Impending Doom. (Good Omens, Newt/Anathema)
Title: Impending Doom.
Author/Artist: allira_dream
Rating: PG13.
Warnings: Nothing.
Word count: 400 words.
Summary: Newt was never someone to deny the obvious.
A/N: Written for springkink: Good Omens, Anathema/Newt: portents - shadows stretching further than they should
Impending Doom.
Newton Pulcifer considered himself a sensible man. His girlfriend even agreed on that, though most of the times, Newton was of the idea that they were agreeing on two completely different things that just happened to be called the same: Anathema had this ability that he was willing to bet was trademarked by the Device family to almost rename things by how she said them.
But back to the point, Newt considered himself a sensible man. He wasn't a believer but he wasn't, either, someone to deny the obvious. That's what happens after you see the almost-but-not-quite end of the world. Newt was never someone to deny the obvious.
So if his girlfriend was saying that the shadows were stretching further than they ought to, well, who was he to say she was seeing things? Especially since he knew that if Anathema was seeing things she was bloody well seeing them, thank you very much.
Even if she was seeing them when she was on top of him, her legs around his hips, her quite lovely hands on his chest. She had been more than lovely a few seconds ago, when she had been moving
“Are you sure?” He asked, because while he believed his girlfriend, there was always the tiniest chance that perhaps she was mistaken. Or that whatever she had seen could wait a minute or two.
But Anathema just gave him a look that made whatever mood was left between them die and curl inwards (and not the only thing to do that, either) so Newt sighed, rubbing his face.
“Shadows moving are a sign!” Anathema said, moving from on top of him, taking the sheets with her as she tumbled towards the bathroom. “Of course I'm sure we have to do something, what kind of question is that?”
“Not a sensible one, I gather,” Newt muttered to himself, hunting for his underwear, since he had a rule when dealing with the supernatural, and that was that he'd rather have his pants on before having to deal with it, if it was all the same. Once he had them on, he sighed. Right, portents and shadows of impending doom. “I'll get the candles, then.”
And maybe a few torches. Just like the supernatural didn't have the consideration not to happen when one was having sex, they were never expecting torches. They couldn't hurt.
Author/Artist: allira_dream
Rating: PG13.
Warnings: Nothing.
Word count: 400 words.
Summary: Newt was never someone to deny the obvious.
A/N: Written for springkink: Good Omens, Anathema/Newt: portents - shadows stretching further than they should
Impending Doom.
Newton Pulcifer considered himself a sensible man. His girlfriend even agreed on that, though most of the times, Newton was of the idea that they were agreeing on two completely different things that just happened to be called the same: Anathema had this ability that he was willing to bet was trademarked by the Device family to almost rename things by how she said them.
But back to the point, Newt considered himself a sensible man. He wasn't a believer but he wasn't, either, someone to deny the obvious. That's what happens after you see the almost-but-not-quite end of the world. Newt was never someone to deny the obvious.
So if his girlfriend was saying that the shadows were stretching further than they ought to, well, who was he to say she was seeing things? Especially since he knew that if Anathema was seeing things she was bloody well seeing them, thank you very much.
Even if she was seeing them when she was on top of him, her legs around his hips, her quite lovely hands on his chest. She had been more than lovely a few seconds ago, when she had been moving
“Are you sure?” He asked, because while he believed his girlfriend, there was always the tiniest chance that perhaps she was mistaken. Or that whatever she had seen could wait a minute or two.
But Anathema just gave him a look that made whatever mood was left between them die and curl inwards (and not the only thing to do that, either) so Newt sighed, rubbing his face.
“Shadows moving are a sign!” Anathema said, moving from on top of him, taking the sheets with her as she tumbled towards the bathroom. “Of course I'm sure we have to do something, what kind of question is that?”
“Not a sensible one, I gather,” Newt muttered to himself, hunting for his underwear, since he had a rule when dealing with the supernatural, and that was that he'd rather have his pants on before having to deal with it, if it was all the same. Once he had them on, he sighed. Right, portents and shadows of impending doom. “I'll get the candles, then.”
And maybe a few torches. Just like the supernatural didn't have the consideration not to happen when one was having sex, they were never expecting torches. They couldn't hurt.