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createserenity · 7 months

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Silliness and why it’s important

Crowley and Aziraphale are so silly and it’s something I really love about them and it’s something I think is really important to them because they can be silly with each other in a way they can’t with anyone else.

Both of them are silly – Aziraphale displays this side of himself much more readily and more often than Crowley does, but Crowley is silly too. Even present day Crowley who often seems to get labelled as dark and jaded and traumatised is actually still really quite silly.

Quick note - this post is part of a series which contains my opinions on Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship dynamics. I already wrote one on what they ask of each other (click to read it!). This one is silliness, by which I mean the funny things they do to amuse themselves and each other and also to a lesser extend the times when they are just a bit weird, because they are both slightly bonkers sometimes, for no other reason than they want to behave like that.

(By the way, if you make it to the end of this post without the word silly becoming, well, silly, then I applaud you!)

Why is being silly with each other important?

Can you imagine them being silly with any of the other demons or angels? There’s no way Aziraphale could display his silly side in heaven, the archangels are serious and wouldn’t understand the silliness, they’d just think Aziraphale was mad. Same for Crowley, the demons of hell just wouldn’t get it, they’d be scornful or dismissive at best, and also probably think he was mad (in fact we know they would because Aziraphale later utilises this idea when they body swap). In addition for both of them silliness around humans is something they can and do indulge in, but they don’t get a lot out of it because humans probably just think they’re a bit odd. Aziraphale for example isn't as socially unaware as he first appears, unless he’s playing a character (for example when he’s the magician or reporter), he tends towards being basically affable around humans, because that’s the sort of persona he wants to cultivate. Crowley generally wants to look suave so silliness around most humans is out for him too. It’s not that they are never silly around humans (see 1601 for just one example) but usually they aren’t. That leaves them with each other.

Crowley’s silliness

Taking them one at a time, let’s look at their silliness and what it says about them. I’m starting with Crowley because his is less obvious. Crowley doesn’t seem to be super silly at first glance. His silly streak is overshadowed by Aziraphale’s and also his tendency not to smile and be so overt whilst doing silly things. It’s partly why he looks like he’s lost a lot of his joy in life, but I’m not so sure that’s true. Crowley is optimistic and continues to be optimistic right up to season two – he also continues to be silly.

Let’s look at some examples of Crowley’s silliness through the ages:

Firstly angel Crowley is obviously a bit inclined towards the ridiculous – look at the weird and wonderful noises and faces he makes whilst creating the nebula. Aziraphale is utterly charmed (and so are we all).

Next another obvious one – Bildad the Shuite. This whole persona is just silly. From the odd facial hair to the weird things he does, Crowley is just having quite a lot of fun here. His ridiculous summarisation of the permit (“hugs and kiss, God”), more weird noises and faces as he fireballs the goats, his over-exaggerated setting everything aflame in the house (here some of his silliness is for a different purpose – to test Aziraphale’s trust in him), and then ending with his farcical cobbler/obstetrician doing a fake child-birth, complete with ridiculous over-acting for the benefit of the angels. For a lot of the Job incident Crowley is indulging his own silliness for a serious end.

After that we have to skip right to 1826 for the next bout of blatant silliness on Crowley’s part. For a start he’s ricocheting through Scottish accents, sometimes changing from one sentence to the next. He’s having fun with the persona he’s created for himself and he really doesn’t care who notices. He also banters with Aziraphale, Elspeth and Dr Dalrymple here in a way I really love, “bet you left your loom on your farm!”, “more murders, I’ll drink to that!”

There’s a lot of silliness in 1941 and I really don’t need to list it all – the middle name that’s just a J, the weird American accent, his very genuine laugh of delight at the snakes in a can trick, and more. This isn’t a demon that’s so jaded he isn’t still having fun.

So then we get to the modern day. There’s limited opportunities for super overt silliness because the situation is serious in both seasons, but there’s still some there:

In series one instead of miracling the guy with the paintball gun to sleep he literally turns himself into a monster and then declares “that was fun!” It’s ridiculous behaviour if you think about it, but Crowley enjoys himself.

The way he drinks the coffee in S2E1. Seriously. Why does no one talk about this? He gulps it down and then hisses/pulls a really stupid face. Maybe it gets overlooked because it’s sort of a bit sexy too, but honestly, it’s pure ridiculousness and he knows it.

From this point on Crowley’s silliness tends towards being more quiet silliness, rather than over the top silliness like Aziraphale’s is (with one notable exception). In the pub scene he orders the drink with a joke about Aziraphale, and then proceeds to intimidate Mr Brown in a not at all normal voice. He later asks Nina stupid questions about awnings and sudden rain – he must know these are silly questions from her perspective, but he does it anyway because he’s got a plan and he’s just a bit daft and doesn’t mind appearing weird around humans if need be. Later in the bookshop he throws the books around – honestly he could just place them down, he will know he’s being silly when he chucks them all over the place, but he does it anyway. In between this we have Muriel, which is a delightful moment of them both being a bit silly together at Muriel’s expense, except they’re both really quite kind about it as well. Then we get the exception - in the magic shop he dons a fez and messes about with a crystal ball – really do I need to say more about how obviously overtly silly this is?

I’m sure I’ve missed plenty of other examples as well (I've not even mentioned how silly the apology dance is!), these are just the ones I can think of right now.

So all this to say that Crowley is silly and most of his silliness is when he’s around Aziraphale. We as the audience don’t see Crowley being super silly very often, but we can extrapolate from what we do see that throughout the history we don’t see he must display his silly side to Aziraphale reasonably regularly. The biggest piece of evidence for the idea that Crowley is a lot sillier than we tend to see him is when we glimpse him through Aziraphale’s eyes. We know he sees Crowley as someone who does funny things and that this is something Crowley continues to do right up to the present day because when they body swap and Aziraphale takes his place in hell what are the two main characteristics of Crowley that he plays up? Sarcasm and silliness.

So what does Aziraphale think of Crowley’s silliness? Well, he doesn’t actually react much to it (see later for one reaction he does tend to give). He definitely seems to expect it though, he takes it as a given part of Crowley’s personality and I think we can safely assume he likes it, since he likes Crowley. Is Crowley aware of his own silly streak? Absolutely. How do we know? Again because of how Aziraphale sees him. The first thing he tells Crowley about on his return is how silly he was: “I asked them for a rubber duck!” and Crowley laughs along with him, delighting in the silliness of it all. This reaction is a tacit acceptance of what Aziraphale has done yep, that’s totally the sort of thing I would have done, angel, I know I’m sometimes silly like that and I’m delighted that you see that and that you are also silly.

Aziraphale’s silliness

Aziraphale’s silliness is so overt that I’m not even going to list examples of it. We all know how silly Aziraphale is, right? We’ve all seen his stupid behaviour in the magic shop and his daft attempts at speaking French because he’s somehow wiped his ability to speak proper French from his memory (anyone got a meta about how he’s achieved this because I don’t think it gets enough attention?)

Basically Aziraphale is quite often as mad as a box of frogs and Crowley adores him for it. Sometimes he teases him about it, but a lot of the time he doesn’t even do that, he just shakes his head a bit and looks at Aziraphale like he can’t believe what he’s hearing or seeing and like he thinks Aziraphale is absolutely insane. This is a massively important part of their relationship dynamic. Aziraphale is silly and Crowley fake rolls his eyes at him – it’s what they do.

Why is this so important? Well firstly Aziraphale’s silliness is something that he gives to Crowley. And he only gifts it to him after he starts to trust him – Aziraphale’s silliness is a symbol of trust and Crowley knows it. If you made a graph of their silliness around each other through time then Crowley’s would stay fairly consistent, maybe even drop off a bit, (as he gets more worried about their situation), but Aziraphale’s would be a massive upward curve probably starting sometime around the arrangement (which is around 1020AD according to the book). This is another reason Crowley falsely looks super morose and jaded by S2. At the beginning of their relationship Crowley is the only silly one and he’s overtly silly fairly often (and probably this continues in meetings we don’t see), whilst Aziraphale is anxious and serious a lot of the time (there’s no real silliness from Aziraphale during the Job incident) because he’s struggling with his own morals and his own place in relation to heaven and God’s will.

Over time though he starts to trust Crowley and once he does he unleashes the silliness and this becomes a basic part of his personality. For the audience 1601 is the first time we see this, but it’s clear by that point that Crowley knows he’s silly and isn’t surprised by it. Once Aziraphale starts being silly around Crowley he does it with increasing regularity and by the time the events of S2 come around he’s silly so often and so wildly ridiculous about it that it makes Crowley look serious and maudlin by comparison (even though he’s more-or-less maintained his original silly streak at least up to the point where he drinks the coffee).

The second reason this is so important is linked to the first. Sometime after Aziraphale starts being silly this becomes how they flirt without flirting. Aziraphale is silly and it delights and surprises Crowley (surprises in terms of he doesn’t know how Aziraphale is going to be silly today, he’s not surprised by the fact that he is silly).

We see this in 1601 with Aziraphale shouting inappropriately silly things to Hamlet and looking at Crowley whilst doing it. He’s offering Crowley his silliness as a sign of trust and something more, the subtext is, You know how to be silly, I’ve seen you be silly, I know you love silly things and I’m silly too. Crowley reacts with a look we will see from him a lot in the future, you’re being ridiculous angel. He knows it’s silly, he knows Aziraphale knows he’s silly and he knows why Aziraphale is doing it. He doesn’t laugh though because they’re already on their way to established roles in their relationship, Aziraphale is silly and Crowley rolls his eyes at it whilst secretly delighting in it (it works the opposite way too – see the fez scene where Aziraphale is the one who reacts, you can just see the start of a, “seriously, what are you doing, Crowley?” expression before the camera cuts away to Crowley’s mad moment).

The dynamic later evolves into more overt flirting. By the time Gabriel turns up Aziraphale is very definitely using his silliness to flirt. The car scene (which I’ve written more about in another post) is the most overt example of this. Crowley isn’t being walked all over here, he’s playing up to Aziraphale very obviously flirting to get his own way, and by doing so is encouraging him to keep doing it. Aziraphale starts the scene off being silly about the clue and “investigating” because he knows Crowley likes it, and then he ramps up the silliness with his voice and hand gestures the more Crowley reacts with grumpiness and refusal. That this is all an act becomes very obvious when it continues inside after Crowley has removed the plants from the car. Clearly the car borrowing is already happening at this point but Crowley continues to protest and Aziraphale continues to flirt over the issue, right up until Crowley playfully pulls the car keys away from him at the last second and turns the tables by indirectly flirting with Aziraphale via his conversation with Muriel.

One interesting question here is, do they even know they are flirting? And you know what, I’m not entirely sure. I doubt they’d describe it like that to an outsider, but what they do understand is the effect their actions have on the other one, particularly Aziraphale. He knows flirting-using-silliness is a good way to get his own way on minor issues and Crowley, possibly sub-consciously, but definitely willingly, falls into his role in that dynamic providing it’s something he feels he can give (see my other post for more on that).

So is Crowley jaded by life in season two?

Tricky one! I can see some evidence of it and I do think he’s drifting a bit aimlessly this season, with no real home, no direction and feeling generally a bit lost about his place in the world. But I also see him being quite silly, sarcastic and generally amusing throughout the season as well, and he’s definitely still enjoying Aziraphale’s silliness, right up until the ball when Aziraphale won’t listen to him because he’s too busy being giddy. Also though he literally shares a joke with Mrs Sandwich when he’s rescuing the humans from the demons and he laughs in delight when he finds out Aziraphale has blown up his halo. He’s fed up about some things, but he’s not so fed up that he’s completely lost his sparkle.

Why does Crowley seem different though? Well, Crowley, whilst definitely very much inhabiting the ‘thin dark duke’ persona in the present-day scenes, still retains a lot of his sense of humour, it’s just changed over the years. He’s more likely now to channel his silliness into sarcasm, which makes total sense – he tends to keep up with the modern world a lot more than Aziraphale does and he’s lived in Britain for a very long time and British humour is very inclined towards sarcasm, which is basically a more grown-up form of silliness. Crowley hasn’t become jaded, he’s adapted his humour to the modern British world, but also still retained some of his original inclination to just behave in bizarre and unpredictable ways (Coffee drinking! Fez wearing!) He also doesn’t need to be as silly himself now because he’s got Aziraphale, who is more than silly enough for the both of them, and Crowley loves him for it. “I say something brilliant, he says something unintentionally funny. It’s great!”

Conclusion?

Yes, sort of! The whole thing can basically be summarised by something @ineffabildaddy said in response to my previous post. “Aziraphale and Crowley don’t just love each other, they like each other, too.” They haven’t hung around each other for 6000 years and fallen in love against their will because it’s fate or some nonsense like that – they liked each other first. They’ve always liked each other from the moment they met as angels and they have grown to like each other more at every meeting since. They like each other’s personalities, conversation, sense of humour, silliness and so much more. These are the things that bind them together.

We the audience only see their big moments, times when something happens that pushes their relationship forward (1941) or changes their sense of who they are (Job). In S1 we see them face a huge challenge together and come out the other side. What we don’t see and so what we can sometimes forget as the audience is that there is a massive amount of time in their history where these things weren’t happening, where they just met up and had normal conversations and hung out because it was fun for them to spend time together. To spend 6000 years hanging out together and still be able to find the other person interesting and funny and just generally worth being around is pretty impressive and show just how strong their relationship really is. I hope that no matter how big and dark things get in season three that we at least get some chance to watch them be silly together some more, I think they deserve it after all they’ve been through!

#good omens 2 #good omens #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #ineffable fandom #crowley loves aziraphale #aziraphale loves crowley #silliness #love #aziraphale #crowley

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highlandwhackamole · 3 months

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A Grand(ish) Theory of What the Heck

I love the utterly unhinged, super detailed theories about what's going on in Good Omens, especially in season 2. I hope one or more of them turn out to be true, as some kind of glorious puzzle-box-hidden-code monstrosity. And also I think that there has to be a simpler explanation for things, for the people who are at least Somewhat Normal (tm) about this show. (... I assume such people do exist somewhere...) This is what I have been pondering recently.

The thing that started me thinking about this was this post, containing some promotional materials for season 2 that feature main characters with scenes in their heads. Like this:

Seeing this created a very similar situation in my own head, but with a nice shiny lightbulb.

All the weirdness: the car, the sideburns, the clock, the behavior of the folks of Soho, the vanishing storefront signs. The absence of God. I think this is all because everything we see is in their heads.

I don't mean it's made up. At least not entirely. Memory is already a plot point. Why not explore it on a deeper level? I've read theories emphasizing the minisodes' stories being retold by Aziraphale and Crowley. I think the whole season is like that.

You know that sort of conventional-wisdom-fact-concept that you can only dream faces of people you've seen before (or variations therein), because your brain can't make new faces up? So it just fills in what it thinks is close enough? I think that idea, applied to remembering or recollecting things, could explain so many things that are wonky in this show.

Wonky Things

Crowley parking in an impossible London location? He definitely remembers it was in London, so his brain just stuck some obvious London landmarks in there.

Awkward clattering happening when Crowley throws the stacks of books he's inexplicably carrying around the bookshop? He wouldn't actually throw Aziraphale's books! But he'd like to think he's cool and nonchalant enough to do that, and if he did it would definitely make Some Kind of Noise.

Jim walking toward the bookshop from somewhere mysterious? Maggie and Nina saw him first, and he came from that direction, so he must've walked all that way. They don't know about the elevator in the Donkey.

Aziraphale remembers tartan hills and the Loch Ness monster because he was having a jolly time driving through Scotland, so obviously the scenery must've been whimsical Scottish things.

Nina put the Honolulu roast sign up, so she remembers its presence, but perhaps the occult/ethereal visitors to her shop do not.

Maggie really did text Aziraphale about the rent, but a note through the mail slot is a much more dignified way for a scholarly angel to imagine he received a message.

On the Fallibility of Recall

This season is loaded with unrealistic inclusions. The colors are turned up to 11. Some of the scenes are more caricature than believable interaction. Remembering things never copies or reproduces them with what one might call high fidelity.

Scenes recalled by separate memories will inherently vary. One person's hefty jigger might be another person's dash. Who knows for sure where the sun was that day? You and I might recall an event having different lighting or a different color palette, sort of like viewing something with different lens filters.

According to Neil, Crowley is an unreliable narrator of the story of his Fall. He labels the variations in clock times as a continuity error in a show where Everything Is Meant, but he doesn't say whose continuity error it is. He insists that the Bentley is the same through the whole season; maybe it was the same, but remembered differently. Maybe this is part of why there's more CGI but it's harder to spot.

So What?

Is this all there is to it? I sure hope not. I like my Good Omens with enough layers to put to shame an onion wrapped in a cake and covered in a parfait.

Is this possibly the fancy footwork that's distracting from the real magic trick? I wouldn't put it past Our Gaiman. There are a lot of things one could hide in the narrative of unreliable memory.

Is this going to stop me from rewatching and repondering and remaking theories for the next couple years? Not even at gunpoint.

#good omens #good omens meta #ineffable mystery #neil gaiman #good omens questions #good omens 2

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thestrangestperson · 10 months

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TINY WEE PSA

Hi! Are you trying to write some British people? Here are some random thoughts about exaggerated Britishness (With heavy chat about Scotland because I know Scotland the best):

"I'm going to the store!" Store is not a popular word for a place to buy things. People from the UK will generally say "shop". If they're just going to get milk or something, they may go to the "corner shop" - which people from NY especially will know as a "bodega"

"Hand me an eraser." While some people do say eraser, "rubber" is more common. This is amusing to me because to people from the US especially, it's very different in meaning.

If your character is visiting someone, it's very common to be offered tea. "Fancy a cup of tea?" or more casually "Fancy a cuppa?"

Pub ≠ bar. Pubs include bars, but are also places to get a meal. People do go there to drink ("Get a pint") though, and some pubs don't serve children or allow them in. Many do, however.

There are 100s of accents across the nation, more than just typical posh English, Welsh and Scottish. Please pay attention to your character's background and dialect. The city of London alone has 4 major accents. (For Good Omens fans, Crowley and Aziraphale are both sensationally posh. Aziraphale speaks "The Queen's/King's English" which is notably more formal and collected - Crowley does not.)

Some good swears include "Bellend", "Pillock", "Knob" and "Twat". In Scotland we also have the tamer "Daft(ie)" and "Tube"! Any object can become an insult: "You FUCKING MICROWAVE"

Some good pet names include "Love", "Pet" and "Poppet"

Along with tea we have a carbonated drink called Irn Bru. This is ESPECIALLY popular to Scots but you can find it in England. It is bright orange and fruity in taste.

We buy milk in pints

The chocolate bar Freddo is typically how we measure inflation these days. (I wish I could say this was a joke but tabloids love the chocolate test)

It does rain a lot. Like a shit ton. There are sunny days but nonetheless. The way to start conversation is ALWAYS weather. "Lovely weather innit?" always works, especially in terrible weather.

Sarcasm and dry humour are very popular.

IT IS A PETROL STATION, NOT A GAS STATION

A lot of people smoke or vape. This is very evident especially in cities like London and Edinburgh.

People from southern England especially are typically very removed and tend not to pay attention to anyone else. It's a massive "Not my problem". They can be very friendly by all means, but typically keep to themselves and don't talk to many people.

Biscuits rule the world, especially custard creams. (Jk, they're very loved though)

The school systems are different from that in the rest of the world. Even to one another. The Scottish, Welsh and English education systems are different - but are all composed of Primary school and Secondary school.

Typically people are either passionately wild for the Royal Family or REALLY dislike them.

Terraced and semi detached housing is very common. In Scotland we have "closies" which are blocks of flats that home lots of people, and are typically very square and deshevelled.

McDonald's did not arrive here until the 70s. People were confused by it to begin with.

Fish and chips is a stereotypical yet popular dish. Many people refer to going to a fish and chips shop as "Going to the chippy". Often they do not have seating, and are takeout exclusive.

Britain is a geographical reality, composed of Scotland, Wales and England. The United Kingdom is political and composed of Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales and England.

Irish people may not enjoy being referred to as "British". Furthermore do not call a Welsh, Scottish or Irish person "English". This is a bad idea and will make people mad.

Day in the life of a true Brexit geezer is a documentary. (Jk)

Basically everyone "hates" the English. Whether this is playful or genuine varies from person to person. Even the English hate the English.

Older women especially have very strong feelings about Princess Di (She was so beloved)

For Good Omens fans: Soho is a small tiny little area in the BOROGH of "The City of Westminster". This is a borogh at the heart of London. You can walk Soho in a day.

Most cities don't have boroughs, but do have wee areas which are basically suburbs or collections of areas.

In schools, it's very common to refer to your teachers as "Sir" and "Miss". This also applies outside of school for young people, but generally is seen more in schools.

"Mate" is the most common way to address a male presenting person passive aggressively, along with "Love" for female presenting people. "Mate" is more common and works both ways.

"Pissed" means drunk. "Oh, he's pissed" = "Oh, he's drunk". Increasingly you'll find people say "pissed" to mean angry, especially young people. However "peeved" is what was originally used to mean angry.

#This is mostly about Good Omens fanfictions like please write the English as English #writing #british people #uk #writing advice #mildly humorous #idk ANYMORE #help #character writing #bad writing advice

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cheeekycharchar · 9 months

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Temptation is the Name of the Game

"I am good. And you, I'm afraid, are evil. But people get a choice."

Crowley has always given Aziraphale a choice. He's never forced him into anything he didn't want to do. He never assumed the outcome would be in his favor- just hoped. He tempts him and if the Angel agrees, then they'll continue their little song and dance together. But if he refuses, he leaves it be. Maybe he'll try again later. There's always been a later. Always another chance. After all, they have all the time in the world. Or so he thought.

Think back to their random S1E3 meeting in Rome, and how Crowley looked so incredulous when Aziraphale tries to tempt him into trying oysters and Aziraphale flirtatiously acknowledges their lil push and pull game of temptations through the years.

"No-- that's your job, isn't it?" The wily demon tempts him, gives him a choice and more often than not, he gives in. But it's always been his choice.

We see Aziraphale truly give into his first true temptation back during the Job flashback in S2E2. Crowley tempts him with wine. Aziraphale refuses. Crowley doesn't push it. So, trying again, he gives him another choice.

"Are you trying to tempt me?" "Not at all. Angels can't be tempted, can you?" And Aziraphale gives into the temptation (and to the point of full on gluttony- OMG THE WHOLE OX, AZI!? lol) It's the first time Crowley realizes that even Angels can give into demonic temptations. After all, his whole purpose as a Demon on Earth is to tempt humans. Humans are human because they get to make the choice between all the good and evil in the world as was pointed out in S2E3 in the Scottish minisode.

I feel like one of the main reasons Crowley instantly fell head over heals obsessed with Aziraphale at the wall of Eden was that when Aziraphale tells him he made the choice to give up his flaming sword to humanity, Crowley realized how different this particular Angel was compared to all the others in Heaven.

Because normally, Angels don't get a choice.

They follow orders. They fall in line. They listen. They don't ask. Their autonomy is locked into a heavenly order that they must obey. And if you go against any of that, then you fall. You're damned. You become a Demon. Like him. Unforgiveable. But here, an Angel- that if given the choice between following direct orders from Heaven or making his own choice to do something that he felt was right at the time and getting away with it; as he still stands on the walls of Eden with his pure white wings intact afterwards- then maybe this Angel is truly something special. Aziraphale piques Crowley's curiosity. He fascinates him. He surprises him. He keeps him guessing. And he loves that. Aziraphale to Crowley is just one big unanswered question and Crowley spends an eternity trying to figure him out. So he keeps asking him questions to understand him. To make sense of how someone so pure of heart could disobey and still be holy. (aka my TLDR; mini post)

In S1E6, right before they dine at the Ritz in the finale, they have a cute little inside joke moment on the bench.

"Let me… tempt you to a spot of lunch?" "Temptation accomplished!" It's like an unspoken lil game between the two of them at that point. Aziraphale knows that Crowley will always ask him if he wants to do something that might be against his natural instincts of being "the good one". But he also knows that he'll usually give in- especially if it's to spend more time with Crowley. After all, it's what Crowley does best (or worst. depending on who's perspective)- asking damn fool questions. What is a temptation if not a question proposed in the form of giving someone a desirable choice?

"You and me, what do you say?" He bares his heart and soul and gives him one last choice to make. The ultimate temptation. Give up this idea of going back to Heaven and stay with me as an "us".

"Oh, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever."

"No… no I don't suppose it does.."

It's here that Crowley knew that their time was up- that he wouldn't be able to keep their lil game of temptations going any longer. What was once forever has turned into the final moments of the sand falling through the hour glass.

"Oh, it doesn't matter. It's too late for that now, isn't it? It's always too late.." An endless void of eternity finally shines its light at the end of the tunnel. With each passing world-ending crisis, he can vividly see that there won't be another six thousand years to keep nudging the choice under Aziraphale's nose until he finally decides to give into temptation and choose to be with him. So, out of desperation, Crowley went all in and took Aziraphale's choice away from him in hopes of speeding things up before the hourglass empties completely. But as we all know..

"You go to fast for me, Crowley.." Crowley has always been on a different speed than Aziraphale. Always one step ahead of him.

They kiss and… Aziraphale breaks all our hearts by immediately forgiving him.

"I forgive you." Forgiving him for ending their centuries old game. Forgiving him for taking that choice away from him- even if he would have said yes, it was still his choice to make. Crowley made the wrong decision to kiss him in that particular moment and he knew it- they both did. (side note: I'm not taking sides or putting blame on either one here for this "breakup". They both had their "wrongs" here.. regardless, I loved the angst and that kiss either way ^-~) But to receive that instant forgiveness from the most important being in his world was too much. So instead of pushing it further, he leaves the bookshop in devastating disappointment. And yet.. he still doesn't go far. He waits. Just like he always has been. Waiting for Aziraphale. Waiting for him to catch up.

Crowley silently standing at "their" car across the street is his true final temptation and giving back the choice to his Angel. But this time without words. Without action. He leaves an opening for Aziraphale to choose to be with him one last time. Its the final move in their long game of temptation and Crowley still holds onto hope.

So there he stands. Watches as Aziraphale looks at him through the window from the bookshop in trepidation.

But ultimately, Aziraphale just gives him that one final sideways glance before choosing to step into the elevator and leaves him for Heaven (more on his reasoning for that choice in my other post). Their game is over. No more temptations. No more time. Each set out on their new paths. Apart.. With no apparent winner or loser... :(

I know.. I know.. I'm overanalyzing again. And I'm sure others have pointed this out in every way possible but I just can't stop thinking about it and sometimes I have to write it out in my own words to wrap my head around it all ^-^ ..cause I'm still hurtin'.. *cries* T_T I need to go read some South Downs cottage fanfics to heal until S3....

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens theories #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #crowley #aziraphale #my heart still hurts.... but I can't stop thinking about it all still!#give me season 3 or give me death

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aylacavebear · 3 months

Text

Stockroom Antics - Chapter 11

Maria had changed jobs numerous times over the last five years, more to keep herself safe than anything else. Her mother had told her she was a fairy but she thought it was just her mom being weird. Honestly, though, she had no other way of explaining what had happened to her that stormy day before she'd gone into a coma for two weeks.

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!

Word Count: 1242

Pairing eventually Dean Winchester x OC

Warnings: Angst

A/N: This one's written a little differently than my last one. Let me know what you think. It's the first time I've tried this type of writing. Chapters will alternate viewpoints as well. I also looked into an actual area so this one could feel more realistic. This one is taking on a life of it's own in a turn I hadn't anticipated, so adding a new tag.

----------------------------------------- Stockroom Antics Chapter 11

You’d used your powers to set up your room comfortably, deciding it might be better to fully explore what you were really capable of doing.

When Dean talked about the King of Hell, all the nightmarish images from movies and television shows played through your mind. The one that stuck was the character from the movie Legend.

The man that appeared in the devil’s trap was not what you’d expected to see, nor was hearing his Scottish accept. He looked like a regular man to you. His words took you by surprise, as he didn’t seem to be mean, let alone like anything you’d envisioned in your mind. The pet names got on your nerves, though.

When he disappeared, you headed back out to the library, leaving the brothers in the room they’d summoned him in. Your mind wandered to what Crowley had said, that those who depend on the brothers tend to end up dead. If you were being honest with yourself, you knew very little about the two of them.

You stared at the books on the table, then focused your thoughts, wanting to figure out how to fully unlock your powers. A part of you was worried that it might make you a bigger target, but you also felt safe being in the bunker than at your home. The books moved around, about an inch off the table. Two of them then set themselves down directly in front of you. Before you could reach down and touch either of them, they opened to pages with the information you were seeking.

For a brief moment, you glanced toward the hallway where the archive room was, and when you didn’t see either of the brothers, you looked back down at the books. You reached your hand out, picking the books up before heading into your room, closing the door behind you. This way, neither of the brothers could interfere.

Once you were comfortable at your desk, you began reading. The first book gave you an extremely long chapter on finding true love with your soulmate, and the first kiss would basically unlock all your powers. To that idea, you just rolled your eyes, never believing in such fairy tales, as you called them,

The second book, however, held more technical information. There were spells that could be performed, but you had to be a skilled witch to do them, so you ignored that section. The other parts talked about doing bigger and grander things, pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion at every opportunity available but no less than once a day.

You sighed as you looked up from the book. That was something you’d never done, not even remotely close, and you weren’t sure if you were capable. But at the same time, it was more plausible than finding that whole soulmate thing the other book talked about.

A groan left your lips as you leaned back in your chair, glancing at your door. You weren’t sure how long you’d been in your room or what the brothers were up to. The things from the first book you’d read came back to your mind, the things it said you could do.

Now, you just had to figure out what to expend your energy on. You slipped both the books under the mattress of your bed, as you didn’t want either of the brothers to know that stuff. Then, you headed out toward the library, hearing their muffled voices from the hallway. You inched closer, staying hidden.

“I know there were two more books out here, Dean,” Sam argued.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe she has ‘em?” Dean suggested.

“Why wouldn’t she just read out here, though?” Sam sighed, sounding frustrated.

You were leaning against the wall of the hallway, very near the opening. You couldn’t see them, but what they were talking about made your heart rate increase a bit. The last thing you wanted was for them to find the information you’d just read.

“Maybe she wanted to be alone after what Crowley said. I still don’t trust that demon,” Dean stated, sounding frustrated.

“He’s got to know something about her powers if he wants her as bad as he does,” Sam sighed.

“You think he knows more than we do?” Dean asked.

You heard Sam sigh again, “He might. He’s probably got access to information we don’t. I mean, it’s possible, at least, and we should just assume that he does.”

Dean groaned, “That’s gonna make protecting her harder if she wants to leave.” “Then we should be grateful she agreed to stay here,” Sam seemed to try to reassure his brother.

“You really think she’ll keep her word, even after what Crowley said?” Dean asked.

For a moment, you felt bad for a couple of reasons. They were trying to keep you safe after all, and here you were sneaking around, keeping information from them. At the same time, though, that statement from Crowley was still fresh in your mind.

You took a deep breath and then returned to your room, grabbing both books. You’d never been the kind of person to let others influence your decision about someone, and the last thing you were going to do now was let the King of Hell do that to you.

I can do this…

You held the books and joined the brothers in the library, giving them a friendly smile, “I borrowed these,” you said apologetically as you set them down near Sam. Then you sat on the other side of Dean.

They both watched you, “Uh, thanks…” Sam said, seeming slightly puzzled.

“Find anything useful?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

You just shrugged your shoulders, “Not really,” you answered, then grabbed another book to thumb through. You weren’t really looking for anything, just trying to keep your mind occupied. It wasn’t a complete lie. At the moment, the information you'd found didn’t seem completely useful to you.

With your eyes on the book, you missed the brothers' silent conversation with just their expressions. You could see both of them in your peripherals, but you were only slightly paying attention. Sure, you had lots of questions that you wanted to ask them, but you were reserved, wondering just how they were viewing you. Were you just another case to them, or did they want to get to know you and let you get to know them?

“You okay?” Sam asked, sounding almost concerned.

You looked up from your book, “Probably as good as can be expected, given everything,” you told him, honestly.

“Is there anything we can do to make this easier on you?” he asked you, and to you, he sounded genuine.

For a moment, you pursed your lips, debating your question, then asked, “Am I just another case to the two of you?” You did your best to keep your tone as neutral as possible, but you were sure that a hint of hope and even some possible sadness had made it out.

The brothers shared another brief look, and you noticed Dean sigh, but it was Sam who spoke, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are our case. We really do want to keep you safe.”

Somehow you managed to just give them a small smile and then went back to your book.

I’m just a case… Those words reverberated in your mind as you read.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 12

Link to the series Master List

A/N: If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, leave me a comment, and I'll make sure to tag you.

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wisteria-lodge · 5 years

Text

Crowley’s Roman Look is Very Strange

I didn’t. I didn’t want to be this person. But Aziraphale is sitting RIGHT THERE looking like A TOTALLY RESPECTABLE Roman citizen circa 40 AD. Maybe the hair might be unusual, but the Romans LOVED blonde hair. They thought it was cool and foreign and exotic in sort of a sexy way.

But Crowley is so historically confused. And I think the production design is too good and Neil Gaiman is too on top of his game for this to be accidental. It must mean something.

I - HAIR

What is on your head Crowley. Are you the emperor? Are you a victorious general currently participating in a victory parade?

Sure, you sometimes see laurel wreathes in portraits. But FUNERAL portraits.

That crown is a symbolic thing, to celebrate your victories in life. It’s not STREET WEAR.

And okay. It’s 40-41 AD. Caligula is emperor. Military chic is in. If you’re a guy, you’re wearing your hair short and un-styled (LIKE AZIRAPHALE.) Those dramatic little spit curls wouldn’t show up until at least Nero.

But actually, pulling back for a second - are you appreciating the absurdity that is this hairstyle? Because it took me a second to notice that only the FRONT HALF is curled.

Which is a Roman hairstyle. But it’s a Roman LADY hairstyle.

(It tends to get called ‘Flavian Hair’ because the Flavian era ladies of the 70s-90s got pretty extreme about it, but you still had less... dramatic versions in the 40s.)

That’s you, Crowley. That’s your style reference. Honestly, if you had just kept your hair long everybody would have thought you were a cool barbarian chieftain or something.

II - CLOTHES

The black is fine. It’s eccentric, but fine. Romans wore black. Wearing black was Cato the Younger’s *thing.* It gets associated with mourning and/or protest, but it would have been really visually confusing to have Crowley wear some other color. This gets a pass.

Nope, my question is about his articles of clothing. There’s a charcoal grey garment that seems to be a toga + undershirt. It’s looped over Crowley’s arm, which is a classic toga give away.

That part’s fine. But over the top, he’s wearing a true black... short cape? Shawl? it’s really hard to tell, because whatever it is, he is NOT wearing it correctly (is it folded in half?) Also, that irregular red zigzag pattern is very strange and I do not recognize it from anywhere. Seriously, I can’t even decide on a continent for this garment.

III - JEWELRY

Emperor Nero usually gets credit for inventing the first sunglasses, after he started watching gladiators fight though a green gemstone. He won’t be emperor for about ten years. But hey, he probably got the idea from somewhere. And dark glasses are just a really sensible way to hide your snakey eyes. This is also the first time we see Crowley put up some proper emotional barriers, so it’s a good place for the glasses to be introduced. (@theladyzephyr has a wonderful meta that goes into a lot more detail here.)

So the sunglasses are good. BUT THAT BROOCH.

Okay. This is Aziraphale wearing a fibula plate brooch

It’s a really Roman style, and a really Roman shape (a “pelta”)

I’ve never seen one that looks like angel wings, but a Roman citizen is going to look at that and see a soppily patriotic Imperial Eagle. How nice that this lovely man from Germania/Greece has made some money and become such an exemplary citizen!

But Crowley is wearing a penannular (pin-and-ring) brooch

That’s not roman. That’s a style from the British Isles (Irish, Pictish, Scottish, Welsh.) It says barbarian, boonies, outskirts of the civilized world.

And nobody @ me with pictures of pin-and-ring brooches from Rome. Those are small, cheap, and undecorated. They’re the cultural equivalent of safety pins. This is patterned like a snake, and it’s the size of Crowley’s palm.

AND THAT’S ANOTHER THING. They didn’t do snake-themed jewelry in the British isles. Snakes didn’t have the best cultural associations there, and there weren’t too many of them there to begin with. This isn’t something Crowley picked up because “hey, a snake, cool,” and then got attached too. This must have been commissioned special.

But you know who LOVED snake jewelry?

ROMANS.

Romans associated snakes with healing and rebirth - clinics sometimes had lil snakes crawling around on the ground to give the place good vibes.

You cannot tell me that Crowley could have existed in Rome for any length of time and not picked up some of this jewelry. Which leads me to my conclusion:

IV - CROWLEY IS EXTREMELY NEW IN TOWN

The unfashionable pin and hair? The clothing draped the wrong way? The cultural colorblindness of wearing a laurel crown when you’re not supposed to? Crowley looks like a tacky tourist because he is one. He’s not staying here long, he “just nipped in for a quick temptation.”

He’s in a bad mod because he’s had an awful day, everyone keeps looking at him funny, the temptation was a complete bust, he has culture shock, and now he’s just trying to get a drink. But they don’t have any PROPER drinks like ALE or MEAD here, so he just orders “whatever’s drinkable.” He’s even not sure what they drink in Rome.

But then Aziraphale shows up and invites him to lunch some place fashionable. So everything’s going to be okay.

#good omens #aj crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #history #history stuff #roman stuff #historical fashion #laurel wreath #snake jewelry #fibula #pennanular #flavian hair #nero #caligula #roman fasion #roman jewelry #my meta

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yn-dreamlife · 4 years

Text

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: You’ve been blind since you where six years old but one day after something happens you can see again, now you can finally see the man who you love, but does he still love you?

Warnings: angst, Fluff

Characters: Sam Winchester x reader, Cas, Dean, Rowena, Crowley, Gabe, Bobby.

I open my eyes and I am met with the sight of darkness, of course this isn’t unusual due to my circumstance. I sit up and look over noticing I can’t see the beautiful blue that always radiates from him. “Sam?” I call out, I don’t hear him anywhere close by. I get up grabbing my cane and begin counting. I take one step away from the bed and turn to the left the proceed to take five more and I reach out feeling for the door handle but soon realize the door is open, ‘that’s odd Sam always closes the door.’ I thought to myself.

“Sam?” I call out again, I listen as I hear my own voice reverberate down the bunker hall, I can hear running water in the distance and realize someone’s in the shower. I quickly make my way there keeping an eye out for any familiar colors. I get to the shower room and knock as I open the door.

“Hello?” I look over and see a purple hue. “Ah hello Dean have you se-“

“Son of a bitch!” He shrieks I laugh placing my hands on my knees.

“I wish I could have seen your face!”

“Damnit y/n/n! Don’t do that! You scared the shit outta of me!” I continue laughing and he grumbles asking me what I want.

“Have you seen Sam?”

“Yeah in the library, now stop staring at me it freaks me out.” I felt a pang in my chest he might not of meant in a way that’s saying I’m a freak or anything but it’s how I took it, after a childhood of being called a foggy eyes freak i couldn’t help but believe it.

I turned around walking away and I heard the door shut and lock behind me. I walk to the library not needing to tap my cane on the ground since I knew the way. As I approached I could hear sam talking on the phone.

“Yeah I’ll be there soon, okay agh I love you!” He spoke happily.

Who could he have been talking to? He doesn’t say I love you to anyone except me dean and cas.

“You’re the best cherry!” Cherry? That’s not a name I’m familiar with. Sam wouldn’t cheat on me though.

“No no don’t worry y/n’s still asleep she won’t suspect a thing!”

I heard a females voice saying goodbye and she loved him and he hung up, I didn’t recognize that voice. I heard sams footsteps approaching and quickly backed myself up I hit a corner and quickly sunk down. He ether didn’t care or didn’t notice I felt tears well up in my eyes. And I quickly began walking to deans room. When I got there I knocked softly but there was no answer. I had already heard Sam leave the bunker the tears flowed more freely. I knocked louder again and just kept knocking until I was banging on the door. I sunk to my knees continuing to bang on the door.

I gave up with my hands and began hitting me head against it weakly. “Dean?!” I called I suddenly heard footsteps rushing towards me and I fell just as he got down next to me into his arms. “Dean.” I sobbed. He began rubbing his hands up and down my back trying to soothe me.

“What’s wrong y/n/n what’s happened?” I didn’t look towards him instead I stared at the ground.

“Does Sam- would Sam...” I trailed off. If I said it it would be that much more real.

“Sam... what?” Dean asked gently turning my head up to face him I would assume. But I ripped my head back down.

“Does Sam love me?!” I cried.

“Of course he loves you y/n! Look at me.”

“No, you don’t want my weird eyes on you! And no, Sam can’t love some weak blind girl like me!”

“Y/n what’s brought all this on?”

“Sam, he’s been distant lately, he’s not there when I wake up, he’s not there when I go to bed, he doesn’t show affection very much, and...” I trailed off.

“And? Y/n talk to me.”

“I heard him on the phone with a girl, he called her cherry and said he loved her. And he said how I was asleep and would suspect anything. He left a few minutes ago. He walked right past me and he didn’t even notice me Dean.”

“He... what?!” Dean shouted. I flinched and he quickly lowered his voice, “if I find out that he really is cheating I’ll freaking rip his lungs out.” He paused and tilted my head up again. “And y/n, your eyes are beautiful.”

“But you said that- that they freak you out!”

“Sweet heart I meant it freaks me out how you always seem to know where I am even when you can’t see, you make better eye contact the sighted people.”

“Well some people have colors... like you-your purple.”

“Really?” I could hear the smile.

“Yeah, Cas is like a black with sparkles of dark blue. And sam-“ dean cut me off

“We aren’t going to talk about him right now. No instead me and you are gonna go into the tv room cuddle and listen to music and talk, sound good?”

I nodded my head “thank you dean.” I said as I reached my hand out he lead it to his cheek and I placed my lips where my hand just was, it was common for me to kiss him on the cheek, after all these years he had taken up a brotherly role to me.

True to his word me and dean sat on the couch cuddling and talking about anything except Sam for hours, I honestly had forgotten about until I heard footsteps fast approaching. I tried to untangle myself from the blankets and from dean but before I could sam had came in.

“What are you doing with my girl dean?” He seethed. The anger coming off of him was rsditatimg from him. I wouldn’t look at him instead I looked at the floor, I knew if I saw the beautiful blue I would break.

“We’re not doing anything and besides I’m not your anything anymore sam, so just go back to your ‘cherry’ why don’t you!” I shouted at him.

“Baby what are you- oh! No y/n it’s not what you think!” He stepped forward but suddenly purple was blocking out all the blue.

“Get out.” I heard dean growl.

“Seriously?!”

“Get. Out.”

“Fine! But just you wait... you’ll see!” And with that he stomped away.

Time skip

It had been two weeks and I hadn’t heard a word from Sam, well at least I chose not to. He called a bunch and texted but I didn’t allow my phone to read them aloud to me. Maybe I was being to harsh maybe I should have heard him out btu now the damage was done. By now I had all my things packed and I was ready to go. I know Dean loves Sam and family comes first, so I was ready to walk to the nearest motel, I knew the way... well enough. As I left my room and began walking down the hall I couldn’t hear anything besides my own footsteps, as I got into the map room I hear a light flick on and suddenly I saw purple emerge from around the corner.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” I heard dean question me.

“What how did you-“

“Went to say goodnight and saw your bag packed in your room, i was hoping you’d change your mind but just in case I was here to stop you.”

“Dean you can’t stop me my mind is made up, I’m going, and you’re going to let your brother come back because you love him and family comes first.”

“Family don’t end in blood y/n” I smiled at the term.

“Bobby?” I saw the familiar yellow of my adoptive father appear.

“Damn right baby girl,” I heard his footsteps approaching and wrapped my arms around him tightly.

“I missed you dad.”

“Missed you too.”

“Don’t suppose you missed me too?” I heard a whisper behind me and suddenly whipped around there I saw the familiar blue that no matter how much I tried not to let it still sent butterfly’s to my stomach.

“S-sam? What are you-“

“I think we can explain dear.” I heard a familiar Scottish accent. Suddenly four new colors appeared.

Cas’ black with sparkles of dark blue, I saw a golden white that I knew to be Gabriel and a dark maroon that was Crowley as well as a familiar red for rowena.

“Okay what’s going on?”

“Do you trust us love?” Crowley spoke this time. I looked around at all the colors of people I considered family and nodded my head.

“Take samsquateches hands sweets.” Gabe spoke slowly guiding me to him.

“W-what?!”

“Trust us honey bee.” It was cas now who spoke.

“O-okay.” Gabe let me go and I held my hands out moving forward with my eyes closed, for some reason I wanted him to be the one to grab me. The same way he grabbed my hands to help me escape when we first met, this was me asking if he was still my Sammy.

“I’m here y/n I gotcha.” I could have sobbed at the sound, he knew. Those where the exact words he said to me that day and he knew that’s what I wanted to hear.I wrapped my arms around him tightly a tear slipping from my eye.

“Y/n, I have some explaining to do. I have was distant before because I dint want to get your hopes up or spoil the surprise. And ‘cherry’ is actually rowena. I call her cherry because one time dean put some bright red hair dye in her already naturally red hair and it came out as bright as a cherry, I said I love you to her and her to me because we where both so excited.”

“I’m sorry Sammy, I should have just- I was so stupid.” I went to grab my hair the way I had since I was six and first lost my sight but he stopped my hands before I could rip at my hair.

“No you where guarding yourself, the way you had to for such a long time. But can I show you what we’ve been working on?” I nodded my head and he put me an arms length away and grabbed my hands.

I watched as rowena Crowley Gabe and cas all moved around me. “Close your eyes everyone.” I heard rowena say.

“You too y/n” cas said chuckling I raised an eyebrow. Looking towards him.

“Seems kinda pointless me being blind and all but okay.” And with that I closed my eyes moving my head back towards sam. I heard them all speaking in a language I didn’t know and suddenly even though my eye where closed colors where bursting beneath my eye lids. Beautfiul blues purples and green. As well as vibrant yellows pinks and reds. And blindingly bright whites and every color between. I gasped and I felt Sam squeeze my hands.

But suddenly it all stopped and I was met with an unfamiliar color. It was brighter than the usual black I saw but it was still a shade of black. I felt sams hands cup my cheeks.

“Open your eyes princess.” He whispered and I realized he was crouched down to my height. As I did I was meant with a bright light and slowly I realized what was happening. Tears welled up in my eyes and my hands quickly went to cover them rubbing the heel of my palm into them brushing away the tears. I looked back up and I was meant with beautiful hazel eyes.

“Sam?” He nodded his head grinning at me. “Is this real?” I reached my hand out caressing his face. My fingers brushing over his cheek bones and over his nose moving to his silky brown hair that felt so soft.

He nodded as a tear slipped down his cheek. “It’s real, it’s real.”

Everything seemed to settle in my mind and I looked around, “I can see!” I felt my heart rate speed up in excitement. I quickly rapped my arms around sam pulling him into a kiss and I moved between everyone starting with Bobby and dean.

“Dad, you... god I always knew you’d have such a kind face!” I said more tears leaking from my eyes as well as his own which I’m sure he would deny. He had a beard and wore a baseball cap. I looked to Dean seeing his bright green eyes and the freckles that dusted his cheeks.

“And no wonder your so well liked with the lady’s there dean!” I teased grinning at Sam as he scoffed but the smile never left his face.

“Aw Cassie bear! I knew you where like a giant teddy bear! And I must say your color matches your wings perfectly!” It was true his wings where beautiful dark black with dark blue feathers sprinkled in. His eyes where also a bright blue and I saw the trench coat I had felt so many times as I hugged him. I went to Gabe next.

“Wow, your eyes are beautiful Gabey. And your wings are so magnificent they also match your color!” He smiled at me brightly.

And i next turned to rowena and Crowley “you two... wow, gotta say I’m surprised how well everyone’s colors matched them! Deans slightly confused me but I’m sure I’ll figure it out!” Everyone looked confused except for dean and Sam.

“I always saw colors, just hues it’s how I was able to look at you and see you, do you want to know your color? Well it’s not very nice to wonder such things, you shouldn’t even have asked.” I grinned at them and they all chuckled. I found my eyes falling back to Sam.

Everyone seemed to notice and found something to busy themselves with, he was so tall and his hair looked perfect on him. I knew it was long due to the numerous times I had run my hands threw it but I could never imagine it. His jaw line was so sharp, and his eyes where so bright.

I didn’t notice more tears slipping from my eyes until he gently brushed them away. “What’s wrong angel?”

“I wish this would last forever.” I whispered.

He smiled his eyes also watering as he moved so his eyes where level with my own. “sweet heart... it is.”

“R-really?!” He nodded. I flung my arms around his neck, “thank you Sammy... and I’m so sorry.”

“Baby I understand. Believe me, I would have been mad to. Didn’t you listen to the messages or the voicemails?” I blushed shaking my head.

“I- I knew I would have called you back and at the time I still thought you where with ‘cherry’” he smiled gently at me.

He sat me down and he read all the messages to me and we listened to the voicemails together. Some he was crying telling me he was going to fix it. Others he was excited about a breakthrough in the spell. Some where just long winded apologies and confessions of love but his last voice mail left me confused.

“And when you finally see my face I can ask you the question I’ve wanted to ask you since July 1 two years ago.” I closed my eyes as I tried to recall the day and I remembered we where at the beach I loved the way the sun felt on my skin and how vibrant there colors got while we where there.

“What where you talking abo-“ I cut myself off with a gasp as I turned to back to Sam opening his eyes. He was down on one knee and a ring box in his hand.

“Y/f/n, I have wanted to ask you this for over two years, the moment I saw that smile etched onto your lips I knew I wanted to be the one to keep it there, so me being me I began to research. I wanted to allow you to see the place you loved so much I wanted you to see the sky during the rain storms you love, I wanted you to see your father and your childhood home, and I wanted you to be able to see my face while I told you this. That was the day I set my mind to allowing you to see again, the surgery as a child didn’t work and I wasn’t going to allow you to go through that pain again, this solution had to be permanent, and pain free. So I got together with the smartest and most powerful people we know. So y/f/n, if you will do me the honor of being my wife I promise to take you to every place your heart has desired to see, I will teach you to read and write, I will teach you anything you wish, and most importantly I will be by your side until the end of time.”

I sat there shocked into silence. He had been working on this for two years and I almost left him over a misunderstanding. No scratch that I did, and yet he didn’t stop, and he still wants to Marry me. The tears continued to flow as I shook my head quickly, “yes!.... yes!” The grin on my face was so wide it almost hurt but I didn’t care because the second that ring slipped on my finger and his lips met mine I felt whole. And I knew he would live up to his promise.

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural #supernatural x reader #fluff #blind reader #sligth angst

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writergamermom · 3 years

Text

Promo and Live Blogging #6

Ship Your Own Adventure

Emblue_Sparks

Mature

Chapter 1 Billie/Crowley; Chapter 2 Sam/Eileen; Chapter 3 Dean/Crowley; Chapter 4 Kevin/Aaron; Chapter 5 Claire/Kaia; Chapter 6 Sam/Gadreel; Chapter 7 Crowley/Mick Davis; Chapter 8 Dean/Benny; Chapter 9 Bobby+ Rufus; Chapter 10 Dean/Castiel

Liveblog

Man Emblue Sparks did their own art! How can I top this?

His beloved Imperium Innocentia never ceased to fill him with wonder, and yet as of late, he'd begun to feel a worrisome unease when visiting. The loyal ferrymen were paid handsomely to usher his precious souls from there to the shores of Elysium and Asphodel Meadows. Neither Castiel nor Gabriel had reported any bumps in the proverbial road, so that couldn't be the source.

To be honest I am rather confused.

The realm was fiercely protected by thousands of wardings and enchantments. His rambunctious rescues were all squeals and delight as their tender souls regained the sweet innocence lost, as was the realms purpose. However, when visiting recently, his grace sensed...not a presence really, but a watchfulness. As if some all seeing eye was casting itself upon it.

So a place in the Scottish highlands is the first circle of hell where all the unborn or unbaptized babies are? Wait Crowley has GRACE? So confused.

Perhaps she'd care for some tea..or Craig? No, no scotch wouldn't do, how would that appear? Lovely to make to your acquaintance. May I invite you into my home for strong spirits on a whim?

I mean I wouldn’t say no, but I am drunk so what are you going to do.

He'd longed to ask her why she felt so familiar. Why in her presence he felt they might have been from another time altogether. A far away memory tiptoed on the edges of recollection just out of his mind's reach. Crowley would spend untold hours in contemplation, opening his mind in hopes the memory in which he sought might emerge from its shy shell and present itself. Alas, to his disappointment, none had stepped forward to claim that missing piece of neurological real estate thus far.

Wow, this is some kind of poetry. Okay there are some major spoilers so I won’t post any more for this chapter. But I want to read more. There are like layers here man.

Chapter Two Notes: Because I cannot abide the logic surrounding Eileen's absence in the finale. Every actor is entitled to their opinion, as are we, the fans. Though I disagree with Jared, I'll defend his right to express his thoughts. But seeing as how this is my interpretation of this pairing, I'm giving Sam and Eileen this ending I feel they deserved because this handling of the finale among other things had me livid.

Ooops, I have not watched the last season. Oh well.

And yet for Sam, the fates had been so unkind. For as his son grew and garnered a beautiful life of his own, one he happily shared with none other than Castiel Fitzgerald, his memory of Eileen began to fade. Once Dean Jr had realized it was happening, he'd prayed.

Dean Jr. and Castiel Fitzgerald are together and Sam is losing his memories. Bittersweet!

"Dean is well, although he misses you. We're happy, he and I. Eileen as well. I've heard your son's prayers. He fears you'll forget her due to your memories' condition. You sustained many concussions throughout your life. She grows..blurry for you, does she not?"

Yeah Sam got hit in the head a lot!

Without warning, Jody walks into his home.

"Saam?"

He turns his head, stunned. She shouldn't be even be driving anymore let alone-

"Yo!"

Anybody home?" Claire and Kaia both called out as they too enter.

Aww I love these girls. Imagine Old Jody still kicking ass and filled with sass.

"Let's get this party started," Jody suggested, busting a bottle of Johnny Walker Black label from her oversized old lady purse.

YES!

Chapter 3 It wasn't the first time he'd watched Dean Winchester sleep, nor would it be the last. But he'd paid close attention when overhearing the very true sentiment expressed, "It's just creepy." Since then he'd taken extra precautions not to make the seraph's mistake.

So it’s Dean and someone not Cas.

Dean was as tenacious as any demon,

It’s Crowley!

They'd had a deliciously rambunctious role in the proverbial hay with triplets earlier that evening.

Yeah I knew they had an orgy!

He began slowly pulling his hand back, so slowly in fact, he hoped it would go unnoticed. However, before it left the warmth of Dean's skin, he felt Dean pointedly grab his hand.

Wow. Yeah. That’s the good stuff.

Chapter 4: You got the job?! Awesome! Well, I knew you would. You're an outstanding accountant," Kevin glowed at his best friend Aaron, whom he'd helped land a position at the same company he worked at.

WOOT KEVIN! I love Kevin. And Aaron. I can see it.

Kevin had found an outstanding job at "Write Your Own Story," a place kind of like Total Rekall, only no memory sorcery involved. His friend Claire and her wife Kaia had inherited a typewriter from a long lost uncle...Megatron or something like that. They discovered its magic and sought to use it for good but also a career. It was gaining steam, paid the bills, but barely out of the beta phase.

Nice! I dig all of this.

Over the next few weeks business boomed with the coming holidays. People wanted to write those they loved beautiful dreams as gifts. And as Kevin discovered, it was all the ink.

I would love to give someone good dreams.

Get out. I can’t believe you would do something like this. And you used a sacred holiday too..ya know what? Nevermind, I'm late for service, make sure you're not here when I get back."

Oh NO!

Chapter 5: "We all missed you and mourned you. Just because we'd just met didn't mean we hadn't looked forward to welcoming you into our little family," Jody declared to Kaia as they pulled out from the bunker and started their five hour journey plus change back to Souix Falls.

I have not watched season 15, did Kaia and Claire get a reunion? I think I remember hearing something about Jody and Kaia. How sweet if she got to bring her home.

"I'm not gonna intervene with you two beyond this, but hearing from Sam all these years about how Dean and Cas keep dancing around each other,

Poor Sam

"It's really you…" the golden lightning in a bottle whispered before slamming into her, squeezing so hard her eyeballs almost popped out.

Nice

Chapter 6 Sam's crushed on the martial arts instructor at the Men of Letters Academy for a year and finally finds an opportunity to do something about it.

I don’t know what this is.

Sam Winchester had been working at the Letters Academy for all of one year as a Professor of Supernatural History and Lore. Dean had graduated ten years prior and was a field agent with a partner of the celestial variety, Castiel. Sam preferred employment on the educational side of operations and prepared his students well, heavily arming them with the knowledge of what was out there and how to effectively neutralize it, if necessary.

Cool. I am down for this

The instructor had joined the academy's faculty the same time as Sam and to say he had a crush on the guy was putting it mildly. His name was Gadreel, and like Dean's partner,

Man they would make a mightily tall couple.

"Heard Max Banes is working through the ranks of Tai Kwon Do pretty fast. Aces all the tests and assignments in my class. Seems pretty motivated.." Sam tossed out for conversation.

Before Covid I was doing pretty well with Taekwondo. I have not kept up.

"Those are effective, until knocked out of your hand or your mag runs out. Come by sometime, I'll show you some stuff..if you want."

Yeah Ill show you some stuff too. In my pants!

"Private lessons I see, Gadreel. I'd no idea they were on the table. Perhaps we can come to some..arrangement." Sam looked up to see Arthur Ketch standing in the doorway aiming a lascivious grin at Gadreel.

EWWW. Can we say creepy

It had Sam considering the length of his wingspan.

Wingspan… Sure

#spncoldesthitspromo

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luv4fandoms · 5 years

Text

Cookies with the king (spn Crowley x Reader)

Nonny requested

And I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to write some domestic Crowley, so I hope you enjoy it nonny!

If you have any ideas for some Castiel or Crowley one shots (Christmas-y themed if you'd like) feel free to request them, I'm still accepting a few 😊

Words: 2,494

Pairing: Crowely x Reader

Warning: Fluff, Crowley's charm

The faint tone of music was the first thing to hit Crowley when he appeared in the bunker, followed by the faint smell of sweets. He knew what time of the year it was, and how humans often celebrated it by cozying up to a warm fire, an all too predictable boy meets girl christmas love story playing on the tv, sweets, and ah yes, lots of drinking and family fun...lovely. Though this time of year was also good for business, lots of lonely and lost saps willing to strike up a deal for some holiday cheer. As he followed the scent and music though, he soon realized that the bunker was quite empty.

Making his way to the kitchen he gently opened the door, eyes landing on your form as you mixed together ingredients, singing softly to the music that played from your phone.

"Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore, faithful friends who are dear to us, gather near to us once more" you sang along as you placed dollops of batter onto the cookie sheet.

"Faithful friends huh? Yet you're here all alone" A rough, accented voice spoke from behind you, causing you to jump and turn around. You hadn't been expected anyone, the bunker was protected, and besides, you were just a researcher not a full hunter like the boys. But as you eyes landed on none other than the king of hell himself, your body relaxed. The relationship you and Crowley had was far less tense than the one he had with the boys, maybe it was because you appreciated his wit, even when it was aimed against Sam and Dean. Or maybe it was his charm? His voice certainty added to the mix...no you wouldn't really consider Crowley a dear friend, but he had always intrigued you.

"They had a hunt" you shrugged, turning back and finishing up the first type of cookies before putting them in the oven.

"So they left you on one of you humans most precious holidays?" He asked while making his way over to where you were setting up ingredients for a different kind of cookie. You simply shrugged.

"A hunt's a hunt...They said they would try to make it back tomorrow, after all, it's only Christmas Eve" You stated as you measured things and filled the mixing bowl. Crowley watched you in silence, truth be told he was fond of you. He wasn't sure why, maybe the way you held yourself, you weren't a hunter but you still stood your ground when you needed to. Then other times, like now, you were soft, a domestic soft that had him wanting this more often. That thought had him trying to clear his head, lest it go down the path of you living in hell with him, a loving wife and commanding queen...a thought he had been having far too often recently. His gaze moved back to you, finding you staring at him as of waiting...waiting for an answer to a question he didn't catch.

"What was that Darling?" He asked, giving you his attention. He watched your lips turn up into a soft smile before you went back to your baking.

"I had asked just what the king of hell was doing this Christmas eve? Surely you have better things than to sit around with little ole me" you stated with a light laugh, but there was a tone in your voice, so small but he caught it instantly...Loneliness.

"Perhaps I simply wanted to keep my favorite researcher company" He shrugged, truth was that he came here to find Moose and Squirrel for a business inquiry, but he wasn't about to leave you like those idiots had.

"Keep me company huh?" You raised an eyebrow, watching him from the corner of your eye. You ignored his words about you being his favorite. Ignored the warmth it spread from your stomach up at the possibility that this wasn't just a one-sided interest. It was true you weren't close friends, but that didn't stop you from daydreaming about the king himself, no matter how much you knew you shouldn't. Crowley's presence alone commanded attention and respect, he was powerful, but you always felt like there was something else there, just below the surface, something that he didn't want anyone else to see. You thought about that for a moment, before an idea crossed your mind.

"Well if you wanna keep me company, how about you help me?" You smiled, pulling the dough out of the bowl and flowering the counter before placing the dough down.

"I think I much prefer watching you" he smiled, leaning against the island behind you, shaking your head you made your way over to the spare aprons and grabbed one.

"No sir, you wanna keep me company, you can help" you smiled, holding the white apron out to him, he looked at it then at you, still not moving.

"Please?" You asked, you hoped you hadn't made him want to leave, you just wanted to uncover that more domestic side you knew that was buried deep deep down in him. With a sigh he unbuttoned his suit jacket and layed it across the back of one of the chairs, leaving him in only his black button down before he grabbed the apron and slipped it on. You watched as he began rolling up his sleeves, stopping at his elbows before his eyes darted to yours. You let out the shaky breath that you didn't even know you were holding, unsure why you found the simple act of him rolling up his sleeves so appealing, unless it was simply because it was the most skin you had ever seen Crowley show.

'Dear Chuck get ahold of yourself woman, this isn't medieval times, it's just his arms!' you smiled despite your thoughts and quickly made your way back to the dough, grabbing your rolling pin and flowering it.

"So, what would you like me to do?" He asked, his voice lower and suddenly right beside your ear, hot breath fanning across your neck as you suppressed a shiver.

"W-why don't you roll out the dough and I'll grab the cookie cutters" You stated, your voice wavering for a moment before he nodded and took the rolling pin. You went to go grab the cookie cutters, but couldn't help sparing a glance back, watching as he worked. It was odd to see the king of hell rolling out dough, but in a way it also seemed...normal

"If I can't simply watch you work, the same rules apply to you darling" he said with a smirk, stopping for a moment to look back at you. You let out a chuckle to disguise the embarrassment of being caught as you grabbed the cookie cutters labeled "Christmas".

"Sorry, just not used to seeing the king of hell in the kitchen" you smiled as you returned to his side, the dough all rolled out.

"Yes well, don't expect it often" you smiled at his comment as you began cutting out the dough.

"So, where did we learn this recipe hm? Back of a cake mix box?" He asked, turning to lean his back against the counter while he watched you work.

"Actually, I learned it from my grandma, she and I used to bake every year while she told me stories of her childhood in Dingwall" you replied, catching his attention.

"Dingwall? Your grandmother was"

"Scottish? Aye" you smiled at him.

"Huh" he smiled back, going quiet as he settled on simply watching you work,this time, you let him as you placed the first pan of cookies onto the tray. Trees, snowmen, and snowflakes. Next up were the gingerbread men, and a few extra.

"You've got to be kidding me" Crowley stated with a roll of his eyes as you cut out and placed down the angel shaped cookie.

"What?" You giggled

"Really?" You could see the agitation on his face as you cut out another angel shape.

"I promised I would make a few for Cas" you stated, before walking back over to the cookie cutters and looking through the Halloween cutters.

"But how about this?" You asked, walking back over with a devil shaped cutter, complete with horns, a tail and pitchfork.

"Not accurate" he started

"But better than the bloody angel" you couldn't help but giggle at his clear jealousy over a cookie shape.

"Here" you spoke, cutting out a small crown shape and placing it onto the devil's horns.

"More accurate?" You smiled.

"You're getting there kitten" he smirked, the nickname causing heat to raise to your cheeks and you quickly looked down, cutting a few more out before turning back to him.

"Can you reroll this while I put these in the oven?" You asked, pointing to the dough.

"Magic word?" He asked with a smirk while pushing off of the counter.

"Please" you smiled, earning a nod before he began working the dough again. You took the two pans and made your way over to the oven just as the timer went off. Grabbing the other pan out you set it on the counter before putting the other two in. The both of you worked like that for what seemed like hours, you talked about random things, mostly him asking about your life, though you did get him to spill some stories about not only hell but his life before he became a demon.

He watched you as you placed the last batch of cookies in the oven, the others lovingly placed onto plates for when the boys returned, you always thought of them, even when they left you behind on your own. In his opinion, you were far too good for them, a light in the darkness of their lives...Much like you were to him. He knew he should turn around and leave, the life he lived was not the life you deserve, you were far too kind for hell, that he knew now...But still he couldn't move, couldn't push himself away from the counter and out of the bunker, away from you, you were a weakness to him, but damnit did he want it. Want you, want this, soft music playing, the both of you in a calm, almost serene kind of relaxed as you talked. He found information about his life spilling from his lips before he could even catch it, and yet, he didn't care, the way your eyes lit up with every little detail you learned made him think that maybe...This wasn't just one sided.

You placed the last cookie on the plate, your mind running over everything Crowley had told you about himself, you never thought you would learn so much about the king of hell, and yet, you wanted to know more. This whole night had been something out of one of your daydreams, it was calm, intimate, and well...domestic, almost as if you were just a normal husband and wife and not a researcher and the king of hell himself. You wonder if this is what he would be like, as a husband, sure you knew that he had to be tough to rule hell, but maybe...Around a wife. No, you can't let your mind wander too far, your lives were very different, and besides as much as you wished for this, this calm, serene sense of home with him...You knew this was more than likely only one-sided.

"Snow falling gently to the ground

'Tis is the night before

And in my heart there is no doubt

That this is gonna be

The brightest holiday

'Cause here you are with me

Baby, baby, I can't wait"

You heard the snap before you even registered the fact that the dirty dishes were washed and placed neatly in the drying rack, turning you came face to face with Crowley, a playful smirk on his lips as he watched your shock slowly turn into playfulness as well.

"That's cheating" you laughed, he simply shrugged.

"I call it convenient"

"That is true" you smiled before adding.

"I should have you around more often" and just like that, a switch had been flipped and his eyes met yours, still a bit playful, but you could see the seriousness in them as well.

"Would you want that? Being around me more often" he asked, his voice low as he watched you for any signs that would halt his next move.

"To spend this special time of year with someone who

Makes me feel the special way that you do"

Your heart felt like it was running a marathon as you looked into his eyes, how come you never realized just how pretty they were? Maybe you had just never been close enough to see the way the light caught them, either way you could feel yourself falling more and more even though you knew he wanted an answer. Did you want that? Being around him more? Crowley may have started this evening out as just someone you slightly knew, but he was far more than that now.

"Darling?" He spoke, his accent thicker as he watched you just as intensely.

"Yes" you spoke, your words barely above a whisper.

"Yes?" He asked, wanting to make sure that this truly was what you wanted because he knew, knew that as soon as he had you, he wouldn't be able to let you go.

"Yes, I want you around more often, I want to spend more time with you...Like this" You told him, watching as the smile spread across his lips, not a smirk, but an actual smile, one that reached his eyes.

"I'd like that too Darling" he spoke, and heaven help you but the only thing you could think was.

'If you don't kiss me I might just die'

And either he read your mind, or read your face, but that playful smirk rested on his lips once more as he pulled the hand from behind his back that you hadn't even noticed he had hidden. In it, was a sprig of mistletoe that he looked down at before meeting your gaze again.

"I figured you were more of the traditional type" he stated, raising his hand above you both so that the mistletoe dangled right above your heads, you could help the giggle that escaped you, or the smile when he used his free hand to grab your waist and pull you flush against him. Your hands coming up to cup his face as you both got lost in each other's eyes once more, before he slowly leaned in and gave you, what you hoped, was the first of many breathtaking kisses.

"Walkin' with you in a winter's snow

Kissin' underneath the mistletoe

People smiling everywhere we go

It's Christmas eve and they can see we're in love"

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it ^_^ let me know what you think.

#supernatural #supernatural oneshot #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #supernatural drabble #supernatural crowley #crowley #crowley oneshot #crowley x reader #crowley imagine #crowley drabble #mark a sheppard #mark sheppard #mark sheppard oneshot #mark sheppard imagine #mark sheppard drabble #mark sheppard x reader

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wishfullyeternal · 4 years

Text

Aziraphale x Crowley- Soft

Words- 746

Warnings- Some mild cursing, nothing bad though

A/N- Hi guys! Decided to do something a lil bit different this time around, let me know if y’all like it and remember, my requests are always open and I’m always ready to write! Love you guys!

Aziraphale, an angel of the lord, and Crowley, a demon of the underworld. Opposites in the sense of everything, yet in the sense of their true morals. They shone their brightest. Aziraphale was soft, as Gabriel had put it. Angels were supposed to be strong, God's defenders, one with the holy spirit, and well Crowley was... Soft as well. He liked children, and like parenting. He preferred houseplants to people. (Except for his angel of course) and used pet names a lot. Guess it seems they are quite the couple. Crowley hissed at his plants in front of Aziraphale. "You wilted little bastard!" He whispered to the plant, his Scottish accent very heavy. "You will go to where wilted dying plants go" And threw it into the other room with an audible smash. The plants shivered in fear, Crowley smiled. "Crowley! That was completely uncalled for!" Aziraphale's little British twinge of an accent echoed across the room. Crowley shrugged, "The plant deserved it." Aziraphale sighed. "Well then, let's get out of this little abode, shall we?" Aziraphale said, Crowley nodded and motioned for Aziraphale to go first, they walked to the Bentley and got in. Aziraphale breathed in the scent of the new furniture, Crowley had taken far too much time to make the interior absolutely gorgeous, he thought to himself. Crowley started the car and drove off to their favorite restaurant. It was beautiful, hadn't changed since it had opened oh-so-long ago. Aziraphale was always staring wide-eyed at the crown molding, the beautiful table cloths, white as a swan's feather, and the goblet-like cups that held the wine they savored so slowly. It was breathtaking. "You eat so slow angel..." Crowley started, his plate already taken away. "I like to savor my food," He paused, "Unlike you," Crowley scoffed, "I don't even like you," Crowley said, Aziraphale followed with an elongated, "You do!" Crowley gave Aziraphale a look that read we are not doing this again. Luckily Aziraphale had finished. They paid for their dinner and left quickly. Crowley started the Bentley again and said to Aziraphale. "Bookstore?" Aziraphale nodded, almost reading his mind. Once they had arrived, the car ride filled with a comfortable silence. Aziraphale sat down in one of the old chairs and grabbed a book, it was one he had read many times over, Oliver Twist, and how he loved that book. Crowley began to get bored, his snake eyes couldn't read much. The small lettering of most books hurt his head and he didn't like imagining what would happen. He began to nag at Aziraphale, "Angel, can we please go to bed? I'm tired!" Aziraphale hummed a little melody, probably a waltz from the gentlemen's club and answered back , "I'm reading dear, can you wait a little longer?" Crowley sighed, "I guess" and huffed whilst sitting back in his chair. Crowley saw that Aziraphale had finished the chapter and as he saw Aziraphale turn the page he almost yelled. "Zira! I wanna go to bed!" Aziraphale sighed heavily and put the book down, he would remember the chapter he was on, after all, angels have a pretty good memory. They both walked up the creaky stairs, far too old to even possibly be standing, but Aziraphale had a few tricks up his sleeve. Crowley climbed, well, jumped into bed, kicking off his shoes. Aziraphale in his quiet proper fashion laid his shoes next to the door and took off his vest. Aziraphale went into bed and Crowley immediately went towards him, savoring the warmth he needed, he was a snake after all. Aziraphale put his arm under him and rubbed his hand through his hair, spiking it up into different designs. Crowley spoke from Aziraphale's chest, barely decipherable. "I love you" Aziraphale ran his hands through Crowley's hair once more and whispered back to him, "I love you too" Crowley took the chance to hug Aziraphale tight and breathe in his pure scent. In a world full of scents, Aziraphale was Crowley's favorite. Rightly so, it was a mixture of his cologne, a specialty brand from the 1800s, cinnamon, and just the hint of old book. Just how Crowley liked it. Aziraphale hummed quiet songs into Crowley's ear until he drifted off to sleep. Aziraphale thought to himself, that damn snake doesn't get nearly as much sleep as he should, he stopped himself mid-thought and corrected himself from his curse word. He only cursed a couple of times, and he promised to only do it in very necessary circumstances. As he began to drift off to sleep, he thought to himself again. I guess I really do love him...

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #cuddling #love #fanfic #good omens fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #good omens fluff

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

Text

Concerning the End of the World ... Again ...

Summary: When Crowley shows up for his picnic with Aziraphale in serpent form and refuses to change into human, Aziraphale fears the worst. (1837 words)

Warnings: Some mild angst and anxiety, but mostly fluff :D

(AO3)

“Oh, there you are! I was wondering when you were planning to show,” Aziraphale says, greeting the long black serpent slithering onto his picnic blanket like it’s an old friend.

Namely, because it is.

His oldest and dearest friend.

And, as of recently, his husband.

“Where have you been? I was getting worried.” Aziraphale side-eyes the serpent, waiting for it to stealthily change into human form. But it doesn’t, winding carefully through the jars of jam and honey, the plates of bread and cheese he’d set out. “Uh … is there a reason you’ve chosen not to transform?” He waits for the snake to give him a sign of acknowledgement. When it doesn’t, Aziraphale chalks it up to his husband’s temperamental nature (he is a demon, after all), and continues the conversation alone. “Well, if you don’t, you’re going to miss out! I’ve gotten a few pears from a local vendor, apples, some fresh strawberries ... I took the liberty of sampling a few, and they’re all scrumptious!”

The serpent pauses momentarily, tilting its head as if struggling with a decision. Whatever the options, it chooses to tuck itself beneath Aziraphale’s knee. From beneath the shelter of the angel’s leg, it pokes its head out, tongue flicking to taste the air. A sensation of dread creeps into Aziraphale’s chest, latches on with hooks, and stays there.

“Wh-what … what’s going on, Crowley? What’s the matter?” He looks about, stretching his own mental feelers, searching for anything not quite right in the area. Of course, if someone was going to detect something not quite right, it would be Crowley, his serpent form the best way to keep tabs on it.

Months ago, they’d both been able to convince their ‘powers that be’ to leave them alone, but how long would that last? Aziraphale naively hoped forever, but Crowley is a cynic. If his assumptions are correct, their brief time of peace was a stop-gap - a calm before a storm of epic proportions.

Greater than Satan himself clawing out of the ground? Apparently.

“H-have you heard anything from … you know …?” Aziraphale subtly points down, but the serpent, eyes locked on a point in the distance, neither confirms nor denies. Aziraphale watches, breath held, overly wary of its cautious behavior. He finds himself suddenly dubious of everyone – the ice cream seller, an older married couple, a little girl riding her trike, a corgi rummaging through the bushes for a ball. It may seem ridiculous, but if the events of the Notpocalypse have taught him anything, it’s that their enemies could be hiding anywhere, could be anyone. “If you have, you’re right to remain hidden. Best to stay under the radar, as they say.”

Aziraphale is uncertain which would be less conspicuous – a distinguished man dressed as stylishly as he sharing an intimate picnic lunch with a man who looks like a rock star, or this right big snake?

Either way, it doesn’t matter to him. As long as they’re together.

Truth be told, Aziraphale is quite fond of Crowley’s serpent form.

Maybe he could try his hand at shapeshifting next time. But what would he become? A dove? Mmm, no. Aziraphale loved doves, but that seemed a bit too on the nose. A cat? A sleek, dignified, yet fluffy Persian? Or a Siamese – all cream coat and stunning blue eyes? Ooo, a Russian blue!

But he’s not sure Crowley fancies cats. Would he want one following him about, or perched on his shoulder, shedding fur onto his clothes?

Probably not.

A dog? Yes, Crowley might prefer a dog. A big, strong, strapping dog - something along the lines of a hellhound, Aziraphale assumes, but he can’t picture himself that way. Not as a menacing beast with glowing red eyes and sharp teeth. But he’s sure he can get Crowley to compromise. Maybe he could be a feisty little Scottish terrier in a smart tartan coat, as long as he also agrees to wear something more Crowley-esque – like a spiky, leather collar. That would surely suit the both of them.

It was actually rather exciting now that he’d given it proper thought.

“I haven’t heard anything either,” Aziraphale affirms, though whether Crowley said he had or not, he doesn’t know. Aziraphale can’t speak to Crowley in his snake form. He can’t speak to snakes at all. Or any animal. Though he did feel a spiritual connection to an owl once back in the 16th century. Rupert, he called it. Regardless, he believes that what he and Crowley have is deeper – a connection that allows him to infer what his other half is thinking, even when those thoughts are wrapped inside the labyrinthine mind of a serpent.

“Honeymoon’s over, I guess, hmm?” Aziraphale says with a forlorn sigh, gazing at the world around him – the world he loves – with bittersweet affection. “I know you’ve had suspicions about a battle to come, I just … I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I thought we’d have more time.” He runs a hand gingerly down the neck of the snake, chuckling to himself. “Listen to me. More time. We’ve known one another for six thousand years! If the end is coming, I guess I should be grateful for the time we’ve had.” The snake rests its head on his thigh and seems to sigh as well – not in defeat, but more like sympathy. Knowing Crowley, he already has plans – escape to the stars, other planets, alternate dimensions. Crowley will know a way out of this. He’ll know what to do. And they’ll be fine, provided things work according to plan. But what about the world? Aziraphale wants to spend forever with Crowley, but something has never sat quite right with him about abandoning this world to do it. “We’ve been walking the middle ground for so long, Crowley. And I will admit, even if I didn’t show it, I always feared one day it would end. I don’t want that day to be now. Not now. Not yet.” He bends as best he can in an awkward position to lean close to the serpent, and the serpent rises to meet him. Aziraphale cups it under what he assumes is its ‘chin’ and rubs it’s snout with his nose. It’s scaly and cold, nothing like the warmth of his husband’s skin, but it’s comforting nonetheless. “But whatever happens, we’re in this together. You and I, till the day we …” The rest gathers at the back of the angel’s throat, huddled in a lump, refusing to come out “… well, you know. But I want you to know, I’m not leaving you without a fight. Not ever. Because … well, because I love you, Crowley. I do. I should have said it a million times – the very moment I knew. But I’m saying it now, every day, as a matter of fact. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love …”

“Aziraphale? What on Earth are you doing?”

Aziraphale stops talking. His eyes go wide. He stares questioningly at the snake in front of him. If he didn’t know better, he would swear it shrugs.

“Crowley?” He sits up, hand still cupping the serpent’s chin, and sees his husband – human form Crowley – standing before him. His jaw drops, the apples of his cheeks glowing a jasper red, brighter than twin stoplights, especially since the rest of his color has drained clear away. “Wha---?” Aziraphale looks at the black snake sitting beside him on the blanket, the one he’s been talking to for the past half hour, then back up at Crowley, who’s taken on a rather defensive stance – arms crossed, hip cocked, glaring behind his dark glasses at his angel’s offending hand. Aziraphale pulls his hand away and swallows hard.

“Th-this isn’t what it looks like.”

***

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

“Ah, Shakespeare …” Aziraphale hugs the leather-bound book to his chest, gazing down the length of the sofa he’s on to the serpent lying by his socked feet, coiled against the cold. “In thousands of years, I’ve never had the pleasure of reading works by anyone who could do poetry such justice. Don’t you agree?”

The serpent raises its head, gives a little nod, then rests it on the angel’s ankle, exhaling in contentment.

“Hmm, I do agree. I do agree. So where were we? Ah …”

“Are you reading him sonnets?” Crowley snaps when he walks in and catches his husband curled up on the couch beside the creature he has affectionately begun calling his son.

“He listens,” Aziraphale replies, going back to the book and turning the page, “unlike some people.”

“You forget, I was there the first go round.” Crowley grabs a glass and a full bottle of wine from the desk nearby. “Wasn’t too impressed then, either. Why are you letting him stay here anyway?”

“He followed me home, Crowley! I can’t just put him out! That would be cruel! Besides, I don’t understand why you’re so upset! It’s not like I …” Aziraphale cuts himself short and looks up from his book. “Wait a minute …” A small smile dances at the corners of his mouth, not easily noticed by one unaccustomed to being teased by an angel. But Crowley’s seen it a thousand times “… you’re not still upset about …?”

“Yes! Yes, I am!” Crowley miracles the cork from the wine and drinks straight from the bottle, bypassing the glass clutched in his other hand. “I find it offensive that you can’t tell a common black snake from your own husband!”

“I’m sorry, my dear, but at first glance, you two do look strikingly similar.”

“Oi! Oi!” Crowley points at his angel, stuck for a comeback strong enough to express his displeasure.

“Also, it’s a large, black snake, Crowley! Those aren’t all that common in these parts! How was I supposed to know it wasn’t you? Do you know the odds? Really …”

“That doesn’t excuse the fact that you were getting all lovey-dovey with …!”

“… something that I thought was you!” Aziraphale closes his eyes in frustration and shakes his head. “But don’t worry,” he says, waving away his husband’s ire with a flick of his hand. “I promise not to fall into the same trouble I got into with the last snake that followed me home.”

“Is that so?” Crowley grumps, searching under the sofa and around the stacks of books for the offending bugger. “You have a whole harem of snakes hanging around here, do you?”

“Nope. Just the one.”

“Ah. So tell me, Aziraphale - what happened to him, eh?”

The angel and the serpent, thick as thieves at this point, look at a put-off Crowley, wearing matching smug smirks. “I married him.”

*** Notes: This was a sort of a culmination of different ideas I got from fanart on Tumblr. There's a consensus (I think) that when Crowley shows up in his snake form, Aziraphale automatically knows it's him. So I thought ... what if it doesn't work that way? XD

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fanfic #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #fluff #Frankie writes

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bowlegsandbiceps · 4 years

Text

Suptober Day 6: Mask

LoveBlock

Mature / A/B/O Dynamics, Reality Show AU / Destiel / 2,735 words (Incomplete)

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

Week 1

Castiel Novak tugged at the starched collar of his shirt, shifting from foot to foot in too-tight shoes. It was customary that the Alpha wore a tuxedo to the initial meeting though he wished that he’d insisted on that changing as well. The network had wanted something big for the fifth season of LoveBlock, something different. When Castiel got the call that he was one of the finalists chosen to be that year’s Alpha, he’d been understandably confused given that he’d not entered.

Change #1: Alphas were nominated by family or friends. Thanks, Gabriel.

Castiel did everything he could to throw the interview. He was gruff, unsmiling, and showed up with bedhead wearing the hideous trench coat their grandmother gave him when he’d gone off to college. He went out of his way to be cantankerous and rude, refusing to answer some questions and providing terrible answers to others.

Change #2: The chosen Alpha was quiet, withdrawn, and definitely not interested in finding their true mate. One might even call him an asshole.

In the end, Castiel had agreed to participate for two reasons and two reasons only. Gabriel would be given a huge promotion based on the fact that he’d convinced someone with no desire to be on the show to be their grumpy, jerk of an Alpha for the season, thus finally getting him out of Castiel’s condo. And the other…

Change #3: Contestants could reject the Alpha meaning any contestant that dropped out before Hometown week would be competing on a new network show, EscapePlan, to win $50,000. If the Alpha made it to the finale with any contestants left, he and his chosen mate would both win $100,000

“Stop fidgeting.” Gabriel nudged Castiel in such a way that the point of his elbow rolled painfully over the bone in his bicep, a practiced move he’d perfected when they were children.

Castiel flinched away but stood straighter. “My feet hurt. Why does the Alpha have to be in formal dress? The other contestants have to show their personalities not just with their masks but their clothes too. Why-“

“Shhh, my boss is coming!” Gabriel muttered out of the side of his mouth before stepping forward and extending his hand. “Mr. Shurley! So glad you could make it!”

Chuck Shurley gave a small, friendly wave in lieu of shaking Gabriel’s hand, and Gabe dropped it cringing. “Sorry, no offense man I just don’t shake hands. Nothing personal, promise.”

“No no, sorry I uh, forgot.” Gabe scratched his ear before he turned abruptly to Castiel. “You remember my brother.”

“Yes, of course. I liked the promos you did. They were very controversial. Exactly what we were looking for.” Chuck gave Castiel a nod. Castiel pressed his lips together in a caricature of a smile, but his disdain was evident. Chuck just grinned. “Gonna be a good season.” He looked over his shoulder at the commotion as Fergus Crowley moved towards them.

“Gents,” he said by way of greeting. “Chuck,” he added with a smirk, and Chuck gave a rueful smile in return.

“Glad to have you back, Crowley.” Chuck’s tone implied he was not remotely glad to have Crowley back.

“Glad you agreed to my demands during contract negotiations.” Crowley beamed with a smarmy grin.

Castiel looked to Gabriel who’s lips were puckered, eyes rolling up to look at the palm trees hanging over where they stood at the edge of the beach house’s wide circular drive. That was the face Gabe made when he was trying not to laugh. Castiel began to open his mouth to ask when he received another sharp jab to his upper arm.

“Let’s get started shall we?” Gabe gestured towards the space to the left where Castiel assumed visitors would park but was now lit and prepped for Crowley’s opening remarks before the cattle call began.

How do we fall in love? Do we see someone across the room, strike up a conversation, and the rest is history? Do we catch a whiff of a tantalizing or homey scent and follow the instincts of our secondary gender all the way to mating? Or is it possible to fall in love without seeing someone’s face? Without catching their scent?

For the last four seasons, we’ve been asking this question and so followed four alphas on the journey to true love. We watched them try and see past the contestants’ masks, week after week. We saw scent bonds break emotional bonds once the blockers came off. And we cheered when our Alpha looked into the face of his or her potential One True Mate.

This year, we do it again with an entirely new set of rules and an Alpha as you’ve never seen one. Welcome to LoveBlock.

The first limousine slithered up the drive toward Castiel, and he stood stock-still, hands crossed in front of himself. Gabriel had said it made him look like security and not the show’s Alpha, so Castiel had decided that would be how he would stand for the rest of his life. He did his best to ignore the camera to his left and the six or so people behind it as well as the camera to the right and its gaggle of crew meant to capture the contestants as he rushed over to help the contestant climb out of the limo.

Castiel stayed put, the moment stretching, and finally, the door opened, and what looked like the head of a wolf peeked out. “Um.”

“Come on then,” Castiel unclasped his hands to motion them forward, and he could hear the person give a stuttered, o-o-oh…, before a motorcycle boot appeared out the door. A slender woman in a leather jacket and jeans with a frighteningly furry mask walked over to him.

Castiel squinted his eyes. “You’re a horror fan.”

He felt the woman’s surprise more than saw it because well, obviously, and her voice was breathless when she asked, “How did you know?”

Castiel fought the urge to roll his eyes, but his tone made his disdain clear. “Lucky guess.”

The woman hugged him anyway and went off to her first impression interview.

Hannah, Office Assistant, Beta

“Wow, they weren’t kidding when they said this Alpha was different! I mean still handsome,” Hannah paused, to tip her head from side to side, shifting the wolf-head mask in her lap, “which won’t matter in the end I know, I know. But if the guy is gonna be grumpy to start?” Hannah’s blue eyes widened emphatically as she pushed out her lower lip and her huff made her dark bangs flutter. “It’s nice that’s he’s something to look at, you know?”

And so it went for three more contestants. April, a plain brunette Beta who wore safety goggles and a medical mask, was deeply unimpressed that Castiel didn’t understand that she was a dental hygienist from her face coverings. Inias, a male Omega in a suit and the plain, white drama mask they used for group dates before The Scenting, told Castiel he’d have to work to get to know him. Castiel immediately decided he was going home that night. Then Kevin, an Omega college student wearing a giant paper mâché pie on his head, but instead of the typical latticed crust, it contained the numbers 3.14 because he liked math as well as desserts.

There was a bit of a delay after the fifth contestant exited the limo in an evening gown, fiery red hair pulled into an elegant up-do, wearing a printed paper mask with Crowley’s face on it.

“Mother!”

The woman huffed and halted barely two steps out of the limo. “Fergus, you’ve ruined the take! D’you want me to do it again?”

Castiel was intrigued by her Scottish burr as well as the fact that Gabriel had managed to get Fergus Crowley’s mother to compete on the show her son hosted and that was notorious for hookups with at least one group nude exhibition a season. That had to be some kind of miracle from the TV gods. Gabe did say he felt like this season had been blessed.

Once the yelling stopped, and Rowena, mother of one, Beta sashayed off to do her interview, the limo returned with another contestant. Word must have gotten out that he wasn’t opening the door for anyone, so this time, there was no wait, the door swinging open, and a hand curled over the top of the car while a dusty boot hit the ground. A fit young man pulled himself out, wearing a ripped pair of jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt with a green and black plaid flannel over it, a welding mask covering his face. Castiel nearly rolled his eyes again as the man strode forward, hand extended.

“Hey man, D-”

Castiel cut him off as he clasped his hand tight, feeling the roughness of his palm, callouses on the fingertips. “You’re an artist.”

The welding mask tipped to the side, the man’s body stiffening before his grip became crushing, a throaty chuckle echoing from behind the metal. “Not even close. Mechanic.” Castiel winced as his hand was pumped vigorously. “Dean Winchester. Nice to meet ya.”

Castiel looked off-camera to Gabe. “I thought you said you weren’t bringing in Alphas this year.” His attention returned to Dean as he laughed harder this time.

“Wrong again. Man, this is gonna be fun.” Castiel jumped as one large hand clapped hard against his sternum twice before Dean began to walk away.

Castiel turned to watch him go, taking in his bow-legged gait as he entered the house to go do his first impression interview.

Dean was directed to a stool in the entryway situated in front of a camera and surrounded by lights. He plopped down, heaving a sigh as he flipped up his welding mask before pulling it off his head. He tried his best to ignore the murmurs from the women behind the camera as he dropped it to the floor with one hand, patting his hair down with the other. When he looked up, he could see everyone behind the camera had red eyes, except for the redheaded woman with the clipboard who looked annoyed.

“Sorry about them,” she muttered, jutting a thumb over her shoulder, and the Alphas blinked themselves back to brown or blue, “but in their defense I’m a Beta and a lesbian and woof your face is still pretty impressive.”

Dean managed to fight a blush as he gave a good-natured laugh. “It’s fine I get that a lot.” Dean shifted on his stool, situating his face into a calm, attentive expression, and waited for the Beta producer to look her fill.

“If you could start by stating your name, occupation and secondary gender for the graphics team. This is what will show at the bottom of the screen during your interviews.”

Dean gave a short nod. “I’m Dean Winchesteeeer…” He reached up to scratch at his ear. “Uh, mechanic.” He flicked up a hand and took a deep breath, sighing out, “Omega,” before letting his hand fall to his knee with a thump. It wasn’t enough to mask the unmistakable interested growls of the Alphas on the crew. The producer actually looked over her shoulder and glared at them.

“Go outside. All of you. Yes all of you the camera is stationary and already rolling I can turn it off when we’re done. Thank you. Byyyyyyye.”

Dean chuckled as the alpha cameraman and the other two, whatever they did, sulked away to the snack table. Dean let his amusement sit on his face as he looked back at the producer, who gave him a strained smile. “Sorry, again.”

“Not a problem. I figured I’d be just another piece of meat here anyway.” Dean gave an unaffected wave, and the producer frowned, marked something on her clipboard.

“I’m Charlie Bradbury-“

“Executive producer.” Dean nodded and stretched out a hand. “Nice to put a face to the name in the credits.”

Charlie shook his hand and gave him a surprised smile. “You watch the show?”

“Yeah!” Dean’s face scrunched as if to say, of course, I do, and Charlie tried to force back a laugh but only succeeded in choking herself. She knew the resulting grin he gave her was going to turn Alphas’ eyes red on couches across the country when this aired.

“So did you nominate yourself?”

Dean snorted. “No, no. I was completely content with this being my Thursday night guilty pleasure,” the guy actually licked his lips after he said it, and Charlie made a note to check if he’d done any acting. “My little brother actually nominated me. Said I need to find a nice Alpha and settle down.”

“That’s sweet.” Charlie jotted down, interview brother. “How old is your brother?”

“22,” Dean gave a casual shrug of his shoulder at Charlie’s questioning blink. “Yeah I know he’s also 6’4 so he’s really not that little but old habits die hard ya know? He’s in his first year at law school. He actually started watching the show his freshman year of college. It was one of those excuses to get everyone on the floor in the rec room and make friends.” Dean turned his head, squinting at the camera. “There may also have been a girl involved.”

Charlie let herself laugh this time. “But you also watch the show you said.”

Dean gave a nod. “Yeah, I mean he was in college and I didn’t understand half the shit… er, sorry.” Dean winced, and Charlie waved a hand before giving a sharp clap of her hands that made Dean jump.

“It’s so audio can find the cut faster. Makes a big jagged line in the file,” Charlie explained, and Dean’s eyebrows rose, lips twisting in an impressed expression. “Can you begin again at ‘I didn’t understand?’”

Dean cleared his throat and shifted on his stool again. “Uh yeah, um. I didn’t understand have the things he was talking about. I mean like I said I’m just a mechanic with a GED and a give em hell attitude.” He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes but grinned nonetheless. She was definitely going to be rooting for this guy. “But he went on and on about the show because, like I said,” Dean widened his eyes and muttered conspiratorially through closed teeth, “there may have been a girl involved,” He shook his head and smile. “So I started watching just to have something to talk about with him.” Dean rubbed his palms up and down his thighs a few times. “Well and to help the poor kid talk to the girl. He’s smart and an Alpha but man is he bad with the ladies.” Dean gave a smirk that morphed into a grin before he looked at the floor.

“So are you looking for your One True Mate?” Charlie felt a warm flutter in her chest as Dean lifted his head, green eyes wide and full lips parted in genuine surprise before a blush began to creep up his neck.

“Ah… you know…” Dean grimaced and hissed, giving the camera a side-eye. “I’m not sure they exist.” He gave a shrug. “I mean, that Alpha out there?” Dean jutted a thumb over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows. “Not a bad looking dude. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.” Dean smirked again and chuckled. “But did my insides go gooey at the first whiff of his scent?” Dean scrunched his nose and shook his head.

Charlie smiled. “What did he smell like to you?”

Dean rolled his eyes before closing them and doing a slow-motion fist pump as he mouthed yes. “The first smell montage. Seriously,” Dean gestured with both hands splaying his fingers and then wiggling them excitedly. “It’s my favorite.”

He cleared his throat as Charlie laughed again.

“Uh…hmmmm.” He pursed his lips, looking up and to the right, and Charlie was convicted this guy had at least modeled before because he found the light instantly. His eyes tightened just enough to slant his expression into a sultry stare but let the green of his eyes stay visible. “Rain.” He gave a satisfied nod and looked back at her. “Or, really, a thunderstorm. That thick smell before the thunder and lightening show starts.”

He nodded again, a wistful smile pulling at his lips. “Which seems pretty appropriate given the circumstances.”

#suptober20 #suptober #destiel #spn fanfic #fanfic: supernatural #writing by me

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fight-surrender · 5 years

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Chapter 4: Emotional Support Wolf

Word count: 1056

Summary: “Wait,” Simon straightens and lowers his brows at me. “Did you just admit you’re a vampire?”

“Well spotted, Snow, what do you plan to do with that information?” I tilt my head at him, raising my brow, “I suggest we form a club, we can call it “Monsters of Mummers.”

Baz is a vampire, Simon's a newly minted werewolf. Now they have something in common.

Read Howlin’ Forever here on AO3

Thanks to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for the beta read & utter grammar rescue (any remaining mistakes are all my fault), and to @penpanoply, @vkelleyart & @nunzibelle for all the moral support that keeps me from falling into the abyss.

@krisrix, @vkelleyart, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @thehoneyedhufflepuff & @carryonvisinata, y’all were so kind to tag me on 6 sentence Sunday. I was out of town all week & don’t have six new sentences to post, so I just wanted to thank y’all for the tags with all my heart. I’ve got some ideas, so hopefully I’ll have something new for ya next week. <3 <3

____________________________________________

Baz:

“You can’t just bring dogs into the dining hall, mate. This has to violate multiple food codes. Not to mention it’s fucking huge.” Dev nervously eyes the beast sitting at the end of the table inhaling a pile of bangers.

“He’s fine. I "clean as a whistled" him before he came in.” I retort.

“I still don’t understand why your aunt insists on you watching him.” Dev says.

“We share a special bond.” I reply, “Only Fiona and I can control him, otherwise, he will dismember anyone who approaches.”

As if on cue, Snow raises his head, eyes Dev, and emits a low growl before resuming his attack on the sausage.

Dev swallows and clears his throat. “Sounds like the perfect dog to bring to school. Why doesn’t she just take it with her on her enchanted marijuana field trip?”

“Soluna Sativa can only be harvested by the light of the full moon in the farthest reaches of the Scottish Moors and Rusty gets carsick. Furthermore, he doesn’t fit in the MG and shrinking spells don’t last the whole trip.” I drawl, passing Simon a scone.

“Why doesn’t she just smoke local pot?” Niall asks, pouring himself more tea.

“Apparently this stuff prevents wrinkles.” I reply. “She’s a trained herbalist, you know.”

“Herbalist. Right. Fancy word for purveyor of mind-altering substances.” Dev quips.

“Alright lads,” I gather my things, “I’ve got to get this beast settled in Greek before the Minotaur gets in, no telling how Rusty will react to cattle.”

“How do they even let you bring that dog to class?” Niall asks.

“I tell them he’s my emotional support pet.” I reply, tossing Simon the crusts from my toast.

“What problems have you got then?” Dev grumbles. “You’re bloody perfect at everything.”

“Yes, and that makes me anxious,” I drawl.

“He’s off his knob,” Dev mumbles to Niall under his breath.

“I heard that.” Don’t think I won’t set Rusty on you just because you’re family.

I try not to look like I’m stomping away from them – I wait until I leave the dining hall, then stomp through the courtyard. I tried to stash the beast in our room, but the moment I closed the door to leave, he started to howl. It’s a miracle no one heard. He won’t let me out of his sight, even cramming his great hulking self into the loo with me. He curls up on the bath mat when I shower, he's seen me naked. It’s awful, and if he remembers any of this, I will combust.

The rest of the day is fairly uneventful. Well, minus an interlude where Simon chased Ebb’s goats across campus, but I managed to wrest him away before the goatherd intervened. Crowley, he's a menace.

***

It’s Monday night and Snow is restless. I imagine he’s going to transform soon; the moon is scheduled to rise at around 9:40. I settle in bed and try to read while Simon pants and paces the room. Eventually, he hops into bed with me and lays his great head in my lap. “There, there giant stupid puff,” I croon, massaging the spot he loves under his jaw. “Everything will be alright.” Snow huffs a sigh.

I rub his velvet ear with my finger. “You really are beautiful, you know? You insolent mongrel,” I murmur. “What would you do if you knew that I loved you I mean. Human you. I'm pretty sure this is worse than a crush. This feeling.” Crowley. I'm pouring my heart out to a dog.

A slim icicle of fear slivers trough my chest as I utter these words aloud. Were-Simon is asleep, but I have no idea what he understands in this form. What does he think and feel? Will he remember anything? Mostly he just seems like an irritable, ravenous, clingy dog. Am I his friend or his master? Does he stay with me out of love or obligation? I’d like to think it’s love. I’d like to stop thinking altogether. There’s nothing to be gained from this rabbit hole; he’s just a big goofy dog and I’m the person who feeds him. “But that’s all right,” I whisper. “I'll take what I can get.” I bury my face and arms in the soft bronze ruff of Snow’s neck, close my eyes and inhale his wild, familiar scent.

At 9:38, dog-Simon cries out and leaps off the bed, biting at his flank. I have no idea what is about to happen, so I cast a quick soundproofing spell on the room. I attempt to go to him, but Snow is all eyes and teeth as he collapses and howls like his heart is breaking. I try to block out the wet crunch of bones and flesh, as arms and legs elongate, a skull shrinks and tawny skin replaces fur. It’s over so fast.

Simon bloody Snow is heaving on the floor, trying to catch his breath. Starkers.

“Er—here, Snow. “I toss a blanket at him and turn around to face the wall. Crowley, how did I not think of the nakedness thing? For snake’s sake, I can’t unsee this. Why does he have to have moles everywhere.

Focus, Basilton.

Snow doesn’t say anything. He raises himself from the floor and slowly makes his way to his bed, collapsing onto the mattress. He burrows into a pile of blankets (Including mine.) and promptly falls asleep.

“You’re welcome for the blanket,” I mumble, but not loud enough for him to actually hear. “And the pet sitting.” I climb into my bed, wrap myself in the painfully thin, but cotton soft Watford sheet and try not to pout.

Snow doesn’t wake up for class. Or breakfast for that matter. I close our door softly when I leave, so I don’t disturb him.

After class, I pick up a mug of tea, a few bacon rolls and cherry scones to bring back to the room. Simon is sitting up in his bed, dressed (thankfully) with his head in his hands. He glances up when I walk in. He looks—haunted.

“Here.” I place the tea and food on the night stand.

“Thanks.” He says, eyeing me. He looks more defeated than wary. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Why not?” I reply. I know the answer, but I want to hear him say it.

Snow rakes his hands through his hair. “Poetic justice,” he replies. “Sweet revenge. All this time I’ve been trying to prove to everyone that you’re a monster, and now I am one.” He is staring at his hands, jaw thrust forward, holding on to his tears through sheer force of will.

“It’s a dream come true,” I agree, softly.

Simon shifts, curling his knees up near his chest, and wraps his arms around them. Head down, he casts his red-rimmed blue eyes my way.

“But also,” I sit on the edge of his bed, facing him. My eyes meet his. “Because we match.”

“Wait,” Simon straightens and lowers his brows at me. “Did you just admit that you’re a vampire?”

“Well spotted, Snow. What do you plan to do with that information?” I tilt my head at him, raising my brow, “I suggest we form a club. I propose we name it “Monsters of Mummers.”

Snow looks back down at his knees. Shoulders slumped in defeat. “What a fucking disaster.”

I carefully place a hand on his shoulder, like he’s made of butterfly wings. Comfort is not my thing. “We’ll figure this out, Snow.”

Simon closes his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. He doesn’t wipe them. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and haltingly says, “thank you Baz, for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” I respond, holding my right hand out to him. “Truce?”

A small smile quirks at the corner of Snow’s mouth. He turns and takes my hand to shake it. His hand is big and warm and calloused and perfect.

“Truce.”

#carry on #fanfiction #snowbaz fanfiction #howlin forever #My fic #simon snow #baz pitch #dev #niall kelly #werewolf simon

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marril96 · 5 years

Text

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 26: The Queen of Hearts Can’t Have Mine

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: You and Rowena talk things through.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

Despite the initial difficulties, the first day back in school had gone surprisingly well.

Your friends had no issues with Rowena, talking and having fun as if they weren't hanging out with a former mean girl. Crowley was his usual dramatic self, more annoying than malicious, and Dean behaved. It was clear he didn't like being around her, but he was civil.

You'd asked for nothing more.

He didn't have to be her friend. He didn't have to like her. But he didn't have to be mean, either.

Sam, Meg, and Castiel had acted as if she were always part of the group.

At one point, Castiel had attempted to apologize for his brother being an asshole, only for Rowena to hold up her hand and stop him mid sentence. He owed her nothing, she'd said. She'd wanted no pity. He'd responded with a mod.

Fair was fair.

Though, you could tell she appreciated the effort. Not many people cared about her, about what she'd gone through. It was odd to see some that did. Unnatural even. She wasn't used to it.

She'd better get used to it, you'd thought. Because she wasn't alone now — would never be alone again, just as you'd promised — and she would, sooner or later, learn what true friendship was. You and your friends — her friends now — would teach her.

Ms. Hanscum had brought back the midterms, all diligently graded. While Rowena was doing hers in the corner, no doubt acing it because she was Rowena MacLeod and that was what she did, the teacher had handed out the graded exams and rambled on about everyone's scores.

You'd gotten a C+.

Rowena had outdone herself.

Were it not for her, you had no doubt you would have failed it.

So, as the bell rang to end the class, the two of you had waited for everyone to leave the classroom before asking Ms. Hanscum if your tutoring arrangement could extend to this semester.

She happily agreed.

Anything to help her students.

The woman loved her job way too much.

On your way out, she'd offered you a donut, which, as usual, you'd taken and Rowena had declined. Which hadn't stopped her from poking fun at you, but what else was new?

"Wonderland, after school," she'd said as you'd nibbled on your treat.

You'd looked at her, lips stained with chocolate, powdered sugar framing your mouth. You must have looked like a clown.

Her expression had told you that you had.

"What?"

"Wonderland. It's a wee tea bar. We can go there to talk."

"Tea bar?" You knew those words separately, but together they'd made no sense.

"It's a bar. Where they only serve tea," Rowena had explained as if you were stupid.

Which, to be fair, you'd kind of felt.

"Okay," you'd allowed, despite it not being okay. Nothing about this had been okay.

You weren't ready to talk to her. Weren't ready to bare your soul, to expose the truth that had taken you yourself a while to accept. But, at the same time, you'd owed her an explanation.

So here you were.

At the Wonderland tea bar.

The place was small and looked ridiculously cute. There were lots of pastel colors on the walls; paintings, furniture, decorations. Doilies that looked homemade covered every free surface. The chairs were comfortable, doily-covered tables clean and neat, carved out of fine food.

It was as if you'd stepped inside a dollhouse.

There was one waitress slash bartender, an older lady whom you'd suspected of being the owner. Out of seven available tables, only one was occupied.

It was a lone place. Hidden in an alley people rarely went to, between two brick houses you were pretty sure were either abandoned or being — hopelessly — put up for sale.

You could tell why Rowena liked it.

There were no people to pry. No peers to butt in like in Biggerson's. No wandering eyes and foul tongues. No Lucifer and Olivette sitting a few tables away and laughing their nasty asses off.

Just peace and quiet. Solemn. Welcome.

"You come here a lot?" you asked as you took your seats in the far back corner, just to be safe. A conversation like this, you needed utmost privacy.

"When I need alone time," Rowena said. "Quite cosy, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's really nice."

Too nice for the conversation you were about to have.

Somehow it felt wrong to bring up taking advantage of your friend — your drunk, hurting friend — while surrounded by pink and mint walls and cute little doilies.

What if you started to argue?

What if tears flew like a downpour?

What if everything went wrong and, instead of discussing what had happened in a calm, civil matter, you erupted into a shouting match and were not-quite-politely asked to leave?

That sort of thing would have, at the very least, been expected at Biggerson's. A place full of hormonal teenagers was bound to have a fight at one point — had, in fact, had a few.

You and Rowena were unpredictable. You worked well together, but sometimes emotions ran too high and you both exploded, unable to contain them. It was just the way you were.

You hoped that wouldn't be the case this time.

"I'll have my usual, please," Rowena said when the waitress came to take your orders.

Not sure what to order, you said, "I'll have what she's having."

After all, it was just tea.

How bad could it be?

"They have the best Scottish tea in America," she said once the waitress was gone.

Guess you would see.

If Rowena loved it, it couldn't possibly be terrible. The girl had an exquisite taste. Only the best for her little ass.

You waited for the tea in silence, and as soon as it arrived, Rowena spoke up, "So. Talk."

You stiffened. Your heart pummeled, slammed against your chest almost to the point of pain. You took a sip of your tea, the bittersweet taste melting your insides, clearing your constricted throat. "I-I'm sorry."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're starting with an apology?"

What else should you have started with?

After what you'd done, how you'd behaved, there was nothing you could do but apologize.

Shrugging, you said. "I owe you that, don't I?"

"Fair," she conceded.

"I'm sorry for ignoring you. It was a shitty thing to do."

"I'd say so." You flinched as if struck (which surely would have hurt less), and her expression softened. "Why did you do it? Surely, as friends—" the word came out in a purr, the look in her eyes devilish, teasing "—we could have sorted it out."

Why was she acting so nonchalant about it?

Wasn't she bothered by being taken advantage of?

"I know. I just… I couldn't face you after what I did."

That made her pause. "What is it you think you did?"

She didn't know?

Really?

Was she messing with you? Baiting you to see if you would take responsibility?

"I took advantage of you." The words were bitter on your tongue. Foul. Filthy. You wanted to wash your mouth out with soap.

Rowena blinked. One time. Two. Three. She stared as if you'd suddenly grown a second head with pointed horns and snake eyes.

"Are you joking?" she asked, a nervous smile playing on her mouth. Her face was a mask of confusion, of bafflement, eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.

You swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat. Gulped down some more tea. Looked sideways, up, down — anywhere but at her.

She paled. "You're serious."

You gave a nod. A small one, barely noticeable. Your fingers tightened around the tea mug as if it were an anchor, as if letting go would make you lose your balance and your body would crumple into a pile of dust.

Of course you were serious.

You'd never been more serious about anything in your life.

Why was she looking at you as if she didn't believe you?

Did she think you would forget about it and act as if nothing had ever happened?

That wasn't you. Would never be you.

You loved her — respected her, cherished her — too much to do that to her.

To anyone, but especially her.

You would never do anything to harm her. Not in your sane, conscious mind. Not on purpose.

You'd allowed alcohol to get the better of you and you needed to own up to it like a woman.

"Y/N, dear," Rowena said, choosing her words carefully, "when, exactly, did this taking advantage of me occur?"

It was your time to blink in confusion.

Was she serious?

"New Year."

Something unreadable crossed her face. "I see."

"I'm really, really sorry." Tears pricked at your eyes like needles, staining them red as her hair. "I was drunk. Which is no excuse! I just — I didn't mean to do it."

A short silence, then, "Huh."

Just that.

Huh.

Surprised. Uncertain. Disbelieving.

Of you?

Of your apology?

You couldn't tell.

All you knew was, she didn't believe you.

A nice way of saying she most likely thought you a filthy liar unworthy of her time.

If that were the case, you didn't blame her.

There were times you wished you could get out of your skin and get away from yourself, too.

Rowena cleared her throat. Sucked in a breath. Gulped. "So you took advantage of me while drunk? Am I getting this right?"

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

She was mad.

She had to be mad.

"Yeah," you said meekly, avoiding her eyes.

"What—" a cough, a feigned one, "—what makes you think that?"

What was she playing at?

"What do you mean?"

"You're telling me you took advantage of me," she said as if she were speaking to a child, a slow, careful string of words. "I want to know why you think that's what you did."

Was she pulling your leg?

"Because I did."

She was in pain.

She was drunk.

She'd flirted with you, and you'd kissed her despite knowing it was wrong. All because you wanted her. Because the scotch you'd filled your blood with had to told you it was okay, that it was a victimless crime.

It wasn't.

Rowena was vulnerable, and, instead of being her friend, you'd taken advantage of her.

"Did you? You are one hundred percent sure that is what happened?"

"I already told you—"

"Aye," she cut you off. "You did. Pardon me. I am just… confused by your version of events."

You said nothing. Offered no commentary, no further elaborations. Just sat, frozen in place, holding onto your mug as of your life depended on it.

"I don't understand why you think you took advantage of me."

What?

What did she mean, she didn't understand?

Had she actually blocked the memory out?

"I-I kissed you," you stammered.

"You did," she confirmed, amused.

"You were drunk."

"I was."

"It was wrong."

"It wasn't."

You forced yourself to look at her. To lock your eyes with hers, those fierce, intense greens staring right back as if in a challenge.

"Rowena…"

What did she mean, it wasn't wrong?

Was this one of her little games, a remnant of her mean girl days?

Was she testing you?

Or — this was something you hadn't yet considered, something that hadn't occurred to you for you were busy hating yourself — was she genuinely clueless?

Rowena was a tease by nature. A spicy little firecracker. What if she'd flirted, not because she was drunk out of her mind and hurting, but because she was interested?

What if she wanted you as much as you wanted her?

No. No way!

A girl like Rowena, classy, high end, could never be interested in a nobody like you.

It wasn't possible.

Things like that didn't happen.

"I…"

"I wanted you to kiss me," Rowena said. "If you hadn't gone for it, I would have."

Your cheeks were on fire. A storm raged in your stomach, twisted and turned, a tornado that rummaged you from the inside out. You were suddenly queasy, lightheaded. You tried to take a sip of tea, but your hands were shaking and you kept them on the table, gripping the mug, terrified you would drop it.

"B-but…"

The words you wanted to say — the few of them you could remember for your mind was a jumbled mess — froze in your constricting throat. You struggled to breathe, struggled to think, struggled to sit here and act as if everything was normal.

As if Rowena hadn't said she wanted you to kiss her.

It was easier in your daydreams. So much less complicated. She would say you were the woman of her dreams, you would gasp and start crying, and then you would start making out as if there was no tomorrow. Sometimes she would confess her undying love for you in dramatic fashion worthy of a Broadway play. Sometimes she would fall on her knees, or ask you to run away with her, or take you to her car so you could be the Bonnie to her Clyde and you would ride into the sunset, guns blazing, police sirens blaring.

Neither scenario ended with you choking to death on your own words or spontaneously combusting from your nerves firing into overdrive.

And yet, here you were.

Rowena watched you, amused by your reaction because of course she was. "But?"

You gulped. Swallowed a thick lump that had formed at the back of your throat. "Y-you were hurting. I didn't… I…" Breathe, you reminded yourself. Just breathe. In and out. "You'd just broken up with Lucifer. A-and all that other stuff happened. I thought you…"

"What? That I was on a rebound?"

Spoken like that, the words stung.

You nodded.

"I can assure you, I was not."

Your heart jumped. Slammed against your chest, over and over, like a hammer.

"What happened was still fresh," Rowena admitted, "but that's not why I flirted with you." A smile, small, beautiful, blossomed on her mouth. "I like you, Y/N. Not as a replacement for Lucifer." She spat his name as if it were filth on her tongue. "I like you for you."

She liked you.

Jesus Christ in heaven and hell and everything in-between, she liked you!

She fucking liked you!

All this time you'd been hating yourself, wishing you'd never kissed her, only to find out she'd wanted you to.

She truly, genuinely wanted you to.

Not to get over Lucifer.

Not to forget the drama that had unfolded in the school hall.

Not to make the pain of her bruises wane.

Not because she was drunk, or because you were drunk and couldn't control yourself.

Rowena MacLeod had flirted with you and had wanted you to kiss her because she liked you.

This wasn't a dream you would wake up from anytime now.

It wasn't a fantasy that would break with the snap of her perfectly manicured fingers.

It was real; as real as your feelings, as the frantic beats of your heart. As the tea you were nursing, and the table you were sitting at, and the waitress that was staring at her phone, bored out of her mind.

All of it was real.

Good god, all of it was real!

And, of course, in true you fashion, you had to make a fool of yourself by asking, "Why?"

Rowena raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Beg pardon?"

"Why me?"

"Why not?"

Because you were a mess.

Because there wasn't much you could offer her other than yourself.

You cleared your throat. "You're into girls?"

"I'm bisexual," she said. "I've a preference for boys, but I am very much into girls as well."

Oh.

Okay.

That made sense.

Gathering up the remnants of your courage, you said, "I like you, too. I guess."

She narrowed her eyes, confused. Having — painfully obviously — expected a different response. "You guess?"

"I…"

I love you.

More than anything.

More than life itself.

But…

What if something happened?

What if one of you said or did the wrong thing and everything fell apart?

What if admitting you loved her led to you losing her?

What if—

"I can't do this!" It slipped out before you could try to stop it. An instinct, a flight-or-fight response you couldn't control.

It was too much.

All of this was too much!

"Y/N?" Rowena said, voice soft, concerned from the depth of her soul.

"I can't-I can't lose you."

There.

It was out now.

Why were you still struggling to breathe?

Why did your throat still feel as if it were being crushed, as if a hand, strong, meaty, were holding it in an iron grip?

Why did your heart jump around as it it were about to explode?

Why was your body betraying you?

"You aren't going to lose me," Rowena assured you. Looked you straight in the eyes as she uttered the words to make it clear she meant every single one. "Why in hell would you think that?"

Because you knew how things like this went.

Friends became lovers, then something happened — one of them said something stupid or did something bad, irreparable — and it broke them apart, and they were gone from each other's lives for good.

You didn't want the same fate to befall you and Rowena.

Losing her would crush you. Would break you more than being so close yet so far away did.

"It happens," you said. "Friends become more than friends, and everything goes to hell." You snapped your fingers. "Just like that."

Rowena wasn't fazed by your explanation. "It doesn't have to."

"It does."

"Not all the time."

"Enough to count."

She sighed. "Goodness, lass!"

You were being ridiculous — you knew you were. But you couldn't help it. Couldn't fight it for it was stronger than you, almost like an instinct taking hold of you, of your body, of every nerve and cell that contained you.

You loved her.

You wanted her.

Yet, despite all that, you didn't dare touch her.

She'd all but offered herself up on the silver platter, and you were too afraid, too damn terrified to even look at her.

You were a coward!

A pathetic, disgusting coward.

If it meant keeping her, you told yourself, so be it. You could live with that.

It didn't make it hurt — didn't make you hate yourself — any less.

"Nothing has to happen," Rowena added, "if you don't want it to. We can still be friends."

It pained her to say it — you could see it on her face — but she still flashed a smile for you, one of those beautiful ones that made butterflies roil in your stomach. Her hand gently fell over yours. You released the mug, allowed her fingers to wrap around yours, to lock them in a gentle knot.

The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you. Your hand was numb under it, skin burning under the warmth she radiated, the softness, the protection.

Home.

She felt like home.

You wanted it to happen.

You wanted everything to happen.

You wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to wrap your arms around her and never let her go. Wanted to shout from the rooftops that she was yours, that you loved her from the bottom of your soul for the whole damn world to hear.

At the same time, you were scared. Various scenarios flashed through your head, each ending with you and Rowena in tears. Hearts broken. Friendship — what remained of it — shattered, never to be repaired. Lives forced to part.

There were so many ways in which this — whatever it was for you didn't dare put a label in it — could end badly.

And, you admitted, however horrible the hold the fear had on you, just as many ways in which it could end well.

Thinking of it rationally, you had no reason to be scared. The attraction was mutual, the feelings strong enough to be more than simply friendly. Rowena was a good friend, a loyal one. Patient. Kind. She'd shown you sides of her no one — not even her brother — knew. She trusted you with her vulnerabilities, with her weaknesses as much as she did with her strengths. She'd allowed you to know her — to truly know her, bare soul and all.

She wouldn't have told you how she felt if it wasn't real.

And you — god, you loved her! You loved her more than you'd ever loved anyone. More than you loved your friends. It was a different kind of love; a deeper one, more profound. The kind forged in the depths of the heart, in the core of the soul.

It was the kind of love that made you fear the mere thought of losing it.

You knew you were overreacting. There was no reason you and Rowena wouldn't work as a couple. You were both stubborn as mules and strived to get your way, but that was one of the ways you worked so well together. You completed each other. Uplifted each other. Had each other's back. You chose each other when the world tried to keep you apart and rose from the ashes stronger, closer.

You would work.

Just as you'd worked as friends.

Maybe even better.

"I…" Once again the words refused to come out, as if someone had stuffed your throat with cardboard. "I want…"

You.

I want you.

You could say it, you told yourself. It was just three words. Three small, simple words.

I want you.

It wasn't difficult.

Just three words.

I want you.

I love you.

"I…"

Tears spilled from your eyes, a bitter river that bit at your cheeks. Your heart thrummed, wild, out of control. Breaths quickened. Head spun as if you were drunk again.

This was too much.

You couldn't do it.

Couldn't take it.

It was too damn much!

"I'm sorry." You forced the words out, willed the remnants of your strength into pushing then out.

And then you were out the door.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @tasyahilker @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock

#rowena #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #spn family #rowena x reader #my fics #fanfiction #high school au

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ineffable-writer · 4 years

Text

Place Without Plot: Aziraphale and Crowley spend the day on Loch Lomond

The angel was damp, and his curls were losing their charm, but he squeezed the demon’s hand and refrained from complaining. Normally he wouldn’t. Normally he’d whine and Crowley would comfort him.

Not this time. Crowley looked a thousand miles away. He was staring out over the water, clinging to Aziraphale’s hand like his life depended on it. Like an anchor, Aziraphale would guess. He knew that look. They both did.

Finally wrote this out. It was initially intended to be a Valentine’s Day fic, but... that did not actually make it into the story. Welp.

Full story below the break or on AO3 here.

Whole series is under the Place Without Plot tag on my blog or on AO3 here.

“It was clear when we left.” Aziraphale shot a stern look out the window. It didn’t have the desired effect—something he blamed on the highly-irresponsible speed at which Crowley took the next bend. The clouds remained heavy in the sky, threatening rain, and Crowley had the gall to laugh at him.

“It’s Scotland, angel. What did you expect?”

“Your little device said it would be clear!”

“My phone, Aziraphale, just call it a—”

“Watch the road—”

“It’s fine.” The Bentley took the turn like a champion. Crowley would not admit that he relished the way the angel grabbed his arm in panic—Aziraphale would stop if he knew why Crowley liked to scare him a little. It never occurred to him that Aziraphale overdid it because he liked the physical contact.

Engaged or not, some habits were hard to break.

The road to Loch Lomond was shorter with Crowley driving, but it was still long, and it was beautiful even at high speeds. Aziraphale stole his partner’s phone to try and capture the landscape: mountains jutting over the water, low-hanging skies, black and slender trees. The mist settled into the valley; the shores of the loch were low and dark in the winter afternoon. Wind whipped between the Munros, buffeting the Bentley in fits and gusts, and as the rain began to spatter against the windows the angel swore under his breath.

“Oh, damn this weather.”

“Why are you so worried about it?” Crowley ignored the road in favor of eyeing his fiancé. “I chose this one.”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Eyes on the road.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want your day ruined by bad weather, all right? Crowley—” The Bentley slipped through the one-way bridge before the oncoming driver had a chance to blink. All cars escaped with their paint jobs intact. “You seemed to think this was important, that’s all.”

“It is important.” Crowley couldn’t hide the quirk of his lips. “The rain’s not so bad, though. Sets the mood.”

“For what, exactly?”

Crowley didn’t answer, just signaled—for you, angel—and pulled off into a car park. It was hardly a notable location: the park, a couple bleak picnic tables, a building with toilets, a small coffee shack. The water was high today after all the rain. A pier which was ostensibly meant to extend over the loch now extended into it, freshwater waves lapping over the planks, and a group of tourists were running amok atop the drowning dock. Some were taking off their shoes, walking ankle-deep into the more sunken corners.

Crowley and Aziraphale bought hot chocolates—Crowley produced two reusable takeaway cups, under the premise of it being inconvenient for the baristas, which Aziraphale did not buy for a moment—and walked along the shore, away from the dock, away from the tourists. The laughter and chatter vanished, muted in foggy rain. Crowley’s hand slipped into Aziraphale’s without comment, which was unusual. The angel was damp, and his curls were losing their charm, but he squeezed the demon’s hand and refrained from complaining. Normally he wouldn’t. Normally he’d whine and Crowley would comfort him.

“When were you here last?” Aziraphale asked. He tugged Crowley lightly, drawing him to one of the picnic tables. They sat there together and Aziraphale waited for an answer.

“Seventeen-forties,” said Crowley. “Just after.”

“Ah.”

There was silence for a bit. Aziraphale kissed the back of his hand. Crowley took a deep breath and extracted his fingers. He pulled away from the angel.

“Why—”

“I was here for the uprising,” said Crowley.

“I know,” said Aziraphale. “You were… involved. Spent a few years gallivanting around the Highlands. Fomenting, I assumed.”

“Mmhm.” Crowley took another breath. They didn’t need to breathe. Crowley was nervous. Testing something, maybe. “Ostensibly. If I’m honest, I was trying to defend someone.”

“I’m listening, my dear.” Across the way, on the sunken dock, the tourists had produced a Scottish flag. They were posing: one with a leg up on a post, waving it proudly against the backdrop of Munros. One giving a peace sign. One giving devil horns. All posing for photographs on telephones.

“You know I love you,” said Crowley.

“I do,” said Aziraphale. “I also know we’ve both loved others. I haven’t told you all of mine. I assume you haven’t told me all of yours. I won’t be jealous, Crowley. I told you, that isn’t a part of ourselves we need to relinquish, even in the future.”

Crowley took his hand again. The tension went out of Aziraphale’s shoulders. An aversion to touch was not uncommon in his demon—in fact, it was more normal than not—but it still hurt when Crowley pulled away. An insecurity of habit, even if Aziraphale knew better.

“Hendry MacDonald,” said Crowley. “His clan didn’t fight for Charlie, but—we can’t see the future. You know that.”

“I’m well aware,” said Aziraphale.

“Thought Charlie was winning, up til the end there. Highlanders, they slaughtered the English up until Culloden. Smart money was on the Young Pretender.”

“It was,” said Aziraphale. “I do remember. I mean. Not remember, I was in London. But I do remember the news. I remember that I didn’t see you for a few years, and when you got back you got absolutely plastered for a week and avoided the news despite my best efforts to ask why.”

“That’s right,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “If you were trying to keep him safe, then, the smart suggestion would have been to join the Jacobites. They wouldn’t have been kind to loyalists, if they’d won.”

Crowley nodded.

“You were at Culloden,” said Aziraphale.

“We were.”

“And he died there.”

“No,” said Crowley. “Not that lucky.”

On the sunken dock, the tourists had begun to sing. Crowley was hit with a strong wave of annoyance from the baristas in the coffee shack—all the tourists sang this song, they heard it a dozen times a day. That didn’t make the timing any better, and it didn’t make Crowley hate the song any less. They were American, too. The Scottish accents were not good.

By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond…

“I didn’t get discorporated,” said Crowley. “He didn’t die. We both made it through the battle. Literal miracle on my end. Beelzebub would have had my head if they’d known. But after—it wasn’t like they just let the survivors scatter, angel. They hunted us down. We played dead on the battlefield until we realized they were stabbing bodies through, making sure…”

Aziraphale winced.

Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae, On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond.

“Yeah. So we tried to run, they found us. Captured, somehow, not killed immediately.” Crowley’s fingers were white in Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale ran a thumb along his knuckles, quiet, listening. “They told me they were taking him back. I wasn’t one of their clan, though—wore another tartan—and they took me off to question me about my loyalties—”

O ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road, And I'll be in Scotland a'fore ye…

“—and last time I saw him, I told him I’d meet him here, come find him.” A pause. “Not here, not in a car park. Island over- over in the west, old clan grave site. Grisly but notable. Anyway. Had a pact.”

Aziraphale knew how this story ended. In the best of cases, a human would grow old and die, eventually—but the human beings they loved never seemed to make it to old age. Aziraphale and Crowley, as domestic as they were, tended to have a certain inspirational influence. Passion had never lent itself well to a long life.

But me and my true love will never meet again, On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond.

“I got here eventually. Easy enough to get away. But Hendry never made it back to the clan.”

“Oh, Crowley.”

“I hate this song.” Crowley let go of the angel again, but this time it was to bury his head in his hands, compose himself a little. “You’d think we’d stop missing them after a while.”

“Grief isn’t something that fades with time,” said Aziraphale. “Even for us. It comes upon us less frequently, perhaps.”

“You’d have liked Hendry.”

“Oh?”

“He was a storyteller. We were lovers for a year or two, and I never heard him tell a story twice. Fables, fairy tales, histories. Man was a living book. And he had these curls…”

“You have a type,” said Aziraphale, smiling.

“Tell the whole world, why don’t you.”

“You know, I’ve no reason not to anymore.” Aziraphale nudged him. “Maybe I will.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” But Crowley was smiling again. The tourists were filtering back to their busses, just as the rain was starting to let up. Aziraphale wiped the water from his face, then offered his handkerchief to Crowley. Crowley wiped his cheeks. Rain, of course. Possibly not only rain, but they could both pretend. Clouds were parting. Sunlight beamed through blue cracks in the grey; the water came alive with reflection. The mist began to clear.

Crowley would never admit to a feeling of closure, but there it was, settling into his chest like a nightingale. He and his true love sat side by side, looking out at the banks of Loch Lomond.

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