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shesthewindandsea · 5 years

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if the lord dont forgive me, i’d still have my baby (and my babe would have me)

Summary: It's snowing tonight in Soho. The air is frigid and the ground is wet. Inside a bookshop, there's a demon experiencing the greatest crisis in known human history, but the angel sitting with him thinks he may be able to help.

Beginning Notes: So I’m starting to pick up on a pattern. Seems like whenever I wanna write something this bastard is always at the center of everything and really, what am I gonna do about that? Plug him apparently. @ineffablefool Go read this idiot’s stuff, it’s kind of good I guess I’m totally joking it’s all fantastic but yall should know that by now if you’re here. And!! @scribblemakes go look at all his art right now!!! It’s absolutely fantastic and beautiful and honestly freckled Crowley is one of my favorite things in the world which is why that’s basically what half this fic is about. The other half is just Aziraphale being chubby and getting kisses everywhere. This is literally the softest thing I have ever and will ever write in my entire existence. I have nowhere to go but down.

Oh and the title is from a Hozier song, yeah we’re all really surprised I know. The song is called Work Song and I recommend you listen to this version just because it’s fantastic

Outside the doors of the bookshop, the evening air is still and quiet. Snow is falling silently from the clouds passing slowly in front of the moon. It’s quite a spectacle to all the children watching from their bedroom windows, eyelids heavy and blankets tucked up to their chins. All eyes, though laden with sleep, are ashine with a kind of innocent joy that can only come from a child. They’ll fall asleep thinking about a day off from school spent making snow angels and throwing snowballs and causing a general ruckus as they run in-between strangers on the sidewalk. They’ll certainly be disappointed when the morning comes and the world outside is barren of any snow, the lingering warmth in the stonework from the overcast sun that afternoon melting the snow once it touched the ground. Tears will, no doubt, be shed over the lack of highly anticipated snowman building material. This is, quite possibly, the biggest upset in known human history.

Inside the bookshop, however, a much different story is being told. The cold winter air pushes up from the floorboards, through the gap in the front doors, through the crack in a window frame. Even with the sharp cut of the frigid air filtering into the close quarters of the backroom, it didn’t have the chance to make the room any colder than Aziraphale willed it to be. The space heater glowing with a warm orange light in the corner may have also helped the process along and replaced the silence with a gentle hum and the occasional sputter.*

*Aziraphale had initially started out with an ornate fireplace at the back of the room. He was rather proud of his craftsmanship and was excited to show off his recent update to Crowley once he arrived. That was, until his demon burst through the door with a slam and in a deranged panic, raving about the pungent smell of smoke and wallpaper burning, tears streaming down his cheeks and I couldn’t find you. Aziraphale wasn’t particularly attached to the fireplace, anyhow. A space heater will do the job just as well, dear, no need to fret.

Read on AO3!

The air smells faintly of old parchment paper, book binding glue, and leather. The scent never seems to fade and Crowley suspects Aziraphale has something to do with that as well. Most humans find it somewhat distasteful and often find themselves making a rather startled face upon entering the shop followed immediately by an amusing and unattractive nose crinkle.

That doesn’t always drive them away, though, and Crowley becomes further amused while Aziraphale would get rather frumpy, forming the most ridiculous and petulant pout he’d ever seen. The angel would make sure to use extra binding glue those days, making the smell all the more pungent.

It makes Crowley want to kiss him. So sometimes, he does. He’ll lean over the front of Aziraphale’s workstation, tap the angel on the shoulder, and when he looks up, Crowley will try to snag a kiss from the angel’s lips. Occasionally, he’ll miss and land on his forehead or cheek, but nonetheless, Crowley is satisfied.

Other times he’ll let Aziraphale brood loudly about the shop. He’ll put a little more force into his step and his double chin will become just a bit more pronounced as he tips his head down to keep his glare directed toward the floor. The emotions flicker across his face clearly displaying the war going on inside his angel’s brain, torn between politeness and some drastic steps that would “gently” encourage any potential customers quickly back out the door and onto the street.

You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here and all that. Thank you and have a nice day.

Crowley would lean next to the till and watch, just basking in the presence of his grumpy angel. He used to pretend like he wasn’t watching. Like every minute he spent around Aziraphale wasn’t worth every second of secrecy and denial. His glasses did a lot of that work for him then. But now, things were different and Crowley didn’t want to waste a moment of their time together pretending anything.

Moonlight lurks in the gaps of the shutters and gently attempts to creep across the floor hoping to reach the back of the old, lumpy settee. The moonlight hopes it can linger in the white curls of the angel currently residing there before the demon in his lap notices and gets jealous. Let it never be said that the moonlight is frightened of Crowley’s jealous indignation — though it will admit it’s become quite familiar with being on the receiving side of Crowley’s hissing and it knows well what it’s like to face the demon head on.

The biggest upset in human history inside the bookshop? Well, it’s just that Crowley couldn’t press his face any closer into Aziraphale’s belly. Not without knitting their skin together, fusing cell by cell, permanently pressing his cheek into the grooves of each individual stretch mark kissing the angel’s stomach, thighs, arms.

If only, he laments. If only he could remain here forever, his nose pushing into the available skin between Aziraphale’s waistband and where his shirt has come untucked, waistcoat and coat discarded long ago.

If he could just bask until the end of time in the skin-on-skin contact, the soothing scrape of Aziraphale’s perfectly manicured nails gliding through his hair and along his scalp while the angel’s plush thighs pillow Crowley’s head and neck. He longs to kiss the plump flesh there hidden beneath Aziraphaple’s sensible trousers. In the pitch black of the room, save for the warm glow of the heater and the errant beam of moonlight stretching towards them, (as if he wouldn’t notice it) he can’t imagine moving a single muscle for the next century..

If only.

Rather than linger on this particular tragedy, Crowley focuses his energy on appreciating exactly what he has in front of him right now, which is to say, absolute perfection. Even knowing he really has nowhere left to go, Crowley pushes his nose into the fat of Aziraphale’s stomach, groaning at the all warmth and love stored there. His arms snake tighter around his angel, squeezing. His fingers just barely brush each other behind Aziraphale’s back, forcing him to sit forward just a bit.

Aziraphale makes a noise that Crowley thinks is supposed to be something like annoyance and scolding, but it ends up sounding more fond to him than anything else.

“Really now, dear. Your nose is poking me and it’s quite unpleasant. You’re going to have to release me.” In response, Crowley chooses not to move a single inch and grumbles something low into Aziraphale’s tummy. The angel can’t help but shake with laughter at the sensation. Crowley’s face curls up in an impossibly doting grin and though Aziraphale can’t see the full extent of Crowley’s adoration, he can feel it pressed into his body and somewhere low in his rib cage where he is positively thrumming with unadulterated affection.

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale speaks around his smile. One hand remains in Crowley’s hair while the other skirts over his shoulders and under the collar of his shirt to rest his palm on Crowley’s bare back. He can feel the curve of Crowley’s spine and the way he moves with each inhale and exhale. He can feel Crowley’s heartbeat in his hands.

The demon pulls back just enough to speak.

“I said,” Crowley drawls, “‘S impossible. Can’t move.” Each word comes out a hot puff of air against Aziraphale’s skin and it sends a shiver through his entire body.

“Is that so?”

“Mm. It is. Wouldn’t lie to you, would I, angel?”

“Ah, well,” Aziraphale teases, “wily and cunning serpent that you are, I never know when to trust you.”

“Shall I prove it to you then? I’m more than willing.” Crowley rolls away from Aziraphale’s soft middle just enough to stare up at the angel. His eyes glow like fireflies in the dim light and Aziraphale can imagine being swallowed by them, losing himself there for as long as it takes Crowley to blink. The hand in Crowley’s hair trails down the side of his face, caressing a sharp cheekbone and soothing his thumb over wrinkles in the corner of Crowley’s eye.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale whispers suddenly. He didn’t mean to say them, those words, but before he could stop and think, they were rushing up his throat, dancing across his tongue, sung from his lips like a prayer. Well, maybe not a prayer. Perhaps more like a song.

That happens sometimes, where he just can’t help himself. Crowley really is the most beautiful being Aziraphale has ever had the fortune to happen upon. And the words just come so naturally. The need to show Crowley how much he loves him, how much he positively adores him, fills him up like a helium balloon.

The guilt consumes him, sometimes, when Crowley isn’t looking, when he isn’t around to remind him. All that wasted time and all the hurt he had caused. He knew and yet everything felt so hopeless. It felt like vines weaving throughout the gaps in his rib cage, his heart and lungs constricted, struggling to beat and inflate.

And then Crowley would be there, standing in front of Aziraphale with hands on shoulders, grounding him, asking if he was alright. Or he’d look up from across the room, abandoning whatever he was distracted with and meet Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley would always just know from the look in his angel’s eyes, from the tight lines he held in his face.

And then Crowley would just look at him and Aziraphale would look back. And oh the poetry he could wax about everything he sees in Crowley’s eyes. His brilliant, splendid eyes saying the most brilliant and splendid things. I see you and I understand and I love you and perhaps, most importantly, I forgave you a long time ago. It’s okay. You never have to ask.

Crowley’s giving him that look right now, saying all the right things without saying them. His lips twist up in a soft smile that lights up his entire face and Aziraphale feels like he’s about to float away with all the love in his chest lifting him up.

Crowley rolls back onto his side, his face cupped by Aziraphale’s hand as it tenderly traces the edge of his mark. It stays there even as he turns toward Aziraphale’s round, soft belly and pushes the untucked clothing further up Aziraphale’s body. It rests precariously on the shelf of his stomach, exposing him to the musty air of the bookshop and Crowley’s sweeping gaze. His eyes are glazed over, half-lidded leaving Aziraphale waiting with bated breath.

Crowley has made it very clear to Aziraphale how much he appreciates the soft roundness of his angel’s corporation. Always kissing the swell of his cheeks and the folds in his neck, grabbing at his sides and hips. Aziraphale really hadn’t felt any inclinations either which way about the size and shape of his corporation over the last six thousand years or so; though, he had become rather sentimental after having it for so long. The same way one grows attached to a well-loved sweater. But being on the receiving end of all of Crowley’s reverent touches and constant praise certainly helped all those feelings along. And if it made Aziraphale feel more wanted and desirable, well no harm no foul.

Crowley releases his hold from around Aziraphale for a moment to grab hold of the hand covering his face, lacing their fingers together and slotting his bony fingers between the spaces of Aziraphale’s chubbier ones. His lips ghost over the generous give of the angel’s gut, starting from underside up the gentle slope until he reaches the edge of Aziraphale’s rucked up shirt. Then he makes his way across and then diagonal and eventually just anywhere he feels deserves more attention, slowly applying more pressure, lingering longer over each stretch of skin.

“You’re beautiful too, angel, so bloody beautiful. Wish you could see you the way I do,” he hums into Aziraphale’s tummy and sides and chest like he’s trying to tattoo the words there and Aziraphale is so overwhelmed by the brushing of lips against his bare skin that he can’t stop the long groan that escapes him. The urge to tug Crowley up, lose his hands in the long messy curls and just kiss every single freckle painted on the demon’s cheeks and forehead, wrists and knuckles, shoulders and back is overpowering.

“Oh, my darling. My dear sweet boy. My love.” Aziraphale could go on for ages. He’d call Crowley every endearment he’d ever read, heard and wasted time thinking up until he was red in the face. Until the galaxy was swallowed by darkness and the stars went supernova and the universe imploded. Until there was absolutely no question about the depth of Aziraphale’s love for him.

He would if he could, if he thought that they didn’t have time. He’d spend every moment making sure Crowley knew what he felt before they ran out. But that’s not the case. They have forever, infinity times infinity, and so he has the opportunity to take Crowley’s hand and led him into it. He doesn’t need to push him in and hope he knows how to swim.

Maybe he would try anyway if he felt he had any control over the irresistible need, the want, to pull Crowley’s lithe, lean body flush with his own. But as it turns out, Aziraphale is easily tempted and when it comes to his demon, he truly doesn’t have that control. He very quickly finds himself hauling Crowley up off his lap and pressing their bodies so close together that they could create a vacuum.

Their lips slot together and if the whole world didn’t already fall away every second they were together, it would now. All the tiny variations — the nuances of each individual moment, of every individual kiss — spark across the connected skin like neurons firing through the brain. Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s knees knocking into his hips on either side. He can feel Crowley’s eyelashes brushing against the skin just under his eyes. He feels that long skinny nose that poked him in the stomach earlier smushed against his cheek and he hears the sure rhythm of Crowley’s heady breathing echoing in his head.

Both pairs of hands wander — touching and testing patches of naked skin and soothing over wrinkled shirts, clutching handfuls of curls — and lips are soon to follow. Aziraphale keeps the promise he made to himself and thoroughly enjoys pecking at the hundreds of constellations of freckles he’s left behind, his kisses. Each spot overlaid becomes a shade darker, shines brighter against the white background. When he’s gone over every one he can reach, he begins to create new ones — one under Crowley’s chin, in the center of his cupid’s bow, just to the right of his Adam’s Apple — and they bloom like flowers, petals pushing apart and ready to greet the sun.

Crowley waits for Aziraphale to finish indulging himself while happily occupying himself with the skin connecting his angel’s neck to his shoulder — kissing, nipping, soothing over the marks with his tongue, rinse and repeat — by working around and under the collar of his shirt. His hands skirt up outside of his angel’s thighs and creep over his hips in of search the abundant flesh waiting for him at his angel’s waist. Once he feels the lack of clothing separating his hands from Aziraphale, he latches on, squeezing in random intervals. There’s just something so satisfying about the way it crowds his spread palms and fills the emptiness between his fingers. Something that makes him think, Mine. This is finally mine.

“Had your fill of me yet, angel?” Crowley teases lightly as Aziraphale finally sits back and looks Crowley in the eyes. His hands rub up and down Crowley’s back under his shirt.

“Not in a million years, my love.” Aziraphale places a final kiss on the tip of Crowley’s nose. The demon’s face scrunches up a bit in an attempt to cover up an utterly besotted grin, but he can’t quite manage.

“Got a reputation to uphold, you know.” Crowley says very seriously before wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and laying his head against his shoulder.

“I do know. Quite important, this reputation business. Perhaps we ought to refrain from such activities in the future. For the sake of your reputation, of course.” The audible smirk in Aziraphale’s tone is unbearable.

“Bastard. Don’t even joke about that,” Crowley growls, worming his way around his angel’s shirt to carve out his own section of bare shoulder, smacking it with a kiss which makes Aziraphale giggle at the sound and sensation.

“Well, then. I think we ought to head up to bed, don’t you? We’ve done quite enough sitting in the dark. I think I’d rather enjoy a bit of light reading.” Before Crowley can come up with a response, Aziraphale is standing up from the couch and lifting Crowley with him. He decides a contented hum and lazily wrapping his legs around his angel’s hips will do nicely instead.

Aziraphale’s socked feet make a muted thumping noise as he ascends the stairs to the flat above the shop. Soon enough, Aziraphale is using Crowley’s back to push the bedroom door open causing the demon to murmur some mild irritation and vague threat. He’s quite comfortable resting up against Aziraphale as he’s carried around though, much too comfortable to raise a real fuss.

That is, until he’s tossed onto their bed like a sack of potatoes, something like a oof! pushed out of him. He’s left cold on top of the covers while Aziraphale pretends to putter around the room, far too smug for his own good.

And so Crowley remains there, cold and uncovered, purely out of spite.

After changing into his pajamas, (a hideous set of mis-matching tartan, or so Crowley seemed inclined to voice on multiple occasions. Aziraphale finds them both stylish and comfortable) Aziraphale stands at the edge of the bed, tutting at Crowley’s behavior.

“Come now, Crowley. Get changed and budge over.” Crowley fixes him with a glare that lasts all of five seconds before he’s snapping his fingers — clothes changed and eyeliner removed — and rolls over to his side of the bed. He pulls down the covers on his side, flopping down onto his pillow, hair a fiery blaze behind him. Aziraphale does likewise and scoots into his spot, wiggling around to get comfortable. Crowley watches on with unfiltered glee.

He continues to watch his angel closely as he clicks on the lamp beside him and peels back the cover of some hundred-year-old Dickinson collection, his reading glasses having appeared on the bridge of his nose at one point or another. Eventually, Aziraphale looks over at Crowley, feeling his eyes on him.

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you,” he blurts out. “I love you with all your moldy books and useless glasses and your ridiculous lovely body. I love all of it.” Aziraphale smiles brilliantly and the room is suddenly much brighter. Crowley could swear celestial light is leaking from Aziraphale’s pores and shining from behind his eyes.

“And I love you with your reckless driving and your useless glasses and your pointy nose, knees and toes, elbows and ankles. I love every last piece of you, mitting.” (This was one of those phrases that Aziraphale had sat on for quite a while before he finally had a chance to put it to use.)

Aziraphale lifts an arm for Crowley and he’s immediately curled up against the angel’s side, arms stretching across the long expansive of the angel’s belly while leaving space for the book to balance against Aziraphale’s chest. Legs twist together hidden beneath the blankets and toes wriggle about in cozy socks. Crowley rubs his leg up against Aziraphale’s, pushing up the pant legs of both their pajama bottoms.

It’s not long before Crowley falls asleep still tucked under Aziraphale’s arm and eventually, the angel decides it would be best to get some sleep himself. He places the book on top of his nightstand, not bothering to mark the page, and miracles the lights out. Gingerly, he moves his arm out from around Crowley and instead, manages to sneak his palm under Crowley’s head while the other arm pulls Crowley in closer, tucking his head beneath Aziraphale’s chin. He allows himself a brief moment of appreciation, brushing his fingertips over the flat plane of Crowley back.

“Until the morning,” he whispers into Crowley’s hair. He finally starts to drift off while watching the shadow of each snowflake tumble across the top of the duvet.

The now silent world within the bookshop remains so until daybreak, the night’s snow a puddle on the sidewalk and the flakes’ shadows replaced with a combination of orange, red, and gold light.

Until a red-headed demon slowly wakes in the early morning light to the soft, vulnerable skin of an angel’s throat pressing into his cheek. He’ll lay there for a long time, basking in the morning light and the happiness he feels in that moment with the knowledge that he’ll have that feeling many, many times in the distant, and not so distant, future.

Then he’ll clamber out of bed, trying not to wake the sleeping angel, to start making breakfast in a dusty, outdated kitchen.

Until the angel will wake to find a vacant spot next to him, still warm. He too will get up from bed, though with far more coordination and less flailing of limbs. He’ll enter the kitchen and wrap his arms around the demon’s waist and inquire as to just what it is the demon is making.

“Nothing good with this kitchen, angel. Some bloody hedonist you are. Can’t even maintain a proper kitchen to make your own food.”

“Now, now, if you’re going to be that way, maybe I’ll just go to dinner without you tonight.” The demon will grumble and mumble but refrains from any further comment. The angel will force the demon to turn his head and offer a kiss as payment for the meal that will no doubt turn out very delicious. He accepts, of course.

Until that night when it starts snowing as the two walk home from dinner, the temperature dropping to temperatures much too cold for a fussy angel and his serpent. So the night ends much the same way it did previously: with the soft glow of the space heater in the corner where there once was a fireplace and curious moonbeams scampering across the floor.

It ends with an angel and a demon so absolutely besides themselves with kindness and hope and love that they forgot what the cold feels like.

#holy shit its almost four im so tired #this was supposed to be short what the hell #also for real go look at freckled crowley by scribblemakes that version of crowley will forever be drilled into me #and you all know how much i love ineffablefool hes the fuckin best dont get me started or ill be here all night #if youre not reading his stuff already i dont know what youre doing honestly #anyway yeah im gonna go to bed ill reblog this whenever i wake up #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #chubby aziraphale #crowley has freckles #ineffable husbands fanfic

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adambstingus · 6 years

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Are You The One Season Finale Recap: Just Put Me Out of My Goddamn Misery (PART TWO)

Since everyone bitches and whines about how long my recaps are, I separated them into two parts. Pick up a book, you lazy pieces of shit and read part 1 here >>

Chuck is like, were not going to win so next match ceremony Im picking Britni and everyone is like Chuck and Alec start yelling at each other and having a food fight, which pisses off Alec more because hes a firm believer that you should never waste food.

Alec: WE SHOULD NEVER QUIT Chuck: Eat a dick dude

Chuck goes up to push Alec, which is a huge mistake surfer brah, and Alec shoves Chuck to the ground like hes made of paper. Alec, congrats, your ovaries have officially transformed into a small chode of a penis. Gotta start somewhere.

Britni is like You would shove Chuck, who btw looks like a Ken doll version of the lead singer of AFI, for money?! Thats some shit ONLY poor people would say. Britni, people have done way worse shit for way less money. Read a book, tune into the news, watch Empire (or read my recaps).

Rashida and Devin are like And I agree. I did not sit through 10 weeks of this retarded shit to watch yall give up.

Devin is like If I can get this fresh batch of mentally incapable humans to win this stupid fucking reality show, it would be equivalent to the greatest feat in sports history. Which sport? Speed walking? Turn on ESPN Devin, I fucking dare you.

Zak and Hannah are mourning the fact that they arent a match, and tbh, I am too.

Cheyenne is talking to Devin about how he is disrespectful and is like

Devin: (actual quote) Im a shit head, but not a total shit head. – I honestly dont even need to try and be funny for these recaps, they all say enough stupid shit where I dont even have to try.

THE GAME

Chuck is like, I was hammered last night and said dumb shit and Im going to actually play this thing. Thank god Chuck, otherwise I seriously would have cunt punted you, and your little dog too! (Britni)

The game is the easiest one of the season: its an obstacle course with girls sitting on their back. There is a true/false section, where if the team guesses it right, then they get 30 seconds off their time.

Zak and Kayla are in first, which is crazy because Zak might be the smallest out of all of them. Alec is terrible with this shit and is back to being a giant bitch.

Melanie and Tyler go to the true or false thing, where Mel admits she offered Chuck a threesome, which is a new low.

Kayla and Zak win, being the Italian stallions. Rashida and Devin get second and Mel/Tyler get third because they answered the question right- aka, Mel is a closeted freak.

Stacey is talking to Nelson about how she has no idea who her match is and shes talking so fast I could have sworn it was a Gilmore Girls episode. You can def tell Stacey is fucking hammered in this, but its cool. I love Stacey. And apparently so does Nelson. Okay whatever.

Meanwhile, Alec is flirting with Amanda and Kiki is like WTF. Which is literally her reaction to everything- WTF.

THE DATE

Theyre hanging out on fucking boat that doesnt even have a bar. That sounds like some Life of Pi shit.

Devin and Rashida are flirting and shes like except this shitty white guy with a butt chin.

Zak and Kayla are like you remind me of my family so they must be a match- some fucking Freudian shit right there. Chelsey the aspiring psychologist is probably fucking creaming her pants somewhere in the distance.

Tyler and Melanie are like, were besties and Tyler thinks thats code for match but Mel was like,

THE TRUTH BOOTH

The group makes a smart decision for once ,(they probably all broke out in hives afterwards because we all know they are allergic to brainpower), and send Zak and Kayla to the truth booth. Hannah is like Hannah save the stupid lines for Hunter please, babe.

Zak and Kayla make their way to the truth booth, looking like a set of fraternal twins walking into their grandmas 90th birthday. Not gonna lie, Im stressed right now. Im on bottle number 2 of wine, and shit is REAL rn.

Results are in and- THEYRE A PERFECT MATCH! YAAAAAAASSSS.

Everyone is screaming and jumping while Hannah is like, . Its okay Hanz, its not like these matches are real. Those rules arent even real! They were real that day I wore a vest!

Alec and Kiki are flirting and they are drunk AF and Kiki is like Shes talking about how she got stupid fucking matching bracelets for her perfect match and Im like

Devin is doing his shit math again using red solo cups, I feel like an algebra class is being taught in a frat house. Aka this shit is dumb AF.

They determine there are two scenarios- one where Kiki mtches with Alec, and one where she doesnt. Guess which one best friends forever bracelet Kiki wants?

The decide to use deductive reasoning and rationality.

Jk, they decide to flip a fucking coin. I CANT RIGHT NOW WITH YOU PEOPLE. Hunter is like Here is a quarter and ew, I dont trust anyone who has change offhand like that. Get a fucking debit card, you hillbilly fuck.

Kiki is upset because they get scenario one, but you know if the coin flipped for the scenario she wanted shed be like PERFECT! ITS ALL SETTLED, THIS COIN IS HOLY.

Tyler is like, Fuck your heart Tyler, fuck it. Austin is like WOAH you need to figure this shit out. Like I dont mean to sound aggressive, but if you fuck us all over were probs gonna stab you.

Never did I ever think that the game would rest in Tylers hands. Take a drink to that.

THE FINAL MATCH UP CEREMONY

Devin is like, there is a high possibility we lose- not high, almost definite. But he thinks they chose scenario one for a reason, that reason being a coin flip.

Ryan gives some speech about love and how they need it and its like, save it Ryan. Empire comes on in 20 minutes and I need to get this show on the road.

Austin is first and he picks Britni– basing it off the fact that he wanted a girlfriend who would be a ghost for most of their relationship and they would get together eventually when it was convenient. You know what thats called? A fuckbuddy. You came on a reality show to find a fuckbuddy. May I suggest Tinder next time?

Hunter is next, and Ryan is like, do you all have a strategy? And hes like clearly fate isnt on our side, so we decided to do a coin flip. So, fates not on your side, and you decided to rely on it again? Seems legit.

Ryan is like, And Connor and Chelsey are like

Hunter picks Hannah, which is a weird match but whatever I dont care anymore. Im gonna be honest, this whole season I thought Hunter was secretly gay.

Devin is up next and he picks Rashida. Rashida, girl, I have been praying for you. Clearly I am a sinner because my prayers have not been well received. My b.

Tyler is up next and were all on edge. Hes like I think Melanie is my match truly and this is the biggest plotline he has had all season, so hes rollin with it. Tyler ends up picking Cheyenne, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

Alec picks Amanda, and Kiki is like WTF (again). What is she gonna do with her bracelet?!!!!

Nelson picks Stacey and RyDev is like, And shes like, Okay, thatll work. Cant wait for an invite to the wedding.

Chuck is up next and gives an inspiring speech. Well, it would be inspiring if he wasnt talking to a band of idiots who put their fate in a coin toss and if he didnt look like a homeless folk singer.

Chuck picks Melanie. Shes like, well this sucks because well never date because hes still fucking Brittni. Maybe you can get that threesome you wanted, skank.

Kiki is last, and ends up alone, well, because her match is Mike. #tbt to Mike. LOL. She shows those bracelets to Ryan and Ryan tries so hard not to fucking vomit on her. Kiki is like I am not confident at all Mike is my match and honestly, ditto.

The beams and RyDevs dramatic hand motions begin. They get 4 beams, which they have never gotten before, so #progress..They get a 5th, then a 6th, then a 7th. Everyone is on edge as fuck, and I am stunned into complete silence at home. Even my boyfriend, who has migrated out of the room is whispering no fucking way to himself. Idk if he is saying that because hes surprised Im silent for once, or surprised that they just might actually win.

They get 8 OMG, They literally need one more to win the fucking game. Im shaking.

THEY GOT TEN BEAMS! THEY WIN THE FUCKING GAME.

MIRACLES HAPPEN (queue song from The Princess Diaries)

MTV IS THE LAND OF DREAMS

IM CRYING

IM SCREAMING, I FEEL THINGS

Okay, Im back. Wow Im hammered. So its made clear- either MTV is a magical place where miracles prevail, or this shit is staged AF. I mean, we all saw The Hills.

Wow, thats it for this season and this truly unique group of escaped mental patents. Thanks for reading, even though, lets be honest- I made your shitty Thursdays infinitely better. And to the cast who read and tweeted me, thanks for having a thick skin. Low key surprised I havent received a death threat from Britni by now. Good luck existing in the real world, you all are sure gonna need it. And if youre ever in California, come buy me a beer, because god knows I deserve one for putting up with your shit.

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from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/are-you-the-one-season-finale-recap-just-put-me-out-of-my-goddamn-misery-part-two/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/178560286887

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