Wired Writing Wallflower

john watson background!!!!!

(Character A) is a typical teenage protagonist of a high school movie. (Character B) is the typical teenage love interest of the high school movie. Only, there’s a few things in the way of their relationship - their depression, anxiety, problems with authority, and their parents...

Me: Nice

(Character A) isn’t used to receiving the affection they usually give and is completely shocked when (Character B) responds the same

Soulmate AU where the last words your soulmate says is written on your skin.

(Character A)’s friend, (Character C), has a HUGE crush on (Character B). In fact, so does (Character A), but they don’t want to start a rivalry with their already possessive friend, so they don’t mention it.

(Character C) comes up with the idea of fake-dating each other in an attempt to make (Character B) jealous, buuuuut....

do i like emo aesthetic? do i like pastel aesthetic? do i like preppy stuff? am i plain?

do i like country? do i like punk? do i like pop? do i like whatever genre(s) twenty one pilots/my chemical romance/fall out boy/panic! at the disco even is?

am i intimidating? am i friendly? am i mean? am i nice?

do i word my sentences right? do i talk calmly enough when i’m in an argument? do my friends really want to be with me as much as i want to be with them? can i talk about my interests without censoring them?

should i talk about my sexuality or preferences? should i talk to my mom about my crush on a girl? should i correct my parents when they only talk about me getting a husband when i’m older? should i tell my extended family that i’m not straight?

can i be open at school? can i raise my hand more than once every five minutes? can i tell my friends about what i really think about? can i be uncloseted at school and not have my flag and explanation of bisexuality on my locker taken down and have it explained to me by the school counselor that it’s because the younger kids could see and ask their parents?

is it okay if i talk louder? is it okay if i don’t apologize all the time? is it okay if i say what i’m thinking? is it okay if i laugh loud and smile wide with my teeth and walk with a wide stride?

(Character A) meets (Character B) at the Area 51 raid. (Character B) freaks out because they work there (albeit not voluntarily, it was a family thing to work for the government), and pretends they’re an alien because they’re a pathological liar.

(Character A) and (Character B) are best friends, so of course, when (Character A) goes on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, they use a lifeline to call their best friend. They don’t need it, but they just wanted to talk to them before they won.

So, of course, (Character B) accidentally confesses their long-time crush on (Character A) on live television.

It goes like this.

A snake meets an angel in a garden of peace and figures that knowledge was more important than that peace. The angel believes they were not destined to be. He gives a sword to the first two humans, and does not fall.

The snake is decidedly not jealous.

He will never be jealous of not falling, because it was what he was always meant to do anyways, wasn’t he?

He was always meant to go down in a blaze of searing flesh and bone and fire, fire, flames that burnt him and swirled around him as he screamed and screamed but it wouldn’t stop, it would never ever stop because all his tears were evaporating and it’s like they never existed and it’s been so long now, is this his new forever? Is this what he is meant to be? Merely an angel for an instant, a plaything to be thrown away for simply asking the wrong questions at the wrong time?

Is this his fault?

(If all the tears he cried wouldn’t have gone up in smoke, maybe they would have been the water to fill the ocean).

It’s fine.

It’s what he was made for, to be tested. The angel wasn’t.

He was fine.

Anyways, he may have gone and fallen in love with said angel.

He was just so wonderful and sweet and genuine, and he was everything the demonic snake would never be. In fact, the demon hadn’t even known that he could love anything until now.

He wasn’t supposed to love anything at all, but here he was, stupidly pining for someone who could never love him.

Hopeless.

—

It goes like this.

Holy water is passed from an angel to a demon, no longer in the form of a snake, and it doesn’t burn the demon. It doesn’t even touch his skin. Not for a second did he even think it would.

They have changed a whole lot since they met, but they have sown trust, and they have sown a bond. A new bond.

Never before has there been a pair of genuine friends that consisted of a demon and an angel, never before has there been a pair that has come close to even fraternization. Not even after the six thousand years they had known each other.

And yet...

He is still going too fast for the angel.

And he doesn’t know how.

“Too fast?!” He throws a plate to the floor, and it shatters. The shards scatter all around the room, and it almost desperately trying to get away from him, hiding under the sofa and under the space between the counters and the floor. His plants are shaking like they never have before, terrified of his unheavenly wrath.

“It’s been so long,” and he sharply pulls on his hair and now he’s crying and tear tracks are running down his face. He doesn’t care. “I’ve waited so long. I’ve tried my best. I’ve-“

He chokes on nothing but his own despair.

He’s kneeling in the shards and they’re digging into his knees. He couldn’t care less.

“What do I need to do?” He was asking someone, anyone, whoever could give him any semblance of an answer, but nobody did. He didn’t know if anyone could.

“How do I be enough? How long do I have to wait until I’m worth more to somebody?” The unknowing of what comes next cut his heart out with a butcher knife made of his own desperation. The only sound to answer his pleas, his prayers, was his own shaky breathing and his plants shuddering.

“Can he even love me?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it? He clenched his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears, alone but surrounded by so much noise, a ringing in his ears that wouldn’t go away. He could hear his decorative heart beating, pounding away, like a symbol crashing with crescendo of a whole orchestra his ears.

He was making up noises at this point, wasn’t he? Trying to deafen the silence with his own imagination. As if it could take away everything that there wasn’t. His plants had stopped cowering. They knew the only thing he wanted to yell at right now was himself.

How had God made him this way? Why did he have to exist like this, confused and incapable of accepting the simple fact that he was unlovable? How had he been cursed with a heart that cared about everything?

How had he been cursed to love when he couldn’t be loved himself?

And as he was breaking down for the thousandth time exactly in his lifetime, the angel was fixing himself a cup of tea and humming a simple melody, settling down to read one of his more recently acquired books, completely and utterly unaware of any of it. And he was still alone.

Utterly hopeless.

—

It goes like this.

The Armageddon’t was averted, and the angel and demon have saved the world. Neither of them were expected to, and neither of them were supposed to, but they did. They exist just the same as they did before.

They still drink too much together and dine at the Ritz and talk about dolphins and whales and ducks and live quite normally.

(Well, as normal as you can expect it to get.)

The demon still has yellow snake eyes and listens to Queen almost obsessively and drives too fast, and the angel still loves fancy restaurants and reads old books and barely sells any of them to his customers.

And the demon still loves.

And he still hates that he does.

“I hate caring,” he says one evening, half-way into his third bottle of fine wine. There’s no way he’s sober at this point. He had been drinking since he had arrived at Aziraphale’s bookshop, despite Aziraphale himself declining to partake in it. “I just hate it so much.”

“I know, dear,” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow and turns a page of the book he’s reading. Crowley’s pretty sure it’s one of Jane Austen’s earlier novels. “You’ve told me many times.”

“I know, I know, I know,” Crowley waves him off, but just a bit too enthusiastically, and leans forward on his knees. “But I just hate it. Too much.”

“Too much what?” He asks. He turns the page, but is almost certainly not reading it. He seems more focused on the conversation now.

“There’s too much. I feel too much. Not s’posed to.” Crowley pulls a disgusted look. “Demons ‘r not s’posed to love ‘n stuff.”

Aziraphale frowns and it looks almost like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle in his head. “You can love?”

Crowley chokes like he did so long ago, and there’s something trapped in the back of his throat, a lump that’s suffocating him, and he almost hopes that he could really die instead of just discorporate.

“I-“ he swallows deep, “I wish I couldn’t. God- Satan- Somebody,” he doesn’t know who somebody even is.

“I wish I couldn’t, so bad. So bad.” He wishes he weren’t so drunk, too, but he doesn’t want to sober up, and the love thing precedes the drunkenness by a large portion.

“Why would you not want to be able to love?” Aziraphale questions, a concerned look in his eyes. “Why would you ever want that? That would be horrible!”

“No it wouldn’t.” Crowley is completely serious, and it’s clear that Aziraphale doesn’t understand at all.

“How could not loving ever be a good thing?!”

“How could it ever be a good thing?”

Aziraphale pinches his nose and sighs. “I’m really arguing with a drunk Crowley right now,” he mutters under his breath. “Sober up.”

“But-“ Crowley whines, and Aziraphale shushes him with a finger. He huffs. “‘Kay...”

He sobers up in less than a minute, and opens his eyes to see Aziraphale with his arms crossed in front of him.

“Explain your argument.” He asks politely, and Crowley is so ready to destroy him with his debate skills.

“I love a lot, unfortunately, and people can’t love me.” He lays it plainly out in front of them, and can’t understand for the life of him why Aziraphale looks so pained.

“... Are you okay?” asks Crowley, and is completely surprised and overtaken by Aziraphale squeezing the living daylights out of him. He makes a noise that is not a squeak (it totally is, but he will never admit it) as his rib cage is practically ground to dust.

“What-“ he lets out a breath as Aziraphale hugs him closer. “What’s this for and also I can’t breathe please let me go what are you doing-“

“I’m hugging you,” says Aziraphale simply, and only lets Crowley have a bit of breathing room.

“But why?” Crowley asks with a furrowed brow.

“Because you need one, clearly,” and that’s the explanation he gives.

Crowley is still not following. “Why would I need a hug?”

“You can be loved,” and Crowley’s lungs are screaming for another reason as all his air is stolen, along with his words.

“You can be loved so much, Crowley, you can be loved, you can be loved, I love you and you don’t even know how much, I promise you I’ll never hide it ever again, I promise, you go so fast but I think I’ve caught up, Crowley, oh dear...” There’s tears dripping and soaking his shirt, but he doesn’t care, because he’s ruining Aziraphale’s coat too.

“I-“ How does one say that they have loved another for thousands of years? Since the garden of Eden? Since they knew each other?

“I love you so much I can’t think anymore,” is what he goes with. “I just never thought that anyone could love a demon.”

The angel, his angel, was still holding him in his arms. “I’m not sure if being a demon suits you, darling. I think you may be the only exception.”

And so they live as exceptions.

Mutual exceptions, a demon who didn’t quite suit being a demon or an angel, and an angel who didn’t quite suit being an angel or a demon.

In the end, they were quite human.

And they were quite happy with that.