#the summer that was never supposed to end

[lowkeyerror]

Our Soul

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Notes: Requested, soulmate au, mostly fluff, like the smallest dash angst maybe

Summary: When searching for coven members, Agatha finds her soulmate. Her nerves about the woman being involved only grow when The Witches' Road turns out to be legit.

An: Sorry the request took so long, I did simplify it a bit I hope that it's still enjoyable.

Masterlist

Agatha made a mistake. The moment she had looked into Y/n’s eyes, she was sure of it. She’d always thought finding her soulmate would be this horrific thing. That the description of having your soul intertwined with someone else's sounded painfully, boring, and wasteful. Yet when she had it all wrong.

It was the soft pull of a flower to a summer breeze. It was if something warm finally reached her freezing soul. The souls were translucent with glowing specs shinning inside. Agatha’s, dark purple like her magic; Y/n's, golden like the tint of her irises sparkling in the sun. They twirled up together, two halves becoming one whole. Then they lay flat, into a singular form.

She visualized it, beautiful, all encompassing, and complete. However she was still horrified in some ways. She glanced at the paper with Y/n’s name scrawled across it and then back at her. It was too late to take back the offer. The way that Y/n's wyes lit up at the mention of the road was impossible to miss.

She’d have to do something about it. There was no way she was going to let her end up like the rest of the people on the list. Y/n dying was nowhere in Agatha’s plans.

Y/n made a mistake. She was sure of it when Agatha’s hand pulled her down on to the road. The way her mind had called Agatha’s hand a perfect fit for her’s. The entire reason she had agreed to come in the first place was now jeopardized. All because of Agatha’s illustrious blue eyes, her cunning smile, and the warm softness of her hand in yours.

She was here to find her soulmate. That’s all she wanted from the road. Yet here she is swooning over Agatha Harkness, known most for her treachery. It felt like she was failing her one true love.

When Agatha stops abruptly at the last step, Y/n crashes into her. Agatha is quick to tug at your wrist, pulling you back into her, rather than tumbling backwards.

“Are you alright sweetheart?”

Y/n watches Agatha’s eyes scan over her, worry easily perceived. The younger woman respond with a loose nod. She was being pulled in by the current of Agatha’s crystal-esque eyes.

“Yeah,” is all she can manage to say.

She smiles slyly knowing she had Y/n flustered. Agatha doesn’t let go of her, the older witch’s pull persisting. The older woman doesn’t trust this road. She knows it isn’t real, that this shouldn’t be happening. Whatever this is, she wouldn’t let it claim you.

While she takes charge of the others, Agatha never strays far from you. She felt like she had to protect Y/n. After the road’s first test Agatha knee she was right. Mrs. Hart was dead, and everyone was shaken up about it. Especially Y/n.

As everyone walks away from her body, Agatha falls in step with Y/n.

“How are you holding up?”

Y/n’s gaze stays on the ground she shake her head slightly, as if she expects a thought to fall out, “I don’t know.”

“Is this your first time dealing with that kind of thing?”

Y/n tilts her head, “Agatha we’re hundreds of years old. I’m no stranger to death or dead bodies. It’s just… been a long time.”

“Right.”

“Why’d you bring her?” Y/n couldn’t help but ask.

Agatha fumbles for an answer. The truth being that she didn't think things would go this far. This was supposed to end in the basement. She would’ve stolen everyone’s powers then manipulated Mrs. Hart’s memories and she would be none the wiser. She was intended to be a placeholder not a carcass.

Y/n watches Agatha carefully wondering what kind of lie she would tell, how the woman would spin the story. Instead she sees a small dip in the character Agatha was always playing.

“I didn't think she'd get hurt,” it’s a small, but honest truth.

Agatha was scared of the woman’s response. Perhaps Y/n would call bullshit and turn on her. Everyone was always so quick to point a finger at her. She had been taking the blame since she was a child all that time ago. So it would be nothing new to her.

“I believe you.”

Y/n doesn't know why she said it. She didn't plan on responding, but something inside of her was begging her to speak. It was another flaw in her eyes, wanting to bring comfort to Agatha. The woman that was distracting her from her soul mate.

Agatha is fighting the urge to question why you believe her. She didn't deserve your trust. She’s staying to begin to believe she didn't deserve Y/n. Yet that didn't necessarily matter anymore, their souls were already intertwined.

“We should try summoning another green witch,” Y/n suggests.

It causes a bit of commotion in the group, but with no choice left, they try it.

“M’lady.”

When Rio Vidal comes crawling out of the ground Agatha lunges at her. The rest of the group is stunned by their clear complex past. Agatha’s not the only one who reacts to The Green Witch.

Y/n’s eyes widen, “Oh no.”

When Rio sees Y/n she turns away from Agatha. She stalks towards the woman, cautiously taking Y/n’s hand in her. With a charming smile she presses her lips to the backside of the younger witch’s hand.

“Mi vida.”

Agatha watches with her jaw nearly on the floor. The blush on Y/n’s face told her everything she needed to know.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Rio drops Y/n’s hand, “What? I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd come by, help out.”

“So are you a green witch?”

Before Rio responds Y/n cuts her off, “As green as it gets, let’s keep moving.”

“I like that idea,” Agatha seconds that and begins to walk off, Y/n trails behind her.

The rest of the coven eventually joins.

“So... you know Rio too?”

Agatha keeps her gaze straight ahead, “Yup.”

Y/n let’s out an amused huff of air, “Seems like we know her in the same way too.”

“It does look that way. I gotta say, I would've never guessed she was your type.”

“At one point in time I thought she was my soul mate. You have to admit under all that cunning is someone so tragically lonely, but eternally beautiful. I always doubted that love would exist without fear of her."

Agatha knew what the girl really meant when she said ‘her'. Death had an air of beauty about her not only in appearance.

“Rio is everything you said, but you forgot to add irritating,” Agatha adds.

Y/n laughs at her, “Always showing up at the most convenient times for herself. Which just so happens to be inconvenient to everyone else.”

“I can't believe you thought she was your soulmate.”

Y/n looks away bashfully, “Well you must’ve too all things considered.”

Agatha disputes the statement instantly, “I never really bought into the whole soulmate thing.” She takes a moment to look into Y/n’s eyes, “At least not until recently.”

“Why not?”

“Agatha didn't believe in any of those kind of happy ending fairytale like romances sweetheart, just not in her character,” Rio steps in between the pair to get in on their conversation.

“Something to do with you maybe?” Y/n shots at Rio.

Rio gasps in faux-shock, “No, I’m the perfect wife. Right, my love?”

Agatha rolls her eyes, “Ex-wife, current thorn in my side.”

“Aww she’s so grumpy without her magic, Y/n. She’s usually a much more cheerful spirit.”

“Fuck off,” Agatha starts walking faster.

She reaches over Rio, to grab Y/n’s wrist pulling her along in a similar way she did down the road in the first place.

Whatever conversation that was going to play out died upon seeing another trial. By the look on the witch ‘s face it was obviously Alice’s. The outfits, the rock band, the grunge of it all was a bit fun at first. Yet the fun never lasts in these things, especially when threatened by a generational curse.

The ballad was once again the key to the trial. Almost reminiscent of your way onto the road, singing the ballad helped Alice defeat her curse. However it was not without a cost, as Teen had some how gotten injured.

The responsibility fell on a group. A second trial and second death was looming over the group. The care and distress in Agatha’s movement was stark contrast to what had happened when Mrs. Hart died.

Y/n couldn’t help it as she silently asked Rio if it was the boy’s time. Lady Death stood silent, pensive, as if she herself was gauging the situation. Then she shook her head.

It was during this time that his wound was healed. Though he lay unconscious, it was general consensus that he'd be alright. While this placated the others, Agatha was not leaving his side.

The rest of the coven went to set up camp for the night. Y/n knew she wasn’t obligated to stay with Agatha and Teen, but she wanted to.

Whatever Agatha was feeling, for once it was plain on her face. The moment was fragile, something Y/n was mindful of as she sat quietly next to Agatha.

“Have you ever lost something so pivotal to your existence that without it, you no longer feel whole?”

“My brother,” Y/n’s gaze lingers on Billy.

“Do you… have you seen him in other people?”

Y/n nods, “Sometimes I can’t help it. I see someone that looks like him or likes the things he likes or acts like him, but they’re not him.”

Agatha turns her attention to Y/n. The far away look in her eye makes the older witch move close to her.

“What happened to him?”

Y/n’s bottom lips curls up into her mouth, “I happened.”

Agatha’s hand finds it’s way on top of Y/n’s. The younger witch intertwines their fingers. Y/n lets out a large breath, trying to center herself.

“My son,” Agatha whispers. “I see Teen and I see the kind of boy that mine could’ve grown to be .”

“Agatha,” Y/n says her voice softly.

Agatha clears her throat, “Let’s go see what kind of camp they’ve set up.”

She stands abruptly, but makes sure to extend her hand to the other woman. Y/n takes the help to stand. Agatha is reluctant to drop the girl’s hand, but she does. That doesn’t keep the woman away from her. Y/n walks close enough that their arms brush as the walk to camp.

When both sit, the other’s are full of laughter, reminiscing about their battle scars. Agatha shows off her's and the rest give her a roar of laughter that she didn’t expect.

The laughter dies down as Rio talks about having a scar. Something that both Agatha and Y/n know to be false. The younger of the pair can’t help, but glare as Rio spins a tale of a woman. Someone that Y/n knows to be Agatha.

A trick to rile the woman up. It works as Agatha storms off. Rio tries to go after her.

“I think you’ve done enough,” Y/n stands to stop her.

Rio raises her hands in defensive before gesturing them in the direction Agatha ran off in, “By all means then, you go after her. Just remember at the end of the road, your soulmate will be waiting for you.”

“Fuck you Rio,” Y/n goes after Agatha.

She finds Agatha just standing in a field. Y/n approaches her, moving to stand in front of Agatha. The powerless witch doesn’t look at her.

Y/n takes Agatha’s face in both of her hands. Agatha’s expression has a million facets to it. Sorrow, regret, anger, but most prevalently Y/n sees a plea.

“Death has a nasty way of lingering doesn't she?”

A single tears slides down Agatha’s cheek. Y/n wipes it away with her thumb.

Her laughter is shaky, “You didn't have to come after me.”

“Agatha, I wanted to be here,” Y/n reassure her.

“I don’t deserve you,” she leans into Y/n’s touch.

It’s like Y/n’s says it to herself when she speaks, “ I decide what I deserve.”

Agatha’s crystal blue eyes meet Y/n’s, “And what about your soulmate?”

“This isn’t about that.”

Agatha’s holds Y/n’s in place against her face, “What if it is?”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrow, “What are you saying?”

Agatha steroids out of the woman’s hold. Her hands move wildly as she talks, “Don’t you feel it? When we locked eyes, I saw our souls mixing. I know that you're too good for me. I’m this no good evil hag, with a reputation that makes dictators seem like saints. I don’t deserve to have a soulmate, especially one as good as you.”

When Y/n looks into Agatha’s eyes she feels it. She sees what Agatha saw when they first met. Their souls coming together, in what is certainly the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

Tears form in Y/n’s eyes. She strides over to Agatha, again cupping the woman’s face in her hands. Y/n smiles through her tears.

“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

A smile fights it's way onto Agatha face, “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“Agatha I’ve dated the physical embodiment of death. I don't care,” Y/n tucks a piece of Agatha’s hair behind her ear.

“I’m no good-”

Whatever Agatha had planned on saying didn’t matter to Y/n. The younger girl plants her lips on Agatha’s firmly. The older woman melts into the kiss the words dying on her lips.

“You’re good to me,” Y/n breathes out as the kiss ends.

Agatha hugs Y/n’s waist, keeping her close. Their foreheads rests against each other. The brunette’s eyes slowly open. There’s fire behind the blue orbs

“I will be, I promise.”

The road wasn’t finished and Agatha had yet to regain her power. However, she already felt more complete with Y/n in her arms. A part of her restored upon connecting with her soulmate.

[peachhcs]

requesting some will samy angst where maybe one of them picks a fight on the phone or on face time while they’re doing long distance and then by the end of the call they realize that they were only doing that because they missed the other?

UGH yes in the end they'd be so 🥺 when they realize they really just miss one another. angst to fluff my fav

au masterlist

"you barely texted me all day," samy immediately said when she finally answered her boyfriend's call at almost 10pm.

"i'm sorry..things were crazy today. i got caught up," will mumbled but for some reason his apology wasn't sitting right in samy's head.

"you could've at least told me you were gonna be busy," she continued with the semi-angry tone. the blonde frowned to himself, struggling to make up for hardly answering her all day.

"i should've. 'm sorry," will really did have a long day. there was media every hour that they weren't practicing and press people wanted to kow..he hardly had time to even sit down and think before someone new came in wanting and interview and/or photos for their blogs.

it was the worser side of the job the blonde didn't really enjoy. he was there to play hockey, not sit in front of ten different cameras answering nonstop questions that were way too personal for his liking.

"what's even been up with you lately? you've felt so..i dunno..distant.." samy wasn't afraid to call it what it was anymore. after things escalated between them last summer, she knew better than to let things slide.

however, will did not take it that way, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"i get you're busy, i am too, but it feels like i've barely heard from you all week. we hardly text. we hardly talk," samy's voice faded like she hesitated saying the last part.

the hockey player's expression hardened even though she couldn't see it, "oh so now you're trying to accuse me of something?"

"no, i was never accusing you of something," the younger hughes immediately shot back.

"then what are you trying to say?"

"what are you trying to say? is there something i should be accusing you of?" now both of their tones turned sour. after a long four months of will proving to samy that he deserved her full trust, she put it all into him. she trusted him completely, but right now it wasn't really feeling that way.

"what the fuck? no? what the fuck would i even be doing that would put me in that position?" now will was just mad because it mostly hurt him how fast samy was to assume that he would turn around and hurt her like that again.

"i don't know, you tell me, will. you're the one that hasn't even been answering my texts," the girl shot back again.

"so you're just gonna assume that i did something then? not that i could just be super busy and i've had a really long day talking to a million different people with a camera in my face and i just couldn't have the time to text you?"

a deafening silence fell between them. will heard a sigh escape samy's lips and he quickly realized how harsh what he just said sounded. the guilt of being rude quickly washed over the hockey player. he knew samy's trust really could break at any moment with him and none of what he just said helped any of that.

"okay, sorry. i..i don't know why i said that. you're right. you're busy," when samy spoke again her voice was small and wavering like she was going to cry.

will instantly felt bad, "wait, fuck, no, no. i'm sorry. i shouldn't have snapped like that. i shouldn't have..i'm sorry."

god, he was so stupid sometimes.

"i'm sorry. i have been busy, but i should have texted you and told you. i'm sorry i didn't. it's just been a crazy long day and i haven't like had a second to breathe with every reporter wanted to shove a camera and mic in my face. i think i answered like a hundred questions about myself and personal life today," will admitted in a softer tone when samy didn't respond right away.

"i didn't mean to snap either. i'm sorry. i guess we both had long days. i just..i really like talking to you and i got worried when i barely heard from you all day," samy nervously thumbed her little braid.

"i really like talking to you too. talking to you is the highlight of my day and i do always look forward to it. i didn't mean to worry you. i'm sorry again. if it's any consolation, i did talk about you quite a lot though," when he heard the girl giggle, he knew it was okay again.

"really?"

"god, they love asking about you, but i love talking about you so it works out. it was just little things about our relationship. i bragged about you when i could," will could picture samy blushing hearing him say that and he was right. her cheeks were bright red.

"i'm flattered. sounds intense," she hummed.

"it was, but luckily we're done with it for now. i promise that i will try to text you more and especially let you know when i'll be more busy. god, i really miss you," the hockey player admitted. there were so many days he wished samy was a half an hour drive away still so he could just lay in her arms when his day was hard.

today especially he missed her like crazy. it was probably why he seemed to talk about her in almost every interview even when he wasn't asked first because she was the only thing on his mind.

"i really miss you, too. feels like it's been forever since i saw you," the brunette sighed.

"i know. i have no idea when i'm free again," probably not until summer will guessed and that was still so long from now.

"yeah, me neither." samy and hannah were going abroad for spring break—a trip they'd been planning since literally last year after hannah saying she really wanted to go to italy, so samy didn't know when the next time she could fly to the west coast would be.

"maybe i can escape to italty with you and hannah," will joked a little.

"you should. the almafi coast is calling our name."

one day will would get there with samy and maybe even then they'd be more than just boyfriend and girlfriend. something more like husband and wife sounded right.

"i love you. i miss you. i'm sorry again," will finally said with a small smile.

"i love you a lot. i'm glad we talked. it was real good hearing from you," samy smiled too.

"i promise i'll text. if i don't just like spam me or something," the girl giggled at his words.

"i love, love, love you," they exchanged their goofy, loving goodbye and the little fight they had was far from their minds.

[sfotiegiuls]

Rafe Cameron

- chapter two -

summary: Rafe Cameron is your best friendor rather he was. He was until you started hanging out with his sister, Sarah and her friends, pogues. Now it’s been some time since you’ve been with him and those rare times you meet him, when you’re with Sarah, he ignores you.

warnings: nothing !

words count: 1.5 k

Rafe cameron X ex- best friend fem!reader

It had been nearly two weeks since the party at the Cameron house, and Rafe hadn’t spoken to you since.

Not that you were surprised.

That night had changed something—shifted the ground beneath your feet in a way you couldn’t quite put into words—but you weren’t sure if it had been for better or worse. It felt like standing on the edge of something uncertain, something dangerous, something you couldn’t turn away from even if you wanted to.

You could still hear his voice, low and rough, a challenge wrapped in something that felt almost like a plea. Prove it.

You could still feel the weight of his stare, burning through you like fire, like he was searching for something in you that he wasn’t sure he’d find. And then there was the way his fingers had brushed against your wrist, hesitant and unsure, like he was caught between pulling you closer and letting you slip away. In the end, he had chosen the latter.

And now?

Now, it was back to silence.

It was like the night had never happened. Like he had never whispered those words to you, never looked at you like he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to, something he didn’t know how to deal with.

If you saw him around Figure Eight, he barely looked your way. If your paths crossed at a party, he ignored you completely. His eyes would skim past you like you were a stranger, like you hadn’t stood in front of him two weeks ago with your heart on the line, waiting—hoping—for him to meet you halfway.

It was almost worse than before.

Because before, you could convince yourself he didn’t care. Before, you could tell yourself that whatever you felt, whatever this was, it was one-sided.

But now?

Now, you knew.

You had seen it in his eyes, in the way his jaw clenched when you got too close, in the way his hands curled into fists like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you. You had felt it in the way he had hesitated that night, the way his touch had lingered longer than it should have, like he had been fighting some invisible battle with himself.

And still, he pushed you away.

So, you did the same.

You threw yourself into other things—anything to keep your mind from circling back to him. You spent more time with Sarah, with JJ, John B, and Kie. You let yourself laugh at JJ’s stupid jokes, let Sarah pull you into plans you normally would have said no to. You went out on the boat more, let the salty air tangle your hair, let the sun warm your skin until you felt like you could breathe again.

And for a while, it worked.

For a while, you could convince yourself that you were fine, that you didn’t miss him, that the space he had carved out inside of you wasn’t still aching with the absence of him.

But then there were moments—quiet ones—where your mind betrayed you.

Like now.

You sat on the dock behind Sarah’s house, your legs dangling over the edge as the water lapped gently against the wooden posts. The sun was beginning to set, casting shades of gold and pink across the horizon. The air was warm, thick with the scent of salt and summer, the kind of night that made everything feel a little softer, a little slower.

It should have been peaceful.

But your mind was anywhere but here.

It was back at the Cameron house, back to that night, to the way Rafe had looked at you, the way his voice had wrapped around you like a dare. Prove it.

You had wanted to.

God, you had wanted to.

But he had walked away before you even had the chance.

“Hey, you okay?”

Sarah’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, her concern laced in the soft lilt of her words.

You blinked, dragging yourself back to the present, back to the dock and the water and the fading sun. Turning your head, you found her watching you, her brows knit together, worry shining in her eyes.

You forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Sarah didn’t buy it. You could tell by the way she tilted her head, studying you like she was picking apart every unspoken thought you didn’t want to say out loud.

“About Rafe?”

You hesitated, but there was no point in lying.

“…Yeah.”

She sighed, shifting beside you so that her shoulder bumped against yours. “I know my brother, and I know he’s an asshole. But I also know he doesn’t just… let people go. Not if they mean something to him.”

Your chest tightened. “Then why does it feel like he already has?”

Sarah was quiet for a beat, staring out at the horizon like the answer might be hidden somewhere in the rolling waves.

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to prove him wrong,” she said finally, her voice softer now.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s what he said to me that night.”

Sarah’s eyes snapped back to you. “Seriously?”

You nodded, tugging at a loose thread on your shorts, anything to keep your hands busy, to keep yourself grounded in the conversation and not in the past. “Yeah. He told me to prove it. Like I needed to prove to him that he still mattered.” You shook your head, frustration curling in your stomach. “But it’s not that simple. He wants me to choose, Sarah. And I can’t.”

Sarah was silent for a long moment, mulling over your words like she was trying to piece something together.

Then, she said, “You don’t have to.”

You frowned. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

She nudged you again, gentler this time. “Then maybe it’s time to show him.”

You exhaled, long and slow, your gaze drifting back toward the water.

Because maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn’t about choosing. Maybe it wasn’t about proving anything. Maybe it was about reminding Rafe that he had never really lost you in the first place.

But that meant stepping into the storm of who he was, into the chaos that came with loving him. It meant risking your own heart, trusting that he wouldn’t shatter it in the palm of his hands.

The question was… did he even want to be found?

And if he did—would he finally let you stay?

—

You weren’t planning on looking for him. Not really.

But later that night, when the air cooled and the sky deepened to a dark shade of navy, you found yourself walking.

Your feet carried you without thinking, moving through Figure Eight like they had a purpose, like they already knew where they needed to go. Past the quiet streets lined with towering houses, past the beach where the sound of laughter and crashing waves still hummed in the distance, past the edges of where you should have stopped.

And then, you saw him.

Rafe was sitting on the hood of his truck, parked just off the road near the marsh, a half-empty bottle in his hand. The glow of a streetlight flickered above him, casting sharp shadows across his face. His head was tilted back slightly, his gaze fixed on the sky, like he was searching for something in the stars.

You hesitated.

Turn around, a voice in your head whispered. Leave before he sees you.

But it was too late.

His head lowered, and his eyes locked onto yours in the dim light.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, he exhaled, slow and controlled, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the sight of you standing there.

“What are you doing here?”

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “I don’t know.”

Rafe huffed out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. He set the bottle down on the truck’s hood, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

He shook his head, gaze flicking over you like he was trying to figure you out. “Show up when I’m trying to forget you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking away for a second before muttering, “Not that it ever works.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged.

You could walk away. Let him keep pretending. Let yourself do the same.

Or…

You took a slow step forward, your heart slamming against your ribs. “Then stop trying.”

Rafe’s jaw tensed. His fingers curled into fists on his knees.

You took another step, and this time, he didn’t look away.

And when you finally stopped in front of him, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat radiating off of him, you realized something.

Maybe this wasn’t about proving anything. Maybe it wasn’t about choosing.

Maybe it was just about not running anymore.

And for the first time in two weeks, neither of you did.

———

taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

[xcaffeineandcuddlesx]

♬ i bet on losing dogs - mitski, your best american girl - mitski ♬

- evening, the undercroft -

“do you… think i’m good?”

the question stuns me. it’s not perplexing, nor unsurprising, but i’ve never considered it. of course, objectively, i believe he’s good. he’s sebastian sallow, for merlin’s sake. headstrong and making sacrifice after sacrifice even if it’s not his own because he’s relentless, driven by love. he’s always had good intentions no matter how he achieved what he wanted. even if it meant lying to his best friend. even if that meant manipulating people like me. even if it meant killing his uncle.

“i’m sorry?” i ask in return, unsure if i heard it correctly.

how could i not? it’s silent otherwise. merely a low crackle of a fire in the undercroft’s makeshift hearth and a ticking clock somewhere, but it’s just us. I shift to face him more directly as we lounge on a sofa, the tall stacks of books and some miscellaneous homework long forgotten as we had drifted into thoughtful silence.

i can see the misery, though. his downcast eyes being filled with such despair, such conflict.

“please, i need you to be honest with me. am i good?… am i a good person?” his voice cracks and it’s a painful reminder that things weren’t supposed to happen as they did. not that either of us needed another reminder.

the end of our fifth year is coming too quickly to an end. the classes are becoming shorter, more of a blur as the days fade away like smoke in the wind. it’s disorientating and the disassociation we’re experiencing is weighing heavily on every aspect of our lives. most days, it’s like i’m floating through the halls, like i’m in a weird sensory deprived dream as the faces and voices turn unrecognizable, like muffled buzzing, not even sure of the day of the week. the o.w.l.s came and went, i think, and now the both of us are left wandering the castle, trying to pick up the broken pieces of our youth.

the students are ecstatic about the upcoming summer, and every mention of their plans gouges a small part of me out, carving deep until i’m hollow. i hear them talk over meals about their family’s summer houses or trips they’ve planned, the promises of exchanged owls and slumber parties. all the while, i’m being congratulated by faces i’m not even sure i’ve seen.

my first year introduced into a world of whimsy and i become the “hero of hogwarts”. most have no idea the things i had to do to earn such a title. it’s made me sick. physically, mentally, emotionally sick. the late nights, overloaded course work, expectations, favors, expeditions with classmates, watching the cruelty of poachers, raids, battles, trials, death threats from adults in full confidence of them knowing i’m only a student, the blood on my hands.

i couldn’t just stop it once i had begun. i couldn’t just return to safety behind the castle’s walls and resume classwork as though the safety of every man, woman, and child in the school, neighbouring towns, and highlands were at stake and i was the only one trusted to, expected to, and even capable of coming to the rescue.

i didn’t sign up for this. neither did he.

we weren’t supposed to face the world the way we did. we weren’t supposed to do the adult’s jobs, no matter how grown we believed we were. we weren’t supposed to be heroes, we were supposed to be kids.

that’s what we are; kids.

he’s just a boy. a crestfallen, scared, mournful, alone, and traumatized boy.

so now isn’t the time to define what “good” means or to explain that the world isn’t comprised of black and white or “good” or “bad”, but of horribly muddied shades of grey that are entirely up to perception. he doesn’t want to hear about the intricacies of morality. he wants to be reminded he’s still capable of being loved.

i can’t possibly look at him the same way. nor can he look at me the same he did at the beginning of the year. i’m nowhere near a saint, but perhaps our histories is what makes us perfect for each other. after all, the pot shouldn’t dare be the one to call the kettle black.

“of course you are, seb,” i attempt to soothe him, mustering as much emotion as i could. he nods, hearing what i said, but not as through he believed it.

the conversation was difficult to hold after that. i knew he wanted to say more. he wanted to repeat his offenses and for me to kiss away the worries anyhow. he wanted to remind me of what he’s done and push me away, to self sabotage his growth to have an excuse to hide away like a recluse without shame. he wanted- no, he needed more. he needed someone, now more than ever. he needed me. needed to be told he’s human beneath it all, that his blood bleeds red the same as everyone else’s and isn’t tainted black like he believes. he needs to be reminded that he not only can be loved, but that he is.

it’s been especially hard since ominis has left us to our own devices for now, needing a break to rationalize his life and choices. neither of us can blame him.

i feel… nothing. nothing at all and everything all at once. i’m spread thin. i’m doing all i can to be here for sebastian and still preoccupied with my own life and loss. professor fig died. he died and i know it wasn’t because of me, but if only i was a little quicker, a little stronger, a little wiser. if only, if only, if only. i knew him for only a few months, but he’s been paramount to my new life. he was a beloved teacher that truly dedicated his time to the betterment of his students. i feel that his avoidable death is pinned on me. i was supposed to a savior and his blood has stained my hands like all the others have. what good are my abilities if i can’t even save those that help me? what good are they if i can’t even maintain normalcy?

nothing has been the same. not me, not sebastian, not ominis, not anne, not the faculty, and certainly not my relationship.

we’re closer than ever, i suppose, but how close is close when each of our minds are wandering light years apart?

sebastian fiddles with the corners of the parchment he’s been toying with for the last hour. it’s another drafted letter for anne. an apology, first step towards reconciliation, a goodbye, self-justification, explanation, i haven’t any clue at this point with how many he’s written.

he’s defeated and solemn, like how you would expect a kicked puppy to look: vulnerable and strangely still trusting despite it all. he looks the part, too. his close are wrinkled, eyes are sunken and devoid of the typical glint of happy mischief, cheeks stained with hours of silent tears, hair tousled, his nose reddened from the constant weeping-induced nose running, and lips chapped from dehydration.

there’s no book that could ever teach someone to manage this type of pain, this level of compiled guilt and shame. we weren’t born with the know how on gluing the pieces back together one by one when your entire world falls apart.

so i do the only thing i know i can to help. i take the note from him and set it down, the ink having long been ruined with blotched mixes of tears and ink, and pull him into a hug.

the sound he makes, heart wrenching, is never one anyone would expect to hear from him. halfway between a choked sob and stifled breath, he lets his face fall on my shoulder and unashamedly breaks.

his body convulses, racked with forceful and raw barks of pain.

i have to blink away several tears myself as he crumbles, what little composure he had left tearing and ripping at the seams. the lump in my throat is hard to ignore as i fear it may strangle me soon. he grips at the loose fabric of my uniform where he’s hugging me, grounding himself to the only constant he has in his life right now.

with one hand making small strokes up and down his back, i use my other to smooth down his hair, holding him close to me.

“i didn’t mean to… i didn’t want to become a bad person,” he manages through shaky breaths and hiccups. “ca-can’t even go home now. haven’t got anyone else to go to.”

“i know, baby, i know.”

i couldn’t maintain a brave face for him and began to sniffle. we were a mess. holding each other and breaking down like the world was ending because for us, it was.

when it’s just the two of us, hero of hogwarts and brave (former) best duelist of the castle, we could let our facade fall away, knowing nobody else could truly grasp the weight on our shoulders. we don’t have to be a formidable duo when it’s just us. we don’t have to pretend like the other isn’t broken seemingly beyond repair.

i eventually lean back, letting him lay across me as he cries until my blouse is soggy. until he’s exhausted and limp.

i try to quiet my whimpering to not wake him, but i can’t help but think of where i’ll go after this. even if i do go back home, my parents wouldn’t understand, they couldn’t possibly.

i’m so different from the person i was merely a handful of months ago. my hair is shorter, poorly chopped after being singed too many times in battle, and my hands are rough with callouses and scabs. i’m unsure how much of my former self i still resemble. at the very least, i know that i have more skin covered in scars than i do freckles and that i have new muscle growth from the running, climbing, borderline parkour, and combat.

i definitely don’t think, act, or speak the same way i did before. i’m not the same bright and eager little girl my parents had proudly gushed over when i received my letter. i can’t go home like this and risk breaking their hearts. i can’t just resume my life like i haven’t done the things i’ve done.

i remember reading of a spell called “obliviate”…

not too sure what i want to do with this yet, but i have an idea of where it’ll go ! i have a bit more in writing, so it may become a mini series of sorts? i’m not sure how well i like this prompt, but i wanted to put it out there anyhow because broken seb is my emotional support animal rn.

please give any feedback and tips you have !!

there’s so much potential with both of their stories and i know angsty seb is popular, but there’s more to him than masked anger and guilt. he would be hardest on himself and begin a downwards spiral, searching for validation that he’s not as bad as he thinks he is.

don’t get me wrong, i love a good seb x mc that’s joyful and loving, but i also love to put characters into hypothetical snow globes and shake it real hard.

stay happy and hydrated,

xoxo ellie

[shefightslikeagirl]

Stages Through the Ages

An Asylum History Post by @shefightslikeagirl

Fun title, huh?

For this month's hit of nostalgia, I thought it might be fun to take a look at EA's different stage setups. If you're a theater nerd like me, you'll probably enjoy this.

"We would spend an hour or two before every show setting up the stage. It was like setting up for company to arrive in every city we went to and it was very personal. Most of the stage props were handmade by Em and then in later years 2009-2011 we would all spend a week at her place hand making every single prop and stage feature (the original massive handmade clock)."

— Veronica Varlow, 2025

As always, if you notice I'm wrong about something, missing information, or need some more context, hit up the askbox.

2001 - 2006: Rock n' Roll

Throughout the Enchant Era and in the very earliest days of the Opheliac Era, EA was backed by a "traditional" band with the standard concert set up. She had microphones, instruments, and other equipment onstage; that was it. Her aesthetic focus was on her costumes, not the band.

It wasn't until the first Opheliac show that her new band, The Bloody Crumpets, had costumes of their own. Stage dressings did start popping up around this time, but they were sparse, and that trend would continue for a time.

(surprise appearance by Inkydust in the red shirt!)

2007: Shadows on the Wall

The true beginning of the Opheliac Touring Era (a terrible name that I will never use again) was in 2007 at Germany's Wave Gotik Treffen.

Again, we're not seeing a lot on the stage. Some ribbons, some gorgeous costumes, some "suicidal girls"... But not much else.

However, as the Summer Festival Tour continued, things started to come together.

Tollwood, June 2007

We see Suffer, some ribbons, and some balloons at Tollwood Festival, which followed a month after WGT. And then: Teapots! Canes! Red Pointe Shoes! More props, more set dressings.

Underworld, Camden, 2007

Frankfurt, 2007

Amphi Festival, 2007

But things really kicked off at the end of 2007, when EA's first headlined tour began: The Asylum Tour.

The stage design EA and I crafted together at my house within a few days before the start of each tour. It was really fun to paint and decorate tea sets, dolls and realizing the big shadow screens! 

— Vecona, 2019

Fittingly, this is when the Asylum started taking shape. The original stage design was an EA-Vecona collab, and later on a lot of the Bloody Crumpets would come to help craft props, scenic, and costumes.

Early Stage Sketches, from an eBay listing (left) and the EA Wikia (right)

Crafting photos, 2006 or 2007, Vecona

The shadowscreen that we all came to know and love debuted on December 5, 2007, in Essen, Germany.

This was the simplest version of the shadowscreen, which I'll refer to as "v1." It was a simple fabric scrim with a glitter border, easy to transport and set-up in different venues. Most of the pictures make it hard to see the border detail, but it shows up very well in video.

Vienna, 2007

Back to Essen! At this concert, Emilie's 1841 electric keyboard debuted with a lot more flair. It was covered in fabric, jewels, and props, becoming the icon it was always meant to be.

Essen, 2007 (this is the best angle and quality I can find)

Sometimes the whole thing liked to fall apart, but it was pretty, so we won't judge it.

The look of the keyboard varied slightly venue to venue, since the props were set "fresh" every time. The different fabrics appears to have been a sewn-together drape that attached at the top.

The Asylum Tour was very short, but was quickly followed by The Plague Tour and The Gate Tour. The vibe of her shows only advanced as time went on and I fully intended to continue talking about them here, but...

I've run out of images allowed per post. I suppose I'll have to continue this in a part 2! Drop a reply or a reblog to let me know what you think and if you'd like to see more of these!

[untitlednerd]

Why is he so cold?

Fred Weasley x female reader

Summary - The battle of Hogwarts ended like none of you thought it would, with a greater loss than you could have ever imagined.

Warnings - Sadness, and my very crappy writing. I also didn't check for spelling errors.

Wow, the last post was in 2023. Writer's block is crazy. ANYWAY, please give tips and respectful criticism only. Other than that, enjoy!

_________________________________________

You honestly thought that you'd gone through all of the pain that someone could go through in their life.

Well, in your time at school, that is.

You survived a troll entering Hogwarts castle in your third year, courtesy of Percy directing you back to the common room.

You survived the chamber of secrets being opened in your fourth year, and many muggleborns being petrified. Along with Ginny, a girl who was like a little sister to you, going missing.

You survived dementors being sent to Hogwarts grounds in your fifth year when a supposed mass murderer escaped from Azkaban.

You survived the school-wide grieving loss of Cedric Diggory in your sixth year, along with attending the difference events for the Triwizard Tournament.

You survived an insufferable DADA teacher in your seventh, and final year at Hogwarts, who looked like the textbook definition of a pink toad.

And once you graduated from Hogwarts after Fred and George made their early, and rather glamorous, departure, you went on to being hired for the career you dreamed of ending up in during your time in Hogwarts. In your free time, when not spending time on your favorite hobbies, you loved to help Fred and George out with their shop.

Life had been good. So good. You and your friends had been through a lot together, and yet you persevered together. Shouldn't that be all their is to it? Shouldn't the chaos end there? There should be nothing more than marriage in the future, maybe kids if you and Fred decide you want them. You'd attend the wedding of whoever George decided to marry, as well as Lee and your other friends and family. You'd meet up with your friends from Hogwarts often, as well as colleagues from work, and You'd never be separated from those you love.

At least that's what you thought as you stared down at your boyfriend's body, fiddling with the promise ring around your ring finger.

You remembered the moment Fred had given it to you. It was around the time you graduated Hogwarts, and when you were hired for your new job.

He knew that proposing would be a bit too soon. He and George had just begun to grow their business, and he knew how hard you had worked to get into the career of your choice, and he'd never try to get between you and that. So, you both agreed to getting each other promise rings. A promise that you'd be there for each other. Grow together. Love each other, and support each other. A promise that you'd both help the other become the people you were meant to be for when marriage finally felt right for the both of you.

Now the ring was a reminder of what you'd never have.

You'd never marry the love of your life. The boy who was nice to you along with his brother during your first year at Hogwarts, when you were still trying to find good people to be friends with. The boy who wiped your tears and made you laugh whenever another student was mean, or a teacher made you sad. The boy who, over time, began to show just how infatuated with you he really was. The boy who eventually got the courage to ask you to the Yule Ball, and then ask you out during the summer after that school year ended, before your seventh year was to begin. To him, Cedric's death was a reminder that we should live every day as if it was our last, and to him, he wanted his last day on earth to be a day filled with fun, laughter, and love. And most of all, he wanted to be with the people he loved. You included.

None of it made sense. Was he really dead? No, he had to be just sleeping. Or playing one of his pranks that he loved so much. Sure, playing dead took things a bit far, but he always did commit to the pranks that he pulled. Right?

You were frozen in place, not knowing if you were numb, or about to fall to the ground in tears. When did you stop screaming? It was obvious you were in shock, but the moment felt so real and yet so fake at the same time. The only detail that you could process in that moment being the color of your boyfriend's hair, and a few drops of a liquid of the same color residing on a stone nearby.

A voice. A distant one. Or maybe multiple distant ones? You couldn't figure it out, but it sounded like maybe your name?

A tug. Or maybe a push. All you know is the world began to shift until you were facing. . . Fred? No, George. Merlin. They looked so similar. You never realized how painfully so until only one of them was alive.

George said your name again, and your eyes focused enough to see the visible tears filling his eyes, although he did his best to keep them from falling.

"We have to move him," he spoke softly, as he tried to stop another round of tears from falling himself, explaining that Voldemort had told them all to dispose of their dead after commanding for his death eaters to retreat for the time being.

"Move him." You repeated slowly, the words and the way they formed sounding confusing coming out of your mouth.

George only nodded, gently brushing some of the dirt on your face away from a cut that you had received on your forehead. "Yes, move him. We can take him to the Great Hall where the others are being brought, and then I promise that we won't have to leave his side for awhile. We can spend time with him, and. . . say goodbye." Through the fog in your mind, you could hear him trying to not choke up on the last word he said.

"Okay." It took you a moment to form the word, and without realizing it, you were helping one of your best friends carry the love of your life into the Great Hall, were many other bodies were already scattered.

It wasn't until after you and George gently set Fred's body down that it finally hit you. Not until after you stood up, and slowly looked around, the sight and sound of grieving families, friends, and partners seeping into your mind and grasping onto your heartstrings until it felt like it was squeezing the life out of you.

Your eyes finally found their way back to Fred, every piece of the mental puzzle you had been trying to solve settling into the picture of the truth that lied on the ground before you.

Fred Weasley was dead.

You heard a noise of pure pain and anguish before feeling what seemed like raindrops falling from your eyes down to your cheeks. Were you crying? Definitely crying, as no one else around you was wet, and you were inside the Great Hall with everyone else.

It wasn't until you saw how people were looking at you that you realized the noise of pain had actually came from you.

The ground started to appear like it was coming closer until you felt loving arms wrap around you, and what sounded like a soothing voice began to become clearer as you listened.

"It's alright, dear. It's alright." The voice of Molly came from beside you as she hugged you tightly, tears of her own falling down her face as Arthur stayed close to her. And as you looked around, you saw George hugging Ron, and then Ron hugging Fred's body.

You didn't know when Ginny took you from Molly to hug you, but you were grateful for every hug that you got, as it reminded you that you were still alive.

Soon, another pair of arms wrapped around you from behind, and Lee came in to focus in front of you when Ginny had stepped away to hug Harry.

You didn't want to intrude. They were his family, and they all deserved to say goodbye to Fred first. At least that's what you told yourself so that you wouldn't cling to him in an instant.

"Go," Lee murmured, gently brushing your hair away from your tear streaked face, still taking care of you as one of his best friends just as he did in Hogwarts. "You're his family, too. We all are." He kneeled next to Fred's body with you, and gently took your hand, placing it in Fred's.

"His hand is colder than it usually is." You spoke in a whisper, tears clouding your vision at the newest reminder of the ghost of him before you. "His hands were always warm." You held Fred's hand tightly in your own. "Why is he so cold?"

Lee responded only by putting a hand on your shoulder in consolation. He didn't know what to say. He'd never done this before. Never, in his whole life, did he think he'd be so young and consoling one of his best friends about the death of another best friend. He never thought any of them would lose each other so soon.

It felt like days, when in reality it was only a fraction of that time. The war had been won, but you could barely recall the events of anything past losing Fred. You knew Harry was alive, but you didn't remember how, nor how he eventually defeated Voldemort. Other than flashes of memories of George making sure you returned safe with him and the rest of his family to the burrow, nothing more happened.

You made your way into the twins' old room with George, the both of you laying on Fred's old bed, just wanting to feel close to him.

Mrs. Weasley tried to encourage you both to eat, but the two of you didn't move. Moving made things real, and neither of you wanted them to be.

[0piumlol]

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: sexual tension, swearing, teasing, mutual pining, and Jungkook being a menace.

Genre: kinda Smut, Fluff, Slow-Burn, Friends-to-Lovers

Summary: The AC in your apartment breaks during a brutal summer heatwave, and Jungkook, your best friend, offers to let you crash at his place. It was supposed to be a simple sleepover—until the heat and tension between you become unbearable in more ways than one.

---

The second your AC died, you knew you were in trouble.

By the time the sun set, your apartment had turned into an **actual** sauna, your clothes sticking to your skin as you lay sprawled on your couch, fanning yourself uselessly. You had every window open, but it barely helped—the air was thick, suffocating, leaving you sticky and miserable.

Which is exactly how you ended up texting Jungkook.

**You:** my AC is dead. send help.

**Jungkook:** oh no. thoughts and prayers.

**You:** fuck you.

**Jungkook:** need a place to crash?

That’s how you found yourself standing at his doorstep fifteen minutes later, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder, wearing the lightest clothes you could find—tiny shorts and a tank top, which was the only thing tolerable in this ungodly weather.

When Jungkook opened the door, he leaned lazily against the frame, taking one look at you before smirking.

“Cute pajamas.”

“Shut up and let me in.”

He stepped aside, chuckling as you stormed past him. The second you entered, **blessed, cool air** washed over you, and you let out a dramatic groan, collapsing onto his couch.

“I am never leaving.”

Jungkook snorted, closing the door behind him. “You’re **so** dramatic.”

You turned your head to glare at him, but regretted it immediately.

Because of course. **Of course.**

Jungkook had answered the door **shirtless.**

He was still in his black sweatpants, but his entire upper body was on display—golden skin, toned muscles, tattoos curling down his arm. He ran a hand through his damp hair, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips when he caught you staring.

“You good?”

You quickly looked away. “I hate you.”

He laughed, strolling toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab you a drink. Try not to combust.”

You absolutely **hated** that staying at Jungkook’s place wasn’t a new thing. You’d been best friends for years, and he’d always been the **flirty, annoying, stupidly attractive** menace he was now.

But this?

This felt **different**.

It was **too** hot outside, **too** easy to feel your skin against his when you passed by, **too** easy to imagine—

Nope. Not going there.

You **refused** to be the idiot who developed a thing for their best friend.

Jungkook returned with two cold beers, tossing you one as he plopped onto the couch beside you.

“Thanks for saving me,” you mumbled, cracking yours open.

“Anytime,” he said easily, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, the cold drinks helping to cool you down. You tried to focus on the TV, but it was impossible to ignore the heat radiating from Jungkook beside you, the way his thigh was barely an inch from yours.

And then—because **of course**—the universe decided to be cruel.

The power cut out.

Everything went **dark**.

“…Shit,” Jungkook muttered.

You groaned. “You’ve got to be **kidding** me.”

Jungkook sighed, setting down his drink. “Guess the storm knocked it out. Should be back soon.”

But the AC was **off**, which meant the temperature was already starting to rise again.

Five minutes later, you were **suffering.**

Ten minutes later, you were **dying.**

And that’s how you ended up sitting in Jungkook’s dimly lit living room, skin **glistening** from the heat, sweat dripping down your neck, while your **shirtless** best friend sat across from you, looking **too good for his own damn good**.

“Jesus,” you muttered, shifting on the couch. “I feel disgusting.”

Jungkook’s gaze flickered to you, something unreadable in his eyes.

“You look fine,” he said casually.

“Liar.”

He grinned. “Okay, you look—” He tilted his head, scanning you **way** too slowly. “A little too good, actually.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Shut up.”

Jungkook hummed, taking a slow sip of his beer. “You sure you’re comfortable?”

You huffed. “No. I’m sticky, I’m dying, and I—”

You **stopped** when Jungkook suddenly leaned forward, reaching out—

His fingers brushed against your throat.

You **froze**.

A single drop of sweat had trailed down your neck, and Jungkook—**absolute menace that he was**—had **wiped it away with his thumb.**

His touch lingered for **just** a second too long.

Then, he leaned in.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

You **should**.

You absolutely **should**.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you **grabbed him by the jaw** and kissed him first.

Jungkook made a **deep, satisfied** noise in his throat before kissing you back, hard and **hungry**, his hands sliding down your waist, fingers teasing at the hem of your shorts.

It was **hot**. **Sticky**. **Messy**.

And you didn’t care.

Because this was **Jungkook**.

And **god**, you had **always** wanted him.

His hands slid beneath your tank top, fingers **tracing, teasing, exploring** as his lips moved to your jaw, your neck, sucking **just hard enough** to make your breath hitch.

Then, in one swift move, he had you **pinned** beneath him, dark eyes locked onto yours.

“You have **no** idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, voice **low, rough, dangerous**.

Your pulse **thundered**.

“Then stop wasting time,” you whispered.

Jungkook smirked—then **ruined you**.

---

**The next morning,** when the power (and AC) finally came back, you woke up **naked** in Jungkook’s bed, sore in **all the best ways**, with **absolutely zero regrets.**

Jungkook—grinning, **obnoxiously** satisfied—rolled over, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“So…” He smirked. “How long until your AC gets fixed?”

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “I hate you.”

Jungkook just laughed, arms wrapping around you, **pulling you right back in.**

Yeah.

You were **never** leaving.

—**The End.**

[youryurigoddess]

The summer that was never supposed to end

You’ve probably noticed how in Good Omens 2 Crowley’s eyes are brighter, more saturated, as if glistening with liquid gold. We’ve already covered his hair. And it’s not only the visual aspect of him — even in objectively stressful conditions, Crowley appears mature and put together, way cooler and more protective than before. Even his faults are heavily romanticized in the past and present scenes, reminding of the S1 body swap, when Aziraphale projected his love to him on the way he played the demon in Hell.

It’s not just the demon. The whole season is more vibrant, bolder, filled with sunshine. Just like a summer that was never supposed to end. Like a memory of a loved one seen through the eyes of someone who thinks of them every day until the end of the world.

S2 seems ridiculously saturated, whimsical, and full of red and gold, just like a certain demon. Aziraphale not only painted his bookshop in his image, but literally colored the whole world in Crowley’s colors. It was such lush and saturated and blooming with warmth and hazy light.

It’s either that all the newest events are just another memory seen through a certain angel’s eyes, or said angel actively made it appear this way — as in, his feelings grew so strong that they’ve started to warp the reality around him. And it’s a well-known fact that Aziraphale has a tendency to affect his surroundings, either unconsciously, when his presence in the bookshop literally lightens up the sky seen through its windows, or very much consciously, when he takes over the position of a master puppeteer and manipulates people with or without the help of his miracles.

S1 was more dramatic and apocalyptic, but not particularly gray — at least not as much as the color grading typically used in portrayal of similar apocalyptic narratives. S2, at least as seen through Aziraphale’s own La Vie En Rose lens, is vibrant and saturated. And those colors drastically fade in the heavenly light of the elevator during the credits, suggesting that they won’t be as visible in the course of S3.

But I don’t want to ramble about the apocalypse sandwich and the three-act structure here, so let’s circle back to S2.

Good Omens 2 was really set in a summer that was never supposed to end. But it did, autumn crept in, and there was no chance of hearing the nightingales sing. They all had left by the time an angel and a demon finally kissed.

In the most literal sense: the very last nightingales usually migrate from the UK to their wintering grounds in Sub-Saharan Africa in the first days of September.

Aziraphale was right that nothing lasts forever — and the passage of time on Earth is marked by subtle details invisible to the immortal eyes.

The main thing about autumn migration is how sudden and hard to predict it is. The birds start disappearing gradually, often without notice, until at some point they are no longer here. Much like the angel leaves the bookshop — their shared nest — to spread his wings and fight.

And it was basically announced on the poster.

Can you see the migratory formation of birds up in the sky? It looks like Aziraphale is the last one to get off the ground and fly.

[youryurigoddess]

This is so extremely important in the grand scheme of things and now you have no excuse not to know it.

Good Omens: behind the camera!

With DoP Gavin Finney.

I gathered together all of the interviews I could find where Gavin Finney discusses his work for Good Omens: including how he framed certain shots, the filters used for some scenes, how Aziraphale has a constant halo and celestial shots. (Even a camera that only exists for filming the Gavotte).

There are even more things dealing with CGI and VFX in the articles. So do give them a read if you can!

I also added some things he mentioned for The Ineffable Con 4.

Here are all of my sources:

British Cinematographer Season 1

Good Omens DP Gavin Finney on Earthly and Otherwordly In-Camera Delights

British Cinematographer Season 2

How Cinematographer Gavin Finney Brought Heaven and Hell to Life in ‘Good Omens’

DP Chat: Good Omens cinematographer Gavin Finney

Definition Magazine: Raining Men, Omen

On Shooting Good Omens

Maggie Service: ‘The Good Omens Universe Is A Lovely Place To Inhabit’ – Interview

Tweets because I do now know how to call them anymore:

About the kiss.

Blurring the edges.

Intentional Lighting.

[bookalicent]

yeah so this was insane

[helloimtired]

never being anyone’s best friend or the most important person in anyone’s life, ever, can really fuck you up emotionally

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[mercymaker]

two hours ago had an existential crisis moment in a bath

ten minutes ago it started raining like crazy, just absolutely pouring at 10pm so i ran outside and just enjoyed getting soaked in seconds. it was warm and made me feel alive so yaknow.. sometimes you truly gotta will yourself to enjoy the little things

[chasing-the-persea]

Imagine Percy having a really rough day. His power, what he’s done, who he’s had to be to do those things, are weighing on him. Frankly, he scares himself. He doesn’t know how any sane person would want him around, much less around kids, especially as a counselor.

He puts on a brave face. Maybe if he looks happy no one will remember there’s a person behind that face who can’t look at himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t know how it happened; maybe he agreed to it when he was lost in his mind, putting on the “chill older counselor” face everyone expects, but he finds himself in the sand volleyball pit on the team of campers from the less populated cabins. The Demeter and Hermes cabin teamed up on the other side.

The game itself is a fog to Percy. The only breaks in his gloom come in the form of reminders: that’s only a volleyball (images of a giant hurling rocks at him flash in front of his eyes). they’re calling the ball (the sound of campers crying out for help in countless battles echo in his head). that’s just sand (the phantom touch of Gaia’s earth brush his legs)

Before he knows it his team is cheering: they won. He doesn’t know how–or if–he contributed any. He chastises himself. A good leader wouldn’t let themselves be distracted. Wouldn’t…his shoes are gone.

He could’ve swore they were right there? If he wasn’t so caught up with himself he would know where he put his shoes, that’s so stupid what would have happened if he was in battle and he got distracted, then it’d be on his head if another camper got killed again because of him, he shouldn’t have even played what was he thinking—

A Hermes kid was holding them up, taunting him, retaliating for their loss. He took one step towards them and they took two steps away. Their face was…playful? This was a prank. They’re pranking him. Don’t they know what he’s done, why their cabin is so empty now?

He took another step. This time the kid let out a excited laugh and ran a few feet away. This was a game. For fun. The kid knows but doesn’t care. They just want to have fun with an older counselor. camper. cousin. whatever the relation, they genuinely just want to mess with him.

But why would they—unless. Unless they aren’t afraid of him.

They see him as a leader, and like any other rotten kid, they want to tease whoever’s in charge. The kid is just being a kid, doing kid things. Like stealing someone's shoes and knowing they won't be hurt because of it. Because they believe Percy is good.

He tries to ignore the similarities on the kids face to one he knew so well, one he thought was good when he was the kids age.

I'm not Luke, he reminded himself. A tiny whisper in a corner of his mind hissed how are you any different?

He looked at the kid again, who was still holding out the shoes, attempting to lure him into a chase. The kid took a couple more steps away, grinning wildly as Percy’s face set in determination.

I’m going to be the person Luke needed, and the one he never was for me. We deserve better.

He sprinted after the Hermes kid, laughing lighter than he had in months.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[clits-and-clips]

Didn't wake up bawling my eyes out today so that's a plus