look i know that narratively izzy hit rock bottom in the first 3 eps and something had to give but its so funny that the crew showed him one (1) act of kindness and he immediately said well. my crew now. good luck getting rid of me bitches. like they gave him a unicorn leg, something he definitely would have mocked or hated in the past, and now he's like yeah that's right. I'm the new unicorn. what about it. i will reference the fact that i have one leg and show off my unicorn foot at every opportunity. stay mad die mad
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It’s just one of those unspoken things of life, John thinks. At least—for those it pertains to.
A sort of… smoker’s pact. Bumming cigarettes and sharing a light. The mutual understanding and the wordless agreement of the familiar transaction. And while the habit isn’t at all preferable—the whole act, John thinks, is sort of wonderful.
It’s how he meets Simon.
John’s move to a new city hasn’t treated him too kindly so far. He’d had to stay in a hotel for two weeks because of an infestation in his flat, his new job screwed up his paperwork so he doesn’t get to start for almost another month yet, and, worst of all: he knows no one here. He has a cat for company, sure, but she can only do so much for conversation.
John doesn’t smoke often, but tonight is one of those times where he thinks he’s earned it.
Except now, as he pulls out his near-empty pack after climbing to the building’s roof, he realizes he has nothing to light the cigarette with. He curses.
Great.
Frustrated, he shoves one between his lips anyway, crumpling the pack in his jacket pocket as the wind blows past. At least the view is decent enough.
“Need a light?” Someone asks.
John nearly jumps out of his skin, thankful he hadn’t been standing anywhere close to the roof’s edge. He hadn’t heard nor seen anyone, and maybe he could attribute that to the dark and the whistling breeze—but turning to face his company, it’s a wonder he didn’t notice.
The man is, well. Large. Even wearing black to blend in with the hour, and even with his posture slightly hunched to perhaps meet John’s height or attempt to preserve warmth, John can tell his shoulders are broad. John can tell he’s stupidly tall if only he straightened his spine just a little.
“If you don’t mind,” John says, the slightest bit breathless.
John watches sort of mesmerized, as a flame burns the tip of his smoke. The man follows up with his own cigarette, then tucks his lighter into his hoodie pocket.
It must be instinctual, the way the man turns his head to the side to exhale once he’s taken a drag.
“I’ve never seen you up here before,” the man remarks.
John shrugs. He takes his own drag, then blows the smoke to his right. “I only recently moved here.”
The man hums. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know I’m about the only other one who comes up here. Easier to hide your naughty habit.”
John barks out a laugh. “Bit hypocritical, wouldn’t you say?”
The corners of the man’s lips curl upward. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”
John wouldn’t learn Simon’s name for another month and a half after that, but he doesn’t think it would ever matter. Not when they have their unspoken thing.
Maybe this new city wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
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the way crowley just completely gives up trying to stop armageddon when he thinks aziraphale is dead. the fact that, no matter how much he loves the world, he doesn't want to live in it without his angel. and other things about them that cause me great pain
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