#cheeseanonioncrisps

[aro-culture-is]

Aro culture is …somehow becoming the default relationship counsellor for all your alloro friends? Despite being very much unqualified for this position? 😅

(coaches don't play :P)

[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #79

1. Hello! I've been looking for a fic for a while now. What I remember most is that it's a fic where Aziraphale is used to Crowley coming in the last second to save him, but during their long fight he gets killed with mustard gas (during WW1 i think) and Crowley doesn't come, so he's very surprised when Crowley appears in 1941. I think there was a long and angst sequel? Thanks in advance! ~anon

2. Hi! Looking for a fic set after the apocalypse. Crowley and Aziraphale are being more open about their relationship, but due to 6000 years of having to keep it secret, they both keep temporarily forgetting that they're safe and freaking out when the other shows them open affection.

Specifically, I remember a chapter where they were in a museum (I think) and Aziraphale began worrying about how close they were standing together and that people could see them, and Crowley thought it would be funny to tell him that he loved him to see how he would react, and Aziraphale got super annoyed when he remembered that they were safe because it was super not helpful of Crowley to do that ~@cheeseanonioncrisps

3. There was a long-ish one-shot fic on AO3 where Aziraphale believes his love for Crowley is one-sided. Gabriel is trying to convince Adam to restart the apocalypse, unsuccessfully. He realises that Aziraphale loves Crowley, says "You know he can't love you back, right?" and leaves. Aziraphale flies right up a mountain, where Crowley finds him huddled in his wings. It turns out that Aziraphale had been blocking the love because it was overwhelming. ~@celiaequus

4. hello! i’m looking for a story that takes place in the Tony era and it’s right before crowley does his M25 presentation. crowley and aziraphale end up together before his presentation - which is why he wants a wahoo. very soft and good!! ~anon

5. Heya! Looking for a fic that might be multi-chaptered, and all I can remember from it is that Crowley and Aziraphale went to Anathema’s to celebrate a winter holiday that wasn’t Christmas (the whole apocalypse gang was there) Crowley and Aziraphale danced and it ended with Aziraphale falling asleep in the Bentley. ~anon

If you know one of these fics, please use the number in your response!

~ Mod G

[elsewhereuniversity]

There is a boy who does magic tricks— coins out of ears, rabbits out of hats, neverending hankerchiefs and “was this your card?“— the kind you’ve seen a hundred times before. Stare at his hands all you want, you will never catch him out. He’ll be quite happy to let you look up in his sleeves or examine his props at your leisure, many have tried, but nobody’s ever found anything.

Nobody’s a hundred percent sure whether he’s human or not but he seems to be safe from the Gentry— no matter how much attention he draws to himself, or how many long walks he takes over the grounds in the moonlight— some say They’re not sure either.

x

[mygeekcorner]

I hate that you can make posts unrebloggable now

[dietraumerei]

cheeseanonioncrisps replied to your post: Ineffable Holiday Day 8 - Holiday Shopping

I love this!

thank you so much!

[imaredshirt]

cheeseanonioncrisps replied to your post “Gonna challenge myself to write at least 10,000 words before the new...”

Good luck! ����

Thanks!!

[tyrannuspitch]

cheeseanonioncrisps replied to your post: someone tell me to write this essay

Write this essay.

damn it i didn’t expect anyone to actually DO IT

[loracarol]

"Doesn't realise they've been injured" for the prompts thing? Universe doesn't matter, but I'd like if it was about Héctor and Imelda.

I decided to give it a shot & see how it might work in the canon verse. :O 

It’s not that Héctor didn’t feel pain, not exactly; but after as many years as it had been since he was truly Remembered, pain just… Wasn’t worth paying attention to. The truth was, he’d gotten used to constantly being in pain. It was the background noise of his life. Sometimes it cut through, mostly when he was being hit by the glow of being Forgotten, but the rest of the time? So what if his leg was broken, or his arm, or that he just crashed into the ground because he didn’t feel like taking the stairs. 

It wasn’t pain, it just… Was. 

Even after Coco began to remember, and to share his story, that didn’t make it go away, not immediately. So when the de la Cruz fan hit from behind with a bottle, he didn’t do more then blink. It hurt yes, but when did he not? (And maybe things were starting to hurt a little less, as Coco remembered him, and shared her stories, but it had been a long, long time.)

Instead, he gave his statement to the police - the man was kind enough to stick around and give his version of events, (with much cursing and screaming), before turning down their recommendations that he see a doctor. He’d had worse, probably. Instead, he just put on his hat, and began to head for the Rivera household - his home, maybe? Everything was still so new, he wasn’t sure if it was his home or not just yet, but they’d invited him in. He was running late for dinner, so he hurried, and ignored the pain in his skull. He thought he’d been feeling better, but maybe Coco was having a bad memory day. She was one hundred years old, he couldn’t really blame her for that. 

Imelda was waiting for him in the doorway, and for a moment he was struck dumb by the way that the setting sun hit her bones with soft oranges and pinks. What color is the sky indeed? His second thought was that he needed to stop doing this to her, even if it really wasn’t his fault this time. 

“Héctor…” She started, but he interrupted, trying to explain - to apologize.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, taking his hat off, and holding it in front of him like a shield, “I missed my trolley. I had to walk ho - here.” It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, but at least he had made it home… Right? 

Imelda frowned, still as beautiful as ever, but she relaxed, just a little, and moved out of the way to let him in. As he passed he thought that maybe he did okay, maybe the night would be a good one, when he heard a strangled “Héctor-!” And turned to see Imelda staring at him with shock? Fear? “What happened?” She lifted one of her hands up to his face, and gently brushed his wig aside near the place where his ears once were. He froze at the touch, still not used to that sort of kindness, not from Imelda, and the words tumbled out of his throat before he could stop them. 

“I ran into one of his fans,” he said, and that was all he needed to say as her expression became downright thunderous. 

“Where are they?” Imelda snapped, looking like she had every intention of summoning Pepita and tearing the man to shreds. 

“He’s already been taken into custody,” Héctor said, trying to calm her down. “And it’s not like it actually hurts. He was just trying to make an example, but I’m okay.” 

Imelda stared at him, head tilted, mouth pursed. “Héctor,” she began, speaking in a tone that made it easy to tell that she trying very hard to keep her voice level. “What do you think you mean by “okay”.” 

Héctor shrugged, “It doesn’t hurt very much? He hazarded, wondering what Imelda was seeing. “It’s really not that bad.” 

“Your skull has cracks in it.” Imelda said flatly, “Turn around.”

Héctor turned, confused. It really wasn’t that bad… Was it? 

“You also have glass shards in your hair,” Imelda said, in that same flat tone. She lifted his wig, checking underneath for injuries. “Dios mío,” she breathed, fear coloring her tone. “I’m taking you to the doctor, now.” Before Héctor could argue against that, Imelda was yelling to the rest of the house, and leading him to a chair in the sala where she promptly sat him down. Her hands were shaking, and Héctor couldn’t really think of why; it wasn’t, he wasn’t that injured. Was he? 

“What’s going on?” Rosita asked, as she rushed in from the dining room where she’d been setting the table. Shortly after her followed the rest of the family, and they all stood staring at Héctor and Imelda curiously. 

“Héctor has been injured.” She declared, arms crossed, “So I’m taking him to the doctor. We won’t be in for dinner.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Héctor tried to argue. It was supposed to be a nice night; he wasn’t going to it be ruined on his behalf! 

“Your have a skull fracture.” Imelda snapped, “I hope you were planning on pressing charges against that-” She cut herself off, scowling. 

“How did-”

“-That happen?” 

“I ran into a de la Cruz fan,” Héctor said, bewildered by the looks he was receiving from the other Riveras. There was anger, but also sadness, and even Victoria looked shocked. He hoped they weren’t angry at him. “He had a bottle?” He shrank in on himself as even Julio let out a string of obscenities. “I’m sorry?” He tried, flabbergasted by their response. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Imelda snapped, “I’m taking him to Dr. Gómez, we’ll try this again tomorrow.” 

Héctor opened his mouth to say something, but one look at Imelda and he shut it again. She looked worried, worried about him. If taking him to the doctor would clear the worry from her gaze, he’d go to a million doctors. 

As the family began to clear out, to help unset the table, and put the food away, Imelda turned to him, quietly asking, “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t feel that bad.” Héctor admitted, worrying the brim of his hat.

“How are you really feeling?”

“That is how I’m really feeling.” He paused, trying to find the words to make her understand. “I’m used to this, this injury isn’t anything, you know, special.” He was trying to make her feel better, trying to make her understand that she didn’t need to be worried, but as her face fell, he cringed. That hadn’t been the right thing, had it? “I’ll go to the doctor,” he said instead, standing up, and wondering if he dared touch her. Even just a hand hold, so she would know he was okay. 

“Yes, you will.” Imelda said, drawing up. “Let’s go get Pepita.”