#anyway sorry guys i hate posting vagues i think it's really immature but like how much of this do we fucking tolerate

[monstersinthecosmos]

not for anything but friendly reminder that ~fandom discourse~ about where women belong (or people you perceive as women) is misogynistic as fuck. or what they're allowed to say, or what they're allowed to write about, or what they're allowed to enjoy.

next time you see someone having a tantrum and vaguing, especially if their posts from week to week completely contradict each other, perhaps analyze if the common denominator is "a gross woman said something and now i'm mad" without otherwise adhering to any actual principles.

[xheartpages]

@rotinthedark​ asked: "... He called me Demetrius." He and Robin had been doing the dishes together after dinner, clearing the table and filling the dishwasher, when he'd finally broken the silence with a personal choice to open up. Maybe he'd finally gotten sick of it being bottled up inside of him, and thus wanted an opinion without asking outright. "Sam had some stupid idea in his head, and I was advising him against it, and he just--turned into this immature, petty bitch out of nowhere and said I was nagging like him. Acting like him. When he fucking knows better, so it was on purpose. I nearly swung on him on the spot." Frankly, a shove had been more self-control than Sam had deserved. "So, we're not talking. I'm not obligated to put up with bullshit like that. He wants my time, he can earn it by growing the fuck up."

The silence following dinner wasn’t unusual, especially when it came to Sebastian; even if it was just the two of them alone in the room. The meal had went relatively well, Maru took up a lot of it chatting enthusiastically about the latest project she was working on, even though there was a twinge of self-consciousnesses paired with glances towards her brother as Demetrius beamed with thinly veiled pride. At least there wasn’t another fight...

Robin had been resigned to spending the post-dinner clean up with only the sound of clinking silverware filling the room before the sound of her son’s voice made her pause, leaning up from hooking a dirtied glass in the dishwasher. Confusion only lingered for half a moment before she caught on to what he was talking about and who he was talking about.

So that was the reason Sebastian and Sam weren’t talking...

She listens to the anger that was still in Sebastian’s voice - the underlying hurt - without a word, hand resting on her hip comfortably; pursing her lips. She wondered vaguely if her husband could hear, but quickly reminded herself that he tended not to notice anything while he was deep into his work in his lab. Consider them lucky -- one less fight for the night.

“... I see.” Robin’s voice is soft in the lingering silence following her son’s small ranting overview of what torn him and his best friend apart, pursing her lips as she sucked in a deep breath. That familiar wave of guilt rippled through her, over the things that she probably should of done differently. Of the ways she let her son down...

The carpenter steps closer, carefully as though not to spook him into retreating, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Tilting her head to at least try and peer into his expression. “... That sounds messy.” More than just messy. “I... I’m sorry you’ve been going through this, Sebby. I know how close you two are...”

A pause; wondering what else can say to try and comfort him, hating how she struggled to come up with the words. ( She was his mother! ) “... I know... That Dem is a sore spot.” Understatement of the year. “And... I agree, Sam should not have brought up something that he knew would hurt you just in retaliation to hearing something he didn’t like. That’s not what a friend does.

“... But... I will say that doesn’t sound like him.” Sam was such a sweet kid, him and Vincent both. Kent had been gone for awhile, but did it really...? There was more fractures in this town than she may have initially thought. “I’m not going to tell you to go and talk to him, or let him in. I know it’d be pointless, and I think you’re right anyway: you’re not obligated to meet someone halfway when they hurt you. But... If you know that doesn’t sound like him, then maybe there’s something else under the surface. Sometimes... hurt people hurt people.”

Calloused hands reached to gently cup Sebastian’s cheek, flickering a brief, small smile towards him. “-- You’re a good guy, Sebby. And loyal and anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend.” Thumb strokes the soft skin once. “... Trust yourself and your instincts... but don’t disregard other outside influences too.”  She leaned to press a careful kiss on his cheek.

“--- Thank you for telling me. Now please: go get some sleep. At a decent time.”

[maple-keenes]

okay for the prompts listen. listen. either 20 or 29 would be SO iconic w/ ineffable husbands oh my GOD

prompt: 20 and 29, do you even know what subtle means | well, we have two options, both of which you're not going to like

pairing: ineffable husbands (crowley x aziraphale)

word count: 762

trigger warnings: cursing, kissing, lemme know if i missed something!

a/n: why not both, i said? also i know this is a good omens fic and not a sanders sides fic, but you guys don’t get to control what i post so :)

- 

"You're kidding." 

"I wish I was." 

"You've got to be kidding!" 

"I just said I wasn't, Crowley, what more do you want from me?" Aziraphale muttered, trying to keep calm. "We have to go and you know we have to go." 

He huffed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. "I don't want to." 

"They're - It’s - oh, whatever, we’ve got to go. They’re our bosses!" 

"Exactly!" 

Zira gave Crowley the kind of withering glare that's kept his bookshop open for seventy years without making more than twenty sales. "We're going." 

"I hate you." 

"Okay," he responded absentmindedly. "What do you suppose they thought when they addressed this invitation to both of us?" 

Crowley flopped down dramatically onto an armchair. "What's it say?" 

"To Messrs. Crowley and Aziraphale. They've spelled your name wrong too, see, it's been scribbled out -" 

He shot bolt upright, realization dawning on him. "What's the address?" 

Aziraphale turned the envelope over. "It just says Heaven," he answered, confused. 

"No, you dolt, who's addressed to?" 

"Oh. Um, my bookstore. How do you figure they got that?" he wondered aloud, tapping his fingers on the table. "Do you suppose they have some sort of heavenly autofill?" 

Crowley went red. "Do they think I live here?!"

He shrugged. "Well, you practically do, my dear, I don't think you've gone much anywhere else in weeks." 

"I don't - do you think that up there and down below think we're together?" 

Aziraphale furrowed his brow in confusion. "We are together. You're right there."  

"Dating, Zira." He swore quite loudly in something vaguely close to Latin. "I'll be blessed, I bet they do." 

"I think you've gone insane." 

Crowley stuck his tongue out, and the angel mumbled something resembling 'immature bastard' under his breath. "I've not gone insane, I'm sure they do." 

"They're simply inviting us to the 'Congrats, We Passed the Test' party. They have no idea." 

He paced back and forth. "What does the letter say?" 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes but began to read aloud. "We, of Heaven and Hell, would like to invite Messrs. Crowley and Aziraphale to our gathering celebrating the test and our passing of it concerning the end of the world. As the Saviors or part thereof, we would like you to attend. Heaven's party will be in Heaven, and Hell's will be in Hell. However, as a pair, you may attend either party. We strongly suggest you attend neither." He huffed. "Well, that's just rude." 

"Hell would've just sent me a fiery middle finger, so at least you can give them points for style," Crowley sniffed, "but even Heaven thinks we're together." 

"Heaven frowns upon… that kind of relationship." 

"Which kind, the kind between an angel and a demon or the gay kind?" he muttered sarcastically, and the angel reeled.

"For the record," he replied, "we never had an issue with homosexuality, you know that was a typo -" 

Crowley waved his hand through the air. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Anyways, they definitely think we're seeing each other, so we've got two options, neither of which you're going to like." 

"What - Really,  there's no need for that --" 

He held up a finger. "One. We crash both parties pretending to be the most lovey-dovey, mushy couple they've ever seen. It'll freak 'em out even more than the holy water thing. Two. We go to the parties separately and complain the entire time. Either way -” 

“What the hell, Crowley?”

“I think that we ought to just go with the first option.” 

“Crowley -”

He barrelled on, turning a deaf ear to the angel's furtive attempts at protest. "We need practice."

"I must say, dear boy --" Aziraphale's reprimand was cut off by Crowley kissing him sloppily, and although the demon was not the best kiss he'd ever had, he certainly wasn't the worst…

"You're not a very good kisser," he said as they broke apart, turning around and busying himself organizing some new books. 

Crowley opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Sorry, what?"

"I believe you understood me fine, my dear. And besides, you can’t simply kiss me with no explanation.” He fixed his waistcoat. “If you’ll excuse me --”

“Okay, okay, just wait a minute,” he interrupted, stepping in front of him. "It's only that… well, I don't quite have a reason, but I figure if Heaven figures us a couple, we might as well give them a reason." 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "You know, Crowley, if you wanted to kiss me you didn't need an elaborate excuse. You could've just asked." 

"I could've - what?" he asked, and the angel laughed softly. 

"Honestly, dear, do you even know what subtle means?" he said, brushing a bit of dust off of Crowley’s jacket. “Seriously, I can sense love from miles away and you thought your scheme was fooling me?”

“Well, it made sense in my head,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale smiled. “Next time, just ask.” He rose up and gave Crowley a quick kiss before walking out the door. “I think I’ve got a party to get to now, if you don’t mind…”