#the way you can literally SEE his thought process and excitement over asking crowley to dance i am in shambles i really am

[ayuki-ikuya]

Dorms and Archons

Twisted Wonderland x Genshin Impact

Part 2 of 2

Part 1

Dendro Archon

The Recluse Scholar

𝓚𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓶 𝓐𝓵-𝓐𝓼𝓲𝓶

Kalim was excited to have a new friend! Oh the parties they'd have! The fun! The food!

When he met you, you were... distant. Did he do something wrong? Did he upset you?

He really did try to find out what he did wrong, and often sent you invitations (Malleus eyeing the invitations) you some of the parties he makes, but you don't show up nor reply, making him sadden.

Jamil low key face palming

During a normal sunny day at school, he and Jamil headed to the library to grab some books, and during the process, he found you, tucked in a corner with mountains, upon mountains of books around you, and you? You were reading.

"Ah? S/o??"

"HEEEEK!!!!"

he startled you so badly that plants from outside grew. which of course caused a commotion.

Kalim apologised for startling you, but he asked a question about your attendance, your reply was to fiddle with your sleeves before answering with a small voice that you were afraid of people despite being a deity.

Kalim immedietly thought of Idia, but he crossed the line of no return, but Kalim smiled warmly, held your hand, making you choke, and said a more softer voice that he'd throw a smaller party, just the three of them. (Don't tell me you forgot Jamil, HE MAKES THE DANG FOOD)

You accepted.

Several parties later, you two were unsurprisingly in love with each other that the students of NRC were rolling their eyes at the moments the two shared. COULD YOU TWO DATE ALREADY!?!?

When you two started dating, Kalim made a celebration, but kept you in a more secluded section, that way you could be apart of it, but not near a large crowd of people. And you were thankful for it.

As a couple, Kalim practically adores you. And he's super affectionate too! Jalim is glad to have someone more tameable and it also makes it easier to locate Kalim if he ever goes off by himself.

𝓙𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵 𝓥𝓲𝓹𝓮𝓻

He thought nothing of you at first.

Until you had full scores on everything.

He had requested you to help with Scarabia's studying, in offer of full meals, which you complied with due to living in a run down dorm and doesn't have a lot of money to support themselves with.

However, the study group went wrong due to the amount of people.

Jamil then figured that you didn't work too well with large numbers of people, and he found that you were slightly dependent on him when it comes to speaking.

He ended up planning smaller groups, working on those who had the worst grades then up.

And thanks to you, their dorm gradually got better.

Jamil spent time with you whenever he was free from following Kalim, and he was fairly fond of you.

You were soft, very soft, but highly reliable in terms of knowledge. So he'd often vent to you which is surprising.

But your presence and advice helped him grow better.

Jamil fell for you when he found you smiling at a Scarabia student showing you their improved grade, you looked like a warm hearted maternal parent, and his heart skipped at the sight.

When you two began dating, it was a bit rocky due to Jamil's family duty to serve the Al-Asim family. But Kalim was very kind to allow Jamil more free time, in exchange that he brings you over for more study parties!

You figured since Kalim wasn't fond of studying and more for partying, that you'd make a study party which improved Kalim's grade by ten folds. Jalim practically wept tears that the seven sent him this angel.

Geo Archon

The Consultant

𝓐𝔃𝓾𝓵 𝓐𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓸

Azul was greedy for the power you possibly possess. and your money.

Azul underestimated you since he witnessed your lack of brains in terms of money. You forget about having your wallet on you, and whenever someone offers to pay for you, you attempt to buy everything without a single thought.

This was going to be an easy contract, Azul thought. They're an idiot, Azul thought. They can't complete this contract, Azul thought.

"I've completed my end of the contract. Now you must do yours."

"Huh? Nani?"

Azul was stupefied by this, he whipped his head towards the Leech twins, both begrudgingly nodding their heads in confirmation at the archon completing their conditions of the contract.

Azul had tried to change the details of the contract, you of course allowed it the first time.

But when you returned with the conditions once again completed, Azul tried to add more.

However, you weren't having it.

You stood up and leaned down to Azul, towering over him. A sudden pressure weighed the three mercreatures, it was heavy and foreboding. Your eyes glowed a gold with the amber ombre in your hair glowing gold as well.

"I was lenient to allow you the first time. Either fulfill your end of the deal or break the contract. But if you break the contract, you will suffer the wrath of the rock."

Azul was terrified.

When Azul fell for you, he questioned himself. How in the seven did he fall for a person like YOU!? He will never remember how, but all he knows is that he's in waaay to deep.

When you two became a couple, you were far more charasmatic and charming than before, it was like it was turned up a notch. Or two. or more...

The contract loving couple have been making more money than ever thanks to the Geo Archon, the avatar of contracts. It's either fill the conditions or suffer the wrath of the rock. Or just, don't make a contract. Simple.

But then we got the one brain cell trio doing their dumb sh**.

𝓙𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓛𝓮𝓮𝓬𝓱

Oya?

What an intriguing being.

Jade was the first to be interested in you. But he couldn't exactly find you that well since you practically mixed with the crowd a little too well than he'd like. [Bro, Zhongli and Venti has statues of themselves around Liyue and Mondstaft, AND NO ONE MANAGES TO THINK "hmmm.. You know, he looks like one that statue there.. Wait a minute-" LIKE, SRSLY!!! Venti is more obvious, I can understand Zhongli since he wears more funeral consultant clothing, but he still somehow blends in with the crowd. Unlike a Lil wind spirit.]

But when the moment came where you made a contract, Jade was more than happy to hinder you, only for you to complete the conditions before he could figure out your plan.

"... What?"

["OSMANTHUS WI-"]

After that fiasco with you giving a very large heavy warning, Jade was by your side whenever he wasn't with Floyd, questioning your knowledge, in which you were more than happy enough to comply.

Jade fell for you when you showed how competent you were unlike the other miserable guppies in school. Sure you had a few problems, but nothing with a little Jade there and everything is perfect. He also favored your knowledge, specially about fungi.

When you two became a couple, it was.. Strange to say, a air headed but scary consultant with a sadistically calm eelman? That's ringing bells for everyone.

𝓕𝓵𝓸𝔂𝓭𝓮 𝓛𝓮𝓮𝓬𝓱

Floyd had zero, zip, non, 100% no interest in you. Why? You looks, sound and seem boring. And he stand corrected.

it was later when you completed the conditions, which, not gonna lie, spooked Floyd.

"Hah?"

Later, he began to go after you like he did with Goldfish (Riddle), and when he tried to squeeze you, he found himself squeezing a shield instead.

He found himself utterly thrilled and had did several attempts at you, which failed.

His interest in you and your abilities heightened.

Then your relationship bloomed.

It was hard to say if it was romantic or platonic, but either way, Floyd was perfectly happy. Happy to have a partner who continues to show things or tell him things about their world.

As long as Floyd kept out of trouble and/or content, Jade and Azul didn't say question their relationship.

Pyro Archon

The Warlord

𝓛𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓪 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓻

Who are you? What are you? Why are you here? What are you doing? Get out.

Leona didn't care for you, not one single bit. Until you messed with his sleep schedule due to your chaoticness.

Whenever your around, you just bring trouble with you. And he doesn't like it one bit.

And when you bring trouble, you bring noise.

Which officially ruins his nap times.

However, Leona praises and respects your prowess in battle. You always gave it your all, which he liked. You weren't holding back, which allowed him to gauge how powerful you were as a deity with or without your element.

As it turns out, you're stronger than what you make yourself out to be, but what catches Leona's attention the most, was how calculating you were. It was as if you were analyzing him

To be honest, he felt violated.

At most times, you're energetic, but when your quiet or serious, it's either pack your sh** and leave or get out of their way.

Because when your either if those, you will either send someone to the nurse with severe casualties or some of the schools property will be destroyed. And of course, there is a justified reason for this.

Other than to make Crowley very upset of course.

Leona fell for you with your strength. He loves a woman who can lead and he could just relax. Unless it comes to some other type of leadership, like in the bedroom, then that will change. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

These two are dangerous as a couple when Leona's awake and active. And when Leona's on the move, expect a gremlin to be tailing after him, and be sure to clear out of their way. Mercy didn't in their vocabulary.

𝓡𝓾𝓰𝓰𝓲𝓮 𝓑𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓱𝓲

Huh? Do I know you? No? Goodbye.

Ruggie, quite literally, didn't give a rats ass about you.

To him, you were like any other beast man, rowdy and rough, other than your form that is.

But thankfully, you knew how to take care of yourself. Less work for Ruggie. I guess.

Not only that you knew how to cook. That was a god sent gift to Ruggie. Sadly though, you only know how to make mostly meat dishes. If it contains vegetables, expect the veggies to be over seasoned.

Leona was scared when he saw you in the kitchen, only to calm down seeing you being calm and not rowdy.

Ruggie fell for your cooking. He is literally the term "To get to a mans heart, you go through their stomach". although you should work on cooking vegetables better for a more healthier lifestyle.

𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓗𝓸𝔀𝓵

Strong? Strong.

You two are 100% besties.

You two are glued to the hip whenever you guys are free or share classes.

You both like to exercise and spar, so you two mostly go for each other.

To say the least, Jack mostly saw you as a sibling. Sorry, no romance.

Jack often scolds you for not eating more vegetables.

Which makes you pout and huff.

Cute lil tyke - Leona

Hydro Archon

The Judge

𝓡𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓵𝓮 𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓼

Nice, another rule setter like me. We're gonna be great friends.

"Explain why two cubes of sugar should be in a lemon tea? It's blasphemy."

I see you have chosen violence 😌

Riddle at first liked you, until you learned about the rules of the Queen of Hearts, did he start to hate you.

"BE QUIET OR IT'S OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"

He loathed you.

He thought that since your a judge, you'd understand the rules, much like him. But no, you judged the rules as well, evaluating if they are fair or not.

Whenever you call out on the rules that appeared ridiculously stupid to have (like the two sugar cubes in lemon tea. That's bs to you.)

After the overblot, you were more nicer when he changed.

He stand corrected.

But he didn't mind it, he low key enjoyed arguing with you, without him screaming at you of course.

You two as a couple sends fear in everyone. A judge and a tyrant? That's a deadly combo.

𝓣𝓻𝓮𝔂 𝓒𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻

Trey had taken a liking to you, seeing how similar you are to Riddle.

He enjoyed answering your questions about rules, but if there were rules he can't remember, he'd look at them with you to not only answer your question, but to commit them to memory in case.

What he's scared of is when you give trials regarding about incidents. Riddle would present his case then the 'innocent' or innocent would present theirs.

If the person is guilty, you ensure punishment, because like Riddle, you detest rule breakers unless in reason. You didn't mind them bending the rules as long as it doesn't break.

Trey is envious of your abilities, but you reassure him the his Doodle Suit is superior if you can use it against others magic.

You often praised him as well.

You admitted to thinking about a scenario of if Trey was born in Tevyat, he'd receive a hydro vision.

He flushed in response, secretly happy to have caught your attention.

You two as a couple puts everyone, minus Riddle because it's you, at ease.

𝓒𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓭

#ohmyseveniminlove #calltheambulance #loveatfirstsight #goddescendingfromheaven #pinchme #PLSNOTICEMEANDLOVEME #foryoupage

He practically fell for you.

To him, you were perfect.

"You have flaws? I only see perfection!"

He's a smooth talker, albeit feminine due to having a lot of sisters, but smooth nonetheless.

He's a simp for you, willing to use his unique magic to do anything and everything for you.

Literally fell at first sight of you.

As a couple, Cater often takes couple photos with you, at first you were content with the pictures, but at this point they kinda peeved her when he takes pictures on every occasion.

"Smiiiile~"

"Cater, I love you, but please, stop."

"If you give me a kiss I might~"

𝓓𝓮𝓾𝓬𝓮 𝓢𝓹𝓪𝓭𝓮

You're his role model.

Literally the Geno to your Saitama.

He carries a notebook with him to take notes on you since he strives to be like you. A model being.

Even if he looks smart, he still has a split braincell between Ace and Grim.

Don't hold it against him if he's trying to know almost EVERYTHING about you.

More platonic than romantic.

𝓐𝓬𝓮 𝓣𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓵𝓪

Complete opposites.

And completely disliked each other.

You rubbed him the wrong way, maybe it was because you were more justified than him, better at things than he was.

He didn't know what, it was just you being better than him. He understands he's not smart, because he foes dumb sh** with the other two.

But whenever you have to deal with their messes on their own, he feels irritated.

He often tries to get after you as well.

"Oh wow, such a god you are. Pathetic."

*cue angry archon noises with an 8 feet tall wave behind them, ready to flood Ace's ass.*

Yeah, your relationship is very... Rocky and slightly concerning.

Here's part 2! I'm happy that you read this! I will have a link to the first part after connecting the links to certain parts. Feel free to request or refer to the main master list pinned on my blog if you wish to see other choices to make! Happy reading!

#twisted wonderland x genshin impact #twisted wonderland #genshin impact #scarabia #octavinelle #savanaclaw #heartslabyul #kalim al asim #jamil viper #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #cater diamond #deuce spade #ace trappola

[autisticandroids]

yknow those episodes where a character's whole personality gets split into 3-5 different distinct separate bodies? what bodies would cas have? I feel like it'd just be a mess tbh, imagine 5 different castiels all of them loving dean to a certain extent but showing it VASTLY differently. one cas would literally want to murder the others lmao

okay so i don’t actually think this trope would be an effective tool for analyzing cas? he’s not conflicted enough in himself. he’s too impulsive, too singleminded, too uninhibited. like, in the end, cas always ends up doing whatever he wants. there aren’t multiple discrete voices vying for control, really, or rather, if there are, one is always significantly stronger than the others. like in the end cas will always end up eating raw meat off the floor, you know? he’ll do what he wants. if i was going to do personality splitting i’d do it to someone intensely internally conflicted, like dean.

however, because i’m in an essay writing mood today, i’ll answer a question slightly to the left of the one you asked. cas may not be internally conflicted, but he is intensely changeable. these two things are related, actually; the same impulsivity and singlemindedness that mean he doesn’t have a ton of internal conflict at any given time mean that different ideas sound good to him at different times, because he isn’t really thinking about, say, what future-him will think of them. and he’s not really trying to maintain an image or identity. he’s just doing what feels right at the time, which is very different at different times and in different situations.

anyway, that in mind, i think a lot about ways to bring together many alternate versions of cas which sort of correspond to different times in the show.

i have a fic in my head about a bunch of cas-es pulled from alternate timelines by some kind of spell. so this would be set during the widower arc because the basic impulse here is to show dean a very bad time. just absolutely put him through hell. also, all the alternate timelines are different because different stuff happened, not because cas made different choices, because if we’re torturing dean it has to be like 5x04, the changes in cas can’t be cas’ fault. they have to be dean’s or just like, the universe’s (which makes them dean’s).

so dean is trying to bring cas back, and he finds some kind of spell that can bring someone “from another world.” and he tries it because hey. can’t hurt to try. anyway i’ve thought a long time about different versions of cas i would put in this and here is what i have. in order of when the timeline split off.

- a cas who never raised dean from hell. think 14x13 “lebanon.” this one i’m not too sure about, like, this could be fun, but i don’t know if it’s different enough from the next one. like this castiel would have lived through the averted apocalypse and subsequent general fuckery that happened as an angelic footsoldier, which would actually be pretty interesting now that i think about it, especially since all that stuff would have gone down soooooooo differently without cas specifically for your average angel footsoldier. like cas has PERSONALLY caused more upheaval in heaven in twelve years of spn than there seems to have been in millennia. so he would be the point of view of a normal footsoldier from a totally other world.

- a cas who died mid season four, and is pulled out of the empty in 2017 by this spell. i’m not sure when this cas died. my thoughts are (1) killed in on the head of a pin by alistair, (2) killed during his torture in the rapture, or (3) simply never resurrected after lucifer rising. (3) makes the most sense, but that cas has already thrown away everything for dean. i prefer the idea of a cas who loves dean, is already on the brink of disobedience for him, but has not yet taken the plunge. both on the head of a pin and the rapture are great places for this, and they both have strengths and weaknesses. if he died in the rapture, he was killed by heaven, which is fundamentally more fun, but he was also really very much over the edge already. if he died in on the head of a pin, he wasn’t killed by heaven, but he is perfectly teetering on the brink of falling for dean. regardless of when he died, the purpose of this cas is to be horrified at all the various and myriad ways he has destroyed and corrupted himself for dean in the other timelines.

- possibly endverse cas, who would have died in 2014, but like s4 cas, would have been pulled from the afterlife by the spell. i’m not so sure on this one. we as a society love endverse cas but i dunno what purpose he would serve. maybe endverse cas didn’t die in 2014, and instead was imprisoned by lucifer, because, you know. he’s the only brother lucifer has left. so he is very excited to see dean alive and well, since his dean is dead, and, not being an angel, cas can’t bring him back. the purpose of this cas would be to horrify dean that cas loves him and needs him so much, and to disgust the other cas-es with his neediness.

- a cas who was in some way on better terms with dean during s6. maybe dean and cas ride off into the sunset together after swan song instead of dean going to live with lisa, maybe dean prayed to cas while he was with lisa because he missed him, who knows. either way, cas has dean’s help with the angel revolution in season six from the start, and never goes to crowley. the plan cas and dean come up with to beat raphael includes breaking into the cage and stealing the grace of michael and lucifer, freeing sam and adam in the process. incidentally, it also involves cas possessing dean, because if cas is gonna eat archangel grace to become more powerful, he’s going to need a stronger vessel. so cas and dean have a whole like. midam situation happening. they’re a double archangel together, and godstiel never happened so none of the other terrible apocalypses that stemmed from that happened, and everything is pretty cool where they’re from, and also they’re obviously uhhhhhh SOME kind of together. the purpose of this cas is to upset dean because this cas shows how much better everything could have been and how much better his and cas’ relationship could have been if dean had simply been more considerate of cas in s6, and also freak dean out with how uh. close. this dean and cas are.

- a godstiel who managed to swallow purgatory without swallowing the leviathans and remained god. he’s probably soooomewhat less scary and murdery than canonverse godstiel because no leviathans, so you know, not as many angel purges or massacres on earth. and he probably went and fixed sam’s wall within about three days because cas is prideful but he does NOT like it when dean is mad at him. so they did kiss and make up, and so this cas would have had dean to act as his morality chain. but he’s still very scary and godstiel. and also he refers to dean as “The Beloved” you know. his purpose is to freak everyone out, because he’s scary, but also, for the past cas-es, because he is a terrifying abomination that they could never imagine becoming, for the future cas-es, because he is a reminder of their worst selves, and for dean, because he is a reminder of how dangerous cas is, but also because he uh. obviously has some feelings about his dean. unclear if they are consummated or not.

- a cas who naomi never rescued from purgatory, and who stayed there. hasn't spoken to another being in half a decade, has not recovered from his emotionally destroyed state in purgatory in s8. believes at first that the spell is his dean rescuing him, and is crushed when he realizes he was wrong. like endverse cas, his purpose is to show dean how much cas needs him and depends on him emotionally, and how he (dean) is capable of destroying cas, as well as his guilt for leaving him in purgatory and how lucky he is that his cas got out. this is especially noteworthy since the guilt for leaving cas in purgatory is part of the reason dean is trying to get cas back.

- a cas who stayed human after season nine, and has built himself a small human life over the next four years. he has a job and an apartment and friends outside the winchesters and yes, he still goes hunting after work sometimes, and he's still in contact with dean, but he is also independent in a way no other version of cas has ever been. he exists to freak out dean because dean has never seen cas independent of him. he is also fairly bitter at dean since dean did kind of stop spending time with him when he was no longer useful, and our dean feels guilty for that.

- a cas who showed up twenty minutes later in 10x03, finding sam dead and dean gone, and had to chase down demon dean, and has now spent three years following demon dean around as his tragically adoring stalker, because he hasn't found a way to resurrect sam yet and he doesn't want to put dean through the demon cure until he can save sam because he doesn't want dean to experience that guilt, but he also adores dean and wants to keep an eye on him and keep him safe and also keep him from doing anything too heinous, so he just covertly follows him around the country and watches from a distance as he commits various murders and fucks his way through every local bar scene. and occasionally cas finds dean something to kill, when the mark gets hungry, and drops it in his path. his purpose is to freak dean out with the lengths cas would go for him, and the depths cas would sink to.

anyway. lebanon cas and season four cas are horrified and perhaps disgusted (lebanon cas more than s4 cas) by ALL of the later cas-es, and how far they’re fallen, all of it for dean. godstiel and archangel cas being abominations, endverse cas and s9 cas being fallen, even purgatory cas and demon dean’s cas for their total dependence on dean.

purgatory cas and endverse cas are just happy to see a dean, even if it’s not their dean. demon dean’s cas, too, in a way. he’s happy to see a dean who is still human, who he can still have as a friend.

human cas is pissed to see that he was right, that dean would have stuck by him if he’d still had his powers, that this version of dean is doing spells to try and bring his cas, who is still an angel, back, whereas he and his dean only see each other once every couple months.

everyone is terrified and disgusted by godstiel, as i said before.

they’re mostly kind of thrown by archangel cas. a lot of them are jealous. godstiel is furious because how dare anyone, even an alternate version of himself, take dean as a vessel (even if dean likes it). godstiel isn’t really there, though, he resisted the summoning and just sort of popped his head through to see what was going on, and he goes back to his own reality pretty fast without murdering anyone.

also to be clear dean has not at this point examined or acknowledged any feelings he may have about his cas besides “friendship,” nor has he wondered what feelings his cas may have for him. given how many of the cas-es were clearly in some kind of relationship with their dean (endverse cas, archangel cas) or just openly in love with their dean (godstiel, purgatory cas, demon dean’s cas), dean is forced to reevaluate the nature of his and cas’ relationship.

#spn #asks #anonymous

[shirtlesssammy]

15x15 Bullet Point Rambles

A soup kitchen volunteer hears a mysterious voice from an alley and follows it. Great plan! Always follow those creepy alley voices, kids. He finds a teddy bear. It’s evil and talks! Oh, also this young man dies

Dean thinks he’s found Amara in Atlantic City, binging the keno games. He tries to reassure Cas that they can handle Amara because they “used to have a thing” (¬_¬)

Cas heads off on a hunt with Jack “I just graduated from CSI” Kline. THESE TWO asking about a laundry list of supernatural causes WE ARE TRULY BLESSED TONIGHT

Jack gets excited about “Marvelous Marvin the talking teddy” Which he has….for his stepson. Ronald. LOL

GUYS, CAS just put a picture of himself with a cowboy hat in a crossroads box. GUYS, CAS looked sooooo good in a cowboy hat that Dean took and then printed a picture of it.

Zach the crossroads demon is talking in an odd Crowley affectation and I am eating it right up. He’s also really into angels solving people crimes because he would WATCH that show. ISWYDT, show.

Another community center employee steals donations and then gets called by the same creepy voice. Dun dun DUN

Cas and Dean check in with each other. Dean is….super evasive about their plans to confront Amara and we’re kind of weirded out by it?

Boris: Why are they going into this without trying to talk sensibly to Amara? Literally Dean talked to her and saved the world! We want Amara to survive! She’s done nothing wrong! Team Amara Does Yoga and Eats Comfort Food!

Jack arrives at the community center and asks for kool-aid. BBY BOY (Boris: It was technically flavor-aid)

The woman wakes up tied to a chair. Someone’s writing deadly sins on the wall - for her, it’s greed. There’s a mechanical guillotine that chops off one finger and then gives her a countdown before another gets lopped off. EEEESH YIKES

Jack reaches out to one of the other volunteers and they bond over loss. “Well, I have more dads than most, and I feel like I’m letting all of them down.” AW, Jack.

SOMEBODY please make me an aesthetic of Cas sitting on this small plaid couch!

Cas talks with the pastor, who reveals that he’s made changes for a more tolerant church. “A saint is a sinner who keeps trying.” I love the BONDING!

Dean has “a process” for all-you-can-eat establishments. ME TOO, DEAN!

Amara shows up and asks Dean if he missed her. I shove Dean’s face away with my hand and step excitedly in front of Amara. WE MISSED YOU AMARA

Amara is entirely unimpressed by the boys, but she IS impressed by the idea of pirogues! Let this sunflower enjoy her food in peace!

Back in case-of-the-week land, the victim is still tied up. Still losing her fingers to a countdown timer. Meanwhile, Jack gets welcomed into the fold. HELLO!

Cas introduces himself to the prayer group. He used to just follow orders and follow the plan. He got lost when the plan fell apart…and then something changed. “Something amazing.” He found a family. He became a father. He rediscovered his faith and who he is! CRYING NOISE! This is so lovely.

Dean and Sam talk to Amara and confront her on the universe squashing truth. Dean suggests that Amara help them trap Chuck but she won’t go for it.

Amara tells him that they see a woman, they see Chuck as a “squirrelly weirdo.” But they’re ineffable, Amara tries to explain. She and Chuck splitting were essentially the big bang. They’re so much BIGGER than what Sam and Dean see.

Ah, I see Jack is a battering ram now? Ooookay.

Dean heads in for one more question from Amara. “Why did you bring her back?” (Natasha: YES WE CIRCLE BACK). He’s angry at the loss of his mother. GRABBY HANDS

Amara: I wanted two things. I wanted you to see that your mother was just a person. The myth you held onto where she lived was just a myth. The real, complicated Mary was better than your childhood dream because she was real. NOW is always better than THEN. You could finally start to accept your life. WHOA SOME SERIOUS WISDOM AMARA

Also, Amara thought having Mary back would put out Dean’s fire - his anger. Never! “Just another cosmic dick rigging the game,” Dean tells her angrily.

“Can I trust you?” Amara asks, considering helping them, and Dean flat out lies and tells her he would never hurt her. DAAAAMN DEAN that’s a dangerous game.

The pastor’s daughter watches her friend enjoy all the social media attention from the attacks and viciously STABS her. Damn, girl. Later, in her torture dungeon, she tries to attack her dad for all he’s done to change the church.

Cas frees the victim and heals her fingers. PHEW, THANK YOU CAS

Boris: Very intrigued by this examination of faith without the traditional structure of Faiths. There’s a thread of faith in this episode: Cas laying out his faith, Amara’s faith in her brother… WE could use another decade of this show to untangle more of this!

At the end, the human culprit is taken away, a family is torn apart. (What was up with the cross roads demon police officer taking her away, y’all?)

Cas and Jack talk about feelings in the truck, in the fine tradition of the Winchesters. Jack tells Cas that he’s going to die when he kills Chuck and Amara. Cas looks HORRIFIED and SO DO I.

Billie’s spell is turning Jack into some kind of a bomb and he won’t survive. “Don’t tell Sam and Dean,” Jack begs because HE’S JUST LIKE CAS and also the DEAN and AMARA SOUL BOMB PARALLELS YOU GUYS

Later, Dean hits up the booze in his dead guy robe because he’s coping GREAT

Cas and Dean reconnect in the bunker. Cas is going to look for “another way.” OH and he has something REALLY IMPORTANT to tell Dean in case he dies but he isn’t going to tell him until right no——

fade to black

#spn 15x15 #gimme shelter #supernatural season 15 #spn thoughts

[yamisnuffles]

Let Them Eat Crepes

Crowley suffers through Aziraphale eating crepes after the rescue at the Bastille.

Rated M. Read on Ao3

A very silly thing written as a gift for @racketghost to hopefully bring her some cheer. - - - - -

When Crowley had taken up residence in Paris, it hadn’t been to play host to a fussy angel with a death wish. He’d thought of the angel. Of course he had. Any time through history when he kept a room with a bed, he took some time to imagine said angel in said bed. But Paris was a nightmare and he was only there to keep up appearances, maybe scrape up the occasional detail for a report. He hadn’t thought Aziraphale would ever actually appear. Not in the middle of a bloody revolution. Certainly not dressed like that.

“What good fortune they offer crepes at the very same inn where you are keeping a room,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sipped at his cider. It was supposed to pair well with the crepes. Not that he was eating any himself, despite having ordered food. Somehow his plates always ended up in front of Aziraphale.

“Yeah, fortunate.”

Aziraphale wiggled in his seat and speared another bite on his fork. “And such good ones, too.”

He punctuated the statement with a moan that sent Crowley’s blood on a trip south. He took a much larger gulp of cider. Alcohol tended to at least postpone the inevitable reaction to watching the angel eat. At this rate, he’d probably be better off asking for a whole cask. They were only two plates in and hadn’t yet reached the cruelest part of any meal.

Crowley was fairly certain Aziraphale resented the creation of forks. Sure, he would use them, but there always came a moment in any meal when he abandoned his utensils in favor of more natural options. Whether it was licking the last bit of broth from a bowl or chasing some spot of cream with his fingers, it happened without fail and it was hell. Literal hell. Well, maybe not literal but Crowley thought it came close to anything they’d come up with Downstairs.

He was, at present, using a torn off scrap of crepe to sop up a bit of golden yolk. He swept the delicate pastry across the plate and let it drag through gooey Gruyère that clung to his thumb and forefinger. Once this process was complete, he would pop it all into his mouth with a moan and suck his fingers clean. He continued on with a single minded focus until the plate was absolutely spotless and Crowley was on the edge of breaking his tightly clenched jaw.

Aziraphale stopped short of putting the final bite in his mouth and looked up at Crowley, as if only just remembering he wasn’t alone. “I know you said you didn’t want any, but maybe just a taste? It really was divine.”

He held out that final scrap on the tip of glistening fingers, as though he expected Crowley to simply nip it away.

Hell. It was hell and Crowley was going to die.

He licked his lips. “Nah. No. M’fine.” He coughed and looked at the empty bottom of his mug. He considered getting more but he needed more than just alcohol at that point. “I’ve got a few good bottles in my room. How about we head up there.”

Aziraphale ate the rejected scrap of food and licked away the grease that had coated his fingers as he held it. “But I haven’t finished yet,” he said with a frown. “It would be a shame to go through all that nasty business at the Bastille without at least eating my fill.”

Wide blue eyes drifted toward the kitchen and then back at Crowley, widening further as they went. Eyebrows lifted up. A bottom lip made its appearance and wobbled for good measure. It really was a marvel, looking back, that it had taken Crowley so long to suggest Aziraphale take on temptations. The angel was a natural at it.

Crowley ran his tongue over the sharp edges of his teeth and considered his options. “Ehhh, it’ll be fine. They’ll bring the food up.” They might not know why, but given they’d only started offering crepes an hour ago, it was hardly the most confusing thing they’d been through that day. “We can finish up in my room.”

“Oh, good.” It was clear the moment Aziraphale was appeased because his pout was instantly replaced by a smile. “Well then, lead the way.”

Crowley risked a surreptitious glance downward that he hoped his glasses blocked from view. Despite the growing tension in his abdomen, it didn’t look like his trousers were in a state to give him away. If he walked a little oddly, he had to hope Aziraphale was too focused on the promise of future crepes to notice.

When they got up to Crowley’s room, Aziraphale gave it all an appraising look. He wrinkled his nose at one of the chairs, removed his hat, and used it to wipe the offending furniture off before he took a seat. “Charming place you have here.”

Crowley shrugged with as much disinterest as he could physically muster and went into the small bedroom off the main room. The wardrobe had been repurposed as a wine cabinet. “Doesn’t need to be charming. I’m a demon. It’s supposed to be dark and dank and gloomy,” he called back as he ran his fingers over the labels of some of the wine he’d liberated from now deceased nobles. He grabbed two bottles of Chardonnay and glasses for the both of them and, after a moment of chewing on his lip, a bottle of Champagne. “Besides, not like I’m planning on staying much longer.”

When he returned, he found two large platters of crepes had been delivered. Aziraphale had a fork in hand but seemed unable to decide which to sample first. He settled on one dusted in sugar with sliced lemons on top. His lips puckered slightly around the lemon before relaxing back to a smile. Crowley wanted to lick into his mouth and see if the tartness of the lemon remained or if it would be all Aziraphale. Instead he uncorked a bottle with his teeth and drank a hearty swig of Chardonnay.

“If dark and dank is what you were going for,” Aziraphale said, “then well done, my dear. It’s good to hear you won’t be lingering, though.”

Crowley swallowed down more wine. Between that and all the cider before, he could feel his limbs loosening. He stretched out his legs, forgetting why he’d been keeping them crossed in the first place. “Not much more to do here, really. Can only write, ‘the humans have chopped off more heads’ so many times. Got my commendation, anyway. Might as well head out before Downstairs starts expecting something new and exciting.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Seems prudent.”

He picked up a stray slice of lemon, dabbed it in sugar, licked it clean, and then did it all over again again. Crowley watched the whole thing, entirely enraptured, especially when Aziraphale’s thick, pink tongue would make an appearance to remove any lingering sugar from his lips. Warmth that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol Crowley had imbibed settled firmly between his legs. His feet had wandered dangerously close to enemy territory. He pulled them back and threw one foot over a knee in an attempt to disguise the growing tenting in his trousers.

“Those worth losing your head over?” he asked, nodding his head toward the food.

Aziraphale took the bottle from Crowley and poured himself a glass. “Sometimes you miss life’s little pleasures and you have to take a risk to get what you want.”

Pink blossomed high on his cheeks. Crowley tilted his head.

“But death? For crepes?”

Aziraphale smiled around another bite. “Yes, well, it would have only been discorporation and they’re really rather good, if a bit clueless.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Are we still talking about crepes?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer beyond a small huff of laughter. Silence settled in while he continued on eating. Crowley was certain he was missing something but he was too distracted by the sight in front of him to think straight.

It was odd to see the angel in red. Some secret part buried deep in his chest liked it, loved the message of rebellion that it shouted to the world. He'd never admit to it but, as much as he liked it, he'd loved every last gold thread on the absurd outfit that had come before. He could still see heavy manacles around delicate, lace covered wrists. He could practically feel the ghost of curved calves wrapped in sumptuous stockings. His fingers ached from the memory of feet clad in ostentatious silk. How he'd wanted to take it all off, piece by ridiculous piece.

And there Aziraphale was before him, with a view of the bed just beyond. Maybe he would wear those chains again. Or, better yet, perhaps he’d put himself entirely in Crowley’s hands. Crowley could spread him out on the mattress and peel it all away until only pale skin and paler hair remained.

Aziraphale dropped his fork with a clatter. “Oh.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. It wasn’t just that he could imagine it all perfectly, Aziraphale really was back in all his finery. Only, it wasn’t identical to what he’d been wearing before. Gold had been replaced by silver and a vein of deep scarlet ran through the embroidery on the sleeve.

“Well, that was certainly frivolous of me,” Aziraphale said, oblivious to Crowley’s growing distress, “but Heaven can hardly fault me if I didn’t mean to do it. I had been thinking about how much nicer silk was against the skin but… no, I certainly don’t remember actually willing it back.”

“Right, unhhhh—” Crowley’s voice came out as a choked squeak. He opened another bottle and, in a maneuver not recommended to those without demonic serpentine attributes, downed half of it in one tremendous gulp. He tried not to consider the way the angel’s eyes were trained on his neck as he ran the back of his hand across wine stained lips. “Sometimes these things just happen. You know. No use worrying about it. No one will see you here, so just eat the rest of your crepes.”

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth tugged down slightly. “If you’re impatient to be somewhere, don’t let me keep you.”

“Not impatient just…” Crowley switched the cross of his legs in search of some relief. He had to use one hand to still the other in order to keep from palming away the ever building tension. “You know.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I do. Are you alright, my dear? You seem uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, I’m, er…” Crowley tugged at his collar. It was too tight. He could feel himself swallowing and every swallow sent his mind elsewhere. “Hot. Should probably open the windows.” He was halfway to his feet when he remembered why getting to his feet under Aziraphale’s watchful gaze was probably not the best idea. It didn’t seem likely the angel would be secretly ecstatic to find out that he was hopelessly hard just from watching him eat. “Actually, nah. Would need to open the curtains and with your clothes… best to keep things shut. I’ll be fine. Really. Get back to your crepes. You said it yourself, it would be a shame not to finish after everything you did to get them.”

Aziraphale picked at his final crepe. His whole body melted with a moan as soon as it touched his tongue. All the while, his eyes were still locked on Crowley.

“Oh, but it wasn’t just me who went through a lot for these.” He carefully cut another portion of crepe and nudged the sliced tip of a strawberry onto it. He then swirled it through a cloud of rich cream and held up the fork. “Strawberries and whipped cream. Try a bite. For your troubles.”

The whipped cream lost its structure against the warm crepe. A rivulette of white travelled down the length of the fork and onto Aziraphale’s fingers. Crowley licked his lips. He couldn’t possibly take that bite or he would never be able to stop. But Aziraphale was looking at him so expectantly and he couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse.

He leaned forward and took the fork into his mouth. It was alright, as food went, but he barely registered the taste. He was far too focused on the way his cock pressed to his stomach when he was bent forward. And then there was proximity of those white, sticky fingers. His head swam with visions of grabbing Aziraphale by the wrist and licking the cream away.

It was all a mouthful too far. He’d tried. He really had. His eyes shut as a desperate groan tore up from his throat and his trousers became a mirror of Aziraphale’s fingers, wet and sticky and warm. He wasn’t sure he could bear to open his eyes again. He fell back into his seat and dared to crack open one eye.

Aziraphale was smiling. “I told you it was good.” He pushed the plate forward. “Would you like to share the rest?”

Crowley sighed and leaned his head back. “Nah, you eat it. I’m good for at least a couple more hours.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #fic #my writing #racketghost

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - 1 Corinthians 3:3

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: Well, this is where Warlock accidentally brings up something none of the two idiots who raised him ever thought about. Plus, Beelzebub gets a mug.

Art by @lunaescribe​

***

“Well. I have to admit, this will speed things up quite considerably.”

Leaning on the door he’d just opened, Crowley grinned. Said door would normally lead into a backroom in Aziraphale’s bookstore, but with some imagination from his part it now opened right on the spacious loft of the very nice cottage they had only just purchased in the South Downs, with a generous and perfectly valid check.

“I can’t believe you considered putting everything in boxes and calling a moving company. How do you keep forgetting what we can do?”

Much of it, Aziraphale suspected, came from the fact Heaven seemed much better than Hell at keeping track of miracles performed and part of him still expected to receive a strongly worded letter against frivolous miracles from Gabriel if he pushed it too far. Well, maybe not from Gabriel, but from… whoever replaced him.

And besides… “Well, I’m hardly the only one who occasionally forgets,” he said.

Crowley frowned. “What do you mean by that? I never just forget I can miracle my way--”

“Why did you not use this trick to get to Tadfield last summer?”

A few rather amusing things happened on Crowley’s face, and Aziraphale watched it all unfold with keen interest. His eyebrows shot up, his mouth opened, then closed, opened again. His forehead scrunched, and finally he opened his mouth again. He stammered a little before catching himself.

“Well-- I-- ngh-- I had to make a proper entrance, no?”

“Oh?”

“Come on, the flaming Bentley - it was cool, is what I’m saying.”

Aziraphale was, in general, rather charitable. It came with being an angel, he had thought for a long time, but now he suspected it was more of a personal trait of his (a concept that was novel and somewhat exciting to him). Now, however, a slightly less charitable side of him almost quipped something on how Crowley hadn’t precisely looked like he’d planned for the flaming part when he’d fallen on his knees before the remains of the Bentley.  

Almost, but no.

“It… was a rather memorable entrance,” he finally conceded, and Crowley grinned. 

“Oh, I know. It may have been my very last dramatic entrance, I figured  had to make it coun--”

“Hello? Is anyone in?”

The voice that suddenly reached them from the entrance of the shop, followed by the sound of the heavy door closing, caused Crowley to shut his mouth and stare at him. Aziraphale stared back, two thoughts suddenly writhing around his mind like ferrets locked in a struggle. The first was that ah, he must have forgotten to shut the door. The second was that he knew that voice.

It wasn’t one he’d expected to hear again anytime soon.

“Hey! Is someone in?” Warlock Dowling called out again, now just on the other side of a large bookcase. Crowley recoiled, seemed to realize he was still holding open a door leading to something that was very conspicuously a loft in an entirely different building, and slammed it shut before shoving his sunglasses back on his face.

And just on time, too. When Aziraphale turned, Warlock was only a few feet away. 

“Hey, Brother Francis! Is that yo-- huh. The hell happened to your teeth?”

Ah, yes. Yes, the teeth. He had changed his teeth back then. “Ah, er… those… I--” Aziraphale stammered, fervently praying he would not recognize him as the magician at his birthday party, or Crowley as one of the waiters. Thank God, there seemed to be no such realization.

“Braces,” Crowley spoke quickly. “He got braces. Work miracles, don’t they, angel?”

Relieved as he was for being provided an excuse, Aziraphale knew right away Crowley had made a mistake. Warlock had heard his nanny calling the gardener angel a few times growing up - they hadn’t been terribly careful - they had managed to convince him Nanny Ashtoreth had meant to mock kindly Brother Francis when he’d asked questions, but if he remembered--

Warlock Dowling’s eyes grew wide as saucers. Oh no, Aziraphale thought. He did.

“Nanny Ashtoreth?” Warlock exclaimed, clearly stunned, and Crowley stammered a little for the second time in only a few minutes. “What is she-- what are you…?”

“Uh, that-- isn’t really--” the thought of trying to lie his way out of that crossed Crowley’s mind, sure enough, plain as day, but in the end he seemed to realize it would only make the boy all the more suspicious. “I mean, these days I don’t go by that name, but I guess-- er--”

“What-- oh!” the boy shook his head. “Ah, shit, I didn’t-- fuck.”

“Young man! Your language!” Aziraphale protested, unable to keep himself from cringing a little. Crowley didn’t mind the language at all, of course; he’d taught him most of those words. He seemed busy panicking over... everything else.

“We can explain everything--”

“I didn’t mean to, uh. Use that name,” Warlock said quickly. “So, what is it now? Sir?” he went on, uncharacteristically flustered, and it dawned on Aziraphale what one would logically assume upon seeing their old, very much human nanny presenting as a very much human male. His reaction was enough for the distress over his language to fade away into a fond sort of pride. 

Maybe some of Brother Francis’ lessons had stuck, after all. With all that had been going on in the days before the Armageddon’t, after realizing they had the wrong boy from the start, thoughts of Warlock had rather slipped in the back of his mind. He now found he was very, very glad that neither him nor Crowley had been able to find it in themselves to kill the child in order to prevent the Apocalypse.

Crowley, who was putting two and two together, seemed somewhat proud himself. Whether for the quick recovery or for the foul language he’d certainly had a hand in teaching him, Aziraphale was not sure. “Anthony J Crowley,” he said. “Crowley will do.”

Warlock seemed to consider it for a moment. “It’s kind of a crap name,” he finally said.

Well, maybe not all of Brother Francis’ lessons had stuck, but then again he had been raised with a literal demon talking in his left ear.

Crowley frowned, crossing his arms. “Your name is Warlock, kid.”

“Well, I didn’t choose it,” the boy pointed out, and Crowley seemed rather cross to realize he didn’t have a good retort to that. 

“What are you doing here, Warlock?” Aziraphale asked. “Not that we don’t appreciate seeing you again, dear boy, but did you not move to the Middle East?”

“It sucked. Too hot. Too much sand. Didn’t know anyone and dad is a prick.” Warlock shrugged. “I got to come back here in a boarding school. Just had to be enough of a pain in the ass to get them to want to send me away,” he added, and grinned up at Crowley, entirely ignoring the way Aziraphale cleared his throat to show his displeasure at his language. 

Crowley grinned back, like… well. Like a proud nanny. 

“So I figured I’d drop by,” Warlock went on, glancing around. “Thought you were taking the piss when I saw the address was that of a bookstore, though. But you’re really here. The hell?”

“Well, I-- we are in the process of moving,” Aziraphale muttered, only to be taken aback when Warlock’s face suddenly split in a wide grin. 

“Ha-ah! I knew it?”

Aziraphale blinked, and turned to Crowley. He couldn’t see him blink through the glasses, but the message behind his raised brows - “No, I got nothing either” - was easy to infer.

“If I may ask you to elaborate…?”

“You fucked!” Warlock exclaimed, getting a choking noise out of Crowley and making Aziraphale wish he had not, after all, asked for him to elaborate. 

“What!”

“Warlock!”

“Language!”

“What the fuck--”

“Crowley!”

“You totally fucked! I mean, sh-- he called you angel all the time, you were really obvious, and now you’re moving together--”

“My dear boy, we-- we most certainly did-- not,” Aziraphale stammered. If the heat he felt in his face was anything to go by, he was now about the color of a ripe tomato. As a matter of fact, that had never… really come up. He saw no reason why it ought to come up, neither of them was human and therefore-- therefore-- well. That was not the moment for needless speculation. “Where did you even learn…?” he began, glancing towards Crowley, who lifted his hands.

“Wasn’t me,” he said quickly. Aziraphale sighed, and decided to let the matter drop. 

“You are a child, I’d really rather you don’t bring up such matters,” he finally managed. 

Warlock huffed. “I’m twelve,” he said, as though informing them he had a failed marriage under his belt and a mortgage on his shoulders. Crowley huffed right back. 

“Not yet, you’re not. We remember when you were born.”

“Hmph.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat, trying to collect himself. “Well-- er. Why don’t you come upstairs? I have cake, and I suppose you have been up to a lot these past months.”

“Up no no good, I should hope,” Crowley muttered, gaining himself a shrug. 

“Did my best. Uh, worst.”

“So, cake!” Aziraphale spoke quickly before Crowley could be any more of a bad influence, and hurriedly ushered Warlock upstairs, turning just a moment to raise an eyebrow at Crowley. 

Crowley just grinned, and followed.

***

“I ought to have incinerated that mortal on the spot.”

“I’d say it’s for the best that you didn’t.”

“He dared raise his voice at me.”

“You were about to walk out with a mug from the gift shop.”

“And…?”

“Without paying.”

“First of all it’s their own fault for calling it a gift shop. You aren’t meant to pay for gifts, are you?”

“Well-- no, I suppose not.”

“It’s dishonest advertising, that’s what it is. I would know, we invented it. And furthermore, the arrogance to demand payment from the Lord of the Flies--”

“He really didn’t know any better. I think his ignorance can be forgiven.”

A snort. “A Prince of Hell is not meant to be forgiving,” Beelzebub muttered, but decided to let the matter drop for the time being. After all, they did have the mug after a paper bill had passed from Gabriel’s hand to that of a mortal who had absolutely no idea how close he had come to a violent death that day. 

“Right. Either way, now you have the mug.”

Yes, they did have the mug. Not that they needed one, to be entirely honest, but they’d decided to take it after seeing the Titanic painted on the side. A good mug, celebrating what had been a very good day in Hell. It might just replace the skull they were currently using, which honestly was there mostly for intimidation and was a very impractical thing to drink from. 

And they supposed that it had been rather nice of Gabriel to pay for it, though they were not entirely sure whether it had been for them or just to avoid a mysterious case of spontaneous combustion of a gift shop employee. It was a gift, all right. Odd. 

They were not used to the concept of receiving gifts. Sacrifices, a long time ago, sure. Boons. Pledges, but all of it for something in return, or as a token of respect borne of fear. Not this time, it seemed, because that fool neither asked for anything nor he feared them. 

... Perhaps they were overthinking it. It was a mug, Titanic print or not. Not much of a gift either, only… definitely a first. Since the Fall, at least, and they were not sure how to react - until they remembered they had a plan, sort of, and were supposed to stick to it. “Thank you.” Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, spoke without looking up. Giving thanks was unfamiliar and not precisely pleasant, but it came easier than the apology he’d had to utter the previous night. 

“Huh?” Gabriel blinked, glancing down at them, then at the mug - and, thank Satan, he seemed to catch one without need for Beelzebub to specify. “Ah, that. You’re welcome,” he said, and looked away, clearing his throat - which turned quickly into a yawn. 

Beelzebub frowned. “Am I boring you now, or…?”

“Apologies, I have been up since four in the morning. I had a very early shift.”

“Ah, I see. You do need sleep at night,” Beelzebub conceded, the hint of annoyance fading. Gabriel smiled a little, and the Lord of the Flies suddenly wasn't sure what to make of the pang somewhere in their chest. That was unfamiliar, too, and somewhat unsettling.

“You’re curiously prone to forget that, considering how often you appear at my place at night,” he said, but he didn’t sound precisely annoyed. “Well, I would appreciate being able to sleep tonight, but I will be free tomorrow. If you wish to meet--”

“Works for me,” Beelzebub replied quickly, and disappeared suddenly in a cloud of sulphur, back to Hell, the cheap gift shop mug held firmly in their hands.

***

If Dagon noticed the mug sitting where the skull cup had been for millennia, she made no mention of it. Nor did anybody else, for the matter, while Beelzebub sat on their throne, scowling at the file in their hands. 

But then again, hardly anyone was foolish enough to talk unnecessarily around an obviously scowling Prince of Hell. They steered clear, which was precisely what Beelzebub wanted. Truth be told, being alone with their thoughts was the main reason behind their scowl. 

Not that they didn’t have reasons to be scowling: reading through Gabriel’s file showed them they had failed to really get any sins out of him. Maybe they should think of ways to speed it up - this was getting nowhere - but on the other hand… they were supposed to play the long game. Make him grow to trust them more, and surely it was working. 

Maybe they could give the current plan a little more time to start bearing fruit, after all, before they considered more direct action. It would mean having to bear more encounters with that moron but, all things considered, it was a sacrifice they were willing to make.

***

“It was nice to catch up, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale finally said once out of the train station again. 

“Yeah, guess it was.”

“Maybe we should have driven him back to his school, he did like the Bentley…”

“He’ll be fine. Someone gave him a blessing to ensure an absolutely safe trip back with no one noticing his absence, no?”

“Of course I did, after giving him a good stern talk about how foolish it was to come all the way to London without telling anyone!”

“Please, you think that was stern? Kid wasn’t even listening to you. Brother Francis cannot do stern to save his life,” Crowley muttered, elbowing him a little. It gained him a huff. 

“Well then, why didn’t you say something?”

“Because as far as I’m concerned, he did a great job and I'm not one to stifle talent,” he replied, entirely honest. He was pretty impressed by the deception Warlock was able to pull at only eleven. He was going places. Would probably be a better politician than Thaddeus Dowling, who had several facial tics revealing his each and every lie the moment it was uttered. Amazing he’d even made it as far up the ladder as he had, really. 

Unaware of his thoughts, Aziraphale gave a sigh that faded in a sort of resigned smile as they climbed in the Bentley. “You fiend.”

“Thanks,” Crowley said, and… didn’t start the car. 

“... Everything all right, dear?”

“I, uh-- yes. All good,” he replied, and did start the engine. Right, right, so they were not going to talk about the nonsense Warlock had spoken, which was all well and good, of course. It had never even crossed their minds, the mere thought of doing anything carnal. It was simply not in their nature. There were some demons who kind of made it their thing when it came to corrupting mortals, but Crowley was not one of them, and Aziraphale-- well. He was an angel, so certainly not… or so he assumed. 

Not that he knew many angels well, on a personal level. But still-- not the angel sitting in the passenger seat, surely. What Warlock had said was nonsense. No reason to speak of it. No reason for it to keep lingering in his head.

“Is… anything on your mind, or…?

“No, no. Nothing at all,” Crowley said quickly, pulling out of the parking spot, and Aziraphale did not insist. Part of him was relieved and part of him disappointed, which was weird, but Crowley did a pretty good job at ignoring both.

***

“What are you doing?”

“Running.”

“I can see that, don’t get smart. Where to?”

“Around the park and then back.”

“... For what purpose?”

“It’s called jogging. A human thing.”

Moving alongside him on an electric scooter - where had they found that? - Beelzebub made a face. “Human habits are getting to you,” they said, and patted the handlebar of the electric scooter. “You should try one of these. They piss off absolutely everyone, whether you’re on the sidewalk or on the road. It’s amazing. Also, they are causing an increase in accidents.”

“None of it sounds good.”

“Exactly my point.”

The statement made Gabriel chuckle. “I believe I’ll leave it to you. I’d rather jog.”

“Why are you doing it in the first place? It looks stupid.”

“To keep fit, I suppose.” Truth be told, Gabriel was jogging mostly because he rather enjoyed it, even now that he had an actual physical form and thus his breath would get short if he pushed himself too far. And well, as he now had a human form, he supposed he may as well try and keep it in decent working order. Which would also mean drastically changing his diet into something with more greens in it, if what he’d read was to be trusted, but he was in no particular rush to experiment when he could simply stick to food he knew his new form appreciated. 

“Fit for what?”

“Well, for… for…” Gabriel couldn’t think of a single thing in his current existence that required physical prowess, and therefore he was unable to really come up with an answer. “You know, in case-- the War does happen.” It was the first thing to come to his mind, even though now he had no idea if the War was actually ever meant to happen in the first place and, if it was… then Gabriel certainly wouldn’t be part of either army.

Beelzebub was aware of all that, as the brief silence that followed told him plainly. However no mockery followed, no stinging comment about his current state as a mere mortal. Just a hum, barely audible beneath the steady buzzing of the electric scooter and Gabriel’s own steps.

“Still trying to figure that one out,” Beelzebub muttered. “If the war to end all wars is meant to happen later, or-- not at all. Was it ever part of the Great Plan? What the Heaven was that about if not? Are we supposed to do something else to make it happen?”

“You were supposed to see the Antichrist delivered to Earth.”

“Which we did, as you know. But I cannot imagine how that went so wrong. He was the son of Satan, he was meant to do as his nature commanded. And then he just--”

“Rebelled?” Gabriel asked, unable to keep himself from smiling faintly at the irony, and glanced sideways. Leaning on the handlebar of the scooter, Beelzebub was frowning. 

“Yes. He rebelled. I know. Hilarious.”

“I believe humans have a saying on apples not falling far from trees.”

A scoff. “You’re talking nonsense.”

“I take it his father did not appreciate the irony of it.”

“He’s no longer his Father, the brat rewrote reality,” the Lord of the Flies muttered. “He certainly did not appreciate it, but he hasn’t made his displeasure known to the rest of Hell so far.”

“Oh?”

“He keeps to himself, of course. We have our instructions - mostly - and he has ways to make his will known. We don’t need to talk to him unless he decides to personally see someone which is usually not good news.”

Gabriel thought back on the conversations over the millennia with the Voice of God, trying to remember last time God had talked to any of them personally. It had been so long, he couldn’t even quite recall. The chuckle that left him was somewhat bitter. “That sounds rather familiar.”

“What!” Beelzebub let out an outraged buzzing noise, head whipping toward him as though he had insulted them personally. “Don’t you dare compare Satan to God! The insult will not stand.”

Not too long ago, Gabriel might have considered it blasphemy and would have been aghast of hearing it himself, if for precisely the opposite reason. Now, he shrugged as he kept running. “I am not precisely-- well, the ruler keeping away, not really talking to anyone, giving instructions that are not always exactly clear or giving none. I don’t understand, why rebel to the absolute authority of God to pass absolute the absolute authority of Sat--��

“You know nothing, Archangel!” The Prince of Hell snapped, clearly forgetting in the heat of the moment that he’d long since been kicked out of the celestial host. “His plan is no mystery, and we are given precise instructions to follow it, unlike--”

“But it was God’s Great Plan you were fulfilling. The Antichrist was meant to be part of God’s design, so you were still following--”

“This insult will not stand! You take it back right no--”

Two things happened in quick succession: first, Beelzebub forgot they were standing on an electric scooter and turned to grab his sweater. Second, related to the first thing, the scooter lost thrust and caused Beelzebub to nearly fly, ironically, off it. “Agh!”

“Hey! Careful!” Gabriel acted out on instinct, reaching out, and was somehow able to snatch up Beelzebub before they had a rather unpleasant meeting with the pavement. “Are you all right?”

It was a stupid question to ask the Prince of Hell, all things considered. The same Prince of Hell he was currently holding up bridal style in his arms while standing in the middle of the park. If anything was bruised, it would be their pride - in which case Gabriel expected there would be, quite literally, hell to pay. However, as he glanced down, Gabriel saw no fury and a frankly astounding amount of incredulity on Beelzebub’s face. 

You didn’t, that gaze said. Their hand had grasped the front of his sweater out of instinct, they were… not letting go. 

“I, uh… apologies, I--”

“Hey, get a room!”

“Gah!” Gabriel jumped back, Lord of the Flies in his arms and all, as a youth rode past on a bike, laughing. Of course, laughter was rather quick to turn into screams when the bike’s wheels erupted in flames and the vehicle veered off course, hurtling towards the pond. Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Will he survive this, or…?”

“I assume he can swim, so probably. If not, it’s his issue. If a swan gets him, that is also his issue.” Beelzebub said flatly. Gabriel glanced down at them, and found himself chuckling. It was odd, how easily he’d picked them up - how well they fit in his arms. 

“Looks like I did manage to keep fit,” he tried to joke. Beelzebub looked up at him again, their expression going from satisfaction to an odd sort of surprise before quickly turning cold.

“You. Unhand me. Now.”

“Ah-- yes. Of course.” Gabriel immediately put down the Lord of the Flies, smile dying on his lips, and stepped back. He cleared his throat, ignoring the realization that he hadn’t really wanted to put them down. “You know, trying to help. I didn’t mean to grab you, but you fell and--”

“I have no need for help,” Beelzebub snapped, and in a sudden burst of flames they were gone - but not before Gabriel was able to put a name to the expression on their face. It was not anger, or annoyance, or incredulity: for a moment before they left Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, had looked flustered.

***

"For you are still of the flesh. For while there is jealousy and strife among you, are you not of the flesh and behaving only in a human way?" -- 1 Corinthians 3:3

***

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#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable bureaucracy #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #aziraphale #crowley #warlock dowling #winging it

[supernaturaltfwmeme]

Between the lines. Part 6

Summary:The reader is at Stanford with Sam and a few other familiar faces. She gets introduced to Dean, an FBI agent for help with a paper. The two grow even closer when Dean learns about her daughter and her troublesome situation. Check out the other parts here.

Pairing: Dean x reader.

Warnings: Language, Domestic abuse.

A/N: tags open! A big thank you once again to @waywardaardvark79​, i don’t think i could of done this without your help and support. 

Deans POV

Today was my first day of in a while and I was heading over the Cas’s house to hangout. We lived close enough to each other that I could walk. I got there and just walked in, I was literally here all the time anyway.  

“Hey meg.” I said to the short brunette when I walked into the kitchen.  

“Hello, Dean. Clarence is in the yard with Claire.” Meg Said carrying on with what she was doing. I walked over to the sliding door and made my way out side.

“UNCLE DEAN.” Claire screamed running away from Cas towards me. I scooped her up into my arms spinning her around.

“Hey angel.”  

“I have a friend coming over today.” Claire said excitedly.

“Wow that’s great angel, what are we playing today?”

“Can I ride my bike?”  

“ooo I don’t know about that you’ll have to ask your dad.”  Claire squirmed out of my arms and ran back to Cas.

“Can I daddy?”

“Go on then.” Cas smiled. Claire ran off to grab her bike. About 10 minutes later me and Cas were sitting on the deck drinking a few beers watching Claire play, with her friend Amelia.

“So” Cas said turning to me. “How are things going with y/n?” I didn’t even bother to keep the smile off my face.

“She’s still with her boyfriend, and I'm sure he’s hitting her but if she doesn’t tell me that there’s nothing I can do about it without seeing it. But I mean other than that I think it’s going ok we went on a kind of date a few days ago, not that I told her that’s what it was.”

“I never thought I'd see the Day Dean Winchester Openly talked about his feeling, and about a girl.” Cas said pretending to be shocked.

“Winchester?” Amelia said interrupting.

“Yeah, that’s my last name.” Amelia’s eyes went wide.

“That’s my uncle Sammys last name too!” I looked at Cas clearly confused.

“Sam Winchester?” I asked.

“Yeah uncle Sammy is friends with my mommy.” She said before running off back over to Claire.

“Well that was weird.” I muttered to myself.

“Indeed.”

Around five o’clock Claire and her friend were playing upstairs and Meg was in the kitchen cooking dinner. Me and Cas were sitting in his office that was downstairs. There was a knock at the door and Cas went to answer it, I heard voices out in the hall and then Meg shout up to Amelia that her Mommy was here. My curiosity got the better of me, I had to see who Sam’s friend was that he’d never mentioned. I leaned against the doorframe and saw a very familiar looking woman.  

“Please don’t tell Dean!” She said to Cas. I could hear the panic in her voice. Y/n was Amelia’s mom. She never told me she had a kid. Sam knew and he never told me. How could she lie about something like that. I thought we were friends.

“It’s a bit late for that sweetheart.” y/n span around to face me. She looked as if she wanted to say something but before she could Amelia interrupted.

“Mommy.”  

“Hey baby girl did you have fun today?” She asked her daughter completely turning her attention away from me. Looking at Amelia now I don’t know how I didn’t put the pieces together sooner. She looked just like her mom.  

“Yes mommy, can I Come back again tomorrow.” You laughed.

“Maybe another time baby. Go get your shoes.” As soon as Amelia left the room Y/n turned back to face me.

“I can explain everything.” She glanced at the clock behind me “Just not right now we’re already late.”

“Save it sweetheart.” I wasn’t as angry as I was letting her think. If anything I was hurt. I Grabbed my coat and walked out not even sparing her a second glance.

I got in my car and drove around for hours not even sure where to go, I wasn't even paying attention. I eventually found myself pulling up outside Sam and Jess’ apartment building. I got out of baby and made my way to their apartment, bring up a shaky hand to knock on the door.

The second the door opened I let slip the words that had been playing on repeat for hours in my head.

“She has a daughter.” Sam moved to let me inside. I started pacing the living room.

“She finally spoke to you then.” Sam sighed sounding relieved.

“No Sam she didn’t, I was at Cas’ and Claire had a friend over and when her friend's mom came to pick her up it was Amelia. How could you not tell me Sammy?” I ran a hand through my hair.

“It wasn’t my place to say but I did try and convince her, she tried to the other day actually.”

“What? When?”

“The day you broke her out of Crowleys class, when you got a call from Lisa.”

“Then why didn’t she?” I asked getting frustrated.

“Because she likes you Dean, but she heard you tell your ex that you refused to raise a child that’s not yours and she realised you two couldn’t work out.” I stopped pacing.

“Oh god Sammy no I-I didn’t mean it like that, well I did but I.” I sighed defeated sitting down on the couch. I may as well just tell him.

“Lisa cheated on me and now she’s pregnant. She wanted me to play happy families so her parents wouldn’t cut her off.”

“Dude that’s messed up.”

“I know that what I meant when I said I wouldn’t raise a kid that’s not mine, I didn’t know Amelia even existed. Hell, I don’t care that y/n has a kid, I just don’t want to raise the child the woman who cheated on me and the guy she cheated with.” I put my head in my hand. This whole situation was so fucked, of course you didn’t want to tell me after hearing that.

“So is Daniel..?” I trailed off not really wanting the answer to that question.

“He’s not the father dee, just her boyfriend.”

“So then why the hell is she with him, I know he’s hitting her even if she won't admit it.” I felt a tear slide down my face, I didn’t even have the energy to move it.

“She finally admitted it to me and Charlie after we cornered her about it, that’s how I found out about Amelia. Hell, Charlie only found out a few weeks ago she doesn’t let anybody know about her dee.” Sam explained.

“Then why is she with him, why won't she let us help?”  

“He’s got her trapped dee, she thinks no one will want her and she’s got no place to go, he pays all the bills. He’s got her on lockdown too, she’s only allowed to go to school and run Amelia around. He even made her quit her job.” Sam sat down next to me.  

“Sam I gotta go, she thinks I'm mad at her I've got to fix this.” I said practically rushing out of there door. Nearly knocking Jess down as she was coming inside.

“What was that all about?” Jess asked Sam.

“That is a very, very long story.” Sam sighed.

I made what should have been a 20-minute drive to Y/n in 5. When I got there only her car was outside so I assumed Daniel was out. Before I could get out of the car Amelia came running outside, her white top now stained red. I moved before I could think rushing over to her.  

“Hey Amelia it’s Dean, do you remember me?” I asked her as calmly as I could checking her for injuries but I found none. The blood wasn’t hers.  

“Y-Your Claire's uncle.” She said still sounding a little scared.

“You remember how you told me I have the Sam last name as your uncle Sammy?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s because he’s my little brother, look.” I showed her a photo on my phone of me and Sam.

“Does that make you my uncle too?” It’s a question that should of come out excited when you got to meet her properly, not scared.  

“Something like that Princess. Where’s you mommy?”  

“She in her room, I heard Daniel yelling and then he left and when I went to find her she was bleeding.” Amelia barely finished her sentence before bursting into tears. I could feel my heart drop in my chest. I picked the little girl up placing her on my hip and carrying her inside. I walked up stairs with Amelia and stopped once I saw y/n lying on the ground.

“Hey Amelia, go pack some clothes for yourself, you’re gonna stay with uncle Sammy tonight.” I told her setting her down. As soon as she was in her room I ran over to y/n and checked for a pulse. She had one but it was weak. I sent a quick text to Sammy before calling an ambulance

Sammy got there first running into the house and up the stairs.  

“DEAN!”

“IN HERE!”  

“Is she ok? What happened?” Sam asked the second he saw y/n.

“I don’t know Sammy I called an ambulance they’re on the way. I need you to take Amelia and get her out of here, she doesn’t need to see her mom get taken away in an ambulance. She's seen enough.” I said trying to stay calm. I could see Sam’s mind working over time trying to process what was going on. I could tell he wanted to stay, but he knew I was right. I tossed him the keys to baby. He grabbed Amelia and left. As soon as I heard the rumble of baby’s engine fade, the sound of sirens approaching started to get louder.  

“Hang in their Sweetheart. Helps almost here.”

Tags: @waywardaardvark79​ @vicmc624​ @frackinawesomeninja​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @supernatural508​ @heyyy-hey-babyyy​ @rvgrsbrns​

#supernatural #spn #supernatural au #dean #dean winchester #sam #sammy #sam winchester #charlie #charlie bradbury #y/n #y/n y/l/n #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n y/l/n #dean winchester x y/n y/l/n #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean au #dean winchester au #between the lines #supernatural reader insert #reader insert #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fic #fbi dean #fbi dean winchester

[orionsangel86]

I'm tired of this discussion about Saileen or Samwena. Why can't be both? I recognize the potential that Sam and Rowena had for a romantic relationship, they really seemed to be going in that direction, and as Rowena said, they'd grown fond of each other. But I also recognize the potential that Sam and Eileen have for a romantic relationship, for reasons that we all saw at s11, s12 and s15. What do you think?

Hi there!

Is this discussion still ongoing? Since I have blocked it all out to be honest and refuse to engage in drama on the topic. But since you asked I will give you my thoughts on the whole Saileen/Samwena thing.

First of all I like your thinking! Why not both indeed! I don’t care for shipping wars but here’s the way I see things. I have never been a “death of the author” kind of person. My whole process for writing meta is what I think the writers and creators of the show are intending to convey when they tell the story that we see. In season 11, Eileen was introduced as a clear love interest for Sam. She has always been portrayed this way even after her untimely death (which I still believe only happened because they didn’t have any other close characters to the brothers at the time to kill off whose actors they could get last minute and whose death would be equally shocking - I know it’s just speculation but it’s my belief). I wrote a long post here about my love for Saileen and how it has been portrayed in the show. I am firmly still a Saileen shipper because it was just perfect from the start, but also I only ever “ship” things that I see within the show as being planted purposely by the creators. I ship Saileen because Saileen has always been a thing ya know? It’s not imaginary and never has been.

However, following Eileen’s death in Season 12, Sam and Rowena’s relationship has been heavily developed on. They bonded over their shared Lucifer trauma, their experiences with fear and their interest in magic. The relationship between them is complex and very much an enemies to friends (to something more?) set up. Sam is canonically Rowena’s protege and now her heir. The mutual respect they hold for each other is clearly noticeable and their destinies tied by fate through Billie’s death books could arguably be considered romantic. Basically, Sam and Rowena as a love story is certainly a dramatic and interesting one that ticks a lot of boxes for a lot of people. I do believe that for a time, the writers flirted with the idea of them as a romantic pairing and that there was clear authorial intent to code their relationship in a romantic way. Especially in seasons 13 and 14. Whilst I never “shipped” Samwena, I guess I saw it the way I see Drowley. I believed that it was being intentionally written with romantic undertones. I was all for it as a romantic pairing, have never been against it, but it didn’t feel me with “feels” either I guess. I love both Sam and Rowena individually, and whether the story took them in a romantic direction or not wouldn’t have bothered me. Had Eileen never come back, I would have squee’d and enjoyed it with the rest of you, even if I wasn’t super invested ya know?

I think a lot of people saw their relationship as romantic after the Billie death book reveal. It was a nice idea that Rowena’s “death” at Sam’s hands might be a metaphorical death where she would choose to give up her immortality for him. (It’s also an idea generally adored by Destiel shippers so it’s not surprising that this was something people got excited about).

Unfortunately this idea didn’t pan out and Sam literally had to kill Rowena. I am one of the people who really loved her death scene, because it felt like a true redemption and moment of empowerment for Rowena. I know that there are people who will disagree with me on that and that is absolutely fine. I guess for me, Rowena making that ultimate sacrifice just felt right for her character journey at that point because true redemption was something she still needed. Rowena was always previously an anti-hero character. She had still done a lot of bad and hadn’t really repented or redeemed herself for the bad she had done in the earlier seasons. She was still generally motivated by selfish desires and still pretty much made decisions for herself, though like Crowley, her respect and care for the Winchesters conflicted with her own selfish motivations and in the later seasons she chose to help them even at risk to herself, which put her well on her way to redemption of course. But this death was her actual redemption. Her true sacrifice, purely selfless deed, in order to not only save the Winchesters, but also the world.

Therefore I see her rise to power again as Queen of Hell as a reward for her sacrifice and redemption. I never believed that 15x03 was the last we’d see of her (too much womb and maternal imagery there). I believe that Queen of Hell is a satisfactory end point for her, having reached her full potential and freeing herself of all the former oppression and bindings that she faced. She is now one of the most powerful beings in the universe along with Chuck, Amara, Billie, the Empty, Eve, and Jack. It’s a position that makes sense for a character who has always desired unlimited power.

I also think that Rowena will continue to be a big player in the story. This definitely isn’t the last we’ve seen of her in terms of fighting the final boss battle, but her position as Queen of Hell I do think will remain a fixed position from here. Though if it isn’t, and the writers have something else wonderful in store for her, I will also be happy with that too.

Given that canonically Sam and Eileen desire and want each other, and are only being separated by Chuck (and look, I’m not gonna get real deep into it, but I felt that 15x09 did go far to stress that whilst Chuck set up the reunion because he wanted “romance” in his story, the feelings, the connection, and everything else between Sam and Eileen is 100% real. Sam textually states that it’s real after all (in a nice and also emotionally destroying mirror to Cas saying the same thing to Dean in 15x02 by the way - Forever a Destiel shipper here :P)) it is logical that Sam and Eileen will reunite and rekindle their romance at some point in a coming episode. I am of the belief that Saileen is probably our endgame here. I don’t think that they would have gone to the trouble to bring Eileen back in the final season, make her a love interest for Sam, only to either kill her off, kill him off, or separate them again and not have them be endgame.

But I could be totally wrong. Could Sam and Rowena still reunite and start a new love connection? Sure it’s possible. Rowena is coming back as well I would put money on it. We don’t know how the show plans to end after all. Who knows, maybe Sam will also sacrifice himself and go to hell and that whole Boy!King dropped story arc from season 3 will finally get picked up again! Sam and Rowena as Queen and consort of Hell could be quite an amusing and somewhat fitting end for them! The two characters who suffered most at Lucifer’s hands taking over and ruling Hell as a big fuck you to their tormentor is certainly poetic.

Maybe Supernatural will go super progressive and send Eileen to Hell too. Maybe the Queen will find herself in a loving polyamorous threesome for the rest of eternity?

Wouldn’t it actually be really fun if Supernatural ends with Castiel choosing humanity, and saying goodbye to his son Jack, who takes over the rule of Heaven, and at the same time Dean chooses to stay on Earth, and says goodbye to his brother (aka son) Sam, who takes over the rule of Hell as consort to the Queen in his new polyamorous relationship with both the Queen and his girlfriend? Dean and Cas live out a happy human life knowing they are the proud parents of the new rulers of Heaven and Hell?!?

Lol. Look I’m just trying to find a compromise here that all Samwena and Saileen shippers can agree on and if there is one thing we can all generally agree on it’s that Dean and Cas need to stay together whatever happens and fuck it out on the map table. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I’m joking of course. (or am I?!?)

So yeah. I follow people who are passionate Samwena shippers, and I follow people who are passionate Saileen shippers. I consider them all people who I care about and respect. I just want everyone to get along and if a polyamorous love threesome in Hell is how we go about that then I am totally down for that. :D

I haven’t got beef with anyone regardless of who they ship with who unless they plan to start harassing people for holding a different opinion, but I’ve already blocked all those people anyway. It makes for a much easier life. Trust me. :P

#saileen #samwena #destiel #sam x eileen #sam x rowena #sam winchester #rowena #eileen leahy #season 15 #spn speculation #spn meta #witch queen of hell #shipping wars #my thoughts #asks #anon #Anonymous

[ineffable-endearments]

Hey! The same anon that asked about the lockdown timeline yesterday here. Thank you so much for replying! I can heavily relate to wanting things to make sense and fit so i guess that's why I reached out with that question in the first place. Anyways I thought I'd tell you I thought about it some more and I think that Aziraphale talking about Crowley's job and Crowley saying he knows he should be making people's lives worse is just their usual double-layered way of talking with each other. 1/2

Kinda like "visiting me would be breaking the rules, isn't it What You Do?" "I mean I could but it's gonna take a clearer invitation for me to agree". And I guess Aziraphale's final "that would be breaking the rules" can be read as sincere, but I can imagine him just putting up his usual show. Only it seems Crowley wants something more genuine now... anyways thanks for putting up with me, sometimes my head won't let me rest until I've discussed something with someone else. So thank you so much!!

Hallo again Anon!

I feel I should preface this by reiterating that I know the video most likely wasn’t intended to be looked at this closely from a continuity perspective and it’s probably just a cute PSA about how you shouldn’t leave your house, but I’m sort of enjoying myself right now.

As a matter of fact, the notion you just laid out was my first interpretation of the video. Like it didn’t even occur to me that perhaps Aziraphale was not actively trying to get Crowley to come over until much later. He was so much more forward in this video than he usually is in the series that I just immediately went “YUP that’s what’s happening.” It wasn’t until Crowley said “Goodnight, angel” that I became unsure how to read the situation (more on that later).

Putting a read more because this got long.

After a lot of analyzing, I can see other perspectives too. The main one that made sense to me was the notion that Aziraphale would have realized, belatedly, he was not ready to be locked down together with Crowley and that’s why he sounded so panicky. Or that perhaps he thought Crowley was going to come visit but didn’t realize he was going to be angling for a sleepover.

I dunno, guys. I just really think that Aziraphale’s line of questioning in the beginning involved a desire to push Crowley toward Soho. That’s how they’ve been communicating for thousands of years. If I accept his call entirely at face value, then I sort of have to accept the idea that maybe all of Aziraphale’s apparent “hinting” behavior has been totally guileless with no ulterior motive, which in turn would mean his entire stint in the Arrangement has been just him being pushed along by Crowley rather than quietly reciprocating. And I don’t think that’s the point of their relationship. I much prefer the notion that this secret code is how they’ve always operated and it’s still in play, though they’re starting, slowly, to unlearn it, or at least relax it.

I can’t speak for anyone, but I suspect people don’t like the idea of Aziraphale being nudgy and indirect or Crowley being a bit unsatisfied with this approach because they interpret it as unhealthy or manipulative for one or both of them. But the thing is, double-speak has been a survival mechanism for them for so long that it’s fairly well ingrained, and it is also entirely consensual. And a bit of temporary discontentment is sort of part of the process, isn’t it, when you’re negotiating new boundaries in a relationship? I don’t necessarily hold them 100% to realistic human psychological standards, because they aren’t real and they aren’t human, but if their relationship is a story, then the occasional disagreement is a necessary challenge that will eventually bring them to the next exciting chapter.

Anyway, as far as my Aziraphale interpretation, I’m caught between “he was angling for Crowley to come visit the whole time all the way to the end and is going to call back in 3 minutes” and “he was opening up an invitation for Crowley to come over but got all freaked out when Crowley suggested effectively moving in together.” Of those, I lean toward the second because he does sound genuinely nervous. However, he obviously thought about it, if you listen to his vocal cues. 

Now, for Crowley. First of all, how *very dare* David Tennant come for my life with the tenderness of “Goodnight, angel.” This line is positively dripping with affection. Crowley’s not leaving in a huff, he’s not leaving off on an angry note. However, I don’t think he’s totally content, either. Note the sigh when Aziraphale says “it would be breaking all the rules” and the slightly weary tone when Crowley says “I’m setting my alarm for July.” He’s not trying to push Aziraphale into anything, but he does rather wish he’d gotten a different answer. Sleeping the lockdown away is likely the healthiest way he can think of to deal with this minor disappointment; he won’t go nuts being bored and lonely, and he won’t have the urge to wheedle Aziraphale.

Now if Crowley wasn’t happy with “no” for an answer, why wouldn’t he play the game they’ve always played? Find an excuse to go out and end up in Soho? There are three reasons and I think they’re all true:

This pattern of having to convince Aziraphale about everything has to relax now that it’s not part of the survival dance. Everyone knows this.

However, Aziraphale has always needed the structure of rules. Crowley doesn’t give a fuck about Heaven’s rules and he knows that Aziraphale often wants to get around them, too, but Aziraphale needs to be reminded over and over that Crowley can respect Aziraphale’s personal rules, however arbitrary they may seem, and not try to change his mind.

Finally, I think Crowley doesn’t want to play this game because...lockdown isn’t a rule that he particularly thinks needs breaking? Crowley takes great pleasure in breaking rules in ways that show how silly they are, and he takes great pleasure in pranks that challenge humans, and of course he does things to spite Heaven just because of who he is and what Heaven is. But, as we established early in the short, Crowley actually does not want to worsen this situation, or do anything that would represent worsening it in his own head. He wouldn’t have the gleeful thrill of a well-broken rule, he’d just...be either slinking around in secret or essentially gloating about being occult.

For Aziraphale, Crowley will sneak around and break the rules. But if Aziraphale is also uncomfortable with the idea, for literally any reason, Crowley will let the rules stand this time.

TL;DR In my interpretation, Aziraphale called Crowley hoping that they could meet up somehow, but panicked on realizing Crowley would totally do it, partly because Crowley suggested the massive change of practically moving in together and partly because Aziraphale does care about rules. Meanwhile, Crowley starts picking up what Aziraphale is putting down, but when Aziraphale gets nervous, Crowley doesn’t push largely out of respect for Aziraphale but also partly because he doesn’t feel like lockdown should actually be broken, either.

Thank you Anon!

#Anonymous

[victoodles]

Corruption (Crowley x Angel Reader) Part 1

I finished Good Omens yesterday and I wrote this today. The second part (aka the filth) will be coming soon! Also on AO3!

Goody Two-Shoes

That’s what he'd been calling you for the past 6,000 years or so. You were a rule-abiding angel - obediently following orders with no questions asked. Always with an eager flap of your wings. Past tense, however, is key here.

Were.

Now you found yourself lazily draped over the arm of a demon’s throne in his own abode, white dress pooling around your thighs. A cup of wine in hand, held up in the air as you idly swished the liquid. You felt like a girl in one of those oil paintings you saw during the Renaissance.

Like ‘The Venus of Urbino’

Crowley chuckled, bemused but humored. “Like the what now?”

“Oh! Nothing,” you said, forgetting the thought with a swig of your drink. You hadn’t realized you’d actually spoken aloud.

He had recently turned you on to the joys of wine: Chardonnay, Sauvignon blanc, Cabernet, the list goes on. Those uppity Archangels had created a trend amongst the humans. They claimed the stuff was a vice, abhorrent, and immensely sinful. How drab.

Later on, they passed it down the angel hierarchy as gospel, essentially condemning it. It was clearly meant for slothful humans with no faith. You made it a priority to avoid it at all costs, lest you eternally displease your overseers.

However, it seemed Crowley was to be much more...persuasive than the hogwash lectures from Gabriel and Michael. The influence they had over you was unraveling, as much as you tried to deny it.

For this, Crowley seemed to find quite a bit of fun in teasing you throughout the centuries. He ruffled your feathers, quite literally. You had always been by the books - no ifs, ands, or buts. After all, the higher-ups did assign you to tote after Aziraphale once he “lost” his flaming sword. Keep him on the straight and narrow. You hadn't expected the infamous snake of Eden to be along for the ride.

Crowley had quickly made a game with his friend on how many times in one conversation he could make you scoff in contempt. His current record was seventeen.

But the tit for tat was never malicious in nature like his kind was so inclined towards. Much like Aziraphale, he thoroughly enjoyed your company and the banter along with it.

Perhaps even a tad more than Aziraphale.

Try as you may, you couldn’t fathom why the angel would ever keep the company of a demon like Crowley. Demons and angels went together as well as one could expect of fire and gasoline. But despite all your angelic instincts, you decided to keep their friendship (and yours) out of your reports to Heaven.

And as much as you tried to remain prickled towards him, you soon found yourself inching closer and closer to Crowley.

“So I told Cain, ‘In my humble opinion, I think Abel isn’t worth his sheeps' shit.’ I thought he would take it out on his brother’s herd, not beat him to death with a rock,” Crowley explained with an exasperated sigh. “Alas.”

Appalled but not surprised, you clapped a hand over your mouth. “You aided in creating humankind’s first killer?!” Pride tugged at the corner of Crowley’s lips at your declaration.

“Well when you put it like that, it sounds far more exciting doesn’t it?”

You threw a velvet cushion at his head - he dodged it with a laugh. “Crowley! That’s terrible,” you squealed. Crowley leaned back on his palms along his stone table, shrugging nonchalantly.

“In my defense, Cain did receive protection and promises of vengeance from God afterwards,” he said as if it were something to boast about.

“Only for the price of everlasting exile,” you barked back dryly. Crowley regarded you from behind his sunglasses, a devilish (no pun intended) smirk on his face.

“Oh sorry, princess, I forget how positively tame you are in comparison.” Pink rushed to your cheeks at the emphasis on your new nickname. He had a plethora of them -  sometimes a new one for each day of the week.

But the innuendo behind this one had your wings twitching against your back, eager to hide your newfound bashfulness. It was a habit you inadvertently developed whenever Crowley decided to get especially cheeky with you.  

“E-excuse me,” your voice wavered, rising an octave with each pronounced syllable. Crowley’s simper only grew. He brought the bottle of wine on the table to his lips, ignoring the glass he had already poured.

“You’re not exactly the most anarchic, princess. Peace and order appeals to you too much to have any real fun,” he mocked with a click of his tongue.

How dare he!

You turned your nose up at him, “I’ll have you know, Mister Crowley, that I can be quite adventurous.” As if to prove the sentiment, you raised your glass at him. “See? I’m drunk, with a demon!”

That last point was made to really drive home the fact of how bad you were. Crowley was not impressed. He took a hearty sip from his bottle, rolling his eyes in the process. Your frustration only grew at his dismissal.

Crowley regarded you as he drank, loving how the remnants of your blush left your cheeks an enchanting shade of red. You always seemed to captivate him regardless of circumstances. To say he was attracted to your purity, amongst other things, wouldn’t be too far from the truth

A purity he selfishly wanted all to himself.

The demon found himself quite enamored with you for reasons that would be too...saccharine for someone of his ilk to admit. But when you look at him with your big doe-eyes, the heart he swears he doesn’t have beats just a little bit faster. Though he persistently insists it’s just to appear more human when Aziraphale inquires.

He can’t help it. The moment that innocent gaze turns into a fiery glower, he swears he’s never seen anything more intense in his existence.

Sultry. That’s the best word he can use to describe you right you right now. Pursing your lips on the rim of your glass, you attempt to quell your agitation with wine. Your free arm hand loosely grasps the back of the chair, head lolled. He took note of how much leg you were showing as you gently swung your feet back and forth. There wasn’t an ounce of virtue in your posture.

If he didn’t know any better he would’ve thought you a succubus, attempting to disarm and seduce him.

A thought crossed his mind as he released the bottle from his mouth with a pop.

“You know,” he began, slowly licking the remnants of wine off his lips. You noticed, and tried to ignore the thrumming in your chest. “I bet you’ve never indulged in any of the other physical pleasures humanity has to offer,” he said lasciviously.

Plush feathers tickled your spine as you desperately tried to contain your wings. You lurched forward in your seat, choking on wine while he has the gaul to snicker at you.

“The audacity-“

“Well have you,” he cuts you off before you can chastise him. You’re taken aback by how forward he’s being. Petulance then fills you.

“O-of course I have,” you sputter pathetically. He quirked an eyebrow, silently asking you to continue. You face forward, straightening yourself out in a sad attempt to gather more composure.

“...There was a sweet Parisian lad who took me to Carnaval way back when. He tried to teach me to dance and, well, you know how the saying goes. In the end he graced me with a kiss on the cheek under the moonlight. Oh, it was all rather romantic.”

“Quite the little minx, ain’t you? I feel like a sinner in church just listening to ya, princess,” Crowley huffed, throwing back another gulp.

You were burning up more than you knew possible. While other ethereal inhabitants may choose to partake in certain...activities, you decided to stick to modesty. To be chaste. It’s how all proper angels should be!

Right?  

“And I suppose you have then,” you grumbled, defeated.

With that, Crowley’s demeanor shifted. Previous inhibitions gone from a simple question.

He placed the bottle back down, removing his sunglasses in the process. Serpentine eyes, half lidded and glowing a faint yellow in the evening light, bore into you. His legs spread tantalizingly.

Another pang against your ribs.

It suddenly ceased when he pushed himself up and began to saunter over to you.

“Why yes,” he said sensually as he approached.

“Yes.”

Step.

“I.”

Step.

“Have.” His hand found a perch on the ornate backrest as he towered above you. He pushed your legs apart with his knee and stood between them. You inhaled sharply, your glass slipping from your grasp and shattering harshly on the floor beside you. Neither of you paid the mess any mind.

Crowley chuckled darkly, daring to lean in closer. “Lust, quite an enjoyable thing really. Lucifer truly did the world a kindness with that particular circle of Hell,” he mused, looking downward almost fondly. His free hand caressed your cheek, featherlight.

Ironically, you felt heavier. The weight of your unspoken attraction to the demon was crashing down upon you. You tried, for countless years, to subdue any unseemly desires. An angel could not intimately coexist with their mortal enemy, a demon.

...Right?

It had always been a challenge the more attached you became to Earth. To Crowley. Your efforts were tumultuous, yet overall successful. But now, in this moment, it was unbearable.

Suffocating.

Again Crowley slid closer, noses mere inches apart. The sweetness of the wine still lingered on him. “Skin on skin. A heat in your belly that can only be satiated by submitting to carnal urges. Kissing, biting, fucking,” he purred against the shell of your ear.

An unfamiliar shiver wracked your body; you’ve never been this close to another soul before. The rumble of his impish laughter sent that same shiver lower that time.

Those eyes, snakelike but bewitching, they had to be putting you in some sort of trance. It was intoxicating - may it forever bound you within it’s honied depths.

Those eyes.

Behind them was longing, need, warmth.

“Tell me, Angel,” his thumb traces your plush bottom lip. “Would you like to know?”

Ensnared.

“K-know what?” The words were barely a whisper.

The devil always hears.

You planted your own Garden of Eden and reached for the apple of your own accord. The snake hisses with delight from beyond the underbrush.

“Would you like to know what it’s like?” His lips are almost upon yours now, waiting patiently for what they knew would eventually come.

Temptation is a cruel master.

#good omens #good omens x reader #crowley x reader #crowley good omens #vic's fics! #i love my dumb snake husband #crowley

[patricianandclerk]

Re: Aziraphale's fraught relationship w/ Heaven and the queer narrative, like... I can see where the other person is coming from, but if Aziraphale just said 'hey, I'm gay', they wouldn't be turning on him (though they might be concerned that this label is a sign that he sees himself as too human, that he can be attracted to what he's attracted to but does he have to make it sound human?)-- their issue is for lack of better word political, not personal. (1/2)

(2/2) But for Aziraphale, there's no difference, not in a 'my existence is political bc I'm queer' way, but because even though he IDs as gay separately from Crowley (his club etc), by this point every part of his life is tangled up in his feelings for Crowley. He's in the process of adopting new politics bc he loves Crowley, he loves the earth bc it's his-and-Crowley's, and he is, internally, a mess who is constantly reminded of Crowley. Their issue isn't his sexuality, but this one romance.

I’m going to say something, and for some people who specifically ID with Aziraphale’s dynamic with Heaven because of their own queer experience, I feel like it might be uncomfortable, but like...

The thing is, Aziraphale is never told by Heaven it wouldn’t be okay for him to be gay. He’s never told that he shouldn’t have human experiences.If Aziraphale walked into Heaven one day, and said, “You know what? I really identify with gay humans, and I like to eat because I enjoy the pleasure and the taste and the textures and the way it fits in with human cultures, and I like old books because I love their smells and how many stories and ideas they fit in with them, and I even like regency snuff boxes, because I think it’s beautiful that something so small and so delicate might have been crafted for such a thing.”

Now, I think everyone is assuming, especially based off of their own experiences with their families re: being queer, that Heaven would immediately go absolutely off the rails and freak out about it, kick Aziraphale out, shout at him, or keep him captive.

You know what my experience with my family was?

I was terrified to come out as trans, because I thought my family would be super weird about it, I thought they’d be nasty, I thought it’d just be really grim. No. They listened when I explained it. They asked a lot of stupid questions, but they weren’t judgey about it. And for several years, because I was so nervous that they were going to reject me (re: my extended family), I kept being super cagey and defensive about everything, even though they’d only ever been accepting.

I was justified in feeling some fear, because it can be very risky to come out as trans to a family who isn’t supportive, but my family was openly supportive, and yet for years after, I treated them as if they weren’t, because I’d built up these expectations in my head that they wouldn’t be.

I was the asshole in that situation. My family did everything right: the only thing they did wrong was not being omniscient and not being able to read my mind.

And that’s what I see when I watch Aziraphale’s interactions with Heaven.

I see an angel who’s terrified to let anything slip in case it all goes wrong, to the extent that he’s actually pretty nasty to people who literally only ever praise his work and say how great it is, and who are so, so excited to get him come home that - knowing how much he cares about his work on Earth, because they think he’s such a hardworker - they’re going to send a fucking archangel to do it in his place.

Gabriel never says it’s wrong to eat food. I didn’t take that from that interaction at all.

Gabriel: [hey, why do you eat that? to me, it looks gross] (which, by the way, is a perfectly common human reaction to sushi, let alone a fucking angel’s)

Aziraphale: it’s sushi. it’s nice. (no explanation. just a vague, it’s nice with a little bit of defensiveness.) you dip it in soy sauce. (gabriel has no idea what that means. the only soy sauce he knows is the soy sauce where his brains should be.)

Gabriel: [oh, sounds gross! as an angel, i find the whole concept of eating kinda squicky, but i’m going to couch it in religious language because we’re fucking angels and i have very few human experiences to talk from instead]

Gabriel meant hey, I think that’s gross, but whatever, it’s your thing. Aziraphale heard, I think you’re gross, and I’ll hate you if you tell me you like humans.

Even with the fucking comment about Aziraphale losing weight... That’s not Gabriel trying to hurt Aziraphale. That’s Gabriel, a moron, repeating fatphobic stuff he doesn’t understand from a culture he doesn’t understand, trying to connect with Aziraphale who DOES understand like it. Gabriel isn’t trying to bully Aziraphale. He’s trying, desperately, as he has for the part six thousand years, to establish a rapport. To be playful. To assure Aziraphale he likes him and cares about his interests. Does he do it wrong? Yes! Is it hurtful? Of course!

But Gabriel doesn’t know that, and has no way of knowing.

Who’s gonna fucking tell him, Sandalphon? Sandalphon can’t tell the difference between Mrs Beeton’s Cookbook and hardcore pornography any better than Gabriel can!

Gabriel doesn’t hate humans. Sandalphon doesn’t hate humans. Gabriel and Sandalphon go play dressup on weekends, and Gabriel goes fucking jogging at the end of the world.

Gabriel says to Aziraphale, look, I know how much you care about Earth, so I’ll give you some time to go finish up before you come home. Why? Because he knows Aziraphale cares. What could he possibly have to finish up, when the Apocalypse is coming? Nothing. It’s not about Earth or the work. It’s about Aziraphale’s feelings.

And I don’t think Gabriel is completely removed from those, either - he’s fucking jogging in the park, and that isn’t for Aziraphale’s business. He’s probably getting one last jog in before the park goes up in smoke, because he enjoys it.

Yes, the angels smite humans. Yes, they got involved in Sodom and Gomorrah, Noah’s Ark, all the other great big murders committed by Heaven against groups of humans. But like... Aziraphale watched that stuff happen too. He never said anything about it, except to Crowley. It doesn’t make it excusable that the angels did all that shit, but the thing about ignorance is that you don’t magically become aware of things you are ignorant to. You have to learn and/or be taught. And the thing is? If you don’t have the tools to go look for yourself, or even realize you can or should go look for yourself, you don’t.

I don’t think, if Aziraphale told the angels he liked humans and that they were important to him, that they’d be angry. I think some of them would be concerned, because they think it’s dangerous for him - they’re worried about him Falling. I don’t think they’d necessarily be surprised. I do think they’d be embarrassing.

But like...

This idea that they’d freak out is something that Aziraphale has made up in his own mind.

They don’t freak out at the end of it all because Aziraphale likes the Earth. In fact, given what happens, I think they probably assume a lot of the Earth stuff was lies, and that he was pretending to care about humans and the Earth in his conversations to hide the fact that he was a spy for the other side.

Aziraphale betrays Heaven. And he...

Never explains why. He rehearses trying to explain, and then he doesn’t. He rambles a bit and then the angels are like, well, this is weird and we don’t get it, so... bye. Hope you’re okay.

Heaven see Aziraphale being a double agent, then find out he wasn’t being a double agent for Hell, he was just being a double agent with one specific demon who tempted Eve in the first place. What the fuck? That’s why they’re angry. That’s why they feel betrayed.

Because they spent six thousand years awkwardly talking to Aziraphale, knowing he liked human stuff and trying to get him to talk about it but not knowing how or why, and then it turns out, from their perspective, that it was never about humans at all. It was about Hell. It was about a demon. Not just a Fallen angel, but a soldier from the other side in the war that slaughtered a whole bunch of them.

And yet, the funniest thing?

The funniest thing of all?

Michael has backchannels in Hell. She knows demons. She seems to have a pretty positive working relationship with them. Gabriel and Beelzebub are very familiar with one another, and to be honest, they act like an old married couple with shared jokes and everything.

I don’t know how much they actually... would have freaked out about Crowley specifically.

Because at the end of it, we don’t know if it’s really about Crowley at all, or the betrayal at all, so much as the fact that Aziraphale and Crowley, for all both sides knew, had planned it for six thousand years. Crowley, with Aziraphale as the accessory who got hold of the murder weapon for him, melted a fucking demon into oblivion. Before he’d actually gotten to do anything, either - it wasn’t self-defense, it was pre-emptive, and he’d been planning it for years. And Aziraphale helped him do it.

I don’t know.

I agree with you, Anon, it definitely is political, but I think the question is like... How much Heaven is actually political over personal, too, because we see only bits and pieces of it.

I just simply don’t agree that it’s as cut-and-dry as “Aziraphale did a bad, now we’ll kill him” because it was about far, far more than that.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #gabriel #michael #uriel #sandalphon #Anomymous #as defined by dictionary #answered

[mostfacinorous]

Whumptober 21st

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

Today’s story will be continued tomorrow.

Whumptober 21st: Laced Drink

Crowley was fantastically, tragically committed to aesthetic. 

None of this would have happened, had he not been. 

It all came down to absinthe. 

Crowley’d managed not to have any, during the height of its popularity, primarily because he’d been nursing a wounded ego from a run in with Aziraphale’s morality-slash-temper, and he knew that where the brightest poets and artists and writers were, he’d find the angel. 

Unfortunately, at the time, that was also where you’d find the drink. 

And sure, he could have gotten his hands on some, but why bother, when there were other alcohols in abundance, and ones that hadn’t been medicinal to start? 

To be honest, he didn’t trust anything a human doctor claimed could cure ills, even if it did end up being sold in bars. 

That said, the moment it was banned, his interest became a good deal more piqued. Nothing was quite so tempting as what authorities said you couldn’t have. He knew that better than anyone. 

And so he’d tracked it down. Oooh, illegal absinthe, only drunk by the poshest, the wickedest, the most adventurous. Poison green, and rumored to make you see things-- Crowley couldn’t argue with the marketing campaign. It was right up his alley.

And as he and Aziraphale were currently fairly close, he thought this was the perfect time to indulge. 

So he gathered what he needed: edgy, suggestive, outright tempting outfit; invitation to the most difficult to find club; one angel, reservations for the evening, and his flair for the dramatic, which, fortunately for him, he never went without. 

He knew he liked the place the moment he walked in. It felt like where sex parties might happen, very dungeon-y, stone wall treatment and yellow lights that cast each table in just enough illumination to see by. Dark. Mysterious. 

It also had seating that managed what very little of his own furniture could, and straddled the line between imposing and incredibly comfortable. He’d be suspicious about Aziraphale’s hand in the latter, if he hadn’t been the first one into the club, and the first to sit down. 

Once they were seated, the order he’d placed ahead of their arrival came out. Wine and a charcuterie board for the angel, absinthe for him. He’d made sure they thought him enormously wealthy, important, and influential. 

“Goodness, I thought that was illegal now.” Aziraphale commented, already placing aged beef on a tiny round of sourdough. 

“Human laws.” Crowley scoffed, adjusting his slouch for maximum visual indolence. 

He was actually very excited for this, and glad that his favorite audience was here to watch him being dreadfully fashionable and impressive.

The drink itself was pretty enough, the green a lovely shade and the sugar cube delightfully alight, which, when he held it up, lit him infernally from below. It was all very theatrical, and he knew Aziraphale was impressed, even if he wouldn’t say as much. 

“I haven’t had any myself in a long time,” Aziraphale mentioned, off hand, and Crowley wrinkled his nose, temporarily annoyed at the reminder. 

“Yes, but that was when it was allowed. I’ve never tried it.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up and he looked so incongruently delighted that it gave Crowley pause. 

“Oh, in that case, I’m so glad you invited me! Give it a go, it’s something quite unique.” 

The earnest urging somewhat ruined the performative mood, but of course he should have realized that Aziraphale would be entirely too indulgent in Crowley’s experiments with flavor-- goodness knew it was the angel’s favorite vice. 

Crowley blew out the fire and dropped what was left of the sugar cube into the drink below. He swirled it slightly, raised the glass towards Aziraphale in a small salute, and knocked it back. 

The flavor was awful. Noxious, almost, and worse, it stung, burning its way down his throat. 

He completely ruined the aesthetic by coughing, gasping, and dry retching. 

“Really, it’s not all that ba--” Aziraphale began, but Crowley had already realized what was happening. 

“Anise.” He gasped, hands coming up to grab his throat, as if that would help. 

“Yes, it’s a rather distinct flavor, I--”

“Anise for exorcisms.” Crowley choked out, and Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide and round. 

“Sober up.” He instructed sharply, and Crowley did his best, refilling the drained glass, but it was too late-- the effects lingered, even once the anise itself was out of him. 

Crowley’s eyes swung wildly around the bar, and lit on the bartender-- a woman, stylish and chic, who was mixing the drinks that the waiter asked for. She had an ankh around her neck and a protection sigil tattooed on her shoulder, and bore all the hallmarks of a modern pagan.

His eyes narrowed. 

“Witch.” He nodded in her direction. 

Aziraphale groaned.

“Of course, it wouldn’t work if the person using it didn’t believe-- what can I do for you? Shall we leave?”

Crowley had broken out into a very un-aesthetic sweat, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice he seemed a bit… blurry round the edges. 

“Oh dear-- hang on.” Aziraphale said, mouth firming into a determined line as he stood from the table. 

He approached the bar, breaking some unspoken taboo of service, he was sure, and flagged down the witchy bartender. 

“Excuse me,” He began politely, “But I’m an angel, you’re a witch, and I believe your drink is in the process of exorcising my demon friend. I don’t suppose you have something to counteract it?” 

“I-- what?” She looked around the bar, eyes lighting on Crowley and widening. “Is that-- what.” 

Aziraphale sighed.

“You believe in anise as a demon banishing agent, and it is doing its best as a result. But I must ask you to reverse the effects, please.”

“I don’t-- I didn’t actually think demons were real! And that shouldn’t have worked-- it’s alcohol!” The woman protested. 

Aziraphale gestured back at Crowley.

“Perhaps you should have considered that before memorizing ways to be rid of them. Now, is there a means of-- I don’t know, binding a demon to a body, or allowing a spirit in or something? I can promise you the body is his own, he isn’t simply having a ride along.” 

Aziraphale was somewhat sympathetic, naturally, but he didn’t precisely have time to waste on this. 

“Now, please.” He demanded, and the tone of his voice spurred her into action. 

“Uh-- Cinnamon for evocation of a spirit and quick success--” She pulled Fireball from the shelf and poured some quickly into a glass. 

“Dandelion for grounding and healing and Burdock for counter magick--” A slosh of No Name gin followed. She ran her hands along the bottles, thinking quickly. “Oh! Björk is birch bark, perfect!” 

She poured while she talked. “That’s new beginnings, psychic protection, and binding.” She looked at what she’d made and wrinkled her nose. 

“That’s going to be gross.” She told Aziraphale, but handed him the drink just the same. 

“I hardly think he’ll mind, so long as he’s around to complain about it.” He called back, already bearing the drink towards where crowley was visibly shaking apart at the seams. 

Aziraphale paused, unwilling to just pour it down his throat when there was nothing to specify that Crowley was the spirit to be bound. 

Thinking fast, he dipped his finger in the liquid and traced it over Crowley’s tattoo-- he couldn’t remember the proper summoning sigil at the moment, but that ought to devote the drink to Crowley well enough, according to the bartender’s beliefs. He just hoped that she truly believed that this would do the trick. 

“One way to find out,” he murmured. “Down the hatch, old friend.” He plugged Crowley’s corporation’s nose, tilted his head back, and let the liquid drizzle into his mouth. 

He swallowed, thank goodness, and Aziraphale hovered there, waiting for a response. 

Slowly, Crowley stopped vibrating quite literally out of his skin, and leaned back, panting, against his chair. 

“That--” he groused, “Was disgusting.”

Aziraphale let out a relieved huff and turned to look back at the bartender, waving at her gratefully. 

She gave him a shaky smile and flashed him a double thumbs up. 

“Wine?” He asked, turning back to Crowley, only to find that he had already finished half the glass. He looked on, amused, and made himself a sourdough round with meat and cheese. 

Crowley surfaced for air and the glass refilled miraculously as he passed it back to Aziraphale. 

“I’m not sure whether to tip the witch or curse her.”

Aziraphale frowned.

“Now, none of that.” 

Crowley made a face. 

“I hate to say it, but maybe we should go. I’m not feeling… quite right.” Crowley spoke slowly, and though he seemed solid enough, he sounded a touch distant, too. 

Aziraphale sat a little more upright in his seat.

“Shall I go ask for more help from our friend at the bar?” 

“Nah. Think I’m coming down with the exorcism flu. Happens sometimes.”

Aziraphale frowned, wondering when the last time it’d happened was, but stood just the same and offered his hand to help Crowley to his feet. 

He waved, settling the bill with several large notes tucked neatly beneath the meat board, and managed not to look longingly at it as he helped his friend out of the bar.

#whumptober #whumptober2019 #good omens fic #alcohol cw #witchcraft #canon typical magical handwaving #that writing thing I do

[caffeinefire]

You and Me and Everything Else

What day is it? And in what month?

This clock never seemed so alive.

I can’t keep up. And I can’t back down.

I’ve been losing so much time.

---

“You know, I was thinking,” Aziraphale dabbed at the corners of his mouth, then folded his napkin delicately and sat it next to his empty plate. Crowley watched him almost lazily, slipping into the easy comfort of after-dinner conversation and wine that had become their habit over the past several weeks. It had been their habit over the last several decades, really, but after the end of the world had come and gone, dinners had become more frequent.

“Thinking what?” Crowley asked when Aziraphale didn’t continue, still partially lost in his own thoughts. He’d never expected this. Never expected an after. After centuries of feeling like the clock was ticking… After millennia of knowing that at any moment either of their sides could spare a glance their direction, see everything, end everything…

The years stretching out before them felt decadent. Luxurious.

No more ticking clock. No more watchful eyes. At least not for a while.

Just him, Aziraphale, and the entire world.

Keep reading below or check it out on AO3

“Well I was thinking,” Aziraphale continued, “that perhaps we ought to… prepare in some way. For the big one.”

“The big one?” Crowley looked lost for a second, his mind still elsewhere. Aziraphale gave him a meaningful look. “Right, yes, the big one. That.” He adjusted in his chair as the topic of conversation shifted, interrupting his thoughts of languid infinity.

He had been the first to mention the idea of Armageddon 2.0, but right now it felt like a paranoid delusion. A hypothetical, not something to be anticipated.

“I don’t really think we have to worry about that quite yet, angel. It could be- I mean…”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows as Crowley floundered for words.

“Exactly, you have no idea how long we’ve got,” his satisfied smile set Crowley’s eyes rolling of their own accord, his whole head thrown into the motion. “And if you’re right, and it comes down to humanity against all of them… we may be all they have.”

Crowley turned a little more in his seat. He could hear the sliver of anxiety in his angel’s voice. Aziraphale had been thinking about this since Crowley had mentioned it, and he kicked himself mentally for saying anything in the first place. Of course Aziraphale would latch on to the one thing left to fuss over, the one responsibility they could possibly have left.

“You’re underestimating them,” he warned. “You know as well as I do how well they would adapt to a war. Even a holy one. Especially a holy one,” Crowley sighed, then sat a little straighter, only to throw his arm over the back of the chair, demonstrating a posture that would ensure any other customer’s removal from the fine establishment. Miraculously, none of the waitstaff ever seemed to notice when it was Crowley. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well,” Aziraphale hesitated, “ideally we would avoid the war to begin with.”

“Ideally, yes,” Crowley agreed. When it became clear that Aziraphale didn’t have any other suggestions in mind, he sighed. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, we’ll think on it, alright? But we have time, there’s no need-,”

“There!” Aziraphale interrupted, brightening up.

“Where?” Crowley looked around, “What?”

“Let’s start there,” Aziraphale said in way of explanation, suddenly looking at Crowley very intensely in that way that he did when he wanted something, all sparkle and raised eyebrows. Crowley’s heart skipped a beat, eyes growing soft behind his glasses, though he was careful to keep a neutral, if confused expression. His own demonic powers held nothing to the temptation Aziraphale was capable of, he thought with some amusement, as he felt his heart tug toward him, ready to give in, to appease, to indulge anything the angel could ask.

“Time, dear. How do you do it? Stop it, I mean,” Aziraphale’s smile was illuminated in the same way as when he found a new book, delighting in the search for new information, new knowledge. Crowley felt himself shrink back under the glow, quickly throwing up walls.

He fumbled for a moment. Options flew through his head, the start of each sentence leaping unbidden to his lips.

Lie? No.

Truth? Hel- Heav- Fuck no.

Half-Truth? Maybe. Too much thinking, though.

Evade.

“It’s a miracle, angel. You just do,” he swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth as the eager smile turned to disappointment.

“Come now, Crowley, you must have some trick. I’ve never been able to pull it off,” he huffed. “It’s quite literally saved the world. I might need it someday.”

“No trick,” Crowley deflected. “It’s just like any other miracle, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t-,”

“Drop it, angel,” Crowley said, sharper than he intended.

The rest of the night was quiet.

---

Aziraphale hadn’t let it go, exactly, but he also hadn’t meant to bring it up again so soon. Wine had a nasty habit of loosening his tongue, though, and a week later, after a lovely dinner and a few particularly strong bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon, the topic buzzed incessantly in his mind. His aching curiosity eventually overshadowed his better judgement when a natural lull gave it just enough space to escape.

“Couldn’t- couldn’t do it now, I wager,” Aziraphale challenged unprompted, the first half of his thought remaining unsaid.

“Do what?” Crowley was sprawled across the couch, wine drunk and comfortable. He lolled his head to the side to watch the angel as he waited for his answer, but the slight narrowing of his eyes and the groan that trailed at the end of the question betrayed that he already knew exactly what Aziraphale was talking about.

“I’ve been thinking,” Aziraphale explained in lieu of an answer. “I’ve been thinking that its quite impressive, really. Stopping time. Must be very difficult with all of the…” his hand waved around in the air for a moment, either searching for words or just gesturing vaguely at everything, “moving parts.”

“Naaaahhhhh,” Crowley replied, shaking his head. “Not hard. ‘s just a miracle, I told you.”

“You still have to…” his hand kept gesturing vaguely, brow knitting together as he tried to describe the ineffable process of performing a miracle, “…do it,” he finished with certainty. “And you cannot possibly while drunk. Too hard.”

It was the satisfied grin on Aziraphale’s face that did it.

“s’not hard at all,” and suddenly Crowley was sitting up, leaning towards him, every part of his body pointed towards Aziraphale. The echo of a snap resounded in the air and the rest of the world was silenced. The patter of the rain stopped, cars ceased to rumble past, and the flicker of flame in the candle on the coffee table froze. His own breath caught in his throat as he felt the change in the air, felt the waiting hum of a world stilled.

The only things that moved were Crowley’s eyes, golden and intense as they wandered over Aziraphale’s face, examining his stunned expression, still unfocused from the wine.

“’s the easiest thing in the world, angel,” he whispered. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

The sudden earnestness in his voice caught Aziraphale off guard.

“I-,”

Because I lost so much time being afraid. Because for 6000 years we had nothing but time, and then time suddenly ran out. And now I don’t know how much we have left.

“Who knows when I might need more time?” He was trying valiantly for casual and failing utterly, anxiety coloring every syllable with desperation, unable to break the intensity of Crowley’s suddenly steady eyes.

I feel like we’re living on borrowed time and I don’t know what comes next, Crowley.

“I’ll be there, angel.” Crowley said it like a promise. Like a reminder. Like he’d said it a thousand times before. “I’ll always give you all the time you need.”

Aziraphale waited for a moment, breathless. What he was waiting for he wasn’t sure, but after all of the time they’d spent together he knew when Crowley had more he wanted to say. The demon was more motionless than he’d ever seen him, eyes searching for something in Aziraphale’s own, until he finally swallowed and stood up.

“Wh-where are you going?” Aziraphale himself didn’t understand the slight panic he heard in his own voice as Crowley slipped his glasses back on from where they’d fallen to the floor.

“Home, angel. I’m done for the night,” and just like that, with the quiet bell and the rattle of the door, Aziraphale was alone with the patter of the rain and the flickering of the candle.

---

Aziraphale tried again to let it go. He succeeded for nearly three weeks.

“Can’t talk now,” Crowley rushed into the shop, cutting Aziraphale off before he’d said anything. He closed his mouth into an unhappy line, pouting at the dismissal. Crowley disappeared into the back room, only to reappear a moment later holding the laptop he’d left there a few days ago.

“Devon’s new line is limited quantity,” he explained, setting the laptop down on the counter and flinging it open. “I’ve got to get in the online queue as soon as it opens in,” he glanced down at his current watch, “two minutes.”

Aziraphale didn’t mean to say it out loud. He really didn’t. But it had been just about the only thing on his mind for weeks, chipping away at his thoughts relentlessly, always in the background, the ache of knowledge unobtainable.

“Could have as much time as you wanted, really,” he mumbled, knowing as he said it that he sounded like a pouting child, and hoping in vain that Crowley hadn’t heard.

“Really?” Crowley looked up from his laptop, pausing his frantic typing. “Right now?”

Aziraphale could have stopped, could have said “no, of course not. Please continue with your excited attempt at obtaining an overpriced watch,” but he didn’t.

“Well am I wrong?” he pushed, eyebrow raised.

“Yes, you’re wrong,” Crowley snapped. “I can only do it when-,” he froze as the last half of the sentence died in his throat. He pressed his lips into a thin line and slammed his laptop shut, but Aziraphale put a hand on the closed computer before Crowley could snatch it and walk out the door.

“When what?”

“It doesn’t matter, Aziraphale. I told you to let it go,” Crowley’s expression was nigh unreadable, face still and eyes hidden behind his glasses, but Aziraphale could hear the strain in his voice. From what, he couldn’t tell. After a moment’s pause, Crowley slid the laptop out from under Aziraphale’s hand and left the shop, closing the door a bit harder than strictly necessary.

Through the window, Aziraphale watched him open the computer back up again in the Bentley, stare at it for a moment without touching the keys, then close it. Cold tendrils of guilt began creeping their way across his torso; he could practically hear the frustrated sigh as Crowley rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment before starting the car and driving off.

---

Crowley groaned under his breath, then glared at the tv until it shut off. The days had been dragging on, hours marching forward at an annoyingly steady pace as he waited for… he wasn’t sure what. If he were being honest with himself, he wanted nothing more than to show back up at the bookshop and pretend as if nothing happened, the sort of easy acknowledgment of harsh-feelings-forgotten that came with a millennia long friendship.

He groaned again and settled even lower into his chair. The problem was he wasn’t sure how much time to give the situation to settle. He’d been ready to apologize the second he’d left the shop. The second he’d heard the door slam behind him. But that wasn’t how these things played out, wasn’t the routine. Before Armageddon (and the distinct lack thereof) it had been easy to let things rest for years, decades even. He’d had a job to do, technically. Temptations to complete. And he’d known that Aziraphale had his own tasks to keep him busy. Years would pass between their meetings without so much as a thought.

He didn’t want to wait years. He didn’t even want to wait weeks. The past few days had been torture of the worst kind, slow and aching, empty and alone, a monotony that ground into his head until he just wanted to go back to sleep.

He heaved himself up out of his chair before the thought could tempt him any further. He wouldn’t risk another century-long nap. Not when Aziraphale was right there and there was so little keeping them apart anymore.

Right.

He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and made for the door. He’d apologize for his abruptness, his stubbornness, whatever he needed to, and they could get on with their lives. Time could move forward… and if the angel was still persistent in cracking that particular chestnut-

Crowley froze for a moment, hesitating, then shook his head and continued shoving his arms into his jacket. He’d just have to find some other way to explain it.

He was just reaching for his glasses when a light knock at the door stopped him in his tracks.

“Crowley? It’s me,” the soft voice filtered through the wood, and Crowley swallowed down his shock, blinking as he adjusted to the sudden appearance of what, moments ago, he had been preparing to race towards at 90 miles an hour.

“Crowley, I know you’re in there, I-,”

He swung the door open to a suddenly stammering angel.

“Oh, hello. There you are. I had something I wanted to- That is- May I come in?”

Crowley gestured broadly with his hand, welcoming him in. Aziraphale smiled gratefully up at him, and Crowley turned to close the door behind him to hide the warm smile he felt creeping unbidden into his eyes.

“You’ve been here before, angel. Make yourself at home,” he gestured again to the whole of his apartment, but to his disappointment Aziraphale remained standing awkwardly in his entryway.

“I don’t really mean to impose for too long,” he responded. “I- Well, I just wanted to stop by and give you this.”

Only then did Crowley notice the box that Aziraphale held out. It was sleek, black metal, and just large enough that Crowley was more comfortable taking it with both hands. He looked at it, confused, then back up at Aziraphale, who was watching the ground self-consciously. Possibilities ran through his mind, each wilder than the last until he finally settled on just opening the box.

Its contents left him even more confused.

These had sold out in seconds.

How?

.

.

.

Why?

He tried for the first question, his voice infuriatingly uncooperative, but Aziraphale seemed to understand what he meant.

“Turns out people with a taste for expensive and rare watches sometimes have a similar taste in books. I found someone willing to make a trade,” he explained softly, a confession, looking almost guilty.

“You-,” Crowley looked back and forth, from the watch in his hand to Aziraphale. “You traded one of your books for this?” The words left his mouth on a breath, lips barely moving. He saw, in his mind, Aziraphale in his bookshop, shelving and re-shelving, reading and rereading, saw the care he put into maintaining his books, many of them centuries old. Hands delicate on the spines, caressing a miracle across the bindings when necessary. Even Crowley could feel the love that went into each and every tome.

“Well,” Aziraphale responded, looking down and away from Crowley’s gaze, face growing warm. “It seemed important to you, and-,”

The watch in hands felt so silly and small in comparison. Crowley could hear, suddenly, the break in Aziraphale’s voice when he’d told him the shop had burned.

All of it?

“-it was my fault you didn’t get to it in time in the first place, and I-,”

Crowley was already shaking his head, trying to dismiss the vision, trying to stop the remorse in the angel’s voice. The watch wasn’t the point. He closed the cover of the box gently, setting it on the table.

“-I wanted to apologize for my behavior as of late-,”

“Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for, angel,” he whispered, and Aziraphale barely paused in his speech before continuing.

“I shouldn’t have been so persistent. If you don’t want to tell me then of course you don’t have to. No explanation required. Please forg-,”

“I can only do it when it’s you,” Crowley interrupted. He couldn’t stand to hear Aziraphale pleading, not for forgiveness. Not from him. Never from him. And half a heartbeat after he realized he’d succeeded in stopping Aziraphale’s apology, he realized his mistake. Because Aziraphale was looking at him with confusion, and patience, and just a little bit of hope. Waiting for him to continue. Giving him time to back out if he didn’t want to.

“Ngk,” Crowley froze for a moment, six thousand years hanging over his head, and the burning blue of Aziraphale’s wide eyes spread out before him like 833 degrees. He would fall into those eyes over and over again.

“It’s always…,” Crowley swallowed. “Always you. And me. And it’s nothing at all for everything else to just-,” he lifted his hand and snapped softly. The birds stopped their calling, and the watch in the box stopped ticking, and the entire world stopped spinning as time focused, instead, on the only being to ever exist. At least, the only being to ever exist to Crowley.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, angel?” Crowley whispered. He hoped he did. Crowley wasn’t sure he had the nerve to say it any clearer. He lowered his hand as he realized it was shaking.

Aziraphale drew in a deep breath. The air hummed with electricity, and he felt like he stood at the center of everything, an intensity that Aziraphale had only ever felt a few times before, had only ever felt here, in the space of thousands of moments shoved into a single point. He’d thought it was just a side-effect of being outside of time, the feeling of every eye in the universe being turned to you, the feeling of absolute attention, the feeling of-

He let his breath out shakily.

Crowley was waiting, giving him as much time as he needed. Each passing moment of silence seemed to pain him, though, as he searched Aziraphale’s eyes. This time Aziraphale knew what he was searching for, and he nodded, slowly, still stunned, unable to do much else when the only eyes in the universe were watching him like golden starlight, frozen under the vast expanse of heavens that had only ever existed on earth.

He saw relief in those eyes. They flashed with hurt, then understanding. Then acceptance.

“Right,” Crowley whispered, turning his eyes away, mouth drawing into a thin line as he snapped. “Now you know,” he said as the world started again, a wave of emotion breaking through his attempt at a casual tone.

And Aziraphale’s thoughts started turning again with the world as he realized the seconds had begun to tick past him, and he was still standing there, still losing time, and suddenly he knew exactly what came next.

In one quick motion, before Crowley could turn away, he closed the gap between them with a step, and he pulled his hand down with a snap. And like being thrown into empty space, Crowley felt every eye of a Principality of heaven turn toward him and only him as every star in the universe stopped burning, and breath paused in every creature great and small. The heavens ground to a halt as Aziraphale placed his hands gently around his face, fingers touching cheeks with all the delicacy of a conservator and all the confidence of a guardian.

Crowley had never felt so small, and yet he felt suddenly as if he were everything. He felt himself standing at the center of all the power of an angel of the Lord and it burned like holy fire, awesome and terrible, but the only thing he could see was Aziraphale. Just Aziraphale with his cream and tartan, his white hair and wide, blue eyes. Unassuming, and quiet, and, at the moment, plunging headlong forward to catch up with where Crowley had always been.

“I love you, too.”

And he was pulled down into a kiss that flashed through him like lightning, lasting an eternity pressed into a single moment. The angel’s hands were in his hair and on his neck, holding him like something precious, like something loved, and after the briefest moment of shock, his hands caught up with the rest of him, and he held the angel back.

The world sat in the back of both of their minds, vague and eventual. But for now, it didn’t exist, and time could wait.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands #fluff #crowley #aziraphale #this is my first post on AO3! #hopefully I did everything right lol #a fun way to present my headcanon on why Crowley can stop time

[obaewankenope]

Uhm. Have you considered: Crowley keeps shooting himself in the foot with his evil deeds bc he's bad at being evil and the only evil deeds he can come up with are things he can brainstorm a la: '... so what would ruin MY day'

You see, this is where I Really Relate to Crowley because I too always do things that end up fucking me over and not anyone else *looks at hand wrapped up and bruised foot*. When I was like 7 or sth I tried to get my oldest brother to stand on a long ass screw that I’d strategically placed on the stairs but then my mother called for me and I forgot where said screw was and stood on it instead. It was a milimetre from the bone in my foot lmao and they had to literally unscrew it from my foot so like, yeah, Crowley and I are definitely relateable. That said:

[AO3]

.

“Listen, angel, I’ve figured it out!” Crowley says and Aziraphale looks at him with a mild ‘yes dear, that’s great dear’ expression that is not at all out of place on a married spouse dealing with their eccentric partner. It has been a common expression worn by the pair of them over the past six thousand years of their acquaintance, for obvious reasons.

“Figured what out?”

“How to be better at being evil!” Crowley grins widely at Aziraphale who, by this point, is now mildly intrigued and a little bit horrified at Crowley’s thought process. Whatever that process happens to be. 

“I’m oddly curious about this now but also—I do feel a little apprehensive about your… solution, whatever that may be,” Aziraphale says and Crowley gives him a haughty look not unlike a bird that’s just been dunked in a bath because it’s covered in dirt and liked being covered in dirt but is not allowed to be covered in dirt.

“It’s a brilliant solution and you’ll find it’s going to work brilliantly!”

Aziraphale hums. “But my dear Crowley,” he says, “evil always contains the seed of its own destruction.”

Crowley shakes his head, grinning. “Not this time angel,” he replies, tongue flicking out without any real awareness of the action. It captures Aziraphale’s attention—as it always does. “This time there’s no self-destructing happening!”

Aziraphale drops the matter after that but—if he is entirely honest—he is more concerned than ever because Crowley refuses to tell him what the solution is and thus the angel is left to wonder what sort of catastrophe is about to occur because of the demon’s antics. He is, also, a little bit excited to see what the wiley serpent has thought up.

..

Crowley doesn’t show up at the bookshop for a week. Aziraphale tries not to panic about it since—well—they had thwarted the apocalypse, both got downgraded to even lesser underlings than they’d been beforehand and Crowley was sometimes forced to go abroad unexpectedly to perform this or that temptation. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

When one week turns into two, Aziraphale decides to panic. It’s a fruitless sort of panic, more dithering than actually productive, but it’s panic nonetheless and he engages in the very human habit of flapping his hands while pacing in his bookshop and conjuring up all sorts of reasons for why Crowley hasn’t spoken to him.

After week three, Aziraphale goes to the flat and miracles his way inside.

There he finds Crowley, curled up on his bed, asleep. As a bloody snake!

“Crowley!" 

The snake rolls and flops away from Aziraphale, eyes opening comically wide as it lets out a string of hissed curses and promptly falls off the bed as part of its own body serves as a weight for gravity to exert itself upon.

"Crowley what are you playing at?” Aziraphale near shouts, hands waving wildly about him in an expression of honest frustration that is plagued with hurt. “You decide to have a nap and don’t think to tell me! After everything that’s happened? The apocalypse! Heaven! Hell! I know you act impulsively at times, Crowley, but this was thoughtlessly cruel of you!”

Crowley’s head appears over the side of the bed he’s just fallen off, hair askew and eyes wide still. In his human form, Aziraphale notices that the demon looks—for want of a better word—a mess. 

“‘Was the point,” the demon says awkwardly. Crowley clambours to his feet, wobbling a little on one leg as though he’s not quite used to having them anymore. Aziraphale wonders, quite suddenly, if the demon has been a snake for the past three weeks. It seems quite likely. 

“It was the point,” the angel repeats. “The point of not even having the courtesy to leave me a note or call the shop was to be cruel?” Crowley—not looking at Aziraphale—nods. “Why?”

The demon shifts on his feet, hands shoved in pockets too small for such long hands and Aziraphale watches the thumbs work at the material of the jeans a little worriedly. It seems, shockingly, that Crowley is very uncomfortable with this confrontation.

That is unfortunate for Crowley but Aziraphale will have answers.

“Figured that since I always fuck myself over when doing evil, made sense to do something that my life worse at the same time,” the demon mutters, still avoiding Aziraphale’s gaze.

The angel lets out a huff of frustration. “And how did it make your life worse, exactly?” he asks in as measured a tone as he can manage. It’s not very measured but at least he’s trying. “Sleeping for three weeks and comfortable in the knowledge that you at least know where I am doesn’t quite sound as bad as having no idea where the only person you’re friends with is for three weeks, does it now?”

So measured is not within his range of emotional control right now; Crowley always does cause Aziraphale issues with his control. For a variety of reasons. Feeling honestly hurt is a relatively new reason and—if he’s quite honest—not one Aziraphale cares for.

“Sorry angel,” Crowley says, glancing up at Aziraphale and wincing before looking away again. “Won’t happen again.”

Aziraphale must have quite the Unhappy Expression on his usually friendly features for the demon to be acting so contrite.

“You didn’t answer my question, Crowley,” Aziraphale says and he’s determined now to know Crowley’s answer. “How did three weeks of not seeing me make your life worse?”

If Aziraphale was ever asked about it, the angel would forever deny that he had Multiple Reasons for wanting to know the answer to this particular question. He simply wished to understand Crowley’s thinking. That’s all.

Crowley looks at him again but this time the demon maintains eye contact.

“I keep thinking the bookshop is still burning and that you’re- that you-,” the demon says before his voice breaks and he closes his eyes. “I thought that I’d figured out how to do Real Evil by not seeing you, denying myself you, and I did. I did. It’s- angel- I’d rather be doused in holy water.”

“Then why did you not stop your self-flagellation and simply return to the bookshop?” Aziraphale asks, heart pounding at the admission and aching at the pain on Crowley’s face. 

“I couldn’t,” Crowley says, shaking his head. “Couldn’t- I just couldn’t- I didn’t- it hurt too much to think,” he finally gets out, looking down and away, serpentine eyes brighter with tears. “I wanted to just forget the hurt and so I—” he waves a hand at the bed “—slept.”

“Oh, oh you absolute fool darling,” Aziraphale says then and he steps forward. Crowley looks at him in surprise because Aziraphale’s voice is no longer firm and full of hurt anger, now it’s warm and gentle and—yes, Crowley, it is—loving. “Don’t do that again, please?”

Crowley shakes his head. “Never,” he croaks and Aziraphale pulls the demon into an embrace that Crowley doesn’t fight. If anything, the demon sinks into Aziraphale’s touch, head dropping to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder as Crowley’s arms snake around his chest and keep him close. “Promise.”

“Well then,” Aziraphale says softly. “That’s quite all right then.”

#Anonymous #Kat answers #People talk to me!!! #Good Omens #An Angel and a Demon together #Inefffable Husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #my writing #kat writes #fic

[ltleflrt]

Fuck it, I’m never going to write this beast, so I’m going to go ahead and give a rundown of the story.  If you want to read A Rose In Winter by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, turn back now so you’re not spoiled!

When the handsome alpha flirts with Dean, he’s wary at first, but the man treats him with respect and doesn’t encroach on his space.  It’s just harmless flirting, and with the stress of Dean’s home life weighing him down, it’s nice to exchange smiles and jokes with a handsome man who smells like fresh cut timber with a hint of sea brine.  But then he learns who the alpha really is when John comes home and flips out at Dean for flirting with The Enemy.  Castiel Jameson is not only the man who holds a lifetime of debt over Sam’s head, he’s also the bastard who accused Sam of cheating and then shot him when Sam demanded a duel for his honor, crippling his arm and leaving him depressed and drowning himself in the bottle.

So needless to say, Dean is NOT planning on encouraging Castiel’s attention.  Quite the opposite in fact.  

But then Castiel offers to wipe away Sam and John’s gambling debts in return for Dean’s hand in marriage.  He’s the owner of a lucrative shipping company, so he can definitely afford it.  And as angry as Dean is with him, it’s a solution to their problems…

Unfortunately, John’s drunken pride is pricked by the offer so he refuses and turns Castiel away.  Angry at his father’s short sightedness, Dean confronts John and says if he’d stop drinking and gambling they wouldn’t be in this mess, and if things keep going the way they are Dean might as well sell himself to the highest bidder in order to pay off the monumental debt.  Unfortunately, his words spoken in anger give John an idea.  And Sam, drunk and listless, doesn’t try to defend Dean.

So John sets up the auction for Dean’s hand in marriage (at least he’s insisting on a traditional mating and not just selling Dean as a whore--not that it makes Dean feel less like one), and invites all the richest Alphas around.  Dean doesn’t want to be mated to any of them, not Crowley, not Abbadon, and definitely not Alistair.  Partway through the bidding a strange man shows up and bids so much money that everyone else drops out of the auction, and the Winchester family will not only be able to pay off their debts, but will live comfortably for a few years.  And the man, Gadreel, isn’t repulsive like all of Dean’s other options.

Except that Gadreel isn’t going to be his mate.  He is bidding on behalf of Lord Milton who everyone thought died in a fire several years ago.  The wedding is done by proxy, and then Dean is taken to the half burned manor that is his new home.  Only the old stone half of the manor still stands, and the wooden half that burned hasn’t been cleaned up yet, and the whole place looks terrifying.  Rumors that it’s haunted don’t help either.

And so is Lord Milton.  He is dressed in black from head to toe, literally.  A leather hood and mask envelopes his whole head, and his hands are hidden in gloves.  His shoulders are crooked, and the rest of his body is hidden by a floor length cloak.  When he walks he drags one of his feet behind him, and Dean catches just a glimpse of a misshapen boot.  Under the scent of leather, he smells like singed wood.

Dean is no slouch, but Lord Milton scares the hell out of him.  And he is not looking forward to his wedding night.  He can’t even imagine presenting to such a grotesque creature.

But Lord Milton senses his fear, and in a rough whisper promises that Dean doesn’t have to mate with him.  He just wants someone beautiful to share his home and his life with, but he won’t inflict himself on someone who so obviously doesn’t want him.

Dean doesn’t believe him at first, but Lord Milton keeps his word and eventually Dean relaxes.  He even finds himself enjoying Lord Milton’s company, even if he does listen more than he speaks.  Dean is almost disappointed when Milton explains that he needs to go on a business trip, but he’s thrilled with having time to himself.  At least until Milton explains that his cousin Castiel will be coming to stay for a few days.  When Dean gets upset Milton asks him to invite Sam as a chaperone.  With a crippled arm, Sam won’t be much defense against Castiel however Dean would be glad to have him around.  And Castiel has never been less than a gentleman.

Unfortunately Castiel has decided that he wants to seduce Dean.  He feels sorry for Dean being married to an ugly beast who can’t take care of his sexual needs, and offers himself.  Dean declines, but while Castiel doesn’t push, he always makes it clear that he’ll be there if Dean chooses.  And other than the occasional heated looks and innuendo he keeps his word.

Time passes and Dean becomes fond of Milton, but he’s also starting to want to give in to Castiel’s advances.  Especially when Milton insists that Castiel accompany Dean to a local ball, so that he can enjoy a party without Milton’s presence scaring everyone.  Dean reluctantly agrees, but he needs to get out of the half-burnt manor so he’s excited.  And Castiel practically sweeps him off his feet.  For the whole evening Dean is able to pretend Castiel is his mate and that when they leave for the evening, they’ll go home and slake Dean’s… oh no, Dean is going into heat.

Castiel takes him home, but on the carriage ride, they start getting handsy and Dean almost gives in to him.  But when the carriage stops, he’s shocked out of his lust, and he runs into the manor leaving Castiel behind.

He locks himself in his room like he always does for his heat, but he can’t stop thinking about Castiel.  And he feels guilty as fuck for imagining another Alpha when his own husband is so kind and loving to him.  So he gets out of bed, and sneaks into Milton’s bedroom.

Milton’s room is just barely lit by the embers of a fire, and there’s curtains around his bed.  When Dean parts the curtains, he just catches a glimpse of thigh--unscarred, so not his mangled leg--but Milton hurriedly ties a scarf around his face and insists Dean closes the curtain.  When Dean says he wants to be mated, Milton is quiet for a moment, but finally agrees.  Milton insists on keeping his face covered and putting his gloves on, and asks Dean not to touch him in certain places.  Dean’s never had sex, but he’s sure sex with Milton is the best sex ever.  

In the night when Milton is sleeping Dean starts feeling around, but when he comes across a massive scar on Milton’s leg, and another scar on his back, he stops.  He doesn’t want to know how bad it is.

The day after his heat breaks, Dean comes down to breakfast and finds Castiel.  He shows off his mating bite and tells Castiel he has to leave him alone now.  Castiel looks completely heartbroken, but he accepts Dean’s words, and leaves.  And he doesn’t come back.

Dean and Milton become closer and closer, and eventually Dean starts using his given name Stephen even when they’re not in the privacy of their room.  Milton encourages Sam to go back to university, and even pays for a surgeon to work on Sam’s elbow, and helps him get sober.  Life is pretty fuckin’ peachy all around.  

Except that sometimes he still dreams of Castiel.  Sometimes when he’s making love to his husband his imagination goes wild in the dark behind the bed curtains and he thinks he catches Castiel’s scent instead.  Since they’re cousins, their woody scents are similar, and Dean hates himself for imagining the other man.

Milton has to leave more and more often on business.  There are bandits openly attacking people on the roads, and since Sam is getting better, and he stays with Dean whenever he can.  Dean can take care of himself most of the time, but a lone omega makes him a target, and it’s safer if he’s not alone.  There’s a vigilante fighting the bandits, but it’s still dangerous to travel back and forth from Milton Manor to the house he lives in with John, so Dean asks him to move into the manor.  While Sam is packing his things, John comes home drunk and gets mad at Sam for refusing to go out gambling with him.  And Sam, recovering and finally in a good place in his life, gives John the sharp side of his temper for being a shitty father and for selling Dean, then disowns him.

When Sam is away at school, Milton has to go on a trip but he’s worried about Dean’s safety because the bandits are starting to attack homes.  So Dean suggests Castiel come to stay, even though it’s probably not the best idea.  Milton agrees, and Castiel comes to the manor.

Deciding it’s better to be among people than by himself with Castiel, who he’s still in love/lust with, Dean asks to go into town to run some errands.  On the way back they’re attacked by bandits.  Castiel has a whole bunch of guns stashed under the carriage seats and he’s able to fight off the bandits, but he gets shot in the process.

Dean and the driver get him home and get him into a bed.  The wound is low on his side, and his pants are soaked in blood so Dean starts undressing him while they fetch the doctor.  After he gets Castiel’s pants off he finds a massive burn scar down his leg, and it feels familiar under Dean’s fingers.  He carefully rolls Castiel so he can see his back and finds another familiar scar.  And when he checks his neck… there’s a mating bite, right where Dean dug his teeth in their first time together.  And he smells like...

And he’s fucking PISSED.  Because Milton has had Castiel in their home this whole time, and Dean has been sleeping with HIM instead of his HUSBAND.  No wonder Dean kept smelling Castiel at night.  And Milton has been letting him.  He’s probably incapable of having sex which is why he never even tried, and letting Dean mate his cousin would help him save face and possibly net him an heir.

Well Dean’s not going to allow the two men to pull this charade anymore.  He’s going to give them both a piece of his mind when Milton gets back and when Castiel is recovered.

Unfortunately Castiel catches a fever and doesn’t wake up for more than a day.  And Milton isn’t supposed to return for a few more days either.

And on top of that, Constable Crowley shows up claiming that Castiel is the leader of the bandits.  Dean knows that’s not true, but he can’t prove it without putting Castiel in danger since Crowley won’t just take an omega’s word for it.  He’s trying to figure out how to handle the situation when suddenly Milton comes home.  He gives an alibi story and Crowley leaves.

And then Milton tells Dean it’s time for him to see his true face.  Dean doesn’t want to, he’s still not ready to see all the scars, but Milton doesn’t stop.  He pulls off his boot first, revealing a healthy foot.  Then off come the gloves, revealing unscarred hands.  And under the hood, is Castiel’s flushed and sweaty face.  He’s still running a fever from the gunshot wound.

He explains that his real name is Castiel Stephen Jameson Milton, and that it was his older brother Emmanuel who actually died in the fire.  Castiel had run off to America when he was young, and started a shipping company.  When he heard his brother was murdered, he came back to find the culprit.  But he suspected it was the mayor and constable behind it and he had to disguise himself as his own brother while doing research as Castiel.

Anyway, turns out both of the men Dean loves are the same man.  Castiel’s true scent is fresh timber and salt air, which he covered up with the leather and some soot from the fireplace.  He was trying to seduce Dean away from his masked persona so that he could eventually reveal his true identity, but when Dean showed up in his room and in heat, he told himself he’d play the charade of Lord Milton for the rest of his life if he had to.  Just so that Dean wouldn’t hate him, and that he could have his mate.

Understandably, Dean is mad for a little while, but he eventually gets over it.  And they eventually gather enough evidence to have the mayor and the constable arrested for murder.

And everyone lives happily ever after.

Except John who ends up as a homeless beggar after all his debtors come to collect and he loses everything he has, including his sons who turn their backs on him.

#oops i ficced #long post is long #sorry if the cut doesn't work for mobile users

[marvelsassbutts]

The Hollow Men - Chapter 8

**Look here for summary and warnings**

He literally could’ve gone with any other type of wake up. It could have been a bomb, a plague, a rabid dog tearing at his leg. It most certainly could’ve been a blowjob from Castiel but instead Dean Winchester woke up to absolutely the worst thing this planet could’ve provided him.

The S.W.A.T. team.

Guns all raised and pointed at him. His ass buck naked beneath the very thin sheets.

And on top of that? His bed was empty save for him. Of everything (and everyone). No hidden guns, grenades, knives, nothing. All of it was gone. Everything was gone.

He was naked in many more ways than the one.

“Hands up!” one of the men yelled at him now and Dean groaned before rolling over and pulling a pillow over his head. “NOW!”

“Come on, guys! You know just as well as I do that a man needs his beauty rest,” he mumbled and let his hand fall to the back of the mattress, running along the edge in hope that he had missed the gun the first time. Upon realizing he had no such luck, Dean sighed and arched his back with a loud groan and then sighed before rolling onto his back and smiling at the team. “You all look great.”

“Sit up, hands above your head!” one of them demanded and Dean finally complied. “Get out of the bed and on your knees.”

“Ooo!” he grinned. “I like the way you think, sir. But first,” he said and pointed to the floor, “someone be a doll and hand me my boxers? I’m a little shy.”

Their leader gestured to another man and he hastily picked up Dean’s clothing and tossed it over. Dean smiled his thanks before slipping them on and getting out the bed. He stretched upwards and then bent over halfway to stretch downwards.

“On your knees. Now.”

“Sorry! Some morning routines are just hard to break,” he said before facing the team and slowly getting onto his knees. “So,” he said and wiggled his eyebrows, “which one of you am I sucking off first?”

••

“Whoa, whoa take it easy, will you?” Dean grumbled as a man shoved him down into a cold, metal chair and cuffed his hands to the table in front of him. “You’re gonna get me all excited,” he disclosed and let out a breathy pant.

“Save it, Dean,” a familiar voice rang and he looked up to meet the familiar brown eyes of the woman who - apparently, no longer - lived down the hall. “Special Agent Cassie Robinson,” she said and produced a badge to go along with the name.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he sighed in disbelief. “How long have you known?”

“I’ve suspected for over a year now, which is when I moved in. But I’ve only known for a few hours,” she sighed. “Courtesy of you and your friend. Who, by the way, is missing.”

“You’re telling me,” he mumbled and looked down at his hands. “So….” He sighed and looked up at her. “All those guys you brought home….”

“Agents playing their parts.”

“Hm. And everything you said to me?”

“Agent playing a part,” she admitted and held her arms out. “I had to get you to trust me somehow or you would’ve ran.”

“Good call,” he commended, still studying his hands.

“I thought so.”

“Speaking of calls, aren’t I supposed to get one of those?”

“Dean,” she laughed, “who would you possibly call?”

He raised his eyes towards the ceiling, his lips poked out slightly before deciding, “Domino’s.”

“You’re something else,” she sighed. “I’m gonna need you to sit tight for now, we’re working on a few things for you.”

“How sweet! I get a gift?”

“You get a court date,” she said while pulling out her phone. “Get comfy,” she mumbled while looking at her screen before leaving the room.

Dean let out a long sigh before running his hands over his face and leaning back in his chair. He was still trying to process how he ended up in an interrogation room, his hands cuffed to a table and completely out of options. He made sure to keep his breathing regulated - he knew what he was like when it got out of hand - and to try to think of a plan. Clearly, there was nothing he could do from his current position, but maybe when they took him out again he could make a break for it.

‘And go where?’ he thought. ‘You don’t know the layout of this place.’

“I have to do something,” he whispered. “You have to do something, Dean. You have to do something!” His leg started bouncing involuntarily, completely unnoticed by Dean himself, and he shut his eyes, hoping to calm whatever nerves were creeping up inside of him. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t go to court, they’d kill him. He had to get out.

The sound of the door opening, prompted Dean’s eyes to fly open and he recognized Cassie easily but the man standing next to her was new.

He was dressed in a dark, black suit, a red handkerchief poking out of the chest pocket. His hair was thin, but not thin enough for anyone to really call it balding and his face seemed to be mostly occupied by a well groomed, black and gray beard. His aura was oozing sophistication and arrogance and his dark, beady eyes were tracing Dean up and down.

“Dean,” Cassie stated, “I want to introduce you to your lawyer, Mr. Crowley.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” the man greeted and ugh of course he had to have an accent.

“Could’ve done without meeting you,” Dean replied and Crowley’s face turned up into a very forced smile.

“Charming.”

“I’ll let you two talk,” Cassie said before leaving the room.

Dean let his eyes examine Crowley from head to toe and back again before the man finally stepped forward and gently placed a briefcase onto the table.

“I assume you probably want these.” His voice carried over Dean as he pulled a pair of jeans from the case and set them down on the table.

“Wow,” Dean said and pulled the pants closer before checking the tag. “Right size and everything.”

“Yes, well,” Crowley started and pulled out a shirt as well, “they are from your apartment so I hope so.”

Dean got the pants on easily enough, what with the handcuffs being in the way and all, but looked at the shirt with disdain.

“How am I supposed to get that on?” he asked and gestured to the shirt before raising his cuffs.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Crowley said in a bored tone before sitting down.

He didn’t.

“So, I’m sure you’re wondering how this is all going to play out,” Crowley began. “First things first, you have a court date set for next week.”

“Next week?” Dean questioned. “Doesn’t it usually take a little longer than that? Ain’t I supposed to have my time in the can and all?”

Crowley stared at Dean as if he had made noises at him rather than spoken words. “Right. Well, I can assure you you’ll still have some time in ‘the can’ but your court date has been made top priority. We have reason to believe you have an accomplice that is more than capable of breaking you out and want to get this done and over with a-sap.”

“Aw, y’all care about me so much.”

“Immensely,” he tattled. “Now, I have some instructions for you and then I’ll be on my way: One, you will behave to the best of your ability while you spend time behind bars before your trial.”

Not likely.

“Two, you will dress in whatever is provided for you for your trial.”

Please not a suit.

“Three,” Crowley began, “you will plead guilty when the time comes. There’s no point in wasting either of our time. They have the evidence and all the reason necessary to lock you up. Don’t be daft about this.”

Dean lifted his eyes to Crowley’s and felt the right side of his mouth raise into half a smile.

Crowley studied him for a moment before his eyes narrowed down into a glare.

Dean couldn’t help but smile wider.

“You got yourself a deal.”

••

Dean was put into a cell by himself. It was agreed upon by the head of the prison that he was too much of a threat to anyone else and should be handled with a certain caution. He had a guard with him at all times and spent most of his days doing small workouts in his cell. A few men had stopped by to introduce themselves and get a look at the man most of them revered. Dean liked those guys a lot, to the point where whenever he was with them his handler let his guard down, knowing Dean wouldn’t do anything to hurt them.

During the nights though, when no one was around to distract him and he was left alone in his cell, Dean thought of Castiel. He wondered where he could be, what he was doing, why he had left him, and if he was okay. He couldn’t get his image out of his head or let go of the feeling of the one night he got to spend wrapped in his arm. Dean missed him. Wanted him here now more than anything and went to sleep every night with the hope that Castiel would be there to break him out. He wanted to go back to his apartment. He wanted to sleep in his bed. He wanted to see Castiel.

“Last day, huh?” one of Dean’s friends, Benny, asked. “Tomorrow’s the big trial.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed as he shoveled a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

“Oh, man they should just give you your last meal now,” Gordon snickered and Adam shoved him roughly.

“How are you going to plead?” the same boy asked.

“I don’t think I’m allowed to say,” he acknowledged. “But I’ve been told to be honest.”

“You gotta be! They put your hand on the Bible and make you swear!” Garth declared.

Dean snorted at him as the rest of the men jeered and booed in his direction.

Garth was an interesting case. He had got himself caught in the drug dealing game but only as a middle man. His brother was in a mess of pain after an accident and had been buying marijuana to help him get through his days. He sent Garth out to collect the stuff without telling him what it was. Of course, Garth was made more than aware when his ass got caught and he landed himself in jail. He was the prime example of why Dean stuck to working for number one (unless number two had dark unruly hair and blue eye as cold as ice).

“I don’t regret nuthin!” came a shout from a few tables down, snapping Dean out of his reverie.

“Yous a sick fuck.”

“And you’re just too pissed off you didn’t try it! Hell, you wanted to be a big man and sell illegal shit! How long you in here for? Twenty plus years? HA! I got six months, bub!”

“Yeah, and it’s your fifth time getting six months!”

“I’m living the dream!”

The men at Dean’s table rolled their eyes and turned away from the man standing up, proudly proclaiming his short terms.

“What’s he going on about?” Dean asked.

Adam waved his hand in a dismissive sort of way, his shoulders held up high as he rested his arms on the table. “Some sick shit, man. Dude comes in for six months for raping some girl, gets out, then does it all over again.”

“Yeah, and the court doesn’t do shit about it,” Gordon growled. “Like, fuck. Fitzgerald’s in here for five years for getting caught in the middle of some shit he didn’t even know about and that asswipe gets to parade around with his dick hanging out and no one does shit to stop ‘im.”

“America’s justice system is all fucked,” Benny sighed. “What did you expect?”

Dean looked around the table at the glum faces of his friends and frowned. “No one’s ever done anything?”

“Few guys have. But he always goes out and comes back for the same reason. Always the same kind of girl, too. He’s like a serial rapist. Real fucked in the head, brother.”

“Same kind of girl?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Gordon mumbled. “He likes-”

“Tall, curvy, beautiful,” the man yelled from his table again, “and blonde!”

Dean’s eyes snapped up.

#destiel #dean winchester x castiel #destiel fanfiction #summer writes

[gaysparklepires]

9. Port Angeles

Read on AO3

It was too bright for me to drive into town when I got to Port Angeles; the sun was still too high overhead, and, though my windows were tinted dark, there was no reason take unnecessary risks. More unnecessary risks, I should say.

I was certain I would be able to find Jessica’s thoughts from a distance—Jessica’s thoughts were louder than Angela’s, but once I found the first, I’d be able to hear the second. Then, when the shadows lengthened, I could get closer. For now, I pulled off the road onto an overgrown driveway just outside the town that appeared to be infrequently used.

I knew the general direction to search in—there was really only one place for dress shopping in Port Angeles. It wasn’t long before I found Jessica, spinning in front of a three-way mirror, and I could see Beau in her peripheral vision, appraising the long black dress she wore.

Beau still looks pissed. Maybe I shouldn’t of told him about Tyler. But at least he’d have someone to go with to Prom. That’s not so bad, right? But I guess I see his point, I mean, Tyler is totally not into boys… probably. Maybe. God, I don’t even know. Since when did boys get so complicated?

“I think I like the blue one better. It really brings out your eyes.” Beau said.

Jessica smiled at him mischievously.

“And the girls.” Jessica swayed her body suggestively at Beau. I quickly tried to block out her thoughts and searched close by for Angela—ah, but Angela was in the process of changing dresses, and I skipped quickly out of her head to give her some privacy.

Well, there wasn’t much trouble Beau could get into in a department store. I’d let them shop and then catch up with them when they were done. It wouldn’t be long until it was dark—the clouds were beginning to return, drifting in from the west. I could only catch glimpses of them though the thick trees, but I could see how they would hurry the sunset. I welcomed them, craved them more than I had ever yearned for their shadows before. Tomorrow I could sit beside Beau in school again, monopolizing his attention at lunch again. I could ask him all the questions I’d been saving up…

So, he was upset about Tyler’s presumption. I’d seen in Tyler Crowley’s head—that he’d meant it literally when he’d spoken of the prom, that he was staking a claim. I pictured Beau’s expression from that other afternoon—the outraged disbelief—and I laughed. I wondered what he would say to Tyler about this. I wouldn’t want to miss his reaction.

The time went slowly while I waited for the shadows to lengthen. I checked in periodically with Jessica; her mental voice was the easiest to find, but I didn’t like to linger there long—too much rambling. I saw the place they were planning to eat. It would be dark by dinner time… maybe I would coincidentally choose the same restaurant. I touched the phone in my pocket, thinking of inviting Alice out to eat… She would love that, but she would also want to talk to Beau. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to have Beau more involved with my world. Wasn’t one vampire trouble enough?

I checked in routinely with Jessica again. She was thinking about her jewelry, asking Angela’s opinion.

“Maybe I should take the necklace back. I’ve got one at home that would probably work, and I spent more than I was supposed to…” My mom is going to freak out. What was I thinking? I should have asked Beau’s opinion first.

“I don’t mind going back to the store. Do you think Beau will be looking for us, though?”

What was this? Beau wasn’t with them? I stared through Jessica’s eyes first, then switched to Angela’s. They were on the sidewalk in front of a line of shops, just turning back the way. Beau was nowhere in sight.

Oh, I didn’t think about that. Jessica thought, worry tinging her thoughts. “I think so. We’ll get to the restaurant in plenty of time, even if we go back. And besides, I think Beau wanted to be alone… I want to make sure we give him his time, I mean he was so sweet to come with us and help us with our dresses.” I got a brief glimpse of the bookshop Jessica thought Beau had gone to.

“You’re right. Let’s hurry, then.” Angela said. I hope Beau doesn’t think we ditched him. He was so nice to me in the car before… He’s really a sweet person. But he’s seemed kind of blue all day. I wonder if it’s because of Edward Cullen? I’ll bet that was why he was asking about his family…

I should have been paying better attention. What all had I missed here? Beau was off wondering by himself, and he’d been asking about me before? Angela was paying attention to Jessica now—Jessica was babbling about that idiot Mike—and I could get nothing more from them.

I judged the shadows. The sun would be behind the clouds soon enough. If I stayed on the west side of the road, where the buildings would shade the street from the fading light…

I started to feel anxious as I drove through the sparse traffic in the center of the town. This wasn’t something I had considered—Beau taking off on his own—and I had no idea how to find him. I should have considered it.

I knew Port Angeles well; I drove straight to the bookstore in Jessica’s head, hoping my search would be short, but doubting it would be so easy. When did Beau ever make it easy?

Sure enough, the little shop was empty except for the anachronistically dressed woman behind the counter. This didn’t look like the kind of place Beau would be interested in—too new age for a practical person. I wondered if he’d even bothered to go in?

There was a patch of shade I could park in… It made a dark pathway right up to the overhang of the shop. I really shouldn’t. Wandering around in the sunlight hours was not safe. What if a passing car threw the sun’s reflection into the shade at just the wrong moment?

But I didn’t know how else to look for Beau!

I parked and got out, keeping to the deepest side of the shadow. I strode quickly into the store, noting the faint trace of Beau’s scent in the air. He had been here, on the sidewalk, but there was no hint of his fragrance inside the shop.

“Welcome! Can I help—“ the saleswoman began to say, but I was already out the door.

I followed Beau’s scent as far as the shade would allow, stopping when I got to the far edge of the sunlight.

How powerless it made me feel—fenced in by the line between dark and light that stretched across the sidewalk in front of me. So limited.

I could only guess that he’d continued across the street, heading south. There wasn’t really much in that direction. Was he lost? Well, that possibility didn’t sound entirely out of character.

I got back in the car and drove slowly through the streets, looking for him. I stepped out into a few other patches of shadow, but I only caught his scent once more, and the direction of it confused me. Where was he trying to go?

I drove back and forth between the bookstore and the restaurant a few times, hoping to see him on his way. Jessica and Angela were already there, trying to decide whether to order or wait for Beau. Jessica was trying to figure out what Beau would like so they could maybe order for him.

I begin flitting through the minds of strangers, looking through their eyes. Surely, someone must have seen him somewhere.

I got more and more anxious the longer he remained missing. I hadn’t considered before how difficult he might prove to find once, like now, he was out of my sight and off his normal paths. I didn’t like it.

The clouds were massing on the horizon, and, in a few more minutes, I would be free to track him on foot. It wouldn’t take me long then. It was only the sun that made me so helpless now. Just a few more minutes, and then the advantage would be mine again and it would be the human world that was powerless.

Another mind, and another. So many trivial thoughts.

…think the baby has another ear infection…

Was it six-four-oh or six-oh-four…?

Late again. I ought to tell him…

Here he comes! Aha!

There, at least, was Beau’s face. Finally, someone had noticed him!

The relief lasted for only a fraction of a second, and then I read more fully the thoughts of the man who was gloating over his face in the shadows.

His mind was a stranger to me, and yet, not totally unfamiliar. I had once hunted exactly such minds.

“NO!” I roared, and a volley of snarls erupted from my throat. My foot shoved the gas pedal to the floor, but where was I going?

I knew the general location of his thoughts, but the knowledge was not specific enough. Something, there had to be something—a street sign, a store front, something in his sight that would give away his location. But Beau was deep shadow, and the man’s eyes were focused on Beau’s frightened expression—enjoying the fear there.

Beau’s face was blurred in his mind by the memory of other faces. Young men and women, all wearing the same frightened expression. Beau was not this man’s first victim.

The sound of my growls shook the frame of the car, but did not distract me.

There were no windows in the wall behind Beau. Somewhere industrial, away from the more populated shopping district. My car squealed around a corner, swerving past another vehicle, heading in what I hoped was the right direction. By the time the other driver honked, the sound was far behind me.

Look at him shaking! The man chuckled in anticipation. The fear was the draw for him—the part he enjoyed.

“Stay away from me.” Beau’s voice was low and steady, not a scream.

“Don’t be like that.”

He watched Beau flinch to a rowdy laugh that came from another direction. He was irritated with the noise—Shut up, Jeff! He thought—but he enjoyed the way Beau cringed. It excited him. He began to imagine Beau’s pleas, the way he would beg…

I hadn’t realized that there were others with the man until I’d heard the loud laughter. I scanned out from him, desperate for something to see. He was taking the first step in Beau’s direction, flexing his hands.

The minds around him were not the cesspool that his was. They were all slightly intoxicated, not one of them realizing how far the man they called Lonnie planned to go with this. They were following Lonnie’s lead blindly. He’d promised them a little fun…

One of them glanced down the street, nervous—he didn’t want to get caught harassing the boy—and gave me what I needed. I recognized the cross street he stared toward.

I flew under a red light, sliding through a space just wide enough between two cars in the moving traffic. Horns blared behind me.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it.

Lonnie moved slowly toward Beau, drawing out the suspense—the moment of terror that aroused him. He waited for Beau’s scream, preparing to savor it.

But Beau locked his jaw and braced himself. Lonnie was surprised—he’d expected the boy to try to run. Surprised and slightly disappointed. He liked to chase his prey down, the adrenaline of the hunt.

Brave, this one. Maybe better, I guess… more fight in him.

I was a block away. The monster could hear the roar of my engine now, but he paid it no attention, too intent on his victim.

I would see how he enjoyed the hunt when he was the prey. I would see what he thought of my style of hunting.

In another compartment of my head, I was already sorting through the range of tortures I’d born witness to in my vigilante days, searching for the most painful of them. He would suffer for this. He would writhe in agony. The others would merely die for their part, but the monster named Lonnie would beg for death long before I would give him that gift.

He was in the road, crossing toward Beau.

I spun sharply around the corner, my headlights washing across the scene and freezing the rest of them in place. I could have run down the leader, who leapt out of the way, but that was too easy a death for him.

I let the car spin out, swinging all the way around so that I was facing back the way I’d come and the passenger door was closest to Beau. I threw that open, and he was already running toward the car.

“Get in,” I snarled.

What the hell?

Knew this was a bad idea! Kid’s not alone.

Should I run?

Think I’m going to throw up…

Beau jumped through the open door without hesitating, pulling it shut behind him.

And then he looked up at me with the most trustful expression I had ever seen on a human face, and all my violent plans crumbled.

It took much, much less than a second for me to see that I could not leave him in the car in order to deal with the four men in the street. What would I tell him, not to watch? Ha! When did he ever do what I asked? When did he ever do the safe thing?

Would I drag them away, out of his sight, and leave him alone here? It was a long shot that another dangerous human would be prowling the streets of Port Angeles tonight, but it was a long shot that there was even the first! Like a magnet, Beau drew all things dangerous toward himself. I could not let him out of my sight.

It would feel like part of the same motion to him as I accelerated, taking him away from his pursuers so quickly that they gaped after my car with uncomprehending expressions. He would not recognize my instant of hesitation. He would assume the plan was escape from the beginning.

I couldn’t even hit the monster with my car. That would frighten Beau.

I wanted the man’s death so savagely that the need for it rang in my ears and clouded my sight and was a flavor on my tongue. My muscles were coiled with the urgency, the craving, the necessity of it. I had to kill him. I would peel him slowly apart, piece by piece, skin from muscle, muscle from bone…

Except that the boy—the only boy in the world—was clinging to his seat with both hands, staring at me, his silver eyes still wide and utterly trusting. Vengeance would have to wait.

“Put on your seatbelt,” I ordered. My voice was rough with the hate and bloodlust. Not the usual bloodlust. I would not sully myself by taking any part of that man inside me.

He locked the seatbelt into place, jumping slightly at the sound it made. That little sound made him jump, yet he did not flinch as I tore through the town, ignoring all traffic guides. I could feel his eyes on me. He seemed oddly relaxed. It didn’t make sense to me—not with what he’d just been through.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough with stress and fear.

He wanted to know if I was okay?

I thought about his question for a fraction of a second. Not long enough for him to notice the hesitation. Was I okay?

“No,” I realized, and my tone seethed with rage.

I took him to the same unused drive where I’d spent the afternoon engaged in the poorest surveillance ever kept. It was black now under the trees.

I was so furious that my body froze in place there, utterly motionless. My ice-locked hands ached to crush Beau’s attacker, to grind him into pieces so mangled that his body could never be identified…

But that would entail leaving Beau here alone, unprotected in the dark night.

“Beau?” I asked through my teeth.

“Yes?” he responded huskily. He cleared his throat.

“Are you all right?” That was really the most important thing, the first priority. Retribution was secondary. I knew that, but my body was so filled with rage that it was hard to think.

“Yes.” His voice was still thick—with fear, no doubt.

And so I could not leave him.

Even if he wasn’t at constant risk for some infuriating reason—some joke the universe was playing on me—even if I could be sure that he would be perfectly safe in my absence, I could not leave him alone in the dark.

He must be so frightened.

Yet I was in no condition to comfort him—even if I knew exactly how that was to be accomplished, which I did not. Surely he could feel the brutality radiating out of me, surely that much was obvious. I would frighten him even more if I could not calm the lust for slaughter boiling inside of me.

I needed to think about something else.

“Distract me, please,” I pleaded.

“I’m sorry, what?”

I barely had enough control to try to explain what I needed.

“Please, just talk. Talk about anything you want until I calm down,” I instructed, my jaw still locked. Only the fact that he needed me held me inside the car. I could hear the man’s thoughts, his disappointment and anger… I knew where to find him… I closed my eyes, wishing that I couldn’t see anyway…

“Um…” He hesitated—trying to make sense of my request, I imagined. “I’m going to run over Tyler Crowley tomorrow before school?”

Yes—this is what I needed. Of course Beau would come up with something unexpected. The threat of violence coming through his lips was so unexpectedly jarring it was almost comical. If I had not been burning with the urge to kill, I would have laughed.

“Why?” I barked out, to force him to speak again.

“He’s telling everyone that he’s taking me to prom,” he said, his voice filled with frustration. “Either he’s insane or he’s still trying to make up for almost killing me last…well, you were there, you remember,” he inserted dryly, “and he thinks taking me to prom is somehow the correct way to do this. So I figure if I endanger his life, then we’re even, and he can’t keep trying to make amends. I don’t need enemies and maybe’s Lauren’s brother, Logan, would back off if Tyler left me alone. I might have to total his Sentra, though,” he went on, thoughtful now. “If he doesn’t have a ride he can’t take anyone to prom…”

It was encouraging to see that he sometimes got things wrong. Tyler’s persistence had more to do with the accident. Beau didn’t seem to understand the appeal he held for the human boys at the high school. Did he not see the appeal he had for me, either?

Ah, it was working. The baffling processes of his mind were always engrossing. I was beginning to gain control of myself, to see something beyond vengeance and torture…

“I heard about that,” I told him. He had stopped talking, and I needed him to continue.

“You did?” he asked incredulously. And then his voice was more frustrated than before. “If he’s paralyzed from the neck down, he can’t go to the prom either.”

I wished there was some way I could ask him to continue with his delightfully deadpan comments. He couldn’t have picked a better way to calm me. His voice somehow managed to soothe me, even thick with frustration as it now was.

I sighed, and opened my eyes.

“Better?” he asked timidly.

“Not really.”

I leaned my head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling of the car, willing my face to relax without much success.

No, I was calmer, but not better. Because I’d just realized that I could not kill the monster named Lonnie, and I still wanted that more than anything else in the world. Almost.

The only thing in this moment that I wanted more than to commit a highly justifiable murder, was this boy. And, though I couldn’t have him, just the dream of having him made it impossible for me to go on a killing spree tonight—no matter how defensible such a thing might be.

Beau deserved better than a killer.

I’d spent eight decades trying to be something other than that—anything than a killer. Those years of effort could never make me worthy of the boy sitting beside me. And yet, I felt that if I returned to that life—the life of a killer—for even one night, I would surely put him out of my reach forever. Even if I didn’t drink his attacker’s blood—even if I didn’t have that evidence blazing red in my eyes—wouldn’t he sense the difference?

I was trying to be good enough for him. It was an impossible goal. I would keep trying.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

His breath filled my nose, and I was reminded why I could not deserve him. After all of this, even with as much as I loved him… he still made my mouth water.

I felt a new wave of self-loathing wash over me. I couldn’t bring myself to speak, I didn’t deserve to speak to him. I was a monster. I continued to stare at the ceiling, despising myself.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, I felt his warm hand rest gently on my arm. If my heart could beat, it might have exploded out of my chest. My eyes snapped to his face, he was looking down at my arm. When he looked up to face me, his expression was gentle and concerned.

“Edward, what’s wrong?” He asked again. Hearing my name, the way he said it, with such tenderness was like a soothing balm to the core of my very being.

I could not keep anything from him. I would give him as much honestly as I could. I owed him that.

“Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Beau.” I stared into the depths of his beautiful eyes, wishing both that he would hear the horror inherent in my words and also that he would not. Mostly that he would not. Run, Beau, run. Stay, Beau, stay. “But it wouldn’t be helpful for me to turn around and hunt down those…” Just thinking about it almost pulled me from the car. I took a deep breath, letting his scent scorch down my throat. “At least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” he said softly, soothingly.

“I shouldn’t go back to those…” I struggled with the word, “Those thugs.”

Even I was unsure if I had made a statement or asked a question. Perhaps it was somewhere in the middle.

“Um, no.”

I took a deep burning breath, letting it out in a long, slow sigh.

Beau said nothing else. How much had he heard in my words? I glanced at him furtively, but his face was unreadable. Blank with shock, perhaps. Well, he wasn’t screaming. Not yet.

It was quiet for a moment. I warred with myself, trying to be what I should be. What I couldn’t be.

“Jessica and Angela will be worried,” he said quietly. His voice was very calm, and I was not sure how that could be. Was he in shock? Maybe tonight’s events hadn’t sunk in for him yet. “I was supposed to meet them.”

Did he want to be away from me?  Or was he just worried about his friends’ worry?

He slowly removed his hand from my arm. I tried not to think that meant he wanted to be away from me. I said nothing, but I started the car and took him back. Every inch closer I got to the town, the harder it was to hold on to my purpose. I was just so close to the monster…

If it was impossible—if I could never have nor deserve Beau—then where was the sense in letting the man go unpunished? Surely I could allow myself that much…

No. I wasn’t giving up. Not yet. I wanted him too much to surrender.

We were at the restaurant where he was supposed to meet his friends before I’d even begun to make sense of my thoughts. Jessica and Angela were finished eating, and both now truly worried about Beau. They were on their way to search for him, heading off along the dark street.

“How did you know where…?” Beau’s unfinished questioned interrupted me, and I realized that I had made yet another gaffe. I’d been too distracted to remember to ask him where he was supposed to meet his friends.

But instead of finishing the inquiry and pressing the point, he just shook his head and half-smiled.

What did that mean?

Well, I didn’t have time to puzzle over his strange acceptance of my stranger knowledge. I opened my door.

“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding startled.

Not letting you out of my sight. Not allowing myself to be alone tonight. In that order. “I’m taking you to dinner.”

Well this should be interesting. It seemed like another night entirely when I’d imagined bringing Alice along and pretending to choose the same restaurant as Beau and his friends by accident. And now, here I was, practically on a date with the boy. Only it didn’t count, because I wasn’t even giving him a chance to say no.

He already had his door half open before I’d walked around the car—it wasn’t usually so frustrating to have to move at an inconspicuous speed—instead of waiting for me to get it for him. Was this because he wasn’t used to being treated so well, or because he didn’t think of me as a gentleman?

I waited for him to join me, getting more anxious as his girlfriends continued in toward the dark corner.

“Go stop Jessica and Angela before I have to track them down, too,” I ordered quickly. “I don’t think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friends again.” No, I would not be strong enough for that.

He shuddered, and then quickly collected himself. He took a half step after them, calling, “Jess! Angela!” in a loud voice. They turned, and he waved his arm over his head to catch their attention.

Beau! Oh, he’s safe! Angela thought with relief.

Oh, my god, I’m going to kick his butt for scaring me like that. Jessica grumbled to herself with acute relief that Beau wasn’t lost or hurt. That made me like her a little more than I had.

They hurried back, and then stopped, shocked, when they saw me beside him.

Oh. My. God. Jess thought, stunned. No freaking way!

Edward Cullen? Did Beau go away by himself to find him? But why would he ask about them being out of town if he knew he was here… I got a brief flash of Beau’s mortified expression when he’d asked Angela if my family was often absent from school. No, he couldn’t have known, Angela decided.

Jessica’s thoughts were moving past the surprise and on to excitement. Beau’s been holding out on me.

“Where have you been?” She demanded, staring at Beau, her voice full of concern.

“I got lost. And then I ran into Edward,” Beau said, waving one hand toward me. His tone was remarkably normal. Like that was truly all that had happened.

He must be in shock. That was the only explanation for his calm.

“Would it be all right if I joined you?” I asked—to be polite; I knew that they’d already eaten.

Holy crap but he’s hot! Jessica thought, her head suddenly slightly incoherent.

Angela wasn’t much more composed. Wish we hadn’t eaten. Wow. Just. Wow.

Now why couldn’t I do that to Beau?

“Er… Sure,” Jessica agreed.

Angela frowned. “Um, actually, Beau, we already ate while we were waiting,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”

What? Shut up! Jessica complained internally.

Beau shrugged casually. So at ease. Definitely in shock. “That’s fine—I’m not hungry.”

“I think you should eat something,” I disagreed. He needed sugar in his bloodstream—though it smelled sweet enough as it was, I thought wryly. The horror was going to come crashing down on him momentarily, and an empty stomach wouldn’t help. He was an easy fainter, as I knew from experience.

These girls wouldn’t be in any danger if they went straight home. Danger didn’t stalk their every step.

And I’d rather be alone with Beau—as long as he was willing to be alone with me.

“Do you mind if I drive Beau home tonight?” I said to Jessica before Beau could respond. “That way you won’t have to wait while he eats.”

“Oh, wow, that’s… so thoughtful.” Jessica bit her lip, trying to read Beau’s face, looking for some sign that this was what he wanted.

Ooh, I bet Beau wants to be alone with him. I mean, who wouldn’t? Jessica thought. At the same time, she watched Beau wink.

Beau winked.

“Okay,” Angela said quickly, in a hurry to be out of the way if that was what Beau wanted. And it seemed that he did want that. “See you tomorrow, Beau… Edward.” She struggled to say my name in a casual tone. Then she grabbed Jessica’s hand and began towing her away.

I would have to find a way to thank Angela for this.

Jessica’s car was close by and in a bright circle of light cast by a streetlamp. Beau watched them carefully, a little crease of concern between his eyes, until they were in the car, so he must be fully aware of the danger he’d been in. Jessica waved as she drove away, and Beau waved back. It wasn’t until the car disappeared that he took a deep breath and turned to look up at me.

“Honestly, I’m not hungry,” he said.

Why had he waited for them to be gone before speaking? Did he truly want to be alone with me—even now, after witnessing my homicidal rage?

Whether that was the case or not, he was going to eat something.

“Humor me,” I said.

I held the restaurant door open for him and waited.

He sighed, and walked through.

I walked beside him to the podium where the hostess waited. Beau still seemed entirely self-possessed. I wanted to touch his hand, his forehead, to check his temperature. But my cold hand would repulse him, as it had before.

Oh, my, the hostess’s rather loud mental voice intruded into my consciousness. My, oh my.

It seemed to be my night to turn heads. Or was I only noticing it more because I wished so much that Beau would see me this way? We were always attractive to our prey. I’d never thought so much about it before. Usually—unless, as with people like Shelly Cope and Jessica Stanley, there was constant repetition to dull the horror—the fear kicked in fairly quickly after the initial reaction…

“A table for two?” I prompted when the hostess didn’t speak.

“Oh, er, yes. Welcome to La Bella Italia.” Mmm! What a voice! “Please follow me.” Her thoughts were preoccupied—calculating.

Maybe they’re cousins. They couldn’t be brothers, they don’t look anything alike. But family definitely. They can’t be here on a date.

Human eyes were clouded; they saw nothing clearly. How could this small-minded woman find my physical lures—snares for prey—so attractive, and yet be unable to see the soft perfection of the boy beside me?

Well, no need to help him out, just in case, the hostess thought as she led us to a family-sized table in the middle of the most crowded part of the restaurant. Can I give him my number while he’s there…? She mused.

I pulled a bill from my back pocket. People were invariably more cooperative when money was involved.

Beau was already taking the seat the hostess indicated without objection. I shook my head at him, and he hesitated, cocking his head to one side with curiosity. Yes, he would be very curious tonight. A crowd was not the ideal place for this conversation.

“Perhaps something more private?” I requested of the hostess, handing her the money. Her eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed while her hand curled around the tip.

“Sure.”

She peeked at the bill while she led us around a dividing wall.

Fifty dollars for a better table? Rich, too. That makes sense—I bet his jacket cost more than my last paycheck. Damn. Why are all the good ones into guys?

She offered us a booth in a quiet corner of the restaurant where no one would be able to see us—to see Beau’s reactions to whatever I would tell him. I had no clue as to what he would want from me tonight. Or what I would give him.

How much had he guessed? What explanation of tonight’s events had he told himself?

“How’s this?” the hostess asked.

“Perfect,” I told her and, feeling slightly annoyed by her resentful attitude toward Beau, I smiled widely at her, baring my teeth. Let her see me clearly.

Whoa. “Um… your server will be right out.” He can’t be real. I must be asleep. Damn. I’ve got to tell Adam about him. If I’m not his type, maybe Adam’ll get lucky… She wandered away, listing slightly to the side.

Odd. She still wasn’t frightened. I suddenly remembered Emmett teasing me in the cafeteria, so many weeks ago. I’ll bet I could have scared him better than that.

Was I losing my edge?

“You really shouldn’t do that to people,” Beau interrupted my thoughts in a disapproving tone. “It’s hardly fair.”

I stared at his critical expression. What did he mean? I hadn’t frightened the hostess at all, despite my intentions. “Do what?”

“Dazzle them like that—she’s probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now.”

Hmm. Beau was very nearly right. The hostess was only semi-coherent at the moment, describing her incorrect assessment of me to her friend on the wait staff.

“Oh, come on,” Beau chided me when I didn’t answer immediately. “You have to know the effect you have on people.”

“I dazzle people?” That was an interesting way of phrasing it. Accurate enough for tonight. I wondered why the difference…

“You know you do,” he said, still critical. “So I don’t know why you’re acting surprised.”

I grinned at his tone.

“Do I dazzle you?” I voiced my curiosity impulsively, and then the words were out, and it was too late to recall them.

But before I had time to too deeply regret speaking the words aloud he answered, “Maybe.” And his cheeks took on a faint pink glow.

My silent heart swelled with a hope more intense than I could ever remember having felt before.

“Hello,” someone said, the server, introducing himself. His thoughts were loud, and more explicit than the hostess’s, but I tuned him out. I stared at Beau’s face instead of listening, watching the blood spreading under his skin, noticing not how that made my throat flame, but rather how it brightened his fair face, how it set off the cream of his skin…

The server was waiting for something from me. Ah, he’d asked for our drink order. I continued to stare at Beau, and the server grudgingly turned to look at him, too.

“I’ll have a coke?” Beau said, as if asking for approval.

“Two cokes,” I amended. Thirst—normal, human thirst—was a sign of shock. I would make sure he had the extra sugar from the soda in his system.

He looked healthy, though. More than healthy. He looked radiant.

“What?” He asked—wondering why I was staring, I guessed. I was vaguely aware that the server had left.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

He blinked, surprised by my question. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t feel dizzy, sick, cold…?”

He was even more confused now. “Should I?”

“Well, I’m actually waiting for you to go into shock.” I half-smiled, expecting his denial. He would not want to be taken care of.

It took him a minute to answer me. His eyes were slightly unfocused. He looked that way sometimes, when I smiled at him. Was he… dazzled?

I would love to believe that.

“I don’t think that will happen. I’ve always been very good at repressing things,” he answered, a little breathless.

Did he have a lot of practice repressing things, then? Was his life always this hazardous?

“Just the same,” I told him. “I’ll feel better when you have some sugar and food in you.”

The server returned with the cokes and a basket of bread. He put them in front of me, and asked for my order, trying to catch my eye in the process. I indicated that he should attend to Beau, and then went back to tuning him out. He had a vulgar mind.

“Um…” Beau glanced quickly at the menu. “I’ll have the mushroom ravioli.”

The server turned back to me eagerly. “And you?”

“Nothing for me.”

Beau made a slight face. Hmm. He must have noticed that I never ate food. He noticed everything. And I always forgot to be careful around him.

I waited till we were alone again.

“You should drink,” I insisted.

I was surprised when he complied immediately and without objection. He drank until the glass was entirely empty, so I pushed the second coke toward him, frowning a little. Thirst, or shock?

“No, I’m fine.” He shook his head slightly.

“I’m not going to drink it,” I said, fighting a smile

“Right,” he said, because he knew I wouldn’t drink it. He saw too much. “Thank you,” he breathed after downing the entire glass. He shuddered once.

“Are you cold?”

“It’s just the coke,” he said, but he shivered again, his lips trembling slightly as if his teeth were about to chatter.

The deep blue shirt he wore looked too thin to protect him adequately; it clung to him like a second skin, almost as fragile as the first. The deep V-cut of the collar exposing his ivory chest… I refocused my thoughts. “Don’t you have a jacket?”

“Yes.” He looked around himself, a little perplexed. “Oh—I left it in Jessica’s car.”

I pulled off my jacket, wishing that the gesture was not marred by my body temperature. It would have been nice to have been able to offer him a warm coat. He stared at me, his cheeks warming again. What was he thinking now?

I handed him the jacket across the table, and he put it on at once, and then shuddered again.

Yes, it would be very nice to be warm.

“Thank you,” he said. He took a deep breath, and then pushed the too-long sleeves back to free his hands. He took another deep breath.

Was the evening finally settling in? His color was still good; his skin was cream and roses against the deep blue of his shirt. My eyes wandered down his jaw, following the line of his neck, along his collarbone, and down his lean chest…

“That color blue looks wonderful with your skin,” I complimented him. Just being honest.

He flushed, enhancing the effect.

He looked well, but there was no point in taking chances. I pushed the basket of bread toward him.

“Really,” he objected, guessing my motives. “I’m not going into shock.”

“Humor me?” I smiled at him.

He rolled his eyes, picking up a breadstick.

I laughed. “Good boy.”

“Don’t push your luck,” He narrowed his eyes at me.

“I don’t know how you can be so blasé about this. You should be upset—anyone else would be. You don’t even look shaken.” I stared at him, disapproving, wondering why he couldn’t be normal and then wondering if I really wanted him to be that way.

“I feel safe with you,” he said, his eyes, again, filled with trust. Trust I didn’t deserve.

His instincts were all wrong—backwards. That must be the problem. He didn’t recognize the danger the way a human being should be able to. He had the opposite reaction. Instead of running, he lingered, drawn to what should frighten him…

How could I protect him from myself when neither of us wanted that?

“This is more complicated than I’d planned,” I murmured.

I could see him turning my words over in his head, and I wondered what he made of them. He took a bit out of the breadstick without seeming fully aware of the action. He chewed for a moment, and then leaned his head to one side thoughtfully.

“Usually you’re in a better mood when your eyes are so light,” he said in a casual tone.

His observation, stated so matter of factually, left me reeling. “What?”

“You’re always crabbier when your eyes are black—I expect it then. I have a theory about that.”

So he had come up with his own explanation. Of course he had. I felt a deep sense of dread as I wondered how close he’d come to the truth.

“More theories?”

“Mm-hm.” He chewed on another bite, entirely nonchalant. As if he weren’t discussing the aspects of a monster with the monster himself.

“I hope you were more creative this time…” I lied when he didn’t continue. What I really hoped was that he was wrong—miles wide off the mark. “Or are you still stealing from comic books?”

“Well, no, I didn’t get it from a comic book,” he said, a little embarrassed. “but I didn’t come up with it on my own, either.”

“And?” I asked between my teeth.

Surely he would not speak so calmly if he were about to scream.

As he hesitated, biting his lip, the server reappeared with Beau’s food. I paid the server little attention as he set the plate in front of Beau and then asked if I wanted anything.

I declined, but asked for more coke. The server hadn’t noticed the empty glasses. He took them and left.

“You were saying?” I prompted anxiously as soon as we were alone again.

“I’ll tell you about it in the car,” he said in a low voice. Ah, this would be bad. He wasn’t willing to speak his guesses around others. “If…” he tacked on suddenly.

“There are conditions?” I was so tense I wasn’t sure how my tone sounded.

“I do have a few questions, of course.”

“Of course,” I agreed, my voice hard.

His questions would probably be enough to tell me where his thoughts were heading. But how would I answer them? With responsible lies? Or would I drive him away with the truth? Or would I say nothing, unable to decide?

We sat in silence while the server replenished his supply of soda.

“Well, go ahead,” I said, jaw locked, when the server was gone.

“Why are you in Port Angeles?”

That was too easy a question—for him. It gave nothing away, while my answer, if truthful, would give away too much. Let him reveal something first.

“Next,” I said.

“But that’s the easiest one!”

“Next,” I said again.

He was frustrated by my refusal. He rolled his eyes, and looked away from me. He unrolled his silverware and picked up his fork, looking down at his food. Slowly, thinking hard, he took a bite and chewed with deliberation. He washed it down with more coke, and then finally looked up at me. His eyes were narrow with suspicion.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s say, hypothetically, of course, that… someone… could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know—with just a few exceptions.”

It could be worse.

This explained that little half-smile in the car. He was quick—no one else had ever guessed this about me. Except for Carlisle, and it had been rather obvious then, in the beginning, when I’d answered all his thoughts as if he’d spoken them to me. He’d understood before I had…

This question wasn’t so bad. While it was clear that he knew that there was something wrong with me, was not as serious as it could have been. Mind-reading was, after all, not a facet of the vampire cannon. I went along with his hypothesis.

“Just one exception,” I corrected. “Hypothetically.”

He fought a smile—my vague honestly pleased him. “All right, with one exception, then. How does that work? What are the limitations? How would… that someone… find something else at exactly the right time? How would he know that he was in trouble?”

“Hypothetically?”

“Sure.” His lips twitched, and his liquid silver eyes were eager.

“Well,” I hesitated. “If… that someone…”

“Let’s call him ‘Joe,’” he suggested, a wry smile on his lips.

I had to smile at his enthusiasm. Did he really think the truth would be a good thing? If my secrets were pleasant, why would I keep them from him?

“Joe, then,” I agreed. “If Joe had been paying attention, the timing wouldn’t have needed to be quite so exact.” I shook my head and repressed a shudder at the thought of how close I had been to being too late today. Even then, I had to roll my eyes at the situation. “Only you could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devastated their crime rate statistics for a decade, you know.”

“I don’t see how this is my fault.” His voice was sharply disapproving. His lips turned down at the corners.

I examined his face, frustrated that I had upset him. “I don’t either.” I admitted. “But I don’t know who to blame.” Who could I blame for his extraordinary bad luck?

“Don’t blame me then, I don’t appreciate it.” He said, pointedly.

His lips, his skin… they looked so soft. I wanted to touch them. I wanted to press my fingertip against the corner of his frown and turn it up. Impossible. My skin would be repellent to him.

“My apologies.” I said softly. I regretted upsetting him.

He leaned across the table toward me, all irritation suddenly gone from his wide eyes.

“How did you know?” he asked, his voice low and intense.

Should I tell him the truth? And, if so, what portion?

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to deserve the trust I could still see on his face.

“You can trust me, you know,” he whispered, and he reached one hand forward as if to touch my hands where they rested on top of the empty table before me.

A part of me craved his touch, but I still pulled them back—hating the thought of his reaction to my frigid stone skin—and he pulled his own hand back.

“I want to trust you.” My voice was low, soft. “But that doesn’t mean I should.”

I knew that I could trust him with protecting me secrets; he was entirely trustworthy, good to the core. But I couldn’t trust him not to be horrified by them. He should be horrified. The truth was horror.

“Please?” His voice was gentle and soothing again.

I read his eyes; though his mind was silent, I could perceive both trust and wonder there. I realized in that moment that I wanted to answer his questions. Not because I owed it to him. Not because I wanted him to trust me.

I wanted him to know me.

“I followed you to Port Angeles,” I told him, the words spilling out too quickly for me to edit them. I knew the danger of the truth, the risk I was taking. At any moment, his unnatural calm could shatter into hysterics. Contrarily, knowing this only had me talking faster. “I’ve never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it’s much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that’s probably just because you are a magnet for trouble.”

I watched him, waiting.

He smiled. His lips curved up at the edges, and his silver eyes warmed.

I’d just admitted to stalking him, and he was smiling.

“A runaway van and a group of drunk thugs hardly makes me a magnet for trouble.” He countered. I didn’t know what to say so I remained silent. He seemed to reflect for moment before speaking again. He examined my face carefully, and his own turned serious again.

“You put yourself into that category, then? Of trouble?” he asked, softly.

Honestly was more important in regard to this question than any other. “Unequivocally.”

His eyes narrowed slightly—not suspicious now, but oddly concerned. He reached his hand across the table again, slowly and deliberately. I pulled my hands an inch away from him, but he ignored that, determined to touch me. I held my breath—not because of his scent now, but because of the sudden overwhelming tension. Fear. My skin would disgust him. He would run away.

He brushed his fingertips lightly across the back of my hand. The heat of his gentle, willing touch was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was almost pure pleasure.

A half-smile turned up the corners of his lips.

“Thank you,” he said, meeting my stare with an intense gaze of his own. “That’s twice now.”

His soft fingers lingered on my hand as if they found it pleasant to be there.

I answered as casually as I was able. “Let’s not try for three, agreed?”

He narrowed his eyes, but he was still smiling.

“Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and that you’ve been interfering with face?” he asked.

I felt my body tense.

“Edward?”

“That wasn’t the first time,” I said, staring down at the dark maroon table cloth, my shoulders bowed in shame. My barriers were down, the truth spilling free recklessly, like his touch somehow had some power over me to compel the truth out me. “Your number was up the first time I met you.”

It was true, and it angered me. I had been positioned over his life like the blade of a guillotine. It was as if he had been marked for death by some cruel, unjust fate, and, since I’d proved an unwilling tool—that same fate continued to try to execute him. I imagined the fate personified—a grisly, jealous hag, a vengeful harpy.

I wanted something, someone, to be responsible for this—so that I would have something concrete to fight against. Something, anything to destroy, so that Beau could be safe.

Beau was very quiet; his breathing accelerated.

I looked up at him, knowing I would finally see the fear I was waiting for. Had I not just admitted to how close I’d been to killing him? Closer than the van that had come within slim inches of crushing him. And yet, his face was still calm, his eyes still tightened only with concern, and his warm hand still lingered on my own.

“You remember?” He had to remember that. “You understand?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice level and grave. His deep eyes were full of awareness.

He knew. He knew that I had wanted to murder him.

Where were the screams?

“You can leave, you know,” the words were like knives. It was the exact opposite of what I wanted, and yet, I had to be strong enough to allow him this chance to escape me. “You could take my car and drive home.”

I waited while he considered my offer. I wanted him to run. I wanted him to escape me, to be safe from me. And yet, I knew if he did leave it would destroy me. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to love me.

“I don’t want to leave.”

My emotions warred with each other. My elation at his choosing to stay, choosing to stay with me, and yet the keen frustration that he would so willingly put himself in danger.

Hopelessly, I pushed one more time at the barrier that protected his thoughts, desperate to understand. It made no logical sense to me. How could he even care about the rest with that glaring truth on the table.

“How can you say that?” I felt helpless, having to voice my question out loud.

He didn’t answer, he simply sat and watched me. Then his hand squeezed mine. I felt a thrill of fear that he would be repulsed this time. My hand was unyielding stone under his… and yet, he didn’t so much as flinch. His hand stayed wrapped around mine. His eyes continued to watch my face. He wanted to stay. He would stay with me.

I didn’t know what to think of any of it. I used to be so sure of everything. I used to know what I was doing. I used to be always so sure of my course. And now everything was chaos and tumult.

Yet, I wouldn’t trade it. I didn’t want the life that made sense. Not if the chaos meant that I could be with Beau.

“You didn’t finish answering my question,” he said suddenly, pulling me from my reverie. “How did you find me?”

He waited, only curious. His skin was pale, which was natural for him, but it still concerned me. His dinner sat nearly untouched in front of him. If I continued to tell him too much, he was going to need a buffer when the shock wore off.

I named my terms. “You eat, I’ll talk.”

He processed that for half a second, and then slowly removed his hand from mine. I ached for the exquisiteness of his touch almost as soon as his hands had left. He picked up his fork and threw a bite of food into his mouth with a speed that belied his calm and popped it in his mouth.

“It’s harder than it should be—keeping track of you,” I told him. “Usually I can find someone very easily, once I’ve heard their mind before.”

I watched his face carefully as I said this. Guessing right was one thing, having it confirmed was another.

He was motionless, his eyes wide. I felt my teeth clench together as I waited for his panic.

But he just blinked once, swallowed loudly, and then quickly scooped another bite into his mouth. He wanted me to continue.

“I was keeping tabs on Jessica, not carefully—I honestly didn’t think you’d find trouble in Port Angeles—“ I couldn’t resist adding that. Did he realize that other human lives were not so plagued with near death experiences, or did he think he was normal? He was the furthest thing from normal I’d ever encountered.

“And at first I didn’t notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren’t with her anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell that you hadn’t gone in, and that you’d gone south… and I knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street— to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried… but I was strangely anxious.…” My breath came faster as I remembered that feeling of panic. His scent blazed in my throat and I was glad. It was a pain that meant he was alive. As long as I burned, he was safe.

“I started to drive in circles, still…   listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then—”

As the memory took me—perfectly clear and vivid as if I was in the moment again—I felt the same murderous fury wash through my body, locking it into ice.

I wanted that monster, Lonnie, dead. I needed him dead. My jaw clenched tight as I concentrated on holding myself here at the table. Beau still needed me. That was what mattered.

“Then what?” he whispered, his silver eyes wide.

“I heard what they were thinking,” I said through my teeth, unable to keep the words from coming out in a growl. “I saw your face in his mind.”

I could hardly resist the urge to kill. I still knew precisely where to find him. His black thoughts sucked at the night sky, pulling me toward them…

I covered my face, knowing my expression was that of a monster, a hunter, a killer. I fixed his image behind my closed eyes to control myself, focusing only on his face. The delicate framework of his bones, the thin sheath of his pale skin—like silk stretched over glass, incredibly soft and easy to shatter. He was too vulnerable for this world. He needed a protector. And, through some twisted mismanagement of destiny, I was the closet thing available.

I tried to explain my violent reaction so that he would understand.

“It was very… hard—you can’t imagine how hard—for me to simply take you away, and leave them… alive,” I whispered. “I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them.”

For the second time tonight, I confessed to murder. At least this one was defensible.

He was quiet as I struggled to control myself. I listened to his heartbeat. The rhythm was irregular, but it slowed as the time passed until it was steady again. His breathing, too, was low and even.

I was too close to the edge. I needed to get him home before…

Would I kill that low-life, then? Would I become a murderer again when Beau trusted me? Was there any way to stop myself?

He’d promised to tell me his latest theory when we were alone. Did I want to hear it? I was anxious for it, but would the reward for my curiosity be worse than not knowing?

At any rate, he must have had enough truth for one night.

I looked at him again, and his face was paler than before, but composed.

“Are you ready to go home?” I asked.

“I’m ready to leave,” he said, choosing his words carefully, as if a simple ‘yes’ did not fully express what he wanted to say.

Frustrating.

The server returned. He’d heard Beau’s last statement as he’d dithered on the other side of the partition, wondering what more he could offer me. I wanted to roll my eyes at some of the offerings he had in mind.

“How are we doing?” he asked me.

“We’re ready for the check, thank you,” I told him, my eyes on Beau.

The server’s breathing spiked and he was momentarily—to use Beau’s phrasing—dazzled by my voice.

In a sudden moment of perception, hearing the way my voice sounded in this inconsequential human’s head, I realized why I seemed to be attracting so much admiration tonight—unmarred by the usual fear.

It was because of Beau. Trying so hard to be safe for him, to be less frightening, to be human, I truly had lost my edge. The other humans only saw beauty now, with my innate horror so carefully under control.

I looked up at the server, waiting for him to recover himself. It was sort of humorous, now that I understood the reason.

“S-sure,” he stuttered. “Here you go.”

He handed me the folder with the bill, thinking of the card he’d slid in behind the receipt. A card with his name and phone number on it.

Yes, it was rather funny.

I had money ready again. I gave the folder back at once, so he wouldn’t waste any time waiting for a call that would never come.

“No change,” I told him, hoping the size of the tip would assuage his disappointment.

I stood, and Beau quickly followed suit. I wanted to offer him my hand, but I thought that might be pushing my luck a little too far for one night. I thanked the server, my eyes never leaving Beau’s face. Beau seemed to be finding something amusing, too.

We walked out; I walked as close beside him as I dared. Close enough that the warmth coming off his body was like a physical touch against the left side of my body. As I held the door open for him, he sighed quietly, and I wondered what regret made him sad. I stared into his eyes, about to ask, when he suddenly looked at the ground, seeming embarrassed. It made me more curious, even as it made me reluctant to ask. The silence between us continued while I opened the door for him and then got into the car.

I turned the heater on—the warmer weather had come to an abrupt end; the cold car must be uncomfortable for him. He huddled in my jacket, a small smile on his lips.

I waited postponing conversation until the lights of the boardwalk faded. It made me feel more alone with him.

Was that the right thing? Now that I was focused only on him, the car seemed very small. His scent swirled through it with the current of the heater, building and strengthening. It grew into its own force, like another entity in the car. A presence that demanded recognition.

It had that; I burned. The burning was acceptable, though. It seemed strangely appropriate to me. I had been given so much tonight—more than I’d expected. And here he was, still willingly at my side. I owed something in return for that. A sacrifice. A burnt offering.

Now if I could just keep it to that; just burn, and nothing more. But the venom filled my mouth, and my muscles tensed in anticipation, as if I were hunting…

I had to keep such thoughts from my mind. And I knew that would distract me.

“Now,” I said to him, fear of his response taking the edge off the burn. “It’s your turn.”

#Midnight Sun #Midnight Sun Revamped #4.9 #Edward Cullen #Beau Swan #The Twilight Saga #The Twilight Saga Revamped #AO3 #ao3 link #ao3 update