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sandbees · 3 years

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Yuu and the House of Mouse; The...Great Seven?

It’s been three weeks since Yuu has worked at the House of Mouse.

Headmaster Crowley decided that going would be a great experience! He graciously gave you permission to work there! (Just don’t forget to do your homework and get a good rest after; he doesn’t want you to be lagging behind your classes after all!)

At the House of Mouse, you eventually learned the ins and outs; and you’ve gained everyone’s attention. They like you a lot! You have this, “If I talk to you about my problems you’ll listen kindly and either give me advice or continue to let me vent out my feelings” vibe.

Being a (sort of) therapist must have helped, huh?

You yourself have a few favorite guests that you can always look forward to seeing;

Tiana and Naveen: You hit it off when you first met. Something about their dynamic and allowing you to vent about back at Twisted Wonderland gave you good vibes about them. They’re polite guests, and they have given you advice on how to improve your work. Tiana has (once) invited you to work for them if you wanted to work at another job, but you tell them that you have school. They’re immediately concerned, because someone going to school working at a job with very demanding and colorful characters? You assure them that you’ve manage to balance school and work, however they seem less than convinced. Though nothing big changed, they occasionally remind you to take breaks and to have fun watching the cartoons on screen when you’re not busy waiting tables. (They also give you candy from their time! Butterfingers, anyone?)

Hades: He’s a frequent guest at the House of Mouse. You had lent an ear to his complaints, and then again, and then again, and soon enough you’re his personal therapist. You’re the go-to waiter whenever Hades shows up; much to the delight of the staff (The penguin waiters are...a little scared of Hades). It’s surprising how little he seems to reflect Ignihyde. He’s like a shut in extrovert. However, when you tell Hades this, he becomes very interested in your world. He’ll let you ramble about what you know about Twisted Wonderland, and he’s going to make smug comments about it. After that encounter, Hades starts conversations with you that isn’t just complaining about his siblings. In fact, he’s one of your pep talkers when you’re feeling stressed or down.

The Darling Siblings: If you don’t recognize them, they’re the siblings from Peter Pan! (Wendy, John, and Michael) When you first met them, they acted very polite. And they gave “children, protect them” vibes. As you continue to work, you discover that the children had a more playful side to them. You could easily joke with them and in exchange Wendy would tell you stories or John and Michael would tell you about their recent adventures.

Scrooge McDuck: Donald introduced him to you, actually. He mentioned, “Since you sound like you’ve been on a lot of adventures, I think you might like to share stories.” How right he was. Scrooge’s stories were captivating and enchanting, you’d always be on the edge of your seat hearing them. Whenever he swung by and you were on break, you two would be swapping stories of your lives. He was most interested in your first day story; about the magical chandelier specifically. You always look forward to a new story he would have.

Of course there were others, but the ones listed above were the people you loved seeing.

Today was a typical night in the House of Mouse, though everyone seemed...a little agitated?

You ask Mickey, and he explains that there was a reservation for a villain get together...and last time, it went poorly.

You offer to serve them as a waiter, since you’re sure that you can handle it.

“Are you sure?” “I’ve dealt with worse characters...I think. By the way, can I get the list of who’s going?”

You find out Hades was the one who reserved it (oh thank goodness, someone you’re already familiar with. And he likes you)

He’s also bringing - “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” “The Queen of Hearts, Scar, Ursula, Jafar, The Evil Queen, and Maleficent.” “I-“

Imagine your shock when you find out Hades is bringing all of the Great Seven. You’ve already met Maleficent, but someone like the Queen of Hearts, or the Beautiful Queen??? You’re ready to walk to your doom right now.

When the doors open, you go about your night as usual, though your on edge as you anxiously wait for the Great Seven to arrive. This would be the first time you would be interacting with most of them.

When they arrive, you greet them and take them to their table, doing normal procedure.

However, things go south when Hades asks Yuu to come and have a chat with them when they go on break.

“yeAH suuurrreee-“ “Great! They have a lot of questions and I think they’d like to hear what you have to say!”

Yuu is making high pitch dying screams when she gets to the kitchen.

“Oohhhh my god, they want to talk to me. What if I mess up? What if they dislike me and then try to kill me? Oh no oh no-“

Yuu is trying not to scream in excitement and stress as Mickey excuses her to talk with the Great Seven.

The meeting? It goes well.

When they ask about their world, Yuu describes their time at NRC, and how the villains were praised as good people, and were known as the “Great Seven”.

They were very intrigued about this, and would always puff up when Yuu praised them. They also ask questions about Yuu as well!

What? They’re villains, but they’re not rude.

They listen to your tales, and are sympathetic to the idiots that you surround yourself with. They get it, they are also surrounded by idiotic, self centered heroes who think they’re in the right- (projecting much?)

The Queen of Hearts is a lot more than you expected; she’s strict, but she also has good humor (as long as you don’t mock her). When you ask what kind of tarts she likes, she responded with “Any kind of tart, however jam filled tarts are one of my favorites.”. You wonder if she’d like the tarts Trey would make.

Scar...isn’t talkative, though he seems very pleased when you talk about what NRC thinks of him. He’s actually kinder to you - you’ve heard stories from Goofy and the penguins waiters that Scar is hard to please.

Ursula is what you would call a sweet talker. Kind of like Hades, but you can tell that she wants something. You indulge her, answering any questions about your world. She seems particularly interested in the rivalry between NCR and RSA, however.

Jafar wants to know everything about Scarabia. From it’s current standing to it’s history. You try your best to explain as much as you know about the dorm; but you mention that your information is limited since it wasn’t your dorm. He’s satisfied with what you give, but Jafar tells you that next time, he’d like to know more. You better go study up on Scarabia now :) (Or ask Kalim or Jamil about Scarabia)

The Beautiful (Evil?) Queen acts smug, and she seems relaxed around your presence. Maybe it’s because you told her that she’s known as the Beautiful Queen? She wants to know who is housed in her dorm, and like Jafar, she wants to know everything about Pomfiore. When she heard about the VDC, she asks multiple questions about it. (“When the VDC comes around, maybe I shall grace everyone with my presence...hmm, or should I help NRC’s team? I mean, they would represent me, of course.”

I’ve actually mentioned that you have met Hades and Maleficent in this ask

Hades and Maleficent consider you as friends (maybe not close friends, but friends nonetheless)

The rest of the Great Seven also have positive opinions on you; and they try their best to live up to your expectations! They can’t have you turn your back on them after you openly praise them!

You’re dragged away from your job - instead you focus on entertaining the Great Seven! (Which was fine, Pete was at it again by trying to drive out the guests; you kept the Great Seven in so they could still run the show!)

As the night went on, you felt yourself getting less and less nervous about being with the Great Seven. You had loads of fun!

Of course the show ended sooner than you liked; and it was closing time.

“It was really wonderful to meet you! Maybe we’ll see each other again when the House of Mouse opens again?”

“Why would we wait for nighttime? I have a magic portal to travel to Twisted Wonderland whenever we’d like.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Turns out Maleficent had an easier way to travel to Twisted Wonderland; but she gave you a sparkling gem. She told you that when she gave everyone (The Great Seven) a way to travel to Twisted Wonderland, they’d surely visit you. With the gem, it will sparkle and shine a certain color when they do.

The color? Well, of course it would be the dorm colors! It would be easier that way, would it not?

So, in the near future, the Great Seven would be able to visit you.

What do you think? You’re not against the idea; but the idea of one of them showing up during class is going to be a nightmare.

Oh well, future you will worry about that.

You thank Maleficent and go about returning to your world.

Before you get to the mirror, Mickey stops you.

“Hey, I just wanted to thank you for making sure the villains stay, it was a lifesaver and you saved our show.” “No...problem?” “Haha, our club would’ve been toast if they left! Thank you again!” “...Your welcome?”

And then you departed from the House of Mouse, immediately crashing onto your bed. Lazily, you take a glance at your mirror, wondering when you’ll see the Great Seven.

Then you promptly fall asleep.

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twsty-lav · 3 years

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To all Yuus. What do you guys think is going on in NRC? Do you think it suspicious that only people who resemble the closest the Great Seven get overblotted? For example, Azul and Ursula, Jamil and Jafar, Leona and Scar. Do you think Crowley has something to do with it?

New info! on Magirl! Yuu

- Also known as Yukio Hasegawa. Hair turned pink after coming to TWST, much to their consternation. If only they had realized what it meant earlier...

- Cure-toku-sei to the rescue! Whee...

- The ‘cutest’ Yuu. They do not like this in the slightest. Very strong, but only when transformed.

- Current biggest problem: “I feel like my skirt is getting shorter every time I transform... That’s just my imagination, right? Right?”

"Can we come out? Can we come out? I wanna be requested more!”

“Be quiet, Yustine, Yulia is reading.”

“I should’ve walked into Leona again, Jesus Christ--”

“...??? Haha, what.”

“Uh, guys... Guys... Guys? Oh, boy.”

“Everyone,” Yulia coughs, “It’s our first group ask, so we should be on our best behavior. We’ll answer this in order, understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” four voices chorus obediently, figures straightening up. One of the shorter heads swivel back and forth in confusion, before sighing and copying the others.

“Alright, you first.”

1. Quinn Yu (LB!Yuu)

“Oh yeah, it’s super weird, isn’t it?” Quinn nods, ticking off their fingers, “Honestly, I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be Vil, Idia, and then Malleus next. Kalim seems like the only outlier, since he was based off of... I don’t actually know who he was based off of?” They frown. “I never really watched Disney movies, sorry.”

“As for Mr. Crowley... I mean... I don’t know? Is he supposed to be suspicious? He doesn’t seem like a bad guy, other than never giving me a paycheck.” A grumble, “But he’s basically paying for my tuition, so I guess I can’t really complain. I just wish he’d let me sleep in... But I like him, personally. He could’ve just kicked me out, right? I don’t really know enough about him, either. So yeah.”

“Psst... Yuuya, what’d they say?”

“How the hell should I know? Go bug someone else, damnit.”

“Jeez, somebody’s grumpy...”

2. Yustine Gibson (Protag!Yuu)

“Huh? Headmaster? A bad guy? No way!” Yustine shakes their head furiously, bouncing up and down in protest, “He’s nice, isn’t he? He said so himself, and that would make him a liar! He seems like a cool dude... Even if he is a little irresponsible, or somethin’. Are you sure you’re not watching too many conspiracy videos? If anything, I’d be more scared of Mr. Trein... His cat doesn’t like me, either...” :(

(Yukio sighs. “That’s because you nearly strangled him when you got too excited...”)

They stick out a tongue childishly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about! Anyways, about the overblots... I think...”

A dramatic pause.

“I never actually noticed! So... I have no idea, yep!”

3. Yuuya Hibiki (NoRES!Yuu)

"Ugh... Look, I don’t even care anymore. Crowley hasn’t chucked me off a building yet, so you know what? That’s more than what Ruggie can say, right? So he’s literally whatever in my book. If he is behind the Overblots, though... UuuuUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH--” Yuuya groans.

...

They’re still going.

...

“...GHHH--Jesus Christ, give me a fuckin’ break, man. Am I really gonna have to deal with Tsunotarou? I can feel the fucking sparks comin’ off of him from twenty feet away.” Yuuya whines, “Just let the earth consume me already, damnit.”

4. Yulia (Mama!Yuu)

“Unfortunately,” she tilts her head, “I do not actually know what you mean. Are those that overblot similar to the Great Seven, somehow? In disposition, perhaps? I will look into this matter on my own, later.”

“As for Mr. Crowley...” Yulia smiles. “Well, I can’t say that I’ve ever liked him very much, not with that mask of his. But I will reserve my judgement, for now. If he does turn out to be at the head of some scheme, then... I simply will do that which is necessary.”

Quinn shivers. “... Scary...”

5. Yuel (Yancheck! Yuu)

Yuel blinks lazily, rolling over to look at you with a shrug. “Uh, the overblots? I mean, I guess. I thought it was more of a curse, or something... Maybe it’s like, the forbidden snack of house positions. I dunno. I never felt like Crowley had anythin’ directly to do with it, though. From what I could tell, everybody was gonna snap sooner or later. It’s a dysfunction junction all up in there.”

“Honestly though... Even if he was behind it all, what’m I gonna do about it? ‘S no use worrying about that, don’tcha think?” They wave off the concern with a relaxed shake of their hand. “I’ll just deal with it my own way, yup. ‘Sides, it’s not like the OB’s did any real harm... Except maybe to his own bank account. Have you seen the structural damage? Looked like a pain...”

(“Not like the OB’s did any real harm? Oh, I’ll show you real harm, asshat--”

“Yuuya, no.”)

6. Yukio Hasegawa (Magirl! Yuu)

Yukio winces, fiddling with their hair. “Um... Am I allowed to speak bad about Mr. Headmaster? It feels kind of wrong. But yeah, I agree! It’s a little suspicious, isn’t it?” They whisper, glancing over their shoulder as if Crowley would pop up behind them, “Like.. Aren’t Overblots supposed to be a rare thing? And everyone lines up so perfectly with the ‘Great Seven,’ or whatever! It’s like the Disney gods meant for it to happen! I don’t like it.” “And what am I gonna do if Leona gets mad at me?! He’s been getting really grumpy about the skirt thing, lately!” They shiver, “It’s not like I wanna be doing this, either! Ah, I want the pens to summon Ace and Deuce more... Maybe I should handcuff them to me... Ugh...”

Extra: Gail

He blinks. “There’s been more overblots? I thought it was just Riddle.”

Pomefiore Student A facepalms.

#yuuniverse #oc interaction #twst #twisted wonderland #twst oc #twst yuu #yuu/mc #no res au #twst language barrier au #promised twstland au #pretty twst au #protag!yuu #yandere vibe check au #dire crowley #twst crowley #overblot

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twstdreams · 3 years

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Halloween Haunting: Magicam Mess

Warning: Spoilers for Halloween event; canon divergent CYOA, length: 1K

Previous | Next

Your personal rule is that if everything is going to fall apart it should be after you’ve had a good meal, but the lightning raining down from the sky indicates lunch is going to have to be put on pause for now.

“Hey! They never told us about any thunder! I hate when my fur gets all staticky,” Grim complains. Wheels churn in your mind as you try to formulate a plan that gets you and the tourists out alive. While you’re sure an electrocution or two would teach them a lesson, it’s a little too early to be an accessory to murder.

“I need your help. Just agree with what I say and help me spread a rumour,” you instruct your familiar.

“What? Can’t we just leave?” Grim rebuttals.

“This stamp rally is at our dorm. If things go wrong, the headmaster will punish us too and I know you hate cleaning.” Grim grumbles about this and that but by now you’re a pro at tuning him out. You looked at the top trending hashtags and decided which one to hijack. #perfectflower it is! You upload a photo of a petal, artsy and vague enough to support your lie.

“GREAT SEVEN! I’M GONNA MISS THE SUPER RARE FLOWER!” you scream. Your best acting? No, but it gets everyone’s attention so you blunder on.

“The night-blooming cereus would definitely trend! It only blooms once a year at night. Night Raven College even has a special one that looks like a galaxy,” you add in a voice that most definitely would not be appropriate indoors.

“What’re you talking about?” a tourist beside you inquires, magicam app open on their phone. You refrain from letting the smile on your face turn into a smirk.

“Don’t you know? Near the entrance, beside the big tree, there are several of them planted there. The Pomefiore students take care of them all year and then they bloom around Halloween. It’s why #perfectflower is trending!” you explain, giddy that someone took the bait.

“Let’s go there next after the Draconia challenge!” someone chimes. You grit your teeth to stop yourself from blurting out an insult. If they tried the Draconia challenge, they wouldn’t have a living body for much longer.

“Tonight the holographic one blooms but only for 30 minutes! They don’t exist in the wild, it’s only because of the students. You have to leave right now or you won’t make it in time!” You notice the hesitation as people look in the direction of the entrance and back to Malleus’ casting a storm of spells. While you could stand in awe about their lack of survival skills, truly is it that hard to choose between a pretty rare flower and being murdered by a dragon fae, you decide they need a little push.

“I’m going now. If I take a picture before everyone else, mine will be most popular.” You turn around and start walking with so much faux confidence maybe even Vil would compliment you unlikely but Rook would. You’re rewarded with the sound of fast footsteps, a couple of people even breaking it out into a run. There aren’t any flowers there, but you hope that the people regulating the front gate will be able to kick them out.

By the time you loop around, out of sight of the Magicam Monsters you just tricked, you notice Lilia and Malleus talking. Luckily the sky has cleared up and you don’t see any charred corpses on the ground, yet the bitter expression on Malleus’ face remains. You approach his side but the magic words to turn his frown into a smile escape your mind. Even after Lilia greets you, you’re unsure of what sentence is the right answer, so you hope sincerity is enough to carry you through.

“How are you doing?” you ask. It’s not anger or annoyance you’re met with, but the forlorn look in his eyes pierces your heart.

“I apologize. I chose Ramshackle as a stamp rally location. I just wanted you to enjoy Halloween too. However, I never imagined that it would bring so much trouble,” Malleus admits.

“It’s not your fault. It’s theirs for not following the rules.” Your words are true but they don’t seem to placate the dorm leader given the tight line his lips form. “Let’s go for a walk. I think we’ve both had enough of crowds for now.”

You tug on his hand and Malleus unexpectedly follows without resistance, though you’re unsure if the pink dusting his cheeks is from exhaustive use of magic or something else. You let out a complaint and Malleus reciprocates with one in turn. By the time you’ve wandered far away from the bustle of the stamp rally, neither of your problems are solved, but you both feel better after confiding in each other. Your hands are still linked together, your fingers aren’t intertwined but your grip isn’t loose either.

Eventually, the topic turns to lighter topics that bring a smile to your visage. Comparing Halloweens, stories of lighting things on fire, pumpkin carving, favourite treats, promises to try pumpkin pie ice cream together. But all good things come to an end and the serenity comes to an end saying that you HAVE to go to the Main Street.

And it turns out, your horrid day hasn’t ended because the Great Seven statues are toppled over and missing. Accusations are thrown and both student and staff alike are in shock. It’s one thing to litter waffles, it’s another to destroy statues of renowned magicians who represented the proud dorms.

“Tomorrow, the Halloween party might have to be cancelled,” Crowley adds. Troubled expressions morph into ones of shock and outrage. Disagreement is abound but the staff don’t budge due to concerns of students being harmed.

“The party will be held if the Magicam Monster problem is solved, right?” you ask. When Crowley gives you the confirmation, you plaster on a disappointed look as the wheels in your brain turn. The staff leave to gather the others and host a meeting but from the look in Jade’s eye, you can tell the other students are on the same page as you though Jade seems to always have that calculating gleam in his eyes.

“You have a point,” Azul acknowledges.

“We just have to chase away the Magicam Monsters from our campus,” Jade agrees and you can see several people around you having a lightbulb moment.

“We can confirm if they’re Magicam Monsters by seeing if they violate rules,” Vil states, dispelling worries about how to accomplish such a task.

“I’ll punch them away!” Deuce exclaims. You’re sure he’d follow through and that’s the problem.

“That’ll just make this a problem with the police,” Ace counteracts.

“We can’t just use magic attacks on them either, they’re going to figure out it’s not a security system,” Idia rebuttals when a couple of students suggest just flinging Magicam Monsters across campus. You know Idia’s right but you think it’d be very satisfying to toss yeet them away like garbage.

“Haaahaahaha!~” Floyd laughs, “You’re thinking so hard about this. The answer is easy to figure out.”

“Now, don’t laugh at them,” Jade chides while chuckling and baring his teeth. You’ve never seen someone act less sincere but you know better than to antagonize the leech twins.

“It is eating a delicious meal with everyone!” Kalim declares. You’re certain that’s not what the Octavinelle trio is thinking, free food is never their first bet, but you appreciate his sunshine disposition.

“Haaah... Rich kids really are impossible. We should make them feel uncomfortable and scare them away,” Ruggie explains.

“A night hunt under the moonlight! Magnifique! I can’t wait,” Rook exclaims. He has the same dreamy look in his eyes as when he envisions capturing his prey.

Which team do you want to help scare away the Magicam Monsters?

Heartslabyul’s Graveyard: Time to bury some secrets and maybe even a Magicam Monster or two

Savanaclaw’s Pirate ship: Who says the swords are fake even if the curse is?

Octavinelle’s Lab: Few are as good at deception at this dorm, and you’ve been itching to throw some Magicam Monsters into a personal sci-fi horror story

Scarabia’s Wereworlf curse: You hate bugs with a vengeance and scaring away rude tourists is better than lighting school property on fire. But will Kalim be able to scare everyone?

Ignihyde’s Spooky Night: Otakus wronged and the tech to bring horrors to life makes for an interesting combo that’s sure to leave a couple of people scarred.

Diasomnia’s Haunted Scare: Will revenge be as sweet as ice cream? You’re about to find out. The Magicam Monsters wanted so badly to get into your dorm, might as well let them in and have some fun with it!

Main Street’s Ghostly Hunt: If they’re bold enough to topple statues and take pictures on their pedestals, surely they can face a grim reaper after their life?

#twst x reader #twst CYOA #twst halloween event #twstdreams #haunted dreams #long fic

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

Photo

Discredit Part Three! (Click on each pic for something resembling quality!)

Part One---contains translations, podfic, and related works---Part Two

Tagging, credit, and transcript all below the cut 💜

First off, people who specifically asked to see more of this nonsense may God in all Her glory bless you accordingly:

@internet-or-sleep, @just-some-girl-on-the-internet, @readytoocomply, @vocallsama, @fellowshipofthegay, @lucky-leafeon, @alph4centauri, @sumoranges, @diaphanedreams

Aziraphale’s profile pic is courtesy of good old Neil, found here. All others are from Creative Commons.

Sorry it took so long to produce more stupidity. YOU ALL ROCK 🎊🎊🎊 Here, have a messy transcript.

Abdou G.

Have you ever walked in on a conversation and, despite clearly missing the majority of it, feel like you could reconstruct it, word for word if necessary? That happened at Fell’s today. The ‘talk’ had obviously been going on for a while, but I can give you a perfect summary here: rude fuckboy thinks he gets to say who God is, Fell was having none of it.

Best response? Turn around, walk back to your apartment (pro-tip: this only works if you’re just a few blocks away), and change your shirt. I walked back in with my I MET GOD, SHE’S BLACK tee and had the pleasure of seeing Fell do a double-take.

“Yes, thank you, that’s what I’ve been trying to say!”

***

Doug E.

Scout’s honor: I once saw that Crowley dude unhinge his jaw and eat a large pizza in one goddamn bite.

Update: you heathens read about this gay abomination with his dislocated jaw and what you decide to question is whether I was acTUALLY A SCOUT?

***

Mary L.

I came in with my four-year-old last week fully intending to keep him within sight at all times. Yes, I bought one of those kiddie leashes and no, I don’t regret a thing. You try holding down two jobs as a single mom to the bonefide antichrist. I love my boy, but the devil got to him, telling him things like, “Yes, Freddie, permanent marker would look just great on Mum’s only work jacket!”

I said as much to the owner because this mom needs to vent sometimes.

I wish I could give this place a higher rating, but the ownership is frankly terrible. Inconsistent hours, no help when you’re trying to find a book, just basically all around bad customer service, BUT it still gets five stars because when I told the guy I was raising the antichrist?

“Oh yes. I did that myself not too long ago!”

We parents need to support one another. Otherwise the world is going to burn. So here’s a good review for you, Mr. Bookshop Guy. A part of me hopes you’re a better dad than you are a bookseller. The other part? The bigger part? It’s very aware that Ms. Pot here just met Mr. Kettle.

Now if you’ll excuse me, Freddie just got into the flour.

***

Alfred B.

I hereby nominate Mr. Fell as the British Steve Irwin. I’ve never seen anyone handle a red bellied black snake like that. I mean yeah, they’re a chill species overall, but there’s a difference between casually handling a snake and fucking chucking one onto the chair because it’s in your way. (Okay. Maybe Irwin was a little nicer.)

Renee K.

whos steve irwin?

Alfred B.

...How old are you?

Renee K.

Alfred B.

You existed on this planet for two years with him and you dare to ask me this? Go boil your head and then use google. Good god.

***

Mark F.

overheard the owner telling his boyfriend that last they met his brother tried to set him on fire? and succeeded?? actually now that I think about it, not sure which brother they were talking about---his brother or boyfriend’s brother--but WHOEVER has the brother needs to... i don’t even know. do something about that? ring the police or go to therapy or SOMETHING. i mean maybe they already have, i’m just an eavesdropping tourist, but the idea of someone setting that bow-tie cutie on fire—DID I MENTION THAT? PERSON ARSON. MURDER—makes my blood boil

***

Shiefa N.

People aren’t joking about overhearing weird conversations here. I walked in on two men (owner and husband? owner and escort?) debating Seven Minutes in Heaven. You know, that stupid kissing game the better looking kids got to play in middle school. It got pretty heated at one point (pun not intended), arguing about whether seven minutes of making out was divine or damning behavior. I hung out long enough to catch the segue into a lust vs. love debate and then had to skedaddle. Nice couple. I support their weird flirting habits.

***

Chang Z.

Is it legal to visit a store for things other then what it sells? I realize that makes me sound druggie or something but I swear I’m dealing with a much healthier addiction. (Ha. Maybe.) I cosplay (yeah, yeah, move along, trolls) and Mr. Fell has an absolute wealth of historical clothing. It’s astounding! I thought they were particularly detailed costumes at first, but no. I’m majoring in Textile and Apparel Studies. I know a naturally worn piece of fabric when I see it. Mr. Fell is always cracking jokes about how he wore this frock in the 19th century, this shirt in the 17th, oh don’t you just love my old vest? (He has... so many vests...) I indulge him because anyone who lets me borrow this stuff for free deserves all my attention and fake laughter.

Yeah. You read right. Artifacts borrowed for free. He’s even let me alter some of the stuff because I’m not exactly his size. Should this stuff be in a museum somewhere? Probably. Am I calling anyone to take my personal cosplay supply away? Noooope.

***

Leah M.

Helping to spread the word here because I’m not sure how much foot traffic this place actually gets.

I pass Fell’s every morning on my way to work and yesterday there was a new sign in the window. This might not seem very interesting to most people on here, but you’ve got to understand that Fell’s never changes. None of it. I’ve lived in Soho since I was a boy and this place has always had the same placard with his insane times listed, same stripped paint on the door he’s never gotten around to fixing, same spiderweb in the corner I absolutely swear. My dad used to pop in there when he was in college and I swear he’s taken me through the stacks, points out books that haven’t moved in 30+ years. It’s nuts and more than a little bit impressive.

So you can imagine my shock when I passed by and saw not one, but four new papers in the front window. They’re drawings and I recommend going and taking a look for yourself. I don’t think I can accurately describe the utter chaos of crayons and glitter that’s displayed there, let alone what it’s trying to depict. A dystopia? The end of the world? If so the apocalypse features a surprising number of dogs.

There’s a fifth paper off to the side, written in Fell’s messy penmanship. It just says, “My god-children drew these!” and if that’s not the cutest things you’ve ever heard get out of my face.

***

Gabriel A.

azirfell

alzaphral

azzzzzirafal

i’m a litttle drunk but azifjkaafha’s place is good he just needs a name easier to spell

***

Aziraphale

Dear Gabriel A,

My partner Crowley told me about this site and the many lovely well-wishes you all have left us here. I have come to express my thanks and to offer a bit of advice. You are hardly the first person to struggle with my name, dear girl! I recommend the following three step process:

A - simple, yes? + zira - a nickname I’ve adopted over the years, easy enough to recall + phale - this is admittedly more difficult as our ending, “phale,” is neither spelled in a way nor presumed to be pronounced like the “fell” sound we end up with. In truth my name is more along the lines of Azz-ear-raf-AE-el, but change is inevitable and you needn’t hear about that transformation, nor the etymology involved in getting “fell” out of “phale.” I say this not because I don’t wish to teach you, but because my partner has reminded me--in a rather rude tone I should add--that this site has a word limit. Suffice to say you should simply memorize the “phale” portion and you shall be, as the expression goes, in tip top shape!

Best regards,

Aziraphale

P.S. Nothing personal, dear boy, but I fear I’m not terribly fond of your name either. I would highly recommend changing it if you’re ever of a mind to do so. Cheerio!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #long post #good omens fic #(apologies for that)#(tried for text post and the quality was totally unreadable)#pgnbri #attempting to tag you here #since tumblr won't let me do it in the post :/

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varibean · 4 years

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Try Turning It Off And On Again

This was my piece for the tangled dreams zine that can be found here! I wanted to try writing a bit of Team Awesome/Dadgene so I hope y’all enjoy and lmk what you think!

Read On AO3

It was no small exaggeration to say that, on paper, Varian was living a near perfect life. It was hard to imagine the boy-or as his father so often called him, ‘young man’-wanting for anything and for the most part he didn’t. After the battle with Zhan Tiri and the terrifying day of the eclipse, all of his dreams had been practically handed to him on a silver platter. Royal Engineer, renowned alchemist, best friend to several important people; with all that under his belt it was hard to imagine him not being in a constant state of euphoria over how well his life was playing out. Especially after his rocky start.

However if someone was to catch him in the early hours of the morning, they would be led to think that nothing had ever gone right in the history of his entire life.

It wasn’t a fact of Varian not being a morning person that was the issue but rather the sheer number of things he had to do once he got up. Early on in his career as royal engineer, Rapunzel thought it to be a great idea that he live in the palace with them. He’d been excited about the prospect at first; getting to live close with his greatest friends? Spending his days working on machines? Winding down at night in the grand ballroom for dinner? Absolutely perfect.

What he hadn’t considered was the fact that, by living in the palace, he was essentially on the clock twenty-four seven. Every morning when he woke up he skipped his usual routine of combing his hair or brushing his teeth in favor of opening up his bedroom door. That action was always greeted with a pile of neatly placed but still numerous scrolls, all left behind by the morning castle page. Each one was either a task, request, or order form filed by any and all who needed his service. It was only after he picked them all up and read through them that he continued his other morning tasks.

Life at the castle was more boring than he’d ever considered life in a castle could be. The whole place worked like clockwork and not the fun kind. The only thing that broke up the monotony of the place was Rapunzel, with her always chipper nature, and Eugene, who often tagged along with her despite his own duties as Captain of the Guard. But even that small burst of excitement was becoming less and less as time went on. Less Rapunzel, less Eugene, more work.

When Varian first arrived, everything had been wonderful and new. The scrolls at his doorstep were exciting projects, not boring chores. He had time for his own inventions and endeavors no matter how small they were, and most importantly, he got to spend time with his friends. All of those things were slowly fading, dwindling in time and importance as his daily tasks grew and grew. When writing his father about it, the older man simply replied that it was all part of growing up. Varian hated that. Still, the days dragged on, the ever steady pace of the castle completely uncaring to his internal plight of drudgery.

____

It was on a day of heavy rain and wind when Varian got the notice that something was wrong with the boilers. Nothing major enough to cause an entire village to explode, he’d been sure to put that safety precaution in place, but enough to warrant a knock on his door as he was preparing for lunch. No ham sandwich break for him today.

Apparently some rainwater had managed to seep through the shallow earth and gotten into the underground reservoir used to fill the tankers, in turn causing them to overflow. It wasn’t the overflow that was causing any structural issues, the machines wouldn’t rust overnight after all, but it was causing an imbalance in the chemical reaction. Too much water meant there was more liquid than the chemicals could properly heat, leaving everyone with lukewarm water. Tragic.

Duty called though and lunch would have to wait.

“Lukewarm water. Oh”, Varian said sarcastically to Ruddiger as he prepared to go down and find the leaky bit of earth that was causing the problem, “The horror of it all.”

The people of Corona could survive a day or two without hot water, but why should they when they had a Royal Engineer at their disposal? Nevermind the fact that he was a person too, who was currently missing out on his meal so that everyone else could wash their hands in comfort.

He bit back the desire to spout out another sarcastic comment to his furry companion, knowing that he was just being unreasonably bitter because he was hungry. Food would still be there when he got done; the longer he ignored the problem the worse it would get. In all fairness, it took priority. Besides, something like sealing up a bit of loose earth and diverting the dripping water from the tankers would be an easy fix. He could do it in his sleep.

____

Varian had been correct in assuming that the boiler problem would be an easy fix, maybe slightly tedious at best. What he hadn’t accounted for was how difficult it would be to simply get down to the reservoirs in the first place.

The problems started the second he stepped out of his room and into the main hallways of the castle. Ruddiger trotted beside him happily, the fat animal knowing that his only job was companionship and nothing more. Given the time of day and the raininess outside the place was busier than it normally was. Gardeners muttered over their tools, maids rushed to clean up dirt and grime that had been tracked in, and all the other servants began to hustle and bustle around in order to make sure that everyone was safe and well attended to.

It shouldn’t have been a long trek, just a few turns before getting to the downstairs, but the trip was elongated by everyone constantly bumping into him and pushing him aside.

Despite being a respected member of the staff, he was still just a boy in many of their eyes. He glared at the people who brushed past him, knowing that he’d helped each one of them with at least half a dozen things at some point or another. They’d been perfectly kind to him then but now he was nothing more than another body blocking their way. It was easy to be nice to someone while they were doing something for you and even easier to ignore them when the time was over.

Half way through the crowd to his destination he felt a hand grip at his arm and turning around he was met with the stern face of a maid, face flushed with frustration.

“Excuse me young man, you’re the Royal Engineer correct?”

Her voice was twice as haughty as she looked, speaking as if she couldn’t believe that she had to stoop to the level of talking to him in the first place.

“Varian. Just Varian.” He didn’t have time to deal with whatever nonsense the woman needed him for even though he had a sneaking suspicion that he was about to be given no choice.

He was quickly proven right as the woman gave a soft huff and pulled him alongside her to whatever issue she needed fixed. For a moment he considered squirming out of her grasp or maybe telling her that he was busy but as nice as those both seemed he knew that it would only come back to bite him in one form or another. If he didn’t fix whatever problem she had now then he would have to do it later. He was already missing lunch, might as well make the most of things.

She all but shoved him into one of main rooms, where he was met with several maids and servants covered in dust and circled around one of his many machines.

Ah , he thought, That explains a lot.

“Your blasted machine blew up. How are we supposed to clean up dust when the device that you made to help does nothing but blow it back in our faces?” The woman huffed as she crossed her arms.

Varian would have rather been scolded by old lady Crowley than whoever this woman was. At least Crowley didn’t balk like a fish when she was angry.

“Have you tried turning it on and off again?” Varian tried to joke to lighten the mood, but was met with only a cold shoulder and a stifled chitter from Ruddiger.

Eugene or Rapunzel would’ve found it funny.

He signed while leaning down to the device and fixing it up with one very simple step: Flipping the switch from ‘blow’ to ‘suck’.

“Let me know if you have any actual problems with it ma’am. Sadly, even I can’t fix operator errors.”

He skittered out of the room before anyone could berate him for his mouth. He smirked to himself, thinking how funny one of his friends would find that line. That was only the beginning of his troubles though.

It seemed that every step he took towards the boilers, someone needed his assistance.

Nigel’s mechanical pen needed the ink chamber fixed, Hope needed the automatic laundry cart’s wheel to be tightened, one of the chefs needed more preservation chemicals to keep the food fresh until next week.

By the time he actually got to the door to the boiler room it was well past his lunch break, time slowly and steadily creeping towards dinner. Hours of helping crowds of people with their problems and all that just so he could get to the actual problem of the day.

But yet again, right when he was about to turn the knob on the door and enter the stairwell for the boilers at long last, another hand grasped at his arm.

“Hey there buddy-”

“For the sun’s sake I just need to fix one stupid problem!” Varian shouted, turning around to face the stranger who’d grabbed him only to find that it wasn’t a stranger at all.

Instead he was met with Eugene’s surprised and amused face looking down at him, red uniform dampened slightly from the outside rain and hair slicked back in an admittedly stylish fashion.

“Well hello to you too short stack.” Eugene’s response was met with a groan as Varain pushed in the door and began to descend into the underground area. “Rough day?”

“Not more than any other day here.”

“So I’ll take that as a yes. What’re you doing going to the boilers so late, it’s almost chow time kiddo. You know how your dad will chew us out if we don’t get you your three squares a day.”

Even with Eugene’s joking nature Varian could hear a bit of sincerity in his words. He couldn’t bear the thought of confessing that he hadn’t gotten a chance to eat lunch. Instead he just kept walking downwards, the other man following close behind with Ruddiger.

“The rain cracked through one of the underground tunnel walls, which has been causing the small reservoir down there to flow faster. It’s overfilling the machines which means the formula for heating them isn’t working and that means a bunch of people upset at me until I can fix it.”

“Well of course, can’t imagine what a tragedy it must be to go a full day with only lukewarm water.” Eugene’s tone was sarcastic, mimicking Varian’s earlier sentiments on the matter.

Despite the day he had, the alchemist laughed. Of course Eugene of all people would share his same sense of humor at the situation.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if people would just let me get down here in the first place.”

“Nah, they can’t make it too easy on you kiddo, that’ll just make you go soft.”

Another chuckle rang out against the walls. It was more than Varian had laughed in probably an entire week. Suddenly the task of fixing a leak didn’t seem so bad; having company helped and though he loved Ruddiger to pieces, there was only so much conversation that a single raccoon could have.

“So what do we have to do to fix it?” Eugene asked after the laughter had settled and the two made it to the bottom of the steps, leading to the underground tunnels.

“I’m just going to put some of my newest solution on the crack and up the Flynnolium for a few hours. That’ll give everything time to reset by morning and then I’ll adjust the Flynnolium solution release back down to four percent per tanker. And it’ll also give everyone else ample time to find something new to yell at me about.”

Though he spoke with a joking tone he could see the flash of concern that drifted over Eugene’s face, making him instantly regret saying anything at all. He didn’t want to appear ungrateful to the older man; he really did love his job even with the few pitfalls that came with it. His snark was nothing more than the result of a little stress. That’s what he told himself at least.

The rest of the walk was short and comfortably chatty, Eugene going on about his latest guard duties while Varian laughed and ribbed him on his work ethic. It was nice to finally get some time to talk to his friend again, Team Awesome. He almost didn’t want his work day to be finished but the fixes he needed to implement were easy; it had just taken him forever to get down to do them. Just as soon as the two (plus Ruddgier) had made it to the caves, they were back to the top of the staircase.

“Well kid,” Eugene started, “now that we’ve got that all done let’s go get some grub. Don’t want to keep everyone else waiting.”

Eugene began to walk in the direction of the dining hall but Varian stayed put. He was hungry, that much was for sure, but he’d spent all day around people. Being around them, fixing their problems, having them bump into him and squawk at him. It was nice to spend some time with just Eugene but an entire room full of more people...now that was something different entirely.

“Actually I still have some leftovers from lunch in my room.” By which, of course, he meant his entire lunch. “I’m not that hungry anyways so I think I’m going to pass tonight, tell everyone I said hi.”

“Are you sure? Heard there was going to be cookies tonight-”

“Yeah, don’t-don’t worry about me it’s just been...been a really long day.”

Varian mustered up his best smile and gave a thumbs up as he walked away before Eugene could say anything else.

It had been a nice reprieve from his regular day to day drudgery, but it was time to go to bed and start the whole process over again tomorrow.

____

When Varian woke up the next morning he wasn’t tired which was his first clue that something was wrong. He stretched and yawned, squinting as the sun shone brightly through his window which was the second clue.

The third, and by far the most obvious clue, came when he cleared his nose and sniffed a few times and was met with the scent of fresh ham and eggs. Turning to his night stand he saw a brilliantly decorated tray of toast, butter, and scrambled eggs with ham and tomato slices mixed in.

“What in the-oh shit!” Next to the delicious smelling breakfast was his alarm clock which had apparently not gone off despite having wound it up the night before, seeing how the time displayed on it read 11:12. He was late, beyond late. It was nearly noon, he would never hear the end of it. Not only that, but there was a bigger issue at hand.

“The Flynnolium!” He darted up out of bed, not even bothering to put on his work clothes or brush his hair.

He nearly tripped over his own feet trying to reach the door. When he opened it, however, he ran face first into a solid body, sending him reeling back from the impact.

“Well good morning there sleepy head. Man, you really must’ve been worn out to sleep that long huh? Any sweet dreams?” The voice was calm and teasing with just a hint of sincerity playing against the tone of a smile.

“Eugene!” Varian steadied himself and once again tried to get by him. “I can’t talk right now, I have to go. I overslept somehow and-and the Flynnolium has been set on high for too long, I need to get down there and-”

“Set it back to four percent per tanker? Already taken care of buddy. Now come on, I worked all morning on that breakfast and you haven’t even touched it. Well, the royal chef worked all morning on it but I was in the room so i’m pretty sure that counts for something. Supervising, you know, is a very important part of the process.”

“Wha…”

Varian couldn’t even finish his sentence as Eugene guided him back to his bed and sat him down, moving the breakfast tray onto his lap.

“Well don’t sit there wasting all that hard work, dig in.”

“But I don’t...I don’t understand how-what the hell is going on?”

“Language.” Eugene chidded jokingly before sitting down beside the other, “I noticed you seemed a little stressed yesterday. So, I took it upon myself to give you the day off. Woke up this morning and turned the Flynnolium down. Bribed Ruddiger with a few apples to get him to turn your clock off and let you sleep in.”

Varian looked down at the food in his lap, speechless. He hadn’t been that tired, had he?

“Why though?” He asked, quizzically picking up a slice of toast and slowly biting it.

“I just told you, you’re stressed. We’re Team Awesome and Team Awesome looks out for each other.”

Varian continued to crunch slowly and Eugene let out a soft sigh before putting his hand on the other’s back.

“I know the people here demand a lot from you. It would be a big adjustment for anyone just to exist around this place, let alone be the Royal Engineer. Doing projects every day, people only giving you the time of day when they need you, running around like Pascal chasing after a fly. And I know I...probably haven’t helped much in that regard either. You’re the Royal Engineer because Rapunzel and I know you can handle it. But just because you can handle it on your own doesn’t mean you should have to.”

The more Eugene spoke the more Varian relaxed, shoveling more food into his mouth as he got more comfortable.

“Fankfs.” He said, his cheeks full like chipmunks, causing Eugene to laugh.

“No problem buddy. Anyways, like I was saying, I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much-”

“That’s not your fault.”

“No, but it is my fault for not trying harder. And for not realizing how tough things have been on you. So, here’s the plan, once a week from now on you’re getting a full twenty-four hours of off time. Maybe after a few of those and we’ll finally have you back on a decent sleeping schedule. Anyone who interrupts it gets thrown in the dungeon, my royal decree as Captain.”

“I don’t think Captains can make royal decrees.” Varian stated flatly, suppressing a smirk.

“Ok smart mouth, well they can now. You have the rest of the day off.”

There was a comfortable silence for a moment as Varian finished eating, setting aside the tray and closing his eyes. He leaned against Eugene’s shoulder, content and full and happy.

“Thanks Eugene.”

“Anytime kiddo. Team Awesome?”

Eugene extended his fist and Varian happily, if not a bit tiredly, pounded it with his own.

“Team Awesome. Now, since I have the rest of the day off…” In a split second Varian was falling back against his bed, rolling himself up in the blankets pillows, “I’m going back to sleep.”

Eugene laughed and playfully shoved his shoulder.

“Lazy bones. Well, have sweet dreams. Sugar plum fairies and all that.”

“Nah, I’m going to be dreaming of cute blonds who look like Flynn Rider and take me on daring adventures.”

That caused Eugene to laugh even louder.

“Wow, you really are such a teenager aren’t you? Well tell dream hotshot that if he wants your fantasy hand in marriage he’s going to have to get through me first.”

“And my dad.” Varian joked bluntly.

“Personally I think I’m the more important one to impress but, yeah, that guy too-” Suddenly a pillow hit Eugene’s face, muffling his chuckles, “Ok ok I get the message, I’m leaving, I’m leaving.”

“Eugene?”

“Yes sleeping beauty?”

“Thanks, I needed this.”

“Any time kiddo. Love ya.”

As Eugene closed the door, Varian closed his eyes, sinking down into his mattress and into a day of blissful sleep.

“Love you too.”

By the time Varian got the drowsy words out, Eugene was already gone, but it didn’t matter. He already knew.

#Eugene Fitzherbert #varian #team awesome #tangled the series #dadgene #zk fic #hope yall enjoy!!!!!!

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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What Might Have Been - 16

@goodomenscelebration - themes prompts!

Read the full story on AO3!

Happy Good Omens Armageddoniversary! How many of these can I post in one day?

(For those who have not read previous sections: Kasbeel is our Aziraphale, trapped in another universe and going by a pseudonym. Crowley’s “mirror image” is his AU self.)

Far Future

Kasbeel hovered in the air, giving his report.

“The demonic army attempted to strike from the Scottish Highlands, reinforced by several thousand of the Marked soldiers. They were driven off by Matafiel’s troops. We believe there may be some still hidden far to the north, on the Outer Hebrides.”

“These names mean nothing to us,” said Tufriel, rolling his eyes towards his partner. “Some of these scouts are starting to go native.”

“Won’t be a problem much longer,” Bezaliel replied. “Never mind the demons, we’ll get an update further north. Is this land still free from the blight?”

“Yes, Dominion,” Kasbeel bobbed his head with the correct amount of deference. “The whole of the Peak District is believed to be the last area free of Abaddon’s curse anywhere on this island, though rumors persist of some clear ground in Ireland.”

“Are there any humans left on the islands?” Bezaliel asked.

“The Retrieval squads took ours and we cleared out the rest last month.” Tufriel crossed his arms. “If only this island were so easy to deal with. Still, if this is the only unblemished land, it’s probably where the humans will gather. Once they realize they can’t get in the city. We’ll keep watching it. Good work.”

“Thank you.” He held up his messenger tube, sealed and directed to Michael’s base camp in Cornwall. “I will need to continue south with this. Do you have any details to add?”

“Only that I thought we’d be finished by now. Seven damn years of this. How much longer is it supposed to go on, anyway?”

Bezaliel grinned hungrily. “Not much more. Our offensive should begin in a little less than a month.” A wink towards the dutiful scout. “Keep an eye on the sky, tonight or tomorrow. Things are starting to happen.”

Kasbeel saluted, and the other two returned to their patrol. When they were well out of sight, he landed on a bare rock outcrop and hummed. Not with his lips; his wings vibrated, creating a single, perfect tone, echoing off the stones of the Peaks.

The humans began emerging from their hiding spots almost immediately, secreted behind stones or in deceptive hollows. Mostly teenagers, a few older, many younger, about half with a Mark upon their faces. They gathered around the angel, moving silently on the grass and moss.

It took nearly an hour for all to arrive. Kasbeel’s group of wanderers now numbered in the hundreds.

“Doesn’t sound like we’re going to be safe up here much longer,” Lyla said, without preamble. “Probably should have left last week, like I said.”

“Perhaps,” Kasbeel conceded, waving his arm to miracle up some food. It wasn’t much. Loaves of bread, potatoes, carrots. A little bit of meat, but he couldn’t produce anywhere near enough for a group this large. “But if we’d left then, Jennifer, Mickey and Ollie wouldn’t have found us.” At only five years old, Ollie was the youngest they’d taken in.

“Fine.” Lyla counted out the servings of meat and checked her list. “Group six gets the meat tonight. Only group six, Alex, I know that doesn’t include you.” She turned back to the angel who led them. “But we leave tonight.”

“Agreed.” He sighed, looking around the tumbling rocks one more time. “We’ll have to move quickly. This was a good hiding place. We won’t find another place this convenient, or this safe.”

“Where to, then?” Lyla grabbed Alex’s wrist, sending the thirteen-year-old over to the bread line. “Ireland? I don’t know how we’ll cross the sea, but it sounds like they’ve stopped looking there.”

Kasbeel pursed his lips. “Have you given up on finding New Eden, then?”

She spun towards him, fury in her eyes. “You know I haven’t. But it could be anywhere in the world! How the hell are we ever going to find it? We’ve barely searched half of England in over three years.”

He winced. “Three years, four months, six days,” he muttered. It was a very, very long time to go without hearing from Crowley. He’d tried contacting the demon in his dreams, over and over. He was here. He could sense that. But nothing else. “It’s in England. It must be. One of the patrols told me…Aziraphale,” he hesitated over the name, as always, “chose the location himself. He wouldn’t pick anywhere other than England.”

“Your double.” Lyla sat down next to him. She had grown, in the last three years, her hair getting long, her clothing replaced by whatever they could loot in half-abandoned cities, as was the case for all Kasbeel’s wards. Even her newest shirt was threadbare, the colors faded, as if the inanimate objects of the world had ceased to care. “You never told me what the deal was with you two.”

“No. I think it would be rather too much for you to understand.”

“Kasbeel, the world is ending. The ground is cursed. And I spend half my time talking to a rogue angel. What could possibly be weird at this point?”

He smiled. “My child, you haven’t the first idea.” He smoothed his hands down his jacket, then realized he was still in his scout uniform. A wave of his fingers turned it back to the familiar suit, bowtie and all. “Still, if you like, I can bring you all to Ireland before I continue my search. It should only take a few days to reach the coast, even with the young ones. After that…” he hesitated. Miracle up a giant ship? And how to make sure it landed somewhere unblighted?

“You know we won’t last a day without you,” Lyla sighed. “Wherever you’re going, you’re stuck with us.”

He turned back to the crowd that he had slowly gathered across the years. Orphans. Renegades. Many of them troublemakers who had been thrown out of the gangs they thought would protect them, others the only survivors by angelic or demonic attack. Exhausted, half-malnourished, so worn and dirty as to almost blend in with the rocks around them.

But not afraid. Of all the people left in the world, and Kasbeel feared there were not many, these few hundred slept safely at night, under the watch of an angel.

His godchildren.

“My dear Lyla, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He settled down on a rock that conveniently grew to about the size of an armchair, with a thick cushion of moss.

She rolled her eyes at him. “How is it even out here, you manage to pamper yourself?”

“Millennia of practice. Now, what do you say we try for London again? It’s a risk, with all the patrols, but it may be the only place large enough to hide this many.”

“Assuming we can get in.”

“Assuming so, yes,” he said, gazing across the crowd. “And it sounds like there are many angels gathered in the south. But If I’m right about the wall of energy surrounding the city, I may know how to cross it.”

“And you still think your friend might be there.”

Kasbeel nodded. “I can’t imagine where else he might be. He should have contacted me by now, but they say no messages can get out of London. But, still, I would think–”

A cry went up from the gathered crowd, a scream of fear, echoed by person after person. “The sky!” Someone shouted, pointing. “The clouds are parting!”

In an instant, Kasbeel was on his feet, wings spread. He should have heard the trumpets, sensed the angels long before they parted the clouds – he had spent months honing his senses, in order to protect his charges. He braced himself for the orders that would arrive in his mind; if the Guardian of Humanity were among them, it would be difficult to resist…

Nothing came.

Instead, the clouds simply drifted apart, faster and faster, not a small parting but the whole sky, revealing the fading blue of twilight, deepening to black. Stars pierced the sky, just a few at first, but each bright as a jewel, clearer than he could ever remember them being, even in Heaven.

“Oh my God…” Lyla whispered, stepping next to him. “It’s clear. It hasn’t been clear since…since the war…I was a kid…”

Another star seemed to burst into view, white and shining, and Kasbeel fell to his knees, remembering…remembering a cottage in the South Downs, a blanket in the back garden, laying on his back and watching them arrive, while next to him…next to him…

That one’s Regulus. Not one of mine, Angel, that was some snooty wanker who thought he was so clever just because he could get four stars to orbit each other. And over there is Arcturus. Also technically not mine, but I had this really great idea and I needed a red giant to test it out on. It worked, by the way, so keep an eye out for a helium flash in the next thousand years or so…

It hurt, like being pierced by a spear, like being torn apart. He reached out a hand, grasping, wishing to feel Crowley, lying at his left side, as he always was, his protector, his partner, his friend…

A small hand caught his, wrapping around his fingers. He turned, blinking tears from his eyes, to see Lyla, kneeling beside him. A moment later the others started gathering around. Mickey, Rahima, Alex, Lochlan, Mariah, Amiyah, Dominic, Ollie, and so many more.

“Look,” Kasbeel said, pointing at the sky. “That star there. That’s Regulus. And over there…that one is named Arcturus…”

Far away, in a cell that seemed to exist in its own bubble far from anything else, Crowley snapped awake, emerging from a dream that was slightly less painful than reality.

Something had changed.

He could feel it, deep inside. Something that had been missing, suddenly returned.

“It’s the stars,” said his mirror image, across the cell. Shoftiel had left them both in their human bodies this time. The manacles that held their wrists – Crowley’s left, his mirror image’s right – were too short to lay down comfortably, so they both sprawled against their walls.

They didn’t talk much. The secrets they held were the only things keeping them alive. So they simply existed, here, together, witnessing each other’s pain and humiliation, waiting for their own turns. It bonded them in ways conversation never could.

“The sky is clear again,” the mirror image continued, looking up at the ceiling, lost to the dark above. “I wish I could see it.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, allowing himself to remember a night on a blanket in a garden, just for a moment. “Me, too.”

“Not long now,” the mirror image said. “Seven years. That’s all it ever was.” His eyes met Crowley’s, and they were full of fear. They couldn’t hide their emotions without the glasses, and that was one thing they were never allowed. “If the stars are back, time’s nearly up.”

“So they’ve…learned everything?” It wasn’t something they asked each other. But if it was the end, Crowley wanted to know.

“Just one secret left.” The mirror image rolled his head, with a broken version of Crowley’s smile. “How to get into London.”

#good omens prime #good omens celebration #goc2020 #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale and crowley #ineffable husbands #principality aziraphale #guardian angel aziraphale #takin on some godchildren #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #What Might Have Been #good omens #ao3 #ao3 link

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prepare4trouble · 5 years

Text

It had been three days, and nothing. No word from Heaven, or from Hell, no divine judgements, no Hellfire; nothing.

Aziraphale didn’t like it.

Sooner or later, they were going to make their move. He didn’t know when, and he didn’t know what it would be, but the one thing that he did know, with absolute certainty, was that it would happen. They wouldn’t let what they had done go unpunished.

And Crowley too; he wouldn’t get away with it either. There was little doubt in Aziraphale’s mind that Hell was plotting something for his friend, and likely something even worse than Heaven could come up with. It was true that most demons lacked imagination, but they were extremely good at punishing people.

Right now, Aziraphale wished that he lacked an imagination. His was currently working overtime, feeding him terrifying images of all kinds of things that he was quite certain were worse than anything Heaven actually had in their arsenal.

But then, maybe Heaven and Hell would work together to punish the two of them. They had, after all, been completely united in their anger at their respective agents. With the war called off, it wasn’t completely outside of the realms of possibility that they might combine their efforts to do something about the angel and the demon that had stopped all their plans.

And if the worked together, well, the possibilities were so much worse. Not bad enough, though, that Aziraphale’s fertile imagination could not come up with suggestions. He had, after all, spent millennia lost in the writings of creative human beings. he had picked up a thing or two.

It would be keeping him up at night, if he slept. It was certainly having that kind of an effect on Crowley, who was currently pacing the limited floor-space of the bookshop like a caged elephant in a very old zoo, slowly being driven mad.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Maybe they’ll just let it go,” he suggested, not really believing it.

Crowley paused in his pacing to look at him. Something in his gaze suggested that the Aziraphale had taken leave of his senses. He shook his head. “They’re not going to let it go, angel. This is Hell we’re talking about. They know how to hold a grudge. Your lot do too.”

He was right, of course. In fact, Aziraphale might even go so far as to say that Heaven was better at holding a grudge, although not knowing the exact state of affairs in Hell, it was difficult to be certain. They were certainly not as forgiving as humanity seemed to believe.

“No, they’re biding their time,” Crowley told him. “And they’re doing it on purpose. Both of them. They’ll wait until we finally relax, until the moment we let ourselves believe that we might have gotten away with it, and then…” his words tailed off into silence.

“And then?” Aziraphale prompted.

Crowley shrugged. “I don’t know! Could be anything; that’s the whole point, isn’t it? You keep your victim good and scared, and not knowing what’s going to happen, or when, makes it worse. It’s basic stuff.”

Aziraphale straightened the fabric of his jacket with the backs of his hands and sat up a little straighter. “Well, I wouldn’t know. Punishing people isn’t exactly in Heaven’s remit.”

The demon stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief. “Not in their remit?” He shook his head. “Ever heard of the Fall? You know, millions of angels burning in agony as they were cast out of Heaven? Ring any bells?”

Aziraphale looked away as he desperately tried not to think about that, not to imagine it being his own fate. “Yes, well, that was a little different…”

“Kicking Adam and Eve out of the garden just because I managed to convince them to try a piece of fruit? Drowning people, drowning children in forty days and nights of rain because… what exactly? Because humans were doing what humans do? Sodom and Gomorrah? Murdering all the firstborns of Egypt? Not the ones doing the actual enslaving, but kids again. Heaven’s so good at punishing people they punish the ones that don’t even deserve it.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale conceded. “Fine, yes. Alright.” He sank into a chair, no clue what to do.

“And as far as they’re concerned, we do deserve it,” Crowley added.

Aziraphale really wished he could switch off his imagination, just for a little while. Because Crowley was absolutely right, and he didn’t want to think about it.

Every demon was an angel once,” Crowley continued. “Where do you think they get that penchant for torture from in the first place?”

Aziraphale checked the time on the old grandfather clock that stood against the wall between two overcrowded bookshelves. It had been a week. Seven whole days, right down to the minute, since the world hadn’t ended. Seven whole days of waiting for the hammer to fall. Holding his breath, expecting it at any moment.

“Maybe that’s it,” he mused.

Crowley looked up. He wasn’t wearing his shades and for a moment, Aziraphale thought that the stress of the situation had brought his eyes to full snake. On second glance, he realised that the whites of his friend’s eyes were not yellow, but bloodshot red with exhaustion and lack of sleep.

“You should really get some rest,” he said. He didn’t sleep, personally, but he knew that Crowley did, and apparently over the years his human body had grown accustomed to it, not unlike his own with food.

“Maybe what’s it?” Crowley asked, ignoring the suggestion.

Aziraphale considered his answer carefully. “You said a few days ago that they would wait until we relaxed before they made their move. Maybe if we never do, that will keep them away.”

“Great,” said Crowley. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “So all we have to do is keep feeling like this for the rest of time.”

He was right, it wasn’t the best solution. Especially when one considered that believing they had a way out of their predicament was the kind of thing that was bound to let them relax a little anyway.

“Not possible, anyway,” Crowley continued. “Nobody can keep up that level of anxiety forever. Not even you, Aziraphale. Eventually you’re going to start to think you’re safe.”

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley was right. It had begun to happen already. This time last week, he certainly hadn’t been making plans for the future, now he found himself wondering what the weather would be like tomorrow and whether it might be a good day for a stroll in the park.

He wondered how relaxed was too relaxed.

It had been almost two months. August had long-since faded, first into an increasingly chilly September, and then into a drizzly October. The nights had been drawing in for some time, but they appeared to have accelerated, and it had long-since passed the point where there were more hours of darkness than of sunlight.

There was a chill in the air. People had begun to bring out their winter coats, their gloves and scarves and wooly hats. Some of the larger shops had begun to stock items for Christmas. Aziraphale wondered whether he would still be on Earth to see it this year. He did so enjoy the decorations, the fairy lights, the same old songs on the radio and the sense of love they appeared to provoke in the people around him. For a short time every year, at the end of December when life should have been hardest, love appeared to pervade the whole city for a short time, and it was beautiful.

Maybe, just maybe, they really had been forgiven. Or maybe whatever Adam had done when he had changed reality had made Heaven and Hell forget what they had done. Maybe, as far as they were concerned, there was nothing to forgive.

He didn’t believe that though. Not really. As much as he wished that he could. All had been quiet from Heaven since that day at the Airbase in Tadfield. Complete radio silence. That didn’t happen. If Gabriel had really forgotten the incident, somebody would have been in touch with some task for him to perform. The fact that they had not, told him that things were very much not okay.

He wished that someone would get in touch. It didn’t matter what for. If he could just have a short conversation with another angel, he might be able to work out the mood in Heaven from the way that they spoke or the words that they used.

But nothing. Nothing at all.

He had imagined a thousand scenarios by now, each one worse than the last. He was quite sure that no matter what Heaven decided in the end, he had already lived through worse in his own mind.

Aziraphale sighed and pulled his old coat a little tighter around himself, reluctant to use a miracle when he didn’t really need to, for fear of drawing attention to himself. He passed a shop with a Halloween window display of pumpkins and autumn leaves next, to one where a young woman with messy hair and a beautiful smile was putting the finishing touches to a Christmas one.

Soon, he supposed, it would be time to begin his annual campaign of attempting to put customers off from entering his shop in search of gifts. The thought made him tired, and some quiet part of his mind began to suggest that really, was there any point?

“Do you think we got away with it?” Aziraphale asked. He spoke in a whisper, although he knew that there was no point. If Heaven were listening, they wouldn't be deterred by quiet voices.

It had been six months since the world hadn’t ended, and it was the first time that Aziraphale had dared to voice the question aloud.

It was the middle of February and snow glistened in the trees and on the untrodden areas of the park, while the paths, and the rest of the city, had been rendered the dirty grey of well-trodden sludge.

Crowley hesitated. His hand stilled inside the brown bag that he was holding on his lap, and a nearby duck quacked in frustration when the food it had been expecting failed to materialise. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t.”

Aziraphale sighed, and he could see his breath.

The demon tossed a handful of duck food — they didn’t throw bread, not anymore. Not since Aziraphale had learned how bad it was for the ducks —to the waiting birds.

“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “I suppose you’re probably right.”

It had been two years. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how, but those two years had appeared to last longer than the entire last decade; maybe even the last two decades put together. Perhaps maybe time was slowing down as a way of prolonging their misery, or perhaps it was the opposite. Perhaps it slowed as a curtesy to them, to allow them to make the most of the short time that they had.

But most likely it was neither of those things. Most likely, it was simply his perception, growing confused under the stress of not knowing.

The human body he wore had grown thin from lack of food. He still did eat, but certainly not with the same gusto as before. It was difficult to enjoy a meal when you managed to convince yourself every time that it would be your last.

He knew that he should forget about it, just try to carry on as he had before. It wasn’t as though worrying about it would stop it from happening. All worry did was ruin the time that he had left. But he couldn’t help it. He had always worried, right from the beginning. He had worried when he had given away his sword, and every time he had spoken to Crowley. He had worried when they had struck up the Arrangement, and he had worried when Crowley had suggested trying to save the world.

Worry was familiar. Without it, he didn’t know who he was.

But it had always been something that came and went. He had never lived with so much anxiety for so long without respite. It was beginning to wear on him.

It hadn’t even been that long, he reminded himself. In Heaven, two years could pass in the blink of an eye. The judgement, when it came, could come at any time.

He tried not to think about it, and in doing so, found himself thinking about it even more.

It had been twelve years; long enough to see the world beginning to move on around him. He was beginning to see changes in technology, and to notice new regular customers coming into his shop; young adults that had been children when the world hadn’t ended. People that had had a life because of what they had done.

It was gratifying, in a way. Twelve whole years of people meeting and falling in love. Twelve years of friendships. Twelve years-worth of new literature and movies and all the other things humanity could create with their clever minds. Twelve years of new babies being born that would never have existed if the world had ended.

He and Crowley had done that.

Well, no, not them alone. Adam had done it, with the help of his friends as well as Crowley and Aziraphale. And the witch and her boyfriend, was now her husband, and Madam Tracey, and even Shadwell.

Twelve years of weddings. Of people growing old together.

But also twelve years of loss. And of heartbreak.

He liked to think that the good outweighed the bad. And even if it didn’t, the world continued. It had the potential to go on for millions of years. It could be so much more than just a battleground in the war between good and evil.

“What are you thinking about?” Crowley asked.

The demon was lounging in a chair in a way that did not look comfortable at all; sitting the wrong way around, curved around it in a manor that for anybody that wasn’t actually a snake, would have been quite impossible

He was wearing new sunglasses. He tended to change them every few years or so, when he got bored of a style, or they fell out of fashion, or simply because he saw a new pair that struck his fancy. It had been an unusually long time since he had updated his look though. In fact, this was the first new pair he had worn since… well, for twelve years.

That was encouraging, Aziraphale supposed. It meant that he was starting to move on, starting to stop worrying about what might happen tomorrow.

He only wished that he could do the same. The night before, as he had sat drinking a cup of cocoa and allowing his mind to wonder in a way that he rarely did anymore, he had imagined that he had Fallen; been cast out of Heaven and into the depths of Hell. That he had awoken as a demon, cut off from God’s love.

On other, similar nights, he had imagined that he and Crowley had become human; that they had been forced to age and eventually to die, and face a different kind of judgement. Other times, he imagined Gabriel standing over him, gloating as he pronounced some torture or another. Whatever it was going to be, he just wanted it over with. He was ready now. He had been ready for a long time.

It couldn’t be as bad as he was imagining.

“Angel?” Crowley asked, concerned now.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Nothing, dear,” he lied. If Crowley was going to move on, he was going to do his best to pretend to do the same. “How about a spot of lunch?”

He wasn’t sure how long it had been. A long time; he knew that much. He could probably work it out, if he tried. He didn’t want to. It felt as though it was better not to know.

It had been a long time, and still nothing had happened. He felt sure that by now he should be able to relax, but he just couldn’t. Every time he felt himself enjoying something, or looking to the future, he remembered the threat hanging over his head, and the anxiety returned.

He knew, deep down, that this was the punishment. That it had probably been their plan all along, to keep them guessing to the point of madness, to have them constantly looking over their shoulders, to make sure that they could never again just relax and enjoy the world.

He knew it, but at the same time, he couldn’t be sure. Heaven and Hell could still be biding their time. A judgement could still be waiting around the next corner.

He almost wished that it was. That they would simply make their move, whatever it was, and then leave him to deal with the consequences. He didn’t care what those consequences might be; he just wanted it to be over.

But it never would be, would it? It would always be there, waiting.

Crowley had been right; if Heaven were not better than Hell at punishment, they were at least exactly as good.

He shivered despite the heat of the summer morning, and glanced around the bookshop. It looked different now. Old books sold off, replaced with new. It had happened slowly, so slowly that he had barely noticed that it was happening. One book sold to a particularly enthusiastic collector, another to an old woman that had cried with joy when she had picked up a first edition of her childhood favourite from his shelf, and little by little, his collection had begun to dwindle.

After all, if he could no longer enjoy them, why not sell them on to somebody that could? Only his very favourites remained, in a box in the back room, out of view of customers. It had been a very long time since he had read them, perhaps it was time to sell those too.

He would think about it, when he got back.

He took a deep breath and released a sigh, then turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and headed out into the city to meet Crowley in the park.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #aziraphale #crowley #alternatives #last one #I wish tumblr still let you put lines in to break up text #why can't you do that anymore?

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crashdevlin · 5 years

Text

New Romantics- 5: Sin and Shame

New Romantics Masterlist

Author’s Note: This is a multi-chapter sequel to Wildest Dreams

Bamby gave me inspiration to write another chapter of this, so... here it is!

Summary: Dean told y/n that she’d pick up the machete and rock salt again, but he’s surprised to see her at Harvelle’s Roadhouse less than a year later. She’s nervous to tell him and Sam the catalyst for her to start hunting again.

Pairing(s): Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader x Dean (no wincest), Crowley x Reader

Word Count: 4739

Story Warnings: Smut, 18+ HERE BE SEX, DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!, anal sex, oral sex (fem and male receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, bloodplay, canon-appropriate character deaths, manipulation, BoyKing!Sam and Intended Queen!Reader!

Chapter Warnings: Blood Drinking, unprotected vaginal sex, possessive!Sam

Elizabethville, Ohio was seven different kinds of boring until the gate opened. I drove through once on my way from Cincinnati back home to Keystone. It was a half-dead factory town before they brought in bars and hookers and gambling. Demons, they’re all so overdramatic. I should know.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Baby Girl.”

“I didn’t ask you, Crowley,” I respond, getting out of my car and walking toward the front office of the cheap hotel. “You know I’m a hunter. You know I’m not going to stop being a hunter. You’re here to help me be a better hunter.”

“That’s not-”

I turn to the demon right outside the building. “If you don’t want to be here while I hunt your brothers, then fill my bottle and leave.” I raise an eyebrow at him.

He sighs. “Fine. Hurry up and get your room.”

I nod. I’ve got him right where I want him. Unfortunately, he can say the same about me, I know. He’s been working me over for two months. Even if I weren’t crazy for the things I can do because of him, I’m a bit… addicted to his blood. I knew, the first drop back in Lincoln, I knew what a heroin addict must feel. I get a room, number 6, and grab my duffel from my car. Crowley’s already in the room when I drop my stuff on the bed and kick the door closed. “I think I’m gonna hit the bar I drove past on the way in. Uh, ‘Trotters’. Seems a good place to get information.”

“Uh-huh.”

I sigh, deeply. He’s gonna make me ask. “I need a top-up before I go, get my powers to a hundred.”

“Gladly, darling. But you know what I want.”

I shake my head. “You know, there are more important things in life than your dick, Crowley.”

“Like your pride, y/n?” he snaps. “Must we do this every time? You haven't been able to resist me since you went back to Keystone. We're going to end up in bed, same as always, so why do you make this so difficult?”

I roll my eyes. At this point, I think it's just out of habit. I know that I'm going to let him fuck me just as well as he knows it, but if I didn't resist… if I didn't put up some sort of fight… what kind of hunter would I be?

“Why can’t you just gimme what I need without expecting anything in return?” I ask, but I know his answer. Same as every other time I’ve asked.

“Because I’m a demon, pet.”

“Not your pet,” I interrupt, moving to unpack my slinky red dress and black boots to wear to the bar.

“I’m a crossroads demon, y/n, and ain’t nothin’ in this world for free.”

I grasp the bottom of my tank top and pull it off over my head. “I hate you.”

“I know,” he says as I toss my shirt across the room. “I hate you, too, Baby Girl.” Love when you get nude, though.

“You’re a pig.”

“I’m a demon. And I’m a male. Were you expecting something else?”

I flopped to the mattress, shaking my head as I kick my sneakers off. “Not all males think the way you do, Crowley. I should know.”

“Of course all men think like me, y/n. Goes with the penis.”

“Your borrowed penis,” I remind him as he climbs over my body and looks down at me.

He smirks down at me and I shiver. God, it’s not fair. He knows exactly which buttons to push. “This borrowed cock?” He grinds himself down against my pussy, putting perfect pressure on my clit. “That cock you’ve choked on and creamed all over? This borrowed cock you love so much? That makes you scream?”

“Just get on with it, Crowley.”

You try to take the fun out of it, but I’m still going to make you scream. He pushes a picture into my mind of him hammering that thick cock into me and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning. This is how it always goes. He takes his time, I act like I don't like it to keep up appearances and he relishes every sound he makes me make. And then, only then, does he give me the blood I need.

‘The blood I need’. I hate that sentence. I hate that reality. I hate Crowley, but God, I love the way he makes me feel, the way he makes me scream. The things I can do with his blood running through me are worth every bit of the guilt.

It’s a little pathetic how quickly the demon has me writhing under him, with his mouth attached to my shoulder, his cock buried in me but not moving. “Move. God, Crowley, move.”

That’s not how you ask, Baby Girl.

“Oh, fuck you. Every fucking time?”

You know what I want.

I sigh, deeply, and buck my hips, but it doesn’t inspire him to move. It never does. “Daddy, please, fuck me.” He makes me say that because he knows it reminds me of John. Every damn time.

Good girl. He chuckles against my skin and starts moving. I grasp at his shoulders to ground myself and close my eyes, try to imagine that it’s not a demon that’s plunging his massive cock into my pussy, that it’s not a demon’s weight pressing me into this dirty mattress. Such gorgeous noises. He has me moaning, screaming-loud, within ten minutes and I can hear the people in the next room over thinking about how loud I am. God, that should bug me more, I like my privacy, but I can’t stop moaning as he bites into his arm and places the bloody flesh against my lips.

It takes more blood to get me going than it did two months ago, but not the mouthful he feeds me this time. It’s too much. I feel my stomach turn as I swallow. But then the warmth blossoms up and my senses go into overdrive and I don’t care about anything except the feel of Crowley’s borrowed cock twitching against my inner walls as he cums. I whimper when he pulls out and snaps his fingers to redress himself. “A little something to hold you over ‘til next time. Call me when you’re done here.” He sets a bottle on the side table and I can see that it’s bigger than the one he usually gives me. He wants me to drink more, to need more. I sit up as he disappears. Fuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm sitting in the corner of Trotters, listening out to the nasty thoughts of the patrons. I’m not hearing demons, but I’m hearing adulterers and coveters and random arrays of sinners. I take a drink of my beer and reach out.

“Boots?” A familiar voice pulls my attention to the bar. I can't help the smile, even if my stomach twists with fear at his presence.

“Dean!” I stand and wrap my arms around his leather-clad shoulders. “Had to know I wasn't the only one reading the trades.”

“You aren't working with Richie, are you?” His hand lingers on my lower back. I barely recognize the question because my mind is filled with memories of our last time together. When he remembers it, Sam is conspicuously absent.

“Delaney? Please, Winchester, I have some standards.” I pull back and Dean lets his eyes drag down my body, appreciating my curves. “Great, now I gotta worry about keeping that idiot alive.”

“Yeah, I'm working on that. You strapped?”

“Of course I am,” I respond with a smirk. “Aren't you?”

“Yeah, but I got a lot more space to hide a gun. Can't even imagine where you've got yours.” His eyes flash to my thighs and I smile.

“Yes, you can,” I say and I flip my hair out of my face.

He chuckles. “Sam'll be real happy to see you,” he says as I lean against my table and bite my bottom lip.

“Oh, will he?”

“Yeah. Sammy talks about you all the time,” he lies. Sam hasn't mentioned me since Nebraska, but neither has Dean. Dean, I can tell, thinks about me all the time, though.

“Yeah? I figured he would have his mind too full of the black-eyed blond to think too hard on me.”

Dean nods. Fear and anger roll off of him. “You know about Ruby?”

I nod. “Yeah. Bobby doesn't tell me everything, Dean, but he tells me enough. The important shit, that warrants a text message or two.”

He sighs and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. We probably should've called you at some-”

“You don't have to make excuses, Dean. Neither of you owe me anything.” I shake my head. He steps closer to me and there's this care in his mind and all I can think about is the fact that I've got a demon's cum on the inside of my panties. “She says she's around to help, but there's no such thing as a good demon, Dean. There's always an angle.”

“We know that.” God, she's gorgeous. Fuck, I wanna take her back to the hotel… but I gotta… Richie… bartender. “Look, I gotta run down Richie. He disappeared last night and I'm worried.”

I smile and nod. “Got a phone number for him? I'm sure his cell's got GPS.”

Dean's eyes widen, just a little, in realization. He scoffs. “Here I am, in a panic over finding that idiot, and you're cool as ever with the big brains, comin’ up with a way to find him.”

I shrug. “Gotta use the big brains for somethin’.” I'm definitely not using them in my own life.

“Wanna come with me to track him down? I gotta head back to the hotel, get my laptop.” Maybe time for a little… no. Can't do that to her and Sam again.

“Uh, yeah, you know what? This place seems a bit dead, anyway.”

“Yeah, Sam’s got eyes on the owner. I got a feeling about that bartender, Casey, though.”

“The one with the ass?” I ignore the zing of jealousy and snort. “I'm sure you got a ‘feeling’ about her.”

“Ha ha. Seriously. Richie said he had a, uh, a date with her and then he disappeared. I think she may be a demon, but I'm not sure. Haven't had a chance to get some holy water on her.”

I nod. “Yeah, let's go. Hopefully we’ll find Richie happily getting his rocks off somewhere.”

When we get to the hotel, we pass my room on the way to his and Sam’s. Dean points at my door. “Whoever’s in that room… porn stars.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Yeah. I don’t know what the guy was doing to the chick, but damn, I would’ve loved to get some pointers. She was loud.”

I shake my head. “You don’t need any pointers, Dean.”

“Can’t say things like that, y/n,” he says, quietly. She’s gonna make me…

I take a deep breath as Dean leads me into his room and pulls his computer off of his bed. “Why not?” I ask, sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling my thigh holster off before turning to him. “Are we pretending we’ve never had sex, Dean? Because I can do that, but…” I set the gun next to me and look at him over the laptop screen. “Kinda don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. Sam would hate me. “Aren’t you Sam’s?”

“Why, because Yellow-eyes said so?”

“Because Sam says so.” He sighs. “You remember how he acted when he walked in on us in Lincoln? You can’t pretend he doesn’t have some sort of-”

“He doesn’t have any claim to me, Winchester. Neither do you. You wanna pretend, we’ll pretend, but don’t act like it’s some altruistic thing that you’re doing for Sam.”

“I don’t know the mean of that word, y/n.” It’s not for Sam. It’s for you. Fuckin’ trainwreck.

I sigh. I’m a trainwreck, too, idiot. “Whatever. Let’s just… you go ahead and find Richie’s cell. I’m gonna go get changed.” I swipe my gun off the bed and head out, pulling the hotel key from my bra as I go.

Is that a ‘6’ on her key? “Wait, uh, sweetheart, uh…” Was that her moaning? Why didn’t we recog-

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Dean. In more appropriate clothing.”

I’m halfway through getting changed when my door opens. I left it unlocked because I knew he’d be coming to talk. “So… who is he?” Don’t be a hunter, don’t be a hunter. Dean leans against the door as I pull my jeans up my legs.

“He’s just a guy I met on a hunt a few months back. He’s a piece of shit but he gives me what I need.” There’s that word again.

“He didn’t stick around to help with the hunt?”

“He had an elsewhere to be… and this really isn’t his deal, Dean. He’s not a hunter. He’s a travelling salesman.”

“And you’ve been… you’ve been with him for… a few…”

“We’re not a real thing,” I interrupt. I shake my head. “I don’t get to have real things, Dean.” I button my jeans and tuck my gun into the back of my waistband. “I’m always alone. I told you that the night we met.” I smile tightly at him as I slip into my sneakers. “Did you find Richie?”

“Yeah, I got an address.” She deserves real. I wish I could

“Let’s go,” I interrupt his thoughts by grabbing my jacket and stomping into the hall. “Lock the door behind you.”

“So… how’s your dad?” Dean asks as we drive toward the address where Richie’s phone stopped.

“Dead,” I answer, my throat clenching around the word.

Shit. “Oh. Sorry. What happened?”

“Official story? The locals didn’t like him digging around in their stuff.”

“And the unofficial story?” Demons.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? Dead’s dead.” He looks over at me, and I can tell he thinks I’m being cold. Maybe I am. Maybe everything that’s been happening and everything I’ve been doing with Crowley, it’s making me numb. Maybe I knew my dad was dead as soon as the Yellow-eyed Demon appeared in my dreams.

Maybe I always knew that I was never going to get to be happy. Should’ve just stayed out.

��Yeah, probably.” Dean’s words make me jump. How much of that did I say out loud? “But now you’re back in, I don’t see you gettin’ back out.”

“Right. Only way out is dead.”

I get a flash of Dean standing in front of a funeral pyre, flames warming his skin, tears stinging his eyes. The body is wrapped in white cotton, it could be a memory or it could be his imagination. “Well, as long as you take out more of them on your way out.”

“Of course I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finding Richie sucked. His head was twisted around completely. I helped Dean set up a pyre and send him on to Heaven. We watched him burn and got back in the Impala. “It was the bartender.”

“Probably,” I respond, biting my thumbnail.

“Hey, uh, can you draw a Devil's Trap from memory? ‘Cause I was gonna go back to the bar, lure the bitch back to that manor we found Richie's body at. There was that rug...”

“Yeah. I got it. Got some chalk in the trunk? Drop me off, I'll get it done.”

As I'm drawing the trap, my mind goes to my father, to Crowley, to the Yellow-eyed Demon, to Dean and to Sam. I know Dean would love to get out like I did. Even for just a few years how I did it. I know Dean would love a chick who does yoga in her downtime and doesn't feel like she has to kill monsters to curb her desire to kill shit. Dean dreams of Lisa Braeden but she’s a stand-in. Her and her kid and her little slice of suburbia. She’s what I could’ve been. She’s what I should have been.

Sam dreams of Jessica, sometimes, but those are few and far now. Mostly, he dreams of the hunt. Mostly, he dreams of death. Sometimes, he dreams of me, but never of happy-ever… when he dreams of me, he dreams of sex.

Because that’s what I’m good for. For Sam, for Crowley, that’s what I’m good for.

I hide behind a stack of wine casks when I hear Dean’s voice. His thoughts are apprehensive, he’s hoping this will work… he’s wondering why demons always pick women with such amazing bodies. The demon isn’t thinking. Its mind is blocked. It forces me to realize that Crowley lets me into his mind. As strong as this gift has gotten, he still only lets me hear what he wants me to hear.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks as the demon looks around the cellar, looking for Richie’s body.

She smirks, turns to him and I see her press her lips to his. “Make yourself comfortable.” She walks over and flicks on the light in the closet as Dean skirts the outside of the rug and the trap beneath it.

“Oh, I forgot to mention… Richie was a friend of mine.” The demon turns as I move out from behind the casks. “When my girl reminded me I could track the GPS in his cell phone, I swung by earlier. We gave him a proper burial. It’s better than rotting in some skank’s basement.” The demon launches itself across the cellar and slams into the invisible barrier of my Devil’s Trap.

I laugh and step up next to Dean. “Oops.” I drop to my knees and flip the rug to reveal the trap.

Dean clicks his tongue and smiles down at it. “Isn’t that a buzz kill? Sorry, sister, but you’re going back to where you came from,” he says, pulling out a book I recognize as one of Pastor Jim’s old exorcism manuals.

The demon chuckles. “I don’t think so.” A hard breeze starts blowing through the cellar, and Dean fumbles on the exorcism.

“Keep going. Spiritus immunde, undolara.” I step back from beside Dean, out of his vision, and I close my eyes. I start trying to pull the demon from the brunette woman, but dust and debris start hitting me, then pages of Dean’s exorcism book. The book flies from his hand, the foundation of the house shakes, the staircase caves in.

Dean and I turn on the smug demon bitch. “What are you laughing at, bitch? You’re still trapped,” Dean snaps.

“So are you… bitches.”

I help Dean light candles, start moving rubble as ‘Casey’ taunts Dean about his inability to finish the exorcism. I could pull this bitch. I could exorcise her without a problem. But then Dean would know. He’d have questions I can’t answer. So, I’m just as stuck as they are.

Casey starts explaining how she fucked the town: a lunch with Trotter where she played on his greed to get him to play into everyone else’s vices. It wasn’t her fault, she didn’t “pull any triggers”. She just whispered in the right person’s ear. “All you gotta do is nudge humans in the right direction. Some whiskey here, a hooker there, and they’ll walk right into hell with big, fat smiles on their faces. Your kind is corrupt, kids. Weak. Our will’s stronger. That’s why we’ll win.”

“And that’s how it ends?” Dean asks.

“No. That’s how it begins.”

“So, demons take over. I thought the meek shall inherit the earth,” Dean says.

“According to your Bible.” The demon scoffs. “It’s only a book, Dean.”

“Not everyone would agree.”

“Are you really having this conversation with a demon?” I sigh and the demon looks at me.

“What, a conversation about the fact that Dean Winchester is lecturing on a book he’s likely never read?” It turns its attention back to Dean and I roll my eyes. It goes into its own lecture on war and genocide, the body count that humans have racked up in the past century alone. And then she says she’s doing all of this, damning all of these souls, because she’s a true believer. She’s a follower, a disciple, of Lucifer. She has faith in Him.

I search through every encounter I’ve ever had with a demon. I remember every bit of dialogue and every errant movement and not a single reference to Lucifer appears. Not from Crowley, not from Yellow-eyes, not from that first demon back in Massachusetts. Lucifer. What sort of ridiculous bullshit is that? Is this bitch just fucking with us?

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Dean asks, looking away from the demon.

“I’m an open book,” it responds.

“So, the gate opened, the demon army was let out. What now, huh? I’m not seeing a big, honkin’ plan here.”

“Honestly, there was a plan. Azazel was a tyrant, but… he held us all together.” Casey sits up from her place lying on the rug.

“Azazel?” Dean and I say at the same time.

“What, you think his friends just called him ‘yellow eyes’? He had a name.”

“He had friends?”

Dean smiles at me, but Casey rolls her eyes as she crosses her legs. “After you did him in, Dean, it all fell apart.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Dean nods. “So, what? No chain of command?”

“There was. It was Sam and y/n. Sam was supposed to be the grand pooh-bah and lead the big army with y/n at his side, but… they haven’t exactly stepped up to the plate, have they?”

“Thank God for that.”

“Again with God. You think this is a good thing? Now you’ve got chaos, a war without a front, hundreds of demons all jockeying for power, all fighting for the crown. Most of them gunning for your brother… some gunning for his girlfriend.” She turns her eyes on me. “For the record, I was ready to follow you and Sam.”

I feel a presence in the front courtyard of the house and look up, just a moment before Sam’s voice cuts through the cellar. “Dean?!” Dean looks up, we all move to stand.

Casey concedes defeat as Sam runs to the vent Dean was trying to climb out of earlier. Dean explains he's down here with me and the demon and Sam's thoughts pulse with worry. When Sam mentions he’s with ‘the Father’, Casey’s eyes light up. Of course the Cavalry and the Indians showed up at the same time.

“Sammy, be careful,” Dean demands.

I feel another presence, familiar and warm, just before a gunshot rings out. Bobby. Another presence, devoid of thought. Another demon. Bobby’s thoughts tell me it’s Ruby. I don’t have time to worry about what that bitch has been doing with Bobby, because another demon, the priest, is smashing his way through the rocks that trapped us.

Dean rushes at the demon as soon as it walks in. I move to jump at him, but I’m immediately tossed away. Casey warn the Father of the Devil’s Trap and he slams his fist into the stone, breaking my hard work.

Casey tells the priest to leave us be. It even says ‘please’ to its lover. It doesn’t move fast enough. A gunshot bangs, the priest falls, last bits of whatever it calls a soul sparking as it dies. Sam points the gun at Casey.

We can exorcise her! “Sam, wait!”

Sam shoots anyway. He likes watching the spark die. It’ll hit him later that there were people in those bodies, too. He’ll feel guilty about it, then, but right now? Right now, he likes it. Dean flashes to Azazel in the cemetery. “How certain are you that what you brought back is 100% pure Sam?”

I pat Dean’s shoulder and start to walk out, but Sam grabs my wrist. “Are you okay?”

I smile, as genuinely as I can, and nod. “This was mostly just a lot of blabber. It couldn’t touch us.”

Did they touch each other? “I didn’t know you were in town. When-”

“You were tailing Trotter, hung up on Dean when he tried to tell you he’d run into me, that we found Richie.”

So they didn’t have time to fuck. Good. I manage to keep myself from rolling my eyes as I pull my wrist from his grasp. “Hey, are you-”

“I’m gonna get out of your hair.”

“Y/n, I-”

“I’m tired,” I deflect. I’m not tired. I’m agitated, irritated. I need the bottle sitting in my makeup bag in my duffel.

I haven’t had a chance- “But-”

“Let her go, Sammy. She deserves a break.” Far away from us.

I hum in agreement. “Yeah. A break. That sounds good.”

“Maybe you call up your salesman, take a few days.” Have something normal. Have something real.

“Salesman?”

Not yours, Sammy. “Yeah. Y/n’s in room six. She had a friend over yesterday when she checked in.”

I get a clip of a memory of Sam hearing my moans through the walls. “That was you?”

“Yeah, look, I-”

She’s mine! “What… who? Who is he? How’d you-”

“Don’t,” Dean and I say at the same time.

“She’s obviously not yours.” There’s a smugness on his face, but I know it’s more of Dean’s false bravado. “She’s not yours, she’s not mine, she’s not what the Yellow-eyed Demon wanted her to be. Ain’t that just too bad?”

“But-” Sam starts, but I shake my head.

“You don’t get to do the jealous thing. Not when you haven’t called in two months. You don’t get to only give a fuck when I’m fucking someone who’s not you.”

That’s not true! “I can’t believe you think-”

“Sammy, let her go.”

“Thanks, Dean. Y’all give me a call if you need me.” I smile at the older brother, nod at the younger, and start up the stairs. “We definitely need a last hurrah before the lights go out, Dean. Hit me up when you’ve got time.”

“You know it, sweetheart,” Dean calls after me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, yore looking somber. What happened?” Crowley asks when he appears in front of me in the hotel room.

“Azazel. Were you one of his?”

“Oh, look who’s got insider knowledge all of a sudden.” Crowley sticks his hands in his coat pockets and starts pacing. “Yes, technically, I was one of Azazel’s but… with the exception of Lilith, Cain, and the other Princes, every demon was working for Azazel.”

“Were you planning to tell me what Azazel had planned for me?”

“When, exactly, should I have told you that you were supposed to be queen of Hell? Second in command of Hell’s Army?”

“At some point before coercing your future queen into having sex with you probably would’ve been a good idea,” I snap.

“Oh, are you planning to step up and be my queen, then?” He turns to me and I look down. “That’s what I thought.”

“If I were queen, would I be able to save souls from the Pit?” I can’t help but think of Dean. Would it be worth it? Would I be able to handle being what Azazel wanted me to be, if it meant saving Dean from Hell?

“Sure. But not Dean Winchester.” My eyes snap to his. “He’s going down. No question. Besides, with Azazel gone, you’d have to fight Lilith for the crown, and she’s not interested in giving it up.”

I sigh and stand, moving to grab my duffel bag. “Okay. So… should I be worried about this Lilith?”

“Of course. But Sam’s the one who should be more worried.”

I lick my lips. “I should stay with them, watch their backs.”

“They don’t want that. Dean wants to die in peace and Sam wants you as far away from his brother as possible.”

Why does everything have to be so goddamn complicated? “Great. I hate when you’re right.”

“Back to Keystone, then?”

“It’s the only place I can get away from you.”

“You’re going to break that Devil’s Trap, eventually. I’m getting tired of bending you over the hood of your car.”

“No, you’re not,” I say, picking up my bag and doing the rounds to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.

“No. I’m not.”

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys @allykat2108 @mogaruke @flamencodiva @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @pisces-cutie @paintballkid711 @natura1phenomenon @rainbowkisses31 @atc74 @alagalaska @bamby0304

HUNTER TAGS @letsby @mrswhozeewhatsis @adoptdontshoppets @spnskinnyballs @deansenwackles @gayspacenerd @thewhiterabbit42 @dolphincliffs

#cassie writes stuff #reader-insert #crowley/reader #boyking!sam #demon blood #blood addiction

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loveandwarandmagick · 5 years

Text

Rose-Colored Boy

yeah ,, i used a paramore song for my title ,,,, it’s cool we’re ignoring that

anyway this is my first fic n’ woW it took me almost the whole day to write this and i really hope you all enjoy it ! happy valentine’s day babes <3

summary: baz is in love and hates valentine’s day for this reason. intro the love of his life who ruins his plans to have a pity party with his aunt, with his own disaster on his hands. baz helps, like a lovesick fool

word count: 3,611 (lmao wow that’s a LOT)

Valentine’s Day used to be Baz’s least favorite and most favorite holiday.

Although classes weren’t ever canceled to celebrate the day, (that’d be an absolute nightmare with all the bloody couples at Watford), Baz remembers his father offering him the choice to stay home every year without fail. “Oh Basil,” he’d say, not laughing, but there was amusement in his tone, “It’s not like you’ll do anything important in your lessons anyways.” And they hadn’t, not in all the years that he’d missed. When he returned the next day, all the teachers remarked on how he’d missed out on making cards. As a child, he didn’t think to miss it, only relished in the break from making pink paper cards with the teachers and sealing the envelope with a charm that would unfold the card like origami.

Even if that break was spent being tugged along by his Aunt Fiona through the pink and red swarmed aisles of cheap candy and watching her shove multiple things in a cart at once.

Then after his fifth year - the absolute worst year- when all he could do was figure out that his feelings for Snow were so much more intense than he thought, coming home on Valentine’s was basically an obligation. He wasn’t stupid enough to spend all day in classes with the great love of his life, who was also his worst enemy, and on top of that, his roommate. Watching him parade around with his new girlfriend, and by default due to her status, Baz’s second worst enemy, was not at all worth it. Not even to escape Fiona’s lovelorn quest to buy every single piece of Valentine’s Day paraphernalia in the supermarket.

It wasn’t a sudden thing. Finding out that his feelings were just as intense as they used to be but on the opposite end of a spectrum was a slow thing to come. It was in December, perhaps. When the cold forced him inside earlier than usual and put Snow to sleep as soon as the sunset. He’d spend hours in bed staring at Snow, loathing everything he was. Everything he had; a gorgeous face, a future, a destiny. He’d had more friends than he could count on both hands, and Baz had only two. And besides friends, he’d had people who’d simply enjoyed being around him, who wanted to be in his life. Perhaps it was the magic, but maybe it was just him.

He drove himself insane with the wanting until his thoughts had shifted to wanting Simon. Yes, Baz was undeniably jealous of everything he had, but it was also the boy. His sweet smile and his freckled face and that lovely voice. And though it may have not been a quick realization, as soon as he figured it out, it tormented him. Simon haunted his thoughts and his room, throwing glares and stammering arguments back at Baz, who’d started them. If only to hear him say his name again, to be addressed if only for a moment, by the boy he loved.

Utterly in love, and oh, so hopeless.

So he finds himself now, in their seventh year at Watford, packing his trunk for the ride to Fiona’s apartment, (she’s decided to stay in and wait for the day after to buy clearance candy.) Heaven knows who she’s been heartbroken over for the past seven years, but Baz doesn’t exactly feel entitled to ask. As someone who’s living through the definition of unrequited love though, he figures that he’ll leave early to surprise her. Maybe they’ll rent a rom-com. “Or maybe,” he can hear her say, “We can go out and make fun of the couples. For culture, of course.”

He shakes the grin off his face at the thought, as his thoughts inevitably run back to Snow and his lovely relationship, still going two years later. There were times when Baz thought he had a chance. Times when Snow would stare at him from across the room, every room. When instead of arguing back, he’d only remain silent and turn over on his bed, facing the wall. Baz has only guessed that things had ended with Agatha, but they appeared fine the next day, hands clasped and polite smiles shared over breakfast. He’d know, he watched them constantly. To no avail, he should add.

So much for celebrating, he thought bitterly, biting his cheek as he shoved his last item carelessly into the trunk and closing the lid with a resounding thunk.

Baz looks over at Snow’s empty bed, cursing his feelings and his thoughts and stupidly beautiful boys like Snow himself. He drops his head down onto the case, groaning at the dull pain in his head. Then again, a third thunk. Except, not from Baz slamming his suitcase shut, or from his dramatic, hopeless head drop on it either. This one is louder, coming from right outside their door. Before he can even spell the door open, the sound turns into incessant pounding, and suddenly the door swings open and in barrels Snow.

Because Baz’s life is so gracious as to see him thinking of the bloody person who got him in this situation in the first place and to drop said angel right into his lap. Well, onto the floor in front of him. The love of his life is currently sprawled out on the rug, about two feet from Baz’s feet. He’s breathing hard, looking down at his hands like he’s shocked that they’re even there. Though it wouldn’t surprise Baz if they weren’t. (Snow’s shit at most spellwork.) He still won’t look up at him. Baz doesn’t even think that Snow knows he’s in the room, which wouldn’t make sense as he’s quite literally at his feet.

“Snow.”

Simon jerks his head up, blinking wildly up at Baz. Oh.

He’s got tears in his eyes, which is alarming on its own. But there are little pink buds all over his face that look like - flowers? Whatever they are, he looks entirely unpleased with it. Baz could laugh because it’s truly a ridiculous sight, but seeing Snow cry sends him to his knees to marvel closer at his face. Truly, idiotically in love. Or maybe just idiotic.

“I can’t imagine what sort of curse someone placed on you that would cause you to get such a terrible case of acne, Snow,” Baz sneers.

Snow just makes a choked sort of sound and peers into Baz’s eyes, which makes him suck in a breath because Simon’s right there, and Baz is right here and completely hyperventilating. He focuses his eyes on a flower right between Snow’s blue eyes, noticing that the petals are the same color as the pink blush decorating his freckled face. The flowers are small, resembling tulips that haven’t bloomed yet.

“Baz?” His voice is soft. Baz is pretty sure that he’s swooning. Dev once told him that his eyes gave away everything. “They tilt down at the corners when you’re into something,” he’d laughed, although they had been talking about lavender tea at the time.

Crowley. Baz is sure he’s looking every bit of the mess that he feels, and still hasn’t responded to Simon, who’s staring at him intently. He probably should respond, instead of marveling. “What in the world did you do to your face?” He asks, which is a start. Perhaps a terrible one, because he really has no time to be wasted if he wants to make it before the traffic starts up, and he and Snow don’t exactly make a habit of sharing stories, so he’s not expecting much of anything except a sharp response.

But Simon’s still sitting right in front of Baz, (so close that he can count just how many blooms are on his face - seven in total) and also Baz really doesn’t want to leave; he never wants to leave Simon. And then, surprisingly, he starts rambling. Not the standard routine of stammer, stutter, and pout that usually accompanies his constant arguing, but a full-on stream of words pouring off his tongue.

The blush gets darker every time he takes a breath. “Agatha spelled me. Some weird truth spell that wouldn’t work because it sounded too much like a compulsion spell. Then I had tried it and of course, it worked but she warned me about moderation in my tone because it was a very literal spell. And I told her that I knew that because of course, I did, but then I ended up covered in flowers and they keep popping up if I don’t tell the truth and I don’t even want to tell the truth but I don’t want to be a walking meadow by the time I get rid of it!”

He breathes. Blushes harder. Damn him and his stupid flustered face. Even the flowers are changing colors to match the darkening of his cheeks.

“And of course Agatha just stares at me, saying ‘There you go Simon, even the romance is a disaster with you!’ Which is unbelievably rude in general, but on Valentine’s, it’s even worse and I really wish I’d stop telling you about this because I hate telling you about anything but I can’t find Penny-”

A flower, a tiny pale pink one, pops up on his cheek. Both boys’ eyes go wide. The flower rapidly changes colors to match the other ones.

“Where’s the lie, Snow?”

“There’s no lie, I’m not sure why that happened, erm-”

Another flower sprouts from right above his eyebrow. His eyes squeeze shut.

Baz’s chest flutters hopefully, idiotically. Because part of that statement, the part that matters and could’ve most definitely been false, is about hating Baz. Well, hating to talk to him. He’s not sure whether or not to take advantage of this, considering that Snow’s very distressed, and he just wants to make Snow feel better. Then again, he supposes he could do it while flustering him more, (flustering looks good on him.) Simon’s looking down now, having moved slightly away from Baz in his panic to backtrack on the statement. He’s playing with his hands.

“Snow.”

“Pitch,” he says back. Indignantly, like he has the right to be upset while Baz is fighting every urge in his body screaming at him to hold those nervous fingers in his own hand, to calm him down and help him get rid of this spell.

Traffic is going to be hell when he leaves.

“Simon. Are you alright?” “Not at all.” And then, “You called me Simon?”

Baz frowns at him. “Is there a problem? Would you like me to address you as Snow?”

“Well yeah, it feels natural. I’m used to it,” he murmurs, looking back up at Baz. And then: not one, but two flowers.

He breathes in sharply and mutters something under his breath. Okay, it’s not natural! I’m used to it but still-” A flower. On his chin. Snow looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

“I like it when you call me Simon,” he says, gently.

No flower, but one of the ones on his forehead unfurls just a tiny bit when he says this. Baz is preoccupied with pretending that knowing this as the truth doesn’t make his breathing halt in his chest a bit, so he doesn’t exactly notice it when Simon shifts closer. Or how he can literally feel his eyes softening, his face nearly smiling, his head shifting just a bit closer to Simon’s own. The traitorous, hopeful, body of his has a mind of its own.

“Oh Merlin, please help me,” he says, worrying his lip between his teeth. Baz thinks that he’d like to do so too.

He’s deliberate with his words, careful. This moment feels like glass, it’s too delicate to be shattered by carelessness. This is Snow being vulnerable. This is Baz loving it, loving him. “Simon,” he starts, “one of your flowers is bigger than the other.” Simon sniffs hard, and Baz thinks that maybe that made things worse, so he rushes along with his theory, (which is completely selfish and hopeful.) “No, it’s not bad, I don’t think. What spell did you cast?”

He shakes his head, brow creasing further, “I can’t remember, something “pink colored-” he trails off. Baz shakes his head back, mirroring Simon and laughing softly to himself. He’s never heard anything like that, but flowers have to bloom before they’re picked. And when Simon told the truth, the flower opened up slightly- “Try telling the truth. Just true statements, things of that like.”

For someone who is on the verge of tears, Snow deadpans excellently at his suggestion. “Oh come off it, just try it.” He sighs, shifting away again while Baz screams (in his head) at the distance between them. “I am in this room with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

No flower shifts, nor does a new one appear. Baz glances down at his watch and figures that he’s really going to be stuck in traffic for a while. If he ever even leaves, (although no one could pay him to leave right now. He supposes that Fiona can wait another day for their pity party.)

“Agatha mentioned that it was romantic, but I can’t think of any way that an anti-lie spell could help us in the romance department. We both knew that our relationship needed help anyway,” he mutters, and the flower on his cheek opens up about halfway. Simon’s eyes go wide as he sniffs again, harder this time like he’s crying. Baz tries to ignore the way his chest turns into a vacuum, sucking up all the air in the room at hearing Simon say this, at the tulip bursting open on his cheek. He tries to and fails miserably.

His voice cracks as he starts, excited and bubbly and every bit as nervous as he feels, “Simon, say the truth. Just say what’s on your mind - I think that’s what it is!” He’s nodding rapidly and Snow’s doing it too, and the pair of them look like two deranged bobble-heads but this is working and Baz can’t lie and say that he’s not excited to help too. “Holy crap, Penny’s going to flip when I tell her about this!”

One pink tulip starts to shift, and Simon’s eyes are shining. He’s beaming, so relieved that he’s laughing and falling forward. Closer to Baz. So close that his curls are falling onto Baz’s chest and Baz has to stop himself from touching him. (He could, he wants to.)

“I’ve never been so relieved in my life!”

“Agatha breaking things off with me felt better than being in our relationship did.”

“Valentine’s Day sucks anyway!”

One by one, the petals unfurl, giving way to huge roses. So, not tulips then. Simon’s stopped laughing since then, but his eyes are still shining. All that’s left is the rose on his shoulder; the rest fell off as soon as they bloomed fully. Baz’s heart is beating erratically in his chest, mostly about everything he said about Agatha. The only thing running through his head is “breaking things off with me,” on repeat.

“There’s one left,” he remarks. Quietly, and once he feels like he can speak without squeaking. So that Simon doesn’t remember that they hate each other. So that Baz can entertain his heart, just a bit. “I said everything that’s been on my mind since the morning, I can’t imagine how I could get rid of it.”

A spot where an old flower just fell from starts to grow red and Simon frowns.

Baz raises an eyebrow. “I’d be careful there Snow, you don’t want another case on your hands.”

Simon raises one back. Baz breathes in and out, like someone who didn’t just have a mild heart attack. Baz tries to sound steady as he speaks, “I’m sure you’re meant to say everything on your mind. So out with it.”

“I don’t think I can uh,” Simon starts, every bit the stuttering mess that he is. “It’s just weird? Like, I don’t think that I could say something that wouldn’t change things in like, a really, uh, weird way?” He flushes again, the rose on his shoulder beginning to quiver the slightest bit. Baz nods encouragingly at him, scooting closer so that their knees are touching. “That’s fine Simon, I just need you to say it. Not that it isn’t lovely to watch you suffer at the hands of your own mistakes.”

At this, Simon’s head snaps up and he scowls at Baz, who is fighting back his own soft smile. There’s some feeling in the air, something like tension. When Simon’s hand comes up, Baz thinks that he’s about to get punched, but very slowly. And then Simon tilts his head to the side and lets his fingers wrap around a loose piece of hair framing Baz’s face.

Fuck being punched, this is being hit by a car. Baz’s heart is slamming against his chest and surely he’s making the most idiotic face but none of that matters because Simon Snow is practically playing with his hair and Baz Pitch is dying slowly. He looks down, dropping his hand. “When I got closer to you, I did it on purpose. I felt like I needed to thank you for helping me out.”

“Just now, I grabbed your hair because I’ve never noticed it until just this moment and I really wanted to touch it.”

Baz is currently thanking every single possible entity that he didn’t leave sooner.

“One time I read a book and one of the quotes was about thinking something and finding it very hard to unthink. That quote crossed my mind for whatever reason and then I thought about how much I really didn’t hate you at this moment. And well...”

He shrugs, looking up at Baz who is very, very aware that their lips are too close together, closer than before Simon started talking. Simon’s eyes are shining blue, and his face is all spotted red from where the flowers fell out, and his eyebrows are honestly shaped quite terribly, but Baz has never been more in love and he thinks he might kiss him. It might be worth it, even if Simon pushed him away and cursed him horribly for it. But he did say all that.

“Look, I kinda really want to kiss you? So I’m going to do that if that’s alright with you?”

Simon’s leaning in and Baz is really trying to not hyperventilate and suddenly, the rose on his shoulder puffs out, scattering rose petals all over Baz, who is trying very hard not to cry as Simon collapses into giggles next to him. “Oh the look on your face, Baz! You looked like I’d shot you or something,” he laughs, dragging a hand through his curls as he brushes rose petals from his shirt.

“Yeah well Snow, excuse me for being surprised that you would take your pranks to a romantic level,” he sighs, standing up and stepping over Simon, who’s stopped laughing abruptly and is scrambling up to his feet.

“Hey, no wait, you git!” He’s reaching out to Baz, who is gathering his trunk faster than he’s ever done anything and is really hoping to get out of the door before he starts crying, like the moron he is. The absolute fool that he’s always been, to love Simon and to have hope in the first place. “Baz can you wait?”

“No, I can not,” he hisses back, wanting nothing more than to kiss this ridiculous boy and never see him again. Simon throws his hands up, going over to him and taking him by the shoulders and Baz lets him because he’s weak and hope is a thing very alive in his chest. “Snow,” he says.

“I already told you that I preferred you call me Simon,” he frowns, letting go of Baz but stepping closer all the same.

“Snow-”

“Simon,” he says again, touching his forehead to Baz’s. It only works because he’s on his tip-toes. It works because Baz has stepped closer too. He opens his mouth, fully planning to never say the name “Simon,” again, but said boy cuts him off once again. “Don’t say anything,” he whispers, inching so close that their lips are brushing with every word that he speaks and god, Baz is absolutely hopeless, “Unless it’s my name,” he finishes, finally pressing their lips together.

Simon’s hands are in his hair and he’s smiling, Baz can feel it, so he pulls away gently. “Simon,” he says, smiling. He kisses him again, harder this time until Simon starts giggling.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” he says, feeling every bit like the lovesick fool he is.

“Okay,” Simon says back, biting his lip. Biting back another sunshine grin.

Baz glances down at his trunk, still leaning on the wall. So does Simon.

“Are you going somewhere? I wouldn’t have minded it so much when I thought you hated me, but in light of recent events, I think that maybe you could be my valentine?”

To: Fiona

i’ve got plans this v-day, Fi. i take it you’ll manage without me?

From: Fiona

was just about to cancel on you for my date tonight. have fun without me, alright?

To: Fiona

will do

From: Unknown Number

Would you please let Simon know that the spell is called “Rose-Colored Boy,” and that it’s for confessing since he let his phone die so carelessly and asked me to help? Thx - Penelope Bunce

To: bunce

i’m not going to ask how you got my number, bunce. will lend him my charger

#lwm fic #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #snowbaz fic

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neighbours-kid · 5 years

Text

A Very Whovian February

Here we go again, another month over already. To nobody’s surprise whatsoever, I have continued watching way too many movies and tv show episodes in February as well. There weren’t as much as in January because university started again, but there were some. It totals in at 3 movies, 1 musical, and 116 episodes of tv. I was a bit heavy on the shows this month, less so on the movies, as you can see.

February is always a….peculiar month, if you will. It’s short, it’s half holiday and half university, it’s sort of winter but not anymore, and just really weird. What was particularly strange about this month however, was that even though I sort of committed myself to binging through Money Heist once more—and managed three episodes—I quickly went back on that decision and made another, rather bigger commitment: I decided to re-watch and finally catch up on Doctor Who. No one was more surprised at this decision than me, I believe.

I used to love this show, I used to talk about little else. Doctor Who dominated big parts of my interests for a few years. Through a combination of my brother watching the show and me discovering tumblr, I started watching it in 2012. That was right at the end of ninth grade and the beginning of grammar school. I was 16. I was awful. I talked about it constantly, and especially after I “converted” a friend and she ended up watching it too, it was a constant stream of talking about Doctor Who, always, all the time, everywhere. Which I now understand is annoying as hell. However, back then? People being annoyed with it and sort of shaming me for it? That—and the show losing what made me love it mostly through Moffat taking over—made me stop watching it. At some point I just—stopped. I didn’t talk about it, didn’t think about it much anymore, unfollowed a lot of blogs on tumblr who posted about it, and turned my interests elsewhere. I abandoned it.

For a while there it was also just a thing that I didn’t wanna touch. I watched it in a part of my life where I was awful and toxic and just not a really fun human being to be around, I think. At least I don’t look back at this time all too fondly. It was just part of a person who I wasn’t anymore, who I grew out of, grew up from, and largely also moved on from. It was a strange time. But it was always sort of at the back of my mind as something that I loved, something that brought me great joy and parts of which I really missed deep down. Once I got a Netflix account and it kept appearing in my suggestions, my resolve to not go back to it started to crumble and I ultimately decided that I could learn to love this show again and maybe be better about it this time around. And I also just really wanted to give Peter and Jodie a chance, because no matter how good or bad the stories are, taking on a role like the Doctor is a feat, and I want to give them the opportunity to impress me and make me like them.

Watching that very first episode of Chris Eccleston’s arc at the beginning of this month felt very similar to when I completely re-read all of Naruto last Spring. It felt like coming home, like re-discovering a long lost love. And I am loving it. I am enjoying this tremendously. The monsters are ridiculous, the CGI is hilariously bad, the masks and make-up are insanely cool, the stories are simple and honest and lovely and I just adore it so much. Russel T. Davis was such a wonderful show runner, his vision for the show was so….lovely and simple and human. There were so many brilliant moments in the first four seasons, the companions were fascinating and conflicting and challenging and the Doctor was fantastic and brilliant. And even now that I have already binged through most of Matt’s arc as well, I still appreciate this show. The first time around, I think, I wasn’t too fond of Matt as the Doctor because I really loved David and his take on it, but this time, I am really enjoying Matt’s way of navigating that sort of dichotomy of darkness and ridiculousness that the Doctor has. Matt is fun. David is still my absolute favourite, but I am enjoying Matt tremendously as well. The CGI might have gotten better, the stories bigger and bolder, and, what I felt the first time around, maybe lost a bit of it’s simple and human aspects, but it is still a show that makes you keep thinking, what if?

If you know me you know that I often say the words “ugh I hate people”. I hold the opinion on most days that we, humans, are the worst and we’re being for the most part terrible to ourselves, our environment, and that Earth would be better off if we all just died. However, on odd days in between, I am also like insanely fascinated by humans and by what we can do and who we are and all that. Watching nearly seven seasons of Doctor Who in one month and seeing the world and humans through the Doctor’s eyes, raised those odd days in between to a level able to compete with my humans-suck days. It’s basically 50/50 now, to be honest. If you boil my entire life down to a single conflict it’s that of HUMANS SUCK WE’RE THE WORST and HUMANS MY DUDE HUMANS WE HAVE SO MUCH POTENTIAL. Basically. Combine this binge-watch with the Opportunity Rover dying and you have me sobbing in a corner filled with hope for humanity and the need to change the world, because we could.

Oh.

Well.

Look at that. This is supposed to be a recap slash diary entry about this month and I have already spent all this time talking about Doctor Who. Can you imagine how annoying I was when I watched it the first time? Yeeeaaaah.

Anyway.

Watching Doctor Who was not actually the only thing I did in this month. I did a lot of procrastinating on a paper about witchcraft in Dutch art which I then finally finished the day before I had to hand it in, started university back up again in the middle of it, helped some friends on their moving day, hung out with other friends, went to a birthday, and, y’know, did things human beings do.

But—and I’m going back to Doctor Who again, sort of, I am so sorry—I also read a book. And not just some book. It was Good Omens by the two amazing gentlemen Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. Watching four seasons of David Tennant being amazing on Doctor Who also made me re-discover my adoration for him. Not that I didn’t already know that, I mean I did just watch him in Broadchurch. He is just great and I love watching him in things. And then he started a podcast (David Tennant Does A Podcast With…, it’s amazing, you should all listen to it) and he’s on radio shows promoting it and he is just ever present. And there was press and information and stuff going around for the tv adaption of Good Omens in which David plays Crowley, so he was just constantly on my mind. So I said to myself, hell yes, you need to re-read Good Omens before the show comes out in May, so why not do that now. And I did. And it was fantastic. And because I am me, and I am weird, I forced myself to stretch the last 100 pages of the book over an entire week, so I could walk into every first session of classes at university reading this book (four of which being theology classes, which was very important for me to be reading this book in). I needed to mark my place as resident weirdo, because who else could it be?

So, in summary, I guess my month could also be called “David Tennant February”. I watch Doctor Who nearly every evening, listen to David’s podcast every Tuesday, think about Good Omens every day—yeah, February was very heavy on the David Tennant content. I am not complaining.

To end this on a less David Tennant-y note, and a more “these things actually happened this month” bit, February has also been a month of, I don’t know, resurrection? Is that a good word? Anyway—February has brought out (or back) more of who I truly am again. Most of it is the weather (thanks climate change, I’m sorry the planet is dying), the sun being out, the temperatures already clocking in above 10 degrees celsius. I am enjoying it tremendously. I am convinced that I might be half-plant because the sun just revitalises me so strongly. Seasonal depression just goes down the gutter once the sun is out and I can feel the warmth of Spring on my skin. I am alive. Another thing is that I stopped, just really stopped giving a shit at university about other people and what they think. I am using all the bathrooms, no matter what. I am going by Alex even in German classes. I don’t apologise for anything or justify my actions. I don’t care anymore. What I do care about, is that I finally got a date for my consultation with a psychiatrist here in the city. I am partially excited and happy about it, however I also, as soon as I opened the envelope, felt completely numb and detached because the date is in June and that’s still so far off, which I guess I knew would be the case, but having confirmation for it, was just a bit…much, I think. Knowing that my future is in the hands of other people is not a thought I like very much and having to wait for other people to have time for me in that perspective is just not a fun thing. But we’ll get there. Eventually.

I don’t know guys, this post is just full on stream of consciousness, just me blabbing on and on about things that I don’t think anybody really cares about. But like I said last time, this is supposed to be a sort of diary entry for my garbage brain to remember what I did in my life, so y’know, this is valid.

I’ll talk to y’all in a month. Be good out there, guys. Be good.

Bye.

#february #blog post #text post #diary #recap #monthly blog #doctor who #good omens #david tennant #writing #trans

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herowords · 6 years

Text

Something’s Gotta Give

A/N: The one where the guy who lives above Dean is having crazy, wild sex every fudgin’ night, and Dean’s about as done with the store bought baked goods the dude keeps giving him as he is of the questionable noises that keep Dean up all night. - Written for a prompt.

To say that Dean’s new apartment is not the Taj Mahal would be an understatement. But it had been cheap, and Dean had been desperate, so he’d signed on the dotted line without much fanfare.

And he’s not high maintenance, he can deal with the washing machine that clanks, and the old carpet, and the missing screens on all the windows, but what he can’t deal with is the questionable noises coming from the apartment above him. Every. God. Damn. Night.

He waits a week, hoping it will stop. The noise can’t go on forever, right? But when it’s been eight days, and it’s 3 o’clock in the morning, and Dean’s staring up at the ceiling, drawn from sleep by a wild thump, it’s time to address the issue.

Throwing back the covers, Dean finds his slippers - feet sliding across the carpet in the dark - and stands, marches out of his apartment full of righteous fury. Outside Dean climbs the steps and then he’s standing in front of Weird Noises’ door, and his fist is falling against the door in three sharp knocks.

It’s a minute before the guy answers. He pulls open the door, frowning, and blinks at Dean in the yellow-y glow of his porch lamp.

“Yes?” His voice is rough, gravelly, and for a beat Dean doesn’t speak. Because truly the dude is really rocking the JBF look and someone as good looking as he is this early in the morning is going to take some time for Dean to process. So he stares at him - blue eyes droopy, dark hair a complete mess where it stands on end atop his head - because Dean is especially creepy like that.

Another time (like a time that’s not shitass o’clock in the morning), and another place Dean probably would have hit on the guy already. As it were, that’s not why he’s here.

“Can you keep it down up here? I gotta be up early tomorrow.”

The man’s frown softens, the side of his mouth tugging up into a smile. “I apologize. That was Michael. He can be very loud when he’s excited.”

“He can- okay,” Dean stammers, because the dude says it like they aren’t talking about him and this guy, Michael, going at it at 2 am. “Well it sounds like fun up here, but uh- are you done? ‘Cause I really need my sleep, man.”

The guy nods. “Yes, I believe he’s finished. I’ll make sure he keeps quiet for the rest of the night. Again, I apologize.”

“Thanks uh-”

“Castiel.”

“Thanks, Castiel.”

After that Dean trudges back down to bed, and waits, eyes trained on the ceiling. When he hears nothing, he’s finally able to roll over and sleep.

When Dean gets home from work there’s a plate of cookies on his doorstep and a note.

Dear Freckles (I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but notice them last night, they really suit you - and you never told me your name.)

I know I’m not able to give back the sleep you missed, but I can give you cookies. I hope you find them enjoyable.

Thank you,

Castiel

Dean eyes the cookies. They’re obviously store bought. But at least the guy tried.

Two days later the noises are back. It’s only midnight this time, at least there’s that, but it could be 7 o’clock at night and Dean would still be perturbed. He makes the walk up to Castiel’s apartment and raps on his door.

“Gettin’ a little loud again, Cas.” Dean says when the door swings open. Castiel looks much like he did the last time, but his eyes are brighter, and his cheeks are flushed. Goddamn post-coital looks good on the guy.

Castiel’s face goes sheepish, and he blinks at the ground for half a second before bringing his eyes to meet Dean’s again. “Crowley was getting rough. I didn’t realize how loud he was being. I apologize.”

“Crowley?” Dean asks, shocked. What kind of dick parents name their kid Crowley?

“Yes. He isn’t my favorite by any stretch of the imagination, but I do still have a soft spot for him. I’ll keep him quiet.”

Dean nods, “Thanks.” That’s probably all that needs saying, but Dean doesn’t move, staring at Castiel, not ready to say good bye. “Uh, thanks for the cookies. Nestle Toll House?”

“Yes,” Castiel nods in confirmation. “I’m gald you enjoyed them.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Okay now he’s getting redundant. For a beat he shifts on his feet, wracking his brain for something else to say. “I guess I’ll just-” he hefts a finger over his shoulder.

“Alright.”

But as Dean turns to leave a hand closes around his wrist and he finds Castiel looking at him with wide eyes. “What’s your name?”

Dean smiles. “Dean Winchester.”

“Good night, Dean Winchester. I hope you sleep well.”

“Okay,” Dean manages, backing away. “You uh- you sleep well, too.”

As he walks back towards his apartment he asks himself when Castiel went from Weird Noises to Castiel, the first man to have caught Dean’s eye in a very, very long time.

Dean (I very much like your name),

Again I felt I should offer you something for keeping you up. I hope you enjoy pie. It’s lemon.

Castiel

The pie has a price tag on it and everything. There’s no way it’s going to be half as good as Dean’s, but letting it go to waste would be, well, a waste. Store bought or not, it’s still pie.

Monday passes without incident, Tuesday does, too. But when there’s another loud thump sounding right above Dean’s head, he’s almost relieved. It’s not that he’s been looking for another excuse to talk to Castiel, except for that it is.

Climbing out of bed Dean almost smiles.

“It was Samandriel,” Castiel offers before Dean even has to say anything. “He’s still fairly young and just learning the rules. But I’ve spoken with him, and I don’t think it will be happening again.”

“Okay,” Dean offers, because he’s not sure what else there is to say. Cas has a different partner four days out of the seven, and at this point Dean’s a little less worried about the loud noises, and more concerned with how he gets a spot on Cas’s list. Right at the top would be nice.

Castiel doesn’t close his door, and Dean doesn’t move from the Welcome mat. Silence creeps between them, but maybe if Dean waits just a few more seconds, he’ll have something else to say.

Eventually Cas is the one to break the silence. “How was the pie?”

“Good,” Dean nearly shouts. When he’s calmed himself the fuck down, he repeats himself. More quietly. (More normal.) “It was good. Thanks for leaving it for me.”

Castiel’s eyes twinkle. “I’m glad to hear it.”

After that there really isn’t anything more to say. It’s almost 4 am, and Dean’s certain he’s not the only one who needs to sleep. He reaches out a hand and lets it rest on Cas’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Good night,” he says.

“Good night,” Castiel responds, a small smile curving his lips.

Dean’s not even to the stairwell before he’s mentally ripping himself a new asshole because that was weird as fuck. There was no need to touch Cas, he’d just wanted to. It was still fucking weird, he reminds himself. And maybe Cas won’t ever answer his door again.

The donuts don’t come as a shock when Dean finds them resting on his stoop. There’s half a dozen in the box, all different flavors, and the accompanying note is taped to the lid.

Dean,

I wasn’t sure which kind you prefer so I settled on an assortment. Samandriel sends his regards and apologies. ;)

- C

He’s used to the desserts and notes from Cas by now, but seeing Samandriel’s name in print shakes him a little. So Cas talks about Dean to his conquests. Great.

After Samandriel there’s Gabriel and brownies, then Raphael and cupcakes, and Gadreel and lemon bars, and when Dean storms upstairs yet again, he waits for Castiel to open the door with fists clenched and teeth grit.

This time when Castiel’s door swings open, he’s holding a cat under one arm, petting it’s head with the other.

“Are you an escort or something?” Dean blurts, because even Dean - who’s a big fan of sex, huge fan - doesn’t get laid as often as Cas does.

Cas’s classic frown is back, and he studies Dean quietly for a beat. “You think I’m a male sex worker?” He asks, head tilted to the side. The cat in his arms squirms, and Castiel brings it to his chest, letting it head butt his hand, then scratching behind its ears.

“Yes?” Dean offers, but then the way Cas is looking at him is more confused than guilty. “No? I don’t know, dude. You’ve got thumps, and bangs, and plops coming from up here all night. I assumed-”

“That I was having sex?”

Dean scrubs a hand at the back of his neck. “Yeah?”

With a shake of his head, Castiel points to the cat in his arms. “Dean, this is Michael, my cat. Lucifer is also a cat, as is Samandriel, and Gabriel, and Raphael, and Gadreel.”

“Wait, you have six cats up here? Isn’t that illegal or something?” And for some reason the fact that it’s fucking cats making all the noise makes so much more sense than Cas having an un-tamable libido.

Nodding, Castiel opens his door wider to permit Dean inside. “Come in,” he says, “please.”

Inside the place is tidy. With six cats running amok Dean assumed Castiel’s apartment would be covered in cat hair and smell like crap, but all he can smell is lavender.

“I adopt and foster cats and kittens. That’s why I have so many. Some will go to new homes when they are ready, some will stay with me for the rest of their lives.”

Dean’s eyes dart around the apartment, seeing 1, 2, 3, 4 cats all peering at him curiously from behind some piece of furniture or another. “I’m an idiot,” he mutters. But when he looks at Cas, the man is smiling gently at him.

“You’re not an idiot, Dean. How were you to know it was cats making all the ruckus?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean shrugs.

“I won’t lie to you, Dean,” Castiel states, eyes and nose crinkling with his growing smile. “I’ve grown quite fond of our visits. Even if they are in the middle of the night.”

Now Dean’s smiling, cheeks flushing. “Me too,” he admits.

“Perhaps now we can find other reasons to meet.”

Dean feels light now, happy. So Cas isn’t running a Den of Iniquity, he’s just doing the animal world a solid. And while Dean’s no one to judge how many people someone sleeps with, he feels a strange sort of relief that he was wrong about Castiel. “What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”

“Not a thing.”

“Awesome. I think it’s time you learn how to actually bake baked goods.”

“You bake?” Castiel questions, head tilting in that adorable way of his. (That’s right, adorable.)

“I own a bakery,” Dean explains, “hell yeah I bake.”

Castiel is nodding now, smile still plastered on his face making Dean feel warm. “I'd like that very much.”

After Dean scribbles down the address to his bakery he and Castiel say their good nights and Dean enters his apartment with a dopey grin on his face. Cats, he thinks to himself as he drifts back to sleep. Cats.

The following afternoon Castiel arrives at Dean’s bakery at 1 o’clock on the dot. It’s kinda strange seeing him in something other than pajamas, but at least the guy’s hair is still a complete disaster.

“You ready to get your bake on?” Dean asks, when Castiel breezes through the door. He hands Cas an apron that matches his own, and puts up a Closed For Lunch sign.

“I think a more appropriate question would be ‘Are you ready to burn things while I stand in the corner and laugh?’“

Dean lets out a chuckle. “You’re not going to burn anything. I’m supervising, remember?”

“It’s happened before, Dean.” Castiel loops the apron over his head, turning his back to Dean. “Tie me up?”

God yes, Dean thinks, cheeks burning, but then he reminds himself - and his dick - to stay calm. We’re baking cookies for fuck’s sake, he tells himself as he ties Castiel’s apron strings into a messy bow. Remain calm.

Dean’s calm for all of ten minutes and then he’s standing at Cas’s back, showing him the most efficient way to use an electric beater. Cas smells clean, citrisy Dean thinks, and his back is warm against Dean’s front. There is not a shred of calm to be found.

“Am I doing it?” Castiel asks, neck craned so his eyes meet Dean’s.

Dean smiles, then moves in to brush his lips against Castiel’s. When Dean pulls away, Castiel’s flushed and grinning wide. “Yeah,” Dean says. “You’re doing it.”

And so maybe Cas makes a lot of noise (or his cats do, whatever) Dean reasons it’s not so bad anymore; as long as he’s there to make noise with him.

#DeanCas #puppycastiel #woefulcas #beefcakemish #princessjimmynovak #AU #fluff #prompt fic #herowords fic #baker!Dean #2018 #March 2018

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profound-boning · 6 years

Text

timestamp for A Kind of Magic; ~1790 words, deancas friendship (they’re 11), cole trenton sux, Hogwarts feels

As his first year draws to a close, Dean feels nothing but gratitude for the many wonderful things that have happened since September.

His flying skills have improved, he’s earned good grades (or, “top marks” as Professors MacLeod and Crowley are fond of saying) and had an amazing amount of fun.

Sunny afternoons by the lake, all-nighters in the Hufflepuff common room, and the best birthday party he could have imagined are at the top of the list, with his friends faces shining brightly in every memory.

The end of the year exams are similar to what Dean remembers from “regular school” but middle school was a lot different from Hogwarts. At his old school they did a lot of projects, used computers and iPads, and ate lunch in the cafeteria. Plus, he had to go home every day. Here, he gets to see his friends all the time and his classes are way more fun. Dean can do magic.

One thing that is the same is the bullies. At Dean’s old school they put kids in lockers or stole their glasses or pencils. Here, they’ll cast a spell to make your pants disappear or your books, or they’ll give you a treat that makes your tongue swell up.

Or, if you’re Christian and Cole, you stick to mean insults. Dean doesn’t believe in that “sticks and stones” mumbo jumbo anymore because words can be very hurtful.

Actually, Christian has gotten a tiny bit better. Rather, he got the talking to of his life from the professors and maybe even from his family because he’s backed off a lot. He doesn’t approach Dean at all, just glares at him or makes threatening gestures in the halls. Dean and his friends are careful to steer clear of the older Gryffindors on principle.

Cole is, unfortunately, not backing off at all and is a much more difficult to avoid.

It doesn’t make sense to Dean that Cole wants to pick on him when they’ve hardly interacted at all, but he’s accepted it. Everyone who matters is kind to him and supportive when he’s feeling down. So why worry about one jerk?

Dean would much rather focus on how many marshmallows he and Garth can fit into their mouths, what’s the craziest spell he and Kelly can find in their textbooks, and where else in the castle can he and Cas explore before the end of the year?

Cas seems to know everything about Hogwarts, which is due to a combination of having a magical family, being a curious and adventurous kid, having an equally curious and adventurous friend like Dean, and being a huge dork. Dean reminds him of that quite often, including this very morning while they are eating breakfast.

“Hey, dork, where should we go exploring today?” he asks, biting into an apple.

Rolling his eyes, Cas smiles at him. “I’m not sure yet. Let’s pick a random staircase again?” They could probably do this all seven years and not cover every single staircase, landing, and hallway in the castle—the way that the stairs constantly change makes it difficult to keep track of their progress.

“Sure thing,” Dean agrees, adding butter to his toast. “Hey, did you finish our Potions homework yet?”

“Yes,” Cas answers around the pancake in his mouth. “I had some free time,” he says defensively when Dean glares at him.

“You spend all your free time flying, not writing essays,” he says. “What gives?”

Cas laughs. “That’s true. I guess I had extra extra free time.”

Dean sighs heavily, pretending to be very put upon. “I guess I’ll have to suffer on my own, then. Waste away on this assignment.”

“You big baby,” Cas teases. “All you have to do is ask and I’ll help you.”

He leans into Cas’s shoulder. “Thanks, buddy. You’re a gem.”

“I know,” Cas says loftily. “Don’t you forget it.”

They eat some more before exiting the Great Hall, wearing jeans in celebration of the weekend. Cas is wearing a lumpy sweater—which should be weird considering it’s the end of May and fairly warm, but Cas tends to get cold more easily so it makes sense.

Their morning passes without incident, traipsing from one end of the castle to the other. Dean chose the stairs this time and led them up a tower they hadn’t seen yet. They look out of the windows in order to explore the outside of the castle and observe the grounds. Lots of people are taking advantage of the nice weather to relax outside, including Benny and a pretty Ravenclaw girl named Andrea. Dean hollers at his friend just to be embarrassing and Cas hits his arm.

“Dean! Don’t tease him,” Cas admonishes, even though he’s laughing, too.

“Just having fun. Benny’s got such a big crush on her.” Dean rolls his eyes. “I don’t get it.”

Cas looks at him. “He likes her. We’re all pretty sure she likes him back; all of us except Benny, that is. What’s not to get?”

Dean scrunches his nose. “Dunno, just doesn’t seem important at the moment.”

“Well, Dean, just because you’d rather be reading or practicing spells doesn’t mean the rest of us are nerds like you.” Cas backs away quickly to avoid Dean hitting him, pushing off the wall to keep running up the stairs. And back down again, still avoiding Dean’s grasp, they laugh and shout together.

“If you aren’t in class, or getting ready for class, or doing homework, or working ahead for class, then you’re eating!”

“Shut up, Cas! I’m not the one who ate two whole boxes of those jelly beans you love in one night!”

And this is certainly what Dean will miss the most over the long summer months. The feeling of being with Cas, being wild and free with him, laughing harder than he ever has before.

They’re hoping to get John to agree to let them visit each other at some point over the long break until September, but Dean isn’t hopeful. He tries to be as optimistic as Cas but it’s hard to think about the look on his dad’s face if Dean were to ask to go and stay at a magical home or to bring another young wizard into their house.

Therefore, he takes in every single moment they have left, embraces having fun with all of his friends with fervor. He can’t really spend time with them all at once, so he has to improvise. And at least there’s always the owl post.

He and Cas eventually decide to quit running around indoors. It’s really a beautiful day outside. Cas makes noises about getting out on his broomstick again while Dean contemplates the classwork that needs his attention. They agree that the Quidditch pitch is a great place to meet both of their needs and they set off for the dormitories to grab their things. Dean isn’t allowed past the stairs leading down to the Slytherin “dungeon” as he likes to call it just to tease his best friend, so he lingers in the hall. It only takes Cas a minute to change and then they set off toward the Hufflepuff common room. The old tradition of keeping the rooms absolutely top secret from other students has petered off, with friends often waiting for each other in the hallways, but the common room itself is practically sacred. It’d just be weird to have someone else in there—even the professors don’t go in unless there’s an emergency.

That means rounding the corner and spotting Cole Trenton standing in front of the barrels that make up what amounts to Dean’s front door is pretty freaky. He quickly nudges Cas and they silently back up out of sight.

“What the hell?” Cas whispers, looking angry.

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “What do you think’s going on?”

Cas peers around the corner and whispers, “I think he’s trying to break in, that little—”

“But why? What’s even the point?”

Cas chews his lip. “Could be nothing. But maybe he’s trying to pull some prank. You know what though? It doesn’t matter. It’s the principle of the thing. He shouldn’t just be trying to bust in there, it isn’t cool.”

“I agree,” Dean says, leaning over to look again. Cole seems to be stuck on precisely what to do to the barrels to get the door to open but it may not be long before he figures it out. “Donnie told me no one’s been down there for—”

He never gets to finish that sentence. Cole screams bloody murder the second the enchanted barrels react to his attempted entry, despite the fact that the vinegar is harmless. Still, getting absolutely drenched in the stuff can’t feel good. He must have tried a pattern at random and that caused the doorway to reject him harshly.

Dean and Cas lean on each other’s shoulders in order to laugh hysterically. When they realize Cole can hear them, they grab each other’s hand and run away as fast as they can. Still laughing, they duck into the otherwise empty Great Hall and double over.

“Oh my”—Cas pants—“I can’t breathe.”

“The funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dean agrees, breathless with laughter. “I’m getting a cramp.”

Cas wipes actual tears from under his eyes and snorts. “I can’t believe our luck to witness that. We’re so blessed.”

“Think it taught him a lesson?” he wonders.

Cas looks thoughtful. “One can only hope,” he finally answers. “But c’mon.” He tugs on Dean’s shirt sleeve. “Let’s head down to the pitch.”

“But I don’t have my homework,” he whines. Regardless, he follows Cas out of the Hall.

“We can come back for it later,” Cas reasons, “after the vinegar gets cleaned up.”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that. Should we tell someone?” Dean frets.

As they pass by the hallway in question, they observe Professor Mills laying into a soaking wet and smelly Cole with Professor Singer looking on quite sternly, arms folded.

“Looks like it’s all been taken care of,” Cas says breezily. “He’ll be cleaning that up with a toothbrush, mark my words.”

Dean laughs again just picturing that. Soon, the pair duck outside and are greeted by warm sunshine. Since Dean doesn’t have his materials to study, maybe Cas will help him practice his flying.

He looks over at Cas, still grinning broadly (probably also imagining that bully scrubbing the floors outside Dean’s common room) and leading them toward the storage unit for practice brooms.

Dean feels incredibly grateful that he met Cas on the train and, when Cas turns to hand him a broom with a toothy smile, he feels happy. Perfectly, indescribably, untouchably happy.

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hekate1308 · 6 years

Text

Like Fathers, Like Son

A while ago, I made a post that said Dean and Crowley looked like a set of angry parents in a scene, and I wrote an AU version of that, but @thayerkerbasy, @wheresurmoose and @sent-by-hael seemed to wish for a canon version, so here goes. This is basically crack. Enjoy!

“This time, I am going to gank you for real“ Dean hissed through gritted teeth.

“Keep it down, Squirrel, would you? I hardly imagine Mr. and Mrs. Albert would like to hear one of the spouses they have invited to “clear the air” threatening the other one.”

“This is all your fault.”

“I fail to see how.”

“According to Roderick, you were the one to teach him one should always honour one’s deals –“

“One should” Crowley said firmly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “And because of that, your son thought it was alright to humiliate the boy in front of the whole school – “

“He’s my son now? Are you trying to make me a single parent again?”

Dean sighed. There were days where he thought there had been some logical reasoning behind his decision to marry the King of Hell and have a child with him... and others when he realized that this had, indeed, been the worst idea of his life.

Today was decidedly one of the latter.

“I do admit I am impressed that he managed to make every screen in school show it when the bucket of fake blood dropped on him and he screamed in panic” Crowley drawled.

“Please tell me you didn’t tell him that.”

A pause.

“Oh God, do you know how I’m going to look in his eyes when I tell him he can’t do that now?”

“You have to admit, for a seven-year-old it was a rather elaborate scheme –“

“That’s not helping!” The only reason Dean managed not to shout was that Mr. And Mrs. Albert were getting them snacks and he and Crowley were sitting in their utterly mundane living room. “We are raising a child not the next King of the crossroads.”

“Technically, he’s first in line to the throne –“

“Not that again!”

“I distinctly recall you liking it when I force demons to call you Prince –“

“Crowley, can we talk about this at home? Right now we have to look like a normal suburban couple.”

Crowley huffed. “God knows what exactly is it that makes suburbia so tempting to those people. Look at that carpet.”

“We don’t all have your money.”

“Our money, and again, I don’t recall you complaining about it before –“

“I’m not complaining. I just want our child to grow up a good man –“

“Dean, there is no doubt in my mind he will.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because he has you for a father.”

And once again, Dean felt his anger melting away because Crowley was being sweet. “Damn you” he muttered.

Crowley took his hand and kissed it. “Don’t worry, darling; everything will be fine.”

“That’s easy for you to say” he muttered.

“Yes it is because if this gets too much, I can simply –“

“Don’t ruin the moment. Again.”

Crowley looked at him, the picture of innocence. Dean almost laughed but managed to stay serious.

Mr. and Mrs. Albert returned with the snacks.

“Now, Mr. and Mr. Winchester” Mrs. Albert began, “We do understand that this happened because John asked Roderick to do his homework, and then declined to pay him in candy. We have talked to him about it, and we will see to it that something like this doesn’t happen again. But still, we can’t help but feel that Roderick’s revenge for a better word was a little... a little...” she trailed off.

“Vindictive?” Crowley suggested, a gleam in his eyes.

Really, Dean couldn’t take his husband anywhere.

“Yes” she said.

“You see –“ Crowley began but Dean interrupted him before he could say something they would both regret.

“We have talked to him about it, and trust me, we will again” he said, glaring at his husband, “And he will understand that he is not to play such pranks on his classmates.”

The Alberts didn’t relax. “We’re glad to hear it” Mr. Albert said, “but at the same time I have to admit – that is we have to say –“

“John says Roderick tells all kinds of stories, stories that scare the other children” Mrs. Albert said determinedly.

Dean sighed. Dear God, what now? “What do you mean by that?”

“As a matter of fact, we were slightly concerned –“ Mr. Albert glanced at Crowley “You see, Roderick was adamant that his father was the King of Hell, and that the demons had to obey him. I understand that every child has his or her fantasies, but that seems a little dark to me.”

“Oh yes” Dean said quickly, “He loves inventing stories like that. The other day he made up that one where I was saving a bus like in the movie Speed –“

“Still. He also said that if the other kids were mean to him, and I quote, “My Father is going to send our hell hound after you.”

“I wouldn’t call Juliet a hell hound” Crowley said, turning to Dean, “She’s a sweetheart, wouldn’t you agree, darling.”

That bastard. Dean was definitely going to kill him this time.

“Juliet is a very nice dog” he pressed out, well aware that when they returned to the bunker, she would already have slept in their bed again.

“So you see, it’s just make-believe” Crowley continued pleasantly.

“That may be, but it’s not very normal make-believe, is it” Mrs. Albert said.

“Isn’t that the point of inventing stories? To get away from then normalcy of everyday life?” Crowley asked.

Damn, he could be smooth when he wanted to be. Small wonder Dean had eventually caved when he had kept proposing marriage.

And then adoption.

“But don’t you think insisting he’s the spawn of Satan is a bit –“

“He didn’t say Satan, he said King of Hell” Crowley pointed out, actually looking slightly offended that anyone would compare him to Lucifer.

This was going great.

“What’s the difference?” Mr. Albert asked indignantly.

“Well, the devil –“

“Crowley” Dean said as calmly as he could.

“And that’s another thing” Mr. Albert said, “What kind of name is Crowley?”

Bad idea. Extremely bad idea. Crowley was rather fond of the name he had picked for himself – even though he had taken on the last name Winchester once they had been married, much to the dismay of his subjects.

“It’s my name. I don’t see how there is anything weird about it.”

“You don’t? It’s freaking strange, that what it is –“

“James –“ Mrs. Albert tried –

“Sorry, love, but I’m done with all these strange stories John comes home with every night. Demons! Ghosts! Ghostbusters!”

Dean doubted that Roderick had actually used that word. His son knew a hunter when he saw one, and the Ghostbusters had always struck them as amateurs.

“I think” Crowley said slowly, “You should calm down.”

Dean laid his hand on his thigh and squeezed, hoping to calm him down.

Sadly, the movement only seemed to egg Mr. Albert on. “What I am trying to say is, if you freaks have to have children, can’t you –“

“If you just truly called my husband a freak, I suggest you take it back right now” Crowley said, still eerily calm, but Dean knew what would follow if Mr. Albert didn’t do the smart thing and apologize.

He hadn’t been bothered when people called him freak for a long time now. There were some things you had to accept if you married a demon, and being a freak was one opf them.

As long as it got him such spectacular sex as they’d had last night, he didn’t mind one bit.

“Why should I take it back? Look what you’re doing to your son! I’m tempted to call the authorities so he can get help, far away from you crazy –“

Both he and Mrs. Albert were pinned against the nearest wall. Dean sighed. “Really?”

“Sorry, darling” Crowley kissed his hand again, “You know how I get.”

“Don’t I just” he breathed. “Just make it quick, okay?”

“Don’t worry about it” Crowley said, kissing him.

He stood up and advanced towards the Alberts, slowly showing his demon eyes. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. You are not to call either my husband or our son “freaks”. Me? I couldn’t care less what you call me, although I would appreciate it if you could use my titole, so “Your Majesty” it is, if you ever have the misfortune to run into me again.”

He studied their faces, enjoying their terrified expressions. “So here is what’s going to happen. Your son will never bother ours again. Roderick certainly won’t do the homework of anyone who doesn’t keep up their part of the deal. In fact, John won’t speak to Roderick at all unless Roderick speaks to him first. And if he makes any attempt to retaliate... Remember, I know where you live, and Juliet can indeed be a hell hound when she is in a mood...”

He waved his right hand and they slid down on the floor. “Now. Did I make myself clear?”

When they didn’t answer, he repeated the question. Eventually Mrs. Albert managed to squeak affirmatively.

Crowley nodded. “Your wife is definitely cleverer than you, Mr. Albert. I would listen to her in the future. Let’s go, Squirrel.”

And with a snap of his fingers, they were in their bedroom.

“You – you – “ Dean cleared his throat. “You’re lucky that was damn hot.”

Crowley grinned.

“Don’t give me that look, mister.”

“What look?” Crowley asked innocently, looping his fingers around the belt loops in Dean’s jeans and pulling him towards him.

He didn’t really resist.

Two hours later, Sam knocked on the door. “Are you done yet? I think I have been looking after your kid while you’re having sex long enough!”

He’d woken Dean up from a nap, and he hid his face in Crowley’s shoulder and groaned.

“Guys –“

“We’re coming, bitch. And thanks for babysitting.”

“Any time, jerk.”

“Guess we have to go and be responsible parents now” Dean sighed.

“Why? I handled it.”

“That may be, but Roderick can’t run around telling the kids the truth. Eventually someone will notice.”

“I guess you’re right” Crowley conceded.

“And nothing” Dean said firmly “Of that “good prank!” stuff, do you hear?”

Crowley sighed.

Roderick was reading Treasure Island in the library. Dean couldn’t help but smile proudly. Their kidn was smart.

“Hey, squirt” he said, ruffling his hair.

“Hello, Dad. Father.”

“We just came back from a meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Albert –“

“Uncle Sam said you came back two hours ago, but were taking a nap” Roderick pointed out, “Although I don’t get it because Father doesn’t need to sleep –“

“My point is” Dean ahsteend to say, “We spoke to John’s parents.”

“He should have just given me the candy” Roderick complained. “A deal’s a deal, Father said.”

“That’s right” Crowley agreed proudly and Dean shot him an angry look.

“I might agree with that” he said carefully, “But here’s the thing. Seeing how important it is that you keep your deals, you should be very careful which deals you decide to make in the first place.”

“But you wouldn’t let me have any more candy the other day” Roderick grumbled and Dean sighed.

“That’s because I want you to be healthy. Don’t you trtust me to know what is best for you?”

Roderick’s face lit up. “that’s true, Father said the same thing.”

“See? So no more light deals with your classmates. Promise?”

Roderick frowned but said “I promise.”

“And also – Roderick I know you’re proud of what we do, but please use the cover stories we gave you.”

“But talking about teachers and businessmen is boring!” he whined.

“He definitely gets that from you” Dean told Crowley before saying, “Yes, but we all need to be safe, you understand that, right?”

“I guess.”

It was as good a reassurance as he was going to get.

Two days later, Roderick told them, “John changed schools” during dinner and Crowley looked entirely too satisfied for Dean’s liking.

Someone was about to get punished tonight, that was for sure.

The fun way, of course.

#my writings #drowley #dean winchester #crowley #crack #forever my king

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