#themoonmothwrites

[hauntedmestunningly]

Top 10 Spuffy fics I’ve read (Jan 2024)

20 20 24 Minutes Go by smellslikecorruption [PG]

Buffy and Spike and a birthday that goes unmentioned.

A Different Kind of Hell by OffYourBird [NC-17]

Jumping through Glory's tower portal, Buffy and Spike find themselves in a hell dimension they never expected. One that looks suspiciously like 1880's London. Will they find a way back home? Will the truth behind William the Bloody at last make itself known? Will Buffy ever stop butchering the Queen's English? Join them and find out. Starts off at the end of "The Gift."

A Waxy Gent Chuckled Over My Fab Jazzy Quips by violettathepiratequeen [PG-13]

The Scooby gang is sick and tired of Spike and Buffy being so on edge after the engagement spell, and they have a plan to restore peace to Giles' apartment.

A Wonderful Awful Idea by The Danish Bird [NC-17]

With nothing apocalyptic looming on the horizon and hoping to avoid a certain thick-headed commando, it seems like the perfect opportunity when Giles mentions a monster terrorising the good people of Lake Tahoe. What could be more merry than a Christmas trip to the mountains to investigate? The gang is all coming along, defanged vampire in tow. Buffy should totally be able to deal with the demon, ignore Spike and their recent “engagement,” enjoy some resort-town shopping, and be back with Mom on Christmas Eve. Right? What could possibly go wrong? Set in season 4 at the beginning of Doomed.

All Five by acekoomboom [PG]

Buffy goes through the stages of grief as she tries to move on from his death at the hellmouth.

The Forbidden Bone by bewildered [NC-17]

Buffy always knew Spike was hot. But now that he's their prisoner and she has the leisure to really look at him, she understands why. It's the cheekbones. She cannot resist. Dedicated to r/buffy and all the Very Intelligent Men there who have kindly mansplained that James Marsters's cheekbones are compelling, hypnotic mysteries of creation that we poor, weak women are powerless to resist, and the only reason anybody likes Spike as a character. I am so grateful that they have graciously pointed it out on so many occasions, and can only hope that someday my wanton ladyparts will stop forcing me to adore Spike. One of these days, I may find the strength to tear myself away from the Forbidden Bone's diabolical influence, but in the meantime, here is some cheekbone-inspired maybe-a-little-dubcon cracksmut. Enjoy!

Hills of Iowa by the_moonmoth [PG]

She felt bigger here, like the landscape. Like she could unfold everything she was and still find space for it all.

I Can Get Money by scratchmeout [NC-17]

Spike puts his past to good use to get money for Buffy. However, things become complicated when her ex shows up and targets Spike.

The Rub-Down by Grief Counseling [NC-17]

Buffy has one hell of a sore back. Spike has exceptional hands and massage oil. How can this be resolved? Sex, guys. It's resolved with sex. Let this post-Intervention, Season 5 porn adventure commence! With oil!

Winter Wonder Hell by Synefred [NC-17]

Shaken by the memories that flooded through him when his soul was returned, Angel took off into the night, leaving Buffy and an ever growing portal to a hell dimension behind him. With no other choice, Buffy stabbed Spike, condemning him to an eternity in Hell. The only problem was that as he was sucked in, he pulled Buffy in with him. Buffy always expected Hell to be full of fire and brimstone, but now she is trapped in a twilight realm, where the cold bites and the darkness waits. As she and Spike battle their new reality, and each other, the lingering question is, what will they do when the snow finally falls?

[mortifyingideal]

been rereading @themoonmothwrites’ Babel today, which is about to come to a close, and I couldn’t help but be inspired to doodle everyone’s favourite sad goff baby who just wants some love (and very strong coffee (but mostly love))

congratulations on finishing the fic, moony my darling! cannot wait to see what else is in store for everyone’s favourite antichrist couple xxx

[indieninja92]

:chin hands: tell me why you vehemently disagree that Wilde was Aziraphale's squeeze?

oh ho ho! thank you for asking haha to be honest the main reason is that i just dont like wilde! i dont find him interesting as a writer, i dont think he’s an engaging Historical Gay, and i think he himself was a toady, self-important antisemite whose writing never interested me. so naturally, being absolutely chronic in my over-identification with aziraphale, i imagine he felt the same xD i also just dont think they’d get on honestly, im not an expert in wilde but i dont see their personalities gelling at all. i think wilde gets picked up on as like, an easy historical gay to mention because everyone knows him and his sexuality is famous and most of us have read a little wilde at some point, but hes not compelling to me at all. that being said! there is no big-booted headcanon police here haha if people get a kick out of the idea, more power to them, im not about to wade in and get snotty about people having different opinions about the extra-textual shenanigans of a fictional angel xD

[cassieoh]

Stellar Lifecycles by Anthony J Crowley, demon

1 - Irreversible Collapse

Tell me about the stars, Crowley. (You are my safe place to ask questions, Crowley. I have so many of them). How were they made? How do they live? (Surely there is worship in understanding God’s marvels? After all, the beauty of a good book isn’t just in the pleasure to the eyes, the pretty arrangement of words on the page. The pleasure is in the way the soul gazes into the mirror and comes to know itself better. Let me know the heavens better. Let me know you better.)

I’ll tell you, angel. God created the universe in heat and light, and then She created the angels to weave it. We took the light and moulded it in our hands, pressed it into protons and neutrons, tiny buzzing electrons, and then we pressed those together, too. She called them hydrogen atoms and we gathered them up in our arms into great luminous clouds. Then comes the neat bit, angel, the real trick. The Almighty looked at the way the bits of the atoms stuck together, and said, ‘like that, but for big things,’ and She called it gravity.

But how does gravity make a star?

It’s like a hill, you see. Or more like a valley. You put the cloud at the top and gradually, it’ll all fall down.

(Apples fall. Angels, too. Does a fall always end in fire?)

Those atoms’ll get closer together, it all starts to get hot. And you know, it’s still just a cloud at that point, swirling around in space and all that, but eventually, it gets dense enough that its own mass takes over, and it starts to collapse in on itself. It starts to collapse, right, and you can’t stop it. After that point, the star is going to get born come what may. It’s inevitable.

2 - Fusion

Well, and then things get hotter and hotter until… See, making hydrogen nuclei is easy, in the grand scheme of things. Take a proton, right? That's basically it. Sometimes add a neutron. 'S not that hard. The leap from hydrogen to helium, though, that's a thing. Takes a whole boatload of energy to force four of those recalcitrant little bastards to share space in a nucleus.

They don't just… attract? (Like you and I? Tell me we're just another law of nature, an inevitable binding.)

They get close enough, they do. Almost impossible to separate, eventually. But to start with, no. Something has to force them together, some external circumstance. Something like the heat generated in a collapsing gas cloud.

(Something like a conversation on a wall, an unexpected moment of kinship, the way my stomach swooped like a swallow when you smiled at me, close, close, under my wing.)

Are you still listening?

Yes, go on, my dear.

So, it gets hot enough to push the hydrogen nuclei together to form helium, but the really clever bit comes next, because, angel, get this. When they fuse, they actually release more energy. It's like Creation in miniature. Happens fast, too. BOOM. And suddenly your nice innocuous little gas cloud is a fiery ball of nuclear fusion.

3 - Balance

After that, you've got a main sequence star, happy to shine away for however long. Millions of years, probably, if She'd let it.

The atoms stop falling inwards? (Tell me there's an end, a soft landing. Surely it can't go on forever.)

For now. Gravity's still pulling them in, but the force of the fusion is also trying to push them back out.

Like a tug of war.

Exactly. Both sides are equally matched. No one's going anywhere. The forces are balanced.

Oh. A little like us.

You… yeah. You could say that.

4 - Imbalance

It doesn’t last, though. It can’t.

Why not? (If you don’t rock the boat, if you’re careful, surely nothing needs to change.)

All good things, angel, you know what they say. The star runs out of hydrogen, converts it all to helium, so there’s nothing left to burn. It’s like letting go of the rope in that tug of war. Gravity wins out, and hard. The star collapses in on itself, heats up again, until suddenly it’s hot enough to start fusing helium.

Oh, a daring rescue? (Tell me, tell me there’s a hero at the eleventh hour. Tell me there’s a safe way to proceed.)

Not... exactly. Not precisely, no. ‘Cause the same thing happens all over again -- the helium runs out, gravity wins, the star collapses and heats up until it’s hot enough to start burning the next biggest element. And so on and so forth. It just sort of wobbles about like that, expanding and contracting, clinging on desperately to life, until it’s burned through everything it can.

It sounds positively awful.

Perhaps, in a way. There’s something beautiful to it, too, though. Symphonic, almost. The layers of elements that build up like tree rings, the way it flings out its coronal envelope while the core is slowly collapsing, like a robin puffing up its chest feathers. Red giants, the humans’ll call them, and they’re magnificent.

But it’s dying.

No, I know, but-- this stage is important, because this is where the complex elements come from. Iron for blood, oxygen for air, carbon for-- everything. You can’t have life without this stage, angel. The star has to start to die for everything else to begin.

5 - End State

And that’s the end of it? Nucleogenesis completed? Do we… do we simply mourn the star’s noble sacrifice, and move on?

Not in the least, angel. How do you think the elements get out of the star to make life?

How, then?

A big-- really big explosion. Massive. As much light given off as an entire galaxy.

Oh, like the one we saw at Bethlehem. What did you call it?

A supernova. Exactly. Not all stars go out that way. Not the smaller ones. The sun will go with a bit less fanfare, just shut off the power and go dark one day. But the bigger ones, the ones with sufficient mass, they go up like a firework, like an atom bomb.

With a bang, rather than a whimper. I suppose you approve.

If you’ve got to go, go with style, that’s what I always say.

Yes, I am aware. (That's what I'm afraid of.) And after that?

Depends on the mass again. There’s always something left behind, some compact little memory of what went before. Might be a white dwarf or a neutron star. With sufficient mass, it can lead to a black hole. Even they serve their purpose, though. Most galaxies have them, right at the very centre. The dark heart of the cosmos.

Surely, this must be the end.

No, angel. Not even close.

6 - New Life

“I helped make this one,” Crowley said quietly. “Wasn’t much of an angel, but I enjoyed the work.”

“You should be proud,” Aziraphale said. “It’s incredible, my dear. Tell me about it?”

“It’s a stellar nursery, a place where new stars are born. D’you remember what I told you that time, about how stars live and die?”

“How could I forget?”

“Right. Well,” Crowley said, shifting a little, caressing Aziraphale’s fingers restlessly. “After the fusion’s stopped and the star’s gone cold, or exploded or whatever it’s going to do, the molecules that’re left over eventually form a nebula. Over time, gravity does its work again, and the densest bits of the cloud pull in more and more matter, until they’re dense enough to collapse into a protostar. At critical density, fusion starts all over again.”

“Bob’s your uncle.”

“Bob’s your…” Crowley shook his head. “Nevermind. Point is, a star died, and a new star was born. It’s different to what came before, more complex in its make-up maybe, but just as… just as precious.”

{excerpts from Starstuff, written by @themoonmothwrites​/the_moonmoth, illustrated by me/cassieoh for the Good Omens Big Bang 2019}

[kedreeva]

My family expanded this year and I am frankly doing an awesome job raising my two little ones. HNY Ked 🥳

Heck yeah you are, happy new year!

Over 200 species of birds are known to participate in a behavior called "anting" where they actively or passively apply ants to their skin and/or feathers to induce them to release chemicals that can act as natural ectoparasite control.

[emjee]

Christian bisexual thirst ;)

Moony!!! This is—this is possibly the best thing anyone’s said about me ever?? This is what I strive to be known for?? Truly cannot put into words how much I love that this is the vibe I give off ♥️

[ineffabilum]

For prompts: angel, your halo's showing

It hadn’t been easy, trying to raise the impressionable little boy who would someday bring about an end to the world as they knew it. There were slip ups. There were fights. There were three rattled Secret Service men who watched Brother Francis drag a thrashing, ten-foot snake into the woodshed and just start yelling. But after months of hard work and mutual frustration, Crowley and Aziraphale were finally, finally starting to get it right. 

It was incredible, really, Crowley thought, watching Aziraphale shuffle around the garden with Warlock toddling in front of him, baby-fat hands clamped around fingers that were older than the earth beneath their feet. It was incredible, the amount of growing they could still do. Six thousand years and yet there were still things for them to learn, books to read, flowers to plant, giggling faces to wipe clean. Just when Crowley was starting to think he’d seen all the universe had to offer and then something like this came along. 

“You’re doing very well, darling,” he called, and Warlock glanced up at the sound of his voice. 

“Nana?” 

Aziraphale beamed down at the little boy with those stupid, crooked teeth and that stupid, crooked beard and somehow they were beautiful like that, somehow they were the two most beautiful creatures Crowley had ever seen. “Shall we go to Nanny, Warlock?” he asked, voice caught in a cadence Crowley was not yet used to, and Warlock shrieked and jerked around. 

“Nana!” 

Aziraphale laughed and they staggered forward together, muddy and messy and beatific, and Crowley opened his arms, saying, “Come here, my darling.”  

At the edge of their picnic blanket Warlock opened his hands and teetered toward him on unsteady legs, first one faltering step and then two and three and four and five, picking up speed as he went along. Crowley felt his heart lodge very near his throat, felt his chest ache as all the breath he didn’t need went out of him—here was the Great Beast that is called Dragon, agent of their certain deaths and their uncertain deliverances, taking his first steps the way billions of children had done billions of times before. And yet. And yet. 

And yet. 

Warlock crashed into Crowley’s chest with a squeal and Crowley wound his arms around him, tears beading up in the corners of unhuman eyes. I love him. The realization was sudden and sharp and painful and Crowley kissed the little boy’s mud-smeared cheek, felt stubby fingers clutching at his blouse. I love him. God help me, I do. 

There was a light, a bright and holy light and for a moment Crowley thought it was God come to forgive them or to damn them or smite them where they stood, but when he looked up it was just Aziraphale, beaming, the glow of his halo brighter than the sun. 

“Angel,” Crowley said, his voice thick with an emotion that might have been fear and might have been reverence. Warlock looked up a him and then twisted around to squint up at Aziraphale. “Angel, your halo—” 

“Fwancis!” Warlock pushed away from Crowley and tottered toward Aziraphale now, his hands outstretched and reaching. “Fwancis, look!” 

Aziraphale caught him and lifted him, laughing, both of them framed together in blue sky and white light like a Madonna lost to time, and for the first time in what felt like a very long time Crowley let himself think, maybe this could work. Maybe, if we’re very good and very brave and very, very lucky, maybe there’s a way we could be saved.

[forineffablereasons]

themoonmothwrites replied to your post “soft morning kisses that taste like coffee, lingering a little in the...”

Crowley in Aziraphale's clothes is more than I can handle

i’m obsessed with crowley wearing aziraphale’s clothes. stealing his jumpers. sliding into his sleep shirts after he gets dressed in the mornings. loping around the flat wearing aziraphale’s button-ups and nothing else because “they’re comfy.” aziraphale’s clothes are not at all cool and they’re sort of the antithesis of what crowley has tried to make himself out to be but it’s such an affectionate thing and aziraphale keeps his clothes for so long and he buys them instead of manifesting them and they smell like aziraphale and they’re warm like aziraphale and it’s like the ultimate in intimacy,. also, too big jumper sliding off one shoulder: good.