#last night in soho imagine

[bi-bard]

She Moved with Shameless Wonder; The Perfect Creature Rarely Seen - Sandie Collins Imagine [Last Night in Soho]

Title: She Moved with Shameless Wonder; The Perfect Creature Rarely Seen

Pairing: Sandie Collins X Reader

Based On: Foreigner's God

Word Count: 1,087 words

Warning(s): murder (self-defense), violence

Summary: Sandie meets an unexpected kind soul. Little did she know how protective and stubborn that kind soul could become when they saw something wrong.

Author's Note: This is the second story I've written where Matt Smith just gets decked. And they've been different characters.

HOZIER [2014] WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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Meeting Sandie for the first time was more of a coincidence than anything.

It started with me trying to simply be kind. To show an act of good faith to whatever new neighbors opened the door.

I had knocked on her door, only hearing muttering voices going back and forth on the other side of the door. I carefully balanced the plate I was carrying in one hand.

I almost felt shoved backward when the door opened.

There was no arguing that Sandie was gorgeous. She was easily the most beautiful person that I had ever laid eyes on. It was like a siren song. I had no choice other than to keep my focus solely on her.

I wasn't one to entertain the concept of fate, but I questioned it less harshly in that moment.

I tried to make it seem like I wasn't completely entranced by her. "H-Hi."

"Hi," she replied. Her voice was more inquisitive than mine. But I wasn't shocked by that.

"Sorry, I just... I moved in recently. Across the street," I vaguely motioned in that direction. "I wanted to introduce myself. Make a good impression."

She raised an eyebrow at me.

"Honestly, you've been the only person to answer."

I forced an awkward laugh as silence filled the space around us.

"Well, I made brownies," I continued. I awkwardly offered them to her. "I'm (Y/n)."

She took the plate from me. "Sandie."

"Nice to meet you."

That was when a man stepped out from behind the door.

"Oh, hello," I waved at him. "I'm (Y/n)."

He reached out to shake my hand. "Jack."

He made me uneasy.

Something about him seemed off. His smile seemed false. It felt like the charm he showed would cause some kind of light in his eyes. But they were... dark. Strangely dark. Like any kindness he showed was merely a shell hiding something much worse underneath.

I tried to hide the nervousness with a smile.

"I'll leave you both to enjoy those," I said. "If you ever need anything, then I'm just across the street. I'll usually answer."

They both nodded to me.

I walked away with one more wave.

I didn't have many conversations with Sandie or Jack after that day.

I saw Sandie quite often. She would be coming or going around the same time that I was. We would wave to each other. A small sign of good nature.

At first, she seemed to only do it out of politeness. I could tell by the tightness of her grin and the abruptness of her movements. I never took it personally. She may have had more to her story than I knew. I had no right to assume that I understood all of her thoughts.

Over time, she seemed to warm to me more.

Her smile softened. Her eyes too. Her waves would be far less stiff and awkward. An act of politeness turned into that of friendship and some kind of shared respect.

I never intended to interfere with Sandie's personal life.

I had all intention to keep to myself and allow her to make her own choices.

But everyone had personal limits for things like that.

My limit was met one night.

I had gotten home later than usual. I was about to go inside when I heard yelling across the street. It made me stop.

I had heard couples bickering before. But this just seemed... different. Something was pushing me to go over there. To do something.

It was so out of character for me. But I still did it.

No one would answer when I knocked. I moved and slammed my shoulder into it. I was alarmed at how easy it was for the door to open.

The yelling seemed to get even louder.

I recognized Sandie's voice first.

I panicked, running up the stairs to find her. The door to her room wasn't locked.

I opened it to find Jack and Sandie yelling in each other's faces. He had his hands wrapped around her wrists. They both paused, looking at me.

"What the hell are you doing," I asked.

"Get out," he snapped at me. He only let go of one of Sandie's arms, twisting it a bit as he stepped over to me. "This is none of your business."

"It became my business when you grabbed her," I replied.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, it is!"

Sandie took the distraction as her chance to yank her arm out of his hand. That's when I spotted the knife nearby. My mind felt like it was going at the speed of light. What had he been planning that night?

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he muttered.

He stepped closer to me.

I don't know what convinced me to do this, but I lifted my fist and punched him. It wasn't going to do much damage because I had never properly punched someone before, but it was enough to force him to stumble back a bit. I stepped forward, grabbing Sandie's hand.

"Come on," I told her.

Jack had already pulled himself back together, ignoring the blood running from his nostrils. He moved to grab at me.

I only managed to push him back. It felt like slow motion after that. All I truly saw was Sandie stabbing the knife into Jack's chest.

I went into shock after that.

She continued stabbing him. Over and over.

I didn't get my body to move for a moment. Not until I realized that Sandie was coated in blood and Jack was left on the floor. If he wasn't dead, then he would be soon.

I grabbed her arm. "Sandie, stop!"

She stopped moving when she felt my hand. She looked at me. Tears were built along the bottom of her eyes. She was shaking.

"It's over," I promised.

A sob escaped her. I carefully pulled her away from the body as I hugged her tightly.

"It's over, it's over," I kept repeating. "It's all done. You're okay."

I pressed a kiss to her head.

"Come on," I guided her to stand up. "We should get you cleaned up."

"What about him," she asked as we walked to the door.

I glared at him. "No one will miss him. Not really."

She took a deep breath.

"We'll take care of this," I continued. "I swear. We'll handle this. I'll protect you. As long as you're safe, I'll do anything."

She slowly nodded. "Thank you."

I let a grin pull at my lips. "Anything for you."

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Author's Note: I was trying to kind of hint that Eloise was there for this and had a hand in getting the reader over there for the fight. How'd I do?

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#sandie collins imagine #sandie collins fanfiction #sandie collins x reader #imagine #fanfiction #x reader #last night in soho imagine #last night in soho fanfiction #last night in soho x reader #anya taylor joy imagine #anya taylor joy fanfiction #anya taylor joy x reader

[homosatan-016]

really want Anya Taylor-Joy to play live action Jinx

#shes perfect #jinx #jinx league of legends #jinx the loose cannon #jinx arcane #jinx powder #powder #jinx x y/n #arcane #silco arcane #league of legend art #league of legends #anya taylor joy #the northman #last night in soho #actress #live action #headcanon #fan cast #imagine dragons #slay

[itsbacontimesomewhere]

Horror movie trailer with frank sinatra's some enchanted evening when

#I'm thinking in a similar vein to the last night in soho trailer #god just imagine

[guardian-of-soho]

For how tender and domestic (and “quiet and romantic”) the new season is, there’s such an endless sense of hovering danger around the little haven of the bookshop in the present day (not to mention the flashbacks). It’s implied they’ve been left alone a few years; but it’s clear the peace is ending.

From the moment “Jim” arrives we’re never left a minute without the shadow of Heaven or Hell darkening the doorstep of the bookshop and their safety, until the night the last-ditch dance to hold Heaven off turns into Hell coming over the threshold. They’re not left to peace. They’re not allowed to find their human happiness — not via the dance nor even by their one big kiss — not so long as Heaven and Hell want them gone. Not so long as their love stands as the threat to Eternity that it is.

That’s the only way I can make any sense of Aziraphale’s return to Heaven. They never left him alone, and for all he seemed sure of himself in helping Jim hide from them, and wooing Crowley amidst their invasions, and even refusing the Metatron at first — he must have felt the end approaching. He must have known that whatever was done to Jim could be done to him too.

He could lose himself. He could lose his capacity to protect Crowley, or Soho and the humans he loved. He could lose all memory of what had been so precious to him, worth defying Heaven for, and why he was on Earth, and who he could trust, and why.

Others have pointed out how determinedly he ignores Crowley’s fear amid the dancing. I think — I hope — that it’s not that he doesn’t want to hear him. It’s that he is pushing back his own fear to reach for happiness; it’s that he needs so badly to let him know he loves him, before it’s too late. He needs to have a moment’s romance. He knows “too late” is coming.

And then it’s there.

And still when Heaven offers him a way to dodge the doom they bring, he refuses point blank until they promise he can buy Crowley’s safety by his surrender. (And it is a surrender, for all he says he believes he’ll be in charge. Within moments of losing Crowley he’s giving the Metatron the same fake smiles and feigned agreement he’s always offered Heaven. He’s leashed again.) He wants their safety, he wants it unassailable, and I hope that’s the first reason he went back. (I don’t imagine the promise of their approval meant nothing to him. I think he wants their power and their praise. But I don’t believe it was what he wanted first.)

He’s just watched their haven (our shop!) invaded by Hell, and then by Heaven, and then watched two traitors in love, the heads of their sides, driven to the far reaches of the universe under threat of being followed — that’s not the end he wants for him and Crowley. He doesn’t imagine Heaven can be as sweet for them as Earth; but he believes their days on Earth are numbered. I think having watched their refuge breached so easily has had the same effect on him that watching it burn had on Crowley — nothing feels safe anymore; nothing feels permanent.

But Crowley’s reaction was “I want to spend whatever time we have left together as far away as we can get,” Aziraphale’s is “I want to invade the heart of the threat and turn it into home.” They’re so terribly brave; and they’re so in need of some humans showing them how to face down a threat together instead of running or joining it. I want to watch a replay of the airfield last stand, and the bookshop battle, but with power enough on their side to win Earth’s permanent peace.

I want Crowley and Aziraphale both to decide that even without Adam’s power or any particular prophecy or a tangible plan, they’ll take their chances on the humans’ side for good and all, and count it worth the dangers. And I want to see them win. Earth’s side has been theirs; they deserve to be sheltered and saved by it, too.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #a/c #the new season is honestly so scary for how sweet it is #Jim’s situation is presented as funny but it’s also a horror story #he was so close to losing everything and never even knowing it had happened #there’s no way Aziraphale didn’t think about that happening to him

[bcacstuff]

As you can imagine after last night's post, my inbox is flooded with message. It was already flooded on Wednesday after the article on JJ appeared, I showed you in a video. After I recorded that video the messages kept on coming in and after last night a 100-150+ more.

You got it, even if I wanted to, I simply can't answer you all. Many are similar to what I wrote, to the comments on that post, diverse opinions, expressions and more of that.

I do not wish to go on and on and on about this subject. I showed you what I had to show and tried to do so in the most appropriate but honest way. I left a warning in the middle that from there things were not going to be pretty. I can not make them prettier than they are. I showed you the facts like they are out there, you can try to ignore them, or stick your head in the sand. You can try to explain it away to fit your narrative, but the facts are going to stay there. They wont go away. It simply is what it is.

I do want to address some messages I received though, mostly echoing very naive things clearly coming from another blog. I have issues with that, as it obviously tries to twist facts out there for everyone to see and some in a very nasty way dragging Cait into this.

Saying Cait's picture is also on x rated websites is a lame, poor, ridiculous excuse to try and make it look like this girl isn't an escort, or that her pictures are stolen and put on these sites. Sorry, not sorry... if you can not tell the difference between Cait's web presence and that of an escort girl, you're a lost case sticking your head deep in the sand and ignoring the facts. Cait has nothing - I repeat nothing whatsoever to do with this whole mess.

She's not a model, a model shows her work on her IG, has an agency in her profile, and shows what brands she promotes. none of that can be found on her IG. You need to be blindfolded not to see how her IG already reeks towards the profession she earns her shown designer stuff and travels with. And a simple look at the persons she follows, the comments on her posts, her interactions tells you the rest. I mean, just one; a name like dubaichampagnepapi with a shady agency and a private club in Dubai tells you enough. I can go on and on, but as said (and as said in my initial post) I don't want to blow things up unnecessary. I don't need to show you ten more escort sites where she is listed all with different pics. It doesn't add more to the proof. Nuf said

I do not have any need to convince you, please keep your head in the sand and stay on the blog of your liking. Don't bother to sent me all these blind excuses, or ignorant echoing a certain blogger. Learn to use your own brain.

That also goes for the ones trying to excuse Sam on all kind of possible ways. Sorry, he created this mess himself. He didn't meet that woman by chance in a bar and then walked out of the bar holding her hand. Sorry, that is just plain naive, you got to admit that to yourself. These women do not hang out in a bar in Soho London. They go to Mayfair, shisha lounges, smoking water pipes, like the one LM posted last night. Just take a look at those sort of bars, you wont find Sam in there, that much I know.

It's not a crime what he did, it's just not looking that good and he surely knows it, hence he turned of the tags on his IG for the ones he doesn't follow. He isn't the first and he wont be the last. It was just not a very smart move. No need to blow it up though. We wont see anymore of that woman of that I'm sure.

I'm not sure yet, I might find some Anon messages perhaps tonight or over the weekend that I would like to answer, address or post. But please let's keep it all within normal perks and don't get overboard with things.

Thank you!

[hikarry]

Girl, sit down. I'm about to slap you with another imagine

*claps hands*

Ready?

Imagine: 1802, Russia. Czar Alexander I in power

Crowley infiltrated the palace as a war General.

A maid just handed him an envelope while he was walking around the gardens, and he was quick to open it with his finger. It was Aziraphale's, from Soho, London. A long one, as they usually were.

He scanned it quickly, just taking the general idea - he would read more calmly when he was home, by himself, and not feeling like he was being watched.

At the end of the second page, finally, something actually caught his attention. Aziraphale was going to Krasnaya Polyana, around a day away from Moscow. Apparently, there had been a spike of demonic activity there, and Heaven had sent him to investigate. He was asking if Crowley had anything to do with it, but he clearly didn't. He had been stuck in Moscow for 7 months now. But, alas, he also had no idea who it could be. He was not informed that another demon was topside in this region. And, for some reason, the angel going to the encounter of an unknown demon was not sitting well with him. He folded the letter and hid it in his jacket's pocket.

Aziraphale was a big angel. He could look out for himself... yet that did not mean Crowley couldn't try and find out who was causing mayhem in Krasnaya Polyana, did it?

As soon as Crowley got home that night, he wrote a quick note to one of his contacts in Hell, asking for information and readied himself to wait for at least 3 days before he got an answer. Surprisingly, it took only a night. When he woke up, there was a small note on his bedside table. He picked it up and turned it around, reading quickly. He sucked in a sharp breath before re-reading the note, just to make sure he was understanding correctly.

Asmodeus was topside. Along with Vine. A Prince and a Duke of Hell, and Aziraphale was walking right to the lion's mouth by himself.

Right. Okay.

Crowley read it one last time before burning it in his hands.

He had to find an excuse to get himself sent to Krasnaya Polyana as soon as possible, preferably before Asmodeus and Vine caught Aziraphale's scent around. The angel might be an ex-cherubim, but Satan knew what a real Prince of Hell could do to him and Crowley was surely not going to sit in the sidelines to find out.

A week and a half later - way way later than he expected - he got himself in Krasnaya Polyana. As soon as he got out of the train, he was hit with the smell of sulfur and a heavy feeling of evil all around.

With no bags to carry or to worry about, he just closed his eyes and reached out for Aziraphale's essence. He could feel it, barely. If his senses weren't mistaken, he was somewhere in the mountain.

Could Crowley help it, he wanted to avoid meeting both the Prince and the Duke. He only hoped Aziraphale was still off their tracks.

It was snowing heavily. The mountain was covered in ice, and the wind was frigid and white, somehow. It made it very, very hard to see or even focus enough to grasp Aziraphale's essence and keep following it.

His boots sank in the snow, and it didn't take long for his legs to start hurting and his insides to feel raw from the cold.

At the peripheral of his vision, he could also feel two very distinguishable demonic essences. The stronger one was in the city, which Crowley had already left behind, and the other was barely visible, somewhere on the top of the mountain, but considerably far away from Aziraphale.

The angel was alright. Probably he was in one of those ski places slightly up the mountain. And, confident in that thought, Crowley forced himself to stop and enter a bar nearby. Exhausting himself would not help the angel, so he needed a little break to recover and be able to continue to climb the bloody mountain.

He was sitting at a table, half full glass of vodka between his hands, when a loud groan was heard outside and the whole building shook, all the lights going out. People around him gasped and yelled, holding themselves to the furniture and each other until the tremor stopped.

"Oh goodness, what was that?" A woman asked near the bar with a very heavy French accent, both her arms around a man that held her just as close.

"An avalanche." The bartender answered, walking around to light up some candles. "And a strong one at that. There might be replicas, so everyone should stay put for at least an hour or-"

Yeah...so, Crowley didn't exactly hear the rest. He just tossed the vodka down in a single swing and got up from his seat, slithering around the people in the bar until he reached the door. He felt a hand on his arm, trying to pull him back when he reached for the doorknob, but he shook it away, finally getting outside.

The layer of snow outside was so thick now that his boots didn't dig into it. So he ran. Which didn't help with his respiratory system and, consequently, the rest of his body feeling raw and frozen all at the same time in less than few seconds. It took longer for his legs to get tired, but he was already tired, regardless. Still, he soldiered on, all riding on adrenaline and low-key panic.

"Aziraphale!" When Crowley started feeling his essence more clearly he started calling out for him, trying to see through the fog and the snow still falling. Not even his demonic eyes were helping on that task.

Eventually, he got to a spot where he could feel the essence so strongly that he actually felt its warmth, so he stopped and looked around, his heart hammering against his chest and his breath rasp and heavy.

"Aziraphale?" He turned on himself. There was no sign of Aziraphale anywhere... but he could swear the angel should be right here... and suddenly, it clicked. "No..." He was under the snow, wasn't he? "Fuck. Aziraphale!"

Crowley took a few steps to the left and fell to his knees, his trousers getting ice cold soaked as he dig the snow as fast as he could. He had no idea how much time had passed, but finally, he found some cream fabric under the snow.

"No, no, no, no. For fucks sake, Aziraphale!" Still digging, he started talking to himself, mainly not to let the panic spiral and keep himself grounded. "Why is it always you?! Don't those wanker archangels have any other angel to throw into a frozen nightmare after their bloody death?!"

From there, it was rather easy to dig his torso and his face from under the snow.

Aziraphale was frozen to the touch, his lips were an awful shade of bluish-purple and his corporation was not breathing.

Okay. Crowley. Just. Don't. Panic.

He held Aziraphale by the shoulders and pulled him the rest of the way out of the snow.

"Angel?" At some point he had thrown his gloves to the side to make digging easier, so now he placed his equally frozen, wet and trembling hands on Aziraphale's cheeks. With his demonic essence, he tried to reach out for Aziraphale's and the angel's essence reached back instantly like a cougar attacking its unattentive prey, surprising the demon, who staggered back, hands away from the angel, snapping his essence back inside his own corporation.

Alright. Aziraphale was quite clearly still here, and he was either so out of his mind he pounced on Crowley with the default intent to smite him, or he was just plainly terrified.

Carefully, both his hands once again on the angel's face, he slowly reached out, this time more prepared for when Aziraphale's essence jumped on him.

Aziraphale wasn't trying to smite him. He was reaching for warmth.

Crowley's corporation shallowed as he sat back and pulled Aziraphale to his lap, upping his body heat as much as he possibly could. It didn't feel great. In fact, it felt like he was having a very bad fever, and his mind swam a bit with the sudden difference in temperature, but he had to try and keep the angel warm. On a metaphysical level, Crowley's True Form surrounded Aziraphale's, as tight as metaphysically possible, trying to keep him stable. Keep him here. His essence was flickering a bit, and Crowley wasn't having any of it.

"Don't you dare discorporate, you bastard."

Crowley looked around. There was nowhere warm where he could take the angel close enough. Try as he might, this was only a temporary solution. One that wasn't doing much at that.

Suddenly, his head snapped back to attention as he felt a demonic presence getting closer.

Fucking Heavens, that was exactly the last thing he needed right now. There was nowhere to hide, and even if he found some place, the Duke would feel Aziraphale's essence and hunt like a starved dog.

Right. Think. Preferably before Aziraphale fucking discoporates in your arms.

The only idea that came to mind was miracling a small cabin or whatnot into existence right then and there. It would be a big ass miracle, and he would be exhausted afterward, but his priority was keeping Aziraphale here. So he took a long breath and snapped his fingers, a small wooden cabin showing up right behind them.

Gently, Crowley got up and took Aziraphale in his arms, walking them both into the cabin. At least inside there was no more wind or snow, and whatever body heat his body produced would remain trapped between the four walls.

Sitting Aziraphale on the floor with his back against the wall, Crowley detached his cape from his shoulders and wrapped it around the angel before turning his attention to the door.

Vine would find a cabin in the middle of a bloody mountain suspicious, as he should.

Crowley was tired, both physically, mentally and metaphysically, and his miracle reservoir was quite affected by that and the big ass miracle he just performed, but he had to put up wards around this place that not only masked the cabin, but both his and Aziraphale's essences from the Duke's radar. It was easier said than done, but he had no time to dilly dally. With each snap, he felt his mind go foggy, and his vision tilt to the side. Yet, he kept going until everything was more or less in place. All he could do for now was pray. Or not pray. He was a demon. Demons didn't pray

He sat on the floor next to Aziraphale and pulled him into his lap, hugging him against his chest and upping his body temperature once again. This time, he was invaded by a sudden nausea, and his eyes unfocused, but he kept it up, trapping Aziraphale's True Form with his own once again.

"Stay with me, angel." It was more a wordless request than a whisper.

There they stayed, Crowley with his head leaned against the wall and Aziraphale unconscious on his arms.

Slowly but surely, Aziraphale's skin started warming up, and his lips changed to a very pale pink, but pink nonetheless.

Crowley was exhausted. Part of him was begging him to close his eyes and sleep, but if he did his body temperature would go back down to normal and his essence would spring back to his corporation, letting go of Aziraphale and that wasn't an option. Not until he was concious.

In the back of his mind, he noticed when the demonic presence got dangerously close to where they were. Instinctively, he hugged Aziraphale more tightly, holding his breath. He felt truly frozen in place while the Duke slowly walked by them and only allowed himself to somewhat relax again when he was far away enough. Yet, he didn't put down the wards. They were consuming a lot of his energy, and his body was growing somewhat numb, but he refused to let go.

Aziraphale's corporation took a deep breath and slowly started shaking.

Good. That was good. He was coming back to himself.

It was a slow process, but when the night fell outside, Aziraphale finally stirred, opening his eyes with quite the effort.

"Crowley...?" His voice was sluggish, but Satan was it good to hear it. The demon was too weak to answer with words, so he only hummed, gripping him more strongly. "What happened...?"

Gradually, Crowley let his body heat fall to its normal temperature, and he let the ward hidding the cabin fall. It was like someone had taken a boulder off his chest, but his mind was still somewhat slow. He looked down at Aziraphale, his sunglasses lost somewhere in the snow outside while he had been digging.

"There's was an avalanche. You got trapped in it. Buried yourself 7 feet under a block of ice."

Aziraphale moved slightly on his lap, straightening himself up so he was actually sitting.

"You're supposed to be in Moscow."

"Observant."

"What are you even doing here, Crowley?"

He thought about dropping his arms from around Aziraphale, but he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"Saving your arse once again, obviously. If I had stayed in Moscow, right now your corporation would be a popsicle and you would be upstairs getting an earful from Gabriel or that wanker Michael. So, you're welcome."

The angel didn't say anything else. Instead, he let his head fall on Crowley's shoulder, and both of them stayed in silence, only their ragged breathes and the wind outside making themselves heard.

"You need to leave Russia. Or, at least, Krasnaya Polyana."

"I can't." His hand was gripping the front of Crowley's jacket, the demon wasn't sure he was aware of that. "I have an assignment to complete."

"It's completed." Aziraphale's head snapped up, looking the demon in the eye. "You came here to figure out why there was a spike of demonic energy here, yes? There's a Prince and a Duke of Hell. Asmodeus and Vine. That's why."

"I can't just leave these people in the hands of two demons! I have to find out whatever it is they are trying to do!"

"That's not part of your assignment. You had to know the cause, now you know. You will write your report as soon as you can and get the heavens out of here before they sniff you out."

"Crowley, you're being ridic-"

"You are leaving, Aziraphale." Now it was his turn to look the angel in the eye, his voice as cold as the ice outside. "You've never dealt with a Duke of Hell, much less a Prince. You've mainly dealt with me and, let's be honest with ourselves, I give you little to no trouble. You are not prepared to face either of them. Asmodeus could easily discorporate you on sight. Or kill you. Actually kill you. Destroy your essence. They are not some random demons you can waltz to and have a polite conversation with." Aziraphale stayed quiet, unmoving. "You are leaving and that's final."

"You can't order me around."

"I'm trying to save your bloody life, Aziraphale!" His arms let go of the angel, and his hands came up to grab his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "This is not a joke. They will not stop by to have tea and biscuits and discuss the weather while you convince them to leave. Stop being fucking stubborn for once in your damn life! You did what you came to do. Just tell Gabriel that they are here and leave." Aziraphale looks down to his hands. "I'm serious, angel." He held the angel's chin, pushing him to look up at him again. "I'm not leaving you here with them. You either come with me to Moscow or go straight back to London to the bookshop."

Crowley feels the vibrations of Aziraphale humming on his fingers.

"Very well, my dear. Whatever you say." The angel got up from his lap and the demon followed him, swaying on his feet. Aziraphale held his arm, stabilizing him. "Are you quite alright?"

He kept his eyes closed for a few moments until his mind stopped feeling sluggish. Probably because he took too long answer, Crowley felt Aziraphale's fingers brushing his. He finally let down the two last wards and took the deepest breath.

"I'm fine. Just. A lot of big miracles. And you grabbing at my essence and True Form like a dehydrated man in the desert." Aziraphale's hand flinched away and he was about to open his mouth to say something, but Crowley cut it, holding his hand, squeezing it. "I said I'm fine. Let's go back to civilization, shall we?"

They did go back to civilization. To Moscow in the first train out from Krasnaya Polyana, to be more precise.

Aziraphale stayed with Crowley in his flat at the capital for 3 days. He wrote the report as soon as they arrived, and both waited to hear something from Gabriel in the next few days, but silence was all they got. On the 3rd day, when Aziraphale had his train back to Paris and then to London, Crowley insisted on seeing him out, so he had to leave the palace in quite the hurry, with no chance to switch out his uniform.

"Thank you for seeing me out, dear. Or should I say..." Aziraphale tapped Crowley's hat. ", General?"

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly, smiling in response.

"Shut up."

"I'm not jesting. You've always looked rather... fetching in a uniform. When was the last time you wore one? American Revolution?"

"I believe so."

Aziraphale hummed, fixing Crowley's left shoulder pad.

"You always wore them much better than I did."

"Usually you are at the hospitals saving lives, angel. Not in the battlefield."

The angel snorted.

"Not like you are in the battlefield actually fighting yourself."

"Oi! I have fought!"

"Mmh. I've never seen you holding a gun. And the last time I saw you brandishing a sword was back in the Gallic Wars, back in 58 BCE."

"Ngk."

Aziraphale chuckled, taking a step back, grabbing his suitcase.

"Will you be back in London?"

"Myeah. Should be done here in another year or so."

"Shall I keep watering your plants?"

"You've got the key, don't you?"

"Indeed." They heard the train making the last call and both looked towards the noise before looking back at each other. "Do try to not get yourself discorporated."

"Likewise. I'll see you in a year, angel."

Aziraphale nodded and started walking away, dragging his suitcase behind him. Before stepping through the train's entrance, he looked back, spotting the demon exactly where he left him, still watching him. Crowley winked and saluted him, pulling a chuckle out of Aziraphale's throat.

Crowley was ridiculous.

And so the angel went back to London. Alive. And out of the rather of any demonic entity, apart from the one he wanted to stay in the radar of.

#yes i was watching Anastasia and this got stuck in my head. i had to offer yall my little vision #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley

[indigovigilance]

Every single minisode is Aziraphale's memory, and why that's [not?] important

There is extensive meta-analysis, my own included, that Before the Beginning is a doctored memory resulting from erasure of Angel!Crowley, and that the trace of him that is left in Aziraphale's memory is the Starmaker, so that this is what we see at the opening of S2. With this foundation of "some scenes are altered memories," we can critically examine the minisodes and see that, in fact, they are ALL Aziraphale's memories that are potentially subject to doctoring.

Evidence (and exploration) below the cut:

A Companion to Owls

The largest part (S2E2 22:10 to 44:00) Book of Job flashback is book-ended by Aziraphale leaning over the physical Book of Job in his bookshop. We enter the memory when Aziraphale enters it, we leave it when he leaves it. Pretty straightforward.

The Ressurrectionists

Similarly, in S2E3, we begin the first flashback to 1827 with Aziraphale's "dear diary" entry. We flash out each time to Aziraphale: in the car to Edinburgh, getting out of the car at the Ressurrectionist Pub, and with Aziraphale staring up at the statue of Gabriel while standing in the graveyard in Edinburgh, respectively for each of the three flashbacks. This all strongly indicates that we've been in his memory.

Nazi Zombie Flesheaters

I didn't even notice until I was doing research for this that basically the entire episode takes place in 1941. From the end of the main title at 5:00 to 37:50, we never come out of the 1941 story. But what is interesting is what bookends this minisode.

Before the main title, Shax has tricked her way into Aziraphale's car and alludes to a time when a rumor started about our ineffable husbands:

Sometime in the last 80 or 90 years I remember hearing that you and Crowley were an item. I didn't believe it then. Not really. Poor old Furfur.

And when we flash back to modern day, we first go to Hell with Shax proposing a full frontal assault on the bookshop, and then we get:

Aziraphale has arrived back in SOHO, and has spent the 8 hour drive reminiscing about what Shax alluded to.

But this part gets even weirder. Because the final line of the episode is:

You're really hosting the meeting? Absolutely! And I can guarantee you: it will be a night to remember!

What this means in context of the 3 memory sequence

This line has been taken by a lot of analysts as a reference to A Night to Remember by Walter Lord, a collection of first person accounts of passengers of the Titanic. Most notably, the thematic ties of this work to the cinematographic design of Good Omens are captured by this quote:

A key to Lord's method is his technique of adopting an unconventional approach to the chronology of the event, "[taking] an imaginative approach to time and space in which hours and minutes prove extremely malleable, the ship itself seems almost infinitely complex, and the disaster assumes order and unity from far away."

Which is an amazing connection, and probably true, in that it was a deliberate reference by the writers. "Malleability of time and space" describes well how this show is put together for us the viewer. But it also illustrates how Aziraphale experiences his relationship with Crowley; skipping over centuries at a time, while dwelling on and protracting intimate moments spent together, create a cohesive whole when viewed from a distance. That whole is their relationship. [Which is about to go down like an unsinkable ship.]

But absent the literary reference, we could even take this line for its literal meaning. Aziraphale is talking about forming new memories, after we have spent the last three episodes living in his memories of times with Crowley that were key to shaping their relationship. This isn't a S1E3-style series of allusions to a furtive, flirtatious, and organically blossoming intimacy; these are rough events where the two are shoved into moral quandaries and forced to make some really difficult decisions that bring them closer together and define "their side." These are core memories, and incredibly precious to Aziraphale. And now, after a few short days in which he has spent a lot of time ruminating on these intense memories, he is embarking upon the task of making another important memory, that is, dancing with Crowley.

Why We Care

Because memories can be altered, all of the information we get from these episodes is subject to a reliable narrator problem. As of the Gabriel trial, we know that memories can be doctored even when the person in question isn't present. Crowley knows that his memories have been removed or altered, and has put painful effort into retrieving them. Aziraphale may not realize that he has suffered the same fate. These memories that he holds so dear might not even be true.

Memory, Identity, and the Relevance of Fidelity

We would probably expect to get some "corrections" to these memories in S3, to see exactly what kind of manipulations our heroes suffered and what that reveals about the motivations of the perpetrators. That's how a paranormal mystery story with a memory manipulation element would normally proceed.

But it will be even more significant if we don't; it would speak to a philosophy-of-self that you are not the product of your objective past, but of what you remember, and so we don't get to know what actually happened because it doesn't matter to informing us about who Aziraphale is.

Aziraphale's love for Crowley springs from what he remembers about their shared past; it doesn't necessarily matter that the memories aren't true, because the love is.

~~~

I realize that I kinda buried the lead, so if you reblog, please tag appropriately? I'm taking suggestions.

If you want to read more on this topic, this meta by @ineffable-suffering is a good place to go.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziraphale #crowley #memory #good omens memory #erasure theory #ivoc

[toxicanonymity]

Hope you don't mind me spamming you a bit. I appreciate your reviews and commentary! Other movies that came to mind which I enjoyed were Ready Or Not, The Invitation, Don't Breathe, Black Christmas, Last Night inSoho (technically this is a horror movie). And because it's popular, what are your thoughts on A Quiet Place?

I don't mind one bit. These are fun questions, especially this one. Buckle up lmaoooo.

Ready or Not - I liked it, and it inspired the wedding dress in one of my darker stories.

The Invitation - Hell yes, love a dark dinner party movie. Won't spoil why.

Don't Breathe - Loved. So depraved. If you haven't seen it I won't spoil, but holy shit lol. Kink alert.

Black Christmas - Yes! Prefer the original by a mile, but enjoyed the Blumhouse take too.

Last Night in Soho - Need to see this, it's on my list.

A Quiet Place - Okay. . .Just my passionate opinion: I fear there is no movie I despise more. My disdain is well-known among friends. I'm about to go off.

Krasinski referring to his film as "elevated horror" put him on my bad side from the start. Really low to put down others to promote himself. Dismissing an entire diverse genre, disrespecting everyone who paved the way.

Krasinski gets (takes) far too much credit for things that have been done and done better, including the climax which mirrors The Descent Part 2, shot-for-shot. Don't Breathe is another example of the have-to-be-quiet premise.

Huge hit among non-horror fans who didn't know better and raved about its originality. Meanwhile gushing, "I'm not even into horror." Soo maybe they hadn't seen much? Especially lesser known movies. The horror tent is big enough for all, but he brought new fans into it while infusing them with his condescending attitude.

Far too many gratuitous close-ups of himself going 🤫. This man's ego, stg.

Some of us detected a strong whiff of right-wing energy. Pro-life in a risk everyone's lives for a fetus way. Pro-gun in a rural, white, get off my land way (btw I'm obsessed with John Wick. it's not the use of guns in this, it's the energy).

He bragged about how his wife was so unaffected by her most intense scene (childbirth) that after it she said, "Who's ready for lunch?" Why is that so good, John? Is your view as a director that actors should snap in and out of character and not be affected by their roles? If she needed to cry or rest, would he think less of her? Personally I admire people who feel. Also, harder to imagine paying a man the same compliment.

I have one nice thing to say, which is that it's nice to see deaf/hard-of-hearing representation, and it was the least they could do good to cast an actress from the community as his daughter.👍

If they committed to total silence instead of using a dramatic score, that would've been cool.

You can do your own take on an old concept and make it good. But to meanwhile put down everything else to distinguish/promote himself?? That ain't it.

Anyway, I still hate-watched the sequel (not nearly as bad) and may do the same with the prequel 🤪.

#horror!ask #toxask #RANT AHEAD #i have QUALMS so many qualms with A Quiet Place #elevated horror #HOT TAKE #hot horror take

[cellophaine]

Adornment

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: sot!dark!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Choking – soft!dark!Matt, possessive tendency, masturbation.

Author's Note: This is somewhat different from what I usually write. I do hope that it’s a good difference 🤞

GIF Credit: found on @malydiamakingifhunts-blog

Matt knew he shouldn't have done what he did. He knew it was wrong, yet he couldn't help but do it anyway. His Catholic guilt triumphed over most things, keeping him on the righteous path. Still, he strayed when it came to being the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, and you. 

Holding the lacy slip of fabric in his hand, Matt strode to the safety and comfort of his bed, dropping his entire weight onto it. The mattress dipped, moulding to his body of lean muscles and pure strength. His heart was loud, still reeling from the thrill of what he had just done. Bringing the flimsy fabric up, he draped it over his face before nosing the material and taking a deep breath. His nostrils were filled with your scent, and his mind strayed to where he was just minutes before.

It was earlier that day, sometime in the afternoon, when you told him and Foggy about your plan for the night. You would go out, catching up with a few friends over dinner and a few drinks at a new bar in Soho. If you were lucky, your friends would let you off the hook a bit after a sufficient amount of booze. However, knowing your friends' habits, which had been a long time since you last saw them, you knew it would take longer than that. “I'm expecting to stay out well after midnight,” you said, buzzing with reluctant excitement. Which made it perfect for Matt to execute his plan. He did his nightly routine like usual, but he returned much earlier this time. Matt broke into your apartment by the window you always left open and took his time to get to know your apartment. His hands ran over your deco, your furniture, the softness of your bed. Your vanity was a mess, but it didn't take him long to figure out where your perfume was. Matt sprayed some on his wrist and along the column of his neck, hoping your scent would linger around long after he left your place. Before he took off, Matt made sure to take a souvenir for himself, which was why he was now in possession of your lace panties. 

He wasn't sure why he chose this one. They all smelled like you, like your laundry detergent, fabric softener and a distinct undertone of very subtle vanilla. The lace felt scratchy on his skin, but the rest of it was a nicer type of cotton. If he had to be honest, Matt never really gravitated towards lace found on his fleeting sexual partners. It felt rough on his sensitive skin. But, he loved to imagine how it would feel when he ran his hands over the details that hugged your hips snugly, tracing the indent they made on your skin once he dipped his hand below the lace band. He wondered how it would feel if he could pull the cotton aside and fuck you until you begged him to stop. 

Matt closed his eyes, his mind laser-focused on you. He recalled your softness on the times he came into contact with your bare skin. You often offered your arm to him when the two of you needed to walk somewhere. His hand would close over the crook of your arm, and sometimes, he couldn't help but stroke the skin there gently, in a back-and-forth motion that brought him and you a sense of calmness. There were accidental touches here and there when you handed him his Braille files, a cup of coffee or his coat. The slip of your hand against his always made his knees weak, for your skin was so soft, warm, and inviting. 

While his mind ran wild with his recollection of the feel of you, his hands worked at his belt, pulling down the fly of his pants to free his cock from the snug boxers. The hard length bounced and sat heavily, the tip red and leaking with pre-cum. He began to stroke himself slowly and imagined that it was your hand in place of his. It was you kneeling between his legs and working him up, not him and his acute memory of your softness. With each intake of breath, Matt could smell you, imploring your scent to intoxicate him to the point of no return. 

His mind strayed to how it would feel like to have you in his bed. Were you a dominant type, or were you more submissive? He could please you either way. But right now, he craved the feel of your gentle hand wrapping around his throat like a statement piece that complimented his scarred skin. His hand moved faster, squeezing along the veiny length. Matt sighed, pulling the lace and cotton on his face to rest on his neck and pretending it was your hand; his lust-drunken mind made it almost feel real. He would wear it with every ounce of pride in his body, for he knew he was owned the moment you stepped into Nelson and Murdock. The warmth, spice and vanilla in your perfume invaded his senses when Matt offered his hand for you to shake, beginning his doom before he knew it. With each day you worked together, he grew more enamoured with your wits, sarcastic nature and resilience. You owned him, and you didn't even know it. He wanted your grip on his throat so tight that it hurt him and left marks on his skin. There would be your hand print on his neck, and even though Matt couldn't see them, he could feel the ache, sensing the bruises forming. He would hide your marks behind dress shirts and ties, even scarves, so it would be your and his secret only. No one else had to know. Matt wanted you to restrict his breathing so hard that he would feel lightheaded. He trusted you that much.

His fantasy exploded out of his control, and so did the pace of his strokes. Panting hard, his teeth bit down on his bottom lip, muffling his broken shout of release. Cum shot out of his mushroom tip, splattering on his black attire. He kept pumping the fleeting fantasy and the phantom feel of your skin until the hot fluid trailed down the length of his cock, making a mess of his hand. Matt stroked himself until there was nothing left, then he let his arm fall to the side. With the clean hand, he grasped at your panties, which still smelled like you, but now it had a little of him, too. 

You weren't his, but he would make sure that you belonged to nobody else.

*Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!*

#kinktober #kinktober 2022 #cellophaine's kinktober #dark!matt murdock #soft!dark matt murdock #matt murdock #matthew murdock #matt murderdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x fem!reader smut #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fic #matt murdock au #matt murdock drabble #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock smut #matt murdock daredevil #daredevil #daredevil marvel #daredevil matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil x y/n #daredevil x you

[pinkydevil16]

Benedict Bridgerton x reader: part 6

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

The next morning Benedict was on the brink of causing a true scandal as he sat across from her, chatting lightly with those around the table as he impatiently waited for breakfast to finish and whisk her into the garden. He was desperate to be alone with her yet terrified of the reality in which he would have to contain himself, his imagination ran wild and made him think she would run into his arms and they would fall into the bushes. In reality he was sure they would both be tense, his heart would beat out of his chest and she would be able to watch it run circles around her before crumpling to the ground. 

Y/n was in no better a state as she avoided his eyes, her thighs tensing as she recalled how he's looked, tired and half dressed. It was angelic, the moonlight dancing along his skin, the look in his eyes, his hair darkening his face. She was a mess, afraid to be alone in the gardens, she knew a maid would be no further than a few steps behind but she was certain the fear of a scandal could not prevent her from pulling him into her. She had returned to her bedroom swiftly after she had seen him, too anxious to see if he had lingered as she knew her resolve would crack. It frustrated her to no end that she felt so enamoured by Benedict, of all the suitors and men who had tried to catch her affection he had been successful in a way she didn't think was real. An unladylike want, a feral and primal need to feel him, she imagined this was what the maids spoke of when they discussed the women of the night. Was she in such a state as they appeared to be? Was she destined to end up in some whore house in soho under different gentleman each night, disgraced for having touched herself? But it had felt so good, so right to her, to feel that rush and the slight shame afterwards had quickly been diminished by seeing Benedict. 

"Are you excited to see the Gardens?" Y/n was snapped from her trance, her eyes moving from her fork to Violet as maids began clearing the table, the older woman giving her a gentle smile as Y/n send one back.

"Of course, i am quite excited to see all the flowers you have." Violet gave her another smile as she stood, all the siblings and guests moving from the table as Benedict hastily pushed his hands into his pockets and moved towards her. Keeping his eyes on her face as he gave her a smile and extended his arm, Y/n sliding her palm along his bicep as she wrapped her wrist around his arm. The lightest of contact making his hand clench against his hip bone to hide his arousal, taking a deep breath as he took in her perfume, head swimming as he moved towards the garden. Her fingers tapping against the fabric of his shirt as they made awkward small talk, well aware of the maid a few paces behind as they looked away from one another.

"We planted sunflowers last year and they are sprouting quite nicely." Y/n hummed as she looked at the patch of yellow flowers almost as tall as Benedict, her fingers clenching on his bicep as she smiled up at him.

"It is beautiful, you have a magnificent garden, it must be lovely to spend the summer evenings on the grass." Benedict smiled nodding at Y/n as his mind wandered, imagining her laid on the grass, a small blanket beneath her as she sipped a bubbly drink, small children running around as he dropped next to her and kissed her cheek. 

"It was, growing up my father used to bring my mother and all of us outside when it began to cool and they'd sit and watch us play." Y/n looked down, a sad smile on her face as she ran her hand up and down his arm in a comforting manner that sent shocks through his body. The pair began moving towards the larger garden area, hidden away from the house as the maid wandered behind and picked her nails, Y/n not paying attention as she ran her free hand along the flowers catching Benedict's attention. 

"LUCY!" Eloise screamed making the maid jump as she turned seeing the black haired bridgerton girl come storming over, huffing about something as she tried to pull the maid away. The poor woman trying to explain she was chaperoning as Y/n felt her throat go dry as Eloise succeeded in dragging the poor woman away to find something.

"It's fine! They're fine i need your help now!" Eloise wasn't letting up as she kept pulling the maid away, Benedict feeling heat spike as he felt how close Y/n was, no prying eyes nearby as he looked down at her.

"Would you like to continue or go back inside?" His voice was low, almost a whisper as Y/n lightly bit her lip in thought and looked towards the house and back to him.

"Continue...please." Benedict could feel the tension in his trousers as she whispered the please, she was doing things to him without a single thought, so innocent and ripe for him to take. 

They walked for a few minutes as he guided her further from any prying eyes, his own selfish mind wanting to be completely alone, just the two of them in world of their own. A fantasy in his mind that he craved to be real whilst Y/n was sure her heart was going to burst out her chest as she fiddled with her dress. Guiding her towards a small bench Benedict offered her a seat which she quickly took, wanting to fan herself at how hot she felt although it wasn't from the sun, taking a seat next to her Benedict tried not to look at her. He knew that would make him break and he wasn't sure he would be able to stop himself from leaning in and claiming her plush lips, to see how they would gradually turn more red as he moved his against her. 

"You are beautiful." Benedict breathed out, his mind racing as his eyes widened, not expecting the words to come out as Y/n's head to snapped towards him and stared at him as he kept his eyes on the grass. The garden was silent, Benedict concentrating on her breathing before she placed a hand on his cheek and moved his head to look at her.��

"Benedict." Y/n didn't know what she wanted to say but as she looked into his eyes she felt like all the oxygen had been stolen from her lungs. His eyes were blown, eyelids barely holding open as he openly gazed at her lips, licking his own as he darted his eyes up towards her own eyes and back to where her lips were slightly parted. He wanted to beg for her to let him kiss her, on his knees infront of the whole ton to hell with etiquette and society if it meant he could feel her lips against his. 

"You are so beautiful Y/n, you do not understand what you do to me. Your simple touch sets my body alight, your presence makes me question my morals. You make me wish to no longer be a gentleman and i am tortured by the knowledge that i am a gentleman, because i am trying so hard to be one for you. To be the gentleman who does not want to press you against the wall and steal your breath, to the gentleman who can say i am only your friend and could happily see you dance with another without wanting to steal you away. To be the gentleman who does not look upon you like the angel you are and beg the heavens to take me so i can be with you. But i am being tried every waking moment i am near you, i am inconsolable when i am away from you and i do not know if i can take this pain knowing you are so close. I need you." Y/n did not have time to process his words before his lips touched hers, her hand on his cheek hovering over his skin as her other grasped the bench in shock. Both his hands grasping her cheeks as he pushed every emotion into the kiss, feeling how she melted against him, her hand touching his cheek as she relaxed into the kiss. Letting out a groan he moved a hand to her waist and pulled her against his body, the bench making it impossible for him to press against her and feel her body against his own. He cursed the bench in his mind, wanting it to disappear and leave them a mess on the ground. Benedict pulled back, giving Y/n time to breathe as he tried to collect himself, aware of how her chest was moving up and down and cheeks stained red, the beautiful pink of her lips darker than usual. Her eyes were the prettiest part, the colour almost completely gone as she gazed up at him, her lips parted and hair slightly dishevelled from his hands which still held her cheeks in a loving hold. Her own coming to grasp his as she pressed into his hands and closed her eyes taking a deep breath. Opening her eyes once more as she gave him a sad smile, his heart racing as he waited for her to speak.

"Benedict, i...i do not want you to be gentleman. I want you to do everything you can think of, but i cannot risk marrying." With her worlds he was sure he could feel his heart physically break and bleed out inside his chest, a mixture of pain and pure lust that didn't sit well with him. She looked so innocent as she spoke those words, wanting him to ravish her yet she didn't wish to marry him. She didn't want to be his. 

Benedict taglist:

@queerqueenlynn @m-rae23 @fantasyh0e

#benedict bridgerton x reader #Benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton is a gentleman #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton benedict

[secretdiaryofcrowley]

Things To Do Today

Drive.

Just drive

Nothing else.

Waking up this morning, I knew instantly that today is a driving day. I've sobered up to get rid of the hangover, but my headache's still there and it's persistent. Should've sobered up yesterday night, but I kinda like the fuzzy head. Keeps me from thinking.

If there's enough pain in my head, I suppose, I won't worry too much about the pain in my heart.

I don't want to go anywhere near the bookshop. I don't, but I need to return the CD to Muriel before it looses its song. Still, I drive around all day to work up the courage.

The song starts five or six times while I'm driving back to Soho. I try to listen, but in the end I always turn it off. My car turns it back on. I turn it back off.

At the horizon, far beyond the end of the road, the sun's going down in a blaze of red and orange. Like the whole world was about to end in fire.

The street lanterns at Whickber Street flicker on as I pass through. The stores are closed at this hour, but there's still light in most of the restaurants and, of course, the pub.

I could go there, have a whiskey. Or I could have a bottle of wine at Marguerite's or a bottle of Tsingtao at Mr & Mrs Chen's place.

No, I can't. It would never be just one glass or one bottle. Wasting yourself on your own is fine, but not in front of people you used know. Not front of people he used to know.

If I was human, I'd probably be dead in a ditch somewhere three times over. Being who I am, I know how far I can take this. This may be the worst time, but it is certainly not the first.

It's not even the first time I got my heart ripped out, but last time happened to be a bit more literal.

Do mine eyes deceive me? There's light in the bookshop. No, not in the shop itself, but up in the flat, in the very guest room that Gabriel used to live in when he was Jim.

For a brief moment I allow myself to imagine what it would be like if Aziraphale was still in there. He'd notice I was on my way and open the door for me. And then we'd sit inside and talk about something or other, have a drink or two, and maybe talk some more. He would have a snack and I would watch him eat. He would get excited about something and bounce around and I would listen to the ridiclous sounds coming out of his mouth.

And watch his smile. That beautiful beautiful smile. And everything would just be fine for a few hours.

A familiar silhouette at the window. Muriel is sitting there, probably on the inside sill, their head bent over a book they're holding. They're a fast reader, turning the pages at a quick and steady pace.

I wonder why Muriel didn't take Aziraphale's room. It's bigger than the guest room and it's not like he'll be back anytime soon.

Angels and their faith...

I drop the CD in the letterbox inside the door, trying to avoid any noises. Back on the road, I look up to the window again.

Muriel still seems busy with their book. I hope, they read all the brilliant ones first, then the good ones before moving on to the trash that they inevitably will find.

But then, these humans never can tell the difference. Goethe's Faust was a good book. Marie Corelli's Sorrows of Satan was a brilliant one.

I cross the road and signal for my car to come pick me up. Nina is still inside her closed-for-the-night-coffee shop sitting at a table across Maggie. They're talking to each other and they both look worried.

Time to get out of here. Just as the Bentley speeds around the corner, Maggie spots me and starts waving frantically. Nina looks up, too, her expression a mix and match between a sigh of relief and a death glare.

No. No talk. I don't want to talk to any of you. I did what I came for and now I'm leaving.

Just leave me alone, all of you!

~ * ~

More Diary Parts:

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21

#crowley #good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #crowley is a mess #aziraphale x crowley #crowley is lonely #crowley is heartbroken #crowley pushes everyone away #good omens fanfic

[esthermitchell-author]

Added Scene -- "A Peaceful Place" Chapter beginning

Back Door, A.Z. Fell and Co. Bookshop, Soho, London -- 4 Weeks Later

Crowley leaned back in the chair he'd brought to the open door and soaked in the cool night air, then looked down at the blanket-bundled baby in his arms, currently going to town on her two-in-the-morning bottle, her bright green gaze fixed on him as if he was something worth looking at.

A whispery chuckle left him. With every day since her arrival, a month ago now, Jemmy wrapped him tighter around her tiny fingers. She was so amazing, and so precious, and he saw so much of his angel's sweetness in her. Though he could sense the hellfire in her, she'd mercifully not shown any outward sign of it, yet.

He knew he could be sleeping, right now. Aziraphale was puttering around in the bookshop and was more than happy to take care of Jemmy's middle-of-the-night feedings if Crowley wanted to sleep. But there was just something about sharing this time with her that captivated the demon. He hated to miss it.

A small laugh, in a distinctly female voice, reached his ears, even before a familiar voice noted, "Never thought I'd say this, luv, but y'look kinda natural, like that."

He lifted his head with a friendly smile for Mrs. Sandwich as she stubbed out her cigarette on her side of the street and crossed nearer to him. "We decided we needed some fresh air, tonight."

"Hullo, little luv," she greeted Jemmy with a gentle voice and a smile. Her entire expression always softened whenever she spoke with the baby, and he knew she had a soft spot for children because she could never have any of her own. In one of their deeper discussions when Aziraphale had been away, last year, she'd opened up about her early life and how hard it was, and how she bought the old hotel and turned it into a brothel so she could get some of the younger girls she knew off the streets and make sure they had a safer life than she had. For all her hard, irreverent exterior, Mrs. S had a heart of gold and a fierce protective streak. She'd also admitted to him she had a penchant for taking in strays. He imagined she meant that to imply him, though she could jut as easily have meant the whole of Whickber Street, the way she mothered all the shopkeepers hereabouts. Now, she made soft shushing noises at a happily squirming Jemmy, then looked up at him. "She's a luvly one, innit she?"

He nodded, smiling down at Jemmy, who went back to her midnight snack. The girl did love to eat. "Just like her papa."

When he glanced up, it was to the amusement dancing in Mrs. S's eyes, before she asked, "Where's that angel of yours at, then?"

He jerked his head toward the interior of the shop, even as a distant, "Ah-hah! There it is!" drifted out to the street.

"Buried in research, from the sound of things." He grinned. The only thing sexier than watching his angel mutter to himself as he got lost in books, those ridiculous spectacles perched on his nose, was seeing his angel all rumpled, shirt sleeves rolled up and bowtie undone. Which was why Crowley was out here, rather than curled up on the settee, keeping the angel company while he worked and Crowley fed Jemmy. Aziraphale was currently wading through stacks of scrolls full of only the angel knew what, shirt sleeves pushed up, bowtie and waistcoat both tossed aside.

"Good." Mrs. S's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "How'd it go? He say yes?"

Crowley sighed. Should've guessed. He'd confided in Mrs. S a couple of months ago that he was looking for the right time to ask Aziraphale to marry him. She cheekily asked if that was going to be in her lifetime or not, and suggested he get his head out of his proverbial arse. So he'd set the scene, thinking the anniversary of their victory in Heaven -- the official beginning of their being able to safely be together -- would be the most romantic time. Two anniversaries in one.

Only, before he could pop the question, Aziraphale dragged him off to bed, and Crowley just wasn't built to say no to the feel of his angel's mouth on his body. Then, in the middle of everything... He looked down at Jemmy, again, and laughed softly before answering Mrs. S. "Never got 'round to asking the question. Haven't had time to plan something special, since."

She lifted an eyebrow at him and shook her head. "Take my advice, it's not gonna matter if it's some grand, romantic event. People overdo it, trying to prove how romantic they are, but the ones who remember it most, later on, always say it was somethin' simple and personal."

She patted his arm, then turned and made her way back across the street to the hotel. Glancing back into the bookshop as he listened to Aziraphale continue to talk to himself somewhere inside -- probably at his desk -- Crowley's lips turned up in a loving smile.

"Don't think we should ask your papa tonight, hey, poppet? He seems a little distracted." He dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead. "All done, beautiful?"

 Jemmy, her bottle long finished and forgotten, nuzzled her way deeper into the blankets, a snakelet in search of a hidey-hole to sleep in. Crowley chuckled and placed another kiss on her forehead.

Mrs. S was probably right. Crowley imagined a woman who worked in her profession knew quite a bit more about love than a demon did. Still, now wasn't the right time. No matter what anyone said about grand gestures, Aziraphale deserved them. His angel deserved all the romance he spent so many millennia reading about.

Crowley was determined to give it to him.

#added fanfic scene #Born of Starlight #good omens #good omens fandom #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley #azicrow #ineffable spouses #fanfic #good omens fanfiction #gomens #gomens fanfic #gomens fandom #go fanfic #go fandom

[missgrimes]

001 - fuck montrose

Soho — 03:45 A.M ( Catherine Steel )

The devil isn't always a little red man with horns, a long pointed tail, sometimes he can be handsome. And Rhys Montrose was the most beautiful demon Catherine had ever seen.

Blue-eyed, stocky, almost territorial in posture, and showered with all the English class, Montrose wore his elegance in a different way than London's rich men, who paraded around covered in gold and diamonds, showing off their fat wallets at Soho parties. . He had a fat wallet, but he didn't show it off. Rhys carried his bullion in an old, battered bag.

"My God, it's Montrose!" - Jess said giving me an elbow, which made me drop my drink.

“What the fuck. Why did it?"

"You did not see? Rhys is right there"

Jess's eyes almost popped out of their sockets they were so wide. She gave him that psychopath smile, teeth clenched, and waved at him. That Rhys Montrose grinned and waved back briefly as he walked down the club stairs. Down the stairs, on the last step, a small group of people gathered and pulled out their cell phones, pointing at Rhys, who just gave them a restrained smile, no teeth showing.

I didn't live in a cave, it was obvious I already knew who Rhys Montrose was. He became one of hundreds of celebrities with a bad history behind stardom who were "unassumingly" paraphrased in a few paragraphs in a booklet with an iconic cover that happened to be at the top of the Times for enough weeks to be placed on one of those lists. "Books You Must Read Before You Die" on the Internet. Yeah, I knew him, as did everyone else in that club.

“He's literally the hottest man I've ever seen in my life."

"Close your mouth before drool falls into your drink."

I laughed and Jess elbowed me again.

"He is...

" Incredible? Wonderful? Intelligent..."

"Married. I interrupted."

"In divorce proceedings, according to the Daily Mail.'

I rolled my eyes. Jesse really had a thing for married men.

She went on and on about how hot Rhys was but I was too tired to listen so I left her with a group of girls who were also talking about Rhys and walked off with my drink in the opposite direction of the fuss and whispers.

Leaving the Montrose fan club behind, I started looking at how the rich worked, and boy was it bizarre. The world of high society was more complex than I imagined. Moving between the millionaire groups I heard conversations about bitcoins, shares in the stock exchange, I took a few more steps and soon I heard about a sexual abuse case that was covered up by a supreme court judge last week, more steps forward and I heard about how the Europe was stupid to free the slaves and behead their Kings, after all, in the world there are only two types of people:

The hunt.

And the hunter.

My drunken walk took me to a secluded spot in the club. A place where loud music was nothing more than an annoying noise muffled by the walls. A kind of room, which I didn't hesitate to enter, with a spacious bed that I also didn't hesitate to throw myself on. The sensation of zigzagging between the limit of sobriety and the unconscious attracted me in a unique way, I liked the feeling of walking on a rope, where one wrong step could be fatal.

Even drunk I was acutely aware that I shouldn't be there, and the fact that I was taking off my dress and heels and rolling around in an overly comfortable bed was going to get me into trouble soon, but I just didn't care. I took a step in the opposite direction of sobriety that night.

Damn it. It was the first thing I thought of when I opened my eyes.

I got up from the bed more slowly than I would have liked, the icy wind coming from the balcony reminded me that I was still wearing my bra and panties, I snorted loudly when I touched the plush carpet in the room, I took a deep breath before I got up to get up , but my stay on two legs was brief, as I landed in a sitting position. in bed again. It was obvious that my stupid brain was still too drunk to do the simple task of keeping me on my feet. I huffed again and after the third try I just gave in to gravity and slammed my bare back into the mattress.

“You made the list of things not to do when you're drunk. Congratulations. "

I looked in the direction of the voice and there it was; Rhys Montrose, sitting in the armchair in the darkest corner of the room. Legs crossed as he slowly swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“You found my secret hiding place." He smiled.

“What are you doing here?”

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

I swallowed hard. Sober or not, I was going to get out of there as soon as possible. I gathered all my strength and got to my feet. I gripped the headboard as hard as I could and grabbed my dress off the floor and put it on, grabbed the silver heels and staggered to the door. But it was clear that my knees were still sleeping and forgetting to support me.

Rhys chuckled as he landed on the floor, not caring if I was listening or not.

" What's the fun"

"Other than your dress being backwards and you being so drunk you couldn't stand up?"

“Fuck off. I don't know what you think is going to happen here, but you're wrong."

"Do you know what's going to happen here?" He set his glass on the side table and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. The thick gold ring that rested on her thumb gleamed in the moonlight. “You'll try to get up, take half a step, and fall again. Get hurt and somehow it will end up on the front page of the Daily Mail tomorrow, with my name next to the word attacked.

" What do you want?"

"To help you"

“I don't need your help. And once again, nothing will happen here-"

“If I wanted to do something to you, young lady, I would have done it in the last three hours you've spent passed out and drooling on my bed."

“Fuck you, Montrose."

I leaned against one of the bookshelves and managed to get up.

Panting and unnecessarily sweaty, but on her feet.

I sucked in as much air as my lungs could hold and took the first step, onto my back, looking directly at Rhys. With one step after another I approached the door. I leaned on the handle when I thought I was going to fall, but on impact it broke, but somehow I caught on to the coat rack and I didn't actually fall before Rhys, who jumped up from his chair, came closer. .

With some difficulty I managed to get the door open and glanced at Montrose's stout figure before walking away.

(( summary here ₊˚✧ˎ

#rhys montrose x you #rhys montrose x reader #rhys montrose #rhys montrose fanfiction #fanfiction #bad boy #wattpad #netflix #joe goldberg #love quinn #young adult #smut #drunk kink

[romancomicsnews]

Who should play Supergirl in the DCU?

One of my favorite characters in the Superman mythos is Kara Zor-El AKA Supergirl. She embodies the values of the El's in a way Clark can't because, well, she was there. She knows Krypton, she has seen it destroyed, and is more of an immigrant to Earth than Superman.

Supergirl is a character built on loss, loss of a home, loss of time, loss of her culture. But she is also built on finding hope after, and becoming something greater than she could've ever imagined because of her losses.

The last daughter of Krypton is set to make her DCU debut in Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, based on the comic of the same name. I'm excited to see David Corenswet and whoever takes on the role be my favorite cousin hero duo.

I thought I would give my choices on who should play the Girl of Steel, what characteristics I want to see, and who they should emulate from the past.

Past Live Action Depictions

While I know she has depictions in film from Helen Slater and in Smallville by Laura Vandervoort, I don't have strong opinions about either performance. So I will be pulling from some others.

Melissa Benoist

Melissa Benoist is Supergirl.

She has the right balance of kindness and strength that a El needs to work. More than that, Benoist was inspiring like a Supergirl should be. I don't think we've gotten a better live action look at the Els than her and Tyler Hoechlin.

I also loved that she wasn't an entire retread of Clark. Yes she was also a reporter, but she wasn't a bumbling fool. She was cute and charming and Kara, and just a different type of confident as Supergirl. We need someone who can be confident, charming, and believable as both.

Kara also brought the pain of Supergirl, the loss, just as much as she brought the comedy. We need a real talented actress who can do it all.

While her fighting could've been more believable (it's the CW so it's tough), I think this is a fantastic version of the character, and should be the blueprint.

Sacha Calle

While I was not a huge fan of The Flash film, Sacha Calle was a delightful surprise. Of the 3 leads (4 leads I guess cause Ezra twice? Great job DC), she is the least utilized, but with what she is given, she is very good.

While we don't get the hope, we definitely get the trauma and pain, and you feel it through her entire performance. While she doesn't feel like Supergirl we typically know, she does feel like the version that would be Henry Cavills cousin.

She also has a brutality to her that I'd like to see more of in live action. I like the idea of when she gets there, it may be harder for her to hold back given all her trauma. I'm not sure if that's the intention, but that's what I picked up.

While she wasn't an exact Supergirl, I think she captured the spirit of the character, and if they decided to bring her back for Woman of Tomorrow, I would not be against it.

Stipulations

Our Supergirl should be younger than our Superman, David Corenswet, who is currently nearly 30. While Supergirl tends to be 15-16, I think making her in her early 20s would be beneficial. That way she has been on Earth for a while, has seen her cousin grow up, and is finally donning the cape.

Much like in the DC Universe, the S means something in our world. Because Superman is such an icon, I think we can swing for a bigger named actress for Supergirl.

While Kara is Kryptonian, she does need to look like David Corenswet's cousin, who is white. However, she could be mixed.

Kara also is typically blonde, but we have dye these days so anyone can be blonde.

I am looking for an actress who can lead a movie, feel like a mentor to Superman in some ways and a mentee in others, with dramatic acting skills, in their 20's to early 30's, and who hasn't been known for a superhero role before.

Let's get started.

3. Anya Taylor-Joy

Starting off strong with an actress with range, Anya Taylor-Joy has done it all. From hit shows like Queen's Gambit to films like The Menu, Split, and Last Night in Soho, Joy is constantly proving she is one of the best actresses working today.

What often is not talked about is her choices. Unlike other huge actors, Joy is willing to have some fun. She was Peach in Super-Mario, Magik in the New Mutants, and Brea in the Dark Crystal. She is no opposed to sci-fi or more out of this world roles.

And Yes, she was in New Mutants, but no one remembers that movie or cares.

I can see her as a constant in the DC universe, pulling off the drama, pain and kindness easily.

My only concern is whether Joy can pull off Hope in the way some of the others can. Can she convince a people to go to war? Can she bring up the Man of Steel when he is at his lowest? I am not sure, but I'd love to see her try.

I think she is a fantastic pick, and can really make the character her own.

2. Natalia Dyer

Known primarily for her role in Stranger Things as Nancy Wheeler, Natalia Dyer has great Kara energy.

While she has been in other projects like Velvet Buzzsaw and Yes, God, Yes, showing off both her drama and comedic sides, it's Nancy Wheeler that truly is just a great Kara audition.

She has seen horrible things, but takes lead, kicks ass, and remains hopeful for the future.

She tows the line between cute hopeful person and someone who would absolutely destroy you if need be.

I think Natalia is a great pick and could use a big role other than Nancy to show what she is capable of. Sadly, she's one of those castings that I think I found someone just a little bit better.

1. Elle Fanning

What can I say, she's Great (see what I did there?)

Known for roles in Maleficent, The Girl from Plainville, and The Great, Elle Fanning is a fantastic actress with the range we need.

While all three actresses have the necessary skills needed for the role, I think much as David Corenswet looks like Superman, Fanning looks like Supergirl. She's just got it. Blonde, big smile that can turn into an intense fearsome hero. It's too good.

And as much as Nancy Wheeler is an audition for Kara, Catherine the Great is an even better one.

She is a new leader of her people, forced into a terrible marriage with a terrible man, and must find ways to be hopeful, charming, and kind in a horrid situation. While the marriage is an add on, it's similar trials that Kara has to face.

As Catherine, she must play the dotting wife and the rebel leader, which can easily translate to doe eyed reporter to warrior.

While the show is fantastic and has its fans, Fanning doesn't really have a role she can attach her acting career to yet as big as Supergirl. I think she is in the right stage of her career where she's a big name but feels fresh.

Elle Fanning would make the perfect Supergirl.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to support me, you can:

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#dc universe #dc comics #james gunn #dceu #dcu #justice league #superman legacy #superman #my adventures with superman #supergirl #supergirl cw #melissa benoist #kara zor el #helen slater #sasha calle #the flash 2023 #kara danvers #supergirl woman of tomorrow #fancasting #fancast #fancast friday #anya taylor joy #elle fanning #the great #natalia dyer #nancy wheeler #stranger things #david corenswet

[d20owlbear]

Angel Cupcakes and Baskerville Corso

"Chiffon!" Aziraphale shouted, worried up to his ears and chasing after the cream-colored Tibetan Spaniel dragging her sparkling leash behind her. She pranced ahead just barely out of reach underneath the feet of unwatchfull by-passers.

She didn't bark back at him, but she did look over her shoulder at him once or twice, as if to ask what the problem was, only to ignore all his recall commands and wind his anxiety up higher and higher as she got closer to the street's crossing corner. He had no idea just what had gotten into her these days and he felt just about ready to cry about it!

Not just a week ago, she'd gone missing for hours on end only to show back up wet and slimy and covered in grass stains looking like she'd had a grand ol' time only seconds before he'd been about to call Madame Tracy in a worked up fit. Then, nearly every day this week she'd disappear from his bookstore at some point for thirty minutes here, an hour or so there, only to come back fit as a fiddle and disgustingly wet.

"Chiffon, you stop right there missy!" Aziraphale shouted again, gearing himself up for a final sprint, terrified she'd try to cross the street. It wasn't overly busy, but cars still occasionally sped through and they certainly weren't watching for little dogs all the way out here in Soho!

"No you don't, cupcake." An alluringly hoarse voice resonated in Aziraphale's head as someone all dressed in black from head to toe scooped up his dear little Chiffon like a seasoned pro. She didn't even bark, the traitor!

"Excus-" Aziraphale wheezed, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the absolutely oppressive-looking creature the man had at his side that Aziraphale hesitated to call a dog at all. It looked like the sort of dog a man who had enemies might have, though one that didn't want to admit it by getting a more classically intimidating rottweiler or doberman...

"Excuse me... sir." He forced out at last, standing straight and pulling down his vest to tidy his appearance as best he could, as if the man hadn't clear as day seen him huffing and puffing up the street with the way his eyebrow went up past the rims of those dark-as-night sunglasses.

"Anything you like, angel." The man replied, leaning his hip into the creat- the dog as his side– Aziraphale noticed the dog leaned back and nudged the man's free hand sloppily until it rest on the dog's head, very delicately petting its face and head. The slightest tremor Aziraphale'd not noticed before stopped the moment the dog did so. He was so fascinated by the interaction he'd almost not realized what the man himself had said.

"I- wh- you-" At that moment, Chiffon chose that point to wag her traitor little tail and bark right in the man's face, making his easy grin (which Aziraphale secretly quite liked the look of) freeze a little. But then the man stiffly held out the small, fluffy dog to Aziraphale and his smile returned to normal in the blink of an eye, so it was almost like he'd imagined it.

"Cupcake's yours, right?" He grinned wider and kneeled down to throw a lazy arm around the beast beside him as if they were the best mates in the world. "She's been popping up in my shop down the street, you know, took a liking to Baskerville over here somehow."

Aziraphale quickly took Chiffon back into his arms and curled her into the biggest hug right up against his neck so he could half-bury his face in her little lion's mane ruff. "Yes, thank- thank you so much, I was so worried!"

The man's smile widened again and he braced a hand on one knee to leverage himself up, and the dog- Baskerville (what a delightful name, Aziraphale was far too charmed already by this mysterious man dressed all in black with a welcoming smile and a voice like melted chocolate even before he found out his naming sense was on point) stood very close and very still as if he were bracing for the man as well in the maneuver.

"My name's Crowley," he said, and produced a simple little business card out of nowhere between two of his fingers and handed it over to Aziraphale. His cheeks had the gall to blush about it, he would have words with them later about embarrassing him in front of fine gentlemen and their gentle beasts of dogs. "You can find me in the café down the street's called Edine." Except when he said it, it sounded a lot like Eden...

" 'S dog-friendly, of course. We make dog-safe foods and drink too, if you'd like to bring Cupcake." Crowley continued, rambling a little now, one of his hands came up to gesticulate and his voice wavered a little on the last line. Baskerville flopped Crowley's hand onto his head again, and Crowley took a deep, subtle breath, smiling again. "This guy's the mascot, helps takes orders, though he sleeps on the job plenty. Awful employee really."

"I'm sure." Aziraphale smiled gently, eyes sparkling. "I'm Aziraphale, Aziraphale Fell. I run the bookstore down that-a-ways... and this is Chiffon." Aziraphale bounced his arms and Chiffon panted happily with a doggy grin for good measure. "We'd love to come by. How late are you open 'till?"

"I dunno, how late're you gonna come?" Crowley practically tripped over his words and Aziraphale laughed at himself for thinking he was suave and mysterious rather than delightfully adorable and entirely too endearing for Aziraphale's own good, oh he could already feel that weightless feeling at the bottom of his stomach, like he'd just stepped off the edge of a cloud and he was 0.5 seconds from free fall.

"Is 7 alright?"

"7's great." Crowley grinned, toothy and with an endearing little snaggle-tooth right at the edge of it that caught his lip just right so it looked a bit like a fang. Oh, there it was. That pesky free fall. He was utterly charmed.

#Good Omens #Good Omens Crowley #Aziraphale #Dogs AU #Crowley has a service dog #he's a Cane Corso #no one at me about this I'm not gonna talk about mastiff-type breed's abilities to train as service dogs #Aziraphale has a dog #A Tibetan Spaniel named Chiffon #Chiffon the Tibbie #Baskerville the Corso #Angel Cupcakes AU #Crowley owns a bakery #also don't at me about dogs and food safety he doesn't go into the kitchen or food prep #don't test me on this #human au #If you yourself have experience with these kinds of service animals #you can DM me about this if I've gotten anything glaringly off #as it's based on close interactions with and love of rather than having my own service dog #my writing

[ronni-right]

Certain Things fic

Rhaenyra

I'm out of my head, out of my mind, oh, I

If you let me, I'll be out of my dress and into your arms tonight

Yeah, I'm lost without it

Feels like I'm always waitin'

I need you to come get me

Out of my head, and into your arms tonight

Daemon

I don't mean to make you wait, just the pressure's been gettin' heavy

I know if I fuck us up, we'll be over, done, you'll forget me

Forget me, I'm feelin' bad that I act this way, 'cause you let me

They call me king, but I know my queen will be there to check me

Last year, was runnin' 'round 45th lookin' for SoHo

Last night, was ridin' down Rodeo lookin' for no ho

It's crazy what can change in a year, think that you know though

They see me, I'm actin' solo, 'cause I'm afraid to commit

Now can you tell me how I'm different than him, and him, and him?

Yeah, I know I'm always questionin' things, like, girl

Would you say that love cannot be found inside a vow or a ring?

Imagine spendin' all my love on a fling, got a thing for you

If I had the talent you had, I probably would sing for you, like

If it was up to you now, you would be mine

I'm on the road more than I'm home and still I find it's only you on my mind

I know I need to tell you I care before it's too late

#Certain Things Fic #daemyra #Spotify #rhaenyra × daemon #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targeryan #rhaneyra targaryen #matt smith #milly alcock