jupiterslibrary
writing and such
hello! i'm jupiter, they/he/she. i'm just here to share poetry, books & fanfiction that i like; including my own! come find me on ao3.
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controversial opinion but too sweet isn't aziracrow coded to me... it's a good song, and i do get the vibes! crowley likes black coffee, sleep and whiskey, and none of those seem to be to aziraphale's tastes. but "you treat your mouth like it's heaven's gate / the rest of you like the TSA"? just because aziraphale's an angel doesn't mean he's treating his body like a temple. he drinks until he's drunk enough to give a human alcohol poisoning and he loves sweets enough to literally die for them. the seven deadly sins are his angelic shopping list.
and beyond the literal content of the lyrics, the overall themes are of a relationship between one person who's very self-disciplined and one who's a hedonist. but they've both got hedonistic streaks. they love to indulge, and to indulge each other. aziraphale's a sweetheart, but he's not too sweet for crowley ā they're the perfect amount of bitter coffee, liquor and sleepy sunday mornings for each other <3
#good omens#good omens meta#my writing#i dunno i've just seen a lot of people saying too sweet is crowley singing about aziraphale#but i just don't see it personally#to each their own though! :-)
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i swear to god i hate when a new sex-related poll starts getting numbers because the notes always get so weird and hostile. this website loves ace people until someone doesn't want to have sex, doesn't have a libido, doesn't masturbate and doesn't want any of those things. like supporting ace people means actually supporting them instead of pitying and judging people for the carnal fucking sin of not jacking off. i hope that celibacy gif gets so corrupted its just 1 flickering pixel and nobody gets to use it ever again
#not fanfiction related but i only have a handful of followers here so i'm more comfortable screaming into the void#asexual#asexuality
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big name feelings finale tomorrow big name feelings finale tomorrow big name feelings finale tomorrow AAHHHHH
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As your Goth Auntie is apparently in the grips of Goth Nostalgia ...
Three books that were good examples of the mood of 90s goth:
Actually written in the 90s: Lost Souls by Poppy Z. Brite. Content warning: if you're someone who is uncomfortable with taboo themes in fiction, give this a pass.
Not written in the 90s, but set then and captures the mood: In the Blood by Miranda Luna. It certainly has writing flaws, but definitely hits the Goth Nostalgia button for me.
Also not written in the 90s, but damn, all of us wanted the goth club in this book to exist. Gothique by Kyle Marffin. The writing is clunky in places (and has one plotline too many, IMO), but it's still a nostalgia rush.
All three of them are, yes, vampire novels, and I would put content warnings on all three for people who want to avoid taboo themes or unhealthy relationships. (If you are one of those folks, I suggest avoiding vampire fiction altogether, but that's a different discussion.)
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i'm surprised i haven't seen any good omens fics with titles inspired by nin songs like. no you get me closer to god? no it gets under my skin within take in the extent of my sin? no the devil wants to fuck me in the back of his car? in the show about a devil who has a car?!?!
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bit on the side?
bit on the side?
crowley doesnāt know what the fuck that even means. ok, yes, heās familiar with the deluge of terms humans have concocted to define the complexity of their relations to each other.
side piece. sneaky link. friends with benefits. fuck buddies. situationship.
crowley knows what it means. he does. but when nina speaks the phrase to him, crowley canāt seem to recognize a single language, alive or otherwise dead, in which the words she says make sense. he briefly wonders if this is his version of aziraphaleās french.
because sheās talking about aziraphale.
aziraphale, the angel. the angel who likes his tea without sugar, but his wine with company. the angel who claims to have a distaste for ābebop,ā yet crowley has caught him mouthing the words to queenās āgood old-fashioned lover boyā more than once in the bentley. the angel (bastard) who enjoys subjecting crowley to his magic act antics that under no circumstances would crowley ever admit to finding amusing or, satan forbid, endearing. the angel who popped into paris during the reign of terror because he got peckish for crepes, and even the threat of guillotine in that damp bastille cell could not deter him from baked goods in the end. the angel who still insists on dragging crowley to see productions of shakespeare, despite both being present for the original opening nights of almost every play the man wrote. the angel who is what heaven is supposed to be incarnateāpure and kind and too good for his own good, really.
and crowley is a demon.
he doesnāt think any of the typical labels apply. theyļæ½ļæ½ļæ½re not human, after all; it couldnāt be that simple. crowley canāt pinpoint exactly when it started or when it changed. 6,000 years is a long history to comb through. it was more than the acquiescence of two immortal beings to the familiarity of each other in a world full of temporary creations. it was more than a bloody arrangement at this point. crowley doesnāt know how it can be more than whatever it means to inhabit the otherās body and walk right into fatal danger, but they are. heās inclined to cut his losses and say he knewābecause deep down, he did knowāheās been fucked since eden and the damn wall and the damn rain he canāt help but associate with revelation.
other peopleās love lives, nina had said. love lives. sheās projecting, crowley knows that. whateverās going on with her andā¦lydia? linda? they say love makes you blind, but crowley would argue you see plenty of things. every passing glance between sips of champagne; every smile at the crisp sarcasm rolling off a forked tongue; every brush of fingers over the exchange of a briefcase full of books, the shaky grip on a tartan thermos, the drunken grab for another glass of wine across the table. silly things. things that arenāt there. for all the times aziraphale has implored him to read more, crowley swallows the urge to say he already reads into things more than he should.
heās imagined it before; what it would be like to have more. a fair share of people have made assumptions about them in the past, though heās not sure whether aziraphale has picked up on it, but thatās not why crowley suddenly feels as though armageddon is upon them once again. never has someone alluded to anything asā¦intimate as āhooking up.ā crowley can brush away the implication that theyāre together, but something screeches to a burning halt the moment nina insinuates what crowleyās only ever allowed himself to think about when heās laudanum-level drunk and lonely because he has a greater chance of not remembering in the morning.
he remembers though. thatās usually when the guilt kicks in, when heās hungover because he forgot to miracle the alcohol out of his system before passing out, and the headache pulses with the constant reminder that aziraphale is pure, pure, PURE. nothing he imagines on those nights is pure.
what gave him away? and if nina can see it, can aziraphale?
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it's still friday somewhere, i assume!
Whilst writing his account of the Apocalypse That Wasn't, Aziraphale broke his quill and then broke down. Crowley offers a feather and some comfort.
Or, the story of how Aziraphale got the black feather seen in the Good Omens: Lockdown video.
M/M, rated G, 4k words
omg itās FAN FICTION FRIDAY
Reblog and promote a fic of yours <3
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Oh, he could remember. Before everything, when angels groomed each other's wings in Heaven. Even after Heaven and Hell split into different factions and started their bickering, some of them would bask in the Earth's young sun as it fell between Edenās verdant leaves and preen. But Gabriel usually chased them off, telling them they had work to do and that they didn't have eternity anymore.
Whilst writing his account of the Apocalypse That Wasn't, Aziraphale broke his quill and then broke down. Crowley offers a feather and some comfort.
Or, the story of how Aziraphale got the black feather seen in the Good Omens: Lockdown video.
M/M, rated G, 4,632 words.
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Sometimes reading or writing fics is about identifying with a character a little too hard and letting the character hear you deserve love, you deserve love, you deserve love
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being new to writing is honestly one of the most humbling endeavours out there. this is, of course, for many, many reasons but what's flooring me rn is that it ultimately includes an unrelenting wave of crash courses in the most specific and disconnected topics. i am now intimately acquainted with a handful of studies in astrophysics, the complete prospectuses of three different colleges in massachusetts, and ive analysed more queen songs than i care to mention. and you lot do this on the reg? hit the fucking showers champs you're unreal
#i've been making up stories & writing them down all my life#and i've been writing pretty regularly for the past... goodness. 6 or 7 years#and yeah it's ALWAYS like this. it never stops being like this#but i don't see it as a burden at all#i love researching and knowing i'm approaching a topic with in-depth knowledge#but it does admittedly get a bit time-consuming#writing
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i don't think that either, i may've worded that weirdly! i less meant the kiss itself as a betrayal and more what it symbolises: the perceived abandonment & rejection of a safe eternity together. i'm very firmly team "do it again" hehe
but otherwise yes, i agree! theirs is a very ancient, very human love
thinking about the second coming and the jesus/judas parallels...
you're the nice one. here's your friend. best friend even. and you love him even as you worry you're doomed. and now they're here to take you away. he comes up to you. he kisses you. its a kiss that condemns you but nevertheless you forgive him. you give up everything for humanity. and you do it all with a smile! you turn the other cheek!
you're the evil one. you have to do the dirty work so heaven doesn't have blood on its hands. maybe one day humanity will be grateful to you for what you gave them but for now it's a thankless job. you never wanted any of this but here's your part in the great plan. here's your friend. best friend even. you kiss him. they take him away and you are alone.
#thank you for adding your thoughts by the way!!! it made me a little giddy to see someone add something on#part of the fun of meta is the conversations around it <3#also! i think i saw that meta! very well-written
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thinking about the second coming and the jesus/judas parallels...
you're the nice one. here's your friend. best friend even. and you love him even as you worry you're doomed. and now they're here to take you away. he comes up to you. he kisses you. its a kiss that condemns you but nevertheless you forgive him. you give up everything for humanity. and you do it all with a smile! you turn the other cheek!
you're the evil one. you have to do the dirty work so heaven doesn't have blood on its hands. maybe one day humanity will be grateful to you for what you gave them but for now it's a thankless job. you never wanted any of this but here's your part in the great plan. here's your friend. best friend even. you kiss him. they take him away and you are alone.
#good omens#good omens meta#my writing#to clarify i dont think anything crowley did was a betrayal#but i do think aziraphale took it as such#its like. i offered you eternity and safety and happiness. i thought itd be enough. arent i enough? must you betray me with a kiss?#hope my parents are proud of me. all those years of teaching me christianity and all that came out of it is good omens speculation
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me, writing a fic: this is just a fluffy oneshot! no real deeper meanings here
me, editing the fic: ah fuck this is about grief again isn't it
#i really just slipped it in without my conscious brain's go-ahead huh#whoopsie#fanfiction#my writing
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i was one of the people who saw EVERY before s2 released and one of the first things i noticed was that the kiss is the same framing and collar grab as the wall slam. without context i assumed it'd be because it's a moment of longing and tension from their past being fulfilled and also a little acknowledgement that yes, they were both thinking about kissin'
i do still think that's true to an extent but at its heart the kiss was communication. it was a desperate plea. so why frame it exactly like the wall slam? i think it's because they're communicating the same thing: i'm a demon.
i'm a demon. i'm not nice. this place was crawling with satanic nuns last time i was here. it's dangerous. do you have any idea how easy it'd be for words like that to get back to hell?
i'm a demon. you can't change that. why even try? i'm bitter and scared but i'd be just as bitter and scared as an angel. the whole system's fucked. i want to stay here, with you.
#i made this connection a few months ago but never really knew where to post it#but i suppose meta counts as writing so in my library it goes! :-)#my writing#good omens#good omens meta
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Hiya, could you pretty pretty please do a 12. and 33. prompt for the ineffable husbands? I keep thinking of Bentley just locking them in and not letting them out until they talk cupboard trope style š
Yessssss :D
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"Now you listen to me Crowley, you are going to tell your carā"
"Our car."
Aziraphale stops. Blinks. Gives up on fighting with the door handle.
"What did you say?" he asks.
"It's our car," Crowley repeats, more of a mumble this time, looking away from Aziraphale. A raindrop runs down the window, and he follows it with his eyes until it pools at the bottom, joining the great conference of former raindrops gathering there. They're in for a night of it, by the looks of the sky. "You said that. You made that true. So you're as much at fault as I am for it locking us in."
"I don't see how this is my fault. You kidnappedā"
"Kidnapped? I rescued you. That's. That's what I do. That's what the almighty made me for, I think," he huffs, still not looking at Aziraphale.
One rescue does not a rift mend. He's owed an apology. And even though everything's gone to heaven, like he predicted, he still hasn't gotten one.
He'd take a lot less. He doesn't need to hear that he was right. He needs to hear that Aziraphale's sticking with him this time.
The Bentley is, at least temporarily, seeing to that. Crowley gives the steering wheel a gentle pat. He genuinely has nothing to do with the doors being locked and apparently immune to miracles or temptation, but he thinks it's trying to help.
If nothing else, the constant itch of not being able to reach out and touch Aziraphale, if he wanted, has vanished for a bit. The ache of missing him has eased back just a fraction. It's a good car. A good, loyal car.
"You're cold," he says, shrugging out of his jacket without even having to look at Aziraphale. It's cold out tonight, in the middle of bloody nowhere, and he gets cold easily. Crowley doesn't want him to be cold.
"You'll be cold," Aziraphale says as Crowley shoves his body-warmed jacket at him.
"Demon," he says. "Don't get cold."
Theoretically, an angel ought not to get cold either. Thing is. Aziraphale's never actually been a very good angel. Not that Crowley would ever tell him that to his face.
Besides, he's his angel. He's allowed to be not very good.
"Thank you," Aziraphale says, taking the jacket and spreading it over himself like a blanket.
Silence, except for the pit-pat of rain against the car, falls. And Aziraphale's breathing. Crowley's missed the way he breathes.
He literally twiddles his thumbs in his lap, trying to think of something to say or do.
"Things are a bit of a mess," Aziraphale says after what might have been several eternities. Crowley's lost count.
He opens his mouth to say somethingāsomething comforting, like that it's not all that bad, or that they'll figure it out, they're a team, they always figure it out.
And then Aziraphale continues, "and you tried to warn me."
His voice sounds so small that Crowley, naturally, like he always does, deflates like a sat-on whoopee cushion. Because the thing about Aziraphale is that he always really is trying to do the right thing. Because he still believes there's one true Right Thing to do. Because he's precious and wonderful and optimistic and good. Not a good angel. But a good person.
"Did you ever wonder why I might try to do that?" Crowley asks.
He's not sure he wants an answer. Either one's going to hurt.
Aziraphale falls silent again, which is probably for the best. The way the moonlight's hitting the window now, Crowley can see him reflected in it. Still the same Aziraphale. Heaven hasn't really changed him.
"Do you really think God created you to look out for me?"
Crowley sighs. "I don't know. Plan's, y'know, ineffable."
"Well it would explain why you keep doing it," Aziraphale says. "If it's all in the plan."
"Right," Crowley draws in on himself. Not getting through right now, then. "No other possible explanation for it, really."
"Well. There is one other possible explanation," Aziraphale offers hesitantly.
"Oh?" Crowley asks.
"Well... you might. I suppose. Be fond of me?"
Crowley glances over at him. Sighs. Okay, well. He's come to that conclusion, then. It's only taken a little over six thousand years. Practically no time at all.
He takes his sunglasses off. Stares out of the windscreen. Wonders if he can actually be discorporated by way of stomach knots. Gnaws on his lip.
And then gets very, very brave. "I might be," Crowley says, forcing himself to look Aziraphale in the eye. "I might even be in love with you."
Aziraphale swallows. He looks like he might either be sick or pass out from what Crowley realises at the last second isn't disgust.
It's nerves.
"You might," he says, looking away as he fiddles with Crowley's jacket. "And. And if you were. That would be very convenient for me. Because I... I think I've been in love with you for a very long time."
Crowley means to say something to that, but the nice satisfying thunk of the Bentley unlocking beats him to it.
"Well," Crowley says, running his tongue over his teeth. "That's probably enough to save the world, then. Shall we?"
Aziraphale lights up, bright and beautiful and good as always. "I think we really must."
#yesss i found it!!!#one of my favourite fics ever#i love it so much#so heart breaking yet soft#good omens#fanfiction
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Aziraphale finds himself plagued by a persistent discomfort, which he soon discovers could be the beginning of something much worse, something he's unprepared to face.
Words: 13,444
Status: Complete
Rating: Mature
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Natasha Pulley, The Lost Future of Pepperharrow
(top to bottom) pg. 415, pg. 455-456, pg. 455, pg. 457, pg. 461, pg. 473
#books#natasha pulley#i think about the 'i don't tolerate you' quote so fucking often#it shatters my heart into pieces and then gently puts it back together every time
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