#where by the time he came to eden the angels there could no longer recognize him

[cherubchoirs]

some cleaned up fallen gabe doodles....trading in wings for claws is. an adjustment

[squish--squash]

tags via @/coelacanthus-latimeria

You know what? I want to add a part two to this about Crowley and memory

Season 2 deals a lot with memory—after all, Gabriel loses his, and he was the supreme archangel of heaven. It seems that if an angel is found to be upholding an unsavory job, their memory could get wiped, especially if they were previously higher-up.

From what I can recall, there are only three characters who have recognized Crowley from before his fall: Saraquel, the Metatron, and Furfur. Two high-ranking angels (the voice of God and someone also trusted to help create the universe), and a demon who fell at the same time as Crowley.

Season 2 also heavily implies Crowley was a very powerful angel, I've mentioned this in the Lucifer theory. I mean seriously, if I was God in Good Omens and was tasked with having an angel start the universe, I'd only choose my highest and most trusted of angels.

Crowley's memory seems to be very spotty when it comes to heaven and angels, too. He recognizes the Metatron, but not Furfur or Saraquel. He started the universe but doesn't remember why gravity was a good idea. He remembers the password to the files kept on angels.

Throughout season 2, Crowley presses Gabriel to try and think, to remember who he was before he came to earth. He seems... almost strangely angry about it, almost as if it's personal. Almost as if it struck a nerve, like it's something he's been through before.

What if... when Crowley fell, the following occurred:

Crowley's memories as a powerful angel (his memories as Lucifer) were erased

Most of heaven's memories were also scrubbed of Crowley being an angel (it would explain why a few seem to know him: Saraquel and the Metatron did. Furfur, a demon that fell at the same time as Crowley and no longer in heaven's hands, remembered too); this would also explain something in episode six, where Gabriel states that he's "the only First-Order Archangel in the room, or you know, the universe" and the camera cuts to Crowley's face for a few seconds before returning. This has always seemed strange to me, because this is supposed to be a scene focused on Gabriel, and it cuts to Crowley immediately after he says that as if he's being contradicted. What if heaven for the most part had their minds scrubbed of Crowley having been an angel (a First-Order archangel at that), and was replaced by Gabriel?

Over time, and with multiple pained attempts, Crowley starts to remember bits and pieces of being an angel. He remembers something about the stars (maybe only a little though, like a certain star system by the name of Alpha Centauri...). He remembers why he fell (or maybe he never forgot). Maybe he remembers a lot more than he lets on, afraid that if heaven found out he remembers they'll somehow wipe his memories again

It's interesting to think about!

It's especially interesting as of rn I can't tell if Aziraphale remembers or not. Sure, he has that argument at the end of s2 about wanting Crowley to become an angel again as if he remembers spending that little time with him, but in Eden Aziraphale introduces himself despite already having done so in The Beginning. Was he just being polite, considering that as a demon he wouldn't remember the first time they met? Did HE forget? Both are so fascinating to consider!!

I'm rewatching Good Omens, and noticed something in the first episode that has left me spiraling into a theory.

It's in the scene when Hastur and Ligur are handing Adam over to Crowley. Hastur asks Crowley to sign something beforehand, and:

I thought it was a scribble the first time I watched it bc I was trying to figure out what was going on. But it's not a scribble.

It's not a 'C' either, for 'Crowley' It's not a 'A' or 'J' either, for the rest of his name.

It's an 'L'. It gets hard to see as he's finishing it, but it's the letter 'L'

This is how you write a capital 'L' in cursive:

you swoop up and to the right, drop down, swoop left, and finish on the right.

and Crowley does this with his signature:

here's him beginning the letter, swooping up and to the right

Then he moves down,

loops to the left,

And finishes it as he moves back towards the right (and at this point, the complete letter is hard to make out. It's why I thought it was a scribble the first time I watched this episode)

Crowley's signature on the document Hastur makes him sign before delivering the Antichrist to start Armageddon, something that is arguably one of the most important things hell wants to document, is an 'L'.

WHY?

Why not a 'C', for Crowley, the name he currently goes by? Hastur and Ligur confirm the name itself earlier in the same scene ("What's he calling himself up here these days?"/"Crowley.")

Well, if going by what he claims in a later s1 episode that "Crowley" is his last name (Anthony J. Crowley), it would make sense for one of his initials to be put there.

Except it doesn't, because "Crowley" is not his real name. it's not the name he began with, the one he had as an angel.

So then, what would this name be? What would be a name for an angel, who is now a demon? A demon who was there to tempt eve, as a snake, into eating the forbidden fruit. Someone that brought the stars, and light, to the universe. A name that begins with the letter 'L'.

There's one I can think of that matches, and that name is Lucifer.

"But Squish!" I know some of y'all will comment, "What about that line Crowley said in episode 5? He mentions Lucifer, so it can't be him!"

In episode 5, Crowley says the following: "I never asked to be a demon. I was just minding my own business one day and then...oh, lookie here, it's Lucifer and the guys! Oh, hey, the food hadn't been that good lately. I didn't have anything on for the rest of that afternoon. Next thing, I'm doing a million-light-year dive into a pool of boiling sulphur."

Crowley also says in the second episode: "I didn't mean to fall. I just hung out with the wrong people."

A lot of people believe that it's implied that when Crowley said this, it meant he met Lucifer and hung out with him. But when he says it, it sounds like he's mockingly quoting someone else, talking to him.

The "Lucifer and the guys!" might've been directed to Crowley, using his name. This would match that line from a previous episode, "hung out with the wrong people."

"But Squish!" I know some of y'all will comment after reading that, "What about Satan? Lucifer is Satan, and Crowley isn't Satan!"

And neither is Beelzebub. Fun fact, by the way: One of the many names for The Devil, Satan himself, is Beelzebub. But Beelzebub is a whole different character. So why can't Lucifer be a whole different character too? After all, many people still argue to this day that Lucifer and Satan aren't one and the same...

Also, here's something interesting:

Crowley is the only character in the tv series that has mentioned Lucifer, and it was in that line I mentioned earlier. Lucifer is also mentioned once, in the book, but by Shadwell, mishearing Newt's last name as "Lucifer" instead of "Pulsifer". And Satan? In both the book and the tv show, he is never called another name other than "Satan", usually followed by his fancy and long title. His description in the book's "DRAMATIS PERSONAE" is literally "fallen angel; the adversary". No Lucifer.

And how about this:

Crowley was the one who started the universe, we see that at the beginning of season 2. He was the first one, to our knowledge, to say "let there be light." "Lucifer" means "light-bringer" Crowley was the snake that tempted eve into eating the apple in the garden of eve. We see this in the beginning of episode one. Many claim Lucifer was the one who did that. Crowley fell because he asked questions about how the universe should be run, after seeing its creation and being so proud of it. Many claim Lucifer's big sin that sent him falling was his pride stemming from his beauty causing him to revolt; eerily similar to Crowley asking questions after watching the beautiful universe he helped plan be born and growing protective after learning it was going to get shut down so early in its lifetime, isn't it? Crowley was a powerful angel. This is heavily implied in season 2, with the tiny joint-miracle he and Aziraphale made being as powerful as an archangel's. He has the ability to mask his presence powerful enough to fool Uriel, Michael, and Gabriel (the only other character we've seen have that kind of masking power was the Metatron, who Crowley was also the first to recognize). When going through records with Muriel, they claim only very high-ranking angels have clearance to look through the records of Gabriel, an archangel so powerful he single-handedly had the power to stop "Armageddon 2" from being put into plan; Crowley is able to access them. And Lucifer? Often described as having been a very powerful angel.

Lucifer is such an important name, such an important character, in the theologies surrounding Good Omens. So, where is he? Why has he only been mentioned seriously once, by Crowley?

The answer could be this, simple and short: Because he is Crowley.

EDIT:

I dug up the book. It's been a while since I read it (I honestly don't remember much from the book) and here's what it has to say about Crowley's signature...

"Your real name."

.........

HELLO?

EDIT 2:

I found this post from Neil Gaiman's blog. The wording is confusing me, and I can't tell if this debunks or supports the theory..

What Neil Gaiman says is "That was the angel Lucifer. He doesn't exist any more. Now there's just Satan, the adversary." which might throw this entire thing out of the window, but the thing is: he never said Satan used to be Lucifer. He just said Lucifer doesn't exist anymore, but Satan does.

Furthermore, the person who first asked a question asks more questions, two of them: 1. Is Satan what's left of Lucifer after he fell and stopped existing, and 2. If so, does that mean there was an angel that existed that then fell and turned into crowley?

Neil Gaiman's answer is "As far as Crowley is concerned, the Angel that he was no longer exists. (And his name as an Angel wasn’t Crawley or Crowley.)"

He doesn't confirm or deny anything about Satan in that. All he said was "the Angel that he was no longer exists" and that Crowley's angel name wasn't his demon name.

Huh. Funny. He's saying angel!crowley no longer exists, when he just revealed that Lucifer "doesn't exist any more." Either there's a connection here, or I'm going insane.

[beautifulpeachcandy]

Eve in Wonderland

A Metaphysical Elysium

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. [1] On the sixth day, God created the first humans - Adam as well as me - from the dust of the ground. He then breathed life into our motionless bodies and blessed us with a consciousness as well as with a free will. I don't know if he was aware of the serious impact this decision would have on his entire opus, but I suppose he was, since he is praised as being all-knowing and all-seeing. Exhausted of giving birth to a whole universe, on the seventh day he lay down to rest. Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array. [2]

This was the story of our creation and the beginning of human life.

Like little kids, we learned to walk, learnt to grasp, tasted everything we could get in our hands and curiously wandered through the garden. Exploring the vivid nature, discovering the most hidden patches, crawling in every cave and climbing on every mountain until there was nothing more to be found or wonder about.

So we carried on an easy life in, there was not a single thing to worry and nothing to think about. There was nothing on our minds.

[…] [It was] no longer miraculous but still provide a comfortable and easy life. [3] 

The only unresolved mystery in our everlasting paradise lied within the forbidden fruit hanging of the BeautifulPeachCandy-tree. One day, the desire for the unknown became so great that not even God’s threats could have stopped us from wanting to taste a morsel of the impermissible wisdom. Upon this wherefore is man's hunger for forbidden food so great? [4] And to what place can […] [we] be expelled?...Wherever I go there will be the sun, the moon, stars, dreams, omens, and [each other] […] [5] So we tried the BeautifulPeachCandy-fruit and from one second to the other we were kicked out from our paradise.

And so it was: 

[…] [God] shall give [...] [us] toilsome anxiety. [6]

Through the next two thousand years, we past through dark ages, and relentlessly tried to win back our father’s goodwill, but with no results.

[…] [We went from killing the gazelle and living on her flesh], [7] when one day, three witty men of the island came and told us about their new invention, the Internet. And we were saved. They took us with them on their agile boats until […] the winds drove […] [us] to a […] [southern] island which was full of trees and waters and flower gardens and orchards laden with all fashion of fruits: and streams strayed under the tree shade: [8] A garden more inviting than Eden would then meet the eye, and springs of joy murmur on every side. [9] 

It put a stop to torture, promulgated the truth, expelled miasma, rendered the century healthy, crowned the populace.[10] 

We can only with difficulty conceive of a paradise where all these energies would be pacified. [11]

The stair [reaching from the harbor's water up to this celestial realms]

is easily recognized as a kind of stairway to heaven […] to receive the people ascending. [12] 

Angelic figures in brilliant white dresses dancing in circles on the fields, seemingly in a trance, singing the songs of their folks, reflecting their enlightment in radiant manners.

It seemed a lighthouse; but it was inside his brain—a flashing, bright white light. [13] 

At one point he saw the flash of a beacon light. [14] 

It sparkled like a beacon against the dignified titanium gray hue of his clothing. [15] 

The sailors anchored the ships ashore and one by one we climbed the heavenly ladder. Although I had never seen such a place, not even in my dreams, everything was familiar to me. "Palermo!" 

One last time I turned to mourn my lost old life for a moment, but the tears in my eyes only formed from the heavy smoke produced by the burning ships.

A young, not particularly muscular [16] man, who appeared to be the leader of this heavenly garden welcomed us warmly into his metaphysical paradise. He briefly introduced himself as the prophet Markus Candyhill and led us through this wonderland.

The vine grew there in great luxuriance, and to its fruitfulness the town probably owed its name. [17]

And the vines bear twelve times a year and each month they gather in the fruit. [18] 

[And] all sort of garden stuff, too, has become cheaper. [19]

“In some drastic cases of [resettlement] […]”, [Candyhill proceeds,] “it seems that what [one encounters] […] is hardly a community but a jungle. [20] But no worries, my new friends, you’ll soon get acquainted with the jungle too.”

“Behind me, dear guests, you can catch a glimpse of the Temple of the Algorithms. 

Every new world comes with new Gods and so does this one. Few people choose to dedicate their life to these Gods, they form orders and places to worship and carry their beliefs through craftmanship into the world. It’s the creatures you’ve already seen dancing through the garden.”

“Now, walking through the richly scented flower garden in bloom, we see the pavilions. These are stages where all our Apostles perform and live their stories. What is perhaps not so well understood is the idea that each stage is a discrete reality, with its own special compensations and difficulties; that each stage has certain characteristic experiences that go with it. [21] 

“The people assembling around the Apostles may take votes, for whom to see as preachers at the weekly held worship rituals. The Apostles are philosophizing all day long in the stories they live for. From this has followed the invention of […] many new idols”. [22] 

And if religion dies out? [23] I asked.

Once religion is removed as the central concern of humanity, innovation and relativism pose fundamental challenges to artistic theory, and human processes of observation and cognition have to find a new, equally elevated finality. [24]

Let's move on, for after philosophy comes history. [25]

And what place holds more history, than this melting pot of culture: The theater, as you may see behind me, is the stage for all our Apostles, a cornucopia for their art, a platform to perform their life. The stage served as a literal and figurative setting for harlotry and magical temptation. [26] We’ve just arrived in time to witness this special ceremony.”

The crowds poured in; there were mothers and wives with their sons and husbands, nobles and ordinary folk, swept up in the strange new rituals. [27]

May I offer you some refreshment? [28] Candyhill asks, holding both, a carafe of wine and water. I went with wine and the show began: An elephant entered the hall, led in by a Saracen giant. [29]

I easily remember. [30] my first of many Adventures in Wonderland. [31]

[1] Genesis 1.1 (NIV), [2] Genesis 2.1 (NIV), [3] Lovejoy Boas_Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity, [4] Lovejoy Boas_Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity, [5] Foucault_The Courage of the Truth, [6] Lovejoy Boas_Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity, [7] The Book of the Thousand and One Nights, [8] The Book of the Thousand and One Nights, [9] Wollstonecraft_Complete Works, [10] Hugo_Les Miserables, [11] Serres_The Incandescent, [12] Koolhaas_Elements of Architecture, [13] Zizek_Less Than Nothing, [14] Asimov_Complete Robot Anthology, [15] Asimov_Complete Robot Anthology, [16] ChatGPT, [17] Pliny_Natural History Volume 1, [18] Lovejoy Boas_Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity, [19] Smith_An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, [20] Jacobs_The Death and Life of Great American Cities, [21] Alexander_A Pattern Language, [22] Melanchthon_On Christian Doctrine, [23] Calasso_Ardor, [24] Delbeke_The Art of Religion, [25] Marx_Collected Works, [26] Stratton_Daughters of Hecate Women and Magic in the Ancient World, [27] Ovid_Metamorphoses, [28] Asimov_Complete Robot Anthology, [29] Michelet_The History of France Vol 2, [30] Serres_The Incandescent, [31] Koolhaas_Elements of Architecture

[watchmegetobsessed]

Tastes Like Strawberries - Harry Styles

a/n: oh this one is a long boi and might not be the end??? i’ve been working on this fic for days and i have an idea for a possible second part, but i wrote this one so it has a fulfilling ending so it can stand as a oneshot as well! i barely just started working on the sequel, we’ll se how it’ll turn out, maybe it goes to shit lmao but whatever, it’s still a nice and whole story without a second part! this is my V-day gift to you all, have this nice professor!harry fic as if it was a box of chocolate! 🍓 🍫 🍬

special thanks to @pastequeharry​ who put up with my constant rambling and whining while i was writing this, you are a hero, his is dedicated to you!!

pairing: professor!Harry x Reader

warning: sexual content, abusing relationship, it’s got smut, angst, lot’s of banter and all that jazz!

word count: 21.4k

masterlist

There’s just a handful of things to know about Professor Harry Styles and that’s because of one of those very few known facts, the first one being that he is a highly private person. He rarely talks about himself or any aspects of his life, he always makes sure to keep it as professional as possible whenever he is teaching.

Second, he is easily the smartest professor to ever walk on campus, but he doesn’t like to brag about it. You never catch him showing off how much he knows, how big of a genius he is, you’ll just start to realize from the way he teaches and approaches certain topics, how he interacts with others and tries to pass his knowledge down to his students. He is brilliant and he should have all the credits for it, yet he still chooses to keep it to himself.

Third, and it’s the most well-known fact because to see this you just need to have a pair of eyes, he is undeniably the most handsome man to ever teach or if you’re being more precise, walk the hallways of the university. No football crazy, alcoholic fratboy or dreamy looking indie guy from the library can live up to what Professor Harry Styles is. With a face clearly carved by the angels, a nicely built but not too muscular frame, and occasionally displayed tattooed arm that makes you wonder what other artworks his stylish outfits are hiding, there’s no man like him and every female on campus agrees with that.

His lectures and courses are jampacked with sighing and heart-eyed college girls, daydreaming about the man who is solemnly just trying to teach the things he is so passionate about. But it’s not just the students, Professor Styles has managed to charm the female professors of all faculties, you can see them wander by his office way too often, they take any opportunity to talk to the man and try to seduce him. It’s unknown if he is oblivious to the effect he has on women or he chooses to ignore every and any attempts, but this is what leads us to the fourth fact.

Despite all the effort and energy that’s been put into his case by every single woman on campus to break the walls the professor has built around himself, he never let any of his students or colleagues to even think they could be romantically linked for real. Professor Styles keeps his distance and turns down any offer that could be mistaken to anything that doesn’t fit in the professional boundaries.

Anytime a student puts on the slightest flirtatious act towards the professor, he either rejects it straight away or ignores it completely and blatantly, making it his clear answer that he is not interested and then he goes back to teaching. You’ve seen it yourself, having him as one of your professors first year of uni, you fell for him just like every other girl in the lecture hall, dreaming about him in ways you probably shouldn’t think of a teacher while he was just casually talking about his grading system and how he is going to build up the lectures throughout the semester. Some brave girls who you assume were highly celebrated by boys in high school took the courage to openly flirt with him, but he didn’t even flinch before shutting all attempts down, not even a blush appeared on his perfectly cut cheekbones.

You thought of ways you’d try to seduce him yourself, but you never actually tried. You never had the balls to actually give it a go and then suffer from the worst embarrassment of your life when he rejects you. So you kept it all to yourself, only entertaining yourself with your elaborate plans about the seduction of your professor.

Second year passed without any classes with Professor Styles, you had only occasionally seen him come and go, rushing down the hallways holding his notebooks to his chest, a steaming cup of coffee in his other hand as he was heading to his lecture hall that you just knew was filled with girls. You always took a moment to yourself to admire his outfit. He has a tendency to pair odd items and make them look like the most put together fit ever that only he can pull off. However, you and your girlfriends always loved to tease him between each other for his grandpa-like sweaters and vests he seemed to love dearly.

“He confuses me, because I want him to fuck me on his desk but also, I feel like he is about to ask me what periodt means because he is too old to understand slang these days,” your friend, Nat said once when your little group was lounging under the huge oak tree between classes and the professor rushed past you, disappearing in the building without paying any of you a look. He wore a pair of beige slacks and a striped sweater, a wrinkly grey shirt peeking from under it at the bottom. The colors and the style overall once again gave you that old people feeling, but then you looked at his handsome face and couldn’t care any less about whatever he was wearing.

The most intimate way you ever saw him was a few days after your twenty-first birthday the summer before your last year of uni started. You just got back from your hometown, the first person to arrive back to your shared flat with Nat and Eden, so you had a few days on your own. You decided to redecorate your room so you took a trip to IKEA, taking your time looking through the set up rooms, just wandering around as you try to figure out what you really want to buy. Walking through the living room section you spotted the professor and first, you didn’t even recognize him.

He was wearing a pair of bright yellow shorts and a short sleeved shirt with floral prints on it, a pair of white framed sunglass on top of his head, keeping his unruly strands out of his face as he was eyeing a couch, seemingly deep in his thoughts. You stopped in your tracks, seeing him in such a casual and everyday setting. For some reason, he seemed like a completely different person.

A woman was there with him and as you walked closer you could hear a fraction of their discussion.

“I don’t know, Gems. Do I need a couch this big?”

“Looks comfy and I like the color. It would also fit in the space just right, I think you should get the bigger one if you have the space for it,” the woman put her two cents in and you wondered who she could be. Girlfriend? Just a casual friend? Maybe fiancé? She did have a ring that could easily go as an engagement ring so you couldn’t tell for sure.

As you were about to walk past you suddenly took the courage to say hi.

“Hello, Professor Styles!” you greeted him with a warm smile and his eyes flickered over to you from the couch in question. One thing you always admired about him is that he never forgot the faces of his students and as he looked at you, you knew he recognized you even if he didn’t know your name specifically.

“Oh, hello,” he nodded in your way.

“I like the couch,” you commented before slowly moving on. “Have a nice rest of your summer!”

“You too, Y/N,” he called after you and it took you by surprise that he remembered your name. Your lecture he taught had almost over a hundred students in it and you weren’t the most active one to stand out that easily, yet he still remembered you more than you were expecting.

That small encounter kept you thinking about him for way longer than you probably should have, especially because you knew you’d have a lecture with him again in the upcoming semester. Your daydreams about him made their way back into your mind as you spent the last days of your summer mostly with your friends. It got you thinking that if you managed to get him to remember your name, maybe you would give one of your plans a go and shoot your shot. He wouldn’t be teaching you in your last semester so you wouldn’t have to face him after he rejects you.

And this is how you came up with your little scheme.

On your last Sunday evening before school starts, you, Nat and Eden sit in the floor of your living room, drinking some white wine as a way of saying goodbye to the carefree summer moments and getting back to the working days of being a senior at uni. Professor Styles came up completely randomly and you let it slip that you’ve just seen him recently at IKEA with a woman and it all led to you admitting that you’ll finally shoot your shot at the professor. Nat and Eden both did the same already, however their attempts were completely ignored and they always bugged you to give it a try yourself, being the only one in your group who hasn’t tried to seduce the professor yet.

“I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell me it’s stupid because I actually think it’ll be funny and a little bit genius,” you tell them before you start sharing the details on your plan.

“Just spill the beans already!” Eden pokes you before she reaches for the bottle and refills her glass.

“Okay, so you both know I took this psychology class last semester for extra credits, right?” The nod and you continue. “The teacher told us about this thing called classical conditioning or they call it pavlovian response too. The guy, Pavlov, did an experiment where he paired the feeding of dogs with a bell ring and after a certain amount of time the dogs started salivating at just the sound of the bell, because they remembered that it’s connected to food. The teacher said this is literally one of the easiest tricks to pull on people.”

“Oh, isn’t this one of the things Jim did on Dwight in The Office?” Nat asks furrowing her eyebrows.

“It is!” you nod, glad that they are understanding the base of your plan. “So, I’ve heard that Professor Styles loves strawberry flavored candies. I thought that I would bring some every day when I see him and offer him some. Slowly, he’ll pair the candy with the thought of me and he’ll get excited when he sees me because he’ll think I have candy for him and it will hopefully work the other way around and he’ll think of me when he is eating strawberry flavored candy that’s not from me.”

Your friends blink at you for a moment, processing what you just shared with them before Eden takes a huge sip of her drink.

“This is the most ridiculous but also the most genius thing I’ve ever heard,” she nods holding her glass up towards you.

“I can’t believe you will pull a psychological experiment on Professor Styles,” Nat shakes her head with a soft chuckle.

“It’s not a blunt way to get closer to him and if he accuses me of trying to flirt I can just say that I’ve been only sharing candy with him, I literally did nothing,” you point out, pretty proud of your solution to your deep fear of having to take his rejection publicly.

“If you get a Noble for this shit, make sure to thank us in your speech,” Eden laughs and you promise to do so when the big moment comes.

Monday morning you make a quick trip to Target and buy a big bag of strawberry flavored candies, probably enough to last for the whole semester, and then you make your way to campus. Following your first lecture you meet up with Eden who also signed up for Professor Styles’ lecture this semester, so the two of you make your way towards the lecture hall together.

“I really can’t believe you are doing this,” she chuckles when you get the candy ready as you near the room. The professor is always the first one in the lecture hall so you know you’ll find him there already.

“You can’t tell me it’s not a funny plan,” you smirk at her. And just as you walk in, you immediately spot the professor sitting at the desk at the front, going over the syllabus before the start. “Save a seat for me,” you tell Eden who just laughs and makes her way up the stairs along the desks.

Grabbing the pack of sweets from your bag you walk up to the professor, feeling confident with your plan. He lifts his head up when he notices your arrival and your eyes meet with his green ones.

“Hello, professor. Would you like some candy?” you simply ask with an innocent smile.

Professor Styles stares at you for a moment before his eyes move down to the candy in your hand, the opening of the bag facing him in a welcoming manner.

“I, uhh… what flavor?” he curiously asks and you can barely push down your smirk.

“Strawberry.”

“Oh. I’ll… take one, thank you,” he nods, hand reaching into the bag as he grabs just one single candy, unwrapping the package before he pops it into his mouth. “Thank you,” he nods again with a delightful smile.

“Of course. Did you buy the couch?” you ask, taking slow steps away from the desk as he keeps his eyes on you.

“I… did not. Bought another one,” he admits shortly and you know you’ve reached the limit. If you ask more, he’ll get suspicious, so you just nod smiling before walking up to the spot Eden has reserved for you. When you sit down, you catch the professor paying you one last glance before he returns to what he was previously doing.

“You are a genius, because now we can watch him suck on a fucking candy for the next few minutes,” Eden mumbles quietly, making you laugh.

“I knew this would be a good plan,” you sigh, satisfied with the work you’ve done. Now it’s just a matter of time.

Every Monday and Wednesday, you arrive with the same bag of candy to the lecture hall, walk up to Professor Styles and offer him one. And he always takes one. The first few times he seems hesitant when he spots you approaching him, but he slowly grows used to your tiny act of kindness that occurs every time you see him. On week three you expand the plan. You usually have lunch with Nat on Thursdays since you both have a break between one and two pm. The two of you try to take advantage of the warm early autumn days and sit under the pergola that’s near the building where Professor Styles’ office is as well. It’s mere coincidence, you only like that place because it’s close to the lecture hall you have to go to after lunch, but you notice that the professor emerges from Building C around one thirty, walking back to his office probably after one of his classes. The sidewalk runs directly next to the pergola so it gives you a chance to bring the candy out one more time every week. You nicely greet him when he is nearing the two of you and then hold out the bag, asking if he wants some. He always takes one and thanks you with a sweet smile that leaves you a tad bit blushed.

“I can’t fucking believe your plan is working,” Nat chuckles in disbelief on one occasion when the professor just disappeared in the building, probably happily unwrapping his candy of the day.

“It’s funny, innit?” you grin at her proudly.

Frankly, this is just a fun experiment for you. You don’t actually think that the professor will think of you differently even the slightest. You might be able to plant the thought of you in his head, but that doesn’t instantly mean that he’ll start fancying you and actually do something about it. It would be ridiculously naïve to think it’s going to be you who breaks through the wall that hundreds of women had already tried to knock down.

Week six is what brings the breakthrough. After long consideration and discussion with Nat and Eden, you decide to test if the experiment has been successful. You offer one last candy on Monday, but Wednesday brings the change. You go to lecture without candy. Well, you have it on you, but you decide not to ask him if he wants some.

Walking into the lecture hall, as always, he is already sitting at his desk, flipping through the pages of a book when you walk up to him with the intention of asking him a question on the paper that’s due next week.

“Professor Styles?” you softly speak up, catching his attention. “Can I have a question about the paper?”

“Of course,” he nods and you can’t tell just yet if he was expecting the candy or not.

“I was wondering if I can use a diagram to visualize my results at the end. I have a brilliant idea to summarize the data with one.”

“Sure, just make sure to give credit wherever it’s due, if you are using someone else’s work for the diagram.”

“Definitely,” you smile at him and wait a moment. That’s where you see the anticipation in his eyes.

His gaze flickers down to your hands and then to your bag where you always carry the candy and when his eyes meet yours again, you see him swallow hard.

He was expecting the candy. Not only expecting, but he started salivating when he saw you, thinking that he would get the candy from you as always.

“Is… that all?” he asks, the slightest hint of hope appearing in his tone, probably waiting for you to pull the bag of candy out of your bag and offer him one. But it’s not happening today.

“Yes, thank you very much,” you nod smiling widely before you turn around and walk away, a shocked and triumphant look appearing on your face once he can’t see it anymore and when Eden sees you, she gasps.

“He fucking expected the candy, didn’t he?!” she whispers at you in shock and you nod frantically, still not believing your plan worked.

“You should have seen the anticipation in his eyes, he really thought I was gonna offer him some!”

“Oh my God, this is hilarious!” Eden laughs covering her mouth as the lecture hall starts to fill up slowly.

Turning forward, you see that the professor is sitting behind his desk, the book that had his attention before your arrival is long forgotten in front of him, now he is staring ahead of him with slightly furrowed eyebrows, deep in his thoughts.

Is he thinking about you? Or why he was expecting candy from you?

You see him reach for his water bottle and he takes two big gulps probably to wash away his need for the candy before he narrows his eyes and at last they find you in the auditorium. You tilt your head to the side innocently smiling, as if you know absolutely nothing about anything. You keep eye-contact, forcing you not to be the one who breaks it and he is intimidating. You feel like he can read your mind as he stares at you and when he finally turns his gaze back at the book, you exhale sharply.

The lecture goes down just as usual and when the professor dismisses the class you decide to put the cherry to the top. Walking down between the desks you grab a candy from your bag and while the professor is talking to a girl who also had a question about the paper, you place the candy to his desk next to his book. He doesn’t see you walk out and you don’t see him when he finds it, but something is telling you he figured you out. No way a man as smart as him doesn’t realize what game you’ve been playing with him.

Sitting under the pergola on Thursday you are deep in discussion with Nat, helping her with a task sheet she has to turn in after lunch but she completely forgot about it. As the two of you are trying to do the seemingly endless sheet, you don’t even notice the professor walking from Building C, as always, but he spots you.

“No, I don’t think that’s even a thing, you can’t write that,” you tell Nat, but she shakes her head.

“I don’t care if it’s a thing, I just want to fill in the whole thing so the teacher doesn’t think I finished it in twenty minutes before class,” she mumbles, scribbling down her answer as you just chuckle at her.

Suddenly, you see a pair of dusty Vans appear in your sight and as your eyes move up, you are facing none other than Professor Styles, standing right in front of you, holding out his hand with his hand turned upwards, a cheeky smile tugging on his lips. His appearance takes you by surprise and for a moment you just dumbly stare down at his palm, then up at his eyes.

“Very smart. Pulling a pavlovian on me with my favorite candy,” he speaks up, dropping his hand as he cocks his head to the side. Nat looks up from her sheet with wide eyes as you stare at the professor with blushing cheeks.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, professor,” you tell him with a knowing smirk.

“Of course. You know, it took me a moment to realize yesterday, but I wanted to let you know that… I think it was clever.”

“If I knew anything about what you’re talking about… I would say thank you. But I stand up for my innocence.”

“Surely,” he chuckles softy. “Have a great rest of your week,” he then nods before turning around to walk away, but you quickly reach into your bag and grab a candy.

“Professor Styles!” you call out and he turns back just in time to catch the candy you throw in his way. He glances at it in his palm before his eyes snap up to you again, smirking at you shortly before he disappears in the building.

“Okay, call me stupid, but I could feel the sexual tension between the two of you,” Nat says as soon as the professor is out of sight.

“Don’t be silly, it was just… a joke and he liked it.”

“He called you clever, Y/N!”

“No, he called my trick clever.”

“But you came up with it so you’re clever too. Say whatever you want, but I actually think you have a shot at him.”

“I definitely don’t,” you laugh shaking your head and you genuinely believe it. Nat scoffs before she gets back to her sheet, but not without having one last thought about the situation.

“We’ll be laughing at how you brainwashed him into liking you when you’ll be dating for years, living together and all that shit.”

You’ve made some very questionable choices in your dating life prior. Like when you dated a boy in high school and let him take your virginity at the back of his mom’s minivan just to break up with your right after that, or when you briefly dated the guy you met at the mall, but it later turned out he was gay and he used you as his cover up in front of his family. But the worst decision of all was dating an egoistic forty years old loser who just freshly got divorced and went after you at some tacky bar you were at with your friends.

The time you spent dating Victor is way less than the time he has been bothering you, trying to make you go back to him when you’ve actually told him you don’t want anything to do with him anymore. You broke up with him just before you went home for the summer and he didn’t take it well, even drove up to your hometown and showed up at your parents’ house drunk, begging for you to take him back. He never stood a chance, not after that one time he slapped you across the face during a fight the two of you had. You tolerate a lot of things but not violence and you don’t believe him when he says it was just a onetime thing. There’s no guarantee he won’t hit you ever again and you are definitely not waiting around to see if he told you the truth.

On this particular late October evening you are searching through your whole room looking for a book you know you have, but can’t seem to find anywhere. It’s your holy bible about research methodology and you need it for your thesis work, but it seems like the small apartment has completely swallowed it.

“Didn’t you leave it at Victor’s? You were working on that long essay when you were dating him, saw you use the book all the time,” Eden tells you when you ask her if she’s seen it anywhere and then it clicks.

She is right, now you remember leaving the book at his once and you completely forgot to pick it up after things got nasty between the two of you.

“Damn it,” you growl in annoyance.

Not feeling like calling him, you send him a quick text, hoping he still has it and hasn’t burned it after one of your fights.

Y/N: Hey, I think I left my research methodology book at yours. You still have it?

Victor: I do.

Y/N: Cool, can I drop by to pick it up?

Victor: I’m leaving for work, you can come to the bar if you want it.

You sigh in defeat. Victor is a bartender at a place that’s all the way across town, takes almost an entire hour to get there, but you are left with no other choice.

Y/N: Okay, I’ll see you there.

The raining has finally stopped this morning so you feel better leaving the house than you would have if it was still pouring. You take the bus and travel across town, feeling anxious to see Victor again. Last time you met him he cursed you out and threw his phone at you, barely missing your head. You promised yourself you wouldn’t go near him again after that, but it seems like you can never get completely rid of him.

Students rarely come to this part of the town, it’s way too far from campus and has nothing to offer that can’t be found closer to the dormitories or the school’s buildings. It’s not entirely your scene either, the bars around here are liked by older generations, not by people your age, this is another reason why you don’t like coming around here.

The bar where Victor works is a place where they have different local bands perform every Friday and Saturday. It’s not a tacky nook with creepy dudes, they actually have prices on the higher end, not something you can necessarily afford with your part time job’s paycheck from the small accounting office near your apartment where you work as an assistant on your free afternoons.

Walking into the place you immediately spot Victor behind the bar and you take a deep breath before you walk up to him.

“Hey,” you call out for him, taking one of the stools along the bar.

“Hey. Long time no see.”

“Happens when you break up with someone,” you respond with a little spice and he frowns at your words. “Can you give me the book?”

“I’ll have a break in ten, can you wait for that or you have something extra urgent shit to do, as always?” You can tell he is still bitter from how things ended between the two of you, but you’ve learned not to care about it. His way of dealing with the breakup is not your responsibility, no matter how hard he is trying to prove it wrong.

You roll your eyes but nod, knowing well there’s no use to fight him. Ten minutes is not the end of the world. Busying yourself on your phone, you try to stay unnoticed and luckily, Victor can’t keep chatting with you, because customers keep coming up to him and ordering drinks. When he finally has his break he tells you to follow him to the back.

“So how have you been?” he asks as you walk down the hallway that leads to the small break room, there’s an office at the end and some kind of changing room you guess for the bands, along with a storage.

“Fine.”

“You really gonna be a bitter bitch and not talk to me?” he asks you, giving you a disgusted look, but you know it’s just the anger talking from him.

“Victor, I didn’t come here to talk, I just need my book!”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t answer my question.”

“I answered it! I’ve been fine, now give me the damn book!” you growl, losing your patience with him, but he is seemingly in the same shoes.

“When will you stop being a bitch and just drop this ridiculous act, Y/N? I’ve been after you for months yet you keep ignoring me!”

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m ignoring you because I don’t want anything to do with you? Victor, it’s been months, just… move the fuck on! Go cry to your ex-wife or something, I don’t care!”

You didn’t mean to snap, but he always brings the worst out of you. From the corner of your eyes you can see movement at the other end of the hallway where the changing room is, but you don’t get to pay much attention to it, because the next moment Victor grabs you by your arm and yanks you towards him.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that! You ungrateful slut, I swear…”

There’s little you can do, he is twice as big as you are, his grip on your arm so strong there’s no doubt it will leave a mark. Your heart is racing as you try to pull yourself out of his hold, but he doesn’t even bat an eye at your attempt.

However, before he could drag you into the empty breakroom to do god knows what, he is stopped by a voice.

“Hey! Let her go!”

If you weren’t shocked enough at his violent reaction, now you are definitely think you’re going nuts, because it’s none other than Professor Styles who is now nearing you with a hard expression on his face, two other guys following right behind him and though none of them are bigger than Victor, he knows he can’t just start a fight with three men.

Your chest is heaving when the professor finally reaches you and Victor’s hold lets go of you, making you fall back a little.

“You perform here twice and think you’re some kind of rockstar?” Victor spats at the professor, but you’re a little lost in what’s really going on. Professor Styles gently grabs your wrist and pulls you behind him, eyes never leaving Victor’s burning gaze.

“You alright?” one of the other two men asks and you nod, not finding your voice to actually speak.

“Get the hell out of my sight before I call the police on you,” the professor answers in a calm yet threatening voice

Victor takes a second to himself, thinking about the choices he has before he turns around and disappears in the breakroom, slamming the door behind him, leaving you in complete shock about what just happened.

Professor Styles then turns around, his eyes soften at seeing how shaken you are and quite frankly, you feel like you are in a bad and quite weird dream.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” he asks, clearly worried about you and you just shake your head no.

“I-I’m fine, I think,” you mumble out of breath.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” the guy who asked if you’re alright suggests and you nod in agreement, following them kind of blindly, the three of them keeping you in their little circle as you walk out to the bar and they don’t stop until you are out of the place in the cold night air. You slowly come back to reality and process that Professor Styles just saved you out of fucking nowhere from your abusive asshole ex. That’s what you call a plot twist.

You finally take a moment to look at the other two guys, they both look the same age as the professor, or maybe a little older, both of them are rocking some facial hair, the one that asked you seems a little more open while the other one quite reserved but friendly looking.

“What… What were you doing back there?” you ask, turning to face the professor. He clearly seems upset, but you’re not sure if it’s entirely because of what happened with Victor back then or because you are standing outside some random bar on a Saturday night, definitely crossing his personal boundaries he keeps so high at school.

“We played here tonight, was just about to leave when I saw you.”

“You have a band?” you ask, shocked at the detail.

“A pretty good one,” the talkative guy chuckles. “I’m Adam, nice to meet you. This is Mitch.”

You shake hands with them introducing yourself as well.

“Y/N is… my student,” the professor adds as if he is clearing the air for his bandmates, a kind of warning for them.

From the direction of the parking lot two women emerge, laughing on something as they walk up to the four of you, both of them eyeing you curiously.

“Hey boys, who is this pretty girl?”

“Sarah, Charlotte, this is Y/N, she is my student. Y/N, these are my other band mates, Sarah and Charlotte,” the professor introduces you as you shake hands with them quickly.

“I-I’m sorry I interrupted your time with your friends, professor,” you shyly apologize, feeling like a complete intruder all of a sudden with all his bandmates around you.

“Interrupt? Sweetheart, that dude was about to do some unforgivable things to you, don’t apologize for needing help,” Adam snorts. “You’re lucky we were there.”

“What? What happened?” Sarah asks in confusion.

“Just… my asshole ex got a little too violent when I didn’t want to chit-chat with him,” you admit with a defeated sigh.

“Oh shit, but are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you smile faintly, though you still can feel his grip on your upper arm. “I, um… I better get going, I guess. Thank you for… the saving,” you say, a little lost about what should be said in this situation.

“You’re leaving? We were just about to go to a much better place, why don’t you come with us, forget about your ex a little?” Charlotte offers and you catch the professor’s panicked look for a split second.

“I, um… I don’t think I should, but thank you.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Sarah questions.

“Because I know how Professor Styles hates to mingle with students outside of lectures and I don’t want to cross any lines,” you truthfully admit. The professor furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t hate mingling with students,” he states.

“Well, you are surely not the most reachable professor on campus,” you chuckle lightly. “But it’s fine, I understand it. So I’ll just head home.”

“Come on, Harry. Let her tag along for just one drink!” Sarah begs and seemingly everyone would be happy to have you join for a little. The professor’s eyes meet yours, as if he is contemplating whether he should say yes or let you go home. When he finally speaks up you’re more surprised than when you realized it was him saving you from Victor.

“I guess you could use a drink after what happened in there,” he says, the tiniest smirk showing on his lips as your eyes shoot up.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, come on,” he nods and your little group heads down the street.

Turns out the place they were heading to was just two corners down, so they left all their stuff at the minivan at the parking lot for the time being. You slide into an empty booth, Adam and Mitch go to get the first round, so it’s just the three of you girls and the professor.

“So you’re in one of Harry’s lectures?” Charlotte asks with a warm smile.

“Yeah, for the second time, actually. Had him in first year, now it’s my fifth semester and I had no doubt I have to take his class if I have the chance.” You pay a glance at him, but he is staring at his hands on his lap, you can’t tell if it’s because he is uncomfortable with you there or if it’s something else.

“It’s so funny, because we’ve heard that he is known to be a good teacher but we never actually heard it from one of his students,” Sarah chuckles. “What’s he like?”

“Sarah, you enjoy talking about me when I’m very much present?” he scoffs, giving her a look, but she just shrugs innocently.

“Come on, I bet even you’re curious about what your students think of you. Now is your time to find it out!”

“I think Professor Styles knows very well that he is one of the best, if not the actual best,” you truthfully say and see him raise his eyebrows a little.

“What makes him so good?” Charlotte questions.

You glance at him again, as a way of asking for permission if you can answer. You definitely don’t want to make him even more uncomfortable by talking about him when he is right next to you. He looks into your eyes, and his expression tells you that he wants to hear your answer as well, but he quickly adds:

“You don’t have to answer, Y/N.”

“It’s not a secret,” you admit it with a smile. “Professor Styles’ lectures always leave you with a question to think about until next week, he is great at getting into your head without you even noticing. He explains the most complicated things in so simple ways, it should be taught,” you say with a soft chuckle. “I think his enormous knowledge about many different fields in science and just life in general is amusing, anyone can learn something from him, it’s guaranteed.”

“Wow, where is this academic genius side of yours when you’re around us, or we only get to see the dad joke version of you?” Sarah teases him and you can’t push down a laugh, imagining him cracking dad jokes feels so alien but still kind of fitting for him.

“That’s what you get when you’re a nosy little thing,” he retorts with a small smirk. He then turns to you, and as Sarah and Charlotte are laughing on something, he lowly tells you: “You can call me Harry outside of school. Feels weird that you call me professor when my friends are around.”

“You sure?”

He nods and you spot a small smile on his lips. He must be getting used to the feel of you being there, but you still don’t want to push his limits too much.

“Can I ask you something?” he questions, leaning back in his seat.

“Of course.”

“If your ex is this aggressive, why were you there with him?”

His question is surprising, you didn’t think he would ask you something personal, but you guess it’s a valid question after he just saved you from Victor.

“I wanted to get a book back that I left at his place. Didn’t even get to the point where he could have given it back,” you mumble under your breath.

“What book?”

“Just this… research methodology book, wanted it back for my thesis work, but I guess I’ll have to buy a new one,” you huff bitterly.

“Is it the one written by William Scott?”

“Y-Yeah, it is. You know it?” you ask, but then realize it’s a bit of a dumb question. He probably knows every academically important book you will ever come across.

“I actually have it myself,” he nods. Just then, Mitch and Adam return with the drinks and you thank them for the beer, already reaching for your money to pay, but Adam shakes his head.

“It’s on me, don’t worry.”

You watch as Mitch sits beside Sarah, curling an arm around her shoulders and though you couldn’t have guessed that they are a couple, seeing them like this it actually makes sense, they look cute together.

You take a sip from your beer, trying to join the conversation Sarah and Charlotte are having, when your attention is pulled back by Harry.

“I can… lend you the book, if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. I’ll just get a new one.”

“No, really. I think I even have two copies, I can give one to you.”

“I couldn’t ask you that, prof—I mean Harry.”

“You’re not asking,” he smiles at you softly. “I probably won’t need both, so why not put the extra into use?”

“Okay, but I’ll pay for it,” you insist, but Harry shakes his head.

“No need, one of them was a gift so I didn’t pay for it either.”

“Well… if you’re sure about it, I would love to have that extra copy, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So Y/N, what do you study exactly?” Adam questions, pulling you out of your little discussion with Harry.

“I’m majoring in anthropology, but I’ve been taking some psychology classes on the side just because I’m interested in the topics.”

“And what is Harry teaching you?”

“Had him for intro Sociology lecture first year, now I’m in his Methodology of Cultural Anthropology class.”

“All these subjects with their GY endings, I don’t know how you two put up with science on this level,” Sarah huffs in amusement.

“The names sometimes sound fancier than the subject itself,” you tell her smiling.

“But I bet you need to be quite smart to study these stuff on this level you are at.”

“Oh, it’s just a bachelorette degree, I wouldn’t say I’m that smart,” you chuckle shyly.

“She is totally toning it down,” Harry speaks up, catching everyone’s attention. “I know students tend to take my into Sociology class for just some extra credits so I always give them two options for the semester. They can either write a two pages long review of any article related to the topics talked about at lecture and get their strong C with the bare minimum, or actually participate and do a research of their own and turn in an at least seven pages long essay about their chosen topic. Y/N turned in an eleven pages long paper on the history of death sentences in the U.S. in the last fifty years and how society is thinking about it nowadays. It was easily one of the best works I’ve ever read and it was just an intro class.”

“You remember my essay?” you ask in complete shock.

“Of course. As I said, one of the bests I’ve read,” he nods confidently.

“So you’re like… on Harry’s smart level, actually?” Sarah asks, tilting her head to the side and you can feel yourself blushing.

You’ve always been said to be the smart kid at school, but you never thought it to be true yourself. In your book, you were just doing your absolute best, soaking in whatever knowledge was thrown in your way. You never actually understood how someone could just not study for an exam or not do an assignment, because you always felt like it was your duty to do the best you can. You thought yourself to be more of a hard-working student rather than a smart one.

“She is definitely a bright one,” Harry agrees, his eyes meeting yours as a small smile appears on his lips and you think that this is the biggest compliment you’ve ever gotten. “She actually tricked me with a psychological experiment and I didn’t even realize it,” he laughs and you can’t hold your smirk back.

“What? What did you do?” Charlotte asks, dying to know how you played Harry.

“Have you heard of the Pavlovian response?” you ask looking around and you can tell it rings a bell for all of them.

“The one with the dogs and the bell?” Mitch asks and you nod.

“Wait you did that on Harry?” Adam laughs with wide eyes and you just nod with a sly smile.

“I just offered him strawberry flavored candies every time I saw him. Took me six weeks to build up the response but he actually started expecting it whenever he saw me,” you tell them chuckling to yourself.

“And I only realized it when she stopped with the candy and I felt this massive feeling that something was missing,” Harry adds shaking his head with a soft laugh.

“Okay, that’s hilarious,” Sarah snorts clapping her hands together. “Y/N, I adore you, you’re brilliant!”

“It was just… an experiment,” you shrug shyly.

The night carries much faster than you realize. One drink turns into three and before you could realize, it’s already past midnight. Eden texts you, asking where you are since you said you’d just get the book and go home right away, but it’s been hours.

Y/N: Don’t freak out, but I’m at a bar with Prof. Styles and his friends. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow!

Eden: HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME NOT TO FREAK OUT AFTER READING THIS???!?!

Y/N: Lol, chill. Nothing extra is happening.

Eden: It’s already extra that you’re out with him.

Realizing how late it is, you decide you better get going, since it’s a long way back home. When you tell the little group that you’re about to head out, they all agree that it’s time to part ways and leave, so you all slowly make your way back to the parking lot.

“Do you know where the bus stop is back?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, trying to spot where you should be heading.

“You want to go home by bus at this time?” Harry asks.

“Well, I surely won’t pay for a ride, I live almost an hour away from here.”

“An hour?” he frowns. “I’ll take you home, come on,” he tells you, heading towards the minivan.

“What? No need. The bus is fine,” you protest, but he shakes his head.

“You are not taking the bus at this hour, not under my watch,” he simply states and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Didn’t realize I was under your watch,” you tease him and it seems like your comment caught him off-guard. “Don’t piss your pants, I was just joking,” you tell him, and thought for a second you feel like you are being way too comfortable around him, his smile quickly smashes your doubts.

Sarah, Mitch and Charlotte all take an Uber since they live near each other and Adam is picked up by his wife, so when everyone is off to their own way, you and Harry get in the van and head to your place.

“How long have you had the band?” you ask, in need to break the silence that’s been weighing down on the two of you. “If you don’t mind me asking,” you add quickly when you see him.

“About four years. Used to have another one, but we parted ways.”

“And what do you do in the band?”

“I, uhh… Well I mostly sing but I also play the guitar.”

“You know, I’m not that surprised you can sing,” you chuckle to yourself sinking further down in your seat.

“How come?”

“You have a voice that’s great to listen to at lectures, makes sense that you can sing as well.”

You take a moment to look at his hand that’s gripping the steering wheel, he is the kind that drives with one hand on the wheel, the other one on the shifting gear. He makes it look so easy as he steers the wheel whenever he is turning a corner while his other one easily moves around the shifting gear, his tattoos are peeking from under his rolled up shirt sleeve. He catches you staring and you feel a blush burning on your cheeks as you turn your head to the other side. Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk that third beer…

“Am I really seen that rigid by the students?” he speaks up after a while and you turn back to face him.

“What do you mean?”

“You said I’m known about not mingling with students.”

“Well, you don’t mingle, do you? But it doesn’t mean you come off as rigid. More like… closed-off. Private.”

“I know I should be a little friendlier, but I just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, I think everyone gets it why you’re like that.”

“Do they?” he arches an eyebrow.

“Well, you’re obviously a ladies’ favorite, but it doesn’t sit well with you being a person of some sort of power. It’s clear that you don’t want anyone to get the wrong picture about you. I’ve seen how bluntly girls are flirting with you, some of them are quite scandalous if you ask me,” you huff to yourself. “I totally get it that you don’t want even just a rumor to spread about you.”

“Didn’t think I was that obvious,” he admits, running his tongue over his lips.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re still a highly fancied professor, in all means,” you tell him with a warm smile.

“Does this mean you also fancy me?” he suddenly questions and your lips part at his words. He quickly realizes how ambiguous he just sounded. “I mean, am I one of your favorites? Where do I stand in your chart of professors?”

You can’t tell for sure because of the lack of lighting, but you could have sworn there’s a light blush on his cheeks as he corrects himself. Because of this, you don’t know for sure if he really meant it academically. Either way, the answer is the same.

“You’re my favorite,” you confidently state and your eyes meet for a moment before he turns back to face the road.

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet, you keep giving him directions to your place until you finally arrive a little before one am.

“Well, thank you for the ride,” you smile at him, grabbing the door handle.

“See you on Monday,” he nods shortly and watches as you get out of the can.

“Yeah, see you, professor,” you smirk before shutting the door and walking up the stairs and disappearing in your building.

“Was that Professor Styles in the fucking minivan?!” Nat throws the question at you the moment you open the front door.

“Jesus, why are you still up?” you sigh, shutting the door and shimmying yourself out of your coat.

“Because we were waiting for you!” Eden rolls her eyes. “So, care to tell us what the fuck just happened?” The three of you get comfortable on the couch and you give them a quick rundown of your evening from meeting Victor through being saved by Harry right to him offering to drive you home and they listen to you with wide eyes in complete shock that you just spent your entire evening with the most handsome professor on campus who also happens to be the most private as well.

“If I didn’t see him sitting in that van with my own eyes I would straight up think you’re lying, but I saw his tattooed hand over the windshield,” Nat gasps, processing the story.

“I know, I still feel like it didn’t happen, but it did.”

“And what is he like around his friends? What are his friends like?” Eden questions, hugging her knees to her chest.

“He is pretty much just like in lecture, just jokes a little more and he has a looser vocab. His friends are hilarious, I really got along with Sarah.”

“I know you still think it won’t happen, but I actually think you have a shot at him, Y/N,” Eden points it out and you just chuckle.

“Why, because he saved me from my douche ex?”

“No, because he let you stay for the night with him and his friends. This is literally the first ever time a student hung out with him.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Harry is a reserved and private person—“

“Harry?!” they gasp at the same time.

“You are now just casually calling him Harry?” Nat asks with ogling eyes.

“Well, yes, he asked me to, because it felt weird that I was calling him Professor Styles with his friends around.”

“Okay, I’m giving it… let’s say, he seems to be moving pretty slow, but y’all will be fucking in about six months,” Nat bluntly tells you and it makes you laugh.

“Oh, sure, whatever. I’m gonna shower and head to bed, you two don’t get too crazy with your fairytales,” you wave at them before disappearing in the bathroom.

The rest of the weekend goes by uneventfully, outside of the pathetic attempt from Victor to get you to talk to him, but you’ve had enough of him for a life so you finally block his number and hope you won’t ever see him again.

Both you and Eden oversleep on Monday morning, skipping your early morning lecture and already being late for Harry’s class as well, so you barely make it to Harry’s class in time, just sprinting up the rows, flopping down to your usual seats when Harry starts the lecture. It all goes as usual as if nothing really happened during the weekend, Harry doesn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. Glancing over at his desk you spot the book he promised you and you can’t hold your smile back. Still grinning, your eyes accidentally meet with his gaze and he stops for a heartbeat as if he is questioning why you are so smiley, but you just shake your head and he carries on before anyone could suspect a thing.

“I gotta run, my favorite TA is having his office hours now and I have a few questions for him. See you at home?” Eden asks once the lecture is over and you are getting ready to leave.

“Sure, have a good day!” you call after her and she sings a ‘you too!’ before running out of the room.

You pack up and head down between the rows, Harry spotting you right away and you go up to him without him even asking you to.

“Hey, sorry we were a little late to class this morning,” you tell him and he just shakes his head kindly.

“No worries. How… is your arm?” He furrows his eyebrows, his gaze wandering down to your forearm where Victor grabbed you on Saturday.

“Oh, it’s fine. I just have a little bruise,” you shrug, because it really isn’t that big deal, but you can tell Harry is still outraged by what happened.

“M’sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. Would be worse if you weren’t there,” you smile at him kindly and he nods to himself before turning to his desk.

“I, uhh, I brought the book we talked about,” he shyly says grabbing it from the desk. As people are exiting the room you can feel the glares on yourself, most of them are probably trying to figure out why Harry is talking to you for so long, but you don’t pay much attention to them as you take the book he hands you.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay for it?”

“No need, keep it, it’s yours,” he shakes his head with a small smile.

“Thank you then.” You slide the book into your bag before looking back up at him. “Well, I’ll see you on Wednesday, professor,” you smile warmly before heading out.

“See you!” he calls after you before you close the door behind you.

The week carries on as usual, you are working on papers that needs to be turned in before the fall break so you spend some extra time at the library, using every bit of free time you have so you finish everything on time.

Things go back to kind of normal with Harry, he greets you in the mornings when you walk into the lecture hall and other than the warm smile he occasionally gives you, nothing has changed.

Friday however brings a surprise, but not from Harry. You’re sitting at work in the afternoon, typing away on your computer, filling in some sheets when you get a notification on your phone from Instagram.

Sarah Jones is now following you!

You tap on her profile but see that it’s private so without a second thought you request following. Luckily, she approves you only a few seconds later and you gain access to her posts, quite a few of them featuring Harry on them.

Photos of birthdays, weekend getaways, band practices and performances, Harry makes a lot of appearances on her feed and you find yourself scrolling all the way down until you reach the first few posts from 2016. Just as you are about to leave her profile you get a message from her.

Sarah: Hey Y/N! Charlotte and I’ve been talking about you recently, loved having you with us last Saturday! Want to grab a drink with the two of us this weekend?

Y/N: Would love to, but I’m not sure Harry would like the idea…

Sarah: He won’t be there and besides, who is he to tell you who you can and can’t hang out with?

She is right. You enjoyed spending time with them as well and Harry has little to no word in if you want to meet up with his friends or not. This invitation has no connection to him being your professor.

Y/N: Alright, I’m down!

 This is how your friendship with Sarah and Charlotte starts. You meet up with them on Saturday and have an amazing time, they are definitely fun people to spend time with and though at first you feel hesitant to get closer to them, you soon forget about your doubts and just enjoy your time with them.

Your little girls night goes so well that they invite you out for dinner on Wednesday with Mitch joining the little trio. You learn that he is a quiet but hilarious guy, he and Sarah make a great couple, you think.

“We have a gig this Saturday at Green Light, want to come?” Charlotte asks at the end of the dinner.

“Okay, I really don’t think Harry would be a fan of that idea,” you point out, feeling like it’s surely over the lines. He still doesn’t know about you meeting some of his friends without him and you’re not sure how he would react if he did.

“Harry can fuck off, not everything is about him. We are inviting you as our friends, he just happens to be in the band as well,” Sarah rolls her eyes, clearly not as bothered by the situation as you are.

“I just don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“He is a big boy, he’ll get himself over it, don’t worry. So, are you coming?”

“I guess, alright,” you nod with a soft chuckle.

 Next week you contemplate telling Harry that Sarah invited you out for their gig, but at last you decide against it, something is telling you he would try to talk you down and now you’re pretty hyped to see them perform. So you keep quiet and just brace yourself for the worst when Saturday comes.

You don’t overdress for the occasion, decide to wear some light washed mom jeans and a simple sweater tucked into it, a casual look for a night out.

Even when you’re on your way to the place you are having second guesses whether it’s a good idea or not, but you tell yourself it’s not that big of a deal and if Harry flips, you’ll just tell him you came for Sarah and Charlotte.

As you get off the bus and walk towards the place, you immediately spot the little group of three next to Harry’s minivan, Sarah waving in your way as you become visible in the streetlights.

“There she is!” she beams happily and you just chuckle at her.

Harry is standing with his back facing your way but seeing Sarah’s reaction he turns around and you swear for a moment you think he is about to faint when he spots you.

“Hey everyone,” you smile as Sarah pulls you into a hug and Charlotte does the same.

“Hey, if it isn’t our little trouble seeker!” Adam teases you and you just roll your eyes at him before shyly glancing at Harry who is standing on your left, awfully quiet and deep in his thoughts since your arrival. He feels your eyes on him and his gaze meets yours and just by one look you can tell he is pissed.

Just as you thought.

The group chats a little longer outside before Adam suggests they head inside and get ready for their start and you are just about to follow them, but Harry keeps you back.

“Y/N, can we have a word?”

Staying back you nod, hiding your hands in your coat’s pockets as you look at him, lips curled into your mouth.

“What are you doing here?” he questions, eyebrows knitted together and he looks so damn intimidating, the neon lights from the front of the building tinting part of his face green, but you think red would suit him better with this look.

“I… came to see the band playing, what do you mean?”

“Is this your sneaky way of trying to come after me? Because I thought we had a very clear discussion about my thoughts regarding situations like this and you seemed to understand it.”

He comes off way angrier than you think he should be. Yes, it might be uncomfortable for him to see you here, but the tone he just hit is way too harsh for your liking and professor or not, you are not letting anyone talk to you like that when it’s completely not relevant.

“Okay, calm down. First of all, I was invited here.”

“By who?” he spats.

“Sarah and Charlotte, we met last weekend and had dinner this week as well. Had a great time and they asked me to come tonight as well, so get off of your high horse, I’m not here for you.” You can see the change on his face as the information sinks in and he realizes he accused you wrongly, but you’re not quite done with him. “But if I was here to see you, why does that bother you so much? You can’t avoid meeting students every minute when you’re off-campus. If I came here because of you, it shouldn’t affect you this much if you weren’t worried about something else than me just being here,” you point out and he furrows his eyebrows at you. “If I didn’t know better I would think you’re afraid to be around me because you actually like me, huh!” you tell him with an innocent yet suggesting look. His eyes widen and the confidence in himself quickly vanishes from him, replaced by anxiety and nervous looks as he realizes the meaning behind your words.

“I-I, that’s not—I’m not—“

“Take a breath before you pass out, Harry,” you sigh, dropping the hard act. “I didn’t come here for you and if you want to know I actually thought a lot about canceling because of you. But I genuinely like spending time with Sarah and Charlotte so I’m here as their friend.”

Harry stares back at you, completely defeated, regret filling his green eyes. You feel a little guilty for snapping so hard at him, after all you do understand his point of view, but you genuinely don’t think it’s as big of a deal as he makes it to be.

“I-I’m…”

“It’s fine, okay? Let’s just… move past it, alright?” you suggest and he nods as the two of you head inside, joining the rest of the group.

You stay behind while they are waiting for their time to perform, keeping some distance from Harry so he can’t accuse you again, but you occasionally look his way, catching him already looking at you, but you just can’t tell what could be possibly going on in his head. When it’s time for them to go on stage, you go out to the actual bar area and sit by the counter, not too much at the front but close enough to see everything that happens on the stage.

When they start playing you can’t take your eyes off Harry. His energy behind the microphone just knocks you off the stool and you watch him completely mesmerized as if he has put a spell on you. It feels like he turns into an entirely different person on stage, nothing like the man you see at lectures every Monday and Wednesday. He sings perfectly on key, putting some extra charm into the songs with his little additional tunes whenever he is not singing a line.

But what makes it absolutely impossible to look away from him is because he keeps staring at you, eyes locking with yours for way too long every time he catches your gaze. You try to ignore it, but it’s quite hard when his eyes are basically burning into you, it leaves you breathless.

Once the concert is over you order yourself two tequila shots quickly, because something is telling you that you’ll need the boosting if you want to face Harry after his little performance.

But for your surprise, when you join the band again and get near him, nothing really happens. It seems like Harry has come to peace with your presence in his little group of friends and he actually treats you like you’re part of the circle.

The six of you occupy a table at the back of the bar to spend there the rest of the evening and it’s all good, it seems. A harmless night out with a bunch of friends, nothing extra. Harry actually strikes up conversations with you involved and you feel like you’ve overcome a banter finally.

“Do you need a ride home?” Harry asks at the end of the night when everyone is about to head home.

“Only if it’s fine by you.”

“Wouldn’t offer it if it wasn’t,” he smiles shortly before the two of you say goodbye to the rest of the group and head to his van that was previously loaded with their stuff.

The ride back to your place is now much shorter, it takes less than ten minutes to arrive and you are just about to say goodbye when he speaks up.

“I want to apologize for the way I reacted to your arrival earlier tonight. It was… unnecessary.”

“It’s fine, I’m sorry for what I said after that too.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he shakes his head, staring down at his hands in his lap.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you shouldn’t be sorry for saying something that’s true.”

It feels like all air is knocked out of you as his words process and you stare at him with parted lips and raised eyebrows. When he finally looks up at you, he looks so lost and tortured, you feel the urge to hug him, but you stay still as he continues talking.

“I got mad because I do like you and seeing you outside of school is very… confusing for me. And this is why I’m gonna be very straightforward with you now. I can tell Sarah and Charlotte like you a lot and they are stubborn, they won’t see the situation from my point of view and I’m no one to tell you if you can hang out with us or not. But what I can most certainly tell you is that nothing will happen between us. I’m very serious about this, Y/N. You are very much welcomed to spend more time with us, but I want you to know that it won’t go further than this.”

For a couple of moments you’re only able to stare back at him, blinking completely frozen at his sudden confession. You could tell tonight has been a turning point of some kind, but you were not expecting this speech from him at all and now you are at a complete loss of words. It takes some time before you actually find your voice.

“Okay,” is all you can breathe out, nothing more, but it’s pretty much all you have to tell him. You won’t go against his will and force him to do something he doesn’t want. He deserves the respect.

He nods shortly, seemingly still very torn about the situation and you figure it’s better if you just leave now.

“Thank you for the ride,” you quietly tell him opening the door. “Good night.”

“Good night, Y/N,” you hear him before you shut the door and walk into your building, feeling like you’ve been just hit by a pile of bricks.

Unlike the last time when Harry brought you home, Nat and Eden are not waiting for you in the living room. Nat is probably already asleep and Eden went out for a date earlier and she hasn’t been back. You don’t bother to turn the lights on as you walk inside, just kick your boots off and hang your coat before collapsing onto the couch, just staring into the darkness, Harry’s words repeating in your head again and again.

“… I do like you and seeing you outside of school is very confusing for me.”

“… nothing will happen between us. I’m very serious about this, Y/N.”

“… but I want you to know that it won’t go further than this.”

Harry, your professor, The Harry Styles admitted that he likes you but also told you pretty forward that nothing is ever going to happen between the two of you. It still feels like a fever dream and you’re not sure how you are feeling about it just yet. Hanging out with him was already quite overwhelming, but you were not expecting this confession from him at all.

What are you supposed to do with this information? If he is so set on not taking any further steps, why did he even share it with you? He could have just easily keep his thoughts and feelings to himself and get away with it without you ever figuring it out. It doesn’t make sense.

For the first time in your life, something Harry Styles said doesn’t make sense. That’s new.

Following Harry’s confession you truly have no idea what to do, so you just go with the flow. He seemingly stays the same when it comes to you, friendly, but still keeping his distance. Nothing changes in the lecture hall, he just occasionally asks if you’re alright and you are guessing he only wants to know if you are having any trouble with Victor, but you haven’t even heard from him since you’ve blocked his number and you hope it’s going to stay like that.

You meet up with him and the band a few times outside of school and it’s not necessarily awkward, but you can tell he is keeping his distance from you, he never sits next to you or has one-on-one conversations with you, only if it’s necessary. The only time he dares to be alone with you is when he sometimes offers you to drive you home. You usually say no at first, but he insists, so you end up sitting in silence in the car until you arrive home, say goodbye and end of story.

No one in school even suspects that you’ve made your way into Harry’s group of friends, only Nat and Eden knows about it but they swore to keep it a secret, but you didn’t tell them about Harry’s confession. Whatever it is that’s happening between you and Harry, you would never put him into a situation he is trying to avoid so badly. You sit in his classes like everyone else, but while all the other girls are drooling over him, trying to get just slightly closer to him in any way possible, you sit in silence and think about the precious times when you get to see him outside of school.

Even with him being so distant towards you, you can’t help but slowly start falling for him. He doesn’t have to talk to you or be direct to you, it’s enough that you see him as himself, you see him with his friends, how he acts whenever he is not teaching, standing on the podium. And he is an amazing person, there’s no doubt about that.

The semester is gradually moving forward, once you get back from fall break, you basically move into the library, studying for your exams and finishing up all your papers. December arrives pretty fast and before you realize, the whole town is decorated with lights and Christmas trees everywhere, the shops are trying to lure customers in with all the sales and the Christmas shopping officially starts.

One weekend, when there’s only two weeks left of school before everyone heads home for the holidays, you and Nat go for a shopping trip, trying to buy every gift in time so you don’t have to worry about that at least last minute.

Wandering around the mall you naturally take a trip to the bookstore, always ready to buy something new to read. Nat dives into the cooking books wanting to get one for her mother while you’re just aimlessly looking through the shelves. As your eyes are running through the titles in the psychology department, you stop at one particular book, pulling it off the shelf as you can’t help but smile to yourself.

The secrets of Classical Conditioning.

You flip through the pages and though it doesn’t seem to be a groundbreaking work, it’s just explaining Pavlov’s experiment and further uses of it, you still decide to buy it.

That evening you sit at your desk, the book open in front of you, a pen next to it as you try to think of something to write into it. At first you just wanted to give it to Harry as it is, but you figured it would be a nice gesture to write a few words into it he could always read when he opens the book. After some consideration, you finally grab the pen and start writing.

-

Dear Harry,

I will always think of you whenever I hear of Mr. Ivan Petrovics Pavlov or Classical Conditioning. Thank you for another amazing semester and I’m happy I got to see you without standing on a podium. You are an amazing man, never change.

Happy holidays,

Y/N

-

Last week of school, you go to the Wednesday lecture, the last one of the semester with the book sitting in your bag. All through the 90 minutes class as Harry is having an open discussion about the lecture with the students, you keep debating whether you should give him the book or not. When the lecture is over and Harry wishes everyone happy holidays, you grab it from your bag and holding it to your chest you wait until there’s only a few people in the room. Eden has already left to hand in a paper so you walk down the rows on your own, eyes on the man behind his desk who is now packing up his papers and notes, getting ready to leave.

“Harry?” you faintly speak his name, grabbing his attention as he looks up at you from behind the desk. You glance down at the book in your hands and before you could change your mind, you place it down in front of him. “This is… for you.”

His gaze wanders down to the book, then back at you as he stares at you in awe, obviously surprised by the gesture.

“What’s this for?”

“Christmas gift?” you answer unsurely with a nervous chuckle. “I just saw it at the store and… thought of you.”

“Y/N, I can’t—“

“Yes you can and you will,” you roll your eyes at him, tired of hearing all these negations from him. He can’t, he won’t, he shouldn’t… for once, he definitely will if it’s on you. “Take it as my payment for the book you gave me.”

His eyes soften at you before he looks down at the book again, reading the title before he chuckles to himself.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he then finally says, accepting that you won’t let him return the gift under any circumstances.

“Have a nice Christmas, Harry,” you smile at him shyly, hands holding onto the strap of your bag as you start walking away.

“You too,” he faintly says and turning around you start walking, but then he stops you. “Y/N, wait!”

You stop in your track and face him curiously. He seems hesitant, stepping away from the desk, walking closer to you but still keeping some distance between the two of you.

“Do you… have plans for New Year’s Eve?”

“I, uhh—No, not yet.”

“If you happen to be back in town by then… Sarah is having this little get together. I have a feeling she already invited you, but if you said no because of me, I want you to know that it’s fine by me. Would be nice if you could come.”

He is right, Sarah did invite you over, but you kindly declined thinking Harry wouldn’t appreciate if you spent it with them. You wanted to give him a breather, have a night with his friends without having to avoid you all the time, but it seems like the situation has changed for him.

“You don’t have to invite me just because I gave you a gift, Harry.”

“It’s not about that,” he shakes his head softly. “I can tell you are getting along well with Sarah and all the others. I want you to know that I would never stand in the way and you are very much welcomed at any and all events.”

He seems and sounds genuine, you don’t see any sign of him just saying it because Sarah asked him to or something. No, this definitely came from him.

“Okay, I’ll… think about it,” you tell him with a warm smile. “See you around,” you wave at him before walking out of the room.

You don’t get to see his reaction to the words you wrote into the book and for a while, you’re not even sure he saw it. Maybe he took it home and put it on his shelf without even having a look into it, but two days later, when you’re already packing, getting ready to go home for Christmas, you get a notification that at first confuses you.

Breakfast is now following you!

You open Instagram with furrowed eyebrows as you go to the profile that just followed you. It’s a small account and private, of course and you almost close it thinking it’s just someone random when you see that it’s followed by both Sarah and Charlotte.

Could this be Harry’s profile?

The username is colazione8, it doesn’t give away much but now that you are thinking about it, it’s perfect if he wanted to stay unnoticed by his students that surely can use Instagram way better than him.

You tap on the follow request button and anxiously wait for an approval, hoping that the person behind the account is still online. You wait and wait, slowly losing hope but then the notification finally arrives. Your request has been approved.

You tap on the profile vigorously and three pictures appear in front of you. One is a picture of some random building, the first ever posted is a plate of nicely served breakfast of some sort and then there’s one that features the person you were desperately hoping to see.

It’s a picture of Harry sitting at a big dining table, a glass of wine in front of him as he is squinting his eyes towards the camera. You zoom into the picture just to make sure it’s him, but his features are clearer than daylight, it really is Harry that just followed you.

You’re still stalking his very private and not too eventful profile when you get a message from him, making your heart skip a beat.

Harry: Hey! Just wanted to thank you again for the gift, it’s really thoughtful. Read what you wrote in it… thank you, Y/N.

Y/N: I meant every word. Thank you for everything you did this semester!

It takes a few minutes for a response to arrive from him.

Harry: Are you already on your way home?

Y/N: Not yet, leaving tomorrow morning.

Harry: If I drop by your place in 20, can you come down for a sec?

Y/N: Sure!

Though your response seemed totally cool, you started panicking right away. What does this mean? Why is he coming here? Are you in trouble? You couldn’t be, you didn’t do anything wrong.

You quickly change out of your worn-out sweats and stained shirt, putting on a pair of jeans and a black hoodie, not wanting to see him looking like a total wreck. You sit on your bed, anxiously checking your phone every ten seconds to see if he has messaged you and those twenty minutes never seem to pass.

Then your phone finally chimes again.

Harry: I’m here.

Y/N: Be there in a sec.

You jump into a pair of trainers and grabbing your keys from the little sidetable you have in the hallway you storm out of the apartment, running down the stairs. As you walk out you stop in your track for a second, for some reason you were expecting the minivan, but this time, it’s a black Range Rover that’s parked in front of your building and Harry emerges from it the moment you step outside.

“Hey!” he smiles at you, shutting the door before he jogs around and you notice the little gift bag in his hands.

“Harry, is this what I think it is? Because you shouldn’t have, really,” you tell him right away as he stands in front of you, glancing down at the little bag in his hands.

“What? So you are allowed to give me a gift, but I’m not allowed to do the same?” he asks with a cheeky smile.

“But you already gave me one!”

“That wasn’t a real gift, so no,” he shakes his head, too stubborn to let it go. So instead, he nervously glances down at the little bag before handing it to you. “Here. Happy Christmas. But you can only open it when I’m gone, alright?”

“Why?”

“Just… please,” he breathes out and you not, keeping your curious hands to yourself.

“Alright. Well, thank you, Harry.”

“Sure. Um, have a great winter break and… I’ll see you around,” he smiles, walking around the car back to the side of the driving seat.

“You too, Harry. See you!”

You see him drive away as you walk back into the building, basically running up the stairs to your apartment, dying to see what’s in the little bag. Once you are locked in the safe haven of your room, you throw yourself to the bed and reach into the bag, finding a small box. One that’s usually used for jewelry. You pull it out with shaky fingers and take a deep breath before opening it.

Inside sits the cutest little silver ring you’ve literally ever seen. It’s thin and very detailed, tiny little strawberries lining next to each other and that’s the whole ring. Just the little strawberries, but it’s still the cutest you’ve ever seen. You put it on and it fits perfectly on your ring finger, holding up your hand you take a good look at how it sits on your finger. You’re in love with it.

Rolling to your back on the bed you stare up at the ceiling with a heavy heart aching for a man you know will never be yours, but you just can’t help it. The heart wants what it wants, right?

Reaching for your phone you type him a quick message

Y/N: Harry, thank you so much! It’s beautiful! But you shouldn’t have bought me anything!

Harry: I’m glad you like it :)

Y/N: I love it.

He doesn’t respond, just likes your message.

Christmas is always the same, especially because your family just never had those juicy dramas that could ruin any family events. Holidays have always been quiet and loving, pretty predictable. It’s good to be home again and spend quality time with your loved one, though your mind keeps wandering to a particular someone.

Sarah mentioned that Harry has traveled home to his mom and sister and from time to time you catch yourself thinking about what he could be possibly doing at the moment.

The only interaction between the two of you is when you post a photo with your sister and brother at Christmas dinner and he likes the photo, but nothing more. He doesn’t post or add to his story so you are left with your own elaborate fantasies of what he could possiblybe doing at home.

Sarah convinces you to spend the New Year’s Eve at hers and you are accepting the invitation a lot easier now that Harry has told you he is fine with you joining.

Just one day before the 31st you get back to your apartment and spend the second to last night of the year spiraling about the whole situation with Harry. Where are you two standing as of right now? Was his gift a gesture with a deeper meaning behind it?

You can’t step over the fact that you are not his student anymore. He has officially graded you and you’ve received your credits for his class, the ties are off, but he situation might still be risky and you doubt Harry is willing to change his mind about what he told you earlier. He made it clear that nothing will ever happen between the two of you, however you can’t help but feel a little hopeful that the new semester might bring a change into that.

After two hours spent in front of your closet and at least three mental breakdowns you finally decide to wear a black turtleneck dress which is just the perfect mixture of modest and sexy at the same time. You feel anxious to see Harry again, not sure how to act around him following your little gift exchange. There’s a chance he’ll just shut himself off once again and avoid you all night, you can’t tell.

Sarah’s place is already buzzing by the time you arrive, several guests are lounging in the living room and kitchen, some soft music is playing and it appears that everyone is enjoying the evening so far, judging from the laughter you hear from time to time.

“I’m so glad you came!” Sarah envelopes in a tight hug when you arrive.

“Thank you for inviting me. Here, brought some snacks,” you hand her the grocery bag you picked up on your way, not wanting to arrive empty-handed.

“Oh, you are an angel, some on in, make yourself home, take whatever you want to eat or drink!” she gestures around before bringing the bag into the kitchen.

The cozy home is already filled with a lot of people you don’t know, but you also spot Charlotte and Mitch right away so you take the safe spot in their little circle. You try your best to stay present in the conversation but you keep glancing around, looking for one particular person.

And then you finally see him. Harry emerges from the little hallway that leads to the bedroom and bathroom with Adam, seemingly deep in conversation as he nurses a beer in his hand. His checkered slacks and vintage printed t-shirt makes him appear so casual, if you didn’t know him you wouldn’t even guess that he is actually a professor.

Harry laughs at something Adam just told him and his eyes glide around the room until they find you standing near the kitchen. He stops in his track, gaze running down your figure before it returns to your eyes and he seems to be in awe, like he doesn’t entirely believe it’s you he is seeing even though he knew you’d be coming. There’s nothing you want more than to run across the room and throw yourself into his arms. You spent way too much time thinking about him during Christmas and seeing him in the flesh now is a mixture of feelings you can’t really describe just now.

Neither of you leaves the conversation you are in the middle, but you keep glancing towards each other. You’re nervously moving the strawberry ring around your finger, feeling his burning gaze on your figure all the time. You haven’t taken it down since he has given it to you, it partially made it harder for you to stop thinking about him, because the jewelry was quite a loud reminder every time you glanced down at your hands.

Two drinks later your sister calls you, as always she wants to say happy new year before the lines get hectic at midnight, so you move out to the small balcony facing the street as you talk to your sister. The spicy night air feels amazing on your heated up skin, the turtleneck dress was a good choice, but it’s definitely getting hotter with each drink, especially with Harry’s lingering eyes as well. When you end the call you decide to stay outside a little longer, take a few moments to yourself.

You jump a little when you hear the sliding door open and you’re surprised to see Harry walk out.

“Hey, thought you might need this,” he smiles softly, holding a blanket in his hands.

“Oh, thank you,” you mumble and let him wrap it around your shoulders. It provides just enough heat that your lips are not shaking anymore from the cold.

“What are you doing out here alone? Not enjoying the evening?”

“I am, I was just on the phone with my sister.”

“She’s older than you, right?” he asks and you tilt your head a little looking at him.

“How do you know that?”

“I, uhh… You have a lot of pictures with her on your Instagram,” he admits with a nervous chuckle.

“Have you been stalking my profile?” you tease him, but he clearly takes it way more serious than you intended it to be.

“No, I swear it’s not like that, I just—“ he stammers but you cut him off placing a hand on his arms that are crossed over his chest.

“Harry, I was just teasing you. It’s fine,” you assure him, giving him a gentle squeeze before you are about to pull your hand back, but his hold stops you. He takes your hand in his, gently bringing it closer to his face as he examines the ring sitting on your finger.

“You’re wearing it,” he breathes out, a small cloud emitting from his pink lips as his thumb softly runs over the ring.

“Of course. I told you I love it.”

You can’t ignore the shiver that runs down your spine at the feeling of his warm palm against yours, his thumb delicately running over not just the ring, but down your finger as well before he lets go of your hand. You already miss his touch.

“So, how was Christmas?” he asks clearing his throat.

“Good, nothing extra. What about yours?”

“Same, went home to the family.”

“Do you often visit them?”

“Not as often as I would want to, but I’m trying to go every couple of months.” Harry turns towards the street, eyes running along the not too busy road that stretches past Sarah’s building. His hand comes up to the railing, fingers slightly drumming on it. “How come you didn’t bring anyone tonight?”

“Well, my roommates are still home and I also didn’t think you’d like the idea to have another student of yours around.”

“Right, yeah,” he nods, but you can tell something else is still on his mind. “So… no boyfriend to bring?”

You give him a puzzled look. Is this his way of asking if you are seeing anyone at the moment? Because if it is, it’s kind of ridiculous.

“No, not really. I guess you can say I’m not looking for one actively.”

“How come?” he asks with raised eyebrows, his body turning towards you as he leans against the railing. You give him a ‘really?’ look. You think about getting a little sassy and teasing with him, but then decide to just be straightforward instead.

“Because I’m kind of into my Methodology of Cultural Anthropology professor.”

Harry’s lips part as his eyes pierce into yours and for a moment you really think that he is about to flip, tell me how dare you say such thing to him and curse you out, but a second passes and his gaze softens as he lets out a shaky breath.

“Y/N…”

“What? I just answered your question,” you innocently shrug, looking away from him. Despite this long and weird game the two of have been playing these past months, this is the first time you openly admitted that you have a thing for him.

“You know how complicated it is and I told you that nothing can happen.” He shakes his head in defeat, a hint of disappointment in his tone, but it just grinds your gears.

“What, so you can ask about my dating life but I can’t say that I’m into you? How is that fair?”

“That’s not the same.”

“Well I think it is. Both are highly inappropriate to bring up in our situation, don’t you think? Yet you’re trying to put all the blame on me.”

“Alright, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Let’s just… forget about it. I really don’t want to fight with you.”

“Because you’re afraid I might actually win?” you sassily reply, crossing your arms on your chest.

“I’m just trying to do the right thing, okay? Would you… let me?”

“If you haven’t realized it yet, I’m trying really hard to stay in my lane, but you’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m trying too, okay?” he growls, clearly losing his calmness at this point. “I’m really fucking trying, Y/N, but it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do!”

“You’re the one making it hard!”

“It’s not my fucking fault I can’t stop thinking about you!”

“Well it’s not my fault either!” you snap at him, both of you raising your voice, the rest of the party oblivious about the screaming match the two of you are having on the balcony. “If you’re so set on not letting anything happen, why do you come to me and act the opposite?”

“The opposite?!”

“Yes! It’s not quite appropriate to gift your student with a ring or ask them about their dating life. Or is it all new information to you?”

“You started with the gifting!”

“So what? You could have just left it there, but you didn’t. It’s not that it didn’t make me happy, but don’t try to put all the blame on me for saying something when you’re already crossing the lines.”

Harry stares at you with a hard look and you’d pay great amounts to actually read his thoughts at this moment. His jaw clenches as he exhales sharply, eyes turning away from you, as if he couldn’t even bear to look at you.

“Make up your fucking mind,” you growl under your breath as you push your way past him and walk inside before he could get a word out.

For a well-respected, educated and smart man, Harry can act pretty fucking stupid, you think. He is not being fair and you will not apologize for anything you’ve said. If he doesn’t want anything to do with you, he needs to stay in his lane and not dance on the line, poking the sleeping lion. He doesn’t get to fuck around and then put all the blame on you, that’s just not how it works and he needs to learn that.

In the last hour that’s left until midnight you mingle with the guests and try to keep your thoughts of Harry at bay, though it’s quite the challenge since he lingers around you, keeping his eyes on you all the time, as if he is trying to piss you off or something, but you’re determined to be a mature adult and keep your composure.

You’re getting tired of this game and you’re not sure anymore if you are willing to wait around until Harry makes his mind up. Not when he doesn’t keep his own rules at least.

“Come on,” you mumble to yourself as you’re trying to open up a new bottle of wine, but the screw just wouldn’t move, no matter what you do. A hand reaches forward and wraps around the neck of the bottle, interrupting your pathetic misery.

“Let me help you.”

You let Harry take the bottle, biting into your bottom lip as you turn around and watch him easily open the bottle you’ve been fighting with the past ten minutes, he grabs your empty glass from the counter and fills it.

“Thank you,” you mumble when he hands it back and you take a sip right away. He places the bottle to the counter, fingers strumming on the surface before he takes a deep breath and speaks up.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“For what exactly?”

“For the way I acted. You were totally right, I called you out for things that I did myself too, that was unfair of me.” He clears his throat, leaning against the counter with his back side as he crosses his arms on his chest. It brings out how toned his arms really are and you give yourself half a second to drool over that before you take another sip from your drink, forcing yourself to keep your thoughts under control.

“Thanks for acknowledging it,” you mumble, not sure what to say exactly. The two of you stand like that in silence, eyes roaming the guests, something clearly weighing down on both of you, but it’s hard to name and address it.

You can tell he is overthinking, the gears are almost visible, turning in that smart head of his, but you don’t want him to go into depths he shouldn’t. He really is making a bigger deal out of the situation that it already is, but it’s going to wreck him.

“Okay, I want to know, what was the worst way someone tried to flirt with you?”

Harry turns to you with a puzzled look, but you just sip on your wine, waiting for his answer.

“Um, I don’t… really keep track of it.”

“Oh come on,” you give him a look. “I know you have a story. I wanna hear it!”

Your eyes meet and he is searching in yours, trying to figure out what’s the sudden change in your mood when an hour ago you were ready to throw him off the balcony. Truth is you are just frustrated, because the situation feels so impossible. You never had to deal with such an amazing man, knowing he is into you as well, but you just can’t have him. The struggle is hard for the both of you but you can’t blame him entirely. Hating on him because he is not willing to take a risk that could easily ruin his entire life but at least his academic career is just not fair and you won’t put him through that.

Harry sees where you’re coming from and he shoots you a thankful smile before it turns into a smirk as he looks down at his hands.

“Professor Davids from the department of linguistics asked me to be her date for her ex-husband’s wedding.”

“What?” you gasp with wide eyes. “For real?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “She started swinging by my office all the time, trying to chat me up and then one day she asked if I wanted to go with her, that we would be staying at this nice hotel and all… she really thought it was a good idea.”

“That’s very awkward,” you laugh, entertained by the thought that Professor Davids would go so low when it came to dating. “I assume, you declined the invitation.”

“Faster than ever,” he chuckles making you laugh even louder. “Okay, your turn.”

“What?”

“I told you an awkward story, now it’s your turn.”

“Um, the worst was probably a promposal I got.”

“A promposal?” he asks with a puzzled look, his forehead creasing as he pulls his eyebrows together.

“Yeah, when they ask you out to go to prom.” “Oh, yeah. Didn’t know it had a specific name.”

“Because you are way too British,” you tease him and he just gives you a narrow-eyed look, but you can see the smirk hiding on his lips. “Well, anyway, I was dating a guy senior year, but this other one was convinced he could win me over and take me to prom. He brought a fucking mariachi band to school and gave me a serenade in the middle of the hallway while my boyfriend was standing next to me. He asked me to prom so confidently at the end of the song, like he actually had a shot but it was so painfully awkward,” you laugh at the memory shaking your head and Harry joins, finding it quite entertaining.

“He really did that to himself.”

“He did, I felt bad a little, but what was I supposed to do?”

You slip into telling more and more awkward stories, staying in the kitchen you create a little bubble, the rest of the guests don’t seem to exist as you enjoy yourself with Harry. This is the most carefree and loosest you’ve ever seen him around you and you quite like this version of him. So easy to talk to and even funnier than his usual self.

A little before midnight Sarah runs around with champagne, filling everyone’s glass, getting ready for the countdown. You and Harry join Charlotte, Adam and his wife in the corner of the living room as everyone is slowly getting excited for the last moments of the year.

Looking around you see a lot of couples, holding hands, hugging, clearly planning to snog the moment the clock hits midnight and when you glance at Harry on your right you’re convinced he is thinking about the same thing.

You’re not naïve, you don’t think he is going to kiss you, but you still allow yourself to play with the thought just a little. He is standing so close to you, just the tiniest move and you’d be touching him, skin to skin again, feel him under your—

The thought is abruptly interrupted when you feel his warm palm wrap around your hand, your whole body freezing and for a split second you think it’s just an accident, that his touch will disappear before you could even blink, but it stays there. Harry maneuvers his fingers until they are laced together with yours and he keeps a firm hold of your hand, hanging between the two of you, staying hidden because you’re standing close to each other. Your breath catches in your throat and you’re afraid if you dare to move he’ll let go of your hand.

Another version of yourself would laugh hysterically at how worked up you are right now just because he is holding your hand, but the you that’s actually in the moment is about to burst just by this small touch. You have absolutely no idea what it means or why he chose to do it, but you don’t really care about it. You just want to absorb all the heat you feel coming from him where his palm meets yours, fingers braided together tightly, as if he is trying to keep you next to him, like he thinks you are about to disappear and it’s way of anchoring you to him, but truth is you don’t want to go anywhere.

“One minute, everyone!” Sarah sings in excitement as she turns on the TV and puts a huge clock on the screen that’s counting the seconds as well. You shyly glance to the side, finding Harry standing motionless next to you and when he notices you looking, his eyes meet yours. He looks terrified, like a lost little boy and you can’t tell if he is afraid of your reaction or because of what his actions might bring on him. But you want him to know that you are completely okay with where it’s heading.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” The countdown begins and you inch closer to Harry so you’re pressed against his side, his body heat radiating into your skin even through the layers of clothes you two are wearing.

Harry leans down the moment you lift your head, his face is so close, it wouldn’t take much for you to finally kiss him, do the one thing you haven’t stopped thinking about for months.

“Y/N…” he breathes out and it’s a tortured plea, he is begging you to stop him from doing something he might regret, but you are dying for him to finally sin. You want him to give it up already, you have absolutely no desire to be the burden that keeps him in his lane. You need him to cross the line and stay there.

“I’m not stopping you, Harry,” you tell him quietly, the urge to close the distance between the two of you is burning inside you.

“Seven! Six! Five!” the countdown continues, but it all tones out, you can only see, hear and feel Harry.

“We can’t,” he whines, closing his eyes as he exhales shakily.

“We can, we just shouldn’t,” you correct him, his eyes snap open and meet yours again. You can tell he is so close to finally giving in and let his feelings and desires take control and you will not try to stop him.

His face inches the tiniest bit closer and his forehead is almost touching yours now, you can see every curly eyelash that frames his gorgeous green eyes that are now filled with fear and nerves.

“Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!” Everyone screams together as the clock finally hits midnight while you just stare at Harry holding your breath, praying that he is finally ballsy enough to take this step.

“Harry, please,” you beg, not too proud of it, but you just can’t take it any longer. His hand is gripping yours tightly as he closes his eyes again and for a second you think that it’s gonna happen. He is going to give up the act and finally kiss you.

But right when the moment is burning the most… he pulls back and your heart sinks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand lets go of yours and it feels like your arm is ripped off, tears are welling in your eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” you mumble under your breath, chugging down the champagne before making your way through the living room, determined to leave as soon as possible.

“Y/N, wait, where are you going?” you hear him calling after you, but you don’t stop. You get rid of the empty champagne glass and grab your coat from the rack, storming out of the apartment as if you had somewhere to be.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you run down the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet. You hear the other pair of feet running behind you and Harry calling after you, but it’s not stopping you.

You push the front door of the building open, but it’s heavy, so it slows you down just enough that Harry can grab your wrist when you are about to start running down the street.

“Y/N, don’t go, let me explain!”

“No!” you snap at him. “I don’t fucking want to hear your explanation! I’m done, Harry! I’m fucking done! I was trying to be patient and respectful, I didn’t want to make it worse for you and let you do your thing, but you kept dancing back and forth and I can’t keep doing this, so I guess I’m sorry too.”

You’re choking on your own words that echo from the walls, the street is almost entirely empty, the world is still celebrating the new year while you’re at your breaking point. Harry stands in front of you, defeated and panic all over his face as he listens to you.

“I will not sit around and let you play your little games any longer, because you can’t make up your mind whether you want me or not.”

“Y/N I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life!” he snaps, throwing his hands into the air. “That’s the problem! This shouldn’t be happening, but I can’t fucking stop thinking about you, I can’t stop wanting you!”

“Then do something about it!” you beg through your tears.

“I can’t!”

“Yes you can!” you scream at him. “You can but you probably just don’t want me enough to actually do it! And it’s fine, but—“

You don’t get to finish your rant because Harry firmly grabs your arm, yanks you towards him and with one swift movement, his lips are crashing against yours.

It all happens so fast but your body reacts before your mind could process what’s really happening, fists bunching a handful of his sweater as you pull him against you, his hands flying up to your face, cupping them confidently as he kisses you hard and demandingly.

It’s like a fucking dam that’s been broken, everything you both kept bottled up and under control just breaks loose and it’s a kind of a wild fight for trying to devour each other now that all lines has been crossed an blurred into nothingness.

He is the dominant one, but you do some pushing and pulling on your own as well. You’re forced to take a few steps backwards, back arching at how forcefully he is pushing forward, lips smacking against each other over and over again, his tongue meeting yours, swirling and dancing around with yours, a shameless moan escaping your mouth.

His hands roam down your sides and you jumps when they reach the back of your thighs, legs wrapping around his waist. He keeps you up easily, fingers digging into your flesh where your butt meets your thighs and this angle allows you to be completely pressed up against him and feel every single inch of his body that burns for you.

It’s beyond anything you’ve ever imagined, you’re not sure it’s because of the build-up that led to this point or simply the chemistry you two got, but it blows your mind, making you question how you could go this long without ever kissing him.

“Harry, I want you,” you moan when his lips move down to your jawline, kissing and biting on the soft skin, tasting you wherever he can reach.

“I want you too, Y/N,” he breathes out resting his forehead against yours before kissing you again.

“Take me home then.”

“Are you sure?” he pants as you run your fingers through his hair and tug on his gently, earning a whimper from his perfectly pink and swollen lips. You love this satisfied dew on his face, especially because you know it’s because of you.

“Never been more sure about anything in my life.”

You unwrap your legs from around his waist and return to the ground, but not without him leaning down to kiss you once more before he grabs your hand and starts pulling you down the street. You spot his Rover right away and start sprinting, Harry following you right behind with a carefree laugh.

Settled in your seats he starts driving, but you can’t keep yourself away from him. His hand that’s not on the steering wheel is gripping your thigh as you lean over the console and start kissing his cheek, jawline and the corner of his mouth as one of your hands runs down his chest until it reaches his pants.

“Love, if you move further down we’re gonna crash,” he warns you with a shaky breath. “I drank a little too and I’m already fucking gone from kissing you, if you touch me I’m gonna lose it.”

You giggle, pressing one last kiss to his lips before sitting back in your seat. You need every bit of your patience and self-control to stay modest on the way back to his place. Hands gripping his you bring it up to your lips, kissing his knuckles gently as he speeds down the empty streets. It’s still barely over midnight, everyone is still celebrating, oblivious to how important this moment is to the two of you.

You really thought this would be the end. When he pulled away at midnight all hope was lost for you and it broke your heart to know that he will never choose you over his better judgment.

It’s your first time at Harry’s but you don’t really care to look around as the two of you make your way inside the townhouse, lips already melted together as you stumble through the dark hallway, not wanting to let go of each other. You successfully make it into his bedroom and Harry turns on the bedside lamp while you’re already eagerly getting rid of your coat and shoes. He does the same, clothes start to litter the hardwood flooring hastily, but neither of you is thinking about them. Harry scoops you into his arms once again, kissing your lips passionately as he bunches your dress up at your hips until he can finally grip the end of it and pull it over your head.

“Oh shit!” you giggle, the turtleneck getting stuck on your head for a moment before you’re free from it.

“That big head of yours,” he chuckles kissing your forehead.

“Shut up,” you smack his chest gently, pushing him down to the bed so you can straddle him, knees on his sides as you sit on his lap, lips meeting again.

He throws his hands up when you start pulling his t-shirt up and once the fabric is off of his body, his arms wrap around you, pulling you close to his chest. Your skin meets his and it feels heavenly, only little clothing separating the two of you at this point.

Harry scoots backwards and then throws you to the mattress, getting on top of you without your lips ever parting. His hips are pushed against yours and you can feel everything through the thin material of his slacks. Without even knowing you grind your hips, your core meeting his erection in the movement and he moans uncontrollably at the sensation.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes against your lips and you can’t push your smirk down at his reaction.

“Yeah, fuck me, Harry,” you tease him before your lips get occupied once again.

His hands work fast. He unclasps your bra without you even noticing, the straps falling from your shoulders before he gets rid of it, throwing it across the room as if it did something against him. When his hungry eyes fall down on your naked chest you see the same kind of torture in his eyes that was there when he was fighting with himself before.

“Harry, stop thinking,” you tell him, fingers massaging his scalp as you lace them through his hair. “It’s fine, we’re fine.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he questions again and you pull him down for a reassuring kiss.

“One hundred percent. I want this. I want you.”

“Oh God, I want you so bad,” he whines again, lips kissing down your jawline, neck and collarbone before they attack your breasts.

He cups them, licks and bites them, making you a whimpering mess underneath him every time his tongue meets your hot skin. This man will be the death of you. As he moves down your body, his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties and he glances up at your for reassurance once again, you nod eagerly, lifting your hips so he can easily glide the fabric down and off of your body. Harry sits up, eyes burning down on your naked body lying in front of him as he undoes his own pants, pushing them down his long legs until they join the rest on the floor. You push yourself up when his hands move to his boxers, you want to be the one to take them off. He gladly backs his hands off when you reach out and start tugging them down. He kneels on the bed as you pull the fabric down and his erection finally becomes free, making you ache for him immediately. Once the boxers are out of the way completely you want to reach out to touch him, but he stops you, hands wrapping around your wrist before they could reach him.

Your eyes snap up to meet his darkened gaze, questioning why he stopped you.

“Y/N, I… If we do this, there’s no going back,” he breathes out with a pained look. You push yourself up to your knees so you meet his height, hands cupping his cheeks as you pull him into a sweet kiss that he hesitantly but returns.

“I know what you think about us, Harry, but I assure you, that I’m completely fine with it. But if you don’t want it to happen, we can just… lie here. I’m fine with that too. Kissing you was already such a gift for me,” you smile at him, gently pecking his lips.

“I just don’t want you to wake up and regret it. I’m not pushing you, right?”

“If anyone, it’s me pushing you,” you chuckle softly, a small smile tugging on his lips as well. “You didn’t push anything on me, alright? We are both adults and it’s completely fine. We’ll figure out the rest, I just want to focus on you now. Can I do that?”

Harry nods, still looking a little unsure, but you can tell he is starting to settle in his mindset. It’s not just him that worries about the other regretting something. You know how torn up he is about anything that’s about you and though you want him more than anything, you still don’t want to push him into doing something he is not entirely comfortable with.

“Do you want this?” you softly ask, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I do. I’m just—“

“Then it’s all good, Harry. We both want it, nothing else matters for now,” you tell him, wanting nothing else than to finally see him enjoy himself entirely. “Lay down for me,” you tell him, feeling like you taking the lead is a good idea now.

He does as you asked him to, lying down on the mattress, head sinking into his pillow as he blinks up at you, watching you swing a leg over him before settling to sit on his thighs.

“Can I touch you?” you ask, wanting to make sure he feels completely comfortable with you. Pleasing him is your number one priority right now. He nods, lips parting as he watches your hand reach out and wrap around the base of his erected length. He whimpers under your touch, his eyes fall closed when you gently pump him a few times, his cock fits so well in your palms, like pieces of a puzzle.

Leaning down you kiss his fern tattoos on each sides of his hips before placing one to his leaking tip, sliding your hands to the base before you slowly and gradually take him into your mouth.

You’re not planning to make him cum with your mouth, but you’ve been dying to taste him and it’s just as good as you imagined. The way his body reacts to your touch, the noises that leave his kissable lips, this man is completely out of this world and you want to explore every inch of his body.

You bob your head a couple of times, just enough to wet his length and work him up for what’s coming next. When you let him go of your mouth and you move a little up on his body so that his cock can be lined up with your hole, you look at him to see if he is still down to continue. One hand holding his cock, the other one flat on his naked chest, you ask him a question with your eyes that he answers with his hands squeezing your hips.

“I have the implant. Do you want to put on a condom?” you ask him at last.

“I trust you,” he breathes out. “Do you want me to put one on?”

“I want to feel you,” you tell him shaking your head.

“Okay,” he nods so it’s settled.

Leaning down you peck his lips one last time before you push the head inside and then slowly ease yourself down on his throbbing length.

“Oh fuck!”

“Harry, oh my God!” you both moan at the sensation of him finally entering you. You’ve had your fair share of sexual intercourses throughout your life, but none of them felt this good. None of them pleasured you this good so fast and easily, just the feel of him being inside you is making you lose your mind.  

You start off slow, wanting to feel him just right, get used to his size, but as soon as you feel more comfortable, you pick up a faster pace. His fingers are digging into your flesh at your hips as he holds onto you for dear life, panting and moaning at your motions. He glides in and out of you perfectly, setting your senses on fire practically.

“Harry, you feel so good,” you gasp, getting lost in the feeling. Sex has always been a good experience for you, but with Harry it’s a whole different story. As if he just opened a completely new world you never even knew about before.

“Yeah? You’re gonna cum for me?”

“Yes! Oh fuck!”

Harry pushes himself up, an arm coming around your back as he easily flips the two of you over, your back gently hitting the soft mattress. He holds himself up above you, lips crashing with yours as he starts to do the work this time, thrusting in and out of you, his hips smacking against yours forcefully as you both nearing the end.

“You’re making me lose my fucking mind, Y/N,” he cries out, head falling to the crook of your neck and you wrap your arms around him as a shield, holding him tight against you.

It doesn’t take long after that. He is hitting just the right spots, making you moan his name over and over again as your orgasm slowly devours you and washes over your whole body while he is still relentlessly moving.

“Harry! Oh… Fuck!” you gasp, legs and hands shaking and you clench your muscles around him, throwing him over the edge with you. He falls out of his rhythm, his cock twitching inside you as he moans against the hot skin of your neck, coming undone in your arms.

Nothing has ever felt this intense and mind-blowing and you’re now sure you’re addicted to him, there’s no turning back, not that you want that.

He collapses on top of you, still inside you, his body weighing down on you heavily, but it feels just fine. You run your arms up and down his sides, kissing the side of his head as you are both trying to catch your breath. It takes a few minutes for him to come back to reality with you, he lifts his head and moves to the side so he is not crushing you anymore, but an arm remains thrown over your abdomen. His vibrant green eyes are shining like never before when they meet your tired gaze and cupping his face in your palm you pull him in for a slow kiss where you finally have the time to actually taste him without the rushing of your own needs and urges.

“How are you feeling?” you softly asking, knowing well how major this was for him. You wouldn’t want him to spiral and start to self-destruct because of what just happened.

“I’m feeling fine,” he murmurs lowly, his fingers dancing on your naked side. “Just still a little torn if I did the right thing.”

“You worry too much. We did nothing wrong.”

“Not sure everyone would agree with that.”

“Fuck everyone else,” you chuckle and a smile tugs on his lips as well. “I will not feel bad for having the best sex of my life with a hot as fuck man I’m really into,” you bluntly tell him, earning a smug grin.

“Best sex of your life, huh?”

“Not even ashamed to admit,” you nod into the pillow. “How… was it for you?” you shyly ask, afraid his answer might disappoint you. But Harry pulls you closer until you’re pressed up against his chest, his lips capture yours, kissing you fiercely, making your heart skip a few beats for sure.

“Fucking amazing, baby. Probably the best I ever had too,” he admits, lips brushing against yours as he speaks. A satisfied sigh leaves your lips as you nuzzle against his chest once he has rolled to his back.

Silence comes over the two of you, you’re listening to his steady heartbeat, mindlessly drawing patterns over his chest. Lifting your head your eyes meet his and you can tell he has been thinking hard about what this all means for the future now.

“I’m in,” you simply tell him.

“Huh?”

“If you are thinking that I might not want to do this with you, that I just wanted a good fuck, that’s not what I think of this. If you want to give us a chance, I’m totally in.”

“You think we can make it work?” he quietly asks, his voice barely more than just a whisper.

“Of course,” you smile at him warmly. “You don’t?”

“I do, I’m just… there are so many things that can go wrong.”

“Then… we’ll make them right.”

Harry breathes out through his nose, clearly having a hard time to take it as easy as you do and you wish you could magically make all his doubts go away.

Sitting up you put your hands on each of his sides, looking down at him determined to bring out his confidence in the two of you.

“We just have to be patient and careful until I finish. Then we are basically free. That’s just one more semester. It could be way worse, we can make it work for a couple of months before we can finally do whatever we want. That doesn’t sound that bad, does it?” Harry shakes his head, reaching up he tugs your hair behind your ear before running his fingers down the side of your face.

“So we are really doing this?” he breathes out, a small smile on his sweet, pink lips.

“Well, I’m surely not giving up on this, we came a long way to be here,” you chuckle. “Question is, are you gonna give up on us? On… me?”

“Hell no,” he chuckles softly as he shakes his head. You smile down at him and leaning down you peck his lips tenderly.

“Then… we really are doing this.”

SEQUEL: 🌊 AN OCEAN AWAY 🌊

-

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[seraphsurvival]

episode 1: 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙨 𝙖 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜

with their first official challenge on 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇 complete the angels group up to compete in 2 groups. after hours of practice and fighting for the spotlight will their groups be enough to impress the judges? will they soar high or fall from grace ?

* note that indented + italic text like this means it is confessional footage *

Team One :

MIMI ( @inter-stellar-jyp )

HAEJU ( @hcney-moon )

SUMMER ( @se4sonz )

JAY ( @dulcetgg )

EDEN ( @inter-stellar-jyp )

AME ( @triptychexe )

Everybody wants to rule the world! When it came to picking positions for this week’s competition, everyone in Team One had raised their hand to be center. Tension fell over the group. Being the center of the first round of group performances could be a game changer. On the other hand, no one wants to come off as too greedy. Team one had to decide if they wanted to fight for it or sit back and enjoy the show.

Team One chose: fight for it AND sit back and enjoy the show. through voting the two options tied.

Outcome: The girls equally fight and sit back. the members summer , jay and eden fight for center while haeju , mimi and ame decide to sit back. the team can’t pick a center, which causes a divide among the angels. but as they grow closer, they recognize each others talents. they remove the center position entirely this week and work on their team performance and cleaning it up and form a strong team bond that makes their performance stand out. 300 bonus points for true teamwork . TOTAL: 300 points.

the morning of team one’s first practice was full of excitement. the six girls walked together from the dorm building to the practice room, giggling and chatting together as if they had been a group for years and friends for even longer.

“i knew of haeju prior to being on SERAPH together.” ame shares with a smile. “our companies often work together, so we have a lot to talk about. the other girls are really sweet too.”

“the energy of our first morning was so vibrant and fun and exciting…” jay shakes her head. “i really don’t know where it went wrong.”

once the girls finished setting up, they gathered in a circle to discuss positions for the performance. they all unanimously voted haeju as the leader as well as mimi as the main vocalist. all that was left to do was select a center.

“so,” haeju snapped into her newly-appointed leadership by popping the big question. “who wants to be center?”

all six hands flew into the air. everyone’s eyes widened in shock. upon seeing the amount of hands in the air, mimi put hers down.

“i’m already lead vocalist anyways.” mimi reasoned. “i didn’t want to look ungrateful for the position i had. center position is a big deal but… i don’t know if i wanted to stir the pot right away.”

following her example, ame also returned her hand to her lap.

ame gave a shrug, licking her bottom lip. “i don’t really know why i changed my mind. i really don’t like conflict and i didn’t want to cause any trouble. i probably should have fought for center but… summer, eden and jay all looked so fiery… i couldn’t go against them.”

“okay... well… how about we run through the chorus a few times with different centers?” haeju suggested. “then we can see who we think fits it best?”

“i’ll go first.” two voices spoke at the same time. summer and eden snapped their attention towards each other, surprised that they both spoke. the tension between the two was so thick, the other team members couldn’t even muster a chuckle to dissipate the atmosphere.

“how about jay goes first.” haeju offered, breaking the silence.

all the girls repositioned to place jay in the center and run through the song multiple times trying to get used to the new formations. the rehearsal went surprisingly smoothly much to eden and summer’s dismay.

“i know i deserve center. all the practices where i was center were the cleanest by far. i’ve got it in the bag at the point.” jay bit her bottom lip to try hide the smug smile she had on her face.

the tension still hadn’t dissipated after all three girls swapped around for center. despite how perfect the choreography flowed no matter who was center their dynamic as a group had seemingly fallen apart.

“i’m really nervous about how this week is gonna go,” mimi let out a long huff. “there’s a lot of tension amongst the angels and i’m worried it’s going to jeopardize our performance.”

“i think we need to call it a night everyone. get ready to work extra hard and be ready to fight for that center tomorrow.” haeju spoke before dismissing all the girls back to their dorms. the walk back to the dorm was quiet unlike their energetic lively departure from it just that morning.

“i don’t think it’s that hard to pick a center in my opinion. some people have it, some don’t.” summer folded her arms as she spoke, her annoyance palpable. “ we should’ve sorted it out before bed but i’m not this week's leader so what do i know honestly.”

after days of practicing with a constant center change the girls had to perform in front of the judges.

“we can’t keep changing positions forever, it's unprofessional.” eden let out a long sigh. “the performance is in a day. i just want to impress the judges.”

the silence following their performance had each angel’s breath ringing in their ears. their nerves were unshakeable.

the 3 judges looked amongst each other before each breaking out into a broad smile. much to all of their surprise their rehearsal wowed the judges. each of them applauding the tightness of the choreography and overall teamwork. sunmi didn’t even try to hide her satisfaction as she brought her microphone up to her red lips, “i don’t know what i was expecting but it was not that! wow team 1 you’ve really impressed me today.”

the girls smiles grew as she spoke, each girl bowing respectfully.

the other two judges hummed in agreement with sunmi, j-hope even lifting his thumbs up with his signature smile.

“so haeju you are this weeks leader correct?” hyuna asked. haeju was visibly flustered , having a one on one conversation with someone who inspired her to be an idol is obviously nerve racking. with a shaky hand haeju received a mic.

“yes that’s me.”

“well done the girls look perfect. the choreography was clean, each angel shon and we could tell you fully grasped the concept of the song.” haeju smiled broadly, pride swelling in her chest.

“may i ask who is the center this week?” j-hope asked. “umm,”

“i was worried that if i told them that we had no center yet their view on our team would change. after all the praise we received i didn’t want to taint that image they had of us but i couldn’t lie” haeju looked down at her black tights , hands cupping her face as she took a deep breath.

“we actually don’t have one yet we’ve been trying random combinations but today we just performed without one.”

j-hopes expression was unreadable as he looked down at his notes. “i like it that way. i say get rid of the position this week and perform the way you just did. it was perfect.” his smile broadened as he spoke, “well done team 1 i’m excited to see the final performance.”

the angels all laced their hands as they bowed before exiting the stage. their excitement coming out in tiny squeals.

“getting rid of the position entirely is perfect ! i’m so glad that the judges suggested it. now we can just focus on cleaning up our performance and move past the bickering and tension.” ame clapped her hands excitedly in the booth, relieved that all the conflict could finally end. “it is definitely better for us, maybe now i’ll be able to sleep without worrying about another angel sneak attacking me.” jay joked, making both her and ame burst out laughing the aforementioned tensions were nowhere to be found.

“i cant believe the judges loved our performance i has been so stressed all week. but we don’t need a center, we're all centers,” mimi spoke in a sing-song voice making both her and eden giggle. “i still would’ve killed it as center though,” eden joked, nudging mimi’s shoulder. “of course you would’ve eden.” mimi cooed, slinging her arm around the younger girl, their smiles mirroring each other’s.

“i think this is really the best option. even though i know i deserve the position , the tension was not letting us perform to our best ability.” summer spoke, a slight sense of disappointment in her voice but it was quickly brushed away as haeju rubbed her should. “we’re going to kill it this week , i can feel it!” haeju cheered. with a soft chuckle summer nodded ,”we’re going to kill it !”

all their confessional cams linked up to show them place a fist up as they cheered in unison. “team 1 fighting!”

[ WATCH TEAM 1’S PERFORMANCE OF FAKE LOVE — HERE ]

Team Two:

BAEBI ( @whileinvenus )

CHLOE ( @chloekwon )

DAHLIA ( @d3adfl0wers )

YURI ( @cube-vivid )

JADE ( @nct-krown )

RICKY ( @unholiied )

This week, Team Two’s lead vocalist, Chloe, had woken up to a sore throat. After examination by the in-studio medic, it was confirmed that Chloe had stressed her vocal cords during rehearsals. The medic suggested that Chloe rest up her voice and take on a minor role this week. Team Two had to decide if they were going to keep their vocalist or change positions.

Team Two chose: change positions.

Outcome: This opened up the floodgates. The other angels started ruffling their feathers for a chance to get a better position. This creates some tension within the group. When a vocalist was finally picked* (*randomized), they barely had any time to learn their parts. The performance didn’t suffer, but it wasn’t anything special. No one can out do the doer. 200 for making a tough choice, plus 50 for the performance not burning up in flames.

TOTAL: 250 points each.

the girls sat in a semicircle, awkward silence falling over the group. it was time to make a decision.

“i think we should change positions this week.” chloe croaked, her throat still dry and strained.

“there’s no chance you can power through?” baebi asked as this weeks leader it was her duty to look out for the girls. chloe shook her head making baebi’s frown deepen in concern.

“i didn’t want the other girls to suffer because of my condition.” chloe explained to the camera. “plus i would rather have another shot at main vocalist when my throat is better. i don’t want to give off a bad impression.”

jade clapped her hands together. “well? who wants to take chloe’s spot?”

hands flew up in the air instantly. of course, everyone wanted an important position within the group.

“we have a lot of strong personalities in our group. everyone is very talented.” yuri shares with a shrug. “it would have been more surprising if no one raised their hand at all.”

“okay…” jade breaks the silence. she turns to chloe. “chloe, how about you decide who gets your parts?”

“oh, okay.” chloe looks a little uncomfortable as she shifts her weight from one side to the other. “um how about you each try to hit the note?”

the girls went around, each angel singing their heart out. each solo got a little bit more passionate than the next, and it was obvious how badly everyone wanted this positon. finally, it was ricky’s turn.

ricky took a deep breath before attempting the note. to everyone’s surprise, ricky’s voice unexpectedly cracked on the high note. a hushed gasp chorused over the group. they all exchanged looks within the group as they exchanged unspoken opinions. ricky’s cheeks flushed as she shook her head slightly.

“sorry! sorry!” ricky covered her mouth with one hand. “can i try again?”

“i felt very intimidated.” ricky admits to the camera. “plus i didn’t have time to warm up. i needed to prove myself. everyone on this team is a star. i wanted to shine brightly too.”

“yeah, of course.” chloe nodded. dahlia gave side eyes to jade, who returned the look. no one spoke up, however, and let ricky finish.

“well, you all did great.” chloe smoothed her palms onto her track pants. “the amount of talent in this group is really… wow.” chloe giggled at her simple description. the other girls chuckled politely, but none of them could quite shake the tension building up in the practice room.

“i’m going to have to go with…” chloe inhaled. “ricky.”

ricky beamed at chloe. yuri gave ricky a supportive shoulder squeeze.

whilst the other angels began congratulating ricky, jade and dahlia exchanged obvious looks of shock and disbelief.

“i know ricky and chloe have grown close this past week,” jade crosses her arms. “but if i was chloe, that squeak would have thrown me off completely. we can’t afford for that to happen on performance day and it’s not fair to put us all in jeopardy because they're friends now. i think chloe needs to realize that this is a competition, not a playdate with the besties.”

“i’m the lead vocalist of my own group.” dahlia reasons, her words coming out a little bitter. “i knew chloe was going to pick ricky though. they’ve been growing really close these past few days. it’s just…” dahlia inhaled through her nose, trying to compose herself for professionalism sake. “it’s just that this is a competition. i think chloe should have chosen someone a little more… suitable. even jade would have been a better pick than ricky.”

maybe if chloe had chosen a more ‘suitable’ replacement, team two’s practice would have gone a little smoother. with the change of positions and lines on top of the new and unspoken divide between the teammates, the last three days of rehearsal were tense ones. mistakes were made left and right, lines were forgotten, and toes were stepped on.

the dress rehearsal resulted in a very different performance than the group originally imagined.

“chloe and ricky have two very different stage personalities.” baebi, this week’s leader, shares. “ricky’s stage presence is really strong, but i’m not sure if it fits her role. yuri is supposed to be this week’s center, but ricky is trying to overshadow her. this isn’t a solo performance but she’s not allowing anyone else to shine.”

“so…” hyuna brought her microphone up to her lips, admitting a sigh. “i was really excited to see this group, but… i felt like i was watching three different performances in one.”

sunmi nodded in agreement. “this team is composed of really impressive members,” the idols hand swooped over the group in a generalizing gesture. “but it’s obvious to the audience that you are not on the same page.”

“is yuri the center?” j-hope asked, looking over his notes. yuri nodded. j-hope gave a thoughtful hum. “i couldn’t really tell. to me, it looked like ricky was the center.”

yuri looked a little deflated, her eyes focusing on a spot beyond the camera. “that was hard to hear. i think our dynamics really changed within the group when ricky became the main vocal. ricky is great, but as a performer she doesn’t like to share the spotlight and i think getting the main vocal really highlighted that.” yuri sighs.

“today, work on isolating your own talents.” sunmi suggested. “the final stage should be a harmonious performance showcasing all your skills.”

“honestly, we wouldn’t have this problem if ricky wasn’t our vocal.” jade frowns in the confessional. “i don’t think ricky knows how to share the stage. she’s used to being the popular one.” the singer shook her head. “she needs a reality check, if you ask me. someone more professional and a team player should be the main vocal.”

“i really hope we can pull this performance off.” ricky nods to the camera. “i’ve been working really hard to live up to the expectations of everyone. i can tell there’s tension after i was picked but i hope we can work together well on the stage tomorrow. i am just trying to show my talents off and prove why i deserve to be here. i shouldn’t have to dull myself so others can shine. if that means some of the angels don’t like me then…” she shrugged letting out a long sigh. “ i just hope they bring their all too .”

[ WATCH TEAM 2’S PERFORMANCE OF LOVE SHOT — HERE ]

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens one-shot “At the End” (Rated PG)

Summary: When the angels and demons finally succeed in having their war, there's only one thing that Aziraphale and Crowley can do with the time Earth has left...

Say goodbye to their home. (1408 words)

Notes: I wrote this hoping I would be accepted into a zine that ended up being canceled. The theme was basically what happens after Armageddon.

Read on AO3.

"Wot do you think you'll miss most about Earth?"

"Really, my dear?" Aziraphale clicks his tongue in disgust, but he can't bring himself to look away from the chaos ensuing below them to berate his companion properly. "What a question to ask at a time like this!"

"I think this is the perfect time to ask that question," Crowley says, but without his teasing edge. He offers it sympathetically. They both have a similar connection to this planet, had an investment in it thriving, but Crowley feels Aziraphale's heart breaking more than his. "When you lose something, you mourn it."

"It's not entirely lost! N-not yet." Aziraphale chokes around the words. Even though they leave his mouth passionately, he knows he has sinned by saying them. 

Not lost yet may be the biggest lie he's ever told. 

The first few hours had been soul-crushing. 

The moment Holy rays broke through the clouds and shone down from above, ethereal voices announcing the arrival of God's angelic army, a flock of the faithful came out in droves to greet them. They prayed, sang joyously, raised their voices to the Heavens, invoked every one of God's Holy monickers. It should have been a huge stroke to Her ego... if She had been paying attention.

From Aziraphale and Crowley's perch atop St. Paul's Cathedral, that doesn't appear to be the case.

Those God-fearing mortals were the first to get trodden underfoot as angels barreled over them to confront their enemy - an extremely vulgar and unnecessary display when one considers that angelic footsoldiers can fly.

Hordes of evil-doers emerged from hiding as well, in lesser, but equally exuberant, numbers. They seemed suspiciously more eager for the fight, proving that those who call themselves 'Christian' might outnumber worshippers of Lucifer, but demons had their zealots better prepared for what the end of times would actually entail.

Either way, it didn't matter.

Those humans willing to spill blood at the drop of a hat, even their own, were used as cannon fodder against a foe they couldn't possibly hope to defeat. Within seconds, thousands lay dead on the streets of London and, Aziraphale suspected, all over the world.

For their part, Aziraphale and Crowley refused to join the battle, but no one paid them a lick of attention. An angel cavorting with a demon was no longer an issue. They could finally do as they pleased without fear of retribution, albeit on a planet whose hours were numbered.

"I would have to say I'm going to miss my car," Crowley continues, provoking conversation in an effort to allay his angel's anxiety. "And my flat. And alcohol. Hell's bells am I going to miss alcohol."

"Pity we don't have some now. I think a hull full would find itself useful," Aziraphale adds in a weak attempt at humor.

"Wot about you? Will you miss the food? Your bookshop?"

Aziraphale sighs. "Humanity."

Crowley raises a brow. "Humanity?"

"Yes. Without humanity, the rest of it wouldn't have been possible." Aziraphale scans the carnage below, trying not to focus for too long on any one thing... or any one person. He's already seen too many faces he recognizes, twisted from agony. "Without humanity, it wouldn't have meant anything."

"I suppose."

A tortured voice rings out, but it's snuffed out quickly. Aziraphale doesn't know which side does it, but he shakes his head in shame all the same. “I thought She’d show them mercy. I thought that, in the end, She’d come through. Spare them. That She wouldn't allow them to suffer as bystanders in all of this.”

“I hate to be the one to say I told you so, but… ”

“Then don’t, my dear.” Aziraphale reaches out and takes Crowley's hand, pleading wordlessly for him to stop, but also needing him for comfort. “Where is She? Where has She gone? Why has She abandoned them?”

"You've been asking that question for generations. I would think, by now, you'd know the answer."

"But I don't. Perhaps I should... " Aziraphale swallows heavily, his attention pulled to the skies by a streak of gold, then one of violet, passing overhead. "They know," he spits bitterly. Crowley follows his angel's gaze to the trails above them, one which he assumes must be Gabriel's. "She's obviously told them."

"Perhaps not," Crowley says, not in an attempt to defend Her, but to soothe his angel. "Just like last time, they're doing wot they think is right. Following wot they believe."

"And what do they believe? I don't know! They've never told me!"

"You'd think you'd all be on the same page. I mean, there's a book about it and all."

Aziraphale scoffs at that. "I think you and I both know that the archangels, Gabriel in particular, have never held any stock in books. Books are primitive, human things. They have nothing to do with angels. Not even the Bible... " A host more gold streaks zip by, and Aziraphale's words trail off into nothingness. Of all the books in Aziraphale's collection, his Bibles have always been his favorites. And not just the misprinted ones. The words inside gave him comfort, especially during those long stretches when he didn't hear from God at all. Though written by man, they were imparted by Her (if he overlooked the dodgy editing). 

But they're gone. Not a single one remains, not even in the church where they stand, its insides crackling, burning beneath their feet.

Earth had become Aziraphale's Eden. Now, so many things he held dear are disappearing before his eyes.

Crowley squeezes the hand holding his. "Come, my love. It’s time to leave the garden.”

Aziraphale's eyes snap his way. They linger on his face for a moment, then drop to their clasped hands. “6000 years on this planet and you choose today of all days to call me your love?”

“I'm sorry." Crowley inches closer, lifts Aziraphale's hand to his mouth and kisses it. "I really am. I should have said it sooner. But I’m going to take you to a place where I’ll say it every day. I promise.” He wraps an arm around his angel's shoulders, gently urging Aziraphale to leave before the battle brewing, showing no sign of slowing down until it has consumed every last brick, every last breath of air, swallows them, too.

But Aziraphale hesitates. "C-can't we take them with us?" He gestures down to a tattered group of frightened survivors - a shivering young woman, no older than twenty-five if she's a day, and three children, all under the age of ten - huddled in a narrow crevice created by a metal door off its hinges, sheltering them among the rubble of the church's ruined stairs. 

They've found themselves a decent hideaway, Aziraphale thinks. But he knows they're simply delaying the inevitable. They'll be found out before too long, become collateral damage.

Like everyone else.

"We can't just leave them to die, Crowley."

"We have no other choice." Crowley's need to escape intensifies as he watches the poor humans, tastes their fear rise with the heat of the flames. "Besides, perhaps they'll pull through. You never know. Humans have always been resourceful. They might find a way." 

"Do you honestly think so?"

"Yes," Crowley lies. He would give his angel anything in the universe, anything within his power. He's trying to give him faith.

Because he can't give him this. 

They can't save anyone but themselves.

Crowley turns Aziraphale away, blocks his view by unfurling his dark wings, ready to lift his angel into the air on his own if Aziraphale refuses. "I'm sorry, my love. We must leave them behind."

Aziraphale relents, unfurling his own white wings and heading for the upper atmosphere, watery eyes focused on the where in front of him and not the destruction behind him, with Crowley's shard of hope keeping his heart pinned in place. 

Crowley should do the same. Ignorance is bliss, after all. But like Lot's wife, Crowley peeks behind him one last time to say goodbye to this place that has been his home for most of his existence. 

It was a wonderful existence, but mostly because he had Aziraphale there to muddle through with him.

At least Crowley will still have him when all is said and done.

The last thing Crowley sees before they breach the clouds is St. Paul's Cathedral crumble in on itself, leaving behind a mound of ash.

And nothing more.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xi: what kind of man

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~8.2k (I’M SORRY)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Gore/violence, Still Under The Influencer of drugs, uhhhh blood. There's a lot of mentions of blood and death and what have you. Elliot has a meltdown (surprise). Joseph is creepy (surprise pt. 2 electric boogaloo). People are confused about How To Feel. I don't understand how laws work and so I'm just literally out here trying my best, you know? Don't @ me.

Notes: I wanted to start off by saying THANK YOU everyone for your feedback! I was having a real hard time hitting my stride with the last chapter but all of your kind words has given me life. There's some still in these old bones yet and I really hope that you enjoy this one.

 Anyway I'm a clown and I'm sorry this chapter took so long. Joke's on you, it's always clown hour here! Thank you forever and always to @starcrier ​ for being the best proof-reader and somehow managing to make my incoherency readable?? Manageable??? You're an angel and ily! Also, @empirics ​, my writing aspiration forever, and @baeogorath ​ who makes me cry literally every time I read anything they have to say about my writing. Thank you thank you thank you!

John had never seen a person’s head blown in with a shotgun, and he wasn’t sure that he really needed to.

Ase’s blood had splattered when Jacob fired the shotgun at what he was sure could be considered point-blank range, the spray of it nearly catching them in the process. But no, it was mostly on Elliot, like she was some Carrie at her first prom, a real tried-and-true Scream Queen.

“I knew you’d find a way to fuck it up,” Jacob said, no absence of venom in his voice as he stepped away from Ase’s dead body like she was nothing—and sure, she was nothing, and John didn’t necessarily have any qualms with getting rid of her (he had blown a shell straight through her spine), but that wasn’t what was making him nauseated.

It was Elliot. Baby-blues eaten away by her pupils, blown wide with hallucinogens, drenched in blood, making a noise something close to a rabbit that thought it was going to die.

He didn’t have the energy to tell Jacob that the blow to her skull had been unnecessary, that there was no way someone could walk away from their entire stomach being blown through by a shotgun. That Jacob’s idea of “fucked up” was greatly, massively warped if he thought that Ase hadn’t been finished after shot number one. Even if he’d had the energy it wouldn’t have mattered, because the next words out of Jacob’s mouth were, “You put Faith at risk going back for her.”

The eldest Seed didn’t need to say what it was he meant; John knew. The words were “you put Faith at risk going back for her”, but what he meant was, Joseph’s going to be furious when he finds out.

“Get your pet,” Jacob bit out, “and let’s fucking move.”

John’s limbs moved of their own volition, kneeling down in front of Elliot and turning her face away from the grisly scene laid out next to her. If she recognized him, it didn’t show; she trembled, and her eyes never stayed fixed for very long, as though everything in the entire world was assaulting her senses at every second.

“Elliot,” he said, pulling her to her feet as the sound of voices rising in the distance peppered the air, “we have to move.”

Some kind of guttural sorrow welled up and out of her as he pulled her along and down the hill, her feet stumbling. Around them, the night hummed with gunfire and shouting. John was certain that he heard something like grief wracking the air at the hilltop above them, and he couldn’t bring himself to look back, afraid of what he’d see—that redheaded monster of Ase’s bent over her nearly-decapitated corpse, or worse: coming after them.

He kept one hand on Elliot’s arm and the other out in front of her case she tried to plummet headfirst down the hill—whether by chance or accident—and by the time they had reached the bottom, the strange agony sounds that had tried to burrow out of her had mostly ceased; her gaze was still glassy and dark, and there was an odd sway about her, but she looked only shell-shocked now.

Oh, John thought, absently, if that’s all.

Joey’s dark gaze darted between the two of them. He released Elliot to her without a word, his hand dropping from the blonde as Joey fussed over her. Faith swayed dreamily just a few steps away from Joey, humming a song mostly to herself; beyond her, Jacob stood, his arms crossed over his chest while he toted the shotgun in one of his hands, before he apparently got tired of waiting and grabbed Faith’s hand.

“If you want to stand around down here and chit chat, that’s fine,” he said, tugging Faith—clearly still drugged, clearly unaware of the carnage occurring around them—off to the trail that led away from the lake. “ We’re leaving.”

“Jacob—” John started. It was too late. The redhead had set for himself and for Faith a brutal and punishing pace to return them to wherever it was Joseph waited, and though he was loathe to admit it, Jacob was on the right track; pretty soon, the members of Eden’s Gate that had been sent up to wreak havoc on the Family would be dead, and he was certain that once Ase’s death was fully recognized, someone would want revenge.

“Are we going home?” Faith asked, giggling as she toddled after Jacob, barely able to keep herself upright. “That lady said John was going to come and rescue me.”

John’s chest tightened at the sound of her laughter. She was so completely unperturbed by everything—everything she had been through, had seen. He wondered how heavily they’d had to drug her, and if she would even remember half of it come the moment that she sobered up.

He exhaled, glancing at the top of the ridge above them where the lights of the cabins and flashlights and whatever-the-fuck-else those monsters had at their disposal glimmered.

“When,” Elliot said, the word grinding out of her mouth haltingly, “when... did Jacob-”

“Drink some water,” Joey murmured. She uncapped the half-drank water bottle and pushed it into Elliot’s hand and added, “And we’ll talk about it later, but right now we need to move, Elli.”

Elli, John thought, and felt a faint glimmer of amusement at the absurdity of such a soft, round nickname for a girl who was only sharp edges. Well, but she wasn’t so sharp now, was she? As he led them along the dark trail, her fingers brushing his on occasion, he would glance over at her and find her staring at him like he was a stranger, like she didn’t recognize him. Maybe she didn’t; he wasn’t familiar with the drugs they’d put her on, anyway.

“What the fuck happened up there?” Joey hissed, her hand firmly rooted in Elliot’s as she tugged her along—not unlike the way Jacob was pulling Faith. She had taken the water bottle back when it became apparent Elliot wasn’t interested in it. “Why is Elliot covered in blood —”

“She’s alive,” John snapped, “isn’t that what’s important?”

“I suppose you’ll be wanting a fucking award.”

“Stop it,” Elliot managed out. “Stop arguing. You both are so fucking loud.”

Joey’s lips pressed into a thin line. They ducked into the treeline far below Sacred Skies Camp, picking their way as quickly as they could through the underbrush, but the journey was slow and arduous; guiding Elliot through the trees had, in the last twenty minutes, become no easier than guiding a toddler. A blind, deaf toddler, who spared no interest in staying upright, and also had a metric fuck ton of psychotropic drugs in her system.

The walk there seemed to take much longer than it had going up, but John was sure that was his own adrenaline crash happening. He’d been stressed—about getting Faith out, about what he’d find, if he’d find anything at all or if they’d have done away with Elliot seconds after getting her.

Fuck . The thought filtered through his brain with dismay at the realization that he had been worried about her. Jacob was right; he’d really only needed to get Faith. But Elliot had been—she’d gone in there for them , and Joseph wanted her alive, and—

“Tired,” Elliot said, her voice hoarse and cracking with exhaustion as she took agonizing step after agonizing step. “I’m so tired, J—”

“I know,” John and Joey said, both cutting Elliot off and overlapping each other at the same time. Of course, John already knew what it was like to handle Elliot like this. They’d toddled through one field with Elliot clutching him like an anchor, drugged to the gills, once already; this was new territory for the other deputy.

Joey gave him a dark, turbulent look—the kind that implied murderous intent—and John turned his attention back to the task at hand: getting the fuck out of there.

As soon as the truck came into sight, running with the lights off, John let himself breathe a sigh of relief. He hadn’t thought Jacob would really up and leave them, but it also wasn’t impossible that he would have insisted and said fuck off if Joseph had protested. His eldest brother had been notorious for pushing back, for picking fights, and maybe—just maybe—he was pissed enough to follow through this time.

“About time,” Jacob said from the driver’s seat. Joseph did not give his input, which only served to further John’s personal unease as he opened the tailgate of the truck. Joey climbed in first, swaying just a little. He’d noticed that her pupils looked blown, too, though not quite as much as Elliot’s, so it must not have been fully out of her system yet.

John glanced up the hill absently. The sound of Eden’s Gate members still echoed. Not quite done yet, he thought absently, and then said, “Alright, Deputy, let’s get a move on.”

“Too high,” Elliot sighed, and he wasn’t sure if she meant the tailgate or herself. John turned her around from trying to clamber into the back and gripped her hips; her hands fluttered unsteadily before holding onto his arms.

“Don’t throw up on me,” he said.

She looked tired. Each second her eyes spent open seemed to demand more and more energy from her. “Expensive shirt, huh?”

“That’s right.”

He hoisted her into the back of the truck; she sat on the tailgate for a second only, and swayed forward like she was going to tumble right off; she steadied her hands on his shoulders, fingers gripping his shirt and bleeding warm against his skin.

“You did it too fast,” Elliot muttered, her voice verging on spoiled brat. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, John climbed in after her as she scooted to the farthest spot away from the tailgate. Jacob didn’t wait for the tailgate to close before he pulled out of the brush; the truck hit the dirt road with a heavy thunk that had his teeth rattling around in his skull. Fucker, he thought, slamming the tailgate shut before the dust kicked up beneath them.

Elliot had her back pressed against the window into the truck. Blood covered her face and matted strands of her hair where they’d stuck to her cheeks; the vicious edge to her was dulled, whittled down to the bone until she was just a small girl folded up into the side of Joey Hudson.

When her eyes had fluttered shut and the night had settled a chill over them, Joey’s gaze flickered across John for a moment before landing on his face. She was silent, studying him—in a most infuriating way, wordlessly —before she finally said, “What happened?”

John glanced out at the Montana wilderness stretching out behind her, late into the night; he thought about the way Elliot had balked at the sight of the treeline, like there was something in there only she could see, something horrible.

“Well, the boys and I thought it’d be a nice night to go out,” he replied flatly, cocking his head before looking at Joey. “It’s been a while since we’ve done anything fun, you know, so it was nice to get the gang all together again for a little fun .”

The brunette’s expression flattened. “The devil rebuking sin.”

“I shot the psycho and I got Elliot out of there,” John bit out. “What did you expect?”

“You, to leave her,” Joey snapped. “That’s what I would have expected out of you.”

The words shouldn’t have stung. They were coming from Joey Hudson, after all, the only person that Elliot really cared about and so clearly the only person that John could use against her. But these facts were minor details to him now, carefully pinned out somewhere in the back of his mind—always accessible, but no longer important. Hudson had stopped being very important at all when she stopped being something to dangle in front of Elliot. Now they stung for a different reason, something that John couldn’t put his thumb on.

That’s not very true, something in him said, rattling against the bones of his rib cage. You know exactly why that bothers you.

“Well, that’s on you, isn’t it?” John replied, keeping his voice sickly sweet. “I’ll have you know I took very good care of your hellcat.”

“Yeah,” Joey ventured dryly, “having her shoved into a cult that shot her so full of poison it was coming out of her eyes really showed some TLC.”

“I’m sure she told you the plan was different,” John bit out.

“She tried. Which is why I’m wondering why you even fucking came back for us at all, Seed.”

Though Joey’s voice was soft so as not to rustle Elliot, it was pounding with venom. Hatred. That was to be expected, he thought; after all, in the short time that she’d been his ward, he’d done his very hardest to lure Elliot in with her fear and then passed her off almost immediately to Faith. But still, the wording struck him—it was the same sentiment that Jacob had flung in his face after blowing Ase’s brains out.

You put Faith at risk going back for her.

I’m wondering why you even fucking came back for us at all.

It was never the plan to save Elliot. It was always: get Faith, get out, and if you can get the deputy too—sure. Why not? She’d be indebted to them. Even more so if they got Joey out with her. But Faith should have been the absolute priority first, and he’d left her down at the lake to go back up into the middle of a firefight to get Elliot and Joey out.

If we’re partners, you have to trust me.

“I don’t know why it bothers you so much,” he managed out, trying to keep his voice as clipped as he could. “Normally, when people are rescued, they’re thankful. ”

“You did kidnap me,” Joey snapped, “so you’re closer to us being equal than my being grateful, and even that’s pushing it. I just don’t know if the rescuing still counts as a good deed if you only did it for yourself.”

John stared at her, eyes narrowing and jaw setting, tense and tight until pain radiated up into his skull. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Deputy Hudson —”

“Then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Elliot stirred, eyelashes fluttering. She coughed into Joey’s shoulder—the gesture not lost on the brunette, who grimaced a little—and when her eyes landed on John there was an eerieness about them, like she was trying to pull him open and peer inside, peel back the vibrating tension and hostility that Joey Hudson’s interrogation brought of him.

“What?” John asked, barely masking his irritation. It shouldn’t have bothered him so much, but it did because he couldn’t get the way she’d said, John? out of his head, small and wounded so very afraid, with Ase’s blood drenching her.

“Just trying to figure out which John you are,” Elliot replied, her voice slick with exhaustion and the words rolling out of her mouth in something close to a slur. They sent an uneasy jolt through him. It was the drugs, surely—she probably said all kinds of weird shit while she was high. He didn’t know what she was seeing, anyway.

(—fucking hate you, John Seed, John Duncan, whatever the fuck your name is, whoever the fuck you are—)

The blonde sighed again. The breath sounded like some kind of exertion for her; she squirmed and tried to get more comfortable against Joey’s shoulder, the blood on her face staining the forest-green of the deputy’s shirt. John’s head ached. The memory of Joseph, silent while Jacob debated the logistics of getting a killing shot through Elliot, flickered through his mind, venomous.

(—should see yourself whenever Joseph says anything. You practically fall over to kiss the ground he fucking walks on—)

“Well,” he replied, settling more comfortably in his spot across from the two women, “let me know when you find out, why don’t you, Rook?” He let his head loll back against the lip of the truck bed, a dark, cloudless night spreading out above him. He wanted to brush aside the way Elliot looked at him, but he had learned long ago that was the quickest way to underestimate her.

“I’m just dying to know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The truck came to a halting stop. John hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until the strange inertia-pull of the truck stilling rustled him from his sleep. It was hard to say how long they had been on the road, but if he had to guess—and, taking into consideration how Jacob liked to drive—he’d wager it had been only thirty minutes.

Across from him, Elliot was awake, murmuring something to Joey that he couldn’t hear over the sound of the engine giving one last kick before Jacob turned it off. There was a higher clarity about the blonde, now, one that implied that sleep had done her well—though the pupils of her eyes stayed wide, there was now a sliver of baby blue that he could see, if he looked close enough.

He grimaced as exhaustion burned through his body, and for a brief second, their eyes met; like before, they pried at him, tried to see something that maybe he didn’t want her to. 

As he lowered the tailgate of the truck and slid out, John turned around and instinctively reached to steady Elliot as she tried to climb down.

“I’m fine,” she said, more biting than he anticipated. Just coming down, John thought absently, his hands only remaining in the air for a second after her assertion before dropping to his sides again.

“Oh, yeah,” John replied, “I forgot that you’d rather I let you eat shit than keep you from falling over.”

She’s always been willful, he mused. The thought occurred as though John had known Elliot for a long time. In a way, he supposed that he did; fuck, he’d tried every goddamn trick in the book to lure her in, and she’d still spit her venom into her walkie at every chance she’d gotten. There was nothing that John didn’t try and dig up, nothing that he hadn’t racked his brain for in the brief moment that they’d visited all those years ago. And still— and still, and still —she—

“Hudson,” John said, offering his hand to her because he was a gentleman and certainly not because he enjoyed the way the gesture made her squirm.

“Fuck off, John,” Joey replied tersely, sliding off the truck bed as well. John smiled dryly.

He said, the needling coming to him like second nature, “So nice to have both of you here at one time. It’s what I always wanted, you know.”

Elliot shot him a look, one that sucked the wind right out of his sails. It was a wounded look, like he had suddenly reminded her of the things he had done, and John felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. He didn’t know why the words came out—a force of habit, maybe, or the way that Joey Hudson’s animosity (and closeness ) to Elliot made his hackles raise. As though Joey’s presence made a choice immediately clear for her, and she chose Joey.

The clench of his jaw sent pain radiating up into his skull. He thought that things had been much simpler pre-Joey Hudson, and he was regretting having helped her.

“I knew you’d come and save me,” Faith said, her voice breaking him out of the turmoil of his thoughts. She smiled at him, and it would have almost been endearing if her pupils weren’t absolutely blown to hell, reminding him that they’d probably done more than just drug her with some weird hallucinogen—the way she’d been acting when he’d seen her on the road had been something more akin to the kinds of things Faith had partaken of before.

He reached up, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “Yeah?” he replied. “You listened to those crazies?”

“They’re not crazy,” Faith sighed. Her voice bloomed with something like affection, and when she looked at him, there was a startling clarity about her expression—keen, and a little sly. Not so innocent, our Faith, he thought absently. “Just different, John. And you came, didn’t you?”

A prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck. John glanced away from Faith, his gaze meeting Joseph’s from where he stood in front of the car; per usual, his expression was unreadable, obscured behind a mask of tranquility that provided no insight on what his brother was thinking or feeling.

“Go on,” John said, patting Faith’s back, “get some sleep. You’re going to feel like hell in a few hours, you know.”

She laughed, like maybe she didn’t quite hear what he actually said, and slid out of his half-embrace to wander around to the front of the car where Joseph was waiting. He turned his gaze away, swallowing back the feeling that he’d somehow failed a test—something that only Joseph knew the meters and results of, that he’d have to sweat until he found out about.

Elliot had already started walking away with Joey, taking her back to the same bunkhouse that she’d been holding up in prior to their little excursion. They spoke in low voices to one another; Elliot’s expression was even soft, softer than it had been when he’d found her sobbing into the grass in the field, when she’d been terrified out of her skin. Softer than when she’d had Ase’s brains splattered all over her.

John sucked his teeth, pushing the tailgate of the truck up until it latched. The adrenaline crash was starting to hit him hard, now. Every muscle in his body ached with the effort of moving, as though they’d all tensed and held for hours at a time; maybe they had. Gunfire and screaming still echoed in his head, while corpse after corpse, and Ase’s shattered head, lingered just behind his eyelids. They didn’t bother him, these images of glory and gore—but he couldn’t shake the way that Elliot had looked at him from the ground, drenched in blood, terrified.

Terrified of him.

“It’s always going to be like that, you know.” It was Jacob’s hard, steely voice that pulled him now, like his siblings wanted to take turns interrupting his train of thought. “She’s always going to pick Hudson over us.” His brother leveled him with one swift, hard look. “Over you .”

“Funny,” John muttered, “I didn’t realize you were a psych professional, Jacob.”

“Faith could have died because you went back for that girl,” Jacob bit out, his voice low but vibrating with something more venomous. “I know you know that, you aren’t stupid. And you went back for her anyway. So—”

“So, what?” he interrupted, trying not to let the frustrated venom from watching Elliot take Joey’s hand and walk off bubble out of him. “Faith’s alive, that crazy bitch is dead. What else do you want?”

“For you to get your shit together,” Jacob snapped. “Like I said, I know you’re not stupid, but do yourself the favor and prove it to me anyway. That girl —”

That girl, Jacob said, like the words didn’t suddenly fill John with some kind of poison. The eldest Seed gestured toward the bunkhouse, where inevitably, Elliot and Joey were conspiring; to leave, to kill. At this point, John wasn’t sure, and he didn’t think that either would surprise him.

“—is nothing. Don’t let nothing fuck everything up for us.” Jacob’s words were hard and cold. He gripped John’s shoulder and added, “Don’t let nothing fuck everything up for Joseph.”

That’s what it really boiled down to at the end of it all: that Joseph had seen like he always did, because nothing went without Joseph’s seeing, and maybe he wasn’t sure that Elliot was really worth the trouble anymore. Before, Joseph had wanted her to add to their little collection of misfits, just like he’d added the sheriff’s receptionist, just like he’d picked up Faith when she was Rachel, just like when he let Jacob tap into the worst parts of him for use, just like just like just like . Joseph was hard-pressed to find a vicious misfit that he didn’t want for himself, and Elliot Honeysett had been no different.

But a hard-to-break will cost time, and resources, and maybe with these locusts in their garden, that just wasn’t going to cut it anymore. Not for Joseph. Not right now. Where was this, anyway, back at the start of it all? Back when John had wanted to do things his way?

“Whatever Joseph’s opinion on the usefulness of the deputy, Burke’s gone,” John said after a minute. Jacob’s hand still sat heavy on his shoulder; he passed a hand over his face and sighed. “That marshal, the one that was—”

“I remember.”

John grimaced. “He was with Faith, and Hudson, but he wasn’t at the camp that I could see.” He paused again. “Jacob, if he got out and he made it out of Hope County, he’ll be a problem.”

The red-headed nodded once, brisk. “A big fucking problem.” Another pause, and then: “Tell me you’ll get this whole issue with the deputy wrapped up.”

John’s jaw clenched. Tell me you can do this, Joseph had said. Tell me you’ll get this whole issue wrapped up. Hadn’t he proven he was capable of handling her? Hadn’t Joseph himself said that?

“There’s no issue,” he replied flatly, stepping around Jacob and heading to the church. “Never was.”

“Good.”

It was easy to say, and harder to believe. He knew—the rational part of his brain, somewhere inside of him—knew that he was jealous of Hudson. That he knew exactly what Hudson thought of him, and he hated that someone who hated him had Elliot immediately trailing after her like a puppy, as though the last three days—all of those moments hadn’t meant—

And what was he supposed to think, then, about the way that her lashes had fluttered when his fingers brushed her skin, the way the heat crawled under her freckles when he slid into her planetary pull? That it was just—passing? Nothing?

Does it matter?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  

Elliot was having a hard time.

That was to say, there were a lot of conflicting emotions that were welling up inside of her, crashing down like tidal waves. Normally, she’d be able to bottle those pesky things up and bury them deep inside her, to access later (which could be minutes, or days, or years—whenever); but with the drugs still wreaking havoc on her, she felt like all of her normal defenses were crashed and battered, maybe even beyond repair. Maybe even permanently decimated.

It was lucky that she had Joey, she supposed as she closed the bunkhouse door behind them, letting the noise of it soothe her over-worked senses; lucky, because Joey had always been her lighthouse in the times that she needed it the most.

“We have to get out of here,” Joey said, and the words immediately exhausted Elliot further. She took in a long, suffering breath and sat down on the edge of one of the bunk beds, rubbing her hands against her face. She was far from out of the woods; she thought maybe she was starting to come down, or even crash, because it felt like electrical pulses kept ricocheting through her body and they wouldn’t stop.

Elliot managed out, “I’m in no shape to go anywhere, Joey, you know that I—”

She saw the look on Joey’s face. Distress. John had kidnapped her, and terrorized her with whatever it was he had originally planned to do to her, and now they were here, in the compound, where it had all began. And yes; John had kidnapped Joey, and her, and yes, he was a fucking psycho, and—

And yes, he knew her well enough to shove a cigarette in her hands when she was stressed, and he didn’t complain when her nails dug into him when she thought the world was going to split in two around her, and yes, he did come back for her when he didn’t have to, and yes and yes —

‘And yes’ what? A nasty voice inside of her head said. A man so much as looks at you and all of a sudden you’re on the other side?

“I can try,” she offered weakly. “I can try, if you want to go now, but I don’t know where Boomer is and everyone from Hope County is—hopefully—already gone. I don’t have anything.”

When the words came out of her mouth, she felt the last thread holding herself together snap. I don’t have anything, the words echoing hollow inside of her, reminding her that everyone was gone, maybe they were dead, that she didn’t know where her dog or her mama were and maybe that meant that she didn’t have anything left inside of her, either, nothing left to give. That she had scraped and scraped to the bottom of the barrel and now she’d have to start breaking herself into pieces to have anything worthwhile to give anyone.

“I don’t have anything, Joey,” she said again, her voice wobbling and wet and fuck, she hated it so much, the burning of her eyes stinging against blood and viscera collecting in the tears. “I don’t, I’m sorry—I’m really sorry—”

Joey crossed the small space of the bunkhouse to crouch in front of her. She pressed her hands into Elliot’s shoulders, and she was saying something, but Elliot couldn’t hear it over the pounding of blood in her head.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eye sockets, but the gesture brought no comfort; each time she closed her eyes, she kept seeing Ase, skull caved in. Surely, one shot had been enough? Surely, the second shot to her head was just—

Just John being himself.

“God, he fucking—he mutilated her, Joey,” Elliot managed out, her voice breaking on something like agony as the panic started to set in. Her hands trembled and she pushed the hair from her face, a movement that she was sure was just packing the dried blood in. She couldn’t get her eyes to focus on anything; everywhere she looked, she thought she could see the dark flicker of Ase’s clothing, the haunting corpse come to finish what she started. “She was dead—all of her, just falling—spilling out of her, like she’d been gutted, and I thought that he was done, and we’d go home, but then he shot her again—God, fuck, Joey, she’s all over me—”

“Hey,” Joey said firmly. “El. Take a breath and look at me.”

“I am.”

“A bigger breath,” Joey insisted, taking her hands away from her face and pulling her to a stand. “Just one.”

She did. I see, she thought and failed. I smell, I hear, I feel, but nothing came. She was drowning in it, whatever it was; Ase’s blood and guts on her, the memory of her glassy eyes as Ase reached for her, the feeling of Kian’s hands on her neck, the horrific monster lurking in the woods, and…

“Take another,” Joey reiterated. “Just one more.”

Elliot knew this trick. It was the oldest trick in Joey’s book. Just ask for one, and then just one more, and then just one more, until she was breathing like normal. She did as the brunette bid her anyway, and because her normal grounding methods had failed her, she instead thought, I’ll just count to ten. If I can make it for ten more seconds… And then another ten…

“You’re still sweating hallucinogen,” Joey murmured, squeezing her hands to help bring her back down. “You should take a shower. Come on.”

The journey between the main room of the bunkhouse and the felt both like it took years and happened without her knowing, as though she’d blinked and suddenly found herself standing in the bathroom, the fluorescent on the ceiling digging into her irises.

Her gaze flickered up to the mirror hanging over the sink. The person that looked back was a stranger to her; blood splattered every inch of her skin, matted in her hair, staining her in dark, carmine gore. Elliot thought about the strange voice in the woods, crackling and snapping and trying her on for size as it slid under her skin.

As the glass of the mirror seemed to pulse and stretch, the sound of running water snapped her attention elsewhere, hands limp at her sides. Joey pulled the knob that turned the water into a shower and said, “Okay, Elli, you call if you need me.”

“Okay,” Elliot murmured tiredly.

“Okay,” Joey repeated, watching her for a moment. And then she pulled her into a tight hug, and whispered, “For the record, I never doubted you’d be able to get me out. From John, or from the other place.”

The words didn’t offer her any comfort, but they were nice, nonetheless. She nodded her head and waited until the brunette had left the room before she started to undress, her movements methodical but unsteady; it wasn’t until water hit her skin and she saw the streams of thinned blood touching down on the floor of the bathtub that she finally felt some relief.

Even if it was only a little.

I don’t have anything, she thought tiredly, her eyes closing as she ducked her face under the stream of the shower. I don’t have anything left. What am I supposed to do now?

She had Joey. She didn’t have any idea of how to find Boomer. Hope County was gone, if they were lucky, and dead if they weren’t. She hadn’t heard from her own mother in--weeks? Or was it days? How long had this been going on?

It felt strange, to not be able to trust her own memory—to not know when the last time was that she got a full night’s sleep, or the last time that she curled up in her own bed, or the last time that she spent doing something that she enjoyed. As Elliot scrubbed the blood off of her face and out of her hair, staining her fingernails rusted-red, she thought that the idea of continuing on , of doing more, was so very exhausting.

They didn’t hurt you? John had asked, his fingers brushing the bruises on her throat where Kian’s fingers had gripped. It bothered her, when people touched her—grabbed her like they owned her, like she wasn’t in control of her own body—but when John did it, it was different. Even when he’d dragged his finger under her collarbone and said, I think it’ll fit nicely right here, don’t you? Just over your heart.

John was only doing what he was meant to do all along: draw her in, keep her there, and Ase’s gruesome death was just a reminder of the person that he really was. She had forgotten that.

But she wouldn’t again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The night felt sticky, sitting like a second skin on him. When John stepped into the church to find Jacob and Joseph talking in low voices, he felt a strange sensation prickle down his spine. It was anticipation, he realized, nearly a moment too late; by the time he was bracing himself, Jacob had turned and walked out the side door, leaving himself and Joseph alone.

“How is our deputy?” Joseph asked, his voice light and mild. John tried to lessen the tension in his jaw.

“Which one?” he replied dryly. “She’s fine.”

Joseph said, “You were worried about her.”

“Well, I did work really fucking hard not to kill her,” he bit out, and then sighed at the way Joseph’s brow arched, a visible change in his expression even in the dim, intimate lighting of the chapel. “Look, Jacob already gave me the whole speech about—”

“I think you’re doing a great job with the deputy,” Joseph interrupted, firm but not unkind, “and I want you to continue.”

John stopped. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash, or the way that he’d come into the conversation at what appeared to be the end of it, but he couldn’t wrap his head around what Joseph was telling him; especially after what Jacob had said to him.

So he said, very intelligently, “What?”

“Our friend the marshal got out,” Joseph supplied. “Hope County has evacuated, if they’re lucky. But you know, John, even if they come for us—even if they arrest us—there are…”

A pause lingered between them, just long enough for something close to dread to knot and writhe between his ribs.

“... ways,” his brother continued, placing each word meticulously, “to make a legal case like this one fall apart.”

I don’t know what you mean, John wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out of him. If Hope County was on the run, they might not ever look back; if the U.S. Marshal brought his buddies back, that would make Elliot the key witness in their case, while the other members of Hope County and the Resistance were…

“It’ll be all of them testifying against us,” John said after a moment. “I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, but—”

“You can convince people not to talk,” Joseph replied. He paced away from the table at the center of the chapel’s front room, absently scratching at his jaw, as though he were only just coming up with this idea; John knew that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t ever the case with Joseph. Nothing went without careful deliberation. “There are particular brands of persuasion that work better than others. But we’ll need more than just silencing our neighbors. We’ll need…”

Positive testimony, John thought, when the words didn’t come out of Joseph’s mouth.

“Yeah,” John murmured tiredly. “I know.”

“Good.” Joseph gave him a small smile. He reached out, gripping John’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, John.”

He stared at the wood paneling of the floor. Maybe he was tired; maybe it was the exhaustion from the last few hours, but Joseph’s words didn’t strike the same match in him that they had before. If Joseph noticed—and he almost certainly had—he didn’t let it show; rather, he let the distance between them grow, hand dropping from his shoulder as he walked for the door.

“You were going to let Jacob kill her.” The words came out of John’s mouth before he could think to stop them, before he could say to himself, it’s not worth the fight. He’s your brother, John. He gave you everything. Don’t you always say that you waited your whole life for something to say yes to?

He felt, more than he saw, Joseph pause in the doorway leading out of the chapel. A strange silence stretched between them; it was one where John thought he might have felt the scrutiny of his older brother’s gaze on him.

And then, in a voice casual and light, Joseph said, “You’re tired, John. You’ve had a long day. Get some rest, won’t you?”

John was tired. Tired enough to think that he might fall asleep standing up if he wasn’t careful. “You’re right,” he said after a moment, turning his head to look at Joseph over his shoulder with a small smile. “I will.”

“Goodnight, John.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Night passed more quickly than he would have liked. By the time morning had arrived, he thought maybe his conversation with Joseph was a dream; that he’d hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe some of the Family’s weird drugs had rubbed off on him while he was in there.

By the time early morning had rolled around, he’d dragged himself through a shower and into cleaner clothes. He half expected to find the bunkhouse completely vacated by Elliot and Hudson by the time he walked out with an armful of clothes, pleasantly surprised that Elliot was leaned against the door. Smoking, naturally.

“You look more like yourself,” John said as he approached. Her gaze flickered over him absently. She looked tired, but had since washed the blood and guts off of her face and out of her hair; as she took a drag of her cigarette and tapped the ash out of the end of it, her eyes turned away from him. Weird, he thought. He added, “I know you’ve got the whole blood-stained look, but I thought you might like to get into some clothes that are a bit cleaner.”

Elliot smoothed her boot over some ash on the ground, waiting for a heartbeat longer than normal before she said, “Thanks.” She sounded sour , like John’s mere existence was a chore for her, and not the way that it had been before—like she really meant it.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, watching her curiously. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, and the sickly rasp in her voice—it had probably felt nice to be high in that regard—she looked clear-headed. Normal. “How are you feeling?”

“John,” Elliot sighed, “let’s not.”

“Fine,” John snipped. “Where’s Hudson?”

“She went to walk the perimeter to try and call Boomer,” Elliot replied tiredly. “And then we’re leaving.”

Fuck, he thought, remembering his conversation with Joseph. Fuck fuck fuck. “Well, isn’t that lovely.” The biting venom welled up in his voice. There was a strange panic setting in now. She wouldn’t look at him, not for longer than a second, and her tone rang hollow and empty. He swallowed thickly, teeth clenching as he continued, “And how do you intend to leave, then? On foot? You sure seem like you’re in peak physical condition to be walking cross-country, Elliot. But I suppose if you have Hudson, then it won’t matter, because Hudson rescued you from those cultists and—”

“I don’t know, John ,” Elliot bit out, a real flex in her voice this time. It was comforting, to have her be anything—anything but ambivalent, anything but absent from their conversation. “I think I could get pretty far if I decide to start blowing people’s fucking skulls in with a shotgun, don’t you?”

John stared at her. “Pardon?”

“Oh, fuck off,” the blonde snipped, dropping what remained of the cigarette and stomping it out with her shoe. “Don’t give me your fucking clothes. If I change out of these I might forget that you splattered me with that woman’s brains.”

She turned and opened the door to the bunkhouse, going to close it, but John shoved his foot in the doorway to stop her, tossing the clothes onto the bed the second he got inside. 

“I didn’t ,” John seethed. “Maybe you were too fucking high out of your mind to tell—”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Elliot’s voice was flinty. “It completely slipped my mind that you’re incapable of taking responsibility for yourself. Remember, John, that time you rubbed it in my face that your fucking family made me into a murderer? Because I do, and the pure fucking irony —” She jabbed a finger into his chest, the anger seeping out of her now. “—of you trying to make me feel like shit for killing your idiotic little cultists and then obliterating a woman’s skull onto my face is palpable!”

“Are you deaf?” John snapped, snagging her wrist before she could turn and try to walk somewhere else again. “I didn’t shoot Ase in the head, Jacob did. I put both my fucking hands on you to get you off the ground. How am I going to do that holding a fucking shotgun, Elliot?”

“I don’t know!” she replied furiously. There was a reckless, high-color in her cheeks, her voice cracking and breaking on something that John couldn’t quite pin down, couldn’t quite get his hands on. Even now, he thought, even when she was spitting her venom she was so — 

“I don’t fucking know, John, you do—crazy fucking things all the time,” she insisted, and there was an uncomfortable wobble in her voice as her lashes fluttered. “Half the time I don’t know which John is going to open his fucking mouth—I don’t know if it’s—if it’s the John that kidnapped my best friend or if it’s the John that… That can be… With me, he’s...”

Her voice trailed off, weaker now, her fire spitting furiously as it tried to stay alight. John’s fingers loosened around her wrist, but didn’t let her go.

“There’s only one John,” he said, and his voice came out hoarse. “It’s just me.”

“I hate you,” the blonde managed out weakly, her lashes dark with unshed tears, soft and doe-like. “I’ve never—”

“Elliot,” John, tugging on her wrist, pulling her forward until she was in his space, until he could feel the warmth of her body and smell the wild on her—pine trees and ash and the mild shampoo she had used, “you’re going to have to come up with a new slogan that you actually believe.”

“John,” she tried again, and she was soft, soft and tired, “please, I’m—so tired of trying to figure you out—”

He closed what little space remained between them to kiss her; for a second, her entire body tensed like an animal ready for flight, stony and immovable against the affection, but he let her wrist slide from his hand, concerned that any moment he might spook her, that she was frozen because she was deciding when to run.

Her wrist slipped through his grip, catching at the base of her hand. She knotted her fingers into the front of his shirt and when his hand came up to the slope of her jaw, she leaned —like a flower to sunlight, blooming under his touch, just like that. Just that easy. John’s other arm slid around her waist to tug her up closer, and her mouth parted against his like instinct, like it had never not been this way between them.

The moment stretched; reality swung back in, the warmth of her mouth against his leaning back until a bit of space stretched between them. Not a lot, just enough for their noses to brush, and Elliot said, “I don’t know which—”

“I told you,” he replied, threading his fingers through her hair, “there’s just the one. This one, El, me. I want—”

“John,” she started, her voice overlapping his, "tell me that you're not lying when—"

He went to say, I want you to stay, I want to kiss you again, you hellcat, I’ve wanted to kiss you for days, but he didn’t get the chance because the sound of Joey’s voice outside the front door had broken the magic of the moment.

“Elliot,” Hudson called, “guess who I...”

The door opened, followed quickly by a scattering of dog nails as Boomer came racing inside. Without a second thought, Elliot had crouched down to wrap her arms around the dog John immediately took a step back and cleared his throat, feeling as though he’d been caught-out. Maybe, in a way, he had. He wouldn’t have cared, if he didn’t think that the idea of Hudson catching them would have made Elliot bolt instantly.

I should have kissed her again, he thought absently, watching Elliot fawn over Boomer with the kind of delight that she reserved only for him, her lips kiss-reddened. Before Hudson.

“He must have followed you here and waited,” Hudson said, looking at John with a narrowed, suspicious gaze. “Everything okay, Elliot?” she asked, even when she was looking at John. “I heard arguing.”

“Fine,” Elliot insisted, crouched on the floor to get as close to the Heeler as possible. “Everything’s fine. John was just—”

“Just dropping off some clean clothes for the deputy,” John interjected, despite the anxiety he felt sliding around inside of him when Elliot looked at him. The flush in her cheeks remained, and he knew that it wasn’t just anger there, anymore. Not really. 

Joey crossed her arms over her chest. “Great. So you can leave, then? We’re done with you.”

We’re, she said, like she spoke for the both of him, both herself and Elliot. We’re, like just seconds ago, John hadn’t been thinking about the way Elliot’s breath hitched when his fingers brushed her skin.

“Sure thing,” he drawled, taking a few steps toward the door. He almost walked right out the door, even with his hands itching for her again, but he stopped. I should just say it, he thought. I should just out it right now.

“What is it?” Joey prompted, her voice hard and flinty.

Elliot wouldn’t ever forgive him if he did.

“Nothing,” John replied after a moment. A little smile ticked the corners of his mouth upward, and for a second his gaze met Elliot’s. “Hope you get some well-deserved rest, you two.”

The brunette watched him with a dark, inscrutable gaze, and he stepped out of the bunkhouse, letting the door swing shut behind him. For just a moment, he paused outside the door; long enough to hear Joey go, “What was that about?”, and he started off across the yard.

Not done with me yet, deputy.

[evitcrnity-archived]

It had been six days since he’d seen Crowley. Each had been a burden, made heavy by the hollow questions stitched into their seams. What had happened, what had brought him here, what had drawn over his mind with its own designs? Who was he, who was Crowley, who was anyone, anymore, in this strange illusion of a city? Why couldn’t he find answers, why couldn’t he simply know, why couldn’t he have even the slight comfort of the truth? What, who, why? What, who, why? What, who, why?

He hated thinking about these questions but continued to mull over them anyway. At work, he’d sit, absent and distracted, a new acquisition laying ignored upon his desk. At home, he’d become so lost in the labyrinth he’d forget about food on the stove, setting off the fire alarm twice in as many days. In bed, he’d tried so hard to escape into the gentle embrace of empty sleep, only to find jagged shards of memory driving themselves deep into the soft flesh of his dreams.

Some of them were mere impressions, a quick flick of a brush upon a canvas. They would leave a face here, a word there, all nothing more than shreds of memory traveling the undercurrents of his subconscious. But others were more concrete. Events turned into sequences, and sequences into histories. Soon enough, stretches of his life – his real life – were piecing themselves together before his very eyes.

First came the nineteenth century. How he’d gallivanted about then, dressing himself in the finest frippery and making a fool of himself at the dance hall! But alas, all good dreams had to come to an end. As the morning sun peaked over the horizon, Aziraphale saw Crowley’s face, sideburned and snarling, giving him the most pained, ugly look. Whatever had he done to deserve it?

Over the next three nights, his dreams skipped across time, sometimes bringing him to French prisons, other times taking him to foggy British countrysides. Every time, he became immersed in the memories, losing himself to the details and forgetting any existence outside of them. Yet, when it came time to wake once more, Crowley always found him. The harbinger of day wasted no time in chastising him for his foolishness, but always rescued him from spot of trouble he’d inevitably found himself in. Once safe, he opened his eyes and found himself back in his bed, only a few half-remembered snippets of his midnight adventures remaining to remind him of the truth.

On the fifth night, Aziraphale found himself in a lush garden. At least, his intuition told him that it was a garden. If anything, it looked more like a parcel of rainforest, rife will all sorts of exotic life and cut off from the rest of the world by a set of towering granite walls. Near him lingered two humans, both nude as they day they were born. From this, he could see that neither had a belly button but were otherwise entirely normal. In the back of his mind, he had a sense that they were his charges, that the only point of his life was to make sure that they were able to live theirs.

The sky above had darkened into a deep purple twilight. Embedded in it was a swathe of glittering stars, seemingly gleeful as they were afforded a chance to show off their beauty to their admirers below. One of them shown far brighter than the rest, a star he somehow knew to be Alpha Centuri. The others had worked so hard on it, he remembered, so that the humans could enjoy its gorgeous glow.

Then, one of the stars fell.

Streaming, streaking, screaming, shrieking it fell, followed by dozens – no, hundreds - more. Aziraphale recognized some of the cries, anguished and angry, pained and provoked. They came together to form a song, almost angelic but just a half-note off from harmonizing. Eve quickly noticed the cacophony, rushing to his side and fearfully pointing up at the brilliant streaks of red staining the sky. She was easily the more astute of the two humans, always discovering and investigating things long before her mate.

“Shooting stars,” Aziraphale reassured, struggling to offer her a smile. She simply couldn’t know, neither of them could. If they were aware that there was something out there other than Her goodness, they would be utterly ruined. “Make a wish on them, if you like. Perhaps She will hear you and make it come true.”

He awoke upon a bed of feathers. On all sides, he was cocooned by soft, silky plumage, the first gentle touch he’d known since Crowley’s a week before. In a sleepy haze, he tried to turn to his other side and snuggle into it, only to find that as he moved, something pulled obstinately on his shoulder blades. His half-closed eyes snapped open and he found that his feathery quilt was no quilt at all: it was a pair of wings.

Aziraphale slid out of the bed and onto shaky legs, letting the wings drag heavily behind him. Somehow, their weight felt natural, even though he could only remember a single time before where he might have known it. Carefully, he tried to open them to their full span, struggling with their heft as they slowly spread across the room. He winced as one thudded against a wall, hoping he hadn’t woken a neighbor.

The two wide windows on the far wall each captured part of a wing in their reflection. From the translucent images, he could deduce that they were enormous, each one far longer than he was tall. They caught the raw sunlight in their concave curves, using it to make themselves glow a white so bright that Aziraphale thought it would blind him. Meanwhile, their feathers trembled slightly, not so much from the gentle stream of air conditioning than from his own nerves. If only he had a halo! Then, he would have really looked the part of…the part of…

The frayed, long-suffering threads of the tapestry heaved one last heavy, defeated sigh before finally surrendering to the inevitable. As they rained down, loose and flowing, they revealed the rest of the mural. Aziraphale stood, one hand clutching the shawl collar of his plush robe as his eyes traversed the interconnected images. How…how? How could he have forgotten this? How could he have lived this? How could he have been this?

He didn’t know for how long he’d been standing there, watching the millennia, his millennia, play out before his mind’s eye. When he finally came to, he folded his wings and shuffled to the nightstand, reaching for his phone and opening his contacts. His thumb hovered momentarily over Crowley’s name, a mere millimeter from calling him, before scrolling down to his boss. There was no way he could go into work like this, not with his mind boiling and soul roiling. He simply would have to take a sick day, his first in six thousand years.

~~~~

Aziraphale laid listlessly upon the bed, his weight forcing deep creases into the otherwise impeccable plaid comforter. The pair of long, graceful white wings erupted from behind his back, one running up the wall abutting the bed and the other spilling off the mattress and onto the floor. He blankly stared up at the old, cracked paint on the ceiling, his right hand crossing over his chest to rest upon the top ridge of his left wing. Gently, methodically, its fingers flexed, absently stroking the short, downy feathers. Beneath them, he could sense the powerful, rippling muscles that had once allowed him to soar through the skies as a bringer of blessings and defender of innocence. What a juxtaposition, he thought, what a foil to this strange, feeble thing he’d become.

And so the eons went by. Eden, Jerusalem, Britain. Life, death, love. The blurry faces of acquaintances surfaced and sank, all fleeting flowers in his garden of eternity. Yet, one pesky weed remained, always finding some way to survive despite his many attempts to kill it off.

Crowley.

No matter where he had traveled, Crowley had always found him. He’d found him in Eden, in Jerusalem, and in Britain. He’d found him at the dawn of life, the dusk of death, and the joyous midday of love. There had never truly been any escape from him, even in those decades where he had gone dormant. Aziraphale’s thoughts during those lonely days had always reached back toward him, all in the name of enmity but truly rooted in a yearning he had never allowed himself to admit.

Had that been the start of this beautiful thing they shared?

Suddenly, he was settled in the front passenger seat of Crowley’s car, handing him a thermos filled to the brim with contraband. His hand trembled as he offered the gift, partly out of fear that they would be seen and partly because he was worried that he hadn’t tightened the lid enough. One drop of holy water was enough to sentence a demon to the cruelest death, worse than any beheading, any blade, or any bullet to the heart.

He returned to his room. It was growing late now, and the vivid orange sunset filtered through his slatted blinds and threw a striped pattern onto his wing and wall. Had Heaven found out about his illicit offering? Is that why he had been thrust here, umbilical cord to the divine snipped and severed? Was this his punishment?

No, it wasn’t punishment. At least, it wasn’t punishment for the holy water. It had to be retribution for what had followed.

Life, death, love. Antichrist, Armageddon, abandonment. He and Crowley had cast aside their affiliations and stopped the destruction of the world, committing the gravest of all crimes against the celestial order. Now, they existed alone on their own side, two perfect, blank canvases painted over by humanity’s flawed touch.

Aziraphale’s chest tightened and he gawkily sat up, breathing hard as his wings shifted around him. One slid down from the wall while the other lifted itself off the floor, both settling behind his back.

Heaven was angry. Hell was even angrier. This had to be the reason why he and Crowley had been forsaken here, this strange little town in an even stranger alternate dimension. This had to be the reason why they had been wrenched away from humanity, the thing they had sacrificed all they had known to protect. This had to be the reason why this was their right and just punishment, the consequence of meddling with the ineffable.

He brought his knees up to his chest as he reached through a veil of feathers for his phone.

“I’m sorry I haven’t said anything. Please, come over. I’ll unlock the door before you get here, so you can just let yourself in,” he tapped urgently, stopping every few characters to correct the mistakes wrought by his trembling thumb.

The hand holding the phone then fell limp to the bed. His other arm wrapped around his knees, holding them tight as he buried his face in his kneecaps. Behind him, his wings stood high above his head. Their stark edges cut a dramatic figure against the beige wall, framing the empty space where once, many ages ago, a blessed halo had been bestowed upon Her Lordship’s loyal servant, the Principality Aziraphale.

@fallenangelsxxx

[foxtophat]

ugh my grammar checker is on the fritz so sorry if i fucked up something somewhere

ANYWAY HEY HOWDY HI guys how are you? boy it’s been two weeks already huh?  time flies when you’re on island time i guess.  SO HERE IS TODAY’S CHAPTER, it’s about john and nick dealing with their emotions, also it’s the first time where we officially touch actual factual canon!!! which is just crazy, my buds, absolutely nutso

i don’t have a lot to say today, i’m kind of tired and i’m dreading going to take my dog for a walk because nobody in this neighborhood understands that they need to stay away from me!!! so i’m gonna keep this simple. i really appreciate all of you, from the humble kudos i recieve from someone who got tired after the first chapter, to the mighty comment chains that you guys indulge me with when i finally get my socially anxious ass up to the task of replying to your beautiful comments. i am so happy that y’all are having fun with me, and i hope that we continue to all have fun together!!!

not much else to say without ruining it, so i’ll just say this: boy howdy, do people just not wear shirts in the apocalypse?

for the non-linkers out there, click the read-more to get straight to this chapter’s text!!! and if you enjoy, consider giving my project a little boost with one of those rebloggy things. you know i love it, and you know i love you!!! be safe buds!!!

Nick and John have spent the last day and a half repairing the fence that once enclosed the whole Rye property. Nick wouldn't bother if it weren't for the return of wildlife after the long winter, but they need to do something to prevent dogs from getting into the yard, and just this week Kim caught a deer trying to get at the planters. The last thing they need is to go another round with mother nature after they just reclaimed their place in her.

It's one of those days where the weather can't make up its mind, alternating between sunshine and shadow as massive clouds roll across the blue sky overhead. It doesn't quite look like rain, but they should be expecting it any day now.

Nick takes a swig from his canteen, waiting on Kim to bring him the box of nails from the hangar. He leans against a newly restored stretch of fencing, which doesn't collapse under his weight.

"Guess we're doing something right," he says to John, who's more interested in finishing the job than talking about it.

Still, he replies, "Don't jinx it." He even gives Nick a distrusting look, as though he's the liability around here.

"It's my fence, I'll jinx whatever I damn well want."

John scoffs. "I have enough bad luck without you making it worse."

"Oh yeah, real bad luck you've got here."

Kim finally returns with the box of nails, which admittedly had been left in a pile with a bunch of other components for later sorting. As she hands them over, she looks around the yard for Carmina.

"I think she's taking a nap," Nick reassures her.

"She's going to be up all night if she is," Kim replies, running a hand through her hair. "Maybe it's time she learns how to mend a fence. She'll probably enjoy it more than doing times-tables all afternoon."

"We still got a ways to go," Nick says. "All four of us might be able to get it done quicker."

With that settled, Kim turns towards the house. "Carmina!" she hollers. She waits a few beats for a response, then sighs wearily. "Alright, I'll be right back."

Nick shrugs away his first inkling of concern as he watches her go. John doesn't seem to care one way or another, ignoring Kim as she heads inside. It's taken a while, but he's finally mastered reattaching the cross-posts, and now he can throw himself into it as mindlessly as digging dirt or hauling trash. Nick used to think he was bad about burying himself in work, but jeeze . Watching John tune out the rest of the world while he works is fascinating, if only in the same way watching Hoarders or My 600 Pound Life had been. The only difference here is that there's no talking head to tell Nick just what John is trying to distract himself from.

"Nick!" Kim shouts, somewhere on the other side of the house. It isn't a scream or cry for help, but there is a deep and worrying concern underlying her voice.

Panic that Nick hadn't realized he had leaps into his throat, a thousand hideous possibilities flying through his mind as he springs to his feet. He forgets all about John, who follows behind him with his hammer still in hand. His mind is too busy coming up with dozens of feral dogs for him to fight off, if not maniacs with guns, or one of those god-awful bears ! He doesn't have time to consider whether or not he's dropped too much of his guard around John when Carmina is being kidnapped by raiders!

Nick turns the corner and sees Kim dragging Carmina across the front yard by her bicep. There's no blood, no screaming, not even a dead wolf in the yard to reveal to Nick the problem. For that, he has to look further, down the dilapidated front drive, where a group of people stands bunched together. They're far enough back that Nick can't see their faces, but the way they mill around worryingly reminds Nick of a pack of angels.

Two people are retreating from the house. Nick only catches their backs, but that's all he needs. It's impossible, after all, to miss the massive, faded black Eden's Gate brand, and while Nick can't read the words carved into the flesh around it, he recognizes them immediately.

Of course Joseph Seed is still wandering around shirtless, even a decade after the apocalypse. He's flanked by some beefy, hoodie-wearing jackass, returning to his flock who are spreading out to eagerly accept him back into the fold, without so much as a backward glance at the house or the people in it. He doesn't even seem to care that he's left his back wide open to them. Like he knows they aren't going to do anything about it.

Nick should shoot him. No, wait, Kim has the rifle, so she should shoot him. Somebody should shoot him!

But they don't. Kim drags Carmina inside while Nick stares helplessly after the retreating cultists, who swallow Joseph's form up in their group before disappearing down the drive the way they came. They're almost out of eyesight before Nick realizes that John's supposed to be standing next to him, but isn't.

He looks around wildly for a second, trying to catch John mid-escape, but the guy has vanished. There's no sign of him rejoining the group leaving their property, but Nick hasn't been paying attention, and John knows the area better now; he could easily be making a loop somewhere out of Nick's sight.

Swearing under his breath, Nick hovers in the doorway, keeping his eyes peeled for the missing Seed even as he desperately wants to check on Carmina. Thankfully, Kim has their daughter cornered by the stairs, so she isn't going anywhere.

Although the initial adrenaline seems to have worn off now that Carmina is safe and Joseph has left, Kim's still jittery and tense, trying and failing to hide it from their increasingly confused daughter.

"What did he do?" she asks Carmina, "Did he hurt you?"

"Who?" Carmina scoffs, "The bearded man? He was just... giving me some food. What's the matter?"

"If he ever shows up here again," Nick snaps, "You come straight to your mom and me, you understand?"

" You said to find food wherever we can!"

"Yeah, well, we don't take anything from him. Not even food!"

Carmina squints so hard that her lips purse. " Why ?"

Nick throws up his hands. He has no idea how he's supposed to explain Joseph to his daughter. He doesn't know how to warn her about bliss-tainted food, or the cult's violence, or all their fucked up brainwashing. He doesn't know how he's supposed to convince her not to go near that maniac when they've been keeping one of his brothers fed and sheltered for half a year!

Kim, lifesaver that she is, takes the burden of explanation onto her shoulders. She turns to Nick, looking to either side before asking him, "Where's John?"

Nick hisses through his teeth in response, unwilling to admit he lost sight of the guy pretty much the second danger presented itself. He should have known better. He shouldn't have let his guard down. If he'd known the problem was going to be Joseph, he would have been more careful!

"Go find him," Kim says. "I'll — let me handle this."

As much as Nick doesn't want to leave the burden to Kim alone, she's right. They can't lose sight of the bigger picture here — and that picture involves Joseph's youngest, most irrational brother, who's probably running through the brush right now to reunite with his stupid, psychopathic family.

Still, before he goes, he points at Carmina and demands, "The next time you see him, you run the other way."

"Go, Nick," Kim tells him, and so he reluctantly does.

Although logically , Nick should be making a beeline for Joseph's last known location, since that's undoubtedly where John has fled, his gut keeps him close to home. Instead of sneaking through the brush to confirm his suspicions, Nick turns to investigate the rest of the property first. He knows he's being naive, and a real idiot, but he needs to make sure John hasn't gone off to find a weapon or alternate escape route. More importantly, he has to prove to himself that John really did flee at the first sign of rescue.

There's no sign of John anywhere in the backyard, leaving the space weirdly empty. After so many months with another person living in their space, there's something strangely lonely about the concept of going back to living on their own. John is a creep, sure, but he had still been better than being on their own. And besides, he'd been getting better as of late — not exactly quality companionship, but at least he's been a little less of a dick and holding conversations for a full two or three sentences longer than usual. Just the other night, he'd managed to eat dinner and say two full words without turning into a morose teenager desperate to go back to his room.

Something crashes inside of the hangar, breaking Nick out of his thoughts. Of course, one paranoia is replaced by another, and Nick approaches the open service door ready for an attack. After all, there aren't a lot of reasons for John to stick around that don't involve beating Nick to death with a length of irrigation pipe.

The hangar is dark and silent. Nick stands in the doorway for a full ten seconds, waiting for some kind of response from the gloom, another noise, John calling out the all-clear... but nothing. He almost calls out, catching himself at the last second and biting his tongue. Since they've organized most everything in here by now, there aren't a lot of places for an ambush, but Nick steps slowly nonetheless, leaning around heaps of scrap metal and carefully edging around wobbly shelves holding boxes of materials. Every time he braces himself for a blow, he winds up wincing at nothing for seconds at a time.

Nick eventually finds John hiding behind the counter in the back of the hangar, pinned down against the wall. Crouched down with his head against his knees and his hands over his neck, he looks braced for another nuclear blast. His teeth audibly grind as Nick steps behind the counter, but if he's got anything to say, he keeps it to himself.

"John?" Nick asks. He's still braced for a fight, but John seems miles away.

He tries again. "John. Hey, John ."

" Yeah ," John hisses through his teeth, hunkered down for the apocalypse, "I hear you."

Neither of them move. Nick, getting increasingly uncomfortable under the tension, leans into his outrage to keep him from stalling out into a panic right alongside John. "What the hell was that?" he exclaims, throwing a hand up. "That psycho brother of yours was supposed to be dead — what, did you all have goddamn contingency plans in case the rest of you fucked up?"

"No," John mutters.

"And you said that goddamn cult shit was over with! Well, I just saw a dozen Peggies lurking around my property with that maniac. What do you have to say about that ? Doesn't seem very dead to me! He's coming around here, trying to pass handouts around, smug sonofabitch —"

John, bracing his feet against the ground, breaks past Nick's whirling anxiety. "Did he see me?" he asks.

"What?" Nick replies, abruptly forgetting about his rant. "I mean... No, I don't think so." He waits a beat for John to relax, to respond, continuing awkwardly when he doesn't. "He didn't look back, I mean."

John exhales, although it does nothing to ease his tension. "Okay," he says, repeating distantly, "Okay."

Nick had been so sure that John was going to try to escape, storming across the yard just a minute ago. But now, looking at the guy now, he's not sure John can even stand up, much less make a break for it. He realizes that despite all his reservations before, he doesn't think John is going anywhere. Not right now, anyway. Whether he wants to be or not, he's stuck here for the foreseeable future.

"You really didn't know, huh?" Nick asks. He lays on the pity thick enough that even he feels like he's being a dick about it, but all he gets is a nonverbal grunt in return. "Well, don't get any ideas," he continues, each word feeling like a step further into uncharted waters. "Just because we've been lax around here doesn't mean you're not still watched twenty-four-seven, you know! I hear you pacing around at night, so I'll know if you try to, uh..."

Nick really doesn't want to keep yelling at the back of John's head. He doesn't really mean to yell at all, letting his motor mouth run for him until he realizes abruptly that nothing he's saying is having an effect.

"John," Nick says again. He wishes he didn't sound as anxious as he does.

" Yes ," John rasps, "I hear you ."

Nick falls back against the counter, resting his weight against it as he watches John's tense form. "You don't even want to look at him?" he asks when the silence gets too uncomfortable.

"No," John mutters.

The next stretch of silence is broken as Kim enters the hangar. Nick wheels around, thankfully able to direct his energy towards someone who will respond to him for once.

"What happened?" he asks her, "Is Carmina alright?"

Kim makes a middling gesture with her hand, coming to a stop at the counter across from Nick. "I tried my best," she says. "I explained that he was the one who — well, that a lot of what happened before was because of him. She's going to need some time to process it, though. It's a lot to think about."

"What's there to think about?" Nick asks incredulously. "It's simple: they're whack-job cultists, and we're not . This is an anti-Peggy household! She isn't going to accept any handouts from Joseph Seed!"

Kim ignores Nick, turning her uncertain frown in John's direction. Honestly, though, Nick is just fine with that, considering that he isn't going to be any help with John's mental spiral.

She chews on her lip as she tries to figure out the best thing to say. "You're going to have to talk to us," she tells him at last. It's not exactly an ultimatum, but there's not a lot of room for arguing.

"I didn't know," John says after the silence stretches out between the three of them. It would be more convincing if he would make some eye-contact, but Nick finds himself believing it anyway. Especially as John miserably continues, "I thought he was dead."

"If there's anything you know that could help us figure out what he's doing here, now would be a great time to tell us," Kim points out, gentler than maybe she even intended. "What's his plan? What is he going to do next?"

John swallows heavily. Nick wonders if he has any loyalty left to his brother, if he has to struggle between revealing information or continuing to live with them the way he has been. Maybe he's just too panicked to think of anything beyond how to get out of this immediate situation. Again, eye contact would really help here, but Nick's not banking on that happening.

"It was so long ago," John mutters finally. "He wanted to start over. Jacob was meant to — to lock the armory. No one was going to need it after the Collapse. He and the faithful would establish New Eden together — without sin, without the unfaithful, and..." He lifts his shoulders, the first move he's made since Nick's found him. "No matter what, they would get it right this time."

"Last thing I heard before everything went nutty, the deputy trashed Jacob's armory," Nick says.

John huffs. At last, he uncurls from his doomsday position, slumping back into the cabinet behind him. "That does sound like them," he says, oddly relieved.

"He gave Carmina food," Kim says. "Should I be worried? It could be contaminated, right?"

"What kind of food?" he asks.

"Bread, I think? Crackers? I don't know exactly."

John shakes his head, scrubbing his eyes briefly. "It wouldn't be Bliss. The heat would kill it."

Kim sighs with relief. "Okay. I'll take your word for it."

Nick almost asks if that's such a good idea, but John doesn't look like he can take another kick lying down right now. "So what are we supposed to do?" he asks instead. "Just let him go rebuild his bullshit back on the island? Reform the cult and retake all the land that we thought he lost when the bombs dropped? Trust him not to have another psychotic breakdown and envision a good reason to get violent again?"

"I don't know," John sighs. He's so pale and tired, as though his panic attack had burned through all of his energy. He works his jaw over some thought or another. At last, he admits to them, "You should shoot him, although I doubt he will ever get close enough again."

Kim blinks, nails scratching the counter-top as she curls her hands defensively. "Are you serious?" she asks.

John takes a deep breath. "Yes," he says. "I am."

"Okay, well, it's something to keep in mind," Kim says, slowly feeling out her own opinion on the matter. "But I don't think that murdering him is going to be the answer. Maybe it was back then, but now... I mean, things change."

"He won't change," John tells her. "He won't."

"That's what everyone thinks about you," Nick points out. He doesn't realize it's a low blow until John bows his head again, leaving him to flounder. "I just mean, you know..."

"I know what you mean," John replies. Nick isn't appreciative of the icy tone, but at least it's put an end to him eating his own foot.

"Right now, we need to keep calm," Kim tells them, disappointedly eying Nick. "I'm going to get on the radio and let Grace know what happened. I'll trust her to tell the right people, so the whole county doesn't turn into a witch-hunt. The last thing we need is for another war to break out and destroy all the progress everyone's made."

"Right. Okay." Nick scuffs his shoe on the dirty concrete. "John, uh. We can keep working on the fence. Unless you... need a break. You can stay here, if you want."

He feels like an ass offering it, but John doesn't let it hang for long. "No," he shakes his head, lifting it again, "I can work."

Nick doesn't think "can" and "should" are the same here, but who is he to judge? All he wants to do right now is focus on something he can get done, rather than sit around speculating. John is probably even more eager to bury himself back into his work, now that he has something he really needs to be distracted from.

Kim doesn't wait for them, taking off for the house at a brisk walk. Nick waits for John to stand, then follows him out of the hangar, setting him to work on the part they'd been working on before. He starts to help, but John seems to have it and he seems to be more interested in spiraling mentally, so Nick sets up a few yards down to work in silence. The entire time, he watches as John goes through the motions, a million miles away as he stops to occasionally stare at the trees not so far away. Nick doesn't know what he's looking for, but even though he wants to ask, he can't bring himself to risk detonating whatever emotional time-bomb is building.

Nick wakes up that night not knowing what roused him. Sleeping for more than a few hours at a time is a miracle most nights, interspersed by long stretches of watching the passage of time from the shadows on the wall. Tonight is no different, and Nick blearily watches the deep, dark blue shadows that fill the room during the deepest hours of the night. He almost doesn't realize that Kim is awake, not until she reaches out to gently shake his shoulder once again.

"What," he groggily whispers, "What's the matter?"

"I don't know," Kim whispers back. "I thought I heard something."

The only thing Nick can hear is the house creaking all around them. He catches a thud from the other room, which usually means John is up and pacing around. It's much more apparent that isn't the case when the second bedroom door slams open, rattling the wall, followed by running footsteps down the hall.

Carmina groans, half-awake as Nick throws off the blankets, leaping out of bed and yanking on his jeans. "Son of a bitch ," he hisses, "That goddamn liar — no, stay here." He waves a hand at Carmina, who groggily waves a hand back, and tells Kim, "Somebody has to keep an eye on her. I'll handle this."

"Nick..."

He doesn't have time to argue about it, so he just bolts from the room and hopes Kim won't follow. He doesn't bother to check the damage to the door, which is hanging wide open against the wall; instead, he chases John's footsteps down the stairs, thundering down them and coming to a brief halt in the living room as he guesses where John has gone next.

The front door is wide open, leaving Nick staring out into the misty dark by himself. It's just thick enough that Nick can't see past the car parked protectively in front of the house, and boy does he not want to go out there. He's exhausted, and the last thing he wants to do is go running around in the mist like it's 2018 all over again.

But he has to, because he can't let John get away. To think he believed that rotten, lying asshole! Of course, the second Nick lets his guard down, the second he decides to believe that John isn't frothing at the mouth to return to his old life, of course that bastard has to go and shove it in his face! He hadn't been able to hold up the act for one night after Joseph reared his goddamn head? What a joke.

It's a wet, cool night, and the mist is thick enough that Nick can't immediately see John as he jogs down the drive, but it doesn't take him long to catch up. John's escape plan seems to come to an abrupt end halfway down the lane as he comes to an unsteady stop on the cracked dirt. Nick picks up the pace, angry enough to jog barefoot after the bastard trying to escape. At this distance, Nick could probably shoot him — that is, if he'd bothered to bring either of the guns with him. If Joseph appears and has his lackeys attack him, he's going to be shit out of luck.

Nick gets within a yard of John and finds himself pulling up short. "What the hell, John!" he exclaims, too tired to notice his voice cracking and far too exhausted to care that he's given up his only chance at a surprise attack. "Are you kidding me with this bullshit, you lying, no-good —"

John whirls around, fist balled up and pulled back like he's actually going to strike at Nick. His face is blotchy and wet, his eyes heavily rimmed with red. "Get the fuck away from me!" he shouts, voice welled with panic, and Nick takes an immediate obliging step backwards. He's run right out into no-man's land without any defenses and he does not want to get caught up in the messy storm of John's emotions if he can help it. He especially doesn't want to get punched in the face for his effort.

As soon as he moves, John drops his fist, run ragged by the burst of adrenaline that got him this far out of the house. He breathes like he's just run twenty miles. His eyes drop to Nick's hands, to his hip where he usually holsters the pistol, up to where the rifle should be strapped to his chest, and then finally he directs his wild eyes to Nick's face.

"What are you doing," he gasps.

"What am I doing," Nick shouts, "What the hell are you doing! You can't just break down the door and go running for your brother whenever you have a — a nightmare, or whatever!"

"You don't now what you're talking about," John hisses.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about! As soon as you find out he's alive, you go running after him! I'm catching you in the act!"

"That's not —!" John's objection is strangled by emotion, pushing past it to shout hoarsely, " He was supposed to be dead ! And now he knows I'm here, he has to, and he's going to come for me and there is nothing I can do about it!" He throws his hands in the air. "Nothing will ever stop him," he exclaims, "And there's no point — there's no fucking point to any of this if he's just going to rip it away from me!"

John is easily twice as strong as Nick, but that doesn't stop Nick from wanting to grab him and shake him until he shuts up. "Maybe you should think about somebody other than yourself, then, you stupid bastard!" He throws a hand back towards the house. "If you go back to Joseph, you're going to ruin our lives . We've been helping you because you said you were done! We promised Grace you were telling the truth! Do you think she's going to forgive us? And how do you expect us to explain it to Carmina when you show up with your goddamn inquisition again? Eventually, you'll come for us, and you'll force Carmina through — and I can't let that happen!"

Nick swallows back the heavy emotion that's threatening to overwhelm him. "Come the hell on, no point ," he finally snaps, voice frayed. "You goddamn asshole."

John frowns heavily. He doesn't have anything to say in response, standing there mutely hopeless for a full thirty seconds before he finally tries to speak. "I didn't think about that," he finally mumbles.

"No, you did not ." Nick sighs, heaving out all of the anger left inside. "Look. You can sit out here all night and wait for Joseph if you want, but you're doing it on your own. I'm not gonna watch you waste your time. If you're coming back inside, let's go."

Nick plays the gambit for what it is, turning his back to John and starting back for the house. He walks slowly, and though at first he thinks John might not follow, he eventually feels John trailing behind him, a ball of tense anxiety right at his back. When they reach the front yard, John comes to a stop, forcing Nick to turn to him.

"I just... need a minute."

"It's way too late for this," Nick groans, "Just — be quiet when you come back upstairs. I don't need Carmina waking up a second time."

John swallows. He looks weirdly desperate as he tries to find something to say, but that's no surprise. He's always perpetually waiting for Nick or Kim to start treating him the way he would treat his own prisoners. "Okay," he rasps, like he might start crying again.

That is Nick's cue, so he darts back inside and upstairs, careful to limit the creaking as much as he can so as to not rouse Carmina. Hopefully she didn't keep Kim up with a bunch of questions about what's going on — those will be fine in the morning, but Kim doesn't get enough sleep as it is.

Kim is still awake, even if Carmina has passed out again. She looks worried, and Nick can't help but wonder how much of their argument had made it through the windows and cracks in the wall.

"Is everything okay?" she asks as he shoves off his jeans and climbs back into bed.

"Who knows," Nick sighs. "He's outside. Don't worry, I locked our door, and the rifle's right here."

"I'm not worried about that," Kim mutters. She brushes some of his hair out of his face as he lies down, following his lead reluctantly. "Next time, let me handle it."

Nick yawns and closes his eyes. "That's crazy talk," he mumbles, although maybe next time John has a meltdown, it would be better for Kim to take care of it. That's a problem for Nick tomorrow, though — right now, his brain is shutting off the lights at a rapid pace, and it's barely a minute later before Nick has completely passed out.

Nick wakes up to the cool, blue-gray light before dawn. It takes a few minutes for Nick to gather the energy to move, but he needs to check and see what happened to John after last night. Hopefully, he went back to bed and Nick will only have to look outside his own door to check on him.

Kim and Carmina are still fast asleep as he carefully climbs out of bed, taking care not to step on the creakiest floorboards as he pulls on his jeans and boots. He's sure that Kim would be glad to do this for him, but she needs to rest and he needs to make sure he didn't put his faith in the wrong Seed brother.

The whole house is quiet. Even the creaks that he can normally hear all night have eased up, leaving Nick's footsteps to echo as he carefully steps out into the hall, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

John's door is still hanging open. Nick takes a moment to look in, but John's nowhere to be seen; when he closes the door, the broken lock scrapes against the doorframe and leaves it stuck half in place. It'll be easy enough to repair, and Nick knows just the petulant jackass to fix it.

The stairs creak as Nick heads down into the first floor gloom. There's only enough light to clear the darkest shadows, but once the sun rises and they open up the back porch, it'll be fine. For now, Nick heads out the front door and circles around the the backyard. There's a chance that John' won't be found anywhere, that he's given up and gone off to find his family, but Nick can't bring himself to consider it. After everything John said last night — Nick would never be able to believe the man if he turned out to be a turn-coat.

Thankfully, John isn't hard to find at all. He's taken a seat on the empty planter, watching the spinach heads grow. From his pale, haggard face and the dampness of his shirt, it's clear he stayed out here all night. He doesn't outright acknowledge it as Nick approaches, but there's no mistaking the way his entire body tenses for a fight.

It's way too early for a fight, and honestly Nick doesn't think he's got one in him anyway. "Morning," he offers instead, coming to a stop next to the planter. "Guess you didn't get any sleep."

John exhales. "No," he says, his voice rough. He hesitates another second or two longer. "I needed to think."

"Yeah, I figured."

On the right side of groggy like he is, Nick doesn't hesitate to take a seat next to John. He drags his boot through the dirt for an awkward moment, before finally saying, "I guess you decided to stay."

"I was never going to..." John bites his cheek, taking a breath before continuing in a more subdued tone, "I didn't want to leave. I'm well aware that I'm better off here than I've been anywhere else. It was just... a lapse in clarity." He takes a breath, like he might be gearing up for one of those old-fashioned monologues of his, and Nick finds himself weirdly eager to hear it. Kim's curiosity is definitely rubbing off on him.

"I've had these... dreams," he admits quietly. "For years now. They're... intense. So vivid, so real that I used to... They used to consume all of my time." His hand gestures limply towards the ground, as close as he's ever gotten to talking openly about the bunker. "They happen less, now, but I still recieve... messages, warnings from Joseph. When I thought he was dead, they were easier to ignore. But I never could dismiss them outright. And the one I had last night felt so real. So much so that I suppose I didn't realize when I woke up. All I could think about was what he was saying and I... I panicked."

Nick probably shouldn't ask. This is the most John's spoken in months, and he shouldn't interrupt, but he can't help himself. "What'd he say?" he asks.

John looks over at him, his expression complicated and dark. "That he knew where I was," he says. "That no one would stop him from saving me." He closes his eyes, turning his face away. "But he didn't come," he finishes. "He didn't show. It was just a dream. I know that now. I won't make the same mistake again."

There's nothing Nick can say to that, and nothing that John wants to add, so they sit in silence for a minute or so.

Eventually, John looks back to Nick, checking him over for weapons with much less panic than last night. "What happens now?" he asks.

"Well, we still have half a fence to build," Nick points out. "Plus, we gotta start laying out plans for the electrical wiring, so when we get the generator up and running..."

"I meant with me," John interrupts. "I broke out — I tried to escape. Doesn't that warrant — something ?"

"You're going to have to fix the door," Nick replies. "And you're already doing the heavy lifting around the house. You want me to ground you, or something? No dessert for a week?"

John sighs heavily. "You could come up with better than that."

"I don't want to come up with something better." Nick braces his feet on the dirt, but fails to stand at the last moment, even though he wants nothing more than to propel himself out of this conversation. "Life is already hard enough as it is. I'm not going to add to it just to make you feel better."

It's clear from his furrowed brow that John doesn't get it, but that's okay. Nick's satisfied with the peaceful resolution as it is. John might scowl in confusion at the ground, but at least he isn't demanding Nick take a pound of flesh from him or something. It's too bad that he isn't satisfied by simply apologizing, since that's all Nick needs, but he'll get the hang of it eventually. Lord knows he's gotten the hang of plenty else so far.

Nick pushes himself to his feet. He might as well use this extra time to get everything ready for breakfast, even if it's technically Kim's turn to cook. Still, he stops to stand over John, waffling on whether or not the guy deserves some genuine comfort. He's been open and honest enough — Nick probably should do the same. "Look. I, uh, appreciate you telling me. About the, uh, dreams, and all that. I figured you'd forgotten how to talk about yourself." He hesitates, then suggests, "You might wanna go get some sleep before breakfast. We really do got a lot more fence to go over."

John turns his head, following the broken line of fencing that reaches out clear down to the end of the airstrip. "You're right," he says at last. "I should rest."

"Please tell me you don't need me to escort you all the way upstairs," Nick says, mostly joking as they make their way inside. Letting John walk around freely hasn't ended up in disaster so far, but John still seems surprised that Nick's going to let him continue on alone.

"No," he says, "I have it." He stops on the stairs, watching as Nick forcibly ignores him in favor of getting the kindling and cast iron skillet. When Nick fails to stop him, though, he finally turns and makes his way up. Nick tries not to make it obvious as he waits to hear John walk across the upper hallway to his room, the door scraping audibly against the frame as he opens and then shuts it again. Only then does Nick seriously get to work on starting the morning fire, glad to have some small task to distract him from the thoughts that would otherwise pin him in place — thoughts about loyalty, and about what John said, and about his own dreams that have sometimes seemed too real to be anything less than prophetic. Maybe someday, he'll sort all his feelings out, but for now he can build a fire and hold on to the vague suspicion he has that maybe, just maybe, pulling John out of that bunker had been a good idea after all.

[silverynight]

The Fallen

The girl is so young and not only in comparison to him, because Aziraphale is an angel, but in comparison to other humans. It's his first time on Earth and he's already fascinated with it, although neither Michael nor Gabriel have allowed him to actually enjoy it.

Well... That's not actually what he came for, is it?

According to Gabriel, it'll take a couple of years for the Armageddon to start and an angel has to make sure everything goes according to plan. One of them has to go undercover as a new fallen and Aziraphale was the one chosen for that particular mission.

It's okay really, Aziraphale wants to, not because he wants to make sure everything happens, but because he wants to stop it. It's against the rules, but since Gabriel told him Raphael had died recently, Aziraphale no longer cares about rules.

"Don't bother looking for him down there, he's dead... gone forever," Gabriel had said. "You need to focus on the mission."

Aziraphale cried for years when he found out and he cried even more because he couldn't remember Raphael's face; it was part of God's punishment for the Fallen.

"Aziraphale, it's really a pleasure to meet you," the girl–the young woman says.

"How do you know my name?" Aziraphale asks, impressed. The woman, who introduces herself as Anathema, chuckles.

"I'm a witch and my ancestor, Agnes, knew basically everything," she grins and takes Aziraphale by the arm, leading him to another room. Then she narrows her eyes at Michael and Gabriel and add: "You two can wait here."

She hands him a bottle with a purple fluid that looks honestly disgusting.

"So... This will make me look like one of them?" Aziraphale asks, there's no point in trying to hide things from her like Gabriel and Michael wanted to; she seems to know more than them anyway.

They've always underestimated humanity.

She pushes her glasses back and sighs, looking worried.

"It'll turn your wings black," Anathema explains. "Perhaps it'll change a little bit your aura, but that's it."

Aziraphale keeps staring at the bottle and nods.

"I suppose that's enough," he mumbles. He would be a recently fallen angel after all; he knows it takes a couple of decades for the transformation to be completed.

He takes a deep breath, but Anathema stops him before he could take a sip.

"It'll be painful, very much," she warns. "Are you sure about this? Because they... the others don't seem to care about–"

Aziraphale smiles at her and is once again reminded that his decision of giving away his sword was a good one. Humans are incredible and kind and sometimes it doesn't matter if not all of them are that way, sometimes just a few is enough.

"Don't worry about me, dear," he mumbles, trying not to think about Raphael.

It must have been really painful for him.

"This cannot protect you from hellfire," she whispers. "Be careful."

"Thank you," he says before drinking it all.

And she's definitely right. It's painful.

Aziraphale falls on his knees, trying not to scream as his wings feel like they're bursting into flames. It hurts and the pain is making him tear up.

"Perhaps we should... We can stop it–Yes, I can. I have an antidote over–"

"It's a-alright, dear," Aziraphale gathers all his strength to get on his feet again; he's never felt so tired before.

Is that what his Raphael felt? No, it must've been worse, since he fell for real.

"Are you ready?" Gabriel asks, both Michael and he have gotten into the room despite that Anathema told them not to.

"He needs to get some rest!" The young woman protests and Aziraphale grins at her courage because not any mortal would go against an angel's will.

"There's no time," Michael frowns and Aziraphale puts a shaking hand over Anathema's shoulder before she could say anything else.

"It's alright, dear."

"Let's open a gate then," Gabriel nods and stands at Aziraphale's left side while Michael moves to the right.

They both miracle their swords in their hands, the famous swords that were used to fight Lucifer and Beelzebub long time ago.

Both swords hit the ground in the blink of an eye with ease, it's like they're cutting air.

"The effects will only last a month," Anathema tells him as soon as the floor underneath him starts to glow. "You have to come back for more potion."

Aziraphale nods, he can't even say anything at the moment; everything hurts.

"Remember your mission," Gabriel has to yell because the earth is cracking, it's shaking and Anathema has to move away from them.

And then... he falls.

***

Hell is dark, but it's not on fire like he thought. It's also... weirdly cold despite of looking like a small basement where no one seems to have enough space.

Heaven has a lot of space; it seems empty and also cold and has always made Aziraphale sad. But that's just because he thinks about Raphael a lot.

"A new Fallen?" Aziraphale has heard Beelzebub's voice before, that's the only reason he recognizes it.

He rises from the ground with difficulty; he can barely move his body and his wings still hurt. He's not sure he can perform a miracle at the moment, even if he wanted to.

"It's been... a while," another voice comments.

"He still smells good," says another demon and the rest of them make clear how disgusting that is.

If Aziraphale wasn't so tired and hurt, he would've been outraged at the reaction.

"What's your name, fallen?" Beelzebub asks, sounding more irritated than curious.

"Aziraphale?" It's difficult to see when one has gotten used to the light of Heaven, but Aziraphale manages to see a tall figure getting closer. His voice sounds really soft when he says his name.

How does he know? Did his documents arrive already? Did Gabriel and Michael fake that too?

"Aziraphale is an angel's name," Beelzebub says with disgust. "You'll be Fell from now on."

"I still remember what it was to be a new fallen," one demon says, amused; Aziraphale can't see him yet because he's behind him. "But I know this used to hurt a lot."

He grabs one of his wings. Aziraphale groans in pain and almost falls to his knees again, prompting most of the demons to laugh.

Suddenly the hand on his wing is gone and he thanks God before hearing a loud noise and a groan.

"What do you think you're doing, Crowley?"

"You're pissing me off, Hastur, that's the fucking problem, you always piss me off," Crowley hisses and Aziraphale manages to see a little bit of red... The demon's hair is red.

He's tall and has the other one grabbed by the neck; it must be something usual among demons because Beelzebub just rolls their eyes.

"Enough! I don't have time for this!" They huff, irritated. "Alright, what should we do with Fell?"

"I can take him!" The demon Crowley blurts out suddenly, getting closer to Aziraphale. Everyone in the room shuts up and glances back at him with curiosity. "I mean... Take him to Earth, that way you don't have to see him... He still looks and smells like one of them and it'll take a while for him to properly become one of us and if you keep him here..."

"You're right," Beelzebub nods, prompting Aziraphale to narrow his eyes.

What's the problem with the way he smells? Is it really that awful? To him his scent is just like some of the flowers God created for Eden...

"Wait–" Hastur protests and Crowley hisses at him again.

"I don't want to hear anything else," Beelzebub huffs, already bored. They get up from their chair and growl at everyone else to go. "But I want him ready for Armageddon. Do you hear me, Crowley?"

"Of course," the demon smirks and bows in a way that looks more like he's mocking Beelzebub in Aziraphale's opinion.

The prince of Hell doesn't seem to mind though.

As soon as they're alone, Crowley turns around and approaches Aziraphale.

The angel flinches away.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the demon says, looking like Aziraphale just slapped him.

You just grabbed someone by the throat, Aziraphale wants to point out, but he decides to keep quiet instead.

Crowley takes a step closer and the angel takes one back. He sighs, looking pale and defeated and takes off his sunglasses before staring at Aziraphale with his yellow eyes.

"I will never hurt you," he mumbles and Aziraphale can see he's being completely sincere when he says it. But why? "Come, we need to go back to Earth."

Crowley offers his hand and Aziraphale can see he's nervous. The angel realizes he doesn't like seeing him like that so he does something risky, like he did in Eden when he gave away his flaming sword: he takes the demon's hand.

There's a huge smile on Crowley's face and a hopeful glimmer in his eyes before he pulls Aziraphale to the surface.

***

Yes, there will be more... hopefully lol.

Kofi / Patreon

[kemetic-dreams]

                                           HEAVEN & HELL

By Nora Amrani September, 1998

Most religions preach about heaven and hell, and how those who either do or do not believe in one thing or another will inevitably end up in one of these two places. What are hell and heaven? Are they real? Where are they? And who gets to go where?

Christianized Hell is portrayed as such a real and frightening place filled with monsters and Satan, where one is punished for their sins and suffers eternally. There is no way out. Oh, you know the pictures that have been painted by Dali and other artists depicting the burning pit where those not worthy of being recognized or loved by God are tossed, abandoned and tortured. Damned for eternity.

Heaven, on the other hand, is supposed to be eternal bliss. And only the very worthy end up in Heaven. With the stringent demands made on humans to be everything but human, (never mind seeing human as divine) while being constantly reminded that they are sinful and unworthy of heaven, heaven must be very under-populated. In fact, with all those rules to be met, I can't imagine one person being successfully led through those pearly gates! Can you? (No, not even Mother Theresa - she believed that she was less than divine, herself.)

FUN WITH ETYMOLOGY

Hell and heaven are very dramatically presented, aren't they? But do we even know what these words mean? Could it be we have all been fed non-sequiturs for centuries to the point where we no longer remember what these words really mean, therefore we live in constant confusion (like the Tower of Babel) because we don't properly use our language? Wow - just imagine what that does to our communcations on all levels with one another!

Hell: Prepare yourselves for a possible shock: The word 'hel' means 'light.' It also means 'earth.' Check your Germanic dictionaries if you don't believe me. In fact, check many languages and find the meaning of the word 'hell.' Some will say it means 'cover.' If hell is such a negative place, then why do we refer to the sun, who gives us life, warmth and nurtures us, as 'helios?" Perhaps the thought of diving into the sun would be hell, itself. Maybe that's how it all originated? But, realistically, you wouldn't even make it that close without first disintegrating. Ah, but then you'd become pure energy, pure light, just like the sun, itself! Your real essence, in other words. Why, we even used to worship* gods representing the sun's energy - Ra, ApolIo, for example. So, why would it be something to be feared and avoided, at all costs?

A 'demon in hell' can also be called a 'genius in the light.' Demon, or daemon, has conflicting meanings. It can mean our inner genius, divinity or genie. It is a word sharing the same root thing as 'diamond!' Some dictionaries say demons are inferior divinity or evil spirits. How can they be both? Both divine, genius and evil? Think about it. Do they not cancel one another out? Or, can we put all under one divine umbrella? What definitions have you been taught?

The horns on the devil are also used to depict great divine light emanating through the individual. Same thing was shown with Hathor, Moses, White Buffalo Woman. It is a positive symbol of higher consciousness and knowledge, not evil.

Devil comes from the Sanskrit world meaning 'deva,' which relates to the good angels of the Hindu pantheon. Were you taught that Satan means adversary or plotter? 'Adverse' meaning 'to turn towards?' After Zoroaster and the Persians conquered Hindu territory the conquerers miraculously transformed the Hindu gods into devils! So, the Hindu devas became the Persians devils.

If we look at the pattern of religious manipulation through language, the word "daemon" was changed into having a evil implication. "It was just more Christian propaganda used to brainwash the followers of the Greek and Roman religions into rejecting their old gods in favor of the newly created Christian character," as one scholar explains. This old ploy cunningly used good timing to coincide with the burning of millions of books; books which had they not been burned would have allowed people to see the truth of how they were being lied to. And the word 'evil' actually comes from the same root as the word 'apple,' which is 'upfel.' Who decided that apples were evil? The apple itself isn't evil.

Rabbi Ahron Lopiansky explains that Judaism talks of "Satan/devil," but it sees Satan as "...an agent of God, testing the sincerity of man's deeds, the strength of his convictions, and the stamina of his moral fiber. Although this so-called devil seems to entice man to do wrong, he is not inherently an evil being. Rather, he is conducting a "sting" operation; overtly enticing to bad, but in reality working for God. A cursory reading of the beginning of Job conveys that message: God sends out Satan to test Job's righteousness. Just as a dentist or doctor tests the firmness of a bone or flesh by probing it, just as the army tests the integrity and trustworthiness of its intelligence agents by tempting them, so too does God test man. A test reveals the inner worthiness of a person's deeds, demonstrating what they are really made of."

Heaven: Could this word come from 'heave' - meaning to toss, lift or raise? Those lofty ideas. No doubt it does. And what about 'heavy,' meaning 'weighty.' This can get to be lots of fun, eh? 'Ven' means 'air.' 'Ven' can also be 'van,' which means 'sail,' 'wing,' 'basket,' and it can be a shovel used in testing ore; and of course, it now means a type of large vehicle capable of transporting many people. The more accurate root of "heaven" comes from "haven." The word "heaven" also has its roots in Hebrew in "ha'shamayim," which means "the skies," " high places." Maybe you can come up with some other meanings for it. See the conflicts over and over in modern language?

Worship...another interesting word. "War" means literally "war," or "where," and "ship" meaning a "state" or "condition." The word religion is interesting, too. "Re" means "back," or "again," or even "in reference to." "Legion" is "a body of infantry in the ancient Roman army"; or "vast host." Re-legion. Armies of God in a war ship? Is religion about war? Or hosts of God?

Now that the brief etymology portion is over, let's get into the other areas of what these words have come to mean to a great many people in the religious and social sense. In fact, they have come to dictate and control much of our beliefs and lives.

AN ANCIENT STORY OF THE FALLEN ANGELS

The ideas of Satan and fallen angels are our own planetary collective consciousness' idea of viewing things negatively. One explanation is that it represents the fall of ourselves into this dimension of materiality and polarity, forgetting our divine selves and our spirituality. Satan is backwards for "natas" - which later became "nahash" the serpent. So, what everyone THOUGHT was evil, is actually the opposite. That term is related to the Sirian-Anunnaki being, Enki, in the following:

The archetypal, mythological concept of fallen angels originated approximately 450,000 years ago when the last of the extraterrestrial beings from a satellite planet named Nibiru, known on Earth as the Anunnaki, (a group of Lyran off-shoots who stemmed from one of their more infamous members, Anu, Enki, Enlil, Inanna, etc.), had their final expedition to Earth and, in a sense, left one group "stranded" here. Since the Anunnaki were known as "the gods," and these "gods" came from the heavens and were seen as being angels because of their amazing abilities and longevity. There were conficts between the Anunnaki themselves. Nefilim, or "those who came down," is another way of talking about this group of the Anunnaki. Some of the Anunnaki wanted humans to see them as God and did not honor free will. For this they were punished and expelled from certain galactic federations. This is where the idea of the fallen angels originally came from and various accounts of it are found in the Bahgavad Gita, the bibles and other cultural origin stories.

Enki was known as the serpent of wisdom, healing and life who had a great hand in creation, the waters of life (sperm, DNA, etc.) i.e., the Garden of Eden. Enki was frequently humanity's supporter. Biblical writers called the healing serpent Nehushtan. The Hebrew word for serpent is "nahash." The root of the word are the Hebrew letters Nun, Het and Shin, which means "to guess." This was translated into other languages as "satan," which some say mean "enemy," or "adversary."

Enki's identity, as Lord of Earth or In Earth (EN.KI), and EA (whose house is water) is reflected in other names, as well: Adonai, Aton, Aten, Adom, Adam, Amen. (Linguistic paleontology is a marvelous and vast area for proving these connections.) The name EARTH also comes from EA/Enki. Actually, the name "human" can be traced to Enki (a.k.a. EA) and his half-sister and wife, the chief geneticist Ninti (the mother goddess of all life). HU is a transliteration of the ancient Sumerian EA (Grimms' law of interchangeable letters and sounds). HU was also Horus, by the way. So a human is an EAman.

In India, the "nagas" were the serpent gods/goddesses. In the Americas there was Quetzlcoatl (Enki/Thoth). The entire world has worshipped the serpent for its wisdom, but ironically, it was not really about snakes at all - unless you feel you have to "guess" what a snake is up to! Why was the snake chosen? For its cleverness, ability to survive in the harshest of environments, and again, its shape resembling the flow of energy up the spine - to the crown chakra, and the third eye. And perhaps because it naturally instilled a bit of caution or awe in people. Was Enki really a snake? No, not literally.

THE REALITY

Both heaven and hell are places created with those of like mind and emotions - thoughts and feelings so intense that it creates a vortex of bioelectomagnetic energy so concentrated that it densifies and materializes. This material form can be ectoplasmic or physical. It takes on the form of the creator's beliefs. This form resonates with like energies, drawing them to one another. (Like attracts like.) This, then, creates a larger vortex of the same energy. And it keeps growing and building and desiring it's life to be continually fed. This, then, becomes a real gathering place.

Yes, heaven does exist. But it is a very complex dimension with many options. Many people experience it with the smell of flowers, with music, and always with lots of love. There is a gathering place for souls getting ready to make their transition from their physical form into spirit, and for those who have just crossed over. There are healing rooms. There are educational rooms. It offers freedom of choice to wherever your soul wants to learn and you plan your next move there.

Hell actually is a dimension of energy that is created by self-judgement and condemnation, ergo punishment. Its essence is fear and forgetfulness of love and light. It's energy contains fear, anger, powerlessness, (including guilt, martyrdom, pain, sadness), and it is a very difficult place from which to escape because it builds on itself. It is a very sad and dark place and even though there are many souls there, it feels so lonely. Ironically, the fear of being in what people believe to be hell may actually create that kind of hell, itself.

In the case of "hell," the only way these energies can be nourished is by having more of the same energy filling it up, adding more fuel to the fire. In order to stay alive it seeks out its food in many ways. Finding a weakness, such as addiction, within a person to attach itself to is one way. Attaching to the little bit of belief in that individual it can use for its own survival. And it can also be utilized by people performing certain rituals to get a life force that can be manipulated and directed. You see, the life force, the energy, never dies. It changes form, and its form can be intentionally changed. These energies will seek out others and build on itself unless we become conscious of them and choose to release them through other avenues. There are ways out of hell, but it often requires help from the other dimensions helping a soul remember love and personal empowerment, choice, freedom.

Be it heaven or hell, we create our reality through our experiences, our thoughts, beliefs, imagination, words, and our desire, and will. One way we can become conscious of how and what we create is through meditation, or going within and contacting the God within ourselves. We always have the choice whether to create our own heaven or hell wherever we are. And that creation begins nowhere else except from within ourselves.

[yeetingvaguelydownwards-blog]

Do You Remember?

Paring: Crowley x Aziraphale

Warnings: ANGST AAHHH. Cuteness. I cried writing it....

Note: So apparently I wanted to be fucking sad.

~~~

Angelic wings wrapped around each other, allowing the two Angels to pull each other closer...

Ever since Raphael fell, it was all different. Aziraphale didn't remember him, or the love they shared.

All Aziraphale knew is that they met in Eden.

Crawly

That was his name. Stripped of everything that would give him hope of regaining what he once had.

Crowley

Oh, how Crowley longed for the innocent embraces he and Aziraphale once shared. The fingers running through his hair.

 The gentle touches between two Angels.

The things he would most likely never experience again.

~{§θ§}~

Aziraphale was growing worried. His dear friend hadn't visited or called him in days. It was out of the ordinary, to say the least, but the Angel hoped it was just Crowley taking a nap.

A soft sigh escaped Aziraphale's lips and he set his book down on the end table. His hands settled in his lap and his eyebrows furrowed. Ever since Armageddon that didn't it seemed as though every time he closed his eyes he saw someone. Someone who looked familiar, sounded familiar, but was too blurry to be recognized. Each time he saw the figure behind his eyelids, he felt immense joy and love.

Just the day before, the Angel learned that the figure's name was Raphael. His voice was beautiful. He too was an Angel, but why did Aziraphale not know of him before. Aziraphale laid on his back across the couch as he saw Crowley do many times, dozing. The Angel closed his eyes and the red-haired figure appeared once more, but this time the feeling was different. This time Raphael wasn't talking to him but rather... God?

"Why is this even necessary? Your Great Plan, I mean. What is the point of creating something only to turn around and destroy it?"

To Aziraphale's disappointment, it was a one-sided conversation. Either God refused to conversate with Raphael, or the Almighty's voice was not to be apart of this dream.

"What even is the Great Plan? You never once have told us..."

Suddenly, Aziraphale could feel that Raphael grew worried.

"No... No, please. Please... I won't ask... any more and we can pretend this never happened... No! Please..."

Black feather began to speckle Raphael's wings as he continued to plead. He collapsed to the floor and suddenly they were elsewhere. Raphael sat in a heap on the ground, his new black wings wrapping around himself. As the fallen Angel looked up, Aziraphale could see tears falling from golden eyes.

"You. What isss your name...?"

Raphael jumped at the voice, turning slowly to see a dark figure, "R-Raphael..."

The figure sneered at the sound of the Angelic name, "Guess you haven't heard that you're a demon now. We don't keep those stupid Angelic names... Try again."

Another figure appeared, glancing down at Raphael, "Crawly"

More figures appeared, whispering among themselves the name.

Aziraphale shot up from the couch, his mind racing.

Crawly? Could it be? No... No, it couldn't.  There must've been another...

But there wasn't and Aziraphale knew that.

~{§θ§}~

Crowley slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting down.

Why did the memories have to be so vivid today...?

All he did was ask the wrong questions and he lost everything.

He pulled his knees close to his chest and began to tremble. A whimper escaped the demon, who ignored a sudden knock at the door.

"Crowley? Are you home? Crowley??" It was Aziraphale.

With a snap of his fingers, the Angel had miracled his way into Crowley's flat and was startled by a crash to his right. Crowley scrambled to get away from Aziraphale not wanting his counter-part to see him in such a state.

"Crowley...? Wh-what is the matter, dear boy?" The Angel cautiously approached Crowley.

Before Crowley could get to his glasses, Aziraphale caught a glance of the demon's teary eyes and froze. He had never seen the other in such a state before. For a moment Aziraphale thought perhaps other demons had come after him and hurt him but quickly concluded that was not the case.

"Why are you here?" Hissed Crowley, who had shoved his glasses on.

"Am I not allowed to visit my friend?" Aziraphale shot back at him and Crowley winced at the word friend, a fresh batch of painful memories flooding his mind.

"Oh stop that!" Raphael scolded playfully before going back to grooming Aziraphale's wings.

Despite his lover's scolding, Aziraphale couldn't help but squirm in his place as Raphael plucked a few feathers.

"If you don't stop that I might have to pin you down..." Raphael chuckled, kissing the back of Aziraphale's neck gently, who shivered at this feeling.

After a while of smoothing, plucking and some scolding, Raphael was finally finished. He gently wrapped his own wings around his lover. A content sigh left Aziraphale's lips as he settled back against the other's chest.

"Crowley" Aziraphale was now on the floor in front of him, his face contorted with concern.

A gentle hand was reaching out to take Crowley's glasses from his face and he whimpered.

"Crowley... please tell me what is going on... what happened?" Aziraphale took the glasses from his friend's face and caressed his cheek.

"Aziraphale, stop. Please, Angel. Stop" The Demon hissed, tears threatened to spill out of his golden eyes and Aziraphale remembered the golden eyes from his dream.

"Raphael..."

Crowley's eyes widened. His ears had to be deceiving him, "Wh-what?"

Aziraphale sat back, instantly fumbling over and searching for words.

"I- Uhm, well uh"

"Angel, what did you say?" Crowley practically lunged toward Aziraphale, "What. Did. You. Say."

The Angel's answer came out as barely a whisper, but Crowley understood it all the same.

"Raphael..-"

"Where did you learn that name??" Crowley was desperate for hope, hope that perhaps Aziraphale did remember him.

"I- Well you see... ever since Armageddon... I have been seeing this Angel in my dreams. A few days ago I learned his name was... Raphael." Aziraphale's eyebrows furrowed, "and the strange thing was that the dreams were more like memories. We interacted, and well, by the way we interacted, I would say we were lovers...

"But today, I finally got a clear look at him and I was reminded of you..." The Angel flushed pink as he realized how that could've been taken, "a-after he... fell, I mean. He looked very much like-"

Aziraphale shut his mouth before he somehow offended Crowley, but the silence from the other made him look up once more. The sight Aziraphale saw before him was heart-wrenching and difficult for the Angel to watch.

Tears poured down Crowley's sculpted features, and his lips curved upwards to form a sad smile, "You remember..."

The two words were enough to make Aziraphale's mouth fall agape and his eyes widen. Crowley couldn't lung forward fast enough for his liking and he embraced the Angel tightly, burying his face in Aziraphale's collar. They sat like this on the floor for several more minutes until the light-haired male felt the other begin to tremble in their embrace.

Crowley was practically sobbing.

"Heaven erased your memories of me when I fell in the fear that they would lose one of their best Angels to Hell if you went out to get me... and so for the past 6000 years I've had to live with the belief that you would never remember what we had..."

A high-pitched noise made Crowley look up at Aziraphale to see that the Angel was on the verge of crying. Tears pooled in Aziraphale's eyes and he squeezed Crowley whispering a soft apology in the Demon's ear. His angelic wings appeared and gently wrapped around the fallen angel. A small sob escaped Aziraphale's lips as he brought his arms up and around Crowley's shoulders, letting his fingers run through the Demon's fiery hair.

Crowley allowed his arms to rest on Aziraphale's sides, not wanting to scare away his angel. As Aziraphale looked down at Crowley he witnessed another memory. He felt a smile grace his lips as he closed his eyes to watch it a moment longer.

The light-haired Angel smiled as his lover woke from his slumber. Raphael had practically fallen asleep atop of him, not that Aziraphale minded, it only meant that he would be able to witness Raphael wake from his peaceful slumber.

Raphael groaned softly, shifting his head to bury it further into Aziraphale's chest but only succeeded in tickling the light-haired male slightly, making him giggle. They laid motionless for a moment longer until Raphael did it again and Aziraphale poked his side.

"I know you're awake, love..." He cooed and pressed a kiss to Raphael's forehead.

"I wasn't trying to hide it, angel..." Raphael sighed, lifting his head from his lover's chest.

The sight brought an even bigger smile to Aziraphale's face and sighed happily.

"I love you..." The Angel whispered.

[medea10]

My Review of Dirty Pair

Now that I think about it…if you look at Dawn and Zoey from Diamond & Pearl…they could pull this off. I’m starting to have some questions for Pokemon’s animators in the mid-2000s. Next factor is that every time I attended Kraken Con in Oakland, they would usually play the first 4 episodes of this anime. And I would catch a few minutes or a random episode (most of the time it was episode 3). And finally, it’s an anime that came out in the 1980s. Let’s face it, what other anime have I watched came out before 1986 that’s not named Sailor Moon, Dragon Ball, or Ranma ½? Thought so! If you're in big trouble, call the World Welfare Work Association or 3WA. They will send out a team of highly trained capable agents (also known as Trouble Consultants) who can solve your problems. But if the team they send you is the infamously named Dirty Pair, there will be a lot of collateral damage aside from solving your problems. The Dirty Pair (or Lovely Angels as the girls would like to be refered to) consists of Kei and Yuri, two ladies who are well equipped to help whoever, wherever, and whenever…for the right price. Win these ladies over with handsome men, bonuses, and luxurious items and they’ll help you with whatever the problem is. BETWEEN THE SUB AND THE DUB: I do face the same kind of dilemma watching this as I did with Rose of Versailles because I’m going to experience hearing people I’ve never really listened to until now (with the exception of Yuri’s seiyuu because she was in a lot of the Rumiko Takahashi animes I’ve watched). Licensing wise, last checked, Nozomi Entertainment has all the Dirty Pair animes (including the TV series, specials, OVA series, the spin-off series, and the movie). And if memory serves, I believe ADV once had claims over some if not all of this series. However, not everything got a dub. Pretty much, everything except for the original TV series got a dub. I got a chance to listen to the English dub and thought it was okay for the most part. It’s not ear-gratingly horrifying if that’s what you want me to say. With the dub, I noticed Yuri’s voice was different in some specials and I do have a theory on that. Apparently Jessica Calvello voiced Yuri during the OVA series, while Allison Sumrall did the specials and movies. My guess for that was when they were dubbing this, it was around that time when Calvello blew out her vocal chords…Yeah, that happened. But no complaints from me here either! Here’s what you might recognize these folks from. JAPANESE CAST: *Kei is played by Kyouko Tonguu *Yuri is played by Saeko Shimazu (known for Kodachi on Ranma ½, Princess Abi on InuYasha, and Shinobu on Urusei Yatsura) ENGLISH CAST: *Kei is played by Pamela Lauer *Yuri [in the OVA series] is played by Jessica Calvello (known for Prima on Pokemon, Hange on Attack on Titan, Excel on Excel Saga, Aika on Aria, Kanako on Maria Holic, and Suigintou on Rozen Maiden: Zurückspulen) *Yuri [in the movie] is played by Allison Sumrall (known for Kagura on Azumanga Daioh, Miia on Monster Musume, Shinichi’s mother on Parasyte, and Sasasegawa on Little Busters)

SHIPPING: These ladies are quite promiscuous. So it’s pretty easy to say they flirt with a different sort of men each episode. But there was one episode during the television run where Yuri really had something for a boy that deserves a mention. In the 8th episode of the original TV series, Yuri gets word of a childhood love (named Billy) reaching out to her. She was ready to leave her life and job as a Lovely Angel to be with him. Unfortunately, Kei comes across the unfortunate truth about Yuri’s long-lost love, Billy. He died while trying to complete his project. But Kei decided to keep this fact away from Yuri and instead told her it’ll take Billy a lot longer to complete his work. And Yuri will wait for him.

There have been a few notable men as well that made a dent in Kei and Yuri’s love life. Hell, there was even an episode where Yuri almost tied the knot with a man in the OVA series that almost got me to second guess Yuri’s angle. When it comes to Kei…yeah, there were a few guys on her radar but none that really stood out. Except I couldn’t help but wonder if there would ever be something between Kei and Carson from the movie! Regardless, Kei and Yuri are just too promiscuous and wild to just settle down with one guy (unless he was a handsome sugar daddy). ENDING TO TV SERIES: I don’t want to call it much of an ending because all the episodes follow the same pattern and that’s the girls work on a case they’re given and they finish their mission (more or less). If you ask me, the television series should have ended on the two-parter episode where Kei and Yuri are helping a family find a plane that has 463 missing passangers.

The final episode consisted of the girls in an apartment with three salesmen and a policeman in game of who’s the killer. Because of recent murders in the area involving women, Kei and Yuri were placed in an apartment to be on lookout. And for some reason, those four men wound up in the apartment together. Thanks to some clever intuition on Yuri’s part, she was able to figure out who the killer was and the reason behind the killer’s message. A year after the television series ended, they released two special episodes that follow suit to the series. Meaning the girls have to solve their mission. And the final one involved trying to save their chief from some kidnappers. PROJECT EDEN: Oh my God, could this movie be any more 1980s?! Half the movie has no dialogue and all those parts feel like a long-ass music video. I’m not knocking it, I just find it amusing. I want to call it a side-story from the original series. Basically, Kei and Yuri are working together with a smuggler (named Carson D. Carson…this name is literally too funny to comment on) from a previous mission to stop a crazy doctor from unleashing aliens upon the world. Seriously, just watch this! It’s a trip! OVA SERIES: Two years after the original television series finished (1987), Dirty Pair was given 10 more episodes in an OVA series. I guess you can call it a sequel as the stories all seem to follow the same premise as Yuri and Kei are on a different mission in each episode. There were only a few key differences here. First of all, unlike the television series, this set got an English dub. Again, I still don’t know why they neglected to dub the original TV series and dub this, the movie, and spin-off. Whatever! Secondly, in this series we got to see a few more people who work in the 3WA (besides Chief Gooley). The 3WA is a big organization and we really knew nothing about anyone else aside from Kei and Yuri (and to a lesser extent Chief Gooley). But there were characters like Madam Beryl and Dr. Q who seem to show up in more than just one episode here to help the girls. It's a shame we never saw more of these OVA's. And then we have Dirty Pair Flash!

What the shit?! What is this hot mess? This is not Yuri and Kei! I know their names are Yuri and Kei, but they’re not the ones I’ve been watching for the past year. As you can see, this is a definite product of the 1990s. Take something from the 70s and 80s and bastardize it with wonky animation, flashy colors, and every kooky sound effect you heard during 1990’s animes! Give me one good reason why I should even look at this!

Holy crap, is that Rica freakin’ Matsumoto in that fucking main cast?! And this was BEFORE she played Satoshi?! Fine…Imma watch it!

This is Kei and Yuri. No, they’re not the Kei and Yuri from the original series. This Kei and Yuri are different. This series is sort of an alternate setting to the original Dirty Pair. It’s not the same universe where the 3WA gives the names “Kei” and “Yuri” to new recruits. There won’t be an episode where both Kei’s and Yuri’s meet. This is something completely different! Now aside from their “radical” new look, Kei and Yuri here kinda differ from the Kei and Yuri from the 1980’s anime? Just a smidge. Kei is way more tomboyish than the original one. I know the original Kei was a tomboy too, but she also seemed promiscuous when it came to men unlike the newer one. This Kei didn’t really feel too interested in men all that much. Both Yuri’s seem the same as they can both be promiscuous, flighty, and hopelessly romantic when it comes to men. But the one thing that stays the same is that these girls always find a way to botch-up the missions. The cast of course has changed and with many more recognizable voice actors in the sub (to me). Here’s what you might recognize these folks from. JAPANESE CAST: *Kei is played by Rica Matsumoto (known for Ash on Pokemon, Yami/Bakura on YGO, Rumi on Perfect Blue, Choromatsu on Osomatsu-kun, and Sis on Now and Then Here and There) *Yuri is played by Mariko Kouda (known for Sakura on Pokemon, Nayuki on Kanon, Kaya on One Piece, and Juri on Vampire Knight) ENGLISH CAST: *Kei is played by Sue Ulu (known for Ritsuko on Neon Genesis Evangelion and Ayako on Golden Boy) *Yuri is played by Kim Sevier (known for Yui on Neon Genesis Evangelion and Noriko on Golden Boy) Dirty Pair Flash had something I kinda wished to see with the original series. Continuity! At least it was the case of the first set of OVA’s as it does show how this Kei and Yuri got paired up and their hardships of having to work together as the “Lovely Angels” of the 3WA. While with the original, we already jump into Kei and Yuri’s line of work where they already have a reputation as the infamous “Dirty Pair”, here we actually see this Kei and Yuri first get paired up. Kei was a delinquent and on probation and Yuri was one of the lowest in her class, let’s pair them up! What could possibly go wrong?

The first set of OVA’s had Kei on a literal manhunt for someone only to later find out it was a former member of the 3WA who has been causing mischief. Hell, she was one of the original Lovely Angel duo. The second set of OVA’s Kei and Yuri had to spend 5 episodes with a computer geek named Touma. The episodes here weren’t as continuous as they were in the previous set (as they don’t follow a strict storyline). And the finale to the second set felt very rushed to take out one bad guy. Seriously, all that build-up for such a sorry payoff!

The final set of OVA’s, five more stories that don’t connect whatsoever. And that’s a shame since you got an episode where Kei is taking care of a (now) orphaned baby and an episode where Yuri is a literal object of a little boy’s desire. I will give it this, the final episode where there’s a terrorist on the loose trying to kill the chief of the 3WA was pretty intense. All in all, Dirty Pair Flash was okay. I think I was more of a fan of the original Dirty Pair, but that’s just me. There were some things I liked from Flash too, don’t get me wrong. This series however gets extra points having Rica Matsumoto sing several songs on here. As for old school Dirty Pair…I can honestly say I jumped into this series blind-folded. One of the types of animes I don’t normally touch are sci-fi and mecha. It was never really my thing but every few years or so I would pick up titles with those specific genres. But I enjoyed watching the episodes of Dirty Pair. I almost want to compare this to any cop show you see on TV. Mostly for the aspect of two cops working together! It’s easy to say that Kei and Yuri do get the job done, but sometimes they fuck up. And that’s a common trope in many cop shows/movies (the entertaining ones). Plus I always found myself chuckling at the witty/catty banter between Kei and Yuri. How often do you see two female cops in this situation? In most of the shows I’ve seen it’s always between two guys! Sure it gives off a stereotype of if you put two girls in a room, all they’ll do is bitch and scratch each other’s eyes out. Yes, this does happen from time to time. But Kei and Yuri have always gotten along for the most part.

…Oh yeah…I suppose I should talk about the sex appeal. Even for the time this aired, I’m surprised they got away with these girls wearing butt-hugging shorts in literally every episode. Then again, it’s Japan. I can’t imagine what they’d be wearing nowadays. But for what it’s worth, I say give it a watch. If you’re a fan of police shows, mecha, or both, this might be right up your alley. And if you want to give Dirty Pair Flash a try, go for it too. I just suggest watching the original first, but that’s just my opinion. Through Nozomi Entertainment, you can purchase just about anything of Dirty Pair for home video. Nozomi Entertainment also put up a few of the specials, the movie Project Eden, and the entire set of Dirty Pair Flash on their Youtube page. Okay, now that’s over with. What’s the next Discotek license/older anime am I watching next?

Bludgeoning Angel Dokuro-Chan? 2019 sure loves to torture me.

[moveslikebuckywrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Original Characters Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff Series: Part 4 of Ineffable Outliers Weekly Prompts Summary:

A day in the life of a certain angel and demon, a little over a year after the failed apocalypse. Featuring a visit to a coffee shop and a visit to a little Greek restaurant called the Olive Grove.

---

This is a prompt fill for the Ineffable Outlier’s Weekly Prompts!  This week’s prompt was:

It's a typical, mundane Post-End of the World day for any set of Gomens characters. How does this nice slice of life day go for them? How do the characters react to each other doing everyday trivialities such as washing dishes, gardening, shopping/running errands, etc. etc. Try to focus on the little things in life!

---

10:17AM

Crowley almost didn’t like coming back to this place.

Sure, the coffee was great (large black, two sugars, every time, without him asking), and the baristas were some of the best in London (their sarcastic attitudes being a bonus, not a drawback), but the location. Well, the location left a lot to be desired.

Because this particular coffee shop was in Broadgate Tower.  Main Earth location of the head offices of Heaven and Hell.

Not people he particularly wanted to be around these days.

Sure, they had formed a tenuous partnership with their former offices.  Turns out, nobody upstairs or down knew jack shit about how things work on Earth.  So now, they freelance.  Sometimes the old Arrangement even kicks in, and Hell will (reluctantly) hire Aziraphale for a temptation or Heaven will (reluctantly) hire Crowley for a blessing.

Kind of ironic, in that Alanis Morissette kind of way.

They’d just come from one such meeting, Heaven was hiring the both of them for some minor blessings in Wales next week.  Something to do with a charity soccer game or something, Crowley never paid much attention.  Spent too much time glaring at Gabriel to listen to him.  He’d really just wanted to get the heav-hel-WHATEVER out of there and go get his angel some lunch, but the silly featherhead wanted cocoa.

Oh, but dearest, they make the best cocoa here at the towers, Aziraphale had said, practically bouncing, they have the tiny little marshmallows I love and everything!

That’s where the ‘almost’ came in.  As anyone who knew them would gladly tell you, Crowley was powerless to resist any request from his angel.  

Hand in hand in a line full of business suits to get some much-needed warmth for this December chill.  He recognized a couple of the baristas (1); Rose had really come into her own, was one of the best of them by now.  She was working register today; Jisel was making the drinks. Couple of new faces here and there.

One would probably expect Aziraphale to know everyone by name, it came across through his sunny disposition.  Sometimes, especially mundane times like this, Crowley would be struck by just how ridiculously in love with this fussy angel he was.

Sure, they were married now.  Even their former bosses knew that had happened (2). But seeing the angel’s eyes light up over his favorite cocoa from his favorite coffee shop was almost a religious experience for the demon.  Or how he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand right now that the angel would squeeze back without hesitating and turn and give Crowley that soft little smile that was reserved just for him.

He tested that theory.  Squeeze the hand, he squeezes back, and there’s the smile I love so much.

It was all unbearably sentimental.  Made his insides feel all gooey.  Unbecoming for a demon.  Not that he gave a toss about that anymore.

“Hullo Mr. Crowley; Mr. Fell,” said Rose, now masterful at the register, “Same as always for today?”

“Yes, of course my dear,” Aziraphale said brightly, “With– ”

“Extra marshmallows, of course.” Rose smiled at them and Crowley could already feel Aziraphale blessing the rest of the baristas’ day.

Rose handed Crowley his coffee and they moved along to the end of the counter to wait for Aziraphale’s cocoa; leaning against the bar top with their shoulders touching.  It was ridiculous how something so small made Crowley want to melt into a puddle of snake on the floor and slither off someplace secluded to scream and blush in peace, dammit.

Aziraphale sighed, “You know, Darling, it might not be the best idea, but in some small way I’m glad we’re freelancing now.”

“You just wanted to keep getting your cocoa, Angel,” Crowley said, bumping his shoulder into the angel’s, “which really, you could do anywhere.”

“Oh, but it just isn’t the same, Dearest.” Always with the pet names.  It had taken Crowley quite a while to get used to them, felt like there was a new one every day and he couldn’t keep up.  Every single one was infused with so much love and devotion they nearly knocked him off his feet.

“If I’m being honest, it’s the marshmallows,” the angel said wistfully, smiling at a memory, “Remember when we went back to Paris, after the Reign was over?  And we found that quaint little candy shop and they were selling marshmallows there? I swear the marshmallows here taste exactly the same as those.”

“They’re probably just some megamart brand that you haven’t tried yet.”

“I-well, I never...A megamart, Dearest?” The angel stammered, “As though I’d ever.  The sheer thought-“

“I’m only teasing you, Love,” Crowley said before leaning over and planting a kiss on the angel’s cheek, “You do get so cute when you’re full of that self-righteous fury.”

That earned him an eye roll.  He knew what he had to do for these little reactions he so loved (3).  

Little reactions he never thought he’d have.  For the longest time, Aziraphale had been just a little too far from his reach, and just a little too in Heaven’s grasp.  The angel had held Crowley’s twisted dark heart in his hands ever since that first day on the wall of Eden.  Six thousand years of stolen glances, stolen time; lunches here, drinks there.  Always, the forefront of his mind screaming please, please, just stay a little longer, a few more minutes and maybe I’ll finally get past all this emotion that’s eating me from the inside out.

Then the apocalypse didn’t happen.  Then they were together, like it was the easiest decision in the world.

He’d still had his issues, to be sure.  Not thinking he was good enough, not thinking Aziraphale would want to stay with him once he saw what a mess Crowley could actually be when he wasn’t putting up the cool façade.  But the angel had stayed, had chosen him over everything and everyone else.  And now they were married.

He liked to tumble that word around in his head sometimes. He did now, as he gazed lovingly (gross) at his husband (husband?!) as the angel prattled on about this or that to Jisel while she made his cocoa.

A commotion broke him out of his reverie.

“What do you mean my coffee is £3.80?  It was £3.40 last week!”

“I do apologize, sir,” Rose stammered from behind the register, Crowley was already on alert, ready to intervene, “But the tower management raised the prices a couple of days ago.”

“Bullshit, don’t you know who I am?” the man shouted, Rose looked like she might faint.  Crowley was about to say something, but Aziraphale beat him to it.

The angel had stood up and walked back to the register and was now addressing the customer directly, while Jisel handed his cocoa to Crowley.

“My dear fellow, I do believe you’ve forgotten to do something very important today.”

“I have?” the man asked, confused.

“Yes, I believe you said something about an…anniversary, maybe?” Aziraphale says, with a bit of miraculous intent.

The man goes pale, “Oh no, I forgot, I don’t have anything for her!”

“Well, I’d suggest you get a bit of a wiggle-on then, hmm?” Aziraphale said, with what Crowley could only describe as a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

“Yes,” the man stammered, “Yes, I-I suppose I should. Thank you.”

The man left without getting his coffee.

Crowley caught up to his husband, “Come on then, Angel, did your good deed for the day?”

“No rest for the good,” the angel smirked at him, “As it were.”

It was about this time that the man slipped and fell on a freshly mopped floor, sign conveniently missing, but now appearing out of thin air.  His phone flew out of his hand and the screen shattered.

Aziraphale was practically giggly.

Crowley just stared at his angel, ever surprised by him to this day.  Six thousand years doing nothing to dampen that affection.

That’s my Angel, he thought to himself, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.

---

1:34 PM

There weren’t many things in this world that Aziraphale loved more than a nice hole-in-the-wall family restaurant (4).

The feelings of love that emanated from them were nearly intoxicating.  As an angel, a being drawn to love, he gravitated to these establishments.  Passed down from generation to generation, some further back than others.  This one was a particular favorite, for more reasons than one.

“EAT!”

“I already told you, Yaya, I’m not hungry,” Crowley told her for the fifteenth time since they had sat down.

It was always this way here at the Olive Grove.  Yaya thought Crowley was too skinny, she wanted him to eat.  Crowley didn’t like eating, so he didn’t want to5.

All Aziraphale could do was stare from across the table and giggle.  This was his favorite part of coming here, after all.  Crowley may pretend to have a devil-may-care attitude, but the angel knew deep down that wasn’t the case.

Crowley would never admit it out loud, but he had a certain love for Yaya of his own.  One that was misplaced by a Mother many, many eons ago.  There’s a lot to be said for taking care of someone.

Not that any of that prevented Yaya from smacking Crowley’s hand with a wooden spoon as he reached for his phone instead of a fork.

“EAT!”

“Ok, alright, fine, I’m eating,” Crowley grumbled as he picked up the fork.  Satisfied with the results, Yaya gave them both a smile and returned to her own work.

“You know, love, she’s only looking out for you,” the angel said between giggles.  He couldn’t help it; it was always funny to see Crowley embarrassed.

“Doesn’t bloody need to, crazy old bat.”

Despite whatever thoughts Crowley had on crazy old people, bat or otherwise, he was digging rather quickly into the moussaka she had brought him.

Crowley was always a surprise, even after all this time. Aziraphale knew his husband had a soft heart underneath that bluster and bravado.  Demons didn’t do things like sing the (alleged) Antichrist to sleep. Or stowaway children on the ark.  Or save books of prophecy for dithering angels who might forget about them.  Or go for lunches at the Ritz and picnics in the park.

But his demon did, and oh how Aziraphale knew how lucky he was.

He’d given Crowley a million reasons to give up on him through the years.  Calling their friendship ‘fraternizing’, pushing him away when all he wanted to do was pull the demon closer.  That last day before Armageddon was the worst.  Aziraphale still had nightmares.  Of Alpha Centauri and holy water and bathtubs.

But Crowley was always there when Aziraphale would wake from these, holding him and comforting him.  Crowley has nightmares of his own, the angel knows.  Of bookshops and sulfur and bandstands.

Bandstands.  After that day, Aziraphale truly thought he’d lost Crowley for good.  How could he have said something so mean.  I don’t even like you! The furthest thing from the truth he ever could have said.  Fear can make someone do things they wouldn’t, angels are no exception.

Aziraphale props his chin on his hand and looks at Crowley, who is now loudly complaining that no little old bat in a hole-in-the-wall Greek place can tell him what to do (he’s finished the moussaka and moved on to the dolmas at this point).  All the angel can do is sigh.  

Almost a century ago, when the angel had felt their fingers brush over a leather satchel of books in the burning wreckage of a church, he knew that the thing he’d been repressing had a name.  A very familiar one at that.  He tried to keep it at bay for so long, but it all came bubbling over after lunch at the Ritz following Armageddon.  They had been walking and their hands were so very, very close.  Almost touching with every step they took.  Crowley rarely, if ever, had his hands out of his pockets and Aziraphale tended to flip back and forth between worrying his in front of him and having them behind his back.  He’d seen the chance and took it.

And on they had walked, hand in hand, fitting together like missing puzzle pieces.  They didn’t look at each other or speak, both afraid that they might ruin the moment.  

They made it three steps into the bookshop before giving up and kissing each other senseless, no time for talking then, that would come later. In hushed breaths and soft spoken I-love-you’s that had waited for far too many centuries to be spoken into the world.

He’d spent some time at the beginning absolutely terrified.  To him, Crowley was so vibrant and he always seemed to be running on all cylinders.  Aziraphale had been afraid, when it came right down to it, that one day Crowley would wake up and realize just how boring he really was.  Sure, Crowley had always teased him about his fashion and his books among other things but being together in this capacity was so different.  So new and fresh.  Aziraphale was scared he couldn’t live up to the expectations of 6000 years of want.

But here they were, on their own side.  With the rings on their fingers to prove it.  He can’t help but stare.  Crowley’s been growing his hair out long again, and it’s almost to his shoulders now.  It catches the light and is reminiscent of the copper pots that hang as decoration on the walls.  He’s gesticulating wildly to go with whatever nonsense he’s decided to complain about now, and Aziraphale traces the motion, focused on the gold ring that looks like wings on Crowley’s finger.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there staring when Crowley stops ranting and leans in to kiss him gently, breaking him from his self-imposed trance.

“See something you like, Angel?” the demon says with a twitch of that mischievous smile.  The one that he saves for Aziraphale, without the demonic intent behind it.

Which doesn’t change what that smile means for later. But Aziraphale knows how his demon’s mind works.

“Just admiring the most beautiful person in this restaurant, dearest,” and if Aziraphale is right, what comes next is–

“Ngk.”

Yes, just as he thought.  He reaches across the table and takes his husband’s hand, “You do realize you’ve almost made your way through three plates while complaining about Yaya’s concern for you.”

“Well…I…ngk…uh…” the demon stammers, trying to come up with a bad reason to eat the food that Yaya gives him, “Well…um…the thing is. The thing is..”

Aziraphale lets him work through it as he eats his spanakopita and drinks his wine.

“The thing is, Angel, if Yaya keeps giving me this food…that’s less for the paying customers…then business goes under…and then the restaurant closes!  See? Perfectly evil of me!” Crowley smiles smugly and takes a drink of his own wine.

“Except we do pay for our food here, if anything we’re helping the business, so that line is out my dearest.”

“Well…well…uhm…”

Aziraphale loves flustering Crowley this way, it’s always so easy to do and always good for a show.  

“Sometimes you can be quite nice my dear.”

“Shaddap,” Crowley says, sulking into his chair.  The demon looks over to where Yaya is taking an order and she gives him a pointed look.

“Dearest, best eat up, you know she’ll insist on you having the baklava before she lets you leave.”

“Well,” Crowley says quickly and almost inaudibly, “Be rude to let it go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

There’s my demon, Aziraphale thought to himself, sipping his wine and smiling, just a little bit a good person, whether he admits it or not.

---

7:23 PM

In a little flat above a bookshop in Soho, and angel and a demon are watching TV.

Well, they were watching TV.  They’d started out with Crowley resting his head in Aziraphale’s lap while the angel carded his fingers through the demon’s hair.  But then Crowley had stilled the angel’s hand to kiss his wrist.  Which of course meant that Aziraphale had brought Crowley’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. Which led to the demon leaning up to kiss along the angel’s jawline, and that’s how we ended up here.

Snogging on the couch while they were intending to watch TV.

A typical Monday spent the typical ways.  The sun sets, and the calendar turns a page.  There will be more Mondays, more Decembers.  More coffee shops and little Greek restaurants. More anniversaries and holidays.  More interrupted TV shows to go with interrupted morning crossword puzzles, because what can hold a candle to love?  What else does anyone need?

Let us retreat and give them their privacy.  They deserve it after so long being watched by Heaven and Hell alike.  They don’t need to be watched by us as well.

Let us draw these curtains and slip away, and as we do, think of love.  Love everlasting and love unconditional.  Love that waits and is waited for.  A love that is patient, and a love that is kind.

---

1 - Crowley made a habit of remembering his favorite baristas.  If that happened to be most of them, you couldn’t really blame him.

2 - There wasn’t an official ceremony, as it were, they just exchanged their rings in the park while book-girl took pictures from a bush.  But as there had been witnesses (one purple-eyed intrusive spy from Heaven, and one very buzzy spy from Hell) it had been considered official and they had been given rounds of forced congratulations when they got called in for the next freelance assignment.

3 – And if one of these things was a minor miracle that ensured the shop always had those lovely little marshmallows from France when Aziraphale was there, who was anyone to judge?

4 – There were three. The Ritz (too many good memories), Books (too many good stories), and Crowley (there’s not enough space in the footnotes to get into why the demon ranks at the top.  Perhaps there’s a place with copious amounts of stories at the push of a button that could give you a few examples, hmm?)

5 – Crowley and Yaya had done this back and forth since the first visit.  Crowley knows Yaya barely speaks English, and Yaya knows that Crowley doesn’t like to be told what to do.  Neither of these things stop either of them.  They both love it.

[smthngsafootatthecirclek]

Do You Remember?

Good Omens

Requested?  i’ll tell you when it is requested lmao

Warnings? tbh I don’t remember...

A/N: This is one of my favorites. It’s based on the song “Beautiful Birds” by Passenger.

~~~

Angelic wings wrapped around each other, allowing the two Angels to pull each other closer...

Ever since Raphael fell, it was all different. Aziraphale didn't remember him, or the love they shared.

All Aziraphale knew is that they met in Eden.

Crawly

That was his name. Stripped of everything that would give him hope of regaining what he once had.

Crowley

Oh, how Crowley longed for the innocent embraces he and Aziraphale once shared. The fingers running through his hair.

 The gentle touches between two Angels.

The things he would most likely never experience again.

~~~

Aziraphale was growing worried. His dear friend hadn't visited or called him in days. It was out of the ordinary, to say the least, but the Angel hoped it was just Crowley taking a nap. A soft sigh escaped Aziraphale's lips and he set his book down on the end table. His hands settled in his lap and his eyebrows furrowed. Ever since Armageddon that didn't it seemed as though every time he closed his eyes he saw someone. Someone who looked familiar sounded familiar but was too blurry to be recognized. Each time he saw the figure behind his eyelids, he felt immense joy and love. Just the day before, the Angel learned that the figure's name was Raphael. His voice was beautiful. He too was an Angel, but why did Aziraphale not know of him before. Aziraphale laid on his back across the couch as he saw Crowley do many times, dozing. The Angel closed his eyes and the red-haired figure appeared once more, but this time the feeling was different. This time Raphael wasn't talking to him but rather... God?

"Why is this even necessary? Your Great Plan, I mean. What is the point of creating something only to turn around and destroy it?"

To Aziraphale's disappointment, it was a one-sided conversation. Either God refused to conversate with Raphael, or the Almighty's voice was not to be apart of this dream.

"What even is the Great Plan? You never once have told us..."

Suddenly, Aziraphale could feel that Raphael grew worried.

"No... No, please. Please... I won't ask... any more and we can pretend this never happened... No! Please..."

Black feather began to speckle Raphael's wings as he continued to plead. He collapsed to the floor and suddenly they were elsewhere. Raphael sat in a heap on the ground, his new black wings wrapping around himself. As the fallen Angel looked up, Aziraphale could see tears falling from golden eyes.

"You. What isss your name...?"

Raphael jumped at the voice, turning slowly to see a dark figure, "R-Raphael..."

The figure sneered at the sound of the Angelic name, "Guess you haven't heard that you're a demon now. We don't keep those stupid Angelic names... Try again."

Another figure appeared, glancing down at Raphael, "Crawly"

More figures appeared, whispering among themselves the name.

Aziraphale shot up from the couch, his mind racing.

Crawly? Could it be? No... No, it couldn't.  There must've been another...

But there wasn't and Aziraphale knew that.

~~~

Crowley slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting down.

Why did the memories have to be so vivid today...?

All he did was ask the wrong questions and he lost everything.

He pulled his knees close to his chest and began to tremble. A whimper escaped the demon, who ignored a sudden knock at the door.

"Crowley? Are you home? Crowley??" It was Aziraphale.

With a snap of his fingers, the Angel had miracled his way into Crowley's flat and was startled by a crash to his right. Crowley scrambled to get away from Aziraphale not wanting his counter-part to see him in such a state.

"Crowley...? Wh-what is the matter, dear boy?" The Angel cautiously approached Crowley.

Before Crowley could get to his glasses, Aziraphale caught a glance of the demon's teary eyes and froze. He had never seen the other in such a state before. For a moment Aziraphale thought perhaps other demons had come after him and hurt him but quickly concluded that was not the case.

"Why are you here?" Hissed Crowley, who had shoved his glasses on.

"Am I not allowed to visit my friend?" Aziraphale shot back at him and Crowley winced at the word friend, a fresh batch of painful memories flooding his mind.

"Oh stop that!" Raphael scolded playfully before going back to grooming Aziraphale's wings.

Despite his lover's scolding, Aziraphale couldn't help but squirm in his place as Raphael plucked a few feathers.

"If you don't stop that I might have to pin you down..." Raphael chuckled, kissing the back of Aziraphale's neck gently, who shivered at this feeling.

After a while of smoothing, plucking and some scolding, Raphael was finally finished. He gently wrapped his own wings around his lover. A content sigh left Aziraphale's lips as he settled back against the other's chest.

"Crowley" Aziraphale was now on the floor in front of him, his face contorted with concern.

A gentle hand was reaching out to take Crowley's glasses from his face and he whimpered.

"Crowley... please tell me what is going on... what happened?" Aziraphale took the glasses from his friend's face and caressed his cheek.

"Aziraphale, stop. Please, Angel. Stop" The Demon hissed, tears threatened to spill out of his golden eyes and Aziraphale remembered the golden eyes from his dream.

"Raphael..."

Crowley's eyes widened. His ears had to be deceiving him, "Wh-what?"

Aziraphale sat back, instantly fumbling over and searching for words.

"I- Uhm, well uh"

"Angel, what did you say?" Crowley practically lunged toward Aziraphale, "What. Did. You. Say."

The Angel's answer came out as barely a whisper, but Crowley understood it all the same.

"Raphael..-"

"Where did you learn that name??" Crowley was desperate for hope, hope that perhaps Aziraphale did remember him.

"I- Well you see... ever since Armageddon... I have been seeing this Angel in my dreams. A few days ago I learned his name was... Raphael." Aziraphale's eyebrows furrowed, "and the strange thing was that the dreams were more like memories. We interacted, and well, by the way we interacted, I would say we were lovers...

"But today, I finally got a clear look at him and I was reminded of you..." The Angel flushed pink as he realized how that could've been taken, "a-after he... fell, I mean. He looked very much like-"

Aziraphale shut his mouth before he somehow offended Crowley, but the silence from the other made him look up once more. The sight Aziraphale saw before him was heart-wrenching and difficult for the Angel to watch.

Tears poured down Crowley's sculpted features, and his lips curved upwards to form a sad smile, "You remember..."

The two words were enough to make Aziraphale's mouth fall agape and his eyes widen. Crowley couldn't lung forward fast enough for his liking and he embraced the Angel tightly, burying his face in Aziraphale's collar. They sat like this on the floor for several more minutes until the light-haired male felt the other begin to tremble in their embrace.

Crowley was practically sobbing.

"Heaven erased your memories of me when I fell in the fear that they would lose one of their best Angels to Hell if you went out to get me... and so for the past 6000 years I've had to live with the belief that you would never remember what we had..."

A high-pitched noise made Crowley look up at Aziraphale to see that the Angel was on the verge of crying. Tears pooled in Aziraphale's eyes and he squeezed Crowley whispering a soft apology in the Demon's ear. His angelic wings appeared and gently wrapped around the fallen angel. A small sob escaped Aziraphale's lips as he brought his arms up and around Crowley's shoulders, letting his fingers run through the Demon's fiery hair.

Crowley allowed his arms to rest on Aziraphale's sides, not wanting to scare away his angel. As Aziraphale looked down at Crowley he witnessed another memory. He felt a smile grace his lips as he closed his eyes to watch it a moment longer.

The light-haired Angel smiled as his lover woke from his slumber. Raphael had practically fallen asleep atop of him, not that Aziraphale minded, it only meant that he would be able to witness Raphael wake from his peaceful slumber.

Raphael groaned softly, shifting his head to bury it further into Aziraphale's chest but only succeeded in tickling the light-haired male slightly, making him giggle. They laid motionless for a moment longer until Raphael did it again and Aziraphale poked his side.

"I know you're awake, love..." He cooed and pressed a kiss to Raphael's forehead.

"I wasn't trying to hide it, angel..." Raphael sighed, lifting his head from his lover's chest.

The sight brought an even bigger smile to Aziraphale's face and sighed happily.

"I love you..." The Angel whispered.

[hekate1308]

Owe No One Anything, Chapter Eight

Chapter Seven

Even knowing that Aziraphale and he shared a long history, Crowley was somewhat taken aback by the clarity of the angel’s memories. Not because he had feared that they would be gone – although he had – but because there were some he had had no idea of.

He shuddered when he realized where he’d landed in his attempt to find the angel. 1348. There was a reason he’d told Hastur once he would have loved the fourteenth century.

They’d been dropping like flies from the Plague, and there’d been nothing he could do to make it better. So he’d performed small miracles, like tempting a rich man to be able to boast to his friends that he was a benefactor of mankind in order to make him give bread to a poor, sick family and passing them as successes to his bosses downstairs.

He didn’t think he and Aziraphale had met during the plague years, so he was about to turn away since he needed to find him in here somewhere, when he suddenly saw himself enter a house and the angel noticing from across the street.

Of course Aziraphale had been in the middle of it, too; he’d probably healed people even though Heaven wouldn’t have wanted that.

But why…

He saw Aziraphale follow him quietly, apparently intent on finding out what he was doing; and Crowley, temporarily forgetting why he was there, moved automatically to see what happened, mostly because he was confused why Aziraphale hadn’t let him know he’d come across him.

His stomach clenched when he recognized the house. He remembered that.

A family of five, all dead but for a little girl, who’d be the last one to go at sunset.

He knew that because he’d stayed until then, unable to let her face death alone.

He watched Azriphale watch himself through the window. He didn’t need to listen to remember.

“Mummy” she whispered desperately.

“You’ll be seeing her soon, sweetheart” Crowley said while wiping the sweat of her forehead and glancing at the bed where her mother had breathed her last just a short time ago, “I promise.”

What took Crowley aback was the look on Aziraphale’s face.

They had wasted even more time by not being honest with one another than he had thought.

That reminded him.

Time to move on.

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Crowley quickly made his way through more and more memories; then, suddenly realizing that he was going nowhere, he reluctantly stopped and thought.

There had to be something he could do, something that would bring him closer.

And then he remembered a children’s movie he had watched in cinema when it first came out, of all things.

Core memories. There had to be memories that were more important to Aziraphale than others. If they were embedded deeper into his mind, then they must lead to him eventually.

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The first memory he realized was important – from the sheer feel of it, the affection Aziraphale had for it was palpable – was of a small creperie in Paris in 1793.

“And” his past self was currently asking the angel, “Was that worth almost being discorporated for?”

“Oh my dear, they are simply marvellous! You must try one of them –“

“I don’t see why I should take one away from you, since you’re enjoying them so much.”

Present Crowley, meanwhile, was marvelling at the fact that he’d forgotten this was the first time Aziraphale had called him dear.

He smiled at the angel happily devouring his crepes, then realized he was just presenting a mirror image of the demon sitting across from him and hurried on.

Yes. This must be the right path.

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And so he went on for he would never be able to say how long, determined to find his angel or die trying.

The memories that came up where almost exclusively of him and Aziraphale – with a few exceptions of miracles he’d performed and apparently been especially proud of, and small wonder, given how he had apparently convinced young Mozart to study extra hard.

Still, though.

Mostly, Aziraphale’s most treasure memories were of him and Crowley.

Crowley made a mental note to tell him that, could he see inside his head, it would look something like this, too.

Although perhaps not quite in that order.

After their crepes – well, he supposed he could call it a date now – there came the Crucifixion of all things. He didn’t quite understand until he realized that had been the first time when he’d openly admitted doing a good thing to Aziraphale. After all, he hadn’t really tempted Jesus like downstairs had wanted. He had just shown him the world, let him have a bit of fun. He’d deserved it, knowing what would come afterwards.

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Another memory.

The two of them in the Globe theatre, watching Hamlet. The angel was munching away on some grapes, of course, looking pleased at the audience that had congregated.

Personally Crowley still didn’t like the gloomy ones, but it had been worth it just to see Aziraphale smile like that.

“You have to admit he’s wonderful” Aziraphale sighed, his eyes fixed on Burbage.

“Oh yes, wonderful” Crowley echoed, although he was definitely not looking at the actor, his attention focused elsewhere.

Seriously, how had they gotten this so wrong for six thousand years?

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The next memory that felt as if it was of immense significance surprised Crowley somewhat, mostly because it had taken place only a few weeks ago and didn’t seem in any way particularly interesting to him.

They were lounging on the sofa, Aziraphale lost in a book as usual, with Crowley occasionally glancing towards the pages.

Well, obviously. Despite his attempts to make the angel believe that he didn’t do books, he liked to read now and then. Just now and then, mind.

“So what are you reading anyway, angel?”

He looked up and stared at him through his spectacles, clearly needing a moment to return from whatever literary heights the question had pulled him from. “Oh. It’s Stefan Zweig. An –“

“Austrian writer. I’m not that naive, angel. Early to middle of the twentieth century.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Yes! What he has to say about Marie-Antoinette may be incredibly inaccurate, but his language –“

“Would you read to me?” Crowley asked lazily, stretching out so he lay with his head in Aziraphale’s lap. “Too tired to read it myself.”

A pause. When this had happened, Crowley had already closed his eyes to focus on his angel’s voice, so that he hadn’t seen his expression; but now, his heart beat faster when he saw the obvious love in Aziraphale’s face as he began to read and simultaneously run his fingers through his hair.

Crolwey had dozed off one or two chapters in, but he hadn’t minded.

He swallowed and hastened away. If he wanted to make more of those memories, he had to find him.

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Not-Crowley was strangely insistent today. Normally, he left Azriaphale alone after a while, but he’d all but carried him back to the book shop and was now actually busy making tea. He hadn’t bothered to do that since Aziraphale had figured out that this wasn’t real. “What are you doing?”

“You like tea.”

“Yes but it’s not real.”

He sighed. “How often do I have to tell you this is as real as you want it to be.”

“Not at all, then.”

“Again – it’s only a matter of time until they get him out there. You could just stop worrying and enjoy this. You enjoyed the time before you realized, didn’t you?”

He couldn’t deny that he had – he still felt guilty that he had somewhat betrayed Crowley. But certainly the demon would understand once he explained it to him.

He groaned. “Seriously? You still believe that he’ll show up?”

As a matter of fact, Aziraphale was growing more and more convinced that he would. Because there had to be a reason that Not-Corley was still there. And if he was at least partially in his mind to keep him here and growing more desperate…

I am waiting, dear. Don’t worry, I’m holding on.

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Ah. The thwarted Apocalypse. This was one of Crowley’s favourite memories too – mainly because Aziraphale had finally admitted that they were on their own side.

He only gave it a passing glance.

He was getting closer.

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What the –

He hopped around. Why was this –

Oh. The church. Crowley, who’d been working for British counterintelligence back then (and made sure not too many Londoners became victims of the bombs while selling his job to headquarters as planning a few war crimes) hadn’t even stopped to think when he’d learned about the Nazi spies who were tricking Aziraphale.

What he had not been aware of was the look on Aziraphale’s face as he was already walking towards the car.

Crowley recognized that feeling. It had really hit him in a blazing bookstore, but of course it had been building up for much longer, most likely since Eden…

Yes. Now he was getting close. There was no other explanation.

I’m coming, angel.

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“What was that?” Aziraphale asked. He’d busied himself with reading, ignoring not-Crowley; but that last sentence had sounded different than his usual chatter, somehow…

“I wasn’t saying anything since you aren’t listening anyway” he sulked.

Aziraphale glanced at him. He looked… worried?

And that voice…

He’d heard it clear as a bell. I’m coming, angel.

Why would not-Crowley say something like that?

He wouldn’t.

But that meant…

His love must be near.

His heart beating wildly with hope, he got up and put the book away. Time to start to think about a way to deal with not-Crowley.

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Yes. This had to be it. This had to be the last memory.

Crowley knew because – well, it was his favourite, too.

The night after the world had failed to end. The night where Aziraphale finally went home with him and actually took his hand on the bus ride, palm pressed against palm…

He’d then and there sworn to himself that he was never letting go again.

And he wasn’t about to.

Currently, he was staring at them trying very hard to tell each other what they needed to hear on his sofa. Oh Go- oh Satan, had he really stammered that much?

He sighed with relief as Aziraphale gently took off his glasses and said “I understand, dear.”

Of course the angel had been the first of them to lean in for a kiss. Say what you want, but once Aziraphale had made up his mind (even if it took him millennia sometimes) he always acted quickly on it.

And then, for the first time, he saw a door. Until now, the memories had simply followed one after the other without any transition being needed.

He saw it as a good sign and went to open it.

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The important part was that he had to be very careful how to get rid of not-Crowley. There had to be some of his memories of the demon in there, if only to prove the delusion; so he couldn’t just eliminate him. That might have caused problems, not to mention possibly made him forget a few things about Crowley, and he couldn’t allow that.

How to extract all of that, though, that was the problem…

Well, it was his mind. And he remembered what the angels had done to him. Sort of. He shuddered at the thought of doing that to another person – to Crowley – but then, this wasn’t a person, was it? It was a representation of an abstract concept in his mind.

“Angel, it’s cold; why don’t you get away from that window?”

There was something in his voice, something strange and disheartening…

Almost as if he was growing even more nervous. But this was just a street in his mind, so –

And then Aziraphale saw him.

On the street.

Running towards the bookshop.

“Crowley!” he burst out, trying to go and meet him, but being held back by not-Crowley.

“Did you really think” he said quietly, “That it was going to be so easy?”

Chapter Nine