#i enjoyed writing them all out and imagine them just being ineffable husbands together

[ohhelga]

hi, hello. i'm leaving behind one (1) message for tipsy kirstin because i fucking love tipsy people. alright. hammer down ten of your headcanons for crowley and aziraphale as an overbearing, domesticated couple.

okay okay okay how about:

•crowley loves to bother aziraphale when he’s trying to read. they’re in the bookshop and aziraphale is trying to read but crowley is demanding attention. he’ll ask questions, he’ll sit right next to aziraphale and read over his shoulder, asking about the plot because he’s only read that page. he’ll start toying with the cuff of aziraphale’s shirt, or his bow tie, anything really just to get aziraphale to pay attention to him. and aziraphale cant even be mad. “my dear really, i’m trying to read.” “but angel, i’m bored.” and aziraphale just looks fond as he runs a hand through crowley’s hair.

•but don’t think aziraphale can’t be just as annoying as crowley. crowley loves napping in the sun, finding a nice quiet spot either in the shop or his flat and stretching out, almost luxuriating in the suns warmth. and aziraphale will come along and start talking, asking if they can go to the park, or the ritz for lunch or “oh, crowley they’re showing hamlet again and we really must go. i know you prefer the funny ones, but my dear it’s hamlet. can we go, please? crowley?” and crowley will sigh and make a fuss, but the trips are always worth it to see aziraphale practically radiate joy.

•crowley gets aziraphale into the habit of sleeping. at first, after the almost end of the world, when crowley would get tired (his body accustomed to sleep by this point) and he’d retire to bed, it felt weird not having the angel come with him. so, crowley would encourage aziraphale to join him in bed, “i get lonely without you, angel,” “crowley, you’re asleep, how can you possibly miss me when you’re unconscious to the world?” “i just do, now no more questions. bedtime.” And aziraphale would follow with a book, and let crowley curl against his side as he read. but eventually aziraphale wanted to try it for himself, “you just look so peaceful, i thought i might give it a go, dear boy.” and now when it’s time for bed both angel and demon curl up with each other and fall into a peaceful sleep.

•aziraphale sneaks into crowley’s plant room after he’s been in demanding and shouting at the plants to grow better. aziraphale whispers to all the plants telling them how well they’re doing and how lovely they look and “don’t mind that wily old serpent, he truly does care about you all. he just has a funny way of showing it,”. after he’s brushed a few leaves, aziraphale casually (not casually at all) goes back to the living room. “angel, what were you up to?” “nothing, dear.” even though crowley knows fine well what he’s been up to but can’t find it in him to be annoyed because it’s too adorable that aziraphale thinks he’s being subtle, when’s he’s as subtle as a punch to the face.

•after witnessing first hand how cold and cruel the other angels are to aziraphale, crowley makes it his mission to show the angel the love, kindness and adoration he deserves. he becomes very tactile with aziraphale, brushing hands when they pass things to each other, straightening his bow tie, fixing his lapels, touching the small of his back to guide him. so many different little ways. he encourages aziraphale to link arms with him when they go on any of their walks, takes his hand when they’re sitting on their bench, feeding the ducks one handed. he plays with aziraphale’s hair when they’re curled up together on the couch, he’ll take aziraphale’s feet into his lap and dig his fingers into the arch, watching as aziraphale relaxes with a small pleased smile. crowley is determined that everyday he’ll show aziraphale how special he is and how much he means to him.

•aziraphale is just as determined to show crowley how much he means to him, to make up for lost time. to make up for all those years that aziraphale denied his feelings to keep crowley -them- safe. while crowley really only sticks to calling aziraphale ‘angel’ (which after all this time aziraphale still adores because he can hear the love behind it) aziraphale has a few different pet names he peppers through their interactions. “oh, my dear how wonderful,” “dearest, we’re going to be late,” “a first edition? darling, you really shouldn’t have-” and when they’re lying in bed, cocooned away from the rest of the world his words only get sweeter (which crowley is still getting used to as his cheeks burn red, but his heart beats fond) “i adore you, light of my life” “you make me so happy, my love” “sweetheart, you truly are wonderful” “darling, i love you”

•sometimes days are tough. after living on earth for 6 milennia and witnessing everything they have, being persecuted by their sides and almost being destroyed, it’s no wonder that some days are hard. on days such as these crowley will be wound up and tense, itching for a fight, his patience on a knife edge. he’ll (verbally) lash out and then end up disappearing- slamming the door on his way out- leaving behind a frustrated and annoyed aziraphale. but later, when crowley has calmed from his initial vexation, he’ll return to his angel with an apology half formed in his head. before he can say anything, aziraphale wraps him in his arms, unfurls his wings and wraps them around him too for good measure and just holds him. aziraphale will murmur sweet nothings in crowley’s ear and tell him how much he loves him, adores him and crowley will just melt against him, “angel”.

•crowley can immediately tell when aziraphale is having a bad day. he’ll wake up and the space next to him on the bed will be empty, the sheets cold. (on a normal day if aziraphale is awake before crowley he’ll either just cuddle him or read). when crowley goes downstairs, he knows he’ll find aziraphale wandering aimlessly around his shop, unable to focus on any one task. he’ll be jittery and fidgety and he’ll have a pinched, sad look on his face that always manages to cause an ache in crowley’s chest. so, crowley will gather aziraphale in his arms and keeps holding on even when he can feel the angel tense and still. crowley will rub his hands gently up and down aziraphale’s back, pressing tender kisses into his soft blond curls. eventually, aziraphale will let out a shuddering sigh and wrap his own arms around crowley, his hands fisting into the fabric at his back. aziraphale will hide his face against crowley’s neck and may or may not cry as crowley brings up one of his hands to cradle the back of aziraphale’s head. “you’re okay, angel. you’re okay.”

•after a few years, aziraphale yearns for a quiet life away from the hustle and bustle. a quiet life to share with crowley, with no shop to worry about. yes he’d miss the ritz, but nothings stopping them visiting every now and then. he says as much to crowley, who agrees wholeheartedly and says “i have the perfect place, angel.” They buy a cottage in the south downs with a beautiful garden that crowley can tend to until his hearts content and plenty of space for shelves upon shelves of books. the quiet is soothing and at night they can see the expanse of the sky above them, filled with crowley’s creations, uninterrupted by streetlights unlike in the centre of the city. on clear, warm summer nights they’ll both lie side by side on the grass and stare up at the sky. sometimes they’re quiet, just content to hold each other’s hands and enjoy the other’s company. often times they quietly murmur, swapping stories and secrets that span milennia, sharing soft kisses and i love yous.

•with the privacy afforded to them with the cottage in the middle of no where, they can unfurl their wings and relax. crowley adores spending time grooming aziraphales wings “really, angel. how do they even get in this state?” It relaxes both of them, this form of care and attention that they had both been missing for more time than they care to think of. by the time crowley is finished, aziraphale is radiating a faint glow with how happy and soothed he is and crowley can feel his human heart thudding in his chest. aziraphale enjoys reciprocating and running his hands through crowley’s obsidian feathers that are the inverse of his own and no less beautiful for it. aziraphale can see all the tension leave crowley as he continues and he goes almost boneless like the snake he is. when they’re done, they leave their wings out a little while longer, their feathers overlapping, white against black.

[greenhatsinthesky]

lockdown film no. 33 - Gladiator (2000) dir. Ridley Scott

13/05/2020

- I saw this film the first time when I was maybe 13? My dad decided that it was time for me to watch this Oscar winning epic, but we had to watch it in two parts because it was so long, and pretty damn violent for squeamish, baby me. Me and Dad managed this all in one, seven years later

- the opening is… really something isn’t it

- (just found out it was filmed in Surrey. Gutted)

- I got shivers right through to my scalp when he made that first speech to his soldiers that ends with “Brothers — what we do in life echoes in eternity.” Genius (there’s a chance it was because my room is the temperature of the arctic but nonetheless it was very moving)

- I had a foley workshop this morning and my tutor was talking about how foley should be subtle, but often the sounds need to be exaggerated so we’re absolutely sure that what we’re hearing is what we’re meant to be hearing. Likely because I came in with that mindset, they went absolutely ham thick on the foley for the opening battle scene

- “Enough of politics. Let us pretend that you are a loving daughter, and I am a loving father” — the fact that this line was said quite gently by Richard Harris’ Caesar Marcus Aurelius makes it so heartbreaking because there is absolutely no pretence that their family’s relationship is outrageously dysfunctional, and that’s not even getting onto the incest

- Joaquin phoenix is great in this. When he’s told he isn’t going to be emperor he’s like a stroppy kid who just wants to make his dad proud of him and now he’s a psychopath. That scene’s fantastic anyway, I love how the statue of caesar is right on commodus’ shoulder the whole way through, and really oppressive after commodus has killed Marcus Aurelius

- also fun fact about that scene — apparently phoenix was so stressed out about shooting it that he fainted right after they cut

- the little *fwoop* when he flipped the sword over was a bit much and then saying “the frost. Sometimes it makes the blade stick” before slicing the other guy felt a bit too bondy for this but you know what ? I respect the swagger

- there was an absolutely ineffable sense of dread and pure terror when the roman army was approaching maximus’ home and his son was running and waving thinking it was him. I hated that bit

- “those giraffes you sold me. They won’t mate. They just walk around eating, and not mating. You sold me… queer giraffes.” Whoever wrote this deserves every Oscar this film won, and I want it framed in my kitchen

- I enjoy the fact that they could have so easily done a training montage gladiator style when Maximus had been bought by proximo. Instead they took time to get a bit more into his character and for us to meet juba and the other gladiators. We didn’t need to see him training as a gladiator, that’s not what we’re here for. This film isn’t about fighting — sure, it’s got some great scenes in the colosseum which are entertaining to watch, and there’s stacks of gratuitous violence, but I feel in this case it’s warranted because you can’t get away from the brutality of the games in this context. The film itself is more about Maximus as a general, a gladiator, a husband, father and person and how he relates to the ever conflicting idea of “Rome” and the permanent violence it seems to require to keep that idea going under the reign of commodus. Maximus was required to kill in the army, but there it felt like it was for a purpose: to protect the idea of Rome and the emperor and the people that he cares—here he is required to kill just because he is required to kill. That would obviously change the dynamic but it says a lot about his character that he doesn’t seem to have any qualms about killing a person he doesn’t know for the entertainment of more people he doesn’t know and will likely never meet

- when Maximus walks through the cage it exactly mirrors the opening scene and him walking by all his soldiers as they salute him as their leader and I really liked that

- “i did not say I knew him, I said he touched me on the shoulder once” — why does this film have so many relatable lines 

- one of my favourite things about this film is essentially nothing to do with the film itself, and it’s how my dad will yell stuff from it at opportune moments. When I was learning to drive and going round corners, he would say “hold the line” like Maximus does in the amphitheatre. once, when we were climbing up a hill and it got a bit steeper near the top and I got a bit more tired and started to slow, he clapped me on the shoulder, pointed up the hill and yelled “STRENGTH AND HONOUR! HOLD THE LINE! STAY WITH ME!” just to encourage me up this hill and I love him so much for it

- absolutely cannot stand the bit in the chariot fight where the archer woman gets fully sliced in half. Couldn’t deal with it in 2013 and can’t deal with it now

- fun fact this film got the thumbs up thumbs down thing the wrong way round. In the scene where maximus’ identity was revealed to commodus, he moves his hand from a neutral position to his thumb pointing upwards, which means that he is sparing maximus. Often the emperor would use this code to signal to the winning gladiator if they should kill the loser. However, apparently thumb down didn’t mean “finish them”, it actually meant “throw down your weapon”, and the thumb pointing upward was meant to symbolise the sword thrusting up into the loser’s body. However this might also might be incorrect, I have not by any means done extensive research

- “it vexes me. I am terribly vexed.” Another classic dad quote

- just ruminating on ancient rome. Legitimately cannot imagine a worse occupation than being a gladiator. I’m sure if I thought about it a bit more I’d think of worse jobs, but right now, this is the one

- they used… real tigers for the scene with Tigris ??? Not happy about that. First of all, how ?

- I love the constant talk of the dream that was Rome, and the constant talk in tandem of the mob and how fickle they are. There is the dream that is Rome and there is the reality of the fickle mob. They obviously can’t coexist but those everyone we meet wants something better, in some way

- I don’t know if phoenix made a conscious decision about his speech but it really fit with what I said before about him being a petulant child because his speech didn't sound completely developed and reminded me of a child’s speech in how he pronounces certain letters. It adds so much to the character because he is a completely abhorrent person who wants to sleep with his sister and have a pure blood heir, have complete control over the roman empire and kill anyone who comes between his dream of what that empire could be under him. But then at the same time he sounds like a kid who’s not getting his own way

- I do not want a snake in my bed

- ‘“Strength and honour,” Maximus said to Juba. The two men smiled and rested their foreheads together.’ I did beam at this bit

- apparently proximo was meant to live in the original version of the film, but Oliver reed died during production, before all his scenes were filmed, so his character had to be killed. The last shot of him is from the back, so we don’t see his face, and a shot from earlier where he says “shadows and dust” is cut in right before he dies. The film was dedicated to reed’s memory

- OH another thing I Loved about commodus was how he had a white horse, and white armour in the final battle with maximus, while maximus has black armour, which is the standard. Because commodus has such an idea of who he is, and in his mind, he is Rome’s saviour, even though he knows full well he doesn’t have any of the qualities of a good emperor. White is typically the colour used to signify that a character is good, and pure, etc. so I really enjoyed the inversion of that to show commodus’ character and the character he wants Rome to see

- this isn’t a film about violence, it’s about a philosophy

- one last thing is that when I rewatch films to write up these things, I often skip parts because I get the gist of what’s going on and I don’t need to watch the whole thing. With this, even though it was 2 hours 35, I watched the whole thing, and I think that says a lot about how good a film it is

[ingravinoveritas]

Can you imagine the people you seem to adore so much reading what you post? How embarrassed they'd feel? They're not characters, they're real people. It's weird and fetishistic wtf

Okay, Anon…I’m gonna take a stab in the dark and guess that this is in response to my jokey birthday post for Michael from earlier today. Or perhaps the Michael/David RPF I’ve written, if you’ve somehow managed to come across that.

So, let me tell you a funny story. When I watched Good Omens last year and subsequently got into the fandom, I was not at all inclined to write or even allude to any RPF between Michael and David. I’d been through the wringer in my previous fandom, and was far more interested/invested in Aziraphale and Crowley, as well as slowly exploring the careers of Michael and David and all of the things they’d been in that I hadn’t seen. I binge-watched Masters Of Sex, Broadchurch, and every movie of theirs that piqued my interest and that I could get my hands on.

At the same time, I started watching interviews of them. Not just Michael and David together, but separately as well. David’s interview on Graham Norton from 2007, for example, which was the interview that made me love him. And every single absurdly flirty interview of Michael’s with Craig Ferguson just blew my mind and made me fall head-over-heels for his wily Welsh charms.

But those interviews of Michael and David together, Anon. Those were what made me realize that it wasn’t just the characters of Aziraphale and Crowley to whom I was drawn. It was the men behind them, and the very powerful, hilarious, beautiful chemistry between them. The relationship between Az and Crowley worked so well in the first place because of that chemistry, and I found myself seeing it more and more whenever Michael and David were together, and it was utterly irresistible.

Then these two moments happened…

Now, David is a fandom veteran. David’s been around the block and knows what things to say to rile fans up, to get that certain specific reaction out of a crowd. But Michael…Michael is a lovable madman. He did that interview with Richard Herring last summer…and that happened. Apropos of nothing. There was nothing that led up to it, not even a whisper of a mention of GO or the Ineffable Husbands…nada. Zip. Zilch. Niente. And yet…”he’s my lover.”

So between these two moments and the countless interviews of Michael and David together endlessly praising each other, gazing at each other, Michael staring at David’s mouth like he was starving for it…It was like the floodgates opened, Anon. I’ve read and written RPF before (as mentioned above), but I read MS/DT fics long before I ever attempted to write one, because I wanted so much to properly capture their personalities and voices. It took months for me to write anything because I was so concerned about it being true to who Michael and David are. If all I wanted was just to see two hot guys making out–if it was just that generic kink I was after–I could simply watch porn. But my fantasies aren’t about random men; they’re about Michael Sheen and David Tennant. And those fantasies are an extension of what Michael and David themselves have put out in the world for all of us to play with, to imagine, and to enjoy.

So, no, I don’t think Michael or David would be embarrassed by what I’ve written. They certainly do and have been embarrassed by other things–often adorably so–but from every interview or appearance I’ve seen, they also have a sense of humor about themselves. And while I’ve seen horrifying incidents in other fandoms of fans sending their fics to the actors in question, I am in no way doing that with Michael and David. I am not pushing my work into their faces and I never will (though Michael has admitted to reading fanfic in the past and god knows what corners of the Internet he’s lurking in).

It’s unfortunate that you’ve come across my posts and have some issues with them, Anon. But I’m going to offer you a really nifty solution to that very exact same problem: Don’t like, don’t read. Super easy, super doable. This way, the folks who do enjoy what I post (and there seem to be quite a few, as I’ve just recently passed the 1,000 follower mark, which is mind-boggling to me) can keep on enjoying it. I hope this helps you out, Anon, and that this can conclude our interaction and we can go our separate ways. Godspeed, Allons-y, Live Long and Prosper, and Tickety-Boo to you…

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

Ineffable husband's for the ship thing ❤️

ty stacey!!

when I started shipping it if I did: last june when the show came out

my thoughts: o i have had many thoughts but i feel like you can sum them up with this line i wrote my very own self but SHOULDN’T have because it haunts me

What makes me happy about them: i really like how they fit into each other’s damaged bits. that’s kind of what brought them together actually. but they also have a lot of fun together and really enjoy each other, and it makes them very entertaining both to watch and to write

What makes me sad about them: they’re not canon!!!! and it feels like. in universe it feels like self loathing or lingering fear/trauma which makes the end very bittersweet. in the real world (the doylist explaination i guess) it’s just uh. cowardice and indifference, which is sad in a different way.

things done in fanfic that annoys me: i’ve enjoyed most of the fanfic i’ve read tbh! i haven’t rlly noticed any patterns in fanfic that i find annoying. i DO think neil gets way too much credit for being progressive n supportive but that’s not rlly something that comes up in the narrative of a fanfic

things I look for in fanfic: i want them to have a fun time together and enjoy each other’s company! sometimes i’ll read fics where the pairing are pining after each other but there isn’t much in the fic to show like. what they like about each other or THAT they like each other (except for them being very sad about not being together yet) and i wanna see them having fun and being playful and laughing together bc honestly i can’t imagine being in love with someone who didn’t make me laugh COULDN’T be me. it doesn’t feel like love to me if no one ever has any fun. like i get angst n all but i’ve had a very hard life, and the people i’ve fallen in love with have been people who made my life brighter and who i’ve had FUN with. fun isn’t shallow and i like to see it acknowledged and respected as it deserves. 

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: nobody?? there is nobody else possible??? 

My happily ever after for them: sussex, babey!!! they don’t need happily ever after they’re immortal. and love is a series of tries anyway. even once you figure it out, it doesn’t stay figured out forever; you keep having to try again.

who is the big spoon/little spoon: they both love to be the little spoon, but there is some kinda special spoon energy when crowley is the little spoon. aziraphale loves to love so very much, and crowley really craves that shelter and protection and the chemistry when they have those needs satisfied is rlly something!!!!

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: eating for sure!!! going out to dinner and spending like 3-4 hours at the restaurant just. vibing. 

[thelasthomelyurl]

he wakes and all is well: a Good Omens Valentine’s Day oneshot

I volunteered to be an emergency match for @goloveday​ and got to write a small gift for @btab66 It’s a little piece of fluff that I had fun writing and hope you enjoy!

Title: he wakes and all is well Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Ineffable Husbands (Aziraphale/Crowley) Rating: G Word count: 1k

Read it on AO3 or below the cut!

Aziraphale wakes up. He’s not used to waking up, not yet, because he is not used to sleeping, but he thinks that he could grow to like it, because sleeping means listening to the deep rhythm of Crowley’s breath until all is serene and still, means all of his senses being filled with Crowley at the start of every day.

He’s warm, because he wakes up in the flannel sheets they bought together, Crowley and he, and they had bickered about colors and patterns before coming to agreement: warm ivory sheets and duvets as deep as the night sky.

Sunlight is streaming in through the open window; it must be nearly noon, and that reminds the angel of just how late they’d stayed up the night before, drinking and playing chess and fibbing outrageously about their own past involvement in historical events. The night before that it had been tapas and a debate about which Shakespeare theories had the least merit. The night before that had been silence and firelight and warm blankets.

Crowley isn’t there, but that is alright. The warmth of him lingers in the sheets, the scent of him is wrapped around Aziraphale like an extra blanket. And Aziraphale can wake up to his absence without dread, these days. His fears have subsided in the face of long years of habitual contentedness and safety.

And he smells pancakes. Neither of them has any great culinary expertise, but it has been pleasant to start learning together. Attempts which Aziraphale would have found tedious on his own become delightful when Crowley sneaks up behind him for a hug or holds out a spoonful of whatever they’re making for him to try. So now they mostly eat breakfast at home, and mornings stretch later and later into the day, and everything is perfect.

Aziraphale gets out of bed and pulls on his dressing gown as he makes his way to the kitchen. It’s a funny thing: he would bet that he’s spent more time in his living quarters in the past four years than in the previous two centuries combined. They’re small but have never once felt cramped with Crowley here. Sharing a home with his love is a luxury Aziraphale is sure can never lose its luster.

In the kitchen, American pancakes and a cup of tea are waiting for Aziraphale, piping hot—as they no doubt would still have been even if it had taken him hours longer to leave bed.

“Morning,” says Crowley. He’s propped up inelegantly at the other side of the table, both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.

“And to you.”

Aziraphale sits and begins eating.

Crowley watches him.

Crowley often watches him—has been watching him since the Very Beginning, to the point that Aziraphale finds it impossible (not to mention distinctly unpleasant) to imagine Earth without Crowley’s watching. Aziraphale is, by this point, something of a connoisseur of being watched by Crowley, of the ways in which Crowley watches him: for the pleasure of a lovely thing to look at (which is flattering); to look for signs of weakness as he presents some argument or plan (which is now mercifully rare); to wait for something (which had used to flummox poor Aziraphale until he learned that the demon loved him back); to see if Aziraphale is going to ask.

He seems to love being asked. Crowley had been very forward about the whole Arrangement—perhaps as a matter of necessity—but Aziraphale has learned over the millennia that Crowley loves to wait, loves to be asked, invited, welcomed.

And Aziraphale does so love to indulge him.

“My dear,” he says lightly after a sip of tea. “This breakfast was such a lovely surprise to wake up to.”

The demon only makes a noncommittal noise, but there is nothing that Aziraphale has studied as much as Crowley’s face: the demon is holding something back.

“May I know the occasion?” he asks.

There—there’s the moment of indecision, of Crowley warring with himself over whether to preserve his aloof facade. But Aziraphale knows the demon will give in.

Not without a struggle, though: “Do I need an occasion to make breakfast?” Crowley asks.

“Goodness no,” says Aziraphale. “All the same…” he lets the sentence trail off to nothing, leaves his words hanging in the air like an invitation, and returns nonchalantly to his breakfast.

Not even a minute later, Crowley appears to give up. “It’s our anniversary,” he blurts out.

Aziraphale smiles. “Is it?”

Crowley is forever finding anniversaries for them. The anniversary of the Arrangement, of their first drink together, their first shared meal, their first night sleeping side-by-side. The anniversary of the night that Crowley rescued Aziraphale’s books during the blitz. The anniversary of the first time they fed ducks. Sometimes Aziraphale suspects that they’ll get to a point where not a week passes without an anniversary of some sort, some little celebration that Crowley has invented for them, because Crowley remembers. He hoards their milestones like a dragon’s treasure. If Aziraphale had known that before, it would have been heartbreaking. Now, though—now, when they are safe and able to celebrate anything they wish—it is a delight.

“First date,” Crowley says.

“That can’t be right. Our first date was in September, four years ago.”

Crowley shakes his head. “Not like that. The first time we made an actual plan to see each other, without the excuse of the Arrangement. Didn’t just...find each other.”

“When—oh, do you mean the theatre?”

The demon nods and rewards him with a little smile.

“Gracious, how long has it been?”

“Dunno,” says Crowley. “Just remember the date.”

February 14, 1895, Aziraphale thinks it was—one hundred and twenty-nine years. The opening of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest at St James’s Theatre. He’d never thought of it that way before, but Crowley’s classification of it as a date makes sense: the very first time they’d shed the careful pretext of the Arrangement or of happenstance. Not the first step, certainly, but an important step on the road that has led them here: to breakfast in the late morning sun, to nights spent close and cozy.

“That one was your idea,” Crowley says.

The first time Aziraphale asked.

“Well,” Aziraphale says, “you always did like the funny ones.”

[girl-in-the-library]

Discussion of sex, genitals, and literary (fanfiction) smut/erotica under the cut

I’ve wondered, for a while, why I prefer reading and writing smut between two people with penises rather than a person with a penis and a vulva or two people with vulvas. After all, I am a person with a vulva.

I’m worried that I’ve been fetishizing. I don’t think I am, but the so called male-male fantasy of cis women is hard to shake off.

But I think I’ve realized why.

I relate too much to fiction where one of the parties involved has a vulva, and it makes me uncomfortable. I’m on the asexual spectrum - I’m demisexual - and even though I consider myself sex-neutral (willing and even enjoying sex when the circumstances are right), I am uncomfortable with the feeling of arousal and the understanding that I could literally be having the kind of sex that the characters are having. I know what it feels like to have sex with a vulva and I honestly don’t like it very much (penetrative sex I don’t like. I do enjoy other sexual acts but I can still not feel great about it). It makes me uncomfortable. I get bored. It hurts. (I know it’s not supposed to but it does 98% of the time). And just...I can imagine myself in that position and I Don’t Like It.

It used to not bother me as much, when I was reading in particular InuKag and Dramione fic. It bothers me more now.

Considering my main fandom has been Yuri on Ice for over two years now, it hasn’t been a problem.

But I’m coming to some interesting feelings when reading Good Omens fic. I love Ineffable Husbands, I love Ineffable Wives, and I love everything in between. But I still find myself reading primarily fic, when it happens to be smutty, where both of the characters have penises. I respect everyone’s gender and sexuality headcanons for the two - but my gender headcanons are Aziraphale has tried on a bunch of genders and generally prefers to have a penis (when he has genitals at all) and use he/him pronouns. Crowley likes changing up his gender, prefers he/him pronouns when he’s with Aziraphale, and prefers all other people/celestial beings to use the pronouns of the gender he is presenting at the time (and Aziraphale to use those prounouns when they are in public together). Those are just my headcanons, everyone can feel free to agree or disagree.

Point is - I do occasionally read fic with Crowley (though also occasionally Aziraphale) has a vulva. And I don’t know how to feel about it. Because I still relate to it in a way that makes me uncomfortable. But in some ways it’s also because of Good Omens fic that I’ve realized that relating is why it’s making me uncomfortable, and I’m trying to work through my discomfort.

But I’m reading a fic right now where experienced!Aziraphale is gently taking virgin!Crowley through his first time. And there’s a line... “... Crowley had the sudden, terrifying realisation that he was about to come.” 

(The fic is called Fine Dining and is absolutely wonderful. I just linked to the second chapter there, make sure you go back to the first chapter. It’s hilarious and well written and sexy, regardless of my feelings on penis-vulva sex. It’s the fact that it’s sexy that’s making me struggle with my feelings.)

But anyway...I’ve had that exact feeling. That “terrifying realization that [I’m] about to come.” I’ve never had an orgasm before because (1) I don’t masturbate so I’ve never brought myself to orgasm and (2) none of my partners have been able to bring me there. With the exception of once. I had that terrifying realization and I made my partner stop. He stopped immediately, and I burst into tears. It was fucking scary. I didn’t like what I was feeling, even though it also felt really good at the same time. And even though Crowley is having a completely different reaction than I did, I’m relating really, really hard. And it’s freaking me out.

Sex is a really complicated subject for me. I don’t like feeling aroused, but I love the feeling of giving someone else sexual pleasure, and that arouses me, and then I’m uncomfortable. It’s why I like sexting, honestly, because I can bring someone to climax and pleasure without touching anyone or myself because I don’t need to. I don’t mind touching my partner, and I do physically enjoy the feeling of being touched sexually, even if mentally I am screaming against it most of the time. (I do love intimate/romantic touch - including kissing, cuddling, and skin to skin contact. Just not so much the sexual touch.) 

I’m still trying to figure out what I want sexually, if anything, and what my boundaries are. I know I’ve gone past my boundaries before and have been very upset by it. I know I’ve had a loving relationship where I enjoyed sexual contact - even if that memory is soured by a bad breakup. But fanfiction is a place where I can explore...and so far my exploration is that reading about characters with vulvas having sex makes me uncomfortable because I relate too much. I’ve always been very empathetic and put myself in the shoes of my favorite characters. I’m always there, I’m always them. And if I’m them, I’m experiencing what they’re experiencing...except my experience with sex in general, and penetrative sex in particular, is so far removed from the experiences of the people with vulvas in the fanfiction that there’s a disconnect in my brain and it makes me uncomfortable.

At the end of the day, sex between two people with penises does not make me uncomfortable. I don’t have a penis, I don’t have a prostate, and I’ve never tried anal so I can’t relate to that. When I put myself in those characters shoes then, I relate to the emotions that go with it - the love and the pleasure of being with someone you love - rather than the physicality.

Maybe that is fetishizing at the end of the day. I hope not. Either way, I’m working through some issues.