#Organic Holi Colours

[phoolofficial]

In a world where the whispers of sustainability echo louder with each passing day, there’s an undeniable allure in reimagining our festivities through a lens of eco-consciousness. As we approach the joyous occasion, Holi, that makes us dive in colours and merriment, let us unveil a tale of artistry and reverence — the tale of Natural Gulaal. For more read- https://phoolblog.medium.com/embrace-the-beauty-of-natural-gulaal-for-a-sustainable-celebration-e5590599fff4

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Something something about Buck and learning and or teaching.

Something something about Buck teaching when he really needed to be learning.

I just keep thinking about how the show has increasingly - especially last season - put Buck into the role of 'teacher' - including his coma dream. (i'm using teacher for the lack of a better term!) and how in the aftermath of the coma dream - he's been trying to teach but it hasn't worked - instead he's been learning.

I've been musing on the fact that even back in season 1 Buck has been in a teacher role -

Abby learning to chose herself and go for her happiness,

Bobby learning to let people in and Buck being a major part of that because of their developing father-son type relationship

'teaching' Eddie that he could rely on other people for help

Maddie learning at Bucks hand that she didn't need to keep running, that she could lean on him for support and build a new life for herself

Ravi being tutored by Buck in the fire house

even Lucy being given advice by Buck - teaching her through his own experiences in dumb luck

Buck making himself into a teacher in his coma dream and the idea that all these people he has helped teach teaching him that he has a place with them and that he is important

and so many more examples through the seasons that I won't list or I'd be here forever!

Because there has been a lot of emphasis on teaching and learning since Buck woke up from his coma - he learnt he was good at maths, but then wasn't allowed to help Chris with his maths homework because it would be cheating.

used his maths skills to win at Poker - but got taught lessons even in victory - rather than teaching others lessons (whatever they might have been)

Natalia being interested in him because he could teach her about death and things going south pretty quickly when it became evident that Buck needed to learn how to live again rather than be stuck in death

And now we've had several mentions by Tommy of him teaching Buck things - teaching him to fly, teaching him Mauy Thai, all the way to him being his bi awakening is teaching him about a part of himself he didn't know. Things are turned on their head - Buck is the student not the master now

Even with Eddie this season, we've seen him teaching Buck things - rather than Eddie learning from him - Eddie handing over this really important thing going on with Chris - Eddie knowing that Buck would be a better option - that Chris would open up to him more - is teaching Buck about his importance in the Diaz family - re-enforcing that he is part of their life. Its also Eddie who has had the good advice for Buck this time rather than the other way round.

Something something about 'you like to be the guy with the answers' to Buck becoming the guy with the (maths) answers - only for it to fade away and now he's having to learn

Something something about the tie to Buck and death and the resurrection and how Christ was the teacher up to and immediately after his death and resurrection when he left others on earth to spread his teachings and he ascended to learn at the right hand of god

Something something about how that is the key to happiness and that is what Buck has figured out and that is why his journey to figuring that out has had him wearing the bright blue - because in Christianity - that shade of blue is the colour of the kingdom of heaven (because it is the colour of the sky!) so putting Buck in it at all these key markers of his journey is showing him as being on the road to ascension.

This post is a mess - I don't even know what it is any more! I started with one idea about teaching and Tommy and then more kept coming and we ended up here!!!!

[thespand]

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐊𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐢. . 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐢. 𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐮𝐲… 𝐖𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝟏 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐑𝐬. 𝟏𝟎𝟎 . 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭: 𝐰𝐰𝐰.𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐝.𝐜𝐨𝐦

[pratsmusings]

Where to buy natural Holi colours in 2023?

The festival of colors is here. Nearly. While I do not enjoy holi as much as my boys do, I ensure they are well-prepped for the festival of colors. Earlier, there wasn’t much choice when it came to using holi colors. However, today there is a wide variety of organic holi colors that are safe for the skin. It is easy to buy natural holi colors online. You can also buy organic holi colors that are…

[junabuggy]

Okayy so I’ve done something similar but I wanted to see it from someone else but it’s Creepy pasta room head canons !!! I don’t mind who you do but I would love to see Jack’s most of all !! Thank you <3

Creepypasta room headcanons

A/n: At the beach rn with family.. sighhh I hate the beach (._.) BUT I LOVE THIS REQUEST !!! LMK IF YALL WANR A PART TWO (^_-)☆

Includes: Jeff, Ej, Toby, BP and Nina :333

Warnings: None

「 ✦ Jeff ✦ 」

🔪✮ MESSY ASS ROOM and it does NOT smell all that great tbh 😭😭

🔪✮ Has zero shame about it too, you come to hang out in his room he'll just kick stuff to the side and shove stuff off the bed casually.

🔪✮ Posters all over the walls, most of them are of bands he enjoys (He stole most of them 💀)

🔪✮ Jeff has a knife collection so he has a little setup for them :3

🔪✮ ALSO!!!! Side headcanon he fucking loves MSI (The song "This Hurts" by them is literally him chat)

🔪✮ There's a window in his room by his bed that you can use to get to the roof of the manor, it's actually got a pretty damn good view too

🔪✮ Has a mini fridge in his room beside his bed that has drinks in it

🔪✮ Mostly energy drinks and Pepsi with like, a singular water that'll never get drank.

🔪✮ Probably doesn't have sheets on his bed.. the mattress is full of mysterious stains

🔪✮ Musty BEAST (I love him)

「 ✦ Eyeless Jack ✦ 」

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 Jacks room doesn't smell all that great either.. he keeps all his organs to munch on and such in there.

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 There really isn't much there tbh, just the essentials to have in a bedroom.

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 A bed, a wardrobe, chair and a desk with an old computer on it..

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 Oh and a few shelves with one big window that he usually keeps closed ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 His flooring is a grey-ish carpet and his walls are painted black

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 Kinda boring, ik 😭

「 ✦ Toby ✦ 」

🪓☆ Chaotically clean room, bro is a maximalist to the extreme (^o^)

🪓☆ ‼️‼️ He yearns to collect ‼️‼️

🪓☆ there's a few shelves with trinkets he's collected over the years on them (≧ω≦)

🪓☆ Posters, banners, stickers, drawings and records littered eevveryywhere on the walls and ceiling of his room (maybe this is just projecting because thats witterly my room ☝️)

🪓☆ Has the glow in the dark star stickers on his ceiling for sure

🪓☆ His room is MUCH bigger than the other proxies, has everything he needs and more

🪓☆ I mean, he has a little couch in there that has a big stuffed animal on it and a bug blanket (His hyperfixation is bugs, if you couldn't tell /silly 🪲🪲 )

🪓☆ He spends a shit ton of time in his room because it's genuinely super cool

🪓☆ Has a Tv mounted on his wall in the corner !!

🪓☆ Oh and he has a guitar in his room that he l can't play, he just thinks it looks cool o_O

「 ✦ Bloody Painter ✦ 」

🎨꩜ VERY CLEAN ROOM. AND VERY PARTICULAR ON HOW HE KEEPS THINGS.

🎨꩜ Don't mess with any of his shit without permission first and you'll be fine 🙏

🎨꩜ Has some of the normal (Ones that he doesn't use blood in, he keeps those safe.) paintings, drawings and sketches he's made on his wall behind his easel in the corner of his room :33

🎨꩜ I also think he likes to write!! So maybe some poetry is on his wall as well in that little corner ^_^

🎨꩜ Almost the entirety of his back wall is window which he loves

🎨꩜ HAS PLANTS !!!! 🌱🪴

🎨꩜ Has a nice desk to draw on with a comfortable chair. Theres a nice smelling candle on it with a few books and a lamp (●＾o＾●)

🎨꩜ Also owns the most??? Comfortable?? Blankets?? EVER????? Amazing textures, NO SHERPA <(｀^´)>

🎨꩜ Has a drawer thingy dedicated to his art supplies (Which is also very organized, btw)

🎨꩜ HE HAS A RECORD PLAYER. YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE.

「 ✦ Nina ✦ 」

🪱ᰔ SHES A SCENE GIRL!!! ROOM IS SCENE!!!

🪱ᰔ Like holy shit it's so colourful ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) 

🪱ᰔ LOTS and LOTS of homemade stuff stuck on her walls along with various other things, there's stuff everywhere

🪱ᰔ Now you already know she owns a gir blanket and a gir backpack, like cmon (灬ºωº灬)♡

🪱ᰔ Collection of stuffed animals !! Some on her bed and some in a hanging net in the corner above her bed

🪱ᰔ Has LED lights and there's no windows in her room

🪱ᰔ Has a nice desk with a computer on it and trinkets, her keyboard lights up rainbow ☆´∀｀☆

🪱ᰔ Her wardrobe and closet are FULL. She has like, so many cool clothes, belts and accessories

🪱ᰔ Convinced slender to let her paint her walls funky and cool !!

🪱ᰔ Soooo her walls are purple and she painted on with a smaller paint brush cheetah print all over them :3 (She's an icon and I love her dearly)

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐲

[ineffable-suffering]

INEFFABLE META MASTERPOST

Because I'm slowly losing count and need to organize. So, here's all my self-written metas or ones that I reblogged with my own added theories and commentary! In rainbow colours, naturally.

1 – Aziraphale, I love you. But you lied. And here's why. My most lengthy and proudest meta about the Final Fifteen and why I think Aziraphale lied on purpose. (Also: The absolute darling @esthermitchell-author bravely fought their way through it and wrote up some more interesting points and different takes on what I came up with. If you want to go down a S2 rabbit hole with us, go read it here.)

2 – Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator (links below) A three-part meta in which I try to analyse and explain that all of the minisodes in Season 2 are not objective narrations but actually Aziraphale's memories.

Part 1: The Story of Job

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941

3 – The Jane Austen Ball and why it was never about Nina and Maggie A meta in which I go into unnecessarily great detail about how the Whickber Street Meeting Cotillion Ball was meant to be Aziraphale's confession to Crowley.

4 – Crowley & Aziraphale were never free (reblog) A reblog of @baggvinshield's post in which I explain why miscommunication is the single biggest ineffable enemy in Season 2.

5 – In Defense of Aziraphale (double reblog) A double try at explaining why I think Aziraphale's POV in the Final Fifteen is just as horrible as Crowley's and why I don't think him "choosing" to go back to Heaven was the only point of his character journey.

6 – The Art of Miscommunication: Ineffable Edition A meta in which i once again explain why miscommunication is the single biggest ineffable enemy in Season 2.

7– Season 2 Bookshop Shot Meta A meta where I briefly loose my mind because of a single bookshop frame in Season 2.

8 – What if it wasn't Aziraphale and Crowley who performed the 25 Lazarii miracle? A mini-meta in which I propose the theory that Jimbriel helped with the miracle to hide himself away from Heaven & Hell.

9 – Things in Good Omens Season 2 I still find weird (reblog) A reblog of @ok-sims and many other great OPs' thoughts on the weird loose strings in Season 2 and what unanswered questions I still have myself.

10 – The Deleted Bookshop Scene (reblog) A reblog of @skirtdyke's video and @i-only-ever-asked-questions' smart thoughts on it, with my own overly-excited 'what that could have meant for the "It's too late" line'-theroy.

11 – The Bentley Handle Easter Egg A meta I can proudly say has been liked by none other than Mr. Neil Gaiman himself about Crowley's Bentley handle that might have existed before the Bentley ever did.

12 – The F*cking Eccles Cakes A meta where I briefly loose my mind because of a pastry. (Addendum: People said very smart things in the comments of the post!)

14 – Re: "You go too fast for me, Crowley" A meta in which I make myself sad by connecting that infamous line to Aziraphale assuming Crowley wanted the Holy Water as a suicide pill.

13 – Trauma-Dumping on your plants: The Anthony J. Crowley Chronicles A meta on why Crowley treats his plants the way that he does.

14 – Demonic Mental Health Awareness Post In which I talk about why I want to get Crowley a therapy voucher.

15 – The Curious Incident of The Flaming Sword in Good Omens A meta on why the Flaming Sword has no deeper meaning. Or does it? (Updated: here's a reblog from @queerfables who did a wonderfully exellent job at calmly explaining all the swordy questions I was yelling about! Consider this meta solved.)

16 – Ceci n'est pas une plume A meta in which I'm a bit of a nerd for language and also explain why learning French and magic the human way says so much about Aziraphale as a character.

17 – The meaning of "I forgive you" A meta in which I explain what both "I forgive you"s mean and why Aziraphale will always fight for what is right until he wins. Also, the lovely @sharksbeerr translated it to Chinese on Weibo!

18 – Memory, or the lack thereof, in Season 2 A little reblog on how memory is a big and unresolved, leaky-bucket theme in Season 2.

19 – „It‘s always too late.“ (ft. Crowley‘s watch)

A short meta about that lines from Season 2 that won‘t leave my brain (and also Crowley‘s mysterious watch).

Addendum:

The one non-spoiler-y ask I could come up with about S2 that was actually answered by Neil, yay!

Also, this wholesome little post I added to that Mr. Gaiman also reblogged. :‘)

*** This is a work in progress and will get updated every time I post a new meta! ***

[not-magdi]

Face Masks

Summary: Pablo discovering the wonderful world of face masks

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x fem!reader

Warnings: none just pure fluff

Words: 534

Skincare was extremely important to you. You enjoyed having a nightly routine, which helped you stay calm and sane despite your hectic life with your boyfriend, Pablo Gavi.

You have your serums and your creams all nicely lined up on the bathroom shelf. All organized by colours and sizes, it's your little happy place.

Pablo didn't understand it at first, not getting behind the idea of standing an hour in the bathroom, smearing different things on your face. But after you explained their importance to you, he accepted it. He still doesn't understand it but learns to live with it.

You're currently standing in your holy bathroom, applying a face mask to your face, as you feel two hands snake around your waist.

"When are you coming to bed amor.?"

"Soon, I'm almost done."

Dipping his finger in the container, he plays with the mask and draws a disgusted face.

"And you put that on your face because you want to?"

You chuckle and nod your head, finishing applying it to your face. Then, an idea sparked in your mind.

"Hey, can I apply some to your face?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Come on, pleaseeeeee?"

You try to give him your best puppy-dog eyes, and not surprising you at all, it takes exactly one minute for him to budge.

"Fineee, but my face better be as soft as a baby's butt after this"

You celebrate your success for a second before you beckon him to sit on the counter before you. Finding the most stupid headband you own, you put it in his head.

Taking a step back, you admire how your boyfriend looked with his hair all put-back. You started to laugh at the sight before you. He looked like a little kid with his little frog headband.

"You having fun, cariño?"

"Yes, very much."

Composing yourself, you start to apply the mask to his face. Which was harder than you might think because that little shit kept trying to move away all the goddam time.

"Amor, that's cold!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Beauty is pain, baby. Beauty is pain."

After you finished applying the mask to his face, you took a good look at your artwork. It was the cutest thing you have ever seen in your entire life.

Pablo's face, completely covered in a white face mask, with a pout on his lips, was a sight that was now permanently burned in your brain.

Grabbing your phone, you take a photo of this sight to post it afterwards.

"Really, you gonna take a photo of my suffering?"

"Yes, now come here. I wanna take a selfie too."

You take a few selfies and cuddle up on the bed to wait until the masks are dry.

"Amor, are they supposed to burn?"

"Uhh, yeees?"

You let out a sigh of relief as you hear the timer go off. Dragging Pablo to the bathroom, you wash the mask off his face, chuckling at his surprised face, when he feels how soft his skin got.

"Dios mio, it's so soft!"

"I know, face masks are awesome right?"

"Sí, cariño, we need to do this more often OK?!"

Laughing, you nod your head, kissing his cheek, happy how excited he got over face masks.

your_username

Liked by pedrigonzáles, mikkykiemeney and 430.000 others

your_username couldn't convince him to keep the headband 😂

tagged: pablogavi

pablogavi: love you ❤️ and my soft skin

pedrigonzáles: Stylisch hermano 😂

⎮pablogavi: Ey, your skin is gonna thank you afterwards

pablitooogavi: Not Pablo being obsessed with face masks 😂

⎜liked by pablogavi

mikkykiemeney: How did you get him to do that?!

⎜your_username: I bribed him with food

user7325384: Hahah, I love them

fcbarçalover: Couple goaaalllllsss!!

gaviisthebest: If they break up I'm gonna need therapy

⎜liked by your_username

[ellzilla]

Laughing Jack Headcanons!

I have so many things about this rewritten clown in my brain n' I don't think I've ever like Listed ALL the headcanons in one spot? individual posts but never a hoard of them, soo. Here's all on my mind rn but i've probably forgotten some! - He can't feel pain or temperature and struggles with texture. The best way to explain it is imagine wearing super thick work gloves all the time and trying to touch a cactus and then a fur pillow, only difference you're gonna feel is that you can push into the pillow. - He also can't sleep or smell, but he still yawns when he's exhausted and sneezes when there's visibly a lot of dust or whatever in the air. -Also he can't eat food or taste. If he tries, he'll throw it up along with black sludge after an hour or so. He can drink and feel the effects of alcohol, but it makes him fucking reek because he doesn't have any organs and it just kinda absorbs into his stuffing. - He's a huge kleptomaniac! He has entire tents in his carnival dedicated to shit he's stolen from people he's killed, but he keeps his favourite items in his trailer. -His skin is a combination of plastic and rubber, despite initially being made with fabric. There's a few parts on his body where left over seems are still visible. -The only part of his body that's white is his head and most of his torso, the rest has been stained black with a faint branch pattern connecting the colours together. -His makeup isn't makeup, it's just how he looks! And he hates it! -If he wears coloured clothes they'll eventually turn monochrome and won't regain colour. -Huge egomaniac! Part of his kelptomania fuels this as he hoards things that are rare/thought to not exist anymore -Only thing close to a friend he's ever had is his relationship with Zalgo and Will. -Doesn't remember how he came to be or why he loves violence. He sometimes dwells on it but not for too long or else he gets upset. -Holy items can tranquilize him/subdue him on prolonged physical and can send him into a state akin to sleep but with none of the benefits. Having a holy item nearby simply makes him mildly less agitated and a lot more tired. -He can turn into smoke and do mild shapeshifting, mainly changing sizes or stretching things by an impossible amount. -Extremely quick to anger -Loses track of the year a lot -Has no clue why he has such a familial bond with Will and struggles with it as all he's done for hundreds of years is be either an asshole or kill people, so his nice gestures and affection sometimes comes with implied threats

-Extremely overprotective and controlling of Will to the point Will doesn't feel like he has a life of his own [Will used to love it as a kid, but now he's in his mid 20's/early 30's? Not so much] -Can use his pullstring as another limb, being able to grab things or life himself up with it. -Sometimes literally hangs around by cradling/hammocking himself with his pullstring

[astrum99]

I can’t stop thinking about angel anatomy.

How are they made? What are they made of? If we break them down limb by limb, flesh by flesh, molecule by molecule, would we find the same structures that echoes our DNA? The same stable, constraining carbon? The same heavy metals? The same blood that flows with life, with death? Are they made of the same stardust that echoed in me?

Do they have a brain? A large raw organ, fragile and limited, capable of complex imaginary hallucinatory mathematics with scheduled periods of unconsciousness to make up for the capacity? A liver and two kidneys? To distill the holy light from the contaminates of the polluting environments akin to a dialysis machine cycling the liquids within the veins? A spine that holds strong? Riddled with the same 33 bones and ridges and intervertebral disks and fluids and sensitive nerves and has a habit of bending over for tedious work? A stomach that stirs and shifts constantly? To hold food? Souls? Light? To churn and froth at the consumption of concepts? An appendix? This small unless thing that rests and nestles between the layers of warm, worm-like intestines? How many teeth do you have? How many fingers? How many knees? What is the shape of your nails? What is the colour of your esophagus? How deep are the socket of your eyes?

How fast does your heart beat?

Is it faster? Slower? Do you even have a heart?

Do you feel in the same way that I feel? The pressure of processed wood against my feet, the nagging buzzing of LED light above my head, the smell of faint smoke from a cooking disaster weeks ago. The sound of people laughing unruly in the distance, putting on a show in the TV program that no one watches. The dampness of the towel against my face. The pain of a needle sliding into soft flesh that gives way willingly to metal. The bruises blooming slowly, aching like love. The chirping of songbirds, the shape of cumulus clouds, the haziness of a morning fog that really stayed for far too long. The way that my mother worked around the hard peels of an orange with the sharpest knife in the kitchen, just to present the sweetest parts to me. The tenderness of a shoulder touching mine before stealing my blankets (again) with a giggle that indicated no remorse. The sluggish sunlight that sneaks through the shades just to press a kiss on my forearm. The sorrow and passion of the symphony on the last show on the last tour, followed by cheers and drunken (revered) confessions during the post-performance celebration at 3am in a random bar of a random city. The foot print of an animal in the first winter snow of the year, like a human pressing their hand print on to the cave walls, chanting I am here I am here I am here, chanting remember me remember me remember me.

Do you bear the shame of sacred inabilities as we humans do? Unable to see beyond the visible spectrum of light? Unable to distinguish the difference between wet and dry, only to assume based on temperature and texture? Unable to know if someone else was speaking of the truth? Unable to see inside someone’s mind? Unable to thread words in a way that completely gives you away like you intended to? Unable to turn back into a child and speak of love so easily? Unable to run forever and ever? Unable to peak into the veil beyond space and time and death? Unable to tell your pet that you’re sorry for making them take the awful medicine and please don’t hate me please don’t hate me please don’t hate me? Unable to be remembered and recognized, at least not wholly, at least not without mistakes?

Do you ever feel the strangeness of existence? Why you? Why now? Why here? That sometimes it feels like the world is five degrees to the left and you are just out of sync enough to keep going. That sometimes you are so overwhelmed with the the giant coincidence that is the world so you weep uncontrollably at the wonder of it all. That you feel like suffocation as you dig into the earth with your bloody fingers because a bird hit your window and died and you didn’t know and you kneeled by it for an hour before realizing it wasn’t breathing.

It died so long ago. It won’t get up again. The first time you held a bird was its cold hard corpse. So small between your palms, so fragile. It’s feathers iridescent. You have never seen one so up close. It was the prettiest and the deadest thing you’ve ever touched. It feels like the world. It feels like a prayer. Do you understand?

Do you regret like me? Love like me? Despair like me? Do you dream like me? Pray like me? Cry like me?

How close are you?

Let me touch you.

Please, I have to know.

[phoolofficial]

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[ani-iu]

[𝟐] 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 | angel 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦 × female human 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: marriage of convenience; forced proximity; angst; domestic; crackfic; possessive Adam; he falls first and harder; misogyny; Adam being Adam; explicit language; religious imagery & symbolism; sexual tension; eventual smut; happy ending; not canon compliant.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5,3k.

// holy necrogamy

𝐌uted purples and satiny gold dominate your current surroundings, giving them the dreamy, ethereal appearance of an evening sky. You blend right in as your face's colouration slowly reaches a similar hue to the wallpapered walls, a few shades darker than the plum carpeting you are clawing at. If you thought that it was difficult to breathe in Hell, then you are literally suffocating up here in Heaven. 

"I’m dying and you are just standing there." You wheeze out, rolling your eyes upward to stare through your eyelashes at your fiancé, who is leaning against a wall a few feet away. You can feel your chest expanding and contracting, creating the illusion of breathing, but no air ever fills your lungs, leaving you gasping like a fish out of water — which, in a way, you are. "Soon.. you will have no bride to marry."

"I told you that you won’t suffocate. It just feels like you are." Repeating himself pulls a disgruntled sigh out of Adam, but the thing is, you heard him the first time. It's just that his words don't bring any comfort.

"I hope.. I die.. go.. to Hell.. for mingling.. with.. the occult.. and.. reunite with.. the man.. that I.. actually.. love.." With your words coming in short gasps, you finally manage to voice out your sentence before lowering your forehead until it brushes against the coarse fibres covering the floor. You hope he will realise that you are not worth the trouble and send you back to Earth. You could start over, summon Lucifer through a chalky pentagram on the floor and talk it out with the devil in the comfort of your own living room this time. Just like normal people do.

However, your persistence only fascinates the man more.

"Don't be dramatic." Adam scoffs, reacting as if you are foolish for feeling and acting this way, but when you don't acknowledge him and refuse to get up from the ground, he has no choice but to take matters into his own hands. You feel his arm wrap itself around your middle, tugging you up and holding you close to him so you won't slump like a rag doll next to his feet. "If you had listened to me with those God-given organs on each side of your head and entered that room," he takes a step towards the door of said room and your legs swing like the controlled motions of a pendulum on a grandfather clock. "You could breathe just fine, but I doubt that would improve your cognitive abilities. God clearly prioritised beauty over brains with you."

The door slides open as though your arrival is highly anticipated to which Adam responds by stepping towards the darkness without a second thought. He knew where he was going while you, on the other hand, did not.

You writhe in protest and apprehension at having to face the unknown first, but ultimately your pitiful attempt at stopping him is useless.

Once the two of you are inside, the cloaking darkness swallows up everything around you, preventing you from getting familiar with your new surroundings and alienating you even more. At least he didn't lie about the air being more breathable.

Adam lowers you down onto your feet and with his touch no longer there, you feel like a tiny boat at night — lost in the middle of an unpredictable sea that hides its dangers in the dark while a big and scary monster lurks right behind you.

But perhaps sometimes it is better to not see.

A creature sits in front of you behind a dark wood table, illuminated only by an iridescent halo above his head. He appears to be human, with a handsome and familiar face, but you know he is not — this is Heaven after all. The unnaturally long upper part of the being's body peaks from behind the aforementioned furniture, so straight that it looks eerily unsettling. When he stands up, he appears to be even taller than the hulking presence behind you and when he gracefully glides through the room, his disciplined movements remind you of a statue that is being pushed on a drum dolly. 

Alarmed, you gasp, unintentionally bumping into Adam as you take an involuntary step back, but the creature doesn't seem to notice you.

However, he acknowledges the angel behind you.

"Adam, the first human." The being speaks with a flat yet modulated voice, although you are more taken aback by the information it presents than how it is delivered. "You were the last soul I expected to have in my presence."

"Well, Danny, for a marriage-related matter, it was only wise of me to visit the angel of marriage first! Isn't that right, babe?" Adam pinches your cheek and you silently glare in that direction, praying that you could burn his leathery claw off. When your prayers fall on deaf ears and you shift your focus to who you now know is Archangel Daniel, you find his empty, unblinking eyes already staring down at you, further solidifying his likeness as a statue in your mind. For an angel of love and marriage, he looks very cold and clinical.

Your breathing quickens as you hold eye contact with the archangel while he stares straight into your soul, then switches his focus above your head. His face doesn’t betray any of his emotions or thoughts, but you are certain that he is at least curious about the fact that you happen to look very alive.

"Do others know you want to marry a mortal?"

And that's when your face lights up with hope. An archangel — a messenger of God himself — has to put a stop to this and save you. Adam might be an angel, but ultimately, he is a human soul. Archangel Daniel is a divine entity who should protect not only the sanctity of marriage but also the people involved. You are not a willing participant; he should be able to tell that just by simply looking at your terrified face — so sickly pale that you might be on the verge of passing out or dying altogether.

"They don’t, but will. Promise."

Just like that, the archangel shatters your hopes for rescue by unostentatiously nodding at Adam. He doesn't even spare you another glance, as if the previous ones were already too much, before turning away to prepare for the marriage ceremony. If you could even call it that.

You attempt to swallow down the lump in your throat, but your mouth is dry. Why did this holy being, who was supposedly created with the sole purpose of protecting humans from evil, assisting the perpetrator? Why did you get more compassion from sinners in Hell than from angels in Heaven? Hell wasn't as scary as it looked, but Heaven is terrifying. Here, you have no one in your corner.

"Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get you dressed." Adam's loud voice snaps you out of your thoughts, cutting your pity party short.

You are dressed, even if the dress you put on this morning is now dotted with burn holes. The charred article of clothing is still yours. You made it! You chose the colour of the fabric that matched your eyes and suited your skin tone the best. You cut the skirt to the perfect length and sewed the pieces together until the pads of your fingertips were numb and bloody. It was made specifically for your first official date with Marcel and you wore it today, hoping that he would wake up from his coma and see you in it. You plan to wear this dress when you get Marcel back to the living world — you will mend the holes and wear it many more times.

But before you can speak your mind, in a literal snap of a finger, you are wrapped in what you can only describe as an embodiment of pristine purity — a toga-style dress as awe-inspiring as the first snow. Long pieces of silk wrap around your body like vines, hiding your skin in a false illusion of modesty. The tight fit makes your bust and curves more pronounced, and— did he make your underwear disappear?!

Embarrassment-red paints your cheeks, while the golden curve of his mouth spells out mischief. You cross your legs together, covering yourself protectively with your hands, but it does nothing to sway his unapologetic focus away from your body. Substituting hands for eyes, he traces every curve with keenness, but before you can make a remark, Archangel Daniel returns, signalling the start of the ceremony.

You tune out most of what is being said, trying to distance yourself from the situation as a whole — it wasn’t like you were needed as an active participant either way. No vows are exchanged, and no I do's are said — only a recitation of an ancient speech spoken by the archangel. A ritual that binds your souls into one.

You snap back to reality when you feel a soft touch grab your left hand. 

"What are you doing?" You jump a bit, pulling your hand away in the process. Adam's touch is unwelcome at the moment. You wish to spend these last moments alone with yourself.

"Where else do you want me to put your ring?"

Inside your ass, preferably. "Where I’m from, women wear it on the right."

As if having a mind of its own, your right hand throbs painfully, reminding you of its unfavourable condition, but you quickly silence it by pressing the burning palm into the lower part of the wedding dress.

"What’s so special about that hand?"

"The same question goes both ways."

"Ever heard of the 'vein of love'?"

You audibly scoff at that. What is the point of the gesture when there is no love involved? He doesn't need to make this poor excuse for a matrimonial union more of a spectacle than it already is.

"That a vein from the ring finger runs directly to the heart? Science proved that that’s nonsense—"

"Give me your fucking hand."

And you do, simply because your right hand is in no condition to wear anything.

You feel the cold metal slide down your skin, and even though the band fits perfectly and quickly warms up with the help of your body heat, the delicate piece of jewellery feels heavy on your ring finger. You can't make yourself look down.

"In the eyes of God, you are now husband and wife."

Everything is going too fast, you scream inside your head while sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to prevent yourself from saying that out loud. But when you think the worst part is over, you feel Adam's cold fingers lift your quivering chin up, and his thumb pulls the delicate flesh away from the sharp incisors.

It’s fine, just close your eyes and imagine Marcel.

Adam takes a step closer and your eyes intently follow his every move, looking away only when you feel something tug on your wedding dress. Your now husband's long fingers are playing with a longer piece of fabric, caressing the silk with care while looking like a predator toying with his meal.

He raises his hand with the piece still in his grasp and your intense gaze moves with it. You stay silent until he brings it in front of your face and is about to tie it around your eyes.

"Hey, whoa, what do you think you are doing?" You put your hand in between your face and the would-be blindfold, your wedding ring catching the light from Adam's halo and glimmering like a star in his face.

"Do you need step-by-step narration of my every move? I’m tying your eyes."

"No, you are not."

"Don’t be difficult."

Your eyebrows arch in bewildered astonishment. "I think I’ve been pretty compliant so far. And who even kisses with their eyes open?"

"I don’t trust you to keep them shut."

"And you married me? Make up your mind." You scoff while Adam sways your hand away and goes in to tie the piece. Somehow, the deep blackness disrupting your vision only makes you lippier. "Thanks, now I can imagine that I’m kissing Marcel— OW!" Adam tightens the blindfold with a bit more force before you can even finish your sentence, painfully tugging on your hair after a few errant strands got caught in the knot.

"Did you say something?"

You scrunch your nose and frown, but remain quiet.

The toga dress and blindfold combination probably make you look like the statue of Lady Justice — the only thing missing are the freaking scales. Pitty, those would be immensely useful for thwacking the angel in the head.

Silence befalls you when Adam steps back, and you are left to anxiously await his next move.

But nothing happens.

Your ears become hungry to hear something, anything. There is a soft, muffled sound akin to the rustling of clothing, as though Adam is walking away from you and your fingers twitch to extend your hand to grab him before he is gone. At the last minute, you stop yourself. Did you read the room wrong? Was Adam about to sacrifice you to some hungry, biblical entity instead of solidifying your union with a kiss?

Somewhere in front of you, you hear it — a faint click, followed by a heavy clank near your feet. You twist and lower your head in the direction of the sound as if you could see anything, until you feel what has now become a familiar touch — frigid and leathery. Gently, Adam takes hold of your chin and tilts your head upwards. A gust of breath fans your lips as they part with a faint gasp. Is he—

Warm, plump lips cautiously brush against your own, causing your heart to plummet into your stomach and your voice box to produce a low moan, which gets eagerly swallowed up by the other soul. Both of your lips move in tandem; the action itself is sensual, not sexual, but it goes on for way too long to be considered a conventional wedding kiss.

Your partner's hand sits nicely on your waist, fingers holding onto you as if you would disappear otherwise. This couldn't be Adam kissing you. It's unfathomable that the smug bastard you had the misfortune of getting to know in such a short time could show such care for another soul. And if you remember correctly, his demonic face didn’t have any lips to begin with.

Being deprived of one of your senses with the help of a blindfold, you resort to using what you do have. Your hand lifts to caress his cheek and brush against the soft skin, familiarising itself with something foreign to you. You try to sculpt the man’s face in your mind, wondering what colour his eyes are, the hue of his skin, and the placement of his beauty marks — that is, if he has any. Your thumb glides across the supple flesh as if through wet clay — as if he is malleable.

Your inquisitive touch elicits a grunt from the man and by the sound alone, you can instantly tell that it's indeed Adam who is kissing you. A very human Adam.

But as Adam's fingers travel downwards towards your supple hips, he quickly pulls away as if you bit him. Your lips detach with a wet pop and while you gasp for air, Adam opens his eyes to look at his hand, which is now saturated with blood.

Satin threads of your wedding dress voraciously drink the blood out of your palm, mimicking veins by quickly spreading the crimson fluid throughout the right side of the garment. This wasn’t angelic ichor. This was metallic, vital, impure blood. The kind that a sinner bleeds after being touched by the exorcist's blade — a reminder of your mortality and of the original sin of which you were not cured because you were still alive.

Adam was already causing trouble for the elders of Heaven. That was nothing new. But now, as he looks at his blood-covered hands, Adam realises how dangerously he is toeing the line by inviting something so impure into such a holy space. And worst of all, you didn't even want to be here. 

He looks at you — a white sacrificial lamb, tied with satin and ready for sacrifice. But instead of being gifted to God as a sign of love and devotion, you sacrificed yourself for a sinner in Hell, and Adam, even as he grappled with himself in his moment of clarity, still craved such love for himself. He is fucking Adam! He was entitled to love and when he wasn’t given that, he had the right to take it. He is the first fucking man!

But this meant that Adam was no better than Lucifer — no, he was even worse — he blackmailed you to be with him.

"Um.. Adam?"

Your voice is small, but it brings Adam's attention back to you all the same. Lips, red and glossy, are parted just a tiny bit as you take hungry breaths to sate your human lungs. What was he doing?

Adam quickly scrambles to put his mask back on before clearing his throat. "Why didn’t you say anything about your hand?"

You perk up at the sound of his voice and finally tug the blindfold away from your eyes, only to see yourself reflected in the dark, glossy finish of what you now know is a mask. For a moment, you allowed yourself to forget how you got into this situation and for what or whom. All you could think about was how maybe, just maybe, being Adam’s wife wouldn’t be so bad until you figured everything out. 

"There wasn’t a good time to bring it up."

He chuckles sardonically, "You had time to argue about which hand the ring should go on. The wound is literally dripping. The side of the dress is covered in blood."

A wedding is supposed to be a joyous event in a woman’s life, but the blood only serves to remind everyone that this union was anything but. It was kind of poetic, in a way.

"Sorry."

"No, it’s— I will take care of it when we get home."

His words don't bring you comfort. This wasn’t your home. Your home was on Earth, but for now, you could be content with at least staying in your current location. You wanted to stay here in the dimness, where it was bearable to endure your new life and where your new husband didn’t seem so bad. You liked to think this was a dream, you didn’t want the reality to set in fully. And maybe that's why you wanted to kiss Adam again — to lose yourself in the feeling for a few more seconds so that you wouldn't think of everything else. 

"How will I be able to live here?"

"Don’t worry your little head about that, hot stuff. You've been doing that more than enough. Let me deal with the boring bureaucracy while you play a good little wife for me at home. How does that sound, hm?”

Like a life sentence.

Adam doesn't wait for an answer. He snaps his fingers, producing golden sparks that turn into a big whirl of light in the same colour.

"After you."

Begrudgingly, you walk towards it. It takes you a few steps to reach the portal, but when you step through it, you get instantly teleported to Adam's intended destination — a spacious and tidy apartment. Too tidy. No one lives here type of tidy.

Yet, somehow, it still feels queerly homely. Maybe it's thanks to the pastel evening skies — spiling through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the open-floor apartment like watercolour on paper. Or perhaps it has something to do with Adam's scent permeating the whole space.

The portal closes behind you and only after taking a deep breath do you build enough courage to finally turn around and face Adam. The setting you are now in is more intimate and it's just the two of you here. 

When you turn around, his glowing eyes are already on you. Adam's gaze momentarily flickers towards your lips and you can feel your face grow hot.

But before either of you can move, a knock echoes throughout the room.

"Fuck, what is it now?" Adam whines but goes to see who it is anyway. "What, Lute?"

By moving your head a bit to the side, you can see more clearly who's at the door. Feet spread apart and arms behind her back, Lute, as Adam addressed the female angel, stands proud even if her uniform is marred with red blood, matching you in a way. You recognise her as one of the many similar-looking angels that were in Hell at the time of your descent. The last time you saw her, she had a mask on.

"Sir, the Seraphim wishes to see you. Immediately." Her voice is unwavering and without her mask on, the white-skinned angel's face seems to be stuck in a perpetual frown. You catch her eye from way across and it's obvious she's not a fan of you. You don't blame her.

"Fuck. Yeah, okay." Adam turns to you. "So, I gotta go for a bit. You know, duty calls. Your husband is a busy guy, but, um, don’t be afraid to explore. See you in a bit, hourglass."

The door shuts behind him, leaving you all alone with someone you didn't want to be isolated with — yourself.

Now, in the dead silence, your inner thoughts are the loudest — eating you alive alongside the corrosive feeling of guilt. Every single one of your choices, made throughout this one miserable day, is being scrutinised and the verdict is unanimous. It was all your fault and you had no one to blame but yourself.

You were so selfish with your actions that you didn’t stop to think of your loved ones, managing even to put an already dead Marcel in danger. You don’t even have any way to know if your sacrifice paid off. What if Adam is finishing the job right now? You would be none the wiser. And Seth, he was probably blaming himself for not trying harder to persuade you to let him take you home.

You slide down to the ground — virgin white pooling around you like bloody sea foam — and give yourself a hug. God knows how much you need one right now. You never felt as alone as you did at the moment.

Calling your mom would be nice. She always knew how to help. But you will probably soon meet her here because she wouldn’t survive your disappearance, your cruel mind supplies.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and run your fingers through your hair, imagining that it's your mother's soft touch instead. You can almost imagine yourself back at your childhood home, playing in the big garden barefoot and without a care. When you were little, you were always very inquisitive, wanting to know how everything came to be. And while your grandmother would shut you up by simply saying that God created everything, your mother spun all sorts of otherworldly tales that made your big eyes sparkle with wonder.

"Why is it called that, mommy? The trembling aspen? " You asked one day.

In hindsight, the answer is simple: because of its leaves, which tremble in the lightest breeze. However, you remember your mother smiling at you and whispering the tale as if it were the biggest secret.

"There once lived an old farmer whose three daughters went to bathe in the sea one day. When the youngest returned to the shore to get dressed, she found a serpent in her clothes. Speaking in a man's voice, the serpent demanded that she promise to become his wife in exchange for her clothes being returned. Faced with an immediate need to get dressed and not thinking about possible future consequences, the girl agreed ."

Now that you recall the whole story from the very beginning, it sounds a bit too familiar. Funny how Adam, a man who was once tricked by a serpent himself, acted the same as the reptile in the story your mother has told you. If only he knew that he wasn't superior to the creature he harbours the deepest hatred for.

"A few days later, a brood of serpents showed up at the girl's house to claim the promised bride. The girl's family tried to trick them, but they were unsuccessful. The serpents took her to the seashore, where the serpent king she promised to marry was now a handsome young man who took her to his palace under the sea."

You pause the memory to reminisce about your own wedding and how, like the serpent king, Adam wasn’t some sort of creature but a human soul underneath a mask. How warm his skin was compared to Heaven’s thinner atmosphere and his abrasive tongue, or how his stubble tickled your chin.

"Years passed and the couple had three sons and a daughter. One day, the girl became homesick and asked her husband to let her and the kids visit her childhood home. At first, the serpent was against it, but in the end, let them go. The girl's family was overjoyed to see her and didn't want her to leave, so her brothers decided to kill the serpent. They demanded that the children reveal how to lure their father out of the sea and while the sons refused to betray their father, the youngest daughter became frightened and revealed the secret. The brothers rushed to the seashore, called for the serpent and once he revealed himself, slaughtered him. In her grief, the girl transformed her brave sons into strong trees — oak, ash and birch — while she turned her cowardly daughter into a trembling aspen, cursed to shiver day and night from the slightest breeze. And then she turned herself into a spruce."

You lay your head on the floor, chilling your burning cheek against the cold ground as you gaze ahead, mulling over the story. It would be nice if you could turn yourself into a spruce, then maybe Adam could make new floorboards out of you if he liked to walk out on you that much.

Why you even cared, you couldn’t say. You guess it was loneliness speaking, and although this whole arrangement wasn’t born out of love, you deep down hoped that you could somehow make the best of your predicament.

But then he left you all alone, which quickly shattered your naive hopefulness. 

You have no idea how long you stayed in that position before finally finding the energy to peel yourself away from the floor and sit up straight. The next step is to stand up, but before tackling that daunting task, you really need to do something about your god-forsaken hand.

Doubtful that an immortal being would have a first-aid kit lying around in his home, you rip a lengthy piece of cloth from your dress and wrap it tightly around your palm. When that's taken care of, you rise to your feet and venture further into the house.

If Adam really is the first man, you understand the choice to have an open floor plan for the apartment. Seamlessly merging the living room and kitchen areas makes it more spacious and easier to breathe in. Spending the majority of one's life in the vastness that is the Garden of Eden and then having to make do with living surrounded by walls must be a difficult thing to adapt to.

The kitchen looks more like a showroom — all that’s missing are price tags and descriptions. The cabinets are empty, as is the fridge, and the small dining table has a thin coat of dust on it.

On the other hand, the living room area at least stays true to its name. It looks lived-in — the coach has a few throw pillows and a blanket on it, and there is clutter on the coffee table, as well as a few pieces of trash. Then something draws your attention.

You pass by a bunch of potted plants that you can't imagine him taking care of, and you stop in front of a television stand, its bottom shelf filled with vertically stored jewel cases. Where the spines are usually in a variety of different colours, these ones are all clear, and after further snooping, as you drag one out of its place, you understand why — they are all made by Adam and not purchased. Amidst the real, living-world bands that you recognise, there are also CDs with his own music.

Popping a random CD into a player that sits only a shelf above the cases, you press play and listen. Even though this one in particular had no vocals, you couldn't deny that Adam knew his way around the guitar. He does have long fingers that are able to reach certain cords.

You shake your head, trying to snap out of it, and when you quickly stand up after turning off the player, you spot something that would be a huge help in forgetting — a fully stocked wine display lodged into the wall near the TV.

Your bare feet scurry across the floor faster than your brain can think. However, you hesitate before actually reaching for a bottle. Adam did say it was your home, too, but somehow it feels like stealing. Then again, you are celebrating your wedding, so why not?

Without a struggle, the smooth redwood rack departs with the bottle of your choosing. It feels heavy in your hands as you turn it to look at the label. Brushing away any dust, you break off the seal and twist the cork to work it from the neck of the wine bottle until it comes out with a deafening pop.

"That’s not enough to scare me. If you only knew what kind of day I had today.” Your lament is directed at the bottle as you take a swig of what’s inside. The wine burns your throat, leaving an acidic aftertaste behind. You lick the tartness from your lips and go for another gulp. And then another one.

And one more.

Clutching the half-drunk bottle to your chest, you grab another one from the rack and resume your trip around the place. The wine kicks in relatively soon on an empty stomach, making you bump into the furniture in a matter of minutes.

Even if there is more than plenty of room for your own stuff in the apartment, all of your personal items, trinkets with tied-in memories, and hobby supplies are not here with you but somewhere far away. You have nothing to put there to make you feel like you are at home. You are an outsider, and as you recall the way Lute was glaring, you are not the only one who feels that way.

After you open the second bottle, you are no longer interested in getting familiar with the place. You exit the open area and move towards the dark corridor, where you stumble through the first door on the right into a bedroom.

You take the last sip and place the empty bottle near the door before walking towards the bed. The clock on the bedside table reads half past eleven, and the sky outside has only now started to darken. Everything is now spinning, but at least your head feels as light as a feather. You can’t be bothered to think about anything. 

Good.

You lie on the soft comforter and roll further onto the bed, burying your face in the pillows. The clean and fresh smell envelops you, and you let out a yawn. 

You will do your best to make the most of this situation, starting tomorrow.

[fearandhatred]

oh hi. this did not in fact take only an hour to write but hey it's done! any support is so so appreciated <3

also thread of me lowkey liveblogging myself (not) writing this lmaoo

Summary:

A fun little side perk of being a demon is that Crowley only gets to see the world in shades of grey. That is, until that world is touched by one particular angel.

They say that it's not the fall that hurts, it's the landing. That's a partial truth, at least for him. The landing did hurt—his bones had shattered almost methodically, travelling through his legs and up his spine like a shiver; the whiplash from his head hitting the ground had felt like an explosion of guts in his mouth. But the fall had hurt, too. Because the wind had cut into his useless wings like knives, his skin and grace peeling away under the friction, and he had been looking right up at the multicoloured and unreachable expanse of sky just to see it fade from his eyes into dull greys. And that was that. For the indiscriminate time afterwards, he and all the other demons wandered Hell's corridors like strays, lost and trying to adjust to a new life where hope looked just as bleak as despair. They wore all black, because the identifiability of that darkest shade meant that they wouldn't have to worry about clashing colours. An inconsequential problem, maybe, almost laughable in its insignificance, but it was the one piece of self-dignity they could still control. Back then, that was everything.

eybe surprised me with a drawing based on the holi scene in this fic and i treasure it with all my heart and it captures my mental image of it perfectly. it's included in the fic now too <3 love you eybe