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floveslondon · 6 months

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Things I noticed/thought while watching GO S2 (again) Episode 6

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4

Episode 5

I’ll be rewatching this after the fandom has found out that that kiss was ONE take, ONE TAKE! There are literally no words for what is going through my brain now, what the actual hell.

(Edit: Actually, they did 3 takes according to Rob Wilkins)

Crowley heaven look is definitely a look, not my personal favourite though…

If Zira is a retired angel, why does the gateway open just like that? I would’ve thought they would close it or make it inactive or something. Although, in heaven they might all have been thinking that someone else would do it, and then eventually no one did, much like in any business.

Why are Michael and Uriel looking at each other after they pass Crowley? I think they recognised him, why didn’t they do something, raise the alarm?

‘Books go up like, well anyway’ In which way do books burn up? I’m curious to know what he was going to say.

Again, how does Saraqual stay so calm? And then she says to just show him the trial!? Crowley not recognising someone again, whether he really doesn’t or just says so to be annoying, who knows. Maybe we’ll know in season 3? #renewgoodomens #payyourwriters

So the first prince to be cast into the outer darkness, that’s Lucifer right? Or is it Crowley? Also ‘there is no constitutional problem’ my arse

I saw a meta/theory on Gabriel’s box, and I agree it looks like it is much heavier when he is carrying it in heaven on the surveillance cameras. What was in there? The book of life? Gabriel also says to Zira that his arms hurt because of the box he was carrying for so long, yet when he arrives with the box, it only contains a fly…

Crowley looking around a Saraquael, probably with smirk on his face

That halo sequence is just genius. But, did Zira know that Crowley wasn’t around? Because surely it would have discorporated/killed him too? They are probably so in tune with one another that they an feel each others presence. And why did Shax not get discorporated? Was she able to protect herself? Or is it something else?

Why does Crowley insist on taking Muriel back to earth again? Honestly, I don’t trust anything that happens in this show anymore.

Case in point, what is that miracle noise at 18.05? It’s can’t be Saraquael miracling the pathway, because 1 it’s already there and 2 why do we hear the noise but never see the pathway happen or just exist? Is it Crowley giving information to Zira through a miracle? Or vice versa? Or both of them forming a plan what to do? Or maybe something entirely else?

After Crowley turns over the box and all the papers fall out, Zira looks at the papers with this weird look on his face like he’s never seen them before, and then looks at Gabriel, still confused. Am I trying to see things again where there’s nothing or does anyone else see that?

Crowley was right when he predicted that Gabriel would just go to Edinburgh and look at his own statue for hours 😅

Why the focus on the packet of crisps? To fit in with the humans? Also!!!!!!! the only time we see someone paying for something is Gabriel in the pub!

It’s bigger on the inside!

Oh god, Zira reaching for Crowley and clutching, my poor heart 😢

Metatron is in line, and he’s chewing on something. I thought celestial entities should not sully their body with gross matter?

Crowley mentioning Alpha centauri and immediately lookign at Zira, and Zira looking back 😢

A love so strong it turns on all the lights in the bookshop. I’m telling you, love will play a big role in season 3. Or the second book Neil has promised to write in case Amazon don’t want a third season. And in case any of you at amazon read this, you would have to be monumentally stupid to not sign for a third season, just saying.

Zira’s heart eyes, and he doesn’t hear a word anyone says at this point, poor angel in love <3

Michael you liar, you are not the supreme archangel because Gabriel is gone, I’m sure someone has to tell you that you are in fact the supreme archangel. Liar liar pants on fire. And I’m sure that the book of life is off limits, even for the supreme archangel, and that any of those punishments are actually carried out by the metatron or God herself.

‘I’ve brought over a coffee’ Ok, what for? this so weird, I don’t believe in the coffe theory but still it’s weird.

Why does he ask Crowley wether he knows him? He talked to Zira only a few years back, why not ask him first? Surely a demon will never talk to the metatron? Or was Crowley working closely with the metatron when he was still an angel?

It might be the lighting, but why is Metatron’s finger blackened? I thought angels were pristine while demons are generally not so hygienic?

‘Are you going to take it?’ Are you going to take this coffee or do you choose death (for either Zira or Crowley)

And, Zira says quite firmly that he has made his position quite clear. But then he changes his tune so much in a matter of moments. I do also believe that we haven’t seen the whole conversation between the metatron and Zira.

‘’Oh, it’s very nice!’ Yes I should jolly well hope so’ I don’t like this one bit, I don’t know why, it sounds very ominous or something.

That look the metatron gives Crowley, grrrrr get away from my pookie.

How smooth was that move with the carpet!? And, again, different colour!

‘You don’t have to answer immediately’ and then he comes back in 5 minutes and nearly drags Zira up to heaven.

‘You are just the angel for the job’ Note how he says the word job, sounds to me like he is saying Job… Is this a test for Zira by God, are they going to take away everything (Crowley, all earthly pleasures, his bookshop, humans, humanity) to test his faith? And then when he succeeds give it all back to him, but even more? To be able to be an us with Crowley? (yeah, we wish huh)

Once again, Zira says he doesn’t want to go back to heaven.

I don’t believe a word of it, that he could restore Crowley to full angelic status, not an iota.

And once again this scene has done me in, I’ll have to finish this later. ———————— They keep talking over each other, misunderstanding each other, the millions of years of trauma is showing here. I hope they can work out things in Season 3 <3

That kiss, is so heartbreaking, and then both their reactions afterwards 😭

And Zira looking 7 times at Crowley through the window :(

The metatron says that he had Muriel ready to look after the bookshop. To me it looks like he didn’t foresee that Zira would worry about his bookshop, and he just made that up on the spot. And Muriel just goes along with it, because she is still very much under his thumb and impressionable.

When Zira hears about the second coming, I think he realises that Crowley was right (when in S1E6 and they’re on the bench). And then looks at him… I think they have something to blackmail Zira, so he has to go to heaven and that at the same time he is thinking about things he can do to thwart them and make heaven a good place again. I think that that is what those strange looks and the smile are about in the elevator at the end. I would suggest making heaven a place on earth, but well.

This series really is a golden combo of beautiful filmography, fantastic storywriting, out of this world acting and to top it all of one of the best soundtracks.

#good omens 2 #good omens theory #aziracrow

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anastasiawrites · 4 years

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The Slytherin princess:

Y/N was looking around the shop for more books to buy when she bumped into someone, knocking all of her books to the floor.

“Oh I am sorry,” she said as she began to pick them up.

“You shouldn't apologize - it was my fault” said the person, Y/N glanced up for a second and saw that the person was a boy with messy hair, he began to help her by picking up the fallen books with her.

When they finished, she could finally see the boy properly.

He was about her age. The boy had messy dark hair, wore round glasses and had a lightning scar on his forehead that was barely visible due to his hair– Y/N instantly knew that it was Harry Potter. But the most beautiful thing about him was his green eyes, she found herself staring at them for a few seconds before she could finally speak again.

“You must be Harry Potter, I am Y/N” she smiled, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Harry nodded, a small smile appeared on his lips, “Nice to meet you, are you going to Hogwarts too?”

“Yes, I am really excited! I will start that year.” she smiled, “Well, I am going to continue searching for other books in case there won't be any left, I will hopefully see you there.”

Y/N couldn't help but internally squeal, she met Harry Potter.

It was now September the first and Y/N was standing in front of the Hogwarts express. The students who recognized her and her parents were staring at them while pointing and whispering excitedly but Y/N didn't mind that much, she was used to that.

“I will miss you.” said Y/N as she hugged her parents, “I hope to see you on Christmas.”

“We will miss you too, dear.” said her mother gently.

“Don't forget to Owl us and tell us what house you will be sorted in” said Y/N’s father, smiling “–Of course it doesn't matter what house you are in but we will be really proud if you are sorted into Slyther-”

Her mother elbowed him, giving him her infamous harsh glare, he smiled innocently making Y/N giggle.

“We will always be proud of you, no matter what house you are sorted in” said Y/N's mother, “But I will be extremely disappointed if you don't have good marks and, expect a howler if you don't owl us at least three times a week”

“Yes mother, expect me to have the best grades, I will work hard and Owl you many times per week.” grinned Y/N.

“Don't forget where I told you the kitchen is.” laughed her father making Y/N grin even more and nod.

“I think that the kitchen will be my favorite place in the castle,” she giggled, “I will see you both on Christmas, goodbye!”

They hugged one last time before she left towards the train to find a place to sit.

Y/N passed many full compartments when she saw the same black-haired boy from last time, Harry Potter, seating alone in one. She opened it, catching his attention.

“Mind if I sit here?” she asked nicely, Harry shook his head and gestured to the seat opposite his, “No, not at all.”

Y/N sat down at the seat opposite his and saw her parents searching the train's windows in hope of seeing her one more time, their eyes landed on her compartment’s window, she waved, smiling.

Her mother mouthed 'We are already missing you.'

'I am missing you too' Y/N mouthed back.

Harry felt a small pang of sadness as he saw the way Y/N was close to her parents - he wished he also had someone to miss him.

The train started moving and Y/N waved one last time at her parents before they disappeared from sight.

“So how are you-” before Y/N could finish, the compartment door slid open, revealing a red-haired boy.

Y/N had the feeling that it was a Weasley due to his hair color and the state of his robes.

When she was younger, her parents taught her how to recognize most wizard families if they could be identified, from their hair color to how they carry themselves, it came really useful for her.

“Mind if I sit here, everywhere else is full.” He said as he gestured to the seat next to Harry.

“No, not at all.”

The red haired boy smiled and sat next to him.

“I am Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley” said the red-haired boy.

So Y/N was right, he was a Weasley.

“I'm Harry. Harry Potter”

Ron's eyes widened and he went agape as he stared at Harry.

“So-so it's true? I mean, do you really have the...the…” stuttered Ron.

Harry looked confused, “The what?”

“I think he meant your scar.”

Harry made an 'Oh' sound and lifted his hair bangs to reveal the lighting scar Y/N faintly saw in the bookshop.

“Wicked” said Ron and then turned towards Y/N.

“I am Y/N, it's a pleasure to meet you.” smiled Y/N.

“You seem familiar.” said Ron as he looked at Y/N with a frown, trying to remember where he saw her.

“Must have seen me somewhere. Maybe in Diagon Alley, I do remember seeing a family of redheads.” she shrugged.

“Did you see Mrs. and Mr. Y/L/N outside!? Do you think their daughter will be attending Hogwarts with us? I heard that she is eleven or twelve year old - like us.” said Ron excitedly, Y/N giggled while Harry looked confused.

“Y/L/N?” he asked.

“The most powerful wizard family in the world! They are part of the sacred twenty-nine and have powerful ancestors and many special gifts.” said Ron.

“Gifts?” asked Harry, curiously.

“It means that they have some abilities that others don't - like talking to certain animals or more advanced in magic than other wizards since a young age - The rumors are that their daughter is even more powerful than her parents at their age! They are also known for their ancestors, the father of the Y/L/N girl has for ancestor Salazar Slytherin, the founder of the Slytherin house and her mother has Merlin for ancestor.”

“Oh okay, that must be amazing.” nodded Harry, Y/N shrugged.

“How would we know? But yeah, maybe it is amazing.” she giggled.

Just then the trolley lady came by the compartment.

“Anything off the trolley, dears?” Said the plump lady.

Y/N noticed Ron holding up mushed sandwiches “No thanks, I am all set.”

She decided to buy some candies for the boys too. “I would like ten – “'

Harry interrupted her by pulling out coins, “We'll take the lot.”

“Whoa!” both Y/N and Ron said, amazed.

The three first years started eating bundles of sweets.

“Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans?” asked Harry, curiously.

“These aren't real chocolate frogs, are they?” said Harry looking at a blue and gold package of chocolate frogs.

'It's just a spell. Besides, it's the cards you want. Each pack's got a famous witch or wizard. I got about five hundred myself.” Said Ron.

Y/N took one and opened it, a chocolate frog jumped towards the seat next to her. She looked at her card and laughed, it was her ancestor, Merlin.

The train ride was quite nice, the three first years had joked around, telling each other a few stories, time passed fast and they were now waiting to be sorted.

A tall platinum haired first year and his two goons approached Harry who was talking with Y/N nervously, he was scared of how they were going to get sorted.

“It's true then, what they're saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.”

Y/N noticed that most of the students started whispering excitedly.

“This is Crabbe and Goyle. And I'm Malfoy...Draco Malfoy.” He said presenting him and his two big friends behind him.

Ron snickered at his name.

“Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask yours, my father told me all about you. Red hair, freckled face and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Weasley. Well, soon find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. Don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” He said, glancing at Y/N and Ron, who were standing next to Harry.

Y/N grinned.

“Wrong sort you say?” she chuckled, “Blond hair and a bratty attitude – you must not be wanted.”

Ron and Harry both snickered that time.

Draco sneered at her, “You shut up!”

Y/N’s grin widened, “Oh - such a hard insult! I am literally crying.”

“My father will hear about that.” he sneered before extending his hand to Harry.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.” Said Harry making Y/N giggle and high five him.

Just then Professor McGonagall came back.

“We're ready for you now. Follow me.” She said and started leading everyone through two large doors and into the Great Hall.

The great hall was one of the most amazing places Y/N had ever seen and she had seen quite a lot of extraordinary things. From the bewitched ceiling to the carpeted floor, everything around looked straight out of the most creative person on earth's mind.

“Wicked!”

McGonagall leads the first-years to the front where an old rat stood on a stool.

The old hat twitched slightly and it opened its mouth - which was reap.

'Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!'

The students around the hall clapped, “When I call your name, you will come forth, I shall place the sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses.” Said McGonagall.

Y/N wasn't really keen on having to put on a dirty old hat that was worn by hundreds of thousands of students...What if she catches lice?

Hannah Abbot, a pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails was the first to be sorted, she got sorted into Hufflepuff.

Bones, Susan also got sorted into Hufflepuff but as Terry Boot placed the hat on his head, he was the first to be sorted into Ravenclaw, Mandy Bucklehurst was sorted there, too. Lavender Brown was the first to be in Gryffindor while Millicent Busltrode got sorted into Slytherin.

“Y/N Y/L/N” called McGonagall, she couldn’t hide the curiosity in her voice as she said her name.

Everybody, including Ron, Hermione and a horrified looking Malfoy gasped while Harry stood there confused, not understanding why everyone looked so shocked but then remembered what Ron and Y/N told him in the train compartment – even some professors looked excitedly at Y/N.

Whispers broke in the hall as the hat got placed on her head.

“Did she just say Y/L/N!”

“Merlin! She is THE Y/N Y/L/N!?”

My my that is quite a mind,' said a small voice – the voice of the sorting hat, A descendant of Merlin and Salazar Slytherin with so much ambition and leadership – Cunningness, yes there is some cunningness and lots of creativity, I would say Gryffindor for your bravery but your ambition beats everything else...You are definitely a ...

Y/N grinned as she glanced at the green table, green definitely suited her.

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Thank you!” She whispered to the hat and gave Harry and Ron thumbs up, wishing them luck.

The Slytherin table was clapping loudly - the loudest they have clapped in a long time as they all eagerly looked at her.

“The wrong sort you said, Malfoy?” she said to Draco as she passed him, smirking.

A few Slytherin perfects shook her hands, as did many other Slytherin students.

#Harry Potter #harry potter x reader #harry x reader #fanfiction #potter universe #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #The golden trio

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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years

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Dreams (Oliver Sway x Reader)

A/N: I wasn’t going to write Ollie. In fact I was so sure, that I deleted this request after deciding that neither of the Nikolai prompts moved me. But luckily I had a screenshot, because I couldn’t stop thinking about the Ollie one. It was too perfect not to write. Word Count: 2036 Rating: G - I’m pretty sure this one is warningless, other than references to nightmares and references to The Song of Sway Lake.

Like many from the area, you had grown up hearing stories of the mighty Sways and their dominion over the lake. But you had never met one, almost believing them some story told just to increase the romantic draw of the area. Until the day Oliver and his friend stopped into your bookshop.

It was raining pretty heavily outside, the kind of days where locals stay home and tourists leave, driving out of town and off to museums and malls. The shop was empty, almost sleepy, and you were in the back fixing a cup of coffee to keep yourself from napping on the front desk when you heard the door chime. With a sigh, you put on your best customer service face and walked out.

“Hi, welcome to the Papermill,” you called before you had even fully circled the stacks. “I’m Y/N, I’ll be right with you.”

The two boys dripping on your welcome mat looked about your own age. One, tall with curly hair and blue button-up plastered to his skin, grinned at you, shamelessly looking you over. The other, long hair practically a matted mess, looked more sheepish, tugging at the ends of his shirtsleeves.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “We were just...out running errands for my grandmother and it started pouring. You were the closest place to duck into.”

“Oleg, you cannot tell a beautiful girl that,” his friend said, his accent shocking you. You were used to tourists, sure, but never one from...so far away. “You must pretend that it was she alone that called you in.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Do you also pretend she’s deaf?”

The Russian shrugged, still grinning.

Your eyes fell back to meet the other boy (Oleg, or Ollie, apparently), actually feeling drawn the way his friend said he should pretend to be, and your smile softened.

“I don’t mind being a refuge,” you said.

He looked startled, blue eyes widening.

“From the rain, I mean,” you rushed to clarify. “Actually, I think I’ve got a couple towels in the back, for emergencies. Let me grab them.”

You scurried back off, feeling flustered, before they could answer.

“You Americans, always so courteous,” the Russian said as you practically tossed an old, striped beach towel at him.

“Actually, I just don’t want you ruining my livelihood.”

You turned, holding out the other to Ollie, fingers brushing together as you passed it over, and he gave you a small smile.

“Once you don’t look like drowned rats, you’re free to look around,” you shrugged. “Or...there’s some chairs and stuff in the biography section if you want to just sit somewhere to wait things out.”

“Will you sit with us?” Ollie blurted out, surprising all three of you.

“Oh. Um…” you bit your lip. You wanted to, but you really should be working. Then again, there wasn’t likely to be any other customers. “Sure, I can do that, for a bit at least. Do y’all uh...coffee?” you gestured a thumb over your shoulder, as if that explained anything.

His friend glanced between you with a raised eyebrow and a devilish smirk before shaking his head and wandering off toward the back, where you didn’t feel like pointing out he’d mostly find children’s books.

Over the next hour, as the storm increased in intensity and rattled the windows, you found yourself falling into easy conversation with Ollie while Nikolai prowled the stacks. You suspected the odd Russian was up to something, but were surprised to find that you didn’t care as much as you probably should.

“You know,” you said eventually, shifting the way you were sitting with your knees tucked up under you, leaning closer to Ollie in the next chair, “I feel like I know you…”

“Well, it’s been a long time but my grandmother owns a place on the lake, and I sort of grew up here, it’s just been a while since I’ve been back,” he said reluctantly, as if he were somehow ashamed of his background.

“Oh!” you were surprised, expecting at most that he was a seasonal visitor. There hadn’t been that many other kids around growing up, so you started racking your brain for who he might be.

“Yes,” Nikolai piped in from somewhere in what you hazarded a guess was the science-fiction section. “Don’t you know? He is a Sway.” The pronouncement was made with the same level of gravitas and pomp as one might announce that someone was the king of Spain.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Like, your name is attached to the lake, Sway?”

Ollie was tugging uncomfortably at his sleeves again, like he was trying to disappear within his sweater. “It's no big deal.”

You studied him for a moment. He seemed somehow both proud and ashamed of his heritage, and uncomfortable talking about it. You already liked this boy a lot, more already than you cared to admit. So despite your questions, you shrugged.

“Cool,” you said casually, changing the subject back to music, where he seemed like he shined and you were content to sit back and just listen.

Before you knew it, you had whiled away the entire afternoon and the weather was finally letting up. You were reluctant to say goodbye to Oliver and found yourself impulsively giving him a hug before he left.

Since then, he had seemed to find any excuse he could to come back. Sometimes Nikolai would come too, but as much as you enjoyed the company of the wild Russian, you preferred the quiet days when it was just you and Ollie. He was sweet, and pretty hilarious once he came out of his shell (or maybe stopped being overshadowed by larger personalities?)

Until one day he came into the shop, looking sullen and lost.

“Ollie?” you asked, circling the counter, frowning. “Are you alright?”

He shook his head, and your frown only deepened. Bending back over the counter, standing on your toes to do so, you dug around for something. Finding it, you slapped the “Be back soon” sign on the desk and led him over to your usual chairs.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, leaning over to take his hands.

He stared, unblinking, at you and the silence was starting to unnerve you.

“Oliver?” you lifted one of your hands to wave in front of him. “Hello? You’re starting to scare me…”

That seemed to finally shake him out of the odd funk he was in and he blinked owlishly.

“Sorry, I just...I had a weird dream last night,” he said slowly.

You nodded, tilting your head curiously. In all your long conversations, his nightmares had come up a few times, and while they seemed more strange than sinister to you, you understood how much the loss of his father haunted him, sometimes it seemed quite literally. He confessed that he’d hoped that finding the record would quiet his father’s spirit, and that the longer he struggled to do so, the worse the dreams had been getting, to the point where there were nights he woke up more tired than he’d gone to bed. So you understood, to a degree, why he might look haggard, but this seemed different. You waited patiently for him to go on.

“It wasn’t about my dad this time,” he explained.

His eyes drifted down to your still joined hands, and your face heated guiltily.

“Sorry, I wasn’t...I just...I thought...I’ll…” you stammered, finding yourself at a total loss for how to explain why your instinct had been to comfort him with physical touch.

You moved to pull your hands back, thinking he was upset by the contact, but he curled his own around you to stop you. You made a small noise of confusion, but relaxed back into it.

“So, if it wasn’t about your dad, what was your dream about that has you so...off-kilter?”

“I was leaving the lake, alone, and then I kept seeing a face everywhere.”

“Like a creepy serial killer's face?”

He shook his head, hair swinging across his face as he moved, and you itched to reach out and comb it back.

“No, it was like I was trying to catch up to someone, or find them.”

“And did you? Or at least figure out who it was?”

He shifted nervously. “It was...you.”

“What?” your heart was racing, and you frowned, almost not believing what Ollie was saying.

“I dreamt about you last night, Y/N.” He seemed stunned, almost awed, as he said the words out loud, blue eyes wide and watching you for a reaction.

You felt rooted in your chair, mouth falling open in shock. Your eyes flickered over his face, so open and earnest that it almost hurt.

“Ollie…” you breathed, more because you felt like you needed to say something than because you had any clue what to say.

It would have been one hell of a pickup line, if it had been said by a stranger at a bar, or with the kind of cocky charm that Nikolai oozed, or in almost any context but this one. Now it felt intense and a little bit frightening, because you knew Ollie and you knew how much stock he placed in dreams and all the possible meanings of him telling you this were...a lot. But you didn’t necessarily want to pull away, and you certainly didn’t want to run. You just wanted your mind to process it all.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a good dream, and this one wasn’t great, because I was still alone and feeling like I was always a few seconds too late, but it wasn’t a nightmare, and I didn’t wake up in a cold sweat,” he carried on, trying to explain more, or rationalize, or something.

The sound of a bell disturbed your thoughts, as one of the old tourist bitties that had been slowly perusing tapped it repeatedly, demanding you return to work immediately to serve her.

“If you want, we’ve got some stuff about dream interpretation in the Spiritual section,” you suggested as you got up to return to work.

About halfway across the shop, you turned back to flash him a wink. “But I’ve got a pretty good guess what this one meant, without needing a guide.”

Intense and a little weird or not, you liked Ollie a lot. If he was really dreaming about you, or pretending he was, you’d play along, and maybe something would move forward, or at least a door would open so you could make a move.

He shot up from his chair and trailed you back to the counter. As soon as the lady was out of the way, a bag of rather scandalous romance novels in her arms, he leaned his elbows on the tall wooden surface, pretty far into your space. Normally such an action would have annoyed you, but strangely, because it was him, you didn’t mind so much.

“What does it mean then, Y/N?” he asked, a curious expression on his face, his eyes betraying a hint of teasing that you were pleasantly surprised to see.

You rolled your eyes, leaning your chin in your hand and tilting your head to look at him.

“Are you ever going to ask me out, Ollie?”

He rocked backwards, stunned by your bluntness after so long dancing around each other.

“Or are you going to keep waiting, find your treasure, and leave, regretting that you never shot your shot?”

“How about dinner then?” he asked hurriedly. “Tonight?”

You leaned closer, as if you were going to kiss him, and smiled at his sharp intake of breath. “Sounds perfect. But make sure Nikolai knows he’s not invited.”

“What? Why would you even--” he trailed off as you nodded your head to where the Russian was smirking at you both through the display window, flashing Ollie an approving gesture when he caught your gaze.

Ollie groaned, rolling his entire head dramatically, and you pressed your hand over your mouth to hold back a laugh.

“I’ll see you at seven, Sway,” you teased. “But for now, shoo, I’ve got more customers.”

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Taglist: @misskittysmagicportal (I doubt I’m going to write this character again, but let me know if you want to be tagged if I do)

#everyone else: I write for these Robert Sheehan characters #me: I write for...their best friends?#(this is not a dig at anyone but myself. For constantly falling into a predictable pattern of behavior like I don't expect it)#I should write an Alfie x Reader fic (since I sure as heck aint writing Malachy) and just round it out #fuck. I said it. Now it’s gonna happen...#anyway...enjoy!#Oliver Sway x Reader #Song of Sway Lake fic #fluff

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ghost-party · 3 years

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Previous • Next

Pairing: Nanami Kento x OC Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: illness, distant relationship with parents, cheating, low self-confidence A/N: As promised, this chapter is from Olivia’s perspective. I’m still trying to figure out the POV for Part 4. Possibly both...? We’ll see! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy. 😊

When Olivia wakes, it takes her a moment to figure out where she is. Definitely not in her bed. Slowly blinking, her TV comes into focus, and she can feel the early morning sunlight through the balcony windows. Okay. The couch. Easy enough. But why does it feel so... warm?

When she turns her head, she immediately freezes, eyes wide. Lying beneath her, head resting on a throw pillow, is Nanami.

Her brain is slow and sleepy as she struggles to recall the previous night. Soup. Medicine. Movie. And... Oh no. She had fallen asleep. And then he had fallen asleep. And now she’s lying on top of him.

To say she’s never thought about being in this position would be a lie. But now faced with the reality of it, she’s not sure what to do. Every muscle in her body feels rigid with nerves, and she can’t seem to look away from his face. His expression is softened by sleep, lips slightly parted, hair falling across his forehead... Looking this good so early in the morning — while asleep — should be illegal.

Olivia feels heat rising in her cheeks the longer she stares. And it only intensifies when she realizes that his arms are around her, holding her body tight against his.

She knows she should wake him up. But he looks so peaceful, in a way she’s not sure he ever does while he’s awake. Since the day she met him, she has been learning him, from his body language to the almost-imperceptible shifts in his expression, including his rare, soft smiles. She has grown attentive to all of his details and mannerisms.

Because Olivia Vale has a bad habit. And his name is Nanami Kento.

• • •

It wasn’t every day that a man walked into her bookshop and just happened to pick up a copy of one of her favorite books.

During those two hours that he sat at the back window, completely immersed in Homer’s Odyssey, Olivia had kept busy, occasionally sneaking glances at him as she shelved titles — as if to reassure herself that he wasn’t just a figment of her imagination.

It didn’t help that he was handsome. Dressed in a tailored tan suit and that speckled tie, his light hair combed neatly back from his face, which was sculpted like a piece of fine art — prominent cheekbones, strong jawline, serious mouth... Repeatedly, she reminded herself that he was a customer. Ogling him, while enjoyable, was inappropriate. Besides, if she had to guess — and when it came to reading people, she was usually right — he was in desperate need of some peace and quiet. And she was happy to give that to him, at least until she broke down and offered him a cup of tea.

And then something unexpected happened. He kept coming back. As the weeks passed, she learned more about him, and he became a friend rather than a customer. (But he still bought books, almost every time he came in.)

He worked as a consultant. He didn’t share many details, but it seemed like a sensitive subject, so she never pushed. Even though he always entered her shop wearing a peculiar pair of armless sunglasses — and had worn them through their entire first meeting — he would now take them off and tuck them into his jacket pocket when they sat down to talk. He wasn’t very close with his family. His parents split their time between Japan and Denmark, where his grandfather lived. He was an admitted foodie with a soft spot for bread. This was proven when he walked in one afternoon carrying a whole bag of baguettes from the café next door. He was generally patient, but he sometimes griped about an unnamed coworker — a man with plenty of talent but an obnoxious demeanor.

She learned that he’s sharply intelligent and earnest. But he’s also kind and thoughtful, asking her questions about her life and the books she loves most and things she’s always wished she could talk about with another person.

It took her a while to admit to herself that she had feelings for him that went beyond simple friendship. Now, she’s still grappling with the knowledge, afraid of ruining what they have between them. But it also doesn’t help that her last relationship completely crashed and burned. Finding out that her boyfriend of two years had been cheating on her for one of them, with her former college roommate... Well, it didn’t exactly leave her feeling eager to jump into something new. Instead, she was hesitant and nervous, doubting her perceptiveness for the first time in her life. Because if she had been wrong about him, what if she was wrong about the next person who came along?

She hasn’t been on a date in over a year, despite the florist next door continually insisting on setting Olivia up with her investment banker son. She honestly didn’t think much about it until now. While the fear remains, stubbornly persistent, she knows that Nanami is different. And she knows him — trusts what she sees in him every time he visits. They’ve spent enough hours talking and learning about one another to nearly qualify as several dates. Just minus the actual “date” part...

It was only a week ago that they sat downstairs, each reading a different book, listening to the faint sounds of jazz on her father’s old record player. And she decided there and then that she needed to take a leap of faith. Even if the idea of doing so was terrifying.

• • •

“Morning.”

Nanami’s voice brings her back to the present, and she looks up, meeting his sleepy gaze. Seriously, it’s criminal, how good he looks right now, she silently grumbles. And it’s impossible not to notice that he has yet to attempt to extricate himself from beneath her — or even loosen his firm grip around her waist.

“Hi.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, until her anxious brain interrupts. He’s still waking up. You need to be the responsible one here, before you do something stupid.

With a small, awkward laugh, she gently pushes away from him, and he releases her. She climbs off the couch, until she’s sitting on the floor beside him. “I guess we were both pretty tired.”

She watches as he sits up. Runs a hand through his hair. Looks down at himself, blearily taking in his wrinkled shirt and comically-loose tie. “Seems like it.” He looks at her with concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I sound, I promise.” It’s the truth. Although her voice is still weak from all the coughing, her body has fewer aches and chills than it did when she woke up yesterday. And much to her private embarrassment, she’s fairly certain she slept better here, on the couch with him, than she has in weeks.

“Are you hungry?”

“Why? Are you going to pull some breakfast out of your magic grocery bag?”

He snorts. “I was going to offer to cook something.”

Oh no... Her heart couldn’t handle this. He came over when she was sick, brought her soup and a literal armful of supplies, spent the night in her apartment (even though that was an accident), and now he’s going to cook for her?

She’s done for.

But what she says is, “Sure. You’re welcome to use whatever’s in there.”

He nods and stands, pulling his tie off and tossing it over his jacket. His movements seem different as he continues to wake up — less precise, softer. When he rolls up his sleeves, revealing lean, muscular forearms, she feels faint.

Okay, now she’s done for.

He ends up using some of the ingredients she had purchased for her next solo cooking adventure. And, in what seems like an absurdly short amount of time, they’re sitting at the dining table, eating rice, miso soup, grilled fish, and freshly-sliced fruit. When he pours her a cup of green tea, she feels like her heart might burst. She never knew he was so domestic, and it has her in a flustered panic.

“You’re an amazing cook,” she says, to both show sincere appreciation and distract herself.

“Thank you.” He smiles, pleased by the compliment. “I find it enjoyable. But usually I’m just cooking for myself.”

“Even when I keep you out late on Fridays?” she teases.

“Most of the time. Sometimes I pick up food on my way home.”

Say it. Just say it. See what he says and go from there... Olivia’s mouth manages to form the words, but she struggles to look at him as she says, “Maybe next time... we can eat together? Go someplace? You can pick. I’m sure you know all the best places...”

She has very rarely seen Nanami look surprised, but here he is, eyes widened, looking as if he’s struggling to make sense of what exactly she’s trying to say. (It’s adorably apparent that he is not a morning person.)

Before she can talk herself out of it, she continues, “Like a... a date, maybe. Dinner. Together.”

Realistically, she knows the silence only lasts for a few brief moments. But it somehow feels like an eternity, during which her brain begins to backpedal, thinking, What if he doesn’t want that? What if it’s too soon? You do realize you’re asking him out in your pajamas, right? Speaking of which, when’s the last time you brushed your hair?

And then: “Yes.”

She must look as shocked as she feels, because he lets out a short huff of a laugh, and... is he blushing?

“It’s a date,” he reiterates. “But —” He points his chopsticks at her. “— that’s only if you rest. You’re still sick, even if you’re feeling a little better today.”

She’s positive that she would do anything he asked at this point, with her whole body seeming to vibrate at the word “date.”

They finish breakfast, and when she offers to help with the dishes, Nanami gives her a pointed look, silently banishing her to the couch while he cleans up. Once he’s finished, he collects his tie and jacket and stands there, looking somewhat reluctant to leave.

“If there’s anything else you need, tell me. I don’t live far from here.”

“You’ve already done more than enough,” she assures him. “I really appreciate it.”

True to his word, not much time passes before she receives a text from him.

She falls back onto the couch, eyes glued to that one little word on the screen — date — and wonders how she’s going to make it through the next six days.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami kento #nanami x oc #nanami kento x oc

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slutsofren · 4 years

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Alphabet Prompt: with demon au Kylo since ya’ll enjoy him :3

for those who don’t know, this Kylo au is from my post here <3

* some of these are NSFW lol

Original list from here!

A- Activity (What is their favorite activity to do with you.)

Demon Kylo just REALLY enjoys vibing with you in your apothecary, he likes watching all the little humans interact with your witchy self. There’s something about you that naturally glows when you’re working. The sun sets differently when it’s touching your skin, creating a shine he wants to capture and love for eternity.

B- Beginnings (How do they act in the beginning of a relationship)

He is one confident bastard but in all reality, you are the one human who has intrigued him in his entire immortal life so he gets a wee bit insecure about how to court you properly according to modern dating standards- it just doesn’t make sense to him!

C- Communication (Are they good communicators? How do they normally talk about their problems or solve issues)

Oh, by the stars not at ALL. Kylo is awful with words, if he ever did a love language test his main would be spending time, secondly he’d much rather give gifts then talk about his feelings. If you two ever do end up arguing he would just leave- space for you as well as him to clear his thoughts. When he does come back though he never goes into a full on speech about his feelings- rather he apologizes straightforward and explains what he said/did was wrong of him and he will be more mindful going forward. Afterall, this is new to him.

D- Drunk (What are they like when they’re drunk)

So, demons don’t get drunk per say... BUT oh, boy, does he get drunk off your scent after you orgasm time and time again. He gets a little more snuggly and openly affectionate, during this time he lets his guard down a bite and sleeps. Oh, how rarely do demons sleep. When he does, you take this time to admire him.

E- Emergency (How are they in emergency situations? You get hurt, they get hurt, someone is dying etc..)

Imagine a raging storm- winds billowing, rain falling as harsh against your skin as hail, cold nipping at every inch of your body threatening to steal every degree of warmth. It’s like that but fire. He gets so enraged you think he might just kill the whole town to find out who hurt you. When you tell him it was the fridge that gave you the bruise on your hip he gets a little flushed with embarrassment but you appreciate the sentiment.

F- Free Spot (I’ll give you any headcanon I come up with)

Kylo realizes one day of how much he has missed out on since the last he visited the surface. So he tries to do one thing a day- reading a book, watching a film, or researching new things.

G- Gifts (What kind of gifts do they give? What kind of gifts do they get?)

Being a demon who has seen everything on earth, he expected you to be more of the materialistic type. It bewildered him how you refused every piece of gold, diamonds, and fine clothing. Eventually he came to discover you enjoyed useful gifts- especially ancient books of the craft you long thought were lost to the ages. Kylo is a very mindful gifter.

H- Hugs (How do they show affection/cuddle)

There is literally only one way this damned man cuddles- with his body draped over yours and his face snuggled straight into your chest and you playing with his long hair. He often says your heartbeat lulls him to sleep.

I- Irritation (What is something that irritates them? How do they show their irritation?)

This demon hates with a passion about being late to things. Admittedly he was late to your WEDDING and no, you will never let him forget that.

J- Jackpot (How would they spend their winnings if they won the lottery?)

He would be so bored at home scratching random lotto tickets and if he won he wouldn’t even claim it. He knows lotto money brings nothing but destruction in its wake which is why you never know he won in the first place- he just imagines it’s another person saved from its terrible fate.

K- Kryptonite (What is their ultimate weakness?)

Uhh,,,,,,,, you. Especially when you come around his cock, moaning his name. He could weep just from listening to the sweet symphony your moans make.

L- Laughter (What makes them laugh?)

By the stars, this man gets a hoot when you attempt to bake. You are just so bad at it but he enjoys watching you make an effort. “Just stick to cooking and I’ll do all the baking.” Although he still ends up doing the cooking too, not that you’re complaining.

M- Morning ( How do they wake up in the morning? Are they a morning person or a morning grouch?)

He is a morning person! He doesn’t sleep like humans do so he has a tendancy to leave bed before you wake to make you a warm cup of something and a small breakfast so you don’t have to worry about that. It also gives him a few quiet moments to watch the sun kiss your skin.

N- Needy (When do they feel particularly needy? How do they show it?)

Kylo Ren is one of those kinds of men demon who is touch-starved so he often finds himself seeking you out. Maybe you’re both sitting at a cafe or bookshop and he reaches for your hand just to feel you close by. He just constantly needs to be touching a part of your skin.

O- Oasis (Where is their happy place? Where would they go if they didn’t have anything holding them back?)

He’s been wandering the earth for a millenia and he will continue until the end of time. In all his years he has witnessed the destruction that colonialism leaves in its wake. He’s watched as many of his sacred places have been corrupted by man and it breaks his heart. Now one of the few places left is within a redwood forest, far away from the eyes of humans. A quiet place where he dreams to take you one day.

P- Pain (How do they handle pain? How do they handle when you are in pain?)

He has such a high tolerance for pain and often says “ow” just to feel like he’s just your normal husband- nothing demonic about him!

Q- Quote (What’s a quote that fits them and your relationship)

“Yes, I love him. Yes, he is a jerk. Yes, I want to fuck his brains out.”

lol are we surprised

R- Reunion (How do they celebrate seeing you after a long time of being apart)

Kylo hates being apart from you so much. It tears him apart every time. When you finally see him it’s like all the air rushes out from his lungs the moment you walk into his gaze. He forgets how to breathe and just runs to you, to hold you. He soaks up your presence with his face buried into your hair and leaves chaste kisses on every inch of your face never wanting to leave you again.

S- Stress (What stresses them out? How do deal with stress and how do they relieve it?)

Simple solution is sex- both of you fuck your frustration out. Once you called it “make-up / angry sex but without the fighting” and he did not understand what you had meant but he fucked you into oblivion and immediately saw solutions to his stress. You gave him hundreds of smooches after these kinds of evenings.

T- Terror (What are they afraid of?)

Kylo is truly afraid of losing you and not being there quick enough to save you. He really cannot fathom a life without you by his side and it kills him each moment he is reminded of your mortality.

U- Unique (What is a quirk that is unique to them?)

Since Kylo is a fallen angel, they all lost their feathered wings- destroyed in the nine day fall. Oddly enough, he somehow maintained his wings. They were transformed to become black as dark as midnight with tips shimmering gold- like Icarus’ wings before he too fell to his destruction. This caused him to be hated more as many of the other fallen resented his beauty.

V- Violence (Do they fight a lot? Are they a good fighter? What is their fighting style?)

He doesn’t fight a lot- doesn’t really seek it out but when it comes to protecting you his long talons would rip through flesh and bone, rows and rows of sharp teeth tearing into his foes. A true horror and sight to behold.

W- Wow (What do you do that really surprises them? What do you do that they really like?)

Kylo loves loves loves watching you do your craft. He is so enamoured by your potential and skills that he can sit there for hours watching you work.

X- (Explicit headcanon. For all you degenerates)

Kylo’s cock. Oh, boy. There were plenty of historical texts and recordings of witch’s accounts of fornicating with demons but none could prepare you by how this man could fuck. Every time he rocked his body into yours you could swear you felt the earth shake beneath you. His cock was unworldly, a true testament to the Big Dick Energy he carried with him. His size was perfect- not too big, not too small, seemingly perfect for his body and your pleasure. What you didn’t anticipate was the head of his length- it flared and sharpened to a tip, reaching and caressing every inch inside of you. His cock really could ascend you to another plane.

Y- Yucky (Is there something that grosses them out so badly that they can’t deal with it?)

This man does not enjoy things that have contradicting properties. Like, wet and crunchy. Pickles are a perfect example- just the smell could make this immortal demon gag and run from the room.

Z- ZZZ’s (What are their sleeping habits? Both with and without you)

When you’re apart he tends to just starfish across the bed counting down the moments until you come home. He doesn’t sleep well since the day you came into his life, he just needs you. When you’re together he has to- absolutely has to- sleep on top of you and cover your body with his while he gives you all the smooches between high heaven or lowest hell.

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rocknrollmj · 4 years

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Happy Birthday Part 2

A/N: I finally found a way to write this down, I hope that you like it. This isn’t my return to writing per se but I figured that you deserved a part two. Happy season 2 release day.

TW: mentions of death, not super serious.

———————————————————————

“Where’s Y/N?” Five asked. That question made the kitchen fall silent. No one dared to speak of their late sibling that they had all loved so much. The silence was deafening but it gave Five his answer.

“Oh, I see.”

———————————————————————

Vanya was the one who found him, staring at the portrait of himself that Reginald had requested 1 month after he left.

“Well nice to know that dad didn’t forget me.” He was trying to lighten the mood but it seemed as though it wasn’t possible. The two chatted for a while until they got to the subject of Ben.

“Was it bad?” He asked, Vanya nodded and he sighed. Two of his siblings were dead. Two of the sweetest, most kindhearted people in the universe had died. It wasn’t fair. He always knew that death never was fair, and he had grown to accept that, but not this time.

“Vanya, what happened to Y/N.” It was not a question, it was a statement. A demand for the truth about his siblings demise, there was no way to avoid it this way, she had to answer.

“They were down in the subway station late at night, there were two men fighting, Y/N was always a good mediator but it didn’t work this time.” Vanya’s voice became more and more shaky, she couldn’t look Five in the eye.

“They tried t-to stop them, but the o-o-one guy had a knife and he- he.” The words began to fail her, and they came out in the form of tears. Five was shocked, but he wanted more.

“What happened?” His tone slightly more dangerous.

“After the… after the knife what happened Vanya?” Through a pouring of tears she managed to get through the rest of the story.

“He realized what h-he had done and-and they both bolted, before anyone could catch them. Y/N tried calling for help but it was too late, he stabbed them j-just below their heart. The paramedics found them 15 minutes later, b-but they were gone.”

“We all searched for weeks for answers, leads, evidence, anything that we could find. But even between dad’s resources and Diego’s friends at the precinct, they had disappeared. Diego was so upset that he threw a staple gun at the police chiefs head, he nearly got arrested again.” Vanya’s tears had subsided for now, she gave a little chuckle at the end of her sentence, she knew that it was no laughing matter but she needed Five to know that they had tried to avenge you. That they had tried to find the man who killed you, because she knew that right now Five was angry. That he already had 5 different plans to find your killer and the bystander and make them pay for taking your life away before it had even begun. And she was right.

When she finished recounting the story she felt like she was going to collapse into a puddle. Those few months after your death were some of the hardest the family had gone through. Even though they hadn’t all spoken in years, you were always there for them. Sending them birthday presents or offering a shoulder to cry on.

You were there when Diego decided he wanted to try and get into the police academy, and you were there the first time he was arrested to bail him out. You were there when Luther was freaking out because he was going to the moon and was scared that he might not make it back. You were there when Allison announced her pregnancy to the world, she was so excited to be a mom and secretly planned to make you a godparent.

When Klaus first overdosed you were at the hospital by his side, praying that some part of his powers still worked despite all the drugs he had taken to get into this state in the first place. You were there at Ben’s funeral, you gave the most beautiful eulogy, everyone was focused on you and your words. You were there when Vanya asked you to go to her first therapy session with her, and you were also there when she first released her book.

Five of course didn’t know that any of this had happened, but even when you were kids you were there, whether he needed someone to rant to, read with or laugh with. You were there. And now you were gone. He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

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After hearing about what happened to you he climbed the stairs to retire back to his room. He was angry, sad and alone. The last time he felt like this was when he realized he was stuck in the future, he felt stuck all over again. He knew that the apocalypse was coming, you were going to be the first one he told, but you weren’t here.

He opened the door to his childhood bedroom, everything was the same except for a pile of very old wrapped objects. He furrowed his brow, confused and walked into the room, closing his door. He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed one of the objects, there was a small note on it, it read:

‘Happy Birthday Five! Love, Y/N 2014’

His heart nearly stopped when he read those words. These packages were all his birthday presents for the last 17 years, well 17 years for you. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a very old and very tattered bracelet with a little 5 on it. He had hidden it away in case he had lost it on a mission or worse, The Commission found it and tried to dispose of it. He found the oldest package and began to open the gifts.

17 years of lost memories, gifts that had never been opened and time that he could never get back. But nonetheless he carried on, opening and unwrapping each gift, with care. You had gotten him so many wonderful things and he planned to use (and read) them all.

In 1999 you had gotten him a book on the theory of time travel, in 2003 you had given him an extended copy of each of the Lord of The Rings movies (the note mentioned how they had to binge it together.) In 2010 you had gifted him ‘A Brief History of Time’ by Stephen Hawking, in 2013 he received a book that had a detailed description about Doctor Who for the last 50 years (the note said that “10 and 11 make me laugh the most, but 9 reminds me of you”), he immediately made a mental note to watch all of it after he stopped the apocalypse.

And then he came to the last present. It was a very small box, the wrapping paper had not yet faded as it was only from a year ago. Hands shaking he read the note:

‘Happy Birthday Five! I know that you don’t like stuff like this usually but maybe you’ll wear it for me. Love Y/N”

He slowly tore open the wrapping paper and opened the small black velvet box inside. The box contained a small charm of a book that was on a long chain. He felt his eyes start to water but he refused to let the droplets fall. He took it out and placed it around his neck, tucking it into his shirt. He was never going to take it off.

But he had to do one last thing.

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“Where are they buried?” Five asked getting straight to the point. The siblings, who had all gathered in the living room at this point, were shocked for a second. They had all forgotten how blunt he was.

“Where is who buried?” Luther asked.

“Y/N” again the room was silent, until Diego spoke up.

“Just down the road, in that old cemetery, the one with the creepy ass mausoleum.” Allison rolled her eyes.

“Don’t say that Diego, it’s not creepy.”

“Oh yes it is” Klaus said, suddenly looking paler than usual.

“Fair enough, I’ll be back. There’s something that I need to do.” Five started walking towards the door.

“What about dad’s funeral!?!?” Luther yelled at him.

“I’ll be there don’t worry.” Five responded, and the door clicked behind him.

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He could’ve just teleported there but he wanted to walk. When he arrived at the cemetery, he found where you were and just stopped. Your name was on the gravestone that was right in front of him. You really were gone.

He went down on one knee in front of the rock that had your name chiseled in it and just started talking.

“Hi, I have a lot of things to say but not a lot of time to say them.” He paused, took a deep breath in and then continued.

“Thank you for all my presents, and your notes, I especially loved the one from 2000 ‘Happy Birthday, the bookshop owners now know my name thanks to you and your gifts.’ It made me laugh.” There was silence, he decided to sit down next to the gravestone, and continued talking.

“The world is ending. And that’s not just a figure of speech, the world is literally ending. I came back here hoping to stop it with you and Vanya and the rest of them, only to find out that… you’re not here. You’re not… here.” He felt tears start to well in his eyes, but he kept going, even though his voice was breaking.

“You were always there for me. For us ALL of us. And now you’re gone and that’s not fair… THAT’S NOT FAIR!” His tears had started to pour down his face and this time he let them.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO NOW! YOU’RE GONE! YOU SAID THAT YOU WOULD ALWAYS BE HERE FOR ME BUT YOU’RE NOT! YOU’RE GONE! YOU LEFT ME!” He got so choked up that he had to take a second to calm down, and when he finally did he went on talking to you.

“Although I guess that I deserve it. I was so stupid, and I left you. I left you and you waited, you waited so patiently. Why couldn’t you have waited just a little longer, I was almost there. I almost found a way out, why couldn't you just stay out of it. Why did you have to be a hero? I guess you always were though.” He began to wipe away his tears and he chuckled a bit.

“You know I think that’s the first time I cried in over 40 years? You always brought out the soft side in me. I hated that about you. But you were always a good listener, so… thanks for listening to me now.” He got up to leave, dusting himself off. But before he left there was one more thing he had to do.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you” he could do this, he needed to do this.

“Happy birthday dear… Y/N… happy birthday to you.”

The Boy said goodbye.

@cheesiey @theambracer88

@leilanileemans @noriittheweeb @1985bitch

@lavender-writer @sparklydeanclampalace @emeliecyr @multifandomgirl16 @steampowerednightvaler @the-one-and-only-celine @ahwou @parkersinfinitywar @my-dark-happy-place @hailshurricane @multifxndom-umbrellxs @the-killer-queenie @rosehargreeves @georgique-unique @and-your-mother-that-slut @colourful48 @gabriella-superwholock-universe @give-a-rookie-a-cookie

#allison hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #gerard way #luther hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #umbrella academy x sibling fic #umbrella academy fanfic #five hargreeves #number 5 #tua #umbrella academy season 2

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

The Darling Buds of May

A/N: Okay! so this is my first Remus Lupin fic. The idea literally just popped in my mind so I thought I’d write it out. The Darling Buds of May is book by H.E. Bates and follows the lives of the Larkin family. It is my favourite book of all time but it was also made into a TV show in the 1980s/1990s - I’d also recommend that.

Title: The Darling Buds of May book

Pairing: Young!Remus Lupin x Fem!reader

Summary: She always has a book in her hand. Remus sees her reading one he has never read - he has to know more.

requested: nope

warnings: one swear word - it’s ‘bloody’

word count: 1.3k

He had seen her around school, her nose constantly stuck in a book. No matter where she was going or what she was doing, a book was somewhere on her person. She had been doing this since they started Hogwarts together, placed in the same house – Gryffindor.

Remus related to that too. He loved books; he loved old books and new ones, ones written by muggles long ago and ones written by muggles in the last few years. He didn’t care who wrote them as long as they had a decent narrative.

She was the same, Remus had noted one week. She was carrying a completely different book to two days previous. She was reading The Darling Buds of May, a book he had never heard of. It didn’t look to be a very long book, but she was completely engrossed, pouring over every word as if it was medicine for her very being.

Remus knew that that could be his opportunity to finally talk to her. Unfortunately, so had James and Sirius who had been pushing for contact.

“It’s a book you don’t know Moony! You have to find out what it is because you’ve read every other book on the planet.” James says.

“Ha bloody ha.” Remus states bluntly. “I don’t think I’m ready yet that’s all.”

Sirius raises his eyebrows at that, “You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? Remus, you have fancied her since your first clapped eyes on her reading one of your favourite books. You’ve been watching her read a new book now for months. If you’re worried over your little monthly problem, don’t be. I think it is time for you to approach her and start a conversation with her!”

Remus remains silent at that. He knows that Sirius is right, that if he wants any sort of relationship with her, he needs to talk to her.

Taking a deep breath to ready himself, he pushes himself away from the table. Sirius and James both let out whispered yells of victory; Remus flips them off on his way over to where she sat.

It takes him less time than he thought. By the time he gets to her, his palms are sweating ridiculously.

“Hi.” He whispers.

She doesn’t look up from her book. She hasn’t heard him.

“Hello.” He says, a little louder.

She looks up. And yeah, Remus is a goner. She’s beautiful, and Remus is fairly certain he’s fallen in love then and there.

“Hello.” She greets him, smiling.

“Hi.”

She chuckles slightly, “you’ve said that already”

“I have, haven’t I?” He asks. She nods. “What I meant to say was, what are you reading? I don’t think I’ve seen that book before.”

Her face breaks into a huge grin, and if possible, Remus falls in love that little bit more. She places her bookmark to mark her page and hands Remus the book.

“It’s called The Darling Buds of May by H.E. Bates. And I am loving it. I’m obsessed, I’m so glad it is a series because I don’t know how I’d cope with just one book.”

“So it’s good then?” Remus asks as he sits down across from her.

She nods fast. “It is. It follows the life of the Larkin family who run a farm in Kent. It is set in the 1950s and it sounds so perfect.”

“What sounds so perfect?”

“Their life. I don’t know there’s just something about how it is written that makes me want to live like it. Have a farm, cook huge meals, be in love like Ma and Pa.”

Remus hums, “That does sound like a good life.”

“Do you want to borrow it?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, I read it over the Summer, so this is a re-read for me. Tell you what, you borrow it and when you’re done come and find me and we can talk about it.”

“Yes. Definitely. I like the sound of that.” Remus agrees, too enthusiastically.

She laughs, “Okay. I’ll let you get started; I’ve got to get to first lesson anyway. I’ll see you soon Remus.”

He nods, somewhat dazed. “Uh, yeah! See you soon!”

She walks off with a wave, and Remus heads back to where James and Sirius are talking to each other, their heads bent close together. They look up when Remus sits back down, look from the book in his hands, to the glazed expression on his face and they both pat his back without saying a word.

Shaking himself out of a daydream where both him and her are sat in a living room on a cold day, wearing blankets and reading books, he opens the book she lent him. He reads the first page and he immediately understands why she loves the book.

It’s normal.

There’s no magic in it. It is completely ordinary.

Remus soon falls into the world of Ma and Pa Larkin and their six children, and how drama ensues when the tax man visits. Remus loves it, he loves every single minute of it.

He finishes the book that same night. With it only being just over 130 pages, it wasn’t much of a challenge. Still, it means that he gets to see her sooner.

The next morning, Remus gets up early and heads to breakfast with the book in the hopes of catching you there so he can talk and eat breakfast with her. She is there, another book already in her hands, pausing reading to take a bite of her toast. She looks up when Remus enters, and a huge smile breaks out across her face. Remus’ heart starts to beat a little faster.

He sits down across from her, and before he can open his mouth, she’s asking “Have you finished it? Did you like it? What did you think?”

Remus laughs, loving her love of books. “Your answers are yes, yes, and I thought it was amazing.”

“Isn’t it!?”

“It is. I love how ordinary it is. I love Ma and Pa.”

“Yes. Ma and Pa are my favourites. I love their love. Been together decades but still love each other like teenagers; it’s a dream.”

“I agree.”

It is silent between them both then. Remus hands her the book back and she places it in her bag, making sure it doesn’t get damaged. Remus is watching this when he has an idea.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes, Remus?”

“We have a Hogsmeade weekend coming up next week. Do you want to go with me?”

Her eyes widen at his question, and he starts to panic, waiting for the rejection.

“I know we only began to speak yesterday but I’ve liked you for a while. A while, a while. Nd if you only want to go as friends that is fine, like 100% fine. I don’t want to step over any boundaries, but I thought we could go to Madam Puttifoot’s and then head towards the bookshops.”

She is silent. Remus is starting to hate himself, but before he can let himself start, (Y/N) leans over the breakfast table and presses her lips to his cheek.

Remus’ face immediately turns the red the minute her lips leave his skin. His hand grazes the spot where her lips were, he looks at her.

“Of course, I’d like to go with you on a date. I’ve liked you for a while too.” She blushes, and in a moment of complete boldness, he grabs her hand and laces their fingers together. Her answering smile is blinding.

“Oh!” She gasps, “Before I forget…” she rummages through her bag for something, untangling their hands to grab whatever it is she is looking for.

She hands Remus a book. “It’s the sequel, A Breath of French Air.”

“I can’t wait to start it.”

She grabs his hand again and smiles at Remus before turning back to her book. He decides to do the same.

So they sit there, hand in hand, sharing smiles and reading their books. Both wondering whether they’ve found the love that it is only written about in books.

#remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #young remus lupin #young remus #harry potter fanfiction #maruaders era #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #harry potter fanfic #marauders fanfiction #My writing #remuslupin #remus john lupin #moony x reader #moony

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thecreelhouse · 4 years

Text

beautiful stranger

Paring: Robin Buckley x Original Female Character

Summary: Olive Lane, a witch in training, leaves home and relocates to an unfamiliar town, a tradition among witches her age to start fresh. Blissfully unaware of the bizarre and gruesome history Hawkins, Indiana holds, she settles on the small town, and seemingly blends in to her surroundings to its citizens. Everyone, except Robin, who is highly bothered and paranoid by the new, mysterious stranger, and needs to know who and what this girl is all about.

Word count: 4,835 (??? I added some things last minute whoops)

Warnings: language, some angst?, mostly a whole ton of fluff though!!

Author’s note: hi! I’m still working on the last few chapters of kill the lights, and I most certainly did NOT need to write a one shot now, but here it is anyway. Title is from halsey’s ‘finally//beautiful stranger’ (because I cannot stop listening to manic lol). The witchy backstory is (loosely) inspired by Kiki’s Delivery Service- but you don’t have to be familiar with the movie to read this! Honestly, I’m not thrilled with how this came out still, but I haven’t been happy with any rewrites.... so I’m gonna post this and hope at least one of y’all enjoy it? 😅

Autumn had softly fallen across the small town of Hawkins, Indiana. The trees were ablaze with their stunning annual colors; reds so deep and yellows so bright and orange tones that immediately wrapped nearby admirers in it’s natural warmth. The crisp air and the scent it brought with it trailed all around the woods at the edge of town, slowly flooding into the streets. The night sky appeared clearer with the cool temperatures, with stars so sharp, they felt just within reach.

It was the tail end of September, 1985, when Olive Lane flew across the night sky, letting a full moon guide her along the way. She had no absolute destination, still searching for a new place to call home for the next year.

“Oh, Sage, you can just feel the changes in the air!” Olive squealed, giving her cat, Sage, a quick rub behind the ears. He purred, delighted at the contact more than anything. His paws held him perfectly perched on the broomstick as Olive continued to soar through the air. Clutching onto the stick with one hand, she used a free hand to tighten her oversized scarf closer to her face. The tip of her nose stuck out, a bright berry red against the chilled air.

Sage meowed up at Olive, and she giggled back at him, understanding him easily. “We’re not stopping until I feel it’s right! I know it’s chilly, little man, but we’re almost there. I can feel it!”

Sage replied with more meows, carrying on a conversation that outsiders would be completely lost to. Olive and Sage had no problem communicating, though, just as if they were two average human beings. It was a witchy thing, most people didn’t get it.

“What’s that little place down there?” She wondered out loud, gazing down below past her dangling feet.

Sage meowed in response, almost sounding annoyed by Olive’s wonder and optimism.

“Listen, Mister Meows A Lot, I think this could be a good place to try! It’s small, seems quaint and quiet. I like that, and I know you do too.” She argued with the precious ball of fluff, and he huffed out, turning away from her. Olive just chuckled at his stubbornness.

“We’re stopping here, that’s final. If you wanted somewhere flashy like New York City, you should’ve found another witch to become a familiar to!” Olive joked, slowing the broomstick’s speed.

As they hovered and gently lowered closer above the town, she passed a sign that said “Welcome to Hawkins!” But the sign had been defaced, probably by some bored kids, she assumed. ‘Hawkins’ had been written over in red spray paint with the word ‘HELL’ instead.

“Some people need a hobby, huh?”

Sage growled in protest, sensing otherwise.

“Oh, c’mon, what’s the worst this town has seen anyway? Don’t give me bullshit about monsters or something.” Olive joked to herself, flying lower, now car level in the sleepy town’s streets.

It was well beyond midnight, and in a town like this, the coast was clear this time of night to fly freely. Not like people are clueless to witches, but they certainly have a worse reputation than they deserve. Olive kept to herself, so it was easier to keep her secret.

Olive flew down a street, only to do a harsh U-turn back to face an old, dilapidated, standalone apartment building. The bottom level had a store front sized window; must’ve been someone’s small business they lived above back in it’s heyday. No signs in sight for the property being up for sale or rent. Too rundown for anyone to even want to take on the burden of fixing it.

“We could fix this up, no problem! What do you think, Sage?”

Sage glared at her in response, “It’s not like you’d take my opinions into consideration anyway.”

Olive rolled her eyes, ignoring his attitude before gently settling her feet onto the ground. Sage hopped off the broomstick before she followed. They stood in front of the door, gazing in through the dusty windows, lined with cobwebs.

“We’ve only got a handful of hours before sunrise, let’s get to work!” Olive enthusiastically said, forcing the door open with a flick of a wrist. She and Sage entered, setting their things down on the dusty floor before beginning to quite literally work their magic on their newfound home.

———

“Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Has that building always been there?”

Steve groggily picked his head up from the checkout counter of Family Video, gazing out the front windows with sleepy eyes.

“What building?”

“The one that just magically appeared overnight?”

“Robin, buildings can’t just grow overnight.”

Robin scoffed, annoyed that it was too early for any of this shit and her best friend’s sarcasm.

“Yeah, Dingus, I’m well aware-“ Robin snapped, rubbing her eyes before taking another look out the window, “- But I swear that building was not as clean and bright yesterday.”

“Maybe someone finally bought it, cleaned it up while you weren’t here. Mind your business, Robin.” Steve joked, settling his head back down onto the counter. “Why are you so worked up over it anyway?”

“That looks like much more than a spit shine, Dingus. Hours- no- weeks- of fixing is showing on that building, and we’re just seeing it now?” Robin pointed out, absolutely bewildered.

Steve picked his head up again, glancing around to double check the store was still empty, and for a Monday morning, it sure was dead as expected. “This isn’t an Upside Down-related thing, you know. Relax. It’s okay, Robin.”

“No I-“ Robin hesitated before finishing her response. Was that why she was panicked? It could make sense; everything had her on edge these days after Starcourt fell to hell. What once made logical sense to her, was thrown out the window after her experiences being stuck in an underground Russian base and fighting off some of the scariest monsters only stories could spin up.

So of course any slight changes could throw her off track and cause her mind to create more conspiracy theories waiting to come to life.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, Steve.” She said quietly, shaking her head. Steve patted her shoulder, understanding.

“No worries, just try to take it easy, yeah?” He responded sincerely. Robin nodded before heading off to a shelf she was restocking moments before, hoping to lose herself in her work.

———

A few weeks had passed, and Robin was still stumped over how the building across the street became so lived in overnight. There were no logical explanations, no matter how hard she racked her brain for one. She saw that building every day she was at work, and never paid much attention to it, only because it was worn down. Cobwebs littered the windows, there was trash and random belongings left behind inside, the paint was chipping off the window and door frames, and some of the building’s bricks were beginning to crumble off the outer walls.

But now? Now, now, the bricks were fine. They appeared as if they were just laid yesterday. The windows were clean and clear, gleaming in the Autumn sunlight. The painted spots were sporting fresh, glossy paint.

Now, now, now- a little sign hung off and above the doorway, indicating it was now a used bookstore. Bright green plants and vibrant petals on flowers were scattered about the windowsills both in the shop window and the space above. Through the windows, the space above seemed well lived in, too. Lace curtains hung among the windows, and she could see furniture in some spots.

It’s like one day she left work, and it was abandoned, and came in the next day to a completely different property just dropped out of the sky. There’s no way this could all just have happened overnight, but Robin was stubborn to see otherwise. It seemed like everyone else in Hawkins just... accepted it. Robin wouldn’t rest until she had answers, though.

“Steve, I’m taking my break now.” She called out, eyes locked on the building still. She watched people filter in and out; for a small, brand new business, it sure had a decent amount of shoppers already.

“Alrighty, Rob.” Steve responded, not looking up from the magazine he was casually leafing through.

Robin stomped out the door with a determination- determination for what? What the hell could bother her so much about this? Why does she care, anyway?

Her determination for answers, perhaps, carried her quickly across the street and to and through the door of the little bookshop that had her so worked up. A soft chime carried through the air behind Robin as she slammed her feet down into the shop, frustrated now.

Robin barely even noticed how the shelves were stocked with well worn, once loved books, practically spilling out onto the floor. It was a little messy, but still calm; a hideaway from the rest of Hawkins, the rest of the world, even.

A cat with a dusty light and dark brown spotted coat crossed her path, stopping Robin short in her tracks. Startled by the sudden movement, she gasped and stumbled back, trying to avoid stomping on the cat’s tail.

The cat let out a loud, but friendly meow towards her.

“Sorry ‘bout that! Sage doesn’t have the best of manners.”

Robin’s head snapped up to see feet away behind the counter, a girl around her age, holding the cat in her arms, smiling a soft, gentle smirk. Robin’s face grew red, not expecting someone so pretty to be running the shop, not expecting someone close in age to be the root of her frustrations around the mysterious shop.

“I- uh- I’m sorry-“ Robin couldn’t seem to string words into a comprehensive sentence, for once. Her sarcastic edge and determined attitude to get to the bottom of this mystery seemed to have melted away instantly.

“No, it’s fine, Mr. Sage is the one at fault, aren’t you, my little troublemaker?” The girl spoke up, scratching under the cat’s chin as she tried reassuring Robin that all was well.

Robin was completely stunned by the presence of this girl, speechless over the way her green-grey eyes shimmered as their eyes connected with each other. The girl’s hair flowed freely like a waterfall, a shiny blue-black with a naturally silver stripe among it. She was shorter than Robin, not by much, and curvier. Robin noticed how similarly she dressed to someone like Stevie Nicks, in a flowing shawl and skirt, and plenty of layers. She was different from most of the girls around Hawkins, and Robin figured she couldn’t be from here. She would have noticed someone like this instantly among everyone else in the small town.

“Helloooo?” The girl called out, pulling Robin from her thoughts and from staring so blatantly at the girl. Robin felt her face heat up again.

“Sorry, I- are you-“ Robin paused, thinking out her sentence fully. “Who the hell are you?”

Robin instantly cringed as the sentence fell out. Nope. No, Robin, that was not the way you wanted to get that out, but oh well.

“Excuse me?” The girl questioned, confused by this entire exchange even more now.

“This building has been empty for months, and then I show up to work one day and see it’s practically brand new! A brand new shop in a brand new building with a brand new person running it and living above it- what the hell is going on here, huh?” Robin continued, word vomiting at this point. The girl’s brows furrowed together.

“You’ve got some nerve barging in and being so forward before we even exchanged names, hm?” The mysterious girl smirked, and it wasn’t with ill intentions. Robin could still see her soft nature shining through. No, she was just amused at this point. “It’s cute.”

Robin felt the heat in her face rise up to her ears, and crossed her arms before looking down, trying to hide the blush.

“I’m Olive, but if you’re a little bit nicer to me,” Olive set Sage down gently on the floor, bending back up to meet Robin’s gaze. “I’ll let you call me Ollie like everyone else does when they’re not, y’know, yelling at me.”

“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry, Olive.” Robin shook her head, embarrassed by her actions. “A lot of weird shit has happened around here, it’s kind of hard not to be suspicious anymore.”

“You don’t say? Here I thought this was a cute, quiet small town to get a fresh start in. Fuck me, huh?” Olive laughed and shrugged. Her laugh, her voice was pure bliss to Robin’s ears.

“It’s a lot, like, a really long story, one that I just recently got caught up in. You definitely are better off not knowing about it.” Robin said, running her hand through her hair nervously. “I’m Robin, by the way. Sorry, really, I am-“

“Robin. It’s okay.” Olive reassured softly, that smile creeping back up onto her face. “Listen... I’m all ears to this wild story of yours if you’re so interested in mine.”

That was certainly not the response Robin expected, but out of disbelief, she nodded quickly. She was still determined to find out what the hell was happening here, but now she was more intrigued in this sweet girl; who she was, where she came from, what she was all about- Robin was instantly infatuated and wanted to know more, more, more.

Olive giggled at the taller girl, a blush forming across her own face now. “When are you done work?”

“Nine. Tonight. PM. Not like, tomorrow.” Robin mumbled out, realizing how foolish she sounded, but didn’t mind because it brought a giggle out of Olive’s lips once more.

“I would hope you weren’t working nearly 24 hours straight, Robin.” She teased, and Robin loved the way her name sounded when Olive said it. “If you wanna come by again after, maybe we could hang out, yeah? I make a really mean cup of tea, or so I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, absolutely. I’ll come back over then.” Robin said, tucking her hair behind her ear, backing up slowly. Nervously, she shifted her hands up into a sort of wave, not sure where to put them, “I’ll see you later, Olive.”

The chime softly rang out again as Robin opened the door. Olive thought the coast was clear, assuming the sound meant Robin left, and went back to watering her plants in the window, moving the watering can with a flick of her wrist, never actually picking it up.

Robin took one last glance in the store before leaving, and her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of a watering can floating midair. She rubbed her eyes as she began walking out.

No way, no fucking way. I’m tired. I’m wired. Tired and wired? They’re the same thing, anymore. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me. Chill out, Robin.

As she walked back into work, she didn’t dare glance back towards Olive’s side of the street.

———

9 PM came and left, 9:15, 9:38, 9:51 following with still no sign of Robin, and Olive was worried she said something wrong. She could see across the street, but made it a point to busy herself and not look like a total weirdo staring over at Family Video, anxiously waiting to see Robin again. Maybe she missed Robin head home instead.

“Sage, do you think I scared her off?”

Sage meowed, weaving in and out between Olive’s ankles, purring to reassure her. Olive knew, though. She had a feeling Robin was unsettled about something, she just wasn’t sure what. Maybe she came on too strong?

Olive glanced over to the store across the street, lights off, parking lot empty, and sighed.

“C’mon, Sage, let’s go to bed.” Olive whispered, and began climbing the little winding staircase in the back of the bookshop. Sage began to follow closely behind, both making their way to her apartment just above. Olive hoped she would get the chance to see Robin again the next day, at least.

———

Morning came and went, only moving slowly as Olive only had a few customers here and there. She glanced out the window and saw Robin walk into work, not even shooting a glance in Olive’s direction. Olive felt something had to be off, but still couldn’t figure out what.

By noon, she had decided to take a book over to Robin, as a peace offering. She left a little note inside, hoping Robin would read it, and maybe they could talk. Maybe they just got off on the wrong foot. Maybe Robin didn’t like girls like that, maybe she didn’t even like the possibility of new friends.

“I’ll be back, Sage!” She called out into the store, flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘be back soon’, and headed across the street to Family Video. Before opening the door, she took in a deep breath, not sure why she was so nervous. Because she scared off a new friend? Assumed this girl could even want to flirt with her? She wasn’t clueless about how the world thought about anyone who identified as anything other than straight, but she could have sworn she picked up vibes that said otherwise. Olive was usually spot on with those vibes.

When she walked up to the counter, she saw a boy, probably near her age, trying to balance a stack of VHS tapes on the top of his head. She noticed his name tag said ‘Steve’.

“Hi-“ Olive started, startling Steve, causing the tapes to fall and clatter on the floor, caught off guard by Olive’s voice.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” She exclaimed, feeling bad. Steve laughed.

“No, you’re good, I really shouldn’t be doing stupid shit on the job. Just a slow morning. What’s up?” He asked, beginning to smile up at her, but his jaw dropped at his first sight of her.

“Um,” Olive suddenly felt shy, twirling her hair in a giant braid, trying to do something to occupy her shaky hands. “Is Robin here?”

“I- yeah, give me a second.” Steve said, still stunned at the pretty girl in front of him. Olive nodded, moving her hand to her bag to grasp the book she brought for Robin. Steve walked off to the back room, and Olive could hear hushed talking, but couldn’t make out specific words. A few minutes passed before Steve came back to the counter.

“She’s uh- she’s really swamped with work back there.” His eyes shifted off as he tapped the countertop, looking uncomfortable on what to say. “Do you want me to pass a message along?”

Olive sighed, pulling the small book out of her bag, and handed it towards Steve. “Could you just give this to her, please?” As soon as he grabbed it, Olive ducked her head down and quickly headed out the door before he could respond. Lost by what just happened, Steve watched her rush across the street before heading to the back where Robin was. She was sitting on the floor of the stock room, surrounded by empty VHS cases.

“Hey,” Steve said, nudging Robin’s shoulder with the small book. Robin looked up, hesitantly taking the book. The cover was tattered and worn, and was titled ‘All About Birds’ with a tiny paper sticking out from one of the pages. She opened it, letting it fall to the chapter about robins. Robin’s mouth quirked up in a tiny smile at the clever little gesture, before noticing the note.

Robin,

I’m sorry if I came off too strong yesterday. If you don’t want to be friends or anything, I totally get it. I wasn’t sure what your interests are, but this made me think of you. Get it? Because your name is Robin? Okay, maybe that was lame.

Anyway... my door is always open, even to cute girls who like to yell at me.

-Ollie

Robin’s eyes fell over the last line, and a blush crept up her face.

“So, you wanna tell me why some mysterious, stunning girl comes in here, wants to talk to you, and you tell me to send her away?” Steve asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Robin’s eyes were glued to the note before she responded with, “Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Well, she seemed nice, maybe you could redeem yourself.” Steve said, shrugging, before walking back out to the store’s counter, muttering, “and you call me the dingus.”

Robin sighed loudly, flopping back onto the floor, mentally beating herself up for avoiding the sweet, mysterious girl, and not giving her a chance.

Hopefully it’s not too late to start off right.

———

The end of the day had come along, and Olive began cleaning and closing up shop. Just as she finished sweeping the floor, the door chime went off.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed now-“

“Ollie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for ditching you and avoiding you since.” Robin cut her off, out of breath from sprinting across the street. Olive spun around to see Robin, and her eyes lit up.

“I got scared. You’re really nice, and sweet, and pretty- a-and I want to get to know you, I really do.” Robin began word vomiting, words tumbling out rapidly. Olive was genuinely surprised, having given up most hope of figuring out what went wrong between the two of them.

Olive placed the broom against the wall, walking a few steps closer to Robin. She laced her hands together, fidgeting her fingers around nervously. “Why did you get scared? Did I do something wrong?”

“No- no way. I’m just- I’m an absolute dingus and either saw something I shouldn’t have, or imagined it completely, and freaked out for no goddamn reason.” Robin admitted, biting her lip.

It’s then when it clicked for Olive, and she lightly smacked her forehead with her palm. “Oh no, you saw me- you saw me use my magic, didn’t you?”

Robin’s eyes grew wide, “So I wasn’t going crazy. That really happened? You- and the watering can-“

“I’m so sorry, Robin, I really didn’t mean to spook you! I swear, I only use magic for good, I’d never harm anyone with it-“

“So, what, are you like, a witch or something?”

Olive tucked her lips in and looked down before nodding sheepishly. “If that weirds you out, I totally get it- I didn’t mean to upset you-“

“And that’s why this place just- literally, magically changed overnight then?”

Olive began playing with the ends of her braid, still looking away, “I can leave town, if you’re uncomfortable by that. I’m sorry, Robin. I can pick up and train elsewhere-” Robin let out a sigh like she’d been holding her breath.

“What? That’s all?” Robin asked, expecting worse. “Olive, I don’t want you to feel like you have to leave, that’s ridiculous. You’ve made a home here.”

Olive’s head cautiously peeked back up at the taller girl. “... What do you mean, that’s all? You- you’re not afraid of me?”

Robin began to giggle uncontrollably, confusing Olive. “Afraid? No! I- look. I told you I’ve been through some shit. I’ve seen a lot of shit that still keeps me up at night. I thought I was going insane when I saw you use your magic. Trust me, this is a piece of cake compared to what I’ve seen.”

Olive’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “So why did you avoid me then?”

“I was a little nervous, that the bad stuff would be happening all over again. No way there’s a bad bone in you, though. You’re too sweet.”

“And that’s why you stomped through here yesterday, all suspicious and paranoid?” Olive asked, smile peeking out just a tad. Robin laughed, embarrassed, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah... about that, I’m really sorry. That was rude of me. My defenses were just high-“

“It was rude, Robin.” Olive interjected, and Robin’s face fell. Olive cracked though, fully smiling up at her. “Make it up to me by hanging out tonight? If you’re not busy, of course.”

Robin nodded, grinning. “I’d like that. I heard you’re like, this world renowned tea maker, too.” Earning a giggle out of Olive before she gently reached for Robin’s hand, pulling her towards the staircase.

“C’mon then, I’ve got all the black tea in the world to keep us up all night while we share stories.” Olive joked as she climbed the stairs. Robin’s shoulders relaxed as she eased into the surroundings with Olive, instantly feeling comfortable around the odd girl.

It was the start of something new and beautiful, something Robin desperately needed these days.

———

Months had passed since Robin and Olive’s rocky start, but it only continued to bloom from the start, the real start. What was once cautious curiosity and paranoia for Robin, transformed into an honest and trusting friendship. Nights spent hanging out and getting to know one another became a routine, happening like clockwork. Long nights turned into long nights spent together, sometimes waking the next morning tangled around each other. Some nights, sleep was lost as Olive was caught up counting the freckles on Robin’s face, or when Robin watched Olive with anticipation as she practiced her spell work. Sometimes, Robin awoke from the same nightmares that have plagued her for months, and Olive was quick to bring her comfort in the form of soothing hugs and a cup of tea.

The bond, created by fate or whatever you’d like to call it, continued to only grow stronger as they shared stories and their time with one another, magically, naturally letting their lives mesh together. What was once harmless flirting, became feelings showing their true colors, but they just continued to dance around it, both too hesitant to make the first move.

“Robin, it’s snowing!” Olive tugged at Robin’s shirt sleeve, trying to drag her out of bed. Olive grunted, frustrated at how her favorite person could sleep like a rock.

Robin hummed, rolling over to the other side of the bed and away from Olive. “Ollie, it’s winter. Of course it’s snowing.”

Olive scrambled back into bed and on top of Robin, determined to wake the girl up.

“I’ve never seen snow before, Robin. We don’t get it back home.” Olive’s voice was soft and small. Robin’s eyes shot open, fighting the sleepiness, and her hands grabbed Olive’s hips, pulling a giggle from her lips.

“You what?!” Robin gently shoved Olive off of her and rolled out of bed. She began throwing layers of clothing on while Olive bounced on her heels impatiently, already bundled in her own warm clothing. Robin barely had her shoes on before Olive grabbed her hand and dragged her down the stairs.

They ran past Sage, cozily tucked into himself on an armchair in the shop, and out the backdoor, into the small yard behind the building. Snow was falling in heavy, fluffy clumps, and piling up quickly.

Olive’s jaw dropped as she saw it falling in front of her, amazed by the pure beauty nature could hold.

“Do you see this?!” She yelled, easily impressed. She tossed her gloves off, out stretching her fingers into the cold snowfall. “So beautiful!”

Robin didn’t give a damn about the snow, not taking her eyes off of Olive as she continued to ramble on about how amazed she was. This girl- who had never seen snow, but could fly a broomstick with ease, communicate with her cat like two friends chit-chatting, and perform spells with confidence - was the real sight of beauty to Robin. She couldn’t keep that to herself anymore. She didn’t want to keep her feelings to herself anymore.

Like magnets attracting, Robin walked up behind her, arms gently winding around Olive’s waist, and she could hear Olive’s breath pause for a second, surprised. The shorter girl turned to face her taller friend, biting her lip while a blush bloomed across her cheeks. Robin’s hands moved up to cradle Olive’s face, pulling their foreheads close together.

Softly, Robin asked, fighting off the nervousness, “I- is this alright?”. Olive’s head wildly nodded before leaning in first, impatient, lips meeting and her heart bursted with joy.

Olive tasted as sweet as she sounded and felt as soft as she appeared, and Robin felt herself melt into the kiss. Snow continued to fall around them as they pulled each other closer, falling into the safety of one another.

Smiling, Olive pulled back a bit, pressing their noses together. “Who knew you yelling at me months ago would lead up to this?”

Robin laughed, gently nudging Olive’s arm. “Shut up! I still feel so bad for that.”

“Make it up to me?” Olive smirked as she spoke her favorite playful words to tease Robin with anymore. Reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Robin’s ear, and Robin nodded, grateful the universe gave her a real chance with Olive. Robin smiled back as she leaned in to kiss Olive again, and again, and again.

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x oc #robin buckley x you #robin buckley fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things x ofc #stranger things x oc #robin buckley x ofc #robin buckley fanfiction #beautiful stranger

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james-flint · 5 years

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anon, i’m just gonna go ahead and assume you mean good omens

honestly, i’m not the best person to ask this because even though i read A Lot of fic i always forget to bookmark them. but i’ll try

first of all, if you somehow haven’t read a single fic yet and decide to choose just one from this post please read this one

how big the hourglass, how deep the sand by Handful_of_Silence

After the Apocalypse, and with characteristic slowness, both Crowley and Aziraphale think there might be something they need to sit down and talk about. And then Aziraphale disappears.

i know, it’s a classic. I always enjoy a good angsty fic and this one literally gave me chest pain, like every sentence punched me in the guts. and oh my god…… the Writing….. it’s just so beautifully written. AND it has a happy ending because we don’t read any others in this house. so good time all around

it also has a sequel and it’s equally amazing

other than these, i’m just slowly making my way through sorted by kudos page on ao3 so you might have seen all of these in other people’s recs but i’ll put them here anyway

In the (Second) Beginning by cherryfeather

As their lunch stretches on Aziraphale slowly comes to realize that Crowley is—enjoying him. Enjoying Aziraphale’s conversation, and company, far more openly than he has in most of Aziraphale’s memory. And Aziraphale knows that he himself is just chattering on, letting conversational tangents carry him along, and—it’s definitely relief, for him, knowing for the first time in a long time that they aren’t being watched, that no one is keeping score for now.

such surpassing brightness by Handful_of_Silence

The revelation that Aziraphale might have been in love with him for thousands of years is surprising. The fact that literal books have been written on the subject comes as even more of a shock.

basically all of this author’s works are my favourites

you knew my name on sight by brinnanza

“This wasn’t me, you know,” Crowley says, the words out of his mouth before he’s made the conscious choice to utter them. “Not just the library, but the whole civil war. You know me; I’ve mostly been getting drunk at Bacchanals.” “I know,” says Aziraphale.

and, so on by PaintedVanilla

Crowley doesn’t remember heaven, but Aziraphale remembers him.

uuuuhhhh this one!!! it has a mature rating but if you can maybe skip just one scene it’ll be so worth it i promise. a masterpiece

listen (he’s already told you five times) by darcylindbergh

Not everything Crowley says is said out loud. Aziraphale doesn’t always hear him at first, but he’s learning to stop being surprised.

how to get smote: 101 by ineffablemercury

He’d made the mistake of kidnapping an angel. And not just any angel, no, but one who apparently had a demon on its side. Dammit.

this has an outside POV and protective crowley. i literally don’t need anythig else

On The Matter Of Touch by Somedrunkpirate

“On the matter of touch,” Crowley begins, waving his teaspoon in what he hopes passes for idle curiosity. “Thoughts?” For two ineffable husbands, they don’t really touch each other much. Here is a story on why that might be.

somebody recommended this fic on a post with my favourite art and want to thank them

a city wall and a trampoline by kafkian

In their cottage in the South Downs, when Crowley eventually succeeds in getting Aziraphale to use a laptop, it takes Aziraphale literal hours to get past the default Windows screensavers of picturesque locations because ‘oh, look, isn’t it lovely, Crowley!’

all i need, darling, is a life in your shape by deadgreeks

After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives.

Four times Crowley called Aziraphale “sweetheart” without noticing (and One time he did) by TheLadyZephyr

“Sweetheart” (1290) - A person who is very dear to another; one who is loved. From sweet (adj.) + heart (n.)

Over the years, Crowley has called Aziraphale “sweetheart” on at least four different occasions. He just hasn’t actually noticed himself saying it.

Any Other Name by mostlyanything19 (halfanapple)

What if Aziraphale’s name was originally “Aziraphael”, in keeping with the conventional spelling and pronunciation of other angel names, but because of its divine nature, Crowley is physically unable to say it out loud.

here i am, leaving you clues by Lvslie

It’s all the same burning bookshop, and I’m always inside shouting your name.

Stars Above You by Demorra (thebibliosphere)

“We can run away together,” he’d said, “Alpha Centauri, lots of space up there, no one would even notice us…”

Show/Tell by walkalittleline

It took Aziraphale approximately five thousand nine hundred and forty-five years—give or take a few months—to fall in love. It didn’t take Crowley nearly as long.

such selfish prayers by Lvslie

Crowley, while still apparently comatose, had somehow managed to wrap himself so thoroughly around Aziraphale on their way up, that any attempt at dropping him onto the mattress without being pulled down as well proved futile. And hence, quite defeated, Aziraphale found himself lying in a warm tangle of Crowley and blankets. He felt a little stunned.

you smiled (and it broke my heart) by TheIndianWinter

Aziraphale attempted a smile for him, but it was too sad to really be a smile.(Over the course of millennia, Crowley had grown quite familiar with the angel’s smiles. From the reluctant ones that tweaked at his lips after an off-colour remark from the demon, to the full-blown beatific expression of pure angelic joy that did strange things somewhere in the vicinity of Crowley’s stomach. He knew Aziraphale’s smiles. This was not one of them.)

“I’m thinking of closing the bookshop,” he said.

good for the soul by singingtomysoul

Aziraphale doesn’t feel guilty, for once, but has some things to confess. Crowley doesn’t think he has guilt, and doesn’t plan to confess anything. On both counts, he’s wrong.

the still point of the turning world by punkfaery

Crowley has an existential crisis. Aziraphale attempts to pick up the pieces.

Everybody Knows but You by writer_zo

Everyone seems to believe that Crowley and Aziraphale are in love. Everyone, however, has to be wrong, because (as Crowley knows) an angel could never love a demon and (as Aziraphale knows) a demon could never love an angel.

Snakes and Stones (Never Broke My Bones) by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee

“How many people don’t believe I exist?” Crowley asks in the doorway. “I’m sure no – ” Aziraphale begins, only to be cut off by Gabriel and a reluctant Newton. “Everyone.”

No one wants to say it, but the residents of Dorm A, floor 3, are collectively convinced Aziraphale Fell’s boyfriend does not exist. This is their story.

honestly never would have thought that I would read an au for this pairing and a college one at that but here we are

Inevitable, unavoidable by Lilian

Aziraphale gets amnesia and thinks Crowley is his husband when he sees him.

it’s exactly like that old video but with feelings

there are many more good fics that i forgot to add or haven’t read myself yet but these are the ones that stuck with me

#i accidentally deleted the ask so we just have to do it like this #all of these should be sfw but i’m sorry if i missed anything #read hourglass!!!#i know everyone has already but i wanted to scream about it for a month so #i thought there would be less but i went crazy i went stupid i'm sorry #there are so many good fics i owe the authors my life #anonymous #long post #good omens #fic rec #also anon why did you not specify what pairing you meant? when did this become a gomens blog? when......

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elven-child · 4 years

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re: does Aziraphale know Crowley meant him when he said “I lost my best friend“ (I came across one of the posts on this topic this morning and of course I started having Thoughts)

Short answer: yes. I have no doubts about this.

Long answer:

I want to start this whole analysis by bringing up one crucial thing, which I only realised today, and I genuinely don’t know how I missed it before. So Aziraphale can’t see where Crowley is (it’s actually confirmed) and asks "did you go to Alpha Centauri?” Perfectly logical, right? Except I don’t think it was that necesary to ask; I think it’s really safe to assume Crowley did not go, and we see quite a good reason for it a few minutes earlier - Aziraphale flees from Heaven straight to Earth. Of course, showing himself to Crowley without a body is different than possessing humans, so he can’t be sure he’s still on Earth, but I’d say he can be fairly certain. (I would need an in-universe explanation for how Aziraphale even found Crowley specifically, considering that in the book the whole possessing process seems rather chaotic, so I can’t finish this thought, unfortunately). So going back to the main topic, for me “did you go to Alpha Centauri?” sounds more like “are you still here?”, as in "I’ve found you and I admit that I’ve made a mess of things. Are you willing to accept me back? Can we go back to carrying on with it all together?" It feels like Aziraphale is starting that certain kind of conversations that they often have with each other, where most things remain unsaid but they are still both aware of what they were really told.

But Crowley is drunk and grief-stricken and maybe because of that he answers the question a bit more literally than expected. “Nuh, changed my mind. Stuff happened. I lost my best friend.” And Aziraphale's "I'm so sorry to hear it" seems... like he’s not sure what to say.

This line really is puzzling, and Michael Sheen’s brilliant ambiguous delivery is not helping. The thing is, Aziraphale knows he’s Crowley’s best friend. I’ve said it before and I’ll be saying it again and again, they already are together. That’s the key to understanding all of their multi-layered conversations, all of their interactions and motives. These two have been throwing confessions at each other since at least 1862. They know they're each other's best friends and life partners, and that the other doesn’t really have anyone else besides them. I mean, Aziraphale knows Crowley so well he can pretend to be him; how could he not know if Crowley had another best friend?

So Aziraphale knows Crowley is talking about him. But based on what Aziraphale knows by this moment, it’s hard to draw a connection between the Crowley who said “when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you”, the Crowley who said “now’s not a good time, got an old friend here”, and the Crowley who is currently sounding drunk and on the verge of tears.

And that last time he heard Crowley was very weird, too. "Now's not a good time, got an old friend here.” I can literally hear Aziraphale’s confusion - "what do you mean now's not a good time, I just told you I know where the Antichrist is, the world is ending in a few hours, when will be a good time?" I think he knew something wasn't really right. Crowley sounded like he was in a hurry - not angry about earlier, not offended, definitely not sounding like he really has a friend over and has to say to Aziraphale “sorry, I’ll call you back later”. Add to that the fact that Aziraphale knows Hell is after Crowley. I’m pretty sure he would have tried to reach Crowley again to find out what was going on, had he got the chance to do it.

And now Crowley is absolutely distressed, and Aziraphale can only wonder what happened within this very short time. Did Crowley try to call back? Did he try to find him in the bookshop? After all, he did say "have a nice doomsday" and then came back anyway. Aziraphale has a good reason to believe that maybe this time he came back too. Did Crowley go to the bookshop, only to find a portal to Heaven and no Aziraphale, forced to assume the angel was taken to Heaven and they made him take part in the War? But would that distress Crowley that badly?

There is a moment of silence after “I lost my best friend“, and I think these are possibly the things that are going through Aziraphale’s head. Except the two of them really, really don't have the time to talk about it all now.

“I’m so sorry to hear it.“ I’m sorry you thought you lost me, I’m sorry about our fight, I’m sorry you gave up on saving yourself. I’m here now. We have a world to save.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #gomens essay #elven-child rambles into the void

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hecohansen31 · 5 years

Note

Gurl if you got more ideas for them please dish! Lol that's my request, just more of that, whatever your ideas are for them lol

(A/N): Hello sweetie!

I know that I have already started a story about those two, but hey… I literally wrote this supernatural AU (although I don’t know if this could be properly called AU, since Roman is already a supernatural being) a few months ago and it was supposed to be about an OC insert (so if you see Heco, sorry it’s reader) and it was supposed to be actually MichaelxReaderXIvar… but I feel like Roman is just more fitting, so…

I really hope that you’ll enjoy it and if you like this verse please let me know because I literally finished the first chapter of the other fanfic I was working on so I will be working on the smutty continue of this…

Thank you, again for your support lovelY!

(Also I am tagging @walkxthexmoon, since she expressed her love for it, if you want to be tagged into something else… let me know!).

Also, since it is implied but not explained: Ivar is a werewolf, whereas Roman is a vampire (actually a “upir” but both Ivar and Reader tease him calling him “vampire” so I am here doing the same thing!).

WARNINGS: Bad Friends (I literally have to say that each time I am wirting about shitty friends I am like “No, my friends are not like this”, and then they make something… and I am like “this is karma for being assholes), Bitchy Reader, Heavy Flirting and Mentions of Sex and Threesomes.

She couldn’t help but feel a bit betrayed when her friends had sent her into that demonic village, as a birthday gift.

She was almost wondering if they hated her that much

(Was it the fact that she was more successful than them, or the fact that she was the only single one of the group, ruining with her mere presence the life of all its components…).

Because there was no way that journey was a vacation, it was absolutely a punishment of some kind, starting from the fact that her freaking car had stopped working an hour before arriving to the hotel, on a full bus, with her heavy luggage.

She was supposed to spend a weekend as a single lady with her newly broken-up best friend, except…

Except her ex-boyfriend appeared a few days ago, proposing to her and basically blowing off her plans.

If you could call “plans” something which had been thrown on your way.

She still regretted all the books she might have received, instead of being sent in this shithole.

She didn’t mean to judge a book from the cover, or better by the shitty phone reception, and the shitty appearance of the hotel where she was staying for two nights and three days and the shitty shops.

She hoped she might find some kind of bookshop… because that’s where she hoped to spend the days… although there were a lot of bar and liquor shops, maybe people liked to get drunk enough to forget about this shithole.

No, she wouldn’t be judging, not even as it started raining just when she stepped off the bus and reached hurryingly the hotel, almost slamming herself on the closed door, that thank God gave out under a little pressure, allowing her inside and in the warmth of the hall, for which she was thankful.

She spent a few minutes trying to recollect herself and thanking whatever make-up goddess, she hadn’t worn any, alongside collecting from her bag the vacation’s document and her wallet.

She approached the receptionist, a man, bigger than her of a few good inches, and turned around fixing some documents, till she coughed, more because of the cold she had been in than anything else, gaining his attention, or better a very pissed glare.

She almost though about fleeing the scene and checking the buses station, but the glare dissipated as soon as he took her in: she was sure she looked a mess enough to pray for his pity.

-Well… it is raining outside, isn’t it? – he mused almost shyly, immediately leaning on the table of the reception hall, almost as if to be closer to her, making her squeak lightly and in response her social anxiety kicked in, making her shove her folder with the payments and bookings in his face.

He smiled, with his shining blue eyes, taking (very gently for a man of his stature) the documents and setting down his eyes on them, and she almost whined to be robbed of those two spots of ocean, but she tried again just to readjust her appearance, wanting to seem calm and at ease, although she hated doing anything that remotely made her have contact with strangers.

-(Y/N) (L/N)? – he asked and she had to stop herself from saluting him as a freaking soldier, but the voice raspy and rough made him seem like someone who wanted everyone to stand at attention when he spoke to them, so she tried her best, although staring right into the ocean was a bit scary -… but I don’t see any Annie Howin, are you waiting for her? -.

Here came the hard part: explaining her friend had balled out of this “magical adventure” and if she could use a single room, instead of a double…

-… nope…- she almost wanted to slap herself for the childish expression, but the guy looked at her wolfish, clearly amused by the way she had rolled the word, which made her blush (wasn’t it too warm here? Or was she just burning from embarrassment?) -… you see… we were supposed to spend a weekend as singles…-

-You are,,, single?- he seemed almost surprised by the way she said it, but she tried not to mind the comment too much, spitting out the discourse she had rehearsed for two days.

-… but her ex-boyfriend came back in town and… he proposed…-

-… and she accepted? – he commented as if they were in some kind of cheap telenovela, bringing a smile on her lips, while his own mimicked it in a smirk, a very sensual smirk (part of her thought it was the one lovers offered when they were teasing the other, as if humoring them but also trying to get them out of the shyness shell).

-Yep- again the childish expression and again the wolf-like smirk, which honesty made her wonder if his teeth were freaking sharp or it was just an impression -… and after he cheated on her… the dude kind of sucks…-

-Well, he must have other talents- the innuendos made her start out a laugh, mostly because of the absurdity of the situation: shy little (Y/N) gossiping with a gorgeous receptionist, who seemed into her.

(Key-word: “seemed”, she was pretty sure he was just flirty by nature, with those good looks and arms that could carry her everywhere, no she wasn’t totally imagining herself clinging at them, meanwhile he whispered naughty things, before dropping her to their shared bed…).

-I don’t know, I wasn’t the one he cheated her with…- and then she went back to the straight discourse, gaining a little laugh from the receptionist -… so she is not coming… and I am all by myself…-.

She didn’t meant to appear that pathetic, but it must have seemed that way to the guy, who rose his head, as if his ears could stand at attention as a well-trained dog, before giving her a sultry look and in that moment she remembered how stuck to her body her clothing was, nothing too transparent but… she was definitely vulnerable and that guy was checking her out as a piece of meat.

But not in the “sexual harassment” way, the “I really want you in my bed” way, and she was sure she was just mistaking the signs.

She was not ugly, but not a boy magnet: she just eased the “feminist who won’t put up with your shit” attitude, and it didn’t help to have social anxiety and shyness.

-So, you are all alone in a wedding suite… that’s honestly sad…- he mumbled but he didn’t seem sad for her, he was still leaning, and although his head was at the same level of her cleavage he was being a gentleman and still staring at her eyes.

-Yep, that’s why I would like to change it to a single: wedding suite is definitely too big for me…-.

-Sorry, lovely- she almost jumped at the nickname but he just smiled at her sweetly, letting the flirty persona behind -… we can’t change, but I am sure you will find the wedding suite to your liking, it is one of our best-.

Oh, just her luck.

She must have shown her disgust on her face (not a difficult thing, since she couldn’t hide anything) because he smiled apologetically to her:

-I swear it is a lot better than it looks, and we have warm water-

-But no wi-fi- she mumbled sadly at the sign on the window.

He scratched his head nervously, nodding.

-That sucks absolutely, but you can find an amazing wi-fi connection at “Shiny Moon”, it’s a bar near here, if you want, I can accompany you later-.

She seriously was flattered by the offer, but she didn’t know this guy and although he had been a gentleman (still sending her a few glance that made her feel hot and bothered, but maybe she was imagining them) she didn’t want trouble, mostly with hunks.

-Thank you, but I am sure I will find it, also I wouldn’t want to disrupt your work- she tried to push the “don’t want to bother you” excuse and he clearly didn’t believe it, but nodded as if he was used to that rejection and she thought for a moment to tell him, that maybe he…

But a beautiful blond-haired woman appeared catching the receptionist’s attention.

-Ivar! – she shouted, the name probably written on the little thing on the man’s tight t-shirt, which she couldn’t read because her glasses were a mess.

Ivar didn’t seem happy to be called and (Y/N) honestly didn’t get why: the woman looked like she came straight from a Swedish version of “Sports Illustrated”, definitely a model, who had unluckily chosen a shitty hotel.

-The water in my room isn’t working- she didn’t acknowledge (Y/N) as soon as she stepped near the receptionist table, locking eyes with Ivar, who turned his head down, avoiding categorically her gaze, but grunting a “ok” -… it needs to be fixated immediately, so come to my room-.

The last part of the quote seemed a clear invitation and it was what made Ivar snap, turning around abruptly and sending a glare at the woman, before recognizing her presence and softening his grim grin.

She didn’t know why, probably for empathy, but she smiled straight back at her, before coughing to make the rude model acknowledge her presence and whisper, trying to appear sultry.

-Ivar was minding my case, give him five minutes and he will solve your problem…- she wanted to add “your attitude problem” but she didn’t dare, already having said much more than the model expected, from her smiling face which sent her way a venomously sweet smile, nodding.

She didn’t answer to her, just turning to Ivar again and mumbling in a languid voice.

-Be swift, I don’t think it can wait much longer-.

Ivar just nodded, eyes fixed on the desk, and raising just when (Y/N) whispered a “she is gone”.

-She is a…- he tried to mumble, clearly numbing his rage to her benefit, meanwhile she shot him a compassionate look.

-Some people should just get a kick in their beautifully shaped butt- she mumbled and laughed honestly, as if releasing all the tension, something which was truly heartwarming for her, and made her smile to him as genuinely as she could do.

-I mean I would, but I am scared it would get just stuck there…- he made her laugh brightly and for a moment she thought about how embarrassing she must have sounded: nobody liked her voice or her laugh, too high-pitched, childish and definitely creepy but he looked at her as if she had just told him she was the freaking Virgin Mary, before turning around and catching a key.

-I am supposed to photocopy your document, but since you seem pretty cold and have dealt with an assholish receptionist, I’d say you can go to your room and warm up, it should be done by now- he put the key in her hands, reaching out for the physical contact.

He could have thrown them at her, made them dangle in front of her, but he straight up waited for her to offer her hands, gently putting the keys into them, covering them with his: that freaking contact was not accidental.

But she enjoyed the warmness of his hands, smiling thankfully at him, before trying to take everything in her hands.

And just when she was going for the elevator, she felt herself being called out.

-I know you might already know, because Fredys gave it out, but I am Ivar-.

She got into the elevator and she faced him smiling brightly before offering her hands as if she could grip his.

-I am (Y/N), but I think the documents gave it away-

-… unless they are fake, (Y/N) a pretty common name…- he made her laugh so easily she forgot to push the button, thankfully somebody else called the elevator and she made it in time just to smile at him and start her phrase.

-Strangest…-

-… parents- she mumbled meanwhile she reached her number, forty-eight, she low key liked it and the place looked much nicer inside, the old style that made everything seem “vintage” although it was a step from destroying itself, which might happen with her luck.

The key actually worked and she slipped swiftly inside the room, smiling at the clean smell and the warmth of it: a shower and a change of clothes would do her good, but firstly she moved around the room to check everything was alright and was surprised to find out how luxurious it actually looked, with even a bathtub, with hydromassage and a long plump bed where you could roll around in silk sheets.

The architecture was old and there was the much hated and anti-hygienic moquette, alongside with a horrible fantasy on it but everything looked in a classy way, much better than the motel she expected to find and much more than for what she had paid for her.

The place didn’t cost too much, according to her last research but it looked like it was worth every penny, if you ignored the fact that it was in the middle of nowhere with no wi-fi.

It was perfect if you looked for the perfect place for a “Shining” replica.

She tried to focus on positive thoughts, such as the fact that she shower water was immediately warm and she was happy to sing a little meanwhile relaxing her tights muscles from carrying her luggage every freaking where.

She then blow-dried her hair with the hair-drier that was there working perfectly, meanwhile slipping in a more comfortable attire: she had mostly short dresses, since she thought she would be out partying, a few sweater and her beloved high-waisted skinny jeans but she had managed to slip some ugly leggings and an old ruined university sweater.

It was barely three p.m. but she was tired for the long journey, which should have been a very short one, but the breaking of her car didn’t help (she had thought for a moment it was a sign that she should have just gone back home); she had had to deal with the police, coming to help her.

She had thought that maybe luck would be on her side, when she saw the bus coming on her way.

Unluckily the freaking bus journey sucked, so… she was tired AF and the cheap reality show she had chosen didn’t help and she ended up falling asleep on the plush bed, mumbling something about how bitchy bridesmaids could be…

She woke up because something on her head was vibrating and scared her into thinking about a possible earthquake, but it was just her phone.

It was Annie, from whom she had missed five calls and thousands of messages.

But she was so tired, that she actually thought about not answering her back and going back to Tom Hardy’s muscled arms.

(She had dreamt for a minute about the reception boy… Ivar… but it low key felt wrong; he wouldn’t definitely be involved into the situation she was dreaming, alongside the fact that it would be low key disgraceful to see him and blush after what she had seen in her dream).

-Hey Annie… I was sleeping- she even yawned, trying to tell her friend to make it quick.

They had never really been best-friends, forever competitors in everything and at the social level it seemed Annie was winning.

-Thank God you answered! I was getting worried…- she mumbled, clearly chewing her lips, she was also probably staring at her elegant diamond ring, part of (Y/N) wanted to tell her it was as small as her boyfriend’s dick, or so the rumors said, but she had stopped herself from doing anything, she had just “awed” stupidly alongside her other friends, when Annie had shown it to them (the ring, not her boyfriend’s dick)-… did you arrive? -.

-Yeah- and she watched her watch, apparently it was late enough that she might have missed her dinner, because of her little nap and outside it was pretty dark.

She put her friend on speaker, trying to put on a decent outfit, nothing too much to go to the “Shiny Moon”, which she highly hoped wasn’t some kind of exclusive club or a strip-club, because she had no intention to stick her tired body in a skirt, so she ended up in her comfortable jeans and an even more comfortable sweater.

-… so I am still sorry, but I felt like me and Gerry had to have our space and time, after the proposal… did I tell you he took me out to the “Sinatra”…- the most expensive place in their hometown, Heco remembered how it was something Annie always wished to do, and she was low key happy her friend could cross that off the list.

-Oh, it’s beautiful! – she commented, grabbing in her hand the sheer lace of her mini-black dress, the sexiest dress she owned and definitely the one she used to go out to clubs, but she immediately put outfit down, not feeling confident enough for that look -Hope you two had fun! -.

-I hope you will, too, (Y/N), is the room nice? -she asked, quitting the chipping about everything else.

-Oh, yeah, I have a jacuzzi- she heard her friend “owww” and mumble “maybe I should have come” -… and I am going out to get wi-fi, that’s why I haven’t been answering your messages because my 3G is not working so well…-.

-Yeah, I can’t hear you well…- mumbled Annie, but this didn’t discourage her from keeping up the conversation meanwhile (Y/N) adjusted her head in a high ponytail -… so I was thinking about the maid of honor: my sister or my cousin? -.

She low key didn’t expect to be the maid of honor, but not even being considered?

They hadn’t been best friends but (Y/N) had tried to play the part, remembering her friend’s birthday and gifting her lavish gifts, consoling her when asshole Gerry had left her and helping her build her confidence.

Annie had always left (Y/N) behind, after she was alright, and (Y/N) had been ok with that, she had stopped expecting people to do something for her, but still, it stung…

And to avoid confrontation, she started making horrible sounds and stumbling on her words as if she was seriously having a shitty phone reception, hearing Annie trying to scream and give up in the end, telling her to call her when the phone reception would get better.

She threw the phone on the bed, huffing and breathing heavily before adjusting elegantly her appearance and attempt to go out.

She stalked the reception hall and found a woman instead of Ivar: a beautiful blonde woman who seriously made her wonder if everyone there was a model.

She chatted a bit, asking for directions for the “Shiny Moon”, meanwhile the woman photocopied her ID, but clearly as disinterested as Ivar had been flirty.

She thanked the woman and adjusting her light coat she moved outside.

It was November and it was definitely cold but not as cold as in some other states: the sweater and the coat kept her warm for the ten-minutes-journey to the “Shiny Moon” a dark and grimy place.

Still from the window she saw that there were many people dressed just like her, just with their computers or chatting up.

She entered and although the main colors of the club were golden and black, in a very tacky assemble that mixed a sex-club with a diner, the atmosphere was peaceful, alongside almost empty.

She sat at the bar stool, immediately making eye contact with a pretty girl of her age.

-Hi, welcome to the “Shiny Moon”! What can I get you? – her voice was emotionless although she showed off a smart smirk.

-Whatever can get me the wi-fi password?- she asked, trying to get straight to the point and gaining a sincere smile from the girl, who took a little piece of paper and offered it to her, before asking if that was all.

-Can I get a menu if I am not too late for dinner? – she asked, feeling her stomach grumble miserably, since she had avoided lunch.

-You are lucky, the kitchen is open for another hour and in the meanwhile can I bring you some kind of drink? – she said, putting out a white notebook and offering a plastic menu.

-Oh…- she didn’t know what to say -… coca cola? -.

-With rum? – added the girl, smiling at her teasingly and making her blush.

-No, no alcohol- she liked alcohol, but only when she knew she would make a fool of himself between people who did know her, not a strange grimy place, where she knew nobody, although if they looked all like models she could make an exception -… I need to go back on my own, so…-.

-If you can wait till my turn is over, I can accompany you- offered the girl she had just met and this brightened (Y/N)’s heart, but also she didn’t understand why a stranger might offer her help, after a few minutes of knowing.

-Oh, no I don’t want to bother you- she mumbled, using again the excuse she loved, since she constantly felt like a bother for everyone, even strangers she just met in a bar.

-Oh no bother, sweetie- the girl cheered sweetly -Us girls must stick together-.

And she sent a wink her way, worsening her blush, but she was immediately distracted by a blonde ghost appearing beside her.

-What have I said about talking with clients, Destiny? We have a full night.. we have no time to…- and then she met the ghost bluish-green eyes -… well I think I can make a little time for you, doll-.

Ivar adjusted the hydraulic tools back again on their shelf, fixing his appearance.

He had managed to avoid Fredys’ advances this time, although he hadn’t minded the flirty attitude of the new guest.

It wasn’t a typically flirty, more like he was the one doing all the flirty parts and she was just batting her long eyelashes, smiling shyly and worst of all: her freaking hips…

They looked like a freaking goddess’ hips, large and he wanted to see them in his hands, meanwhile he pushed them down on the bed, reassuring her with kisses on them.

Shit, the little girlie had done just a few steps in his direction and he wanted to bed her already, something he couldn’t do, but still nothing made him avoid the pleasure of making her blush and maybe if he played his cards right he would get to feel those hips.

He had a serious problem, worse than Hvitserk and food.

Talking about Hvitserk, he was coming up the stairs just when Ivar was going down on them, swiftly.

-Oh, hello there! – saluted him cheerily his brother, meanwhile he stopped alongside Ivar -Going out? -.

-Yep, I am going out for a few shots at the “Shiny Mood”, want to come? – he proposed.

-Sadly not, me and Ubbe have clan thing to do, but maybe I can join you later…- he knew he had lost the faith of his brothers and it hurt every time they reminded him of that but he tried to rein in his anger.

-Ok, have fun at the clan meeting- he tried not to sound bitter, but he knew he had failed when Hvitserk failed to keep his own straight face.

-You know we would absolutely love for you to be here with us, but… the clan is still not trusting you…- and he patted on his younger brother’s back -… you’ll be back soon-.

-I hope- he mumbled closing the conversation, and moving down the stairs, meanwhile his brother stuck there, but got a last look from Ivar -Oh… and we have a new guest, room forty-eight, she is mine, don’t try anything funny-.

If with Ivar, the flirting was strangely comical and harmless, with the green-eyed bartender she felt dangerously exposed even in her turtleneck and her full fitting jeans.

-Just cola, so, beautiful? – she just nodded, avoiding the bartender’s gaze.

Men weren’t usually that blunt with her and not having the control made her feel definitely vulnerable.

-… Destiny you can go to deal with other clients, I got this one- he ordered to the gentle girl and (Y/N) shot her a glance as if to ask her not to leave her with the hot bartender.

But the girl just sent her a sorry glance, before moving off to the other clients.

-You are new in town- it wasn’t a question, but she still nodded again, just to feel a hand under her chin, gently raising it up so that her ink eyes could meet the bluish and greenish of the bartender, who sweetly stare into her making her feel as if she was showing him her soul.

And she was thankful he liked what he saw.

-Much better, doll, look at me in the face while we speak, you have pretty eyes and even a prettier mouth-.

-I have never been told that- she mumbled but kept her eyes up.

-Oh, what a shame- he replied, moving his hand, which was still resting on her chin, to her hair, caressing her as if she was some kind of dog, something which made her roll her eyes but also lean into the touch -… women like you need to be cherished each day-.

-Aren’t you the flatterer…- she mumbled and he laughed sensually, dropping his head and turning around, thing that made her almost drop a whine, being robbed of the beauty, but he came back immediately, with her drink, and exactly like Ivar, he handed it to her with extreme physical contact, thing that made her almost wink at him.

-Just the truth, lovely mystery lady- he replied, before dropping on his elbows so he could stare at her at the same height, making her blush and cough out her cola.

-You didn’t tell me anything about yourself also, mysterious bartender- she sassed him and it got a pretty smile and an hand offered to her.

-Roman- and she accepted it, offering her own name.

-(Y/N)-.

-Pretty strange name, (Y/N) look more like a tequila girl- he humored her making her cackle a laugh.

-I do like tequila, but I am in the middle of nowhere and I don’t want to be kicked out of my single night out-.

-Ohh… single night out…- Michael almost whistled, clearly focused more on the single part than the ladies night -We host a thousand of ladies night, but don’t they involve another friend? - .

-Didn’t I tell you I am nothing like ordinary? – she said, with a bitter smile, drinking her sorrows away in the sugary drink -My last single friend got engaged a few days before, so I am all out of single friends, that was why I was trying to talk Destiny to join my night out… you literally ruined my night-.

-Oh, did I? – and he did a thing with his tongue that made her almost faint.

-Yeah, you are obviously not a single lady- she mumbled, trying to regain the upper hand in the conversation.

-I am not a lady- he appointed -… but I am single, sweetheart-.

And the hand was back on her cheek, coaxing her nearer, till she felt somebody occupying the bar sit next to her…

-…well I am single too, so can I join the single train? -.

Shit, flirty! Ivar was back again.

Roman had had a tough night, a full night at the “Shiny Moo” and Roman had wandered off, meanwhile Destiny was chatting up clients, making others wait, and he had immediately moved to tell her to move her ass, till he saw the pretty girl she was talking to.

Clearly the type of girl who didn’t care to walk in a bar in simple clothes and she still managed to be the most stunning girl in there, and she was just wearing jeans, jeans that looked like they were painted on her perky butt, and a mickey mouse sweater, he honestly thought looked deviously innocent.

Part of her looked like she could have just come out of a fairy tale books, but the way she talked and once the shyness went away… she seemed to come out straight from an erotic novel, the well written kind.

She honestly made his night better.

Ivar, a little less.

The fact that they wanted to bring the same girl in their beds made it… interesting.

-Hello there, lovely, saw you found the “Shiny Moon”-.

The girl smiled more at ease, than with him; Ivar was a people-charmer, whereas Roman was more sensual and the girl looked like she was entirely scared by her sexuality.

So, Ivar clearly had the advantage, but Roman knew how to get everybody on their knees for him.

-… yeah, I mean I am not amazing with directions, but this place is basically in front of the hotel so…-.

-So, you are staying at the old “Kattegat”? – asked Roman, trying to get more info than Ivar, also because he was honestly mesmerized by the girl, utterly smitten and curious to know more.

-Yeah, just for the weekend- and then she moved her little chin to Ivar, smiling slightly and asking -Oh by the way the room is beautiful-.

Ivar looked like a puppy who got a treat after the compliment he had received, nodding immediately meanwhile he mumbled lowly a few words.

-… that place might seem a terrible on the outside, but believe me, it’s very much worse inside, alongside the fact that his owners are all assholes- replied Roman, wanting her eyes back on him and getting them, alongside a shocked expression and a grunt from Ivar, which was immediately suppressed by something that said “do you want war? I will bring it to you”.

-People only come here for the free wi-fi- replied swiftly the other man, sparking a little fight.

And immediately (Y/N) came between those two, touching Ivar’s chest.

-Woah woah… your places are equally broken on the outside, but they are prettier on the inside, and yeah the wi-fi bonus is amazing- she laughed lightly, but her intention was clear: she wanted no riot or brawl in there, cocking an eyebrow at Roman, in a little show of dominance.

He, instead, licked his lips, a little aroused by a girl that could handle two extremely territorial males, without and ounce of fear; Ivar was thinking the same, looking at the hand on his chest with wide eyes.

-You are definitely all over men’s bullshit- mumbled attentively Roman, making her drop her hand from Ivar, who looked a few minutes from crying for the loss.

-Oh, all over every person’s bullshit, but you men are just the absolute worst- she laughed timidly, before downing again her drink, as she tried to avoid thinking about the two men looking at her smugly and intensively.

“Well you are lucky, we are not men, sweetie” that’s what he wanted to tell her, but seeing through all the confidence she was faking, that she was pretty shy, it wasn’t the time to tell her they were supernatural beings.

Although she seemed smart to figure that out on her own.

-… men disappointed you, lovely? – Ivar asked, tried to sound compassionate, meanwhile he adjusted himself on the stool, probably because of his legs bothering him.

-It’s just…-.

-Are you a lesbian? – asked again Ivar and Roman sent him a death glare, knowing perfectly from the adorable blush she was wearing that they had just burned a chance to talk with her.

-No, I mean girls are beautiful, but not interested into them, although maybe I should, men are…-.

-… the worst- mumbled Roman, sending a straight up glare at Ivar, as if to let the sweetheart know that he was indeed “the worst”.

Ivar clearly looked embarrassed by the way she mumbled back, and moved near to get her attention, offering and half-hearted apology, helped by his sweet and dramatic blue eyes.

-Sorry, didn’t mean…-.

-Don’t worry- she mumbled leaning towards him -… a lot of people assumed it the same: no dates, no guys out of my house and I frighten every boy who comes my way-.

She tried to laugh it off but Roman could find how much it actually pained her: the loneliness and the sadness made her feel as if she was not enough.

But she was so so much more than enough and sweet, and she had already two men courting her.

-They were all boys to be frightened by such a pretty and powerful girl- replied Ivar, immediately gaining points by the pretty compliments, she leaned back into him, not enough to touch but… Ivar helped the contact by putting a hand over her shoulders, making her blush even more and sending Roman a winning smirk.

But he hadn’t lost.

-So, pretty girlie, do you have any plans for this weekend? – he asked, taking away the attention from Ivar and leaning forward, thing that was made by (Y/N) herself.

-Just to relax and do anything else-.

-Never thought about a threesome? – and the look of shock was enough to be a win for him.

Ivar seriously couldn’t be the prouder guy in the entire bar with the prettiest girl in town under his arm, smiling sweetly and with red shadows on her cheeks he wanted to kiss and maybe he would get to if he accompanied her back to the room.

Also, it was a little win over Roman, who instead of him, just needed to look at a girl to have her in her bed, and he also had had another little advantaged over him.

But he ruined anything as soon as Roman spit out the “threesome” proposition; it wasn’t rare for them to share a girl, mostly because of Ivar’s “little problem”, but this girl so sweet and pure… he felt like the sharing option was crazy.

She looked shell shocked in her expression of true shock, even worse than the one that she had on her face after his “embarrassing question”, but she almost laughed out, probably expecting it all to be a little joke.

Michael looked at her like a cat with a mouse, clearly trying to stay serious, although he laughed it off as if it was joke before going back to being serious.

-But seriously sweetie… if you want to do something more than just relax, we are more than willing to help you with a little fun-.

#roman godfrey #ivar #vikings #hemlock grove #hg #ivar x reader #ivar reader #roman godfrey reader #roman godfrey x reader #roman godfrey fem reader #roman godfrey x fem ! reader #ivar fem reader #ivar x fem! reader #ivar imagine #roman godfrey imagine #vikings imagine #supernatural AU #fan fic

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rufeepeach · 5 years

Text

Fic: i had a night (i had a day)

Title: i had a night (i had a day) Rating: T Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley Summary: After the world is saved, and Heaven and Hell sent back to their respective corners, Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to settle into a new kind of coexistence - a much more shared existence, without those barriers (spiritual, emotional, and professional) keeping them apart. Unfortunately, this requires a conversation neither of them really knows how to have.

Or: in which it takes all of two (2) bottles of wine to make Aziraphale both theological and emotional.

On AO3

“You know, at the end of it all, I came to a rather startling conclusion.”

Crowley’s head rolls to one side, and one eyebrow arches over his sunglasses. Aziraphale wishes he would take those off while indoors; it always seems like one more barrier to understanding between them, an unnecessary wall in place.

After another rather lovely dinner at a relatively new and very charming French restaurant near Covent Garden, it had felt natural to return to Aziraphale’s flat above the restored bookshop for a nightcap. Such has been the way of things for a few weeks now, ever since Armageddon was averted and their relative head offices apparently retreated. Aziraphale had been fortunate to see Crowley once or twice a month, before: now, it is a daily occurrence. It feels natural; no one has felt the need to comment.

Crowley sprawls on the sofa and Aziraphale takes his comfy chair by the fire, and the coffee table between them fills with bottles of wine, mugs of hot cocoa, snifters of brandy, whatever takes their fancy tonight.

And yet, despite their being practically joined at the hip these days, unwilling or perhaps unable to let go after their brush with the unspeakable loss of one another, those damned sunglasses remain even in this warm, dark, private place. Aziraphale has no idea why: he’s very familiar with Crowley’s snake eyes, has been since the literal dawn of creation, and he’s always found them rather lovely, all things considered.

Crowley lowers the wine bottle from his lips, and swallows an ungodly gulp.

“Oh?” Crowley says. “And what have you concluded?”

“I still have faith,” Aziraphale can feel the smile that bursts across his face, the stupid happiness that accompanies the declaration: hopeful, wonderful.

Crowley frowns, not getting it. Aziraphale can sense the doubt as it slithers into Crowley, that endless worry that he hopes someday – perhaps in another thousand years or so – he can eradicate entirely. “In… in what? Heaven? They tried to burn you alive, angel, I’m not sure they’ll take your call.”

“Oh, no, no no, of course not!” Aziraphale waves a hand, brushing the ridiculous notion aside and with it the entire concept of Heaven: Gabriel, Michael, Head Office, the whole shebang. “Heaven can hang!”

“Quite right too!” Crowley salutes with his wine bottle, and goes back to swigging directly from it, uncouth fiend that he is. He does it just to wind Aziraphale up, and Aziraphale refuses to rise to the bait.

“But… but in something above Heaven,” Aziraphale continues, cautiously, gauging Crowley’s reaction. He imagines his eyes narrowing, although all he has to go by are lowered eyebrows and a furrowed brow. “In… In Her.”

“Right,” Crowley hums, noncommittal. “You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, angel. I’m not seeing the difference.”

“You something, back in Tadfield, while we were waiting for the bus,” Aziraphale says. “It’s been rattling about in my mind ever since.”

“If you’re talking about the invite back to my place, that was a shameless ploy to get you to clean up the holy water and what was left of Ligur,” Crowley says.

It’s a lie – Crowley had been as surprised as anyone to rediscover the remains of his former colleague on the floor of his flat, the night the world didn’t end. What it had been, Aziraphale was sure, was an unsubtle way to say ‘please don’t leave me alone’, a sentiment Aziraphale more than shared. He never intended to leave Crowley alone ever again, if he could help it. He’d had more than enough of that for one eternal lifetime.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m talking about something else. You suggested that everything, our prevention of Armageddon included, was perhaps part of the Ineffable Plan.”

“I was just chatting bollocks, angel,” Crowley sighs, and oh Aziraphale does not enjoy the bitter edge to his tone, however familiar it is. There’s such sweetness and warmth in Crowley, and the bitterness is so firmly turned inward, that it breaks Aziraphale’s heart.

“No, I don’t think you were,” Aziraphale shakes his head. “In fact, I said something very similar at the air base, and I think we were both right.”

“What’s that then?”

“That the Grand Plan and the Ineffable Plan are in fact two separate plans!”

“Right.”

“Oh don’t give me that look!” Aziraphale scolds, a little wounded by Crowley’s ignorance, or his scepticism, or whatever it is that is making him look at Aziraphale like that. “Think about it, about everything that had to happen for us to still be here! Not only did you have to be chosen to deliver the Antichrist, but you had to show up right when the Youngs were already at the convent, and you had to be reluctant enough to want to get out of there as fast as possible, and you had to just happen to run into the most incompetent nun in the whole building!”

“I was chosen because I’d spent thousands of years taking credit for everything evil under the sun,” Crowley corrects, slurring a little. “It was my reward for… for everything.”

Aziraphale takes another sip from his wine glass. If anyone deserves a proverbial olive branch from faith itself, it’s Crowley. Crowley who had had doubts from the very beginning; Crowley who had been asking questions before mankind was a twinkle in the Almighty’s divine eye; Crowley who had reluctantly Fallen and still fought harder than anyone to save the world and everyone and everything in it.

“Alright, but suppose you had arrived at the convent and any other nun had greeted you,” Aziraphale insists. “The baby would have been successfully placed with the Ambassador, and named Warlock, and we would have been-“

“Ham-fistedly shoving contradictory moral lessons down the right boy’s throat for eleven years?” Crowley finishes for him.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale fiddles a little in his lap at that accurate but certainly unflattering portrait of their valiant efforts. “Quite.”

“So you still have faith in the Almighty because of what? Lucky incompetence?”

“Very lucky incompetence,” Aziraphale corrects. “Remarkably lucky, in fact: lucky that the Youngs are good and kind people from a good and kind place; lucky that Adam grew up with strong-willed and happy playmates; lucky that the last witch burned in England wrote down her prophecies, and that her descendants maintained the only book in existence, and that her ultimate great-granddaughter was in exactly the right place at exactly the right time to collide with your Bentley, and that she left that one book in the backseat, and that I happened to find it.”

“That… is a lot of luck, yeah,” Crowley concedes.

He rolls his head back, his long limbs splayed, wine bottle all but dripping from his slender fingers. Aziraphale allows just a moment of pause – allows, because he could not prevent it, because he cannot help it, he can never help it – to admire him in all his louche, careworn beauty. He allows himself to marvel that somehow, against all the odds, Crowley is here with him after the end of the world. In this rare unguarded moment, sprawled on his sofa as if nothing had happened, Aziraphale thinks Crowley might be more beautiful even than Mozart, or sushi, or a perfect 1922 Châteauneuf-du-Pape: certainly worth preserving the world for. The thought of eternity without Crowley doesn’t bear contemplation.

He swallows that thought down with another sip of his wine. Of course Crowley is beautiful – he is the original temptation, it would hardly work if he weren’t easy on the eye. Aziraphale isn’t sure that was really the point of that stray thought, however. He’s never been sure that beauty begins and ends with physicality.

“It’s not luck,” Aziraphale presses, instead of voicing a word of what passed through his half-drunk mind. Not luck, because to think that their being here now, safe and happy and together, is the product of a string of random fortune is too terrifying to dwell on. “It’s the Plan.”

“Oh don’t start,” Crowley moans. “This the Great Plan or the Ineffable Plan?”

“The Ineffable Plan,” Aziraphale clarifies.

“But you spoke to the Metatron, didn’t you?” Crowley frowns, looking at Aziraphale, confused. “I thought he said that She wanted the war to go ahead.”

“Yes, I’ve given that some thought,” Aziraphale replies. “And I’ve come to the conclusion that in order for the Ineffable Plan to succeed, I had to be convinced we were on our own.”

“Right, assuming the Ineffable Plan wasn’t just to end the world, like everyone including Satan himself and the Archangel-fucking-Gabriel assumed,” Crowley nods, sarcasm rolling off him. Aziraphale rolls his eyes. Crowley is always at his most dismissive and biting when he feels threatened.

“Right, assumed,” Aziraphale presses. “An assumption is not necessarily correct.”

“So you think the Metatron lied to you?”

The question is sharper, and carries with it the weight of a heavier question, a broader question, the question of why when Crowley was at his most lonely, vulnerable, and frightened, Aziraphale was seeking guidance from his higher-ups rather than fighting beside his best friend. Why, when given the chance to choose a side, Aziraphale had not immediately chosen him.

“I think the Metatron… gave an inaccurate impression of the Almighty’s true purpose,” Aziraphale says, carefully. “I believe so, anyway.”

“Believe,” Crowley nods. “This where the faith comes in, yeah?”

Aziraphale swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry, the wine not necessarily helping but welcome nonetheless. This new body is identical to his old form, and yet… and yet. Not. Not quite. More human, perhaps, maybe just because it’s younger, it has a tendency to race its heart and dry its throat, to adrenaline spikes, to panic, to physical response. It’s hard work. He’s still working out the kinks.

There’s a long silence. Crowley sinks deeper into Aziraphale’s couch. Aziraphale clenches his hands in his lap, both wishing he had chosen the seat beside Crowley – the distance between them suddenly looms, a cavern as broad as the gap between Heaven and Hell – and thankful for the relative safety of his armchair. The look on Crowley’s face is unreadable, and yet Aziraphale can read him, and he knows it isn’t good.

The silence stretches. Aziraphale’s oh-so-young heart starts to beat. He wishes he were one to pace. He wishes someone, anyone, would say anything.

“Why’d you do it?” Crowley asks, at last, the question Aziraphale is certain he’s been burning to ask for weeks now, the proverbial elephant in the room.

“Do what?” Aziraphale’s cowardice, as always, gets the better of him. He won’t answer the question until it is asked, in case he’s gotten it wrong, in case he ends up saying more than he has to.

“You know what,” Crowley sighs. “C’mon, angel.”

“No I do not know what!” Aziraphale lies, panicked, maybe he’s lying, he hopes he’s not lying. He doesn’t know, technically, but he can make an educated guess.

“Why’d you walk away?” Crowley demands. His posture hasn’t changed, lithe body still spread out across the couch, easy as you like, but his tone is serious and a touch angry and a touch more hurt, although Aziraphale is sure that last part Crowley hopes he’s hiding. It hurts him, nonetheless, pokes at that shameful bruise under his ribs, the knowledge that in six thousand years he’s never made a worse mistake. “In the park, at the bandstand, you knew I was right and you ended up agreeing with me anyway so why’d you suddenly run away?”

Aziraphale sighs. He’d been right. He had known what Crowley meant.

The unspoken fact of their togetherness, the fact they’re barely apart for more than a day at a time, the lunches and dinners and walks together, has all come at the price of Aziraphale’s shame that he didn’t get here sooner.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

Crowley has been waiting for decades, centuries, longer, for them to be on the same side, their own side. And yet, it took until the literal eleventh hour for Aziraphale to finally join him there.

“I… I was lost,” he says, at last. Crowley hums softly, but doesn’t comment. Aziraphale looks down, at his hands, fiddles, shuffles, cannot meet the gaze that pierces from behind Crowley’s sunglasses. “My faith was… shaken. Not in Heaven, I… I mean I knew what they were, who they were, I think I’d always known. They wanted their war and they would have it. But I had hoped… I mean, I believed they were misguided. I thought if I could make the Almighty understand that it was more complicated, that there were… shades of grey. That maybe then…” He trails off, stops, thinks, recalibrates. He knows what he needs to say. It’s the reason he started this conversation, if he’s honest with himself.

He cannot form the words. They die in his throat, too heavy for such a delicate balance.

“Maybe then what? They’d all become pacifists overnight?” Crowley’s trying for biting, but he doesn’t succeed, it just comes out with that soft, sad sympathy Aziraphale has always adored in him. The tone of one who could see the lie all along, and yet is saddened by another’s disillusionment. For a demon, Crowley has a notable, admirable lack of schadenfreude.

Aziraphale doesn’t doubt that there was a time, before the Fall, when Crowley had been as Aziraphale is now. Crowley had just learned to question sooner, lost his innocence sooner, thought for himself quicker. He’d gotten there faster, like he always did, and it had taken over six millennia for Aziraphale to begin to catch up.

“That maybe then it would all be alright,” Aziraphale murmured, ashamed of his own naiveté, embarrassed at such a childish thought. “I thought She might… understand. And then there would be no need for sides, or for the war, and the world could spin on.”

“That would have been lovely,” Crowley agrees. “Shame She’s as bloodthirsty as the rest of them.”

“But that’s exactly my point!” Aziraphale exclaims. “Had I… had I agreed with you, we would have left together, yes? Leaving the world to rot. Or perhaps we would have stayed to fight, but that fight would have involved killing Adam, which we may or may not have been able to do, and had we done it would not have allowed the world to be restored after Armageddon was averted, and had we failed he would never have trusted us.”

“We almost did that anyway,” Crowley notes, his voice bitter as ash. They are in agreement there: the memory of the split second staring down the barrel of that oversized gun, of Adam’s curly head in his sights, of pulling the trigger… well, it doesn’t bear remembering, really.

“But we didn’t! We failed again!” Aziraphale’s smile is back; he slaps his thigh for emphasis. “Because the portal stayed open, so Sergeant Shadwell turned up uninvited, so I was discorporated, so I had to take that witch’s body, and so she stopped me. If I had been in my own body… well…”

He trails off again. His too-young stomach flips at the thought of what he might have, what he almost, what he intended to do. To a child. An innocent. A human boy who had already chosen to save the world rather than end and rule it.

“Well,” Crowley agrees, his voice heavy. “For the record, I wasn’t happy about it either.”

“You made a good argument,” Aziraphale weakly tries to comfort them both. “You know, the world versus one child.”

“Yeah but that was when it was Warlock, and he was such an arsehole,” Crowley waves a hand, as if it matters at all who the child was. “And it was never about the world, anyway,” Crowley continues. “I mean not entirely. Not really.”

“Oh?” It is Aziraphale’s turn to frown, perplexed.

Crowley’s head is rolled back, eyes back on the ceiling, casual and relaxed and oh-so-cool when in fact the universe rests on his words. “Decision came down to your life or his,” he shrugs. “Didn’t even have to think about it.”

Aziraphale swallows. His heart, treacherous newborn organ that it is, starts to pound. “Oh.”

It warrants an answer. He knows that. He’s always known that. How many times have they been here, Crowley reaching out, opening up, seeking reciprocity, Aziraphale reaching back only to falter and retreat and withdraw, cowardice masked as righteousness, hiding behind sides, behind us-and-them, behind orders? How many times has he failed, and yet Crowley continues to try, nonetheless, hopeful to the last.

He can’t find the words, and the silence stretches, and Crowley gets restless, he knows this dance as well as Aziraphale and is too weary to expect the answer he deserves.

“More wine, angel?” he asks, casual and cool, as he stands to fetch a bottle he could have easily summoned from the sofa, and paces across the room to find a corkscrew he certainly doesn’t need.

“I put my faith in all the wrong places,” Aziraphale blurts, forcing himself through this, gritting his teeth through the panic crawling up his spine, although every instinct screams to be quiet, to pull back, to run, to shut this down now before it can go any further.

It’s easier now that Crowley is facing away, and he wonders if that was Crowley’s intention, or whether this displacement activity is entirely for the demon’s own benefit. He continues: “Although I believe my doubt was part of Her Ineffable Plan… that doesn’t mean I was right. It means my wrongness was essential, but that’s altogether different. Many things were, are, will continue to be essential to the Plan, but that doesn’t make all of them right.”

Crowley is silent, fiddling with the wine, his shoulders tense, eyes down. Aziraphale wishes now that they were sat side-by-side, that this distance could be closed, but he is rooted to his seat and he cannot muster the strength to move. Everything he has is going into pushing these essential words out of his resistant mouth. His small living room has never felt so vast.

“What I mean to say is that… well, all along I shouldn’t have cared for Heaven, or Gabriel, or even the Almighty, Ineffable Plan or no. From the start, well, I should have put my faith in… you.”

Crowley stills. He does not respond.

“C-Crowley?”

Silence. Aching, awful, silence.

“Oh Crowley do say something!” Aziraphale cannot handle this quiet, not now, not from Crowley. They’ve always, always been able to talk to one another, and just as he needs Crowley’s effortless ability to fill any silence, with his probing questions and his sharp remarks and his intellect, he goes silent! “You were right, alright? We ought to have been our own side, and whether or not I was capable of accepting when you offered you were owed… well, better, anyway, than what I gave you. I betrayed you and I’m so very, deeply, terribly sorry.”

“You said you didn’t like me,” Crowley reminds him, finally turning to face him, and the shame hits like a punch to the stomach.

Aziraphale rises to his feet, on instinct, unnecessary, and meets Crowley at the end of the coffee table. He takes his wine, letting Crowley put the bottle on the coffee table, fiddling, fussing, not wanting to sit, not wanting the distance back, not wanting to commit to sitting together as if that isn’t what this whole conversation, at its heart, is about.

“I… I was scared,” Aziraphale admits, in for a penny in for a pound, true honesty not being something one can provide in moderation then retreat. Heaven has shown its cards. There is no more risk to openness, no more excuse to pull away.

“Understandable,” Crowley nods, and Aziraphale wishes he weren’t wearing those bloody sunglasses, because if he’s going to spill his heart out then for God’s sake he will at least see Crowley’s eyes while he does it! “The punishment was hellfire, after all. I was there.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t scared of that,” Aziraphale admits. Then, helplessly, scolds: “Oh do take off your glasses, Crowley!”

He’s certain Crowley rolled his snake eyes, if that were possible, but he cannot see them until a moment later, when the glasses are in Crowley’s pocket and his full face is revealed. “Better, angel?”

“Much,” Aziraphale sighs, happy, delighted, smiling, God, it’s ridiculous how Crowley’s proximity can bring a smile to his face even in such a difficult, tense moment. He’s grateful for the slight crack in the tension, too, for a moment to breathe.

“You’re braver than I am, then,” Crowley murmurs, returning to their previous topic. “I’ve been terrified of what Hell might do if they caught on for centuries.”

“I mean, I was scared of the hellfire,” Aziraphale corrects himself. “But… not only that.”

“Gabriel’s withering stare?” Crowley suggests, lightly. “A promotion back to head office, away from your books and your sushi? Being forced onto harp duty for a few centuries?”

Aziraphale fights the smile threatening to spread across his face. “Oh do be serious,” he mutters instead. “I was scared that… that you were right. And of what it would mean that you were right.”

“I was right,” Crowley reminds him. “And the world did not, in fact, end, which proves I was right.”

He hasn’t returned to his seat. They’re standing a little awkwardly, just a little too close, wine glasses held between them.

“Yes, but you had been right for some time,” Aziraphale replies. “Since at least the fifteen-hundreds, possibly since the Garden. We had been our own side since well before the Antichrist’s birth, I was just… well, I had always been too scared to admit it.”

Crowley thinks about that. Aziraphale watches the emotion play over his expressive face, his lips pursing then relaxing, thoughtfulness, confusion, a little sadness, a little anger, his head bowed, his snake-eyes unreadable.

Aziraphale nearly jumps out of his skin when something touches his free hand: Crowley’s fingers, tangling with his. They’ve never held hands like this before: never in private, never in the warm semi-dark of his lamp-lit sitting room, never without a good reason.

“Angel, I-“

“And that has always been terrifying, because…” he rushes on, his eyes on their hands and his lips loosened by the rush of warmth through his whole body at the contact, so much more potent than mere alcohol. “Well, because if that were true, that you were integral to me, then I’d have to admit to being scared of losing you. Much safer to stay loyal to Heaven, and pretend you gave a damn about Hell, and forget the whole idea.”

A breath, a pause, he could stop here, he could leave it here, this is enough, this is all Crowley needs to hear, but now the fight is to keep his mouth shut and stem the tide and he fails and: “Much easier to pretend I didn’t… love you.”

The silence now is deep, tense, but comfortable, like a heavy blanket, like the glow of a hearth, like love, but not celestial love, no, material love, personal love, love that grows in the warmth and the dark where nobody’s looking, that belongs only to those who feel it, that is possessive and generous and earthly, neither blessed nor damned. Aziraphale doesn’t need to breathe, and yet he finds his lungs constrict anyway, as he waits for Crowley to say anything, anything at all.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley murmurs. That’s all he says, just that, and yet it’s everything. It’s like the first time, like on the garden wall, a release from doubt, a benediction from an unlikely corner, relief pouring through him. Then, like a snake in the Garden of Eden, doubt, sadness, loss: “That’s what angels do, isn’t it? Love everything. Trust you to take it too far.”

“What?” Aziraphale blinks, confused, trying to work out where in the name of the Almighty Crowley has gotten the message confused. “No, no, I don’t mean in an angelic way. I mean like…” he can’t get his thoughts straight, all jumbled, and Crowley is so close and their hands are still all tangled up and blast it, Crowley has been literally inside his body, and he’s so clever, so why is he choosing this moment out of six thousand years of moments to be so stupid? “Oh bugger this."

Aziraphale surges, half-falls, forward, and kisses him, full on the mouth. It takes his too-new brain a moment to catch up with what he is doing, and why, and how, and that he is kissing Crowley, that Crowley has leaned instinctively toward him and is kissing him back. Then there are some rather ostentatious fireworks exploding behind his eyes, and a rich, syrupy warmth floods through Aziraphale at the sensation of Crowley’s soft, cool lips moving gently, lovingly against his, and that young heart of his pounds in his chest.

It’s a brief kiss, startled, inexperienced, chaste, over in a moment after what Aziraphale was coming to realise had been six thousand years of build-up. It is utterly remarkable.

He pulls back, and has the pleasure of watching Crowley’s eyes flicker open, dazed, confused.

“Like that!” Aziraphale says, decisively, triumphantly, his point proven. “There, I don’t kiss everything like-mmph!”

He is cut off by Crowley slamming his mouth back against his, his eyes slamming closed a second too late, another kiss, deeper this time, overwhelming, Crowley’s lips caressing his, passionate. Two hands at his neck, one creeping into his hair, holding him closer, holding him still, and it is all Aziraphale can do to angle his head slightly and follow Crowley’s lead and let himself be kissed. If the first one had been fireworks, then this one is a forest fire, and he is happily, willingly consumed by it.

He lifts one hand to Crowley’s cheek, and just holds it there, gentle, his thumb stroking the sharp cheekbone. Crowley makes the most beautiful, intoxicating little noise in the back of his throat, and opens his mouth, and suddenly his soft tongue is stroking Aziraphale’s and he can’t help but gasp, the sensation at once wonderful and unbearable.

He pulls back a moment later, his head reeling. “You were saying, Aziraphale?”

Crowley says his name so rarely, only when his mask slips in times of great seriousness, and it’s a shame because it sounds inexplicably delicious in that low rumble of his. Aziraphale gathers his bearings as quickly as he can. “I was saying that I’ve never been all that good at that impersonal all-encompassing divine love, and what I feel for you… well, it’s always been really rather personal with us, hasn’t it?”

“Just a little, yeah,” Crowley murmurs. He's smiling; Aziraphale's heart stammers. “C’mere, angel.” His lips cover Aziraphale’s once more, and all thought is smothered in static, and belonging, and love, so powerful he’s amazed he hasn’t sensed it before.

He can’t get the thought out of his mind: the love rolling from Crowley in crashing, deafening waves, why had he never sensed it before? How could he possibly have been so blind to this? Now it’s smothering his senses, drowning out everything except for Crowley and I love you and finally!

They kiss for long moments, Crowley’s lips caressing and plucking at his, Crowley’s tongue licking and teasing at his, with far more skill than Aziraphale’s enthusiastic, unpractised fumbling can manage. He’s thankful Crowley seems to know what he’s doing, because Aziraphale’s hands have started to tremble, and it’s taking all his divine willpower to prevent his knees from buckling under him.

Crowley finally pulls away – well, he disengages his beautiful mouth from its even-more-beautiful activities to speak, but nothing else about his action could be described as ‘pulling away’, given that his hands remain firmly on Aziraphale’s neck, and not a sliver of daylight could have found its way between their bodies. But Crowley’s lips do pull back, and it gives Aziraphale just a moment of vague lucidity to process the colossal shift in the world around him.

“Is it going to sound disgustingly cliché if I say I’ve been waiting six thousand years to do that?” Crowley murmurs, a gorgeous smile tugging at his lips. There’s something so intoxicating about that attitude of his, breathtaking sincerity cloaked in a thick layer of swagger and charisma. The latter lends itself willingly to irony, which easily masks and distorts the former, and Aziraphale has been thoroughly remiss: he has used it as an escape far too many times.

“Oh, darling,” he sighs. Crowley’s eyes flick up to his, a sudden moment of aching vulnerability that clutches at Aziraphale’s heart. Oh yes, nothing divine and all encompassing about this: this is personal, this is earthly, this is, for lack of a better term, human. “I know you have.”

“Bollocks you knew,” Crowley snorts, rolling his eyes, fighting that genuine, beautiful, face-splitting grin Aziraphale adores, and failing miserably. “I’ve been subtle, I’ve been hiding it, remarkably well, I would add. You just can’t admit that I fooled you this long.”

Aziraphale’s jaw drops. He sputters, half-laughter, half-astonishment, a sprinkling of genuine offence, which is entirely the response Crowley was looking for, he supposes. He kisses Crowley again, surprising him, then pulls back to cry: “I beg your pardon! You have not been subtle: you have been painfully obvious! I’ve just been… well, a coward I suppose.”

“You can literally sense love and you can’t lie to save the world and yet you’re telling me you knew this entire time and just… what? Pretended not to? Give me a break, angel.“

“Yes that’s exactly what I’m saying, if you’d give me a moment to think.” Aziraphale steps back, takes his wine glass, drinks, misses the heat and skittering spark of Crowley’s hands on him the moment they’re gone. The answer is obvious, now that his mind has been given a second to catch up.

He takes a seat on the sofa, bracing his trembling hands on his knees, gesturing for Crowley to follow. Crowley sprawls next to him – well, half on top of him really, one inch to the left and he’d be in Aziraphale’s lap, his long legs swung over Aziraphale’s knees, like an overgrown cat staking a claim. Aziraphale’s heart stutters again. “I’m not saying… I’m not trying to say that I’ve been walking around for six millennia fully aware that… that this was a possibility.”

“Okay,” Crowley’s eyes narrow, confused again. He gives a lazy grin, his eyes gleaming, and oh, Aziraphale can barely think straight. “This, being…” Crowley leans forward, and presses a kiss to a sensitive place just below Aziraphale’s ear. Aziraphale’s eyes flutter just for just a moment, his skin tingling unbearably, wonderfully, under Crowley’s lips. “This sort of thing?”

“Yes… yes that sort of thing,” Aziraphale swallows. “This whole… our being in love, business.”

“Yes,” Crowley all but purrs, another kiss, and then another, one arm slung over Aziraphale’s shoulder, Crowley’s tongue gently stroking the shell of his ear, and dear heaven above the sensations that’s causing through Aziraphale’s body are delicious, and addictive. His treacherous mind can come up with a thousand ways these sensations could be applied elsewhere, a thousand distinct and wonderful and entirely earthly ways to lose himself in Crowley, and none of them are an aid to concentration.

“You’re being terribly distracting here, darling. I’m trying to apologise for six thousand years of distance and-“

“And here I am,” Crowley’s grin is delicious against Aziraphale’s skin. “More interested in closing that distance.”

“It’s interference!” Aziraphale squeaks, shudders, as Crowley nips at his earlobe, supernaturally sharp teeth soothed with a flick of his warm tongue. A hand has crept back into Aziraphale’s hair.

“That’s one word for it,” Crowley agrees, easily. “Doesn’t it feel good to be interfered with?”

“No!” Aziraphale yelps, and Crowley pulls back as if he’s been burned, a hundred emotions flickering across his face. “No I mean, yes, yes it does, it feels quite remarkably good.”

“Oh,” Crowley’s smirk returns as quickly as it had left. He reclines back, just his long fingers still combing through Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale resists – then, purposely, ceases to resist the urge to lean his head into Crowley’s hand, the sensation of his fingers lightly stroking and scratching his scalp simply too good to resist at all. “You were saying, angel?” Crowley prompts, generously, “Interference?”

“The… the feeling of love,” Aziraphale explains, struggling to keep his thoughts in line, to keep his traitorous new body from arching against Crowley’s and losing itself in sensation. He always did have an issue with self-control, a terrible trait in an angel, although he thinks his hedonism probably something that draws him and Crowley together so he can’t regret it too much. “I… I’ve always been able to sense my own as well as anyone else’s. The bookshop has always felt terribly loved, and that’s because it’s my home.”

He turns his head, until he’s looking Crowley directly in the eye, and dear heaven above how did he miss it all this time? The sheer force of the open, naked emotion in those yellow eyes, how devoted, how loving, how longing… well, it’s quite breathtaking.

“I knew I loved you,” he says, softly. Crowley’s throat bobs, his hand clenching just a little, perfectly, against Aziraphale’s scalp. “I- it was easier, when I sensed it coming from you, to assume instead that it was all from me. Plausible deniability, you know? I knew but…”

“But you didn’t want to know,” Crowley says, heavily. “I understand, angel. The risks for you were always higher… you can only Fall once after all.”

“It’s not an excuse,” Aziraphale insists. “It’s intended as an explanation, to elaborate on an apology. You were always right. We ought always to have been our own side.”

Crowley nods. For once – for perhaps the first time in six thousand years – he seems truly at a loss for words.

“I love you,” Aziraphale says again. “In a way that has nothing to do with heaven, except perhaps as a metaphor for how I feel when I’m around you.” Crowley gives a delicious lopsided smile at that, and Aziraphale is sure – although perhaps he’s just projecting – that he can see the tinge of a blush on Crowley’s sharp cheekbones. “I am in love with you, darling,” he murmurs, shifting closer, pulling so Crowley is almost entirely in his lap and he can press their foreheads together. “And I have been for a very long time.”

“Took you long enough,” Crowley grumbles, and then ruins it by beaming.

Aziraphale smiles, and returns his hand to where it belongs – holding Crowley’s cheek – and his mouth to where it belongs – kissing Crowley with reckless abandon, making up for lost time.

#good omens #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fic #writing #fanfiction #fanfic

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notwhelmedyet · 5 years

Text

Crowley and Aziraphale Guest On A House Hunting Reality Show (pt 1/2)

“So that was our challenge. To find a Scottish vacation home for under 1.6 million pounds, which can make our bookshop owner and botanical life coach willing to reconcile their wildly conflicting tastes.”

Crowley decides to mess with some reality television producers on a lark. Aziraphale joins him because, well, a little vacation home down in Wales would be quite nice, wouldn’t it? (also on ao3 here )

We open on a pair of young women in huge sunhats sitting on a porch as the logo Summer Seekers splashes across the screen with a CGI wave of water. One woman is wearing a jean romper and lounging on the porch swing. This is Samantha. The other woman is standing by the railing in a sundress covered in cartoon fish. This is Eileen.

Eileen: Welcome back to Summer Seekers, your favorite show about Britons on the prowl for vacation properties. I'm Eileen, and this is Samantha—

Samantha: And we’re your hosts!

Eileen: And let's not waste any more time on introductions, we’ve got a lot to get through today. Our guests this week are a pair of longtime friends out of London, who have only recently started cohabitating. Zira is a bookseller who runs an antiquarian shop. Normally we would play you some footage of Zira's shop but he—

Samantha: Absolutely refused to tell us where it is.

Cut to Aziraphale, sitting in an office with his hands clasped primly in his lap.

Caption: Zira Fell, bookseller

Aziraphale: Oh absolutely not. I don't want the whole of the country knowing where the place is. We have a reputation for being, you know, one of those quiet little corners of London that absolutely knows about and thus cannot tell their friends about. We have a minimal contingent of browsers and that’s the way we like it.

Aziraphale: If you want some footage of me in a bookshop, pretending to put books on shelves we can do that anywhere. It would be like a field trip. I've been meaning to pop over to Pordes or Jarndyce, or even Peter Harrington’s shop. Oh and I've heard rumors that Skoob Books acquired some first edition copies of—

Cut back to our hosts, sitting on the Summer Seekers porch. They've acquired drinks since we cut away, little pink bubbly drinks with umbrellas in them.

Samantha: Which is the story of how I lost five hours of my life following Mr. Fell around the back alleys of London in search of "wonderful treasures".

She makes air quotes with her hands.

Samantha: We're going to play some of that footage now, because I didn't waste that much time for none of it to make it into the show.

Aziraphale in a bookshop, taking a book off a shelf and then putting it back on the shelf. He winks at the camera as he shelves the book.

Aziraphale in another bookshop, holding a stack of books in his arms.

Zira in another bookshop, handing off a stack of books as tall as a toddler to Samantha.

The footage speeds into fast forward as we cut to: a book shop another bookshop, Aziraphale having an impassioned argument with a bookseller, Aziraphale inside a crepe shop waving excitedly at the camera through the window, Aziraphale flipping through the pages of a book and then passing it onto the stack of books Samantha is holding, a figure in dark sunglasses waiting on a bench outside a bookshop besides two cardboard file boxes filled to the brim with manuscripts—

Freezeframe. The camera zooms in on Crowley.

Eileen: This is Crowe. Anthony Crowe. They’re Mr. Fell's partner. He’s a...motivational speaker—

Crowley sitting in the aforementioned office, with the chair turned backwards and his chin resting on the back of the chair. He's grinning.

Crowley: Yes, exactly. A motivational speaker for plants. Though of course, as a profession we prefer to be referred to as Botanical Life Coaches. Do you do little blurbs with people’s names on them when they’re introduced? I want that on my blurb.

Caption: Anthony Crowe. Botanical Life Coach

Samantha: Mr. Crowe is a literal angel and I can never thank him enough for rescuing me from that shopping nightmare—

Cut to Crowley, an arm around Aziraphale's shoulder as he steers him gently out of the bookshop. The camera follows behind as they talk.

Crowley: You've had your fun, you can't keep them here all day.

Aziraphale: This was your idea, I don't see why I can't do a little window shopping whilst we're out and about. Plus, it's educational! I read in the paper the other day that youths like these spend all their time reading things on their phones in hieroglyphics.

Crowley: You know what I told you. If a newspaper article...

Aziraphale, rolling his eyes: Has the word “millennial” in the tile I should light it on fire. Yes, well, I'm not running around setting papers on fire, it's unseemly.

Crowley: Well, set it on fire metaphorically. Set it on fire inside your brain. Presume it was written by—I don't know, Gabriel, or some similarly out-of-touch old fogey. Oy, cameraman, do you read books?

Hesitant voice from behind the camera [this is Troy]: Uh, yeah. I'm following this podcast on Paradise Lost so I've been reading that lately.

Crowey: And do you read Paradise Lost in emoji or any other symbolic script?

Troy: Uh, no sir. I read it in English. (muttering) Why did I just call him sir?

Crowley: See?

Aziraphale: Oh fine. Have it your way. Back to the office, then?

Cut to our hosts on the porch.

Eileen: So our guests this week are looking for a vacation home up in Scotland.

Aziraphale in the office, frowning.

Aziraphale: I thought we agreed on Wales.

Crowley: Nope. Sssscotland.

Aziraphale: You know it's colder in Scotland.

Crowley: Well that's what you're for.

Aziraphale blushes.

We cut to Eileen, making significant eye contact at the camera. She looks over at Samantha and winks.

Eileen: So, we're looking for a small two bedroom property with "plenty of storage space", "a sunroom", “built in bookshelves” and a porch. And as for budget..."

Aziraphale looking quite surprised.

Aziraphale: Oh yes, budget. Of course. I don't think we have a budget, do we Crowl—Crowe?

Crowlely: Money's not really a thing I spend much time worrying about.

Aziraphale glances at the camera and, seeming to sense they've said something wrong, leans close to Crowley and hisses.

Aziraphale: Well, make a number! We can't just not have a budget. That's weird. Peculiar. Suspicious.

Crowley: How am I to know how much humans typically spend on real estate?

Aziraphale: Well, look it up! On your phone or whatever.

Crowley: Oh, very well, Angel.

Extended shot of Crowley scrolling on his smartphone. He's given up on sitting in his chair at all and has slumped over sideways so that his upper body is resting on Aziraphale's lap. Occasionally he turns the phone around to show him something.

Cut to Crowley, sitting upright in his chair with his hands clasped in his lap in perfect imitation of Aziraphale.

Crowley: Our budget is 1.6 million pounds. I'm hoping to find something for less, but, you know, if we found something that Zira really had his heart set on...

Eileen: So why did you decide to guest on Summer Seekers?

Crowley: Well me and zira have always had very different taste in architecture. And interior decorating. And just about everything else. Compromising on something is going to be a deliciousss challenge.

Aziraphale: Well, me and Anthony have had a really rough year of it, but we pulled through, you know? World didn't end, we made it. And I just feel like we deserve something nice for a change. Someplace where we could be all alone, stretch out, spread our wings—if that's a saying? But Crowl—Crowe isn’t very good at admitting what he wants. I'm hoping that, together, we can draw that out of him and find a place that not only satisfies his taste for the infernally dramatic but a place where he can be truly comfortable. You know?

Cut to our hosts on the porch.

Samantha: So that was our challenge. To find a Scottish vacation home for under 1.6 million pounds, which can make our bookshop owner and botanical life coach willing to reconcile their wildly conflicting tastes. Simple enough, right?

As the music starts in for the next segment of the show, both of our hosts stare sullenly at the camera.

Eileen: Oh yes, no trouble at all.

She says this with the same voice a person might say, “I dreamed of being a professional architect but instead have found myself hosting a reality television show about rich people being indecisive asses and every night I imagine hurling myself into the sea and being rescued by an attractive and incredibly strong lesbian mermaid who will carry me away to her home beneath the waves. She looks remarkably like my co-host Samantha but she’s not dating my ex-wife.”

Or something to that effect.

#to be continued #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #fanfiction #my fics #I WILL GO BACK TO MY ACTUAL PROJECT NOW I PROMISE

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