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clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year ago

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HELLO!!! i have a request for a platonic Crowley and Aziraphale x fem!reader with she/they pronouns 😄 if you know Nimona, then thats what i want the reader to be like. theyre a spunky, immortal, young teenager anarchist who can shapeshift and has unnaturally coloured eyes and hair. one day they find the two (husbands), and kinda just stays, so Crowley and Aziraphale accept their fate!! i dont mind if you decide to include a smudge of angst (or a shit ton whatever you prefer, but im impartial to both, so do with that what you will,) because after the newest season, i cant get enough of it.

many thanks!!

Oh! I haven't seen the movie but I know about Nimona!

......

You met Aziraphale and Crowley in 537 AD, encountering them by pure chance.

At first you intimidate them as a dragon, thinking they were two hapless knights who lost their way back to their kingdom..

Until you saw Crowley's snake eyes, and you realize he's not human at all.

"You there...I like your eyes.....are you another shapeshifter?"

"...um..nope." The demon in black armor looks incredibly confused, especially at this dragon talking to him. "Don't know what gave you that idea.."

"Well technically he is." The white knight adds on, smiling nervously. "You see, my erm..."rival" here is something of a serpent who was sent to-"

"Shut it, Angel. This beast doesn't need our lifestory! Now if you could kindly excuse us, o' great dragon, we have to discuss-"

"Hate to break it to you, but....I'm not actually a dragon."

"Then what are you exactly? You...said something about "shapeshifting" before, didn't you?"

To answer Crowley's question, you transform into a young human clad in knight armor, taking off your helmet to reveal your unnaturally-colored eyes and hair, smiling. "Bingo."

The pair are quite impressed, so they have no reason to hide the fact they were an angel and demon.

You explained how you've had these shapeshifting powers for a long time, being on the run since everyone thinks you're a "cursed child" or some monster that was once banished, wanting nothing more than to drive a sword through your heart.

When it's clear that neither Aziraphale nor Crowley have any intentions of hurting you....that's when you decided to stick with them.

It took them 20 years to realize you never aged, learning you're an immortal being in a teenager's body.

Your powers allow you to keep up with the times, disguising yourself as animals, people...or even angels and demons if your heart so desired.

Sometimes you'll turn into a snake much like Crowley's own snake form (although your scales have the color of your hair, ofc, so you're not 100% identical).

You haven't mastered turning just your head into a snake, however.

In the modern era, you enjoy being a nightingale after learning they were both fond of those birds, often singing in the bookshop out of boredom.

Although Crowley's fully aware you're not a demon, you got a spunky and rebellious personality and love getting up to mischief.

And he 100% encourages this (while poor Aziraphale's practically begging you to stay out of trouble).

But you're definitely on the angel's side anytime he compliments Crowley, who just snarls and denies ever doing something "nice" or "good".

You don't believe he's all that evil for even a moment.

While you're aware that they have to act like they despise each other bc they're on opposite sides...in your eyes, they behave so much like an old married human couple.

Aziraphale emphasizing "our car" when talking about the Bentley made you roll your eyes and joke about when the wedding's gonna start.

When Aziraphale returns to Heaven without Crowley, you realize that maybe your "marriage jokes" went a bit too far...even though neither of them blame you for their falling out.

Still, you feel bad bc you can tell Crowley was genuinely in love with him.

You overheard everything, and after his "no nightingales" remark, you're reluctant to shapeshift into one again out of fear of upsetting him.

Yet he asks you, too, as he couldn't bear the silence in the bookshop anymore...and listening to any of Aziraphale's music records would've been too painful for him.

You obliged, staying perched on his shoulder as he stared out the window for hours...hoping that his angel would come back to him.

You hoped so, too, waiting everyday by his side...until the end of time if you had to.

#clanask #anonymous #good omens x reader #good omens 2 spoilers #platonic #teen reader #shapeshifter reader #female reader #headcanons

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maccreadysbaby · 9 months ago

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A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: eating disorders (mentioned), anxiety attacks

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

exploring the inner workings of a tim drake kinda hurts you guys… anyway, here’s bentley struggling with many many things, and tim, also struggling with many many things

part twenty

❝ I’D GIVE YOU MY LUNGS (SO YOU COULD BREATHE) ❞

MONDAY — AUGUST 10 — 9:17PM

DR. KEENE TAUGHT CLASS THAT DAY LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED. Which threw Bentley all off.

If he had been guilty, the police would’ve arrested him, right? If he was still on their radar, they wouldn’t let him go back into a classroom full of kids, would they? Nico suggested that he was questioned because he was the last person to see Mandy before she disappeared, which was what Bentley settled on. Mostly because it was less terrifying than the alternative.

So, if he wasn’t guilty, what really did happen to Mandy Todryk?

That’s exactly what Bentley intended on figuring out, and exactly why he was thumping down into the Batcave at nine-at-night. To bother Tim about it. If anyone knew anything about her disappearance, it was Tim.

Bentley’s phone was shoved in his jacket pocket, vibrating almost incessantly from the group chat. Asten and Nico were discussing ways to (covertly) send the police the wrong way, and had been since school ended. Bentley only replied minimally — throwing in a suggestion here and there. He didn’t want to be on his phone a lot; too many opportunities for Bruce or someone else to ask to see it. To see their plans. It was too risky. But using Tim for information? He could probably pull it off without a hitch.

Poor Tim. Bentley didn’t think he’d as much as taken a step toward the Manor since Dick got attacked. He hadn’t been going to dinner, to bed, to work, as far as Bentley knew. The only two things he did anymore were stare at the Batcomputer, and go on patrol. Nothing else. He blew off Alfred’s offers of food and suggestions of rest, staying completely and utterly engrossed in his casework — And Bentley was worried about him.

Well, the Bentley that was buried beneath the Puppeteer.

But, seeing as he was the Puppeteer, he shouldn’t have cared enough to worry. He was only using Tim for information, after all. So he quickly decided that, like every other problem in his life, he was just going to do what he did best.

Ignore it.

And Dick Grayson, the family’s resident make-everything-better-er, promptly decided that he was going to do what he did best.

Not ignore it.

Bentley could hear his voice long before he even made it to the end of the staircase that led into the cave. Dick was talking and talking and talking like he always did, and Bentley couldn’t hear him exactly, but he was pretty sure Tim was the only other one in the cave that he could’ve been talking to. Bentley, instead of walking inside, settled at the bottom of the stairs, keeping himself out of their line of sight.

“You need to take a break, Timmy,” Was the first thing Dick said that Bentley could really decipher. His voice was moving, like he was walking, or pacing. He’d been getting more and more restless over the past week or so — he couldn’t patrol, and he couldn’t leave the Manor, in fear of the Secret Keeper getting to him. So he was just… benched, as of current. And benched plus energetic circus performer equaled a very jittery and bored Dick Grayson.

“Don’t call me that,” Was Tim’s distracted response. Bentley would be lying if he said he couldn’t hear it in his voice — the weariness that seemed to be growing more and more common around Wayne Manor. The fatigue that came along with fighting an endless battle they were destined to lose, against someone they couldn’t see.

Bentley sighed lightly, lacing his hands together in front of him. Something inside of him told him to leave, that he shouldn’t listen — but the Puppeteer knew he had to. Words were leverage, knowledge was power, and he needed power in order to win.

Dick continued: “I’m serious, Tim. We’re worried about you. Bruce is worried about you.”

Bentley heard a snort. “Yeah, right. He’s been so focused on you and Bentley that he hasn’t talked to me in two entire days.”

If there was ever a statement that could make Bentley want to claw himself out of his own skin, that was it. To hear Tim say something entirely too similar to what Damian had said — that he was being pushed to the backburner while Bentley stayed center stage. Hearing it from Tim, complete with resentment, annoyance… that made it hurt all the worse. Now that Tim said it, too, Bentley couldn’t blame it on an impulsive assassin having a bad day. All he could blame now was himself.

No one really wanted him there, did they? He was just a burden taking up space.

“Tim-“

“But that’s fine. I’m used to it, after all,” Tim trailed off, and Bentley heard his typing from the Batcomputer grow louder. “Jack Drake always had other things to tend to, as well. He just didn’t have other kid card he could pull to make himself look innocent.”

“Bruce-“

“Just go away, Dick. I’m trying to focus,” Tim ordered. A long bout of silence came and went, but there were no footsteps, which meant Dick didn’t intend on leaving. He was a bleeding heart, and Bentley was afraid that, one day, he would bleed himself dry.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” Came Dick’s voice again — softer, gentler. Tim just grumbled in response.

“Dick,”

“I’m serious,” He repeated, as though his words would stick if he said that enough. “I haven’t seen you come upstairs in a solid week, at least.”

“I have,” Tim shot back.

“You’re deflecting,”

“You’re being annoying,”

There was another long silence.

Bentley heard Dick inhale and exhale deeply. “Alfred and I are worried you might be… y’know… slipping… again. He says you haven’t eaten what he brings you.”

“You really have a way with words,” Tim sassed. “If I were you, I’d put that on your list of things not to say to people.”

“I’m trying to get through to you,” Dick replied with a light huff. “I’m so proud of you, Tim, we’re all so, so proud of you. But you have to tell someone if you start backsliding.”

“I’m not backsliding!” Tim spat, a sort of bite, a venom unique only to him laced in his words like deadly poison. Bentley had never heard him turn toxic like that. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was Dick was talking about, what Tim was supposedly backsliding into, but it sure seemed to make him upset. “Here’s some advice, Dick — if it sounds good to you in your head, you should probably keep it to yourself. Go. Away.”

There was a tense silence.

Dick’s voice came back even quieter. “I just care about you, Tim. I want to help if you need it.”

“None of this is helpful,”

“Then tell me what I need to do,” Dick ordered, and Bentley heard steps. “Teach me how to do this so you can take a break.”

“What you need to do is shut up and leave me alone,”

Another long silence passed. The tension in the air was so thick Bentley could probably cut it with a knife if he tried, and everything was still. Quiet.

“Okay. I’ll go. I’m sorry,” Dick said. He sounded like he’d been wounded. “But… just so you know, Alfred told me he’s planning to weigh you before you patrol tonight. I… guess you know the drill.”

Tim snorted again, some strange mix of rage and amusement. “You should teach a class on how to talk to anorexics, Dick. You’re doing great.”

Bentley froze.

He’d learned what anorexic meant from his Social Worker, that many children became it after moving from traumatic households. That if he saw the signs, he should tell someone he trusted. But he’d never thought… he couldn’t have assumed… that Tim….

And Dick had said backsliding. Which meant that this wasn’t the first time?

“I love you,” Dick said.

“Go away,” Was Tim’s reply.

Bentley scuttled back up the stairs, and decided he would talk to Tim tomorrow.

Or never.

—

That tomorrow came a little sooner than he’d expected.

Because, at eleven that night, when patrol had just begun, a door slammed in the hallway so hard it shook the walls and jolted Bentley straight out of his group-chat trance.

He glanced around his dark room warily. His only sources of vision were the light from the bathroom that was streaming in through the cracked door, what minuscule amount of neon green light was shining from his alarm clock, and his phone.

He, Nico, and Asten had been discussing Mandy for the better part of two hours. Thankfully, Asten no longer wanted to interrogate Dr. Keene, since it would seem suspicious, but now, he was inclined to do something even more insane: steal his phone.

Everyone hides their secrets on their phone, had been his defense. Nico, in true Nico fashion, made a bulleted-list of reasons why that was a terrible idea.

Messages kept flooding in like a running river. Was Dr. Keene guilty? Was he bribing the police to keep them quiet? Was the Secret Keeper an alien that was mind controlling him to help her abduct people? Had he secretly killed Mandy? Would he kill them? What’s up with the Areopagus? How were they going to beat the police?

With a soft sigh, Bentley put his phone on his nightstand without replying, running his hands over his face. His mind was so full it was hard to think about anything anymore. Everything he’d locked away when the Puppeteer returned didn’t seem locked away at all. In fact, it seemed to be more prominent, like it was beating on the door to get let out.

Damian and Tim didn’t want him there — he was just a burden, an extra head. The Secret Keeper kept visiting him like he was her favorite coffee shop. Asten and Nico had been chased — literally chased — and could be killed by her almost anytime. They all could. Dick still wasn’t fully back to being Dick. Mandy Todryk was missing. Not to mention Nico’s family, and what Bentley had learned about Tim. That they needed to find a way to trick the literal cops. Why did everything seem to be either impossible or falling apart?

And to top it all off, Bentley had to outsmart Bruce Wayne, the greatest detective in the world. The Puppeteer had to upstage Batman.

He could’ve started crying and not stopped until he was turned twenty. But he couldn’t… he wasn’t supposed to feel like that since he was the Puppeteer. So he pushed it away in hopes it would fade by itself.

He didn’t really want to bother Tim after earlier, but he could go bother Barbara — she had access to the Batcomputer, which would have all the information he could ever want on it. His only obstacle may be getting into the Batcave after he was supposedly asleep, but given most of the family was patrolling and his sleep schedule was botched, it probably wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

So Bentley pushed himself out of his bed with a stretch. The soft sailboat pajamas he’d changed into used to be Jason’s, he was pretty sure, which would be good for if he needed to beg Barbara to watch patrol. She was a sucker for when he was cute, much like Dick.

He shoved his phone in the side pocket and pulled his door open, glancing out in the hallway warily. He couldn’t see whoever had slammed their door. With the way it shook his walls, he assumed it would’ve had to have been Damian or Tim — their rooms were closest. Maybe Duke if he slammed it really, really hard. But Bentley didn’t think Duke would do that anyways.

With an inhale and a quiet prayer that whoever was angry wouldn’t come out of their room, he stepped into the hallway and closed his door.

It was quiet and dark — the hallway. Laced with the tension that had been floating about the Manor ever since the Secret Keeper made everything go wrong. Bentley usually liked when the Manor was loud. He usually liked to know that there were other people around, but right now, he preferred the quiet.

He took three successful steps before he heard a sound. A familiar sound that he’d only heard from himself and Dick, so far. A sound that made his Puppeteer mask crack and the old Bentley who cared seep through, like blood through a cut.

Fast, shallow breathing.

The old Bentley in him made him stop and look around, attempting to locate exactly where it was coming from, even though the Puppeteer was screaming that he shouldn’t care. That he should leave. When did making decisions become so much harder?

He wasn’t very surprised when the sound led him straight to Tim’s bedroom door.

Between the conversation Bentley had heard earlier and the slam, he could only assume Tim had been benched from patrol. That would make the most sense given the circumstances Bentley shouldn’t have known about.

Even as his entire brain told him to go downstairs, that he shouldn’t care enough to check, that this wasn’t getting them any further in their fight for the Secret Keeper — he knocked.

“Tim?” He questioned softly, probably as quiet as humanly possible. Why did it get so hard to talk when someone else was upset?

When he got no response except bated breathing, he tried the handle — unlocked. So he breathed in and pushed the door open.

The room was dark, only illuminated by the bathroom light through a cracked door, just like Bentley’s had been. He squinted into the dark, scouring the area for Tim. The bed, the desk in the corner, even as far as searching for a shadow in the bathroom. He wasn’t there. But the breathing was, coming from straight ahead.

And then he saw Tim in the floor.

It wasn’t very clear in the dark, but it looked like he’d only made it to the footboard of his bed and decided that’s where he’d stay. He was sitting there, looking unusually small, even for him, legs all curled up like Bentley did when he was uncomfortable. The child could see him trembling even despite the lack of light. The nineteen-year-old had made himself as tiny as he could, wedging himself against the footboard, tugging at his own hair.

His Puppeteer facade fell away far too easily, leaving a stunned Bentley there to blink. He knew what this was — the breathing, the shaking, the curling — it was the same thing that happened to him at the grocery store. In the janitor’s closet.

Tim Drake was having an anxiety attack before his very eyes.

He crossed the threshold into the bedroom and fought away a burn that tried to surface behind his eyes. “Tim?” His mouth felt like a desert, his voice, miles away from his own ears. He was not prepared to handle this. He wasn’t. All his mind supplied was a repetitive string of oh my God, oh my God, oh my God that played like a broken record.

He stepped slowly, like movement too fast would break him, letting the door gently swing closed behind him. Tim was staring at the floor. He wasn’t crying like Bentley had during his attacks, but he was shaking like a leaf, and struggling even harder to get air into his lungs than Bentley remembered.

What the heck was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to help?

He took a deep breath and came to rest on his knees in front of him, just like Tim had done when they were at the grocery store — eyes level with each other. “Tim.”

Geez, what had Tim said to him at the store? Why did he feel so useless and terrible when it came to helping? Why couldn’t he remember anything that came out of Tim’s mouth that day?

He reached, instead, for Tim’s hand, and said his name again, because apparently Tim was the only word his mouth could produce at the moment. He copied the only thing he could remember from the grocery store that day — he put Tim’s hand against his shirt and said: “Breathe with me.”

He then made sure to breathe deep and dramatically and slowly, like Tim and Bruce did when they were trying to calm him down. Tim’s glassy blue eyes stayed locked on the rug beneath him, the hand Bentley wasn’t holding laced through his hair. Bentley kept breathing and kept breathing, loud and dramatic and deep, but Tim just kept wheezing and kept wheezing and started coughing and Bentley started to panic a little because it wasn’t working.

“Tim. I… I know you feel like you’re in danger… but you’re not. You’re safe,” Bentley tried, cringing at his desperate attempts to help. He always felt so dumb when it came to other people. “Can you feel me breathing?”

Tim said nothing, but gripped at the front of Bentley’s shirt.

“It’s just us. We’re safe,” He muttered. “I know you don’t feel good, but it will go away soon. Just… try to take deep breaths. Like me.”

Bentley breathed in and out for what seemed like forever, but it never seemed to help — Tim’s breathing didn’t slow, his shaking didn’t stop, and Bentley was starting to feel a little bit hopeless. A little bit like he was going to cry. A little bit like he wanted to go get Dick, the only other one home from patrol.

“Tim,” His voice cracked. When did it get so hard to talk? And why were his eyes burning like that? “Please… we’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Tim made a noise — not a sob, but not not a sob, releasing Bentley’s shirt and bringing his hand back up into his hair. Making himself into a box; closing out the rest of the world.

Bentley was suddenly crying.

“I’m sorry, Tim, I’m sorry, I’m not good at this, I’m sorry,” He muttered, wiping furiously at his leaking eyes with his fists Because crying wasn’t helpful in the slightest. “I’m sorry, I don’t… I-I don’t know what to do. I… I… I’ll go get Dick.”

Bentley couldn’t even stand up before Tim had ahold of his pajama sleeve, practically rooting him to the spot. Bentley sniffled: “Let me get someone that can help better!”

It was no use — Tim didn’t let go. Bentley was full-on panic-slash-frustrated-slash-hopeless crying now, feeling more useless than a bag of rocks.

He sat back down, his own hands shaking as they hovered, completely unsure of what to do, where to go. He desperately wished he could will the tears to stop coming, but they seemed to appear on their own. What had Nico done in the janitor’s closet? Just waited it out with him?

Bentley, completely lost and overwhelmed, just moved forward and hugged him as gently as he could, both of them shaking, both of them distraught, both of them lost… and he waited.

How was he supposed to pull off an entire secret plan when he couldn’t even keep his Puppeteer mask up for two days?

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

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aziraphalesdiaries · 10 months ago

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31 st. January 2024

Dear diary.

It has been a while now, since I departed to Heaven.

Since I left earth.

Since I left my bookshop.

Since I... left Crowley.

Crowley... He was so angry, when I offered him to come with me to Heaven. To be an angel again. To be my second in command. I was confused first, wondering, what was wrong with him. Why wasn't he happy? But I was confused by the entire situation. His words.. they didn't make any sense.

He ... confessed that we'd been a team for at least 6000 years, denying that we are. Then, he brought up the idea of running away again. But this time, he seemed so... desperate. He seid, that we 'could have been...us'.

Before I could get any of my thoughts together, he stepped towards me, grabbed me by the coat and ... kissed me.

Good heavens, I can't describe the feeling, can't describe what happened to me.

All these years of disguise, of performing a charade ... a charade of not liking that nasty, courageous and caring, brave, sneaky, charming, dashing, daring bastard... all this collapsed over me like a gigantic house of cards.

I didn't even have the chance to sort out the pieces, when he suddenly pulled away. His eyes, these wonderful yellow eyes, glared at me, awaiting what I had to say. And me? I stuttered, stumbled over my tongue and could onlz think of the sentence, I always said after we had a fight. The sentence that always made everything well again.

'I forgive you!'

Not this time.

I could see his eyes shadow, something broke within them.

'Don't bother!'

He went pale, turned on a heel and stormed out of the bookshop.

I stood there like back in Jericho again, when the walls came tumbling down. Or those poor humans of Sodom who were turned into pillars of salt.

My trembling hand touched my mouth... where his sweet lips had been moments ago. It already felt like eternity.

Before I could calm my thoughts and blink away my tears, The Metatron entered and urged me to leave.

It must have been a reflex. An escape reflex.

The next thing I remembered, was crossing the street at The Metatron's side, stepping towards the lift. Where he told me, what the ineffable plan really was.

The Second Coming.

All colour drained from my face. They're trying it again. And this time, it was, as Crowley had said 'The Big Thing'.

I was wrong.

He was right.

He'd been right all along.

I turned to my bookshop, where Muriel was about to close the door. But my eyes were on Crowley. My dear Crowley, as he stood next to the Bentley, waiting for me to turn away and run to him.

I could feel my heart breaking.

Because I didn't.

I had been tricked.

But if I wanted to save Humankind, if I wanted to save Crowley, my dear beloved Crowley, I had to go to Heaven. I had to be in charge and make a difference. It was the only way.

Heaven would never change.

So it had to be stopped from the inside.

I need some time to get used to my new title. Supreme Archangel Aziraphale is way too complicated, but Heaven insisted on that. So I go along with it as long as I can.

The first days and weeks were just a blurr, since there were so many things to be done. Michael and Uriel hadn't been very helpful. The Metatron kept a very close eye on me, but since I hadn't brought Crowley, his suspicion faded day by day.

I tried to feel at home, at least a bit, but every day without earth, the streets of London, Nina and Maggie and food and coffee and my 4 o' clock tea and - all over that- Crowley, was just bitter and empty. It drained all laughter from my face, made it a cold and stony mask.

I start to understand Gabriel, why he was, like he was. I even feel pity for him.

So I spend my days existing, listening to the orders given from above and give them to others

But today I miracled a small book, a pen and I allowed myself some time to process all those things that happened.

I have to be very cautious, listing all that happens up here in Heaven so that dear Crowley will know properly to make the right preparations.

Because I won't let them down.

Not after I gave away my flaming sword .

I won't let him down. Not again.

Sincerely yours

A. Z. Fell

#ineffable husbands #good omens #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale

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grimmdivinity · 5 months ago

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Here Comes the Reign - Chapter One

the writers favorite lines:

She used to look like her mother.

Now she looks like no one.

🌧️🌧️🌧️

HCTR taglist: @sarandipitywrites @yourpenpaldee @simonnebethel @riveriafalll @theverumproject

@floweryprosegarden @trippingpossum

go here to be added to the taglist and be notified of relevant posts (character intros, chapter postings, etc)

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🌧️🌧️🌧️

Everyone fears the unknown. They fear what the future holds. They fear people and things they don’t know enough about. They fear different. That fear is what divides a people. It is what can drive a wedge into the foundation of a kingdom, break it from the inside out. Like a rotten fruit that spoils the entire batch if left to fester, or the plague that swept through the kingdom a few decades ago, fear is a contagious disease. But fear of the unknown is the most basic fear, the kind that is ingrained in everyone from birth. Fearing the unknown is natural.

And everyone in the Kingdom of Newmantle feared the beast that lurked under the King’s castle. It’s been there for almost three decades now, yet very few have laid eyes on the beast. Some had gotten a glimpse when it was smuggled into the dungeons overnight; they’d seen that a large cell was being added to the already existing castle and watched every night until they found out what the cell was for.

A beast, apparently. And they feared that beast as it lurked under the castle. They feared the rumors of the beast’s sharp teeth and even sharper claws. They feared the rumors of wings and eyes as red as the blood it is said to drink. They feared the sheer size the beast is said to be, the size of the cell needed to cage it.

Since it was put under the castle, no one has been permitted to see it outside of the King and his most trusted knights. Not even servants are made to go that far into the dungeons. No one knows exactly what it is, or what it looks like, or what it did to be locked up underneath layers and layers of stone, but they feared it.

Most of all, though, they feared what the King may one day decide to do with the beast. They feared what the beast might do if it were ever let out of the dungeons. If it escaped.

So much about the beast is unknown, but for Reign Lugden, everything is unknown, and she’d be damned if she feared everything.

Reign had grown up in the castle, the product of the King’s brief encounter with one of his servants twenty-four years ago. Reign, her mother named her, for the rights she deserved by blood but knew she’d never be given.

King Tobias Lugden has only one other child, one born to the Queen and recognized as the rightful heir to the crown. A son, younger half-brother to Reign, named Bentley, who made it his mission to terrorize Reign whenever possible. To remind her that she is lesser than him, that she is undeserving of life.

She didn’t think he was wrong, by any means.

If she was deserving, she’d have a much better life than she did now. Then, she’d be allowed outside of the castle. No one outside of the stone walls even knows of her existence. Barely anyone inside the castle knows of her, either, it would seem. Confined to her room most of the day, Reign doesn’t see very many people. Meals are brought to her – when they feel like it. Which sometimes isn’t very often. There’d been times that she’d gone without food until she was so weak and starved that some poor servant had to hand feed her in a shoddy attempt to keep her alive.

It hadn’t always been that way. The first few years were okay, when her mother was still around to love her. Reign was given a basic education, learning to read and write as any kid might, but it stopped there. She’s an adult now, with the education of a child, because once Reign’s mother disappeared, Reign was no longer allowed the same privileges the other castle children got. Instead, once her mother was gone, Reign was taught more useful things, like how to cook and clean, how to wait on the royalty that owned her.

But then as she got older and couldn’t be hidden so easily within the castle, she was eventually confined to a single room. She thought herself lucky to have a full bedroom and washroom to herself. It wasn’t extravagant by any means, it wasn’t anything compared to rooms of the royals she waited on, but it was enough for her.

She had a bed, and she had a place to wash herself. She had a small wardrobe for the few clothes she owned. She had privacy, for the most part. It was her own space. She could cuddle under the blankets when she got cold, open up the window if it got too hot, even if there were bars over the window to stop her from escaping or simply jumping.

No matter how nice it was, though, it was still imprisonment, and it wasn’t too long before she lost even that. The isolation got to her eventually, years of being so utterly alone, and it caused a snap in her brain that she hasn’t quite recovered from.

Before the incident, Reign was a hardheaded girl. She wasn’t afraid to mouth back, to resist the knight’s orders. She didn’t have very many freedoms, but she took advantage of the few she did have.

Then, she broke.

Reign had spent too many years inside the same four walls. More than ever before, she had felt trapped, and for the first and last time, Reign tried to free herself.

The servant had brought Reign her one meal for the day, and Reign took her chance. As soon as the door opened, she was ready, going first for the fork and knife that were on the tray. It was only a dull butterknife and a simple dining fork, but that didn’t stop Reign from shoving the servant to the ground and plunging the silverware into the man’s arm, chest, and neck.

It wasn’t enough to seriously injure the man, but he does still bear the scars of the cutlery, and Reign still bears the same scars on her own body. An eye for an eye, they always told her.

Scarring her in the same way was their justice, but her punishment was to be banished to a dungeon cell. She’d been in the dungeons since that day. But somehow, the dungeons were better. Yes, she had more room to roam in that bedroom they had locked her in. And sure, she had a bed and a bathroom up there, but the only thing she really misses about her room upstairs is the window.

Reign used to sit at the window in her room in the upper levels of the castle, watching the world go by without her. People were constantly roaming the grounds, animals running around, flowers blooming, but she could never go outside to see any of it. She only got to view the world from her one little window.

There are windows down in her new room, her dungeon cell, but they’re tiny and are only at the very tip-top of her cell. She can’t see out of them any more than a sliver of the sky. That’s all she gets to see now. The sun and moon if she’s lucky.

If she positions herself just right at a certain time of day, she could feel the sun on her skin, and those are her favorite hours of the day. She’ll move around her cell from corner to corner, wall to wall, chasing that patch of sun. It’s the only exposure she gets.

Reign’s skin has never had much life to it, as she’s never set foot outside of the castle in her entire life, but it’s only gotten duller and paler since she was put in the dungeons. She looks ghostly now, barely a husk of the person she used to be. Her hair, once a voluminous curly mess, is now flat and dull, and thinning rapidly. Reign’s brown eyes used to shine, but even they’ve darken and dulled in her sunken face.

She used to look like her mother.

Now she looks like no one.

Reign barely remembers her mother anymore. She doesn’t even remember her real name. She never knew exactly what happened to her mother. All Reign knew is that she saw her in the halls one day around the castle, and then never saw her again. That was eighteen years ago, when Reign was a measly five years old.

No one ever spoke of her again. No one told her what could or couldn’t have happened to her. Her name was never spoken, even when Reign tried to ask if anyone remembered it. It was like she had never existed at all. Sometimes, for Reign, it feels that way.

As long as she’s in the dungeon, Reign may never see anyone again except for the knights that find joy in her pain, but she’d be glad to never see them again. Unfortunately for her, that’s not an option.

Her dry eyes peel open at the sound of someone approaching, her back and neck making an awful cracking noise as she pushes up off of the sad excuse for a bed. Just a thin piece of cloth stretched around a frame of splintered wood, so worn and sagging that she’s practically lying directly on the stone cold floor anyway. The cot has so many rips and holes in it that it’s not holding anyone up anymore.

She doesn’t weigh a lot. Not anymore. Reign used to be at a healthy body weight until they began to deny her food more and more often. And since she’d been cast to the cold, damp cell, that was entirely too often. She’d all but shriveled into nothing, skin and bones and nothing more. Her cheekbones are gaunt and sharp, shadowing the hollows of her cheeks.

A knight comes to stand in front of the bars, half armored with a scowl on his old and bearded face. Something in her perks up to see a set of keys dangling in his right hand, but immediately deflates when she sees the heavy, iron cuffs in his other.

He shakes the cuffs at her, the sounds of the chains rattling around her skull. He grunts in command, not bothering to waste even a word on her.

Reign hobbles forward on unsure legs, wincing at the pain that shoots down her back and into her legs. She sticks her hands between the bars. The cuffs snap into place and her arms fail under the weight of them. Her knees nearly give out when her arms fall back through the bars under the weight, and the heavy cuffs smack into her thighs.

Only then does the knight unlock the barred gate. A low groan echoes as the heavy door swings open. Wordlessly, the knight grabs the chain linking her wrists together and hauls her down the hallway. Not towards the stairs that would lead up into the castle, but further into the dungeons. Further below ground.

Reign had heard stories about what lurked down here. About the vicious beast that lived under their feet. She’d heard it was large, larger than any animal she could ever hope to imagine. And ruthless beyond belief. Part of her wondered if the stories were true at all. If there really was a beast under the castle. She’d never heard its legendary roar that was told to be so loud it could crumble buildings. The castle still stands.

Curiosity had always nipped at her, and if she had had the freedom to do so, she’d have been down here long ago to set her own eyes upon the beast of legends. Most speak of it with a fear in their tone but Reign so rarely allows herself to feel fear.

Her heart thrums heavily in her throat. As they walk further into the darkness, the snarling begins to grow. First just a warning rumble that builds into a growl, which continues to build until she can feel the heat of its breath, can hear the snap of its teeth as it snarls and roars.

She’d heard the scrape of blades across stone many times in her life but the sound that comes from the darkness is much more than that. It’s somehow deeper, yet sharper. It raises bumps over Reign’s skin and sends a vicious shiver down her spine.

One hand still gripping the chain, the knight manages to light a torch. The flame bursts to life. Flinching, she blinks against the sudden brightness, and it takes Reign’s eyes a minute to adjust.

It’d been storming in the kingdom for the last few days so her cell had been even darker than usual. But this darkness was different. This darkness was alive and felt as though it was reaching out to her.

Dragging her with him, the knight walks the perimeter of the wall, lighting more and more torches as he goes until the entire hallway glows yellow. Reign dares a glance to her right, towards the wet heat of heavy breaths that berate her exposed skin.

And too much of it is exposed. She is wearing what amounts to a sack. They call it a dress, but Reign has seen real dresses on the women upstairs. What she is given isn’t a dress at all, but a square cut of cloth that falls to mid-thigh. They give her a newer one every few weeks. Not new, but not as dirty. Not as soiled by her sweat and waste and vomit.

So her arms and legs are left bare to feel the hot breath of the beast looming to her right.

Bars, much like the ones that hold her in, but larger and thicker, stretch from wall to wall. They run to the left and right, as well as up and down. A grid of sorts, and Reign had never seen a cage like this in the entire castle. Hers just run up and down, the gaps too narrow for her to slip through.

But behind the bars… The first thing she sees are the blood red eyes staring back at her, narrowed in warning. But for how narrow its eyes are, its snout is every bit as wide, revealing very sharp-looking teeth. Fangs, two on the top row and two on the bottom, are the most prominent, longer than the rest. But they’re all sharp. Every yellow tooth is pointed and deadly as the beast snarls at them.

“You get to shovel his shit,” the knight says with a laugh that rakes razor sharp claws down her spine. He unlocks her shackles and then grabs a shovel that is leaning against the nearby wall, which he then shoves into her shaking hands. “Someone will be down shortly with a wheelbarrow. You’re staying here until that floor is clean.”

The knight pushes her towards the bars, making no move to unlock anything or to open anything. He just points towards one of the square holes created between the overlapping bars. “You can fit. Go.”

Her back cracks loudly again, her knees popping with a hollow ache as she bends and slips between the bars. Before she even has both feet on the ground again, the knight is walking away, back the way they came.

The beast presses against the back wall, continuing to growl and snap his teeth at her. She’s not sure in the darkness whether the black skin of the beast is leathery, or fur, or scales, or something she can’t even imagine, and she doesn’t dare try to get close enough to know for sure. The claws that scrape against the stone floor are none of those things, sharper than the blades of the knights. Its claws are just as sharp at its teeth.

In the shadows, she can make out what looks like wings when they unfurl slightly and then settle against its back. The snout reminds her of the horses she’d seen through windows when she was young, or maybe the dogs, but the nose is different. No, the slim nostrils remind her more of the lizards she often saw crawling along the castle walls. The claws, though, are like the birds that would sometimes land in the windowsills.

But those eyes. Those glowing red eyes were unlike anything she’d ever seen. She had nothing to compare them to. She’d seen the eyes of so many things from human to reptile to rodent, and yet this compared to none of them. The beast’s eyes bordered on being unnervingly human, but still there was something so incredibly inhuman about them. Animalistic eyes but with an awareness that she’d never seen in any other animal. This beast is something different. Something unique that she’s never seen before.

Reign glances back over her shoulder once, just to make sure the knight is gone. Her frail hands tighten around the long wooden handle of the shovel. She’s not sure exactly why she does it, but she bows her head to the creature, her chin touching her chest. The snarling quiets to a hum for a second, and then picks right back up.

Reign takes a tentative step forward and the beast lashes out suddenly, the movement so quick that she barely even sees it coming. She shrieks as the beast’s tail whips towards her, unable to move out of the way fast enough. The thick tail catches her in the face, sending her to the floor with the breath knocked out of her. A fiery pain lashes from her temple to her jaw, and the warm, heavy flow of blood is immediate. It pours down her face, coating her neck and her front, trickling down her arms and along her fingers. It spackles the stone floor, a pool of her blood growing entirely too fast.

Reign clutches her middle as she tries to breathe through the searing pain. But she forces herself to her knees, forces herself to face the beast that now cowers in the corner. Its red eyes shift to the hallway nervously and then back to her.

She can’t feel her body.

Something about the strangely human look in its eyes has Reign speaking, even though moving her mouth stings the wound along her cheek. “It’s okay,” she assures the beast, holding her trembling hands out, blood-smeared palms exposed. The words come out slurred, the right half of her mouth not moving like it usually does. Her voice trembles just as much as her hands do, breathless as her aching lungs still fight for a full breath.

A low whine is the only response.

Reign slowly pushes to her feet, using the shovel to balance herself, leaning most of her weight on it. She fights back the round of nausea that rolls through her, and tries to blink past the spots forming in her vision. Unable to stop herself from prodding, she lifts shaking fingers to her forehead. Reign sucks in a breath as she finds the top of the split, just slightly into her hairline. The wound stretches the entirety of her face, cutting through the outside corner of her eye and narrowly missing her mouth, but she can’t be sure how wide it is without seeing it. It feels like it covers the entire right half of her face.

Her knees wobble as her vision blackens briefly. She knows that her face should hurt, but it doesn’t. There is just a buzzing numbness, mainly in her face, but the feeling trickles out to her arms and legs, too.

Reign isn’t sure if the sound of approaching footsteps is a blessing or a curse. The same knight comes back into view, an older male servant shuffling after him with an empty wheelbarrow.

The knight begins to berate Reign for not already shoveling, but stops when she turns around to face him. The color leeches from his face at the sight of her. It takes him a couple seconds to compose himself, and then he sighs and waves Reign towards him without urgency.

“Well, come on out. Get that cleaned up. Would be a shame if you died of infection before we’re done with you.”

The servant half hidden behind him doesn’t gape at her wound. No, his fear filled eyes are stuck on the beast that growls at them.

Reign hesitates. The beast may have just sliced her face open with a swipe of its tail, but part of her wonders if staying here with the beast is still the safer option. It feels like it is. It feels like she’d do better off trying to fight off an infection than she would in the hands of the knights.

The knight narrows his dark eyes at her. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll likely lose sight in that eye if you don’t get it cleaned and no one wants a bitch with only one good eye.”

It’s more than an infection that threatens her, and she knows it, so Reign relents, weakly attempting to fit herself back through a gap in the iron bars. The movement sends a blinding pain searing through her. All of her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her blood-smeared hands slip on the bars at the same time that her legs give out, and the floor is suddenly moving very quickly towards her face. She wails in agony, and in some distantly aware part of her mind, she’s almost sure she hears the beast echo her.

“Oh, god,” the knight mumbles in annoyance just as the black fills her vision.

It doesn’t last long, and she wakes just a few moments later, already in the knight’s arms and on her way out of the cell.

“Don’t you dare bleed on my uniform,” the knight grumbles in reference to the black tunics and matching trousers each knight wears, only the Royal Crest threaded in silver over the breast.

It’s unlikely that her blood would even show in the black fabric but, still, she angles her head away, letting it fall loosely away from him. Not another word is uttered between the two of them as the knight carries Reign back up the hallway he’d just dragged her down.

The beast bellows from its cell, a roar that shakes the walls around them. Reign distantly wonders if they can feel it in the castle above. She doesn’t remember ever feeling such a thing when she was permitted to live aboveground. Maybe all of the stone and dirt around them made for a successful noise barrier.

Reign drifts in and out as the knight takes her to the healers of the castle and, before long, she is lying in the medic’s cot, screaming out her pain as they prod on the wound on her face. There’s no one to hold her hand, no one there to comfort her, and that almost makes the pain worse. Perhaps it’d be easier to handle if she weren’t so alone. But Reign has always been alone and this would be no different. She cries and screams against the agony ripping her apart until her body finally gives itself over to the exhaustion.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #ao3 writer #here comes the reign #whump writing

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tonydaddingham · 1 year ago

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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!!!✨

#good omens #ask #feral domestic/final fifteen meta #s2 meta #sanctuary/bentley theory

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cynicaesura · 1 year ago

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Dying to read any of your Muriel and Crowley relating to each other snippets

Well shit okay please enjoy the first two chapters of what I am definitely calling All Our Gods Have Abandoned Us

Also please pretend I linked the "that's not constructive criticism" meme bc I can't find it but I like to think I'm funny

One year.

It had now been one year since that day. That awful day. That fucking roller coaster of a day that Crowley had dared to believe might be the greatest day in more than six millenia of existence.

Won't make that mistake again.

If life had taught him anything over and over and over again it was that faith is bullshit. Faith in God, faith in... shit even the ?-damned Bentley had betrayed him on occasion.

Well FUCK God and--okay he could never stay mad at his car--but most of all

FUCK. AZIRAPHALE.

Crowley had learned his lesson. He'd had his year of constant, uninterrupted contemplation over an eternity of heartbreak and betrayal with nothing and no one to distract him.

He was done. Three-hundred and sixty-five days later he was done moping and crying and mourning a life he was never going to have. He was done. He was over it. He was over A--

The doorbell rang.

Was...could...is it...? The timing was too perfect. Or terrible. A sick joke. But still...

Crowley cautiously approached the door. For a moment he paused, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Shit.

---

Crowley slammed the door before the angel on the other side could see him break. How had he let this happen again?? He'd literally just told himself not five minutes before that hope was stupid and he was done with it. Fuck.

It was then that he processed fully what he saw outside the apartment.

Well fuck, he thought, I think someone else might need to break down more than I do.

Crowley composed himself before opening the door again. Standing there on his not-particularly-welcoming welcome mat was Muriel, dressed 100% more like a regular human than the last time he had seen them, but also with 100% more tears than he had ever seen pour out of a human's eyes.

"Come in," Crowley said, and Muriel immediately ran to wrap their arms around his waist and sob into his shirt.

"Oh-okay. Ow. Um," Crowley choked out as the very small angel managed to squeeze breath he didn't even really need out of him. Muriel made no indication of hearing him. He sighed and awkwardly patted them on the head.

Crowley didn't know Muriel all that well, which was by choice as there was only ever one angel he really cared to know any any of the others were just thorns in his side. But Crowley always had a soft spot for kids, and Muriel's wide-eyed trust and optimism and fascination with everything had an innocence to it, and they had always trusted him even when he was manipulating them.

"What happened?" he asked after a few minutes of letting Muriel clutch him and cry on his chest.

Muriel let go and stepped back, sniffling and wiping their eyes. "It's gone. The bookshop is gone," they said. "It's all gone."

Crowley felt a pit in his stomach. "What do you mean 'gone'?" he asked.

"I went out to the park to read because the weather was so nice," they said, "and when I came back it was just gone! The sign, the books, everything, and it had a big 'for lease' banner where it used to say 'A. Z. Fell and Co.'"

After letting out another sob they continued, "and I thought there must be some mistake up at Headquarters but suddenly I couldn't even feel them anymore and couldn't contact Heaven or even call the elevator and now I don't know what to do! They never gave me any instructions for this!"

A wave of confusion and fear and rage washed over Crowley all at once. Gone? The bookshop couldn't be gone. Aziraphale would never allow that to happen and he certainly wouldn't have allowed poor, sweet, idiot Muriel to slip through the cracks.

Yeah. Just me, he thought, before shaking his head as if that would make him stop thinking about it.

"What were your instructions for running the shop? What was going on in Heaven leading up to this?"

Muriel shifted uncomfortably. "Well a year ago the Metatron put me in charge of the shop when Aziraphale," Crowley winced at the name--"took over as Supreme Archangel and then Aziraphale sent me a binder full of guidelines on how to run the shop."

Crowley snorted. Of course he had made a whole binder for Muriel to ensure not a single book was ever out of place.

"Okay, and then?" he prompted.

"And that's it."

"That's it??"

"Yes," said Muriel. "That was the last time I heard from them."

Crowley let out a big sigh. It was one thing to do it to him. To cast him out and beat him down and reject him over and over again. But Muriel was innocent. Innocent and naïve and simple. He pulled them back into a protective embrace. They were now just an angel and a demon alone on Earth, abandoned by everyone they cared about.

#Be warned I wrote this on my phone for like an hour and have not proofread it #baby's first fic #god I haven't written creatively in like 15 years #I was just like man I really need some content using this fucking Architects song #No one else was gonna do it #good omens #crowley #muriel #anthony j crowley #innefable divorce

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huntsvillegossip · 1 year ago

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Hello Lovelies!

Now Ren Faire has been over for quite some time, but it seems plenty of our folks didn’t quite get the memo. I have received reports of multiple fights breaking out all over town, some physical and others verbal, and there’s been more than a fair share of heartbreak.

Allegedly famous in the outside world, Liam Jefferson and Hunter Hilton had a full on brawl ending in the pair being physically ripped from each other by concerned citizens. From the looks of it, it seems as though Mr. Hilton was turned down by Mr. Jefferson and was not taking the rejection well. It's not surprising that Mr. Jefferson has better things to do considering that he is a new father of two. Really, Mr. Hilton should dust himself off—just because one boy rejects you doesn't mean you need to rush back into the closet.

You especially don't need to be yelling from the rooftops that you have a girlfriend. Quite the rebound from the looks of it, though I find it hard to believe Miss Valeria Moreno is settling down. That is one girl who has never been afraid to let the world know she is available for anything casual. Word on the street is that she has quite the extensive roster of hookups collected from our town. Her own roommate Saffron Aubert is reportedly much more than a roommate, which I have to give them credit for, is convenient considering the close proximity. She has also been spotted kissing fellow rangers Marcus Zhao and Cain Barlowe, is not afraid to get a little risque and exhibitionist with our resident fighter Kane Bentley, and has been more than a bit handsy in public with one Guillermo Reyes, who is his own can of worms when it comes to relationships. That boy has never been the particularly loyal type if his track record is to be believed. Good luck to his so-called partner, since Mr. Reyes is clearly not nearly as put together as his eldest sister.

But I digress, no need to name every single one of her bedroom companions, after all. Honestly, Mr. Hilton, if you want to show you're not truly hurt by Mr. Jefferson's rejection, there are much more believable girls to say are your girlfriend if you really must carry on this way. I hear that Jessica Sinclair is single and recently heartbroken by a handsome firefighter who is quite the town disaster. Poor thing.

Speaking of, what to say about someone like Nathanial Dawson? You'd think that with his son in town, he'd clean up his act, or at the very least that his captains would be able to keep a better handle on him. And yet he's been frequently spotted at the bar, more than a few drinks in, most notably with [REDACTED] and [REDACTED].

He has also been seen with one of our elementary school teachers, Mr. Edgar Wayne. Something about sharing a pair of orange pants? I’ll be honest, I may be a bit past my prime when it comes to understanding all these new euphemisms. Still, someone may want to inform Principal Yvette Alson about this, since I doubt she wants to see her best friend dragged down to Mr. Dawson's rock bottom. Mr. Wayne may wish to reconsider this friendship for the sake of maintaining some sense of professionalism. I already have reports of parents being very concerned about someone with his associations teaching their children. You are an example for the youth of this town, sir.

I do hope the Fire Station Captains can help Mr. Dawson get the help he seems to desperately need. But on the subject of one of those captains, there has recently been a lot of chatter about him thanks to one Zoë Clark, who seems to be quite the busy bee as of late—though whether that's because she has some type of personal vendetta against our Mayor is anyone's guess. Multiple people have verified she is causing quite a stir with talks of having an election. Now I won't say how I feel about that, in the spirit of keeping this column a neutral, third party space, but I can confirm that she has pitched Fire Captain Phoenix Romero-Sawyer and Louis Ryan as suitable replacements.

Whether others will agree with this assessment, or might even throw their own name into the ring, remains to be seen. Personally, I do think either of these two members of founding families would make fine mayors, and with their long standing ties to the town, you know that they'd look out for everyone. Then again, Mayor Nat has done a tremendous job for over a decade, and some might not wish to fix what isn't broken.

Finally, a serious note of warning. There is a new resident in our town who has been seen physically assaulting another citizen. I would tread very carefully with those you interact with in the coming days—especially strangers. Seems some people are wound too tight and you never know who's going to blow up.

That's all I have for you today, because I am running out of printing space even though I have a few things left in my little inbox. At least it gives you all something to look forward to—other than the upcoming Pumpkin Festival of course!

Love, Auntie G.

#liam jefferson #hunter hilton #valeria moreno #saffron aubert #marcus zhao #cain barlowe #kane bentley #guillermo reyes #celia ortega #jessica sinclair #nathaniel dawson #edgar wayne #yvette alson #zoë clark #phoenix romero-sawyer #louis ryan #raziel #kirby

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aziraphalesrevenge · 1 year ago

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End of Good Omens S2

So, I've been seeing a lot of discourse around the final 15 minutes of the last episode, and I'm formulating some thoughts. There's so much going on, but I just wanna take a minute to discuss the characters and who they are, what they're potentially feeling, etc.

Forgive me. This is gonna be a bit of a long one.

Okay, so we all know how this goes. We've seen the scene multiple times. It's been dissected so many times. What I wanna bring attention to is that yes, while their hearts are breaking, there's still so much love there.

First off, I personally believe that Aziraphale isn't being completely truthful. I don't think he's actually excited about going to Heaven nor excited about inviting Crowley to come with and be an angel again. I do think that perhaps he's thinking that it's a way to right a great wrong, and that he loves Crowley for all of who he is, but he has stuff he's gotta work through. He needs to see Heaven and Hell for the completely toxic entities that they are. There's no fixing that. I also think that he was genuine when he said "I need you!" because it's evident that he does, in fact, feel a sense of need towards Crowley's presence and proximity to him. It's the closest that he can feel safe expressing his feelings for Crowley.

Remember that they're probably being watched in this moment too. Which explains Az constantly looking out the window while they're talking, and also his extreme worry when Crowley starts to confess. Because that reads like worry to me. He's scared. He's a very smart angel, indeed. I think he knows the Metatron is manipulating him. I think he knows quite a lot more about this than we all think he does. Perhaps he even interrupted Crowley and feigned excitement on purpose to push him away.

But you can see that even through that hurt that Aziraphale is experiencing (HOLY SHIT THE EXPRESSION ON HIS FACE RIGHT BEFORE THE KISS FLOORS ME EVERY TIME) he's still, in some ways, reaching for Crowley. He knows he doesn't have much choice. Not with the Metatron ushering him to Heaven. But you can see him repeatedly looking out the window where the Bentley is parked and we know Crowley is standing. Perhaps even looking at him. Watching. Waiting. And we know that Crowley was shocked by being interrupted by Az, but he still let him talk first. We know very well where he stands on Heaven and Hell being toxic. But he dealt a fatal blow to Az by saying "no nightingales". And I think it hurt him just as much. This is just more evidence of their poor communication, because Crowley is definitely feeling like he's not good enough as he is and that Az only loves him conditionally (which isn't the case). And, using the human method of conveying his feelings, he desperately and aggressively kissed Az. This was not a loving kiss, and I really wish their first kiss could've been sweet and tender, but it wasn't.

We can see that Az wants this too. They're both taking what they can, while they can. It's clear. But it also pains them both deeply.

AND YET! The REASON I'm making this post: Crowley still waits for Az. We see many times that Crowley will walk away, but this time? This time he stayed. He waited. He watched him leave. And I think this is to communicate that he still loves him. That he misses him already. That he'll be there when he gets back. They'll both have feelings about it and shit to sort out, but, Crowley is still there. He's still waiting. He's still so irrevocably in love with Az, even though this all hurts. He's showing, without a doubt, that he chooses "us" as Az leaves for Heaven.

And the look back? Ugh. That does me in. It's such a bitter and sorrowful parting. Neither of them want this. Neither one of them wants to be separated.

Now, I have my own thoughts about other things going on. And there's always room for other things to have happened that we weren't shown. Like Crowley stopping time for them to chat. Maybe Metabitch is messing with the Book of Life and is editing events as he sees fit. Who knows? But what we do know for sure is our ineffables are irrevocably in love with each other, they're pained by their parting, and Metatron was trying very very hard to separate them.

#good omens #good omens 2 #aziracrow #ineffable spouses #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #the final 15 #have some word babble #this is a long post sorry

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lesbicosmos · 1 year ago

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good omens s2 liveblog - episode 1

‼️SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT‼️

PRE FALL CROWLEY IN THE VERY FIRST SCENE I WASNT EXPECTING THAT AAAAA

CROWLEY MADE THE PILLARS OF CREATION 😭😭

crowley shielding aziraphale from the meteor shower directly paralleling aziraphale shielding him from the rain in the pilot of s1 don't touch me im fragile

sorry nina but can i pls steal ur gf im in love with maggie (and her shop)

actually that's a small lie im in love with nina too

crowley yelling at strangers for feeding ducks bread but he let azi do it in the 1800s <33

gabriel just wandering naked 😭😭 poor azi's just trying to listen to his record in peace

maggie trying to flirt is so me i love relatable lesbians

"you're totally certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person?" "no. certainly not. i have no idea what that feels like." azi you're fooling no one

aziraphale is so stressed someone hug him he already needs a break

muriel is adorable omg

i love the quiet orchestral bohemian rhapsody playing in the background of the cafe scene, fr can't escape queen even outside the bentley

crowleys scream at seeing gabriel never stops being funny ive seen it so many times

"I. Am.....Dusting :D"

they're bickering like they found a lost child on the street

icl im slightly in love with uriel they're so pretty

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY!!! IVE BEEN HOPING ITS ON THE SOUNDTRACK

the i was wrong dance 😭😭 they're so silly

#im realising i forgot to post my prediction bingo the other day #oops ill post it tomorrow #good omens s2 #good omens s2 spoilers #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens #good omens 2 liveblog

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antlerx-art · 1 year ago

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GOOD OMENS 2 EPISODE 4 REACTION - CONTAINS SPOILERS‼️

NAZI ZOMBIE FLESH EATERS IM SO NOT READY

aziraphale why do you have to be so pretty

modern heh🤩 but not bebop🤨 HES CUTEE

OH. MY. GOD.

OH MY

NOT MOONLIGHT SERENADE

IF THIS PLAYS LATER IN THE EPISODE IN THE FLASHBACK IM GOING TO ACTUALLY FEEL SICK NEIL GAIMAN YOURE CRAZY YOURE SO CRAZY OHHHH MY GOD

okay i’m normal again

SHAX?

DONT TOUCH HIM LEAVE HIM ALONE

oh i don’t think we’ve ever seen aziraphale talking to a demon other than crowley have we?

“im a little bemused as to why crowley would risk destruction for you, you don’t seem his type at all” EHHEHHEHE aziraphale knows he is

POOR OLD FURFUR? WHAT DO YOU MEAN TICKET TO THE BIG TIME

aziraphale uhm i love you but that was VERY naive you’ll have to run her over with the car now 👍🏻

OHHH YES LONDON 1941 LETS GOOOOOOOOOOO

AAAAAAAAA its the same scene but the nazis are about to become zombie flesh eaters

furfur face reveal?

LOL THE NAZIS WENT TO HELL

ah yes nice fresh cup of fire

THE LIFT HOMEEEEEEEEE

aziraphale’s face 🫶🏻😭 “shut upppp”

“on behalf of my………..good friend here” michael sheen had an aziraphale moment in that one interview

YAY ITS AZIRAPHALE’S MAGIC SHOW

okay so furfur uses the nazis to spy on aziracrow HEHEHEH they’re gonna interrupt them during the dinner aren’t they

miracle blocker 💀

the proof being?? an almost kiss ?? i’m delusional

yummm tasty human flesh meal

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THEYRE IN THE BOOKSHOP

“oh there’s no need to thank me that’s what……… friends……..do” AZIRAPHALEEEEEEEEEEE

“to mr fell (that’s me😊) a wonderful student”

AZIRAPHALE MOVING AROUND BEING EXCITED FOR THE MAGIC ACT AND CROWLEY PLAYING THE PUBLIC OH THEYRE SO THEYRE SOOOO

also what made crowley so embarrassed about it in the future?

“the farthing has vanished!!!!”

“you, my nefertiti fooling fellow~ are about to perform on the west end stage! if that doesn’t make you a professional conjurer, i don’t know what does” CROWLEY YOU HAVE TO PUT A ROMANCE WARNING BEFORE SPEAKING THIS IS SO ADORABLE

AND JUSSSST THW WAY AZIRAPHALE SMILES AT HIM????

oh my is this going to be the boa scene? 🫢

“natural dexterity” yeah now i see why crowley’s embarrassed

why does aziraphale have a firearm license HOW MANY LICENSES DOES HE HAVE

“you wot?”

CROWLEY’S GOING TO BE THE ASSISTANT I KNEW IT (THE HAND ON THE ARM!!!)

THEY HELD HANDS AZIRAPHALE PUT HIS LEFT HAND ON CROWLEYS TOO OOOOOHHHH MY GOD THE AMOUNT OF SLOWED GIFS PEOPLE ARE GOING TO MAKE OF THIS MOMENT

these nazi zombies are crap what was their plan anyway

HELP they’re all soldiers

THE MIRACLE BLOCKER NOOO

OOOHHH ITS NOT GONNA END WELL IS IT

shit they took the picture

i’m actually sweating

POOR CROWLEY’S TREMBLING

WOOOO IT WORKED

AZIRAPHALE IS SO GAY WITH THAT BOA STOP STOP BEING GAY YOURE TOO SWEET

“aziraphalala” me reading his name for the first time

girl put that picture on fire it’s literally in your own hands

aziraphale has stolen the evidence with a magic trick hasn’t he

HAHA YESS HE DID

OHHHHHHHHHH THE DINNER THE DINNERRRRRR

SHADES OF GRAY VERY DARK GRAY AND VERY LIGHT GRAY ITS THEM OH ITS SO THEM IM IN TEARS

do demons even have vital organs?

“CROWLEY’S PET”😨

don’t touch his bookshop.

nina break up with them that relationship is so stressful please

NAH CROWLEY TALKING TO THE BENTLEY LIKE A DOG 💀

THEYRE GOING TO HAVE THE BALL YEAAAAAAH

tagging @neil-gaiman since he said he was interested in reading live reactions

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens season two spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #go2 spoilers #gos2 spoilers #gos2spoilers #gos2 #gos2 reaction #spoilers

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doctorstrangereview · 3 months ago

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Strange Tales #114

Cover Date: November 1963 On-Sale Date: August 8, 1963

The good Doctor took a break for two months and the Human Torch returned to sharing the book with a pair of sci-fi/horror stories. It appears that the results of the Doctor Strange experiment were encouraging. He returns with the addition of a glorious blue cloak with a great big collar. The height of the collar will grow and shrink until it gets replaced in about a year by his more famous red Cloak of Levitation with the giant horned collar and gold filigree edging. It's never entirely clear if this cloak is merely decorative or has powers of its own. Hi arch-foe Mordo is now seemingly omnipotent and we are introduced to .

Our story begins with Doc receiving a desperate phone call from an old friend pleading for his help. Doctor Strange agrees to come and assist, of course. It is then revealed that Doc's old friend, Clive Bentley, is really Mordo in disguise. Mordo was so thorough that he transformed his likeness into Clive even though this was just a phone call.

Doctor Strange arrives in London and we immediately see that he's back to being his curt and arrogant self. He dismisses the poor cab driver who took him to the castle and offers to wait. "No! Leave me! All I needed were your directions to Sir Bentley's castle!" What an asshole!

Entering the castle and looking around he finds it deserted. He looks more like Vincent Price in these panels then ever before or after. Sadly, Ditko has reduced his formerly lovely amulet to a series of concentric circles. On the plus side, his eyes actually look like their open. Something not seen in the previous two stories. These eyes see suspicious vapor emitting from a big, suspicious candle. Uh Oh! Doc is paralyzed and who enters next? Yup. Baron Mordo, still wearing an atrocious outfit, but now in his signature green. He spouts a classic example of Lee's overly formal and stilted dialogue. "You are right Dr. Strange. It is I, Baron Mordo! I have made you my prisoner!" If you're like and wonder why comic book dialogue of this era had so many exclamation points wonder no more! From what I understand single periods tended to break off the printing plates and tended not to make it to the page. This doesn't seem to be a problem for ellipses. There are a lot of them on this page.

While Mordo drones on about the not yet overused plot device of when the candle dies so do you and the old duffer who taught us all we know is old and will soon die leaving me as the most powerful sorcerer, the old duffer contacts Doctor Strange telepathically offering his help. Finally called The Ancient One, we see he is wearing a lovely light blue and orange gown with a very fetching crown. How does he know to contact Doc at this moment? Does The Ancient One have mystical listening devices secreted on his students' persons? Doc politely declines the offer explaining he must do this on his own using the Baron's own weapon: sorcery. He is much nicer to The Ancient One than he was to the cabbie.

Doc uses his get out of jail free tool, aka his amulet, to broadcast his thoughts which are picked up by a nearby young woman who responds, comes to the castle and extinguishes the smelly, scary candle. Doctor Strange attempts to get her to leave but she tells him she feels their fates are intertwined. Doc realizes she has a talent for sorcery but believes it would be a bad idea if she knew it. The young woman then reveals that she is Clive Bentley's daughter, Victoria and her daddy snuffed it a decade ago. Doc is shocked never having realized he was talking to an imposter. At this moment, the Baron returns.

The Baron attempts to take control of Doctor Strange and have him kill Victoria. He also spills the beans about her mystic potential. But then it's Doctor Strange who has the clever twist. It wasn't really him the Baron was dealing with, but a mental projection. The real Doctor was still flying over on jet plane and had just arrived. This, of course, opens a whole host of questions. If he was just a mental projection, why did he need to take a taxi to the castle? Did he just need to be a jerk to someone? How did the candle entrap a mental projection? Why did it need to be rescued? How did the Baron sap the will of a mental projection? How separate are the mental faculties of the real Doc and his projection?

The Doctor doesn't try to ponder these. Instead, he and Mordo jump into another bout of ghost fisticuffs. This time the battle is enhanced by being surrounded with lightning bolts! Mordo appears to lose and vanishes in a puff of smoke. After explaining to Victoria that Mordo isn't dead, just lying in wait to try again, she asks to be Doc's disciple. He refuses, telling her she must wait until the Baron can menace them no more. It's not a promise he keeps.

Doc and The Ancient One have their battle post-mortem. We're not sure if he's there physically or a mental projection as he's in color. The Ancient states that Mordo is still stronger and what will he do when he doesn't have the element of surprise. Wait and see, my friend. Wait and see.

Despite some inconsistencies and plot holes, I quite enjoyed this one. Mordo does come across as a genuine, if long winded, threat. Magical confrontations are getting more magical, slowly evolving from astral fist fights. Victoria Bentley isn't just a one off plot device. She will return, but not under the current creative team. There is a nice build up occurring here.

I first read these stories as a pre-teen and my young mind assigned everyone American accents. I realize now Mordo probably sounds like Goldfinger. I like to think Victoria sounds like Jennifer Saunders and The Ancient One sounds like Mako. I'm good with Benedict Cumberbatch as Doc.

#doctor strange #doctor strange reviews #strange tales #baron mordo #victoria bentley #ancient one #stephen strange #marvel #comics

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