#Been stormy and wet all day so mostly sleepy in between the work

[all-blue-headcanons]

(He)Art Attack!

Felt a bit lazy today so didn’t write anything as storms always make me drowsy, but I did draw - particularly my shitty One Piece OC, Passenger Khare in her dragon form in a fuller, more detailed style! Also added are a few other pieces not actually done by me.

Khare’s been a dragon for a while here now and has been in a few fights, mostly against creatures like Sea Kings or larger, more aggressive animals but sometimes you get the odd pirate or marine who are either terrified of a big fuck off dragon or think that the scales on her back really are made of gold. The dragon that ‘carries a mountain of treasure on it’s back’ has been hunted a few times but really, this Mythic Zoan just wants to get her identity back and try to raise her newly adopted child well. He wanted fish for supper, hence the fishing.

Smol birthday gift for @laws-hat-headcanons a while back. It’s not that impressive compared to your skills, I’m sorry, but I really wanted to wish you a happy birthday all the same and draw Arayya since she’s a lovely OC who is delightfully buff n’ tuff!

These last two clearly weren’t drawn by me (especially since I waaaaay lack that level of talent!!!) but a very lovely and wonderful person draw Khare’s human form as a gift not once but twice, because I am terrible at drawing people and yet thought it was a great idea to make such a complicated-looking muse??? Enjoy Khare’s human (resting bitch face) face, people - as well as X Drake snuggles! I didn’t mention names in case they wanted to keep that quiet but the person who did these? They are an absolute gem and one of the loveliest and kindest people I’ve ever spoken to here on tumblr and deserves much love coming their way!!!!

[meli-productions]

Like A Good Neighbor...

Reposting with the writing in the body: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580445 for the #ineffablehusbandsauweek

Tadfield was a sleepy town, dull except for the mischief of the children and the strands of gossip that mothers started when they were bored out of their minds. And betwixt the gossipers and the overzealous neighborhood watch, lived the elusive Mr. Aziraphale Fell and equally as mysterious Mr. Anthony J. Crowley.

Aziraphale was the local librarian and the kids of the town knew if they wanted the best hugs or a best place to hide, Mr. Fell was the man to go to. But if they wanted mischief and maybe a quick snack, it was Mr. Crowley they went to. He was a man of many talents - gardener, handyman, mechanic - whatever it was that Tadfield didn’t have he would become.

And these two were neighbors - just across the street - with a perfect view of each other’s home.

When Aziraphale moved to Tadfield to escape the chaos of London - and his overbearing family - he never thought about what he could be getting himself into. He’d just moved into his cottage now overflowing with his collection of books and hoped to settle into that mindset of early retirement - though he was far from that. The library job presented the perfect opportunity to do what he loved and still have money to fill his home with more books. What he didn’t expect was his neighbor across the street.

It had been raining when he moved, but the first day of sun revealed his neighbor across the street. The most gorgeous man he’d ever seen, shirt uncovering a smattering of freckles across his back and wisps of fiery red hair on his chest. Aziraphale was embarrassed to say that he’d left unpacking to a side to sit at the window and watch him tend to the garden.

He found out through the bored, gossipy wives that would perch themselves on his desk, that his name was Anthony Crowley and had moved there a few years prior. He kept mostly to himself unless he was doing odd jobs around town and even then they didn’t know anything about him.

“They don’t know anything because they’re not cool enough,” one of the kids, Adam, said as he sat and ate lunch with Aziraphale. “Mr. Crowley doesn’t like gossips - s’why he likes us .”

And he had taken a liking to the kids too. Adam and his friends, the Them, would spend their lunch with him and then take off into the summer day to have childhood fun. It was from them that he found out more about the mysterious Mr. Crowley and every drop of knowledge made Aziraphale more interested in getting to know his neighbor - but he chose to stay on his side, nose in his books.

What would such a handsome man want with a fussy old bookkeeper anyway?

Crowley knew that the entire town had his landline. It was the number he’d given the first gossipy neighbor when he went over to work on her sink. It’s how he was summoned for a job. So when he heard it ring, he bucked up and steadied himself for one of the town’s women to be on the other side asking him for something trivial - like pruning their already manicured bushes.

“ ‘Ello, Crowley here.”

“Erm, hello, dear,” said an unfamiliar voice from the other end. “I’m sorry to bother you but I was given your number in case something ever went wrong. And something has gone wrong.”

Crowley blinked a few times, “Okay, right. Might I ask who this is?”

“Oh,” the voice sounded mighty embarrassed. “That’s terribly rude of me. I’m Aziraphale…Fell, the new librarian, your - um - neighbor.”

His heart swooped down towards his stomach. The angel .

“Nice to - hear from you,” said Crowley, trying to sound cool despite the speeding of his heartbeat. “What seems to be the problem.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, then a shaky breath later, “There’s a leak in the library. Terribly inconvenient. And with the rain coming soon - ”

“Right. I’m on my way. Best to get it patched up soon. Wouldn’t want any of the books getting wet.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear. I should be at the front desk when you arrive.”

Crowley hung up and ran a hand through his hair, heart threatening to pound out of his chest. He glanced over at the table at the side of the door and stared at the package labeled ‘Aziraphale’, taking a moment to consider taking it before shaking the thought out of his head.

If all goes well , he thought. That gives me another excuse to see him .

He didn’t want to humor the idea that it wouldn’t go well.

In a few minutes, he found himself walking into the library and hoping his legs wouldn’t give out at the sight of the wide smile now being sent his way.

“Oh, thank you for coming so quickly,” Aziraphale said, reaching out a greeting hand. “Terrible way to introduce myself. And it’s usually not a big deal, but when I heard there’d be a storm - ”

Crowley gave the hand a quick shake, trying not to focus on the softness of the fingers in his, “Not a problem. Just show me where the leak is and I’ll see how bad it is.”

Aziraphale kept fussing and worrying, a cute little pout curling his lips, while Crowley took a closer look at his recent obsession.

Even from a distance, Crowley had noticed how stunning his neighbor was - from the tip of his comfy shoes to the last curl of that cloud of white-blond. He saw that there was a subtle strength to his softness and wanted to know more, even when his stormy hazel eyes turned to him, worried, Crowley wanted nothing more than to sink into the warmth he knew was held inside this man.

Aziraphale gave a little point up towards the vaulted roof of the building where he could see a little patch of wet.

“There’s the leak. Usually comes straight down without touching any of the books but - ”

“No point risking it,” said Crowley. “Not a problem. Should be easy enough to patch up. Is there roof access?”

“Right this way, dear boy.”

And if Crowley, in his ogling, let his gaze linger a little longer on the tight pull of fabric over the ample arse, well, only he would know.

Aziraphale felt like the world was testing him. Not only were the threats of storms looming over the leaky hole in the library, but now he had to pretend he hadn’t been staring at the lithe body of his neighbor who was now a lot closer than he’d ever been to him.

Yes, he was being tested and tempted in the worst way. He kept turning towards the ladder that led up to the roof hoping to catch a glimpse of the sinful dipping hips or the supple muscles of Anthony.

Luckily, the man in question had been engrossed in his work since he arrived and hadn’t noticed anything untoward in the librarian’s eyes, but it was nearing lunch and he’d hate to be the cause that the man didn’t eat.

Buck up, Aziraphale .

He squared his shoulders and peeked up the ladder, “Anthony, dear, it’s near lunch. Please come down and rest.”

Glasses hidden eyes peeked down, “Nah, not hungry. Almost done anyway.”

Aziraphale gave a little hmph, “Absolutely not. You’ve been working nonstop. Come down. Rest. Have a snack at least, then you can finish up,” he waited as he heard Crowley grumbling something about ‘snacks’ and then added, “Please?”

A sigh. Then, “Alright, you win. I’m heading down.”

Wriggling happily, Aziraphale moved out of the way and kept his eyes trained on the doorframe so as to not catch an eyeful of legs, rear, shoulders and back.

Crowley stretched, hands on the curve of his back as he cracked this way and that, “Right. Got any snack machines?”

Aziraphale shot him an appalled look, “Absolutely not - and I’m not going to put you through the horror of junk food. Come, I have some food to share - ”

“That’s not necessary- ”

“It isn’t, but, regardless, I will do it,” he said and, feeling bold, took a hold of Crowley’s forearm to lead him to the desk. “I always pack extra just in case the children come around - but considering the weather they won’t wander this far.”

Aziraphale settled him in a seat and smiled at the bright blush highlighting the freckles across the cheekbones, he was surprised that his own face wasn’t burning but gave thanks to the universe for giving him at least that win.

“You’re not allergic to anything, are you dear?”

“Ngk, n-no.”

“Wonderful.”

He pulled out his lunchbox and divided the leftover mushroom risotto between two, handing Crowley a plate which the man looked over with an amused knit to his eyebrows.

“This isn’t really a snack .”

Aziraphale huffed and shot him a look, “Then join me for lunch , Anthony dearest.”

The blush returned to the angular face across from him, “Seems like it’s too late to ask, angel, but I accept the offer. Could be worse - could be eating lunch with the raven that made a nest on the roof.”

“Well, I’m glad that I’m better company than a bird,” he said, then processed Crowley’s words. “Angel?”

Without noticing the cornered expression on his companion’s face, Aziraphale continued, “Oh? You know about my name?”

Crowley was still for a moment, then deflated, “Yes, ‘course, that’s why I called you angel, innit? Unless - unless it bothers you?”

“No,” he responded, much too quick, then blushed. “N-no, it’s fine. Never been called that before.”

“Pity,” said Crowley, shoving risotto in his mouth. “‘S g’d.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence as they ate the food. Aziraphale offered a few grapes that were turned down with a little shake of a head and a smaller smile.

“You’ll spoil me.”

Oh, you so deserve to be spoiled - “It’s the least I could do for how quickly you’ve done this work.”

“Right, best go finish it. Gotta make sure none of your books get wet. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

“Mind how you go, dear. Say hello to that raven for me.”

-

An hour before closing, Crowley leaned against the check out desk and checked out the distracted librarian cataloguing books with his glasses perched precariously at the end of his nose.

He’d never had a thing for librarians - but now he understood what they had meant by sexy librarians.

Breaking himself out of that train of thought before it dragged lower, Crowley cleared his throat and watched as the focused hazel eyes softened.

“Oh, dear boy, thank you so much,” he said, eyes shining as he smiled. “How much do I owe you?”

Crowley shook his head, “Free of charge, Aziraphale. And before you argue it,” he said, noticing the frown and opening mouth, “I know that this is a local library - runs off scraps. Take it as my civic duty.”

“As grateful as I am, I can’t just not give you anything,” said Aziraphale, hands strangling the hem of his sweater. “I wouldn’t be able to rest.”

“Just - “ Crowley hesitated, then, with his most charming smile said, “just make me dinner and we’ll call it even?”

Aziraphale stalled in his wringing, eyes widening as he glanced up, “Of course. I’m not that great a cook, but if you liked it I’ll swing by later this week and drop something off.”

Crowley felt like thumping his head on the counter, but he continued, “You’re not getting off that easy - ” then winced at his poor choice of words, “erm, what I mean is - good food isn’t worth it if there’s no good company.”

It was worth the awkwardness to see the sugar-plum cheeks pinken prettily and Aziraphale nodded, “Ah, yes. Um, what - what do you say to Friday night? 8 o’clock?

Blood thundering, Crowley beamed, “Sound great. I’ll bring wine, angel.”

In a small town like Tadfield, nothing remained quiet for too long. The neighborhood had seen Crowley atop the library like a beacon and so Aziraphale was assaulted by the curious women wondering what had happened and what the librarian had thought of his elusive neighbor.

They were also quick to notice the dusting of pink on Aziraphale’s face when he mentioned that it was ‘a simple thing and Anthony completed it right on time.’

Soon the rumor mill started spinning and the next thing he knew, Crowley found himself holding the yarn of old Mrs. Galloway being interrogated on what he thought of the ‘darling librarian’. And how could he keep from the eagle-eyed woman that he thought he’d gone to heaven when he looked into those hazel eyes.

“But you can’t go and tell those vultures that,” hissed Crowley. “They’ll scare him away.”

Mrs. Galloway just gave a thoughtful hum and continued knitting - but said vultures didn’t find out anything. All they knew is just that they’d seen a dopey-looking Crowley dancing into his house with a paper bag on Thursday afternoon and out of the house dressed neater and more handsome then he’d ever looked on Friday night.

What they didn’t know is that tucked underneath the bottle of wine in his hands was the package he’d been hiding for the past couple of weeks - the conversation topic he was hoping would connect him with the angel across the street from him.

He knocked and waited, leg bouncing with nervous energy and stilling only when he heard the click of the door.

Aziraphale was alight from behind by the light of the house and it made him look more angelic than ever as the golden glow danced through his curls and off the tan and blue of his outfit.

“Come in, dear, it’s much too wet to be hanging about,” and he pulled Crowley in without a second thought. “Let me put your coat on the rack, don’t want you catching your death in those clothes.”

Crowley thought he’d risk a cold every day if it meant being fussed over by Aziraphale who helped him out of his leather jacket. Every brush of fingers against his body set heat running through every cell.

Clearing his throat, he held out the bottle, “Brought wine, as promised.”

Noticing the year, Aziraphale made an appreciative noise, “This is lovely, dear, I’m going to go ahead and put this on ice. Take a seat, make yourself at home, we’ve got a couple more tics ‘till the food’s ready.”

As he slipped into the kitchen, Crowley made sure to watch him wishing he was the cozy sweater just to hold him that close and then took a seat at the little table. There was a book sitting on it, Pride and Prejudice, and felt the package in his hands grow heavier in his lap.

“Here, dearest, have a glass. It’s not as good as what you brought for us but - ” Aziraphale faltered as he saw the furrowed brow sinking into the frames of Crowley’s sunglasses, “What’s wrong?”

“I - I have something of yours,” said Crowley, slipping off his glasses. “I’ve been - selfishly holding onto it because I wanted a reason to come over - now it just feels creepy and I’m thinking I should just go back home.”

“What- ”

The brown-paper package slid onto the table - a rectangle, hefty, that could only be a book addressed to Aziraphale from a ‘Gabriel’. Crowley, heart heavy and feet even heavier, stood.

“Sorry, angel. I’ll just - get out of your hair,” he said, glasses dangling at the tip of his fingers and he made his way out - until a hand tugged his wrist and stopped him mid-shuffle.

He met Aziraphale’s warm expression, a small and shy smile playing on his face, “I made too much food for just one person - be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Another tug brought him closer to Aziraphale’s warmth and the manicured fingers plucked the glasses out of his fingers, “Sit back down, darling boy. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s just a package from my brother - probably some sort of self-help book he’s so fond of sending me. No harm, no foul. And,” he gave a little laugh at this, “at least you had a plan - I was just resigned to watching you from my window.”

At the stunned expression from Crowley, Aziraphale sighed, “My dear, I’ve been trying to gather up the courage to have a conversation with you since the first time I saw you in your garden - but I’m a foolish old man- ”

“Not that old,” muttered Crowley.

“ - but you were brave enough for us both.” continued Aziraphale, ignoring the interruption. “Now, you are going to stay right there, I am going to serve us both a wonderful serving of pasta alla puttanesca and, if you’re still interested after dinner, we can enjoy dessert.”

Crowley studied the man who said dessert, but looked like he’d meant dessert , and felt his lips twitch up, “Well, can’t say no to an offer like that.”

Aziraphale beamed, “Good. Now, be a dear and open that package up for me while I get our plates.”

The damned package sat there, teasing, so Crowley ripped it open, laughing when he read the title.

“What’s so funny?”

Holding the book up to Aziraphale, the two of them looked at each other and broke out into laughter, moving the book out of the way as they dug into their food.

Gabriel - with the wisdom only sibling intuition could bring - had sent Aziraphale the one thing he knew his brother would need:

How to Get a Date in 10 Easy Steps.