#husband ficlets

[everybodyshusband]

teaching a skill

mushy may ; day twenty two !! (approx. 860 words)

read under the cut or on ao3 :)

Aeon flops down dramatically onto the couch, only narrowly avoiding clocking his head on Mountain’s blanket-covered hip bone. “I’m so bored.”

Mountain hums. “Want to sit with me and read, bug? You can come under the blanket with me,” he sing-songs.

“Nooo,” Aeon moans. “I’m so hungry I can’t focus on anything which makes me bored but I can’t do anything because I’m hungry.” He glances up at Mountain and whacks his shoulder when he sees the earth ghoul smirking. “Don’t laugh at me, Mounty, I’m dying.”

Mountain sighs and puts his book down. “You wanna help me cook something then? I was going to make brownies later but I can make them now to give you something to snack on.”

“Please!” Aeon practically yells. “I’m gonna starve to death…”

“Come on. Up you get, buggy.” Mountain stands up and holds his hands out, pulling Aeon to his feet and leading him over to the kitchen. Aeon stands and watches as Mountain opens up drawers and cupboards, pulling out bowls, measuring cups, assorted ingredients and his old beat-up recipe book. “Alright, all we have to do is follow this recipe and then in about an hour, we’ll have some delicious brownies for you to eat. Are you ready?”

Aeon nods but… “I’ve never baked anything before, I– I don’t really know how to do it.”

“Hey, that’s alright,” Mountain assures him. “I’ll help you. I’ll set up the scales for you while you have a flick through the book and find the brownie recipe. I’ll be under the sweets category.”

Aeon shoots him a thumbs up and picks up the book. It’s one that Mountain has compiled himself from magazine cutouts and handwritten recipes, some passed down from the ghouls that came before him and some new creations from the earth ghoul’s own mind. By the time he’s located the brownie recipe, Mountain has set up the scales and is already beginning to measure out the flour; it’s no surprise to Aeon that Mountain remembers the measurements by heart, brownies are a once a week occurrence at least in their pack.

“Ah, perfect, thanks, Ae. Do you want to take over from here? I’ll be here helping the whole time.”

Aeon nods. “Yeah, sure. Thank you, Mounty.”

He gets a pat on the back and a kiss on the top of his head in response. “You’re welcome, bug. Now c’mon, Dew messaged and asked if I could make him something to eat. Lazy bastard doesn’t want to lift a finger and bake them himself even after I told him he could do it himself if he wanted them that badly.” Aeon turns to Mountain, eyebrow raised. “Fine,” the earth ghoul relents. “I said I’d be happy to and that I love him very much and did he want sprinkles and melted chocolate on his brownies?”

Aeon snorts. “That’s more like it,” he laughs. “I was getting worried for a second there, Mount.”

From there, the time passes quickly. Mountain jumps in to help or give advice whenever the quintessence ghoul asks for it, but for the most part, Aeon is doing well without too much guidance. The only real trouble comes when it’s time to decorate them; Aeon has no idea how to do that without messing up all his hard work by making them look atrocious.

“That’s half the fun,” Mountain argues. “Plus it’s endearing if they look a bit shit, and personally I think they taste better if they don’t look all fancy,” he confesses. “We’re only dripping on melted chocolate, you’ll be fine, I promise. Here, watch me do the first tray and you can copy that for the second, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Mount.” Aeon watches intently as Mountain dips his spoon in the melted chocolate and picks up a decent amount of tempered chocolate on the end of it. The earth ghoul spins it around to stop the chocolate from dripping and Aeon is surprised that when Mountain reaches the tray of brownies he just… goes for it. The chocolate drips every which way and covers the brownies in a messy drizzle that Aeon can’t deny looks absolutely delicious. When it’s his turn, he does the same, opting for a slightly more uniform pattern than Mountain’s but the earth ghoul assures him the slab still looks more than edible. The two of them take it in turns with the container of sprinkles, covering their squares in the colourful blobs.

They cut the trays into brownie-sized pieces and compile both batches into one big container, making sure to set some aside for the two of them—and Dew. At a nod from Mountain, Aeon grabs one out of the container and takes a big bite, eyes widening in delight at the flavour. “I made that,” he says with his mouth still full. “I made that and it tastes so good!”

Mountain grins taking a bite of his own brownie “Yeah you did! It’s really good, well done!”

Aeon smiles widely, stuffing the rest of the brownie into his mouth gleefully. “We gotta go find Dew,” he urges. “I wanna go brag that I can cook and he can’t!”

[crowleys-hips]

i think it's really funny when people describe Crowley's hair as silky or soft or something along those lines in fics, because if you look at David Tennant closely, you can see they used like 50 hair products on his hair to sculpt that shit to perfection. it's probably hard as a rock or stickier than glue. i want a fic where it's like:

Crowley rests his head on Aziraphale's chest, snuggling close. The angel smiles and raises his hand to stroke his hair, but once his fingers are buried in those shiny red locks, they're trapped in a crunchy sea of slick goop. The slimy texture sticks to his fingers like superglue. He tries to pull his hand back, but it's completely stuck. Not even three consecutive miracles can do the trick. He prays for salvation.

[sapphic-bats]

Warlock asks Nanny about it once.

She’s cutting apples for him, just the way he likes, and he’s gazing out of the window at the lush, green gardens that his mother so proudly upholds. Among the waxy leaves and spindly saplings, Brother Francis tends to the flora carefully, though Warlock’s quite sure he’s just taking certain leaves between his finger and his thumb, and studying them closely. But what did Warlock know about gardening?

He notices Nanny looking out those windows, too. Though she always gazes and stares with a deep intent, as if she only cares when she does, and it so happens that she never looks upon the garden empty.

What was that funny thing Nanny and Brother Francis had taught him? The thing that Nanny discouraged, to which Brother Francis promoted quite devoutly?

“Nanny, have you ever been married?”

Warlock knows what marriage is. After all, his parents are married, if you can call it that. They married, once, out of love. But it’s since faded. It’s more traditional, now. Out of convenience and a general apathy to trying again.

Nanny’s quick hand stills, blade edge flat against the cutting board. With her back turned to the young boy, he cannot make out her expression. He never can, what with her poised shades she wears pointedly upon her nose. But she speaks soon again.

“No,” she replies, simply.

Warlock considers this. “Do you ever want to be?”

Nanny, who had taken up the cutting again, pauses once more. She sets the knife against the board and tilts her chin towards Warlock. “Wherever have you learned such personal questions, dear?”

She’s not refusing to answer him. She never has. She just asks in true curiosity, and perhaps a slight avoidance. But Warlock’s eight, now, and he knows how to navigate her tricks.

“Where do you think?”

At that, she pauses, lips pursed with their consistent purple tint. The lipstick she wears, that faintly stains Warlock’s forehead when she kisses him goodnight and tucks him in after a bedtime story: often about a garden, or a bird that chirped too loudly, and was cast down to the ground by the other birds. One who became the kind bird of the grounds, and took in other reject birds that had fallen similarly.

She considers his answer a moment more, satisfied with the obvious influence she’s had on him. She turns back to the apple slices.

“Perhaps,” she answers.

There is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t mind, he’s grown up with Nanny at his side, and has become quite fond of the silence. It is where thoughts are made, she said once.

She finishes cutting the apples, and plates the sweet snack to serve to the boy. “What troubles you, dear? You seem awfully curious, all of the sudden.”

Not that she minds. Nanny never rejects curiosity.

“Nothing’s wrong, Nanny, it’s just—” he pauses, considers his next words and how to place them. “You look at Brother Francis a lot, and—”

Nanny interrupts him after an audible, suspicious gulp. “Who?”

He frowns, eyes boring into the back of her head. “You know Brother Francis.”

She seems quite comically nervous, like she’s pressed a wax-seal act over her true thoughts. “Oh, yes,” she decides, too much breath coming with her words. “The gardener.”

“You like him, Nanny.”

She turns, abruptly. “I most certainly do not!” Her voice comes out a tad shrill, though perhaps it’s just outrage and scandal.

Warlock narrows his eyes, perplexed. “But you look at him all of the time.”

“When has that ever had anything to do with- with love?” She struggles with the word.

The boy shrugs. “Mum and Dad don’t look at each other,” Warlock observes. “But Brother Francis looks for you, too.”

Nanny’s mouth, ready with a retort, or perhaps a counter-argument, flicks towards a different shape. One that might be, he does? Or perhaps Warlock is mistaken. She pauses, lips pursed again, and sets her teeth.

“I’m sure he does, love.”

The plate is set before him, and Warlock soon forgets his questions. He never asks Nanny again.

But he’s reminded of it when her eyes, barely visible in the light, flick towards the window into the dazzling garden.

Years later, Warlock is nearly sixteen, and has since let the thoughts from half his lifetime ago fade. They never die, just sort of… wait. Wait to be plucked again, notes of memory leaping from their tinny strings. Like a harp.

His mother takes him into town. Soho, where he has no interest in seeing, but his mother so desperately needs a new vinyl, a coffee, and though she never says it: a moment to get away from the house, or more specifically, her husband within it.

She agrees to let him wander. She trusts him, for all she hasn’t before. And perhaps, she says, the fresh, un-televised air could do him some good.

He’s only taken two steps out of the coffee shop, where his mother remains to await her tea, before he almost runs smack into two pedestrians, arm in arm. He takes a surprised jump back, tongue set with an angry scolding, when he gets a good look at them from behind.

“Nanny?”

They both freeze in unison, as if they both know the name, and the voice that has conjured it forth once more for the first time in five years. Warlock notices something else.

“Brother Francis?” He prods, shocked. “Izzat you?”

Both of the two now turn, and everything around the three fades into blurring colors and churning noises.

Warlock would be a rotten liar if he had said he hadn’t missed them dearly. He would also be a lousy boy if he didn’t recognize them by the backs of their heads alone, he thinks. Because he would know them anywhere. They’d always done a much better job at raising him than his own parents.

They both look different now. Brother Francis seems to have had dental work done, and has cleaned up quite nicely. Nanny, though, appears to have changed her style completely. Her- his? Their? Who knows. But she still sports a fine pair of shades upon the bridge of her nose.

The pair seem to stutter, splutter with a little awestruck surprise. It’s as if they’d never expected to see him again.

“Oh- Warlock,” Nanny Ashtoreth begins, feigning a cool-headed surprise. “How good to see you.”

She sounds different too. Less of a high strain on her voice, more natural.

But Warlock seems to finally feel a gear shift, and a puzzle piece clicks into place. He glances down to the space between the two, where their arms are linked.

In his dumbfounded state, he feels a smile split the trance.

They both see it at the same time, chins tilting to follow his gaze. When they catch where his eyes are, their stares mingle together in concern. It’s a look that wonders aloud whether or not they should be worried, or blatant.

Warlock looks back up to their faces. “I see now why you two left,” he adds, grinning wider.

He can’t help it. He was right all along.

Warlock remembers something, then. It takes all of his power not to burst out into a triumphant laugh.

“I’m sure he does,” he says, slyly.

Nanny’s eyes, illuminated from behind with daylight, widen. She remembers, too. Of course she does.

And she bites back a twinning smile.

[actual-changeling]

There is a man with fire-red hair running a bookshop in Soho.

He hasn't always been the original owner, as almost all residents on Whickber Street know, but it is a fact you never bring up with him. Hiding behind a pair of sunglasses and layers of rough sarcasm, he is a shadow moving silently between shelves and plants, the Bentley parked outside seemingly more for decoration than actual use.

Previously, there had been a white-haired man with gentle eyes and a favour up his sleeves living among his books, and while he barely sold any of them, he was a pillar of the community just like the building itself. When he disappeared, an unspoken vow to never discuss the subject matter in the vicinity of the shop was made.

There is a woman with fire-red hair sitting in St. James's Park.

She feeds frozen peas to the ducks and puts the fear of God into everyone who dares to offer them bread or attempts to scare them away. The bench is hers, always empty, awaiting her arrival; sometimes she brings a bottle of wine, other times she cradles a Polaroid in the palm of her hand, and even the dark shades cannot stop the occasional tear from dripping down her cheek.

Rumours of her companion and his absence spread quickly, yet no one dares to ask, and the spies scattered around the park form a mutual understanding to avoid her.

There is a person with fire-red hair wandering the streets of London, wearing sunglasses and no coat, no matter the weather or time.

Their head is tipped back, their eyes glued to the sky, and yet they navigate through the masses parting around them with an unnatural ease. No one stops them, no one dares to ask why, and even if they did, they wouldn't offer an answer, not when they are asking themself the very same question.

When it begins to rain, they stop moving, stretching out their hands in a weak imitation of a prayer and allowing the water to seep into their clothes until they're as dark as the wet concrete beneath them.

There is a man with blinding white hair stepping out of an elevator that does not exist, and the end of the world comes with him. If someone were to listen in, they would realise that the man with fire-red hair meets him in the middle of the street, the air thick with lightning that will never find a home.

As they talk, nightingales all over London begin to sing.

[morganski-19]

The One with the Gossip

The group is hanging out at the café, all in different conversations when Jonathan comes into the bar and flops down on the couch. Camera bag sliding off his shoulders.

“When does this place start serving alcohol?” he groans.

“In about thirty minutes,” Nancy starts, “are you ok?”

Argyle trades places with Robin, sitting next Jonathan. “That bad?”

Jonathan nods, widening his eyes. “Messiest wedding I have worked months. There were so many things and they just piled on top of each other. The amount of bridesmaids and groomsmen that had previously slept together and didn’t know about it was insane.”

Steve and Eddie turn their heads at the same time. “What now,” Eddie says intrigued.

“I love messy shit I’m not apart of,” Steve mutters under his breath.

“It was crazy,” Jonathan sits up, turning toward Steve and Eddie at the side table. “And it all started for the most stupid reason. The guys apparently had a bet when to see how many of the bridesmaids they could sleep with. And the girls didn’t know about it, and a few of them fell with their ‘charms’ and were none the wiser. Until, one of the groomsmen said who won in their speech.”

“Holy shit,” Robin says with a sip of her tea.

Eddie winces. “That is such a dick move.”

“How likely was it that they were part of those fraternities that just liked to terrorize people,” Steve asks. Having almost accidently joined one of these fraternities when he was in college.

Jonathan nods with disgust. “That only scratches the surface. The best man had won, having slept with six out of the seven bridesmaids, and he was engaged to the maid of honor.”

Everyone winces with disgust.

“Not cool, dude,” Argyle says with disappointment. “So not cool. How can people do this to other people. And think that they can get away with it.”

“Because they’re inconsiderate assholes,” Steve says at the same the same time Eddie says “They’re disgusting bags of shit.” They high five each other.

Jonathan lets out a long breath. “And I’m not done yet. It gets worse.”

“Oh my god, how,” Nancy questions.

Argyle stands. “I’ll be right back, continue without me.” He walks over to the bar and starts to talk to the barista.

“He got bonus points for sleeping with the bride. And the second-place winner, was the groom.”

“Holy shit,” everyone says in unison.

Jonathan nods with wide eyes. “And the groom got a bonus point for sleeping with his future mother in law.”

They were too stunned to speak, just letting the silence fill that moment. Argyle returns with a cup of something and places it in Jonathan’s hands.

“What did I miss?” he asks, looking at them all super confused. “Are you guys broken?”

Steve shakes his head, trying to wrap his head around what was just said. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

“And this is coming from someone who has actually slept with one of his frat bro’s moms,” Robin interjects.

“On accident. And she was his stepmom, that was much younger than his dad, well after I was in college. He doesn’t know, it’s fine.”

“Did that cause another sex ban?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs. “No, that’s when the figured out that the previous sex ban wasn’t working.”

Jonathan takes a sip of the drink Argyle gave him. “Jesus, that’s strong. Did you bribe them or something?”

“Something like that. Seriously though, what did I miss?”

“Groom slept with the future mother-in-law,” Robin fills in, Argyle winces. “What is with people?”

Jonathan shrugs. “Don’t know. But it was a big wedding that they are not getting a refund for. And I still got cake, well what was left of it.”

Eddie leans forward. “What was left of it?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan nods. “Speeches were right before cake, so the bride took the entire top layer and slammed it over the groom’s head. Followed by the maid of honor taking two giant handfuls and shoving it into the best man’s face. Arguments broke out and all that shit. I stayed back to help clean up.”

“Had they signed the marriage certificate yet?” Nancy asks.

Jonathan sighs. “No clue, don’t care. It’s over and I got paid. A lot. This was not a cheap wedding. Oh right,” Jonathan reaches down into his bag and grabs a takeout container, handing it to Argyle. “Saved you a piece of cake.”

Argyle takes it, opening it and starting to eat it. Nodding his head in appreciation.

The rest of the group looks at Jonathan. “Where’s our cake?” Robin asks, a little hurt.

“You don’t live with me, you don’t get cake.”

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low, @thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady, @apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic, @fearieshadow, @mentallyundone, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging, @potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug

[sweetcreaturetm]

Okay so I feel like we can all agree that Eddie’s love language is physical touch right? I myself am a “Steve Harrington love language is words of affirmation” truther but whatever.

Anyway Steve knows Eddie loves to touch and be touched. So he makes an effort to show Eddie that he loves him through physical contact. Especially skin on skin which he knows Eddie loves.

When he’s driving he always puts his hand on Eddie’s leg his hand rubbing the rough denim. Steve usually manages to find a hole in his boyfriends jeans the perfect size for his thumb to sneak in and rub at the softness of his thigh. (Eddie’s heart always skips a beat or two when he does this).

When Eddie drives them in the giant van of his Steve always keeps his hand at the nape of Eddie’s neck. Just barely dipping his fingers under the collar of his shirt to softly caress the skin below with his knuckles. (This is one of Eddie’s favorites so he starts offering to drive more often)

When they’re sitting on the couch during movie night with the kids Steve snakes his hand around Eddie’s waist and sneakily slips his hand under the hem of Eddie’s shirt to rub circles on his hip. (Eddie knows he can’t hide the blush on his face he’s glad it’s dark and everyone’s focused on a movie)

But Eddie’s very favorite is on the hot summer nights in the trailer when it’s too hot for full body cuddles Steve has started a new habit where he’ll sneak 3 or 4 fingers into the elastic of Eddie’s boxers. The elastic just holding Steve’s hand there. No rubbing nothing sexual just something to be close to show Eddie that he’s still there.

One particularly hot night Steve’s almost asleep and he feels Eddie reach for his hand and tucks his fingers in the waistband of his boxers. He can’t help but smile into the pillow like a lovesick fool.

[very-normal-abt-this]

if Aziraphale allowed himself to say it (final 15 fix-it)

(after the kiss)

-I lo…I love you.

-Then don't leave.

-I don't want to leave you.

-Then don't!

-I don’t have a choice.

-Why?!

-Because I'll never forgive myself if I don't!

-Sure you will. I do it all the time. Just takes practice.

-No, you don't. You never forgive yourself.

-That why you keep doing it for me?

-Yes. You deserve peace and forgiveness.

-I don't want peace and forgiveness. That sounds boring. What I want is…You.

-Aren't…aren't you going to say it back?

-It bacK.

-Crowley!

-If I say it, will you stay?

-Crowley…

(pause)

-If you don't want to be an angel then…I don't have a choice but to go back. To protect you. To protect us.

-I don't need protection, Angel! I've been taking care of myself for years, in case you haven't noticed.

-Of course I noticed. I also noticed when you needed holy water to protect yourself. And I noticed when we had to switch bodies to protect ourselves. I noticed that the only reason you didn't receive extreme sanctions was that Beelzebub went rogue. They're never going to stop trying to destroy you, you know.  Your very existence is a threat to them.

-So what! I'll take my chances! 

-I can't take chances with your life.

-Ngk.... So you're going to abandon me here, and its "FoR mY oWn GoOd" ?

-Not…abandon. Just a temporary leave of absence. And it's for our own good. I'm doing this for me too, because I need you to be safe. And I'm doing this for the world because…it's our home. 

-(sigh) You'll never stop trying to do good, are you Angel?

-No, I suppose not. But isn't that why you love me?

-Hmm. And what makes you think I love you?

-Crowley! Don't be cruel.

-Like I told you before…I love you because you're just enough of a bastard to be worth loving. 

-That's not exactly what you said back then.

-It was what I thought.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54145684

[lizleeships]

C a s u a l  I n t i m a c y  is my jam, I have no excuse

(Don’t repost)

--> Buy me a kofi? | Become a Patron to see the Mipple version 

Teeny contextual ficlet below the cut: 

“Cas, lay off already,” Dean huffs from the motel bed. 

He crosses his bruised arms behind his head and tries to force back a wince of pain as he slings a casual grin. 

“We’re in one piece, aren’t we?” 

The angel seems dangerously ruffled, and Dean really wants to focus on that like the awesome boyfriend he’s learned to be. The thing is though, Cas is stripped down to his boxers and an old black undershirt in preparation for his shower and it’s more distracting than a train crash. A sexy, sexy train crash. 

Okay yeah, he’s probably a bit concussed; maybe Cas is right for chewing him out. 

“You have to be more careful,” Cas insists, his voice doing that deliciously growly thing it does (which, again: not the time, Winchester), “I’m not what I used to be, and neither are you.”

“Wow, okay-”

“Whether you like it or not, you’re not getting any younger, and I’m not getting any more useful. On most days I barely have enough Grace to heal your razor nicks.”

A pang of irritation surges at that - because Dean is excellent at grooming, thank you- but instead of clapping back, Dean opts for a far more entertaining option. He reels the angel in by the towel ends draped around his shoulders, and plants a kiss right between his severely pinched eyebrows. 

“I’ll be more careful, okay?” is his murmured promise, “I swear on my Old Guy honour.”

“That’s not fair,” Cas complains, though he doesn’t move an inch. 

“What?” 

“You can’t just distract me when I’m trying to make a point. It’s extremely patronizing.” 

Dean chuckles and kisses the wrinkles which pleasantly frame Cas’ eyes, then the speckles of grey at his temples. 

“Yeah? Does that mean it’s working?” 

“Dean, this is serious.” 

The consternation on Cas’ face has only mildly ebbed through the affection, so Dean frames his features with his hands, bumps their foreheads together. 

“I know, sweetheart. I hear you.” 

Cas nods against him as he stands down, shoulders sinking on a deep exhalation. 

“Really. I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“Alright.” 

“But next time, maybe try making your point when you’re not half-naked, speaking of distractions. That’s playing dirty and you know it.”

Finally, Cas’ grave  expression breaks into a grin while Dean pulls him all the way down onto the bed.

“You’re ridiculous; I’m wearing clothes,” Cas objects. 

He makes himself at home in Dean’s lap, his fingers trailing absently over warm freckled skin. Dean looks up at him with a smirk.

“Yeah well, we’ll see about that.”

[starrystevie]

it was all supposed to be a joke. they were supposed to be in steve’s backyard with all their friends and family in shitty lawn chairs, holding cans of budweiser and jamming to whatever song eddie was in the mood for that day blasting through the speakers. steve was supposed to be in front of them all in a tuxedo t-shirt and powder blue dress pants, flowers in his hair that had been teased to high heaven and dark black sunglasses to keep out the bright sun. that’s how they had planned it all those years ago when they’d been high and drunk and young and in love.

but somehow instead, the yard is full of flowers and benches that hopper and wayne put together with spare wood for everyone to sit on and there’s an archway at the end of the aisle and soft acoustic songs spilling gently out of the speakers. steve’s still at the front, that was always supposed to happen, but this time he’s wearing an actual tux, light cream with a boutonnière and everything, and his hair is pushed back just so. there’s no flowers in his hair and no sunglasses but it’s cloudy enough of a day where he doesn’t really need them anyway.

they weren't even supposed to do this. there wasn't supposed to be a grand entrance and a walk down the aisle, no flower girls or ring bearers or anything remotely traditional. but what started off as, "well, i wouldn't mind walking down the aisle," and "i think exchanging rings would be cool," and "who cares if it isn't legal, i'm going to marry you anyway damnit," turned into this beautiful day of friends and family and love.

robin’s standing beside him in a tux of her own, pinstripe grey donning a pocket boutonnière that matches nancy’s bouquet, with a few notecards in her hands. and speaking of nancy, she’s heading down the aisle in a flowing dress, and when her eyes catch robin’s, she crinkles her nose before blowing her a kiss. she stands opposite of steve as eddie's not-quite-bridesmaid and grips her bouquet tightly, her eyes never leaving robin's.

and then there's dustin. he's in a tux that matches steve's and he has his curls pushed back with probably too much gel and a tie that suzie got him for their 3rd anniversary. the best thing he's sporting, though, is the smile on his face and the ring box in his hand and the joy in his eyes as he looks out at the crowd. having him there as best man and smelling the cheap cologne he wears so he seems more grown up calms steve's ever beating heart enough to where he doesn't think he'll throw up from nerves anymore.

all of their loved ones are surrounding them in clothes steve’s never seen before but he couldn’t care at all what they’re wearing because they’re all smiling wide and bright at him. he catches himself rocking back and forth on his feet so he shakes out his hands and holds them behind his back to distract himself. his stomach is rolling with waves or butterflies and when he catches joyce's eye in the front row, she mimes taking in a deep breath which he instantly copies. the soft grin she sends in return tells him that he thinks it could actually work to settle him. mothers have that healing way about them.

he’s never been good with weddings, always fidgeting in a too tight suit his mom picked out, but he never thought he’d be this antsy at his own.

steve's just about to give up and sprint down the aisle to get eddie so they can run away together and leave nerves and or butterflies behind him, but then the music stops. he sees lucas changing out the tapes quickly, giving a thumbs up to mike who throws one to will who runs back behind the shed to where he knows eddie is waiting and when will pops his head back out to run back to his seat, it hits him.

he's getting married.

steve doesn't have time to think about it anymore than he already has been for the last 8 years because eddie's coming around the corner of the shed.

'here comes the sun' is playing out over the speakers, soft and perfect, and eddie's smiling, wide and beautiful, and steve can't help but mirror it back to him. the clouds overhead seem to hear them, hear the song and hear their hearts beating in time with each other, because as soon as eddie gets to the aisle, bright warm rays of sunlight peak out and make the rhinestones he demanded line the lapels of his own black tux shine like real diamonds.

steve stops breathing. he swears he does, and he knows his family are all feeling the same way. he can hear a few gasps, hears joyce muttering what she thinks is a silent, "oh my god," in hop's ear, and watches how wayne stands up just a bit straighter from his front row seat.

eddie glides down the aisle like the drama king he is, soaking in the looks from everyone they care about and soaking in the sun that seems to come out only for him. it's like the sun knows he's a star, too, and wants to come out to be with one of it's own. eddie's always been sunshine and starlight and a blinding thing to look at and take in. he's the light, steve's the moth, and a few clouds on their wedding day could never change it.

"well, that was insanely good timing," eddie whispers to steve once he reaches him. his grin softens and he brings up a hand to wipe gently at the tear tracks on steve's cheeks. "hi, baby."

and steve can do nothing but choke out a laugh, catching eddie's hand in his own so he press a kiss to his palm. he thinks he can feel eddie's heartbeat against his lips and, even if it's his brain playing tricks on him, he likes the sentiment that it brings. "i love you so fucking much."

it's eddie's turn to get teary-eyed and the sun glints off the tears that fall down his cheek before heading back behind the clouds, dotting quick-to-fade sparkles on his face like a wedding present.

steve kisses him. he can't help it. it's nothing but a fast press of lips, watery smile to watery smile, and everyone is cheering except for robin.

"hey! it's not time for that yet," she says with a pretend scowl, arms pressing to each of their chests to keep them apart. it's enough to leave nancy giggling where she stands behind eddie, her laugh like bells bouncing off of the trees surrounding them. "just give me like ten minutes and we'll have you married and you can kiss all you want then."

steve swears he can hear mike groan at that which cause him to grin which cause eddie to grin back and then they're holding hands like it's the only way to get through the next ten minutes. and it might just be the only way to get through it. knowing them, if they didn't hold on tight, one of them would make a move first and there'd be hands around waists and fingers tangled in hair and robin would hate them forever because she wouldn't get to do her speech.

it's after vows are shared, after rings are on fingers, after kisses are pressed to lips and cheeks and temples and hands and everything else they can quickly reach, that the two of them get some peace. everyone is inside eating snacks and drinking cheap champagne, and it goes unspoken that they're going to take some time for themselves. take some time to bask in their new maybe not-so-legally real but as real as could ever be in their hearts marriage.

they make their way, hand in hand like they've always been meant to do, to a table set up for them. eddie pops a bottle of champagne that they pass back and forth between themselves as they share cheesy smiles and champagne-laced kisses. and it's as they look into each other's eyes, fingers lacing so their rings clink softly against each other, that the sun peaks out to say hello once more.

[twilightcitysky]

Courtship

“Crowley, come in! I was just redecorating.”

“Really? You never redecorate. Last change you made was in 1860, when you had the plumbing installed.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “After everything that happened, I started thinking things over,” he said tenderly. “We almost lost the bookshop, but here it is, good as new. We almost lost the world, and… and now that we didn’t, I want to make some changes. I think it’s time.”

Crowley frowned. “Here, have you got something in your eye? You keep blinking.”

Aziraphale stopped trying to flutter his eyelashes. “I’ve painted the back room,” he said eventually, in a more normal tone of voice. “Would you like to see?”

He headed towards the door without waiting for an answer and pushed it open. “What do you think?”

“Oh, um. Very nice. I might’ve gone with a warm gray, or maybe mother-of-pearl… but yellow’s good too.”

“I happen to like this particular shade of yellow,” Azirphale said, a trifle testily. “Very much.”

Crowley held up his hands. “Hey, it’s your bookshop. Are you ready for lunch?”

*

“What’s this?”

“They’re flowers. Roses, dahlias, and a few Peruvian lilies.”

"What do they do?"

Aziraphale, holding out the intricately beribboned, carefully wrapped and above all expensive display from the most exclusive florist in London, began to feel a bit awkward. "They… smell nice, I suppose? And they can brighten up a room."

Crowley peered over his glasses. "Sure, for a little while. But they're cut, see?" He touched the bottom of the bouquet, as if Aziraphale perhaps hadn't noticed. "They'll die in a week."

“I suppose. I thought you might–”

“Is this more redecorating? I can help with that, no problem. Listen, why don’t I get rid of these for you… and if you’re wanting something for the bookshop, we’ll get a nice rubber plant to put under the window.”

Aziraphale sighed.

*

“Oi, angel! Think you dropped something!” Crowley jogged to catch up with him and put the matte black box, which he’d left on the seat of the Bentley, back into his hands.

“Ah. Actually, you see… that was for you.” Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat. “In case you got peckish,” he added lamely.

“This fancy stuff? Men break into bedrooms at midnight to leave this kind of chocolate next to pillows. Saw it in an advert.”

Aziraphale brightened. “Would you like me to break into your bedroom?” he asked, a tad breathlessly.

Crowley laughed. “What for? Listen, why don’t you have these. You’ll appreciate ‘em more than I will.”

*

“Are you ready to go?” Crowley glanced at his watch.

“Just one more thing. I. Er. I-thought-you-could-wear-this,” Aziraphale said in a rush. “If you like.”

Crowley took the velvet box from his trembling hand.

He opened it. “It’s…”

“Yes?”

“It’s very sparkly.” Crowley held the ring up to the light.

“It’s a diamond,” Aziraphale said desperately. “A diamond ring.”

“Oh. And you’re givin’ it to me because…”

“I–” Aziraphale stopped. He searched Crowley’s face, looking for a flicker of understanding. “My dear, I would like–”

“Oh wait, let me guess. It’s for your magic act, right? Are you practicing palming again, or is this the sort of ring that squirts ink when you twist the jewel?” Crowley pulled curiously at a glittering stone the size of his thumbnail. “Happy to help if you need an assistant. Just no more bullet tricks, okay?”

Aziraphale stared at him. “Yes,” he replied dully. “My magic act. Yes. Exactly. I’m trying to make something appear.”

“Got it in one!” Crowley gave him a pleased grin. “I know you so well, angel.”

“I daresay you do.”

Aziraphale followed him out to the car. There’s nothing else for it, he thought. I’ll have to throw a cotillion ball.

[iwasthenightingale]

Maybe it's just the feral ace person who resides within me, but I desperately want Crowley and Aziraphale's first real kiss to be entirely awkward and innocent and honestly kind of chaste

I want Aziraphale, desperate to hold Crowley, words tumbling out of him as he says "You know, the first time in my bookshop didn't count. And I should very much like to try, er... kissing again. Perhaps. If you were amenable?"

I want Crowley, mute with shock, but nodding incredibly enthusiastically. And Aziraphale's hands, hesitant but still reaching, hovering over Crowley as he shuffles forward and tries to learn how to touch him

I want blushing as Aziraphale asks softly "so, um... was it something l-like... like this?" and Crowley doing everything in his power not to move or self combust as he inches closer

I want the gentlest, most barely there brush of lips, so soft and sweet, and a sharp inhale as Aziraphale wrenches back to take in Crowley, his beautiful Crowley, and feel the tingling warmth against his lips

And then I want them to melt together, not even because the kiss is particularly charged, but because they adore each other and have been kept apart for far far too long, and no amount of closeness or intimacy could ever be enough for them

[everybodyshusband]

ditching chores/sneaking kisses

mushy may ; day twenty one !! (approx 3.6k words)

read under the cut or on ao3 :)

this was meant to be romantic and it just turned very, very silly jdsfhd

————— 1 —————

The first thing Rain saw when he appeared in the summoning circle was a giant. Well, okay after he’d had a few seconds to fully take him all in he was pretty sure he was just an exceptionally tall earth ghoul, but giant worked well for the moment. When the noise, smoke and chaos calmed down, slithering back through the circle and into the ether of the pits, Rain tried to stand and take stock of his surroundings. Just as he managed to haul himself up into a standing position, something in his leg buckled but before he could hit the ground he found himself caught up in a strong pair of arms.

“Careful, kid. Don’t want you injuring yourself after only being here five seconds.”

Rain rolled his eyes. “Just because you’re a giant, doesn’t mean everyone around you is a kid, earthy.”

“Oh, he’s feisty!” Someone else’s voice rang out in the small stone room; a damp looking multi ghoul wrapped in an oversized grey blanket. He must be a new summon as well. “I think I’m going to like him.” His grin was sharp and infectious, Rain smiled back. Had he already made a friend?

The earth ghoul chuckled at their exchange. “My name’s Mountain. Do you have one?”

Rain tore his eyes away from the multi to pay attention to Mountain. “Uh huh,” he nodded. “Rain.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rain,” yet another voice spoke, but this one’s owner wasn’t a ghoul. His face was painted in intentional strokes of black and white, the markings around his eyes and cheeks clearly meant to resemble a skull and he was dressed entirely in liturgical vestments, his mitre bearing the mark of the Ghost Project. No way. Rain had heard whispers of a project of this nature in the Pit, nothing proven, nothing concrete; a division of the Old One’s church Up Top spreading His word through song all over the world. He hadn’t believed it at the time, it had all sounded too far fetched but… here it was.

“Papa Emeritus?”

The man—although he was a bit more than that if the rumours were true, wasn’t he—looked taken aback. “You know who I am?”

“Of course I do?” Rain was shocked that he wasn’t aware of his own fame. “In the Pit, there’s been rumours of what you’ve been doing for what feels like forever.”

Papa tutted. “Interesting… This is what Swiss told me earlier.” At Rain’s questioning head tilt he apologised. “Ah, of course! Sorry, that’s Swiss there.” He pointed to the newly summoned multi ghoul. Swiss poked a hand out of his blanket and waves, still grinning. “He was summoned only a few minutes before you were.” He continued pointing out and naming all of the ghouls in the room, there are so many more than Rain originally thought he saw, too caught up in being pulled up to a different world, he supposed.

After explaining the basics to Rain—introducing him to his new pack, laying out the exact purpose of his summoning, what his role will be if he chooses to accept it—Papa smiled and pat him on the back. “I think that’s more than enough information for now though, hmm? Mountain, how about you take Rain to get settled in and Aether, you can do the same for Swiss?”

“Sounds perfect, Papa,” Mountain smiled, squeezing Rain from where his arm is still wrapped around his shoulder; Rain was back on his feet now, but Mountain never let him go properly, presumably still worried he wouldn’t remain steady on his feet once he’d started to walk around the room.

“C’mon, Rain.” He began to wrap a blanket identical to Swiss’ around Rain’s shoulders. It was much warmer than it looked. “I’ll show you around the den and the grounds if you’re feeling up to it.”

Rain nodded. “That sounds nice, thanks, Mountain.”

Mountain smiled and Rain had just enough time to notice that one of his front teeth had a tiny chip in it. He squeezed his arm around Rain just hard enough to pull him closer to the earth ghoul and pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head. Rain blushed “Cool! Alright, we’ve got a lot to cover. We should head off now before it gets too late.”

————— 2 —————

It had been a few weeks since Rain had been summoned now and he could happily say he was settling into life at the Ministry well. He was learning the parts for his music with Dew’s help and everyone said he and Swiss—who was taking his singing and guitar lessons from Dew, Aether and Papa— were progressing nicely. He wasn’t even the newest summon anymore! Two air ghoulettes had been summoned about a week after he and Swiss and they seemed to be adjusting well too. The four of them—Rain, Swiss, Cirrus and Cumulus—had become a group of their own of sorts. It wasn’t as if they didn’t spend time with the others, of course they did, but it was nice that the four of them were able to bond over being fresh to Earth and not understanding certain human customs that had evolved since the last time they’d all been Up Top when they were human.

He’d been settling into his chores now as well. His favourite, without a doubt, was helping Mountain in the greenhouses and gardens on the Abbey’s grounds. All he had to do was water the plants and regulate the humidity, but he was able to write off a whole day just to sit and talk with Mountain while he worked. Occasionally he’d lend a hand, but more often than not, Mountain insisted that Rain need not do anything but sit there and be good company for him.

His favourite day by far had been when he’d been helping the earth ghoul to weed and mulch his flower beds. The two of them had become covered in soil, roots and mulching hay and had ended the day by running off to the lake to clean themselves off, whooping with laughter the entire time. Before they’d run off to the lake however, Mountain had reached out a hand to brush a patch of dirt off of Rain’s cheek, no doubt leaving an equally dirty smudge behind in his wake but Rain didn’t mind. Especially when what had followed the brushing off was a quick, shy peck of Mountain’s lips on his cheek. The earth ghoul had come close enough for Rain to appreciate the light dusting of freckles covering his face from all his days working in the gardens, particularly concentrated on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Rain wanted to christen every single one with a kiss as gentle as the one Mountain had just given his cheek but before he could do so, the earth ghoul had pulled back and with a grin.

“Race you to the lake, raindrop,” he’d called. “Last one there is on dinner duty for a week!”

————— 3 —————

The few weeks after that had passed in a whirlwind of activity. Rain was busy every single day. Between taking on a few extra duties for a week or two as a favour for Zephyr after they’d been sequestered away to the infirmary and practising all the new songs he’d learnt on his bass at every single spare moment, he was running on empty. It was no surprise to anyone but Rain when he got sick.

“You were exhausted, waterlily,” Mountain explained gently as he stirred the bowl of soup he’d brought Rain to help cool it down. “You need to give your body and your mind space to relax from all the stress you’re putting yourself under. Open up?”

“I can feed myself, Mount,” Rain protested, keeping his mouth firmly closed.

“I know you can. But I want to help, so open.”

Rain rolled his eyes playfully as he opened his mouth for Mountain to spoon the soup into, holding back a sigh of pleasure as the warm soup soothed his scratchy throat.

“You need to find something you can do that lets you relax and release the stress of the day off of your shoulders,” Mountain explained, quickly putting a finger over Rain’s lips when he opened his mouth to protest. “Eat with your mouth closed, love,” he teased. Rain didn’t like to admit the butterflies that hearing the pet name in Mountain’s voice gave him, but it felt nice. “I know you have your bass, but at the moment it’s also stressing you out. It’s understandable, of course with the tour coming up soon, you want to be the best you can be before we head off.” Curse Mountain for always somehow knowing what Rain was going to say. “But at the moment it’s only going to make you worse if you’re stressing yourself out enough that you’re getting sick and unable to practise.”

Rain opened his mouth to protest again but this time, instead of telling him to be quiet, Mountain shut him up by putting another spoon of soup in his mouth, that bastard.

“Zephyr’s back from the infirmary soon though,” he mused. “So hopefully you’ll have less work to stress you out, but,” he continued. “If Zephyr’s still not up to doing everything when you’re better, you will ask someone to help you. A load meant for two people on top of practising for the tour isn’t sustainable or healthy for you, Rain. Can you promise me that?”

Rain nodded and quickly swallowed his mouthful of soup. “I promise, Mount. And… thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always,” Mountain smiled. “Are you sure you can manage feeding yourself the soup? I’m happy to stay if you need help,” he teased.

“I think I’ll be fine, thanks,” Rain grinned. You spooned those few mouthfuls perfectly though.”

Mountain laughed. “Good to know my skills aren’t going unappreciated.” He leant down and pressed a soft kiss to Rain’s forehead. His lips were surprisingly cool against Rain’s boiling head. “Call me if you need me for anything, alright? Any time of day and I’ll come running to help.” He got up off the side of Rain’s bed and flicked his bedside lamp on, flicking the overhead light off on his way to the door. Rain hadn’t even realised how the harsh light had been affecting him until Mountain turned it off. “Get well soon, Rainy,” he smiled, closing the door on his way out.

————— 4 —————

A few days after Rain recovered from his illness, he found himself back in the greenhouses, chatting the afternoon away with Mountain. Despite his offers to help, Mountain insisted that Rain just relax and not worry.

“I asked Mist to come in this morning and help with the humidity,” he explained. “You’ve met her, right? Oh, good! Either way, it’s all sorted, Rainy. Don’t worry about anything other than giving yourself time to rest.”

Rain had just nodded, secretly pleased for this time that he could spend with Mountain, free from chores and practice and responsibilities. It was autumn now and the leaves around the Ministry were turning every possible hue of orange, yellow and red. As well as this—and arguably more exciting in Rain’s eyes—Mountain’s army of caterpillars were beginning to emerge from their chrysalides as butterflies and flutter around the greenhouses. More than once, Rain had become somewhat of a butterfly magnet, with many of them landing on him after he’d sat still for a long enough period of time.

“Have you ever heard of butterfly kisses?”

Mountain’s voice was enough to startle both Rain and the butterfly that had found a perch on his finger. “Butterfly huh?” Was all the water ghoul could manage as he caught his breath from the unexpected fright.

“Butterfly kisses,” Mountain repeated. “They’re called that because it’s supposed to feel like butterfly wings caressing your skin.”

Rain tilted his head. The earth ghoul was so much less subtle than he thought himself to be. “I don’t think I get it,” he said, knowing full well the smirk on his face gave away that he understood exactly what Mountain meant. “Can you show me?”

Mountain grinned and nodded. “Give me your arm?” Rain obliged. “All I do is bring your arm up to my face,” he explained as he mimicked his words. “Then I get my eyes really close and blink, like that.”

Rain squirmed. “Ah, no, that tickles, Mount!”

The earth ghoul pouted exaggeratedly. “Do you think it will tickle on your face?”

Rain almost snorted. “You’re really not coming across as innocent as you wish you were, Mount,” he laughed. “But sure, go ahead, butterfly boy. Kiss me.”

Mountain obliged, moving even closer to the water ghoul, letting his breath ghost over his cheeks before fluttering his eyelashes over the soft skin there. His breath was warm but it soothed the tickle of his eyelashes enough that Rain didn’t have to squirm away. Although he’s not sure that he would have moved anyway, even if it had rendered him to a tickle-avoidant mess. He treasures his time with Mountain too much.

————— 5 —————

The night before the band goes away on tour is always cause for a big celebration, Mountain told him. This year, the Ministry is hosting a grand ball complete with fancy clothes—which is apparently just another way to say formal clothes, not fancy dress like Rain had hoped—and formal dances. The ghouls and Papa are all attending together and Mountain had already promised to stay with Rain for most of the night, not that Rain needed babysitting, but Sathanas, if he had to talk to an enormous room full of people for hours on end then he needed someone with him, if only to make sure he didn’t rip someone’s throat out if they tried to engage in yet another round of small talk with him.

It’s safe to say that Rain had… well, perhaps blossomed is the right word, in the few months since he’d been summoned. He was definitely more comfortable in telling people to fuck off before he killed them, at least. After a few months of trying to play the role of a human, he was finally growing more comfortable in presenting himself as the demonic hell beast he was.

A sudden hand on his shoulder interrupted his musings and made him jump.

“Sorry, raincloud,” Mountain soothed. “It’s just me.”

“How goeth the search for drinks, my dear sir?” Rain joked, recalling Dew’s complaints that these events always felt stuffy and overly formal, like those renaissance movies he pretends to hate.

“Alas, loyal comrade,” Mountain replied, playing along. “Lady Cumulus snatched them from mine own hand whilst I was returning to you with my spoils.” He got down on one knee and threw his hands up in the air. “How will you ever forgive me?”

Rain threw his head back laughing. “I’m sure I’ll survive, Mount. Now get up off the floor, you’re going to ruin your pants and Aether’s going to yell at you if he has to sew on another knee patch for you.”

“I’ll just ask Cirrus then,” Mountain retorted, obeying Rain all the same. “I’m still in her good books.”

“Nope. I think they’re conspiring against you. Remember last time you asked her to mend something she never gave it back?” He nudged the earth ghoul with his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure the two of them are convinced that if they slowly steal your clothes over time, eventually you’ll give up on wearing them altogether.”

“I– What?” Mountain spluttered. “If they want to see me naked they could just ask.”

“Yeah but they’re freaky,” Rain stage whispered. “They wanna make it happen…”

Mountain blushed, no doubt thinking of all the ways he could make it happen more quickly. Luckily for his sake, music soon began to trickle through the mingling crowds, inviting them all to begin dancing. How the Ministry got the speaker system to work so well, Rain would never know. Maybe they had hundreds hidden all throughout the ballroom?

His train of thought was interrupted by Mountain returning to their earlier game of jest, bowing low and holding out his hand. “Lord Rain of the-bedroom-right-down-the-hallway-from-me.” Rain couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up inside him from that. “May I please have this dance?”

He placed his hand in Mountain’s. “You may, Lord Mountain,” he smiled, thrilled when the earth ghoul bent down even further to kiss the back of his hand, stomach fluttering when he refused to break eye contact until his lips broke contact with Rain’s hand. “Come,” he announced, shifting his grip on Mountain’s hand to be able to hold it more normally. “Let us dance.”

————— + 1 —————

The tour bus is alive with energy. They’re only a few hours into their journey but all of them are buzzing with a mixture of nerves and excitement, even if all they’re doing is chatting amongst themselves quietly.

Swiss’ legs are currently thrown over Rain’s lap, the two of them gossiping quietly about their various hookups since being summoned. Rain is ninety percent sure Cumulus is listening in on their conversation but he doesn’t mind, she was the one who taught him how to do that thing with his tongue he was just explaining to Swiss.

“So…” Swiss leans in close and glances around furtively. The multi ghoul can never resist an opportunity for some dramatic flair. “When did you and Mountain hookup?”

“Me and Mount?” Rain asks, surprised. “We haven’t.”

Swiss sighs. “You don’t have to lie to me, Rainy, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I was just telling you all the ways Dew made me cry for him, I think we’re past the point of shame, rainbow.”

“I’m telling you the truth! We haven’t…”

“Oh, but you want to.” It’s not a question, it doesn’t need to be one.

“Of course I do, have you fucking seen him?”

“Have you fucking seen his dick?” Swiss leans in close and uses his hands to measure an obscene length. There’s no way he’s telling the truth. “Fucking huge, Rainy, it’s insane.”

Rain whines. “Don’t tease me, Swiss, fuck.”

“Fine, fine,” Swiss relents. “But you’ve at least kissed right? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, there’s no way that nothing’s happened between you.”

“I mean… kind of?” Rain replies. “We’ve kissed but not… y’know, on the lips or anything?”

Swiss’ eyes feel like they’re boring a hole into his soul. When he speaks, his voice is deadpan. “Are you fucking shitting me, Rainy.”

“No?”

Swiss looks like he’s about to scream.

Aether’s voice calls out from his game of cards with Dew. “Swiss, are you alright back there?”

“No, I’m dying, Aeth,” Swiss yells back at the same time as Rain says: “He’s fine, he’s just being a dramatic prick.”

“What’s all this about a dramatic prick?” Mountain grins as he takes a seat next to Rain.

“Mountain!” Swiss says, moving forward fast as lightning to grab the earth ghoul by the collar of his shirt. “Why the fuck haven’t you kissed Rain yet, it’s killing me, Mount. You hear me?” He shakes Mountain back and forth violently. “Kill. Ing. me.”

“I’ve kissed him,” Mountain says simply, miraculously unperturbed by the seemingly wild multi ghoul shaking him around.

Swiss pulls him even closer before releasing him. “Show me.”

Mountain sighs and looks over at Rain for permission but he’s smiling and his smile is always so infectious that Rain can’t help mimic it the second he sees it pulling at the earth ghoul’s lips.

“I’ve kissed him here,” Mountain starts, kissing the top of Rain’s head. “And here, and here,” he continues, brushing gentle kisses over Rain’s cheek and forehead in mimicry of those events that feel like they happened a lifetime ago. “Then I gave him butterfly kisses all over his face.” Rain scrunches up his eyes to combat the gentle tickling sensation that Mountain’s eyelashes are spreading across his face. “And last night I kissed his hand, like this.” This time it’s Rain who offers the hand out first, Mountain taking gladly and holding eye contact the entire time, exactly like the previous night. “But you’re right, Swiss. There is one spot I’ve missed.” He takes Rain’s face in his hands, cradling it gently in his hands. Mountain barely has to open his mouth to ask before Rain is nodding vigorously and surging forward to connect their lips together with an elated sigh.

It doesn’t take much for Mountain to deepen the kiss and pull Rain onto his lap and as soon as he does, Swiss is whooping and running up and down the length of the bus singing praises. Rain leans back to take a breather just in time to see Dew yank Swiss down to sit with him and Aether, telling him to get a hold on himself. Rain doesn’t miss the way Dew smirks when Aether presses a wad of cash into his hand, sighing in defeat.

“I think they were betting on us,” he whispers against Mountain’s lips, resting their foreheads together as they both take a breather.

“Oh, they definitely were,” the earth ghoul confirms. “I heard Cumulus and Dew negotiating terms weeks ago. Droplet may have just won that money from Aether but he’s going to have to give it all to Lus now because we kissed on the bus, not just before we left the Abbey.”

Rain laughs in disbelief. “You sly bastard,” he huffs out. “Did you wait to kiss me just so Dew wouldn’t win the bet?”

“Yep,” Mountain admits proudly. “What?” He asks when he sees Rain shaking his head and laughing. “You didn’t expect me to let Lus lose, did you?”

“Of course not, Mount,” Rain assures him. “I’m far too scared of her.”

Mountain hums in agreement. “She’s fucking terrifying, I do not need to be on her bad side. Forgive me?”

“Hmm,” Rain teases. “I’m not sure… Kiss me again and we’ll see?”

[strawberryspence]

happy birthday, @stevesbipanic! i am glad you were born, you amazing human being. I hope you get to drink the coldest, most delicious, bougiest milo you can have. ILY broccoli! 💛

-

Steve has never had a birthday cake. He doesn't count the first six cakes his parents had for him, because he's pretty sure it was only for appearances.

He remembers his seventh birthday. How badly he wanted to have a Flintstones themed birthday party, and how his parents called it tacky. Instead, Steve had a lavish tea party with all of their investor friends. He remembers hating it.

After that, there's— nothing. There were Nannies or Babysitters that tried to make him feel better by bringing him to Benny's and he's thankful for that. But there's always that heart wrenching rip in his system when he sees a child. Surrounded by family, singing happy birthday as they wait to blow on a cake.

And the thing is if Steve never gets to have that, it’s okay. It’s really, really, really, okay. That also means he’ll do his best to give all the kids the best birthdays they can have, so they can never feel what he felt. If El wants a day just full of craft making? Sure. Dustin wants to visit this damn planetarium in Indianapolis? Okay. Mike wants to dress him like him for an entire day? Alright.

Steve is happy that way, until Eddie Munson comes crashing into his life with a broken bottle. And okay, maybe it’s not a great idea to lie in the biggest and probably the most important relationship he has right now, but he’s not going to tell Eddie his little sad secret.

What he forgot to account for is the fact that his boyfriend is the biggest snoop to ever exist.

“Wha— What’s this?” Steve stammers as he enters his house. It’s almost always dark when he comes home, the house dull and empty.

Tonight, it’s different. After having his birthday dinner with Robin, Steve drives them back to his house so they can have movie night. Supposedly.

Instead, Eddie’s standing behind the long wooden dining table that never gets used, with 20 different cupcakes, all lit with a candle. There’s food and banners and balloons with streamers.

Robin pushes him forward with a smile, “So…” Eddie walks towards him, “I found some of your childhood pictures.”

“Oh.” Steve breathes out.

“Look, maybe I am wrong. Maybe I got it all wrong. Maybe your parents just weren’t the kind of people that liked taking pictures and having to develop them. Maybe someday, you’ll tell me why you only have one childhood photo album or why there’s no pictures of your birthday parties past the age of six.”

Eddie says, hands nervously twisting around his hair, “But, on the off chance that I am right,” He shakes his head in disbelief, “On the off chance that you haven’t had a birthday cake or a birthday wish in 14 years, I got you 20 birthday cupcakes.”

Steve can barely hold himself anymore, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, “Why 20?”

Eddie smiles at him, and his eyes sparkle at Steve like he hung the damn moon and stars, like he fucking created the whole universe, “One for every year my favorite person has been alive.”

Steve chokes down a half sob, half whine as he slaps a hand on his mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Eddie whispers as he wraps Steve in a comforting hug. They stay like that for a minute before Eddie says, “I am so happy you were born. There’s a few more people that are happy, they’re all hiding in the kitchen right now.”

“What?” Steve pulls back, hastily wiping his tears.

“The kids are all here. Nance, Jonathan, and Argyle.” Eddie tenderly wipes a stray tear off his cheek, “Even Wayne, Hop, Joyce, and Mrs. Henderson is here.”

Steve’s not sure if he wants to know, but he still asks, “Why?”

Eddie visibly softens, but before he can answer Robin answers for him, “Because we all love you, Dingus.”

“So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to sit behind the cupcakes and they’re going to come out from where they’ve been eavesdropping.” Steve laughs when Eddie emphasizes the word, and there’s a clatter in the kitchen followed by whispering, “They’re going to act normal. And we’re going to sing you a song. Okay?”

Steve smiles, nodding, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Eddie says as he runs to the kitchen and as Robin ushers him to sit in front of the cupcakes. She forces a birthday hat on his hair, and he doesn’t even argue.

They all come out from the kitchen, all smiling and wearing ridiculous birthday hats. Even Hop and Wayne are wearing them and it might actually be the funniest thing he’s ever seen. The kids have blow horns that fill the silent house with joyous sounds.

They sing him a birthday song. It’s loud and it doesn’t exactly sound good. Dustin’s trying a new other pitch and Lucas has never been a good singer. Max is drumming on the table and El has a small tambourine. Mike and Will are trying to do some kind of duet in their own little bubble. But it’s the most beautiful, harmonious sound to Steve.

And as they all urged him to make a wish, Steve is struck with awe and disbelief, a feeling of realization sparking in his veins. Steve’s got everything he’s ever wanted right in front of him. He just wants all of them to be safe and sound.

He smiles at his family, as he lets his eyelid flutter shut.

And for the first time, Steve makes a birthday wish.

-

Edit:

Steve smiles, happy and content, as everyone chitchats around him.

"Hey, Eds?" Steve calls out for his boyfriend who's busy stuffing his face with bread rolls.

"Yeam?" Eddie replies, still chewing on the bread.

"Can I have a Flintstone themed birthday next year?"

Eddie swallows his bread with water, before turning to Steve with a smile so bright it could blind him. He moves closer to give his temple a light kiss.

"You got it, sweetheart. I'll be Fred, you'll be Wilma. It will be perfect."

[actual-changeling]

Aziraphale sees Crowley standing next to his their car and he hesitates; this is his last chance, the last possible moment to change his mind about leaving.

Do you think he feels the sunshine on his hands, against his stomach, and remembers how warm Crowley had been in his arms? How warm he had felt beneath his palms even through several layers of fabric?

How for the first time in his existence his body had felt complete, like there was no longer something— someone missing?

Do you think he sees him standing in the sun, all shining fire-red and hidden golden eyes, and regrets not sliding his hand to the back of his neck, up into his hair? Do you think he regrets not taking the chance to feel it silken soft and familiar between his fingers?

Do you think he remembers all the times they enjoyed a warm, sunny day together and the way the star seems to remember that Crowley had put its siblings into the sky? Do you think he remembers rays of sunlight caressing his cheekbones and wishes it had been his fingertips instead?

'Anything you need?' the Metatron asks him, and he is still looking at Crowley with the sun on his skin.

I need you, he thinks, and even though his eyes are hidden away, he knows Crowley is looking at him.

Do you think Aziraphale remembers the kiss, remembers the love he could taste on his tongue, the six millennia of do that, please, kiss me, the slow, painful minute of do that again, please, right now?

(The realization that he won't.)

He almost stays. Almost. But the Metatron is already walking away, and he looks at Crowley again, looks past sunset conversations and sunrise breakfasts and the heart-shaped star in Crowley's chest, and feels his pain.

(Their pain.)

Do you think that's why he leaves anyway? Not just because heaven needs fixing but because all that pain, all the hurt they caused each other, can't have been for nothing?

I can't leave him— no, I don't want to leave him.

No.

No, I want to go back to him.

Do you think he takes his anger and holds onto it until it burns his palm because it is easier to be angry at Crowley, at himself, than to think about everything they just took from each other? Everything they just lost?

Everything they could have been?

Aziraphale takes the memory of sunshine on his skin (Crowley's lips on his) and locks it away in a golden cage made out of faith; faith that Crowley will be there when he comes back.

Once he does (because he will, he will, he has to), there will be sunshine and warmth and Crowley, and they will finally be able to love each other with the sun and the whole universe as their witness.

No more shadows or shades of grey. Just the two of them in the light where they belong.

[indigovigilance]

*On the couch at the South Downs cottage*

C: Aziraphale?

A: *puts down his book* yes dear?

C: would you still love me if I was a worm?

A: Crowley, I was standing right next you when you transformed from a giant snake into a man-shaped being.

C: …

C: but snakes are cool.

A: that’s because you were the first. If you’d been a worm, then worms would be the enduring cross-cultural symbol of wisdom, rebellion, and immortality.

C: you really think so?

A: Of course, dear. *returns his attention to his book*

C: …

C: Aziraphale?

A: *looks up* Yes, dear?

C: you didn’t answer my question.

[tismrot]

GOOD OMENS in CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER (a fanfic helper)

I tried to find this online, but I only found bits and pieces here and there. This should be a very good tool when writing fanfics, or just for understanding the narrative - so, here's my best attempt at a timeline for the canonized events in the show. Let me know if I missed any, or if something is wrong! CHRONOLOGY of GOOD OMENS 4004 BC: Before the Beginning (Sunday, October 21st, Nowhere, no name for Crowley) Aziraphale meets Crowley as an angel in Heaven pre-Beginning and Crowley makes a star factory. 4004 BC: The Eden Wall (Rather more than 7 days later, Crawley) Crowley finds Aziriaphale on the Eden wall and they talk about right and wrong. Aziraphale gave his sword to Adam and lies to God about it. Eve looks about 6 months pregnant. 3004 BC: Noah’s Ark (Ancient Mesopotamia, Crawley) Crowley finds Aziraphale in front of the Ark and they talk about how God will drown kids. 2500 BC: A Companion to Owls (Land of Uz, Crawley) Crowley and Aziraphale work together to save Job's kids from God. 1353 - 1336 BC: Nefertiti's reign as queen, during which, at some point, Aziraphale did a magic trick for her. (Thebes/Luxor, ancient Egypt, Crawley) (unfilmed, just mentioned) We know he fooled her with a "lone caraway seed and three cowry shells" 33 AD: Crucifixion of Jesus (Golgotha, Palestine, name change to Crowley) Crowley (canonically confirmed female form) tells Aziraphale she showed Jesus the world. 41 AD: Oysters in Rome (41 AD) Aziraphale playfully tempts Crowley to go eat oysters with him at Petronus' restaurant. If this isn't innuendo, I don't know what is. 537 AD: Medieval England/King Arthur (Kingdom of West Essex) Aziraphale as a knight of the Round Table meets the Black Knight (Crowley) who suggests the Arrangement for the first time. Aziraphale says no. 1020: The Arrangement is agreed to (unfilmed, just mentioned in the book or by Neil) I can't find the exact date - tell me if this is wrong? 1040 - 1601: Crowley and Aziraphale act on their arrangement "dozens of times", as mentioned in the Globe Theatre. As far as I've understood this arrangement (correct me if I'm wrong) it means that whenever they receive orders from Heaven or Hell, they tell the other, compare notes, and if it takes place in the same area, they agree that just one of them has to go do both tasks. Either that, or both tell their respective bosses that the task has been done, because they would have cancelled each other out either way. Letters would probably be too risky communication other than "Let's meet up at....", so I assume they have seen a lot of each other during this time. 1500s: Something related to the Catholic Church and the Papacy (Rome?). (Unfilmed idea) My theory: Raphael/Crowley (Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino) works as painter in Rome from 1508 until his "death" in 1520. He was invited to Rome by Pope Julius II and was immediately commissioned to work on a series of frescoes for the Pope's private library in the Vatican Palace. Crowley can't enter consecrated spaces. Hilarity ensues. This would explain his conversation about helicopters (in the book) with Leonardo da Vinci. 1601: Hamlet (Globe Theatre, London) Aziraphale and Crowley meet inconspicuously as Shakespeare struggles with Hamlet (both actor and play), and Aziraphale agrees to do both his and Crowley's assignments in Edinburgh. 1650: Aziraphale does his first apology dance (unknown) Nothing more is known about this event. 1655: Agnes Nutter's book is published, and doesn't sell a single copy. 1656: Agnes Nutter is burned (Lancashire, England, 1656) After writing the Nice and Accurate Prophecies, she is burned by Pulsifer's ancestor. 1793: French Revolution (The Bastille, Paris) Aziraphale puts himself in harm's way by dressing like a nobleman while looking for crepes in revolutionary Paris, just so that Crowley will save him. 1800s: Aziraphale opens his bookshop. (Soho, London) I can't figure out when, it just says 19th century online. Crowley asks if Aziraphale wasn't supposed to open a bookshop when he saves him in the Bastille.

1827: The Resurrectionist (Edinburgh, October) Aziraphale and Crowley discuss morality, meet Elspeth and Wee Morag - and the body snatching doctor.

1827 - ????: Crowley sleeps or is in Hell We don't actually know long or exactly when, but in the book it's mentioned he only got up to go to the toilet once. Why?

1862: St. James’s Park, London Crowley is paranoid, Aziraphale won't give him holy water. 1862 - ????: Wild West meetup (Unfilmed idea) Neil Gaiman just had the idea, it wasn't filmed.

1928: Crowley buys the Bentley And he keeps it in tip-top shape until the Not-Apocalypse. 1933: Aziraphale gets his driving license (unknown location)

1941: WW2 Blitz (London) Church bombing, magic show, photo taken, shades of dark and light grey.

1967: Aziraphale gives Crowley holy water (Soho, London) ...And says Crowley goes too fast for him. He does it because Crowley is about to orchestrate the robbery of a church. One of the robbers is Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell, who we meet later. He offers his 'army' to Crowley.

1980s: Crowley designs the M25 (Hell) No other demons understand the whole thing about constant, low-level, effortless evil.

2007: Three children are born in a hospital in Tadfield The old switch-a-roo.

2007 - later that night: Godfather meetup (Soho, ca 2009) They're drunk, talking about whale brains and agreeing to raise Warlock as nanny and gardener.

2012 - 2018: Raising Warlock (Winfield House, England) He's way too normal! 2018: Not-Apocalypse (Saturday, August 11th, Tadfield Airbase) Do I need to explain this? 2019 - 2023: Beelzebub and Gabriel start meeting each other. We see them meet in an American bar, a Russian café and in the Resurrectionist in Edinburgh. 2020: Lockdown (London) Aziraphale goes on about cake, Crowley wants to come by and watch him eat. Aziraphale chickens out.

2023: Jimbriel (Soho, London) A naked archangel with amnesia shows up on Aziraphale's doorstep. --- UPDATED AND IMPROVED