#ginger cat puzzle

[frankiecatphotography]

Ginger Kitten in a Flower Garden Jigsaw Puzzle

[paulpingminho]

[cocajimmycola]

meow tower momo x mango t4t

[aaksuitac]

[3:00am] fatam viam invenient.

wc: 3.6k

a/n: tagging @dilemmars because wifey delivers, and @thatlittlered bc i promised and @baniniheas because i’d love to know y’all’s thoughts on this one! (i love viktor in fluff + comfort aaa he's the loml shutup)

when the clock ticks and reverberates through the wide empty halls in the middle of the night, coincidence strucks at three am sharp.

why, of course it is purely coincidence that you happen to be passing by the lab so late into the night. what else could it be, when fate doesn’t exist?

the lights still on inside the lab catch your attention. no one to blame but the shiny blue that crosses below the door, almost as if it was calling your name, therefore, no one to blame —maybe the cat dead to curiosity, if it could be counted— when you decide to poke your head in, and unsurprisingly to your mind, you find viktor still working at his desk. your heart doesn’t seem to agree, for his sudden presence makes it jump in your chest, sheepishly excited.

“oh?” he asks, hearing the door open and turning to face you with a newfound grin that threatens to crinckle the corner of his eyes and form dimples on his cheeks. “well, well, well,” he smiles, “look what the cat dragged in.”

you bow teasingly, flamboyant arm movements accompanied by giggles that churn viktor’s weak heart. his voice turns softer when he speaks again.

“what are you still doing awake?”

“oh,” you snort. “did you know heimerdinger snores?” you smile, closing the door behind you by laying on it, and then pushing against it to move towards him.

viktor blinks, snorting as well. “heimerdinger… he… woke you up?” he giggles. “really?”

“nah, i was being funny,” you chuckle, taking your headphones off, discarding them on the table near. “am i interrupting something mildly interesting?”

“not really, no.”

“bummer. wanted to.” you fake a pout, taking the chair that rests away from him and sitting on it, spinning and pushing against the floor to move around with its wheels.

he shakes his head sideways and smiles at you, looking up from his notes. his heart giggles, sitting on the edge of his chest even if it had already fallen for you more than once —and more than twice—, kicking its little legs as it watches you roam around.

and in the moment where you push against the floor and your chair bumps against his ever-so-slightly, your arms resting on the backrest of it as you lay your face there comfortably, it jumps and falls again, seconds after your wide, ginger, and always cheeky smile.

“would you mind if i stay here for a while?”

would you please stay here forever, he doesn’t say, even if his heart swoons and curses, curses at him almost as much as it curses at jayce when he was left alone, trying and failing to decypher the lame politician’s hideous caligraphy.

“i wouldn’t mind.” he settles for. he sees in your eyes another cunning tease brewing, but his heart jumps into his throat before he can control it. “i’ve been cooped up in here for so long, i haven’t spoke to a person all day.”

it takes you by surprise, and it shows. not only by how he can tell the menacing shimmer in your eyes dims, but because of how you blink, slightly puzzled, letting out a breathless chuckle.

“missing other humans?” your head no longer rests on your forearm, even though your posture on the chair remains the same, but instead tilts on a way that makes viktor mentally coo at you. “what have you done with viktor?”

“haha, very funny.” it kind of is. the thought slipped out, even if it isn’t a common thought in his pragmatical, scientific mind. but maybe now there’s something different on his eyes too, because yours soften, and your arm moves from the chair to his wrist.

it’s then when the feeling hits him, and it’s because how much he has missed you. he doesn’t realize just how much until he has it surrounding his pale skin, and he doesn’t want you to let go. he’d carry you on his back all day if it meant you could stay there with him, you, your warmth, and your silly giggles.

your eyes pry from him to finish his train of thought —because he always teases back—, not knowing that he has lost it completely. “i’m just…” he pauses for a moment as he searches in the depths of his mind for the right word.

weirdly enough, he frowns. he doesn’t find it. he sighs instead, shaking his head.

“i have a lot of research and experiments i’m trying to get done all at once.” he lets out a humourless chuckle, turning side to side in his chair, streching his arms. “besides, jayce isn’t around to chat with as much as before,” or not even a bit, “so it get’s lonely.”

and the silence that follows clicks. not like his walking stick against the floor, because he doesn’t believe he’s experienced something similar to this feeling that takes ahold of his heart all of a sudden and makes his eyes droop.

he’s… exhausted.

viktor is exhausted, and the realization comes with an impending dread that looms over him the same way dark clouds start to cover a sunny day. he hasn’t even thought about it before. how much he has missed your warmth because he locks himself up in the lab for days. how his only human company had better things to do that rot with his chronically ill partner in a disheveled laboratory, and instead dwell in a world of politics that viktor couldn’t care less about. how his eyes look darker in the reflection of the window each passing day, his body screaming as his exhaustion gnaws his bones and claws his skin, his soul weary, for no one, not even him, has even noticed this before.

you see it on his face. as if a mask’s thread was pulled off, his eyes burn dents on the table, even if he isn’t reading anymore.

“viktor?”

messing around, having fun. that’s you and viktor. genius and madness, heimerdinger would pompously tease with his light accent. but when his eyes, lost, teary and dull, turn to look at you, his mouth parted and his hands limp on the chair’s armrests, as if he was pressed and locked on the surface, you lose it.

you’re not really thinking about the fact that viktor isn’t used to physical affection —focus on those first words: you’re not really thinking—, not when you stand up from your chair, hearing it squeaking away as you move viktor’s away from the table and you link his hands with yours.

it dawns on you that you’re scared because his eyes have never looked at you like that. like if there was a train coming for him, viktor wouldn’t know if he should move away. like if the ground was starting to fall from under his feet, he wouldn’t know if it was just a random tuesday. and you’re scared, because your only instinct is to hold his hand and hope that he can understand what you’re trying to express. that you understand that when he’s on a tall wall and he looks down he feels the need to get a little closer to the edge. that you understand if he sometimes showers for hours because he needs to sit down under the lukewarm water. that you understand, that you’re here for him, and that if the train comes, please move.

none of this is said or mentioned. your eyes hold each other the way a shore soothes the waves when the sea turns wild, and lets them hide under a heavy little stone wall to calm down for a short while. and your no-conversation ends when he swallows dry and holds your hands just a bit tighter, squeezing them softly, making you smile at him softly.

you don’t really let go of his hands. you act purely on instinct when you lead them behind your neck and you pass your legs over his thighs, and you let your hands trail soft pathes on his back, as if carving out a map that would get him out of the sudden dark pit he has fallen into.

when he lets out a quiet, shuddering gasp at your touch, you let out a soft snicker. he hadn’t expected it, but at the same time, it feels like it has been so long since he has felt the touch of another that his heart swears it’ll make him cry if you stop. obediently so, he doesn’t fight it, as your hands begin to rub against his muscles, working out the tension that had built up from sitting hunched over a desk all day. viktor lets out a soft sigh, letting his head fall forward as you work.

your fingers continue, applying just the right amount of pressure, making him melt against you, his shoulders slump down as he lets out another shuddering breath. you whistle teasingly, letting out a soft chuckle.

“what’s got your panties in a bunch, vicky?” you smile, your hands trailing soothing patterns on his back, absentmindedly going up and fixing his collar.

“i just… i have so much to do,” he mumbles, his eyes closing as he allows himself a rare moment to relax. there’s a lump in his throat that he forces himself to swallow. “i want to advance hextec and use it to help people, but… it feels like there’s too much to do, too much pressure to do it, and it just…” he groans in the end, and then relaxes his face, sighing.

your hands turn softer and stroke his back before heading upwards again, not back to his collar but to his hair instead, softly threading it through your fingers. he leans his head against your shoulders with a soft groan, his arms softly daring to surround and hug your waist, and for a moment, you can hear his breathing turning heavy with sleep depravation, his eyes not daring to open again, not even attempting to as his touch-starved self melts on your fingers.

“’m sorry,” he lets out in a mumble, eyes still shut. “barely slept,” he sighs, gingerly trying to find a way to lean in a way that there’s no distance between you.

“what if you take a break, mister science?” you smile, almost as much as him when he hears the nickname you use for him. he opens his eyes again and stares through the big window in the lab, not moving to look at you, but instead leans into your touch and your arms before replying, watching the grey clouds move through the nightsky, covering some stars.

“i didn’t say anything about stopping.” you grin before he can protest. “just… putting it on hold, if you will. for a minute.”

he lets out a soft hum and seems to think on your words. eventually, he lets out another sigh. “i can do a minute,” he mumbles, and leans his head, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“there we go,” you giggle softly, still stroking his hair.

it was nice to get him to let down his guard a bit and relax. he leans against you like some kind of tall, touch-starved puppy. you hum lowly, stroking his hair absentmindedly, careful not to pull on it.

you can hear him breathing quietly, his chest slowly rising and falling against you. like this, he seems so relaxed, a sight you rarely see. after a few minutes of silence, viktor speaks suddenly, in a low voice.

“can i ask you something?”

“oh, sure. thought you were asleep.”

he fidgets with your fingers in his hand. “not yet,” he mumbles. he’s quiet for a moment afterwards. thinking about how to say what he wants to say. but then he speaks again, his voice even quieter, and somehow vulnerable

“it’s something personal.”

you just blink, waiting, and he feels you nodding, your hair moving and tickling his face.

“…do you think i’m… a bad or unfeeling person?” there’s a silence that mortifies him after he lets out what had been eating him alive for a while. “like, i only care about work and stuff… you know. i just- i wonder how i’m perceived by others.”

“is this prompted by something that happened today?” you ask softly.

he hesitates, frowning. “yes… no? yes.” he purses his lips, collecting his scattered thoughts. “i… overheard a conversation. about me. my work. and how i do nothing besides that. and… i don’t know… it just…” he sighs. “it made me wonder if everyone felt that way about me.”

he bites his lip, groaning lowly in frustration. “…i don’t know. i’m sorry, forget i said anything, it’s stupid.”

“no, just out of character. but that’s alright.” you smile, not letting him slither out of your embrace, to which he resigns and smiles at your giggles while he finds solace hiding his face further in the crook of your neck.

“it isn’t foolish if it made you feel some type of way,” you pause, stroking his hair. “are you a focused, driven man? yes. does that take time away from you to do other things? also yes. it’s how time works, mister science.” you teased tenderly, hugging him tightly.

he lets out a humouless chuckle, moving from the crook of your neck just to squint his eyes at you. “you’re so funny, smarty pants.”

“i mean it,” you snorted. “what would you do if you couldn’t do this?”

“i would…” nothing. he never even thought about it before, simply because it wasn’t on the equation. this was it. science was his thing. and if he couldn’t do it, he would just not do anything. he’d… colapse.

you shoot at him a toothy smile that charms him. “that’s why it is called is a spark.” you stated softly. “it lights us up from the inside, and it burns inside us, but if we don’t use it, it smolders, fills us with smoke, and we suffocate.”

he lets out a quiet shudder, his shoulders hunched as your words sink in. he’s silent for a moment, closing his eyes.

he ponders your words, and you can’t help but stare at him. nothing comes over your mind as your eyes trace his features the same way the breeze passes by the tree’s branches, playing with the leaves that have fallen. you pause, pressing a kiss on his temple, not wondering why is it called that way anymore as you press a softer, second peck over it, worshipping his sole existance the way the greeks clung to the goddess, as if he was nothing far from those ancient beings, crafted by their worshippers and deserving of praise that languages couldn’t reach.

maybe that’s why it is called temple. to worship and care as softly and as unnoticeably as salt links with water. you blink, pecking his cheek now with a silly smile on your face.

“whatever you choose to do doesn’t make you lesser of what you are, vicky. and you are a little human, who loves to tinker in his lab with extreamly dangerous and explosive magic elements with dubious procedure. and no one can take that from you.”

his heart beats like crazy inside of him, diminishing those from those so-called explotions you mentioned before, for in his mind and to his retched heart, nothing could ever compare to the remnants of you.

“…so you don’t think i’m cold or unfeeling?” he mumbles, but before you can answer, he continues. “i’ve been told i was unfeeling before.” he lets out, fidgeting with the ends of your hair. “that i’m like some sort of… machine.”

“nonsense.” you spit out too quickly, so quickly as if you were baffled by the statement.

which, you are. the man that had melted beneath your fingers and in your arms, the man that had begged you to stay in his office because he missed having company around, the man that minutes ago was about to drown on his own thoughts had you not been there, the man that had kissed you like crazy on the very same chair you two were sitting on just because he wanted to, the man that was inteligent to such a high degree that he harnessed the ability to interpret magic runes… thought he was… ‘unfeeling’, and was unable to see why the fuck he wasn’t?

he blinks at you, and you huff.

“okay. let’s play this your way: scientific method. want me to prove it?”

interested was a fair statement. his eyes open and he stares at you, nodding, humming in acknowledgement, and shifts a bit against you, in a sort of childish way of asking for more attention.

“how will you?”

with a smile, you wink at him, moving away from his lap and grabbing back your previously discarded chair, moving it as close as you can from him until it bumps with his, and you sit down. he blinks, a rosy tint unable to hide away on his pale skin as you start to stroke his face, taking your hand to his cheek, cupping it.

poor little viktor doesn’t even attempt to control the need to lean closer into your touch, the feeling of your soft hand against his cheek comforting as a blanket on winter and as an open window with soft chilly breeze on summer. warm. so, so very soft.

and slowly but surely, he’s a goner when you press your lips against his. he inhales sharply, surprised, but never does he so much as think of pulling away. instead, he leans into the kiss, returning the gesture with a softness that weakens you and a hunger that kills you.

you peck the tip of his nose. his forehead. his cheeks, the right one then the left one. he giggles, closing his eyes, and you press kisses on his eyelids too. then his forehead again, but lower this time, in the point where the eyebrows separate and the bridge of the nose ends. you want to kiss him all over. if you could be paid for it, you’d be a millioner. billioner, even.

and in your eyes, as little of a scientific fact that could be, viktor feels. his mind wonders if there could be anything already built that could decypher the exact words the colour of your eyes is telling to his golden ones. he’d buy it. maybe you could buy it for him, if kisses could give someone money.

in his eyes, you find a speck of disbelief. as if whatever he’s feeling is something he never thought he could feel before.

“you feel, yes?” you grin, stroking his nose with yours. “then whoever said you were like a machine can eat slugs,” you snicker.

he lets out an airy chuckle at your words. for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t seem to be as tense or grumpy as before. he still feels exhausted, but the anger flew away.

and you remained.

he exhales again, and turns in his chair, cheekily moving his leg and helping theother one to now sit over your parted thighs, and happily nuzzles back into your touch, kissing your cheek. “thank you,” he doesn’t say.

the train doesn’t come, but he would’ve moved away.

he seems very into the feeling of running your fingers throught hs hair and shoulders. he seems comfortable and relaxed, sitting in his newly-found position, with his legs dangling, as he surrounds your shoulders and nuzzles on your neck, his tippy-toes touching the floor.

“your hands feel nice,” he mumbles next to your ear.

“try to sleep, silly,” you chuckle lowly.

his eyes are slipping close as he mumbles “not silly…”

he’s half asleep already, though he’s fighting so desperately to keep chatting nonsense with you. but he really is tired, so you don’t even think of blaming him when eventually he gives in and settles his head on a comfortable position between your shoulder and your neck and starts breathing slowly.

he snuggles close to you as he slowly slips further asleep, his body almost completely lax against you, all of the tension now completely gone. a far cry from how he works himself to exhaustion.

you sigh, stroking his back tenderly.

he hums quietly, nuzzling his face against your hand. you never would have though of viktor as a big snuggler, and taking a wild guess, you assume neither would he, as he just seems to enjoy your touch and your attention.

“don’t leave…” he mumbles drowsily, almost too quiet to hear, as he leans comfortably against you.

“i won’t,” you whisper, kissing his temple.

that seems to put him at ease, because the moment your lips touched his temple he went out cold against you. he inhaled deeply, before mumbling something else in a half asleep state.

viktor is passionate with his work, and sometimes feels like he isn’t doing enough. but when you both wake up slightly sore and then crash on the sofa in the lab, sleeping with tangled legs until the sun rises, that’s okay.

sure, maybe his politic-involved friends can get done more by ten am than him in a whole day, but it doesn’t matter, because if he wakes up at nine fifty nine and kisses the outline of your lips, he feels like he has done enough, and threatening or killing no one in the process.

“what are you thinking?” you nudge him softly, a silly smile plastered on your face.

he just smiles, dumbfounded, feeling like his mind is a mess, but just hugs you a bit tighter, tickling your face with his hair, knowing he's got all the time in the world in here with you because no one dares to bother him.

maybe fate does exist after all. not because of how he thinks that otherwise, how else could he be so lucky to have you, but because unbeknownst to him, you’re thinking the same thing, too.

~k.k. (☆) ‘viktor nation, how we feelin?’

aaksuitac, december 2024 ©

[rottenpumpkin13]

Sephiroth: quiet midnights, gleaming steel, faint incense smoke, the scrape of a whetstone, books lined perfectly on a bookshelf, cold rain against bare skin, polished black leather, bitter ginger tea at dawn, weighted blankets in winter, sharp ice crystals, scratched classical CDs, weathered angel statues with missing wings, sharpened pencils in neat rows, morning fog over empty streets, delicate frost patterns on windowpanes, steel-gray skies before snow, silent films in empty theaters, cat footprints on documents, mathematical equations, unopened mail, clean sword oil, abandoned chess pieces, mint tea leaves.

Genesis: spilled red wine on white papers, chipped maroon nail polish on piano keys, gold bangles clinking against wine glasses, vintage vinyl at dusk, steaming mulled cider with cinnamon sticks, smudged eyeliner after theater rehearsals, leather-bound books with gilded edges, dark chocolate with sea salt breaking under his teeth, dog-eared poetry collections, playing cards scattered across silk sheets, cherry candy staining his tongue red, cologne bottles on antique vanities, melted red candle wax on love letters, fresh ink bleeding through parchment, caramelized apple pie, packed jazz bars at 2am, velvet curtains, stage makeup, worn dance shoes, red leather gloves, theater tickets.

Angeal: petrichor on summer mornings, fresh ground coffee beans, sunrise training sessions, polaroid cameras with worn straps, mismatched lucky keychains, pencil sketches in margins, old photos in cracked leather wallets, soup simmering on stovetops, buzzing radio stations between cities, dappled sunlight through garden leaves, evening cicada songs, autumn leaves crushed underfoot, soft worn flannel shirts, pressed flowers, acoustic guitars, wrinkled maps with coffee stains, soil under fingernails, homemade bread, herb gardens, worn pottery, recipe books, wooden spoons, patched jeans, morning dew, pocket knives.

AGS: loud laughter, discarded pizza boxes, arguments dissolving into jokes, snorted milk, tangled legs under a blanket, whispers in a packed room, empty mugs littered around a table, quiet yawns, bitten apples, ring tones, a half-finished puzzle scattered across the floor, a messy kitchen, heads on each other's shoulders, rock-paper-scissors, scattered dice, sour candy, bumping elbows, the glow of a tv screen, borrowed hoodies, stolen phone chargers, dirty dishes, arms around shoulders, inside jokes.

[frenziedfireworks]

Sick

The HL boys reacting to their partner being sick!

(Garreth, Ominis, Sebastian)

masterlist

Garreth :

Garreth will make you as many potions as possible to help reduce symptoms/attempt to get you better. If you’re skeptical of them then he will try and find other ways!!

He asks Natty to help with soup or small things to keep you entertained while in bed. Books, little puzzles he creates, and stuffed animals.

“Babe you look terrible. I’m here to share my beauty.” (smack him)

He won’t mind cuddling and entertaining you with stories while you rest as well <3

You had stayed in bed for most of the day, hoping for the stupid cold you caught to go away. Much to your dismay, it did not. In fact, it only got worse. Your nose was stuffy and it felt like there were cats clawing at your throat at every swallow. 

“Babe? Are you good?” You heard a knock on your door and you jumped.

“Garreth?” You questioned as you waved the door open. He stood there grinning until he saw you.

“Oh no. Are you sick?” He ran over, putting his hand against your forehead to check for a fever. His eyes widened.

“You have a terrible fever. I can help with it. Let me make you a few potions and I’ll be back.” 

It wasn’t long before Garreth was back and setting a few vials on the bedside table.

“Here, drink this doll.” He put the liquid up to your lips and you drank. It helped almost instantly with your sore throat and you moaned.

“Feels a bit better huh? Got one more for you.” Garreth grinned at your bliss and fed you another strange potion. Almost instantly your sinuses cleared and you felt sleepy.

“This is so good. Thanks babe.” You murmured. The ginger just smiled and left a loving kiss on your head before getting up.

“Anytime baby. Get some rest and I’ll come check up on you later.”

Ominis :

He’s worried at first and then realizes you’ve just caught a cold. 

He makes sure to give you your space and makes you tea. He also goes out of his way to get medicines or herbs that will help!

“Here you are dear. Just rest.” As he places a blanket on you and pats you. Wholesome king.

Sebastian and Ominis were seated in the halls talking when an owl dropped a quick note. Ominis opened it quickly and used his wand to help him decipher the words. His eyebrows pinched together and he sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asked and the boy shook his head.

“Y/N is sick and in the hospital wing. I am going to go check on them.” Ominis told his friend and he nodded.

“Tell Y/N I hope they feel better. I’ll see you later.” Sebastian went on his way as Ominis strolled down the halls. Eventually the hospital’s door opened and your eyes slowly moved to see him.

“Omi.” You groaned from your bed and he followed your voice. His hand reached out and you took it in yours.

“Darling are you alright? Are they helping you?” Ominis asked with worry. 

“Don’t worry Ominis. They gave me some medicine and it’s helped to stop most of the symptoms for now. I shouldn’t be this sick for long. I just wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t ditching you.” You breathed out and he nodded along. He gave your hand a quick squeeze and pulled the covers over you a bit more.

“Thank you for telling me. Just rest up and you’ll be better in no time, love.” 

Sebastian :

He worries too much.. a little too much. 

“Oh my god how did I not notice. Don’t worry I won’t let you die.” “Sebastian, it's a cold.” “You never know babe.”

He’s surprisingly good at keeping track of medicine and helping you to eat. He does anything and everything so you don’t move a muscle.

He does not care about getting sick himself and will lay with you all day if you’d let him. He wants to make sure you’re okay and taken care of at all times.

You had come down with a bad cold and not gone down for breakfast. You knew your boyfriend would already be scouting around looking for why you had ditched them. You let out a cough as you heard the door to your dorm open.

“Sebastian? How did you get in here?” You croaked as the boy ran over to your bedside.

“Merlin’s beard! Y/N you’re sick!” Sebastian breathed out and looked around. “Don’t worry baby I won’t let you die. Not on my watch.” The boy went around the room fetching tissues and some medicine thrown around. Your heart fluttered at the care and he sat down next to you. 

“It’s just a cold Sebastian.” 

“Yes and next it could be pneumonia or something! Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to nurse you back to health.” He grimaced as he read at the cold medicines instructions. You decided not to say anything, knowing that he was worrying so much because of his past with Anne. It couldn’t hurt to let the boy fawn over you anyways.

“Okay Doctor Sallow.” You teased and then turned to cough again. You hated when you got like this.

“Oh shush. Take this. I’m going to get you some water.” Sebastian paced the room and grabbed at the jug while you swallowed the terrible tasting concoction. He handed you the glass and you drank away, feeling the burning in your throat quell for only a second. Your bed sheets moved and Sebastian laid right beside you.

“Would you like to cuddle?” He whispered and your body relaxed.

“You’ll get sick, Seb.” 

“Nonsense. Come here darling.” Sebastian yanked at your form and laid your head on his chest, fingers rubbing away at your scalp.

“Get some rest. I can’t have my baby being sick.” His lips left a delicate kiss on your temple as you closed your eyes. You were so glad to have him. Even if he was a little over the top.

[livefromthedas]

That Time Flirting Accidentally Worked

By ClickClickBoom

(Also available here on AAO3)

Chapter 5: Prying Eyes

Summary:

Two nerds, ridiculously in love, and a cat being a cat.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

“Oh,” Rook gasped softly, “Oh wow.” Shimmering eyes swept their way around Emmrich Volkarin’s bedchamber in surprise no sooner had she breezed her way into the room.

Stately and warm with its hearth’s roaring fire, yet eerie in a manner only Navarran interior decor seemed capable of, Rook discovered that her gracious host had lit dozens of candles around the space.

Every bookshelf and end table, windowsill and even the towering tops of a pair of large wardrobes danced with light. The blazing fireplace itself intimately overlooked a hulking four poster bed, whose artfully carved skeletal motif and plush, deep purple linens lost their eerie shadows in the frolicking firelight.

Emmrich strode up behind her amidst her fascination, easing her back flush into his front with one arm, opposite hand brushing the hair from her shoulder as he trailed lingering kisses from her shoulder to the sensitive bow of her ear.

Ringed hands and their long, nimble fingers danced as expressively as ever, lavishing over the velvet of her gown and the soft curves the material embraced. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as those hands soon gathered enough of the gown to begin steadily but assertively draw it up, off and away.

Flush to the tips of her ears once again, Rook followed his lead as Emmrich guided her to face him, gathered dotingly in his arms. Fingertips tipped her chin up towards his own as he kissed her with a fervor that could be described as little short of adoration, chasing her bashfulness away.

“You will tell me, darling,” he muttered into the crook of her neck, rapacious gaze dancing to catch her own, “If ever we’ve gone too far, am I clear? If all our evening comes to is the pleasure of your company and a good book, I would more than happy to—“

“Respectfully, Professor,” Rook, eyes glinting in mischief, pulled him carefully by the collar of his shirt into a slow, deep kiss, “I’ve never been less interested in reading in my life.”

The chuckle that pranced its way from the depths of his chest was unusually low. Emmrich grinned, eyes black and gaze heated. He watched her past messy hair that had fallen into his eyes, “Nor I, my darling.”

A soft groan escaped the fellow as Rook sought out eager kisses once again. With a finesse fully becoming of a man of his years and accompanying experience, he swept her into his arms and onto his bed.

——————-

The blue haze of morning eased its way past a deep, heady sleep. Rook slowly registered a chill in the air that she certainly hadn’t fallen asleep with. A hand reached out in search of the warm presence she had finally drifted off beside hours prior, finding only cool sheets in his wake.

“Emmrich?”

The voice that escaped her was tired and a little hoarse, barely above a whisper. Shifting beneath heavy satin beadlinens, her eyes fluttered open, looking around to register a still, quiet room, a well tended fire in the fireplace, and what remained of dozens of candles melted well beyond any hope of further use.

“Oh,” she suddenly registered the faintest little rumble from overhead and glanced up. At first, her gaze landed on a lovely bouquet of fresh flowers that she was quite certain had not been there hours prior - a fragrant bundle of lilac and peonies placed lovingly in a jade green vase upon the nearby night stand. Resting beside that were Rook’s glasses, misplaced some time in the night, and below that still, the source of the low, soothing purr that had snagged her attention.

Rook grinned, delighted, “Oh, hello.”

A dainty ginger tabby cat with a perfectly round face and the most enormously fluffy tail Rook had ever seen loafed comfortably just above Emmrich’s pillow. Its green eyes stared her way, watching Rook as though attempting to solve a curious puzzle. Rook reached out with a careful hand, and was delighted when the feline pressed his pink nose to the tip of her finger, purring in way of greeting.

“Bärchen, I presume?” Rook smiled, “You’re perfect, aren’t you?”

The cat tipped his chin up, relishing in the scratches he was given.

“I can just see Manfred head over heels with you,” Rook mused. Bärchen blinked lavishly slow at the attention, “And with those big green eyes, you and your little brother match.”

Rook’s attention was snagged by the only thing that could have succeeded in tearing her from the delight of petting such a perfectly pretty little companion - familiar footfalls and the chime of golden bangles approaching from the hall. The reluctance to leave the warm cocoon of blankets she was nestled in lost its power, and Rook sat up to greet him.

She was quickly starting to adore this side of Emmrich Volkarin. The combination of the tall, confident figure he cut naturally with its impeccable posture and ever dancing, expressive hands, dressed down to the warmest degree of comfort was a genuine delight.

He strode into the room in little more than an open satin dressing gown and a pair of breeches, a pair of reading glasses upon the bridge of his nose, and a piece of parchment in one gold-ringed hand. His hair was still sporting the absolute mess the pair of them had made of it hours prior, and to her bemusement, the golden bangles at his ankles chimed their little dance the moment his stride halted just past the doorframe.

Those damned bangles. It was incredibly common for Navarrans to wear them on wrists and ankles alike, but the latter was rarely seen beneath various layers of clothing. The intimacy needed in order to do so… that of family or a lover… was not lost on Rook. It was a connection to another that she had so rarely felt. And certainly not this strongly.

For a moment, Emmrich permitted himself the audacity of simply drinking her in from where he stood - the sight of her sitting up and beaming, light from the fireplace dancing off of soft supple skin.

“My dearest, you are breathtaking,” he smiled warmly, though the glint in his eyes read far more on the side of lustful than she suspected he realized.

“Good morning to you too,” Rook teased. Her heart skipped as he ambled her way.

“You’ve no idea how seriously I considered simply burning this and returning to bed,” Emmrich indicated the letter in his grasp as he reached her. He ducked, free hand gracing her chin, drawing her into a sweet kiss that carried the faint presence of bergamot tea and blackberry jam.

“I mean, don’t let me stop you,” Rook grinned as he sat beside her. Something about the delicate weight with which he held that letter, putting a crease in his brow, let her know that whatever it contained was a bit too serious for jokes, “What is it, love?”

“According to a number of colleagues, there have been a wave of invitations to a soirée at Blackthorne Manor," he explained.

“A Soirée at an abandoned estate? Not ominous at all,” Rook mused, “And I can only assume the host.”

“Johanna Hezenkoss.”

“Naturally.” It was little wonder the man seemed so reticent. He’d been waiting for such news for weeks, “When?”

“This evening, in fact,” said Emmrich. He watched idly as Bärchen leaned to give the parchment in his grasp a curious sniff, purring all the while.

“She’s not one for giving her party-goers time to plan ahead, I take it? Rude.”

Emmrich finally seemed to relax a little, warming to Rook’s complete inability to take even the starkest situations too seriously for too long. His softened gaze lowered to enjoy the sight of every inch of exposed skin she spared him where she sat among his bed linens, “I suspect the last-minute nature of the invitation…” he cleared his throat a little. Rook had taken his less than subtle gawking as a perfectly good reason to slink her way closer to him, and he was more than happy to grace the warm arch of her back with a reverent hand, “… is purely to stave off the risk of intervention in whatever foul scheme she’s planning… though forethought was also rarely her strong suit, I’ll admit.”

“And what time is it now?” Rook asked. Emmrich watched with increased bemusement as she reached first to pull the letter from his hand and then to carefully lift the reading glasses from the bridge of his nose. Those glasses were lovingly folded, and set on the bedside table next to her own.

“Barely sunrise,” he admitted. Free of the letter that had been vexing him in her absence, the sheer allure of the beautiful young woman had Emmrich’s old bones unable to resist crawling over her, aching for a closeness he was quickly coming to crave.

“Oh no,” Rook teased, as unserious as ever, lying back into satin pillows as Emmrich nuzzled a salacious kiss into the crook of her neck, “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”

Trailing kisses into the shallow dip of her collarbone, Emmrich nuzzled into one of her breasts, tongue tasting her there with a craven sort of worship. He smiled against her skin with every little noise she made, before—

They both sensed it at once.

They were being watched. Intensely. Unwavering.

Rook caught Emmrich’s gaze, amused that he looked more annoyed than anything, before they both glanced up and over at the same time.

Bärchen sat beside them, wide eyes gawking at them with nary a thought in his little cat mind.

“And you wondered why I left Manfred at the Lighthouse.”

Rook shot Emmrich the most baffled look, “My innocent skeleton son? No way.”

“Worse,” Emmrich’s straight face was failing him - that on its own had Rook giggling before he could finish his sentence, caught up in laughter of his own, “He can unlock doors.”

The elder necromancer left his beloved laughing beneath the bedcovers just long enough to shoo the cat from the room, grinning and besotted the whole way.

Notes:

This was delightful to write. Hoping to create more Veilguard related bits soon.

Thank you kindly for taking the time to read my silliness.

And Happy Holidays to you all! ♥

[sorceresssundries]

A Spot of Tea

This is a little extract from the next chapter of The Warden's Watcher, but I thought i'd share on it's own.

Author's Note: Set from Emmrich's POV early game, in act 1, when Taash is still using she/her pronouns.This will change as their journey progresses and they make their preference known.

Tags: gender discussion

“Please, feel free to stay for a spot of tea,” Emmrich said, gesturing toward the chair opposite him. “Manfred has been experimenting with infusions. I’m sure he could add some ginger—I recall you’re rather fond of it.”

Manfred paused his dusting, turning to hiss enthusiastically.

Emmrich allowed himself a small smile, though he knew better than to expect immediate warmth from Taash. The gesture, however modest, was meant to ease the wariness she held for him. Time spent in conversation, he hoped, might convince her that her mistrust was misplaced. Yet, her continued guardedness was beginning to sting. He hadn’t seen her smile - not once - and it was becoming more and more difficult not to take it personally.

Taash remained where she stood, her boots rooted firmly to the wooden floorboards. She didn’t move forward, but neither did she retreat.

With an inward sigh, Emmrich decided to treat her as he would one of the Necropolis’ elusive cats: patient, unobtrusive, and willing to let her make the first move.

“You call him a ‘he.’”

“I’m sorry?” Emmrich asked, glancing up from his book.

Taash’s gaze hadn’t wavered. Her eyes remained locked on Manfred, her brow furrowed as if puzzling out a riddle she hadn’t yet solved. Emmrich knew she hated riddles.

“Manfred,” she said, her voice slow and deliberate, “You call him ‘he.’ How do you know he’s a ‘he’? Does he have… boy bones?”

“Ah.” Emmrich closed the book softly and returned his quill to its pot. “His bones are from a variety of donors, male and female. Some skeletal components require a match from the same biological sex, but others fit together without regard to such concerns. However,” he said, smiling gently, “just as with us, Manfred’s identity has nothing to do with the bones themselves.”

Taash blinked, her frown easing ever so slightly. “Oh.”

“It’s quite simple, really,” Emmrich continued. “He just let me know.”

“But I thought he could only hiss?”

“He finds his own ways to communicate. Many spirits, especially ones as curious as Manfred, wish to join the living and experience life. When they do, they start as something simple—a facet or idea that represents them—and, with encouragement, develop into more complex beings. For some spirits, I suppose gender becomes part of that identity.”

“Only some spirits?”

“It isn’t universal,” Emmrich explained, leaning back in his chair. “Some spirits feel no need for such distinctions. Gender, after all, is a construct. Perhaps they pick it up from the body they inhabit, the living beings they observe, or simply from something that brings them comfort. It helps them feel closer to what they wish to become.”

He watched as Manfred stopped dusting to offer a soft hiss and wiggle his skeletal fingers at a stray wisp that had floated through the window.

“Spirits,” Emmrich added, watching the exchange with quiet amusement, “aren’t so different from us in many ways.”

Taash’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So you didn’t question it at all?”

“Why would I?” Emmrich replied. “Who am I to argue when someone tells me who they are?”

“Huh.”

Emmrich let the silence linger before clearing his throat. “Now, about that tea? I assure you, Manfred’s steeping technique has improved immensely.”

Taash hesitated, her eyes darting briefly toward the skeletal steward before returning to Emmrich. For the first time, she seemed to seriously consider his offer.

“All right,” she said at last, lowering herself into the chair. “But tell him not to hiss at me. It freaks me out.”

Manfred inclined his skull politely, then shuffled off toward the teapot.

A fleeting smile crossed Taash’s face as she settled into the chair. It was small, but Emmrich caught it all the same.

[vidavalor]

Hi! In your post earlier today discussing the importance of subplots, you said

“You might think a subplot about The Hellhound and The Ginger Cat learning to play nice and that they have a fuckton in common and should maybe bury the hatchet and just become eternal bffs already is filler but Crowley and Gabriel aligning is set up for the end game.”

and you included a gif of them looking out the window together while Crowley explains his plan to make Nina and Maggie “vavoom.” It reminded me of something that puzzled me on yesterday’s rewatch, and I thought maybe you might have written about it already or, if not, have some thoughts you could share.

We see multiple glimpses of Crowley and Jim/Gabriel in the bookshop while Aziraphale is away in Edinburgh. Crowley seems tolerant, even maybe friendly — certainly not afraid. Then, in the “smited? smote? smitten” scene, we see Crowley wary of returning to the bookshop because of the “amnesiac archangel hiding out” there. And, when he does go to “talk to” Gabriel/Jim at Aziraphale’s suggestion, he is clearly very angry.

I guess I’m wondering why we see Crowley go from initially suspicious (terrified) to seemingly unconcerned (willing to bond alone with Jim in the bookshop) to suspicious (angry) again. I’m not sure whether the important part here is the absence of suspicion in the middle or the return of suspicion nearer the end.

(On a side note, after countless rewatches, this is the first time I heard Crowley whistle at Aziraphale at the start of the smitten scene!)

I appreciate any thoughts you might have to share and I’m grateful for all your recent posts about the upcoming conclusion to this story. I’m glad that be getting one and thought your recent statement summed it up perfectly. “It's going to be very queer and very Pratchett and very good.”

Hi there, @killingmenotatallsoftly! Thanks for reading that meta, for the kind words & for the ask. 💕 I'd be happy to share some thoughts & you can see what you think. There is hot chocolate, of course, because there is nothing more appropriate for meta involving Gabriel and tough topics than that. *starts gathering marshmallows and other mix-in options*

I'm really glad you sent this question because I've seen some other people with similar confusion. I think I can help because Crowley's behavior, imho, is 150% a trauma-related thing. It's actually such a good portrayal of it that diving a bit on this fictional demon's issues might be helpful for some for better recognizing trauma-adjacent behavior with actual people in real life as well, which is why I wound up making this post a whole thing about how trauma informs a lot of Crowley's behavior. That is why it took a minute-- thank you for your patience! 😊

A deep dive under the cut below on how Crowley's PTSD is shown in his behavior, including in his response to Gabriel's presence in the bookshop, and what all of this has to do with his story arc around self-doubt.

TWs: PTSD; anxiety; rape; fire-related trauma... if Crowley's living with it, it's probably in here somewhere.

Crowley's up-and-down response to Gabriel in S2 actually doesn't have that all much to do with Gabriel himself. It has everything, though, to do with Crowley's own trauma-adjacent self-doubt issues.

When a person survives traumatic events, they are very often wired as a result of the trauma to become hyper-vigilant when it comes to their sense of personal safety. This is especially true of those who, like Crowley, have suffered violations to their bodily autonomy and those who, also like Crowley, have developed PTSD. This is related to the self-doubt issues, as we'll see.

One example of this self-doubt is given to us in S2 and that's the revelation that, since S1, Crowley-- a demon of Hell who can make fire with his body-- is now, as a result of the bookshop fire in S1, terrified of fire.

Fire has become a trigger for Crowley's PTSD to such an extent that Aziraphale, in an effort to help Crowley manage his anxiety over this, has replaced every candle in the bookshop with battery-operated ones and scattered fire extinguishers all over the shop. He's even replaced the tapers in the candelabra with LED battery-operated ones so they can continue their candlelit dinners, noticeable when he wields the candelabra like a sword during the bookshop attack.

Aziraphale has done this because the fire in S1 had so triggered Crowley's PTSD that he had been having trouble relaxing in the bookshop, which is the only place he has been able to go for the last few hundred years and be and feel truly safe.

Changing the lights to battery-powered and electric ones are an effort to reduce the likelihood of another fire and the fire extinguishers are there to help Crowley feel more in control. He needs to know that he can quickly and easily put out another fire, should one start. Aziraphale understands this and has been doing what he does best, which is try to help Crowley feel safe.

Crowley's continued trauma over the bookshop fire is also a great example of self-doubt, though, in the sense that he's in a period with his PTSD where it has worsened and, as a result, Crowley is afraid of something that his body is actually capable of making.

In other words: he's afraid of himself.

In S2, Crowley is having trouble overcoming self-doubt about his ability to assess a situation, which can be a very common element of PTSD.

It's not a new thing for Crowley but it was worsened by him watching in S1 as his safe space and the place he considers his home burnt down around him while he, more importantly, thought he had lost the only person he feels truly safe with-- the love of his life-- all at once.

So, why and how does Crowley doubt his ability to assess a situation?

What often happens as a result of being raped is that the person who was harmed feels as if it were their own mistakes that led them to be in a place to have been attacked and that, while the perpetrator is to blame for the assault, they themselves hold some blame for having been in a position where they were vulnerable to being hurt.

This is not true. The only person who holds blame here is the perpetrator and, intellectually, many survivors know that, but trauma response is emotional, not logical. Whether it's conscious, semi-conscious, or unconscious, one of the most difficult aspects to heal from for someone who has survived these kinds of horrors is often the feeling that they hold some blame for it.

Often, resulting behavior from this, though, is that the survivor is always worried on some level that there's something that they are missing that could impact their ability to accurately read a situation.

They are worried that they're going to miss something that puts them in a position to be hurt again in some way or that will endanger those they care about. After all, they think, if they once failed to judge the situation that got them so badly harmed, how can they trust themselves to be sure that they won't make a similar mistake again?

This causes them to react with an extreme sense of hypervigilance around safety that can often get a bit illogical at times, depending on the situation.

This all goes hand-in-hand with other trauma-related behavior we see in Crowley, especially his control-seeking behavior. To be clear: I am not saying controlling behavior, I am saying control-seeking behavior-- rituals and actions in everyday life that are about trying to regain through unrelated things the sense of self-control that was taken in the assault. Crowley's sunglasses, driving, obsessive cleaning, etc. are all examples of control-seeking behavior.

Everyone reacts differently to different forms of trauma but Crowley's story is using pretty much all the hallmarks of common struggles and behavior patterns in people who have been assaulted and who have developed rape-related PTSD and, at the same time, it has shown Satan assaulting him through non-consensual possession, emphasized that as allegorical for rape all over the story, and shown that it was not a new thing the first time we saw it in 1.01.

There is nothing funny about having suffered trauma but there can be some objectively funny aspects to trying to deal with the aftermath of it. Good Omens is great at finding humor in the dark things while also respecting that it's dark stuff, which is a tricky line to walk but is something that is done very well in a very trauma-informed way in Discworld. Sometimes, the easiest way to come at the dark stuff is actually through a comedy but it's a delicate thing and I think what resonates about it in this story for people who have been through different traumas is how they hit the right notes with it.

Crowley's obsessive cleanliness, his spotless flat, his alphabetized music and books, are all because he self-soothes by maintaining order when it comes to the material objects around him. He is at home in Aziraphale's cluttered bookshop but he needs that particular clutter to be undisturbed to a point that he's bothered by Gabriel moving one pile of books from one place to another.

The sunglasses are an attempt at control-seeking behavior because they allow him control over how others see him and mask his full expression from others, allowing him to feel more powerful by feeling more aloof. The biggest example of this stuff, though, is The Bentley.

It's a truth universally acknowledged that many, many people who are pretty far into rape recovery and are more functioning than not with PTSD, if they've developed it, fucking love to drive.

This might initially seem counter-intuitive to what I'm saying because the hypervigilance aspects of PTSD and the overall concern for safety sometimes result in survivors being less risk-averse and driving comes with risks. Its rewards tend to outweigh those risks for many survivors pretty quickly, though. Driving is actually an activity that helps build back self-trust in survivors and it's the ultimate in a sense of control.

People who have survived stuff like this benefit from small, frequent examples of successful situations of which they were fully in control to help build self-trust and work on overcoming self-doubt.

Driving a car requires the successful navigation of several tons worth of machinery from Point A to Point B without accident or injury and back again. It's simple but simple is often the point because survivors need both to feel in control of themselves and their immediate environment while also proving to themselves that they can trust themselves to assess situations. Driving solves those issues at once and helps build that confidence back in people.

It's what makes the already horrifying scene in 1.01 a thousand times worse. The decision to show Satan going through every one of Crowley's desperate attempts at defenses is what emphasizes the brutality of this but it was the fact that Crowley was driving when this happened as part of our re-introduction to him in the first episode that makes it even worse.

That his control over the car is forcibly taken from him and he has to watch as he comes within a breath of killing the guy in the on-coming truck is basically one of his worst nightmares. This guy we've seen wearing the dark clothes, the sunglasses at night, dripping in snark, is already someone for whom abuse is clearly, horribly, nothing new, but it's seeing him lose control of his ability to drive that emphasizes the horror of his loss of control over himself.

This moment is mercifully fairly short, if only because of Crowley needing to deliver the baby to start Armageddon. It shows us, though, that the point is the cruelty with Satan. The only information he gives to Crowley during the assault are instructions as to where to drop off the baby-- information that Hastur & Ligur could have been told to verbally give Crowley. He assaulted Crowley for his own pleasure, to try to exert power and control over him, and part of that involved not relinquishing control so Crowley could drive until Crowley almost killed a human... all with Satan's own infant son in the backseat the whole time. Crowley's inability to use miracles when possessed like that means he wouldn't have been able to stop Satan from forcing him to do someone harm (compounding the guilt and self-loathing from his fall) and he might have thought, during one or more times of this, that he was going to die himself.

So. Yeah. Many people who go through the real world horrors that Crowley's story is about are often just like he is, in that they usually have an overwhelmingly common tendency to need to feel every bit of control over themselves that they can, in an effort to compensate for the control that was robbed from them. They often like to drive, they often relax by cleaning, they likely will absolutely self-soothe by re-alphabetizing their already alphabetized collections...

They might even also try to deal with these control problems and their anger and depression by taking that 'grow a garden to experience some self-trust wins' thing a little too intensely...

I'm not even being tongue-in-cheek here-- gardening, especially small batches of indoor container gardening, is one of the most frequently recommended activities for people who suffer from PTSD. It's low-maintenance enough that it doesn't overwhelm someone experiencing anxiety and/or depression and there are some houseplants that are borderline unkillable, making it a safe, likely win.

Keeping plants alive can be therapeutic for people who find it difficult to trust themselves because they can often find a win in having looked after the plant's basic needs enough to have kept it from dying, which also comes with the joy and pride in seeing it grow. We all can see from a hundred miles away Crowley's issues projected all the fuck over his gardening 😂 but, as um, Crowls, you good over there? as him pretty clearly reenacting his fall and lording over his plants, it's a healthier direction for his anger than taking it out on people would be. Better he's screaming at the plants he thinks don't really understand him than at Aziraphale.

The spots on the leaves really, really bother him, though, because he personalizes the growth of the plants. The criticism isn't really about the plants-- it's self-criticism he's projecting onto them. If the plants aren't lushing up perfectly constantly, Crowley yells at them but he's really blaming himself because he's the one in control of taking care of them. The spots, in his mind, reflect a failure on his part to have anticipated the needs of the plants-- a situation he did not properly assess, a thing that he should have seen coming and missed.

He's yelling at them on the surface and, internally, trying to figure out what he did wrong. Did they need more fertilizer or less? More water, more sun, and when? How did he not see the yellow spot coming?! <insert negative self-thoughts as a result of this here>

Obviously, not super-healthy, right?

The concept of 'sometimes, plants just get yellow leaves and one or two here or there is not a big problem'? That is difficult for Crowley, just as the concept that, sometimes, a person is not going to be able to judge every single situation perfectly and most mistakes there are not a big deal, is also difficult for him and people like him who have experienced trauma and have a lot of self-doubt as a result.

All this need for a sense of control over himself is also what makes the show's several references to Crowley enjoying Aziraphale periodically restraining him in bed such a big deal. The level of trust it takes for that to be even attempted, let alone enjoyable, for someone who has been raped is enormous. Sex, as a whole, can get understandably complicated for rape survivors. There's this bit o'meta about all that mindful sushi, if looking at that aspect of this story is of interest to you.

Right, so, all of this control-seeking, hypervigilant, self-doubting behavior also causes very high levels of anxiety in survivors. As would make sense, right, because if you're worried that you're missing something, you're attempting to be hyperaware of everything, all the time, in an effort to not be blindsided and harmed, and that gets stressful.

To give you an example of how used to Crowley having periods of high anxiety like this Aziraphale is, look no further than The Meeting Ball, when Aziraphale initially failed to see one example of Crowley's high anxiety actually being more warranted than just alarmist, simply because he's so used to Crowley's default state, especially of late, being something is wrong.

Aziraphale overlooks the possibility of Crowley being right about this danger because Aziraphale is going through his own stuff on this night but also because he's so used to Crowley being constantly jumpy and worried about everything that it's gotten to a point that his default response is to just try to help Crowley calm down because, nine times out of ten, there's no real, actual danger.

Aziraphale thinks Crowley's just nervous about the party so he's just like ok tell me what's upsetting you and I'll listen and we can talk but let's dance while we talk. He flirts with him and tries to get him to eat a vol-au-vent during The Meeting Ball because talking with him, hearing his worries, and then offering him reassurance and affection and trying to help him calm down by making sure he's not spiraling worse from low blood sugar and the like is Aziraphale's (genuinely helpful and effective) go-to strategy.

In Aziraphale's defense? Crowley's like this all the time and most of the time, he's grossly over-estimating the danger because he's anxious, so it's more often than not the case that Crowley is just overly-cautious rather than that something is genuinely wrong. Aziraphale tries to just provide Crowley the reassurance that Crowley seeks from him that they are safe (while making sure that they genuinely are safe) and to help him with perspective.

These same people who are survivors, though? They can be very, very different in behavior when they are in a situation where they aren't being triggered as much by their PTSD.

They can be patient, kind, thoughtful, and great at big picture thinking and managing life when they are in a situation that is not triggering. They can be wonderful friends and partners and, maybe because of being exceptionally in tune to noticing trauma in others, they can also be really exceptional at helping loved ones manage their own dark stuff, as we've seen Crowley show time and again with Aziraphale.

The key thing here is that they're at their best when they're not in a situation where they're being triggered by the things they're trying to manage themselves. When those things are overwhelming them, it's going to be pretty much all they can deal with or think about until the situation becomes manageable for them.

This is basically the state of things for Crowley for much of S2 and in his interactions with Gabriel, which we're on the scenic route to here, I promise. 😉

When triggered by something that they experience as a threat to their safety, many survivors can experience a panicked kind of tunnel vision. Their only response becomes about getting as far away from the threat as possible, as fast as is possible.

Logic tends to fall by the wayside in these situations. Crowley's default response of running away to Alpha Centauri whenever he thinks Hell is after them is the most trauma response that has ever trauma responsed. It makes absolutely no logical sense. Heaven and Hell can absolutely find them in the star system they all share. The reason why Crowley chooses this as his default is because, in reality, there is nowhere for him to run to escape Heaven and Hell and his default response is to just get as far away as possible.

It's to literally put as much distance between himself and potential harm as possible, as quickly as possible, even if he cannot ultimately outrun it. This fear response is the body flooding itself with cortisol and other stress hormones screaming we are under attack! at the first sign of danger as its strategy for keeping another attack from happening. It's an almost animal instinct to run for safety.

To Crowley, safety is Aziraphale and a threat from Heaven or Hell looming means he goes into a state of tunnel vision where all he can think about is keeping Aziraphale and himself safe in whatever way he can manage. In S1, that meant getting Aziraphale into the car and apparently Chitty Chitty Bang Banging it to Alpha Centauri-- just getting as far from pain as possible with the person who makes him feel safe and whom he cannot bear the thought of losing.

Did it make any sense? Good heavens, no. Neither did asking Aziraphale for holy water in a panic in the public park where the listening ducks had ears back in 1862, which is a very similar kind of PTSD-induced panic but one that can see a survivor run in a different way, which I looked at over here in this post about insurance, should you be interested.

The problem is that a person that is panicking cannot think clearly and so isn't super-great at making a strategic plan to overcome whatever the threat actually is-- presuming there even is a legitimate threat.

While Crowley is under threat from Hell in the Alpha Centauri scene in S1, he's panicked and all he can really think to do is to get safe which, for Crowley, means getting Aziraphale and getting as far away from the danger as possible, even if that isn't a great plan for actually eliminating the overall threat of the danger itself.

This is basically the same thing as his initial response to Gabriel in S2.

Crowley has legitimate reason to be afraid of Gabriel after S1 and his panic over seeing him again in the bookshop is understandable and no joke. Good Omens, though, is good at finding the humor in the darkness, and Crowley's outsized response to Jim as the scenes continue gets amusing, even as the reasons for it are dark.

When Aziraphale first saw Gabriel at the door, he was obviously and understandably surprised and anxious. He was able, though, to evaluate the situation rationally and make decisions based on the facts in front of him because his own traumatic experiences are a bit different from Crowley's. Aziraphale does not have rape-related PTSD. This is why Aziraphale is able to look at Gabriel from the get-go, see that he doesn't pose a threat to them, and begin to consider that he and Crowley and Gabriel might all need one another.

Crowley takes longer to get to this place because he takes one look at Gabriel, whom he believes that he last saw trying to kill Aziraphale and who is now in the middle of their bookshop safe space, and his PTSD goes into overdrive.

What makes this funny is also what emphasizes the horror show that is living with PTSD that Crowley exemplifies, which is that Gabriel in 2.01 could not possibly be less threatening.

He's wearing a tartan toga and not much else when Crowley first sees him. (Aziraphale was really hoping that would help mitigate the alarm for Crowley lol.) Gabriel's dusting the books. He's super-friendly. We're all calling him Jim now, for whatever reason. He is, quite clearly, having a complete and utter mental health breakdown, and is in desperate need of help. It doesn't take much to see that, all things in the past aside, their naked man friend is not really especially scary-- a fact that becomes more evident with each passing moment.

Crowley's response to this, though, is if Aziraphale had invited Hannibal Lecter over for dinner. His initial response is what, of course?

To get as far from Gabriel as he can!

The immediate response to this from Crowley is just basically running for the private room in the back of the bookshop, shutting himself inside it with Aziraphale, and looking at the closed door with an eye so watchful that you'd think he expects Gabriel to Kool-Aid Man through it at any moment.

Crowley is literally incapable of thinking logically at this point. His mind and his body are screaming at him that this situation is unsafe because Crowley's trauma over the body swap in Heaven is such that he's never been able to think rationally about it or about how he and Aziraphale have managed to elude deception all this time. He's never considered the idea that Gabriel is as trapped as they are and was flanked by other angels Up there and so had to lay it on thick or risk death himself.

To Crowley for most of S2, Gabriel is a villain and that's the end of it, and he's certainly not capable of thinking this through right after he sees him in the bookshop again, as he's triggered to the moon and back. Nuanced thinking-- the stuff that big-picture thinkers like Crowley are usually very good at doing-- goes out the window when they're triggered.

The only person that Crowley feels truly safe with is Aziraphale. Aziraphale has earned a level of trust with Crowley where, even in Crowley's most panicked state, it's never just his own safety he's concerned with but his and Aziraphale's. He can't run without Aziraphale because he can't live without Aziraphale. Aziraphale is the only one who gets to see him at his worst with managing his PTSD because he's the only one Crowley truly trusts.

Gabriel is in the bookshop, though, so it's not like they can run from him because this is their house 😂 so Crowley's PTSD pivots it to become that if they can't get away from Gabriel here, then they need to get Gabriel away from them.

To Crowley, Gabriel is immediately a threat and one that needs to be gotten as far away from him, Aziraphale, and their bookshop safe space as quickly as possible.

This is how Crowley's initial plan for how to deal with Gabriel is the absolutely hilariously ineffectual "we could drive him out to the middle of nowhere and leave him for dead!"

Right, and what's the plan for when the angels show up at the bookshop looking for him, Crowley? Do we also have a strategy for how we're going to feel about leaving a guy who can't remember his own name in the cold on the side of the road when we're a soft-hearted, Jemimah's-pot-saving, Richard-Curtis-film-devotee marshmallow? No? Of course not. 😂

There's no logic here. This is an ineffectual as running to Alpha Centauri. He's pacing and wide-eyed and not even really trying with the PTSD response at this point, completely impervious to Aziraphale's more rational honey, I don't think the amnesiac guy in the towel is going to kill us opinion of the situation.

What Crowley needs is for Gabriel to be nowhere near him and the precious, peaceful, fragile existence he's carved out for himself here, right?

And, ouch, Crowley, when it's clear that Aziraphale is right-- this existence (really: a life) is one that they've carved out for themselves, together. Crowley is choosing, though, to respond as if Aziraphale isn't listening to to his need for safety when, in reality, Aziraphale wouldn't have allowed Gabriel to stay if he hadn't deemed him safe to both he and Crowley. Crowley is scared so he's saying I can't be around him, I can't deal with this. It's my life, not ours, if you're letting him stay here, which leads to their argument.

PTSD is hard to manage, especially when new triggers come up unexpectedly out of nowhere during a time that is already been difficult, and we've been given some indications elsewhere in the season that Crowley's been struggling of late, like the fact that he's having an existential crisis on the park bench at the start of 2.01, among other things. Crowley can usually can do better than this with managing his PTSD and he fails at it while Aziraphale winds up more successful with his own trauma-adjacent issues during their argument, resulting it being Crowley who is apologizing later on. Aziraphale understands, though, and lets it go with the apology because he knows how difficult this is to deal with, especially when they are not fully free of Heaven and Hell.

The reason why Crowley cannot look at the Jim situation in the first moments he's informed of it with anything resembling logic has nothing to do with Aziraphale or Gabriel, though.

It's entirely because Crowley struggles to be able to trust himself to be able to judge what this situation actually is.

Being always worried that there's something going unseen that could lead to harm for themselves or the people they love leads PTSD sufferers to feel a lot of stress and anxiety. This is especially true because, to an extent, missing something will eventually be a self-fulfilling prophecy at some point, just because no one sees everything clearly all the time.

Everyone misjudges situations at times or doesn't see what a person was trying to say or do. Not all of these are five alarm fire situations but no one gets it right all the time and, when that happens to someone who has PTSD, it can worsen self-doubt issues.

The problem for people with PTSD is that, sometimes, worsening self-doubt issues can snowball. If they miss something and that worsens the self-doubt, they might then wind up in a panicked tunnel vision state of mind. This heightened level of panic might cause them to keep making mistakes and misinterpreting situations or intent with other people, causing more errors in judgement. It hammers away at their ability to feel like they can trust themselves to accurately judge situations and keep themselves safe, worsening their state of mind. This happens with Crowley in S2 and it's actually still on-going heading into The Finale because he's missing something massive in The Final 15, which is you can read more about in The Kiss, if you're interested.

Crowley already had been suffering for awhile ahead of S2 with the loss of control and feeling of having misjudged a situation in S1 that led to what he thought at the time was the loss of both the bookshop and Aziraphale. This was bad enough but, then, something else happened in 2.01 that caused the self-doubt to get really bad for the rest of the season and that affected his interactions with Gabriel.

That thing was his conversation with Beez about The Book of Life.

When Beez brings up The Book of Life, Crowley has an immediate answer. He has a memory of him and Beez having made up The Book of Life to tease more impressionable angels. He has a memory that Beez does not and Beez's expression says that they think that Crowley might be correct. (We see their expression but they are angled away from Crowley, who does not.)

Beez is embarrassed to think that they've been afraid of a thing that is something of their own making and not real. A thing that is of someone's own making and only as real a threat as they allow it to be?

That's also true of anxiety.

The Book of Life being something that Crowley and Beez once made up as angels that reflected their anxiety over living in Heaven becoming something that they convince themselves is a real threat is a plot that works basically the same way as anxiety does and emphasizes that anxiety as part of both of their stories.

Beez's embarrassment over having believed this results in them doubling down over it being true. Crowley could have decided that he was sure about his own memories but, instead, he chose to default to Beez, assuming that they would know more from running Hell and that it must be him who was incorrect.

There's that self-doubt again.

He trusted Beez over his own mind because he doubts his ability to accurately parse his own memories at times-- which is to say that he doubts himself.

The irony is that it's this lack of self-trust that causes him to doubt his own mind that leads him to believe in The Book of Life and not mention it to Aziraphale all season, in a misguided effort to protect him and not give more to worry about, that means that Crowley is so worried about The Book of Life that he can't see what is actually happening in The Final 15.

So, after talking with Beez, Crowley is now even more anxious, because he thinks that they're all going to die if they get caught helping Gabriel. He absolutely knows that helping Gabriel is the right thing to do but living with the up-and-down of PTSD is this level of exhausting:

Here's where we can add in the extra-stressful layer to helping Gabriel here, which is that Crowley has been, more or less, living in the bookshop. He and Aziraphale both get "plenty of use" out of it and various hints-- the book he gives Muriel being likely his own; the fact that Gabriel appears to be wearing Crowley's tie and shoes later on, etc., a bunch of other, little things-- emphasize that the bookshop is, unofficially, also Crowley's house.

Aziraphale's got Gabriel staying in a bedroom in the residence upstairs and it's shown a bunch of times to be next door to the room at the top of the stairs, the door to which stays shut all season but is, more than likely, Crowley and Aziraphale's bedroom. Gabriel's presence in the shop to Crowley means that he and Aziraphale are risking Gabriel getting the impression that they are a couple. (Like seeing them for three seconds together wouldn't give someone this impression lol.) It might not matter that much to Jim who doesn't know what the fuck is going on lol but Crowley's more concerned about what happens if the person he thinks is Gabriel suddenly pops out of Jim. What happens if Jim's amnesia disappears and the nice dude becomes this evil person that Crowley has convinced himself that Gabriel must be?

Crowley was never really that safe in his flat but he doesn't have that to go to anymore because, ya know, kipping with Shax around isn't the most zen way to unwind. He hasn't told Aziraphale for reasons looked at in that The Kiss meta linked above but part of why Aziraphale hasn't realized it is because Crowley is just in the shop most nights until the early morning hours. He leaves before dawn in an effort to keep them from being caught. The bookshop is basically Crowley's house, too, so having Gabriel stay there means them figuring out what to do about the fact that they've been trying to hide their relationship for thousands of years.

Crowley is having difficulty processing the idea that, amnesia aside, Jim is Gabriel, and that Gabriel came to him and Aziraphale for help. Aziraphale is more capable of seeing that he and Crowley are the ones in control of the situation, which he helps Crowley to see a bit more once Crowley has calmed down from the initial shock of it and come back to the shop, worried about The Book of Life threat and feeling guilty about their argument and, especially, about saying that he's leaving Aziraphale on his own, when he knows that's as triggering for Aziraphale as all of this Gabriel stuff has been for Crowley himself.

As Crowley sees a little more of Jim and how really vulnerable he is ("Hello! Where did you come from?... Can I go to the outside?" lol)... and as Aziraphale gives Crowley a task-- something he can do to help and to feel in control of what's happening... Crowley gets a little bit more comfortable with what's happening, if still nowhere near relaxed about it.

Crowley is shown to be very unsure about Aziraphale acting in a way that is normal for them when in the shop with him around Gabriel-- mainly, with Aziraphale getting so near to him and moving to touch him in a way that, if Crowley hadn't backed up, would have been ridiculously couple-y. Crowley isn't sure what the whole deal with Jim really is at this point and he's not sure that he wants Gabriel to see anything that suggests that he's Aziraphale's partner, even if that's exactly what he is.

The irony here is that Gabriel's first scene in the first episode-- the one in the sushi restaurant that is cut into off of Crowley being assaulted-- shows that Gabriel had absolutely no reason for being there in the restaurant that night other than to try to help Crowley by telling Aziraphale what was happening and then trying to tell Aziraphale that he'd cover for him and Crowley. He told Aziraphale that he was under special assignment to watch Crowley (which, as Aziraphale pointed out in the scene, is just Aziraphale's usual job lol) and to "keep him under close observation." (Interesting, doctoral choice of phrasing from Gabriel there.) He was giving Aziraphale an excuse-- if you get caught, we can say that I gave you this assignment and I'll do what I can to protect you both is essentially the message.

Gabriel's entire reason for being in the sushi restaurant was because his informant (Beez) was upset over not being able to keep Crowley out of Armageddon and Gabriel's response to that was to try to help Crowley and Aziraphale by trying to tell Aziraphale listen, I'll take care of Heaven. You just take care of Crowley. His very first scene in the show is him trying to do what he could to help Crowley but Crowley and Aziraphale don't really see this and remain afraid of him when, in reality, 1.01 suggests that Gabriel and Beez have been trying to protect them all along and are the strongest allies they both have.

In S2, Aziraphale is in a more logical place. Gabriel has amnesia, showed up naked, needs help. Even if he recovers, he owes them one, and he also protected Aziraphale from Sandalphon in S1. They can trust him and they are the ones in control of the situation. Crowley manages to listen to Aziraphale's idea, though, as he's calmed down a little bit by seeing again just how unthreatening Jim is and by Aziraphale taking charge of what they can do and giving Crowley something specific that he can do to help protect all of them.

Aziraphale all smiles at seeing Crowley grinning and hippity-hopping for the first time since the whole mess started...

Aziraphale knows Crowley well and he knows that, sometimes, Crowley needs to prove to himself that he can handle things and tries to find ways that he can help by having Crowley do something to help prove to himself that he can trust himself the way that Aziraphale trusts him.

Aziraphale's confidence in Crowley helps Crowley trust himself more, as we saw on full display in S2 in one of the biggest moments in the series:

Chief among Aziraphale's many reasons for being the one of the two of them to go to Edinburgh is that he wanted to help Crowley by giving him control over the bookshop and the Jim situation.

By trusting Crowley to mind the shop and care for Gabriel while he was gone, Aziraphale was reiterating that he trusted Crowley to judge accurately any situations, including those with the angels, that might come up. He was trusting him to manage his PTSD, in spite of the struggles with it that Crowley had been having that week, because he trusts Crowley, which is a reminder that Crowley needs a lot and that can be very helpful in boosting his confidence in his ability to trust himself.

Aziraphale also knew that Crowley was tired and didn't want him to feel kicked out of his home. Aziraphale didn't know that Crowley was living out of his car but he didn't know that because Crowley was just in the bookshop so often that it meant that Aziraphale hadn't noticed that Crowley didn't have his flat. Crowley had low key moved in as much as that was possible for the two of them. He was used to sleeping in their bed and being in the bookshop which, even as it had been a bit stressful because of the fire, was still the place that made him feel the safest.

Aziraphale wanted him to get some rest and relax for a bit in the shop and was hoping that, since he was charging Crowley with Gabriel's care, it might cause them to talk a bit more, which Aziraphale wisely knew would be good for both of them.

All of that was a good plan but, as we see, though, Crowley's response to Gabriel starts to go up and down during the rest of the week. Why?

One of the reasons is a series of things, most of them not terribly consequential, but which add up to Crowley having one of those weeks we all have from time to time when new information is causing us to feel like we don't know much of anything or can't do anything right.

Crowley is the one who knows popular music but he doesn't know this "Everyday" song so he's not much help with that mystery. He bungles his Vavoom attempts for Maggie & Nina by collapsing the awning with too much rain. He had absolutely no idea that his old pal, master spy/brandy smuggler/brains behind the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery/all around legend, Jane Austen, wrote books, let alone classic, romantic ones.

These are also nods to how Crowley's missing memories means he's fuzzy on the origins of things. "Everyday" is one of the foundational songs of rock 'n roll and Jane Austen is the same for modern romantic stories but Crowley knows better what came after-- Queen, Richard Curtis films, etc.. It emphasizes that he feels more sure of his memories since his fall but, because he lived through these eras, not knowing things from them are then also examples to him of times when he wasn't fully aware of his surroundings and missed things.

What unsettles him is that Aziraphale knew that Jane wrote books so it's overall a case of Crowley having missed something important. It's something that, in this case, everyone seems to have known but him, which is the most unsettling kind of thing for someone dealing with PTSD. It's not the end of the world but it didn't help his already bad week.

Another thing the different perspective on Jane Austen did is emphasize how Crowley having to deal with trauma causes him to move through the world differently than other people. The way that other people commonly experience things aren't always his experience, even if he can intellectually understand theirs. This is just a fact of life for people who have been through things like what Crowley has but, when a reminder of it is mixed into a time when the self-doubt is especially high, it can worsen a sense of being 'other' from other people, and worsen PTSD.

In the middle of all of this are also Crowley's interactions with Shax. Shax is a devout diabolical minister and the closer she gets to figuring out that he and Aziraphale are a couple, the more Crowley's stress is compounded as his usual fear of Satan turning up increases.

Shax is also a constant reminder of Satan-- one that has an unnerving habit of just popping up places and being far too close for comfort. She doesn't hide her attraction to him and he doesn't want anything to do with her. He's balancing that disinterest with trying to keep her from figuring out about Aziraphale. He's technically not a demon anymore but Hell is still following him around via Shax and Hell is, fundamentally, Satan. She's the inability to escape reminders of trauma that can come up in different periods and worsen PTSD.

Then, there's the bigger problem: Crowley kinda likes Jimbriel.

He is relating to Gabriel. He has been the whole time. An amnesiac former angel leaning on Aziraphale for safety and comfort while struggling with trauma and memories... yeah, Crowley knows nothing about how that goes. 😂 Gabriel's struggle with his memory was very familiar for Crowley and he empathized enough to, in his own way, try to help-- revealing another example of just how hard Crowley is on himself in the process.

What's causing complications for Crowley is that he both likes and sympathizes with Jim. Crowley knows that the most logical answer here is that it's really that Jim and Gabriel are the same person. Crowley is being confronted with the idea that maybe this scary monster he's built up in his mind really isn't a scary monster and he can barely make sense of that.

Crowley has not previously put a lot of thought into the idea that Gabriel has been as trapped as he and Aziraphale have been and that he might have had to act a role to survive, in a way that Crowley himself often does and did in the past. He's tended to see Gabriel as a threat and nothing else... but the Jimbriel currently driving him insane rearranging the bookshop is anything but a threat.

Then, while Aziraphale is in Edinburgh, it's just Crowley and Gabriel for a time, and Crowley's perception that Gabriel is not a threat just keeps increasing. Gabriel just looks more like walking depression, struggling as Crowley himself has done with his sense of self, and trying his best to be helpful to those around him.

He's kind to Crowley, eager to help with whatever Crowley is up to, and not at all threatening. There's no sense from Crowley that this is all some master plan where Gabriel dons a Christmas jumper and earns their trust, only to slit their throats in their sleep. He's just a lost guy who needs their help.

Jimbriel, it turns out, is fucking nice. He's kind to Crowley and appreciative of his help. Crowley has no idea what to do with this. This messes with Crowley's perception of what he thought reality was so it's confusing for him.

Because Aziraphale has tasked him with managing this situation and given him reassurance that he can, Crowley has dived into not letting Aziraphale down with it. He's gotten a bookseller outfit on, he's keeping the place somewhat organized so that Aziraphale won't lose it too much over Jim's reorg project 😂 (really, probably, just pulling his own books out of Jim's piles because a traumatized demon can only give up so much control at once here lol) and he's being generally pleasant to Jimbriel, whom he'd rather, at this stage, die than admit he kind of likes.

He's cautious about things but he's also relaxing a little more around Jim, which is scary for him because what if he's misjudged this?! But, Aziraphale wants him to try and all objective evidence points to Aziraphale's assessment being correct and Jim not being at threat, so Crowley tries, as he supposes that there are worse things than having an archangel owe you a favor, even if Crowley is still not at all for this situation as a whole because the wolves keep circling.

Not only is Crowley worried about the angels and demons who are trying to find Gabriel getting them erased from The Book of Life that he's convinced himself is real, Crowley now has the new problem of ugh kinda caring about what happens to Jim. Goddamned feelings. 😂 To be sure, he'd still chuck Jim off a bridge if it meant keeping himself and Aziraphale from harm, but Crowley's warming up to him a bit.

Early on, he's more amusing himself than anything, when explaining the plan to make Maggie and Nina Vavoom to Gabriel. In that moment, Gabriel can't remember anything so the concept of The Vavoom is new information to him but it's funny to Crowley that it would be because it's something of a repeat of how he and Aziraphale once fooled Gabriel to save Job and Sitis' kids off of what, essentially, was Gabriel's lack of information about human sex.

There's an argument to be made that Gabriel let himself play the fool in that scene but, even if you think he genuinely did not know then that all human babies are not made and birthed through ribs, he certainly has acquired that information since, among other scenes, that dry, "it's a miracle he hasn't spotted you yet" to Aziraphale in the sushi restaurant scene was overflowing with sexual innuendo.

Crowley chats on, using words from his and Aziraphale's language around Gabriel in the vavoom explanation scene to ease his stress and have something amusing to tell Aziraphale when he comes back. He's still snarky in the other scenes ("well-observed") but he also shows genuine empathy and provides calm, patient answers to Gabriel, especially in the gravity scene.

He sympathizes with Gabriel and helps him try to process what he's going through. He's seeing Gabriel as a person for the first time in doing this and the image Crowley has of him is changing, which, as we've said, is overall positive, but also compounds anxiety in the short-term because he cannot find a path to reconciling it with the past in his mind.

The self-doubt doesn't disappear but he's gathering some more information about the situation to inform his decisions the longer he's around Gabriel... and the longer he is, the more worried about all of it-- the threat of the situation to him and Aziraphale, but also now the danger to Gabriel himself-- Crowley becomes.

Still, he had every opportunity to betray Gabriel during the time that Aziraphale was away and he didn't. He could have chucked him at Shax more than once, if he was of mind to do so, but he didn't because Crowley has a good heart and he knew that Gabriel needed them and that helping him was the right thing to do.

The more Crowley saw about what was happening to Gabriel-- especially the eerie "there will come a tempest" moment when Gabriel isn't even really Gabriel and can't remember what just happened and then is in a state of distress afterwards-- the more he wanted to help him and the more Crowley believed that whatever was happening to Gabriel was genuine... but that didn't stop the larger threat to Aziraphale that concerned Crowley more.

At the same time as he's making sure that Jim is safe in the shop, he's also then turning around and growling at him that Aziraphale is risking his existence to help save him-- something which Gabriel, without his memories, doesn't really have any concept of, which just frustrates Crowley because it's unsatisfying to vent fear at someone who really doesn't have the ability in that moment to understand your fear. It looked and sounded like anger but it was really fear.

By the time Aziraphale returns from Edinburgh, it's first thing on Thursday morning, and Gabriel's been in the bookshop since Monday morning. At this point, after the last few days and what Crowley's seen, it would be pretty absurd to still think that Gabriel himself poses a threat to them, and Crowley knows that's true. He knows that, if Gabriel were there to harm them, he would have done so already. He knows that if Gabriel wanted to kill them, there would have been no better time to start that then when Aziraphale was gone but, lo and behold, Crowley is still alive and breathing.

Gabriel was very scary while Aziraphale was gone, doing things like looking sad and lost, sleeping, rearranging books, and, occasionally, singing to himself. Very frightening lol.

That said? Crowley's self-doubt is such that, while all of the evidence that Gabriel is not a threat is overwhelming at this point, he cannot shake the fear that he's misjudged this, and he's terrified about not getting it right because the stakes are so high.

Crowley wants to trust in Aziraphale's assessment, as he always does when he's not sure of his own, but what if they're wrong? What if he fails to see some flaw in Aziraphale's assessment that he normally would have noticed if he weren't so anxious and that proves to be their fatal undoing? What if Aziraphale's got this backwards? Then, if Crowley doesn't get it right, he'll be failing to protect him. He'll have been a bad partner to him and, atop that, they could wind up dead.

Aziraphale didn't just meet Crowley yesterday, though, and he knows how Crowley's mind works. When they start to talk about this at Marguerite's, Crowley fails to tell Aziraphale the big threat that's on his mind-- The Book of Life. I remain pretty convinced that if Crowley had chosen to bring this up, instead of trying to manage all of this on his own, that Aziraphale could have reassured Crowley that Crowley's initial memories were correct and it wasn't a thing. If that had happened, The Final 15 never would have happened the way it did because Crowley wouldn't have been so distracted from The Book of Life that he failed to see what the threat really was.

But, in that moment, while he didn't tell Aziraphale about his concerns over The Book of Life, he did talk with him about how he was feeling about the Gabriel situation.

In the scene, Crowley admits to being awake the prior night worrying about the Gabriel situation. (And also likely because he missed Aziraphale.) He's self-deprecating as he expresses concern about what might happen if Gabriel "wakes up" and about the possibility of Gabriel "faking it"-- which they both know isn't really a thing at this point. Crowley turns the concerns into a flirtation with Aziraphale, needing a moment of play, and jokes that Gabriel could smite him, before flirting over the past tense of the verb to smite... the most Crowley and Aziraphale flirtation possible. 😊

Crowley knows how absurd the ideas he's saying sound aloud but he's saying them aloud anyway-- giving voice to some of his most anxious thoughts, which is a good thing-- because he needs reassurance from Aziraphale. It speaks to how much he trusts him and how healthy they are in being pretty open about talking about how they feel.

Crowley needs Aziraphale to tell him that it's okay and that they're safe and to just flirt with him a little and get him out of his head and Aziraphale does that. It's the same thing as this:

Crowley trusts Aziraphale and he sometimes just needs Aziraphale to tell him when he's going around the bend with something. Part of that is running his most anxious thoughts about the flagpole to Aziraphale and seeing if Aziraphale thinks that they sound like legitimate problems or more like the product of Crowley's anxiety talking. Crowley usually already knows the answer to this-- and he definitely did in the smitten scene-- but it's comforting to have Aziraphale tell him in that fond way of his that it's all alright and that he doesn't need to worry so much.

Aziraphale is very gentle in his response when he gives Crowley that reassurance. He teases him a little-- saying that the appropriate past tense for what Crowley would be should Gabriel smite him would be 'smitten', which is the one that corresponds to being infatuated, teasing Crowley a bit because you know he'll never miss an opportunity not to after Crowley said Gabriel was beautiful on their date in 1827 😂 -- but the sweet part is actually the wordplay in the soft "you're being silly."

The tone alone is sensitive enough but the choice of the word silly is an interesting one, especially since they're wordplay-flirting in that moment. It contains sill, a word that means threshold, usually of a door or a window. There's a level of humor to this because it's saying that Crowley is being silly about Gabriel-- about who they've let in past the threshold of the bookshop door-- and that all holds true. There's also, though, that the context of what Crowley's saying in this scene-- about the reassurance for his anxiety that he's looking for-- especially when coupled with remembering Aziraphale's "you can call me an old silly but I think The Devil is coming" from back in S1 suggest that silly is an already-existing PTSD-related word to them.

Aziraphale saying that Crowley is being silly is meaning that Aziraphale's is trying to gently say that he thinks that the anxious thoughts are related to Crowley's trauma, and the threat is more of a perceived one than a real one. They're things related to Crowley's own threshold that has been forcibly crossed in the past, leaving him wracked with self-doubt and anxiety.

Aziraphale's gentle "you're being silly" is a way of reassuring Crowley that, yes, the threatening things he's suggesting that might happen with Gabriel are really out there and very unlikely to occur and that this is the PTSD talking.

Aziraphale then asks has Crowley considered just talking to Gabriel? You know, like how he is talking to Aziraphale in that moment? Just openly telling him what's bothering him and going from there? That might be a healthy option? 😲😂

This is a great idea but the for the fact that Crowley is a little drunk and then decides to basically drink the rest of the bottle of wine before having the conversation in question but we're at least sort of headed in the right direction!

Crowley decides to confront Jim-- who remembers precious little about prior events so, you know, really satisfying confrontation for Crowley here lol-- about that whole "shut your stupid mouth and die" business back in S1.

This is the big problem for Crowley-- the one thing he's having trouble getting around. Jim, the last few days? A pleasure. A fellow snarky, fucked up, gent that Crowley wouldn't have an issue becoming eternal friends with. His impression of His Royal Smugness from back in S1, though? A little lacking.

Note the emphasis in the "And I do remember..." as he confronts Gabriel in the moment above. It shows how the conversation with Beez is still bothering Crowley and how that is worsening the self-doubt.

What Crowley is sure he does remember correctly, though, is the "shut your stupid mouth and die" scene from S1 and we know he's correct in doing so because we were there with him. We can contextualize it better than Crowley can because we've seen more of Gabriel during the story and, also, we aren't so directly traumatized by this that we can't consider other reasons for his behavior, like that he was also trapped and being watched by other angels.

This is where, even though the biggest sticking point for Crowley here is this moment of Gabriel's behavior from S1, Crowley's response to Gabriel is still really not fundamentally about Gabriel himself so much. How so?

It's because Gabriel doesn't mean to be, of course, but he is, unintentionally, the biggest, possible trigger there is for a lot of Crowley's PTSD. Why him, more than anyone else?

Well, not for nothing, but the last time Crowley trusted an attractive Supreme Archangel? It didn't exactly go well... Gabriel has been the Supreme Archangel since the only other, prior one fell and that other one was Crowley's abuser.

Gabriel has moved into the bookshop showing similar symptoms that Crowley himself did after his fall, unintentionally bringing all that up for Crowley, and, atop that, Gabriel had held the same position of power that Lucifer did. By pointing out across several scenes in S2 that Crowley is attracted to Gabriel (even if that's going nowhere as Crowley's a one angel kinda fella), it's also emphasizing the semi-conscious parallels in Crowley's mind between the powerful ex he once trusted who then harmed him and the handsome Supreme Archangel Crowley isn't sure he can trust but that, bizarrely, seems actually trustworthy.

The last time Crowley listened to his friends and supported an attractive person who seemed like they were going to treat him well and that everyone said could be trusted, Crowley wound up damned for eternity as a result. He wound up a rape survivor.

When Crowley and his wine go to talk to Gabriel, what they're really saying under the surface of all of that anger is that he is terrified that the Gabriel he saw in 1.06 is not a construct, like what Aziraphale thinks, but the real person-- that Gabriel is cruel and that the Jim thing is the charade, not the whole Archangel Fucking Gabriel thing.

What Crowley is really saying is that he doesn't know how to get it but he needs proof that Jimbriel won't hurt them.

Aziraphale wasn't the one there in 1.06; Crowley was. Crowley can, and has, heard Aziraphale's opinion on it, but he thinks he knows what he saw, and it's what he thinks he saw that is keeping him from fully agreeing that Aziraphale is correct and Jim can be trusted.

Crowley is too traumatized to really pull back, think about it a bit more, and understand what he saw, though. He's having trouble recognizing Gabriel with his trauma blinders on but it's really, really hard to take them off when, even though Gabriel had no intention of doing so, this situation is triggering everything for Crowley.

What Crowley hasn't given a lot of thought to is that Gabriel had two other angels standing there, including Sandalphon, whom we already saw earlier in S1 that he didn't trust at all. That he was in trouble with The Metatron over the failure to start Armageddon and that he didn't yet know that The Metatron wouldn't send him to Hell.

Gabriel was a dick, yes, but he was fucking terrified of falling and, even worse, at failing the angels he had been trying to protect, who would be left with no one really fighting for him without them.

Crowley's never really considered what Gabriel meant by don't talk to me about the greater good, sunshine.

Gabriel was also angry at being put in the position of it being Aziraphale-- the only angel he somewhat regularly saw whom he really felt was good and trustworthy and the closest thing to a friend, besides Beez, that he had-- versus the thousands of angels that he felt it was his duty as the Supreme Archangel to try to protect and keep safe.

How many times has Crowley put on a show around the demons to seem like he's one of them to try to stay alive? More times than he can count, right? But what Crowley hasn't been doing with Gabriel is consider that he was in the same kind of boat up in Heaven-- that "shut your stupid mouth and die already" is Gabriel acting like the angel that Sandalphon and The Metatron would think was on their side but that angel is not the person that Gabriel really is-- Jim is.

Crowley's basically projecting a version of his own fall over what's happening with Aziraphale and Gabriel here and has been for most of the season. He's worried that if he gives in and trusts Gabriel that Gabriel will turn out to be like Lucifer and Aziraphale will be hurt. It's basically trauma that is keeping Crowley from seeing that these two situations really are not the same at all.

Part of Crowley brings up the body swap plot to Gabriel in the hopes that he'll see Gabriel "crack", which will expose the whole Jim thing as a fraud, and then Crowley will have a reason to just say that Gabriel is like Lucifer and get Aziraphale away from him. It's the simple solution that Crowley knows isn't coming because he already knows, deep down, that Gabriel isn't Lucifer, but he feels he basically has to try and test him.

When he does, Gabriel is just continually nice. He expresses gratitude at how kind Aziraphale has been to him. He is-- to Crowley, wonderfully and infuriatingly at once-- patient and understanding about the fact that Crowley is drunk and expressing a lot of anger and hostility towards him. When Crowley says that he's endangering Aziraphale, Gabriel is upset and asks how he can help them.

He's fucking great lol and Crowley, drunk and angry, in one of the darkest moments of the show, tells him to jump out the window. [This is why you don't have intense conversations about trauma with wine involved.]

It's more of a flippant comment because Crowley doesn't actually think that Gabriel will attempt to do it but then he finds himself watching in horror as Gabriel proves that he is so lost and despairing that he would kill himself in an effort to be what the only friends he has needs.

Gabriel, it turns out, would jump out a window to his death without a second thought to keep Aziraphale from harm.

Crowley is shocked out of both his wine haze and his PTSD-related stuff and quickly keeps Gabriel from killing himself.

For the first time, Crowley really sees Gabriel there because this person who just-- really unnecessarily-- tried to sacrifice himself for his friends is, Crowley suddenly realizes, the complete fucking opposite of Satan.

Gabriel is someone who is actually way, way too self-sacrificing but he got there because of how deeply he cares about others and how isolated and lonely he feels. This is someone who has been taught that he exists as a symbol and feels like he's failed to live up to the impossible standards of it. He's struggling and he's depressed. He's not actually a symbol of Heaven; he's a victim and a survivor of it, the way Crowley and Aziraphale themselves are.

He really is Jim, just as Crowley has been seeing him the last few days. Gabriel is Jim. There is no secret evil about to come to the surface here and Crowley knows that for sure now-- he's just horrified that it went that far for him to see that realization.

Crowley's "Well, if you're not really him, what are you?" is such an interesting line. In addition to the idea that if he's not really like what Crowley thought Gabriel was like, there's also an element in there of:

If you're not really like him [Lucifer], then who are you?

It also mirrors Uriel's "What is he?" from the same scene in 1.06 that Crowley had been bringing up to Gabriel here. It's not just *who* someone is but *what* they are. In that way, it's comparing Uriel having her mind blown by what she thought was an angel who was immune to hellfire with Crowley having his mind blown by an angel who he thought was a villain turning out to be just a snarky lovebug.

For Crowley, the rest of this scene is the bigger realization-- the thing that Aziraphale has seen all along, and why he correctly thought that Gabriel and Crowley could become good friends if Crowley could get beyond his trauma to give that a try. The thing Crowley has been trying to avoid seeing, even as Gabriel's struggles over the last week so reminded Crowley of some of his own.

It's that Gabriel isn't just like Lucifer. He's just like Crowley.

As they talk about memory, the more honest and nice to him Gabriel is, the more Crowley feels guilty and terrible for how awful he was when he first came into the room. He came in angry that Gabriel had said terrible things to Aziraphale and then turned around and did basically the same thing to Gabriel. He almost leaves without trying to rectify it but, well...

...he and Aziraphale are quasi-immortal beings with no other friends who aren't human. Jimbriel is still willing to talk to Crowley, even after Crowley went, in his mind, full on embarrassing PTSD anxiety mess on him. He deserves a 'sorry for drunkenly telling you to kill yourself and would you like to be friends forever?' hot chocolate.

Worse to Crowley, even though Jimbriel doesn't remember enough to really understand during this scene why Crowley is Like This, he doesn't let that stop him from being kind and empathetic about it. He responds to Crowley's hot chocolate gesture by reassuring him that he is nice but it's here that Crowley truly adopted Jim forever:

Jimbriel doesn't remember the specifics in this moment but he can recognize in Crowley someone whose sharp edges are an act to cover for how badly they've been hurt. Crowley brings the mug in, holding it from the bottom so that Gabriel can take it from the sides-- and Gabriel does, but from lower than could have. As he takes the hot chocolate and thanks him, Gabriel brushes Crowley's wrist, very gently.

Just as Crowley's hot chocolate gesture is some softness to try to mitigate how harsh he was before and start anew, Jimbriel shows that he has intuited the problem without remembering all the details by touching Crowley lightly, taking intentional care in trying to show Crowley that he doesn't have to doubt that he's safe with him.

They're both saying the same thing:

I won't hurt you.

All that understandable anxiety? All that self-doubt in Crowley, where Gabriel was concerned?

It turns out it was all very silly.

[clangenrising]

Month 13 - Newleaf

Prev | First | Next

Life in the wild cat camp moved slowly. Mystique spent the first day talking with their leader, Goldenstar, and Russetfrond, who seemed to be her second in command which was less than ideal. The wild cats had all sorts of questions about Razor and the city and their plans and her intentions and she could understand why but she eventually had to admit that she didn’t have that much to tell them.

“Look, you’re asking the wrong cat,” she had said when pressed about battle plans. “I know how to fight but I’m not like… in charge of training the Chaff or strategizing or anything. Razor keeps all that stuff between him and his friends. I just hang out and do odd jobs now and then, like watching Ginge- I mean, Scorch.”

“Right,” Goldenstar had nodded. “You were asked to keep her from running away, correct?” 

Mystique had shifted uncomfortably. “No, I mean… He asked me to keep her safe, that’s all.” She still didn’t feel ready to examine that train of thought too closely.

“Sure,” Russetfrond had huffed in that infuriating way he had a habit of huffing, “and that’s why she wasn’t allowed out of your sight ever.” 

“Yes!” Mystique’s tail had lashed back and forth over her back. “Is that so unbelievable?” 

“Thank you for answering our questions,” Goldenstar had quickly ended the conversation. “I apologize again for needing to keep you here. Just let your guard know if you need anything.” And they had left her in the empty den. In the days that followed, there were no more questions, although Russetfrond did come by to check in with her guards and glare at her. She entertained herself by poking fun at him. He always took the bait and he always ended up stomping off in a huff after a few minutes. That at least gave her a little satisfaction. 

The rest of the time was much duller though. She wasn’t allowed to leave the den except to scat. Her meals were brought to her by the younger cats - apprentices, if she’d heard right - and she was starting to get used to eating mice but she missed her kibble and gravy treats. Sometimes she would try to strike up conversation with the guard, depending on who they were, and sometimes she slept, but for the most part she just watched. 

She learned their schedules, picked up on their habits. She had a pretty good sense, in her opinion, of who was friends with who. Scorch seemed to be friends with no one even though Goldenstar and the loud ginger tom seemed to be trying very hard. 

One time, she and Scorch made eye contact as she was coming back from a sanitary break with her guard. Scorch had lifted her head with an aloof twitch of her lips but Mystique noted the split second before it where her ears flicked back. If she wasn’t mistaken, the expression was one of guilt. 

That puzzled her. Everything about Scorch was puzzling, honestly. It was like she was always performing this gracious, all powerful being but you could catch a glimpse of something underneath if you were looking right. Mystique still wasn’t sure what kind of beast she had glimpsed slithering beneath the surface and when she thought too hard about it she inevitably ended up thinking about Razor and that was where that ended. 

She didn’t want to think about Razor right now. Alarms flashed in her head every time she tried. You won’t like it in here! they cried, You don’t want to see the shadow truth! Turn around! She always turned around. Still, there wasn’t much to do but sit and think and it was driving her mad. If she didn’t find something else to do soon, she just knew she was going to ignore the warnings out of sheer boredom so she decided to find a distraction and fast.

One afternoon, when this need for something else gripped her, she looked over at her guard for the day and sized him up. He was smallish and round, with a face almost but not quite flat and black spotted fur. He’d been pleasant with her the other time or two he’d been assigned to watch her. As she stared, he seemed to notice and awkwardly turned his head to look at her. 

“Hey, there,” she said, sprawled out near the entrance of the den where he was sitting. 

“Um,” he shifted and straightened his posture, “hello.” 

“Remind me your name?” she asked.

He smiled with a touch of nerves. “Pantherhaze.” 

“Right,” she grinned. The name was familiar now that she heard it again. She jerked her chin up in a nod and said, “Mystique.”

“Right,” he echoed back, trailing the words with a little laugh. She snorted softly. He would be pretty cute if she was into that sort of thing. 

She flicked her tail. “So, is there anything interesting to do around here?” 

“Oh, um,” he frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure… At least, I’m not sure what you could do.”

“Well, what do you do for fun?” asked Mystique. 

He shrugged. “Hunt, fish, maybe wrestle? I dunno.” 

“We could wrestle,” she tried. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he shifted again.

“Come on,” she pressed, “I’m dying of boredom over here! Indulge me a bit.” 

“I don’t think Russetfrond would like that very much,” said Pantherhaze, sounding more like someone who didn’t want to upset a friend than someone who was worried about getting in trouble. 

That intrigued her so she pulled at it like a shoelace poking out under the door. “You know him well?” 

“Yeah,” Pantherhaze smiled. “We grew up together. Kind of. I was always a few moons ahead of him.” 

Mystique rolled onto her side and looked up at him, head tilted upside down. “Was he always such a stiff?” 

Pantherhaze blushed. “He just has a lot on his shoulders is all. He’s actually really great when you get to know him.”

“Yeah?” she laughed. “How so?”

“Um,” her guard squirmed slightly under the scrutiny. “When we were apprentices, he challenged the whole group to climb a tree on a dare. He and Goldenstar nearly made it to the top but I got stuck on one of the branches. They came back down for me and he even jumped first to show me it was safe to go down.” 

“Aww,” Mystique said, mocking him in a way she considered good natured, “how long were you stuck?” 

Pantherhaze’s ears pressed back against his head. “I- That’s not important.” 

Mystique laughed, rolling onto her back and stretching her paws out as far as she could. “Aww! I bet it was a while, wasn’t it stumpy?” 

“Is the rogue giving you trouble?” Russetfrond’s joyless growl cut in on their pleasant moment. Mystique folded her front paws to her chest so she could get an unobstructed view of him, snorting a little at how silly he looked upside down. 

“No, we were just talking,” Pantherhaze said, sounding embarrassed. 

“Yeah, we were just talking about what a sweet boy you are,” she said. “Don’t be such a wet blanket.” 

Russetfrond curled his lip in disgust at the term. “You kittypets and your strange phrases.” 

“Look, you’re the one who’s weird for not knowing what blankets are,” she said, “not me.” 

“I’m glad to see you’re as vapid as ever, kittypet,” he droned back, scowling down at her. 

“Ooh, ouch,” she winced sarcastically. “You know, your silly little insult doesn’t get better just because you insist on saying it.” 

“Hey, guys, let’s not fight,” Pantherhaze meowed gently. 

“I’m just having a bit of fun,” Mystique said, rolling back over to sit up. 

“Tch,” Russetfrond shook his head. Looking at Pantherhaze, he said, “When Goldenstar gets back from patrol she’ll switch you out, alright?”

“Okay,” said the other warrior. Satisfied, Russetfrond turned and started off towards the prey pile. 

“Aw, come back!” Mystique called after him in a playful pout. “Don’t take the fun away! I’m dying in here!”

“Good,” he called back over his shoulder. Mystique snorted, a wide grin spread across her features, but it quickly faded. She sighed heavily and dropped her chin on her forelegs.

“This is worse than being in a cone,” she grumbled. 

Pantherhaze’s brows shot up curiously but all he said was, “I’m sure it will be over soon.” 

“Oh?” she twitched one ear and looked up at him. “You know something I don’t?”

He stiffened. “No, just trying to be friendly.” She believed him.

“I appreciate it,” she sighed again. “Better than ol’ Bee Face over there.” She watched Russetfrond picking out a meal and noticed him glancing back her way. 

“I dunno,” Pantherhaze shrugged. “You seem to like him a lot.” 

“I don’t know about a lot,” she rolled her eyes. 

“But you do like him?” Pantherhaze chirped. 

“I guess,” she conceded. “He reminds me of my brother a bit, but like… grumpier and better tempered at the same time.” She chuckled at the juxtaposition.

“Oh,” Pantherhaze paled, swallowing thickly. “I see.” 

“Look, he’s really not so bad,” she said again, a frown forming. “I know he makes himself out to be this big scary guy but he’s just kind of a dick, that’s all.” 

“I-if you say so,” Pantherhaze smiled but she could tell he wasn’t convinced. She glowered at her paws. Why was everyone so convinced Razor was some uniquely terrible monster?  Everyone she knew liked him fine enough. He was a smart leader, if a bit hot headed, a loyal friend, an attentive partner. She grimaced. Scorch had seemed pretty upset the other night… And there was that time when she cried while explaining how they met… 

STOP! STOP! The alarms caught up to her in a frantic, screaming hurry. YOU’VE GONE TOO FAR! THE SHADOW TRUTH IS ALMOST UPON YOU! She shook her head to distance herself from that train of thought immediately. That had been close. Something squirmed in her stomach though, like a shred of the shadow truth had escaped and refused to be ignored. She thought she might be sick. Her body ached to move, to drown the thinking out in adrenaline and physical satisfaction. She briefly considered running circles around the little burrow. 

“Hey, Pantherhaze!” Goldenstar’s voice sounded before she appeared from the hill beside the entrance. The lanky white and blue apprentice and the dark bengal she-cat continued past her with poorly disguised stares at Mystique. “I’m here to relieve you.” 

“Okay,” he smiled, “Thanks, Goldie.” He jumped up to leave and then, as an afterthought, looked back and said, “Uh, goodbye Mystique.” 

“See ya, Stumpy!” she purred, flicking one ear. Goldenstar raised a brow at that and settled down next to her to start grooming her own paws. Mystique watched her for a moment before she sat up and said, “Well, how was the patrol?” like a busybody fishing for gossip. 

“Same old, same old,” Goldenstar said. “I hope you’ve been doing alright.” 

“Honestly, Goldie- Can I call you Goldie?” 

“Sure,” shrugged Goldie. 

Mystique smiled. “Honestly, Goldie, I’m about to chew my own legs off. I am so tired of laying around! If you’re not gonna let me go home, can you at least let me go hunting or something?” 

“Hmm,” Goldenstar quirked her mouth to the side as she considered the idea. “I dunno…” 

“Oh, come on, please?” she said, “I promise I’ll be good!” She pressed her paws together and swiped them in front of her like she did when the Folk asked her to beg, to which Goldenstar’s brows shot up in amusement. 

“You sound like Floodpaw,” she laughed. 

“Is it working?” Mystique asked, giving her best totally-innocent-I-swear smile. 

Goldie groaned a little and said, “Yeah… Alright, I’ll think about the schedules and see if we can make it work.” 

“Yes!” Mystique gave a mrrp of triumph. “Thanks, Goldie, you’re the best.”

“I try very hard,” laughed Goldenstar.

[frankiecatphotography]

Best Buddies Jigsaw Puzzle - on sale!

[paulpingminho]

[goofy-clan]

Oh what’s this? Lore?!

Have a Night watcher and MoonMoon blurb!

—————————————————————-

It had been 15 moons.

15 moons since Nightwatcher’s whole life was torn from her in an instant.

12 whole moons since she finally dragged herself from her nest.

And 10 whole moons as she grew colder and her fighting more aggressive.

The others in the clan understood, it was a terrible loss. She had lost her mate, JellyfishCurl and her Son, Sunpaw in one fell swoop to a patrol gone wrong. Apparently the whole patrol had been attacked by a coyote, and left almost no survivors save one cat who was now blind.

Nightwatcher was always known for being brutal, her style of fighting was drawing other cats into the river or lake, where she gained the upper hand and drowned them. But since the deaths, senseless violence was the only outlet she found solace in.

Moving on? Getting a new mate? Preposterous. She wouldn’t, couldn’t fill the hole that was left. The leader, Longstar had seemed not interested in her plight and had brushed it off with “simple sadness” that would pass.

Nightwatcher grumbled and hauled herself out of her nest, padding across the clearing. She had to take a walk, forget that the stars were already out. No guard made any effort to stop her from leaving, and she padded along the rivers shore, paws soaked from the damp soil. A yowl caught her attention. Was there a fight? Well, maybe she could distract herself with a good battle.

She darted towards the sound, leading Near the deeper part of the river. There, a moonlight patrol was fighting off a Rouge. Some scruffy brown cat, that hissed and dropped whatever he had in his jaws and ran. The item plopped into the damp grass.

As night approached, she noticed another rouge on her side with lifeblood all around her hind legs, body cold. What was puzzling was, the cat hadn’t died from birthing kits, but a slash to the neck. Nightwatcher narrowed her eyes at the patrol, and the leader piped up. “Some rouge killed her, yowling about some betrayal. How the kits weren’t his. Must have been a bad breakup…”

The Black and Ginger cat shook her head, before a squeaky mewl rang out. Nightwatcher pushed past the patrol, and saw what the rouge had dropped, her maw agape in shock. It was a kit, newly born with tiny paws flailing out.

The patrol looked at each other uneasily. “He was trying to drown the kits, jeez..we managed to save this one but by the time we got here-“ Night looked away, not bearing to hear any more. What horrible cat would try and kill his own kits, regardless if they weren’t fully his?! She leaned down, gently cleaning the kit as it squeaked.

A cat to her right piped up. “Well- this rouge was a kittypet. Maybe we should just-“ their words were cut off as Nightwatcher swatted at their muzzle, claws sheathed. She crouched over the kit, hissing. “The clan code says to leave no kit to harm, no matter where they come from! And I’ll be damned if you leave this child.”

The patrol mumbled amongst each other but agreed nervously. No need to argue with Mrs “drown cats”. As Nightwatcher grabbed the kit by the scruff, one cat mumbled that they would have to find a queen to take care of it. Night paid no mine, and leapt back to camp.

——

Of course, the leader wasn’t pleased. Went on and on complaining about “weak kittypet blood”, but was sharply told by Nightwatcher that the kit won’t be raised as a kittypet, therefore it won’t know the weakness. After the chaos, yowling, and complaining calmed down, Nightwatcher had settled into her old nest in the nursery, the same nest she had cleaned Sunpaw in. She tried not to focus on the kits mewls, and how much it reminded her of her lost child.

Her ear flicked as she acknowledged another queen peaking her head in. “So you’re keeping him?” She asked gently. Nightwatcher made a grimace, and sighed. “I suppose. These idiots wouldn’t know good parenting if it hit them in the muzzle.” The queen laid down a few tail lengths away, and nodded. “What will you name them?” Nightwatcher hadnt thought that far. She looked down at the squirming ball of fluff, light brown fur with stripes that were barely visible.

She fought back tears. This child wouldn’t replace Sunpaw. But she couldn’t ignore them either. It was her responsibility, it wasn’t fair to blame or single them out for something they couldn’t control.

“..Moonkit, I guess.” Nightwatcher sighed, gently curling her tail around the squeaking kit

END.

[blue-sadie]

The Musician

Llewyn Davis x Friend Reader

Series Masterlist

Prt 6 of the Different Versions Series

Summary: waking up at 00:31 in the morning and not being able to fall asleep maybe water will help right or something... else

Warning: couch sex

Yn/3rd person pov

I moaned out as I stretched out my arms pushing my head back into the pillow, the glow of the digital clock illuminating a little bit of the room, it read 00:31 I groaned turning over to cuddle into the duvet.

But I just couldn't fall back asleep I turned onto my back huffing before sitting up, I stayed there intil I felt ready to stand up, I flicked the duvet off of me groaning as the cold hit my warmed skin, my teeth chattering slightly as I moved out the room.

My arms clasped around my sides to keep the remaining warmth I had as i got to the kitchen I looked puzzled at the lights flicking each one on intil I got it right, my eyes squinted at the sudden light but slowly adjusted as I made my way to the cupboards looking for the glasses.

I filled the glass up with water taking a few sips of it before sighing how much more of this is there going to be, will I ever get back home or will it be an endless cycle? Would I ever see my old life again see my lovers again.

I took in a deep breath placing the now empty glass into the sink and leaned onto the counter some of my hair falling into my face I was deep in thought when a buzzing filled the apartment, my heart lept a few beats as I straightened up walking over to where the noise was coming from.

I came to what looks to be the entryway with a call box by the door that's where the noise was coming from "hello" I asked pressing down the button on the small box "hey yn its llewyn, long time no see" the person murmured letting out an awkward chuckle before speaking again "I'm sorry I know it's late but I need a place to stay".

The man sounded like marc "yea of course" I said pressing another button to open up the man door the call ended as he made his way up, I waited by the door shifting on my feet tiredly a huge yawn left my lips as I heard him knock.

"Hi" I mumbled opening the door and I was right it was another marc and like the one before he had a beard just a bit more tame and less gray hairs "hey yn" he smiled nervously as I looked down at his belongings, in one hand he held a guitar case and in the other a fluffy ginger cat.

"Come in come in" I beckoned stepping aside for him to walk inside he hummed happily walking past me into the lounge placing his stuff down before turning to me "thank you really yn thank you" he smiled, the cat purring as it lay on the blanket "no problem" I smiled "do you want anything water, food" I offered intertwining my fingers together as I stared at him.

He shook his head "no thank you I had some stuff after my gig" he murmured gesturing to his guitar I nodded staring at it, the case looked somewhat damaged but still in good shape "how was it" I blurted at making him frown his brows a little bit "how was the gig" his mouth twitched upwards "better then usual someone asked if they can book me for a party" his smile brightened up the room as he spoke about it.

He seemed so interested in it like when steven speaks about different things as he takes me around the museum, I giggled slightly and urged him onto the couch and I took a spot beside him "that's really good llewyn" I smiled placing a hand on his knee making him pause for a brief second his eyes looking between my hand and me.

"Sorry" I said retracting my hand but he caught it mid way "no no" he muttered holding my hand in his "I just.. I" he trailed off staring into my eyes as his thumb grazed up and down my hand "there's always been some I wanted to tell you" he whispered slowly shifting in his seat.

"I wish to be something more" he said making my breath hitch.

"I want to be with you" this was the same why marc asked me out almost the same exact words "what I'm trying to sa-" I crushed my lips against his interrupting his words, he gasped against my lips his hands moved to grasp my hips holding them tightly "yn" he groaned moving his lips to my neck leaving little love bites and hickies as he goes.

My hands went into to his hair tugging his roots as I felt his teeth against my skin "I just got to have you" he muttered his hands slowly moving down to the ends of my nightie "then you can have me" I whispered making him groan as he pulled it up to expose my black lace panties "of fuck" he muttered breathlessly as he ran his finger tips along the hem that was around my waist.

I teasingly rolled my hips against his whining out as I felt him stiffen underneath me "l-llewyn" I murmured moving against him making us both moan out his hands slightly dug into my skin as I moved against him "please" I whined, his breathing deepened as his hands wrapped around my thighs before flipping us over so I was pressed into the cushions and he was on top.

"I'm going to fuck you so good all the neighbour's will know my name, my muse" he breathed out, the name he called me made a shiver run up my spine, his hands moved to the front side of my thighs slowly pulling down my underwear and threw it onto the floor, his eyes stared down at my body with hunger.

His hands working their way back up to my thighs massaging my skin intil he reached mid thigh his eyes flickering to meet mine as they slowly make their way to my core two of his fingers ran up and down my slit making me shiver while the other used his thumb to slowly rub my clit in circles "f-fuck" I moaned pushing my head further into the cushions.

His smile turned into a sly smirk as he worked his two fingers inside me, curling and moving them inside of my entrance, my legs shaking slightly "llewyn please" I begged wrapping my legs around him he grinned devilishly pulling his hands away from my core to take out his cock from his pants.

He pumped his cock a few times as he stared down at me "are you ready for me my muse" he asked teasingly as he leaned down to me, I nodded eagerly my eyes becoming half lidded as my legs tightened around him, he slowly moved his cock to my entrance teasingly my cores lips before pushing in "fuck your so tight" he groaned.

My thighs clenched slightly as he started to move, he leaned down whispering things into my ear as he thrusted in and out "shit llewyn" I moaned he chuckled and pressed his lips to mine as he increased his strokes, the power of his thrusts sending me further into the couch cushions.

My moans were wavering as I moved my hands to his shoulders clenching them tightly "y-yn" he groaned as I tightened around him "getting c-close" I whined feeling myself getting closer to cumming "me to" he growled his nails digging into my skin as his thrusts wavered.

He growled out but smiled as I screamed out as I cam around him, he did a few more thrusts before yelling out himself before filling me up with his seed "fuck" he muttered breathlessly moving one of his hands to run through his hair before slowly pulling out of me.

"Your my everything, the reason I still try, my beautiful muse"

[itsabouttimex2]

Heyyyy, it’s ME again!! I was just wondering if you take requests for Yandere Alphabets? If so can I get one of Huntsman, Syntax, and/or the Mayor?

(I know this is like my third request I’m so sorry I’m so starved of fanfic content of these three in any shape or form it is CRIMINAL 😭)

Yandere Alphabet: Huntsman

(No worries! I don’t mind at all! And sorry if updates have been a little slow- I’ve recently acquired a rescue cat, who’s been a little clingy!)

Authority: Do they see themselves as above their obsession?

No. Huntsman wants someone who is explicitly equal to him- in power and drive and skill. If Y/N is weak or small, he won’t have any interest in them.

Bread: Can they cook or bake? Is Y/N responsible for their own food?

I imagine he cures and dries most of his hunted meat, spicing the strips to be sharp and energizing. He’ll share- especially if you behave well enough to earn a hunt with him. And honestly? Huntsman would love to teach you to prepare it with him.

Probably not too good with modern appliances, though. He can use them, for what it’s worth- he just doesn’t like to.

Cruentus- How do they respond to Y/N being hurt, both slightly and severely?

Given their probable capability for self-defense, Huntsman isn’t too worried about his obsession’s safety. If he’s interested in Y/N, it’s because they make for a good rival- they have to be able to fight back and escape from danger.

If harm somehow comes to them in captivity, the arachnoid does see fit to tend your wounds- perhaps a bit roughly. Many natural remedies- honey as an antibiotic, aloe vera to soothe burns and rashes, poppy pods as a painkiller, ginger for nausea, etc.

Disengage- What’s their response to being ignored?

Mild distaste for what he perceives as ‘childishness’. When he catches Y/N, he expects them to accept it with some measure of grace. Sure, they don’t have to start cheering, but Huntsman would appreciate it if they were more mature.

Besides- he can ignore them right back, especially since they’re the one in cage.

Enclosure: Where do they keep Y/N?

Hung on his wall like a trophy- even if he has to take you apart piece by piece and put you back together like a puzzle.

Or a steel-wrought and dead-bolted cage, with just enough room to pace around- even with a shackle of black iron around your neck.

Decisions, decisions.

Facade: Are they good at hiding their true intentions?

I’d say no, but saying no implies that there’s an undertaken effort being failed- and there isn’t. Huntsman just… doesn’t care.

And franky? Neither does the Spider Queen, or Syntax, or Goliath. (Although the big guy will make sure you don’t starve while his workmate is out.) Nobody cares for your plight, leaving your hope of escape infinitesimally small.

Garment: Do they take control of Y/N’s clothes?

No, not really. As long as the gear you wear is practical, Huntsman won’t so much as bat an eye. Comfort and function are equally important, and that’s something he understands quite well.

If he does manage to catch you, expect to be given “luxury” clothes made from the bodies of his previous quarry. His webbing holds

Handicap: How do they handle Y/N being or becoming disabled?

If the disability occurs before he catches them, Huntsman may well drop his current obsession and find a new one. After all, he’s not looking for a pitiful cripple- he warns a powerful warrior! Why remain with someone who can no longer deftly escape his grasp?

If it happens afterwards, the arachnoid simply takes it as a permanent mark of his victory over you. You’ve got a limp or a shaky wrist or a few missing fingers- and he smiles wide when he see the struggle you undertake.

Proof of the colossal task surmounted- how could he not be proud of himself?

Intertwine: How physical are they? Do they enjoy skinship and touch?

His touch is rough and challenging, constant spurring towards a vicious fight and a potential attempt at escape- keeping you as a caged little bunny is just no fun. If our dear Huntsman can push until you snap and lash, he’ll be all the happier for it.

Just remember- this isn’t a game, and he won’t be going easy on you.

Jaunt: Are they willing to take Y/N out? Where do they go?

Not unless you’re willing to hunt, butcher, and cook little animals with him. If you are, Huntsman enjoys taking you out on little trips out to local forests and woods.

Kindness: What brings out the best in this yandere?

His kindest scenario involves a young and wild Y/N, feral and furious. He takes you under his wing to train properly, honing the skills you’ve obtained in the wild. Your transformation into a spider demon is inevitable, in this scenario. Huntsman would treat you more like an apprentice than a target, maybe taking you in as his own heir.

Limitation: What holds them back? Work? Family obligations? Physical weakness?

Very, very little. A mild and ever-thinning sense of duty to his queen, but that thread is gossamer. You come first, above all else.

Morals: What lines are they not willing to cross?

Torture. Admittedly, Huntsman isn’t a great person. But I don’t think he’d push that line into physical or psychological torment- he’s got his limits, especially when it comes to someone he actually sort of cares about.

Nausea: Can they tend to an illness, or would they rely on a doctor?

If natural remedies and rest don’t work, he’ll take you to Syntax to have your symptoms properly examined. Huntsman doesn’t want to threaten a doctor into seeing you, or run the risk of an escape while bringing you out, so he’ll just steal the needed medicine.

Obcordate: What reminds them of Y/N?

Rabbits scurrying to their burrows. Doves flying to their nests in fright. Fawns sheltering behind their mothers. Little prey animals running to hide away until the dawn rises once more and offers comfort from lurking shadows.

Pacify: How do they comfort Y/N? Do they even bother trying?

If you’re on the younger end (15-19), Huntsman will rummage up a little bit of pity to offer you cured meats and a fur jacket to wear. It’s not much, but it’s proof there’s a little bit of kindness in his heart somewhere.

If you’re on the older end, well… tough luck.

Queue: Do they have something of equal or greater importance to Y/N?

No. His loyalty to the Spider Queen comes close at first, but he eventually ditches her to pursue you more viciously.

Unless… he goes yandere for Sandy, too. With a younger Y/N and a budding obsession with the big blue sweetheart, I could see Huntsman trying to build himself a little family- however crude and forced.

Redemption: Could they grow out of their obsession and make amends with Y/N?

Dear lord, no. There is literally one circumstance in which he gives up on utterly decimating or owning you: the two of you fighting off the Mayor together and fighting the Lady Bone Demon alongside him.

The above mentioned scenario makes him behave more kindly, but he won’t give up the obsessive desire to possess.

Sobriquet- What nicknames do for they have for their obsession?

Morsel, little minnow, little dove, fresh meat… anything that makes you sound small and mouthwatering.

If you’ve animal attributes across your body, expect him to refer to you by whatever collateral adjective applies to your lineage.

Troop: How many people do they obsess over? Is that obsession spread equally?

One or two- it’s either you, or you and Sandy. If it’s both of you, his time and effort is split roughly half-and-half.

Underdog: Who‘s on the yandere’s side? Would they help out?

No one is explicitly helping him (unless mutually yandere Silktea is a thing, and then Sandy does enable him, unfortunately) but no one is stopping him, either. None of his fellow spider demons care whether he has you or not, leaving Huntsman virtually free to do as he pleases while pursuing you.

Vocalize: How do they justify their actions?

Huntsman doesn’t bother to do so- what he’s doing is wrong, but he revels in it anyhow. Why care about mortal laws or logic? All they do is hamper his fun.

White Whale: Why do they pursue Y/N, exactly?

If you’re strong and capable, you’ve got a chance of catching this spider’s eyes. That’s about it- he wants someone just as vicious and powerful (or at least as capable) as he is.

Xanthous: What do they really want?

A way to elevate his skills, and that’s about it. When it comes to his ‘yandere’ side, he’s high on obsession and low on love. It’s one of the reasons he’s willing to kill Y/N- their worth to him is mostly temporary, based on their power and techniques.

Youth: How old is Y/N in comparison to them? Younger, same age, or older?

Same age, maybe a little older. A child won’t have the experience he’s looking for- this arachnoid specifically wants a good hunt. There’s no joy or triumph in butchering a helpless child.

If you do happen to be a child who impressed him, he’ll abduct you. Maybe a few weeks will be spent waiting in a dusty, web-covered cellar, only for him to come in and stab a venom-drone into the base of your spine. A little hunting buddy doesn’t sound like an awful thing to have, after all.

Zealous: Do they pursue Y/N doggedly, or are they more laidback and casual with their approach?

It doesn’t get much more zealous than viciously pursuing someone as though they were a fleeing beast. Every night is spent fortifying your defenses and prepping weaponry, all to meet him in the morning and fight desperately to ward the demon off.

Author’s Choice:

[stealeroflemons]

eah characters on road trips because I'm going on a road trip but our RV had a bunch of mold so now we're taking a car instead hahahaha send prayers for my sanity please #23

imagine they're all on a roadtrip in a bus or something idk

Briar is 100% napping half the time no matter how long the trip is

She brings pillows, blankets, and the "super comfy neck pillow" her mom gave her during Thronecoming and headphones

Faybelle is a huge sour candy fan and refuses to share with anyone but Briar (little secret here, Faybelle buys a shit ton of snacks purely for her and Briar to share together)

She also has to sit a certain way so her wings don't get too cramped

Maddie is asking "are we there yet" every twenty minutes, making everyone miserable, until Lizzie makes her drink a sleepy-time tea

Lizzie is playing card games with Kitty when Kitty isn't taking a cat nap

Apple gets major motion sickness (which is weird because she rides a dragon just fine) and always feels bad when people complain about her having her window open

Melody and Sparrow argue over who's music to blast on the bluetooth speaker until everyone agrees on singing whatever's on the radio station to pass time

Hunter and Ashlynn are playing "I spy" with different plant species and Jillian and Nina join in halfway through out of boredom

Ginger bakes everyone treats for the trip and sorts them in little goodie bags with their names on them and almost everyone finds it adorable

Raven is tuning everyone out listening to podcasts about self help and how to deal with social anxiety

Rosabella and Darling sit together and nap on each other's shoulders because they thought it was a great idea to have a movie marathon the night before in their dorm

Daring and Dexter kind of awkwardly sit together, not really knowing if they should talk to each other or just do their separate things

The Wonderlandians will speak in Riddlish to each other and solve puzzles together like they did when they were kids

Cerise and Ramona are itching to get out of the bus the entire trip, complaining that their legs are cramped and that they need to run off some energy

Farrah and Cedar are probably the most tame people the entire trip besides Meeshell and Humphrey