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roanniom · 3 years

Note

okay but 10/10 would pull hot lawyer in by his tie and make tf out with him

Get You Off

(Original photo source @the-adam-driver-files but made b&w by me)

Lawyer!Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 1,252

Warnings: NSFW, simple PIV smutty smut, I guess semi-public (there are people in the next room)

The real question is, are you doing this before or after the trial? You giving into temptation when you spend time in his office, brushing hands over legal documents as he goes over the details of the defense? He’s telling you some important info about the one thing you have to make sure to say on the stand, but you’re too busy appraising the way his body looks in that gorgeous, tailored, fitted suit to pay attention?

Kylo urges you to stay focused, you’re not going to win otherwise. But right now you want to win something else. His eyes widen as you grab him by his luxurious silk tie and wrench him forward, bringing his lips crashing to yours. Though you’re the one who takes the initiative he catches up quick, hands rushing to your waist, gripping your hips, squeezing your ass. You’re so eager, propelled forward by the tension that has been mounting over days of listening to his authoritative voice, watching those massive hands sliding across forms and papers, imagining them sliding through something else. He presses in against you, caging you in until you’re backing up, pulling him right along by the tie.

Until your back’s against the wall and suddenly you’re being lifted. Pressed against the brick of his small office. Small since he’s still new to the firm of course, though with his many talents you’re sure he won’t stay here for long. What’s certainly not small is the massive bulge that presses up against you as he grinds his hips against yours, your legs squeezing around his waist to keep you aloft.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you say breathlessly with a smile and not a single ounce of sincerity. Your statement obligatory but only teasing. Kylo’s lips bruise their way down your jaw, your throat, until his teeth sink into the flesh of your shoulder, causing you to buck into him and cry out. You should care that the paralegals outside his office can probably hear you but you just don’t. You know that if roles were reversed they would be equally happy to wind their legs around this god in a good suit.

“You shouldn’t have committed that crime, either. Life is full of things you shouldn’t do,” he says in a low, measured voice. His eyes are hooded and he watches you as he tongues the spot he had bitten so deeply at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, just as a hand slides down to cup your mound through your stylish cigarette pants. His index finger presses tight circles through the fabric, somehow zeroed in right over your clit, if a little off center, making you gyrate your hips in desperate need for more, harder, him.

“But you don’t strike me as a woman who says no to her desires just because they are improper.”

“And you don’t seem like a man who gives a fuck if a woman’s desires are improper.”

Suddenly you’re whirled around and seated on the edge of his desk, paperwork flying everywhere. You should probably care about that. Those papers were the key to your acquittal. To your freedom from scrutiny. To your ability to walk away from this world of hearings and trials and litigation. But as he pushes against you to make your back press into the hard wood of his desk, his body finding its place between your thighs, clothed cock nudging insistently at your core, walking away is the last thing on your mind.

“You, my dear, are more than improper,” Kylo says, his voice low. His hands leave your waist – rendered unnecessary by the intense way his pelvis keeps you pinned to the table – traveling up your body to rip open your blouse. Buttons ricochet and it’s absurd, its cliché, its overly dramatic, but the way his hands descend on your bra-clad breasts are none of those things. More like rough, delicious, demanding. He kneads the heaving flesh and licks a long stripe up the valley between them, starting from your sternum and ending with a lascivious suck right beneath your pulse point. You moan at full volume now, hips undulating against his, thighs pulling him in for more pressure. Kylo chuckles against your throat, holding you down against the table by the weight of his grasp on your breasts. “The word ‘obscene’ comes to mind.”

“That’s slander,” you reply, though it comes out in a huff. Suddenly Kylo reduces contact, pulling away his upper body. You sit up on your elbows in panic, only find him watching you with a bemused smirk, hips still slotted between your thighs, hands working deftly at his belt.

“What are you going to do, sue me?”

When Kylo frees his cock – and absolute monster, red at the tip and leaking with precum – his hands move to your hips, yanking down your pants as if they personally offended them. You’d teased him in short dresses and skirts every other day since he’d begun counseling you. How fucking dare you make it harder for him today, of all days.

Once divested of your pants you pull Kylo to by the tie again, this time slower.

“I’ll sic my lawyer on you,” you whisper against the shell of his ear when he’s finally bent over you fully, distracted by the task of lining himself up with your entrance. “He’s a real wolf. Goes for the jugular.”

Kylo practically growls in response before sheathing himself fully in your soaking cunt. You clench around him immediately, barely getting to flutter your walls before he’s pulling back and ramming right back in. The desk squeaks with the force of his strokes and the way your body slides against it. Oh yes. The paralegals are jealous.

“Sounds like he’ll get you off,” Kylo spits through gritted teeth, though humor dances behind his black-blown eyes. Your own eyes roll back in your head when his hand roughly takes hold of one of your breast, manhandling it and pinching at the nipple.

“Oh he’ll get me off – ah!” You almost lose your ability to speak for a second, which would a shame because it would mean you’d have to stop this verbal dance. Through heavy pants you speak up again. “He’s really…really…good.”

“Oh yeah? He’s good?” Kylo eggs you on. Sweat collects on his brow and his perfectly coiffed hair bounces looser, more tousled, but otherwise he still seems remarkably put together, in spite of the look of agonized pleasure rippling across his face. His cock protrudes from his open pants but other than that his clothes are surprisingly unrumpled. You, on the other hand, must look thoroughly debauched with your bare legs around his waist, panties pulled to the side, shirt ripped open and his hands pulling your breasts wantonly from their bra cups.

“Yeah, so good – fuck!”

“Is he big?” Kylo prompts, snapping his hips so hard suddenly you swear you feel him in your throat. When you don’t answer his hand snakes up to your face to deliver a light, orienting pat to your cheek. Your eyes open, slightly unfocused. “His cock. Is it big?”

“W-what – oh god – what does that have to do with being a lawyer?” you challenge, which gets a breathless laugh out of him.

“Everything, baby.”

And Kylo is big, and he does get you off – two times in his office, once in the court room the next day at your trial, and then twice again back at his office.

After all, he’s big good.

~*~

Smaller tag list since I don’t usually write Kylo and idk who is down (let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged in the future!) : @paper-n-ashes @foxilayde @maryforyou @maybe-your-left @finn-ray-nal-beads @mariesackler @sacklerscumrag @hopeamarsu @aliveandlonely @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @safarigirlsp @millenialcatlady @can-i-pls-get-a-waffle @mrs-zimmerman @clydesfavoritegirl @direnightshade @historyandfandoms50

***Retagged because some apparently didn’t work - sorry if you got double notified!!!

#lmao did I write this out of nowhere because of too much encouragement - yes #Kylo Ren x reader #Kylo Ren AU #Lawyer!Kylo Ren #Lawyer!Kylo Ren smut #Kylo Ren x you #smut #writing #roanniom #tw: semi public sex #cw: semi-public sex

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adhdeancas · 3 years

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Dean and Cas were gifted an array of items for their wedding, which Dean’s not sure says more about him and Cas or their friends. Either way, he’s up at the ass-crack of dawn (he woke up early and he couldn’t go back to sleep, he was too- jesus he’s sappy- he was too freaking happy) and he’s sitting in the living room of their hotel room, looking at all this crap.

Claire, Kevin, and Kaia got them an array of pot, pipes, and bongs, with a note to Chill The Fuck Out Sometimes that had made him double over laughing.

Charlie got them butt plugs with Mr. and Mr. on them and little wedding tassels (he was really gonna kill her for that. but they would definitely use them).

Sam got him a bright pink waffle-maker, with a note about that waffle-maker he’d gotten him when he married Becky. Bitch.

Jo and Benny had gone in (a bizarre pairing, but apparently they’d met up in the shop and decided to go for a group gift) on Taylor Swift’s complete discography on vinyl. Apparently Jo was going to go for old 50s love songs, but Benny (the son of a bitch) had told her about Dean’s constant humming of Taylor Swift in purgatory, so, she changed pace.

Bobby promised to teach Dean how to fix up their old farmhouse (with no farm) when he got back from the honeymoon, since Dean had never had a home to learn to fix before.

Garth made them both make their next two appointments for dental cleaning before he would give them his gift- a set of shining nonstick pots and pans that Dean almost cried at. It was one of the only genuine classic wedding gift they got.

Michael sent (Adam wouldn’t let him come to the actual wedding out of spite) an enochian carved knife set that Cas assured him was the most beautiful of love poems. Dean was pretty sure on instinct alone that there was a fuck you in there somewhere.

Crowley got Cas a karaoke machine, with the note “you won’t like him after two weeks with this” and he got Dean a compass that pointed toward him (just in case).

Rowena wouldn’t tell them what she’d gotten them, just given each a wink and a hug and told them they’d thank her later. Considering how many, uh, trips to the bathroom they made throughout the night, Dean had a guess it was some kind of magical blue pill.

Cas clears his throat from the doorway, and Dean looks up from his position on the floor. “I thought you might’ve snuck out,” Cas jokes softly. Dean snorted and held out a hand. Cas took it and joined him on the floor.

“I did. Had to get away from your snoring,” Dean lies easily, resting his head on Cas’s shoulder. He knows Cas rolls his eyes from the way his chest huffs.

“I don’t snore.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“You snore.”

“I know I do.” he sounds more petulant than he feels.

Cas shrugs Dean off his shoulder and looks at him. “Why are you up so early?”

Dean looks down, a blush lighting up the tips of his ears. “Couldn’t sleep. Uh, just... a lot.”

“All good?” he asks, concern blooming in his eyes. Dean leans forward to kiss him, wanting to wipe all the worry away. It’s just like Cas to be concerned instead of angry when your husband wakes up the first morning of your marriage and says he couldn’t sleep. Husband.

“All good. Seriously, I was just... I’m...” he looks around the room at the gifts, all the family they have who cared enough to contribute to this new life they’re building, and it overwhelms him again. “I’m really lucky.”

“We are.” Cas corrects softly. Dean grins at him and nods.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#deancas #destiel #morning after #wedding gifts #destiwedding #deancas drabble #destiel drabble #my writing #fanfic #dean winchester #castiel

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dont-tempt-me-frodo · 3 years

Text

Supernatural AU

So I’ve been playing with this concept for a while now and have finally started writing short snippets. Throwing this out into the void to see what sticks basically. Might actually write this properly some day. Who knows.

Notes for this au - Castiel is about but not nearly as present in Dean’s life as in the show. Other than that, it runs fairly close to the shows arc. Except when it doesn't.

Notes for this short - set late season 4 (On The Head Of A Pin). Alastair who?

Enough waffling. Have a Dean/Orias snippet. TW: torture (but nothing too graphic)

This was his fault.

Dean knew he shouldn’t feel guilty. Orias was a demon. A very powerful, relishes in chaos, maliciously evil, demon. He’d seen the carnage Orias left in his wake. Had to contain the aftermath of some of his more vicious kills. But over the last two years, since making the deal with him to save Sam’s life, Dean had gotten to know Orias a little.

They’d drank together in a bar once. When Dean was too exhausted, too tired of being lonely, desperate for some sort of company. The demon had a fantastic sense of humour that Dean couldn’t help but get swept up in, as well as a keen eye and could spot a hustler a million miles away which had led to Dean witnessing the best hustlers-being-hustled-at-pool he had ever seen.

Orias was very different to a lot of the demons Dean had encountered. And… he was handsome. Short brown hair that looked almost auburn in certain lights, clear blue eyes, a soft jawline. He didn’t want to admit it, but he actually felt... something when he was around Orias and for Dean, that was huge. Especially with everything going on at the moment, especially since... coming back from hell.

Orias had even helped them out on occasion, more out of spite for his own kind than any sort of loyalty or friendship towards Dean but the Winchester couldn’t knock that the demon has been invaluable. But then, Dean had accidentally led the angels to him and now Orias was strapped by his wrists to a rack in the middle of a very complex demon trap with Uriel bearing down on him. One of the angel’s hands clamped to the demon’s throat, burning the flesh underneath, the other was buried deep inside his chest, prodding around in his very essence. The scream that ripped from Orias as he struggled curdled Dean’s blood, and he did, he felt guilty. This was his fault.

Dean had point blank refused to torture Orias for information, so Uriel, with a gleam in his eyes, had been more than happy to step up.

Dean was standing in the corridor outside the room, deliberately not looking through the meshed window as Orias’ scream reverberated off the walls. The Winchester was trying not to remember the pain of an angel’s touch, his own burn scar on his arm tingling unpleasantly.

When an angel touches a pure demon, it leaves a mark. He knew that Orias wasn’t possessing some poor sod. His body was his own. He was stronger and more powerful than most demons and Dean still didn’t fully understand it, but at the moment it didn’t matter because he was at the mercy of Uriel and his attempts of resisting the angel were failing.

“Come on. Let go. Let me in,” Uriel twisted his hand inside Orias’ chest and the demon’s scream climbed an octave, “that’s it. Come on demon. Tell me what you know. Tell me about the last seal.”

Dean wasn’t entirely sure how long Urial tortured Orias. It could have been hours, could have been days. But eventually the strain became too much, the angel too powerful, the demon too exhausted, and Orias broke.

“Lilith!” he screeched, “Lilith breaks the last seal!”

Uriel let him go, removing both his hands and Orias slumped forwards with a shudder. The only thing keeping him up were the braces around his wrists.

Dean felt sick to the stomach.

The angel strode out of the room with a smirk, quirking a brow at Dean and leering at him as he sauntered past. The Winchester ignored Uriel’s comment, eyes firmly fixed on the demon trembling in the other room.

Dean stood there.... for a long time. Guilt churning his gut. And another feeling. One he couldn’t place. Burning away in his chest.

He took a long breath and forced himself into the room.

Orias flinched as the door clicked shut, his head snapping up, his blue eyes barely focusing on Dean’s face. He looked scared. And that twisted painfully in Dean’s stomach.

“Fuck off Dean,” Orias muttered, hanging his head again, his entire body shaking.

“I... I’m sorry. It... it wasn’t meant to be you.” Dean hated how pathetic that apology sounded, and the demon’s lip curled.

“Brilliant. Now I feel loads better.” Orias’ voice was thin and pained.

“Orias...” Dean approached rigidly, pausing at the edge of the demon trap chalked onto the floor. He could see the sweat rolling off Orias’ brow, the skin of his wrists rubbed raw by his bonds, the livid handprint burn that covered the left side of his neck with the thumb just above his Adam’s apple, the fingers coming up over his jaw and onto his lower cheek. The demon’s breathing was laboured and the shudders that rolled through him rattled the metal rack he was strapped to.

“You can’t trust them,” Orias grit out, lifting his head and fixing now black eyes on the Winchester, “the angels. You can’t trust them, Dean. They’ve been lying to you.”

“What are you talking about?” A cold crept down Dean’s spine.

“Sam is Lucifer’s vessel. Who do you think is Michael’s? Huh? The Michael Sword. Think about it,” Orias sneered, “Lucifer, younger brother to Michael. Sam, younger brother to you.”

The realisation hit Dean like a ton of bricks and his knees went weak. He grabbed onto the pipes lining the wall to catch himself.

He had absolutely no reason not to believe Orias. It had occurred to him a little while ago that the demon was the only person in his life who had never once lied to him or betrayed him. He knew he shouldn’t, but he’d found comfort in that. Yes, Orias was a soldier of hell, but Dean knew he could trust his word.

“I’m Michael’s vessel.” He ran a hand over his face, “It all... it makes sense now. Why the angels are so-”

He was cut off by Orias tugging at his shackles and whimpering in pain, trying to curl in on himself with his eyes squeezed tight shut.

“Please,” the demon sounded so broken, and it hurt, physically ached in Dean’s heart, “just leave me alone. Please just go.”

Dean turned to hurry back towards the door, stomach in knots, heart thundering in his chest but he slammed to a halt as Orias choked back another whimper and he spun to face the demon.

“I’m going to get you out of here. Don’t know how yet, but I’ll figure it out,” he promised, blazing green eyes meeting watery blue.

After a moment Orias barked out a laugh.

“I’ll hold you to that Deanie bean,” he forced a grin through another wave of pain, “you owe me that much at least.”

Dean gave him a nod, determination burning through him. No matter the consequences, he would get Orias somewhere safe because something deep in his soul was telling him that he needed this demon, and right now, Orias needed him. He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t comprehend it. But it was what he knew. And who was he if he were to ignore his gut?

I’ll get you out, he promised again silently, and he was starting to form a plan. He just had to hope luck was on his side.

#supernatural #supernatural au #my writing #dean winchester #orias #dean/orias #tw: torture #if anyone wants more of this #or has any questions #by all means come and speak to me

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shirtlesssammy · 4 years

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15x08: Our Father, Who Aren’t In Heaven

Then:

Fighting the good fight since 2010

Now:

At the Lucky Elephant Casino, God’s knocking back fruity drinks, playing slots, and murdering everyone around him. Things don’t look so fun in Chuck-land.

Meanwhile, Eileen is living her best new life hunting a werewolf. She’s kicking butt but has a temporary setback when Sam shows up. She shoves him out of the way to finish the job. She asks Sam if he’s following her. MAYBE he’s being a little overprotective, but c’mon, he did just bring her back from the dead. I’m guessing he’d like to keep her on the side of the living a little longer than a week or two.

Later at the bunker, they’re eating their respective burger (Eileen) and salad (Sam), and Dean walks in with the demon tablet. He’s hoping the tablet will reveal a weak spot with God. They’re going to need Donatello!

Cas knock’s on Donny’s door. Hmm, I see, divorced husbands still communicating about the case and Cas still doing things for the cause.

Donatello comes back to the bunker, but isn’t happy about it. He gets to work eating chicken wings and translating the tablet again. Sam, Dean, and Cas casually hang out in the library and sneak concerned looks towards the prophet.

Donny finds some footnotes written by Metatron about God’s secret fear that he only shared with “his favorite.” Lucifer was already locked away by the time the tablets were written. He must mean Michael. The problem with finding Michael is that he’s locked away in the Cage. Donatello starts to freak out over how overly dramatic TFW’s lives are but then passes out in a chair. He comes to --but it’s Chuck this time communicating directly through his prophet. He tells them to leave it alone. Then he threatens all the women in their lives if they don’t (and I just hate/love this because this calls back to early SPN so much when the women died for all their man-pain.)

They tell Donatello to go home. Then they all decide (Cas reluctantly) to go to Hell to find Michael. Dean sarcastically tells Cas that he can “stay here” at the bunker. And I can’t for the life of me find the post now, but whoever made a post of Dean increasingly going from sarcasm to flat out begging for Cas to stay at the bunker is my hero.

In the bunker’s kitchen, they cast the same spell Rowena used to get Cas and Belphagor to Hell before. Dean cuts his hand as part of the spell (something he’s done a thousand times before) and Cas takes the time to heal him (but doesn’t touch him like he normally does) and it takes so much of him to do it. I’m just going to sit here quietly for a bit before proceeding.

Once in Hell, Cas leads the way until they run into a bunch of badass lady demons that completely kick their asses. Well, they do until a very familiar voice bellows, “STOP!”

It’s ROWENA!!!

She’s now Queen of Hell. She’s also posturing up a storm. Ah. They tell her they want to lock up Chuck and they’re looking for Michael. She tells them he could be anywhere. The Cage opened just like the rest of the doors in Hell. She sends her demon minions to find Michael.

Back at the bunker, Eileen is watching over the spell, and she gets a call from Sue, another hunter. She needs help with a vamp nest. Eileen agrees to help as soon as she’s done helping TFW.

In Hell, TFW meets with Rowena in her throne room. She tells Sam that killing her was a good thing. She’s queen! Then she asks him to get her another drink (!) so she can have a little therapy time with the other two clowns. She tells them to “fix it” because there’s no reconciliation in death. A demon comes in to inform them that Michael “is nowhere to be found.”

For Perfect Framing Science:

Actually, he can be found at Jaci’s Red Wagon diner. It seems that Adam and Michael are good buds and Adam’s currently enjoying his first burger in ten years.

Dean checks in with Donatello just one more leeeetle time to see if he’s gotten any Chuck-adjacent flashes. Just when you think you’re out, yadda yadda yadda… He THEN checks in with Sam about Eileen. She is FINE, Dean, they have “an agreement.” Dean picks up on Sam’s waffling, and tells Sam that she fits the parameters of a potential partner: she knows the life, plus she’s hot. That’s way better than the life Sam tried to build with Amelia, a bag of limes, and a dog. This conversation is also notable for Dean’s admission that he’d been in a very dark place not long ago but he’s climbing out of it now.

At the diner, Adam continues to chill with Michael and contemplate the future when Lilith arrives.

She’s there to bring Michael to Chuck. “I’m not accustomed to being fetched,” Michael says coldly. It looks like things are headed towards fisticuffs when Michael just…burns her to ash right there. Ah, archangels. (Side note: I rewatched this section with the sound off while gathering images and watching her performance is every bit as engaging. I’ll miss you, scrunchy-nose Lilith.)

Donatello has a vision and sees Michael’s spiteful smiting (smiteful?). He calls Dean with Michael’s location. He’s in Cairo! Time for Dean to hop on a plane and hold Cas’s hand nervously the entire time… I’m ready for an airplane destiel fic episode!

Cas has an alternate, non-hand-holding suggestion. He’ll pray to Michael instead. In the quiet of an upstairs corner of the bunker, next to a REAL and also METAPHORICAL CHESS SET, Cas characterizes their last meeting as “unpleasant” and asks to meet up. “I’m not your enemy anymore. Now we all have the same enemy. God himself.”

Mmmkay, compelling words. Michael meets Cas in a warehouse. He remembers Cas. “You called me assbutt and set me on fire.” LOL, classic. Cas faces Michael stoically and lights a circle of holy oil around him. That’s the Winchester’s cue to enter and they do so with STYLE.

DAMN!

Dean presents a set of warded cuffs for Michael’s consideration. There’s clearly only one way out of the circle of fire.

For Check out the Curtains Made of Chains SO PRETTY Science:

Michael is twenty-five shades of pissed off at being confined. In the bunker he accuses the Winchesters of abandoning their brother and then shocks them all by flashing Adam back in control.

Adam seems much more chill than Michael and reveals that he and the archangel only had each other in the cage so they came to an agreement. Dean, who only recently stopped dragging himself around in a post-Michael traumatic haze, is gobsmacked that Michael’s letting Adam walk and talk. He tells Adam that there’s nothing they can say to fix what they did by leaving him in the cage. “How about ‘I’m sorry?’” Adam suggests.

Michael wrests back control and we go back to Chuck talk. Team Free Will attempts to briefly explain that Chuck isn’t trying to usher in “boring” paradise. Instead, Michael’s dad would rather see everybody suffer, including Michael.

Adam pops back behind the helm and advises them to stop their paltry attempt at convincing Michael of Chuck’s perfidy. On his (their) own, Adam unpacks the situation. He doesn’t forgive the Winchesters for what they did, but he does think they’re operating from good intentions. I don’t remember where I saw this online, but somebody posted that they have never liked Adam more than in this episode. I completely agree! There’s a lovely amount of complexity and growth hinted at through this performance.

Michael finds it hard to shake off a near-eternity of being God’s favored son. God is “having a mid-eternity crisis,” Adam suggests. Maybe Michael should at least entertain the possibility that Chuck isn’t on the up-and-up. Michael doesn’t want to doubt his father. “You still care about that after he left you in the cage?” Adam asks.

Meanwhile, Eileen’s friend Sue calls again. She’s ready to move on the vamps and needs backup NOW. When Eileen hesitates, Sue needles her about having to ask for permission. Eileen rises to Sue’s barb and agrees to meet up. The camera tumbles, Sue swears, and Eileen acts immediately as the call ends. She races to Sam’s room and fills him in on her friend’s perilous situation. Together, they run off to give Sue backup. (I love how this scene both shows Eileen’s need to assert her own independence and her absolute trust and pragmatism in getting Sam to back her up.)

Cas heads in to speak with Adam/Michael. Michael is still not on board the fight-Chuck train. Cas responds with sass, as is his custom. “I never liked you. I thought you were too haughty. Too…to paraphrase a friend, you had an entire oak tree shoved up your ass.”

Now Cas finds him pitiable. Michael isn’t God’s favorite. He’s just a tiny part of Chuck’s favorite soap opera. DAMN, Cas.

Cas goes even further, telling Michael that Lucifer was the smart one all along, and Michael SNAPS. He flips Cas over the table and gets him in a headlock. Cas struggles, and manages to lock both his hands on Michael’s temples. It’s brain zapping time! Even an archangel is no match for Cas’s mind mojo, and Cas dumps a clip show of Chuck being a dick writer into Michael’s head.

Later, Cas decompresses alone in the kitchen. Dean arrives, then suggests that Cas might have misjudged the situation and gone too far with Michael. D E A N. Before Cas left, Michael essentially said, “Leave. Get out. I want you dead.” We’ve all been in agony for several days now over the parallels between this line and what Cas thinks he’s getting from Dean and AAAAUGH THE SWEET PAIN OF IT. “We didn’t bond,” Cas summarizes. If you need me, I’ll be hunched in this burning dumpster, muttering about profound bonds.

The bunker rattles, and they race to Michael’s room. He greets them with, “God lied to me.” He gave everything for Chuck, but it turns out he’s not even unique across the multiverse if there are other Michaels out there.

Sam and Eileen arrive at the hunt and discover abandoned vehicles. Sam’s suspicion bone is tingling, but then Sue shows up. She’s got this swagger, so Boris and I immediately assume she’s been turned into a vamp because we’ve been watching this show since forever. Uh, Sue’s not a vamp. She’s Chuck! Or…you know, Chuck’s her! [Admiral Ackbar voice] It’s a trap!

Michael agrees to help Team Free Will. He pulls out a slip of paper with a spell on it that can contain Chuck just like it contained Amara. All they need is myrrh, cassia, rock-rose, and the nectar of a leviathan blossom. It’s a flower that grows in Purgatory. Michael opens up a rift-style door with the snap of his fingers.

The door will stay open for twelve hours. Dean uncuffs Michael/Adam and apologizes for what happened to his half brother. Adam smiles sadly and wishes them luck in their Chuck-fighting endeavors. After he/they leave, Cas and Dean turn towards the glowing rift. It’s Purgatory time, baby! And you know what they say about Purgatory. It’s the perfect place to work out your emotions in a friendly, non-deadly environment!

Quotingmoon in Purgatory:

There’s a crack in his invincibility shield

When I go crazy again, just shoot me

Usually I enjoy our little process. I toss something at you guys and you slam it right back. It’s fun! Like tennis! With monsters

What am I picking up from you two? A wee tif? Tell your Auntie Rowena

Why would he send you, a demon, a speck of infernal bile?

Oh, I didn’t come to beg

Since when do we get what we deserve?

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn 15x08 #our father who aren't in heaven #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #chuck shurley #eileen leahy #rowena macleod #donatello redfield #adam milligan #michael #lillith #supernatural season 15

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luckyspike · 5 years

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Adventures in America, Ch. 5 - In which Adam has a dream, and supernatural beings enjoy a nice breakfast at the Waffle House

they also plot extensively but no one knows what about

alright maybe Raziel does

but he ain’t telling

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4

In the cool and slightly-lemon-scented room of the Microtel, Adam Young and Warlock “Lucky” Dowling slept. It had been years since Adam had had one of his … dreams. The dreams where nuclear power sources disappeared and left only lemon drops in their wake, the dreams where long-dead islands rose from the sea, the dreams that left huge swaths of South America so densely forested - where just previously there had been roads and malls and cities - that people were lost in the jungle just outside their front door. Over seven years, in fact, since he had had such a dream.

He doesn’t have one tonight, either. Tonight, he dreams about the character from the book he was reading on the airplane, and in his dream that character has to solve a puzzle or he will never be able to use green markers again. It’s a somewhat distressing dream, and Adam turns over in his sleep with a frown. Nothing happens in real life.

There were several beings in the universe who would have been slightly disappointed to know that, although likely most would have been greatly relieved. While Adam slept, two disappointed beings were standing in the parking lot of an International House of Pancakes. One was dressed all in white and was practically glowing in the flickering blue fluorescent, although nobody seemed to notice her. The other, in spite of standing in the same light as the first, gave off a distinct impression of lurking, and was smoking a cigarette.

“The boy is unprotected here,” said the first, without courtesy of a greeting. The second did not seem to mind this, and grunted noncommittally before blowing a stream of smoke into her face.

“Got those two idiots with him, dun’t he? ‘Course, he dun’t know they’re there.”

She looked at him coolly. “As I said: unprotected.” She scowled when the second figure offered her a cigarette*. “Disgusting.”

[*It was, to be fair to him, the least-crumpled cigarette in the packet. It also had the fewest grease stains on it. He might be on the opposite side, but he could still be cordial when the occasion called for it.]

“Suit yourself.” The taller, filthier figure looked thoughtful. “You want me to kill him, then?”

“Don’t be crass - that would be too obvious,” she scolded him. “Who knows what wrath you might incite with a stroke like that.”

The taller of the two rolled his eyes, although it was hard to tell given both eyes were completely black as pitch. “Not from your people. Prob’ly not from mine, either.”

“I thought Beelzebub and Dagon were -”

“We’re just waiting for the next go round,” he snapped, more harshly than necessary but not more than expected. The other looked unconcerned. “Once the old kid’s out of the way we can start over again.”

She sighed. “Of course. What is your plan for … the removal?”

“Kill him.”

She snarled. “How, you idiot?”

The taller one took a contemplative drag off his cigarette. “I love a good storm.” He smiled, in a not very nice way at all. A maggot crawled from his ear into his mouth. “Think he’ll probably come across a few.”

“And storm chasers do die on occasion,” she said, nodding with approval. “Make it look like an accident.”

“Obviously,” he mocked, affecting her accent for a beat and scowling down at her. “Your boss know about this?”

She snorted. “Gabriel isn’t my boss. And no, he doesn’t know. He’s been … preoccupied.” She paused, and then risked a sidelong glance at the taller one, mischief in every line on her face. “And certainly Beelzebub sanctioned this, what with getting ready for the next go around.” He grunted. “Only, I hear there’s a bit of a dust-up down there, and Lucifer has gone missing -”

He viciously chucked the butt of the cigarette to the pavement, and ground it under his heel. It combusted in rather more flame than one might have expected. “He’s around. All official-like. We done here, Michael? ‘Cause you can piss off.”

“Hm.” She buttoned up her white coat, and, in the light of the parking lot, two glorious brown and speckled wings - falcon’s wings - spread from her shoulders. “As always it was a disgusting displeasure, Hastur.” He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, her wings snapped, and a nimbus of blue light shot upwards, into the sky and out of sight. Hastur watched her go, scowling all the while. When he was well sure she was gone, he spat on the ground. The asphalt began to dissolve.

“Bloody archangels,” he grumbled, before he stepped out from under the parking lot light, and disappeared into the darkness.

Fifty feet away, through the window of the Waffle House across the street, four figures were seated at a booth, three of them watching through the window as he disappeared. One figure, who looked to be a slender, middle-aged man with sharp features and a large-brimmed brown hat, did not look up from his book. The tallest of the figures - a dark-skinned woman with long dreadlocks, pulled back neatly out of her face, sighed, staring with a considerable amount of exasperation into her cup of black coffee. “They think they’re so clever, don’t they?”

“Tragic,” the second figure agreed, from their seat next to the reader. They were thin, brown-skinned, and dressed in boldly-colored clothing that looked more suited to a night at a club with $50 drinks than a Waffle House. They too were cradling a mug, tea with a strong herbal scent to it, and also a hint of vanilla, and had a half-eaten plate of pancakes in front of them. “How closely do you think we should watch them?”

“I hardly think we need to,” the third figure replied. They were short, possibly female, and blonde, long hair braided and flipped over her shoulder - she looked like a college freshman that had gotten lost just before being adopted by her new parents, the trendy one and the college professor. As she spoke, she slurped another cup of coffee down and reached across the table for the pancakes, her hoodie strings dragging through the leftover whipped cream from her waffle. “How’s the tea?”

“Delightful, thank you for bringing it,” the nightclub one answered. “What makes you think we shouldn’t at least … nudge the situation along to a more favorable outcome?”

“Aziraphale and Crowley are here, aren’t they?” said the third, scooping a forkful of pancakes into their mouth. The college professor looked to her with a small amount of despair. “Back off, you know how often I get planetside to eat these?”

“Just please try to chew with your mouth closed,” the dark-skinned woman sighed. “Please?” She frowned at a fleck of whipped cream on her sleeve. “Oh, honestly, I can’t take you anywhere.” Diagonally across the table, the reader idly swiped a dollop of whipped cream off her plate and deposited it into his coffee, stirring it in and having a long drink.

The trendy one chuckled. “Go on, let ‘em have their fun.” They drummed their fingers on the back of the booth, thoughtful as they looked out of the window and into the night. “While I appreciate your absolutely-misfounded faith in Aziraphale and Crowley, may I please point out that they are complete morons.” They waved a hand, and bracelets clattered. “Of course, Crowley wasn’t always that way -”

“Eh, he kind of was,” the shortest one said. “Even back in the Beginning he -”

“Original sin,” the trendy one sighed, “was brilliant.”

The college professor shrugged. “I’m still not convinced he didn’t do that by accident.” The reader smirked.

“Good thing, too, then, all things considered,” replied the trendy one. “I give him credit where it’s due, but suit yourself.” They paused to take another sip of tea. “I don’t think they’re quite as incompetent as their track record indicates.”

The short one laughed, and the college professor looked amused at that. “Aziraphale gave his flaming sword away within the first week of Earth.”

“Been pretty good at his job aside from that, though, I’ll wager,” the trendy one countered, pointing to her. “He was always a good egg.”

The college professor considered it. “True. He is, as you say, an exceptionally good egg. Still, with Hastur and Michael -”

“And Crowley doesn’t miss a beat,” the shorter one chipped in. “Not when he’s paying attention, anyway. Which he doesn’t always do.” She gestured with her fork, splattering her other three companions with syrup. The syrup considered soaking into their clothes, really getting good and sticky, but before it got to work it realized who it was dealing with, and re-considered. “But he will if he cares about something.”

The trendy one cocked an eyebrow. “And you believe he cares enough about Adam to not require any additional assistance?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“If you’re wrong, there will be no more pancakes. Ever.” The trendy one pointed to the ceiling of the Waffle House. “No breakfast foods in Heaven.”

“Which is a damn shame -” the college professor made a noise of vague disapproval, but looked entertained nonetheless “- but yes, even knowing that, I have complete confidence that we will not have to intervene at all in this mission.” Under the table, she kicked the reader, who looked up from his book. “What do you think, Raziel?”

The reader smirked and sat back, finger marking his place in the book and arms crossed over his chest, hunched into his brown overcoat. “I don’t know about confidence, but I know that we shouldn’t play a part. Yet. Strictly hands-off. For now.” He shrugged.

“No secret insight on what She wants us to do later, little brother?” The blonde asked, sticking one of her hoodie strings into her mouth and sucking the syrup off of it. “Your book of secrets doesn’t have like, a clue or something?”

He paused, confused, and then looked to his book. “Book of - Raphael, this is an absolutely terrible fiction novel. I don’t carry my notebook with me everywhere.” He tapped his hat. “Keep most of it up here.”

“Really?” The trendy one looked surprised. “I was going to forgive you for reading through breakfast if that was your notebook.”

“He reads through everything,” the college professor sighed. “So, for now, hands off. What about monitoring?”

“Oh, you should definitely do that.” Raziel nodded eagerly. “Or, rather, I will.”

“Is that why you’re dressed like a reporter from 1948?” The trendy one was smirking at him, and prodded him in the ribs slightly. “You know that’s not how humans dress these days. Certainly not reporters.”

Raziel raised his eyebrows, looking his seat-mate up and down. “I’m not taking my fashion advice from you, Verrier.” He sighed, and sat back again, opening his book back up to where he’d stopped. “I’ll find something more appropriate later, then. But yes, for now, we only watch.” He turned the page. “It’ll change.”

The college professor narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that?”

“Ineffable. I’ll let you know if and when we receive additional instructions.”

“You’re a very frustrating little brother,” Raphael grumbled into her refilled coffee mug.

Verrier grinned and nudged his shoulder, eliciting a small smile, but nothing more. “Little brothers usually are.” They finished their coffee, and stood, stretching. “Right. Thanks for breakfast as usual, guys. Tip’s on me?”

“Don’t know why you always say that, you never leave one,” said the college professor, studying the waitress that had been seeing to their table, almost as if she were weighing the young woman’s life right then and there**. She nodded when she found whatever she was looking for, and set a stack of bills on the table. $100s. Verrier sighed.

[**Which she was.]

“Really, Sachiel?”

“Really.” Sachiel nudged Raphael in the ribs, prompting the other archangel to slide out of the booth and stand, stepping aside to allow Sachiel and Verrier to embrace and exchange kisses on the cheek. “Always good to see you again.”

“It’s been too long,” Verrier agreed, not letting go of Sachiel’s shoulders. “Since Adam was born -”

Sachiel shook her head. “Hopefully, if Team Oblivious doesn’t manage to somehow make a mess of this, we can do it rather more often.” She sighed. “The lines between us blur a little more every day, it seems.”

“Part of the Plan, do you think?” The three standing figures turned, as one, to look to Raziel. He didn’t look away from his book, but he did shrug.

“I don’t know why you think I know the whole Plan, I just know the parts of it that I get told to write down.”

“More than anybody else knows,” Verrier pointed out. Raziel took a sip of his coffee and made a noise that was neither in agreement or disagreement, and Verrier rolled their eyes, exasperated, before turning to Raphael. “And so glad you could come, Ralph.”

“I’m a slut for pancakes, what can I say?” Sachiel covered her face with her hands, and Verrier laughed, honestly laughed. “No, seriously, I … Well, you know.” She shrugged. “I just can’t get on board with killing kids. Among other things.” She glanced around at the Waffle House, smiling more fondly than anybody has potentially ever smiled at the interior of a Waffle House before. “Never was a fan of the apocalypse.” She fluttered her hands a little. “I was kind of one-and-done on the whole celestial cataclysm thing.”

Verrier patted her shoulder. “Don’t blame you.” They gathered their scarf up, and slung it over their shoulder. “Well, I’m off. Should be back before anybody notices I’m gone.” They laughed again, but there was something brittle to it. “Although I don’t know who would notice anymore.”

“Stay in touch,” Sachiel encouraged, gently, and Verrier smiled, nodded, and brushed past on their way to the door. “Right.” Sachiel clapped her hands when the doors had swung closed, and turned her eyes to Raphael. “We should get back as well. I certainly have work to do, I can’t imagine you don’t.”

Raphael frowned. “Well …”

“Well?”

She hemmed a little more. “Hey, uh, Raziel, you have a car right now, right?” In response, the other angel pointed to the parking lot, where a lone gray Ford Escape sat. “Can I get a ride?”

“Sure,” Raziel answered, while Sachiel asked, more prudently, “Where?”

Raphael looked repentant. “Just … Okay, can I do just one childrens’ hospital? Just one?”

Sachiel looked like she wanted to be stern. Really, she did. But it didn’t last, and Raphael knew the battle was won even before she’d finished speaking. “This is why you never get to come down here,” Sachiel grumbled at last. “Okay you can do one - one - but listen, you have to stay within plausible deniability and you come home right after.”

Raphael nodded eagerly. “Definitely.”

“I’ll send someone after you,” Sachiel warned.

“I said I’d come back as soon as I’m done.”

“It’ll be Sandalphon.”

“Oh, please, no.” Raphael grimaced. “Fine. One hospital, keep it reasonable, and then straight back to Heaven. Got it. No arguments from me. Don’t send Sandalphon.”

“Keep an eye on her, too, until you’re sure she’s on her way home,” Sachiel said to Raziel, who responded with a thumbs-up. She turned back to Raphael then, kissed her on the forehead, and winked, before she clicked her fingers and vanished from the Waffle House altogether.

Raziel didn’t look up from his book when the seat next to him bounced and sank, creaking its protests, while Raphael slid in next to him. “Come on, little brother, I need a ride.”

He sipped his drink. “Not done with the coffee, yet.”

“I’m going to get in trouble if I’m not back in a reasonable span of time. You heard that, right?”

“I hear everything said around me.” He looked up from the text then and smiled at her - smug and teasing. Then, with a heavy sigh but the same smile, he dog-eared the page of his book and shut it. “Fine, I’ll leave the coffee. Let’s move.” They fell into step on the way to the car, walking in companionable silence until Raziel opened the passenger side door for the archangel.

“Hey, you’re gonna be driving a lot,” Raphael pointed out, clicking her seatbelt into place. Raziel nodded, shut the door, and then strolled around to the drivers’ side, sliding into the seat and turning the key in the ignition in one smooth motion. “How’re you going to keep up with your reading?”

He turned to her and grinned, genuinely excited, before looking back to the empty parking lot and pulling out, toward the freeway. “You ever hear of books on tape?”

Now with Chapter 6!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #adam young #hastur #michael #some other angels and demons #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much #the one where they go to america

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luckyspike · 5 years

Text

Adventures in America, Ch. 7 - The Mix-Up Kid

In which the storm chasers enjoy the delights of a Waffle House

Adam learns Warlock’s birthday

And a storm brews ahead

Yes, figuratively, but also literally. This is a tornado-chasing fanfiction, honestly. Did you think I wouldn’t actually put a tornado in the damn thing?

Start from the beginning: ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6

or follow this link to my fanfiction tag

Adam could have whooped when Noel informed him and Lucky that they wouldn’t be meeting in the lobby until eight the next morning. “There’s gonna be storms, probably to the northeast, but it’ll be afternoon by the looks of it. Get some sleep tonight, boys, an’ we can meet up for a late breakfast and decide where we’re headed.”

They didn’t unpack much - pajamas, toothbrushes, and that was about it. Adam took a hot shower, quick as he could, and when he got out, he found Lucky laying on top of his covers, earbuds in, face-timing with a friend. Adam gave him a thumbs-up - his turn for the shower if he wanted it - and settled onto his own bed, pulling his phone out and making sure he was connected to the wifi before he texted his parents to see if they were awake - they hadn’t been, but they were so eager to hear from him that they took his call, voices thick with sleep but happy nonetheless. He could hear Dog snoring on their bed in the background.

They were happy to talk to him. They were glad to hear he was having fun, and reminded him to be careful and stay safe. He told them about Lucky, and Noel and Rachael, and everything he’d learned so far. “It sounds like a good experience,” Arthur Young said. “Just ah … you do know when the tornadoes are coming, don’t you?”

“I mean, largely. They can be unpredictable.” He heard his mother make a worried noise. “No, mum, but like, they have this program called Baron, it’s running all the time, and it shows radar and gives warnings, and Rachael and Noel have been doing this for ages, so they’re really good at it too. And careful.” He considered telling them about the safety precautions Noel had reviewed earlier, but considered that the things he had warned them against might actually be more alarming than the safety instructions that followed, and he decided to leave it out. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry, promise. How’s things at home?”

“All well and good,” his mother replied. “We miss you of course, and Dog misses you - he was sniffing around in your room the day you left - but Anathema said she’d have a word with him and he’s settled down since then.” He heard the dog’s collar jingle as his mother, or father maybe, presumably gave him a scritch behind the ears. “He’s a very good boy.”

Adam grinned at the unmistakable sound of a small dog’s tail wagging so hard it was beating against the bed cover. “Aw, yeah. Give him a hug for me, yeah?”

“Of course, love. Arthur, hug Dog, would you? He’s closer to you.” Adam’s mother yawned, drowning out some of the grumbles in the background and the sounds of more happy tail-wagging. “Have you spoken to your friends? Oh, and Anathema and Newt asked about you this afternoon.”

“Not yet, figured it’s kind of late. I’ll send an email.” He yawned as well, prompted by his mother. “Maybe in the morning. You can tell them I’m good though, if you see anybody.” He yawned again. “Sorry, I’m kind of beat.”

“Jet lag,” his father answered sagely. “You ought to get some rest then, Adam.”

“You guys too,” the boy added earnestly. “Sorry to call so early - I’m all messed up with the time zones -”

“No, Adam, we’ve been waiting to hear from you.” He smiled, and the slight ache of homesickness that had settled in his chest as soon as he’d boarded the plane lifted a little at the warmth in her voice. “Text anytime, love, and we’ll talk if we can.” She blew a kiss into the phone. “But get some rest for now, alright? Sleep well, and let us know how tomorrow goes!”

“Will do, Mum, Dad. Talk to you guys later. Lots of love.” He ended the call, and sat back against the pillows, continuing to tap on his phone, sending the video of the hail storm off to the group and his sister. To his surprise, Pep texted back almost immediately, sending a message of ‘Dude what!’. He paused. Then he called.

“Hey storm rider!” she answered. “What’s up, Adam? Cool video!”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Hah. What are you doing up?”

“Driving in to London with the girls later today, and I couldn’t sleep. Hopefully Addie is willing to drive because I’m going to be napping.” She yawned. “So how’s America?”

“Crazy.” He laughed. “I went to Dunkin Donuts this morning.”

“Mm. America runs on Dunkin, I’m told. You meet anyone cool?”

“Well, the people I’m with are really cool.” She made a curious little noise. “So there’s Noel and Rachael, the guides - I told you about them. They’re super nice. And I think between the two of them they might know everything about weather. We drove for like, 11 hours today, and you know we only went through two entire states?”

“Wow.”

“And I napped for part of it but a lot of it they were teaching us stuff … Man, Pep, there’s so much.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “I know you guys always made fun of me for how much I talk about weather sometimes, but honestly I don’t know like … anything.”

“Well, maybe not compared to the experts,” she teased. “But compared to me and Brian and Wensley you know way more than any of us.” She coughed. “So who’s ‘us’ on your trip? There’s another student?”

“Oh! Yeah. He’s cool.” Adam heard the shower shut off, and wondered how much he should really say. “He’s American, but he lived in London for a while, he said. You know, I think his dad might have even worked at the air base?”

“No,” Pepper laughed. “No way. Only you, Adam, would find the one American in the entire world who even knows about Tadfield and grew up in London. And of course he’s obsessed with weather. You should find out if he lived in Tadfield at any point, like when he was a baby or something.”

Adam considered it. “Nah,” he said at length.”What’re the odds?” He yawned, as Lucky stepped out of the bathroom, dressed only in boxers, scrubbing his hair dry with a towel. “I’m sure we’ll talk about it at some point.”

“You’d better. Tired?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, me too.” He heard the sound of sheets and pillows being pushed around. “Might try to get a couple hours before I have to go.”

“‘M gonna go to sleep too.” He let his eyes drift closed. “Jet lag’s brutal.”

“I bet. And all that time in the car probably didn’t help.” She yawned again. “Can you send us more videos tomorrow?”

“If I see anything, yeah.”

“You think you might?”

“Dunno. Everything’s supposed to happen in the afternoon, so we’re gonna wait to see what the morning looks like.”

“Well. Send us stuff even if you don’t see anything. Send us videos of weird Americans.”

“Yeah, okay. Talk to you later, Pep.” He hung up the phone, laughing while he did so.

Lucky flopped into his own bed, yanking the covers up over himself. “Friends?”

“Yeah, back home. Pepper.”

“Isn’t England like … six hours ahead of us?”

“Yeah.” Adam shrugged. “I dunno, she said she was up. Figured I’d give her a call.” He grinned at his phone, before locking the screen and plugging it in to charge. “I sent the gang a video of the hail. Most of them prob’ly never seen hail that big before.”

“Yeah, that was wild.” He folded his hands behind his head. “Hope we get a tornado tomorrow.”

“That’d be cool.” He sighed. “Pep told me to send more videos. Said if there wasn’t anything interesting in the weather I could send her videos of crazy Americans.”

Lucky laughed. “I’ll act extra crazy tomorrow if we don’t get any weather. You can send her a video.”

“I’m not sure she’d count you since you grew up in London.”

“Nah, only until I was eleven, and even then other than the like … the housekeepers and the gardner, everyone was American. Well, except Nanny. But she was Scottish.” He shrugged. “Then my dad got reassigned back to the States and I’ve lived stateside ever since. So I’m pretty American.”

“Eleven?” Adam asked, pointedly not opening his eyes. “Huh.”

“Yeah it was weird.” Lucky yawned. “There was this whole thing in the middle east and then boom, back to America, no more England. Honestly, I think my mom was just sick of random diplomatic trips. I’ll tell you about it some time, that whole trip to the middle east was so weird.”

“Yeah,” Adam replied, faintly, feigning fatigue. “Yeah, gotta remember to tell me about it. Never been to the middle east.”

“You’re not missing anything. Avocado farms and weird professors and that’s about it, far as I remember.” He shut the light off, and rolled over, away from Adam. “G’night, dude.”

“Night,” said Adam, on autopilot. Minutes later, he heard quiet snoring, and all the better, because his mind was racing.

Most eighteen-year-old boys are, by nature, not particularly introspective. They may be bright, the may be clever, they may be well-educated and top of their class and very high-achieving, but it’s the rare boy who is capable of reflecting on all of the information presented to him, reconciling it with what he already knows, and then reaching accurate, logical conclusions that may be distressing to him. Often, denial worms its way in early, and until the correct answer knocks the boy in question directly on the head, the powerful lure of denial will always draw him away, convince him that another conclusion is more likely, or more desirable.

Adam Young, though, was not most eighteen-year-old boys. To start, he was the Antichrist, even if he’d turned his back on that years ago and preferred not to think of himself in those terms. Further, he was quietly introspective, a trait he’d developed due to, well, being the Antichrist, and always, in spite of himself, watching his own thoughts for hints of Not Being Adam. Messing About. Antichristly things, essentially.

That could be to his advantage even now, though. And right now, his mind was cranking into overdrive, combing through what he knew. Warlock Dowling - father might have worked in Tadfield, was working in England when Warlock - Lucky - was born, Lucky was raised in England. Satanist nanny and monk gardner. Random trip to the middle east when he was eleven, followed by a sudden departure from London, never to return to the UK again. Or the middle east, come to think of it.

Adam wondered if he had stayed in touch with anybody from London. Particularly, the nanny and the gardner.

It all sounded very suspicious.

“We would have been with you from the beginning, you know, but there was a mix-up,” Aziraphale had told him once, years ago. Adam remembered that he’d gone to Aziraphale crying - it happened sometimes, more then but still these days, blessedly rarely - about what he’d done in the few brief hours when he really was the Antichrist. The things he might have brought about. The fate he and the world had so narrowly avoided. “We would have loved to be with you.” Adam remembered how the angel had hugged him, stroked his hair, dried his tears. “It was an unfair burden to lay at your feet, Adam, and Crowley and I always wanted to help but … there was a mistake. Best laid plans, and all that. It doesn’t undo what was done, and I am frightfully sorry about the lead-up, the way we treated - or didn’t treat - you, but know that had we known, we would have been there. But Adam, even then, you were brilliant. You are brilliant.”

There was a mix-up.

Warlock Dowling snored gently.

The next morning dawned hot and humid. Lucky and Adam woke with the alarm around nine, and lazily set about getting ready for the day. Adam checked his phone to find messages from his friends about the hail storm (“don’t let those brain you,” from his sister and, “dude what if it hits you,” from Brian), replied when he felt it was indicated, and pulled on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. Lucky was ready to go shortly after, and they stepped out of the motel room and into the air. Lucky made a noise of disgust.

“Talk about humid.”

“Ugh, yeah,” Adam agreed, trying to ignore how his t-shirt was already sticking to his skin, even though he’d only just come outside. “Good storm weather though, yeah?”

“Should be. I’m sure we’ll get a look at the radar over breakfast.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get us a tornado today, huh?”

“Or some serious hail,” Adam agreed. A part of him - a large part of him - wanted to say sod it to the weather and have a serious talk with Lucky about his upbringing, his birth, his life to that point. How old was Lucky? They were roughly the same age, Adam knew that, but they could easily be a year or so apart, and all of the stuff that sounded suspiciously occult might have just been a coincidence. After all, it was all relatively easy to explain, in the harsh light and oppressive humidity of the Oklahoma day: American diplomat posted at a British airbase, family moved to the nearest metropolitan area, lived there for years, made a brief foray to the middle east - and America was so involved there around that time, Adam remembered, that that was hardly unusual - and then returned to America. Unusual, certainly, but not … occult. And having a diplomat for a father wasn’t exactly commonplace, so even then a bit of unusual-ness could be forgiven.

The Scottish Satanist nanny, though, reared her presence in his mind. The monk gardner. Good and evil.

Adam shook his head, when he realized that Lucky was speaking to him. They’d walked to the truck together while Adam thought and, on autopilot, he had set his stuff in the bed of the truck and closed the gate. Noel and Rachael were nowhere to be seen, not yet, but Adam thought he heard them talking on the other side of the motel. “Huh?” he said, looking to Lucky.

“Nothing,” the other boy shrugged. “Just talking about the radar. All this moisture and warmth - if we have any cold air from the northwest at all, we run a really good chance of catching a storm today.”

“Yup.” Adam leaned back against the truck and looked around the parking lot idly, arms crossed over his chest in spite of the heat. He met eyes with a stranger - a businessman, by the looks of him, dressed all in brown, with neatly-combed salt-and-pepper hair - that was sitting on the trunk of his rental car, reading a book. The two exchanged taut smiles, and the stranger returned to his book. “Hopefully out in the middle of nowhere, where we can get a good luck without too much people an’ stuff being around.”

“Yeah, that’d be ideal.” Lucky waved to Noel and Rachael as they approached. “Hey guys!”

Rachael raised her thermos in greeting. “Morning morning! You guys ready to hit it? The radar looks pretty good.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yep.” Adam opened the back gate of the truck for her, and she tossed her bag in. “You hungry? I’m starving. Hop in, we’re gonna hit the Waffle House and go over the game plan.”

“No Dunkin?” Lucky looked surprised.

“Gonna mix it up today, get exciting.” Noel snickered. “And also she has her own bag that she used to brew a pot in the room earlier this morning, so she’s already fueled-up.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “She’s an addict, guys, I’m telling you.”

The boys laughed, while Rachael pointed out, “There’s worse things. Alright, load up, we have a storm to talk about, and I want some waffles!”

The Waffle House was such a uniquely American experience that Adam started taking video almost as soon as they entered. From the way the entire restaurant greeted them as they walked in, to the waiter’s accent, to the menu itself, he sent all of the snaps to his friends. There was no reply, not when it was so early in England, but he looked forward to the messages that would probably come through later, after everyone was up.

He tucked into a truly massive waffle and two eggs for breakfast, topped with a few strips of crispy bacon. It tasted exactly like he’d imagined it would, and he devoured it with gusto, finishing before Rachael even got through her second cup of coffee. Noel, still working at his omelet, pulled his laptop out of his bag and handed it over the table to Adam. “Check out the radar, Adam, and see what you think. There’s some really interesting stuff shaping up; let me know where you think it might be.”

Adam cracked the computer open. Next to him, Lucky studied the screen intently with dark eyes while Adam poked the cursor around the radar screen, randomly at first, and then slowly in a more organized fashion, tracing fronts and pressure systems, gradually hovering more consistently over a spot in mid-Kansas. Lucky nodded, never speaking, when he agreed, pointing at times. Across the table, Noel and Rachael shared companionable silence, Rachael with her coffee cradled in her hands and Noel slowly working at his omelet.

“Ready to show your work?” Rachael gestured to Adam to turn the laptop around, after he and Lucky had exchanged a few words and seemed to settle on a location. “Let’s see it.”

“I think,” Adam said slowly, pointing to the screen, “the best shot of anything happening is going to be right around here.”

“Hey!” Rachael grinned broadly. “Nice job, guys!”

“Yeah?” They exchanged a high-five. “Yeah!”

“Maybe a little more east,” Noel added, after he’d swallowed his last bite of omelet. “But really good for day two! What made you settle on that area?”

Adam and Warlock traded off explanation duties as Rachael settled up with the waiter, she and Noel adding information and correcting them as needed. In the truck, they settled in, Rachael in the driver’s seat for the first leg, and set course for Kansas. There wouldn’t be as much lecturing today, Noel assured them, and although Adam was eager to learn, he was truthfully a little grateful for the break. As they drove across the plains, he and Lucky put their headphones in, Adam listening to his downloaded playlist of tried-and-true favorites while he took video of the blue skies and white clouds, saving them to send later, when he could get to wi-fi. Around nine, he did get a text from Aziraphale - Crowley’s phone, of course, but the grammar and punctuation gave the angel away - bidding him to stay safe and out of trouble. He smiled, faintly, and settled back in the seat to watch the landscape drift by.

Lunch was sandwiches from a little deli they passed on their way through a town for gas. Adam savored the turkey and cheese in the back of the truck, Noel informing them that the time would be tight for the afternoon storms and they couldn’t afford a proper stop. He must have drifted off after he ate, because the next time he woke it was because Rachael had nudged his knee. She pointed to the screen of her laptop, excited. Adam leaned in. “Look at this,” she said, excited. Adam nudged Lucky, who had likewise drifted asleep with his headphones in, and ignored the muzzy noises the other boy made as he woke. “See the body of it there? It’s been holding steady for the last hour.”

Adam squinted. “Is that a hook echo?” He pointed to a part of the screen. Rachael, thoughtful, turned the screen to look. “Ah, no! But it might be an elephant trunk-type signature …” She studied it for a few seconds. “We’ll keep an eye on it. You awake, Lucky?”

“Mm yeah.” Still blinking the sleep from his eyes, Lucky unbuckled his belt, the better to lean forward and study the computer.

“Check out the base velocity data.” She changed views, and both boys blinked. “Do you know what you’re looking at?”

“Not … really.” Adam cocked his head. “Something about the wind speed in relation to the radar site?”

“I think I’ve seen it before,” Lucky chimed in. “Is it … wait. Green away and red toward? Or red away? Or is it speed …”

Rachael shook her head. “Not quite, but you guys are already ahead of the game - a lot of chasers your age don’t know anything about base velocity until after their first chase. So Lucky, it’s red away, and green toward.” She pointed to the screen. “Doesn’t really have anything to do with the speed of the winds, just how they’re moving in relation to the weather station. So when we’re looking for rotation, obviously, we want to see red and green really close to each other, right?”

“Makes sense,” Lucky agreed.

“So look here.” She pointed. “Now this stuff up here -” she twitched her hand to gesture vaguely at a scattering of red amongst green, “- I think is just artefact but this, this looks concentrated. See that?”

Adam and Lucky exchanged a look. “Like, it’s the dot, right?” Adam guessed.

“More or less.” Rachael flipped back to the regular radar view. “But you see how it correlates to a high-precipitation area? Means there’s probably a mesocyclone in there.” She clenched and unclenched her fingers, excited. “We might get a tornado today, guys. Definitely a lot of lightning, if the precipitation holds together.”

“How far out are we?” Lucky asked, shifting anxiously in his seat.

Noel answered this time. “Probably an hour or two. We should start seeing some more interesting clouds soon. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Adam and Lucky settled back, each looking out of their own window, while Rachael and Noel talked about something else - photography, something with Rachael’s lightning set-up - in the front seat.

“Have you ever seen a tornado?” Adam asked Lucky, as he craned his neck to see more to the front of the truck.

“Oh, yeah! Not up close, but one time in Virginia there was a little one and I could see it from the back yard. It didn’t last very long, but it was really cool. You?”

Adam thought about the tornado in Tadfield, when he was eleven. “Nah,” he said, stuffing the memory away. “Been in a few bigger storms, but you know … England.”

“Yeah, really severe weather isn’t really a big thing over there, huh? They get tornados though sometimes. I think.”

“Really little ones usually, yeah,” Adam agreed. “They don’t last long, normally, or do much damage.”

“I know another chaser from England,” Noel chimed in as he drove. “He comes over for the season every year. We were talking about it one time, he said that England has the second-most tornadoes per land area in the world.”

“Seriously?” Adam blinked.

“Yeah, but it’s a small area.” Lucky frowned. “And they’re not big?”

“No,” Noel agreed. “Not usually. He lives right in what he calls England’s tornado alley.” He laughed. “A little southwest from London I think he said? I can’t remember the name of the town. Most of the twisters there are around 95MPH wind speed, so they’re not really that powerful, but he told me he chases over there sometimes, if he’s home when they’re around. He showed me a few photos.”

“It was pretty cool - you don’t really think about tornadoes in England,” Rachael chipped in, absently. “Where in England is Tadfield, Adam?”

“Northwest of London,” he answered, using the city as a reference point. “About, oh, two hour drive I think, usually.” He did not add that most of the recent times he traveled to and from London by car, the car was being driven by a demon, and travel time was therefore significantly reduced. “It’s not a big village at all. Biggest thing there is the air base, and even that’s pretty small now. Population-wise, anyway. It’s mostly computers.”

“I think that’s why my dad got reassigned to London,” Lucky said thoughtfully. “Plus, you know, diplomat. London made more sense I guess.”

“Yeah it would do.” Adam looked sidelong at the other boy. Lucky didn’t notice, staring out of the window. “So you were born in London?”

“No, actually. It’s kind of a crazy story - my parents were supposed to fly in to the air base together, but my mom ended up having to go alone for a few days because there was something with the president? I dunno, Dad never actually said what it was. But anyway Mom flew in and then like, went into labor while she was staying at the air base waiting for him, so I ended up being born there.” He shook his head.

“Oh.” Born at the air base. Adam could have laughed with the relief of it. Another thought occurred to him. “Aren’t pregnant women not supposed to fly, though?”

“I dunno, probably.” He shrugged. “I guess when the president says go, you go.” He snorted. “And then, so like, she’s at the air base, but then she said they didn’t have a doctor that knew how to deliver babies? So she had to go to this weird hospital with nuns to have me. Worked out in the end, Dad got there after I was born and we went to the place in London like they’d planned.”

Weird hospital with nuns. The words echoed in Adam’s ears, in between the pounding rush of his own heartbeat. Weird nuns. Satanic nuns, maybe? How do you ask if someone was born in a hospital full of Satanic nuns?

“Wild story,” said Rachael from the front seat, but as far as Adam was concerned, she might have been a thousand miles away. “See the clouds up ahead?”

“Supercell!” he heard Lucky say, distantly, and the other boy - the other boy who was born in a weird hospital with nuns, to a politically-connected family, and then raised by a satanic nanny and had a monk for a gardener, and then went to the middle east when he was eleven - leaned forward to start chattering on with Rachael and Noel. About storms.

Adam loved weather, but at the moment, nothing could be further from his mind.

“When’s your birthday?” he blurted out, stopping the other three mid-conversation. And then he blinked, realizing what he’d done, as Rachael and Lucky looked to him, puzzled. “Sorry, never mind, wasn’t paying attention.” He forced a weak smile.

“August 23. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam lied, immediately turning to look out the window. “Wow, check out that cell!”

“... Yeah. It’s big.” Lucky looked over to Rachael, who had raised her eyebrows questioningly. Even Noel was glancing curiously between the two students in the rearview mirror. Lucky shrugged at Rachael, the universal ‘I have no idea’ gesture. “You alright, Adam? Really?”

“Fine.” We have the same birthday, born in a weird hospital with nuns, we’re probably the same age, they thought I was him, they thought he was it, it was him, it was this guy …

“Nerves are totally normal,” Noel said a little more quietly, not taking his eyes off the road, or the storm cell ahead. “Don’t worry - we’re gonna get plenty of videos if anything happens, but we’ll keep our distance. It’s early still - by the time we’re five weeks in you’re gonna wanna drive the truck yourself.”

It was him, he was the mix-up, it was - And then Adam stopped himself, because some part of him realized that this wasn’t productive, he wouldn’t change or alter anything with this line of thinking, and furthermore, he was in the back of a truck which was headed straight for what looked, on radar, to be a supercell with significant tornadic potential. “No, it’s fine,” he insisted, with a shake of his head. “No, I’m sorry. Sorry, really, I think I’m just still a little messed up from the time change, but I’m fine. Seriously,” he added, when Rachael and Lucky looked to him, radiating concern and curiosity. “Let’s do it - I’m so ready.”

Rachael watched his face for another minute and then made a decision, apparently, because she nodded ever-so-slightly, and turned back to her laptop, maneuvering it so the two in the back seat could have a better view of the screen. “Good, because you see that on radar?”

“Hook artefact,” Lucky breathed, as Adam watched the picture twist on the screen, the red blob at the center of the storm leaving a trail to the southwest that was just so slightly starting to curve north-easterly.

“I think so. Let’s take a look at the base velocity.” As she switched views she grinned, and Adam saw what she was moving to point toward right away. “See it?”

“Mesocyclone?” Adam asked, eyes wide, insisting his brain focus on the task at hand. There would be plenty of time to really process the fact that he was sitting with the other Antichrist - the not-Antichrist, the mix-up kid - and hunting tornadoes with him later.

“I think so.” Rachael looked up, out of the windshield, and the students followed her gaze. Ahead, the clouds towered, gray and ominous and piled on top of one another, all the way up to the stratosphere. “Looks good for a tornado, guys.” A bolt of lightning shot through the clouds, illuminating pockets and curves. “Let’s get it.”

Now with Chapter 8!

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #adam young #warlock dowling #aziraphale #crowley #the one where they go to america #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much #the love song to storm chasing via fanfic that no one ever asked for

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