I’ve Been Watching A Lot Of Mad Men Because Jon Hamm And I Cant Stop Thinking Of Like A Sixties AU

HOW TO SPEAK WRITER: 

“my characters have a mind of their own!” - no i’m not mad and yes i know i made them up but i have no idea what’s happening anymore please save me

“i’m going to write today!” - i’d actually rather wash the garden path but the house is already pristine and i’ve run out of excuses

 “this is still a rough draft so go easy on me!” - i have spent what feels like forever pouring my very soul into this but i worry it’s terrible and if you’re mean i may just cry

“i’ll update soon!” - this is utterly killing me, i don’t know how to read anymore, what are words, help 

“i just had this idea and had to share it with you guys!” - this has taken me three weeks and countless hours please love and appreciate it

“feedback appreciated :D” - please, i live for validation! i need comments!! 

the author's barely disguised open wound splattered livid and filthy across everything they create

there’s no better feeling than getting fucked up by an author over and over as you make your way through their ao3 fic list

soft wlw asks

1. how long have you known you liked girls?

2. talk about the girl who made you realise you liked girls

3. are you in a relationship at the moment?

4. do you have a crush at the moment?

5. describe your crush!

6. do you tend to like more masculine, feminine, or androgynous girls?

7. do you look/dress more masculine, feminine, or androgynous?

8. what’s your gaydar like?

9. tall girls or short girls?

10. intimidating girls or kind girls?

11. hugs or kisses?

12. do you have an ideal ‘type’? what would they be like?

13. what’s your favourite personality trait of yours?

14. what’s your favourite personality trait for a girl to have?

15. what’s the best thing about liking girls?

16. do you have any friends who are wlw?

17. have you ever been to pride? if so, what was your first pride like?

18. do you like the lesbian flag?

19. what was your first kiss with a girl like?

20. who was your celebrity/fictional gay awakening?

21. what’s your favourite lgbt+ movie?

22. who’s your favourite openly wlw celebrity?

23. do you wear makeup?

24. who was the first person you came out to (if you have)?

25. has anyone ever come out to you?

26. have you found a community of lgbt+ people?

27. do you have any older lgbt+ people you look up to?

28. do you identify with butch/femme labels?

29. who’s your favourite fictional wlw?

30. what experiences are you looking forward to having in the future (kissing a girl, going to pride, etc)?

I'm so glad you enjoyed it!! ❤️ I hope tomorrow is better for you!

I’ve been watching a lot of Mad Men because Jon Hamm and I cant stop thinking of like a sixties AU with Gabe and Beez, or just switching out broody Don Draper for Gabriel so could I suggest a domestic 60s set Ineffable Bureaucracy thing?

I decided to do 1968 because of the Apollo 7 mission (I think Bee is just a huge space nerd) and also because I have no idea what Mad Men is (thank you for giving me a new show to watch though, holy shit!! Jon Hamm is a gift). I tried very hard to do this in a 60s setting but it may come off more as 50s themed- I pulled some familiar stuff I know from The Help and read up on some careers before I hopped into this. Bee’s name is Beatrice in this because reasons.

*

Gabriel loved his life. He had a good job working as a Creative Director in a big advertising company, made enough money to be comfortable, got the weekends off to do whatever he pleased, and had a lovely wife to go home to. 

Wife. The concept was still foreign, still made him shiver and smile and feel mushy as could be. Bee would tell him to shove a sock in it, if she were here.

He and Beatrice Romanov had gotten married only a month ago, but only because she had insisted she was going to finish her college degree before he was allowed to strap her down. Gabriel would have liked to have married her the minute he had seen her under those trees in the college courtyard, but she had put her foot down. 

It took a lot more to court her than just a charming smile and a compliment, he had learned very quickly. In fact, the first time he’d done that, he’d ended up with a milkshake in his lap. 

“I’m not a cheap whore,” the soon-to-be love of his life had snapped, her dark eyes blazing with hellfire. “Don’t treat me like one.”

Gabriel had never been spoken to like that by a girl — or anyone — before. At first he was offended, so he made it his duty to try and outdo her in each of the classes they had together. Unfortunately for him, he’d found his match. She was whip smart, mean as a junkyard dog, and took shit from absolutely nobody. Many men had walked away with tattered dignity and a broken nose after attempting to tame this wildfire of a girl. 

He quickly found that instead of wanting to defeat her, Gabriel wanted to impress her. He wanted her to give him that sharp little smile she got when she won. He wanted to hear that laugh, wicked and graceless, that she would let loose on occasion when she was around her friends. He wanted those dark eyes to be on him, always. He wanted.

That wanting turned into a game of cat and mouse very quickly, both of them doing things that had society frowning and the other taunting them to continue. Heated looks across classrooms. Stolen kisses against the bookshelves of the library. His hand on her thigh, her back pressed to the cold stone wall of her dorm building. 

One night, Gabriel took the bait, and had his world shattered by his name broken on her lips, her body bare against his, those eyes looking up at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

Gabriel woke up the next morning with his vessel of hellfire next to him in bed, her inky black hair spilling over his pillow and tickling his nose. The sunlight streaming in the window made her skin look like porcelain, her body ethereal and too perfect to belong in even Heaven. The frustration and pent up tension that remained in him quickly gave way to something that melted his insides, took his breath, and made him pull her closer and press a kiss to her hair.

Three years later, he knelt in front of her with a small velvet box and watched those beautiful dark eyes glisten with tears and love and the promise of a future.

And now he got to go home to his future every single night.

“Leaving already?” Comes a teasing call as Gabriel packs his things up for the weekend.

He looks up, then gives his co-worker a polite smile. “Ah, Sandalphon. Yes, it’s my night for the dishes and Bee wants to watch the Apollo 7 launch with me.”

“You’re whipped, you know.” Comes the predictable laugh, accompanied by others in the office who were bad at pretending to not listen in on conversations. “That wife of yours has you on a leash.”

Gabriel shakes his head, unable to help his smile. “What can I say? I like a girl who takes charge. Evening, gentlemen.”

He leaves with wolf whistling and whoops following him out, but his mind is focused on calculating how much more time it would be until he got to go home to his wife. If he stopped at the supermarket and bought her favorite bottle of wine and some flowers, it would only add another fifteen minutes…

*

“You’re late!” Comes the call when he closes the door. He winces — he had been trying to be quiet so he could surprise her. Nothing got past Bee. 

“Sorry, my love.” He calls, slipping his shoes off and treading carefully into the kitchen. 

The sight that greets him is one he’d come home to for the rest of his life, but one that would always make his heart swell and his knees weak. 

His wife was standing at the stove, stirring what smelled like spaghetti sauce, a red gingham apron tied around her neck and waist. Her hair was pulled back from her face, piled messily on her head and stuck through with a knitting needle (his mother had gotten them for her, trying to insist she needed to be more ladylike. Bee wore them in her hair out of spite. Besides, they did well in a pinch).

“Hello,” Gabriel walks over, pausing to kiss her cheek before fetching a vase to put the flowers in. “I brought you something.”

Bee glances up, surprise flickering in dark eyes, before she smiles. “Sap. Put the wine on ice, we can have it with dinner. It’ll be ready in a little bit.”

“It smells good, Bee.” He does as he’s told, then pulls up a chair at the table to sit and talk with her while she finishes dinner.

His wife blows a stray hair from her face, her brows creasing. “Your mother sent the recipe to me. No, she showed up to my work to give it to me. Spent twenty minutes going on and on and on about how a good housewife always makes her husband’s favorite things…” Bee makes an irritated noise. 

“At work?” Gabriel sits up, frowning. “I’ll talk to her…”

“No need,” she says, with that grin she used to give him just before she dragged him behind a building at school and kissed him senseless. “I took care of it.”

“Bee,” he says, a rush of fondness and exasperation rolling over him. And maybe a bit of dread. “What did you do?”

“Oh, she’ll call you about it later.” She waves a hand, her smile growing. 

Gabriel didn’t even have it in him to be upset — his mother was insufferable about everything Bee did. About how she dressed, how she behaved, how she treated Gabriel. When Bee’d refused to marry her son in a church, that was when Gabriel accepted that he was going to be stuck in the middle of an eternal feud.

But watching his wife move around their kitchen and complain about her day, he found he couldn’t mind. It was amusing to see his wife come up with petty ways to get back at the people who annoyed her. It was definitely a good reminder that she would put up with none of his shit, not ever. 

“Are we watching the launch during dinner?” Gabriel asks when she turns the stove top off. 

She brightens. “Yes! And the newest Star Trek comes out tonight, too. You don’t mind if we watch both?”

Gabriel gives her a fond look, getting up to get them both some wine. “Not at all. Whatever makes you happy, darling.”

Bee grins, blocking his way and leaning up on her tiptoes for a kiss, her fingers snagging and wrinkling his work shirt. He bends to meet her, his hand resting against the curve of her spine and tugging her closer against him as their lips meet.

The chase had been well worth it, Gabriel reflects, as his wife hooks a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down farther to her mercy with a wicked smile. He wouldn’t trade any of this for anything.

Guess who’s world-building! I need help from all my readers in regards to my new Refraction au, so ask away! Anything and everything is accepted, no matter how crazy it may be.

You can find the fanfic here.

I look forward to your asks!!

welcome to my page!

Hi there! I'm Reny.

I've been writing fanfiction for about 12 years now, and my current favorite rarepair to write about is Vi and Sevika from Arcane (although my wife has been known to draw a JayVik drabble or two from me). A lot of my works are 18+ so please proceed with caution!

My lovely wife is my muse, however unfortunately for them (and you, dear reader) I tend to channel my inspiration into gut wrenching angst that borders on body horror. Whoops.

On this blog, we are trans inclusive (as a trans myself), inherently queer, mental-health positive, and pro ship whoever you like. I love interacting with everyone (a comment always begets a comment), and all I ask is that we keep it kind, friendly, and civil.

Without further ado; my Arcane fanfiction masterlist!

Vi x Sevika

Multichapter Fics:

dying to live - 54.6k words, finished, rated E.

desc: Vi loses her father and her future in the span of a few minutes. She's left to pick up the pieces and fit them back together - but nothing will ever be the same. There's a lost relationship with her estranged sister to navigate, a bar to run, and a mysterious regular who seems intent on helping Vi despite her insistence on doing things alone.

cover me in gasoline - 16.5k words, ongoing, rated E.

desc: Rockstar Vi AU. "If her music was a monster, Vi was its teeth. Vi was its claws, sinking into the meat of the world and ripping so she could feed the starving jaws of Zaun. She found solace in the violence of screeching chords and banging rhythms, felt her heartbeat in the bassline beneath the music. She shook with the rage, with the determination, with the dogged desperation of a town being erased by for sale signs and developers with faceless corporations ripping apart their wildlife and planting cement time bombs at their apex."

Series:

without you is how i disappear - 38.2k words, 4 parts, complete.

part one: these terrors gripping my throat - 5.6k words, rated E.

desc: canon divergent. Vi has some old wounds that never healed. Sevika likes to pick at them. They find a way to start healing them together.

“You good?” Sevika asks, and Vi barks out a laugh.

“Oh yeah. Fucking peachy.” She says through grit teeth, then sucks in smoke harder than was necessary to avoid elaborating.

Sevika leans her shoulder against the wall beside Vi, looking down at her, expression unreadable. There was a bruise forming in the shape of Vi’s knuckles on her jaw. Lucky shot. The only real hit Vi had managed to get in.

“There’s some girls at Babette’s who can’t do penetration either,” Sevika offers, and Vi bristles.

part two: as the blood runs down the wall - 10.3k words, rated E.

desc: Vi and Sevika fall into each other.

“You - You’re letting me move in?” Vi can’t help the shock and disbelief in her tone.

Brown eyes roll and glance into the contents of a half empty coffee mug. “Yes. For now. You pull any stupid shit and I’ll have you on your ass.”

“But why?” It comes out of her mouth before she can have a second to think.

They sit in silence for a moment, Vi clutching her bowl of oatmeal like a lifeline, Sevika considering the depths of her coffee cup.

“I owe your old man a solid.” Sevika says finally.

The disappointment that hits Vi startles her. Ah. She understood - debts had to be paid, and a dead man couldn’t exactly call in favors. But the hunted thing in her, the part of her that never seemed to stop bleeding or weeping or howling, cowers from the words. It was just another reminder that Vi was on her own, at the mercy of others until they cast her aside or died or betrayed her. She picks at her oatmeal and wonders which one Sevika would inevitably choose.

part three: as these days watch over time - 9.4k words, rated E.

desc: Vi breaks. Sevika bends. They find a way forward, together.

“It’s therapy and house arrest, or Stillwater. You pick.”

Vi’s eyes narrow. She pulls one foot onto her seat, wraps her arms around her knee and inspects the dried blood beneath her fingernails. Therapy. Like she was some sad Piltie who didn’t get enough sun. “I don’t need some shrink to tell me what to do.” She mutters.

“Well, the Council says you do, so. Pick one.”

Vi’s knee bounces. She bites at a hangnail, the taste of copper sitting heavy on her tongue. Either way, it was a trap. She’d stay here, haunted by newer ghosts and picking apart wounds, or she’d be sent back to be haunted by old ghosts and inevitably get new wounds. She had no doubt everything she said in a shrink’s office would be fed back to Sevika. To Caitlyn. To whoever asked for it.

Then again, they wrote reports on the prisoners in Stillwater, too. She couldn’t imagine how many eyes had been on hers over the last decade.

“Fine,”

part four: so long and goodnight - 12.8k words. Rated E.

desc: Epilogue.

Healing is a long, arduous journey.

Vi had been on it for a few months now. She’d grown out her hair a little, let it fade back to the vibrant pink of her youth. She picked up weight lifting instead of fighting, keeping herself in good enough shape to fight if need be, but not in the constant adrenaline rush that came with actually beating someone to a pulp in front of a crowd. She’d pierced her other nostril. It was a little crooked, but she liked it that way.

Oneshots:

bleed me to death - 9.9k words, rated E.

desc: Vampire Sevika, religious Vi, and a good amount of yearning. Set in the 1800s!

Vi had heard stories about the house on the hill.

She’d been warned of the depravity that lived within. She’d heard whispers about the guests who went, the weary travelers who stopped and never left, the parties that went for hours and the people who went missing afterwards. But most of all, she’d heard about the woman who owned it.

There were rumors about what she was. A witch, maybe. A woman with the proclivity to sleep with the devil in exchange for worldly possessions. A succubus. A monster. A devil in her own right.

my vow to you - 9k words, rated E.

desc: omegaverse, alpha!sevika and omega!vi, a wedding, and a baby.

Sevika was a little old fashioned, so she insists Vi and her wait until after they were married to share a heat or a rut together.

It was fine. This just gave her more time to make sure she could properly take care of her alpha, or properly make her own heat enjoyable for her soon to be mate.

let me find our future under the stars - 6.1k words, rated T.

desc: omegaverse, alpha!sevika and omega!vi, teen romance, girl next door sevika, age appropriate teen angst.

Vi had always been a vibrantly energetic kid. Her parents had put her into sports early as a kid, just to burn off the energy she came home with every day. She was scrappy, too, and could hold her own in a fight. She inherited her alpha father’s temper, and her omega father’s wit, and both of those combined made a deadly combination. Everyone assumed from the day she was born that when she presented, she’d be an alpha.

That was why, when Vi finally presented (late, at sixteen), she was horrified to discover she was not an alpha. She was, in fact, an omega.

doomsday - 6k words, rated M.

desc: zombie apocolypse au, selective mutism vi, one armed sevika.

Putting a bullet through your father’s head long range was one thing. Putting one through your sister’s, while she begged you not to, while the light died from her eyes, was entirely different. Vi stared her sister in the eye, listened to the snapping of bones in a leg hanging onto her body by the threads of torn muscle, as it tried to reconnect itself and her skin flushed hot with a virus that felt more like a wildfire - and she pulled the trigger.

vagus - 1.4k words, rated M.

desc: there were some days Violet wanted to pry open her chest and break her ribs off one by one. Mental health study.

She’d stack her ribs in a pile, wiping the blood on her fingers off on the bone. After, she’d reach into her bared chest and take out her heart. Untangle the veins and arteries that kept it in place, watch it spout blood uselessly. She’d stick her fingers in the valves she swore were clogged, dig around to pick the muscle clean so maybe it would hurt less when it beat.

Tumblr Prompts:

Vi edges Sevika or vice versa please? - 1.3k words, rated E.

amnesia Vi x potentially guilty Sevika - 623 words, rated G.

Unaware touch starved Sevika x (un)surprisingly observant Vi - 1.1k words, rated T.

Vi/Sevika Sickfic - 1k words, rated G.

How about something like Sevika finding out that Vi has chronic pain (in my head it's canon) and taking care of her? - 1.7k words, rated G.

Jayvik:

(I'll be so honest, you JayVik shippers terrify me. Speaking as someone with a wife who is one!)

not really here, just an intrusion - 7.4k words, rated M, ongoing.

desc: A character study in two acts - season one, and then season two.

“Who authorized your research?” He asks, and Jayce’s annoyance slides over his face before he can hide it.

“It was an independent study.”

Those words alone send a thrill through Viktor. He can’t say he isn’t distracted as he collects Jayce from what had essentially been deemed a crime scene. The possibilities that had opened up to him - if an experiment like this could go unnoticed, what else could be done?

This masterpost is ongoing. As always, drop an ask or a prompt in my inbox <3 happy reading!!

more on writing muslim characters from a hijabi muslim girl

- hijabis get really excited over pretty scarves - they also like to collect pins and brooches - we get asked a lot of questions and it can be annoying or it can be amusing, just depends on our mood and personality and how the question is phrased - common questions include: - “not even water?” (referring to fasting) - hijabis hear a lot of “do you sleep in that?” (we don’t) and “where is your hair?” (in a bun or a braid, usually) - “is it mooze-slim or mozzlem?” (the answer is neither, it’s muslim, with a soft s and accent on the first syllable) - “ee-slam or iz-lamb?” (it’s iss-laam, accent on the first syllable) - “hee-job?” (heh-jahb, accent on the second syllable)

- “kor-an?” (no. quran. say it like koor-annn, accent on the second syllable) - people tend to mess up our names really badly and you just get a sigh and a resigned nod or an awkward smile, maybe a nickname instead - long hair is easy to hide, short hair is harder to wrap up - hijab isn’t just covering hair, it’s also showing as little skin as possible with the exception of face, hands, and feet, and not wearing tight/sheer clothing - that applies to men too, people just don’t like to mention it ( i wonder why) - henna/mehendi isn’t just for special occasions, you’ll see people wearing it for fun - henna/mehendi isn’t just for muslims, either, it’s not a religious thing - henna/mehendi is not just for women, men also wear it, especially on their weddings - there are big mehendi parties in the couple of nights before eid where people (usually just women and kids) gather and do each other’s mehendi, usually just hands and feet - five daily prayers - most muslim kids can stutter through a couple verses of quran in the original arabic text by the age of seven or eight, it does not matter where they live or where they’re from or what language they speak natively - muslim families tend to have multiple copies of the quran - there are no “versions” of the quran, there has only ever been one. all muslims follow the exact same book - muslims have no concept of taking God’s name in vain, we call on God at every little inconvenience - don’t use islamic phrases if you don’t know what they mean or how to use them. we use them often, inside and outside of religious settings. in islam, it is encouraged to mention God often and we say these things very casually, but we take them very seriously - Allahu Akbar means “God is Greatest” (often said when something shocks or surprises us, or if we’re scared or daunted, or when something amazing happens, whether it be good or bad; it’s like saying “oh my god”) - Subhan Allah means “Glory be to God” (i say subhan Allah at the sky, at babies, at trees, whatever strikes me as pleasant, especially if it’s in nature) - Bismillah means “in the name of God” and it’s just something you say before you start something like eating or doing your homework - In Shaa Allah means “if God wills” (example: you’ll be famous, in shaa Allah) (it’s a reminder that the future is in God’s hands, so be humble and be hopeful)

- Astaghfirullah means “i seek forgiveness from Allah” and it’s like “god forgive me” - Alhamdulillah means “all thanks and praise belong to God” and it’s just a little bit more serious than saying “thank god” (example: i passed my exams, alhamdulillah; i made it home okay, alhamdulillah) - when i say we use them casually, i really mean it - teacher forgot to assign homework? Alhamdulillah - our version of “amen” is “ameen” - muslims greet each other with “assalamu alaikum” which just means “peace be on you” and it’s like saying hi - the proper response is “walaikum assalam” which means “and on you be peace” and it’s like saying “you too”

Okay I lied, I wrote something and hella projected. 

*

The day was cold and drizzly, much like most of England’s autumn weather always was. The sky was grey, the streets were grey, the general mood about the usually bright and lively depths of Soho was grey, grey, grey. Monochrome and bland.

At least it looked that way to Aziraphale. 

He hadn’t opened the bookshop today. That wasn’t generally unusual, especially on the days that he particularly wanted to discourage people coming in and rifling through his books like untame, wild animals. (Honestly, the audacity of some of these people — picking through his beloved books as though they were things to be thrown away instead of appreciated like the treasures they are.) But today it wasn’t for those specific sorts of reasons. Today things were different. 

Today, Aziraphale had woken up with a sort of heaviness that came around once every so often, when he let his guard down and let things get a little too… good. His shoulders ached where his wings would’ve been if he let them. It took him more than two hours to drag himself from his bed to put the kettle on (Crowley had convinced him to sleep every once in awhile, in that sneaky tone he used when he talked Aziraphale into a late night snack or some adventure they were definitely Not Supposed to Do; “Come on, angel, it’ll be fun. Good on the back.”). 

He had protested adamantly at first, but then given in when Crowley had gotten that puppyish, determined look on his face.  (Aziraphale was weak to the wiles of his snake).

When he had settled in with a cup of tea, in his old armchair that had long since deserved to be put out of its misery, the angel noticed things felt… off. 

Simply put, he felt… disconnected from reality. That’s a silly thing to say, Aziraphale had thought to himself, after his tea had grown cold in his hand and the rain had picked up outside. But he couldn’t help but think it was true. After all, it had been hours since he’d made his tea, and it felt like only a matter of moments. Funny how time flew by.

Aziraphale had a list of things to do today — all of which had been forgotten up until the concept of time had been remembered — that absolutely were not going to get done. He had a distant, disjointed feeling of panic about this, but it didn’t pierce through the grey, grey fog that seemed to cling to the angel with a dull sort of determination.

In fact, nothing seemed to get through that fog until a familiar voice filtered up from the bottom of the stairs leading to his flat. 

“Angel?” Crowley calls, poking his head into the apartment and looking around. He seemed to be panicked, Aziraphale noticed with a slight twinge. Had they made plans? Had he forgotten? He couldn’t seem to muster the strength to remember.

“In here, love.” He calls, his voice soft and a little rough from the silence he’d sat in. 

Crowley’s gaze snaps to the armchair, and some of the tension melts from his angular shoulders. “There you are. I waited downstairs for a half hour, I’ll have you know. And you’re always fussing at me about being on time.” 

Logically, Aziraphale knew he was only teasing. Crowley always teased, and he had a reasonable excuse to be miffed at the angel. But somehow, that seemed to cut through the shroud of melancholy that had clung to him from the beginning of the day. A sick, sharp sort of feeling stabbed into him, flashing through his entire body and making him feel sick to his stomach. Tears spring to his eyes and he pushes himself to his feet, suddenly overcome with the need to make this better, make this right again. 

Some nasty voice in his head whispered to him, ugly words that had always lived in him, but had been pressed down and held at bay for many years. 

See what you’ve done? they whispered, adding anxiety to the spike of sickness. He’s angry, now. You’ve made him angry, and he’s going to leave, and you’re never going to see him again. He’ll find a better person to be around, someone more agreeable, someone who doesn’t needle and prod and criticize. 

And just this once, Aziraphale believed them.

He began to rush about, realizing he was still in his sleep clothes and realizing all he wanted to do was curl up and sob and sob and sob until this feeling went away. “I’m sorry, the time got away from me- I’ll clean up, give me five minutes and I-I’ll…”

“Woah,” Crowley steps forward, catching him by the arm. “Angel, hey. I’m not upset, I was only teasing. Calm down, we can reschedule.”

“I’m sorry,” the angel hiccups, ducking his head, suddenly afraid to look Crowley in the eyes and see his own disgust reflected back at him. He wrings his hands, full of anxious energy as all his emotions began to catch up with him again. “I don’t know what happened, I…”

“Hey,” the demon tilts his chin up, and instead of disgust, Aziraphale finds soft concern. 

It breaks him, and a sob manages to choke him before he realizes it was even coming.

“Oh, angel…” Crowley croons, pulling him against his chest and cupping the back of his head, cradling his face against his neck. 

Aziraphale cries, holding onto his jacket as all the tension and emotion and grey bled out of him along with his tears. The demons holds his angel through it all, making shushing noises and nuzzling his hair, swaying from side to side in a soothing motion that slowly begins to calm him down. 

“We can go to dinner another time,” Crowley murmurs against his hair, rubbing his back. “We have all the time in the world, Aziraphale. Just you and I.”

Warmth blooms in the angels chest. He squeezes his eyes shut, taking a shaky breath and allowing himself to relax. “Okay,” He whispers. 

“Why don’t we go put on the kettle and start a fire in that old fireplace, mm? Come on. Cozy night in, just you and I.”

As Aziraphale is led away, his hand in the demon’s, he starts to feel the fog slip away from his mind, replaced with warm company and distraction. Crowley had him smiling again, and the knots in his chest easing. Things were getting better already.

Outside, the sun shines through the clouds.

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