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snidgetsafan · 5 years

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Good Omens

Rating: T

Summary: It all starts in a garden...In a world where Heaven and Hell play an ineffable game of backgammon with humanity, an Angel and a Demon have been stationed on Earth since the dawn of time. And after 6,000 years, any being, whether they be ethereal or occult, would go at least a little native. And after 6,000 years of being the only two immortal souls on Earth, could you blame these beings for braving angelic and demonic taboos and growing close?

A Good Omens AU (no prior knowledge of the book or mini-series needed) (on AO3)

Notes: Here is my entry for @csseptembersunshine! Good Omens is my favorite book ever, and the mini-series has reawakened my obsession. I haven’t been able to write anything else, this idea wouldn’t leave me. Just so you know: this was supposed to be a bullet point outline. And here we are, 10k later... I wish I could say I was sorry for all the puns and dumbass jokes, but you know I’m not. Last but not least: a HUGE thank you to @shireness-says, who has edited this fic in two days, cheered me while I was writing, and tolerated both my fixation and puns (and even made one of her own! I’m SO PROUD)

Wordcount: 10.7k

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It all starts in a garden. No, not a garden – the garden. You could even say the Garden, since it’s currently the only one in existence.

It’s a gorgeous Garden. You could even call it heaven on Earth, because it is.

It doesn’t actually start in the Garden proper, mind, but rather on top of the wall surrounding it, where an Angel is watching the first two humans walk towards an undetermined future. More determined, however, is the lion slowly prowling towards them. A slight breeze brings the smell of ozone from the coming storm (the first storm – God really casting the humans out in style), as well as the slightest whiff of iron. That last smell is explained a few seconds later by the appearance of a huge snake slithering up the wall before slowly taking human shape as it reaches the parapet, as if unsure how to go about the transition. A Demon, then.

And thus the Demon spake unto the Angel, “Well, I don’t think that could have been any more dramatic.”

“I beg your pardon?” are the first words the Angel spake unto the Demon. The Demon smiles in amusement, their dark hair fluttering in the wind as it steadily blows stronger; the storm is growing nearer. They catch a few strands between their fingers, looking at it in puzzlement before shrugging and turning towards the Angel.

Then their smile turns into a frown. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” they ask, tilting their head to look behind the Angel, just in case their lanky frame could somehow hide a huge sword on actual fire. Such a feat would have to be quite the mirac– well.

The Angel averts their blue eyes, pretending to be fascinated by the approaching clouds. When they see the Demon patiently waiting for an answer (and isn’t it odd, seeing a Demon display one of the seven Virtues?), they mumble an answer, turning their head away once again.

(Those clouds really are quite something. They’re the first ones, for starters).

The Demon’s serpentine eyes widen. Surely – “You what ?” And then the Angel says Words, words that will shape the next six thousand years of the world, from its very beginning to its end (and its aftermath, too, but more importantly its end).

“I gave it away,” they repeat defensively, not looking at the Demon, unwilling to see the mockery on their face. The Demon is glad that the Angel’s not looking at them; this way, they have time to hide the absolute awe they’re feeling at the moment. It’s not that the Angel has compassion; angels are made of love, compassion is innate for them. No, it’s that this Angel, without even realizing it, has shown free will, has had the complete and utter balls to find and use a loophole in God’s orders.

They’re so awed, they don’t even acknowledge the envy and wrath this realization awakens in them (why didn’t this angel fall, when what they did was worse than what the Demon did – when they only asked questions? )

It’s the first time of many that the Angel will cause the Demon to ignore their very nature, reminding them of Before (before Eden, before Hell, before the fall, before the doubt).

And with the dawn of human history begins the dance of Emraoth and Kiliel (for they do learn each other’s names eventually). Because while “how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?” is quite an interesting question, it would be more appropriate to wonder what an angel and a demon would dance if left to their own devices (or to be more precise, not an angel and a demon, but rather this Angel and this Demon).

For instance, right now, you could say they’re line dancing; following the steps set by the choreography, occasionally facing each other but each staying in their own space, in sync with their side. They meet in Mesopotamia, Etruria, and what will become Australia. They assume their roles at the foot of the Ararat Mountains, though they’re not very good at it (an angel unenthusiastic about the Flood and a demon raving about the children not deserving this fate – what would their ilk think?)

––-

And then Jerusalem happens. Kiliel watches with sorrow in his eyes as God’s Son is nailed to one of the crosses. He knows God’s Plan is ineffable, and that Jesus’ death is a vital part of it, but his heart still bleeds as he hears the man’s cries and whimpers. He oddly feels relieved to smell the whiff of iron, turning his head to see Emraoth suddenly standing next to him (but not watching him - almost never watching him, not since Eden). She is draped all in black with a veil covering her brown hair in the local fashion, and she looks grim, no sign of amusement on her face.

“Did you meet him?” Kiliel can’t help but ask, both out of curiosity and as a way to cover Jesus’ cries of pain.

“I showed him all the kingdoms of the world,” she murmurs, not looking away from the cross now slowly being raised.

“Why?” Kiliel asks, not understanding what temptation she was trying to accomplish. And just like Emraoth’s whole worldview had tilted on its axis on the Garden’s wall, so does Kiliel’s on top of the Golgotha as Emraoth snorts, although there is no mirth in it.

“He’s the son of a carpenter. How else was he supposed to see them before he died?”

And just like Emraoth hadn’t expected to find free will in an angel before the Garden, Kiliel hadn’t expected to find pity in a demon before

They wait in respectful silence for the end after this, feeling Jesus deserves to not be left alone in his last, most terrible moments. Neither of them says a thing when the spear pierces his side; they’ll later get commendations from their respective sides for the act, and they won’t say a thing. What could they say? Could Kiliel say that out of the two of them, it was the Demon who showed mercy? And what can Emraoth say when Hell rejoices in her worsening the Christ’s agony? That it was the farthest from her mind?

So they continue line dancing. While they imperceptibly move out of sync with their sides, their steps start complementing each other’s instead, though no one notices, them least of all.

(God of course notices, just like She’s noticed everything since the beginning, but keeps Her own counsel on the matter).

––-

For once, Kiliel is the one who first spots Emraoth in Rome. She looks dejected, slumped against the counter with her head leaning on her fist. Kiliel feels quite nervous; he’s known Emraoth since the Garden (as much as one can know a demon, duplicity being second nature to them, he thinks, remembering Liamel’s warnings every time he reports in Heaven), but he doesn’t know how to deal with a demon capable of compassion.

But Kiliel is… curious, and he approaches her (and if Emraoth’s abrasiveness settles him into a relative sense of comfort, well, nobody has to know). They eat oysters, of all things. Emraoth hates them, but seems to like the honey cakes he orders for dessert (if the way she gobbles her plate and steals his last morsel while he is distracted is any indication, anyway). And during their meal, they talk. Not of deep things – they don’t trust each other enough for that - but of what they’ve seen. Kiliel talks about the Library of Alexandria; Emraoth mentions seeing it. Kiliel is suspicious until Emraoth snaps that it wasn’t her that burnt it down; Maleficent, one of the Duchesses of Hell, has pyromaniac tendencies.

They part, but something has changed. Both have enjoyed the other’s company, despite their natural enmity. Both Angel and Demon know that if their sides were to know this, they’d – at best – be called back to Heaven and Hell, never to set foot on Earth again. They tacitly agree to keep their acquaintance a secret.

The line dance stops, rearranges itself; they’ve shifted into a tripudium, right in time for the Dark Ages. The Church considers dancing to be immoral, wanton, but how can you stop humans dancing when there’s music? You can’t, so you compromise: people may dance, but under no circumstances should there be physical contact. Touching is impure, a mark of the Devil.

And isn’t that right on the nose for Kiliel and Emraoth.

They continue to meet from time to time (and if they sometimes investigate stories of miracles or curses wondering if they’ll find the other at the source... well, nobody has to know). Human technology and knowledge takes a step backwards after the fall of Rome. Kiliel misses running water and notions of personal hygiene; Emraoth misses good entertainment and good wine. They complain about it to each other over what passes for a drink at that time in inns, taverns, and on one memorable occasion, during a coronation feast.

They meet again in Ireland in the 5th century, and the discussion becomes quite heated over, ridiculously enough, salmon. Heated enough that Emraoth transforms back into a snake out of a frustration that makes her want to hiss properly. And heated enough for Kiliel to, for the first and only time, discorporate Emraoth where she writhes. They certainly didn’t intend to be seen by the locals, and Kiliel certainly didn’t expect it to gain as much traction as it did. He didn’t chase all the snakes out of the island; he just banished the only snake that ever stepped foot on it, is all. Still, he gets a commendation for smiting a demon and bringing Christianity to Ireland. Above is so happy with him that the medal is directly delivered by the Archangel Blue on a rainy Tuesday morning. The meeting leaves him feeling on edge; while he was outwardly rewarded and praised, this felt more like a trial than anything else. Blue’s parting words certainly didn’t help:

“It’s surprising how well you’ve adapted, Kiliel. Be careful not to go too native, though.”

(Emraoth takes her revenge a decade late when she sees Kiliel on the battlefield of Châlons, making sure at least three arrows are miracled to pierce him when he’s distracted. Why she had to make sure one hit him in the arse, Kiliel wonders before he is sent back to Heaven, he’ll never know).

––-

Kiliel joins King Arthur’s Round Table in the 6th century. Above wants to see how all of this quest for the Grail turns out, and he’s been sent to observe it all; Arthur had seemed like such a good lad at the lake when Kiliel had handed him the sword. (Not just a sword, either, but his sword, the one he hasn’t seen since Eden, though it’s not flaming right now. When it’s delivered to him by Blue he keeps a straight face. Nope, nothing to see here).

When talk of a dark sorceress reaches Camelot, Kiliel volunteers to investigate, centuries of habits making him guess who is behind these tales. And just as he thought, he finds Emraoth in the woods, lounging in a mossy clearing. She does look impressive, if a little… surly. Snakes don’t like the cold and the damp, after all. Neither do angels, for that matter. (Or Kiliel, to be more precise. Heaven, while beautiful and peaceful, is cold . Being posted on Earth had been a blessing in disguise; the warm caress of the sun had felt scorching after the chilly harmony of Paradise).

And in the middle of that mossy clearing, as Kiliel’s neck itches under his chainmail, and as Emraoth keeps having to miracle the bottom of her gown dry as they catch up, that clearing is where the Demon vocalizes an idea she’s had since at least Pompeii.

“If I’m here to wile, and you’re here to thwart, and all we do is cancel each other out all the time… wouldn’t it be more sensible to just… go home?” the Demon asks, her serpentine eyes fixed on Kiliel’s, “What’s the point of staying here in the damp when what we’re doing won’t have any impact anyway?”

Kiliel entertains the idea for a second (that chainmail really is itchy, and the less said about his braies, the better) before he sees through Emraoth’s attempt at sloth.

“No!” he exclaims, “what’s wrong with you?” Emraoth just shrugs, miracling her dress dry once more. She hadn’t even been trying to tempt the Angel; it would have just been more practical for both of them to go home, that’s all.

Oh well.

It only takes a decade for Kiliel to see Emraoth’s point as he takes Arthur to Avalon on his final trip, once again appearing as Viviane, the Lady of the Lake. That mess with Lancelot and Guinevere really soured Kiliel’s time in Camelot, and he feels that Arthur giving back Excalibur and dying marks the end of his time at the Round Table.

(He can’t help but feel a little responsible for Lancelot. He did have a hand in his upbringing, after all, and may have been a little heavy-handed in his lessons about love).

He has half a hope to be able to keep his sword at the end of it all, but it’s whisked away by Blue minutes after Arthur has breathed his last, nattering about how it’s going to be needed later on. He finds Emraoth still in the same mossy clearing, and the Arrangement is born. Instead of fighting fruitlessly against one another, one of them can accomplish both the blessing and the temptation.

And if the other one stays home… well, no one has to know.

––-

And so they now seek each other out, meeting in inconspicuous places: gardens, balls, markets, and isolated clearings. Kiliel is the one who goes up to Iona in the 9th century to inspire some Vikings into attacking the monastery there. He is also the one who helps the monks flee to Ireland. During the trip, he happens upon a gorgeously illuminated book, and is absolutely charmed. He helps the monks settle, and decides to stay for a little while, just to make sure the monastery stays safe (and the books, because there’s a second one ). A little while ends up being five decades. It’s in that time that he decides to adopt the name the locals have given him: Killian. It’s close enough to his real name, and attracts less attention than his foreign-sounding one.

During this time, Emraoth goes to the continent to wreak a little havoc. She has way too much fun nicknaming the successive kings of that period. Kiliel empathizes with Charles: being constantly mocked for your hairiness by being nicknamed King Charles the Bald must have stung something fierce.

When Emraoth comes back, she tells him she now goes by Emma. He guesses he’ll get used to it, even if it’s been almost five millennia of calling her by her demonic name. And if Emma doesn’t meet his eyes when she tells him she just liked the name when she heard it, Kiliel won’t call her out. Just like he won’t mention having read about the angel Immanuel in the Book of Isaiah (although he can’t – he can’t remember ever meeting her before the Fall. So is the curse of the Fallen, that their annihilation from Heaven be so complete that their very existence is banished from Heaven’s memory).

The Arrangement continues and strengthens with time; the dancers get closer and closer, until there is at last, some measure of trust; they touch, even if it is still hesitant. The dance once again changes, the parudium leaving its place to a stately minuet, where the dancers twirl around each other, growing closer then separating in order to come near again. (And if the dancers twirl closer and closer, well, again – no one has to know).

Kiliel learns not to tell Emr– Emma that she is nice, or kind, because she will spend the next decade trying to prove she is not . He spends all of the 10th century protecting the Kells library from different pillaging attempts because the Demon knows he loves those two books and is being spiteful. The monks there comment that it’s a miracle the two manuscripts always seem to survive the attacks on the monastery. Kiliel (or brother Killian, as he’s known there) smiles nervously and changes the subject every time.

Years, then decades, then centuries pass in this fashion. Neither Heaven nor Hell seem to catch onto their ruse. Quite the contrary, in fact; the commendations both from Above and Below become more frequent. The only downside to the Arrangement is that Kiliel sees Blue much more often than before, and every meeting leaves him feeling out of sorts, as if he’s missing something, as if Blue’s hiding something behind her affable smiles and azure garments. Kiliel can’t help but feel guilty after each meeting for doubting his superior; Blue knows what she’s doing, and if she weren’t following God’s Plan, then surely the Almighty would have already taken care of her.

Emma absolutely loathes the 14th century, and she makes sure everyone around her (especially Kiliel) knows it. Her drunken rants about all the evils of the era become legendary in their length, virulence, and irony. The last straw is when the umpteenth bout of plague decimates the village she is staying in; she decides in a fit of pique to sleep the rest of the century away. Kiliel does not miss her. He had just grown unaccustomed to only speaking to mortals, that’s all. Plus it’s nice not to have to protect what has become known as the Book of Kells from constant attacks because someone was annoyed and feeling childish.

(Emma has been a constant in his life since the beginning of human history; truth be told, he sees her more often than those on his own side. Of course he’s grown accustomed to her).

As time goes by, Kiliel grows more and more fond of books in general. Even though the Angel loves illuminated manuscripts and thinks them objects of art, no one is more excited than he about the advent of the printing press. He is quite proud, in fact, of having inspired the first sentence to be typed. “Fiat lux” – let there be light – had, indeed, been quite enlightened of him, he thinks. It helps balance the quite scandalous things that print will be used for. Being able to produce several books a day will certainly help spread not only the Gospel, but also stories and histories to people who didn’t have access to them before. And if more people can read, then more people can write books. That’s a win-win situation for the discerning angel looking for new material to read, after all.

Libraries start popping everywhere around Europe. Kiliel is all in favor of giving people free access to books; it’s just that books deserve respect , deserve to be handled with care, and so many of these humans seem unable to grasp that fact. They are precious, not only because they are rare, but because of the knowledge they hold. Even he will admit that he went a bit far in the Hereford Cathedral’s library. Chaining the shelves was frowned upon both by the Archbishop and by Above; he’s supposed to influence humans to do God’s will, not miracle the chains himself during the night. He had received a strongly worded letter the following week; phrases like “more judicious use of your grace” and “try to deal with less trivial matters in the future” were used, making Kiliel grimace in discomfort. Head office was not happy.

Emma comes back from her jaunt in the Carribbean with a tan and a new accent and laughs herself silly when he tells her what happened. Kiliel didn’t know demons could laugh. They snicker, cackle or chortle ominously, but Kiliel had no idea they could make such delighted (and delightful) sounds. And if he thinks that laughter really suits Emma, much more than her customary smirks... well, no one has to know.

A century later he is more careful in Dublin; chains are too obvious to protect the books. He just makes sure to devise a system that makes it near impossible to find specific volumes. After all, arranging them by weight and size is logical and practical when you think about it. So little space, so many books. And well, if the Book of Kells finds a privileged place in the college’s library, then that’s just a coincidence, isn’t it?

(His classification system serves as inspiration again when he opens his bookshop at the end of that century. Again: so little space, so many books ).

As Kiliel slowly sets up his shop at the end of the 18th century (he finally found the perfect place, a corner shop in the middle of Soho deserted by its previous owners due to the latest plague outbreak), he hears that the revolutionaries in France are requisitioning all the belongings of the nobility and selling them. He thinks of the libraries of the Versailles palace, of Paris, of Brittany. He thinks of all that knowledge being dilapidated and lost and can’t bear the thought. He needs to do something .

So the Angel travels to Paris with his pockets full of écus , and starts making enquiries. Except that the situation is so... peculiar in Paris these days that a rich well-dressed man automatically translates to aristocrat. And nobles aren’t very popular in Paris right now, except on the guillotine platform. And so an Angel finds himself chained in a cell in the Bastille. He’d miracle himself free, but he’s not supposed to be in Paris (he should be blessing away in Norwich, but Emma had drawn the short straw this time) and he doesn’t want to attract Above’s attention. And he’s sure he can explain himself to the court; their Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen sounded perfectly reasonable when he’d read it the previous month, very progressive and full of good sense. He might even suspect Heavenly influence, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s the only angel in Europe right now.

It turns out the French are not reasonable at all, especially when they see the content of his pockets and decide it would look better in their coffers. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised; they’re a pretty uncouth and smelly bunch and would be unsalvageable if it weren’t for their cuisine and wine. Kiliel finds himself in a new cell, one in which he can hear all the poor souls being decapitated to the cheers of the crowd. Nothing Heavenly about this, he thinks. Hell must be the ones behind this. He hopes Emma was not involved (and doesn’t dither too much on why he doesn’t want her specifically to be responsible).

He barely waits an hour before the executioner arrives, looking decidedly too cheerful for a dealer of death. Under his jolly appearance and upbeat tone, Kiliel can sense a man rotten to the core, who takes pleasure in making heads roll. No reason nor help coming from this side either, then. Getting discorporated is going to be such a bother, Kiliel thinks, disgruntled. At this rate, he should really use a miracle to free himself; he’s going to be reprimanded anyway, but at least he won’t have to fill the paperwork to get a new body.

“I really don’t understand how you can behave like such animals while pretending to fight for freedom,” Killian grumbles while raising his hand to snap his fingers, not realizing Jean-Claude has stopped moving entirely.

“Animals don’t use clever machines to kill each other,” sounds a voice from behind him as he realizes the crowd outside has grown silent. Emma . He turns around, smiling delightedly, never happier to see the Demon. She’s wearing the local garb, Phrygian hat hiding her brown curls, smoked glasses firmly planted on her nose to hide her serpentine eyes. Her hands are also on her hips, and her eyebrow is raised in the universal sign of annoyance.

“What the heavens are you doing here, Angel? Don’t you have a bookshop to open?”

While it might be surprising to see an angel lectured by a demon, it’s important to remember that this is not just any angel, nor any demon. So Kiliel tells her everything, ignoring the way she rolls her eyes so hard her head follows the motion. Explaining to Emma why he hasn’t freed himself is a little trickier, though (a lot more embarrassing, more like). Where he expects Emma’s laughter, or her anger, he’s only met with fond exasperation as she shakes her head, looking at him over her glasses. Emma can’t hold time prisoner for long, though, so she switches Kiliel’s clothes with Jean-Claude the executioner’s just in time for two soldiers to come fetch the “English pig” to take him to his date with Madame Guillotine. Both men ignore Jean-Claude’s protestations that he’s French, which probably has something to do with the fact that he’s suddenly forgotten how to speak French. The Angel doesn’t feel guilty about Jean-Claude’s fate. After all, it’s divine retribution for his crimes; he will die as he lived, on the scaffold – only this time, he’ll be the one with his head on the block.

After getting out of the Bastille and breathing in the relative fresh air (Revolutionary France really was letting itself go in terms of waste disposal and personal hygiene, not that it had been this stellar to begin with), they go to a café and have some crêpes. Between Emma riding on the high of a successful rescue and Kiliel feeling relieved at not having had to resort to any miracles, the tone is jovial. They joke around, Emma telling him about Norwich, Kiliel telling her about his latest purchases. After the first bottle of cider, Emma finally teases him about his coming to Paris, making the Angel smile (he’d been waiting for it; after almost six thousand years, he was starting to know the Demon).

They end up walking in the Tuileries after dark among canoodling couples and groups of friends. It would be hard to guess from this sight alone that the city was in the middle of the Reign of Terror. They stop on a bench overlooking the Louvre. Amusement and the alcohol they’ve drunk make Emma relaxed, and that the flimsy little glasses she wears keep sliding down her nose as she talks animatedly. Kiliel looks at her, finding her positively charming, her flushed cheeks and relaxed brow making her appear younger.

(Than usual, that is, not than her actual age. Any breathing body automatically looks younger than six thousand years. To be honest, any body looks younger than six thousand).

Fresh air and Paris and wine as well as a good time had with a friend make Kiliel unable to keep his thoughts to himself. “You have the most beautiful eyes, love,” he blurts out, emboldened by being able to see them for once, no smoky glasses shielding the serpentine orbs. Ever since she had discovered smoked glasses, she almost always had a pair over her eyes, the most notable exception being when she’d turned into a snake in Ireland (and hadn’t that encounter ended spectacularly badly).

And yet, even as the words escape his mouth, he knows he’s making a mistake; those glasses are an armor for her, one behind which she can hide and upon which she’s based her whole persona, her whole shell. Her face closes off immediately, and in another two minutes she’s gone, pretexting a temptation in Orléans. It’s only after she’s disappeared behind a row of trees that he realizes he’d never asked her how she had known where to find him.

Neither of the dancers notice, but Paris in 1793 marks a significant change in the dance, as the minuet slowly becomes livelier, sharper, more challenging. Both dancers prod at each other, enter each other’s space to see if they’ll take a step back, twirl and walk and collide in a fiery facsimile of a fight. Though it hasn’t been invented yet, the angel and the demon are the first to dance a pasodoble.

Kiliel doesn’t hear from Emma for 10 years. She waltzes back in his life one Tuesday morning in 1803 as he’s trying to convince a gentleman that no, he doesn’t want to purchase that Shakespeare folio, that it’s not for sale even if yes, it is on display in a bookshop. The gentleman is quite insistent until Emma snaps her fingers and he seems in a hurry to get… somewhere else. Kiliel doesn’t want to know. He’s just glad to be rid of the man, as he had quite odd ideas; arguing that bookshops have to sell books, how preposterous. It’s taken him more than three centuries to amass his collection, he’s not going to start squandering it. He didn’t nearly die in Paris for this.

That first meeting is all business, as she has a new pet project in Manchester (or, to be more accurate, the pet project is Manchester). They make a deal: Kiliel will ignore what’s happening in Lancashire, and Emma will steer clear of County Mayo in Ireland. Not that it’s a sacrifice for her; she still hasn’t forgiven him for what happened there in the 5th century. But if Emma plans on influencing a whole city, then Kiliel should definitely do the same, just somewhere else. He remembers popping by Cathair na Mart two decades ago for a blessing, inspiring the lord of the place to rebuild the village he had destroyed to extend his grounds, instead of just turning the inhabitants into the streets. A second blessing on the architect ensured that the new town would be decent; he’s particularly proud of the promenade along the river.

So Kiliel starts spending more time there, dusting off his Killian moniker and encouraging the citizens to do good. His efforts show, as four churches open. More importantly a proliferation of missions and charities begin to operate in and around the city. He hasn’t often concentrated so much on one place, and he finds he quite likes it, even if he misses his bookshop (though his frequent absences help establish him as a particularly difficult merchant, a reputation that he is far, far from resenting, as it keeps most customers away).

What he doesn’t expect, however, is to enjoy sailing so much. Oh, he’s already sailed before in his long existence – after all, you can’t travel from England to the rest of the world without setting foot on a ship (he could fly, but the air currents over the Channel are a nightmare to navigate) – but this, this is different. Sailing directly from London to Cathair na Mart is quicker and more practical than traveling by land, and for the first time since the invention of the caravel, he actually sails on the open sea, and he finds it exhilarating . When the wind is behind them (and it always is, he makes sure of it), it feels like flying, the ride smooth and swift. He loves it so much that he acquires his own ship, a small brigantine named The Ethereal Swan which employs eight sailors (but which he usually sails by himself if he can help it). He makes sure that a dock is always miraculously free for him both in England and Ireland.

He finds he can’t wait to show his ship to Emma. They are… friends, after all, are they not? They’ve been exchanging letters this whole time (even if months or even years could pass between each one), ostentatiously to continue with their Arrangement, less officially to catch up.

(Emma still refuses to step foot in Ireland; considering the utter mess she’s wreaking in Manchester, that’s probably a good thing. Kiliel can’t approach Manchester now without the stench of evil making his eyes water. They’d meet, but they’re afraid that both of them being absent from their cities at the same time would raise some suspicion).

He thinks he might get a chance in 1835, when Emma sends a message to his bookshop (he’s been spending more and more time there, his work in Mayo County slowly coming to an end) asking him to meet her at St James’ Park, not far from Buckingham Palace. It’s become a privileged meeting spot for them since the 1660s, but they haven’t been there since the canal had been transformed into a lake. Kiliel is quite eager to see the changes (and even more to see Emma; it’s been too long, despite the letters). They catch up with each other while walking the new avenues, Emma telling him all about the mischief she has been up to in Manchester and the commendation she’s gotten for it, before Kiliel talks about Cathair na Mart and Emma tries not to roll her eyes at the sentimentality (well, not too much). Kiliel softly smiles whenever she does so; he knows what she looks like when truly annoyed, and this isn’t it – this is just a front. The Demon Emraoth can be quite soft when she wants to be, although Kiliel isn’t stupid enough to voice that thought (not anymore, at least – he doesn’t know where she’d find Vikings to attack Trinity College, but he trusts her to somehow manage it).

It’s while they’re sitting down in front of the new lake, looking at the new facade of Buckingham House (“Palace, Angel, get with the times”) that Kiliel finally broaches the fact he bought a ship. “You what?” Emma laughs, looking delightfully surprised (just as she had on the wall of Eden, at the very beginning, and Kiliel is proud to still be able to surprise her). So he invites her to Rotherhithe where the Ethereal Swan is docked, planning on taking a cab to go there. Emma stops him, bringing him to a black buggy which she drives with… unabashed enthusiasm, a part of Kiliel tries to think diplomatically (though the rest of it is screaming that she’s driving like a madwoman). Between sharp turns and exhortations for Emma to watch the road, Kiliel performs six minor miracles to ensure there are no casualties to Emma’s driving, while the demon snaps that pedestrians know the risks when they venture onto the streets. It’s with the greatest relief that Kiliel finally glimpses the masts in the marina, and directs Emma as close to the Swan ’s dock as possible.

He suddenly feels bashful as he guides Emma onto the gangplank, ridiculously wanting her to approve of the ship. He can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as soon as he steps on the deck, feeling more at home than anywhere else (even more than his shop, and he’s lived there for the last five decades, longer than anywhere else). Emma has already started exploring, climbing on the upper deck to see the wheel and peer over the railing, before coming back towards him. Kiliel waits patiently for her, watching her walk around his ship, the sight oddly right.

They end up in the captain’s cabin, sharing a bottle of rum Emma miracles. She had brought back some from her time in the Carribean, and Kiliel had developed quite a taste for it. “Plus,” she smirks, ”it’s quite appropriate to toast the ship with some naval rum, wouldn’t you agree, Captain ?” Kiliel just smiles while sipping his drink, letting the alcohol and the company warm his insides.

It’s as she leaves that Emma plants a seed in Kiliel’s mind, looking around her at the books littering the window’s edge and the furniture.

“If you feel so much at home here, why do you even bother with your bookshop?”

(And isn’t that the way of demons, sowing seeds and making sure humans grow them all by themselves? Ironic, when you consider how hopeless Emma is with plants.)

At the time, Kiliel just smiles, but the wheels of fate have already started turning, even if he’s not aware of it yet.

––-

After that, they start meeting more often, always following the same pattern: they meet in the park, and end up either in his bookshop or on his ship (and always, always with Emma’s mad driving in the middle, regrettably). Excepting the infernal rides, Kiliel likes this new development. Even though she is supposedly his mortal enemy, he feels a kinship with Emma born of almost six millenia spent on Earth and of their own alchemy.

This state of harmony comes to an end on a stormy Tuesday morning four years later when Blue herself graces him with her presence, stepping into his bookshop as he waits for Emma’s arrival. They’re planning to go eat at Claridge’s. Apparently, his achievements in Cathair na Mart have earned him a medal, as well as a promotion. A promotion that means he’s being summoned back to Heaven, permanently . Something which he definitely doesn’t want, but can’t really say to Blue, now can he? Kiliel tries to argue that he is an asset here on Earth, that he knows the enemy and manages to thwart them quite effectively, but to no avail. She doesn’t seem to care at all that if he were to go, Hell would be left to roam Earth unchallenged, even enjoying the thought. And this promotion doesn’t feel like one either. What did Petrarch used to say? “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer”? Kiliel somehow doesn’t feel like a friend there. He manages to win a little time before he has to leave, just enough to sort his business here (just enough to say his goodbyes).

But it doesn’t come to that, as Blue comes sulking back two hours later, this time with Gabriel in tow. The head Archangel looks perplexed (which would translate to frantic agitation in any other person or angel). Apparently, Kiliel’s promotion has been postponed, as he is considered far more useful on Earth than Above – but he can keep the medal, thank you and goodbye. Blue doesn’t look perplexed or alarmed; instead, she looks frustrated, her mouth turned down into a subtle frown that Kiliel somehow catches. Her insistence on his being on Earth as merely temporary is also odd; it’s almost as if she wants to get him away from Earth, and not up to Heaven.

He sits at his desk, puzzled, when he realizes that Emma never came. It’s as he’s wondering where she is that she appears, as if summoned by his thoughts. She listens as he recounts his morning before rolling her eyes behind her glasses (she unconsciously rolls her neck at the same time, which Kiliel does not find cute; if Emma knew what he was thinking, he’d be discorporated on the spot) and inviting him to lunch. They don’t talk about it any more, and at the end of their lunch Emma heads off to Camberwell to officiate a blessing for Killian on her way to Croydon.

(Kiliel is not amused by the result of this blessing; young John William Bean was supposed to feel divine inspiration to bring change to his life, but not by shooting at the Queen. Emma is, however, and keeps arguing that the gun was full of coffee, anyway, the worst that could have happened was that Her Majesty’s dress would have sported a suspicious brown stain)

The incident stays in his mind, however, and he realizes with a certain shock that he can’t trust Blue anymore, that she doesn’t seem to have either his or Earth’s best interest at heart. The thought scares him, as an Angel is not supposed to question his superiors (is not supposed to question anything, really), and he knows that several of his former brothers and sisters have fallen for just this reason. He fears this will be his fate, until he realizes that it’s not God he’s questioning (he still has the utmost Faith in Her, doesn’t doubt Her Great Plan), but rather a particular Angel. The thought saddens him, as angels are not supposed to be suspicious of each other, but it is what it is.

And that’s where Kiliel starts to plan. Because whatever Blue’s goal is, it involves him not being on Earth, and he has no intention of being a part of it if it’s not the Almighty’s Plan. So he needs some sort of… deterrent. But what can an angel do against an archangel? There’s only one answer, and it’s a terrible, unthinkable one. Which is why Kiliel chooses to unthink it for a decade, pretending everything is fine as he conducts blessings as usual, interspersed with the occasional temptation for Emma.

But really, the thought keeps nagging him despite his best efforts; Hellfire is the only thing that can kill an angel. And he’s not talking about a simple discorporation, your mortal vessel dies, whoops, Up Above you go, please fill these forms to get a new one and don’t let us see you again. No, death by Hellfire would mean complete annihilation of the body and the soul; you’d be burnt away from existence, with no hope of resurrection whatsoever. It is an abomination, made even more abhorrent by the fact that it’s a weapon kept solely in the hands of their mortal enemies – just like the Heavenly Host has Holy Water. The stakes are balanced, each side having the means to destroy the other.

(While God’s Plan is Ineffable, this part is pretty clear, the balance perfect. They’ll see which side tips the scales when Kingdom comes.)

And yet, it’s the only solution. And as far as he knows, there’s only one way to get some Hellfire, and that’s through a demon.

Good thing he knows one.

Except the meeting doesn’t go as planned. They meet at St. James’ Park, feed the ducks, then head to the bookshop (which he keeps mostly closed these days; he’s getting tired of fending off customers) like usual. He makes his request after a few drinks, but Emma flies off the handle, categorically refusing to even give him an ember.

“I will not give you the meansss of destroying yourself. I need sssome time, Kiliel,” is the last thing she tells him, hissing her s in a rare show of true anger before leaving his shop, not looking back despite Killian calling after her.

He doesn’t hear from her for 64 years.

For the first time since the beginning of the world, the Angel and the Demon dance separately. The Demon has walked away from the paso doble, leaving the Angel alone on the stage.

And so, lonelier than he’s ever been, the Angel dons a mask that hides his face, and performs the steps that ensure he doesn’t stand out from the ensemble. He begins a Kabuki performance that will last until November 14th, 1941.

––-

Kiliel (or Killian Jones, as he’s come to be known by mortals) should really have realized this operation was too good to be true. He’d been contacted the previous week by a Captain Teach, who’d told him some Nazi agents were looking to obtain his collection of books of prophecy, and that the SOE wanted to use this occasion to root out the cell. He had readily acquiesced, always eager to thwart evil coming from demons and humans alike.

The Nazis has indeed contacted him, proposing a substantial sum of money to convince him to part with his precious volumes. He had accepted and called Teach back, giving him the time and place of the meeting. He thought it was quite fitting that they were to be brought to justice by an angel in a church, but he guessed that it made sense to meet in a place that was public but usually deserted, and which wouldn’t be crowded in case of an air raid. However, he didn’t like that Her house would be used for such nefarious purposes, but guessed that the ends justified the means in this case.

Except that it turns out Captain Teach is only a pseudonym, and that he’s really a mercenary who doesn’t care where the money is coming from, as long as it’s hard cash. Kiliel is fuming as he stares down the nozzle of the gun pointed right between his eyes; he can’t believe he got swindled by these half-witted Nazis .

His execution is stopped by colorful swearing and the off-rhythm staccato of heels hitting the church’s stone floor. The men turn as one to see a woman hopping quickly towards them. Kiliel can’t believe his eyes; he hasn’t heard this voice in 64 years (nor seen these calves since Ancient Greece, if he remembers correctly).

“The notorious Emma Swan,” Teach breathes next to him, sounding astounded.

“Swan?” Kiliel asks in confusion, ignoring the humans behind him.

“Yeah, what of it? I had to think of something,” Emma grumbles, coming to a stop near them, sitting on a pew and taking her feet off the ground with a sigh of relief escaping her red lips. Kiliel tries to hide his smile, flabbergasted she’s here, in front of him, after all this time, and that she walked on consecrated ground to come to him. Turns out it’s not the only miraculous thing to happen today, though; she explains to Teach and the Nazis that they’d better run if they want to avoid getting killed by the bomb that’s heading their way. She mentions that only a miracle would allow someone to survive the explosion, looking meaningfully at Kiliel over her glasses, who understands her meaning and prepares to use his Grace at the right moment.

Teach is the only one who heeds Emma’s advice and scampers out, running out of a side door. The Nazis don’t move, thinking that Fraulein Swan is bluffing, even as they can detect the buzz of planes coming nearer. They only realize she’s definitely not when they hear the tell-tale whistle of a bomb heading towards the ground at breakneck speed. Kiliel walks closer to Emma before blinking and making sure their little corner remains untouched by the blast and the debris, allowing only a warm breeze to ruffle their hair. When the dust has settled, Kiliel turns his head towards the Demon. She looks regal, draped over the pew, her black outfit untouched by the dust as flames reflect on her sunglasses, making her appear absolutely diabolic. She’s never looked more beautiful to Kiliel.

And then he realizes he completely forgot about his books. They’d been in the Nazis’ hands before the bomb had fallen, and they must be completely crushed under the rubble, or even burning, he thinks with dismay, sighing noisily. They had been among his most prized possessions, some of them even signed by their authors (he especially loved the dedication by Nostradamus – such a nice man, if somewhat misguided). But then Emma gets up, heading towards the biggest pile of rubble and picking something up before tossing it to him. Caught by surprise, Kiliel fumbles to catch it before looking down and seeing that it’s his satchel, untouched by the destruction around them.

“Little demonic miracle of my own,” Emma says as she passes him, gingerly walking towards the exit, the ground still consecrated even if the church doesn’t exist anymore.

Kiliel doesn’t follow immediately, floored by the thoughtfulness of his friend as his heart soars and his stomach swoops and – oh . How could he have been so oblivious? Angels are beings of love: they are made of it, and they thrive in it. An argument could be made for his love for Emma blending into the love he feels for all creatures, high and low, but that’s not it, is it? He doesn’t merely love Emma, he’s in love with her. He doesn’t just want to see her happy, he wants to make her happy. If he could give her back even a tenth of the bliss she elicits in him just by existing, then he’d be satisfied.

He’s jarred out of his thoughts by Emma calling after him to hurry up. With a soft smile, he follows her to the street, where she heads towards a parked car, clicking her tongue at the gravel and dust covering it. Stepping on the sidewalk, Kiliel blinks once more, and the car is sparkling clean. Kiliel is surprised to see that it’s more yellow than black – a surprising color scheme for a demon but then, when has Emma been remotely conventional? It’s surprisingly her , he thinks fondly. His smile is soon wiped away, however when he sees her get behind the wheel, the passenger door opening on its own in a wordless invitation to get in as he hears sirens in the distance. Surely she’s calmed down on her driving, right? What with the different vehicle and the risk of rubble on the streets she’s going to be more prudent, he’s sure. Kiliel gets in, clutching his satchel.

He was wrong. She’s even worse than before, the maneuverability of the vehicle allowing her to do more daring stunts, like taking turns on two wheels, or slaloming between craters at top speed. Kiliel is glad Soho is not far from the church, as he would surely have discorporated if he’d had to stay in the car for five more minutes, either from an accident or from his heart giving out on him (Emma scoffs when he tells her that, reminding him that he actually doesn’t need a heart, stop being so dramatic, it’s not cute at all ). The only good thing about the ride is that since they’re in the middle of an air raid, there are no pedestrians on the street.

Emma stops when she enters the bookshop, looking at the empty shelves with amazement before turning to Kiliel, silently waiting for an explanation. It’s simple, really; what with the Blitz raging over London, he wanted to make sure that both his ship and his books would be safe. He went with the most practical solution, which was to put the books in his ship, and his ship in Cathair na Mart. He doesn’t understand what’s so funny about it, but Emma is highly amused (and if her mocking allows him to hear her beautiful laugh, then it’s a small price to pay).

They spend the evening drinking, catching up, and not mentioning their last meeting at all. The Angel asks about Emma’s new name, and has the pleasure of seeing a slight embarrassed flush bloom on her cheeks as she mutters that she needed a new name and that was what came to her – it’s not her fault demons have no imagination. Kiliel charitably doesn’t say anything more, as they both know Emma can be quite creative when she wants to be, choosing instead to ask about her car. That launches her into how she got it and the modifications she had done to it.

Kiliel keeps expecting to feel different about Emma, but apart from having identified his feelings, it’s just like any meeting they’ve had before. It’s comfortable, familiar, a breath of fresh air after more than half a century of her absence.

When Emma leaves, it’s with no promise that she’ll be back. And yet, Kiliel somehow knows he won’t have to wait 64 years to see her again.

––-

The Demon comes back to the dance floor, and the pasodoble resumes, even more intense than before. But the dynamics have changed; they don’t push against each other as much, choosing instead to move together. The posturing is just that, now: a facade for the audience.

Another change: they barely look away from each other.

Kiliel’s books never go back on the shelves of the bookshop, despite the ship coming back to its place in Rotherhithe after the war. A seed Emma had planted a century before finally blooms, and he realizes that he is much better on his ship alone with his books rather than trying to fend off rude people not understanding that they’re not for sale (“customers, angel, they’re called customers ”).

Arranging his collection to his satisfaction takes some time (and a miracle or two, both angelic and demonic) until he’s satisfied. The whole cargo hold is transformed into a new library, with only his most prized books in his cabin. With this new organization, Kiliel finds himself with a lot of room below deck empty; he uses it to store bits and bobs, such as nautical maps and instruments, his old clothes (though his toga doesn’t survive the trip, and miracling it whole wouldn’t be the same), and various furniture and decorations (and if the pew on which Emma had lounged in 1941 finds its way to the galley… well, no one has to know).

Once he’s satisfied with his organization, in 1952, he invites Emma aboard to show her. He’s a little miffed by her laughing fit, because he’s not a proper pirate now, whatever she says (though her laugh is still as delightful and precious as ever, even more so now that he knows how much he loves her. For a few minutes he thinks mission accomplished , he’s made her happy).

Emma is so amused that for the next fifteen years, she only refers to him as Captain and asks him every time they see each other how his pirate booty is doing. Kiliel feels like he is the butt of the joke in some way, though he’s yet to find how.

They also see each other more frequently, approximately once every couple of years. They don’t mention it, but Kiliel is glad; he missed Emma before, and in a world that has become so fast changing, it’s reassuring to have a constant, even if she insists on following human fashions, making each meeting a lesson in the zeitgeist of the time.

On a foggy Tuesday morning, Blue comes to visit Kiliel at his old bookshop. Though his collection has been relocated, he keeps the shop to maintain a base of operations in Central London, now filling it with much more recent books that he is willing to part with (though he keeps his hours as erratic as before; he doesn’t mind selling these books, but even he has his limits when it comes to customer service). She wants to ask him what he knows about a heist that took place in Mayfair’s Christ Church. Apparently a door was broken down, but nothing was stolen – except, oddly enough, all the Holy Water vats were emptied, not a single drop remaining. Kiliel hadn’t heard about this, and plays it down as probably a local homeless man wanting a dry place to sleep for the night and who was thirsty. Blue almost seems disappointed by his explanation, asking him to look into it nonetheless; they can’t have Holy Water falling into the wrong hands, after all.

Kiliel diffidently agrees, even though he can feel his anger rising. He knows. A quick visit to the church confirms his suspicions; a slight scent of iron betrays that a Demon has recently come here and burnt her feet on the consecrated ground. Though why would she take such a risk, knowing that even a mere handful of liquid could do her serious harm, even kill her if she were splashed?

How dare she take such a risk, Kiliel thinks angrily, when she could just as easily have asked him to – oh.

Oh, the hypocrisy .

While Kiliel has adapted quite well to the human world, he remains at his core an angel, and while angels are known for their benevolence, they’re also known for their righteous fury when provoked.

And Kiliel? Oh, Kiliel feels provoked alright.

He heads to her new apartment (she wasn’t even subtle, just went to the closest church, that damned serpent) and barely restrains himself from literally knocking down the door, but only because he can feel human eyes on his back and he doesn’t want to cause a scene. So he pretends to have a key and miracles the door open, striding into the living room. The Angel can feel that Emma is absent; there’s no one in the flat, so he sits down, and waits. He waits until the sun has gone down, and until it goes up again, his anger feeding on itself to remain a burning fire in his chest.

When Emma finally shows up, she enters her living room cautiously, already knowing he’s there. Kiliel doesn’t even let her open her mouth to talk, laying into her immediately. Because beyond the anger, he is hurt , hurt that she wouldn’t trust him, hurt that she’d do the exact same thing she had refused him the previous century, and hurt that she would risk herself in such a way. And beyond the anger, beyond the pain, he is afraid, because what could a demon want with Holy Water?

“That’s none of your business!” Emma exclaims, her eyes flashing behind her sunglasses.

“None of my business? Are you kidding me? It is my business when a demon does what no other has ever done and sneaks into a church to steal Holy Water ! It is my business when that stupid, stupid act attracts the attention of the archangels, and they ask me to investigate! And whether you want to admit it or not, it is my business when my friend takes ridiculous risks to obtain something that could obliterate her from existence, and refuses to tell me why!”

“We’re not friendsss ,” Emma hisses, as if the word is the ugliest swear she’s ever uttered, “I don’t even like you.”

Of all that he said, that is the thing she chooses to respond to? Infuriating woman, he doesn’t understand how her animal traits are not those of a bull; she’s the thickest-headed being he has ever had the displeasure to meet.

“Yes you do ,” he snaps back, at the end of his rope. He doesn’t know when he stepped closer to her, but he is now towering over her smaller form, forcing her to raise her head to look him in the eyes (and despite the glasses as a barrier between them, he’s not fooled by her) but for once he will not back down. This is too important. “What’s going on, Emma?”

He can see her wavering, senses it in the way her breathing hitches, how her body shifts as if she wants to slither away, forgetting she’s in human form for a moment. But she rallies (because she wouldn’t be his Demon if she didn’t) and answers his question with another one. “Why did you want Hellfire for anyway? Quite hypocritical of you to rake me over the coals, so to speak, for something you tried yourself barely a century ago.”

Kiliel doesn’t let her barb get to him and instead decides on honesty, knowing that this will catch her off guard. “Because I need… something to defend myself with, just in case,” he says simply.

“Defend yourself? From angels? What the fuck is going on, Kiliel?” Emma almost never uses his name, preferring one of the numerous nicknames she has for him, so he knows she’s rattled.

And so he tells her everything: that while his faith in God has never wavered (quite the contrary; seeing Her hand in the wonders of the world, both big and small, has only strengthened it), he has started to have doubts about Blue, finding her actions and words quite peculiar. He tells her about his fear of Falling for doubting his superior, and that the fact Blue herself hasn’t Fallen means that she is still faithful to God, and the incident that triggered his request for Hellfire. He’s surprised, however, when she snorts as he recounts Blue’s change of mind.

“Yeah, I know, I was there,” Emma says, smirking. “I heard her when she was at the bookshop with you, so I took action.”

What kind of action exactly, she will not say. Kiliel is mystified: not only had she known about Heaven’s plans, but she’d actually thwarted them with no one being the wiser, the clever, clever woman. Doesn’t like him, right .

Emma then opens up to him; demons don’t trust each other by nature, but Hell has been even more tense recently. Something big is brewing, although she doesn’t know what yet. More demons have been making noise about coming to Earth, too, even high-ranking ones, such as two of the Duchesses of Hell, Maleficent and Cruella. Nothing has stirred Hell like this, ever ; even the Great Flood hadn’t excited demons in this way.

Something wicked this way comes , Kiliel can’t help but think. Good old William – he’d heard Kiliel tease Emma back at the Globe, and he’d run with the line. He doesn’t know what’s better: being the inspiration behind Macbeth ’s most famous scene, or Emma’s offended face when she had seen the three witches for the first time.

But they have no idea what it is, so all they can do is prepare as well as they can and agree to keep each other in the loop from now on. Kiliel manages to get a promise from Emma that she’ll get some Hellfire for him, which he hopes she’ll honor.

Neither of them talks about the fact they are actually plotting against their own side, choosing their mortal enemy (though just one in particular) over their own brethren. But they have been here on Earth so long that it has started to feel more like home than Above or Below ever have; they have spent so much time together that they feel more kinship to each other than to their own kind.

The next day, Kiliel finds a lantern glowing with an ever-burning fire on his cabin’s desk. It ends up in his safe, warded against any accidents, whether external or internal. Emma is not the only one who’s paranoid.

––-

Months pass, then years, then decades. The Angel and the Demon see each other more frequently, though not regularly, in order not to arouse suspicion. Short, short, long, go the intervals. Quick, quick, slow, goes their rhythm. They fly across and around and over the world in an otherworldly foxtrot as Earth evolves around them, faster and faster, busier and busier. But the world can’t go on accelerating; it’ll need to either stop turning or rotate right out of its orbit, both outcomes meaning its downfall.

––-

On a perfectly fine Tuesday morning, Blue visits Kiliel in his used bookshop, startling him from his inventory (he had to do something with the space, after all, and filling it with books that have been loved by previous owners creates a warm glow that warms him from inside; he is an Angel, after all, and angels thrive on love). From the start, the Angel knows that something is different. Blue is positively glowing, her eyes sparkling and the corners of her lips seemingly permanently turned into a slight secretive smile.

The secret, for once, is quickly spilled; the Archangel seems delighted to announce that the Antichrist has been delivered to Earth, and by none other than the Demon Emma, as if it’s Kiliel’s personal fault. She doesn’t elaborate on this theme, however, preferring to tell him that he had best put his affairs in order, as eleven years will pass quite quickly. Her parting words - that he should also start training for the War, that he seems to have gotten quite out of practice, if his reflexes are to be believed – hit their mark, despite Kiliel’s best efforts not to let them. He used to be one of the Host’s best soldiers, after all, his exploits earning him a post at one of Eden’s gates.

But six thousand years on Earth have changed him; he doesn’t want to fight anymore, doesn’t see the point in it (and he doesn’t want to face even the slimmest possibility of finding himself opposite Emma on the battlefield). And yet, the arrival of the Antichrist shows that the Ineffable plan is going along, that it is God’s will.

So be it.

On a perfectly fine Tuesday afternoon, Kiliel stands at the prow of the Ethereal Swan , looking unseeingly over the water, when his phone rings. Without pulling his gaze away from whatever it is he is seeing, he answers the phone, already knowing who’s on the other end.

“Emma. I suppose you’re calling about…”

“Armageddon, yes.”

Well.

––-

The music stops, and so do the dancers, their hair and their clothes snapping around them as they lock gazes, lost in their own world. A world that’s coming to an end.

Welcome to the End of Times.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #ouat #septembersunshine #snidget writes #good omens

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kanna-ophelia · 4 years

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Forgot to put this on on Tumblr! Day 5 of @drawlight‘s Ineffables Advent Calendar: Fire. And the 4th of my 31 First Kisses. If you’re wondering what happened to 4, it went all scope creep in both research and writing and is now going to be a chapter in my Big Bang fic (tease: 1976 Soho basement gay club), but I will open that day’s window soon. I’m determined to do all 31.

South Downs Cottage, because I am shamelessly doing all the tropes. Series!Good Omens. On AO3

On Wattpad

Home and Other Fires

Aziraphale tried to decide where to put Crowley's cup of tea. It was more difficult than it used to be, seeing that Crowley's head was dangling down towards the floor, his spine bent at what seemed like a terribly uncomfortable angle in order to keep his buttocks tucked in the depths of the couch, his long thighs extending up the back and his knees looped over.

What was even more disconcerting than the inhuman bendiness was how nicely Crowley fit the couch in that position. It led to the speculation that he had purchased the chair--no, it was Crowley, he would have had the couch custom made--to exactly the proportions needed to dangle upside down over it, baking his face and chest next to the fire.

Aziraphale sighed and put the cup near Crowley's dangling hand. The demon opened one eye, hissed "Thanksss," and apparently went back to sleep.

That was one of the unconsidered quirks of living with Crowley. He slept more of the time than seemed reasonable, and in more places than seemed possible. Another was the amount of heat Crowley liked. The fire tended to be stoked so high, on top of the central heating, that Aziraphale had reluctantly discarded all his layers one by one until he wore nothing but his shirt sleeves, not even a nice cotton vest underneath. After a few centuries of being fully clad, he felt naked.

The third was that Crowley himself apparently didn't wear a lot of clothes inside. That was probably, Aziraphale told himself irritably, why he needed the fire stoked so hot. Right now, Crowley's thin chest was bare, and like his face extremely flushed by proximity to the fire, his skin reddened and warm looking and--

Aziraphale himself felt like he was on fire a lot of the time. Maybe this whole South Downs thing was a mistake.

* * *

"You don't like my flat, do you?" Crowley asked one day, without anything prior leading up to it.

Aziraphale looked up from the dried dog food he was feeding the swans--a small child had lectured him on the wrongs of feeding bread to birds, and he had been mortified and seized with centuries of accumulated guilt--and tried to think of an appropriately tactful answer.

"It's a very impressive showcase for you, dear. Properly demonic."

Crowley made a sound between a snort and a hiss. "You always find a reason to meet somewhere else."

"You don't like your flat," Aziraphale said defensively.

Crowley stared out across the lake, the wind ruffling his short auburn hair. "Perhaps," he said contemplatively, "the thrones are a bit much."

"Perhaps, dear."

"After all, who do I have to impress, these days?" Aziraphale had the distinct impression that Crowley was looking sideways at him, although it was difficult to tell with those closed-in glasses.

"You just have to please yourself, now."

"Hmmph. Let's go back to the bookstore, I'm frozen and I need drinkable coffee." At some point, Crowley had installed a ridiculously expensive and complicated espresso machine in Aziraphale's office. He never seemed to buy coffee beans, but it produced heavenly--no, not heavenly, definitely an earthly pleasure--smelling coffee every time.

Crowley hadn't mentioned his flat again for several weeks, until he asked, "Mind if I borrow some of your things?"

Aziraphale, who had thought he was asleep on the couch, looked up from the book he was rebinding. "My things?"

"That light thing over there." Crowley thrust a casual hand out towards a priceless directoire table lamp. "And that little olive-wood figurine of Auxesia from Aegina, great century, the fifth BCE. And some books."

"Books?"

"Yeah. I think they feel, you know, home-like. So long as I don't have to read them." Crowley frowned. "Can you pick out some of your favourites? It will stop people buying them. And if you want to read them you can always come over."

"I--of course I will, dear boy." Aziraphale felt sentimental tears come to his eyes. Crowley was trying to make that dreadful flat comfortable for him. He should stop avoiding it so much.

But Crowley stopped inviting him over at all, although he kept borrowing things. One day, out of the blue, he announced that he had bought a cottage as a holiday home.

"You can come stay for a while, I suppose," he said, with an air of grudgingly giving into pleading. "Get you out of London for a bit, until you stop seeing angels on every corner. 'S'nice," he added, defending himself against accusations never made. "Near the ocean. And it's pink. Thought I could repaint it black, but apparently there's regulations and stuff. Might have to see what I can do about that. Anyway. Can't expect me to live in a pink house by myself, at least until I get used to it."

"It would be a kindness to come stay," Aziraphale said, thoughtfully.

Crowley made a disgusted face, but Aziraphale could tell he was pleased by the tiny quirk at the edge of that mobile face.

The cottage had been a revelation. More of Aziraphale's favourite things had travelled from the clutter of his bookshop to the shelves and mantlepieces than he remembered Crowley asking for. He knew he had perhaps become a little overenthusiastic in lending Crowley books, but the packed shelves everywhere were an unexpected delight, and he knew some of the books were not his own purchases.

There were cosy chairs and tartan rugs and a general, heady feeling that Crowley had been feathering a nest for Aziraphale, for his personal comfort. It wasn't something that could be spoken, but--

--there were twenty nine different teas in the kitchen, carefully arranged by region and levels of oxidisation and fermentation. A beautiful gramophone as well as a modern sound system. "The softer sounds and crackling are soothing sometimes," Crowley said, shrugging. Real velvety dressing gowns and fluffy slippers and merino scarves n the wardrobes.

"How long were you intending me to stay?" Aziraphale asked, feeling oddly shy.

Crowley shrugged. "Don't care. Long as you like, makes no difference to me. No reason not to, now. What's the harm?" Too many sentences, his voice too jerky despite his air of nonchalance, just a hint of a nervous hiss. "Look, there's fireplaces all over this place. I know you love a good fire."

The harm, Aziraphale suspected, in what it was doing to him to share living space with a demon who clearly felt shirts were optional and tended to stand with one hip jutting out, showing the top of an enticing hip bone. Or drape himself across counters, denim-clad behind perched--"It's a food preparation surface, Crowley, please"--on the counter-top, legs spread, leaning back on his elbows. Or doze spread out across any available surface, including the wall. Or lean halfway across the table staring fixedly at Aziraphale while he ate, like the serpent he was. Crowley was always there, and pretty much half naked all the time, and Aziraphale wasn't sure if the tight jeans or the silk pyjama shorts were more aggravating.

Crowley had also developed a new, and odd, habit of curling around Aziraphale at unexpected times, sliding hands around his waist from behind and leaning a bare chest against him, as Aziraphale made tea, leaning on his shoulder as they watched the bizarrely tedious television he seemed to enjoy so much, tangling half-bare legs with Aziraphale's legs as the angel read and Crowley did something dastardly on his phone.

"What brought all this on?" Aziraphale asked once as Crowley put his head on his lap and wound his arms around Aziraphale's arm. Aziraphale was torn between pushing him away, petting his hair or--no. He could be misunderstanding, mislead by the ache in his own body.

"Snake." Crowley said. "Like to wind around warmth. You're warm, angel. And it's not like anyone will stop us, anymore." He hesitated, and his voice was suddenly vulnerable. "Unless you hate it?"

"No, of course, it's fine," Aziraphale said, and let himself card his fingers through Crowley's hair. Crowley tightened his grip and went to sleep, and Aziraphale resigned himself to a couple of hours of fire raging through him and not being able to concentrate on his reading at all.

The worst of it was that there seemed nothing flirtatious in it at all. Crowley never said anything provocative or tried to kiss him, except in Aziraphale's secret mind. He just seemed content to be close, and revelling in all the heat, and the fondness--poor darling thing, he must have been starved of affection for thousands of year-- and completely aware of how unbearable it was all becoming to Aziraphale. That every exposed inch of skin, every casually intimate embrace made Aziraphale desperately want to touch and kiss--oh, yes, kiss and kiss--and everything that followed.

Friends. Open friends, without having to hide from the world or each other how much they enjoyed each other, was good. It was wonderful. It was just that Crowley's delicately protruding clavicles were unexpectedly fascinating, and the way his spine curved behind the waistband of his ridiculously tight jeans, and the way that, despite all his boniness, there was a slight soft rounding of his belly right before the trail of auburn hair down to that same waistband.

Six millennia of being uncomfortably aware that this demon creature was literally infernally pretty hadn't prepared Aziraphale as much as he had hoped for living with an accountably affectionate and half-dressed, infernally pretty demon creature. One that kept touching Aziraphale, and gazing at him like he was the most adorable creation in existence. Or snarling irritably at him in a way that also somehow seemed to suggest Aziraphale was the most adorable creation in existence, followed by making him perfect cups of tea. Or driving him across three counties to a book sale, where he would mope and glower and stab at his phone and stay just as long as Aziraphale wanted, then take him out to dinner somewhere lovely he had apparently just found on his phone.

It was bliss, and it was torture. Reward for saving the world and punishment for betraying Heaven, Aziraphale supposed. Trial by hellfire.

So long as they believed he could survive hellfire, he would be fine. And he could survive this. He would.

He sighed, and set his own cup of tea down on a side table, prepared to settle down and read and not at all stare with unabashed craving at an upside-down dozing demon who--

"Surely it can't be good to let your skin get quite so red, Crowley. Move away from the fire."

"It's not too hot. C'mere and see."

Aziraphale hesitated, then moved to the couch. It really wasn't too bad. Warm. Odd, sitting next to Crowley in this position, though. He arranged himself primly.

"But my dear fellow, you are so flushed."

Aziraphale reached out and down and, unthinking, brushed his hand down hot skin, slightly furred with hair. Incredibly, the skin turned even darker, and Crowley said, "Ngk."

Aziraphale pulled his hand down as if he had been burned. "Sorry. I shouldn't have touched you."

"Don't be sorry. Please don't be." Crowley managed to move to a proper sitting position, by way of swinging his legs over Aziraphale's head and across to his lap, revolving the rest of his body with them. It was a distinctly inhuman movement, and one that ended up with him sitting halfway across Aziraphale's lap. "You can touch me. Any time and in any way, angel. Do you hear that?"

"Yes," Aziraphale managed. It was suddenly very hard to speak.

"Angel. Aziraphale. I want--this is probably a bad idea, but you did--angel, promise that whatever I'm about to do, you won't get upset with me and go tearing back to Soho."

"i can't make an open-ended promise like that to a demon."

"Retired demon." Crowley cupped Aziraphale's chin with one hand and turned Aziraphale's face to look at him. "Retired demon who loves you and is going crazy and when did you stop wearing so many clothes, anyway?"

"Ah, yes," Aziraphale said, his vocal cords working automatically while his mind whirled in dizzying circles around the word loves. "It's hot. All the fires."

"The fires? Oh. Is that any reason to subject an innocent demon to your blessed provocative wrists?"

"Provocative wrists?" Aziraphale squeaked. "You don't have a shirt on!"

"The fire's warm!"

"Yes!"

They glared at each other for a moment, then Aziraphale said, "I promise. I--"

The rest of his sentence was lost in Crowley's mouth.

Some minutes later Aziraphale surfaced, discovering he was pressed back into the couch, his shirt somehow come unbuttoned, although he couldn't remember any of them doing it, and his skin was trapped against Crowley's bare chest.

"Oh, darling," Aziraphale said.

"Angel." Crowley pressed clinging, hungry little kisses all over the corners of his mouth, his chin.

"I'm not going back to Soho."

"Thank you." Crowley kissed him again, pushing his tongue against Aziraphale's, and oh, it was fire, fire licking through Aziraphale, fire licking down his veins and gathering at the pit of his belly.

"I love you too, Crowley. More than I could ever say."

"Angel. Oh, angel, I've loved you so long, so long." Crowley kissed his eyelids, his ears. "Imagined kissing you so many times, never thought it would be here... in our own nest, in front of our own fire. Not having to be afraid. Just you and me, my angel love."

"I never thought we would have this, either. Oh, you wonderful thing."

"I was beginning to think you were impossible to seduce," grumbled Crowley. "Didn't matter what I wore or what I did, you would pat me on the hand and call me your dear boy. Cold as ice."

"Cold? Oh, Crowley, I've been burning."

"But that's the first time you looked at me like that."

Aziraphale pursed his lips, blushing.

"Oh," said Crowley. "That's the first time I've caught you looking at me with lust." Crowley's mouth drew up into a smug smile. "Oh, I love you."

"You do pose very prettily," Aziraphale said defensively. "Oh, stop smirking and kiss me again."

The flickering light from the fire lit up Crowley's hair and eyes in dancing red and orange for one moment, and then they were kissing again, and the only fire Aziraphale could think of was his own.

#31 days of ineffables #fire #ineffable husbands #south downs cottage #Aziraphale/Crowley #goodomens fanfiction #so much fluff

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randomkposts · 4 years

Text

Hello

I figured I should start with wall of quotes. Cause whynot

Quotes “It's hard to hate my prep team. They're such total idiots." - Katniss.”

“Here's some advice. Stay alive.” “The cat that Prim got hates me, I think partly because I tried to drown it.” “District 12: Where you can starve to death in safety.”“No. Now, shut up and eat your pears."

” It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death." "Don't be so superior. You can never tell what you will find in the arena. Say it's a gigantic cake-”“Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying.”

“Technically, I am unarmed. But no one should ever underestimate the harm that fingernails can do. Especially if the target is unprepared.”

"Well, leprechauns. You know they're not real, don't you?""Let us proceed under the assumption that the fairy folk do exist and that I am not a gibbering moron."

"I majored in Ancient History. You have your own page in the 'Criminally Insane' section."

"Really, Butler, I must begin choosing my business associates more carefully. Hardly a day goes by when we aren't the victims of some plot.""The punching is not helping my concentration, by the way.""Oh, brilliant. I must write that one down in my witty retorts book."

"The pixie is crazy! Give me your gun, Holly. I'm going to shoot him.""Excuse me, Captain. Are you two going to weep salty tears of admiration over a helmet all night, or do we have matters to discuss?"

"This is a well. You might think that there is something to it... But in fact it is just an ordinary well."

Woman in Ur : Hey, where are you four brats off to now? What...? You're going to go save the world...? Did you get hit on the head or something!?

Gilgamesh : Enough expository banter. It's time we fight like men. And ladies. And ladies who dress like men. For Gilgamesh...IT IS MORPHING TIME! Galuf : Bartz! Stop that! Bartz : But it's fun! poke, poke, poke... Bartz : Jumping Christmas!

Edgar : "That's Shadow! He'd slit his mama's throat for a nickel!" Kefka : "This is sickening! You sound like chapters from a self-help booklet! Prepare yourselves!" Locke : "Hey! Call me a TREASURE HUNTER, or I'll rip your lungs out!" Edgar : "If something were to happen to me, all the world's women would grieve!" Setzer : "My life is a chip in your pile. Ante up."

Yuffie : So! I saved the great Vincent Valentine! Do I get any thanks?

Squall : Right and wrong are not what separate us and our enemies. It's our different standpoints, our perspectives that separate us. Both sides blame one another. There's no good or bad side. Just two sides holding different views. Squall : I dreamt I was a moron...

Seifer : Great, I have one chicken-wuss and one kid who just entered puberty in my team! Squall : ...Whatever.

Auron: The red carpet has teeth. Auron: Outside the dream world, life can be harsh, even cruel, but it is life.

Rikku: Memories are nice, but that's all they are.

Kimahri: Pick spot. Shut up. Wait.

Rikku: Do you think we need a password? Paine: How about 'Kick..it's..ass' Paine : The hardest person to know is one's self.

Raogrimm: People are capable of kindness beyond angels, yet we also commit sins that would put a demon to shame... Lonely Chocobo: Warkkkkk!!! Gweh!!!! Warkkkk

Naja Salaheem : (After Abquhbah faints when he realizes that he's speaking to the empress) Nothing to be concerned about, Your Magnificence. Mercenaries are trained to sleep anywhere, anytime if the opportunity presents itself.

Lightning: Worst birthday ever. Lightning: It's not a question of can or can't. There are some things in life you just do. Lightning: We live to make the impossible possible! That is our focus!

White Mage: Hi. I was just wondering if you knew how much we've suffered because of you. Good day. [after finding the Falcon Rydia : It's not yours. Edge : That's okay, it would be happy to be used by us!

...That's General Leo.. He could be my friend if he weren't my enemy.

You think a minor thing like the end of the world was gonna do me in?

"What a cute doggy!' "Leave us. The dog eats strangers...'

This should be fun. When do we leave?

Read my lips - mercy is for wimps! There's a reason "oppose" rhymes with "dispose"...If they get in your way, kill them!I don't care for the appearance of this pitiful little hamlet... So burn it!!

Figaro Guard : Kefka's "One shy of a six pack!" Imperial soldier : I oppose peace! Narshe resident : Narshe is a neutral city.! We want no war here, but that %#$@& Empire won't listen! South Figaro Resident : We may be thieves, but at least we have goals in life!

Cyan: This is the Phantom Train. It carries the departed to the other side. Sabin : Wait! I don't want to go THERE!

Strago: Go to your room! Relm : I will not! What a fussy old man! Strago : Relm! Is that you, my dear? You're alive! Relm : Idiot! Of course I'm alive! Strago : Oh, I'm so happy..." Relm : Did you think I was gonna check out before you, old man? Strago : You're as foul mouthed as ever, bless your heart!

Shadow: I know what friendship is... and family...

"It's not my problem."

"Don't fight here! You'll ruin the flowers!" "I think they believe I have what it takes to be in SOLDIER!" "Mine is special. It's good for absolutely nothing!"

Don't need no appointment... This is a 'mergency! Anyone who don't wanna get their face bashed in better git outta the way!! "I've got the wrong person."

W-wait a second. I won't run or hide. Yes, I was a spy. I was hired by the Shinra. I couldn't help it. How 'bout if we continue like nothing ever happened?

Shut up! Sit your ass down in that chair and DRINK YOUR GODDAMN TEA!

This's gonna be a big splash. Hold on to your drawers, an' don't piss in 'em!!

Maybe God'd forgive an ugly shit like you, but I won't!

I don't know what the hell it is, but it's falling from the sky. Hmpf! It's not even an omen.

Hey, do you know who I am? I'm Cid—that's who the hell I am! Now just let me handle it!

I don't want to regret not having done something later.

I always thought this planet was so huge. But lookin' at it from space, I realized it's so small. We're just floatin' in the dark. ...kinda makes you feel powerless. On top of that it's got Sephiroth festerin' inside it like a sickness. That's why I say this planet's still a kid. A little kid sick and trembling in the middle of this huge universe. Someone's gotta protect it. Ya follow me? That someone is us.

We're busy runnin' back and forth! Even my bikini goddess would be pantin' about now!

Oh, GAWD! If I knew this was gonna happen, I would've taken rope escape lessons more seriously!!

Escape from a world of illusions... Hmph... I wonder which is better.

I know you want my help because I'm so good!

Cloud, put me in your party, so I can get off this ship. Cloud...sign this. It's a contract that says when the war is over, all the materia will belong to me.

The stars shine so bright, like glowing materia... reach up and grab one. GROSSNESS! Don't mess with me old man! You don't even have any Materia!

Citizens, unite! Come to the light, Mako energy. Power is truth. Shinra is the future. Real happiness can be found in obedience to the company People are ignorant. They'll feel better as long as someone is punished.

Godo : Go! Survive till the end! And return! With the Materia! Doctor in Mideel : You can see for yourself what things look like, but at least no one was seriously hurt. We're just very unhappy now. Junon soldier : I'm learning to be a delinquent soldier!! I just can't seem to get the hang of it! Reeve Tuesti : What may be a few to you was everything to those who died...

Barret : She ain't gonna show up. 'Least this time she didn't steal our materia. Guess we gotta be thankful for that. Yuffie : How could you say that!? I came all the way here after being seasick as a dog! I didn't go through all that just to have you guys have the best parts all to yourselves!

...A speech? Forget it. Cut the mic!

You're-going-to-like-me! You're-going-to-like-me! Did it work?

D-Do you have any...hot dogs left?

...The HELL! Man...Now this is what I call boring. This ain't right, man!

YOOOO!!! The HELL you doin'!!!?

I'm a pretty lucky guy. Hand in hand with two beautiful girls.

That is sooo vague!

Super-Duper-Mega-Bummer!!

Well, Zell was riding his T-Board in the hallways of Garden. He made a sharp turn and went straight into the woman's res...

Sharpshooters are loners by nature... We hone our instincts, pour our whole being in a single bullet. The pressure of the moment... An instant of tension... That's what... I have to face alone...

Well, fine then! We WILL have a good time!

Thanks for the support, but I never miss my target.

Well, we could skin this little guy and wear him as a disguise...

I say things that get a rise out of some people. Just don't let it bother you and we'll get along fine.

Ooh neato! A hole in the middle of no-where!

You've all heard this before. How life has infinite possibilities. I don't believe that one bit. There weren't many paths for me to choose. Sometimes, there would only be one. From the limited possibilities I faced, the choices I made have brought me this far. That's why I value the path I chose... I want to hold true to the path that HAD to be taken.

Let's just fire like crazy and make a big hole, BOOM!

...Speeding. Let's go arrest that student for violation of academy regulations. Listen up! Teamwork means staying out of my way. It's a Squad B rule.

This is the scene where you swear your undying hatred for me!

And so, Laguna runs for dear life. She got upset and put fruit jam in your shoes. You were almost in tears!

Fujin: DISTURBING.RAGE!SHOCK!GOOD. CONVENIENT.PERSUASION, USELESS. SEIZE!IGNORE.RUN!ELLONE? NOT HERE.FATIGUE POSSE... We are. We always will be. Because we're a posse, we want to help you. Whatever it takes to fulfill your dream, we're willing to do. But... You're being manipulated, Seifer. You've lost yourself and your dream. You're just eating out of someone's hand. We want the old you back! Since we can't get through to you, all we have now to rely on is Squall! It's sad... Sad that we only have Squall to rely on... Seifer! Are you still gonna keep goin'?

Big Sister: I can't wait until I meet a guy that I can scream at and exchange blows with!

Quistis : You're the squad leader. Good luck to you. Seifer : ...Instructor. I hate it when people wish me luck. Save those words for a bad student who needs them, eh? Quistis : Alright, then. Good luck, Seifer. Seifer : [to Fujin and Raijin] Add Instructor Trepe to the list. Zone : Our plan is to...Selphie : ...Blow it to smithereens with a rocket launcher!? Zone : [taken aback] ...Ahh...not quite... Rinoa : Oh, shut up! I made it like that on purpose. It represents my hatred towards Deling. Zell : Hatred, eh? Yeah...right. Selphie : It's one of the...ugliest things that I've ever seen in my life. You must really hate him.

You don't need a reason to help people.No cloud, nor squall shall hinder us!Piece of cake. I'm an escape artist.

In the end, it boils down to two simple choices. Either you do or you don't. You'd think with all the problems in this world, there'd be more answers. It's not fair... but that's the way things are. The choice is yours.

SON OF A SHOOPUFF!

Al Bhed is Al Bhed. Rikku is Rikku. Rikku swore to protect Yuna. And Rikku is not a liar. Kimahri can tell. So, she is a friend.

Why are you still here, sir? (pause as Auron looks at him) I beg your pardon. We Guado are keen to the scent of the Farplane.

Rikku : Did you...hit your head or something? Tidus : Um, you guys hit me. Rikku : Oh, right...do you remember anything before that?

Sometimes, when I got a lot on my mind, it just helps to go, "AAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Once Lady Yuna fixes her hair, we leave." "Guard your emotions first, then guard your summoner." "Ha! Legendary guardian? I was just a boy. A boy about your age actually. I wanted to change the world too, but I changed nothing. That is my story." "Don't look to others for knowledge. This is your story."

Don't think it's just a game. Your life's on the line. "You. It's what's for dinner." You. Are. Hired."

Barkeep : Mish Yoona, what can I do for yoo?

Yuna : Duck Soup! Paine : Duck what?

Rikku : I'm gonna kick you in the spleen! Paine : Spleen?

Lightning : (to soldier).Nice gun. Noctis : Goodbye, whoever you are.

You sure are a keen observer of the obvious, kupo!

And I know some "little girls" who can kick your butt!

"You hit the Lord of the Titans in the eye with a blue plastic hairbrush."

Rachel: They asked me a lot of questions about you. I played dumb. Annabeth: Was it hard?"

"Love conquers all," Aphrodite promised. "Look at Helen and Paris. Did they let anything come between them?""Didn't they start the Trojan War and get thousands of people killed?" "Pfft. That's not the point. Follow your heart."'

“Ever had a flying burrito hit you? Well, it's a deadly projectile, right up there with cannonballs and grenades." "The ADHD part of me wondered, off-task, whether the rest of his clothes were made the same way. What horrible things would you have to do in your life to get woven into Hades' underwear?"

Rachel: You're a half-blood, too? Annabeth: Shhh! Just announce it to the world, how about? Rachel: Okay. Hey, everybody! These two aren't human! They're half Greek god! . . . They don't seem to care."-

"What I did next was so impulsive and dangerous I should’ve been named ADHD poster child of the year."

“You're a stalker with hooves." "I am not! I followed her to the Big House and hid in a bush and watched the whole thing.”

Well, we kind of tried to kill each other in a duel to the death." "I see. You tried the diplomatic approach.”

"Well, Percy, what have we learned today?""That three-headed dogs prefer red rubber balls over sticks?""No," "We've learned that your plans really, really bite!”

"Dude!" said a party pony as he unloaded his gear. Did you see that bear guy? He was all like: 'Whoa, I have an arrow in my mouth!”

“Boys are usually forbidden to have any contact with the Hunters. The last one to see this camp…” She looked at Zoe. “Which one was it?”"That boy in Colorado,” Zoe said. “You turned him into a jackalope.”Ah, yes.” Artemis nodded, satisfied. “I enjoy making jackalopes…”

“Christmas in the Underworld was NOT my idea. If I'd known what was coming, I would've called in sick. I could've avoided an army of demons, a fight with a Titan, and a trick that almost got my friends and me cast into eternal darkness. But no, I had to take my stupid English exam.”

“Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian." "You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," I reminded him."Those are vegetables.”

"How about this: stealing is not always bad?""I don't think my mom would like that moral."

I thought about the lines Rachel had spoken in that creepy voice: about storm and fire and the Doors of Death. "Maybe," I said, "but it didn't sound so good.""No," said Apollo cheerfully. "It certainly didn't. She's going to make a wonderful Oracle!”

"My son here convinced me that perhaps I should prioritize my list of enemies." He glanced at me with distaste. "As much as I dislike certain upstart demigods, it would not do for Olympus to fall. I would miss bickering with my siblings. And if there is one thing we agree on - it is that you were a TERRIBLE father.”

Running with a drowsy child of Hades was more like doing a 3 -legged race with a life size rag doll.”

“Yay!' he said. 'Now we can eat peanut butter sandwiches and ride fish ponies! We can fight monsters and see Annabeth and make things go BOOM!”

“You know how teachers tell you the magic word is 'please'? That's not true. The magic word is 'puke'. It will get you out of class faster than anything else.”

" He tossed me a jar of thick green liquid—Greek fire, one of the most dangerous magical substances in the world. Then he threw me another essential tool of demigod heroes—duct tape”

“Juniper: Are you guys busy? Percy: Well, we’re in the middle of this game against a bunch of monsters and we’re trying not to die. Annabeth: We’re not busy. ”

Though "peanut butter" is a strange battle cry. It shall be as you say. But my son, pray this works."I am praying. I'm talking to you, right?"Oh . . . yes. Good point.”

“Let us find the dam snack bar," Zoe said. "We should eat while we can."Grover cracked a smile. "The dam snack bar?"Zoe blinked. "Yes. What is funny?""Nothing," Grover said, trying to keep a straight face. "I could use some dam french fries."Even Thalia smiled at that. "And I need to use the dam restroom." "I do not understand.""I want to use the dam water fountain," Grover said."And…" Thalia tried to catch her breath. "I want to buy a dam T-shirt."

"with great power... comes great need to take a nap"

“Oh no." I said panic rising in my chest. "No, no, no, Somebody get a can opener. I've got a god in my head!!”“Well," I said. "If you need me, I'll be outside, playing with sharp objects.”

“Fairness means everyone gets what they need. And the only way to get what you need is to make it happen yourself.”

“I guessed his name was Face of Horror. I wondered how long it had taken his mom to think of that. Bob? No. Sam? No. How about Face of Horror?”

“Now the tattoos," Zia announced."Brilliant!" I said."On your tongue," she added."Excuse me?”

“I just love family meetings. Very cozy, with the Christmas garlands round the fireplace and a nice pot of tea and a detective from Scotland Yard ready to arrest you.”

“Carter Kane, 14, died tragically in Paris when he was eaten by his sister’s cat Muffin.”

“There will be guards,” Bast said. “And traps. And alarms. You can bet the house is heavily charmed to keep out gods.” “Magicians can do that?” I asked. I imagined a big can of pesticide labeled God-Away.”

“I believe you, Sadie.""Oh really. I'm holding the bloody feather of truth, and you believe me. Well, thanks.”

I guess it started in London, the night our dad blew up the British museum.”

“The baboon is driving,” I noted. “Should I be worried?”

“Thank Ra!” She exclaimed. “Yeah, I’m alive.” “No, I almost jumped in after you. I hate the water!”

“Why did adults have to be so thick? They always say “tell the truth,” and when you do, they don’t believe you. What’s the point?”

“I must admit I’m impressed, Sadie. You controlled your magic and controlled Isis. And you, Carter, did well turning into a lizard.”

“That’s Narmer with the spoon,” I guessed. “Angry because the other bloke stole his breakfast cereal?”

“Most of Set’s forces were running towards our boat, screaming and throwing rocks (which tended to fall down and hit them, but no one says demons are bright).

"Great another mystery. I was about to suggest we ram Amos’s head against it and see if that worked.”

The stuff was so thick and rough, it made me wonder if the poor Egyptians had had to use toilet papyrus. If so, no wonder they walked sideways.”

“I looked back, but Bast and Sadie seemed fine. They were still staring at the water as if it were some amazing Internet video.”

. Why would someone display a rock? Aren't there enough of those in the world?”

“Dejardins was so stunned, he momentarily forgot how to speak English. "Ce n'est pas possible. On ne pourrait pas-”

#Random K #Hello #Former profile #So many quotes #I

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joi-in-the-tardis · 5 years

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It’s my experience with any emotional issue I have that resolving it is 75% figuring what on earth it even is that I’m upset about (which usually requires going to the pain of actually talking it through with someone; hello I’m an extroverted feeler) and 25% actually working on the problem. In other words: figuring it out is the hard part. Actually, a lot of the stress and angst evaporates once I pin down the problem.

That doesn’t mean it’s all resolved just from understanding myself a little better. There’s still work to do. But clarity brings a lot of peace, you know?

Good Omens was released a tiny bit more than two months ago. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long... and also hard to believe it’s only been that long. I watched it all in one day because I wanted that first viewing to be mine- I didn’t want to share it. I knew, even then, that I was going to be a bit... touchy... about the shipping of the main characters. Not because I felt that anyone was wrong to ship them, but because they’re a pair I ship very specifically. (Which is not something I do overly much, I tend to be pretty open about my ships. Not just in a ship-and-let-ship way, but in the way that I multi-ship, myself. Tenth doctor, for example, I ship with four different characters. Even though the main one I blog about is Rose. I have two anti-ships, but only one of those actually bothers me to the extent that I have the tags blocked- and that’s more because the other character disgusts me than an overt problem with the ship itself.)

And, not just that, I ship them as being a similar kind of queer to my own. So, they’re dear to my heart. I see them as ace, as I am myself. I see them as nonbinary, like me. As beings somewhere outside the human realm, I don’t think they have to follow human friend/romance rules, and that’s a relief to me. Because I have an incredibly difficult time understanding where all those lines are.

I have a lot of myself tied up in these characters, okay? I related to The Doctor, yes. I’ve related to a lot of characters. But... not like this.

And I have felt, predominantly, unwelcome in the fandom. In the fandom’s defense, a lot of my emotional reaction was from the initial round of “you either ship them or you’re homophobic” that was aimed at not just other members of the fandom, but the author of the story himself. But, in doing so, people alienated aces, aros, and nonbinary folks. It’s not just me. I do understand that this was not everyone’s opinion, and that even if it was it wasn’t intended this way... But, it was a loud enough message that I shut every related tag down for over a month, and still have them filtered. I’m one that’s pretty stable in my identity, but I felt banished for it. I felt I wasn’t queer enough for a space that I wanted to occupy- one that was supposed a queer space, itself.

And, I let it fester.

That festering bled over in to my tumblr home fandom: David Tennant. I dunno if anyone noticed, but I haven’t celebrated Tennant Tuesday in weeks. I mean, a lot of it was tied in with GO, anyway, and I was trying to avoid that. But, the constant barrage of how slutty he and all his characters are... just grated me to the point that I wanted to find a hole. That hole was pulling out of it almost entirely. I’m trying to rally, it’s just taking time.

But still, there was more to it... I was getting increasingly frustrated with myself because of how upset I was. And how much that upset was spreading in to other fandom areas that I love. I didn’t understand it as I have always been a “don’t like, keep scrolling” or blacklist kind of person. And, my goodness, I do want fluff from this pairing! But every time I put my toe in the GO fandom sandbox it was akin to being lit on fire. And not in a slow burn, this is fun suffering kind of way.

It occurred to me a week or so ago what it was that was bothering me: I am assumed to be courting whoever I’m friends with. Sure, laugh it up, but I’m serious. I’m assumed to be in a romantic relationship with my married best friend nearly every time we have a day out. From clerks in stores to kids on the street to waiters at restaurants. I’m not insulted by the insinuation. My best friend is my best friend for a reason- she’s a phenomenal person and I’m very lucky to have her in my life. We don’t even correct them most of the time, anymore. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting sometimes. It doesn’t do anything to make me less paranoid about, not just our friendship, but every friendship I have. In my first years at my workplace I was assumed to be sleeping with multiple married women. How people came to that conclusion, to this day, perplexes me. Here I was going home to tea and TV and I was supposedly out dallying with these women behind their husband’s backs! Even now, I’m hyper aware of some of my friendships with married friends... Because their SOs have made comments... maybe joking, maybe not... that nice things I’ve done for them is me coming on to them. Please, I’m just a genuinely nice person who likes doting on people I care about.

It really fucking sucks that my friendships are misread. I have spent a large portion of my life just not understanding romance. Not knowing how to engage in it. Not knowing where the lines are. Not understanding what might be expected of me- worrying about that. I haven’t really had those kinds of connections, guys. I’ve been in love, yes, a couple of times. But, it’s never been more than a confession that’s either rejected outright or... a slow dissolution of what used to be a cherished friendship. I feel an enormous amount of love for the people in my life, but when it comes to expressing it in any kind of romantic way... I am just at a loss. I’ve always kind of chalked this up to being queer and having a late start, but sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever figure it out.

But if there’s one thing I know, I know how to love my friends. Or, at least, I think I do. And my friends don’t seem to mind. It’s the way that it’s labeled from the outside that bothers me.

And, that brings me full circle to my point: the thing that bothered me was that I saw these two romantically challenged ace/enby characters and I thought “omg that’s me!” Then I saw people shipping them sexually and that was okay! Ship whatever you want. But, then I saw that if you didn’t ship them that way it was homophobic. It was wrong. How could you see it anyway but gay? Yes, QPRs have their place, but this isn’t it (something I actually saw in someone’s tags!).

I was gutted. I understand why now. People ship me and my close friends together all the time, friends. It makes people really happy to do so. They’re getting rep in public. They think it’s sweet. It makes them smile. It makes them engage socially with us when they might not otherwise. It gets us nice tables at restaurants so we “can see one another better.”

But we’re not romantically involved. No matter how much the public may enjoy imagining us being so. We have always been and will always be the best of friends.

Am I right to be mad at the whole fandom for how much this hurt? No. Absolutely not. And I have not, at any time, been mad at everyone. I can separate my own feelings from the situation. To be honest, I don’t even remember who made some of the comments that hurt me to begin with and I’ll never try to find out. I’m not in any of this to start arguments or sling mud. I’m in the fandom life for fun, to escape from real life for a bit, and to make friends if I can.

I say all of this mostly for my own mental health: I want to share it. I want to be understood. And, if there’s anyone out there who feels like me: I want them to know I understand them, too. It’s not just you. You’re not alone.

And I also want to explain that coming to these conclusions and talking about them has made it a bit easier to pat at the sand in the Good Omens sandbox. I’ve been poking and prodding as I feel like I can. So, you’ll likely see some GO stuff on my blog. I’ve still got everything filtered at the moment because I’m letting it in, as I said, as I feel like I can. All at once feels like it might squash me again and I don’t want to ruin the progress I’ve already made.

I guess I’ll end this by saying that I loved GO the book. I loved the series. I’m eternally grateful for Neil Gaiman and how he’s continually put his foot down that we can all make of it what we like: that’s the fandom’s toybox. The only things that are cannon are the words in black and white and that’s all he’ll comment on. They can continue to be your romantic gay ship. They can continue to be my ace/enby QPR. We can all play in this massive sandbox together. Just... pardon my bandaged wounds and my being a bit shy. It’s taken me a while to get up the nerve to be here.

#joi rambles #fandom life #good omens #asexuality #romance #i really don't know how else to tag this!#just... please be kind

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lokisgame · 6 years

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Waiting On A Friend

originally posted on AO3; one thing leads to another...

Watching girls go passing by It ain't the latest thing I'm just standing in a doorway I'm just trying to make some sense Out of these girls go passing by The tales they tell of men

The one person, who has strangely and inexplicably withdrew herself from his orbit. Their current assignment being desk duty or whatever BS errands for whatever division that needed hands to do their dirty work, like pulling all night stakeouts for three nights in a row, alone, has made both of them edgy. They were used to having their own space, where they could talk openly, act naturally and work in peace. To make things worse Scully was acting weird ever since Diana came back, and he was starting to worry about it. Ever since Gibson brought his attention to it, he noticed how Scully became detached and kind of overtly profesionall, he recognized her reaction as something of a professional display of jealousy. He saw it every now and then, the strictness, the brusque professionalism, the short clipped sentences. It was her version of territorial behavior. Feeling threatened, she puled up her defenses. Neither of them would ever say it out loud, but they knew it, when they saw it. Gibson almost broke the rules, something that would surely make Mulder's life very difficult. The silent agreement between them broken in front of an outsider, would require explanations and declarations, neither of them was ready or keen to voice at that or any other moment. This was their matter, handled wordlessly, through gestures and body language and that subtle change in vibration of the air between them. The truth was, that anything that might have been between him and Diana was over years ago. He barely thought about her anymore. But their past existed and with that past came a certain degree of intimacy that was not repulsive to him, but at the same time not as welcome or comfortable as it might have been, let's say 4 to 5 years ago. It meant something, but that something meant next to nothing. To him at least. What was an inconsequential gesture to him did however tick Scully of like an omen of changing allegiance. He broke the rules, without the benefit of celestial conjunction as an excuse, and now it was up to him to fix it.

A smile relieves a heart that grieves

A wave of motion caught his eye and he saw her approaching through the gathering crowd. Her small frame and red hair unmistakable, navigating between the handsome lawyers and even handsomer lobbyists with their expensive suits and even more expensive ties, she was like a small meteor flying towards him. The heat of her passing grazing their orbits made them turn and stare after her. Her high heels clacking against the wooden floor, doing very little to bring them to her level. Casual Scully was small, truly petite, fragile and cute. If he Tried to tell her that to her face and she might kick his ass seven ways untill Sunday, but it was a fact, one he wasn't that conscious of usually, but the though did hit him now and then. Scully was beautiful, graceful and tough as nails. She was many other things too, but right now, with her face slightly flushed, wearing jeans and a soft casual light blue cardigan draped over her shoulders like a billowing cape she was mostly cute. And she smiled only at him. "Where's the fire FBI woman?" He teased as she finally stopped before him catching her breath. "You tell me, you called me here." She laughed incredulously but didn't sit. He might have exaggerate a bit over the phone when he called and invited her to join him, but her smile gave him hope he might get away with it. "Come on, let's go outside" "But I just got here" she protested weakly as he got up and steered her gently in the direction of the stairs that lead to the roof patio. "Please, I'll explain everything, but not around all this witnesses" he winked at her and she followed.

The early evening was mild and the sky was clear. The roof patio of the establishment offered comfortable white couches and a stunning vista of the city. Sunset painted the sky in all shades of purple, the moon was rising and the city geared down for the evening. A beautiful summer, Saturday evening. "I've never been here" she said looking around for a place to sit. "This way" he gently guided her to a couch far removed from the prying eyes and ears, as he always did. She sat next to him and took in the view, the light warm breeze, the waiter who was walking around lighting the tea lights on each table. This wasn't the usual place for either of them. Between the diners on the road, restaurants close to work where they sometimes indulged in long lunches discussing cases (change of venue proved successful in promoting new ideas) and their homes, they rarely (bordering on never) spent time together in a place like that. She seemed to be as awed as he was, which wasn't exactly his goal. He feared it might be a little too much to early, but the place had good reputation and he felt like they both needed a neutral ground to find themselves together anew.

Don't need a whore I don't need no booze Don't need a virgin priest But I need someone I can cry to I need someone to protect Making love and breaking hearts It is a game for youth

"So, Mulder, what gives?" She looked at him expectantly trying to make sense of it all in her own way. "You want something to drink?" He asked motioning for the waiter, clearly staling. "White wine, if you please" she answered dubiously. He ordered whiskey for himself under her arching eyebrow. He didn't usually drink, but tonight he thought he might need it. He feared he over did it, his doubts were starting to outweigh his resolve. He turned to her, resting one elbow on the back of the couch, focusing on her to take his mind of the memories of awkward dates. She was his friend for crying out loud and he intended to keep her that way. "It's nothing really, I just" he trailed off lowering his gaze, almost losing his nerve, why was this so hard all of a sudden? "You just what?" She prompted, not used to seeing him stammer and grasping for words, he always had something to say, one way or another. "I wanted to talk" he sighed, now or never "I missed our talks. I haven't spoken to you in a week" "Three days" she corrected him without malice. "Whatever, felt like a week and I missed it" he let himself go, just started blurting things out "we lost the X-files, they took our office, and not so long ago" he wanted to say I almost lost you, but he caught himself before he jumped of that ledge, settling for a close second "we were a team." "We're still a team, Mulder, we still work together" she never made anything easy for him, this wasn't about work. "Geographically yes, I know that, but it's not the same" he reached for his drink, taking a small sip and resting the glass on his bent knee "I miss our freedom, and" he hasitated staring at the gold liquid swirling around the ice cubes, the warmth of his hand melting it, if only his life was that simple "As presumptuous as it might sound," he looked into her eyes, willing her to understand "I miss my friend."

He knew he was pushing the line. He was pushing it from the day he found out about her cancer, about the fertility clinic, about her remission, about Emily, about 5 billion other things that weren't her. He wanted to tell her how most days she was his first thought in the morning and his last thought at night, how he was scared shitles of losing her, terrified of the day when he would wake up and not know when he would see her again. He was tired of loneliness, that recurring fear that resurfaced with every bump in the road they shared. The loss of X-files didn't destroy him the way he once thought it would. Now that he had a frame of reference, a bench mark of grief that he knew was his limit. He knew that work he could pick up again, he'd find a way, but without her, he wasn't sure if he would have the strength to do it. It was selfish to place all his hopes in her, knowing how loyal and devoted she's been, selfish to ask more of her, but he needed to know. He needed to know she would not turn her back on him because she thought he had a replacement for her in the wings. He was grasping, reaching out to her, hoping she'll meet him half way. Three days that felt like a week without her was what it took for him to notice what was missing, and he wasn't sure he would make it a week or even three days without it. "So, Scully, tell me, how was your day?"

But I'm not waiting on a lady I'm just waiting on a friend

She gave him a long look and finally said "Well, my car broke down, I might need a lift on Monday" He smiled and felt it, the threads intertwining again and resting his head in the palm of his hand he relaxed "tell me what happened."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I've been holding out so long I've been sleeping all alone Lord I miss you I've been hanging on the phone I've been sleeping all alone

"Mulder, when did you move to DC?" The sun went down, but the city around them hasn't lost it's charm. Under the twinkle lights everything looked better, their warm glow softened all the lines and that's what he wanted, for them to be more open. "High school, senior year, why?" She looked down at her half empty, second glass of wine. "No reason, I just never asked" She sat next to him, wrapped in her soft cardigan, watching him with sweet, unguarded eyes. She was honestly curious about it, it was worth a try. "I moved here to live with my father, he wanted me to go to Georgetown, but I preferred Oxford." He smiled at the memory "The farther away from him the better." "What was Oxford like?" She wanted to know more, was it the wine?

Scully usually kept her interest in people to minimum, she never liked to pry. Yet tonight, as she looked at Mulder, and the way he leaned in with his arm over the back of the couch, his whole body angled toward her, pulling her into his space, made her think of a night, nights - plural, and confessions wasted on strangers. Nights she wanted to share with him, but never seemed to find the right moment. Somehow they both realized, their time was now. "It was certainly a change from what I was used to. Bit of a shock at first, the freedom" his look became distant but not as sad as she expected "Once I moved to England, old Bill stoped calling, mom called sporadically, so it was basically me, finally free. Not that they cared much when I lived with them, but still, the knowledge that I was accountable to no one but myself, it was liberating." "You didn't miss home at all?" "I missed my friends" she raised her eyebrows "What, don't look at me like that, I had friends in high school. I almost had a girlfriend!" "No!" That was news to her, one she never heard before, apart from stories of his cold parents and missing sister, he never talked about his life before Oxford, and even those informations were scarce. She realized that Fox Mulder was a bit of an X-File himself. "Yes! I wasn't a complete loser all my life Scully." She laughed, he seemed amused as well, but his choice of words made her realize that the words of Eddie Van Blundht must have cut him deeper than she thought. "You're not a loser!" He probably thought that it took one to know one. She pushed him forward "What was she like?" "Brilliant, bold, took shit from no one" his chuckle was full of fond memories "especially from me! Reminds you of someone?" All she could do was smile "Sounds like a great girl" "Yeah, she was." He looked down at the almost empty glass in his hand, and she watched his smile turn from amused to wistful to sad. Once awakened, her curiosity could not be easily silenced. "What happened?" "The usual, we grew up and apart, nothing dramatic" he replied with a slight shrug "she met someone else, I met someone, the letters became few and far between. Life happened. Now when I think about it, she was the only good and honest person, who cared about me, at the time." "Have you seen her, since then?" "No, I haven't heard from her in years." He downed the rest of his drink and smiled at her with unguarded eyes "She's probably a dean at MIT right now or something like that" "We could find out"

"Agent Scully, are you suggesting we use our position to gather information for personal reasons?" He laughed at her arched eyebrow "I'm a bad influence. Besides it would feel weird." "Yeah, I guess you're right" she backed down smiling over the last of her wine. "You're agreeing with me? Just like that?" He couldn't believe his luck. "Enjoy it, while it lasts" "I am, immensely, and you know what, I'm hungry. You're hungry? Come on, have dinner with me Scully." "What? Right now?" His offer seemed to take her by surprise. "YEAH, why not?" "We... it's Saturday night, and we don't have a reservation." Two glasses of wine weren't enough to kill her rational mind. "That's it? Come on, I know a place." He signaled the waiter and paid for their drinks. "This seems to be a theme for this evening." She shook her head setting her win glass aside. "You liked what we had last week when I dropped by?" He got up and reached out his hand to her in invitation. "Yeah" "Okay, let's go there" Since she didn't move he leaned over and simply took her hand in his, pulling her up. If she waited for a comment about her small feet, it never came, he was serious about this. "Alright, but only if I can go dressed like this." "You look perfect, come on, I'm starving." His smile could power the city for a week.

Sometimes I say I won't miss you child I guess I'm lying to myself It's just you and no one else

"Have you sold the property yet?" They ended up in a small Italian restaurant, the food was simple but tasted great. The wine flowed, loosening tongues and greasing the conversation. "The house on Vineyard? I'm keeping it." She paused with a forkful of salad halfway to her mouth. "You said you hated it, too many bad memories. What changed your mind?" "I hate the house, not the place. I'm renting it for now, but one day I will move there." "I don't understand." He smiled at her, leaning over the table, as if he was about to share a secret with her. "I'll tear the old one down and build a new house in its place." "You want to build a house?" Her eyes went wide and he had to laugh. "Sure I do! I have this idea in mind, how it should look like." "Like what?" There was that curiosity again, was it the wine? She'll probably think he means it metaphorically, but he doesn't. He means every word, literally. "I want a bedroom with huge windows facing the ocean. Upstairs master bedroom. Just think about it." He looked up and her eyes drew him in, the vision took shape in his mind "You wake up, sun is rising over the horizon. Every year, for three days at the beginning of May, the sun rises in this one spot, where it's perfectly framed by the trees outside your window. The cloudless sky changes colors from purple to blue, the sun's reflecting of the water. The morning is a bit chilly, but the sheets are warm, and it's Saturday morning, with no places to go, no people to see. You have coffee in bed, read the newspaper listening to seagulls and distant crash of the waves. Doesn't it sound perfect?" "Sounds very peaceful." Somehow his story has put roots in her heart, she could almost feel the warmth, it must have been the wine, it couldn't be his eyes. "How about you?" He brought the glass again to his lips, the liquid courage was the theme of the night "You have a dream home Scully?" "I always thought about it in terms of people, rather than places. With the right people, paradise could be anywhere." She glanced down, avoiding his eyes, there was something in them she wasn't ready to confront. "And what people would that be?" He no longer felt like he was pushing, more like he was drawing her in by opening himself to her. "It's pretty simple Mulder" her cheeks flushed slightly, the wine, he repeated to himself, it's the wine, it's not you, it can't be you she's thinking about "people I love and people who love me." "I think you've earned all the love and peace in the world Scully." A shadow passed over her face and she looked up abruptly. "What brought this on Mulder? Is this about the X-files?" "Not at all" he shook his head slowly, opting for honesty "Well, maybe a bit about that too. But mostly, I've been wondering lately. What would it be like, to just let it all go. I'm starting to wonder if my heart is still in it as it used to," That wasn't the answer she was expecting, not from him, "We will get the X-Files back Mulder, I still have things to do, and so do you. You can't give up." "I know, and I'm not" that also was true "Actually I've been looking into ways to restore the burned documents, but I still have to find a way to convince Skinner to let me do this. It will take time and money, but I'm sure we can make it." "Right now, there's no chance in hell he'll agree to it." He sighed, back to shop talk, how could he save this? He waited too long for a night like this. "Yeah. I have to tell you one thing Scully. I'm not sure how long will I take this bullshit assignment. The bullpen life is killing me!" "Come on, it's not that bad" She smiled sympathetically but she knew it was worse for him than it was for her. "It's the noise. The noise is the worst." "It does feel a bit crowded sometimes" "I feel like we're constantly under surveillance" he leaned over the table dropping his voice to a mere whisper "Like they're watching our every move and glance." "The Syndicate?" She was instantly worried and hid her lips behind her glass, taking a sip and looking around inconspicuously. "No, other agents! The gossip I heard, believe me" she almost choked on the wine laughing, and he took the glass out of her hand "Easy! Easy! You'll suffocate Scully. Breathe" Once she calmed down the smile was back on her face "Mulder, I never thought you'd care about office gossip." "They can say what they want about me, but I won't stand by idly when they talk shit about you." His eyes danced with something that was equal parts humor and complete seriousness. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much." "I know you can, but it doesn't change the fact that it pisses me off, and I want us out of there, ASAP." It was his turn to avoid her gaze. "Mulder" "I want you all to myself again." There, he said it, though he was still afraid to look up and show the true meaning of his words. "Is this what this evening is about?" "No" it was his first instinct to deny his true feelings for her, a defense mechanism, but the wine made him chance a glance at her, and see her expression turned serious, in vino veritas her eyes have said "Yes... I mean, I guess. We never really talk all that much, do we." "No, we don't." Her voice was soft, perhaps she did want the same things he did. "And that's what I want to change." "So... let's talk about desert." He finally looked up, she saved him again apparently deciding it was enough confessions for one day, small steps. "What would you like?" He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, confident her smile kept his secret. "Chocolate cake?" She mirrored his position and her smile turned wicked. "Will you share?" Teasing was normal, teasing was safe. "Is this a date?" The question caught him off guard but instead of crushing him, it lifted him up, like an air balloon tied to his heart. "I don't know, is it?" Was she bluffing? The smile reached her eyes "You tell me." Could this be easier than he thought? "Would you like it to be?" She didn't let this go, got his hopes up, now he wanted answers. "This is starting to feel like a Monty Python sketch. Argument Clinic." He smiled at her, she was backing down, and he wasn't going to let her. "I've been arguing with you for over five years." Come on Scully, don't let me down. "Okay, you win. I'll share the cake." Her laugh filled his heart. "Dear Diary, our first date."

The girlfriend Mulder speaks about, is Phoebe, from Kami Garcia's "Agent Of Chaos" - give it a try.

#x files fanfic #msr fanfic #FIRST DATE #Waiting On A Friend

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starlitfunkster · 4 years

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After a nearly sleepless night yesterday, only spent working on this and having fun on SBURB Sim... I have finally nearly completed the main characters of this AU.

The only one’s not completed yet is (Y) Quarters and (Y) Cans. I might figure something out for them soon, but for now...

Here is the nearly completed Demon / Angel AU (aka Light N Dark Stuck). And yes, I did intentionally not design them because there is too many. And also yes, I did my self-insert Fan kid for this AU, as she is a new God-Tier learning more about herself everyday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

H = Hikari, or Light counterpart Y = Yami, or Dark counterpart (You might notice that Clover (Y) doesn’t exist… he does though. Just as Clover Melody, mostly due to his code matching Anne’s. Though that is intentional. He is also a Rogue of Light, with Anne being a Heir of Heart. More on that in their bios.) John Egbert - Fairy Prince of Winds/Breath - He doesn’t really act like a prince, instead being pretty goofy and cheerful (also wanting to be as free as everyone else). Enters the tournament thanks to Anne Melody being nearby (who had no connections with demons or angels at the moment), and his friends helpful sprite’s. His attribute is Breath/Wind, and he has 15 fairies that fly with him (all of which also help Anne). Rose Lalonde - Clairvoyant Fortuneteller of Light - Her predictions usually come true, as she can see into the future. Her class as Seer does allow that. She has an affinity with giving lucky charms to other people, mostly because it shares the good luck with the others around her. Jade Harley - Half Dog Space Traveller - She loves thinking about space and researching about it. While her ‘friend’ (more like guardian) isn’t against that idea, he seems to be awaiting the fact that she is gazing out towards Snowman. Her space abilities lets her breathe in space, and also move planets around.. she hasn’t had any purpose using those powers though, as she has friends to look after! Dave Strider - Striding Knight of Time - While he was one of the few kids that have ascended, he is mostly still a knight in training. This is because he has to make sure John stays safe, and also that he becomes the best Knight of Time ever… well sort of. Sometimes he’s a DJ at a club in the ‘Middle Lands’ where Demons and Angels can hang out with the ‘Mortal’ beings. Probably one of the best DJ’s at this particular club called the Twilight’s Timepiece (Yes, I came up with that name and I really hope you guys have any better ideas-). Jane Crocker - Maiden of Life - A woman who uses her Life magic very efficiently, mostly towards the forest where fairies reside in. Nature blooms around her, and she is one of Lady Lalonde’s favorite humans due to her liking life. Not that Lady Lalonde should ever pick favorites… Roxy Lalonde - Lady Robin Hood - She steals from the rich to give to the poor. Those being the carapaces who are suffering from the more richer carapaces that are ‘above’ them. WV appreciates her kind and social nature towards everyone, so much that it’s hard to suspect that she would steal for the poor! Her void powers make sure that no rich carapace suspects that she was even there. Jake English - Young English’s Hopeful Page - Yes, Lord English’s personal Page, and also one of Dave’s students. He is mostly learning how to harness his abilities as a Hope user. I mean, what could Hope do? Perhaps he keeps everyone sane in secret, but who knows. Dirk Strider - The Prince of Love(?) - Whilst he is an incubus, or at least an half-incubus half-human hybrid, he has no interest in love. Unfortunately though, his fake interest in love attracted the attention of a pretty immature incubus. Said incubus wants to learn all he can about love… and also learn about some maturity. Anne Melody - Inheritor of Emotions - A girl who wants to inherit her own emotions, and also who wants to share her ideals with other people. She thinks everyone should be true to themselves, and seems to appreciate John being true to himself. As she always says: “You should always learn to accept yourself with those who are close to you.” Clover Melody - Incubus of Luck - The luckiest of all the incubi, this one seems different from his other universe counterpart. In fact, he has more self-control then them. They also love spreading luck to other people through friendship. Itchy (H) - Angel in Training - He.. really isn’t used to being an angel. He is like a curious young boy whenever asking about the Muse of Light and Space.. or fairies. For some reason, he is attracted to figuring out the fairies and learning all about their magical abilities using the Aspects. Doze (H) - Dream Watching Angel - Typically he will be found fondly gazing at one of his followers to peer into their dreams. If a dream is about to go into a nightmare and he happens to take a liking to you, he may use his powers to change that nightmare into a dream. Though that usually is rare, yet exciting when that does happen… except the people he typically likes cannot remember their dreams all the time. Trace (H) - Clairvoyant in Training - While he can gaze into the past, he mostly has to rely on Fin (H) when it comes to fortune telling. Rose also aids in helping him learn more about clairvoyance and thus, fortune telling. Really he has a lot to learn for now. Clover (H) - Angel of Luck and Wheels - Test your luck as he says! He may spread luck, but only to those who dare, those who accept themselves for who they are and push themselves to the limit! He also runs a gameshow in the ‘Middle Lands’, though nobody ever remembers the name of it. (Or it’s because I can’t think of anything right now) Fin (H) - Master Clairvoyant - He can see into the future, thus meaning he must teach Trace and Rose all about clairvoyance. His eyes glisten with the cosmos, and he seems really interested in teaching them about future sight powers and especially clairvoyance. He is also though, pretty laid-back and straight forward. Though that doesn’t mean you should mess with him! Die (H) - Voodoo Master of Yin - While he is a master of the light as a whole, he still has yet to understand the dark. This causes him to be a bit chaotic sometimes, mostly because he just wants something bad to happen to him. It doesn’t help that he keeps getting good omens… Crowbar (H) - Co-Leader of Angels - While he does lead the main angels, he works under Snowman and mostly serves Lady Lalonde.. despite never seeing her in person before. He wields a 1/2 Crowbar, though he has never been seen hitting anyone or anything with it. It’s possible he may just be a pacifist though. Snowman (H + Y) - Mother of Angels and Demons - While she has raised the demons and angels of which she helped create, it appears that she mostly focuses on the human children called ‘God-Tiers’ that everyone appears to focus on. She focuses on two in particular though… Stitch (H) - Tailor of The Angels - He is well, the tailor for the angels! He makes their uniforms, and lives in the ‘Middle Lands’ with the other Tailor. They seem to work together, as they are just two no-nonsense men who just want to be helpful to their respective people (and possibly respected). Sawbuck (H) - Defense Master - He and his dark counterpart are teachers to various individuals who want to learn how to defend themselves. While he focuses on the straightforward defense mechanisms (and also strife specibi), he also seems to have a nack for gazing out into space for seemingly no reason. Oh well, it’s probably because Gamzee is a bad influence to his class. Matchsticks (H) - Raiser of Phoenix’s - Yes, this guy raises actual phoenix’s. No joke. He owns about 20 of them, and has a penchant for keeping these beautiful beings safe. One of them though has a broken wing, but that won’t stop this guy from watching over them! He even helps out the Phoenix with the broken wing.. talk about a very caring angel. Eggs (H) - The Fairy King - Yes he is the King of the fairies. He is less dumb than his demon counterpart (and slightly older too), and yet is more prone to worrying due to his son being a little bit rebellious. He has to be reminded by his Moirail that this is just normal for kids his age. But you never know! Biscuits (H) - Holy Pastry Baker - Eggs (H)’s friend and probably one of the better Holy Pastry bakers. He helps Jane out when she needs a particular recipe, and seems to go to a particular Troll’s hive whenever possible in the ‘Middle Lands’. (That being a Fan Troll: Durhal Bepsom) Also he’s probably one of the more sweeter angels to talk too. Quarters (H) - Angel’s Archery Master - He’s probably one of the best archer’s the angels ever have, and he also teaches archery to the other angels. And also Equius! Although that is sort of failing due to Equius being so STRONG and working on controlling his strength.. that and also two of the angels pick on him because he’s a demon interested in archery. This Quarters though says that they really aren’t ones to talk, as another demon that he knows is also interested in archery, but couldn’t come due to being too shy. Cans (H) - Master of The Fists - He is teaching very strong demons and angels to control their strength, and also teaching them how to be brave and fight back against monsters. Was once a human like all the others, but was killed by a very unfriendly ‘Graceful Assassin’. Itchy (Y) - Immature Incubus - An incubus who wants to fuck anybody near him. Though he has to try and be more mature than that, and also have some self control to him. He is trying to learn that from The Prince of Love, though maybe he should just learn from someone else… Doze (Y) - Sleepy Jinn - He is mainly asleep in his lamp, in which it has magic within it to show him the outside world even while trapped in his lamp. When he is summoned from his lamp to grant a wish, he will warn that user to not abuse his powers. Unfortunately a majority of mortals that end up using his powers (and keeping his lamp) tend to lose themselves. He does however, keep a mirror that can release the user from his curse (usually activates at around 4 or 6 wishes out of 13), however he himself cannot use it. Someone close to the user or the user themselves must use the mirror so the user can gaze into it and free themselves from the curse. Trace (Y) - Lamia Whom Retraces Pasts - Yes, he and Fin are males, and yes those two sometimes choose humans to mate with when the pheromones are picked up. Most of the human women that are mated with do not get pregnant, as that is very rare.. Oh and he can also follow past trails to find potential friends/mates (depends on the gender). Fin (Y) - Lamia Whom Predicts Futures - While he too is a male, he never really told his friend that he can technically reproduce as well. He typically chooses his mates sparingly, as most of the human mates do not live for long due to him and Trace having to coil them. He will also gaze into space just to think about the victims he took the lives of. Die (Y) - Voodoo Master of Yang - He is the more miserable counterpart to the Voodoo Master of Yin’s chaotic personality. It’s mostly because he can only see bad things, and wants something good to happen to him for once. He also has very bad luck, even with Clover Melody’s help. Crowbar (Y) - Co-Leader of Demons - He is technically the leader of demons, trying to keep them in check. Especially when he has to keep Itchy in check so he doesn’t.. you know. He is pretty calm, a bit too calm, but I guess you have to be in order to not let the madness consume you. Stitch (Y) - Tailor for The Demons - As said before, he works with the Tailor for The Angels in the same building. And also as said before, he is a no nonsense man. Will not hesitate to smack (Y) Itchy with his cane (always next to him at all times) if he hears one more inappropriate remark.. Sawbuck (Y) - Shield Master - He can create psychic shields to protect him from magical attacks, and he typically is seen teaching people how to protect themselves from magic attacks. Trust me, it’s very good for people to learn that in the ‘Under World’ because a lot of demons in hell use magic attacks.. especially ‘Shadow Magic’. Matchsticks (Y) - Lord of The Fire Pits - He has so many fire pits and so many followers that it’s even surprising that Crowbar can keep this guy in check. Maybe it’s because he is (somewhat but not that much) a bit of a flirt to ladies, and happens to be protective towards the weaker Fire demons, especially Nepeta and (Y) Biscuits. Eggs (Y) - Raiser of Slimes - He raises all kinds of slimes near his home area. This home area is full of various slimes, all of which based on the slimes from Slime Rancher. He loves raising them, and yet sometimes his slime ladies tend to huddle near (Y) Biscuits due to his warmth. Biscuits (Y) - Warmest of All Fires - He is the warmest of all fire demons, and seems to enjoy being close to his friends (and possible family) as they use his warmth for well.. warming themselves up! It’s kind of cute when the slime ladies and some weaker fire demons curl up near (Y) Biscuits for warmth. Quarters (Y) - Cosmic Ambassador - Cans (Y) - Mammoth of Strength -

#(yes I intentionally didn't do the trolls because there is so many of them)#(it's a wonder how I managed to do this...#but I did it)#the dreaming lady ~ dreamingyuri #light n dark stuck #(ya'll even get a tag for the AU)#(that's if you want to draw art for this AU)#(I won't really stop you from doing that-)

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