you want to head home, I'll take you. You know I will. I'd just rather it be because you want to rather than because they would want you to."

Aziraphale looked truly miserable. "Crowley, you've been a marvelous host, you really have, but...I'm so sorry, I..."

Crowley stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. For just a moment the demon's face was soft, genuine. A bit sad but still impossibly fond. "Don't be." He gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It's late. Get your coat, angel, it's cold out there." He doused the fireplace with a wave and stretched his back out. "Give me a moment to sober up and I'll start the car."

Aziraphale sighed, clearly frustrated at a great many things, but headed for the coat rack while the demon forced the alcohol from his system. "It ought to be fine," he muttered as the wine bottles in the corner finished refilling. "It ought to be fine. I can't explain it, I..."

"It's like someone's standing too close inside your personal space," Crowley finished for him quietly, pulling a coat of his own from the ether. "Like you're driving on the motorway and you end up in the blind spot of a lorry. There's no great outward change but all of a sudden the hairs are up on the back of your neck and your skin is crawling. And you just have this overwhelming sense of this is not a good place to be, get out."

"Yes," Aziraphale murmured unsteadily. "Yes, that's it exactly." His eyes found Crowley's, apologetic, searching.

"It is what it is, angel," he assured him softly. "We have time."

A weight seemed to lift from Aziraphale's shoulders. "I...thank you. Truly." There were things unspoken that Crowley could hear beneath that simple phrase. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for being patient with me.

Don't say that, hesitated on the tip of Crowley's tongue. Instinct was, of course, very old and very strong. He swallowed down the words and searched for new ones to replace them.

"You're welcome," he said quietly. The syllables tasted foreign in his mouth.

There was silence in the flat as he buttoned up his coat. Despite the passing months they truly had only moved the barest steps away from where they had been.

They had so very far to go yet.

But it was true. They had time.

"Right." He tried to break the mood as casually as he could, slipping dark glasses on and turning his voice into something light and easy. "Shall we be off then? After you, angel."

The lift ride down was silent, subdued. Something complicated was warring behind the blue eyes and Crowley wasn't going to even begin to touch on it until they were in the car. Aziraphale's steps faltered as he reached the glass doors of the lobby, and Crowley was halfway down the outside stairs before he realized he wasn't following.

"Oi, you coming?"

Aziraphale stared down at the space beyond the door with a peculiar expression: uncertainty and determination and anger and hurt. "I - I don't..." There was a moment of indecision, of frantic debate on his face, then he backed quickly over to the lobby bench and sat down hard.

Crowley pulled his coat tighter about himself as the wind bit through his clothes and ducked back into the building.

Aziraphale held very still, eyes closed and fingers gripping the edge of the bench.

"Angel?"

"Give me a moment. Please."

Crowley paced a cautious half-circle around him, instinctively scanning the principality for damage and the storm beyond the glass wall for threats. Another old habit - nearly useless now but one he wasn't going to be able to drop any time soon. He sat down beside the angel and the lobby was quiet for a very, very long time.

"I think," murmured Aziraphale at last, "if it's all right with you, I'd like to stay."

Crowley studied him closely. "Are you sure?"

"No." Aziraphale met his gaze. "I haven't been sure of much of anything, recently. Not since Tadfield. But I do not want to be forced back to the bookshop tonight."

"Shouldn't force yourself to stay if you're only going to be miserable."

"It's not so bad down here, that's the silly thing. But for some reason the idea of going back upstairs is just..." He laughed wryly. "What a mess I've made of the evening."

"It was a fine evening," Crowley told him earnestly.

"I thought so too, at least until the end there." He straightened, and looked a bit more like himself to Crowley's eyes. "And it's my most sincere hope that, with some more wine and another record, it might be again. Give me a few minutes. I think I can work up to it."

The demon took his glasses off and studied him closely. The determination in those eyes, the set of that jaw, were so familiar they hurt. There was a nervousness there, but there was a stubbornness as well. Like the glacier: slow, steady, but deep down so, so strong.

Crowley reached behind himself and retrieved a pair of full wine glasses that suddenly and thoughtfully decided to exist. "You know, I reckon..." he said quietly, handing one to Aziraphale, "that these will taste just as good right here as they would upstairs."

Aziraphale blinked. Glanced from his glass to the demon to the lift and back again. And his expression softened considerably.

"And if music and wine is what it takes to hang onto your company for a little longer, I s'pose that's the sacrifice I'll have to make, won't I?" He sat his phone down beside him and with a few taps Mozart began to play from its speakers.

Aziraphale stared deep into his wine glass, a smile spreading across his face that he didn't seem quite ready to share with the world yet. "A little unorthodox, isn't it?"

"And?" Crowley shrugged. "Last I checked, there's no protocol on our side."

"So there isn't. Do you know, I think I like that about it."

The demon lowered his voice. "Say the word any time, you know. We'll go, no questions asked."

"I know." Aziraphale let out a long breath and settled back onto cushions that were suddenly far more plush than anything the lobby bench had seen before. "But at the moment I'd rather be here."

The storm howled beyond the glass wall but the central heating vent behind them kept any stray chills at bay. They sat in gentle silence for a long time.

Piano Sonata No. 14 wound through the room, mingling with the warmth and the wine to kindle a sense of calm: a concoction of human magic that miracles, for all their power, could never replicate. Clever things, those humans.

Crowley traced a finger around the rim of his glass. "Can I ask what changed your mind?" he asked softly.

Aziraphale gazed off into the distance for a moment before looking back to his companion. "It was the 'you're welcome', funnily enough. You've always objected so vehemently to being thanked before."

"Yeah, well..." Crowley took another sip of his drink so as not to meet Aziraphale's eyes. "Like being in the blind spot of a lorry."

Aziraphale nodded. "It's..." He trailed off. Took a swig of wine and swallowed it down hard, as though for courage. "It's a comfort," he admitted so quietly that Crowley had to strain to hear him. "To know that it's not just me."

Crowley pursed his lips. "Not by a long shot, no" he confessed, equally quiet.

"I know accepting gratitude doesn't come easy to you. But you managed, tonight."

"It isn't a footrace, angel. I'm not asking you to keep pace with me."

"I know that. And I'm grateful. It's just... seeing you be brave makes me feel like...like I can be as well."

That smile was tugging at the edge of Crowley's mouth again. He reached out and clinked the edge of his glass with Aziraphale's. "Course you can be. Always have been."

The angel smiled back at him, warm and glowing and grateful, just the faintest hint of pink darkening his cheeks. With a daring Crowley had only seen behind the safety of closed doors and wine bottles, he placed a hand on the bench between them, palm up.

Crowley took it.

Meeting him in the middle, as always.

"Careful, angel," the demon murmured in his ear. "Remember, you don't know where I've been."

Aziraphale gave an undignified snort into his wine glass and their laughter echoed throughout the lobby.

The storm raged cold outside, but here, in their own little in-between place, they were warm.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #my fic #my writing #soft husbands all the time #sneaking in under the deadline like a boss #asexual ineffable husbands #Good omens heaven is full of assholes #they'll be okay they just need a little time and practice

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

Text

Imagine Arthur finding you laying in an unusual position on the bed.

Inspired by a conversation @jokerownsmysoul and I had months ago. This is only short; a quick little thought I had while I had my feet up on the wall and my head dangled over the edge of the bed, but I hope you like this! I’m also a bit tipsy right now so 😂

Word count: 902.

You were laying across the full width of the double bed which you shared with Arthur. Your feet dangled off the edge which was furthest from the door and your neck was supported by the other edge of the bed. Your upside down perspective in this moment was something you had always enjoyed. You just loved how the familiar now looked fresher, different in the angle at which you looked at them. It was like life, you realised. Approaching the familiar with a new perspective could liven things up, or reveal something which previously had gone unseen.

You raised your arms over your head and stretched, feeling your joints and back crack and pop. Oh, but it hurt so good and your moan of appreciation only told that truth better than words ever could. You loved it when you felt the physical stray parts of yourself click back into place. Being near Arthur did the very same thing for your soul, so it only seemed fair that you afforded your body that gesture, too.

Positions which others found uncomfortable were only ever comfortable for you, and Arthur had thought that you were joking when some days ago had you mentioned this to him, but now as he walked into the bedroom did he see that you had been completely serious. Your eyes were closed now, feeling slightly light headed were you as your blood rushed to your head. You would have to sit up soon, this you knew. That was the only downside with lying upside down... you couldn’t do it for too long.

A small chuckle came from the doorway and it made your eyes snap open. You could know that sound anywhere and you had heard it expressed in many tones: joyful, confused, sad, and those awful refrains which came only when Arthur was overwhelmed by something and he could only laugh, instead of crying as so often did he wish that he could.

“Y-Y/N, what,” Arthur paused to giggle again. He was leaning against the doorway, his arms folded over his orange cardigan. It hung off his thin frame and you found yourself aching to fold your body into his. If anyone could keep you safe and whole within yourself, it was Arthur. “What are you doing?”

“Resting.” One arm came to rest on your stomach and the other stayed over your head. You wiggled your fingers in Arthur’s direction, “Come join me.”

“You... you want me over there with you?” Arthur sounded incredulous. Even after all of this time, those demons in his tormented mind, black and sticky like tar and just as toxic to his health as the literal tar which stained his lungs, were occasionally louder than your love for him, even when logic said otherwise.

You smiled, your heart aching for Arthur, because of Arthur, as you reminded yourself to have patience. “Of course! I wouldn’t want you to be anywhere else than right here beside me.” Neither of you missed the promise which underlay your seemingly casual words. “You gotta’ lay like this, angel! It’s so comfy.”

Arthur’s sceptical look as he made his way over to you made you grin. There was nothing you could ask which he would refuse and this included the moments which were inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. He reached you easily and his hands cupped the back of your head, his deft fingers massaging your scalp, as he bent down at the waist to press a tender kiss to your forehead. You pushed your head into Arthur’s touch and he smiled down at you. His beautiful locks hung around your face like dark curtains and it made him all which you could see. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too,” You said it back, your most simple truth, and Arthur’s responding smile was radiant. Unsure was he of many things but in this one thing, in you, was he nothing but confident. It looked so good on him and the colour red sprang into your mind, though you knew not why. The image of such a vibrant colour came with a feeling of foreboding and you shook it off; not understanding your sudden trepidation.

You would find out in time, and you wouldn’t necessarily enjoy the discovery.

Arthur straightened up and carefully laid down beside you. The very tips of his dark curls spilled over the edge of the bed and you reached over to rub one lock between your index finger and thumb. Arthur’s hair fell through your fingers like ink in water and he shuffled further back; imitating your position easily. There was a look of concentration on his face as he got comfortable, and when he turned his head to look at you, you felt your breath seize in your throat.

“You know... this is actually quite comfortable.”

“Right?” You felt a surge of excitement at the quiet wonder which was in Arthur’s voice and he frowned in concentration once again as he pushed himself even further down. His throat was wholly exposed to you and you felt your mouth go dry. Shit, but he was so beautiful. “You’re an angel.” The words were out before you could stop them, and the few moments were filled with quiet chuckles from Arthur, who couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was to have finally found you, his one and only person who understood him.

AF/J @impulsiveclown @astheworlddturns @fluffedstar @jokersqueenofchaos @germansarechill @tsukiakarinobara @lynnesm @sagyunaro @greghouse @flowerglitterwoman @ben-solos-writing-avenger @jokers-doll @arthurjokersgirl @antonija89 @lilliryth @hotpacino @obsessedandthirsty @call-me-harley-quinn @cacklinghyena @arcanealaanais

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council-of-readers · 4 years

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Buffyverse Headcanons: Living with Spike, Angel, Faith, and Buffy(separate)

Request: okok could you write headcanons for Spike, angel, faith an buffy for what it would be like living together with them and stuff thank uu

I might do more of these at a later date. It was really fun coming up with stuff. I set Faith's post season 7, so sorry if that was confusing.

~•~

Spike

The two of you share an apartment on the outskirts of town.

It's small and really not the best, but you're used to living in places like this at this point. It kind of comes with the territory.

Better than that crypt, that's for sure.

Of course, there were no windows, but he doesn't want you getting depressed, so he definitely buys one of those synthetic sunlight lamps for you. He's thoughtful, on occasion.

Actually, a lot of the time, but he doesn't like you bringing it up.

Since your sleep schedules don't exactly line up, he's always incredibly cautious about waking you up.

He turns down the volume if he's watching tv or playing a video game and tries desperately to keep his outbursts of anger towards losing at a minimum.

Spike is a very light sleeper, so he'd be very grateful if you'd extend the same courtesy.

It might be good to get a job or try to stay out of the apartment during the day because it is so easy to wake him up.

He's not often rude about it, and just tries to go back to sleep, but if he get sleep deprived enough he will snap at you, which neither of you really want.

Movie nights are a must.

They're weekly, and often the highlight of the week for both of you.

If you're okay with scary movies, that's typically what it'll be, but if you aren't, he'll either pick something so cheesy it couldn't scare you, or an action film.

He doesn't mind a good romance flick, but again, please pretend not to notice.

He's definitely going to pull the arm over the shoulder yawn routine every single time, and yes, he thinks it's hilarious.

Humour him, please.

You need to get two mini fridges because he will take your food, and this man drinks an ungodly amount of beer and needs a place to store it. Plus, somehow, you can taste the blood on your food.

He swears there's no way you could, but tell that to all the mashed potatoes he's ruined the taste of.

Angel

Living in a hotel is strange, to say the least, but not wholly unlike living in an apartment complex.

It certainly made it easier to find your own space if you need room from everyone else.

Though, you all got along fairly well. Fights were rare, and unless you went out of your way to annoy the others, hardly involved you.

It was surprisingly quiet most days.

You'd think having clients come in at all hours would be disruptive, but, for the most part, they were calm and didn't make much of a fuss. It made the hotel a nice place to retreat to in the busy city.

Angel isn't really the clingy type, but you'll typically find him in the same room as you.

He's content just to sit in silence and read while you do chores or watch tv.

He's actually a pretty big reader, so if you are one as well, you'll end up doing a sort of book club thing whether you mean to or not.

Either you'll be reading the same book at the same time or you'll pick it up right after the other one finished it so you can discuss it together.

Full on dates became less frequent once you started living with him, though they weren't a regular thing even before.

If you want to spend more time with each other, you'll just hang around more.

He is working a lot of the time, so if you really want to see him and spend actual quality time with your boyfriend, you need to vocalise it.

Angel can get in his head about some things. Including you.

Thoughts that you're better off without him, that he's a danger, and that you're only with him because you pity him can creep in easily.

They make it hard for him to reach out and say he wants to be around you more.

He doesn't want to drive you away.

Especially since you live together, he worries you might grow sick of him.

So, please ask to be around him and set aside time for just the two of you. Chances are he wants to but is a little too nervous.

He's a pretty deep sleeper so you don't have to worry about waking him.

That does become a problem, however.

See, Angel is a big sleep cuddler, and he's not weak by any means, so if you're caught in an uncomfy position, you're basically stuck there all day.

Sucks to be you, I guess.

Faith

Faith is actually pretty fun to live with.

She's really relaxed and doesn't care too much about where you're both at.

Mostly, the two of you live out of a converted van, but occasionally you'll spring for hotels.

It's not a bad life by any means.

You've converted the back into an incredibly comfortable living space, and it's not hard to share with her.

She does have a bad habit of leaving clothes and things out, but if you ask her once it'll improve almost instantly. As much as she tries to hide it, she does want you to think well of her.

You go on trips to LA pretty frequently, often chasing bands or just popping by to say hi to Angel.

Sometimes if a Scooby or two was in the states you'd drive to them to help out.

Other than that, you went where a slayer and her number one fan were needed. Or, simply wherever you wanted to go.

Fights were pretty frequent in the beginning of your relationship, but as she grew more comfortable with you and felt more secure, Faith picked them less and less. At this point, they only really happen if you start it.

She tries to treat you by getting you gifts and little trinkets from each city, even though there's less and less room in the van.

Sometimes it's jewelry, if you wear it, or maybe a keychain, a bobblehead, or a CD for a band you like.

She has a hard time being vulnerable with you, or anyone, though, so expect things to just kind of appear.

It's rare for her to actually hand you a gift, but she'll leave things on your side of the bed, or you'll find them laying about on the dashboard. Occasionally, though, and usually only if she's got a few drinks in already, you'll be given whatever it is directly, albeit with no eye contact and a few excuses.

It wasn't on sale, and you both know that.

But you know this is just how she functions.

If you ever got her a gift she'd melt on the spot. There would be attempts to hide it with some light teasing, but she'd really be so happy you thought of her.

The nights on the road are the best.

Screaming out the lyrics to whatever song was on, laughing at each other's jokes, and making fun of the silly little towns you passed through.

Life had been hard for Faith, but being so close to you made it just a little easier to handle.

Buffy

It could get a little stressful in the Summers house, truth be told.

With all the demons breaking in, and Dawn and Buffy fighting through all hours of the night, it's not exactly the calmest environment.

To Buffy, though, you make it all worth it.

She can always vent to you if her sister gets on her nerves, and it makes her feel happy to know that Dawn does the same.

You were always like the cooler relative that she never had, and after Joyce died, you and Dawn grew incredibly close.

She was all for your relationship with her sister as well, which was helpful.

Dawn was actually one of the reasons Buffy was hesitant to ask you out. She didn't want to put any stress on her that she didn't need, and she didn't want to ruin the bond you shared.

It took a while for you to move in, but once you did, Buffy couldn't imagine life without you.

You helped with the cooking, cleaning, and general house repairs, and more importantly you helped Buffy deal with everything going on in her life.

It really made life so much easier to cope with.

Waking up to find you making breakfast for the three of you, or watching you help Dawn with her homework were little joys she didn't even realize she was missing.

It can seem out of the blue, but often when she sees you doing little things like this, Buffy gets affectionate.

Little hand squeezes, soft kisses on the forehead, or your cheek, and hugs from behind appear to be random to the untrained eye.

She just gets overwhelmed by love for you sometimes and needs to show it.

The two of you are surprisingly soft when you're alone. She needs that softness. It keeps her grounded, and helps her push forward.

You really are her rock.

Dating a slayer is hard, though not as hard as actually being one.

She has baggage, and you need to accept that.

Her job is vital to the safety of the world.

So, yeah, she comes and goes all hours of the night, and often comes back a little more broken than she left, but she knows you're at home waiting for her and ready to patch her up again.

Hold her while she sleeps, braid her hair, treat her wounds, and she'll be yours forever.

#buffy x reader #buffy #buffyverse #buffy fanfiction #buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #spike x reader #faith x reader #faith lehane #angel x reader #angel the series #buffy summers #dawn summers #buffy headcanons

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MEDIA THAT I RECOMMEND YOU CONSUME INSTEAD OF SUPERNATURAL FOR BOTH HEART AND HEALTH BROKEN DOWN BY TYPE OF MEDIA AND WHY YOU MIGHT LIKE IT IF AT ANY POINT YOU, LIKE MY POOR POOR SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD SELF, WERE INVESTED IN THIS ABSOLUTE GARBAGE FIRE OF A SHOW

with apologies to anyone on mobile who’s readmore function APPARENTLY doesn’t work

(I haven’t watched supernatural for at least five years and, given any sort of luck, I will never do so again, do not @ me)

hello babes. I am talking to you know bc I keep seeing supernatural, unironically, on my dash, and I think we can all do better. I see what’s happening and I think: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hU3i_o5Xd4g

Supernatural is fudge stripes. You are Megan. We can fix this.

So a list of alternate things that I think are overall better written/characterized/just generally more enjoyable that might scratch some of those itches:

TV SHOWS

Good Omens

okay look if u were on tumblr last year u probably already watched this show but like. If u haven’t, it’s only six episodes babe and there’s a large enough fandom that u can go down a fanart hole for days on end

Basic summary: the antichrist has reached that lovely young age where he’s supposed to bring about the apocalypse. An angel and a demon who have decided that actually they like the world as is, thank you very much, try to stop the end times. They’re not very good at it though, which makes for a comedy of errors.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: theologic (mostly christian) exploration/parody/imagery without inherently being a religious show. Fighting off the apocalypse narrative, which I think pretty much always goes hard as hell, but that’s just me. There’s a gay angel who’s socially awkward. There’s a fun very British demon. Touches on the hierarchies of heaven and hell, with framing Heaven as a bureaucracy and blurs the differences between angels and demons. Pining. Tenderness. A deep nostalgia for 80s music, though in this case it’s specifically queen, and who doesn’t love queen. Main character has a weirdly strong bond with his black vintage car. Satan is (sort of) fought.

Gravity Falls

sometimes...things that are kids shows...with a set story and a predetermined ending...are better

(also this isn’t relevant to any of what I’m talking about but I really appreciate that Gravity Falls specifically went against the thing that most begged me about ATLA aka that a 15 year old girl would be like yeah I’m into a 12 year old boy because the 12 year old boy has a crush on me and I apparently don’t get to really have a say in this. How does that make sense.)

Basic Summary: Twelve year old twins Dipper and Mabel go to stay with their Grunkle Stan for the summer in a small Oregon town called Gravity Falls. Turns out this town is filled with all sorts of strange phenomena that they often have to confront, work around, learn about, or befriend!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: The core focus of the show is a close sibling duo, but like It’s obvious that the siblings actually like and love each other and while they have their spats it’s still incredibly clear that they deeply care about each other even with their differences LIKE SORRY SUPERNATURAL YOU CAN’T JUST TELL ME THAT SIBLINGS CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER AND THEN THEY SPEND ALL THEIR TIME FIGHTING AND LYING TO EACH OTHER AND GENERALLY ACTING LIKE THEY CAN’T STAND EACH OTHER’S COMPANY BUT THEN OOOHHH YOU CRY ON TOP OF THE HOOD OF A CAR EVERY THREE EPISODE AND SUDDENLY THEY’RE SOULMATES OR WHATEVER

Anyway. Yeah. GF has a solid sibling dynamic. Monster of the week that builds up to greater over-arching plot. A little bit of body horror, you know, for humor. Fair amount of meta humor playing with the tropes of the genre. A Good Ol Big Bad that tries to pit the siblings against each other. Have to fight the apocalypse (you’ll see this point on like a good half of these recs, I really like ‘what are we gonna do about Armageddon’ media). Interesting creature design. Planned, satisfying ending (which supernatural absolutely does not have, but I still think if it had ended with the season 5 finale like it uhh pretty obviously was supposed to, that would sort of counted. Don’t revive shows that have clearly already told their stories kids.) Tie in media that gives you some fun extra stories when you miss the characters. (yes I read some of the supernatural novels when I was a c h i l d, yes I’m pretty sure there’s one or two of them still buried somewhere on my laptop, no I don’t wanna talk about it.) Older father figure (?) who owns a tbh kind of shitty shop. Both already in place and found family.

It’s a good show, and it’s two seasons. John Mulaney Voice: I dunno it’s 40 episodes

MINI REC ALERT! (mini recs are basically things that I’m not gonna go into detail about for whatever reason [probably either due to i’m not familiar enough with it OR I just don’t like. Have a bunch to say about it in regards to how it will scratch the itches presented to u by spn] but still seem like a Good Watch)

Mini Rec: Over The Garden Wall. Spooky Kids Media! Episodic! Miniseries so you can watch it in like 2 hours! Cool ass Animation! About two brothers encountering said spooky stuff! Big Bad tries to pit brothers against each other! Might haunt you for the rest of your life! Check it out!

The Haunting of Bly Manor

I think about this show every goddamn day of my life. (Also not relevant but Greg Sestero makes a brief cameo in it and I was like hi greg my friend greg!)

Basic Summary: An girl named Dani, while staying in London, decides to take on an Au Pair job for two young children, an older brother named Miles (age 10) and the younger sister Flora (age 8) at the spoooooky and mysteeerious Bly Manor, and she gets far more than she bargained for.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Okay so supernatural doesn’t actually do this but I know I KNOW why we let ourselves be queerbaited in 2012. Four words for you: CENTRAL! GAY! TRAGIC! ROMANCE! You want some pining? Some tenderness? Some LOVE? Some dealing with internalized homophobia but no, like, actual violent onscreen homophobia? HAVE I GOT THE SHOW FOR YOU. If ur favorite episodes where the ones that make you sob (for me it was kevin’s death on god), I recommend this show. If you wished that supernatural literally ever had consequences or perma deaths or didn’t retcon major plot events like every five goddamn episodes so that there could be some exploration of like grief and trauma through the lens of/ higher stakes of horror, I recommend this show. If you really do stay up at night picturing a supernatural that wasn’t made by dumbass cishettie white men hack writers but was actually allowed to have Dean and Cas be in love over the course of the show so they could have like actual development and not the most homophobic gay reveal of all time, I recommend this show. Hell, if you just want a banger ghost story in general, I recommend this show.

As for what they actually have in common: horror setting/aesthetic without actually being all that scary most of the time. A strong sibling duo, though they’re not nearly as much of the focus of Bly Manor. Found family. Strong themes of grief. Questions of what turns someone into a monster (and done much better) An actual, much better noble sacrifice done out of love. Escalation of stakes until there’s a big final confrontation. Semi-big bad trying to tear this family apart. Found and pre-installed family. Sad orphans.

Watch this show. Vibe with me. Cry with me. Yell at me about Owen Sharma

MINI REC ALERT!

Haunting of Hill House- spiritual predecessor to Haunting of Bly Manor, though they’re not actually the same universe/story. However, it’s made by the same dude and has a shared aesthetic/sensibilities/some of the cast. This is only a mini rec bc I haven’t actually seen it, but I’ve heard good things and that it, while much more heavily leaning into family dynamics, has similar themes of exploring Grief and Trauma through ghooossstttsss.

Community

Okay I know that this may seem like a Wild rec considering community is a school sitcom with basically Zero paranormal elements but just like. Hear me out. And no this isn’t just because I think it’s a realy good show and I want more people to watch it, though that is a factor. If I was just recommending comedies that I think are good and more people should watch regardless of them serving as a replacement for supernatural I would demand you all go watch Galavant and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. I’m gonna demand it anyway. Everyone go watch Galavant and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. Now back to your original program:

Basic Summary: A group of students at Greendale Community College form a Spanish study group, and things quickly go Off The Fucking Rails in the best way possible.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: All right I’m gonna be real honest this rec is for all of my (correct) bitches who’s favorite episodes of Supernatural were French Mistake, Changing Channels, and/or Mystery Spot. You think if Supernatural would’ve been fucking fantastic if it had been a committed comedy instead of a CW melodrama that occasionally landed some admittedly really fucking funny episodes/concepts, Community (and the movies on this list) will gently take you into its loving arms and give you everything you desire. It’s about the Meta comedy. It’s about the discussion, exploration, and subversion of common tropes within the format. It’s about the grand use of group/ found family dynamics in order to max both the goofs and the heart. It’s about fantastic callbacks. It’s about having one of the few “asshole with a heart of gold” leads I can actually stand because. You know. Growth. It’s about the INCREDIBLE genre and pop culture parody. Which genre do they parody, you ask. All of them. They parody all the genres. The glee parody episode is a fucking masterpiece of television. If you don’t want to watch a show that features a Halloween party where everyone turns into zombies and the ABBA discography blasts in the background, you can stop reading right now, because I can guarantee you won’t be interested in a damn thing I have to say.

MINI REC ALERT: The X-Files. I’ve also never seen this but a: everything I’ve seen out of context has been fantastically weird and delightful b: it appears that there’s a general consensus that Scully and Mulder are one of the only valid straight couples so it’s probably pretty fun and c: let’s all be honest. Supernatural was already basically an x-files rip off, it had like half of their original writers swiped from the x-files crew, I’m pretty sure if you liked especially the first couple of seasons of supernatural, you’re gonna like the X-files.

Subcategory: TV SHOWS ( A WHOLE TWO OF ‘EM, OR MORE LIKE ONE AND HALF IF YOU WANNA GET TECHNICAL) I’M SPECIFICALLY RECOMMENDING FOR THAT COCAINE HIT OF PURE UNADULTERATED UNCUT 2012 TUMBLR NOSTALGIA

BBC Merlin

Yes, I know the show ended in 2010. Yes, it still provides that 2012 Tumblr nostalgia. 2012 Tumblr is a feeling, not an actual time period.

I love this stupid show. I plan on rewatching it all over the month of January. I harbor a deep amount of fondness for it. It’s why every time I see literally any depiction of Merlin I get just so fucking excited, and why I’ve consumed as many ridiculous Arthurian adaptations as I have (side note: my two favorite other ridiculous Arthurian legend adaptation are Avalon High, a DEEPLY silly DCOM that is required viewing to level up friendship with me, and The Kid Who Would Be King, which is the only movie that I think truly understands the comedic potential of playing a King Arthur Adaptation mostly straight but everyone in it is 12. I’m not sure it intended to be as fucking funny as it was, but again, they’re all middle schoolers. I have never been more jealous of an actor than I was of the 22 year old that got to play a 16 year old dumbass Merlin who was sometimes also Patrick Stewart and did all of his magic with ridiculous hand gestures That should’ve been me that should’ve been me that should’ve been me. Also Sword in the Stone by TH White is pretty good, because Merlin knows germ theory in the fantasy 400’s and he just uses it to be petty mostly. Also listen to High Noon Over Camelot by The Mechanisms. Also Also I tend to prefer family friendly adaptations because they don’t have the uhhh. You know. Incest and sexual violence of the original legend. Love to Not have that shit!) Whether you watched it initially and are due for a rewatch, or you’re intrigued enough by the concept of the show to watch it for the first time, you should join me on this wild wild ride.

Basic Summary: You know who Guinevere, Arthur, and Merlin are, come on. BBC said let’s make em all YOUNG let’s make em SEXY let’s make em FAMILY FRIENDLY and let’s make magic REALLY SEEM LIKE A THINLY VEILED ALLEGORY FOR BEING GAY BUT TO THIS DAY IM NOT SURE IF THAT WAS INTENTIONAL OR NOT BUT IT SURE SEEMS LIKE IT WAS. @ THE BBC MERLIN CREATORS WHAT IS THE TRUTH BECAUSE THERE WAS SOME INTERVI-

Basic Summary but like a bit more helpful: A BABY version of Merlin (and by baby I mean like 20 year old.) is sent from his small town to the big city the Kingdom of Camelot to find his destiny. Staying with the town physician and friend of his mom’s, Gaius, he ends up as both his assistant and personal manservant to Prince Arthur. But in a kingdom where magic is punished with death and the prince seems hell bent on getting himself into situations that are going to kill him, the young sorcerer has his more than his share of work cut out for him.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Primo supremo queerbaiting. Like, yeah, okay, it’s queerbaiting, you know it’s queerbaiting, but you watch some of the scenes and ur like okay. I know why I let this bait me. Obviously with a modern show, I would expect more, I would expect better, I would raise my standards, but I gotta admit. Some of these scenes are fuckin compelling as hell, and the subtext is like barely sub. Monster of the week shenanigans. Some awful CGI creatures but like a charming awful. Like the kind of awful that tells you their very limited budget was more focused on cool swords than realistic creatures. Episodic stories build into a more overarching plot, with things getting darker in season 4/5. Shitty father that end up eating shit and while the son of said father is rightfully conflicted and upset over the death it’s cathartic and victorious as all hell for the audience. Multiple hot evil women, and I love hot evil women. There’s also nice hot women, which is a bonus. These women don’t all immediately stupidly die, so that’s a nice change. Also like a LOT of sarcastic humor and shenanigans if u like Sass Merlin is there for u personally name a more iconic line than “Oh I’m sorry, how long have you been training to be a prat, my lord?” AND THAT’S IN THE FIRST FUCKIN EPISODE brilliant amazing fantastic show stopping. Also you know those like dumb hijink episodes where like Dean was possessed by the spirit of a dog or some shit? You bet your bottom fuckin dollar BBC Merlin has those kinds of storylines. Also I know some people go to spn bc it had that HUGE fanbase and like BBC Merlin’s fanbase is still SURPRISINGLY poppin even though it’s been a decade since there was new content so like. Have fun!

Doctor Who but Specifically the RTD Era

Look I’m not here to say that the first four seasons of reboot doctor who are the only good doctor who or inherently better than all the rest (though the RTD era is my favorite personally) BUT when ur seekin that sweet sweet superwholock frenzy nostalgia, this is the ‘who’ that is being referred to. Also like. Stan 9. We should all collectively stan the ninth doctor. Chris Eccleston, the Objectively Best Famous Chris, deserved better.

Basic Summary: An immortal alien that goes by “The Doctor” travels across time and space with a variety of different companions, often to try and save the day or fix a (sometimes self created) mess. It’s distilled campy sci-fi with a family friendly tone that has made me cry on several occasions.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Monster of the week that, you guessed it, builds into bigger overarching plot style narrative. Fighting off the apocalypse, but like every couple of weeks because worlds are in danger a LOT. A semi-tragic romance that made people go absolutely buck fuckin wild bc pining n shit. Wamen, but they aren’t fridged. (actually for real though none of the main women die and I just think that’s really fun and flirty even though I could go on a COMPLETELY SEPARATE rant about the injustice of one of the character’s ending YES season 4 is my favorite season and one of my favorite pieces of media ever and I am currently actively recommending it to you YES im still fucking pissed over how it ended YES we exist) Specifically, a Wonderful and Very Excellent woman named Donna who goes on a spa trip that doesn’t end up going very well. That seems like a highly specific example, and it is, but it did happen in both shows. (Also, to anyone that continued watching SPN after like idk season 9 what happened to Donna? I always liked her and I know she became a recurring character so like DM whatever probably injustice was the end of her story line pls and thank you) I’m also extra specifically recommending for Supernatural Fans and also The World At Large: Season Four of Reboot Who. I rewatched it last year and it still goes so fucking hard. Donna Noble is the best character in existence. In regards to the appeal for SPN, personally I think the best part of SPN was when people who are soulmates went on adventures and tried to save the day and it was a good mix of banter and sincerity AND GUESS WHAT’S BASICALLY THE ENTIRETY OF SEASON 4 OF DOCTOR WHO. It’s so good y’all I wish Everything was about soulmates going on adventures and trying to save the day.

OKAY TV SHOWS DONE TIME FOR M O V I E S which I don’t have nearly as many recs for but uhh here goes

What We Do In The Shadows/ Shaun of the Dead

I’m lumping these two together bc my reasons for recommending them are largely the same, and I would call them tonally similar enough that if you like one you’ll probably like the other

Basic Summary (Shaun of The Dead): Uh-oh! London’s had a break out of some of that good ol’ zombieism. Shaun and friends decide to hunker down in a local bar, but they have to get there first. Will they survive? Will they fuck up some zom zoms? Who’s to say?

Basic Summary (What We Do In The Shadows): Some vampire roommates dick around. I think there’s technically, like, a plot, but it’s really just about some vampires Doin Their Thing. Vibin.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: This is kind of similar to the Community recommendation, in that supernatural had the opportunity to be one of those things that was both a parody of a genre but also just a really good example of the genre. WWDITS and SotD are both those things for vampire and zombly movies, respectively. Have the aesthetic and some of the themes of a horror but is not actually all that scary. Horror Comedy is a god tier genre and I don’t know why it’s not more widespread. Fun monsters/cast of characters in general, so at least one person in it is probably going to make you go “oh gender” ya know? With SotD you have the fantasy power trip that comes with like any piece of media that involves hunting monsters. With WWDITS I go “yep that’s how bisexuals dress” and I Will Not Clarify which character I’m talking about.

MINI REC ALERT: All of Taika Watiti’s filmography. Thor:Ragnarok is one of like 3 marvel movies that I consider genuinely fucking fantastic completely independent of the MCU and my own tendency to be like “hurr bdurr I love. Superheros”. For the one that is most tonally like Supernatural But Significantly Better and Written By Someone Competent I think I would say try out Hunt For The Wilderpeople. It’s got a reluctant curmudgeonly father figure and I KNOW some of you motherfuckers were so invested in spn when you were like 16 bc you had daddy issues. This is a callout post for my friend [REDACTED], who I should text to watch Hunt for the Wilderpeople, actually.

MINI REC ALERT X2!!!: Bram Stoker’s Dracula. I’ve never seen it but it has both Winona Ryder AND Keanu Reaves so like. Goth bi rights.

Happy Death Day (and Happy Death Day 2 U)

happy death day was one of those movies that I saw the trailer, went “eh”, heard other people say it was great, watched, and went holy fuck this slaps. Not nearly as much of a slasher film as the trailers implied if im remembering the trailer correctly

Basic Summary: Our main character Tree keeps waking up on the day she was murdered. The day resets every time that she dies. That’s right, it’s a time loop storey babey!!!!!!!!!!!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: If you were anything like me you were foolishly lulled into supernatural for way longer than you should’ve been on the promise that the characters would idk like grow and change and become better and learn lessons and some of that would be through the power of receiving love and kindness. You know. Like how good writers would do it especially if their main characters are kind of dicks that really should make some changes. Well, Happy Death Day fucking delivers on that promise in SPADES. It’s about growth! It’s about change! It’s about making the active decision to become a better person and putting effort into doing so! There’s heavy themes of like grief and trauma and acknowledging them and facing them head on in order to move on and the negative consequences of refusing to do so and just trying avoid it until it goes away. There’s a romance that makes my dumb little self do the pleading face emoji. Tree is also one of the only good asshole with a heart of gold characters. I also think media is improved by having at least one character that is a Good Good Boy (note: Good Good Boy character does not have to be a man.) and Happy Death Day has Carter. Oh on that note: Tree Voice: I’ve only had character for (the same repeating over and over) a day but if anything happens to him I’ll kill everyone here and then myself. Also the movie is funny so like hell yeah.

that’s all I got for relevant movies right now

BOOK RECS

jk i’m illiterate. Everyone should feel free to go ahead and add their own suggestions for this section The best I can do is uhhhh I think y’all would probably like Mira Grant’s novels, particularly the Newsflesh stories, bc sibling dynamics. Also the book The Haunting of Hill House is really good. Ballad of Black Tom slaps? There’s of course the Good Omens novel that the show was based on. I’m about to recommend some podcasts after this section which will include to Welcome to Nightvale because of course it will and the tie in novels for that slap, especially It Devours!, and I’m pretty sure they work as stories even if you know nothing about the podcast. Also also I think you should read “The Long Way to A Small, Angry Planet” by Becky Chambers It’s not thematically similar to supernatural at all but it’s one of my all time favorite sci fi novels and only like four people have read it which is a goddamn TRAVESTY.

Anyway yeah that’s it that’s all there is. Onto the medium that is like books but I can fold laundry or cook while consuming their narratives.

PODCAST RECS

Okay so this is getting uhhh wicked long so I’m gonna limit myself to only three full blown recs and a

mini rec

Alice Isn’t Dead

Fuck me running this show is so good. Literally hands down my all time favorite (and scariest!) horror podcast. Mamma mia, that’s a good fuckin story. The Book version is also good and has fewer Weird events but some further character development so I recommend them both.

Basic Summary: After her wife Alice disappears mysteriously, Keisha takes up a job as a long haul trucker, traveling all across America in order to find her, but ends up finding so much. Pursued by a deadly creature she calls The Thistle Man, the stakes of her journey are raised.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: okay so I have a lost of bullet points of things that appealed to me specifically about supernatural and how no other shows covers all of them which sucks bc it means I basically Yearn for a show that’s supernatural but good. Alice isn’t Dead, however, hits the most of these bullet points AND is so fucking good. It has monster hunting. It has stopping a cataclysmic event BUT also discussion of the cyclical nature of events such as these and how the fight never truly ends but you can make some fucking progress nonetheless. It has a central gay romance that’s actually a central gay romance. It’s the ONLY show on this list that really hits that the weird and dark underside of americana vibe but specifically the americana of not like suburbs and shit but that eerie haunted feeling you get when you’re hours into a late night drive on open roads with no civilization around and an expansive sky and it just Seems like something should be watching you. Have you ever been out for a walk at midnight and encountered a deer and you looked into each other’s eyes and it felt like it was telling you a message that you couldn’t possibly hope to parse? Have you ever felt an incredible sense of deja vu eating in a restaurant you couldn’t have possibly been in before, because you’ve been to a thousand diners a thousand times just like one, and there’s an incredibly sense of homogeneity even though you’re 2000 miles away from anyone and anything that could possibly know you? Have you ever traveled to an area that seems to be stuck in a bubble of time, the only thing that shows any evidence of having aged past 2006 being yourself, and you wonder how your cell phone even works around here? THAT’S the spooky americana I’m fuckin talking about! Messed up road trips! Too much goddamn space! America is scary because it’s big and Filled With Things but also Not Enough Things! Fuck yeah!!!!! That time bubble fuckin EXISTS in Wyoming the most recent song on the radio I heard was fuckin Hey Soul Sister!

Also has a thing where like are there even good guys and bad guys in a conflict or is it all just one umbrella nightmare that you’re trying to stand against in anyway possible (u kno..like how the overarching structures of both heaven and hell were kinda fucked in spn? No spoilers but similar shit be happenin in Alice Isn’t Dead). Exploration of what makes someone into a monster, like how do you go down that path? Also this is the only show on this whole damn list that southern gothic music really suits it so points for that.

The Magnus Archives

You know I had to do it to ‘em.

Basic Summary: Jonathan Sims has just become the Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, a “research” “facility” that looks into paranormal/esoteric/unexplained phenomena.

John Mulaney Voice, Again: Nobody knows what the archivist is going to do next, least of all the archivist. He’s never been in an archives before, he’s just as confused as you are.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Oh fuck this document is over 5k long I said I wasn’t gonna do this hhhhh so lipton lightning round: Slowburn Gay Romance but Actually Canon, Monster Hunting but Hey What Even Is A Monster Anyway, Acts Somewhat like a Loosely Connected Horror Anthology until it DOESNT, Little Things Build to Bigger Narrative, Characters Be Goin Through It (On God These People Need Therapy), Trying to Prevent/Fix The Apocalypse (X2!!!), Smug Asshole Big Bad, Horror as a Metaphor For Various Shit, Basically if you thought that the Men of Letter concept slapped and you think it should’ve been the whole damn show including being Deeply British you would probably really fuckin like TMA. Also if ur like the ideal piece of media is a horror tragedy but also like it’s a wacky sitcom but also also fuck cops. U will like tma.

Welcome to Nightvale

IF ANY 2012 TUMBLR FANDOM DESERVES TO MAKE A MASSIVE COMEBACK AND BE EVERYWHERE AGAIN AND ABSOLUTELY FLOOD MY DASH IT’S WELCOME TO NIGHTVALE WHY DID WE ABANDON THE SHOW THAT TREATED US THE MOST KINDLY DID YOU KNOW THAT EPISODES 108-110 ARE THE BEST FUCKING BUILT UP NARRATIVE REVEAL THAT I HAVE WITNESSED IN MY LIFE DID YOU KNOW THAT IT CONTINUED TO BE REALLY FUCKING GOOD AFTER MOST PEOPLE STOPPED LISTENING DID YOU KNOW CECIL AND CARLOS ARE MARRIED AND THEY HAVE A DOG AND A TODDLER NOW BECAUSE OF ALL THE GAY PODCAST PROTAGONISTS CECIL GERSHWIN PALMER LOVE OF MY LIFE ELDRITCHIAN CHEERLEADER AND CERTIFIED BIMBO KEEPS FUCKIN WINNIN BABY. DID YOU KNOW THAT CECIL THINKS PEANUT BUTTER IS A ROCK.

Basic Summary: Welcome to the sleepy desert town of Ņ̶̏ight V̶͚̰̮͗̔̊̊ale! Community radio how host Cé̵̟͚͕̗̞̙͂͑̽̄́c̵̤̼̞͈̪͓̍̽̋̚̕͜il Pǎ̵̧̨̢͚̻̈̂̄̇͐̇̊̀̆ͅl̶͚͎͕͉͖̬͓͑́̐̒̍̿̈́͢͜͝ͅm̸̧͙̟̖̠̳̬͋́͋́͌̚̚ͅȩ̙̖͎̖͂́̒͐͜͞r̢̢̛̰̻̮̺̩͙̼̈́͋̀͘ is here to k̠̠̰̦͙̯̥̎̄̆͌̎̀̿̔̌̚ê̷̢̬̥̞̩̯̘͒̽̈̓͐̂̔̍e̶̡̝̗̺̫̪̜͆̓̿̈͌͌̆͒͞ͅp̵̹̗̬̼̠̬͙̏͐͐̉̅͊͊́͟͞ͅͅ ỷ̛͙̞̦̦͖̑̉̌̎͞͡͡͝ͅo̧̧̥͎̻̥̲͇͋́́̔̈͌͞ǔ̸̬̯̫͇̦̮͕̤̲̯̽̔̀̔͆͋̈́͘̚ up to date all the local happenings, including w̸̢̢̢̧̡̡͍͖̻̳̹̼̼̰̬̭̱͔̲͙͍̰̠̥̺̝͖̺̖̼̮̼̞̳̞̜͉̤̯͇̖̳͖̠̙̺̲̤͇͈͚͓̮̭̱̭̩͚̟̥̬̟̻̝̼̖͚̘͐̆̅̂̃̈́͆͊̉̏͒́̈́̋͗͑̄̉́̐̌́̿̌͛̾̎̊̾̃̈́̉̔̍̐͛̕͘̚͜͜͠͠é̵̢̡̧̨̨̡̧̨̡̛̹̥̥̞̮̯͙͈̻̝͓͖͙̦̰͍̖̜̲̰̞͎͈̭̯̳͕̗͓͈̭̫̼̯̪̞̯̰̲̘̭͎̪̱̗̝̝̞̤̱͉͙̯͎̬͎̙̜̗͉̩̦͕̪̳͇͙̺̙̰̠͚͎̜̠͔̬͎̺̣͕̜̊̓̃̐̂́͂̎̐̾̔̽̀̉́̍̊̂̿̎͂͐̎̐̄̍̔̋̐̃͗̈́͂̀̒̊̎͘͘̕̚̕͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅa̸̡̧̡̡̨̡̨̛̛͙̣̘̳͎͖̥̝̟̱̩̥͙͉̝̲̙̮̩̩̹̱͔͎̥̹̻̜͚̭̬̳͚̤̙̖̯͎̱̫̞̪̻͖̱̞͔̭̻̺͚͚̯̬͓͓̳͇̳̦͓̞͈̮̤̭̣͉̲̞͚̘͗̆̃͌̅̍͊̓̈̇̌̒͊͑̊̏̊͌̈̓̿͗̒̏̒͊͒̏̃̎̒̀̅̾̍̀͘͘͜͝͠ͅt̵̢̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̯̤͓̘̻̤͓̪̰͔̪̝̫͎̻͔͈͎͔͙͕͈̰͓͍̀̏͒̆͋̈́̈́͂̔͋͆͂̅͗̍̆̍̆̔̑͊̏̈͒́̽͊́̿͂́̓͛̽͐͌̌̐̈̇̃̓̆̍̅̃̔̚̕͜͝͝͝ͅͅh̸̨̨̡̢̢̡̢̧̡̧̢̡̨̡̭̜̬̬̙͕̗̙̻̯̠̘͙̻̥͉͚̼̗͚͇͉̰͍̥͉̗͎̬̫͖͉͔̼̮̯̞̫̬̟̻͉̖̙̥̫͖̬͚̟̜̭͇͎̭̘̝̲̤͕͎̰̭̗̯̮̤̙̙̯͍̞̭͚͔͎̞̹̲̟͉̩̭̖̱̠͍̺͈̟̩̋̆̈́͆̍̆̄̏͜ͅͅȇ̸̢̢̨̨̧̛̜͍̺͎̬̪͙̻̝̣͓͈̺̩̳̟̲̠̣͈͎͎͈͉̙̪͖̳̺͇̹̊̍͊͑̿͊̌͛̿̓͊̾̀͂͛̉͆̾̽͆̈̏͛̊͛̍̈́̇͋̔͂̑͐̂̿͊̽͑͘̚͘͝͝͠͝ͅͅŕ̵̨̡̨̨̢̧̡̧̨̘̟͙̦̲̲̪̦̙̼̠̳͚̞̦̞͖͚͇̳͖̲̭͕̜̫̳̖̙͖͉͎̘̘̤̠͈̬͕̝̻͚̥͍͕̠̥͙̙̪̖̯͍̘̘̲̣̹̜̪̲̭̟̮̫̖̤̰͔̩̩͉̲͚̟̝̦̬̪̘̬̮̱͔̻̦̼̃̐̂͋̐̅̋͒̉͛́̅̈́̒̒͆̑̆͊̒͒̀̍̈́̍͌̍̏̔͋͌̒̍̌͛̓̈̂̐̕͘͘͜͜͝͝͝ͅͅͅ ̶̢̡̨̛̠͇̹̯͕͍̻̟̼̼̗̩̱̗̙̱̥̜̬̫̜͎͉̺̣͓̟̯̱͖̣̞̠̝̥͍̲̳̙̠͔̹̘̲̲̻̖̈́̊͋͜͜ą̵̡̧̟͕̬̳̜͈͈̳̝̜̣̬͔͈͈͎͉͍̯̟̞̺͎̝͇̰̥͖̬̯͙̤̬̼̲̦̯̭͓̠̺̳̱̰̮̎͋͆̈́͌͆̎̉̓̇̐͋͋́̃̉̈̄̏̓̉̿̅̒̉̒̉͂͛̄̀̇̒͊͛́͊̎́͆̌̆́̌͂̈́̽̋͛͗̑̊̀́̍͊̌͆͊͐͆̅̒̊̉̾̄͛̑̕͘͘͘͘͝͝͝͝͠͠͝n̸̡̛̛̛̛̛̙͎̬̦̠̼͓͈̝̾̍͑͛̅̒̾́̌̍͛̇̋̇̓̏͛̔͛̈́͆̿̌͐̿͊̿́͒̍̃̀̈͐̐̆͐̉̒̂̉̀̅̇̾͋̍͒̋̈̌̿͒͐̍́͗̀̌̌̚̕̕̕͘̚͘͘̚͜͠͝͝͝d̴̡̢̢̛̛̛̺̠̳̬͎̞̲̣̲̱̳̪̹͉̝̠̱̗̙̫̠̹̼̙̝͉̲̟̮̙̙̮̻̹͈̦̙̞͚̜̙̖̞͓̙̭͉̃̽̌̅̔̾̈́̒̽͑́̒͋̓̈́͆͋̽̒̃̽̋̐͌͂̍͑́̽̋̍͗̋͗͂̅̽̈̈̾͐̄̃̕̕͜͠͠͝͠͝ͅͅ ̵̛̈́͋̈́̐͒́̔́́̿̓̆͐̎͆̇͒̄̈̿̓̑̾̏̔̿͊̌͆͒̒͊̓̅̓́̔̅̀̀̀̃̿̂̑͂͆̅̎̾̏̓̂̈́͛͌̇̾͌͐̈̂̆͐͘͘̚̕͘̕̕͠͝͠͝͠��̡̡̢̛̗͚͍̺͇̲̳̯͓̰͍̙̮̙̜̟̞̣̼͕̝͔͙̺̫͈͈̠̻̘̱͍̦̭͔͈̤̺̗̮͕̦̞̘͍̯̻̝͓̤̳̫͔̩͉̬̓̍̓̃̆͗̃͛̏̒̌̀̅͊́̽̐̆̿́̌͜͜͜t̷̢̥͓̄͗̾̄̅̚͜r̵̨̡̨̧̧̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͙͚̥̱̞̜̦̜̼̺͉̠̬͎̰̻̜̼̫̤͓͖͖̤͇̞̥̖̈́͊̆̓͊̑̑̋̒̈́̔̆͆́̐͛͑͊͋̇̈́̓̑̍̏͐͛̽̋̎͑̃̈́͒̇̂̇̌͂̀̍̊̇̓̋̈́̌̏̕͘̚̕̚͝͝͠ǎ̴̡͓͓̯̘̥̱̱͖̦̺͓̘͉͖̞̟̦͈̜̥̰̘̞͈̦̠̼̯̙̭̼͚̟̖̲̠̝̜̐̅͆̏̈́̍́͂̃̾͑̓͋̽̄̾́̾̆̾͒͋̎͂̈́͘̕̕̚͜ͅͅf̷̢̡̡̧̢̨̡̧̢̢̧̡̧̫͖̖͇̲̫̮͕͉͓̩̪̳̹̩͎̖̟̤̤̲̟̪̫̻̻̖̟̦͉̼͎͖̭͍͖͎̖̳̳͙̜͉̝̘̺̖͚̙͉͕͙̯͖̞͚̮̲̻͉͙̺̭͓͎̤͙̦̦̺̯͕̜̰͍̳̙̦͉̪̥́͋̓̅̀͋͐̀̄̊̆̉̒̐͒̀̏̈̇̊̉̆̐̏̾̀̀̓͛͆̍̾͗͌̀̄̔͒̀̍̈́͆̔̒̑̏̍̏͆́̾̐̂͋̂̔̂́̓̓̌͌̉͛́̒̐̽̏́̑͊́̌̆̂̑͋̇̈́͌̑̿̅͗̚̕͘̕̚͜͠͝͝͠͠f̴̨̨̛̹͌̂̓͌͛̀͑̾̓̍͗̽͆̉̊͗̇́̍͌̊͐̔̈́̊̇͆̄̃̑̕̕͘͘͘͠͝͝͝͠i̴̧̡̢̢̧̢̨̨̧̧̧̛̛͎̗̳̦̘̙͓̦̙͔̜̼̘͇͇̺̭͉̠̩̟̤̥̘͙̤̩͔̪̱̻͈̪̼̼̞̠͎̟̹͕̻̭̤̪̲͕̟̺̻̻͖͕͚̣͇̖̰̝̩͈̤͕͇͕̝͙̙̪͔̗̫͇͎̙̲̲͖̗̘͉̲̣̤͎̔̐̆͒̄̈́̀̎̃̃̅͆̌̈́̽̈́̅̈́̑̄̇͒͐̀̐̀̒̍̀̓͌͗̓̽́͗̓̎͂͛̅̑̔̀͛̈́̽̾̃̊͊͆̄̍͑̍̆̌̾͗̄̊̽̉̅̆̀̎̀͑̿̎̋̄̆̃͐̾̏͛͒̍̋̅͘̕̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅc̷̛̛͚̝̻̣̞̓́̃́̀̃̓͗͌̂͛́̒̊͑̓͆̇̈́͑̏̆̀͌̑͂͂̄͌̉̔̋́̎͒̿͗͒͛̇͛̿̎̍̕̕̕͝͝͝͝͝ ̴̢̧̢̡̨̢̡̨̡̢̢̛̺̘̹̯̤̩̘̯͔̞̟̬̠̣̟̻̥̜̤͔̥͕̠̥̞͎̗̩̱̮͉͔͎̲̯̱̙̜̥̳̮͔̦̣͖͔̜͉̗̪̳̹̦̤͇̣̙͕̯̫̖̝̼̹͍̠͎͓̗͎̦͓̲̯̱̠̰͇̮̹͔̝͉͙̹̜̹͈̹̥͖̣̳̲͖̓́͌̈́̈́̀͌̄͂̌̾́̍̔̊̓̿͋͂͋̈́̋́́̒̓̀̒̃͂̀͑̐͛̆̆͒̈́̅̿͊͌̍͗̌̌͆̂͌́̉̏̒̓͊̾̒̓̋̽͐̏̾͘̕͜͝͠͝ͅͅr̸̨̢̛̪̞̬͓͔̥̤̣͔̭̥̙͉̦̗̠̳̩͙̂̈́͑͑̿̋̓̀͋͆̋̕͝͝ë̴̢̡̨̬͈͉̖̞͔͎͓͖̼̘̬͕̰͈̥͈̝̩͎͉͉̫̜͚͕̤͔̟̯͓͎̟͙̜̭̩̗̮͎̗̤͇̝̩͎̜̺̯͕͇̝͎̯͙̖͙̮̗̮̘́̑͑͛̂̅̄̌̽̓̒̾̿͆̏̏͐͛̾̂̃͑͆̅̄̿͋̅͂̈́̽͋͒̎͐̒̓͆̌̉͑͊́̀̈̾͛̋͑̋̎̈̀̽̀͊̏͘͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅp̴̧̧̡̢̢̢̛̛̛͚̟͓̖̭̪̻̪̲̬̥̙̥̰̼̹͎͕̪̞̮̺̰̬̘̫̤͉̦͙̮̖̙̹̻͔̖̮̲̞̣̻̜̠͇̬͚̱̦̼̲̮̀̂͌̍̈̒̍̋̌̏͐̓͛̉̂̈̀͑̈́͊͗͋͗́̂̎̎̃͆͒̅̑̇́̈͐̾̀̔̒̉͑͒̅̓̈́̋͋̀̍̄̿̌̀̉͆̇̔̈́͗̋̄̓̇͗̎̉̆͊̒͗̚̕͘͘̕̕̚͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͠͠ͅͅͅơ̶̢̡̧̨̡̛̛͔̦̼̰̠̯̰̟̲̣̜͙̲͙̪̱̱͕̺̪͈͉̺̻̙̥̲̩̲̩͔̠͚̩͓̞̠̯̟̫̣̗̦̰͉͚͙̺͎̼͖̥̙͈̯̲̝̞͎̻͕̮͔̰̖͔̭͙̩̼͔̫̹̘͓͔̜̘͍̍̅̄͋͑̋̍̊̉̄̈̽̈͐̀͌͐̆͊͂̐̋̃̎͆͛̐̀̂̿̈́͂́̈̌͐̇̀̒͋͑͐́͌̐̇̊͆̀͂͋̏́͋͆̏͗͂͑̂̓̽͘͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͘͜͜͠͝͝ͅͅͅr̴̨̨̨̧̨̛̘͕͈͔͙̠̬̯̩̗̰̗̬̦͈̗̝̣͓͓̟͕͙͈̠̘̻͓̭̝̘̦̦͓̭̘͙̻̙̼̩̰̝͈̱̝̱̬͉͙̣̖̮̲͈̙̱̩̣͕̦̰̮͔͈͓̙̮͍̳̟̠̞͎̱̣̰͕̩̝̲̝͐́́̍̈͐͋̐̑̌͋̓̈́̈͗̿̈̈́͗̑̚͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅţ̴̢̨̧͇͉͎̣̬̣̝̗̬̹͇̮̞̈́̐̌̇̈́̌͊̐̅̂̌̂͒͌́̈͌̂̊͗̍̿͑͋̎̓͂̀̎̎͒̾̏̒͌̃̄͋̌̾̍̈́̐̏͑̊̍͑͆̉̓́̆̌̾̓͊̊̈̑͘̚̕͘͘̕͝͝͝͝͝s̴̢̢̡̛̬̹͚̻͉̦̦̣̦̠̜͕̤̳͓͙̟̬͕̘̦̿͗̉̏̒͆̓̄͊͌͛͂͑̒̃͛͘͜͝͝!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Honestly, probably bc Nightvale and Alice are by the Same Dudes, a lot of these points are the same as Alice Isn’t Dead, but it’s less scawy and more funney. Also hits the “horror, but make it kind of a sitcom” vibes. Doesn’t have the same road trip vibes, but DOES capture the exact weirdness of South Western USA, so I’m still giving it “fucked up americana” credit. If you’ve never been to New Mexico ur like this is an exaggeration clearly no desert town is subject to like ACTUAL cosmic horror and unexplainable sights but I’m telling you New Mexico is just Like That. (I highly recommend visiting the land of enchantment if you ever get the oppurtunity it is a deeply odd and wonderfully unsettling experience.) Look man it’s gay it’s a horror comedy cecil has a wonderfully soothing voice and it hates capitalism so fucking much like oh my god so much what more could you want.

MINI REC ALERT: Wolf 359! I have nothing deep to say about this I just like it and my gut tells me that y’all would enjoy it too I know there isnt much for physical descriptions in the show but I know in my heart that the main character is so so pretty and so so stupid. I KNOW yall like some himbos that experience character growth.

Okay since It’s my party and I’ll speak if I want to rapid fire list of podcasts I just like and want more people to listen to even though I’m behind on like all of them shhhhh: The Penumbra Podcast, BomBARDed, Dungeons and Daddies, Stellar Firma, Wonderful!

SONG RECS

okay these aren’t like replacement recs or anything they’re just really good and I almost certainly would have put them on some sort of supernatural playlist in 2013 but I don’t, like, have a good playlist for them now so I’m subjecting y’all to them also they all have the youtube link for ease of access

Woah There Kimmy- Felix Hagan & the Family

Devil’s Backbone- The Civil Wars

Blood On My Name- The Brothers Bright

Awake O Sleeper- The Brothers Bright

The Bottom of the River- Delta Rae

Old Number 7- The Devil Makes Three

The Bullet- The Devil Makes Three

In Hell I’ll Be In Good Company- The Dead South

Bartholomew- The Silent Comedy

Pomegranate Seeds- Julian Moon

Curses- The Crane Wives

Tongues & Teeth -The Crane Wives

OKAY THAT’S IT! THAT’S ALL FOLKS! FUCK!

#long post #if you didn't want this blame of-mice-and-mentality for enabling me posting #supernatural

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thebuckysoldier · 4 years

Text

Angel

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You were experimented on, resulting in you now having wings. Eventhough you might hate it, Bucky doesn’t.

Wordcount: almost 1.6K

Warnings: angst

A/N: I’m so sorry, again, it’s been so long. And again, it’s not a identical mosters update but an oneshot. I kind of really like this concept and i think its cute, also this one has been ready for quite a while but i wanted it to be longer but i had no idea how to make it longer and i kinda like it like this. So here you go, please enjoy, and also another side note, i think i found motivation to continue identical mosters so we’ll see if i upload in the next couple of days, I’m very sorry if i don’t in advance.

Masterlist

(gif is not mine)

When you first met everyone in the tower, you were scared of their prying eyes, their gazes and their eyes scanning your appearance.

Oh, how far you’ve come since then. You remembered the way everyone had looked at you well, but you never held any grudges against them for it. They all had apologized, it’s just that they had never seen anyone like you. And that’s probably because there is no-one like you, and if there was the things you’d give to meet them.

You were special, and you had accepted it now. You had maybe chosen a different way for yourself to become special, but oh well you were here now. It wasn’t your choice to be kidnapped and experimented on.

No, the experimenting they had done on you wasn’t like the experimenting Hydra had done to the Maximoffs. No, it wasn’t alike in any way. Loki’s staff caused them to have awesome powers, what your torturers had done was cut you up and stitched you back together again and again and again until they had finally reached their goal.

Now there were two protuberances sticking out of your back they had dared to call wings. And yeah, they had actually succeeded, you were able to fly with those wings. When you first came to the tower you were weak and they had called a miracle that you were still alive. You could use the wings back then, but barely, and it also hurt so badly you passed out every time you’d use them.

You were different and kept to yourself, but surprisingly it was Bucky who had taken you under his wing. He helped you when you needed it, while you were trying to distance yourself from everyone, and who knows, they might have tried to distance themselves from you too, he didn’t. He took care of you, he knew what it was like being the odd one out and when he was he took great comfort in knowing Steve.

He felt bad for you, everyone was curious about you, but didn’t seem to care to talk to you, or to even question you about the things on your back. You knew no one in the tower and suddenly you were living in the same ‘house’ as them, used the same kitchen and walked through the same hallways.

Bucky had never looked at you that way, and you couldn’t find the words to tell him how grateful you were for that. It was because of him you were able to grow into the person you were today, nothing compared to the person who first walked through those doors.

Of course you’d never be the same person you were before everything happened but you are content and confident being the person you are today. Although you may have hated living in the tower at first, you couldn’t be happier to be there now. Most of your mornings were spent training with Sam or sometimes Nat if you were feeling up to it for the day. And then you usually made breakfast and ate with whoever was in there with you, it didn’t matter anymore they all warmed up to you and became great friends. Afternoons were spent having fun with Wanda, occasionally Peter and Shuri too if they were around, there was also rarely a day you didn’t stop by Tony and Bruce in their lab. Overall your days in the tower were good, you were fine being with anyone and speaking with anyone but you were also perfectly okay being on your own and watching a movie or reading a book.

But the thing you were maybe most grateful for was that at the end of the day you’d get to curl up to Bucky and talk to him about the day you had, whether they were spent apart or together.

You and Bucky took great comfort in each other, although you were very different people, if you look closer you may have more in common then first meets the eye. He was the first person you ever let close to your back, and the first time you let him he almost shed a tear, you may not have noticed, but that really meant a lot to him. He was known for being violent, his name was connected to hurt and yet he was the first person you let take care of you.

Like the skin connected to his metal arm, your back was scarred and had an angry red color. So when you had let him touch your back the first thing he did was gently rubbed some cream onto it that would help your skin heal itself. He had learned you how to take care of yourself, and in return you did the same. He still had his own trauma to deal with, but you thought it was safe to say that you both had come a long way already.

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

It took you a long time, even after you had become more open with everyone in the tower, before you were able to join the others on missions. You trained long and hard, because making a change for the better in the world was something you really wanted to do.

So when Steve finally agreed to let you come to a smaller mission you were beyond happy. To say the mission went extremely well was an understatement, and you were happy you were an asset to the team. And from then on you went on almost every mission fury sent your way. Mostly Natasha but the others too trained you to be a skilled fighter and with the help of Bruce, Tony and doctor Cho you could now use your wings without it hurting which was a great help as well.

But even though the wings didn’t really hurt anymore, the skin surrounding the wings was still scarred and red. But there was another thing about the wings that you hated. Yes of course you got looks from everyone that saw the wings, I mean a human with wings? Yeah something doesn’t add up there.

But they weren’t pretty wings, bird like wings with feathers, like the ones angels have. Beautiful white feathers, if only your wings looked like that. But no, in stead the scientists gave you purple-ish, red-ish wings the resembled more batwings then anything else. They were ugly in your opinion, the skin like consistency of the wings felt and looked weird, ugly and dare I say it, scary.

How everyone, but most importantly Bucky, could accept you this way was something you could never understand. The wings made you look scary. The world was aware of you, they knew who you were and they knew that you were with the avengers, but they don’t know your story. There are times when you are out on the streets with Steve or Tony to anyone really gets recognized for example by little kids and they scare away from you, they hid behind their mothers legs. You were sure nothing could ever hurt you more, you loved kids, you truly believed you had a kind heart and you took pride of that. Even though you’ve been hurt so much, you aspired to be the best kind of human being. And when young kids are scared of you, your heart breaks into a million pieces.

But sadly, scaring away children isn’t the only thing that happens when you get recognized on the streets. Teens and often older people too, throw hurtful words at you.

“Monster”

“Freak”

“Mutant”

“Demon”

And that list goes on and on and on. You would think you’d know all the hurtful words by now, but it seems like they come up with new ones everyday. But Bucky is always there, at first you didn’t show that you cared about what people thought, but little by little as Bucky broke your walls down, you let him in on your thoughts. And of course he told you not to care, they didn’t know better, but the also knew from experience it’s not easy. After what he had done all those years, Bucky received quite some backlash too. At the end of a hard day he always called the two of you ‘the monstrous couple’ and for some reason a smile magically appeared after those words. Maybe it was caused by the butterflies you still had every time he called you a couple, maybe it was the reminder that you weren’t alone in all this, or the fact that the two of you could make fun of it because deep down you knew in the end, you only need him.

But he still found you often looking at yourself and your wings in the mirror. This conversation was one you had with Bucky over and over again. And for some reason you two always said the exact same words, as if it was the first time you ever had the conversation.

“What are you looking at, doll?” He’d ask as if he didn’t already know.

“The wings” you’d reply

“And why is that?”

“Because they’re horrendous, I look horrendous.”

“Honey you’re the most beautiful human being the world has ever seen, inside and out”

And he’d always take a little breath before adding the next part. The part you loved most.

“Darling you’re an angel, you’re my angel and you got the wings to prove it”

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animeangelriku · 3 years

Text

Should I Write Us A Love Song, My Dear

[also available on AO3!]

Aziraphale sometimes feels like a broken record being played in his old gramophone with how often he repeats himself, but he never feels any guilt or remorse about it.

He loves kissing Crowley, and he will never tire of kissing Crowley, and he will keep saying so and kissing Crowley for as long as Crowley allows him to, and that’s that.

Goodness gracious, Aziraphale loves kissing Crowley. He does, truly, and he can’t fathom how he spent six thousand years not kissing his beloved demon.

(He can, actually, but he’d rather not think about it. He does not want to sully their kisses with those memories and thoughts. They are here now, and that is what matters.)

Aziraphale is thankful that they don’t necessarily have to breathe, just so that they can keep their mouths pressed together longer, pulling Crowley’s lip between his own, nibbling it gently, giving it a soft lick to soothe the bruised skin—even though they do occasionally forget breathing is an optional activity, and they pull slightly away, spit trailing between their mouths, before they dive back in. Crowley makes the sweetest sound when Aziraphale catches his tongue with the tiniest of nips, a devious, pleased smirk twisting the corner of his lips on their next kiss, a gesture that Aziraphale feels down to his bones, to his essence, to the very core of him, where Crowley has made his home.

Oh, and if he were to get started on how marvelous of a kisser Crowley is, on the beautiful, breathtaking, spine-tingling things he can do with his sinful tongue and his perfect, miraculous mouth…

Lord above, Aziraphale could write odes to Crowley’s mouth. Shakespeare and Wilde and Keats and Donne and Neruda and García Lorca would have nothing on him.

Crowley’s lips are soft and a bit plump, often sweet, mostly damp, and always perfect for kissing. They’re just the exact size to fit against Aziraphale’s, just the right shape for Crowley to pull Aziraphale’s lips between them, to gently tug them with his teeth, to nibble the skin and run his tongue over the bruised flesh.

“Eager, are you,” Aziraphale teases him, his mouth brushing Crowley’s, and his beloved flashes a hint of teeth, the sharp edge of an almost fang.

“Can’t help it,” Crowley replies, his voice low and guttural as he moves his hands from Aziraphale’s shoulders to wrap around his neck, “Love your mouth, always have,” and the honesty and devotion in his answer drags a whine from Aziraphale, and he slips his hands beneath Crowley’s shirt to push hard and heavily against the small of his back, the curve of his spine, pulling Crowley closer until he finds himself trapped between his husband and the sofa’s backrest, Crowley’s legs bracketing his thighs and their chests pressed flush together.

“Angel,” Crowley exhales, delighted, a touch of surprise coloring his voice. He runs his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, sinking into the locks and tilting Aziraphale’s head back before he closes the distance between their mouths, immediately sliding his wicked tongue past Aziraphale’s lips.

Aziraphale shivers when Crowley’s nails barely scratch his scalp, they’re holding on to his hair so tightly, and he slowly trails his hands up Crowley’s back, still beneath his shirt to feel the bare skin under his fingertips, to pull his beloved even closer. The movement forces Aziraphale to nearly slouch against the sofa’s backrest, thus forcing Crowley to lean further on him.

Crowley lets out a surprised yelp and cups his hands around Aziraphale’s neck so he can pepper kisses all over the angel’s face; on his brow, his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, any and every inch of skin his mouth can touch.

Even though that feels lovely, wonderful, magnificent, and even though Aziraphale knows how much Crowley likes leaving soft, tiny kisses over his face, he really wants to keep kissing Crowley’s lips, please, not just be on the receiving end of them.

On the next kiss placed near his jaw, Aziraphale catches Crowley’s mouth with his own and bites his lip to keep him there in case his beloved tries to break away from him again. But it doesn’t look like he will. On the contrary, Crowley’s fingers tighten around his neck, holding him close but never hurting him, a gesture only meant to keep Aziraphale right where Crowley wants him.

Not that the sofa isn’t a perfectly good place to snog the living daylights out of each other, but Aziraphale wants to feel all of Crowley, and while he loves having his dear husband on his lap, he’d much rather they were somewhere more comfortable.

He doesn’t even have to snap his fingers. It only requires Aziraphale to picture it, to remember how soft their bed is, how their bedroom smells like them, and the universe complies to pull them from their position on the sofa and safely deposit them on the bed upstairs, their mouths still attached to each other.

“And you call me eager,” Crowley mutters teasingly, once more tilting Aziraphale’s head back, this time into the pillows, to kiss him deeper.

“Can’t help it,” Aziraphale echoes, because he can’t, he truly can’t help it—not with the way every touch of Crowley’s lips fills him with love and adoration. His hands are still beneath Crowley’s shirt, and they roam his back and his shoulders and go all the way down to his hips, unable to get their fill, Aziraphale wants to touch Crowley all over so much he’s burning with it.

Crowley must feel his sudden desperation on the press of the angel’s hands on his skin, or maybe Aziraphale breathes out a plea that is deaf to his own ears but not to Crowley’s, or maybe his demon has just always been able to read every little one of Aziraphale’s motions and gestures. Whatever it is, Crowley kisses him fiercely, his own hands gripping Aziraphale’s hair to push his head back as far as it will go and plunder his mouth like he wants to memorize its insides, like he hasn’t already, like Aziraphale wouldn’t let Crowley kiss him just like this for the rest of forever.

Crowley breaks away slowly, after one last lick to the back of Aziraphale’s teeth, and even through his haze, Aziraphale can see the slight, barely noticeable trail of spit between their mouths, the slickness covering Crowley’s, and want and arousal pool within his belly and ignite his every cell, nearly overwhelming him.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs, his voice a needy, breathless whisper that has Crowley grinning and licking his lips, fully aware of Aziraphale’s eyes following the movement of his tongue and wishing it were his own.

Crowley’s eyes are more black than golden, his pupils wide with lust, and his hair is long enough to cover his collarbones, freely exposed because of the very low cut of his shirt, and Aziraphale’s mouth waters at the thought of dragging the skin between his teeth. But what he wants first, more than anything, is to feel Crowley’s teeth on his neck.

Aziraphale inhales deeply through his mouth and vanishes his bowtie with a thought, opening the top buttons of his shirt while he’s at it. Crowley’s gaze darkens with a hunger so predatory that Aziraphale’s skin itches with anticipation.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” Crowley snarls, leaning down to kiss him again, all teeth and tongue and absolutely no finesse to speak of, and Aziraphale’s toes curl into the bed, his fingers tight and possessive on Crowley’s back, digging in just enough to make Crowley hiss.

His demon growls, a low sound that begins in his throat and ends in Aziraphale’s, and one of his hands moves from Aziraphale’s head down his arm, his side, his hip, until he reaches Aziraphale’s thigh and rakes his fingernails through the fabric of his trousers and grabs at the flesh underneath it to pull it against his hip.

Aziraphale gasps, his arms tightening reflexively around Crowley as his demon pulls away to press hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses to the underside of his jaw, the side of his neck, the bob of his Adam’s apple, and then his teeth graze the hollow of Aziraphale’s throat and Aziraphale arches into the touch with an embarrassingly whiny noise.

“Dearest,” he moans, “my darling,” and Crowley groans against his skin and presses him down into the bed—their bed, their bed, their bed in their bedroom in their home in the world they saved, in the world they love, theirs, theirs, all theirs—his other arm snaking between Aziraphale’s back and the mattress to pull him closer and nuzzle his neck harder, to latch onto his pulse and suck his mark on Aziraphale’s skin.

Aziraphale whines and pants against Crowley’s temple, and he can feel Crowley’s smirk on his neck, the sharpness of his grin, before he feels the sharpness of his demon’s teeth grazing his flesh, sending a heat that is solely human and yet no less marvelous because of it coursing through Aziraphale’s body as he clings more tightly to his beloved husband. He wants Crowley closer, closer, so much closer, he wants to fuse their corporations together until his essence brushes against Crowley’s, until he can kiss the places where Crowley’s form connects with his, until he can kiss the very atoms and bits of stardust that make him up.

Crowley is still holding one of his thighs to his side, so Aziraphale curls his leg the rest of the way around Crowley’s, secures the grip of his arms around him, and he presses his other foot against the bed to push himself up and roll them over so he’s the one pinning Crowley down into the pillows now, his legs settling between Crowley’s, right where they belong, one of his hands curled around Crowley’s neck to kiss the breath away from him, licking inside Crowley’s mouth and relishing the full-body shiver from his demon, the way Crowley’s fingers dig into the fabric of his waistcoat.

“Angel,” Crowley exhales, squeezing his knees against Aziraphale’s sides and clinging to him in an embrace that can only be described as constricting, the hold of a serpent, but Aziraphale feels nothing but safe and wanted and desired and loved, most of all, so, so loved.

“My love,” Aziraphale murmurs into Crowley’s mouth, and then he murmurs it against the corner of his lips, and then against the shell of his ear and the arc of his brow and the curve of his cheekbone and the snake mark on his temple, “My love, my love, my love,” and Crowley throws his head back and clutches him tighter and cants up his hips and his cock is hard and hot even through their layers and Aziraphale is so turned on he might just burst with it. He adores Crowley, loves him, wants him so blessedly much.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley gasps, the sound turning into a whine when Aziraphale presses him down into the bed with his own hips, grinding his erection against Crowley’s and feeling his demon push back until they can settle on a desperate, uncoordinated rhythm that nonetheless gives them enough friction to get them where they want to get.

“Oh, fuck, keep doing that,” Crowley pants, his arms winding around Aziraphale’s neck to bring their mouths together again, just a pressure of their lips rather than actual kissing, though neither of them minds too much.

Despite the lack of space between them, Aziraphale wants them to be closer still, to burrow into Crowley’s chest and never leave, to feel Crowley’s pleasure as if it were his own, to entwine himself with his beloved husband until he doesn’t know where one’s body begins and the other one’s ends.

Aziraphale forces his knees beneath him so he can sit up, just a little bit, and his hands skim down Crowley’s figure to grab his thighs and pull them off the bed and against his hips, and when Aziraphale thrusts down with this new leverage, Crowley shouts, arching off the mattress and against Aziraphale’s belly.

“Like that, my dear?” Aziraphale says, wanting to sound cheeky and smug but most likely coming off as awestruck and breathless instead.

“Yessss,” Crowley hisses, the movement of his hips serpentine and hypnotizing, drawing Aziraphale deeper. “Yesss, angel, yesssss…”

Aziraphale groans and leans down to kiss Crowley, eternally grateful that he gets to kiss and be kissed by this wonderful, unbelievable creature, by the one being that makes his traitorously human heart pound inside his chest, by the one he’s allowed to call the love of his life, his love, his love, his beautiful, perfect, marvelous Crowley—

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whimpers. “Crowley, Crowley, Crowley…”

His fingers clutch Crowley’s thighs as he shoves their hips together and pins Crowley’s body to the bed and licks the sweat from Crowley’s neck and tugs the skin of his collarbones with his teeth and sucks the hollow of his throat and Crowley thrashes beneath him and grabs the back of his head to pull him back up and kiss him and nip the tip of his tongue and Aziraphale returns the favor by pulling Crowley’s bottom lip between his and biting down slightly harder than he meant to and Crowley keens, a broken, wounded noise that Aziraphale swallows.

It only takes three, four, five more thrusts, and then Crowley screams what sounds like Aziraphale’s name before his body tenses and coils around the angel, the warmth and dampness of his orgasm nearly overwhelming enough to discorporate Aziraphale.

Crowley doesn’t lessen his hold on him. In fact, he uses his heels to bring Aziraphale closer, caressing his hair and murmuring sweet words into his ear.

“C’mon, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale yells and comes in his trousers, almost drowned by the waves of love pouring out of his demon.

They thrust softly and shallowly through the aftershocks, panting against each other’s mouth until they can regain enough breath to kiss properly again.

Aziraphale drops Crowley’s thighs and slides down on the bed until he’s lying atop Crowley, carding his fingers through the beautiful curls. Crowley sighs contentedly, his knees still squeezing Aziraphale’s sides like he wants to keep him there until the sun explodes—like Aziraphale isn’t always looking for excuses to remain in bed by Crowley’s side. Like there’s anywhere else he would rather be than in Crowley’s arms.

“I love you,” Aziraphale mumbles, and Crowley’s expression is so full of love and praise and devotion that Aziraphale swears his heart grows three sizes, or five, or ten.

“I love you, too,” Crowley tells him, bringing his head down for another kiss.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #riku's fics #my first e-rated fic and it's just making out and grinding HOW RAUNCHY

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seapandora · 4 years

Text

Sky High

Part 1

Summary: Y/N, an angel of the Lady. She is beauty, she is grace, but she will punch a demon in its face.

A/N: A part of the writing challenge @buckysknifecollection made. It is going to be a series, and I´d love to hear from you guys on what you´d like me to change and what not. I really hope this will be a good one, I love the prompt and I just had a lot of fun writing this even if it probably doesn’t make any sense XD. Anyways, enjoy guys!

Warnings: Swearing (I swear a lot, okay), sexual innuendos (later chapters), alcohol, mentions of death/killing, mentions of religion(s), angst (future chapters), fluff (future chapters)

Steve x fem!reader

Words: 1778

Prompt: Angel/Demon AU

Y/N: Your Name

Y/Ns week had been awful, more so than usual. She hadn´t been able to be around her favorite humanoids and she had been away on mission after mission to species who didn’t appreciate her help and in the end didn’t pray to or for her, meaning her grace was draining slightly. It made her grouchy and really not very pleasant to be around. Natasha had already pointed that out to her, but Y/N had just grumbled and asked for another whiskey. It was the only way she would be able to get through the week in her own head.

Monday

Everyone hates Mondays, why should this one had been any different? It really wasn´t. It all started with Y/N getting her mission. A population of Welmus. An aggressive species who had no beliefs and were therefor hard to control. Welmus weren´t large, but they were many, reproduced faster than regular humans and could be a real pain in the ass unless controlled. Normally the younger angels would handle them, in more or less good ways. But in the past few months they had had a bit of an upproar which ended in the entire population having to be wiped out. Y/N didn’t like the work, but she didn’t want someone like Tony to have to do it. He took it more personal than Y/N did. She just did the job, she didn’t want to loose her wings. It seemed to be painful. So yes, she had commited mass-murder, in the name of Maria. In the words of sir Ian McKellen, in the Da Vinci-code, as long as there´s been one true god there has been killing in his name. Maria was god now. So while the Welmus-species wasn’t huge, standing at a height of 50 cm, they were very very aggressive and didn´t go down with a fight. Y/N had earned quite a few scars from that battle. In the end she had did what needed to be done though and she had wished for no more mission for the day, but as per usual, she never got what she wanted. Maria had given her another mission, this one to sort up another rebellion. She wouldn’t need to take anyone out, but she was supposed to take those responsible, into custody to let them stand in the court of holy law to have their fates determined. What a Monday it had been.

Tuesday - Thursday

Tuesday she had gotten her third mission of the week. To get to earth and make believers pray and atone for their sins. Yay, her favorite. Oh how she hated humans. They were ungreatful, needy, whiny, cruel, and disrespectful. They didn’t appreciate her help and didn’t pray for her after she left. All angels had a specific area they took care of Y/Ns was peace and she had visited earth with the mission to calm people down. The least they could do was to pray for peace no matter what religion they belonged to. Anyways, she had been busy trying to keep forces separated and her mind had been working non-stop to convince the leaders of the two forces to retreat and squash the dispute. What good was it being the good guy if she couldn’t use her powers. The whole ordeal had just taken so much energy out of her and Thursday night she just cured up under the stars and let herself regenerate a bit of Grace. It was exhausting to end fights and make sure everyone behaved, humans were particularly hard to deal with. And would you know, Friday would be even worse.

Friday

Whats worse than having adult humans not believe in peace? Having a child believe in peace but have to take them out because their future shows them to be horrible humans. The world didn’t need a new dictator. Her day had hence started with just studying the child, and eventually talking to the child and lastly taking the childs hand and guide him to Maria. Yes that meant the child moved on to the after-life. Yeah, Y/N job really wasn’t glamourous or fun sometimes. Her Friday didn’t end with that though. Maria sent her to collect three angels from hell, or the underworld rather. It was the same place for all religions who believed in a hell-like world where you were punished for your sins. Y/N liked the underworld, well she didn’t mind the dark and silence down there. Unlike heaven she never felt crowded while she was down there. The angels had all been captured by demons but had now been traded for demons that were kept in heaven. Y/N didn’t really know why they had all been captured, she didn’t really care, she just did her job. The angels had been returned safe and sound and Y/Ns week had finally been over. Well work for her was never over, but she took the weekend away from her boss, so close enough.

Angels and Demons, good and bad, light and dark, blah blah blah… Y/N had heard it all by now. She was the good, light, gracious and angelic. She was beautiful as few and carried her aura with pride. Well according to what most people thought anyways. She hated it, every second of it. Being an angel wasn’t something she had chosen. She had died, it was quite dramatic and all, but she had long forgotten how she died. Someone had seen into her sould and whipped up some hefty spell. And she oop… was an angel. Yeah yeah, it wasn’t that simple, but she didn’t know the process, just that she went through it. A few years into her… holiness… angelness… angelship, she got a wessel. She was to do the Lords work on earth. Y/N hadn´t been a believer before she died, doing the Lords work felt hypocritical to her and she had rebelled in a sense. Her rebellion had led to the exchange of theLord into a very lovey lady, Maria. Okay, she wasn’t lovely but, Y/N disliked any kind of authority. She did her duties as she got them in exchange for not being disturbed inbetween her missions. Her reach stretched beyond Earth, more than the human species believed in a power, and she was one of a number to make the higher powers work. Y/Ns favorite species to help were the Sofwas. They are small humanoid creatures, about 2 inches tall and despite that they’ve got quite the vocal range and Y/N always felt humbled by them. They were vocal, but kind, mostly. Y/N would often volonteer to help the Sofwas and she was respected and prayed to by the creatures. It was important to be that respected by at least one species. If she wasn’t she would fade, her wessel would devour all of her grace and she´d become a mere shell walking across the worlds praying on angels. Now lets not confuse a corrupted angel with a demon. A demone was a completely different thing, as unpleasant and disgusting of course, well almost all demons were awful.

Natasha wasn’t awful. She was a demon Y/N had worked with a few times by now. Angels and demons didn’t always have opposing goals. Most demons knew who Y/N was, they knew her story with heaven and often thought they could ger her to join their cause, or side, or whatever youd want to call it. Those attempt only pissed Y/N off, they were futile. She didn’t want to be on anyones bad side. She had, first hand, had to rip angels wings off because of their disobediance and failure to hide it, or make up for it. She had, first hand, had to kill demons, as they strayed too far off their path. All she really wanted was some peace and quiet. She had no interest in the disputes between angels and demons. She just didn’t want to be bossed around. That was her problem. If she refused orders she´d be discarded, she´d be killed. She was stuck in her situation really. Now back to Natasha, she ran a bar Y/N often visited. They had the more potent stuff that would get angels and demons alike, a good buzz. Y/N was a frequent visitor. Her work was hard and in the bar she didn’t have to think. A few of her collegues came with her occasionally, Tony mostly, but also Rhodey, and T´Challa. They usually met up in the bar to discuss their latest missions. The other three however werent as keen on demons as Y/N was. They were all technically younger than her and had a lot of faith in their boss Maria. Of course they knew about Y/Ns rebellion, but they hadn´t been around for it. At the bar they could talk freely, while there Maria couldn’t summon them. Natasha had made sure that the bar was a free haven.

The bar wasn’t only for them though, no no no, Natasha would never have been able to put up with them alone, there had to be at least two demons in the bar to balance it out. This didn’t always fall well with Tony and Rhodey. T´Challa was more relaxed around the demons even if he didn’t trust them or wanted to talk to them. There was however one demon neither of them wanted to talk to and Y/N wasn´t too fond of him either. He went by The Captain or The Nomad Captain, and he was the leader of the demons. He was the, so called, devils right hand. No one really knew his real name, well of course Y/N knew it. She knew a lot. She got around enough to understand who he was. The captain had a few friends Y/N actually spent some time with every now and then. It was mostly at the bar, but occasionally out in the real world as well. A demon Y/N really enjoyed spending time with was Sam. He was fun, and didn’t judge Y/N for being an angel. Unfortunately Sam spent most of his time with The Captain and his other associate. Y/N wanted to say the two were friends, but she didn’t know if demons could even have friends. Hell, she wasn’t sure she had or could have friends. Yes she had her collegues but they weren´t her friends. Currently the bar was empty apart from herself, Natasha, Natashas friend Wanda, and The Captain and the person Y/N had realized was closest to him, James. It was weird being the only angel in the establishment, but Y/N didn’t care too much. As long as The Captain and James didn’t pick a fight she would be fine.

#Steve Rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america #fanfiction #fanfic #buckysknifecollectionchallenge #seapandoraswritings

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fenrislorsrai · 4 years

Text

Bad Words, Good Deeds

They spent several days enjoying the unusually nice weather, eating out, talking about nothing too important, and figuring out what less obvious changes Adam had wrought. Crowley had gone to his flat first evening after dinner to water his plants and sleep, but had showed up slightly after dawn with warm croissants and coffee and had dozed off on couch with sleek steel travel cup in hand. Aziraphale had taken it out of his hand without waking him and spent the morning reading.

He’d made a soft joke of it when Crowley had woken and tried to apologize. “Oh that sunbeam there, it’s gotten you so many times before, what’s one more?” It got Crowley several more days as he stayed up late with Aziraphale and never quite made it back to his flat.

After nearly a week of that and after a late lunch, Aziraphale suggested they should probably stop by Crowley’s flat and pick up his mail and water his plants. Crowley had looked briefly stricken and mumbled something about dropping Aziraphale off at bookshop “Oh really, I promise I won’t spoil your plants while we are there.” The we seemed to quiet Crowley.

There was a ridiculous amount of mail in box which Aziraphale took and shooed off Crowley to go deal with plants. He pretended to not hear Crowley scolding them.

He sorted it on Crowley’s desk based on how it was addressed. He’d picked up mail often enough when Crowley was off doing some mischief that most of them were familiar, but it did give him a chance to see what various fronts the demon had put up. Most contained the word “consulting” or “management” in the title. All the names and businesses here were ones Crowley had before the whole Antichrist thing had started. If he’d made new ones since then, they weren’t in this pile of mail. Or he just hadn’t seen the point in bothering with long term schemes anymore.

He got to culling the actual junk vs what was probably mail. All the slick cards for equipment and services went. The auction catalogs and the fashion magazine stayed. Bills Crowley probably wouldn’t pay in conventional sense, but would want to be aware of the existence of, got added to the ‘keep’ pile. The bulky hand addressed and rather squashy envelope that smelled faintly of flowers went on top.

The junk all went in the recycling bin that Crowley had tried several different defenses of as being evil but none of them were very convincing. The one about recycled paper was used to make those awful brown paper towel that somehow never actually dried anything was as close as he’d gotten to justifying it as a “demonic plot”. Crowley’s muttering in other room was a more likely explanation as to its presence.

Aziraphale picked up remaining mail and stood in doorway watching Crowley finish up with watering. Crowley turned around and gave him a little huff. “Don’t you be coming in here spoiling them, don’t think I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.” He tipped arm slightly to show Crowley greatly reduced mail stack and saw Crowley’s sudden interest at the hand addressed envelope. “Should I put it back on your desk or are we taking it with us?”

Crowley froze at question.

“Perhaps on the coffee table instead?”

“Yeah. that makes more sense if… if we’re staying. You’re not going to be bored?”

“I can go get us something to drink while you deal with this.”

“Good idea.”

Mail got deposited on the stylish coffee table by the even more stylish couch that was rubbish for napping on and Aziraphale went to go see what sort of alcohol Crowley had on hand. By the time he got back with bottle of wine and glasses Crowley had put away plant mister and settled on the couch. Aziraphale took the matching stylish and uncomfortable chair.

Mail got dealt with as they settled into usual routine of drinking and talking. There were various brief lapses in flow of conversation as Crowley paused to actually read some of the mail. The hand addressed envelope of carefully labelled seeds and notes sent them off on a long rambling conversation where Crowley did most of the talking about this particular collection of wildflower seeds he’d just gotten. This wasn’t exactly what he usually grew so Aziraphale was interested if this indicated Crowley had an outdoor plot somewhere else and this segued into Crowley apparently was going to use them in some kind of bombs??? And Aziraphale’s sudden deep concern had the demon hastily reassuring him they were more along lines of bath bombs not explosives. Which apparently involved tossing them anywhere he thought they might grow untended, like empty lots and ugly flat roofs.

Didn’t seem that demonic really other than the name. Crowley launched into a fairly convoluted justification of the whole thing’s merits as a wicked plan to cause property damage, attract bugs, and bedevil people with allergies while Aziraphale just got an increasingly fond look on his face at this.

“It all sounds very nice”

“I don’t do nice. That’s you.” It was a very familiar protest, with no real bite behind it anymore.

“Now you can, if you like.”

“I’m a demon, nice is not in my nature.” There was more certainty to that one, but an undercurrent of some other emotion as well.

“You’ve been doing nice things for a long time, now you just don’t have to come up with an excuse why for a report.” A pause and then much softer “No more reports at all. No more thwarting. No more Arrangement.”

Crowley inhaled sharply and sat up totally straight, practically humming with tension. He started to splutter something but couldn’t seem to get thoughts to form actual words beyond “Angel…”

Aziraphale looked at him, face softening. “I’m sorry. That sounded… I think we both need a minute.” He looked at Crowley to make sure he was watching and then bent over and untied shoes, taking them off and slipped them under the coffee table. “I am going to the kitchen”

Crowley stared at the shoes for a full minute while composing himself before taking his own off and carrying both pairs to closet. Aziraphale’s shoes got put in empty cubby in shoe organizer which he’d never filled. For some reason. He stared at empty suit hanger he’d also never used. He hung up his own jacket and vest on the one he did use and stared at the empty one fretting over if he should ask Aziraphale if he wanted to hang up anything. He left it where it was.

Crowley drifted back to kitchen and ended up hovering in doorway where he could watch Aziraphale cutting up two apples he most certainly hadn’t known were in his kitchen. The apples got cut into thin yellowish slices, carefully splaying them in attractive little whirl on cutting board next to two little stacks of slightly crumbly cheese slices, one white, one a reddish orange. Watched him carefully clean off the knife in tiny sink, dry it, put it away, hang up the towel neatly, and look over area for a moment. Crowley suddenly didn’t want to be seen lurking so pulled back, but apparently made enough noise to get Aziraphale’s attention.

“Crowley?”

“Yeah.” He tried to lean nonchalantly against doorframe.

“I didn’t think I took that long.”

“You didn’t. I just…” Crowley looked away. Slight little sniff as he tried to figure out what to say.

“I was coming back.” It was said so softly.

“I know” equally soft.

“Since you’re here, you can carry this.”

Crowley came into kitchen and picked up cutting board. “Apples, really?”

“From Adam, I think.”

“Was I supposed to tempt you with these?”

“Did you have someone else in mind?”

Crowley started to say something and then retreated to the living room, hoping Aziraphale didn’t notice flush. He put cutting board on the coffee table and refilled wine. He moved own glass to where it would be easy to reach before sprawling on the couch.

The angel meanwhile resettled on chair. No mention was made of where his shoes had gone.

Aziraphale took some of the apples and cheese from plate to try each separately and then together. Crowley shifted a little so he could watch Aziraphale’s face as angel considered each bite and occasionally made slight little pleased noise. The angel seemed utterly focused on that for the moment, so Crowley was a bit surprised when Aziraphale spoke.

“Would you take them off, please?”

“What?” Even through the dark lens, Aziraphale could see Crowley’s eyes widen, dart downwards, then back come back up to Aziraphale’s face in confusion.

“Your sunglasses”

“Oh. Right. Those.” Aziraphale made a slight exasperated sigh at that and then leaned back with a little hmm noise. Crowley fidgetted at that, not liking where this seemed to be going.

“I’ve always liked your eyes.” That really was not where Crowley thought the conversation was going to go.

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

Crowley made a face at that as the tone seemed a little bit as if Aziraphale was mimicking his own voice. “You just want to see if I’m lying.”

“Of course you’re lying, you’re talking.”

“Oi!.” he sniffed “...but s’true.” a slight little shrug.

“I just am not sure if you’re lying to me or to yourself.”

Crowley sat up straight, ready to protest and then froze and just slumped. Quiet. Then took his sunglasses off and held them out to Aziraphale while looking at the floor. Aziraphale took them carefully and tucked them in pocket, with a little pat.

Crowley tried looking at something that was not Aziraphale. The downside of a minimalist space was that there wasn’t that much to idly look at when avoiding looking at a person right by you. Who was apparently just waiting patiently and seeing him smile just a little when Crowley finally looked back at him… Crowley decided the only safe thing to look at was his own hands.

“If you can’t tell me something, you could just show me.” Crowley snapped back to looking at him and that was A Mistake as there was his earnest, but nervous, face.

“And what if I’m going too fast?” Crowley was very, very still.

“Well’ Aziraphale now got to be the one looking all flustered. “I’ve told you no so many times before and you’ve always stopped…. I trust you.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Then we’re both stupid.”

Crowley got up, circled round the chair. He grabbed Aziraphale’s lapels and pulled him up roughly, turning the chair at same time. He pulled him up on toes a bit so he could look him clean in the eyes. Aziraphale tilted his head a little and started to lean in…

Crowley pushed him back just a little and let him settle back down on heels.

“No.”

“No???” Aziraphale seemed a bit shocked. “But…”

“Showing.” He released lapels and smoothed them back down. Hands slid a bit lower and he started to unbutton Aziraphale’s waistcoat. Aziraphale inhaled at that, tensing up. His eyes started to move down to look at Crowley’s hands, but then he’d lose the eye contact that had been so hard to get in first place. They both watched each other’s faces, looking for that sign to stop, but it didn’t come. As soon as the last one was undone, Aziraphale grasped edges and started motion to shrug out of jacket and waistcoat.

“No.” Crowley pulled at both. “On” Aziraphale now got to look just utterly baffled. Crowley just ran hands along open edge of waistcoat, just feeling the fabric for now. He took a little steadying breath before running hands over Aziraphale’s chest so he could tug at the bow tie to undo it. Then make some little frustrated noises at it.

“Here.” Aziraphale brought his hands up to get the process started, tucking his hands under Crowley’s to help without fully displacing them. Once undone, Crowley just rested his hands on Aziraphale’s for a moment before slowly pulling them over to himself and resting Aziraphale’s hands on his chest. Then brought his own back to rest on Aziraphale, trembling a little. He pressed them flat against Aziraphale to steady them.

Aziraphale stroked Crowley very lightly with fingertips where his hands were resting. Crowley rocked forward into it a little, fingers digging into Aziraphale a bit more firmly, but not with purpose. “Please…”

Aziraphale kept his eyes on Crowley’s face as he worked at unbuttoning shirt with a far steadier hand. Now that he had some slight direction he seemed to have regained some of his composure. Careful, deliberate. Crowley started to unbutton Aziraphale’s as well, though with a lot more fumbling and urgency. He was light with hands, barely touching, like he would need to pull away at any moment.

He slowed as he got towards the bottom, then paused, finally looking down so he could see what to do next. A sharp inhale and then very slowly grasped shirt and pulled up to untuck it. And then had even more buttons to undo…

Aziraphale untucked Crowley’s with a bit more finesse. Aziraphale ran a careful hand across Crowley’s now bare stomach and rested his hand over belt buckle, watching face. A slight little head shake from Crowley and he brought his hands back up. Crowley’s hands hovered along edge of shirt, still not having touched skin except incidentally. Aziraphale made a slight motion like he’d shrug out of shirt and Crowly tugged at him again. “No. On”

Aziraphale blinked at him but let Crowley figure it out. Watched the demon try and keep his face schooled, but clearly was struggling with something.

Mind made up Crowley stepped closer and dipped shoulders a bit so Aziraphale got the hint and helped him out of his shirt. Aziraphale started to step away slightly so he could drape it on chair, but Crowley kept eye contact and grabbed one of his hands and pressed it back to his chest. “Stay”

Aziraphale kept one hand on him and lightly tossed shirt one handed and caught it on his forearm to fold it neatly in half. A simple movement, but elegant in execution. Aziraphale slid it off his arm and draped it across the arm of the chair he’d been sitting on.

Crowley took his free hand and pushed slightly on Aziraphale’s shoulder, then pointed at the couch. Aziraphale took a careful step back towards it, keeping hand carefully flat on Crowley. The demon wasn’t quite pushing into hand but was eager to move with him. Staying close, but not actually closing the gap just yet.

Aziraphale backed up til legs hit couch and then carefully sat down, sliding hand down Crowley as he settled. Scooted over slightly so Crowley would have plenty of space to sit. Who then mostly just collapsed into the space instead of actually sitting.

Crowley settled his free hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder then slid it down to rest on his chest, under the jacket but with waistcoat and shirt still between them. Took Aziraphale’s hand on chest and slid it slowly sideways to get it out from between them. As soon as it seemed Aziraphale would put hand around his back without guidance, he moved other hand to Aziraphale’s chest, just the shirt between them at this point. Aziraphale moved his other hand to settle into small of Crowley’s back and pulled very slightly. Crowley scooted closer but drew hands back a little so he was barely touching Aziraphale again. Watching face. A slight little bit more pressure from Aziraphale and that was it. Hands moved from outside to inside, just barely grazing Aziraphale’s chest before Crowley slid them all the way around behind and quickly pulled himself into lap.

A pained noise from Aziraphale made him freeze and then start to pull back just as fast. Aziraphale held onto him, not letting him go.

“Your knee.”

“Oh.”

Aziraphale shifted hands lower and grabbed Crowley’s belt to turn him half on his side so he’d take weight off the offending leg. Gave him another tug for good measure to pull him closer before settling hands back in small of Crowley’s back.

There’d been the slight pause, but the tug had been all the encouragement Crowley needed to get back on motion. He wasn’t going to be able to really fit entirely in Aziraphale’s lap but he was going to give it a damned good try. A little more adjustment and he had managed to worm his way into position where he had their chests pressed together, arms firmly wrapped around Aziraphale, and improbably half burrowed under Aziraphale’s clothes while they were still mostly on.

Aziraphale had kept a firm hand on small of Crowley’s back to pull him closer, but had used other hand to adjust edges of clothing once it became semi-clear what Crowley was trying to do. Once Crowley seemed to be settling more of his weight on him, Aziraphale eased up on pressure and switched to just lightly stroking back instead. He slid other hand up and ran his hand up into Crowley’s hair.

“OH.” Aziraphale paused. “Please...” So encouraged he made little circles on Crowley’s scalp and the demon pushed slightly into that making some small, contented noises. Crowley tried to mirror a little bit of that gentle stroking on back, but kept digging his fingers into softness of back instead, like he could pull Aziraphale closer.

Tension slowly drained out of the both of them as minutes passed. As Crowley just slowly melted, Aziraphale started to suspect he might end up with the demon falling asleep on him. The position and the couch weren’t entirely comfortable, but it was also very comfortable in an entirely different sense.

Crowley finally turned his head a bit so Aziraphale could see his face again, though mostly obscured by his own shirt.

"Couldn't have told you that. With words. Still not sure I could tell you. It’ll all sound stupid."

“Wanting to be held is not stupid.” Aziraphale gave him a slight squeeze.

“Oh… angel….” Crowley rubbed cheek against him. “This is so…. Nice. and a bunch of other four letter words. Good. Cozy. Warm. Soft.”

“And you’re not nice?”

“I’m not.” Crowley curled in, hiding under edge of shirt. He didn’t quite sound like believed that lie either.

“But you’d like something...nice.”

“Someone nice.”

“I think that could be arranged.”

________

Also available over on AO3. It has slightly better formatting over there!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #non-sexual intimacy #aziraphale/crowley #snuggling

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thepensmight · 4 years

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Reflections- A Good Omens Fic

This is madness… In a certain bookshop in Soho, a certain angel sat across from a demon sipping wine.1 None of this was unusual. In fact, it had been going on for as many decades as the bookshop had been established. Decades had come and gone, automobiles clogged the once quieter streets, and bebop continued its attempt to permeate the windows of A.Z. Fell & Co. to no avail.2 And A.Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley or as they were more occultly and ethereally known, Aziraphale and Crowley, had spared a few hours for each others’ company. More often, in recent years, given their mutual investment in the boy, Warlock Dowling. Warlock, for his part, had had a rather unusual childhood of influences, including an imposing nanny, a gardener, and two tutors.

Aziraphale reflected on those days as he stared at his wine, swirling it to slow his consumption. Back then, they had had to spend more time together. Even the Arrangement had been more cooperative from a distance. Though of course, they had always offered each other help when needed. Or rather, Crowley had. Aziraphale certainly wouldn’t help with any sort of temptation that would require the aid of two metaphysical beings. He simply couldn’t. The Arrangement was simply a matter of convenience.

They had grown familiar, so that by the time they had elected themselves for the upbringing of the Warlock, their time together felt almost natural. Certainly more natural than his time Above. He shivered slightly. It contrasted every written record, but Aziraphale found heaven cold, almost sterile in the never ceasing white walls and windows. And then there were his comrades-in-arms. Aziraphale’s gaze lowered further. He knew he wasn’t a proper angel. Not given his preferred company, the joy he took in human indulgences like food and books and wine. To him, the bookshop seemed a more enjoyable world than heaven had ever seemed. And now the clock was ticking. He had declared a side. Or rather refused what should have been his side. Aziraphale had been glancing above for some sign of Divine Wrath for the past twelve hours. If I’m already on Earth, where would I Fall? He had wondered where Crowley had Fallen. Had he simply landed on Earth? Or had Hell swallowed him once the sulphur had done its work. He glanced back woefully where he knew his wings lay hidden. I really do prefer white to black. “It would work...” Crowley’s voice jolted him back to the present. It had a way of doing that. In fact, sometime between the Blitz and discovering the actual antichrist child, Crowley’s presence had started something he was pointedly ignoring. Or trying to. I’m an angel. He argued to himself, there is no difference in my feeling for him than any of Her other creatures. Aziraphale sighed, he’d never been good at lying to himself for very long. Centuries at most. “What Dear?” Crowley hissed softly by way of reproach, leaning closer, “Look, Above and Below will be looking for blood, a whole vat of it in my case, and that’s just a start.” Aziraphale had been more focused on the Fall 3, he hadn’t given much thought to an execution.”It’ll be Holy Water for me...” HIs oldest friend shrugged, “Oozing about in the Underworld for Eternity.” Crowley took an unceremonious gulp of wine, “Hellfire.” Aziraphale replied glumly, “That’sss my point!” Crowley always did hiss a little more when he was stressed or drunk… or drunk because he was stressed. Aziraphale found the tone slightly comforting. He then dismissed the thought. “They can throw me in a vat of the stuff, won’t do anything. I’m already burning.” “Yes but they wouldn’t do that to you.” Aziraphale said tartly, “You’ll get Holy Water,” Crowley leaned even closer, and it was all the angel could do to not look at his lips. Dear Lor- On second thought, probably best not to call the attention of the Divine. He failed miserably as Crowley pulled that sinful smirk of the Serpent thinking of something terribly clever, “My body will.” Crowley’s eyes roved his body and he felt his decided to beat pulse quicken. Aziraphale frowned, What was he- His eyes widened as he realized what Crowley intended, the precise way the snake was looking at him. Not as a meal, as an assessment. Like deciding on a suit. “You mean...” The color rose on angelic cheeks, he stood abruptly, “No.” Crowley stood to follow him, “You’ve possessed people before-” “That was an emergency and she willingly shared-” “So’s this. And it won’t even be body sharing. More like body swapping.” “No.” Oh the thought of what Crowley would could do, what he would see of himself, well his given body. “There must be another-” “Can you think of a better idea?” He couldn’t, “You don’t even know if it will work.” “But it might. Besides,” Again, that smirk crossed his lips and Aziraphale failed miserably at ignoring his lips, his gaze drifting lower to a long lean neck. “You must’ve wanted to take this for a drive,” Crowley was simply teasing, but his thoughts were too flustered of late. “I-I-” “We’ll get to stay on earth...” There it was, that softer tone he’d always worked so hard to ignore. “We’ll get more time. More bookshops. More music. More everything.” Everything. It reminded him of when the demon had said they could go off together, and how much it had taken to say no. He’d never felt worse. He swallowed harshly. “I-I- suppose it’s worth a try...”

The first thing he noticed was the silence. Aziraphale was so used to the continuous drone of God’s Love and Divine Will, it was simply the background noise of his existence. The constant hum telling him what to do, what his purpose was at all times. It was still there, but Aziraphale realized for the second time in as many days, how much his body had become an echo chamber for the pressures of the Divine.4 With Madame Tracy, it was quieter. This was near silence. He had to focus to even register the drone. He sighed in relief, or rather he would have, had his clothes not constricted his breathing. Just how tight are these jans?5 Black nail polish coated the tips of slender, almost feminine hands. He touched them carefully, He has such lovely hands. A throat cleared, “Right, see you tomorrow,” Crowley was nodding him out of his own bookshop. The nerve! Though the wink tempered the gall of it quickly, “Tickety Boo,”

Shaky breath, he’d tried to go to his private rooms quickly. Longer legs provided a faster stride as he reached the cold stark reality of his counterpart’s quarters. He froze as he passed a full length mirror. Something he avoided as a general rule. He liked his clothes, he made sure they were straight and rather ignored what was underneath. He claimed out of avoidance of vanity. That wasn’t entirely true. The echoes of a thousand ethereally voices sniping at the state of his form, rang in his ears. He’d rather thought there was no harm in making his appearance more comforting. Humans made such lovely food, and his rounder shape had made people more comfortable than the harsh angels that existed in most angels… and demons… and most of the occult and ethereal universe. Over time, the voices had been added to the echo chamber of his form, noise he chose to try to ignore. But today… hands that weren’t his own, ran over thighs that weren’t his own nervously.... Today his reflection would show his spirit. But above it was something more, something beautiful. Urgently stripping off demonically summoned garments. He drank in every inch of his not his own body. Long lithe muscle, a flat abdomen, and fiery hair. Aziraphale shakily ran a hand along not his lips. Touching the mirror pensively, “I love you,” His soul shivered at the voice that formed the words. Wiping tears as he realized he had caused Crowley’s form to cry. Mortified, “No no, this won’t do.” It was overwhelming, the amount of love he felt surging through his veins. Selfish love. Love without borders, love without end. Not a service to the Purpose or the Plan. A love that was his, alone.

Across town, in a bookshop more familiar than the Gardens of Eden, an occult filled body was currently in a state of shock. Love. Divine love. And Purpose. The ultimate torture of Falling was experiencing the hole left from God ripping Her Love from your soul. The fire and brimstone bit was nothing compared to the void. Most demons forgot it to cope. Unfortunately for Crowley, he’d orbited the only ethereal being on earth for millennia. Aziraphale simply oozed with Love, he reeked of it. The angel truly adored all God’s creatures, excepting, of course, for the Evils he had to thwart and occasionally keep as company, given their arrangement. Angel had given the poor serpent such emotional whiplash over the centuries. A thousand nos, twice as many yeses. Each played in his mind like a broken record, each given with no regard or reason for the methods of the last answer. And yet, simply being near Aziraphale had forced his Falling to remain fresh. A wound constantly reopened by virtue of accompanying the virtuous. And now, a gambit that neither side would approve of. A plot that was both so Heavenly and Hellish it could only be described as Human. Crowley had anticipated some slight discomfort, missing his familiar body and so on, but what he hadn’t counted on was the residual traces of Love as he walked across a rug in the bookshop. It hit him like a ton of bricks and he dropped to the floor as though Falling again. It ate at his being 6, but for a moment, he felt it again. The Divine Purpose. The desire to create and give… the feeling of the stars at his fingertips. A portrait for all to see, but all in Service. All according to Divine Will and Power. Will... Free Will. Crowley sat up, remembering precisely why his wings no longer glowed a pearlescent sheen as he stared in the mirror. “Bastards.” The word sounded less guttural in Aziraphale’s soft posh voice, but the tone reminded him of his purpose. None so Divine, but perhaps focused a bit on the ethereal. Or specifically, one part of it. He pushed himself off the floor. “I only ever asked why.” Dusting off Aziraphale’s coat, because he knew he’d want it so, he busied himself around the shop. Not moving so much as a page to a different position, because he knew he’d have Hell to pay from a certain angel. 1. Not so much sipping, as “drinking as fast as was angelically and demonically possible to do”. 2. Not for any practical reason. Aziraphale simply believed his bookshop should be quiet, unless he chose to play music. Therefore, it was. 3.And the things he’d prefer to do beforehand. 4.The first time had been with Madame Tracy, which had felt rather like the volume getting turned down to a tolerable level after constant shouting. 5. Or jeans as the rest of the universe would have told him. 6.What Crowley didn’t know was the feeling he was currently suffering through would have killed nearly any other demon.

#good omens #fanfic #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #slight angst #crowly x aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale

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elphenfan · 5 years

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Bare My Heart to Your Sleeping Face (Good Omens) 1/?

Because this thought, this fic, wouldn’t leave my head.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley was drunk. To be fair, so was Aziraphale and to be even more fair, he was probably more drunk than the demon was but despite what one might assume, it was the angel who was holding his liquor better. Not by a whole lot, that was true enough, but he would take what he could get.

It helped that they also handled it a little bit differently.

Oh, they were both prone to talking a lot more when sloshed and have pretty long, rambling conversations that ranged from the simplest of topics to the deepest philosophical musings. Usually they were quite the eclectic mix of the two, with most things in between, too.

Crowley was more prone to gesticulating when plastered than Aziraphale was but apart from that, he was also more…not handsy – surprisingly, neither of them had touched the other much over the ages they’d known each other, not even when the opportunity had presented itself – but more…flexible. Prone to give into his serpentine nature and not just in terms of occasionally hissing.

Not to put too fine a point on it, Crowley would, if he didn’t think to sober up before he got to that point, end up sprawling across the nearest surface he could find. In most cases that would be the sofa, as he seemed to prefer it whenever he came around to the bookshop. If they were drinking at a restaurant or similar, he would choose the table or another patron, though Aziraphale had wised up to that after a few disastrous incidents and could now gauge, more or less, when the other was just about getting to that point.

All of that would be fine, for a given value of fine when it came to his escapades at various establishments, if he didn’t often as not then fall asleep wherever he’d decided to flop down onto. That was a staple of being drunk, after all, but Aziraphale would have thought that only needed to apply to human beings, not supernatural ones. At least, he would if he hadn’t known Crowley so well at this point.

This again might not have been a problem on its own if not for the small but significant fact that very, very occasionally, to the point that the blond could count the occurrences on one hand, the nearest surface wasn’t a sofa, a chair, a table or even the floor.

No, sometimes the nearest surface a drunk demon could find to drape himself across for comfort and an eventual snooze was…well, quite frankly, it was Aziraphale himself.

Which, once more, like a series of dominos that might be ten feet tall but would only just about touch each other, wouldn’t have been an issue on its own. One might even argue that out of all the drunk idiots one could have sprawled across you, a handsome demon who weighed surprisingly little given his height was not among even the top twenty worst people. Especially given that when he did snore, it wasn’t deep and resonant, but a hiccupping, hissing version that was honestly incredibly adorable.

There was one problem, though, which started the series of dominos falling, and that was what brought the angel to his issue. Or more accurately, it showcased why he was the issue.

See, rather than merely tolerating it or even liking it in an ‘I put up with your antics because you’re my friend’ kind of way – the angel didn’t dare admit that he considered them friends out loud, just in case someone heard who shouldn’t – Aziraphale had found that he very much liked it.

After all, it gave him a chance to be close to Crowley in a way that he couldn’t while they were both awake. They were closer when they were drunk in general but that was first of all a very different kind of closeness and secondly, as Aziraphale was also drunk, he didn’t get to experience it as he would’ve wished for.

When the demon was asleep – not passed out, he got sleepy before he just shut down, which was, given his occult nature, quite the fascinating thing to see happen – however, it was not just a time for the angel to sober up, it was one for him to get a good, uninterrupted look at the other.

Of course, he could do that when he was merely sleeping on the sofa as well, or the floor for that matter, provided that he wasn’t face-down, obviously. But there was something else to it when the lanky body was draped across him, something which had helped, in as much as he felt he could use the term, solidify the feelings that had grown inside of him for…he wasn’t even sure how long, really.

He knew his heart had done something strange inside his chest for at least the last half a millennium. Probably longer, a lot longer, and he just hadn’t noticed the way his heart had always warmed, and his face had lit up at the sight of the demon.

One might question how he would know his face had lit up but after inhabiting the same corporation for a millennium or two, you became rather intimately and inherently aware of every twist and turn your corporation was capable of, including the facial ones. Not to the point where you could necessarily control it, of course, but you were certainly more aware of just what the different ticks and twists meant. Besides, it wasn’t as though it was the most subtle of expressions, was it?

It had also helped that they’d seen so much more of each other in the last roughly two thousand years in comparison to earlier millennia, to the point that one might even call it an escalation. One which Aziraphale was quite pleased with, he had to admit. Extraordinarily so, as a matter of fact.

The point of it, though, was that what he felt for the demon now could really only be described as ‘love’. It was ridiculous and silly, not to mention wrong and just about the biggest taboo he as an angel could break.

Not that he wasn’t breaking some quite significant rules just by associating with Crowley in the first place, without even going into the Arrangement. But that was still like comparing running a street scam to swindling an entire company out of every asset it could possibly have. Both were crimes but one was decidedly more severe and far-reaching in its consequences than the other.

It was an encompassing kind of love, too, that went beyond what he should be feeling for the entirety of the world…but it ought to exclude demons? Then again, Heaven didn’t honestly fulfil that brief very well itself either, did it?

But the love he held for Crowley was not purely one kind or the other. It was, to borrow from the Greek descriptions, as much storge and philia as it was Eros, with a good dose of pragma and really, not as much to do with agape as one would expect from an angel, ignoring the earlier thought.

The fact that Eros had snuck in there at all, not to mention how large a part of was possibly the one that had startled, if not outright shocked, him the most. After all, that was the part that was most antithetical to the whole concept of being ethereal, wasn’t it? Not that that was necessarily saying a whole lot, but the point was that Eros was what he had never expected to feel.

If he was going to feel it for anyone, though, it would not only make the most sense, if not the only sense, for it to be his demon, there was nobody he would rather feel it for. His opposite number, his hereditary enemy, and yet, there was so much more they had in common than split them.

However, he wasn’t going to admit that out loud. Mostly that was in fear that someone somewhere would hear or otherwise detect it and that it would then put either or both of them into jeopardy, which was much more dangerous than, say, a sharply worded note.

For that same reason he wasn’t going to admit to anyone but himself that he was in love with his friend. Or at least, he told himself that was the reason and the only reason.

In reality, however, he wasn’t just scared of what his superiors would say. Perhaps it was actually more truthful to say that they were the lesser of the two entities he was scared of finding out about his feelings.

What didn’t help was that he didn’t even know how Crowley would react. Oh, he would be rejected, he was certain about that. But in what way and to what extent that rejection would come, however, that was something he did not know at all and would rather not speculate on if he could help it. All that accomplished was to make him sad and even more scared than he’d been before.

So, no, he was not going to let on that he not only harboured feelings for his friend but that they weren’t entirely angel pure, either. No matter how much he wanted to or how it sometimes hurt to have to conceal them. Pretend, even, sometimes that he was very conflicted and uncertain of whether they were doing the right thing associating.

That last part was done as much to keep himself in check and remind himself of what he stood to lose if he should slip up.

Thankfully for him, he’d worked out relatively quickly that if he pushed away, just a little, carefully so, then Crowley would not be offended but would bounce right back. He would sometimes even get a little bit closer, both physically and metaphorically, than he’d been before, which delighted the angel each and every time, and so he had to watch that he didn’t overdo it.

He would take what he had, however little it might be in the grand scheme of things, over losing his demon, either through meddling from above or below or because Crowley couldn’t cope with Aziraphale’s feelings.

Which brought him to his current predicament.

All of the dominoes seemed to have lined themselves up tonight, as Crowley had decided to hit the bottles he’d brought from the restaurant they’d been at, quite hard and by the time he’d gotten through all of them, with admittedly some help from Aziraphale, he was beyond sozzled and consequently, more overly cooked noodle than occult being stuffed in a human body.

Aziraphale had, perhaps inadvisably given the situation, elected to sit himself on the sofa rather than his chair as he normally did. In hindsight, he would’ve wished that he’d moved the books stacked momentarily there to his desk but at the time, he didn’t feel he had the coordination.

Besides, where had been the problem in sitting at one end of the sofa while Crowley lounged across the rest?

Except he should’ve known better. It would become a problem, roughly around the time when the ginger apparently decided that it was a much better idea to sprawl horizontally than something approaching vertically.

It happened in the middle of a sentence, too; half of it was delivered gesturing enthusiastically, then a pause, and then Aziraphale found himself with a lap full of lanky body. He wasn’t sure whether it was a blessing or not that it was the torso laying across his thighs, since it did mean that Crowley’s face was rather close.

There was silence for a few long moments after that, the half-finished sentence left to drift away into nothing.

“Hullo, angel,” the demon finally grinned, the lopsided nature of his smile having nothing to with his position. The grin, as most other smiles, smirks, grins and similar from Crowley, did funny things to Aziraphale’s insides.

“Crowley, what are you –?”

But it was too late; Crowley was asleep. As his sunglasses so neatly obscured his eyes, the way Aziraphale was able to tell that he was had more to do with the tension in the lanky body releasing just a little but felt more due to where he lay. Well, that and the grin had become a somewhat slackly open mouth, though thankfully there was no snoring. That was a bit of a clue, too.

The angel stared at him, trying to get his bearings on what had happened, or more accurately why he hadn’t clocked that Crowley was as drunk as he was – pissed was probably the better word, though Aziraphale most certainly wasn’t going to say it out loud – and would be liable to fall asleep.

It didn’t help him that he wasn’t exactly sober himself. Sloshed was probably the more accurate word, but only slightly, he’d argue. That was probably also why he had made the, in hindsight, stupid decision to sit himself that closely to the other. It certainly hadn’t been in the hope that he would experience this.

Had it?

No, it hadn’t.

Yes, so he’d known that they’d been drinking, and they’d come back here to do some more drinking. But that did not equal that this would be the outcome and he hadn’t planned for it.

Nor had he hoped for it because he…he was never ready for it and as much as some part of him thrilled to the contact he had with the other, one which he didn’t ever otherwise get and certainly not to this extent – he simply didn’t dare when they were both sober – what took up much more of his mind was the fright that he would overstep somewhere.

That he would touch Crowley, perhaps stroke his cheek or touch his hair and, far more importantly, would have serious difficulty stopping himself continuing to touch him.

But the alcohol must’ve been a bit more potent in him than he would’ve expected it or have unlocked the last bit of something inside of him, because before he was quite aware of what he was doing, his fingers had in fact reached out to trail gently over a cheek. Oh, it was quite splendidly soft, despite the impression that it would be at least a little bit rough.

Crowley mumbled something but didn’t wake. However, his head turned into the unintended caress.

That simple gesture made Aziraphale retract his hand at once. Or rather, it should have done and in more sober circumstances, it probably would have done. Possibly.

Now, however, it seemed to have a mind of his own as it trailed further up and just about into the hair line.

There he did manage to stop it and even pull it away entirely, much as he had to struggle to.

He should wake Crowley up. Shake him awake and tell him to sober up, for God – for goodness’ sake.

And have you ever done that the other times he’s fallen asleep on you?

Well, no. He couldn’t say that he had. What he had done was slide himself out from underneath the lanky body as gently and carefully as he possibly could so that he wouldn’t wake Crowley. Not that was likely, given how deeply he appeared to be asleep but even if he didn’t feel anything, Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to manhandle the other. There was no need to, so why do it?

One might argue that he could as well just sit and wait for the demon to wake up on his own accord, perhaps miracle a book into his hands if needed. But not only was Crowley quite the master in sleeping when he had a mind to, such as when he’d been entirely too plastered and hadn’t bothered sobering up before falling asleep, if he woke up and found that he was lying in Aziraphale’s lap, well...

Then he would undoubtedly turn it into some sort of joke or gently teasing quip and Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to cope with the sheer embarrassment and awkwardness. Granted, awkward was almost stitched into the very backbone of the country he had lived in for so much of the last millennium, at least, but even so…

Whatever the case, the angel would have some explaining to do and he wasn’t at all sure that he would be able to do so, and certainly not in a way that wouldn’t leave him somewhat compromised, because why would he allow Crowley to use him as a pillow and mattress while he slept? What possible explanation could he come up with that was remotely plausible?

Except for the truth which would land him right in the whole horrid mess of being rejected. Unquestionably.

So, better all around if he managed to get out of it before there was a risk of Crowley waking up and…and ruining it.

Right. Yes. Best get on with it, hadn’t he? No need to dawdle, after all, it would only further the risk.

He tried to get up. Truly, he did. But by the time he’d wrestled enough control of his limbs back from the alcohol in his body – he would later wonder why exactly he hadn’t just sobered up at that point and come up with no real answer – not to mention his courage and determination, Crowley turned. Not a lot but just about enough so that he could push his face a little into the soft roundness that was Aziraphale’s stomach. His nose, certainly, and was that – that was surely not a hand against his belly, was it?

Struggling to accept what he thought he felt, he looked down and sure enough, though it wasn’t easy to see in the gloom created there, long fingers was splayed gently against the curve of the stomach.

“Crowley…?” he asked, wondering, with a not inconsiderable amount of flashing panic, whether his friend had woken up or was at least aware of his surroundings.

He got no answer, at least none that would definitely indicate that the other was awake. All he got was a muffled huff of breath that might’ve been a contented, sleepy hum or might’ve been something else entirely.

“Crowley, please!” Aziraphale asked, half-hoping that Crowley was awake and more than half-terrified of the same thing.

Nothing. Not even a breath this time.

The sunglasses were digging into the flesh of the stomach of the blond, though, just a little. But Aziraphale had other things on his mind and wouldn’t notice until he later felt and found the indents.

Bit by bit as nothing happened, Aziraphale managed to relax again.

The scare should’ve sobered him up and to be honest, it mainly did so.

He wasn’t quite prepared to admit that, however. Not then and not later because that would bring into question just what he said and did next.

Perhaps not quite next. He did sit for a while, trying to gather himself again. Then he tried to think of a way that would allow him to move the lithe body from him without manhandling him. It should be possible, even in the position they were now in, and yet he was struggling to think of one.

Or maybe that was just because he still felt shaky himself, not helped by the way Crowley would occasionally shift or hum, as though he couldn’t be in a more comfortable position. Which was flattering, really, even Aziraphale could admit that, even if it wasn’t exactly helpful.

As he sat there, however, instead of gathering himself, he could feel his nerves tick steadily upwards, despite his best efforts and he could only feel incredibly grateful that he wasn’t…suffering the issue that humans males might if the object of their desire had planted themselves right in their laps for an extended period of time.

What should he do?

Calm his nerves. That was what he needed. Something to calm him down and make this much easier to handle. Yes. Definitely.

He’d reached for the nearest wine glass, which was his own recently discarded one on the side table next to him and was mysteriously full to almost the brim by the time he brought it to his lips, before he was fully aware of what he’d done.

The liquid went down fast, probably too fast, and it reacted very effectively, not to mention quickly, with the alcohol not yet out of his system.

Even so, though the glass was empty before it left his lips, he filled it again and down another one.

By that point, the nerves had very successfully been dulled if not entirely anesthetised, or even outright killed. But it had also brought back another problem; his limbs felt significantly heavier and more unresponsive than before.

To make matters worse, if that was possible, Crowley had turned back to lie on his back. His hand oddly enough stayed put but his face was once again free for Aziraphale to see and his heart skipped a beat again at the sight of it. More than one beat, actually.

He looked so…peaceful. So content and relaxed in a way that was almost unfathomable when he was awake. Vulnerable, perhaps, though that felt odd to say about someone who’d survived through so much of human history and been witness to many of its most horrid parts. Of course, so had Aziraphale, but though he knew that humanity was far more capable of thinking up horrid things than demons ever could be, he hadn’t been in the front row seat to that many of them. Crowley had and yet…

And yet he was still here, still working, still making his way through eternity as best as he could, with an attitude that nothing could touch him or bother him.

Now, though…it wouldn’t be right to say that he looked younger because he hadn’t changed a bit in six thousand years, neither of them had, but he certainly looked more, yes, vulnerable.

And that vulnerability should be protected. Should be cherished, really, much like the rest of him. Told how beautiful and wonderful he was, not to mention the rest of it.

Aziraphale’s traitorous hand had once more reached out, despite the otherwise continued heaviness and unresponsiveness of his limbs, and it was now sliding its fingers through the fiery hair.

He would later blame the wine entirely for what happened then, but he knew in his heart that he couldn’t entirely blame it on that, however much he wished to.

His fingers slid through the hair again, relishing in the thick softness of the strands against his fingers. Then his mouth decided to betray him, too.

“Crowley,” he murmured. “Dearest Crowley, if only you knew. No, that doesn’t…but if only you could understand – and they would, too. How could anyone know you for any length of time, much less as long as I have had that privilege, and not fall for you?”

What on earth was he saying? Oh, no. No, no, no, no! That couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t. Any moment now, yellow eyes would open, and he would be up to the tip of his wings in sh – manure.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, it seemed that his mouth wasn’t done and he was along for the ride, whether he wanted to or not.

“I know I couldn’t. I shouldn’t have, I know that, too, and not just because they wouldn’t approve. But I did, longer ago than I knew, and now I cannot help my love for you. You are funny and kind, no matter what you say, but you are also beautiful, and I find myself longing to know how your lips feel against my own or your fingers feel in my hair. But I’m so grateful we get to spend so much time together now, and I would rather be missing a wing, or both, than have to bear to lose you. So, I guess all I can have is this moment. I love you, my dearest, and I hope you will never know this.”

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ineffably-good · 4 years

Text

GO Sunday Snippet #3 - Fly By Night

read it on AO3

This story references a few other stories, so here’s a quick catch up for context -- our boys got married and took off on an extended honeymoon in a story called All The Kingdoms of the World. Stop #2 on the trip was Fiji, where this takes place.

It also references the story in which their wedding occurs, and in which Crowley’s powers are lost and regained in a slightly new form, along with a new coloration to his wings. You can read that story in I Will Follow You Into the Dark.

Fly By Night

“You know,” Crowley said, leaning over from his lounge chair to fill up Aziraphale’s sadly empty wine glass with another generous pour of cold, white wine. “We’re very much alone here.”

“If you’re trying to talk me into skinny dipping again, dearest, we’ve already passed that milestone,” Aziraphale said archly. “There’s no need to be coy about it.”

Crowley leaned back and took in the gorgeous turquoise water and the pale sand, the blue sky above them and the miles of wispy clouds rolling out in front of them. It was Heaven here, in Fiji. No, better than Heaven. It was like what humans imagined Heaven might be like, not knowing, in fact, that Heaven was mostly cold, white, high-ceilinged office space populated by utter twats.

“No, that’s not what I’m after,” he said. “I was thinking that maybe we could go flying. If, you know, you wanted to.”

Aziraphale took a deep swallow of his wine and rolled over onto his side, looking interested. “Flying?”

“Yeah,” Crowley purred. “I mean, why not? We’re completely alone, the staff has already come and gone with dinner and won’t be back to do anything else in the cabin until morning. There’s literally no one around for miles. Why shouldn’t we?”

Aziraphale sat up and looked around. In spite of himself, he was intrigued. He hadn’t had his wings out in quite some time and while he normally didn’t think about it much, once his thoughts turned to flying he missed it with an aching intensity.

“Angel?” Crowley said, slipping his glasses down to peer at him more closely. He lurched his ungainly way up out of the low, deep chair to his feet, dusted his the sands off his hands, and offered one to

Aziraphale. “What do you say, shall we? One little flight on our tropical honeymoon?”

Aziraphale smiled and took the offered grasp.

Funny, thought Aziraphale, how their styles of flying so closely represented their personalities, too. Crowley was the more flashy of the two, zipping here and there at incredible speeds, climbing and plummeting. He was fond of performing aerial tricks – loops and barrel rolls, death defying drops, laughing through all of it, looking for all the world like a demonic circus performer in the sky.

As in all things, though, Aziraphale preferred to be more the connoisseur. He took his time. He flew in a muscular, direct fashion befitting a former soldier, but also with a slow and steady joy, moving his wings in leisurely time, sweeping up high and floating gently down on currents, rolling to enjoy the view, and always, always, keeping his demon husband in view. Who knew when he would get himself into trouble, after all.

He was drifting peacefully on a thermal, when Crowley flew up next to him. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him in greeting and they drifted for a few moments, looking down at the water below.

“Do you think we could swim? With the wings out, I mean?” Aziraphale said.

“Course, angel,” Crowley said agreeably. “Anything you like.”

“Yes, but most birds can’t fly if they get their wings wet, dearest. Only certain birds that have a coating on their feathers. Does that apply to angel wings or not, do you think?”

Crowley frowned for a moment. “I think,” he said slowly, “that it applies if we want it to.”

Aziraphale burst into a brilliant smile. “You’re right! Of course you’re right!” And with an uncharacteristic burst of speed, he slipped out of Crowley’s arms and dove for the water. “Race you!” he called back.

Crowley swore at the headstart and dove after him, wings tucked close behind him and arms and legs tucked aerodynamically in a long, straight line, but he just barely managed to pull even to the angel before they both crashed into the water, headfirst, diving deep below for a moment before they found each other, blinking, and reached for each other’s hands as they crashed the surface.

The bobbed there, wings and limbs entangled in each other, turned to the west to watch the last rays of the sun sink beneath the horizon and paint the ocean around them in shades of red and purple.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale said later as they lazed on the still-warm sand and stared up at the stars, “you’ve got seaweed on your wings. Sit up and let me groom them for you, won’t you?”

Crowley was never going to say no to that. He leaned over for a kiss and then sat up, his knees pulled up to his chest and his wings flared out to either side. Aziraphale knelt behind him and took him in for a moment – his new husband, silhouetted against the dark sky, lit from behind by the flickering light of a small driftwood fire burning on the sand behind them. His sharp shoulders were outlined against the light of stars and he looked fragile, vulnerable in a way that still brought the angel’s heart to his throat. It was these moments, more than anything, when he could hardly believe any of this was real – moments when the demon who had once been his immortal enemy laid bare all of his defenses without a second of hesitation, revealing his love and utter trust for the angel.

“Are you going to get around to doing something, or are you going to just leave me sitting here with my wings out, angel?” Crowley groused jokingly, shaking Aziraphale from his reverie.

“Sorry, you distracted me, you bewitching thing,” Aziraphale said, and got to work on the right wing first, starting from the center in the sensitive are where each wing emerged from the back.

Crowley shivered at the touch, and fell oddly silent as Aziraphale ran his fingers through the primaries and secondaries one by one, straightening them and pulling the occasional bit of seaweed or flecks of sand out of them. He moved tenderly, taking his time, admiring once again the new color scheme Crowley’s wings had changed to on their wedding day – glossy black with dove gray tips, a singular pattern in all of the ethereal realms. It was devastatingly handsome.

By the time he finished, the demon had turned to putty beneath his fingers.

“Aziraphale,” the demon moaned, “you are extremely talented at that. Why don’t we do that more often?”

“We certainly can if you mphfph—”

He was cut off by the demon turning and pulling him into a kiss.

“Now my dear,” Aziraphale said, pulling away, “really, it’s your turn, so don’t think you’re going to get out of returning the favor by distracting me with mphfph –”

Crowley kissed him again, shutting him up. When he pulled back a moment later, the angel blinked at him in confusion.

“What was I saying? I’m sure I was saying something.”

Crowley laughed and pulled them both to their feet. “C’mon, angel. We’re going in, and I’ll take care of your wings for you – but knowing you, we’d be better off in the bedroom before we even start that.”

Aziraphale, no longer a hesistant fiancé and now an experienced, married man, didn’t even have the grace to blush. When someone knows you, he thought, really knows, at some point all you can do is surrender.

He took a moment to douse the fire and followed his love inside.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fics #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #good omens snippet #good omens one shot #honeymoon story

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patricianandclerk · 5 years

Text

H.R. (Part 1)

The year was 1990.

The angel Aziraphale[1] was drunk. It was not that he was often drunk. He was not. However, the occasions wherein he approached a bottle of anything nice – or, as was the case tonight, anything dreadful – were those when he spent his time in the company of the demon, Crowley[2]. Being drunk was a rather occasional affair, one that the two of them embarked on together, on either ill tidings or extremely healthy ones…

Aziraphale was nowhere near Crowley, now.

(Crowley, as it happened, was in his London flat many streets away, squinting over a spot-the-difference puzzle in a puzzle magazine he’d stolen from a copper on his tea break that morning[3], and occasionally laughing at the Golden Girls as it played on his television.)

Aziraphale was alone, standing in the little entrance hall outside of one of his favourite clubs, the Hyacinth and Vine. On the other side of the heavy doors, he could distantly hear some song playing from a cassette tape, some Queen song he had heard countless times from the Blaupunkt in Crowley’s car.

He brought his glass, mercifully cool, to his head, and held it against the red, burning skin, closing his eyes shut. He felt very red all over, and very drunk, and very miserable.

This was the sixth wake he’d been to in two months.

There were so many of them. How many more would there be?

It merely felt so… senseless, and senseless it was, and senseless it would continue to be, and he felt so utterly hopeless in the face of it all. Seeing all these poor young things perish so dreadfully, and if that wasn’t bad enough—

The young man’s girlfriend, she’d spoken so eloquently, even with her voice thick and hoarse from crying. “People like us, we have to fight for the love we get, and Pat fought for every minute of his, every minute we could spend together. You can’t let these things pass you by, he used to say. No point being scared. You just have to love as much as you can, when you can, and he did, and for that I’m— I’m so glad.”

“Mr Fell?” asked Robert, the club’s proprietor, pushing the door open, and Aziraphale turned to look at him. He was aware that his eyes were wet, and Robert exhaled to look at him, reaching out and gently brushing his shoulder. “You alright?”

“No, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, aware of how clumsy his tongue was in his mouth with the drink. “Not really. I don’t suppose you’d be so good as to call me a cab?”

“Yes, Mr Fell,” Robert said softly, nodding his head, and dipped back inside.

Aziraphale drained his glass. It was a good deal fuller than it really ought have been, certainly fuller than it was when he took a moment outside the doors.

Perhaps that was why, when he fell into the back of the black cab, he gave completely the wrong address.

Crowley glanced up when the extremely annoying and high-tech theme of his doorbell[4] interrupted him, and he snapped his fingers, pausing the Blanche mid-speech. The fact that pausing live television wasn’t yet an option to wider society did not occur to him: if he could pause a video cassette with a snap of his fingers, it followed on that he could pause anything else, and so he did.

It was a funny time to be calling – nearly eleven at night.

Hastur didn’t know how to use a doorbell, and Ligur wasn’t even in the habit of knocking, so he knew it wasn’t one of them; Dagon was uncomfortable with any location that wasn’t at least a little damp, and had never stepped foot in Crowley’s flat block; Beelzebub never visited.

He hadn’t ordered anything, but then, maybe someone had given a delivery boy the wrong address?

Hm.

Sliding from the sofa, he moved toward the door, drawing it open in one smooth movement. In one far less smooth movement, Aziraphale fell into his arms, and began sobbing against his breast.

“Ah,” Crowley said, and kicked the door closed.

Let us survey the scene.

Aziraphale was sitting at one end of Crowley’s extremely sleek, extremely expensive, extremely leather, sofa. It was black and white, and looked as if it belonged in a very modern museum, but it was actually surprisingly comfortable. From the back of one of his hidden storage spaces[5], Crowley had drawn out an extremely thick and fleecy black blankets, which he had wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders, and was slowly turning tartan. There was a mug of steaming cocoa in Aziraphale’s hands, which had been dreadful, made as it was from Crowley’s extremely rich, dark, real cocoa; in Aziraphale’s hands, it had become more sugar than anything else, and was rather nice.

Crowley was sitting on the other end of the sofa, his knees drawn up to his chest. He was barefoot, in silken red pyjamas that rather plunged at the neckline until it became more of a navel border, for whatever ocean battles you liked, and Aziraphale, drunk and rather out of himself, was having to be very careful not to allow himself to spend too much time looking at the thatch of chest hair Crowley had decorated his body with.

Aziraphale sniffled.

Crowley watched him warily.

“Er,” he said, stuntedly, “you’ve never actually been to my flat before.”

“I knew the address,” Aziraphale mumbled, and looked about Crowley’s living room, which was made of rather foreboding grey marble on every side, and had a rail of red and gold curtains against the broad windows, which showed a marvellous view of the London skyline on the other side of the Thames.

“And you were crying,” Crowley said.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “I know.”

“Er,” Crowley said, rather lacking the script for this situation. “Why?”

“You needn’t sit so far away, you know,” Aziraphale said, staring down at his own hands where they gripped the cocoa mug. “I’ve not anything contagious.”

Crowley stared at the angel, feeling the old thread of distant bitterness, mixed up with aching want, make itself known. “Do you want me to get closer?” he asked, his voice sounding less superior and cold, and more brittle and fragile. You go too fast for me, Crowley. The words echoed in his mouth, all but tangible in the air, but Aziraphale didn’t seem to hear the constant repetition of them like Crowley did.

He didn’t look up from his cocoa as he said, in a miserable way that evoked a pang from Crowley’s heart, “Yes, please.”

Crowley inched closer. His sofa had never seemed quite so long when he bought it, but now it seemed longer than ever, and his movements up the seat of it felt infinitesimal, barely bringing him closer to the angel… Until he was close, until he was close enough almost to touch, and Aziraphale turned his head to look at him. He sipped at his cocoa.

“It was Pat Mullarkey’s wake,” Aziraphale mumbled.

Understanding dawned, and Crowley bit the inside of his lip. “Another one?” he asked. It was only February. How many did that make, this year…?

“He was thirty-nine,” Aziraphale said, and he exhaled hard, feeling the threat to cry make itself known again. “Oh, Crowley, I barely even knew the boy. Just that— You know, I’m in the Hyacinth and Vine once or twice a week, and he came into the shop once or twice… I recommended he read Maurice, you know, and he came back in with a cake he’d baked for me. Isn’t that so lovely? He was so— He was so happy with the book that he…”

Aziraphale trailed off.

Crowley knew what Aziraphale was like, in Soho. He knew he went into various little clubs, that he’d saved a few of them from getting raided, when that was a concern, that he had his favourites… That he kept a big section of Gay and Lesbian books in his shop, always, always, had done since long before that had been what the section was called.

“He said it was so important, you know,” Aziraphale murmured. “To think that people like us could have happy endings.”

“He have people that loved him?” Crowley asked. He watched the tightness in Aziraphale’s face, the way his fingers gripped the mug, and swallowed.

“His family—” Aziraphale started.

“Don��t care about them,” Crowley said. “He have people that loved him? Full wake? Lots of people talking about how much they loved him, and how much he loved them?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said haltingly.

“S’all that matters, angel,” Crowley murmured, softly, comfortingly. It… it made sense, he supposed, that Aziraphale would like those humans. It made sense, when they felt like outsiders, when they had secrets from their families, when… It wasn’t the same. But Crowley understood why one would be comforted, and he ached to comfort Aziraphale himself, to reach out, to touch him…

“I’m very drunk, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and he put his cocoa mug down rather more heavily than he meant to on the coffee table, watching it slosh slightly – although it didn’t dare slosh enough to drip onto the table.

“That’s alright,” Crowley said. “You’ll sober up eventually.”

Aziraphale inhaled.

How much longer? Every moment he spent with Crowley, every minute, he felt the space between them like a canyon, like it was some impassable distance between them, and yet Crowley was so close, within his hand’s reach, so easily… Aziraphale looked down at Crowley’s foot, scarcely a few inches from Aziraphale’s blanket-clad thigh, at the shine of black scales on its sole, tantalisingly within reach; at Crowley’s ankle, thin and shapely, ever the envy of every man he passed when shapely ankles were of a man’s concern; a smidgen of his pale calf, visible beneath the silk shift of his pyjamas.

“I’m so frightened, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly. “I don’t— I don’t want to Fall.”

“You won’t Fall,” Crowley said, alarmed. “Angel, no, you won’t—”

Aziraphale touched Crowley’s ankle, wrapping his hand loosely around it, and he felt the cool, pale skin beneath his palm. It was so much more intimate, he realised, his cheeks hot with a burning flush, that merely brushing shoulders or touching hands in the course of a conversation, merely by virtue of the touch being deliberate, of the fact that he was reaching out, to touch him, to touch him—

“Angel.”

“Please. Come— Come closer. I shan’t bite.”

“I might.”

“Oh, don’t,” Aziraphale said, detesting the whine in his voice, “please, Crowley, please—”

“I won’t,” Crowley said. “Not when you’re going to shove me off in a second. I won’t, angel, I won’t come close just so you can push me back again, and you’re drunk—”

“I won’t,” Aziraphale promised, aware of the way he was begging, of the desperate ache that thickened in his own voice, “please, Crowley, I cannot bear the dearth between us, I have felt the pain of it for so long, and I cannot thrust you back from me anymore, please—” Aziraphale had thrown open the blanket, asking with his body as much as his slurred words, fear thudding in his veins, but Crowley crawled closer in tiny little increments, as if he feared he might burst into flames.

He didn’t.

He came until his knees were laid in Aziraphale’s lap, awkwardly crouched upon his scaly feet against Aziraphale’s side, and Aziraphale threw the great blanket about him, his arm wrapping tightly around Crowley’s waist and pulling him closer.

“Oh,” he whispered against Crowley’s breast, which wasn’t cool, as his ankles were, but was warm. He could smell Crowley’s cologne, could smell the floral shampoo he used in his hair, and he felt the silk of Crowley’s pyjamas under his fingers, and then, oh, oh, Crowley’s arm wrapped about his head, his fingers curling in Aziraphale’s hair… “Oh, Crowley…”

“Angel,” Crowley whispered against his forehead, and Aziraphale felt him bury his nose in Aziraphale’s hair, pressing against it, felt Crowley clutching at him as if he might well drown without him. Aziraphale, drunk, felt as if the world was swaying about them, so maybe Crowley was right, maybe they would drown if they weren’t holding one another, just like this—

Crowley leaned down, and he pressed their faces together, and Aziraphale gasped, expecting a kiss, but it didn’t come: Crowley clutched at his cheeks, cupping them in his surprisingly soft hands, and his nose rubbed against Aziraphale’s, their noses tip to tip.

“Sober up,” Crowley whispered.

The fear lurched within him like a wave. “Can’t,” he mumbled. “Can’t, Crowley, can’t—”

“Sober up,” Crowley growled, and the wine evaporated out of Aziraphale’s veins with an uncomfortable wrench to his dulled emotion. Aziraphale shuddered, his fingers gripping all the tighter at Crowley’s back and at the side of his thigh (when had his hand got there?), and he exhaled, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

He felt…

He felt everything now.

He felt the weight of Crowley’s body, half in his lap and half leaned against his chest; he felt the shimmer of Crowley’s pyjamas and remembered when he’d actually bought them, in a shop in Manchester a few years ago, and had threatened to get a matching pair for Aziraphale as he’d giggled and said red silk wasn’t his style; he was aware of Crowley’s breath against his mouth, slightly sweet-smelling and of soft exhalations.

“See?” Crowley asked, his fingers touching through Aziraphale’s hair, and oh, it felt so lovely, so delicate, so intimate, like when the hairdresser washed his hair but so much sweeter, so much more full of love, why had nobody ever touched him like this before…? “You’re not Falling, sweetheart,” sweetheart! Sweetheart! Oh, his heart would burst, “I got you, I have you.”

“I won’t push you away,” Aziraphale whispered. “I want— Oh, I just want this, Crowley.”

“I want everything,” Crowley replied, feeling like he’d shatter. Aziraphale’s body was everything he’d ever imagined, and he’d imagined it a lot: plush and warm and soft and just yielding enough that Crowley could wrap right around him if he wanted to… “But this is enough.”

“You could,” Aziraphale said, and his tongue quivered in its bed, his eyes remaining tightly closed: the terror gripped him like some tight, iron manacles, but he ached, oh, he ached and he yearned and he wanted, and they were touching, now, they were touching, and he had wanted so long for this love, for Crowley’s love, to accept it, to give it in turn, to have… “You could kiss me. If you wanted. I—”

Crowley’s mouth was on his, and Aziraphale could hear the noise he was making, a desperate little keen of noise in his throat, like he could scarcely believe what was happening. Aziraphale gasped against his lips, and he squeezed Crowley tighter, letting Crowley’s lips move against his own, and oh, oh, he could move his own, just— Just so—

Six thousand years.

Six thousand years…

“Aziraphale?” came a voice from behind Crowley, and Aziraphale felt as if he had been plunged into horror itself when he beheld, in the midst of Crowley’s minimalist décor, the archangels Michael and Uriel, standing stock-still and staring at the scene before them.

"I can explain," Aziraphale choked out, and when Crowley moved to scramble from his lap, his hands acted purely on instinct, and clutched the demon all the tighter.

[1] Aziraphale, a.k.a. Mr A.Z. Fell, Principality of the Eastern Gate, bookseller, and often-patron of certain gentlemen’s clubs in the London vicinity.

[2] Crowley, a.k.a. Mr A.J. Crowley, Tempter of Eve in Eden, businessman of vague description, flash bastard extraordinaire.

[3] And the bastard had looked very bored for his fifteen minutes, too, especially since Crowley had ensured his tea order had been wrong and that his scone had been stale. And his radio had conked out, too.

[4] It played a different James Bond theme for every day of the week, and was the absolute horror of his neighbours, as the sound carried for two storeys in each direction, and echoed loudly in the corridor of his flat block.

[5] Crowley liked to appear rich and exclusive, and the best way to appear rich was by seeming not to own anything at all.

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