Nimgrade
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Despite what Alastor just said about wanting to observe, he immediately looks off to the side and keeps his eyes on the floor until Vox pointedly slams the detached piece onto the nearest empty shelf. It rolls a few inches away from him.
“There. It’s off. Happy?”
Alastor refocuses, first on Vox’s glowering face and then lower down. And just for a second, the mask slips. His smile remains in place, but a soft breath escapes. He takes a tentative step closer.
“That,” Alastor says, in a very different tone than before. “Could your surgeons construct something similar to that on a flesh-and-blood body?”
“That being… nothing.”
“Precisely.” For the first time tonight, Vox hears a hungry, covetous edge to his voice. “Nothing at all.”Vox has attained a bodily state Alastor thought unrealizable. The humbling ordeal of asking for and then receiving the same will ultimately sand down both their rough edges—at least in relation to one another. (Post–season 2 fic)
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Charlie would know what to do, Angel decided, as he followed the sound of her voice down the second-floor hallway. Failing that, if the advice she gave him was wet garbage, at least he’d have one more idea of what not to do.
Crack premise treated seriously: the entire Hazbin gang finds out that they’re on the asexual spectrum. Personal revelations, bad jokes, honest communication, and Scrabble ensue.
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Scriabin is not afraid—not of Jake’s actions or intentions, nor of what he’s brought out in the two of them.
Missing scene from Notice Me by Zarla: everything that happens between Scriabin forcibly possessing Edgar’s body after Jake drives them home, and Edgar waking up in the morning.
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It was strange to look back on all those years when Crowley had kept a barrier of tinted glass between them even in private. Now the windows into his mind and heart were transparent and forever open to him. Next to that unflinching emotional nakedness, every other kind seemed unexceptionable.
A cozy night in veers into momentary tragedy, mild absurdity, and mutual vulnerability.
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It’s brilliantly easy, for a while. A quick kiss on the hand at the end of every social appointment, as a vow to return and enjoy his friend’s company once more. Aziraphale acts flustered each time, batting his eyelids and trying to rein in his smile, but he clearly looks forward to this ritual.
An alternate vision of Season 2, if Crowley and Aziraphale had been freer in expressing their affection throughout. But all the hand kisses in the world can’t save them from their fated break.