ok time for mad gomens headcanons meta brain dump because I just watched episode 6 in its entirety for the second time since July (I was saving it for when I needed Big Feels I guess?)
And look, there's some fun parallel stuff going on: Crowley bopping around with angels while Aziraphale is dealing with demons, Crowley being the one to say the feelings words (mmph, kinda) when Aziraphale has been groping him all season, Aziraphale being the one who leaves after what it is a gross understatement to call a row. But these flippy floppies all keep leading me to not be as sad this watchthrough, partly because I've been soaking in metas on here for nearly 4 months! So here's what I got.
+ No nightingales! The nightingale singing doesn't just mean that they love each other. It represents when they are safe, after 1941 (headcanon!) and after the nopocalypse. Crowley is pointing out danger, that Heaven is listening. The nightingale sings for them when they've successfully dodged celestial and infernal meddling which puts their relationship at risk, with each other and with Earth, and the silence is pointed out because Crowley needs Aziraphale to really really understand that this is possibly irrecoverable danger, not that his heart is being broken.
+ By the time Aziraphale is saying dickish things like "you're the bad guys" and "second in command" the tone has shifted from Crowley being scared, irritated and shocked to something much weirder and harder to read
It's not just hurt, and he's not as hurt as he should be, and it's not because he's about to, mmmf, propose. He's processing. Aziraphale's begging him to understand something and is so obviously panicked. We all noticed his hands and his posture, you think Crowley who's been staring at him for 4523 years* just missed that this isn't Aziraphale being a featherbrain traumaball? Nothing lasts forever, and this precious peaceful fragile existence has, in fact, shattered. Oh Crowley, nothing lasts forever you were right.
By the time Aziraphale says "I need you" with such raw fear and hunger, he's not yet sure Crowley was 1. picking up what he's putting down and 2. he's begging for help, begging for some sign or certainty that Crowley isn't saying "hey, rude, fuck you, I'm gonna storm out because this is a really unusual hurtful fight but I'll swing by in a couple days with some eclairs". He gets that certainty moments later in the form of...
+ BIG DAMN KISS
which says "I need you too" and "I'm scared this danger is too much and I'll never get to do this" and "oh fuck Angel be safe please" and "GODDAMNIT GODDAMNIT how do these bastards always wiggle in on EVERYTHING" and "I WAS RIGHT about being nervous"
and I absolutely do not believe that the alveolar sound after "I..." was just Michael Sheen failing to form a fricative**. Aziraphale received the message of "this is dangerous, this is public, and I don't care, I love you enough to kiss you goodbye (?) in front of God (and Muriel!) you bloody stupid brave Angel" and almost responds. But now they're both in the mode of communication like spies again, after 4 years of starting to communicate like...humans. Lovers? Now it's "you're the bad guys" (so the Metayuck won't let me stay here with you) or "In Heaven!!" (because this bookshop is compromised and now nowhere in Earth is safe) so not only would it absolutely not help*** if Aziraphale broke down and was like "DO IT AGAIN I LOVE YOU" it would break whatever weird undercurrent is going on in their communication. So he says the Heaven approved thing that's always in his vocal queue when he's feeling a bit emotional, and Crowley's "Don't Bother" just scans at this point like exhaustion, yes, but not grief. It's "well fuck, let's get on with the rest of this goddamn circus then."
+ I agree that Crowley looks disassociated and absolutely broken and exhausted by the time he puts his glasses on before kissin' time. He hadn't figured it all out yet and thought it was this stupid fucking argument again only way worse and Aziraphale is in stupid danger and their separation will probably be hundreds of years long****. He rushed back because it all completely clicked.
+ and then he waits, knowing Aziraphale is going bonkers, watching the Metafuck come back in, seeing Aziraphale see him through the window, crossing the street, at the elevator. He's not waiting to see if he changes his mind, he's watching his husband march away to war but can't even wave his handkerchief*****
+ and the Bentley, who let Aziraphale turn her yellow and was generally receptive to his desires, lets him play the song through her anyway, Aziraphale saying "This time Crowley, I have the plan. It'll be ok, we can be safe again. I love you."
*since Job
**try to accidentally replace all those Fs with Ls. You are at an advantage since you weren't just kissed by David Tennant, but Michael is at other advantages which I'll cede to him.
***help them get out of the Situation. It would definitely help them make out.
****or, he was with all of us emotionally and it felt for a second like it could be eeeeternityyyyy
***** Aziraphale is the handkerchief waver in the relationship anyway
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bay!donnie x female reader, angst/hurt/comfort; technically nsfw but this is not a spicy fic
ah fuck. cws: negative thoughts? negative self-image? I... think that's all?
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Truthfully, you should've seen this coming. Work has been hard lately. You've been feeling a little down and a lot stressed out for a while now. Tired all the time. That negative voice in your head speaking up more frequently, other people's words cutting a little deeper than usual. Amplifying the negative and brushing past the positive, letting things get to you even though you know sometimes your brain is a lying asshole.
So, really. You should've known. You should've said something. Something about how sensitive you're feeling. How normally you love a good mixture of degradation and praise but right now you really, really need him to stick with praise. You should've said something.
But you didn't.
The tears come suddenly. The dull ache in your chest sharpens, like a shard of glass, wedging itself between your ribs and pressing in further with every inhale. You feel like you're not getting any oxygen at all, your lungs seizing as your breaths quicken. You can't- you can't breathe.
Just a stupid fucktoy, Donnie had called you. And normally you love that. Normally that's perfect - you've come to the sound of those words plenty of times before. But now…
Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. A stupid fucktoy. That's all you're good for, isn't it? You can't do anything right except be used. But, oh, you can't even do that right, can you? Because now you're crying, and he's stopped using you. He's stopped, and you're truly useless now, and you're so so fucking stupid.
He calls your name. Takes the gag out of your mouth. Gently wipes at the tears streaming down your cheeks and asks if he's hurt you. If he went too fast, if you weren't fully prepared. If you want him to stop.
You can't speak, but you shake your head.
“Dove, what is it? What's wrong?”
Nothing. Everything. You. It's just you, you're what's wrong. You're wrong and useless and stupid, and you can't breathe.
“Hey, hey, you're okay. It's okay, here, come here, it's okay.”
He's holding you. Cradling you to his chest as you sob like the pathetic thing that you are. When the soft cuffs that held your hands behind you are released, you can't help but cling to him and bury your face in his neck. The sounds you're making are so ugly, so whiny, and you- you hate yourself. Fuck, you're pathetic. He's murmuring sweet words, brushing a hand up and down your back, trying to soothe you. He’s kind, and gentle, and you…
You don't deserve it.
Donnie is confused. You can tell he is, and you want to explain but at the same time you don't. It doesn't really matter, though. You wouldn't be able to make yourself speak even if you did want to. Everything is too much right now, and you still can't breathe, and you're starting to feel sick to your stomach.
Stupid. Why are you so goddamn stupid?
You cry. And cry. And cry. Muscles stiff, face swollen, you're miserable and exhausted and fucking mortified. Donnie was feeling good. He was enjoying himself, and you ruined it with your tears. Ruined it. Stupid girl, you ruin everything.
You try to apologize. It comes out garbled, but somehow he understands.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Dove. You've done nothing wrong.” Donnie presses a kiss to your hair, still running a hand up and down your back. Soothing, kind, gentle, he's everything. And you don't deserve him.
Time passes. Sobs turn into sniffles, which start to come farther and farther apart. When you finally go completely quiet, he's still murmuring sweet words into your hair.
You feel sick. Tense. Nauseous and shaky and gross. Inside and out, you feel wrong. Hollowed out, scraped clean of everything except this ache in your chest that won't go away.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
Donnie moves, still cradling you close with one arm as he leans forward and reaches for something. A blanket is draped over you. You hadn't even realized how cold you were, but the relief is instant. Your muscles start to fully relax, and you find yourself melting into his hold even further.
He presses another kiss into your hair. “What happened, my love?”
You swallow thickly, glad that your face is hidden in his neck. You don't want to tell him. It feels so- so stupid. For you to have reacted like that. For you to be so affected by nothing. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Nothing, nothing, that's all you are. Nothing.
“I'm going to list some things. Just shake your head or nod for me, okay?”
After a moment, you nod against his neck.
“Did I go too fast?”
You shake your head.
“Did I hurt you?”
You hesitate for a moment, then shake your head. There's a stretch of silence where you swear you can hear him thinking, analyzing your hesitation.
“Was it what I said?”
You should nod, but you can't make yourself do it. There's a thick, heavy anxiety there, keeping you from confirming even though you're not sure why. Donnie understands anyway, because of course he does. He's perfect, and kind, and smart, and you're just so-
His arms tighten around you. He doesn't say that you should've told him you were feeling down. He doesn't say that you should know better, that you should know that he doesn't mean it and that it was just part of the fantasy. He doesn't say any of that, because he understands. He understands, as he always does, that what you need is for him to keep murmuring kind words into your hair. To keep gently caressing your skin, holding you like you're something precious. To combat the venomous thoughts that are holding you hostage.
He understands.
It's okay, Dove. You're okay. Everything is alright. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, okay? You're not stupid. You're not whatever mean things your head is saying right now. You're perfect, and I love you so much. I love you so much, Dove. You're perfect just as you are, okay? My pretty girl. Right here with me, where you belong. You're so good, sweetheart, so good. I've got you.
His words are like a balm on your soul, and you drink them up greedily. Holding onto him like he's a lifeline - because he is. He is.
The tears come back. You can't help the ugly keens, the way your body shakes. Through it all, he holds you close and soothes you inside and out in the way only he can.
Not stupid, Dove. Smart. Kind. Brave and capable and good. You're so good, and I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you-
You'll never understand how he does this - how he makes that feeling of wrong wrong wrong fade away. But he does. The sharp tangle in your chest is unraveling, and you're finally able to breathe and actually feel like you're getting oxygen. You're so grateful, and you're so fucking lucky, and you love him so much. By the time you start to drift, with his soft voice echoing in your ears, both you and the keratin you're resting against are warm.
Later, when you wake, fully soothed and capable of speech once again, there will be more to talk about. But for now, Donnie holds you. Soothing you with his voice, his hands, his everything. And you finally, finally let yourself rest.
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