#I CAN'T find any

[quintenrosenburgwrites]

their name is mirren! they're a.... detective maybe?? i mean they say they're a detective but there's no way that's true. they'd probably take at least three hours to realize there's something off about gingi. also they would likely be found in the cinema, after you've wandered around a bunch and some time has passed. there'd be an option to talk to the weirdo standing awkwardly by the popcorn butter station, and they would immediately say something so strange and stupid that the narrator needs a minute to process it

uhhhhhh i doubt many ppl will wanna but if u wanna ask questions (about or to them) feel free to, just make sure to specify that it's for them in the ask. i might do a quick doodle :)

[loki-hargreeves]

Does anyone have any write- or kinktober prompt lists?

[taomubiji]

The Ghost Seal from Time Raiders (x)

[binbogummy]

Humans are —

Chapter 5

If you read this chapter the first time I posted it,🫵no you didn't!🫵

Deleted it after almost 24hrs when I started on what was going to be chapter six and just decided to combine them.

Some tags: Reader-insert | Female-reader | Platonic x reader | Fluff | Sickfic | Post-Seaon 1, Pre-Season 2

Words: 6k+

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |

~

For a midday nap, you'd managed to fall into a sleep so deep that when you finally began to wake up later that evening, it felt like you were slowly resurfacing from the depths of a long dream you couldn't quite remember.

The weight of the blankets and the ice pack on your forehead were quick to remind you where you were, but the congestion in your chest was an unwelcome companion and you coughed softly into the crook of your arm before inhaling slowly. The pressure was heavier than earlier, accompanied by a faint crackling sensation that made every breath a little more labored. You winced slightly, trying to clear your throat with a few more weak coughs before going limp again on the mattress with a little groan.

Despite the discomfort, it was impossible to ignore the sheer coziness of your surroundings as the grounding weight of the blankets made getting up feel not only unappealing, but completely unnecessary.

With your cheek squished to the pillow, you stared across the room at the window for a moment, letting your eyes adjust and your thoughts collect. It was a bit easier to really enjoy the safe, still feeling that Aziraphale’s bookshop provided when you were alone. Or more specifically, it was a bit easier to enjoy when you didn't feel like you were actively inconveniencing him.

It was rare to feel so thoroughly cared for, and even rarer to let yourself accept it without a fight. But here you were, tucked into an impossibly cozy bed with no real obligations weighing you down, so you let yourself really relax for a moment with a deep sigh.

"Finally awake then, are we?

You startled immediately, your head whipping around and your eyes widening as they landed on Crowley, who was seated in the chair beside the nightstand, his legs crossed and his elbows resting on the armrests as he flipped through the pages of a book with mild disinterest. "Good nap?" he asked without looking up.

Your eyes narrowed and you flipped yourself back around without responding, burrowing further into the blankets as though you could simply will him away.

You heard him snicker, the sound low and amused, and waited for a beat of silence before flipping back over again to confront him.

The book was now resting on his lap, and he had propped his chin in his hand, smiling expectantly as if he'd been waiting for you to turn back around. His grin widened when you met his gaze and amusement flashed behind his glasses.

"How long have you been sitting there?"

Crowley shrugged, tilting his head to the side as if your question was of no real importance. "Long enough," he replied, the faintest smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. He tapped the book on his lap absentmindedly as though it had been the only thing keeping him entertained. "Angel asked me to keep an eye on you while he popped out for a bit," he explained, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. "Didn't want to leave you on your own, seeing as you're such a delicate flower at the moment."

You sniffled and laughed at that, shifting under the blankets to prop yourself up on one elbow, but the effort sent another small cough rattling through your chest.

His brows knitted together and he leaned a bit closer. "Careful there, love. No need to make yourself worse trying to look dignified. Not that you're succeeding much."

You waved him off and successfully cleared the worst of your fit with a few pounds to your chest. "And you agreed cause you have nothing better to do?"

"Why not?" Crowley said casually, leaning back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other again. "Figured it'd be a laugh. Besides, the angel was getting himself in a right state over leaving the shop with you here. So technically I volunteered to babysit. Thought it might give him some peace of mind."

"You volunteered?" You frowned, the guilt beginning to creep in again. "It's... just a cold, so you really wouldn't have had to stick around."

"Eh, I'm fine right here, thanks," He began again smoothly, intertwining his fingers behind his head. "Can't disappoint the angel. He'd be positively heartbroken if I let something happen to you." The demon seemed completely at ease where he was, as if lounging in the angel's space and affectionately nettling those around him was his favorite pastime.

You paused for a bit, sitting up the rest of the way to stare down at your blankets with a kind of forlorn expression.

Crowley noticed immediately, pulling his glasses down his nose to peer over them at you in a motion so exaggerated it was clearly meant to get your attention.

"There's that look again." He mused and you rolled your eyes, fighting off a small smile. "Feeling stir-crazy already?"

You worked through your thoughts for a moment before deciding to be honest. "Nah, Not really. It's not that. It's just... a little hard not to feel bad about it all, y'know. All the effort he's putting in for me. I'm mean, he's so–"

"Oh, stop that," Crowley interrupted with a snort, his tone surprisingly sharp. "You? Feel bad? That's rich," he said, beginning to feign interest in the book on his lap again as he spoke. "What for? He's obviously in his element."

You shot him a halfhearted side-eye, but it was hard to put any energy behind it. "I'm serious. He's been stressing over every little thing. You know how he is. He worries so much."

He dropped the book on the nightstand with a thud and leaned towards you again to fiddle with the little bell Aziraphale had left there. His smirk softened into something closer to knowing amusement. "Oh, I know how he is. Better than you apparently."

You gave the demon a strange look, challenging him to elaborate.

"You see," Crowley seemed to hesitate coolly, leaning away again and nodding his head side to side as if deciding how to continue. "Ever since things went a bit... pear-shaped with the whole 'end of the world' business, and heaven cut him loose, he's been going through a bit of a– Oh, what's that thing humans go through when they start asking themselves too many questions? Midlife crisis?

You cocked a brow. "A... midlife crisis?"

Crowley nodded and relaxed his posture again. "Been pacing these shelves for months like some restless old librarian since the last time you left for the States. Reading until sunset, baking more cakes than he can possibly eat himself, dusting every hour on the hour. Even has the shop open almost five days a week now."

You gasped. "He's been that bored?"

The demon barked another laugh, this one softer, almost fond. "Bored? Love, I've been bored. The angel's desperate. Thrives on all that 'do-gooding'. Heaven may have been a bureaucratic nightmare, but it kept him busy. Gave him rules to follow, papers to shuffle, humans to point in the right direction. You know, his sort of thing." He stretched, waving a hand in the air as though trying to brush off the seriousness of what he was saying. "Without all that direction he's had to bounce around London like a moth in a glass jar; looking for people to help, things to do. Your showing up sopping wet with your little 'cold'?" He gestured at you, "It's practically a godsend. Well... not literally," he corrected, pulling a face at the idea.

You gave Crowley another strange look, narrowing your eyes at him in thought as you mulled over the point he was clearly trying to make.

"No offense, of course." He added relatively insincerely. "But the angel lives for this sort of thing. If anything, you're doing him a favor. Gives him something to focus on besides this dusty old bookshop." Crowley tilted his head, observing you carefully. "So maybe stop worrying about it so much, yeah? Let the angel have his fun. He's not going to stop, anyway. You'd have to kick up quite the fuss to even slow him down at this rate."

"You really think so?"

"I know so." The demon promised. "Just let him get it all out of his system, and when it's time for you to go home he'll be back to fretting over his first editions instead."

"That... actually makes me feel a lot better. Thank you, Crowley."

"Uh-uh!" He tutted quickly, raising a finger. "I'm a demon. I don't make people feel better. Do us both a favor and save your thanks for the angel."

"Of course," you giggled, "how could I forget?"

Your laughter seemed to finally soften the air in the room again, and the demon slouched low into his chair.

After a few minutes, you found yourself relaxing again as well, while the tapping of the seemingly unending raindrops against the window continued to fill the comfortable silence. It was a little easier to breathe now. Maybe not physically, but mentally at least. Like Crowley's insight had given you further permission to keep trying to 'enjoy this' as Aziraphale had requested. Even if you did and up confined to the bookshop for the rest of the week.

"..."

"And what's that look for now?"

"I really wanted to climb Tower Bridge again..."

"Ha! Good luck with that. You'll be lucky if he let's you out of bed in time to catch your flight."

As for your embarrassment though? You weren't sure you'd ever be able look the angel in the eye when he insisted on tucking you in.

The faint sound of the shop door opening downstairs was your first hint that Aziraphale had returned, followed by a bit of rustling and some slightly hurried, purposeful steps, until the door to the guest room creaked open and the angel stepped inside, speaking in a hushed voice.

"Crowley, I've just got back and I'm going to start– " His expression was one of cheerful purpose, until his eyes landed on you, now sitting up against the pillows while Crowley slouched comfortably in the chair beside you.

"Crowley," Aziraphale began again, his tone changing to carry an edge of reprimand. "I specifically instructed you not to wake her until dinner!" But his attention then turned back to you warmly. "How are you feeling, dear?"

Crowley sat up a little straighter, as if wounded by the accusation. "Woke her up? Me? Don't think so, Angel. She woke up all on her own, didn't you, love?" He glanced at you, his grin daring you to contradict him.

You laughed, coughing lightly into your arm before nodding. "He's right. I woke up a few minutes ago. He's just been keeping me company." You smiled at the demon, who seemed to huff his own laugh at the idea.

"Hmm," Aziraphale murmured skeptically, but his smile was quick to return. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. Now, I've just been to the market, and I thought I'd make something special for dinner."

If you’re feeling peckish, I’ll bring you a tray once it's ready!"

"Actually, I’d like to come downstairs to eat again if that’s okay?" You offered with a hopeful smile.

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed slightly, his concern evident, but he didn’t immediately object. "Are you sure, my dear? You’ve only just woken up, and you’re still not at your best. Let's have a look at your temperature again."

Before the angel could reach your bedside, Crowley interjected smoothly, leaning further back in his chair as if to really sell his apparent disinterest. "Fever's still up."

You shot him a skeptical look, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "How would you know?"

The demon shrugged but the corners of his mouth did twitch into an almost imperceptible smirk.

"Well, then I'm afraid it's out of the question." Aziraphale decided apologetically, taking the demon's word without a second thought, as though the news was exactly what he'd expected. "You'll keep resting here, and I'll set up a tray with everything you need. You'll be perfectly comfortable while you eat, just like this morning."

"Aww, really? C'mon, please?" you whined, exaggerating the tone as you tilted your head and looked up at him with your best pleading expression. An action that felt so natural in the moment, but was so unlike you that you actually took a split-second to pause afterwards; once again forced to confront the rather disarming sense of safety you felt here.

Aziraphale didn't seem to notice your brief moment of reflection, though, and continued with a solmen nod. "You'll have to forgive me, but you need rest, and I'll not have you risking a setback so early in recovery just for the sake of joining us at the table."

You sighed theatrically, leaning back into the pillows with a groan. "Fiiiiine," you grumbled, though the lightheartedness in your tone made it clear you weren't really upset. You also caught the faintest hint of relief flicker across Aziraphale's face before he straightened up and nodded, clearly pleased with your compliance.

"Good, good," The angel said warmly, clasping his hands together as though sealing the decision. "You've made the right choice, my dear. I'll have everything ready shortly."

He turned to leave, but stopped to look at Crowley, who had settled even further into the chair, one leg propped over the armrest now. "I do enjoy cooking for company, so, Crowley, would it be presumptuous of my to assume you'll be staying for dinner, also?"

Crowley tilted his head back, as if pondering the weight of such a decision before nodding slowly. "I suppose I... haven't got anywhere else to be~"

Aziraphale beamed. "Wonderful! Now, do please continue to keep our dear girl company and I'll prepare accordingly. We're having–" he paused, making an enthusiastic little jazz-hand motion with the announcement, "shepherd's pie~!"

The angel left the room with a spring in his step, humming a soft tune under his breath as he made his way out the door and down the stairs merrily.

You and Crowley watched him off for a moment, the demon muttering something about the so-called shepherd's pie under his breath with a little huff.

You were about to ask if it was any good when he suddenly snapped his fingers, his expression lighting up as if struck by a sudden realization.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, straightening in his chair. "Almost forgot. I brought you something."

"Huh?" You questioned but he'd already pushed himself to his feet and was heading to the door.

"Brought you something!" he repeated, glancing over his shoulder with a grin but not stopping to explain furthers as he strode out of the room with a purpose.

"Uh-... okay then?"

You waited alone for a while, checking your phone, making popping sounds with your mouth and rubbing your socked feet together absentmindedly under the covers until you heard a series of muffled thuds, followed by Crowley’s unmistakable voice cursing from downstairs.

"Crowley! What are you– Where did you get that???"

"Don't mind me, Angel. You told me to bring her something. I brought her something!"

Whatever he was carrying up the stairs sounded heavy. You sat up a little straighter, your curiosity mounting with each loud thump as he struggled through the bookshop with whatever it was.

Finally, Crowley appeared in the doorway, lugging a relatively modern looking flat-screen TV under one arm and the handful of tangled cords that trailed from it in the other.

"Ta-da!" he announced, holding it in front of him like some kind of trophy.

Your eyes widened. "That's a...."

"A telly," he interrupted, setting it down carefully on a nearby dresser. You had to slap a hand over your mouth to stifle the laughter threatening to burst out. His choice of words alone was nearly enough to do you in, but the sight of the demon, looking so proud of himself didn't help. He turned back around, oblivious to your struggle. "Thought you might get a bit bored lying around all day with nothing to do. Angel's lovely and all, but I can't imagine his collection of 18th-century cookbooks makes for riveting entertainment."

You did your best to shake off the initial humor of hearing the word "telly" leave his mouth, but were still a caught off guard. "You brought me a TV?"

"Don’t sound so surprised," Crowley said, frowning dramatically as he began trying to untangle the cords. "I can be thoughtful when I feel like it. Besides, you are sick. Even demons have standards about leaving someone to suffer in silence. Or– well, not really. But I do."

You couldn’t help but laugh again, though it quickly turned into another coughing fit that left you clutching your chest. Crowley shot you a look but didn’t comment, continuing to work on plugging the cords into the back of the TV.

"Where did you even get this?" you asked, watching as he crouched down to fiddle with the wall outlet after seemingly deciding that half the cords he'd brought along with it were of no use.

Crowley glanced up from his work, his tone as casual as ever. "It's yours technically," he admitted.

"Mine? How is that-" The question died on your lips as your eyes shifted to the TV. Recognition dawned, and your face stiffened. "Wait... Did you take that from my hotel room???"

Crowley smirked, the sly tilt of his head already confirming your suspicion. "I might've~"

"Crowley!" You exclaimed, but the laughter in your voice at how undeniably hilarious that actually was completely undercut your attempt at reprimanding him. "That's stealing!"

"We're borrowing it," he corrected, plugging the last cord into place. "I'll put it back. Eventually. They won't miss it for a few days, and it wasn't exactly getting much use over there, now was it?"

"That’s... definitely still stealing," you muttered, "But I guess I appreciate the thought?"

"Good," he said, standing up and brushing off his hands. "Because I’m not carrying it back down those stairs until you’re done with it."

You slumped back against your pillows, still smiling, but a thought crossed your mind, and you faltered slightly. "Still, Aziraphale's shop doesn't even have Wi-Fi. So unless you've brought something to-"

With a snap of his fingers, the screen flickered to life, displaying the home screen and myriad of streaming services available. Crowley stepped back, admiring his handiwork with a grin before turning to you.

"I stand corrected." You caught the remote he tossed your way as he strolled back to his chair, giving him a sidelong glance before shrugging it off and starting to scroll through your options.

But after a few moments, you noticed he'd still hadn't sat back down.

With an exaggerated sigh, he finally moved, rounding the bed at a leisurely pace. He drug his hand lazily over the baseboard at the foot as he made his way to the other side, as if savoring his own theatrics

Then, before you could so much as guess what he was up to, he threw himself down beside you, landing with a bounce that sent the blankets rippling.

"Alright, scoot over. Make some room."

"Pfff, what are you doing?" You let out a startled giggle, shifting over to give him some room.

"Getting comfortable," he replied, completely unbothered as he elbowed himself into your space.

Sitting atop the covers to your right, he stretched his long legs out and leaned back against the headboard with an air of complete nonchalance, making himself at home as though he'd been invited.

You eyed him with amusement, but then your gaze dropped to his shoes; still very much on his feet, and now very much on the bed.

Feigning a dramatic gasp, you pointed at them in mock horror. "No shoes on the bed! Aziraphale doesn't like shoes on the bed. Get your shoes off the bed!" You grinned and rattled off in an intentionally obnoxious fashion.

"Angel's not here, is he?" Crowley replied as he leaned further back, utterly unapologetic.

"Off!" you insisted, pushing at his legs with your own from under the blankets for emphasis. "Don't make me ring the bell."

"Thought you were supposed to be taking it easy ?" Crowley's eyes narrowed, but his smirk betrayed him as he retaliated. One hand shot out, his long fingers tangling in your already messy hair to ruffle it, while his other pushed down at your shoulder, shoving you down and under the covers in one swift motion with the kind of strength no normal person would have been able to manage. "There, that's more like it!".

You let out a surprised squeak as it happened, gripping the edge of the quilt to pop your head back out with a startled gasp and see him smirking down at you. Huffing in mild annoyance, you scooted back up and pointedly giving him the cold shoulder. At least until the remote landed in your lap again.

"Go on," he nodded to the TV, "put something on, then.

Your smile broke through and you gladly reclaimed it, nestling into a more comfortable position under the blankets before making your decision.

~

After some time, and to your surprise, Crowley eventually slid under the blankets without ceremony; settling in beside you as though it was the most natural thing in the world. You decided not to bring it up, but got your fair share of glances in, enamored by the sight of the usually sharp-dressed demon lounging under a patchwork quilt.

He stretched out lazily, resting one arm over the headboard while the other gestured occasionally at the screen, punctuating his comments about your choice of show.

"What did you say this was called again?"

"Blue Exorcist! It's an anime." You explained, accentuating the word with the assumtion that he was unfamiliar with the concept. "I thought you might like it. Or maybe you'll hate it. We'll see."

"And you... watch a lot of cartoons, do you?

Your mouth gapped slightly in mock offense at the ribbing tone of the question, but before you could jump to defend your decision, Aziraphale reappeared at the door.

"It's ready!" He announced, bustling in with the small tray table from this morning. He paused only briefly to give Crowley a look but seemed to shrug the sight of him under the covers off with a little hum before crossing the room to your bedside. "Crowley, be a dear and do help bring everything up, won't you?"

The demon had already moved to stand up, popping his back with a lazy nod before heading downstairs. "Yeah, yeah, I'm on it."

Aziraphale nodded his thanks and you sat up a bit straighter as he settled the tray table over your lap. There wasn't anything on it at the moment besides a plate, cloth napkin and a set of silverware that he took a moment to adjust neatly before heading back out. "There we are~ Be back in just a moment."

Just another few moments passed before he was back, pushing the door open with his shoulder this time as he carried along a small folding table.

"Oh, is that for–" you started in mild surprise and he answered before the question was all the way out.

"Of course it is!" Aziraphale said brightly, unfolding the small table in front of the chair by the nightstand, "I couldn’t very well let you eat all alone, could I? And since you can’t come to the table, we’ll simply bring the table to you!"

Your chest practically swelled at the thoughtfulness of that, and before you could muster a response, Aziraphale was already setting the table with utensils and napkins, humming cheerfully to himself as he worked.

"Surprise~" Crowley re-entered next with a bottle of wine in one hand and the stems of three glasses weaved between the fingers of his other, as well as a six-pack of something tucked under his arm.

"Crowley, you were supposed to bring the– oh, nevermind." Aziraphale rolled his eyes and waved the demon off, heading back downstairs himself again.

Crowley set the bottle of wine and two of glasses on the little table Aziraphale had arranged before turning to set the last one on your tray table.

You shot glass and his bottle of wine cagey look but it was interrupted when he plopped the six-pack of cans on the mattress beside you.

"Ta-da! ...again." he announced, "Those are for you."

Blinking, you picked up the pack of cans and your expression shifted immediately to delight. "You brought me ginger ale?"

Crowley nodded, looking rather pleased with himself but playing it off as he began opening the bottle at their table. "Figured you'd want something besides wine, and you lot drink this stuff when you're sick, right?"

You snorted as you pulled a can free from the plastic rings that held them together. "Technically that's for stomachaches. But I'm not complaining." Thre's was nothing like soda to help wash out the yucky feeling being sick left in your mouth, and they seemed to be nice and cold too.

The demon's face barely flickered with interest at your correction. "Close enough."

You flipped the can around in your hand fondly for a moment before a shit-eating and satisfied smile replaced your delighted one and you looked up at Crowley.

"Ohhh no. You wipe that smile off your face."

"You're so good to me~"

"Am not." He shot back flatly. "That fever's scrambled your brain if you've started thinking nonsense like that."

He finally popped the cork, pouring himself a generous glass of wine while you cracked open your can in solidarity. With an exaggerated sense of ceremony, you emptied the ginger ale into the glass he'd given you, lifting it his way with mock refinement.

Crowley still looked unimpressed by your comment, but his features softened just a bit, and he raised his glass to yours. "Right, cheers then," he said with a half-smile before it shifted into an unrepentant grin. "To your continued convalescence~"

You squinted offendedly at the comment but Aziraphale re-entered the room just as you were prepared to bite back.

With oven-mitted hands and a triumphant air, he carried in a large, steaming baking dish with him.

"Here we are!" the angel declared, setting the dish carefully in the center of table he'd set up for himself and Crowley. "Fresh out of the oven, hearty and piping hot! Just the kind of thing for a body on the mend."

"It smells great!" You applauded and Crowley actually nodded in agreement, swirling his glass before taking a sip.

"That it does! Did you... make it from scratch, Angel? All by yourself?" The question was playfully interrogating. "A pretty 'miraculous' effort if you ask me."

Aziraphale scoffed, removing his mitts and pulling up another armchair from the corner of the room to sit across from him. "I'll have you know that this was made with entirely human effort." But then he paused and added sheepishly, "Though I may have, ah, adjusted the taste just a smidge. I.... added a bit too much rosemary at first."

Crowley pursed his lips to stop a grin before hidng it behind another sip of wine.

"Well, let us, 'dig in', as they say!" The angel encouraged warmly, taking your plate first.

"Let's freaking goooooo." You cheered in a low voice as he handed a hearty plateful back to you. Then, eagerly, and without thinking, you immediately shoveled in a bite.

Your eyes widened and you clamped a hand over your mouth with a wince. "Ah–bad idea! Hot, hot!"

Aziraphale, despite his breif concern at your initial yelp, couldn't help but chuckle as you waved a hand in front of your mouth. "Oh, my dear, you must be careful! It did warn that it just came out of the oven."

"Mmmm, noted..." You swallowed hard and nodded, squeezing one eye shut as the residual pain faded. "It's really good though!" You added enthusiastically.

Aziraphale beamed at the compliment, serving Crowley and himself next.

After that, conversation became easy and the atmosphere in the room unshakably comfortable. Aziraphale made sure you had seconds and Crowley stole one of your ginger ales, only to toss it after an unimpressed first sip, and for a little while, everything felt perfectly simple.

You'd missed this

A lot.

A little while later, after dinner had been cleared away, you watched from your place in bed as Aziraphale returned, carrying something draped over his arms with clear excitement.

"Now," he began, with the air of someone about to present a precious gift, "since you’ll be staying another night, I went digging and found you a fresh gown. Thought you might appreciate something clean to change into."

You groaned immediately, sinking lower under the blankets, "Oh no."

Aziraphale gave you a patient look, as if you were being terribly difficult for no reason. Then, with great care, he unfolded the garment, revealing yet another soft, vintage-style nightgown.

You peeked out from under the covers, skeptically. This one was a light cream color with short sleeves. Definitely a bit more practical than the one you were wearing now but was equally as old-timey looking.

Crowley let out a low whistle, "Ohhh, that's a beauty," he said, pushing himself up from his chair. "Come on, love. Let the angel dress you up, he's clearly been dying to." He gestured at the nightgown with a smirk. "Besides, could be worse. Could've been something with more frills. Or-" he gasped in theatrical delight, snapping his fingers as though struck with sudden inspiration, "maybe a nice flower motif?"

Aziraphale perked up immediately, his eyes lighting with genuine enthusiasm. "Oh, that's a marvelous idea, Crowley! I do believe have one with a lovely bellflower pattern somewhere-"

"No!" You cut him off immediately, sitting up and holding out a hand as if to physically block any further brainstorming. "This one's fine. This is great. I love it, actually."

You jumped to your feet, grabbing the nightgown from Aziraphale's hands and using it to physically herd them both toward the door.

Crowley barely stumbled from your shove at first, but allowed himself to be herded anyway, and Aziraphale followed with pleased satisfaction. "Of course, dear. Take your time."

You rolled your eyes, giving him one last push before promptly shutting the door in both their faces.

From the other side, Aziraphale called gently, "We'll be just outside!"

"Don't remind me." You muttered in an entirely humored way and smacked your palm against the door.

With it shut and a moment of peace granted, you changed.

The question of where your original clothes had ended up did cross your mind, but you decided it didn't matter much considering that Aziraphale obviously didn't plan on you spending much time out of bed while here. So you made peace with the fact that wearing anything remotely normal would probably be out of the question until you were packed and leaving for the airport.

"Okay," You announced with a sigh, "I'm done."

As he re-entered, Aziraphale had to pause for just a moment, his hands clasping together in delighted approval. "Oh, my dear, once again you look absolutely darling. Stylish and practical! They're quite the fit for you, it seems."

Crowley stepped back in behind him. "What do you think, love?" He decided to prod, appraising you with an exaggeratedly critical eye. "Feelin' stylish?"

You hopped back onto the edge of the bed and reached for another ginger ale, cracking it open with a sharp pop. "I feel like a Victorian child with consumption."

Crowley barked out a laugh, while Aziraphale huffed, though he didn't seem particularly offended. "Now now, no need to be dramatic."

Crowley, meanwhile, had started poking around the room with a look of exaggerated curiosity. "Now where," he murmured to himself, opening a drawer and peering inside, “do you keep the matching bonnets?"

The demon was lucky that Aziraphale had already cleared away your tray and utensils, because you gripped the first thing in your vicinity, a pillow, and chucked it at him.

He dodged easily, laughing again as he lifted his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright," He leaned against the dresser, and motioned to you lazily, "but I do think it would really tie the whole thing together."

Aziraphale shook his head, nodding to you as he gave Crowley a mildly reproachful look. "Hush, Crowley, you'll have her thinking she looks anything less than absolutely lovely."

Crowley's grin turned up in a way you knew meant he was about to counter with something, but before you could launch another pillow at him, Aziraphale stepped forward with a gentle but firm clap of his hands.

"Well, I do believe it's been quite a long day for you, my dear. Perhaps it's time we wind things down for the evening?"

You dropped the pillow and flopped backward onto the mattress with an offended pout. "But I just woke up a few hours ago... It's not even late yet!"

Aziraphale tilted his head slightly as he observed you, his smile softening into something more thoughtful, but the amusement in his gaze didn't mask the careful scrutiny beneath it. His eyes flickered over you, taking note of the way you were nursing your ginger ale a bit more sluggishly now, the way your posture had started to slacken, and the slight heaviness in your gaze, even as your brows knitted together at the demon's comments.

"It's nearly nine," he began and approached the bedside, coaxing you up so he could pull back the covers you’d only just sprawled yourself over. "and if you’d like to have any hope of shaking this illness before you return home, you’ll be needing plenty of rest," he instructed, reaching over to pluck the half-empty can from your hand and set it aside gently. "Now, under the covers with you. You've had quite the day after all."

Crowley cackled at that. "Poor thing," he crooned. "Really put you through the wringer, didnt he?" Aziraphale gave him a pointed look. "I mean, you've eaten quite a bit," he began, holding up a finger as if listing each point. "Had a rather extensive nap, then proceeded to eat again." He turned to you now, his lips twitching with fond amusement. "And now, after all that hard work, you must be exhausted."

You giggled and Aziraphale pursed his lips, giving you both a mildly reproachful look, but there was no real bite behind it. "I reiterate! Rest is important," he said pointedly, though you could tell he was holding back a chuckle of his own. "And if you truly must frame it that way, then yes, she's has had a most productive day of recovery."

The angel grinned a bit too knowingly and leaned towards you before nodding to the demon. "An early night will do you far more good than staying up just to indulge Mr. Crowley's need for attention."

Crowley scoffed in mock offense at the title, no doubt used with the intention to playfully dismiss him. "Well, if she’s worked so hard, maybe you could let her stay up past her bedtime, yeah? As a little treat?"

Aziraphale let out a good-natured huff, shaking his head as he smoothed the blanket down over you with practiced ease. "A treat, you say?" he mused, side-eyeing the demon before smiling down at you at the idea. "I'm afraid that will have to wait until tomorrow. Perhaps I'll bring you something sweet with breakfast?"

"I don't need a 'treat'." You mumbled offendedly at the near condescending notion.

Aziraphale chuckled warmly at your grumbling, continuing to tuck the blankets around you with the utmost care. "Of course," he placated, his tone light and reassuring. "But a little something to lift your spirits wouldn't hurt, would it?"

"My spirits are perfectly fine." You insisted with a nod.

The angel hummed, clearly unconvinced but too polite to argue further. "If you say so, dear," he relented, though the glint in his eye suggested he already had something in mind. "Now, Crowley, you've been lovely, but I'm going to dim the lights. Please either make your way downstairs or do try your best not to keep her awake if you decide to lurk about."

Crowley stretched his arms over his head with a slow, lazy sigh, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the weight of the evening. "Yeah, yeah, I know when I'm being kicked out," he drawled, pushing off the dresser. "Angel's got his bedtime orders all set, best get some beauty sleep, love."

"Night, Crowley." You called as he waltzed out the door, raising a hand to quietly return the sentiment without looking back.

Aziraphale waited a beat, listening to Crowley's footsteps retreating down the stairs before shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. "Honestly," he sighed fondly before leaning back over you, tucking the blankets just a little neater over your shoulders.

"I think you hurt his feelings." You joked.

Aziraphale let out a small, knowing hum, smoothing out a wrinkle in the quilt. "Oh, I doubt it. Even if he leaves in a huff I'm sure he'll be back before noon tomorrow." he replied with utter certainty.

You tilted your head. "How do you know?"

The angel simply smiled, something affectionate lingering in the corners of his expression. "Please, he's been at the shop most every day these last few months. The poor boy must be terribly bored as of late with‐ well–" He seemed to trail off, waving a little hand in lue of continuing.

You bit your lip at that, forcing away an all too knowing smile with an agreeing, "Mmmhmm."

Aziraphale's expression softened, his gaze far away for just a moment before he shook himself from his thoughts. "But that's neither here nor there, my dear. What matters now is that you get another good night's rest." He patted where your hand would be over the blanket. "Get some sleep now, and as always, ring for me if you need anything at all."

"Okee," You nodded, nestling deeper into the blankets with a hint of bashfulness before glancing up at him again. "Thank you again. For... y'know, everything today. For making me food, and... just-" You exhaled softly, searching for the right words.

At that, he laughed. A sweet, fond, affectionate laugh. The kind that made it clear your gratitude, while appreciated, was entirely and endearingly unnecessary in his eyes.

"Oh, my dear," he said, his tone dripping with quiet fondness. "Think nothing of it. Truly. It's been my absolute pleasure." Then, with a smile that was both somewhat smug and entirely genuine, he added, "And I must say, I rather look forward to doing it all again tomorrow."

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Oh god favorite crime screams Richie after Mikey died

[ennieasys]

istg I'm like hunting queer people in my area so I can be friends with them, I went to my graduation recently and there were SO MANY STRAIGHT PEOPLE. I DID NOT EXPECT THIS. I ALMOST EXCLUSIVELY TALK TO QUEER PEOPLE ON THE INTERNET. WHERE THE FUCK ARE ALL OF YOU????

[returnofismasm]

I keep seeing things about a "rumored" UNIT spinoff and guys

That's been confirmed. Like for real confirmed. Kate Stewart is main characters.

So if you're wondering why the UNIT set seemed way too detailed and why there was a lot of emphasis put on some UNIT supporting cast. That would be why.

[northernworms]

where are the books and the movies where the chronically ill or terminally ill person lives? genuinely asking

(see tags. small vent)

[slime-rancher-posting]

why do dervish slimes hate me

[inkskinned]

okay is she being actually immature or is it just a woman over 30 expressing a human experience you find to be immature.

like yeah. at certain ages... let shit go. im not defending the real immature shit. im not defending the karen you're picturing. i worked in retail i hate those people too. (once somebody got mad at me because she didn't like how our winter window decor was a snowman smoking a pipe. i wish i was joking).

but men at 57 will write books about how 17 year old girls are soooo sexy. they will invent worlds where women have to be naked for "armor reasons." they will write songs that treat women as objects. people rush to defend them. meanwhile a woman at 35 will be like "heartbreak is hard, actually" or "i feel betrayed by a friend" or "i am struggling with something emotionally." immediately people will say stuff like this woman is 35 by the way. by the way this woman is SO OLD to be experiencing this. BY THE WAY.

im 31, almost 32. the other day a poet was blasted online because at her "big age", she had written a poem about feeling unloved. top comment was "this woman is 29 by the way." this woman is too old to still be useful, by the way. she has to behave better . maybe if she was a good wife and mother she could stop existing loudly, and the story could continue on without her. this woman has served her purpose, by the way. she's so cringe, by the way. at 29 - so old! - she still hasn't figured out that her existence should be one of shame.

[homoqueerjewhobbit]

Wow, this "gender free" fashion brand sure doesn't have any AMAB models.

[egophiliac]

2025 is the year of the DRAGON SLIPPERS

[akanemnon]

So THAT'S where he is!

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[psychotrenny]

People on here seem to like communist women with guns, so here's some pictures of female Mozambique FRELIMO fighters taken during their war of liberation against Fascist Portugal and its NATO backers

Guerillas with captured G3 rifles

Female guerillas carrying supplies alongside their male comrades

Guerilla posed in firing position

Militant posing with rifle