#angel!e

[friendlyneighborhooddolan]

Do angels have phones? Do E and Gray stay in touch?

Yes, yes they do. But when they go to war, they don’t really have time to answer all those texts and they leave their phones be at home. 

Ethan and Grayson do stay in touch, even if it’s a bit harder to, since Grayson isn’t of Ethan’s world anymore. They do talk and text a lot, though.

Among their texts were:

G: What’s more blessed than watching birds sing in the trees?

Ice cream. I’m never going to get over the taste of high fat strawberry cheesecake swirl.

G: Do you think humans realize how fragilely beautiful they look singing funeral songs? I want to leave piles of roses on every grave. Not for the dead, but for the living who are so tender in their grief.

In the name of Father, what a sappy fledgling you are!

I’ll stop by the flower shop tomorrow morning. You want yellow or red roses?

G: White.

[friendlyneighborhooddolan]

Girl, your smut is amazing but I want more angel!e, like, did he actually meet mary, what do him and michael talk about, all that stuff

Thank you love! Now, let’s write:

I hope you mean Virgin Mary by mary. She convinces him to eat olives that taste too much of salt, and she convinces Michael to eat asphodels so he doesn’t feel so lonely inside. Mary is smiling, her reddened cheeks and brown skin welcoming them. Michael is throwing up petals and prophecies for the next three days. He thought he’d die then, and his fingertips are tapping away his sins on Ethan’s hand in Morse code. 

“Chasing after stars will always end with ichor condensation and a wooden coffin,” his fingertips stutter. His eyes are wet, and this is the closest to tears Ethan’s ever seen. 

“Yes, but at least you got to see them, at least they will be remembered,” Ethan can’t help but say.

He smiles, saturated with saturn and experience of dying gods, and he coughs and his cough shakes the Earth.

“Foolish boy, that doesn’t stop sun falling for the moon.”

Ethan felt new from then on. He met Mary long before she carried Jesus, and he watched her writhe in pain when she went into labor. He couldn’t help, though. His shoulders couldn’t carry her pain. He just moved the star that would signal his birth.

[friendlyneighborhooddolan]

WAIT how did Grayson fall? The angel concept n shit

Love, no one remebmers. Some people say he fell in love with a demon, and as far as Ethan’s concerned, his brother said something about God being an asshole when he took a young life he was the guardian of. 

All Grayson remembers is:

It hurts. Ithurtsthurtsithurtsithurts because rain feels like shrapnel and stars taste like old blood. The grenade-like sound still ringing in his ears. 

He remembers his lungs hacked blue and then a cold bed. The ghosts planting dead flowers in the crevices along his spine and names scratched deep into the marrow, and he screams “Is ᴛʜɪs ᴡʜᴀᴛ Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴀʟʟ sᴀʟᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, Fᴀᴛʜᴇʀ?”

[friendlyneighborhooddolan]

Does it hurt to be an angel? I want more angel! e concepts? Can you tell me about how Eden looks?

Hey love, sorry you waited so long for the answer!

When he’s in his human form, his back aches from the absence of wings. The sun inside him is gold and his body burns all of the time, too. Only Y/N can see him in his angel form, because... you know, life. Sometimes, he’ll oversee his strength and unhinge the doors he was just trying to open. He did that to Y/N’s room doors once. Once, when he played tennis, the racket in his hand shook with holy fire. He did win, though. Y/N lost all three games, and he said: “God bless, let’s go eat.”

It takes a lot of strength he has not to scorch his eyes or evaporate blood, and he asks himself why did God make her so vulnerable? 

Eden isn’t a place, love. It’s heavens, and what you make it out to be. For Ethan, Eden is his family in his house, his brother never fallen, all of them living and laughing and talking together. It’s a place of mind. It used to be a big meadow of daisies and his love weaving a crown in the middle of it. Now, he just misses his brother so much it hurts. 

[friendlyneighborhooddolan]

i'm in love with the angel!e thing! what kind of prophecies shake y/n to the core

Thank you, petal. 

Look, one time she dreamt about her own death. She asked MIchael about it and he told her that it’s true.

She’s going to die in Ethan’s arms. Imagine: someone’s pulling a gun, and Y/N is jumping into the middle of it. 

One time, she dreamt about her best friend dying. It was so sad, and her friend was her age (read: young) and she died peacefully. Her funeral was so great, and Y/N was so sad she couldn’t tell her about what’s going to happen.

She’s a prophet of doom, and not many things she dreams of are nice, honestly. 

[friendlyneighborhooddolan]

can you write about more angel!e? how did y/n and him meet? what about their day-to-day life? is having sex with angel illegal or whatever?

Hi love! Here are my answers:

Let me tell you a secret: Y/N is a prophet. Ethan met her when he had to tell her about her dreams being prophecies, and God sent him since Michael could look a bit intimidating. Ethan was all soft, his wings folded behind him and his halo circling his messy hair. Next time she got a prophecy, Michael came, all barbed wire and a halo of star fire and his thunderbolt voice made cracks in her bedroom mirror. She asked him if they could send Ethan, all soft, white tunic, and soft eyes, and warmth. Michael softened at her question, telling her about how she reminds him of his lover, how he’s going to try his best and ask their Father to let Ethan do most of the job. He still visited sometimes, when the most vivid dreams happen, making new cracks in the mirror, and almost burning her house down with his halo (which he removes when he visits her next time). Y/N realizes angels aren’t that scary at all. They just look intimidating.

 Let me tell you about one thing: Y/N’s dreams are sometimes so scary she can’t sleep.

 So, this morning, his silver-feathered wings fold behind his back as he comes back home, and his body looks hazy today, like a glass full of sun.

 Y/N is on her 3rd coffee when he says “Please get some rest tonight.” And she thinks about the dream that woke her up yesterday and looks at him all tiredly and running on two hours of sleep she caught before the dream occurred. Being a prophet isn’t a gift, it’s a curse.

 “Do you want any eggs or bacon on the side?” she asks him, flipping pancakes.

 “Thought I was your guardian,” he shoots back, grinning at her.

 Sex was an amazing experience. In this world, it’s quite welcome. So, when her angel comes back from months of war, he looks at her all hungry and unsaturated. “Your hair never lies quite flat here,” he says, touching the part just above her ear. “I don’t think I ever told you how I like it.”

 Her scalp prickled where his fingers were, yes you did. “No, you didn’t.”

“I should have,” he answers as his hands veers down to her base of her neck, and he smiles all angelic, while those words were all molten gold and copper filled with lust. His fingers danced across her pulse. “What about this? Have I told you about this, what I think about it, this place right here?”

 Yes. “No,” she says. He shook his head.

 “This surely, then.” His hand moved to her breast, her skin warm underneath. “Have I told you of this?”

 Yes. ”That you have told me,” Y/N answers, her breath caught a little as she spoke.

 “And what about this?” His hand lingered all over her hips, drew down the line of her thigh. “Have I spoken of this?”

 “You have.”

 “I surely wouldn’t have forgotten this.” His cat’s smile. “Tell me I did not.”

 “You didn’t.”

 “There’s this too,” he says, his hand ceaseless now. “I know I have told you about this.”

 She closed her eyes. “Tell me again,” she said.