Tales of an Injured Fog Rat

Couldn’t help it

Okay so Cardassians, right?

Except that trademark grayish-blue skintone with dark blue accenting is actually just the body's stress response when cold. And because they're cold ALL THE TIME out in space, no one realizes it's just a coloration shift (or just how badly they're freezing out here).

Then Julian "Personal Furnace" Bashir ends up staying over in Garak's bed one night after an impulsive (possibly slightly tipsy) kiss after a stressful week - then fumbling words spilled out from human lips and steadier cardassian hands did some exploring and clothes of questionable fashion got tossed and aside and eventually Julian found himself curled up with a refreshingly cool semi-reptilian body against his hot skin, his own body pumping out waves and waves of that good good humid heat to be trapped under layers of blankets for his chilly companion in return.

He has a minor panic when he wakes in the morning to find Garak's coloration completely shifted to desaturated jewel tones - skin a grayish peachy pink with deep teal green accents instead.

Garak hasn't seen his proper healthy skin tone since he left Cardassia Prime as a lad to join the Obsidian Order. He admires his face in the mirror a moment, before his mood suddenly turns dour and he spins around to pin a still calming down Julian (who thought he'd given Garak some kind of allergic reaction to his body chemistry or something) with an angry glare.

"My dear doctor, do you realize the entirety of my wardrobe has been tailored to a completely different complexion? Do you realize how difficult it's going to be to redesign clothing to complement both my returning sallow tones as the chill of the day sets back in throughout the evening AND my natural tones that will return each morning I wake up next toyou?"

"I... I'm sorry, Garak, I didn't know my body heat would... hang on," a goofy grin starts replacing his nervous lip biting. "'Each morning?' You, uh... you want to do this again? On the regular?"

"...you owe me fabric and labor costs for the past 30 years."

I like to imagine Julian has such few inhibitions about telling Garak he loves him... loudly and frequently!! In the softest voice... it makes garak flustered, though he’d never admit it

Fluff without plot

This is the fluffiest shit I’ve ever done I may now retreat back into the woods

Oh they in LOVE love...

Crowley,depressed on the floor:”I just feel like a noodle”

Aziraphale,hugging him:”Oh good, i like pasta”

crowley doesn’t stay every night. he goes back to the flat in mayfair occasionally to threaten his plants and, though he’d never admit it, to catch old reruns of golden girls; aziraphale occasionally needs a little more quiet for his reading than crowley likes to give.

it’s fine. they’ve each been alone a long time, and old habits are hard to break.

but sometimes when crowley is gone, aziraphale will go to take a sip of his cocoa, long since cooled past any usual enjoyable temperature, and find it piping hot again, steam curling up from the surface like ghostly little snakes. he smiles as he sips, letting the cocoa warm him from the inside out, and knows that crowley is thinking about him.

like a goodnight kiss, aziraphale thinks.

across london, crowley’s daylilies suddenly begin to bloom in the night, and crowley watches as the petals unfurl, bright and shining in the dark of his flat. he reaches out to stroke a finger down a petal and thinks back, good night, angel. good night.

Awww! This is lovely ❤️

Crowley: I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing

Crowley: *looks over to Aziraphale, who’s napping on his shoulder*

Crowley, smiling: But I know I’m doing it really, really well

The Rest of Our Lives - Christmas Extra In which Aziraphale and Crowley spend their time contentedly indoors in one warm night during Christmas Eve, just relishing in each other’s company. Just as Crowley starts to fall asleep, Aziraphale gives him an innocent goodnight kiss. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 WIP Patreon | Ko-fi

Weiterlesen

For a brief moment, Dean stared groggily out of his open doorway, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and heartily wishing he hadn’t been woken up in the middle of the night for this. 

“No.”

 Castiel’s eyes grew more pleading as he held up the ball of dark fur half-tucked against his chest. 

 "Dean, please.“ 

 As unfair as it was for Castiel to use those damn blue eyes of his this way, it wasn’t going to be enough to change his answer this time of all times. 

 "Cas, no.”

“Please?”

Dean rubbed at his eyes. 

“Cas, I’m allergic.”

Castiel held up a box of Benadryl in his other hand.

Dean stared at the medication, at Castiel, and then at the cat, and let out the longest sigh of his life. 

 "I swear to god, if that thing pisses on my carpet -“

 Whatever empty threat Dean had been planning on making trailed off at the bright smile Castiel gave him as he ducked around Dean, already capitalizing on his brief moment of weakness. 

“Do you have any tuna fish?” Castiel asked, already going through Dean’s pantry, and grabbed a can before Dean could answer. 

He was a college student. Of course he had tuna.

Castiel was over often enough that Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he had a pretty good idea of just about everything Dean had in stock at his apartment - but damn if that didn’t hit a few painfully domestic chords on his heartstrings. 

 "Where did you get a cat and why is it here?“ Dean asked with a yawn, pulling out a pack of instant coffee from a drawer. 

This was apparently going to be a night he needed to be awake for. 

 "Found her in the back alley after work.” Castiel explained as he opened the can. “And my apartment doesn’t allow cats.“ 

"Neither does mine." 

"But yours doesn’t check." 

Dean opened his mouth the argue, then shrugged. 

Couldn’t counter that logic.

The next hour or two was spent getting the cat fed, watered, and Dean even set down an old towel in a box for her to sleep in for the time being - though the problem with that was that the damn cat wouldn’t leave Castiel’s lap. Not that Dean blamed her. 

She was a bit skinny, but they could change with a few days of Castiel doting on her.

Besides, if it meant Castiel would be over even more often to look after her, Dean wasn’t exactly going to protest as much as he had been when he was only half awake.

The night grew later, and Castiel’s hand eventually stilled as he pet the cat where she lay on his lap, his eyes fluttered closed and his head lolled to the side against the couch cushion it was propped up on. 

Overall, one of the more adorable images that Dean had ever been presented with. 

Dean made his way over to the couch, sitting down beside the sleeping pair as he dabbed a tissue against his own nose - the allergies already settling in. 

“Listen here punk,” Dean said softly, staring intently at the cat as she yawned widely. “You’re very cute and all, but the least you can do is use your powers to get me a date out of this, okay?”

The cat blinked at him, slowly and unbothered. 

“You know…”

Dean jumped at Castiel’s voice though the words were only a gentle murmur. 

“…I said the same thing to her just before knocking.”

Sweet

the station’s environment controls are on the fritz???

self indulgent silly fluff ~

This cannot be shared enough. 

domestic twitter | kofi

I really wanted to share these separately, so here are the eight individual sketchies that I drew to add into their honeymoon polaroids. ♡

(here's a link for the finished set)

Aziraphale giving up on putting a reasonable label to their relationship and just going around introducing him as "this is my Crowley" and enjoying the puddly mess Crowley turns into every time

Freedoooom! (Or: 6000 years of catching up done in a single sitting)

(this is very long I’m sorry ekldds)

[PATREON] - [KO-FI] - [TWITTER]

hc that aziraphale used to submit vague personal ads in the newspaper to plan rendezvous w crowley. the system worked pretty well, except for that time crowley accidently met up w someone who Was Most Assuredly Not Aziraphale

Crowley, sauntering into somewhere ready to mock Aziraphale for his latest personal ad “soft middle aged man seeks evening companion. serpentine and/or reptilian features a bonus. No questions asked. Women need not apply.” Because honestly Aziraphale even for you this one is *weird* and promptly turns and runs when he realized that oh no that was very much not Aziraphale.

Crowley also once responded to 

“Angel will be feeding ducks at St James’ Park Monday 10am” 

and he’s ready to give Aziraphale shit because that one is a bit too obvious but it turns out it’s a lovely old English woman named Angela who had a typo when she sent it to the newspaper and oh well since he was here anyway would he like to feed the ducks with her, her friend Peggy recently died and she’s just been looking for someone to feed the ducks with it used to be a regular outing for them and now she’s at such a loss- and my isn’t he a skinny one would he like a sandwich, she’s got one packed in her handbag and oh look don’t the ducks seem to like you, dear? Do you come here often? 

Crowley takes the sandwich because she’s very adamant about it and even though she looks like a strong enough wind would hinder her movement, there’s something in her eyes that makes Crowley know better than to fight too hard. It’s ham and cheese on homemade bread with a good amount of butter.

She says her name is Angela but he can call her Angie. He says his name is Anthony and he’s had people call him Tony and he didn’t love it but nicknames are a human thing so he tells her she can call him Tony and she gives him a once over and says he doesn’t strike her as a Tony and Anthony will suit just fine, thanks.

And they feed the ducks and Angie natters on about her life and Crowley nods and makes the appropriate encouraging noises because she’s actually interesting to listen to and when the bread runs out she dusts off her hands and and smiles at him and thanks him so genuinely and sincerely that Crowley tells her he could meet her here again. If she liked.

And they on and off meet every now and then until one day he and Aziraphale are there and she comes up, calling him Anthony and handing him a sandwich because she’s always giving him something because honestly what do you EAT, Anthony? And Aziraphale is shocked to silence but the pair get on so well and Angie tells Aziraphale about the time Anthony tried to fight a swan that stole the bread bag right from her hand and the time he held out his hand to help her over a puddle and how she knitted him a scarf because he’s all bone and must get dreadful chill.

And then just when Crowley thinks it can’t get worse she reaches over and pats aziraphale’s perfectly manicured hand and says “and of course he’s told me so much about you, dear.” And he promptly decides he needs to be elsewhere.