#despite the armageddon happening

[tampire]

Captain Vincent seduces an old man with a trophy in Good Omens S01E04: Saturday Morning Funtime

[monkiespaw]

hmm just finished issue 140 of idw tmnt and idk how to feel abt the story

[captivemuses]

I only have five kids in my room all day I could cry. And thats even with my partner teacher next door calling out. Happy Monday to me lol

[microclown]

I was rewatching s1e3 and something finally clicked for me..

Please forgive me if this seems obvious to you. It helps me to type out my thoughts, but I'm sure I'm just an idiot and no one else needs this explained to them, lol. That said - I was always slightly confused by the emotional weight of the holy water arc during the flashback sequence. Particularly I was confused by how angry Crowley got when Aziraphale referred to their relationship as fraternizing in the 1862 fight. I mean, "to associate or form a friendship with someone, especially when one is not supposed to" is exactly what they are doing, right? So why the 80 year breakup?

Crowley says he wants the holy water for if "it" all goes pear shaped. The phrasing is necessarily vague, and could mean lots of things. Since I know what he eventually uses it for, I was thinking about it in the context of Armageddon, or maybe more generally and vaguely about Crowley not always choosing to go along with Hell, and associating with Aziraphale. But there was not much reason for Crowley to already be thinking about Armageddon back then.

As we know from the full diary entry Neil posted, the timeline of the Edinburgh entry, and the cut bookshop opening scene, it seems like Crowley and Aziraphale were spending A LOT of time together by the 1800's. When Crowley is pulled back down to Hell in 1827, he learns that Hell is paying more attention to him than he'd previously thought. Crowley realizes at this point that spending so much time with Aziraphale is actively putting him in real danger. He recognizes that, and instead of breaking things off, or seeing Aziraphale less, he doubles down. If this relationship is dangerous, then he wants the tools to fight for it.

That's what I think I didn't get about the holy water request. It's not just general insurance, it's specifically insurance for if Hell finds out about him and Aziraphale. It's also a super vulnerable request because in making it, Crowley is openly acknowledging how important their relationship is to him. Aziraphale casually brings up the arrangement at the beginning of the conversation, and that's part of it, right? Because the whole basis of their relationship is the arrangement. It continues to be the pretense under which they meet, despite the relationship clearly having developed beyond that. And the arrangement, as Crowley proposed it in 537, is born out of convenience, and the assumption that Heaven and Hell would never notice anyway.

Crowley's request for insurance breaks that facade. He's acknowledging that it's not convenient, or safe, but he wants to do it anyway, despite the risk.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, is not ready for the screen to be taken away so abruptly. To make it worse, he assumes Crowley wants the holy water as an escape, rather than a weapon. Suddenly he is confronted with both the danger their association poses, and the idea that Crowley might choose to take his own life. He can't imagine the guilt of being directly responsible for the latter.

I also think the strength of his own emotional response to the thought of losing Crowley catches Aziraphale off guard. He hasn't admitted to himself how much he actually cares, and it scares him. Worrying about Heaven is more comfortable and familiar, so he falls back on that and switches to "If they knew I'd been... fraternizing!"

But bringing up the threat of Heaven reads to Crowley as Aziraphale saying "You may be willing to put yourself at risk for the sake of our relationship, but I am not." The word choice of "fraternizing" comes off as a dismissive and demeaning way to describe a relationship that Crowley just admitted he would risk his life for.

It's an unintentionally deep cut when Crowley is already at his most vulnerable, and so he lashes out. As far as we've seen, this is possibly the first time Crowley has truly lashed out at Aziraphale. So yeah, 80 year breakup makes sense!

And what makes this so much worse is what happens next. Crowley reaches out again in 1941 with a dramatic gesture (rescuing Aziraphale from the Nazis, saving his books). It's clear they've missed each other. They don't discuss the fight, but it's there subtextually. Aziraphale, tentatively and thrillingly, refers to them as friends, for the first time ever. He tells Crowley that he trusts him.

And then, that very same night their worst fears are confirmed. Just when they've finally reconciled a fight over the dangers of their relationship, and just when Aziraphale has finally admitted that it is not a relationship of convenience, but genuine friendship, they are exposed. Crowley is going to face punishment from Hell, explicitly for being Aziraphale's "trusted confident", and he doesn't have insurance. If Aziraphale's trick hadn't succeeded, Crowley would have had no way to protect himself.

idk it just makes me feel things ok

[no1ryomafan]

To further on this now that I’m a little more in I gotta be so fucking honest: this show is just something I would write 💀💀💀💀💀

getting over my irrational fear of death thanks to persona 3 even if I get very existential and being at a point in terms of my media analysis skills where I can identify when characters are going fucking die truly makes watching casshern sins a more enjoyable experience than if I did actually try to watch this when I first hear of it like- 3 years ago.

I’m only 3 eps in and I have to not binge. Help me.

[ineffable-suffering]

The meaning of "I forgive you"

Alright, hello again, I involuntarily dipped for a bit because real life outside of this lovely Tumblr Good Omens bubble got a little bit stressful, but! I'm back for a quick little post to say that I'm currently reading the script book for Season 1 and seeing this line again, spelled out on paper, just shone some more light on the whole „I forgive you“-scene of Season 2 for me again.

Because really, this first time Az says it to Crowley in front of the bookshop tells us exactly what the second time during the Final Fifteen means.

Aziraphale is not forgiving Crowley for kissing him. Or for using this moment to confess and make things explicit between them.

No, Aziraphale is forgiving Crowley for not trusting and believing (in) him.

Let's shove the Final Fifteen to the side for a second and look at this scene from Season 1 under the cut.

The situation at hand: The World is ending, with utmost certainty. In addition, Crowley is absolutely f*cked and Hell is out to get him. He tries to apologise for their Bandstand fallout and explain the other two things to Az (poorly, but he tries). Because to Crowley, Armageddon is a done deal already. Wherever the actual Antichrist is, he's gonna come into his power and the World will be wiped out for Heaven and Hell to wage their war on. Also, Hastur is coming to kick his demon ass. Time to dip!

And yet, Aziraphale doesn't want to come with him. He is adamant that he will be able to reach the Almighty, talk to Her and turn this around. Because if Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, thinks there's even the slightest, tiniest morsel of a chance that he can turn things around the right way, he will do it. Even if it sounds ridiculous. Even if it's a lost cause to everyone else. Even if all the other angels gang up on him and (literally) beat him up.

Even if Crowley calls him stupid.

Aziraphale decides not to be offended by this.

Because this is what he does. This is what a Guardian does. He stays and protects to ward off the intrusion, until the very last second.

Now listen, I'm the last person to blame Crowley for intrinsically wanting to choose Flight over Fight in this very situation, because Lord knows (literally) what happened to him back when he chose Fight and lost.

But at the same time we have to keep in mind that despite his last name, Aziraphale never Fell. He never made the horrible experience of being chucked away by the one who made you to love Her because you chose to question her ways. And yes, in so many ways this choice of his, to still believe that he can change something by questioning and suggesting (both here and in S2), is utterly maddening and hurtful to Crowley. Because it's a mirror of what Crowley himself did and a reminder of just how big the price he had to pay was. Aziraphale seemingly not realizing or understanding this stings. It does.

And yet.

Yet Aziraphale's choice to not take no for an answer, to not let a punch to the gut derail him from his plan, to not let even the most definitive thing such as Armageddon keep him from fighting back, is the one thing that ends up saving the World.

Because even when it all seems impossible and completely hopeless and bloody Satan himself is erupting from the pits of Hell, ...

... Aziraphale picks up his sword and fights back.

And he wins.

Not without help, of course. But might I remind you of what got Crowley to cooperate and not simply surrender like he'd almost done that second?

You might not see it at first, but tucked in between all the posh hedonism, hidden away underneath that tightly buttoned waistcoat of his, Aziraphale is a fighter. And a good one at that. I mean, for Someone's sake, he got discorporated, beamed himself down back to Earth, found Crowley somehow, possessed a psychic prostitute (love you, Madame Tracy), rode a scooter all the way to Taddfield and fought off Lucifer with sheer willpower (and a bit of emotional coercion).

Aziraphale can fight. Smart and hard. And not only that: He can win, too. And he knows it. Because he believes, truly, firmly and wholly, that he can make things right. It's the only thing he will settle for. This, ladies and gents, this is how he ends up saving the World, together with Crowley, Adam and the rest.

Because he didn't accept no as an answer. He didn't look at the impossible and accept it as such. Even when Crowley thought him to be an idiot for trying and even after his initial attempt at talking to God had failed, Aziraphale still found a way to stop The Big Bad Thing from happening.

Which is exactly what his plan is when he ends up being forced to come back to Heaven by the Metatron. (If you still believe this was a voluntary choice, read here). And which is exactly why he is so hurt and still ends up forgiving Crowley for the fact that Crowley doesn't end up coming with him. Doesn't end up understanding, trusting and believing (in) him, just like all the way back at the end of the World in Season 1.

Aziraphale decides not to be offended by this.

[fakemichaelsheen]

-armageddon, again-

aziraphale, exasperated: what are you doing here?

crowley, shrugs: well somebody's got to stop this from happening

aziraphale, folds his arms: what's that supposed to mean?

crowley, rolls his eyes: nothing *pauses* I'm not talking to you anyway

aziraphale, clears his throat: yes. fine. I'm not talking to you either

crowley, bitter: fine with me

aziraphale, bitter: and with me

crowley: ...

aziraphale: ...

aziraphale, hesitates: it would be beneficial to work together on this matter. despite our personal issues...

crowley, raises an eyebrow: you're joking, right?

aziraphale, desperate: of course not. we both want the same thing here, crowley. and once the job is done, we...go our separate ways. the way it should be

crowley, nods: sounds like a plan

aziraphale, forces a smile: right. so, where do we begin?

[tsw1234]

We Can't Be Friends (part 2)

Word Count: 1598

Pairings: Vampire Slayer!reader x Vampire!Dick Grayson

Synopsis: It's been months since the apocalypse. Discovering your newfound powers as a vampire slayer hasn't been easy, and with these newfound powers came new responsibilities like protecting the remaining civilians in Gotham from the creatures of the night, killing vampires alongside your courageous friends, etc...Yet there's just one thing blocking you from fulfilling your destiny, the very vampire you've been sworn to kill.

Notes: (Quickly) Proof read by me

Warnings: Smut, Angst

You knew this was wrong. You absolutely should not be doing this. Lord knows if you were to be caught, not only would it end badly for you but also your friends, your commune, and your little brother. Yet, it's as if something is compelling you to do this. You walk through the abandoned park en garde. Most sane people would show up with some sort of protection--like a stake or rosemary. But you're not sane, and the things that you've done as a result of armageddon wouldn't classify you as sane either. 

Despite Gotham's ongoing events, its park seemed to be the one of few places unaffected by the apocalypse. The grass and tree leaves were coated white, due to December's icy precipitation. Following down the park's path of lights illuminating the snow-covered vegetation you arrive at your destination--- a bridge that provides a beautiful view of the park's scenery and its pond directly below you. It was truly spectacular. Nostalgia of kids and parents and images of Haley dogs running around resurface.

"I know you’re here Grayson?". You felt his presence when you entered the park, perks of being a vampire hunter. You know when they’re nearby. As soon as those words escaped your lips, he appeared in front of you; almost as if you summoned him, like a genie to its master.

“Hello to you too [nickname],” he says, sliding next to you. While you don’t turn to face him you can feel his eyes on you.

"I feel you staring at me."

"I prefer to call it admiring, princess," he states with a smug smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes at his smart remark.

"You lost your right to admire the moment you sent your brainless minions to wipe out most of humanity.". 

"You broke up with me."

"So that gives you the right to kill people?"

"No, but it makes us even."

"Wrong again, you killed the man I loved. That ups the score 2-1, me." you challenge. The contrast between the two of you is vast--the deadpan on your face compared to the amused look on his. One could interpret the both of you to be having two separate conversations just based on facial expressions alone. "And who might that person be?" he asks cockily.

Silence fills the air. Your immediate reaction is to say him but, he's not the same man you loved--looks wise yes, but personality...? 

"Why'd you do it...kill Bruce?". Dick's demeanor changes instantly, his body more tense; The once smug look on his face is replaced with a stoic expression. 

"That's not your business."

"It is my business. They mattered to me--You matter-"

"You lost that right when you broke up with me.". Silence once again. 

"Jason..."

"Alfred..."

"Damian-"

"Damnit [Name] I told you to leave it alone. Stop poking your nose in places it doesn't belong." he stern. The cold air details the exasperation in your conversation. The quietness between you felt odd, you don't never liked fighting with Dick. It was unnatural between you too and it seldom happened. But, when it did, it would get ugly. You were both passionate people and when your thoughts would rarely clash, it would take time for the person in the wrong to step forward and apologize. 

"Do you know I'm supposed to kill you?". His eyebrows perk up at the shock of your abruptness.

"It's a part of my destiny or something..." you say as you cast a stone across the park's pond. Silence again. 

"Why are you here [nickname]?"

"..."

"I mean you hate me. You hate what I am, what I've done--yet every time you ask to see me. Why?"

"I don't know..." you mumble. "What?" 

"I don't know!" you shout letting out a voice crack. 

"I don't know why I called! Maybe it's because I miss you...". To say that out loud hurt your soul. Of course, you've known that you had but to say it helped you come to terms with your emotions. 

"Everywhere I go, I have memories of you--of us. You are a constant reminder of the life that I had because you were my life I know that I broke up with you and it haunts me every day but...you were one of the few constants in my life and I just feel like the day I stop agreeing to see you is one less piece of my old life.". You break down, all the many months of pent-up emotions gone just like that to the blue-eyed monster whom you loved.

"Come here..." he says, pulling you in an embrace. There you are, the very own vampire slayer destined to end the war on humanity allowing the wager of the war to console you. Here he is comforting your sniffles and cries, knowing that in the end, you have to kill him. How tragic. 

"[Nickname], everything I do is for you or because of you. Whether or not you believe it. Why did I do it--kill all those people? I wanted to find a way to be with you forever and in the process, I had to sacrifice people I loved. You are what's keeping me sane, what's holding me back from killing the rest of humanity. It's you, princess."

You look up at Dick with your tear-filled puffy eyes. He rests his palm against your face, wiping away any tears that had trickled down your face. "I miss you too, like hell and I hate that you're going through this because of--"

You cut him off with a kiss. A much overdue one to say. Although caught off guard, Dick accepts it swiftly. Immediately his hand hugged your waist and ran up and down your back. Your fingers find their way to his hair, intricately running through them. The kiss between the two of you felt like a fever dream. It felt as if it was the last day on Earth and the both of you needed to kiss to survive. It was passionate, warm, and embracing. 

He starts to move down your neck, peppering kisses as he goes and making sure to linger on your sweet spots causing you to release a soft moan. "Just as I remember huh?" he says in between each kiss. 

"May I?" he asks, toying with the waistband of your panties. You feverishly nod, allowing him to help discard your clothes. After unclasping your bra, the icy winter air hits your nipples causing them to harden. 

"You're just as perfect as ever, my pretty girl," he says as he dips two fingers inside of you. You try to suppress your moans but he's quick to break your resolve as his fingers hit a spot that hasn't been touched since the last time you've seen him. He speeds up his pace, being aware not to go too fast, yet too slow. "Fuck, Dick" you whine. The combination of the weather plus his touch helps you reach your orgasm fast. 

"That's right princess, come on my fingers," he says as you let go. He sucks off the remnants of your release and proceeds to take off his pants. He lifts you and you wrap your legs around him. He rubs his tip up and down your entrance before putting it in slowly. You release a loud moan holding on to him--nails digging into his back. He starts steady and then goes faster resulting in you letting out several curses and shrewd moans. You both reach your climax in sync, letting go together. Too disoriented to move, he cleans you up and helps you put your clothes back on. Once you're both clothed, he pulls you into his arms--once more-- kissing your head and whispering sweet nothings. You both stay like that for a while, basking in the moment of bliss.

"[Name]" you hear a voice say bringing you back to reality. Dick is still holding onto your waist. But, instead of pushing him away, you secure his hold on you whilst looking into his blue eyes. You turn around to see your best friend, out of breath, bruised, and upset. You momentarily pushed whatever feelings for Dick you had aside and rushed to their aid.

"What happened?" you asked, helping them catch their breath. They said nothing but your sense kicked in, telling you something was wrong and for some reason, it gave you an inkling that Dick had something to do with it. 

"They found us...and they have T.J.". they say, eyes focused on Dick. Your eyes shoot to your ex (lover?) in disbelief. He knows where your brother is, he has to! They're his men. 

"How could you!" you yell, voice full of pain. You march over to where he stood, his face filled with confusion and guilt. "How could you let them take him? After everything that just happened!" you shout as you shove him. 

"Where is he?"

No response. Another shove. 

"Answer me! Where is he!". Silence once again. "I don't know," he replies full of melancholy. "You're lying. Tell me!" you urge. 

"I don't know [nickname]," he whispers. Dick is feeling a whirlwind of emotions. The biggest one is hurt. He can't believe that you would believe that he would do this to you. After everything he had just said and done? He's going to find which one of his men did this and they're going to face the consequences. You shove him one final time before running over to your friend. 

"Come on, we're going to find them and my brother," you say, shooting him a wicked glare, leaving Dick in a state of sadness, guilt, and anger. 

[cieffeitsme]

There's something about Crowley's calm quiet here that hit me.

Even if only for a while, sitting on that bench he allows himself to relax leaving worries aside. A moment like there have already been in the last few years that allows him to peek through keyhole to see what the precious and peaceful life has always wanted to spend together with his angel could really be like, without restriction.

Sometimes surprised himself by thinking how despite the millions of years passed, a thousand vicissitudes and an existence as occult and ethereal entities in the illimitable vastness of the universe have found each other and choose each other every time. Unlikely perhaps, but not impossible given that both are halves of the same soul and neither could ever truly exist without the other by their side. And Crowley knows it. This is all absolutely surprising. And as much as it annoys him, has long since stopped fighting against that feeling so great as to trascend time that he can almost no longer manage it.

Who knows what could have happened from there to eternity if Jim(briel) had never upset their lives, or rather if hadn't already been planned for armageddon to happen.

But at that moment there wasn't room for those thoughts. In that moment there was only room to savor those brief moments of happiness disguised as a challenge to see how far Aziraphale would go whit the meeting of the Whickber Street shopkeepers and street traders association.

Secretly hoping that won't have to pretend anymore at some point.

Gif credits: @stars-bean @twobabkas

[supernaturalscribe67]

Destiny

Words: 7,528

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Gabriel x Male!Winchester!Reader

Warning(s): Fluff, Slight Angst (if you squint), Language, Brotherly Drama/Teasing, Sexual Innuendos

Summary: (Y/N) Winchester never thought he would have to play a prominent role in the fight between Michael and Lucifer, but when Gabriel's attempt at convincing Sam and Dean to accept their destiny fails, (Y/N) is left pondering the situation at hand. What happens when Gabriel reveals the truth behind his disappearance from Heaven and his own role in the fight?

Heavily Inspired by S5.8 "Changing Channels"

Request:

Hey!! I was hoping you would be able to do this request.

It could feature hurt/comfort, angst, and fluff :)

Gabriel x Winchester!Reader

He could be trans or cis, up to you.

There was a younger Winchester brother, and with 3 full blooded Winchesters meant of course, a 3rd vessel. Gabriel's vessle. You both aren't keen on the idea of possession and end up falling for each other? Destiny had brought them together for battle but their hearts yearned for something else.

(something along those lines atleast)

:D

@genekies

A/N: I've sat here for the last ten minutes staring at the Summary because my brain is non-existent right now. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this! Sorry it's so late! I also hope you don't mind that I changed the 'younger' Winchester to a middle Winchester~ I enjoyed writing something cute and fluffy after that heavy story I posted! Feedback is appreciated!

~ Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

“Son of a bitch.” 

“It’s him. It’s Doctor Sexy.” 

“Nutcracker!”

“I’ve got genital herpes.”

(Y/N) blamed himself for this. Why he thought any hunt he and his brothers did would be normal was beyond him. When was anything the Winchesters did ever normal?

He could count on one hand the number of times he’d encountered tricksters, none of them pleasant. Still, something about this trickster was different. Slight abnormalities in the realm of possibilities, Sam, Dean, and Castiel all agreed, Castiel seeming to know more than them, but unable to voice his thoughts before being whisked away by said ‘trickster’. From there, the Winchester brothers were tossed from TV show to TV show, enduring humiliation and awkward conversation. It wasn’t until Sam was transformed into the Impala that it clicked. 

It wasn’t a trickster. It was an angel. 

That was how they ended up in an abandoned warehouse, the angel stood in the center of a ring of Holy Fire. (Y/N) tried to hide the exhaustion on his face that resulted from their hectic escapades. What he would kill to go back to their motel, crawl under the scratchy covers, and go to sleep. 

“Where’s you get the Holy Oil?” The angel asked, a small smirk playing on the corner of his lips. 

“Well, I guess you could say we pulled it out of Sam’s ass,” Dean replied, straight-faced. 

Sam clenched his jaw and sent a death glare towards him. (Y/N) snickered, earning him the same glare. He pressed his lips together, mumbled a faint ‘sorry’ under his breath, and turned his attention back towards the wannabe trickster. 

The smirk he had vanished. “Where’d I screw up?” He asked. 

“You didn’t,” Sam shook his head. “Nobody gets a jump on Cas like you did.” 

“It was the way you talked about Armageddon,” Dean explained. 

“Meaning?” The angel furrowed his brows. 

“Well, call it personal experience, but nobody gets that angry unless they’re talking about their own family.” 

The angel looked away and lowered his head, a silent confirmation of their suspicions. 

“So, which one are you?” Sam cocked his head to the side. “Grumpy, Sneezy, or Douchey?” 

(Y/N) bit the inside of his cheeks, lowering his head to hide the small smile that appeared. Despite the gravity of the situation, he had to admit that Sam’s question was a little funny. He blamed it on him being tired. He was quick to erase the expression off his face before lifting his head. The angel’s gaze shifted over to Sam, and he hesitated for a moment.

“Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel.” 

“The archangel?” Sam asked. 

“Guilty.” 

“Okay, Gabriel. How does an archangel become a trickster?” Dean questioned. 

Gabriel shifted. “I consider it my own, private Witness Protection. I skipped out of Heaven, got a face transplant, and carved out my own little corner of the world. Until you three screwed it up,” his tone was full of irritation. 

(Y/N), Sam, and Dean shared a glance, almost as if communicating telepathically with one another - something they had become accustomed to growing up. While they knew significant details about the conflict between the archangels Michael and Lucifer, it seemed, to them, that the situation ran a lot deeper than it originally appeared. 

“So, boys, now what?” Gabriel’s voice broke them out of their trance. “Are we just going to stare at each other for the rest of eternity?” 

Dean licked his lips. ‘Well, first of all, you’re going to bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him.” 

“Oh, am I?”

“Yeah, or we’re going to dunk you in some Holy Oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel.” 

Gabriel clenched his jaw, looking over at Sam, then at (Y/N). All of them shared the same serious expression. Poking his tongue into his cheek, he raised a hand and snapped his fingers. Shuffling could be heard behind the trio as they turned their heads to see a disheveled Castiel. His hair was more ruffled than usual, and a small cut ran across the bridge of his nose. Blood was splattered on the collar of his trenchcoat. He stumbled slightly. 

“Cas, you okay?” (Y/N) asked. 

“I’m fine,” Castiel replied, his icy gaze locked on Gabriel. “Hello, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel lowered his hand, crossed his arms over his chest, and smiled tightly. “Hey, bro. How’s the search for Daddy going? Let me guess. Awful,” Gabriel’s tone was harsh. 

The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. It was obvious that there was more going on in Heaven than the Winchesters were led to believe. Multiple sides mean multiple stories. Who knows what really happened? 

“Alright, let’s get out of here. Sam, (Y/N)?” Dean slowly started to step towards the exit. 

Sam was the first to move, while (Y/N) seemed hesitant. In the end, he, too, turned his back on Gabriel and made his way towards his brothers. Castiel soon followed. 

“No,” Gabriel muttered. “Okay…hey, guys, so…” he stumbled over his words. “So what, huh? You’re just, you’re just gonna leave me here forever?” 

When the group reached the door, they all turned back to him. 

“No,” Dean began. “We’re not, because we don’t screw with people the way you do. And, for the record, this isn’t about some prize fight between your brothers or some destiny that can’t be stopped. This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family.” 

Gabriel opened his mouth, as if to object, but stopped himself. He lowered his head in shame, turning his back to them. Wordlessly, Dean looked back, spotting a fire alarm on the wall. He easily broke the glass surrounding the alarm and pulled the handle. A shrill, faded sound echoed within the broken building. As Gabriel looked up, the aged sprinkler system burst open, showering him with cold water. Gabriel gazed at them, his face filled with defeat. 

“Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you,” Dean called out over the sound of the alarm. 

With that, Sam, Dean, and Castiel turned their backs one last time on Gabriel, walking out of the building. (Y/N), however, stayed put, his eyes locked onto Gabriel’s. He studied the look of hurt on his face, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt. A part of him wanted to say something, to turn around and provide him with some type of comfort. They didn’t know what Gabriel was going through, nor what had caused him to leave Heaven in the first place. Perhaps, all he needed was someone to be there. To allow him to be heard. (Y/N) could relate to that feeling. Alas, as the ring of Holy Fire began to dissipate, over the blaring sound of the alarm, he could hear the faint shout of his older brother calling out his name. (Y/N) looked at the warehouse door, the breeze from the early morning shifting his wetting hair, then back to Gabriel. For a moment, he cast an apologetic look his way before he, swiftly, left the building. 

*~*

A couple of weeks after the incident with Gabriel, (Y/N) couldn’t seem to keep his thoughts at bay. Although his brothers had all since left the interaction behind them, refocusing their attention on their odd hunting jobs, (Y/N) couldn’t shake the reminder of the expression on Gabriel’s face. He had taken the time to carefully consider what Gabriel had been going through, or what he had been through before he had left Heaven. Sure, he wasn’t aware of the extent of it all, but he could sure sympathize with how it felt to be stuck between his brothers during their spats. Sam and Dean never threatened the sanctity of Heaven over their problems, but still. 

(Y/N) had taken many walks since then, because sleep had been so easily unobtainable. On nights when Sam and Dean slept soundly on their motel room beds - or couch, depending on who lost in the coin toss - (Y/N) would slink out of the room into the night. Alternatively, in the morning, if sleep didn’t come after the first walk, he would go on another, ultimately stopping for breakfast on his way back to the motel to appease his brothers. 

Sam and Dean were none the wiser. 

On those walks, his mind would always shift to Gabriel and the predicament he was in. In a way, he disagreed with what Dean had said to Gabriel. But, with everything that was said by Gabriel, himself, he partially agreed with it as well. Why was Gabriel so adamant about Sam and Dean allowing Lucifer and Michael to take possession of them for a fight that he wasn’t even willing to fight himself? He felt so in the dark about the whole debacle. Although he wasn’t directly involved in it, he was still interested to know what the fate of his brothers could be. It was thoughts and questions like those that kept his mind racing in the early hours of the morning, making him unable to get an adequate amount of sleep. 

That night was no different. The three of them had traveled to a town along the East Coast, following the clues of a possible Wendigo. The case had just started, and the interviews and clues left much to be desired. They weren’t even close to pinpointing the approximate area in the nearby woodland where it could reside. Sam and Dean were running thin, and (Y/N) was no help. Not with the way his mind had been racing lately. It wasn’t like he could help it, though. He tried, he did, and a part of him couldn’t see how Sam and Dean were able to concentrate whilst everything was going on in Heaven. He had always envied them for their sense of focus, something he lacked greatly at times. When he started the walks, clearing his mind was his initial goal, but going out on his own, in the dead of night, only seemed to make his thoughts louder. 

The town was small, and barely had much of a park, just some cheap playground equipment that looked as if it needed to be updated and a small trail. (Y/N) was thankful for the benches that were laid along the path. Despite the park’s size, it had a beautiful view; a full panoramic of the deep, dark ocean past craggy cliffs, cut off by a steel fence. The ocean was loud and, despite the distance from the land to the sea, mist sprayed (Y/N)’s face faintly, painting his features with minuscule water droplets. He had worn a jacket that night. Even though it was surprisingly hot during the day, as soon as the sun dropped, the temperatures did as well. 

(Y/N) had been sat on the bench for close to an hour. If he had to guess, it was nearly midnight. Not once had he been able to keep Gabriel out of his mind. Gabriel, the fight, Sam, and Dean, all took turns at the forefront of his brain, but Gabriel won most of the time. He always drifted to the sad, kicked puppy-dog look he had before he left. He couldn’t imagine what Gabriel had to go through. (Y/N) thought Sam and Dean were impossible to be with all the time, but he couldn’t fathom being near Michael and Lucifer as much as Gabriel must have. He must have been quite burnt out. 

“Do you mind if I sit here?” A voice jerked (Y/N) from his train of thought. 

(Y/N) jumped, eyes wide as he looked towards the direction of the voice. Stood, about a foot away from the bench, was Gabriel. His expression was soft, his brown hair partially damp, the locks illuminated slightly by the nearby street lamp. Once his heart rate began to return to normal, (Y/N) nodded and gestured towards the empty seat next to him. 

“Sure,” he mumbled. 

With a short nod, Gabriel shuffled over and sat down, leaning against the back of the bench. His legs were slightly spread and his hands were clasped together in his lap. For a moment, the two of them sat in silence, listening to the sound of the crashing waves from below. Even though Gabriel had done so much to the Winchesters as a part of his trickster ‘Witness Protection’, (Y/N) didn’t feel any resentment towards him, nor did he feel agitation, even with his proximity. A part of him thought he should be, that was how Dean would react, at least. Shouldn’t he be at least a little bit pissed? Perhaps it was the weeks of thinking, working the idea into his head that he and Gabriel could, potentially, have more in common than he originally thought. It could be that he was more forgiving than his brother. In the end, (Y/N) chalked it up to him being a great judge of character. 

“How did you find me?” (Y/N) broke the silence. 

“What?” Gabriel asked. 

“How did you find me? These symbols, or whatever, Cas put on my ribs were supposed to stop angels from being able to find me. Or did he just tattoo my ribs for nothing?” 

Gabriel let out a faint chuckle and shook his head. “I admit, you were hard to find. All I did, though, was follow the sound of your prayers. They were quieter than most, but they were still noticeable.” 

(Y/N) looked over at Gabriel, confused. “Prayers? I didn’t pray to you.” 

“I guess not technically. I know that wasn’t your intention half the time, but, every time you thought of me, asked those questions, made those statements, it was as if you did.” 

(Y/N) pursed his lips and gave a faint nod. “I see…”

They were, once again, engulfed in silence as they stared out onto the water. No one said anything. Surprisingly, it was peaceful.

“I guess I should be asking why you found me. Why are you here, Gabriel?” (Y/N) asked. 

Gabriel hesitated for a moment, fumbling with his fingers. “Look, I’m not good at this sort of thing, but…” he trailed. “I thought I should come here and apologize. For everything.” 

(Y/N) looked over at Gabriel as he placed his hands into his jacket pockets and leaned back against the bench. “Shouldn’t you be apologizing to Sam and Dean, too?” 

Gabriel snorted. “Are you kidding? Those two would probably stab me before I even had the chance to say anything.” 

(Y/N) smirked. “I guess you’re right. The fact that you were practically hounding them to accept being Michael and Lucifer’s vessels doesn’t help your case either.” 

“Yeah, I realized that I probably went about it the wrong way.” 

“Probably?” 

“Okay, I definitely went about it the wrong way.” 

“That’s putting it lightly.” (Y/N) mumbled. “Why the fight, Gabriel? I mean, why now?” 

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. “Michael and Luci have been going at it for centuries. Even before this fight, they were at each other’s throats half the time.” he began to rub his fingers together. “But, this fight…it wasn’t originally supposed to only be those two.” 

(Y/N) furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?” 

“Well,” Gabriel stuttered before he stood up. Slowly, he began to pace back and forth in front of (Y/N), looking between the ground and his hands. “You know what it’s like, right? Your brothers are arguing about the dumbest things and they’ve been going at it for a while, getting a little carried away, so you have to step in and, um,” 

“Be the mediator?” 

“Yeah! You have to try and calm them down so they don’t kill each other?” 

“Well, yeah, I’ve had to do that plenty of times with Sam and Dean.” 

“Right. Back then, I had to do the same thing with Michael and Luci. Sometimes it worked, and other times, not so much. With this fight, that’s what I was supposed to do.” 

“Wait, this fight that they want to use Sam and Dean for? How’re you supposed to mediate that?” 

“I was just supposed to make sure they didn’t actually kill each other. Try to get them to talk it out. I’ve always been good at that, so it would only make sense that I would take a crack at it this go around. However, since they would be at their full power in their vessels, the last thing that needed to happen was for them to turn on me, kill me, and then each other. So, to make sure I had enough power, I, also, have to have a vessel.” 

Gabriel stopped pacing in front of him and finally faced him, his hands together in front of him. (Y/N) stared at him intently, eyes narrowed in concentration. It was as if Gabriel could see the gears working in his mind. If Michael needed a vessel, which was Dean, and Lucifer needed a vessel, which was Sam, then, that meant…

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “Am I your vessel?” He breathed. 

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” Gabriel smirked, although it wasn’t as confident as the one he had when he was covered by his trickster persona. 

(Y/N)’s mouth sat agape. He was gobsmacked. His lips moved up and down as he tried to form words, but his mind nor mouth would work. It all made sense, though. Why would Sam and Dean be the only vessels? Why had he never considered that he, too, was destined to be one? It was clear as glass, yet, the thought never crossed his mind. 

“You know, when you think about it, it kind of makes sense that you’re my vessel. I mean, you’re the mediator, I’m the mediator. You’re the middle child, I’m practically the middle child. There are, actually, a lot of similarities between you and me. So, it was a great pick,” Gabriel rambled, placing his hands on his hips.

(Y/N) help his hand up. “Gabriel, just…stop.” 

Gabriel looked down and cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he pursed his lips. 

(Y/N) sat there and attempted to wrap his head around the whole situation. His thoughts were foggy and the front of his head was starting to pound. He reached his hands up and began to massage his temples. 

“So, what you’re saying,” (Y/N) let out a breathy chuckle. “Is that you, the archangel Gabriel, are supposed to use me as a mediator for your two power-hungry brothers who, may I remind you, are also archangels?” 

Slowly, Gabriel nodded. “Basically.” 

“And you think this is a good idea?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“What?” 

Gabriel sighed. “Look,” He returned to his spot on the bench next to (Y/N), his body now facing him. “The times when my mediation did work was when they had their smaller fights. Little bickers here and there. When Michael and Luci are really, really mad at each other, nothing can get between them. So, most likely, what would happen is I would need to get involved in the fight to stop them.” 

“Oh, God,” (Y/N) grumbled and placed his face into his hands.

“But, believe me, that is the last thing I want to do. I mean, Michael and Luci, they’re both strong on their own, but, if they were to team up against me for trying to stop them, even with you as my vessel, I don’t stand a chance. It would be two against one.” 

(Y/N) just nodded, running his hands down his face, his gaze returning to the cool, pounding waves. A chill ran down his spine. He hadn’t realized how cold he had gotten, what with the mix of wind and misty air.

“Why are you telling me this now?” He asked quietly. “Why wasn’t I told any of this before?” 

“Well, when I went off the grid, everyone just assumed that it was my way of backing out of the fight. In a way, I guess they were right.” 

“And back at the warehouse? Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“Because I still had no intention of joining the fight. However, after what Dean had said to me…” Gabriel shook his head. “I realized that he was right. I am a coward. I tried to push your brothers into accepting their roles as vessels because I want this fight to be done and over with. I just wish the fight didn’t have to happen. I figured it would be wrong if I didn’t tell you now. You deserve to know.” 

“Well, I appreciate that. And, for the record, I don’t want this fight to happen either. The last thing I want is my brothers to get involved in something that has nothing to do with them.”

“The fight’s gonna happen one way or another, and I thought getting your brothers to go along would be the best way to go about it. Once I listened to your prayers, though, I realized how it would affect you. I know you wouldn’t want to lose either one of your brothers, even though they can be assholes sometimes.” 

(Y/N) snorted. “Like you’re one to talk.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, unlike your brothers, mine can be caring and nice when they want to be.” 

“Believe it or not, Michael and Luci both have the capability of being nice! I witnessed it firsthand.” 

“Bullshit!” 

“It’s not! Granted, they were a whole lot nicer when they were fledglings, kind of got a little rocky as they got older, but they could still be nice!” 

“Wait, wait, wait, fledglings?” 

“Yeah.”

“What’re fledglings?” 

“Newborn angels.”

“So…baby angels?” 

“In a sense,” Gabriel shrugged. A mischievous smirk then appeared at the corner of his lips. “Do you want to hear some embarrassing stories about when Michael and Luci were younger?” 

“Of course I do,” (Y/N) sat back, turning his body to face Gabriel as well. 

“Okay, but, in return, you have to tell me some embarrassing stories about your brothers.”

(Y/N) bit his lip as he contemplated the offer. Finally, he smirked. “Deal.” 

For the next while, Gabriel and (Y/N) went back and forth, sharing their embarrassing stories from their abnormal families. They joked, laughed, and, overall, had a good time. Not only did it lighten the mood from the bombshell Gabriel had dropped, but it allowed them to grasp a basic understanding of their past and present lives. 

There were a few things (Y/N) learned throughout their conversation. One; Gabriel and his brothers shared some scary similarities with the Winchesters in regards to mannerisms and attitudes. Two; Gabriel could talk for a millenia if he was given the opportunity. And three; (Y/N) felt oddly calm around Gabriel. It hadn’t even struck him how easily Gabriel was able to shift the conversation as smoothly as he did. (Y/N) wasn’t too sure how he could feel that way around him. As they sat there and talked, after everything that was said, and after everything that happened with the warehouse incident - he’ll never forget the nutcracker - he couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of comfort around him. There was something about Gabriel that filled (Y/N) with a sense of peace and belonging, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it as to why that was. 

It wasn’t like he was complaining, though. 

They talked until the moon sat near the far end of the sky. Unbeknownst to them, the two had begun to scoot closer to one another as the conversation continued, getting to the point where their knees and shoulders were touching. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward. Neither of them pulled away out of instinct. It felt right. It felt natural. 

Gabriel droned on and on about, yet, another story when Lucifer was a young angel. He seemed to have more stories about him than he did of Michael. (Y/N) was quite the opposite. He had more stories about Dean than he did with Sam. Both of them laughed as Gabriel tried his best to continue. 

“So - so Dad got angry because Lucifer kept letting the bugs out of their sanctuary, and -” Gabriel looked over at (Y/N), and his smile vanished. 

(Y/N) glanced up at him, noticing the change of demeanor instantly. His smile, too, disappeared. “Is something wrong?” 

As he kept his eye on him, Gabriel reached up and gently brushed his thumb against (Y/N)’s bottom lip. (Y/N) felt his cheeks heat up and his brows furrow in confusion. 

“Your lips are blue,” Gabriel stated. He glanced up at the sky and his brows shot up. “I am so sorry. I didn’t realize we had been out here so long.” Gabriel sat up. 

“How long how we been out here?” (Y/N) dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. 

3:27 AM

“Oh shit,” he mumbled as he quickly stood up. 

His legs and ass were completely numb, causing him to sway at the rapid movement. Gabriel was by his side in an instant, hands on his shoulders to steady him. They had been out together for, close to, four hours. No wonder (Y/N)’s lips were blue. He shivered, teeth chattering lightly. Once (Y/N) was able to stand on his own, Gabriel took off his jacket and draped it over (Y/N)’s shoulders. (Y/N) shook his head. 

“Oh, no, Gabriel, it’s okay. I just need to get back to the motel.” He stuttered tiredly. 

“I’m the reason you were out here for so long. Consider it a, um, token of my appreciation for talking to me,” Gabriel smiled sweetly.

(Y/N) returned the smile. “Well, thank you for keeping me company.” 

“Let me take you back to the motel.” 

“No. If Sam and Dean see you, they’ll kill you and then me.”

“Then I won’t let them see me.”

Without another word, Gabriel reached up and pressed his index and middle fingers against (Y/N)’s forehead. (Y/N) inhaled shakily and closed his eyes. One second, he was standing in the park, then, the next, he and Gabriel were standing in front of the Winchester’s motel room. He breathed a sigh of relief once he saw the faded numbers etched onto the door. 

“Thank you,” he smiled and retrieved the key from his pocket. 

“Anytime. And, uh, if you ever feel the need to talk again under better weather conditions, feel free to pray. When the prayers are sent directly to me, it’s a lot easier for me to hear.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Now go warm up.”

(Y/N) flashed Gabriel one last smile as he turned the key to the room and opened the door. Gabriel vanished. 

Moonlight pooled in through the cracked door as (Y/N) crept into the room. He felt the warmth flood his face and hands as he entered. Despite the heavy jacket he had gone out with, having spent hours in the windy, misty park, he was bound to get cold eventually. He didn’t think he would get that cold, though.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see Sam sleeping soundly on his stomach, face nuzzled against the cheap pillow, and Dean sprawled out on the couch, legs and arms spread in uncomfortable positions that he would undoubtedly complain about the next day, mouth slightly open, and drool coating his chin and pillow. (Y/N) was thankful for his stealth ability.

Slowly, he made his way over to the unoccupied bed and crawled underneath the covers. Not bothering to change his clothes or take off his shoes, he nestled into the thick - yet somehow extremely thin - comforter. His eyes closed as soon as his head hit the pillow.

*~*

That was the best night’s sleep he had gotten in ages. 

Well, it would have been, had he not been awoken by a flying pillow to the face.

(Y/N) groaned as he opened his eyes ever so slightly. The sunlight beamed in through the window, caressing his skin, and he hated it. He glanced tiredly in the direction that the pillow came from and found Dean with an amused grin spread across his lips.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Dean greeted.

“Fuck off,” (Y/N) grunted as he grabbed the pillow and chucked it lazily back at him. He missed terribly. 

“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Sam teased as he sat a cup of steaming coffee on the nightstand next to (Y/N).

“Thanks,” he mumbled and sat up. “And I just got a pillow thrown at my face, am I supposed to jump for joy and sing Kumbaya?” 

“Are you sure it’s the pillow and has nothing to do with you getting back so late?” Dean quirked a brow.

(Y/N) went to reach for the coffee cup, but stopped himself. He glanced at Dean, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?” 

“Well, one, you’re wearing the exact same thing you were wearing yesterday, plus you wore your shoes to bed. Two, I heard you getting back last night,”

“Bullshit. You were passed out.”

“Do you realize how loud you stumbled in? I’m surprised Sammy didn’t wake up because of it. My third point, though,” Dean pointed down to his brother’s chest. “That’s not your jacket. So…did you get lucky?” 

(Y/N) looked down at himself and his brows raised. He was still wearing Gabriel’s jacket. He had been so tired and cold last night that he had completely forgotten to take it off or even give it back. He reached up and played with the collar gently. He had to remember to thank Gabriel for giving it to him.

Oh, wait, prayers! Thank you for the jacket, Gabriel!

“Well?” Dean pressed.

“Huh?” (Y/N) looked over at him. 

“Did you get lucky?” 

(Y/N) snorted. “If I got lucky, do you think I would be here right now?”

“Not unless it was bad.”

“Would that mean I still got ‘lucky’ if it was bad? What kind of luck is that?” 

“You’re dodging the question.”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “No, Dean, I didn’t get lucky.”

“Then who’d you meet?” Sam asked.

“Why does it matter?” (Y/N) questioned.

“Because you’re smiling,” Dean pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee. “And you don’t smile like that normally. It’s kind of freaky.”

“Oh, fuck off, Dean,”

(Y/N) hadn’t even realized he had been smiling, but he could hear it in his voice. Dean was right, it had been ages since he had smiled like that. His cheeks were starting to hurt. He reached over, took a sip of his coffee, then put it down. He stood up from his spot on the bed and stretched his aching muscles.

“So,” Dean pursed his lips. “Who was it?”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you, Dean?”

“Nope,” Dean popped.

(Y/N) shook his head. “It was just this guy that I met at the bar. He bought me a drink, we sat and talked and, when the bar closed, we went to the nearest park and continued our talk.”

Dean’s smirk faltered and was replaced with a frown. “That’s it? You just…talked?” 

“Yeah,” (Y/N) shrugged.

“You’re more boring than Sam,”

“Hey!” Sam exclaimed.

“What do you want me to say, Dean? ‘I found this guy at the bar, we went to the park, I gave him head, he gave me a twenty, said ‘no homo’, and walked away’?” (Y/N) asked. 

“Well, that would have been a hell of a lot more entertaining than ‘we just talked’.”

(Y/N) waved him off. “Whatever,” he mumbled, then kicked his shoes off.

Sam took a sip of his coffee and cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable. We’re gonna go look for that Wendigo.”

“I’m taking a shower before we go, so…” (Y/N) stuck his tongue out at Sam.

Sam smirked and shook his head as (Y/N) gathered some of his clothes from his duffel bag. Without another word, he vanished into the bathroom.

*~*

(Y/N) was sick for a week after that. As it turns out, cold air and wet hair don’t necessarily mix well. At first, he tried to push through it, but fatigue and a sore throat caught up to him and left him on research duty for the duration of the Wendigo hunt. During that time, whenever Sam and Dean were out looking for clues, leaving him alone in the stuffy motel room, he would pray to Gabriel. Gabriel would be quick to respond.

The two would sit and talk for hours, idle chit-chat here and there, and would always seem to dance around the topic of the fight one way or another. Those talks continued well after (Y/N) felt better and the Wendigo hunt concluded. (Y/N) resumed his nightly walks, and Gabriel would accompany him. In the mornings, when Sam and Dean would occasionally catch onto (Y/N)’s disappearing acts, he would play it off as a spontaneous trip to the local bar scene, fabricating stories about meeting a dreamy man he would talk to or go back to his place. It wasn’t a complete lie, so he didn’t feel as bad when he told them. 

As the months went on, (Y/N) could feel himself growing fonder of Gabriel. It was a strong feeling. Is that what love felt like? He could only assume. Yet, the feeling was more than that. He felt connected to him in a much stronger sense of the word. A spiritual sense, perhaps? He couldn’t quite pinpoint the cause of those feelings, but the last thing he was going to do was fight himself on them, despite how obvious it was that his brothers would disapprove of his relationship with Gabriel. That’s what secrets were for. He had gone long enough without telling them, what’s a couple more months or years?

Whenever they were together, (Y/N) felt whole, as if a lost piece of a puzzle he didn’t even know he had found its way to him. When he was with his brothers, or by himself, he found his mind constantly shifting to thoughts of Gabriel. Of what they would talk about, of Gabriel’s smile, of the way his stomach would turn whenever they stood or sat close to one another. He would crave his presence, desperate to hear the sound of his voice. It was killing him, slowly, from the inside out, and he knew if he didn’t say anything soon, he would combust. He had to tell Gabriel his feelings.

One thing he loved about small towns was the lack of artificial lights. Sure, there were dull street lamps scattered around that looked as if they needed to be changed years ago, but the absence of skyscrapers and people, overall, meant not much was needed to illuminate the roads. Locals knew them like the back of their hand anyway. With the minimal light, almost anywhere in town, you could see the stars that decorated the night sky. If you wanted, you could pick out each constellation. Orion’s Belt and the Big Dipper were rather prominent that night.

There were several smaller parks in town, but the biggest sat in the middle of downtown. It wasn’t used as a children’s area as much as a casual gathering ground. (Y/N) could imagine dogs in the grass and elderly couples walking arm-in-arm during the daylight hours. By night, it was abandoned, the distant sound of country music playing from the only local bar. It was the perfect place for him and Gabriel to meet.

They sat on a bench in the middle of the park, heads tilted back as they stared at the stars. Their sides and legs were pressed together, and, for the first time in a while, they said nothing. Normally, their meetings were filled with lively conversation from the moment they saw each other to the moment they parted. (Y/N) had to wonder if Gabriel could tell that he wanted to have a serious discussion. Perhaps he had a lot on his mind. Or, perhaps, Gabriel was too busy reading (Y/N)’s to say anything. Regardless, they had been sat there for close to half an hour without as much as a single word to each other. (Y/N) knew just sitting there wasn’t going to do any good. He had to bite the bullet and say something. 

“Gabriel?” He started, his voice coming out small and quiet.

Gabriel hummed. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,”

(Y/N) hesitated. “Well, first of all, I just wanted to say that I like spending time with you.” He began to fiddle with his fingers. “And I don’t want what I’m about to ask to make our meetings stop.”

“Honestly, I think, at this point, the only thing that you can ask to make our meetings stop is ‘Hey, can our meetings stop?’.”

(Y/N) chuckled lightly. “Gabe, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he smirked.

“Well, um…” he paused. “Do you ever feel like we’re connected in other ways?”

Gabriel furrowed his brows. He turned his body to face (Y/N), rested his elbow on the back of the bench, and placed his cheek into his hand. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. I mean, it feels like…more.”

Gabriel studied (Y/N)’s face, noticing his lack of eye contact. He stayed quiet for a moment, and (Y/N) could feel the anxiety building inside of him. He knew he did a piss poor job at explaining what he meant, but it was the best he could come up with. Slowly, Gabriel smirked.

“You have a crush on me, don’t you?” He teased.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened and the heat rose to his cheeks. He glanced over at Gabriel, then back down at his lap. 

“I, well…I’m not…I- that’s not the point, okay!?” (Y/N) shook his head. “The point is that it doesn’t feel like just a crush to me. It feels like an even deeper connection than that. Like something about our souls and- nevermind, this just sounds stupid,” his shoulders deflated in defeat.

Gabriel waved his hands and shook his head. “Hey, hey, it’s not stupid, alright? I get what you’re saying. You feel as if we’re connected by something other than you just being my vessel.”

(Y/N) nodded and let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, exactly.”

“I feel it, too.”

“You do?”

“I mean, yeah,” Gabriel folded his hands in his lap. “I felt that when we first saw each other, even before the warehouse. Then, everything with your brothers happened, and we met again, and, still,  I felt that connection.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought I was looking too hard into it. I started thinking that, maybe, the connection was all in my head. That it was, truly, just our connection by you being my vessel. When Dean said what he did about me being too afraid to face my family, I thought no one would understand my point of view on the fight. What I’ve had to go through being related to Michael and Lucifer. Then, you started to pray to me, and I knew that you understood me. That’s what made me come find you in the first place. Once we were alone, I felt this sense of…peace. I hate to admit it, but I feel like I can barely go a single day without wanting to see you. Without needing to see you. I knew it was more at that point.”

(Y/N)’s eyes were on Gabriel as he listened intently to what he was saying. He shook his head. “I feel the same way. It’s almost as if, I don’t know, I can’t breathe when you’re not around.”

“Well, please don’t stop on my account.”

“Stop it, we’re having a serious moment,” (Y/N) slapped his arm.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gabriel smirked. “I mean, as cliche as it sounds, it feels, almost as if we were meant for each other, right? Like we were meant to be together? Almost as if it was more than you being my vessel that bought us together.”

Gabriel reached over and grabbed (Y/N)’s hand, rubbing the side of it gently with his thumb. (Y/N) looked into Gabriel’s eyes, and he felt his heart soar. He reached up and caressed his cheek before they both leaned in, their lips fitting together perfectly in a sweet, loving kiss. Their eyes closed, and they both melted into a deep, sensual embrace. Almost immediately, all of the stress and worry seemingly melted away, replaced with a sense of belonging. A sense of closeness.

When they pulled back, they looked into each other’s eyes once more. A small smile creased the corner of (Y/N)’s lips.

“You’re right, it is pretty cheesy.” He whispered, his thumb tracing circles around Gabriel’s cheekbone.

Gabriel cocked a brow. “I thought we were having a serious conversation. Why do you get to make quips?”

“It’s kind of hard not to when I’m around you.” (Y/N) pressed his forehead against Gabriel’s.

Gabriel chuckled. “I guess I’m rubbing off on you, aren’t I?” He moved his hands to (Y/N)’s hips.

“I don’t see that as a bad thing.”

They sat together and enjoyed the peaceful quiet of their embrace. (Y/N) never felt more relaxed in his entire life, and he wanted to savor every moment he had with Gabriel.

Then, his mind started to drift. Drift to the fight, the battle between Michael and Lucifer, and to Sam and Dean. Gabriel had done such a good job at keeping him distracted from all the chaos that surrounded him that he hadn’t even had a chance to consider what could happen with the fight now that he and Gabriel were involved. Neither of them wanted to participate in the fight, but what would happen if they didn’t? Who would win? Would he lose one, or possibly both, of his brothers? If they did get involved in the fight, was there a possibility that he and Gabriel would lose each other? Did they even stand a chance to win against Michael and Lucifer if things were to turn ugly? Was there a chance that he could lose Gabriel even without being in the fight itself?

Gabriel reached a hand up and ran his fingers through (Y/N)’s hair soothingly. He pressed a small kiss to the corner of his lips. “Your thoughts are being really loud, Sugarplum.” He whispered. 

(Y/N) broke from his trance and shook his head lightly. “I’m sorry, it’s just…with the fight,” (Y/N) looked away briefly. “I don’t want to lose Sam and Dean, but now that I have you, I don’t want to lose you either.”

Gabriel gave him a sympathetic look as he pulled him close. “I know. This whole thing is one giant mess. I wish none of it had to happen. But I’m going to be with you every step of the way, I promise.”

(Y/N) shook his head. “You can’t promise me that. Knock on wood.”

“What?” Gabriel chuckled.

“I don’t want you to have just jinxed yourself, now knock on wood.”

Gabriel smirked as he rasped his knuckles against the wooden bench three times. “Better?”

“A little,” (Y/N) mumbled and nuzzled his cheek against Gabriel’s shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll feel better until this fight is over.”

Gabriel wrapped his arms tightly around him. “How about this? I promise to do everything in my power to keep you distracted. That way, you’re not too stressed out.”

(Y/N) pursed his lips in thought. “Not too distracted, though. I had practically forgotten about the fight until now, and I still need to stay on my toes.”

“How about I distract you just enough to keep your mind off of it?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Well then, Sugarplum, how do you propose I keep you distracted?”

“You can start by kissing me again,”

“Oh, I can do more than kissing,” Gabriel mused in a suggestive tone and wiggled his brows.

(Y/N) slapped his chest. “Perv,” he grumbled. “Let’s just start with kissing.”

“Taking it slow, I like your style,” Gabriel nuzzled his nose against (Y/N)’s.

(Y/N) smiled widely. “Then shut up and kiss me already.”

Without another word, Gabriel leaned down, capturing (Y/N)’s lips in a deep kiss. Just like that, all of his problems dissipated, and it felt as if he was floating. The park didn’t exist anymore, nor the stumbling locals who left the bar periodically. There were no stars, no more beautiful night sky. The only two things that existed were Gabriel and (Y/N). They were complete. They were strong. They were one. It felt as if nothing in Heaven, Hell, or in between could tear them apart. 

And everything was as it should be.

[wistfulnightingale]

Purged by Fire (or, Crowley as The Romantic Hero of Good Omens)

Mini-Meta #6 (Based on my Meta Analysis "Somewhat Heroes")

Does this scene make your heart flutter just a bit, like mine does? Crowley arrives, Bentley blazing, Queen music blaring. He blithely hops out of the flaming car with the sensual swagger of a lover meeting his partner for a romantic picnic on a windswept hill. Crowley greets Aziraphale as if no one else exists! Despite Shadwell's "trigger finger" in the foreground, we get a sunset shot of the young lovers. Like an old cinema movie, they are silhouetted and dappled with light.

Crowley leans in towards his Beloved. Their hair barely brushes Crowley's face. The Lover is so close that he breathes in the familiar fragrance. ("I know what you smell like!"). His Beloved was in Distress, but He's here now! Crowley's voice is deep and gentle as he murmurs, "Leave it to me." The Romantic Hero will rescue his Beloved once again, here at the climax of all the adventures they've ever had!

Crowley languidly strolls to the armed soldier. Everything's under control now, Crowley is here... "Army Human, my Friend and I have come a long way..." They arrived separately, after conflict and tragedy -- but none of that matters, they're together again. Here. Now. They will get through this, and they will finally have their Happily Ever After...

Suddenly, the scene shatters. A bike bell jingles, the Them ride through the gates, the soldier runs after the kids, and the Bentley explodes. We're thrown into a different old movie -- a tragic love story where the Hero is silhouetted against the sunset Grieving His Beloved! :D

Part of the joy of Good Omens is that it has so many serious things to say, without ever taking itself toooo seriously. This moment is one of them! But we love Crowley. We're supposed to. And he's so darn lovably human!

That's the point, though, isn't it? A Romantic Hero of Classic Cinema is often someone so glorious that they don't belong in Real Life. Unattainable. Maybe even aloof, above the fray. Despite his pretense and shields, Crowley is anything but aloof, and he struggles with the fray as much as any of us who are "Human Incarnate."

Crowley loves to play the Romantic Hero, and Aziraphale loves to set up dramatic situations for him, to let himself be rescued. It's a sweet and romantic game they play. (Full confession -- I should have put in the shot with Azi in the foreground, looking at Crowley. But Ooooh, this photo looks So Good!)

In Season 1, however, Crowley never quite gets to fulfill that role in a Classic way. Even when we examine the Classic Steps of a Hero's Journey, he doesn't meet those criteria either (nor does Aziraphale). But it's because he's not meant to be a Classic Hero above the rest of us. He (and Azi) are just like us -- they fumble along. They make bad choices and heroic choices and say stupid things sometimes and say noble things occasionally, just like we do.

The Heroic Journey that Crowley does travel, however, leads our demon to discover his greatest fear, and to overcome it. He had believed that his greatest fear was Punishment by Hell. It had happened enough before, and it was horrible. (See my Mini-Metas #1 and #4 for more on this.). After Hell kidnapped him from Edinburgh, he was punished so terribly that his corporeal body was stiff and straight, and he'd needed a cane (#4).

Crowley's fear of Hell kept him from recognizing what his Truly Greatest Fear was -- the fear of losing Aziraphale, and of facing eternity without him.

When Crowley loses Aziraphale, the optimistic demon loses all hope. He gets drunk, gets swallowed up by his most painful memories (The Fall), and waits for Armageddon. When Aziraphale returns to him, he is restored, renewed, and faces every obstacle with no visible fear. He has been purged by fire. Crowley finally recognizes himself for who he truly is, not defined by his demon identity. Neither the threats of Hell nor his own fears of being "Unforgivable" stand in his way anymore. Their Happy Ending is possible, but he will have to fight for it. And he's ready this time...

Once Crowley realizes his own worth, no obstacle seems insurmountable. He will fight for his Beloved, and he will not let their chances slip away. Crowley faces Hastur in the Bentley without fear. He survives the Hellfire of the M-25 by sheer willpower and "Imagination". Even when the unvanquishable Satan approaches, for the sake of Aziraphale, he does not give in. If Satan wins, it will not be Aziraphale's choice to "never speak to [Crowley] again." They would be eternally parted, and likely one or both would no longer exist. In a heroic act, Crowley stops time, and Our Ineffable Somewhat Heroes give Adam the knowledge he needs to overcome Satan himself.

And that night, after it's all over, in that brief interlude before they'll face their enemies again, the romantic moment of fulfillment happens. Quietly. Gently. No musical crescendo, no sweeping panoramas or even a clear view of the stars. Just a very gentle and loving demon on a bus stop bench with the angel he loves. He offers. The angel considers, uncertain. Crowley is tender, patient, accepting. The bus arrives. The angel is still thinking.

And when they get on the bus, as Aziraphale reaches the seat where Crowley waits, the demon takes his hand down from the railing. He is subtle, he rests his hand low. I imagine a small gesture, an extension of the fingers, an invitation.

As Aziraphale sits down, he takes Crowley's hand. (It's canon.)

It's a Promise. A vow. It's the moment they've waited 6000 years for. And now they are ready to fulfill it.

[yuesya]

The sky is dark.

Even during daytime, the sky is dark, almost as if it were evening. A perpetual twilight. It’s a sight that is very much unnatural, yet there’s very little that is natural about the world nowadays. Not since the day when a horde of cursed spirits suddenly manifested in the heart of New Shinjuku with no warning whatsoever, promptly plunging the freshly-rebuilt city into chaos. And almost as if it had been a signal of sorts, similar incidents had swiftly spread across the globe in the days that followed.

Armageddon, some called it. The End of the World. As the catastrophe progressed, the environment itself changed as well in reflection of the disaster ravaging the now-hostile, dangerous world.

“So this is where you’re hiding, huh?”

Shiki turns around and cranes her head to look upwards. “… Satoru-niichan?”

Her cousin pats her on the head, and plops down on the stone ledge next to her with a gusty sigh. “Needed a break?”

Shiki doesn’t respond to that, instead drawing her legs closer to herself and burying her face into her knees. She receives another headpat from her cousin.

“I get it,” he says. “It’s a lot. Sorcerers aren’t really supposed to do much aside from just killing cursed spirits, but look at us now –shining paragons and defenders of the last, greatest bastions of humanity. What a joke, right? Like, what do I know about running cities or maintaining infrastructure or resource allocation?”

“People are grasping at straws,” Shiki says quietly. Between the two of them… it’s definitely Satoru-niichan who bears the heavier burden. But even so, despite all the responsibilities that he’s laden with, he still does his best to look out for her in moments like these.

The knowledge lights a spark of warmth inside her chest.

“Yeah, they most definitely are,” Satoru-niichan sighs. “And sorcerers happen to look like they have the longest straws, no thanks to the entire mess back in ‘18.”

“… Geto-san’s Cursed Spirit Manipulation would’ve been nice to have right now,” Shiki props up her chin with a hand. Considering that the entire world was overrun with cursed spirits, his cursed technique would’ve been an excellent counter.

He might even be the new ‘Strongest.’

… Although, if Geto-san were still alive, he probably would’ve set off to make his own stronghold, one that strictly, specifically only protected sorcerers.

Shiki sighs.

“Oh, and you know what else would be nice to have? A good bowl of cream anmitsu.”

The girl blinks in surprise at the sudden non-sequitur, and gives her cousin a side-eye.

“What? I thought we were indulging in a bout of wishful thinking here,” the young man sticks his tongue out at her. Food is growing scarce; most fruits are dried or preserved –and that’s to say nothing of how ice cream and such frozen desserts of the like are a luxury rarely seen anymore. Sugar is rationed and restricted, as is salt. “Although I’d take konpeito, too.”

Konpeito would definitely be easier to obtain than something outrageous like cream anmitsu, especially the specific type that Satoru-niichan had once been so fond of.

“Hmm… I think I’ll try to get my hands on some konpeito once we get back to the Tokyo base,” Satoru-niichan decides. Then, with a teasing grin directed towards her, “I might even share some with you if you ask me nicely!”

Shiki rolls her eyes, “I don’t like sweets.”

“You don’t like sweets? Still?” Her cousin shakes his head, “Ehh… you’re really missing out, cute little cousin of mine.”

“Pass.”

“See?! I think you could definitely use a bit of sweetness to lighten up that doom and gloom,” Satoru-niichan informs her, and stretches. “… Man, there’s nothing like an apocalypse to make you realize that so many good foods out there can disappear forever just like that. Once this is all over and everything is on the proper road to recovery, I think I’ll go on a world tour and try out allll the local delicacies I can find.”

“… You mean all the local sweets?” Shiki says dryly.

“Ha! Are you sassing me?” Satoru-niichan sits up straight and laughs, delighted. “See if I bring you along for my future gourmet adventures, then!”

Shiki dips her head and bites back a small smile.

… 

The sky is still dark and dreary. But somehow, by the time that Shiki returns to the encampment with her cousin, things still seem to be a bit brighter than they previously were before.

[dansevilpianotea]

who do you think is more Crowley coded and who is more Azira coded out of dnp?

i set myself hourly notifications ever since you send the ask and it still took me this long to answer, im so sorry 😭

to answer your question:

It might seem like obvious that dan is crowley coded and phil is azira coded because of their aesthetics and personality but stating that as that is too simple for me. lets break it down:

dan is like crowley in the obvious sense of having that edgy aesthetic and always needing to question things while phil is the one with the light aesthetic who enjoys what is happening despite the problems it has. just watch them play the game of life.

this reminds me of this quote from a book ive read for uni which really stuck with me:

so yea, dan is the social scientist who points out what most people miss and phil is the one who tells us that we shouldn't wallow in defeat of it but make our own meaning out of it. and we need both! they are like ying and yang, like crowley and aziraphale in that way.

crowley who questions heaven and thusly falls, but then doesnt stop questioning hell because he doesnt see the world in black and white, good actions and bad actions.

i think dan for a long time was not like that. i say this with the utmost respect but if you look back, his branding was usually self deprecating jokes and at least to me personally it felt like his perspective was pessimistic. he always made sure to leave a positive message but to me it felt like a wish for a better future, not a feeling of certainty that it will be better.

Phil on the other hand is very much like that:

Phil is like aziraphale and me in the sense that he gets irrationally worried about things,

but it is dan who literally did a tour about his worries of the world ending, with branding and all:

and yet:

phil and crowley both have that rational optimism, the sense that things will be okay. but aziraphale does not give up in-spite of the odds being against them. in s1 he refuses to run away to alpha centauri because he believes that they should stay and fight. that there is still hope. he does not accept that the world will end. but its crowley who sparks the idea of aziraphale raising the antichrist with him. its aziraphale who tells angel crowley of armageddon , and its why crowley gets upset and questions the almighty.

so my point is that phil has aziraphale's light aesthetic vibes and his fear of near doom but crowley's certainty that everything will be okay in the end despite it.

dan on the other hand has crowley's edgy dark aesthetic, his cynicism and sense of questioning belief systems, but also aziraphale's determinism to fight what he is sure is a losing battle/the end of the world because he wants to believe that it is possible that everything will be okay (that being the message of wad/ywgttn/big/etc...)

i want to talk a bit about 'dark/light polarity'. what we mean by that is two sides of the same coin. yin and yang:

☯️

they depend on each other, they interconnect and intertwine. be it real people or fictional characters, it is never a clear black and white binary, because what the characters have something that the other lacks and when they come together they become a whole. plato said humans once had 4 legs and feet, and then got split in half by zeus to punish us to live our lives yearning to be connected with the other half of our soul/coin, our soulmate. they carry sth of each other within them because there are shards that got broken in the middle when the being was split and were forced to choose sides.

so even tho it might seem like dan is more like crowley coded and phil is more aziraphale coded because of their light/dark aesthetic, there's many things of both in each of them and thats what makes it interesting and real to us.

[inbarfink]

Simon loved Betty dearly, but he was always kinda passively ignorantly selfish in their relationship. Allowing Betty to be needlessly self-sacrificial while not really giving her anything like that in return because… he was just not really noticing the pattern or how unhealthy obsessed Betty was with him.

Simon’s tunnel vision and incredible level of ignorance about Betty’s obsession and infatuation is so clear when you compare Simon’s original narrative of Betty leaving him with what actually happened.

Simon was so sure Betty left him because he just said or did something so horrible that no reasonable person could still love him like that. She probably just left him and spent the rest of her pre-War days peacefully alone or with someone else. But Betty instinctively knew she would never do that, the only person she would leave Simon for, is Simon 

But ever since the double-whammy of being Cursed and Betty ‘leaving’ him made his self-image tank - Simon taught himself to love others in the same unhealthy self-sacrificial and codependent way that Betty loved him. 

First there was Marcy. Simon himself nearly directly say, in his very first scene in ‘Fionna and Cake’, that he would be a wreck without Marceline being around - as something to give him a purpose. 

And that purpose was pretty heavily tied in with a sense of self-sacrifice.

It… was a difficult situation, to survive and take care of a little child in the middle of a Magical Nuclear War with a cursed artifact that would have consumed his mind sooner or later. But all evidence suggests that Simon was maybe a bit too eager to use the Crown to protect Marcy. 

Maybe partly a magically-induced compulsion to use the Crown more and more, but also I think… he found his purpose in the idea that he’s going to sacrifice himself for Marcy’s sake. Even as it pained Marcy to see him like - even as she, a little girl, was trying to stop him.

And eventually… it got to the point where the only way to actually keep her safe was to leave her. 

A heartbreaking traumatic experience with a vital role within the rich tapestry of traumatic experiences that is Marceline’s life. 

And… it’s hard to say what he should’ve done in the situation, there’s probably not a scenario where everything works out perfectly. We literally saw what happened if he hadn’t put the Crown at all and it was not a pretty sight. 

Simon was doomed from the moment he found that Crown. But at the very least, keeping himself together through nuclear Armageddon by focusing all of his energy into saving Marcy is what burned that streak of self-sacrificial selflessness into his psyche.

We see it most within the Fionna and Cake storyline, of course, and how eager he became to doom himself again for the sake of someone else who needed him, but…Even with Betty herself, despite not even being around, with how obsessed he became with his ‘Princess’. By the end, winning back Betty’s love was the only motivation he could find to regaining his own mind. 

And then when he finally regained his sanity briefly, for the price of a very, very limited time left to his life

he decided to dedicate it all to apologize to Betty. There’s clear, like, parallels done with the Bus Stop scene, I think

But Simon wasn’t trying to convince Betty to come with him, or stay with Past Simon or even find out more about what happened to her - it wasn't about what he wanted, for once. He was just trying to give her some peace of mind and closure. He was sacrificing all of his remaining time on earth for that.

But at this point, all that ended up doing was reinforce their original unequal relationship dynamic. 

And actually lay the ground for the problems within it to grow worse.

[oneslimybastard]

mouthwashing spoilers ig bewaaare it's so fascinating just How Much people hate Jimmy Mouthwashing, despite that when it comes to Evil Deeds he actually lags behind a lot of other horror characters.

He's not a serial killer. He's not even really a killer (the only person he hands-on murders is Swansea in implied self defense). He's bitter, entitled, emotionally immature, impulsive, misogynistic, a rapist and enabled by Terminal Nice Guy Curly. Aka, a guy you've worked with, or a pissy uncle that keeps getting invited to christmas out of enforced politeness, your boyfriend's friend who keeps making you uncomfortable and you keep being told that he's a "good guy" deep down. A scumbag of which there are a dime a dozen of.

Any readings that he was a machivallian evil mastermind to me feels like huffing cope. Because the entire game is just Jimmy fuckign, floudering, as his actions suddenly have a lot of consequences that he wasn't emotionally equipped for. He thinks he can fix things, and that it's not really his fault, sure he assaulted Anya but she wasn't supposed to get pregnant from it, sure he crashed the ship in a temper tantrum but he didn't think Curly would get meatified from it. He sends Daisuke into the hutch because he's too much of a coward to do it himself, but he wasn't supposed to get injured from it. Yeah he's treated Anya like shit but she wasn't supposed to kill herself. Swansea comes after him with an axe — that wasn't supposed to happen either. And at the very end, Jimmy martyrs himself to "save" Curly (how saved he gets from being turned into a cryofrozen treat is debatable but I like to think it does ensure his survival, for the themes), so he can have some fucking solace that he managed to set things right before he kills himself — when in actuality all he did was ensure that he will run from taking responsibility for the rest of time.

After all, no one can hold you accountable if you're dead.

Jimmy isn't evil, you the player would be much more comfortable with his character if he WAS evil. He's just pathetic, making excuses, and emotionally lashing out, lashing out over the trauma he inflicted on someone else having consequences for him he sees no obvious escape from for once. Curly can't nepo him outa this one, lads. And all it takes is a few button presses to doom the entire ship.

Then he doesn't even have the guts to own it. He doesn't have the guts to own what a shitty person he is, called out directly in-text by Swansea who like we stan Swansea but I would not be surprised if his list of crimes (minus ship-crashing) looked exactly like Jimmy's, sexual assault included.

And that's the whole point of Mouthwashing innit. The worst guys you know will be some dick who refuses to own up to his own scumbaggery because he can't stand to look himself in the mirror if he does, and the people who cover for him. Evil doesn't exist (the contexts for where I think it does is a different and politically loaded conversation), usually it's just Some Fucking Guy who thought he was too good for therapy and magikarp splashed his path of carnage through other people's lives because of it.

Jimmy could have set things right, but that meant grappling with what a shitbag he is and the damage he caused Anya, and for certain people embittered by their own mediocrity, Armageddon is just the much more glamorous option.

And when he's forced to pick up the pieces and take responsibility, he breaks. Despite how much we hate it, it's very easy in this world to become a Jimmy, to fuck up and hurt people and then just go nuh-uh-nuh-uh until we've convinced ourselves we really did nothing wrong; to brainwash ourselves into thinking running away from accountability is the noble action. Even easier to become a Curly, with a pet Jimmy scrambling around that you can't be fucked to hold accountable because that's like, so messy, and a bother, it's fine, he's just a little grouchy you guys. Yes yes Anya I hear your concerns but like... I dunno, this puts me in a really complicated situation, you understand?

People know this instinctively, and that's why they feel like they have to parade Jimmy around like the Worst Guy Ever, to wash their hands of him, since that's more soothing than thinking about how much of a Boring Regular Guy he actually is. A Boring Regular Guy you've got in your life right now who kind of puts you off but nobody is actively dealing with. You included.

That's probably a large part of why this game haunts people, and why Jimmy just gets under their skin so bad to call him like the most irredeemable guy ever. In a genre he shares with like the Mad Father himself and Sachiko the torture ghost from Corpse Party, or the lady from the Amnesia DLC, etc. etc. (Astarion BG3 is also Objectively a shittier guy than Jimmy Mouthwashing, which isn't a fair comparison because different genres with different stakes, but it is a funny one.)

also he's in yaoi with curly soooooorry it's in the text as he cradles that meated up bod and stares straight into curly's bulging eyeball and forcefeeds him pills. and then his own leg. his love language is just complicated ok dont judge.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello there!

I was wondering if you could recommend any fics with Crowley and/or Aziraphale getting black/white feathers in their wings (or basically them becoming more of a demon/angel)

Thank you in advance!

Hi! Here are some fics in which their wings change colour...

No Turning Back by FaboKraken (T)

They always say you leave a mark on those you love most, for an angel and demon, this turns out to be the case literally Aka Aziraphale discovers he’s developed a black feather and Crowley finds a new white one of his own

The Fate of a Demon and an Angel by Daelena (T)

Adam Young didn't quite get everything right in Aziraphale's bookshop when he reset the world after the Not-Armageddon. While wearing the angel's face, Crowley fixes that little oversight. What happens after is not quite what the demon could have expected, but it was worth it. After all, six thousand years is too long to say "I love you."

Fall From Grace by GenderFluidSnake (M)

Aziraphale moved around uncomfortably in his chair, occasionally scratching at his back as if trying to scratch an itch he could not reach. Crowley took notice of this and raised an eyebrow, taking one headphone out to speak. “Everything all right, angel?” “Must be the moulting season.” Aziraphale groaned, setting his book down as he was now too distracted to read. “Take ‘em out,” Crowley said as he waved the blinds shut. Aziraphale complied and summoned his wings. “C‘mere,” Crowley moves his legs to make a space for his angel on the couch. Again, Aziraphale complied and sat on the couch, in front of the demon. Crowley went to work pulling loose feathers, and Aziraphale relaxed to his touch. It was just how it had been any other time they groomed each other until Crowley got to work on the pin feathers. He rubbed one of them between his thumb and forefinger, same as usual. However, the feather that emerged, was not the same as usual. This feather was black with a slight green tint to it. “Fuck…” Crowley’s voice was quiet but sharp.

Feathers by lyricwritesprose (T)

Angels don’t lose their feathers. They’re not birds. An angel’s wings are not just wings, they’re a physical manifestation of their nature, and that doesn’t change. Does it? Demons have lost their feathers once. After the Fall, when they were remade for their new role in the universe. But that’s over and done with. Demons can’t Fall again, and they certainly can’t Rise. They can’t even fly. Despite this, Aziraphale and Crowley are losing feathers. Maybe they’re dying. Maybe something altogether more ineffable is going on.

If We've Got Nothing (We've Got Us) by Kedreeva (G)

Two months after the failed apocalypse Aziraphale finds the first dark feather growing in his wings. A story about middle grounds, ineffable plans, and what happens when the world doesn't end.

Black Sepia by bladespark (M)

Angels, like all winged things, need to occasionally molt, shedding their old feathers to grow new ones. This is an annoying process which tends to make them snappish. But when Aziraphale goes into his first molt after the Apocalypse that wasn't, it's a bit different than any other molt he's ever had, and he gets more than merely snappish. Or in other words, Aziraphale Falls, one feather, one sin, at a time.

- Mod D