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Episode 4 Transcript: Everybody Has Deleted Ecosia and Now the World Will End

[Garageband Good Omens theme song plays]

C: Hello! My name is Crystal.

G: And my name is Grey.

C: And this is Rubbish and Probably a Podcast, a Good Omens commentary podcast where I, someone who has seen this show too many times…

G: And I, someone who only knows this show through Crystal, discuss every single episode of Good Omens.

C: For today’s episode, we are discussing Season 1, Episode 4: “Saturday Morning Funtime.”

C: I think that Aziraphale’s a really good character, and I like him. [laughs] That's how I feel.

G: I felt about this episode very closely to how you worded it once when you were DMing me while live-watching it, like, while rewatching it. And at some point you said, "Oh, Crowley, just leave! Like, we don't need Aziraphale." And then a couple of minutes later, you went, "Never mind, I just got to the gavotte scene. We do need Aziraphale." [both laugh] And that is how I feel about this episode. We do, in fact, need Aziraphale.

C: I feel like Danica's opinion is that after Episode 3 of Season 1, quality decreases really fast 'cause it gets too whimsical and things like that. And I think I can definitely see that perspective, but I also find the way that consequences are catching up to Crowley and Aziraphale this episode very satisfying to me, narrative-wise, so like, it makes me forget the rest of the episode.

G: I think this show is a show that, when it was made, was made with the intention of being binged. So, you know, it's like, a short season, and the story is very continuous and all that crap. But because I am consuming it in a week-to-week basis, I think that like, benefits it, actually. Like, I don't think this is a decrease in the quality or pace or whatever. Like, I am still very very very very intrigued about how the next episode is gonna happen and all that crap. And I think that is mostly because I have time to sit down and be like, "Oh no! Oh no!" And I'm like, bound by the laws of podcasting that I cannot watch the next episode.

C: This is true.

G: Okay, let us start! Let us start.

C: We open with, like, the captain of a cruise ship. sort of like, recording something, and, I mean, the vibe is just like, they were like, sailing to Hawaii, and then they discovered a raised landmass that is the lost city of Atlantis, and they, you know, meet the people. They seem fun and nice. Blah blah blah. It's real. Meanwhile, Adam is walking about with the "make it happen, make it real" voices whispering in his head louder and louder. We cut to him and his friends, and they're walking around talking about The New Aquarian magazines. Basically, Adam keeps claiming that things are real, like, a man called Charles Fort who can make it rain fish and aliens giving messages of goodwill but the government hushing it up and all of that, and his friends start going, "Hey, I don't actually think this stuff is real?" But Adam says, "No," 'cause it's in magazines. It's not on the Internet. So it has to be real. And he ends with saying, "Of course it's true. What I say is true." It ends with a news story about Atlantis being real, so that's sort of like, I guess what begins the awareness of the kids that like-

G: Something's happening.

C: Yeah, something's happening or Adam's, just like, really good at being correct.

G: Yeah, I quite like the roat- How do you pronounce that? Is it root? I think it's route. I like the route that they have taken with Adam. I don't know. 'Cause I think in my previous predictions, right, I always was of the opinion that Adam was like, gonna turn out to be a good kid or whatnot. But this episode, he is truly a menace. And yeah. It's wonderful! I love it! [C laughs]

C: I think that him becoming evil or whatever is done quite realistically. Like, it really is just like, "This is a kid who, like, has lived a selfish life, and they have a lot-" Well, he. I don't know why I they/them-ed Adam. Okay, this kid has a lot of power and has sort of been hit with all this information that makes him hopeless, so now he's just like, lashing out. Like, it makes sense to me, and it's like, very different than, I guess, whatever Hell had planned for him with just Crowley going around and telling him that he wants to take over the world or whatever. Like, he was left alone, and he still does want to end the world, but for reasons that feel very, human.

G: Yeah. Now we go to Aziraphale, and he is in a park. He's walking around. He sees like, an angel statue, like, one of those human statues, and he looks at it and goes, "Huh." And then right beside him, we see Gabriel, AKA John Hamm, jogging about. They really put John Hamm in sweater and sweatpants! Good for them. [both laugh]

C: And he has, like, a little angel wings pin.

G: Yeah! I wuv it. And Aziraphale goes, "Hey! It's me!" and Gabriel goes, “I know it's you, Aziraphale.” And Aziraphale starts talking about how, "Oh, like, you know, there's prophecies, and like, Kraken and Atlantis and all that-"

C: Great big bugger.

G: "It is coming. Armageddon is coming, and it will start today, right after teatime." And Gabriel is like, "Oh, what's the point? Okay. Whatever." And this whole time, they're running, by the way, and you know Gabriel is very like, isn't breathing heavy, is literally just jogging, and Aziraphale is out of breath a little bit. So he goes, "Can you just stop for a minute?" And then- I find this so wonderful like, the way they do this. Like, when they stop, Aziraphale is like, clutching his knees and like, breathing heavy, and Gabriel is like, standing stock-still looking like he's not even breathing, like, normal breathing, you know? And I thought it was really fun. And yeah. He says, like, "Well, it's good that the war is coming, because we want the war 'cause we can fight it and we can win it." I really like the way they do Gabriel like he is a very charming but stupid like, CEO.

C: Yeah, yeah. I mean, he's supposed to be the manager everyone hates.

G: Yeah. And he's like, "Oh, I'm so intelligent. And I know what's best for everything." And the way he goes like, "Of course there needs to be a war. Otherwise how could we win it?" is very much that vibe.

C: Pretty sure that line's in the trailer.

G: Of course it is.

C: But no, I like what you pointed out about like, Gabriel, not seeming to breathe at all, 'cause I feel like it's like, what the angels assume is gonna happen is like, what happens to reality around them most of the time. So I guess, like, Gabriel, who just isn't used to being in a body, just like, wouldn't feel the weight of it, wouldn't feel the need to breathe while he jogs, whereas Aziraphale, who's used to being a physical presence, would.

G: Yeah.

C: Gabriel also fatphobias Aziraphale in this scene.

G: Yeah! He tells him to wrap things up, "And also," and then he looks at him up and down and goes, "Lose the gut." And then he play-punches his abdomen and goes, "You're a lean, mean fighting machine." And then he runs and jogs off, and Aziraphale looks at him and goes, "I'm... I'm soft." And you know what he truly is? I love him so so so so much!

C: I don't think he would say that. I don't think he would say that, is that what I think.

G: "I'm soft?"

C: Yeah.

G: Why, because he's so hard it's unreal? [both laugh]

C: I mean, not currently. Crowley's not here. But no, but I- He's very despondent, and it's like-

G: He's not, you know, self-loathing or anything for him to say it this way, I think.

C: He's definitely feeling some kind of a despair feeling, though, right? Like, his face is so like, crumpled, and I'm sure part of that is just like, Heaven reiterating that they want the war to happen, but like, it kind of just comes across as him- 'Cause I feel like when I hear the word "soft," I mostly think about it in like, emotional strength terms. So it really came across as like, a "Oh, I love the world, and I don't want it to end, and that makes me a weakling"

sort of thing. I don't think he would say that. I also don't think that he would feel bad about his body in any way, but I don't know. Whatever

G: Yeah, anyway, right before the scene ends, Gabriel turns back around and goes, "Wait, weren't you issued a flaming sword? It says in our records. So did you lose it?" And Aziraphale's like, "Oh, whaa? How could I- what, just give it away?" Fun!

C: Fun. Also I love that what Aziraphale says, after like, saying that Armageddon is nigh and stuff is, "I just thought there was something we could do." That's such a- I don't know what I love about that sentence, but it's such a like- I don't know. I don't know. It's like, "I haven't given up on the world yet. Can we please just do something to help? We don't even have to like, stop the war, just do something." And then all his hopes are thrown out once more. Sorry, bro.

G: We go to the delivery guy. He's finally given a name. His name is Leslie. And, you know, it's just a sweet scene where he's talking to his wife, and his wife's like, "Come back to bed," and he's like, "No, I have to do two more deliveries," but at least they're local. And he says that "Oh, you know, the job was booked 6000 years ago, even though our company is only 80 years old." And, you know, he does this thing where he goes, "Ours is not to reason why. Ours is to deliver packages." Which is, you know, I thought that was interesting.

C: Just as part of the following orders theme of the show or?

G: Yeah. As part of the following orders theme of the show, the way that this guy who like, I mean, when we first see him in Ep 2, it's not like he's particularly significant, or like, not in the way that I thought of as particularly significant. Having him here be like, "Oh, no no no, he is like, a big part of the Apocalypse, and also he can only be that big of a part of it because he is actively buying into the 'this is the way things are, and I shall not question it.'" I think this is also the first time that I encountered - I may be misremembering. I don't remember if this has been brought up before - but like, the whole "The reason why Crowley fell is because he questioned," so, I don't know, like, this episode has a lot of themes of free will and all that crap, which I do love so much [C laughs] it's unreal. So yeah. I mean, the entire show, obviously, the entire season, because it is reliant on prophecies and all that crap. But now it's really where it's sinking into me that like, "Oh, it's like, fated," and all that crap, and like, especially with Newt and Anathema.

C: Ugh. God.

G: I know. I'm dreading talking about it. But I like that even in such a minuscule part of the Apocalypse, it is so ever-present. I think that line is wonderful in the way it is part of the story. Yeah. I mean, it's such a small line to be raving about, but I did like it a lot! I liked it a lot! Like, it ended with him killing himself. Like, that's crazy, but he fucking does it because it's part of the plan, and it's the orders, and it's like, "Oh my god." Real tone-setter, I feel.

C: Uh-huh. Also, his wife is giving such like, "wife fridged in the beginning of a movie" vibes, [G laughs] but then he gets killed instead, so that's equality. Like, her pajamas are this roughly pink, like, top that looks like the top half of like, a fucking ballgown [G laughs] instead of like, pajamas, and the camera angle on her being like, "Love you! ... Tiger" is so wife who's about to die and be in a montage. But she doesn't. Good for her.

G: It turns out he is the spouse that is about to die and turn into a montage father. RIP, Leslie.

C: Yeah. RIP.

G: But anyway, we go to Heaven, and Michael is approaching Gabriel, and she says that because of Aziraphale's comments last episode, they have taken to looking at Earth observation files. And then she brings out a bunch of photos of-

C: Like 3.

G: Aziraphale and Crowley through the fucking years.

C: Yup. 1601, in The Globe. How do they have a camera in The Globe? I sort of assumed the observation files were like, satellites or something, but, I mean, they're Heaven. They can do whatever, I suppose.

G: Yeah, they can do whatever. But yeah, it's St. James's, it's The Globe, and it's another St. James's one from Episode 1.

C: 2005.

G: [laughs] This scene made my stomach sink so hard. 'Cause, you know, we talked about last- 3.1, in Episode 3.1 [both laugh] about the whole like, hiding aspect, and how it's all about like, making sure that each other is safe from Heaven and Hell respectively, and that involves presenting you're not friends and all that crap, all that crap. And then turns out, Heaven just has access to all this since forever. Literally, they could have been fucking raw in the street [C laughs] and it like, wouldn't have made a difference.

C: Yeah. Yeah. 'Cause they just never checked until now. And it's just so miserable that they like, spent centuries speaking in code about like, where to meet and like, sending each other secret messages and looking over their shoulders, and that, like, none of it meant anything. Like, I feel like this is the number one thing that was restricting their happiness, for, like, a thousand years, and like, they didn't have to do any of it, or they didn't do enough of it, and either outcome is quite devastating.

G: Michael says, "I'll check up with it on back channels," and Gabriel goes, "What back channels, Michael?"

C: Is he just saying that, or does he know?

G: I think it's an open secret that Heaven and Hell are confiding with each other, which makes the whole Aziraphale-Crowley thing even worse!

C: Mm-hm! Mm-hm!

G: Like, they're already- they're already talking. Like, they're confiding with each other, blah blah blah blah, but Aziraphale and Crowley are still stuck in the mindset that, "Oh, we shan't even be allowed to blah blah blah blah." And it's like, I don't know, it's so horrible! It's so horrible! It's so horrible for me personally.

C: Yeah. Yeah. It's quite misery-inducing. Like, Aziraphale has been like, tying himself up in like, moral quandary knots, and Heaven's just like, "Well, we are practical and brutal, and we want this war, so we'll just do whatever we can to have it happen. And if that includes talking to demons, whatever."

G: Yeah. Michael does go and check on the back channels, and she calls up- is it Ligur? He calls Ligur, right?

C: Yeah. Though we don't learn that it's Ligur until the end of the call.

G: Until a bit later, yeah, yeah. And, you know, she says, like, "Oh. you should check on your demon Crowley, ‘cause if Aziraphale is not working for you, then your demon Crowley is betraying you, so, check on it!"

C: What even is the point of sending them after Crowley? Like, what does Heaven gain from that?

G: Well, I mean, I guess they have started to suspect that- I mean, they know for a fact that Aziraphale wants the Apocalypse to not happen. So like, it is to assume that Crowley also doesn't want the Apocalypse to happen, and since both parties want the Apocalypse to happen, it'd be nice to get rid of the opposition in that vein.

C: This is true, yeah. Michael ends by saying, like, "Oh, no, of course you can trust me! I'm an angel." in like, a very fun tone of voice. So that's fun. But yeah, I don't know. It's just- this collaboration is so impersonal and practical-

G: Yeah!

C: - versus Crowley and Aziraphale's friendship. I think it really made me realize how much they don't emotionally care about the war at all. Like, if Heaven was genuinely like, very angry at Hell, for like, "Oh, like, we were all here together, and then you betrayed us, you betrayed God, and we have to destroy you because we're like, very sad and betrayed that our brethren did this," like, I'd be like, "Okay, I get it." But like, she's not mad. Like, no one's mad. They're just like, "I wanna prove that I'm better. Alright."

G: Yeah. God. You know, like, in Caravaggio- He killed a guy. [C laughs] It's the [overlapping] straightest thing he's ever done. But when he did the killing, during this time in Rome, dueling is already illegal, but what's not illegal is if you are in a normal interaction with someone that turns into a brawl that turns into you hitting each other with swords or whatnot. That's not particularly illegal. So what he did was, him and the other party, they set up a tennis match in a tennis court, and the backstory would be that they're playing tennis, and then the game, somebody cheated or whatnot, and then they dueld each other to the death or whatever.

C: [laughs] Uh-huh.

G: But there's no actual tennis match. They just went there in the tennis court and pretended there was a tennis match so that they wouldn't be imprisoned for dueling, which is illegal. [C laughing] And this is what Heaven and Hell is doing. This is what they're doing. They're like, "Well, let's go down to the tennis court." You know what I mean?

C: [laughs] Yes.

G: This is exactly what the fuck they're doing. They were inspired directly by the life of Caravaggio. [C laughs]

C: Yup, they sure were. Good for them.

At the end of this, it's revealed that Ligur is the one at the other end of the phone, and he's all like, "Crowley's in trouble!"

G: "Ooh, Crowley." Yeah.

C: We cut to Crowley's office, right? And I call this scene "David Tennant sure was in Hamlet" [G laughs] in my mind.

G: [laughing] He literally was! And you know what? He was also in Much Ado About Nothing, which is so important to me it's unreal.

C: He sure fucking was. Last week, you were like- you did not give a single shit [G laughs], but this week-

G: I give so many shits it's unreal.

C: Grey and I have been having a bit of a David Tennant moment this week [G laughs], I would say. Yeah. Anyway.

Crowley's in her flat, in her office specifically. And her glasses are off, and it makes them look so vulny.

G: Aww. yeah!

C: And basically, he talks out loud to herself about like, where he can go. So he's got this globe-

G: And she goes, "England's out. America's out."

C: "Atlantis didn't exist yesterday, exists today, still out. Everywhere is going to burn." So then they get out The Great Big Book of Astronomy. It just has a bunch of very nice, high-res photos of moons and nebulas and all that.

G: Yeah. And the way the CGI is done here, I think, is quite wonderful with the pages floating up and about.

C: Yup. They all fall out of the book, and-

G: I think it feels very Crowley because, you know, you see Aziraphale figuring out Tadfield, etc, and it's like, he's pinning it up on the wall, you know, like, it's very like, physical, like, human. Like, he has a corkboard and red strings and all that. But like, Crowley literally is just like, "Let's magic it into the air, and I'll look around as it floats around me." And it's like, "Yeah, that does make complete sense."

C: A detail about them I like a lot in the books is that Crowley doesn't- Aziraphale buys all his clothes. Like, he goes to a tailor, and, like, those are his clothes. All of Crowley's clothes are miracled on him. Like, they're not physical things. But yeah, I feel like, that's very in keeping with like, Aziraphale being more into the physicality of Earth, and like, actually buying the land for his bookshop, and then like, building his bookshop, whereas I feel like if Crowley ever wanted to run a business, they'd just like, miracle up a building and call it a day.

He's looking at all these pictures floating around him, and is like, you know, "The moon, no. No atmosphere, no [overlapping] night life." And then "Alpha Centauri is always nice at this time of year." And then I think that it's a separate nebula that Crowley talks about, saying that he helped build. And okay, I think that- I love that he picked Alpha Centauri 'cause, like, okay, so it's a triple star system, and stars A and B are a binary star system within it.

G: Of course. [laughing] And we have all read-

C: - and star C is the closest star to the sun. [laughs] Yeah. It is the obvious fucking thing to do in like, anything, ever.

G: Do you know what I'm talking about? The binary star poem? You surely do, right?

C: Which one?

G: I have completely forgotten where it's from or what book it's from. I am positive I read it in a book. I remember, I was in seventh grade when I read it, and it's about how, orbiting each other, blah blah blah, etc etc, and they literally are.

C: Yeah. Crowley like, says to themself, "If you can run far enough, you don't have to hide," right? But like, he picked the star system with the star closest to the sun, which I think is so sweet. Like, they don't really wanna run away. They wanna stay as close to Earth, their home, as possible. And then the other two stars are like, bestie stars, [G laughs] which I think Crowley would care about deeply.

G: He wants them to be besties!

C: Yeah. This is where we learn what Crowley's job as an angel was, that like, he was a starmaker. What was Aziraphale's job before- like, I know he had the flaming sword to guard the Gate of Eden, but like, what was he doing before that?

G: Before Earth? [laughs] I don't know why you're asking me like I'm supposed to know.

C: Like, do you have a headcanon about it?

G: I don't know. Not really. I mean, what is there before the Earth?

C: I guess they had to build the universe, so like, what parts was Aziraphale in charge of?

G: I mean, isn't the beginning of Season 2, like, them both making stars and whatnot.

C: Kind of. Aziraphale's called upon for assistance. I don't think that it's implied that it's like, his main job. He was just sort of in the area.

G: Ah, okay.

C: Oh, god, [laughing] don't remind me of the Season 2 opening! I'm- ugh. [G laughs] Okay. Whatever.

G: Yeah, I thought you didn't like it.

C: I don't! I don't think that- I think that they didn't need to retcon how they met, but if they are, then, I really- I think Crowley's really cute there, and I don't wanna think about it. So-

G: God. Do you know how I learned about it? [laughing]

C: How?

G: I saw like, an edit of it with the song [laughing] "Enchanted" by Taylor Swift.

C: I don't know that song.

G: Well, the song is like, "I'm enchanted to meet you," etc etc, and it's about like, love at first sight. And then Crowley goes, "Wow! You're beautiful!" And then like, Aziraphale turns and looks at him, but like, he's talking to the star or whatnot. So corny.

C: Be fucking for real. That was the corniest fucking shit ever. [G laughs] As soon as Neil Gaiman was like, "I'm going to write a romance instead of like, baiting the gays so much it's unreal," he turned into like, Newt and Anathema-level writing for them [G laughing] is what I think. Anyway. [laughs] This is not Season 2, we're on Season 1, Episode 4.

And I think the the main thing I think about in regards to Crowley's job is a post that goes, "

i have nothing against the 'crowley was raphael' hc but also please consider crowley as just a low-level worker in the star creation department largely known for having good hair and annoying his bosses by constantly creating binary systems because 'i dunno, i just thought they seemed lonely.'" I love him so much?! She is my favorite little guy? Ever? And yeah. Yeah.

G: Where's the Raphael bullshit bullshit even come from? Just because there's no Raphael, like, in the story.

C: Yeah, just because there's no Raphael-

G: Boo!

C: - and they want Crowley to have been important or whatever. I don't give a shit. I want him to be a total loser.

G: [overlapping] No, they're both supposed to be both losers! They're both supposed to be both losers as hell!

C: Exactly! Thank you! Thank you for understanding this! [G laughing] Not everyone understands this. Not even Danica understands this. They're both supposed to be losers! I know that, like, him being like, the literal like, serpent that tempted Eve or whatever, like, maybe some people could take from that that like, "Oh, maybe he was important to have been given this job," but like, she literally was just told to get up there and make some trouble. Like, I feel like the fact that Eve was tempted was like, not even part of any plan or anything. I feel like that was just Crowley being like, "Isn't it weird that God put up a big tree with a Don't Touch sign on it?" So yeah, yeah. Crowley is a fucking loser. Aziraphale is a fucking loser. Their bosses hate them to Hell and back. [G laughing] And that is how it should be.

G: God.

C: But anyway, I think what I love about Crowley's job being a starmaker is that it's like, a job that's completely unrelated to Earth. Because I'm sure a lot of angels were on duty, like, designing the platypus, or like, deciding things about the ocean or something, especially because God is very focused on Earth and has centered Her whole thing on Earth.

G: Well, I mean, given the timeline, you know, Crowley Fell before the Earth, right? Like, the Earth was created 6000 years ago, but the universe was not.

C: That's true, but I'm assuming that they were like, designing Earth for a while, like, designing humans and all that shit.

G: Nah.

C: No? [G laughs] No?

G: Well, I mean, I don't know. I don't know!

C: You mean at the last minute they were like-

G: "Well, we've gotta put somebody there."

C: "Well, we've all these stars. We haven't made any aliens. Like, you know what? At this point, may as well toss something else in."?

G: Yeah, exactly.

C: Okay, but if the Earth was like, an afterthought, how could the angels be so convinced that it is like, the scene of the Great Plan and the last war and the whatever whatever?

G: I don't know.

C: I will say that the opening of Season 2 implies that Earth has been in the makings for a while. I, well, basically, I guess my point is that if Crowley hadn't fallen, I don't know if she would have ever touched Earth in any way because her job was so removed. So I love that like, it was like, his choice to question things that eventually led him to Earth the way that it was Aziraphale’s choice to give the sword away that like, caused him to be demoted and to be forced to stay on Earth.

G: Did we ever like, explicitly talk about the fact that he's literally fucking Prometheus? I don't think we ever mentioned that explicitly. He literally gave them fire.

C: Yeah, that in addition to his sword, it was also fire? Yeah.

G: Crazy, crazy angel.

C: Yeah. And he was not lashed to a rock for his liver to be eaten. [G laughs] God just simply didn't ask again!

Crowley, he hangs off the edge of his throne and sort of looks up at the sky, and it's a crane shot, sort of far away, and he goes- Wait, sorry, let me find the right place in the script.

G: "I only ever asked questions."

C: Yeah. "I only ever asked questions. That's all it took to be a demon in the old days." And he goes, "Great Plan? God, you listening? Show me a Great Plan. [G makes pained sound] Okay, I know you're testing them. You said you were going to be testing them. You shouldn't test them to destruction. Not the end of the world."

G: So this is kind of derived from the bookshop drunk scene, right? This is something he tells Aziraphale.

C: Yeah, in the book, Aziraphale is the one that Crowley tells about this, where he calls it "being tested to destruction." He says it like, twice.

G: Haven't read the book, by the way. Just love listening to that fucking David Tennant reading.

C: Yeah, that ten-minute section really is an important part of my life.

G: You guys will not believe how much me and Crystal's conversations [C laughing] in the day-to-day are literally just like, lines from that scene? [both laughing] We just message it back and forth to each other.

C: Yeah, every day, I just like, send Grey like, "'What little bird?' asked Aziraphale suspiciously." [laughing] The thing is, Aziraphale literally asks suspiciously, "What little bird?"

G: "That's birds!" by Crowley is my favorite. And of course, the ever more important, "'Don't you try to tempt me,' said Aziraphale [both] wretchedly. 'I know you, you old serpent.'" [both laugh]

C: [laughing] We're fucking crazy. Anyway.

G: People are underestimating how Crover it all is in the Grey-Crystal DMs.

C: Yeah, I feel like earlier, I was thinking about how our Episode 3 has to be so terrible to listen to unless you're just as invested in this show as we are, [G laughs] which, like, I feel like, like, I'm more invested in this show than I ever was because I've been like, rewatching and taking notes, so I don't think that many people in our audience are going to like, enjoy us giggling and falling over ourselves [G laughs] every single second, but unfortunately, that is where we are mentally, forever and ever.

G: Yes. God! I did say earlier that watching this week-per-week has enhanced the experience, and by enhanced, I do mean made it, you know, occupy my day-to-day life in ways that no other TV show has managed to do since like, Succession. So yeah.

C: Yeah. It caused you to vary your days. Just like in "Being Alive" from Company.

Specifically in the bookshop scene, what he's responding to is Aziraphale saying like, "Hey, like, you're part of this whole like, system of hurting humans or whatever 'cause you tempt them. You're good at it." [laughs] is what is Aziraphale says. Crazy line. But Crowley says, like, "That's different. They don't have to say yes. That's the ineffable bit, right? Your side made it up. You've got to keep testing people, but not to destruction." And that's so nice, right? It makes it very clearly about free will-

G: Agh, yeah.

C: - in the book in a way that is not as clear here. God, this scene is so good 'cause, like, Crowley's like, at the bargaining stage of grief, I think. 'Cause like, I don't think she like, loves that God tests people in the first place. Like, I- I need to find some fucking fic about Crowley and Abraham and Isaac.

G: Oof! Ooh!

C: I feel like that would really do something for me. And by do something I mean like, leave me incapacitated for multiple weeks. She's literally not personally up for killing kids! It's like, okay, like, bargaining stage. "Fine. You're gonna test humans. Okay. But please don't destroy them." The fact that he's like, talking directly to God after like, breakup scene last week was just like, him yelling at the sky about how "Fuck the Great Plan," whatever whatever. And now they're like, basically begging God for mercy for the world is definitely a thing that makes me feel things. Also, just him thinking of it as a test in the first place is very- like, that's not really been established at all. Like, I feel like that's giving God more charity than like, God is owed right now, 'cause like, at least the way that the angels and Hell are looking at this, they're just like, "Earth is just the space for the battlefield for the last great battle, or whatever." Whether or not humans are good or bad during that doesn't matter; they'll just get wiped out. But Crowley seems to think that this is like, a test of the humans' goodness. Like, what is being tested?

G: Yeah, they're not being tested. They're not given a choice

C: Right, like, what is this test that Crowley thinks is happening? Who's being tested?

G: I don't know who Crowley thinks is being tested. Surely the humans. It well may be Aziraphale.

C: That is something that I was thinking about. But I think- I mean, I guess Adam is sort of being tested. It's like, "Can you hold out strength and hope against these voices whispering in your ear about your power?"

G: I suppose so. But I don't think Adam specifically qualifies as human in Good Omens sense, given, you know, his own nature and such.

C: Yeah. He's half human.

G: How does that- How does that work? Did Satan fuck someone?

C: Exactly. I don't know. Well, you see, he possessed the President of the United States [G laughing], right? And then he had this aide called Kelly Kline, who the president has been in a secret- [laughs] God, Supernatural's crazy!

G: [laughing] And then Crowley- Why did I just call Cas "Crowley"? And then Cas-

C: [laughing] And then Cas chases her around for a year begging her to get an abortion.

G: - to get a fucking abortion. My god.

C: But yeah, I feel like, is this just Crowley being like, "The only way that I can like, deal with thinking about this is thinking that it's a test, and maybe at some point, God will be like, 'JK, I'm gonna stop.'" Is this Crowley's idea of like, faith? It may well be so.

G: Well, we go back to Lesley, the delivery man, and he stops in in kind of like, a woods area, and, you know, crosses the street. There's this bit where he almost gets hit by a lorry, and I actually really like that. Like, when that happened, I was like, "Oh, he's gonna die. He's gonna get hit by a lorry and die." And so when they do it, it's super like, "Yeah. [laughs] I mean, yeah." It's how, you know, "our job is not to question," as he puts it. Anyway, walks on this stretch of riverside, and there sits Pollution. I'm assuming Pollution is nonbinary. Is that true? Am I correct?

C: Yeah, Pollution does use they/them pronouns in the show.

G: Hell yeah.

C: Pollution is a young man in the book. When asked about this, Neil Gaiman said, "It just seems like it would balance things out more." [G laughs] Which I mean, I guess.

G: [laughing] Diversity win!

C: Why can't you give Crowley all the pronouns she fucking deserves to balance that out more? Huh, Neil? Huh, Neil Gaiman? Like, "The only group of people that I really want to like, impose my diversity quota on is the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse"? [G laughs] Okay, girl. Sure. [laughs] Let's start the DEI initiatives there. I sort of appreciate the thought, but come on.

G: I mean, I like that, you know, Pollution has like, that, bob, and all that, and yet Lesley calls them "sir" the entire time. I quite liked that. I quite liked it, I'll just say.

C: Does this have anything to do about your hair and your gender? [G laughs]

G: Well, I mean, my hair is way shorter than that.

C: That is true.

G: But, you know, I respect it. Anyway, Pollution is played by a Filipino actor.

C: Yeah. Lourdes Faberes? I said the last name wrong, didn't I?

G: I'll look it up now.

C: I tried to find an interview with her so that I could like, get the pronunciation right, and then I listen to it, and I was like, "I don't think I can do that with my mouth, actually."

G: Okay, I can probably do it. Let's see.

C: Slay. Go for it.

G: Lourdes Faberes.

C: Yes. I can't do the R right. My stupid American tongue has been shaped.

G: You can't do the rhotic R? Is it what it's called? Is it rhotic? -bere?

C: Maybe? Who knows.

G: Had Redis?

G: I think this well may be the one you're talking about, [laughing] and I get exactly what you fucking mean about Pollution being an Asian.

C: Yeah.

G: Well, okay. Should we talk about it? I don't know, maybe we shouldn't. I do have thoughts about-

C: Go for it.

G: I mean, this is completely unrelated. But I will go on a tangent about how the Philippines is one of the major polluters of the world in terms of plastic waste, and there are many reasons for this, as there are for anything that has ever happened in the world. And a big one is that we're a very poor country, and the way our economy works is a normal Filipino person cannot buy anything in bulk or even in a normal packaging. Everything is in a thing we call tingi-tingi, which means small portions. And you know how I discovered that this is a Filipino thing? I was writing Destiel fanfiction [C laughs], and I was trying to figure out what kind of shampoo they would use, and I was looking up like, "Oh, which American brands of shampoo offer things in sachets?" And it just wasn't a thing. Like, it's not a thing in the United States. You don't have sachets. But here, for example, if you want to buy shampoo, and you're poor, you buy a small plastic of it, and that's a one-time use. You rip it open, you wash your hair, and then you throw out the sachet. And it's not just for shampoo. It's pretty much for every fucking thing. It's for food, everything. Everything's in sachets. Bulk here's quite a distant concept, buying anything in bulk, it's not something most families are able to afford. So there's the one. Our plastic waste is very high because that's what our economy looks like. Number two, in the Philippines you cannot legally send trash, right? So if you're from like, Canada or South Korea or the United States, which are countries who have sent us trash, you cannot legally do it. But there is a loophole in that you're allowed to send us recyclable trash. So if you label your trash recyclable, you can send it over here, and we'll have to dispose it for you. So why is the Philippines such a big contributor to plastic waste? One, because our economy relies very much so on small portions being plastic so that people can afford them. And two, lot of those plastics, not ours. They're offloaded to us by other richer countries. So, [laughs] I don't know why I'm bringing this up.

C: It's relevant, I think.

G: It's not particularly super relevant. But yeah.

C: Yeah. Man. Well, that sucks.

G: Yeah. It does. Hell yeah!

C: I think the thing about pollution and Asia that I feel like I think about the most is just how like, there was like, a poster outside of a classroom that I was in that was like, "major polluters of the world," and like-

G: Yeah. Philippines, baby! We're there! [laughs] Well, plastic pollution for sure. Other kinds of pollution, I'm not so sure.

C: Yeah, 'cause I think, in terms of CO2 emissions, which are the things that most people think about, I think, like, base level, like, China, is the highest just because of like, the amount of people there. Also, I think there might be more use of coal. I'm not sure if that's still true. But like, per capita, a lot of the per capita highest ones are like, smaller countries, and then, like, the US, and then, like, the US's per capita, is like, twice China's or whatever. I remember looking at that per capita poster and the way that they had the US and China bars the same length even though the numbers labelled on each of them, was like very different, and just like, the ways that like, data, visualization is often used to make the US look better in comparison to China or whatever the fuck. Yeah. Anyway, I feel like, there is like, a perception of a lot of Asian countries of like, dirty and polluting, and like, coal-using and blah blah blah. Most of the time, if, like, you're using a lot of coal, it's because, like, you're still not generating a lot of energy overall because you're not like, consuming as the US. Whatever, whatever. But yeah, I think that there were negative associations that I had in regards to this, but, like, the scenario itself, is just like, regular pollution of a river in the UK, which is like, pretty removed from whatever. Also, boring as shit. Boring as shit, I have to say. Famine was the only one they did anything fun with.

G: Yeah, that's true.

C: I think the fact that this is also the episode with the Tibetans makes it a little [G laughs] more.

G: No, 'cause, I mean, every time I see an East or Southeast Asian person in British media, I do think about-

C: [laughing] Hey, remember when you did the Opium Wars? But also, yeah.

G: [laughing] No, no. I mean, yes, but like, I am reminded of a conversation I had with my British friend, Arya. She's been coming up a lot in this podcast.

C: Well, she's the only Brit you know.

G: [laughs] She's the only Brit I know. But one time, I told her about this joke that Ronnie Chieng- is that how you pronounce his name? comedian. - did that's like, [mocking voice] "South Asian people are not really Asian, because, like, when South Asian people do things, it's not like, I, an East Asian man, feel anything of any kinship or whatever."

C: Okay?

G: And I told her, "God, this guy's so fucking annoying," and that friend, Arya, said to me, "You know, what's so fascinating is here in the UK, when you say, 'Oh, I have an Asian friend,' or like, 'There's an Asian store,' or whatever, you very rarely think East Asian. 'Cause most of the Asian people there are South Asian."

C: Huh. Yeah, due to the colonialism and whatnot.

G: Yeah. And it's like, not only is the concept of Asia that is like, perpetuated by America West-centric, it is specifically so vehemently US-centric. I don't know. It's something I also thought about.

C: You know what I'm really, really grateful for?

G: What?

C: That there's no Pestilence. [G screams] And that there was no Pestilence played by an Asian in May 2019. [both laughing]

G: In fucking 2019.

C: In fucking May 2019. I every day will thank god we avoided that.

G: It's true!

C: Jesus Christ. I do think the idea of them going, in 1990 even, "Oh, like, we're not gonna do pestilence anymore because we have penicillin now, so let's switch to Pollution" is so like, assuming that everyone has access to medicine.

G: It is so, like, Western-centric! It is! I don't know. Crazy. Wild. Wild shit.

C: Crazy, wild. Also, I don't know, Pollution is styled pretty fun, right?

G: There's nothing. Just blond hair.

C: Like, they've got like, this straggly blond hair in a bob. Well, their eyes are like, light grey.

G: That's true.

C: Like, that's new. That's contacts. I'm trying to figure out- how do lighter contacts work on someone with dark eyes? I guess it just works like everything else would work. But wouldn't it make it so hard to see?

G: I mean, that's a David Tennant situation.

C: Yeah, David Tennant's [G laughing] having the worst time of his life on this set. Poor man.

G: It's true.

C: But yeah, I'd say Pollution doesn't get a lot of lines and has a bit of a whispery voice, and I think because of the light eyes, they feel like, sort of the least human out of all them? 'Cause the other ones have jobs.

G: I think that may be because Pollution is younger and newer.

C: Yeah, I think that is also what I assumed.

G: 'Cause like, Pollution seems to also be the youngest of them, right? And I think that's like, intentional.

C: Pollution's meant to be in the book, like, a young man in his 20s, and then here, Pollution is also younger. So yeah, they haven't gotten used to talking and all that shit yet.

G: Yeah. And I don't like the crown, I suppose.

C: Oh, yeah. Did say that something got delivered yet?

G: Oh, yeah. A crown, blah blah. They look at it and they sign, and the sign is like, an oil spill. Crown turns black. Etc, etc. It's quite boring, honestly. Like, the War one is like, a sword like, obviously. And then the Famine are scales, right? Like, weighing scales. That makes sense to me. The crown? Why? Why?

C: Yeah, what does that have to do with anything?

G: And we'll talk about the Death one later.

C: Something else a little disappointing to me is that Adam ends the world because of like, the environment. Why doesn't Pollution get more time if, like, this is the horseman that drives Adam to despair the most?

G: Yeah, that's true. Odd.

Well, we go back to the delivery van, and Lesley is going, "Oh, one more delivery." There's no delivery. It's just a note. The note- I tried to pause it and like, read it and stuff. All I really read was the "everywhere," which I assume is Death being everywhere.

C: Yeah, "Location: Everywhere." I think the rest of the note is just like, the exact words that he says to Death.

G: Lesley writes a final love note for his wife, and then he gets out, starts walking, lorry hits him, but, you know, he's still standing, and he's like, "Oh, I'm alive!" And then he looks down, and he is, in fact, so dead it's unreal.

C: Yeah. That was pretty cool. I enjoyed that.

G: It was cool! I liked it. And then, you know, Death's there, and guess what, baby? It's fucking Logan Roy. [laughs]

C: Brian Cox.

G: It's Mr. Logan Roy. So fun. King of dying, for fucking real

C: [laughs] You can't tell that it's Logan Roy, though. Death is a skeleton in a grim reaper hood.

G: Yeah. Lesley goes like, "Hey, I came here to deliver you a message, and it is 'Come and see.'" And Death does this like, almost comedic, like, exposition, that's like, "Finally, it's a call to action. [C laughs] War and Famine, Pollution and Death. Today, we ride."

C: Yeah, I guess. It's like, we already knew that, bro.

G: So fucking corny. I think maybe we could have just gotten the "Come and see" and then, like, a menacing sound or whatnot.

C: Yeah. Death ends it with, "Don't think of it as dying. Think of it as leaving early to avoid the rush," which I quite like as a line. So true.

G: Yeah, I guess so. It's gonna be traffic in a bit, buddy!

C: Sure is. And the screen sort of fades into like, stars, and then it says "Death" with a pattern of them. I guess that's significant because every time the other Horsemen arrive, first, God narrates a bit and introduces them. There's no narration for Death.

G: Ooh, yeah.

C: And then there's an image of the horseman's name, and like, a horse that represents them. But there's no horse for Death. It's just a sky full of stars.

G: Maybe he will reap God. Just like in Superfuckingnatural.

C: Maybe. Just like in Superfuckingnatural.

C: We're at Jasmine Cottage, and the Them show up, and they're like, "Okay, can we get some more New Aquarians? 'Cause we have to know everything." Which I'm assuming, yeah, is a response to like, Atlantis suddenly being real and all of them being like, "Oh, shit! These magazines are real." You know, Anathema offers them some chocolate. Brian and Pepper are like, "We don't take candy from witches!" and Wensley's like, "Well, I do." and takes the chocolate, and then everyone sort of like, chills out a bit and comes in.

I just wanna say, Anathema looks so beautiful in this scene. And for what? Just to prep herself for having sex with the most boring man alive? Jesus. It's unfair, the world that we live in. [G laughs] Anathema, call me.

G: The way that, like, this episode has cemented Newt as my mortal enemy [C laughs] is so crazy. And like, the thing is like, if I watched this episode even like, days before I actually did, this wouldn't be the case. [laughs]

C: But he just reminds you of-

G: He just reminds me of someone so bad, and I am, in fact, triangulating hatred. [C laughs] So, sorry, Newt, but also, not so sorry. He's so annoying.

C: Yeah, honestly, I feel like- You watched it and you had your notes-watching session first, and you were like, "I hate Newt, I hate Newt, I hate Newt." and I was like, "Yeah, I probably hate him too." And I watched it, and I was like, "I don't really have that many feelings about him, but I just wish that this thing with him and Anathema never ever happened. Please, please, please. And also, I will hate him a bit for Grey's sake."

G: Thank you so much.

C: No problem. And I think it's cute that she offers them candy. Like, she offered Adam lemonade when she met him. It's very like, "I don't really know how to be good with kids, but I can do this" of her. So yeah. God. She is an aromantic lesbian. Don't do this to her! Don't do it to her!

Newt shows up at Shadwell's. I think at this point, I realized that his car only has three wheels in it. Like, there's a front wheel and two back wheels.

G: I only realized it in my third watch of this episode. [both laughing] In my third fucking watch.

C: And honestly, that's pretty fun, I have to say. Like, you do get points for having a car with three wheels, Newt.

G: [laughs] We'll talk about it later, my gripes on Dick Turpin [C laughing], but okay. [laughs] I'm such a hater! I need you all guys to know that I will be a hater, no matter what.

C: [laughs] Good. So he shows up to Shadwell's to get his fucking armor of righteousness or whatever. And Shadwell's saying all this shit about how "This country is under our protection, I'm so proud of you for going out there." He gives Newt some green jacket thing that's supposed to be like, an army jacket thing. I don't know what British army uniforms look like. Shadwell loads him up with a bunch of supplies, like, a pendulum of discovery and a thumbscrew and firelighters, and Newt's like, "I don't know, actually, if I wanna use these," but Shadwell pushes him. And then he gives him bell, book, and candle in order to exorcise a demon. I mean, Shadwell's so witch-focused. Like, are demons, like, a subset of witches to him? And then he gets given a pin, and that is his supplies, and it ends with Shadwell like, saluting Newt and Newt like, has to salute back, but he's carrying like, ten things in his arms, so he has to readjust it before saluting back, which I thought was pretty funny. Like, good job with the physical comedy.

G: Yeah, I hate them, though, so I'm not laughing. [both laughing]

C: [Mick Jagger voice] Not funnay.

G: [Mick Jagger voice] Not funnay!

C: So in the script, when Newt drives off, he like, opens the window, and then he like- First, he throws the thumbscrew and the firelighters out of the window, and then he backs up and gets out to take the firelighters and put them in a trashcan properly, and I wish they hadn't cut that -

G: Okay, that's sweet.

C: - because I feel like it would have made him a lot less annoying to me. Like, the fact that, like, he goes there, and he like, resolves like, "Okay, first off, I definitely am not hurting anyone. And secondly, oh, let's not litter." If you wanted me to be okay with this happening, why cut that? No, we just have Newt driving off, and then there's like, a tunnel with two Tibetan people in it. And they're like, wearing, I feel like, traditional clothing, and they're both talking, and they're like, "Oh, we're normal people with normal jobs. But then I like, woke up today, and I was just like, stuck in this tunnel in this fucking outfit, and now we have to dig the whole time? Man, this sucks." G: I don't know. I do find it interesting that most of the things that are conjured by Adam's imagination-

C: - are new people and not real.

G: Yeah. Like, the Atlantis people are new people. The Kraken is like, a being.

C: The aliens could have been drawn from outer space like real people who got like, moved over, but it's not clear.

G: Yeah. And yeah, it's like, I don't know. This one-

C: [laughs] I don't know about this one, folks. [both laugh] Not sure about this one. Not sure about keeping it in 2019. Weird choice. Maybe- is the point of it just like, "There's definitely something wrong with these conspiracy theories, and they're like, harmful in a way that, like, Atlantis isn't," or whatever? Because I don't know if that's really impressed upon me properly here.

G: I mean, I think maybe something was trying to be done when, you know, there is acknowledgement of "Oh, but these are real people!" blah blah blah. But like, it comes off so flat and like, so [C laughs]- I don't know. They don't do anything with it, first and foremost, so like, that's mostly why. But it's also just odd. Like, I thought about it, 'cause with Adam and the Thems, right? When he was controlling them, it was very much a like, "He's there, and his presence is causing them to do this."

C: And it's like, treated as horror. This isn't treated as horror.

G: Yeah. Yeah, this is like, "Oh, and now we're here. Oh! Teatime's over. I guess we have to dig!" And it's like, okay. Okay.

C: Yeah. I don't know. Let them be like, scared that they're like, trapped underground now. [laughs] Do something.

G: Yeah, but I guess they were put in a part of the episode that's still supposed to be a little bit funny. So, ugh.

C: Yeah. And I think that it's just- I think that Neil Gaiman just like, couldn't think of a better way for Newt to crash his car? [G laughing] I feel like he's removed a lot of the like, more like, racially questionable things in the book, right? But he's like, "No, but Newt has to crash his car, and the only way anyone could ever crash their car is if a fucking like, Tibetan pokes their head out of a tunnel that they're digging." Like, bro. He cut out the part where Adam makes it rain fish in the show, probably just because, like, the CGI budget can't handle it, but like, Newt could just crash his car because it was raining fish. Like, anything could happen.

Yeah. I think we've talked about the way that Neil Gaiman sort of goes like, "What's a foreign place we can throw in?" [G laughs] And this feels so "What's a foreign place we can throw in?" Like, I feel like Tibetan is just used as a random throwaway ethnicity for the sake of like, LOL randomness, like, in a lot of places. Like, there's a song called "Tibetan Pop Stars" by Hop Along that I really like, but like, the verse is like, "You're a stranger in India / I'm gonna be creeping on you so hard / You're seducing Tibetan pop stars / and wrecking motor cars," and it's so clear that it's just like, "I wanna show that me and my lover are far apart, so like, what's an exotic foreign destination? Like, Asia? India? Tibet? Yeah, that's weird enough. Let's go for it." And it just feels exactly like that here as well. It's fucking annoying. Sorry to all the people of Tibet forever and ever.

Meanwhile, Newt, he continues on his drive, and then he gets pulled over by aliens in a big ol' silver UFO, and they do a whole joke bit where- Well, first, they're like, "Okay, like, we've been sent to like, give you a message of cosmic peace and harmony, but I have no idea why. Also, we're like, looking at this planet right now, and you've been letting the acid rain build up a little too much, and your polar ice caps are melting, like, you guys are doing a pretty bad job with all this shit." Also, they cut a line on the script that was one of the aliens going, "The CO2 level's up 0.5%. You do know you could find yourself charged with being a dominant species while under the influence of impulse-driven consumerism, don't you?" Which I would have found more funny than the rest of it, but they cut it. I guess I feel like maybe these are real aliens, 'cause I don't know if Adam would- Do you think that The New Aquarian would have stuff about how the aliens have, like, a council where they decide which species are like. responsible for crimes against their planet by what they do to the environment? Actually, probably, yes. Probably, yes. Also, I think the presence of aliens really complicates everything a lot given how focused Heaven and Hell are on the Earth right now, so. Also, I need there to be like, no aliens and no more people in the universe so that, like, the AU in my head where they go to Alpha Centauri and are like, so miserable and suicidal-

G: [laughing] So, so, so miserable?

C: - in like, a century is like, real to me, 'cause I feel like if there were aliens, I think they'd be able to make it through. And Newt calls Shadwell, like, "Holy fuck. There were fucking aliens here." And Shadwell's just like, "Well, did you count their nipples? Are they witches? If not, then IDGAF."

G: So, you know, kids are walking, and they're talking about how they want to save the whales and all that. And I quite like the joke they make with Pepper, where she's like, "Oh, if they're so intelligent and whatnot, what the hell are they even doing?"

C: "Just swimming and eating things and singing, and- Oh my god, I wanna be a whale!" She's cute.

G: Yeah, she's so so cute for that. But anyway, Adam is like, "Okay, fine. We'll save the whales. All of them." And then our next scene is in a Japanese whaling ship, and, you know, God does this joke where it's like, "Oh, it's not a whaling ship. It's a scientific research ship. And it's currently researching the question, 'How many whales can it catch in a week?'" I think that's fun. They're being tossed around the ocean and blah blah blah. And then suddenly, the Kraken is here. Great, biiig bugger. [C laughs]

C: It's specifically targeting Japanese whaling ships, and I just wanna say that in 2019, Norway killed more whales than Japan did, so, something to think about. But yeah, no. [both laugh] Anyway. Yeah, not that you should take the heat off of Japan in regards to for-profit whaling, but yeah. Something to think about. Spread out- spread out your anger a little bit. Allocate it properly.

G: I think it's just they wanted to do the sushi joke.

C: Yeah. [laughs] Which you didn't even say because it wasn't funny enough.

G: It's not- [Mick Jagger voice] Not funnay! So.

C: And Anathema gets a little alarm on her phone that's like, "Prophecy Alert! Witchfinder to arrive at 12:05." Which I thought was fun. Like, it makes sense that, like, if her family has had it so long, and they have like, smartphones now that they would put all the prophecy shit in their GCals and all that. And she starts setting up first aid stuff and a bottle of aspirin and waiting.

C: So we're in Hell, and Ligur goes over to Hastur, who's like, holding like, a cup up to collect like, a leak from the ceiling. And Hastur's like, "Oh my god, I hate this so much. I have to like, go to Megiddo, like, right now. But I have to wait for the maintenance team to show up." Ligur is like, "Hey, so like, something's wrong with Crowley. He's up to nothing good," and Hasturs like, "Oh, well, he's not supposed to do good things, so yay!" and Ligur's like, "No, he's up to nothing bad" and Hastur's like, "So he's not in trouble?" And Ligur's like, "No, he is super duper in trouble, and we have to go in and get proof that he's done something wrong and then collect him." And then Hastur's like, "Great. Awesome. Let's toast to that, "and he holds his cup up, and then, like, the sludge falls, and he's like, "Come on!" I think the Hastur actor is a pretty good comedic actor with the material that he's been given.

G: Oh, definitely.

C: Yeah like, he did a good job. Thanks, man.

G: Well, anyway, Newton eventually arrives in Tadfield. We finally read the - what's it called? - the prophecy. And it goes, [both] "When Robin's blue chariot inverted be, three wheels in the sky, a man with bruises be upon your bed, aching his head for willow fine."

C: Did I get that right? 'Cause I didn't read it. I just memorized it. Is that correct? Did I get it right? Did I do a good job?

G: That's very nice!

C: Thank you.

G: You did a very good job! No, I thought you were reading aloud. I was like, "Why are you reading? I'm already saying it." [C laughs] But alas, you were not. Good job.

C: Nah. Hell yeah. I did it.

G: What is Robin's blue chariot? What the hell does that mean? What is robin's?

C: I think just that the color of his car is robin blue.

G: Ah, robin, the bird? Boo.

C: I mean, [both laugh] they had to replace "When Orient's chariot inverted be" with something. [laughing]

G: Yeah. I guess so. And, you know-

C: You know what I love? I think in the book, the reason that it's three wheels in the sky is because one of the wheels is stuck in the mud, but like, here, it's like, "It's a three-wheeled car."

G: Yeah. While he's driving, the Them are like, off to the side, just walking around, a couple, meters from his car. Do you say that? [laughs] A couple feet.

C: Well, you could say meters. It's British.

G: That's true. But don't they use miles in England?

C: They do use miles per hour, but I think they might still use me- I don't know, man. Ask Arya. [G laughs]

G: Newt was about to collide with the Tibetans, and then he swerves, and then his car is, in fact, three wheels in the sky. And, you know, he's getting out of the car as the Them run to him, and they try to take care of him 'cause he's hurt, and they're like, "We should do something!" And- should I even bring this up? I feel like it's such a mean-spirited thing to say.

C: [laughs] No, you should do it.

G: Well, okay. So one of the Them goes, "Oh, we should get him away from the car, 'cause it might blow up. It does that on telly." And then Newt, like, dazed and nose bleeding and all that, goes, "Dick Turpin won't blow up." And then, after a pause, goes, "You're probably wondering why it's called Dick Turpin. Well..." and then, you know, he falls over because he is concussed. [laughing] I hate him so much! [laughs] Like, here's the thing. I feel like there are a lot of people, or like, certain types of people who think that like, what makes them interesting as people are like, this? are things like this? It's like- how did I put it to you, Crystal? It's like, when you're talking to someone, and it's obvious that the things that they're telling you about things that they're interested in are not being told to you because they're interested in the thing, but because they want you to be interested in them, and that is so like, Newt being like, "Oh, you're probably wondering why it's called Dick Turpin." Like, he isn't saying, "Here is an interesting thing about this car," he's saying, "Here's an interesting thing about me so you'd like me," and it is a trait that I vehemently hate in the people that I meet when they exhibit it. And it's a trait I vehemently hate in Newt! And here's the thing I said to Crystal, like, he drives a three-wheeled car. That in itself is so fucking interesting. Like, "You may be wondering why the car is three-wheeled." But no, he has to be like, "No no no, let's make it about me. I named the car Dick Turpin. [C laughing] Maybe you're wondering why I am so charming and that I named my car Dick Turpin." [laughing] It is so unbearable! I'm so sorry! I'm such a hater!

C: [laughing] He's concussed.

G: But my god, this guy's annoying! [laughs] Anyway.

C: Yeah, yeah. And you also made like, a good point, I think, that like - in our DMs - that like, Newt has to have this kind of personality because only a guy like this would entertain Shadwell at all.

G: Yeah. And it's so- like, I told Crystal like, "God. He should have just been like, a car guy or something. I can't believe we can solve this character by making him Dean Winchester-coded." [C laughs] But like, literally, for fucking real. Give him real interests. Give him real things that he actually does like, for real and not like, "Oh, but like, I want to be interesting to people, and therefore I will tell them that this and blah blah blah." It's like, shut the fuck up! [both laughing] I need to calm down. I need to fucking calm down. Well.

C: Yeah, I mean, he is annoying.

G: I mean, I just hate him. I hate him.

C: We're in the Fields of Megiddo, and Hastur is there, and he's talking to three Eric, the disposable demons who are trying to give him a briefing.

G: I want to say that this look, I like it a lot. Amazing look.

C: Eric looks great. Eric's slaying. The first thing that you notice is that the Erics have very long lower eyelashes.

G: Yeah! Gorgeous!

C: They look gorgeous. They really do. And their hair is styled and shaped into like, two horns on top of their heads.

G: Yeah, yeah, like an antenna in a car. Well, not really, but you get the drift.

C: Yeah, they look amazing.

G: It's so cool. It's such a cool look. I think, you know, 'cause we only see Crowley interact with Ligur and Hastur. But you know what? Maybe if he met Eric, he would have gotten a nice demon friend. 'Cause like, this guy's funny. Well, what's the situation? Is it like, one guy, or is it like, multiple guys? What's the lore there?

C: I'm not certain. I think the idea is that these are all just like, junior demons that like, look the same, but I feel they probably have similar personalities, at least.

G: 'Cause like, at first, when you told me about this, because, you know, the hellhound thing, this demon is also there, I thought it was like, one demon that gets reincarnated over and over again.

C: Yeah, no, but I don't think that's it. I think the idea that there's just like, an unlimited supply of this demon for other demons to abuse, and this demon is played by a Black man is quite iffy! Like, this is one type of like, replenishable demon, and this is who you chose to play this replenishable demon. And they also kill Ligur later.

G: Yeah. God.

C: Yeah. Good Omens is not beating the "Black character dies first in a horror movie" allegations. Like, at least the postman got killed also, but-

Also, apparently, the Erics, like, it was like, down to two people in the auditions, and the other person was a woman, but, like, it just turned out schedule-wise that this was the actor for Eric. So yeah. Interesting. I don't know. But anyway, the briefing, Eric 1 is like, talking about how Armageddon is the Greek name for it, and like, there's archaeological excavations over here and avocado fields over here.

G: I mean, why did you skip over the funny joke that's like, "I thought The Forces of Darkness was a bit long, so I'm calling us Darkforce One." And it's so funny! I love it so much. They literally are Darkforce One.

C: I think it's cute, yeah. And Hastur's like, "Okay, so they grow avocados here and the end of the world?" And Eric's like, "Yeah, we have a joke. We say, 'That's going to be one big avocado!'" which is not funny at all. And Hastur decides [both, Mick Jagger voice] "Not funnay!" and then chokes him to death. And he's like, "I hate jokes. I don't do jokes. Anyone who does jokes in front of me. I'm gonna fucking kill them." So Eric 2 is like, "Okay, the boy and the hellhound are gonna be here in twenty minutes. The ambassador's here for a photo op." And Hastur's like, "What's a photo op?" And he's like, "Well, it's like -Do you know what a selfie is? I believe the demon Crowley invented them."

G: He invented selfies, baby!

C: He sure did. That's a very Crowley thing to do.

G: But the picture on his phone isn't even a selfie, and I'm so embittered by it.

C: Well, that does mean he had someone take it for him.

G: Boo! [C laughing] You're trying to make it into an Aziraphale/Crowley thing, but I'm trying to make it into a "Crowley should be a TikTok e-girl" thing, so.

C: Oh, absolutely. Crowley should be a lifestyle influencer. [G laughs]

G: This is so true!

C: I mean, honestly, he probably just miracled his phone to like, stand upright and take it for him. So it is still a selfie.

G: Yeah.

C: Hastur just hates that Crowley was mentioned at all and then kills Eric 2. And then third Eric is like, "Okay, the Four Horsemen will converge here once the boy and the dog get here, and then the boy will start Armageddon," and Hastur's sorta distracted, and then he goes, "One big avocado?" and then he starts losing his shit, but like, he's like, laughing in a way that's like, he's never laughed before or like, something is off with his throat. It's a very interesting hacking laughing noise.

G: We go to Anathema's Jasmine Cottage, and the Them are bringing Newt up to her. The important things that happen here are, like, Pepper asks like, "Well, you seem like you were expecting him," and she goes, "Yes, actually." And then also, Adam sees a portrait of Satan on the side [both laugh], and, you know, Satanifies.

C: Very entranced by it. And also when the kids - when the other Them are like, "Okay, we're gonna head home for lunch now," at first, Adam's like, "I didn't say you could go." And there's like, a moment of tension.

G: And they all stop.

C: Yeah. And then he's like, "Have a good lunch!" Something that they cut, which I mean, I'm mostly glad that they cut, but like, basically Anathema looks at him and goes, "Oh, yeah, I was expecting him, but I was hoping he'd be a bit more..." and Pepper goes, "Hunky?" and Anathema says, "I think that's a bit sexist." and Pepper says, "It's not sexist to describe our male oppressors as hunky, my mum says." Okay, man. I'm glad they cut it, but also, I think the reason they cut it is because Neil was like, "Maybe it'd be a bit weird to have Anathema explicitly say that she's disappointed, [G laughing] because then it feels like she's getting forced into having sex with him by the prophecy more than she is," which she already is a little bit. So like, yeah. But like, this does really help my "Anathema is an aromantic lesbian agenda," at least.

G: Literally fucked because of a prophecy! Get fucking out of here!

C: We can talk about the prophecy of it all once they sleep together, I suppose, but it's like... [sighs]

G: As the rest of the Them head out, they start talking about how "Adam is being a bit weird!" and they're kind of scaring him a little bit. They're being different. They don't really say anything explicit that he has done that made them feel this way, but, you know, they're like, "It's just something." and that they turn the corner on a tree, Adam is seemingly miraculously on the other side, and he's staring at them ominously/like he is about to vomit. Like, he's standing by your door, and you're his parent, and he's going, "I'm gonna throw up." [C laughs] Like, that's the look.

C: We're back to the Fields of Megiddo, and the Dowlings all arrive, and they're not really happy about being here, and Thaddeus calls it Israel, because of course he does, he works for Bush. Hastur introduces himself as Professor Hastur... [both] La Vista. [both laugh] Hilarious

G: I love it. And like, they take him seriously. Later, Thaddeus goes, "Professor La Vista," and I just- I think that's so wonderful.

C: It's great. And he just completely ignores the parents. He heads straight to Warlock, and he's like, "Oh my god! Hi, Warlock! You must be Warlock!" And Warlock's just, you know, a kid who is a dick, and he's just like, "You smell like poo." And Hastur's like, very starstruck, and like, "Hahaha, you're so funny. Where's the dog, by the way?" When it's clear that there is no dog, he starts freaking out, he goes, "Hey! Do you have voices? What are they telling you?" And Warlock goes, "The voices in my head all say you smell like poo." And Hastur yells, like, [overlapping] "Crowley!!" angrily as he bites his pinky and like, black blood oozes out. And the Dowlings are both just doing that like, politely looking away thing. [both laugh] Like, they're not screaming. They're like, "Man, what a weird guy. Let's just give him some space."

We now cut to a movie theater where Crowley's alone, and did you notice how she's sitting?

G: I have, because I've seen like, a post referencing the way- yeah, the sitting is happening.

C: Wait, I thought- don't you have the Good Omens tag blocked on Tumblr as well.

G: No, I only have it blocked on Twitter.

C: Wait, I have things that are spoilers sometimes.

G: No, I don't scroll through Tumblr that much. It's not a concern.

C: That's fair. But you saw this one.

G: I scroll mostly on Twitter, and my god. The thing about Twitter is there's a "For you" page now, and unfortunately for me, I have been sucked into the "For you" page. I have every possible English word that could possibly be related to fucking Good Omens muted. I have, like, the word "season" muted, [C laughs] "season 2," "s2," like, "ineffable," like, every iteration of Crowley and Aziraphale’s name, including my beloathed "Azi." [C groans] Am I allowed to say, or do you think we're going to- our audience is going to-

C: I have no real quarrel with people who shorten Aziraphale’s name, but I just don't think that he would go for that. To me, any human AU Aziraphale doesn't use pronouns and also doesn't use a shortened version of Aziraphale's name at all.

G: Literally it's all just Aziraphale, yeah.

C: Like, Aziraphale just makes everyone say all of it, and I think that that's like, so correct of Aziraphale.

G: So important to me.

C: And Aziraphale should do it all the fucking time, and no one should ever be allowed to shorten Aziraphale’s name ever. Anyway-

G: This is true. So I have all that muted. And what Twitter has started doing is - 'cause they can't show me Good Omens English posts anymore, they would show me like, fanart where the captions are in another language. [C laughing] Crazy! Relentless algorithm! But yeah.

C: Yeah, I guess gay love can break through the veil of Twitter mute and destroy the day.

G: It well may be. I mean, the fanarts are pretty. They're nice. They're not spoilery, I don't think. So it's okay.

C: Yeah. It's just them, like, cuddling, or whatever, right?

G: Yeah! It's like, I don't know. I think like, Aziraphale is drinking tea while Crowley is like, lying on his lap, which I think is cute.

C: Godd. I just can't- It wasn't until you like, mentioned it like, yesterday or whatever that I realized that they've never hugged.

G: They've never hugged! They have never hugged!

C: And that's gonna haunt me until like, 2027. What if they don't even hug in Season 3? Like, what am I supposed to do with myself, then? Just like, die? Just die? Like, Neil Gaiman. Please.

G: God, they've never hugged. Anyway, [laughs] we need to get back on this.

C: Yeah. Crowley, the way that she's sitting is that they're like in, you know, one of those red theater seats, and then they have their legs hooked over the top of the seat in front of them, and I just think that's so charming and cute and gay, and I love them very very much. So the stage directions in the script for this makes me- So, it goes, "Crowley is sitting alone in a rundown cinema. He's waiting for the end of the world. Out of time, out of hope. He smiles despite himself at the antics of something cartoony on the screen that we cannot see." And that makes me so sad.

G: He wasn't gonna run away. He wasn't gonna do it by himself. He was never gonna do it by himself. Never.

C: Oh, yeah, yeah. Absolutely not. And- but it also makes me sad that like, he's given up already. Because, you know, like, last episode, he was like, telling Aziraphale, like, "My people can find the boy, I promise. Let's stick together." But like, he's not gonna run away by himself, but like, in this show, they're also not gonna fight by themselves.

G: Well, I mean, the thing is like, you know, the Kraken and everything, I would assume Crowley already knows that this is happening. So like, maybe there's a thinking of, "Well. Too late. Goodbye."

C: Yeah. I do think that this is somewhat slanderous of book Crowley who never, ever lost hope and is my favorite, but, like, I guess, you know, it's an adaptation, and perhaps this is more emotionally resonant or whatever. And I guess it's also like, I mean, the plan before was just to wait for Shadwell to give her information anyway, so this isn't not waiting for Shadwell to give her information.

G: Maybe that is the plan, yeah.

C: What she's watching is this cartoon with like, three rabbits in it, and it's called Saturday Morning Funtime. God. Okay, if this is like, Crowley being like, "Okay, these are my last hours on this earth," like, why Saturday Morning Funtime? Is it just because they couldn't license Golden Girls? Golden Girls is Crowley's favorite show in the book.

G: Aww! That's nice.

C: But anyway, this is what he's watching right now. And then, suddenly, one of the rabbits takes its head off, and it's Hastur.

G: In the style of the cartoon.

C: It's so fun because it's in the style of the cartoon. He's like, "What the fuck is going on, Crowley? What'd you do? I just met Warlock, and that is not Lucifer's son, and he said that I smelled of poo. You're dead meat, Crowley. You're bloody history." And Crowley, you know, panics and like, runs out, and the note that I took - 'cause I forgot the exact order of things in this episode - was, "Crowley runs out to go home," but he doesn't. [laughs] But in some ways, he does.

G: Oh, shut the fuck up. [C laughing]

C: I'm so fucking, like, relationship-pilled right now. Like, I feel like I'm doing a bad job with analysis because of how stupid lovesick I am.

Oh, I forgot. Hastur also kills one of the rabbits in the TV screen.

G: Oh, yeah. Pretty violently.

C: Yeah, pretty violently. There's like, cartoon blood exploding. And then, like, the remaining rabbit is just standing there, confused, about what to do when Crowley runs out. Slay.

G: Anyway, we go to Anathema and Newt in Jasmine Cottage. Anathema is saying, like, "Well, I know all about you, Private Newton Pulsifer," you know. "You had matches. I threw them out. You're a witchfinder." And he goes, "I'm not actually a witchfinder given that there are no witches. I'm a computer engineer."

C: Which he's not.

G: "I just needed something to get me out of the house."

C: Girl.

G: Actually, when he said that, I was like, "Okay."

C: I mean, that does make him a little less hateable, but, like, bro, there's a soup kitchen nearby, I'm sure.

G: Go to the library! [C laughs] Go join a community theater! Fuck off! Sorry. I need to calm down.

C: No, I mean, he did explicitly like, look at a guy calling people sissies and hating women and go, "This is the thing I want to do to get out of the house."

G: Yeah. And she introduces herself. She says, "I really am a witch." And she gives him the prophecy and tells him to read it, and he does.

C: Out loud, again, even though it already happened in the narration. What is it about these prophecies that makes Neil Gaiman go, "I just have to read them again and again, "like, every single person in the entire world has to read them again. Can you tell him I'm still mad about the transition from the 1600s [G laughing] to young Anathema-

G: In episode 2? For fucking real.

C: We heard it already! We heard it already.

G: Yeah. And you know, she points out, like, "Oh, that's you in your car, and the aspirin," and, you know, she gives the backstory, blah blah blah, family, Agnes, Adultery Pulsifer.

C: They cut a line that she thinks that Adultery Pulsifer just did that because he hated women. 'Cause Newt's like, "If I was called Adultery Pulsifer, I think I'd want to hurt as many people as possible," and Anathema's just like, "I think he just didn't like women." Sad!

G: She says that the end of the world starts in four hours and fifteen minutes. She goes, "I just can't figure out the prophecy," which is "Where the hog's back ends, the young beast will take the world, and Adam's line will end in fire and darkness." Newt figures out, 'cause he knows the address, that Adam Young lives in Hogsback-

C: Hogback Lane, Number 4 Hogback Lane, yeah. And Anathema hates this.

G: Hates it, 'cause she thinks Adam's a sweet, sweet kid, and all his friends are so sweet. And then, as she goes, "He can't be the great beast at the end of the world. He's the sweetest kid in the village." And then we cut to Adam-

C: Not the sweetest kid in the village.

G: - telling the Them to like, come with him and keep walking with him. And they are, but they don't want to. And he's saying, like, "You're all coming with me because there's nowhere else to go." Adam starts saying that, "There's nothing left. Like, look at everything around you. [laughing] Everyone's deleted Ecosia, [C laughing] like, the environment is going to shit!"

C: [laughing] Do you want to explain the Ecosia thing? [G laughs]

G: Me and Crystal have been trying so so so hard to insert a "delete Ecosia" joke in this podcast because it's a joke that we share. Because - was it - It was like, last year, [laughs] the Philippines elections was happening, and didn't turn out favorably for me, or, you know-

C: Anyone?

G: - a person who is like me in general. In general also. Did you know that they're like, asking for confidential funds right now, and it's so bonkers high, it's crazy? And the only reasoning they're giving is like, "Well, we don't need to give reasons. It's a confidential fund." I hope they all die. But anyway, one of the tweets that I saw in my timeline at the time was like, "Man. This administration is gonna be here for six years. Thank god the world is gonna end in five. Everybody delete Ecosia." [C laughing] And it has been in my vocabulary ever since. Everybody delete Ecosia.

C: It has very much been in my vocabulary ever since. In fact, I think the first thing that I Peached after I watched Season 2 and was so disappointed [G laughs] was "Everyone delete Ecosia."

G: [laughing] Yes, "everyone delete Ecosia"! And we got people asking you, "Wait, is Ecosia bad?" And you were like, "No!"

C: [laughing] Yeah, like, "Oh, what did Ecosia do?" [both laughing] Yeah.

G: God. Ecosia is bad for trying to save the world when the world is so so bad.

C: I mean, actually, I think that there are- I don't know if this is Ecosia-specific, but I think there are issues with like- Attempts at reforestation are like, really not undoing any of the damage that was done, blah blah blah. So like, yeah. But I don't know the specifics of Ecosia. It's possible that the species that they plant are more helpful than other replanting programs or whatever. But yeah. Truly, [laughs] Adam said that everyone's deleted Ecosia. [G laughs]

G: Adam literally said that.

C: And then he says that he needs to do the final push to make everyone who hasn't deleted Ecosia yet delete Ecosia.

G: He's going to make the world end.

C: Yeah. Specifically, he wants to make it better by burning it all down and then starting it again. And I felt this is quite interesting given that we saw Noah's Ark last episode.

G: He wants to Noah's Ark this thing.

C: Like, it's much like that. It's interesting the different ways that people are viewing the ending of the world. Like, Heaven and Hell are both just like, "We're going to raze the earth to the ground and then use it as the battlefield to prove who's better." Though, actually, do we know that that's a hundred percent true? Like, do we know exactly what's going to happen? Because it's possible that, like, the great fight between Heaven and Hell actually involves, like, human souls. Like, maybe all the humans die and the souls join different sides and it's like, whoever was good on Earth and whoever was bad, like, changes the numbers in the army, and that's like, part of the test of humans or something? You know what I mean?

G: I fucking doubt it.

C: Yeah. I mean, I also doubt it, but like, they're very vague about what exactly is going to happen. And like, Adam, seems to be thinking that like, they're gonna restart the Earth after. Okay, I guess it's like, whoever wins gets to restart the Earth alone, right? Either Heaven will build a new Earth or Hell will.

G: It will be Hell on Earth or Heaven on Earth, yeah.

C: Yeah. Adam's ending the world because it's like, a fresh start-

G: [laughs] He wants to delete Ecosia.

C: He wants to delete Ecosia! Yeah, the angels and the demons have the same reason, and Crowley still views it as a test, and I'm still not sure exactly what she means by that. But I think it's nice that that is what she thinks.

G: Oh my god, we're at the breakup scene.

C: We sure are at the breakup scene. Though- I don't- I feel like I did want to discuss a bit the way that Adam got here. Is it not, like, politically confusing to you what this book and the show are trying to do, like, a little bit?

G: How would you describe politically confusing?

C: Okay, I guess if I had to summarize what's happened, Anathema's a leftist who's a little too into conspiracy theories, and she presents Adam with some real issues mixed in with some fake stuff. Somehow, what Adam shapes about reality is like, the aliens and Atlantis, like, harmless fake stuff, but what hits him emotionally is the hopelessness about the environment, and also possibly like, the misinformation in the magazines, and he's no longer able to view humanity as capable of enacting positive change. So then he's like, here. And like, I guess that makes an amount of sense to me. But like, is it like about like- I mean, I know that things don't actually have to have a political ideology or a political throughline. But I feel like Neil Gaiman has said in interviews that, like, Terry Pratchett, like, what really drove him to write Good Omens is like, anger at the world, and like, wanting to like, say something, so like, I feel like, there has to be something that they're going for. And is it just about like, how like, you have to like, stay hopeful, even if all these issues that leftists care about are like, present? 'Cause, like, that's kind of confusing when you mix in like, the conspiracy theory shit. Like, the one-sentence summary of this is just like, "misinformationed leftist turns child into ecofash," right? Like, that's what happens. And I guess I am confused a little bit about why those were the choices. I don't know how. Do you have any confusion?

G: Crystal,you have to remember, I don't know how this story pans out. [laughs]

C: I'm just talking about like, right now, the fact that this is what has caused Adam to do this.

G: I don't know. I guess, in my head, I'm waiting for how Adam deals with it later. How his story resolves before I go, "And this is what they're trying to say." 'Cause, right now, I have no idea what they're trying to say.

C: Sure. Yeah. Nor I, honestly. But yeah, I think the idea that if Adam had gone on without reading those magazines, he wouldn't even end the world is the thing, right? There were voices whispering in his head, like, "End it all, mend it all" doesn't mean anything when you don't actually think there's anything wrong with the world.

G: Well I would also say that it's interesting to me that he is 11, and like, it is intentional that he's 11, and like, I think he really couldn't have been any other age. I think 11 really is- Like, if you want to write a story of this type, of like, somebody learning about the world and being so disillusioned and like, having such childish ideas of how to fix that disillusionment in the world, etc, I do like that they made it that he's 11. 'Cause like, I think you can make it so it's a teenage angst situation, but like, it's really not. I remember when I was that age, Adam's age, I learned for the first time that the US was a colony and that, you know, the United States fought for independence and all that. And I thought to myself, "Well, if that's true, and they were colonized, and they didn't like it, why'd they do it to us?" It's that, you know, like, it's that kind of logic that like, when you're kid, you do think like, "Well, why?" And, yeah. I like- I quite like Adam. I think- I don't know. I still don't know what the hell they're trying to say with Adam.

C: Yeah. I like him. This is realistic to me on a character level, I'm just confused about it from a writing perspective.

G: Yeah, exactly.

C: Saur. Crowley drives to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Man. I watched this scene like, five times at least. [G laughs] I just like, got to the end-

G: The first time I watched this episode, as it ends, I just kept rewinding over and over again.

C: So he pulls up to the driveway with the worst parallel parking job God has ever seen,

and when he gets out he leaves the door open 'cause like, they're that desperate. Also, at this point, I realized that Crowley's license plate, which is like, NIAT RUC is "curtain" backwards, which is fun. I don't know what it means, but it feels relevant to the "your starring role" shit.

G: Isn't that something they say- They say that on Staged, I think, that joke.

C: You've seen Staged? I haven't seen Staged.

G: [laughs] I watched one episode, yes.

C: An entire episode?! How long-

G: Yes. Not the entire episode. I watched like, the first ten minutes. And I was like, "Yeah, I don't like this." [C laughs]

C: God! He runs out and he goes like, "Angel, I'm sorry. I apologize. Whatever I said, I didn't mean it. Work with me. I'm apologizing here. Yes? Good. [both] Get in the car." He's crazy, he's crazy, he's craazy. Okay. Also, in the script, he's supposed to grab Aziraphale at this point, but in the show, he's just standing there, and honestly, I think it's better. The tension is better.

G: Let's break this down. Let's break this down.

C: Ya. Ya. Ya. [laughs]

G: "Angel, I'm sorry." [C laughs] Insane thing to say. He didn't do anything wrong, he didn't say anything wrong. All of the hurtful things that were said were from Aziraphale’s direction. And he goes, "Angel, I'm sorry"?

C: I mean, Crowley said, "You're ridiculous. I don't even know why I'm still talking to you," and like, that, as the last thing you'll ever say to each other before you have to kill each other is like, not fun. I get why he would apologize.

G: Eh. Blah blah blah.

C: But yeah, it is mostly like a- It's just like a, "Well, I don't care right now. The only thing I want to do is get you out of here. And clearly, you're upset at me. So let's just like, whatever it was. Yeah. Sorry. Let's fucking go."

G: When he said, like, "I'm apologizing here. Yes? Good?" I did not expect the next line to be, "Get in the car." And I felt like- [both laugh] I felt the same way Aziraphale has felt in that moment of like, "What?? No!" Like, "Get in the car?" It was- "Get in the car." Is anyone else feeling like an insane person? [laugh] God!

C: [laughing] Okay, when I first watched this scene, I like, looked down, and there were bite marks on my hand, and I just noticed that I'm biting my hand, like, right now. Like- [laughing] it's a lot. It sure is a fucking scene. What is it about "Get in the car" that really got you?

G: Like, no explanation, no, like- What was going on in Crowley's head? Was he like, "I'll tell the angel to get in the car, and then he will, and then I'll explain, and then we'll be off to Alpha-" like, the fact that he didn't even bother to start with the explanation. He just goes, "Okay! We're fine! So now we'll do our thing, and you will get in the car!" And it's like, I don't know. You told me once that, in the book, Crowley is described to be a raging optimist or however it's phrased.

C: Yeah. Once we get to that scene, I will read the whole passage in full and then scream and cry and sob and moan.

G: Here, I suppose it's like, I don't know, the hope that like, "I'll say sorry, and then everything's going to be okay, and then we'll just continue on." Like, I don't know, there's such juvenile hopefulness to it that really gets to me, I guess.

C: Yeah. And I think it's just like, "Our relationship is usually operated off of trust. And like, why wouldn't he trust me now?" Yeah, and just the complete lack of communication is so good. And their voice is so pleading, and they have, like, their arms out sort of in a similar gesture as in the bandstand when they were mentioning the same thing.

G: Oh, that's the one. That's the one that's the one that really got to me, too. Like, there is no change in what he's asking. He's asking me the exact same thing. The only change is that now he has added an exact location. Now he's like, "We're going to Alpha Centauri." But it's still the exact same suggestion, the exact same request. He literally went and go, "I must have said something wrong. Whatever it is, I'm sorry. Anyway, I'm going to say the exact same thing I said. Do you wanna come?" [both laugh] Like, you're crazy, Crowley. [C laughing] God.

C: And I just love that this is the breakdown of their relationship. Because I feel like for millennia, they've maintained a friendship, and it's because Crowley tempts Aziraphale to do or ask him to do things that Aziraphale secretly wants the whole time. But like, this time, like, it's not something that Aziraphale secretly wants, so it doesn't work. And like, they've had conversations in the past about like, their beliefs about like, religion and God and all that, and it's like, they've always stuck to their sides, and they've never really been able to change each other's minds, and if it's too awkward, then they just go. "You're an angel." "You're a demon" bullshit, blah blah blah blah, and then move on. But like, they can't move on past this anymore, because it is the end of the world, and it is their fundamental beliefs that are clashing right now. So like, nothing Crowley can do will work, and nothing Aziraphale can do will work. They're just stuck here forever but they can't live without each other, so it's just misery forever.

G: God! It is so unstoppable force/immovable object of them.

Aziraphale goes like, "What? No!" And then Crowley explains.

C: Yeah, he goes, "The forces of Hell have figured out it was my fault, but we can run away together. Alpha Centauri. Lots of spare planets up there. Nobody would even notice us." Ugh. Yeah. At least he finally explained. And I feel like this just totally goes over Aziraphale’s head, the fact that Hell's after Crowley right now. But I think he's just very focused on like, what he has to do right now. But it's still like- We saw history and all that shit, and like, Aziraphale's fear that Hell's gonna punish Crowley for them working together has like, been such a big thing. But I guess they're now in such a stressful situation that it's just not registering, nothing's registering, they can't communicate.

G: And also the fact that Crowley doesn't know that Aziraphale has been found out in some way. There was no hint of it, no anything, because it wasn't like- Hastur wasn't accusing him of, you know, trying to stop the Apocalypse. He's accusing him of misplacing the child. So like, there is no actual leap to make that, "Oh, and Aziraphale will be in danger, too." So this ask really is just for Crowley. It's not like, "I'm going to make sure that I'm safe and that you're safe." It's just, "I don't want to die, and I want you to come with me." It is a purely selfish - and I don't mean selfish in a conceited way, just that it's for Crowley and Crowley alone. The ask is for her only. And- [screams]

C: Yeah. And, I mean, partly, it is because, you know, like, last episode, it was like, "Well, the world is probably gonna end, maybe. Like, if we know that we can't stop it, then we really have got to go." But yeah, I feel like the fact that this is the explanation now is mostly just 'cause they don't want to die, and they want Aziraphale to come with them. [screams] Love that. Love that so much. And Aziraphale goes, like, "Crowley. You're being ridiculous. I'm quite sure if I can just reach the right people, that I can get all this sorted out." Do you think he believes that?

G: Yes! I think he does.

C: Oh, god, that's devastating. Okay. The thing is, yeah, the whole time, he's been like- everything he's done is like, trying to prove that, like, The Great Plan doesn't actually want Armageddon to happen. When you said that this is a test of Aziraphale, like, it really is.

G: It is!

C: It is like Abraham being like, "Surely God will stay my hand at the last minute. Surely I don't actually have to kill my son." This is what's happening with Aziraphale, and he keeps asking more and more people, like, "Okay, but like, Heaven doesn't actually want this, right?" And each time, they say, "Yes," and he's like, "Okay, but I can't live with that. So I need to ask someone else." Agh! I love him a lot. But yeah. So he does- yeah, he truly believes that, like, if he talks to God, She will sort it all out. And maybe he's like, "And, you know, in the course of that, like, you'll also be saved. We'll all be fine." And Crowley goes, "There aren't any right people. There's just God moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us!" What I really love about how they have filmed this is Crowley is taller than Aziraphale, but somehow, they've positioned themselves so that Crowley's head is like, tilted up pleadingly the whole time that he's talking, and Aziraphale is just looking like, straight ahead, eye-level. I don't know how this is working. But like, yeah. It really highlights- the body language really highlights where they're at. Crowley already sort of tried God, like, earlier in this episode. And that's- I don't think he really- I think it was mostly just angst. I don't think he really thought that She was gonna reply. But it does make me emo that the demon tried it first.

Okay, so like, Crowley continues and says, "You're so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be [both] so stupid?" And Aziraphale takes a little pause at this, and emotions flicker across his face. The stage direction is, "Aziraphale decides not to be offended by this." And then he says, very- it's like, gentle but firm at the same time, like, "I forgive you." Aughhhh. Gah. By the way.

G: Why? Okay. What does this mean? 'Cause like, in the logic of the interaction, it's, you know, Crowley says, "Sorry," and this is like, Aziraphale responding to that. But, like, what does it mean?

C: I mean, it seems sort of a response of Crowley calling him stupid. But it, yeah, is also maybe a response to the entire apology.

G: It's not a response to being called stupid at fucking all.

C: Is it not at all? But it says "Aziraphale decides not to be offended by this," is that not- like, that sort of implies that it's also a response to that.

G: When I'm watching the show, I'm not-

C: Yeah, you're not reading the stage directions. You're right. Sorry. And yeah, death of the author means that anything that isn't in the show doesn't actually count. Continue.

G: I don't know what. What is he forgiving? Is that "I'm forgiving you for even asking this of me"?

C: God. Augh.

G: 'Cause that's how I took it.

C: Maybe.

G: Doesn't the last episode of Season 2 end this way?

C: [laughing] Let's not talk about that! Anyway! [both laughing]

G: [laughing] Wait? What's happening? Doesn't it? Doesn't he say- Like, they kiss and he says, "I forgive you for kissing me" or something.

C: [overlapping] Yes. Yes. Yes, he does, yes, he does, and no one has to think about that for several months is what I think.

G: [laughing] Okay. Okay.

C: Okay. So it's- what does he mean by that? I didn't think about it that much because I was mostly just looking at how devastated Crowley looks. But okay, I think my breakdown of the scene- Does Aziraphale think that Crowley's gonna leave for real?

G: He's not.

C: Probably not. 'Cause he calls later, fully just assuming she's gonna be at her flat.

G: Yeah. Is it a "I forgive you for losing hope"?

C: Yeah, I think it's also like a, "In case we don't make it through, like, I want to make sure we like, leave off on good terms." Though, I mean, maybe not because he thinks that if he talks to God, She'll fix it. How desperate is he- I mean, some amount of desperate, but it's hard to say how much he thinks they'll never see each other again.

G: I don't know. I'll stick with my "I'll forgive you for acting this way and asking this and doing this."

C: Yeah. The point of the sentence "I forgive you" is like, "You did something wrong. I know you did something wrong. And it's so obvious that you did something wrong that you know that you did something wrong. Like, the apology is inherent in the wrongness of the action that you just did, because it's so obviously wrong." And I think that is a fascinating response to anything.

G: Well, maybe it's not like, "I know that you did something wrong by virtue of you apologizing," and more of "I know you think you did something wrong, and whatever it is that you think you did wrong, I forgive you for it." That's a more benevolent reading.

C: Sure. But I think this is quite similar to- 'Cause they just had another breakup like, two hours ago, right?

G: No, for fucking real! [C laughing] How many times are they gonna break up in this fucking show?

C: More than this, I suppose.

G: Just the three? [laughs]

C: I mean, they broke up in Saint James's Park, also.

G: Oh, yeah, that's four.

C: Yeah. They are the thrice-divorced old man yaoi everyone wants.

G: Yeah. They are literally so crover and so back.

C: Yeah. In the last episode, right, Aziraphale also uses the language of forgiveness, but like, that's like, you know, Crowley says, like, "Great pustulent mangled bollocks to The Great blasted Plan," and yeah, it's "May you be forgiven," and Crowley's like, "Well, I'm unforgivable, due to being a demon." So like, is this a callback to that? Like, "You may think you're unforgivable due to being a demon, but I forgive you."

G: No, it's it's different. It's different. Because, like, "May you be forgiven" is like, "May the Lord or the universe or whatnot forgive you." This is different. I don't think this applies to the whole, "I'm a demon. I cannot be forgiven." 'Cause it's not about the demon Crowley. It's just Crowley, you know?

C: Yeah. But do you think Crowley might read it as that?

G: I mean, he started the discussion with, "I'm sorry." So yeah. How did Crowley read this? Crowley read this as-

C: In the worst possible way.

G: "I am an immovable-" Yeah, "I'm an immovable object, and you're never going to move me,” and this is like, a pity thing, and it's like, "Well, I forgive you. You may go now."

C: "We will never be 'Mountain and the Sea' by Ingrid Michaelson." Okay, "You think that the reason that I'm not going with you is because I'm angry at you, and I need you to apologize. But no, I'm just not going with you because I'm not going with you." [G screams] How miserable! Yeah.

G: Is anyone else so miserable? [C laughs] God.

C: Yeah. And Crowley looks devastated at the "I forgive you." Like, it's like, "Truly, there's no hope left. Like, there's nothing I can do anymore. And we're just both gonna die on this rock together, separated by like, a twenty-minute walk, never looking at each other again. Great."

Aziraphale's body language, he's holding himself so like, still and tight, and Crowley's like, gesturing and coming closer and pleading, and it's a lot. It's a lot. Like, thank god for the fucking sunglasses, because I know that he's like, crying under there.

He like, runs to the car, and like, stands in it like, dramatically, and goes, "I'm going home, angel. I'm getting my stuff, and I'm leaving, and when I'm off in the stars, I won't even think about you!" Insane thing to say. Do you think that even now he was like, "I'm never leaving"? When did he decide he wasn't gonna leave?

G: I think in this moment he was like, [mocking voice] "I'm not even gonna think about you?" And then literally on the drive home, it's like, "Well. Mm." [both laughs] He literally could've just left. Like, just leave, bro. But like, no. There was the whole Hastur Ligur thing. Like, you really did not have to do that, Crowley. And yet, you know, it was done, so.

C: Yeah, I mean, he's probably just operating off of instinct right now. Like, they end their fights with Crowley saying something hurtful and going like, "I have plenty of other people to fraternize with, I don't need you, like, you're being ridiculous, I don't even know why I'm still talking to you." This is just like, a defense mechanism, I think. But this is such a- he's so upset that he's not thinking about how these could be his last words to Aziraphale. But I also think that, yeah, I think that as soon as Aziraphale said “no,” they knew in some part of themselves that like, they couldn't leave. Like, okay. I'm staying and fighting. Anyone else so miserable? And then we get some whatever whatever joke. There's some guy who's walking by, and he notices this all happening, and he tells Aziraphale, "I've been there. You're better off without him, you know?" Great. Okay. Whatever. And Aziraphale just looks after Crowley leaving with a sad little frown.

G: But the thing is [laughs], Crowley is the one who's better off without him, I would say. [laughs]

C: Really? I mean, I think Aziraphale is a bit more explicitly mean about the whole "You're inherently evil," blah blah blah thing-

G: That's what I said! I said Crowley is better-

C: No no no, I know, I'm agreeing with you in that part. I'm saying that I think that that is true, that he does do things like that, but I also think that it doesn't really hurt Crowley anymore. I think he knows it's just part of their song and dance. But yeah. Would be nicer if Aziraphale was a little more niceys.

Before this next scene, I do wanna say they cut a scene in the script which is so annoying, which is just that War pulls up to like, a girl and her boyfriend, and like, the girl's male friend, and then they all see War, and they go awooga, and they all start fighting over her, and it starts with the two men fighting over her, but eventually the girl also gets into it, so I guess diversity win?

G: We go to the fucking Crowley Mayfair apartment, and he is strutting, strutting, walk, walk, fashion, baby. There's like, a portion where he like, curbs the hallway, and we see right behind her, it's like, the wings. [screams] It's so nice!

C: Yes, it's the fucking eagle lectern whatever whatever statue from 1941, and the wings are- Yup, it is sure wing imagery, and it sure did happen.

G: There's like, a little montage of Crowley getting the tartan thermos full of holy water out of the safe, which is, you know, right behind the Mona Lisa. And I think this scene was fun, mostly because Crowley looks so good it's unreal. [laughs]

C: Yeah. Sure do.

G: Yeah. Yeah. Whew! Like, there's a- I don't want to- maybe I'll cut this out. I don't know. But there's the the part where, like, Crowley's, like, hands, are on the safe-

C: Uh-huh. [G laughs]

G: [laughing] That's all I have to say.

C: Listen, [laughing] I watched Ducktales to listen to David Tennant’s voice on a plane. [both laughing] I think you can do whatever you want regarding his hands.

G: [laughing] It's so crover.

C: I didn't notice. Is the flask dusty at all? Because the script mentions that it's supposed to be dusty, which made me quite emotional.

G: I don't know.

C: I didn't notice it being dusty. Props team, should have done better.

G: Crowley is holding with like, gloves and everything, with a nice little apron. There's like, a bucket, and she throws it into the bucket, with like, force - I don't know. What do you call that? Like, garden something?

C: Forceps or whatever?

G: Is it forceps? Aren't those so small-

C: Like, big fuckoff tong things.

G: Giant forceps, yeah. But, you know, being very careful and all that crap. She puts the thing at the top of the door, and like, the door's a bit ajar, and like, you know, they like, sit on the throne, and they have the mister for the plants. It's super fun!

C: And they so stupidly take their gloves off. [G exclaims] Come on, girl.

G: Fucking- put it back on. Put it back on!

Ligur and Hastur are knocking at the door, and like, going like, "Crowley, we know you're in there."

C: "We only want a little word with you." I love how Ligur says it.

G: They enter. Ligur is walking up front. And they peek over and see Crowley sitting on the throne. As Ligur opens the door to the throne room, the bucket falls into his head, and he disintegrates.

C: Yep, he melts. And there's screaming sounds the whole time, and you think it's Ligur.

G: When I first watched this, I did think it was Ligur, and then, you know, he disintegrates, the screams keeps on going, and you realize it's Hastur. Hastur is the one screaming.

C: Yeah. Pretty fun.

G: He is so appalled by all this, and then he's like, "Well, Ligur hasn't done anything to you!"

C: "Yet."

G: Crowley pulls out the mister and goes, "You know what this is? It's a plant mister. Cheapest and most efficient in the market today." [C laughs] And, you know, he's saying like, "I have holy water in here. I can turn you into that," pointing at Ligur. And Hastur goes like, "You're bluffing." And Crowley goes, "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Ask yourself, do you feel lucky?" And we see like, a slow-mo of a drop from the head of the mister go down very slowly into Crowley's finger and like, slides off, and, you know, he doesn't die, so Hastur goes, "Yep. Do you?" And he explodes the mister, and then Crowley is still alive. So it's not holy water. And then the phone starts ringing. Crowley's phone starts ringing and we go to the bookshop, where Aziraphale is ringing him. And he starts saying like, "Hello! I know where the Antichrist is." But like, the the voicemail message starts happening.

C: The voicemail message is, "Hello! This is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style." Which, first of all, I love that his first name is important enough to him that he has it on his voicemail. Secondly, you know, the other voicemail that's important to me is Castiel Supernatural's.

G: Yes. "Make your voice a mail."

C: Yes. "This is a voicemail. Make your voice a mail." And they're on like, opposite ends of the spectrum, but are they on the spectrum? Yes. [laughs]

G: He goes like, "Don't move" to Hastur and goes like, "Oh, before you embarrass yourself, you need to know something." And then he answers the call real quick, and like, we hear Aziraphale on the other side going, "I know where the Anti-" but Crowley goes like, "Nope, not a good time. Got an old friend here." and hangs up.

C: Yeah, and it's like a "Hey, shut up, because, like, Hastur cannot fucking hear the end of this" thing, right?

G: Yeah.

C: Crowley already suspects that Aziraphale knows where the Antichrist is because of what he said last episode, right?

G: What did he say last episode?

C: "Even if I knew where the Antichrist was, I wouldn't tell you. We're on opposite sides."

G: [imitating Aziraphale] "Opposite sides!" So dramatic.

C: "We're on our side!" Anyway, he already knew, so this is like, "It's nice you're trusting me now, but not a good time. Sorry, bro."

G: Anyway, as Jeb once said, “David Tennant will take any opportunity to play as camp as possible.” And you know what? He took this fucking opportunity because Crowley decides that the best thing to do right now is to tell Hastur that, "Oh, the Darkness or the Lords of Darkness or whatever, the Lords of Hell were actually testing you. And now we know that you're trustworthy."

C: Yeah, the stage direction says that Crowley "smiles like a lighthouse burning or a TV quizmaster." I love you so much, Anthony Janthony Crowley.

G: He is putting on the like, [TV quizmaster voice] "Well, you've definitely passed the test!" Like, it's so fun. He even does this thing where he like, stands up on the chair, and as he does, like, lightning blasts outside, and he goes like, "You know what, Duke Hastur?" Like, he calls him Duke Hastur. And he goes, "Let's call the Dark Council so they can tell you that you've done an amazing job!" Hastur goes, "You're calling the Dark Council?" and he goes, "Yes, I am. And they say, [both] 'So long, suckah!'" And then, like, he sticks his tongue out, and there's this like, hissing noise. And Crystal said it's so sad that her tongue doesn't do the split tongue thing. And you know what? It is sad.

C: Yeah. It should have been forked. But we live with what we can. And we also get to see the profile picture of Crowley on her phone.

G: Yeah!

C: It's just them in like, sunglasses looking regular. [laughs] Not smiling, I don't think.

C: God says, like, "Okay, I'm gonna explain to you a bit the physics of what happening." I feel like, cold? Like, it feels like my blood isn't working properly? But okay. [G laughs] So- so She goes like, "Over the years, a lot of people have debated the question, 'How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?' To answer it, we need information. Firstly, angels don't dance. It's one of the distinguishing characteristics that marks an angel. So none. At least, nearly none. Aziraphale had learned a dance called the gavotte in a discreet gentleman's club in Portland Place in the late 1880s." So, can we- okay. So. So so so so. So. So let's break this down, right? Okay? Okay okay okay okay. So.

G: Okay.

C: The scene that we see of Aziraphale dancing - I don't know, fun fact, it's like, to an arrangement of "I'm a courtier, grave and serious" from the Gilbert and Sullivan opera or musical The Gondoliers. I don't know. Anyway. So so. He's like, in this club, right? Well, we see a bunch of men wearing black suits dancing in this club, like, a pretty silly dance. Very arranged. And then Aziraphale sort of comes in from off-screen, and he's dancing, and he's the fucking belle of the ball.

G: [laughing] He is!

C: He's the only one wearing white. He's in the center. They're all dancing around. He's grinning. He's having the fucking time of his life. He looks so fucking proud of himself. He looks left and right, and smiles very hard, and then he like, does a gesture like a "ta-da!" at the end. And okay, so here's- here are the things about the line "a discreet gentleman's club in Portland Place in the late 1880s." I need you all to understand that I watched this clip at 5:48PM, and then I sat there like, alternating, thinking, and crying until 6:13. [G laughs] So for 25 minutes, I kept trying to write notes, and then I would think of a sentence to write down, and then I would just start crying into my hands. It was truly an experience. And then I didn't finish writing said notes, or like, having said thoughts until 6:49PM. So it took an hour and a minute for me to keep watching. So okay, let's break this down, right? Okay, first, this is a gay club. All the people dancing here are men. They're dancing with each other. This is a big deal 'cause a lot of what the queer activists in the podcast Making Gay History talk about in regards, to like, forming community spaces is like, the joy at like, being able to find a place where it's safe to dance with someone of their preferred gender. And like, yeah, this is an underground gay club that he is at. And we've already talked about how he presents the way he presents, knowing that everyone will assume he's gay, and that he has a bookshop in Soho which is like, a very gay district of London. But like, this is like an increased level of being with the gay community right now. Also, Neil Gaiman has said that it's supposed to be a reference to the Hundred Guineas Club, which is like a club that was like, for the richest gay men ever because the annual membership cost a hundred guineas, which in today's money is £15,000. [G laughs]

G: Damn.

C: Also, I think this portrayal of the Hundred Guineas Club doesn't really jive with like, the little that I was able to find about it online, 'cause it seemed like a lot of the people there would like, dress in drag and go by feminine names while they were there and stuff like that. Also, Portland Place is about a 17 minute walk from Soho, so it was very close to where Aziraphale was. Okay, so that's the discreet gentleman's club part, right? In Portland Place.

Okay, now that we have the late 1880s part. So number one thing, the first thing we have talked about, which is that it was during the period that Aziraphale and Crowley were broken up after St. James's Park. So it's been 18 years since then, and Aziraphale is here, and he has friends, like, these are friends to him. He likes it here. And he's having his, like, sex- self-act- Okay, why did I- Okay, he's having his self-actualization-

G: [laughing] His sex-actualization. For fucking real.

C: His sex-actualization. [laughs] He's having both. Perhaps. But yeah, he's having a self-actualization time. He's like, finding- like, yeah, yep. That is what's happening. Also, speaking of that period, something that I totally neglected to inform you of is that in the book, there's no breakup or whatever, right? But it does mention that Crowley slept right through most of the nineteenth century. And a lot of people have combined this book fact with the fact that they broke up in the nineteenth century. And I don't think that in the show that that actually happened, I don't think it was like, a consideration, but it sure is a thing that one could think about.

Secondly, the 1880s, and specifically, the fact that he specifies the late 1880s is that the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885 was like, a big deal, for, like, gay people in the UK at the time. 'Cause the way that laws, like, criminalizing homosexuality worked before this was anal sex was like, illegal, but nothing else was explicitly illegal in the books of law, right? But Section 11 of the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885 said that there would be two years of imprisonment for any man found guilty of "gross indecency" with another male, "whether in public or in private." And gross indecency was sort of meant to like, encompass all gay sex, so yeah, just all of it. And like, this was the law that Oscar Wilde was arrested under. Like, it was a big deal. Aziraphale's not here in the 1880s in general. He's here in the late 1880s, explicitly like, after 1885. And I think that part of why he's here is because he thinks that these people need his help and his protection while he's here.

G: God.

C: Like, during this really scary time, he wants to be there for them and to be a part of them like, going against the laws and like, still like, dancing together, and like [G sniffles], all that shit, right? [tearing up]

G: [teary] Yeah.

C: And I don't think that this is, like, the first time Aziraphale has spent time with the queer community, [G sniffles] though, like, obviously like, the existence of such a thing and the definitions and identities and ways of thinking surrounding such a thing like, have changed over the time. But like, I feel like he hasn't really for a bit. And now he's like, "They need me. And I'm coming back." And it's also like, not just like, an act of like- Like, it is an act of like, benevolence and like, protection and all that, [teary] but it's also like, a- Like a "he's part of this." Like, he's smiling at the other people here. These are his friends. And like, we know that he does make human friends because, like, he like, has his books of prophecy signed by like, Nostradamus calling him his old friend, and all of that, but like [tearier], yeah, this very much hits differently. Like, he's here, and he decides that he's gonna be here as both a protector and a member and a friend, and he's clearly loved by everyone here because they're so excited that he's here and they're letting him like, be the fucking belle of the ball. [G laughs] And he's here, and he's being gay, and he loves gay people, and everyone should download Ecosia. [G teary-laughs] And it's also the fact that it opens with like, him being the only angel who dances, and this is the first time he ever dances. Like, it says that not dancing is a distinguishing characteristic of an angel-

G: Yeah.

C: - and he goes like, "I don't need that community with Heaven right now. [starts crying] I need to be here." [crying] Fuck! [screams] [G crying] Do you know why I was crying for a fucking hour now? [both literally crying]

G: [crying] Anyway.

C: [crying] Yeah! So- [laughing] [G exhales] I... feel craaazed. I-

G: God. [sighs]

C: I think a lot of the book fans have like, the idea that, like, Aziraphale [G still crying/trying to calm himself] sort of assigned himself as like, the principality of queer people, and like, as a protector of queer people in Soho, and I feel like, this is like, why.

G: Yeah. Yeah.

C: And yeah. So yeah. Anyway.

Right. Also, like, barely related, but like, I think I did notice, while doing like, reading about the 1885 law that gay sex was decriminalized in the UK in 1967, which is the last year in the flashback sequence at the beginning of Episode 3. I wonder if that was at all a little intentional Easter egg thing at all, but maybe not. Maybe it's just because 1967 seems like a random enough number in the 1960s.

Oh, also, if you wanna read about Crowley and Aziraphale dancing as lesbians, you should read "follow me in merry measure" by larkthorne. Ya. [laughs] Alright! I'm normal again. Let's- [both laughing]

G: Oh, god! [C screams]

C: He literally gave up a distinguishing characteristic of angels because he loves humans and he loves Earth, and he wants to specifically be here with the gay humans on Earth! And it says that he got really good at it, and he was sad when it went out of fashion. Like, he loves this, and he loves them, and, ya! [teary laugh]

G: Okay. Well.

C: God continues and asks how many demons can dance on the head of a pin, and she says, "Demons do dance, but not what you'd call good dancing." And then we see, like, basically - you described Hell as sort of like, a dingy underground club in Episode 1-

G: And now it is.

C: And I never really saw it, but in this part, it absolutely is. They have like, lights going on. The demons honestly look like they're having a great time. God's like, "They're bad dancers." That's just like, how people dance in a club. They're vibing. I'm glad they get to find joy.

And another thing that we see is Crowley in this-

G: [laughs] Are we gonna mention-?

C: Yes, I am. Crowley in this atrocious outfit-

G: It's so bad. He looks so bad.

C: He has long hair, but it's like, the only time that I wish he wouldn't. And then like, this awful mustache. And he's dancing with Hastur and Ligur with like, a big old pin prop. And when Grey got to this, I sent him a video that we will reblog that is sort of like, a behind the scenes look at the filming of this, [G laughing] and the OP had set it to "Daddy Cool" by Boney M, and Grey responded- You know what? Okay, I'll humiliate myself too. Fine. Let's do this together. Hand in unlovable hand. [G laughing] I was just gonna read your messages, but let's just do all of it. Right? Okay, you respond, "uhm," U-H-M. I respond, "yes?" and then "if the uhm isn't about wanting to fuck her so bad i will understand unfortunately i do. so bad." And then you said, "maybe the bottom crowley truthers were right." [G laughing] And then I keysmashed, and then you said, "david tennants hips ARE doing so much work compensating for his flat ass. let this be known." And now everyone knows it. I feel like we do need to put a disclaimer here that we both think that bottom/top discourse is like, stupid as shit, and like, we don't actually engage in it.

G: Oh yeah, that comment was brought about a previous conversation where we were talking about how stupid it is [laughs], so-

C: Yeah, we were talking about how stupid it is, and also the trends in the Good Omens fandom.

G: - that there's like, bottom truthers and top truthers, yeah.

C: You were surprised when I said that I feel like most people are bottom!Crowley truthers. Or at least I feel like it leans that way.

G: I... I don't wanna talk about this. [both laughing] Okay, I'll talk about it. I don't know. I guess with a lot of fictional couples, I don't necessarily think of them having sex until I'm reading fanfiction. It's beyond me.

C: These ones, you have talked about how they need to fuck so bad, like, a lot, though.

G: Yeah. But like, not like, specifics. By "fuck," I do mean, like, tossing around [C laughing], you know? Like, you're in bed, you're tossing around, that's the extent of it.

C: So real. Just like, a wall happens.

The music playing here is like, a disco version of the song that Aziraphale was dancing to.

G: The song from prior.

C: And although it's not explicitly mentioned here, I do wanna note that, like, disco. is like, a music style and stuff that, like, is heavily associated with gay culture in the 1960s and 1970s. Like, disco clubs were like, some of the few places that you could have same-sex dancing, like, during that time. So both of them are doing gay dancing. It's fun. And God finally finishes explaining that, like, Crowley has shrunk down so that she can move in the gaps between electrons, and it shows her and Hastur inside the telephone line system, whatever whatever, and it's just like, a big old tunnel with a bunch of like, rectangles zooming past, and Crowley is like, whooping and having a great time. Hastur's like, "You can't escape me. Wherever you come out, I'll come out too." Say that. [G laughs] Eventually, Crowley jumps out and leaves Hastur trapped in their answering machine. Hastur is so angry about this, and then he ends with going, "You and your best friend Aziraphale, you're dead meat.” This is the first time best friend has been used to talk about either of them, and I mean, I care a lot about the phrase "best friend," so I care a lot about this. This is also, yeah, you mentioned before that Crowley has no reason to think that Aziraphale's in danger, but, like, now, he does have a reason. Like, Hell's aware of Aziraphale, which is gonna make it so fun when he runs to the bookshop next episode [laughs], don't you think?

G: Oh, shut the fuck- [growls] Yeah.

C: Yeah. Okay, to let you guys know, Grey has already been semi-spoiled on that so I did not just ruin things.

G: Yeah, I was making a Bentley music playlist, like, songs that Crowley would listen to in the Bentley, and, like, I have the, you know, the usual Queen songs in there, but I was like, "Is there anything specific that plays in the show that I need to add here?" So I Google "Crowley," I don't know "Queen, Good Omens music" whatever. And there was an article that showed up, and one of them said that Episode 5 opens with Crowley running to Aziraphale or some other with [C makes pained sound] "You're My Best Friend" playing in the background. I think maybe we should post the [laughs] DMs that we shared that time-

C: Perhaps.

G: - 'cause it was very funny, but I- It truly was an experience. My god.

C: Yeah. That literally is his best friend. And okay, I mean, Grey already knows this, but I have a whole fucking thing about the phrase "best friend" where I'm like, "It's not the friend that you have that you like the most. People can have tons of friends and ones that they like the most, and they don't have a best friend. It's a different kind of title. It's a new relationship type." And like, yeah, yeah. That is very true here. I just- I love thinking about their friendship, because, like in the book, the way that their friendship is introduced, right? So, first, Crowley thinks about Aziraphale, and about whether or not he should tell him about the Antichrist. And it goes “Aziraphale. The Enemy, of course. But an enemy for six thousand years now, which made him a sort of friend." And then, like, two pages later, when Aziraphale's thinking about Crowley, it goes, "On the whole, neither he nor Crowley would have chosen each other's company, but they were both men, or at least men-shaped creatures, of the world, and the Arrangement had worked to their advantage all this time. Besides, you grew accustomed to the only other face that had been around more or less consistently for six millennia." And like, I feel like, at first glance, you're like, "Oh, that's not a lot. Like, do they even like each other?" etc, etc. But then, like, you get to like, the drunk bookshop scene right? And they're like, being very vulnerable by like, being drunk around each other, and they're like, bickering and talking and like, Crowley knows exactly what Aziraphale’s gonna say about like, the relative hardness of bird beaks and granite. This isn't passion, but like, it's more than passion. It's familiarity, and like, it is love. Like, I don't think that they were like, made for each other like. There's a bit of something cosmic about like, them being the serpent of Eden and the cherub guarding the Eastern Gate, but like, they could definitely still, like, been like, archenemies, are just not given a shit about each other, like, not even seen each other this whole time, like Gabriel thinks that they did. But like, they deliberately seek each other out because they're like, "I do think that he's going to understand me more than anyone else will," and like, Michael and Ligur have an alliance, and they're not in love, and they're not friends. Like, it is about- I don't know. I feel like relationships are primarily about always having something to talk about, and they're very good at having conversations with each other-

G: God.

C: - and like, because their sort of conversation dynamic has been established from like, the very beginning, but like, over time, like, they've like, grew into it more. They know better and better how to talk to each other. It's not like they're the only ones for each other, because, like, I feel like if they had at the very beginning decided that there was like, a demon in Hell, or like, an angel in Heaven, that they wanted to hang out more with and tell about Earth, and like blah blah blah blah, someone who's not like, their immediate supervisor, like, they could do that and they could call on the telephone and all that shit, but like, no, they like, chose to keep meeting with each other, and they chose to develop a rapport, and they're best friends because they chose to be, not because they just can't help it or whatever. And they're in love!

G: Yeah. I think, you know, I've mentioned it earlier, and also all episodes of Supernatural [both laugh] that we have podcasted about. But like, I do find the concept of free will to be like, one of the most interesting things to talk about in media and such. And like, you're right, like, the thing about them is there is like, even in a story where it's like, "Oh, this is how things are supposed to go," blah blah blah, there is like, so much like, free will in their story. And a part of it is because of how I conceptualize the flashback scenes, which is that it's not even like, important to God and blah blah blah, and like, this is not part of the bigger plan. But also, it's just that- I mean, I say this a lot as a joke, but like, they don't need to do that. [C laughs] And it's true, like, they really don't.

C: Yeah, every time Crowley sees Aziraphale from across the room and then chooses to go up and talk to him, like, that's a choice. Crowley could have just like, transformed or slunk off, or whatever.

G: Yeah. And, I don't know. I think it's such a wonderful thing.

C: What if love was real but not within your reach yet? Alright. So Crowley laughs triumphantly about trapping Hastur, and then runs out of the apartment.

G: Off to...

C: Well, we don't know yet.

G: We'll figure out next episode. [both laugh]

G: We go to 28 minutes later- no no no, earlier - and it's Aziraphale right after Crowley, like, goes, "I'm never even thinking about you anymore when I'm off in the stars!" thing. And it's Michael and Uriel and Sandalphon on the street.

C: He basically backs himself against the wall as soon as he sees them.

G: Yeah the first intention was to like, get out of the way where people are actually walking in, but like, it eventually ends up being like, "Oh, he's cornered. He's fucking cornered." And they call him a fallen angel.

C: Which is great. After Michael's whole, like, "Of course you can trust me. I'm an angel." I love the idea that it's just like, "You can't be an angel and do something bad that we disagree with. If you do something we disagree with, that means that you're partway down to being a demon."

G: You have Fallen, yeah. And they say, "You've been consorting with the enemy," which, of course, Aziraphale denies. Was it Uriel who said, "Don't think your boyfriend-"

C: [laughs] Yeah, it's Uriel.

G: Yeah, "Don't think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will get you special treatment in Hell," which I think you mentioned it last episode -

C: Honestly, I think the first time I mentioned it was during my fucking Ko-Fi rant about Good Omens. I feel like I was just saying shit all the time, and I think I really mentioned this line of as being like something that I strongly use as the example of queerbait in this show, just because of how much it sounds like Supernatural's "You must have me mistaken for the other angel. You know, the one in a dirty trench coat who's in love with you?"

G: Very much so. Well, what I was going to say is the whole like, special treatment in Hell thing, you mentioned last episode that they had this discussion in the book where they go-

C: "Think your side will give me asylum?" "I was just about to ask you the same thing." Yeah. [laughs] They have way fewer hangups in the book than they have in the show.

G: They tell Aziraphale that it's time to choose sides. And Aziraphale actually says a very, you know, interesting thing here, which is that the whole choosing sides thing is - He says, like, "Obviously, there has to be two sides because people have to choose and should choose and should be able to make a choice" and all that. He says, "That's what being human means. Choices. But that's for them. For us, like, our job should be keeping everything working so that they can continue to make those choices."

C: Yeah. And the fact that he says, like, "Obviously, there have to be two sides," like, there's also implicit in that, "So like, we can't destroy the other one," which is nice.

G: Yeah. [laughs] He gets punched in the abdomen for that.

C: Yeah. Sorry, babe.

G: It was Sandalphon who punches him, right? And then he gets propped up on the wall by Michael.

C: By Uriel.

G: Oh, is it Uriel? I don't know. He goes like, "Well, you shouldn't do this! We're the good guys! I'm going to take this up to a... higher authority." And, you know, they're all like, "Ha! That's ridiculous, whatever."

C: What does he think they're gonna do to him?

G: I don't know. 'Cause the "You mustn't" was like, "You musn't what?" Are they gonna do something to him? And then I thought about it some more, and it's like, "Is he saying you mustn't start the Apocalypse?" I really don't know. Are they gonna discorporate him? Are they going to kill him? I don't know.

C: Yeah, I don't know. Like, I mean, what with the "You've been a fallen angel" and "Don't think your boyfriend's gonna get you special treatment in Hell-"

G: Ooh.

C: I don't know how the process of Falling works, were they- like, if it can be enacted by an angel-

G: Are they threatening it? Yeah!

C: - are they trying to Fall him?

G: That's crazy. They may. They might have been.

C: Yeah. Maybe so! I mean, seems a bad strategy. Like, you're just adding a soldier to the other side, but.

G: Anyway, the horn blares, and Apocalypse is starting, so the three angels get like- I don't know. They go to Heaven or whatever. And Aziraphale, just looking up, just goes, "You-! You-!" and then he scrunches his face really hard, and he goes, "Bad angels!" Oh my god.

C: Yess! I love him. I just- I love that like, "bad angels" is clearly like, he's trying not to swear so like, he just says something that lands kind of flat. But, like, I think that- Like, he was, gonna say, like, "bastards," or whatever, right? But like, "bad angels" is actually a lot more interesting because it's like, beforehand, he would not even say out loud that it was possible to be a bad angel.

G: For angels to be bad!

C: That angels could be bad. So like, that's great. I love him for getting there. Like, yeah. Bad angels isn't an oxymoron. Go fucking say that to the sky.

G: And also like, the whole, this thing- because the vibe really is like, "He was gonna curse them out, but like, he couldn't or he didn't." So later, when the curse does happen, it's like, so, so, so, so, so much more funnier.

C: Yeah. Fun fact, stage direction says, “And Aziraphale swears for the first time in 6000 years.” [G laugh/wails]

G: I wuv him soo much! Also, I think, you know, we talk about Crowley a lot, whatever. [C laughs] Like, 'cause I feel like Crowley is more of a graspable like, fondness. But like, I cannot describe the joy I feel when I'm watching Aziraphale. Like, it's like every time he's on screen, I'm going, "Ah!!! Hi! Hello!" You know what I mean? It's like, it's not something I can podcast about. It's just, you'll know it when you see it, and you will see it if you watch.

C: Yeah, it's just the words "biting him biting him biting him" over and over again. Yeah, I do think I get a cute aggression response to a lot of Michael Sheen's acting choices.

G: He is truly soo. I wuv him.

C: Yeah. We return to Tadfield. and there's a lot of shit going on. So first, with Adam, he's saying to the Them who he's like, forced to sit there in front of him - he's also like, starting a whole storm, like, wind is whipping up. And he's saying that he wants all the nuclear bombs to go off so that everything could start again, be sorted all out, etc etc, delete Ecosia. And Pepper has like, a line that's like, "People get killed. Speaking as a mother of unborn generations, I'm against it." Which is fine. I just wish that Neil Gaiman- I feel like every time he writes a woman, he's always thinking about how they're a woman. You know what I mean?

G: Yeah. Yeah.

C: I mean, it's better than in the book, at least, with Pepper. And Adam is not listening, and he starts getting into really fun creepy territory where he's like, "We can play war games with real armies." Wensley says that "There won't be any people. They'll all be dead," and Adam goes, "Oh, I can make us some new people." And then he says he's gonna make them new parents as well. Very fun. And he has friends coming soon. "You'll like them. They're a lot like you. It's going to be wicked." And then he starts floating.

G: When he said that "they're a lot like you," I did go like, "Huh! Is there like, a one-to-one correlation? Who is who?" I don't think I successfully aligned them, but it was an interesting mental exercise.

C: Oh wait, you should guess. Go for it.

G: Well, Adam is definitely Death, for sure. Would Brian be War because he was the one who was like, "Oh, Adam is weird" and it started the trip, or whatever. Is this actually something that is- like, is there like, a-

C: Yeah. So we’ll see how your guesses go in two episodes.

G: Oh! Interesting. I don't know. I don't know. So like, is it gonna be like, "The kid who is assigned Famine or whatever is going to kill Famine, and then the one who's assigned-" blah blah blah blah?

C: You'll just have to see

G: Fine. [C laughs] It's not even a spoiler for anything. Like, I mean, [laughing] it's not a spoiler I care about. You can literally spoil me for all the things that are not about Crowley and Aziraphale.

C: Yeah. Okay, so Newt and Anathema are talking, and they're like, "I don't know how to get Adam to stop," blah blah blah, and then they go outside to go to his house, and the tornado hits them. And they are gonna get blown away unless they like, hang on to the door frame together. And Anathema says that the prophecies say that they'll have a minute of respite when they can get inside and find cover, but then the wind's gonna get even worse, so they cannot go to Adam's. So they run in, they get under the bed, and then- [angry sounds] Well. Newt asks what Agnes said they should do next. And Agnes says, "Let the wheel of fate turn. Let hearts enjoin. There are other fires than mine. When the whirlwind whirls, reach out to one another."

G: Boo! I mean, we just talked extensively about how Aziraphale and Crowley are like, driven by personal choice and blah blah blah. And now...

C: And this sucks. And Newt has his stupid, dumb fucking like, "It's my time to talk!" like, thing.

G: I hope they die so fucking much.

C: Which, if anyone, Anathema should get to have some depth about knowing how like, the world was gonna end the whole time, and like, how she was specifically named so she could stop it, and how she feels so useless, and how like, these prophecies have been weighing on her, and also how like, since she was 8, she had to memorize a prophecy that said that she was gonna fuck some guy at age 19 and like, maybe that prevented her from really coming into her own as an aromantic lesbian, which I know in my heart she is. Like, maybe she hasn't even like, done any relationships or whatever 'cause she knew, first, that the world was maybe gonna end when she was 19, and secondly, that she would like, have this guy picked out for her by her fucking great great whatever grandma, who like, reinvented the term comphet. But no! We just have Newt going like, [whiny voice] "Oh, I'm so sad, 'cause I never did anything when I was alive! I never had Thai food!" Like, yeah, you are missing out. I wish that you would die before you got that joy, though.

G: I mean, they killed Ligur. They killed Ligur and his adorable little chameleon. [both laugh] Like, they need to kill Newt. [laughing]

C: Yeah, this is just what equality is about. [G laughs] So yeah, right, and he's like, "And I've never-" and Anathema is like, "Kissed a girl?" And then they start making out.

G: I want to kill him!

C: It's just the most corny- just- agh! It's like, "Sk8er Boi" isn't even this bad. And okay, I do wanna acknowledge that Newt is also in some ways a victim of this prophecy, 'cause, like, he also heard what it was before they did this-

G: Yeah, true.

C: - but, like, he definitely doesn't feel as bound to it as Anathema does. Annoying as shit. Just horrible, evil, the worst.

G: I hate him. I'm so sorry, but like, god, he's unbearable.

C: And like, they waste like, a really nice, like, transition on this.

G: Yeah!

C: You know what I mean? Like, it's very cool what the camera and the CGI team does after this, which is, we go up, we go above the bed, we see all the like, papers that Anathema's put up, like, flying around and landing on the bed in piles, and then it zooms out through the roof of her cottage and then out farther and farther until we're like, seeing all of Tadfield, or like, all of the UK. Who knows? I can't tell. And then it fades like, perfectly into the map that Shadwell has on his wall. And it looks really cool, and it took a lot of work, and you spent all that time on this! [G laughs] God.

G: God! I'm sorry. I should stop being a hater.

C: No. This is a thing to hate.

G: No? Okay.

C: So Shadwell’s looking at the map, and there's like, this pin that's on Jasmine Cottage that like, flies off, and then when he puts it back on, it starts smoking. So something is up. Madame Tracy comes in with a cup of tea for him. We've already talked about hating this relationship dynamic. Would like to reiterate that I hate this relationship dynamic. Shadwell's finally having his moment of remorse where he's like, "Oh my god! I shouldn't have sent Newt out alone. He's just a kid. What's happening?" And Madame Tracy offers him money to take the train to Tadfield, but he won't take it because he's a misogynist. Meanwhile, Newt and Anathema, Newt's like, "Shouldn't we have dinner or something first?" And she goes, "There's no time." They go back to making out. Shadwell decides that, hey, okay, Madame Tracy says that he should maybe ask one of the men who's called him, and he's like, "Well, I can't ask Crowley because he's Mafia. But the Southern pansy in the bookshop might be a soft touch." And then we have, like, you know, like, a comic whatever thing where he's like. "Oh my god, I bet Newt is suffering so much. I have no clue what he's going through," and then it's like, goofy-ass PG sex scene of like, Newt's head appearing under the bed as he like, gasps, and then Anathema's appearing out as she gasps, and blah blah blah blah blah. I just- Aziraphale and Crowley must do this. We have to have it. [G laughs] If I have to see this happen, I need the most Looney Tunes-ass Air Conditioning sex scene ever.

G: They need to do the the bedpost shot where it's like [laughs], four fingers. "Four fingers" - the four hands one. You know what's so funny? Like, for some reason, every time I watched that scene, my brain was always like, "Where's the next hand?" [both laugh] Like, I always think to myself, "It will be so funny if there's just a fifth hand in there," but, you know, it never happens. They never do it [both laughing] in my three watches of this episode.

C: Yeah, no, that would definitely be peak comedy.

G: God, they just need to have a fifth hand in here.

C: Yeah, yeah. Blah blah blah! They're having sex. Ugh. If we had to see this, I neeed Season 3 to do something even goofier for Aziraphale and Crowley. I mean, they don't have to. But like, they ought to. I think- Okay, in some ways it would be a shitty move, because Neil Gaiman spent four years telling all his ace and aro fans who view them as queerplatonic as like, "Oh my god, yes, this could totally be-" I already told you all this, but I just think about it constantly how shitty it is that he spent four years leading on the people who wanted to view them as queerplatonic or like, friends, and then, like, in Season 2, he just was like, "Nope, actually. The whole time when I was like, leading you guys on and calling the people who shipped them crazy, I was writing this in the background the whole time." It would just be a continued thing. 'Cause currently, what his thing on Twitter now is like, going like, "Oh, well, it still doesn't have to be sexual, so like, ace people, don't worry. I'm still with you guys." So it would be a really shitty move if he did something to apply that they weren't ace, though, of course, ace people can have sex, but I feel like a lot of the people are like, "We like that they don't have sex, and that the relationship is still important." This doesn't matter. But whatever. I hate Neil Gaiman so much, [G laughing] and he's mean to- he's just shitty to every single subsection of the queer community that he can, because he wants the gay dollar so fucking bad, and I hope he [bleep].

G: [laughing] I'm going to cut that out.

C: Good, okay, you should.

We finally cut back to Adam, and everyone's begging him to let them go home, and he's like, "No, this is your home, here with me, and you don't have to go home or go to school or do anything you don't want to ever again." And Pepper starts yelling at him to just "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" And Adam goes, "Just stop it! Stop it! Stop talking. You all have to stop talking now! Everybody stop talking!" and then he fucking takes their mouths away. In some ways, the effect is not great, because, like, it just looks like there's a blur effect over their mouth. But it's like, a very cool thing.

G: Yeah. And also, I like that they are still obviously making sounds. They just don't have mouths. [both] Crazy!

G: Well, we go back to Aziraphale having a very bad but also quite goofy day, where he closes up his shop and pulls the rug out of the center of the bookshop, and it reveals-

C: A summoning circle!

G: Yep, summoning circle. He lights some candles, etc, sets it all up and goes to pray. And he goes, "This is the principality Aziraphale. I'm looking for a... higher authority?" [laughing] And he's soo- he literally is looking for a higher authority.

C: Yeah. I really love how he feels afraid to say "God" directly, whereas, like, Crowley's prayer was very direct, very calling Her "God" the whole time.

G: I really like when he goes, "Is there anybody there?"

C: Yes!

G: I don't knoww. "Is there anybody there?"! Well, anyway, while this is happening, Shadwell is going up to the shop, and also, it's raining and like, super windy outside. The Tadfield storm is catching up to Soho. Shadwell knocks at the door, and, you know, Aziraphale just goes, "We're closed!" and he keeps on doing the prayer thing. And he goes like, "I want to take this to the top. I need to speak to the Almighty." A being appears in front of him. It's like, a disembodied face. It's Metatron. Aziraphale asks if he's speaking to God, but Metatron is like, "Well, I'm like, you know. To speak to me is to speak to God. I'm the voice of the Almighty."

C: I feel like it really registered with me here that the only time Aziraphale and God have ever spoken, probably, is the flaming sword question. So like, it's been a while. So like, yeah, Aziraphale doesn't really remember what God's voice sounds like, but like, we, as the audience know that it's not Her right away.

G: Aziraphale is super bitchy when he goes, "Well, being the voice of the Almight is like being a spokesperson to the president, in that you are not the president. You are the spokesperson. And I need to speak to God!" And Metatron was like, "Who give a shit. Just tell me about it." And he tells that like, he wants to complain about the other angels, and also, the Antichrist is coming, and he knows who and where he is, so there doesn't need to be any of that nonsense about a third of the seas turning to blood or anything. "We can save everyone!" [C makes pained sound] God. And like, I think an interesting and very nice cinematography choice they make here is that for the entirety of like, the first half of like, Metatron speaking to Aziraphale, it doesn't pan to Metatron at all. It's just on Aziraphale’s face the entire time. So when Metatron goes like, "The point is not to avoid the war, the point is to win it," you can see Aziraphale’s face fall.

C: And it's not exactly that it falls, it's like, he has this hopeful, nervous smile on "We can save everyone," and it's like, that it freezes. And yeah, it's a lot. It's a lot.

G: Yeah, freezes, I guess, is a better way to put it. And Metatron basically goes, "Well, the nuclear warfare is about to happen, so like, you should come on. Join us in Heaven." And Aziraphale is going like, "Oh, I'll just fix up a couple of things. And then I'll be on the way. Jolly good!" [laughs]

C: This is so good. I feel like last time, we were sort of confused about Aziraphale’s arc. I feel like I'm more solid on it now. And it's so great. Like, the whole time, he's like, "Okay, like, I know, they're telling me that this is The Great Plan, but like, surely the real one doesn't involve the world ending, and surely like, someone with higher authority, at least God, who I love and have faith in, like, will care about humanity the way I do." And then, like, he just keeps holding onto that, keeps hoping that that's true, and then, like, this is his final proof that, like, what he was doing and thinking and feeling the whole time was quote-unquote "wrong," and that the closest thing to God he'll ever get to speak to is saying this to him as well. And, like, he like, decides like, "No!" Like, "I am right, despite what everyone has told me. Like, I can no longer put off my decision about what's right and what I should do, and I'm deciding that I can't be a part of this any longer." And then he goes to call Crowley.

G: Yeah! He literally is fucking Benedick-coded for fucking real. [C laughs] Anyway, he does call Crowley, but, you know, Crowley hangs up. And before the very end of- Before the very last scene of the episode, I do want to talk about a little something, which is that, you know, when you talk about theology and stuff like that, there's the very basic idea of "What are the three aspects, the three manifestations or tenets of faith?" right? And the first one is belief and then personal trust, and then praxis. So belief is the rationality of it. It's the "I believe because it is the rational thing to do. I thought about it, and the culmination of my thoughts led me to believing that God is real or whatnot." Personal trust is kind of the emotional aspect of it. It's like, "Well, I believe in this higher order, higher power, because it feels right and like, my heart leads me to this decision." And then there's praxis, which is, "I have faith, because that faith manifests in my life in very real ways, in ways that affect my life and the world." This scene with Metatron is like, one by one removal of every manifestation of faith that Aziraphale has to God in Heaven. Like, he realizes that it's not like, the rational decision anymore to believe in God when God feels so irrational at this point and that he's obviously heartbroken by this revelation and everything. He realizes that the thing that he wants the world to be cannot be achieved if he continues believing and having faith in the Ineffable Plan, in the higher order, and blah blah blah. So he throws that faith away!

C: Yeah.

G: And the very next thing he does is he calls Crowley!! Is anyone else here? [C laughs]

C: Yeah.

G: Literally, he fucking says, like, "I have lost faith in God, and I am transferring that faith into something that is rational to believe in, emotionally right, and will lead me to a life in a world that I want [C makes pained sound] and will be good. And it's the right choice, I hope, I think, I feel."

C: God, okay. Yep. Mm-hm! What a good arc.

G: Yeah!

C: I sure hope Season 2 doesn't throw any of it away. [G laughing]

G: I hope so! Anyway, he does call Crowley, and we see like, a very cute scene where he starts talking immediately after the phone rings, but it's Crowley going, "Hi, this Anthony. You know what to do. Do it with style." And Aziraphale being like, “Well, I know who you are, you idiot! [C laughs] I telephoned you!" which I thought was super cute.

C: It is cute. But I will say that he gets Crowley's voicemail in Episode 2, and there was no confusion about it.

G: I know! I fucking know.

C: It's funny as shit, though.

G: Yeah. It's cute. Crowley hangs up, so wow! And then we go back to Shadwell, who all this time was watching through the mail slot, I think? and saw everything that just happened and has picked the lock and is now inside the bookshop. And he's saying, "You foul fiend! In league with the forces of darkness!"

C: "You monster!"

G: And then he goes, "Seducing women to do your evil will!" [C laughs] It's so funny, because, like, before that, Aziraphale was like, "Oh, Sergeant Shadwell?" and he goes, "You're seducing women," and immediately, Aziraphale goes, "Oh, I think perhaps you've got the wrong shop." [both laughing]

C: He is gay.

G: Like, he wasn't like, "In league with forces of darkness? Foul fiend?" He was like, "What?" And then he goes, "You seduce women," he's like, "Oh, no no no. Not me." [C laughing] God. Shadwell tries to exorcise him with the bell, book, and candle, but, like, you know, it's just a bell on the side of the table and a book and a lighter that he goes, "Might as well be a candle." He starts chanting like, an exorcism spell, and Aziraphale is trying to get him to not step on the circle, because it's, you know, still powered up. And like, the entire time, I was like, "Keep away from the circle, please, please, please," and then he goes, [both] "Don't cross the circle, you stupid man!" Shadwell finally finishes the exorcism spell. Aziraphale realizes that in his attempt to stop Shadwell from crossing the line, he has, in fact, stepped into the circle. And he gets [laughing]- he gets cartoon-character-drifting-towards-pie sent to Heaven. [both laughing]

C: He also says, "Oh, fuck."

G: Yeah, he says, [both] "Oh, fuck!" And then he gets- he literally- like, imagine. Well, it's not the same because his ass is not up, but his ass should have been up is my firm belief.

C: But yeah, a cartoon character floating towards pie, yeah. And he bursts into sparks.

G: And, you know, Shadwell's a bit terrified about this whole thing, because-

C: He think it worked.

G: I mean, I'm positive none of his exorcisms have worked prior. And he's like, a bit scared. He heads out, but as he closes the door, a candle gets toppled over, rolls to the side, sets alight a copy of Sound of Music, and then, we end the episode.

C: Yep. We sure do.

G: Let's do our outros. Well, what do you think about this episode?

C: I mean, it made me crazy clearly, and I love it a lot. I feel like quality-wise, it may be a bit lower than the other ones, but I feel like enjoyment-wise, I was there the whole time.

G: Yes.

C: Or like, I was just so there during Aziraphale and Crowley's moments and some of Adam's moments that it like, outweighed everything else.

G: I think Aziraphale shines this episode. I mean Crowley, too, I guess. But, you know?

C: She does. She does!

G: I am so excited. I find it fascinating because the Apocalypse is happening, and I don't think it's a long affair between now and when the world is just completely destroyed, but-

C: There's two more episodes.

G: We have two episodes left, so I wonder what that's all about. Is it going to be a two-episode apocalypse? Or is it a one-episode Apocalypse and something else happens at the end?

C: Who knows!

G: Well, we'll see, I guess. [both] Gayest moment?

C: I mean, Aziraphale in Portland Place.

G: The gavotte. Yeah. Well, the transest moment.

C: I can't think because I just conjured an image of Crowley in my mind and now I'm just like, looking at her.

G: I literally did, too. I just thought about the "This is Anthony Crowley. You know, what to do. Do it with style."

C: Do it with fucking style, baby! I also think sitting like that in a movie theater is very transgender. Predictions?

G: Oh, yeah! Okay. Well, my predictions are Crowley is gonna run around in Soho towards Aziraphale and then [C laughing] "You're My Best Friend" is going to play in the background.

C: No way! How did you know that?

G: And he's going to watch as the fucking bookstore burns down. It's going to burn down. And like, maybe we'll see him try to save a couple of books, or like, try to, I don't know, wash it up. Whatever. I don't know. Like, what do you call it?

C: Hose it down?

G: Yeah, to host it down. But I think it would be unsuccessful because Crystal told me that they legitimately burned down that set, so.

C: Yeah. How much money went up in the air? My god.

G: I mean, that's going to happen for sure. And then- I have similar predictions. I think they will try to kill Adam still, and Anathema will probably save the kid. And then, you know, I had my other prediction/told to me by the story. And I just was like, "Yeah, the story should keep telling it next episode," which is that there's going to be a one-to-one correlation between the Them and the Horsemen. Yeah, that's it. I would like to see the Horsemen interact with each other. This is not a prediction; ghis is just a wish, I guess. I want them to talk to each other because I think it would be an interesting look into what they think of the other events and like, do they get along? Are they antagonistic to each other? you know. I think that would be interesting. Other than that, I have barely any expectations.

C: Yeah. Well. You're in for some episodes that definitely happen.

Personal ratings out of 10 for this episode.

G: I woudl rate this an 8. I quite liked it.

C: I also feel like it's an 8. It was good. I really like the way that they tied up Aziraphale's arc.

G: Yeah. Oh my god! Literally, what do you do with a faith that doesn't let you live a life- the life that you want?

C: Yeah. Yeah. [sniffles]

G: So important to me. I don't know, like, I don't want to be like-

C: I think you can be Catholic.

C: I don't want to make it personal, you know? I don't wanna make it like-

C: You can. We shared so many anecdotes last week. [G laughs]

G: That's true. I mean, my point is that stories about choosing what to believe in and choosing to interpret the things you believe in differently from other people, and, you know, forging your own path, those are things that are very important to me, and I like to see it here. It's nice.

C: It is nice.

G: [laughing] That's my personal sharing moment. Yeah.

C: I totally forgot about the Tibetans until, like, this moment. I was like, "What a great episode! Why did Danica say it was bad?" Oh, right, there were like, aliens and Tibetans and shit. [both laugh]

G: Oh, yeah. God.

C: That’s it for this week’s episode of Rubbish and Probably a Podcast. Next time, we will be talking about Season 1, Episode 5: “The Doomsday Option.” Leave us a rating or a review wherever you get your podcasts.

G: We interact through our social media sites for our other podcast, Busty Asian Beauties pod. And so you can follow us on Tumblr at bustyasianbeautiespod.tumblr.com and email us at [email protected].

C: Thanks to everyone who’s donated to our Ko-Fi at ko-fi.com/bustyasianbeautiespod! See you guys next time! [both] Bye!

[theme song]

[beep]

C: And you finally watched his Much Ado About Nothing. I'm kind of sad that this is the first Much Ado About Nothing that you watched because now you're gonna think things like being not funny are revolutionary in the world of Much Ado About Nothing adaptations, when, in fact, this is like, a special one for being extra funny.

G: Well, no. I mean, I've told you that the rendition and intentionality that I like the most is from the 1984 one. And I stand by that. I think it's wonderful. Especially the scene with Beatrice, you know, they hoist her up and down, and it's like, I feel like it takes away a little bit on, like, the intention of the scene, which is that she's hearing that, you know, her cousin thinks she's too prideful to entertain Benedick.

C: But she got to float in the air, and like, try to swim towards Hero to punch her in the face about it!

G: I mean- No! But she- Yeah. [laughs] Not gonna reaction to it. [C laughs]

C: I think that the original script doesn't give Beatrice a lot to work with in like, the moment that you'd think she deserves the most like, lines and facetime.

G: That's true.

C: And I think that having Catherine Tate be involved in physical comedy throughout that is a way to keep-

G: You entertained, yeah.

C: - the audience's eyes on Beatrice, and like, let you see her face journey throughout in a way that her eventual speech about taming her wild heart to his loving hand, like, does not convince you on its own that, like, she would actually fucking say that.

G: Yeah. But, I mean, it's such a wonderful production, but like, I don't know. [laughs] Yeah. That's my take. I think we should get on with those Good Omens. I don't like the way they do the confession scene, I suppose. I'd say that.

C: I feel like I could understand that, but I also think that the actors can pull off the like, adrenaline, what's even happening, blah blah blah.

G: Of course. Of fucking course. Yeah. Like, when it stops and she goes, "Kill Claudio," and then, like, the entire room and audience and Benedick goes completely silent, it's like, "Ooh." Like, you know, it works. It's just not the way I would prefer it if this is story playing out in my head instead.

C: Yeah, yeah. That's fair.

G: Why are you taking this scene?

C: What?

G: Why are you taking this scene?

C: Oh, I think I just considered this to be- Oh, wait! Nevermind, you're right. Shit! Sorry! [G laughing] I forgot what color I had. This is so awful. Okay, I'll go back to the-

G: We should have stuck with the yellow and red, I've been telling you! [C laughing]

C: Sorry! Sowwy. Okay, I'll go back. I'll go back. I'll go back. Okay, okay, okay.

[beep]

G: Crystal, [laughing] you've never been to a club.

C: Okay, fine. [both laughing] You know what? Yeah. You know what? That's true. Maybe that's not how people dance at a club at all. I've seen scenes and movies. That's what I've seen. And TV shows. Those are my two sources.

G: True. That's true.

C: Fine. Have you- you've been to a club-like environment, right?

G: Yeah, I've been out dancing, yeah.

C: How do people dance at clubs?

G: Not in any way that I like to participate in.

C: Is it the grinding?

G: No, it's just, it's like, jumping around. Well, I guess I do like the jumping around, but I don't like the ones where you're supposed to dance with people. I'm very much a "I'll just stand here and also dance."

C: Yeah. It's "I don't know you!" Yeah.

G: What do you mean? You don't know me?

C: No no no, I mean-

G: "I don't know the people," okay okay.

C: - in a situation where you're expected to just find someone and dance with them, it's like, "I do know you. And if I do know you, like, I don't know you like that."

G: But, you know what? I do dream of days where I will meet my discotheque Juliet teenage dream [C laughs] on the dance floor.

C: And maybe one day you will. Thinking about the final dance scene in Much Ado About Nothing now. God.

G: God!

C: God.

G: Anyway.

C: Anyway, so…

#transcript #rubbishpod

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lindsaystravelblogs1 · 1 year

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Day 45, Sunday, 29 January 2023

Cape Colbeck came and went with little to see – not even a plaque or signpost to mark its name on the ice.

We sailed on west and enjoyed a lecture entitled The Worst Expedition in the World. It was based on the Scott Expedition, but focussed largely on the other side expeditions and stupid instructions he issued that not only resulted in the deaths of his own party but numerous others and the lifelong pain and disappointment for those unlucky enough to survive. He is idolised by so many as a hero, but I regard him as a bumbling fool that probably never made a sound decision in his life. But who am I to judge? Twenty/twenty hindsight?

The Captain made an announcement that another icebreaker, a Chinese one, was nearby and he knew the captain of that ship from a previous adventure rescuing some people from a Heritage Expeditions ship that was stuck in the ice some years ago. He said that we were in the same place but not in the same time as the Chinese ship. They were operating in a different time zone to us – they were just starting the day at 7 am, whereas we were already at 11 am. It just shows how arbitrary time is – you decide what time you want it to be and it is! The Chinese ship was being evasive, failing to report its position and generally acting suspiciously, but there is apparently a new Chinese base setting up not far away so perhaps there was a legitimate reason for it to be there – but personally, I have some doubts that it was a scientific expedition – and certainly not a tourist one.

I see you!

We eventually had the photographic session on Histograms that had been cancelled at least four or five times. I didn’t understand it all, but maybe in future sessions, something will click for me.

We are approaching the Ross Ice Shelf, a massive shelf that runs for about a thousand kilometres across the seaward side of the largest permanent frozen shelf on earth at 487,000 square kilometres. We saw some of its eastern end three years ago and we will now be following its full length from west to east. The concept of east and west is a bit strange down here where everything is north because everything else is south. Like time, it all seems a bit arbitrary and confuses most of us quite regularly. Is west to our left because we are facing south (where we can’t go due to the wall of ice) or what happens when we face somewhere else. And what about East Antarctica and West Antarctica when there isn’t any east or west near to pole where everything is north?

All of that to say that we had an interesting lecture about the Ross Ice Shelf from a French woman who spent several years studying it from the Italian Station where she was working. She said she would just be talking about her personal experiences at the Station, but she gave us a history lesson as well as some geography, geology, natural science and more. It was a very good lecture.

Of course, no matter how good the lectures are, it is very hard to stay awake for the whole hour. With more food and drink of a hundred varieties imaginable hardly ever more than arm’s reach away, it is very tempting to let the Sandman tap you on the shoulder at least once during every lecture.

We took a detour late in the day to approach an iceberg on which a few Antarctic Petrels were resting. They estimated between one and five thousand birds but there may have been fifty thousand. They were on the top of a giant tabular iceberg and were almost at the height of the ship so were impossible to count with any accuracy. A few were flying around the ship and I tried to get some photos, but it was bitterly cold and I soon retreated to the warm interior.

I lost count after 5800-odd.

As for temperatures, it was usually around minus 1 or two for several days, but the last couple of days have been minus 5 to minus 7 and anywhere in the wind feels like minus 15 or 20 - and for me, there is not a lot of difference between minus 20 and minus 100. I am never out photographing for more than a few minutes before my fingers are almost too cold to press the shutter.

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dulce-chisme · 1 year

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OKKKKKK I'M WRITING FRANKENSTEIN SANTIAGO A BACKSTORY AND I'LL BE DOING ONE FOR ALL OF THEMMMM

TW: PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL ABUSE, MURDER, ALL THAT SHIT

So monster Santiago was created by a woman named Carlota. Driven insane by longing for a child, Carlota began to dig up graves to try and create the perfect children, and when she ran out of bodies, she started to murder people and use them instead, eventually escaping to a tiny island off the coast of Argentina.

Naturally, when Santiago was created, Carlota was initially overjoyed, but of course, her true nature began to show, and she was horrified by the hideous thing she created. She was cruel to him, ignoring him and belittling him every day.

Santiago grew up with a love for dancing. He'd make marionettes from old wheat bags and pretend he was on stage, dancing the Tango and the Salsa. In his world, despite the golden eye and the stitching, despite the scars and the narcolepsy, and despite the fact that he was only a "hideous" amalgamation of other human beings, a crime against nature itself, he was loved for his talent and passion for his craft. Every night when Carlota would shove him to his room and tell him to say prayers, he'd always pray for a way off of the island.

"Please Lord, make me the biggest star this world has ever seen. Make me handsome and powerful. Please, Lord, take me as far away from this place as possible."

(Get the pearl reference?)

As Santiago got older, Carlota began to escalate her cruelty. She would yell at him, berate him for meanless things, call him an abomination and that she wished that God would send him to hell already.

Eventually, she began to beat him.

And one day, when he was 18, she hit him too hard.

Carlota didn't realize how strong she made Santiago until he fought back against her. He stabbed her, again and again until her face was unrecognizable and her neck was nearly severed all the way around.

Once Carlota was dead, Santiago ran to his room, grabbed as much as he could fit into one bag, ran to the docks, and stole a boat Carlota had, sailing his way off of the island.

But nothing could dull the guilt he felt. Carlota was a monster, but he was still reeling from what he did. And every comment, every insult, every awful thing she said to him stuck. The worst part was that the 6.8-foot-tall patched-together monstrosity was deeeeefinently considered a demon by most places, so he could never fulfill that dream of being a star.

He may have been free, but he was still a monster. And Monsters don't get happy endings.

At least that's what he thought, until he came to Monmarte, Paris, where he met an.....interesting man.

AWWWW POOR THING :((( ID LUV TO HEAR TGE REST!!!

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nxrthmizu · 3 years

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kill em’ with kindness

fandom | miraculous ladybug

genre | lila salt, so much salt

summary | marinette takes the high road to a better life.

w.c | 8.1k

author’s note | had this idea for a few days after i wrote victory tastes bitter, which really blew up on ao3 (thanks for all the support <3). always wondered what it would be like if marinette just. played nice. so here she is, being an absolute badass.

author’s note.2 | okay so since i did not write this in one sitting, i get that the story probably doesn’t flow as properly as it should. will edit if i ever find the will to do it.

Marinette was done. They wanted her to be a model student? Fine. They wanted her to stop being mean? Fine. They wanted her to be friends with Lila? Fine.

Luckily for Hawkmoth, no akuma plagued the sky of the previous night, or she would rain hell on him. There was no more tolerance left inside her to spare, and she certainly wouldn’t go out of her way to make some for the manipulative pest problem Paris has had for way too long.

She looked up into the mirror, having exchanged her pigtails for a low ponytail, strands curled to frame her face. Bluebell eyes glistened with a fire that burned brighter than hope— Hope that her ‘friends’ would see sense. Hope that Adrien would be there for her. Hope that the good guy would always get the happy ending. No more being patient, no more being passive, no more putting up with things she didn’t have to.

If Lila Rossi wanted a battle, then fine, a battle she would get. Marinette was lowering her white flag, replacing it with a battle emblem that scorched red, redder than blood and redder than the anger her friends would feel when she was finished. No more peace negotiations. Rossi wanted a fight, Rossi wanted a challenge. Who was Marinette to deny her from what she wanted?

They didn’t know what was coming for them.

The power of makeup was truly one that reigned apex among the world. A few touches of her makeup brush was all it took to erase her dark eyes from existence, give her skin a more radiant glow (She promised that she’d take time to give it a natural glow after she was done being nice), and ease a cherry-pink blush onto her cheeks, making her freckles stand out more in contrast. Marinette Dupain-Cheng meant business, and when she meant business—

“Good morning, Marinette! You look great today!” The head of the student council, a sensible, down-to-Earth blonde by the name of Noelle smiled, speeding up slightly to catch the bluenette on the steps of Francois Dupont. “Love the new look.”

Ah yes. The new look— A royal blue blazer, detailed with golden embroidery of cherry blossoms bursting at the sleeves and the collar, accompanied by a classy-looking silk blouse tapered with a soft, black felt. The pleated black skirt (Made from heavy cloth so that it wouldn’t flap about in the wind) was lined with a beautiful scarlet at all the edges to complete the look. Knee-high black socks trailed all the way into the slight heels that Marinette had added flower adornments on, just so she could tap a little of her own touch on it.

“Thank you,” Responded the bluenette with a smile.

“Woah! Someone looks like they got a good night of rest.” Madeline, the president of the Art Club teased, flocking to the other side of the girl. “That mascara looks sharp enough to kill, girl!”

Sharp enough to kill?

Oh, that wouldn’t be necessary, Marinette mused to herself, sending out thanks to those who had complimented her on her way to class. Nothing sharp was going to be required for the liar’s downfall— No, no. That would just be too messy, and she wouldn’t even think of staining her new outfit. Of course, the ensemble was crafted from her own hands, as stated by the classic MDC that graced the inside of her blazer, the collar of her blouse, and one of the pleats of her skirt. Besides… Lila wasn’t worth getting her hands dirty.

She was going to do things the right way.

The kind way.

“Good morning, everyone.” She greeted, walking into the classroom, garnering their attention with her punctuality. Every set of eyes in the room were attracted to her, like iron fillings to magnets. Some of the gazes were malicious, hateful; Some were doubtful, wary; One was pleading, as if spelling out ‘Please keep taking the high road!’— And then there was Chloe, who was entirely uninterested.

Good, Lila was already present.

“I’d just like to take a minute of your time. Won’t be too long, I promise.” She took a deep breath, ignoring the imploring gaze that dug at her side, courtesy of a blonde that sat in the front row (And no, it wasn’t Chloe she was referring to). “I’d just like to say…”

The class watched with bated breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Alya blinked. So did everyone else in the room. Stunned faces greeted Marinette’s apologetic one, including Lila’s— She didn’t even have to fake her reaction. What on Earth was Marinette trying to pull off? What kind of stunt was this?

“I realise that I’ve not really been the best version of me lately,” She admitted sorrowfully. I haven’t been the best version of me because I was being boycotted and isolated, “It wasn’t fair to put you all through this,” It wasn’t fair that you idiots had to lose all your reputations because of the words of one liar, “And people got hurt as a consequence,” Me. I was the one who got hurt. “I realise that things haven’t been all smooth-sailing in our class lately, so I’d like to apologise to everyone.” I’d like to apologise for not being able to save you from a liar who only sees her own personal gain.

A practiced breath escaped Marinette’s throat as she waited for her cue— The school bell— And set her bag on the teacher’s desk. Good, everything was unfolding right on time. Not quite far away, there was a distinct clack-clack-clack of someone’s heels— An auburn teacher, perhaps? Marinette reached into her backpack and drew out a package she had meticulously wrapped in brown paper and tied in golden ribbon. Sitting passively on top of the package was a small note, decorated in hand-drawn flowers and a hummingbird in the corner.

“Here,” Marinette strode up the steps of the class, stopping right in front of her former seat— Now Lila’s— Internally taking pleasure in the first time she’d seen the Italian’s true expression. “For you, as a token of my apology. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me,” Marinette swallowed painfully, biting her lip, as if she was trying not to cry, “But I just want to make things right.”

Lila blinked.

What the hell was happening?

The silence was broken by a quiet sob, one that did not originate from Marinette. Instead, Mlle. Caline Bustier stood in the doorway of the class, clutching her books and notes for the day’s lesson, wiping away a tear that dropped from her eye. “Oh, Marinette,” The teacher sobbed, “I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Marinette.” Rose sniffed, wiping away a few tears of her own that had started dripping during the bluenette’s speech. Juleka patted her girlfriend’s back, trying to calm the emotional blonde before she cried out a tsunami on top of her textbooks, giving Marinette a thumbs up to show her approval.

Alya beamed, seemingly proud of her former best friend, who had (In her opinion) finally started to see sense. “I’m so proud of you, girl!”

(Adrien was too shocked to form any words.)

“Could you… Open it?” Marinette asked hopefully, ignoring the teacher for the favour of the liar who ruined her life. “I… Just want to know if you like it.”

The Italian could do nothing more than grit her teeth when Alya urged her to open it. What kind of trick was Mari-Brat up to? Never mind— She’d just spin it into something stupid and the class would take to it like starved animals. With no other choice, she tore apart the brown paper, discarding the golden ribbon on her desk. The class gasped, oohs and aahs echoing all around as the package unfolded to reveal a pretty, beige-coloured cardigan, hand-stitched with murals of foxes, jumping livelily among berry bushes.

Stitched into the inside of the cardigan in pastel blue were the words ‘Lila Rossi’, done in an exquisite cursive that could no doubt only come from Marinette’s hand.

“I made it for you myself,” Marinette sniffed humbly. “I know you’re a really great model and you’ve probably seen clothes that are much better than this one, but I poured all my feelings into it. I spent every night of last week working on it, and—” She hiccuped rather loudly, instantly covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “I just hope you like it.”

“I…” Lila was at a loss for words. She had an itinerary full of the lies and stories she would spin that day (“Marinette texted me mean things last night,” she would weep tearfully to Alya, sniffing and wiping away tears on Alya’s shirt sleeve, “I just want to be friends but she just keeps… Attacking me!”) but no matter. A smirk danced along the Italian’s lips. “Did you design this yourself?”

Judging by the smirk that Marinette could practically hear in the other girl’s tone, the liar already had a trick up her sleeve. If Marinette had to guess...

Something along the lines of she stole this design from [random designer], who just coincidentally had the time to be Lila’s friend. Or maybe the friend of Lila’s grandmother. Whichever didn’t matter much, because Marinette was prepared.

Marinette crossed the room in mere seconds, returning back to Lila’s seat with a sketchbook that she’d pulled from her bag. “Here!” She chirped, flipping open the page with an exercised movement, not even having to shuffle through the pages to find the correct sketch. “I brought the original sketch, just in case you wanted to see it so you could get a professional to redo it for you.”

Lila opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish out of water. Beside her, Alya’s eyes sparkled, envy still glowing in her eyes at the sight of the intricate foxes, coloured in hazel, gold, and orange threads.

“Thank you, Marinette.” Lila gritted through her teeth, basically seething at the thought of having to thank the girl in front of her, who was smiling like an innocent sunshine child.

The bluenette then turned her attention to her homeroom teacher. “Sorry for interrupting and taking up class time, Mlle. Bustier.”

“It’s not a problem, Marinette,” Mlle. Bustier wiped at her eyes, slightly embarrassed now that the whole class was watching her cry at the sight of her ‘model student’ correcting her wrongs. “E— Excuse me.” She mumbled, clearing her throat. “Let’s pick off from where we stopped yesterday. Open your textbooks to page 63, please.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The rest of the day went along smoothly. Marinette sat at the back of class, as usual, sighing in boredom as class was derailed off course, whisked off by another one of Lila’s tall tales. Honestly, they were already weeks off schedule— How the hell were they expected to sit for the final exam, at this rate?

She huffed quietly to herself, watching Bustier trying (and failing) to act like she wasn’t interested in Lila’s story. The woman— An actual adult— Fell for Lila’s usual tricks like a fool, taking in every single word in drunken thirst. Did Mlle. Bustier really have nothing better to do than get absorbed in a teenage girl’s wild fantasies (in a way it was like that). At that thought, Marinette sat up straighter in her chair, an idea going off like a lightbulb above her brain.

Was it...?

After further thought, Marinette settled back into her chair, humming thoughtfully as she drummed her fingers against her table quietly. Yes... Yes, perhaps.

Perhaps it was possible.

The rest of the lesson passed in wasted time as the class took a major detour to go on a warped journey through Lila’s lies, and before Bustier knew it, the lunch bell had rung. Students chattered animatedly as everyone got up, Mlle. Bustier’s announcement of ‘please go home and study this chapter by yourselves, everyone’ was pathetically drowned out by the rest of the noise.

Marinette collected her things quickly, needing her exit from the classroom to go off without a hitch, exactly the way she planned it. “I’ve got to go back to my parents’ bakery for lunch,” She said shyly, shrinking into herself as her classmates turned to look at her. “I... Was thinking of bringing some macarons back later. Before I go, though... Lila, is there anything you’re allergic to?”

“What?” The girl being asked snapped back as a reply, the words leaving her mouth too fast for her to register. Before she knew it, the whole class was staring at her, mouths agape. “I... I mean.” Clearing her throat, the liar plastered on a sweet smile. “What was it, Marinette?”

“I wanted to bring some macarons back for everyone.” Shyly, the bluenette repeated her plans. “And... Since I’ve been in class with everyone else here for a while, I know their allergies, but not yours. Is there anything you’re allergic to that could be in baked goods?”

The Italian cursed under her breath— Mari-Brat really wasn’t letting up. The bluenette had made sure to cover any ground that the Italian could use and turn back against her. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not allergic to anything.”

Brightening visibly, Marinette nodded, shooting the Italian a smile. “I know things between us aren’t going to get better immediately, but I promise to do my best in fixing things! See you guys after lunch.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila was getting really, really fed up. For the whole morning, she wasn’t able to come up with any reason to blame Marinette. If things kept going at the rate that they were, the class would be fully convinced that the bluenette was a changed woman, and that couldn’t happen. There was, in the end, a downside to having such a gullible bunch of classmates— Sure, they swayed easily to her side, but that meant that they swayed back to Marinette’s just as easily.

Hissing under her breath, Lila looked up to catch Alya and Nino’s concerned looks.

No.

She was Lila Rossi. She was resourceful. She had Gabriel Agreste behind her back. She was powerful. She was not going to let Mari-Brat halt her plans in their tracks ever again.

“I’m going to go use the bathroom real quick,” She said, excusing herself from the lunch table. Perfect! Now all she had to do was come back in tears, saying that Marinette confronted and mocked her in the bathroom, and the class would be all hers, once again.

Little did she know that Dupain-Cheng was one teensy step ahead.

As soon as Lila rounded the corner of the cafeteria, Marinette appeared, having just had a lovely chat with Rose (And Juleka, although it was Rose who did most of the talking). The two were at the front steps of Francois Dupont, having a lovely couple moment that Marinette hated to interrupt— But she needed to have at least a word with them.

“Rose, Juleka!” Marinette greeted, box of macarons held carefully in her arms, as if it were a box of important jewelry instead of just a box of pastries. “Oh— Rose, is that a new watch? I’ve never seen you wear it before!”

“Yep, it is!” Rose beamed, delighted that someone (Besides Juleka) had finally noticed it. “Isn’t it pretty?” Indeed it was. The watch in question was a pretty, intricate-looking thing done in rose-gold metal, with a pastel pink leather strap holding it down. The background of the watch face was a white background with a thin film of rose-gold metal, cut to resemble a wall of precious rose vines.

“It is!” Agreeing wholeheartedly, Marinette offered her classmate a smile. “Oh by the way, what time is it?”

Rose peered at the watchface, returning the answer with an equally-bright smile. “11.47.”

“Thank you.” Marinette thanked, continuing her way through the school until she reached the cafeteria. Just before she fell into line of sight, though, she hid behind a wall, peering over the corner until she spotted the table she was looking for.

Perfect— Lila just walked away. Marinette thanked the gods for all the luck that she was having— Okay, maybe she thanked one god in particular more than the others. Gently, she patted the secret pocket that was sewn into the lining of her blazer— Tikki, who had magic powers, managed to create a miniature ‘room’ inside the secret pocket, with the pocket itself acting as a portal of sorts to the room. After a few seconds, she felt the pocket tap back, managing a small smile of gratitude for her kwami’s constant love and support.

“Hey, Alya, Nino.” Marinette greeted shyly, box of macarons propped up against her hip. “Where’s... Lila?” She hesitated slightly with her question, acting as if it was a little out-of-place to ask about the Italian girl.

“She went to the bathroom.” Nino provided, mouth still full of unchewed food. This gifted him with a smack from his girlfriend (“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” she scolded,).

“Oh, I see.” I definitely see. I know what she’s going to try and pull later— I have to time this properly. Timing is everything.

Marinette continued to make small talk with the two, whom she had not talked to for a very long time. Much to her surprise, they were very warm and accepting, quite unlike the people who slung slurs and accused her baselessly a few days ago. One morning made all the difference to people who believed anything, she supposed.

All of a sudden, something in her chest buzzed, as if it were a fire alarm, vibrating in warning— She had to go. “It was nice talking to you guys again.” She admitted, having briefly dipped into a pool of what their friendship used to be like. “But I have to go. I promised Kagami I’d meet her for a few minutes before lunch ended.”

Alya’s eyebrows jumped up comically in surprise. “I didn’t know you still talked to her. I thought you two were… Love rivals.”

“So what if we were love rivals?” Marinette shrugged with a simple smile. “Adrien is… As much as it’s odd to admit, he’s just a boy. Neither of us let him get in between us. He’s just a boy, and it’d be stupid for us to not get along just because we like the same boy. It doesn’t bother Kagami that we used to like the same boy, so why should I let it bother me? Besides,” Marinette tilted her head slightly. “It’d be stupid to give up a great friendship just because of a boy.”

With her last words still hanging in the air, Marinette turned tail and left, walking faster than usual. She had little time left— As she neared the wall that would shield her from the view of the cafeteria, she sped up her footsteps, practically half-sprinting just so she could get out of sight before Lila Rossi returned, looking like someone just killed a puppy in front of her very eyes.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Alya jumped to her feet instantly, reaching out to comfort her best friend, who was moments away from having tears stream down her cheeks.

“I… I thought she’d changed.” Lila sniffled, biting her lip to appear as if she was desperately trying not to cry.

Alya frowned. “Who?”

“Marinette.” Lila stated as if it were obvious, faltering for a moment— Why had Alya bothered to ask? Shouldn’t it come pretty obvious? The liar dismissed the thoughts and continued in her performance. “She threatened me in the bathroom. She… She confronted me and mocked me, saying… Saying that all of you… All of you are idiots for believing that she’s changed. She… She said everything was an act to turn you all against me.”

Nino’s jaw dropped so far that it touched the floor. “Uh… Dudette, are you sure it was Marinette?”

“Yes!” Lila spun to look at him so fast that it was a wonder she didn’t break her neck. “Are… Are you doubting me? Oh my god, it’s working. She’s turning you guys against me. I just want to have friends, I don’t get why she hates me so—”

“You’re… Absolutely sure it was Marinette? You saw her face?” Alya repeated her boyfriend’s words, emphasising each and everyone of them as she looked Lila in the eyes.

“Alya, not you too.” Lila sniffled, tears basically dropping out of her eyes like big, fat droplets of salt water. “It was her— I saw her blazer, it had MDC stitched onto it.”

An uncomfortable silence settled in between the girl and her boyfriend, neither quite knowing what to say. “Oh. I… I see.” Alya said at last, turning back to her food. “Well… Lunch is almost over. Let’s… Let’s get back to class.”

“Marinette just threatened me in the bathroom!” Lila puffed up, clearly upset now. “She mocked me! She called you guys stupid for believing her act!”

“Dudette.” Nino shattered the ice-cold silence at their lunch table, swallowing heavily. “Marinette was with us the whole time you were in the bathroom.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The tension inside the room was so thick that Adrien could cut it with his bare hands. God, what had happened? The day had started off so well— Marinette agreed to be friends with Lila, god bless the girl— But as it turned out, one hurdle folded over only to be towered over by a taller one.

“Alya—” Lila began tearfully, her pitiful look attracting the sympathy of those who still didn’t know what was going on.

“You claimed that Marinette threatened you in the bathroom.” Alya interrupted. “While she was with us the whole time in the cafeteria.”

Faltering, the Italian struggled to find a way to squeeze herself out of the tight spot. “M— Maybe it was someone else.” Reluctantly, she backed out one trap into another one.

“You said that you were sure! You said that she was wearing a blazer with MDC stitched on it. Marinette was wearing that blazer during lunch!” The reporter shot back, Nino at her side, trying to extinguish the conflicted fire blazing inside Alya’s heart.

The seeds of doubt had been sewn, and Lila was going to have a tough time weeding them out. “I... I’m sorry!” She burst out into tears, sobbing pitifully in front of the class, most of which were already in attendance. “My lying disease is acting up again. I... I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!”

“Uh... Is this a bad time to ask if anyone wants macarons?” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, standing at the front of the room. Her royal blue blazer had been shed, and it now hung over her arm, properly folded into half. Earlier, she had asked Rose for the time to make sure that she had a witness in case Lila tried to pull another act— But as it seemed, the Italian was determined to dig her own grave and all the work had been done.

The students of Mlle. Bustier’s class shared looks.

“I’ll... I’ll have one.” Mylene cleared her throat, hoping that it would diffuse the situation.

“Me too.” Kim followed, not missing the way Marinette flinched slightly at his words. Most of the words he had said to her of late had not been nice at all— But he justified that with the fact that she was being a bully to Lila, like Chloe had been to Marinette herself.

“Great!” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, slapping on a strained smile. She passed the box to the front row, where Sabrina and Chloe were, gesturing for them to pass the box along until everyone got their fill.

Internally, Lila seethed, anger burning like a wildfire that tore down every lush sign of life in her path. The girl had never felt that livid in her entire life— Who did Dupain-Cheng think she was, having a change of heart out of nowhere, pretending to play along with those oh-so-innocent eyes of hers?

“I... I think I know why my disease acted up again,” Lila sniffled, loud enough to gather attention again. Unsure glances passed around like an object that no one wanted, carried from hand to hand forcefully as no one wanted to hold onto it for too long. “It... It must’ve been because of... Of the cardigan that Marinette made me! You must’ve known that...” The Italian squinted at the cardigan on her desk, “... Cotton triggers my lying disease!”

The bluenette, still passing around macarons, stopped in her tracks. Inside her mind, Marinette was shaking her head, an amused smile on her cheeks. She had to give Lila credit for that one— She would’ve never anticipated that lie from her nemesis. “That’s terrible!” She sucked in a breath, putting on a dismayed look. “I’m really sorry, Lila! I know it seems like I did this on purpose, but I promise I didn’t! To make it up to you, I’ll make you another one.”

Is she serious right now? Lila scoffed mentally. How long does she plan to keep this going? No matter— She’ll eventually drain herself out and I won’t even have to meddle in this matter.

Marinette sniffled, collecting the cardigan pitifully from Lila’s desk. “But to prevent future incidents, Lila, I just want you to know that this isn’t made of cotton... It’s made from the highest-quality of star silk, which is incredibly difficult to produce and is rather expensive. It’s such a pity... I thought that only the best of materials would be deserving to be used to make an apology present... I guess you can’t wear it. I’ll just make another copy of the cardigan with some normal-range silk.” Sighing, the bluenette pretended to mull in sadness for a few seconds before an idea struck her. “Alya! You aren’t allergic to star silk, right?”

The flow of conversation redirected suddenly, with the reporter snapping to attention and nodding eagerly as she realised what was about to happen.

“Then... Since I’ve spent so long on this, I don’t want it to go to waste... Why don’t you have it, instead?” Offered Marinette with a sweet, shy smile on her face.

Lila, still caught up in shock by the reveal of the material— Was then slammed with a wall of flaming anger as Alya squealed, coddling the soft, fluffy material that made the cardigan the exquisite product it was.

“Marinette’s right,” Adrien chipped in with his own two cents, “Father can rarely get his hands on that material— It costs a fortune, and if hand-made... It takes forever.”

“Oh, I wove the silk by myself,” Marinette added shyly after Adrien’s contribution, “So I apologise if it’s not up to the quality of industry-level star silk.”

The reporter gushed, still cooing and running her hands over the gorgeous threads of fabric that made up the cloud-like base of the cardigan, eyes sparkling and the details of the embroidery.

Marinette smiled, returning to her seat without a fuss. The rest of the class continued to pass the pastries around, the perfect description of ‘ignorance is bliss’ as they pretended as if they couldn’t see the way Lila was shaking in anger. Alya, on the other hand, could see nothing but the garment in her hands, her ‘best friend’ having become invisible for the time being.

Just as well that it turned out this way, Marinette hummed, twirling her pen in hand, Let that be my departing gift to Rena Rouge.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Tomorrow arrived like clockwork, never late and always on time. The crowd of students clamouring by the front of Francois Dupont hushed to silence as they parted for two dark-haired women, both of which were giving off waves of confidence. Simple conversation flowed between the two, who were perfect examples of elegance and grace, their traditional-inspired attire complementing the royal-like aura they had.

“This dress is really lovely, Marinette,” Kagami smiled gently, admiring the way the fabric flowed around her. The designer had gifted her friend with a maroon-coloured hanfu-inspired dress, complete with hand-sewn embroidery of a golden dragon curled around Kagami’s waist and neck. The dress was completed with a pleated skirt that went all the way to the heels. At first, the fencer was reluctant about the skirt due to the limited maneuverability, but then Marinette revealed that the skirt was very simple to take off as it was just tied around the waist.

“You look gorgeous in it. It suits you.” Marinette replied, dressed in a similar looking dress. Her hanfu-inspired dress was light pink in colour, with silver threads depicting cranes flying about freely. The pleated skirt was grey in colour, lined with a soft circle of white.

Kagami blushed slightly. “Thank you.” Briefly, the Japanese girl wondered why on Earth Marinette would go and embroider a dragon onto her dress— Was it purely a coincidence, or...?

“I’m really glad you decided to transfer here,” Marinette smiled softly, her dark blue bangs framing her face as the rest of it was gathered into a braid that Kagami had helped weave. “It’s going to be nice! I’ll get to see you a lot more often.”

“We’re in different classes, though.” Frowning, Kagami wondered if she should request a change of homeroom.

“For now.” The designer winked playfully. “Oh, I have to get to class. See you during lunch?”

Without waiting for a reply, the blue-eyed girl moved away gracefully, leaving Kagami in confusion.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Good morning,” Marinette greeted gracefully, sweeping into the classroom with her bag over her shoulder and a package in her hands. This package was clearly not as exquisitely-wrapped as the one from the day before, as it was just brown paper and some rough string.

Alya brightened at the sight of her friend, shrinking away slightly whenever Lila tried to say anything. Sure, the reporter did shake off the initial reaction and respond to whatever her ‘best friend’ said, but the damage had been done.

“Here’s your new cardigan. It’s made from the same material as your shirt,” Marinette smiled warmly, placing the package on Lila’s table. “It’s a little different from the one I brought yesterday, but I still poured in all my emotions when I made it, so I hope you’ll accept it.”

Through a gritted smile, the Italian thanked the designer, clenching her fists under the table. That was the second time in two days she had to thank Mari-brat! She swore that if she had to do it again a third time, she was going to slap someone.

“Oh, Marinette!” Alya called out excitedly, wearing the cardigan that was originally supposed to be Lila’s. “This cardigan is so soft! It’s really amazing to wear! As expected of you, girl!”

The bluenette stared back at the reporter, wavering for a bit. She had a feeling that Alya wanted something from her...

“So... I was wondering...” The reporter’s expression turned sheepish, with Marinette’s internal thought-train going ah, there it comes— “Could you remove this and put my name instead?” Alya picked up the corner of the cardigan, pointing to the inside of the garment, where ‘Lila Rossi’ was embroidered on.

“Ah...” Marinette didn’t even have to fake her nervousness. We already agreed on this, She told herself, No more doing free stuff for people. No more. “Sorry, Alya. My parents need a lot of help in the bakery recently,.. You know how it is! Family always comes first. I’ve already taken out a lot of time to make the cardigan for Lila... And I promised Kagami I’d go out with her this weekend. I’m afraid I don’t have time...”

There was no missing the way Alya’s face fell instantly. “Couldn’t you put off Kagami for me? Aren’t we best friends?”

“I thought Lila was your best friend,” Feigning an expression of innocence, Marinette tilted her head slightly. “You shouldn’t go around saying things like that, Alya. You might hurt Lila’s feelings. Besides, a promise is a promise. I wouldn’t want to hurt Kagami’s feelings either. Not to mention— I gave you that cardigan for free. That was two weeks’ worth of hard work. I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to take time out to alter it for free either. If you really want to get it done, you could ask an external tailor to do it for you. I know a few who can do really good embroidery.”

Alya faltered. “But... We used to be best friends...”

Snorting mentally, Marinette continued to hold her calm composure. “Like I said, you really shouldn’t say that, Alya. Lila might get upset and we don’t want to hurt her feelings— Right, Adrien?”

The blonde jumped when the conversation turned to him out of nowhere. All of a sudden, every eye in the classroom was fixed on him. “R— Right, of course.” He said, forcing out each word.

Satisfied, Marinette nodded, still wearing her ever-so-kind smile. “Exactly.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Hey, why don’t we all go out and have a picnic outside during lunch?” Alya suggested loudly, jumping up as soon as the lunch bell rang. “Marinette, you can come along too!” Something inside the reporter’s chest was stirring, and with the events of the past few days, Alya felt like she just had to quench that unsettling feeling— And the first step to that was to mend things with Marinette, even though it was the bluenette’s fault for always having been biased to Lila. Alya smiled, proud of herself. She would be the bigger person, she would forgive Marinette, she would integrate the designer back into the class again.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marinette replied just as quickly, “We don’t know what Lila might be allergic to— She could easily trigger a reaction if we go out, especially since it’s spring.”

A collective choir of groans rounded the class.

“Well, I’m going to go back to the hotel to have a first-class meal,” Chloe turned her nose up at her classmates. “... Dupain-Cheng, would you like to come?”

Shock painted the faces of the whole classroom. Did Chloe just... Ask Marinette something... Politely?

“I’d love to take that offer, Chloe.” Responded the bluenette, graceful and flawless as ever. “Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Suit yourself. They’re serving lobster today.” Chloe huffed. “If you’re really that busy, then fine. We can discuss...” The Mayor’s daughter trailed off as she blushed.

The bluenette giggled knowingly. “You’d like to commission a dress from me, right?”

“... No.”

“...”

“... Maybe.”

“Alright.” Marinette nodded. “Then maybe it’ll be more convenient if I head over to the hotel after school. I’ll need to take your measurements and we can discuss the prices after.”

“Whatever.” Chloe waved her away haughtily, a poor effort to cover up her embarrassment. “Sabrina. Let’s go.”

“Chloe?” Alya guffawed. “Why are you commissioning something from Marinette?”

Rolling her eyes as if Alya had just asked the stupidest question ever, Chloe answered plainly. “Because she’s one of the up-and-rising designers in the industry? Have you seen what Dupain-Cheng is wearing today? Celebrities are already fighting for spots in her commission list. Even my mother and Gabriel Agreste acknowledge her talent. I’m not dumb, Cesaire. I can recognise a future fashion queen when I see one.”

Wow, Marinette breathed, looking at the stunned faces around the room, Chloe sure knows how to create an impression.

“W— Well.” Stuttered the reporter after Chloe made her big exit. “Then... What about going to the bakery for lunch?”

“Didn’t Lila say she saw a rat in the bakery the last time she visited it?” Marinette pointed out. “The health officer checked the surveillance and the claim was dismissed, of course, because my parents make sure the bakery is as hygienic as possible— But I’m sure Lila is traumatised from that incident. I wouldn’t want to force her to come along to the bakery— And we wouldn’t want to leave her out either, right?”

This elicited another round of groans.

Oh, I am enjoying myself way too much, Marinette chuckled mentally.

“Then— Then...” Alya struggled visibly before she was put out of her misery.

“It’s fine, Alya.” The designer reassured her. “I wouldn’t want to bother Lila. I’m sure she’s still upset at me. You guys go ahead. I have to go back to the bakery to help my parents out. See you guys after!”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Slam!

Lila fumed, hand still pressed on her locker door. What. The. Hell. Was Mari-brat trying to do? She didn’t miss the way some of her classmates sent her unsatisfactory looks after that pre-lunch stunt that Marinette had pulled.

And what was the thing about high-and-mighty Chloe commissioning from Marinette?

Sure, Lila would admit that the cardigan that the designer made was indeed gorgeous, and the fabric was smooth and velvety, a quality unlike any of the clothing that Lila had ever had the privilege to touch— But surely a lowly brat like Dupain-Cheng couldn’t be that popular... Right?

Dammit, hissed the Italian girl, Maybe I should’ve tried being friends with Mari-brat instead of Cesaire.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Is that... Marinette and Kagami?” Nino gaped, prompting Alya to turn around. It was true— Walking up the steps of Francois Dupont together were the two blue-haired girls, a gentle smile dancing on Kagami’s lips as Marinette talked animatedly, her hands waving around quickly to further elaborate her point.

Students lounging around the entrance for lunch couldn’t tear their eyes off the two and their matching dresses. Sure, the two girls had walked into school the same way that morning— But now that the afternoon sun was high up in the sky, the golden and silver embroidery was glinting luminously, revealing the true caliber of Marinette’s craft.

“But... They’re rivals.” Stuttered Alya. She just couldn’t understand... Weren’t they supposed to hate each other?

“They both like Adrien but they can still get along,” Nino remarked thoughtfully, taking a bite from his sandwich. “So Marinette wasn’t lying about going to meet Kagami yesterday.”

Alya was silent.

“Alya? What’s wrong?” Worried, Nino put a hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder, care and concern shining through his honest eyes.

“If... If Marinette doesn’t get jealous or biased over someone who also likes Adrien...” Alya started quietly, eyes still fixed on the two girls, “Then why was she so against Lila?”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Mlle. Bustier?” The teacher looked up at the voice of her favourite student. Fondly, she smiled. Marinette had finally seen the light and changed her ways, becoming the helpful, generous, kind Marinette that served as a great example for her peers. “May I make an announcement before class ends?”

“Of course, dear.” Mlle. Bustier gave permission instantly— Marinette was taking up the reins of leadership again! The teacher couldn’t help but do a happy dance internally.

“I have an announcement to make, so if everyone could listen, I’d be really thankful.” Marinette started, her clear blue eyes meeting those of her classmates.

She took a deep breath. This is it. I’ve done what I needed to do, now it’s time to finish the job.

“These past two days... Have been great,” Marinette started wistfully. “I really missed hanging around everyone, just like we did before,” Before you all turned your backs on me and stabbed me when I wasn’t looking, “But I can’t deny— And neither can you— That the things that have happened... They had a really deep impact. And I’ve realised that I can’t just ignore that damage that has been done.” The damage that has been done to me. “So, for the better of everyone— I’ve decided that I... Will transfer classes.”

It was as if an explosion had gone off in Mlle. Bustier’s classroom.

“Girl! You can’t do that!” Alya exclaimed in dismay, “We can fix things! Everything has been going well these few days, haven’t they?”

“Dudette! Honestly, we forgive you.” Nino sighed, “Things just aren’t the same if you’re not here anymore.”

Adrien didn’t say a word, but the imploring gaze he wore said enough. Please don’t leave me here alone. We promised we’d fight together, right? As long as both of us know...

Marinette held her hand up to silence them, and the classroom, just as swiftly, became the deadly silence that followed post-disaster. “I understand. But once again, this is for the better,” — Of my mental health, “I’ve talked to Mlle. Mendeliev, and she’s agreed to take me in. I believe that once the changes have taken place, we can all grow more freely without restrictions.”

In the corner, Mlle. Bustier was tearing up and dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.

“Mlle. Bustier,” Marinette turned to her teacher, no malice in her eyes. “I’ll be under Mlle. Mendeliev’s care now.”

“Marinette...” The teacher sobbed quietly, with Chloe shooting her a look of disgust from the front row.

“It’s not going to be easy for any of us,” Marinette turned back to the class, “But with time, I’m sure we will all prosper. Especially since you will now be under the care of our one and only Lila Rossi.”

Adrien looked like someone had just killed a puppy in front of him.

“Since I am the current class president, I thought I’d pass on the duties onto the most capable person in our class.” Marinette explained warmly, never moving her gaze away from the bewildered Lila. “Lila has the most connections in our class out of all of us, and she’s met so many CEOs and entrepreneurs that she must know a lot about organising and planning. I’m sure you can do it, Lila, but...” She paused. “You can handle it, right?”

“Y— Yeah. Of course.” Lila stuttered.

“You promised the class that you’d get BTS to perform for the year-end fundraiser since you were supposed to be in an arranged marriage with their youngest member, Jungkook.” Marinette continued, God I am enjoying myself too much honestly, but I ain’t going to stop now, “And you said you could convince your godfather, Bruce Wayne, to allow the class to go to Wayne Enterprises for this year’s class trip.”

“She said she could convince Tony Hawk to give me an internship, too!” Alix chipped in.

“And that she’d bring me along the next time Prince Ali asks for her help for a charity cause!” Rose smiled.

“She said she’d introduce me to the CEO of Graham Films!” Nino’s eyes shone at the idea.

The class continued to talk all over one another until Marinette silenced them once more. “Now, now. Let’s not overwhelm Lila. We wouldn’t want her to be overworked or to feel like the expectations are set too high, right?”

The class agreed, nodding along.

Marinette made eye contact with Lila, offering her a sweet smile as she did so. Lila, on the other hand, had no taste for such politeness. Instead, she straight-out glared at the former class president.

This is your problem now.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette! I was hoping to catch you before you went home,” Alya panted, having been able to find the bluenette in the locker room before the designer slipped out of her reach. “You... You’re really serious about leaving?”

“Yeah.” Smiled Marinette, organising her textbooks into her bag, dusting down her skirt. Noticing Alya’s crestfallen expression, she took the initiative to continue the conversation. “Is there anything else, Alya?”

“Did you... Did you really hate Lila because she liked Adrien, too?” The reporter asked somewhat timidly.

Marinette giggled. Normally, when the girl giggled, you could hear a gentle tinkling of wind chimes— But at that moment, Alya heard the freezing winds on Mount Everest instead. “Don’t be silly, Alya. All this over a boy? Besides, I’m over him.”

“Then...” Alya swallowed difficulty. “Lila... Really was lying this whole time?”

The gaze that swept across the reporter was stone cold, and it made Alya feel as if she was dangling over a valley of jagged rocks. “What do you think, Alya?” Even so, the bluenette maintained a sweet smile.

“She was. She was lying the whole time.” Alya suddenly felt as if she had a shortness of air. “This whole time—”

“Oh, good for you. You finally learned how to see further than one feet in front of you.” Marinette hummed. “I’m proud of you, really. But I’m afraid that I don’t have the time to listen to you slowly come to conclusions after I’ve tried making you see sense for the past half a year. I tried to stop you from ruining your futures, but I guess determination was always one of your good traits.”

Alya slipped to the floor, having lost the feeling in her legs. She placed one hand against the lockers for support as she shook, weakly looking up at the girl who she was once so proud to call her ‘best friend’.

“Marinette?” Kagami’s voice rang through the room, indicating that the girl was waiting at the doorway. “You said you were heading to Bourgeois’s hotel after school— Would you like a ride?”

“That’d be nice, Kagami. A moment.” The designer looked down at her friend and smiled, albeit a little sadly this time— And then she lowered her voice.

“Determination was always one of your good traits.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette,” Adrien perked up at the sight of the bluenette leaving the school doors— Side by side with Kagami, who looked ready to draw a sword and start a duel then and there.

“This’ll just take a minute, ‘Gami.” Marinette reassured, gently patting her friend’s arm. “Why don’t you get in the car first? It looks like it’s going to rain.”

Reluctantly, Kagami nodded. “Alright.” Warily, the fencer stepped down the stairs and into the car— But even as she sat in the vehicle, she watched over her fellow bluenette like a hawk, ready to jump out and challenge the blonde if the situation called for it.

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Luckily for him, the designer decided to start the conversation.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” Marinette smiled softly. A few months ago, when she looked at Adrien, she would see the kind, generous, pure-hearted boy with the finest golden hair and the brightest green eyes. Now? All she saw was a spineless, sheltered, passive child that was afraid of confrontations.

“For what?” Adrien looked at Marinette, and no longer did he see the cute, pigtail-adorning girl that would blush fiercely everytime he tried to talk to her. Instead, he saw a beautiful, young woman, a rock that had pulled through all the odds to become a vibrant, iridescent diamond.

Marinette was glowing with confidence, her presence diffusing into the air around her and triggering eyes to look up every time she walked by. There was something about the way she held herself that just made the woman demand awe and respect from those that crossed her path. The old ‘Clumsinette’ had been shed like an old snake skin to reveal a treasure, a better version of the bluenette that had always been waiting for her time to come.

Bluebell eyes met green ones just as rain began to patter down onto the streets of Paris. Marinette glanced up slightly, not at all bothered as she smoothly retrieved an umbrella from her bag, holding it out for the blonde to take. A flush of deja vu burst through Adrien’s veins and through his skin as he took it with a mumbled thanks, eyes blown wide as Marinette let loose her hair from her ponytail, pulling her blazer over her head to avoid getting her head wet.

Adrien could only gape as Marinette uttered familiar words back to him, a knowing smile dancing across her lips as she ran off into the rain as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The bluenette looked lighter, brighter, ready to take flight and soar towards the success that her crops of hard work had finally started to bear. Before the blonde model knew it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had slipped out of his grip, already spreading her multi-coloured wings to land among the stars.

“Thank you for telling me to take the high road.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

this was both satisfying and tiring to write...

#ml salt #ml saltfic #saltfic #lila salt #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien salt #miraculous ladybug #alya salt #[ris writes]—✧

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thursday-writes-fanfics · 3 years

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Choose, part 4. (Reader x Jack Sparrow or Will Turner. )

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean, Will Turner, Jack Sparrow.

Warnings: None lmao

Words: 2.3 K

First - Former - Next

It's been a while since my last update, so here you go!

One year had passed since the faithed night in Tortuga, where Y/N left everything she once knew behind, to seek the truth she needed to find within. One eventful year where she had gone alone through more than most would in their lifetime. Travelling along with different crews, battling across the seas and polishing her hastily growing reputation as one of the most fearsome pirates the world has ever seen. None dared voice their annoyance with her being a woman, for she had allies all across the seven seas. She had seen so much of the world, her confidence grown and her heart set aflame with adventure. Y/N was an even finer pirate and woman than she had been ever before.

Other pirates either wished to be her or be with her, the secrets of many slipped into her ears. It amused the young woman, and the many who worked in the brothels along the coasts. When Y/N needed information, it was not other pirates or navy officials she sought out. No, it was the brothels’ gossip she tuned her ears to. For the women there knew far more of the world than any other. All news came to their homes and it was all available for the famous pirate.

She had earned an even better reputation with them as well, as she sought out the women there the first thing she did each time she came ashore. She treated them kindly, paid for their food and brought along gifts, treating them like friends. Her actions earned her a handsome reputation with the women, and in each town she could always find a loyal embrace to keep her safe. After all, the women of the brothels ruled the cities from the shadows. To anger one of them was to anger an underground nation.

Y/N’s locks had grown long since the night one year ago, her clothing expensive and proud on her frame. A treat she gave herself due to her wide success in both informal and formal businesses. She was a true pirate, yet could strike a bargain with the British navy without a problem. After all, they too were afraid of her.

The feather on her black hat curled down to her shoulder, its size another show of her wealth and power. The weaponry which clad her shape were the most efficient, on all the ships of the sea, not even the British army able to supply her better. Only the finest for herself, the woman had decided. Dual pistols she had strapped to each side of her chest, and upon both hips she held blades, one magnificent sabre and one deadly cutlass, all adorned with the most elaborate details. These were all weapons to show, the rest she had hidden in pockets and secret departments on her curves. Small explosives and hidden blades were better kept in subtle crevices than to be seen by the naked eye when one made deals. All about the fearsome pirate screamed confidence and to show respect, and that respect she had earned many times over.

“We’ll be docked in an hour, lass,” came the captain’s voice, the merry band she was travelling with now not as roughhousing as most of her fellow pirates. Mercenaries of the law they were during the day after all, and they weren’t too keen on going out during the night when there was ale to be drunk with stories to be told in old taverns. It was a life-altering change from how they had once been, when the captain and his crew had been young and adventurous. A smirk clad Y/N’s lips when she faced the man, her fingers fiddling with the sabre’s handle. “Aye, thought it was about time to dock, Captain Henry. And still I’m not sure if I will take my leave of you when we get there, or if I will meet the navy together with you in the morrow,” her deceptive nature made the captain laugh, for he knew just how little control anyone had over the young pirate. He joined her side with a few strides to the railing, gazing at the sea from the quarterdeck.

“Aye, ye do as ye wish, lassie,” mused the older man, finding his gaze once more sought out her face. “Yer not notorious for knowing every pirate for no reason. Can’t keep ye in place forever” he snickered, his mind on the many rumours he had heard over the past year of the pirate. He had seen it himself a few times too, how the famous Y/N had stepped off one ship only to board another in the same port. Her name was known by all, whether they liked her or not. Her presence on a ship could deter a dispute between two crews, for no one wanted her gone. And those who did were quick to find themselves cornered and silenced for good after voicing such atrocious thoughts aloud.

“Oh shut your gob, “ sneered the woman in reply, earning more laughter from the captain as his head fell back to let the thunderous noise wash over the ship. A simple “Never,” Henry retaliated, winning their argument as he strode to attend his crew and ensure the docking process would flow smoothly. Y/N watched the sea for a moment longer, trained on the horizon in an attempt to find a peculiar ship. One which carried black sails. Fingers carded through her hair as she thought about her old companions, but discarded the thoughts just as quickly. A turn of her heels and the woman came to face the incoming port, nothing she wished to see there either. A defeated smile curled her lips when she ventured to help her current crew, missing the hint of black that rounded a nearby island with a course for their port.

“ Alright, lads!” with easy leaps and muscles bunched for one last jump, Y/N climbed halfway up the crow's nest and gazed down at the many faces who all gave her their full attention.

“ I’m saying this just once because Henry doesn’t seem to be able to get it through your thick skulls. If we don’t get this cargo to the bay within the first few hours of us getting to port, the taverns will be full and the brothels closed,” the crew stared at the woman, most having just woken up from their midday nap. Too many faces were disinterested, the woman sneering maliciously as she knew exactly what would get them on their feet.

“Which means, no ale and no lovers!” Y/N roared, drawing enjoyment from the panic growing in the men’s eyes. They had been at sea for a month now, and the lot needed more than the icy waters could ever offer.

“So unless you wish to mope around the ship for the entire night, alone, get to it!” the crew leapt to their feet, their rushing steps and loud cries satisfying to Y/N’s ears. The pirate’s piercing eyes found the captain who let his chest heave with a sigh, not one to question the woman’s authority. She had gotten the crew off their asses with a single threat, when he had shouted at them all day to get ready. The ship groaned when they threw down the anchor, straining against it as it still wished to traverse further. A gangplank found its hold against the port, the cargo soon to cross over it. Both the captain and Alexandra oversaw the process, to ensure their goods would be gone by the hour.

“Ye know,” Captain Henry spoke after a long while, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Ye should consider becoming a captain one day,” Y/N snapped her head to face the man, eyes threatening to fall out. “Me? A captain?” she ridiculed, shocked by his words. The captain let a snicker pass his lips at her surprise, for being able to shock the immovable Y/N was quite amusing. Work roughened hand, tainted by the deep sea came to rest on his back, clasped together.

“Just sayin’. Ye’ve got the guts and respect for it,” with a smirk the captain passed his current crewmate, stepping onto the railing. “I will leave the rest to ye, for I am in need of a drink,” a wink was sent the woman’s way before Captain Henry made his way down the docks, disappearing without a trace. His back was followed by Y/N’s incredulous gaze.

“You fucking bastard,” Y/N shouted after him, her spiteful words only a show of affection to them both. With a shake of her head and a smirk on her lips growing when she heard the captain’s faraway laughter, the pirate got back to work. With an easy step, she leapt atop the railing, gazing at the crew working by her side.

“We’re making good time, lads! If you keep this up you’re probably going to be one of the first crews of the night to get to the pubs!” Y/N encouraged them. The merry men laughed and cheered whilst their work pace increased tenfold at the praise and promises of entertainment. Even the stand-in captain dared to laugh herself, unaware of how many eyes watched her joy from far out at sea.

It started with Ragetti looking through the captain’s spyglass, minding his own business as they had yet to start preparing to get docked. When turning his eye to the port city, he could tear his wandering gaze when it laid eyes on an extremely familiar figure. Too far away to make out entirely, yet the pirate was certain of who he saw. None he had ever encountered before looked and stood like their old acquaintance.

“Oh, would you look at that!” the pirate laughed, Pintel looking over at him with a raised brow. The spyglass fell from his eye, Ragetti free hand pointing to one of the largest ships docked in the nearing port.

“Y/N is aboard Henry the Savage’s boat!” the words he spoke carried over the deck, the silence that followed deafening, the group trying to comprehend what had just been said. A moment later and the crew rushed like a stampede for the two pirates who shrieked in fright at the threatening approach. The spyglass was taken from Ragetti’s hand and passed to them all to get a look for themselves.

“I can’t see ‘er!”

“Is it really Y/N the Courageous you saw?”

“Courageous? No! Her title is the Unbeatable!

“No, she’s Y/N the Ace of the Sea! The greatest pirate yet!”

The commotion on deck drew Will and Jack from the captain’s cabin, the crew’s loud and incoherent discussions about titles and names soon finding their ears. The former blacksmith was with the crew temporarily, as he had a job to be done with them before they ventured to Port Royal. Both captain and his companion froze in their steps when a well-known name echoed across the crew over and over. A shocked gaze was shared, but the two strode forth together for they could not believe in illusions just because a name was mentioned a few times.

“Right. What’s all this then?” came from the captain’s chest, the crew jumping at the sound of his voice. Jack Sparrow regarded them all with his hands propped on his hips, the loyal blacksmith at his side. Gibbs was the first to speak and took matters into hand, roughly pulling the spyglass from the nearest pirate’s. “It’s Y/N, Jack,” his words piqued further interest in the two newcomers, the two striding through the parting crew to the first mate.

“Y/N?” Will asked, unable to hide the hope that bubbled up in his voice at the mention of her name. The blue eyes grew clearer, not the wistful one’s the crew had come to be familiar with. Jack snatched the spyglass from Gibbs’ offered hand and turned to face the port. With his gaze, he followed the finger pointing at the supposedly familiar pirate. Jack froze upon seeing who they meant, eye narrowing when he stared her down. “No, it can’t be her,” the captain muttered, more to himself than anybody else.

“Far too curvy and longer hair. She didn’t look so cheerful to everyone all the time,” the jealousy and denial dripped from the captain’s tongue, the disbelief he held in his heart fading with each second.

“Can’t be her. No way, you’re all dreaming,” Jack continued before yelping as Will tore the spyglass from his hands, the force of it almost making the captain fall overboard. The blacksmith’s own gaze sought the port for the one they spoke of, his heart beating so quickly it drowned out all sound.

He too came to stand still once he found her form. She stood proud and tall upon Henry the Savage’s railing, her hand thrown out as she barked orders to the crewmates. And there on her lips was a grin, a grin that only the closest of her friends had seen before. Now as she shared it with the rest of the world, the former blacksmith’s blood boiled with jealousy.

“It’s her. There’s no way it’s not her,” Will snarled in reply to Jack’s incessant mumbling, handing the spyglass to Cotton. Will turned to the Black Pearl’s crew, and just like the woman on the other ship, began to bark orders. Where hers had been kind and joyous, he’s were angry and determined orders, none on the ship daring to stand in his way. The desperation in his anger was evident, and the fact that their own Captain Jack did nothing but mumble was a telltale sign that this was a serious matter. Otherwise, Will would have had a sword at his neck for even attempting to command the crew. Their efforts to hurry were doubled, when Jack regained his mind only to shout orders alongside his friend.

Oh, how oblivious the woman they had sought for was, for she heard none of the shouting on the nearing ship. For her well-beloved face was already being shown in one of her favourite taverns.

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thedeliverygod · 2 years

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Happy 20th anniversary, Kingdom Hearts

I’ve spent many of these anniversaries talking about how much Kingdom Hearts means to me. It’s been the basis of many friendships, both local and across the world. It’s been the inspiration for me to do many things I would normally find myself too shy or anxious to do, such as cosplaying, participating in the Disney College Program, and traveling on my own both by plane and by car to see both iterations of the Orchestra World Tour.

I’ve mentioned this all before, but what I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to talk about (at least on a public forum) is how much the main character of the series means to me. What Sora means to me.

I was 10 when the first game came out. Naturally, the involvement of Disney caught my eye. But I will say it was also because “Simple & Clean -Planit B Remix-” by Utada Hikaru was extremely catchy, and because Sora and Kairi vaguely reminded me of Sakura and Syaoran from Cardcaptor Sakura, which I was obsessed with at the time. While I didn’t get Kingdom Hearts until April of 2003 for my 11thbirthday, my best friend got it earlier for Christmas of 2002. We had fun playing around Destiny Islands, but honestly were terrible when it came to the boss battle against the Darkside Heartless. Eventually we defeated it and made our way to Traverse Town and a while after that, Deep Jungle. After I got the game on my own and got a handy dandy guidebook, things went a lot smoother from there.

As Sora and Kairi were 14 and Riku was 15 in the first game, I immediately looked up to them as a younger kid. And of course, their dream to build a raft to sail off to other worlds and have an adventure all their own sounded amazing at the time. Sora was especially relatable right off the bat. He was very upbeat, a little lazy, but also very eager to prove himself. The game also did a great job of reminding us that he was just a young boy given an enormous responsibility. He was often shown being homesick, bickering with Donald, and just seeming lost. But despite all this, it was clear he had a clear sense of justice and stuck up for anyone who needed it (stranger or not).

I was devastated when he lost the Keyblade to Riku, as I’m sure most people were. He had worked so hard and had ‘proven’ himself and yet, it wasn’t enough. Worse yet, his best friend was working against him and his new friends, following orders from the King, left his side to “follow the key”. Still, he kept pushing forward.

As the series has gone on through the years, Sora has faced many overwhelming situations like this. And through all odds, he manages to keep going. Despite being a pretty emotional person, the first time I cried during the Kingdom Hearts series was Sora’s speech during Kingdom Hearts 3D: Dream Drop Distance. “I know the Keyblade didn’t choose me, and I don’t care. I’m proud to be a small part of something bigger—the people it did choose. My friends. They are my power!” Even with all of his hardships, he continues to remain such a selfless person and I can’t explain how much that inspires me.

And of course, the second time I cried (more accurately, I sobbed) was at the end of Kingdom Hearts III. RE: Mind hadn’t come out yet to explain the full story of what exactly Sora went through to save Kairi, all I knew was that he clearly had sacrificed himself in some way and now he was… gone. The secret movie helped a little, but I was devastated. Once again, he had been through so much within the game and I thought he was finally going to be happy when I saw him together with Kairi on the paopu tree, preceded by so many cute beach party scenes from the rest of the cast. But just like that, he vanished literally into thin air, with a crying Kairi left behind.

RE: Mind definitely helped put the pieces together a little more and Melody of Memory showed us that Sora is never really -gone- as the quotes from way back in the first game between Sora and Kairi imply, “Even if we’re apart, we’re not alone anymore, right?” and “Don’t ever forget. Where ever you go, I’m always with you.”.

All this to say, Sora has been in my life for 20 years now and I’m so grateful. He has always encouraged me to be a better person. He’s encouraged me to look on the bright side, even when things seem to be at their darkest. He’s encouraged me to always be the best friend I can be. He’s encouraged me to be myself. He’s encouraged me to keep smiling (after all, this ship runs on happy faces).

After loving Kingdom Hearts so long, cosplaying him numerous times and in various forms, and taking on his name as an internet alias, I pretty much answer to Sora as easily as my own name. No matter how or when this adventure with Kingdom Hearts ends, this series and Sora will always mean everything to me. I want to leave this with the one of the best compliments I’ve ever received, which happened to be when I was cosplaying, “You smile just like Sora”. It meant more to me than that person will ever know.

#Kingdom Hearts #long post #Sora #kh 20th anniversary

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winters-sketches · 2 years

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heyheyhey. consider Ship in a Bottle - fin as a kel and hero song. trust me. TRUST me.

HEY ANON THIS IS A BANGER OMG???? WOAHHHh oh oh oh my god you have the biggest braine hold on hold on

Y'ALL CAN'T TELL ME THERE ISN'T JUST A RIDICULOUSLY CLEAR VISION FOR AN ANIMATIC HERE OH MY GOd

EDIT: WAIT WAIT WAIT I HIT POST TOO EARLY HOLD ON I CANT DELETE IT WITHOUT LOSING THE ASK

EDIT 2: OKAY I GOT IT

[Verse 1] You can fit everything you know In a bottle for you to show Pick your brain apart and put it in (pick your brain apart) And build it again with needles and pins Everything you have earned is a ship With blue waves crashing into it But nothing can touch your happy thoughts anymore (nothing can touch your happy thoughts anymore) With your glass ceiling, walls, and floor

it starts out with Hero drowning in his grief, alone on his own sinking ship, boxed in from the rest of the world. Mari is gone, and every happy memory he had with her is a stained image, torn apart by the fact that they will never happen again. So he closes himself off, rejecting the world that took her from him.

[Pre-Chorus] Sailing on a ship in a bottle Anchor all your thoughts to the bottom Pulling ropes and pulling your head back To see what is breaking the foremast You set sail alone, there is no crew No one on the deck who can help you This is all your own battle to win This is your ship, and you are the captain

He's utterly alone, his mind so far removed from anyone who could help him. He lays in bed, thoughts dull through the endless storm of grief and sorrow. It's all he can see, save for the few moments where someone tries to break through the clouds, tries to reach out to him.

[Chorus] Oh, captain, let's make a deal Where we both say the things that we both really feel I feel scared and I'm starting to sink And I only sink deeper the deeper I think

Kel is there, reaching out for his brother. He's afraid, afraid of losing his brother, afraid of the new lonely reality he's in. Everyone is gone, and he's in his own pain as Mari's death aches at him. He doesn't know how to handle this, how to move forwards without Hero. Not that Hero's quite so inclined to listen...

[Post-Chorus][Verse 2] There are red spots under your eyes From when you cry into the sky Ocean waters rising above your neck (ocean waters) You feel the glass start to crack [Pre-Chorus] Sailing on a ship in a bottle Water's leaking through holes in the bottom Flying flags of ships that have long since Sat at the floor of the sea, but in defense You set sail alone, there is no crew No one on the deck who can help you This is all your own battle to win This is your ship and you are the captain

Kel's own sorrow affects him too, a grief he does not know how to handle, how to address. He cries into the sky, facing upwards to keep the tears from falling. He doesn't want to express his pain, bottling it all up, but of course, that doesn't work, and it's beginning to slip through the cracks. He is also a victim of a sinking ship, and there's no one around to help. Not his friends, and not his family.

[Chorus 2] Oh, captain, let's make a deal Where we both say the things that we both really feel I feel scared and I'm starting to sink And I only sink deeper the deeper I think Oh, captain, make up your mind Before the salt burns your eyes and you run out of time 'cause you're popping the cork, you get lost in your brain And you lose touch with all the things that made you feel sane

But Kel's attempt to reach out twists something in Hero, only riles up the hurricane of hurt within his brother. We know what happens here. It leaves both of them with the salt of tears burning their eyes, twisted and hurt and torn apart from each other. They were brothers. They were always together, finding comfort in each other's light. But Mari's death tore them apart, both of them losing sight of each other as they drift away.

#WHO WAS GONNA TELL ME THAT CTRL + ENTER AUTOMATICALLY POSTS ON DESKTOP #TUMBLR WHY #anyways GOOD SONG ANON I LOVE YOU #omori #omori kel #omori hero #omori lyrics #kel angst #hero angst

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all-things-fic · 3 years

Text

Rekindled

A/N: Firstly, I want to say a massive thank you to everyone who nominated me as November Author of the Month. I wasn’t expecting that at all and it was a lovely surprise! Secondly, here is Rekindled. Hope you all enjoy it!

This was originally meant to be for @majorharry‘s 20k challenge, but I failed on that front. It’s a long one so grab yourself a brew / beverage of choice and get comfy!

I’m about to disappear again as I usually do and start working on my Christmas fic, as well as those Quarantine Harry updates.

Tonight had started out like any other Saturday evening.

You had been out with friends. Cosy little pub off a cobbled backstreet, in a secluded corner. Very British. Very cramped. All old wood and leather bound seats. The slight smell of stale beer in the air and plenty of chatter that sometimes had you shouting to ensure the friend sitting two people away from you was able to hear.

This was a pub that you frequented for quite a while now. A pub that made it so some in your friendship group could grab a proper ale, while others opted for more of a fruity alcoholic beverage. A real all rounder. Did a nice roast on Sunday - eat in or takeout, choice was yours - for a reasonable price by London’s standards.

The minute he had walked in, you had noticed him. You could recognise his hunched shoulders anywhere. Forever silently willing him to stand up straight and embrace the way his height made him tower over some of his friends. Rather than have him try and make himself smaller. Part of you believed it was to buy him time so he wouldn’t get noticed whenever he knew he was going to be in particular place for longer than an hour.

He had been joined by a male friend. Someone you also knew quite well. Someone who you had seen quite recently actually. An art showing over at Cob Gallery being the reason for your meeting which hadn’t happened too long ago. You remembered the invite being shoved through your letterbox, a far cry from when he used to shunt you a quick text and write your name at the bottom of the guest list using Sam’s kohl eyeliner on the evening of the event itself.

You’d taken the piss out of him that afternoon, a quick phone call telling him that he was “no longer the Tomo Campbell I know”.

That had been two weeks ago. So, you knew it would be rude of either you, or him, to not acknowledge the other. And you knew he would be the one to cave in.

And you were right.

Tomo’s friendly brown eyes had glanced at you one too many times, over Harry’s shoulder for him to not give you - or anyone else who may have made the meeting slightly awkward - away.

The continuous trailing of his gaze had in fact caused Harry to chuckle awkwardly, joking at how he wouldn’t let Sam know of his wandering eye as they shared a night on the town. The joke fell short though, as did his chuckle, when at the last glance over Harry twisted his body around to see what all the fuss was about as he leaned against the bar and let his eyes fall onto yours.

You broke his gaze, reaching forward for your balloon glass full of gin and pressed your face as far into it as possible. A feeling filled you that made you hope the hot flush you felt underneath your skin hadn’t started to give away your unnecessary panic.

See things with you and Harry hadn’t ended badly. In fact, it was more like a fizzle. A bit like the sweet that pops against your tongue. Sometimes you enjoyed it and other times it was unfulfilling, some would say annoying. The latter explained the ending.

No big fights. No fat, hot tears rolling down cheeks. No loss of voices from slanging matches and screaming until the early hours. It just... Ended.

That fizzle was what made it amicable. You both breaking it off to go and do your own thing. Neither openly keeping up to date with the other, but still absolutely aware of what was going on. In your case that was a lot easier, in his not so much. However, Harry somehow managed to master the art of leading questions without seeming too much of a beg with mutual friends.

As he looked on at you taking the longest sip from your drink, he had smiled awkwardly before he allowed his eyes to roam the scene of your group of friends and tried to analyse what met his gaze. A group of eight, men heavily outweighing the women with their five to your genders three.

He would definitely class himself a liar if he was asked about where his mind had gone, and he said that it hadn’t gone to queries around relationship statuses and potential partnerships with any of the men around the table.

He eyed them, all five of them. Definitely wasn’t the guy three people away, neither was it the guy sat diagonally opposite you. They were blonde, definitely not your type. Well, blondes hadn’t been your type the last time he had been between your legs.

His eyes had been zoned in on the guy that had his back facing him, he wasn’t sitting directly opposite you. Instead he was seated in the opposite seat, but one. Better positioning for someone who wanted to obtain a cheeky glance and still be inconspicuous to the group around him.

“I’m gonna have to go and say hello,” Tomo pulled Harry out of his trance, his eyes lifting up from the beer mat that he had been tapping agitatedly against the bar top once he’d turned away from the scene.

“‘S fine wi’me, mate,” Harry softly smiled, reaching for his drink and taking a large sip.

“Come an’ get it over with, H.”

Harry had quietly eyed Tomo after his open ended suggestion of joining him. His eyes slightly sceptical at the proposal but somehow his legs took over his decision making as he trudged behind his artist friend and got introduced to those faces he didn’t know and acknowledged the ones that he did.

Pulling up a pew at the table had been a lot easier for Harry than he had expected. Dragging the wooden stool to sit himself in between you and the guy to his right, who he now knew to be Conor and the person he really wanted to know the name of was Joe. Joe was a wanker- well, banker. Same difference, right?

Conversation wasn’t always smooth sailing. The larger group helped however. Also helped him get his moments with you and you with him. Moments that neither of you had known you needed before being sat with his knee brushing yours, due to how cramped your table had suddenly become.

And it was sweltering now. The bare knee of your ripped jeans, knocking against Harry’s bare knee from his ripped jeans as he edged himself closer to the table wanting to catch what the topic of conversation was down at the easily the “laddier” end of the table.

Harry had fit right in. Of course his demeanour changed with certain people. Those he had already been in the presence of those years previous were immediately hit with morbid delivery and sarcastic humour, while others were met with his sometimes hard to crack shell.

And like always as the night had gone on the crowd had tapered off. Some had decided to go onto a club, an offering your declined not wanting to spend the night with people rubbing up against you and feeling like one of the oldest people in the room.

Some of your friends had gone back to their other commitments, like Tomo who made it quite clear he didn’t want to miss his “curfew” that Sam had given him considering he was the one on swimming lesson duty in the morning.

That ended up leaving you and Harry. Surprisingly a pairing that you hadn’t expected to happen that evening and even more surprising, one that you weren’t particularly dreading.

You knew it had something to do with the gin, and definitely had something to do with the tequila.

Part of you was thankful for the less than responsible drinking habits you had taken that evening. It allowed you to remain calm as your ex-boyfriend sat across from you looking like time was on his side and aging was being kind to him.

It was definitely being kinder to him than it was to you, anyway.

Bastard.

Conversation had been a mixture of light and heavy. Harry showing you a series of different pictures he had taken on his travels as he jetset around the world with his album and his modelling contract (that he adamantly assured you wasn’t a modelling contract), and basically just his very healthy bank balance.

The heavy had been you bitching about the contract project you had been working on and asking him if he would be willing to potentially commit a serious crime with you against one of your colleagues. He’d quipped he probably wasn’t suitable but he was sure he knew a guy.

At one point, his eyes had dropped down to your pedicured toes in your black strappy heels. When he managed to drag his eyes away for your feet, and rested his chin on the inside heel of his palm, you knew he wanted to say something.

“‘M pretty sure we have matching pedis,” he groused, voice so low that if you hadn’t been watching his mouth you wouldn’t have caught a word of what he had just said.

Eyes flicking up to his green gaze, you saw the light shimmering through them. Clearly he was amused by your expression of shock and potential bemusement from his statement.

“Sod off,” you chided, pushing gently at his arm. “You’re joking.”

“‘M not darl-“ he cut himself off with a clear of his throat. “‘M not, an’ if yer lucky later I might take m’socks off to prove it an’all.”

“Not sure if I like the insinuation of there being a later.” You paused for a small amount of time, before adding, “Nor the confidence in how you said it.”

“God loves a trier and so did you, once.”

He eyed you from the corner of his vision, mouth wrapped around the lip of his glass as he knocked back what was left of the alcoholic contents inside.

You were sure he hadn’t meant to let that one slip but there was no way he was going to let his expression give him away and silently confirm with you that thought.

How had the two of you picked up as if you hadn’t missed a beat?

“You never did mind me keeping them on though, did yer?”

That was enough to break his gaze. To cause a silence you didn’t know how to fill. To suddenly make you feel incredibly parched as if you hadn’t been necking gin after gin, all evening.

“How yer getting ‘ome?”

His question cut through it all. His voice of concern, matching his watchful gaze as he looked up at you from the empty glass he had begun twirling on the mahogany wood.

“Was just gonna Uber it back.”

“‘M a fifteen minute walk from ‘ere, d’ya know tha’?”

“I do know that,” you acknowledged, eyes looking over at him and seeing the way his hair had begun to curl close to his temples from the way he perspired in the heat of the pub.

“‘Course you do. Done that walk a fair few times ain’t we?”

You hummed. The feeling of your lips lifting into a soft smile at the memories of the two of you walking hand in hand through the dark London streets. Harry with his head down, trying to look inconspicuous. Also, so he could watch his feet and try his best not to trip up over them.

The times he’d done that thing you loved. Where he would forgo holding your hand and instead walk slightly behind you with his arm wrapped around your shoulder and across the top of your chest. His lips heavy against your hair as he hid his face and chuckled breathily against the shell of your ear when he hadn’t been watching his feet and indeed, tripped. It was always inevitable.

“So wha’s another nigh’?”

And really what was another night? Other than potentially a messy morning.

Not before long you were wrapping the chain handle of your bag across your body and tottering out of the booth you had occupied all night.

Silently you had battled with yourself as to whether you should use the bathroom, but didn’t think you needed it considering how you hadn’t had the rush of pressure usually felt when you were really desperate to relieve yourself.

Shame the feeling didn’t last as you felt a huge gust of cold wind, thanks to London autumn air, washing over you.

With your arms folded around your body as you walked, you tried your best to shield yourself as the lights of passing cars hurt your tired eyes. Harry had been talking to you about all sorts of rubbish, filling in the gaps of dead air that weren’t taken up by the noise around your both.

“My shoes are going to be fucking ruined,” you grumbled, hearing the sound of muddy stones clacking and crunching underneath your heels.

Harry chuckled at your obvious disdain, keeping himself close to you in the dimly lit area. The stride to his walk was confident, a little more power behind it than unsteady. He had consumed drinks, but not enough that he didn’t realise how close both he and you were to his home.

As you walked, your eyes surveyed the area. A group of people were getting closer, a few hoods lifted making it hard for you to figure out their make up.

Before you could give yourself time to think, you unravelled your folded arms and reached down for Harry’s hand.

“Think we could cross here,” you spoke, a chatter to your voice both from the cold and this unusual anxious feeling. Your eyes darted over the road, left and right before you turned as the group approached you.

A boisterous boom of laughter left one of the groups mouth, causing you to sharply look back down the street. The grip of Harry’s hand against yours changed, his fingers taking your traditional hand hold to one of interlocking digits.

He felt moved by the way you appeared to still hold the desire to be protective over him.

“‘M alrigh’,” he pulled you to him, using his hand and causing you to turn your front and press into his side. “Jus’ let ‘em pass us.”

You silently nodded.

“‘S just a couple’a lads walking ‘ome after a night out,” he mumbled. “‘S all it is. You’re alright.”

This feeling felt foreign as you felt a tightness in your chest while you stood still with him in the middle of the street. You hadn’t expected to feel any sort of hesitation but you, like everyone else, had heard about the incident which had taken place with him. Virtually on the doorstep of his own home too.

Harry offering you comfort and reassurance just as quick as you were to do so for him, had you finding a weird source of strength and confidence. He welcomed the pressing of your forehead to his cheek, knowing if he tilted his head slightly his lips could brush so tenderly against your forehead, your temple. He would most likely get a smell of your shampoo, wondering if you still used the same as before.

The grip of his hand loosened against yours, his clammy palm, which felt soothingly warm, ran up against the long sleeve of your top. It curled around your neck, holding you securely to him, before he wrapped his arm around you.

Then he dropped his lips, them pressing to your temple and then lower to your cheekbone. He lingered, his breathing slightly quivered as the noise from the group got louder.

You lifted your head slightly, Harry rearing up just in time to ensure you didn’t headbutt him. His chin was soft as he looked down at you; it took the edge off. His eyes were manic as they moved, there was no mistaking it but everything else about him came off so calm.

He blew out his shaky sigh, causing you to dart your eyes over his and gently push up onto your tiptoes in your heels to softly kiss his lips. You knew he wasn’t expecting it, you didn’t even know what you were doing before you did it. Yet, you relaxed the minute he drew you even closer using the arm he had curled around your upper back to hold you close.

A wolf whistle caused you to smile against his lips, as he did the same. His gentle breathy laugh bouncing against your lips as he chanced it and pressed pecks against your lips in quick succession.

“Evening lads,” Harry nodded his head once he came up for air, making sure he got a good look of two of them and making sure they knew that he had. They cheered in praise at the two of you and your public display, threw out a couple of slightly lewd and alcohol fused comments at the scene. One even going as far as to take the red and white striped scarf from around his neck and whip it furiously above his head. “Someone’s ‘appy. The Arsenal must’ve ‘ad a win.”

You nodded as you eyed them, completely embarrassed by the way you had misread a group of loud football fans for violent thugs. You weren’t necessarily far wrong, but still.

Chattering teeth caused Harry to pull you close to him. “Let's get you in before you catch your death.”

***

Shoes had been left at the door.

The aching balls of your feet grateful for the cool wooden flooring and curling into the luxurious fabric of the rugs currently beneath them.

You’d watched as Harry toed off his obscenely dirty Vans, and walked ahead of you towards the back of the house. The place where his envious lounge and open plan kitchen could be found.

Harry’s home had this way of being welcoming, no matter how long it had been since you had last graced its presence. You assumed he’d made it this way for a reason, especially when that reason was his way of life. Leaving for long periods of time to then return again, to pick right up where he had left off.

And in many ways, that was how you felt about the current situation.

Handbag now discarded at your feet, you sat with your side resting against the back of Harry’s teal velvet couch. Surrounded by expensive scatter cushion after expensive scatter cushion, a collection he had amassed during your time apart.

He was playing the playlist. Not just any playlist, the playlist. The one he would always turn on, volume low, so it was more of a hum than anything else after you’d gotten back from a night on the tiles and fancied a night cap.

You didn’t need to zone in on the sounds. It so happened that you had heard the playlist so many times before that you didn’t need to have it blasting through the speakers to know the track list. It was burned into your brain and would be for a very long time.

The worst thing of all was that he knew. He just knew.

His lips had taken on this quirk. Slightly upturned more so on one side of his face than another as he stood at the kitchen island, feeling your eyes watch him as he put together his perfected cheese on toast supper.

It was an offer you couldn’t refuse. A large glass of Cabernet Sauvignon held loosely in your hand as you whispered along to the song playing in the background, mouth watering at the thought of the carby goodness Harry was preparing for you both under the grill of his oven.

The smell that filled your senses was delightful and exactly what you needed to soak up the alcohol you had previously consumed, never mind the alcohol you were about to.

“Do you want any brown sauce on yours, or ketchup?” You heard him talk louder as the tray he’d been cooking on clattered against his oven hob.

You stayed silent as you watched him, tea towel over his shoulder as he plated up your toast while his mouth barely sang along to the playlist. Gently lifting the bread off the grill before letting it drop quickly from his grip to the plate because of how hot it was.

He looked up at you from under his brow, hair fallen into a middle part around his face. His eyes enjoyed the way your legs had curled up beneath you as you rested your right cheek onto your hand and fondly watched him.

You seemed relaxed to him, albeit amused.

“Don’t even think about laughing at me when ‘m cooking for you.”

You smiled - cheese on toast was hardly cooking - pulling your glass of wine to your lips and taking a sip. “Don’t know why you don’t just get a knife and fork, you numpty.”

“Saves on the washing up doing it this way,” he winced as he dropped another slice to the second plate.

“And makes you lose your fingerprints in the process.

Harry shook his head as he pressed his thumb to his lips and licked the sore burn, before he gently blew against it. “Never did answer my question,” he reminded, wiping his hands on the towel thrown over his shoulder.

“Ketchup’s fine. Ta.”

Watching him reach across for the bottle of Heinz, you saw him squirt the sauce onto your plate and then saw him do the same to his own.

Seemingly happy with his work, he whipped the towel off his shoulder and to the side, before scooping up the two plates and striding over to you with ease.

“Voila,” he spoke, offering you the answer to your predicted hangover prayers, in cheese on toast form.

Reaching forward, you gently took the plate off his hands with both of yours and let your eyes drop down to the melted goodness. Keeping your eyes down you took in the decoration that Harry had added. He’d taken to drawing a smiley face onto the top of the cheese using the ketchup.

“You’re such a silly sod sometimes,” you spoke, lifting your eyes as you watched him drop down onto the couch next to you and get himself comfortable.

Legs up on the coffee table in front of him, almost horizontal with his plate gently resting atop his rounded stomach. Head tipped back and vision lazy, his lips tilted up into a crooked smile as he looked over at you.

“‘S it okay?”

“Looks it,” you replied, lifting up the toast and taking the biggest bite you could muster. Your nose came into contact with some sauce from your hunger-driven vigour. “Proof is in the tasting though, I s’pose,” you continued, mouth full and covered by your hand to avoid him seeing the chewed up contents.

You hummed as you closed your eyes, enjoying the taste of the simplistic home cooked food and melted goodness. So simple in taste, but so effective.

From where Harry lounged, he softly watched you. All relaxed, closed eyes, with a drop of tomato ketchup decorating the end of your nose.

Before you had the chance, and he couldn’t fight himself, Harry reached up to gently swipe at the sauce and remove it from your skin.

You opened your eyes, blinking over at him as he pressed his thumb between his lips and licked away the sauce he had retrieved. His eyes were mischievous as they glanced at you before he took a bite out of his own food and savoured the taste.

The groan that left his throat as he chewed was a sound familiar to you in other capacities, causing you to squeeze your legs together and forcefully take another bite of your own toast.

“Tell you what? If there’s one thing I do, ‘s make a bloody good cheese on toast.”

You smirked, amused by his boasting. “Nothing like a slice of conceited-ness as a platter cleanser, for afters.”

“Summat much more appealing for afters, don’t worry about tha’, darling. Got you sorted.”

***

Bellies full and content, you slipped further down onto Harry’s couch. The two of you finding yourself closer together ask you basked in the warmth of Harry’s home.

“You weren’t lying when you said your nails matched mine,” your voice was sleepy as you spoke, right foot hitting Harry’s left slightly as you brought up your earlier conversation at the pub.

He chuckled into your hair, watching you lift your foot and gently place it atop of his. He made a space for it, moving his right leg so that there was an even bigger gap between his feet to slot yours between.

“I think mine's a bit lighter to be honest,” you continued, eyes scrutinising his painted nails as much as they could from down the length of your body and his.

“That’s some bullshit,” Harry groused, rubbing his feet gently against yours to warm them, his voice causing his chest to vibrate against your head as it rested there “I even had it on m’ hands but I’ve been picking at it. Look.”

Harry obnoxiously held his hand in front of your vision, wiggling his fingers causing you to reach for his fingers and hold his hand still. Sure enough, he was true to his word, presenting you with chipped nail polish that was nothing more than the odd tiny dot against his clean nails.

You smirked when he pushed them slightly closer to your face than intended, “Alright, think you’ve proven your point.”

Hand knocked back he brought it forward again, “‘M not so sure, try again.”

The only response you could muster up was a giggle fit for a schoolgirl, Harry’s response to pull you even closer as he softly smiled.

A silence overtook you both, as you closed your eyes and let yourself become more intune with the music playing around you.

Your face was pressed into the side of his neck able to inhale his worn in aftershave and the soft startings of stubble down the side of his throat.

The silence was heavy and you knew exactly why. Listening to the base of the song across his speakers mixing with your staggered breathing and rising pulse.

You knew you shouldn’t but you couldn’t help yourself. It wasn’t like it needed attention drawn to it. Yet, the words were tumbling off your lips regardless.

“This song always makes me…you know.”

The words were mumbled but of course he caught them because he did know. But it was whether he wanted to go there.

The thought of talking about sex and the sex you had together in a coherent state wasn’t ideal. He wouldn’t have anything to blame his honesty on, if he wasn’t more inebriated than he currently found himself.

“Think we need some more wine for tha’,” he mumbled, lips pressed to your forehead as you hummed in agreement and felt him begin to shift to raise himself from the couch to retrieve a bottle.

***

More wine wasn’t a good idea and you knew it. From the way your tongue was much looser and your lips a lot more numb now.

The two of you had begun to dance on a weird ledge after he’d refilled your glass. The kind where you were openly flirting and backbiting against the other to try and see who could inflict the moment that had the two of you wincing.

“Who caught your eye while I was out of the picture?”

“Who didn’t catch yours?”

Harry was sitting on the couch, side pressed into the back of the couch. Leaning with his elbow and allowing his face to rest in the palm of his hand as he looked at you.

“Alright,” he stressed with a raise to his eyebrows and a quirk to his lips.

You were a bit flustered due to the way your back bite to him revealed how you were actually caught up in his business of seeing other people when you tried to act like you didn’t care.

Clearing his throat Harry adopted a soft tone to break you out of your fluster.

“There was one girl. Took her to dinner two times.”

You held his eyes with yours, watching the way he slowly smirked, “But you already know that don’t ya?”

Before you could stop yourself, you threw the throw cushion sitting to the right of you, at him.

“Watch the wine,” he said around a laugh, as he raised his wine glass into the air and pushed the cushion to the floor before it had a chance of creating him a cleaning catastrophe in the early hours.

“Hate you,” you mumbled, turning to your right to look at him from where you had reached forward to put your wine glass down to the table. Before you sat back you ran your index finger against the rim of your wine glass and tapped your nail gently against the base.

“‘s tha’ why you’re sat eating cheese on toast and drinking wine on my sofa at almost 2am,” he spoke against the rim of his glass, knocking back what was remaining inside.

“I’ve been coerced to be here,” you replied, watching him reach forward, raising his eyebrows at your false suggestion. When he sat back against the couch he was biting back his smile, his eyes shining and crinkles deeply set in the corners.

“Know where the door is,” he goaded, raising his eyebrows again, arm raising to point in the direction of his hallway. He waited for your response and in that time leaned forward towards the coffee table once more, grabbing the wine bottle and topping you up before moving onto refilling his own.

Your eyes dropped down to the rich red liquid as it sloshed against the clear glass. While his words were telling you to leave, his actions were doing the complete opposite.

Filling the silence he asked, “So, how many dinners am I competing with?”

“Three” you mumbled as you lifted your drink and took a sip for courage.

Harry’s head titled as he surveyed you, “Bloody hell you didn’t hang around!”

“I have no more cushions left,” you spoke to his cheeky comment with a light hearted threat of throwing something at him for his brazen clap back. “Only my wine.”

He smiled at your warning to throw it all over him before he drawled, “And we wouldn’t wanna waste tha’”

You hummed in agreement, freely taking yet another sip. Finally, something you agreed on.

Harry kept his eyes on you, waiting. The two of you almost seeing who would cave in first to try and dig for more information on the relations of the other while you were apart. What he really wanted to know was how many men he was competing against. Was it one man three times, or three separate men?

With all the questions buzzing around his head, he knew it would be him who would give in.

He was correct.

“Gonna let me ‘ave a look then? Pull ‘em up on your phone. ‘S only fair. Mine was taken out of my hands.”

His ambiguous comment alluded to the paparazzi pictures of him that had been splashed all over the tabloid online outlets, as well as every other social media platform known to man.

You didn’t hesitate, the alcohol in your bloodstream almost encouraged you as you reached for your bag at your feet and took out your phone. Said liquid confidence even helped in your handing over of the phone. “Pass codes the same,” you said, as Harry stared at you before he dropped his eyes down to the screen and tried the first code that came to his mind, your birthday.

The screen shook at him, causing a sheepish smile to pull up onto his lips as he thought about his second guess. He punched in the code of your mother’s birthday and unlocked the phone within a short five seconds.

You did notice the stall to his movements, clearly realising how part of this was wrong. It wasn’t his, or your, business to know everything in such detail.

Sensing his hesitancy also, you told him where to find a photograph if he was so desperate for a nose; on your private Instagram page. He took that as a small victory cause he knew you still had pictures of him on your profile that hadn’t been taken down.

You gave him names, knowing that it was an invasion of privacy for the men in question but equally not caring. His thumb was fast as it typed and spelt out the name into the search bar. Harry also not caring at how desperate he was to see his competition.

“Hold this for me,” he said, passing over his wine glass so that he could cup your phone in both his hands, his undivided attention firmly on his foe. You looked on as you saw him zoom in on the picture of guy number two, who had the chance of a third date.

He was silent as he looked and swiped and read comments. He didn’t know if this was the type of man he was expecting. Had he even been expecting anyone at all?

Running his eyes over the pictures he was greeted with what he could only describe to be your average City man. All overcoats and expensive suits.

Looks wise, he understood. Perfect five o’clock shadow. Seemed tall enough in photos. Obviously liked a gym session or two. However there was one thing about him that just looked so out of place-

Breaking the silence, he said, “Can’t even do a tie properly can he?”

“Neither can you,” you shot back.

“Don’t have to when you have someone willing to help.”

He looked at you from under his brow to see if you were going to correct him. When he realised you weren’t, he continued, “Never been tempted to fix his,” he asked, swiping across to look at another picture.

“He hasn’t worn a tie on a date yet,” you responded.

Harry zoned in on the use of the word yet.

“What’s he drive?” He asked randomly, continuing the swipe through the pictures with his right thumb.

“Range Rover Sport.”

“Probably on finance,” he spoke his comeback quickly, expressing his true feelings. It wasn’t going to be on finance but no one could blame him on wanting to throw a cheap shot in some way. “Doesn’t really seem the type to be blessed with the big dick energy. Overcompensating somehow.”

You found yourself biting down against your lips, trying to stifle a laugh. His pettiness has reared itself in less than ten minutes and you could see the way it wove through his features, with a quirk to his eyebrows and a scrunch of his nose. He was dismissive and you supposed he had every reason to be, you were after all sat on his couch.

“Why do you really think I’m giving you another try,” you smirked, nails tapping at your glass again.

He held your gaze, “You planning on testing me out, seeing if it still works?”

“Might do,” you took another sip of your drink. “Depends if I have the energy.”

“Why do you think I gave you summat to eat?”

You breathed out a laugh as your mouth fell, right hand reaching up to slap him across the top of his arm. He seemed pleased with himself as he locked your phone and loosely held it out to you.

“‘S enough of looking at tha’,'' he hummed, licking gently at his lips. “How did you meet him?”

Again a breathy laugh left your lips as you stared at him, incredulously. Harry’s eyes easily held yours as he waited on your answer.

“You aren’t in the least bit interested,” you licked your lips, the taste coating them slightly bitter from the lingering wine residue. “Don’t know why you’re trying to make it seem as if you are.”

“Humour me, darling,” he mused, lips softly lifting. “Or humour him, whichever you prefer.”

And you know you shouldn’t be doing this, laughing at the expense of someone else in such a way. You saw the larger swallow from Harry too and you knew he was feeling the same.

However, here you were, giving eyes to a man that you didn’t think would get to see you in such a way again.

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Cause at least one of us would make it worth your while.”

You felt your breathing quicken as you held Harry’s eyes. He did nothing to deter you from holding his gaze.

“You have to stop being so nice,” he added. “If he isn't doing anything for you, that’s okay.”

Reaching forward you rid your hands of your phone, letting it slide against his coffee table. “And do you not think you slightly have an unfair advantage?”

“I think,” he paused, his eyes looking at you. “I think we had something good.”

“Had being the operative word-“

“And I think we could have something good again. In fact I know we could.”

You stalled at his words. The confidence behind them. It was admirable how he was shooting his shot. Especially given you knew how inside he was most likely quaking with nerves.

“Tell him no.”

His words made you chest feel tight, his hand reaching across the distance between the two of you on the sofa. His palm facing up, you slowly lifted your hands to sit in his.

No sooner had your skin come in contact, Harry clasped his hand around yours and softly stroked his thumb to the back of it. He dipped down, lips meeting your knuckles before he tugged at you so softly you almost felt you had imagined it.

He wanted you closer, the arms length distance now too much as he started to show himself to you. His pettiness and his affection, they strangely won you over. Stoked something within you that had you edging further towards him.

Hand unlatching from yours, he lifted his left arm and wrapped it loosely around the back of your neck. With little persuasion you dropped your forehead against his jaw again.

Harry’s swallow was audible as his fingertips softly stroked at your shoulder. His breath softly fanned against the skin of your temple, his lips turning to press the faintest kiss to your hairline.

“Tell him to piss off.”

You chuckled, breathily, head knocking itself back to look up at him. Eyes light with a sense of joyous infatuation at the moment you found yourself in.

Harry shifted, his right hand quickly discarding both your wine glasses before it placed itself against your hot cheek. The coolness of his slender fingers soothing and welcomed.

“Tell him no,” he breathed, as his lips hovered close to yours, as he tilted your face upwards to meet his.

With your eyes closed you felt a sense of guilt, for some unknown reason. It wasn’t like you were committed to anyone outside of the situation that you found yourself in, but you felt slightly wrong for what you were doing. Harry sensed it, able to read the downturn of your lips for what it was. He nudged his nose gently against yours, allowing his eyes to take their time in admiring your expressions and waited on the unnecessary internal conflict to ease.

“Want me to tell him?” He asked, leaving breathy and wet kisses down your cheek, and along your jawline as you tilted your head back. “‘S not a problem.”

Your mind was swimming as you found yourself sinking back into the couch beneath you. Harry’s voice melting you as he continued talking, “Really get him to take the hint that you’re not interested.”

He kept his face buried against the underside of your chin as it pointed up at the ceiling, hands tracing down your arms and cupping at your hands to press them into his hair as he sucked at your skin.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hummed, scratching at the back of his head, enjoying the feel of his soft locks beneath your touch.

Harry deeply groaned as you pulled at the strands, “What’s that?”

“Trying to have your way with me when I’m under the influence,” you joked, quirk to your lips. “Always was that little bit more placid that way.”

You felt the way his lips moved from underneath your chin, finding the corner of your mouth, before he pulled up to look at you. He eyed you, all heavy lidded and messy lips. “You’re not tha’ pissed are ya?”

“No.”

“Then I’m definitely more than jus’ trying.” He reached for your face, lifting your chin and angling it how he wanted. “‘M taking, ‘m begging,” he spoke confidently, unashamed.

His lips were dominant as they engulfed yours, a groan leaving your throat as your kiss was messy from the offset. His lips puckered and pulled, drawing you closer to him as he breathed through his nose and gave you his tongue.

Your chest was heaving as he skimmed his lips against your face, mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck once more as you bit down on your bottom lip and tried not to laugh.

“Charming of you to want your way with me on your couch.”

Harry chuckled against your neck, face lifting shortly to look at you. His pupils were blown out already, as his skin took on more of a rosy flush from the beginnings of his exertion. That or you’d embarrassed him.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked,” he mused. ”Where’d you want it?”

Legs curled gently around the backs of his thigh, still covered by the denim of his jeans, you pressed against them with the heel of your foot.

“Where’d you think?”

He knew exactly where. You were a simple creature. You liked simple things. Sex was always fun to have all over the house, but depending on the level of intimacy you craved, depended on where you were willing to open your legs.

Tonight was a weird one for you to decide upon. The fumble on the couch, while it was exciting and showed you Harry’s desperation to have you once more, it would be over before you knew it. Also it would most likely leave you with a horrible crick in your neck as your keepsake.

You didn’t want that. You wanted your keepsake to be the ache in your thighs from how he had taken you in different positions because while a bed was boring for some, it allowed you the option to roll around for as long as your bodies permitted. Bending in all different shapes and ways that sometimes neither of you would’ve been able to imagine.

He broke you from your thoughts once more, hand gently finding your bum and tapping against it. “Up yer get,” he spoke, starting to push himself up knowing you wanted to go upstairs.

With your legs curled around his, Harry couldn’t go too far. He chuckled with amusement as he dropped his eyes down to his legs and yours, before looking back up. He didn’t need to even ask as he looked at you, leaning forward he inhaled through his nose as he kissed sweetly at your lips and lifted you.

A smile pulled onto your face, causing difficulty to continue kissing. “Stop tha’,” he mouthed against the corner of your lips, as he hoisted your legs. “‘M trying to take charge here.”

“Why do that when you’re still so good at taking direction?” The lilt to your voice was one of glee, you had easily gotten your own way.

Tousling your hair and flicking it away, behind your shoulders, you rolled your lips into your mouth as you felt the slight bruising from his expressions of desire. He was watching you as you looked at him, doe-eyes sparkling with intrigue and adoration.

“Give us a kiss,” his deep voice ignited a warm fire within, as he still tried to assert himself while he walked the two of you away from his open plan lounge and closer to his kitchen.

You continued to eye him, enjoying the way he wasn’t going to back down. You just needed to stand your ground just as much.

As your bum hit the work surface, your hands traced over Harry’s cheeks, cupping his face before moving to grip at the counter. Head tilted slightly, he looked down the bridge of his nose at you through hooded, dark eyes.

He stepped in between your wide open legs and enjoyed the closeness that they brought when you brought them together to keep him to you. Heavy breathing filled the silent air as you both traced each other's features with touch and sight. Taste could wait, but it would get here soon enough.

He gulped as he swallowed.

“Please.”

At first it was gritty. His voice tight and throat dry. His lips forming the word confidently.

Again he swallowed. “Please, gimme a kiss. You kiss me, like before.”

The victorious hum that left his lips was one that you would let slide, as his hands ran down the length of your arms and reached up to wrap around your own. He placed them back onto his face, mouth breaking away as he left open mouthed kisses to your left palm, nose nudging at the end of your long sleeve top where he inhaled your worn away perfume.

He could feel your pulse as he curled his fingers around your wrist. It was strong and rhythmic, inviting to his primal desire which caused him to gently nip at your flesh with his front teeth.

Turning his eyes back to yours, you silently asked him for another kiss with your soft and slow blinking gaze, knowing he wanted to get just as reacquainted as you did.

He obliged, pressing closer to the counter and letting his lips meet yours quickly. His quick change in motion caused you to reach behind you to steady yourself, your hand coming into contact with an item you couldn’t identify until you gasped and pulled away thanks to the smashing sound.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you whispered quickly, trying to catch your breath. Harry’s eyes turned to take a look at one of the daintier wine glasses he had pulled down from the rack earlier but chose not to use. The item now lay broken against the flooring of his kitchen.

“Really should tidy up before we go up,” he groaned, mouth pressed into the side of your cheek as you surveyed the mess made on his coffee table over the other side of the room. He reluctantly pulled away from you, walking the short distance to the broken glass.

“Watch yourself,” you said, meaning his bare feet around the glass.

Crouching down, Harry started to collate the bigger shards of glass together, stacking them up against the tiles of his kitchen floor. As you peered down, still sitting on his kitchen island, he looked up at you.

“Couldn’t do me a favour? Go an’ grab the dustpan and brush.”

You blinked. Was he alluding that he kept everything in the same place? Given how he’d asked so vaguely, knowing you would understand.

Softly, he smiled up at you and chuckled around his words, “Same place as last time, yes.”

Taking a while to kick into action, you slowly slid off the work surface and let your feet softly pad over to the other side of the kitchen. The third cupboard from the right, on the lower half of the kitchen was where Harry kept items that Anne had brought him. You know, the things that Mum’s knew would be important but somehow never crossed their children’s minds. Regardless of whether their children were grown adults.

Sure enough, there sat the same blue dustpan and brush. The item was as vibrant as the last time you had seen it, in similar fashion. Leaning down you grabbed at it, shutting the cupboard gently using your foot and walked back to Harry.

You handed it off and heard his whispered thanks, as you rested the side of your hip against his cupboards.

“Don’t think I’ve had this out since the last time you so elegantly broke one of my favourite glasses.”

You knew he was messing with you but that didn’t stop the blush of embarrassment, hitting your skin, and filling you with warmth. “I’ll replace it.”

“‘M jokin’, ‘s fine. Only a bit o’ glass-“

His sentence was cut short as the two of you jumped, the sound of a phone filling Harry’s space.

“‘S not mine,” he jutted his lips out, as he pushed himself up from his crouched position and carefully walked towards the bin with his broken glass.

You turned towards the noise that was your phone and how it blared from Harry’s coffee table, where you had placed it earlier. Walking the short distance, you reached for it and was met with a familiar male name.

Biting your bottom lip, you swiped across the phone and pressed it to your ear. His soothing voice greeted you, slightly worried in tone as he breathed a sigh of relief.

Letting your feet take you to the kitchen island again, you responded telling him you were fine and how sorry you were that you hadn’t let him know you had gotten home okay.

From over the other side of the room, you watched as Harry quirked a brow at you while he picked up the empty bottle of wine and wine stained glasses from the coffee table in his lounge.

You weren’t home. You were far from home.

“Who is it?” He mouthed as he got closer, glasses clinking as he placed them onto the work surface of the kitchen island, after discarding the bottle of wine as loudly as possible into the bin.

You pulled the phone away from your ear showing him the name that he had earlier been typing into your Instagram search bar. Under the dim light you could see the slight squint to his eyes and the way his nostrils flared.

He darted his eyes from the phone screen and back to yours, watching as you put the phone back to your ear.

“Yeah I had a great night, ‘m just tired.”

Harry dropped his head, a smirk forming on his lips. You were far from tired and this was nothing more than a moodkill. With his hands pressed to the worktop, he looked up at you as you stood diagonally opposite him.

Eyes glancing down to your left hand that was spread against the work surface, Harry reached for it. The tips of his fingers running gently between the divots of your knuckles, before his hand slipped underneath your fingers and tugged you towards him.

You slowly obliged him, as your eyes moved to his face. “Come to bed,” he mouthed, watching as your top teeth worried at your bottom lip. His right hand moved to slip around to your lower back as you arched, pulling your chest away from his trying to keep his mouth away from the phone.

“Come to bed wi’me,” his voice was a whisper now, not quite loud enough for the person on the other end of the line to hear but a next step up from how he was previously just mouthing his words to you.

As he tried to distract you, he dipped in and out of your conversation which was the most monotonous thing he had ever found himself eavesdropping into.

With your chest open to him, he nosed his way along your skin, head nudging at your hand that held the phone. His lips pulled into a smile as you faked a yawn, clearly trying to politely give the man on the other end a hint that you were done.

Still he heard the drone of this guy, who was now even repeating things he had previously said to try and keep you on the line with him. You weren’t interested though, too preoccupied by the way that Harry was once again pressing kissing to the skin that he could get too.

Before you knew what was happening Harry had clearly had enough.

“We’re tired, pal. Take the hint,” he spoke into the phone that still rested against your ear, his lips finding the bottom end of the receiver. “‘S time for bed.”

You had to pull the handset away from your ear, not wanting to hear his reaction from the sound of Harry's voice. You blindly ended the call, keeping your eyes on your ex-boyfriend, whose green-eyed monster had made itself known.

He helped guide your phone down to his marble countertop and watched as the phone was brought to life with a call. The same name appearing on your screen as he tried to call you back.

Harry didn’t take long to decline the call, quickly turning the phone to silent and placing it face up once he’d finished. Again, it lit to life, this time buzzing against his work surface rather than omitting a jarring noise into the silence the two of you shared.

“‘S a bit creepy in’t it?”

His question lingered as his eyes moved between the phone and you, watching another call ring out. “If he rings again, ‘m gonna answer.”

As expected the phone lit up for the fourth time. However, before Harry could reach for the item you pushed it, causing it to slide against the work surface and away, just enough that it was out of his reach.

Harry clenched his jaw, his muscle pulsing as he looked at you. “‘S he always like tha’?”

“He’s just realised the girl he was dating is in the company of some other bloke.”

“Dating or taken on dates? There’s a difference,” he raised his eyebrows. “‘S a huge difference an’all.”

You stared at him, watching him lower his body to lean against the counter with his elbows and wipe down his face in frustration. Unwarranted at that.

“I don’t like ‘im.”

“Of course you don’t,” you hummed.

Sharply he turned his neck to look at you, “‘s tha’ supposed to mean?”

“That I agree.”

“No,” he frowned. “It was how you said it.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I’m not-“ he cut himself off, sigh heavy. “I’m not saying you can’t.”

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, thinking of how to navigate his way out of this.

“‘M saying that you don’t always have to,” he dropped his voice, slowly standing and letting his itching hands reach for you.

With his hand resting against your ribs, you stayed still. He didn’t guide you anywhere, he waited. Waited on your next move. When he felt your stoic figure relax underneath his touch, his tight chest expanded. Maybe he could talk himself out of this one.

“When we tried this before,” he softly spoke, pulling his hand away from you to motion between you both, “We shared the load, started to become a team.”

“Yeah and look where that got us.”

He felt his lips twitch from your negative deadpan. “‘S got you back ‘ere again tonight so ‘m doing summat right.”

Shaking your head at him, he rolled his lips into his mouth trying to fight his pleased smile. He dropped his eyes to the counter below him as he mumbled his sorry.

“If you were to ask me, I think we did alrigh’.”

“You would say that.”’

You watched as he jutted out his lips, before running his hand down his mouth and facial hair. He leaned on his palm, his eyes taking you in and wishing you would speak.

“My Mum talks about you all the fucking time,”

“Say tha’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is when you’re trying to get over someone,” you glanced at him from the corner of your vision.

“Now why would you want to do that?”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it,” you were scornful. He shook his head, clearly amused.

“I’ve still got half of your belongings upstairs, if you wan’ ‘em. You have no idea.”

You squinted your eyes at him. Trying to read him. “Appearances aren’t always what they seem. Don’t know how many more times I’ll have to tell you about papers and social media, ‘s all a load of bollocks.”

Standing once more, Harry rolled his shoulders and brushed his hair off his face. Once his hands were at the back of his head, he linked his fingers and turned to look at you. Head resting back on his hands, the two of you held each other’s eyes. Him from the corner of his vision, you dead on. No words passed between the two of you.

“‘M going to bed,” he sighed, dropping his arms and tapping gently against the kitchen counter twice before pushing away.

His body screamed dejected as he walked away, his shoulders sagged and head down as he walked through his home, towards the second floor and his bedroom.

Swallowing thickly, you rolled your lips into your mouth again before you spoke his name. The way you called for him caused Harry to stop his movement, back continuing to face you as he silently waited for your next move after you voiced your plea.

You let your feet take you to him, abandoning your phone on the kitchen island and trying your hardest to ignore the white hot anxiety that overtook your being.

Close enough to touch now, you looked on at your shaking fingers as they gently reached out for him. Your feet took you as close as they could, arm wrapping gently around his abdomen and feeling it quiver with a nervous exhale.

Lips against the linen of his shirt collar as you pushed onto your tiptoes, hoping that the wine stain upon them wouldn’t attach itself to the cream garment. His head dropped forward, exposing the curvature of his neck to you as his hand gently slid over yours and he rested his fingers between the splayed gaps of your own.

Gentle squeeze. Reassuring reminder.

Take your time.

“Come show me this stuff.”

***

There was always something exhilarating about someone leading you upstairs. The different ways in which it could play out. Playful with a swing to your hands, sensual with a gentle tug to keep your close.

The feel of Harry’s hand in yours was always wanted. Every stroke of his thumb against your knuckles or the back of your hand, a reminder of the affection you had been missing.

His eyes looking over his shoulder at you as he came to the bottom step of the second set of stairs. A silent reminder that you could back out at any time.

The floorboards still creaked in the same place as always and part of you hated that you didn’t need him to lead you down the hallway because you knew exactly where his room was.

However, taking yourself to bed never possessed the same majestic undertone as when someone else did.

You were now sitting with your legs tucked underneath you at the end of his bed, rummaging through the box of things that he had neatly packed together for you so they were ready for you to have back if you ever came to collect them.

Every so often you would pull something out to him, showing it and either sharing a story or laughing. As you looked up at him now, showing a tequila shot glass and shaking it suggestively at him, he looked every inch ready to sleep.

Harry was stretched out straight on his bed, his linen shirt still covering his upper body but the buttons were all undone, revealing his chest and stomach to you. Tattoos on display to your eyes that you hadn’t seen for what felt like forever.

The top button of his jeans had been undone as he got comfortable and his ankles were crossed, with his right leg over his left. His eyes were heavily lidded and blinking slower and slower each time you presented him with a new item.

Double chin forming from the way his head was propped up, he spoke deeply in acknowledgement of the glass with the less than elegant design on the side.

“Remember getting through a whole bottle of tequila with that,” he drawled, hands clasping on top of his stomach. “Don’t know why we didn’t just pass the bottle between the two of us.”

“That’s because someone insisted that if we were gonna do it, we had to do it proper.”

“Haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”

“That’s convenient,” you deadpanned knowing that there was probably some truth behind his words given how inebriated you had both been at the time.

Thoughts aside you continued looking into the box to see a worn slogan shirt peering up at you. Pushing aside the half empty bottle of perfume that was once your favourite, you silently admired the tee that you knew didn’t belong to you.

A soft smile pulled itself onto your lips. Sometimes nice boy Harry was unbearable. He’d taken to folding the shirt that you adored as if it were on a shelf in a posh(er) department store than usual. Think more John Lewis than Debenhams.

Slowly you pulled the item from the box and enjoyed the feel of the soft cotton against your fingers. You loved that the shirt’s collar was slightly saggy, a sign of how loved it had been.

Your voice left your throat as more of a dreamy sigh than you imagined. “I loved this shirt,” you spoke as you held it up in front of your face, eyes tracing over the blue slogan of ‘Enjoy health. Eat your honey.” and the cheeky looking bee that was drawn within the circle.

Who didn’t love an innuendo?

Without a second thought, you let the item fall into your lap, hands quickly turning to pull at your black v-neck top and reveal your matching black lace bra underneath.

Harry slapped his hand against his eyes, quickly covering them. The sound caused you to look up at him. “Don’t be so daft, Harry,” you spoke, fighting your smile by rolling your lips into your mouth as you saw him splinter his fingers and look at you through the gap he had created.

“Could give a guy a little warning,” he groaned, continuing to peek over at you.

Shaking your head, you enjoyed the way the cool fabric fell down the skin of your stomach as you covered yourself once more. You knew if you were to turn your head slightly and press your nose to the collar, a mixture of your perfume and his cologne would remain.

You fought the urge however, as you pulled your hair out from underneath the collar and quickly pushed your hand up the back of the shirt to undo your bra.

It was almost second nature for you to remove your underwear to get comfy within your comfier clothes and the sagging of your bra cups away from boobs was always a delightful feeling at the end of any night. Drunk or otherwise.

You pulled at the straps of your bra from underneath the sleeves of your shirt, before diving your hand under the hemline and dropping the item less than gracefully into the box that held your other items.

“Think you’re forgetting who that actually belongs to,” he drawled, head resting against the pillows beneath him now and watching you rummage once more.

“I think you gave up the privilege of wearing this item the minute you dropped it inside this box all neatly folded like you worked a shift at Topshop rather than Manderville’s every Saturday.”

He cackled, head tilted back as he enjoyed your self-righteous indignation and absolute pisstake.

“All Saints was more my thing.”

“That’s because you’re fake indie.”

He was amused as he shook his head over at you with a silent smile. “And being fake indie is exactly why you decided to live on the edge of Camden and not in the thick of Camden itself.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t once tell me that you’d want to raise a family in Hampstead.”

You felt your face heat up at the way he’d completely called your bluff. “That was when I was young and naive.”

“As opposed to us now? Being old and decrepit.”

Again you were silent as you started to put the items around you back into the worn cardboard box.

“Why’re still fuckin’ around wi’that box?”

Your eyes snapped up at him as he kept your eyes. “The only thing you should be fuckin’ around with, is me.”

Raising your eyebrows, you said, “Now who sounds young and naive. Anyway, what happened to you just taking.”

Harry was silent as he took in your words, his body slowly rising from his lounged position and he sat up to approach you. You dropped your gaze down his chest and to his stomach, enjoying the slight rolls of his abdomen as he adopted his new seated position.

His eyes were focused as your gaze found his once more. A soft determination. This sheen to his skin in the lamp lighting of his bedroom, causing him to naturally glow.

Once he was secure in his upright position, closer to you, Harry snatched at the box with one hand and picked it up to sit it down on the floor at his side of the bed.

He then swooped suddenly, hand scooping around your waist and drawing you to him with squealed laughter. His lips fell against your cheek as he shushed you, aiding you as you moved position to get comfortable.

“Remember the first time I had you in this bed?” He asked, chest to chest with you. Your mouth was agape with your quickened breathing, as his lips puckered slightly at the corner of your mouth and he gently leant his nose to yours.

You both watched each other through heavy eyelids, breathing mixed in rising anticipation. A soft nudge of his nose as he asked, “Do yer?”

A nod was all you could muster.

“Was good sex,” he husked, hoodied eyes holding yours. “Was always good sex.”

You hummed in agreement. Feeling the way your nerve endings came alight as you pushed your fingers through the hair at his temple.

Heat flowed through your body, circling in your stomach as his words echoed.

“Still gonna be good sex, ‘f you’ll let me. Better even.”

The faintest smile pulled at your lips, causing your eyes to glisten.

“Eh,” he nudged. “You gonna let me, or tell me otherwise?”

“Personally, think you’re just talking a good game.”

“You know ‘m fucking not.”

Harry pulled you to him, his mouth claiming yours easily. So hungry and intense. Lips that were desperate to show you what you had been missing. Lips that were desperate to wipe away the touch of another, asking you what the fuck you were even thinking in trying it with some other bloke?

Gone was the brushing of lips, faint and fleeting. Harry’s liquid confidence started to come into play as his lips formed into a smile when he gave you his tongue and hummed as he did.

Harry cupped your face as he slanted his mouth over yours, soft moans leaving your throat as you kept him close.

Lips were coaxing, as he groaned between quiet wet smacking sounds that otherwise would have had you cringing.

Now he had you however, how could he part? Your smell was intoxicating to him, as was the touch of your fingers in his hair and nails gently scratching at his scalp. His mewls were catlike when he pressed his wet lips to your skin.

Breathing now more like a pant, it puffed against your elongated neck as he pulled away and made a beeline for your clavicle and then chest, movements slower. Chestnut hair tickled the underside of your chin and caused the faintest of smiles to ghost across your lips from the way it felt.

His nose nudged the collar of his shirt that sat against your body enticingly. The smell of your perfume everywhere to him.

Now lower down you found his forehead was pressed to your clavicle as you felt his teeth playfully tug the cotton between them. A puff of air left your nose as you bit down onto your bottom lip to try and suppressed your giggle.

“Smells like us,” he hummed, mouth breathing hot and heavy against the shirt that sat directly above your nipples. “‘S tha’ good.”

Your only response was the tipping back of your head, fingers carding heavily through the hair at the nape of his neck.

Had he always been this skilful? Vocal, sure. But it never quite hit you like it was doing tonight. His deep hums and moans, his hands spreading so confidently across your back to hold you to him.

And when you cradled the back of his head and pressed that was when you found yourself moaning his name deep from the back of your throat as his mouth gently sucked at your hardened nipples through his beloved shirt.

His name left your lips again, this time in the softest gasp as a small frown hit your eyebrows and your hips started to faintly roll atop his. He moaned gratefully into your chest, his tongue wetting the fabric of his shirt so it clung to your raised nipple.

As he nosed along the cotton, he found your second nipple, his hand quick to raise to the first and squeeze at your breast that had not been forgotten. His touch wanted - you and it - to know that.

This is what you’d been missing so long. A sense of feeling you had buried somewhere else. Blocking out the way he managed to make you feel more alive than anyone else had.

With cheeks hollowed as he suckled, you whispered, “That’s nice.”

His hum of agreement vibrated through your chest as he kept his face pressed against you.

Everything about him became deliberate and slow, his hands now moving underneath your shirt and fingertips gently grazing at soft, warm skin prickling goosebumps in their wake.

Sliding lower his left hand palmed against the back pocket of your jeans, fingers catching against the thick and sewed seams. Hand pressed heavy to aid the soft rock to your hips, tapping lightly to the top of your bum.

“‘M gonna take these off,” he hummed, looking up at you from where his face was still pressed into your chest.

“Are you?”

It felt as if the room spun before you could even comprehend what was happening, a squealed laugh leaving your lips next as your arms tightened around Harry’s shoulders. He lightly lifted and rolled you, your back landing against his mattress gently as your laughter tapered off.

His lips were sponging kisses to your jawline and cheeks, as you felt the backs of his fingers slide gingerly against the exposed skin of your stomach. Slowly you felt the fabric pull away and fall slack against your stomach when he managed to twist the button with one hand, as your arms fell against the mattress and into the pillows that were slightly pressed higher against the headboard.

“Took you long enough,” you goaded, a smirk lacing your lips as you felt Harry pull away and watched him kneel sitting back with his feet against his bum.

His face was a picture, clearly amused, as he swiftly pulled his own shirt away and threw it behind him. Hands slowly trailed back up to the waistband of your jeans as he lightly hovered over you.

His head found your stomach, the soft skin on show from where the tee had ridden up. Soft puckered kiss, he lifted his head and pressed his chin into your stomach.

“Last chance,” he voiced, soft. While he wasn’t willing to forget about it all, regardless of the ache he had between his own legs, you had to be in this with him as much as he was.

Blinking down at him, you moved your hand up to gently push through his hair and without words raised your hips off the bed enough for him to get the message.

The smile that pulled at his lips, was so triumphant you had to knock your head back to stop yourself from chastising him for being full of himself.

Your hands however couldn’t help themselves as they joined Harry while he pulled your trousers down your legs and watched goosebumps rise upon your skin from their exposure to the cold.

Now he was at the end of the bed, you dropped your head to the side to look at him. The way he looked as he carelessly threw your item of clothing over to the chair that sat in the corner of his room.

His eyes slowly came back to you, as he followed his own motion and saw the faintest of smiles dance across your features.

“What yer thinking?”

You were thinking a lot of things. Mainly more so how mystical he looked in the soft glow of the London evening that was creeping in through the haphazard way he had drawn his curtains. Your smile only deepend at how it was more so from the street lamp lights than any full moon, but he didn’t have to know that.

Of course he would want to though, because your smile was more so on show now thanks to the thought in your mind.

Harry shook his head as he fought his own smile, dropping his face slightly to watch his hands as he fiddled with his own jeans.

“Whatever’s got you smiling, ‘s doing nothing for my ego as ‘m undressing m’self in front of yer.”

You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself, which is why you lightly laughed.

He spoke your name in a pretend warning.

“‘S doin’ everythin’ for you,” you spoke sultry, “Don’t even try it. Got a girl half naked and waiting for you.”

At those words he looked up at you, through his curtains of thick waves that had fallen into his line of vision.

You breathed deeply, eyes unable to move from his captivating stare even though you knew he was practically naked from the waist down. You knew from the way his upper body moved as he pushed down his jeans; you knew from the sound of the clothes bunching around his ankles.

Now you found yourself wondering again. Wondering if he still kept his condoms where he had done last time. Sometimes in the bedside table drawer, other times hidden in the top of his wardrobe.

Were you going to see him twist and turn, get him showing you how white his bum cheeks were in comparison to his infuriatingly evenly tanned thighs and legs? Or was he going to hold your eyes, dip his knee into the bottom of his bed and crawl up you once more so he could grab one from the bedside table.

“Not just any girl,” he finally replied, his knee dipping into the bottom of the bed. You supposed that answered your question.

“No?”

A small shake of his head.

“The girl.”

Harry chuckled, giving himself away as he watched the way you relaxed deeper into the mattress as he found your legs easy to accommodate him.

“I’ve never been the anything,” you emphasised.

With his lips against your cheek, you felt his puffed breath as he responded, “Yea, you fuckin’ have.”

You kept him to you with a hand against the back of his head, fingers woven through his hand unable to not enjoy the feel of his silky locks beneath your touch. Reacquainting yourself with everything that you thought you had lost.

His lips unlatched from yours with a soft, wet sound as your eyes rolled back into your head when he started to trail kisses down your cheek, down your neck once more.

There was no mistaking how greedy they were, his chin knocking yours and his teeth scraping against your skin as he held your jaw with a steady hand in hope of keeping you still beneath him.

Legs moved from where they were open, softly brushing at his sides so your calves wrapped and touched the back of his thighs. The feel of his hairs against your smooth legs becoming a weirdly exhilarating reminder of your closeness once more.

Head buried in your chest, you felt him locate the wet patch against the cotton from his previous play and quickly enclose his mouth once more. Warm hands pushed beneath your body and the mattress, sliding underneath and raising your chest further to his face.

Your mouth fell open as you felt the pressure of his lips and tongue, enclosed around your nipple again, grow stronger. With a hand in his hair once more, you wondered if he was going to take you out of this shirt, or fuck you in it.

As the pressure lessened, with your head pressed into the bed beneath you, you heard the rustling of his nose and face against the shirt. He rubbed his face against you, inhaling and moving his hands closer to your lower back.

Hands in contact with your underwear, you felt him smooth over the fabric of your bum. He pulled at your thigh, before pushing at your knees with a gentle but assured touch.

“If I remember correctly,” he started, voice muffled as his face was still pressed to your breast. “This leg needs to go here, like this. Mm?”

Clammy hand splayed against your thigh, you felt him direct your other leg, “And this one needs to be a bit lower, otherwise you get cramp.”

There was a pause, and you could feel the way his lips were twitching atop the cotton of the tee. Matching yours at the flippant comment that was only funny because it was true.

Humming again, he added, “Keep ‘em like this. Keep me here like this.”

Doing what he asked, you bit back a moan when he moved to fit his palm over you through your underwear. The warmth from it radiating through you, making your throb and giving you the urge to fold your legs in on it.

Tentative strokes were what you received, at first. Up and down, coaxing you and drawing you into him. Then his fingers became more confident, certain in their touch, moving with a sense of familiarity you had been missing.

“‘S this okay?”

His voice was soft, hard to hear over your breathing and the blood starting to rush around your ears. You found yourself nodding, however. Giving him the permission he desired, making his next movement the easiest.

His fingers hooked, slipped underneath the thin piece of fabric and the quiet groan that left his lips only had you moving your legs that bit higher.

“‘S it nice.”

Harry was enticing. From his oozing velvety voice to his careful, barely there touch. You were lost to him. Finding it hard to breath as your body begged for you to be actually - really - touched.

With a heavy swallow, you felt your eyes fall shut with your slow, deep breath and let your head turn to the side, finding the edge of a propped up pillow to shield your torture expression.

“Don’t hide from me,” his voice lazily made itself known, as he looked up from under his brow at you and caused your eyes to drop as you looked down your body. He descended lower and lower, hands pushing up at his tee against your stomach, to reveal your bare skin to him.

Spongy kisses, encased by stubble, pressed into your skin. His fingers never once let up in their tease, touch opening you up for him. The soft twitch of your legs when his fingers landed on your clit, sliding over it.

“Relax for me,” he hummed. “You good… s’it feel good?”

Confident nod, you swallowed again. Tongue pushing between your lips to lick away the dryness.

“Okay wi’this?”

Another nod.

The press of his fingers onto your clit caused you to breathe deeply. A hiss of ‘yes’ as you exhaled.

“Tell me if it’s changed.”

And you knew what he meant. His desire to know if you still liked things the same as before important to him.

You couldn’t help the low and long moan that left your throat. Neither could you stop the lift of your hips from the bed as you twisted your body as he stroked at your clit.

Heavenly ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ were pulled from you. Encased by ‘yeses’ of various pitches. Harry’s nose was buried into the skin of your ribs, having managed to push the tee you still wore to underneath your boobs and in the process expose more of your skin to him.

His mouth sucked against your skin on the inside of your left boob, just at the underside, and from the groan he omitted you knew you were going to be left with an almighty love bite.

“Oh,” you sighed, as you felt his tongue lave at the mark, again nudging upwards and taking the shirt with him. Tongue over your exposed nipple, alert from the cold and due to your aroused state.

Your lower half was warm, fire stoked while he stroked at your clit. A sharply exhaled ‘fuck’ from you had him smiling around your nipple. The last time you had found yourself getting this wet - soaked and slick, the kind that meant your walls were smooth and would pull him right in - had been with him.

A laugh left you from underneath your breath, one not noticed by Harry who was too lost in the feel of you beneath him. The thought of anyone being able to get you this way from an act so virginal was unknown. Of course, he was the exception. Of course.

“Hear tha’?”

So lazy he couldn’t even ask you properly.

“Nice an’ wet.”

The slip of his fingers moving lower had you humming delightfully, legs falling open a bit more as his fingers danced at your entrance. The contrast of the heel of his palm to your clit was welcomed, warm but dry in comparison to heavily wet fingers.

You could feel yourself pulsing as his palm gently rubbed you again, nervous energy had you teetering. Fingers at your center. You wanted them, you wanted him in anyway he would give you himself.

Quiet, apart from staggered breathing, he smiled to himself when he felt your walls give way to him and his two fingers with ease. Your moan was voracious, a clear need apparent as the edges of it died against your dry throat.

He knew it was his name. He had heard it like that before. Plenty of times. Said in the same tone too. Sprinkled with incoherent desire.

“‘S that want you wanted?” He found himself asking. “Should’a just said.”

And you would’ve if you could. But instead your head was tossed back and your toes were curling into the sheets.

These were the moments he has missed. When he really thought about your time apart. The moments where the two of you were so lost in each other that the nonsense that slipped from each of your lips was met with no judgement but rather embraced.

Reacquainting after time apart. Rekindling your desires and unspoken love for one another.

Eyes on your face, he couldn’t quite see you how he would’ve liked but he did nothing to change it. His own want went out of the window in favour of you getting and keeping yours.

The smell of you was everywhere as he dropped his eyes and pushed his face against your boobs once more. A man quite willing to suffocate in his need to want more.

He could feel your falling apart under his experienced touch, relentless and unfleeting now. His fingers curled and with each ‘come hither’ your breathy moans only drove him on.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he spoke through gritted teeth, the tension in his arm burning at his wrist. Mutters of desperate mantras - ‘come on, come on’ - mouthed to your skin.

And you could - like this - you could. But did you want to?

While you were feverishly hot, everywhere, for him - body unable to stop rolling with each pull of his fingers - your head knocked back and softly shook from side to side.

“No,” you moaned lightly, “Not yet… Harry.”

“No?”

His questioning had you dropping your eyes, head still lolled to the side with pouted expression.

Mind still slightly hazy, you stared at him. He was still in his underwear, very obviously hard. Head nudging slightly, you breathed, “Come here.”

Empty. That’s how you felt when he slowly moved his fingers and left you clenching around nothing but the cold air of his bedroom.

His right hand was against your skin, middle and third finger slightly hovering away as they were coated in you and he selfishly didn’t want to lose that to your flesh but rather his tongue.

Legs welcomed him, smoothing around the backs of his thighs once before lifting and using your feet to try to push his underwear down.

Harry let out a noise you hadn’t heard in a while, a mix between a grunt and chuckle. The kind that created an aggravated fire within you.

“‘S not gonna work,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he felt the warmth of you against his clothes bulge. Your one thigh lifting to encourage him to roll onto his back.

And he did, taking him with you. A mess of awkward limbs tangling. With shaky knees you climbed over him, eyes down and taking in his underwear.

A pair of black briefs fit him just right, hugged him and holding his straining cock.

Your eyes slowly rose up his body, his chest lifting and falling with heavy breathing as his chin softened while he looked down at you with his fingers just about leaving his mouth from where he’d cleaned your arousal off of them.

You felt his eyes peering at you as you lowered down, nose first teasing against the waistband of his underwear before you found your lips pressed kisses to the tops of his thighs. Enjoying a little bit too much the feel of his leg hair against your nose and lips.

Hand lifted, it blindly sought out the waistline of his pants and allowed fingers to slip inside to pull down the material.

Just about past his thighs, you locked eyes with Harry. His soft blinking gaze and content smile had you grinning impishly, knowing in the faintly lit room he would most likely be able to make out the blush upon your skin.

You’d saw but more arousingly heard his cock move as the briefs which encased it gave way and it fell back, heavy, against Harry’s lower abdomen. And that was where it lay, next to the hair in Harry’s stomach and down to his pubic region.

Small crawl to get you better situated, you flipped some of your hair over to your opposite shoulder and felt him touch the back of your head with a barely there graze as you licked up the underside of his cock.

“Shit, darling,” he breathed, voice blissful above you but filled with a rawness only brought on by sexual vulnerability.

Looking up his body, you could see the grin that had made its way to his lips. His teeth quick to bite it away, with little to no avail.

You licked again, mouth moving lower to delicately suck one of his balls into your mouth.

The groan that left him was husky, right from the back of his throat. The kind that gave you shivers from how unguarded it was. His legs widened against the bed, your eyes diverted to his thighs from his movement. How thick they looked as they flattened beneath you on his bed.

Wrapping your hand around him, you ran your thumb over the head of his cock. Up and down. Slowly taking in every movement and what it did to him. Just like you remembered.

“‘S this right?” You asked, hand and mouth working him and his balls over. Looking up once more you watched him hum, with the smallest of nods. His lips were rolled into his mouth, dimples prominent as they dipped into his cheeks.

His nostrils flared as he breathed and his hair had started to fall across his forehead from how he’d been dipping his head back into the pillows beneath him.

“Squeeze me ‘ere,” he reminded you, voice holding a slight tremble, his hand encasing yours and encouraging a tighter hold as he leisurely dragged both his and your hand up and down his cock. “Slowly- tha’s it.”

You pulsed between your thighs as you watched him moving your hand with his, each downward pull showing his glistening head more and more. Heavy swallow, you knew he was holding back and you would be lying if you said the visual wasn’t encouraging you to take him in your mouth properly.

Almost like second nature you did exactly that. Licking at your lips as you lifted up and wrapped your lips around his exposed tip. When his hand faltered from the pleased sound you voiced now you were on him, you were able to slip from under his grip and felt him continue to wank as you suckled so teasingly.

With each bob of your head, you felt his hand pull away more, as your mouth and jaw stretched around his hard cock.

“Yea’,” he groused, deeply when his hand fell to give way to your mouth and move to shift your curtaining hair. Harry rolled his hips up gently, eager to get the last bit of him down your throat. Old him would’ve voiced it too, but he felt this moment didn’t call for that.

He softly fucked your face, if there were such a thing. The nudges of his cock warming through your core as the throbbing sensation that had been lingering between your legs only grew.

Harry fought against himself to make you gag, teetering on it with each raise of his hips as his glassy eyes barely focused on you. Too engrossed in the filth he wished to voice.

“God, look at you,” he dropped his head back. Ironic really. Unable to continue looking as he said it. It was tame in comparison to how he wanted to speak.

So, he laughed. Breathy at first, before becoming a little bit louder. You lips twitching into a smile as you lifted off of him and gently tugged before letting it fall and bounce proudly erect. Kissing up his stomach and placing your knees either side of his hips.

He had almost forgotten you weren’t completely naked until you sat on top of him covered up. Eyes too taken by your face to care, as you blinked down at him with a doe-eyed expression that made him want to lap you up in any way he could have you.

His right hand pulled you down to him, lips greedy against yours as his left hand found the top of your bum cheek, trying to blindly find his cock and guide him into you regardless of knowing it wouldn’t work.

“Like this?” He asked as his lips hovered at the corner of yours, wanting to know if you wanted it this way. “How’d you wan’ it?”

“On top.”

“Me?”

Your voices were breathy as you spoke around the faintest of kisses. Both eager to start from the feel of you both so close to each other.

The faintest of nods was given to him and it was all it took for him to roll the both of you, further continuing to ruckle up the bedsheet beneath you.

“Do I need one?”

And you knew you should be responsible and not shake your head no at his ambiguous mention of protection. All rushed and breathy, chest heavy as he exhaled in a nervous rush, but you just wanted him. Bare and in you.

Underwear was quickly removed before you’re resumed your position.

He watched you softly as you shook your head no, Harry pushing the shirt up under your boobs, your arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to kiss at your jaw and cheeks.

“Planning on staying over?”

Feeling him shift up and jar his head back, just enough to get a good look at you, you stared at him not knowing how to respond. It was practically morning now, so hadn’t you already?

His hands moved your legs as you thought, his one holding you where he needed you to be.

“Don’t think ‘bout it for too long, darling,” he joked nudging his nose gently against you as he watched the way your lips went against you, smiling at his words.

“Let me know how long we can go for,” he added, gently taking his cock that was sprung and bobbing between you into his hand. He looked down and tapped it to your wetness, sliding it down with a press of his fingers to the topside of his shiny cock to line himself up.

“Gonna let me have you all night.”

Your breathing picked up, chest trembling slightly at how much more of a statement those words sounded than a question. An amorous glance looked back at him, slow blinking and head lolled gently to the side.

“Eh? Sleep in the mornin’?”

A deep and shaky breath had your mouth falling, your eyes slowly shutting as you felt him push in. You were right when you thought about how easily you would take him earlier. Body crying out for a good fuck.

“Fuck me,” he groaned deeply, head dropping forward and hair hanging down. You reached for him, wanting to see his face.

Harry obliged you, his face turning to find your wrist and pressing a chaste kiss to your skin. “Missed havin’ you like this,” he breathed. Quick bite down to his bottom lips, nostrils flared.

“‘S tight.”

He knew the remark was boyish. Unable to stop himself as he eased out and rolled his hips back into yours. Each push and pull giving you a little more of him. Deep frown etched between his eyebrows as his breath caught in his throat, mouth slightly fallen and lips starting to dry.

“Haven’t-“ your voice croaked, head dipping into the pillow beneath you.

Haven’t slept with anyone in a while. Haven’t slept with anyone since you last slept with him. Haven’t had the desire to.

He hummed in agreement as the two of you felt the words fall away from you both. Harry’s concentration firmly on each roll of his hips as he gave you more of him. The rhythm he set being one that you could only describe as intimate. Familiar.

He was warm on top of you as he alternated between grinding dips of his hips, thrusts that were tantalisingly slow, making your hips roll up to meet him and causing him to smile at how you wanted it.

He had to voice it. “You want it, don’t you?”

He only knew so easily because he did too. He had done the minute he fucked the whole thing up and let you slip away with his dwindling text messages in response and shorter phone calls every time you had a chance.

Your hand glided to the back of his head, the other down to his bum as you encouraged him to give you his entire weight. He was close but you want him closer. Close was never close enough.

Was that enough to answer his question of wanting it, wanting him?

Squeezing at his bum, you fought the urge you had to give him a slap, too caught up into the heavy groan that moulded into your face as he pressed his nose to your skin.

“You make me good,” he lowly gruffed against your cheek, his hand trailing down to take yours from his bum.

Fingers laced and pressed against the mattress upon which you lay, you tilted your head back and pressed it harder into the pillow beneath you. You keened and mewled beneath him, breathy noises of indecipherable words as the head of his cock bumps your spot inside.

“You make me feel good.”

You were taken by his gasp, how desperate he sounded as he hiked your leg higher, wanting you to spread yourself open for him. His hips don’t give you much choice other than to play along as he moved with an assiduity you had never found with any other man.

He allowed you to feel every inch of him going in, pulling out and going back in. Teasing himself and you with a slow and measured pace that had you passionately panting underneath him.

“No one gets it like this.”

Looking at him with heavy-lidded vision, you wove your fingers through his hair and tugged. His face contorted blissfully, breath catching in his throat before it heaved out of his mouth as his chest forced him to exhale.

You were nodding, agreeing with him. No one had you like this. Him like this. It like this. Sweltering and sticky.

Teeth gritted, he grunted as he thrusts grew heavier now with more conviction behind their motion.

“Deeper,” you gasped, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

His pelvis was heavy against yours now, making it difficult for you to lift and roll your hips to meet his thrusts. And he knew you loved it like this, he still knew that.

Legs practically pushed to your chest, held there by your own fruition as they rocked and rubbed up against his fleshy sides cradling him to you, feet bobbing in the air with toes curled.

The sensual roll he was giving you caused the grip of your fingers to go slack against his head. You could feel him smiling against your skin, as your breath hitched in your throat and your hand squeezed at his.

“Touch my arse,” he moaned, sliding his hand out of yours and breathing in quick succession until your hand met his bum cheek once more.

This time you didn’t falter, gently tapping and feeling the tension to his thrusts as he clenched. Quick squeeze and nails digging in creating crescent moons against his white bits. “Yeah darlin’, know I like it like tha’.”

Head turned to the side, you messily brought your mouths together. He chuckled as you broke away, probably from the words he’d just spoken. Laughter dying down into a hum as your feet wrapped around his lower back.

His lips were dry as they met yours, too caught up in how his mouth hung open, to make them wet and inviting, as his need to breathe was evident.

“No ones like you,” you admitted. “No one comes close.”

He revelled in the whine of your last word, how it had your back arching and allowed him to wind his hand around you to lift your bum slightly to encourage your hips to continue meeting his.

He knew you were tired, the breathy whines that were spoken up towards the ceiling were not lost on him. And he knew he had to keep going, to give it to you how you deserved. To make up for the lost time, to say sorry for ‘being a bit of a dick’. A lot of a dick.

When you knocked your head back, your eyes were unable to concentrate and he was mesmerised by the visual of complete, unadulterated lust that was present on your features. Hair sticking to your temples from your exertion and face void of any concern.

“Make me come,” you whispered your plea, feeling him bury his face into your neck and drop himself down flush to you. With one hand woven through the hair on the back of his head, your other stayed at him bum feeling the grind of his groin against yours as he lay on you.

He was sensual now, if not a little tired himself, as his breathing left his mouth in hot pants against the side of your neck. You could feel yourself beginning to flush from the heaviness of his body as you both rocked from the force of his motions and the fullness of him above you.

With rustling sheets and sounds of grunts, your cooed ‘oh’ left you, as you felt the motion of Harry’s hips pickup pace. Your fingers clawed into his hair, lifting the strands and softly pulling as your body ached in the most delectable way.

Harry groaned around a smile, muffled by your skin as he could feel his stomach start to tighten; his orgasm impending. He tried to hold off as much as he could, eager to watch you come undone first in the best way he could as he was rendered speechless and breathless alongside it.

Instead you were both a mess of tangled limbs, with rocking motions so vigorous that you felt yourself moving up the bed. A symphony of noises - slapping skin, feeble grunts and creaking bed.

Harry wheezed, knowing he sounded pathetic by too caught up to care. Through hooded eyes you caught sight of his mouth falling agape before he ground his teeth together as his thrusts heavily rolled into you, nudging your entire body.

Your mouth fell as his name unashamedly fell from your lips. Demandingly, but in a juxtaposed whisper, you told him to give it to you.

“I am,” he whispered. “Oh, I am, darling- Mmhm.“

You whimpered, feeling each breath get harder to produce as your abdomen began to tighten and your chest heave. “I’m coming,” you hastily whispered. Voice nothing more than a pant.

Looking up at Harry, you watched his bottom lip become captive to his teeth, as his nostrils flared while he breathed. His thrusts were at their heaviest now, wetter and sloppier but getting the job done.

“Gonna- oh.”

This was the loudest you’d been in a while. Moans long and dying off into wordless bliss as your muscles tensed and your orgasm rolled through you. Leaving you as nothing more than cloudy thoughts, and a warm, floaty body.

You felt the bounce of his laugh against his skin from his breath, as he continued to move above you and moulded you into nothing but a high-pitched mess as he wouldn’t stop.

Body falling slightly slack, relaxed and pliant to the bed, you felt Harry move his face into your neck and nudge his hips once more. His ruts were less rhythmic, rough grunts and indecipherable slurring only matching his pending euphoria.

With his final, heavily thrust, his hips slammed to a stop against yours. Your breathing stuttered as you held him to you, hands moving over his shuddering shoulders and ears listening to his muffled groans which vibrated through you.

“Yea’,” he drawled. Low from the back of his throat. “Yes.”

***

Sunday mornings were made to be slow. To bask in the stillness. To hear nothing but the blood that was rushing through your ears.

It was far too bright to be considered early morning. Not with the winter months looming.

You stretched your limbs, listening for the crack of your back as your hands reached for the t-shirt that was still awkwardly bunched up to your armpits.

Rolling your body slightly you reached for the hem and pulled it down, letting your head fall to the side to see an empty bed which allowed a sense of regret to creep into your morning thoughts. Blinking slowly, you almost missed the sound of the bedroom door gently bouncing against the wall.

A hushed, “bollocks” spat out for the other side of the wood causing your lips to twitch upwards in a smile.

A pause came to Harry’s movements as he caught your eye in nothing more than a pair of fresh underwear and mismatched mugs in each hand.

“Stayed the night,” he hummed, eyes softly shining. A soft smile pulled onto your lips as he left a cup of tea closer to your side of the bed and you watched him start to blow gently at the lip of his own mug. With his mouth about to take a sip, he asked, “Fancy staying another?”

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