#but there was this dumbass look in his eyes whos essence reminds me very much of my baby boy so i feel in love instantaneously

[wulfhalls]

I’m not kidding when I say your new kitten maybe be one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen in my life he is PRECIOUS ❤️

TINY guy on TINY idk what kratzbaum is in english... scratch tree? cat tree? anyway TINY guy is friend shaped!!!!

[krabstick32]

Your Hand in Marriage

Pairing: Giyuu x Reader

Synopsis: Headcanon/scenario for how Giyuu proposed...how he asked you to marry him...how he popped the question

Tags/warnings: There is slight mention of near-death, but yes, all fluff apart from that!! Also, this can be taken as modern or during canon timeline, whichever works really

a/n: again, thank you so much for requesting anon!! apologies for taking so long :((( i hope you like it though 🥺

LINK to the ask: Request by Anon

anyway, please enjoy!! <33

When he knew you were the one, marriage was always in the back of his mind

You made him yearn for something he feels like could never have

He dreamed of living a quiet, peaceful life with you, to build a warm home and a loving family

And he wanted it so badly

But he couldn’t

Not when he lived the life of a demon slayer—a pillar no less!—not when they were fighting a literal war against the demons who brought so much pain to him, to you, to so many people

He didn’t want his family grow in a world where demon exists

You two talked about this already

And you’ve both agreed that you’re all fine with not getting married even if both of you wanted it more than anything

Your jobs were dangerous—one wrong move could mean death

Both of you entered the corps knowing the consequences, and have made peace with that fact 

I mean, you were open to getting married to him

and as much as he loves you, a lot

He didn't want marriage if it only leads to you dying 

this man has experienced so much loss already, he can’t lose you too.

And you respected that. You didn’t care much for labels. 

Marriage was, in essence, just a piece of paper to prove your relationship, and you knew that you loved each other too much to let a mere document dictate your relationship. 

You don’t mind just staying as boyfriend and girlfriend, you’ll take whatever he’s willing to give

One day, on his way home (to you uwu), he passes by a jewelry store, and sees the ring

Now, Giyuu was never an impulsive buyer, but the ring was perfect.

He could clearly picture it on your left ring finger and—

Oops, he now has a ring in his pocket

It would either be a real classy ring—you know, the classic engagement ring with a yellow gold band and a sizable diamond in the middle

OR

A unique and pretty ring that reminds him of you—a ring designed with sapphires and diamonds. 

(only the best for u after all uwu)

We all know man´s rich enough for it

(giyuu is a pillar. he can literally afford to buy everyone in the corps this ring, and still have left over money to have a lifetime supply of salmon daikon if he wanted to.)

When he got home, his stupidly impulsive buy just dawned on him and u bet he was awkward with you until he found the sneakiest hiding spot for it

((it was hidden underneath a shingle on the roof—a little overkill honestly))

Anyway, all was normal

But Gods, everything changed when the fire nation attacked when you were called to the Butterfly Wing.

He was finishing up on a mission with another pillar, Shinazugawa, and four other slayers (ranked kinoe’s and kinoto’s) when they ran into an upper moon.

And surprisingly, all of these slayers came home, bruised and a lot bloody, but alive.

As you were listening to the report at the Ubuyashiki estate for a meeting, you were relieved to hear that—six demon slayers, all alive after an encounter with an upper moon!!—but when you heard the entire report, your stomach dropped in dread and you dead-ass sprinted out the door to go straight into the butterfly wing.

(You can apologize to the Oyakata-sama later though he was a second away from shooing you out the door)

Because Giyuu—

Giyuu was there 

Your stupid, brave, lovable Giyuu,

Threw himself in front of his fellow slayers to take the brunt of the hit with lull, and so very nearly died when he got hit by the demon’s blood art.

It worked though, because now, the demon got distracted, giving the others ample time to deal with the minions

Once Sanemi and the others were able to lop its head off, the kakushi arrived promptly and rushed everyone back to the butterfly estate.

He woke up after a week. That was the extent of the damage brought to him by that near fatal blow.

First thing he saw was you

You were sound asleep right by his bed, slouched over the visitor’s chair in a position Giyuu knew was anything but comfortable. He was quick to note the dark circles under your eyes, briefly wondering how long you were there. You looked a little cold, so he moved to place the extra blanket from his bedside over you, but you immediately stir when you felt the slightest movement.

“Giyuu? Sweetheart, are you…?”

Seeing him awake felt like a huge bucket of water was poured over you. Any trace of sleep was gone from your body—you were wide awake in a flash, relieved and grateful that he was alive.

“Hello—“ His voice was a little raspier than either of you liked, but yours however, was fine, and healthy enough to to speak your mind. 

“You dumbass!” You hiss, throwing him a light glare.“Do you know how worried I was? How scared I was? I thought I was going to lose you!”

“I’m sorry.” He says, and squirms slightly under your gaze. He would’ve looked away, but he’s missed you a lot. Wasting a few seconds from cowering in slight shame and a little fear would be unbecoming of a Pillar.

“Don’t say sorry!” You were trying so hard to look stern and mad, but having the love of your life nearly taken away from you? You nearly lost him—all you wanted was to just touch him, and never let him go.

Tears start slipping down your eyes before you could stop yourself. Without a word, you wrap your arms over his neck, nearly straddling him as you buried your face in his neck. You try to memorize how his body felt against yours, clinging to him like your life depended on it—and in a way, it did. 

“You!—don’t ever do that to me again!” You cry, being mindful of his injuries as you hold him tighter. Neither of you make mention of how his hospital clothes were starting to grow damp. “If you die and leave me alone, I swear to the gods—!” 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, because what else can he say? He wasn’t aware of how close he was to losing you, until he woke up from the week-long coma. He made you sad, and worry over him, and he never wants to see you cry ever again. He brings you closer against his chest, and says a silent thank you to whatever god let him live. 

“You better be!” You mumble.

“I am. I missed you.” He drops his head against your shoulder, and holds you tighter against him.

Still mindful of his injuries, you return his hug tenfold. “I missed you too.”

Neither of you let go until Shinobu and Aoi dropped by to clean and redress his wounds. 

Afterwards though neither of you left each other’s side (I mean, it’s not like Giyuu could, but you get my point), 

Anyway, even if one of the butterfly girls or even Shinobu came in to give him meds—

He would always be touching you

Holding pinkies, even holding hands, which was a surprising, since he wasn’t much for PDA.

Another surprising fact was that Shinobu would only tease him no more than eight times per visit, when she would usually tease him nonstop.

You didn’t leave him for the entire week he needed to recover, unless it was for a mission (Oyakata-sama was very kind in giving you lighter, and easier missions—easy for you, hard for lower ranked slayers)

That night, you definitely stayed in his room (one of the pillars was kind enough to take over your patrol. it was Mitsuri), and slept right by his side. 

As you slept, he watches the careful rise and fall of your chest. 

You looked so peaceful that he starts daydreaming about what could be—a future with you.

His near death experience made him realize that if he didn’t marry you, it would be one of the greatest mistakes of his life.

You taught him to live life to its fullest, to live without regrets

And he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t get to call you his wife, even if it was just for a day.

The demons have taken so much from him already—his sister, his best friend

They’ve already taken too much

He’s not going to let the demons take away any more of his happiness

SO YES

This was the moment he finally decided to ask you to be his wife.

took him long enough

Giyuu knew that he wasn’t the best at communication

And he was really worried about you not wanting to marry him anymore. It’s been a while since that conversation after all

He wanted things to be as clear as spring water before even popping the question

So he decides to ask you.

He brings you out to the engawa and sits there with you, enjoying the night breeze and the view

You’d look very pretty under the moonlight and aaaaa

He wonders how he ever managed to control himself from asking you to marry him earlier 

Because right now

Giyuu has half the mind to just beg you to marry him 

He brings it up bluntly carefully,

“...How do you feel about marrying me?”

He brought it up bluntly.

You’re used to it though (you didn’t even bat an eyelash—what a champ), so you take it in stride.

“What I said before still stands, sweetheart. I would love nothing more than to be your wife, but if you’re not ready—“

“I am.”

Your neck almost snaps with how fast your head turns to look at Giyuu. He wasn’t far, just a few inches of space between your bodies, but you could feel his comforting warmth, and could clearly see his expression despite it being night.

“Are you serious?” You knew he was—Giyuu never was the type to joke—but you couldn’t help but ask. You knew he loved you, you knew he wanted to be with you for as long as possible, but him asking to marry you? Both of you talked about this, and you respected what he wanted and his reasons behind it, so whatever this was? It all felt too good to be true that you wanted to pinch yourself.

“Yes.” Giyuu carefully takes your hands and uses his thumb to trace soothing circles onto the skin of your palm. “If you’re fine with someone like me...” He places his forehead on top of yours and your heart just...picks up the pace. You’re sure he could hear how fast it was beating, while you’re made aware of the fact that your eyes were starting to get teary because everything looked so blurry. 

“Marry me, (F/N)?”

Him wanting to know if you still wanted a marriage with him, turned into an actual proposal

But neither of you minded

It felt perfect

You burst into a loud, giddy laugh, the happy smile on your lips wide enough to reach your ears. The tears start spilling over as you nod your head vigorously, repeating the word “Yes!” like it was the only word you could say.

Giyuu’s mouth curls into the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen on him, and continues to grow each time you ‘yes’. He puts the ring on your finger and you're struck by how pretty it is, feeling a sense of rightness wash over you. He feels it too as both of you take a moment to look at how perfect the fit is, before you look back up at him. 

By the gods, he looked so handsome with that smile on his face, you couldn’t take it. You bring your hands to cup his face, and kiss him for all you were worth. HIs hands wrap around your waist, and you grip the nape of his neck, savoring the feeling of his comforting warmth pressed against you. As both of you pressed your lips against each other, neither of you could stop smiling—you were both so happy.

“You’ll marry me?”

“I’ll marry you right now, if it was possible.”

“You really want to marry me?”

“I always did. I feel stupid for making you wait so long.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart, I understand why.”

He pulls away a little, pouting. “But I could’ve been calling you my wife earlier.” 

“And I could’ve been calling you my husband earlier,” You tease “but here we are.”

“...Maybe we can find a priest right now.”

You laugh and smack his shoulder. “We waited a few years, I’m sure we can wait for a few months.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment.

“Giyuu?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.” You really do.

He smiles softly, taking your left hand and kissing the back of your hand. “I love you too.” He really does.

For better or for worse

During the next Pillar meeting, everyone definitely notices your ring

a/n: i would like to marry this man please and thank you (′ꈍωꈍ‵)💖

I have another request in the works, but if you liked this headcanon, maybe you’d like to see a continuation! I’ve got some ideas stocked up for “how they met”, “how they got married”, or maybe “how the other pillars react to your engagement”... anyways feel free to drop a request!

apologies in advance if it takes me another month 😔

[spxrkplug127]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 1

Alt. Prompt - Comfort

content warnings: au for final battle of bnha, description/mentions of injuries, throat injury, somewhat oc insert (reader’s quirk is described, but no features), possibly ooc bakugou, hurt/comfort to the extreme, spoilers(??) for bnha war arc, brief mention of a character death, mentions of blades/knives

your quirk: 

banshee: in the simplest terms possible, banshee is essentially banshee physiology. it allows the user to use the abilities of the banshee, an otherworldly creature often seen as an omen of death. they have the ability to use a sonic screech to cause damage to their enemies. in essence, banshee  grants access to the abilities the creature possesses. includes audiokinesis, sonic screeching, and audiokinetic combat. prolonged use of audiokinesis at high frequencies or loud volumes may lead to hearing loss in the user. in addition, the user tends to be quite sensitive to noises and is often bothered by  loud noises.

story is beneath the cut

       it had been a week since the battle ended. seven days. seven days since all might perished in the final struggle against all for one. seven days of recovery, of grieving, of healing.

       it had been seven days since the last time class 2-a heard a word come out of y/n’s mouth. a week since they last saw their smile or laugh, a week since the last time anyone had seen them walking around the dorms. they’d sustained quite a few injuries during the battle, among them a concussion, a broken rib, and a very large cut across their throat. the doctors had said it was quite possible y/n would never be able to speak again, let alone use a vast part of their quirk.

       it had been seven days since the last time they’'d been awake. a week since their friends had decided to take shifts in sitting in the room, watching carefully in the hopes that the [color] haired hero would soon wake up.

       right now, there was one person sitting in the room with them. he'd sent the others out to go get some air, not wanting them to be stuck in the dreary hospital room for any longer than they had to be. besides, he reminded himself, it's my fault they’re like this. if he'd been paying closer attention, he could've stopped that damn blade from hitting them. he could've stopped them from letting out one final, ear-splitting screech as the blade sunk into their neck, cutting deep enough to reach their vocal chords. he could've been there to get them to safety. instead, he was sitting in the hospital room next to his partner, a distant look in his eyes.

       "please... please don't leave me..." he mumbled, reaching over to squeeze their hand lightly in the hopes that they could hear him. "you're not allowed to die on me, dumbass." he blinked a few times, trying his hardest to fight off the (extremely rare) tears he felt in the corners of his eyes. he couldn't lose them. not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

       after he spoke, he went silent. he closed his eyes, feeling a few drops of water slip down his cheeks. he couldn't hold the tears back any longer. "fucking hell. you can't leave me, [nickname]. you can't. you're not allowed to." he repeated.

       he opened his mouth to speak, only to be met with a light squeeze to his hand, followed by what sounded like an attempt to speak and a pained groan. y/n sat up, eyes wide with fear as they blinked, so confused as to where they were and why their throat felt like it was on fire.

       "hey hey hey... don't... don't try to talk, alright? lemme explain what happened and then you can ask questions. sound good?" he said. after seeing them nod, he took a moment to compose himself, wiping the tears from his eyes. "you got a nasty cut on your throat during the battle. it uh... it partially hit your vocal chords. doctors said you might not be able to use the screaming part of your quirk ever again." he refrained from adding the part about them possibly never speaking again. it was better that way, for both their sake, that they didn't know that information at the moment.

       they blinked a few times, tears streaming freely down their face as he moved to comfort them, wrapping his arms around them gently. their body shook with silent sobs, terrified at the prospect of never using a large part of their quirk again. they pulled away from him for a moment, hands shaking as they signed. are you okay?

       "i'm fine, [nickname]. just... just a few minor scrapes. nothing i can't handle."

       i meant mentally, idiot. i can tell you're fine physically. they paused for a moment, as if they were unsure how to communicate their thoughts. it isn't your fault.

       "but if i-" he began, only to be cut off by y/n pressing a kiss against his lips.

       shut up. they signed after pulling away, a smug smile on their face as they saw how flustered he was. i'm the one who got hurt, it's my fault for being dumb. stop blaming yourself.

       "fine." he conceded, knowing it wasn't worth it to argue at this point.

       will i ever be able to speak again? they asked after a moment. my throat burns. a lot.

       "i..."

       be honest, kat. i'm a big kid, i can take it.

       "the doctors said it's possible you won't be able to talk anymore."

       y/n closed their eyes, blinking a few times as they swallowed hard. they opened their mouth, a choked sob coming from their lips. i'm useless. how can i be a hero if i can't speak to people? how can i be a hero if i can't-

       "hey... you're gonna be okay. i promise you. i'm not gonna let anything happen to you, dumbass. who cares if you can't talk or sing? there's other things about you that make you a wonderful person to be around." he interrupted, grabbing their hands gently to stop the rapid stream of worry. he removed his hands after a moment

       i feel like i'm just gonna be a burden. they signed back to him, a dull look in their eyes.

       "you're never a burden."

       can you just hold me? i don't wanna think about this right now. just wanna be with you.

       "of course." he replied, sitting down next to them. the blond pulled them against his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them to prevent from aggravating their mending ribs. they curled into him, eyes closed as they tried to calm themself down. "i'm right here, baby. i'm not going anywhere."

       things were quiet for a while other than an occasional sniffle from y/n. after a few minutes, he felt y/n pull away from him a bit. "what's up? are you uncomfortable?"

       i love you. they signed, not looking at him. i love you so much.

       pressing a kiss against their nose and pulling them back into him, katsuki did the only thing he felt he could in that moment. "i love you too, dumbass."

[trellanyx]

Aim Your Arrow at the Sky

AO3 LINK

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Time slowed to a crawl without any help from Crowley. Every bit of movement and sound heightened to match his growing panic: the crunch of wet sand under his boot; the waves rolling rhythmically against the shore; the unrhythmic, staccato beating of Crowley’s useless heart; and there, standing on the water, was Gabriel, his long, pristine coat flapping around his ankles like wings in the wind.

“Nice place,” Gabriel continued, unbothered by Crowley’s silence. Hell’s sake, he was probably enjoying it. Gabriel looked around the empty beach, taking in the expanse of shore and sea and sky that Crowley and Aziraphale had claimed as their own. “Open, quiet, private. Dull as shit, but then, you’ve never been one for taste. I mean.” Gabriel laughed like an old friend. “Just look at who you hang out with.”

Crowley turned to face Gabriel openly, stepping to the side until he blocked Gabriel’s line of sight. The cottage was still half a mile away, but Crowley would be blessed and damned if he was going to let Gabriel a single inch closer to the angel inside.

“You get one warning,” he snarled. His eyes flashed poison-gold, pupils thin as a virgin guillotine blade. “Fuck. Off.”

“Tsk. That’s not very nice.”

“We had an agreement.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “We did?” he asked, with all the shallow grandeur of a carnival conman. “That’s news to me. You sure you’re not thinking of…?” He nodded downward. “I know they’re too cowardly to come after you twice, but you and me? We haven’t spoken since the airfield. Am I right?”

Gabriel grinned, and a thin layer of his joviality slipped away with the tide. Crowley could see a thousand years of bloody crusades, swelling with corpse-rot and worship, living in the curve of Gabriel’s smile.

“Y’know, funny thing happened a few years ago, after you two betrayed the Almighty,” he continued. “We tried to execute Aziraphale, you know, and it didn’t take. Flames wouldn’t touch him. Very unsettling.”

Shut your stupid mouth and die already.

Crowley hissed hate through his sharpening teeth.

“Then we hear from Downstairs that they tried the same thing with you, and you survived holy water.” Gabriel shook his head. “And I’m thinking, nah, that can’t be right. Those two idiots?”

Heat began to boil in Crowley’s veins, blurring the air around him and causing the sand under his feet to steam as the water seeped inside began to evaporate.

Gabriel raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Not quite idiots, though, are you? I’ll give you credit—it was a clever trick.”

“Weird,” Crowley mused, like he was contemplating an unfamiliar menu item, not seething with hatred and panic. “I didn’t think your head was small enough to be pulled back outside your own arse. Is that why you’re here now?” Crowley tsked in fake sympathy. “Did it take that long, Gabe?”

Gabriel’s smile froze, and his stolen eyes became diamond-hard with barely controlled disgust.

“I imagine it’s difficult, being wretched longer than you’ve ever been divine.” Gabriel’s voice was soft, like feathers inside a pillow he was about to smother you with. “Your memory’s fuzzy—I get that. Still, though, I’d think this one would’ve stuck. Aziraphale at least had the decency to be properly afraid of it.”

“Is there a rest stop between now and the fucking point?” snapped Crowley. He jerked back in revulsion at the sound of Gabriel’s laughter.

“Surveillance, dumbass! Every second the earth has existed has a record. We didn’t have a reason to look before, but now, well.” Gabriel spread out his hands with a shrug. The warmth was back in his smile; a spray of blood from a mortal wound, cordiality and cruelty trickling down the grain of the cross.

Bless it, Crowley thought, but he was an idiot. Because he’d known. Gabriel, for all his inanity and pompousness, had never been stupid. No, worse than that—Gabriel was apathetic. He didn’t bother to learn or observe anything outside his own interests, and this made him appear bumbling, full of hot air and nothing substantive.

But when he did decide to pay attention…

Crowley’s wings shattered the barrier of their prison ad cracked the air like a shot. Gabriel watched placidly as they extended to their full height and wingspan. The air around Crowley was already distorting itself as reality broke down, unable to keep the demon’s true form from answering its master’s summons.

“I will kill you,” Crowley promised, his voice echoing with void and devastation. “I don’t care if I go down with you. You’ll face oblivion before you can even step in Aziraphale’s direction.”

“Oh…” Gabriel chuckled. “I know you will, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”

Crowley screamed from the abrupt shock of divinity lancing through his chest, scattering light between his atoms like shrapnel. A high note, unbearably terrible and beautiful, rang in his ears and splintered his bones, sending Crowley to his knees in an acolyte’s post. He gasped as it passed through him and stared at Gabriel with mounting horror.

The first thing that was burned away from fallen angels was their name. It was the word She used to call them into existence, each letter encrusted like jewels in the crown of Her Glory. To lose their name was to lose themselves. Crowley couldn’t remember his holy name; sometimes, if he tried hard, he could see the shape of it in his mind’s eye, but it was smudged with pain. He’d always assumed the names of the Fallen were taken back into Her essence, no longer fit for creation or memory.

“Surprised?” Gabriel asked. “Oh, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley gagged as blood filled his mouth. “—did you really think we’d forgotten you? When a demon’s former celestial name can cause this amount of damage, why the hell would we ever erase them?” Gabriel clucked his tongue. “Poor, stupid A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”

Crowley clutched his chest as the hole where Her Grace used to be was seared with divinity that was no longer his. Stupid indeed. Even the humans knew that names had power; why should the first names in all creation be any exception?

When he raised his head to hiss at Gabriel, black ichor dripped from Crowley’s eyes.

“Enjoying your little party trick? Go ahead.” Crowley staggered to his feet. “Say my name. Say it as much as you fucking want. I want you to.” He smile-snarled at the Archangel. “Let my name be the last thing you ever fucking say before I punt you into a black hole.”

“You still don’t get it.” Gabriel sighed. “Here’s the thing, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley flipped his middle finger as he shook with a fresh wave of pain. “I didn’t actually come here to kill you.”

“Bullshit,” Crowley spat.

“It’s true! I just came for a chat.” Gabriel jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He came to kill you.”

In the space between heartbeat and thought, Sandalphon slipped out from behind Gabriel like an oil spill. The churning waves died beneath his shoes, becoming glass-smooth to match the patch of ocean Gabriel stood on. His smile didn’t bother with the pretense of friendship that Gabriel’s did; it held only the horrifying truth of belief, the kind that made martyrs out of the unwilling and called it just.

Crowley reared like a hooded cobra, cornered but desperate, and furious enough to attack anything that so much as twitched in its direction.

“Can’t even handle killing a demon on your own, can you, you piece of shit?”

Gabriel hummed like he was actually giving it some thought. “I prefer to think of it as not getting my hands dirty.”

“Hello, Crawley,” Sandalphon simpered. His golden teeth reminded Crowley of long abandoned treasures in a skeleton’s graveyard. Awareness coiled sickly in his gut.

Crowley could take Gabriel, or even Sandalphon, on his own. Whether he’d win was up for debate—an angel’s powers were, by design, made to cancel out a demon’s—but Crowley knew that he could at least cause one of the archangels severe damage. But two of them?

He had to try. If he could stall them even a minute, Aziraphale could—

“But you know what, I’m a sporting angel.” Gabriel clapped his hand on Sandalphon’s shoulder, whose eyes were beginning to glow. “How about I give you a chance to prove me wrong?”

Sandalphon held his hands out in front of him like an offering, and the water immediately began to churn. When he breathed in, the tide drained away from the shore into a growing whirlpool blackening the water beneath his feet. Sandalphon raised his arms in a conductor’s stance, his eyes glowing lightning-bright and salt-white.

The flames under Crowley’s scales froze with horror as a wave grew behind Sandalphon. And grew…and grew…

And then it began to glow.

Gabriel whistled appreciatively at the literal tidal wave rising above their heads—every atom of which was vibrating with celestial blessing. Even the scent of seawater in the air was poisoned with divinity; Crowley felt his right eye start to twitch.

“Survive this, demon,” Gabriel intoned. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Survive this, and I swear by the Grace inside me that I’ll leave you two alone.”

Fragments of ideas and plans rattled around Crowley’s mind like dice, and every one of them came up snake-eyes.

The wave had swelled too large to dodge. He could run, fly, crawl through the sand, but he wasn’t fast enough to get out of range before Sandalphon brought the flood down on his head. It would be the same if he attacked. No amount of hellfire would touch the angels so long as they were surrounded by their watery barrier. Even trying to stop time, as he did in Tadfield, would be useless to him. There was no reality-bending Antichrist to aid him, no angel…

Oh.

Aziraphale.

I’m…I’m about to die, aren’t I?

The roar of water dulled and muffled, suddenly far away, as if it was respecting Crowley’s privacy in his last moments. Realization skinned him raw; if Crowley was gone, who would protect Aziraphale? Who would listen to him read his favorite poetry aloud? Who would groom his wings? Who would take him to dinner, to the theater, to the stars and to bed and everywhere in between?

Who would love him?

I’m fucked. I’m fucked and I can’t stay and I’m going to hurt you, Aziraphale. I’m going to make you cry. I’m sorry. I only ever wanted to love you.

Gabriel waved. “So long!”

I know I said I’d be happy with whatever I could get, and I meant that, I did, I meant it because it was you. But angel, angel, I’m too fucking selfish. It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, I want more, Aziraphale.

I want more time.

“Farewell,” sneered Sandalphon.

I want to talk with you more, drink with you more, I want more mornings where you’re the first thing I see when I wake up.

The tidal wave rose until it blocked the sun’s light, casting Crowley in a long tombstone-shadow. He should attack them. He should at least try, deny them the satisfaction of striking him down without resistance.

“Auf wiedersehen!”

But Crowley’s mind wasn’t on the beach anymore. It was back in their cottage, curled in Aziraphale’s lap with a deathbed confession.

I want more lunches, more dinners, more desserts, I want more walks and drives and I want to tease you more, kiss and hug and fuck and love you, I want to love you so much more Aziraphale, I want I want I WANT—!

“Goodbye.”

…I don’t want to go.

Sandalphon’s arms surged forward to bring down the wave, and several things happened at once.

A white-gold missile of light slammed into Sandalphon with enough force to send him barreling into Gabriel’s side and shoot them both away from Crowley like a torpedo.

The wave collapsed in on itself and flooded the beach.

Crowley threw his arms in front of his face, hissing as the holy spray connected like a thousand paper cuts in a salt bath.

He only had seconds to register the pain before something grabbed Crowley around the middle and rocketed him above the saturated sand.

Crowley panicked when he felt the heavenly aura surround him, instinctively squirming and kicking until he was flipped onto his back and saw his favorite shade of blue beseeching him to be still.

“It’s me!” Aziraphale shouted over the water. “Crowley, it’s me!”

A gallows moan pulled from Crowley’s chest.

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale crushed Crowley to his chest at the same time Crowley’s arms strangled the angel in a python’s grip. Aziraphale stroke-dragged shaking fingers through Crowley’s hair; his desperate whispers of darling darling darling kept rhythm with Crowley’s racing heart. He whined when Aziraphale pulled away to look him over.

“Are you hurt?” Aziraphale demanded. “Did it touch you?” His eyes followed Crowley’s down to the sizzling freckles on his arms, and Aziraphale growled.

“Monsters.”

Belatedly, Crowley registered that Aziraphale was holding him in a bridal carry. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his vest was unbuttoned, and his bowtie was loose; he’d hadn’t even bothered to miracle his appearance, he’d been too much in a hurry to save Crowley from—

“We have to get out of here!” Crowley scrambled to fly on his own, holding Aziraphale’s hand the whole time. “Angel, we’ve gotta—”

“No.”

Crowley’s neck snapped back to Aziraphale fast enough to give a human a severe case of whiplash. “The fuck you mean no?!”

“They won’t stop,” said Aziraphale. “Not unless we make them.”

Now that he was sure of Crowley’s safety, the abrupt serenity settling around Aziraphale’s shoulders made Crowley bristle with terror.

“Aziraphale, they want to kill you!”

“Oh good.” Aziraphale turned to look over the horizon Gabriel and Sandalphon had been thrown beyond. “It’s always nice to be on the same page.”

His wrist twisted, and Crowley did a double take when he saw that Aziraphale was swinging a fucking umbrella like a broadsword. As it spun, the umbrella came alive with ice-blue fire, licking its way down to Aziraphale’s fingers and sparking like a blacksmith’s forge.

“Aziraphale, what—”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

A pillar of seawater erupted into the air. Crowley reeled back, but Aziraphale was already in front of him, the umbrella wide open and shield-wide, causing any stray drops of water to evaporate before the fire.

“Promise me something right now,” muttered Aziraphale.

“What is it?”

Aziraphale closed the umbrella and shifted into a combative posture.

“Do not interfere. Please.”

“Azira–”

“Promise me, Crowley.”

“No!” Crowley ripped his glasses off and threw them into the sand like a gauntlet. “You’re out of your blessed mind if you think I’m gonna let you—”

“My dear, in just a minute quite a lot of ethereal seawater is going to be slung around.” Aziraphale’s warrior eyes softened when they looked at Crowley’s incredulous face. “Please, love. I don’t want you in the crossfire.”

Unable to refute him, but unwilling to back down, Crowley jabbed his finger at Aziraphale’s flaming umbrella. “What are you even going to do with that, anyway?”

“Something I should have done long ago.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek, and all protests shriveled in the demon’s throat. “I love you, Crowley. Wait for me.”

Aziraphale floated down to where Gabriel and Sandalphon reappeared on the water, enraged and sporting several extra sets of wings and eyes.

“Y’know what, I am sick of your shit,” Gabriel spat. “I was trying to be nice about this, show a little mercy by not making you watch Sandalphon kill your–”

A shower of water exploded in Gabriel’s face. He swore and sputtered, leaping back…and gaping at what he saw. As did Crowley.

Aziraphale had impaled his umbrella-sword through Sandalphon’s chest. He lifted Sandalphon until only the tips of his loafers skimmed the water. Sandalphon looked too stunned to try to retaliate, even when his wings fell slack and his extra eyes rolled back into nothingness.

Aziraphale radiated contempt as he unceremoniously yanked his weapon out of Sandalphon’s chest and stepped away.

With his face still frozen in a look of utter shock, Sandalphon’s knees splashed into the water. He pitched forward until he was face down in the ocean, bobbing listlessly as he bled out. Moments later, the rest of his mortal vessel sank with the finality of a suicide.

Discorporated.

Aziraphale’s fire was still burning through Sandalphon’s flesh; Crowley could see a pale blue glow under the waves as Aziraphale turned to fully face Gabriel.

“…So that’s how you want to do this, Aziraphale?” All emotion, satiric or sincere, abandoned Gabriel’s face in favor of cold-iron fury. “You cowered before the apocalypse, and now, now you choose to fight? For this infested world? For him?”

Gabriel jerked his chin upward, disgusted by the mere reference of Crowley on his lips.

“There didn’t have to be a war, Gabriel,” said Aziraphale. With his raised head and squared shoulders, he reminded Crowley of a well-fortified bulwark.  “Not between Heaven and Hell, nor between us. Crowley and I have only ever asked for peace.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Without the flood, the olive branch has no meaning. You understood that once, Aziraphale.”

“No, I didn’t,” murmured Aziraphale. “I never did. I had only hope that one day, I would. No more.” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. “I’m done blindly attacking whatever is put in front of me, and I’m done hiding like that’s something shameful.” He pointed his makeshift weapon at Gabriel; its calm, defensive blue a far cry from Aziraphale’s original sword—the weapon that fit so perfectly in the hands of War.

Gabriel spread his wings like he was baring his teeth. “You understand what will happen, don’t you? Attacking a superior?”

Aziraphale mimicked the action. “I answer to two voices in this universe, Gabriel, and yours isn’t one of them. None of you are. Not anymore.”

“You’ll Fall for this.”

Aziraphale’s form shimmered and bled until it was little more than sun and steel covered in a thousand glaring, resolute eyes.

“So be it.”

Aziraphale and Gabriel’s magic slammed against each other before their bodies did. The water crested from the shock waves and began to glow again, completely baptized by the unfiltered celestial energies rippling through its currents.

Crowley’s corporeal form tore from his body as he took off towards the fighting. He was never a soldier before he Fell—Crowley’s purpose was that of creation, of forming the precious galaxy that angels like Aziraphale fought to protect—but one didn’t roost in the bowels of hell for a couple millennia without learning how to fight dirty. Crowley swallowed what remained of earthly light into the hollow maw where Grace once shone, his fangs and claws dripping liquid nightmares. Even the broken shards of his halo were sharp enough to pierce an angel’s skin if Crowley just got close enough—

A geyser of holy water shot up and nearly took out one of his wings. Crowley reared back with a hateful shriek as more bless-bright jets rose around the warring angels like a cage. Crowley circled them agitatedly, trying to find Aziraphale in the fight. They were moving too fast and too bright; even Crowley’s supernatural gaze could only pick up afterimages, like a video with delayed audio. He pushed his consciousness out, seeking Aziraphale’s aura in the midst of the chaos.

All of Gabriel’s heads and wings were out, surging towards Aziraphale’s core to gouge him clean. Aziraphale met him blow for blow with his umbrella, the ludicrous sight at odds with how Gabriel snarled at it every time Aziraphale swung towards him.

What on earth had he done to it? It repelled Gabriel’s magic whenever Aziraphale opened it to use as a shield, and its blue flames greedily clung to Gabriel’s face and feathers whenever Aziraphale landed a hit. It didn’t cause the same amount of damage as hellfire might, but the force with which Aziraphale choreographed his blows was enough to knock Gabriel back, if only for a second.

Lightning shot down from above at Gabriel’s command, crackling through their watery battlefield like spiderweb veins. Aziraphale lost his footing as electricity surrounded his legs like barbed wire, and Gabriel struck, knocking Aziraphale backwards into the water. He reared back, teeth gleaming, and surged towards Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale threw up his umbrella with both hands and caught it inside Gabriel’s mouth, inches away from Aziraphale’s nose. The flames flared in Gabriel’s face, covering his head. Gabriel howled, and swung out with his claws.

Aziraphale screamed.

“ANGEL!” Crowley surged forward, water be damned, when—

“STAY BACK!”

Aziraphale staggered to his feet; half of his eyes were lidded or shut, dripping with golden blood. One of his wings was bent out of shape, claw marks breaking up the trail of snowy feathers.

Gabriel covered half of his face, his own lustrous blood spilling through his claws from the lashes Aziraphale’s magic scored across his Grace. Gabriel glanced at Crowley through the fire still licking his face, and Crowley could feel the archangel’s viciousness in the back of his throat, choking him like his tongue was swelling.

That feeling was all the warning Crowley had before the geyser bars exploded like a supernova. Aziraphale’s magic slammed Crowley backwards, burning like acid through Crowley’s teeth and rings, but with enough force to knock him almost entirely back to the other end of the beach, away from the water. Crowley writhed in the air, holding onto Aziraphale’s magic even as it burned, trying to get a sense of its strength from this small sample alone.

Up ahead the angels were clashing again. Starbursts of water rose and exploded like fireworks around them.

Aziraphale was strong, every inch of him exuding the strength and sharpness of an angel entrusted with an entire platoon of soldiers by the Almighty herself. He wielded the umbrella like it was truly steel, parrying and stabbing, smashing his good wings into Gabriel’s face and essence to knock him back. Streaks of golden blood splattered around them like paint, mixing with the shining water. Crowley couldn’t tell whose was whose anymore.

Crowley swelled and spun his rings in terror and tried to keep track of Aziraphale, to pick his essence apart from Gabriel’s own holy energy. It was almost impossible to lock onto thanks to the speed with which it was being thrown around, but after six thousand years and counting, Crowley was finely attuned to Aziraphale’s magic. The difference was faint; Aziraphale’s magic was warmer, shaded with gold. Gabriel, due to his higher rank, had a much brighter aura, a blinding white that hurt Crowley’s infernal eyes when he looked upon it for too long. It was much brighter than Aziraphale’s, pulled from a well of magic deeper and purer than any other angel—

With sickening clarity, Crowley realized what Gabriel was doing.

He was stalling.

By nature, Aziraphale was blessed with less endurance than Gabriel had. Despite how strong and determined his angel was, Crowley knew that Aziraphale’s pool of magic would run dry long before Gabriel’s did. And Gabriel knew that too, because he’d switched to a more defensive style, dodging and blocking, and timing his strikes with a luxury Aziraphale was never created for. Gabriel intended to wait Aziraphale out, to strike him down when Aziraphale’s magical strength abandoned him. Crowley had no doubt Aziraphale could still fight even then—he’d certainly try, anyway—using his muscle memory to attack Gabriel without ethereality, but a Principality with a sword was laughably outclassed by an Archangel with deep reserves of magic left. Aziraphale would lose.

Aziraphale saw it too. His attacks grew more vicious, more aggressive, as he tried to end Gabriel quickly, before his own form betrayed him. But despite the blows that did land against Gabriel, the archangel showed no signs of tiring.

Gabriel swung the clubbed tips of his wings at Aziraphale’s blind side. Aziraphale allowed himself to take the hit so that he could lure Gabriel close enough to smash the handle of his umbrella against Gabriel’s temple, hard enough that even Crowley could hear the sound of crunching bone. Light poured out of the gash on Gabriel’s head as he locked his magic around Aziraphale, beating at him with his expansive wings and causing a swirl of water to cyclone up and around them, obscuring Crowley’s view even further.

Crowley couldn’t stand it anymore; if being drowned in holy water meant the difference between Aziraphale’s victory and death, then it wasn’t even a choice worth thinking about. Crowley wrestled his magic back into his corporeal form and held it tight under his breast. His skin split, and scales flickered up and down his body as his magic frayed the edges of Crowley’s human-shaped form, not meant to be drawn so close and held back in such a way. Crowley grit his teeth with enough force to crack his fangs. He felt on the edge of a seizure, a destruction all his own, but there was nothing for it; Crowley would need to be small for this, lithe and nimble. They only had one shot.

Crowley drew back his hands as he flew towards the angels, and a growing ball of hellfire and dark energy formed between his palms. The fire had to be strong enough to pass through the holy water without losing its shape or power—power that would be needed to knock Gabriel back and give Aziraphale an opening.

Pain throbbed behind Crowley’s eyes; his pupils were disappeared, leaving behind a glowing sulfur-yellow stare. The water was overcharged with holiness, and there was enough of it flying around that it would take all of Crowley’s reserves to create something infernal enough to pass through it. If he was struck down before then...if he missed...if he hit Aziraphale instead...

It was impossible to avoid the spray; Crowley jerked in flight as hundreds of tiny burns connected with his body, like standing over a pan spitting hot grease. It hurt like Heaven, but not enough to keep him back.

Aziraphale’s magic was flagging under Gabriel’s, making it even harder to untangle from the threads of Gabriel’s power. But he was still there, Crowley’s brave, fierce angel, and it was enough. Wherever Aziraphale was, Crowley would come to him. Always.

Crowley weaved between the ribbons of water whipping through the sky, laser-focused on Aziraphale as he lined up his shot. This needed to be timed just right, or he would lose the element of surprise and Gabriel would destroy them both.

Thankfully, time and Crowley were on friendly terms.

He couldn’t spare the energy to pause time completely, but he could break off the barest sliver to slow the seconds around them. Just enough for him to see the forms previously hidden by light.

It would be up to Aziraphale to take advantage of the split-second Crowley was about to give him, because Crowley would be unable to dodge or block anything Gabriel might throw at him after he recovered. Even twist-sick with terror, he never feared that Aziraphale would miss his chance. Crowley trusted Aziraphale to save them both.

He trusted Aziraphale more than anything in creation.

As Gabriel twitched in his direction, Crowley poured everything he had and was into his attack and blasted the ball of hellfire and dark matter into Gabriel’s side. Gabriel stumbled off balance for a single second, and it was all Aziraphale needed.

With an almighty scream, Aziraphale stabbed Gabriel through the eye with the sharp tip of his umbrella.

The water instantly splashed down, leaving Aziraphale and Gabriel in a pool of luminescence. Gabriel dropped to one knee, then the other, and gripped the umbrella embedded in his skull with both hands. He snarled at Aziraphale who, without breaking eye contact, slowly pushed the umbrella, fire and all, through Gabriel’s eye socket.

“Traitor,” Gabriel spat.

“There are worse things to be,” said Aziraphale. “Deliver my message, Gabriel. To the angels, to the demons, to the Metatron and Beelzebub themselves. Tell them what happened to Sandalphon. Tell them what happened to you.”

Gabriel convulsed as Aziraphale deliberately pushed the umbrella deeper until it broke out the back of Gabriel’s skull.

“And tell them that if they ever threaten us again, I will make them wish for something so sweet as discorporation.”

Bleeding out at Aziraphale’s feet, Gabriel cursed Aziraphale in a language Crowley hadn’t heard since the Beginning. His grip began to slacken on the umbrella, and Crowley dared to relax.

Then, without warning, Gabriel’s left arm threw back in Crowley’s direction to hit him square in the chest with the last of Gabriel’s power. Caught off guard and too depleted to respond quickly enough, Crowley arched through the air and landed square on his back on the now consecrated beach.

Crowley screamed as the holy water soaked up by the sand seeped through his shirt and wings and skull. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back was Aziraphale’s horrified face.

The scent of clean linen pulled Crowley from unconsciousness with merciful gentleness. There was no more briny smell of wet sand and saltsea. Nothing of ozone or blood. Just clean cotton and an imprint of Aziraphale’s cologne. Crowley breathed in deep, searching for traces of his angel like an experienced perfumer: saffron and sandalwood, juniper berries and sage, and sometimes, if it was a good night, the warmth of cocoa that Crowley could still taste sweet as cream on Aziraphale’s tongue.

“Sssh.” Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hair out of his eyes. “Not so sudden. I’ve done all I could, but you’re likely to be sore for a few more days.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open, seized with desperation to confirm—and there he was.

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, trembling with relief and reverence. He took Aziraphale’s hand and turned it palm-up to run his lips over the lifeline.

“My love,” Aziraphale whispered, sounding as helpless as Crowley felt. He squeezed Crowley’s hand with a strength that would’ve broken mortal bones; Crowley only shuddered and held Aziraphale tighter, grounding himself in his angel’s touch. He kissed each of Aziraphale’s knuckles twice before he could drag his eyes back up.

“Are you okay?”

Aziraphale laughed wetly. “He asks, after half his backside melted away.”

“Hey, I saw a lot of eyes out of commission,” Crowley reminded him.

“You shouldn’t have been close enough to see in the first place!” Aziraphale snapped. His face twisted and broke down, and he bowed over their joined hands like he—Aziraphale!—was seeking penance. “You foolish, wretched—I told you to stay back!”

“You also tell me to drive slower and be nice to my plants.” Crowley’s voice was gentle, but he couldn’t make himself sound apologetic. “You needed the opening, angel. He would’ve worn you down eventually.”

“Don’t you dare spout logic at me, Anthony Crowley. You almost died.”

Every time you took a blow. Every time he came an inch closer to destroying you. Do you think I could ever separate my survival from yours, Aziraphale? Now? Still?

Crowley bit his split tongue and propped himself up on an elbow. He was on his stomach, his wings still out and brushing against the floor. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to look at them yet, to count lost feathers and new scars. He cleared his throat to dislodge the misery choking him with every hitch of Aziraphale’s breath.

“…And Gabriel?”

Aziraphale sniffled. “Gone. Discorporated, I think, or possibly dead.” He raised his head enough to half-heartedly glare at Crowley. “I was a bit too distracted to watch his exit at the time.”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley traced the curve of Aziraphale’s skull, down his neck and across his jaw. When Aziraphale closed his eyes to the touch, Crowley kissed both of his eyelids. What else was left to say? “I’m sorry, angel, I’m so, so sorry—”

“Hush,” whispered Aziraphale. He held Crowley’s palm to his cheek, and ran his thumb in circles atop Crowley’s pulse point. He looked thinner than he’d been before Crowley left him for a morning flight—

(how many mornings ago now? how long had Aziraphale sat in a vigil he was never meant to keep?)

—and bruise-dark circles hung below his eyes. Crowley’s gaze sidestepped reality to see the mantle of magic draped around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Its light was weak and watery, stretched thin as tracing paper over the angel’s essence.

“You look exhausted,” Crowley murmured.

“Battle will do that. Fear will do that.” Aziraphale opened his swimming eyes (Crowley was starting to hate the sight of water). “Crowley, you were so empty when I reached you. I thought—I thought you were—”

The dam broke and Aziraphale bit his free hand, trying to muffle his sobs as tears rolled down his cheeks. He never let go of Crowley, who felt his fingers become slick when Aziraphale nuzzled his palm and smeared tears across the half-scaled flesh.

“C’mere. Aziraphale, hey.” Crowley tugged at Aziraphale’s grip until he could once again see the sky blue of Aziraphale’s eyes. “Come lie beside me.”

Swiping at his tears, Aziraphale shed his clothes and climbed in nude beside Crowley, who immediately shifted until he could rest his ear over Aziraphale’s heart.

“You can’t possibly think I’d let you face any of them alone,” he murmured. “No more than you could abandon me.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s chest, followed by his cheek and salt-tipped lips. “Angels don’t get the monopoly on protection, sweetheart.”

Aziraphale shakily laughed. “Well. That might become a moot point soon, anyway.”

Crowley’s heart plummeted in horror. “You haven’t—”

“No, not yet.” Aziraphale cast a bitter glance at the ceiling. “Gabriel’s always loved to pull rank, but even he doesn’t have the power to make those decisions.”

“They can’t.” Crowley reared backward, onto his knees. “You were defending yourself!”

Aziraphale gave him an odd look, but Crowley was too petrified at the thought of Aziraphale actually Falling for him to appreciate the absurdity of expecting Heaven to actually play fair.

“I was defending you,” Aziraphale corrected. “And there’s still the matter of Head Office finding out we defied them twice—”

“Aziraphale—”

“Vis a vis apocalypses and executions that weren’t, well, executed—”

“Stop sounding so calm about this!”

Crowley’s ears might’ve rung from the sound of his own scream, but he couldn’t hear anything over the drumbeat of his wild heart, panic twisting like a noose around its ventricles and chambers. Aziraphale only looked at him for a moment before shifting to sit upright. His wings were also out, and they wrapped around Crowley’s damaged back, mingling with his feathers.

“Crowley. I meant what I said when I challenged him.” Aziraphale took both of Crowley’s hands and brought them to his lips. “I’ve already disowned them in every way that counts, anyway.”

“You can’t Fall,” Crowley protested.

“I’m not afraid anymore, dearest.”

“I can’t be the reason you Fall, Aziraphale!” Crowley ripped his hands from Aziraphale’s in favor of dragging them across his scalp; his nails, still halfway stormblack and clawed, opened the way for blood to lose itself in his slaughterhouse hair.

“You, you don’t know what it’s like, you don’t know how agonizing it is, to have everything you were broken down and put back together in the wrong order. You don’t know how it feels to have that phantom pain follow you for the rest of eternity. You don’t know how it feels to be worth less than ash. Angel, angel…”

He reached for Aziraphale, aborted the movement, and curled in on himself, irrationally afraid that one more demonic touch would be enough to push Aziraphale over the edge. “I can’t condemn you to that. I could never so much as look you in the eye again.”

The clean scent was gone. All he could smell was burning flesh, burning feathers, burning hair and burning soul and Aziraphale, Aziraphale stinking of brimstone just as Crowley did, his wings turning black as disease and his halo shattering to form something twisted and ugly.

If You’d ever listen, listen to me now. Don’t put him through this. He’s the greatest thing You ever made.

Don’t drag him down to my level.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley shook his head. “I love you. I love you so much. Please.”

Aziraphale’s hands wrapped around Crowley, slowly tugging him back into his embrace; Crowley followed helplessly, but kept his shameful tears buried in the soft white curls across Aziraphale’s chest.

“Crowley. Crowley look at me.” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair. “Please, dearest.”

A golden eye blinked miserably up at him. Aziraphale smiled.

“You’re right. You can’t be the reason I Fall. Because if I do, it will be because I chose to do so. Because I choose this life, here, with you. Because I have never felt so happy, or so good, than I feel when I’m by your side.”

Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s chin up; his kiss stung with gentleness and the miracle of being known. Their wings cocooned around each other, and when Crowley rested his brow against Aziraphale’s his thoughts fell silent, blanketed by the heat of their embrace and the whisper of Aziraphale’s breath against his lips.

“Earlier you said you answered to only two voices in the universe,” Crowley murmured.

“I did.”

“The first is Hers.” Crowley didn’t bother to mask it as a question, but Aziraphale heard one anyway.

“Hers,” he said softly. “Not Heaven’s.”

“And the second?”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s nose, giggling when Crowley playfully scrunched his face. “Oh, my love. Does it even need saying?”

This time, when Aziraphale shifted to lay on his back once more, he didn’t need to pull to get Crowley to follow him down.

[vitavitale]

untitled V   (for @vaenaku​)

“I found these. If they're of any use to you, they're yours.”

To say that Nico was eager when she plucked the spoils from V's hand would not have done her justice. Like a little girl on Christmas morning she beamed at what she regarded as raw material. Just the sort of thing right up her alley; he'd learned this of her during their fleeting minutes spent in shared company. V rightly couldn't have known what she'd craft out of the Geryon's remains, but he knew her to be ingenious—and demanding. If it would benefit Nero, and subsequently benefit everyone, then V was smart to have taken the remains.

It'd been one of those skirmishes he had to hold his breath over, a great test of his wit and resolve. He was still spent, and he would have enjoyed an hour's break before heading back out there; but time was ever of the essence and he'd entered the van only to regroup. V had taken just a minute to sit on the steps while, pointlessly, Daemon threw himself in the chair, cramped between table and jukebox. It wouldn't be enough of a breather for either of them. Lady did not seem to think much of their presence, the two practical strangers to her, exchanging only brief words with the warlock with whom no eye contact was shared. And then Nero, man of the hour (or the day, depending on Dante's condition should they find him), signaled his readiness to set off. Thankfully.

Daemon whined about having just sat when V roused him to follow him out, but it was V himself who would be delayed when Nico called so suddenly for him.

“Hey, V.”

Complaints from Nero went nowhere, but all the same he and Daemon would wait for their companion out in the dying drizzle.

“Lemme give you some advice,” she said after sparing him a solitary glance. “It wouldn't kill ya t' smile at 'im.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you know.“ Nico had such a self-assured smirk on her face as she started on her newest project. “You think I hadn't seen the way you two gaze at each other?”

“I—“

“I might not look, but I see.”

V shook his head at the woman who'd spoken prophetically, as though she was omniscient and godlike. He pressed close to her workbench for the sake of keeping his voice low. “What are you driving at? Daemon?”

“See, you know already.”

“You're imagining things,” V argued, quick to defend while confusion left his brows furrowed tightly. “I for one do not gaze at him. If he looks at me, that's his problem. I have nothing to do with that.”

All of this within Lady's earshot. And Nico had so effortlessly dragged the poor man into her web of intrigue. Now was not the time and here was not the place for gossip so malicious, but the self-named artisan was all smiles while V frowned. He couldn't have known what she was fixing to do, though he suspected her of mischief, but he hoped her curiosity would not go further than this.

“Ain't you the one he's lookin' at, though?” She looked so...smug. “So you seen it too. You seen how he's got ya on his mind.” She hadn't even bothered to keep her voice down. That teasing lilt to her voice had no business being heard by anyone.

“I haven't noticed,” V said. “Like I said, I don't look at him. Why are you telling me this? Now? I'm pressed for time as it is.”

“I'm tryin' to help you out here—which comes to my first point: smile back at 'im.” She was speedily putting together the frame of a Devil Breaker while offering her unneeded advice. “Nothin' says 'I like you' better than a smile. Some guys gotta have it direct or they won't have any idea, and it seems to me Daemon's that type. Needs things plain and simple. Meanwhile you're playin' hard to get. Now, that's all well and good for a while, but Nero tells me you guys've been out here for a month? God damn, bud! That's a lot of sexual tension left unresolved! I can't imagine goin' that long with nothin'.”

It was over a month in reality, but she didn’t need to know all that. A flush came over V's pallor at the implication of eros. “There isn’t any such thing!” He was embarrassed by a lie, stupid as it was, and had to speak up in defense of himself. He spoke on no one's behalf, figuring Daemon could defend himself whenever Nico would accost him. V was concerned with his own impression, his own reputation, his own peace of mind. The disturbance to his composure was an added embarrassment, and he was certain he'd looked the proper fool. “He's a friend, if anything, and nothing more than that.”

“What kind of friend would make romance eyes at ya?”

“He fools around. He always does. It means nothing.” V was fairly confident it meant nothing... It was alarming that she could have discerned so much from the mere minutes she'd spent in either V's or Daemon's company. They'd met her only hours ago. For this, he was convinced she'd been spinning a yarn, fashioning a vision of what she'd like to be reality; and he simply did not have the time for flights of fancy.

Nico fitted parts normally found in a timepiece to the arm in her hands, including bits of the Geryon's horn she carved off. She couldn't have looked at V now. “That's what they all say, at first.” There was a gleam in eyes turned away from him. “Denial's the first step, and you're right on it. Hell, you got some spine for tryin' t' ignore a guy like that. Might have the air of a dumbass, but he's got his looks, and you can tell he's got a bod.” She paused as she caught herself, quickly glancing up to judgmental green eyes to correct her faux pas. “Not that I was lookin'. You might be into that sorta thing, is all.”

“Hey, you done yet?!” By some blessing from the gods, Nero had come! He stuck half of his body through the door, visibly impatient as he glanced between V and Nico. “We're burning daylight here.”

V would have protested yet again, but he was better relieved by the interruption. “Yes, I was just on my way.” To Nero he offered amiability, but to Nico he gave a look as his parting shot. She complained about having more advice to give, but as he descended the steps he heard her call for Nero next. Likely to hand him that toy she'd been building. The wet air was a welcome relief, though it would have been fully liberating if he'd not seen Daemon loitering about with his arms crossed. V did not want any more reminders, and yet…

Like a magnet he drew the demon to his side. And he'd done nothing but walk toward the tunnels ahead.

“Nico talks too much,” was all he'd said when asked what the delay was about. It might not have satisfied his partner, but all he'd gotten from him in response was the slightest smile. Vague, quiet understanding spotted from the corner of his eye. The wasp that was Nico's voice buzzing inside V's head was suddenly very loud, but he dared not listen, he dared not look. Not until unwanted advice was forgotten. He was more tired than he remembered being, anyway, and did not want to waste the energy he had on such small things. Oh, but he could already anticipate Griffon's snickering when they would be afforded a moment of privacy, and that made him groan inwardly as he entered the dark of the underground. 

[frostironstrange]

what about tony and loki together wanting stephen (i'm curious bc i've never seen that possibility explored before) ps: i loooove your blog when i first read "express" i went crazy bc i couldn't find any more content for frostironstrange thank you so much for giving us more!!!

Express is a wonderful fic and I’m so glad I can help provide content to support the other people who came out of it shipping this.

Tony had saw Loki. Had seen him before, but not seen him. Not until the moment where Loki stood, pouring all the magic from his body into the infinity stones to jumpstart them after Thanos’ death as Thor screamed at him not to do this. Not to leave him again. Loki’s very soul had been exposed as he pulled on the threads of the universe itself, all the pain and all the lies he’d had to live leading up to this moment. Then the stones took to the magic, and in a moment they pulled from Loki his very core. His essence. They ripped him to shreds and for one terrible moment Tony though Loki gone and dead and the universe doomed.

But then Loki had done what he had always done. What he had so much experience in doing. He’d pulled himself back together, piece by agonizing piece and forced the stones to his will, reminding them who had given them life again and taking control of them as if it was his birthright. Maybe it was. Others had borrowed power from the stones, but in that moment with the whole damn universe watching, Loki had controlled them. They could not consume him like they had those before him, they could only be consumed by him. 

It lasted a thousand years and hardly a few seconds, then Loki had pulled the universe itself around him and from it he pulled back all those who had been lost and returned them as if they had never left. Peter was by Tony’s side, the guardians were returned, but even more then that, Asgard was restored and those lost in New York, those lost in Tony’s failings with Ultron and those lost in the battle before were all back. Safe. Home again. 

And then Loki was falling, the stones and him both now used up once more. Tony’s suit was barely working but somehow it found the power for Tony to lunge forward. Somehow Tony had caught him.

That had been two years ago. Tony had caught Loki and he’d never really let go since then. After everything, after Thanos and the exhaustion of Loki’s very soul Loki had been adrift. He’d confessed to Tony a few nights after he awoke that he’d seen the future up until he used the stones for the second time and after that everything had gone black. He’d assumed that he’d die there, and now that he’d survived he didn’t really know what to do with himself. Tony had understood and offered him a place as an Avenger. From there, Tony set about helping Loki find his place in the universe again. It turns out it was a lot easier to take care of someone else then it was to take care of himself, and it gave him a purpose in life. As Loki recovered, he learned to take care of Tony in turn. They ate together, taking turns cooking each day, they fought together on the battlefield and in the political world and after about six months they began to sleep together. Nothing fiery and passionate per say, just a soft rhythm that pulsed through every aspect of their relationship. Everyone said it wouldn’t last. 

But two years later, there they were as strong as they ever were. They were just as in love as before, working together and living together and happy. Loki had a job of sorts now outside of the Avengers, he worked with Stephen helping out those that needed magical assistance. He loved the work, Stephen loved the help and Tony loved seeing Loki happy and active.

There was just one thing, one small problem. One flaw in everything going on.

Loki and Tony felt as if they were missing something. Or someone. Someone wearing a long red cape who was always far too busy and yet made time for the two of them. Someone who came by once a week to eat dinner with them along with the other avengers and superheros around. Someone who smiled rarely but lit up a room like fairy lights when he did so. 

Yeah, the both of them had it bad for Stephen. The issue was, neither could understand whether he was interested or not. Sometimes Stephen seemed eager to spend time with them. Sometimes Stephen seemed flighty, ready to run if he sensed the slightest disturbance and it was frustrating them. 

So Tony took matters into his own hands. He requested Stephen meet with him formally, booked out his own schedule and had him and Loki taken off the rooster for that time period and he made tea for the three of them. Stephen was nervous when he came, but not overly so, and he seemed to settle a bit when handed tea singling that nothing too bad was about to happen.

“So.” Stephen began. Ever to the point. 

“So.” Tony parroted, a light of mischief in his eyes that made Loki do that little half-laugh Tony loved so much. Stephen flashed him a grin too but waited for him to continue. 

“So, over these past few months, Loki and I have been trying to… babe what’s the word you used? Court? We’ve been trying to court you. I love that word because it’s such a regal way to describe us being dumbasses and pining after you with weird half-flirting. We’ve been getting weird signals and the both of us wanted to know if this was something you’re interested in or not.” Tony finished off, trying not to let himself fall into a ramble. Stephen was looking at Tony as if he were mad, then quickly switched his gaze to Loki, as if expecting this to be some sort of prank. 

Loki gave a slight nod to agree with what Tony had said, but otherwise remained silent, waiting for Stephen to make his choice. He seemed to seriously consider what Tony had said, before finally speaking.

“I was unsure of myself, at first I thought I must be misreading your signals and distanced myself from you both. But, I guess I must’ve been correct the first time around.” He paused, realizing that didn’t answer their request.

“I think. I think I am interested, though I’ve had little success with relationships in the past, and little time for them, I would be willing to do my best to make it work with the two of you if you would have me.” His voice was softer then normal, but firm. 

There was still a lot to discuss. Boundaries, arrangements, schedules, but Loki couldn’t resist reaching out to put his hand on Stephen’s cheek in a silent question. Stephen gave him a little nod and Loki leaned in to catch him in a quick, soft kiss. It was their very first, and much later, a few thousand years and a million kisses later Tony would still recall it as his very favorite of Loki and Stephen’s kisses. 

[nothingneverforever]

The Good Place (2016)

I chose to start watching this only because I was at a very low point in my life in terms of facing a dearth of TV-derived entertainment, having just finished Virgin River (2019) and Sweet Magnolias (2020). Both Virgin and Sweet are not what you'd call .. uh... productions of any real calibre or value or perhaps worth at all, like you can be certain that no niches were filled when they were realsed into the Netflix ether... But they also happen to be epic masterpieces by sheer fact of how banal and predictable and PG and saccharine and inconsequential they are, the best of the suburban vanilla Hallmark Movie genre, and basically they rock af ok?? and so when I finished both first seasons of the two series I was left empty and thirsty. And it was in this lostness that I turned to The Good Place, thinking it would be as enriching in it's simplicity, as palatable in it's shallow distraction, qualities I generally look for in the fodder to keep my eyes engaged on something that isn't the clock when I do my daily evening indoor cardio.

So maybe I should first set the stage by establishing that I simply fucking hated this series lol. I couldn't get past episode 12 (I know, this makes it sound like i already gave it way more time than it deserved, which is the truth) of the first season, because once I decided I'd had enough, it was really fucking enough and I couldn't give it one more second.

As always, here's my shoddily written premise of the series; I don't want to put much effort into capturing it's essence well because idgaf about this dumb show seriously fucking hate it lol but anyway: Eleanor (Kristen Bell) dies on earth, and goes to 'The Good Place', where all souls who were much more good than bad while living on earth go to upon their death, as opposed to The Bad Place, where the bad people go. There’s some mathematical calculation for this heaven and hell allocation basically. So the good place (i can't be bothered to capitalize it every time i type it anymore lol sorry), is run by a head architect who has designed and is in charge of the neighbourhood our characters live in, and he has a female robot assistant, Janet, who is the omnipotent, omnipresent and omniscient right-hand lady who can also be called up by any good place resident who has any question for her, anytime. Anyway Eleanor, after dying on earth, was actually sent to the good place by accident, because she was actually a completely irredeemable asshole but due to some dumb boring never-happened-before error, she was sent to the good place instead of the bad place where she actually was meant to end up. Here she makes a small group of friends, some to whom she is eventually honest about the fact that she does not actually belong in the good place, and it is because of this incorrect placement that the good place is crumbling and its inner workings are going haywire etc and everyone suffers from the consequences. So blah blah blah soon we find out that it is not just her, but also some other guy who is here by mistake, and so blah blah blah etc yupp

So here are the things that suck about this show:

So there’s this other guy who also doesn't belong in the good place and who was also sent there by accident, his name is Jason okay but umm it's complicated because the person he was mistaken as (and the actual 'good person' who was intended to be sent to the good place while Jason was meant to be directed to the bad place) is named Jian Yu, a Taiwanese monk. Jason however is a Filipino-American from Florida and I guess his character is meant to be a stereotypical 'White trash' character, but it's meant to be funny or some shit so we aren't meant to be deeply affected by fact that his life was fucking sad, like how his small-town dreams were meant to be comedic relief for us to laugh at how pathetic he is when ... i dunno, I feel very uncomfortable making a joke out of real-life situations that umm aren't funny at all idk whatever... Oh also the weird (dumb/shitty/lame/thoughtless) thing about the show is how even once it is revealed that Jason is in fact his Jason-y, oblivious, infantile, one-dimensionally-tropey self, the characters who know the truth still continue to call him Jianyu throughout...? But like.... he's not Jianyu lol?

So anyway, Jason is characterised quite disturbingly to be honest as an extremely immature dudebro, to the extent that one could call him child-like. In his unhappiness at being stuck in this weird world where he can't be himself and has to pretend to be Jianyu most of the time (which involves being a complete ascetic as well as silent because the real Jianyu had apparently taken a lifelong oath of silence), Jason latches on to Janet the robot assistant. He says she is the only one who has been kind to him, etc etc etc, and begins ummmm, falling in love with her. But because he's painted as a literal baby with absolutely no rational or critical thinking skills, him falling in love with her is meant to be uhh earnest and sweet or at the very least inconsequential and jokey I guess? But like... this isn't funny...? Not when sex robots are a real thing and will probably lead to the abuse, violation, murder of millions of women in time to come because men will be so used to putting their penises into awfully, scarily 'life-like' dolls whose limbs have been programmed to move and who can even utter words of affirmation to their degenerate users that actual human females will no doubt bear the brunt of being expected to perform in life and in bed similarly to our robotic counterparts...? Yea so the good place disturbingly first makes us almost forced to feel some endearment toward Jason for finding a kindred "soul" in robot Janet, glad that he finally has "someone" to "talk to" (quotation marks cos once again she's a fucking robot), and it's all very "pure" and "wholesome" at first because again, he's portrayed as a fucking kid (one piece I read describes the character as "a sweet ding-dong human"). And then suddenly, about one or two episodes after they fall in love or whatever, Jason says:

You guys have fun. This is me and Janet's honeymoon, so we're gonna go try and figure out how to have sex.

Yeah umm so once again, in case any of you forgot, Janet's a fucking robot. If I use a scale of human consciousness out of 100 where a regular human's sense of self and awareness and independent thinking and authonomy and whatever else makes us human is at 100, Janet is probably at .... 10? at most? So yea.... i guess rape jokes are okay these days? I dunno? Literally how the fuck were there 3 entire seasons of this dumb show after this

Anyway when I attempted to put in *some* effort before I gave up, realising this show wasn't worth my precious weekend downtime, I googled Jason and Janet's relationship to see if there were any other similar voices of dissent but umm apparently, according to the headlines of articles, this is instead public opinion:

The Unlikely Romance of The Good Place’s Janet and Jason

Why Janet And Jason Are The Good Place's Ultimate Love Story, According To The Actors

How Janet and Jason broke the infinite love mold on The Good Place

From these disgusting articles, here are some choice quotes by the actors and crew involved themselves:

And the fact that this should not happen but it does makes it very special. We think that their relationship is really sweet. There's something very innocent and real about their love even though that is insane

Yeah, I always talk about this whenever I get the question, “How does Janet and Jason work?” And my response is always — and I’ve thought about this a lot — Jason is slowly becoming a little bit more aware and intelligent. He’s evolving a little bit, and through Jason, Janet is able to become more emotionally intelligent. She’s feeling these things, whether it be good or bad, through Jason because that’s what Jason is. He’s all these different emotions that he can’t tame, and Janet’s learning that. They’re kind of evolving.

Okay so perhaps I should clarify that Janet the robot goes through a couple of 'deaths' in which she comes back as a rebooted version, and supposedly more 'human' each time. So yeah I guess it's okay to have sex with robots if they actually become 0.0000001% more human-like each time they come back to life though!!!!! Sorry for overreacting guys!!!!!

Seriously though how the fuck are they even using the word 'romance' in good conscience to describe the 'relationship'

Actually as I'm writing this I'm reminded of this video by Pop Culture Detective on youtube, titled "Abduction as Romance". Jonathan the host/video creator goes through various movies through history and from contemporary cinema of this unbelievably damaging and disturbing trope, where women are shown to eventually fall in love with men who have essentially, in some way or another, abducted them, annyway here it is if anyone's interested 

I’m calling up this video because in the shows used as examples in Jonathan’s thesis, the female characters fall in love with the men just because the men happen to be the only choice they have. Okay I actually only managed to get through a quarter of the video because it was too disturbing and too awful to think about how frequently such plot points are used till today and how so much of the shitty love we see on screen is completely abusive in nature (he’s also made another video called Stalking for Love which I’m sure is as eye-opening, i haven’t watched it cos i don’t need to lol, i’m already woke thanks), but anyway the bit that I did manage to watch does remind me of this stupid love story from The Good Place that we’re supposed to be moved by. We’re seriously supposed to believe that Janet, through her reboots and whatever awakenings of consciousness she supposedly has, also has feelings for Jason just because he’s the only pathetic dumbass immature enough to think that he has feelings for her because she’s the only person who’s willing to listen and talk to him properly? When ummmm she’s only listening to you because she’s programmed to...?

Honestly I can't be bothered to talk about freaking Janet and Jason anymore

There are other things that suck about this dumb show

I don't know what kind of character development Eleanor (protagonist) goes through in the seasons that succeed that I shall never be audience to, but she remains unlikable in almost every way in season 1. This is even though the entire premise of the plot is that she learns to become a better person with each day, struggling to distance herself from her past (on earth) where she was every caricature of a selfish, cruel, demeaning, unlikable person ever. The few and short flashbacks we get to her earthly past are so annoyingly annoying that it made it almost impossible for me to continue to care for this charatcer her in her afterlife. I know, being in the profession that i am, i should have a great deal more empathy for her and where she's coming from (and i would if the show was not so fucking shitty), so i'm not hating on the fact that she was such a bad person, more so that the creators of the show did little to give us anything real to hold on to at all. Between boringly unreal dialogue, stilted acting typical of American sitcoms, overly defined character traits again typical of dated, unchallenging and unsophisticated American sitcoms, I honestly can't understand how on earth this is rated 97% on rotten tomatoes... I mean I guess if I actually read the reviews I'd understand but hehe I'm not about that open-minded, balanced POV narrative okie? :)

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Updates: Haha so ummm eventually I was too bored / curious so I decided to give this show like it’s fourth chance or something and eventually I ended up finishing the entire series and yes I cried as fuck and yes this series made me feel many feels and no I shall neither take back anything of what I said above nor clarify how or what made me change my opinion on it nor elaborate on why I ended up rather enjoying it :-) bye bye