#hit by the 6000 years thought again

[hopelesslysleepy]

It's about the yearning, and the pining, and the aching, and the unspoken desires, and the cautiously spoken things, and the distance, and the excuses, and the heartache, and the wanting, and the burning, and the insurmountable odds, and the ineffable love.

[axelsagewrites]

Roy Kent*Charitiy

Pairing: Roy Kent x reader

Word count: 1535

Warnings: Rupert existing and Roy being Roy

Masterlist here

Ever since last year when Rupert crashed annual charity ball and donated a butt load of money to steal her thunder, she was determined to make this year's even better. It was odd to you that someone donating so much to a good cause was grounds for revenge but then again, you'd met Rupert. He really was the worst. 

She'd gone all out this year, making sure she lined up at least 3 famous performers that equally hated Rupert and inviting everyone who was anyone. You were automatically on the list as her assistant but and also as Roy's plus one. It was at last year’s ball that Roy ended up walking you home from and kissing you in your doorway. Cut to this year and you were now in a semi-secret committed relationship with Richmond’s newest coach. You had both decided not to share to the press and after much convincing Roy let you tell Rebecca and the team.

One of the nights biggest earners was of course the charity auction. Roy had refused at least 19 times to do it but eventually with enough eyelash batting and promises of favours you'd convinced him to sign up. All the boys had signed up, even Will was forced to sign up.

To make things even more bizarre Rebecca herself was being auctioned. Though you as her assistant had also hired someone to come bid on her so she'd never have to have the date but still she was technically on the roster. What you hadn't expected was for her to turn to you with puppy dog eyes. 

"We need more women on the list. Cmon, you know how it is. Think of the children,"

Roy was more outrage you had said yes than the fact he had been convinced to do it as well. You however were sure that it would be fine. After all people were there to bet on the footballers to play a game with their kid or show off to their friends or whatever other questionable activities they had planned. Not some assistant. 

What you hadn't accounted for was that you were no longer just an assistant. Not only did you often appear in pictures with the team, but rumours floated around that you were dating at least one if not multiple of the boys. Between always being around famous footballers or the fact Keeley Jones was your best friend you’d forgotten people actually knew who you were now.

The night was fine to begin and halfway through the auction Rebecca had already hit the same record as last year but that was not going to stop her. Danni had gone for £5000, Sam for £6000, Keeley for £10,000. Yes, even Keeley had donated one of her Friday nights to Rebecca's cause.

Roy had practically begged you that if the old lady who won him last year was going to win that you steal the win and he'd give you the money so sure as fate you had just won a night with your boyfriend for £8000. This was only going to fuel the fires in the tabloids, but it was worth saving Roy another painful night with a toothless granny.

"Up next we have my dear, dear friend who many of you will recognise as the teams shadow. Come on up"(y/n)," Rebecca said, clapping as you walked up with an awkward smile.

" Can we start the bidding at £500?" You thought this would be over and done with in less than a couple minutes.

"Five thousand pounds," Ruperts voice came booming from the back of the room followed by the sound of Roy’s chair scrapping against the floor as he stood up, "Forgive me for being so late my dear Rebecca. A family emergency kept me away, but I couldn't miss this for the world," he said gesturing to the crowd who gave him a round of applause he didn’t deserve, “After all it is for the children,”

For once Rebecca stammered for words before finally stuttering out "Yes well thank you Rupert. Do I hear six?"

"Ten thousand," Roy boomed across the room. Small gasps left several tables as you stood, eyes bulging out at the moment happening. You’d got to witness the bidding war that went for Jamie last year with Keeley spending twenty-five grand, but you knew that both Rupert and Roy were far more stubborn. this could go for a while.

"This isn't how auctions exactly work boys-" Rebecca tried to cut in, knowing how stubborn Rupert was and how violent Roy could get, but to no avail. she looked at you with a sympathetic glance as the carnage began.

"fifteen thousand," Rupert said, walking to stand by Roy's table, his wife a few paces behind standing awkwardly. 

"twenty,"

"thirty,"

"thirty-five-" you heard Jamie's voice pipe up followed by a loud growl from Roy who was glaring daggers in the previously laughing boy, "withdrawn!" Jamie yelped as he shuffled his chair towards Keeley. you almost felt bad for Jamie as you tried not to laugh.

"forty-five," Roy yelled before turning to Rupert, whispering something in his ear as he went to say fifty.

You could practically see Ruperts sweat dripping down his forehead as Roy pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his face, "Hard to beat that," Rupert smiled as he carefully stepped away from Roy, slowly moving back to his wife, “I withdraw,” Rupert said before pulling his wife to go join some random table filled with old white men.

"Forty-five going once, twice," Rebecca said as she scrambled to grab her gavel, "sold to Mr Kent. What a generous donation, everyone let's give him a round of applause," Rebecca said as she started the claps as everyone followed suit to try mask the awkward tension. “Always such a generous soul,”

You gave Rebecca a sorry smile as you walked back down to Roy, wondering how you’d explain this to the tabloids, but Roy had other plans. As you walked up to him, ready to quietly thank him, Roy stepped forward, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his chest. The kiss was brief, but it knocked the wind out your lungs and left you wishing you had a private room as whoops and hollers came from the room around. You pulled back, breathless and grinning like an idiot. 

"Just to be clear that isn't included in the final sale," Rebecca said from the stand, trying to avoid lawsuits and trying desperately not to laugh since the auction still had its final prize left, Jamie.

"What did you say to him?" you asked, as you finally say back down, hand in hand with Roy. 

"I told him I knew where he lived and enough people to hold him down if he didn't back off what's mine, “Roy said as cool as a cucumber as if he didn't just threaten to beat a multi-millionaire, possibly billionaire at this point. "Plus, I said I'd tell his wife about you know who," 

This however caught your, Keeley’s, and Jamie's attention, "Who's you know who?" Keeley ask as you all three leaned in for the dirt. 

"Fuck knows," Roy barked making you all look at each other confused, "once a scumbag always a scumbag. There's probably some poor girl out there he’s fucked I just don't know which one," 

The three of you began to cackle as Rebecca announced her last prize of the night. “Time to shine,” Jamie said as he got up, running a hand through his hair before jogging up to join Rebecca on stage. His cocky joy went from pale faced terror when the woman who won Roy last year won him this year but for £9000. Jamie returned to the table, no pep in his step or swagger in his walk as he sunk down into his chair, “Why did you save me?” he whispered in betrayal.

“I’m not your girlfriend anymore, remember,” Keeley teased as she sat back in her chair, “Call us even for last year babes,”

Jamie turned from Keeley to you and Roy, looking like a kicked puppy, “Roy?”

“Mate I’ve just spent 50 grand tonight. go fuck yourself,” Roy said before what was left of his drink.

“It’s for children Roy,” Jamie said as he sulked back into his chair.

“Fuck the children,” Roy said with no hesitation, “I’ve just bought them a really fucking nice orphanage to stop some old prick touching my bird,”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how Jamie pouted in his seat, trying to avoid the old woman’s little waves. “You do release your little stunt means we need to do press now?” you said, glancing up to a now groaning Roy.

“Already on its babes,” Keeley said from where she sat on her phone, “I’ve been waiting for this for months. knew you two wouldn’t go for my soft launch option,”

“Fucks a soft launch?” Roy said, confusing racking his face as he turned to you.

you patted his arm and shook your head, “You just let me and Keels deal with this yeah?”

Roy sighed as he sat back in his chair shaking his head, “I fucking hate charity,”

[ineffable-suffering]

The Curious Incident of The Flaming Sword in Good Omens

Just like so many other Good Omens red herrings, hints and *Aziraphale voice* clues, the question of 'What the fuck ist the deal with Aziraphale's flaming sword' has been absolutely tormenting my mind ever since S1 dropped all those years ago.

And while many of my other questions about S2 (like 'What the fuck is the deal with the Eccles cakes' or 'Who the fuck made the Gabriel statue') remain unanswered and could, possibly, just not matter at all and I should just get the fuck over them– the unsolved case of Aziraphale's flaming sword in S1 has always seemed like a weirdly important blind spot to me.

So, in an attempt to finally solve this knot in my brain, I made a timeline for the bloody Flaming Sword because what else would I spend my Friday evening on. Here goes nothing, I thought:

Aziraphale gets issued the sword by Heaven to guard the Garden of Eden in 4004 BC, and gives it away to the humans.

God asks him about it right after they humans have left Eden, Aziraphale lies to her and before even finishing speaking, God just loggs off and doesn't seem to care anymore.

The sword seems to be lost for the next 6000 years to follow and, once again, no one really cares.

The first time we see it again is when the International Express Man delivers it to War in the present day.

The next time we see it after that, is when Pepper effectively kicks war in the shin, makes her drop the sword and proceeds to anihilate her with it.

Brian and Wensleydale do the same to Famine and Pollution.

Aziraphale then wields the sword once more, despite never having to really use it (but hey, it looks capital-B Badass).

Lastly, our Holy Delivery Guy then picks up the sword together with the other (now deceased?) Horsmen's artefacts and they once again vanish.

Needless to say, I found myself nothing the wiser after making this timeline. It seemed completely useless. I still had no idea why the sword even existed and why they kept making such a big fucking fuss about it all throughout Season 1. So, I decided to make another list, this time with all the random ass questions I had about this random ass sword:

Why was it issued to Aziraphale in the first place? Since when does an angel need a random flaming weapon to protect two (2) humans that are already being guarded by a hundred-meter-high wall, when he could very well just miracle away any and every threat to both himself and them?

Was he given the sword to defend himself against demons? If so, why would they give him a burning blade instead of, for example, a Supersoaker full of Holy Water? (Sure, I'm fairly certain Supersoakers hadn't been invented yet, but you catch my drift)

Is the sword actually burning with hellfire? If so, it would a) still be a pretty useless weapon against demons, but also b) possibly explain why Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale were able to kill or at least temporarily get rid of three of the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (who, be they whatever they actually are, surely count as some sort of immortal entities just like angels and demons do)

Did the sword actually kill War, Pollution and Famine? After all, the World as we knew it did get reinstated by Adam again once they managed to stop Armageddon. Does that mean that the three Horsemen were revived again too? Unless Season 2 takes place in a war-less, pollution-less and famine-less world, they must have somehow made their return (or never really died in the first place)

Where. The Fuck. Is. The Sword. Now? And why does it bother me so much???????

Alas, just like so many other questions, these too seemed to remain unsolved. And since the fucking sword didn't make a comeback in S2, I guessed that it probably just wasn't more than ... well, a randomly flaming, randomly misplaced, randomly unexplained Flaming Sword.

Nothing more than a plot device.

Hmm, right. A ... plot device.

Hang on. (And that's when it finally hit me.)

It's a fucking plot device.

Most authors and consumers of media are familiar with the use of plot devices in story telling. However, I personally had only every seen characters be used as such, to merely bring an important point across or further underline or advance a story's or main character's development or plot.

It wasn't until I was about to simply give up because I couldn't see my way out of the seemingly unlimited sword-related questions anymore, that I realized: There are no answers to those questions. Just like there are no deeper meanings to any other plot devices. Their sole purpose it so shine some light onto another, more important thing, story or character.

And in this case, that character is Aziraphale. Or more so Aziraphale's choices and his relationship with and belief in God and Heaven. The Flaming Sword (or more so Aziraphale's giving-away of it) is the first way of showing us that Aziraphale:

doesn't always aka pretty much never obey God's will (even all the way back in The Beginning),

will lie to God about disobeying Her

and possibly, just like Crowley joked about, was the one who by trying to do a Good Thing, accidentally gave away something that would later somehow become a literal War weapon, lmao

It also tells us that:

God apparently doesn't always care or cast them out of Heaven when an angel actively disobeys and lies to Her. Or, for all we know, Aziraphale giving the sword away and not admitting to it was somehow part of Her Ineffable Plan anyway.

Heaven is apparently absolutely useless at keeping track of its very few ethereal belongings. That's what you get for outsourcing work, you capitalists.

Right at The End, the sword returns to its owner who had it right in The Beginning too: Aziraphale. And not just that: It actually ends up saving the humans. For the second time. First all the way back in Eden, when it was just Adam and Eve. And now, 6000 years later, at what would have been the end of the World. Very poetic, *wipes away tear*

So yeah, there you go. That's the big revelation I have come to. Would I have preferred to uncover yet another sneaky Gaimanian easter egg just so I could wave it in your face like some sort of a puzzle solved at a scavenger hunt?

Sure.

But hey, sometimes flaming sword plot devices are just that. And I'll make my peace (or War?) with it.

[mid-nighttiger]

since i was looking at codywan ao3 stats over the years, i thought it'd be interesting to compare with the three other biggest pt-era ships. at the time of posting (2023/08/01), the largest pt-era ship on ao3 is anakin/padme, followed by anakin/obi-wan, then cody/obi-wan, then obi-wan/qui-gon

[Image ID: Graph of total works on AO3 by ship. Quiobi is shown as a blue line, Obikin as red, Anidala as yellow, and Codywan as green. The horizontal axis shows the years from 1997 to 2023, and the vertical axis shows the number of total works from 0 to 9000. /End ID]

quiobi starts increasing moderately but steadily from 1999 to about 4000 works in 2023. there are under 100 anidala and obikin works dated 1999-2009, then both ships start to increase slowly, then faster from 2015-2019, and even faster from 2019-2023 (anidala faster than obikin). anidala overtakes quiobi at about 2500 works in 2019 to reach nearly 9000 in 2023. obikin overtakes quiobi at about 2750 works in 2020 to reach about 8000 in 2023. there are no codywan works until 2009, then it increases slowly from 2015-2019 and grows rapidly from 2019-2023. codywan overtakes quiobi at 3500 works in 2022 to hit nearly 6000 works in 2023

[Image ID: Graph of works posted per year by ship. Quiobi is shown as a blue line, Obikin as red, Anidala as yellow, and Codywan as green. The horizontal axis shows the years from 1997 to 2023, and the vertical axis shows the number of works posted from 0 to 2500. /End ID]

these two graphs confirm my feeling based on my experiences* in sw fandom that quiobi is an old, steadily growing ship. the phantom menace in 1999 sparked the ship, and there has been a moderate but steady 50-100 works per year since then til 2014, when it starts to grow. after 2016 and 2020, there are some moderate step-ups in the number of works posted per year (200-300 and 300-500, respectively), but not the huge spikes of the other ships

anidala and obikin share pretty similar growth patterns, with the number of works per year being pretty low until 2016, when it jumps to 500-600 (overtaking the number of quiobi works posted per year), then jumps again in 2020 to over 1000 and has been growing ever since. i already discussed codywan in my previous post, but in brief, there is a low growth from 2015-2019 of about 100 works per year, before it spikes in 2020 and catches up with the number of anidala and obikin works posted yearly

*when i got into star wars fandom, quiobi was the pt-era largest ship. i never felt that it was losing popularity, just that other ships were growing faster

[Image ID: Graph of year over year growth by ship. Quiobi is shown as a blue line, Obikin as red, Anidala as yellow, and Codywan as green. The horizontal axis shows the years from 2000 to 2023, and the vertical axis shows the percent growth from -100 to 1100. /End ID]

what's interesting here that all of the ships had spike in growth in 2016, most likely from the force awakens being released in december 2015 and sparking new interest in star wars, and 2020, possibly from folks quarantining at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic and spending more time writing. season 7 of the clone wars being released in 2020 could have also been a factor. it would be interesting to see if other fandoms also had a spike in new works in 2020. anidala had a spike in 2005, when revenge of the sith was released. there are no obikin works dated 2004 on ao3, which is why there is a gap in the graph from 2004-2006 (percents don't play nicely with zeroes). not shown on this graph is the jump from 1 quiobi work dated 1998 to 104 works dated 1999, because that is a 10,000% increase that completely destroys the vertical range

notes:

largest ships were determined from the relationship tags in the "Star Wars - All Media Types" tag on ao3

works from each ship tag on ao3 were filtered by date. no other filters were used. some works may have been tagged with multiple ships (e.g., codywan and anidala) and/or with a 3-way ship (e.g., obianidala)

each year shows the number of works at the end of that year (i.e., 2022/12/31, 2021/12/31, etc)

data for works posted by year and for % growth for 2023 was extrapolated from the number of fics posted in 2023 so far. at the time of making these graphs (2023/08/01), there have been 191 quiobi, 1391 obikin, 2205 anidala, and 1179 codywan works posted in 2023

technically, the graphs show the number of works updated, not posted, as i could not find any option to filter works on ao3 by date posted

since quiobi, obikin, and anidala are all significantly older than ao3 itself, these graphs are of limited scope pre-2009. pre-2009 data is affected by which works were imported from older archives and/or backdated by their creators moving to ao3

deleted works were not accounted for

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Hollowed Out

Summary: Louis can't bring himself to leave Lestat out in the storm, instead he takes him with him back to the hotel. Lestat may be an exhausted shell of his former self, but there's a familiarity there that makes Louis's heart ache. Talking with him, holding him, just getting to see him. It's all too much and not enough.

Some Louis/Lestat post NOLA reunion fic from yours truly. 6000 words of both fluff and angst that are the product of my severe brain rot and things I've been wanting to write for a while now. Enjoy!

The sun would rise soon, Louis could feel it. His mind getting slower, his body growing heavier with each passing moment. In truth he would have liked to fall asleep, though he fought the urge to give into the sun. He could remain awake in daylight hours, it was perfectly possible, and he didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to think.

Lestat had been asleep for almost an hour. It was not the sun that had brought him down, he was too old for that, it was good old fashioned exhaustion. He could not have been sleeping well in his shack. 

There he was, Lestat, asleep in the only bed of the room. It had taken a while to get him there. To even get him to agree to take shelter from the storm had been an unwelcome challenge, and then convincing him to rest once they had arrived at the hotel had been another one. But once his head had hit the pillows he had been gone in a matter of seconds. Louis had been almost amused to see it, had watched in disbelief as Lestat faded away in the middle of a sentence. One moment he had mumbled about taking up the violin again, the next he had been fast asleep. 

It didn’t seem like an easy sleep. He kept mumbling to himself, something Louis couldn’t remember him having ever done before. He had shared a coffin with Lestat for a good while, he knew his sleep habits better than he would have liked, and none of them had been talking. But talking was a strong word for it. Even with the vampiric hearing it was hard to make out words, Louis only caught a few ones in French. None of them words he understood. His French was rusty and he had done little about it. He was certain he could have pretty easily refreshed it, the dark gift made learning a quick thing and he had once spoken it as good as fluently, though the thought had always been off-putting. 

Still Louis sat there, in the weird armchair that was always in the corner of hotel bedrooms, and wished he could have understood what it was that brought Lestat such distress in his dreams. Why could he not be at peace when he was finally in a room with a ceiling that didn’t threaten to give in at any moment? Always, even then, there was a part of Lestat he couldn’t reach. 

What a bad idea it was to even have him there. To have him in his hotel room. Louis hadn’t meant for it to happen that way, but he couldn’t have just left Lestat out in the hurricane. Lestat had clearly not been in any mind to take proper cover unless persuaded, Louis had been needed for that. And where else would he have taken him? That had been the only place in his mind as he himself had meant to return there.

There had been several weird looks when he had returned from his walk in the outright dangerous weather with an unwashed man dressed in an even more unwashed robe. Mostly from other hotel guests, the staff was paid not to look. If only those glancing over their shoulders as he lead Lestat by the arm through the lobby had known the robe was over a hundred years old. Or that the two of them were more than 400 years old together. It had been good once they got to the room and Lestat no longer had to cower from the gazes of others. It had been weird to see him do so. He had always been a bit of an attention whore, sponging up every little look thrown his way. 

It meant so much and so little. He had no intention of being anything but his own companion, but seeing Lestat again had made something break in him. On good or bad he didn’t know yet. Probably bad. It concerned himself and Lestat, after all. Could there ever be anything but destruction? Maybe. He was free to try. He was free to do anything. The world was at his feet and it was huge. Endless. So why was it Lestat? Why, after so many years, was it Lestat he visited? Why had the thought of pursuing him again even occurred? It sure as hell wasn’t what Louis wanted. Not once had he truly found himself wanting what had been. He had only wanted to see Lestat, to talk with him. He was not seeking out a relationship. Not with Lestat or with anyone else, for that matter.

So many questions, so few answers. Though he knew a few things. He knew Lestat was asleep in his room. He knew they had wept in each others arms. That had he been dressed in lighter colours there would have been visible blood stains on his shoulder. He knew that Lestat had spoken of Claudia. That Lestat was the only person in the world who also mourned her. He knew it was so terribly cruel that it was so. Yet he could not change that.

For the first time since Lestat had fallen asleep Louis moved. He uncrossed his legs, left the armchair. What was it Daniel had called that phenomenon? The hotel cuck chair? Yes, that was it. Typically Daniel.

With a small smile on his face he walked over to the large window of the bedroom. Outside the storm raged on and on, he heard the wind howling and the rain was beating violently against the glass. There would be no sunlight that day, there was no denying that, still Louis felt a slight unease at knowing that the blinds weren’t enough to entirely keep out daylight. He didn’t know what he felt about leaving Lestat in the bed. Most likely everything would be fine, but how could he be sure? And the alternative was sharing the coffin. That he knew what he felt about. He didn’t want to share his coffin with anyone, the thought made him uneasy.

Even in the warm light from the lamp on the nightstand Lestat’s skin looked grey. His diet of periodic starvation and rats had not been kind to his complexion. He looked as a very sick human would. One not far from death. Still it was better when he was sleeping than when he had been awake. It had to be the eyes that did it. Huge and watery and so very blue.

Against himself Louis found that he walked closer to the bed. The floor was carpeted, he didn’t make a sound as he approached the sleeping figure. He felt like a ghost. Except he wasn’t a ghost. At least not more so than the man in the bed.

Lestat had stopped his incoherent mumbling, but his forehead laid in deep wrinkles. Never had Louis seen a sleeping person look so worried. What did he worry for? What troubled him so much?

He had already moved closer than he had intended and still he took another step. And another step. And another step. Until he was standing directly above Lestat, looking down on him.

The lamp didn’t do much for the luster of his skin, though it whispered promises of a gleaming mane of golden hair. It was just barely possible to tell how it looked when it was washed and brushed. How many times had Louis not ran his hands through that hair? Softly raked his nails across Lestat’s scalp, tugged sharply to get Lestat’s face to where he wanted it to be, played with the locks as they waited for sleep to take them in the coffin.

His hand trembled ever so slightly when he reached out. He shouldn’t have done so and he knew it. Still his palm landed on the tangled mess, smoothed it out over the pillow. It was not as soft as he remembered it. But then maybe Lestat had not been as particular with his hair lately as he had been in the past. 

The fingers continued. Louis couldn’t say it was by his own bidding, he was just watching it happen. But he felt Lestat’s waxy skin when the fingertips touched the gaunt cheek. He felt how dry his lips were. Not enough blood, not enough nourishment. 

He would have jumped backwards when an arm shot out from under the blanket and grabbed the leg of his pants if it hadn’t been for the iron grip the hand held him in. The movement had been so quick he hadn’t even seen it happen, he had just felt the hand taking hold of him.

He released a deep breath, tried to force his heart to beat slower. Looking down he saw Lestat’s fingers buried so deeply in the fabric that his knuckles were whitening. That, unlike the talking, was a sleep habit he recognised well enough. Holding onto whatever he could reach with all his might. In the coffin there had been only Louis. Many days Lestat’s hands had clutched his nightshirt with incredible strength. It had been irritating and endearing.

When Louis gently tried to free himself Lestat’s other hand came out and wrapped its long fingers around his wrist. 

God, the size of those hands, was Louis’s first thought. Shut the fuck up, Louis, was the second. The third was the realisation of that he was down one hand and would likely not be able to free himself without his pants ripping, and that he could do without. 

So he sighed, prepared himself for what he would have to do. And then did it.

”Hey” he said, maybe sharper than he should have, shaking Lestat by the shoulder with his free hand. ”Wake up.”

He felt the moment Lestat returned to consciousness because both his hand and his leg was returned to him. He heard Lestat’s heartbeat pick up speed, even as it remained worryingly slow. There was no strength in that heart. A moment later he also saw a pair of big blue eyes gazing up at him.

”Louis?” Lestat asked hoarsely, his hands retreating to under the blanket.

There was a pang go guilt in Louis over having woken him up. There was such misery around Lestat. It seemed to spread with the very air he breathed. Though he quickly pushed it aside.

”Who else would it be?”

Lestat looked confused, disoriented almost. His eyes dashed between Louis and other parts of the room as if he could not recognise it. 

”You came back to me.”

”I came to visit you, Lestat.”

Lestat’s gaze settled on him and Louis watched him grow less erratic. He was relieved when it seemed like Lestat remembered where he was, what had happened.

”You should shower” Louis told him, taking a step back so that he would be out of reach.

A few seconds where Lestat merely looked at him as if he hadn’t understood passed. Then slowly he pushed himself up into a sitting position using both hands. 

Weak. Pathetic, almost. It made Louis softer than it should have, and he despised himself for it. All needed to bring down his defences was a look. He knew well what a beast Lestat could be. 

”Please, Louis, I’m so—”

”The sun’ll rise soon and I’m not getting in a coffin with you while you smell like a rotting house.”

Somehow he took both of them by surprise.

”In a coffin?” Lestat asked, his eyebrows raised.

He would have to follow through. Couldn’t walk it back. Damn it.

”Yeah. Were you planning on hiding out in the closet?”

When he thought of it the walk-in closet wouldn’t have been that bad of a place to hide. There were no windows in there, all required for total darkness was closing the door. Not as comfortable as a bed or a coffin, though in a crisis it would have done. Perhaps he would have made a nest for himself in there if he hadn’t decided to take a coffin with him.

It was apparent Lestat had not planned much at all. His gaze wandered through the room before settling on a spot on the floor.

”Oh that I have not done since I was a boy” he then said.

It took a moment for the meaning of those words to dawn on Louis, and then he couldn’t keep from smiling.

”Was that a joke?” he asked. ”Are you joking?”

A small smile appeared on Lestat’s lips then. Suddenly he seemed almost, just almost, alive again. 

”Perhaps.”

Lestat swung his legs over the edge of the bed and moved to stand. That robe was in desperate need of washing. He would have to see to that it was done with outmost care, it was an old piece.

”How do you even know what that means? That’s from after your time.”

Louis could remember when people had started using that phrase.

”One of the young ones” Lestat said.

Louis sensed the dismissal in that and so pushed no further. No pushing. No making things harder than they already were. Only easy things. Or, well, not easy perhaps. Nothing was easy. Though as easy as possible. For the time being. The rest they could deal with later.

Still Lestat had told him something. There had been several fledglings. The one with the rats was not the first. How many? Who were they? What had become of them? Had Lestat made them himself? 

”The bathroom?”

Louis nodded towards the bathroom door.

”Be quick about it, will you?”

Lestat said nothing to that. He went into the bathroom and carefully closed the door behind him.

Louis waited for the lock to click, though it didn’t. Lestat hadn’t locked the door. There had rarely been any locked doors in the Rue Royale. Not even Claudia’s. She had often kept it closed, but not locked.

Louis returned to the armchair. Sat again with his legs crossed and looked towards the window. Out at the dark night.

The thoughts were so many he ended up thinking nothing at all. Lestat, New Orleans, life, Daniel, Dubai, eternity. It was all just spinning around, making him dizzy. So much, all at once. Maybe visiting New Orleans had been biting off more than he could chew. Still he didn’t regret it one bit. What a night it had been. He felt alive. 

It struck him suddenly he couldn’t hear the shower running. It had been minutes. Hadn’t he told Lestat to hurry?

”Lestat?” he called.

He knew Lestat could hear him. There was just a wall between them, practically nothing at all. Still no response.

”You alright?” he tried.

He was about to speak for a third time when there was finally a response.

”Quite alright” Lestat said. ”Do you have clean clothes I could borrow? Preferably something comfortable.”

He hand’t even thought of that. He had wanted Lestat out of the robe, though it had not gone further than so. Not far enough to realise he would have to step into something new. 

Louis had not unpacked any of his clothes, couldn’t be bothered with putting them in the closet. It was all in his suitcases. He had brought more than one set of pyjamas, Lestat could take one of those. 

”You haven’t got too much time” he reminded Lestat as he still couldn’t hear running water.

A moment later the water was on. What had taken him so long? What had he been doing in there? What was there to do? It was a hotel bathroom, it wasn’t the most interesting room in the world. None of the rooms in the little suite were. That was part of it being a hotel. The soullessness was a feature.

He dug up the navy pyjama set and put it aside for Lestat. It was a little worn out, though that meant it would be a better fit for him. He was broader than Louis even as he was starved. 

If it had not been storming so badly Louis would have suggested a hunt. Lestat was in dire need of it. But as it was Louis could only imagine seeing the colour come back to him, seeing vitality pour into him as he drained a victim. No bones poking out anywhere, only the solid figure that was Lestat’s. Light in his eyes, flushed skin, energy in every little gesture. 

It could have been a trick of his imagination that it was growing lighter outside, still he didn’t want to risk anything. After he had changed into his own sleeping attire he pulled down the blinds, leaving the room illuminated only by the lamp on the nightstand.

The coffin he had placed along one of the walls. It was a simple one, he had acquired it just for the trip. Brown wood, no carvings or inscriptions. It wasn’t insanely comfortable, though good enough to sleep in. He had planned on keeping it hidden away, but then he had realised he could leave orders for his room not to be cleaned during his stay there. No one was to enter but him. And the weird blond in dirty clothes. 

He took a lap around the room. Then he went into the adjacent room, the one made as some sort of lounging area. There he made sure the door to the suite was indeed closed and that the lock functioned properly. Then back into the bedroom, carefully closing that door behind him. 

The water was still running, he had been quick in examining the room. Without thinking too much of it he took the pyjamas and entered into the bathroom, intending to just set down the clothes on the counter and exit again. 

Though the shower walls were made of glass. And though quite properly fogged up from the hot water there was colour and outline. He saw Lestat’s body through the glass. Saw him move as he washed his hair. 

Louis had washed his hair for him a few times. In those quiet, gentle nights. Lestat in the bathtub, slow music in the background, Louis’s hands gently massaging shampoo into the hair. Lestat trying to tempt him into sharing the bath with him. Giving in, getting undressed, letting himself be embraced both by the warm water and by Lestat. No sex, just skin against skin, just being held.

He wondered what Lestat’s response would have been if he had asked to join him in the shower.

“I needed this, didn’t I?” Lestat asked, his tone more casual than Louis’s would have been if he had spoken in that moment.

If he was bothered by that Louis had come in without knocking it was impossible to hear it. But then he also had his back to Louis, wasn’t able to see how he had stopped and looked a little more than he should have.

“‘Needed’ is too tame a word, I’d say” Louis got out, averting his eyes. 

He had looked like something that had been dug up in the bayou. Or just a rat from the street. 

Lestat gave a low hum at that. 

“The warm water feels nice.” 

Judging by how much steam was in the room the water was more than warm. It felt like Louis was just breathing water. 

“I can imagine.”

He couldn’t help but wonder when Lestat had last had a shower. If it had happened in the last decade. 

”Almost done?”

”A minute.”

He left the clothes on the counter by the sink and then left the room again. Had to lean against the door for a moment after he had closed it. 

There had been more than a minute when Louis heard Lestat turn off the shower, though he hadn’t said anything more. Allowed Lestat the comfort of properly cleaning himself off. 

He was sitting in the coffin when Lestat finally came out of the bathroom. Dressed in his pyjamas, hair damp and ruffled. Still gaunt, skin still a ghastly shade, though at least he was clean. It was a step closer to something that resembled a person. To something that resembled Lestat.

”Your hair’s a mess” Louis pointed out.

”It has been worse.”

Had it? 

Louis moved as far to one side of the coffin as he could so that Lestat would fit with him, thought that enough of a signal for Lestat to join him. 

Still he didn’t. He remained by the bathroom door. His hands were clasped in front of him, his head bent down ever so slightly.

”What’re you waiting for?” Louis had to ask.

Lestat took a slow, in every way uncertain, step towards him.

”You do not want me in that coffin, do you?”

That had been true initially, but most of all he wanted Lestat safe. Wanted him to be in no danger, wanted him to not by hurt by a stray ray of sunshine managing to search its way into the room.

”Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want it” Louis assured him.

Partly a white lie and there was absolutely no need for Lestat to know about it.

Lestat tilted his head to one side, looked at Louis with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

”Oh, Louis” he said softly. ”Saint Louis.”

No one else had ever called him a saint. He certainly was no saint, in neither of his lives had it been even close. Still that was something Lestat had called him. Still Lestat had claimed he was his saint due to some weird idea about destiny or whatever.

”And why am I a saint this time?”

Louis de Pointe du Lac; patron saint of Lestat de Lioncourt. What a world they were living in. 

Nothing was Lestat’s response, he just slowly made his way over to the coffin. He walked as if he waited for Louis to tell him to stop. And Louis didn’t.

It was an unpractised Lestat that came into the coffin with him. The whole ordeal wasn’t very graceful, not on his part either. It had been a while since he had shared a coffin since he hadn’t been sleeping in a coffin himself either.

By the time Lestat had settled against him there had been knees in places he would have rather not had them and he had accidentally put a hand in Lestat’s face. But they had managed to work it out.

Louis closed the lid of the coffin and blessed darkness embraced them. Everything was easier in the small space of a coffin, the world shrunk down. It was as if it was just the two of them. No one existed but them. And it was warm and comforting. 

Lestat moved to make himself more comfortable, laid an arm across Louis’s chest and tucked his head in under Louis’s chin. Suddenly all Louis could smell was the cheap hotel shampoo. It was a scent so generic he couldn’t tell what it was supposed to smell like. Nothing. Probably no perfume in it. Apparently some people were allergic to perfume and so everyone was denied things that smelled good. It was far from the rich colognes he remembered Lestat keeping to. At least he was clean. 

He wrapped his arm around Lestat’s waist so that he could hold him against himself in a more comfortable way. He was cold to the touch. As if he’d only just been outside. It was strange to feel him that way. Finally he understood what Lestat had meant when he brought up those complaints in 1132. And still Louis had been drinking more animal blood then than Lestat seemed to have done in recent years.

“I used to dream of this” Lestat said in a low voice. “I almost felt it sometimes. Your arms around me.” 

“I thought a lot about you, too.”

More than he wanted to admit. 

“Did you?”

“Yeah. It was hard not to.”

The thought of Lestat had come both wanted and unwanted in equal measure. At times he had conjured up the image of him and at times it had assaulted him when he least expected it. 

“Was it hateful thoughts?” 

“Not always.”

Not even most of the time. At times it had been comforting. Familiarity in the middle of all that was new, strange and frightening.

“Did you hate me?” he asked, not allowing himself to consider the question before saying it out loud. 

Lestat hummed at that, sending vibrations through Louis’s entire body. No matter what sounds he made, what words he spoke, it was always done with his entire chest. 

“Occasionally” he finally said. “Not often. It faded quickly. I had wronged you so severely I… I understood why it happened.”

There had been no choice for Claudia. She had been desperate for freedom, their freedom, and Louis had not been able to take that step with her. So she had cut them loose, and that had made Lestat panic.

Even silence was loud in a coffin, and it was no comfortable silence. He waited for Lestat to say something, suspected Lestat waited for him to say something. Neither of them did.

Lestat’s hands on his chest had began moving in light circles and Louis didn’t know which of them Lestat meant to soothe. If he even had an intention with the rubbing or if it was simply another habit he had formed. 

”Why didn’t you burn me?” 

The question came when Louis had already come to accept there would be no more words spoken that night.

”You knew what was needed to destroy me entirely” Lestat continued. ”Yet you did not do it.”

Of all things he could have brought up, why that? Why not anything but that? He had not even known himself until recently. It had been buried in the back of his mind, worked into something different. Something he had recognised as the truth.

”I couldn’t do it” Louis said.

At least he heard himself say it, it didn’t feel like his own words. He could not recognise it as his own voice. His entire being had protested, screamed violently about the pain. He had not been able to move to do it. And Claudia had insisted, had almost begged him to go through with it, and he had—

”It just wasn’t possible. I’d thought I would be able to, but… no.”

Like he had been asked to throw his own heart into the incinerator after having just cut it out of his chest himself. 

”Joined by a chord that you cannot see” Lestat mused.

Did he remember that was what he had said? He had to. The poison had weakened his body, it had not done damage to his mind. He had to remember all that had taken place. What had been said and what had been done.

”But it is real” Louis finished the sentence. 

”And the knife… the knife you pulled on your brother when I first saw you, was it? Almost romantic.”

There was something seriously wrong with Lestat. Louis had been aware of that for more than a hundred years. He was fucked in the head, there was a brand of insanity that he must have trademarked because it was specific to him. And still…

”It just happened to be there.”

”Is that so?”

”Wasn’t planned.”

”Your mind has always been beautiful.”

Louis felt how Lestat tilted his head up so that his face was against his neck. At first he didn’t realise what was happening, Lestat couldn’t possibly be more comfortable that way. 

It struck him when Lestat breathed deeply against his skin and then gave a tortured sigh. 

”Don’t bite” Louis told him. 

No drinking, no sharing what came with drinking. No memories passing between them in a way he wouldn’t be able to control. 

Lestat took another deep breath and then released it, hot air washing over Louis’s throat. 

”No?” he asked.

”No.”

With how Lestat continued to breathe against his skin he was not certain he would accept that. It would have been so easy to break the skin, to have what he so clearly desired. 

Lestat murmured a string of French against him. He recognised ’blood’, he recognised ’sweet’, he recognised ’desire’.

”Go hunt as soon as we wake, drink all you can. But not my blood.”

A shiver ran down his spine when he felt the teeth. Not biting down, not breaking skin, just scraping down the artery.

”Your scent. Intoxicating.”

”Bite and I’ll throw your ass out the window. I’m not kidding, Lestat.”

As it was Lestat was weak. Not as strong as he would have been if he had been healthy. The years he had on Louis would not help him when he was so starved.

The fangs retracted. Instead Lestat kissed where they had been. His lips followed the same path his teeth had, his breathing just as heavy as before. Still the change was obvious. 

Louis heard his own heavy breaths, so very loud in the confined space of the coffin. Everything was loud in the coffin. Whispers, movements, breaths.

He should have pushed him away. He should have stopped it. Instead he wound his fingers into Lestat’s hair, let him continue to kiss his throat. 

It felt so good. The warmth spreading through his body, out to the very tips of his fingers. Once could not hurt, could it? He knew it could. And still he wanted it. There was no stopping once it had began. There had never been. It was worrying how quick they had ended up there again. 

Lestat’s skilful fingers unbuttoned the first two buttons of Louis’ nightshirt and his lips were quick to follow. He pressed kisses all over his chest. Hot kisses, wet kisses. The fangs had returned, Louis felt them in the kisses, though he didn’t bite. No breaking the skin, no drawing blood.

”Lestat” Louis breathed.

He didn’t know if he wanted it to go quicker or slower. If he wanted Lestat’s lips on his own or if he wanted them wrapped around his dick. All he knew was that Lestat’s body pressed up against his own was delicious. His kisses were delicious. His hands on Louis were delicious.

”Yes, mon cher” Lestat mumbled.

The thought of correcting him, of telling him not to use petnames, crossed through Louis’s mind. It was gone quickly, though. There was no room for thinking when sharing a coffin.

When Lestat stopped kissing and instead laid his head down Louis made a noise of protest. He pulled at the mass of hair in his fist, tried to get his lips against his skin again. He couldn’t do without the shivers of pleasure at feeling Lestat’s kisses on his bare skin.

”Hush and stop that” Lestat said, not irritated but firm. ”I’m listening.”

The shock made Louis immediately follow orders. His fingers remained woven into his hair, though he said nothing and was entirely still. He didn’t understand.

”Your heartbeat. It’s faster than mine.”

It was. He had thought of it earlier. Not his own pulse, but Lestat’s. It was slow still. Remained slow. Of course his own was faster.

”Well, what had you expected?” he asked. ”There’s no blood in you, what’s there to pump around?”

”I— I don’t know” Lestat all but whispered and there was a quiver in his voice. ”My heart always beat with yours. It was like one pulse, as if we were one being.”

That was true. Sometimes the rhythm of one or both of them would change when others were around, but as soon as they had been alone they had fallen back into the familiar connection. 

Even as he knew what Lestat was speaking of he didn’t know what to say. It had come unexpectedly, Lestat had thrown him off.

"Even when you held that knife to my throat I felt our hearts together” Lestat continued. ”I heard it as I bled.”

That time Louis was certain of that there were tears in his voice. It was unmistakable. 

”I don’t remember that” he found himself confessing.

Was it true? Had he watched the blood pour out of Lestat in bursts of his own pulse? Had every new wave of blood been brought forward when his own heart beat? Had Claudia felt that? Had she listened? Louis had to keep from imagining the feeling of watching the blood pump with the heavy pounding in his own chest. That he remembered. He remembered his heart beating so hard it had been painful.

”I can’t hear your thoughts, but I’ve always heard your heart. It did not stop that night.”

Lestat would not move. His ear was pressed against Louis’s heart, on and on he listened. Louis did the same. Once it had been said he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was an itch he couldn’t scratch. Lestat’s heart would not keep up with his, insisted on not falling into the rhythm.

When Lestat’s tears fell on his chest they were warmer than Lestat himself was. It was a silent crying and Louis didn’t know how to move forward.

”You need to feed, is all” he tried. ”Your heart’ll pick up.”

Briefly he wondered if he really wanted it to. If it would not be better if they kept separate heartbeats. Finding the rhythm again would be such a tangible reminder of that he would always have Lestat in him. Spreading through him, growing in him. Like poison. Or a flower. Maybe it wasn’t something he could do anything about, maybe it was part of him that he shared a heart with Lestat. 

”What if it does not?”

Gently Louis scraped his nails along Lestat’s scalp, the way he knew he enjoyed. The way that had every now and then made him almost purr like a cat.

”Then it’s different than it was and you can���t do shit about it.”

Lestat gave a chuckle at that. Even as he wept.

”I messed it up. We wouldn’t have lost so much time if I had not, it wouldn’t have been different.”

It had been inevitable. Louis was quite certain of it. It had been staked out from the very beginning. They had spelled disaster for one another. Still there had been love. The disaster had been born out of love.

”What’s done is done” Louis simply said. “And maybe different’s good.” 

He had spent so much time recently thinking on why things had happened the way they had. He had told the story of them the way he remembered it and Daniel Molloy had listened and recorded. He had poked at it, forced Louis to turn it around until he didn’t know up from down. He had said enough. But Lestat had not heard it. Maybe one night he would. Just not that night.

”I just—”

”Shhh” Louis hushed. ”You go to sleep, you need it. There’s time to talk later.”

Better it not happen while they were tangled up together in a coffin.

”But you’re not staying in New Orleans” Lestat protested, though there was no real force in the protest. 

He was tired. As was Louis. Tired to the bone. Even as he didn’t want to sleep.

”I’m not leaving at sunset, Lestat. And if my trip’s not enough we’ve got many more nights ahead of us, plenty of time to talk.”

Eternity was the goal. Somewhere in that time they would fine room to squeeze in a little conversation.

”Promise we’ll talk.”

”I promise. We’ll find a bench in a nice park somewhere in the world and we’ll talk until we’ve run out of things to say.”

And then they would sit in a comfortable silence. Maybe he would have a book. Maybe Lestat would have a paper. Maybe Lestat would tire of it and take Louis by the hand and drag him along somewhere. 

That seemed to calm Lestat somewhat.

“‘A bench in a nice park’” he repeated slowly. “I’d like that.” 

Another minute of silence and that time he sensed Lestat was drifting off to sleep again. It was a wonder he had stayed awake for as long as he had.

”Bonne nuit, Lestat” Louis whispered into his hair.

”Oh, mon cher, you need to brush up on your pronunciation” Lestat mumbled back. 

To believe he had ever fallen for a French man. What a horrible mistake.

***

And then the book "Interview With The Vampire" by award winning journalist Daniel Molloy was published, Lestat went "Louis, what the fucqué is this?" and now he's having an ongoing breakdown while on tour because they're in a weird situationship where Louis only comes around every now and then to get fucked into the next week (and occasionally to talk a little)

[neurolady]

My current obsession is "Where is Crowley’s mind at!"

I know disaster puppy and all, he's definitely a mess (both of them are), but how is that gonna manifest!

Aziraphale's is going to suck it up! He's going to have to! He's just been marched into the lion's den and forced to leave his sheild on Earth. He probably won't have much space to process before being chucked into Heaven's machinations. His process is going to be about holding it together while trying to figure out what Heaven is up to? And as far as him understanding Crowley's decision, I don't think he has as far to go as Crowley does in understanding his!

Crowley, on the other hand, has got space to wallow. I mean, REALLY, just get all up in his feelings! There really is nothing keeping him afloat right now. We've seen him wallow before, but this might actually be worse. Of course, he was devastated when he thought Aziraphale was dead. That, however, definitely wasn't Aziraphale's choice. In Crowley's mind right now, Aziraphale chose Heaven over him. With the final outcome, pretty much the same (at least he likely believes there's a chance), he might never see Aziraphale again.

He's hit the trifecta Homeless, Jobless, Loveless! God has slammed him into rock bottom and is grinding his face in the dirt for fun!! As of right now, Crowley is that classic, nothing more to lose character. I'm fascinated with where Neil and John (and Terry from above) chose to have him start S3 emotionally. I guess it depends on how much time is going to have passed - days, weeks, months, or even years 😬. And where in the universe is he physically - London (Soho), somewhere else but still Earth, off Earth (Alpha Centurai) or Hell.

Here's what I'm hoping -

We need a meltdown of epic proportions!! It'd be great to see David break out those big emotional ("and I would like to spend...hmmmh"💔) acting chops here. BUT I'm thinking more GO comedy meltdown. London/UK wide blackout! Takes out a newly repaired Big Ben as he erupts driving past in Bentley! Demand outstrips supply for alcohol in the Soho/London area, causing the economy to crash or brawling on the streets! Something comically absurd and big enough that it might just get Hell's attention.... see where I'm going?!

But after his meltdown(s) and obligatory self-destructive period, because of course there will be! There's not a chance there won't be. We mere mortals fall to pieces after relationships of measly months fall apart, we are talking 6000 years here!! BUT after this, I want to see the nameless fallen angel, who redefined himself as Crawly, who redefined himself as Crowley and then finally as Anthony J Crowley show that same level of resilience. I want him to figure out what 'his side' now means to him, even if he can only be an 'us' in memory (because may be at this point he still belives Aziraphale is lost to him for ever). I want him to decide why he wants to be on Earth for himself, so that he wants to protect it just as much as Aziraphale, not just BECAUSE of Aziraphale. So he understands why Aziraphale could and would never be happy if they had just left Earth to Armageddon and run off together. Perhaps this is all facilitated by him being on the run from Heaven, trying to get rid of him before Aziraphale finds out. Encountering the kindness of strangers. Rediscovering the demon who designed the M25, who was an infamous bootlegger in WW2 or a Black Knight in medieval times. Because let's face it by S2, it looks as though he's abandoned all that and just settled into "married" life.

But he can't be on the run forever realises his best protection is Hell and Anthony J, the cunning demon that he is, approaches them. Convinces them he's sick of Earth, done with backstabbing angels for good and (not actually a complete lie) knows all about Heaven's plan for the next Armageddon. Hugely comical meltdown (I like the idea of Big Ben burning 😂), plus maybe a few mishaps here and there to protect himself along the way, means they lap it all up! Crowley, however, by now, having recovered himself mostly (he'll never be totally whole without his yang), has realised the best way back to Aziraphale is also through Hell, giving him even more hope. As a by-product, maybe a realisation that Aziraphale was never rejecting him, but trying to protect him in the only way he knew how. Now we have double agent Duke Of Hell Crowley, but he actually wants to protect Earth and humanity for himself as well as so he and Aziraphale can make their home here properly (*cough* *cough* the South Downs enters the chat - you never know maybe discovered a nice little retreat while on the run).

Kick off S3, or may be we're a few episodes in already?!

I'll embrace my masochism, I don't think it would be at all true to them or him if he just bounced back, so I want to see that grief from him. A comical meltdown is a must for me, personally. But I think a note of seriousness within there would be beautiful. We are, after all, in David Tennant's safe hands. My main point is that I would be hugely disappointed if that is all we see. Crowley just drunk in Bentley doing nothing until Aziraphale turns up to drag him out of his stuppor. He's SO much better than that!

As a bonus to Duke of Hell Crowley, Aziraphale will know none of this having been kept completely in the dark by Heaven. So that when Hell proudly announces their newest Duke is Crowley, he is rapt with anxiety that he's pushed him over the edge and lost him forever! Until their first meeting, negotiations between Heaven and Hell about how they will ensure Armageddon actually gets going this time. Midway through, Aziraphale in a total panic at this point, Crowley casually growls at one of his minions to "get outside and stop that blasted Nightingale from singing outside the window, it's too bloody distracting", before continuing with the plan to start a nuclear winter.

[catgirlredux]

>Entryway_memo.17.89 /// Inner City, 55-5073 /// use viewSourceL() to access coordinates

I found one. I really didn’t expect to get this lucky this early on, but I guess the Doors were shining on me today.

I almost missed it; the whole thing was overgrown, and the active muffling was still on so even my pad couldn’t pick it up. I only managed to spot it because the moss and ivy covering its head morphed to the iconic crest: an Equites-class, first-gen rig.

This is big - most current HAKs, your Hoplites and your Lucids and whatnot, exhaust their power core stupidly fast. But the older ones, especially in generation 1, were super inefficient, so to avoid wasting too much leaking energy they implemented a system to recycle power back into the core. This wreck could have fought in the War of Rooms fifty years ago and it would still have plenty of juice left. I reckon I’ll easily get at least 6000 NC for it, if not more.

Tomorrow I’m going back to crack the damn thing open and extract the core.

>Entryway_memo.17.90 /// Inner City, 55-5073 /// use viewSourceL() to access coordinates

I don’t know where to start. Shit got weird. I went back to the wreck with my cutters and started to chop away at the cockpit, same as usual.

When I removed the glass, I saw the first sign that something was wrong. Usually when a HAK this old wrecks, the pilot has already ejected. Without one, the nanofilament bioharness inside the HAK chassis loses its structure and crumbles into powder. That didn’t happen with this one - instead, the fibers were still fully intact and wrapped around each other in a giant fucking gooey knot or something.

Well I mean, I had to get through the operators seat to get to the core, so I started cutting away at the harness. But as soon as my knife hit the nanofibers, the whole thing hardened up.

This is where it got really weird though. My knife couldn’t do jack shit to the harness so my next thought was to use my torch and burn through it. But as I was getting it from my pack, I heard a fucking voice!

“Are you… human?” it asked. It sounded weak and muffled, but I tell you I fucking jumped. There weren’t supposed to be any other scavengers in this quadrant but you never know, right?

The voice asked again, “Are you human?” So I responded, said yeah.

Then the harness loosened up, turned all goopy again, and a hole started to appear right in the middle facing me. It spread wider and wider until the ball of nanofilaments pulled all the way back, and you know what was inside?

A fucking body. Shit, what a sight. It was buried in nanofilaments from the chest down, but its arms and head were free - at least mostly; its hands were still dunked in the nanofiber goop that remained of its harness.

It wore a black catsuit - probably a neural interface - that clearly used to be skintight. However, it was so emaciated that its clothes hung off its shoulders. Its head, completely shaved and exposed, looked almost like a skull, and worst of all, it was lined with thin nanotendrils that crawled across its skin and seemed to pierce right into its cheeks, temples, and eyes. A series of lights in the cockpit around its head flickered, showing clear signs of age.

It didn’t open its mouth but I heard the voice again: “Did they… win?”

I stuttered back, “Win what? Who? You mean the War of Rooms? No, no we won that!”

“The War of Rooms…? Is that… what it’s called now…” The person - I guess it must have been the HAK’s operator - the person seemed happy with this response.

“W-wait, so you really are from the War? B-but that was over 50 years ago, how- how old are you?”

The operator’s head tilted to the side and the fibers along its forehead pulsed slightly before it responded.

“This unit’s organic component was created… 72 years ago. This unit’s… synthetic component was created 65 years ago.”

72 years ago… that means the damn thing was only 19 when the War ended?? But what’s more, how the hell did it survive for half a century in these ruins?

At least it seemed willing to answer my questions. I started my recorder at this point: following is a transcript of our conversation.

>Entryway_load(KS_0598.rsi)

///KS/// How are you alive - what do you eat?

///EOR/// This unit is… not alive. (unintelligible, closest match >> ****thetic) component supercedes the prior processes of this unit’s organic component.

///KS/// Wait, you keep describing yourself as the “organic component” - what do you mean by that?

///EOR/// This unit was once two. After this unit’s last mission, this unit was unable to move from this location. Time allowed this unit’s organic component and synthetic component to achieve what you call terminus, but what would be better described as unity. This unit’s biological and synthetic components merged, and as such this unit no longer adheres to the biological standard or requirements for organic life as it is currently defined.

///KS/// So you and the HAK are, what, conjoined? Like a Chambered One or something?

///EOR/// (unintelligible, closest match >> laughter?) The Chambered Ones were misguided. At another time this unit might have considered them evil. They believed they could achieve unity through religious mannerisms and compromises. Their “Chambers” are weak imitations of this unit and this unit’s brethren. It is good that they are destroyed.

///KS/// Well, um. They’re not actually destroyed. We signed a peace treaty - they’re members of the Vaulted Rooms now, at least the ones who want to be.

<brief period of silence>

///EOR/// At another time this unit would have been incensed at this news. Now it seems irrelevant. This unit achieved terminus 37 years 7 months and 16 days ago. Since then, this unit has been content with itself.

///KS/// So… I’m guessing you don’t want me to report this wreck to the force?

///EOR/// This unit is no longer desired, nor does this unit desire to return. This unit requests that you do not speak of this unit.

///KS/// Okay okay, chill. I only found you because I thought I could salvage a power core or something.

///EOR/// This unit cannot provide its power core. However…

<Note: at this juncture the operator of the HAK pulled a hand free, grabbed its other arm, and proceeded to wrench it from its socket. There was no blood. A mass of nanofilaments quickly coated the stump.>

///KS/// WHAT THE FUCK?

///EOR/// If the black market still exists, this will sell for a substantial amount. Please take it and leave. And thank you for speaking with this unit.

///KS/// Wait, but I

///EOR/// Thank you for speaking with this unit. Now please, let this unit exist.

I left. I took the arm too. I don’t know what to do now…

[plottwiststudios]

Women of Xal II Kickstarter: Delayed?

Hey, have you heard of the overly ambitious visual novel titled "Women of Xal" for Steam and Itch.io? (PC/Mac/Linux) Because that plays into why we might need to shelf the series for a few years. Full breakdown under the cut. (No spoilers)

For those who have gotten the True Ending, you should be fully aware that the story is about to vastly expand outside of Xuna's castle. It's a narrative must where everything that happens, happens well outside the scope of the original game in so many ways. And let's talk about scope! Especially if you have no idea what's so staggering about the original Women of Xal visual novel:

600+ optional choices we painstakingly programmed

Branching paths that people are still asking for guides on

A dozen romance options

Poly and gay options that interact with one another

Voice acting from now VERY popular voice actors

A 15 hour story full of mystery, lore, and tense politics

110 track soundtrack

4 Endings

Animations

Thousands of art assets (Bless Cat)

Years of hard work and long nights

No AI Art

100% positive reviews as of this post

Recouped $6000+, or roughly a fraction of the cost of development. After 2+ years of being released

Note that very last bullet point. Doing things for the art and passion is amazing and all, but I can't be investing literal thousands of hours into creating a game for a subset of a subset of a subset of people. I have bigger projects I want to finally get to work on. Ones I really hoped Women of Xal I would help a bit with funding. But it's not. And because of certain facts about the game, it may never be able to do so. To no fault of any of the players.

When I made Women of Xal I, my time was more readily available and I was quite a bit younger. The cost of running a company and creating a game like WoX as the first product hadn't quite hit me. I was also silly enough to believe "if you make it, they will come" to a degree. That part makes me grin in a not fun way.

But these days I have a job that takes me away from creating, but does pay the bills and debts. Debts I don't want to get into again in order to create the sequel that will undoubtedly come with far higher costs due to the game's scope. I have a better understanding of the costs of hiring returning and appropriate talent necessary to create a game better than the last. (I don't personally believe in being satisfied with an intentional steep downgrade.)

Yes there is the Kickstarter option for Women of Xal II, but there are plenty of costs and time investment that makes it an unviable avenue to explore during this point in time. After all, who but the people who sat down and explored everything the first game had to offer would understand how we came up with a $50,000 Kickstarter price tag for a visual novel's sequel? Especially since too many will look at the first Kickstarter and believe we made the first game with only $14,000.

I have thought about giving Women of Xal I a modernized facelift with a smaller Kickstarter, complete with a ton of new features and fun ways to streamline and highlight the narration's strong points, but there's a LOT of baggage that comes with that, including not wanting to go backwards when I still want to create my "pipe dream" projects.

So I'm thinking we'll give it a bit more thought these next few days, and if we can't think of a solution that we haven't already tried, we'll officially announce the delay (and before you suggest your own ideas, know that there's a 99% chance we've already tried it).

A long, long post just to say I do sincerely apologize for having people wait longer, but I am literally still a few thousand dollars away from paying off all my debt that came from funding the first game. It's a micro-trauma I do not feel inclined to repeating again. When the franchise is in a better place, or I am emotionally/physically, I will return back to Women of Xal to finish the story. If I cannot, I will release a summary of events that transpire after the first game's true ending.

But for now, I'm going to focus on financial and emotional healing, and creating projects that I feel will be more appreciated by both myself and people who are turned off by what "Women of Xal" offers.

Thank you all for supporting our small company these past several years. <3

-John

[ticklishfiend]

Stained Leather (Good Omens)

(Switch!Aziraphale/Switch!Crowley)

⚠️SPOILERS FOR GOOD OMENS S2⚠️

Summary : He’s lost his angel. Now all Crowley has are the memories they shared. Memories he wishes he could forget as easily as he remembers them.

A/N : love these gay old-ass genderless beings with my whole heart and soul. which is why i’m devastated and needed to vent with angst and tickles :)

Warnings : angst, tickling

Word Count : 2221 (omg kinda angel numbers)

hope y’all enjoy! :)

—

He’d been thinking a lot lately. For someone’s sake, he sure knows he’s got the time for it now. Driving endlessly for days, weeks, maybe months. Who really knows, with how time has blended seamlessly together like one long stretched road, terrifyingly eternal in its seeming hatred for dead ends. He’s had far too much time to ponder on the last, oh, 6000 years or so. But who’s counting? Certainly not Crowley.

He gave his head a stern shake, trying so hard to knock loose all those dreadful little thoughts that keep his knuckles white against the steering wheel. But thoughts always fell right back into place, and yet again, he felt trapped. Did the Bentley shrink since he drove it last? It seems far more cramped than usual. Like he doesn’t fit comfortably anymore, like his body can’t seem to find that Crowley shaped indent in the leather cushion that he worked so hard to make just for him. For a moment, he wonders if it took a new shape, one the car favored over his own.

Angel-shaped.

His eyes shut tight, silent fireworks in the darkness of his pinched eyelids. He’s thinking like a fool now. An idiotic, foolish sap.

That one thought has his mind drifting though, and he feels his heart race with the memories. It’s not the usual heart rate he has when thinking of his…the angel. No, it’s uncomfortable and uneasy. Unbearable. Like a blood-boiling type of heart rate. He’s never felt this way before when remembering.

One particular memory hits him like an oncoming truck. Makes him wish a real truck would hit him even harder.

…

“Please Angel, you’re gonna ruin the leather!”

“Oh, do stop being foolish. I know you are well aware that I’m not much of a mess-making type. Plus, I did bring napkins-“

“Mmyes, napkins, the pinnacle of all cleaning products against 100 year old leather” Crowley says too sarcastically for Aziraphale’s taste. “D’you remember 1991, that little excursion of ours in New York. You tried a hotdog that resulted in the world’s first mustard stain down an angel’s white button up,” Crowley popped the ‘P’ as he poked Aziraphale’s chest, right where the stain had sat years ago. Aziraphale swatted the hand away, annoyance painted all over his face. “It took a miracle to get that stain out, quite literally might I add.”

Aziraphale fixed his posture quickly, chin up in defiance. “Now that’s not fair, and you know it, Crowley. I distinctly remember a certain someone pinching my knee under the table just so I would spill something all over my garments.” Aziraphale huffed, wiping his mouth with one of the napkins he brought specifically because he knew Crowley would make a fuss. He had gotten an ice cream cone on their most recent outing, buying from a local vendor who made it from scratch. He tipped quite generously too, as homemade is always his favorite.

“Yeah well, s’not my fault your vessel’s too ticklish to keep food in your mouth,” Crowley grinned, leaning just a tad closer to Aziraphale so he could get a good look at that flustered expression painted on his angel’s face.

“Oh hush, it wasn’t even in my mouth when it fell. You know that, too,” He took a generous lick of the treat, unable to hold back a smile and slight wiggle at the strawberry flavor coating his tongue. “And don’t you forget, I’m not the only one here with a sensitive vessel. I seem to remember a particular incident in, oh, 2004 was it? Ah yes, you drew quite the attention of just about everyone in the pub with your scream-“

“Oh shuttuuuup, I did not scream,” Crowley insisted, just as he did back in ‘04, even with all those curious eyes on him. He specifically remembers two blue ones paired with a particularly un-angelic smile bringing a sickening warmth to his face. He merely rolled his eyes at the memory.

“A shrieking cackle then, maybe?” Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his cheeky smile as Crowley glared at him. “Would a shrill squeal better suffice? Nooo, I know, it was more like the wail of a —ah! Ah, Crohowley, wait-!” Aziraphale was cut off mid sentence by devilish fingers squeezing just above his knee cap, an unfortunate repeat of ‘91 waiting to happen. “The leather, Crohowley, the leatheheher!”.

“Oh no, do continue! I’d just love to hear what other synonyms you’ve been cooking up the past 10 years!” Crowley couldn’t help the grin as he saw Aziraphale struggle to keep his ice cream from dripping while pulling at the tickly hand on his leg. Those angelic giggles always have been his downfall, though he never did complain. “Haven’t got all day, have we, Angel?”

Aziraphale groaned through his giggles, nearly crushing the cone in his hand from his mirth. “You fiehehend!” He stomped his legs (gently, though for the soft angel it might as well been a violent kick) against the car floor, nearly pressing his face into the window next to him in giggly embarrassment. “Stop ahahat once!” His voice squeaked on the last word, and Crowley couldn’t hold back the fond coo if he wanted to.

“Aww cmon, now, you don’t have to kick her! What did she ever do to you, huh?” His hand moved to strike the angel’s side, cackling like the demon he is as Aziraphale practically folded sideways, the angel’s hand on the opposite side having quite the struggle to pull the tickly one off him. He must’ve forgotten he could switch the ice cream to his other hand, the poor ticklish thing.

Aziraphale no longer got any words in, too caught up in giggling his head off to care. He’d folded so much to the side his head began falling onto Crowley’s shoulder, seizing the opportunity to hide his face in the material.

Crowley thanked everything above and below that Aziraphale’s eyes were hidden, now that a familiar fond smile and warm blush painted the demon’s usually cold face. He loved seeing his angel like this, and he could surely get used to it.

However, he didn’t want to embarrass his friend so much he discorporated (though the thought awfully enticed him. Not the discorporation necessarily, but definitely getting his angel to blush so hard he was hot to the touch).

Crowley finally let go of him, smoothing out the fabric of his suit and snickering when Aziraphale flinched. “Oh, I’m done, angel. You can relax.”

Aziraphale pouted as he caught his breath, shoving the cone towards Crowley which he took without thinking twice. Aziraphale smoothed out his coat on his own, like he just knew Crowley wasn’t doing it properly before. After composing himself in silence, he gave a glare towards his demon. “That was rather childish of you, don’t you think?”

Crowley grinned. “Mmyes, I suppose it was,” he took a lick of the ice cream before handing it back to a still blushing Aziraphale. The angel looked to the roof of the car as if sending a silent prayer. Crowley tilted his head. “But rather fun though, wouldn’t you say?”

Aziraphale gave a tight shake of his head. “I cannot agree in the slightest. Exploiting my vessel’s sensitivities like that is just…well it’s unprofessional, Crowley. You should know better.”

“What, know better than to give my angel a little laugh once in a while? I say no harm, no foul,” He shrugged, sagging back into his seat and throwing an arm over the back of Aziraphale’s own.

“No no, much harm, much foul. It’s humiliating!” Aziraphale pouted again, looking down at his ice cream with those awful puppy-dog eyes Crowley just can’t stand for long. “Vessels are such strange things.”

Crowley sighed, “That they are.” He gazed at Aziraphale’s face for a moment, before decidedly looking anywhere but his face. He’d embarrassed his angel. He really didn’t mean to (well, he did, but he was allowed to feel a little bad about it after). Those heavenly giggles just have such a hold on him sometimes. He growled when a thought popped into his head he absolutely despised, but knew would make his friend feel all the better. “Look, if it embarrasses you that bad…and really it shouldn’t, it’s just laughing after all, not like I dressed you in feathers and made you dance down the street like a plump chicken-“

“Get to the point,” Aziraphale said straight-edged, like he’d been waiting to hear this from the start of his pout-parade. Oh that slimy little bastard. He always got his way with Crowley, didn’t he?

And still, Crowley didn’t call him out on it. He just growled through a long, dramatic sigh, looking up towards the roof. “You…well, I could allow, if only for a moment-!” He pointed a finger towards Aziraphale’s face (which he was looking at again, why did he always feel the need to look), and he was doing that smug little grin he always did, cheeks round and eyes squinted in his direction. Oh, Someone save him. “…nrk, just, make it quick, would you angel?”

Aziraphale cheered back up a little too quickly at that. “Oh of course. If you please?” He offered the cone back to Crowley, who took it with great hesitance. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, never one who was able to handle the anticipation. His lips pressed together in preparation to conceal all those embarrassing sounds he dreaded escaping, he held his breath and waited.

And waited.

He was half tempted to say something, but he was far too clever for that. Aziraphale’s done this before to him, making him open his mouth to complain before striking so he had no chance of holding back those sounds his angel dared to call giggles.

Instead, he opted to open one eye, just to see what all the hold up was about. So much for being clever.

Aziraphale’s hands were poised over Crowley’s torso, fingers wiggling with very un-angelic intent. His face said it all, though, looking directly into Crowley’s eyes like he had been waiting for him to look. Such an unfair game he played, at least Crowley got it over and done with!

Crowley growled behind gritted teeth, smacking away at those mean, teasy hands with his own free one. Aziraphale tsked.

“Now, Crowley, you said you’d give me a moment’s tickle, but I haven’t even started yet! You can’t shove me away already,” His hands continued their tickly motions here and there while being fought off (quite lazily if he had any say about it), “It’s against the rules.” Crowley groaned, always unable to stay silent against teasing.

“We’re rule-breakers, it’s what we do—AH!! No wahait! Oh you fuhucker!” Crowley released bubbly cackles as soon as Aziraphale touched down, squeezing the bottom of his ribs like his fingers were a magnet to his most sensitive spots.

“Such lovely laughs you always produce when I tickle here. Though, I’ve wondered before why some spots are more ticklish than others. Like, for example, here-“ He moved his hands up to Crowley’s neck, fingers fluttering softly against the skin and making Crowley break out in breathy giggles. “-you make such sweet giggles-“

“Nohohot gigglin’!”

“-and yet when I tickle your ribs, you just-“ He struck back down against his bony ribs, the gentle fervor behind his finger tips sending Crowley’s head slamming against the headrest behind him, overcome with belly laughs and cackles he couldn’t contain if he wanted to (he did not, but don’t tell his angel that). “-my, well you just can't take it, can you?”

Curse Aziraphale and his evil teasing. Why did he have to be so sweet and gentle about it? Always made Crowley want to explode on the spot just to expel all that nervous, flustered energy inside him.

“Stohohop! Really, ahahangel, I-!”

CRUNCH

The tickling stopped, and so did any movement or sounds amongst the two of them, for just a moment. They eyed the ice cream cone dripping between Crowley’s fingers, dollops falling onto the leather between his legs.

A small snicker from the back of Aziraphale’s throat, before the angel fell into helpless cackles. The irony of it all just…tickled him so.

And though so very annoyed at that sticky stain he was now having to angle himself away from, avoiding getting any on his black jeans…Crowley began to laugh too. What could he say, angelic laughter was far too contagious for him to help himself.

…

Crowley burnt from the inside out. The flames soured everything inside him, churning his insides and scolding his flesh to a burnt replica.

His eyes unconsciously darted to the seat he sat upon, wondering if under all the cleaning products and the eventual miracle, there was still a sweet pink stain underneath it all.

He turned back towards the road. His hold so tight on the wheel his arms started to shake, pushing hard against the wheel until it began shaking too.

Strangling the wheel of his poor car, he shook and fought and bellowed out a loud, growling yell from deep in his belly, slamming his fist against the wheel repeatedly. Of course, it was of no use. Memories replayed over, a broken record of moments he dreaded bringing to surface.

With an agonized cry, he tried again.

—

A/N : hope you enjoyed, i didn’t, these two have broken me!!!! bye i’m gonna go listen to Unknown/Nth by Hozier yet again and grieve

[tonydaddingham]

Have we taken into consideration that Aziraphale's last glance towards Crowley before he got on the elevator might just be to send him a signal of "i need your help"? 'Cause I've just rewatched episode 6 and it's the first time my lightbulb went out that Crowley is there to watch Aziraphale's entire face journey after hearing about the Second Coming and that's why Aziraphale looks one last time towards Crowley. Yes, of course there are those sentiments of regret and resentment and all that complicated mix, but also, I think it's a signal towards him of "when the time comes and I know how, I'll need your helping hand. I could always rely on you, please trust me". All that with the added signal of turning on "A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square" in the Bentley (because, Y E S, that miracle chime is VERY clearly audible right before it starts playing) is telling Crowley what he couldn't anymore directly.

good morning @crowleykinning my beloved💕

i think that look can be interpreted multiple different ways, and i think it depends on how you read the scene before it? like, i read the look as a combination of -

'oh shit' / 'yep, told you.', to

'please come with me' / 'nope, you chose this.', to

'is this what you were warning me about?' / 'tried, yeah, but i wanted to protect you.', to

'im going to need your help' / 'yep, and i hope i'll give it to you when the time comes', to

'trust me to see this through, please' / 'i do... don't really have much of a choice.', to

'wait for me?' / '...yeah, alright.', to

'i love you' / 'i know, i love you too, but it's not enough right now.'

and a thousand other interpretations asides - a Look can be quite versatile!

it's a cacophony, 6000 years, of different sentiments and unspoken words, and i almost don't think it's really for us to understand? idk how to put it, but it's the same look at any lovers or friends give each other just before disaster hits - because whilst the Feral Domestic was a catastrophe in and of itself, this is the brief lull before all hell (pardon the pun) breaks loose.

im also not entirely sure what to make of the song playing; and im almost hoping that it's never explained, because any explanation holds its own weight and importance.

it was crowley (which, to me - given that he walks away in the direction of the bentley in the below gif, and by the end of the ep the driver's window is down - is the logical explanation), having queued it ready to go to the Ritz

it was aziraphale, slapped in the face with the 'no nightingales' line, after it playing at the end of s1 and in the missing 1941 scene, tries to get into crowley's head that none of what happened means that he doesn't love him

it was the bentley - my beloved, back again with the poor timing and heartbreaking bitch behaviour after the bookshop fire and slipping 'somebody to love' onto the decks, as some measure of comfort? or expressing her own upset? reflecting crowley's thoughts/feelings?

it was just a coincidence that that song happened to be playing. im not sure where i sit on the 'god has the aux' thought process (most of me doesn't like it, tbh), but i do think there is something to be said about it being, literally, just a cruelly-timed accident.

as for the miracle chime, the timing of it vs. aziraphale still reeling in the wake of the second coming bombshell personally satisfies me that it was the metatron's miracle, to call the lift in the donkey pub.

but we do know that regardless, aziraphale and crowley both, if not all of these beings, are able to influence the world around them... whatever happened with the song in the bentley doesn't necessarily need to have been a conscious, hand-waving effort!!!✨

[phantomram-b00]

To Hell with you

So, I was listening to songs. And then an epiphany hit me hit me harder than this fixation of the show; what if…the roles were reversed? Like what if Azirapahle first said no to the promotion yet Crowley said yes instead? I think I saw a fanfic that did this (I don’t remember) but I wanted to take a crack at this, and I feel like I want to cry myself so imma do a fanfic of it, hope you enjoy. And if you still haven’t seen good omens season too, this will contain that so uh spoiler warning ahead. Have fun!

Aziraphale was just done talking with Nina and Maggie just a while ago whilst Crowley walk away; while profusely apologizing for the whole ordeal both for last night and overall, they did give him advice on his love life. Something he never thought he could describe it given their status from their opposing side, but he’ve been in love with Crowley since 1941, so the label wasn’t exactly far off. But nothing official, and thanks to their advice, he though maybe they can? Why not? To hell with both parties that been trying to separate them for millennia now they’re on their own side.

“Right! Let me at least tidy this up before he comes” he spoke to himself while he put some books in their respective spots as well covered the symbol on the floor and make sure nothing was out of the ordinary. Oh ironic given their day to day life on earth. As he does so, he start preparing for the talk as he turn the sign on the front to “very closed”

“Okay, so Crowley!” He chuckled as he talks to himself yet again. “There something I must tell you about, I think it been long overdue for the past 6000 years at this point. And I know I’ve told you you go to fast but-“

He shook his head throwing away that thought like a piece of crumbled paper. That won’t do at all.

“Crowley! Wily serpent! I believe there are thing to be discussed about if that all the same to you…” he said as he put the Jane Austen book in order since Gabriel- err Jim decided to put them away separate by the first sentence they start it. Oh how problematic that organization was it nearly discorperated him the second time. “So we’ve known each other for quite a long time, at this point in time we can even guess each other sentences or predict other moves like Agnes Nutter.” He laughs. “W-well, what I’ve been meaning to say is, w-well, remember when I told you you go to fast? Well, I think I want to retract that statement since I think we can go fast, faster than a rollercoaster as Buddy Holly said-“

He again shook his head, and threw that idea away. But he blushes just thinking about Crowley, how he does want them to make it happen finally, been waiting since 1941 or maybe even longer; his mind begin to wonder around, become a habit for him at this point. He began to think about their life, all the time they’ve been together. Always a risk to be together but deep down, Aziraphale would take that risk all day to see Crowley, the one person that didn’t treat him like an annoyance or dare judge him but instead treated him like an equal, the one person that he would rather dine at the ritz and go on many restaurants with, the one person that he would maybe one day want to live with for all eternity. That feel more like heaven in his eyes than the actual place. In retrospect, he wished if it wasn’t for their side that maybe they could been more braver. Or at least he could’ve been. But he had a smile, maybe they can be now? And they can make up for lost time? And maybe one day, they can move into a cottage? Oh he can never be bored of living with him for all eternity. It make him more giddy just thinking about that possibility.

“Crowley!” He started again. “We need to talk, but I think maybe, this would be best suited if we go to St. James park? You’ve always love that place with the ducks. We can get frozen peas. And we can talk as we sit? Or if you prefer, we can dine at the ritz? I can feel an reservation was just open for two” he giggles while hugging the first edition Jane Erye by Charlotte Brontë. “Or maybe, we can talk here, and have drinks? I’ve got an expensive—“

Ding

Aziraphale look at the door and see Crowley back, couldn’t content his smile even if he tries.

“Crowley!” He said putting the book down and walking over to him.

“Angel” said giving him a smile back in return. He take off his glasses to reveal his Sunny eyes. “Listen angel, there something I need to talk to you about.”

“So do I!” He chuckled lovingly whilst look at his sun. “funny how two minds think alike, but I think first I would like to ask you if-“

“Hold that thought for just a moment angel,” Crowley said as aziraphale stopped his laughter. “Listen, Shax and I talked.”

“I’m quite aware, seen you guys had much to talk about despite what the stunt she pulled.” Aziraphale spoke. “Nearly started a war.”

“Right yeah, uh, so, during the talk, she granted me something. And, well, okay cutting to the chase here angel, she want me to be Duke of hell.”

“Oh.” He said taken aback. “Surely you said no didn’t you? I mean you always complained about how they’re the worst and not to mention that they even have a sign on not licking walls? Frankly you saying…”

He stop to look at Crowley face, reading it carefully like it was one of his books. Only this time he does not appreciate this sudden twist.

“Crowley please tell me…” he choked out. “Please..”

“Angel, maybe I can make this right. If I’m Duke of hell-“

“Oh Crowley” he look away running his finger through his white hair. He then lightly laugh. “Please tell me this is one of your devilish jokes you wily serpent!”

“Shax said…she said I can even bring you down to hell with me. We can make hell nicer, no, we can make hell a better. We can even maybe prevent whatever is happening—“

“Ohhhhhh! Crowley I thought you were better than this.” Aziraphale said choking back the tears. “You should be better than that Crowley!”

“Angel—“

“If I didn’t need heaven then it fairly certain that I don’t need hell neither!” He paced around trying to calm himself but avoiding his eyes. “You know Heaven told me to come back to them with a promotion to be supreme angel before this whole Gabriel and I said “no I will certainly not go back to you” and you shouldn’t neither.”

“Well of course you said no angel, heaven are a bunch of self-righteous arseholes and certainly no better than hell I’ll tell you that much.” Aziraphale face continues to be horrified. “But hell, I know hell isn’t the best neither but angel, if you’re by my side, we can make it better.”

“Crowley are you realizing that if hell ends life here on earth it be just as dead as if heaven ended it.” Azirapahle said this time he open the flood gates and tears are streaming down with his voice cracking. “Crowley… tell me you said no.”

Crowley tries his best to choke back his tears too. Seeing his angel distraught was the last thing to see. The last thing he ever wanted to do. He look away from aziraphale feeling his heart growing heavier the more this conversation prolongs.

“Crowley…?” Aziraphale said not even trying to wipe his golden tears away.

“Angel. Maybe I can make an actual difference. I can try to stop it.”

Aziraphale shook his head, he was too shocked yet to upset to form any form of a sentence. His glossy eyes was enough for Crowley to start his water works, he look away once more. Aziraphale turn around and let out a sigh.

“Right guess you got everything out then, it my turn to say my piece—“ despite this, Crowley waited patiently. “We’ve known one another for quite a long time. We’ve been on this planet more than the human that roam on earth. We can always rely on one another and we can or at least I had hoped we trusted each other. We’re on our own side as you said even four years ago at the ritz. To hear those words was more heavenly than what heaven could’ve ever offered to me.” He feel his heart growing heavier. “And I would love it if we—“ he stop again as he feel his tear roll down his cheeks once more. “Crowley, how is it that Beelzebub and Gabriel can go off to Alpha Centauri, the place you yourself have been dying to run off, then we could too right? Just the two of us.” Crowley wanted to smile, but he was too distraught himself to bring himself to do so. “You’ve always said, that we don’t need heaven or hell, they’re toxic Crowley! We can still run like you always said, we can even go to Alpha Centauri with them” Crowley shook his head repeatedly. “We can— what why are you saying what is it?” He said showing curiosity and concern.

“Angel then come with me. I can run it and you can be right by my side. We can make a different please.” Crowley said pleading now. He want to cup his hand on his face wiping away those golden tears, but even when he toke a step, aziraphale toke a step back shaking his head.

“You can’t leave—“ me. “You can’t leave this bookshop.”

Crowley would never want to leave him alone. He would do anything to stop time just to stay in this bookshop for all eternity with him, basking in their love they been so desperately trying to achieve. To listen to angel’s ramble of a book he know he read for the millionth time. To have quality time with him whether it just them drinking wine or even just them holding each other in their embrace while they listen to classical music to bebop as azirapahle would call his taste. But that not what he said did he?

“Oh Aziraphale..” Crowley said giving a sadden smile. “Nothing last forever.” He wanted to kick himself just for saying those fatal words. The words that finally push azirapahle over the edge as now he can’t hold back. He hold his hand in his face as he let it out, just for a moment. Even in that moment, Crowley want to hug him. But he stopped after a moment, as to try to revert back to his calm demeanor.

“No.” He said grabbing his glasses and giving it back to Crowley. “I suppose you’re right about that one.” Crowley look as he see the glasses. Trying to process what he was even doing. “I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors.”

He proceed to walk out of his own bookshop.

“Best of luck..” then it hits him. “Angel!” He doesn’t stop walking away. “Aziraphale come back!” Aziraphale turn around, he was completely drained. His angelic happiness is no where to be found in his hazel blue eyes. “Work with me.” He still pleads, even aziraphale let out a sigh as he continues. “To hell..we can be on our side even down there. Doing our own things down there.” Aziraphale wince from that sentence as he look away to avoid his eyes. “I-I need you aziraphale!” He finally said which prompted him to finally look at him. Both their watery eyes met. It felt like time stopped again. Maybe Crowley finally convinced him. Maybe they can be in their side even in hell. Maybe they could make things better. Him and Aziraphale against them—“you have to understand what I’m trying to offer here Angel..”

“Oh I think I know quiet well. Maybe even more than you can Crowley.” He said. But he realize it wasn’t his usual tone. He sounded apathetic. Is this really it? This shouldn’t be. Why does it feel…

“Well. If that the case, is there really anything else to say at this point?” Crowley said as he put on his glasses as his tears starts to appear yet again.

“Listen.” Aziraphale said pointing up. “Can you hear anything?”

“No. Angel what are you trying to…”

“That’s exactly my point. No nightingale.” He said, that was it for him. He feel he can’t hold it back any longer. “You stupid snake. We could have been us.” Aziraphale said emphasizing on the term us. Crowley looked away to let tears run, even closing his eyes to hope it be all over. But then he felt his lapel of his blazer being pull and the feeling of soft lips pressed again his own. His eyes shock open as he see aziraphale. Principality. Angel of the eastern gate. Kiss him. This wasn’t what he expected their first to be, not one where tears are mixing with each others. He wanted it to be more romantic, more on a happier note. One that both can enjoy. Not this. Not when his angel is obviously hurt. Oh Satan, what have he done. He lift his hands couple times but he was able to place his hand behind Aziraphale’s back and kiss back. He felt his head spin around like all the planets he created, can feel like he seeing stars he help create. And here he is, kissing the biggest star he’ve every laid his eyes on.

Soon they pull away from each other, Crowley having to catch his breath, not hiding his cries anymore. Aziraphale just stand there in hope, can this finally convince him? Crowley look at Azirapahle, many emotion can be battling each other, anger, lament, happiness, shocked? Maybe all above.

“I…I…” love you. Do it again. “TO HELL WITH YOU” he wanted to cover his mouth. Why did he let them escape. Where the soap when you need it. Aziraphale let out a silent gasp as golden tears escape him once more.

“I forgive you.” Aziraphale said walking out of the bookshop.

“Wait angel!”

He walks out of the bookshop, he almost push people down, forget for a moment that London can get busy. He look around to try to find him. “Aziraphale! Please, come back!”

No avail. He can’t find him anywhere, no white haired tartan wearing angel. He feel down to his knees.

“What have I done?” He said to himself. His scales emerged feeling intense emotions, he wanted to scream as he feel smoke coming out of him.

“Crowley?” He look up and see Shax. “Right, I take it he didn’t take it well.”

“What do you think?” Shax was gonna talk again before he stop her. He stands up “Right don’t answer that. Let just go.” He said drained. Feeling empty. Betrayed.

“Jolly good. Now I will say, I’ve heard word from upstairs.” Shax said as they walk, Crowley look at her but not in interest but he had to know.

“And what do the holier than thou angel say?”

“Well. Something about ahhh. The second coming as they like to call it. We got a role in this too, so best get a move on” Shax chuckled as she walked as she talked more about this role. Crowley stopped. He turn around just for a moment and see Aziraphale, he was far away about to turn the corner. But he can easily see that he left enough room for him to come with him to walk, the finale plead. He can’t make out what his expression was but it didn’t matter, he look at him one last time. Before he start walking backward and turning back to Shax. Completely disappearing from the crowd. “You know. Pity your boyfriend didn’t come. Me and Furfur were betting on it, guess no matter. We got work to do.” He stopped listen as she went on. He wanted more than anything to just run back to him. He wished he didn’t take this. But part of him felt that maybe he can still try. If not fro earth, for aziraphale. To keep him safe as he try to stop this plan. To stop armageddon from happening once more. Even if that meant he can’t see Aziraphale ever again.

Meanwhile Aziraphale just nodded. Understand this was it. It truly was over. He saw Maggie and Nina walk away holding hands as if God was rubbing salt in his wound. He then see Muriel waving at him in glee. He would’ve wave back in mutual respect but not now. Not today. He just walked away leaving them feeling concern. Aziraphale walked, unsure where exactly he walking to but his feet keep moving so he might as well walk wherever his shattered heart take him. He then heard a radio from one of the stores singing the song. That song meant for them.

Snap

Just like that the song stopped. He continues to walk. Walk as far as he can. As golden tears fall once more.

(Reference for the golden tears and Sunny eyes)

[fandom-star]

Someone's post got me thinking about Crowley's whole living situation thing, and I think it was their point about "if he wanted me to move in he'd ask" "if he wanted to move in he'd ask" that got me to this thought.

But we all remember Good Omens: Lockdown, right? I know I was obsessed with it for like a month!

"I could hunker down in your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake."

What if that was Crowley asking?

He was probably kicked out of the flat some time shortly after the apocalypse didn't happen, and he hadn't told Aziraphale. And then another short time after that 2020 happens, lockdowns happen, and he doesn't want to be the kind of person who puts humans in danger so he's confined to his car, alone apart from he plants he managed to fit in with him.

And then Aziraphale calls, and he's having a great time of it and Crowley misses him and he's bored ("transcendentally") stuck in his car that has nothing to do in it. And Aziraphale was the one who called, so maybe Crowley wouldn't seem so desperate if he asked to stay with him for a bit in the "right" way; subtle and casual.

It's not even been a year, so of course Aziraphale panics and says no, 6000+ years of being under Heaven's near constant scrutiny and then suddenly not is going to take more time than that to get his head around. ("That would be breaking all the rules" - lockdown rules, or Heaven's?)

But also of course is that that "no" hits Crowley hard. At a time where it would make sense for them to exist together, in the same place, Aziraphale rejected the suggestion or the idea of it. In Crowley's mind, surely, under better circumstances when it doesn't necessarily make the same kind of sense, his answer would be the same roundabout "no".

So Crowley doesn't ask again.

[majoringinsarcasm]

I think something very important that I have not thought about until right now is that Crowley knows the bullshit because he’s been a part of it.

In Hell before his “retirement” he was a chaos bringer, a mischief maker. Yes they had the Arrangement, but they did not collaborate on every single project. They were not put in the same place 100% of the time. He has to drive through a wall of fire because his own plan to make the M25 impossible to leave bit him in the ass. Not only was he Doing The Job of a demon, even if he tried hard not to be too Evil about it, he did well enough to earn the honor of delivering the Antichrist to his destination. Crowley might not have been a Duke of hell or besties with Satan (in the show I have not read the book I really think I should bc I love having all the lore) but he was the demon stationed in London causing trouble and had been possibly the main demon on earth for a long time.

Aziraphale on the other hand?

His bookshop is seen as, at best, a meeting hub for angels and at worst a joke. Gabriel questions him about eating which isn’t bad on its own but it’s very “Aziraphale the weird angel is eating food”. Nobody takes him seriously, he’s dismissed and ignored, they think his ideas are stupid. They Punch Him In The Stomach and he’s called useless or something to that effect when he accidentally goes to Heaven and loses his corporation. They hate him. To the point of finding joy in his death.

And here comes the mouth of God telling him that HE is the perfect Angel to take over for Gabriel. The supreme archangel of all Heaven. The one who went out of his way time and again to belittle him. Aziraphale? Replace him? And he can bring Crowley along? They can be safe from Hell and make Good changes and stay together? People will actually listen to him and take him seriously? He can leave behind his bookshop if it means taking Crowley and fixing Heaven. He can leave earth if he gets to have those things.

Because he’s never been Important before. He’s never had anyone from his own side give him a fucking complement in 6000 years. God asked him about the flaming sword Once and then Never Spoke To Him Again. Crowley seems to be the only one giving him compliments that he takes to heart. Maggie calls him an angel for being nice but he knew he did the no rent thing for selfish reasons. Crowley tells him he did a good job investigating and he’s all smiles and happy wiggles. He has never had anyone from his side be fucking nice to him and now the literal Headhancho is promoting him.

And for Crowley it’s easy to turn down. He knows Heaven is shit and he knows Hell doesn’t give a damn bc he’s experienced it before. Hell doesn't care how the job gets done and Heaven can’t see outside of its own ass and doesn't care about the Right thing. They don’t care about humans as people. They are set dressing to their own war not a creation of God that they should observe and care about. They want souls, they want to Win this little game that they SAY God wants them to play. And maybe She does, but maybe She’s Wrong. But regardless they don’t care about anything Real. But Aziraphale does. Crowley does.

And in an isolated incident yeah it might be out of character for Aziraphale to seemingly regress. But that’s not what happens. He’s not interested in joining Heaven as part of the cog again. He doesn’t want to be the universal punching bag anymore. He likes his independence and his records and his freedom. He doesn’t want to be just the weird little Angel everyone hates. But the Metatron is offering him a sort of protection. He’s being appointed by someone high up, given a role that is seemingly untouchable. They can’t hit the supreme archangel. They can’t mock his choice of company if he’s in charge. And it’s all fake it’s all lies he’ll no doubt be just a figurehead with a fancy title. But right now it’s all real to him.

So he says yes. Not because he’s fallen back onto his old ways, not really, but because he really thinks this is Better. Being involved to fix the community vs running away from it and risk being hunted down Again. They found him because he’s at the bookshop but they’re angels. If they want to find him or Crowley they will. This is everything he’s ever hoped for with the added bonus of not being on opposite sides anymore. Because they still are to everyone else. An Angel and demon are still an Angel and a demon to the outside world. Angels can find Aziraphale and demons can find Crowley and the other side can threaten the other and.

If they’re both in Heaven they won’t need to do that. So he says yes, because he wants to. But also… how do you say No to an offer like that? Someone else already said it but it’s Coffee or Death. Become the new archangel or say No to the closest thing to God after already being threatened time and again. Nobody would pick death.

People are Predictable.

[awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat]

Good Omens S2 Spoilers!!!

Okay so I've done nothing but think about good omens for the past couple of days. I've been going through stages of grief over and over again, thinking that Aziraphale's response was so uncharacteristic of him. But I was wrong.

Aziraphale has always craved for heaven's attention. He's always had faith in God and he firmly believes God's plan is good and just, while Crowley had given up hope after he fell, because he found out no amount of "good deeds" would change heaven's perception of him.

Aziraphale's relationship with heaven is like that of a toxic/abusive parent and their innocent child. Aziraphale caved at the very minute heaven gave him an ounce of credibility because he spent thousands of years wanting to be seen, needing to be good.

Aziraphale thought 6000 years were "too fast" for him. So when Crowley kissed him suddenly, Aziraphale is hit by millions of emotions. He's been presented with an ultimatum, and for a being who thinks thousands of years are too fast, imagine the toll this put on him. That, combined with the idea of being able to command heaven, and also the thought that he might lose Crowley if he goes to heaven. It's too much for him.

Aziraphale says "I forgive you" in season 1 as well. He's an angel. Forgiveness is his whole thing. So when he says "I forgive you" to Crowley, it's not because of the kiss. It's because Crowley went too fast. It's because Crowley failed to understand him (he also failed to understand Crowley). Why? CUZ THEY DON'T FUCKING COMMUNICATE. They both know they love and need each other but in ways they can't explain.

They're both so fucking stupid im gonna scream into my pillow now im so upset

[feralkwe]

For the Fic Ask meme: 3, 15, 25

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

ooh! this is a tough one, especially since i forgot that i actually finished a herald's faith in 2023, and thought that was much longer ago! i don't have a specific line, but i did write a three person (inquisitor/iron bull/dorian) ballroom dancing scene that was a lot of fun and i was very proud of.

i used this video as a reference, if you're interested!

15: something you learned this year

i have the chops for longform fic with multiple story threads, but i prefer to write shorter works! a herald's faith came in at 174k words, and i am exceedingly proud of the work i did in that fic, but the 3-5k mark is the sweetspot for me. i'm glad i have and probably will again write longer works (i have an idea for an elidibus/wol long fic inspired by pandaemonium i hope to do this year), but i prefer shorter ones and one-shots (including loosely connected ones in a series or collection!) to read and write.

25. a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

ooh this is a tough one. i'm very selective about fic that i read, and an exceptionally biased reader, very much giving my friends preferential treatment with my attention. also, it's hard to say 'everyone' because of the variety of fandoms i delve into. but, if you're a good omens fan, then i absolutely recommend @yamisnuffles' au series, too much of a good thing. in it, crowley didn't fall, and he and aziraphale live through their 6000 years of history together. i haven't even finished it yet, because i am a very slow reader, but it's beautiful, hitting that sweet spot for me in every area, from her use of canon to support her divergence from it, to depth of description in prose, including chapter/installment lengths.

thanks for the asks! if anyone else wants to play the fic ask game, you can find the post here.

[wordsandrobots]

No but seriously though, time for an end-of-month Wishing on Space Hardware update. I'd say 'regularly scheduled update', except this is me and what is time?

As I was saying, Chapter 20 is now complete, which means I've finished the bulk of the plot for this work. There's still some wrapping up to do (I didn't plan five epilogues for nothing) but by and large, that's it. Two and a half years and upwards of 600,000 words, and I've reached the endpoint of everything my brain ran off with after watching Iron-Blooded Orphans (well, almost everything *hits passing plot bunny with a squeaky hammer*).

So the next step is to find out if my beta-reader thinks it works and/or bites me in the spleen as a result.

Also to write the aforementioned epilogues, finish Interlude 3 (it's like, two paragraphs from being done) and write Interlude 4. Then I need to edit this monster, catch all the narrative errors, kick myself over the plot-holes I remember at 1AM in the morning and generally get it ready for posting. Oh, and finish the cover art. Can't forget that.

The upshot is, I think we're looking at this starting to go up some time in late January. Given that'll make a six-month gap from the completion of History of a Catastrophe, I did consider posting it two chapters a week, as I did back with To Catch a Falling Star. However, the upcoming fic lacks the natural flip-flop structure of Falling Star and each chapter averages 6000 words instead of 3000, so I think I'll stick to weekly. And that'll give me time to be extremely chill about finishing the series coda, which is a nice thought.

I *might* end up posting the prologue for this fic on here at some point prior to Christmas, just because I'm really proud of it and I have some lovely patient readers who've been waiting for me to finish this thing. We'll see.

Regardless, in the meantime, I'll leave you with some cheerful cackling since sometimes, remembering where you got the name for a work just delights you all over again.

And sometimes, I am a total monster.

I saw two shooting stars last night I wished on them, but they were only satellites It's wrong to wish on space hardware I wish, I wish, I wish you'd care

From 'A New England' by Kirsty MacColl