#bibliphale

[wtsns]

@bibliphale asked : you  can't  do  all  of  this  by  yourself.

he’s  struggling,    and  he  wonders  if  it’s  this  evident  to  everyone  else  around  him.  it  wasn’t  as  if  he’d  willingly  signed  up  to  be  a  single  father,  but  that  was  the  way  things  had  ended  up.    (  you  miss  mary.  but,  it’s  more  the  idea  of  her,  of  the  woman  you  thought  you  loved.  you  weren’t  alone,  when  she  was  still  around,  and  perhaps  that’s  the  bit  that  you  miss  the  most.  )    gaze  traveling  downward,  briefly,  to  the  curly-haired  baby  asleep  in  her  pram  ⸺  gently  pushing  and  pulling  on  the  handle  to  keep  things  that  way.  you  can’t  do  all  of  this  by  yourself.  it’s  true,  really.  it  isn’t  that  he  doesn’t  love  rosie,  which  he  does  :  she  reminds  him  so  much  of  her  mother,  and  that  in  itself  is  almost  enough  to  send  waves  of  grief  and  hopelessness  washing  over  him  once  more.  it’s  difficult,  most  days,  to  look  after  both  himself  and  his  daughter.  harsh  inhale,  followed  by  a  wavering  smile.    “  we’ll  be  alright,  rosie  and  i.  we  manage.  ”

manage  is  certainly  a  funny  way  to  describe  things.    memories  surface  of  the  early  days  after  mary’s  passing,  of  how  he’d  be  incessantly  hungover  in  the  mornings  with  the  cacophony  of  rosie’s  cries  in  the  background.  how  he’d  pass  rosie  from  minder  to  minder,  knowing  that  mary’s  so-called  friends  were  whispering  behind  his  back,  masked  by  looks  of  pity.  he  hadn’t  been  a  proper  father,  not  even  close  to  a  decent  one,  but  …  he’s  trying  to  be  better.  there’s  not  so  many  drinks  in  the  house  these  days,  and  he’s  actually  found  a  good  daycare  for  his  daughter  while  he’s  at  work.  however  ⸺  he  always  feels  like  he’s  teetering  right  on  the  edge.    (  you  never  wanted  to  become  your  father.  and  yet,  when  you  look  in  the  mirror,  you  see  him  staring  right  back  at  you.  )    he  realizes  his  tea’s  gone  past  cold,  scrambling  for  the  mug  and  lifting  it  to  his  lips  with  a  slight  grimace.  something  is  seriously  off  with  him,  if  he’s  allowing  such  a  travesty  to  happen.    “  probably  look  like  a  right  mess,  don’t  i?  ”    weak  laughter  tumbling  forth,  as  if  he’s  unsure  whether  he  should  be  laughing.

[talentforlying]

If u light Aziraphale’s bookshop on fire with that damn lighter of yours, I’m running you over with my Bentley.

..................sensing a liiiittle bit of a hostile energy from you rn.

@n1atruc

[flykept]

gabriel cannot say they understand the idea, what would lead @bibliphale to stray from the path of the almighty. perhaps he had been too lenient on aziraphale. had given him too much lead to tread. none of the others within the heavenly host were like this. perhaps it was all his time on earth.

“ you should be careful, aziraphale. we don't want people to get the wrong idea about why you're here. ” warning comes with a polite smile, this feels as forced as it looks, awkward. the strained upturn of his lips. Archangel lifts a book, turning it in his hands, it is written in what appears to be swedish, he thumbs through it idly before dropping it on the table he plucked it from. violet gaze turns to principality then, sharp but not purely unkind. ( or at least they do not mean to be. the muscles within the human face are rather abstract to them not because they are complex but because they are simple. most days it feels like shoving the ocean in a waterskin. )

“ if you're not careful, some might start to think you like it. ”

[wtsns]

you can't be serious!

the  reaction  is  surprising,    to  say  the  least.  it  leaves  john  reeling,  for  a  moment,  blinking  rapidly.  he’d  come  without  rosie  today,  who  was  currently  at  a  daycare  that  john  had  recently  enrolled  her  in.  it  was  good,  the  area  itself  was  good  ⸺  it  almost  felt  like  fate,  really.  wasn’t  like  he  could  drag  himself  back  to  baker  street  anyways,  not  with  a  baby  in  tow.  besides,  he’d  never  really  liked  the  suburbs  in  the  first  place.  that  had  always  been  mary’s  sort  of  scene  :  perhaps  it  was  her  attempt  at  living  a  normal  life,  with  as  close  a    white  picket  fence    that  she  could  get.    “  it’s  a  nice  house,  really.  not  too  large,  and  not  as  far  a  commute  from  the  hospital  as  i  have  right  now.  i’ve  already  put  down  a  down  payment  on  it.  ”    john’s  voice  is  insistent,  taking  another  slow  sip  of  tea  before  speaking  again.    “  …  i  can’t  stay  in  that  house  anymore,  mr.  fell.  i  never  liked  it  there,  and  now  that  i’ve  the  opportunity  to  get  out  of  there  ⸺  i  need  to  take  it.  ”    he  hasn’t  mentioned  the  subject  to  sherlock,  just  yet.  it’ll  come  up  eventually,  he  knows,  and  with  it  will  come  the  question  of  why  he  won’t  just  move  back  to  baker  street.  but,  he  can’t  put  both  himself  and  a  baby  onto  his  ex-flatmate.  it  wouldn’t  be  fair,  really.

[talentforlying]

@bibliphale / continued from x.

' that's the trouble with being realistic, me oul' mate: it's a gloomy bleedin' world out there. ' he's already made himself right at home: coat draped across the back of the chair, legs slung over the arm, lighter spinning between his fingers and neck craning as he peers around the shop with flagrant interest. cluttered, cozy, and teeming with paper. he could get used to this. an eyebrow quirks in amusement, fingers fluttering as if to say you rang? ' oh, 'course not. it's the modern age we're livin' in these days, squire, most prefer to WALK. less mess on laundry day. ' ( do demons do laundry? fucked if he knows. he hardly does laundry, so there's not much to go on. )

he makes a show of ignoring the sound of a cleared throat, pretending to be entirely fascinated with the snap of the lighter wheel and the few trembling sparks it produces. ' not the sort to keep a tipple where the customers won't go lookin'? SHAME. tea's fine, ta, and biscuits if you've got 'em. ' gratitude: not his forte. that finally gets his attention, hand already halfway to his pocket falling still; brow furrowed, his mouth a moue of distaste. so much for right at home. ' DUST would do worse to 'em than secondhand smoke, f'you ask me. '

[wtsns]

@bibliphale : cold, sender places their jacket over receiver's shoulders.

the  chill  of  autumn  has  settled  quickly  over  london,      and  damn  it  all,  he’s  forgotten  his  coat.  it’s  such  a  small  thing,  but  something  so  easily  bypassed  when  you’re  attempting  to  get  a  fussy  baby  all  dressed  up  for  an  outing.  so  occupied  had  john  been  with  making  sure  rosie  had  all  of  her  things  in  the  nappy  bag,  that  he’d  completely  forgotten  about  grabbing  his  own  coat  from  the  hook  next  to  the  front  door.  while  the  wool-knit  jumper  he’d  donned  earlier  that  afternoon  did  offer  him  some  protection,  it  wasn’t  enough  to  keep  him  from  shivering  every  once  in  awhile.  aziraphale  had  been  the  one  to  suggest  they  stop  by  regent’s  park  today,  to  take  a  stroll  and  perhaps  watch  the  ducks.  rosie  always  enjoyed  the  ducks,  when  she  wasn’t  cranky,  and  it  was  enough  to  keep  her  babbling  away  to  herself  contently.

however,      there’s  a  distinct  nip  in  the  air  coming  off  the  pond,  and  it’s  enough  to  make  john  hunch  his  shoulders  together  in  order  to  conserve  warmth.  he’s  surprised  when  he  feels  @bibliphale  drape  his  coat  around  his  shoulders,  giving  the  other  a  sheepish  smile.    “  ta  for  that,  mate.  had  a  million  bloody  things  running  through  my  mind,  getting  this  one  ready  to  come  out  for  a  few  hours.  ”    a  jerk  of  his  head  toward  the  pram,  before  he  sighs,  crossing  one  leg  over  the  other  as  he  leans  back  against  the  bench  where  they  were  currently  sat.    “  a  coat.  it’s  so  simple,  and  yet  .  .  .  so  easily  forgettable.  ”

[murkyhazed-is-archiving]

@bibliphale cont. from here.

               it’s   as   though   last   night   is   repeating   itself   all   over   again.      an   uninvited   guest   barging   in   and   heading   straight   for   his   kitchen   like   they   owned   the   place.      bilbo   doesn’t   even   have   the   chance   to   say   anything   before   the   overly   cheerful   hobbit   strolls   past   him   with   the   basket   of   baked   goods.      despite   desire   to   remain   alone,   no   hobbit   can   refuse   delicious   food.      they   were   a   simple   people,   who   enjoyed   plentiful   food,   good   ale   and   the   finest   pipe   weed   they   could   find   in   the   shire.      so   bilbo   closes   the   front   door   and   begrudgingly   follows   his   friend   into   the   depths   of   his   own   home.

               and   then   there   it   is.      the   real   reason   aziraphale   had   interrupted   his   morning   of   attempted   peace.      ❝   ah,   so   this   is   gandalf’s   doing   is   it?   ❞      the   wizard   had   done   quite   enough   already,   thank   you   very   much.      inviting   dwarves   into   his   home   completely   unannounced,   thus   creating   total   destruction   of   his   normally   wonderfully   kept   home.      pantry   completely   bare,   plumbing   destroyed,   dirt   and   mud   stuck   to   his   rugs.      anything   that   could’ve   gone   wrong   had,   and   it   was   all   thanks   to   gandalf.

               ❝   tell   me,   did   he   come   to   you   on   his   way   out   with   his   company   of   dwarves?      wanting   you   to   convince   me   to   march   to   my   death?      because   i’ll   have   you   know   aziraphale   that   is   exactly   what   this   journey   would   entail.   ❞      bilbo   marches   to   the   other   room   to   retrieve   the   contract   he   has   not   yet   signed.      opening   up   the   lengthy   paper,   he   points   to   the   part   detailing   all   the   potential   ways   he   could   die   out   there.      ❝   see?      right   there!      incineration!      i   am   getting   woozy   just   thinking   about   it.   ❞

[ghouli3s]

he   understands   more   those   days   (   and   by   default,   the   less   he   feels   certain   of   ).   he   had   never   expected   to   get   close   to   a   human;   Father   had   told   them   to   love   humanity   as   they   love   him,   but   while   michael   will   protect   and   keep   them   safe,   loving   them   as   he   loves   his   father   just   feels   wrong.   but   years   together   with   adam   had   made   him   realize,   that   perhaps   humanity   is   not   as   doomed   as   he   thought   they   would   be.  

"he   likes.   .   .to   read."   the   viceroy   speaks,   still   unsure   how   to   use   a   human   voice,   a   gentle   echo   of   who   he   is.   there   are   rules   on   how   humans   interact,   how   they   walk   around   day   to   day   that   michael   has   no   patience   to   learn.   HE   DOES   AN   EFFORT.   BUT   HE   FEELS   SILLY,   A   SENTIMENT   SO   FOREIGN   TO   HIM,   TRULY.   prince   of   heaven,   commander   of   the   heavenly   host;   and   yet,   michael   looks   around   confused.   "I heard   you   are   an   expert   in   those.   correct?" | | @bibliphale ♡ ft. michael.