#I hope I'm not the only person on planet earth that daydreams this fucking hard?

[a-mess-of-a-crow]

Yall, just so you know this is anonymous, so I can't see who would vote no.

Also

Hi! I'm Craven!

I'm a wanna be artist with absolute crushed self esteem that desperately needs validation to get self worth and on the other hand doesn't believe that people's compliments are valid!

So basically= A self made self esteem issue!

I jump from hobby to hobby like a whore, making music, crotchet, animation, drawing, learning japanese (and failing miserably 😊), gave up on learning danish, learning guitar and keyboard, I used to make iron pellet art (hard to make with shaky ass hands)

Das me btw! In all my glory! (Wet socks in the sand, God fears me)

(me in school and my new jacket, old pic, Mochi laughed a lot :> )

Boring facts=

I'm 20 and a mess cuz since 2015 I've been simping over undertale like a Maniac (it's been better these days, but tumblr temporarily pushed me back into the obsession)

I'm a cat/ dog fanatic, but always crows before hoes

My favorite colors are purple, red, blue and black

I'm definitely demisexual polyamourous, but pan or polyromantic? I dunno lol.

Also genderfluid (altho i personally never really know what gender I feel like in the moment)

I have an absolute hopeless love for my aro/ace best friend who is called Mochi and she is the best and literally only real (real life) friend I ever had

Totally not my dumb brain starved for human connection and then immediately clinging to whoever is being a decent person to me

Luckily she is also a bomb person and kind so she doesn't use me like my other friendships XD

How did Red Mass start?

To get an idea of what my AU is, you gotta know how my dumb brain thought of it.

2015. I was absolutely sucked into Undertale after watching a german YouTuber play it, and then I started watching a certain Irish fella play it as well.

I started watching comic dubs of all the Au's that people made, faning out and just binged watched everything relating to it.

Then my family and I had vacation.

A trip to Rome (it was hot and awful, never again. Fucking 40°C celsius are you kidding me?)

It was a 15 hour trip (with bathroom/ smoker breaks)

And i layed in the back of the car, daydreaming about all those Au's.

It was awesome and cool and I slowly started to MAYBE get pandora syndrome of where I desperately wanted to be a part of those stories (I know. Cringe)

It got so bad that I maaaaybe cried in bed every night hoping I'd just wake up in the stories (but my life sucks so that also played a role)

So on that car ride, Luna lovania (god the cringe hurts me badly) was born.

A skeleton oc at first, later being an oc that is a fusion of Frisk and sans (which still is a part of Red Mass)

I daydreamed 15 hours + 15 hours back about Red Mass, it was such bliss (and even while we were in Rome)

And since that point, I have kept daydreaming every day for 8 years, and it became a big part of my life (as ridiculous as this sounds)

I just realized I might be insane.

Oh well

I will make a specific Red Mass post, explaining the story a bit and character introduction ((but not revealing too many spoilers since I kinda wanna make it into a thing))

I hope you guys mean it if you say you're interested :)

[erideights]

Everything that we never get to say.

Request by @lady-of-black-roses : Our best angel x reader, the moment they met, their relationship through the years and a kiss in the end.

Pairing: Aziraphale x Fem!Reader (Good Omens)

Word Count: 2066.

Warnings: SO MUCH ANGST. Death. War.

A/N: I'm totally fucking sure this isn't what you was thinking this would be, but you wanted angst and I had this horrible idea and... I'm so sorry.

''—and then I said ‘Pardon me, what!? No way.’ My Bentley! Buy MY Bentley! Can you believe it?"

Aziraphale's gaze was lost in the distance through the transparent and clear glass of the window of the back room of his shop, where his most precious books were safely kept in his old desk.

He heard Crowley's voice, but he didn’t listen to him, so when the silence fell, almost like a cue to give his opinion, he just hummed.

It was raining, and the drops of water that slid down the impeccable surface before him were reflected in his eyes, eyes that for the first time in oh, so many years, mirrored a regret, sadness and longing the demon would never have believed possible in the angel.

But he was watching his back, so, in any case, he didn’t witness such an atrocious image.

"—angel, angel! You're listening? Where the fuck are you? Get down from the clouds."

But again, the blonde platinum angel didn’t answer, just sighed deeply and allowed his whole body to rock to the rhythm of that breath.

Only the red-haired demon's hand on his shoulder, who had been forced to leave his comfortable seat in search of his friend's attention, was able to tear our Aziraphale from his daydream.

"Hey, you okay?" Crowley asked when through the eyes of the angel crossed confusion and bewilderment. Question to which, quickly but worse pretended than he would have expected, Aziraphale replied:

"Of course, of course I am! I was just trying to imagine a world in which you existed without the car. But it has been in vain, certainly. I can not visualize you without it."

But it was evident that he was lying, and Crowley knew it.

The sad story our beloved angel was reviving begins a few years before the outbreak of the Second World War.

We are in London, on a lost street in a neighborhood not very rich but not poor either, where sad gray buildings stood to the sky and people walked down the street as if life had been taken from them.

The atmosphere was tense, there was no doubt about it, with the war about to explode at any moment, to allow oneself to be happy and to wear a smile was complicated to see.

But even so, there were always those special individuals, unique in their kind, who with only a slight upward curve of their lips, seemed to radiate their own light and bathe in it all who came and wanted some of its warmth.

She was just like that.

Y/N, a young librarian who worked day and night in the most lost and desolate of libraries in all London, but for some reason, was always surrounded by children hungry for her charisma, her love and, above all, her stories.

The first time he saw her, Aziraphale was desperately searching for a book of prophecies that, people told, had been discovered a few years ago in an attic of an abandoned building by the area, and like most books lost and/or without owner with real value for the state, it ended up in the town hall or in the closest library to his find.

That same day he crossed two large wooden doors, worn, scruffy by time but cozy in its tender, eccentric and strange way. And there she was, hair tied in a bun that after so many hours of work was practically undone, smile in a mouth full of white pearls for teeth and eyes that could make the most insensitive of men fall in love with her.

She chatted animatedly with a group of what Aziraphale considered mothers, their children not many meters away, huddled around a round table like knights in shining armors, reading similar books that they would later exchange and use to create a story to be able to play in the park.

The angel Aziraphale would swear he had never experienced what love was, but the moment their eyes met, the common description of that emotion was the closest thing he could feel in his more than 5,000 years of life.

She was Heaven in Earth.

But as it was habit for him, those feelings that seemed to surface in his skin were completely ignored, buried at the end of a dark chamber that until a few years later he wouldn’t have the audacity to open.

Not until it was too late.

With an affable smile and his hands, nervously playing with the end of his cinnamon-colored vest, the thousand-years-old angel made his way to the counter of the small, old but cozy library, interrupting —without wanting to— the conversation between his charming and mysterious unknown woman and the mothers of the neighborhood, who soon began chatting between them several meters away.

"Good Morning!" she chirped happily, as charming as he had imagined her. He found himself sighing and drawing the most beautiful of his smiles just for her. "How can I help you?"

Over a few years, their relationship developed between —not so— random fortuitous meetings in the library, all caused by Aziraphale under the pretext and the excuse of enjoying the calm that reigned there —he assured that, in other libraries, ‘’the tumult came to overwhelm him’’— and other approaches not left to chance itself, but by the initiative that the young Y/N showed in order to spend more time with him.

She would be lying if she said that after some time she hadn’t fallen in love with those eyes that seemed to hold all the love in the world, that tender and adorable giggle that rang in his throat when he was nervous or how he seemed to treat her as if she were the most precious thing in the universe.

His heart, his lovely personality, his empathy and how extremely intelligent he was also helped to shape those feelings that often reduced her sleep hours and kept the girl away from reality and in a constant daydream.

Oh, c'est l'amour.

But no matter how hard she tried, how many hints she dropped or how much effort she put into it; her feelings for Aziraphale didn’t seem to be reciprocated.

And that was good! She was satisfied, —or so she wanted to think—, with the shelter of his friendship with the angel.

That was enough.

But the war came to London, and one is unable to appreciate and understand the treasure that is the calm of a simple life until something like this explodes in front of you and plunges you into the flames of despair.

Chaos, destruction and crying soon seized the streets of the largest city in England.

The families were divided, the great national treasures were lost among the most atrocious fires, innocents died, and among the ashes, one couldn’t even find consolation in mourning those who lost, because in reality, there were no bodies left to mourn.

Events like this didn’t harm or disturb in the least celestial beings free of all guilt and exempt to die, anyone could think, but from the corner of one of the most lost streets in the whole city, where a small and cozy library used to be, an angel began to cry.

Aziraphale found rubble where walls and shelves once stood up to join the roof and collect all the knowledge that such a place could hold; ashes where thousands of books used to rest, waiting for someone to read again what they had to teach; a huge void in the counter from where, he then knew, the love of his life used to smile at the sight of him arriving.

A sharp thud on the ground, —a huge leather bag full of books of ancient prophecies— signaled the exact second when Aziraphale, in shock, began to walk and enter the chaos he once considered a home.

His lips trembled as did his hands and practically the rest of his body.

No, he didn’t even want to think that...

''Y/N?'' He asked in just a broken whisper, unable to raise his voice, unable to verify whether or not she had been a victim of that disaster.

Please, God, do not let her be a victim of this disaster, he thought.

'’Y/N? '' He tried again, this time louder, so the pain in his voice was so obvious that anyone who could get to hear him would know, in effect, that the soft angel was crying.

The bomb couldn’t have fallen more than a couple of hours ago. He knew it because he was there, with her, begging her to hide and search for refuge before what he thought would be a furtive meeting to hunt the enemy.

Please, God, I hope that she has listened to me, he prayed again.

But soon he would find out that God didn’t have mercy for anything and anyone. That no matter how much Aziraphale prayed, he had no greater power over the grand plan.

Because it was ineffable, right? Everything had to happen for a reason in order to achieve a specific goal.

But why, of all the millions of people that existed on the planet, of all those who perhaps deserved it, his blue eyes, sad, crystalline with tears, had to rest on the unconscious body of the woman he loved?

''No, no, no, please, no.'' He muttered in a choked way and so quickly that he couldn’t even understand himself, rushing to reach the body and hold it in his arms while his corduroy pants were destroyed by the ashes on the ground.

''Y/N...'' he begged, caressing her face, brushing the strands of hair that had clung to her sweet features from the sweat of her skin

She was breathing, but not for too long.

Her heart was beating, but his heartbeat was numbered and the clock was only moving forward in time.

''It's okay.'' she suddenly murmured, her voice no more than a barely audible whisper between her forced breathing and the silent crying of the blond angel.

She couldn’t open her eyes, her body didn’t have the strength to do it, but she could recognize that warmth anywhere; after all, she was in love with him, right?

''It's okay.'' she repeated, knowing that from her first two words, Aziraphale's eyes had been fixed on her face and that he was probably afraid to blink and that when he opened them again, she would no longer be with him.

‘’I’m sorr—’’

‘’I love you, Aziraphale.’’

His breath stopped, he was frozen in place, unable to look away from the lips that, after her confession, had drawn a tired smile.

She should tell him, right? She couldn’t leave without telling him at least once.

''I'm sorry I took so long to tell you.''

Prey of his own panic and everything that perhaps he wanted to say choked at the beginning of his throat, the only way out that Aziraphale found to give free rein to the feelings that for years he repressed in his little Pandora's box was to kiss that smile that so many times it had stolen his breath.

And he did.

Then a blink.

He, again, had allowed himself to be carried back to that memory of more than 70 years ago.

His hands caressed, distracted, the green cover of an old book that Crowley had never seen before and that he, at that moment, peeked curiously from the shoulder of the angel, wanting to ask for it but knowing, inside his chest and for some unknown reason, that he shouldn’t.

If he had, Aziraphale would have replied that it was simply a gift from an old friend.

Actually, it was the first gift he received throughout his long life.

''Do not tell anyone, but I stole this book from some archives of the Senate House Library when I was a child and I have always kept it as a treasure.

It has not prophecies, or stories of religious interest, but I think the love story it contains could make you smile on a dark and rainy April afternoon.

With all my love for my guardian angel,

Y/N.''