edosianorchids901
Edosian Orchids
Good Omens, BSG, DS9, and more! Big fan of QPR Aziraphale/Crowley Scans/transcription of “The Nexus/The Dream Box” are here
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anyway the actual point of fandom is to inspire each other. reading each other's fics and admiring each other's art and saying wow i love this and i feel something and i want to invoke this in other people, i want to write a sentence that feels like a meteor shower, i want to paint a kiss with such tenderness it makes you ache, i want to create something that someone else somewhere will see it and think oh, i need to do that too, right now. i am embracing being a corny cunt on main to say inspiring each other is one of the things humanity is best at and one of the things fandom is built for and i think that's beautiful
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@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "rushing train"
Cw: panic attack
Crowley tried to take a deep breath, but it was already too late. His chest had seized up, and his lungs wouldn’t work. The panic attack rushed him like on oncoming train, and he didn’t have time to get off the tracks.
He barely had time to crumple onto a low rock wall in the garden. Gasping for breath, he clutched at the stones as everything spiraled wildly around him.
The world blurred out, and Crowley groaned. Typical, so bloody typical. He and Aziraphale had plans.
“Why now?” He could barely even get enough breath to complain. “Okay. Okay. Calm down.”
He didn’t manage to calm down. Trembling rushed through him, and he let out a strangled scream as he thumped the wall. All he accomplished was hurting his hand.
Several failed attempts to breathe later, he slid off the wall and crumpled to the ground. He pressed back against the cold stone, solid and secure. No one was about to grab him. No one was even here.
Unless they were. What if Heaven and Hell had finally decided to attack? What if he’d picked up on it subconsciously?
Hyperventilating, Crowley twisted around. Was Hastur behind that tree? Maybe there were angels hiding on the other side of the fence. Maybe—
“Crowley?” Aziraphale called. “Where are you, my dear? We’re going to be awfully late for dinner if we don’t leave soon!”
Ohshitohshitohshit, Aziraphale was here. He was in danger.
Crowley shoved off the ground, stumbled sideways, and nearly fell over his bag of gardening tools. He pulled himself together—except for the frantic hyperventilation—and forced himself to move. “Aziraphale!”
Aziraphale, coming down the stone path, tutted are him. “There you are, you old serpent. Whatever have you been up to? Why are you breathing so hard?”
“Trying to outrun a train,” Crowley choked. He grabbed Aziraphale and shoved him behind an old oak tree.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale struggled against his panicked grip. “Goodness, whatever is the matter with you? Did you spend too much time in the sun and get delirious again?”
“Nuh.”
“You certainly seem delirious.”
“M’ not.” He was increasingly dizzy though, and he lost hold of Aziraphale. “Look. Look. It could happen, couldn’t it?”
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “What could?”
“The…” Crowley tried to inhale, and this time he didn’t get any air at all. “The… whatsit. Them. Blam!”
His vision fuzzed out, and he fell over.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale caught him and eased him to sit on the grass. “Dear chap, you must tell me what’s wrong. Are we in danger?”
Crowley wheezed in response.
“Are you certain we’re in danger?”
Crowley wheezed less certainly.
“Hmm.” Frowning, Aziraphale rubbed his arm and looked around. “Well, I certainly don’t see any trains. And if by ‘Them’ you mean giant ants, I shall reiterate my statement that you’ve been watching far too many horror films before bed.”
That was so insulting that Crowley almost managed to reply. But he couldn’t get enough air, not yet.
The immediate panic was starting to die down, though. The pressure on his chest eased, and he managed a labored gulp of air.
As soon as he got a little air, his mind started to clear. Which meant he immediately winced with embarrassment. “Er. Hi. Sorry. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.” With a worried smile, Aziraphale took his hand and patted. “Although I do hope you feel up to explaining. Your claim that there was a train was rather alarming.”
“Sorry. Metaphorical train.” Heart still racing, Crowley leaned back against the tree and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “Dunno. I just…”
“Had a panic attack?” Aziraphale asked kindly.
“Nrng.”
“Was it about anything in particular?”
“Nah. Nah. I don’t think so.” He looked around nervously anyway. “I was just planting marigolds, and then wham. Couldn’t breathe, freaked out, whole nine yards.”
The frown returned to Aziraphale’s face. “We only have one yard. Granted, it is quite extensive, but…”
“Figure of speech.” He definitely didn’t have the energy to try to explain that or anything else right now. Except there was one thing he did have to explain. “Er. Angel. I don’t think I can do dinner. Sitting in a restaurant is eurgh.”
Terrific. That was a really eloquent explanation.
Aziraphale sat beside him under the tree and put an arm around his shoulders. “I understand.”
“Gosh, really?”
“Of course. If you’re having sudden feelings of dread in our very own garden, a restaurant would be intolerable.” Ducking down, Aziraphale met his gaze through the dark glasses. “I truly don’t believe there’s anything to fear, you know. You’re home and perfectly safe. There’s been no indications that either of our old sides have any interest in us.”
“Right. Right.” Gulping, Crowley tried to drag his mind around to that concept. “I’m home.”
“Yes, you are. We both are.”
Crowley took a deep breath. It came more easily this time, which was a relief. Technically, he didn’t actually need to breathe, but that didn’t matter in the throes of a panic attack.
He curled up against Aziraphale’s side and just relaxed for a while. Enjoying the cool afternoon breeze, the smell of flowers, the utter lack of anyone trying to kill them. No more oncoming metaphorical trains.
“Okay. Okay,” he said when he was sure he’d recovered. “We’ll try dinner out tomorrow, maybe. You wanna head in and we’ll cook something together for tonight?”
Aziraphale beamed at him. “That sounds so lovely.”
They helped each other up, and Crowley glanced around once more. Then, since all was well, he and Aziraphale joined hands and strolled back to the cottage together.
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Person: What's your book about?
Writers:
I'm both somehow 🙃
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wdym an average platonic bond cant be deep and meaningful do none of you remember the power of friendship
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Posting my old good omens art before season 2!
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Tumblr, what's the point of me putting things in a queue if the queue's going to keep breaking? Anyway...here's a little belated angst from @edosianorchids901 for you all to enjoy.
In Love With My Car Vol. 2 is coming early May! Keep watching for more spotlights and information!
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weelll that one post it hit 600 hundred notes and welp now here i am hello here's a little painting i made
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Can snakes even drink coffee? No. Will that stop him? Also no.
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I wanna call this the 'Ineffable niblings' AU. Little Ash and Uriel from 'When the angels left the old country' would have so much to talk about with the ineffables! Thought I'd do a little crossover for passover, featuring an orange on a seder plate because I love the idea.
Chag Pesach Sameach!
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Overprotective spouse
By just a LITTLE 🤏
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The face of someone who absolutely WILL fuck you up
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Also quick Ace Day doodle for you!! :D
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Hello, I saw your article entitled "WHY DEFEND FREEDOM OF ICKY SPEECH?" And I'd like to ask... Are you normalizing lolicon now? It's not just a made-up story where there's inappropriate content with children, where it's portrayed as something terrible. It's portrayed as something normal and sexy😦
This article?
As I point out in the article, I'd not actually read any lolicon, and 16 years later, I still haven't. As I say in it:
Still, you seem to want lolicon banned, and people prosecuted for owning it, and I don't. You ask, What makes it worth defending? and the only answer I can give is this: Freedom to write, freedom to read, freedom to own material that you believe is worth defending means you're going to have to stand up for stuff you don't believe is worth defending, even stuff you find actively distasteful, because laws are big blunt instruments that do not differentiate between what you like and what you don't, because prosecutors are humans and bear grudges and fight for re-election, because one person's obscenity is another person's art.
Because if you don't stand up for the stuff you don't like, when they come for the stuff you do like, you've already lost.
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people are really looking at stats to determine if a fic is worth reading? no wonder fics that never got popular at the first drop never had a chance 💀
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