#you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky

[diavolaangelica]

“Do not try to be pretty. You weren’t meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don’t let anyone ever simplify you to just “pretty.”” — Things I Wish My Mother Had Taught Me” ― Suzanne Rivard

[wehavewords]

“Do not try to be pretty. You weren’t meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don’t let anyone ever simplify you to just ‘pretty.’”

Suzanne Rivard, Things I Wish My Mother Had Taught Me

[soldiiermade-archive]

YET ANOTHER BLAKE SIBLING META

i don’t know if this will be an unpopular opinion or not because i’m not sure ow others feel, but here are my thoughts on s5 blakes.

i don’t mind the turn of events, actually. i feel like it makes sense, given their upbringing, what’s happened to each of them these past six years, and their growth (or not growth, in o’s case).

let’s start at the beginning, on the ark, with their mother. the blakes were taught, from the moment octavia was born, that bellamy was responsible for octavia. in every way. that meant her crying, her happiness, her fear. even her discipline... all on bellamy. imagine being ten years old and trying to get your sister into the floor because she won’t pick up the toys. it’s all bellamy knew how to do, thus creating the fear of the floor even more. 

remember when there was going to be that “surprise” check in on their quarters? octavia didn’t want to go into the floor and aurora looks at bellamy and tells him to get his sister in there. i don’t think aurora’s intentions were to fuck up her kids, but she fucked them up. it brought up a whole string of co-dependency, with bellamy viewing his world as octavia. her life was his life. her happiness was his happiness. her sadness was his sadness. it’s why she blamed him for lincoln. it’s why she blames him for everything in fact. because she grew up looking at him with stars in her eyes and has been conditioned to believe that, not only is he supposed to fix it, but that he can fix it. 

flash forward to current time and we see that blame upon their first re-encounters. she trusted him when it came to the prisoners and it turned out that his plan didn’t work. but, a few hours before that, she’d seen her brother for the first time and the relief on her face was palpable. i truly believe it wasn’t just relief at seeing him alive but relief that her big brother, her knight in shining armor, has come to fix it for her. she still believes he’s got the power to fix anything. he obviously doesn’t.

now let me be clear... octavia behaviors and blame towards bellamy are not okay, but they’re not surprising either. octavia has not grown into someone better than before, like bellamy has. she’s simply... moved sideways into a new version of the same person. octavia is still using clan culture to justify actions. she has not changed. while this is not what lincoln, who was kind and gentle and showed mercy, taught her... octavia doesn’t really know how to be anything else.

on the plus side, she finally belongs somewhere. there is no more foot in two places, because both of her feet are firmly planted with wonkru.

that doesn’t mean bellamy takes it in the same way. remember last season when he talked to clarke about how pathetic he was because he kept coming back for more? he’s over that now. he’s the heart and the head. he’s had six years away from his sister to learn that he doesn’t have to live for her. that love isn’t living for another person. has his love for her changed? absolutely not. he loves his sister unconditionally and that’s not going to change. but that doesn’t mean he’s willing to be the same big brother he’s always been in the past.

he’s not her punching bag and, in their six years apart, i think bellamy has learned that parts about their relationship that are unhealthy and has moved away from it. he’s a better person who has grown. he’s not interested or impressed by her blame any longer.

once upon a time, he would’ve run to her and taken her into his arms after the explosion. now, he calmly collects himself, looks at the situation from afar. he’s not going to let her blame control him and, honestly, he doesn’t feel guilty about it. instead, he’s going to use all his energy to show his sister that there is another way. 

even with his decision to not let her blame control his feelings, he still holds her hand when she’s hurt. still tells her he’s right there, next to her. that’s love - unconditional love. but bellamy is no longer living for his sister. that’s growth. what he wants for her is to grow too. he wants her to be something beautiful.

he recognizes that she’s a strong leader because wonkru is strong. he sees her potential. he knows she’s more than she would’ve ever been able to be on the ark. but he doesn’t have to agree with her methods in order to want her to have the world. 

i think the blakes have potential to be something healthier than they ever have before because bellamy is no longer taking it laying down. he’s realized that her happiness is not on him anymore. and once o can grow and change and realize that bellamy doesn’t have this inhuman power to fix everything, i think they can be good again.

the one thing i’m certain of though... the love is still there. even octavia considers it weakness right now.

[groundedtm-blog]

INTRODUCING :   LOGAN GETZ ,  SKAIKRU GUARD .

          logan was born into misfortune :  her mother died during childbirth.   her father died in a freak accident when she was seven ,  so she grew up in the orphanage on the ark ,  in and out a few times.  logan rarely caused problems ,  though it always seemed that problems would find her ;  some misfortune would befall her new family ,  and she’d be forced to return to the orphanage .   she always did her best to keep a smile on her face for the other kids ,  some kind of proof that it would all get better.  and she was always determined to get out for good ,  support herself ,  maybe a kid herself one day .           one of her foster fathers was a member of the guard on the ark ,  and they remained close even after she returned to the orphanage.   he managed to get her into the academy where she absolutely shined.   she listened without question ,  learned quick ,  and rose to the top of her class.  she loved the sense of purpose ,  the authority that came with being a guard since she’d never known any agency herself.  the guard became her home ,  her family ,  and she would die to protect them .           though her faith in marcus was shaken after the culling ,  she knew she would still follow his command all the way to the ground .   but as in line with her history ,  misfortune would strike soon after crash landing .   on a scouting mission ,   her group was attacked by a mutated bear .  in protecting her friends ,  she was left to die .   the bear grabbed her by the ankle and swung her into a tree ,  giving her a concussion .  coming to after the bear had long since wandered off ,  logan attempted to get back to camp ,  but she was confused and seriously disoriented .   it was a miracle she wandered from trikru to ousekjon to louwoda kliron terrirtory without encountering any clansmen or other dangers.   but she wasn’t in shallow valley long before her fall ;  tumbling down a small ravine ,  she was impaled through her stomach by the branch of a fallen tree .   unable to move ,  logan was on the verge of death before a clanswoman found her and nursed her back to health . pre series / season one   she’s on the ark ,  doesn’t have much contact with the delinquents ;  she does with kane ,  abby ,  and others not in the skybox . season two   she and her group leave for their scouting mission about halfway through the season ,  so she misses most of the mountain men drama .  she spends that time nearly dying and being nursed back ,  learning the culture of louwoda kliron and other clans ,  their style of fighting ,  and as much as she can keep tabs on skaikru . season three   logan returns not long after the mountain men are defeated ,  about right after ice nation destroys mt. weather .   though she knows azgeda to be ruthless ,  she doesn’t support pike and falls back in line with kane without question .  though she keeps it lowkey ,  offering to be a spy for kane’s cause .   she stays far away from jaha and his preachings ,  too involved with helping kane and the others .  but when kane takes the chip ,  logan follows .

season four   logan makes herself as useful as possible ,  distracting herself from the horrors of a.l.i.e. and making sure kane stays alive .   her devotion to kane and ability to pick up new skills quicker than most see her a spot inside the bunker .   alternately ,  she goes to rescue clarke and ends up on the go - sci ring ,  if you’d like to write that . season five   ( still watching )  logan is still resolutely following kane ,  though she recognizes octavia as the leader of wonkru .   she listens ,  but her loyalty is still to kane .   when they are freed from the bunker ,  logan busies herself again to forget the horrors she’s committed to survive ,  channeling her anger and energy into saving eden .

NOTES

      logan is still a bright soul ,  despite what she’s been through .   she’s survived more than she ever thought she could ,  through pure grit and stubbornness .  logan’s a firecracker ,  but she’s well good at talking her way out of a fight .   that’s not to say she’ll shy from one .       she definitely has a welsh accent ,  nothing too heavy though ,  and often mistaken for an english accent ;  she’ll get a little feisty about it ,  she’s very proud of her heritage .        she traveled between polis and arkadia often ;  a good asset complete with her knowledge of the clans and loyalty to kane .

VISUALS

main  allison miller

ABILITIES

    EXCELLENT MARKSMANSHIP    /    top of her graduating guard class and simulations of long - range assault    COMBAT     /     better at skaikru style than grounder style ,  but she’s learned and conquered both .   she’s more likely to use long range weapons like a gun or bow ,  but she won’t shy away from brute force      EARTH SKILLS    /     hunting ,  foraging ,  shelter ,  fishing ;  not quite as good as clarke ,  but she’s up there ;  besides ,  she doesn’t quite know how to die    LAUGNAGE   /   she speaks english , welsh ,  and trigedasleng fluently      CLIMBING     /     rocks ,  trees ,  treacherous ladders .   name it ,  she can probably climb it .

EXTRAS

ORIENTAITON  bisexual TEMPERAMENT sanguine
 MBTI enfp 
HOUSE gryffindor MARKINGS  tattoo of the constellation orion on her right shoulder blade ;  seven inch scar a couple inches above her hip bone ( front and back ) from being impaled as so ( the injury causes her to limp sometimes ) ;  faint scar on her left temple from smacking into a tree ;  bite mark on her left ankle from the bear  ( punctured her achilles ,  crushed a few bones still limps from this as well when it rains )

CONNECTIONS

FAMILY  n / a . LEADER  marcus kane . ALLIES tba .

LINKS

pinterest .     a song that reminds me of her .

[hisseptember]

do    not    try    to    be    pretty.    you    weren't    meant    to    be    pretty;    you    were    meant    to    burn    down    the    earth    and    graffiti    the    sky.    don't    let    anyone    ever    simplify    you    to    just    “pretty.”

fandomless    crime    original    character,    ft.    verses    for    st.ranger    th.ings,    squ.id    ga.me    and    zombie    apocalypses.    written    by    quin,    they/them,    23.

[ninastarkov]

“Do not try to be pretty. You weren’t meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don’t let anyone ever simplify you to just ‘pretty.’”

—Things I Wish My Mother Had Taught Me

[bibliophilequotes]

Do not try to be pretty. You weren’t meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don’t let anyone ever simplify you to just ‘pretty.’

SUZANNE RIVARD || Things I Wish My Mother Had Taught Me (2014)

[luna-aurelius]

"Do not try to be pretty. You weren't meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don't let anyone ever simplify you to just 'pretty' "

Things I Wish My Mother Had Taught Me

[invisiblebeesstuff]

"Do not try to be pretty. You weren't meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Dont let anyone ever simplify you to just 'pretty'."

- Things I Wish My Mother Had Taught Me

[evlete]

               DO        NOT        TRY        TO        BE        PRETTY .             you        weren’t        meant        to        be        pretty        ;        you        were        meant        to        burn        down        the        earth        &.        graffiti        the        sky .             don’t        let        anyone        EVER        simplify        you        to        be        just        “        pretty .        ”

[awanderinglostsoul]

Do not try to be pretty. You weren’t meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don’t let anyone ever simplify you to just ‘pretty’

-Anon

[catmint1]

You weren’t meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don’t let anyone ever simplify you to just ‘pretty’.

Lucia Van Der Post, Things I Wish My Mother Had Told Me

[modern-wilde]

Do not try to be pretty. You weren’t meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don’t let anyone ever simplify you to just ‘pretty’.

- Lucia Van Der Post  (Things I Wish my Mother Had Thought Me)

[soldiiermade-archive]

                                you’ll always fit in with me

                                                @headstrongblake

[lineffability]

// and the angel said unto them, do not be afraid // Luke 2:10

Aziraphale was in a good mood. Which was sort of his State Of Being, what with him being an angel and goodness incarnate and generally Holier Than Thou.

That was the way he liked to think of himself, anyways. He didn’t like to look past that thin, fragile layer into the burning depths out of which he had been forged. His goodness was the crust of the earth, the protective layer that made life possible on the surface.

What lay beneath was both life-giving and deeply destructive. Like God herself, in that way. Shaped in Her image.

Hellfire was not the most cataclysmic force around.

Like most angels, it was a part of him he kept under lock and had mostly forgotten (denied). Aziraphale had worked hard to shape himself into who he wanted himself to be. Who he had consciously chosen to be. 

He was a being of love, at the end of it all. 

And the things he loved and surrounded himself with were like the homemade, cross-stitched fabric of his soul: food and books and warm colours; softness and fondness and contentment; and Crowley. 

(Woe betide the fool who might try and rip a hole into this fabric, to snatch a thread and force it to unravel--to reveal what lay neatly tucked away underneath.)

Currently, Aziraphale was in particularly high spirits, because he had struck a most pleasing book deal, and was on his way back to his shop with a pack of chocolates under his arm, and was also very much looking forward to Crowley returning tonight from his little trip over to Wales where he was wreaking some Moderate Inconvenience for old time’s sake.   

He entered his shop with a smile on his face: a smile that died when he saw the tall, broad man clad in a perfectly-fitting grey suit standing right there in the centre of the room, waiting for him on the carpet that he knew hid a rather occult chalk sketch. 

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale fixed his bowtie, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This is a... surprise?” 

Behind the angel, Aziraphale could see the answering machine blinking at him from under a pile of books--an ugly device, really, but Crowley had pestered him to get one set up so much he had to give in at some point, that wily old serpent--and his thoughts involuntarily wandered off to the demon. Not exactly an appropriate moment. 

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel smiled his business smile, play-punching Aziraphale on his shoulder as he came up to him. The angels had kept their distance ever since The Hellfire Incident; this was the first time Aziraphale had seen the Archangel since that day, a few months ago now.  “Old boy! Just dropped by to update you on some stuff; keep in touch, right? Well, anyways, about the demon Crowley--”

Aziraphale straightened, lips parting slightly. 

“--well, about him, you’ll have to manage without him for a bit, nothing serious. No harm done, right? Well, no permanent harm, anyways.” He laughed, as if he’d made a little joke. He had, only Aziraphale was not in on it yet. 

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded weak to his own ears. 

“Oh, come on! You know we’re big on vengeance!” Gabriel beamed. “Of course, we honour our agreements, but a well-placed little discorporation has never hurt anyone, now, has it? Actually, scratch that, it hurts a little. Anyways, we acquired some fine murderers--aren’t humans just great? Murder by purchase, hilarious! They should be on their way to eliminate his earthly shell as we speak, just wanted to let you know.”

Aziraphale was barely listening anymore. The red light of the answering machine glowered at him from the depths of his consciousness like beastly eyes in the dark, its happy promise turned to bone-deep, spine-chilling dread.

Crowley, discorporated? His knees felt weak. 

"Oh don’t look so upset, now. He’ll be back in no time, the paperwork only takes a few years down there. Anyways, I gotta run, duty calls, and--”

He stopped dead when he caught the look in Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale had never looked at him like that. Perhaps Aziraphale had never looked at anyone like that. Gone was the pudgy little man with eyes so blue they must’ve been taken right from the perfect sky of a picture book. He looked like rainclouds, like a cold desert, like a stormy sea about to come crashing down to drown the entire world. He looked like The Fury Of God, and Gabriel took a step backwards, involuntarily. 

But just as suddenly as it had come on, the wave subsided (but oh, the dark sea remained). “It has not happened yet, you say?” His voice sounded strained. 

“Oh, no,” Gabriel started, but Aziraphale, staring at the floor, merely snapped his fingers, and the Archangel disappeared as the carpet below him incinerated and the chalk beneath glowed white.  

Another snap, and the answering machine started playing by itself. 

“Aziraphale!” A chipper voice piped up, and the angel suddenly felt so scared he wanted to sink down onto the floor. “So, I was wondering, since I can’t quite recall--was Wales one of yours or ours? I mean,” and here he laughed, “I do know who’s responsible for Llanfair­pwllgwyngyll­gogery­chwyrn­drobwll­llan­tysilio­gogo­goch--still proud of that one. Anyways, come over to my place tonight at 7, I’ve brought you some bara brith and a bottle blanc de blancs.”

The rest of the tape ran empty. “Dammit, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, trying to convince himself that he was not about to cry. He rushed to the phone, and picked up the receiver. The right number started dialing by itself. 

The clock showed 6. 

“Angel? I know you miss me, but--” 

“Crowley! Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale closed his eyes, the relief was so big. 

“--really, gotta be patient only a little while longer.” Crowley’s voice was mischievous, a sentiment that currently went right over the angel’s head. “I still got some business to attend to in Hackney.” 

“Wait, are you back in London?!”

“Oh yeah, just about to meet up with some shady people, y’know, my favourite kind, they wanted to strike some sorta deal and--oh, gotta go!”

“Crowley, wait!”

“Toodeloo!”   

The line went dead, and Aziraphale, aggravated, threw the receiver down. It fell to the ground, so he picked it back up and put it on the holder, angrily. He felt like swearing. 

He had to get to Crowley. Before they did.

Crowley was expecting nothing. If they really were trained assassins, and if they acted fast enough, there was a real chance his demon was in serious trouble. 

It took half an hour to get from Soho to Hackney by cab or public transport. For a human. 

Aziraphale had been out of shape for six thousand years, but right now he didn’t have time to acknowledge that fact. Reality would just have to deal with it. So he ran. He ran as if the devil was on his heels, even though it was in fact quite the opposite. After a few steps he was barely touching the ground anymore, while an Old power deep inside him reared its tired head. Nobody took notice of him, nor of the flash of white feathers that flickered in and out of existence around him as he moved, ever faster, dragging his body along for the ride.

Ten minutes later he stood in a dark alley, gasping for breath as he tried to put himself back together: literally; rearranging his atoms and reattaching the patches of Soul that had spilled over like water out of an overflowing cup, like cotton out of a crude and frayed doll. 

He was close enough now, to feel him. Could sense the demonic aura. 

(That was good, right? That meant he still had an aura.)

It didn’t take long to track him down. 

Through a broken fence and along a wall full of horrendous graffiti and towards the entrance of an abandoned warehouse. It was a truly sinister place; no person in their right mind would meet up with strangers here. Except Crowley was no person (and quite possibly never in his right mind.)

(I don’t have a right mind, angel, Aziraphale could almost hear him say, I have a wrong mind. And I’m very much in it. Duh.)

The doors crumbled before him, evaporated into thin air that he could feel against his wings. He hadn’t bothered putting them away. 

“Crowley?” he called.

And Crowley turned around, surprise on his face, and as if they had been waiting for this moment the two people he was now facing away from drew their guns. 

Two shots echoed through the empty hall. 

They never reached their target. Aziraphale lifted his hand, and for a moment everything stopped. The wave of his righteous fury came crashing down all over again, and this time there was no stopping it. When reality resumed, the bullets had found new targets. 

With twin screams, the two henchpeople went down and writhed on the ground, their kneecaps shattered. When they looked up, they wished they hadn’t.

All they saw was bright white blinding fury, a vast nothingness so incomprehensible to the human mind that it burned their eyes and their souls, and inside that nothingness a million eyes staring right through them. There were whispers, in that place, echoes and ghosts and memories of worlds, and as the angel spread its wings they started screaming. 

They stopped, abruptly, when the demon Crowley let them fall into merciful unconsciousness.  

“Angel, that’s enough.”

The sound of Crowley’s voice reached him through a haze, and Aziraphale faltered. He turned towards the demon, and saw shock and worry on his face.

Crowley saw something else entirely: He saw Both. There was Aziraphale, tired and dishevelled and unbearably horrified and so very Human; and there was Aziraphale, blinding and manifold and unbearably Holy, and not human at all.

“Aziraphale,” he murmured, “it’s enough, now. It’s okay.”

And Aziraphale closed his eyes, and stood there as the light receded, and when he opened his eyes he was One again. And he looked terrified. 

“Oh, Crowley,” he said, and his voice almost broke, it sounded so feeble. “You’re, you’re alright.”

Crowley, on the other hand--now that he had his angel back, he knew it, saw it--looked at him... almost a little smitten. He stepped closer, steadying the angel before he could ask. Though he tried to look Casual, he still scanned the angel’s face intently, until Aziraphale looked away. 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he finally said, and after another moment: “Should I thank you?”

“Better not,” Aziraphale answered with a weak smile. “I could get into all sorts of trouble...”

Crowley smiled: faintly, softly. (Almost, very almost, he touched a hand to the angel’s cheek.)

“So, care to tell me what this is all about?” he asked instead, carefully circling around Aziraphale, his touch never quite leaving him.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a fine line. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Silence settled around them, and both their gazes landed on the poor unconscious souls lying in a heap on the ground. 

“Well uhhh, alright, then,” Crowley spoke up, “So... Let’s get you home? I still have that sparkling wine in my Bentley, y’know the one.”

“Wait.” Aziraphale sighed, taking a few exhausted steps towards the two murderers acquired by Gabriel. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured as he took to healing their knees, “ When you wake up, you migth want to re-evaluate your choice of profession. And try not to believe what you saw.”

(Forgetting, he knew, was impossible. They would have to carry this burden for life. As did he.)

Crowley stood waiting, and then wordlessly walked by his side (his arm brushing against Aziraphale’s now and again, close enough to offer comfort with his presence, but keeping to himself.) He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this situation, wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he knew Aziraphale well enough to give him time.

He’d always needed time.

As they stepped outside, someone was waiting for them.

He was Gabriel--but not quite. A few inches smaller, a little lop-sided, with less of his perfect hair on his head. He looked like he’d been run through a pastry machine. And he looked pissed.

“You’ve really done it now, Aziraphale,” he snapped. “Discorporating an Archangel! Look at the fucking body they gave me!”

“You what?!” Crowley wheezed, incredulous and, not to his credit, looking absolutely delighted. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat, and straightened his shoulders, and suddenly looked like his old self. Like his softness was his armour. 

“I thought, despite everything, that you were still one of us... but I must have been wrong.” Cold anger sat deep in Gabriel’s eyes, and behind that, hidden, something like disappointment.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, instinctively, ready to go No, no, of course I still am, but then he glanced sideways at Crowley. And that was that. He knew.

They were still His Side... but right now, though he would never say the words out loud despite it all, there was only one thought burning inside him and it was:

Fuck My Side.

“No, I don’t suppose I am.” He said it as if he was realizing it only as he spoke, and a part of him did. Another part had known it for a long, long time. He looked Gabriel right in the eyes, holding his furious gaze with his own. 

Beside him, he saw (felt) Crowley’s head snap around, just impercetibly, a motion so small that Gabriel would never notice, but Aziraphale did. Behind his sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes had gone wide. 

So this was it. The moment he had been so very scared of for so very long, but now that it was happening he suddenly was not scared anymore at all. Determined, he took a step forward, positioning himself slightly closer and slightly in front of Crowley. He thought he saw the demon smile softly, for just a second, a little unsure twitch in his cheek. 

“I would appreciate it if you never did that again,” Aziraphale said, and somehow it sounded both like a polite request and a Threat. 

And Gabriel, The Trial still present in his mind--the image of Azirapahle standing in Hellfire and basking in it--thought he saw that same Aziraphale again now. The Archangel smiled, a short and humourless smile that was mere acknowledgement, and then he snapped his fingers and was gone. 

Crowley waved after him, a little wiggle of his fingers that he very much enjoyed.

Aziraphale felt all his strength leave him, yet at the same time he’d never felt stronger in his life. He exhaled, trying to wrap his mind around all that had happened. He had truly chosen his allegiance once and for all, and he knew it was the only decision he ever could have made. 

The power that had so forcefully reminded him of its existence, never quite forgotten, still tingled beneath his skin, but it was only a soft stream now, and Aziraphale gently led it back down. The fabric of Himself was still intact. With a little smile, and an even littler glance to the demon by his side, he clasped his hands contentedly in front of his stomach. 

Aziraphale knew who he had to thank for that. Wily old serpent, always meddling in his affairs. He’d better never stop. 

“He’s a real jerk, that one, isn’t he?”

Aziraphale gasped, looking scandalized, and completely missed the irony of that. Then he grinned, and laughed, and looked at the ground and then back up into Crowley’s face, a little unsure. 

“I guess you might, on occasion, have a point,” he conceded.

He smiled broadly, warmly, one of his best smiles, and Crowley, a little stricken, reciprocated. Suddenly nervous, he took off his sunglasses and tried to clean them with the hem of his shirt, before giving up and slipping them into his pocket, as had been his (very secret) intention all along.

They locked eyes, in the twilight, and almost seemed like bashful teenagers, ready to come of age but feeling very shy about it.  

“What’s this horrible feeling all around here?” the demon asked suddenly, looking around. “It’s making my stomach all upset.”

“That would be love, my dear.” Unadulterated.

“Oh.” Crowley said nothing more. 

But his hand brushed against the back of Aziraphale’s, just lightly grazing it, and the angel, as if by serendipity, turned his hand to face his--not quite taking it, but letting their fingers touch, and not pulling away. 

_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_

tagging the people in the OP who sounded like they would want to be tagged: 

@idinink @aangelphale @ohblessit @armoredavengers @e3105eb @ineffable-bisexual @cake-cow @snake-in-the-bookshop @crowleysscaredplants @the-best-pilot-in-the-resistance @crowleys--angel @qfantasydragon @aduckwithears @jesuisfabulous @azirafuck @snakecrowleyy @foolish-principalitee @crowleyraejepsen @azfellandco @on-our-own-side @imlowercasemad 

[griimhilde-a]

          do   not   try   to   be   pretty.   you   weren’t   meant   to   be   just   pretty;             you   were   meant   to   burn   down   the   earth   and   graffiti   the   sky.             don’t   let   anyone   ever   simplify   you   to   just   pretty.

                                           -----------    suzanne rivard.