#ten and crowley in particular like my GOD

[actual-changeling]

i hope david tennant knows that half the world wants to look like him. what is it about that dude that just sends everyone into the land of gender envy without a way back

i'd like a one-way ticket to "david tennant's gender" please

[ingravinoveritas]

electronic-chocolate replied to your post "Just wanted to make a separate post about this…”

I had an argument on here with someone who said that michael is a straight man who's just started queerbaiting bc he wanted to appeal to the gomens fandom💀

@electronic-chocolate Oh my God. That has to be right up there with someone calling Michael a non-practicing bisexual a few months ago. What's interesting to me is how five years ago, people talked a lot more easily/readily about Michael's sexuality--not his sexual orientation, but in the sense of viewing him as a sexual being--whereas nowadays, he's been rendered almost sexless. I know the "family man" image Michael has been boxed into is at least part of the reason for that, but it's hard to think that this isn't also an unconscious response to his queerness becoming more visible and more loud (as if it wasn't visible/loud enough already) in recent times--specifically, Michael's overtly sexual comments about David.

In 2014, Michael talked about Sarah Silverman putting her hand on his butt and made cheeky quips about Lizzy Caplan's breasts on the MoS commentary, and nobody blinked an eye. Ten years later, he's not making those type of comments about a particular woman, or any woman. Instead, Michael is making those comments about David--about his slinky hips, his sylph-like chest, about how attractive David is--and suddenly, it's a big deal. People are seeing what's in front of them and either rationalizing or outright ignoring it, all while choosing to believe those comments couldn't possibly have those same sexual overtones because Michael is talking about a man.

But not only is the argument of the person you mentioned entirely specious on a surface level (because as we know, real people cannot "queerbait," as that term applies to fictional characters/media), it also manages to ignore absolutely everything Michael has said over the last five years about playing Aziraphale and Good Omens in general: How he decided before filming even began that Aziraphale is in love with Crowley, and the acting choices he made in every scene with David that were in the service of that relationship. The way Michael has said he always misses being Aziraphale when they're not filming, and how he doesn't know where the character ends and he begins.

There is also the fact that Michael has played a tremendous number of queer roles over the years--long before Good Omens--and none of them had anything to do with appealing to a fandom or fan base of any kind. Michael once previously said that every character he plays is "him"--that is, there is some piece of the character that is a part of who he is. And when you take that sentiment and put it alongside the multitude of queer roles and Michael's recent comments on the death podcast about his crush on John Taylor and his struggles with gender expression, it forms a clear, rounded picture of exactly who Michael Sheen is.

Not "queerbaiting"...just queer. Even if he doesn't label it specifically, and also because he shouldn't have to. Insisting on calling Michael straight despite all of the above and everything else Michael has shared about himself erases every part of his sexuality, not just the parts someone is uncomfortable with. I just wish more people understood that...

[mrghostrat]

some of my favourite good omens fics for @lostscript!

this got so long oh my god. i have to stop, but this is only like 2 pages of my bookmarks, in no particular order. i'll have to make another post eventually, or at least start organising my bookmarks on ao3 to rec things more easily. for now, please enjoy this tasty mix of human aus + angel/demon pining.

First Class (Hons) Christmas, University of Tadfield by heloluv

M • 41k • human AU (professors) this fic is like stepping into a beautiful, cosy, classic, high quality christmas movie. crowley and aziraphale are professors at Tadfield University, and they meet for the first time when aziraphale starts organising the yearly christmas fundraiser. "A Christmas and New Years fic, in which Aziraphale teaches Crowley how to enjoy the most wonderful time of the year."

What We Make Of It (Shotgun Wedding) by charlottemadison

E • 213k • human AU (teacher/guardian) the flow of their growing relationship in this fic is so unique and incredibly written, it seizes my heart on every reread. aziraphale is a high school english teacher, adam is his narcoleptic student, and crowley is adam's uncle/legal guardian. due to crowley's work, he cannot date a teacher, for risk of losing his job and the health insurance that covers adam's condition. but he can, technically, marry one.

Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak by triedunture

M • 14k • angel/demon (south downs) where pre-relationship aziraphale and crowley retire and move to the south downs cottage before ever talking about their feelings, and come together as they learn to live in tandem.

the bucket list by darcylindbergh

E • 44k • angel/demon (south downs) technically still a wip, but it's been left at a satisfying, conclusive point. after armageddon, pre-relationship crowley and aziraphale decide to work through a list of human activities they haven't done before. they go travelling and dining together, try out hobbies, and end up in a south downs cottage. communication angst as they try to work out what they want from life, and each other.

Of burnt books and courting Crowley by robynvite

E • 11k • angel/demon (post s1) "a year after Armageddon't, Aziraphale finds out two pieces of very startling news: One, Newt and Anathema burned the sequel to Agnes Nutter's Nice and Accurate Prophecies. Two, Crowley was in love with him, and had been since the Beginning." aziraphale attempts to court crowley when he finds out crowley loves him.

Slow Show by mia_ugly

E • 95k • human AU (actors) "two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side." crowley is a washed up PR nightmare and aziraphale is in the closet, married to a beard. crowley is in love with him, and aziraphale falls over the course of the show.

South Downs by summerofspock

E • 76k • human AU (actors) this time, aziraphale is out and proud, whilst crowley needs some help figuring it out. "Blackballed from the industry ten years ago, Anthony Crowley jumps at the chance to star in a new Regency romance miniseries with well-known gay actor Aziraphale Fell in the hopes that it will help him restart his career. The trouble is, Crowley has played all sorts of characters and for the life of him, he can't figure out why he's struggling to play the romantic lead opposite a man."

Not a Mounted Dildo but a Fuck Machine by NaroMoreau, summerofspock

E • 35k • human AU (roommates) "When Aziraphale meets a nice girl on Tinder who he thinks is his perfect match, he's delighted. There's just one hurdle: that pesky virginity thing. Lucky for him, Crowley has always been there for him. He's helped Aziraphale with every other problem through the years, why not this one?"

Intermezzo by FeralTuxedo

E • 47k • human AU (musician/journalist) Music critic Aziraphale Fell is trying to break into the world of television, when he is signed to make a documentary about former-rockstar-turned-composer Anthony Crowley. It’s been eleven years since Aziraphale’s disastrous review of Crowley’s debut opera nipped his classical music career in the bud. He can only hope that Crowley will get over his admittedly justified grudge to make the TV show a success.

side note: i officially love everything feraltuxedo has ever written. their library is a slew of human AUs in all kinds of settings with varying wordcounts. they are a GIFT

Joint Honours by FeralTuxedo

E • 43k • human AU (university students) aziraphale (phd) and crowley (undergrad) live in the same student share house. they get involved before they realise crowley is a student in aziraphale's seminars. spicy drama of them trying to keep their relationship hidden + aziraphale getting his work plagarised

it's a new craze by attheborder

T • 5k • angel/demon (post armageddon) aziraphale and crowley start an advice podcast. dialogue only, with comments from listeners speculating about their relationship and potential immortality

Petrichor & Parchment by MrsNoggin

E • 33k • human AU (gardener crowley) aziraphale, a restorer of antique books, moves to a cottage in tadfield. the garden is a mess. he hires a local landscaper to sort it out. aziraphale takes his work outside and ogles.

The 21st Century, In Which They Finally Work It Out by chaya

E • 22k • angel/demon (post armageddon) crowley tries furthering their relationship after armageddon. he has to go extremely slowly so as not to spook aziraphale, but eventually they find themselves on romantic weekend getaway, in a lodge under the northern lights.

Waking Up Slow by the_moonmoth

E • 88k • human AU (lockdown roommates) aziraphale and crowley are strangers who have to quarantine together in aziraphale's cottage. exquisitely romantic mutual pining over the course of two weeks, with cosy fireplace cuddling, walking around in towel, and strip poker.

Have you told him by cyankelpie

G • 7k • angel/demon (through the ages) aziraphale can sense love, and can tell crowley is deep in it. he can only assume he's fallen for a human. again, and again, and again, and again.

The Bizarre Demons of AZ Fell & Co Antique Booksellers by WorseOmens

T • 8k • angel/demon (buzzfeed unsolved crossover) a fuckin hilarious crossover fic presented as an episode of buzzfeed unsolved, where the ghoul boys visit the bookshop and commune with crowley through a spirit box

[goodomensafterdark]

Writers Guild - Whisked Off My Feet

Author: throwawayaccount_rdt on Reddit

CW/TW: First time, love confessions, Crowley is a virgin, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, Crowley has a vulva, Aziraphale has a penis, fluffness overload and fun miscommunications. Author enjoys sweet lovemaking and makes it everyone's problem.

Summary:

Aziraphale is reminded of his pandemic-acquired hobby of baking due to the upcoming Valentine’s Day holiday. And he knows just who he wants to be his Valentine. Safe to say, things do not go as planned as millennia-long secrets come to light.

Excerpt:

Valentine’s Day came, and Aziraphale enjoyed a cup of tea while he sorted through the Cooking section of the bookshop. After having watched too many reruns of The Great British Bake-Off while sulking, he was struck by an idea.

Crowley had never tasted Aziraphale’s baking. This was mostly because he didn’t really have a habit of baking, besides a one-week frenzy during the pandemic after he had given up on knitting and caught up on his reading. His attempt at a sweater had ended up coming out like a scarf, and he couldn’t even eat it afterwards.

This was a much more enjoyable endeavor, and he even had the opportunity to share his baked goods with three friendly teenagers from the neighborhood who came to visit him one night, apparently looking for the cash box (what for, Aziraphale couldn’t say. The ancient thing hadn’t seen as much as a penny since the 1940’s). Though he had to inform them social distance was still to be maintained, he was happy to send them home with Tupperware full to the brim with cake.

And he was an angel, for God’s sake, of course he enjoyed doing nice things for others, and he cared about his friends. And if he happened to bake a heart-shaped cake on a particular holiday to gift to his best friend, it was purely coincidental, really.

...

“You got a card… for me.”

“I thought that much was obvious,” Crowley mumbled.

“Why?” Aziraphale looked intently at the nape of his neck, wishing that the demon would turn around and face him more than anything. He needed to see him.

“Because – I thought – fuck, angel. Because I wanted you to have a nice bloody Valentine’s Day,” he gulped, “with me.”

“With you,” he repeated, plainly.

Crowley turned back to face him. He had forgotten to put his glasses back on, and Aziraphale could have sworn the demon looked almost vulnerable.

“No need to say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s a bad thing for me to want.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what, Aziraphale?” Crowley breathed deep, mentally counting down from ten to calm himself down. It was one thing to love your best friend unrequitedly, and another different one to be outright rejected.

“Want?” Aziraphale nearly squeaked. He straightened himself to try again, “want me?”

Continue reading on Ao3

[feraltuxedo]

Good Omens Fic Recs: Actor/Celebrity AU

It's been a while since my last AU recommendations post, (you can check out my previous ones here), so I thought I'd rave a little about some favourite actor/celeb AUs.

It's a compelling trope with many storytelling possibilities, and one I love reading over and over again.

There are so many good ones in this category that I'm sure there will be a part 2 to this post at some point.

South Downs by summerofspock Rating: E Words: 48707 Summary: Blackballed from the industry ten years ago, Anthony Crowley jumps at the chance to star in a new Regency romance miniseries with well-known gay actor Aziraphale Fell in the hopes that it will help him restart his career. The trouble is, Crowley has played all sorts of characters and for the life of him, he can't figure out why he's struggling to play the romantic lead opposite a man.

An absolute comfort read I return to over and over again. I love the characterisation of Crowley in particular, his impulsivity and the way he interacts with those around him. Tonally this hits the sweet spot between funny and dramatic, with a good dose of smut and just a sprinkle of angst.

Boyfriend Debut by snae_b Rating: E Words: 20045 Summary: It’s fucking on camera. It’s not that complicated.

Does a porn AU count? Well, I say it does. It takes a skilled writer to pull off a multichapter story with little actual plot, no drama or angst, no major obstacles for the protagonists except to have mindblowing sex on camera and subsequently fall in love. When I tell you just how compelling this one is, you'll just have to believe me, or find out for yourselves. An absolute delight from start to finish.

That Gay Pirate Show by TawnyOwl95 Rating: E Words: 28946 Summary: If anyone had ever been in any doubt about where the relationship between Captains Angel and Bentley was going, Newt's stage direction ended them. 'If these two weren’t on opposite sides', he'd written, 'and seperated by a sword they’d be fucking each other into the deck right now.' No one was going to argue with that. Least of all the actors playing them.

I loved this despite not having watched that gay pirate show. The author manages to create such a three-dimensional world. The chemistry between Aziraphale and Crowley is so good, so much pining on and off set, and the side characters are so three-dimensional and fun, this feels like a novel squeezed into a short story.

How to Win a Lifetime Achievement Award for Services to Television (and how not to) by GaryOldman Rating: T Words: 31481 Crowley hosts a late night comedy talk show. Aziraphale hosts a feel good morning talk show. When Crowley is asked to present Aziraphale with a lifetime achievement award, everything goes a bit skew-whiff. ----- Normally when I don’t get something that everyone else seems to be mad on my first point of call is the wonderful world of the internet, but we’ve had a falling out you see, the internet and I. Despite my many years as late night show host meets investigative journalist meets comic genius meets veritable sex god (though Wikipedia only acknowledges the first of these accomplishments, despite my many attempts at editing the listing) they have turned on me. I’m a gif. And a meme.

Probably my favourite first-person fic ever, where the POV really enhances the story and characterisation. Crowley as a chaotic night-time TV show host is so much fun, and the whole story is so well thought-out, funny, and cleverly written, it really is unique among celebrity AUs.

[justaboot]

Random anon question: can you make a list of your top ten favorite characters and (if you can) top ten least favorite characters. Justify as much as you need. It may help distract you to think about your blorbos and whatever the opposite of a blorbo is.

the great blorbo war has begun (in no particular order)

-Della Duck, my bestie my literal mirror my list of personal red flags

-Castiel, sorry not to out myself but SPN was and apparently continues to be my sin of choice. He invented poor wet little meow meows.

-River Song, she’s literally the doctors wife. She is Prototype Goldie. Literally one of the first things I heard abt ducktales was “you’d like it, Alison Janney plays duck river song but meaner.”

-Crowley, (Good Omens) if I think about him too long I have to lie down, canon genderqueer masking bc he cares too much king he’s just like me (I thirst for him)

-Emily prentiss makes my brain go brrrr like I have no urge to engage in any fan content re criminal minds but every time I see her my head flips inside out she wears a ponytail in the field god she’s so competent please step on me

-Okay tell me if you’ve ever read any Tamora Pierce books, but Numair Salmalin was my ORIGINAL blorbo. Like 4th grade me was insane about my little vain wizard soft boy

-Peter Capaldi’s Doctor. He’s a grandfather. He’s my bestie. I wouldn’t say no to him in a trash pub. In fact, I’d say yes before he finished the sentence. I want to lock him in a closet.

Okay there’s seven

Okay let’s see if I have any opinions that will get me cancelled

-I can’t stand the 11th doctor after S5. Who is he? I don’t know her.

-I got so angry thinking about what the did to his incredible character I can’t think of more.

-Will Ferrell the real life Will Ferrell, I think he’s the least funny person who’s ever walked the planet, I think every crew member who’s ever worked on set with him should be paid time and a half.

That’s it I’m already heated I can’t do anymore

[athena-nation]

walk-through

Aziraphale slowly traces their finger along the ledge of the mantle. Photos of holidays past with what would be considered friends and family reach along, nearly teetering, its entire length. They come to a photo in particular and stop.

“I married.” Crowley points with his wine hand, “And that's our son.”.

Their shoulders slack a bit and Crowley, without fear of being too close now, reaches his right arm over Aziraphale’s shoulder, plucks up the photo, and brings it around so they can look at it together.

And they look at it together

Crowley points out “This is my wife, Sarah. This is my son, Eli. My father-in-law, my mother-in-law, and …” a few other people with hyphens and descriptors but the words trail off in Aziraphale’s ears, their interior self starting to take on blighted emotions.

Crowley walks a long look from the photo to his former love’s face.

“What was I going to do? I gave up everything.” He inhales, then elongates an exhale. “I love my kid. He, he's a fucken Giant! He's so gentle, though. I call him my we bull Ferdinand.” He places the photo back on the mantle.

“He's Nephilim?”

Crowley nods.

“Erm, is that why the flood was so hard?”

“Didn't understand why it hurt so much until I became” he pats his weathered human hand on his chest “this. Then, crews of memories came and I saw myself after that. Your kind were killing the children of angels who what? Married and loved humans.” He moves towards the couch. “I walked among them, you know. Wishing I could have the same thing. A partner, a lover, a family of Nephilim children and mixed villages and beliefs and homes? What a blessed funny thing, to love and create love? Angels, humans, Nephilim, Elioud.” 

He pauses to look at the mantle full of human relatives now.

“Then, they were found. They were a scourge to-”

“The Plan.” Aziraphale whispers.

“The great. fucking. ineffable plan.”

++++++++++++

They are now both sitting on the couch, Crowley to the right of the angel.

“I asked Hell to take everything including the throne that waited for me. Take my flight. Take my immortality. Don’t take my eyes, I loved them - so, of course, they did. But, I think they sort of felt bad because they gave me these eyes almost the same color. Which, which is yet another thing Eli did not inherit. He has no Angelic properties. Thank G-...."

He stops.

"I had to lose everything Angelic about me to get my memories back and now there are millions and millions of years of them that it hurts too much, my head is too small and the memories too big. Worst of the worst part? I didn’t realize there was a point that there was no more joy.”

“No more…joy? When?” Aziraphale quietly asked.

“I understand better now what happened.” Crowly skips over the too-hard-to-admit question. “Why they cast us out…”. His hurt makes a small place in his voice, “The audacity to think we could even share a little attention towards something so beautiful to us it outshone the sun? Brighter than God? How dare Her spotlight move an inch away from Her. A Seraphim who could fall In Love, no. That would not do. But, I couldn’t help it.

“I had already fallen in love with you.”

Aziraphale jolts, inhaling guilt hot and old. It awakens and spreads like a smoldering field under a forest fire floor. It was a new sensation. It was an unrealized shame.

“You fell. Because of me?” he asks.

Crowly nods. “And that, that is also why they bullied you. Why they called you soft, Azazel, scapegoat, weak.” In a teasing voice, he recollects, “Haha an angel fell for you and then he fell from heaven! Haha, you gonna start questioning the war against heaven. nyah nyah you’re crying because you’re becoming human.”

The replay of those schoolyard cruelties does bump up against a repression or ten.

++++++++++++

“I met Sarah 4 years after my wings were taken back. I was always sick after that happened and had these intense rolling fevers under my skin all the time. I didn’t know it was a human thing happening. So, I had to see a human doctor. After I came out of it, I…and she…” and trails off still feeling the burning in his arms. “...has a conference this week and will visit our boy at university.” He sounds lonely. “She’s back Sunday.” he sniffs, picks up his wine and finishes it.

“Eli is a good kid. BIG and yet quiet and beautiful and a painter and a footballer. Children are amazing things - he can be anything he wants. But best of all - he's not an angel. Not a single angelic power except when he looks at me. Oooch that crushes me.” Crowley says as he smiles thinking about that very feeling. I know he loves me and he tells me nearly every day. Twenty-four! And still tells his father he loves him. I think that's what I was looking for. All my heavenly creations and to never have any of them say that they loved me…”

ah. Hurt.

Crowly catches what he said, but is somewhere between apologizing for what was a fauxpax and letting the old love just feel it.

Aziraphale tries to equalize the conversation.

“I don't know if we had anything that would be considered ‘love’. A lot of it was fear and questioning and warm things and watching you and feeling you watching me, but…I had never fallen for anything before and definitely not the way…”

“But, I did. Because of you. Two times.”

“no no, nonononono…so this is MY fault? That’s not very fair. It's… a resentment now.” Aziraphale is growing hot underneath and the sadness becomes confusing.

Crowly moves his head almost serpent-like conveying what we would think is maybe, maybe not.

They are both staring at untouched drinks, Crowley’s wine, Aziraphale’s tea.

That. That is true hurt.

“They made you watch. Do you remember that?” Aziraphale wide and wet-eyed shook his head meekly. He did not. Not today. Crowley sucks in his lips, bites, and nods his head, “All 200 of us.” he snaps his fingers. “Just like that. No trial, just decided. Some all at once, some one by bloody one.” He quirks his mouth, “I was a ‘special case’. Because I had a head full of questions and a… a …a heart full of Love. Love that was not directed at God. So, I was the last one to go.”

Aziraphale looks away.

Crowley softens his speech.

“Maybe I should have said something sooner. Maybe, but I didn't and I would replay those days in the bookshop over and over in my head to try to get my mind around them and I couldn't and I know that I didn't want to know any of it anymore. One night I woke up soaked in tears - and all of a sudden I felt I was treading water and that THIS was the Karma of Eve. THIS is what I get for tempting her to bite the apple and now we alllll get to have Knowledge and that's pretty ba–. No, it isn’t bad. It’s a shame, really, cuz I thought,”

He puts his glass down and waits out the anger.

“I thought it was going to be a good thing, maybe even an ineffable thing of my own.”

+++++++++++

“Aziraphale, I broke."

It's cold. I wish I wore a thicker swear.

“It’s really hard to forgive you because you watched it happen and then didn't remember and then they punished you and punished you and punished you and you and we would have been a perfect foil to their hatred together, I guess. I don't know.

“You chose Heaven over us, for us.

“And I chose Earth over y-….” He pauses. “Let me correct that - I chose Earth, for me.

“Becoming mortal was not in anger towards you. It was time and I've never been consistently happier. I morbidly want to say thank you because I have this thing in my life now, but I'm not going to. I don't have a preternatural disposition for forgiveness. I can accept what happened and that’s it. And like every human should, I have a therapist and we just treat it all like a big traumatic brain injury. That seems to be the best way for me to get my head around what happened. Beginning of time to now. Like all of it was a dream. I was in a million-year coma. In a blackout.”

Blackout.

The visit has become humid. Aziraphale knows this has to happen.

+++++++++++

“Right,”

Crowley dusts off the top of his trousers, stands up, and puts his hand over to Aziraphale. They look up at him, put their hand in his, and get up from the couch. When standing, Crowley lets their hand go - it was merely to help. Aziraphale is numb.

“So, let me show you another thing…”

Crowley opens a set of French doors out into the garden. It’s dark out all around, but this is illuminated with tiny bulbs and solar lanterns in mason jars. They both nearly bump their heads on a few. “Wife.” Crowley smiles and hoists it up out of head-bumping reach.

It comes into view as they walk down a bit - a diminutive cottage Crowley steps over to, grabs the lock, and in two twists - opens it.

Aziraphale stifles weeping, slightly failing. Crowley had taken items from the bookshop and brought them here. The desk, the portfolios, notes, postcards, unread books and read ones.

It was a mini bookshop.

With only one chair.

Silence

“I…” Suddenly self-conscious, he tries again. “I weep myself to sleep, every night, right there.” He points to the chair, which bears evidence of a man whose face has folded many times into those arms and wept and slept and drank a little and wept and slept some more.

“Sarah knows she’ll never understand what happened. She’s never pried nor has tried to change my mind about keeping this” he moves his arm to wave it along the eyeline of the room, but drops it. He turns to Aziraphale. “She sees so many people at the hospital from veritable wars that she just accepted this habit of mine as…as a erm…traumatic brain injury. PTSD. An old coma’s ghosts.”

dead silence

“I've only recently begun to stop crying,” Crowley says, nodding, as he starts to. “and now you're fucking here, and for the first time in all our millennia together, seeing you here -

"I'm so fucking unhappy.”

Time stops, but in the human way.

“I can't bear to be near you. You're everything I ever needed and wanted and I couldn’t compete with God or the Second Coming that apparently NEVER happened.” He now gestures wide with his arms outstretched, one long fluid movement so intense and passionate it looks as if he never lost his wings.

“We….“ he bangs his chest, “weeeeeee all lived down here through whatever stupid thing you were all fighting over up there and maybe you fixed it and maybe nothing happened -

“but you didn't even throw a feather from the sky to let me know that there was some fucking kind of Peace going on.

”That you missed me.

“or you were just a little sorry.”

He is heaving and trying to hold onto any words without screaming. “Sure, it still rains fish in Texas and frogs in Croydon sometimes, there’s still some old mischievous magic from past events between us. but it does make me so so so fucking…….sad you. said. Nothing.”

silence is now an abyss

“You, too, then? Just like her? Not even one. fucking. Sign.”

Crowley drops his arms and all the energy he had brewing all evening, if not all the last 28 years, sinks out from him and into the ground cover.

“Aziraphale?”

so, … this is death

“Yes, Crowley.”

“Please leave.”

+++++++++++

The Angel is standing outside of the house, their back to the door, waiting to hear the click of a lock before walking away. It doesn't rain in this section of England very much which is very strange. It's almost like one last small miracle is left to protect the home, his wife, his son.

His humanity.

Aziraphael walks back to the car. No shade of yellow, just plain grey. A rental he doesn't drive through Soho on his way home to the end of the world.

[kimievii]

tagged by @highstrionics thank you so much!! ♥ and sorry, it took me quite some time to do this ;;

-

fave colour: I don’t think I have one favorite colour actually. But I tend to love shades of purple, blue, pink, grey and green a lot.

currently reading: Not reading any novel at the moment (even though I have many (way too many) in my to-read list. But right now all I can read is fanfiction. Pretty obsessed with this svsss fanfic (bingyuan, magical boys au) Balala Like Magic, You Transform My Heart by Kuku88 at the moment!)

last song: I’ve been listening to nothing but lofi hip-hop for the past two weeks. I don’t know why I kept denying myself this for such a long time because turns out it one of my favorite things to listen to and it’s been doing wonders to help me motivate myself into writing. I’ve been listening mostly the classic Lofi girl, but also found this band and especially this video from them, which I’ve been listening in repeat lately!

last series: First Kill. Watched it with a friend when he was over at my place because we didn’t know what else to watch but it was... disappointing tbh ;;;

last movie: It’s been so long since I last watched a movie that I don’t... even remember what it was, huh. I think it was Encanto? God, it’s been a while...

currently working on: Working on a SVSSS fanfic at the moment. I wrote 4 chapters so far and still have a lot to do. I just hope I’ll manage to finish that one (I have a bad habit of dropping wips, reasons why I no longer publish anything...) SVSSS is a fanfom that inspires me so much, though, it’s crazy. Like, I have a good dozens of fic ideas and parts of me really hope I’ll manage to write them all.

-

share 10 different favorite characters from ten different pieces of media in no particular order, then tag 10 people 🎥🎬📺

(this part took me forever tbh 10 different pieces of media is a lot for me, and having to pick just 1 for each piece was also super hard ;;;

1. Shen Qingqiu (SVSSS) - God SQQ, what a dork. I love him. I love him SO MUCH. So much. He’s my everything.

2. Cloud Strife (FFVII) - I cannot make a list of character and not mention him. He’s been a fave for roughly 20 years, after all.

3.  Lan Wangji (MDZS) - What to say, he’s a dear, I adore him ;v;

4. Crowley (Good Omens) - Favorite fallen angel~

5. Axel/Lea (kingdom hearts series) - By far my favorite character in the KH series. 

6. Atem (Yu-Gi-Oh! DM & Season 0) -  Possibly one of my very first fictional “crushes”.

7. Frodo Baggins (LOTR) - Kinda like Cloud Strife, he’s been a fave for so long. I adore him.

8. Thanatos (Hades by Supergiant Games) - As far as I can tell, everyone loves Thanatos in Hades, and for very good reasons. I think me saying “He’s a dear, he’s a dork, I adore him” is valid for literally every single characters in this list =‘D

9. Ja’far (Magi The Labyrinth of Magic) - You know, it’s funny because I don’t actually like Magi all that much, and dropped the manga fairly early on and yet Ja’far remains one of my favorite characters. I loved him then, I love him still. 

10. Mabudachi trio (Ayame, Shigure and Hatori Sohma - Fruits Basket) - Can’t mention one without the other two so I made an exception here and picked all three. Teenage me adored them so much aah 

-

Tagging 10 people is just too much, I never know who to tag ;;; But feel free to do this even if I’m not tagging you!

Tagging @oddishblossom ; @demoiselledefortune ; @spacedoutpup ; @xkilluas(only if you guys want to!)

[avulleonastick]

@toasthaste tagged me for a "put your playlist on shuffle and post the first 10 songs that pop out" thing, so!

(I'm using my "liked songs" playlist on Spotify.)

1: High on Life (by Afterklaps)

I had to actually double check I shuffled, because this is in the most recent like, ten songs I've liked. Also, it fucking slaps I love it so much. I've listened to it on repeat for like, hours, and I'm still not tired of it. (This is very rare, normally I play songs until I hate them.)

2: Killer in the Mirror (by Set It Off)

Set It Off! I'm glad they are here, they are probably my favorite band like, by the numbers. I've listened to their entire discography and liked half of it. (They're like, angry white boy punk rock, but not quite as misogynistic as most of that genre feels.) This song in particular reminds me of taking long walks through this park near one of my old apartments, because I did that a lot while I was in my listening-to-set-it-off phase.

I still sometimes seek out Set It Off and listen to their songs! I have not totally played them out, which is cool.

3: This Ain't Nothing (by Craig Morgan)

Country Music! This is an important part of my, like, history or whatever. I grew up listening to country music, so it will permanently have a soft spot in my art even though a lot of it is Big Yikes. This song is Little Yikes. I still like it! I had a big country kick last year where I liked a whole bunch of country songs from the nineties and early aughts that lasted about two weeks (a good two weeks though!) Anyways that was before I transitioned most of country music feels worse because i know the singers would hate me now anyways!

4: NONSTOP (by OH MY GIRL)

K-pop! I love k-pop! There is respectable k-pop, and then there's horny pandering k-pop. This is horny pandering k-pop. Not maximally so (thank god I didn't get stuck with any EXID songs), but still pretty pandery! Anyways I listened to this song... NONSTOP (heh, but actually). I really like it.

I got into k-pop when I was learning Korean, and it stuck because it is objectively Peak Pop.

5: Whiskey Lullaby (feat Allison Krauss) (by Brad Paisley)

It's the Country Suicide Song! It's about suicide! It was very popular when I was in high school! It's also very good! Probably don't listen to it if you are troubled by suicidal ideation!

It contains the line "So he a bottle to his head, and pulled the trigger", which is a line that has lived rent free in my head for the last like fifteen years.

(Also yes, that is the Accidental Racist guy. This other stuff is better than that.)

6: 東京IMAGINE (by Carat) (Read "Tokyo IMAGINE")

J-pop! I have listened to a lot of J-pop because when I immerse myself in Japanese I also try and listen to lots of Japanese music. Tragically, I generally don't like Japanese music as much as I like English or Korean music. It sucks, and I am very mad about it. My life is very hard.

This song slaps, though. I found Carat fairly recently, and I love them a lot.

7: Maybe You're the Problem (by Ava Max)

Ava Max! I found her in the last year and I love her music so much. It is very Angry Heterosexual Girl Power which is sometimes a surprise to me because I sometimes forget straight women exist. Her songs rock, though. Probably the first genuinely excellent Spotify Radio I've ever had was based on an Ava Max song, where I got more Ava Max songs and a whole bunch of other pop artists with similar sounds.

8: Empire (by Beth Crowley)

I have nothing in particular to say about this song. I recognized the name, but didn't actually remember what it sounds like. I'm listening to it now, though, and I remember it and it slaps. I dig it.

9: Tic Tic Toc (by T-ARA)

T-ARA! One of my first favorite k-pop bands! I found T-ARA through the Japanese covers of their own songs when I was doing japanese immersion way back when. I loved those songs so much, I listened to them so much like... way back in sophomore year of college. I still love them, but not quite as much as I loved them then. This is not my favorite of their songs.

Also I hear there was some pretty horrible in-group bullying that went on in that group which makes me vaguely uncomfortable when I listen to them.

10: Get the F*ck out of Here (by Kobra and The Lotus)

I legit didn't recognize this song name, but I recognized the first couple bars when I played it. It slaps, but I have no particular feelings about it. It is metal, though! That is good! I like metal a lot, and it's important that it's represented here. Alas, I wish this was Battle Beast, my Favorite Metal Band. Or, alternatively, Smash into Pieces, the most prolific band in all of history which I mostly like.

I'm not going to tag people because I'm a Coward! But you should also do this, and then lie and say I told you to do it! Interact with me! Shower me in attention!

[lemontwst]

crossing the line. ❤️ ace x m!reader

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: in which ace runs his mouth and then gets his cheeks clapped by an mc with immense big dick energy.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: ace trappola x m!reader

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 4.2k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: non-con to dub-con, revenge/hate sex, mentions of voyeurism, public sex, enemies to lovers, mc has magical devices he definitely should not be having, grim is not present in this particular scene. 

“You don’t even know about the Great Seven?—”

His malicious voice bounces around your skull like thunder, drowning out the rest of the world like you've suddenly plunged into deep, cold water.

“Are you that ignorant?"

Tranquil rage licks at your insides, your stomach twists with nausea and your hands twitch with the impulse to wrap around his neck.

“Maybe you should go back to kindergarden before thinking of coming to this school.”

Don't punch him. You dig half-moons in your palms, inhaling a deep, shaky breath. Your muscles tighten from the strain of holding yourself back, from resisting the urge to punch this idiot's face in and drag him across the boulevard by the hair. Your heart thump thump thumps against your ribcage like it wants to jump out of you. Don't punch him.

"Aww I'm sorry, did I offend you?" The redhead's features morph into an expression of cheap remorse. His hands clutch his chest like he's so heartbroken, then the joke is over and that obnoxious smirk curves his lips once more, "—just kidding. Why don't you go cry about it to your mom? You won't last long in this place if you can’t stand up for yourself.”

Your reach into your pocket and your fingers brush against one of the slips of paper Crowley gave you before you parted. Paralyzers, he called them. They look pretty useless to you — just a bunch of small, fragile talismans cut from some yellowed paper, but according to Crowley, these things can subdue weaker magical beings for a limited amount of time. The headmaster gave them to you predicting that you would end up in less than savory situations, being the only ordinary human in a school full of wizards, shapeshifters and God knows what else.

“The immobilizing effect will last for about ten minutes,” Crowley had mused as he handed you the talismans, “Do try to escape the situation before the time runs out, would you? It would reflect poorly on our beloved school if one of our students were to die, after all.”

Escape. You snort, your eyes slowly appraising the other student who is still mouthing off. This place still doesn’t know you’re not one to go down without a fight. You’d much rather cling to the monster that’s tearing you apart, digging your teeth in its flesh even as you bleed out all over the pavement than turn tail and run. The carrion on your skin is a hard enough shield, the rot that stains your soul a powerful balm that turns the sting of your wounds into repugnant adrenaline.

"...Anyways, unlike you I actually have classes to attend to," The redhead throws you one last condescending smirk before turning around and giving you a half-assed wave, "Have fun cleaning the halls, janito—"

The words catch in his throat as you stick the Paralyzer to his vulnerable back, grabbing him by the hair and throwing him not so gently behind the obnoxiously large statues and out of the open street. 

The student rolls a few times across the grassy side of the road, almost crashing into the flowerbeds that fence the statues off, then he finally lands on his back, coughing and spluttering more from the shock of the sudden fall than actual pain.

He quickly tries to hoist himself up, but his arms and legs feel boneless and he falls back down, eyes wide and panicked as a jolt of electricity runs him from head to toe. He tries to get up again, but it seems like the more he struggles, the weaker he becomes. The talisman saps every ounce of his energy in a matter of seconds, leaving him unable to do anything more than lay there, eyes to the sky as he tries to catch his breath.

"What—the fuck—did you do?!" He snaps, his crimson eyes filling with hate when you slowly enter his field of vision, blocking out the sunlight and hovering over him with disinterest written all over your handsome face.

His temples throb with the strain of his thoughts traveling at supersonic speed, his head hurts like he just slammed it against a wall, and the cold look in your eyes makes his stomach twist into tight knots in what he stubbornly decides to be fear—even as his skin starts to heat up like he's been sunburnt the longer you look down at him.

"Oh, you know…" You casually put one foot on his stomach and lean in, ignoring the long, pained gasp that scratches his throat raw, "Just thought I'd teach a cockroach in my path a little lesson. I was thinking of letting you go quietly, but all your whining really got on my fucking nerves." You step off of him and he twitches and coughs, trying and failing to curl into himself for some sort of comfort.

"...Ha...so what, are you just gonna beat me up?" He says, smirking through the pain as if he's used to it. You don't doubt it—his mouth has probably gotten him in trouble plenty of times before—but simply hitting him would be so boring. You kneel between his legs, spreading them apart with ease and his smirk falls, "Hey—what are you doing, you idiot?! Get off me!" You ignore him as he tries to squirm out of your grasp.

"Since you act like a little bitch..." You take his shoes off without untying them and throw them somewhere behind you, then you unbuckle his pants and do the same thing, slightly annoyed with the way he whines and struggles—as if he has any chance of wrestling you off when his body is about as responsive as jello, "I'm going to fuck you like one."

The redhead's breath stutters and he stops moving, looking at you like you just escaped the nearest psych ward, but the sudden flash of crimson that lights up his face and the subtle way his eyes fall to your crotch before quickly focusing back on your face betray just a smudge of confused desire—he's probably seen something like this in porn and he’s relieving it in his mind.

"W-we're in public, you bastard! Are—are you insane?! Get away from—" His brain slams on the brakes and his head empties like it's hyperspace.

A shocked gasp leaves his lips when you bring your index finger to the front of his boxers, lazily drawing a circle over the growing hardness beneath. His stomach clenches, ripples of pleasure seemingly falling from where you're touching him to pool in his belly like molten lava.

His breathing picks up the pace, loud and humid in his ears as his eyes stay on your hand like you've hypnotized him, "...H-hey, s-stop that—this isn't fucking funny—"

"Says you." You hum, stopping your slow circling on his now visible erection to finger the elastic band of his boxers. The intimate touch makes his muscles clench and his head fils with air, "I find the way you're sprawled on the grass with no pants on absolutely hilarious." He makes a sound between a shriek and a gasp when your fingers grab his cock and pull it out of his underwear.

This isn't happening. He looks at his cock standing out in the open with a horrified look on his face.

It's not happening—it's a dream—the thought of other students walking the boulevard and seeing him there, behind the statue of the Queen of Hearts, his erection out and his body unable to move makes bile pool in his mouth—and his dick throb, but he doesn’t have time to consider his fucked up reaction because you suddenly blow on his glans and his entire body spasms, his head hits the grass and his eyes find the clear, blue sky once again. He briefly registers the feeling of his underwear sliding off his legs. This isn't happening.

You ignore his useless protests and start unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it off his shoulders roughly but not quite taking it off -- the contrast of his pale, heaving chest and his flushed face as he lies helpless in front of you with his dick out almost makes you forget how irritated you are with him. Almost. But just because he’s cute doesn’t mean you’re not going to make him pay for daring to talk to you like you’re a piece of garbage on the side of the road.

You envelop his hard shaft with your hand and start pumping, slowly, letting him feel the soft texture of your palm and ignoring his pleas for you to wait. With every stroke his sensitivity increases, the thought of being caught flies away as if someone just blew in his skull and the redhead can only claw at the ground and pull at the grass with jerking fingers as a sweet voice starts spilling out of him.

It's just broken gasps at first, confused, scared and excited in equal measure—and then the world loses focus and it's full blown moans, little sighs that grow in volume the more you manhandle him. His shaft and your fingers become slick with precum and the movements become easier and smoother, the tingles in his crotch fly up his spine and he has to remind himself that this is wrong to keep himself from bucking up into your hand.

Stubborn as he is, he almost succeeds in resisting you. But you know just how to break him, allowing yourself a few seconds to listen to his cute moans while you wet your fingers, saliva dripping down your wrist as you methodically suck on the appendages as if they were the hard, leaking dick in your hand.

When you decide your fingers are wet enough, you bring them down to his ass and spread his cheeks to find that tight hole no one has ever touched before.

His entire body jolts when you start circling it, the sensation completely knew and so unexpected that he momentarily comes back to reality. "Wait—not there!" He tries to raise his head but his willpower leaves him when your middle finger draws a deep semi-circle around the rim.

It feels so fucking weird, he jerks his head this and that way as he tries to focus on the hand on his cock and the finger prodding at his hole at the same time. It's tingly and intense and he doesn't want it, his hot asshole parts under your push, welcoming you in a cavern of velvet, and the gasp that leaves him is the loudest one yet. 

"Relax, you little moron." You stretch him carefully, briefly wondering if he's going to come from your handjob before you even have the time to reach his prostate. He's so fucking tight, unused, pure and yet vulgar as he moans and twitches under your skilled hands.

You insert another finger in and his voice turns high-pitched, then you brush against that little button inside his ass—barely, just the ghost of a touch—and he falls off the edge, convulsing like he's been electrocuted and cumming all over himself.

His semen lands on his chest and jacket and as he slowly comes down from cloud nine, eyes glazed and drool on his chin, he briefly wonders how the fuck he's going to go back to his dorm with cum on his uniform. Then he feels you crawl on top of him and that thought too seems to dissolve into thin air.

No one can blame him for being unable to think, unable to act and, somewhere in the deepest recess of his mind, unwilling to move when you start stroking his sensitive dick again, your hair tickling his chin. He can feel how warm your body is and how nice you smell now that you're so close. If you weren't such a fucking demon it would almost feel nice.

"What's your name?" You exhale next to his ear and he shivers, feeling sick to his stomach when he realizes it's because he wants your lips on him.

"A-Ace…" He mutters, tilting his head away from you as much as he can. The white expanse of his neck is right there and you place a few slow, open-mouthed kisses on his vulnerable skin. Ace's heart does a fucking pirouette, little sparks of pleasure run down his abdomen and he lets out a soft moan, one he wishes he could stuff back in his mouth as soon as he hears it.

He feels the sudden urge to cling to you as he lets you kiss him everywhere. He wonders how it would feel to have your mouth draw a line from his collarbones to his stomach before you take his cock in your mouth and the thought alone makes his entire body tremble with need, little gasps leaving him as you lick the curve of his jaw and then blow on it.

"Ace." You growl his name against his skin and the vibration threatens to destroy the rickety dam that keeps his sanity in place. You're doing something unforgivable to him, fuck, Ace knows it and he hates you for it, but the way you say his name makes him so fucking glad to be born, glad to be lying in the grass like a slut with his pants discarded somewhere and your hand slowly stroking his cock.

"Fuck—don't say it like t-that…" He practically wheezes, squeezing his eyes shut as he focuses on the scorching waves of pleasure that pulse through his abdomen when you chuckle against his skin. This feels so fucking nice, one of his hands reaches down to grab your wrist while you continue to stroke him and he absentmindedly caresses your hand as you pump his cock.

He curses loudly as he takes in the hard curve of your knuckles and the wetness of your fingers. Your touch is different than what he's used to, rough but with a regular rhythm that pushes him closer and closer to his orgasm with every flick of your hand. You lazily nibble at his jaw and he suddenly finds himself overrun by the universally irresistible urge to come. Fuck, he's gonna come so hard in a hand that's not his own—

"S-so—sensitive—fuck, gonna cum all over your fingers—" His other hand grabs your shoulder in a way that almost feels too romantic given the situation, but Ace doesn't give a damn. The only thing that matters right now is your hand jacking him off and the trail of stars that dances behind his eyelids as you shatter his galaxy.

So close—so close—his moans become loud and shameless as he bucks up into you, ignoring how useless his body still feels because right now he really fucking needs to come again. 

The muscles in his abdomen tighten, hot white pleasure flashes in front of his eyes and Ace is so fucking ready when he arches his back, but instead of feeling relief, a tidal wave of frustration and disappointment crashes into his electrified body and his loud voice trails off in a pained whine as you suddenly take your hand off his dick, denying him the sweet mercy of orgasmic bliss.

The disparity between what he’s feeling and what he expected to feel is so vast it takes him a minute to realize what happened, the dam in his head breaks and he’s left gasping and sobbing and twitching, hands flying and grasping at the grass beneath him as he struggles to catch his breath.

"—What the fuck?!" He basically screams, looking at you with teary eyes and a face that screams betrayal, "W-why did you s-stop?! I told you I was close!" His chest heaves and he looks almost possessed when his own hand reaches for his abused, throbbing cock, fully intent on finishing the job one way or another.

You stop him before his fingertips even reach the shaft, meeting no resistance when you pin his hand back against the grass.

Ace glares at you but it's feeble and pathetic, the last remains of his rejection completely snuffed out by the shock of being denied an orgasm for the first time in his life. He doesn't look proud and hateful anymore; he’s now just a brat naked from the waist down, this close to crying because he didn’t get fucked the way he wanted.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I thought you wanted me to stop? Did you change your mind, Ace?” The voice that whispered his name almost lovingly in his ears now drips with venom, almost as if you’re imitating the way he talked to you just a handful of minutes earlier.

Ace flinches, his heart sinks and he looks fucking crushed as he takes in your cold expression. You’re not going to stop, are you—? Not now that he actually wants you to touch him—?

“No...that’s not—I didn’t—” He splutters, flushing up to his ears when he realizes he doesn’t even know what he wants to say. Do you want him to beg? Because at this point Ace doesn’t really care enough to even object to that. He just wants you back on top of him. He wants to feel your warmth and have your scent fill his head while you bring him to his release again.

“Dont...be like that...come on,” He groans, letting his head fall to the ground. His dick hurts. His back hurts. Fuck, everything hurts, even his heart for some fucking reason. He doesn't like it when you look at him like you hate him. If anything he should be the one looking at you like that, not the other way around.

"Y-you want me to beg? Is that it?" Ace scoffs and weakly spreads his legs, leaving his cum-stained self complete exposed to your scrutiny. He has the decency to look embarrassed, but when his glazed eyes slowly go from your face to the tent in your pants, what you see in them is not disdain or shame, but pure, unbridled lust.

"You'll beg without me having to ask for it." Ace follows your hand as it goes to your belt, and when you unbuckle it, the soft, erotic click makes his body tremble and his heart flutter.

It's not like he wants to see it—his eyes stay on your crotch as you slowly pull your pants down, revealing the black underwear beneath.

Are you—are you going to pull it out? Out here where everyone can see?—Ace momentarily forgets that he's had his dick out in public for more than it's considered appropriate in every fucking country across the world. Every one of his thoughts comes to an abrupt halt, like he's suffered a concussion.

Except he hasn't, he's just drooling in his mouth at the thought of your cock.

"You don't get to come again, I told you you're going to be fucked like the little bitch you are." You finally pull your dick out, hissing when the air hits your feverish skin and Ace thinks he’s going to spontaneously combust.

The rush of heat that flares beneath his skin is unlike anything he’s ever felt and his slow mind has trouble comprehending whether he suddenly feels on fire because he can see your erection right in front of him or because of the sound you just made. Both. It’s probably both.

“Is that right…” He probably sounds as dazed as he feels—his breath catches in his throat when you lean down again, hovering over him but not quite touching him, the ghost of your breath on his lips threatening to turn him delirious.

You teasingly drag your wet erection across his stomach and Ace moans, his eyes falling shut when your dicks touch. He grinds up against you without thinking and suddenly his body is weightless and he's on the verge of coming all over himself. It feels like every nerve he has is experiencing its own little earthquake, the sound that leaves your lips makes his mind fall apart at the seams and the only thing he can say is a long, desperate "Fuuuck."

His eyes flutter open and he finds you smirking down at him; the sight is so surprising and so beautiful that Ace’s heart lodges straight in his throat.

"Turn around and raise your ass." You chuckle and he goes redder than his hair, but ultimately doesn't protest, waiting for you to give him some space before complying.

The sleeves of his uniform are completely ruined at his point, wet with dew and mud and grass as he pulls himself up on his elbows and gives you an expectant look from over his shoulder. 

What he doesn't expect is to feel your thick fingers push into him again. He almost falls face first into the dirt as he gasps, waist shaking as he's once again wrecked by the feeling of his rim being teased. 

You stretch him more insistently then before, the saliva and cum on your fingers aiding you in your preparations. You try to avoid his prostate, because Ace is already shaking like a leaf and you know how close he is to his climax, but your redhead seems to have had enough of being edged and insistently grinds back into your fingers until you touch that sweet spot inside him that makes his dick leak precum like a faucet. 

He's still not used to it however, and the shock of such an intense stimulation makes his elbows give out as he falls unceremoniously on his face. But he doesn't seem to care, cheek pressed against the grass and eyes squeezed shut as he experiences having his prostate massaged for the first time.

Fuck, he’s sure his legs are going to give out soon too. If just your fingers feel this good, what’s going to happen when you stick your dick in—? Is he going to lose his mind—? Somewhere along the line he seems to have completely forgotten that he's outside in broad daylight with his ass in the air. But even if someone were to see him getting fucked like a slut, would it really be so bad—?

"Hold on tight, stupid," You take your fingers out and he whines softly, sounding surprisingly disappointed for someone who has never had their ass played with before, "I'm gonna make sure you can never come just from touching yourself ever again."

You line your hard cock against his opening and Ace shivers from both anticipation and fear. You’re so big—is—is this gonna hurt? I mean, after everything you've done to him this should be a walk in the park, right—?

It isn't.

You slowly push your dick inside and Ace's first instinct is to scream.

His mind shatters into oblivion as he takes in the feeling of your thick cock stretching him like he's a fucktoy. But this is still nothing, you haven't done anything yet and he's already broken. You pull your hips back and thrust into him hard, your dick scrapes against his prostate and Ace falls into a state of euphoric delirium.

He was made for this, he thinks. Born with the sole purpose of being your slut, ass up and legs spread as he invites you to plow him harder, to mess up his head until your cock is the only thing he can think about. 

And he doesn't even know your name, Ace realizes as his body bounces back and forth against the grass with the force of your thrusts, his tongue lolls out and he tries his best to match your movements with his exhausted body, his hole squeezing your dick like it doesn't want to ever let go.

"Fuuuck—can we do this like…..every day from no—ah!—now on?!" He'll let you do anything you want if you promise to keep fucking him like he's your girlfriend. On his bed in front of his roommates, in class, on the headmaster's desk, anywhere you want him, Ace will be a good bitch for you.

In response to his nonsense you griiind into him and the explosive pleasure that flashes in front of his vision is almost seismic, devastating like nothing he's ever experienced as he breaks and cries and cums all over the grass, eyes rolling back when you roughly grab his hair and thrust a few more times before painting his insides white with your own release.

You make sure to fill him to the brim and Ace doesn't pull away. Instead he remains obediently glued to your crotch as the feeling of hot semen running down his legs completely obliterates his sanity.

Your nasty temper placated for the time being, you pull out in one swift motion and let his boneless body fall to the ground.

Ace groans and curses you under his breath, then he very slowly rolls onto his back, still dazed by the fact that you just came inside him.

If he thought everything hurt before, now he thinks he might actually need to pay a visit to the nurse's office. The effects of the Paralyzer have worn off by now but he's so fucking tired—he startles out of his drunk reverie when something like a curtain falls on his head. 

Except it's not a curtain, but his pants. He takes them off his face and gives you a weak glare as you adjust your belt.

"Wear a skirt next time," You throw him a smirk over your shoulder and Ace hates the way his heart quivers, "Like a good girl."

You barely have the time to dodge the shoe that comes hurtling towards your head, Ace quickly reaching for the other shoe when you start running back towards the school building.

 "Fuck you!—"

[dietraumerei]

Weekly Writing and Reading Update

Hello my dears! I skipped last week because I couldn’t be fucked, so this will cover the last fortnight.

Incidentally -- I am kind of expecting a job offer this week, which means I’ll have income again, which means I will be able to commission artwork for my fics, something I’ve kind of been meaning to do for awhile now. I know I definitely want the moment the Bike Girls meet (sorry Aziraphale, you’re very cute under the ditch water), but is there a particular scene or version of my characters you’d like to see brought to life?

Anyway, onto the state of my one million WIPs. Writing

ulysses - I started this just today, itching to kind of go back to my roots. It’s a canon-verse story, and will be a day in Aziraphale’s life, just post-series one (and almost certainly not series two compliant, fwiw). It is not written in Joyce’s style, I promise! But I wanted to do that kind of wide rather than deep exploration of his life and how he moves through the world and etc.

moietyRedux - this is an ever-longer extension of a story I wrote for, I think, Whumptober? It’s set about ten-ish years after Abide with Me Awhile, lots of lovely h/c and heavy on the comfort. I’m pausing this for a bit, though, because I want to work out a timeline better, and write a story where Aziraphale isn’t poorly.

AbideWinter - hah, I am really feeling the Moiety AU I guess? This has stalled out, but I’ll figure out what it’s about in due time, if anything.

Miss Fell and Miss Crowley Go On Holiday - I think I’ve started on the next chapter, but this will probably not get touched for a bit, although I would like to finish it up and get it off my plate.

A Home in the Heart of the World - posted the next chapter! Thank you to the four of you who are reading this with me, lol. I have the next chapter started, and would like to work on this soon.

I also work up with an itch to revisit that Whumptober story with a trans Aziraphale, drawing it out and making it into a multichapter story, so perhaps I’ll get started on that this week? I also have yet another Moiety story I want to start so...lots of writing ahead!

I can tell I’m restless, because I just wanna write a nice little h/c meet-cute or something, too. It’s my happy place!

Reading

I finished Lauren Groff’s Arcadia which was so, so good and hard and HOO BOY that ending was...hard. It’s a sad book, but not really? I’m glad I read it.

I also read The Chosen and the Beautiful which was...fine? I really liked it, but sometimes it felt very...meander-y. I think I was maybe not really in the mood for it, and the fault lies more with me than the book, really. There’s a lot going on, but I don’t know if it fully coalesced. I liked Jordan a lot, though. She’s hard, and sharp, and easily the best thing about the book. Finally, I finished The Mere Wife which was fucking terrifying, like I could not read it right before bed, but so so so so good, oh my god it was so good, and so horrific and I love this book and I’m listening to readings of the author’s Beowulf translation and ugh it’s just all so awesome.

[azems-familiar]

hello! are there any songs you associate with any of the kotor characters? (totally not asking bc my brain is hungry for animatic ideas haha,,)

OH BOY DO I HAVE SONGS

first things first, i will direct you to my twelve hour Revan playlist that i use for writing vibes, it's a mixture of vocal and instrumental and it has both a bunch of Revan songs for different eras of Revan, plus revalek songs, plus some revastila songs, plus some songs that just vibe.... it's good and most of the songs i'm about to highlight, if not all of them, are on there already.

NOW. HERE WE GO.

first things first, i need to introduce you to the title song for my mandalorian wars fic, oblivion by the aviators! god, this song doesn't fit all Revans perfectly, but it fits mine so well it was like it'd been written for her specifically, i swear. listening to the song was what inspired me to write the fic to begin with (and now i have a whole series oops). i mean, come on, look at the chorus:

Let the broken heroes rise Let the victors take their prize No one wins when justice dies War has let this age begin It's where we've gone and where they've been What a state that we're in Here in oblivion

can't look at that and tell me that isn't Jedi Knight Revan and the war that broke them.

next up!! liar by the arcadian wild, my beloved. this song is currently my top all time on spotify, closely followed by the song i'm going to rec after it and then achilles come down - and the fact that anything unseated achilles for the top spot should tell you something. (and if you don't know what achilles come down is look it up that one's on my playlist too.) this is a really good one for Revan's slow fall down, the corruption arc - again, all of the songs i'm mentioning really fit my own versions of the characters best, but they're just good in general. some of the lyrics i enjoy from this one:

hnext up, we have it all by pim stones. this particular one feels very revalek to me, early in the Sith years when they still maybe had good intentions, maybe after the war but before becoming Darth. there's this softer, almost desperate tone to the way the singer sings it that just hits me hard - this is the song i'm using as the title for my Sith years interlude fic! a lyric snippet:

All my life I've been heading for hell But never had I thought I'd drag you down as well I just couldn't resist what he was trying to sell

There's glory ahead but our love will be forgotten If my heart was still mine I would go to the bottom And apologise to you until the day it went rotten

next up we have the balancer's eye by lord huron, which is the song i named my series after (have you noticed a trend yet?). it's a very Revan vibe in general, and while i'm not as much of a fan of the style, the lyrics are really excellent!

Nothing's waiting for us in the great sky Life is equal to dust in the balancer's eye Now I know that I can't lift an old curse Tell me, how does a man change the universe?

Will I ever be forgiven for the crime of my life? Will it haunt me 'til I die?

mmm let's see what next. OH! go to war by nothing more. this is just straight up a Sith years song for revalek, whether you ship them or not - they were important to each other either way! ..... i am not going to tangent into yelling about revalek. that is not what this is for. anyway, the song itself is a) a banger and b) talking about love corrupting and falling apart and it just. it hits, man

Do we censor? Do we flow? Are we drunk on the chemicals? Every feeling in my bones Tells me to lash out and tell you to fuck off You've got my heart and I've got your soul But are we better off alone? With every battle we lose a little more Remember everything that we'd die for You are everything that I'd die for

oooh NEXT we have the song i was going to use for my Jaw Scene before i decided to write a full sith years fic. saints by echos is the song, and again, we've got Sith years Revan and Malak here (yes yes i have a type), the vibes of losing faith and anger and it blends really well with how Revan basically played off being a legendary figure to the Republic to fuel their war against it!

You were standing there like an angry god Counting out my sins just to cross them off Saying that my tongue was too loud to trust And that my blood couldn't keep you

My dear, you're not so innocent You're fooling Heaven's gates So you won't have to change You're no saint, you're no savior

mmmm okay the discord has informed me that ten (10) songs is the maximum i should do in one post so. i will only do four more. chrysalis - the last breath by delain is yet another Sith Revan and Malak song and honestly you can read it as a response to the song above, if you think of saints from Malak's pov and chrysalis from Revan's, they mesh really well together.

Hey, are you still mad? About the time We almost went too far I know your regrets In my defense; By now, it's just a scar That distracts you from Your broken heart Like you wanted it to do How do you feel? I don't... How do you know? You won't... To let go of you I will try Until my last breath How do you feel? I don't... How do you know? You won't... To let go I promise I will fight

next! for a complete change of pace, i have a revastila song for you - warrior by beth crowley. it somehow manages to capture exactly the dynamic i think of in my head when i think about Bastila, the uncertainty, the forbiddeness of it, but the way Revan ultimately strengthens her and she strengthens Revan

You fascinated me Cloaked in shadows and secrecy The beauty of a broken angel

I ventured carefully Afraid of what you thought I'd be But pretty soon, I was entangled

You take me by the hand I question who I am

uhhhhhh i am desperately trying to think of songs that aren't just about Revan but instead here i am with another Mandalorian Wars Revan song, what did we know by rachel rose mitchell! this song was introduced to me by the same friend who sent me oblivion, and it really captures the fall of the Mandalorian wars incredibly well imo - the way it started with righteousness but ended in pain (compassion leading to destruction and that's a ramble i'm not going on here either), and there's this line in there that i'm not including in my snippet that's what scares me more than anything / if we could choose the past / we'd probably choose the same and it's like. yes! that's it! i'm going to once again go insane over the scene in the Korriban tomb in kotor 2!!! knowing the price.... would you choose to do it all again........ aaaaaaaa

It's been so long since we began. It seems so long ago That in the name of loyalty We started on our own. Answering the call of a house we once called home, We knew that we were right. What did we know?

We swore that we understood this wasn't a game, But somehow we found ourselves fanning the flames. Those who cautioned and abandoned us, they were the same. I saw them turn away.

the final song i'm doing is the song i used when i wrote the Betrayal scene from Malak's pov, the little things give you away by linkin park. this one just. it vibes, it vibes hard, goes really into the actual grief of betrayal, and also has a super epic instrumental solo so there's that. as usual, lyric snippet:

Don't want to reach for me, do you? I mean nothing to you The little things give you away But now there will be no mistaking The levees are breaking

All you've ever wanted Was someone to truly look up to you And six feet under water, I do

All you've ever wanted Was someone to truly look up to you And six feet underground now I Now I do

god okay now that you're completely overwhelmed and never want to talk to me again....... i should've probably put this under a readmore but eh. thanks for the ask!

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens one-shot “At the End” (Rated PG)

Summary: When the angels and demons finally succeed in having their war, there's only one thing that Aziraphale and Crowley can do with the time Earth has left...

Say goodbye to their home. (1408 words)

Notes: I wrote this hoping I would be accepted into a zine that ended up being canceled. The theme was basically what happens after Armageddon.

Read on AO3.

"Wot do you think you'll miss most about Earth?"

"Really, my dear?" Aziraphale clicks his tongue in disgust, but he can't bring himself to look away from the chaos ensuing below them to berate his companion properly. "What a question to ask at a time like this!"

"I think this is the perfect time to ask that question," Crowley says, but without his teasing edge. He offers it sympathetically. They both have a similar connection to this planet, had an investment in it thriving, but Crowley feels Aziraphale's heart breaking more than his. "When you lose something, you mourn it."

"It's not entirely lost! N-not yet." Aziraphale chokes around the words. Even though they leave his mouth passionately, he knows he has sinned by saying them. 

Not lost yet may be the biggest lie he's ever told. 

The first few hours had been soul-crushing. 

The moment Holy rays broke through the clouds and shone down from above, ethereal voices announcing the arrival of God's angelic army, a flock of the faithful came out in droves to greet them. They prayed, sang joyously, raised their voices to the Heavens, invoked every one of God's Holy monickers. It should have been a huge stroke to Her ego... if She had been paying attention.

From Aziraphale and Crowley's perch atop St. Paul's Cathedral, that doesn't appear to be the case.

Those God-fearing mortals were the first to get trodden underfoot as angels barreled over them to confront their enemy - an extremely vulgar and unnecessary display when one considers that angelic footsoldiers can fly.

Hordes of evil-doers emerged from hiding as well, in lesser, but equally exuberant, numbers. They seemed suspiciously more eager for the fight, proving that those who call themselves 'Christian' might outnumber worshippers of Lucifer, but demons had their zealots better prepared for what the end of times would actually entail.

Either way, it didn't matter.

Those humans willing to spill blood at the drop of a hat, even their own, were used as cannon fodder against a foe they couldn't possibly hope to defeat. Within seconds, thousands lay dead on the streets of London and, Aziraphale suspected, all over the world.

For their part, Aziraphale and Crowley refused to join the battle, but no one paid them a lick of attention. An angel cavorting with a demon was no longer an issue. They could finally do as they pleased without fear of retribution, albeit on a planet whose hours were numbered.

"I would have to say I'm going to miss my car," Crowley continues, provoking conversation in an effort to allay his angel's anxiety. "And my flat. And alcohol. Hell's bells am I going to miss alcohol."

"Pity we don't have some now. I think a hull full would find itself useful," Aziraphale adds in a weak attempt at humor.

"Wot about you? Will you miss the food? Your bookshop?"

Aziraphale sighs. "Humanity."

Crowley raises a brow. "Humanity?"

"Yes. Without humanity, the rest of it wouldn't have been possible." Aziraphale scans the carnage below, trying not to focus for too long on any one thing... or any one person. He's already seen too many faces he recognizes, twisted from agony. "Without humanity, it wouldn't have meant anything."

"I suppose."

A tortured voice rings out, but it's snuffed out quickly. Aziraphale doesn't know which side does it, but he shakes his head in shame all the same. “I thought She’d show them mercy. I thought that, in the end, She’d come through. Spare them. That She wouldn't allow them to suffer as bystanders in all of this.”

“I hate to be the one to say I told you so, but… ”

“Then don’t, my dear.” Aziraphale reaches out and takes Crowley's hand, pleading wordlessly for him to stop, but also needing him for comfort. “Where is She? Where has She gone? Why has She abandoned them?”

"You've been asking that question for generations. I would think, by now, you'd know the answer."

"But I don't. Perhaps I should... " Aziraphale swallows heavily, his attention pulled to the skies by a streak of gold, then one of violet, passing overhead. "They know," he spits bitterly. Crowley follows his angel's gaze to the trails above them, one which he assumes must be Gabriel's. "She's obviously told them."

"Perhaps not," Crowley says, not in an attempt to defend Her, but to soothe his angel. "Just like last time, they're doing wot they think is right. Following wot they believe."

"And what do they believe? I don't know! They've never told me!"

"You'd think you'd all be on the same page. I mean, there's a book about it and all."

Aziraphale scoffs at that. "I think you and I both know that the archangels, Gabriel in particular, have never held any stock in books. Books are primitive, human things. They have nothing to do with angels. Not even the Bible... " A host more gold streaks zip by, and Aziraphale's words trail off into nothingness. Of all the books in Aziraphale's collection, his Bibles have always been his favorites. And not just the misprinted ones. The words inside gave him comfort, especially during those long stretches when he didn't hear from God at all. Though written by man, they were imparted by Her (if he overlooked the dodgy editing). 

But they're gone. Not a single one remains, not even in the church where they stand, its insides crackling, burning beneath their feet.

Earth had become Aziraphale's Eden. Now, so many things he held dear are disappearing before his eyes.

Crowley squeezes the hand holding his. "Come, my love. It’s time to leave the garden.”

Aziraphale's eyes snap his way. They linger on his face for a moment, then drop to their clasped hands. “6000 years on this planet and you choose today of all days to call me your love?”

“I'm sorry." Crowley inches closer, lifts Aziraphale's hand to his mouth and kisses it. "I really am. I should have said it sooner. But I’m going to take you to a place where I’ll say it every day. I promise.” He wraps an arm around his angel's shoulders, gently urging Aziraphale to leave before the battle brewing, showing no sign of slowing down until it has consumed every last brick, every last breath of air, swallows them, too.

But Aziraphale hesitates. "C-can't we take them with us?" He gestures down to a tattered group of frightened survivors - a shivering young woman, no older than twenty-five if she's a day, and three children, all under the age of ten - huddled in a narrow crevice created by a metal door off its hinges, sheltering them among the rubble of the church's ruined stairs. 

They've found themselves a decent hideaway, Aziraphale thinks. But he knows they're simply delaying the inevitable. They'll be found out before too long, become collateral damage.

Like everyone else.

"We can't just leave them to die, Crowley."

"We have no other choice." Crowley's need to escape intensifies as he watches the poor humans, tastes their fear rise with the heat of the flames. "Besides, perhaps they'll pull through. You never know. Humans have always been resourceful. They might find a way." 

"Do you honestly think so?"

"Yes," Crowley lies. He would give his angel anything in the universe, anything within his power. He's trying to give him faith.

Because he can't give him this. 

They can't save anyone but themselves.

Crowley turns Aziraphale away, blocks his view by unfurling his dark wings, ready to lift his angel into the air on his own if Aziraphale refuses. "I'm sorry, my love. We must leave them behind."

Aziraphale relents, unfurling his own white wings and heading for the upper atmosphere, watery eyes focused on the where in front of him and not the destruction behind him, with Crowley's shard of hope keeping his heart pinned in place. 

Crowley should do the same. Ignorance is bliss, after all. But like Lot's wife, Crowley peeks behind him one last time to say goodbye to this place that has been his home for most of his existence. 

It was a wonderful existence, but mostly because he had Aziraphale there to muddle through with him.

At least Crowley will still have him when all is said and done.

The last thing Crowley sees before they breach the clouds is St. Paul's Cathedral crumble in on itself, leaving behind a mound of ash.

And nothing more.

[snarkymonkeyprime]

writing-prompt-s

Some time ago, you sold your soul to the Devil. He just gave it back and asked you for a favor.

kiriei

OOhhh @snarkymonkeyprime another distraction!  How Dean got into the vessel =D =D

Prequel to this.

“I can’t believe I’m even going to ask this, but do you swear?”

Crowley smirked.  “Your darling Sammy will become hands off.  No more hassling.  He will be free to be Moose as he pleases.”

Dean frowned.  If he sold his soul, Sam would live and leave all this bullshit behind.  Small price to pay, right?  Dean swallowed and nodded.

“Fine.  Do it.”

                                                          ~~*~~

     Ten years on and Dean was almost enjoying what he did.  Almost.  Occasionally, he did have to come through for Crowley.  He made certain those particular souls were the more heinous ones.  Desperate folk?  Ones at the end of their rope and begging for help?  Eh, maybe he forgot to reap those souls a time or two.  Or three.  No harm done.

     Well, somewhat.  Crowley often threw a shit-fit but he never did much as punishment.  Beyond sending Dean on near-impossible reaps.  He had one take him nearly two years to complete.  Definitely less than fun.

     But Crowley had relented as of late, letting Dean a little further off the leash, so to speak.  That mean Dean was free to decide his own methods.  And if said methods mean he stayed away from Hell longer than normal, who could complain?  Other than Crowley, anyway.

     His favorite?  Piece of ugly shit shoved in the dirt.  It was amazing how often he could snag someone doing that.  He wandered the flea market, eyes open for the right vessel.  Something shiny and misdirecting.  If it gleamed, a lot of assholes assumed that meant money.  If they assumed that, Dean had to do very little to take them to Hell.

     it was like a grocery run for milk.

     He stopped by one table, a small black vase with poorly placed agate.  He picked it up, amused that the image was a wonky angel.  Even better.  Nothing he liked more than a bit of irony.  

     Perfect.

     “50 pounds,” the old woman rasped.

     Dean glanced at her.  Her body was riddled with cancer.  She probably wouldn’t make it out of the year.  He smiled, getting her to blush and flutter her hand.  “Got it, beautiful.”  He dug out a sheaf of notes, dropping about three times that on her table.  “Don’t spend it all in once place,” he added with a wink.

     Once he was out of sight of her table, he vanished, reappearing near a dig he’d spied a week before.  Even more perfect.  People working here would likely jump at the chance for free money.  He didn’t manage digging in the dirt paid a whole lot.

     He lifted his thumb and bit down, tearing into the skin.  Blood welled up and patted against the dirt at his feet.  He murmured the binding spell in latin, the black and red chips of gemstone glowing like muted fire.  He grunted when the spell latched onto his soul, knitting it into the ceramic and stone.

     He chose one of the pits that looked like it had fresh digging.  He dug a bit further and set the vase inside, kicking mud and dirt over it until it slipped from view.  Hearing voices, he crouched down, peering over the top.

     Three men.  None of them Scottish.  All Americans, likely.  He tore his thumb again, more blood splashing the wet dirt.  This was the part he hated.  When he had to cram his form into the vessel in question.  Like wearing pants two sizes two small.

     “Now I know how genies feel,” he muttered.  He growled out the spell and the world went black.

     He must have dozed for a bit before he heard the tip of a trowel hit his vase.  And then the lovely set of pipes murmuring, “My god . . . this . . .”

     Melded with the vase, he could see the owner of said voice.  Pretty blue eyes.  Dark hair that twisted every which way.  It would probably suck to drag this one down.  He could think of better things to do with a man like this.  

     The spell flared to life, ignited by the want of the man.  The urge to possess what wasn’t his.  Had he been corporeal, Dean would’ve cracked his knuckles.  Time to get to work.

     But rather than stuff him in his bag as Dean had seen him want to do, the man handed him off, prouder still to grant it to a museum.  A self-less act.

     And as he did, Dean’s binding spell snapped.  Like a slingshot, he was ejected from the vase, and flung into the dirt by a parking lot.  

     That was . . . what the fuck?  He patted himself over, shocked that he was whole again.  He hadn’t transformed.  He hadn’t done anything.  But there was a void in his chest.  The link to the vase was gone.  What burned in its place, though, was a connection to the man who’d been rummaging in the mud for the last few hours.  

     The same man who was currently cresting the hill toward his car.  With a snap of his fingers, Dean manifested into that same vehicle, wincing at the stink of fried fish and old socks.  Oblivious to Dean’s presence, the man opened the car door and sat, reaching down to start the car.

     Annoyed, flustered, and wanting someone to blame, Dean growled, "The hell, man?” taking absolutely no comfort in the way the man screamed and flailed.

     Well, maybe a little bit.

[caffeinechic]

Good Omens Fic Recs 1/?

I went to fix a link in this post and managed to delete the entire thing like an absolute fool. 

But my complete annoyance with myself won’t be bested with my determination to post this lot. So here I go again. I am so sorry if this has shown on your dash a million times. And sorry for the double links / tagging as I honestly went half mad over even the basics. This is where I am with life.

I have about 300 Good Omens fics bookmarked at this point to trying to pull out my absolute favourites sent me down a re-read (and in many cases a re-re-re-re-read) rabbit hole, which was an absolute joy so no complaints here!

These are just some of the ones that have just really stuck with me for one reason or another so I’ve gathered them up under the cut

4 Authors I just need to do like a HUGE rec for as they’re life ruiners. How dare they be this good. HOW DARE THEY.

@princip1914 @princip1914

Yeah I started pulling out the bookmarks I had for @princip1914 and realised it was...everything they’d written. All of it. Just...all of it.

But my particular favourite out of an outstanding batch is the following - which I have read approximately 70 squillion times. It stuck with me for so long in a way that I don’t think many fics have, ever. I actually can’t recommend this enough:

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire

“But how,” Aziraphale gasped, agonized and close to tears. “How can you be sure. Crowley, dear, you got thrown out of heaven for questioning everything. How can you be sure about this?”

Crowley loves and Aziraphale doubts. God intercedes. A groundhog day kind of situation ensues wherein Aziraphale has to fall in love with Crowley over and over again as a human until he gets the point. Highlights include: delivering medical care in rural Louisiana, stargazing in Vegas, strangers on a train, and teaching middle school.

@bestoftheseekwill @bestoftheseekwill

Same “problem” with @bestoftheseekwill - READ EVERYTHING. Oh my god, the human AUs, THE HUMAN AUS.

Special shout out to Acts of Service which was the first Human AU I’d read and got me completely hooked and now whenever seekwill posts I immediately read.

Acts of Service

"You seem very familiar to me. I can’t say why that is." As Aziraphale spoke, Crowley turned away from the fire, and Aziraphale was momentarily concerned that the spell had been broken, that he had crossed some invisible line. But Crowley smiled and brought his beer to his lips.

"Maybe we met in a past life. Does your lot believe in that?"

"Past lives?"

"Yeah."

Aziraphale smiled into his wine. He was sure Crowley was poking fun, ever so slightly, but he liked it. "Not strictly speaking. No."

Crowley shrugged, taking another long sip of his beer. “A mystery then."

After receiving direct instruction from God, village reverend Aziraphale leaves his countryside congregation to serve the underserved and in-need at an urban church in London, a transition made all the more complicated by the mysterious and handsome Crowley, who always seems to appear when Aziraphale least expects him.

OH!! but also

That this could be the kingdom

- this one sat with me for a while. Stunning

I have lived my whole life with a wrecked heart. Fr. Aziraphale Fell’s present mirrors his past, as long ago roommate, classmate, and former friend Anthony Crowley reappears in his life in an unexpected and disarming way, challenging Aziraphale’s choices, and bringing him back to the breaking point, when he made a decision he couldn’t take back. It isn’t temptation, it’s revelation.

@mygalfriday @mygalfriday

Ah here, listen - I went to get my bookmark list for @mygalfriday and just ended up re-reading all 12 fics this week.

i can't say the words, so i wrote you into my verse

Aziraphale blinks as it slowly dawns on him exactly what he’s looking at. Crowley has a tattoo. Well, another one anyway. Unlike the small serpent curled just beneath his temple, this one takes up far more space.

And listen if you don’t read the blind date au series then I don’t know how to help you!

I couldn’t find Rend_Herring  Found @rendherring @rendherring on Tumblr but I had to put my phone and my head down after I read both of these.

The Lightness of You

God should not have built them with such discrepancy, made them need for love, and long for wholeness, then left them to their own devices.

This Soul Outstreaming

“Why did you come here?” Aziraphale interrupts. “Why do you keep doing this?” All the saving, he means, all the chasing after Aziraphale he does. It can’t only be that he’s not keen to endure a replacement. That can’t be it, not anymore. He’s going to get himself in trouble, and then it’ll be Aziraphale’s fault.

Crowley’s mouth shuts with a click. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, reaches for the handle of the fork and taps his fingertips against it before setting his hands in his lap.

When he speaks, it’s very soft. “Don’t you know?” he asks.

Aziraphale, unaccustomed to his heart refusing to translate why it throbs with such haste, shakes his head.

Fics that, to me, are just stunners. I love them so much.

Slow Show - @mia-ugly @mia-ugly Honestly if you’re seeing a rec list WITHOUT slow show...I’d be legit surprised In which temptations are accomplished, grand romantic gestures are made, and two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side (at last, at last.)

Barriers, and the breaking thereof - @cardinaldaughter @cardinaldaughter Ezra Fell has long been comfortable in his loneliness. He’s content to simply run the Soho Public Library and otherwise keep to himself. However, when a handsome stranger bursts in one evening with a baby, frantic and in need of help, Ezra finds those carefully constructed barriers he’s long maintained begin to crack.

Perhaps it’s time to let them fall.

Anthophilia - @fortinbrasftw @fortinbrasftw Anthony J. Crowley's life seems like it's finally falling into place: his floral shop has begun to gain an undercurrent of appreciation in the design elite of London, and he might have even finally found a boyfriend who looks just right lounging on his Tenreiro sofa. Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn't seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him, which really shouldn't bother him as much as it does - it was ten years ago after all, and it wasn't even that good of a kiss.

The road to rapture has a lot of pit stops - @emmagrant01 @emmagrant01 Five times they kissed over four thousand years, and one time they actually meant it.

Demon and Angel Professors - Ghostinthehouse - not 100% sure that this is also their tumblr handle so if anyone can confirm that would be great! They're professors. They're married. Their students don't realise. Cue shenanigans.

Multiple short arcs with one-shots (and often pauses) between them. Characters continue from one arc to the next. It's marked as complete, because each short arc is complete in itself, but there will be more arcs and one-shots in the future.

The Grinch Who Sold Christmas - @forineffablereasons @forineffablereasons Anthony J. Crowley, a big-time attorney from London, is sent to small-town Tadfield to close a deal before Christmas that would sell out half of high street to a fancy developer and put him up for partner at his firm. The deal will run the local businesses out and change the landscape of the town forever, but that’s none of Crowley’s business; he’s just doing a job.

But as the town invites him to share in their lives and their hopes and their holiday celebrations, and as the enigmatic Aziraphale invites him to share in something more, Crowley starts to wonder: if everything has its price, is he still willing to pay what this deal will cost?

Slow - write_away It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions.

You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it.

It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart.

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

You, soft and only - @thehoyden He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel.

“Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him.

A Bushel and a Peck- @thehoyden  Sometimes, a family is a demonic nanny, an angelic cook, and a kid who isn't actually the Antichrist.Or: Crowley helps Aziraphale secure a different position at the Dowling Estate.

Long is the way, and hard - Kate_Lear The first time Crawley meets the angel, the celestial being is twisting its shining white robe in its fingers and looking wretched. It hardly spares him a glance as he shifts from snake to human, and Crawley is a touch put-out. It’s taken some practice to be able to do it so fluidly.

A story of Crowley's thoughts about Aziraphale, from the Beginning to the present day.

And also of temptation, and want, and whether - for a Fallen Angel - redemption is possible after all.

the 21st century, in which they finally work it out - @fieldbears @fieldbears This is light speed in comparison to the last few centuries of their relationship, but Crowley is barely holding on to his patience.

A Few More Rescues - @poetic----nonsense @poetic----nonsense 5+1 Times Crowley Rescued Aziraphale According to the Romantic Tropes of the Era, and One Time Aziraphale Turned It Around on Him (plus Prologue)

The Cottage, the Husbands (series) - Dragonsquill A demon and an angel fall in love and decide to take on the monumental task of living together in a cottage by the sea.

[itsclydebitches]

Bribe - There’s one demon in particular who’s interested to know how Crowley survived that bath.

Read on AO3 or below! 

***

“He sent a letter.”

“A letter?”

“Well yes. However else is he meant to contact us? It’s not as if we’ve been very free with our telephone numbers—”

“Speak for yourself.”

“—your lot are perpetually behind in technology—”

“Good of you to notice, Black Pot.”

“—and meeting in person without some warning would be... well.” Aziraphale smoothed down his vest. Then did it a second time, the worn fabric soft against his hands. “I'm grateful for it, is all. Strange as it may be. I say, will you at least pretend to take this seriously?”

With a roll of his eyes Crowley ceased terrorizing a starling, finally releasing the poor bird from his hypnotic gaze. It shot off across St. Jame’s park, off to tell the other birds all about the snake who was not a snake, who very much looked as if he’d eat her, but hadn’t. Within an hour it would be the talk of the nesting grounds.

“I am taking this seriously,” Crowley said. He rolled his neck and set back off down the path, leaving Aziraphale with no choice but to follow. “Course I’m taking it seriously! Demon contacts you out of the blue, wanting to meet all secret like, what’s not serious? It’s just...” he snatched the letter, holding it up to the sun. “I just didn’t know that Ligur could write.”

Aziraphale stumbled. “I’m sorry, dear. Did you just say one of your colleagues can’t read?”

“No, I said write. Keep up, angel.” Aziraphale once again made an attempt, both literally and figuratively. “He obviously can. Just surprised me is all. Why are you surprised? You know I don’t read.”

“Poppycock. You’ve read since humans started carving on stone slabs, you simply claim otherwise in an effort to annoy me.”

Crowley fiddled with his glasses, hiding his smile. “Huh. Is it working?”

“I will chuck you into the pond, dear boy. Don’t think that I won’t.”

“But this skirt is new!”

“Precisely my point.”

With grumbling on both sides the walk continued, the letter passed back and forth as if reading it again and again might change their circumstances. Crowley was well prepared to deal with any push-back from Beelzebub, curses laid around the bookshop and a new thermos of holy water locked up tight in his safe. Aziraphale, in turn, had mustered up the emotional energy needed to plot against his brethren—although he steadfastly avoided words as damning as “plot.” Too close to the original Rebellion for his nerves, thank you. The point, however, was that he had begun praying directly to God once again and found time among his reading for light sparing with a human-made blade, two activities that he hoped he never had to draw on under more dire circumstances. That was the fear though, wasn’t it? That hope alone would only carry them so far.

Thus, they had prepared for hoards and hosts; a veritable army of creatures set to take out the angel who wasn’t quite an angel anymore and the demon who, arguably, had never been much of a demon to begin with.

A surprisingly polite letter slipped beneath the door was... not on the list of expected threats.

Aziraphale shook the paper a bit. Or parchment, rather. He hadn't the slightest idea where Ligur had gotten it. “Didn’t you kill him?”

“Didn’t your bookshop burn?” Crowley mimicked and then immediately looked contrite. He bumped shoulders in apology as they walked. “Yeah. I did. Holy water right over the head. It’s gotta be the antichrist then, right? Brought him back along with everything else? Satan, but ten-year-olds are stupid.”

“That stupid eleven-year-old has a name,” Aziraphale said. “And I’d like to see you reset reality without a few, unfortunate consequences. We’re not going to blame Adam for what we did.”

“What we had to do,” Crowley corrected. Then he sighed. “Yeah. No argument from me. Over and done with, all that. Only question is...”

He trailed off. They’d come to the end of the path, with it a long line of benches. Their benches. Crowley’s hands curled into fists as he spotted a bedraggled figure seated in his usual spot, hunched slightly against all the sunshine and happy park goers that surrounded him. Ligur’s eyes shifted their way and Crowley took an instinctive step in front of Aziraphale.

“What does the bastard want?”

A hand landed on his arm, trailed downward, stopped just short of taking his hand. Aziraphale gave Crowley's wrist a squeeze.

“Only one way to find out. Together then?” and he tugged them forward.

***

Meetings in public spots. It was all very spy-ish. Clandestine. It occurred to Aziraphale that he might have enjoyed this immensely under other circumstances. Problem was, meeting publicly meant actually getting the public involved. Living, breathing, entirely ignorant human beings flitting here and there, the perfect hostages should Ligur take it upon himself to secure one. It made his otherwise lovely lunch sit rather heavily in his stomach, but Aziraphale stood firm before the demon, still slouched as he was over the bench. Crowley had taken up position behind Ligur, pacing and chewing a strip of gum he’d gotten from Heaven only knew where.

Hmm. Not that there was much chance Heaven actually knew. Or Hell. The only person who might have any idea was Aziraphale himself, and he didn’t, so he supposed Crowley’s gum was simply one mystery he’d never solve. Unless God herself decided to descend and tell him—

Crowley caught his eyes across the bench. There were no words. But then, after 6,000 years you didn’t really need any. The message was clear: Stop panicking!

I am not panicking.

I know your panicking look, angel, thoughts all over the place.

Then stop staring at me!

Crowley did, settling for staring down at Ligur instead. He poked him hard in the shoulder. “You wanted something?”

“Yes—”

“Well too bad. Whatever it is you’re not getting it.”

Ligur shot off a glare, but it was halfhearted at best. With the exception of Crowley, all demons were a bit of a mess. Aziraphale didn’t know how they could stand it, wandering around in filthy clothes reeking of all sorts of unmentionables. Hair unkempt. Those nails. Yet despite this all being quite normal for his lot, Aziraphale had the distinct impression that Ligur was more ruffled than usual. He appeared not just sloppy, but run down. The sort of look Aziraphale might have been tempted to adopt had his bookshop been well and truly gone.

All of which was made clear when he turned fully towards Crowley and said. “You killed me.”

Ah.

“Yeeeaaah,” Crowley said. One hand snuck to the back of his neck. “But you deserved it! You tried to kill me first! Is that it then? Out for revenge and all that?” He frowned, looking around at the sunny day. Not a trap or another demon in sight. “You’re not very good at it...”

Ligur snorted. “If I wanted you dead, Crowley, you’d be dead.”

“What? Like last time?”

Aziraphale valiantly tried to turn his laugh into a cough—and failed rather miserably. He wilted under the look Ligur shot him. “Sorry.”

“Revenge,” he sniffed. “Who exactly do you take me for? We’re demons, Crowley. I’ve never trusted one of my own and I never will. Of course we’re out to kill one another! No sense getting worked up about it. What? Are you going to get mad at feathers here for shooting rainbows out his ass?” Aziraphale blinked under the onslaught of that image while Crowley’s mouth slowly unhinged. “No. It’s in our nature. I’ve got no problem with that. Besides, bucket of holy water over the door frame? Spark of genius that. Even if the rest of your work lacks craftsmanship.” Ligur shot up a boil-laden hand when Crowley moved to protest. Aziraphale could see a hissed what? already forming on his lips. “I died. Our Lord’s son brought me back. Pretty straight forward, far as I’m concerned. All I care about now is how you did it.”

A young jogger shouted out a “Left!” and Aziraphale stepped aside, instinctively moving to join Crowley on the other side of the bench. He wanted to take his hand this time, but settled for turning the letter over and over again instead. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. You just said it. Young Adam was responsible for your resurrection. I’m afraid such miracles are beyond our power. I couldn’t begin to tell you how he accomplished it. Nor, would I guess, could he.”

“What? I’m not talking to some snot-nosed mortal boy. Even if he is the Deceiver’s child.” Ligur sat on his knees, arms now folded across the bench’s top. He rested his chin on his hands and the chameleon atop his head blinked, oh so slowly. Both sets of eyes remained trained on Crowley. “I’m talking about what came after. What everyone’s been whispering about downstairs. How’d you do it, Crowley? As someone who has had one very nasty encounter with holy water and is not eager to repeat it: How’d you survive that bath?”

Aziraphale’s gasp was, luckily, drowned out by a shout from afar. A group of children playing, their joy unexpectedly saving him from what might have become quite the predicament. Crowley risked a glance his way, but had a better poker face than expected. Then again, hadn’t they been preparing for this? The day when Heaven and Hell finally figured out what they’d done.

Except it wasn’t Heaven. Or even Hell. Just a single demon, now gripping the sleeves of his jacket with a desperate intensity that nagged at Aziraphale. Tempted him to reconsider things that, to be frank, were best left not considered. Because if he—Heaven forbid—ever started feeling sorry for any demon other than Crowley... well. It didn’t bear thinking about. Not when their neat and ordered world was already so topsy-turvey.

And yet, that had been his holy water. His blessing that had driven Ligur off of this plane. Funny how Aziraphale could feel so much regarding an indirect killing than he had when he’d leveled a gun at a child.

Luckily, Crowley wasn’t the sympathetic type. Not when it came to his fellows, anyway.

“Now why would I give up a secret as big as that?” Crowley asked, leaning right in Ligur’s face.

The demon gave as good as he got, rising up until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “Because I dropped that letter off at your angel’s precious bookshop. Because I chose this spot knowing you two come here every Thursday. I know you, Crowley, and if you don’t tell me I will dedicate every free moment I have to making the both of you as miserable as possible.”

Crowley paused. “Got a lot of free time then?”

“Since I technically got off the roster thanks to your murder? Oodles.”

A stare. A smile. A full minute of silence that dragged in the worst way. Then Crowley clapped his hands.

“Right! C’mon then,” and to Aziraphale’s quiet shock Crowley turned on his heel and began marching across the grass. Once again someone was watching out for them—Her, fate, just a hefty dose of luck—because Ligur was vaulting the bench, too immersed in keeping pace with Crowley to take note of Aziraphale’s stunned expression. After a moment he shook himself and began to follow.

What a trio they made: Crowley in flowing skirt and lace top, a skimpy middle finger to the heat; Aziraphale in linen and a lighter vest than usual, but otherwise buttoned up; Ligur trailing a coat so dirty and infested it seemed to squirm around his shoulders. If anyone thought their manner of dress odd, a quick miracle took care of that. Crowley led them through throngs of mortals enjoying the day, each giving them a fond glance that Aziraphale took strength from.

What was even better for the nerves than love though was food. Perhaps blasphemous to say so, but true nonetheless. When Crowley stopped at their favorite ice cream cart Aziraphale had already bustled his way to the front. He suddenly needed a cone and flake like nothing else, all but throwing himself into Toby’s line of sight with a miracled fiver in hand.

“Usual, Mr. Fell?” Toby said, already scooping up an extra-large serving. “‘Ello, Anthony. Can I tempt you to one of my strawberry pops?”

“Grape today,” he said, earning a pleased smile. “And my friend here will have a vanilla cone. Best you’ve got in stock.”

Toby chuckled. “Righty then. Best cone, best scoop, best jimmies. Coming right up.” He was entirely oblivious to the sarcastic tilt of Crowley’s ‘friend,’ or the near panicked look that shot across Ligur’s face, followed quickly by disgust. Over his own mouthful (Toby was mercifully quick) Aziraphale couldn’t help but compare the expression to another, similar one he’d seen not too long past: Gabriel’s horror over him eating sushi.

Too many commonalities. Too many implications. Aziraphale stuffed his mouth full of ice cream and decided to let sleeping reforms lie. Best to let Crowley do whatever it was he was doing. Or thought he was doing. Hopefully they amounted to one and the same.

Things became a little clearer when he gestured to the cart with a vaguely reverent air. “This is it, Ligur. You wanted my secret, you’ve got it. The jig is up,” and Crowley accepted his grape popsicle with exaggerated gratitude.

Ligur hissed with displeasure. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Yes. But that’s not the issue here. Why would I lie?”

“Because you wish to keep such a significant advantage for yourself.”

Crowley shrugged. Beneath Toby’s nose he unhinged his jaw and swallowed the popsicle whole. Gum too. It went unnoticed. “I mean sure. Makes sense. Except you just promised to make our lives a living heaven and I believe it. Not worth the risk. Besides, me giving up the secret doesn’t mean you can use it.” Crowley tossed the stick over his shoulder. Aziraphale waved his hand, sending that and the bit of paper stuck to his cone into the ether.

“I see.” Ligur’s eyes narrowed as Toby handed him his treat, decked out in as many jimmies as the ice cream could hold. “You say eating this will make me immune to holy water? You think I wouldn't suffer through this for such a reward?”

Under the sun, Aziraphale began to sweat.

“No. Ice cream won't make you immune.”

He began to sweat harder.

Crowley just managed to catch Ligur’s wrist before he chucked the cone at his face. With his other hand he wagged his finger back and forth like a disappointed parent. “Patience. You’re going to need a lot of it if you really want that reward. Because ice cream is just step one.”

“Explain.”

Crowley spread his arms, this time encompassing not just the ice cream, but the entirety of the park. The world, as Aziraphale soon understood. “You’ve gotta be human, Ligur. Or as close as we can manage. That right there is your ticket.” He nudged the demon in his chest… then frowned at whatever sticky substance had adhered to his finger. Toby kindly handed him a napkin. “Thank you. As I was saying, you’ve gotta blur the lines a little bit. I mean, you’ve seen humans. Those righteous ones flicking holy water at each other every Sunday.”

Ligur shivered. “Repulsive.”

“Right? But the corrupt ones do it too! Take the nastiest, awfulest, most foulest, meaniness—”

“Those are not words, dear.”

“Shut it, angel. You picture that lot, the ones we’ve helped turn, and you think about whether they really function any differently.” Crowley made a shushing noise as Ligur tried to speak. “No, no, no, don’t actually think. I know it’s hard for you. Luckily, I’ve got the answer: they don’t! the most sin-ridden human on the planet can still waltz into a church un-burnt; dump a whole vat of holy water over their head if they want without anything going all melty. Why? I mean, we could get into Her favoritism and all, but really the ‘why’ doesn’t matter. The point is they can. So if you want my advantage...” Crowley tilted his head, grinning. “You’ve got to become just a little bit human.”

Ligur was still. Not in any way that a person would have been able to achieve—and wasn’t that just the point? Azirphale found that he was holding his breath, trying to stay just as still, until slowly, agonizingly, Ligur dropped his gaze back to the melting cone in his hand.

The distaste was apparent. Yet he licked it once, like a cat indulging in a wary taste. Aziraphale found himself impressed.

“There you go!” Crowley cheered. He made to thump him on the back, remembered sticky fingers, and awkwardly dropped his hand.

Ligur took a bite this time, leaving ice cream smeared over his lips. It was impossible to tell whether he liked it or not. “And how long until I’m more... human?” His teeth chattered over the word.

Crowley shrugged, but Aziraphale’s eyes were sharp. There was nothing casual in that gesture. “Hard to say. I mean, we’ve been here since the beginning, so...”

Beginnings. Ligur had to start somewhere and Crowley pointed him towards a patch of grass where a group of teens were playing Frisbee, encouraging him to join in. Aziraphale was both horrified and curious as to how that would go over. Would he finish the ice cream first? Drop it? Catch a Frisbee one handed? Use it to decapitate one of the teens? He flexed his fingers and resisted the urge to give them all invulnerable necks.

“Do you think that will work?” he hissed to Crowley, both of them watching Ligur approach and say something to a young woman that, astoundingly, brought a smile to her face. “I mean, how long before he picks up on the ruse?”

“Is it?” Crowley murmured. “A ruse? I mean... when was the last time you encountered any hell fire?” At Aziraphale’s startled look he laughed, tilting his head upwards. “I don’t know, angel. I really don’t. But I figure at the very least I've bought us a six thousand year buffer.”

Aziraphale considered. Huffed. Returned to watching Ligur examine the Frisbee (still with ice cream in hand) and ignored that awful tug around his chest, encouraging him to consider impossible things.

“I suppose,” he said. Aziraphale finally took Crowley’s hand like he’d wanted to, safe in Ligur’s distraction. It was warm and tight in his. A solid, reliable weight.

“And think, all for just the price of an ice cream.”