#this is all so realistic i know crowley would never have the patience for this sort of thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Mobile US users spent an average of 115.8 minutes on Tumblr app monthly.

#this is all so realistic i know crowley would never have the patience for this sort of thing

areyougonnabe · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Questions!

tagged by @palamedessextus !!! thank u i love to procrastinate on writing by writing about writing

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

110 on my main account (+ 4 on my sneaky sock for Crimes™ lol)

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

614,551 on my main account which is. hm. a lot

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

obvi the main ones are the terror (50 fics) and good omens (35 fics). beyond that: TMA, the OA, doctor who, LOST, red dwarf, what we do in the shadows, the aubreyad, legends of tomorrow, banished, MCU, bbc ghosts, jeeves & wooster, russian doll, true detective, twin peaks, fleabag, & it's always sunny.

so technically 19, but wow a LOT of those are because i am a fiend for crossovers. (true detective x red dwarf... twin peaks x hannibal... the OA x lost.... russian doll x doctor who...) and many of the others were one-offs for yuletide. i'm pretty monofannish when it comes to writing!

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

lol they're all going to be for good omens... let's see

1. "it's a new craze" - the podcast fic. imho this fic is the definition of "The Claw," a.k.a. the phenomenon that sees some fics plucked out from the fray to become super popular. i'm not denying that it's good! i still think it's pretty clever! but its popularity was probably as much a function of timing as of quality

2. "what a way to make a living" - the uber driver fic. honestly still pretty proud of this one, it flows well and is structurally interesting and genuinely very funny and the perfect length. i had a blast in good omens fandom writing comedic fic, this one

3. "dearly departed" - another one i'm still very happy with. my first ever finished multi-chapter fic & the story that proved to me i could sustain a plot and original characters and also that people would actually enjoy it. so a pretty big deal!

4. "blame it on my juice, baby!" - the fake love potion one. i wrote this fic while delirious with horrible fever cooped up in a tiny council flat airbnb bedroom in london. i think it's still pretty strong although since writing it i've developed a severe aversion to the "meddling friend engineers a get-together" trope in fic & so cringe a bit when i read it back, lmao

5. "greatest hits" - the one with the original songs! the songs are still good.... the fic is ehhhhhhh i guess.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i don't respond to comments on most of my gomens fic anymore because 🤷‍♀️ but i do try to reply to everything i get on my terror fic/smaller fandom stories! my replies are usually very lame but i do like to take the time to thank people for reading.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

i usually don't write angsty endings because i'm a weenie BUT the one exception is probably my terror/TMA crossover which cannot be said to end well by any means lol

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

dearly departed has a very lovely ending... i will also plug my OA fic heat rises which is GREAT and has a GREAT ending and nobody read it because nobody watched the OA. i'm fine it's fine

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

as mentioned above, yes, compulsively... award for craziest simply has to go to It's Always Sunny In Another Dimension which is, yes, an IASIP x OA crossover. i apologize for nothing

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

not that i can recall, [bubbe voice] tenks gad!!!

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

i do i do.... when i first picked up fic writing again after college i thought smut would forever totally beyond me but after some very kind encouragement from friends i tried my hand at it & was off to the races.

i would not say i am an expert at it by any means but i have a lot of fun with it, & people seem to generally appreciate it, so i will keep going!

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

also no, phew

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes, a bunch of my gomens fics have been translated into chinese and russian, which is so so super cool!

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yuh, i had a few legendary cowrites in GO! the slow show metafic with cherry @fremulon and the shitscript crossover extravaganza with hallie @kalelraejepsen !!! both tremendously fun experiences

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

that is a very tough one. if you go by my ao3 bookmarks it's aziraphale/crowley, which might be true still tbh... but i dunno. maybe ten/rose because that shit never leaves you.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

in terms of fic i already started posting, there's my one terror WIP with amnesiac tozer that i swear i WILL finish one day... and same goes for my good omens music & lyrics AU, which i fully expect to pick back up and finish off when i inevitably return to the fandom for series 2.

as far as stuff that never made it out of drafts, i started a hodgson-centric fic a few weeks ago that i got like 4k into before realizing i need to seriously refine my approach. so hopefully after exe fest i will get around to that!

16) What are your writing strengths?

well i am funny. so i've got that going for me. other than that ummmm i don't know. i don't think of myself as a particularly good or strong writer bc i really am just here for a laff. i think i can turn a phrase well and get the most out of imagery; i'm good at coming up with compelling story concepts and weird gimmicks, i guess?

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

i fundamentally don't know or understand how People Actually Act And Feel so i have a hard time getting realistic or interesting reactions and conflicts out of characters. my plots (when my stories have them at all) are very powered by external events, i wouldn't call myself a character-driven writer by any means. for the same reasons i struggle with voice and dialogue beyond superficial signposting via vocabulary/syntax. also, sustaining a long story/finding enough Stuff To Happen to fill it up/having the patience to keep writing... is something i need to work on for sure.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i'm a lame american who only speaks english so honestly i don't really have thoughts!

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

i distinctly remember hand-writing in my notebook two or three pages worth of a story about what happened to the main precog in "minority report" after watching the movie when i was like seven. the first fandom i actually wrote fic for and posted it online was probably doctor who circa 2010 ish? but my warrior cats RP career predates that by a few years and i did a LOT of writing there. oh warriorsforest39 dot proboards dot com you are missed....

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

SEX GHOST AU! SEX GHOST AU!

tagging folks :))) @laissezferre @titleleaf @theburialofstrawberries @girdedheraround @flanneryoconnorfanfiction @wreathedwith if u want!!

18 notes · View notes

yan-twst · 4 years

Text

( @crazyyanderefangirlfan (〃ω〃) here you go! since you didnt specificy any letters i did the whole thing! it is a long post so i'll put it under a read more!)

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Very strictly- Sebek has a rather particular form of showing love. Whenever he takes his darling out in public he will expect absolute perfect behaviour- no PDA, no speaking unless spoken to. However, he'll become more affectionate behind closed doors: he's still quite shy, so even just kissing or cuddling his darling is sometimes too much and he'll have to go cool off.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Not as much as one would expect. Even though he is definitely well trained and strong enough to stand his ground and his darling's, he is working for Lord Maleus- he can't have his actions sully his lord's name! However, if he accidentally snaps or gets out of hand, he might go beg Lilia for help, and the older fae will certainly make any trace of Sebek's violence disappear.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He won't mock them, but he is so demanding and high-strung that he comes off as cruel. He expects his darling to serve Maleus too, but obey him at the same time- any time his darling fails at a task, or even worse, fail at something Maleus asked, they'll be subject to get yelled at for hours by Sebek.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He won't touch his darling for affection if they tell him not to- however, he will absolutely order them around without much remorse. His darling is living on a tight schedule set by him, and any rupture to this structured lifestyle might earn them a lecture or a slap if Sebek is at his absolute limit.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He is constantly trying to be the best guard for Maleus, always on guard and ready to pounce. Even though realistically Maleus doesn't expect that much from him, Sebek still feels pressured- he might cry into his darling's chest on particularly bad nights, asking for reassurance that he's doing a good job protecting Maleus and being their partner. If his darling doesn't comfort him, he won't punish them- however he'll be in an extremely bad mood all week, which is never good for anyone.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He's outraged at this behaviour! How dare his darling act out against him?! He's already too busy with school and guardinh Maleus- these actions will not be tolerated. As much as it hurts his heart, he might have to use some painful magic in order to teach his darling a lesson- although he'll definitely cry when he sees his darling in pain, it's something he must do.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No, it's not. Sebek is quite serious about this relationship- he truly believes that all he does will help shape his darling into an ideal person, and that together they can protect Maleus. He won't tolerate any attempts to escape: after the very first one, he'll get Lilia to put any sort of ancient spell on his darling so they cannot escape. Hell, even Maleus might throw in a curse for Sebek's darling not to run away: the two ancient fae find Sebek's infatuation quite entertaining.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

If his darling ever attempted to hurt Maleus, Sebek would have no mercy in punishing them. He would have tears in his eyes as he cast painful hexes on his darling, leaving them chained up in one of Diasomnia's towers for days on end to starve and suffer under the intense magic. It's bad enough that Lilia has to be the one to put a stop to it, before Sebek caused irreversible damage to his darling's body and mind.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He only has one goal in life, and that is to protect Maleus. He expects his darling to do the same- after all, he believes he can train them into a guard almost as perfect as him! He doesn't have concrete plans for after graduation- he does expect to marry his darling, but it's likely he'll keep by Maleus' side, so his darling better enjoy their new job!

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

It highly depends on who it is that interacts or talks with his darling. If it's people he trusts, like Lilia or Maleus (and even Silver, to an extent) he'll simply keep an eye on them while they're near his darling. Because he knows any bad action of him could bring disgrace to Maleus, he grits his teeth and bears it when he hears other students talk about his darling, although he might snap if he finds himself alone face-to-face with one of these people later.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

When it's just him and his darling, he's shokingly shy. Holding hands is enough tl send his heart into a frenzy and make his whole face red- a kiss could probably kill him. It's like that at first; he doesn't want to scare his darling, but as much as he's shy, he's also... Very, very eager. Expect makeout session when he gets random bursts of courage- although later he'll be so embarrassed he won't even look his darling in the eyes... Until he gets the urge to be close to them again...

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Before kidnapping them, he was both very obvious and yet ignorant to his own feelings. Everyone knew he liked his darling based on how much attention he'd pay to them (and by how much he'd scold them for "trying to distract him"). When he finally has his darling to himself- aka when Maleus asks the headmaster to transfer Sebek's darling to Diasomnia (and Crowley knows better than to refuse: Maleus is too powerful to risk angering) and Sebek keeps them with him at all times- he continues this behaviour, although he already accepted he's deeply in love.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

He's much more tender than he lets on. Even though everyone knows how loud and competitive he is, nobody would guess how soft he is when he's with his beloved. Also, he's very physically needy but shy at the same time: he seeks his darling's affections but never dares vocalise what he wants. His darling better be good at reading his mood, because giving him love when he wants it is the best way to keep him a relatively tolerable partner.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

If it's a spur of the moment thing, he might slap them- however that's as much as he'd harm them in the bodily sense. He feels too bad when he physically hurts his darling, so when punishment is necessary he opts for isolation and magic. He'll read up on hexes and cursed that cause feelings of pain, but no actual bodily harm- he'll still feel incredible sad when he hears his darling scream and cry in pain wherever he locked them up, but he'll take some comfort knowing the pain they feel is "fake" and their body will be fine once the spell wears off

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

If his darling wasn't in Diasomnia before, they are now- and they share a room with him. He'll still let his darling attend to classes; however, the second a class is over they must report back to him. There isn't even any chance for them to ask for help: Sebek will absolutely go the extra mile to find any curse or spell that will force his darling to not be able to talk about their current dilemma. Aside from classes, every waking moment of his darling's time is spent with Sebek.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Not very. He's always high-strung and ready to reprimand someone for not adressing lord Maleus correctly: he has very little tolerance for mistakes or misbehaviours in his darling's part. Luckily he rarely truly "punishes" his darling: for the most part he loudly reprimands them for a couple hours.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He would be devastated. Death, escape- whatever it was, it simply showed he failed as a lover. He'd definitely blame himself for not being careful enough- and he wouldn't be able to replace his darling, ever. He'll probably grow and marry whatever fae woman crosses his path just to get people to shut up about how he's "worryingly lonely", but he's definitely broken inside for the rest of his life.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No? Why would he? He isn't doing anything wrong- at least that's what Lilia told him (in fact Lilia knows how messed up the whole ordeal is, but... Hey! Free entertainment for him!). Besides, he's definitely helping his darling improve by forcing them to stick to his strict schedule. They should be happy! Thanks to him they get the privileged job of watching over Maleus by his side.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

He's been training his whole life to protect his lord. There simply wasn't any room for love before, and he'd never dealt with such strong emotions. His naturally intense attitude love advice coming from an equally inexperienced Maleus and definitely malicious love advice coming from Lilia who just wanted to see how far Sebek would take it, combined with how much he discovered he enjoyed affection and praise from his darling, ended up being a mix that sealed his darling's fate.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Confusion and guilt. Is this- is this his fault? He definitely panics: he's never had to comfort someone like this in his life. He'll force his darling into bed and tuck them in, trying to confort them how he best remembers babies are comforted- however, if his darling was crying because of him, he'll probably make it even worse with all his attempts to "help".

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

His darling isn't gone from the public's eye: everyone knows very well they are currently in Diasomnia and always by Sebek's side. He isn't trying to keep his darlin for himself only- he truly doesn't mind if they have to interact with teachers during class, or if they have to be seen by classmates. His darling never goes missing: they are just always, ALWAYS, by his side.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

There's not much his darling can do to escape. Sure, his easy to fluster side would be almost too easy to exploit- if his darling took initiative and kissed him, and encouraged him to get handsy, he'd get so overwhelmed and flustered he'd have to excuse himself to "cool off" for a good while. However- because his darling is already hexed and cursed and under god knows how many tracking and entrapment spells, it's an useless endeavour.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Again, he'll never go further than a slap. He's very hesitant to hurt his darling with his hands- however he really won't hesitate to place any sort of spell to cause unbearable, writhing pain on his darling if he believes they deserve it.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Praise him too much and let him get too much confidence and suddenly he's all over his darling. He'd never admit it, but he's a bit of a pervert- he'd probably spent hours staring at his darling before, and now he can't keep his hands off them. But once he regains composure he immediately scrambles off- no! He only serves Maleus!

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

It really doesn't take long. He's never felt this way before, and his trusted seniors are telling him to just act on those dark impulses so... Why not?

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

It wouldn't be shoking. The tight schedule, the expectations, the mental torture of his punishments- his darling is bound to break eventually. Sebek would wonder why his darling's eyes are suddenly so lifeless, and why they speak so robotically- it's like they're just repeating the same words of praise to him without meaning it, barely even talking anymore. However, he doesn't mind: even though his darling isn't fit to be Maleus' guard anymore, they're still his darling- he might even feel less ashamed of affection with a darling so utterly broken!

#yandere alphabet #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #sebek zigvolt

106 notes · View notes

aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

A Cunning Plan

(This is a ButterOmens submission, expanding on @kaz3313‘s initial fic, “A Good/Bad Idea.” All continuations and expansions in any medium are welcome!

(CW: While this is the least distressing Hell story I’ve yet written, with almost no physical violence, it’s also not entirely played for laughs. The abuse is mainly psychological. The threats get intense and there’s a strong sense of exactly how bad it could be. Happy ending, though, unless you’re rooting for Team Hell, and there is comfort after the hurt.)

10575 words.

Michael glared at the telephone on her desk – an older model, with cords and physical buttons, instead of the sleek device she preferred. It almost never did anything anymore, but now it was giving off a horrific, shrill rrrriiiiing over and over. The blinking red light – not quite coordinated to the noise – told her it was an external call, to the general line.

Good. Someone else could answer that.

Rrrrriiiiing.

Except she had work to do and she couldn’t concentrate around that infernal –

Rrrrriiiiing.

After more than a minute of this abject torture, Michael gave in and snatched up the handset. “Hello?” she demanded, making no attempt to hide her irritation.

Her lip curled in disgust when she heard the voice on the other end of the line. She should have known. “No, I am not Gabriel’s…secretary, as you put it. Why would he give his personal line to you?”

Beelzebub’s grating voice seemed slightly less bored than usual. If this kept up, ze may even make it all the way to annoyed.

“Well, I believe he also said that we would be in touch. That means, don’t call us, we’ll –”

A scowl. “No, I will not transfer you.”

She stood up, very nearly losing her composure. “Or take a message. I told you, I’m not his secretary. You’ll get your paperwork back in a week. If you want to arrange a meeting then –”

Michael reluctantly listened to the demon’s reply. “Well. You had your chance for revenge, and as I recall, it didn’t work out, did it?” A pause. “No, I suppose things didn’t go well on our end, either. Not that that’s any concern of yours.”

Michael drummed her fingers on the desk, staring at the pile of paperwork. Everything since the failed Apocalypse had been paperwork and committee meetings, one scramble after another to create new plans for a world that stubbornly refused to end.

This wasn’t what she was designed for. She was built to lead the angels in a glorious war that should be going on right now. If it weren’t for those traitors…

“Fine. I’m listening. What is your plan?”

Two angels and two demons sat around the wrought-iron café table, awning shading them from the early-autumn heat, eyes watching the bookshop on the corner.

The pale one, Hastur, had a stench that had cleared out most of the outdoor seating area immediately, and Beelzebub’s swarm of flies had taken care of the rest. The flies coated every surface, every chair, the windows, the ground, and the little plate of pastries they’d brought as camouflage. Already the croissants were starting to rot.

Gabriel and Michael sat across from the demons, each with a cup full of bitter coffee. Neither would actually stoop so low as to drink a debase, earthly liquid. In fact, Michael had barely managed to convince Gabriel to sit near the cup, and he kept eyeing it as if afraid it would move closer of its own accord, spill all over his latest suit.

Michael pretended to take a sip, as the vile liquid tried to burn her fingers through the thin paper cup. It was annoying, so she immediately dissipated the heat. Somehow, it smelt even worse cold.

Beelzebub had some enormous, frothy monstrosity, to which ze was adding packet after packet of creamer, leaving the empty containers strewn about for zir flies to explore.

Only Hastur seemed to be enjoying his, devouring the cup one mouthful of shredded paper at a time.

“There,” Michael nodded down the street, the opposite direction from the bookshop.

Tall, clad all in black, dark red hair – the demon Crowley – and the round, pale shape of Aziraphale, in that absurd outfit he always wore, bowtie and all. The disgraceful angel was eating some form of confection while the demon talked at length, long arm waving in every direction.

Between them, their hands were clasped, fingers tangled together. It made Michael’s skin crawl just to look at it, and she slid her chair a little farther from the two revolting creatures at her table.

“This is what they do all day?” Gabriel demanded, incredulous.

“As far as we can tell,” she confirmed. “Go for walks. Eat foods. Sit in the bookshop. Touch each other.” Incomprehensible. Thousands of years of subtle defiance – so subtle even Michael herself nearly missed it – only to openly rebel against Heaven for a life of…nothing.

“Szoundsz miszerable,” Beelzebub muttered, echoing Michael’s thoughts, though the Prince of Hell had barely glanced at the two traitors. Instead, ze reached for the saltshaker, trying to add a pinch to the awful concoction. At the first shake, the cap came off, dumping several ounces of salt into Beelzebub’s beverage. “Great. Now it’sz ruined. Who doesz that?”

“Crowley,” growled Hastur, grinding his teeth so hard Michael thought they might crack. “He’s always loosening the tops in the Hell canteen. Thinks its…” he spat. “Funny.”

Michael and Gabriel shared a grimace. Hell was full of evil and cruelty, but what neither of them could stand was the unprofessionalism. “Regardless,” Michael tried to continue her report, “our experts have assured me they are indulging in several major sins. Sloth. Gluttony.” As they watched, Crowley paused, laughing. His thumb brushed crumbs away from the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth. “Lust.”

All four beings at the table shuddered this time, and four chairs shrieked as they moved apart, grating across the concrete floor. Despite being only a few meters away, the traitors didn’t notice – they would see and hear nothing of their observers, unless one of Beelzebub’s flies broke the barrier Michael had meticulously set up.

“Diszguszting,” Beelzebub declared as Aziraphale caught Crowley’s thumb and pressed it briefly to his lips. Several dozen flies buzzed agreement.

“When do we grab him?” demanded Hastur, ripping another bite out of his cup.

“That’s the tough part,” Gabriel said. “We have to wait until he’s alone. There can be no chance the demon is anywhere in the area.”

“Really?” The carefully maintained boredom in Beelzebub’s tone carried a note of mockery. “Are two Archangelsz afraid of one demon?”

“I don’t know, is the Prince of Hell afraid of him?” snapped Gabriel.

“Crowley is not the concern here,” Michael interrupted, glaring at both parties. She could not work like this, not if Gabriel was going to stoop to their level. “It’s Aziraphale.”

Hastur made a noise like an explosion in a swamp. “That cringing little nothing? Could take him apart with my bare hands.”

“No doubt you could, under normal circumstances.” Michael tried not to look at the hands in question – particularly the filthy, discolored nails. “But Aziraphale is a Guardian. He has extraordinary strength when acting in defense of one of his charges, and for some unfathomable reason he counts Crowley among them.” She glanced at the two demons sharing her table, neither of whom was paying enough attention for her liking. “Let me make this absolutely clear. He cannot access that strength in self-defense. That isn’t how he was designed. But if he thinks for one second that Crowley, or anyone else, is in danger – you will lose control of this.”

“Fine,” growled Hastur, who clearly lacked any patience, along with intelligence, grace, and good sense. “We grab the angel at night, when Crowley leaves.”

Michael pressed her lips together.

The look of horror slowly grew across Gabriel’s features. “Does the demon leave at night?”

“About half the time,” she admitted.

Another shriek of four chairs shifting apart.

Four nights later, Hastur watched the bookshop through the van window. Michael had manifested it, after spending five minutes mocking Hastur’s own attempt. He’d thought his imitation of a human automobile was good enough for the job, but Captain Fancy Wings wanted something convincing and realistic and with a functioning air conditioner. Little cardboard trees that he wasn’t allowed to eat sat on every surface, and Michael was spritzing the air with something that smelled foul and flowery.

“Stop that or I’ll rip your arm off,” snapped Hastur, as the spritz came too close to his eyes – and nose – again. The seven demons in the back grunted agreement.

Michael just raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome to try.”

Hastur turned back to the shop. Crowley had finally left, and now the little cream-colored puffball was sitting in a chair with his eyes closed, sipping on a glass of something Michael had repeatedly insisted was not blood, though it was certainly red.

“Look. He’s alone. I say we go in now,” Hastur growled. This plan was taking far too long. If he’d been in charge, the angel’s hacked-off arm would be growing cold on Crowley’s doorstep by now.

“Not. Yet.” Michael’s voice was tense. “Believe me, I’m not going to keep you all a second longer than –”

They didn’t hear the telephone ring, but Hastur saw the angel jump to his feet and hurry over, sappy smile growing all over his face. “Ugh. They’ve been talking all day. What the Heaven else do they have to say to each other?”

The call went on for eternity, every expression on the angel’s face even more vomit-inducing than the last. Finally, he hung up and leaned back in his chair again.

“Now can we –”

“Our intel says after their conversation, Crowley always goes to sleep. So, yes, it should be safe to –”

Hastur kicked open the van door, emerging from the blessed potpourri cloud that Michael held them captive in. “Right, team, hit him hard and grab him quick. Let’s go.”

It wasn’t exactly the tactical strike Michael wanted, but it would do.

The doors to the shop had been magically reinforced, but they were no match for eight demons, one of them a Duke of Hell. In seconds, they swarmed through the shards of glass and red-painted wood.

She watched from the van as Aziraphale leapt to his feet. His fury at the intruder quickly shifted to horror when he saw what he truly faced, and he stumbled backwards. Michael smiled. “Not so brave now, are we, traitor?”

The first demon to reach him got a nasty knock in the teeth. Michael had warned them Aziraphale knew how to fight. Even without his Guardian strength, he was easily a match for any demon, possibly even two demons together.

But as he dashed to the phone, four jumped on him, dragging him down in a flurry of feathers, the traitor panicking so hard his wings manifested. Disgraceful.

When the demons finally had him immobile, Hastur stepped over and slammed a bar of metal into the back of Aziraphale’s head. Michael smiled again, imagining the crack it would make. Pity she couldn’t deliver it herself.

After a pause, she saw Hastur’s arm rise and fall again. Then a third time.

Really. That was just brutish overkill.

At last, Hastur and his smelly horde emerged from the shop, six of the demons carrying Aziraphale between them. That shouldn’t have been necessary. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, annoyed at the delay.

When the back door opened and the demons began wrestling the angel’s body inside, she snapped, “It took you long –” And fell silent as she saw Aziraphale’s eyes, wide open and alert.

“Michael.” With a flutter of white wings, he wrenched himself free of his captors, settling against the far wall of the van, trying to look like he was there by choice. “I wondered who the brains behind this would be. Just when I thought you couldn’t disappoint me any further.”

She glared at Hastur, who moved to sit beside Aziraphale. “You incompetent – I told you to make sure he was unconscious!”

“Won’t go down.” He jerked Aziraphale’s head forward by the hair, studying the back of his skull.

“What do you mean – you just didn’t do it right!”

“Listen, wanker, I know how to knock someone out. Know how to do a lot worse if I want. Something’s not right here.”

“Yes, I’m obviously too powerful for you,” Aziraphale said, but Michael could hear the tremble behind the false bravado now. “If you let me go, I – I won’t try to take revenge.”

Hastur hit him across the face so hard, the impact echoed off the metal walls of the van. And pulled away his hand with a shout, clutching his fingers to his chest. “How are you doing that?” Aziraphale barely even looked dazed, but the worry was blossoming into full-blown fear.

“We’re going,” Michael snapped. “Sit on him if you have to, we’ll figure it out once we get there.”

Hell had never captured an angel alive before. Beelzebub was nearly excited at the possibilities.

But ze was also aware it could go wrong, like at Crowley’s trial – instead of hundreds of demons witnessing the destruction of a traitor, they saw him boldly defy zir authority and shrug off gallons of Holy Water as if it were nothing. The damage control from that incident would never be over. Beelzebub couldn’t afford a repeat.

The cell ze prepared was deep in the twisted corridors of Hell; it had been designed to hold a Hellhound, so it should be enough to keep the angel contained. The chains that would bind him were forged from celestial orichalcum and stygian iron. Ze had added some fancy cameras, provided by Heaven, so the torture could be broadcast to all of Hell, but open plaza outside was to be kept clear.

“I like this,” Gabriel said, inspecting the cell. “Very thorough. Very dark. And the smell, that’s a good touch.”

“We don’t need your approval,” Beelzebub reminded him. “We know how to do our jobsz here.”

Gabriel grabbed one of the chains and pulled it with his whole weight. “But you’ve never had an angel before, have you? There’s a lot to consider. After all, angels and demons have very little in common –”

“The main differencze isz that angelsz are much more arrogant.”

The Arch-wanker finally turned to face Beelzebub, storming over to tower over zir, to try and intimidate zir. Pathetic, really.

“May I remind you that I’m here because you asked me for assistance.”

“Which you already provided. You’re now here asz a courteszy, nothing more.”

“A courtesy?” Gabriel demanded.

“Yesz.” Apparently, he thought puffing himself up and pulling a face would somehow impress someone who spent zir life ordering literal demons to stop chewing on each other for five minutes and do some blessed paperwork. “He isz our captive. We deczide what happens to him now. But asz he isz your traitor, and asz a szign of our goodwill, you can have a turn torturing him, when we are finished.”

“Listen here,” Gabriel pointed a finger. Wow. A finger. Beelzebub had never seen one of those before. “That little shithead has been a pain in my side for thousands of years, and if you think I’m just going to sit back and watch while your side takes him apart –”

“If you szat back and watched, you might actually learn szomething.” Beelzebub frowned. “But that would probably ruin your image.”

“Let me tell you something about…” But it seemed Beelzebub would go the rest of eternity without whatever wisdom Gabriel had been about to shit out, because they were interrupted by his flashy mobile phone ringing. He held up his finger and wandered off. “Michael! How’s the extraction going?”

Turning back to more important matters, Beelzebub made sure there were sufficient implements of torture in the cell. The one remaining issue was how to choose one of Hell’s many skilled torturers to work on the angel; despite Hastur’s insistence, he was clearly not the best choice. The camera set-ups were reminding Beelzebub of that reality TV thing Crowley used to write about in detail, and that was giving zir some interesting ideas for a competition…

“What do you mean there’s a problem?” Gabriel’s voice demanded, and Beelzebub sighed. Something else for zir to sort out, it seemed.

It was the second time Aziraphale had been led into Hell in chains, though the others didn’t know that.

It was harder this time. Not just because the manacles dragged at his wrists and ankles, each one connected to a different demon marching along beside him; Hastur led the way, pulling the chain for the collar around his neck. Two more demons held his wings in grimy claws.

It was humiliating, but that wasn’t all of it. Aziraphale found it had been much easier to be brave when everyone thought he was Crowley.

The routes they traveled were as wide as a city street, but the crowds pressed in on either side, reaching for him – he sometimes felt their hands brush his face, his wings, clutch at his shirt as he passed – and the shouting. Oh, the shouting.

I hope you brought enough angel for everyone.

Hey, angel, not so high-and-mighty now, are we?

You better hope they don’t leave you alone, angel, or I’m going to break into your cell and –

Hey, angel, I can’t wait to get my hands on your wings and –

What’s the matter, angel? Us demons not good enough for you?

Hey, angel –

Angel –

Empty threats, but no less terrifying for it. He tried to raise his hands to cover his ears, but the demons holding his chains jerked them back down.

It was fairly obvious which cell was meant to be Aziraphale’s: the one with two Archangels waiting outside it. He didn’t know how Michael had gotten there first. Probably took a more private route; the demons wanted to parade their captive in front of all of Hell, but they were still ashamed of their allies.

He tossed his head and tried to keep the quiver out of his voice. “Gabriel. I’d say it’s good to see you again, but I promised Crowley I wouldn’t lie so much anymore.”

“Aziraphale. What the hell have you been up to?”

“Is that…supposed to be funny?” He honestly could never tell with Gabriel.

Any trace of good humor vanished from the Archangel’s face, and Aziraphale felt a familiar fear tear through him. He can’t hurt you, he can’t hurt you…

“Take him inside,” Gabriel ordered. “String him up.”

“You don’t give the commandsz around here,” Beelzebub said, and there was a distinct note of anger behind the blandness.

“I thought you were supposed to be the expert,” Gabriel snapped. “We don’t argue in front of the prisoner. Take him in. Now.”

“What do you mean, he can’t be harmed?” Beelzebub demanded, rubbing zir forehead in annoyance.

“I mean, I bit him, hit him, scratched him – everything I could think of, but he barely felt anything.” Hastur looked offended, as if this was a professional insult.

“Barely felt anything?” Gabriel asked, trying to make sense of what passed for a report in Hell. “What did he feel?”

“Sometimes he flinched,” Hastur shrugged.

“Yes, but when did he –” Gabriel sighed. “Never mind. Michael?”

She nodded and stepped towards the cell.

“Sztop.” Beelzebub blocked her. “I told you, he isz our priszoner, and we get first –”

“Nobody is getting first anything until we know what’s going on,” Gabriel pointed out. “And unlike your…fine associate,” he gestured to Hastur politely, “Michael actually knows how to be systematic. Sit back and watch, you might learn something.”

Beelzebub’s face twisted, but ze stepped aside and let Michael go to work.

“Ah, Michael. Welcome to my new abode,” Aziraphale started, full of false bravery. Gabriel knew it was false. He’d known Aziraphale practically since the moment of the Principality’s creation. Soft and weak and anxious about absolutely everything. Right now he was standing in a dark, damp, filthy cell, arms and wings chained so they couldn’t even be lowered comfortably. He should be pissing himself already. But instead, he smiled that shaky, watery smile. “I’m sure they sent you to –”

Michael slapped him across the face, then shook her hand.

Aziraphale shrugged. “I’m afraid you’ll find that –”

Michael punched him in the jaw. His head snapped back, then lowered again to look at her.

“You know, it’s rude to interrupt.”

Over the next ten minutes, Michael tried everything, including half the torture implements Beelzebub had prepared. Knives scraped across his skin without any affect; hammers slammed into his joints with no more reaction than “Ooh, that smarts a little.” Pulling his hair brought barely a grunt of pain. Plucking his feathers seemed promising at first, but after the first minute, he stopped noticing.

They could find nothing that actually hurt Aziraphale.

It was while Michael was trying, unsuccessfully, to break a finger that Gabriel realized what was going on. He marched into the cell, grabbing the prisoner by the collar. “You didn’t.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Aizraphale whispered, tongue poking out to wet his lips.

Gabriel ripped off the bowtie, throwing it on the ground, then tore open the front of Aziraphale’s shirt.

“Stop – Stop it!” Finally, the high-pitched fear Gabriel had been waiting for, but he ignored it. Pulling back the shirt, he found what he expected to see: a complex, serpentine sigil carved into the skin over Aziraphale’s heart.

“You let him mark you. You let a goddamn demon mark you. Of all the disgusting, depraved acts –”

“Really,” Aziraphale cut in, sounding close to tears. “That’s no way to speak about my husband.”

“Huszband?” Beelzebub found that somehow more disgusting than the thoughts of what the two traitors had been physically doing.

“That’s not important,” Gabriel said, though he clearly found it just as disturbing. “That mark is protecting him from any harm. As long as it’s there, we can’t touch him.”

“Crowley,” growled Hastur, clenching his fist so that the jagged nails cut deep into his own flesh. “Thinks he’s so bloody clever, pulling this shit –”

Fascinating as his latest temper tantrum wasn’t, it was time to focus on the problem. “If the angel isz marked, it can only be eraszed with the blood of the demon. Which brings us back to the original problem.” They didn’t dare try to capture Crowley. Not without knowing what powers he might have.

“I got a good look at it,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. “It’s a demonic sigil, but an angelic mark.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, my good Prince of Hell, that it’s not powered by blood, it’s powered by faith.”

“Yeah? So?” Hastur got lost in conversations that didn’t feature disembowelments every few minutes.

Michael sighed. “There are two ways to break an angelic mark. Either he denounces his faith, or he loses it.” She frowned at her superior. “It might not be that easy. He believes he’s married to the creature. He won’t just denounce Crowley because you ask him to.”

Impossibly, Gabriel’s face grew even more smug. “Leave that to me. I know that idiot’s psyche inside and out. I’ll have him cursing that demon’s name by morning.”

Beelzebub frowned at the locked cell door. When they’d shut it, the angel had been smiling – he even waved at them. “I don’t szee how.”

“Trust me. He’s practically broken already. I’m going to need everything you’ve got on Crowley so I can sell this. Michael, if he’s marked, we’re going to need security a lot sooner than planned.”

“On it.” She walked away, tapping her phone. Then stopped and turned back. “Or I would be, if there was any signal down here. I need your Wi-Fi password.”

“We don’t just give that out to any angel who asks,” Hastur snarled.

“Hey,” Gabriel clapped his hands. “There’s no time for that. We’re going to be one big, happy family working together to break that angel, hmm?”

Beelzebub seriously considered just letting Aziraphale go and torturing Gabriel instead. It seemed like a lot less trouble at this point.

“Fine. Hasztur, go talk to Dagon. Get all filesz on Crowley, whatever she hasz... Michael, the code isz one-hundred-eighty-four zerosz followed by a one. Gabriel,” Beelzebub sighed. “Tell me how thisz isz going to work.”

“Oh,” the Archangel rubbed his hands together. “You’re going to like this one.”

Gabriel walked back into the cell, easy smile across his face. He placed a bright lamp beside him and settled into the folding chair Hell had provided. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was important he look at ease.

The light made Aziraphale flinch, smile turning into a grimace. Good. Already used to the dark.

“Well, Aziraphale, looks like I have good news and bad news.”

“You’ve found you can’t torture me, so you’re letting me go?”

Beelzebub melted into the shadows behind Aziraphale, pulling on one chain, then another. “We can’t hurt you, but we can sztill make you very uncomfortable.” Aziraphale’s arms jerked upwards, until he had to stand on his toes.

Gabriel shook his head sympathetically. “Demons,” he shrugged. “They don’t really think big picture. But you know all about that.” Another jerk of the chains pulled down his wings as far as they would go.

Aziraphale grunted, trying to find a way to balance himself. “Crowley does. He always has a plan.”

“Yes, I’m sure he does,” Gabriel waved dismissively. “In fact, we’re waiting for him to show up. I assume that’s what his mark does, alerts him when you need help. Angelic marks are like that,” he added for Beelzebub’s benefit. “One is the protected, the other the protector.” The profane mark on Azirapahle’s chest was bright red against pale skin.

“Fasczinating,” the Prince of Hell muttered.

“He knew the moment you took me,” Aziraphale said, voice a little tighter. “He’ll be here within the hour –”

“Actually,” Gabriel glanced at his watch, “it’s been over two hours already.” It was almost impossible not to smile at the flicker of worry that crossed Aziraphale’s face at that lie. “No matter. When he finally shows up, we’ll bargain for your release.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing much, really. Just certain assurances you’ll stay out of our way.”

“We’ve been staying out of your way!” He tried to take a step forward, then gasped and pulled back. Looks like Beelzebub’s theory was right – they couldn’t hurt Aziraphale, but he could still hurt himself, pulling against his chains. Interesting. “Look,” the angel tried again in a calmer tone. “All we want is to be left alone –”

“Then there’s no reason for this to be difficult. As soon as he –”

Gabriel’s phone rang, exactly on time. He smiled as he stood, pulling it out. “That’ll be Uriel’s team. Don’t worry, not much longer now.” Hurrying out of the cell, he pretended to take the call.

Beelzebub followed a moment later, scooping up the lamp, and Aziraphale’s tie from where it had fallen. “In casze we need proof that we have you. Enjoy the dark.” The cell door shut with a satisfying slam.

Gabriel waited just long enough for the dark and silence to press in on the prisoner. Then he shouted as loud as he could, “What do you mean he left?”

Exactly seventy-eight minutes after they’d dragged the traitor through the lobby to Hell, his demonic partner arrived. Michael had moved as quickly as she could, pulling eight of her best angels to guard the escalators, armed with every Holy weapon she could think of.

The demon Crowley burst through the lobby door with some sort of elaborate pump-action water pistol in his hands, a dark expression behind his glasses. When he saw the flaming blades, he slowed his march, lowering the plastic gun slightly.

“I’m afraid Holy Water isn’t going to work on us,” Michael smiled sweetly. “Did you have another plan?”

“Working on it,” Crowley grunted, eyeing the swords. She was relieved at that; she hadn’t been completely certain a demon immune to Holy Water would still fear heavenly weapons. “Why don’t you save us all some trouble and let him go? You can’t –”

“Can’t hurt him? You honestly believe that little mark is going to stop us?”

His lips twisted at that. So much for the infamous flash bastard. Crowley lowered his toy weapon to the ground and took a few steps closer, arms wide. “What do you want? Hmm? You want to negotiate? Give me your terms, I’m here.”

“We don’t negotiate with demons,” Michael started.

“No, you just raid bookshops with them.” Her phalanx took a step forward, and he jumped back. “Right, fine, touchy subject. I get it. Don’t want to be judged for the company you keep. Though, I’m pretty sure I smelled Hastur’s distinctive odor, and I am judging you.”

Even behind the glasses, Michael could see the way his eyes darted. He was testing her. Trying to find a weakness in their defenses. More clever than she’d expected.

“Just go home, Crowley,” she said. “We’ll be in touch.”

“When?”

“When we’re satisfied with the number of pieces he’s in, you can come and collect them.”

It really didn’t take that much to crack his composure. Michael almost expected him to charge their swords that second. “You can’t – he’s safe –”

“Because he trusts you? Let’s see how he’s doing right now.” Michael held up her phone, turning on the feed from Aziraphale’s cell. It wasn’t live, of course. Too risky. Gabriel had agreed to send her useful clips as the interrogation proceeded.

The first one played out, and Crowley made a wonderful noise of pain when he saw how the angel was chained up and collared, shirt torn open, Gabriel and Beelzebub confronting him in the harsh lamplight.

“Where isz thisz Alpha Czentauri?” demanded Beelzebub.

Aziraphale’s eyes darted from one to the other. “It’s…it’s just a place. Crowley mentions it sometimes.”

“And is that part of his rescue plan? Uriel says that’s where he’s heading. Took off in his car with,” Gabriel glanced at a list on his phone, “thirty-seven potted plants, a hundred and five discs of music, and all the wine from your shop. Not really sure what he’s planning to do with all that.”

“You’re…how could you…” The angel pulled his arms against the chains. “He wouldn’t go…”

Crowley turned astonishingly pale. Michael had been very impressed with the thoroughness of Dagon’s records, including a little snippet of conversation from the days after the failed Apocalypse, when the two traitors had made certain plans. Case of emergency, Crowley had said. If we ever have to run, we need to know exactly what we’re taking.

Michael slid the phone back into her pocket. “How long do you think his protection is going to last, once he thinks you’ve betrayed him?”

Crowley clenched his fists, but didn’t move closer. Instead, he threw back his head and howled: “Aziraphale! Can you hear me? I’m here! Aziraphale!”

Michael actually laughed. “That won’t work. He’s –”

“Hellhound pits? Thought I recognized that cell. Fine, he might not be able to hear me, but he still knows I wouldn’t leave him.” He picked up his water pistol and thundered out the door. “I’ll be back.”

Gabriel considered Hastur again; he was aggressively intimidating, which was good, but also aggressively stupid. “All I really need is for you to go in there and act like you want to rip him apart.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.” Hastur grinned…well, it was like a grin, only horrible.

“Remember, he thinks he’s been in the cell for six hours.” It had only been three, but deprived of light, sound, and anything to occupy it, the mind lost all sense of time. “Just play along with whatever I say.”

“I know what I’m doing,” the demon snapped.

Gabriel opened his mouth, and one of the Beelzebub’s flies immediately zipped inside. He coughed, spitting it back out, and it buzzed away, unharmed. “That was rude.”

“You talk too much. Juszt open the door.”

The Archangel reached for the bolt that kept Aziraphale’s cell locked, but spun to point at Hastur again. “Whatever you do, do not threaten any harm against Crowley,” he hissed.

“I threaten whoever I want.”

“One word, one suggestion might be all it takes to set him off, even with the serpent nowhere nearby. Do. Not. Try it.”

The lanternlight pierced the darkness. The pale shape of Aziraphale slumped in his chains, limbs quivering from the strain. His eyes were closed, and he was mumbling to himself, a steady stream that didn’t pause with their approach.

Gabriel settled into the chair. “Saying your prayers, Aziraphale?”

One blue-grey eye cracked open, just a glint in the dark. “Our wedding vows. He will come back for me.”

Hastur snorted, picking up a twisted knife. “He’d’ve turned around by now if he was going to.” It would have been more convincing if he hadn’t immediately smirked at Gabriel.

“I’ve been in worse spots than this. He always comes.”

The voice was still tense, but not as shaky as Gabriel had hoped. The Archangel nodded for Beelzebub to begin pulling at the chains again, moving Aziraphale’s limbs into new, uncomfortable positions.

“You know,” Gabriel started. “If you were actually married, Heaven would have a record of it. We looked. Guess what?”

“It wasn’t under any authority but our own.” Now both eyes opened, looking past Gabriel towards the outline of the door. “We didn’t think it necessary to inform you.”

“We’d still have a record.” Gabriel had never looked at a marriage record in six thousand years, but he could pretend to be an authority on anything. “Unless, of course, one party didn’t really believe in that marriage. Just going through the motions.”

“I know what you’re trying to do.” Aziraphale’s eyes drifted over to the knife Hastur held, and his voice started to tremble. “It won’t work. Crowley will come for me.”

“Yeah,” Hastur gave another maybe-grin. “And if he does –”

Beelzebub grabbed the metal collar around Aziraphale’s neck, jerking his head back as far as ze could. “If he doesz, we let you go. Until then, you’re oursz.”

Gabriel would berate Hastur later. Thoroughly.

“Sorry, Aziraphale. Like I said, not big picture thinkers. They really don’t like that they went through all this trouble and didn’t get to hurt anyone.”

“Well,” Hastur grunted, stepping closer to breathe into the ear opposite Beelzebub. “Not yet, anyway.” He traced the tip of the knife across Aziraphale’s finger.

The angel’s eyes darted from one to the other. “You can’t –”

“Do you know what happensz to an angelic mark when the partiesz are four light-yearsz apart?” Zir tone was as bored as ever, but with the right question, it was still menacing.

“It’s never been tested before,” Gabriel said. “But our models show it fading long before then.”

Hastur dropped his knife and grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist, biting the soft part of his hand.

The angel gasped and pulled away; but thanks to whatever Beelzebub had done with the chains, his wings twisted against each other. Aziraphale gave a cry of pain, lost his balance, limbs jerking like a tangled marionette.

While the demons laughed – well, Hastur laughed, Beelzebub made what you might call a buzz of delight – Gabriel helped Aziraphale find his balance again. “See? It’s already starting,” he said, in soothing, comforting tones. “And it’ll just get worse the farther he goes.”

“That wasn’t…he isn’t…” Now Gabriel could see the confusion, exhaustion and fear he’d come to expect in Aziraphale’s eyes. “What do you want from me?”

Gabriel smiled beatifically, the smile he saved for his most important Messages. “Aziraphale. Just denounce Crowley. He’s leaving you, anyway. Do you want to wait here for hours while your protection fades? Letting the pain grow a little at a time? Giving Hastur a chance to think of something really creative to do with that knife? Denounce him, and we can get it all over with.”

“I…” Aziraphale’s eyes squeezed shut. “I…I know he’s coming. He is coming.”

With a noise of disgust, Gabriel shoved Aziraphale away. The angel gave an undignified squeak as he struggled not to fall again. “If that’s what you want, stand there and suffer. Just remember, every moment I’m down here waiting for you, is a moment I’m feeling less charitable. Let’s go.”

When the door was shut and locked behind them again, leaving Aziraphale alone in the dark with his thoughts, Gabriel allowed himself a laugh. “He’s nearly there.”

“You call that nearly there?” Hastur snarled.

“Agreed. Thisz isz taking too long.”

“I told you, I need one night. Just a little finesse. Not every problem can be beaten into submission.” Gabriel pulled out his phone. Fifteen missed messages from Michael?

“Can if you hit hard enough,” Hastur started, but the Archangel was no longer listening, scrolling through the text messages.

“Can demons make their own Hellfire?”

“Don’t be abszurd.” Beelzebub rolled zir eyes. “It comesz from the firesz of the pitsz. You can’t make it.”

“Yeah,” Hastur added. “It’s in the name. Hellfire. Why?”

As a precaution, Michael had doubled the guard at the escalator, but when the first fiery jar exploded at their feet, they had run screaming in every direction.

She’d retreated to Hell’s main gate, watching back down a corridor now completely consumed by too-hot flames. Strange flames, clinging to surfaces that shouldn’t burn, smoldering with black smoke. Flames that spread and grew in water.

She pointed her sword at the black-clad figure walking unconcerned through the fire. “Out of the way, Michael.” He still held two jars of fire, and the plastic gun strapped to his back.

“I don’t know what these flames are,” she said, calmly as possible, “but I heard back from Gabriel. I know it isn’t Hellfire.”

“Well, close enough. Greek fire. Little something I learned to make in Byzantium.” He threw another jar at her feet.

Michael didn’t flinch, even when the strange, sticky flames exploded across her legs. She forced the heat to dissipate, leaving nothing but a black, tarry substance. “I hope that wasn’t your only trick.”

Cautiously, she took a step towards him, trying to suppress the nearest flames. They were more resistant than normal fire, but once she knew they couldn’t harm her true self, it was easy enough.

Crowley backed away a few steps. She couldn’t see his eyes – the glasses reflected the light and flames – but she knew they’d be darting around again. Looking for a way past.

“Give up, Crowley. Or I’ll find out just how effective this sword is.”

“Let me see him again,” the demon demanded. “Show me Aziraphale and I’ll go.”

She could still hear the screams of her guards upstairs. He might not be able to cause harm, but the panic and chaos he brought was bad enough.

“Not here. Go home, send me a picture of yourself nice and comfortable. And I’ll send you a video of the angel. That’s the only deal you’re going to get.”

He clutched at the jar in his hand, but they both knew throwing it would be a meaningless gesture. With a sneer, Crowley spun and walked away. “This still isn’t the end, Michael!”

Once he was gone, she sighed in relief, and prepared to lecture her soldiers on proper discipline in the face of new weapons.

Crowley sat in the bookshop, in Aziraphale’s favorite chair. He’d cleaned up the spilled wine and shattered glass, gathered together the white feathers from the carpet.

It was nearly midnight.

The video played again.

“What’s so special about Alpha Centauri, anyway?” Gabriel asked, voice soft and calm. He sat in that folding chair like it was the Throne of Creation.

“It’s…just a place Crowley likes.” It hurt to look at Aziraphale, the way the chains pulled his wings back, his neck forward, his arms to the side. They weren’t supposed to be able to hurt him, but they’d still found a way. More than one; the strain in his voice had nothing to do with that on his limbs. “I don’t know why he went, but he’s coming back.”

“When did he first mention it?”

“During…when we thought the world would end.” He shifted his feet, one arm stretching to the limit. “Nn. He wanted to run. I didn’t. He came back.”

“Not this time.”

“He’s going to come. I know he’s going to come back.”

Crowley paused the video, rubbing his eyes. It was a trick he’d taught Aziraphale. Don’t try to be smart. Don’t be clever. It’s not like the movies. Just pick one thought, any thought, doesn’t matter what. And repeat it, over and over. Don’t think about anything else. Crowley should have known that he would be the thought Aziraphale picked.

He could hear the uncertainty creeping in. Was the mark on his chest looking paler than before?

He needed to reach Aziraphale, now.

Michael had doubled the guard again.

It wasn’t easy. Rumors of what the demon was capable of were spreading faster than his trick fire had.

But when Crowley sauntered up to the lobby at 1:45 AM, he found the room ringed with thirty fully armed angels.

She’d hoped he would be intimidated. Instead, he just waved.

“Lovely night for a drive, isn’t it?”

“You won’t get past us again, Crowley.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Just popping in for a friendly greeting.” He lounged against the glass door, opening it as far as it would go. “Say hello to my little friends.”

A swarm of rats – fifty, sixty, seventy, more – poured in through the door, flooding the lobby, scrambling over the feet of the guards, descending the escalator with a speed she wouldn’t have thought possible.

“Ooh, I can see you’re busy. Have fun, Michael.”

Beelzebub paced outside the cell. It had been over six hours, and so far they’d only succeeded in making the angel tired and uncomfortable.

Gabriel insisted it was going well. That the angel would break any minute. Just act like the result is inevitable, and sooner enough the prisoner will accept it.

The theory was interesting enough, but it still made for the most boring torture session in six millennia.

Some noise down the corridor. Beelzebub sent a few flies to investigate, buzzing around between the heads of demons.

Fifteen rats making their way down the hall, darting under feet and around tentacles, biting, scratching, but moving with more purpose than rats usually did.

These would be the vermin Crowley had unleashed. According to Michael, there were a lot more, but Hell was already full of rats. Did he think this would impress them? Make any difference in…

Something was different about these rodents.

Walking as fast as ze could, Beelzebub reached the edge of the commotion – the barriers keeping the crowds of Hell away from the angel’s cell – just as the first rat slipped out into the open. Ze snatched up the struggling creature, studying it. Brown fur, four scratchy paws, long bald tail –

There was a scrap of fabric tied to the tail, in a little bow. Tartan. Beelzebub scrambled in zir pocket and pulled out the angel’s tie. It matched exactly.

Nine more rats broke free of the crowd, racing towards the cell with tiny tartan bows dragging behind.

A message.

Beelzebub kicked apart the barrier and shouted at the demons behind. “Grab thosze ratsz! I want every rat in Hell captured, now! Move!”

The door to Dagon’s file room burst open.

She leapt across her desk, teeth bared. Who would dare interrupt her day? Four nothing demons? Armed with clubs? “This better be good,” she snarled, “or you’re going to wish you were swimming in a sulfur pool.”

“We…” the lead demon took one look at her teeth, and lost all nerve. “We’re looking for rats…”

“Rats? Rats? Look at this room –” Dagon gestured expansively to the overstuffed filing cabinets, the row on row of shelves filled with books and boxes and scrolls and, in the farthest corner, clay tablets. “Do you think I allow a single rodent in my domain? If you’ve come here to waste my time…”

She paused. Something wasn’t right. A noise she couldn’t account for. Rustling.

Gesturing for the others to follow, she stalked down the row of shelves, filled to bursting with files on every temptation, every misdeed, every demonic report since the dawn of time.

There – the fourth case down, on a shelf six feet high, one of the boxes vibrated with faint movement. Something was shuffling around. Skittering, even. As they approached, a little brown head popped out, scrap of paper in its mouth. It wiggled its whiskers at them.

“Get it!” shouted one of the demons, and all four raced forward, clubs falling, scrambling up the shelves.

“No! Stop! Don’t –”

With a crack, the case started to lean, slowly topple, and then crashed into the next.

And the next.

A hundred shelves overbalancing and collapsing like dominoes, a hurricane of paper filling the air, and Dagon stood in its eye, ready to scream.

The rat darted past her toes, a tiny bow on its tail.

In every corridor of Hell, demons raced after rodents, scrambling for them, grabbing them up only to drop them once the biting started.

Hastur chased after his prey as it got closer and closer to the prisoner’s cell. As it crossed the last meter, he dove to the ground, snagging the end of its tail.

The skin of the tail ripped free in his hand. But so did the little bit of fabric. The rat escaped, wriggling through a hole in the cell wall smaller than a demon’s hand, but without its message.

With a snarl, Hastur went in search of another.

Aziraphale was determined not to cry. He just didn’t know how much longer he could last.

His whole body ached. He told himself that it was just the chains, the way he’d been hanging in them for hours and days and eternity. It wasn’t a sign that Crowley had abandoned him, it wasn’t.

He just wanted to sit down.

One of the chains shook. He looked up into the darkness, wondering what new torment this was.

A rat dropped onto his shoulder, tail bleeding, claws scrambling at the heavy collar around his neck.

The first sobs started to escape.

Crowley paced outside the lobby of Heaven and Hell as the lead rat reported in.

“No, I’m sure you did your best. Did everyone make it out?” Tiny rat fingers ran across its whiskers. “That’s something at least. Shit.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to think. It would be dawn soon. They’d had Aziraphale all night.

“Right. No more nice demon. Time for plan B.”

The rat squeaked.

“I don’t know, D? E? It’s not like I’m keeping count.” He eyed the pack of angels in the lobby, larger than ever. “I’m not going to get many more chances. This has to work.”

He knelt down and looked carefully at his agent. “I need you to tell me exactly where they’re holding him, got it?”

Gabriel held the pile of fabric scraps in both hands. “Is this all of them?”

“Isz it?” Beelzebub demanded of Hastur.

“Well?” Hastur turned to the small group of demons who had declared themselves Hell’s best rat catchers. They all shifted their feet uneasily.

“We think so,” one offered, and the others nodded agreement. “We can’t find any more.”

“You think so,” Hastur started. “And that’s –”

“Enough,” Beelzebub interrupted. Gabriel and his psychology, Hastur and his noise. This wasn’t how things were done. “If I szee another rat, bow or not, I’ll feed one of you to the Hellhoundsz. I don’t care which. And I’ll keep going until there are no more of you left. Undersztand?”

The group of demons glanced at each other. “We’ll…we’ll look again.”

Gabriel looked almost impressed, but right now he could stick his condescension up any and every orifice in his coroporation. Beelzebub grabbed the fabric out of his hands. “Bring the lamp and don’t szay a word. I’ll show you how it’sz done.”

Crowley’s phone buzzed.

He looked up from the map of Hell he was sketching on a receipt from Aziraphale’s favorite bakery. It was going to take a lot of careful planning, but his idea was finally starting to take shape. He just hoped his Angel could hold out a little longer.

A text from Michael. “Thanks!” Followed by emojis: a rat, a bow, a smiling angel.

Then the video file loaded.

Beelzebub walked into the cell, in that way every demon in Hell knew meant find some way to look busy on the other side of the world. This time it was Gabriel who trailed behind.

“We caught up to your huszband,” Beelzebub spat. “Gave him our proof. You know what he szaid?”

The hope dawning on Aziraphale’s face looked painful. It certainly ripped Crowley’s heart to shreds.

Beelzebub dropped something at the angel’s feet. The lantern light shifted forward: dozens of scraps of tartan, a bowtie shredded to ribbons.

“Lying,” the angel said numbly. “Coming back.”

“No!” The Prince of Hell’s flat disdain rarely cracked; the anger that leaked out was something few demons had ever seen, and even fewer had survived. “He’sz not!” Ze picked up a knife, sharp edge glinting in the uneven light. “Crowley isz never!” The blade slashed across Aziraphale’s palm. “Coming!” Across his face. “Back!” Across his stomach – and this time left a bright red line, glaringly visible below the pale trace of his sigil.

It wasn’t a cut. But it was a mark. An injury.

Beelzebub pressed the point of the knife into Aziraphale’s chin, forcing his head back. “Szo you’re going to be our gueszt. Forever.”

When ze pulled the knife away, there was a drop of blood on it.

Aizraphale collapsed in his chains, sobbing, heartbroken.

And Beelzebub turned and smiled directly at the camera.

The video ended.

Crowley stared at his blank phone, at the map on the receipt. And threw them into the back of the car.

“Fuck planning,” he snarled. “Time to improvise.”

Beelzebub bolted the cell door.

“That,” Gabriel said, voice full of some kind of emotion. “That was amazing! You just –"

“Shut up,” Beelzebub snapped. Satan, why had ze even invited the Archangel for this? He had done nothing to help, just dragged his feet with his stupid mind games. “I’m getting the torturersz. You can play with the angel until we get back. Then he’sz oursz.”

“Of course. You’re sure I should have Michael send this video to Crowley?”

“I don’t care. What’sz he going to do? Send more rodentsz?”

In a way, Michael was enjoying herself.

Trying to keep out one highly determined demon was almost as much fun as planning a war. Twenty angels scattered around the lobby itself, four more making a line across the escalators. More than that, and they just got in each other’s way. She’d switched off the escalator to Heaven, stationed a dozen more with arrows all along it. And five scouts up and down the street outside.

Whatever Crowley tried to do next, they were ready for it.

Something like thunder rumbled in the distance, except the sky was perfectly clear. She could see the last stars, giving way to the pre-dawn light.

And some other sound. A strange, discordant clanging, perhaps? But very faint.

“What is that?” she demanded.

Were there words in the clanging?

…lords and lady preach…

“I’m not sure, sir,” said the nearest angel dutifully, “but it sounds horrible.”

“Well, naturally,” she agreed.

…descend upon your…skies…

“I think,” said another with a frown, “that’s what the reports call bebop.”

…command your very souls you unbelievers…

Three of Michael’s scouts burst through the doors, waving their arms frantically. “Move!” one managed to gasp. “Out of the way!”

Bring before me what is mine…

“Of what?”

With a squeal of tires, the long black demonic car burst through the glass windows of the lobby, roar of the engine echoing off the walls, mixed with the sound of music screaming about The Seven Seas of Rhye. Flaming arrows rained on it from above, and bounced off with no effect.

The car crossed the lobby in seconds, and it was accelerating.

There was really no way a vintage car should have been able to fit down that escalator, but the Bentley was very good at getting places she didn’t belong.

He knew he’d hit a few angels on the way through the lobby, but they’d survive and he didn’t actually give a damn, a shit or any fucks at all.

Up ahead, someone was trying to close the main gates of Hell. With a grin, Crowley shifted gears, stomped on the throttle and cranked the music up even louder.

Storm the master marathon I'll fly through By flash and thunder fire I'll survive, I’ll survive, I’ll survive Then I'll defy the laws of nature and come out alive Then I'll get you…

Gabriel stood beside Aziraphale as he broke down, weeping messily. He could see the last few strands of faith holding that pale mark in place, but they would break very soon.

“I know it hurts, Aziraphale, but you really should have expected it. He’s a demon. He tempted you away from Heaven, and then he betrayed you. It’s what they do.”

The bound angel shook his head. “No. My choice. I – I – I wanted to…to live. To love.” The door opened and his head jerked up, but it was just Beelzebub, and Hastur, and five other demons, each nastier than the last. Another strand of faith broke. “Crowley, please,” he whimpered.

“If you’re going to quesztion him, aszk if he would rather sztart with bladesz or fire.” The glimpse of anger had vanished, buried again under that mask of boredom. It was actually an impressive bit of psychological warfare. They should talk about it sometime, compare notes.

“You did say you wanted choices,” Gabriel reminded him.

“I…I want to go home…” That broken tone was music to the Archangel’s ears. “Please…just let me go…I won’t…I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Too late for that,” Beelzebub said, as the other demons began selecting their tools.

“Tell you what,” Gabriel put an arm around Aziraphale. “When they’re done, you can come back to Heaven. Would you like that? I mean, we can’t reinstate you, but I’m sure there’s some role we can find for you.”

Once the demons had done their work, he’d have some better ideas for Aziraphale’s punishment and execution. Given the rumors that were circling, he’d have to make it very public this time, and he couldn’t afford any more misjudgments.

Hastur pushed his way past the other demons. “This was my idea. I’ve waited fucking long enough. I get to go first.”

Gabriel stepped aside, giving Aziraphale one last pat on the shoulder.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.

Looping his grubby fingers around the metal collar, Hastur pulled Aziraphale off the ground entirely. “I am going to introduce you to whole new kinds of pain, angel.”

“Juszt leave szome limbsz for the reszt,” Beelzebub reminded him.

…comes the black queen…

Some kind of commotion had started up, across the empty plaza.

Gabriel glanced out the cell door, half expecting to see more rats. No, just that strange thunder again. “What is that?”

…Fi-fo the black queen, marching single file…

Both Hastur and Aziraphale turned towards the door, recognition dawning on their faces.

“No.” Hastur growled. “No, no, no –”

“Crowley…”

“NO!” The anger Beelzebub had let slip in the night was nothing compared to that moment. Ze raced out of the cell, arms waving at the crowd. “Szomeone sztop him! Whatever you have to do!”

Gabriel’s legs brought him even further. “Release the Hellhounds! Get the fire, anything – destroy him!”

“You will not,” came a quiet voice. Slowly, Gabriel and Beelzebub turned back towards the cell door, which was still wide open. Aziraphale was standing straight, deadly calm. “You will not hurt Crowley.”

“Shit.”

A voice from behind me reminds me

Aziraphale stepped forward, shaking off his chains as if they were cobwebs, dispelling the gloom with the glow of his wings and the demonic sigil on his chest, bright as daylight.

Hastur didn’t back away fast enough, and Aziraphale threw him clear across the plaza, to crash into the far wall.

Spread out your wings, you are an angel

“Shut the door!” Gabriel and Beelzebub threw their weight against it, driving the bolts home.

With one kick from the angel inside, it crumbled like paper.

Remember to deliver with the speed of light A little bit of love and joy

“You will not. Hurt. My husband.”

Aziraphale held a length of chain in his hands, stygian iron and celestial orichalcum. It glowed as his angelic powers flowed through.

“Your husb – oh, Crowley.” Gabriel held up his hands, backing away. “Is that who that is? I thought it was some new breed of demon.”

“I have no idea what anyone isz talking about.”

“You’re liars.”

Everything you do bears a will and a why and a wherefore A little bit of love and joy

“I think liars is taking it too far, Aziraphale, you know –”

“You said he left me. You lied. And I believed you.” The chain flashed out, ripping their feet out from under them. “But I will not let you hurt him.”

“No one isz going to hurt the traitor,” Beelzebub insisted. “You want to leave, go!”

In each and every soul lies a man Very soon he'll deceive and discover

“Oh, I’ll leave.” He grabbed them each by the front of the shirt, lifting them clear off the ground. “But not until I’m sure he’s safe from you.”

But even 'til the end of his life He'll bring a little love

The Bentley wasn’t as bad as the day he’d driven it through a burning M25, but it was still less than pristine. The front end was all bashed up, the sides scratched and scraped, and he’d probably be digging demon teeth out of the grille for weeks.

But he finally broke free of the crowd, and there ahead stood his angel, looking worn and tired, shirt in tatters, but alive. And smiling.

Behind him stood a cell of some kind, the door held on not by hinges, but a web of black and gold chains. There was probably some story there, but Crowley didn’t care.

He spun the Bentley in a wide circle, and came to a stop in front of Aziraphale, pushing open the door. “Did you call for a lift?”

“Crowley…” He climbed into his usual seat and shut the door. “I should very much like to go home now, if you don’t mind.”

Crowley ran his hands along the steering wheel.

What he wanted was to grab his husband into a hug that never ended, to apologize, to swear it was all a mistake, a lie, he’d never leave…

But Crowley recognized that look. Aziraphale was barely holding together, and any display of that kind would utterly destroy him.

So, ignoring the tearstains streaked across Aziraphale’s face, Crowley put the Bentley into gear. “Why don’t you pick out some music for the ride?”

Michael was still standing.

Not by much, but she was.

Her soldiers had abandoned their posts. All the demons in Hell seemed to be hiding. She couldn’t reach Gabriel. But she was still standing.

She planted her feet in the hallway, facing the gates of Hell, sword pointed ahead, waiting for that blasted machine to return. She could hear it coming. A noise like thunder. The terrifying, unrelenting baseline of the next song.

She was not going to move.

The hallway stretched before them. The escalator. Freedom.

And in between, Michael.

There are plenty of ways that you can hurt a man And bring him to the ground

“What do you want to do?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale turned up the music. “I believe the term is ‘floor it,’ dear.”

You can beat him, you can cheat him You can treat him bad and leave him when he’s down.

Crowley shifted into fourth, and took his husband’s hand.

The car came, faster and faster. The sound of it, the heat of it, filled the corridor.

But I’m ready, yes, I’m ready for you

Michael could see their faces inside. She met their eyes, held their gazes. Stared them down.

I’m standing on my own two feet

Aziraphale smiled and waved. Crowley did, too, but with only two fingers.

Out of the doorway the bullets rip

And Michael…leapt out of the way at the last minute.

Repeating to the sound of the beat…

“Ta very much,” Crowley shouted out the window. “Let’s never do this again.”

“Wanker,” Aziraphale called.

The car, impossibly, climbed up the escalator, and shot across the broken glass of the lobby, escaping into the sunrise.

In the dark of the cell, Gabriel crossed his arms, glaring at all the other demons trapped in here with him. That one in the corner looked like he might be trouble. The Archangel hoped he wouldn’t have to make examples out of any of them.

“So. While we’re stuck here. Who’s fault was all this again?”

Beelzebub rolled zir eyes and glared at Hastur, just recovering from his head-first meeting with the wall.

And Hastur bit his hand so hard it leaked foul black blood, then howled: “Crowley!”

Afterward

Aziraphale lay in his four-poster bed, wrapped in every blanket Crowley could find. Already the table beside him held three mugs of tea – black, green, and chamomile – and one of hot cocoa. There was a bowl of soup, a tray of chocolates, and another plate with a dozen different pastries.

Crowley frowned, trying to find space to fit the sandwich. He carefully re-stacked Aziraphale’s three favorite books to make a bit more room.

“Thank you, dear, that’s quite enough.”

“No, no it isn’t. There’s no ice cream. You want ice cream? And pie. Let me go get some pie.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale called sternly. “There’s only one thing I need right now.”

“What’s that? I’ll get you anything, Angel, whatever you want.”

“I need my husband.” There was the faintest quiver in his voice.

In a flurry of movement, Crowley crawled into the bed, wrapping his limbs around Aziraphale, pulling him into his embrace. “I’m here, Aziraphale, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, I’m never ever going to leave you.”

“I – I do know that. I promise. I – I won’t doubt you again. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, no.” Crowley twisted around to cup his face, wiping away the tears that were starting to fall. “You don’t apologize. I’m sorry. I should have gotten there sooner. Michael and her bloody guards. I won’t let them take you, ever again.”

“Oh, dear, no, don’t blame yourself. What could you have done?” He sniffed, and wiggled a little deeper into his blanket-cocoon. “Besides, you’d have to stay with me every minute of every day. I can’t ask that of you.”

“Too bad. I’m asking it of you.” He pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s forehead. “I know we said we wouldn’t rush into living together, but I’m ready. I don’t ever want to be apart from you again, not for a second. Not after this.”

“I…yes, Crowley. I feel the same.” He sighed. “I’d like to hold your hand now, but –”

“No. You’re still in shock. Stay in your blankets.” He rearranged himself one more time, draping himself across Aziraphale like another blanket, looping his arms around his angel’s neck, resting his head on his husband’s heart. “I’ve got you now. You just rest. I’m here.”

Thanks for reading! The Bentley’s Queen songs were “Seven Seas of Rhye,” “March of the Black Queen,” and “Another One Bites the Dust.” I don’t write the demon crew very often, so I hope they were entertaining!

I’ll probably post this tonight to AO3. Check the notes for a link.

49 notes · View notes

bibliophileiz · 6 years

Text

Wayward AF

Since I can’t really organize my thoughts without screaming and jumping up and down and I’m just going to, um, “liveblog” on like my ... sixth? ... rewatch. Wayward Sisters was just. So good.

Obviously, spoilers abound below.

- First thing first: Opening song in the Then sequence has me pumped.

- Werewolf stuff: Love that Claire is saving a little girl with blond curly hair. Bet she kind of wishes she had that happy an ending to her supernatural adventure when she was that age. Werewolf fight scene is really good -- Kathryn Newton’s using actual defense moves women are taught in self-defense classes. I’m specifically thinking of how you jam the heel of your hand into the softer part of an attacker’s face when he’s on top of you. “I kill monsters. That’s who the hell I am.” Yeah, it is. Also, for all Jody (and Claire) go on about Claire jumping in without a plan, I think the ‘shooting a werewolf through a box while wearing a delivery hat’ thing constitutes a pretty good one.

- Alert, Claire has a journal. Repeat, CLAIRE HAS A JOURNAL!

- Loving all the overhead shots, but does anyone else think it makes Sioux Falls look like a theme park? It just looks so pleasant from above.

- (I’m sure Sioux Falls is pleasant, although I wouldn’t know because I’ve never been to South Dakota, but it looks like, Disney Land pleasant is my point.)

- Alex called Walt.

- ”You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”

- Related, how tall are all of these girls? Clark Backo looks like she’s almost as tall as her jeep, but the other women all only look a little shorter. (I am obsessed with tall girls because I myself am 5′1″.)

- All of these characters are wonderful, but Alex might be my favorite, which I didn’t expect.

- Walking into Kaia’s hospital room, Claire’s already got her flirt on, leaning against the door, flipping her hair around. Then she swoops in and saves her from the monster (with Jody’s help) a few minutes later. Kaia’s knight in a leather jacket.

- Alex snapping her rubber gloves before ripping the monster’s face mask off is weirdly attractive.

- Did anyone EVER think they would see a scene between two women comparing SCARS??? That’s the sort of thing you see between gruff over-testosteroned dudebros in Steven Spielberg movies.

- “I might puke.” Patience did not sign up for this.

- “Don’t tell me it tastes like chicken.” “No Sam, it’s a lizard. It tastes like a lizard.”

- “(The door) stayed open for a few hours.” Dean, it stayed open for a few hours only because your ex-boyfriend killed himself closing it early, wtf, show Crowley some respect.

- “If I go now, maybe my dad will take me back.” “Is that what you want?” Alex “I was raised by vampires” Jones can’t figure out why someone would want to hang out with anyone but Jody.

- I am here for the Patience vs. Claire standoff.

- “Believe me now?” Claire just got told.

- D-Train Sheriff Donna “She’s killed a lot of vampires” Hanscum and she has all that because she’s from Minnesota. She has a nickname for Claire, and it’s Rainbow Brite and Claire responds to it and just ... ugh, my heart. Patience’s face when Donna asks who knows how to use a flamethrower just makes my life. I was honestly expecting her to be a little over the top because ... Donna’s over the top. But she had the perfect amount of humor, toughness and sweetness, and just, ugh. I love Donna in this one.

- There’s a lot to unpack in the scene between Kaia and Claire in the back of the jeep, and I’m gonna need a whole other post about it.

- “Donna, I cannot lose another child.” Crying forever for Jody.

- Does the music during the monster scene when Jody and Donna are sneaking through the ship remind anyone else of the music playing during the Mines of Moria sequence in Fellowship of the Ring when the fellowship’s running from the Balrog?

- “Darth Dickwad!” Maybe that should be included somehow in Claire and Kaia’s ship name.

- It makes a lot of sense that Kaia goes in because she kind of knows her way around the Bad Place.

- The defensive position Donna, Patience and Alex take againt the monsters at the top of the stairs is actually a really good one. They can hold their ground and take out the monsters one at a time, and the monsters can’t charge them all at once in the narrow stairway. Also, I don’t think they really need Jody to help hold off the monsters, and Jody could have gone in with Claire, which I thought she was going to suggest. I really like how Jody’s kind of torn between helping Donna and the other girls and looking after Claire. Her maternal instincts are being pulled in two directions.

- I also super love Donna being a mentor to Patience.

- “Our hero.” You better believe Claire’s your hero, Dean.

- Simultaneously the best and worst part of the episode Kaia shoves Claire out of the way of the spear. Great moment. She looks up and holds out her hand weakly. Claire grabs it and whispers, “Kaia.” Kaia’s hand slips out of hers as she dies. Gold. Followed immediately by this fucking WASTE OF SPECIAL EFFECTS, WHAT THE FUCK A GIANT ROCK MONSTER?!?!?!?! I’m just saying, if you’re going to use your special effects budget, can you at least use it on a Lucifer-Michael battle that is cooler than them punching each other? Seriously? It’s just. The monster was menacing enough when we just heard it crashing through the forest, you didn’t need to ruin it with the stick figure monster. (Rock figure? It was kind of bulky.) I’m just saying, the time spent showing us a not-very-realistic monster could have been spent drawing out the drama of Kaia’s death scene. It’s just. It could have been like Boromir’s death scene in Fellowship of the Ring. (I know I keep comparing aspects of this episode to Fellowship. Trust me. That’s a good thing.) It. Could. Have. Been. Great. If it had been given more time to breathe. And I guess you can make the argument that it’s supposed to happen pretty quickly because the portal’s closing and the monster’s coming and Dean’s having to grab Claire to keep her from charging at spear-throwing Dark Kaia, which is also a great moment, but that argument is kind of weak when they spend, like, five minutes standing by the portal staring at the shitty monster when they really should have just jumped through it as soon as they reached it. As I said, simultaneously best and worst part of the episode. Really really good death scene, marred by the hideously designed rock giant monster thing. (Also, if we hadn’t seen the monster, then tumblr would have spent the next six months arguing over whether it was a dinosaur or a dragon or a giant, and I could have thrived on that shit.)

- Patience killed a monster!

- I also like that Patience realizes her vision was true but that she read it wrong. She saw someone die and then saw Jody cradling Claire in her arms and just assumed Claire was the one who died. She doesn’t realize until it’s too late that Claire was actually mourning the person who died. I’m a fan of Patience having to learn how to read her psychic visions.

- In fact, I’m just a fan of everything about Patience in general. I want her and Alex to be besties too. I feel like they’d bond over science and schooling, and Claire would make sarcastic comments about them being nerds together.

- Dean better feel bad for Kaia’s death after threatening her with a gun, that’s all I’m saying.

- I like the idea of Jody and Co. taking care of the monsters from the Bad Place (especially if Dark Kaia is going to keep opening portals), but I hope there are some Supernatural Verse monsters in Wayward too -- I feel like Claire still has a few bones to pick with angels, and Alex can take out some more vampires.

- Claire’s internal monologue at the end reminds me of Veronica Mars. I wonder if they plan to have Claire do an internal monologue for all the episodes if the show gets picked up. Not sure how I feel about that -- internal monologues can get really cheesy really quickly, but some actresses can pull them off. (It actually doesn’t work as well when men do it for some reason.)

- “I don’t care if I have to tear another hole in the universe. We’re going to find it, and I’m going to kill it.”

- I can’t see Kaia show back up at the end without breaking into a huge grin. I know it’s supposed to be, like, a dark version of her, but I can’t help it.

- Overall, I’m psyched and I hope this can be a show. I’m telling all my friends who have sort of gotten away from watching Supernatural to try this one out. It will make an amazing show, and I REALLY want to see Claire’s reaction to like jerking the hood off and seeing KAIA!!

- (Also I want an episode where they have to deal with angel shenanigans, and they’re like, “We don’t know anything about angels, let’s call the Winchesters” but Sam and Dean are busy, so they send Cas, and he’s there all awkward and nerdy and totally hitting it off with Alex, and Patience is so confused because maybe by this time she’s seen pictures of Claire’s parents, and she’s just like, “Isn’t that your dad?” and Claire’s like, “Ugh.”)

- 10/10 would watch Wayward Sisters if it became a show.

#wayward sisters #supernatural #supernatural spoilers #wayward sister spoilers #claire and kaia are in love #but that fucking rock monster

1 note · View note

shirtlesssammy · 7 years

Text

Abandon All Hope...: 5x10 Recap

Then:

Jo and Ellen! Whaaaa.

Now:

We open to Generic City, USA, where a fancy man in a fancy suit exits a fancy car under a highway, and buries a small box in the gravel. “Mr. Pendleton, I presume.” Ah, the first words uttered by our previously only mentioned friend, Crowley. The man is surprised Crowley isn’t a woman, since this deal will be sealed with a kiss. Get over your homophobia dude. (Ha, Boris is typing this up as she watches and loves that Crowley calls him out on this as well. Oh Crowley, how we’ll miss you.) Crowley starts counting and the dude agrees, and our favorite King of the Cross Roads swoops in to seal the deal. (Boris is just going to pause right here and admit she doesn’t rewatch this episode. It’s too painful, so I didn't remember how long this kiss lasted. I know this isn’t romantic and my thoughts are way off topic, blah, blah, blah, but uh, yeah, I’m not going to settle for anything less than a kiss when Destiel does eventually exist.) Anyway, the crossroads deal is witnessed by our favorite flying badass in a trenchcoat. Castiel has tracked down Crowley.

Cas is on the phone with Dean, filling him in with the deal. Ah! This is the episode where Dean calls Cas Huggy Bear (ok, my half of the recap will just be be reminiscing on quotes, etc. that I didn’t realize happened in this episode.#sorrynotsorry) Crowley tells the man to enjoy his new wealth and that he’ll see him in 10 years. (crying noise, crying noise) Crowley takes off, with Cas in hot pursuit. Cas tracks him to a place that’s warded with Enochian magic, which means Cas can’t enter. Sam and Dean are on the case!

Later that night we’re introduced to Crowley’s domicile, and one of my very favorite musical quasi-introductions of a character ever on this show. Crowley’s making cocktails, watching Hitler videos, listening to the Main Ingredient’s “Everybody Plays the Fool”. (Fun fact: Cuba Gooding Sr. is the lead singer of this band.)

A woman buzzes the main gate. In distress, she asks for help with her car that’s broken down. The woman turns to the camera, and it’s Jo! The demon guards are condescending and gross, but Jo’s a professional hunter and plays with them long enough for Sam to stick a demon blade in each of them. Along with Dean, the trio head inside to find Crowley.

Once inside, Sam and Dean confront Crowley. They’re smart, but he’s Crowley, so their hidden devil’s trap idea doesn’t work. Instead, they’re captured by Crowley’s minions. He knows exactly why they’re visiting him: The Colt. He promptly shoots both his demons with the gun. Plot Twist!

Crowley leads the brothers deeper into his inner sanctum, informing them that without his rumors about the Colt, they wouldn’t have had the gun at all. He had it well hidden. Sam wonders why he would share it with them at all. “I want you to take this thing to Lucifer, and empty it into his face.” Crowley’s loathing for that particular fallen angel dates way back. Crowley understands that if Lucifer succeeds in destroying humankind, demons are next. “So what do you say if I give you this thing, and you go kill the devil?” IT’S A PLAN! What can possibly go wrong?! NOTHING. WE WIN. YAY! Crowley even tells them that Lucifer’s got an appointment in Carthage, MO.

Omg, Sam gets the Colt and then tries to shoot Crowley with it? Lol. Barely batting an eye, Crowley gets them some more ammunition. And tells them that they better not fuck this up, MORONS!

*Classic Drinking Alert*

Back at Bobby’s, Ellen and Jo are trying to upstage Cas with their drinking prowess. And fail.

After 5 shots, Cas admits, “I think I’m starting to feel something.”

Sam and Dean discuss the probability that this is all a trap. It is a trap, but the devil is in Missouri. Dean tells Sam that he can’t come --there’s no way they’re just going to hand his vessel over to the devil. Sam insists they’re doing this as a team. Dean relents.

Dean, resigned to his probable death in the morning, decides to give Jo his best “last night on Earth” line (you know, the one he gave Anna --AND CAS), but is shut down. Dude, you shouldn’t have sister-zoned her in season 2. Bobby calls everybody over for a group photo. (crying noise, crying noise)

The group enters Carthage, and Sam’s internal wi-fi is faulty.

I also really enjoy the set design’s juxtapositions sometimes:

The boys head off to check out a different part of town, while Jo, Ellen, and Cas (Boris asks: Why was he with them? Answer revealed two seconds later.) scope out the downtown. It looks empty, but Cas reveals that it’s full of reapers.

Cas informs them that reapers only gather like this in times of great catastrophe (and then mentions the Chicago fire. *Puts on Wisconsin Nerd Glasses* The Peshtigo fire, which happened on the same exact night, was actually a far more devastating fire.) Cas wanders off to find out why the reapers are there (man, I miss these creepy ass reapers. I mean, if April was anything like these weirdos, human!Cas would have avoided her at all costs, love of PB&J or not.)

Cas follows one reaper into a building, and is trapped by Lucifer (ok, fine, maybe he wouldn’t have avoided April).

Dean, Sam, Jo, and Ellen meet back up. Cas is missing.

Cas is currently trapped in a fire ring of holy oil. Ok, guys, things are about to get heavy, so take a quick breather:

Lucifer questions Cas’s loyalty to the Winchesters, and marvels at what a peculiar thing he is. You idiot, he’s just like you, only he rebelled against Heaven because he loves humanity too much. Cas notices Lucifer's vessel is failing. He tells Lucifer that he will not take Sam Winchester as his vessel; Cas won’t let him. Lucifer then points out how similar they are, but Cas will not serve Lucifer. He’ll die first. (crying noise, crying noise)

Meanwhile, back with Team Anti-Lucifer, Dean’s missing the angel. As they walk down the street, they’re greeted by Meg, and her faithful hell hounds. We still hate Meg at this point. Dean is particularly stressed about the invisible hell hounds. He shoots one, and they all take off running. Dean goes down and Jo goes back to protect him, but is attacked herself. SON OF A BITCH. This does not get easier on a rewatch. Dean scoops her up and they all run into a store. Sam and Dean secure the perimeter, while Ellen assesses her daughter’s wounds. GODDAMMIT, WHERE'S THE ANGEL!?! It’s bad, folks, and they all know it.

“It's gonna be alright,” Ellen murmurs over her mortally wounded daughter. Sam approaches Dean in despair but Dean bolsters him as he toils over an old radio. Meg has confirmed that Lucifer is in town. They can't give up now.

Back at Bobby's, his CB radio turns on. It's Dean. “Is everyone alright?” Bobby asks.

“No,” Dean tells him, shaking. “It's Jo. It's pretty bad.”

*Wraps Dean in a blanket*

Bobby can tell that Dean is breaking apart and he calmly prompts him for the next step. Dean tries to reign in his despair to refocus on the mission. “Tell me what you got,” Bobby asks.

They tell Bobby that Cas saw over a dozen reapers at least before he went missing.

Bobby: I don't like the sound of that.

Dean: Nobody likes the sound of that, Bobby. But what does that sound like?

Bobby thinks that Lucifer is in town to raise a new horseman. He's going to raise Death, the “pale horseman in the flesh.” (Me: takes some time out of HARD CORE MOURNING to chuckle at the use of “in the flesh” to describe an oft-skeletal being.) The last time Death walked the world was the great floods of Noah's time. While the team has been out on their mission, Bobby's been researching the town. He discovered an old battle ground on a farm dubbed the “Devil's Hell Hole” where hundreds of soldiers died. Hmm, sounds haunty.

Meanwhile, Lucifer's still smirking at Cas when Meg arrives with a report. The Winchesters are pinned down by their hell hound guards. Lucifer tells her to leave them for now and counsels her to have patience when she wishes for bloodier orders. Lucifer offers Cas the gift of time in his little fire circle. He can sit in his corner and think about Lucifer's offer to join his side.

Back at the shop, the boys go over their to-do list. They've got to sneak past several hell hounds, take Jo and Ellen to safety, and then make it out to the farm before Lucifer raises Death. Noooo problem. Sam heads off to find a stretcher for Jo when she stops them and begs them to be realistic. She can't move her legs, her guts are an ace bandage away from spilling to the floor... She's toast. Ellen begs her not to give up but Jo rattles off her own to-do list. They've got everything in the store they need to build a bomb. “Those are hell hounds out there. They've got all of our scents. Those bitches will never stop coming after you.” She tells them to head to the roof and she'll take them out when they storm the store.

Ellen begs her not to do this, not to give up. But Jo doesn't see it as giving up. She's a fighter and, “This might literally be your last chance to treat me like an adult. Might wanna take it?” Fucking KNIFE twist, Jo.

Ellen wrestles her tears under control. “You heard her,” she tells the boys. “Get to work.”

Enter a bomb making montage:

Dean lays the final wires and brings the trigger to Jo. “See you on the other side,” he says. “Probably sooner than later.”

“Make it later,” Jo smiles at him.

Dean presses one final kiss to Jo's forehead, then to her lips. It holds all the weight of what might have been, all the weight of her young life cut short. Ellen crouches as though to deliver her final goodbye. The two women exchange looks, their expressions alone writing volumes, and realization comes over Jo. Ellen doesn't plan on leaving her daughter. “Somebody's gotta let them in.” Ellen tells the boys to get moving. “Dean, kick it in the ass. Don't miss.”

FUCK.

The boys head out and Jo and Ellen listen to the hell hounds snarling outside. Ellen wipes the salt from the door, removes the chains, and turns the gas on in the bomb. She cradles Jo in her arms. “I will always love you,” she tells Jo.

Okay, listen. I often joke about needing to take a break from recapping for a bout of crying but I seriously needed to take a crying break. This scene gets me every damn time. The delicate way their relationship is portrayed in this episode, the beautiful potential they both held, followed by their horrific loss hurts so badly. This episode is so well written but fucking OUCH.

As the hell hounds approach the door, Jo dies in Ellen's arms. Tears fall and she just manages to reign in her sobs because there's work to do. The hell hounds burst in and stalk through the store. Ellen waits until one exhales into her face. “You can go straight back to Hell, you ugly bitch!”

The store blows and Dean and Sam run.

We cut to the farm where the townspeople have gathered. “Last words?” Sam asks.

“I think I'm good,” Dean says. Time to go out in a blaze of glory, just like Ellen and Jo.

Sam shouts at the Devil, interrupting his digging. Lucifer smirks at Sam. It's just the distraction they need because in the next moment, Dean has the Colt up against Lucifer's temple. He fires it and sends a bullet straight through his head.

Hooray! They did it! Hoor-- Oh wait, nope. Lucifer's eyes pop open. “Ow,” he seethes before jumping up again. He knocks Dean clear across the field and into the woods and turns to confront Sam, now alone. “There's only five things in all of creation that that gun can't kill, and I just happen to be one of them.”

Lucifer swiftly finishes his work, checks in to see if Sam's ready to say 'yes' yet, and tells him it'll happen in Detroit.

“I'm gonna rip your heart out,” Sam shouts.

“All that pent up rage?” Lucifer grins. “I'm gonna need it.”

Sam asks what Lucifer is up to. Well, you know. It's the basic plan. He ordered demons to possess every man in town, who then killed every woman and child. Lucifer tries to bond with Sam. “I was a son. A brother, like you, a younger brother, and I had an older brother who I loved. Idolized, in fact. And one day I went to him and I begged him to stand with me, and Michael—Michael turned on me. Called me a freak. A monster. And then he beat me down. All because I was different. Because I had a mind of my own. Tell me something, Sam. Any of this sound familiar?” Sam responds with the eyebrows of despair.

Lucifer performs the spell and as he does so the demon possessed townspeople fall dead. Dean and Sam look appalled. “What? They're just demons.”

Back in the fire circle, Castiel scowls at Meg. She's awfully happy and it's disconcerting. She thinks all the demons are headed to Heaven under the shelter of Lucifer's wing. Cas smiles at her. “Strange, because I heard a different theory from a demon named Crowley.” Cas uses the classic trick of exposition to distract Meg while he unscrews a girder telekinetically. The girder smacks into Meg and tosses her through the flaming circle and into Castiel's arms. He tries to smite her but she chuckles at him. Without Heaven's support he doesn't have enough mojo. Cas, being the out of the box thinker that he is, chucks her to the ground and uses her back as a bridge to cross the fire. Cas...you fucking BADASS.

Back at the farm, the ground shakes as Lucifer raises Death. Cas rescues Dean and Sam, flapping them to safety. “Well, hello Death,” Lucifer says with a smile.

In the wreckage of Bobby's kitchen which is still littered with empty shot glasses, Bobby watches the grim news coming out of Carthage. Dean and Sam look on as Bobby burns the photo they'd taken together.

Boris: I realize the symbolism and all, but why would you burn that photo!? Garrrr.

Tl:dr: I wasn’t around when this first aired, but I’m so curious what people thought of this episode. Like, in hindsight, it sucks that Jo and Ellen died. The show was supposed to end at the end of this season, but it didn’t. Their deaths were noble and heart wrenching, and would have meant so much more if there wasn’t 8+ more years of show to watch. Will we see AU Ellen and Jo in season 13?!

Quotes:

So, the Hardy Boys finally found me.

Rumors, innuendo, sent out on the grapevine.

I'm in sales, damn it!

Sam Winchester, having trust issues with a demon. Well, better late than never.

Tomorrow we hunt the devil. This is our last night on earth.

What a peculiar thing you are.

Hasn't Death been tromping all over the place? Hell, I've died several times myself.

Even as we speak, it’s….going….down.

You’re functioning..morons.

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 5x10 #abandon all hope #dean winchester #sam winchester #Ellen Harvell #Jo Harvell #bobby singer #castiel #cas #lucifer #meg masters #crowley

22 notes · View notes