#im just estatic that there are sunglasses-

[ludicdoll]

𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐔𝐏 — farleigh start ☆

pairing: farleigh start x fem!reader

warnings: farleigh being a little bitch, cussing, smut, eating u out like chinese takeout, a little banter, lowkey enemies to lovers type of thing

synopsis: you spend your first few days of summer at the saltburn estate. luckily for you, farleigh doesn’t seem to like you that much.

a/n: working on a few requests rnnn send in some moree!! this is for my stinkabutt @uch3na

you spread out on the lounge chair, silently sun bathing as you ponder at a magazine. you watch as felix and farleigh swim around in the vast pond. you turn your head over to venetia, smoking in front of you. she’s laid out with a towel underneath her, looking very intrigued with what she’s reading. you had been friends with her for a while now, and to your surprise, she had invited you to spend the summer at the saltburn estate. she had to convince you for weeks until you said finally said yes. you close your eyes, breathing in the fresh summer air. suddenly, you feel a giant wave of water drenching you. you yelp, immediately sitting up to see venetia quickly running back.

“what the fuck?” venetia yells out. the two boys laugh to themselves, a satisfied look on farleigh’s face. “you’re such an ass!” she grabs her stuff hastily as she sets her stuff back down elsewhere. you roll your eyes when you see farleigh waving his fingers at you mockingly.

you flip over your towel, placing on your shades before laying back down. after a while, you hear the sound of water sloshing around. farleigh gets out of the water, grabbing his towel from the grass. you watch as he pats himself down before joining you on the lounge chair next to you. he reaches over to the table, lighting up a cigarette. you hear him sigh in relief as he adjusts himself in the chair. “slutty bikini,” he mumbles under his breath. you turn, lifting your sunglasses up to get a better view of his face, “excuse you?” he turns back, his hand reaching out to you, another cigar between his fingers. he’s offering you one. you shake your head roughly, “i don’t smoke.” you reply. he scoffs, you can tell he’s rolling his eyes behind those sunglasses. “of course you don’t,” he murmured as he places the cigarette back in the pack.

“it’s harmful,” you start, “i’m trying to keep my body clean.” he almost laughs in your face when you finish your sentence. “yea, well you drink like a sailor.” you turn to him, scowling. “you run through ten packs of cigs each day.” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “so? you’re the one that drinks away all of your problems.” he grumbled. you sit up, almost offended at his snarky remark. “oh c’mon, farleigh calm down.” felix intervenes. you lean back into your chair, crossing your arms. felix gets off the floatie in the water, walking over to you two. he stops abruptly, taking a sip from the cold lemonade on the table before placing his hands on his hips. felix turns his head back and forth to you and farleigh, a frown on his face. “this doesn’t sound like harmless banter anymore.” he says. farleigh shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “let it rest.” felix directs to farleigh before jumping back into the water. you huff in frustration, ignoring farleigh muttering quiet insults towards you.

you stir your soup with your spoon, glancing around occasionally to everyone else at the dinner table. you were surprised to see that everyone was almost halfway finished with their food, venetia on the other hand was just staring down at her bowl. “dear, aren’t you going to eat?” elspeth asks with a motherly smile on her face, you look over to her end of the table, nervously biting your bottom lip. to be frank, the soup was disgusting. you didn’t know what it was, but it was gross. “i happen to have an upset stomach tonight, im sorry.” you reply. “really?” farleigh buds in. “you seemed to be perfectly fine during brunch.” he says while slurping the soup into his mouth. you see venetia roll her eyes at him. elspeth turns back at you, almost like she was waiting for an answer. you furrow your brows at farleigh, pissed with his childish behavior.

“maybe i’ve gotten a stomach bug.” you say to elspeth with a smile. she nods before going back to her food. felix stares at farleigh, almost like he was communicating with his eyes. whatever it was, farleigh had stayed quiet for the entirety of the meal. after dinner — everyone said goodnight, then went their separate ways to their bedrooms. you walk up to your guest bedroom, undressing yourself from the fancy dress you were forced to put on for dinner into your night gown. you make your way to the bathroom, brushing your teeth. coincidentally, your bedroom was right next to farleigh’s. due to your rooms being so close, you could hear farleigh blasting music. you groan, spitting out your toothpaste and jumping back in bed.

you stare up at the ceiling, trying to ignore farleigh’s music through the walls. after a few minutes, you turn to your side, covering your ears with the pillow — still, nothing worked to muffle the sounds. you sit up, throwing your legs over the bed and walking down the hall to farleigh’s room. you don’t bother knocking, just barging in. farleigh’s in bed, an arm behind his head while the other was flipping through a magazine. you turn a knob on his radio, the volume lowers. you clear your throat, arms crossed. annoyed, farleigh drops his magazine into his lap, looking over at you in his doorway. he sits up, leaning back on the palm of his hands. he tilts his head to the side, raising a brow.

“what the fuck is your problem, why are you still up at this hour?” you whisper-yell. he rolls his eyes, looking into his lap. “are you trying to piss me off?” you push again, “you know, people are trying to sleep.” farleigh scoffs, lulling his head back. “and? this isn’t your home.” he snaps back. you stretch out your arms before they fall to your side. “this isn’t yours either, more like a personal fucking playground.” you reply. “you keep trying to start shit with me ever since i got here.” he straightens up, acting intrigued in what you had to say. “you know, i don’t understand why venetia likes you so much. i can see right through you.”

you widen your eyes, almost laughing at his response. “yea? i’m just trying to have a good summer, and i don’t give a shit what you think. you need to lay off, it’s getting annoying.” your hands settle on your hips. he glares at you in silence, an irritated look on his face. “if you don’t give a shit, why are you in my room?” he says with an arrogant smirk on his face. you stutter, trying to think of something to say. “because you’re blasting your music at twelve in the fucking morning.” you point to his radio, crossing your arms back in front of your chest. “keep it down, and maybe i won’t bother you.”

“i find that hard to believe.” farleigh breathes out as he picks up the magazine again. he start flipping through the pages like he’s reading, occasionally looking over at you with that same smug look. you stomp closer to the end of his bed, pointing an accusing finger at him. “i swear, if you keep pulling this bullshit with me, i’m gonna make sure the remainder of your summer goes to shit.” you threaten, he doesn’t react, only looking up at you with an amused expression. he closes the magazine before sliding off the bed and walking towards you. you step back as he gets closer, his height towering over you. you swallow, a nervous knot forming in your stomach. “you’re not gonna do anything.” he breathes out.

your only a few inches away from his face when you feel a hand travel up to the back of your neck, his lips grazing over yours. the sudden movement causes you to whimper. he looks down at you, his eyes filled with passion. his hands find their way to your waist. he pushes you against the closed door — kissing your neck. you moan, rolling your head back. “i fucking hate you,” you whisper. “i know,” he says while his hand gropes your breasts. the ache between your legs spreads throughout your body like a fever, and farleigh could sense it. he plays around with the lace hem of your panties, his breath brushing up against your ear.

you groan, grabbing at his hand. “stop doing that.” you whimper, “stop doing what?” he asks smugly. you stay quiet — realizing he’s amused by your slight whining. he flashes a smirk at you, his fingers making their way to your pussy. farleigh kisses down your chest, you feel himself grind against your stomach while his fingers spread you out. you bite back a moan when farleigh ghosts past your clit, teasing you. he watches your face closely as he slides his fingers inside of you slowly. your knees feel weak, trembling under his touch. “if you hate me so much, why are you soaked?” he questions. you avoid his question while looking away. he tilts his head the to side to kiss you, his fingers sliding in and out of you.

“fuck, farleigh.” you moan softly trying to keep your voice down so the whole family doesn’t hear you. farleigh rubs circles over your clit, his eyes locked onto you. he keeps his pace slow and deliberate — almost like he was mocking you. he liked keeping you on your toes, constantly needing all of him. “how long have you pretended to hate me, huh?” he groans out as you squirm. you roll your eyes from the pleasure, but also from his conceited question. “shut up.” he laughs, shrugging before going in to kiss your parted lips. he pulls his fingers out, the wet squelching sounds making you slightly embarrassed. he ghosts his thumb over your clit again, smirking. “c’mere,” he mutters as he softly tugs you close to the bed.

you lay down on the comforter, your legs handing off the edge of the bed. you watch as he kneels down, kissing up from your calves to your thighs carefully. the tension in the room is heavy, thick with desire and lust. he kisses the inner part of your thigh before moving his lips closer to your clothed pussy. you feel him press a kiss on the fabric before he slides them off to your ankles. his face is hidden under your silk dress, but you don’t need to see him to vision his pretty brown eyes looking up at you. he licks at your dripping cunt, lifting your legs up to rest atop his broad shoulders.

his sharp teeth grazes your sensitive flesh, nipping and kissing your thighs until his bite marks sinks into your skin. he’s sloppy, burying his face deep between your legs, and lapping at your clit repeatedly, drooling all over it and groping at your thighs. he clings onto your figure, suffocating himself with your legs and your pretty pussy. “mhm, mmm..” he hums out. farleigh doesn’t wanna breathe, just wants to continue fucking you with his mouth until he makes a mess out of you. he wants you to feel embarrassed and ashamed of letting him do this to you.

farleigh groans under the dress, his cruel tongue swirling over your swollen clit. you curl your toes, biting down on your bottom lip to hide your lewd sighs. he licks a long stripe down your pussy, savoring your taste on his tongue. you tense up when you feel his tongue seeping inside of you. his soft hands come up to grip your skin, his nails digging into the plush of your soft thighs. “just like that,” you arch your back, gripping onto the blanket for dear life. one of his hands come back down to your pussy, his thumb playing around with your clit. you whine at the sensitivity as you start tearing up. you were pissed at yourself for enjoying this moment so much, farleigh was never going to let this night go. he would use this against you in every argument, maybe even blackmail you with this.

his nose presses up against your pussy as he eats you out like a desperate starved man. “farleigh, please, please let me cum — oh fuck!” you moan loudly when his circular motions on your clit intensifies, causing you to beg and cry for that sweet release you wanted so badly. farleigh continues to flick his tongue deep inside of you, your wetness all over his face. you hear him groaning as you realize you’re reaching your peak. your dripping cunt is throbbing in arousal, your hair is a disheveled mess, your night gown has now completely fallen down your shoulders. you arch your back, feeling the sudden ecstasy run through your body like electricity. you sob when you feel yourself squirting all over farleigh’s face, your body jolting up from the sudden pleasure. you shiver, realizing you’re too weak to get up.

farleigh peaks his head up from under your nightgown, his eyes glued onto your pussy dripping with his saliva and your cum. he has a light playful smirk on his face, not too noticeable in the dim atmosphere in his room. you see his spit and your wetness dripping down his chin. he pulls your legs up to your chest, watching as his fingers slide down the folds of your pussy one last time before licking his hands off. your tears are dried on your face, glossy eyes looking up at his large towering figure. farleigh leans down just inches away from your face. “you still hate me now?” he asks.

© do not publish my writings on other sites.

[sincerelyverena]

the oliver fic section of tumblr is SOOOOO dry rn so I'm wondering if you could write about how you've been friends with ollie since oxford and got invited to stay the summer with felix. then while playing spin the bottle you and him have something? IDK IM JUST RAMBLING BUT YEAH

i enjoyed writing this so so so much. i diiiid take this in a way different direction than i anticipated, but i hope you enjoy this nevertheless. thank u dearly for ur rambles! mwah! 🤍

⟡⁺ SEVEN MINUTES IN HELL

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FEM!READER ‘testosterone boys and harlequin girls.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore @fedyascoffin

inbox is always open to requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒hate has no bounds. except when you're stuck in a wardrobe with oliver quick.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒implied sex ﹐fade to black smut ﹐enemies with benefits ﹐dom!oliver ﹐spoiled!reader ﹐reader would’ve probs bullied you in high school ﹐oliverrr you little stalkerrr ﹐felix and reader have a sister-brother connection ﹐ oliver brat tamer arc ﹐farleigh has naturally sharpened canines beware ﹐reader is a homie hopper ﹐YES OLIVERR USE YOUR HANDS ﹐DRUNK N HORNY, DRUNK N HORNYYY ﹐smack my ass like the drum slurp the dick til it cum ﹐forced proximity ﹐degradation ﹐phat exposition beware ﹐the plot is absolutely plotting ﹐implied incest between minor characters

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @sparklehani ﹐@vikwrites

You pushed the frame of your sunglasses upward with the pad of your thumb. The accessory nestled into the top of your hair, positioning yourself to soak up the grandeur of old money that ascended far beyond where the naked eye could see.

Saltburn. A spectacle passed down by word of mouth.

The double ebony archways are considered to be a set of doors shifted in position. Presented to you, the skyscraper-remnant entrance is extended with a gradual creak of effort. Revealing the beauty of the estate’s foyer in the process. 

“Miss Esmeray.” 

You were too absorbed in the elegance etched into every breath that was drawn in the manor alone to notice the suited male positioned behind the doorways. Declan, was it? You weren’t too opposed to not giving a singular shit about the name of a mere, working butler. 

To outsiders, those morals would’ve been doubted in the fashion in which you approached the estate’s employee. 

You inclined forward. The painted maroon of your lips puckered as you scattered lightweight kisses upon either side of the loose, wrinkled surface of the butler’s cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Declan.”

He didn’t seem particularly phased – on the surface at least – apart from the cool hardening of his formerly strained eyes. 

“It’s Duncan.”

You stifled the urge to laugh.

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” You leaned backward with a hushed hue of voice and a poised frown. A frown that didn’t last long as you slipped by with an isolated thrum of your heels along the blemishless, maintained floors. 

The porters that had withheld your luggage followed suit, grasping the attention of Duncan. He continued to clasp his hands behind his back, surveying the situation with a stare that would put a hawk to shame.

“Leave the luggage there. The estate butlers will see to it.” The note of exasperation that tainted Duncan’s articulation caused your personal porters to arrange the stacks of luggage onto the flooring without missing a beat.

The bound of employees hit the open doorways, leaving you to bask in a well-deserved solitude. Or so you had thought.

The hue of your flickery eyes had fixated immensely upon the silhouette which overlooked the foyer. An individual that leaned along the fencing of the plank-relied stairway, slinked in the comfort of the shadows. Even in the limelight of darkness, you could scrutinize the sight of a chiseled jaw and the irises of dusked aquamarine. 

Oliver Quick. Bile slicked the crevices of your throat. That slimy, freakish companion of one of your closest friends from Oxford. The sole reason you were invited to the estate in the first place.

And that sole reason broke out into the foyer before you could’ve mustered a word.

“[Y/N]!”

Felix Catton. Gorgeous, radiant Felix Catton came bounding toward you. Arms sprawled wide open, and a grin of nothing more but graciousness broke across his lips. Devoid of awaiting a response, Felix tossed the base of his arms around your shoulders. The toned muscle propped behind the sleight of your neck, burying himself into you in the process.

“Hi, Fi.” You mumbled around the top of his broadened shoulder, basking in the familiarity of his scent and aura. The tension that had made itself known in the base of your abdomen uncoiled, just the slightest.

You had inclined backward momentarily. The palms of your hands propped themselves upon the sleight of Felix’s jaw. You surveyed Felix closely and blew out a sharp breath. “Felix, you’re looking thinner. What have they been feeding you here?”

“The summer fucks up my appetite, you know that,” Felix grumbled pointedly.

“That’s not an excuse, Fi.” Your forefinger pinched the practically non-existent fat lining his cheeks, reeling a small grimace from the male.

The dense thrums of rhythmic footsteps spliced unnervingly through the moment. You tore the unyielding hue of your stare from Felix toward Oliver, who positioned himself solidly against the foot of the stairway. 

“Ollie!” Felix unraveled his arms away from you, in turn, to acknowledge his self-titled best friend. The male was peacefully oblivious to the glowering irritation that etched itself into your gaze. “You remember [Y/N], yeah?”

“How could I forget?” Oliver quipped the mere intensity of his gaze maintained upon you. You felt as if he was staring right through you, aware of every crook, crevice, and secret of your being. Deep speckles of disgust were blanketed behind hues of feigned interest.

As the moment drew on, he extended a hand. You harshly glared into it. Whilst the remainder of the inner circle Felix had established in Oxford grew to warm up to Oliver’s meek, somewhat awkward presence. You loathed it. 

“Mum has been dying to see you all day, [Y/N].” The strained hues of Felix’s voice tore into the steadily growing silence. His lips curved upward into a thin smile. Felix could virtually feel the tension tighten between his two companions.

“She’s in the morning room.”

You pecked him on the cheek on your way out. “Thanks, Fi.”

Felix’s words of prominence held a generous truth. Lady Elspeth Catton pushed the teacup amid her hands aside the second her eyes had met the radiance of your presence. You mustered a small smile at the sight of the woman you had known for the year prior.

“Oh, darling. It’s been too long.”

The all-too-familiar scent of high-end designer perfumes assaulted your nostrils as Elspeth brought you into a momentarily embrace. You had come to terms with the preceding summer that she had grown to be more of a maternal figure than your mother ever would be. Even if you were inclined to remove your nose ring and settled for a less dramatic false lash to soothe her fear of what she deemed to be ugly.

In those logistics, you had no idea why she hadn’t thrown Oliver out the second she met his acquaintance.

“Come, come, come. Sit down, I’ll whisk up some tea for you…”

“Hot chocolate.” You had a hard time grappling with the concept of politeness.

“Oh, of course! How would I forget?”

As Elspeth handled the hot chocolate-bearing teapot, you were prompted to discuss the prior school year. Conversations flowed from academics to the selection of boys and girls alike who had the misfortune of encountering your diva-like logistics. 

Elspeth indulged in her tea. “Did Felix mention the festivities we’re having tonight?”

You propped a spoonful of whipped cream atop the chocolate goodness, a frown painting your lips. “Not at all. What festivities?”

“One of the annual dinners with the Catton’s family friends is proceeding tonight,” Elspeth explained, tone somewhat bored with the lack of any mentions of gossip present in this crevice of the conversation. The flimsy painted surface of her nail tapped away at her teacup.

“Please tell me it's the Lockwoods.”

“Who else would it be, darling?”

“Thank Christ.”

As Elspeth continued to chatter onward about the newest scandal she observed with the Lockwoods, you pertained to drifting off in thought. Concerning the night ahead. And the dread that followed with the idea of socialization with a bunch of stuck-up acquaintances alike yourself.

And Oliver Quick.

You rolled the base of your fingers around the rounded cigarette Felix had outstretched. Flimsy smoke curled outward from the plumpness of his lips, drifting upward toward the coiling stairs above your heads.

You circulated your lips around the rim of the drug stick, angling your hand backward as you took a hit – brimming with a  buzz of pleasure. The cigarette slipped back into Felix’s hand, which inclined away to pass it toward Oliver. Whom you hadn’t even bothered to glance toward once during the entirety of the night.

The remains of the others flocked behind, the light hue of conversation prominent in the air. The three others you’ve befriended – Wiona, Lincoln, and Valencia – had befriended the Catton children in their younger years. At the annual dinner that commenced the year prior, you discovered that they had developed an annual tradition for Spin the Bottle.

The sole reason why the group of eight traversed up the spiraling stairway in the first place, bottles of alcohol propped in hand.

A prominent part of you wordlessly hoped that the alcohol would loosen you up a tad. Alas, with the sensation of Oliver’s eyes bored into the back of your head. You were bound to feel a tad paranoid. Especially when you weren’t oblivious to how every movement you made was tracked. 

The minuscule smirk when the base of your nail had chipped. The glimmer of distaste when you looked up and down the outfits of the current houseguests. The burn of eyes when you laughed a tad too loudly. The indescribable emotion that blared throughout Oliver’s surveying gaze as you stared into him. An attempt of intimidation that was never accomplished.

The solid front of the bathroom’s tiles was undeniably cool, in contrast to the thin garment that shielded the top of your thighs.

You proceeded to tuck yourself across the minuscule opening between Farleigh and a most currently amused Felix. The glass-spun bottle of the night lay vulnerable in the grip of his broadened fingers.

“Care to make a bet on this year’s game?”

A short laugh stirred itself from the crevice of your throat. You inclined your head over the brink of your shoulder, scrutinizing gaze propped upon the curly-haired male sat inches away. Farleigh’s eyes crinkled with the intensity of his curved lips, tongue tracing the rim of his canines. 

You suddenly grew aware of the sheer amount of certain plastic bags you had smuggled down your bra upon arrival. Ziplock bundles of goodness Farleigh would surely die for. A sentiment visible from the mere spark of interest blanketed behind his eyes.

“You seriously think I’ll say no to a good gamble?”

With a tinge of casualty, Farleigh swung a singular arm over the bridge of your shoulders. His voice grew hushed, but the intention of his words burnt into the crevice of your ear. “One of those pretty bags of yours if it lands on Valencia and Lincoln.”

“They’re siblings, munchkin.” The force of your articulation twisted with a prominent combination of distaste and fluid judgment.

“So what?”

For someone who always had something to say, you hadn’t been rendered this speechless in a long, long time. Alas, Farleigh wasn’t the only soul that expressed his amusement with the fact.

Oliver stared right into you. Twisted amusement circulated within his gaze.

Felix proceeded to illustrate a spectacle of himself, the glass-rimmed bottle set down on the tiled ground before him. Dramatics and flairs. Nothing out of the ordinary for your beloved Fi, who expressed the rules and regulations of the game as if his company hadn’t played for the years prior. 

This excluded a scrutinizing Oliver. A prominent smirk threatened to overcome your lips at the sight of his cockiness. His prior attitude slipped away at the news of having to potentially be stuffed in one of the Catton’s family closets for several minutes – with his luck – accompanied by a total stranger.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to begin.

Felix offered a riveting motion with his hand. The echo of uproar, paired with the creak of the bottle against the tiles bounced off of the thinly-veiled walls as he gave it a fluid spin.

The uproar crescendoed into a screeching halt as the pitcher shook into a steadied pace. Its glimmering tip angled precisely toward a noriette-haired girl, who was in the midst of pertaining her slight nose toward the strip of snow-white goodness laid out on the back of her hand. 

“Wiona!”

“You better hope and pray, darling.”

“Leave your drink with me, Wynn!”

Felix stuffled the broadened nature of his fingers into his mouth. He offered a low whistle toward Wiona, whose smirk was shielded by her bob-length curls.

He inclined toward the glass-rimmed bottle once more. “Right, whose the lucky boy… or girl? We don’ discriminate here…”

Murmurs of agreement followed the winding silence of the spinning contraption. Accompanied by short-circuited laughs, and gambled musterings. Overtaken by shrill yells as the crown cork inclined precisely toward Farleigh, whose curves were still draped over you. 

“Leigh, that’s you.” Felix had confirmed, to the delight of those inclined around the circle. His eyes crinkled, appropriate to the intensity of the sparkling grin that graced his otherworldly face. “The blue room awaits you lovebirds…”

The jangling of cash and the slip of dope occurred.

The game continued as such. And with gradual time, all participants grew intoxicated by the minute with the presence of booze and crack. Two of your tit-coke bags have been ripped out of your disposal with the force of the circle’s gambles, gaining triple the amount in the process. Especially when Lincoln and Valencia slipped into the next room.

You found yourself with the curve of your head lolling atop the pad of Felix’s shoulder. An endearing warmth buzzed throughout you, rooted in the alcohol burning the crevice of your throat.

One of Felix’s broadened palms settled upon the hitch of your scalp. The other claws at the scarcely dented bottle once more, sending it into a tile-searing spin.

Commotion peaked within the room as the pitcher sloped toward Oliver.

Shadowiness engulfed your vision as the wardrobe doors closed in. Bathing in the darkness of mere loathing for two factors in this twisted, twisted equation. For the bottle. And for Oliver Quick, who had never been closer to you than in this moment. Bile rose in your throat for the second time that day.

It was just your luck that the bottle inclined towards you at that moment.

“That’s ironic.”

A slither of outside illumination managed to crack into the wardrobe, lining the crevice of Oliver’s azure hues. Speckled with what was perceived as faint amusement, tightening the knot of tension present in the atmosphere.

The sleight of your back strained as you stumbled toward the clanky side of the closet, desperate to discover an escape. To no avail. The faint ghost of a scoff reverberated from the hollow of your throat. “What’s ironic, huh?”

For some reason. For whatever reason at all, Oliver inclined toward you. The slightest indeed, but it managed to send your heart hammering between your ears. Nothing more but pure loathing pulsated throughout you with the sudden proximity. It was the alcohol. Booze does funny things to the mind, right?

Olivcr’s alcohol-tinged breath mists upon your lips. His words slurred somewhat. “For som’one that gets everythin’ she wants, you seem pretty… helpless right now.” “Anyone that finds themself in a closet with you would be.”

“I’m jus’ sayin', it’s pretty pathetic.”

A gradual grin seeped onto Oliver’s face at the undeniable loathing that flared within the depths of your eyes. You looked as if you were a tick away from murdering him with your bare hands, and it brought him nothing but pure amusement.

“Pathetic…” The word dripped off of your lips with slow, taunting articulation. A twisted of taunted tipsiness. With the fiery force of each syllable, you leaned forward and clasped a sloppy hand toward the center of Oliver’s chest, an attempt to shove him further away. 

“Pathetic?”

You had made your intentions very clear to extend the distance between you and the male. To your luck, you had found yourself even closer.

Oliver didn’t appear phased, gaze carving holes into you. “You think the complete world of yourself, I’d say that’s pretty pathetic.”

Your stare narrowed down further. Silence draped over you momentarily with the intention of cold-shouldering Oliver until the seven minutes eventually ticked by. You adverted your eyes, purposefully scrutinizing the slight gap between the worn closet doors. The illumination blurred amid your intoxication.

 “Look at me.”

A roughened palm tore you back toward reality. Accompanied by a thread of fingers that pressed into the curve of your cheeks. Your once inclined head had surrendered into Oliver’s grasp, involuntarily meeting his gaze.

“Whoa… he’s finally thinkin’ for himself for once.” You spat out around the mere brute of his hands. Even though they radiated a certain chill only Oliver could possess, a prominent warmth glowed in every patch of skin he had clutched onto.

“Instead of bein’ Fi’s little hound…”

Oliver’s grappling hand seemed to tense with every batter of your words. “Shut your bloody mouth before I do it for you.”

“Wooow… so scary–”

You barely possessed the will to blow out another sharp breath before Oliver’s lips were interlocked with your own. The breath you had been holding hitched upright into your throat. Your chest constricted. In replacement of the disgust you preempted, velvety warmth pulsated throughout your entire being with a singular brush of the male’s mouth along yours.

With the fashion in which Oliver devoured your lips, you wondered if he wished to eat you alive.

You blamed it completely on the booze and the crack.

He was the first to pull back from the embrace, hands still tucked immensely around your jaw. A glow of succession is prominent in Oliver’s aquamarine stare, a glow that brought forth a sleight of irritation to overcome you.

“I believe you liked that.” 

“Your ego is as big as your head, Oliver.”

He inclined his head, a smile wandering upon his lips. “That wasn’t a denial, now.”

The palm that cradled the sleight of your jaw loosened the slightest. It moved toward the back of your neck, utilizing the position to guide you toward him further. His lips. So close. Nearing with time. The curve of your abdomen burned with a newfound desire, christening your inner walls with its molten warm goodness.

But you couldn’t care. You just couldn’t. 

“You’re completely… fuckin’ mad.”

The seven minutes must be up now, wouldn’t it? Your ears strained themselves through the momentary silence as you processed tidbits of laughter from the next room over.

You reminded yourself to beat the everliving Christ out of Felix Catton the next morning.

The palm still collared around your neck dug downward into the base of your shoulders. In the same leering motion, the edge of a heel curved into the density of your legs. Before you can even process the situation, the rock-hard surface of the wardrobe is felt underneath your suddenly aching knees.

“Now, now…”

You inclined your head upward. The twisted hues of Oliver Quick bored down upon you, like wood to an already brewing fire engulfing the inner workings of your womanhood. The hollow of your throat bobbled as you gave a dense swallow.

An even denser zip of Oliver’s dress pants sounded throughout the wardrobe.

“How about I teach you a lesson on how a brat should behave?”

WORD COUNT: 3K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[kissmyhandcallmedarling]

tour life

noel fielding x reader

short little noel imagine where you're on tour with the mighty boosh troupe

wordcount: 700

Tour life… not your most favourite way of living. Of course there were advantages, to be sure; relishing in that free-willed rockstar life that so many aspired to have, touring Britain with a man you knew so many women fancied, and having the satisfaction of knowing that his heart was yours - the glares of sheer jealousy sent your way as you entered the public on Noel Fielding’s arm kept you smug. Meeting new people and travelling was great too.

But the aspect of being cramped up in a tour bus with five guys for hours on end was at times, frustrating, to say the least. Especially when one of those guys happened to be Rich Fulcher - you loved the idiot, and his peculiar take on British comedy; an American trying to fit in with a bunch of geezers - but he wasn’t very good at being quiet. And he seemed to get off on pissing off Noel, which then had repercussions on you - being the one whom he came whining to when Rich “accidentally” wrote ‘I love your mom’s nuts’ all over his sketchbook, or put cheese and onion crisps in his boots. 

You recalled just last Tuesday, in Brixton, packing up after the show when the latter situation occurred. 

“Christ almighty! Someone’s gone and pored a packet of crisps in my boots. Fucking hell!… I bet this was Fulcher. I’m gonna fucking kill ‘im.” 

They were all like siblings, honestly (well, besides the fact that Noel and Mike were siblings…), and there was never a dull moment with the Mighty Boosh troupe.

It just got a litttttllllleee much being with them all 24/7 cramped together in a small bus.

Fortunately, the boys had scored a lovely place off the coast of Brighton, where you were to spend the mid-week slump - it was Monday when you arrived, and the Brighton show wasn’t until Friday, so there were a few days respite from the cramped, testosterone-inhabited tourbus. 

"Annnnd, here we go." Julian pulled up to the house and wrenched on the handbrake. "Quite magnificent if I say so."

"Its bloody huge, mate!" Dave, who was seated in the front adjacent to Julian, removed his sunglasses to get a better look.

"Yeah, it's pretty neat," piped up Rich. "Looks like the estate my grandma used to live in before she got abducted by an army of gorillas."

You were currently curled up beside Noel, sharing a seat. Your head was on his shoulder, his arm around your waist as he spoke. "Dave's right, it's massive. You sure we can afford this Ju?"

"I mean it looked smaller in the pictures, but yeah, she's within our budget."

"Nice!"

Slowly, the six of you began to unload the bus, tired, bodies still recovering from the weekend. Yes. A few days of quiet in a big, roomy house would do you good.

You and Noel landed a beautiful little room on the second floor, with an ensuite, and a window onlooking the sea. Julian took the bedroom beside yours.

"Y/n, Ju doesn't have a loo in his room so I've said he can use ours instead of having to go downstairs," Noel told you. "So what I'm getting at is don't go wandering 'round with your tits out."

"Oh okay, no tits for anyone, I get it." You wrapped your jumper tight around your chest.

"That's not what I said." He ran a hand through his hair

"Too late now Mr Fielding. No tits for you."

Noel skulked up to you and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. He placed a heated kiss upon your lips, his nose lingering against yours, his breath hot on your face.

"How about now?"

"Hmm, well, I may have to make an exception for you." You twirled a lock of his raven hair around your finger. His lips curled into a smirk as he kissed you once more, a stray hand snaking up your torso.

*knock knock*

You instantly pulled apart, as Julian let himself in.

"We're having coffee downstairs if you two lovebirds wanna join us?"

"Yeah, we'll be down in a minute, Ju." Noel answered. "Oh, and can you ask Mike to put condensed milk in mine, please? Cheers."

He gave you a quick peck on the cheek, whispering in your ear - "to be continued..." - before taking your hand and leading you downstairs.

[forevercaroline]

Im so excited to finally present chapter 1 of battle for Royalty. This story is special to me not only is it my first sequel, it’s also the first story where writing chapter 1 I planned out future chapters I know where this story is going to go I have an endgame couple that I know you guys are going to love some of you guys already love.

Tagging: @charliewrites99, @dumb-bitchculture, @things-that-make-sa-happy @raaliyo, @crazychicke @karinanic @iamcarito @riverdalelover2 @austennerdita2533 @ceceswriting thank you so much @midnight-2411 for proofreading this chapter your amazing.

Caroline steps off the private plane and her long blonde hair blows in the wind as she slides her white sunglasses on. As always she is dressed to impress with white shorts a white bandeau and a turquoise cropped off the shoulder shortsleeved top and turquoise heels with a light blue Chanel purse.

She smiles at tall older man with short brunette hair and blue eyes as always he is in a black suit. "I missed you Bill."

"That's nice of you to say Miss Caroline how was Spain?"He goes over to the plane to take her luggage out and load it into the town car.

"Living the last four years without a driver or housekeepers that like you has been so hard. I had to learn how to drive. Spain was wonderful I met a new friend." She is leaning against the black Salvatore town car telling him all this.

"What did you do to make the staff not like you?" Bill looks at the plane expecting the new friend to come out.

Caroline goes to open her mouth but closes it for a couple moments. She is somewhat offended but she understands. "Nothing, they didn't like that they were being employed in a mini mansion in Polo Alto and had to cater a college student they expected to be working at the Forbes estate. I did overhear them saying they think I'm spoiled. All I did was call uncle Peter and ask if he had a home near Stanford he provided the staff. You know my brothers and I don't like anyone calling us spoiled. Like our father would ever spoil his three children he doesn't even respect us as people we are just his playthings. Take us out when you need to show that you have a perfect family." She takes her sunglasses off as Bill opens her door. "Patrick didn't come he stayed in Madrid."

Bill glances into the rear view mirror at the blonde in the backseat. "Which home am I dropping you off at?"

"The penthouse," she's a little hesitant about saying that. She had two choices of living a three story penthouse apartment that has a bad memories she hasn't thought about in four years, although her contractor did say he installed something for her safety or a six floor mansion with her own floor, and office. Both have staff.

While Caroline and her brothers were at college Bill who is their family driver went to Paris and Spain to be their mother's driver. When news of Caroline's arrival back in New York City he was released by their mother and resumed his job as driver of the Salvatore triplets even if two of the triplets are not here.

As they are driving through the city she notices a mostly glass 18 story office building with the words Royalty modeling on the glass doors and can't help but smile.

Xxx

As she is making her way through the lobby she is called over to the front desk. "Welcome back miss Caroline."

"Thank you Vanya do you know if Dorota had the penthouse purified with Sage I am not stepping foot in that penthouse with the bad vibes that bitch left." The elevator doors open and her luggage is piled in.

Vanya who is a older blonde haired man who since he met his wife the Salvatore's housekeeper Dorota he hasn't stopped smiling he also has a Russian accent. He swallows and looks down at his desk. "There was an issue and they couldn't make it today."

Caroline's breathing starts becoming heavy and her hand starts shaking. No she can't do this she can't go in that penthouse without it being cleansed. Not because it's dirty but for bad energy. The bad memories which she tried to forget are flooding back into her mind. She grips the front of the desk to keep herself upright. Her head becoming lightheaded.

"No this can't be happening. Call a priest, call an exorcist. I don't care call the Vatican."

Vonya comes out from behind his desk and tries to get the blonde to sit down in one of the chairs in the lobby. " Breathe Miss Caroline. Everything will be all right."

"Easy for you to say your mind is not flooding back to that day in that penthouse!" Her breathing is becoming more shallow. "Where is my luggage? I need to leave!?" She starts looking around frantically for her custom designer monogrammed luggage.

To read how Caroline meets Conrad and how their relationship begins:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14109689/1/Battle-for-Royalty

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40361112

[shooks-stupid-stuff]

hoes mad saber, in game edition

[sidneycarter]

vampire!sullivan hcs because my mind went wild

he’s a relatively new vampire. baby vampire. maybe late victorian/early edwardian? perhaps even a ww1 soldier saved on the battlefield. idk. but he’s new, so they passage of time hasn’t affected him too much for the time being.

he’s adapted relatively well to vampire life. he misses a few things about being human, but he wasn’t exactly happy with his human life so he moved past it pretty easily.

but he is still a bit repressed/with feelings of self-hatred. has a passive acceptance of his new life, but sometimes lies awake at night grappling with the ‘am i a monster? am i deserving of love?’ thing

he is very jealous of the ancient, old-blood born vampires who just seem to ooze charm and self-assuredness (*cough* flambeau)

his fangs ache when he gets sad or anxious. mrs mccarthy sews patches of thick linen fabric together so he can chew on them bc the texture feels nice. 

known local witch bunty windermere brews potions for him that get rid of most of the bloodlust. he only has to go to the local butchers every now and then when the cravings get really bad. 

lowkey a bit of a foodie. he LOVES italian food. he’s just waiting for the misconception about garlic to DIE OUT so he doesn’t get weird looks at the grocers for buying it.

again, the sunlight thing is a myth, it just hurts his eyes a little after a while. flambeau tries to get him to wear sunglasses but sullivan doesn’t think he’s cool enough

however, the crucifix thing is not a myth, those things sting, so father brown always ensures he keeps a napkin beside every one in the presbytery so that his visitors can always feel comfortable. he doesn’t believe that the undead are evil or undeserving of God’s love, and also gets into heated theological arguments when he gets into one of his grumpy ‘im a monster’ moods.

absolutely does not sleep in a coffin, but does prefer a firm mattress (”this bleedin’ thing is like a plank of wood!” weak and feeble human sid carter once commented) 

can sleep, but doesn’t need as much as humans. this still causes concern from goodfellow when he finds that sullivan has been awake all night solving a case.

does have super human strength, but it makes him very anxious that he doesn’t break/hurt things so he’s exceptionally gentle with everything. most people are too scared to let him near their best china/children/etc 

but once felicia invited him to the montague estate to see the new born baby bunnies on the lawn. she’s a siren, so she sang beautifully and attracted them all to her and placed one in his outstretched hand. it was so cute and curled up and fell asleep and sullivan cried. 

[loxanchives]

made some floating heads for the players!! now that i finally got to sit with them to do so.

players characters under the cut [as well as heavily cut summaries for em]

in order of creation-

“make me Carmen Sandiego! but sunglasses. Tremere wear sunglasses!” [anything specific you had in mind??] “aviators obviously!” [obviously]

Lulu Moncler-  13th generation Tremere on a mission to reconnect with the Cranbrook chantry after years away only to find it’s doors closed to any outside kindred. something to do with a former magister gone rogue. a story everyone in the city seems to have an opinion on.

“my hair but longer. regal like a panther.” [panther?] “or a mane. cause of the lion.” [okay a lion then..] “and a scar! right on the eyebrow.” [from what may i ask??] “paper cut.“

Seymour-  a business oriented 13th generation Lasombra. who at the moment arrives to Detroit with the task of removing a rather pesky group of independent ghouls whove taken to the city. his personal ambitions though lie in real estate an the unclaimed territory popping up between the Camarilla and the Sabbat.

“you know that ice cream pokemon? i want that but way sadder looking. [sad ice cream okay..] “or no scratch that. maybe someone up to no good. like you look at him an just go ‘skeazy.” [skeazy ice cream yeah..]

Wyce-  born at dusk hes a 14th generation thinblood. convinced his sire was something great an the visions will hit him eventually. hes running around learning all he can to remedy just that as he intends to simulate the madness network. a dangerous bit of alchemy should he actually learn how.

---

an these are are our.. starter pokemon now that i look at it. but a quick run up of the players before i figure out how im gonna retell the campaign on here. pictures sound nicer then a wall a text but uh. that might be to many to deal with since our campaigns normally go pretty rapid fire at the beginning. maybe headers. chapter it out in a way that sorta deal.

ill think of something.

[hopelikethemoon]

California Vacation (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: California Vacation  Rating: Explicit Length: 4100 Warnings: Fluff and Smut (cock warming, modified doggy style) Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in late May 1998. Outfit inspo here. Summary: Reader and Javier take a well deserved vacation. 

@grapemama​ @seawhisperer​ @huliabitch​ @pedropascalito​ @rogrsnbarnes​ @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns​ @gooddaykate​ @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico​ @readsalot73 @hdlynn​ @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale  @roxypeanut​ @snivellusim @lukesrighthand​ @historynerd04​ @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper​ @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie​ @swhiskeys @lady-tano​​ @beskar-droids​ @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​ @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes​ @findhimfives​​ @pedrosdoll​ @frietiemeloen​​ @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour​ @heather-lynn​​ @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl  @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive​​ @pascalesque​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​ @queenquazar @sabinemorans​ @buckstaposition​​ @holkaskrosnou​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​ @seeking-a-great–perhaps

This was the life. 

Top down convertible, hair loose in the breeze, Javier’s hand on your thigh as he drove along the coast. It was perfect — like something out of the movies. You could take a hundred pictures and still not quite capture the way you felt. 

And sure, you missed the girls, but you had both desperately needed a little time away from everything. After the way the DEA story had landed, you both needed to get the fuck out of there for awhile. Without the kids. 

Connie had initially suggested Mexico — Cabo, to be specific. But how the hell could either of you sit on a resort beach and not think about the cartels just beyond the American tourists? The DEA was the last thing either of you wanted to think about.

You reached down and rested your hand over Javier’s on your thigh, slotting your fingers in between his, you ran your thumb over the side of his hand. “I can’t get over how gorgeous this place is.”

Javier tilted his head, grinning at you as he caught your eyes. “Then you fit right in with the scenery, baby.” 

“Drive.” You rolled your eyes, squeezing his hand. 

He chuckled, running his hand down your leg, “What?”

You bit down on your bottom lip, winding your fingers through your hair as it whipped around you in the wind. There wasn’t a bad view to be found here. 

Javier looked good on vacation. Even after only one night in California — which was mostly spent dealing with jetlag at the hotel — he already seemed relaxed. And relaxation suited him. 

You reached over and played with the hair at the nape of his neck. His lips drew upwards with an easy smirk as he tilted his head to look at you, “Enjoying the scenery?”

“Very much.” You grinned. Even after all these years, Javi still managed to let loose butterflies in your stomach. The way he made you feel hadn’t dissipated. 

The winery the concierge at the hotel had recommended was still partially under construction — but the tasting room and vineyards were open to the public. It was insanely gorgeous, to say the least. The Castle, as it was referred to, was an ornate mansion fashioned after the French Normandy style — and there was nothing like this in Florida. In fact, it looked like something you had seen on Travels in Europe with Rick Steves. 

Not that you and Javier curled on the sofa on Sunday afternoons and watched travel shows on PBS. One day, you’d manage an honest to God trip beyond the realms of North and South America. 

Javier walked around the convertible to open the door for you, “Ever the gentleman.” You teased as you took his hand and stepped out of the car. You leaned over the side of the car, grabbing your purse and situating the strap across your body. “Shit, this place is insane.” You remarked as you interlaced your fingers with his.

“When they’re done with all the landscaping, this is going to be one hell of a destination.” He remarked, gesturing to the upturned soil along the pathway where they’d clearly recently put down seed. 

“I think they’re set to open next summer — officially.” You explained, shielding your eyes as you took in the scenery. “I think we might have to come back.” 

He shrugged a shoulder, “We could make it a yearly trip.” 

“Hopefully we don’t have a reason to escape every year.”

“You don’t think a nice post-semester getaway — just the two of us — sounds like a fantastic plan, baby?” He questioned with an easy smirk as he released his hold on your hand and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you in so he could steal a kiss. 

You pursed your lips as you pulled back, reaching up to ruffle the hair that fell against his forehead as you considered his suggestion. “I could be tempted.” You grinned at him and leaned in to kiss him again, before you escaped his grasp. “Come on, the tasting starts at noon.” 

Javier pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and followed after you up the pathway. “In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a place like this.” He remarked as he took your hand again. “I’m feeling underdressed.” 

You snorted, “You look fine, Javi.” Your eyes raked over him — dark denim jeans and a short sleeve linen button up suited him. “Better than fine if I were the judge.” 

There were already several other couples and groups waiting in the tasting room when you both arrived. They offered tastes of their 1994 Estate Merlot, before ushering everyone onto a tour of the winery and the vineyard. You had never really made a study of winemaking practices and you actually found the whole thing rather fascinating. 

“The day is still young,” You remarked as you leaned against the side of the convertible, arms folded across your chest as Javier came to lean against the car beside you. “We could go to the beach.” 

Javier glanced at his watch, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “I think Bodega Bay’s probably an hour from here.” He nodded his head in agreement. “You got the map?”

“Am I not the trusty navigator?” You teased as you moved to stand in front of him. “We can eat dinner there and then head back for cocktails at the inn.” You suggested, resting your hands on his shoulders as you leaned in to kiss him. 

He rested a hand at the small of your back, as the other gently cupped your cheek. 

“Newlyweds?” Someone questioned, interrupting the moment. 

Your brows furrowed together as you turned your attention towards the woman who had spoken, “Excuse me?”

“I have a keen eye. It’s easy to spot a pair of newlyweds.” The older woman stated, smiling between the two of you. “Are you on your honeymoon?”

Javier chuckled, raking his fingers through his hair as he gave your hip a squeeze. “Sorry to disappoint, ma’am, but we are neither married nor on our honeymoon.” 

You stifled a quiet laugh, by the woman’s flummoxed expression. 

“Really?” She clasped her hands together, “I could’ve sworn that was the case.” 

“We’ve essentially been together for almost eleven years.” You admitted, your fingers curling around Javier’s as you took his hand. “I guess it’s nice to know we give off honeymoon vibes.” 

“I’m the wedding planner for the estate,” The woman offered, extending her hand as an introduction. “Sheila Wise.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” You said politely. “The grounds are going to be beautiful when things are finalized.” You gestured back towards the mansion. “I can see the appeal of getting married here.” 

“Are you local?”

Javier shook his head, “Florida.” 

“Well, welcome to California. Are you staying nearby?”

“We’re staying in Sonoma at an Inn for a few nights,” You explained, leaning against Javier. “We just got in last night actually.” 

“You two must be awfully jet lagged.” 

Javier chuckled, scratching at his jaw, “It’s no worse than having a newborn. You got any recommendations? We’re in Sonoma until Tuesday and then heading to the coast mid-week.” 

“And then San Francisco,” You added. “We fly back out next week.” 

“You should drive down to Armstrong,” She suggested. “You’re less than an hour away and with the weather today, the forest is going to look beautiful.” Sheila looked between the two of you. “Oh, you two really are just a lovely couple.” 

You blushed, “Thank you.” 

“We were actually considering driving down to Bodega Bay,” Javier reminded you, squeezing your hand. “You wanna hit the Redwoods today?”

You shrugged, “I’m easy. We are staying at the coast later this week.” 

“Alright, baby, let’s go look at trees.” He winked at you, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand before he turned back to Sheila. “Thanks for the recommendation. We might be back next year to see the progress.” 

“Do you mind taking a picture for us?” You questioned, releasing your hold on Javier’s hand and leaning into the car to grab your camera from where you’d stowed it under the seat. 

“Of course!” Sheila took the camera from you, gesturing for the two of you to pose. 

You cupped the side of Javier’s jaw, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek as he grinned at the camera. You didn’t have nearly enough pictures of the two of you together. She took a second shot with you leaning against him, his arm curled around your waist. 

“I hope you have a wonderful visit,” She said warmly as she passed the camera back to you. 

“She is a remarkably spritely old woman,” You remarked once she was out of earshot and you were settled into the car, sorting out a route on the map that would get you to the state park. 

“Hope you’re that spritely when you get old like me,” Javier quipped with a smirk, taking his sunglasses off and tucking them into the front of his shirt. He stifled a yawn as he rubbed at his eyes. 

“Wanna go back to the hotel?” You questioned, leaning over to play your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck. “We can go poke around the plaza in town. Find somewhere to eat.” You brushed your knuckles against his cheek as he turned to look at you. “This is supposed to be relaxing, not exhausting” You reminded him. 

“Gotta reserve some energy for tonight, right?” He remarked, tracing his tongue over the edge of his teeth as he met your gaze. 

“You mean since we fell asleep last night?” You quipped, giving his leg a pat. “We can sit on the patio and crack into the bottle we bought.” You bit down on your bottom lip as you met his eyes, “And then we can have fun.” 

Javier leaned over and kissed you, “I’m looking forward to it.” He brushed his nose against yours before starting the car up. 

 ————

 “Why didn’t we settle in California instead of Florida?” You questioned, setting aside your menu as you looked across the table at Javier. “It’s not as hot as hell like Miami is.” You shook your head. “This is the right way to dine al fresco.” 

Javier took a sip of his wine and sank back in his seat, looking quite relaxed as he looked around the bustling downtown plaza area. “You know what the best thing is?”

“What?”

“We don’t have to worry about people recognizing us.” He rubbed at the side of his neck. “Yeah, it was national news, but everyone knows we’re in Miami.” 

You sighed heavily and shrugged your shoulders, “It was a lot.” Dealing with the back and forth in the newspaper had been emotionally fatiguing. “I don’t know what I expected, honestly. I just wanted it out there. You know?”

“Yeah,” Javier nodded, rocking his jaw. “I don’t regret it. It needed to be done.” 

You nudged his foot beneath the table, “I know everything coming out like it did wasn’t ideal. But it’s not like either of us have ever pretended to be someone that we’re not.” 

“It was pretty fucking clear the DEA had some idea about who they thought I was.” 

A faint smile cracked at the corner of your lips, “Everyone’s wrong about you, but… I think we cleared that up.” 

Javier snorted, “On the front page in black and white. I still wish Vickers had given us a fucking heads-up.” He made a face, “That was the most uncomfortable class of my life.”

You laughed, reaching for your wine. “Did they think they’d break us?”

He gestured vaguely with his hands, “Probably. I mean the whole thing blew up in their faces. Painted me out to be a saint and threw a half dozen of their guys under the bus.” 

“It opened up a whole new scandal,” You pointed out. “I’m kinda glad the whole thing took the pressure off us. Elena is a saint.” 

“We should get her something,” Javier suggested. “Think Hallmark has a card for that?”

You tapped your finger against your lips thoughtfully, “We should write in with the suggestion.” 

Javier leaned forward and took your free hand into his, “Dear Hallmark,” He began, barely keeping a straight face. “Please write a greeting card for when you need to thank a hooker you slept with nearly a decade ago for orchestrating the mass confessional of Colombia’s finest.” 

Your head tilted back as you laughed, “Please put that in your autobiography. “

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, “It’ll be in there.” 

The waiter came then to take your orders. Javier ordered a fancy sounding Tortellini Alfredo with prosciutto, while you opted for the Eggplant Lasagna. Despite dinner and wine being more than enough, you both managed to share a serving of tiramisu before walking back to your hotel. 

“Do you miss the kids?” Javier questioned as he stepped out onto the balcony with the bottle of wine you’d purchased at the winery. 

“A smidge.” You admitted to him as you pulled your robe around your shoulders, relaxing into your seat. “Monica assured me that she’d call if there was any trouble.” You scooted your glass across the table for him to fill it. “And she hasn’t called.” 

“I suppose that’s reassuring,” Javier’s gaze flickered to your face as he filled your glass, pushing it back towards you. “You buy that just for the trip?”

You nodded your head with a smirk. “I figured we needed a little treat.” You smoothed your fingers over the satin ruffled sleeve of the dusty rose robe. “And I don’t actually have any robes.” You brought your glass to your lips and took a sip. 

Javier chuckled, “It’s a good look on you.” He remarked, picking up his glass and taking a sip as he stepped around behind you, his eyes turning towards the horizon. “Hell of a view.” 

“The mountains are gorgeous. They’re so different from the ones I grew up with.” You reached up and rested your fingers over his hand at your shoulder. “I’m guessing hiking is off the agenda?”

He gave your shoulder a squeeze as he walked around and sat down in the chair across from you, “Who do you think I am?”

You snorted, “Alright, alright.” You took another sip of wine before you rose to your feet and moved around to sit on his lap. “Better?”

“Much better,” Javier assured you, resting his hand at your hip as he sat his wine glass aside. “Did you have fun today?”

“I did,” You said with a nod as you slipped at your wine. “That winery was gorgeous. Can you imagine living in a house like that?” 

“Makes our house feel like an apartment.”

“Right?” You sat your glass down on the table next to his, shifting in his lap to face him. “Did you have fun?”

“Of course I did, baby. I spent the day with you.”

“Ugh, gross.” You scrunched up your nose, but kissed him nonetheless. You nipped at his bottom lip, fingers cupping his jaw as you sank into the kiss. “Sometimes you say the corniest shit.” 

“You bring that out of me. You’ve only got yourself to blame, baby.” He told you, rubbing his hand down the top of your thigh where the robe fell against your skin.

You scraped your nails gently down the back of his neck, fingers toying with the soft hair there, before you dragged them through his hair. “Oh, it’s my fault you make dad jokes?”

“Well, who made me a father?” 

“Me. Twice.” You rolled your eyes. “I must be crazy or something for facilitating your descent into dad jokes.” You tugged at his hair. 

Javier played with the tie of your robe, loosening it just enough for him to slide a hand inside, his fingers playing against your bare side. “You like my corny jokes. Don’t lie.”

“I never lie.” You traced your finger down his nose. “Back in Colombia, you were definitely funnier than Murphy.”

“Only way to keep sane.” 

“Seriously,” You pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I think Josie is going to have our brand of humor. She’s already so sassy.”

“She’s all you.” Javier tilted his head and stole a kiss. “Sofía — I’m not sure about.”

“She’s grumpy, just like her father.” You punctuated your sentence with a kiss to his lips before you moved to slide out of his lap. You snatched up both glasses of wine and moved towards the doorway back into your room. 

Javier had loosened your robe enough so that it fell open completely as you stood in the threshold. Beneath the robe was a pair of satin shorts and soft bralet that matched, both edged with white lace. And given the look on his face — he was thrilled with the choice.”

“Like what you see?”

“Goddamn, baby. Sometimes I think you’re intentionally trying to give me a heart attack.” He remarked as he slid the balcony door closed behind him. He sat the half-drunk bottle of wine aside as he kicked off his shoes, “You look fucking incredible.”

Even still he managed to make your cheeks warm. You finished off your glass of wine, before setting his down on the nightstand. “I thought you might enjoy this.” You remarked as you let the robe slide off your arms and pool by your feet. “I might have another one saved for when we get to Sam Francisco.”

“You spoil me, baby.” Javier ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “Holy shit.”

You perched on the side of the bed, trailing your fingers along your collarbone as you watched him undress. He slowly worked the buttons of his linen shirt loose, before tossing it aside carelessly. “Come here, Javi.” You requested, spreading your legs as he approached you.

Javier laid you back on the bed, draping himself over you as his lips claimed your mouth. One of your legs curled around his hips, grinding against the growing bulge in his jeans. You could feel the hard line of the zipper pressing against you and you sought friction from it. The satin fabric cling slickly to your cunt, the satin darkening there as your arousal grew. 

Fuck. The man knew how to kiss. Lips hungry against yours as his tongue plundered you like you wished his cock would. God — you were aching. Wine always managed to make you horny. 

You tugged at his hair, desire spark through you at the groan that left his mouth from the gesture. “You like that, Javi?” You taunted. “Our lives might’ve been printed on the front page, but there are so many things only I know about you.”

Javier grinned down at you, “To the grave, baby.”

“To the grave.” You repeated as he dipped back down to kiss you again. You worked your hand in between your bodies, fingers desperately working to get his jeans off. 

He took a step back, undoing his belt before he shoved his pants down his hips and kicked them off. Your eyes flickered downwards to his erection, clearly straining in his boxers. “I feel like I should invest in satin.” You teased, “You seem to really enjoy it.”

Javier rolled his eyes, “Fuck you.” 

“Wish you would.” You retorted with a smirk, running a hand down your torso, before playing your fingers over the soaked crotch of the satin. You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress a sound as you circled your clit through the fabric. “Javi. 

“Middle of the bed, on your stomach.” Javier told you, his eyes snapping to your face. You wanted to taunt him, to drag this out longer — but the flint of control in his eyes made your stomach flip with desire. 

You complied, putting a little sway in your ass as you crawled onto the bed and laid down flat on your stomach in the center of the bed. 

Javier moved to join you, the bed dipping under his weight as he moved to straddle your upper thighs. He ran his hand down the center of your back, a tender touch that came in sharp contrast with the sudden slap he delivered to your left ass cheek. You jerked, grabbing the sheets as you cried out in surprise. 

“Baby, was it too much?” He questioned, rubbing the cheek he’d just injured. “Shit—“

“It’s good. Very good.” You assured him.

“You know your safe word, baby.”

“I do. And I don’t plan on using it.” You countered, wiggling beneath his weight. “Don’t tease, Jav—“

You muffled the next cry of pleasure against your pillow as he delivered a second slap to your right cheek. It was probably wrong just how much you enjoyed it. The pain that merged into pleasure. 

“You’re fucking soaked, baby. Fuck, look at this perfect pussy.” He drawled out as he dragged his fingers through your slick folds. The touch was just teasing at first, gathering up your arousal and smearing it all over his fingers. 

You lifted your hips towards him, desperate for more. You bit down on your bottom lip as you felt his fingers tease at your slick center — working one and then two fingers into you. The angle was perfect, making two fingers feel tight within you. A precursor to what you were desperate for. 

Javier worked his fingers in and out of you, dragging them right over that sweet spot without ever giving it his full attention. You could feel the pleasure coursing through your veins, but it was never enough to push you over the edge. 

You moaned into the comforter, as he kept his fingers within you and stroked them over that sweet spot. That pleasure causes you to be caught off guard as his free hand landed against your bare asscheek. 

“Fuck. You clenched so tight around my fingers, baby. Think you’re ready for me cock?”

You flipped him off in response, amused by the low rumble of laughter that escaped him. Javier slid his fingers from your cunt and replaced the with his cock. 

He fed it into you slowly, sinking inch after inch into you until you squirmed beneath him. The angle was incredible. You could feel every inch of his cock stretching you. 

Javier palmed at your ass, gripping them tightly as he worked his cock in and out of you. Every forward thrust had him hitting that sweet spot within you, your body so ready to come for him. 

He stretched out above you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as his cock stayed seated within you. Javier took your hands into his, keeping them pinned to the bed beside your hands. “That’s it, baby. Be a good girl and stay still for me.”

You drew in a shaky breath, the roughness of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “Keep it right there.” He ordered you, releasing one hand so he could curl it loosely around your throat. He wasn’t trying to leave a mark, they’d be too hard to hide in dresses and bathing suits. 

“Are you just going to stay like this?” You questioned, grinding back against him as you clenched around his length. 

Javier squeezed your hand, “Is there a problem with that?” He questioned, bucking his hips forward, “Just stay still, baby.” He soothed, dragging his fingers down the column of your throat. “You feel so good like this.”

It did feel good. You could feel every inch of him buried within your cunt and the weight of him crushing you into the mattress was a relished sensation. It felt like every part of him was pressed against you. 

He released your throat, brushing your hair aside as his lips hovered by your ear, “I want you to come for me, baby. Can you do that for me?”

You swallowed thickly, “Like this?” He nodded, kissing your shoulder. “Javi.” You begged, clenching around him again.

His fingers tangled in your hair, his grip tightening as he started rocking into you, a slow and steady thrust — one where he barely pulled out before he was pressed back into you.

You shifted beneath him, grinding back against his every move. “Fuck!” You gasped, feeling your body flutter around his cock. “Goddammit, Javi.” You urged. 

“Do you want me to stop, baby?” He questioned, his hand moving to give your hip a reassuring squeeze. “What do you want, baby?”

“I don’t want you to stop.” You told him hastily. “I just want you to fuck me. Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Javier pulled away from you, sitting back on his knees — using the angle to drive into you again and again. 

This was what you had wanted. Javier pounding you into the mattress until you forgot what your name was. Javier fucking you until all you could was come around his cock as he spilled into you. 

It was the best way to start vacation. 

[quirklessidiot]

pls more catoru...so catoru’s owner is gojo (or even better catoru is part of the gojo clan that happened to grown up with satoru - let’s pretend a cat’s life is as long as a human one) since yn wasn’t allowed to have pets.

what was yn’s first impression of catoru? and vice versa? imagine seeing a white fluff of a cat wearing sunglasses 🕶

also from yn pov, catoru is more tolerable than gojo bc even if catoru might have the same attitude/behaviour as gojo he’s a cat so free point to him

catoru and gojo might tolerate each other because they lived for so many years together BUT ever since yn started living in the gojo estate, catoru could feel the tension between satoru and yn. so being a sly cat, catoru make his mission to get close to yn and every time the married couple 'argued' he magically appears and start meowing to catch their attention. for a brief moment catoru and gojo make 👁 contact making gojo wondering what was catoru’s intention...only to be shocked bc yn’s attention was now fully on the sly feline who pretends (bc cats dont ask they pretend) to be on her arms. mission accomplished catoru - now lying in yn’s arms - looks 👀 at gojo straight in the eyes (gojo can see/feel it bc of his six eyes) with an expression as if saying look at you, strongest sorcerer but can’t get along with his wife while me being an humble (lmao) cat not only gets along well with her but she loves me too all of this while purring

hi ily and no ur asks are never too long 🥺❤️ u guys can send whatever u want here ilysm my ask box is always open to everyone!

ALSO SHAJHAHAA IT WOULD BE CUTE THO BCOS Y/N’S BEEN ALONE AT THE ESTATE SINCE LIKE JUNE-DECEMBER (SATORU AND HER HAD ONLY STARTED SEEING EACH OTHER RECENTLY) SO TECHNICALLY CATORU AND HER WOULD ALWAYS BE TOGETHER AND CLOSER AND HE’D SLEEP AT Y/N’S ROOM AND HELP HER WITH HER NIGHTMARES 😭😭😭🥺🥺 pls im so tempted to add a scene where gojo gives y/n her own pet when he hears she’d never had one and since they both dont want kids they’ll just take in stray cats and dogs bYE DHDHDHDDHD

[cryptidkieren]

come around (5/6)

im back guys!!  🎉🎉

dogsitting a puppy while 3 dogs are already in the house is a STRUGGLE, let me tell you

here’s the ao3 link for those who prefer that!

-----

Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t talk about what happened at Solstice.

The week following passed normally, though, with both of them basically joined at the hip. New Year’s Eve found the two otherworldly beings once again in Aziraphale’s flat. Twin flutes of champagne clinked as the newscaster on the telly counted down to midnight along with the rest of London. Fireworks exploded in the sky, the Thames far enough away that the eruption of cheers wasn’t deafening.

Aziraphale wished he was brave enough to set their glasses on the coffee table, take Crowley’s face in his hands, and steal a kiss from the demon that he had loved for millennia. He wished he was brave enough to talk about his feelings, openly and genuinely, without the fear of being rejected. He wished he knew Crowley returned his feelings, that the demon loved him just as fiercely.

He wasn’t brave, though. At least, not brave enough to do as he wished.

Instead, the angel laced his fingers with Crowley’s free hand. He smiled at the demon’s surprised look, his eyes uncovered for once. The fireworks booming outside the window lit the sky with a kaleidoscope of color, bathing the room with light and haloing around Crowley’s copper hair.

It always hit Aziraphale at the most inopportune times, just how much he loved Crowley.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, begging to come out. The angel choked them back with a shaky breath. Rather, he raised their entwined hands and kissed the demon’s knuckles softly.

“Happy New Year, Crowley.”

Crowley was frozen where he sat, his surprised look shifting into one of astonishment before mellowing out into something softer, almost like fondness but… Different. Warmer.

“Happy New Year, angel.”

-----

Winter had eventually melted into spring, helped along by the dreary rain that London was known for. Aziraphale stood at the front window of the shop, the tea on the small table next to him long gone cold, as Crowley made a nuisance of himself. A record the demon had put on played softly from the gramophone on the counter.

“I think we should get out of here,” Aziraphale spit out suddenly, spinning to stare apprehensively at Crowley. The demon looked up, the paper tower he had constructed out of the angel’s record-keeping index cards collapsing immediately.

“Okay,” he drawled, an eyebrow raising in question as he stood up from his previously hunched position over the cards. “Where would you like to go, angel? I’m sure the Ritz can squeeze us in, since a table for two just opened up.”

Aziraphale only made a sort of frantic noise through his nose. His hands fluttered uselessly by his sides, clenching and unclenching with anxiety. “No- I-”

“Hey, alright, calm down, Aziraphale,” Crowley quickly rounded the counter to stand in front of the angel. He gripped his arms firmly, golden eyes glinting in concern over dark glasses. “What’s wrong?”

The angel sighed noisily, steeling himself to force the words out. “I think,” he choked out, his voice rough. He cleared his throat before continuing. “We should leave. London, that is.”

Crowley’s brows raised to his hairline, blinking at him over his lowered glasses. “What?”

“Oh, you heard me, Crowley! Don’t make me say it again!”

“Yes, I heard you, angel, but I’m not processing it!” The demon pushed his sunglasses up to rest on his forehead, releasing the angel and completely uncovering his bewildered eyes. “You love London, your bookshop is here, why would you want to leave?”

Aziraphale fiddled with his pocket watch, intent on not meeting Crowley’s gaze. A quick glance at the demon, though, only revealed questioning amber eyes.

“Well, it’s dangerous to live here right now, Crowley,” the angel began haltingly, eyes firmly planted on Crowley’s leather shoes. They were quite nice, though he imagined the demon had just wished them into existence instead of buying them at a shop. “Heaven and Hell know exactly where we are, because we haven’t done anything different in so long. They could come at any time, be that tomorrow or ten years from now! I-I don’t want them to hurt you again.” Aziraphale finally raised his head to smile at the demon, trying not to let this flash of bravery fizzle out too quickly. “I also recall asking you to run away with me during the Winter Solstice.”

It was silent a moment, every second making the angel’s anxiety grow, before Crowley snorted.

Aziraphale’s smile dropped, nonplussed at the demon’s amusement. His shoes really were quite fascinating, a second look wouldn’t hurt. “That’s really not necessary, Crowley. A simple ‘no’ would’ve-”

“No!” Crowley wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “No, angel, I very much do.”

The angel blinked. The swirl of rejection and hurt that had started to form in his heart dissipated as he met the demon’s eyes. “You do? Really?”

Crowley, his lips still twitching with amusement, shook his head at the angel’s confused expression. “Of course I do, Aziraphale. I’d go anywhere with you.”

Aziraphale felt like he was both sinking and flying at the same time, his entire being floating as his heart clenched painfully.

“The fact you thought otherwise is hurtful and, frankly, unbecoming of you,” the demon continued after a moment, dramatically placed a hand over his ‘wounded’ heart, his face a picture of over-the-top sorrow. Aziraphale grinned at his antics, his relief almost palpable.

“Well- good!” The angel sniffed, trying to hold back his smile. “It would be a pity if you had disagreed, after all. You would be missing out on some superb tea making skills.”

“I rather think I would be missing out on a lot more than that, angel.”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat as met Crowley’s eyes, the demon’s own expression so soft that it sent the angel’s heart into double time. He bustled off to the tea service he had set out earlier, already talking a mile a minute in an effort to hide how flustered he was.

‘He’s going to be the end of me,’ thought Aziraphale as he watched Crowley jump up to sit on the front counter, index cards fluttering into a semi-neat pile as the demon tried to convince him that a castle would be perfect instead of some lowly house. The angel could only smile into his fresh tea, the pot steaming again with only a thought, and jump into the playful debate. ‘Not a bad way to go, though, is it?’

-----

It didn’t take them long to find what they were looking for. Well, not long after Aziraphale started dropping hints with newspaper clippings of houses placed where the demon was likely to find them. Hung on the front door of the shop, taped to the windshield of the Bentley, even on the demon’s pillow in his flat. It took a pile being dropped on his face while napping on the tattered couch in the back room for Crowley to get fed up and drag the angel out to look at properties.

The cottage they had decided to look at first was beautiful. The stone walls were covered in climbing ivy and a plethora of other blooming fauna surrounding the perimeter, making it resemble something out of a fairy tale. It stood on a cliff, a sheer drop only a few dozen feet from the edge of the property’s fence that opened up to the expanse of the churning ocean around them. The sea air was brisk, but rejuvenating to Aziraphalel. It was so different to London, so new.

(Well, not new, exactly. He had lived by the Roman coast during his visit in 41 AD, if only briefly. But that was neither here nor there!)

After a moment, though, the angel started to notice little things about the cottage. It had the air of being abandoned for a long while. The front garden was overgrown, wild and forest like. The stacked stone wall that surrounded the property was covered in moss and falling apart, entire sections laying defeated on the ground. The wrought iron gate was almost completely rusted over and barely hanging on by a hinge. And that wasn’t even touching on what the situation inside might have in store for them.

“This place, angel?” Crowley turned to him, his disdain evident despite the ever present sunglasses. “It’s a dump!”

“It has… Character!” Aziraphale blustered. “Really, my dear, just give it a chance!”

The demon only groaned theaterically, drawing the attention of the real estate agent standing by the worn front door. The woman smiled genially at them as the two of them approached.

“Gentlemen!” She shook their hands in turn, her grin deepening the small wrinkles by her eyes. “I’m Danielle Rochette, the realtor for this property, but you can just call me Ellie. You must be Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley!”

Aziraphale returned her enthusiastic handshake, already liking this human. “Yes, I’m Ezra Fell and this is-”

“Anthony Crowley,” the demon cut in smoothly. His smirk disappeared for a moment as he kissed the back of the woman’s hand, causing her to let out a dreamy little “Oh!”

Crowley yelped his own “Oh!” when Aziraphale viciously pinched the back of his arm once he released the poor woman, the angel’s polite smile still in place. Crowley could only grumble and rub the attacked spot as the other two chatted idly.

They soon entered the cottage, the air a bit stale and dusty. Aziraphale had to hold in a sneeze when the door swung shut behind them. They had entered into what was probably the living room, which then led directly into the outdated kitchen at the back of the house. A hallway to the left of the front door held three doors along the same wall and was equally covered in cobwebs. The sparse furniture left behind by the previous tenant was either worn down or broken into pieces on the floor.

It was dreary and in desperate need of a good cleaning, and Aziraphale loved it.

“Listen, I know it looks bad right now,” cautioned Ellie, her nose wrinkling a bit. “But I think it would be back in tip top shape with a bit of paint, a mop, and some new furniture!”

“Oh, that would be no problem,” Aziraphale smiled, winking at Crowley with absolutely no subtlety. The demon snorted inelegantly as the realtor looked between them with a confused smile. She cleared her throat a moment later, launching into her pitch for the house. The angel nodded along, making affirming noises at the right places, but his mind was as far as it could be from the conversation.

The cottage really was what they were looking for. Aziraphale could easily picture how the place would look if they moved in; how the floorboards would gleam when they were cleaned, the fireplace cleaned out and a log crackling happily away inside, cozy blankets and throw pillows piled on the new sofa. The both of them cooking together in the remodeled kitchen, Aziraphale sneaking tastes of whatever was on the stove while Crowley halfheartedly threatened him with a wooden spoon, soft music from the gramophone enveloping them with the sense of home.

A hand on his startled Aziraphale out of his fantasy. He blinked, seeing the cottage as it actually was again. An ache started up in the region of his unneeded heart at the loss of his daydream, as sweet as it was.

Crowley had moved closer when he wasn’t paying attention, the demon’s hand slightly cooler where it was wrapped around his own. “You alright, Aziraphale?”

“Of course, darling,” the angel sighed, patting Crowley’s hand lightly before pulling away with a wistful smile. “Absolutely tickety-boo.”

The demon only raised an eyebrow at him before turning back to Ellie. The realtor had moved on to the kitchen, still going on about various facts about the property without noticing their little aside. They moved to the hallway at the front of the house soon after, disturbing the dust as they went.

The hall itself was dim, making it feel smaller than it actually was. Granted, the two windows were covered with the climbing ivy on the front of the house, allowing in barely any light.

“Now,” Ellie stopped at the last door in the hall, grinning cheekily. “We’re going to leave the best for last, so stay with me, yeah?”

When the two of them bewilderedly nodded assent, she led them into what could only be the bedroom. The same dark flooring was continued in there, making the chipping plaster walls seem brighter with the sun shining through the large windows. It was of a decent size, obviously remodeled at some point in its history.

“This is the master suit, since this a one bedroom property, but I think it’s perfectly fine for two gents such as yourselves.” Ellie stood by the door with a smile, allowing them to take their fill of the room.

Her words caught up with Aziraphale a moment later, setting his face aflame. He hadn’t even thought of the sleeping situation, since he rarely partook in the activity. He also hadn’t thought how it would look for two men to be buying a one bedroom house together.

As he tried to nervously correct her, though, Crowley only sidled up next to him and wrap an arm around his waist. It was very effective in stopping his witless stammering, at the very least.

“Well, I think it’s perfect for what we’re going for. Don’t you, angel?” The demon’s smile was positively saccharine, his voice like candied honey. The thread of teasing amusement was hard to miss, too.

“I-I mean- Well, yes, of course-”

Ellie had a hand covering her mouth in an attempt to hide her smile, though her laughter was a bit harder to conceal. She led them out of the room, Aziraphale’s face still dreadfully warm. Crowley had released him, thankfully, as they came up to the next door in the hall.

This one opened into a terribly outdated bathroom. Salmon colored tiles covered the walls, while aquamarine tiles of a different size made up the floor. It made the small room feel even more confined. Even the angel couldn’t stop himself from grimacing as he looked in horror. The only saving grace (no pun intended) was the large white clawfoot tub that dominated the space.

“There’s no windows,” commented Crowley, his eyebrows making a break for his hairline as he looked over Aziraphale’s shoulder in disgusted awe.

Ellie, on the other hand, only grinned mischievously at them. “That’s where the best is saved for last.” She ushered them back into the hall before gesturing to the door nearest the entrance to the hall. “I know you were looking for an office to store your books, Mr. Fell. I think you’ll rather fancy this room.”

The two otherworldly beings glanced at each other, equally perplexed, before the angel turned the knob. For a few moments, he could only stare in wonder.

The room opened into a short hall spanning the length of the bathroom, floor to ceiling shelves running along the right wall. It opened up to a fairly large room, about half the size of the bedroom, with the other two walls covered in the same shelves.

The back wall, however, was almost entirely comprised of glass. A set of glass double doors at the center led out into a sunroom at the back of the house, very reminiscent of a greenhouse. The view was facing the back garden, which was closed off with more of the collapsing rock wall. After that was the cliff behind the property, with the rolling ocean right beyond it all the way to the horizon. It was breathtaking.

“Oh my,” breathed the angel, utterly overcome with emotion as he looked around at all the empty shelves. The windows let in an enormous amount of light, making the room feel open and airy and perfect.

“The current owners put that in around seven years ago,” Ellie said brightly. She opened up the glass doors to allow them into the sunroom. “Trying to make it more interesting, I reckon.”

Crowley gently led him through the sunroom and out to the back garden. The salty air hit him with the force of a blow, effectively breaking the trance the office had placed on him. The sun had finally broken free from the cloud cover, warming the small group as they stood in the overgrown grass. Aziraphale, still amazed by the view, felt something brush his hand softly. Without even thinking about it, the angel wrapped his hand around Crowley’s, trying to ignore how his heartbeat kicked up a notch at the simple touch.

“I’m going to be frank with you, if I may,” Ellie started slowly, her red painted mouth turned down. The wind whipped her chestnut hair around her face, pulling it from its previously tidy bun. “The previous owner died some time ago. Her husband had passed years before her, so she was alone when she finally followed him. Their sons live in the city and want nothing to do with the property, hence why it’s in such disrepair. I’ve been the agent for this place since I started selling real estate, probably some 10 years ago now, though no one has been keen to fix this place up like it should be.”

Aziraphale hummed. A glance at Crowley emboldened him when the demon smirked and shrugged fluidly, the creaking of his leather jacket almost lost in the wind. “Well, I think we’re very keen. Cleaning this place up shouldn’t take too much time, and our godson and his friends would love to play at the beach during the summers.” The angel smiled brightly at the woman, who mirrored his grin.

“Fantastic! Let’s see to some paperwork, shall we?”

-----

[beginning] // [previous chapter] // [next chapter]

[a-copper-butterfly]

Title Suggestions Needed!

OK so i posted this before but i have edited it a bit and added a new intro. im still not sure if i should continue this but what the hay, have a look and give us some feed back. :)

here is my re-write of good omens where the ineffable husbands raise Adam.

Monday, five days before the end of the world.

It was sunny, well, as sunny as it every was in the centre of London.

For those you don’t know, London is a vaguely potato shaped blob about ten miles across, with its own weather system which is almost entirely different to that of the rest of the UK.

Warlock was moping along his nose glued to his phone (not literally, thought Crowley sometimes wished he could get close enough with some glue without the little nuisance noticing.) Warlock had perfected the art of nearly completely ignoring the world around him, but remining just aware enough that he could complain at anyone who might distract him. His mother was walking along admiring the sculptures, pausing now and then to read an information sign. She did this much in the same manner as most people the world over when they want to look more intelligent than they are. They don’t actually read what is written on the information board, just frown and nod like you agree with what ever had been said then point to it and repeat a few lines when a friend or family member joins you. Thus, the whole cycle repeats itself.

A little way from the stroppy pre-teen, representatives of both heaven and hell discussed the fate of the world.

“I mean, he could just disappear,” suggested the Demon. He was slouched on the wooden bench. This was a master level slouch of someone who had trained for years to hold his body in such a position. A normal person if attempting this would pull a muscle if not worse.

The Angel that sat prim and proper next to him frowned,

“I don’t see how hiding him would help?” he said, which earned a glare form his companion. The thick sunglasses that covered the Demons yellow eyes obscure the fond irritation directed at the angel.

“I mean kill him Angel,” he clarified.

The Angel shuffles in his seat uncomfortable about this conversation. He tried to change the subject, but not too much avail.

“Are you going to get him a dog?” Azriaphale looks over at Crowley, know full well that he had been asked to provide the hound and that this was purely a diversion.

“I thought you were going to sort that out.” Crowley responded, rolling his concealed eyes.

“Why are we getting him a dog anyway.”

Crowley gave a side glances at his companion, silently noting the use of “we”.

Azriaphale wasn’t done with his grumbling, “Do remember the hamster?” he continued.

“Sir hamserlot? Yeah.” Crowley cringed at the memory of the tan and white little rodent. The poor thing when through so meant names it was a wonder it didn't have identity issues.

“How meant times did we have to pull that poor creature back from the jaws of death?” Aziraphale says shaking his head. The poor thing had eventual snuffed it permanently when the boy had gotten it into his head that hamsters could swim. They can, much like rats, but being put in a crudely made ship and pushed out on a duck pond in the middle of winter would be terminal for most rodents or any other small mammal.

A dog is a bit bigger. This was the only argument Crowley could come up with at the time.

“Well” Azriaphale relented “he is a bit older now.”

Crowley shuffled further into his slouch.

“It's the end if the world Angel.” He muttered gloomily, “Just give the kid what he wants. And he wants a dog.”

Aziraphale flinched at this painful truth.

“Well you have a point dear. Fine, he can have a dog.”

There was a pause as they watched Warlock ignore the world around him and play on his phone. The cartoonish sounds of games annoying the people around him. Crowley smirked; apps had been one of his ideas. Well, according to hell they were. Humans were always doing his job for him; he just took the credit when the higher ups asked about it. He sighs and slips back into the conversation about the end of the world.

“We’d better be there when the dog arrives” Crowley said darkly.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. I think he can look after himself and a dog for a few hours. He is old enough now, don’t you think?” Aziraphale smiles nodding in agreement with himself.

Crowley shot the angel a withering look.

“I meant the hellhound and Warlock, not some overly excited puppy with a bladder size of a spoon. This is going to a monster. The biggest they have got, according to downstairs.”

Aziraphale lip touched in a pout. “Oh” was all he said.

“I'm going as waiting staff don't want people recognizing me.” Crowley continued. “Can you bring him?”

“He said he doesn’t want to go. Said warlock isn't fun to hang out with anymore.” Aziraphale said, fumbling with a button on his sleeve cuff.

“Too bad. He is going to seeing a lot more of him whether he likes it or not. That is if there is anything after.” Crowley responded darkly. He still hadn’t figure how they were going to make it through the next few days.

A sudden though shot through Aziraphale mind.

“I could be the entertainment! I’ll brush up on my magic!” he said excitedly, beaming at the idea.

“Oh no, angel, please don’t. Really, it’s humiliating.” Crowley protested, “You can do miracles, why bother doing sleight of hand when you’re not good at it?” Aziraphale bounced in his seat. This was going to be fun.

  One late august night just outside the small village of Tadfield,

 When a snake regurgitates its food, its normally because it had been grabbed or handle soon after eating or is otherwise subjected to stress.

As Crowley knelt in damp grass on the bank beside the road, he wiped his mouth. The light from the Bentley’s open door revealing the grey sludge that was even now burning the grass. The small part of Crowley’s mind that wasn’t screaming in panic wondered when the last time he had eaten was. Without the help of the rest of his brain, he guessed around six years ago.

Pushing himself up onto wobbly legs, Crowley slid back into the driving seat, switched on the radio as he did so. As he pulled the car back onto the road, Crowley checked the rear-view mirror. The carry cot was still there. This was real.

“Shit, shit, shit, why me, why me?” he muttered to himself. The radio crackle,

“BECAUSE YOU EARNED IT CROWLEY” came the voice of Freddy Mercury.

“Fuck…” though Crowley.

 Sister Annabelle Houghton was totally normal, much to the annoyances of her parents. They were traditional occultists who gave her supposedly cursed china dolls and pretty, frilly dresses in attempts to get her possessed. They had even moved at an old house which the nice estate agent had made very clear was the site of quite a few murders and ghost stories. It even had its own graveyard in the garden. Her swing was hung in an old knarred oak tree which legend had it was used as a hangman’s gibbet, but she never used it. When Annabelle eventually grew up, her parents had lamented and had sent her off to the Sisterhood of Chattering Nuns of St Beryl. Not too worried about this, Annabelle went along as she thought it might be interesting.

Now she sat looking out of one of the convent’s window keeping watch for the arrive of Master Crowley and the baby boy he carried with him. The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. She was very excited; this was a big day and she, Sister Annabelle, would be part of it. A cup of tea sat on the windowsill beside her. It had gone cold hours ago, No matter.

A car came screaming through the gates of the convert an excitement jolting up her spine. Sister Annabelle leapt from her seat and began to quickly click her way down the hall towards the foyer. She turned the corner expecting to see one of her sisters talking to Master Crowley but broke into a run when she saw which sister it was. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Sister Mary Loquacious, she was a lovely person when you were sat having a chat, it was just that things, important things, tended to go wrong when she was involved.

“Mother Superior! Mater Crowley is here!” she half-yelled, her fists full of her skirt as she leaped down the three little steps leading up to the corridor. Crowley quickly ducked behind a column in responses to the shouting. Shouting mostly lead to pitchforks, torches and a bad time for him.

“Greeting Master Crowley” she said, tried to smile and make her voice sound cheerful but her eyes were screaming at Sister Mary Loquacious. If she wasn’t holding The Anti-Christ, she may have shoved her out of harm’s way (harm’s way meaning any damage Sister Loquacious could cause to others, not the other way around). Sister Annabelle stopped next to her sister, peering at the bundle in her arms. The baby gurgled quietly. She quickly curtsied to Master Crowley who was still looking between the nuns wondering if he could slip out before anyone noticed.

The double doors leading to the hospital rooms flew open and a furious old nun stormed through. This was not part of the plan. She ran her icy gaze over the two nuns, who both know the consequences of that stare. Her eyes found Crowley who was trying not to look like a rabbit in the headlights, he was a demon after all. There was no escape now.

Long hair, sunglasses, modern suit, snakeskin shoes? Not what she though one of hell’s best demons would look like. She raised an eyebrow and forced a smile.

“Master Crowley, you’re just in time.” she walked slowly with an air of control. Crowley drew himself up to his full height. The Mother Superior had the eyes of a school master and they are well known for making even the naughtiest individuals squirm.

“Sister Annabelle, please go and retrieve the child of the ambassador and inform the other sisters that the switch will be taking places presently.” she smiled at the terrified nun who swallowed and nodded, turning to hurrying down the hall. Crowley tried to sidle towards the door. He stopped dead when the older nun eyes dropped on him. He tried to give her a confident smile.

“Master Crowley, if you would just pop over to the desk, we have a few papers for you to sign just to keep everything in order.” she turned and glided over to the foyer desk and began to draw papers out of a file. Crowley reluctantly followed her, dumping the now empty carry cot on the desk before propping himself up on it.

Sister Mary Loquacious frowned. She rocked the Anti-Christ in her arms. He was chewing on his hand. She had checked, it didn’t have claws. She looked up at Master Crowley and frowned again. She walked over to the desk,

“Umm Master Crowley?” she asked and terrifying yellow eyes looked at her over dark sunglasses. Something in the very pit of her soul screamed and told her to run. It was the same part that makes skulls scary, even though they are always smiling. She took a step back,

“Yeah?” he grunted. Mother Superiors levelled her glare at the Sister. She didn’t notice, now over the shock of yellow eyes she felt bolder,

“What is going to happen to the spare baby?” she asked. Crowley rolled his eyes to the Mother superior who was trying to set the younger nun on fire via sheer force of will. Without taking her eyes of her pray the Mother Superior said,

“Yes, that was something I was going to ask you as well Master Crowley. We are willing to go through with the switch, but we want nothing to do with disposing of the baby,” her eyes now turned on Crowley “We may be satanic Nuns, but we are not monsters.” Crowley paused at this juxtaposition. He huffed and turned back to the paperwork, one of hells better inventions,

“Put it in the carry cot, I will deal with it,” Crowley replied absentmindedly. “Sure, why not?” Crowley thought “Not like it will matter in a few years anyway”. Sister Mary Loquacious ginned the kind of grin that would suggest she didn’t quite understand what was going on.

“Sister Mary, please take The Young Lord down to Sister Annabelle.” Mother Superior said as she started pulling out more official looking papers. Crowley slouched at the prospect of more paperwork. Sister Mary Loquacious nodded happily and pushed through the double doors leading to the hospital rooms. Now that The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness was out of eyesight, Crowley felt a weight off his back. He no longer wanted to vomit.

Sister Mary Loquacious had found a potable cot for the anti-Christ, in which he now rested. his red blanket tucked around him. She pushed him down the hall spotting sister Annabelle pushing a similar cot out of room 4. Sister Mary paused outside room 3 ready to make the swap. A putrid smell began to waft up the hall. Both sisters gaged. A similar smell began to rise form the baby in the cot in front of Sister Mary and the babies began to cry in unison. Sister Annabelle reached Sister Mary, her face pushed into her shoulder and her eyes watering.  

“I think our lord has made us an offering,” she gaged as she spoke, “and this little man has also given us a gift too”. She pushed open the door to delivery room 3 and hurriedly pushed the cot in. Sister Mary followed with her own charge.

 “You change the babies and I will fetch the carry cot from Master Crowley.”. It was clearly just a excuse to getting out of having to be in same room as the stench for any longer but Sister Mary didn’t want to argue. The smell was truly awful.

In the bed, Mrs Young turned over a frown wrinkling her brow, some internal mothering instinct told her that a baby needed changing but something else told her it wasn’t hers so sleep on.

Sister Mary hesitated as she plucked the Anti-Christ from his cot and laid him on the changing table beside the door. She unwrapped the blanket and dropped it back in the cot. The baby whimpered as she removed the dirty nappy and cleaned him. She cooed at him. “Imagine little me changing the Destroyer of worlds’ nappy and powdering his little tush.” Sister Mary thought to herself. The baby in the other cot began to cry.

The mother in the bed yawned but stayed asleep. In an attempted sooth the baby, Sister Mary picked the ambassadors baby up. He was a chunky baby and quite heavy. Sister Mary had to shift him about a bit before they were both comfortable. The white blanket was lost in this juggling. As she bounced the baby the door to the room opened. Expecting sister Annabelle, Sister Mary turned to face the door where a man peering around the door.

“Err Hello. I’m the father, the husband, whatever.” He stammered, walking over to stand by his wife. Looking up he wondered over to the babies looking down at the baby on the changing table.

“Is this him?” he asked in awe. The baby looked up at him and immediately began to cry. Terrified about what he had done he scooped up the baby and began to pat his back.

“Umm no, these two not yours. Your baby is with your wife over there.” She nodded towards Mrs Young and the cot next to her.

Sister Mary was beginning to gag over the smell coming from the baby in her arms, she laid him on the changing table and began to clean him up.

After soothing the baby in his arms, Mr Young laid the baby down in the empty crib. He picked up the white blanket and tucked it around the baby. He walked over to the cot next to his wife and looked down at the baby. A small part of him was hopeful that he would look upon the face of his child and instantly recognized it as his own. But when he looked down at the sleeping baby, he looked identical to the two with the nun. This one was a little smaller but there wasn’t a moment of recognition. Of course, he didn’t say that. He smiled and looked back at the nun who was disposing of the nappy in a small bin next to the table.

“You know he looks like me.” He said proudly. The Nun smiled at him, rewrapping the baby,

“Have you thought of a name?” she asked. There was a nervous air about her. That probably came with having to look after two babies at once. He had new respect for people with twins and triplets.

 They had discussed names but not come to any solid concoctions, they had a name if it had been a girl and after twitching the blanket back it couldn’t be used anymore. The baby snuffled in its sleep; Mr. Young jumped back afraid that he would make it cry like he had the other child.

“We haven though of any names for a boy,” he explained as the nun had finished changing the baby in front of her. Then, looking down at the second with a frown, she looked at the baby in her arms. After a moment hesitant, she seemed to come to a conclusion and plopped it in the second cot wrapping it in the red blanket.

 “Well, what about the classic like Luke, John, Adam. Bible names and the like?” She rocked the babies in the cots. Mr. Young though about this for a second as he looked back at his son. He didn’t really look like any of those names, but they were good honest names. Suddenly a nun scuttled into the room. She looked a little out of breath. She looked at Mr. Young the way one would look at a velociraptor. She managed to school her features and smile at him.

Sister Annabelle had returned to the front desk and immediate run into Mr. Young who had asked what room his wife was in. Directing the man to the room without a though until she had picked up the carry cot. She had just sent an imposter into the same room as The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. Picking up her heels again, she took off down the hall and was now stood with Sister Mary, two babies and the carry cot. She turned her slightly manic smile on Sister Mary. She winked. Sister Mary Winked back. They smiled at each other.

 “Baby removal services,” she laughed pushing the baby with the red blanket out of the room. She pointed at the carry cot next to the remaining baby and nodded down the hall. Sister Mary nodded back. She placed the carry cot on the changing surfaces and placed the remaining baby in the white blanket in it. Scooping up baby and carry cot she moved to leave the room,

“Umm,” said Mr. Young using the tone of someone who doesn’t want to be a bother but is no doubts going to be a problem.

“Is there any paperwork I need to fill in,” he asked nervously. Always ready to be helpful, Sister Mary nodded and beckoned for him to follow her. It wasn’t until they entered the hall that she realized this might have been a bad decision. She could see Master Crowley’s back to her when Mr. Young held the door open. Trying to think fast she walked up to him putting the now full carry cot next to him on the desk.

 “Here is you son Master Crowley,” she said as way of explanation. The yellow eyes turned on her and the primal urge to run shot up her spine. Mr. Young was too distracted to notice, walking up next to her and leaned against the desk.

“Umm, does the birth certificate need signing?” he asked looking over the desk at all the papers. The Mother Superior who had been overseeing Crowley filling out all the correct papers in the right places. It wouldn’t do to have buggered up the paperwork on such a big job. She pulled a file over the papers and put on her best plastic smile. She flicked through the relevant files and produced a birth certificate for Mr. Young. She also pulled one out and handed it to Crowley. Conscious of the presents of Mr. Young, Crowley took the offered page. Mr. Young peeked into cot at the baby.

“He’s a cute one,” he says trying to rope Crowley into a conversation so he can talk about his own kid. Crowley doesn’t acknowledge him. Not deterred, Mr. Young filled in the birth certificate leaving the name till last. He still needed to talk to his wife about it.

“Though of a name yet?” he asked. Again, this was met by silenced. Mr. Young looked over at Crowley, he was well dressed and very out of places here. He didn’t have the look of expectant father. He looked worried.

“We were thinking about Adam,” he continued. This conversation was going to happen even if he had to do it himself. However, this got a reaction out of the other man. He laughed. He snorted then laughed out loud.

“Something wrong with Adam?” Mr. Young questioned, getting slightly defensive over a possible name for his son. The man pushed his long hair back away from his face. He was handsome, even Mr. Young had to admit that.

“No, it’s a fine name. But I knew an Adam once, he was a complete bastard,”.

Sister Mary giggled under her breath. But then frowned at the thought of how a demon knew the original Adam. She puzzled over this for the rest of the conversation.

Mr. Young let his shoulders drop,

“What would you suggest then?” he asked sheepishly. Crowley turned on him and Mr. Young had to squash a sudden urge to back away and make himself small. Crowley looks him up and down before speaking. His emotionless sunglasses making it feel like he wasn’t blinking. He wasn’t but behind the glasses no one could tell.

“Something royal may be. Henry, James, William?” he suggested. Mr. Young felt better about these names.

 Crowley looked back at the almost complete page in front of him.

“It doesn’t matter, it will all be over in eleven years anyway.” Crowley mumbled glumly as he looked at the last section of the certificate

FIRST NAME:

It was blank. He stared at it. Did he have to name it?

“Oh,” Mr. Young said confused. In an effort to change the typic he looked into the cot again, “You know, he looks like an Adam.” he added.

Crowley huffed but he couldn’t think of anything better. Plus, it made sense in an ironic way. Crowley scribbled the name down on the final dotted line on the page pushing it towards the nun. He snatched the carry cot of the desk and strode out the lobby. Mr. Young tried to wave goodbye, but Crowley was long gone.

 Sister Annabelle handed the baby to the ambassador’s wife who looked down at him with the love of a first-time mother,

“Sorry that took so long Your Ladyship, he is such a scrumptious little man. Every nun in the convent had to coo at him,” Sister Annabelle sighed as she stood back, her job was done. She really needs a cup of tea now.

Mother Superior quietly pushed open the door and came in.

“Oh what a little lord,” she said causing all nuns in the room to smile. “Have you thought of a name?”

 The convent burnt down that night. However, the only paperwork that was destroyed was form that night. Apart from the birth certificate of one James Henry Young

 Crowley pulled the Bentley into a short dead-end road that was the entrances to a farmer’s field. He cut the engine and the lights of the snarling beast of a car disappeared, leaving only the dark hedgerow in front of him.

The silence enveloped the car, seeming to seep in through all the gaps in the doors and poured out of the vents. Soon Crowley was engulfed in it. He paused, appreciating the moment. The sound of the engine cooling was the only noise that could be heard inside the car. The carry cot next to him cooed. He looked over at his new acquisition and pulled it closer to him. He carefully pulled the small and oh so delicate baby out and laid him across his knees looking up at him. The baby yawned but seemed very much awake. The white blanket that was bundled around him stopping his arms from moving.

Crowley huffed and rubbed his faces pushing his glasses off slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut and began to mutter at the baby,

“Okay first test,”

He pulled his glasses off completely and crouched over the baby sticking his tough out. Letting the glamor over it drop so the tips flicked over the babies scrunched up little nose. His eyes almost glowed yellow in the darkness he didn’t show his true, true form just these small parts. The Baby screeched and Crowley jerked back worried, but unsurprised, that he had terrified the poor thing. When the screech turned into a gurgling laugh, he looked back at the baby who had wiggled free an arm and was grabbing at Crowley with a gummy grin. Slight confused Crowley rewrapped the baby in his white blanket and shifted it to be cradled in his arms,

“Okay so you passed the first test. Now we need to go other some ground rules if this arrangement is going to work out.”.

The baby babbled at him trying to wiggle free of his confines. He seemed fine with the whole yellow eyes and snake toung though. Probably knew no different, Crowley wondered leaning back in the driver’s seat.

“So I will house you, feed you and take care of you until you have worked out how to use a toilet after that we can look into the walking, talking, reading, writing business but there are some conditions that you have to uphold,”.

The baby sneezed, looked shocked at this strange turn of events, blinked a few times before looking back up at the demon. Now that he had the baby’s attention again Crowley continued,

“Firstly, the family you came from, the one that has the antichrist.” The baby watched him with uncanny eyes that seemed to understand what he was saying. That or more worryingly for Crowley he was ranting at a newborn infant that had no idea what was going on and was just watching him make noises in the dark car.

“Warlock, they called him Warlock.”

The baby gave him a half smile, hoping that the smile was from recognizing the name.

“You’re gonna have to be friends with that brat. secondly you will not get in my way or interfere with my work.”

The baby yawned at him. It seemed that all the excitement was getting the better of him its eyes began to slip closed. Crowley rocked him slightly trying not to enjoy holding the child, a small part of him that was thought to be long dead, started to thaw. He placed the baby back in the carry cot in the passenger’s seat. The baby whimpered at the movement but settled back in the crib snuggling into the blanket.

Crowley backed out and onto the road, where was the nearest mother care?

 Azriaphale had just got back to the book shop when the phone rang. He paused hanging his coat up on its peg, before picking it up, he suspected who it might be but wasn’t sure. He plucked the phone from the handle and held it daintily to his ear,

“I’m dreadfully sorry but I’m afraid we are closed at the...,” his polite but discouraging scripted was cut by a very familiar voice,

“It’s me Angel.”

It sounded although Crowley was making this call from a phone box. Oh dear, what trouble had he gotten himself into now.

“Crowley? Is that you?” he asked anyway knowing the answer,

“Yes. We need to talk.” He said matter of factly.

“Yes, I rather think we do.” Azriaphale thought of the conversation he had had with Gabriel earlier that day.

Crowley looked through the window of the Bentley at the sleeping baby inside. He hung up the phone and got back into the car. He looked over at the child. He was so small. Crowley stroked his cheek with a black nailed finger.

“You have no idea what is going on. I envy you Adam,” the baby sighed in his sleep.

[mejomonster]

also im not gonna waste photos on it but ToT

So Qiling happens to know who i assume is A Bad Guy if not THE big bad guy (who i think is sunglasses in Tomb of the Sea???)

And so Qiling, with his luck, runs from the CIA equivalent with a fugitive and the dominatrix princess in tow. Said shady person takes them to THE bad guy, and Qiling just smiles and HUGS that man estatically like “BRO youre okay! I was worried my Lord hurt you! I’m so glad to see you!”

and mr Bad Guy smiles all nice

and the princess and runaway are both like -.- ??? because like it is SO clear this is SHADY and Qiling is a fucking moron and??? on a HUGGING basis with this guy?

[ghostpressure]

first off don’t high horse me on trashy teen drama i spy spencer hastings in ur character meme second i swear it’s not even just the neon…….the darkfuck grundy heart sunglasses shot in the pilot…..every time cheryl/her nutso gothic estate is on screen……..just enough genre fugue dreams and you Know im a sucker for genre fugue dreams like trust me it’s a good looking show

[surrexcrunt]

( denim jacket, pink sunglasses, tongue sticking out when she smiles ) –– && it looks like rose tyler has finally arrived in woodshore ( though she originates from doctor who ). although known as a ESTATE GIRL back home, here they are a twenty-five year old sales associate, known to be CARING, but STUBBORN. they were coaxed here with the promise of THE DOCTOR. they remember BEING LEFT ALONE ON BAD WOLF BAY.

Hello! I’m L, an actual goblin.  This is my first time playing Rose but I’m excited to be here!!

from what point in your characters canon are they taken from?

Rose is taken from the end of Doomsday, after the projection of The Doctor fades away.and she’s left standing alone on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay.

what are the basics of their ‘new lives’?

Whenever Rose was brought to this new universe, her new life was basically what her old life would have been like if she’d never met The Doctor (without the whole living plastic almost killing her bit).  She was back at Powell Estates, living with Jackie.  Though she tried to enroll in Univeristy classes, nothing worked out for her and she ended back up at the shop, working to help her mum out.  

what were they promised upon arrival in woodshore, and what was their reaction to receiving it?

She was promised The Doctor, but she hasn’t seen him yet and that’s eating away at her a little bit.  

when they arrived in woodshore and received what was taken of them, did they gain any memories of their past? if so, what memories do they have?

Rose got all of her memories back whenever she came to Woodshore, which makes her even more desperate to find The Doctor. 

That’s it for now, though I’ll probably write up something more substantial in the future.  If you want to plot, don’t hesitate to let me know (just roll into my IMs and start yelling and we’ll probably be friends forever tbh)