#deaf crowley

[aziraphales-library]

Hii,

I'm sorry to bother but do you have any fic with aziraphale and/or Crowley who use sign language please ?

Thank you for your work by the way I love your recommendations <3

Have a nice day!

Hello! Oh, interesting! I found a couple of fics featuring sign language...

A Quiet Misunderstanding by Ecchima (G)

It wasn't the first time Crowley went mute for a little while, just quietly enjoying Aziraphale's presence. It was, however, the first time it lasted more than a week...

A story I wrote to share one of my headcanons about my book boys, regarding words and languages.

Plausible Deniability by GayDemonicDisaster (E)

Aziraphale didn’t sleep. He didn’t really see the point.

But he owned a bed. And he sometimes lay in it, and closed his eyes...

For longer than he can remember, there's been a secret relationship with Crowley. But if he can't see it, then it can't be real, can it? So long as he pretends he's dreaming, it'll all be just fine.

This fic does reference use of BSL/deafblind manual alphabet. Neither ineffable is deaf or blind, but alternative forms of communication are important to them, for reasons which will become apparent. They also use custom signals of their own that do not correlate to BSL signs, and likely predate them by centuries. You don't need to know any of them for the fic however, all are written in plain English.

Erlkönig by Joseph_Amadeus (T)

After Aziraphale is left in a forest as a part of some silly initiation ritual, he meets a forester who saves his life and flirts with him like there is no tomorrow.

Charming never so wisely by hapax (T)

“And here,” said Dr. Gabriel, gesturing like a magician about to produce a tiger from a top hat, “is where we keep our angel.” He waved aside the obvious guard who stood outside the door and, fishing a ring of keys from the pocket of his lab coat, started unbolting the row of locks.

A scientific institute has hired Crowley – aka The Snake Charmer – to tame their newest specimen: a monster which wields a devastating, maddening song. Crowley might be immune to its siren spell; but the cryptid has other secrets, against which he has no defence.

- Mod D

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

you mean i’m supposed to EAT? and CLEAN MYSELF? and SLEEP?? after sitting in the same spot for the past 8 hours naked eating cheese popcorn and cookies and watching good omens 2 and then crying about good omens 2 and then shitposting about good omens 2 and now it’s 3 am??? FOR WHAT??????????

[asmuchasidliketo]

@johnlocked1827384

Behold

The greatest nature documentary ever created

[faebaex]

Tangled in Wonderland - Library Liaison

author note: Winner of the first 1000 follower event poll was Riddle! every time I write Riddle, I forget how much I enjoy writing him (≧◡≦) he’s such an interesting, complex character. I hope I do him justice, I think he deserves it. Next up is Leona, who won the second poll and the Octavinelle poll is currently running, so go check it out if you haven’t seen it already! Enjoy~

characters: Riddle Rosehearts x GN!Reader

You sat, staring into space in the Ramshackle dorm lounge. The ruined interior really helped you zone out, your mind still reeling after the odd situation that you found yourself in.

Despite your best endeavours, your life in Twisted Wonderland had so far proceeded exactly as it had for the main character. The chandelier still ended up breaking, you still ended up going to the dwarf mine and getting attacked by the overblot monster and, in the end, you ended up becoming a joint student with Grim. You had developed a rocky friendship with both Ace and Deuce, despite how you tried to distance yourself from them. It wasn’t anything personal, you just sort of hoped that the events in the game wouldn’t occur if you kept yourself low profile and didn’t get close to any of the game’s named characters.

Unfortunately, so far that plan hadn’t worked out.

Ace still ended up coming to your dorm, collar and all, complaining about his housewarden. You had attempted to slow the inevitable ride to disaster, even suggesting that Ace and Deuce transfer and become students of Ramshackle dorm in an attempt to cool the tensions. But your suggestions fell on deaf ears, and Ace and Deuce ended up challenging Riddle to the housewarden duel that ended up resulting in his overblot. Safe to say, your attempts at laying low and floating undetected through the student body weren’t going well so far.

And to top it all off, Crowley had been avoiding you, as you had been using any opportunity to ambush him and ask him if he had made any progress on finding a way home for you. If Crowley’s monumental negligence in the game was anything to go by, he likely wasn’t even looking into it, so the least you could do was make his life as miserable as possible. When you weren’t accosting Crowley, you spent every spare moment you had in the library.

Every day, you’d comb the library for any material that even had a hint of information about your situation. You were always surrounded by books, piled high around you as you poured over the often-dry material. You’d entirely absconded from any of your schoolwork, leaving that particular gambit to Grim. Whilst diligence wasn’t Grim’s strong point, there was nothing bribery with a can of premium tuna couldn’t solve. So from after classes to when you could barely keep your eyes open any longer, you were huddled in a discreet spot in the library, an agreement with one of the library ghosts meaning that this table was basically reserved for you.

It was just another day for you at the library, surrounded by dusty tomes that obviously hadn’t been touched in who knows how long. You were currently absorbed in a publication about summoning magic, so absorbed in fact that you didn’t notice the figure who had approached your table until they cleared their throat.

“Hello prefect. I see you are in the library again today.”

You froze in your seat, reluctantly looking up to see Riddle standing at the opposite side of your desk. With a purse of your lips, you nodded once before lowering your eyes back down to your book. “Yup.” You responded flatly, turning to the next page, not seeing Riddle fidget awkwardly in front of you.

“You are very studious, prefect. I’ve seen you in the library every day for the past two weeks, Ace and Deuce could stand to learn a thing from you,” Riddle remarked, reaching out and settling a hand on the chair opposite yours, readying to pull it out, “may I?”

“Um… I’d rather you didn’t, actually.” You responded, looking up from your textbook again with a neutral expression. Riddle’s hand froze on the chair and for a moment he looked like a deer caught in lamplights, before his grip tightened on the back of the chair.

“I… See…” Riddle mumbled, and an awkward silence settled between you. You gave a small, cold smile, hoping that Riddle would get the hint and leave, and he did turn, but hesitated and turned back to you, a conflicted frown on his face. “Have I… Offended you in some way, prefect?” Riddle broached and internally you sighed, wishing the pile of books surrounding you would tumble down and hide you from this awkward situation.

“Well… When you throw a tree at someone, its hard not to take it personally.” You quipped coolly, turning your eyes back down to your book and trying to find the line you were on, hoping that Riddle would finally leave you alone. But as ever since you had gotten into this world, luck was not on your side.

Riddle looked absolutely mortified by your comment, and to your chagrin, he pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down, leaning forward in an attempt to keep your conversation as private as possible. “I-I’m sorry if I’ve given you a negative impression… I’m aware that my behaviour was unacceptable and—”

“Look, Riddle,” you sighed, grabbing a spare bookmark so that you didn’t lose your place, considering Riddle seemed to have no intention of leaving you in peace anytime soon, “it’s nothing personal. Really, it isn’t. I just…” You sighed again, putting your head in your hands and rubbing your temples for a moment, “its hard for me adjusting to life here, so I prefer to spend my time alone. I hope you understand.” Once again, silence fell between you and you found yourself shifting impatiently in your chair. You didn’t hate Riddle, not at all. How could you? Riddle had very compelling reasons to be the way he was, and you knew that after his overblot incident, he did make deliberate steps to change and accept his flaws. But… You had your own world to get back to and if being cold and unwelcoming was what it took for you to get back there, then so be it.

“I- I’m sorry, Y/N. I had no idea that you were feeling that way… I should have realised that given your situation…” Riddle trailed off, and the two of you once again lapsed into silence. You shifted in your chair uncomfortably again, exhaling heavily before you began to speak again, “Riddle, its fine—”

“You’re welcome in Heartslabyul, anytime. I would offer you a dorm room but we are at full capacity and I don’t expect that to change anytime soon.” Riddle stated, with the same air of finality that he spoke most things with, and you ended up blinking at him in surprise. “O-oh, that’s really not necessary—”

“I… I may not be the best person to preach about family but…” Riddle’s cheeks dusted slightly red as he continued, “I would like it if you were able to seek some solace within Heartlabyul, to help you feel more comfortable and adjust to your circumstances.” You stared at Riddle, your expression blank and hiding the turmoil of emotions that you felt inside. You were really trying your best to put on a cold front and keep distant, but Riddle just had to be so… Endearing.

“That’s… That’s really kind, Riddle. Thank you…” You mumbled, before you sighed and collapsed onto the book you were reading. “But I don’t want to adjust, I want to go home…” You complained, your voice muffled by the pages of the book. Despite finally complaining aloud about the issue that had been on your mind since you got here, it felt oddly cathartic to vent. Until you felt a tap on your head.

“Don’t lay on the book like that, Y/N, you’ll crumple the pages.” Riddle scolded, and just like that he was back to being the Heartslabyul housewarden that you knew. He tapped your head again until you leaned up, shooting him an unimpressed look as he pulled the book towards him, smoothing the pages and checking for any damage before looking over the book itself. “I thought the headmage was looking into your situation?” Riddle queried, flipping through the pages of your book with a judging eye. You resisted the urge to glower at the mention of the headmage.

“Does it seem like he’s looking into my situation?” Riddle’s eyes looked towards you briefly at your tone, but he nodded shortly once, “no comment.” Suddenly, he slammed the book in his hands shut, and you opened your mouth to complain at him for losing your page before he pushed his chair back and stood up. “There are better books on summoning magic than this one in this library, wait here a moment.” Without waiting for you to respond, Riddle was gone.

Over the next hour, Riddle had systematically gone through all the books in your ‘to read’ pile, replacing several books with other ones that he personally ferreted out himself, claiming that they would be much more appropriate for your needs than the one you currently had. You could only stare on in amazement, having no idea that he had such a breadth of knowledge about the books contained in the library. Sure, you were aware that at a young age when you were still reading picture books, he was reading hefty tomes, but watching him so easily sort through your mish mash research pile really did hammer home a respect for his character that you’d never appreciated when you’d played the game.

“Y/N are you listening? I said I’ve made you a list of the order I recommend you read in. I know you are eager to find some information that could lead you home, but if you walk before you can run, you might miss a vital clue.” Riddle lectured as he passed you a crisp white piece of paper, with his elegant script looped throughout it, “I’ve colour coded the list by subject, so you shouldn’t get anything mixed up—”

“Thank you, Riddle. Really. I truly appreciate this.” For the first time since you ended up in Twisted Wonderland, you found yourself genuinely smiling. Riddle blinked in surprise, before a red hue burst forth onto his cheeks, and he rose his hand in an attempt to hide it. “W-well, its nothing. I consider you an honorary member of Heartslabyul now, and I-i’d do this for any of the students under my leadership.” Riddle stuttered, before clearing his throat and trying to get a hold of himself, “but of course, don’t expect this to happen often. I have my own study schedule to adhere to, and its important that you develop these research skills for yourself. For your future assignments, of course.” Riddle said sternly, his usual strict demeanour starting to fall back into place. “But… If you have any questions, or need to use someone as a sounding board then… I’d be happy to lend my services.” Riddle mumbled softly, almost quiet enough for you not to catch, “b-but only if my schedule allows for it, o-of course!” He quickly added, a fresh wave of blush tinting his cheeks.

You found yourself charmed by Riddle’s generosity, your mood feeling genuinely lifted for the first time since you’d thrown yourself out of the coffin. It was odd, the warm feeling in your heart as you watched Riddle fluster, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Thank you, Riddle. I think I might take you up on that, sometime.”

[wilyserpentofeden]

Crowley left halfway through Aziraphale staring at the Book of Job bc he probably made the mistake of trying to get his attention while Aziraphale was still as a fucking statue blind and deaf to the world re-living the experience of eating that entire ox bite by glorious bite for like a full 30 minutes. Crowley's like "if you're still busy re-reading that Im going to go take a nap. Can you hear me. Hello." and all Aziraphale hears is "go on, have an ox rib" on loop

[lineffability]

"I set up a suggestion box."

"You what?"

"I, I set up a suggestion box. In Heaven. For me, I mean, not for God, that would be-- uh. Well."

"That would be what?" Say it, angel.

"That... that would fall on deaf ears, I think." I still can't; it's sacrilege.

"Why did you do that?"

"The, the box?"

"Yeah."

"Do you not remember..? Well, I suppose you might not..."

"I do. I think I do."

"Then why do you ask?"

"Because... well, angel, I don't think you need one. Do you?"

"I'm just... trying, Crowley."

"And how's that working out for you? Any suggestions so far?"

"Yeah. Yeah, uh, one."

"What's it say?"

"It said: Resign, Archiraphale."

"Archiraphale, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I have a suggestion."

"You do?"

"Get rid of the suggestion box."

"..."

"You're the best suggestion they have, just by being up there. If they can't see that, see you, which of course they don't, then no suggestion they make will be worth a damn."

"Crowley..."

"Just. Be careful up there, Aziraphale. Pl-- Okay?"

"Yes. I am. Of course. Crowley, I... I miss you."

"Yeah." I miss you too. Angel, you have no idea...

"Is it okay-- Would it be too much to-- Can I contact you? Somehow?"

"...maybe. Yeah. I guess I could-- you could leave a note. I could set up a suggestion box."

"I don't want to make any suggestions. I just want to-- talk. And uh. Apologize. I want to apologize."

"Don't need a suggestion box for that. Just need an... er, an apology box."

"I'm sorry, Crowley. Look at me, please. I am so sorry. Let me explain?"

"I'm sorry, too. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Don't make me regret this. You can leave a letter. Mailbox."

"Thank you. I will. I... need to go back, now."

"Sure. Archiraphale... wow, I can't believe they developed a sense of humor. Wait, take this."

"A note?"

"Mhm. For the suggestion box."

Insultors will be smitten. -- AZIraphale

"Thank you, Crowley. I don't think 'insultor'... thank you." Protecting me makes him so happy. Still?

"Sure." Always.

[not-mary-sue]

Crowley, sipping tea in the corner of the shop: Oh yeah, we're keeping that one

Look, not gonna lie, Good Omens is a hard series to create a Deaf oc for so I’m very proud of this.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello :)

Can the mods please recommend any somnophila fics?

I remember one where Crowley was temping Aziraphale in his sleep but that's all I really remember

Thank you

P.S. I love your work this acc keeps me sane

Hi. Here are some somnophilia fics for you. Mind the tags, folks!...

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This by Starlightdreamerstar (E)

Aziraphale read about a new carnal pleasure he’s desperate to try, luckily for him Crowley is happy to indulge his angel.

The Night Comes Down Like Heaven by MoonGoddex (E)

"You might want to double check I've locked the door once I'm gone, just in case I've been forgetful." "Right." Crowley stared him down. "I'm sure you won't forget. Because who knows what a demon could do to a sleeping angel." --- Aziraphale feigns a nap. Crowley does what demons are supposed to do with that kind of vulnerability.

Ecstasy and Exorcism by Cunninglinguist (E)

Crowley had been out for what he presumed to be 9 hours or so, peacefully drifting in darkness, enjoying the nothingness of sleep, when a dream began to take shape. It wasn’t visual as much as it was entirely sensory: a palpable presence, warm weight at his back. The smell of vanilla cream and mahogany and old books, deeply comforting, devoid of the loathed night terror’s trademark fear. Crowley sighed in contentment. Aziraphale. For as utterly horrifying as his subconscious could be, it could be just as lovely. Alternatively: Aziraphale takes advantage of Crowley while he's sleeping. Crowley is flattered.

Plausible Deniability by GayDemonicDisaster (E)

Aziraphale didn’t sleep. He didn’t really see the point. But he owned a bed. And he sometimes lay in it, and closed his eyes... For longer than he can remember, there's been a secret relationship with Crowley. But if he can't see it, then it can't be real, can it? So long as he pretends he's dreaming, it'll all be just fine. This fic does reference use of BSL/deafblind manual alphabet. Neither ineffable is deaf or blind, but alternative forms of communication are important to them, for reasons which will become apparent. They also use custom signals of their own that do not correlate to BSL signs, and likely predate them by centuries. You don't need to know any of them for the fic however, all are written in plain English.

Latent by SmutKeeper (E)

Crowley suspects that Aziraphale has a somnophilia kink and tries to tempt him into acting on it.

The Art of Temptation by Ineffably_Yours (E)

Sleeping was more complicated than Aziraphale first thought. It was hard to figure out what was real and what was a dream. Crowley wasn't making it any easier either, grinding against him in the dead of the night and making the angel feel things that he didn't understand. He'd like to say that he didn't give in to the Temptation, but the angel was so weak when it came to the demon he loved. In his defense, he thought he was dreaming. At first. (In which Crowley is a teasing little shit as he sleeps and Aziraphale makes a lot of bad choices.)

- Mod D

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 28: Coffee Shop AU

The barista and the bookshop | @abi-cosmos Rating: Explicit Word Count: 55,794 Main Tags/Warnings: Barista Dean Winchester, Librarian/Bookshop owner Castiel, Friends to lovers, Mutual pining, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Gay Castiel, Slow burn, Angst with a happy ending, Depression, Costume parties and masquerades, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Sharing a bed, Coffeeshop AU Summary: In a sleepy mountain town, stitched together with fairy lights, Dean Winchester has been running Squirrel and Moose Coffeehouse since his Dad died. Next door, anchored by family obligation, librarian Castiel has been tasked with taking over Chuck’s Bookshop. Wanting a distraction after his brother leaves town, Dean offers to help Castiel fix it up. It’s a job, something to get his hands on, it doesn’t matter that the librarian is hot and kinda weird. Castiel doesn’t understand why Dean is helping him, but he’s happy that he is, and their friendship grows until he can’t deny what’s right in front of him. But when their time together is cut short, both face a decision they aren't ready for. In a sleepy mountain town, stitched together with fairy lights, what's it gonna be? Peace or freedom?

Are You Writing From The Heart? | @luckshiptoshore Rating: Explicit Word Count: 86,788 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Writer Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, comedian dean, Season/Series 04, Masturbation, Alcohol, Writer Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Fanfiction Writer Dean Winchester, dean/crowley relationship in the past of the fic, cas/meg and cas/hannah relationships in the past of the fic, Internalized Homophobia, Hand Jobs Summary: Castiel Novak's a writer who's waiting for his big break. His last book didn't sell, so now he's doing work for hire, ghostwriting the next in a series of ridiculous horror novels about two hot brothers who hunt monsters together. It’s pretty popular, and the fans are desperate for the next instalment — which is a problem, because the guy who usually writes them just up and vanished a couple of months ago. He left behind a signed contract and the outline for the next two stories, so the publisher’s been looking for someone else who could pick up where Chuck left off. And that's Cas. So he heads to a cafe to get the words out ... and that's where he meets Dean, a smartass wannabe comedian who's working on his stand-up set. Cas is straight, obviously, but there's something about this guy that he's fascinated with. The two of them strike up a friendship ... and soon the world Cas is writing and the world he's living in begin to get mixed up. Sometimes you're writing what you know without even realizing it ...

Finding You In Every Sign | @casblackfeathers Rating: Explicit Word Count: 99,407 Main Tags/Warnings: Deaf!castiel, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, flower shop au, coffee shop au, strangers to lovers, bottom!dean, bottom!castiel, sweet!dean, hurt!dean, hurt and comfort Summary: Castiel was content with the constant flow of his life. He had his brother Gabriel, had his coffee shop and the weekly book club meetings as well as a small but solid group of friends. If there was one thing his hateful family had taught him, it was how fast things could go wrong if he let too many variables shape his life. So when he met Dean, a gradual regular at his shop, Castiel knew he was trouble, because Dean was like a comet, beautiful but beyond reach. Ever since his father died, there wasn’t a single constant in Dean’s life. Moving on, never stopping, never getting attached to one thing for too long had made him a drifter for the past seven years. Being the only hearing person in his family hadn’t been easy with a father like John Winchester, so as soon as Dean saw an escape, he took it. Settling down to open his flower shop was anything but easy, especially when he met the elusive deaf owner of the coffee shop next door. The more he discovered about Cas, the louder the voice in the back of his head whispered that maybe Castiel was the person finally worth staying for. And maybe, just maybe, Dean was willing to listen now.

[pomeraniandancer]

I am deaf, and wouldn't trade it for the world. But as far as I remember, this moment isn't identified in the show's captions, and it makes me sad that I miss moments like this because captions are viewed as being solely a matter of spoken words.

I just noticed an easy to miss little thing. Season 1, Ep. 1, 26:40.

Crowley is forced to call Aziraphale from a public phone to arrange a meeting because he brought down the London mobile phone network.

When he hangs up the phone, there is a little clink.

The sound of a coin dropping into the coin return tray.

You see, in the olden days, sometimes a person would put in a coin that got rejected for whatever reason, and it would fall through to the coin return. People would sometimes walk away and forget to retrieve their rejected coin. Some people even left them on purpose.

It was a regular, expected thing that if you were using a public phone, you'd check the coin return to see if anyone left something in there. It was automatic -- you pick up the phone, stick your finger the coin return, then dig around in your own pocket.

If you were lucky, you'd find a coin, and you'd use it to make your call.

Sometimes, you really needed to make a call, but you didn't have any coins. So, you'd check the coin return and pray someone had left a coin for you.

Crowley left a coin for the next person.

[armageddidnt]

A Quite Nice and Fairly Accurate List of misconceptions Crowely and Aziraphale probably have about each other because these two idiots are Literally Incapable of Communicating (seasons 1+2)

[Aka I am going insane about their absolute inability to Talk Out Loud With Their Mouths and now you can too]

-Crowley probably thinks Heaven discorporated Aziraphale and burned down his bookshop instead of Shadwell doing it accidentally in 1x4 because Aziraphale never told Crowley what actually happened to him

-Aziraphale probably didn’t realize how upset Crowley was when he thought Aziraphale was gone for good in 1x5 and Aziraphale probably didn’t even realize Crowley was referring to him when Crowley said “I lost my best friend.” This is because it doesn’t seem like Aziraphale could actually see Crowley when he appeared to him in the pub and Crowley never stated this explicitly to Aziraphale

-Aziraphale doesn’t know Gabriel told him to “shut [his] stupid mouth and die already” when he tried to burn ‘Aziraphale’ in hellfire in 1x6 because Crowley never told him

-Aziraphale doesn’t know that Heaven threatened to ‘book-of-life’ anyone who was found helping Gabriel in 2x1 because Crowley never told him. Aziraphale also doesn’t know that this is the only reason Crowely came back to help at the end of the episode because Crowley never told him

-Crowley doesn’t know that Shax implied Crowley was risking destruction by helping Aziraphale in 2x4 because Aziraphale never told him (Aziraphale: “Nothing happened to me. Very uneventful journey indeed, no strange things at all”)

-Aziraphale doesn’t know any of the things Crowley discovered in Heaven in 2x6 because Crowley never told him. This is including but not limited to:

Gabriel decided he didn’t want another Armageddon and was immediately derobed, cast out, and memory wiped because of it, the Metatron decided to enact this punishment, the fact that Heaven is planning another catastrophic end to humanity in the first place, and that Gabriel as the Archangel had basically no real power at all because the moment he disagreed with Heaven he was ejected without a second thought (If Aziraphale had known this, Crowley’s pleas of “when Heaven ends life here on Earth, it’ll be just as dead as if Hell ended it” and “they’re toxic” might not have fallen on deaf ears)

-Bonus: not really a miscommunication but Aziraphale didn’t see that Look the Metatron gave Crowley when they were leaving the bookshop to go to Nina’s in 2x6 so Aziraphale probably has no idea how the Metatron/Heaven really feels about Crowley (and by extension, whether the Metatron’s offer to “restore” Crowley back to an angel was genuine)

[youryurigoddess]

Aziraphale’s wine

It is a truth universally acknowledged in the Good Omens fandom that an angel in need of a drink turns to his secret stash of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in the back room. He picked up a dozen cases in 1921, and a whole century later there's still some left… for special occasions.

Just to put things in perspective, a standard case contains 12 750ml bottles, for a total of 9 liters of wine. A dozen cases equals 144 bottles, or 108 liters of wine. That’s quite a lot for a single purchase, so Aziraphale — the established sherry and sweet drinks connoisseur — must have had a good reason for it.

One potential explanation is the aura of grandeur around this particular wine. The papal connection, rich history of the region, and recognition of high quality products give Châteauneuf-du-Pape wines a very luxurious status, considerably influencing their price tags. And Aziraphale is known to have standards.

Another one is the way in which their taste differs from Aziraphale’s usual choices: Châteauneuf-du-Pape reds are often described as earthy with gamey flavors that have hints of tar and leather. The wines are considered tough and tannic in their youth, but maintain their rich spiciness as they age.

Since everything in Good Omens has a meaning, it never hurts to run through a quick Strong’s Concordance search whenever a date pops up in a dialogue or, even more importantly, somewhere on screen. More often than not the result seems to match the researched topic, as it’s the case here:

1921: to know exactly, to recognize.

Provided examples: I come to know by directing my attention to him or it, I perceive, discern, recognize; I found out. The general usage of the word usually refers to knowing someone aptly, properly, thoroughly, even biblically. Which might be either a wishful thinking on Aziraphale’s part or just another layer of subtext in this already romantically charged scene. The table dressing, multiple candles, and focus on the lamps with Auguste Moreau’s Young Lovers statues in the background seem to successfully communicate what the angel left unsaid.

Too bad that Crowley remained so adorably oblivious for the next eighty years. At least when he finally came to the realization, he responded with an attempted temptation to another vintage red wine @vidavalor already analyzed.

But back to Aziraphale’s wine. To be exact, it’s a 1921 Châteauneuf-du-Pape from the domaine de Baban. An actual French vineyard from the Rhône region that still exists to this day, even though a few decades ago it got merged with another estate into what is now known as domaine Riché-Baban. According to the local guides, the 11 hectares on the estate are located in the Châteauneuf-du-Pape designation area in the Bois Lauzon and Mourre de Baud districts. At the moment 90% of the wines produced there are sent to wine dealers.

1920s were quite an interesting time for this region, but not because of the flapper cabarets or drag shows usually associated with the era on the Old Continent. To the horror of European oenophiles, right after World War I the whole of France found itself awash with fake wine. One of the worst outrages was the use of lead that magically transformed cheap, acid wine into something deceptively rich and sweet on the outside and one of the most powerful neurotoxins on the inside. People were already well aware of its effects — the poisoning from drinking sweetened wine probably made Handel go blind and Beethoven go deaf, but it shows how desperate for sweetness they were before sugar became available to the masses.

Admittably, it wasn’t a new practice. Far from it — the Romans liked it so much that they even advised to pack lead pans on travels to boil local wine in them to make it sweeter, especially in colder provinces like Britannia. But Aziraphale didn’t buy twelve cases of counterfeit wine for the sake of some good memories of Rome and its many health hazards. No, the fussy angel made sure to get the actually good stuff from the other side of the English Channel.

Henry Tacussel, whose name is mentioned on his wine label, was a French viticulturalist and a close friend of Baron Pierre Le Roy of the Chateau Fortia nearby, a trained lawyer and fellow winegrower from Châteauneuf-du-Pape who established the Winegrowers' Union of the Rhône Valley. Together with the Baron he became one of the founders of Appellation d'origine contrôlée (AOC), a labeling system intended to protect regional products and technologies that is still in use in France and serves as an inspiration to similar solutions worldwide. Their efforts were deliberately centred on Châteauneuf-du-Pape because with such a beguiling name even in comparison to other labels it seemed to attract an undue share of fraudsters at the time.

Soon after Aziraphale’s shopping spree, the local wine producers led by Le Roy and Tacussel began a very long campaign to establish legal protection for the wine from their commune. The delimited area and the method of wine production were finally awarded legal recognition after a decade, in 1933, but it wasn’t the end of the criminal activities on this front. An undercover investigation by The Sunday Times discovered that most of the “Châteauneuf” in the 1960s Britain was actually blended and bottled in Ipswich.

One question remains: was it a purely human affair, or maybe one requiring a demonic or angelic intervention?

[supernaturallyedsheeran]

The Cost of it All

somethings not right with Sam, and when you become injured, he faulters.

cw : fem!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, typical injury and blood, hospitals, no use of y/n, summary : somethings not right with Sam, and when you become injured, he faulters. characters Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, f!reader wc: 3131 famdon: Supernatural

"Sam stop!" You practically begged. He was so focused on getting the demons out of their vessels he couldn't hear you.

Sam had found you and Dean in an abandoned warehouse with Crowley and two other demons; he was shooting first and asking questions later....He thought you were in trouble.

The fact was, you and Dean had snuck off to make a deal with Crowley to find the rest of the Angel tablet, but Sam couldn't know - he was too off the rails with his visions and his powers.

"Sam enough!" Dean boomed from other side of the room, but again it fell on deaf ears. "If you don't get a hold of your pet, I'm going to take matters into my own hands!" Crowley threatened, his eyes piercing you menacingly.

You went to step forward, to intervene, as Sam forced more black smoke from the vessels; blood starting to trail from his nose. As you did so, Dean grabbed your wrist to stop you - he didn't want you getting hurt.

"Do I have to do everything myself?" Crowley snipped - before Dean could react, Crowley had grabbed Dean's gun from his waistline, pointed it at you, and pulled the trigger.

Your breath was forced from your lungs as your back hit the concrete, shocked, gasping for a breath, feeling a weight crushing your chest. Hearing the shot and seeing you go down, Sam dropped his hand, snapping his attention to you - the black smoke feverishly returning to the vessels from which it was being ripped from.

"Good boy. Now, come Moose. You seem to have more drive than your costars to find me that Tablet." Crowley threw the gun back to Dean, snapped his fingers at the Demons and left the warehouse without hesitation; demons in tow. Dean drew his attention back to you, coming down to your side to see what the damage was. "I'm fine." You gasped - it felt like an elephant was sitting on your chest and you couldn't get a full breath in. "No, you're not" Dean growled, finding the bullet hole just below your breast. "Turn over" Sitting up - you turned your torso with a gasp of pain, so Dean could look at your back "No exit" He mumbled. "We gotta go."

You both looked up to Sam, who seemed like he had been glued to the spot since watching you take the fall - his big hazel eyes staring down at you in pain, wanting to help, but not wanting to get too close. "Sam I said let's go, help me get her up" Dean started, working to get your arm around his shoulders as you gasped feeling a sharp pierce in your chest. "I ca---" Sam started, his eyes flickering from dark warm blood staining your shirt, to the door Crowley left out of - he started shaking his head, disbelieving what was coming out of his own mouth.

"Sam?" You questioned. There was a twinge of pain and uncertainty in your voice. "We need to find the Tablet." He stated - not daring to make eye contact with you or Dean. His brows furrowed at he stared at the door, nostrils flaring. "Sam I swear to god if you walk out of here to go play bitch to Crowley---" Dean growled, his grip on you tightening as he helped you stand up fully.

You let out a whimper as the movement caused more blood to seep out the bullet hole.

Sam looked towards you, pitying what he was seeing - he was feeling bad that he didnt feel bad... He felt pity, knowing that you'd be laid up for a few days, unable to hunt. He fought his thoughts for a moment. He then stood up straight, let out a breath of air and raised his brows.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam stated flatly, before giving one last sad glance at you, and walking out the door.

"Sam!" Dean barked after him - jaw clenched, wanting to wail on his brother for abandoning you both.

__

The road felt too long to be nearing the hospital. You focussed wildly on your breathing as you felt your head getting lighter, and your tshirt heavier, with blood. Your head began nodding back into the cool leather seats - a relief you thought, you might just let it swallow you whole...

"Hey!" Deans voice cut through the roaring of the impala - the sound that was lulling you further into a breathless trance. " You gotta keep your eyes open you hear me?" Panic and anger were deep within his words, his forehead creased with exasperation, his lips in a tense line, teeth clenched. You nodded along to him as your eyes focussed intensly on his face - his stubble that was growing out fresh from a trim days ago, his jaw flexing in and out of his cheeks as he gritted his teeth with apprehension. "You've got a nice jaw" You had no idea where the words were coming from - you didn't feel like talking through the pain but something was taking over you ... most likely delusion as you lost more and more blood. Dean's eyes flickered frantically from the road to you. As the hospital drew nearer in sight, the impala soared to life as Dean put his foot down - impossibly more than he already was. Your head nodded down one final time and your eyes closed - slumped in the passenger seat.

"Damnit stay with me!" He growled, his voice beginning to break for you - for Sam, for the situation his brother had gotten you into.

__

The doors to the emergency room swung open as Dean lifted your lifeless body into the room filled with people whos ailments seem to be microscopic in comparison to the burden Dean was carrying. "Somebody help me please" He cried - his voice no longer stern and loud; it was now a fragile plea in a sterile room.

Nurses moved tenderly but hurriedly as they brought a bed for Dean to rest you on, which he did, unwilling to let you out of his grasps - he held your hand and walked briskly with the nurses who began working on you as they walked. The warmth of your hand against his gave him comfort, but his heart still ached for you to open your eyes... Before he knew it, you were whisked away and he was left standing in a cold hallway, his hands running through his hair, as he forced himself to take a shaky breath in, finally resting his hands on his waist. Hours seemed to pass before Dean was finally reunited with you - now dressed in a clean white gown, under thin hospital sheets, in a private room. The nurses had adorned you with a breathing tube and IVs; all of which Dean's worried eyes darted over, trying to comprehend what he was seeing for the first time. Your eyes were still closed, but you looked restful instead of in pain...your cheeks flush with color, your breathing slow and steady thanks to the machine. He ran a hand across your cheeks, brushing your hair out of your eyes as his eyebrows knitted together, frustrated. you weren't looking at him. He licked his lips, biting them after, and drew in a breath. For the evening, Dean drew up a chair, and sat, head in hands, elbows on knees beside you for hours. Hours had turned into days. Days into a week. Nurses came in and out to change your IVs, and to adjust your bedding. Dean came in and out with food and coffee, only daring to leave when nurses begged him that he absolutely had to eat. The steady beep of the machines lulled Dean to an almost fearful sleep until he heard heavy slow footsteps approach door. He snapped back to consciousness, his green eyes darting protectively to the door. There stood Sam. Mouth slightly agape, eyes filled with worry and frustration at what he saw before him - hands in his pockets, unable to stop fidgeting. He dared not cross the threshold without permission.

"What are you doing here." Dean pursed his lips, standing up slowly, aggressively approaching his brother.

"I uh..." Sam took a breath and removed his hands from his pockets, putting them up as a show of no harm to his brother. He ran a hand through his hair, as it fell back into his eyes. "I found the rest of the Tablet." He said biting his lower lip. "Crowley's got it and he's working on deciphering it." The whole time he talked, his eyes didn't move from you. "I don't care" Dean started, getting closer to his brother, his chest almost touching "I said what are you doing here''.

Dean's voiced dripped like poison, he encroached his brothers space until Sam staggered back. Dean had his shoulders back, chest out, peacocking and protecting the space that you laid in.

"Dean, I came to see her." Sam pleaded, his eyes finally breaking away from your rosy cheeks to his brothers piercing gaze.

"What gives you the right to see her, after you did this to her?" Dean stopped moving now that he had passed the doorway - your room now out of reach from Sam. "What gives you the right, to feel sorry for her, after you left us back there, and didn't even call, or text or tell us this stupid ass plan of yours, huh?" Deans words stung as his eyes glistened, tears on the verge, but not for being sad - for being angry, and having to lay the anger on his little brother who he swore to protect years ago. He was fighting interally - part of Dean wanted to grab his brother in a hug and be glad that he knew he was safe, and part of him wanted to fight him for leaving you and him in pain for a week without a word.

"There's nothing I can say that's going to fix this Dean." Sam started, shaking his head, falling victim to Dean's words. "I can't un-do what I did, and I am sorry and I..." Dean cut him off before he could continue. "Do you even know why we've been here a week Sammy? Do you know what she's been through? "Crowley put one bullet inside her, and happened to slice just a little piece of her lung and it collapsed. Her lung collapsed Sam. She couldn't breathe. She lost so much blood that it took two days for them to get her back to semi normal. And now, just now Sam, they said there still might be fragments of the bullet inside of her chest that probably will never fully heal. Thats my bullet Sam. My bullet fragments inside of her that I couldn't protect her from, because my little brother was too selfish to stop and ask what we were doing there with Crowley in the first place! That's your girl in there Sam, and you abandoned her! You abandoned us!"

Dean huffed, his chest rising and falling quickly as his anger rose and fell with waves of emotions.

"I know. I know." Sam dared not find the words; Crowley had told him almost immediately what the original plan had been with you and Dean, but he quickly changed his mind when he saw how powerful Sam had become; and Sam had become so consumed with Demon blood and finding the tablet that his guilt and conscious had taken a back seat when it came to family. His lips quivered as he looked at you - his girl, his world. He ached to touch you and make sure everything was ok.

"Oh, you know. Great. Goodbye Sam." Dean shook his head and threw his hands in the air - as he did so, turning back into the room, and finding his familiar seat at your side, grabbing your hand and stroking it - mostly to comfort himself and calm his breathing.

Sam didn't say another word, but slowly inched into the room, all while Dean kept a sharp eye on him. Sam pulled another chair and sat at the far end of the room - enough to see you but far enough from his brother's radiating anger.

__

You wake up to something itching your nose. Your first reaction is to scratch at whatever it is, but as you raise your arm, you feel cold tubes running over it. Your eyes blink a few times, coming out of the deep slumber you were placed in for weeks. Eyelids heavy, your thoughts try to assess what is around you. Itchy sheets touch your legs. Cold wires and tubes make the hair stand up on your arms. The tubes looped around your ears into your nose make your ears sore. You take a deep breath through your nose, realizing you have an oxygen tube. You open your mouth to lick your lips but realize how dry your tongue and throat are. You make a gravelly sound with your throat in distaste. "Hey hey" A familiar voice makes you blink more - Sam comes into view at the side of the bed, puppy dog eyes; his hair falling in his eyes, his lips twitching into a smile. You open and close your mouth a few more times trying to get some saliva into your throat to no avail. "Water, you want water." Sam deciphers. He disappears from your vision for a moment before coming back with a small white cup of water. He helps you bring it to your lips so you can drink it down. After you drink, you gasp, letting your head fall back into the pillow, glad to have a moistened mouth.

"What happened?" You ask, testing you voice out. You feel like you've been asleep for hours - tired from being under for so long.

Sam shifts uncomfortable in his seat next to you "You got shot - " He started, but stops almost immediately when you start shaking your head. "No, I know that - but what happened?" You vaguely gesture around you with whatever energy you have, which isn't a lot.

"Your lung collapsed, and you've been under for a week, and some." A new voice filled the room - Dean. You see him walk in the room, coffee in hand. Dark circles under his eyes, his face looking sunken and tired; but he managed a small smile at you. "Dean." You breathe out, a smile appearing on your face - you recall what had happened up until about when you got into the Impala; so it was a relief to still see him with you. "You look terrible" You note out loud.

Dean chuckles at your quip, and drags a seat up to the other side of your bed. Sam shifts back into his chair, putting what little room he can between him and his brother.

"A week huh." You repeat, looking around the room. "And you've both been here the whole time?" You question, a smile creeping on your lips, feeling honoured and silly at the fact that both boys had been there watching you.

"Well, I have." Dean answered, sitting back smug in his chair, lifting his coffee to point towards his brother. "But Sam here, he thought it was best abandon us both and go after the tablet with Crowley." Dean was playing hard into the Sam leaving card, making his brother feel as guilty as he could. Your heart sinks after hearing this. You couldn't recall if Sam had come with you in the Impala, but after getting confirmation it made you sick to your stomach. Your own boyfriend, deserting you and his own brother to go be reckless with the King of Hell.

"But that's in the past, now aint it Sammy?" Dean sarcastically implied to his brother, patting him aggressively on his back. Sam shifted again in his seat - you could see his jaw flexing, gritting his teeth, staring daggers at Dean. "I just wake up and the first thing you two do is fight." You state, shaking your head. "Unbelievable."

Sam turned his eyes to you, his brows knitted in defeat and sadness; Dean sat up in his chair, feeling like he had just been a child scolded.

"Sam that was reckless" You breath out, feeling hurt but also sad for him, sad that he thought he had to diverge paths from his brother and girlfriend just to sacrifice himself again.

"I know. I know it was, and I'm sorry I really am. I was hopped up on demon blood, and I just..." He shook his head, closing his eyes to catch his thoughts. " I just - my judgement was clouded. I haven't drank blood since that night and I am really....really sorry." His apology was from the heart - you could see his eyes trying to connect with you, his hands fidgeting unknowing where to put them. You sigh, and open a palm for him to grab, he takes it willingly and sighs, a small smile falters at the corner of his lips.

"Reckless" You restate, squeezing his hand. "Reckless." He confirms, nodding in agreement. "Sort your shit out another day." You plead to Dean, still sat up in his chair, but now looking at the ground - feeling guilty for giving his brother the third degree as his girlfriend was unconscious. He nods at the floor.

__

As the days dragged on and your body slowly began to heal, the tension in the room felt almost non existant.

The boys had silently put their issues aside but Dean's protective nature came with an edge. You can see the anger in his eyes whenever he looks at Sam—the dissapointment of Sam doing so many reckless things for such little reward.

Sam, for his part, was quiet. He’s here, but he’s distant, like a ghost, consumed by guilt. He looks at you with sorrow in his eyes, but the space between you both is shallow. There’s a part of you that can feel his apology without him having to speak it.

You reach out and place your hand gently over Sam’s - you feel the tension dissipate. His hazel eyes staring into yours - fleeting hope within them, as a small smile plays on the corner of his mouth.

Dean watches from the foot of the bed, his posture tense, but you see it, just for a second: a loosening, like he’s letting go of some of his anger. No words are exchanged—no grand declarations or sweeping apologies—but it feels like a start. Maybe not the end of everything, but a beginning. You don’t know how long it’ll take, or if everything can ever truly be fixed, but for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, the three of you will find your way back to each other.

[pomeraniandancer]

...this makes me wonder who took credit for Alexander Graham Bell.

since aziracrow know every language do they know sign language, or is it only verbally spoken languages?

They know all languages.That would definitely include all sign languages.

[neil-gaiman]

Hey I'm sort of curious. I haven't read the book, but I'm a fan of the show and was genuinely disappointed that the phrase "going Native" had an exclusively negative connotation when I watched. Idk if this occurred to you or not, but that's pretty blatant racism. It's especially tone deaf considering this is a show about angels and demons - which have been a tool to commit genocide against us for upwards of 500 years.

Why not just use "human"? It's accurate and doesn't frame an entire demographic as inherently bad or undesireable.

Not trying to garner any ill will, it just rlly bummed me out bc I'm Native and it's an identity I wear with great pride bc ppl have tried countless times to rip it away from me. To see it treated with such disdain was very hurtful.

I understand your concerns, and do not wish to minimise them, or your hurt. Obviously the phrase has colonial roots. However, it's a lower case N, and isn't intended to talk about Native Americans. When the angels talk about Aziraphale "going native", this is the meaning they are using. It may be negative for the grumpy angels, but it's positive for humanity and for Aziraphale and Crowley.

From Mirriam Webster online:

go native

idiom

: to start to behave or live like the local people

After a few weeks, she was comfortable enough to go native and wear shorts to work.

Example Sentences

Recent Examples:

But dogs that go native make bad guards, hunting companions, and friends.—David Grimm, Science | AAAS, 29 Oct. 2020

Let your yard go native: The Cuyahoga Soil & Water Conservation District is offering seven native plant kits for sale that are adapted to the local climate and do not require excess watering or fertilizer once they are established.—Joan Rusek, cleveland, 6 July 2020