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jaketsparrow · 2 months

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SOMETHING... | JTK

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f! Reader

Word Count: 10.6K

Summary: When you have to say goodbye to your professor and mentor, a cocky young professor steps in, Jacob Kiskza. Literature used to be your safe place, but now you feel him getting involved in every corner; it doesn’t help that you’re his TA. You deny yourself every opportunity to fall for him until…

A/N: Hi guys :) I know it’s been forever since I’ve put something together and I apologize about that, but this is life. This one has been on my mind since the Grammy U interview and I finally had the idea to put it all together. I hope you enjoy :)

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*Also I'm so sorry I lost my tag list so if you want to be tagged here's a new form* Taglist

MINORS DNI

MENTIONS OF/ TW: Sexual content (of course), talks about death/grief, angst, swearing, Dom! Jake, restraints, possible orgasm denial, choking, alcohol use, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, ~some~ degrading, praise kink!, I’m sorry if I missed anything, but, etc, it’s filth.

The classroom was cold in the early months of the year. You had gotten in the habit of wearing your coat through the 3-hour seminar. You were lucky that this class only ran once a week, but you often had to stay longer than the students, working with the professor for a few hours afterward. He was always elusive. Always eager to get things done as fast as possible; efficient and snappy.

There was much to admire about him, but his personality often left you rolling your eyes. He always seemed a bit too sure about himself, always being the tough grader, pushing students further than they were willing to go. He cared a lot, especially about the subject matter. He still had that gusto in him to do things right, to be stern.

He was new to the program; and before this, only about a year into teaching. You studied under his predecessor. She was a kinder old woman who cared deeply for you, like your mother away from home. She taught you everything- and even got you to change majors during your sophomore year. She supplemented your reading supplies, nurtured your abilities, and was always willing to sit in deep conversation with you. Discussing the classics, introducing modern pieces, talking about life, talking about it all.

Professor Kiszka on the other hand…

When he took over for Professor Meelo, he took very little time to rip the bandaid off. When you had originally been promised a TA position in the literature department, you were expected to be under your mentor, not a cocky white man.

You spent weeks crying during winter break after first meeting him. The day you met him didn’t go exactly as you hoped. It was the week of finals when you found out Meelo was sick, and that she was stepping away from teaching. As if finals week wasn’t stressful enough, you had to come to terms with the fact that the woman who taught you everything was going to be leaving this world sooner than you would’ve thought. It was even more of a punch in the gut to walk into your introduction meeting to see… him.

3 Months Ago

The walk across campus felt heavier than usual. The winter had been harsher than it usually was in early December. The wind whipped across your bare rosy cheeks, causing freezing tears to slowly fall out of the corners of your eyes. Almost like a bad omen, the weather continued to get worse as you sludged your way across the quad.

The parking lot was nearly a mile away from campus, which was nice during the warmer months; the trees would sway across the crosswalk, blessing the sidewalk with fallen flowers and leaves. The grass was green and lively, a welcome mat onto a wonderful learning home. Between the cracks of the stone walkways, little dandelions would grow. You never understood the people who thought them to be unnecessary weeds. They were bright and yellow lively plants, and when the time of beauty passed, they passed their good wishes onto you. Blowing what once were vibrant petals into the wind. Who knew you’d miss the weeds on your walks?

Instead, now the stones were smeared with remnants of snowy footprints, broken earth that had been cracked through with the force of shovels, and the remnants of the dead earth.

Meelo called you just last week. You begged to go see her in the hospital, but she didn’t want you to worry too much. She agreed to call you every other day, just like your usual coffee arrangements. She loved them just as much as you did. She never had a husband or any children. Her students were her children, her soul was fed enough through changing lives that she didn’t want to take away that love from her students or prevent any child from feeling all of it. You were not the first to bear their soul in her office, but you might be one of the last.

Meelo begged you to go meet the new professor. You had tried to rescind your TA position, but she blocked you at every chance she got. Even while in hospice she still managed to look out for you…

“Please, sweetheart. I know it’s not easy. But he’s young, he’s smart, I think you’ll have a lot in common with him,” She pleaded through the phone.

“But he’s not you. I just, I thought… I thought I’d have more time…” Your voice trailed off.

You tried to hold the phone away from your face, trying not to distress her more with the sounds of your whimpers and tears.

Her voice started again, “You never know what you will learn from him. You have more time with me, but there comes a time when a teacher must share her students for them to learn more. If we stayed in our echo chamber together my dear I’m afraid you wouldn’t learn everything you need to know. Jacob is going to be a great professor, and I know you will learn a lot from him. His research and analysis work is quite extensive. The school and I hired him for a reason. Please. Just give it a try. For me.”

“Just for you.”

And here you were trudging through, feeling every bone in your body telling you to turn around, to go home. But you were doing this not for you, you reminded yourself. For Meelo. She was right, you latched on to her from your early years in college and favored her over all of your other professors. They were kind and nice as well, but it didn’t matter to you in the end, if they weren’t Meelo, they were never going to compare.

The building seemed colder than usual. The large glass windows were covered by their shades; no one wanted to see the gross state of life outside of the classroom. That’s hardly motivating to any student, the fluorescents would give more life than the grey state of the weather.

You pull the door open, walk through the entryway, and follow your usual path down the hallway to Meelo’s room.

The thing about old colleges, everywhere you turn is a little piece of history. Each room has housed many professors and many students. The building had life, had ghosts of its own hidden in each brick, in each stone. You felt the comfort of this presence moving through the hallway.

You stop right before Meelo’s room, catching your breath before you enter. Trying to have an open mind. Kiszka could be something, or he could just be another man throwing words at you. Not that all men were the same, but a majority of the male professors here were lackluster, favoring the male students and the athletes who needed the better grades to stay in the school. And if they favored the women… You always felt a cold chill thinking about that. Thinking about why…

One last deep breath before you enter the classroom. You grab tight onto the handle of your tote bag and strut confidently into the room.

It was empty.

The beautiful artwork and posters that Meelo had filling the room were stripped. Revealing the natural state of the architecture. It was beautiful in its own way but didn’t feel like the educational home you once felt so blessed to be in. The desks were all shoved to one side of the classroom. The previous welcoming U-shape was demolished, instead providing a cluttered destruction of Meelo’s work.

You stood awestruck in the shape of the room. There was no time wasted between Meelo leaving and Kiszka starting to make his mark on the room. The bookshelves that used to be filled in the back of the room had been emptied and their contents sat on the floor in boxes.

You walk over to the boxes, kneeling to gently sift through the carelessly placed books. This was Meelo’s library that she had collected for the classroom. Take a book, leave a book, borrow a book, bring it back. You loved visiting this wall every week, seeing what books your peers were interested in, and which books made their way into the library. Some new, and some returning after long months away.

Sitting on top of the box was the classic “Brave New World”. Aldous Huxley. 1932. Not an original copy, but a new binding. It was like the universe was sending you signs. This would be a brave new world. A world where you might have to come to terms with the fact that Meelo would not be in your life forever. A world where you might have to figure out everything with a new mentor. A world where you thought you would have years to work on your pieces with a woman who understood you, but now you would turn over your heartfelt pieces to a man. One who may not understand you the same as someone else does.

“A favorite of yours?” A voice perks up from the doorway.

You turn to see him. Your eyes work your way up his figure. He’s wearing Chelsea boots, black thick linen pants, a white loose shirt with a black vest, and a dress coat over it. His chestnut hair lays over the shoulders of the coat, and his eyes are covered by circular gold-rimmed sunglasses. He oozes mystery. His arms crossed, surveying your crouched body by the boxes. You hate to admit it, but he may be one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.

You hold up the book towards him, displaying the cover.

“Not particularly. I don’t like thinking about the takeover of technology. It feels too real right now.” You respond.

He wanders over to you, taking his time, each step creating the most annoying echo in the emptied classroom. He reaches his hand out to yours, asking silently for the book. You hand it over to him and stand to match his level.

He passes the book between his hands, admiring the binds, “Ah, yes, but perhaps something can be learned from the book if more understood its warning… if only more read it…”

“If only…” You let the conversation trail off. Your eyes wander back to the pile of desks on the opposite wall. You feel yourself zoning out, focused only on the change of the room, not on the man in front of you.

“-Your favorite?” He asks.

You snap back to the conversation, trying to recall the beginning of his question, “I’m sorry?

“If this is not your favorite, can I ask which is?” He waves you to walk with him.

You follow him into the office at the back of the classroom. He sits in Meelo’s chair, and you sit in the chair that had held you so many times. You wouldn’t be surprised if the cushion had a you-shaped imprint in it at this point.

He asks a third time, “You don’t seem like the Jane Eyre or Louisa May student, so what is it?”

You let your bag fall off your shoulder and you try to sit up in the chair, asserting some sort of professionalism. Your answer will hold some sort of judgment for him. Although you want to be offended by his comment about the female author’s classics, he’s right. They were never your favorite.

“Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Meelo gave it to me as my first assignment.” You respond, confident in your answer.

He nods in approval, “Lovely choice, very telling. Meelo said you were very bright–one for the classics.”

He leans back in his chair, stroking his chin. His hand reaches up to the gold-rims and pulls them off, clattering onto the desk. He pulls himself towards the desk, resting his elbows on the table.

“Are you going to ask me mine?” He asks, almost presumptuously.

You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Of course, he has to find a way to be important here. You adjust yourself in your seat, crossing your arms in the process.

“If you want me to know, why don’t you just say it?” You retort.

He chuckles to himself, “Lord of the Rings.”

Your mouth falls so far open that you’re afraid a fly might buzz its way in. You lift your hand to your mouth and try to hide your disapproval.

“That’s a classic for sure.” You reply, “Not one I would’ve expected from a college literature professor, but a classic nonetheless.”

He pushes himself off the desk, running his hands through his long locks before they make their way onto the arms of the seat.

“You don’t approve?” He scoffs.

“I didn’t say that, I just said it’s not one that I would expect.”

“I believe there is a difference between a personal and professional favorite. A favorite you could read over and over again, and you could enjoy without having to think too much about what it all means. it’s an adventure, its heroes and legends, it’s a call for relaxation and enjoyment. I’d rather have my favorite be a well-known classic than a deep thought-provoking story about purity.”

You fight every urge in you to slap the man sitting before you for disgracing such a beautiful novel. But you think about Meelo. You think about stepping outside of the echo chamber.

“I think we may have different opinions on favorites, Professor Kiszka.” You say shortly.

You feel the tension grow between you already. This would be a difficult semester. Even more difficult because as you felt your dislike for him grow, you couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful man sitting in front of you. His brown eyes stared deep into you, trying to assess his new assistant. You tried not to let him in too far. You were not fawning for him, at least you weren’t trying to. You wanted to fight off the growing warmth crying to spread through you. It was like seeing a handsome stranger in the bar; you knew the danger, but almost didn’t want to let yourself protect your heart.

He was by far the youngest professor here, and the most eligible. No ring was on his finger.

“Please, call me Jacob.”

You stood up from your seat, throwing your bag over your shoulder. You try to compose yourself enough not to let any distaste escape from your lips.

“Sorry, Professor Kiszka, I have finals I need to finish, it was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you in January. If you need anything from me before then, I believe the dean gave you my information.”

You reach your hand out awkwardly, trying to invite a handshake. He cautiously reaches his hand back, pulling you into a firm, but still gentle handshake.

His eyes meet yours. The deep brown staring into you. Although you should have the power from your standing position, you knew he held all the cards from his seat. The handshake lingered longer than you had expected, both of you locked deep into staring each other down. He finally releases his hand.

“It was a pleasure.” You start to leave the office, but he makes one last remark, “Oh, one last thing…”

You turn to face him, “Yes professor?”

He reaches into the desk and pulls out a cloth-bound book, handing it to you. You slowly return to the desk, taking the book from his hand—the Lord of the Rings.

“Try it for me? You do have a whole winter break…”

You rub your hands over the cover, smiling at his request. You place the book back in his hand.

“I used to read it as a child. No need to give it a try when you’ve read it four times already.” You smile at him.

Even if it wasn’t your favorite, didn’t mean it wasn’t a favorite.

Present

In some ways, your relationship with him felt like a love-lost marriage. Just moving through the motions. You sat in on the classes and took note of who engaged, and who didn’t. You graded assignments, tests, and papers, with him always double-checking and doubting your work. You didn’t sit in on long conversations with him like Meelo. Perhaps some of that was your fault, always quick to get to work. He adjusted to you quickly, understanding how you needed to work, and letting you grieve.

Meelo passed quickly into the semester. You cried once in front of him when the news broke. You nearly snapped his head off when he asked if he could help you. From that moment on he took on this cold persona, but you don’t blame him at all. You knew in your heart that you would not have the same connection with him as Meelo, so it was easier to never try.

Through everything, your work never faltered, and your school work remained the priority. Perhaps it was a way to hide through all the pain but the calculated steps it took to grade provided a soothing rhythm amongst the distress.

You never failed to notice all the times you caught him catching glances at you. You were silly to think that it meant anything more than just a quick look, but still maybe somewhere in your heart, you had hoped that maybe he was thinking of you more than his assistant. For weeks you watched him stroll into class, always wearing a disheveled but somehow put-together outfit. You loved seeing how he would piece together different clothes from his collection. Never repeating an exact outfit, but always finding new ways to repurpose the same items.

One day he walked in with a new addition to his look, a cluster of pendants on a necklace. They looked older, more worn in than any new silver. You asked him about it briefly, trying not to engage in a further conversation.

“They’re coins, Spanish coins, designed after ones from the 1600s. I think the jeweler lied to me when he said they were originals, but they still look okay… Do you think so?

“You look like a pirate.” You responded.

A sexy pirate. You shoved that thought deep into the back of your mind. Holding on to it, because you didn’t want to forget how good he looked.

His Thursday classes were always one of the better ones. This was one that you had to take yourself for your graduate program. There was no TA’ing involved as that would be a huge conflict of interest if you got to grade your papers. You chose to sit in the back corner of the class by the window, in hopes that when spring rolls around you could watch the foliage return. The unfortunate thing about this choice was the waiting. February was colder than you had expected and the windows provided no warmth.

When you were TA’ing you got to sit at the edge of the office and the classroom. Kiszka brought a space heater for you to place at the doorway. He joked he didn’t need his assistant ‘freezing to death’, because then ‘who would grade the papers’.

You tried your hardest to not let him favor you, but you knew he was someone who would be kind no matter how much you asked him to stop. He would leave books on the edge of his desk for you to read and when you tried to return them he declined and told you he already had a copy in his collection. You doubted that and always protested in fear that you thought you might lead him on. But in the end, it was always you walking out with a new book in your bag.

He was trying his hardest to get along with you. Some days it was easier and you would entertain his questions, but other days it was easier to be quick and move along. This relationship was not going to be a fairytale. You had already found your soulmate once, and you lost her. In your mind, there was no more room in your heart to let someone in. And why should you prepare space for someone if you truly don’t know if they want to be there?

This class although interesting became boring as the weeks went on. The class had fallen into a seasonal depression of sorts. Many like you had expected to have Meelo for the semester when you had booked your classes, so when Kiszka showed up and tried to shake things up… It wasn’t easy. He was skilled and smart, sure… But not the same. He craved involvement and wanted the class to join in with him, but often would push people further than they were willing to go. A room full of mid-20-year-olds was truly a space of burnout. Many of these students had already passed four, sometimes five years of school before they stepped into this class. They no longer have that lively interest in reading and analyzing literature but want to create their own.

“-And what was this author trying to convey through his use of metaphors?...” He asked from his commanding space at the front of the class, “No one?... No one picked up on this…? Or are you too scared to be wrong?”

Your attempts at fighting off eye-rolls also subsided the longer this course went on, and this roll came on hard. You’ve heard this line countless times through multiple classes. He wasn’t wrong, but he could at least find different ways to say the statement.

“Y/N? Care to enlighten everyone?” He calls to you, in need of saving the class who had lost attention nearly an hour ago.

“Sure. It’s a metaphor for how women are treated in society.” You answer.

He grits his teeth and sighs, “Not quite, but you’re close…”

You lift yourself from your slump, “No, that’s right. She is clearly trying to convey the expectations of women in society and how we are treated. As a female author, she leaves these metaphors to be very simple for female readers to understand. For males, it’s harder to grasp that the severity of these situations could imply the treatment of women, but that’s what she’s trying to explain.”

He clasps his hands together giving them a brief shake, “That class, that is how you analyze. Literature can be read in different ways by different readers. The author may have a clear intention of what they are trying to write, but others may be able to relate it to other aspects of their life. I have my own interpretation, and you all may have others. That is how this should be working. There is nothing wrong, with how you analyze, just that you have the knowledge to back it up…”

Every time you tried to make him out to be the bad guy, he ended up being in the right. You hated how smart he was. You hated how much you wanted to watch him while he stood up there. You hated how he wasn’t her. But you knew you didn’t want him to leave.

“So with that,” He continues, “Finish up the last few chapters and please come prepared with statements next week about your findings. I want you to dig deep; feel the author. I’ll see you next week.”

The class starts their shuffle for the door, while you meander to your usual spot at the doorway of the office. The next class wouldn’t be in for 20 minutes, but you would at least have time to warm up.

You click on the heater and walk over to Kiszka’s rolling desk chair. You take your coat off and rest it over the seat, pushing it over to the door. Kiszka finds his seat at the front of the classroom, pulling out his book of the week. He usually would try to follow you, asking you what you were reading, then the next day showing up to class with an identical copy. It was annoying and endearing how much he wanted to learn from you. You wondered if it upset him that you weren’t as keen on learning from him.

He confided in you that Meelo was an idol of his as well, and although he didn’t get to learn from her, he was going to try to through you.

You pull your copy of Anna Karenina from your bag and join him. Your chapters ahead of him, but you enjoy being one step in front of him.

You peep up from the back of the room, “I didn’t ask, but please tell me this isn’t your first time reading this.”

He lifts his head from the book slightly, eyes still skimming the page, “Third.”

You sigh in relief. That would’ve been embarrassing; for him.

You return to the book. You’re finding it harder to dive in today than usual, something is different… You see out of the corner of your eye that Kiszka has put down the book altogether, and you can sense him staring. This lasts a few moments, but you try to remain focused on the words, but catching yourself having to re-read the paragraphs; not processing the sentences you’ve already read.

A minute goes by and he hasn’t returned to his pages. Instead, you hear the squeak of his chair rolling over to his computer. A few clicks and a frenzy of taps on the keyboard.

“Hey.” He prods.

You look up again from the book. He peers at you over the edge of his computer and then closes it so he can see you better. He grasps his jaw lightly, stroking it in his hands.

“Yes?” You asked, trying not to seem annoyed by the interruption.

“Let’s go over your manuscript. I want to see it.” He continues.

No. It’s not time yet. You’ve been meticulously editing it for months now. He wasn’t supposed to read it until midterms, you were supposed to have more time…

You drop the book into your lap, “It’s not ready…” You close the book, “Also we have class in twenty minutes, you won’t be able to read it all by then.”

He stands up from his seat, straightening his vest out, “I canceled class. Pull it out.”

Two Hours Later

Some time had passed. You both sat in his office now. Him at… his… desk, and you still positioned by the heater at the door. At this point you were warm enough to finally take your sweater off, stripping down to a simple black t-shirt. You saw him staring through the pages when you pulled the sweater off. If he had looked any harder you think he might burn a hole through the book.

The office was silent except for the occasional click and clack of the heater, and the flickering of the candle on his desk. He flipped through the lightly bound pages while you continued through your reading. Every couple of minutes you could hear the stroke of his red pen hit the pages. The words or corrections will wait for you later. You could sit and scoff at them later in your apartment. The man said his favorite book was Lord of the Rings, how could you possibly trust his editorial judgment?

You had made it about a hundred or so pages through your book, which was slower than you would’ve liked. You still couldn’t breach the interferences. You thought the silence would help, but hearing his hums, his pen strokes, the occasional sip of scotch… It was all a distraction.

You couldn’t stop looking up from the book to watch him slyly admire your work. You knew your writing was good; Meelo had seen the early stages of it all. She heard the direction and loved every word… A complete sadness rushed over you thinking of how she would never see the final product.

Kiszka would adjust himself every few minutes; switching positions in his seat. You wanted to trust yourself enough not to look every time he shifted his hips, but those linen pants he loved so much left little to wonder about him. You had a closeness to him that you didn’t want to admit. As many differences as there were between you, there were just as many similarities. He was an outsider here; you could see that clearly. The other professors didn’t trust him because of his age- the students tried to walk all over him because of that too.

Even though you wanted to hate how pretentious he seemed, deep down you knew it was a facade to seem more studious to others. You saw the real him in glimpses. The kindness he offered to you that many others most likely wouldn’t have. Your youth and love for literature matched his perfectly, although you couldn’t always find the way to express it correctly. Your loyalty to Meelo prevented that at every chance.

Letting him read this manuscript was a big step that you didn’t fully even realize until he had reached the halfway point. You wanted to go and rip the pages out of his hand, throw them out the window, prevent him from seeing you too deeply… But something inside you needed to know what he thought of it.

Frustrated by your lack of progress, you lowered the book into your lap. You took this time to look around the room. It had changed so much since you had seen it back in December. Kiszka’s library had taken up the room, along with his record collection. When you would come by early in the morning to drop off the graded work, you would hear him playing some of it. Blues, rock, the classics. You never disturbed him during these times, it felt too intimate to interrupt. Instead, you would place the binder of essays on his classroom desk and scurry away before he could come to say hello.

You place your bookmark into the page opening. You calmly stand and place the book where you once sat. Quietly, you make your way over to his collection.

You see him peer up through the pages. Curious about your movements, watching you silently behind the manuscript.

You lower yourself to the floor, sifting through the jackets of the vinyls. Alphabetical. Of course. You make your way quickly through the a’s and land through the b’s. As cliche as it seems, you truly love Abbey Road, and of course, there it is front and center with the other Beatles albums. You pull it out from the shelf, removing the jacket carefully from the sleeve. You lift the vinyl out and place it on the record player. It’s a modern one, which feels very out of character for Kiszka. He always seemed like the type to randomly have every item of his be nothing newer than 20 years old.

You press play and lower the needle onto the music.

Come Together plays softly through the speakers. You turn to look back at him, seeing if there is any protest. Instead, he has the red pen out, slashing across the paper. You grit your teeth and try not to engage. You return to his collection, running your fingers along the remainder of the vinyl. The plastic tickles through your fingers, creating a click, click sound as each jacket releases from your hold.

Although you did want Kiszka to keep reading, you felt it was necessary to distract him, to try and persuade him to step away…

You continue from the vinyl collection, traipsing through the room. It’s like a library out of a movie, truly. You admired his office deeply and loved to gaze at it while he was lecturing. Sometimes when he was deep in his philosophy of literature speeches, you would lean back in the chair and try to read the book titles from afar. Your eyesight was good, but not good enough to make out the exact names of all of them. You never dared to peruse like this before, but this moment presented the perfect opportunity.

You were his captive for the remainder of his reading. Well… In all reality, you didn’t have to be here, but you didn’t dare leave that manuscript alone. It had been stored with you in your tote for the past month. You tried to take chunks of edits at a time, working through it yourself when you had time but didn’t want to share it with anyone until you felt that it was complete.

You tried to fight Kiszka off, but the notion of him canceling class meant that he found taking the time to do this very important…

The books that were displayed on these shelves were not the type of books that you would find at your local bookstore. They were older, worn in, some of them originals, even some you haven’t read yet. Maybe he did have some things that he could show you…

You make your way to the last set of bookshelves, rounding the back corner of the office. The last edge of the wall had his makeshift bar.

The liquor was all dark, amber-colored. Very manly, you thought to yourself. Bottles of whiskey and scotch lined the makeshift bar. Jack Daniels, Sazerac Rye, Macallan Double Cask… You recognized some of the labels.

Kiszka crept up behind you, “If you wanted a glass, you could’ve asked.”

He reaches down below you to fetch a rocks glass from the bar. He grabs the Macallan Double Cask and pours a finger for you. The alcohol flows effortlessly out of the bottle, barely splashing into the glass. He hands the glass to you, your hand brushing his. His touch is warm… Kind. He takes his other hand and grabs your shoulder, in a comforting way. You want to seem completely normal, but feel your cheeks getting rosy from the touch. You suck on your bottom lip and try to hide your face.

You take a large swig of the scotch, trying to be mindful of not wasting such a good drink. He looks at you, shocked at your ability to take it so easily.

“Wow. Good.” Is the only words he can mutter.

You smile meekly. The praise makes you feel undoubtedly shyer than you had just before.

“Are these originals?” You ask, pointing to the corner section of his library, “I couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to touch them if they were.”

“Many of them, yes,” He responds, “I trust that you would be gentle with them, please, which one were you curious about?”

You make your way over to the shelf, placing your drink down on the small table near the corner. You reach up to fold out the red bound book. Its title was completely faded from the binding, but we’re curious as to which one it was. He follows closely behind you, close enough to almost be on you.

He laughs, “Funny you should grab that..”

You open the cover to find Lord of the Rings printed in big black letters.

“Oh, dear god.” You sigh.

“It is an original if that makes you feel any better about it. I know you hate this book, but still-”

“No, no,” You protest, “I never said I hated it, I just said it wasn’t my favorite. Remember we have different opinions on that professor.”

He scoffs and takes the book from your hand. Rubbing the cloth binding with his thumbs.

“Want to know something funny?” He questions.

You did. You really did. You wanted the connection at this moment… For whatever cosmic reason it finally felt okay to banter with him. You nod your head, approving him to continue.

“I saw the movies before I read the books.” He laughs, “My brothers and I loved it, we were practically obsessed, but I was younger then and a stupid boy who didn’t read like I do now. Not the fairytale way most people find their favorite but it reminds me of childhood…”

You wanted to laugh, you wanted to make fun of him for it. But you knew that this was a special moment for him. A look into his past, a presentation for more. He places the book carefully back on the shelf, tucking it back into its spot.

“Well, I guess that makes more sense now. But, as a graduate professor, you ought to just say you like the pretentious shit. No one’s going to take you seriously.”

He turns from the shelf, “Who said I was worried about that? If I lie then I am a fraud. I don’t care if anyone says that.”

Oh fuck. His confidence is so intoxicating. He’s right. Why should he care?

“I just- I meant… I thought that the other professors-”

“You thought that they don’t take me seriously? Right. They don’t. In schools like this, you have to earn respect. I’m not an alumnus, I didn’t go to Harvard, but I do a damn good job at what I do. As much as you may protest some of my teaching, I know what I’m doing.”

He breezes past you and strolls back over to the bar to pour himself another drink. You reach back for yours and hold it between your hands, trying to collect yourself. You hope that you didn’t hurt him.

“Did I offend you?” You ask.

“‘Course not,” He takes a swig, “I just wish you would realize that it doesn’t matter what standards others hold you to. You are not someone else. You are you.”

“I know that.” You respond dryly. Your answer didn’t sound as confident as you wanted it to be. It came out unsure and desperate.

“Then why has your whole academic career been based on your relationship with one woman? Why must everything you do be for her?...”

You stand there silently. Completely struck with emotions. Anger, sadness, discouragement.

“She… She made me who I am,” You pipe, “She’s the reason I am in this program.”

He strolls back over to you, locking your eyes with his. It’s intimidating, this look he has on his face. He’s studying you, seeing how lost you feel. Truly for the first time you couldn’t even try to put up any walls. He had broken you down.

He places his hand on your shoulder again, “Can I show you something?” He asks.

Before you have time to even object to him, his hand moves from your shoulder to your waist, guiding you back towards his desk. You feel butterflies growing inside you.

No. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He is your advisor. He is not someone you should feel this way about. He’s trying to help you, he’s not interested in you.

The vinyl finishes its song and moves on to Something. He guides you into his seat. You place the glass down on the desk and wipe the condensation from your hands onto your thighs. He reaches over the desk and twirls the manuscript back in front of you. The pages sit open about two-thirds of the way through. He stands behind you, practically leaning on your back. His chest rests against your shoulder, pointing at the beginning of the page.

“See this paragraph here?” He questions.

You strain so hard to not melt at his touch. His hair is grazing your cheek. It smells wonderful, but you can’t admit that. He has this gentle but clean musk about him. He smells like a perfectly cared-for bookstore. A soft smell of tobacco and oak. The chains with pendants are draping over his neck, sparkling in the moonlight of the night, softly clanking together with his movement

You need to focus.

You respond, afraid that you waited too long, “Yes?” Your voice wavers, the lack of confidence creeping back through, “Is there something wrong with it?”

He turns to face you, “Yes. I have a big problem with it.”

You feel your heart sink. What could be wrong with it? The back half of the book is the best part, it is the part you feel most confident with. You feel confused. All of those walls and confidence you felt once in his presence were lost.

“What…? What problem?”

You look back at the pages, disregarding his closeness to you, pulling the bundle of paper back towards you, and flipping through to the previous pages. He puts his hand on yours, stopping you from searching. He lowers himself next to the seat, squatting to be at your eye level. His thumb wanders back and forth over your wrist.

He smiles a crooked and cunning smile, “It’s some of the best writing I’ve seen in years, and the author was too scared to even share it with anyone. She lost someone and had to do this all on her own. That’s terrifying, but it’s still her work. ”

You look at the hand holding yours. It’s strong but has a softness to it. It has a few rings sitting on them, but none a wedding band. You lower your head and release your wrist, grabbing it with your other hand. You sigh heavily and grasp your hands in front of the pages. Your hands travel up to hide your face, which presents a melancholic smile that you can’t let go of. You can’t tell if it’s the liquor or his presence, but you feel a glow coming from inside.

You rush your hands past your face and through your hair, resting your hands on the back of your neck. Scoffing, you turn to look at him. His amused smile is irresistible.

“You,” He starts, “Are an amazing writer.” His hand lifts from the pages and reaches up towards your cheek, holding your face in his palm, “And no matter who your teacher is, you can still do it on your own.”

Your hand finds its way up to his arm, holding him back. Staring longingly at each other. Both deep down knowing that this was about to lead down a path you couldn’t return from.

“Professor-” You initiate.

“Jacob.” He replies.

“Fine… Jacob. This- I… I don’t think.”

He quickly removes his hand from your face and comes to his senses. “Oh, dear, um… I’m so sorry y/n… I…”

You let yourself slump in the seat. How could you? How could you squander that moment? After years of wishing to find a man who was at least half as interested in literature as you… Here you are throwing it away. But you could be right to do so. He was your professor, you were his assistant, the moral implications of this all…

Jacob stands and leans back onto the desk, stroking his chin, concerned. Thinking about it all. You can see the nerves climbing through him. He feels embarrassed.

You reach your hand up to your face again, burying your emotions into your skin.

“I just thought- I, fuck.” He continues, “I thought we were turning a corner, I was looking and I thought I saw you-”

“You did.” You respond, “...I was looking.”

You lower your hand from your face to stare back at him. You put the manuscript back on the desk and stand.

“You… You were?” He searches for the answer.

“Jacob… For months I have looked. I didn’t want to like you. I didn’t want to admit that to myself. My mentor was my heart and soul, she was everything to me. I didn’t want to give you any chances because I didn’t want to lose someone like that again… I can’t handle that heartbreak. But…” You trail off.

“But?” He inquires.

You reach for the scotch glass and swirl the liquid around. Staring deep into the stormy amber.

“Fuck it.” You take the last of the scotch into your mouth and turn back to Jacob, “You… You are what I’ve wanted. I can’t deny the way I feel when it’s just us. When I see you deep in thought, when you push me to go further; when you challenge me. When we’re alone, and I see you for the man you are. When I see how genuinely fucking amazing you are. And I’m so mad at myself for not opening myself to you.”

Jacob peels himself off the desk and stances himself in front of you. He grabs your hands and holds them tenderly in his. You drop your head, your hair falling over your frustrated expression.

“You were grieving, you wouldn’t have been ready for this.” He reaches his hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

You look up to him with doe eyes. He was the older man, coming in for the prey. You wanted to be his. You wanted to have him. You wanted it. You denied it for months. You denied it from the moment you saw him. You denied yourself to knowing him in fear that this exact moment would happen. But here you were. Unveiling yourself to him in the very place you felt the first attraction.

“I want to be ready. No, I am ready. I want this. I can’t deny myself happiness because of everything that happened,” You said.

“Are you sure?” He asked. Trying to test you.

You nod your head in approval, trying once again to keep the emotions bottled in.

“I don’t want you to feel any pressure because-”

“Please don’t say it. I know. I know this is all morally fucked up, but I’m an adult, you’re an adult. Just treat me like one.”

He smiles, admiring your maturity, “If you want to do this, there are some things we have to settle first.”

You look up at him confused, “Things? What things?”

“More like rules,” He answers, titling his head playfully, “I need to know what you’re comfortable with. I don’t want to scare you even more than you already seem.”

He returns his hand to hold your face, just like he previously had only moments before.

“I’m not scared Jacob. What rules?”

“As much as I like to be gentle with women, I also enjoy being rough.” He says through a velvety tone

You jolt back, at first fearful of his words, but relax quickly, reminding yourself you don’t need to be scared.

“How rough are we talking…” You prod.

The cunning smile returns across his face, “Don’t worry, I don’t leave marks, at least too bad of marks… And only rough enough that you’ll still be wanting more by the time we’re done.”

You bite your lip at the thought. You’re no virgin at this point in your life, but you’ve never been able to explore this type of intimacy. Every man in college is practically an amateur at pleasuring women and even more so when it comes to exploration in sex. You’ve read plenty of books to know about the type of sex he was talking about. As much as you enjoyed the classics and the light-hearted romance, you still found yourself picking up a steamier romance book in private.

You wanted that. Had practically dreamed about it before…

Being here with this man, who was only a few years your senior, felt like you could practice this fantasy safely. He knew what he was doing, he could show you pleasures you didn’t even know you could enjoy. Even if you felt like you couldn’t learn more from your education with him, perhaps there were other things he could teach you. It was all becoming a bit too exciting.

His hand moves slowly down from your cheek to your waist. His palms gently grazed your spine until they locked in on your love handles.

“So,” He continues, “Are you going to be my good girl? Can you be good for me? Do you think you can take it?”

You reach out to his chest, moving aside his shirt which had barely been buttoned. With one swipe down his sternum, you unlatched all of them revealing his smooth golden skin. He watched you intently, seeing you explore his skin like never before. You traced your fingers along the opening, feeling your need to reach more grow. With each second that passed you felt the insatiable thirst to be close to him; to feel him. His grip on your waist tightened with each pass you made over his chest.

His other hand joined him on your opposite side. You feared that your hips may break with his excited hold. You looked up at him, biting your lip, trying to remain coy. That soft smile appeared on his lips; you had answered with your body language.

He pushes his hands further into you and lifts you onto the desk, your ass barely resting on the edge of the wood.

“Words,” He said, pulling himself closer into you, resting perfectly between your legs, “Nothing’s going to happen until you tell me you want it to. This isn’t going to work sweetheart unless you use your words.”

“Jacob-” Are the only breathy words that you can mutter.

You can feel him growing, feel the linen pants barely holding back his excitement. You feel your heartbeat travel from your chest, down into your stomach, into your…

His hand moves up to your jaw, holding it firmly in his grip, “Y/N, follow the instructions. Words. I’m not going to wait much longer.”

“Yes-”

Before you can even finish he’s pulling you into an embrace. Your lips meet his. The soft taste of scotch remaining on both of you created an intoxicating addicting feeling. It was complete passion, complete neediness to be one. His tongue introduces itself into your mouth… Soft, wet. Beckoning. The noises you both are making sound feral, completely unusual for the both of you. What once was a prim and proper relationship between you became a fervent desperation to touch… To fuck.

His hands traveled down your body, first reaching your chest, grasping you completely in his hand. Rolling his palms over the front of your breasts, driving you completely mad. You wished the barriers of clothing had been completely stripped away, but he was too hungry to even keep you waiting for long. His hands reached under your shirt, plowing underneath the wire of your bra to find your naked breasts. A soft relieving moan escaped your lips through the breaths of the kissing.

You reached your hands out to find the remainder of the buttons of his vest closing you off to his body. You made quick work of unbuttoning them, reaching your hands across his midsection; climbing to his back. Reaching up towards his shoulders, feeling the softness of his skin across the pads of your fingers. God, he was perfect.

His fingers traveled to your nipples, running his thumb and forefinger over the bud of your nipples. Before you could even realize what you were doing, your nails dragged down his back, raking into his skin. He paused the kissing for a moment to let out a moaning growl. He slid his hands out from your bra, slipping down to the edges of your shirt, attempting to tug it off as fast as he could. You snatched your hands out of his shirt to raise them over your head, giving him complete access to strip you.

He placed his hand between your breasts and forced you down onto the desk, your head falling onto the manuscript below you. He shook off his vest and was quick to pull his shirt off.

“Seems like I’m not the only one who likes it rough, huh?” He asked.

You lifted your head from the desk, “No, definitely not.” You responded. Unsure where this untamed version of you had even come from.

“No, sir” He stated, pushing you back down.

“What?” You asked, skeptical of what he meant.

He mounted himself once again between your legs, grinding himself into you. He traced his finger down your neck, to the waistline of your pants.

“Sir… That’s what my good girls going to call me, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, unaware that you were even doing so, “Call me Jacob,” you mock, “Call me sir.”

He reached back up to your jaw, pushing his thumb into your cheek, “If you’re going to be a brat we’re going to need to set some more rules. Good girls don’t get punished, but you’re already testing me.”

Completely stunned, you look back at him trying to emulate a softness, an apology. You had to admit though, you weren’t scared of him… If anything you were more turned on by the thought of his punishments.

“And how would you punish me, sir?” You ask in your best sultry voice.

He let out a low grumbling laugh. He studied your body, not even acknowledging your question, just thinking… Thinking of what he would do to you. He grabbed onto your hips and pulled you hard into his cock. There was no wondering anymore. You could feel how large he was, how excited he was. If your own body wasn’t blocking it you could probably see it entirely.

“Maybe,” He starts, “Maybe you’re not going to be my good girl,” His hands dig deeper into your waist, “Maybe, you’re going to be my little slut.”

The word echoed through the room. It sent a shiver down your spine, but not the feeling of being displeased, it was a feeling of being right. Being here with him, being under his control, felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. He could see you in a way that someone hasn’t seen you for months. He was learning every inch of you and would learn even more as the night went on.

He leaned down from his high position to plant gentle kisses along your neck. Gingerly leaving behind little reminders of passion.

“-And if you’re going to be my slut,” He whines through breathy kisses, “you need to know the safe words.”

You run your hands up to his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers. Tracing his scalp over your fingertips. You don’t want to go this slow, the breaks are killing you. You just want to feel him. You want to feel him on you, in you, taking you completely as his own.

His kisses finally reach the band of your jeans, but that doesnt stop him from exploring further. He pulls down on the jeans to reveal more of your stomach, delivering gentle almost tickling kisses.

“Green,” He whispers, “Means you like it… You don’t want me to stop.”

His hand travels over to the button of your jeans, popping the metal away from the denim. Your eyes follow him, watching his hair fall over your stomach, the metal of his necklace chilling your bare skin. His shoulders look strong here, masculine, powerful. Watching him focus so intently on you is killing you. This is a man unlike any other that you’ve been with, he’s focused on treating you first, even if there were some other pleasures in it for him.

“Yellow,” The zipper slowly starts to unravel as he pulls your pants further down, “Means you need me to slow down… If you need a break…”

Your pants steadily fall off of your legs, finally being exposed to him entirely until they fall onto the floor. The only thing separating you from him now is your thong. Which you are now praising yourself for wearing today. He resumes his consuming kisses across your midsection, joining back down where he had left off. His hands slip underneath him to grab the edges of the lace, sliding off the thong with ease.

His kisses start to graze you closer to your…

He stops and lifts himself. His hand leads up to your mouth, putting his pointer and middle finger into your mouth. You accept them, excited for what it means.

“Red.” His voice develops a more serious tone, “Means stop.”

He removes his now slick fingers from your mouth, returning them down below. His fingers reach your cunt, and you welcome him with excitement of your own. Your body is in shambles waiting, wanting to know what it feels like. His fingers dance across your aching clit, his thumb padding the bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves through your deprived body. A loud distressed moan escapes you, you can’t help but express your enthusiasm.

“Don’t worry sir,” You shudder through achy moans, “I don’t think I’ll need to use that one.”

“Good girl.”

Without any hesitation his fingers breach you, filling you up. He stands over you, watching you grow with the agony of pleasure. Your breath hitches with each pump, your back arching with each lift of his fingers. His thumb traces back over your clit, stimulating every inch of you.

Every attempt at communicating the feeling faulters, except for, “Oh fuck-”

Your body is shaking with each movement. He’s painting the perfect picture of an orgasm with just one hand. The power he holds, the knowledge he has. He knew how to please you better than you knew how to.

His free hand makes its way around your neck, gripping it, holding you in place so he can work harder at you. You’ve never been choked before, it’s a completely new sensation. The gasps for air were something you thought you’d fear, but instead, you were wishing he’d hold on harder.

“Green?” He asks, looking for permission.

You nodded your head ferociously

You feel yourself completely letting go under his control, something you feared once to let him have all the power. But here, now, held down to his desk… You never wanted it to stop.

“Words.” He barked.

Your hand reaches up to hold his wrist, “Yes, yes…”

“Yes, what?” He asks again, his fingers slowing their movement. Clearly, he wouldn’t be letting you get away with anything. You had to be obedient and do as he told you.

“Yes… Please, Sir,” You beg.

The words were getting harder to communicate. If he could finger you into oblivion, you might let him if it meant you could feel this good again.

He smiled in approval and resumed his previous pace. Steadily building faster, and faster. Harder and harder. You could feel how wet you were becoming, it really didn’t take much for him to draw the excitement out of you. The swirls of his fingers and the vigor of his motions were precise… Calculated, trying to accomplish only one mission; and he was close to succeeding.

Your moaning only got more frequent and louder, you couldn’t hold back. The pleasure was far too great to stay quiet. He almost let you be loud too, only for a few moments before reminding you of your location. He lifted his hand off your neck to lift a single finger to his lips and then pointed around the room.

“If my good girl can’t stay quiet, I’ll have to make her. We don’t want anyone spoiling all the fun.”

You nod your head, remembering you were still in his office. Your surroundings had escaped you completely; only thinking of him and you.

His thumb started to apply more pressure, practically begging for you for more. A softer moan forced its way out, helpless to be silenced. His hand plasters itself over your mouth, holding you silent. The pads of his fingers resting deep into your cheeks.

“I know baby, it’s so hard… You’re gonna be so good and come for me now, okay?”

Finally being relieved of speaking, you nod your head, ready for the climax. His fingers dive upward, grazing the sweet spot buried inside of you. The pressure, the sensation it’s all too much. You feel your belly tighten, your back arching. He’s trying to hold you steady as you writhe in pleasure. There’s no stopping anything now.

“Do it baby, come on… Be a good little slut for me…”

Your eyes roll deep back into your head. You feel the sweet sensation of release wash over you. Like a wave of ecstasy, traveling from your toes, past your aching clit, through your belly, all the way to your head. Stifled moans slip through the cracks of his fingers. His fingers stay at their steady pace, pushing past your orgasm. You feel yourself dripping around him. You’ve never come this hard in your life, you’ve never felt the devotion to make you feel this good. Your body is quivering around him, unable to shake the overstimulation. You’re squeezing onto his wrist, trying to come down easy, but everything he’s doing is making the sensations crash into you.

He takes his hand away from your mouth and you immediately gasp for air, trying to find serenity.

“Oh god,” You moan, “How did you-”

He shuts you up by taking his mouth to your soaked cunt, sliding his tongue through the mess he made. You place your hands beside you to sit up slightly. This was a sight you did not want to miss. You take his hair in your hands and tuck it aside. Each stripe of his tongue makes you wince, you want him to stop, but you can’t let him. It feels too good. It’s too much but just the right amount all at once.

He was consuming you, desperate to explore every inch of you. Wildly eating you up, trying to capture every last drop of his work. You were spilling into him, it was never-ending. It was like you weren’t even there; everything except your pusy. This was a high that you never wanted to come down from. He was devoted to keeping you there as long as he could, but you couldn’t hold on for more.

You fell back onto the desk, squirming through it all. He had you right where he wanted you. You let yourself fall into him, trying to take it all. Your hands reach over the desk, trying to find somewhere to hang onto, but instead knocking the scotch glass off the desk. Shattering loudly beneath you.

Jacob didn’t stop though, he was completely distracted, locked in. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Yellow.. Yellow..” You begged, completely overstimulated and shocked. How could you even ask for that?... But it was impossible to withstand any more sensation.

He stopped slowly, easing you out of the enjoyment. His hands reached up over your thighs and rested on your hips, slowly petting them with his thumbs. He looked up at you through glazed-over eyes, completely drunk on your arousal. He didn’t want it to end.

Slowly raising himself back to a standing position, you could see how hard he had gotten. He felt just as much pleasure as you did. He was completely lost, coming back to reality. Chin dripping with your wetness…

He leaned back over you and kissed you sloppily. The passion was more fiery than before. You did something to him and he did even more to you. It was strange to taste yourself on his lips, but exciting nonetheless. You were caught up together. Complete and one at that moment. And then it all stopped…

Footsteps approached outside the classroom. You both stopped. He removed himself from your lips and raised his head to listen.

A knock at the classroom door.

“Hello?” Someone called out.

There was no mistaking that someone was in this office, between the music, the glass breaking… They knew.

“Everything okay in here Kiszka?”

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He stands and reaches for his shirt, buttoning it with no haste. He grabs your shirt and pants and kicks them under the desk, “Go, get underneath the desk,” He whispers, “Now.”

#jake kiszka #greta van smut #gvf fic #gvf smut #jake kiskza x reader #jtk x reader #jake gvf #professor fic #gvf #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka gvf #jake kiszka series #jake kiszka angst #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut

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wolfythewitch · 9 months

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Hey i dont know if this makes sense but i love your bibleposting because it actually humanizes the bible and the people in it? I was raised in a fundamentalist christian church where everything was untouchable and there was no room for interpretation and ive been trying to deconstruct and idk after being told youre nothing because youre just human its so nice to see interpretations of the bible that are about people as much as they are about god

I guess im trying to say thank you for doing that and thank you for being cool lol also your art fucking rocks

Ahh thank you <3 I'm about to go on a slight rant, but I think that's where me and my parents fundamentally disagree about it haha. While it is a sacred text, it's also a historical/ancient book that's been cowritten by many different authors in a language I -- and I can probably guarantee my pastor-- don't speak. It's been translated and rewritten several different times, and has been cherrypicked through by men who are now probably dead to determine what's canon and not. It's fine to regard it as a holy text, but it isn't above discernment or interpretation. The pastor tells us his interpretation of it, and suddenly every other reading is wrong? That isn't a discussion at all. It's a Bible study not a Bible lecture. The bible and its scripture should not be untouchable, to claim it so is to speak for god

Okay rant over. I love humanizing characters! If the authors of the bible were so touched by their encounter with god that they wrote down pages and pages of it, then I find it fascinating to explore their experience. Not to bring up good omens but I just finished watching it so I will, but when they bring up that job loved his children, they were right. Did Job not love his former children? Did Isaac want to die? Didn't Moses feel anxious having to return to Egypt? Elijah was afraid. Jesus didn't want to die. Jesus was afraid. Exploring the humanity in these stuff is so interesting because in reducing a man to a myth, you make it so they are no longer a man. We can't live up to myths. We're human

#wolfy tedtalks #anon #this is a bit all over the place sorry #its like 3am #wolfy religious tedtalks #i have sooo many thoughts about jesus actually #and how erasing his humanity would be erasing him fundamentally as a messiah #but that's for another time

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quoththemaiden · 11 days

Text

I hope everyone enjoyed the finale of @mrghostrat's Big Name Feelings Good Omens AU as much as I did. While ghostrat ended his story perfectly with a beautiful and realistic close to the part of their relationship we as an audience get to see, I had one more scene idea close to my heart and so I'm putting it out here because my heart still sings with love for this story and its characters.

These fanscenes now also appear on AO3. Along with the four I've already posted here (1, 2, 3, and 5), you can find a scene I kept off Tumblr ("Ch. 12"). You can read the final scene ("Ch. 17") below, but you can also find it on AO3, where it shows the text messages in graphical form.

Bilv, thank you once again for creating such an amazing story! I'm happy to say that my mind is no longer filled with your middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man problems. Instead, please enjoy these 3k words of pure fluff.

—

Crowley dumped his bag on the hotel room floor and did a lazy spin to take in the space. "Not bad, eh?"

"It's very posh," Newt agreed, setting his bag down more gingerly. "You're sure we can't pitch in for it?"

"I'm not dealing with you setting your phone on fire trying to do a transfer." Crowley waved the offer off and flopped onto the couch. The hotel suite had two small bedrooms plus a nice little sitting area that would be perfect for board games. It was set up to mainly accommodate a family with kids, albeit a family that could afford to splash on a multi-room suite for the family vacation to Spain. Crowley stretched out, shamelessly taking up the whole couch in a bid to ease the stiffness in his hips. "Tell ya what, if you're feeling guilty, you can buy my drinks tonight."

Anathema laughed and gave Crowley a poke in the side, looking quite satisfied at his jerk and yelp. "Knowing you, that will end up being a fair deal. And I'll take care of renting the wheelbarrow to cart you back here."

Crowley rubbed his side dourly. "Maybe I preferred you on the other side of the ocean."

Anathema grinned at him, unrepentant. "If you want to stay at my place while I'm here, I'll lend you my keys." She ducked a thrown pillow with a laugh.

—

The weather was perfect for sipping cocktails outside, and their mutual agreement to all try drinks they'd never had before helped keep the night from slipping away from them too quickly. Being able to chat without the artificial framing of a webcam was a delight, too, but all of them were too continuously connected to be interested in a strict phones-down policy.

Anathema rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink before answering the text that had just popped up on her screen.

Aziraphale: Are you certain he doesn't know I'm nearby? Anathema: I didn't tell him, Newt doesn't know, and he doesn't have a magical angel-detecting sense does he? Aziraphale: I'm not so sure about that last point. Some of his last texts seem awfully pointed. Anathema: You're being paranoid

Anathema slipped her phone away before leaning over to look at Crowley's phone screen, where he was lining up a very artistic shot of his drink, showcasing as much of the swanky beachfront seating area as possible. She blinked at him slowly. "Have you been sending Aziraphale 'wish you were here' texts?"

Crowley glanced at her sideways, his thumb paused over the shutter button. "Maybe."

Anathema sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Are you an adult who can handle a vacation with friends or are you going to pine after your boyfriend all night?"

"I'm here, aren't I? It's not like we're tied together at the hip."

Anathema shook her head in fond exasperation. "Getting these printed on postcards for him would be funnier than this text spam." Crowley barked out a laugh and sent Aziraphale his next promise to take him here sometime anyway.

Anathema pulled out her phone again, tapping out a quick message.

Anathema: He says he's a full-grown adult who can handle being away from you.

There was a pause before Aziraphale responded to her — probably due to dealing with a barrage of messages from Crowley.

Aziraphale: A very convincing claim.

Anathema looked up as Crowley put his phone away. "All done?"

"Yeah, he's taking an early night." Crowley took a languid sip from his drink.

"How have his workshops been going?" Newt asked, fiddling with a vibrant russet cocktail in a type of glass he couldn't name.

"Good!" Crowley's eyes lit up with excitement, his cheeks pink. "We polished his presentation before he left—"

"I heard about that!" Newt cut in. "He said it was more like beta-testing than beta-reading."

Crowley snorted. "If you want to see what happens when someone goes against the script, I'm your guy."

"The reception's been okay?" Anathema asked. "I know getting audience participation at workshops can be pulling teeth."

"Nahhh, it's different in the library world. Those weirdos actually care about their jobs."

"So do I, but it would be pulling teeth to get me to do a 'group active learning exercise.'"

"Fair." Crowley grinned. "They know how to talk like humans, then. And they really are interested in anyone with tips on how to break into digital spaces in an authentic way."

Newt hummed thoughtfully. "He's really okay with talking about his online presence at work like that? I'd be way too embarrassed."

"Nah, you stop caring about that stuff when you get older."

Anathema snorted. "I'm still saying it's pure luck you didn't chase him offline again with that con nonsense."

"Pfffft." Crowley made a sound that was all plosives and no vowels. "Never even close."

"Right," Anathema replied with tasteful sarcasm.

Crowley cut her teasing short by slapping a yellow canvas pouch down on the table. "C'mon. Let's play a game!"

"Oh, Bananagrams!" Anathema accepted the diversion and unzipped the banana-shaped bag, pouring the Scrabble tiles out between them. She deftly started flipping them letter side down. "I don't think Newt's played?"

Crowley nodded and waggled his fingers at the pile of tiles. "Rules are easy: Everyone's building their own board-free Scrabble grid. You start with 21 tiles. Say 'peel' when you've used yours up to make everyone take another tile from the stock. Say 'dump' to trade one of your tiles for three from the stock. The first person to say 'peel' without enough tiles left for everyone to take one wins. Simple, right?"

Newt nodded slowly, watching as Anathema divided the tiles out neatly. "So they're putting Scrabble in bananas these days."

—

Aziraphale: Is he up yet?

Crowley gestured Anathema towards the table where their phones sat in a cuddly pile of charging pads and wires. "You got a message while you were in the shower. From Aziraphale?"

Anathema kept her face carefully schooled as she sauntered over and picked up her phone, using the need to adjust her towel turban as an excuse for not making eye contact. "Mm." She picked it up and read the incriminating message, then snorted. "Bracing himself for when your wall of texts will start, I imagine."

"Nahhh, he loves it!" Crowley snagged the glasses cleaner out of his bag and sauntered into the bathroom. He'd be wearing them all day and he'd murder someone if he had to deal with the scummy film left by hotel soap.

"Whatever you say, lover boy." Anathema breathed a tired sigh.

Anathema: Yeah, and he saw this. We should be at the conservatory by 11

She should have just taken the phone into the bathroom with her, steam be damned.

—

The botanical conservatory was, frankly, gorgeous. The greenhouses were so large the ceilings weren't even noticeable, and the outdoor gardens were a riot of native plants. Crowley devoured the signs about plants he was unfamiliar with with gusto, and pointed out those he recognized with the enthusiasm of a man determined to prove he wasn't hungover. Newt listened with unfeigned interest, while Anathema wasn't shy about slowing them down to take photos of particularly artfully arranged displays.

They'd been there about half an hour when a patter of English broke through the background chatter of Spanish. "Could you spot me the entrance fee for the butterfly room?"

"Aziraphale!" Crowley immediately spun to his right, his whole face lighting up in delight before realizing that seeing him here was, in fact, quite odd. "What are you doing in Spain?"

"I left right after my last workshop. I thought it might make a nice surprise."

"It made the best surprise." Crowley pulled him into an ardent kiss that went on long enough for Anathema to cough something about public displays of affection. Crowley eventually relented on the kiss, as much for the sake of their breathing as anything else, but kept his arm slung firmly around Aziraphale's shoulders. "You're a bit of a bastard, you know that? I could've been looking forward to this the whole time."

"Only as much of a bastard as you deserve," Aziraphale teased right back with easy familiarity. His heart kept pounding hard anyway.

"Heh. What a way to butter me up while you're angling for a free ticket." Crowley snuck another kiss onto Aziraphale's cheek. Aziraphale laughed as he slipped his arm through Crowley's, relishing the contact after their weeks apart.

The butterfly room, when they got in, was a riot of fluttering wings. The promise of iridescence was enough to get Crowley to remove his sunglasses, and a quiet compliment on his eyes from Aziraphale was enough to get him tucking them into his pocket instead of putting them right back on afterwards.

They left the butterfly room — with some careful mutual inspections to make sure no one was harboring a stowaway, involving perhaps a bit more care in running fingers through another's hair than was strictly necessary for the task — and emerged near the exit to the rose garden. Crowley's hand moved towards his sunglasses but Aziraphale put his hand on his arm. "Just a couple more minutes? There's something I want you to see first." Aziraphale glanced over at Anathema, who nodded slightly but otherwise kept her expression carefully uninterested.

Crowley looked between them and shrugged. "Not exactly subtle as far as hangover tests go, but a'ight." Aziraphale laughed breathlessly and kept a firm grip on his arm, drawing him deeper into the garden.

The rose garden featured small offshoots to the main path where groups could sit for a little while to rest. It wasn't until the third one that they came upon an alcove that was empty, and Aziraphale promptly pulled Crowley aside, Anathema holding out her hand to keep Newt just outside it with her.

"Crowley—" Aziraphale began, his breath catching in his throat as he caught Crowley's full attention. "I, ah. I actually came here because there was something I wanted to say."

Crowley's hand twitched reflexively towards his glasses again, but this time he kept it down himself, even as his heart started to pound. "...yeah?"

"Yeah," Aziraphale breathed out as he sank to one knee, reaching into his pocket. His fingers were trembling, and his smile was nervous but so very adoring. "If I ask you something, will you promise to laugh?"

"—huh?" Crowley blinked in confusion, then stared as Aziraphale opened a jewelry box to reveal a simple ring.

"Anthony J. Crowley, would you be my snouse?"

It took a few seconds for Crowley to register any of the words Aziraphale had just said, but then he barked out a laugh as the last one hit him. "Really? That's how you ask?"

"You don't like it?"

"I just... I thought if you did it, you'd do a whole speech for it. You even brought us out to a rose garden!"

"I'll be honest, I had one of those planned. I just... couldn't quite seem to bring it to mind." Aziraphale had no idea how he was managing to talk even as much as he was around the tightness in his throat. "You haven't answered my question, dear."

"Pfft..." Crowley closed both his hands around Aziraphale's. "Yes. Yes, of course I'll be your... your whatever. Forever and always."

"Thank goodness." Aziraphale half rose and was instead greeted by Crowley also kneeling, both of them moving together for a kiss that was slow and deliberate. Aziraphale could feel the pounding of his own pulse against the tight hold Crowley had on his hands, and he could tell how Crowley's heartrate had risen to match his by the way their kiss kept shifting for quick intakes of air. Aziraphale finally broke the contact only so he could gently extricate his hands from Crowley's. It took every scrap of concentration he could scrape together to find Crowley's left hand and slip the ring onto his finger. "...it fit okay?"

"Nggh," Crowley replied before pulling him into another kiss.

They might have stayed there all day if Anathema hadn't cleared her throat — snapping another quick photo as they looked up at her, flushed and frazzled. "We are still in public, I'm afraid."

"Yeah," Crowley breathed.

"Huh..." Aziraphale added, just as coherently.

Newt shook his head at the unlikely prospect of them getting up anytime soon, and looked over at Anathema instead. "How were you so prepared?"

Anathema flashed him a smile. "I knew this was coming. Aziraphale asked me to take the photos."

"Is that why you're here?"

"It was the other way around," Anathema replied. "Aziraphale realized he could arrange his schedule to join our trip partway, and we worked out how to take advantage of the situation."

"Bastard," Crowley muttered in response to nothing and everything, pressing tender kisses to Aziraphale's left ring finger like he could imprint a ring there with his lips. "Did you measure my finger while I slept?"

Aziraphale smiled as he watched him, his heartrate finally settling closer to normal under Crowley's reassuring touches. "It's scarcely my fault you're so easy to send to sleep, dearest."

"You're ridiculous. Adorable. Incorrigible."

"Are those all synonyms in your mind?" Aziraphale leaned in to steal another kiss.

Crowley laughed breathlessly at how easily they'd returned to comfortable teasing and carefully pushed himself up. He tugged his clothing straighter and tried to pretend he was put-together as he glanced at Anathema, who was grinning unabashedly at them. "I'll want those pics for... for everything. All of them."

Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley's arm for support as he straightened his own creaking knees. "I'm claiming Tumblr first, if you don't mind."

"Eh—" Crowley gave him his full attention again, not that it had strayed for more than a moment. "This will really get you notice, Angel."

"Good." Aziraphale took Crowley's hand and leaned in to kiss him. He rubbed his fingertip over the ring settled firmly onto a finger that had never borne one before. "Let them know who's claimed you."

Crowley snaked his arm around Aziraphale's neck, chasing down another kiss that went on long enough to have Anathema clucking behind them. "We're gonna get kicked out of the garden, Angel."

Aziraphale smiled against Crowley's lips. "Let them. The one we made is better."

—

Three bottles of wine sat open and mostly-drunk on the table, divided between four glasses that were using the remnants of the previous night's game of The Quiet Year as a coaster. ("We set it in an idyllic countryside and it all went downhill from there," Crowley had explained when Aziraphale came in and started examining the hand-drawn map. "I think the arrival of the dog was the real turning point to madness," Newt had chimed in. "It was doomed from the start," Anathema declared with a resigned sigh.) The red rings of wine stains could have added as much to the group narrative as anything they'd purposefully drawn.

"I came in like a wrecking ball~! I never hit so hard in love~!" Newt sang raucously, a broad grin on his face while Anathema laughed into her hand. Aziraphale tilted his head as he watched them, visibly processing the music.

"All the other kids with their pumped-up kicks, you better run—!" Anathema joined in as the tune jauntily transitioned to a new melody. Aziraphale's face froze into an expression of fond but intense confusion.

"Problem, Angel?" Crowley drawled, utterly amused as he watched the tableau.

"I'm fairly certain that isn't how those songs go. And isn't that polka?"

"Never heard of Weird Al? Bit bigger overseas, I s'pose." He gestured to Anathema's phone, which was supplying the impromptu karaoke party.

Aziraphale nodded, confusion dissolving and leaving just a hint of distaste in its place. "And a different generation, I suppose." He took another sip of his wine, a nice Syrah, as the melody shifted to a new and equally abrasive polka.

"I wear your granddad's clothes," the millennials continued singing, until one of them glanced at Aziraphale and started laughing and the other followed suit, wineglass held out in an attempt to insulate it from deep belly laughs. Crowley snagged it deftly and set it on the table, another drop of wine rolling down to stain the paper there. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, much more amused at their drunken good humor than offended.

Crowley patted Aziraphale's thigh. "Want to take the rest of that Syrah back to my room and leave the loverbirds to it?"

"It would still be rather noisy if we stayed here," Aziraphale replied with a tempting smile. "Why don't you come back to mine?"

Crowley leaned forward eagerly, only a fraction away from jumping up at the unexpected invitation. "Oh?"

"Well, the room may not wind up being quite as nice as the one you got, but I thought for our first night together as a formally promised couple..." Aziraphale's smile said everything.

"You're a genius." Crowley kissed his cheek and grabbed Aziraphale's hand to pull him up with him, then firmly refused to let it go despite the challenge of tucking a wine bottle under his arm while juggling a wine glass and his phone.

Aziraphale laughed. "We can take two trips, since you'll want your bag. Did you leave it packed?"

"Like always." Crowley grinned. "Not going to rib on me for that ever again, huh?"

"One occasion of convenience is not worth the wrinkles, my dear," Aziraphale responded with all the primness he could muster around a wide grin.

Crowley laughed and took the opportunity of Aziraphale opening the hotel room door to crowd closer and steal an eager kiss that was just as eagerly given. "You really managed to hold in that you'd gotten us a room all day?"

"I kept the trip secret from you too, didn't I?"

"Age will not wither," Crowley chuckled and nipped Aziraphale's ear. "C'mon, let's see that room. Coming back for pyjamas optional."

The two of them left the hotel suite hand-in-hand, with everything they truly needed already right there with them.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #bnf au #ineffable husbands #fanfiction of fanfiction #my writing #middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man joy

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triflesandparsnips · 1 year

Text

I'm not seeing enough deep-dive nonsense about the new Good Omens season 2 poster drop on my dash, and by god that means I must be the one to deliver it.

For those who haven't seen it yet, behold:

...there's a lot in here to go a wee bit feral over, if one was so inclined, and lord knows I love an inclination.

The Obvious Stuff

1. There Was Only One Bed Chair

This is the bulk of the commentary I've seen, and tbh, it's pretty great. "I am bored/busy and ignoring you but also what is personal space, never heard of her, we will not be taking questions at this time."

Notably, however, this is the second time we've seen them back to back-- the majority of the poster art we saw for the first season had them side by side. In both cases they're in a position to face some third thing together-- the difference, perhaps, is that side by side might imply equality of situation, while back to back implies implicit trust that the other won't stab you there.

2. The bookshop

Aw, look at them. Look at it. What a glorious little mess. This is them in London. Arizaphale looks pleased with the situation; Crowley looks bored af but he's also squished up on that one dang chair, so there's a "cat sitting next to you because parallel play and mirroring are the Best Interactions" feel to it.

3. Tea and wine

Arizaphale's got a teacup, Crowley's got a wine glass, this is very Them and indicative of their Vibes. Tbh, I think this is just a nice bit of design work, but it's worth calling out.

4. The outside street

The shop across the way is using a Gothic and reads "GIVE ME" before being cut off. No clue what it means, but it probably means something.

5. The tagline

The previous tagline we got was "Something's going down in the Up" (with that grey feather falling between their black and white wings)-- this tagline reads "Everyday it's a-getting closer."

Easiest interpretation is, oho, we're getting closer to the second season, and gosh there will be some Plot in it. And sure, yes, it works for that too, huzzah. But leaving aside the "it" and what that may mean-- "a-getting" is a fascinating word choice. It evokes similar constructions like, say, the somewhat obscure "Sumer is icumen in" (a song about the changing of the seasons and also encouraging a cuckoo to go lay some eggs in other birds nests if u no wat im sayin eyyyyy)-- and the significantly less obscure protest song "The Times They Are A-Changin'", whose ending stanza is:

The line it is drawn

The curse it is cast

The slow one now

Will later be fast

As the present now

Will later be past

The order is rapidly fadin'

And the first one now

Will later be last

For the times they are a-changin'

Gosh.

Now the Real Fun Starts

This poster is a composite image (as so many ads are), composed of different bits and pieces to form a whole impression -- based on fun stuff like relative pixelation and whatnot, you can often tell what portions of an image were there to start with, and what were specifically added in after the fact. How packed this poster is in tiny details -- which is exactly where I would hide fun hints to things -- is generally a cue for me to take a closer look, and I have been, I think, rewarded.

1. The books with legible titles

Zoom in on Aziraphale's book-- he's reading Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities. The "two cities" in play are Paris and London, and the book is set before and during the French Revolution.

It's the story of a man who had been previously imprisoned in the Bastille for 18 years, and then was released to go live with his daughter -- who he has never met, what with the whole "imprisoned" thing -- in London.

The opening paragraph is:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

The pile of books in the foreground have two visible titles: the topmost one is Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (a "novel of manners" that's considered a heavy-hitting romantic classic, and also yes the leads are both prideful and prejudiced and it takes an entire book for them to clear that up) and Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island (a young adult coming-of-age adventure story about a kid who finds himself on an adventure with a bunch of pirates to discover buried treasure).

Of note: A Tale of Two Cities, Pride and Prejudice, and Treasure Island also all have note tabs sticking out of them, and are the only books that have them. This is reminiscent of how Arizaphale studied and referenced Agnes Nutter's prophecies.

Some of the books beneath the window technically have titles, but they appear to be about as pixelated as the rest of that section, and so I suspect they're just part of the scenery.

Similarly, most of the books on the background shelves are like that as well, except:

Joseph Heller's Catch-22 (A satirical novel set in World War II; Wikipedia briefly explains that "the novel examines the absurdity of war and military life through the experiences of Yossarian and his cohorts, who attempt to maintain their sanity while fulfilling their service requirements so that they may return home." The book also coined the phrase "catch-22," which is a situation someone can't escape because of paradoxical rules-- in the case of the book, you can't ask to be evaluated for insanity so that you can be exempt from flying dangerous missions, because "anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy.")

Iain Banks's The Crow Road (and a first edition, perhaps? I haven't read it, but apparently it's a Scottish family drama about a perfect murder against the backdrop of the 1990s Gulf War. Its opening line is "It was the day my grandmother exploded." The phrase "the crow road" is a euphemism, in the book, for death.)

Joseph Conrad's Lord Jim (Sparknotes says it's "the story of a man named Marlow's struggle to tell and to understand the life story of a man named Jim" -- a young man who goes to sea, makes a terrible and cowardly decision while following his leaders, and then spends the rest of his life haunted by it.)

There's at least one extra, partially obscured title:

It appears to read "THE BODY ------ and ------", which makes me wonder if it's an anthology of murder mystery short stories.

Leaving aside the uncertain book, commonalities between many of these books include:

soldiers, war, and the horrors/absurdities thereof

doubles and parallels

death and murder

a young/inexperienced protagonist thrown in with more experienced/weirder folk

fragmented and out of order narratives, sometimes having to be pieced together from multiple viewpoints

...pirates

2. The strange but noticeable inserts

There are several images that have been inserted into the poster that -- unlike the teacup and wine glass mentioned above -- don't seem to make a lot of contextual sense and are therefore, perhaps, extra information. These include:

a. the three lizard boys

b. the broken smartphone

c. the matchbox with the quote on the side

d. the camera

e. this statuette that seems suspicious

f. this record and scroll that seem out of place

g. the clockface with the missing hand (which may be just for the Aesthetic, but whatever, I'm including it)

What do they mean? No clue. I suspect it will become apparent as we get trailers and/or the actual show.

In Conclusion

Uh.

Look. Design teams can do all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons. All of this could mean absolutely nothing.

But.

Using my magical powers of bullshit deduction, I might look at all this, and that grey feather falling from the earlier poster, and say... well... the war's still ongoing, yeah? So maybe... maybe there needs to be a new angel keeping an eye on things on Earth. Or an eye specifically on Aziraphale and Crowley.

And that would look SUSPICIOUS, right? So this is an angel who's maybe... a little bit Fallen. For the sake of the Mission. Like, they've agreed to sin just a lil bit, just enough to justify being thrown out of Heaven, and they're not actively in Hell because they're, oh, just stopping off, or maybe just going really slowly, or maybe they were sent back up from Hell because they were still "too good" and all that Pureness of Spirit was stinking up the place--

Whatever. Point is, they're on Earth, they're very confused, it sure would be nice if these very Established metaphysical elders could give them a few hints about how to get on. We'd then get to enjoy a Guide to Living a Totally Normal Human Life given by these two disaster dorks, plus whatever nonsense is derived from, idk, various extraneous plot shenanigans, probably involving a Murder and maybe a MacGuffin Maltese Falcon.

And most importantly: this new angel? Wow no they couldn't possibly be a spy because again WOW, what kind of angel would deliberately Fall? Wouldn't that require doing the wrong thing to do a right thing? ...okay maybe, but can it really be wrong if it was done by command? ...well, wait, it surely must be wrong because otherwise the mechanism wouldn't have worked-- but then, wait, which thing was the wrong thing--

And Aziraphale and Crowley would watch this bouncing volley of cognitive dissonance with great interest, also possibly while holding hands.

#good omens #season 2 #good omens season 2 rampant speculation

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l0serloki · 1 year

Text

Christmas Joy

Christmas Time HCs

(Chamber, Cypher, Fade, Reyna)

A/N : MERRY CRISIS

CW : Christmas?, Eating (Reyna), kissing/hinted innuendos, GN!Reader

Chamber :

He’s going to get you a bunch of gifts!!

I feel like he’s not the type of guy to decorate as much but he’ll get a tree. If you want to decorate he will buy you whatever you wish!

He DOES have the money but I feel that he’s more of a thoughtful gift-giver. Expect trinkets and stuff that reminds him of you! And OF COURSE, a gun! He made it to match with his!

Overall, it’s going to be a pretty chill christmas. He lets you call the shots and lounges with a huge grin on his face. He loves seeing you so happy :)

“Open your gifts, mon chou. I want to see how you like them.” Chamber waved you off the couch to sit next to the tree. Your hands wandered along the precisely wrapped gifts, giving him a warm smile.

“You didn’t have to get me all of this! You’re too kind, Vin.”

The two of you sat for quite a while, going through gifts and giving eachother small kisses. You had expected a different outcome than the thought out gifts. This was your first Christmas with Vincent after all! He had seemed more the type of guy to go expensive but, boy were you wrong. Your heart swelled at the thought of him caring for you, turning to kiss his soft cheek.

“Merry Christmas. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Cypher :

MAN.

He makes little christmas lights out of his old camera parts. The whole bedroom looks like it was straight out of Wall-E.

“Baby it’s very uhh.. Festive!” “Yes, I know. I am too good.” (Smack that sarcastic bastard)

He gets you two a bunch of ‘christmassy’ teas to try as well. Gotta stay warm!

The presents are really sweet as well! He makes you some homemade tech to always have your back! As he said, “I need you to always be safe. Even when my eyes are down, my love.”

Give this man some love and that’s all he could ask for as a gift!

“I-What is this?” Your eyes raised as you walked into your shared bedroom. Old green and red lights on wrapped wire littered the ceiling, looking straight out of Cypher’s dump bin.

“It’s lights! You told me you wanted the room to be festive.” Cypher shrugged in response, continuing to type away at his keyboard.

As much as the lights were ugly, you had to praise him for the effort.

“Wow. How.. Festive. Great job, love.” You leaned down to kiss his temple, holding in a chortle. Your boyfriend was something else.

Fade :

I just imagine her getting you two matching sweaters! (She got Omen to knit them)

Much like Cypher, I feel that she’s a huge fan of warm drinks. She makes hot cocoa and tea! Whatever you wish for is her command :^)

Definitely over decorates the tree and makes cookies! “If Santa won’t eat them then we will!”

Lots of cuddling in blankets and hugs. She craves your attention! (She is very touch deprived, indulge her <3)

She gets you some new clothes & hobby items! She has a keen eye to stuff you like/need.

“Baby, you’re gonna suffocate me!” You squeaked out as Fade’s arms tightened around you. The air was frosty and the two of you laid in bed cuddling.

“No no, don’t be dramatic! You love it.” She graced your face with light kisses, small laughs leaving her mouth in the process. You could only grin at the sight of her so happy, glad to be such a source of joy for her.

“Yeah, whatever you say.” You leaned in, meeting her lips. She separated quickly, face red.

“A little warning would be nice! Whatever.. I guess it is Christmas. That’s your gift though.” She narrowed her eyes in mock sarcasm as the two of you just laughed. This would be a Christmas to remember.

Reyna :

PLEASE.

She sets up mistletoe everywhere. Like you can’t take a step without seeing her smug grin. “Oh my.. I think you owe me a kiss.” “Rey, please. I’ve given you ten. I need to get a drink!”

She cooks a LOT on Christmas day. I feel like she loves the feeling of you being full & happy with everything. Good food and presence makes the best day!

“I don’t need gifts. You didn’t have to spend this money on me!” She tries to deny them but it fills her heart with joy. She’s honored that you got her such thoughtful gifts <3

She got you a lot of items for missions & some.. ‘Other’ items. “It’s a joke! Or was it..”

“This is so good, babe! You should make this more often.” You praised your girlfriend, digging into the food. Reyna only hummed, smiling at your hunger.

“I am glad you like it. There is enough for a few days. We will have to open presents after you are done.” The woman rubbed at your back, setting down a drink for you. You hadn’t expected such a huge meal for Christmas morning but Reyna did not disappoint. The food was delicious and the two of you enjoyed eachothers presence.

After you two had finished eating, Reyna’s arms circled around you.

“Come, let’s go open gifts. I want you to see what I got you.” Her voice was laced with a dangerous note, sending electric shocks down your body. Soft lips brushed your jawline as the woman pulled you into the living room.

“Should I be scared?” You asked.

The only response you got was another kiss and a maniacal laugh.

Yeah, you should be scared.

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deathofpeaceofmiiind · 2 months

Text

illicit affairs | three

*Ellie’s POV*

Tyler was nice enough to pick Liam up from daycare and took him home for the night so I could be alone. It was 3:30 by the time I finished my work so I decided to get ready. I cut almost a foot of my hair off and it was so freeing, as if any hair Noah touched was gone. I did a classic red lip and black winged liner for my make up, and threw on some light blue ripped jeans, a black strapless shirt and my checkered vans. I look a deep breath as I looked at myself in the mirror. Even though I didn’t want to see him, I hope I make him eat his heart out if I do.

“Remember, you’re doing this for Matt, not him.” I nodded at Danielle as I took a shot, chasing it with my gin and tonic. I was getting a huge wave of deja vu and I didn’t like it one bit. We went up to the balcony to avoid being seen by them. The openers this time were Erra and I See Stars and they were so fucking good, listening to them made me realize how much I missed listening to this kind of music. It was also nice to see Jesse and Clint play instead of awkwardly running into them in Noah’s kitchen. I had to admit Clint was really good … “Oh my god.” Danielle and I looked at each other as Bad Omens got onto the stage. They were all wearing ski masks as they opened with Artificial suicide. I kept my eyes on Folio to distract myself from looking at Noah, but I kept stealing glances at him. He looked a lot more confident than he did last year and his stage presence was hard to ignore. He took his mask off and I noticed he had cut his hair even shorter, I hated how he could pull off any length of hair. “I still think no one is doing front of house like Matt is.” Danielle commented, “These guys sound so fucking good thanks to him.” “I know, he really is the best.” I replied, feeling a small smile appear on my lips. I looked over the balcony and saw Matt working his magic. He looked so cute as his head bobbed to the music while his hands constantly adjusted the sounds. Danielle nudged me as she pointed at my face, “are you blushing?” “No.” I quickly clapped back as cupped my cheek. Fuck, I was burning up. She just rolled her eyes as we went back to watching the band. Their new stage set up was really cool and I was floored hearing a remastered version of Broken Youth. Noah always told me that song would never see the light of day again, I guess that was just another lie he told me. After the song ended, I saw Noah look up in our direction. He definitely saw us and I felt like my world stopped in that moment. “We’ve been spotted. Do you wanna go?”

“No.” I replied, not taking my eyes off him, he was seemingly doing the same. “I’m not letting him win.”

We both watched him as the chords for Just Pretend started. He was amping up for a speech, I could tell. I gripped harder onto the balcony as I prayed he didn’t say anything or call me out. The more chords Jolly played, the faster my heart would beat. Every time I hear that song it feels like I’m time travelling back to Seattle when he dedicated it to me. “Before I start, I just wanted to dedicate this to someone who may or not be here tonight. Help me sing loud enough that she can hear me.” My jaw was on the fucking floor as I looked over at Danielle, who had the same expression on her face. Of course he knew I was here. He kept looking up here every chance he got. As he sang the song, he had this smug smirk on his face. He knew what he was fucking doing. Noah stood on one of the risers, pointing in my direction as the song came to an end.

“Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning. Way down, would you say I'm worthy?”

My knuckles were turning white as I gripped onto the rail harder. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or roll my eyes…the nerve of this man.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #fanfic

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rataticaisdreaming · 9 months

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Pawton played chapter 2 of Sally Face today! can you guess who wasn't normal about it? 💙✨ enjoy my favorite moments in the order they happened!

not him starting by saying: "excuse me, a little frog in my throat, a little Lilypadton in my throat!" 🐸

his favorite way to say hello is: "hewwo!" 🥺 baby...

wise words i live by: "when in doubt, deny it out"

"Logan is the puzzle man, he should be playing this game" i would love to see a Logan gaming livestream!

Janus taught Patton that "moi" means "Patton" in french 💀

Pat being excited at seeing a mustached man "look at that little Remus in the corner!" 💚

Patton being thankful Kenny censored himself. according to him, if you play games with Roman or Virge, you don't have to care about cursing. only with Pat you shouldn't curse, which is a sweet thing to remember <3

it was extremely nice to hear Patton say that the bad things that happened in your childhood weren't your fault 🥺💙✨

Virgil or Logan always look around for security cameras, because "they are watching us", every time they go out. dad wasn't sure who exactly does it, probably both.

Kenny, stuffie Patton and Patton headbanging to Sanity's Fall gives me life!

"we found our Virgil", Patton says as he talks to an old woman who is wishing for death to take her already 💀

Logan and Patton agree that David Tennant is always a treasure to have! Logan probably loved him as the tenth doctor in Doctor Who and Patton loved season 2 of Good Omens <3

"dark misunderstood individual" was Patton's view on Virgil when he first met him, he was fascinated by the purp man 💜

"i'm a gaming dad! :D" him 🥺💙✨

"for frick's sake! i'm very angry right now >:(" look at this puppy failing to express anger.

Patton always makes sure Thomas gets a cookie! 💙🌈

the things that Patton does with each side: he loves cooking with Logan 💙 watching YouTube with Virgil 💜 playing roleplay games with Roman ❤️ enjoying quiet times with Janus 💛 and he doesn't hang out with Remus that much 💚

the flinching and hiding behind his hands with each jumpscare broke my heart! 😭💔

"God doesn't care about us," Patton immediately covers his mouth horrified that he had to read that in-game line.

"i can't do this, i can't..." he was covering the screen with his hand, not wanting to watch a heavy scene. while he was laughing at himself for saying dark things he never gets the chance to say, he was genuinely distressed with the heavy stuff :(

"do you want your therapy plushie?" asks Kenny, giving Patton a Winnie the Pooh pillow plushie to hug and feel better after such a wild experience 🧸💙

this was such a sweet experience and i'm looking forward to the next chapters of Sally Face! can't wait for Pat to play the insanity that is chapter 5 ✨

#he is my entire world 🥺💙✨#anniversary video bloopers coming out on patreon!#sanders sides #thomas sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders

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idkhow-but-im-here · 9 months

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OK OK OK OK OK

I finally finished Good Omens season 2 and I have so many fucking thoughts which I will list in no particular order:

The Doctor Who references are always golden. (somewhat related: that part when Crowley was bullshitting about war regulations in front of Shax & co in the bookshop? super reminiscent of Ten’s speedy sci-fi jargon)

The music, as always, fucking slaps, especially at the end of each episode when the theme is played in a related style I love it so much

Nina and Maggie!!! I do really like them as a ship (coffee shop + record shop? that’s a built-in au fic) but I also like how they’re not actually together at the end. I love how they’re so healthy in how they go about their potential relationship, both acknowledging how messed up it was for Aziraphale/Crowley to meddle with their lives and how dumb it would be to rush into something headfirst regardless of all the shit they had been through both togther and as individuals. Also Fuck Lindsay all my homies hate Lindsay, as much as I liked what they did with visualising her shitty messages (the blackboard and crumpled notepad sheets? because of coffee shop reasons and how Nina’s work and love life was suffocatingly forced together by the incessant behest of Lindsay)

<The dancing/ball/Jane Austen vibes3

Beezelbub and Gabriel!?!? When I first came across this ship on ao3 I thought this ship made somewhat sense but would stay in the realms of fanon yet here I am disproven and I can’t lie… they’re kinda cute together. I was caught off guard (like every other character) but fair dues to them. Their parallels with the ineffable husbands are just ughh *chef’s kiss*

^alpha centauri!!!^

Peter Davison and Ty Tennant??? Their appearances did make me giggle for meta’s sake. Perhaps a Georgia Tennant appearance in season 3? (if they make it please please please say they’ll make it)

WAS CROWLEY ACTUALLY RAPHAEL??? I thought it was just a headcanon/fan theory (which I did fall in love with after watching this beautiful animatic years ago) but Crowley having access to classified files and the Metatron mentioning that an archangel being cast out has happened before??? it’s becoming more and more plausible.

AND JUST PRE-FALL CROWLEY IN GENERAL HE LOOKS SO HAPPY all he ever did was ask valid questions goddamnit (literally). nebulae are very pretty I would also be indignant if they weren’t gonna stick around for long. AND THE PARALLEL TO THE FIRST EPISODE WITH THE WINGSSS

Crowley just being a good nice decent person all throughout time (the goats, children, helping out elspeth, ect) it makes me happy

ANDD Aziraphale’s reactions (both positive and negative) to aforementioned deeds create a great moral foil to Crowley and perfectly builds up to what we see at the end (I’ll probably write about s2 Aziraphale in a different post because man I have so many thoughts)

Crowley’s callbacks to the date lunch at the Ritz!! Him talking to Nina and Maggie about taking Aziraphale to the Ritz again to him pointing out the lack of a nightingale (idk if that was leaning into meta a little but it didn’t bother me) just HURT so damn much

“Emotional damage support angel” you’re damn right he is/was

The battery-powered candles lmfaooo and literally any reference to the fire, including the absurd number of fire extinguishers, had me giggling

Muriel is a goddamned (or not so in some sense) treasure, a little ray of sunshine with a heart of gold and dumb of ass. I adore her and found Aziraphale and Crowley humouring her hilarious.

THE SECOND COMING??? I’m sorry wHAT WE ALREADY HAD THE ANTICHRIST NOW WE’RE DEALING WITH CHRIST CHRIST? YOU CAN’T LEAVE US WITH JUST THAT MR. GAIMAN

and of course the bloody

K I S S

THAT WHOLE SEQUENCE OF CROWLEY FINALLY FINALLY OPENING UP AND JUST BEING WHOLEHEARTEDLY HONEST (going against his predisposition and entire NATURE to lie/omit or walk around the truth)

CONFESSING HIS TRUE FEELING AFTER COUNTLESS MILLENNIA OF PINING EVEN AFTER AZIRAPHALE DROPPED THAT BOMBSHELL

AND HALF STORMING OFF BEFORE GOING BACK TO KISS THE SHIT OUT OF HIM AND THEN FULLY STORMING OFF

with aziraphale clearly unsure of how to react BUT STILL TOUCHES HIS LIPS IN SHOCK AS HE WATCHES CROWLEY LEAVE

That shit had me fully standing up on the sofa, arms in brace position, gasping, screaming, close to tears, indignantly repeating “NEIL GAIMAN!” every couple of seconds

Truly a brilliant scene and a brilliant season overall.

As always the cast, the writers, the set designers, the effects artists, the costumers, the camera crew, everyone who had a part in creating go2 was fucking fantastic.

#i’m genuinely not ok after watching it #there’s so much more to talk about but i have been typing for well over an hour #season 3 is not a want it’s a NEED #please i beg #everything needs to be resolved #good omens #good omens spoilers #go2 spoilers

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vinxwatches · 5 months

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watching good omen season 1

ep 1 pilot

haven't seen a lot of it, mostly that people like it, that it's made by people people really like and that it's gay (or at least people make it gay) so you know, good pick for me. and i just watched to animations/animatics on youtube with bad endings and bad endings fuck me up, so hopefully this is happier. intro is a fucking banger. also god has a fem voice? nice. accurate skin colour for the earliest humans. not surprised, but appreciated. making fun of theology and great banter? i love it.

ominous picnic basket. oh... actually quite biblically fitting it seems. i REALLY hope they don't expect me to remember these names too well. many of the characters seem fun though.

of course the american politician says bs like "a regular y chromosome son". which i'm sure has not been tested as you 1: don't know the gender yet. 2: phenotype does not denote genotype.

i wonder who and how they'll figure out who has the wrong baby. "i don't recall what horror of history we had a lunch over, but i do recall what we had." the BEST dynamic.

will they even figure out they got the wrong one? ok, i know that working with an actual 5 year old would be a nightmare... but that kid is like 12.

well done making both heaven and hell look like shit. do you want grime overpopulating or empty, liminal, office spaces?

brilliant end of episode 1.

ep 2 the book

damn the forces of hell are so bloody rude and evil. and so many quick jokes.

question: what are the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse supposed to be in christianity? both biblically and in modern belief? they are separate from devils and angels.

i love a witch that also uses an ipad in her rituals.

"sorry, right number" seriously the humour in this show is so brilliant. i really hope the story is able to match it.

ep 3 hard times

a black knight shrugging is way too funny. i love these two. just two old friends helping each other out, it's just that that's diametrically opposing one another. the angel doing some tempting, the demon some miracles. and upper management doesn't care.

awh, they are just so cute together.

excuse me you are playing intro now? 28 minutes in? that's not an intro. that's a bloody intermission!

they really succeed at making heaving seem so extremely bad. extremely wide shot or extreme close-up. it's so incredibly uncomfortable.

the prime minister has a nice flat chested fucker in his bed.... good for him if he's not cheating.

"mend it all"/"end it all" whispers. really neat.

ep 4 saturday morning funtime

of course he was condemned for nothing more then asking questions.

ah, they got rid of pestilence to replace them with pollution. it's a good change, but feels pretty pre 2020.

oh no, i find his death so sad. he had a love, why kill him? i know the apocalypse is coming but still.

i still really hope that the presidents son turns out to be trans to just break the things he said at the start. then again it wouldn't really work as it's not the kids he said it about. idk, i guess i hope of screen son turns out to be trans to spite the person that'll never know... yea i'm holding out hope for something that doesn't matter.

azi being send to heaving is SO bad. his bookshop possibly burning down is emotionally worse. it was going to be the last episode of the day. but i started watching because i couldn't deal with bad endings, so i guess i'll have to watch one more.

ep 5 the doomsday option

Azi going full rogue (finally).

man that's the most obvious cold reading ever.

the guard reads a neil gaymen book. cute.

sir... your car is... more then a little on fire.

ep 6 the very last day of the rest of their lives

are we doing a flash back episode for the last episode of the season?

oh, please let him rebuild the car just like i want the bookshop rebuild?

the way to defeat the end of the world is to believe and stand (and i hope work) for a world that wouldn't end. a bit on the nose but very nice.

and of course with Terry Pratched being involved death is not to be defeated, just not hastened along.

a kid not doing the one thing they were supposed to do.... there's a trans/gay message in there. also That's Just What Kids Do! you wanted an 11 year old to do what they were told? that's the first part of the problem.

for a TV series that's a pretty good satan. oh that is SO clever. kind of time fucking, but not really so long as you never introduce time travel so it's only true from now on. oh, is it a nicer ending then i though? YES IT IS! \o/

it "ends" as it starts: with a garden and an apple. ok, make it more explicit why don't you.

oh, you subtle bastards. i love it. other scene's now make more sense too, oh how i love it.

ok, yea it makes sense people go wild over this as it's really bloody great.

#good omens #good omens season 1

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misterspectacular · 9 months

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GOOD OMENS 2 SPOILERS, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, JUST STATING MY THOUGHTS BASICALLY

SO MY FRIEND AND I BINGED SEASON 2 OF GOOD OMENS THE SECOND IT WAS RELEASED! What an adrenaline rush pahahahaa to have waited that long, and finally get it, it was a lot, I think we almost died.

(I dunno how to do the "keep reading" thing so have some dots)

I honestly would say that season 2 of Good Omens is better than season 1. Nearly the entire thing was Crowley and Aziraphale. YES. They're what I want.

Also, the way the flashbacks were arranged -- perfect! They were longer and more fleshed out and we got continuations of some of them! Huzzah!

Gabriel was hilarious, as usual. Jim was even funnier. Conflicting feelings about Gabriel for most of the season, I started forgiving him towards the end though. The thing with Beelzebub was pretty nice.

It starting off with angel Crowley, he was such a dork, finding out he KNEW AZIRAPHALE THEN, wow! Highlight!

The apology dance was a highlight,

Crowley drinking poison and shrinking/growing and sounding like a Leprechaun was a highlight,

All of Crowley's different accents -- all highlights.

THE FACT THAT CROWLEY IS THE ONE THAT GOT AZIRAPHALE EATING, THE WAY THAT WHOLE THING HAPPENED, THAT WAS CERTAINLY A HIGHLIGHT.

Crowley pretending to be EVIL!!! I didnt fall for it for a second, I was like, yeah okay so where did the goats actually go hahaa! Into the crows, amazing!

Aziraphale with his halo, that was freaking awesome -- he was pretty badass in this season, at some points.

THEM DANCING TOGETHER!!! Jfhsnsnehdiend

The magic act! And it working, even without using actual miracles!

Crowley making it rain, ha, I did that in a RP.

Aziraphale being... look, he's freakin adorable, the way he cradled the, well, the tumor -- I mean, it sounds weird, but it was actually incredibly endearing -- he was very endearing, as always.

THINKING HE WAS GOING TO FALL, and crying about it, and Crowley cheering him up!! YESSS

And... Crowley's realization... SAYING AZIRAPHALE COULD NEVER BE A SIDE PIECE jddjsbdje

Crowley FALLING APART as he OPENS UP TO AZIRAPHALE!!! OUCH! That was like being stabbed, but somehow in a good way, because YES HES SAYING IT, JESUS FUCK

And...

THE

KISS

Like holy-fucking-moly! Dream come true, right there!! I did NOT expect things to go in that direction, I thought we were going to play it safe, and I am so glad that I was wrong. I've wanted these two to kiss for A LONG TIME, I've role played kissing AZIRAPHALE SO MANY TIMES, I've written stories, that was -- well, this was my response at the time: hfjdnelsneksndkwndjskwjznwjs jdneksneksjs disndjsnskw djjwdne idens! LITERALLY A DREAM COME TRUE, NEARLY EXPLODED!!! Like Crowley and Aziraphale literally kissed, mouth to mouth, its canon, it happened, the music swelled, they did it, it's real. Never thought I'd have pictures of men kissing up on my wall but I think I might need to print that out and hang it up, this was not just a highlight of season 2, this was A HIGHLIGHT OF MY LIFE! THANKS FOR THE NOURISHMENT, GAIMAN

and the nightingale thing -- "I don't hear anything" "that's the point, no nightingales", killed me man. THE NIGHTINGGALE, WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE NIGHTINGALE! OW! I DID NOT CRY ABOUT IT, I SWEAR ! ! !

Aziraphale saying I FORGIVE YOU ksndjwnsje I dont understand why he said that when just seconds ago he was saying LET US BE TOGETHER HOORAY, my friend and I were talking and I said, well last time he said I FORGIVE YOU it was after Crowley called him stupid, and my friend was like, well didnt Crowley call him an idiot this time, call back, so maybe that was it,

Aziraphale touching his lips like that after the kiss, holy fuck, A++++, but a painful A++++

and then CHOOSING METATRON!?!? WHAAAAAT?!?!?! I was reeeaaallly hoping he'd run to Crowley and KISS HIM or SOMETHING, but he -- METATRON, NOOoooOooOooo!!! So that was an extremely painful ending. and I realize that for Season 3 to happen, something would HAVE to push fans into creating that build-up and that NEED for another season, but.... OW! how long do I have to live with this pain??? If season 3 is NEVER MADE, it's going to end on this note??? it'd better get made jdbekdnwksn HOLY FUCK, I also better not DIE BEFORE IT'S MADE. I'll be over here, guts out, "cant die... yet... need... to see... Aziraphale and Crowley... make up...! Need... season... 3...!"

So yeah I'll be watching that over and over and over and over and over and over and ov

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable soulmates #ineffable partners #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots

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zoeykallus · 2 years

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The Bad Batch x Reader – The Movies HC's

Going to the movies with the Bad Batch guys!

Hunter: He'll prefer you watch a holo at home, but if you do go out, it's best to do it on days when it's less crowded, perhaps to a smaller holo theater in a small town. The more crowded the theater, the less he can relax and focus on you and the movie, unfortunately his senses will throw a wrench in the works.

The choice of the movie, that he leaves mostly to you, but if you ask him for his honest opinion, he will tell you that he likes adventure movies, also action movies. He also likes to watch deeper movies, as long as they are not too cheesy or dry.

Hunter likes to play with your hair, so he likes to have your head in his lap, at least when you watch movies at home. At the holo-cinema he always has an arm around you and pulls you close to him. He makes sure you get couples seats so there is no barrier between you, because he doesn't like that at all.

His favorites would include: I'm looking at actually existing movies cause' it's easier to explain their taste for me this way.

The Green Mile Welcome To The Jungle Man On Fire (with Denzel Washington and Dakota Fenning, it kinda has a tiny bit of -protecting Omega- feel to it, that's probably why he likes it so much) -actually one of my absolute favorites too, love that movie and the NIN Soundtrack

House Of Flying Daggers (The only movie with a romance he likes) Rambo 1 / 2 / 3 and all the others ( Hunter,"I like his style") Any other movie with Stallone.

Echo: He's otherwise a pretty sober fellow. But he actually loves fantasy movies, the more outlandish the better. He likes modern fairy tales and has a surprisingly vivid imagination. Echo is super happy if you show interest in that as well.

At the holo-cinema, he doesn't care where you sit as long as he can be near you and you're not too close to the projection. He will buy snacks and drinks and then annoyingly have to go pee every few minutes.

He likes to cuddle with you while watching and also likes to watch your reaction when he shows you a movie, because some of his favorite movies he watches multiple times, over and over again.

His movies:

Lord Of The Rings (all of them)

Harry Potter (all of them)

Brothers Grimm

Neverending Story (The first only)

Edward Scissorhands

Pretty much every Tim Burton Movie

Wrecker: loves comedies and adventure movies. Basically everything that is exciting but also fun. Brutal and gore films are not his thing. He prefers something that creates a good atmosphere.

In the cinema he belongs to those who loudly express their opinion, laugh out loud and comment on the movie, but with his stature no one but you dares to complain.

"Sorry Mesh'la" he says meekly and grins at you when you ask him to be quiet.

He likes having you on his lap, he's a cuddle bear, and he likes it when you feed each other Mantell Mix at the movies.

His movies:

Jumanji (all of them)

The night at the museum (all of them)

National Treassure (all of them)

A lot of Adam Sandler movies (be nice about it)

Toy Story (all of them)

Up (he cries sometimes)

Tech: Oh dear. You'll only get him to the movies if there's a good documentary on, something offbeat, something he doesn't know yet or already knows but still finds fascinating, like Dark Matter.

Or you can find a good horror movie. Yes Tech likes horror movies, he is especially fond of those that play with the viewer's mind or have particularly gimmicky, good practical effects. That's why he likes The Walking Dead series, among others.

If you're not into either of those, you're out of luck, Tech's time is too precious for anything else, even if he likes to spend it with you, but not with some nonsense he can't do anything with. He' d rather talk to you, or spoil you physically, or cook something with you.

His movies

I exclude documentaries here...

The Thing (1982) -he loves the effects.

Room 1408

Alien 1 & 2

Omen

Get Out

Life

Shining

Crosshair: likes to go to the movies, at least when something is on that interests him. Just don't go with him to watch a romantic comedy or a drama, as soon as the movie is on and he realizes what is playing, he will get up, leave you sitting there and leave the cinema. He will wait for you outside if you really stay seated, but he will resent you for a long time for trying to lure him into such a "trash movie".

What he loves to watch are dystopian movies and disaster movies, the darker or more elaborate the better. He is fascinated by the concept of chaos in these movies.

His hand will always be on your knee or thigh, depending on how he's feeling at the moment, it could also be that he caresses you a bit more intimately, he generally has a hard time keeping his hands off you for any length of time.

His movies:

2012

The Road

Mad Max (all movies)

Book Of Eli

The day the earth stood still

How It Ends

World Invasion: Battle Los Angeles

The Wave

Annihilation

Cloverfield

28 Days later

@chxpsi

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@pink-peachie-pie @nahoney22

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applestorms · 8 months

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GOOD OMENS.

CLENCH UP BITCHES WE'RE DOING THIS. SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS READ WITH CAUTION my hands are still shaking from finishing season 2 approximately 13.420 minutes ago so everybody clam the fuigk up/down. we're getting IN to this one. 10 sections.

youtube

okay, before i get into anything specific, i just wanna say: this series has had some of the best writing i've seen in a tv show & it's really fucking gratifying to watch. this season in particular had some really clear, distinct themes that were evolved upon and executed pretty much perfectly imo, to the point that i almost feel like i can guess what a good deal of season 3 is probably gonna look like (see section 12). this is great!! it means the writers are really paying attention to what the story is doing & what the characters are feeling/going through at any given moment in the story, & it just makes the series that much stronger on a rewatch. this season in particular really hits that sweet spot for me of being overt & clear w/ its themes w/o treating its audiences like idiots, it just. works.

i'm not going to touch on season 1 as much here since it's not as fresh as s2 for me rn, but hopefully this post can help bring some additional analysis/reflection to the new season. not sure how much of this will be totally crazy wild & new, but perhaps some interesting points will come outta the process. hope you enjoy the read!! there's 13 sections so feel free to skip around.

1. aziraphale as the beautiful execution of a flawed protagonist (ft. crowley's pining)

one of the best parts of this season by far comes from the character writing, particularly for the main two & especially for aziraphale. aziraphale was my personal favorite to watch for this entire season actually, he & crowley are both such a fucking mess but aziraphale in particular hides it in such a fascinating way to me. it's not just like watching a car crash, it's like sitting on a park bench watching a man drive a bus into a stoplight, like full on crunch the vehicle in half squish, and then just get out & carry on walking like nothing is wrong & he isn't dripping blood & scraping broken bones across the concrete.

on a broader scale, there is something incredibly appealing about how aziraphale & crowley are presented, even at a very base level. even w/o the fantastic acting of michael sheen & david tennant specifically, it's a pretty common thing that fandom will default to shipping Narrative Foils, & these two are the epitome of that. a demon who can't stop being a nice guy & an angel who keeps cutely being an asshole- this is a great base to work off of, & again the execution thus far has been excellent.

what i like about aziraphale in particular is how complex his character ends up being while still fitting into a very particular role. while crowley to some degree fits into an already pretty popular & well-loved character model (that of the grumpy nice guy), aziraphale has to hit a couple of very important & precise traits, being both outwardly very likeable & endearing while simultaneously constantly fucking up & doing increasingly egregious shit. i really can't commend michael sheen enough for his acting in helping to get the balance right- it would be STUPIDLY easy to make aziraphale the most obnoxious character to ever grace the screen if performed or written incorrectly, the kind of outwardly-kind asshole that does horrific shit w/o reflecting since the show runners seem incapable of seeing the character for what they are & it all just ends up driving viewers up the wall (e.g. emily in paris).

what i think makes aziraphale work is the fact that he is just genuine enough in his actions that when he does something legitimately horrible, it's both so subtle you almost don't even pick up on it, too distracted by the emotions you feel in following his perspective, & just motivated enough that it's easy to write him off w/o thinking any deeper. as much as crowley calls aziraphale out for being a bad magician, i think it's spot on that the one thing he is quite skilled at is misdirection. you spend a lot of time in this show following very closely with either aziraphale or crowley's POV, but in s2 especially the contrast between those two views is quite overt. while crowley's perspective is often a lot quieter, more reflective & also overtly anxious as he throws himself into stressful situations purely for the sake of supporting az, aziraphale's POV is always very loud & chaotic as he runs around, finding pubs & fighting demons & doing whatever the fuck else he wants to at any given moment.

the main flaw of aziraphale in this season is, imo, selfishness, a direct contrast to crowley's continual self-sacrifice when it comes to aziraphale. in both cases though, this is (pushed to become) a flaw that i think ultimately leads to their inability to connect at the end of the season. but in order to understand that more, we're going to have to take a closer look into the circumstances that have thus far shaped both aziraphale & crowley's characters.

2. denial as a defense mechanism: heaven & hell as life threatening danger

if there's one thing s2 has not forgotten when it comes to a&c, it's the circumstances of s1 that led them to their current emotional/mental states.

slight tangent to lead back into this point: in my work as a librarian, i end up dealing w/ a very particular set of clientele when it comes to the kinds of people that regularly use a public library. parents w/ young children, older gentlemen & ladies looking to escape the more extreme weather, and (for my city, at least) lots and lots of people who no longer have stable housing. since an often forgotten about goal of a public library (well, to the general population) is social services, as a part of my training i've recently been working through a book on what is essentially trauma-informed customer service, which has led to a lot of insight.

one point in particular that i want to highlight here is the idea that traumatic instances are both common & intensely significant in how they can change a person's behavior. defense mechanisms that may make sense in the context of a traumatic event will often stick w/ people even as the context they're in changes & the instincts are no longer useful, instead making the individuals' life even more difficult.

if there is one trauma that defines a lot of the current problems that a&c are going through, it's the fear that originates from the constant surveillance and, in turn, threat of complete eradication that comes from both heaven & hell.

significantly, crowley & aziraphale both respond to this threat in distinctly different ways: where crowley clings to the idea of escape, of creating a place where it's him and aziraphale against the world (alpha centauri), in part idealizing aziraphale as both his only friend ("friend") & the only person he could ever truly trust (crowley also likely has some trauma from the fall but we'll get to that), aziraphale viciously denies that they even have a relationship, all the while simultaneously relying on crowley heavily to do a lot of his dirty work for him. (see this post for the endgame twist on that idea.) it's significant to me that a good chunk of aziraphale's earliest morally dubious actions involve lying- since he's been doing it for so long, it's probably one of the easiest things for him to write off as not that bad, so it's natural that he would default to it as a defense mechanism here too.

to clarify, crowley does engage in denial too, though it's obvious from the emotional climaxes of both season 1 & 2 that he is much less committed to it, likely doing it for the sake of easing aziraphale's mind and/or giving himself something to fall back on so he doesn't attract too much attention from the people that can really hurt them. overall though, these are both basically just fight/flight responses- crowley ultimately wants to run away from or fight everyone that can hurt them (& betrayed him by letting him down in the past) and aziraphale ultimately just wants to deny that the problem even exists.

if we see aziraphale's later stated goal of, "Let's change heaven for the better," as an evolution off of his earlier mindset, this is also basically what their final argument in ep6 comes down to: crowley wanting to run away and aziraphale wanting to go & fight for change. what's so aggravating about this conversation is that they also want the exact same thing: EACH OTHER. (idiots.) (maggie & nina were spot on, of course. it's not just nightingales missing in that silence.) this is not even to mention the fact that they are utilizing these defense mechanisms not just in an attempt to protect themselves, but ultimately to protect one another. think about that one late at night if you wanna get up the motivation to key mr. gaiman's car.

it's also interesting to note that in s1 crowley basically wins this argument, getting the chance to settle down (albeit, still under pretty questionable circumstances) as he & aziraphale (supposedly) create their own little corner of the world away from everyone else. it still doesn't work though as neither of their solutions really get at the core of the problem, which is 1. the horrific bureaucratic systems of heaven & hell that Don't Give a Shit about People at all, and 2. their own unspoken fears & feelings (romantic & otherwise).

3. good, evil, & narrative foils: crowley edition

since i extrapolated on aziraphale's character in section 1 and a&c's relationship in 2, i think it's only right that i look into crowley more for 3.

for all the pain & agony & tears that it brings, i really do think that ep6 is the best ep of s2. specifically, i think that ep6 is the one that shows the primary issues of a&c that have been plaguing them throughout the season (& even previously in s1) the most overtly, and this is especially true of crowley.

there are two things that aziraphale gets wrong about heaven in their final argument: 1st, the idea that heaven is necessarily better than hell, & 2nd the idea that crowley would ever want anything to do w/ it again.

i've seen some people talking about crowley like he's the voice of reason this season, but i don't necessarily agree, or at least not entirely. he's completely right when he says that heaven & hell is toxic in their final argument, yes, but i don't think his motivation in saying that is purely from observation either. remember that point i mentioned earlier, about crowley also having trauma from his initial fall? where aziraphale naturally trusts people to a fault (see: gabriel, but also picking up shax, the graveyard, etc.), crowley is plagued by a complete inability to trust anyone around him, & it's my opinion that a lot of this comes from the trauma of his initial fall.

the one exception to this is, of course, aziraphale, who we can see attempting to be a friend to crowley both before & long after his fall, but aside from him crowley Does Not trust anyone else around him & honestly for good reason. while we can write off hell as just being Like That, even if crowley didn't initially want to fall (as is heavily implied in a few flashback scenes), he certainly doesn't want to be dragged back into a supposedly great position that he knows he could lose again at any wrong comment. this is also (in part) why i think crowley reacts so strongly to aziraphale's "Nothing lasts forever," comment- after going through the horror of losing his divinity & all the stress of the last few seasons, the one thing crowley probably wants is stability, & he's been relying on aziraphale as the source of that. you're both doing the dance for this one, boys.

to reiterate: don't forget the graveyard scene when it comes to crowley doing absolutely anything for aziraphale to the point that it hurts him, both in terms of the supposed punishment he got from hell (that az skips over real fast in his narration) & how aziraphale continues to deny both the reality of their relationship & how much his denial hurts crowley.

4. beelz & gabe the weirdest couple imaginable. good for them. good for them. also: heaven & hell as two equally controlling/toxic sides of a bureaucracy

the Big Bads of the last few seasons took more of a backseat for this one which makes sense considering the focus on a&c and all of the parallel couples, but i do think the one point that was emphasized for them is very important, and that's the ways in which both heaven & hell parallel each other as shitty bureaucratic pyramids of power.

if we consider this meme to be true, i think crowley really is right when it comes to his analysis of heaven & hell, though we're probably just gonna have to wait until s3 to see the exact route the show decides to take.

a big running thread w/in either of these two groups is the fight for promotions, both in terms of people clawing their way up to get more power & in terms of people being replaceable. crowley & gabriel getting kicked out of their positions is just a vacancy of power to the companies that are Good Omens Heaven & Hell, and there is a very clear parallel between shax & michael & their desire for control. what's notable is how that parallel might also now extend to aziraphale what w/ his new promotion. all very fitting concepts to cover in a post-covid, writers-strike context, which i have seen our resident mr. gaiman posting about.

5. yuri on ice, hannibal, & the beauty of acknowledged romantic tension

if there is ONE thing i am disgustingly grateful for in this show it's the fact that we finally have some concrete follow-through on the romantic tension between a&c that permeated through s1. there's only so many times a man can call his best bud "Angel" completely unironically before it gets fucking stupid (cough cough dean winchester cough). but also, to put it in the words of another text post around here: I love how the kiss was awful.

even if there wasn't a kiss, the fact that this fucking entire season fucking revolved around love & featured all kinds of parallel couples should be enough to clue you in on the romantic tension between a&c, if you somehow were blind enough to miss it before. that being said, i'm really glad that the kiss was executed the way that it was, essentially summarizing all of the tension & anguish that had been built up over the last few seasons in an explosion. the state of aziraphale & crowley's relationship hurts more because they kissed, because the tension finally overflowed & it still wasn't enough to stop him from getting in the stupid elevator & running away again.

sorry had to take a break to aggressively listen to the better call saul theme song again. anyways, while i know there are some other shows that have set precedent for this in acknowledging the romantic development between their leads, i can't stop thinking about two in particular in comparison to good omens: yuri on ice, for the literal cinematic parallels between the kiss, and nbc hannibal, for the creator acknowledgement & slow lead up to the climax.

what i am desperately hoping & praying for w/ good omens is season 3, since it feels like all too often when we finally get a good, Gay:tm: show it's always this big, flashy thing right at the end that everyone freaks out about & adores (around these parts, at least) but is never evolved upon. i think gomens has a good chance since we've got more precedent now, the creators/actors/etc are more open about it, & the season is clearly unfinished w/ a ravenous fanbase, but something something supernatural trauma i'll trust it when i see it. can't always believe these corporate fuckers. at the very least though they probably wouldn't write this kind of ending if they didn't think they had a good case for another season, so.

ok, a couple shorter sections cause i'm undoubtedly gonna run out of space if i keep at this pace:

6. the resurrectionists was a really good arc that i enjoyed a lot

exactly what it says tbh, the writing for this arc in particular really stood out to me.

i mentioned earlier that s2 has some really good character writing & i think that's in part because it's necessary as a kind of transition season, reflecting on the chaos that happened w/ the first go at armageddon & setting up for the next apocalyptic event that is likely planned for s3. it's for this reason that i think the resurrectionists arc is really strong, establishing in particular all the flaws of aziraphale's character that i went over previously in a very interesting way that still manages to weave into the previously established, albeit quite sparse flashback timeline established in s1. the morally dubious nature of grave robbing for the sake of science & medicine is the perfect context to put characters like a&c in, and the more overt look into class w/ a character like elspeth works really well in helping to ground the more abstract social commentary associated w/ heaven & hell.

7. ramblings about sequels & whatnot

it can be really difficult to write a sequel, especially when the first go at the story cleaned up its plot so well by the end, but where s2 is strongest imo is in establishing the ways that crowley & aziraphale still need to grow.

i almost think that this season had to end horrifically tragic, in a similar way that i think book 2 of the simon snow series wayward son had to end on a pretty dour note. in order for 1 & 3 to have decently high notes, 2 just often has to be pretty miserable to balance it all out.

this is also why i think the maggie/nina storyline is so important overall. not only do those two establish the most overt romantic parallel to a&c, helping to transition the story from s1 & set up for ep6, but they also end on a distinctly hopeful note that's in direct contrast to the scene that comes immediately after they leave. the parallel plants at least the tiniest seed of hope that a&c can sort their shit out if given some time & communication, similar to maggie & nina. it also makes a lot more sense in establishing why crowley chooses that moment of all times to bother w/ a love confession- i genuinely don't think the kiss would work if m&n didn't have a little sit-down intervention w/ him beforehand.

8. SPECULATION: aziraphale vs. crowley apocalyptic fight, dissolving of the current organization of heaven & hell, affirmation of the beauty of humanity & morality?

a list of my speculation about what may or may not happen in s3:

apocalypse part 2 only this time aziraphale & crowley are actually gonna be fighting each other & it's going to be fucking agonizing to watch especially in direct contrast to s1

there's probably going to be some sort of attempt to get crowley into an equal/parallel position to aziraphale in hell. whether or not he actually decides to take this position is kinda up in the air, but either way he's going to fight it at first out of a hatred of both sides. if he does eventually agree it'll be under some sort of condition to save aziraphale, and/or a fake out trick that also is to save aziraphale.

i just don't think i can see a happy ending where heaven & hell stay in their same structure. w/ such big characters as gabriel & beelzebub just fucking gone into the middle of nowhere there's gotta be some kind of re-establishment of the two sides & their relations. the only way it might not change is if the Religion Lore gets in the way, but w/ the established politics of this show & mr. gaiman i can't see an ending that just allows the status quo to continue on exactly as horrible as it's been.

crowley back in his apartment? (plsplspls.) also something really heart-wrenching & emotional related to the car & the bookstore after a&c have been separated from them because of course. personally requesting additional exploration of the car as a symbol of crowley himself/able to be influenced by aziraphale e.g. scooting towards az, yellow is so pretty, etc. etc.

more flashbacks, maybe more from crowley's pov this time? like something to do w/ that period where he was supposedly being punished for helping aziraphale, more about his experiences w/ hell & the fall, etc.

something something affirmation of the beauty of humanity & the world, ft. a&c bonding over their mutual love of it again. they were each others only real friend for how many thousands of years, if they're gonna be fighting OR attempting a romantic bond that's going to be significant.

when the actual romantic reconciliation happens is kinda up in the air, but it depends on what the Big Bad ends up being, an external force of heaven & hell or a&c themselves. personally, i think that heaven & hell are just gonna keep getting weaker but w/ aziraphale in charge maybe that'll change (or maybe it'll be the catalyst lolol). if it's external they'll probably get together earlier in the season, if it's more internal probably not til the end, though there might be a momentary reconciliation for the sake of fighting something else.

i'm a bit more up in the air about this one, but maybe something more w/ satan & god as the top of the pyramid when it comes to heaven & hell? good omens is all about that kind of contrast so it might make sense. this also assumes that s3 is the presumed end of the series, which may or may not be the case.

if this does end up being the end of the series: i really, really, really, would not be surprised if crowley & aziraphale end up fully human. it's quite the obvious answer but it just makes so much sense for their characters, w/ their love of the world & whatnot. then again a lot of their relationship has also been related to immortality, but also then again there's a lot of stories out there about immortals hating their long lives & wanting to just settle down like normal people so. ehh. oh speaking of settling down,

9. they're NOT married, that's the PROBLEM: thirteen seconds.

thirteen. full. seconds. of the Most Awful Kiss. known to contemporary tv.

they're not married that's th eentire fuckigngggng proble m.,,..,,..,.

10. "I forgive you."

this is such a nonsensical line it makes me so absurdly angry. what the fuck are you doing aziraphale. well, presumably the exact same thing crowley was trying to do by kissing you, but i digress.

bonus edit, i thought of this literal seconds before falling asleep & now i can’t get it out of my mind: crowley needs aziraphale for stability, aziraphale needs stability to have crowley. mic drop

#i had to keep taking breaks writing this to listen to the better call saul theme so i could calm down #gomens #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens #gomens 2 meta #also if you somehow end up reading this mr. gaiman: yes i do sneak your books onto the displays at the library whenever i can #as it should be 😌#astronaut rambles

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