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humbledragon669 · 4 months

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S1E2 – The Book Write Up P3– Present Day/Thursday (2 days to the end of the World) (from Aziraphale and Crowleys’ arrival in Tadfield up to their departure from Tadfield Manor)

Despite only looking at a short section of this episode, there is a lot of ground to cover in this part of the write up so let’s not waste any time! This collection of thoughts and meanderings commences from the scene in the episode where Aziraphale and Crowley are entering the Tadfield area. The first time I watched this through, I had thought that the plan for the swapping of the Antichrist as described by Crowley had actually been devised by him too. But that’s not possible, is it? Crowley doesn’t become aware of his involvement in the Antichrist plan until he’s actually being handed a baby and Harriet Dowling is already in labour and on her way to the “hospital”. So presumably there was another agent in Tadfield (at the air base?) who was ready to suggest that she be transported elsewhere, though that is never confirmed in any sense, let alone with details of who that agent was. With that in mind though, it’s no wonder that Crowley gets defensive when it’s pointed out that the plan has failed; after all, it only failed AFTER the point where he became involved.

Aziraphale’s speech about the flaws of evil feels like a strangely personal attack on Crowley here, though if that’s the case the following line has some interesting connotations:

Evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction.

We know that Heaven considers all beings from Hell to be inherently evil – is he insinuating that Crowley is on a path to self-destruction when he says this? The whole speech seems almost spiteful to me, which is not really a quality I associate with Aziraphale, particularly when it comes to Crowley. I wonder if this whole speech is meant to part of a campaign, which I would think is a long and outstanding one, to try and get Crowley to stop bending to his Hellish ways so much. Which is of course impossible. That underlying meaning would explain why Crowley takes the whole thing so calmly, and brushes it all off with a glib response, for which he is rewarded with a look that I would argue contains admiration, pride, and not a little bit of desire.

There’s one other little Easter egg to be had in this scene. We can hear the music, which starts the scene as a classical piece obviously chosen by Aziraphale, morphing into Queen and instantly becoming more prominent at the point where Crowley essentially wins the argument. I’ve said it before about music being used to convey subtextual plot points, and I feel that this is one of those. If we thought Aziraphale had the upper hand in the discussion at the beginning of the scene, the music tells us that is quite definitely not the case by the end of it.

We’ll take a quick detour into another The Them scene, but there’s not a lot I have to say about it. I do like how the innocence and exaggeration of a child’s imagination is used as a device to really hammer home the ridiculousness of the reasoning behind torturing people for religious persecution. And the irony of Adam basically telling Anathema that what she’s looking at is right in front of her face, which she instantly dismisses.

Back with our heroes, and it’s time to really start getting into some weeds I think. So first let’s just pick up on the information that Aziraphale is capable of feeling the love of other people: I imagine this to be like the someone’s love of something leaving traces of that love on whatever it is that is the object of their affection, and he can feel those traces. It is suggested in this same scene that this is a power that Crowley doesn’t share. More importantly, and I think you’ll all know what I’m about to talk about, when Aziraphale does detect love, he instantly reaches out and touches Crowley:

This is one of those things that I said lots of other people have already talked about. I don’t feel like I can call this write up complete if I don’t acknowledge this EXTREMELY important interaction. Let me clear about what I think about it: Aziraphale feels love and reaches for it. We will see this reflex again in later episodes so I am not backing down. Not only do we see him touch Crowley in this scene, but there appears to be a split second when they reach for each other’s hands. You have to really be paying attention, and some people might think it’s more likely to be just the momentum of David’s arm swinging but I’m not one of those people. Crowley’s hand swings three times after Aziraphale reaches out to him, the second of which has more range than the first, suggesting that there is some movement there not caused by pure momentum. His hand even starts to turn upwards to meet a receiving hand. Not to mention Aziraphale’s hand is held in a position that definitely suggests he’s expecting to receive a hand. I managed to catch a few frames that show what I’m talking about:

You can try and talk me out of this if you want, but it will be very much falling on deaf ears; after all, my head canon is that they have already been a couple in secret for 11 years at this point. So with that covered, let’s move (quickly) on to something less contentious – the second and last time (at time of writing!) we see Crowley in anything other than his human form.

There’s a little bit in the book about this, and the fact that he hates doing transformations because he’s always worried he’ll forget how to change back to his “favourite shape”, which I really like. The show version of Crowley doesn’t seem to hate it though – he is thoroughly enjoying the mischief he’s just caused. And interestingly, Aziraphale doesn’t flinch in the slightest at that’s just happened. Maybe he’s seen this sort of behaviour before, maybe he’s just too worried about the paint stain on his coat that he’s had for 180 years. Either way, he’s not bothered by Crowley’s behaviour (or appearance) here at all.

Alright, time to pick apart another micro-interaction that’s already been covered dozens of times – the cleaning of the coat. I think the least wordy way for me to cover this is going to be in GIFs with some out-of-band captions with my head canon’s subtext for each one – I’d like for there to be as few words for this analysis as possible because this is one of the moments between them that, despite how many times I’ve watched it over, still makes my heart pound a little faster and causes the butterflies to start fluttering in my stomach. OK, here goes…

Head canon subtext: I really love this coat. I could miracle the stain away but that’s sort of cheating. But it wouldn’t be cheating if someone else did it for me. I couldn’t ask “someone” to do it for me though otherwise that’s still like I’ve cheated and makes me seem needy. So maybe “someone” will understand what I’m trying to say…

Head canon subtext: aww, poor baby… (très sarcastic).

Head canon subtext: pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease…

Head canon subtext: urgh, fine, I have to get this stuff off me anyway. But I’m going to make it look like I’m not really doing this for you.

Head canon subtext:

AZIRAPHALE: oh, lovely, he got the message. And he did a splendid job. Best say thank you and pretend I didn’t expect him to do it, let him think it was a thoughtful gesture on his part.

CROWLEY: (shaking his head in disbelief) oh you’re welcome, angel. As if that’s not what you were angling for in the first place.

Head canon subtext: did I get away with it? I think I did.

Head canon subtext: you absolutely did NOT get away with it, angel. You know it. I know it. You know that I know it. I know that you know that I know it. And so on and so forth. But now you owe me a favour. Anyway, I only did it because I know that you adore that coat and because getting rid of that stain would make you really happy. Because I’d do anything for you really.

And there we have it. There are two other integral parts of the scene I want to point out here:

We hear the demonic miracle noise again when Crowley miracles the paint away. It should most definitely be cemented in your brain by now.

This is a pretty clear display of the hidden/non-verbal communication channels that Aziraphale and Crowley have established between themselves.

Moving on now (just not very far). There’s something very double-entendre about the language Aziraphale uses in the conversation about a gun. I mean who calls a paintball gun “impressive hardware”? And we can see how genuinely ridiculous his assessment of the weaponry is by watching Crowley’s face, who is clearly humouring him:

Crowley also shows us just how valid he considers Aziraphale’s argument that guns can be used to give weight to a moral argument when he discards the paintball gun carelessly. To be fair to the angel, even he isn’t convinced of Heaven’s rhetoric on this point, though he chooses to show it in a much subtler way.

As the couple enter the Manor, and just in case you didn’t recognise the man who is now passed out on the ground in the courtyard, we are informed that the company undertaking the exercise are none other than Newt’s previous employers – United Worldwide Holdings (Holdings).

If that little treat for the eagle eyed wasn’t enough, we’re also treated to not one, not two, but three casual instances of physical contact between Crowley and Aziraphale here:

I love this – neither of them appears to notice that it’s happening, presumably because it happens all the time. There’s plenty of room for them to walk through the hallway with some space between them (in fact we see just how much space there is available to them in the next shot), but they clearly just can’t help themselves.

And ooh look, another instance of the demonic miracle noise. I sincerely hope you’ve hardwired to that noise and what it means by now… And this time around, we see how much fun Crowley is having being mischievous – he’s getting to pick Aziraphale’s argument about guns and their place in a moral argument to pieces using the concept of free will whilst simultaneously winding the angel up. He’s really in his element. He can’t keep the pretence up for long though, Aziraphale’s righteous attitude just takes all the fun out of it really quickly. There is an interesting parallel between what Aziraphale calls fun and what classes as the same for Crowley. In episode 1, we see Aziraphale declaring that fun for him is achieving success in doing things the “hard” (human) way, instead of relying on his miracles to achieve the same success. Here Crowley shows us that fun for him is very different – it’s about providing opportunities for humans to confront their own choices, watching their emotional response without causing any physical damage. He’s actually railing against his authorities in a way that they wouldn’t be able to tell he was defying them, which likely adds to the fun. Pretty complicated for a lowly demon don’t you think? Whilst Aziraphale’s motivations are entirely selfish. They make such a funny little pair, don’t they?

Alright, we all knew it was coming. One of the most iconic moments of this show.

I don’t think there’s anything I can say that will add to the libraries worth of discussion that have been had about this, so I’ll try and keep this brief. Perhaps the best way for me to get through this is to present my take on the wall slam incident along with a few key arguments. Is Crowley threatening Aziraphale when he pins him up against the wall? Is Aziraphale frightened of Crowley when he does pin him? My answer to both of these questions is a resolute “NO”. Does the wall slam have subtextual meaning? HELL YES. Let me illustrate.

Aziraphale knows exactly what to say to initiate this little dance. Note the smirk on his face just before he calls Crowley “nice”:

That is the face of an angel who knows exactly what the consequences of his actions are going to be. And if you think he’s on his own in that knowledge, check out Crowley’s face whilst he just waits for this line to land:

My thoughts? Aziraphale is deliberately invoking this reaction. I’m going to go all out here and say that I think he’s probably quite turned on by his demon’s behaviour and that this is him acting on it. I’d even go so far as to say they’ve probably already played this little bit of kink out before, with “nice” being the trigger word for the role play. If you’re still in doubt, let’s take a look at a couple of things. First, you can see Aziraphale bracing himself slightly before he hits the wall proper:

OK, so that one could be argued away as something Michael did to protect himself from getting hurt. What you can’t use the same argument on is the expression on his face as Crowley snarls in his face:

There’s not the slightest hint of fear on his face, even though Crowley is so close that their noses are touching. How about if we look at it from the other side?

Not only is he not afraid, but his gaze has shifted. Now it looks like he might be looking straight at Crowley’s lips… And how about immediately after they’re discovered?

Aziraphale’s eyes stay on Crowley’s face for a second. And even when his gaze is drawn to the source of the interruption, we can see how completely unafraid he is of what’s just happened.

Crowley on the other hand looks a little panicked, I suspect because he’s a little worried that they’ve been discovered. And let’s not leave out the most obvious Clue that our heroes were acting on impulse – ex-Sister Mary Loquacious TELLS US THAT’S THE CASE:

Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m sorry if I’m breaking in on an intimate moment-

Well yes, love, you really were, as evidenced by how quickly Crowley’s “fury” dissipates and Aziraphale’s nonchalant resetting of his clothes. He does look pretty disappointed at the way things have turned out though. And despite all of that supposed rage we saw just seconds ago, the two of them are on pretty friendly ground again very quickly – there is A LOT of shoulder brushing going on between them as they question the ex-nun and leave the manor. Crowley even summons Aziraphale away from Mary with an insistent “oi” as he goes, hardly the sort of thing you’d trot happily off to if the person issuing it had just been terrorising you.

I need to deviate slightly from the body language of ethereal beings for a second, because we’re introduced to a new miracle noise here, this time to indicate that Crowley has just performed a sort of time-freeze on a person:

It’s used in conjunction with the previously established demonic miracle noise, but this time there’s an additional sound over the top – it makes me think of a bubble and reminds me of the noise a wobble board makes. So now we have another noise to be on the lookout for…

As the two of them are leaving the Manor, we see another example of the differing views that Aziraphale and Crowley have of one another. Crowley has categorised them both as being “occult”, but Aziraphale makes a distinction between them, calling himself “ethereal” instead. You can see that Crowley is slightly taken aback by his angel’s insistence on establishing a boundary between them (not surprising considering how little those boundaries mattered to them both in the moments before this), but he doesn’t argue, presumably because he knows it’s rather pointless.

Back in the car, we’re treated to a reminder that Aziraphale is not a fan of Crowley’s driving. Not just that though, we’re also given another piece of musical subtext. The song now playing in the Bentley is Queen’s “Days of Our Lives”, specifically these lines:

Those days are all gone now, but one thing's still true When I look, and I find I still love you

Not really sure how much more obvious anybody would want this message to be to be honest.

On that note, I think this is a good place to finish this section. It’s been longer than intended for such a short chunk of the episode, but I think necessary given the importance of some of the interactions we’ve seen take place in it. As always, comments, questions, discussions are welcome!

#good omens #episode analysis #good omens season 1 #aziracrow #ineffable idiots #head canon #ineffable husbands #crowley's driving #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves aziraphale #crowley's bentley #good omens wall slam #good omens soundtrack

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mamuscript · 1 year

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There’s no way that Metatron actually thinks that Aziraphale is the right person for the Supreme Archangel job, right? Obviously, he only offered it to Aziraphale in order to separate him from Crowley.

Exhibit A: Aziraphale and Crowley are massively powerful when they work together. They tried to do a teensy, tiny, surreptitious half miracle together and instead they set off alarms in heaven and brought the archangels down to Earth to investigate.

Exhibit B: Aziraphale and Crowley working together have already interrupted the Great Plan once before, and there is every reason to believe that hasn’t changed - indeed, to believe that it’s probably the case now more than ever, since they’ve had the last few years, tethered to nothing except one another and working outside the authority of both Heaven and Hell, for their connection and dedication to each other to strengthen.

Exhibit C: Metatron is no stranger to Crowley, his beliefs, or his tendency to question the will of heaven. There’s no world in which he didn’t know exactly how Crowley would react to that offer - in fact, he engineered the offer with that specific reaction in mind.

Exhibit D: After Metatron and Aziraphale have concluded their “chin-wag,” but before Azi has gone into the shop to share the “good” news with Crowley, Metatron tells him, “You don’t have to answer immediately. Take all the time you need.” But then right after Crowley leaves the bookshop, following his confession and Aziraphale’s rejection, the Metatron comes right in. He asks Aziraphale how Crowley took it, and when Azi tells him he didn’t take it well, Metatron clearly doesn’t care at all. Then he asks if Azi is ready to go. Ready to go?? My guy was supposed to be taking all the time he needed! He’s clearly reluctant, wavering - but Metatron just la-dee-da’s along like he doesn’t notice.

Metatron very consciously engineered that moment (the one which has left me as a puddle of burning goo). But I have all the faith in my guy Aziraphale. Heaven has underestimated him before. Metatron is making a huge mistake. But, as we know, “Evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction. No matter how well-planned, how foolproof an evil plan, no matter how apparently successful it may seem upon the way, in the end it will founder on the rocks of iniquity and vanish.”

#good omens #neil gaiman #quotes #crowley #aziraphale

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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𝑅𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐷𝑈𝑆𝑇

Summary: Kaz had faced two of his fears - almost watching you die and going against his touch aversion. And now he has to deal with the consequences that not only burden him, but also yourself

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of violence, touch aversion,

Word Count: 3255

Masterlist Link

The night, it’s integrity toiled with you, as you say at the camp, with Inej planning on abandoning you all, and Jesper missing that bleating goat. It made you wonder of what direction that you should pursue going in, as you ogled up at the glittered sky, the sequinned stars glinting mischievously back at you. You were nothing other than a speck in the world, as they were in the laminated skyline, the Saints and dark generals were the ones that whisked you down such demeaning paths. The crows were to scurry from their brash threats and existences, the journey of catching the sun summoner had been all for nought.

Not a kruge had been earned in your name, the small bump of adventure had inevitably ended up as being a waste of both resources and time. And now the task of returning through the dreary and life threatening fold lay at your feet; such a plain that was created from pure evil was nerve wrecking. You’d never be considered as one of the goods that served the gods, but you were nowhere close to the Darkling’s maleficence. Had he not only taken hostage of a symbol to all geisha, but your veins were adeptly black, and the toxic venom was spreading with each hour that sourly passed. None of your fellow murder knew of the state that was combusting you; you had saved Kaz, with no regrets of doing so. That dagger had landed in Aleksander’s shoulder, and he had spread his shadowing cloud over to you, tormenting you with the image of complete destruction.

You were lucky to have escaped from his entrapment, Kaz had saved you, whisking your from the overbearing plough of suffering, even grabbing you with his glove covered hands, pressuring himself to do such an act to keep you alive. Though, you didn’t know how much longer you would remain so, and that was why you were gazing up at the constellations; hoping that you’d end up in their blazing glorification. Perhaps you’d survive, nothing was known of your current condition. Or you’d be cursed, turned grisha or something significantly worse. One thing that you’d learned on this gruelling mission was that anything was possible, even Kaz had made a step in his discomfort to rescue you, hauling you away from your inevitable doom by the arm, and stepping into the shrouding darkness. If it had not been for him, then you’d surely have composed into a defiled corpse, ripped apart by the darkness that Aleksander exhibited, and had enhanced through ancient looms that had been integrated onto absorbable parchment.

“I see that you’re less tense; does this mean that you are no longer mad at me?” His voice rang in your ears, prompting you to grind your teeth together as though you were mashing up crystals of salt. Eternally, you were grateful for the risk he had taken to ensure that you would not meet whichever saint you believed in once you travelled through the ropes of pitch and certain demise. You refused to give him the source of satisfaction of giving him your undivided attention; most feared him enough to comply and give him all the attentiveness he demanded as he struck his cane upon a surface, however, unlike those commoners, there was nothing about Kaz Brekker that struck fear in you. He were merely a man, whilst albeit had done some unforgivable things, had suffered same as everyone else, but terribly more so. “I’ll take your silence as a no then, should I?”

In turn, you crossed the folding origami of your arms over the expanse of your chest, and continued to ogle your pupils up towards the passageway of luminescence that hung like a chain in the velvet sky, causing Dirty Hands himself as he had been known, to release a heartfelt huff of frustration. It had taken quite the toll on him to oppose his own serious paranoia, and yet here you were, ignoring him after the cold events. Gulping, you couldn’t help but have annoyance seed in you as he continued to hover his presence beside you, he was using the tactic on purpose, full well knowing that it would eventually have you splintering until you cracked. You’d always had a soft spot for Kaz since the day you had met him; he was so brutally concurred with the ways of making a victim squeal like a sow giving birth, yet there continued to be an innocence within him, of which he hid from most. It was quite the contrast, as were his child like eyes that bore into you like his wish was to make you frail from poised embarrassment until you disappeared into a fine speck on the shoulder of his coat.

That was an irrational thought though, Kaz Brekker simply wanted to know, and not for the first time, why you disposed of reciprocated speech, and chose to pretend to be deaf to his consolation that he was attempting to reprimand with you. “Because if you remain to be angered with me saving your life, then, I would like to know. I’m not going to scoundrel around your presence all evening, we’re going to have to start moving sooner rather than later if we ever hope to get upon the route that I have planned. As useful as your combat is, and irreplaceable as I may think you are at times, I will allow you to go on your own path as you wish. You aren’t the only one that wants to part from the crows; Inej also has intentions to. If this is also because of the sun summoner, then they are freely your beliefs, though I certainly think you have the strength to strive towards something controversially more.” Inej leaving - that was news to you, and thus you finally surrendered, turning to him with spite written upon features, and commenced in supervising his lean form with integral eyes.

“To where do you have plans to go Kaz?” In turn, the volume of your sound increased, as you marked him as your target of choice. “And you’re right, I am pissed that you decided to save me rather than prioritising your own life; if anything were to happen to you, I’m not sure how I’d handle it. I have an inkling of a feeling that I wouldn’t even be able to. That’s because if you weren’t here I’d probably go crazy and envelop myself in a spiralling madness of which I’d be averted onto a path of nothingness. You are the one that has gifted me with a purpose, and time and time again you continue to preserve my life and I’m not sure I can cope with that. Just knowing that you are willing to throw yourself in the eye of danger to ensure that I do not meet my eventual end that is coming anyway. And worst of all, you faced off against that no good, dirty grisha, murderous General. Do you have any idea of what he would have done to you if he were to explicitly, and cruelly as are his routines, contort your body into the whim of his Darkling abilities.”

“I have an idea or two.” He admitted, toying with the fingers of his gloves, relieved to not see what lay beneath the leather. He stared at you in the face, feeling sickened from the sight of the creases that promoted your frown that was directed thoroughly towards him. It wasn’t a good feeling to be on the other end of your diverging glare, it was making him conflicted with the perishing of his emotions. A part of him was laughing inside that he was intimidated by someone, a woman no less, the other was rather impressed with your ample stubbornness. Now that was one thing that the two of you had in common; you both stood like stone, shadowing behind your beliefs or there lack of, as though Medusa had fixed the pair of you with her grey glazed glare, and forced you to be the way that you were. “And it was in fact you who decided to save my life first, I was merely returning the favour.” He now took it as his shift to allow his eyes to travel up into the beyond, the highlights that flawed his irises being triggered by the ambience that strobed in the frustrated sky, that was getting more antsy by each second that passed.

“I saved your life because I care about you, not because I value your skills and require them. That is a vast difference that separated us from being merely a single detail in a rope of stars. We’re separate in thought, and consolably close in real time and space, that fate has chosen us to be. We were both close to death in that second, he could have tarnished us both if that were his main priority, and we should be thankful that he realised that we were not lying when the admittance of not knowing of Alina Starkoff’s whereabouts fell off our tongues like misconducted liquor.” Your voice cracked, thinking about Kaz dead was the last thing that you wanted to obscure your mind, however it was the only thing that was roaming around the space like a moth darting around in a light fixture, having fallen captive to its own instinctive nature to fly too close to the example of fire. “Never, and I mean this Kaz, step in the path of death that narrows in my sights; I’d rather it be me than you of whom takes a fall into such a never ending abyss. You’re the face of this operation, and I am merely a killer that you decided to take under your wing whence times got too tough for either of us to cope alone.”

“I am not bound to make any promises, especially when you speak of accepting death so gracefully. And to answer your prior question, we are returning to Ketterdam, and I- i um-“ he fidgeted, his jaw contained to clench and release in a rhythm as he attempted to get the words out. “I need you to come with me on this, trust me, I have a plan, one that does not involve you dying. There will be no funerals that parallel this task ahead of us, if anything happens, you are my priority.” The heart felt ropes of words interlocked, much like the passage of beaming stars that made a blanket in the material of the sky; they shon stirringly in the abyss of the above, daring to deter you as its source of focus, causing you to freeze up as Kaz spoke his difficult to say words. “And when we get the one million kruge, that is when I will allow you to go out on your own, then you will have the expenses to protect yourself, and disappear if we cannot manage to end this eternal wrath that the grisha and hierarchy establish through the existence of the fold, they turn the tides of where whomever can go, and if they are gone, you shall have the freedom to venture to the place that your heart most desires, you’d no longer have to be trapped by my side similarly to my cane.”

“Everything that you are saying is tipping my head upside down; that I out of everyone, am your priority and that you are to set me free like a bird that has been trapped in a cage? Perhaps, this is a situation that it seems not you have enquired to think of, but I do not want to leave your side, even if I can. If I so much as wanted to, I’d have taken the chance to wrangle free in the midst of the journey from Ketterdam to these exasperating lands that want us to be persecuted for this job that we have taken underneath our midnight wings, though if you hadn’t noticed, I remain here. And whilst I wouldn’t have been peripherally if you weren’t to have saved me from my possible annihilation, I still have no intentions of abandoning you in any way, although that resolutes from you openly willing to take the risk of your own life in order to preserve my own. Never, and I compensate that with defiance, do that again.” You swiped your finger towards him, watching as the crease between his brows stiffened and grew deeper like a crescent that exhibited itself in the lawns of time, he poised his head back at your jurisdiction, clearly offended by your selfless demand.

“I cannot make that promise, there are little to no things that I have connective nurturing for; money and wealth stomp on nearly anything, but to me your life is priceless, even if your opinions do not retrograde the same reflection of worth.” His palm was shaky beneath its armour of leather as he went to reach for your hand, it took him a minute or so until he paid the dues of contact, but he faced his greatest fear, and denied avoiding contact. The prospect of Kaz touching anyone, let alone it being you, stirred a strange sensation through your body, as though you were being electrocuted via a storm, more specifically, a bolt of lightning that shot down from the angry clouds, shooting adrenaline and a high pulse through every limb of your form. “Do not mistake me for not having care towards Inej and Jesper, but without you I’d lose the path of succeeding through all my personal struggles, because you are the one thing that reminds me to continue to fight all of the harms in the world that wish to prosecute us, as though we are rodents that climb out from the sewers and run through the streets, poisoning them. There is a strong suit that wraps around me, stubbornly suffocating my interests, so that I have an avoidance of ever allowing anything to proceed to happen to you - get that through that steel skull of yours, you are smart and strong and my number one mine of gold for me to protect.”

“Kaz…” it felt like a forbidden sentence slipping off your tongue, simply by saying his name. You gave his hand a squeeze, noticing how he stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed a second later, getting used to the notion of silent amorist exchange; his blue eyes scalped every inch of your face, staring at the skin that compressed against your bone structure, the twinkle of the stars illuminating each distinctive feature that condoned your image. “I don’t know what I should say it’s - it is like we have been risking everything for nothing. And I am no gold mine, I cannot get us all that kruge, and I sure as hell can’t beat against the most powerful grisha known to man. I may be strong, but I am not strong enough. I may be smart, but certainly not smart enough. Overall, to everyone I am missing something, and it makes me wonder what else you see in me rather than an opportunist that can bring men to their knees in a second by sweeping beneath them, ready to swipe anything of value that they carry within the income of their pockets.” Drifting on their own accord, your eyes diverted once more to gaze up into the magnificent scenery that stroke above; each star was different within its placement, as well as how much it glowed under the pressure of insistent staring. It was as truly beautiful sight, and as you accorded your eyes to focus on the chord of light, Kaz’s eyes remained tuned upon your perseverance.

“The fact is you could bring any man, including myself,“ he gulped for a moment, feeling just how cheesy his words were as they spewed out, before he continued. Each word he spoke with giving you a new light that you saw Kaz under, he was not just a ruthless killer that likened to getting his hands dirty on a job, he was human like everyone else, many people seemed to forget that. But he had never appeared more humane as he did in the second with you, his hand clasped foreignly in the clasp of your own, and his eyes void of all intent, they were pure and for a second juridical with the haven of content. He wasn’t envisioning good, he was allowing himself to see what was right in front of him. “To their knees.” He finished his sentence, only to go on and elongate the mercenary like talk that he often had a problem with discussing. Though now could be the last moments that he could open up in such a way; it was uncertain how the turn of planned events would turn out, sailing through the fold was a danger all in itself, a toiling threat that was pushing you all forwards with a stern hand on each of your backs. “And you don’t even have to lift a finger to do so, every emotion you make me emit makes me possess a vigil weakness that I try to keep hidden, but in order to get the last of my strength through it, I acquire to get this off my chest before we venture to our next route. I care deeply for you, when I’m around you it feels like I am beneath water, the liquid gurgling in my lungs like sickening liquor. I have never felt this way, not have I ever had a desire to be monitored by these virtual sources, but they’re here, as are we.”

Taking a sturdy breath, you raised Kaz’s gloved hand and aligned it with your lips, gently pressing a kiss to the material that separated your skin. “You will not lose me Brekker, I’m not going anywhere. We’ve gotten this far, and that’s impressive all on its own. The trip back to Ketterdam cannot be as difficult as our journey here, we endured betrayal from that oaf that helped us cross the border, we got in and out of the Little Palace unscathed, and escaped the General on another account. I’d say that’s quite impressive, and behind every ploy you have been the grand mastermind. So let’s go home, and we can pick this up from there. ‘Tis a shame though, the stars don’t quite shine as bright back there, but we’ll have each other, and that is enough to brighten and guide me through the nights.” His lips stretched at the sides, depositing an appearance of relived thought. There had merely not been much of a fight between you on the situation, if he were to have pried any further about your safety he was sure there’d have been, but things had settled before they reached that stage. The primary battle though was to be against one of the most powerful grisha to walk the earth, of whom was keeping the Sun Summoner hostage. But as you had supposed, things would work themselves out. “I’m going to check on Inej, I won’t be a second.” He remembered the smile on your face as you trekked off, it was a notion to which he analysed that you were one of the few people who were kind to him. Once you were out of his vision, he looked up at the stars. There may have been no saints resting up there, but it sure was a peaceful view.

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sparkkeyper · 3 years

Text

A Matter of Trust

My take on the “night at Crowley’s flat” fic.

Swapping faces requires complete trust. Unfortunately, Aziraphale has not been particularly honest leading up to Armageddon and it's hard to overcome that doubt.

Words: 2295

Warnings: None

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

"You really think she meant switching our actual faces?"

"I've been over it a dozen times and I'm quite sure. I've had the last 72 hours to become familiar with Agnes' peculiar brand of predictions."

Crowley blew out a long breath and took another sip of his coffee. It was the deepest hour of the night. Darkness pressed around the outside of his flat, threatening at the edges of the LED lighting. "Put a lot of stock in this prophecy, do you?"

Aziraphale nodded from where he sat nearby on the couch, the torn slip of prophecy on the cushion between them. "Absolutely. Every prediction in her book came to pass exactly as she saw it. If this is the scenario we're up against, then 'choosing our faces wisely' is our best shot at surviving it."

"Suppose that's settled, then. Once Above and Below start after us, they won't stop unless we really give them a good reason."

"I agree. Now, this will require complete trust and extraordinary focus in order to work. It isn't like lending someone a scarf."

"That's the point, I thought. Something neither side will see coming."

"Exactly. All right then." Aziraphale wriggled a bit on the couch, bracing himself. "Are you ready?"

Crowley set down his coffee and flexed his fingers. "Ready."

Aziraphale held out his hand and the demon took it. Swap with him.

Nothing happened.

"Er..."

"Ngk. Hang on." Crowley gave himself a shake. "Been a long day and all that. Lemme just refocus. Right, let's do it." He took the angel's hand again. Swap. With. Him.

Again, nothing happened.

There were several long, awkward seconds.

Get it together, you stupid snake. This is important. This could be the most important thing you've ever done. This is Aziraphale. Best friend for centuries. You know what to expect from him.

He did know what to expect. That was the problem.

The moment was stretching on far too long. He dropped the angel's hand like it had burned him and scrubbed his palms over his soot-stained face.

"Crowley?"

"It's fine! I'll make it work, give me a blessed break."

He stood and paced the room for a moment while Aziraphale sat stiffly on the couch, watching him. "Is there anything I can do to...to facilitate things? I'm not sure what the problem is."

"There's no problem, it's fine," Crowley snapped. "I've got this. Just worry about your end of it and I'll worry about mine. Right!" He spun on his heel with his hand out and Aziraphale stood to match him. "Swap, then!"

He clasped the angel's hand and tried. He could feel the miracle simmering somewhere in the ether, attempted but not complete. He reached for it, he reached with all his might.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this," he insisted, a pit forming in his stomach. He'd just held his car together for 40 miles, he could believe one little idea for 5 seconds.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this!"

"Oh for goodness' sake-"

The angel was frustrated. He had every right to be but that was beside the point. A frustrated Aziraphale got indignant. A frustrated Aziraphale stormed off.

A frustrated Aziraphale pulled away when they needed most to stick together.

Crowley blessed savagely and spun, stomping for the balcony.

"Where are-"

"I just...I need to get some air." He slammed the door behind him before Aziraphale could respond.

The night breeze from so many stories up was like a slap in the face. Crowley welcomed it, leaning heavily on the balcony railing and burying his face in his hands. He couldn't do the miracle. Not that he didn't want to - he'd rarely wanted anything so much in his life. But he couldn't get his heart into it the way it needed to be.

We're not friends!

It wasn't true, of course. But it was something Aziraphale had wanted to be true. Because it would make the angel's life so much less complicated. Crowley was a friend...until he wasn't. Crowley occupied a place of esteem...until he didn't. Aziraphale worked so very hard to view a messy world in a manageable way and sometimes cuts had to be made.

His coffee sat suddenly on the railing because it knew what was good for it, and when he raised it to his lips it obligingly added a considerable amount of whiskey.

If they couldn't do the swap, they had no future. The Earth had a new lease on life tonight, but if they couldn't swap it would be at the price of their own. He knew Hell would show no mercy and he couldn't fool himself into thinking Heaven would. But Aziraphale... When it came to Heaven, Aziraphale could fool himself into thinking a lot of things.

I don't even like you!

Even if I did I wouldn't tell you! We're on opposite sides!

Aziraphale, who always had excuses to fall back on.

Aziraphale, who had a book with the Antichrist's address and hadn't told him.

Aziraphale who, when the world was on the brink of destruction, had kept calling out to Heaven.

If it came down to their partnership or Heaven, Heaven was the first to be appeased, no contest. Crowley understood his reasons. Aziraphale was, at his core, an angel. He treasured that identity even if he disagreed with his superiors and assignments. He held out hope in goodness, in Her, in a way Crowley never could. He wanted so badly for everything to turn out nice and good in the end, and Crowley could not take that from him.

When Heaven couldn't provide, Crowley was there to be his safety net. But Heaven was always, always first.

The balcony door clicked behind him and hesitant footsteps stepped out into the night. "If there's anything I can do to help you focus, you need only ask."

Crowley couldn't bring himself to look at him. "Focus isn't the problem."

Aziraphale was quiet for a very long moment. "Oh," he said softly.

There was no shock in his voice. No condemnation either. Crowley wondered if it would take some time to sink it, given everything that had already happened to them tonight, but as Aziraphale joined him at the balcony railing he knew that the angel understood what this meant.

Dull blue eyes followed Crowley's gaze out over London and Aziraphale took a slow sip of his tea. "This is my fault, isn't it?"

"Don't," Crowley told him tiredly. "What's done is done."

"But the consequences are ongoing. And will be for a long time, I expect." Aziraphale sighed heavily. "I am responsible, I won't pretend otherwise."

"I tried," Crowley confessed, the words barely audible over the background hum of the city. "I truly did."

"I don't doubt it."

A breeze wandered in. Tousled through red and blonde hair. Wandered somewhere else.

"I suppose I ought to at least ask...was it slow over time or was it because of this past week?"

Crowley didn't answer for a moment, taking another sip of his coffee. "Bit of both."

"Mmm." Aziraphale nodded, not particularly surprised by this. "I should have seen this coming, really. I should have seen a good many things coming."

"Stop it," the demon muttered. "You can't see everything coming. Something something ineffability."

"Is just one of the excuses I've been hiding behind for a very long time. And now it's caught up with me. With us." He sighed. "I suppose it's not just evil that contains the seeds of its own destruction."

Crowley didn't have the energy to come up with a biting response. He just looked exhausted. "I don't regret a minute of it, you know," he murmured. "The Arrangement. You and I. Wouldn't trade it for anything." There were dark circles under his eyes. "But I can't trust you the way I'd need to for this to work. I wish I could. I've tried. I just can't do it."

Aziraphale grimaced to hear the words out loud, but did not dispute it. How could he? "I don't blame you. You're right - it's not fair to ask you to trust me when I've squandered your trust so thoroughly."

We're not friends, hung thick in the air between them.

"Not that I think you don't care," Crowley clarified. "I know you do. You're terrible at hiding it, really. And you came to find me today before it all ended. That's not nothing." He took another sip of coffee. "But you also lied to my face. Repeatedly."

"I did," the angel acknowledged quietly.

"While the world was ending."

"Yes."

"That hurt, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale bit his lip hard. "I know. I'd take it back if I could. But I suppose it's too late to make a difference now."

They stood in silence for a time. Then Crowley sighed and turned back to the flat. "Come on. It's been a long day. There's wine in the kitchen, we may as well enjoy it while we can before they come for us."

The angel followed him inside and watched as he pulled glasses from a cabinet. "Thank you again for allowing me to stay the night. You didn't have to, after everything."

"Stay as long as you like," the demon uncorked the wine bottle. "Your shop's gone. Fuck's sake, I'm not a monster."

"No." Aziraphale's expression was very, very soft. "You're not."

Crowley took off his sunglasses and looked up at him at last: this demon whose heart had been broken too many times. "I want you to be all right, Aziraphale. I need you safe. I need you alive. I want to see you happy. But I don't know how far I can meet you."

"I can't say I'm surprised, after all I've put you through," the angel admitted ruefully. "Denying we were ever friends, or insinuating that you were somehow less than I. I've been a rather dreadful friend to you over the centuries."

Crowley hung his head, wine forgotten. "I know why you keep us at a distance and I know why you lied about the boy. You were doing what you thought was best at the time. I can't blame you for that. But to do what that prophecy wants, when push comes to shove I need to believe with all my heart that you won't leave me hanging. And I...I can't bring myself to believe that." He scrubbed his hands across his face. "Given time I might, but we don't have time. I can't do it. And I hate it. Because that's going to get you killed. I need you alive but once they come for us, I won't be able to save you. Not this time."

"You talk as though you're not in danger yourself," Aziraphale's face crumpled. "Crowley, if Below gets their hands on you they will destroy you utterly. I will not let that happen. I can't take back what I've said but you are the dearest thing in this world to me and I'm not going to stand back and let them take you."

Crowley looked like he was trying so very hard to hope but just couldn't get there. "I want to believe that, I really do. But I can't do blind faith like you can. I don't have it in me anymore."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the demon's. "I'm not asking you to forgive what I've done. And I'm not asking for blind faith. Goodness knows how much trouble that's caused." His voice cracked at that but he plunged onward. "I'm only asking you to believe me when I say that I will not let Hell have you. If we cannot switch our faces, we will find another way."

"But your prophecy. Agnes-"

"Agnes be damned." That shut Crowley up. Tears glistened on the angel's cheeks. "If I have to march Down There after you. If I have to take up a sword. If I have to stand between you and God Herself. I swear to you on everything that I am, I will not let Hell have you."

And in that brief moment, for just that one promise in a sea of other broken ones, Crowley believed he was telling the truth.

His hand scrabbled for Aziraphale's and he pushed for all he was worth before he could lose this moment, he pushed every atom of his soul into the heart of his best friend, gave him everything that he was and ever could be, and in that instant he trusted Aziraphale to keep him safe.

And then Aziraphale was pouring into him and Crowley opened himself up and let it happen, let him seep into every muscle, every bone, every molecule of his being -

-and suddenly there was no difference between them, there was no angel, no demon, just a tumult of soul and hope and pain and fear and resolve and-

Crowley tumbled out the other side like falling out of bed. He gasped in a strangled breath, stumbling backwards into the kitchen counter and staring suddenly into his own face. He stared down at his clothes - beige - and his hands - manicured - and back up, feeling the warmth of his best friend's corporation surrounding him like a blanket. Aziraphale, in Crowley's, did much the same.

There was stunned silence in the flat as they let this sink in. Then one of them snapped, or maybe both, and suddenly Crowley's face was buried in the collar of a stinking, burnt leather jacket and Aziraphale was crushing him close, and both were squeezing so hard the other could scarcely breathe.

"Thank you," Aziraphale managed at last. "For trusting me enough to let me save you."

"Not if I save you first," Crowley choked out, and broken giggles filled the flat.

(Also on AO3!)

#good omens #good omens fic #the night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale having to take responsibility for lying #the body swap #can these two idiots just SIT DOWN AND TALK #trauma is never your fault #being gaslight and coerced is never your fault #but we still have to be aware of those we hurt when we're not at our best #not that Crowley's 100% innocent #they'll figure it out they just need time

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magioftheseas · 3 years

Text

Gundham & Yasuke

Summary: The Forbidden Tanaka’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. YES.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language and blood/injuries.

Notes: Unsurprisingly, Tanaka was the winner of the poll for which FTEs were to be done next. So his FTEs, quite hilariously, are getting posted on the anniverary date for sdr2′s initial release. That feels pretty...fitting. Writing Tanaka’s dialogue was really hard but I did my best. Despite my best efforts, these two don’t get along the best that they could. Cursed.

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

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It went without saying that he didn’t have a normal middle school experience so he didn’t interact with a lot of people who exhibited the so-called eighth-grader syndrome. But he knew that once kids had the cognitive ability to identify their lot in life and long for more, such desires could get...twisted, to say the least.

Just about everyone wants to be fucking special if they’re not too focused on surviving. And most people grew ashamed of the lofty aspirations and special interests they developed in that delicate era. Matsuda understood that much, even if he was considerably detached from it. In some ways, those people were like animals. Strange beasts that acted on impulses and instincts. That still had intelligence but not, like, awareness. When it came to engaging with these types, Matsuda had no choice but to accept them even as he shook his head at their delusions of grandeur.

He understands he’s supposed to do that in theory.

In practice, however...

“Sharp-tongued fool!” Tanaka bellowed. “You draw too near to the barrier of the Ice Kingdom!”

It’s a beautiful day outside. It’s always a beautiful fucking day. Clear, sunny sky. Warm but with a pleasant breeze to keep it from being too sweltering. It’s such a nice day—and Matsuda Yasuke does not want to be here.

Without another word, he turns on his heel.

“Aha!” Tanaka sneered. “To think just the warning prose would be enough to make you turn tail and run. A cowardice I did not expect, but perhaps... I should have.”

While walking away and listening to that guy cackle to himself, all Matsuda had in response was to flip him off.

He proceeded to avoid Tanaka for the rest of the day—and would’ve avoided him for the rest of his life had fate not had something else in store.

It was another beautiful day. The perfect day for a walk. He was thinking by the ranch so that he could admire the chickens as he passed. Unfortunately, he not only came across chickens but also the cow that used to be a chicken he quite liked.

Also Tanaka Gundam.

And their eyes ended up meeting.

There’s no real point in reasoning with someone who exhibits grandiose delusions, he reminded himself. It’s no good to denounce them, but it’s also no good to enable them. It’s a delicate line that I do not want to fucking bother with.

Matsuda does look away, intent on ignoring the other. Despite that resolve, his thoughts don’t shut up.

I didn’t have any peers in middle school for obvious reasons. I never actually spoke to someone my own age who felt this way. I was too busy being fixated on my own goals and lofty aspirations.

A couple of steps forward. It’s fine. If he continued the way he was already going, he can just pass Tanaka. It’d be easy. Simple.

...

Fuck.

He pauses. He turns. Tanaka has already turned away, but as if guided by the third sense of a fucking Evil All-Seeing Eye, he turns back to Matsuda. His brow quirks.

“Has the barrier truly weakened so?”

“I don’t know,” Matsuda replied intelligently. “For some reason, I feel too worn down to go through the effort of pretending you don’t exist.”

Tanaka cackled lowly.

“Such an insolent remark. It seems you do not truly know your place. But that is just as well. Even now, your true name is one that seems out of my grasp.”

“I’m Matsuda Yasuke. Nice to meet you.”

Tanaka clicked his tongue, scowling at Matsuda’s blank expression and his deadpan tone.

“That,” he snarled. “Is merely a brush against the surface. It does not encompass the deepest depths of your rogue soul.”

Alright. So he wants to know what makes me tick. If I had to guess.

“Your true name,” Tanaka requested impatiently. “I have no need for superficial titles.”

“That’s cold,” Matsuda huffed. “The name my mom gave me isn’t superficial.”

...even if it is ironic.

For some reason, Tanaka does perk up. He gives a nod of approval.

“A fair retort,” he concedes. “That maternal bond is its own scarring shackle.”

That admission was the first true crack in the wall between them. Or so Matsuda supposed, and he felt himself slip just a little bit further.

What a headache...

“Anyway,” he went on with a wave of his hand. “It’d be incredibly foolish to give you my true name, right? If telling a demon my name gives them possession of my soul and telling them my birthday gives them control of my life... Then telling someone like you...”

Tanaka nodded again, grinning so widely it was damn near grotesque.

“I see...the sharp-tongued fool is still retaining a sharp mind...”

I shouldn’t have played along even in jest. Fuck.

“What special abilities do you possess?” Tanaka purrs, drawing closer now. “What hidden capabilities have you acquired?”

Tanaka stalks even closer, his eyes are flashing with curiosity and hunger. Probably because this fucking weirdo wouldn’t understand a normal interaction if it bit him in the face.

I still hate that stare. I fucking hate that stare.

“You already know that,” Matsuda snapped, forcing himself to stay relaxed. “Neurology is my talent. You even know my name and birthday because of those damn student files...”

Calm down, calm down. It’s just fucking Tanaka—

Tanaka does halt. His head tilts quizzically.

“Hmph.” With nostrils flaring, Tanaka seemed to duck into his own scarf. “I suppose you are human after all.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Simple.” Tanaka chuckled. “I sensed your apprehension, Matsuda Yasuke. I sensed—and yet, I could tell it was not a chill brought about by the Ice Kingdom.”

Matsuda does flinch at that.

“I shall take my leave for now so that you may re-gather your peace,” Tanaka declared. “Till next time, sharp-tongued fool.”

Tanaka gave him a salute. Matsuda barely had a chance to wave back before Tanaka flipped his scarf and coat so that it would dramatically billow behind him as he made his overly dramatic exit. So fucking extra, and yet—

He left so that I could take the time to calm down.

And how the hell was he supposed to feel about that?

“Even now, I can hear the crackling of the Ice Kingdom’s barrier.” Tanaka was cackling. Another beautiful day. Yet somehow this weirdo was set on shrouding himself in asinine mystery as well as his own dark layers. How the hell was he not burning up?

Tanaka noticed his staring and merely smirked. “What brings you today, Matsuda Yasuke?”

Aah. Even with that pompous fucking tone, it’s an understandable question.

“I don’t like things to be unbalanced,” he said which was a bald-faced lie but sounded persuasive enough. “Since you interrogated me last time, I thought I’d ask you a few questions of my own.”

“Hmph!” Tanaka snorted. “You seek a comprehension that may underlie a deep terror that cannot be contained! Do you not fear for your sanity?”

“No, I’m insane already,” Matsuda said flatly. “I drove myself insane years ago.”

“Is that SO?!” Tanaka boomed, incredulous or admiring, Matsuda wasn’t sure. “Your humanity is one that only hangs by a thread, then?!”

I...can’t disagree with that, huh.

Matsuda shrugged.

“We’re not supposed to be talking about me. Let’s talk about you.”

Tanaka remained guarded but gave a nod.

“Very well. Demi-human or no, I shall not lose to you.”

That’s more like it. You’re much less annoying this way.

“What talents do you have?” he settles on since it’s only fair. “Even if it’s not the full roster, I’d like to know some...special abilities.”

“You shall only get a portion,” Tanaka said, sniffing. “Despite my appearance, I’m an active fiend. Between sorcery and human hunting, I manage my website.”

Matsuda blinked, trying to imagine this guy at a computer. Actually, it was really easy to imagine. There’s no way Tanaka learned to talk like an edgelord on his own.

I bet he spends a lot of time looking up stupid shit like Norse mythology. But, if he has a website, then...

“I have encrypted my research with magic,” Tanaka informed him. “Thus, only those worthy can gain access.”

...if he means through password then I could probably hack in with ease.

“If I had to guess what kind of research it was,” Matsuda mused. “Then—probably something like a pet diary, right?”

There were a series of muffled squeaks from Tanaka’s scarf. Tanaka burst into a boisterous boom of laughter.

“Even with your wits, you would only be able to access the dummy site!” Tanaka grinned victoriously, even though no conflict had taken place. “Your skill level would only open the gates of the Exciting Breeding Journal.”

“...Alright. That’s fine by me.”

You’re literally here because of your talent in animal husbandry.

“Favorite food?” Matsuda asked next. Tanaka stiffened. Growled, even. Because he was pissed off about getting such a lukewarm response? Matsuda didn’t bother inquiring, instead pressing, “Do you have one?”

“The orange melon that bears the face of the devil,” Tanaka huffed, put out. “No other food compares in terms of high nutrients or versatility in cooking methods. More importantly, its seeds are the most effective food source for my Four Dark Devas of Destruction.”

...a pumpkin. He’s talking about a pumpkin, right?

“However! Those seeds must be carefully washed, carefully dried, carefully peeled,” Tanaka rambled on. “And lightly fried.”

“How meticulous,” Matsuda muttered. “But nothing less for...them.”

“Indeed. A difficulty that beguiles pain and pleasure alike matters not in the face of a grand purpose.”

I can agree with that even if I hate how it’s worded.

“There is more when it comes to the caring of beasts,” Tanaka rumbled. “Shall I lead you deeper?”

“Uh.” Matsuda waved his hand. “Next time. Let’s talk more next time.”

Tanaka gave him a truly wicked grin. For once, it actually felt malicious.

“Take as much time you need to prepare yourself, sharp-tongued fool.”

Matsuda made a face but bit his tongue.

Piece of shit.

Tanaka wasn’t out and about today at the ranch. He wasn’t in the diner, either. It went to reason that he was likely in his cottage.

It’s only because I found some pumpkin seeds that I’m even going...

When he knocked on the door, he found it unlocked. Since he wasn’t an animal, he was going to wait for Tanaka to answer the door rather than barge in but...

“Ku—!”

He heard a noise. A sharp, strangled sound that was undeniably made through gritted teeth. Matsuda opened the door immediately.

“Is everything alright?”

And indeed—Tanaka was holding his bloodied hand in a death grip. The hamsters were chirping and chittering, but unaffected. What happened was clear, especially in how Tanaka’s shoulders were hunched.

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around packets of wet wipes. He rummaged through his pocket for one, stepping forward and reaching out.

“Let me...”

“NO!” Tanaka shrieked, and like a startled beast he scrambled away from his hand. He was panting, still gripping his injury with a wide and wild-eyed stare. Seeing Matsuda there did little to calm him down, as he growled, “The blood that flows through my veins bears a fearsome curse. You must step away now to spare yourself their potency.”

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around disposable gloves. He slipped them on, tearing the wet wipe packet open, and made his way closer.

“Come on. We really don’t want that bite to get infected.”

“This is not my first blood sacrifice,” Tanaka snarled, even showing his teeth. Gross. “I have no need for your medical sorcery. And furthermore, that meager covering...!”

“Oh my fucking god, shut the hell up.” Matsuda snatched up his hand, prying the other off as Tanaka shrieked some more. Thankfully, Matsuda was able to pull it away and got to work dabbing and cleaning the wound. Tanaka had completely frozen now, but Matsuda was still fuming.

“Don’t ever fucking call me meager,” he snapped, and thankfully Tanaka had spare clean bandages for him to re-wrap his hand with. “Crude and foolish I’ll take. Meager I won’t.”

Tanaka finally scoffed as Matsuda made sure the bandaging was secure.

“A demi-human like you has such pride.”

Look who’s fucking talking.

“You should not have endangered yourself, however,” Tanaka went on. “I was not telling falsehoods about my poisonous blood. It is only by a thread that you have not already deteriorated. As crude and foolish as you are, I do not desire your demise.”

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of poison, so you’re worrying too much,” Matsuda replied but winced from a sudden headache. As he rubbed removed his gloves to rub his temples, Tanaka stood up.

“You once again face the ramifications for your hubris!” he exclaimed and rushed back to deal with his hamsters. “I grant you relief, and I advise you to take your leave immediately.”

“I’m fucking fine, it’s just a migraine,” Matsuda griped and disposed of the gloves and wipes. “Should you really be handling those hamsters again so soon?”

“They are not mere hamsters!” Tanaka bellowed. “The fangs I have taken are that of the Crimson Steel Elephant, Maga-Z!”

Maga-Z blinked its bright beady eyes at Matsuda.

“For the sake of the Invading Black Dragon, Cham-P,” Tanaka went to coo over the largest hamster which was orange, not black. “A golden demon, one who understands fear all too well... Much attention should be heeded to make sure they do not get overly stressed out... While many devil beasts of this ilk are aggressive and fearfully territorial, the golden variant is the most docile and intelligent. They recognize me as...”

He trails off. It’s as if he’s too moved to speak.

I have heard hamsters had an unnaturally high rate of cannibalism, Matsuda thought. But I suppose like with dog breeds, they come in all sizes...and temperaments...

It was obvious Tanaka knew his shit, being an Ultimate at all. But seeing it firsthand, watching him dote on the beasts with a cottage interior largely dedicated to their cage and tube, the guy definitely loved animals. Like, a lot. Despite his delusions of grandeur, he at least seemed to love animals a healthy, non-obsessive amount.

“They’re living well,” Matsuda commented blandly.

Tanaka scoffed at him.

“For demons that live a mere 1095 days, the luxuries in life mean everything. I would never settle for less.”

“I see...” He scuffed the end of his shoe against the wooden floor. “That’s good.”

Shouldn’t have worn open-toed shoes, but I don’t have any alternatives. Oh, right.

“I got pumpkin seeds.” He tossed the bag and it landed on Tanaka’s lap. The hamsters jumped, and even Tanaka flinched. Matsuda, however, turned on his heel. “Sorry. Bye.”

With that insincere apology, he headed out. He could feel a disproving stare on his back but that didn’t lessen his steps in the slightest.

His favorite chicken-turned-cow was in a good mood today. She was accepting pets and even nipping at his fingers. All he had on him was candy. Not any fruit much less hay although...

“If you plan to feed that creature, you should be wary of apples,” Tanaka rumbled from behind. Where the fuck he came from, Matsuda wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t surprised to be hearing from him. “You can risk over-eating which will cause a bloated stomach for the animal.”

“Ah, thanks for the advice,” Matsuda said sincerely, turning back and frowning when he noticed the other’s own hanging head. “What’s with the long face?”

“I would hope that you do not consider that creature to be your familiar, Matsuda Yasuke,” Tanaka murmured sullenly and solemnly. Like he had come across something truly pitiful to the point of depressing.

Although he seems more focused on the cow itself...

“I don’t have a familiar,” Matsuda huffed.

Tanaka quirks an eyebrow at him. Furrows it, even, as if Matsuda is the one not making sense. How seriously annoying. But rather than inquire further, Tanaka just shakes his head.

“Creatures like that one are born to be slaughtered,” he said, turning on his heel. “What a wretched fate, one that cannot be escaped even with the use of the Evil All-Seeing Eye. If one is to form a bond with such an unfortunate beast, they will invite only calamity.”

“That’s...” Not necessarily true. There is livestock out there allowed to live full lives. But they’re exceptions that prove the rule, I suppose. And the fact that I even thought to use a word like allowed... “Woof.”

Tanaka barked back. “This sentimentality only arose because I have not encountered any new beasts. I shall go searching as to put my mind at ease.”

He walked on, and Matsuda found himself following. Tanaka didn’t seem to mind at all. The opposite, in fact.

“There are many creatures I’ve tamed, sharp-tongued one,” Tanaka went on to say. “The Cerberus. The Phoenix. Even then Midgardian Serpent.”

Looks like I was right on the money about him looking up Norse shit. That’s just another fucking word for Earth, asshole. I’ve read enough shitty fantasy manga to know.

“I saw a toucan one time,” he commented in lieu of verbalizing his thoughts. “And I guess there are the seagulls. Or those mascots.”

“Those uncute fiends cannot be trusted with their speech,” Tanaka hissed. “As for the others... Ah, the ravenous, feathered beasts.” Tanaka nodded sagely with approval at that one. “They are a perilous project as they are quite fearless and impulsive. Even when greater threats arise, they gather like a court waiting to hand down judgment.”

I think...that’s more something that crows do rather than seagulls.

He does think about it though, birds judging one another. If he looked up, he’d even see a seagull or two soar overhead. A phrase rose to his mind, unbidden.

When the seagulls cry...

“Hm?” Tanaka paused when he noticed that Matsuda had stopped dead in his tracks. He turned, and whatever expression was on Matsuda’s face—whatever that was had Tanaka clicking his tongue. “What is on your mind?”

“Something stupid,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Even in peaceful times, I can’t help but worry about how easily things fall apart. Sometimes for something as petty as a broken promise.”

Is it speech alone that gives us the means of betraying one another?

Tanaka did stiffen.

“It sure is fortunate for us that we’ve yet to deal with any storms,” Matsuda went on to say. “In fact, it’s perfect weather every single day. Isn’t that strange? It almost doesn’t feel real, and if it’s not real... Does anything that happens here matter?” He paused again. “Like I said. It’s stupid.”

“Your inane ponderings still have an air of malice,” Tanaka muttered darkly.

Huh.

“Are you saying I’m someone to be on guard around?” He cracked a dry smile. “I’m not that fucking interested in messing with people. I just lack patience.”

Tanaka gave him a look. Wordlessly, he shook his head.

“I think... I will seek solace elsewhere. Do not follow me.”

Matsuda didn’t. Simply watched the other go. It might’ve been one of those annoying situations where the person was saying the exact opposite of what they wanted, but even if he could tell that was the case, he still wouldn’t have followed.

After all.

He lacked patience.

Tanaka seemed especially moody today. Although no matter how sullen his air was, the island sun wouldn’t let up in the slightest. In a way, that was pretty cruel, right? In that much light, it made it difficult to hide. Or something like that.

Wonder what he’s being so fucking temperamental about...

Matsuda makes his way over, waving as he does. He stops, however, when Tanaka regards him coldly.

“Matsuda Yasuke,” he rumbled in a gravelly tone of voice. “The sharp-tongued fool whose practices engage in the constitution of the mind... Would you like to duel?”

Huh?

Matsuda dropped his hand.

“...have you finally fucking gone actually insane?” He sighed. “Don’t answer that. No, I don’t want to duel. And if you push it, I’ll leave. I don’t have time for that bullshit.”

Tanaka’s cold stare became more of a glare.

“I’m afraid I do not have such luxury around you,” Tanaka said sharply. “You grind down my defenses with this continued, unsightly association. Despite wearing the face of a human, you, Matsuda Yasuke are...!”

“I’m just human,” Matsuda replied before he could finish. With an unimpressed shrug, he added. “And if you wanted me to stop bothering you, all you had to fucking do was say so.”

“I allowed these exchanges out of a sense of curiosity, arrogantly unheeding the danger,” Tanaka went on, muttering as he did. “Truly, I have been foolish.”

The sun shone down on him. On a day this bright, there wasn’t anyone to hide. Tanaka ‘Gundam’ looked a bit ill. When Matsuda took a step closer, however, he recoiled. With a sharp hiss, Tanaka held up his hand in warning.

Like an agitated cat.

Matsuda drew back with a sigh.

Someone like this—really is so needlessly fucking difficult. And for what? An inflated sense of importance? Wasn’t getting into Hope’s Peak enough?

...if he complained too much, he’d veer uncomfortably close to hypocrisy.

Hope’s Peak was just another step for me, but I wonder what it was for someone like this? Where the hell would he be if he didn’t get in? Honestly—I doubt it would’ve been all that significant.

“Alright,” he said. “Did you get anything out of our interactions at least?”

Tanaka stared at him, but being a normal fucking person without magical powers, Matsuda was more than capable of staring back, unaffected. For some reason, Tanaka did shy back a little.

“I have keenly observed you,” he said lowly. “Namely how your regard only shifts when directed towards creatures already marked for death. I suspect—you are a creature of calamity. The eye of the storm.”

“So, what,” Matsuda drawled. “Like a demon?”

Tanaka hummed, seemingly considering it. “No... That is not quite right.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, then,” Matsuda huffed, waving his hand dismissively. “But—I think I get what you’re saying. I just think it’s funny coming from you—and that you don’t understand.”

Tanaka’s stare blazed with an offense, and Matsuda paid no heed at all.

“How I regard creatures marked for death...” Matsuda snorted. “I’m a fucking doctor. Obviously, I treat them differently. It’s part of my fucking job.”

Although he’s referring to the cow, isn’t he? Seriously...

“I guess it’s weird,” he admitted. “With how shitty of an attitude I have. But I take my job seriously. If you can’t get something that simple, then your Evil All-Seeing Eye is pretty fucking lacking.”

“You...” Tanaka growled. “You’re truly impertinent. You wield your blade recklessly and foolishly. You and I both know—that it runs deeper than mere duty for you, Matsuda Yasuke.”

...so what if it does?

He supposes he should be impressed that Tanaka isn’t that fucking dense. That the animal freak is, in fact, a little perceptive.

Smiling mirthlessly, Matsuda reached out to pat the flinching other’s shoulder. He gripped him for just a moment.

“That’s all you need to know about me,” he murmured into Tanaka’s ear before pulling back. “I think we’re at enough of an understanding. Thanks for your time.” He gave a salute as he headed on his way. “We don’t need to talk again. We especially don’t need to duel. Have a wonderful fucking day.”

“One day,” Tanaka swore. “You will meet your cruel, disastrous end. That is the decree of the Tanaka Kingdom!” As Matsuda got further away, Tanaka boomed after him. “Mark my words, sharp-tongued FOOL! You are MARKED for des—!”

It was such a headache that Matsuda tuned him out. But as he found himself alone, he did wonder.

Marked for destruction? Or something else? Despite all that time, rather than growing close, that weirdo is now convinced that I’m hopeless. He might be right. Actually, I’d still consider us closer if he can recognize that. I still don’t really care. I don’t.

He walked on, moving forward because he had nowhere else to go.

Decree. What a fucking riot. If I do die, it won’t be because of an idiot like him. But whatever makes him feel better I suppose.

Matsuda shook his head, brushing the whole thing aside except...

If I die... It won’t be until I reach the very fucking pits. I won’t settle for anything less.

#sdr2 #yasuke matsuda #matsuda yasuke #gundham tanaka #gundam tanaka #Magi fics #Protag Matsun

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veliseraptor · 4 years

Note

“I think sometimes it tips that way in modern au settings for reasons I can elaborate on if anyone is interested” I’m interested! Elaborate away!

(related to an offhand comment/bait I left in this ask about my Xue Yang sex headcanons and how specifically his relationship to sex tips more actively self-destructive than I think it does in canon)

oh boy you have unlocked a whole new level of headcanon and like. I’m sorry in advance. this is the kind of thing where I’m like “dang should I make a custom xue yang tag so I don’t inflict my everything on everyone else” and then I don’t.

basically the thing is: setting aside the idea of a reincarnation au where he has some/any recollection of what happened in Yi City, which would be a headfuck all its own...I tend to think that Xue Yang does just have some Brain Stuff - specifically regarding the degree to which other people are “real” to him (they aren’t).

by that I mean that he sort of struggles with conceiving that other people have the same level of interiority and for lack of a better word humanity as he does, which makes it very hard to care about them, on the whole, as individuals. in canon that’s also there, but to a certain extent he made a deliberate decision to just go “well, fuck it! norms are for nerds and society is fake.” He doesn’t care to try (after all, on some level others haven’t tried for him; he’s spent a fair amount of time being perceived as subhuman/being dehumanized).

(still find it very interesting that this is one of the only places during his fight with Song Lan where he stops smiling!)

I think his ability to work within the structure of a sect like the Jin was always a limited deal.

furthermore, there is a certain degree of self-destructiveness inherent in the kind of reckless behavior that Xue Yang exhibits! like, not consciously, and he is very much oriented toward survival and self-preservation for the most part, but on some level that attitude of see-what-happens contains within it seeds of a bit of a drive toward self-destruction. it’s complicated. and the reason why I think a modern setting brings that out is - well, it kind of comes down to ableism and stigma, honestly.

because a Xue Yang who has some Brain Issues as described above, in a modern context, is going to become aware pretty quickly that (a) that’s weird, and bad, and wrong, and probably sort of evil, and (b) that showing any kind of antisocial behavior is going to create significant issues for his trying to get what he wants. so he’s going to do his damnedest to perform normalcy, if only for the sake of moving through the world in a way that doesn’t get him in trouble - and he can do that, when motivated, to a greater or lesser extent.

but there’s always going to be a disjunction between his awareness of himself and how his brain works and how he experiences the world and relates to other people, and the knowledge of how things are supposed to work.

which. it’s not like “psychopath” and “sociopath” are words people use that have any kind of good valence to them.

I very definitively do not see a canon Xue Yang having issues with self-loathing - self-doubt, sure, uncertainty, sure, anxiety and insecurity about certain things, sure. but he definitely does not hate himself or have any sense that he’s somehow, you know, bad. I think that changes in a modern AU where it’s harder to be completely disengaged from society, and he’s less likely to have the ability to ignore quite as completely the messages he gets about something being wrong with him - and more likely to internalize them.

which is going to produce, I think, more of a tendency toward that sense of active perception-of-the-monstrous-self, and consequently orient that recklessness more toward an indifference or active investment in self-destructive or self-harming behaviors. because impulsive + adrenaline seeking + just a little bit of internalized sense of himself as monstrous can very quickly lean toward something more serious and intentional than I think it is in canon.

anyway! that is my brief treatise on one of the ways in which I think a modern au Xue Yang is differently dysfunctional than a canon one, thank you for listening.

#nagisachan1 #conversating #xue yang #lise does meta #(...sort of)#aggressively headcanons #the sad queer cultivators show #i'd apologize for all this but i'm not actually sorry #I WILL NOT APOLOGIZE FOR ART #(or...sex headcanons)#off work for lunch post sex headcanons

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esseegg · 4 years

Text

egg theory.

this occurred to me after i saw leaks from Ch. 290 of the My Hero Academia’s manga. it’s not really a theory, just speculation.

warning: contains manga spoilers, Dabi, the Todoroki family, and suicidal implications.

another warning: my thought process is very lengthy and a tad repetitive for the sake of evidence in reasoning. i also get a tad bit “Let’s see what’s in Dabi’s head today” at the end. writer instincts.

I don’t have any images of the manga to pull from, nor am I going to bother with grabbing them. This is more of a psychological analysis, anyways.

For those who’ve read the manga’s most recent chapters, or perhaps even stumbled upon manga snapshots of Dabi, we’ve all noted a few trends: Dabi’s uncharacteristic smile and his uncanny, ecstatic hysteria. At first, we believed this to be a result of potential grieving for Twice’s death and/or the anticipation of finally facing off with Endeavor (for the last time, per se) and/or the thought of seeing Endeavor finally being crushed by Shigaraki’s current rampage.

However, upon seeing Ch. 290′s leaks, I don’t quite believe in such speculations. If anything, these possibilities are not alone. In general, the leaks contain these things: a confession to his mother and the consequent reveal of his Todoroki identity to both his mother and his father.

Setting aside Rei for now, most people have interpreted these details as signs of a final showdown between Dabi and Endeavor. I don’t discredit this. That idiot can’t waltz in with that much drama and not expect a fight in his head.

My problem with all this is that, as we’ve noticed, this energy is entirely opposite of what usually defines Dabi. Dabi is stoic. Dabi is cold. Dabi is not one to go searching for the limelight. Granted, there are a few exceptions to this, but none alike Ch. 290. Here, and as of recent chapters, his carefree attitude is unhinged, fueled by a thrill, an anticipation, a blind excitement, and pure, raw joy.

Now, let’s factor in Rei again. Rei received the news in clearly a much calmer, civil, more sensitive format. You see his body language, and you can see that there is a tenderness in posture alone. He doesn’t even try to put up a front with his expression. It’s plain and simple: a broken, irreparable son giving the last sliver of good he can offer to his mother... The truth.

In summary, Dabi has displayed two things: the giving away of something precious (his identity, tied to his goals and crimes and ongoing life) and blind elation. Most interpret these things as a complex display of vengeance, built atop the foundation of a still human heart. Now.. I do believe the man has a heart. He is certainly human. But humans are scary sometimes.

I don’t think Dabi expects to live. I think he expects to die on that battlefield when he confronts his father. He might not expect to go any further than that. He gave some sort of solace to his mother (as nice as it might’ve been to think him dead, rather than a lost criminal), the possibly last precious person to him in this life.

When suicidal people have finally made the choice, the plans, the preparations for death, they become happy. It’s a misleading thing, actually. They give away what’s important to them, spend a little more time with whoever is most precious to them, then they move on.

I don’t believe that Dabi is looking to die. However, his life’s purpose, which he had been building up to for who knows how long, has finally fallen into place. Once he witnesses or reaches a certain point, I don’t think he will have any complaints about death. And that scares me.

Think about it. His acclaimed ideology is a replicate of Stain’s. Aside from hero society being absolute filth, he believes that if one person has the will for it, they can inflict the change they want to see in the world. And quite frankly? Dabi is very well-equipped for such a thing.

He is a confirmed Todoroki son, son to society’s Number One Hero. Endeavor’s career, fame, prosperity is all at its prime. In public, at least. And Dabi knows this.

Dabi is arguably a perfect candidate to change all that, to inflict the destruction on the world that is his father’s dream. It’s that very dream that chained Rei to Enji, that gave birth to four children, that gave three of those four children complete neglect from their father. That dream, as we all know, has finally been recognized. Without the children. Without the mother. All Endeavor needed was the fall of the great All Might. Now, Endeavor is at the top. And the only direction you can go, after you’ve reached the top, is down.

I wouldn’t put it past Dabi to label himself the manifestation of his father’s corruption and mistreatment of the family. After all, what’s more life-shattering than the Number One’s son turned criminal, killer, and conspirator against society itself? What’s more slandering than the knowledge that the son was not born this evil? That it’s the father’s fault for planting the seeds of long-awaited vengeance?

What’s better than the disgusting climb for morals and virtue, as your old man tries to cry out heartbreak over what you’ve become? What’s better than being the one to kill him? What’s better than forcing him to mayhaps kill you by his own hand? What’s better than letting him know that this is a part of his past, his regrets, his guilt and grief and self-loathing, that he’ll never be able to redeem, fix, and glorify? What’s better than maybe... exposing your old man for what he really is?

Dabi doesn’t necessarily need to do it himself. He just needs to walk up on the stage that is the battlefield, wash his hair dye out, do a twirl, and reclaim the name he had left for dead. Shout it to the world. Go on monologues and maniac speeches for all the heroes to hear. Let them know what Endeavor’s done to his son, to his wife, to his children, to innocent people he didn’t view as humans, but as stepping stones to a dream he didn’t even attain with integrity.

It doesn’t matter who dies. It doesn’t matter who lives. As long as he gets to crush his father’s world, to inflict the change he always wanted to see... he’s happy. Truly, blindingly happy.

disclaimer: i have no idea what the leaks say, only that Dabi’s shirtless and a little dramatic. all my reasoning is based on recalled information, with no check for accuracy. i’m just scared that Dabi is going to canonly die, and the fandom will need to collectively feed itself with coping mechanism fanart and fanfics to pretend our burnt chicken nugget is still with us. have a nice day.

#bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha 290 #mha 290 #dabi #dabi my hero academia #touya todoroki #egg's thoughts #i'm probably an overthinker but i just think this train of thought was cool #i've already thought of counters to prolong Dabi's life for at least one corn chip's worth #but meh #the egg's gotta hoard a little

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bave-de-crapaud · 4 years

Text

The Darkness Within...

CHAPTER FIVE

(Yearning by crescentcreations.storenvy.com)

Request by: the babe @belladonnarey

A/N: hmmm this one took a while BUT it (hopefully) is the smut you have been waiting for. Let me know what you like about it, what you don’t, what you think will happen. Enjoy and stay safe. Sirius x Reader Older Sirius Sirius Lives/Post Azkaban Smutty McSmut Word count: 5500+ Disclaimer: All characters are assumed 18+ Warnings: Smut!

—-

Finding yourself at Number 12 Grimmauld Place became a regular if normal occurrence over the next few weeks. In your spare time you sat on the floor in Sirius’ library, pouring over dusty volumes containing everything and anything related to wizards and witches with ‘eccentric abilities’ - the technical term to what you had, apparently.

The good thing about this was you weren’t the only one who had surfaced over the years with strange skills, there were wizards who could command water without a wand, witches who with one touch could drain a person of their fears, individuals who could fly sans apparatus and countless others who had fascinating and outrageous traits. The bad thing was none of these wizards were alive today to speak with, the last person with documented abilities had died over 100 years ago. Yet again you felt like you were on this journey on your own.

Sirius and Remus were constantly in and out of the house completing various missions and tasks for the order. Sirius checked on you often, bringing you tea or something to eat but kept himself scarce to let you figure out your mysteries alone. He seemed to understand that this was a private affair for you and you were grateful for the time. However each night around 8pm he would come into the Library, sit on one of the old leather couches and ask you about your day.

You caught snippets of what he and Remus had been up to and learned that one of the missions ended in a grizzly discovery of Macnair’s body - found dead in his home - magic obviously the cause of torture and death.

Voldemort had become less of a focus in your mind and each time you were called to his presence you found it easy to resist his psychological torment. The disgust on your face was not evident when fellow Death Eaters talked about their foul crimes. Being around Sirius was giving you a strength you never knew you had. The way he threw himself into fighting for equality and the right to live no matter what situation or who he had to work with, both humbled and amazed you. If he can put up with more than 12 years of the world thinking he was a betrayer and cold-blooded killer who was associated with Death Eaters and Voldemort, then you could put up with sporadically rubbing shoulders with Malfoy, Lestrange, and their cronies.

Your new attitude didn’t go unnoticed, it was put down to you growing a stronger stomach for violence and generally taken positively amongst the Death Eater ranks. However, Voldemort, though he outwardly showed no signs of displeasure, watched you more and decided to hold whatever he wanted Macnair to deliver to you for later. Like any nefarious leader, he was constantly on the lookout for a rat in his ranks and you were not exempt from this scrutiny.

After every Death Eater meeting, you would return home before heading over to Grimmauld Place, a new sanctuary, to pour over more books and hopefully absorb the good vibes from its admirable inhabitants. This made being with Death Eaters bearable. On the nights of Order meetings, however, you stayed away. Those evenings were becoming Sirius’ least favourite. It made sense to shield you from them for your own and others’ safety. However, that didn’t stop him feeling concerned for you. Reckless and impulsive, he may be, he was also a very intuitive and perceptive man. He hadn’t failed to notice how much you seem to relax in his library. He wanted that for you, relating to that feeling of relief as almost an addictive substance, he knew you needed and craved it and he wanted to give it to you. Badly.

He felt protective and territorial of you. If he really wanted to analyse his feelings he would have noticed that your safety, though paramount, was not the only reason he wanted you to come to his house: the lingering looks as he gave you yet another cup of tea, finding a way to bring you into conversation with Remus, seemingly innocently, was a dead giveaway of deeper feelings. Remus said nothing, prefering to feign ignorance, yet the annoyingly knowing looks he gave Sirius hinted otherwise.

“Just ask her, Padfoot.” Remus sighed exasperatedly, shuffling his paper one day as Sirius kept looking towards the door of his library, knowing you were inside.

“Ask her what?” Sirius tried and failed to nonchalantly reply.

“Out, mate!”

Sirius frowned, placing both hands on the kitchen table as though readying his defense. “For one: what makes you think I want to ask her out? And two: I couldn’t anyway - we are supposed to be on opposing sides remember?”

Remus stared at his friend, conceding defeat but not enough to hold in his last words before disappearing behind the Daily Prophet; “True but if it can be concealed from the Death Eaters that she is at your house every day, then asking her to have dinner with you is not a huge step up I would think.”

There was another reason, Sirius hadn’t tried to gauge your feelings: He didn’t want you to think he was just trying to get a leg over. Your outright statement about his intentions after he first visited your house, had stuck with him. He concluded that you didn’t want him and pursuing you would only harden your view towards him further. So he played it safe, frustrating himself and unknowingly frustrating you in the process.

—

Sirius’ library was vast and carried more volumes on runes than all the franchises of Flourish and Blotts combined. What was interesting was that the interpretation of runes and ancient markings was just as vast and also open into a plethora of interpretation. You had discovered that the rune on your chest - the mirror image of one of Sirius’ tattoos - did indeed mean ‘destruction’ but in a form of new growth. Much like a farmer sowing soil, ridding the earth of old, dead, and rotting plants preparing it for new seeds.

Two runes on your left arm meant ‘Harm To My Enemies’ and another on your thigh could be interpreted as ‘The East Wind’. Other forms of your abilities were harder to quantify as there was no record of someone with all the same traits as you, however, those who had shown up throughout history with varying sources of atypical power were more often than not tyrants and individuals who used their abilities for evil. Stories of wizards who did not feel cold, commanding animals, and manipulating the elements such as fire were largely negative however speckled throughout the research were wizards who were great warriors, shepherds of the people, and in some cases just normal citizens living their lives like everyone else

Though you were slowly and steadily finding out more information about your powers and relished the time you were so easily given you couldn’t help but wish for Sirius’ company more often than an hour or two at night. Luckily for you, that was about to change.

—

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” You were sat on the floor in front of the fireplace staring gloomily at your fifth cup of tea.

You smiled “Sirius I’m so grateful for you letting me stay but I was wondering - do you have anything other than tea?”

He smirked and left the room returning seconds later with a bottle of fire whiskey.

Handing you a large glass he clinked it with his and took his place back on the couch asking you again how was your day. Each night Sirius had helped you with your findings, giving his opinion or helping you to digest what you had read. He was adamant that your powers weren’t evil and that you needed to be confident in your choice to do what was right. He had served to make you feel good about yourself a lot but you wondered if he had the same support from his pairs. Tonight you put aside your research and decided to question him about his life. You had gleaned a bit about him over the last month but he was infinitely fascinating to you and seemed like a well of untapped ideas and beliefs.

He talked about his family, his friends, and the Order. He told you light hearted tales about his Hogwarts days and he talked at length about Harry and how sometimes he was nervous about his parenting role considering Walburga and Orion were such poor examples to go off.

“You know, you are not what I thought.” You said boldly after a moment of silence.

Sirius sat up straighter on the couch and cocked his eyebrow at you. A side smile not quite covering a flicker of worry in his eyes.

“Oh?” Was all he said. “Yeah.” You walked forwards from your current position in front of the mantle place and took a seat beside him.

“You care more about what people think than you let on.”

“Is that so?” He subconsciously moved his body so it was angled towards you.

“Yeah, and you are not as much of a dog around the ladies as I thought you’d be.” Sirius barked out a laugh at this. “Why thank you Y/N, but to be fair you have never seen me around ‘the ladies.’”

“I’ve seen you around me.” You answered bluntly. “You aren’t all over me with cheap pick up lines and cocky bravado.”

Sirius turned his head away and tried to hold in a laugh. Where was this coming from? He wondered.

“Is that how you think I would woo a woman? I’m slightly offended, Y/N.” He didn’t look it. He looked amused and a little interested.

He wasn’t able to tell if you were joking and as you glimmered at him, taking another sip of your drink.

“I don’t sleep around you know. I haven’t done that since I was 20, but unfortunately, that reputation has always preceded me.”

“You probably deserved it!”

He scoffed, turning back to stare at the fire; “Probably, and don’t get me wrong I still like meeting new people but I have long since learned sex is far better with someone you have a connection with.”

“Ok then.” You said brightly, gaining his attention again. “What would you do?”

“What would I do, when?” Sirius narrowed his eyebrows slightly, confused.

“When you want to “woo” a woman.” You signalled quotation marks in the air as you said the word ‘woo’ earning another quick chuckle from him.

Sirius paused, looking at you intently, cogs working fast in his brain. She wants you to woo her? No, she wants you to show her what you would do to woo her. Does that mean she wants me?

As Sirius battled these rapid thoughts, your own inner monologue was pipping up as well: This is a dangerous game, Y/N. You are leading him on and you know it. It’s too dangerous, you can’t do anything with him. Don’t confuse the poor guy…unless you want to be leading him on. Do you?

Shaking your head and forcing yourself to believe this would just be a fun game you crossed your legs leaning closer to Sirius.

He noticed glancing at your legs, smooth skin exposed up to past mid-thigh where your skirt took over covering the rest from there.

He looked back into your eyes and noticed a difference. Your pupils were bigger and there was a faint purple hue in your irises.

Right now, the sexual tension in the room could be cut with a knife. It had been building over the past few weeks. An accidental touch here and there, a smile, or a look that meant everything and nothing at the same time from him would floor you. When he looked over your shoulder to consider whatever book you were showing him, little puffs of his breath in your ear flooded your body with heat making it impossible to concentrate. All these reactions confused you and created a chronic longing feeling in your chest you had not experienced before. It made you feel warm, content, and giddy.

Never having fallen for anyone before, you didn’t recognise the signs, the changes in your body and the effect he had on you mentally and physically. By the time these feelings had reached boiling point he was sitting next to you and your body was doing the thinking for you. God you wanted him to touch you. To an untrained eye Sirius looked so cool and collected, however beneath the surface he was anything but.

Since Remus had confronted him about asking you out, Sirius had thought little else. He was super aware of his body language, how it angled him towards you, begging him to take a step closer even if just to place his hand on your back as he passed. Believing that you didn’t want that from him, he was careful not to brush past you or stand too close and cause you to feel uncomfortable. He constantly watched himself and made sure he didn’t give you the wrong idea. It was hard though. Very hard.

Just yesterday he nearly pinned you against the wall and kissed you. He was walking you out and after a long night of research, you were tired and not watching where you were going. Just as he was saying “watch out for the…” you kicked over that bloody troll leg again. Instead of steading yourself, your first thought was not to wake up Sirius’ Mother’s portrait so you reached back to catch the falling article before its clatter made a sound. Overreaching, you fell backward into something hard and warm: Sirius’ chest. He instantly wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and upright.

“Are you ok?” he whispered in your ear, his puffs of breath once again making your veins tingle.

You swallowed and exited abruptly leaving Sirius cursing himself for what he thought was his incongruous behaviour. As far as you were concerned, it had been anything but and you were unable to stop thinking of him for the rest of the evening, dreaming of those same arms doing other far more inappropriate things making your sleep wrought with pleasurable shivers and fever. Oh God, was he ever going to come closer?

Until this evening he had been the perfect gentleman, respecting your boundaries and staying just out of reach. Apart from the one incident in the hallway, you hadn’t felt his touch, no matter how innocent, since he had carried you up the stairs to bed and that was having an unacceptable effect on you. It made you lean towards him further, lick your lips whenever he was near, and glance at his body when he wasn’t looking in a completely wanton way. He must notice the heat coming from me? You thought. He seemed so relaxed, not at all perturbed by your presence.

How wrong you were. Inside, Sirius was struggling. He was trying to be a gentleman but it was hard, you were making it hard. Do you actually want him? He was ok with just being in your orbit slowly torturing himself at not touching you, content at just being there but this evening, your flirting coupled with the fire whiskey was not helping, in fact, its lubricating effects ware making resisting anything you said that could be slightly construed as even vague interest, very, very difficult.

Sirius cleared his throat. Not taking his eyes off you. “You want me to show you how I ask a woman out?”

“Yes, show me your moves!”

Sirius smiled but his eyes held a serious, almost pained look. Before you could ask him what was wrong he shuffled in his seat.

“Y/N, I don’t have moves I just sort of feel a situation out, see if she likes me and then go from there.”

“Ok well, show me how you do that. Come on.” You egged him as he gave you a look of doubt. “It’ll be fun.”

It’ll be torture. Sirius thought, but you were looking at him with such a blazing warmth in your eyes, he relented and shifted so he was closer to you.

“Well, if I like her I have usually gotten to know her a little bit, watched the way she moves, adjusted my body language to suit whatever she is comfortable with, and look for signs she is interested in me too.”

He stretched so his right arm was running along the back of the couch, behind you, touching your shoulder ever so lightly. You shivered at the contact.

“Then I guess I would let her take the lead.” His voice had lowered and you noticed he had leaned closer to you. You had also noticed that the outside of his right leg was pressed against your crossed calves and as he leaned to you further you got a whiff of his cologne. The musky, manly scent combined with his closeness dilated your pupils further and sent your mind whirling.

Before you could collect yourself Sirius gave you a slow, mischievous smile, took a sip of his drink and said very quietly; “Your turn.”

“My…w-what?” you uttered, stammering slightly.

“Your turn to show me your moves.”

Fuck you wanted him. Could you? No? Slowly, not realising it you inched closer to him.

You were nervous, Sirius could finally see that. Whatever he was doing had an effect on you. Sirius loved the excitement of turning someone else on, this was him in his element. However, unlike most interactions with the opposite sex, this one was equally thrilling and torturing him. Setting his glass down and gathering a sliver of confidence he tentatively he placed his left hand on your thigh. You sucked in a sharp breath which he mistook for fear immediately whipping his hand away and opening his mouth to apologise only to be interrupted by the words: “Don’t stop.”

He looked back at you, having just enough time to register your meaning before you lunged forward, capturing his lips in yours.

There was a seconds pause then Sirius was returning your kiss with fervor. He wrapped his arms around your back clinging to your shirt before lifting you up and onto his lap, legs either side of his, pressing into him exquisitely.

He tasted like fire whiskey and something sweet at the same time.

He moved his hand through your hair holding your head while the other held your lower back pressing you firmly, further into him. Suddenly the hand holding your head was gone and running up your outer thigh, underneath your skirt.

His warm fingers caressed your upper thigh, moving further to touch the tip of your hip and run tantalizing circles across your backside.

His kisses were feverish and sending you reeling. The way he swept his tongue across your lips opening them and deepening the kiss was tantalizing. Clinging to him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair, you ground down into his crotch and he groaned, opening his eyes. They were heavy with desire.

Sirius squeezed your bum picking you up and laying you back down on the couch. He didn’t remove his lips from yours as he wrapped your legs around his waist and lowered his body onto yours.

You arched up into him and he was immediately transported to the first dream he had of you, lying naked on his bed. He let out a shuddered breath; “You are so beautiful, Y/N. I want you.”

Instead of being flattered by this, a voice popped up in the back of your mind; Did he though? Shaken by this sudden thought, then jumping slightly at the bang of the front door signifying the probable return home of Remus served to knock you back into reality. The situation suddenly became very clear to you. You had just thrown yourself at a man who was known for sleeping with multiple women, very easily it seemed if you were to believe what he said before - he didn’t have to do anything and they offered themselves to him.

Of course he wanted you - you had led him on with your ‘game’ basically given yourself up to him on a platter. This wasn’t real, it was convenient and you could seriously hurt him if you let him in further.

Seeing the change in your face, Sirius sat up, “Y/N, are you ok? Was this too fast?.”

“Sirius..I” you were so embarrassed. Sitting up, quickly removing your legs from around him.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have.” He could see the blush rising up around your cheeks and you couldn’t look at him.

“Shouldn’t have? What do you mean - I think this was on both of us. Don’t you?”

“I mean.” You screwed your eyes shut, breathing deeply, “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea…I… I don’t do one nightstands.”

“One nightstands?” he was frowning at you, confused, his mind racing. Didn’t she hear me before?

Seeing him frown and mistaking it for annoyance rather than confusion you stood up and started to back towards the door. “I should go, I’m so sorry for coming on to you.”

“Y/N! Wait!” But before he could take two steps towards you, you had turned on your heel and raced out the door.

“Y/N!” Sirius was still calling your name as you shot out the front door, turning on the spot to disapparate.

—

“Argh, Y/N how could you be so stupid!” You cursed yourself as you walked around your kitchen.

That had been the hottest, most erotic thing that had happened to you and you choked, freaked out, and left.

You wanted Sirius it was true but you couldn’t quite believe someone like him could want you for anything more than a one time fling. No one else had wanted more so what made him any different?

Plus even if he did there was a real chance you could lose it and hurt him. The feelings he elicited from you were unreal and you had never felt that alive and heated before. It both thrilled and frightened you to your bones.

Though the research you conducted in his library had opened up ideas that you hadn’t had before - you were still afraid. Sirius had quickly and unquestionably become your favourite person and you didn’t think your poor heart could take having him in the most intimate way and then not having him again. So you had done the most adult thing you could think of: insulted his intentions and run away. “Brilliant!” You spat.

Back at Geimmauld Place, Sirius was pacing up and down the hall. “YOU IDIOT!” He yelled at himself waking up his mother. “Oh shut the fuck up you old hag!” Storming out of the house, and out into the night air helped calm him and give him clarity. He disapparated instantly.

Lifting your head from your hands you got up from the kitchen table as you heard a soft knock at your front door.

Sirius stood at your door with a dark, devastating look.

“Sirius I…” you began.

“I want you more than just for tonight.” He blurted out. “I have for a long time”

“What if I hurt you?”

He walked in, eyes dark and grabbed you, “You won’t.”

He let you go and stood before you, waiting. He wanted you to be sure of him and sure of yourself. His broad shoulders quivered under your stare, not with fear but ready to do anything you desired. Sirius was a handsome man, sure, but standing before you laying his cards on the line, his need for you so obvious and open made him the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. He was not afraid of anything. His confidence fanned yours and you ignored the fear building in your stomach and stepped into him.

Attaching himself to your lips once more he didn’t look as he closed the front door and led you towards your staircase.

Laying you down on your bed once again he hovered above you, one muscled arm on either side of your head. This view of you sprawled out underneath him jogged his memory and as he recalled first dream about you again. He closed his eyes and shuddered.

“What’s wrong Sirius?”

Your concern was squashed by a sly smile. He opened his eyes and said with a smirk: “I’ve dreamt about this before”

“Is that so?”

“Yes” he looked at you intently.

“What did dream me do?”

You couldn’t quite hold your smug smile while Sirius bit his lip and told you.

Wrapping your legs around him once more, you pulled him down on top of you. Hands running down his sides as you kissed him, you felt his muscles tense at each spot you touched. Whatever you were doing to him, he enjoyed it.

Taking great effort to wrench his lips from yours Sirius looked at you once more and asked: “Y/N, would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?”

Looking surprised, you nodded. He smiled. “I meant what I said. This isn’t just a once off. Not for me.”

“I know.” You conceded. “I also just didn’t want my first time to be meaningless.” “Your first time?” Sirius looked shocked. “You mean you’ve never…?”

You shook your head, grimacing slightly hoping this didn’t change anything.

“Oh Y/N, are you sure?” Sirius was surprised and, if possible, turned on even more. There was something so special about sharing someone’s first experience. Meaning something so much to them that they wanted to be with you. He felt sexy, powerful, and potent which combined with how long he had lusted over you and the way you moved, made it incredibly hard for him to focus.

“Yes Sirius.” The brazen look in your eyes and the way you ran your hands in sweeping strokes around his body told him that though you may not have had sex you had had other intimate experiences and you knew what you wanted.

He shuddered once more, closing his eyes as you arched up into him again.

“Y/N.” His voice came out in a rasp. “God, you are turning me on… I want you so badly but if this is not right for you please tell me and we’ll stop.”

You surprised him by laughing softly. “You’re sort of killing the mood, Sirius. I want this, I want you - you know you are not the only one who has touched themselves dreaming about us.”

Suddenly, with a twirl of your fingers, soft, malleable ropes appeared at your wrists. Gently lifting your arms up and firmly tying your hands to your bedpost.

Sirius’ jaw dropped and he almost started drooling. The look on his face, one of absolute adoration, spurred you on further. Another flick of your wrist and your clothes slowly started peeling themselves off your body, ripping in parts to remove themselves from you until you were lying naked, stretched underneath him, replicating that particular dream perfectly.

As you looked up at him through relaxed eyelids and purred; “I want you to touch me, Sirius.” He nearly came undone.

Though he was only wearing his jeans and a shirt he couldn’t get naked fast enough.

Sirius laid his body against yours, groaning at the feel of your soft skin. He kissed you deeply, letting one arm hold himself while the other dipped low, wandering further until it came torturously close to your clit before moving passed and circling your inner thigh.

You groaned with frustration and he smiled into your lips as he kissed you, tongue sweeping inside your mouth lighting sparks inside your head.

Each time he neared closer to your core, your breath hitched, waiting, only to be expelled in frustration as he moved passed and to another area.

He explored your mouth, your neck, your collar bone, and your nipples with his mouth, all the while coming close to touching you where you needed but not getting close enough.

Finally, he swept his finger up the line of your folds and flicked your clit. A move that literally took your breath away and his. He could feel how wet you were and it made his cock twitch with excitement. “Oh, Y/N.”

His teasing had become torturous for him as well. If he wasn’t careful, your body was going to turn him on so much that he might come on you rather than inside you like he desperately wanted.

He moved down to flick your nipple with his tongue then continued further south until his head was level with your core. A brush of stubble on your inner thigh had you jolting. He kissed the spot, sparking your lust even more. Not able to take any more teasing, “please Sirius” you begged. The desperate timbre of your voice made him feel incredibly desired.

He gently made taught the skin above your clit tilting it upwards and licking it, so lightly but giving you the feeling of being shocked with the most incredible surge of power. A whimper and a groan encouraged him to carry on and soon he was holding your bucking hips down as he continued to rapidly lick, and flick the sensitive bead. You could feel a sudden blooming inside you, growing outwards, and upwards lighting even your soul on fire. Suddenly afraid your weird powers might cause you to lash out and hurt him you made to move away but he held you down and stopped his tongue briefly enough to growl, “you won’t, just let go.”

He shifted his free hand under your bum and squeezed as he buried his face once more in your core. There it was again, that sweet hot feeling running through your bones. A warm glow washed over you and into him - consuming him filling him with love. You could feel his devotion to you, how turned on he was, how much he longed for you. This had never happened previously and before you could process it the orgasm he gave you lifted you off the bed causing you to cry out his name over and over. He did not relent, it was exquisite ecstasy.

“Oh God, oh God…” you breathed, hyperventilating from how good he had made you feel. Sirius was smiling, he had made his way back up the bed and was lying next to you, stroking your side.

You wrenched your arms out of the ropes and launched at him, taking him off guard and kissing him deeply, pushing yourself on top of him until you were straddling his lap just like you had only moments ago in his library.

Sirius’ cocky smile turned into an ‘oh’ as his mouth opened while you grabbed his erection and placed it at your entrance. Wetting the tip from your already dripping core you slowly began to slide down.

Sirius, groaned, bit his lip and grasped your hips. He was utterly and irrevocably under your spell.

Feeling a stretch, painful at first, you continued to slide down until a snapping feeling followed by a slight relief brought you to the bottom of his shaft.

Taking your breath you slowly started to move up and down his cock, squeezing intermittently and kissing him sporadically.

The frenzy he had whipped you into before had served to lubricate your entrance so though there was some pain at first, it soon gave way to a delightfully filling feeling.

“Ohhh Y/N” Sirius groaned as your inner walls stroked his shaft. You were tight, as he expected but your smooth movements and rocking of your hips blew him away. If this was you at your first time then he was in for a real treat when you had more experience under your belt. Thoughts of you experimenting with others flashed across his mind and he growled. Territorial hormones took him over as he squeezed your hips hard lifting his own up into you, hitting a spot inside you that caused you to moan.

Sirius noticed this and increased the snapping of his hips. Continuous thrusts meeting each other coupled with your already sensitive clit rubbing against the rough hair on his pelvis was causing an orgasm to build again. Surely not? Not at your first instance of sex, you thought?

A delightful wave tickled your walls and you shivered. “Sirius, I’m going to come. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t, reaching down between you he rubbed your clit once more to bring your orgasm about faster. Feeling your walls clamp down around him his thrusts became sloppier and as you came, unraveling on top of him he found his release crying your name and squeezing your hips painfully.

You fell forward on top of him and he instantly wrapped his arms around you rolling you to the side, still inside of you showing no signs he wanted to get up.

Laying there entwined with him, you felt the content warm feeling ripple through you again. You had let go and not lost control! If you could do this then you could do anything. No more holding back. In one act of love Sirius had helped you break the shackles of fear and find relief from a lifetime of pressure and concern. You felt light and confident. Chuckling to yourself he looked at you cocking an eyebrow in question.

“Well Sirius, those were some good moves!”

There was a beat and then you both laughed.

—- Tag list: @sirius-lysad @riddikuluslypotter @emmamass24 @evyiione @mylovelykelsifer @sly-vixen-up2nogood @ashkuuuu @songforhema @wangmangagavroche @borbole-teias @legalyred @qwertyokok

#Sirius Black #sirius black x reader #sirius #sirius black fanfiction #sirius fanfic #sirius black imagine #sirius imagine #HP #Harry Potter #Harry Potter universe #post azkaban #sirius lives #Smut #slow burn #OLDER SIRIUS #imagine #fanfic #writing #request

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ecccentrick · 4 years

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your seams have come unknitted

AKA The fic where the Champion's souls share Link's body.

On AO3

He wakes up alone. Or, at least, he thinks he is.

A voice tells him he is Link, the Hero, that he must save everyone from a great evil bent on destruction. The voice comes from a far distant light, bright enough to leave black dots in his visions, but he can’t look away. He just stares.

No part of him -- Hero, Link or otherwise -- questions the voice. Something deep inside him, deep within the chasm that is his sense of self, knows they speak the truth, and bears the brunt of humanity on his shoulders. The weight feels familiar on his shoulders, and he no longer tries to shrug it off like a shroud.

The forest is teeming with so much life it is hard to see where this evil has wrought its hatred. The trees are tall and sturdy, the birds take turns singing, the forest floor is scattered with vegetation and the fluttering of small creatures.

But, before long, seeds of destruction begin to grow fruit in the buildings laid to waste, some taken clean off their foundations. There is not another human in sight, save but the old man, and everything begins to take a tinge of emptiness, a feel of the surreal. Link counts his fingers again and again, falls asleep alone and wakes up alone again and again.

This is real, and he is meant to fix it.

The old man, now revealed as king, tells him of her, and of himself, the knight Link. The Princess, forced to wage a battle a hundred years long, awaiting his awakening, hoping for liberation.

Waiting for him to fix his mistake, his failure.

This truth knits itself into his sense of self, his very being. It’s probably the only thing he truly knows about himself.

He cannot fail again.

Link seeks information about the Divine Beasts from Impa in Kakariko village. He searches the old woman’s face, subtracting wrinkles and the shadows of trauma and battle, but he can’t recognize anything about her, not even his own face reflected in her shrewd eyes.

She insists that he stay the night before setting off to look for his objectives. He only relents because he knows he is unlikely to sleep in an actual bed again in his lifetime, so he rests his century old bones and tries to at least rest his eyes. The Hero sleeps fitfully.

Impa tries to get him to stay a little longer and recover some of his strength, but he can’t linger like a ghost. Paya and all the other villagers look at him like he is the answer to their every question, like the happy ending to their story, and he can’t bring himself to bask in their attention.

He is not saving them. Link is simply redeeming himself, repaying them for their suffering.

He has a lot to answer to when he finally faces Calamity Ganon in battle.

The first night away from Kakariko village is cold despite the summer breeze.

He goes to Zora’s Domain first. Link isn’t sure what compels him. There is just a deep feeling in his gut that he will know a bit more about himself there.

Link almost wishes he didn’t.

Mipha’s soul, whether an echo of the real thing or the last tangible piece of her left, is a balm to his battered heart. It might be due to her ability that knits together every wound and brings him from the brink of death more times than he can count. It might be the love she felt for Link in life. It’s better not to question it.

It makes him feel like a gentle ripple in a shallow pool, small but nonetheless important. Despite her infinity for water, he feels warmth encircle his heart, soothing his battered heart. Instead of attempting to make him okay, she accepts that he’s not and is there anyway. She doesn’t try to fix that part of him.

Link is unsure if he was ever in love with Mipha, but he learns that who he was before cared for her. And the fierceness of her love for him should be scary to him, should make him flinch away, but her simple steadfast adoration makes him question whether he is truly undeserving of a second chance.

The Rito are next.

A thread once again guides him there, along with his Sheikah Slate, and he at once despises the sharp, cold winds that whip and catch at his clothes like needy claws. Vah Medoh casts a shadow over him, and fans a competitive spirit in him.

I’m coming, he thinks as he glares up at the beast. Something glimmers on its surface as though staring back. Challenge accepted.

The battle, in the end, is anticlimactic. Revali would scoff if he ever spoke that aloud, but a small smile makes its way onto his face regardless.

As Revali fades before his eyes, his gift given, Link’s chest is fit to burst. Where Mipha is soft with steel underneath, Revali is much like the wind currents of his skies, volatile and welcoming in turn. With what little memories he has of Revali, it’s fitting that his soul would be the one to carve away its own place within him, a redecorating of sorts. He snorts.

Rubbing at his chest, Link sets out to Vah Naboris.

If having another soul within was a snug fit, having two is like coming apart at the seams. Not to mention that it quickly becomes obvious that they don’t get along.

They both have their own way of communicating. Mipha is there in his mind whenever it feels as though everything is too much, comforting him, a back and forth of their minds like the sea brushing the shore.

Revali, in contrast, only comes forward when he’s needed, and not a moment longer, unless it’s to taunt him into doing better. Mipha, a calm sea, turns into a great wave when this happens, smashing and washing Revali’s disdain away.

Wind and sea bicker, but when Link can no longer go on, and Mipha’s Grace is depleted, Revali’s Gale is there to buffet her still waters, until she is strong enough to bring Link back.

Link doesn’t think he’s going to make it.

Vah Naboris and her blight are strong and relentless, and there are quite a few times where Link lays there, feels like his soul is the only one residing within his chest, and almost accepts his fate. But, then, his comrades are there, Mipha’s strong will healing him and Revali’s bitter rage reeling him back into the present.

It’s more than worth it in the end. Urbosa’s soul is like basking in the sun, fully knowing that later he will have a sunburn, but too lulled by the warmth of the sun and so grateful for its rays, he lets it. But unlike the sun, who looks down on its subjects with apathy, burning sinners and saints alike, Urbosa’s is anything but complacent. She shines benevolently on those she protects and boils the blood of her enemies. He’d hate to be on the receiving end of that.

Urbosa is more active than both Revali and Mipha. She’s Link’s sentinel, always there in the corner of his mind, ready to defend her people. Link is grateful to be counted as one.

But still, with her greatness comes sorrow. Every thought of Princess Zelda brings an ache to his heart that he has trouble distinguishing between him and Urbosa.

He faces Vah Darunia with the greatest hesitation. This might be due to the sweat that plasters his hair to his face and his clothes to his skin, even with his protective gear, or perhaps because this was it. The final thing standing in his way of facing Calamity Ganon.

The sight of fire, the hint of searing to his skin makes his jumpy and ready to crawl out of his skin. Something about the sensations brings back the desperation he hasn’t felt since his first night in the forest, alone and confused. The others are quiet in his chest, even Revali’s usual mocking air gone.

Link makes silly mistakes that entire battle, his vision suddenly engulfed by yellow at strange intervals, his scars tingling and his heart racing. But, in the end, they defeat it, all of them quivering with exhaustion after the final blow is dealt.

Daruk’s very soul feels like a bear hug. He’s solid and safe and never mocking nor worrying. He is unshakeable ground underneath Link’s feet and he can’t contain himself.

He cries for the first time in one hundred years.

He finally feels whole.

#link #botw #botw link #tloz link #botw champions #loz link #mipha #urbosa #revali #daruk #breath of the wild

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holywaterandcrepes · 5 years

Text

Crowley had been the perfect gentleman. Aziraphale had no way of knowing. They went on a walk, at night, to watch the stars, Crowley's idea. They laid out on a tartan blanket, staring up at the sky, Crowley's hand tentatively finding his, a date that would set anybody's heart aflutter. They turned to face eachother, their eyes met, Aziraphale felt his breathing start to quicken...

"Crowley..."

"Aziraphale..."

Their lips met. Crowley's lips were insistent, passionate after the long years of waiting. Aziraphale didn't mind, finding it the easiest thing in the world to succumb to Crowley's desires, to lie back and close his eyes and let that tongue slip inside his mouth and explore every inch. Crowley took, Aziraphale gave. Their night under the stars had reached the best possible end.

"I love you, Crowley..." Aziraphale breathed. Crowley rolled them over so he was straddling the angel.

"Oh, angel...I can't hold back any longer...I've been waiting to do this all night..." Crowley took his hands, and gently pinned them overtop his head.

"Crowley...Yes, I'm ready..."

Manacles locked around his wrists, and his eyes snapped open. They were cursed, Aziraphale could feel it, and the wrongness of it seeped into his body, sapping his angelic powers. Within seconds Aziraphale might as well have been human.

"Oh, you made that too easy, Aziraphale. You poor, stupid angel."

***

That had been so long ago. The demon continued to wear Crowley's form, even if he didn't need to, and no matter how many times Aziraphale told himself it wasn't Crowley the betrayal brought tears to his eyes. The demon laughed at him. Gloated about how he was going to tell the real Crowley how he had suffered.

They were in a dungeon of sorts. All Aziraphale knew was that the chill in the room wasn't hellish, so he was still on earth somewhere. The cursed manacles sapped his strength, and the demon chained Aziraphale in an upright position, hanging from the ceiling with his toes barely touching the ground. There the demon, still wearing Crowley's face, proceeded to beat Aziraphale senseless and cut him until the blood loss had him clinging to his immortal life by a thread.

No matter how many times Aziraphale told himself it wasn't Crowley, it was Crowley's name that came out when Aziraphale finally broke and begged the demon to stop. Crowley's voice cackled at him, enjoying the angel's torment, and then the demon left.

Now, the only sound Aziraphale could hear was the steady drip of his blood on the floor. He had been left to bleed to death, the demon had made sure to tell him it would be a slow process.

The door opened. Aziraphale remained limp, too weak to react. A second demon eyed the angel, convinced that not moving meant dead. He snapped his fingers, and a piece of paper appeared in front of Crowley, with an address written on it. He wanted Crowley to find the body, to cradle Aziraphale's lifeless corpse and live with the knowledge that he had been too late.

Evil always contained the seeds of its own destruction, and Hastur's arrogance, the need to twist the knife, would lead to Crowley finding a broken, battered, bleeding, and unconscious angel, but not a dead one.

@hellsrhapsody

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consultthemuses · 5 years

Text

Sentence Meme: 69 Good Omens (Book) Quotes

Some will be more easily applicable than others. SOME WILL CONTAIN TRIGGERS (death mentions/supernatural references)!! SPOILER WARNING FOR GOOD OMENS AS WELL!! Feel free to change pronouns/genders at will.

❛ God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising. ❜

❛ You don't have to test everything to destruction just to see if you made it right. ❜

❛ They’ve got what we lack. They’ve got imagination. And electricity, of course. ❜

❛ -then you still won't have finished watching The Sound of Music. ❜

❛ Anyway, if you stop tellin' people it's all sorted out afer they're dead, they might try sorting it all out while they're alive. ❜

❛ don't think of it as dying. Just think of it as leaving early to avoid the rush. ❜

❛ You start thinking: it can't be a great cosmic game of chess, it has to be just very complicated Solitaire. ❜

❛ It has been said that civilization is twenty-four hours and two meals away from barbarism. ❜

❛ Only it is the end of the universe we're talking about, ❜

❛ All tapes left in a car for more than about a fortnight metamorphose into Best of Queen albums. ❜

❛ Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. ❜

❛ Many people, meeting [Name] for the first time, formed three impressions: that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide. ❜

❛ It is said that the Devil has all the best tunes. ❜

❛ He rather liked people. It was major failing in a demon. ❜

❛ Most books on witchcraft will tell you that witches work naked. This is because most books on witchcraft are written by men. ❜

❛ Maybe it's all part of a great big ineffable plan. ❜

❛ Why are we talking about this good and evil? They're just names for sides. We know that. ❜

❛ The Kraken stirs. And ten billion sushi dinners cry out for vengeance. ❜

"My bike didn't have gears. I'm sure my bike didn't have gears. ❜

❛ Agnes was the worst prophet that's ever existed. Because she was always right. That's why the book never sold. ❜

❛ And then he'd tried to become an official Atheist and hadn't got the rock-hard self-satisfied strength of belief even for that. ❜

❛ Sometimes human beings are very much like bees. ❜

❛ It's like you said the other day, you grow up readin' about pirates and cowboys and spacemen and stuff, and jus' when you think the world's full of amazin' things, they tell you it's really all dead whales and chopped-down forests and nucular waste hangin' about for millions of years. 'Snot worth growin' up for, if you ask my opinion. ❜

❛ I'm sorry, I just got carried away! ❜

❛ Just imagine how terrible it might have been if we’d been at all competent. ❜

❛ That would do it every time. ❜

❛ He hadn't meant to Fall. He'd just hung around with the wrong people. ❜

❛ 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!'? ❜

❛ Anyway, being brought up as a Satanist tended to take the edge off it. It was something you did on Saturday nights. ❜

❛ But that's how it goes; you think you're on top of the world, and suddenly they spring Armageddon on you. ❜

❛ You see, it’s not enough to know what the future is. You have to know what it means. ❜

❛ I saw a program, it had David Attenborough, so it's true. ❜

❛ Offer people a new creed with a costume and their hearts and minds will follow. ❜

❛ Notoriety wasn't as good as fame, but was heaps better than obscurity. ❜

❛ Nothin’ wrong with witchfinding. I’d like to be a witchfinder. ❜

❛ There was no light at the end of the tunnel--or if there was, it was an oncoming train. ❜

❛ You get used to it after a while. ❜

❛ It’s Tchaikovsky’s ‘Another One Bites the Dust,’ ❜

❛ Never fuck with the ineffable. ❜

❛ Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you, sir, that your polar ice caps are below regulation size for a planet of this category, sir. ❜

❛ You do know you could find yourself charged with being a dominant species while under the influence of impulse-driven consumerism, don't you? ❜

❛ The point is not to avoid the war, it is to win it. ❜

❛ Nothing is more reassuring, nothing is more true to the comfortable spirit of English occultism. ❜

❛ the really important thing to be was yourself, just as hard as you could. ❜

❛ So computers are tools of the devil? ❜

❛ as well balanced as an upturned pyramid. ❜

❛ But the purpose of the book is not the horror, it is horror's defeat. ❜

❛ They'd come here to spoon and, on one memorable occasion, fork. ❜

❛ Overexcited? No! I'm getting very calmly worried that someone might shoot me! ❜

❛ Contrary to popular belief, the wings of demons are the same as the wings of angels, although they’re often better groomed. ❜

❛ If we beat them, we'd have to be our own deadly enemies. ❜

❛ The future came and went in the mildly discouraging way that futures do. ❜

❛ Evil in general does not sleep, and therefore doesn't see why anyone else should. ❜

❛ I’m dying for a cup of tea. ❜

❛ You see, evil alwys contains the seeds of its own destruction. ❜

❛ Most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people. ❜

❛ Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped. ❜

❛ Occasionally he would very nearly swear. ❜

❛ The ducks in St James's Park are so used to being fed bread by secret agents meeting clandestinely that they have developed their own Pavlovian reaction. ❜

❛ I feel like I am involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won't tell me the rules, and who smiles all the time. ❜

❛ he’d experienced the lovely warm feeling of a bad job well done. ❜

❛ Books were safer than other people anyway. ❜

❛ Heaven has no taste, and not one single sushi restaurant. ❜

❛ People couldn't become truly holy unless they also had the opportunity to be definitively wicked. ❜

❛ She smiled like a knife. ❜

❛ Hell may have all the best composers, but heaven has all the best choreographers.

❛ She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close. ❜

❛ If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. ❜

❛ You can't second-guess ineffability, I always say. ❜

#ask meme #ask box #meme #Good Omens Meme #good omens #goodomesrp #supernatural

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imaginaryelle · 5 years

Text

On Aziraphale and “I’m soft”

I was talking with @irisbleufic about differences between show! and book!Aziraphale, and especially about the line “I’m soft” in the show, because it really threw me for a loop, but the reblog chain contracted some incredibly odd formatting, so this is a hopefully more-comprehensible version:

@imaginaryelle: random but re: Aziraphale's show characterization vs book: I enjoy both, but they are so, so different in weird ways and when I rewatch the show I'm just left with dissonance & wondering WHY that change happened. The "I'm soft" line struck me the hardest, because I have literally never thought of Aziraphale as soft. Not emotionally. The closest to the book we got was maybe the french executioner? But then he just ignores the implication. The show version feels almost unfinished, as a character.

@irisbleufic: I mean, Aziraphale is physically soft, no question, but in any other sense? Whoa, nope. Not unless you count how soft he is for Crowley once he gets put through the wringer of a failed apocalypse and unlearns some of those rude, holier-than-thou tidbits he says to Crowley from time to time. I mean, he’s soft for Crowley before their ordeal, but the ordeal is what adjusts (and hopefully eradicates) his prejudice. I’ve always found the whole “I can’t expect you to know what love feels like” thing remarkably callous, and the fact that Crowley gets cut off before he can say what his perception of a great sense of love is like just…ugh, I’ve always loved that moment so, so much, because it’s quite a perfect encapsulation of this entire disconnect between book characterization / miniseries characterization that we’re talking about:

“Odd,” muttered the angel, “I keep getting these flashes of, of…” He raised his hands to his temples.“What? What?” said Crowley. Aziraphale stared at him.“Love,” he said. “Someone really loves this place.” “Pardon?” “There seems to be this great sense of love. I can’t put it any better than that. Especially not to you.” “Do you mean like—” Crowley began. There was a whirr, a scream, and a clunk. The car stopped. [Enter Anathema, etc.]

@imaginaryelle: Yes, yes, I love that moment too! Okay, it took a bit longer than I hoped but I finally got my thoughts in order on this, and it ended up way longer and more like an essay than I originally thought it would, but I really enjoyed playing with it so I hope you enjoy it too.

Yes, absolutely Aziraphale is physically soft. He’s even described exactly that way by Shadwell (“the soft one in the camelhair coat”), and it seems to be pretty clearly about his appearance and presentation. Shadwell thinks Aziraphale is gay, fastidious (tries not to touch anything in the WFA headquarters) and an easier mark than Crowley, though he still finds the idea of threatening him “terribly risky.” We also have Aziraphale’s plump hands in the gun conversation at Tadfield Manor and the Compline reference too. But those and the intelligent/English/gay footnote are actually the only description of him I can find in the text. The only reference to height is that snake!Crowley has to look up at him, but that doesn’t tell us much. Which was surprising to find, because I had thought there was a little more than that, but yes. Physically Aziraphale is soft and I love that about him.

On a non-physical level, yes, exactly, in the book Aziraphale is extremely callous. Quite often. It actually surprised me, going back through my notes, how rarely he’s portrayed as anything else, but I think it does overall build a picture of him that, to me, has always been pretty immovable. I’ve never really been able to set aside that Aziraphale is, as Crowley says, a bastard. And he’s fairly thoughtless about it a lot of the time. He’s offhandedly pretty harsh on Crowley on a number of occasions, most of which got really toned down in the show. There’s the conversation about love, yes, which got especially confused in the show (the presentation made it seem like Aziraphale was talking about the Manor rather than all of Tadfield and they didn’t follow up on it well, and then it’s further muddled by the stain-miracle interaction). I would love to read pretty much anything on the subject of what Crowley was going to say there and how things are different for demons, because mmmmm, world building, and of course I love Crowley too.

But back to Aziraphale: there’re other callous remarks to Crowley too. In their very first interaction we have this:

“Yes, but you’re a demon. I’m not sure if it’s actually possible for you to do good,” said Aziraphale. “It’s down to your basic, you know, nature. Nothing personal, you understand.”

And then, when Crowley keeps on with his “but what is it about, really” line of conversation:

“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.”

Like, here, let me just rub your face in the Fall for a second. You can’t help your basic nature but also you deserve punishment. Ouch. (And this is not in the show. In the show he references Crowley’s being a demon as related to “[making trouble] is what you do” and has what looks like a pretty disturbing experience watching his gift of kindness result in the immediate death of a lion by flaming sword.)

It’s implied book!Aziraphale is embarrassed about having said that, but he doesn’t actually change his tune. He brings up the “you’re a demon” thing twice more, both in situations where it’s clear he thinks he has the moral high ground, because of course he does, he’s an angel. (book!Aziraphale is less openly doubtful of Heaven’s rightness until closer to the end, I think.) In contrast, throughout the show it’s often Crowley who reminds Aziraphale that he’s a demon, and thus not nice, not forgivable and not to be thanked while Aziraphale maintains that Crowley is a good person. For another example, book!Aziraphale, in the wake of failing to find records of Adam at the manor, has zero reaction to Crowley’s fear, and Crowley is pretty obviously freaking out:

“What are we going to do now?”

“Try and get some sleep.”

“You don’t need sleep. I don’t need sleep. Evil never sleeps, and Virtue is ever-vigilant.”

“Evil in general, maybe. This specific part of it has got into the habit of getting its head down occasionally.” [Crowley] stared into the headlights. The time would come soon enough when sleep would be right out of the question. When those Below found out that he, personally, had lost the Antichrist, they’d probably dig out all those reports he’d done on the Spanish Inquisition and try them out on him, one at a time and then all together.

He rummaged in the glove compartment, fumbled a tape at random, and slotted it into the player. A little music would …

… Bee-elzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me …

“For me,” murmured Crowley. His expression went blank for a moment. Then he gave a strangled scream and wrenched at the on-off knob.

“Of course, we might be able to get a human to find him,” said Aziraphale thoughtfully.

“What?” said Crowley, distractedly.

And shortly after this, of course, Aziraphale finds the Book and just leaves when Crowley’s trying to confirm they’re still on the same side. In the show, this interaction doesn’t even happen. Crowley’s annoyed that they can’t find anything, but he’s not scared, and Aziraphale’s idea about using human operatives and his discovery of the book are split across several scenes and a fair chunk of time passing. Tv!Crowley watches him go into his shop into a sort of confused way, where book!Crowley is “feeling very alone” after not getting a real answer to two questions in a row.

In the show, lines like the Eden dialogue and “Crowley, do something, I’m the good one,” and “I don’t even like you” etc, are heavily offset by a wider range of scenes showing how obviously in love Aziraphale is, with both Crowley and with Earth. His love of food and clothes, his obvious joy in dancing, the adoration in his expression over and over when he looks at Crowley, and the pain in his face when they fight. And when he says “I’m soft,” after his jogging conversation with Gabriel, I didn’t get the impression he was talking about physically, even thought that’s what Gabriel was talking about. To me, that line sounded a lot more like “I don’t like conflict and unpleasantness, I’m too nice, I care too much, I’m a soft touch.” And for tv!Aziraphale this seems largely true. We see a lot of his softness, on an emotional and philosophical level, and a lot of investment in both Earth and Crowley. But the book only gives us little clues towards that. Mostly in little Earth details Crowley brings up while trying to convince him to influence the Antichrist, or notes about his learning the gavotte/helping with book translations/ those lines of, He ought to tell Crowley. No, he didn’t. He wanted to tell Crowley. He ought to tell Heaven, directly after which he admits to himself they have more in common with each other than respective sides.

The show also completely cuts out some of his more oblivious caustic-ness towards other people. Tv!Aziraphale watches that French executioner go to death in his place without any apparent care, and he stands by as terrible things happen (the flood, the crucifixion, even Armageddon in the start), but he worries about it more. He’s not smug about it, he’s concerned that maybe—maybe this isn’t right, even though it’s Heaven doing it. In both versions he seems to tell himself that any time something really bad is happening, it’s some one else’s fault and he can’t really do anything. But for all that he admonishes Crowley about not wanting to help Anathema and hypnotizing Mary Hodges, book!Aziraphale is quite smug (“We’ll win, you know”/ evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction/[..] and everyone knew Heaven would win in the end –literally there are two times “smug” is used in the book and they’re both about Aziraphale) and he’s pretty blithe about the use of guns, terrorists freedom fighters, the idea of killing Adam (at least until Adam is in front of him), and just straight up saying that Heaven doesn’t really care about humans at all (most obviously when he’s speaking through the television evangelist while body-hopping). For me, the “softest” we ever see him is at the air base:

“There are humans here,” he said.

“Yes,” said Crowley. “And me.”

“I mean we shouldn’t let this happen to them.”

“Well, what-” Crowley began, and stopped.

“I mean, when you think about it, we’ve got them into enough trouble as it is. You and me. Over the years. What with one thing and another.”

And I agree that he really needs to go through this whole trial with Armageddon to realize that he might be a bit wrong, about himself and especially about Crowley, and also about Heaven, and that he can afford to be a bit more compassionate and considerate and ask a few more questions all around. It feels like he’s learning things about himself that Crowley figured out a long time ago (Crowley gets a lot more description and character insight than Aziraphale does), and I love that. But I also feel like tv!Aziraphale is approaching from the opposite direction. That what he learns from the whole ordeal is to be firmer. To take a stand and act with more confidence and conviction. Which feels really weird to me. I like them both, but I watch tv!Aziraphale awkwardly pick up the sword and tell Crowley to do something and it feels like a completely different story, because book!Aziraphale is the one who initiates doing something, and he’s dreamy when he picks up the sword. He muses about “the good old days” and sets it aflame on purpose, and reaches for Crowley’s hand. And Crowley feels “free at last.” Finally free of fear, not terrified and desperate, and he takes Aziraphale’s hand and they turn to face Satan together.

It’s a good moment that illustrates what they’ve accomplished internally, and I’m actually really disappointed it was changed for the show, and the emotional payoff shifted to their trials.

I suppose in the end all of this is to say: I miss Aziraphale, when I watch the series, and I miss that story. The one that ends in crystal clear moments of taking responsibility for who you are and the role you’ve played and knowing yourself better, and then doing something with that knowledge. The series is fun, it’s a love story, and those versions of Crowley and Aziraphale are enjoyable to watch, but they feel very much wrapped up in each other, reflecting each other. I’ll probably play in that universe a bit. But it doesn’t hit the same chords, and it doesn’t speak to me the same way the book does, and I think the softening of Aziraphale’s character plays a huge role in that.

#aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens #tv omens #good omens spoilers #irisbleufic

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obaewankenope · 5 years

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Uhm. Have you considered: Crowley keeps shooting himself in the foot with his evil deeds bc he's bad at being evil and the only evil deeds he can come up with are things he can brainstorm a la: '... so what would ruin MY day'

You see, this is where I Really Relate to Crowley because I too always do things that end up fucking me over and not anyone else *looks at hand wrapped up and bruised foot*. When I was like 7 or sth I tried to get my oldest brother to stand on a long ass screw that I’d strategically placed on the stairs but then my mother called for me and I forgot where said screw was and stood on it instead. It was a milimetre from the bone in my foot lmao and they had to literally unscrew it from my foot so like, yeah, Crowley and I are definitely relateable. That said:

[AO3]

“Listen, angel, I’ve figured it out!” Crowley says and Aziraphale looks at him with a mild ‘yes dear, that’s great dear’ expression that is not at all out of place on a married spouse dealing with their eccentric partner. It has been a common expression worn by the pair of them over the past six thousand years of their acquaintance, for obvious reasons.

“Figured what out?”

“How to be better at being evil!” Crowley grins widely at Aziraphale who, by this point, is now mildly intrigued and a little bit horrified at Crowley’s thought process. Whatever that process happens to be.

“I’m oddly curious about this now but also—I do feel a little apprehensive about your… solution, whatever that may be,” Aziraphale says and Crowley gives him a haughty look not unlike a bird that’s just been dunked in a bath because it’s covered in dirt and liked being covered in dirt but is not allowed to be covered in dirt.

“It’s a brilliant solution and you’ll find it’s going to work brilliantly!”

Aziraphale hums. “But my dear Crowley,” he says, “evil always contains the seed of its own destruction.”

Crowley shakes his head, grinning. “Not this time angel,” he replies, tongue flicking out without any real awareness of the action. It captures Aziraphale’s attention—as it always does. “This time there’s no self-destructing happening!”

Aziraphale drops the matter after that but—if he is entirely honest—he is more concerned than ever because Crowley refuses to tell him what the solution is and thus the angel is left to wonder what sort of catastrophe is about to occur because of the demon’s antics. He is, also, a little bit excited to see what the wiley serpent has thought up.

Crowley doesn’t show up at the bookshop for a week. Aziraphale tries not to panic about it since—well—they had thwarted the apocalypse, both got downgraded to even lesser underlings than they’d been beforehand and Crowley was sometimes forced to go abroad unexpectedly to perform this or that temptation. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

When one week turns into two, Aziraphale decides to panic. It’s a fruitless sort of panic, more dithering than actually productive, but it’s panic nonetheless and he engages in the very human habit of flapping his hands while pacing in his bookshop and conjuring up all sorts of reasons for why Crowley hasn’t spoken to him.

After week three, Aziraphale goes to the flat and miracles his way inside.

There he finds Crowley, curled up on his bed, asleep. As a bloody snake!

“Crowley!"

The snake rolls and flops away from Aziraphale, eyes opening comically wide as it lets out a string of hissed curses and promptly falls off the bed as part of its own body serves as a weight for gravity to exert itself upon.

"Crowley what are you playing at?” Aziraphale near shouts, hands waving wildly about him in an expression of honest frustration that is plagued with hurt. “You decide to have a nap and don’t think to tell me! After everything that’s happened? The apocalypse! Heaven! Hell! I know you act impulsively at times, Crowley, but this was thoughtlessly cruel of you!”

Crowley’s head appears over the side of the bed he’s just fallen off, hair askew and eyes wide still. In his human form, Aziraphale notices that the demon looks—for want of a better word—a mess.

“‘Was the point,” the demon says awkwardly. Crowley clambours to his feet, wobbling a little on one leg as though he’s not quite used to having them anymore. Aziraphale wonders, quite suddenly, if the demon has been a snake for the past three weeks. It seems quite likely.

“It was the point,” the angel repeats. “The point of not even having the courtesy to leave me a note or call the shop was to be cruel?” Crowley—not looking at Aziraphale—nods. “Why?”

The demon shifts on his feet, hands shoved in pockets too small for such long hands and Aziraphale watches the thumbs work at the material of the jeans a little worriedly. It seems, shockingly, that Crowley is very uncomfortable with this confrontation.

That is unfortunate for Crowley but Aziraphale will have answers.

“Figured that since I always fuck myself over when doing evil, made sense to do something that my life worse at the same time,” the demon mutters, still avoiding Aziraphale’s gaze.

The angel lets out a huff of frustration. “And how did it make your life worse, exactly?” he asks in as measured a tone as he can manage. It’s not very measured but at least he’s trying. “Sleeping for three weeks and comfortable in the knowledge that you at least know where I am doesn’t quite sound as bad as having no idea where the only person you’re friends with is for three weeks, does it now?”

So measured is not within his range of emotional control right now; Crowley always does cause Aziraphale issues with his control. For a variety of reasons. Feeling honestly hurt is a relatively new reason and—if he’s quite honest—not one Aziraphale cares for.

“Sorry angel,” Crowley says, glancing up at Aziraphale and wincing before looking away again. “Won’t happen again.”

Aziraphale must have quite the Unhappy Expression on his usually friendly features for the demon to be acting so contrite.

“You didn’t answer my question, Crowley,” Aziraphale says and he’s determined now to know Crowley’s answer. “How did three weeks of not seeing me make your life worse?”

If Aziraphale was ever asked about it, the angel would forever deny that he had Multiple Reasons for wanting to know the answer to this particular question. He simply wished to understand Crowley’s thinking. That’s all.

Crowley looks at him again but this time the demon maintains eye contact.

“I keep thinking the bookshop is still burning and that you’re- that you-,” the demon says before his voice breaks and he closes his eyes. “I thought that I’d figured out how to do Real Evil by not seeing you, denying myself you, and I did. I did. It’s- angel- I’d rather be doused in holy water.”

“Then why did you not stop your self-flagellation and simply return to the bookshop?” Aziraphale asks, heart pounding at the admission and aching at the pain on Crowley’s face.

“I couldn’t,” Crowley says, shaking his head. “Couldn’t- I just couldn’t- I didn’t- it hurt too much to think,” he finally gets out, looking down and away, serpentine eyes brighter with tears. “I wanted to just forget the hurt and so I—” he waves a hand at the bed “—slept.”

“Oh, oh you absolute fool darling,” Aziraphale says then and he steps forward. Crowley looks at him in surprise because Aziraphale’s voice is no longer firm and full of hurt anger, now it’s warm and gentle and—yes, Crowley, it is—loving. “Don’t do that again, please?”

Crowley shakes his head. “Never,” he croaks and Aziraphale pulls the demon into an embrace that Crowley doesn’t fight. If anything, the demon sinks into Aziraphale’s touch, head dropping to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder as Crowley’s arms snake around his chest and keep him close. “Promise.”

“Well then,” Aziraphale says softly. “That’s quite all right then.”

#Anonymous #Kat answers #People talk to me!!!#Good Omens #An Angel and a Demon together #Inefffable Husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #my writing #kat writes #fic

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