#I am still not happy with Crowley's face but I drew it so many times that I created a whole wall of shame | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ourownsideimagines · 3 years

Text

Hide My Wings Tonight: Not Another Gloomy Play (Chapter 5)

Surprise! Not dead! I suddenly got the oomph today to finish not one but TWO chapters. Chaoter Six will be posted later, but I figured after two years of waiting I would go ahead and put up Chapter 5 right now.

Read it here on AO3!

Or read it below the cut

Based on the one-shot request by @jinxthequeergirl

---

Aziraphale had not seen his sister filled with such joy in centuries as he did in the years following the beginning of her and Crowley’s arrangement. Not that he knew of said arrangement of course, but he didn’t question what his sister did as long as she was happy. He worried about her, that much was for sure, but after she’d blown off his question the first twenty times he’d stopped asking, and started to enjoy the smile she once again gave so freely.

And (name) enjoyed learning to dance. Her demonic partner was not the best at the task, but they were learning together by watching others, and interacting. No one would question their presence at parties and masquerades. And though (name) would never admit it, she enjoyed spending time with Crowley. There was something about him that drew her in. Perhaps that was just how demons were. Enticing to even the purest of minds. Or maybe just to her.

She didn’t like Crowley, Heaven’s no - how could she, he’s a demon - but his company was a nice change from her doting brother and the snobs up in Heaven.

And of course, with their first arrangement, came another one. One that would change the world forever

You see, arrangements can be a tricky thing.

The one that (name) had with Crowley was simple enough - Crowley would help (name) learn any new dance she desired, as long as she was willing to help him with small things. She had been a bit reluctant to these terms at first, but found that there was some joy in her disobeying Heaven. It was like a huge fuck you to Gabriel behind his back.

Did his coat need mending? Simple enough - it might not look beautiful, but it was presentable. Did Crowley need a name? Most certainly, (name) could get that. Did he need help getting into somewhere he couldn’t get into otherwise? Not a problem, (name) was good at talking her way into places. Did he need Aziraphale distracted for a while while he did some misdeeds? (Name) could turn a blind eye and take her brother out to lunch. Whatever he asked for, (name) was willing to do it.

Aziraphale had caught onto them rather quickly, much to (name)’s dismay. He’d been upset. He didn’t know about the dancing, but he knew that she’d been sneaking off to see Crowley and to help him with his hellish intentions. It had taken hours for (name) to get him to calm down and listen.

And that was how the second arrangement began. This one was just a bit trickier to get away with. After all, hiding something from Aziraphale was one thing. But hiding something from heaven was another - they had eyes everywhere. Even if it didn’t seem like it, someone was bound to be watching. And if not now, then later.

Aziraphale had been against the idea for so many years, helping Crowley, or God forbid, getting Crowley’s help. But with the way (name) and Crowley insisted it could do us some good, how was he to resist?

So that was how it had been, for many years. The angels helped the demon, and the demon helped the angels. Heaven hadn’t noticed, and as far as (name) knew Hell hadn’t either. That didn’t mean any less sneaking around - Aziraphale refused to meet with Crowley privately. It always had to be in a crowd, somewhere inconspicuous.

And the Globe Theater during the preview of Shakespeare's new play, Hamlet, was anything but.

Aziraphale had promised a crowd, but (name) could count no more than fifteen heads among the crowd - that included the Bard himself, and the woman carrying snacks, Juliet. As they waited for Crowley, Aziraphale purchased himself a bunch of grapes, miracaling a coin out of nowhere.

“If you were going to do that,” (Name) said as Juliet walked away. “You could have just miracled yourself some grapes.”

“Now where would be the fun in that.” Aziraphale said, smiling down at the fruit before popping one of them into his mouth. He glanced around quickly. “He’s late.”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed.” She teased. “Stop looking so nervous. You’re the one who wanted to meet with him here.”

“Yes, well, I assumed there would be a much bigger crowd.”

“There’s never a crowd for a show like this.” (Name) argued. “People are depressed enough as is, they don’t want to be going to a show that will just make them feel worse.”

“I don’t feel any worse.” Aziaraphale argued.

“Yeah, well, you’re also not like everybody else.” The two were silent for a moment. Then, almost as if she could sense him, (name) turned her head and watched as Crowley sauntered into the arena. He saw them, and took no time at coming to stand beside (name).

“I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here. Blend in with the crowd.” (Name) wanted to smile at this. Aziraphale, on the other hand, huffed, and ate another grape before he spoke.

“That was the idea.” He grumbled, glancing over at the demon. Remembering his manners, he offered the fruits to him. Crowley, however, ignored them.

“Ah, hang on.” The demon grimaced. “This isn’t one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones, is it?” He scrunched up his nose. “No wonder nobody’s here.” (Name) smiled at this.

“Shh, it’s him.” Aziraphale grasped his sister's arm, catching her attention.

“Prithee, gentles, madam.” He said. “Might I request a small favor? Could you, in your role as the audience, give us more to work with?” (name) tried not to frown at this, but she had never been very good at controlling her mouth - both what came out of it, and what shapes it decided to make. Shakespeare didn’t seem much interested in her tho, his eyes focused more on Aziaphale who asked;

“You mean, like when the ghost of his father came on, and I shouted ‘He’s behind you!’?”

“Just so!” Shakespeare said. “That was jolly helpful. Made everyone on the stage feel appreciated. A bit more of that.” (name) wanted to argue. She wanted to say that it made no sense, but she didn’t have the chance. “Good Master Burbage, please! Speak the lines trippingly.” The actor on stage didn’t take the advice too well, and (name) was sure he was ready to explode on the bard at any moment.

“I am wasting my time up here.” He hissed.

“No, you’re very good!” Aziraphale insisted. “Isn’t that right, my dear sister?”

“I-” She bit her tongue. Aziraphale has a bad habit of putting her on the spot like this. That, plus a loose tongue, was never a good pairing. “Yes. I just love all the… talking.” She said.

“And what does your friend think?” The actor asked, clearly looking towards Crowley.

“He’s not our friend. We’ve never met before, we don’t know each other-”

“I think you should get on with the play.” Crowley interrupted Aziraphale, and (name) had to raise a hand to cover her mouth. If Aziraphale heard her laugh, he would surely lecture her later.

“Yes, Burbage. Please.” Shakespeare said. The actor continued.

“To be or not to be - that is the question-”

“To be!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I mean, not to be! Come on, Hamlet. Buck up!” He turned to (name) with excitement, but it quickly died when he saw the bored look on not only her face, but on Crowley’s as well. Still, the actor gave him a grateful thumbs up and continued on. (name) had to keep from laughing when she noticed Shakespeare mouthing along to the soliloquy, looking very proud of himself.

“He’s very good, isn’t he?” Aziraphale gushed.

“Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.” Crowley dramatized. (name) watched as Shakespeare reached for his pocket, stating how he ‘liked that’ and wandered away while scratching it down on a scrap of paper.

They stood there a few moments longer, listening to the soliloquy.

“What do you want?” Aziraphale finally spoke, popping another grape into his mouth. (Name) took this opportunity to snag a few, cradling them in her hand as she trained her eyes on the man standing on stage.

“Why might you be insinuating that I might possibly want some?” He was behind them now, coming to stand on Aziraphale’s side.

“You’re up to no good.”

“And the two of you are up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds?” (Name) spared him a glance. He wasn’t even trying to pretend that he was watching the play. Even behind his glasses she could see him glancing at her, then back to Aziraphale.

“Well there is no rest for the…” Aziraphale paused, causing (name) to snicker. The actor on stage threw her a look, which she chose to ignore. “Good.”

“We’re meant to be heading up to Edinburgh at the end of the week. Aziraphale has a couple of blessings to do and I have a minor miracle to perform.” (Name) popped a couple of the grapes into her mouth - they were the perfect mixture of sweet and sour, causing her to hum with joy.

“Oh? Is that right?” Crowley looked at her again and (Name) fought to keep a smile off her face. “Well, I’m meant to be heading to Edinburgh end of the week as well - tempting a clan leader to steal some caddle.”

“Doesn’t sound like hard work.” Aziraphale piped in, too focused on the play and his food to realize what was coming next.

“Well, that’s why I thought…” this caught Aziraphale’s attention, and he all but snapped his head in Crowley’s direction. “Well, it’s be a bit of a waste.” Crowley was starting to smile again. He knew exactly what he was doing. “All of us going all the way to Scotland.”

“You cannot possibly be insinuating,” Azirapahe was beginning to raise his voice, and (Name) hushed him before the actor could throw another tantrum. “What I infer you are implying.” He said in a hushed tone.

“It’s not like we haven’t done it before.” Crowley was turned to watch the play now, but (name) never looked away from him. “The arrangement-“

“Don’t say that.” Aziraphale demanded.

“Our respective head offices don’t actually care how things get done, they just want to know they can cross it off the list.

“Yes, but if hell found out they wouldn’t just be mad,” Aziraphale reminded him. “They would destroy you.” The joy of seeing the demon had finally worn off as (name) let Aziraphale’s words sink in.

They would destroy you.

“Nobody ever needs to know.” Crowley said, lifting a hand to show them a rusted coin. “I’ll toss you for Edinburgh.”

There was a pregnant pause. (Name) could feel the words forming on the tip of her tongue. We shouldn’t do this, she wanted to say. It’s way too dangerous. But she couldn’t. Because a life without seeing Crowley every now and again would be… well, she’s not sure it would be worth living.

“Fine,” Aziraphale sighed. “Heads.” Crowley smiled. Then, he held the coin out to her.

“Would you do us the honor?” He asked. As (name) took the coin, her fingers brushed gently against his own, and despite how well dressed he was and how warm it was, his fingers were cold. Aziraphale’s eyes were trained on the coin so he didn’t see when Crowley gave her a sly wink.

The other arrangement.

(Name) held onto a sigh as she flipped the coin, fingers snapping gently as she did. When the coin landed, she knew it would be tails, but she played her part and gave a small groan of annoyance.

“Well, brother of mine, it looks like we will be the ones going to Scotland.” She displayed the coin. “Guess I’m just a bit unlucky.” She lied.

Before either of them could speak, they heard the bard moaning from the other side of the pit.

“It’s been like this every performance Juliet, a complete dud. It would take a miracle to get anyone to come and see Hamlet.” (Name) didn’t miss the look Aziraphale gave Crowley. The same face he gave her when he wanted something sweet, or was begging her to help him get a new book.

Crowley scrunched up his nose, but let out a defeated sigh.

“Fine, I’ll do that one.” He said. “My treat.”

“Oh, really?” (Name) shuffled a bit, annoyed words threatening to spill from her lips. But Crowley spoke up quickly.

“I still prefer the funny ones.” He gave (name) one last glance before making his way toward the exit of the theater, probably on his way to start on his demonic miracle. It was at that moment that (name) realized she was still holding Crowley’s coin.

“Oh, bugger.” She muttered. “Could you hold on a moment, brother. I will return in just a moment.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Quite. Just need a breather, is all.” He didn’t seem to like that answer, but didn’t argue as (name) tore away from him and walked towards the theater exit. As she popped out onto the empty streets, she could feel eyes on her. To her left, Crowley was leaning up against a wall, waiting for her.

“Sneaky bastard.” She said, “You forgot something.” She said, holding out the coin to him. He stared at it for a moment, but didn’t hold out a hand to take it. So she pulled back, slipping the coin into a pocket she had secretly sewn into her dress. “Is everything okay, Crowley?”

“How are you?” (name) was taken aback by the question, but Crowley seemed genuine in his curiosity.

“I am… fine.”

“You seem happy.” He said. “Even if you weren’t enjoying the show, you just seem… happier.”

“Well,” (name) started. “I am. Times are changing. I haven’t had to visit upstairs in quite a while. And Aziaraphale is happy. So I am happy.”

“Good. That’s… good.” There was silence between them. “I still owe you from last time, too.” He said. (name) hummed in agreement - she hadn’t gotten her promised dance lesson for the last temptation she had assisted him with.

“I guess this next one will just have to be a bit longer, then, no?”

“It would seem.” Crowley was smiling. “Have fun in Edinburgh, Angel.”

“Have fun with Hamlet, Demon.” She shot back, trying not to laugh as he grimaced. Crowley pushed off the wall and began to saunter off, leaving (name) to return to her brother. When she reached into her pocket, she couldn’t help but laugh to herself.

The coin was gone.

#hide my wings tonight #HMWT chapter 5 #chapter 5 #crowley x reader #crowley x angel!reader #crowley x fem!reader #crowley x reader good omens #crowley x angel!reader good omens #crowley x fem!reader good omens #x reader #x angel!reader #x fem!reader #reader insert #good omens reader insert #Aziraphale’s sister!reader #my writing #reese writes

34 notes · View notes

huntertales · 4 years

Text

Part Four: Ding Dong The Wicked Witch Is Dead. (Slumber Party S09E04)

Episode Summary: The reader and the boys call in I.T. expert Charlie Bradbury to help track fallen angels with technology found in the Men of Letters bunker. However, they soon discover something more in the form of the one and only Dorothy from Wizard of Oz. Everyone joins forces to take down the Wicked Witch and her evil plans. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 3,116.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

There were two things you were absolutely certain of; your head was killing you from the second time of being thrown around tonight against your will. And there was no way in hell you were letting some wicked witch control the boys like they were her flying monkeys. You stumbled back up to your feet and grabbed your gun for a precautionary measure if things went south faster than you could handle. You took pride in yourself being a good hunter. But even you knew this fight was rigged against your favor. The brothers had a significant amount of strength and height compared to you if you were to go up against both of them at the same time.

Charlie was still pinned against the broken window with Dean keeping her in place and Dorothy was on the ground, Sam looming over her after he punched the woman when she was distracted and unable to dodge the attack. It was three against two. The odds made it an unfair fight—for the boys, that was. Neither one of the boys knew what was about to hit them.

“Don’t worry,” Dean reassured the red head about the similar demise that was waiting for the both of you. “You and your friend will join Dorothy right after you watch her die.”

“Sorry. I really don’t think that’s gonna happen.” You grew a smirk when you caught the attention of Sam and Dean, distracting them momentarily from the two women in their grasp. “I’ve dealt with enough crazy for a lifetime, but I draw the line at a wicked witch possessing my boyfriend. Flying monkeys are a bit of an overkill, don’t you think?”

Charlie took the opportunity to do the unthinkable to her best friend in order to get away from him while under the spell of the witch before she could get hurt. She swung her leg up and kicked him in the privates, hard enough to make you wince from how painful it looked. Dean went sinking down to the ground as Charlie escaped and distanced herself from the man. Dorothy took her chance as Sam was focused on the both of you managing to escape from them. She grabbed a long pipe that was leaning against the wall and whacked the younger Winchester right in the face, causing him to stumble to the ground as well, letting her push herself up to her feet.

Dorothy didn’t think for a second when she threw the other ruby red slipper she had been holding over to Charlie, who caught it with ease. “Go! We’ll buy you some time.”

“Be careful!” Charlie shouted before she went running for the staircase before either one of the boys could try and go after her. Right now they were more concerned about the two other women who were about to kick their asses. Your smirk widened as you placed your fists up, egging them on even further to make the first move.

You had been in your fair share of physical fights during your time of hunting, too many to keep track of. You were taught by the very people you were going up against. And went up against monsters with equal or more strength than you had. It didn’t stop you from giving it your all, letting you come out as the victor most of the time. You didn’t think you had personally gone up against one of the boys in a fit of rage that turned physical. Most of the time it was you who had to break up the brawl that broke up between the boys. Now it was your turn to have a little fun.

You had to admit you’d been off your game ever since you stopped doing the trials. Dean had been doing his best to sideline you. It was your chance to redeem yourself and prove that you weren’t weak anymore. You could handle this all on your own.

You managed to shake off every punch Dean landed your way when you couldn’t dodge them. He wasn’t going down without a proper fight. And so were you. You threw a few punches here and there, taking him down from doing anything stupid. You showed no signs of stopping anytime soon when you laughed. “Oh, buddy. I can do—”

You found yourself regretting the words you were about to mock the witch with when Dean roughly grabbed you by the throat and shoved you into the nearest wall. You clawed at his skin in some kind of attempt to break free, but he proved himself more powerful under the woman’s spell. “My body might not be able to kill, Dorothy. But theirs can. And you will be next.” The witch taunted you back, chuckling darkly as you struggled to try and shake off Dean’s tight grip. “You’re weak. No match for me.”

You found yourself suddenly seeing red at her words. It was a trigger of some sort you didn’t realize you had buried deep inside of you until this very moment when they were spoken out loud. You swing your fist straight up into Dean’s stomach, knocking the air right out of his lungs and making him drop his grip from your neck. You kicked your leg and shoved him backwards with your foot, giving yourself some distance between the both of you. You felt your breathing turning into heavier pants from the anger that was coming over you and planning on lashing out at him.

“I am not weak.” You seethed at the witch. You found her words cutting you deeper when they were coming from the man you loved. “You have no idea who the hell you’re going up against, you bitch. If it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’re gonna get!”

Without thinking, you drew back your arm and got ready to give it your all this time, not caring about the physical pain Dean would deal with later on. You’d help ice his wounds and apologize when the time came. You were dead set on letting out your frustrations, not not taking into consideration Charlie broke the spell. You didn’t see the flash of emerald in the boys’ eyes and their deathly expressions change into confused ones. You only realized when you were left with a throbbing fist and hearing Dean’s infamous three words you knew could only come from him.

“Son of a bitch!” You heard him grunt out.

You furrowed your brow in absolute confusion from the reaction you weren’t expecting to come out of his mouth. “Dean?”

“What the hell just happened?” Sam asked. He looked between you and Dorothy, inspecting the bruises and bloodied up faces, wondering how you managed to get those wounds. The younger man was quick to figure out the answer when he realized he was holding the demon knife.

If the spell was broken and the boys were back to their normal selves, it meant Charlie had killed the witch. You and Dorothy shared a glance, mumbling the young woman’s name, half out of happiness at how she managed to save the day. And in fear if she was all right. The four of you headed to the front area of the bunker, cautiously making sure there were no flying monkeys or the wicked witch to stop you if she was somehow still alive by chance. Only you shouldn’t have doubted the red head. You stopped in your tracks when you caught sight of her leaning over the balcony that overlooked the ground floor. She waved the key and smirked at her victory. The woman managed to do it all by herself.

“Ding dong, bitches.”

+ + +

Everything was back to the way it rightfully was. The wicked witch was dead. You didn’t need to drop a house on her or throw a bucket of water to kill the bitch. A pair of ruby red slippers was the key to ending it all. Dorothy had the key back to Oz and Charlie got another chance to live out her fantasy of a hunt filled with magic and quests, even if it only lasted for the night. Not to mention the discovery Dean made about the bunker he never knew that right was under his nose. A garage stocked with different sorts of tools at his disposal to fix up the Impala and several classic cars to gawk over. What he was most excited of all was to have Baby near him. You crossed your arms over your chest and smiled in delight at how she looked in here, she fit in perfectly. Like it was meant to be.

“Baby looks good in here, doesn’t she?” Dean marveled at the sight of the Impala. You chuckled at how he was acting and shook your head. “Hey, how come you never told Sam and me about this place?”

“I don’t know. It sort of slipped my mind.” You said, shrugging your shoulders at the proper answer. “And I wanted to keep it a little secret. Just in case you both try to put me in the corner again when it comes to a hunt. Gotta make sure I have a good escape.”

Dean rolled his eyes at your excuse making you laugh once again. You looked over to see Sam and Charlie making their way up the staircase to join the rest of you after she got everything packed up and Crowley was back in lockdown. The redhead nodded for the older Winchester to follow her to the other side of the garage to have a private conversation away from the group. Sam headed over with something in his hands, a book he figured Dorothy might want back.

“Dorothy. I found something in the archives. Pretty sure it belongs to you.” Sam held up a first edition novel of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, the very first book her father had written about her. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her lips at the novel as she reached for it.

“You have no idea how odd it is having a series of books written about you.” Dorothy said. A quiet laugh escaped your mouth from her statement you could relate to a little too much to.

“Actually, we do know, and it is definitely weird.” You said. You and the younger man shared a small smile from the oddness of your life that almost no one could say the same for. You would be the first one to admit having a few dozen books written about you sucked. But you learned a thing or two along the way that made you cherish them. “But you know what? End of the day, it’s our story, so we get to write it.”

Charlie glanced over at the small crowd of three to see they were in a conversation of their own to wonder what her and Dean were discussing. She had been itching to get the man alone since the conversation she had with Dorothy back in Dean’s bedroom.

“So, thanks for the slumber party…” Charlie started off slow, easing her way into the topic she wanted answers. Dean smiled and nodded his head without much thought. He figured this was a conversation that was going to end with a goodbye. But she wasn’t leaving without a serious discussion. “…And bringing me back from the dead.”

Dean tried to give the young woman a confused expression from her accusation, pretending to wonder where she had gotten such an idea from. “Uh, I didn’t.”

“Don’t B.S. a B.S.er.” Charlie pushed for the truth. Dean knew his little white lie wasn’t going to cut it. She could tell from the way his expression changed in a heartbeat. She didn’t know if she should be relieved, or nervous at the consequences she was going to have to face with her new chance at life. “Am I a zombie now? Do I need to eat brains?”

“No, no, no. You’re you. You’re gonna be fine, all right?” Dean tried to reassure the woman that everything was the way it was before she got attacked. He glanced over at you and Sam to see the both of you were still oblivious to the conversation. And he wanted to make sure it stayed that way. “Just keep this between us, okay?”

Charlie rolled her eyes in annoyance from how secretive Dean was being with her. She didn’t know why he was acting like this. But she honored the man’s wishes from the things he had done for her. “All right, but only ‘cause you raised me from the dead, which you’re going to have to explain to me later.”

“All right.” Dean grumbled in defeat.

“Not bad for a bunch of librarians.” Dorothy approached the both of them just in time as the conversation was dropped once and for all. You and Sam followed behind to join the rest of them. “You mind keeping an eye on my bike for me?”

“Yeah. Totally.” You agreed with the woman’s only request. You glanced over your shoulder to take a peek at the motorcycle to see it in all of its glory where it had been collecting dust for almost eighty years. “As long as you don’t mind one of us taking it for a spin once in a while.”

“Deal.” Dorothy said. You smiled at the compromise and crossed your arms over your chest. It was a pleasure to meet the real Dorothy you had read about in the novels. She was strong and smart. Not to mention a Woman of Letters. A rare thing you discovered while poking your nose around the archives. You were happy to be not the only one to be able to hold the title anymore. “Thank you for everything. Now, if you excuse me, I have a rebellion to finish. So, you coming or what?”

The question was directed to Charlie, who suddenly looked like a deer in headlights at the opportunity she thought was too good to be true. “What? With you?” She asked. The grin that spread across her lips and the way her face lit up made you chuckle. “To Oz?”

“Yeah. You said you were looking for adventure. Well, here it is, Red.” Dorothy remembered the conversation she shared with the woman earlier. And she couldn’t have picked a better partner to share the adventure alongside with. “Come help find my damn dog.”

“You have no idea what’s in Oz. I mean, there’s flying monkeys, armies of witches.” Dean thought he was talking the young woman out of going to another world that wasn’t your own. Little did he realize he was pushing for her to take the opportunity. “There’s all kinds of danger.”

“Promise?” She asked, you felt your lips stretching into a smile at the sight of her happiness she couldn’t hide no matter how hard she tried.

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe quests don’t suck after all. You just need to find the right one. And this is yours.” You found yourself taking back what you had said earlier. There was no denying this was tailor made for the redhead. And who were you to deny her the chance at doing some good? Your quest in life wasn’t what you thought it was. Yours was staying here, hunting and keeping the world safe from monsters. Hers was in Oz. “Go. Get your magic. Just make sure you kick some flying monkey ass for us, Red. You deserve it.”

Charlie quickly pulled you into a hug at your blessings. You wrapped your arms around her and pulled her into a tighter hug. A part of you was going to be always scared if she was safe, but Dorothy was going to make a great partner. And Charlie knew how to kick some ass. You pulled away to give the boys a chance at saying their goodbyes to the woman.

“If you need anything just tape your heels together three times, okay?” Sam gave the woman a hug of his own, making sure to keep the promise of always being here for when she decided to make her return back home.

“Me? What about you crazy kids?” She asked. “You gonna be alright without me?”

“I’ll make sure they don’t get into too much trouble.” You reassured the young woman.

“Take care of our boys, Y/N.” Charlie said. You nodded your head at her request. “And make sure you do the same for yourself.”

Charlie gave the three of you one final smile before looking over at Dorothy. She inhaled a deep breath and turned around with the woman to make their journey into Oz. Dorothy pulled the key out from the inside pocket of her jacket and placed it inside the lock of the doors. You watched as she pushed them open, revealing Oz in all of its glory. You felt your jaw parting open in amazement; you could see Emerald city in the distance and the yellow brick road to guide them. The scenery was gorgeous with its green mountains and miles of endless grass. It was straight out of the novel, better than you could ever imagine.

You felt a smile tug at your lips as Charlie made her first steps into the new world. She was the happiest you had ever seen her. The young woman stopped for a moment to give you and the boys one final smile. Dorothy saluted you as her final goodbye before the two women departed on their way. The doors slowly closed as they made their way down the yellow brick road. Deep down you knew they were going to be more than okay. Dorothy and Charlie made a great duo. They were going to have many adventures of their own. The boys opened up the double doors to make sure the entrance to Oz was closed. All you saw was the tunnel that led to the outside. Nothing else.

“Think she’ll be back?” You asked the boys.

“Of course.” Sam said. You turned your head to look up at the man from what he said next. A smile crept on your lips as Dean sneaked a hand around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. “There’s no place like home.”

In any other situation the words that came out of Sam's mouth would have felt cheesy. But in a way he was right. Home doesn't always have to be a place. Sam learned that from the lifestyle he led. Home can be a person. No matter where your quest took you, you knew you would always feel at home with the boys at your side.

[Next Part]

Rewrite Taglist:

@deansquirreljerkwinchester // @everything-i-tried-was-taken // @starswirlblitz // @supernaturalismydrug // @we-are-band-sexuals // @angiewinchestercas // @kaylinfayezink // @owhatshername1 // @kgbrenner // @cleo-is-my-doggy // @eeyore1988 // @dakota-dream // @lilylovelyxo // @timetravelingginger // @holahellohialoha // @quicksilver123456 // @natashacamillas //@lexi-anastasia //@kaylinfayezink // @deanwnchstr @albot-eh // @rashinyx2002 // @shellybeans // @icantfindacreativeurl // @becs-bunker // @oreosatmidnight // @bands-and-shietz // @fabulousmustachesonapolarbear // @clarewinchester // @releasethekracko // @alex-zeppelin // @mega-mrs-dean-winchester // @theskytraveler // @notmoose94 //@assassinofmasyaf // @caswinchester2000 // @savannah-m-99 // @sunlight-dean // @strayrosesbloom // @that-slytherin-over-there // @1000roughdrafts // @its-medeanwinchester // @simplyhemmings // @dream-believe-and-love

Message me if you would like to be added!

18 notes · View notes

gottagobuycheese · 3 years

Text

Creator Wrap 2020

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

As I’m typing this it is 5:02 in the morning on the last possible day to finish during 2020 so kudos to me for being a consistent person in SOME aspect skjhfskj

Thanks for tagging me, @beingjanee! When I was looking for stuff I made this year, I was kind of surprised to realize how much stuff I’d started but never finished, or finished but never posted. Granted, some are because I am not at liberty to share them, but mostly it was just because I never got around to it. So there isn’t really much to share from this year, haha. But hey, head start on next year!

Anyways, these are some of the few things that made it outside my brain this year, despite all the Everything™. A fair few of them are co-created, so credit where credit’s due! And thus, in no particular order:

1. Hollow Knight OST - Greenpath (Cover): Somehow in between all the studying and discording and video gaming, I was lucky enough to join my fellow agents of chaos @imperiousheiress and @silent--sonata in making our very own cover of Greenpath from Hollow Knight! Outside of formal band class or choir, I’d never actually made music with other people before, much less online across such drastically different timezones, so this was a SUPER fun little project that came out of this year! And it sounds pretty dang good, if I do say so myself. It also made me realize that if I cannot bring a keyboard or my trumpet to whatever place I end up living/working next I might actually die

2. [Podfic] A Portrait in Synesthesia (based on A Portrait in Synesthesia by @jessicafish): This one is also a collaboration borne of the sheer madness that comes with locking five restless creatives in a groupchat during the first few months of this ridiculous year. But this is no ordinary podfic. Voiced by @d20owlbear, @silent--sonata, @internetkatze, @imperiousheiress, and yours truly, it’s also got cover art for each chapter AND an absolutely gorgeous instrumental track that accompanies it. I remember fondly the anticipation of waiting for Jess’s birthday to come by so we could finally stop sitting on it XD (speaking of, happy very belated half-birthday Jess!!)

3. Laugh Lines and Crow’s Feet: For once I did not chicken out completely when faced with the mortifying ordeal of Making a Background, so I’m definitely proud of at least that much with this piece XD. Also I love any excuse to draw people laughing, so there’s that.

4. Fem Crowley: What started out as an exercise in head angles quickly ended up being an exercise in color. Obviously it looks way more accurate than anything I’d’ve drawn from scratch, but as far as the coloring goes, I’m pretty happy with how it turned out!

5. Good Omens Snake-Off: Drew almost all the line art for this entire thing on the plane ride home after being forcibly punted from the country when the world first started shutting down, so THAT was new. I’ve never drawn that much on a plane before, especially without saving references first (until we landed and I had to google Brother Francis’s face of course), so I’m very pleased with it! (Also it’s just fitting to include the very first thing that came of quarantine lol)

Running out of time to post this before midnight so I’ll edit it later lol

(EDIT: all right it is officially the Gregorian new year and now that the fire alarm has been disarmed I can finish this in peace lol)

And I’d be remiss if I did not at least mention the entirety of the Good Omens Big Bang! I can’t quite tell how much of the work was done in 2019 (which, wild that that was only last year — well, last last year, now), so I didn’t include it, but knowing me, I’m sure 90% of it was done in the week(s) leading up to the February deadlines.

(It’s already 2021 for me, but that’s not the case for all of you, so it’s okay I can still tag people.) Thusly I tag everyone mentioned above and also @theoldaquarian, @runningturnip, @yeswevegotavideo, @queenerdloser, @pachelbelsheadcanon, @fremulon, and everyone else who wants to share some of the things they’ve made in the past year (but no pressure!) Making it through this year was hard enough, so even if it wasn’t a particularly creative year, that’s still plenty to be proud of. And whatever else happened, I’m glad it meant I could meet you all :D

Here’s to a better 2021 for everyone (oh hey that rhymes)! May you and your loved ones experience much more happiness, good health, and fun than in the previous year. And, of course, HAPPY FRIDAY!! (And also New Year I guess)

#it is 5:06 and it is getting really hot under this blanket and also I promised my housemate we'd make garlic bread today #so I must break for sleep #not that this will change anything whatsoever for whomever is reading this when it's posted #lmao okay it is now 10:40 on the last night of the year because I slept until 2:00 and then made garlic bread with my housemate #and also binged the first season of kingdom #captain's log #tag thingy #tag game #honorary mentions to all the ocarina and piano and trumpet recordings that only live on my phone or DMs #they're not posted anywhere BUT I am proud of them!! I've never bothered recording myself doing anything before #but it's definitely something I'd like to continue going forward #JEEZ THAT ALARM WENT ON FOR LIKE FIFTEEN MINUTES #MY E A R S #sure hope we never have a real fire hear because I will 100% just plunk my headphones on and ignore it #instead of figuring out where to evacuate to #ANYWAYS HAPPY NEW YEAR

3 notes · View notes

secretsantasides · 4 years

Text

Gift #15: Daydreaming

Gift for @logic-is-not-missing

For warnings, we've got a few instances of kissing, some cuddling, some negative thoughts, one panic attack in the middle, and falling asleep together in the same bed.

Logan was a very serious Side. Thomas counted on him for many important functions: organizing, planning, working through issues with any sense of Logic, technical information and vocabulary recall, and prioritizing tasks, just to name a few. He worked tirelessly to ensure that his Host was as well-managed as could be, given that he had other Sides that influenced him. It wasn’t uncommon to have Virgil, his loving, patient boyfriend, massage his head in a darkened bedroom while he dealt with a migraine at least once per week. His job required him to be taken seriously, to not have his input disregarded on the basis of character.

Which is why no one could ever know the secret to his relaxation.

Logan felt his cheek burn and eyes sting with shame whenever he opened the lower cabinet of one of the bookcases in his room. In it, there was a small, unassuming box. However, the plain cardboard box held Logan’s secret. A secret that would certainly make the other Sides, his Host, lose faith in him, which was entirely unacceptable.

He was still glowing from Thomas calling him “cool” after helping his Host learn to live with and manage Remus. To lose that now would be devastating. Only now am I “cool”, only now have I gained their acceptance. Only now have my actions, as diametrical to the others as they are, become palatable. Logan swallowed thickly at the thought of Virgil.

Perhaps now Virgil won’t have to try so hard to be happy with me.

He shook his head, useless emotional thoughts clouding his judgment. I need to clear my mind. I need to rest so my brain can operate at optimal efficiency. Too much depends on me. He pushed his insecurities about his boyfriend to the back of his mind.

You are rationalizing the use of a frivolous activity to delay necessary work.

Falsehood. Daydreaming mimics a meditative state, reduces stress, augments problem-solving abilities, improves memory retention, and promotes the ability to be empathetic.

You do require significant improvement in your empathy. 30 years, and this is the first time the others have considered you cool.

Logan blinked, ignoring the stinging in his eyes. I know. Which is why I must continue this behavior, as well as keep it a secret from them.

It still demonstrates your weakness, your dysfunction as a Side, your inability to be perfect Logic, your failures to-

Cease this!

The voices faded to whispers, cruelly taunting his from the back of his brain, but Logan found it infinitely more tolerable. He snapped his bedroom locked and sound-proofed and opened the box, excited to see what he’d be playing. Ever since he’d given in to his guilty pleasure, he’d used mindscape magic to have to box choose whichever outfit would best fulfill his needs for those minutes he’d allow himself to pretend. He had to stop himself from smiling too widely when he saw that he’d get to play Crowley from Good Omens. He stripped out of his clothes and laid them on his desk so they wouldn’t get wrinkled, then changed into Crowley’s outfit as fast as he dared.

Once he got the cosmetic contact lenses in place, he stepped back and appraised himself in the mirror. The slim black outfit made him undeniably cool and attractive, and he was already holding himself differently. Logan sauntered out of his bathroom, swaying his hips dramatically, hoping he could manage the swagger Crowley possessed. He allowed his mind to slip into that of Crowley’s; the confidence, the largely uncaring attitude, the pure sex appeal. He imagined that he was speaking with Aziraphale on raising the Antichrist.

He walked up next to his bed. “Now Aziraphale,” he began, speaking into an empty space but pretending there was an angel before him “if the world comes to an end, you realize there’d be no more sushi?”

He spent the next hour leaping across his room, walking about and having imaginary conversations and confrontations with various characters, fixing the things he thought could be improved on and fully feeling the emotions of Crowley during his devastation and elation. He closed his eyes and felt a gentle breeze coming off a pond, heard the ducks bickering in the background, smelled the vanilla from a nearby ice cream stand. Most of all, he felt Aziraphale’s presence next to him, adoring gaze upon him. Logan smiled to himself.

Virgil would be quite perturbed if he found out he was Aziraphale and I was Crowley.

He jumped when the timer on his phone went off. He tapped his phone to get the alarm to shut off and pushed away the sadness he felt. Logan had to fight to keep unbuttoning his clothes; his body wanted to keep them on and to keep pretending. He couldn’t deny the feeling of melancholy as he slowly, carefully folded the clothes back in the box and closed it, returning it to the bottom drawer. When he stood back up, he had to squeeze his eyes shut and bite his bottom lip for a few moments to get his emotions under control.

After a few deep breaths, he opened his eyes and focused on his desk, attempting to metaphorically leave his sadness inside the box with his daydreaming outfit. He quickly pulled out his laptop and began working on the budget for the next Sanders Sides episode. Despite the previous episode just being posted, they needed to work on getting the next one into production so the Fanders wouldn’t have to wait too long. Yet another reason I cannot allow my credibility to be damaged. We cannot afford any delays in a Side who’s not Logic attempting to manage my work.

/////

Logan set his empty coffee tumbler on his desk and stretched. He was feeling rather victorious; the new Sanders Asides episode had gone off swimmingly, and the viewers were reacting quite positively to it, including his improvised line:

“Just your cool teacher being cool.”

Thomas and the Sides were beginning to accept that Logan could be tolerable on occasion, and he did not want them to forget that fact. The thought of them going back to not thinking he was cool made his throat close up. He could feel tears gathering in his eyes while his mind’s eye helpfully supplied him the images and sounds of his ideas being laughed at, the twinge in his chest that would happen, the devastation that would follow. He attempted to rein in his thoughts using logic, but to no avail. He whimpered tightly as his vision became spotty.

Oh. Oh dear. This is a panic attack.

Logan laid down on the ground to prevent injuries should he lose consciousness. He gripped the carpet uselessly and struggled to follow the breathing exercises he himself so often helped Virgil through.

He whined as he felt someone rise up in his room. No, they cannot see me like this, I am barely seen as palatable, I can’t bear to lose my credibility as stoic-

“Hey L, have you- Logan holy shit!”

No! Please, not Virgil! Please no!!

“Uh fuck, okay. Hey, it’s okay Logan, you’re safe. Can you hear my voice?”

Logan nodded, shamefully only just noticing how wet his face was from tears.

“It’s okay buddy, you’re having an anxiety attack. Whatever your huge brain is telling you right now, it’s not that bad. I promise, it’s never that bad.” Logan sensed Virgil hesitate next to him. “Is it okay if I touch you right now?”

Logan nodded again, closing his fingers around Virgil’s when he felt them.

“Alright, listen to my voice. Breathe in for one, two, three, four…”

Virgil helped Logan through the breathing exercises. Logan stumbled through the first few, but managed to breathe through the next couple despite his distress. By the time they had reached their twentieth breathing exercise, Logan’s body and mind were feeling calmer. He slowly opened his eyes, illogically not wanting to see Virgil’s face after being so… vulnerable. Virgil’s dark eyes were watching him in concern.

I have caused my boyfriend distress. I need to rectify this immediately.

Logan brought Virgil’s hand to his mouth and kissed it softly. It had the desired effect; Virgil blushed fiercely, his cheekbones and ears turning a gorgeous red.

Virgil cleared his throat. “Uh, feeling better?”

Logan smiled, adoring the deep timbre of his lover’s voice. “I am. Thank you, Virgil,” he said emphatically.

Virgil’s blush turned a deep crimson. “Do you feel like you can sit up?”

“I do.”

Virgil’s hand hovered behind Logan as he drew himself into a sitting position. It left him and Virgil sitting side by side, Virgil itching to act but not knowing what to do. Logan decided to put him out of his misery and kissed his shoulder.

“Shall we retire to bed? I find myself rather drained.”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course! Want any water?”

“Certainly, one mome-”

“Be right back!”

Logan smiled and huffed at his sweet, caring boyfriend. He snapped himself into pyjamas, not wanting to embarrass himself or Virgil. He crawled under the covers just as Virgil returned with the promised glass of water.

“Here you go!” Virgil said, shooting finger guns at Logan and promptly wincing.

Logan quirked an amused brow and sipped the cool liquid. It soothed his parched mouth and throat and helped to further calm him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Virgil asked, mumbling.

Logan delicately set the glass on the nightstand. “No, I’d rather not.”

“Your call.”

Virgil watched Logan worriedly and crawled into bed next to Logan. He laid down and gathered Logan into his arms, clutching him against his chest. Logan smiled at the actions of the protective Side.

“I love you Logan.”

“I love you too Virgil.”

With a kiss to the top of his head, Logan drifted off to sleep.

/////

Logan practically ran to the bookcase that held his secret. The next Dark Side had been revealed, and he’d been talked over almost constantly. Thomas had finally gotten the other Sides to hear Logan out, and Logan understood because it was more of a creative endeavor, but the stress of having something to say and not being able to be heard over the din of panic had his blood pressure rise.

He set a timer for a half-hour - he was expected for dinner - and started tugging at his tie while he pulled out his box. He nearly jumped up and down when he saw what was inside.

Grinning in excitement, he quickly got into his Sherlock Holmes outfit. He pushed back the memory of amused judgment from Thomas and the other Sides.

Especially Virgil’s.

Logan adjusted his scarf. He’s apologized, he was only acting defensively because he thought he had to, he thought we hated him, he was in so much pain, he’s already apologized many times…

He shook his head and grabbed the empty pipe from the bottom of the box. He pretended to take a few puffs before smacking his lips.

“Interesting theory Wat-”

His bedroom door slammed open. “LOGAN!! REMUS HAS SHARKS AND- wait what? What’re you doing?”

Logan’s back stiffened and he froze in horror. He felt something in his chest shatter as tears quickly built in his eyes. No no no no no no no…

“L?”

Please GOD no, not Virgil! Please! Please no! Oh god, I can’t, I can’t look at him, he’ll see how pathetic I am, how horrible of a Logic I am, how useless I am. He likes me being serious, he likes my calm, my lack of theatrics. He’s going to break up with me, he now sees what I am, a, a…

A freak.

Logan’s throat spasmed in silent, painful sobs. He bit back a whimper when he heard Virgil walking closer. Please, please don’t look closer. Please spare me a single shred of dignity. Please do not gaze upon me. He’s going to tell everyone, and they’re all going to never listen to me again, Thomas will keep me locked in my room, I’ll lose all their love...

“Uh… what are you doing?”

Logan sniffled loudly. “Nothing of importance,” he said thickly, feeling a curious guilt at calling his daydreaming unimportant.

“Okay… It doesn’t look like nothing, Lo. What’s going on?”

Logan was shaking uncontrollably at this point. “I-I apologize f-for keeping this fr-from you, darling. I love you, s-so much.” His voice broke on the last syllable and he bent over a little, beginning to let out audible sobs.

“Oh! Oh shit, Lo, I love you too! Fuck,” Virgil circled around to Logan’s front and tilted his head up. Logan kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the derision, the disgust, in his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Logan, it’s okay, I know you like your Sherlock costume. Shit, fuck, uh… do you want a hug?”

Logan let out a particularly painful sob at that. A final hug before we break up. A goodbye hug. “P-please.”

Logan collapsed into Virgil when lithe, warm, hoodie-cushioned arms wrapped around his shoulders. He finally allowed the dam to break, releasing his fear. His back and chest were heaving with grief.

“Shit, oh Logan, god. It’s okay, oh my god, you’re okay. Why didn’t you tell me something was wrong?”

“I-I’m sorry!”

“No, fuck, it’s okay! What’s wrong? Is it something with us?”

“N-no, I love you, b-but I’m-” Logan cried for a few moments before continuing, “I’m going to m-miss it.”

“Wh- are you breaking up with me?” Virgil gasped.

“N-no, but you d-do not want someone like m-m-me.”

Virgil let out a breath. “Fuck, okay, you scared me for a second. Lo, I want someone exactly like you. That’s why we’re dating, right?”

“I- yes, but what about-”

“No Lo. I know you like your Sherlock outfit. Is that what this is about?”

Logan nodded miserably into Virgil’s chest. “You’re always talking about how exhausting Roman can be and how I recharge you and-”

“Lo,” Virgil cut off again. “I panic sometimes, does that make you not love me?”

“Of course not!” Logan exclaimed, finally meeting Virgil’s eyes.

“Then you sometimes dressing up as Sherlock doesn’t bother me. It’s kinda cute actually.”

Logan’s lips quirked at the small blush on Virgil’s face. “But what if,” he sucked in a breath. “What if it’s more than…” he trailed off, too frightened to finish his sentence.

Virgil started rubbing Logan’s back. “I don’t care. I just want you to be happy. Like I said, it’s cute.”

Logan’s breath hitched. “Y-you don’t mind?”

Virgil shook his head, blush firmly in place. “Nah.”

“I d-don’t lose my credibility in y-your eyes? You’re n-not less attracted to me?”

“No, and definitely not.”

Logan searched Virgil’s face before kissing the tip of his nose. His breath with still shaking and his chest was still tight, but he didn’t feel like he was losing everything anymore.

“Irene Adler!”

Logan jumped at the outburst.

Virgil cleared his throat sheepishly. “Sorry. But don’t you need an Irene Adler?”

Logan blinked a few times. “I… I suppose so.”

Virgil snapped, and he was dressed in Victorian lace with elbow-length gloves. Logan raised an eyebrow, as Ms. Adler would not wear something so loud, but smiled appreciatively at Virgil.

Virgil traced his gloved hands over Logan’s sleeves. “Do you want to tell the others?”

Logan considered it for a moment before shaking his head. “Not yet.” I’m scared.

“Okay babe, we don’t have to. How do I look as Irene?”

Logan looked Virgil up and down. “Stunning, my dear.” He waved his hand, and slow jazz music began playing. “Shall we?”

Virgil just smiled and rested his head against Logan’s chest, beginning to dance slowly with him. The strains of the jazz chords washed over them, reaffirming their relationship and their love. They’d go to bed later. For now, they allowed themselves to be lost in the music and in each other.

#analogical #fanfic #secretsantasides #logan sanders #ts logan #virgil sanders #ts virgil

51 notes · View notes

thisbitchinthecorner · 4 years

Text

2013 (roughly 6 years before the End of the World part 2) Day 19- Wish

This chapter almost broke me. For @drawlight

Seated on a fine tartan print blanket, Brother Francis, Nanny and Warlock enjoy a fine lunch in the sunshine. Warlock, of course, only nibbles at the fruit and eats most of the cookies, while the angel dines of the thoughtfully prepared snacks.

“Nanny,” Warlock yawned. “Can you sing me a lullaby?”

“Now, my dear?” She replied with apprehension.

“Please, I’m not tired, I just want to rest my eyes.” The boy said as he settled his small body between where Nanny and Brother Francis were seated.

Singing for the child was one thing, singing in front of an angel was something else entirely. Warlock, unaware of the gravity of his request, reached for her hand and settled it upon his own.

She closed her eyes, and began:

Sleep my child and peace attend thee,

All through the night

Guardian angels God will send thee,

All through the night

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,

Hill and dale in slumber sleeping

I my loved ones' watch am keeping,

All through the night

She paused to take a breath, it was in that moment, it happened. A voice, soft at first, tentative and guarded began the second verse.

Angels watching, e'er around thee,

All through the night

Midnight slumber close surround thee,

All through the night

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,

Hill and dale in slumber sleeping

I my loved ones' watch am keeping,

All through the night

More glorious than any sound he had ever heard, and he had heard the sound of Jophiel herself sing, could even come close the glorious singing that filled his heart.

Then, two voices never meant to join in song did.

While the moon her watch is keeping

All through the night

While the weary world is sleeping

All through the night

O'er thy spirit gently stealing

Visions of delight revealing

Breathes a pure and holy feeling

All through the night

A miraculous symphony. Impossible harmonies. Two opposite entities resonating as one.

Warlock lay fast asleep between them, unaware that he was now nestled between Crowley and Aziraphale.

Crowley listened as the angel sang the final verse, listened and watched. Everything they had been through together had led to this moment in time, and he refused to relinquish a single second.

Aziraphale finished his song, a blush filled his cheeks as he realized the demon had been staring at him, staring without the shield of his glasses. Those raw, intense golden eyes full of wonder, full of awe, full of love. He could not help himself, he leaned in as did the demon, closer and closer. Scarcely a breath between them.

“We can’t.” Aziraphale whispered, breaking the silence.

“We can.” Crowley whispers back, edging his lips closer, until their foreheads rested against the other’s.

“If you kiss me, I won’t be able to stop myself. I won’t be able to resist you any longer. I won’t want to resist you. We can’t.”

“Aziraphale, I don’t want to pretend anymore. I need you to know that I lov...”

The angel drew his finger to the demon’s lips as he struggled in vain against tears.

“Shhh, please. Please, you cannot say it now. Not yet. If you say it now, then it becomes real, and I will not be able to go back to the way things were, I will not be able to conceal my feelings from them, and that will be a disaster. They will use it, they will use us against each other, and while I know most certainly that I can endure whatever punishment Heaven will give, what Hell will do to you, that I cannot endure.” Tears flowed down the angel’s face as he spoke.

“Can’t you see, how difficult it has been for me to resist you? I’m afraid that if you say it, I will not be able to hold back.” Aziraphale touched Crowley’s hair, brushed his fingers along the demon’s cheek before placing them against his lips again.

“I need to keep you safe, and that means it must remain unsaid. I cannot lose you, I cannot go on without you. Everything we are trying to do would be meaningless if I didn’t have you beside me, if I didn’t have you to fight for.” Aziraphale’s voice broke as he choked back a sob.

“Do you want it to be real?” Crowley asked gently.

“Look at me, please, look in my eyes; you must know, after all this time, you have to know by now, it has always been real for me.” The angel’s voice softened, as he gazed at the demon.

Crowley nodded, as tears spilled from his eyes. “Is it always to be this way then?”

“I have to believe that it will not. I have faith that things will be different one day, and I have faith that day is coming soon. Crowley, we are so close to that happening, please...I need to keep you safe, even if that means sacrificing my heart’s desire.”

“Alright, angel. I can wait.” Crowley once more rested his forehead against the angel’s as the tears continued to come. “Please sing for me again?”

Aziraphale began the finest love song he’d heard in centuries. They were still close, so very close. The demon placed his head upon the angel’s shoulder, their fingers entwined.

When the rain is blowing in your face

And the whole world is on your case

I could offer a warm embrace

To make you feel my love

When evening shadows and the stars appear

And there is no one there to dry your tears

I could hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love

I know you haven't made your mind up yet

But I would never do you wrong

I've known it from the moment that we met

No doubt in my mind where you belong

I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue

I'd go crawling down the avenue

And oh, there's nothing that I wouldn't do

To make you feel my love

The storms are raging on the rolling sea

And on the highway of regret

The winds of change are blowing wild and free

You ain't seen nothing like me yet

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true

Nothing that I wouldn't do

Go to the ends of the earth for you

To make you feel my love

“Nanny?” Little Warlock’s sleepy voice asked, and in an instant, all was restored to how the child knew his world to be.

“I’m here, my darling. I’m right here.” Nanny cooed, separating her finger’s from Brother Francis’s and running them through the boy’s hair.

“Is there still time for us to picnic? I didn’t even get to fly my kite!” The boy protested.

“We have time for that, Young Master.” Brother Francis helped the child to his feet, and the three of them made their best attempt to raise the kite.

The sky turned a hazy orange, signaling that night would soon be upon them. Warlock reached for Nanny’s hand and then for Brother Francis’s; they walked home, periodically lifting the boy over patches of dirt and wayward sticks, much to his delight.

Their arrival at the country estate was quiet, as neither Mr. nor Mrs. Downing were home. Nanny helped the boy bathe and ready himself for bed. As she read to him, he colored on a leaf of paper.

“I made this for you!” Warlock said with pride.

“It’s lovely my dear.” Nanny said as she looked at the picture.

“See, that’s me jumping over that big rock! Remember? And that’s you and Brother Francis.” The boy said as he pointed to two figures clearly holding hands in the drawing.

“But why are we holding hands?” Nanny asked as she raised her eyebrow.

“Nanny!” Warlock sighed. “It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone that you love each other. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“My darling, such an imaginative of yours.” Nanny said as she pulled the covers over the child.

“Nanny, I wish every day could be like today.” The innocent child murmured.

“So do I, my dear boy, so do I.” Nanny kissed Warlock atop his head and turned out the lights. She held the drawing in her hands as she left the room; it would be placed among her many treasures that she has kept over the years. But few would ever be this precious.

#31 days of ineffables #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #Nanny and Brother Francis #ineffable husbands #justenoughofabastardtobeworthknowing

35 notes · View notes

mxsinistir · 4 years

Note

I've just finished Good Omens and I'm in love. Would you write something angary about how the ineffable husbands are forbidden to see each other and fight against everything to get back to each other?? Xxxx

I am so sorry this is late and even if this isn’t exactly what you asked for I hope this still satisfied your need for ineffable husbands dramatic fighting for love content :)

Aziraphale had always hated heaven. It was cold, it reeked of nothing, and the only thing for as far as his thousands of eyes could see was white. White walls, white wings, white thoughts. Shiny, untouched, infinite.

Eternal.

He would spend an eternity here, he realized, the notion still not sinking in. He looked down at the blade in his hand - no flaming sword of Eden’s gates, but angelic none the less. He could slay many a demon with such a weapon.

“And you shall,” Gabriel has said to him, puffing out his chest and smiling thinly. “We will triumph over hell in a blaze of glory.” Maybe, maybe not. After all, all of history’s greatest strategists and warriors had walked the road to hell.

Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Julius Ceaser, and most of those that slaughtered in their name. Aziraphale admittedly had few qualms about taking their souls out of the afterlife entirely.

“But what of those who didn’t mean to fall?” He asked the Archangel,

“Aziraphale, everyone that walks the road to hell has good intentions,” As always, Gabriel’s idioms were never quite correctly recited, “No one means to fall. But those who do not repent are doomed to face the merciful wrath of heaven.” Well, wasn’t that an oxymoron, though it was not one that Aziraphale commented on. “You know your part?”

“I shall descend on London with my battalion,” Aziraphale choked out, forcing a faux-smile. “And I shall fight for the glory of God.”

“Very good, Aziraphale we’re all very proud of the work you’ve done over the last six thousand years spent on Earth. I don��t know how you’ve born it!”

“With the strength of God,” said Aziraphale, though right now, it seemed as if his faith was chipping away right in front of him as he realized that perhaps his sparkling god wasn’t as glorious as he thought.

***

Crowley stared at London for the last time, Big Ben tragically striking high noon for the last time. It had survived fire and blitz and the end of the world before, but not like this. This was really it - no great powers to come and intervene. He could only weep internally as he watched the families huddled together, praying to the forces of heaven who were making all of this happen in the first place.

The day of Armaggedon, it rained in London. But when the angels arrived in the skies, the rain began to sizzle and pop. Oil-black wings burned away and scattered into oblivion, blessed clouds of holy water speeding across the sky.

Crowley gripped the bow in his hand and watched, staring up at the rain one last time. His rain was earthly, though the droplets around him were not. He cringed and listened to the sound of his comrades’ screams of agony as the holy water dissolved their flesh, their weapons scattering over the ground.

The panic was enough to send forces in every which direction, not that there was any escape. While others wasted their energy trying to make a run from the rain, Crowley realized it was of no use. He titled his head back and clenched his fingers white around the bone limbs of his bow. He had lived six thousand years - more than that even - and had not acquired even a single regret. Only that he would never get the chance to tell Aziraphale goodbye before the holy water took his soul away forever.

His yellow eyes flickered shut as the rain drew in around him. But it did not touch him.

Crowley dared to squint one eye open, and around him was a shield of white feathers. Aziraphale. His angel had come for him.

“You-” Crowly stammered out, though as Aziraphale’s arms squeezed tighter around the lanky demon, he found that he could not form words. “You saved me,” And for a moment, everything went still, and he saw the two of them back in Eden, witnessing what they thought then to be the fall of humanity.

“Aziraphale!” A voice boomed through the fighting, booming like a thunderhead in the rain, and it didn't sound happy.

“So I’m assuming Gabriel didn’t tell you to go out of your way to save me?” said Crowley. Azirpahel, dawning a serious expression now, shook his head and drew his sword. The demon watched in awe as flames birthed across the steel, splitting open into the air and cracking against the rain. One swipe, the oppressive holiness of the water was gone, even if only for a moment. But a moment was all the two of them needed to break into a run through the streets of London that they knew so well. Inf act, they knew them better than anybody else, and so no one could possibly catch them, not even the Archangel fucking Gabriel.

But the devil often worked harder than any angels, and so while the forces of Heaven were clueless about the street plans of London, Crowley’s gang seemed to be quite keen on following the two.

“Can you carry us both?” Crowley asked as he spun around a corner, “In flight? Can you carry us both?” Aziraphale fervently nodded, moving to loop his arm under Crowley’s. But instead, the demon stepped onto the angel’s shoulders, curling his feet around the bones and keeping perfect balance even as the angel shot vertically into the unblessed sky.

Crowley drew an arrow back, the tip spitting hellfire as the angels and demons who dared come after them. But it was no use - even with infinite arrows, even the snake of Eden, the demon of the Original sin, was no match for the armies of Heaven and Hell. And if there was anyone they could mutually hate, it was a defector.

“Hey, angel?” Crowley asked calmly, “Do we actually know where we’re going?” “To Adam,” Well that was a good thing, only because Crowley hadn’t actually been expecting an answer. “To reason with him. If he does have all the powers of Christ, then he can stop this.” That’s what they would have to hope.

“Them,” said Aziraphale

“Yes, I know,” Crowley sighed, “them against us and all of those good things, but how do we find Adam?” “No, the Them.” said the angel, “They live a few blocks from here. Maybe if we find them, we find Adam.”

“Or,” Crowley looked over Aziraphale’s shoulders, “He finds us.”

Crowley didn’t remember what happened next. All he remembered was the world falling into black as he pulled Aziraphale close for what he feared might be the last time he might ever feel the warmth of the angel’s lips on his.

***

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and as Aziraphale got to his feet, he looked around and realized that this was far from the fiery hellscape he’d expected to see on Earth. This was Earth, wasn’t it?

“No way we ended up in the same afterlife,” Crowley mused as he stirred, “Or, after-afterlife, it seems.”

“No, Aziraphale pressed his nose to the chilly window, Big Ben and other parts of London’s skyline visible in the rising sun. “We’re still on Earth, all right. Which means Adam did it.”

“Which means that we did it, angel,” Crowley said in a raspy morning voice, his long arms finding their way around the waist of his other half.

“But what does that even mean for us now?” asked Aziraphale, “Are we supposed to go back to our sides now? Pretend this never happened? Wait around for the next ap-”

“We don't have sides anymore, angel,” said Crowley, his hands finding a place in Zira’s. “We're eon our own side.” And as the redhaired demon pressed his lips onto the angel’s without fear or repercussion for the first time in millennia, Aziraphale decided that he could be very, very, content in his newfound neutrality.

#good omens #Ineffable Husbands #crowley #Aziraphale #one shot #crowley x arizaphale #aziraphale x crowley #angst #dramatic #armaggedon #adam #antichrist #adam young

12 notes · View notes

butternbeansohmy · 5 years

Text

Before The Fall

lePairing: Aziraphale x Crowley/ Genre: Fluff & Angst/ Words: 6,986

Summary --->

Crowley tries to explain to Aziraphale what he remembers before the fall. God takes a moment to speak to Crowley.

I seem to have jumped onto the bandwagon that is Crowley as Raphael and I am actually very very pleased with what I've written. I also took inspiration from this lovely post ----> https://femmeaziraphale.tumblr.com/post/185875052879/shut-up-aziraphales-true-form-is-scary-as-fuck

You can also check my work out at AO3 ( Lexitennant2) or Fanfiction.net (leximia)

Crowley paused, looking down into the rich, red wine, as if it had the answers to the question. He squinted harder into the liquid, trying to think through the haze of a drunken stupor as to what the question even was, that his dear angel had asked.

" 'M sorry now, what did you say?" He slurred, allowing himself to sink even further into the soft, worn leather of the couch he had occupied for more than several decades in Aziraphale's bookshop.

"I asked, whether you remembered anything before the fall." Aziraphale said timidly, and definitely not as drunk as Crowley.

Crowley moved his gaze towards the angel and noticed immediately that the other had sobered up. He pondered for a moment if this situation would be better if he stayed drunk, or followed Aziraphale's steps into sober-dum. He decided on the latter, willing the alcohol out of his system, and took a minute to try and get rid of the awful aftereffects of said action.

"I suppose I remember just as much as anyone else does." Crowley told a half-lie, straightening up as much as a man of his form could do. It was enough to make Aziraphale raise an eyebrow at the no longer lounging snake, and more tense teenager with terrible posture.

Crowley had made a habit of not lying to the angel straight on. It made him feel horribly guilty afterwards, and he was a demon and should not be feeling guilty about lying to his ang- fri- adversary....oh who even knew anymore what the angel was to him.

As for a half-lie, Crowley was a demon so he couldn't be fully exempt from shying away from the truth - unless it was horrible truth that would bring upon misery - and this moment was no exception. He was certain that the other fallen remembered just as much as he did, but not more, for he was far older than them, and had done so much more. The memories from before the fall, before the garden, were stained into his brain forever. Being an immortal being, sometimes memories would disappear with a flicker and it would take some time to get them back, but there was no way he could ever forget what his life had been before.

There was nothing he could compare those memories to now.

Aziraphale miracled a mug of cocoa, and as a second thought, made one appear in front of Crowley on the table. A little coaster peaked out from around the bottom of the mug and Crowley regarded it apprehensively.

"Its not poisoned." Aziraphale said mildly, though a tad offended.

" 'Course not." Crowley made a big show of drinking from the mug to appease the angel, and let the hot liquid distract him from how Aziraphale was watching him with curious eyes.

When Crowley said nothing more, Aziraphale huffed a sigh.

"I was hoping you could talk to me about it dear."

"Talk about what?"

Aziraphale gritted his teeth with annoyance and drank some cocoa, aware of how Crowley was looking everywhere but him.

"Talk about what it was like before, who you were-"

"Why does it matter?" Crowley snapped, setting down the mug of cocoa harder than he needed to onto the table. "Why does it matter who I wasss before, or what I did, or any of that." He spat out, shoving his sunglasses more firmly over his eyes as they began to slide down during his tirade. "I am who I am now. Demon Crowley, no more no lessss." The hisses were becoming more and more pronounced the more worked up he became.

Aziraphale had opened his mouth several times to try and interrupt him, but when Crowley fell silent he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Crowley..." He hesitated, trying to gather his thoughts, form a plan of how to approach the demon.

Aziraphale knew Crowley like the back of his hand. 6,000 years will give you that benefit. The demons emotions were coming at him from all different directions, irritation, hurt, fear, shame. Aziraphale cursed whomever made the first tinted glasses that hid Crowley's eyes from him; cursed the idiotic self righteous town folks that had almost burned Crowley at the stake.

In a bold and empowered move, and moving faster than even he knew he could, he got up from his chair and grabbed the sunglasses off of Crowley's face and contemplated throwing them across the room now that he had them, but submitted to just setting them down besides Crowley's cup of cocoa because he knew the demon was fond of his Valentinos, or whatever over priced, showy, brand they were.

Crowley's eyes were shocking up close, filled with even more emotion than his body language. It was like looking into the sun, bright yellow and painful. But Aziraphale loved those eyes as much as he loved the demons quick wit, and fiery red hair, and ridiculously thin body.

"My..You took my.." Crowley trailed off, stunned by the sudden turn of events. He should be mad, but instead all he could do was stare down at Aziraphale as blue eyes looked deeply into his own.

"Just tell me Crowley. I know it's painful for you, but it's better to let it out. And it doesn't matter per say who you were then but it would be nice to know dear. Please."

Crowley was a creature of habit. Yelling at his plants even though he'd long since scared them into submission; only Queen in his car (which was partially his own fault and not so much the Bentley's), and of course, not being able to turn away Aziraphale.

He reluctantly sat back down on the couch, suddenly aware of how close Aziraphale had been standing in front of him, and looked quickly at his sunglasses and tried a last ditch attempt to grab them, but Aziraphale was blocking them and suddenly he was sitting so close to Crowley that their knees were touching.

Crowley flicked his tongue out in a nervous habit, and stared at where their bodies met. He could see Aziraphale's hands twisting in his own nervous tell out of his peripheral vision, and Crowley tried to relax a bit. Which was quite hard given the topic of discussion they were about to dive into.

"I don't know if you'd remember, you were in a different sector than I, but Lucifer was very bright."

Aziraphale was looking at him dumbfounded. Crowley didn't know why he was starting his story this way either but it seemed to be coming from somewhere deep within and he just let it out. 6,000 + years and he'd never said anything besides a nonchalant "I asked to many questions," or "I just hung with the wrong people."

"I faintly remember." Aziraphale said unsure of himself. "It is true that as a principality I wasn't around you...or was I?"

Crowley shook his head and Aziraphale continued.

"I remember the fall quite well." Aziraphale stopped twisting his hands and Crowley pressed his knee closer to Aziraphale. This was as much his story as it was Aziraphale's. "Lucifer being bright? Not so much." He said bitterly.

Crowley huffed with sudden amusement.

"He was almost brighter than the damn sun at the time. He was warmth, and happiness, and he was filled with enough love to match God." He smiled slightly, the memories flowing back to him as if they'd never left. Aziraphale stiffened next to him.

"Surely not more than God herself." He stuttered.

"Close enough." Crowley said keeping himself in an amused state.

"Out of all of us, he was her favorite really, though she denied it from the beginning." He suddenly rose higher and straightened his spine, making his voice a soft, feminine, croon. "I have no favorites my dear child. I love all my creations equally."

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. "Is that what she sounded like?"

Crowley looked at him confused.

"I have heard her before, back with the whole sword fiasco...but she never sounded so-"

"It was a long time ago angel." Crowley cut him off.

"Lucifer, being so bright, handsome, kind, the whole nine yards, was what drew us all to him. I guess I could claim I was second favorite, for she allowed me to make stars and nebulas and worlds of my own." He trailed off. "There's a reason I have such an affinity for Alpha Centauri you know?"

"You?!" Aziraphale jumped back a little in his seat. "You did that?" There was such awe and wonder in his tone that Crowley could feel his corporeal form blush.

"Oh shush." He hissed lightly, motioning for the angel to calm down. "You can ooh and aah afterwards."

Aziraphale gave him a look that practically screamed I-do-not-ooh-and-aah, but returned to his previous spot, now with a little bit of their thighs touching added to the mix. Crowley decided to take it a step further and leaned back into the couch, throwing one arm along the back, so that if the angel just unclenched and let go, and leaned into the sofa, the demon could have his arm around him. Leaning further back also made sure there were no more gaps between their lowerhalfs.

"As I was saying," he pointedly stared at Aziraphale before focusing his attention on the mugs of cocoa - that were now long forgotten, " he had a certain light about him, even before we were given corporeal forms, that made him easy to trust. One day, almost out of nowhere, but it had probably been going on for much longer and we were too blind to see, his light had changed. It hurt to be around him now. He was still kind to us, and filled with warmth, but his light had changed so significantly that we were all becoming wary of him. He also began talking to other angels that he had never talked to before. He wouldn't give us straight answers when we asked him." Crowley wondered how he could convey to the angel through words how what Lucifer had been like back then. How it had been so easy to just get swept up in it all.

"I was always inquisitive as an angel, everything I made was made after asking myself a series of questions. So when She revealed her great plan, I of course asked questions."

"Wait." Aziraphale held up his hand. "She only told a few angels the great plan, the ineffable plan-"

"Not the same thing-"

"and they were archangels."

Crowley shrugged and looked into Aziraphale's eyes. They were the sort of blue that shifted from a deep lagoon blue, to a sort of green in the right lighting. Right now they were closer to the first option because the lighting in the shop was dim, but Crowley became lost in them all the same.

"You're an archangel." Aziraphale breathed out.

Crowley flinched. "Wasss. Was is the key word."

Aziraphale looked sheepish and offered up a sincere apology.

"I never would have thought, but I can see it now. I think I saw you once."

Crowley raised an eyebrow at this. He had spied the principality many times, often after he'd finished creating a new star he'd go to rest, regain his strength, and during those times he'd spy on the other angels. He had become infatuated - even more so now - with the angel that looked every bit of the stereotypical angel as one could. Soft white-blond curls, dazzling blue eyes, and soft, slightly rounded body. He had never been aware the other had ever seen him.

They were all rather close in the start, but as more and more angels were created, and God began to retreat, they stopped mingling outside their factions so Aziraphale and him had never had proper introductions.

Crowley had never even seen Aziraphale's true form, for God had given them corporeal bodies to match the new creations she was starting to make.

"I saw you once, watching me and the others. You had a look on your face that I- well- It'd be too forward of me to assume I know what that expression was but.." He trailed off and slowly brought one hand up to cup Crowley's cheek. The demon took in a breath he didn't need and all but melted into the soft hand that felt so warm on his face.

"Assume away angel." He trilled at the alliteration. The angel blushed and bit his lip as Crowley used the arm not laying on the back of the couch to wrap around the angels hand that was cupping his cheek, and tugged gently so the angel was curling into his side and their faces were only a few inches apart. Crowley moved his grip from the hand upward so his longer and slender fingers covered Aziraphale's smaller and pudgier ones.

"You were looking at me the way you are now." Aziraphale sounded breathless.

Crowley smiled slightly and curled the arm drapped over the back of the couch into Aziraphale's hair. His fingers sinking into the soft curls as Aziraphale's eyes fluttered at the contact.

"I only asked questions angel." His voice hitched and Aziraphale scooted closer, almost settling into Crowley's lap, his breath mingling with Crowley's.

"I took one look at Her plans and I couldn't stand it. I was supposed to be a healer for all and I was to do nothing as she tested them to destruction." His voice had acquired a whine that Aziraphale had never heard from the demon before. It was a sad whine that was asking Aziraphale why was he being punished for caring.

"She told me not to question her, that it was Her creation and how She knew what she was doing because she's God. But tell me angel, how were we supposed to love these creatures that she made in her image, and then sit back idly as they destroyed themselves. It is not in my nature to watch children be thrown away after they have served their purpose." Crowley's eyes were becoming glassy as he struggled not to let the tears out.

"I'm sure She didn't-"

"Oh ssshe did Aziraphale."

The use of his full name startled the angel slightly and he pulled Crowley close to him, so the demon's face was tucked in the crook of the angel's shoulder and neck. He breathed in sharply, taking in the smell of old books, vanilla, and something so utterly home that he let out a small sob. But only a small one as he was a demon now and demons did not cry.

Ten days after the apocalypse that wasn't, Crowley had found himself wondering about the great plan and the ineffable plan. The great plan had been the end of the world after 6,000 years, and he didn't want to think about it, but if he hadn't fallen, if he hadn't lost his rights to be an angel, an archangel, the great plan might have been the ineffable plan for their would not have been anymore days. But here they were, curled up together on the couch, Crowley spilling bits of his past to the celestial being that held a special place in his heart that no one else could occupy.

He didn't think he could ever forgive her for tossing him out, for tossing them all out. Lucifer may have become corrupted, absolutely unrecognizable now, but his light had never completely never gone away, just like Crowley's love for humanity and compassion for the hurt never dwindled. But it wasn't really his place to forgive Her. But in a way it was and it was all so confusing, because he'd been the betrayed one, not her. He hadn't done to her what Lucifer had done, but somehow he knew that he'd almost done worse by questioning her every move. He hadn't been outright about it, always asking the questions when they were alone, and he wondered if that had made it worse, rather than going the Lucifer route and shouting out to the world that he mistrusted her judgment.

"Out of all the questions I asked, there were only two that I could really contribute to my fall." He said softly into Aziraphale's neck as the angel rubbed soothing circles on his back. "Well, really there were multiple questions piled up onto each other that led to it all but there were two that I think really dug into Her."

"Why can't you forgive Lucifer? That one was right before the fall, as chaos rained in Heaven and everyone was fighting."

Aziraphale clutched him closer and Crowley felt a light kiss to his forehead.

"And the other?" Aziraphale prodded.

"You created them in your image- in our image," Crowley sounded as if he was reciting from a notecard, his voice dull, "what does that say about usss, that these creatures modeled after usss are to be tesssted to destruction." He fully sobbed now, letting the tears he'd pent in for thousands of years soak into Aziraphale's shirt. "Do you even really love usss?"

"Oh, Crowley." Was all Aziraphale could say, for his own faith had been shaken during the whole apocalypse, and here he was now with Crowley clinging to him, a tearful mess, unloading such heartache and hurt that the angel was filled with enough grief to fill another 6,000 years. He had never questioned God, happy to follow along with her plan, and even now he still believed in her, that even when she was cruel she was doing what was best for them. And he had the same thought that Crowley had, had much earlier in the day. That without the fallen, without Crowley losing his place in Heaven, there might really have been an end to the world.

"Can you say it?" Crowley pulled back and wiped away the wetness from his face with a shaky hand.

"Say what dear?" Aziraphale asked, not willing to let go of the demon now that they were finally embraced. It had been too long, much too long a wait. Aziraphale had himself to thank for that partially but he was done waiting now.

"Can you say my name?"

Aziraphale was confused for a moment before it dawned on him.

"Raphael."

The first time he said it Crowley flinched, looking ready to cry again. Aziraphale leaned in and placed gentle kisses to the demons cheeks, and then his nose and forehead. The demon moved his arms further down Aziraphale's body til they were holding Aziraphale's hips.

"Raphael."

The second time he said it, he maneuvered himself to straddle Crowley's lap, so they were in a more comfortable position, with Crowley's hands tightening on Aziraphale's hips, and Aziraphale cupping the back of Crowley's neck with one hand, the other wiping away a few stray tears before settling on the demons shoulder.

Aziraphale leaned forward slowly, his heart feeling as if it were going to leap out of his chest. His eyes never left Crowley as he pressed himself against the other. Their bodies touching everywhere. Soft upper body molding against the harsh and bony angles.

Their noses touched, just like the week before when Crowley had practically body slammed him agains the wall of the former church.

And as Aziraphale breathed out another "Raphael", their lips brushed. It was a chaste kiss, and simply much too short.

They both pulled away slightly, taking in this new change in their relationship.

"Angel?" Crowley's hands shook has they wrapped tighter around Aziraphale, slowly making their way up into his hair and around his waist.

"Crowley."

The name change was enough, and Crowley surged forward to capture Aziraphale's lips again. This kiss was filled with passion and lust that had been trapped for 6,000 years. Aziraphale clung to Crowley as the snake made absolutely wonderful sounds that made Aziraphale's corporeal form flash hot. Aziraphale clenched his eyes shut even tighter as his body all but exploded with a feeling he'd never experienced before. It was a warm feeling that was flaring from his lower belly, making him squirm in Crowley's lap.

There was a white flash behind his eyelids as he brushed against Crowley's cock and oh this is what humans felt.

Crowley was slipping his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth as the angel made opened his mouth to let out a soft sound that seemed to make Crowley hungry for more.

They could have been making out from anywhere between a few minutes to a few weeks. After all they were a celestial and an occult being and time didn't much matter anymore now that the the apocalypse had been thwarted.

Aziraphale pulled away reluctantly and smoothed the front of Crowley's suit where the angel had rumpled it up from grabbing it. "I just want you to know." He started, licking his lips, pleased as he saw Crowley's slitted eyes follow the movement.

"I'm not going to treat you any differently now that I know who you were. I know you Crowley, I know that deep down you're scared of my reaction, I'm not as oblivious as you think I am." Aziraphale cut Crowley off before the demon could object.

"But I love who you are now, not who you used to be." He softly kissed Crowley again, loving that hot rush he was starting to feel in his lower half. Staying celibate for 6,000 years, and just reading romance novels had definitely not prepared Aziraphale for the way his body was reacting to Crowley's.

"I love you too." The demon said against his lips. He frowned suddenly, and broke the kiss. "But don't expect me to say that all the time," he rushed, "I'm a demon, I don't do mushy." He said the word as if it were a nasty looking piece of gunk on the sidewalk.

Aziraphale gave a small laugh, the previous moments contradicting the huffy demons claim.

"Of course love." And Aziraphale pulled him back into a kiss.

It was later in the evening, the two were laying in bed, both flushed and pleased at the recent turn of events.

Crowley, true to the serpent side of him, was entwined around Aziraphale with a pleased hum vibrating throughout his entire body.

It was a true miracle that the bedroom that Aziraphale had squandered onto the floor above the bookshop had been dust free; but then again, the angel had expected the room to be in tip top shape and so it was.

Crowley was in that blissful place between being awake and sleeping when Aziraphale's voice floated out to him and he groaned.

"What is your obsession with this." He muttered into his lovers pale neck.

He at once regretted and didn't regret telling the angel about himself. While it had led to the best experience that Crowley had ever had before, Pandora's box was now open and unwilling to be shut.

"Well its just, I never saw Heaven the way you did. I was born into my corporeal form. She had decided before then that our other forms shouldn't be exposed as much. I have no clue what I look like or you. I was also separated from you, I didn't get to create parts of the universe, what was it all like?"

"Careful not to ask too many questions." Crowley teased, ignoring Aziraphale's worried look. He could joke about it now, he had 6,000 years to come to terms with what had happened.

"Creating was one of my favorite pastimes." Crowley pulled out of Aziraphale's embrace and flopped onto his back. He waited patiently for the angel to get the hint that he wanted to trade positions, and after a few minutes the angel cuddled up to Crowley, re-entwining their legs.

"It's hard to explain, but when I was creating I could feel each and every star or planet that I brought to life. The visions were in my head and then bam they were up in the air surrounding me, all kinds of colors and shapes and sizes." He frowned up at the ceiling as he thought back on those times. "Michael wasn't as excited to create as I was, and Gabriel was much as he is now, but I was thrilled to be given the task of making such beautiful things for all the angels to see."

He placed an absent-minded kiss onto the angels curls and lazily trailed his finger up and down Aziraphale's shoulder with the hand that was holding Aziraphale to him.

"As for my form well, it was much prettier than the other archangels." He puffed up slightly to Aziraphale's amusement.

"Lucifer, as I said before was always bright and beautiful, but I like to think I had a gentle beauty. Not overlooked, but only those who were deserving would know I was truly beautiful to behold." He continued with a fake air of haughtiness that made Aziraphale giggle.

"All the angels looked the same back then actually, we were all just various shades of light with little bits here and there that made us different. Michael was a pale blue light and she had these enormous looking antlers that hovered over her eyes. I guess to a human seeing us would be horrifying, but having multiple eyes was and little extra bits was to show our status, our celestial worth."

"So, we're all just balls of light with billions of eyes and extra bits?" Aziraphale wrinkled his nose.

Crowley laughed. "Believe me, it's a beautiful sight." He allowed a big smile to cross over his face, and oh boy was he over his quota for smiling. " I was a bright red light, not this darker maroon red that my hair is now, but a proper fiery red, and I had billions of golden eyes and two small wings." He squeezed the angel tighter to him.

"Gabriel used to always be jealous of my little wings. He was all purple, his light, his eyes, and he had a tail similar to a lions. Would have done anything to trade me for my wings, though even now I don't really understand why."

"You sounded lovely." Aziraphale said smoothly, stretching himself up a bit so he could gently kiss Crowley.

Crowley hummed into the kiss and they stayed like that for a few minutes, before Crowley felt Aziraphale's finger prodding at the tattoo right by where his side burns would be if he had any.

"I've noticed that some of the demons have creatures on their heads. You can turn into a snake, but Beelzebub has a fly on their head, and that nasty Hastur has a frog on his."

"Its a kind of irony I suppose." Crowley shrugged with some difficulty. "Some of the angels helped God create the creatures in the Garden. Except Hastur. He was quite fond of the frogs, didn't actually help create them but formed a sort of attachment to them and well, now he's got one on his head and he eats whatever flies fall off of Beelzebub." Crowley shuddered at that.

"Do you know their names? Their true names." Aziraphale asked quietly.

"I know Beelzebub's. They used to be Gadreel. The one that everyone thinks really tempted Eve. I guess all that matters is I was given the proper credit from my superiors. Never understood how the humans credited Gadreel to it but, they saw a fallen angel and chose him. I'm technically not fallen to them." He said bitterly. "I'm still up there with Michael, Uriel, Gabriel, the rest of them, creating more universes or something."

They stayed quiet for a moment, and Crowley must have gone back to sleep because when he woke it was dark outside his window, when it had just been early morning. What had woke him was a weird prickling on the back of his neck, and he snapped his head to look down at Aziraphale, and was startled to see that the angel was completely passed out. The angel had never been one for sleeping, claiming that he could do much more worthwhile things than sleep, but here he was snoring away.

Crowley never thought he would find snoring cute until his angel gave a little snore.

The prickling was intensifying and he slowly untangled himself from the angel, wanting to find the source of his unease. It was a feeling so very familiar, yet so forgotten that it scared him. He slid out of the bed and padded quietly out of the room, down the stairs, and hesitated at the doorway of the kitchen. The light was on, and the feeling intensified even more.

He suddenly wished he still had the tire iron he'd salvaged from the Bentley to use as a weapon as he stepped into the kitchen.

His snake eyes took a moment to adjust to the harsh brightness of the kitchen lights that he could have sworn were much dimmer, before he focused on the fact the light was coming from the being that was sitting on one of the mismatched chairs Aziraphale had salvaged from possibly the 14th century- it was uncomfortable and dull enough to be from then.

The being of light dimmed and suddenly he was facing a middle aged woman..or well no a teenage girl- his eyes closed shut of their own violation as he felt a dizzy spell coming upon him. The beings was flicking through faces faster than he could keep up.

There was a soft throat clearing that boomed in the small kitchen and he opened his eyes cautiously.

The dimmed kitchen lights didn't do justice for the woman in front of him. She had finally settled on a form he was very familiar with. He could sense underneath the corporeal form that she had taken who it was.

God was sitting in the kitchen of his lover and if that wasn't the start to some weird metaphor for life Crowley wasn't sure what was.

She had chosen a form that to any one else would have made them think she was Crowley's mother. Well she was, in a way, but they had never looked as similar as they did now. She was middle aged, with smile lines and crows feet. Her face wasn't as gaunt as his, but she was still slender and dressed simply in a lavender colored tux. Her red hair was the same shade as his, and curled neatly around her shoulders, and her eyes were as warm and golden as his used to be.

"Hello." She said softly.

Crowley wondered if he was having a heart attack. His demonic form normally wasn't usually influenced by his corporeal form, but he'd been going native for a long time so he wouldn't be surprised if his body keeled over right now and Aziraphale would have to call a human healer for him. Imagine that, the first healer not even being able to heal himself.

"Won't you sit." She commanded more than asked. The chair closest to him backed up a few inches and he almost fell into it.

"I think we should talk." She began.

"Talk?" He squeaked out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I think the time for talking is way overdue."

An expression flitted over her face, but it was gone seconds before he could decipher it.

"Now Rapha-"

"Crowley." He interjected, not caring that he could be smited for his rudeness, or maybe she'd make him fall again. He didn't think that was possible, but this was God.

"Crowley." She pushed her tongue against her teeth as if tasting the word before nodding her head. "I know you have not forgiven me for what I have done, and I'm not here for forgiveness. It will be a long time for what I did to you to truly be forgiven. Crowley."

Crowley sat in the chair stunned.

She waved her hand and two cups of tea sat before them, wisps of translucent smoke curling up from the small china cups.

God took a delicate sip from hers before putting it back on the table.

Crowley didn't want to bother with his, but she was looking at him expectantly so he took a sip just as delicate.

"I'm sure now, that you have thought about the connection between the fall and the great plan." She took another sip of her tea and Crowley remained silent.

"I had to do what I thought was right for the future of creation. The fact that you questioned me once I shared my plan hurt a lot Crowley."

Crowley felt himself become angry, but with one look from her he stayed silent.

"My plan was supposed to be built on trust. But I was misleading myself for trust needs to go both ways. By not explaining everything I caused duress within my children, I caused the fall without even really meaning to." Her eyes were boring into his soul it felt - if he still had one - but he couldn't contain his anger for much longer.

"Then why couldn't you just bloody tell us what was really happening! You lead me to believe that you would kill your creations!" He was shouting but he couldn't care less if it woke up Aziraphale. If the angel were here maybe he'd finally understand what Crowley had gone through.

"You and your ineffable plan." He was practically hissing now, knocking the chair back as he stood.

"All your plans, the great one, the ineffable one, if you had answered any of my questions back then with the truth I would still be up there and not here." The anger was trailing out of him and all he felt was tired, this argument was useless. What was done to him had happened so many years ago that he knew deep in his heart that if God offered him a second chance, he would not take it.

"But you can already see Crowley." She spoke calmly, as if he hadn't just shouted at her.

"Sssee what." Crowley hissed. Oh great, even she had gotten him so worked up he was fucking hissing.

"That without you falling, without you being able to give Eve the apple, and meeting Aziraphale, none of this would exist. I know you miss the stars and all you have created, but there would be no world as it is now if you had not been up here with your angel."

Crowley allowed a quick pout before he scratched at the back of his neck.

He hadn't been aware until now that he was only in black boxers and socks that had little succulents on them. He knew it mattered not to God what he was dressed as be he was longing for his sunglasses to appear on his face, and for proper skinny jeans and a silk shirt to cover him up under her gaze that peeled layers away from him.

Something about being in the vicinity of her love again was draining him - also the yelling and pent up emotions of talking to God - and he doubted he had the energy to miracle up clothes and his glasses, so he crossed his arms trying to cover as much of his body as he could.

"That may be very well true." He admitted begrudgedly. "But to make us fall, there wasn't any other way? It hurt so much." He had a pleading edge in his voice, trying to make her understand.

She stood up, the cups of tea vanishing as she made her way to him. He tried to take a step back but she was suddenly nose to nose with him and he couldn't retreat. She made herself slightly taller and wrapped her arms around him in such a loving and warm embrace that he cried for the second time in less than twenty four hours.

His hand hung limply at his sides as she muttered unintelligible words into his ear, words that left him shuddering.

Finally, he raised his arms and returned her embrace loosely, and tilted his head so it was tucked under her chin.

"There was no other way, no other outcome that would not result in the end of this world. Even I am not as powerful as my creations sometimes." She pulled back to give him a knowing look, and he faintly wondered if this was her first time around.

"I'm so very sorry Crowley. Please know that I love you all very much, no matter how far gone some are than others." Her smile was bitter now and he knew who she was referring to.

"My time here is up, so please remember that I am always here, watching and loving you from afar. There is nothing I can do to make up for what I have done my star maker, but please know that I am always here. I will see you again." The last words were said with a heavy finality, and Crowley felt himself missing her warmth when she stepped away from him.

He knew that he couldn't forgive her yet, maybe not ever, at least not fully. But he wouldn't mind talking to her again, questioning her again. It was almost as if he hadn't fallen and they were back in Heaven.

"I don't understand mother, if these humans are to be made in our image, then why do they look like that?"

"Because soon you will look like them too. I have decided to give you corporeal forms, easier for you to feel everything I imagine."

"Are you not going to take a corporeal form?"

God chuckled and suddenly a hand landed on Raphael's new form. "I am every form for I am God."

Raphael nodded for this made sense to him.

"I am very proud of the latest creation you have made, you're taking after me." A blinding smile is turned towards him and he feels a wave of love.

"What did you name it?"

"Alpha Centauri."

Crowley let's her kiss her forehead and soon she's gone, the kitchen empty and silent. The light is off and he whispers into the darkness, a soft and sad "goodbye mother."

He stretches, his back cracking and he saunters over to the fridge, his body moving in the familiar pattern of swinging his hips as if he is still in snake form. A habit he has not kicked in 6,000 years of being in a human form. He opens the fridge, his eyes scanning the endless shelves of food, drinks, and condiments that had been miracled to be there if ever the angel wanted a snack, which was often.

Many of their nights drinking were accompanied by Aziraphale digging into the fridge and pulling out something salty or sweet.

His eyes caught on a milk bottle that had hardly any milk left inside and he shrugged to himself. He uncapped it, preparing to pour it into his mouth when he became aware of another presence. For a second he thought it was God again, for he felt a strong wave of love coming his way, but when he turned to the doorway of the kitchen where the presence was coming from, he almost dropped the milk bottle out of shock.

A brilliant golden blob of light was illuminating the doorway and part of the kitchen. More than twenty eyes were turned towards him and staring unblinkedly with a familiar deep lagoon blue, with a tinge of lighter green. Aziraphale had a crown of flames above him and Crowley fell for the angel for the second time.

"My dear boy, this is the final time you drink straight from the carton." Aziraphale said in a disembodied voice.

He was probably trying to sound foreboding, but the waves of light that were unfiltered in this form killed the affect.

Crowley stiffled a laugh. "Angel, I don't think the effect you're going for is working."

The angel huffed, and all of his eyes rolled upwards.

"And why in the world are you like this?" Crowley motioned with his arm in an up and down movement towards the being.

"Well you were not in bed, and I was thinking back to what you said. I was curious...and I thought something might have happened to you." The angel admitted.

"So you felt the need to try and scare me half to death by trying out your true form?" Crowley walked closer, not bothered by the brightness of Aziraphale. He stopped in front of the angel and allowed himself to look at his angel with all the fondness and adoration that he could muster.

All the eyes went to half mast as Crowley let a little bit of his true self appear and brush against Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was suddenly back in his human form, the kitchen light flicking on not that either of them really needed it to.

He was looking softer than ever, in an old fashioned white nightgown that nobody had worn since the 17th century and looking at Crowley sleepily. Crowley's heart was filled with enough love that it easily matched with Aziraphale's. He scooped the angel into his arms, his sharper body sinking easily into the plusher parts of the angel.

"Were you really down here for milk?" Aziraphale asked quietly, his eyes still half closed as Crowley kissed a pathway down his forehead, to the tip of his nose, and finally to his lips.

"Let's go back to sleep angel." Crowley ignored the question.

Maybe he would tell the angel one day what had transpired, but for now he was more than happy to just follow the love of his life back up the stairs and into the bed.

While he cradled Aziraphale to his chest, he felt a soft pressure running through his hair, as if someone was running their fingers through it. He pushed back into the disembodied touch for a bit before curling closer around Aziraphale, finally letting sleep over come him.

#good omens #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale #crowley is raphael #good omens fanfiction

37 notes · View notes

ineffablefool · 5 years

Text

Some meditations on being a fat human being, in the era of Good Omens series fandom. Not n//sf/w, really (hi my name is Jack I’m ace and supremely uninterested in sexytimes), but really personal and also long, so I’ll stick it behind a readmore. I suppose if another fat human being had thoughts they wanted to tack on, they could reblog to do so, but I don’t expect this to be a particularly rebloggable thing. Just thinkin’ out loud (via clickety fingies).

I have been... okay, more or less, with how my body looks, for a while. (Minus all the things about it that make me get “she” and “her” and “ma’am” everywhere I go, with exactly three glorious exceptions in the ~4 years since I realized that those weren’t right. That is a whole ‘nother bucket of bears.) I’ve been on Tumblr over on my main account since 2013, and the entire time I’ve been immersing myself in fat positivity and in fat activism by wonderful accounts like ok2befat and bigfatscience and thisisthinprivilege. So I’ve been basically okay.

It sucks how hard it is to find clothing that I like which doesn’t completely exclude my particular set of proportions. It sucks that my saint of a boss had to literally fight our HR department to change the company policy on flights for business, because the previous policy would have forced me to fly 18 hours in an economy-class seat much smaller than I am when I visit India in a couple months. It sucks that my body is still the “oh, is this disgusting thing a dealbreaker for you” question on dating websites, and that it’s still the butt of every third Trump joke. It sucks. But I’ve gotten better over the years at the skill of seeing my body as not the problem, but an innocent bystander in everyone else’s bullshit. Clothing and plane seats and humor don’t spring from the earth to be harvested and consumed raw. People decide how to make them. People can decide differently.

Anyway. I’ve been pretty much okay with Body. Body’s fine. It’s a good pal. It gets me where I need to be, and it lets me run around in little circles pretending to be an airplane when I’m bored. I spend some time with it in partial states of undress now and then (I’m too much of a germaphobe to ever be a naturist, let’s put it that way), just so I can keep myself familiar with what it really looks like. Y’know how the horror movie monster is really scary up until they actually show it? Same thing, except fewer blood squibs.

But here’s all this Good Omens stuff.

A lot of the fandom has embraced the slight pudginess of Michael Sheen’s Aziraphale, and a lot of artists are putting that into their work. And a blessed wonderful few aren’t stopping there. They’re drawing Aziraphales that are more than just a tiny bit pudgy, sometimes that are just plain fat, unquestionably, not just “a little larger than the very thin rendition of Crowley” or “wearing a lot of layers” or “the clothes are just cut that way”. Really, really adorable renditions of fat angels who are clearly loveable and clearly loved because look, the artist drew them together, Crowley is right there and he doesn’t have that look on his face by accident.

(There are book renditions floating around too where people have headcanoned a fatter Aziraphale, but I’m still talking miniseries right now. Also, there are plenty of sort of... cartoony/stylized/silly renditions out there with fatter Aziraphales, but I’m not really talking about those either. There’s a sort of area of artwork where the style or the scene being depicted is such that my brain is surprised when any of the characters is fat, because this is a pretty drawing of two people kissing or whatever and therefore obviously they have to both be thin. Obviously. Internalized fatphobia nonsense. But that’s the kind of artwork I’m thinking when I type all these zillions of words.)

And that’s a choice, to say “I’m an artist and I’m going to draw this character who is worth being the recipient of a 6000-year-long love, and that character is fat, and that’s just how it is”. And to keep doing it in one piece of art after the other.

speremint was the first artist I noticed doing this, drawing an Aziraphale who is loved by Crowley (the sacred apple tree art still cracks me up, poor Crowley) and who is definitely fat and who is adorable, and if you’ve read the notes on any of my fics you know that she singlehandedly changed how I picture my headcanon’d Aziraphale. Then I discovered that dotstronaut and lonicera-caprifolium and toastedbuckwheat are out there too, giving me lovely art to shove into my eyeballs and extend my lifespan potentially indefinitely. I bet there’s more I haven’t noticed yet. I want there to be like a hundred more I haven’t noticed yet.

And this all ticks over into the second half of what’s apparently a manifesto at this point, boy it’s a good thing I’m a fast typist, which is the fact that in addition to being a fat human, I am also romantically and aesthetically attracted to fat humans. It’s something I’ve pretty much literally had no opportunity to ever express, because in my Real Life I don’t really admit to having feelings per se and also I am... not the type of human who is the recipient of romantic thoughts from others. Or who would ever act on my own unless the other party said something first. (Which nobody ever has since 2006, you guys. Supremely not the recipient of romance over here.)

So there’s this fandom environment where a fat character is being celebrated and loved, and I started writing fanfiction for the first time this century, and all of a sudden there’s a place for me to express feelings that I’ve been sitting on since I finally realized in about 2001 what it was about that one guy in high school that made me want to hug him, even though I also couldn’t stand his attitude.

Going through my fics from oldest to most recent, it is clear that I am getting more and more comfortable with that expression. It’s getting ridiculous. At this rate, in three weeks’ time I’m just going to be writing “Aziraphale is fat and beautiful and I just want to cuddle his belly forever” over and over again for five thousand words at a stretch.

But that means Brain is thinking a lot about how Aziraphale is fat, and beautiful, and perfect exactly how he is. And then Brain looks down at Body and is like “hmm. Same hat. ineffablefool is fat too. Therefore, [insert math lady meme here]”. And I will be, like, “okay, so if Crowley were to put his hand on Aziraphale’s belly, what would that feel or look like? How would his internal narration describe it? Well, there’s a belly right here, let’s do some science.” And then the thoughts that I start associating with the experience of my own body are completely good thoughts, all of them, because they’re going to be going in Crowley’s head. And my written Crowley is never going to be anything other than madly in asexual romantic love with my written Aziraphale, and is never going to see him as anything other than perfect, physically, no matter what he looks like.

And it’s just being a really good positive feedback mechanism, I guess is the tl;dr version. External validation (via art, via others’ fics, via comments on my own fics, btw if you’ve left any of those then you are also helping extend my lifespan, especially the people who come back to comment on each new story, yes I recognize you and I do a little happy dance every time a familiar name pops up, please rejoin me on Monday I’m going to post my dickwheelie letters fic) is all well and good. But the mental loop of “own body can be used for realistic descriptions of a fat body -> descriptions based on own body are all lovingly positive -> own body is therefore described by self as lovingly positive” is... it’s nice, is what I’m saying. It’s very nice. Last week I expressed, out loud in a group of coworkers, my desire that something be more size-inclusive. Do you even know how many deaths I would once have suffered rather than say something like that in mixed company. But why shouldn’t I say it! There’s nothing wrong with my being fat! In fact, it’s within the realm of possibility to see it as a positive thing, so let’s just all admit that we have eyes and then move on! Geez!

So those are some of my thoughts on being a fat human being, in the era of Good Omens series fandom.

now if I can just score a hot fat ace Ineffable Significant Other out of this fandom, I’ll be set

#ineffablefool original post #if you want to give me any bullshit on any of this then Please Don't #i am well acquainted with ignoring trolls on my non-GO account #and am equally capable of applying that skill over here #but if you don't have any bullshit or but-what-about-health or but-my-tax-dollars then i'd love to conversate #ineffablefool is on about fat bodies being lovely again #i don't know why i keep forgetting that tag it's a very important tag #ineffablefool does some Deep Thoughts

9 notes · View notes

iris-writes-things · 5 years

Text

Two Guys and a Baby: Day 7 part 1

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read up to 2 chapters ahead as a $1 Patreon patron!

You smoked to hide your shaking fingers. You wore sunglasses to hide the fact that the very sight of his shining smile made you tear up. You dressed in black to mourn something that never was, but could have been. Should have been. You got up and tried again.

Or, Crowley asks Ezra on a date. But not that kind of date.

Chapter 9 of 20 Ongoing 2700 words Romance/Humor

That morning, Adam didn’t wake to bright rays of sunshine warming his soft cheeks, nor did he wake from his internal clock telling him it was time to get up and give Crowley an earful about requiring breakfast ASAP.

Instead, he woke from sweet tones coming from Crowley’s ancient tape deck.

‘I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things…’

This was because Crowley was really much better at brainstorming when he was in the right mood, and nothing quite set the mood like just the right Queen song. After all, Queen had at least one song for every possible human emotion, so desperate times often called for Best of Queen.

‘We can do the tango just for two…’

His mum had given him the cassette tape on his tenth birthday and he had been over the moon. They didn’t have much to spend at the time for reasons Crowley would rather not think about and his mother had been too busy for much of anything for those same reasons, but when he woke up that fateful morning in 1997 he found a neatly wrapped, brittle plastic box sitting on his nightstand and the gesture had meant the world to him. It was in those years that Crowley learned that true love isn’t proclaimed; it’s shown. Not in grand gestures or melodrama, but in the mundane. In a birthday present waiting for you on your nightstand, in packed lunches sitting in the fridge, in bringing your crush chocolate croissants after a massive cock-up.

‘I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings…’

But as effective as actions were in expressing one’s soul crushing love for another, they were terrifying. They had terrified. Two years ago, he had almost kissed the love of his life, but he’d hesitated. He didn’t know if Ezra wanted it too. He hesitated and was met with Ezra’s painfully blue eyes darting around the bar. He was nervous. He was shaking. And then he paid the tab and booked it out of there. How do you come back from that?

‘Be your valentino just for you…’

The answer to that was, you didn’t. You tore down everything you had painstakingly built up in one fell swoop, and then pathetically, when everything slotted together again, you started pathetically building things back up again, like some kind of wonky Lego castle. You smoked to hide your shaking fingers. You wore sunglasses to hide the fact that the very sight of his shining smile made you tear up. You dressed in black to mourn something that never was, but could have been. Should have been.

‘Ooh love, ooh loverboy…’

You got up and tried again.

Ezra had always had a way with the written word. Not so much the spoken word. This was why he had Gabriel for communicating with potential publishers, and his pseudonym to hide behind. It was why he couldn’t convince his family that writing novels was a perfectly respectable pastime, and that, despite not being the most virtuous, Anthony was actually a genuinely good person.

‘Dearest Anthony…’

But what good were words, even the written ones if you couldn’t find the right ones? Because how did you tell a man you’ve known for a decade that you’ve been in love with him all that time? How would he explain that he hadn’t told him earlier? Why he had wasted their collective time by being a coward? It didn’t bear thinking about; it just wasn’t justifiable.

‘I’m sorry about the way I’ve failed to act on my feelings before…’

He grunted as he hoisted a stack of books from the box in the doorway of his shop and placed it on the new arrivals table, rearranging it as he tried to worry about other things. Things had been slow for the shop lately, but he’d been keeping afloat well enough. The recession hadn’t forced him out of business; the dawn of the ereader hadn’t, either; a slow month was nothing. People would be gearing up for their beach vacations any time now and his books would sell like anything. Well, his books… He chuckled. It would still take well over a year until his, or rather, Aziraphale’s book would hit shelves, which was a tremendous relief. Sure, he had read the book and project Anathema had left at the shop, but he would have to revise almost the entire story, especially now that he knew who his subject’s last surviving descendants were. He wanted to do right by Anathema, her mother and Anthony.

‘The simple facts are these:’

Everything always seemed to gravitate back to him, like the universe revolved around him. Creative Anthony, who found joy in drawing things for him and, once upon a time many years ago, would sneakily sketch him. Happy Anthony, who made his chest swell and burst with butterflies with every dorky, snarky, nervous laugh of his.

‘You are my sun; beautiful, bright and blinding. You caught me in your orbit many years ago and I would be forever unable to escape. However, a satellite,’ no, that’s not right, ‘a moon of all of my accumulated fears eclipsed your light that warmed my world…’ No. No, that won’t do, either.

Ezra wondered briefly if his books, should they suddenly become sentient (he hoped they wouldn’t), would be jealous of his feelings for the other man. In fact, he hoped they would be happy for him, and quickly decided that they would be more than okay with a break from his fussing, but his admittedly odd train of thought was interrupted by the jingling of the bell over the door.

‘Dearest Anthony, I love—’

“Ezra Fell, you absolute genius, you’ve done it again!” Gabriel cried as he strode into the shop.

“Ex-excuse me?” he stammered.

“The publisher. They want your book. Turns out ‘medieval, strong female-led with a touch of the supernatural’ is exactly what they were looking for. They agreed to all of our terms in regards to royalties and compensation.”

A feeling of pride swelled within him. His book. Exactly what they were looking for. He couldn’t help but grin as even Gabriel seemed to smile down on him. “Well, did they give you any notes?”

“They wanted more from the witch’s perspective, which I told them you can do,” Gabriel started.

“Yes, of course, that will be no problem at all,” Ezra confirmed excitedly.

“And they want you to do some public appearances to promote the book. Mostly just signings.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ezra, it’s in the conditions.”

“I don’t care what’s in the conditions, I won’t do it!” Ezra cried. Just now noticing that he was growing slightly lightheaded, he drew in slow, deep breaths to steady himself. His mouth set into a thin line. Gabriel frowned at him.

“If this is still about your family,” the American tried. “I suggest you let that go. You’re forty-one, what can they do to you? Really?”

Ezra shrugged but looked down in defeat. There was nothing they could logically do to him, and yet he was afraid. The feeling of pride he felt before was as good as gone. Drained completely by the idea of having to be publicly known.

He didn’t write for the attention, for the fame, even less so for the fortune. He wrote because he loved it and there was no other option for him than to write. “I just don’t like being in the spotlight…” he mumbled, and Gabriel would have to take his word for it.

“Okay, fine, I’ll try to negotiate it out of the conditions.”

“Thank you,” Ezra mumbled faintly.

“Right, so, in other news,” Gabriel said, trying to turn the mood around. “Ever found out if ‘he was really into you’, or whatever that silly magazine said?”

Ugh. This again. Ezra buried his face in his hands, not really wanting to answer, but he nodded nonetheless.

“So? What did he say? Did you ask him out?”

He shook his head, face still firmly planted in the palms of his hands.

“Oh my god, you’re unbelievable. You asked him if he liked you, didn’t you?”

He shook his head again.

“Then how? How do you know?” Gabriel asked, some exasperation in his voice.

Finally, Ezra looked up, frowning. “His niece told me, alright? She told me all sorts of things. That he loves me. That he’s loved me for about a decade, and, you know, I’ve loved him just as long. But she said he loved me too much to want to risk our friendship, which nearly did go down the drain the last time we almost acted on our feelings. And then—”

The bell over the door jingled.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Speak of the devil and he appears.

In the doorway of the shop stood Anthony. Adam on one arm, a carton with two paper coffee cups in the other hand, and a paper bag clamped between his upper arm and his chest. Ezra recognized the logo on the bag from a few days prior. It was undoubtedly filled with more chocolate croissants and other delectable baked goods as their smell slowly but surely filled the shop.

Ezra glanced up at Gabriel, whose eyes were fixed intently on Anthony. He didn’t show much of a reaction, but his lips didn’t curl down in disdain. He quickly glanced at Ezra, quirked his lips, then turned his gaze back to Anthony.

“You must be ‘him’, then?” Gabriel asked, extending his hand to Crowley, who gestured his full hands. Adam recoiled slightly.

“I must be ‘who’, then?”

“Ezra’s—”

“Artist!” Ezra interrupted. He got up from the stool behind the counter and hurried up to them, taking the carton and paper bag out of Anthony’s hold. “He’s the artist I want to make the cover. Anthony Crowley.”

Finally, Gabriel shook his hand. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“I mean, I guess,” Anthony almost stammered. “I hope Ezra hasn’t been overselling my work too much.”

“Not at all. I look forward to reviewing your portfolio with Ezra and the publisher. Anyway, I gotta fly. Ezra, we’ll discuss those re-negotiations later. You gentlemen have a nice day.”

Anthony turned and stared at the man as he walked by the windows, before looking to Ezra and mumbling “Well, he’s a character, isn’t he? Your agent?”

“How did you know? You’ve never met before.”

“No, but you’ve talked about him before. ‘This unnatural glint of perpetual jolliness in his eyes’.” Anthony impeccably imitated his tone and speech. “Or something, you said. Well, he fits the bill,” he mumbled.

A shudder ran up Ezra’s spine.

“See? Gives even you the chills.”

Adam giggled.

Ezra shrugged. “Perhaps that’s how he does his job so well. Anyway, will you have some of this today? I’d feel horrible to eat all of it,” he said as he held up the bag.

“If you insist.” Anthony waved his hand noncommittally.

“I do.”

He walked over to the counter and put down the carton with the cups to open the bag and see what’s inside, but not before he breathed in the rich, decadent scent of the food inside. There were definitely chocolate croissants in there.

Crowley couldn’t help but smile at the look of sheer delight on Ezra’s face as he dug into the pastries. There was a child-like sort of honesty about him that made him such an open book. When Ezra liked something, you knew, and if Ezra hated something, you knew. Currently, as far as Crowley could tell, he was on cloud nine, and therefore, so was Crowley.

This was much to the frustration of young Adam, for who Crowley had been picking bits off a regular croissant, feeding them to him. He made a noise.

“Ngk.” Crowley tore his gaze away from Ezra to turn to Adam. “Sorry to keep you waiting, your highness,” he mumbled as he tore off another bit of the croissant and fed it to Adam’s waiting mouth before taking a larger chunk for himself. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring until Adam made him painfully aware.

Painfully aware of the eyes burning holes in him, Ezra nibbled on one of the chocolate croissants. Anthony was definitely staring at him. There was no denying it, as alien as it felt. Ezra wasn’t much of a looker and he was well aware of that fact. He was never stared at, no, ogled so openly… so… so… obscenely. Did Anthony always look at him like this? How had he not noticed before?

It wasn’t a bad feeling per se, but it was quite overwhelming to experience for the first time. Ezra wasn’t sure how much he could take of it in the long run. He had to speak up. Had to say something. Come on Ezra, he thought, how hard could it be? He may be the man that you fancy an awful lot, but he’s also your friend, and friends trust each other and tell each other the truth. He took a sip of his lukewarm cocoa to calm his nerves.

‘He cares enough about you not to want to risk what you have.’

Then what kind of friend did that make Ezra, who would give anything for Anthony to be his?

There had been a change. Something was bothering Ezra, Crowley could tell. Even when he’d been so happy just moments before. Something would have to be done about that. He gave Adam the final bit of the croissant and settled him down in the windowseat before getting up and walking up to the counter. Whatever it was that was dragging Ezra down would have to square the fuck up.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

‘Your staring makes me nervous,' Ezra wanted to say, but didn’t.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Ezra mumbled instead, trying to keep his cool. He swiveled in his stool and wiped his hands on his trousers. They were growing sweaty.

“Are you sure?” Anthony asked. He tilted his head. With his dark clothes and shining, amber eyes, he looked all the more like a concerned black cat. “There’s nothing I can do to make it better?”

Ezra felt a blush creep to his face and he quickly broke eye contact. “S-silly Anthony, you know you don’t have to do anything for me. You know I’ll be quite alright on my own.”

This, Crowley doubted.

“Ezra, what would you say if I, after this whole business with Adam, took you out for dinner? Properly. Like back in the day. We could go to the Ritz,” Crowley suggested as casually as he could. Ezra’s gaze snapped back up at him.

“How would you— Can you even—” Ezra stammered, but finally summarized his thoughts in a single “Why?”

Crowley’s gaze turned towards the floor. “Because I want to make things better with you. I went too fast, I hurt you, and then I didn’t even call the next day.”

Ezra took a shaky breath as he tried to formulate an answer. “Well, it’s not like I contacted you either…” he trailed off.

“Well, yes, but I scared you off—”

“You didn’t! I—” Ezra started, but he caught himself, glanced further away and took a moment to reorganize his thoughts. “Alright, perhaps in that moment, you did. But… It was just, you know…” He gestured his hands wildly in hopes of illustrating the point he was trying to make. Anthony nodded, but his eyes told Ezra that it didn’t really land. “I’d very much like for things to go back to the way they were before.” Ezra said, lying, but knowing it would keep them within the safety of their comfort zone, he settled for it. “I’ll go to the Ritz with you after all this.”

Anthony smiled the brightest he had all day.

“On the condition that you let me return the favour some time after. It’s a real pleasure just seeing you again, and if you’re going to treat me to thank me for barely helping you at all, I feel like I should get to do the same.”

Anthony looked taken aback, but tried very hard not to show it. It didn’t work out. “Sure?”

Ezra smiled. “Good. Then it’s a date.”

#fanfic #Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #human AU

3 notes · View notes

muses-darling · 4 years

Text

Fire & Fury - A Star Wars AU - Ch.12 Malachor V

Ships of Sith and Jedi landed on the planet each attempting to stop the other. Fighting in futility. Sith Troopers, Sith Inquisitors, Sith Warriors, Republic Troopers, Jedi Knights, Jedi Masters all fighting in a flash of violence as the war was coming to a tumultuous head. War was ugly, war was brutish, it needed to end. Hades moved through with the darkness in Kit’s mind the darkness that had filled it was not meant to be there. There were parts of him that had become shut off in the wake of it all.

“Kit?”

The sound of approaching footsteps alerted Hades to the presence of new comers. He stood turning ready to fight them off but stopped as he saw the approach of the exact people he needed. “Crowley! Aziraphale! Harper and Ben!” He was certain he had never been more happy to see the four of them. “You’re alive.”

“No thanks to you and your lot.” Crowley gestured to the sky above.

“The war has to come to an end.” Hades looked them over.

“Is he dead?” Ben asked looking at Kit who lay on the ground.

“Thankfully no,” Hades looked to Kit, “HK’s got a wonderful shot, incapacitated him.”

“Oh well that’s wonderful could have mentioned that when we let him aboard.” Crowley looked to Kit on the ground. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Hades admitted. “I don’t know in the time I’ve been separated from him. Something is wrong. There is so much more darkness than light.”

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look.

“Either way I don’t think we have much time, we need to get off this planet and fast then away from here. With the lot of you.”

“Oh no you’re not dying not now that you have reunited with Kit.”

“I’ve got to end this, before it is too late.”

“Hades you can’t just-”

“-I can and I will.” Hades glared at Aziraphale. “I am an Emperor. I do as I please. Now get him off of here, leave I’ve some unfinished business to attend to.” Hades watched the star fighter enter the stratosphere. “But leave Casper, I need him still.”

“Haven’t you tormented him enough?”

“I need him to end this. Unless you want this war to continue?”

Crowley sighed watching Azirphale take Kit. “Fine, fine! Just let the poor bastard live.”

“I intend too.” Hades watched them go.

Darth Ceres approached where Hades stood with Casper, “I believe you are needed Engineer.”

“Am I?” Casper asked.

“Cheeky boy! He built a biometric bypass into the remote.”

“I know he did, I suggested it.”

“Why?”

“Because traitorous witch, I know your tricks all to well, you think yourself so clever, but in all actuality you are only as clever as the backend of a Nerf.” Hades watched her seethe where she stood.

“Where is Darth Kore?”

“Oh you mean Kit? Nasty work you’ve done with him will be hard to undo, but rest assured you won’t live to see it reversed. You’ve hurt that man for the last time. You’ve betrayed me for the last time and you won’t succeed in killing my engineer.” Hades walked up to her. “Now then draw your blade or accept your death vile woman, for I have come to lay you low. Casper get to her ship and wait there.”

“You think I won’t kill him all I need is-”

“Him alive? Yes I’m well aware of needing his biometrics that require him to have a very specific range of temperature the one humans’ have when alive.” Hades drew his blades once more igniting them. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

“Not if you die first.” She hissed her lightsaber whip igniting as she lashed out at Hades.

Hades brought up one blade watching the end catch around it and feeling her pulling him towards her. Using the force to ground himself where he stood he clenched his teeth before pulling the woman close throwing his lightsaber with the force sending her all the way to him moving to impale her on his blade.

A blade ignited in Hades’ peripherals, Kit stood as Crowley lay in Aziraphale’s arms a silent cry of rage on the light haired man’s face. “Sorry to keep you Mother.”

“Good boy now be a dear and help me kill Hades won’t you?” Darth Ceres looked at Kit.

“With pleasure.”

“Kit,” Hades spoke brokenly. “Please come to your senses.”

“Why? What’s the fun in that darling?” Kit asked him nearing him. “Kit.” Hades watched Kit come closer feeling his heart beat race with every step. He would not fight him not here not now. “Kit.” He backed away from him.

“Aww what’s that Ignis? Afraid of dying by his hand? Looks like even the great Ignis has something to be afraid of.” Darth Ceres walked closer as she neared Hades and Kit she looked to Kit. “Do it, kill and be done with this.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Kit said a terrible smile on his face before his eyes became green and he turned thrusting his lightsaber into Ceres or what had been where she was standing.

Darth Ceres landed behind Hades with the agility of a cat, “Do you really think I became a Lady of the Sith by not seeing betrayals coming a mile away BOY?” She sneered throwing up her hand and pushing Kit far into a tree.

“I don’t think it worked Crowley,” Aziraphale said watching Kit fly backwards. “We may have to step in ourselves.”

Crowley sighed kissed Aziraphale getting up drawing his lightsaber. “Get the bloody ship ready for us for the moment we leave.”

“But-” Ben started before Harper pulled him away from the shuttle ramp.

Hades watched the shuttle with Kit leave unable to help himself needing to know his love was safe.

“You really should keep focused dear,” Darth Ceres grasped him in her hand before slamming her knee into him.

Hades dropped with a gasp watching her whip come back to life as it reached her.

Darth Ceres pulled back the whip before throwing the length in Hades’ direction with a snap. Her Cortosis gloves allowing her to touch the blade and guide it to where it needed to go. “A shame you were once the most powerful Sith now look at you kneeling before me.” She stood over him a cat playing with the proverbial mouse smile on her face. “As you always should have.”

Hades once more caught the whip length on his blade using the force to summon his other blade back to him as he saw the terrain behind her. He stood rushing her once more pulling her length back with the one blade and sending it back from her towards a tree. She was pulled back due to her grip on the blade.

Darth Ceres landed hard watching as Hades closed the distance she brought up a shoto sized lightsaber. “What nothing to say?” She asked as she stood up with a laugh. “I can only wonder what is going through that mind of yours. You can’t possibly conceive a plan where you come out on top! Let alone alive.”

Hades used the force to push her at her then reached for a rock pulling it towards her tripping her again. Lightning moved along his body as his anger twisted in the force wrapping the energy around him. They fought hard and long their distance from the ship growing farther and farther as they moved along the terrain.

Kit sat up as Aziraphale and Crowley reached him. “Hades?”

“Can finish this, we need to get you back to the ship,” Aziraphale pulled out a bacta pack pressing it to the wound at Kit’s side. “Come on dear boy.”

Crowley silenced any further protest from Kit and helped him stand. “Come on I think we can still watch for your beloved’s safety from the ship.”

Casper looked at HK-47 who seemed to be watching through the scope on his blaster. “Isn’t he your master and aren’t you supposed to he helping him?”

HK-47 didn’t look at him but replied, “Statement: There are more than one ways to shut a meatbag up who breaks your focus, shall I demonstrate one of them on you?”

“N-no please don’t,” Casper said somehow becoming a shade paler.

“Reply: then don’t be one of those meatbags.”

Hades looked up at Ceres, “You know have I ever had HK-47 tell you what love is?”

Ceres looked at him, “What?”

“HK-47 what is the definition of love?” Hades asked pulling out his comm.

“Definition: 'Love' is making a shot to the knees of a target 120 kilometers away using an Aratech sniper rifle with a tri-light scope... Love is knowing your target, putting them in your targeting reticule, and together, achieving a singular purpose against statistically long odds." HK-47 said as his sniper blaster went off.

Ceres’ body jerked as her knee was utterly and devastatingly destroyed.

Hades smiled, “I think everyone should know what love is before they die.” Hades reached a hand into the thick mass of her hair dragging her. “You made me suffer, you attempted to take Kit and twist him up into someone he is not, what kind of Mother does that to her own son?” He asked using the force to keep her from moving. Ceres attempted to speak. “Shhhh-shhhh-shhh-shhh, don’t speak it’s better for you if you learned to let other’s talk instead, I’ve not quite finished what I have to say.” He made her look up at him with the force. “I want you to be alive when this planet goes off. I want you to feel the whole of the experience many above will only be able to imagine.” Hades grinned at her there was few times where he let himself give into the violence especially after marrying Kit but there was something about Ceres that made his blood boil. “Just remember the force is in all things.” Hades told her. “But not you,” He closed his eyes and reached out in the force doing as he had with Kit to seal away the darkness in him then to restore his memories but for her, he sealed the force completely from her.

Ceres sat there in dumb silence.

“Finally you have no words with which to speak. I cannot imagine a more terrible thing than the fate you have been sentenced, but an equally terrible person should get such a fate.” Hades turned from her and walked away to the ship, “Shall we?”

They made their way aboard the Flag Ship watching the ships fight in the fray from a very great distance.

Alucard looked at the cluster of Sith ships that had not once made their way into battle. “Sonething’s not right.”

“I’ll say,” Honey felt it too, something. “We need to get away from all of this!” She fired a turret blast watching a Sith fighter blow up. “Now!”

“Agreed.” Alucard looked at the Sith flag ship there was something on it. “What is that? The device attached to the nose of the ship?” He turned on the comm. “Sir I think the Sith have something-”

“-Never mind what it is keep fighting that is an order.”

“But-” Alucard started something felt wrong in the force.

“I said-” The com cut as the ship exploded.

Alucard watched as one of the Republic command ships disintegrated in the space before them. “Well he conscripted us now he is gone, I say we leave.”

“I second,” Honey looked at him. “We did our part. I don’t know about you but I’m tired of this war.”

“As am I.” Alucard leaned the controls back and fought his way from the Sith and the Republic to where they could get away from all of it.

Hades looked to Casper, “Now do what you must do this war must come to an end, swiftly.”

“And if I refuse?” Casper asked.

“Then this war will continue until the galaxy is destroyed, either way those on that planet are already dead.” Hades told him. “Either in what will come next or the battles to come with your refusal.”

Casper looked at him, then nodded before reaching forward and pressing his hand to the biometric scanner. “I will not press the button.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Hades told him before pressing the button watching as energy arched up from the planet all around. The ship they were on moved forward. The ships around the planet or near it all buckled, smashed or were destroyed as the planet broke before the gravity pulled it back along with the ships into a tight mass held together.

If one thought that Hades felt nothing in regards to any of this, they were wrong, but he also knew that all of those who survived this day would also have felt it. It would cause them all to question why they continued fighting it had too! This war had become senseless violence. Hades had, had his fill of bloodshed, he felt it all, every last one of those on the planet, in the ships all of it a terrible feeling in the force. There was only one way to end this.

“So now that it is done?” Casper asked.

“You are free to go about your life whatever planet you wish, I will personally see to it that you are sent there.” He reached up in the force and smiled. “Though you won’t remember this. I can’t have you remembering any of it. The Republic will blame you, you will blame yourself, not fair really.” Hades smiled then looked to where Kit was. “So now you see the monster you have married.”

Kit looked at Hades a face of sadness and anguish, he went to Hades, “Why?”

“Because the war must end, one way or another.”

“And you have become judge and executioner?” Kit asked.

“If that is what you believe I have made myself.” Hades said softly. “An Emperor must do what is best for his people.”

Kit walked over to Hades, “I want to hate you, I want to, I want to despise you! I can’t, I just can’t.” Kit said sobbing into Hades’ arms. “I can’t, I still love you.”

“As I love you.” Hades said wrapping his arms around Kit. “I always will.”

Kit frowned, “Hades what are you doing?”

“Keeping you safe........”

Hades opened his eyes looking at the truth of what had transpired. He had fought Ceres with HK-47′s help, removed her connection with the force found a Sith shuttle together and piloted it off of the planet to the Sith Ship. Once there he made his way to the bridge to see Kit still seething in the darkside forcing Casper, who had gone aboard Crowley’s ship to wait, to unleash the terrible weapon the planet had become. Then the overwhelming pain of Malachor V being destroyed had kept Hades down it had taken Kit down too the level of pain in the force as so many were wiped out. Hades had come out of it perhaps his longer time with the darkside had helped in some masochistic way. Hurrying to Kit’s side he reached with the force changing Kit’s memories, then Casper’s. Neither would remember the events as they had happened. In regards to Kit he had added the fake memory of Kit plotting with Crowley and Aziraphale, the fake memory on the bridge of arguing too.

“Hades?” Kit asked his bright green eyes opening as the darkside left him and all memory leading up the moment on board after Hades had taken him out on Malachor V was altered.

Hades murmured softly. “I’m keeping you safe.” He smiled sadly.

Hades stood seeing Republic troops and Jedi. “Well at long last you’ve caught me, the dreaded Sith Emperor.” Kit’s memories were altered Casper’s erased, and Hades would take the fall for all of it. Isn’t that what love was? Protecting those you cared about?

#Ch.12 Fire and Fury #SeaCoastCity SWAU #SW:F&F

1 note · View note

crashdevlin · 5 years

Text

To Hell and Back- 11: Redemption

Hell and Back Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version). This is an AU of my story ‘Marion’ and is just as epic as that series.

Summary: The twins are linked. Where Dean goes, Marion does too.

Pairing(s): none

Word Count: 2774

Chapter Warnings: angst, feelings of worthlessness, mentions of suicidal ideation

Marion woke up in a field of corn, the sun beating down on her face. When she sat up, she saw Castiel twenty feet away, watching her.

"What happened? Where are we?" Marion's head was pounding, she could tell she hadn't gotten very much sleep.

"I was ordered to bring Dean to this point in the past. You two have a strong link, so you were brought along."

"Must've been while I was sleeping." She looked around, shielding her eyes from the sun. "So, where is he?"

"Elsewhere. I had to bring you, but this is not meant to be a joint effort."

She stood and began walking through the corn. Castiel followed. She grabbed an ear of corn and kept walking. "Stalks are shorter, ears are smaller and thinner. ‘50s or ‘60s?" she asked, loudly.

"’70s," Castiel responded, succinctly.

"So, are you just going to babysit me this whole time or are you going to help Dean accomplish whatever it is that you have him doing?"

"Dean doesn't need my help. I have been ordered to make sure you stay away until he's done. It won't take long."

"Of course." She turned around, looking up at him. "You don't like me, do you?"

"You sold yourself to a demon. You befriended him. You fantasized about him. You obviously aren't faithful to Heaven."

"Neither is Dean," she said, blushing that the angel knew her secret fantasies. "But I am very faithful to my family. And of course you won't understand this, because you're Heaven's robot, but when a virgin shares her first kiss with a man, or a demon as it was, who knows exactly how attractive he is..." she started to ramble.

Castiel stared at her. She shook her head at herself and kept walking. "He used my attraction against me, I'm sure, but... It doesn't matter, anymore. I've gotten rid of him. If I see him again, I'll kill him. So, you don't have to worry about my loyalty. My loyalty is with Bobby and Dean and Sam."

She stopped and turned to her trench-coated follower. "Why is it such a big deal to you guys? Why is it such a sin that I found a single demon, just one, that was nice to me, and as a stupid sixteen year old, I made a stupid decision? One that I have more than paid for. Dean sold his soul, literally. Why is he so important and I'm an abomination?"

No answer came from the angel, so she turned and started walking again. Twenty minutes later, at least it felt like twenty minutes, she heard the sound of passing cars. "Well, that sounds like a roadway," Marion said, picking up her pace.

"Does it?" Castiel asked, before the sound disappeared and the corn around her thickened.

She looked around, before smirking. "You're gonna have to up your illusion game, if you wanna get me, Castiel. Road's still there," she said, walking forward. Castiel grabbed her hand and suddenly, the cornfield was replaced with a beach.

"I thought I could keep you near your brother, but your relentless nature has made that impossible. You'll have to deal with the beach."

"Wow. Heaven rewards determination, huh?"

"I can't allow you to find Dean. Not before he's done. Just enjoy the beach."

She flopped onto the sugar white sand and looked out at the orange and purple sunset over the water. "It's just gonna get worse, isn't it? It's just gonna get worse and I'm already so tired."

"If you need rest, perhaps I could-"

"Not that kind of tired," she interrupted. "I'm two hundred-seventy years old. Humans aren't supposed to live that long in the first place and... most of my life has been torture. Sometimes I wish they'd just killed me, because then I’d get some rest. Then, it'd be over."

Castiel sat awkwardly next to her. She didn’t look at him, still staring out across the small waves. "If I die, would I go to Heaven?" she asked.

"In your case, I believe an exception would be made. You've saved many lives." She nodded. "But not if you killed yourself."

Marion snorted at that. "I'm not gonna off myself, Cas. I'm not that tired. I just wanted to know I'm never going to Hell again. I know what they'd do to me."

"You've paid for your sin. They won't take you again."

Tears began rolling down Marion's face. "That's the nicest thing I've ever heard." She chuckled as she wiped at her eyes.

"Then, why are you crying?"

"Because... I don't know! Ha! Maybe they're happy tears. I don't think I've ever wept from joy... never."

Marion pulled out her cigarettes and placed one between her lips. Castiel reached over and grabbed it. "You've paid for your sin. Stop punishing yourself."

Her eyebrows drew together. "Punishing myself? I don't get it."

"You didn't start smoking because you liked nicotine. You started because you didn't want to taste the demon's sulfur. You had no cigarettes in Hell. You didn't need them. You can stop now. The sulfur is no longer a sign of your poor decisions, it's a sign of your redemption and may even be an asset in the fight against Lucifer's army."

"Have I gotten to redemption, now? Not very long ago we were in a cornfield talking about how you don't like me much. How I'm an abomination, even though I can..."

Castiel looked over at her. He lifted the cigarette and crushed it between his fingers. "You don't need this." He reached over and placed a hand on her collarbone. "I've just cleaned your system of nicotine and taken the tar from your lungs."

Marion breathed deeply, then exhaled. "The sulfur's... not as bad as I remember."

Castiel smiled, slightly. "I'm glad."

Marion smiled and looked down, before reaching out and untying her boots, pulling them off followed by her socks. She stood and pulled her shirt over her head. Castiel looked confused, his head tilting slightly, as she folded her pants and ran towards the water in her bra and panties.

"What are you doing?" he called.

"Well, it ain't quite skinny dipping, but it sure is liberating!" she called back as she was hit by a wave.

Castiel appeared next to her, sitting on top of the water and floating over the waves like an inner tube. "You don't seem to be tired, any longer."

She smiled. "I suppose the idea of redemption has cured my melancholia." She dunked herself completely under the water and came back up, kicking her feet to tread water. "So, what is it you have Dean doing?"

"He is attempting to stop the demon Azazel from targeting your brother."

"But that would... change everything. We'd never be hunters."

"No, you wouldn’t."

"But we have to be hunters. So, this is an exercise in futility."

"There are things Dean needs to learn from this time. Things he must understand."

"What? Castiel, please. This is my family."

Castiel sighed, looking away from her. "Azazel targeted your mother first. He was already putting together parents who would bear children suitable for his purpose when he stumbled upon the Campbells... mostly due to Dean's interference."

Marion almost went under as she forgot kick her legs. "What? You mean..."

"Dean was always here. He couldn't change anything if he tried... and he is trying. Just like he always has."

"Whoa, time travel. Hurts my head."

"I have to leave you, just for a few moments. I will return," Castiel said, disappearing from the water.

Marion was on the beach, laying on the sand when Castiel reappeared. "So, was that for Dean?"

Castiel nodded. "He is trying to save your mother. She is going to be making a deal to save your father's life."

"A deal with Azazel? For... putting demon blood in Sam?" Marion asked, sitting up to look at him. Castiel nodded, again. "Damn. And this... has all happened before." She sighed and shook her head. "How much longer on this?"

"Tomorrow night."

She lied back, using her clothing as a pillow. "So, twenty-four hours to kill in 1973. What in the world could I even... What beach is this?"

"It's the Gulf Coast of Florida. In thirty years, this will be full of buildings. I believe this area is called Panama City Beach."

"Wow. This doesn't say MTV Spring Break at all. But it's beautiful. Dean wondering where you are?" she asked.

"He was wondering where you are, as well as Sam."

She smiled. "He's in Kansas and I get the beach. Where's Sam?"

Castiel looked away. "Sam is with Ruby. He's-"

Marion punched the sand, white grains launching into the air. "I told that bitch to back off. I gave her a chance... she won't get another one." Castiel smirked, slightly, at her reaction. She looked down, embarrassed of her outburst in front of the angel. "Sorry."

"Perhaps we should be backing you. You seem ready to do what needs to be done."

"Please. I'm just the understudy," she said, humbly.

"What does that mean?"

"Oh. Uh... Fergus told me what 'wild card' means. I can substitute in for either of my brothers in... whatever it is that they are supposed to be doing."

"Hmmm," he hummed, before reaching out and touching her forehead. She looked down to see her clothes were back on and she was completely clean and dry.

"If you don't have to, don't tell Heaven about me. Azazel knew about my status and wanted me dead. I think he might've been behind the wheel of that truck that almost killed me."

"No. That was just a drunk driver. You weren't referred to as the 'wild card' by any demons until after the demon Crowley marked your lungs with sulfur."

Marion nodded, thinking about why the sulfur would have made her the ‘wild card’. "So, I take it, there aren't any motels around here and that none of them would take my damn credit card, anyway. Guess I'm roughing it, tonight. You just gonna sit around while I sleep, or what?"

"I will leave you so that I can watch Dean."

"And then be back as soon as I wake up, right?"

"Right."

She leaned back and laid her head on her hands. "Well, good night, then, Castiel."

***************************************

When she woke up, Marion started walking. Castiel was nowhere to be seen, but she was okay with that. She stole a car from a construction site that seemed like it hadn't been worked on in weeks and started driving. She drove down US 98 until she came to a diner, swiping the wallet of a man in the parking lot and walking in to take a seat in a corner booth.

"How you doin', sweetheart? Can I get you started with somethin' to drink?" the waitress asked.

Marion smiled up at her. "Coffee, please," she said as the waitress put a menu down in front of her. She ordered a burger and fries, keeping a tally in her head of $2.53. "If only things were this cheap back home," she mumbled to herself.

"Oh? Where ya from, pet?" the man in the booth in front of her asked. The voice wasn't exactly the same, it was a different vessel, but the tone, the inflection, it told her who it was.

"Gainesville," she whispered, unsure what to do.

"Hmm. The city is expensive. Don't you ever wish you were rich, so you could afford the good life? Have your own money, instead of picking the pockets of those better off?"

Marion closed her eyes. He was trying to sell her. She'd never been on this side of his demonic charm. "No, I'm fine with things as they are."

"You're content? No one's content," he argued, moving from his booth to sit across from her at hers. His vessel was the one she remembered first seeing him in, a tall, skinny blond man with light blue eyes, but she could see Crowley underneath that visage. She could see his red eyes and his true face. "If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?"

Marion took a drink of her coffee and decided to show her cards. "If I could have anything in the world, it would be a peaceful lunch. You know, alone, without a demon at my table."

His eyes flicked red and his eyebrows drew together. "You're marked. A witch?"

Marion shook her head. "I was a pagan for several years, but never a witch."

"Then, who would be crazy enough to mark you? These days that's usually reserved for high priestesses in the Grand Coven." Marion resisted the urge to breathe his own sulfur in his face, instead choosing to stare at him over her coffee mug. "You're not going to tell me?"

"We're nowhere near a crossroads. What are you doing here?"

He smiled. "I am on a bit of a vacation."

"A vacation? You're trying to sell me on your vacation?"

"Hard to pass up a good customer, and such a good-looking one." She felt uncomfortable under his lecherous look, but mostly because that look was still able to hit her buttons. Even with him in a different vessel, even when he doesn't know her, even when she knows the kind of manipulation he'd start on her in just ten years time, she felt hot under his gaze. "What's your name, pet?"

She sighed and smiled at the waitress as she dropped off her burger. "Britney. Spears," she answered as she pulled the top bun off of the burger and grabbed the ketchup bottle. "And I'm not your pet."

He smirked and tilted his head as he examined her. "Do you wanna be?"

"Oh, dude. Bite me. I'm not even your type. Your type is more... ancient, in a young body," she responded, remembering how close Lilith and Crowley were.

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "How do you know-"

"About Lilith? I know a lot about a lot. So, Crowley..." She stood, pulling a $5 bill out of the stolen wallet and putting it on the table. He seemed surprised at the use of his name. "...I'm gonna walk out, and you're not gonna follow. Enjoy your vacation," she said, grabbing her burger and walking out with it.

Castiel was standing in the parking lot when she walked outside. "You weren't at the beach."

"I got hungry. Fergus is in there. Take me somewhere else," she demanded, anxiety and rage filling her now that she was away from Crowley. Castiel put his hand on her shoulder and then, they appeared in the cornfield. She laughed. "Thank you for getting me out of Florida. I was... like three lines away from exorcising that piece of... but that's the vessel he was in when he pulled me out of the way of the truck and I can't change anything, right?"

"Right. We are on the outskirts of Lawrence again. Can I trust you to stay out of the way of your brother?"

Marion smiled. "You know you can't. But I'm pretty sure that by the time I walk to town and find my brother, it'll be time to take us home."

Castiel nodded, then disappeared. Marion started walking out of the cornfield, chomping on her burger.

******************************

Marion woke up on the couch in their room at the Willow Tree Motel. Castiel was standing by Dean's bed. Dean sat up, casting his leather jacket to the side. "I couldn't stop any of it. She still made the deal. She still died in the nursery, didn't she?"

"Don't be too hard on yourself." Castiel said, solemnly. "You couldn't have stopped it."

Dean stood and let out a confused, "What?"

"Destiny can't be changed, Dean." Castiel turned to him as Marion stood from the couch. "All roads lead to the same destination."

"Then, why'd you send me back?"

"For the truth. Now, you know everything we do."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked.

Dean and Marion's eyes followed Castiel's to Sam's empty bed. Empty and not ruffled at all. "Where's Sam?" Marion asked.

"We know what Azazel did to your brother. What we don't know is why. What his endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up."

It was Dean's turn to ask. "Where's Sam?"

"425 Waterman," Castiel answered. Marion pulled her plaid button-up on as Dean grabbed his leather. "Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we're not sure where it leads. So stop it. Or we will." Marion glared at the angel as she followed her twin out of the room.

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys @allykat2108

SUPERNATURAL TAGS @letsby @mrswhozeewhatsis @adoptdontshoppets @spnskinnyballs @deansenwackles

#cassie writes stuff #spn #spn fanfic #twin fic #angst #suicidal ideation

10 notes · View notes

girl-next-door-writes · 6 years

Text

Fanfic Writer’s Appreciation Day!

As it is Fanfic Writer’s Appreciation Day I thought I would give you a rundown of 25 of my favourite writers on here for you. There are so many awesome writers here and I find new ones with each trashcan I tumble into and I appreciate each and every one of you out there who gives this writing thing a go.

Now, here are my 20 people you simply MUST go follow and read their stuff!

@beccaanne814 is one of my long term faves and she has written so so so so much that I adore but I’m gonna go ahead and recommend her Marvelous Men of Montana Saga. Pick one of the gorgeous Marvel men and read their series and then check out one of the others. My favourite is Steve (but I’m a Steve girl anyway).

@jurassicbarnes kills me with feels every time she writes something but the one that sticks in my mind is His Wedding. Bucky Barnes needs a punch in the face and yet I still love him and that is because the writing is so beautiful.

@imaginedilestrade has written not one but two of my most favourite series about my favourite di. I am gonna say go binge read One of the Boys. It is simply sublime and a gorgeous slow build.

@littlemisssyreid is my girl. Seriously, I adore Katie so much and the fact she is an amazing writer too is just a bonus! The series I’m gonna throw at you here is The Tower, though all her stuff is golden. This Loki series is worth a massive binge read and make sure you throw out some love for each and every part.

@buckyywiththegoodhair ripped out my heart, stomped on it, ground it to dust and then handed it back to me with the amazing series A Lesson In Love. There are twists and turns and exquisite pain and go read this!!

@iwillbeinmynest is the Tony to my Steve and whenever I write any Clint Barton I always have her in mind. That being the case, I’m gonna suggest you go read her Barton fic In the Vents and then binge the rest of her amazing masterlist.

@hobbithorse19 is one of my go to for Middle Earth fics and The Orange Ribbon is one of my favourites and not just because it was a request from me. A bit of Bard to start you off and then check out her masterlist.

@kittenofdoomage is a total queen and I adore her. She throws glitter onto the page, smutty smutty glitter. Everything’s Bigger In Kansas is brilliant and a good place to start and the wonderful Sam Winchester is definitely a mighty fine focus.

@thewhiterabbit42 , my fellow dick mitten! Her Gabe game is sublime and seriously makes me never want to write Gabe ever again because hers is soooooo good. I couldn’t choose just one of her Gabe fics so I’ve gone for a smutty Crowley one (because I love him) so go read On The Edge because it will make you smile.

@@emilyevanston is like writer royalty to me. There are so so so many amazing fics on her masterlist so I’m gonna recommend Unexpected Father, a little bit of Tony for you to take a look at before making your way through the entire masterlist.

@aubzylynn drew me in with a series about the road trip to the airport in Civil War but then, oh then she gave me A December Deception which is sooooo fluffy and a fic I never even knew I needed in my life.

@lucifersagents consistantly puts out amazingly high quality pieces for so many fandoms with a pace that makes me so so jealous but then I get to read them all so it’s good. It was so difficult to pick only one but I’m gonna say a bit of Crowley would be a good place to start and The Big Bad King is one of my favourites.

@vintagevalentinexx made me love Mycroft. She MADE me with her damn fine writing and excellent characterisations and drawing me in and just... urgh!!! Decode is just amazing. Sure, she writes Supernatural fics which are awesome but this one series just owned me.

@bkwrm523 is one of the nicest people I know on here, and I know some super nice people! I love that she is into so many of the same fandoms I’m into and I know I can always just throw her a Bones gif and she will appreciate it. With that in mind I’m gonna recommend a wonderfully smutty Bones fic On the Futility of Revenge.

@sdavid09 is a legend who I love so much and my go to for Fili. Even the Playing Field is one of my favourites which I read over and over, it’s one of my happy fics.

@thorne93 is a writing wizard. I swear there’s been some deal with a soul somewhere. Helping Hand is a little series where Loki is helpful!! That’s right, he is helpful and it is perfect and you should go follow her!

@angelkurenai has a blog I lurk in frequently. Lie To Me is my favourite French Mistake fic and one I come back to again and again.

@like-a-bag-of-potatoes was one of the first people I met here in this crazy place and I adore her and her writing. I’m gonna give a shout out to her Woman of Letters series but honestly you can throw a dart at her masterlist and read anything of hers.

@imamotherfuckingstar-lord AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!! When I have a crappy day I always find myself scrolling through her blog because it always makes me feel better. Come Back Home Again is my current obsession and not only because it’s Steve and The Greatest Showman inspired. Go support her and let her know how awesome she is.

@redlipstickandplaid is such a honey and Wicked Game leaves me with a stupid grin on my face. Short and sweet and just perfect Steve. Then again, her entire masterlist is full of genius.

Also a shout out to @captainrogerss @magellan-88 @outside-the-government @little-red-83 @knittingknerdy @redgillan @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester and the many other writers I love but can’t remember because I’m rubbish!

#Damn it tumblr #this was in the queue for yesterday!#Only a day late people #all the love to my fellow writers

92 notes · View notes

aiaranradnay · 6 years

Text

Grief

A/N: this is for the spn angst bingo challenge hosted by @spnangstbingo . I've finally begun this journey, and am really excited about it <3

Square filled: Free Space

Pairing : Dean x Reader

Warnings : Loads of Angst, canon typical violence, torture and tears.

word count : almost 5k.

Inspiration : Scientist by Coldplay. also shoutout to @effie-w coz its that vintage clock of hers that got me in love with this song <3

Betaed by @wingedcatninja who offered to help my rusty head. thank you so much<3 your support and guidance refined the fic a great deal. she’s also named the fic, so thank you<3

feedback is much appreciated :)

It had started out as a pretty decent morning – Sam just back from his morning run, Dean sifting through the newspaper pile looking for a case. He had been grouchy lately – ever since he had been stupid enough to drunk dial his ex at one in the morning. He had woken up the next day instantly regretting his actions. She had left him; it was not his fault.

No matter how many times he thought of it, he couldn’t help but blame himself for the end of that relationship. But that call, she had specifically told him that it wasn’t him, she had taken the blame; he should probably accept it.

But she sounded so broken ... was she hurting too, just like he was?

His head whirled around the same thoughts over and over as his eyes raked through the most recent paper, finding an article about a gruesome animal attack two towns over – nowhere close to the wild. An uneasy feeling crept into his gut, his mind repeating her last words; her voice sounding pained and forlorn – “Goodbye, Dean, take care.”

Then his phone rang out, your name flashing on the display as the guitar riff blared out.

“It’s Y/N,” he told Sam with a scowl of pure hatred, masking the tiny seed of hope that had blossomed in his chest.

Sam watched his brother answer the call with a gruff ‘hello’, his expression rapidly changing into one of shock and fear. His face got paler by the second as the person on the other side spoke.

Dean felt his eyes burn as he withheld the tears. The hand that held the newspaper trembled, the article now making sense. The officer at the other end of the call requested him to collect the body and ended the call.

The first tear rolled down his cheek and his world came crashing down as he looked back into Sam’s concerned eyes.

“It’s Y/N,” he whispered.

It took them a whole month to get done with your ‘funeral’ – to get your mangled remains and a handful of bloody photographs from the police, put you back together as best as they could and bury you; for Dean to begin coping with your death; for Sam to accept your absence; for them to start living like normal hunters again. Sam probably tried to get his closure, but neither one was over it yet. At least once every week, one of them would be at your grave, Dean wishing he could have prevented it all, wishing he could go back to where it all started.

The first week, he was a mess; it was supposed to be a short visit, but the nearer he got to your place of resting the more he shattered. The impala too had picked up his sombre mood; her purr sounded like mourning, her radio softly singing one of your favourite songs. He then clambered out and seated himself beside your grave, whispering apologies to you – for not being there, protecting you as he should have.

His mind flew back in time and stopped by the pool table at a dingy bar where he was hustling his daily quota from the other players. They were idiots, and he was taking complete advantage of that. Then you had sauntered in. You were a stranger looking for some fun time; at least that was what you said. Two rounds later, he had miserably lost his entire day’s income to you. While you gave him a victory smirk, he desperately tried convincing himself that it was not your skills but his distracted mind that got him losing. However, you split the money with him the moment the blokes left and the table was cleared. “For all the trouble we go through for these losers, I think we deserve the money”, you whispered showing him the anti-possession tattoo on your wrist. A few beers later, you had traded hunting stories and he had, to his own surprise, offered you a place at the bunker.

His entire frame shook as he sobbed over the death of his best friend, his love, who was unfairly snatched away from him.

Two weeks later, when he returned, he was exhausted – both physically and emotionally. The case they had just finished had been rather gory; but it wasn’t the gore that affected him – it was the victims. They all had something that eerily reminded him of you – the hair colour, the age, the physique. Every time they had a body in the morgue, the boys couldn’t help but remember your mangled form that lay six feet under. The third time, Dean refused to go, unable to stand the grief. That day, the reaper at the crime scene who had popped up to harvest the soul confirmed that your soul was somewhere deep in hell, in some maximum security cell, with the best torturers available. The exact location however was unknown.

Castiel had called in a few days later, only to let the boys know that he couldn’t get that deep in the pit. Crowley had been smart enough to stay away. Dean felt terribly helpless as he sat there by your grave, not knowing how to help you. The usual strings of self blame wove around his head as he thought of endless scenarios where it hadn’t ended this way, where he had managed to save you. What he wouldn’t give to make a deal and take your place... wait a moment.

He abruptly stood up, a plan formulating in his head. Hurrying to his car’s trunk he pulled out everything necessary. Half an hour later, he was ready. The traps and sigils were strategically placed, and the tiny box buried in the middle of the crossroads. The only thing missing now was the demon. Soon enough the putrid stench of sulphur filled the air and a young man in a dark suit popped up, his eyes blood red. At first, Dean bargained his own soul in exchange of yours. When that failed, he drew out the demon blade, threatening and torturing the dealer for information. However, his attempts were fruitless, and ended with the orange-red glow of a dying demon when Dean buried the knife into the monster’s chest in blind fury.

As the sun descended, the rays shone on his handsome face, making the splatter of demon blood glisten. The tips of his dirty blonde hair glowed like embers as he stormed towards his Baby, seething with rage.

When you had first joined their ranks, you had requested just one small thing. “Don’t ask me about my past,” you had said. Both boys had readily agreed; they respected your privacy, knowing firsthand that a hunter’s life never starts with a happy event.

As time passed any kind of discomfort or doubts you had about each other had evaporated into thin air. You had found a family you never thought you’d get again. The boys found you filling in the void they never knew they had in their lives.

To Dean you were like his saviour. He often watched you as you fooled around the bunker, loving how you patiently sat through research with Sam, despite being utterly bored. He loved your enthusiasm when he asked you to accompany him to the bar. He loved how the two of you had fun at the bar, even helping each other get someone for the night. It was all jokes and stupidity, for neither of you took anyone home. Ever since you’d waltzed into his life, his one night stands had diminished in number, and replaced by actual blissful sleep.

Sure, he still got nightmares and woke up in a cold sweat; but somehow every time that happened, you’d be at the door with a look of concern. Neither of you exchanged words – you just walked in and wrapped your arms around him, calming him down with your mere presence. He’d often apologize for it, but you’d always brush it off with a ‘doesn’t matter... wasn’t really sleeping anyways’. You would then soothingly coax the bad dream out of his mind; and he’d simply pour out all his secrets, answer all your questions and then spend hours reminiscing about the early days of hunting when things weren’t this painful. You’d listen earnestly, commenting at some points and by the end of it, Dean would be snoring softly yet again, a part of his burden having disappeared.

Sam loved how you took care of his brother; he saw the love you had for each other, the love that neither of you were even aware of yet. You had now become his best friend, and he often had hinted that Dean and you would make a good couple, but you were ignorant of it. He knew for sure though, that someday it would all click into place. He simply couldn’t wait for the day when his best friend would officially be family, be his sister-in-law.

Now, with you gone the world seemed to have lost colour. The research work was too tedious, the bar nights too lonely and the nightmares more gory and terrifying. The boys no longer had that caring hand comforting them, or that soothing voice loving them. The bunker was too quiet with no sound of high pitched laughter bouncing off the walls, or the steady hum of a song being sung.

Your death had ripped open a huge hole in their lives, and they had nothing to patch it back up with.

By now, it had become a very common sight to have a Winchester mourning at your grave; the mornings were filled with Sam’s tired yet ever hopeful voice, and the evenings reserved for Dean’s pain. They never came together; never even told each other about the frequent visits.

The fourth week thus passed with them wondering why you’d never told them that you were dying.

Dean had always considered you to be his rock; maybe it was your constant support, or your everlasting optimism... to him you were invincible, a constant. So, that one day when he saw you break down he panicked. He had never seen you so broken... and now the memory of your voice, you crying, fallen crumpled in the middle of the road, haunted his mind. It was obvious that hunting was affecting you too and he didn’t like that. So he did the only thing he thought was sensible – he benched you. He gave a different reason every time but it always ended with ‘you’re not going Y/N’. You didn’t like it one bit. You were a full fledged hunter who’d given up on everything other than hunting; to be forbidden from doing the one job you knew didn’t sit well with you... and thus the fights started. Misunderstandings and arguments escalated. Moreover the two of you had just begun being ‘more than friends’, and it didn’t work well.

Your fights left Dean restless and as a result, the hunts often got botched up. Both your minds were losing peace, your lifestyle got more reckless and your relationship got rockier. Sam tried his best to calm the two of you and make you see sense, but you were stubborn and you butted heads ever so often. It finally took one hunt to sever whatever was left. You were benched but you broke protocol and followed them. Time wasn’t on your side, and you almost ruined it for all of them. Cas had turned up last minute and saved you all.

By the time you reached home, Dean was seething with rage. The usual argument turned heated, both your voices loud and bellowing, a volley of angry accusations tossing back and forth until you broke. “You know what?! I quit! I FUCKING QUIT!! I’ve had enough, Dean! It’s clearly not working. We’re over.” Minutes later, you were at the front door, a duffel bag hitched up your shoulder.

Time froze for a millisecond before Dean exploded. “Y/N, DON’T YOU DARE! You walk out that door, don’t you ever think of coming back! IF YOU LEAVE, YOU ARE DEAD TO ME! YOU GET THAT?” for a split second he sounded so much like his father, even Sam flinched at the turn of events – like history repeating itself.

Maybe Dean would hate himself for doing it if only he was thinking straight. Maybe he’d have noticed your tortured face, his comment hitting much closer than he could have possibly imagined. Maybe he’d have apologized and things would be okay. But at that moment, it was a game of egos. “That would be just perfect, wouldn’t it?” you hissed, before storming out, the door clanging shut behind you. The silence that followed was deafening.

The silence seemed to have seeped into the bunker to this date.

In the stifled whimpers of the older Winchester, living his nightmares on repeat.

In the slumped frame of Sam Winchester, aching with suppressed emotions.

In the hushed flutter of the angel wings, as Cas popped by your grave, his eyes sunken with helplessness.

In the quiet of your absence, your grave remained still.

A dull grey evening.

A broken black car, grey with soot and dust.

A lonely grey headstone in the middle of nowhere.

A defeated young man with a pale grey face staring hopelessly at the grave, leaning against the car.

He doesn’t know how to bring you back; he doesn’t know how to move on. The world has stopped for him, it doesn’t even have a meaning.

Regrets. A billion regrets; it’s the same thing haunting him.

Realization... of how the two of you had wasted your time fighting; all the time that you could’ve spent together; if only...

Memories... flooding in – cheesy lines and flirting; hugs of comfort, of love; stolen kisses, fearing the risk; giving in to your feelings; the nights together, loving each other.

“Hey Dean?” you mumbled, your head resting against his shoulder as the two of you sat, leaning against a tree in a tiny meadow Dean had discovered. It was hidden in the woods, a tiny paradise for the two of you. “Yea?” he whispered, not wanting the moment to end.

“Tag. You’re it,” you squeaked, before dashing into the wilderness. It took him a second to process, before he got up and sprinted in your direction. Peals of laughter echoed through the trees as you ran, Dean right at your tail. You knew he'd easily catch you, despite the headstart. “Gotcha,” he growled as he tackled you, holding you close as the two of you came crashing down onto the forest floor. You squirmed under him, giggling the whole while as he watched you in awe.

And suddenly, you looked him in the eye, and he saw pure fear in yours. “Dean!” you gasped out. Startled, Dean pulled back slightly. “Dean!!” you cried out.

A blink of his eyes; you were gone.

“Dean!!!” your voice called out... but you weren’t there.

Sheer panic filled in Dean’s heart as he looked around in vain. Where did you go?

“DEAN!!!!” your voice was right there... where was it coming from? Under the ground?

That just didn’t make any sense.... yet there it was. Right from the depths of the earth.

A voice of pain; a voice of fear.

“DEAN!!!”

A sharp pain burnt his cheek as Cas slapped him out of his stupor; eyes focusing as he came back to the real world, his gaze meeting the concerned looks of Sam and Castiel. No one uttered a word. They simply helped him into the car and drove home.

The skies turned dark; the grave, once again, lonely.

Another case was done and dusted; and here he was yet again. His legs folded beneath him, his shoulders hunched carrying immense grief. A single tear rolling off his cheek and many unshed ones held within. His hands trembled, as he clutched a scrapbook – your scrapbook – tightly.

You had called it a journal; an art journal. And you wrote nothing about monsters in there. Dean hadn’t got it then; now that he had gone through it, he understood it all; hell, now he knew every little thing that was in it. It started out from when you’d joined the boys and contained every happy event that had followed. There were a million photos, drawings and cute cut-out crafts woven into a beautiful tale of a lonely huntress who found the best family. Faces – his, Sammy’s, Castiel’s – were delicately drawn around the day’s events. He didn’t even know how you’d gotten so many photos and it made him smile as he went through over and over. Those tiny flip-book motion pictures of the boys peeked out here and there. His smile only widened when he reached the timeline where the two of you had gotten together. There weren’t many photos – “I can’t even think straight around him, much less take photos”, you’d written. There were drawings though, where you had tried to recreate the time spent together as best as you could... and it was magical; like a fairy tale dream where you’d made him the prince. His heartstrings tugged in grief at the few missing photos, because he knew they were the best ones. They weren’t lost; as a matter of fact they were right there in his hand – slightly frayed and caked with grime and the remnants of your blood from when you had held them while you got torn into ribbons. Why had you made that deal anyway?

His vision blurred as the tears took over, his body casting a long shadow of a broken man, as the sun slipped below the horizon.

Almost the end of week ten; yet Dean hadn’t come to you. Sam however did.

He knew that you were gone, and probably wouldn’t hear what he had to say; but if you could – then you had to know.

The young man knelt by the headstone, a bunch of fresh flowers in his hand – your favourite ones. “He wanted to come... Dean I mean; he wanted to see you, even put up a fight... but I... I just couldn’t let him out; he isn’t well, you know. Mentally – he...he’s crumbling, Y/N/N. He’s hallucinating; he sees you everywhere, and he...he just keeps saying that it’s his fault. He’s drinking himself to sleep, he’s hurting himself... it’s like your break-up all over again; a million times worse this time.” His eyes clouded with unshed tears as he remembered your heated arguments; the way you two butted heads. It seemed all so trivial then; all couples tended to fight – he could see the intense love you had for each other despite all the bicker.

But over the days, your fights simply intensified; almost as if you were doing it all on purpose. And finally one day, it erupted with a final,’it’s over’ and you had walked out, never to return.

This time when the sun set, it cast its final rays on the longer locks of your best friend. “He’s losing it, Y/N; the pain, its killing him. He couldn’t even stand straight today, but he was so persistent about meeting you,” he chuckled sadly, “I had to add a few sleep meds into his drink to knock him out... I know that he’ll hate me when he wakes up, but you do understand my intentions right?”

Sighing softly, he rose. “Y/N, if you can hear me, come back to us. We miss you... Dean needs you back; hell, I need you back. I miss my best friend,” his voice broke towards the end.

The darkness settled in as he drove away.

Week eleven and yet you were still dead; they hadn’t found anything that could get you back. It was a Thursday and would have been your birthday if you were still alive. Sam had visited in the morning, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand. He had sat there for quite a long while talking to you. He was suffering – it was even worse for him because he hadn’t just lost you but also his brother; no matter what show Dean put up every day, he knew that the older one was no more the same.

That evening as the sun set, loud screeching of tires burned away the thick silence around your grave. A car – sleek, black, classic from the 60’s – swerved violently before shuddering to a stop right where the dirt trail to get to your grave started. A man stumbled out; a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He was drunk beyond measure, struggling to stand upright.

How many could he have possibly downed just so he could get to this stage?

He fell on his knees with a thud. “I’m so sorry, baby. I was going to celebrate your birthday you know? But you weren’t there,” his broad frame violently shook as the pent up grief and sorrow flowed out of him.

“Why’d you leave? We could have worked it out, why’d you just give up like that?”

The ‘angry young man out for revenge’ facade that he held all day had crumbled, leaving behind a broken shell.

The worst part of it was that you were helplessly seeing everything. Hell apparently had wonderful reception to watch the outside world. Ever since the traditional chop-chop techniques of torture had ceased to affect you, the demons had improvised their torture methods – mind games.

They started out with a regular dose – your family dying, all your best memories with them changing into horror flicks while you watched helplessly. Surprisingly it didn’t affect you; years of recurring nightmares, Dean’s reassuring arms telling you that it wasn’t real, Sam’s wise counselling and all the love you got from them, had finally let you find the closure you sought. You now had a new family.

Then the visions of your family were replaced by the boys – you betraying the two, them suffering, dying, asking you over and over “why, Y/N/N?”... But you survived those too, convincing yourself that it was just trickery and that the boys were safe; they were Winchesters.

And finally one day they just let you see what the world upstairs was up to. That was where you crumbled – at their mourning faces; at Dean’s reckless attempts to bring you back, at Sam’s silence and their frequent visits to your grave. That week was the worst, both for you and Dean. He visited everyday and you watched helplessly as he blamed himself for your death. The boys hadn’t taken a case that week, yet Dean seemed to have injured himself – bruised knuckles, multiple cuts and burns on his arms; never anything serious enough to kill him, but immensely painful. You screamed and bled freely as they carved into your skin, knowing that you were slowly giving up.

The last day of that week or maybe it was the next (or so you assumed for time ran differently out there), the torture seemed way more intense, and though you put up your best fight, you felt your body collapse and black spots dancing around your eyes. The last thing you remember before blacking out being a blinding light encompassed in gigantic golden wings followed by a searing pain in your shoulder.

Four months since your death, three since your funeral and yet he was there every week, reminiscing the time you spent, wishing he could go back to where it had all started.

Thirteen weeks since your funeral; yet he wasn’t over your death. He still found himself pining, wishing, praying, hell even begging for you to come back. This week too, when they returned from the hunt, his hand automatically sought Baby’s keys. Despite the exhaustion, and the desperate need for some booze, he had yet again driven straight to your burial site. Like every week, ever since the funeral, he flopped down on his knees with a soft thud, right beside your grave. His eyes all teary, his voice all hoarse, he repeated the same three words he always said.

“I’m so sorry.”

The sun crawled down towards the horizon, casting its glow on the grief stricken man who sat by the grave. Silent tears rolled down his cheek as they did every time. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, as always, before recounting the week’s events. Soft noises of the underground rodents scraping through and scampering filled the silence as the darkness crept in. The noises – they seemed louder today; not that it mattered to Dean.

Then, just as he rose to leave, the soil that marked your grave started caving inwards, forming a shallow ditch. A hand shot out, feebly pushing off the dirt. A head followed, coughing and spitting out mud. The man’s tired green eyes widened, a gasp escaping his lips.

“Y/N.” He breathed.

@writingthingsisdifficult @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @petrovadixon @the–blackdahlia @peddlergirl @eturtle2002 @laura160604 @super100012 @rosey-persephone @theas-bedtime-stories @firedhomearrow @trollhunter94 @percywinchester27 @mrs-squirrel-chester

#spnangstbingo #dean x reader #spn fanfic #angst #oneshot #spn verse

48 notes · View notes