#HIS BONES KNEW SOMETHING WONDERFUL ABOUT THE DARKNESS / * crowley.

[writerwrightlegend]

200-word challenge:Day 5.

He should be dead. No, he most certainly died. Sato Yuuken knew that well. He was hit by a car while walking through Shibuya. He was on his way to meet up with a friend at the Udagawa Black Streets when he was killed after being hit by a car. It was so sudden and out of nowhere. He didn't even have time to react. The car struck him, and he went flying into a wall head first. He was impaled by a piece of the car in his chest, and he was bleeding out heavily. By the time help arrived, he was already on his last breath. The last thing he remembered seeing was his friend running over to him. His friend looked so distressed. He tried to tell his friend that he was fine but his voice had already died and he let out one last breath before going limp in his friends arms. The last thing he heard was that friend sobbing right next to him.

That was it. Or, it should've been. He should be in the afterlife or a spirit of sorts. Yet, here he was, in flesh and blood. He had a pulse, he was breathing, and he felt fine. He couldn't feel the pain from the crash. He had felt around his body, and he didn't find a single hint of an injury of any kind. No scars, no bruises, no broken bones. Nothing. He was completely fine when he most certainly was dead.

He remembers dying that day, and he should be dead yet. Here he was, being dragged through a courtyard by a strange man with a crow mask and a weird cat-like creature that could breathe fire. The strange man had introduced himself as Dire Crowley, and he explained to Sato that he was at Night Raven College. An academy for people who exhibited a rare aptitude of magic. Apparently, it's one of the best academies in all of Twisted Wonderland. A strange name for a place, Sato had thought, but it could be worse.

The cat-like fire breathing creature is named Grim. He claims that he is an amazing sorcerer who tried to take the clothes that Sato was wearing. Speaking of the clothes, they weren't his usual clothes. It was a black robe with a purple belt and gold embroidery all over the robes. It also came with a hood. As they walked, Crowley continued to talk about Night Raven College.

"Only those who have a talent for magic that has been perceived by the Dark Mirror are allowed to attend the college."

Magic... that was something that Sato didn't have. He considered telling Crowley this, but at the same time, he didn't want to interrupt him. He didn't have magic in his past life when he lived in Shibuya, but maybe now that he's been resurrected or reborn into this world, he has it. If that's the case, then why? He couldn't help but wonder that as Crowley kept talking.

"That black carriage serves to receive a student chosen by the Dark Mirror. It too bares a gate that connects to this campus. And as you know, sending a carriage to meet someone on a special day is a time-honored tradition."

"Maybe for you, but where I come from, carriages aren't really used anymore at all."

Sato responded to what Crowley said. He probably didn't have too but he felt that it would be rude not to respond.

"Mmfff! Mmmmmmfff!"

Grim was squirming in Crowley's arms. He was tied up by a rope and one of Crowley's hands covered his mouth.

"Now, let us attend your orientation."

"Right."

Sato followed Crowley into the Mirror Chamber. The first thing he heard was the buzzing of murmurs and whispering. The first thing he saw was a ton of other people dressed in the same robes as him. He couldn't see everyone, but he could see six people and a floating object the front. He walked towards the mirror with Crowley. As they got closer, he got a slightly better look at the people. There was a red-headed boy, a boy with lion ears, a boy with glasses, a handsome boy, a boy with red eyes, a voice from the tablet, and a tall boy with horns.

As Crowley explained to the others about his sudden absence in the middle of orientation, Sato was lingering in his thoughts. Was he brought back to life and brought here for a reason? Is this his chance to finally become someone? In Shibuya, he was a nobody, but perhaps, now, he could finally be somebody. He snapped back to attention as Crowley addressed him.

"You are the only one who has yet to be assigned to a dorm. Step up to the Dark Mirror and be quick about it. I'll watch over your cat."

"Grrrr!"

Sato was going to retaliate at Crowley's comment about Grim belonging to him, but he didn't want to waste Crowley's time, so he did as told. He pulled the hood over his head and stepped up to the Dark Mirror.

"State thy name."

He took a breath before stating his name.

"Sato Yuuken..."

"The nature of thy soul is..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Unclear to me."

Write a piece about someone given a second chance at life

[helltore-a]

tag dumb,  the sequel.

[darkpurpledawn]

For @racketghost 's 13 Days of Halloween, prompt "costumes"

The Dowling residence was perfectly sober, exterior-wise. It was not fitting for an ambassador, even an American one, to deck the halls with boughs of yew and spools of polyester spiderweb. But if the outside showed the same dour pomp as it did the rest of the year, the inside was filled with what seemed like four pop-up Halloween shops worth of assorted merchandise. Nary a doorway stood that did not have spiders dangling from its arch, plastic bones littered the playroom, and the dining room was covered in tiny gourds and glitter in the shape of bats. 

The decor was a compromise. Aziraphale had reluctantly allowed the roomful of bones and the mechanical severed hand that was currently being mauled by the cat in the laundry room in exchange for nixing the recirculating fountain of fake blood and promising to enact revenge at Christmastime.

Aziraphale was just adjusting one of his rubber horns when Warlock careened into the room waving a Bean Baby (surely that was the name?) shaped like a black cat and holding what was hopefully a Jello eyeball and not a sign that the young Antichrist was growing into his calling at the tender age of five.

“Warlock, what did we say about taking dessert from the table? You know your mother worked very hard on those eyeballs.”

Warlock attempted to shield his face with the Bean Baby for a moment, but then he jumped up and cried,

“You can’t be mad at me today Francis! Not for, for stealin’ stuff. You’re the bad one today!” He pointed at Aziraphale’s horns and beamed at this unassailable argument.

Aziraphale evaluated his evilness in the part of the hall mirror that was not covered in cling decals of skeletons dancing in a conga line. He was wearing his only dark suit, and had swapped Brother Francis’s humble smock for a brocade waistcoat and smart trousers. A devil’s tail he’d clumsily constructed from ribbon and felt swung from the waistcoat, and in addition to affixing his rubber horns he’d drawn on a small curling mustache with one of Crowley’s less-favored eye pencils and worn a second set of fake teeth (glow in the dark vampire fangs, to be precise) on top of the first.

“You’re even scarier than Nanny when she just woke up,” Warlock proclaimed triumphantly. “I bet you’re even meaner.”

“He’s so much worse,” Crowley’s voice drawled from the next room. “You don’t know Brother Francis like I do, he can be a real That Word Your Mum Told You We Can’t Say Out Loud when he wants.”

Warlock’s eyes grew almost as big and round as the Jello version he was holding, as he looked at Aziraphale with a mixture of fear and respect.

“Really now Crowley you can’t just--” he began, and then stopped when she stepped in the hall.

Crowley was wearing a sequined white dress with a slit that seemed to go all the way up to an area Aziraphale wasn’t sure he knew this century’s polite terms for, and a neckline determined to meet the slit in the middle. A set of mesh-and-wire wings was affixed to what back the dress possessed, and to Aziraphale’s amazement, heart-shaped sunglasses and a choker necklace with a rhinestone cross rounded out the ensemble.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Aziraphale asked.

“I’m an angel,” Crowley said, and pointed to a headband with a fluffy halo. “Duh.”

Aziraphale almost let out several Words Warlock’s Mum Would Have Certainly Disapproved of Saying Aloud when the Antichrist interrupted.

“Nanny you can’t be an angel, you just told me to steal an eyeball!” He giggled into the scruff of the Bean Baby.

“Oh I assure you, even the angels have their moments,” Aziraphale sputtered.

Crowley grinned and a gleam of yellow shone for a moment above the heart lenses.

“Now that you’re a devil, Francis, can I eat the eyeball?”

Aziraphale sighed. He looked from the adorable face of the Antichrist to Crowley, who seemed to have become an endless line of inner thigh, and hurriedly back again.

“Well.” He hesitated. “I don’t suppose your mother will want it back now that it’s been squished like that.” He glanced at the distorted sphere of Jello.

“Gonna be horribly farsighted, that one,” Crowley muttered.

“But you do owe your mother an apology,” Aziraphale said, attempting to be stern underneath several layers of false dentition.

Warlock pouted. It was an expression he’d picked up from Crowley, who had picked it up from somewhere Aziraphale refused to ponder.

“But you’re a devil, what do you care if I apologize to mum?”

“You would be surprised,” Aziraphale said, and wondered why his throat felt suddenly full, “how much we devils can care for others. Just because I’m, er, evil today doesn’t mean I can’t be kind as well. Now why don’t you go find your mum?”

Warlock wandered off, chewing thoughtfully on the cat’s polyester paw.

Crowley was staring at Aziraphale. She looked suddenly bashful under all the sequins.

“Erm, you look nice,” she said. “Haven’t seen that waistcoat in ages, what was that, Venice, beginning of the 19th?”

“Oh, something like that,” Aziraphale said, as if he couldn’t perfectly recall the pistachio gelato they shared or how the light had reflected off the canals as they strolled to the shops.

“Gotta say, the horns leave a bit to be desired. You’ve got a standing army of hair grips and they don’t seem to be keeping those things on your head.”

“I could have miracled, I suppose, but it didn’t seem, well, appropriate.” Aziraphale felt a strong urge to brush the sequins on Crowley’s dress so the all fell the same way, a thought motivated entirely by a desire for order and not at all by anything else whatsoever. “Crowley how are you wearing that?” He gestured to the rhinestone crucifix.

“Oh that reminds me what I had to tell you,” Crowley said, smoothing out the sequins herself in a manner that in no way alleviated Aziraphale’s desire for order. “I’ve taken a heap of allergy pills, don’t let me near the Poltergeist Punch.”

[katelyn--renee]

Composure

Title: Composure

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader/(Y/N) Winchester (mentioned), Harper Winchester (OC, mentioned), Daniel Winchester (OC, mentioned), Crowley (mentioned)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader

Words: ±2670

Description: Dean and (Y/N) take their shot at a normal life and settle down. Over the years, they have a few kids. Things are good. Until they’re not. What will Dean do when his past comes back to put an end to his happily ever after?

Written For: @deanwanddamons ​ 2K Celebration! Congratulations babe! That’s awesome! My prompt will be in bold -  “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

Warnings: ANGST! Descriptions of blood. Mentions of breaking and entering. Kidnaping. Show level violence/outbursts of anger. 

Author’s Note: This is in correlation with another fic of mine, Sweet Cherry Pie. It takes place about twelve to thirteen years after that one, to give you a brief timeline. There will be other fics with that original storyline, so stay tuned.

Thank you so much to @wonder-cole​ for being my beta for this wonderful piece and helping me with the title. You’re awesome and much appreciated! She has some amazing work of her own, so please do yourself a favor and check it out! Check out @talesmaniac89​ for more awesome page dividers!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any photos or gifs, all rights go to original creators/owners.

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

The rain was heavy tonight, thick and angry as it poured from the dark clouds above. The fat raindrops were noisy against the single paned windows. The water coated the glass surface and made it impossible to see through, even as the flashes of lightning lit up the night sky and cast long shadows through the living room of 35 Maplewood Road. There was a heaviness surrounding the house, as if something wicked had been there.

The home was dark and empty, and the furniture was overturned and broken in places; the sofa was thrown over backwards, the cushions laying discarded across the floor with the end table toppled over beside it. The lamp that had occupied its surface was shattered to pieces on the wooden floor, and the rug had been stained with something dark and red. 

The coffee table was shoved out of place, the glass surface no longer there in one piece and the mirror that hung in the hallway had a spider web like crack across the surface, hanging now only by one screw. In the very center of the crack, something crimson and shiny caught the lighting from outside, almost as if someone’s skull had been smashed there.

The familiar idling of Baby’s engine grew louder as Dean pulled in the driveway of his home, the brakes squealing as he came to a stop and put the Chevy into park. A feeling of dread began to knot into his stomach, making the muscles of his jaw flex as he tried to bite back the feeling. Something was wrong; all those years of hunting and honing his instincts told him that much. Not a single light was on inside of the home and yet, (Y/N)’s car was parked out front. Not good.

Dean fished his phone from his jacket and swiftly unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb across the glass, dialing the number he knew so well. Pressing the receiver to his ear, he waited while the call rang out once... twice… “Come on, (Y/N/N).” He muttered under his breath as the fifth tone sounded. Her voice greeted his ear, but it was artificial; the recording of her voicemail, Hi, you’ve reached (Y/N)... 

“Damn it.” He cursed between gritted teeth and ended the call. He tried again, pressing redial. “Come on, baby, answer your damn phone!” He shut his eyes when he got the same results as before, cursing to himself as he shoved the device back into his pocket.

Never taking his eyes off the front of the house, he leaned over for the glove box and swiftly unlatched the compartment door, just as he’d done a million times before. Green eyes continued to scan for any signs of movement, even through the thick wall of rain that coated the windshield, despite the efforts of the wiper blades. 

Reaching a steady hand inside, he pulled out a pocket sized flashlight and his beloved stainless steel Colt, the engraving on the barrel catching the lightning as it bolted across the sky. Expertly, he removed the clip with a press of his thumb and double checked the bullets inside before sliding it back into the place, securing it with another click. It’d been years since he’d held the weapon, but the pearl coated handle felt just as natural as breathing against his palm.

Leaving the Impala’s engine running, Dean climbed out from behind the wheel and shut the door, the hinges creaking with age. Clicking on the flashlight, he approached the home with long, yet cautious strides, his booted feet silent in his approach, even through the heavy rain. 

His mind was racing with every terrible possibility, his guilt threatening to eat him alive as images of his family, in the worst possible outcome, flashed before his eyes. It made his blood run cold. His heart was pounding rapidly with fear, pushing the adrenaline through his veins and forcing him to move forward rather than let the panic overwhelm him.

He tried to peer inside the living room through the set of windows lining the front of the house, but it did little to ease his uncertainty; if anything, it only made it worse, only able to make out long shadows and dark shapes. His clothes were completely soaked through, hugging his large frame by the time he’d reached the front porch, the coolness of the rain chilling him to the bone. Droplets of water dripped down his face and the tip of his nose, and his hair clung against his forehead.

Approaching the large red door, his scowl only deepened, darkening his features when he discovered that it had been left unlatched, allowing in a single beam of light with each flash from the storm overhead. He glared at the lock and then narrowed his eyes as something caught his attention, the muscles there twitching. Stretching a hand out, he examined the wooden surface, his fingertips grazing over the chipped paint and splintered wood. Someone had broken in.

Taking only a moment to compose himself, Dean exhaled slowly and swallowed back his apprehension, forcing himself to go on. Using the weight of his body, he nudged the door open cautiously and poked his head inside. The experienced hunter kept his gun aimed high and at the ready, his finger hovering over the trigger. Wrist over wrist, Dean held the flashlight steady with the opposite hand, the beam unmoving, providing him with some light through the darkness.

All of those years of training were put to the test as he stepped through the threshold of his home, his expression as hard as stone and giving away absolutely nothing, despite the fear that was boiling just beneath the surface. His eyes darted around the room, following the beam of his flashlight, taking in every detail of his surroundings just as he’d been taught all those years ago.

Following the layout of the house, Dean came to the living room first, stepping over the broken furniture and discarded decorations. The sight of his home in this state made him uneasy and that much harder to keep his cool, able to sense the panic starting to creep in. Where was (Y/N)? Where were the kids? Who had done this to his family? Was it revenge?

Another flash of lightning caused something slick and shiny to catch his eye, and Dean let out a shaky breath. Hesitating for only a moment, he crossed the room and crouched down next to the sofa to investigate, the troubling sight seized his heart. There was a substantial amount of blood there, a large pool of crimson that had soaked into the fibers of the rug. 

Near the top of the stain, a gold chain necklace was lost within the mess and a thin layer of another substance was scattered around it. It was almost yellow in color and had a very distinct, very specific scent that accompanied it. Touching the surface of the floor next to the stain, Dean felt something grainy under his finger tips. Lifting it to his nose, the smell of sulfur invaded his senses. Demons.

“Fuck,” He cursed, the boom of the thunder shaking his house as it lit up his face simultaneously. Still crouched, he plucked the necklace out of the sticky crimson mess and glared at the amulet with a heavy gaze, his hand shaking. He shut his eyes and closed his fingers into a fist, the knuckles turning white around the piece of jewelry. It belonged to (Y/N). It had been a gift, a charm to ward off evil and prevent possession.

This was all his fault. He should have known better. Hell, he did know better and yet, he ignored it, because he had a chance to finally be happy. To have an actual family and live the normal, apple pie life he’d always wanted. And now the ones he loved were missing and more than likely dead. Or probably close to it.

His chin quivered for a moment and hot tears stung at the corners of his eyes, his emotions getting the better of him. How could he let this happen? How could he be so stupid and reckless? He knew better, damn it! Once a hunter, always a hunter. There is no getting out of the life, not entirely, because those evil sons-of-bitches will always be out there. 

One way or another, they always find a way to catch back up to any hunter who has tried, and every single time it ends bloody and messy and violent. He needed to find them, he just had to. And he would save them, no matter what it cost. He’d pay it.

Releasing a heavy breath, he opened his eyes and willed the tears away, shoving the emotions back down into the pit of his soul. Despite his efforts, a solitary tear made it’s escape, dripping down his left cheek and onto the color of his shirt before he could stop it.

Dean rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, prepared to continue his search. Sliding the necklace into his jacket pocket with care, he followed the trail into the hall with a heavy heart. 

Glass cracked and snapped under his boots as he walked through the space, his jaw flexing when he saw the picture of his family shattered on the floor. Their happy faces only added to his grieving heart and guilty conscious, their smiles making his soul ache.

That had been a good day, nearly five years ago now; (Y/N) had worn his favorite blue dress that day, the strapless one that stopped right above her knees and showed off her sexy legs. 

She had on that silly - but achingly cute - oversized tan hat that kept the sun from her eyes. He would always tease her about that goofy hat, but she never cared what others thought of her, never ceasing to be herself, no matter what.

They’d gone to the park that day, had an actual picnic and he’d played catch with his son while the girls giggled and painted their nails...  They even taught the twins how to ride their bikes that day. They couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

Harper had caught on much quicker than her brother, of course, taking after her mother in that way. Those girls were naturals at almost everything they did, only needing to try something a few times before perfecting it. That had been something he’d adored and admired about his wife and it was a huge part of what made her such a skilled hunter when they met.

Daniel, on the other hand, had to take the time to understand how something worked first. He needed to study the mechanics of things, take them apart, rebuild and understand it completely, inside and out, before he was able to master it. Danny often reminded Dean of the Winchester side of the family. That had been a good day, one of many they’d shared together.

Brought out of his memories by another angry boom from outside, Dean pressed on. Where the picture had once hung, there was a bloody handprint smeared on the white wall, the two colors contrasting greatly. 

The blood streaked out toward the kitchen, giving the hunter a clear path to follow. Damn it. Dean grit his teeth. It felt as if something had his heart in a vice, squeezing it tighter and making it increasingly difficult to breathe the further he went.

His emotions were threatening to break through the surface again, fighting hard against his resolve, but he held his ground against them, purely focused on finding his loved ones. Now was not the time to break down. Following the trail of blood and debris, he checked each room along the way, trying to be as thorough as possible. He couldn’t afford to miss a damn thing. 

Their bedrooms were empty, and unsurprisingly, every inch had been torn apart. Dean’s chest heaved with emotion, his breath hitching in his throat; if anything happened to those kids, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Continuing on, the hunter emerged into the next room, and found much of the same; broken furniture, shattered pictures and even more blood. But not a single sign of his family. The sliding glass door had been left open, allowing the rain from the storm to collect onto the tile floor. 

Dean shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, his chest aching with every forceful beat of his heart. He needed to call Sammy, needed to form a plan. When he opened his eyes, something on the countertop caught his eye; a sheet of paper. Cocking his head with curiosity, he crossed the room in three long, determined strides.

It was a note, addressed to him.

It’s been too long, darling. How’s Moose? Hope the wife and kids are well...oh, wait, that’s right, you’re as clueless as ever. No surprise there. Before we get to the fun bits, let’s talk business; I need a favor and you and your giant of a brother are going to help me. Now, to ensure that things go as planned, I have something of yours. I assure you, they are safe. For now. Do as I ask, and they will be returned to you, alive. So, Dean, dear, let’s make a deal, shall we? You know where to meet me.

Squirrel,

Yours truly, 

The King of Hell

“Crowley.” Dean growled deep in his chest, his teeth clenched as his blood began to boil over with rage. “Goddamn it!” He shouted, swiping the contents of the counter onto the floor. “Fuck!” He kicked something across the room, too angry to pay much attention to it as it slammed into the stainless steel refrigerator. He swung at the closest surface, his fist connecting with a nearby wall.

The drywall collapsed around his fist as the plaster fell to the floor at his feet. His knuckles were screaming at him, but he didn’t care, too fueled by his rage to notice. What could Crowley possibly need their help with? It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, they would get it done and save his family. Crowley would get what’s coming to him; Dean would make damn sure of that.

Taking a few calming breaths, Dean removed his phone with a bloodied hand and opened his contacts, scrolling through the names until he found what he was searching for. Sammy. Dialing the number, Dean held the phone to his ear with baited breath. After the third ring, Sam’s voice came in through the other end, sounding concerned because of the late hour, “Dean? Everything alright?”

Dean shook his head, his vision blurring with tears. He cleared his throat, trying to prevent it from shaking too much. “No, Sammy. It ain’t alright.” He admitted, gripping the counter with his free hand, bracing himself. He wanted to crumble onto the floor, his body trembling; his mind flooded with so many different emotions, each of them trying to overpower the other: fear, guilt, anger, heartache…

“Dean, what is it?” The younger Winchester questioned, the worry evident in his voice. “Is it (Y/N)? The kids? Is everyone okay?” He waited patiently on the other end, but Dean could hear him moving around; he assumed his brother was getting his things ready to head out.

“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke as a few tears slipped through the cracks, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” He shook his head, allowing himself a moment to break, his chest heaving. “We were out!” He slammed his fist down onto the counter, terrified and angry.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam pleaded, wanting desperately to help his big brother. 

“Crowley.” Dean clarified, going into more detail as he composed himself and straightened his stance, “Crowley’s taken them.” He took a calming breath, his moment of weakness over. “I need your help, Sammy.”

“Already on my way.”

Annnnnnd there you have it. I hope that wasn’t too rough on the heart? No worries, there may or may not be a part two in the works? We shall see. ;) 

Anyway, if you enjoyed that, please like and comment and if you’re feeling a little extra generous, share it with your friends, too! You’re feedback is like GOLD! As always, thanks for reading! 

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278​ // @flamencodiva​ // @perpetualabsurdity​

[huntertales]

Part One: Abstinence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder. (Rock And A Hard Place S09E08)

Episode Summary: Sheriff Jody Mills enlists the help of Y/N and the Winchesters to help investigate multiple kidnappings that belonged to the same chastity group. The three decide to infiltrate the group for themselves. But things go wrong when Y/N and Dean disappear. Sam and Jody must rescue them before it’s too late. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,223.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

NOTE: Yes, this is a repost. I edited a few things around because I didn’t like it when I read it over. Took me a few days to actually get around to doing such thing. Sorry about that, but please enjoy!

Dean wasn’t sure if he should be concerned at the state he found you in when he walked into the kitchen this morning, or take a picture to tease you about this later. It seemed you were in the process of eating breakfast before you somehow fell asleep at the table, your head cradled in your arms as you quietly snored, notifying Dean that you were in a deep sleep. You hadn’t taken a hunt in the past couple of days since coming back from New York, giving you and the boys a chance to catch up on some sleep between looking for jobs and trying to figure out how to fix the mess Metatron made. While you helped when you could, your sleep hadn’t been disturbed all that much. Dean thought this might have been the first time since you started hunting you’ve gotten a healthy amount of sleep. 

He could tell because you slept like the dead last night. Dean had to lovingly, but quite forcefully, push you off his chest so he could get a jump start on the day. Normally it was you who slipped out of bed first and Dean eventually got himself up. Instead you rolled over to your side of the bed and slept for another twenty minutes before you got up. You seemed your usual self when you woke up this morning, eyes half-shut and grumpy, signaling to him you forced yourself up against your own will. On mornings like this Dean learned to wait until your first cup of caffeine to speak a word to you. It seemed you had just done that from how the pot was still hot and plenty full for everyone else. But for some reason, you were still exhausted and in need of a little cat nap. 

“Sweetheart?” Dean quietly spoke out to you, making sure to keep his voice at a soft enough level so he didn’t disturb you from your slumber. Normally you were a light sleeper on a good day. He made his way over to the table and leaned over to see your peacefully sleeping face. You were out cold. His lips twitched into a small smile at how adorable you looked. Dean knew he was going to get it from what he did next, but to hell with the consequences. He never got the chance to prank you like he did with Sam. 

Dean made his way over to the table with a bowl in hand and a little too roughly dropped it down, causing you to wake up abruptly and with a rush of panic. The man snickered to himself behind his coffee cup as he watched you frantically look around the kitchen wondering where the noise came from. When you realized who was to blame for your rude awakening, there was a few second delayed reaction before you rolled your eyes. 

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Dean greeted you, smiling from the way you tried to fix your disheveled hair and smooth down your wrinkled top. “Did I disturb you?’

“What? No.” You mumbled. You rubbed your eyes like a tired child and forced yourself to keep a yawn from escaping your mouth. Sam happened to come into the kitchen right as you dropped your arms into your lap. The younger Winchester gave you a slightly confused reaction at your groggy demeanour. Your face scrunched up in annoyance from his lingering stare. “What are you looking at, Sasquatch?” 

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Sam asked you out of concern, wondering if a bad nightmare kept you up most of the hours. None of you were strangers to restless nights due to a wandering mind that went to dark places you traveled to. Your entire life was a living nightmare, your past troubles liked to come and haunt you when you tried to sleep. But it seemed that wasn’t the case for you. 

“On the contrary, she slept like a drunk baby. I had to pry her off me this morning.” Dean answered his brother’s question for you on his behalf. “And I caught her napping on the table.” 

“Before either one of you waste your breath, I’m fine. It’s just…I’m fine.” You reassured the younger Winchester before he could bombard you with his typical worried expression and a follow up question. Despite your lack of a proper answer to explain your exhaustion, you didn’t want them to worry. They liked to over exaggerate things when it came to you. It's always been that way. Lately you didn’t want them looming over your shoulder, asking you every few minutes if you were feeling okay. Before either one of the brothers could drag out this conservation farther, you quickly changed the subject. “How’s Kevin? Has he found anything yet?” 

“Jack. He’s on about four days of no sleep.” Dean said. He grabbed the box of cereal and poured himself a bowl while Sam joined the both of you at the table after fixing himself a cup of coffee. “He looks worse than you.” 

“Dean, please. You know Sammy doesn’t like it when you flirt with me out in the open like this.” You replied with a sarcastic remark with a little hope the boys might think you were in decent shape after all if you were able to keep up with the petty banter. Despite how you looked. Somehow you thought you might feel worse. “What about Crowley? Do you think he might be lying about the whole ‘Metatron spell being irreversible’ thing?” 

“Crowley lie?” Dean pretended to sound shock at such a possibility, causing Sam to scoff between sips of his coffee. While the situation was grim, there was a small silver lining that you might be able to use to your advantage over the demon. “I do know one thing. Next time that junkie’s jonesing for a hit of blood, we got leverage.” You were about to agree with the plan, knowing it was better than anything you had, but the words failed to come out of your mouth. Instead a rather loud yawn escaped first. “Seriously, you want a pillow?” 

You rolled your eyes from your boyfriend’s concern hidden behind his behavior. “I’m fine.” 

“You don’t look so good, Y/N.” Sam shared his concern along with his brother’s. He’d been silent for most of the conversation since settling beside you. It didn’t take much observations to see you weren’t looking that great as of lately. He was starting to grow uneasy with the possibility that there might be something wrong with you. Something deeper than you realized. “Do you feel like you’re getting sick?”

“I’m not sick. I just—I feel like my battery can’t recharge.” You admitted to them, trying to explain how you felt to the best of your ability to them. “I don’t know. It’s probably just stress or something.” 

You reached for your bowl of soggy cereal when the room fell into a moment of silence. The brothers glanced over at one another from hearing how you felt. A string of unspoken words were said between them as they processed what you explained about your current situation. You were being held together from the inside out with duct tape and angel grace. Things weren’t moving quick or as efficient as they wanted. Despite wanting to talk about it, Ezekiel remained silent on a possible reassuring update, choosing to stay silent. 

You scooped up a spoonful of flakes and stretched out your head to take a bite, only stopping at the sound of a cell phone going off. Dean reached a hand inside his pocket to pull out his phone after realizing it was his own and answered the call. The person on the other line was a familiar one to the boys, you however gave the older Winchester a slightly confused expression at hearing the name he greeted. 

”Who’s Sheriff Mills?” You whispered to Sam, wondering why the name sounded a bit familiar, just not enough for you to put a face to a name. 

“Jody Mills? The sheriff up in Sioux Falls? We worked on a case with her years back with all the dead people rising in town?” Sam tried refreshing your memory. You thought about it for a second before shaking your head, coming up blank. He tried to resist the urge to pass his brother a look of disbelief as he continued on to try and jog your memory. “She went on a blind date with Crowley and nearly died.” 

“Oh. 

 Jody.” You finally figured out who was on the other line, your fingers snapping at your eureka moment before the call could be put on speaker for all of you to talk to the woman to see what she was calling about. 

“Uh…I got a bit of an oddball to pitch your direction.” Jody said. You leaned forward to listen to the call better as you placed your elbow on the table to cradle your head. For a second you swore you heard a faint sound of something crashing in the distance. “A small town I cover outside of Sioux Falls—only crime to speak of being the occasional cow tipping. Then last week, four people go missing.” 

“All right, so, what makes you think this is our kind of weird?” Dean asked the woman. 

“I’ve got a witness who says he saw someone lift an S.U.V. to nab a girl last night.” She told you the key detail that made her think of the boys and call them for some extra help. 

“Huh.” You glanced over at the boys with a rather intrigued expression as the possibility of another case for you to dig a little bit deeper into to see if it might be a hunt. “I don’t know about you, but I’d say that’s definitely our kind of weird.” 

+ + +

 You and the boys packed up your things and made the drive up to South Dakota to visit the sheriff. You figured it wouldn't hurt to keep yourselves busy while Kevin worked himself to the bone with the tablet. All of you decided to meet at the latest crime scene and go from there while you caught up on details. You were happy to be out of the bunker and moving around. You hoped going back on another hunt might give you a second wind. There was nothing better than a couple of missing people to get the adrenaline pumping. You just wished you knew what was making you so damn tired. You bit back another yawn when the Impala pulled into the parking lot of some diner. 

You were the last one to get out when Dean parked the car next to the sheriff’s truck, still moving a bit slower than you intended. The boys greeted Jody with wide smiles and tight hugs after seeing her again. You slammed the backseat door shut and smoothed out your outfit before approaching the woman, giving her a friendly smile. However it seemed she wasn’t expecting to see you. Your smile faltered slightly at the confused and startled expression that crossed her face. It seemed the boys failed to mention about your resurrection from the dead when they called to see how she was after everything that went down earlier this year with her blind date with the King of Hell. 

“What’s wrong, Jody? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Dean joked with the woman, finding her reaction at seeing someone who thought was dead was rather funny. She turned her head to look over at the man, demanding an explanation. “Yeah. We felt the same way when I saw her again. It’s a long, messy story.” 

“I’m 

 a ghost. Or a zombie.” You reassured the woman before she could try and process how you were somehow alive. “It really is a messy story. Short version of it all: not really dead, just lost my memory and thought I was someone else for two years.”

“It never is easy with you boys, huh?” Jody felt the need to ask. You could hear the humor in her voice at the trouble that seemed to follow them. “Anyway, it’s nice to see you again, Y/N. Glad you’re not dead.” 

“Me too.” You agreed with the woman, smiling at how her personality peeked through her words. From what you remembered about the woman all those years ago when Bobby was still alive, you liked her. And the things the boys mentioned about her during the drive here made you think she was going to be a good friend to have on your side. “Luckily, I’m back and ready to hunt down whatever is kidnapping these people.” 

“That’s the spirit. So, car was right over there, ass over teakettle.” Jody gestured over to the other side of the parking lot where the abduction took place, all that remained was the broken glass from the car that was currently being swept up by a maintenance worker. “Now, normally, if somebody would tell me that one guy lifted an S.U.V, I’d tell him to take a flying leap, but after what I’ve seen and now heard…” 

“Nothing’s impossible.” You said. You opened up the case file to one of the missing people and skimmed through the information, wondering if there might be something important here to make note of while the boys went through the others. "How does this match up with other missing people?” 

“Well, four abductions, strong evidence left at every scene—literally.” Jody said. 

“So, the first vic was a pastor?” Sam asked, wondering if there was another more solid connection to the rest of the victims. 

“Yeah. Door of his study was punched in. And the next two—an engaged couple.” Jody explained the case in better detail. You looked down at the case file Dean laid open on the trunk of the Impala and the black and white photograph attached. All of the victims appeared to be the small town folk who were innocent at first glance. Someone went out of their way to snatch them up. 

“Locked bedroom window was ripped open.” Dean noted the similarly strange and destructive pattern between each kidnapping. 

‘And then we have our waitress here with the topsy-turvy ride.” Jody added. 

“Any other connection among them?” Sam wondered. 

“Yeah. They were all members of Good Faith church here.” Jody said. You narrowed your eyes slightly while you thought of the possibility of what might be might be to blame for this if there was a religious connection to all of this. You and the boys dealt with something like this a little similar earlier in the year. “My church group back in Sioux Falls was in a tizzy over it.” 

Dean hummed his response at hearing the sheriff and her new found spiritual faith. You tossed him a dirty look at his reaction to the woman’s faith to God. She had every right to believe in whatever she wanted, even if you didn’t feel the same way. Jody seemed to have picked up on the same feelings you had when she asked him what that was all about. “I didn’t peg you for churchy.” 

“Yeah. You know…choking on the ladies’ room floor ‘cause of witchcraft kind of makes a higher power seem relevant.” Jody gave the man a truthful response to her sudden urge to join a church. You offered a weak smile when you saw her eyes direct over to you. “And seeing someone you were told was dead doesn’t help, either.” 

“Jody, are you sure you’re ready to jump back into the fray?” Dean asked the woman in a concerned tone of voice, knowing all the things she witnessed last year and the passing of Bobby didn’t help the woman. But it seemed he underestimated her. 

“This wackadoo stuff keeps coming. More I know, better armed I’ll be.” Jody gave an honest response to the man’s question. She was a sheriff, after all. If she wanted to protect her town from creatures that went bump in the night, she was going to have some practice in order to do that. You had a feeling from what Jody witnessed over the years, it was going to take a lot to scare the woman to the core. 

“Okay, so, we have missing church folk and super strength.” Sam summarized what all of you knew at the moment so far about the case. He decided to take a shot in the dark, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to throw his theory out there. “Maybe angels harvesting vessels? Could be a Buddy Boyle type thing.” 

“Wh—angels?” Jody repeated the creature the younger Winchester spoke out in the open like it was nothing. She looked at all of you with disbelief at how casual you were being. “You’re joking.” 

“Don’t get your pants on fire.” Dean said, stopping the woman from becoming thrilled at hearing about creatures she thought only existed in the bible. “They suck.” 

“You said there was a witness.” Sam said, circling back to what Jody mentioned earlier. 

“Yeah, well…” Jody shrugged at the person who was waiting for you to talk to them. She didn’t seem too set on the idea they were going to be any help to you. “More or less.” 

You and the boys decided to get a booth inside the restaurant while Jody rounded up the witness so you could speak to them. You sipped the coffee you ordered out of politeness and patiently waited. A few minutes later Jody arrived with your witness, a homeless man who most likely camped out near the place from the looks of him. You offered a friendly smile when the man's eyes scanned across the table to see what this was all about. Jody pulled up a chair while she ushered the man to take the seat in the booth next to you when you slid over to be close to the window. He set his coffee cup down to the table, seeming comfortable enough to give his side of the story. 

“Okay, Slim.” Jody said. “My friends here want to talk to you about the missing girl.” 

“Honor. Her name was Honor.” The man started off by giving the missing girl’s name, indicating that he knew her on some personal level. And it seemed he remembered her from the kind behavior given to someone like him. “Nice girl. Always left me meatloafs.” 

“Slim, why don’t you tell us what you saw that night?’ Sam asked the man, hoping to get to the reason why he was here in the first place. 

“I heard a big noise, got woke, and there’s somebody over there lifting a car up—like this.” Slim demonstrated what he witnessed last night, lifting up his arms the way he saw the stranger did to the car, as if the several ton machine weighed nothing. 

“And did you happen to see who it was?” You asked him another question. 

“I was too far. But I saw a light go off.” Slim made sure to add a small detail he thought was important enough to mention. Sam guessed it was a white light, “Blue. Blue like fire. But not. Then she was—she wasn’t there.” 

“Could you think of anything else?” Dean hoped for a little bit more from the man, but Slim shook his head before he looked down to his cup of coffee. He was helpful enough for you and the boys at figuring out what you might be tracking. Dean pulled out a small wad of cash from his pocket and handed over a twenty dollar bill to Slim, hoping to give him a hot meal for his help. “Well Slim, thank you for your time.” 

Slim happily pocketed the money and went on his way with the cup of coffee he came over with. You let out a quiet sigh from trying to figure out the proper direction you should be going to figure all of this out. While you didn’t have much at the moment, Slim’s description of the kidnapping might have been something for you and the boys to go off on. 

“Okay. So, no white light. No angel.” Sam said, feeling confident enough to cross the creature off the list at the endless other monsters to blame. 

“Has anybody talked to the victims’ families?’ Dean asked the sheriff. 

“It’s next on my list.” Jody answered. 

“Okay, and you said that they were all part of the same church?” Dean’s question was replied with a nod of the head from Jody. This connection, strong or weak as it might be, was the only one you had going for you as a possible hunting ground of where this monster was picking their victims. It was better than anything. Your lips stretched into a frown when Dean looked over at you. “Ready to get your worship on?”

+ + +

You and the boys decided to change out your clothes meant for posing as federal agents in favor of something more casual. The church all four of your victims seemed the usual run of the mill place of worship. You pretended to play along as the new people in town interested in joining to get a better understanding of how things worked. The woman who helped give you a tour of the place was a little too friendly and squeaky clean for your liking. She smiled in delight when you and Dean introduced yourselves as a happy couple "engaged to be engaged" with his little brother tagging along.

You roamed around the church hand in hand with Dean while Bonnie, your overly peppy tour guide, told you all the things Good Faith church offered to its members and the public. Usual things like Sunday school and charities for the homeless. You decided to have a little fun and play into the whole loving couple when Bonnie mentioned the church was perfect for weddings as well. You smiled at her when she occasionally turned to see you and Dean whispering to each other, acting like a couple of crazy kids in love with a religious ceremony in mind. It wasn't that far off from the truth. You did love Dean, and while you wanted to marry him someday, a church would be the last place you'd choose to do it. 

After the tour was complete, the four of you made your way to Bonnie's office where she took a seat at her desk before gesturing for the rest of you to follow with the few chairs she had available. Sam missed out when his brother swiftly snatched the chair next to yours, causing Dean to smirk in victory while the younger man awkwardly looked around to find another seat and pulled it up next to the desk.

"We hope you enjoyed the tour." Bonnie said, the smile she greeted you with felt as if it never left her face. It was starting to make your cheeks hurt at the welcoming disposition she carried on. "Any questions before we get you all registered?"

"Yeah. Uh, look," You pretended to be apprehensive from the subject you were about to approach after she had been so kind to you. "Ms. Futchko—"

"Oh, please, dear." Bonnie quietly laughed at the formalities and corrected to you something more casual, wanting to treat this situation like you were among friends. "Bonnie will do just fine." 

"We love the church. We do." You cushioned the strange questions you were about to ask her, deciding to pretend and act as if you were a concerned citizen wondering what you might be getting yourself into. "But...well, we've heard that a few members have gone missing. And while my boyfriend likes to think he's Superman," You flashed a quick smile as you reached out to squeeze Dean's hand before letting it rest there to continue milking the little performance on sharing your fake concerns. "We’ve been talking in private about it. And to be honest…that kind of scares us.” 

"Let me assure you, with our increased security, Good Faith has never been safer." Bonnie told you, placing a hand to her chest to try and give all of you a better peace of mind. It seemed she was worried about her fellow churchgoer, just in the way a little too religious person thought was the best form of action. Leaving it up all to the chance God would intervene and save the day. "And those people who have gone missing, well, they are front and center in our prayers." 

"What a relief." Dean let out a breath at the reassuring sounding news, making Bonnie's smile return after it disappeared shortly from the change in conversation. "Now, you must have been close to them." 

"Well, we do share the A.P.U. bond." Bonnie. Dean pretended to be intrigued at hearing such a thing when he asked more about it. "Our chastity group. ‘Abstinence Purifies Us.’” 

You pretended to turn your head to another direction when you scratched your nose, the easiest way to sneak an eye roll of frustration at hearing the new connection to the victims. Out of anything, you should’ve seen the virginity angle coming from where you were. 

"Wow." Sam laughed and smiled, faking interest about such a group. "You mind if we sit in on that, maybe see if it's for us?"

“I’m afraid it’s members only. I'm sorry, but it can get pretty personal." Bonnie apologized for the inconvenience after offering so many things for you to join, but it seemed this one was off limits for obvious reasons. You, never being the one to miss an opportunity, jumped to it before either one of the boys could back out. 

“Then count us in.” You said, lightly smacking your thigh as you grinned. 

"Well, I'll be a squirrel in a skirt." Bonnie softly laughed in delight at hearing your eager enthusiasm to join a group, intidicating to her that the three of you were good Christians. You mirrored her behavior as you smiled over at Dean when he squeezed your hand a little too roughly, wondering what the hell you got yourselves into. "I'll be back in a jiff with the papers." 

Bonnie wasted no time jumping up from her seat and heading to another room across the way, allowing you to watch what she was doing. She opened up a filing cabinet and shuffled around some papers to find what she was looking for. Your attention fell back to Dean when you felt him softly smack your arm. 

“A chastity group?” Dean asked you, wondering if this was really how you wanted to spend your afternoon. And why you needed to drag him into your plan. You knew he would love to do anything else than listen to a bunch of horny virgins go on about temptations and sins brought on by the world. 

"It's not a bad idea." Sam seemed to have agreed with your plan of action, figuring out the same possible pattern you had. If you knew who was in the group, you might have a better chance at saving others from going missing. "If all the members were in A.P.U., then maybe whatever took them is stalking virgins." 

"And that Slim guy said he thought he saw fire." Dean added another little detail that went together with the virginity part. Something you've dealt with before. "So, what are you guys thinking, dragons?"

You never got the chance to finish the conversation when you saw Bonnie return back with the forms in hand. You cleared your throat and went back to acting casual as if that’s what you had been doing the entire time she was gone during the short period of time. You forced yourself to smile again when she handed you over a clipboard with a piece of paper attached. 

"You can just sign here, and your purification can begin." Bonnie instructed you, letting you glance down at the piece of paper. You read the title of the paper and slowly your expression fell as to what you were about to promise. Something you lost several years ago. You bit your bottom lip when Sam mentioned the pledge, only to be taken by someone who had never had intercourse before. "It's a commitment to your virginity." 

"I don't think we can really un-ring that bell." Dean thought he was funny with the innocent sounding joke, deciding to humor himself. Bonnie, however, stared at the man with a blank expression. It hadn't dawned on her just yet why you couldn't sign right away. "You know what I mean?"

A moment of silence fell across the room as Dean's smile faded away when Bonnie continued to stare at the man with eyes too wide for his personal comfort. Slowly, the wheels in her head started turning, making her realize the sins you've committed. "Oh. I see." Bonnie's gaze quickly darted away from you and Dean specifically, as if she was trying to hide her disappointment. However, like the good Chrisitan that she was, the woman offered you a chance at redemption. "Well...if you just ask for God's forgiveness for your sins and make a new vow of chastity, well, then you'll be born again as a virgin in His eyes." 

"So, you just hit the 'virginity do-over' button, and all is good with the man upstairs?" Dean's question meant to come off as sincere and curious, but he had a way of coming off a little igorent at times. Sometimes he didn't understand the kind of people he was dealing with and how to adapt.

"It's not a button." Bonnie corrected the man. Her tone of voice fell into a softer, and yet slightly colder one as she defended her personal views in a way to make him better understand. "And...this isn't just a piece of paper. I mean, this is your clean slate, your chance to be a virgin until marriage. Isn't that something you want? To be pure for each other until your wedding night, the way God intended?”

You raised your brow slightly from the way Bonnie tried to guilt trip you for doing something thought of as a sin. Premarital sex was the least horrible thing someone could do. However, just to get yourself into this damn group, you decided to pretend and feel remorseful for a second. You looked over to Dean, the both of you nodding your head and shared matching smiles. "Well, you had me at 'clean slate.' Right, sweetheart?" Dean asked you, clicking his pen to be the first one to sign. "Let's do this." 

You and the boys signed your names on the pledge and handed over the clipboards back to Bonnie's awaiting hands. She glanced down at the names you scribbled down and smiled in delight. "Congratulations Sam and Dean Winchester, and Y/N Y/L/N. You are all virgins." 

You found yourself letting out a quiet laugh at hearing something you hadn't heard in a while. Sam faked his enthusiasm while Dean took it a smidge too far, grinning a little too wide and seeming excited at the news. At least making a show out of it for Bonnie. You knew one thing for certain: this was going to be one interesting afternoon. 

Rewrite Taglist:

@deansquirreljerkwinchester // @everything-i-tried-was-taken // @starswirlblitz // @supernaturalismydrug // @we-are-band-sexuals // @angiewinchestercas // @kaylinfayezink  // @owhatshername1 // @kgbrenner  // @cleo-is-my-doggy // @eeyore1988 // @dakota-dream // @lilylovelyxo // @timetravelingginger // @holahellohialoha //   @quicksilver123456 // @natashacamillas //@lexi-anastasia //@kaylinfayezink //  @deanwnchstr @albot-eh // @rashinyx2002 // @shellybeans //  @icantfindacreativeurl //  @becs-bunker // @oreosatmidnight // @bands-and-shietz // @fabulousmustachesonapolarbear // @clarewinchester // @releasethekracko // @alex-zeppelin // @mega-mrs-dean-winchester // @theskytraveler // @notmoose94 //@assassinofmasyaf // @caswinchester2000 // @savannah-m-99 // @sunlight-dean // @strayrosesbloom // @that-slytherin-over-there // @1000roughdrafts // @its-medeanwinchester // @simplyhemmings // @dream-believe-and-love // @that-winged-rat // @romanovanoffsstuff // @underthestarrsss // @lady-elena-adeline

Message me if you would like to be added!

[jay-and-dean]

Firefly  Chapter 3 : Nine and Twelve years old

By Roonyxx and Jay-and-dean

Pairings : future Dean x reader ?

Summary :  40 years in Hell, but he didn’t spend all this time all alone, he had her.

Prepare to know what happened during those years Dean never talks about. To immerge yourself in Hell, only lit by the mysterious kid growing here…

And to see some of your favorite villains again : Crowley, Lilith, Lucifer… And also Sammy and Jack…

Serie Warnings : Hurt!Dean, Hell (torture, even if we tried to not give it graphic descriptions, creepy demons, blood, violence), swearing, angst, future fluff and smut.

This story is in both Reader’s POV and Dean’s POV

Wordcount : 4880

Note : This is our second collaboration. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like we did for Same.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

This story will be around 10 chapters and we intend to edit it every Saturday if nothing delays it.

Firefly Chapter 1

Firefly Chapter 2

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

—————————————————————————————

3.

Reader’s pov

She sighed, putting the notebook down on the marble table.

“Once more” the demon ordered, weirdly scratching his chin, or rather the skin of a middle-aged lady that didn’t suit him. “I want you to know this by heart.”

“Why” Y/n frowned. “What is the point of all that ? You’re not even a real teacher ! You make me learn things that have no sense !” 

A wicked expression appeared on the demon’s face, betraying him despite that ridiculous disguise.

“Oh I’m begging you little shit, disobey again. Punishing you is the only good part of this stupid job.”  

“You’re not allowed to hurt me” she smiled with contempt. “Crowley would end you, and Lilith…”

The demon suddenly got up, grabbing her by the hair to throw her where the chains were. Immediately tying her like an animal in a circus. She tried to fight him, already regretting her words.

“I’m allowed to cage you.”

“No no no…” she instantly begged.

Last time he had done that, he left her chained for four days and no one showed up, he was the only one coming every day.

         But today, she was going to know if Sammy told John about the college letter. After several bad days in a row (days when Dean couldn’t talk, wasn’t in his cell or she couldn’t get there), she couldn’t resolve to be locked again.

“Let me out !” she groaned. “Let me out or I SWEAR !”

But the demon kept smiling, seeing the now warded chains redden without breaking.

“Please…” she finally begged, falling on her knees. “Please, I hate those chains.”

“Prime numbers” the demon just stated coldly. “Until two thousand.” 

“Two” she swallowed, looking down. “Three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen…”

          She limped in the corridor, holding on to the bloody walls with tears in her eyes, and Mister Teddy Bear against her.

         After making her start again ten times, the demon had thrown the keys at her with a satisfied smile before he left. But of course, he had given them all but one : the one holding her ankle ; just to laugh, thinking at her false hope.

         And after tugging at it furiously for an hour or more, something had finally broke. Not in the chain... but in her ankle. 

         Dean’s cell wasn’t so far now, she would make it. And she would be brave and heal, just like he did, every single day. She turned left and limped to his cell, a cold sweat dripping down her back, and finally pushed the door with a light smile.

         Her smile faded.

She was too late or too early, or Alastair just lost his temper again. Almost nothing was left of her friend. Blood and guts, pieces of bones....  

For the first time in her life, she looked away, turned around on her purple foot and left a tear fall on her cheek. Hell was an unfair place and, for years, she had just accepted it for was it was, because she knew nothing else… But now her child innocence was slowly dying, and her hate growing.

She sat on the corner of the room, making herself as small as possible, her back on what was left of Dean, holding her teddy bear against her. 

She could wait.

After a while, she could hear the little whimpers that left his mouth, a sign that he was back together.

She turned around to see him : He was panting, his clothes clung to his sweat drenched body. His eyes were still closed, not ready to face her yet, if he even knew she was there. 

She took her injured ankle and heaved it up off the ground to turn completely to him, a hiss leaving her mouth. It wasn't totally healed yet, which made her frown. She was used to injuries only lasting a few minutes, an hour eventually… But this one was bad.

His eyes opened, he probably heard her. 

“H-hey Firefly…” he sounded hoarse. 

She wiped her tear and tried to give him her best smile, but she couldn’t. Hell was weighing down on her more and more every single day, she now saw how wrong it all was. How her friend suffered every single minute down here.

“Hey…” she said a little bitterly, as she waved the arm of Mister Teddy Bear. 

His eyes raked over her, but he didn’t really seem to see her yet. They looked void of anything. He heaved himself up with his arms, his back now resting against the wall. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and opens them again. His pupils adjusted to the darkness that surrounded them. He once again took her in, frowning when he saw her cradling her foot.

“Y-You’re hurt ?” He sat up more, his hair sticked to his sweaty forehead. 

She shrugged, she would heal anyway. It’s nothing compared to what he is going through. For the first time in her short life, she thought of the act of torture, for real, not just like something that existed and filled her world, but like something absurdly cruel… Before she could really come to any conclusion, he spoke again, his voice worried like it was more important for her to be hurt, like for him, it was just the way it was… Was it ?

“Does it hurt ?” he questioned her.

She shook her head no. It did hurt, but she didn’t want to worry him, she just wanted to know more about Earth and try to take his mind off everything.

He let his head rest back against the wall.

“Where were we ?” He still had some trouble breathing, she could see it in the way his chest moved. “Oh yeah. The college letter, right ?”

She nodded, yes ! Was Sam gonna tell their dad or not ?

“Right…” he took a deep shaky breath, and she couldn’t say if it was from his body still being broken, or from that weight on his chest, he always seemed to have when he talked about his father. “So at first Sammy didn’t tell our dad, because well, he knew dad wouldn’t like it. He knew I didn’t like it.”

Of course he didn’t, she thought, he needed Sam. And being alone with his father really didn’t seem fun… For a second, she wondered what would life be with a brother or a sister. But she will never know, her own father made it very clear that her “accidental” life was enough bother. 

“I didn’t want Sammy to leave” he continued. “He’s my baby brother. I gotta look out for him.”

He fell silent suddenly, apparently strangled by emotions, a tear rolled down his face. Her own stomach felt tight, the love Dean felt for his brother always moved her deeply.

She moved a little closer and put her teddy bear in his lap, she knew he felt lonely. It was part of the torture, the loneliness… She felt it too. 

He wrapped his hand around the small, dirty bear with a tender smile, almost amused.

“Thank you.” He looked down at the bear as he continued. “He is the reason I’m here, you know. Sammy died and I… I couldn’t let that happen, so I made a deal. My life for his. I would do it again in a heartbeat. He deserves a happy life.” 

And he didn’t ? 

He was tortured every single day, just because he saved his baby brother ? That sounded… wrong.

She knew a few reasons people would give up their soul. Money, success, fame... She never understood why those reasons exactly, these things didn’t mean anything down here. Those souls, they never lasted long on the rack.

But sacrificing your own soul for Love, those were the good people, the ones that really didn’t deserve to be here. Dean was one of them.

She looked up at his face, his eyes were watching nothing in particular, but she could tell by the thousand emotions passing on his face, that he was lost in his memories.

“Sammy loves fireworks” his thumbs brushed over the blood stained tummy of the bear. She frowned at him.

“Do you know fireworks ?” He finally looked at her.

She crossed her legs, noticing her foot was healed, and shook her head no. It sounded a little dangerous to her.

“It’s a tube filled with chemicals and when you light it on fire, it shoots up in the sky and makes a colorful explosion. Many people use it to celebrate a holiday” he half smiled. “Fireworks can be blue or red, gold, green, any color you want.” He reached over to give her bear back. She took him and placed the broken toy back in her lap.

A smile came upon her face, that sounded like something she would like.

“I hope you can see it one day, well night, you can only see it at night, because light only shines in the dark. This one time I got a whole box of fireworks, i was like 19 maybe. Sammy was 15. We had some rough hunts, one after the other and I could see it was wearing down on Sam, and it was the 4th of July.”

She didn’t dare telling him she had no idea what it meant, she was used to know only a part of what he was talking about. 

“Dad forbid it, but I disobeyed. I wanted to make him smile, he was so happy…” he smile faded. “I wonder how he is now. ”

She wanted to get him fireworks, she wanted to make him smile. No, she had to make him smile, if it was the last thing she did.

“Sorry, I was talking about the letter, I just… I just remembered night sky and...” he swallowed. “At least Sammy can still see night sky, stars. You never saw stars, Firefly, right ?”

She gave him a light smile, that seemed to make him curious. 

“Did you ever see the sky ?”

“I…” she started but didn’t finished her sentence. 

How dangerous was it to speak ? For him ? For her ? For Crowley and all the “people” she knew even if she hated them all. They had made her swear.

She looked around and turned her ankle to make sure it didn’t hurt and wasn’t broken anymore. Then got up on her feet.

It was the very first time since she knew Dean, that she saw him totally healed and, above all, not chained. His body just got whole again so it was free from the iron nightmares.

She took a deep breath, and thought hard for a second : What if Alastair came here and… What is the worst that could happen if she got caught breaking Hell’s number one rule ? They would torture him… They already did that the best they could. They would probably lock her up and never let her out… 

She looked at him for a long time, searching his confused face.

“Are you okay, kid ?” he asked in a frown.

“Come” she finally answered, offering him her tiny hand.

Dean’s Pov  

He stared at her palm, trying to process what she just said. He had never escaped this room, and the few times he got out of it, a demon just took him just next door, for unknown reason. 

“You…” he said but she just kept offering her hand.

Dean was scared. He was terrified even. Years of constant torture and humiliation had made him extremely sensible to threats ; and right now, all he could think of was Alastair’s voice telling him he hadn’t done the worst he could do yet, that some places in here could make him say yes in a heartbeat, but that it was funnier this way.

He hesitated. Alastair would be furious if he found him out… But her eyes were shining, and her hand didn’t shake at all. Something so strong was radiating from her. 

He got up, and just being on his feet felt weird now. No chains, no broken knees… His hand reached hers and she closed her surprisingly soft fingers around it, smiling so wide her pretty teeth showed.

The first three or four steps he took felt extremely weird, like his body remembered how to be active, move… There was something so alive about walking.

After balking a second before the door frame, he finally got out of his cell, led by the little girl in a fancy night blue dress, that seemed to fear nothing.

“Where are you…” he started.

But she turned to him, cutting him with panicked eyes and a finger on her lips. Then she shook her head “no”, making it clear that they had to be silent.

Dean was thorn. His eyes kept roaming everywhere, and yet he didn’t want to see anything. Hell was not just a word now for him, and the screams and begging was slowly triggering some serious panic attack deep inside of him.

His hand started to sweat.

The little girl stopped in her tracks, frowns and turned to him. Her big eyes searched his face, she obviously could feel how bad he was. She tugged at his arm making him bend a little on her, never letting go of his hand.

“You stay silent” she whispered close to his ear. “You never leave my side, I know the way…”

It somehow helped. 

He had no idea who she was, but what was sure was that this tiny lovely ghost knew what she was doing.

They kept walking and he started focusing on her, and only her, forgetting the arms trying to reach them and this horrible smell of sulfur, forgetting the burning hot and the freezing cold…

The way she moved was totally amazing, fast like a rabbit then careful and slow like a hunting cat, stopping to hide behind a column before a demon even showed up, like she knew Hell’s clockwork perfectly. And it calmed Dean a little : watching her move was like watching a dance.

After long minutes avoiding many dangers, they entered a very long corridor with no doors but an incredible cathedral ceiling. Dean didn’t think he would see anything like this in Hell, anything somehow beautiful… But his Firefly was really like a beacon in the eternal night. 

“No demon” he whispered.

“No…” her little voice answered, echoing on every tall walls. “This place is empty and useless, they say.”

“Useless…” he repeated, not really understanding.

At the end of the corridor, a huge door appeared, high like a house, thousands of symbols carved on it, and two huge marble gargoyles guarding it.

“They lost the key” she whispered even lower, guiding him to the door.

“What is on the other side ?” he asked, his breathing short with a mix of fear and hope.

She stopped, and suddenly let go of his hand to plunged her small fingers in the hole where the head of her teddy bear should be. She bit her lip in concentration, searching in the foam.

A little smile appeared on her face, and she started pulling at something. 

A key.

She took it out cautiously, blowing on it a little to take off the foam dust stuck on the weird yet beautiful key. It was way too small for the giant door, and yet, she got on her tiptoes to reach the little lock he hadn’t notice.

The little girl looked behind her a last time before she made one of the huge parts of the carved door move open. 

“Come” she said.

Carefully, he slipped inside the room and his breathing got stuck in his lungs while she slowly closed the door behind her. 

The room had no ceiling. It was made of four black walls that Dean wasn’t even sure were there because of how dark it was. And above them… The sky.

The shadows of trees and and leafs in the night and between them : the stars. Exactly like he remembered it. It must have been a peaceful night of summer, because the temperature was perfect, no burning hot and no painful cold… Just a soft breeze was gently caressing his skin and he could have swore he could distinguish the thousand characteristic smells of nature, of a forest.

A tear rolled down his face, falling in his ear as his chin was up, eyes glued to the sky, the stars and the moon.

It was like the room was both in that forest and out of it, or under it, like his Firefly and him were in the bottom of a well, open on the universe.

He felt her hand wrap around his wrist and turned to her for a second. She was as fascinated as him, her big wet eyes reflecting the moon, and her hand shaking a little.

“What is this place ?” he asked, but she only shrugged, never looking away from the crescent moon. “That’s where you saw the sky, Firefly” he understood.

She nodded.

They stood here, close to each other, her small hands holding his wrist on her right and the key on the left. Tears rolling down his face, and shaking his chest in silent. Not another word was said.

After a moment, she slightly tugged at his arm, and his heart sank. How could he go back to torture now ? How cruel was it ? But he couldn’t let her get in trouble, and maybe… just maybe one day she could take him here again.

He wiped his tears and followed her without a word. The second she closed the door behind them, the harassing heat was back, and the dreadful smell was the only thing surrounding them again.

She closed the door behind her and hid the key back in her teddy bear, making sure it was on the bottom of it. Before she could start to walk back to the horror of his cell, he turned her small body to him, and sink on his knees to hold her. 

“Thank you” he breathed out. “Thank you so much.”

Her skin was cool despite the suffocating heat, like it didn’t affect her at all, and no sweat was on her soft arms or back. 

She hugged him back hesitantly, wrapping her hands around his neck, and he felt her nose shyly closer to his skin, like she needed to know how his skin smelled.

He let go before her, and get up on his feet, murmuring something about going back. She took his index finger and led him like she did on their way here. 

Dean was lost in his thoughts. About life, about Earth, about the sky and the stars, memories of not appreciating it enough, of that time he told Cassie that just watching the sky was boring…

That’s why he didn’t feel her finger let go of him in an instant. 

“Dean winchester !” a horrible demon voice groaned. 

He looked up and started shaking. The beast was wearing it’s real form, twice taller than him, with horns coming out where his eyes should have been, and extremely long claws at the end of his too big fingers.

“How did you get out !” the demon half yelled.

Dean looked around : Nothing. No clue of his Firefly presence, or that she even was there once. 

And while the beast was dragging him by the arm harshly, he wondered if it was possible that his mind was beginning to make things up... 

            Alastair was furious, even angrier than he ever was. Hitting his face again, he kept asking :

“How did you get OUT ?”

But Dean didn’t open his mouth, not once.

When that demon that had found him entered, holding the little girl by the neck, Dean had two really strong contrary feelings at once : The infinite joy of now being sure he didn’t dreamed that, and the devastating pain of seeing her struggling against that giant monster. 

“Boss, we found her hiding. You think she might have helped him ?” the demon said, making the walls tremble.

“Oh yes she might, I’m pretty sure she did…” his torturer answered with a wicked smile. 

Y/n’s pov 

The demon dropped her to the floor of the cell. 

“Oh girlie, you are in so much trouble now.” 

She saw Dean cowered against the wall, already bruised and bleeding. Arms wrapped around his body to protect himself.

He tsked his lips in a way only he could, making her shiver, and hold on to her broken toy.

“Leaving your room AND taking my pet,” an eerie grin showed his yellow teeth, “You’re in for it now.” He motioned with his two fingers to the demon to handle Dean.

She couldn’t let that happen, it was her fault, Dean shouldn’t pay the price for her disobedience. She ran to stand in front of Dean.

“No.” She said, looking up at the monster, challenging him.

 He laughed at her and she clenched her little fists and planted her feet. She knew she couldn’t stop the torture, but right now, she couldn’t let it happen. The smell of his neck still clear in her mind, the sight of his happy tears falling on his face…

“You’re gonna stop me, child ?” he bent, to face her, his long sharp teeth inching towards her face. 

She held her head high, looking him in his black eyes with rage and took a step forward, the demon moving backwards. Her breathing got faster and she felt her anger burn her skin. 

He looked down at his feet apparently surprised that with every step she took, he moved more backwards, his long nails scraping over the floor, leaving deep crescents behind. He reached his arms towards her but he couldn’t reach her, like there was an invisible wall between them. 

Waves and waves of fury pulsated through her, making her feel tall for once, making her feel strong… 

“I-Impossible” he gasped.

Her grin grew wider, her hair started floating around her again. 

But it didn’t last... 

A immense power violently slammed her back into the wall as Alastair stepped forward. She fought back the best she could but he didn’t even break a sweat.

“You’ll need a whole lot more juice to over power me, girlie.” 

He stood straight before her. His power crushing her, her breath cut short. His grin made her feel sick as his eyes travelled over her with contempt. 

Her eyes widened when he grabbed her bear clutched tight in her hand from her.

“NO !” she yelled.

Her arms fought his power, reaching out for him, but with the flick of his wrist she was pinned against the wall once again. She was fighting him with everything she got. Eyes a flare, vibrating from the power inside of her. 

She could see Dean in the corner of her eye, he looked… scared. Was it of her ?

“You disobey, you pay.” Alastair said as he held Mister Teddy Bear, his eyes turning white as he set the bear on fire.

“N-No…” tears rolled down her face. 

Her stuffed friend was the only thing that fought her loneliness, her only true friend, they had been through so much together.

As she started sobbing, seeing the quick fire of Hell turning Mister Teddy Bear to ashes in seconds, she felt her heart sink in her stomach. Her nights would be so much lonelier now with no one to hold. But her days too, everything would be empty. 

The light in her eyes died down as did the flame. Mister Teddy Bear, reduced to a pathetic heap of dust…

“Stop crying, you’re nine years old, that’s too old to have a toy.” 

Alistair patted his hands together to get rid of the black ash. But in his hands was not only ash. Shining on the floor, a little reddened by the flame : The key. His eyes widened.

“Where did you get this?!” His hand grabbed her by the throat, his power pushed down on her, making the wall behind her crack under it’s force. “WHERE ?”

“L-let her go” Dean coughed, his breathing short, but Alastair ignored him, and the other demon stepped on his chest.

She kept her mouth shut. She had snatched it off of Crowley one day when he had pissed her off, hoping it was a key to one of her chains. But it didn’t fit… 

It looked different from a normal key. It was gold, a circle with a hook on top of it and three long teeth that looked it would never fit in any lock. But if Crowley kept it, it had to be important. So she tried every lock of Hell. 

“You STUPID girl, you just earned yourself an eternity of chains and horror” he sneered at her.

“It already is my life” her tears had stopped by now. 

This key seemed like a big deal, Alistair was not one to lose his temper so easily. He put it in his pocket. Turned his head toward the beast crushing Dean’s ribs with his weight.

“Take Dean to my room, it will be one Hell of a session” he winked towards the bloody man struggling to breathe, toying with his prey, as the demon dragged him out.

Y/n didn’t wave this time, her eyes fixed on the pile of ash on the floor.

“And you” he fisted her hair, making her look up at him. “Let’s give you a taste of real Hell.”

 ___________________________

               She walked carefully in the corridor, holding her long, puffed-out muslin dress up to keep it away from the blood and dirt. 

The cold air was biting her wide cleavage, upper back and neck because her hair was held in that tight bun. She could feel the freezing gold at her wrists and neck, and hanging from her hair. Her shoes were tight and high, she hated them.

Her steps resonated against the stone walls, but she knew no demon would be around.

She needed to see him, just once, since they had played with her like a doll since this morning, and she didn’t have a second for herself.

When she pushed the door, he was held by chains again, but whole, curled up in the corner, his clothes seemed to have been mostly burned, and a heavy smell of smoke was making the air barely breathable. 

“Dean” she said.

He looked up and his face lit up, his widened eyes reflecting her fancy appearance. 

“You look like a princess” he groaned with a voice still croaky.

“You won’t see Alastair tonight” she assured him.

“Is there a party ?” he scoffed, visibly bitter like he somedays were. “Have fun.”

“No one will visit tonight Dean” she repeated again, not knowing what she could add to that.

Then she turned around in a light sigh. He had every reason in the world to be that bitter, there was nothing more to say. But the second she was going to pass the door, he spoke again :

“Don’t let them hurt you, Firefly. You fight back if they touch you…” he cleared his throat. “You look amazing.”

  She entered the ballroom with that indifferent pout on her face she kept there all the time lately. Her sad feature hidden behind that disillusioned mask she wore every single day.

The room looked like the throne room of a rich castle, and all the demons were hiding their vileness in human bodies, dressed fancy, with smiles on their faces. But they didn’t fooled her. 

They stepped aside to let her enter, turning toward her in whispers. She walked in, her back straight, her hate making her back shiver under the noble lace.

“There she is” a voice came from the crowd.

And the first demon of all, in the body of a tall blond lady appeared, she was the only one wearing a dress more sophisticated than her own. 

“Lilith” Y/n curtsied slightly, clenching her jaw.  

The demon took her face brutally in her hand to look at it with contempt and nodded slightly.

“Maybe you’re right, Crowley” she admitted, letting go of her face and turning her back on her. “Maybe your accidental offspring could be a bride or a toy for our Lord when he rises.” she turned to Y/n again to look one last time from head to toe, and muttered low. “But I’m glad I won’t be here to see that.”  

When Y/n turned to walk far from that evil shrew, she came face to face with Alastair, and goosebumped appeared on her skin.

“Happy twelfth birthday, Girly” he smiled and she swallowed the angry lump in the throat.

“Y/n !” Crowley called, probably trying to get her away from his own enemies like he always did, not to protect her, but to avoid the humiliation of seeing the Ace in his hand being despised by anyone stronger than him.

She turned to him, but felt Alastair’s hand grasp her wrist harshly. He bent next to her ear and she could smell his fetid breath.

“I hope you die.”

Next Chapter on @roonyxx​‘s blog

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[uozlulu]

manga spoilers

Returned to my thoughts about sacrificing the Dark Triad being part of the Ritual of Qliphoth, and how that might mean the fourth Zogratis might appear. 

Like you take blood, body, and bone magic and feed it into the ritual in addition to gravity, space, and curses, so it’d make sense that some kind of soul and time magic might result. 

We also know that Nacht said the real goal here besides saving Yami and Vangeance is to keep Luciferio from setting foot in the living world. Which is interesting because he was assigned to Dante, who would have to die if the sacrifice is part of the ritual itself. Which again makes me wonder if Satan isn’t actually the mythological figure that shouldn’t set foot in the living world, and is the devil associated with the fourth Zogratis. This post over here got me thinking about Dante’s Inferno where Satan is at the center of the earth. He also has three faces. Now in Inferno, Satan and Lucifer are the same entity, though sometimes they are separate creatures of similar backstory, much like how Crowley and Satan are different characters in Good Omens even though Satan is thought to be the snake in the Garden of Eden depending on who you ask. So really there are no hard and fast rules here regarding Satan, Lucifer, and other figures like Dis or Hel you might want to throw into the mix. 

I mean Nacht did say Luciferio, and that indeed could be correct, but Nacht is also going on the information he was able to gather in the shadows of the Spade Kingdom, and I’m curious if the Dark Triad are truly intentional sacrifices of the ritual if the Dark Triad even knew they were sacrifices of the ritual because I don’t think they knew that. I mean if the oldest Zogratis’ goal was to be the devil standing at the end of the ritual, I could see how he could manipulate his siblings into taking on Luciferio, Megicula, and Beelzebub. He would just have to appeal to Dante’s ego. Of course Dante would want to be Luciferio, the one who’s the most feared. He’s wearing a crown. He loves the idea of that kind of power. The oldest brother would then appeal to Vanica’s need to have fun by causing carnage and chaos. Why wouldn’t she want a devil that could curse people? All the different type sof curses would be so interesting and keep things from getting stale. Then, we all know there’s a high chance that the oldest Zogratis sent the devil that caused Zenon to capitulate and finally request a devil. So clearly, there is something for the oldest brother to gain here. 

It’ll be interesting to see how it unfolds. I would think that we’re going to move to Team Parole vs. Morris next since we’ve been ignoring them so far and now that the Dark Triad is likely all defeated, it’s time for Asta, Yuno, and Noelle to head to the laboratory next presumably at least. 

Whether that’s what happens or not, I am excited to see what the next phase of the ritual might be, because I would think there has to be some sort of something that goes down once the Dark Triad (and maybe their devils too?) die. 

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Hello lovely humans!

I’ve recently hit the 500 follower milestone and want to celebrate with another challenge! This time, dark fics are welcome! 

I have a lot of prompts here and what doesn’t get used will probably be put aside for a future challenge. I like to make sure there is a wide array of prompts to be chosen from and tend to go overboard. Whoops. 

The Rules: 

1. Use the hashtag #JBBNN500 

2. Dark fics are welcome - Just be sure to utilize trigger warnings and indicate that it is a dark fic. 

3. Even if you aren’t writing a dark fic, use trigger warnings if the content warrants it. If you write something that has heavier themes, like those that delve into mental health topics, be sure to label it appropriately. 

4. Selecting Prompts: Just let me know which one you want to do! 2 people per prompt! Tell me which subheading and the number of the prompt so I can mark it down! If it’s a lyric prompt, please give me the song and the number! 

5. You don’t have to be following to participate! 

6. Deadline: January 11, 2021

Yes, I’m giving about 3 months for this. January 11 also happens to be my birthday, so I figured that would be a good date to choose. 

The subheadings are: dialogue prompts, sentence prompts, quotes from popular media, and song lyrics!

Find the prompts under the cut! 

Dialogue Prompts

“Life is made up of maybes and regrets. I don’t want this to be one of them.”

“You can’t do this. It’s my choice to make, and mine alone. If you don’t agree with it, the door is there. Feel free to use it.”

“I used to be afraid of the dark, you know. Until I learned that the real monsters thrive in the light.” 

“So, what you’re saying is if I gave you a nickel, you’d do it.”

“No, I don’t know how the cheese got there, and honestly, I don’t think I want to know.” 

“You’re sounding more like a cult leader every time you open your mouth. Don’t think I’ll be accepting any Flavor Aid from you anytime soon.” 

“How did you...you know what, I’m going to forget I saw a thing, and go read a book. Or bathe in Holy Water. Or both. Both is good.” 

“If you say one more word I swear--” “One more word” “I hate you” 

“You can’t come in here singing my favorite song and expect forgiveness, that’s not how this works!”

“No. You mean nothing to me. You never did. You never will.” 

“But if it did, it would work and you can’t convince me otherwise.” 

“You are simultaneously the smartest and least intelligent person I have ever meant. Truly, an amazing accomplishment.” @bonkywobble​

“Next thing you’re going to say is that ghosts are real...please tell me that’s a joke” 

“All I’m saying is, I could do that blindfolded.” 

“But why was there pizza on the ceiling?” 

“If you write me a four thousand word essay on why you think that’s a good idea, then sure.” 

“I didn’t think you were serious. Do you know how illegal this is?!” 

Sentence Prompts

Feel free to change the pronouns used to suit your needs, even if they aren’t bracketed! You can also change the tense if you need to! 

The January rain fell, feeling like razors against [your/her/their] skin as [you/she/they] stared out over the horizon.

This was it, the moment where life as [you/she/they] knew it ended.

 [His/her/their] gaze fell on [her/you], like a lion circling its prey. 

You never thought that it would come to this, come to being the one to end it all. 

You took a moment to calculate [his/her/their] next move, figuring out the perfect counter. 

Hanging by your ankles from a tree was most definitely not how you planned on spending your Saturday. 

Glancing around the room at the decor, one thing was obvious: it was [his/her/their] doing. 

Hurt was the only thing you felt, the only thing you could cling to in this abyss.

Lies, it had all been lies and they were crumbling around you. 

The screech of tires on the pavement sent a shiver down your spine.

He/She used to love this time of year, the beauty of it all. 

It was like climbing Everest: ambitious, dangerous, and maybe a little insane. 

Forgiveness was not something you were willing to offer so freely, not this time. 

Chaos may as well have been the code name of this mission. @nekoannie-chan​

Silence was your new best friend, one that never seemed to leave you alone.

That smile, that smile was something you could get used to waking up to every day. 

Your face twisted in disgust as you realized what you had fallen into.

You were beginning to wish you had taken [him/her/them] up on that trip to Madrid. 

Quotes from Popular Media:

With these prompts specifically, you can use the full thing, paraphrase, etc, since some of them are quite long, or just write something based off an idea it sparks. 

“There are so many stories where some brave hero decides to give their life to save the day, and because of their sacrifice, the good guys win, the survivors all cheer, and everybody lives happily ever after. But the hero... never gets to see that ending. They'll never know if their sacrifice actually made a difference. They'll never know if the day was really saved. In the end, they just have to have faith. Ain't that a bitch.” -Epsilon, Season 13, Red vs Blue 

“We're so arrogant, aren't we? So afraid of age, we do everything we can to prevent it. We don't realize what a privilege it is to grow old with someone. Someone who doesn't drive you to commit murder or doesn't humiliate you beyond repair.” - Daniel, P.S I Love You 

“After centuries of men looking at my tits instead of my eyes and pinching my ass instead of shaking my hand, I now have the divine right to stare at a man's backside with vulgar, cheap appreciation if I want to!” - Denise, P.S. I Love You

“Life isn't just death. Don't ignore the living.” - Vada Sultenfuss, My Girl

“Life's full of barbaric customs. But I hope they all end with a kiss like that.” - Vada Sultenfuss, My Girl 

"You're a little scary sometimes, you know that? Brilliant ... but scary." - Ron Weasley, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone 

"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends." - Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone 

"I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I’m not there." - Harry Potter, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets 

“Sweetie, this is one of those times when I know what's right and everybody else is confused.” - Angela Montenegro, Bones, Season 3 

“Oh, God. I'm in the middle of something, aren't I? Oh, look! Dead guy!” - Cam Saroyan, Bones, Season 5

“Don’t make it sound trivial when you know it isn’t. You keep talking about how we just need a little more time, but you’re not the one having to struggle.” -Nora, RWBY, Volume 7

“It's called survival. But I forgot, you two at best are functional morons.” - Crowley, Supernatural, Season 5, Episode 10

“I once had to judge a tighty-whitey contest for Lambda Kappa Pi. Trust me, I can handle anything.” - Elle Woods, Legally Blonde 

“How were we supposed to know? It's not like we run background checks on all her boyfriends.” - Kathryn Kennish, Switched at Birth

“Don’t try to get on my good side. I no longer have a good one” - Ouiser, Steel Magnolias 

“I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.” - Shelby, Steel Magnolias 

“You have the handwriting of a serial killer” - Clairee, Steel Magnolias 

“I didn’t know if you would hire someone who might be married to someone who may or may not be a criminal” - Annelle, Steel Magnolias 

Lyric Prompts

What Do You Think Of - Lauren Alaina ft. Lukas Graham

What do you think of when you think of me?

When you look back on us what do you see? Is it the good times, is it the bad times, is it somewhere in between? 

I can’t even drive down 8th Avenue because the whole damn town reminds me of you

Hurts to Know - 1551

But you stayed when I made another promise to keep

And you waited and waited for the life you saw in your dreams 

You walk in and begin to try to heal me again, but each night is a fight that’s getting harder to win.

Sick - 1551

Everyone I meet feels like another target

I’m feeling sick, I’m feeling twisted, I wasn’t home before this feeling existed 

I never knew that wrong could feel so right

seven - Taylor Swift

Sweet tea in the summer, cross your heart won’t tell no other, and though I can’t recall your face, I still got love for you

Passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long

I think your house is haunted, your dad is always mad and that must be why 

We’ll hide in the closet, and just like a folk song, our love will be passed on 

the last great american dynasty - Taylor Swift

How did a middle class divorcee do it? 

The wedding was charming, if a little gauche 

And they said “There goes the last great American dynasty. Who knows if she never showed up what could have been.” 

epiphany - Taylor Swift 

With you I serve, with you I fall down 

Something med school did not cover

And some things you just can’t speak about 

Chapters - Brett Young

Chapter one, I was raised on the Dodgers 

There’s no perfect life, you can’t hold back time

Everybody expecting perfection 

Things change in the blink of an eyelid, guess my body knew way more than I did

The Daughters - Little Big Town

Girl, know your place, be willing and able 

Girl, watch your mouth and watch your weight

Pose like a trophy on a shelf, and dream for everyone but not yourself

I wash the dishes, feed the kids, and clean up all this mess, do my best, forgive myself, and look good in this dress

It Won’t Always Be Like This - Carly Pearce 

I remember how I couldn’t wait to get out of my hometown, now I’m looking for every excuse to go back on the weekend

I remember hearing the door slam, twenty-two, didn't have a clue who I was, who I could trust, and who were my real friends

The heart won’t ache forever, no matter how hard it gets, it won’t always be like this

Next Girl - Carly Pearce 

You overlook a lot when he looks like that

He’ll charm your mama with that smile, hide the red flags for a while 

He’ll make you think it’s love, but I promise you it’s not 

Bar Back - Lauren Alaina 

You can have that coffee shop we went on our first date

I’ll give you back that sweatshirt, that one you know I love

I’m taking back that little hole in the wall, the red door sign saying “come on in y’all”

If I Was a Beer - Lauren Alaina

Honey you’re in luck, ‘cause I’m a fine, fine, wine. I’m a slow sweet pour, I can be a little bitter, but I ain’t a hard hitter, like a 30 from the grocery store

Waiting for Superman - Daughtry

She says “he’s still coming, just a little bit late” 

She’s talking to angels, counting the stars, making a wish on a passing car

If life was a movie, then it wouldn’t end like this 

Before You Go - Lewis Capaldi

When you hurt under the surface, like troubled water running could, well time can heal but this won’t

Before you go, was there something I could have said to make your heart beat better?

Our every moment, I start to replay, but all I can think about is seeing that look on your face  @arrowsandmixtapes​ 

Hard to Forget - Sam Hunt

It's kinda funny how I can't seem to get away from you, it's almost like you don't want me to

You’ve got a cold heart and the cold hard truth

Told me to leave all your things out on the porch on the swing

Oh you’re breaking my heart, baby you’re playing hard to forget 

This is It - Scotty McCreery

You can open your eyes

Can’t you see forever 

On top of the world here together

If there ever was a time for a perfect kiss, this is it 

Wish You’d Miss Me - Chase Wright

I was good for you, you were bad for me 

I was solid ground, you were broken wings 

I gave you love you gave me pain

You gave me hell, I gave you grace 

I knew all along that you were gonna leave 

What a Man Gotta Do - Jonas Brothers

I’m not trying to be your part time lover, sign me up for that full time @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad​

This Feeling - Chainsmokers ft. Kelsea Ballerini 

I lay out all my reasons you say that I need help

They tell me think with my head, not that thing in my chest

They got their hands at my neck this time 

I tell you all my secrets and you tell all your friends 

Hold onto your opinions and stand by what you say 

What Are You Gonna Tell Her - Mickey Guyton 

She thinks life is fair 

But what are you gonna tell her when she’s wrong?

What are you gonna tell her when she figures out that all this time you built her up just so the world could let her down? 

Do you tell her not to fight? 

Can you look her in the face and promise her that things will change? 

[lineffability]

// and the angel said unto them, do not be afraid // Luke 2:10

Aziraphale was in a good mood. Which was sort of his State Of Being, what with him being an angel and goodness incarnate and generally Holier Than Thou.

That was the way he liked to think of himself, anyways. He didn’t like to look past that thin, fragile layer into the burning depths out of which he had been forged. His goodness was the crust of the earth, the protective layer that made life possible on the surface.

What lay beneath was both life-giving and deeply destructive. Like God herself, in that way. Shaped in Her image.

Hellfire was not the most cataclysmic force around.

Like most angels, it was a part of him he kept under lock and had mostly forgotten (denied). Aziraphale had worked hard to shape himself into who he wanted himself to be. Who he had consciously chosen to be. 

He was a being of love, at the end of it all. 

And the things he loved and surrounded himself with were like the homemade, cross-stitched fabric of his soul: food and books and warm colours; softness and fondness and contentment; and Crowley. 

(Woe betide the fool who might try and rip a hole into this fabric, to snatch a thread and force it to unravel--to reveal what lay neatly tucked away underneath.)

Currently, Aziraphale was in particularly high spirits, because he had struck a most pleasing book deal, and was on his way back to his shop with a pack of chocolates under his arm, and was also very much looking forward to Crowley returning tonight from his little trip over to Wales where he was wreaking some Moderate Inconvenience for old time’s sake.   

He entered his shop with a smile on his face: a smile that died when he saw the tall, broad man clad in a perfectly-fitting grey suit standing right there in the centre of the room, waiting for him on the carpet that he knew hid a rather occult chalk sketch. 

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale fixed his bowtie, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This is a... surprise?” 

Behind the angel, Aziraphale could see the answering machine blinking at him from under a pile of books--an ugly device, really, but Crowley had pestered him to get one set up so much he had to give in at some point, that wily old serpent--and his thoughts involuntarily wandered off to the demon. Not exactly an appropriate moment. 

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel smiled his business smile, play-punching Aziraphale on his shoulder as he came up to him. The angels had kept their distance ever since The Hellfire Incident; this was the first time Aziraphale had seen the Archangel since that day, a few months ago now.  “Old boy! Just dropped by to update you on some stuff; keep in touch, right? Well, anyways, about the demon Crowley--”

Aziraphale straightened, lips parting slightly. 

“--well, about him, you’ll have to manage without him for a bit, nothing serious. No harm done, right? Well, no permanent harm, anyways.” He laughed, as if he’d made a little joke. He had, only Aziraphale was not in on it yet. 

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded weak to his own ears. 

“Oh, come on! You know we’re big on vengeance!” Gabriel beamed. “Of course, we honour our agreements, but a well-placed little discorporation has never hurt anyone, now, has it? Actually, scratch that, it hurts a little. Anyways, we acquired some fine murderers--aren’t humans just great? Murder by purchase, hilarious! They should be on their way to eliminate his earthly shell as we speak, just wanted to let you know.”

Aziraphale was barely listening anymore. The red light of the answering machine glowered at him from the depths of his consciousness like beastly eyes in the dark, its happy promise turned to bone-deep, spine-chilling dread.

Crowley, discorporated? His knees felt weak. 

"Oh don’t look so upset, now. He’ll be back in no time, the paperwork only takes a few years down there. Anyways, I gotta run, duty calls, and--”

He stopped dead when he caught the look in Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale had never looked at him like that. Perhaps Aziraphale had never looked at anyone like that. Gone was the pudgy little man with eyes so blue they must’ve been taken right from the perfect sky of a picture book. He looked like rainclouds, like a cold desert, like a stormy sea about to come crashing down to drown the entire world. He looked like The Fury Of God, and Gabriel took a step backwards, involuntarily. 

But just as suddenly as it had come on, the wave subsided (but oh, the dark sea remained). “It has not happened yet, you say?” His voice sounded strained. 

“Oh, no,” Gabriel started, but Aziraphale, staring at the floor, merely snapped his fingers, and the Archangel disappeared as the carpet below him incinerated and the chalk beneath glowed white.  

Another snap, and the answering machine started playing by itself. 

“Aziraphale!” A chipper voice piped up, and the angel suddenly felt so scared he wanted to sink down onto the floor. “So, I was wondering, since I can’t quite recall--was Wales one of yours or ours? I mean,” and here he laughed, “I do know who’s responsible for Llanfair­pwllgwyngyll­gogery­chwyrn­drobwll­llan­tysilio­gogo­goch--still proud of that one. Anyways, come over to my place tonight at 7, I’ve brought you some bara brith and a bottle blanc de blancs.”

The rest of the tape ran empty. “Dammit, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, trying to convince himself that he was not about to cry. He rushed to the phone, and picked up the receiver. The right number started dialing by itself. 

The clock showed 6. 

“Angel? I know you miss me, but--” 

“Crowley! Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale closed his eyes, the relief was so big. 

“--really, gotta be patient only a little while longer.” Crowley’s voice was mischievous, a sentiment that currently went right over the angel’s head. “I still got some business to attend to in Hackney.” 

“Wait, are you back in London?!”

“Oh yeah, just about to meet up with some shady people, y’know, my favourite kind, they wanted to strike some sorta deal and--oh, gotta go!”

“Crowley, wait!”

“Toodeloo!”   

The line went dead, and Aziraphale, aggravated, threw the receiver down. It fell to the ground, so he picked it back up and put it on the holder, angrily. He felt like swearing. 

He had to get to Crowley. Before they did.

Crowley was expecting nothing. If they really were trained assassins, and if they acted fast enough, there was a real chance his demon was in serious trouble. 

It took half an hour to get from Soho to Hackney by cab or public transport. For a human. 

Aziraphale had been out of shape for six thousand years, but right now he didn’t have time to acknowledge that fact. Reality would just have to deal with it. So he ran. He ran as if the devil was on his heels, even though it was in fact quite the opposite. After a few steps he was barely touching the ground anymore, while an Old power deep inside him reared its tired head. Nobody took notice of him, nor of the flash of white feathers that flickered in and out of existence around him as he moved, ever faster, dragging his body along for the ride.

Ten minutes later he stood in a dark alley, gasping for breath as he tried to put himself back together: literally; rearranging his atoms and reattaching the patches of Soul that had spilled over like water out of an overflowing cup, like cotton out of a crude and frayed doll. 

He was close enough now, to feel him. Could sense the demonic aura. 

(That was good, right? That meant he still had an aura.)

It didn’t take long to track him down. 

Through a broken fence and along a wall full of horrendous graffiti and towards the entrance of an abandoned warehouse. It was a truly sinister place; no person in their right mind would meet up with strangers here. Except Crowley was no person (and quite possibly never in his right mind.)

(I don’t have a right mind, angel, Aziraphale could almost hear him say, I have a wrong mind. And I’m very much in it. Duh.)

The doors crumbled before him, evaporated into thin air that he could feel against his wings. He hadn’t bothered putting them away. 

“Crowley?” he called.

And Crowley turned around, surprise on his face, and as if they had been waiting for this moment the two people he was now facing away from drew their guns. 

Two shots echoed through the empty hall. 

They never reached their target. Aziraphale lifted his hand, and for a moment everything stopped. The wave of his righteous fury came crashing down all over again, and this time there was no stopping it. When reality resumed, the bullets had found new targets. 

With twin screams, the two henchpeople went down and writhed on the ground, their kneecaps shattered. When they looked up, they wished they hadn’t.

All they saw was bright white blinding fury, a vast nothingness so incomprehensible to the human mind that it burned their eyes and their souls, and inside that nothingness a million eyes staring right through them. There were whispers, in that place, echoes and ghosts and memories of worlds, and as the angel spread its wings they started screaming. 

They stopped, abruptly, when the demon Crowley let them fall into merciful unconsciousness.  

“Angel, that’s enough.”

The sound of Crowley’s voice reached him through a haze, and Aziraphale faltered. He turned towards the demon, and saw shock and worry on his face.

Crowley saw something else entirely: He saw Both. There was Aziraphale, tired and dishevelled and unbearably horrified and so very Human; and there was Aziraphale, blinding and manifold and unbearably Holy, and not human at all.

“Aziraphale,” he murmured, “it’s enough, now. It’s okay.”

And Aziraphale closed his eyes, and stood there as the light receded, and when he opened his eyes he was One again. And he looked terrified. 

“Oh, Crowley,” he said, and his voice almost broke, it sounded so feeble. “You’re, you’re alright.”

Crowley, on the other hand--now that he had his angel back, he knew it, saw it--looked at him... almost a little smitten. He stepped closer, steadying the angel before he could ask. Though he tried to look Casual, he still scanned the angel’s face intently, until Aziraphale looked away. 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he finally said, and after another moment: “Should I thank you?”

“Better not,” Aziraphale answered with a weak smile. “I could get into all sorts of trouble...”

Crowley smiled: faintly, softly. (Almost, very almost, he touched a hand to the angel’s cheek.)

“So, care to tell me what this is all about?” he asked instead, carefully circling around Aziraphale, his touch never quite leaving him.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a fine line. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Silence settled around them, and both their gazes landed on the poor unconscious souls lying in a heap on the ground. 

“Well uhhh, alright, then,” Crowley spoke up, “So... Let’s get you home? I still have that sparkling wine in my Bentley, y’know the one.”

“Wait.” Aziraphale sighed, taking a few exhausted steps towards the two murderers acquired by Gabriel. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured as he took to healing their knees, “ When you wake up, you migth want to re-evaluate your choice of profession. And try not to believe what you saw.”

(Forgetting, he knew, was impossible. They would have to carry this burden for life. As did he.)

Crowley stood waiting, and then wordlessly walked by his side (his arm brushing against Aziraphale’s now and again, close enough to offer comfort with his presence, but keeping to himself.) He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this situation, wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he knew Aziraphale well enough to give him time.

He’d always needed time.

As they stepped outside, someone was waiting for them.

He was Gabriel--but not quite. A few inches smaller, a little lop-sided, with less of his perfect hair on his head. He looked like he’d been run through a pastry machine. And he looked pissed.

“You’ve really done it now, Aziraphale,” he snapped. “Discorporating an Archangel! Look at the fucking body they gave me!”

“You what?!” Crowley wheezed, incredulous and, not to his credit, looking absolutely delighted. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat, and straightened his shoulders, and suddenly looked like his old self. Like his softness was his armour. 

“I thought, despite everything, that you were still one of us... but I must have been wrong.” Cold anger sat deep in Gabriel’s eyes, and behind that, hidden, something like disappointment.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, instinctively, ready to go No, no, of course I still am, but then he glanced sideways at Crowley. And that was that. He knew.

They were still His Side... but right now, though he would never say the words out loud despite it all, there was only one thought burning inside him and it was:

Fuck My Side.

“No, I don’t suppose I am.” He said it as if he was realizing it only as he spoke, and a part of him did. Another part had known it for a long, long time. He looked Gabriel right in the eyes, holding his furious gaze with his own. 

Beside him, he saw (felt) Crowley’s head snap around, just impercetibly, a motion so small that Gabriel would never notice, but Aziraphale did. Behind his sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes had gone wide. 

So this was it. The moment he had been so very scared of for so very long, but now that it was happening he suddenly was not scared anymore at all. Determined, he took a step forward, positioning himself slightly closer and slightly in front of Crowley. He thought he saw the demon smile softly, for just a second, a little unsure twitch in his cheek. 

“I would appreciate it if you never did that again,” Aziraphale said, and somehow it sounded both like a polite request and a Threat. 

And Gabriel, The Trial still present in his mind--the image of Azirapahle standing in Hellfire and basking in it--thought he saw that same Aziraphale again now. The Archangel smiled, a short and humourless smile that was mere acknowledgement, and then he snapped his fingers and was gone. 

Crowley waved after him, a little wiggle of his fingers that he very much enjoyed.

Aziraphale felt all his strength leave him, yet at the same time he’d never felt stronger in his life. He exhaled, trying to wrap his mind around all that had happened. He had truly chosen his allegiance once and for all, and he knew it was the only decision he ever could have made. 

The power that had so forcefully reminded him of its existence, never quite forgotten, still tingled beneath his skin, but it was only a soft stream now, and Aziraphale gently led it back down. The fabric of Himself was still intact. With a little smile, and an even littler glance to the demon by his side, he clasped his hands contentedly in front of his stomach. 

Aziraphale knew who he had to thank for that. Wily old serpent, always meddling in his affairs. He’d better never stop. 

“He’s a real jerk, that one, isn’t he?”

Aziraphale gasped, looking scandalized, and completely missed the irony of that. Then he grinned, and laughed, and looked at the ground and then back up into Crowley’s face, a little unsure. 

“I guess you might, on occasion, have a point,” he conceded.

He smiled broadly, warmly, one of his best smiles, and Crowley, a little stricken, reciprocated. Suddenly nervous, he took off his sunglasses and tried to clean them with the hem of his shirt, before giving up and slipping them into his pocket, as had been his (very secret) intention all along.

They locked eyes, in the twilight, and almost seemed like bashful teenagers, ready to come of age but feeling very shy about it.  

“What’s this horrible feeling all around here?” the demon asked suddenly, looking around. “It’s making my stomach all upset.”

“That would be love, my dear.” Unadulterated.

“Oh.” Crowley said nothing more. 

But his hand brushed against the back of Aziraphale’s, just lightly grazing it, and the angel, as if by serendipity, turned his hand to face his--not quite taking it, but letting their fingers touch, and not pulling away. 

_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_

tagging the people in the OP who sounded like they would want to be tagged: 

@idinink @aangelphale @ohblessit @armoredavengers @e3105eb @ineffable-bisexual @cake-cow @snake-in-the-bookshop @crowleysscaredplants @the-best-pilot-in-the-resistance @crowleys--angel @qfantasydragon @aduckwithears @jesuisfabulous @azirafuck @snakecrowleyy @foolish-principalitee @crowleyraejepsen @azfellandco @on-our-own-side @imlowercasemad 

[wintersilentdinners]

Day 17: Blanket Fort

Welcome to Fluffytown

Summary: Simon and Baz are spending the holidays at Pitch Manor. Simon just wanted to take a nap, but Mordelia has other plans...

Word Count: 1545

This was heavily inspired by the blanket fort episode of the tv show Community. If you want to see their epic blanket fort in all its glory, watch this clip.

Read on AO3

I take a deep breath, appreciating the fresh forest air. I love going on runs when I’m at home for the holidays. The scenery is gorgeous, and it reminds me of playing football, which I dearly miss. 

As I approach the manor, I can’t help but smile when I remember who’s inside. My family is, sure. It’s been great to see them, even though Mordelia can be a pain in my arse, and Fiona makes suggestive faces whenever Simon and I walk into a room. 

Simon. It’s him I’m more excited about. He said he was taking a nap when I left for my run. I think he ate too much at lunch and needed to sleep it off. Typical. Disgustingly, my heart swells just thinking about him. This is our first real Christmas here together, and it’s been wonderful. Simon fits in with my family surprisingly well, and I love watching him play with my siblings.

Taking a huge swig of my water bottle, I let myself in the house. It’s strangely quiet, so the kids might be down for naps. “The kids” includes my boyfriend, apparently. 

I walk up the steps to my room, panting. My hair is slick with sweat and has somehow fallen in my face in spite of my headband. I recognize that I probably reek, but I want to kiss Simon before I shower.

Smiling, I open the door to my room, prepared to creep over to the bed and softly wake him up. Instead, I’m greeted by an angry Mordelia.

“Baz! You are not allowed in here!” She guards a pile of blankets with folded arms.

“What have you done with Simon?” I grumble.

I hold back a laugh as Simon pops his head out beneath the blankets. I need to maintain my anger for Mordelia’s sake. If she knew I found this even slightly funny, she’d hijack Simon more often.

“How did she wake you up for this?” I ask.

“Never had the chance to sleep,” Simon shrugs.

“I think we’ve answered enough of your questions,” Mordelia says, turning to Simon. She points down, and he immediately sinks back into the fort.

“I’m showering, and then you’re cleaning this up,” I say, turning away from the door.

“Did you hear something, Simon?” I hear Mordelia ask.

“Nope!” Comes a voice muffled by blankets.

I roll my eyes, but a smile creeps its way onto my lips. I love that the two of them get on so well. I take a long shower, trying to warm my bones from the chilly December air, and then head downstairs for some tea. Might as well indulge them a little longer.

In actuality, I end up indulging them for a few hours. I take my book to the study and get so warm and content by the fire that I have no intention of moving. If Simon needed me, he would come find me. He knows I end up here, reading by the fire, at least once a day. 

We’re three days into our stay at the manor, and Simon and I have gotten into a nice routine. It always involves me reading for a bit while he goes and plays with my siblings or watches a movie. It’s nice, almost domestic.

Finally, I snap out of my reading trance as Mordelia marches into the study.

“Basilton. You’ve been summoned to your quarters. The builders have finished the renovations,” she says, then promptly walks away.

How much have they done? I don’t have much time to think, because I realize I’m meant to be following her. As Mordelia opens the door to my room, I can’t help but gasp. They’ve basically turned my entire room into a blanket fort. 

The blankets are strewn together so that it almost looks like one big quilt. Upon closer inspection, I realize the fort is a quilted mess of sheets, blankets, and shower curtains. I’m sure Daphne will be happy about that. From here I can see that they’ve strung Christmas lights through the whole thing, which sort of gives it a nice atmosphere. The pillows they’ve added to cushion the floor and serve as seating make it feel cosy. Crowley, I can’t believe I’m saying all this about a blanket fort.

Simon emerges from the entrance, and I have no idea how he fit in there with his wings. “Welcome to Fluffytown!” He exclaims, looking proud of himself.

“This is amazing,” I say, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

“Shut up, Baz. I know you love it,” Mordelia rolls her eyes. She’s gotten quite good at doing that since we last visited. 

“Can I give you the tour?” Simon waves his arm to the entrance ceremoniously.

I follow behind him reluctantly, both of us crawling on our hands and knees. I have to be careful not to trip over Simon’s tail, but it seems like they’ve made the sides extra wide and tall for him. It’s sweet, really. The fort is mostly one long tunnel, but occasionally another tunnel intersects it. Simon keeps saying ridiculous things like down that hall is the teddy bear room, and over there is the Turkish district.

“Over here,” Simon points to a small alcove to our left, “is the Belgian chocolate tasting room.”

“I’m not engaging in this make believe, Simon,” I mumble.

He turns around to face me, incredulous. “It’s not make believe, Baz. It’s literally the Belgian chocolate room.” Apparently my face still shows my disbelief, because he drags me in.

Somehow, it really is a Belgian chocolate room. They’ve taken our stash from the kitchen and put it on the makeshift table.

“Care to try our dark chocolate with nuts?” Simon wriggles his eyebrows at me.

I settle on the cushions next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. “Fine,” I say. “You win. I believe in the magic of the blanket fort.”

“I knew you would!” Simon smiles. “You’re a romantic at heart, Basilton.”

I roll my eyes at him, but press a kiss to his cheek. “What chocolate were you trying to woo me with earlier?”

“Oh nevermind that,” Simon says. “We’re saving the rest for Mordelia.”

“The rest?” I raise my eyebrows.

Simon’s cheeks flush. 

“He ate a lot,” a voice in the doorway answers.

We both jump. Mordelia snuck up on us like the little spy she is. 

Her eyes look from me to Simon, then back to me. “You two are gross. I’m going to the teddy bear room.”

“She’s a great kid,” Simon says, his voice low.

“Only for you. She’s fascinated by you.” I’m surprised at how soft my voice has gotten.

Simon nods. “I’m quite special.”

“Mm.” I kiss the triangle of moles on his neck.

Simon smiles, bending down to kiss me. I hate to admit it, but this whole thing is perfect. The blankets make this place really comfortable, and I’m sitting next to my favorite heater. I smile into the kiss, which just makes Simon lean in deeper. 

“I love this pillow fort thing, but where are we going to sleep tonight?” I ask when we pull apart.

“Don’t worry, there’s a tunnel that leads to the bed,” Simon says absentmindedly, his hands running through my hair. “Also, it’s a blanket fort, dear.”

“Is Mordelia sleeping in here tonight?”

Simon laughs, moving to see me better. “Oh, yeah. She built herself a little room and is planning on sleeping on cushions.”

“Little devil,” I mutter. 

“I heard that!” Mordelia shouts from the teddy bear room.

“We didn’t have the budget for sound-proofing the place,” Simon says sheepishly.

I scoff. “She just proved my point.”

“I think what I have to show you will make you forget about Mordelia,” he smiles. 

I follow him further into the maze of blankets. We pass the entrance to the bed (hallelujah!) and a library, Simon narrating all the way.

“Here we are!” Simon announces, “The music wing!”

My record player is set carefully atop a table, tiny fairy lights wrapped around it. This room has more cushions than any of the others so far. It feels like laying on a cloud. I settle in as Simon puts on music.

A wave of calm washes over me, and I close my eyes to soak it in.

It's that time of year When the world falls in love Every song you hear seems to say Merry Christmas

I love “The Christmas Waltz,” which is a secret I keep locked deep in my heart. I realize that I may have mentioned it to Simon once, against my better judgement.

“Who’s singing this?” I ask as Simon lays down next to me. He flops down on his stomach, propping himself up with his arms.

“She & Him,” he explains. “It’s one of Mordelia’s records.”

“Of course,” I laugh. 

Apparently already tired of holding himself up, Simon moves over to rest his head on my chest, wrapping his arms around me. Even his tail curls around my ankle. I sigh, content.

We stay like that for what feels like forever, just listening. I’m surprised at how much I enjoy this version. I’m warm and happy, and my heart is full of love. 

“I’m happy you came this year,” I breathe.

“Me too.”

[ineffably-effable]

good omens fic recommendations

If you’re looking for coherent reviews you’ll be disappointed, but if you want a list of quality recommendations - with excerpts & some vague ramblings as to what the reader should be in the mood for - enjoy!

29 recommendations underneath the cut.

(17k) Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak by triedunture 

Crowley and Aziraphale learn to move in tandem.

Mood: beautiful slow burn, misunderstandings, heartache that would be solved if someone taught these besotted idiots to communicate.

Paradox: Crowley has never risen from his seat and gone to stand behind someone at a counter, never put his arms around their middle and pulled them tight against him. Has never apologized with a touch, with a closeness, with the thin line of his body. So why does it occur to him that he might do that now? Might press up against Aziraphale from behind and rest his forehead on Aziraphale’s nape and ask silently to be forgiven. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world when he knows, intimately knows that it’s not.

(51k) how deep the sand by Handful_of_Silence

After the Apocalypse, and with characteristic slowness, both Crowley and Aziraphale think there might be something they need to sit down and talk about.

And then Aziraphale disappears.

Mood: tragic twist of fate, separation, hurt/comfort, guilt & devotion.

He thinks about the picnic they’d have had. He’d have pulled the top down from the Bentley and let the wind tussle his hair, the weather of a glorious August now gone warming his skin. They would have chatted, sitting carefully on a tartan blanket, and they’d have made their own plans.

They might have even found the right time to talk properly. Honestly. About everything that’s been, about the possibilities that could be now that everything’s different.

About maybe not going back to London. Going back to their Jobs.

About leaving it all behind, together.

The words Crowley didn’t say are clogging up his throat.

(14k) Made Flesh by rfsmiley / @redfacesmiley

AU in which Crowley is two entities, and Aziraphale isn’t sure how he feels about either of them.

Mood: oblivious idiots, daemon!fic-if-you-squint, pining & tamed desire.

Eleven years pass, attended by another marked change; the creature cannot bear to be out of the same room as Aziraphale. The angel, isolated and frayed as he is by the fear of the coming war, has no problems with this development – he needs the company – although sometimes he looks into the yellow eyes and feels the spear of a nameless sorrow. If it comes to it, Heaven will win, of course; the certainty, however, is bitter. He tries not to think about what will happen to Crowley, or to this small being that runs at his heels as he moves, gripped by a contagious agitation.

(8k) Ad Astra by drawlight / @drawlight

Some things can only be said in the dark.

Mood: beautiful prose, longing, ruthless inner-voices & insecurities.

Aziraphale swallows. His eyes hold Crowley’s. Crowley stands very still, wretched. Terrified. Watching Aziraphale’s very wide eyes, the open of the mouth. There is a softness in Aziraphale’s look, in the swallow of his throat. It could be? (It might not be.) He wants to scream it; he wants to say nothing at all. Let me stay in this bit of maybe. Maybe is not no, maybe means perhaps, someday. Maybe means you might feel the same. (You might not.)

(13.3k) Alegría by drawlight / @drawlight

After the End That Wasn’t, Heaven and Hell are leaving them alone. Entirely alone. (This is a story with nothing of miracles.)

Mood: beautiful prose, longing, ruthless inner-voices & insecurities + domesticity

(Yes, I know the mood is almost the same as above, but honestly this is @drawlight, what were you expecting? Read it if you want a Crowley that will absolutely wreck you & leave you heart-broken.)

Aziraphale is a touch-strong man. He touches everything (Crowley knows, he always watches). Aziraphale loves and he likes to love through his skin. His fingers on a particularly fine leather binding, dipping into the embossed author, the tooled name of the title. His hands breaking apart a loaf of Italian sourdough, fingers coming away with residual flour. Dipping his hands into sacks of grain, rubbing a fine weave of silk through. He touches Crowley too, in his usual and gentle way. The touch on the arm to still Crowley’s whiplash self, to make a point during an argument. Aziraphale who thinks nothing of oh, my dear, you’ve got an eyelash just there, let me get it for you. Crowley has a good memory. He catalogs them all, cross-examines them. Six-thousand years of maybes and what-ifs and what was thats ? But Aziraphale is just as easy with his touches on glass bottles while pulling out his favorite vintages. He touches his favorite fountain pen far more often than he reaches for Crowley. No, in context, it means nothing. It’s just Aziraphale as usual. Don’t look too closely, it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t.

(13k) small infinities and all that by JustStandingHere / @billypotts

Crowley and Aziraphale are turned human. This is the aftermath.

Mood: slow burn, domesticity, best friends falling in love & all the beautiful awkwardness that entails.

And there it is, isn’t it? Something they’ve known for a long time, but haven’t named it. Have been too scared to name it. Something that speaks in their bones, in the space between them.

(12k) the deft, sweet gesture of your hand by deadgreeks / @mortuarybees

Crowley arrives injured at Aziraphale’s door. He takes care of him, reads him an awful lot of Mary Oliver, and knits elaborate metaphors for his insecurities (literally).

Mood: beautiful writing, mixed signals, feeling unworthy of the millenia-long object of your affections, unable to create gifts that are good enough for the people you love and being in love with a complete idiot.

Aziraphale has tended to the sick and injured during periods of plague and war many times throughout his long life, and he tries to adopt the same kind-but-impersonal detachment as he carefully washes Crowley. It is slightly harder, Crowley being the sole object of six thousand years of repressed desire, but he’s also Aziraphale’s closest friend, and a person besides, so he does him the courtesy of not ogling his bare legs or torso as he goes.

(9.3k) Slow by write_away / @theirdarkreturning

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

Mood: Miscommunication, with a hefty side order of pining and the urge to yell at your screen in the vain hopes of getting through to these two idiots.

For Crowley - that was the demon’s name, and it’s best to memorize it quickly, before he changes it yet again - knew that the angel would love him if he just asked, and Aziraphale - the angel, though there’s no rush with him, there never really is - knew that the demon would take him in with open arms if he just asked. It’s just that neither of them were good at asking things of one another.

(14.7) Lead me to the banquet hall by obstinatrix, wishwellingtons

Crowley loves taking Aziraphale out to eat almost as much as Aziraphale loves eating, but it’s always a bit of a one-sided affair. Aziraphale has never understood why. Crowley planned on keeping it that way, but best laid plans…

Mood: wonderful footnotes, pining, creating a shrine to the object of your longing and then submitting to the mortifying ordeal of them finding it.

The thing about Aziraphale is quite simply this: Crowley can never have enough of him. God, Satan, everyone knows he’s tried. Crowley has spent centuries glutting himself on the sight of him only to be empty again days later, wondering whether it’s too soon to show his face in the bookshop. Aziraphale drifts from brasserie to bar in his quest to indulge in the best of human culinary expertise; Crowley follows after, because he knows Aziraphale will be there. It isn’t enough, but it’s something, and the only thing Crowley can ever expect.

(14.2k) all i need, darling, is a life in your shape       by deadgreeks / @mortuarybees

After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives.

Mood: domesticity with pining, chosen family, acts of love, boyfriend sweaters & idiots in love.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes indulgently, passing out the rest of the gifts and sneaking little glances at Crowley as he struggled with the box. He’d worked so hard on it, searched all the best yarn shops in London for the perfect skeins. He even had to sit on hold for hours with the manufacturer of the yarn he chose because he needed another skein from the same dye-lot, knowing that Crowley would want only the best, and he’d notice even a minor inconsistency in the coloring.

(27k) Long Is The Way, And Hard by Kate_Lear

A story of Crowley’s thoughts about Aziraphale, from the Beginning to the present day.

And also of temptation, and want, and whether - for a Fallen Angel - redemption is possible after all.

Mood: slow burn, denial, temptation, jealousy, lust to love, character growth.

Aziraphale hasn’t shared his bed with anyone. He can’t have done, because if he has then Crowley is going to hunt down that mortal – in this world or the next – and enact something creatively and comprehensively bloody upon them. Possibly involving methods from the Spanish Inquisition, that have scabbed over in Crowley’s memory and that he shies away from picking at.

(25.7k) your weekend lover by witching

Mood: miscommunication, mutual pining, ineffable idiots who are on the same page but reading a different damn book

It was purely physical, they had agreed on that from the beginning. Aziraphale couldn’t quite remember why he had agreed to that, but he suspected it had something to do with not ruining their friendship, or some such nonsense. At any rate, that was the deal. The new Arrangement. Purely physical.

(16k) I’ve Got You To Help Me Forgive by Kate Andrews (k8andrewz)

Pt1: Crowley deals, more or less, with the Fall. Also, Crowley has feelings. The angel doesn’t help with that. Also, sunny rocks are very nice.

Pt2: In which tea is made, a story is shared, and a leap of faith is taken.

Mood: Lust, first times, innocence, ineffable sex, memory wipes, Aziraphale showing initiative and being a bit of a bastard, overwhelmed Crowley, Gabriel is a total dick. Fair warning this isn’t PWP, it has loads of plot and feelings too and fantastic characterizations.

The air in Crowley’s lungs took leave of him all at once. Memories he hadn’t given a good look at in ages resurfaced. Memories he’d quite ably buried, thank you very much and he sat up abruptly, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. He set his sunglasses on the table, then pressed his face into his palms and gave it a good scrub. After a sidelong glance at Aziraphale who sat there patiently watching him, he asked, “What am I supposed to do with a question like that, hmm?”

(13.9k) The Lightness of You by Rend_Herring

God should not have built them with such discrepancy, made them need for love, and long for wholeness, then left them to their own devices.

Mood: When you want to mix up your pining & angst with a bit of humour, sex and a praise kink.

The jasmine vine actually tries brushing up against Aziraphale’s cheek and he blushes, says, “Oh, you,” all indulgent and sweet-like.  It leaves a fragrant white blossom behind his ear.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says sincerely, and Crowley glares openly at the traitors. “That’s very kind of you.” His smile really is a beacon of otherworldly radiance. An orchid blooms on the spot, the epiphyte whore.

(7.2k) summer and his pleasures by witching

absence makes the heart grow fonder, and crowley and aziraphale’s hearts were plenty fond to begin with. a story told through phone calls while they are separated for work-related reasons.

Mood: drunk dialing and dirty talk, idiots in love

Something clicked in Aziraphale’s mind, and he held back a curse word threatening on his tongue. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, he found himself just in that sweet spot of intoxication where he was cognizant enough to recognize that he was doing something he absolutely shouldn’t do, but not quite enough to stop himself. “I would, you know,” he said, full of newfound confidence. “I’d – if you were here, I’d make it… very much worth your while.”

(3.6k) Birds of a Feather by idiopathicsmile

Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals.

Mood: Jealousy, lashing out, withdrawal, oblivious idiots slowly learning how to use their words.

Is Crowley jealous of a musty old flat above a used book store? In the millennia he’s spent slowly twisting his own heart around Aziraphale’s little finger, it’s not the weirdest thing he’s been jealous of, to be honest.

(11k) A Touch Like Sunlight    by goodomensblog / @goodomensblog / @just-quintessentially-me

When Aziraphale is threatened by angels who seek justice for Aziraphale’s crimes against Heaven, Crowley comes up with a plan to keep him safe from harm.

Mood: PTSD from witnessing the attempted murder of your husband, it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you, self-sacrificing idiots & badass idiots protecting eachother.

“Right! Brunch!” Aziraphale says, bouncing up on his toes - as if they hadn’t just been discussing the murder of archangels. “Do you think they have crepes?”

(13.6k) These Things Were Here by MajorEnglishEsquire

Crowley, following times of overwhelming distress, resorted to the snake form as a means of finding comfort and solitude.

Mood: displays of affection, love shown through care-taking, using your ineffable boyfriend as a security blanket.

Nothing like it happened again for years. The pattern, however, was too recognizable to be mistaken when it did reoccur.

When commended for some catastrophe of which he was no part, Crowley became a completely disconsolate mess, but he still actually handled those occasions better than when he was, in fact, party to such disaster.

If he was blamed, but not actually at fault, Aziraphale may find him on the verge of discorporation due to alcohol poisoning, but at least he would say what was wrong. It was worse when he had an assignment he couldn’t breathe a word of. It was worse when he would smile bitterly and leave silently, haunted beyond expression.

(4.6k) let sleeping snakes lie by kythen / @kythen

The world doesn’t end. Crowley falls asleep. And Aziraphale stays by his side, waiting for him to wake up again.

Mood: acts of love, comfort, warmth, home

To some extent, he understands Crowley’s need for sleep. It had been an exhausting decade for the both of them, what with the end of the world business, and it had culminated spontaneously in them cutting off their ties with both Heaven and Hell rather dramatically, which were the only ties that either of them have ever had since the Beginning. Just as Crowley had sauntered from the ranks of Heaven to Hell, he had finally found his way out of Hell and into something that finally felt like freedom.

(6.4k) All The Dreams We Had by ImpishTubist / @impishtubist

This time will be different, Aziraphale thinks. This time, Crowley will remember.

Mood: amnesia, groundhog day - but centered on a single relationship - and with more angst

It takes a year for Crowley to fall for him again, a year until the air raid and the church and the books; a year before Aziraphale finds himself pressed up against a brick wall and exchanging desperate, burning kisses.

Crowley’s forgotten again by morning.

(70k) The Place You Need To Reach by Zetared / @zetablarian 

When Crowley is forcibly recalled to home office, Aziraphale conspires with a denounced saint and strikes a deal with the agents of Hell to get him back.

Mood: sacrifice, loss of self, trauma, love, tenderness and fantasy-novel-esque world & character building

“I have a journey to complete,” Aziraphale reminds the Adversary, primly. “May I begin?”

“In good time, Aziraphael. In good time. Tell me, do you recall the rules correctly?”

Aziraphale grits his teeth at the purposeful use of his forgotten name, but he doesn’t mention it. “Yes, of course. Using no miracles or ethereal influence of any kind, I must walk through the circles of Hell and complete an unknown task in each to earn passage to the next. I must not look behind me, where Crowley will walk. I may speak to Crowley, but he cannot speak back. I will not hear him or see him or feel even a hint of his presence. I will move forward, and, God willing, he will follow me.”

(1.9k) Kissing, Accidentally. by skybound2 / @skybound2

The one where Crowley gives in and kisses Aziraphale while he has him pinned against a wall.

Mood: hilarious footnotes, brilliant Crowley internal monologues and ineffable kissing against a wall.

No. No what actually happens is that when Crowley slams Aziraphale up against a wall in the middle of a hallway at a former-Satanic-hospital-turned-paintball-complex to express to him how very not nice he is, his hindbrain, forebrain and all other portions of his brain, decide that while denial has been a lovely place to reside for the previous six millennia, they are rather due a relocation at this point. And “Oh! Would you look at that! Here’s the oh-so-very soft mouth of an oh-so-very-beautiful angel right in front of us! And all we have to do to get there is to just…lean forward an inch. Less than an inch, in fact! How fantastic!”

(9.3k) Build Our Kingdom by Mackem 

Mood: : ineffable dates, promises kept

“Ready for lunch?” Crowley drops to his knees to start unbuckling the straps on the basket as though this is something they do all the time; as though he hasn’t just effortlessly catapulted Aziraphale back in time almost fifty years.

“You remembered,” Aziraphale breathes as wonder courses through him. He mentioned something once during an awkward moment, half a century ago, and now here kneels a demon atop a picnic blanket.

“Hmm?” Crowley barely shoots him a sidelong glance as he concentrates on opening the basket.

Aziraphale’s eyes do not move from him. “You remembered,” he repeats, no less stunned. “Crowley, you really didn’t have to.”

Crowley’s hands still. Eventually, his eyes still on the basket, he murmurs, “Well, we did The Ritz, didn’t we?”

(9k) On The Matter Of Touch by Somedrunkpirate

For two ineffable husbands, they don’t really touch each other much. Here is a story on why that might be.

Mood: touch-starved idiots in love, heart-breaking internal monologues, misunderstandings, miscommunication, protective idiots.

Crowley had decided long ago that curiosity should have been a sin, because it has been the one thing consistently tempting him in his existence. He’s done everything he can think of and more, just so see what it was all about. But this, with Aziraphale, feels more than just an experience he can add to his endless tally

(8.2k) dum memor ipse mei by NeverNooitNiet

There is something, Aziraphale thinks, that is inherently selfish— unangelic, even— about grief. But then of course, the same could be said about love.

Mood: identity angst, calling Aziraphale out on his bullshit

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous ,” Crowley snaps. “Of course I don’t— angel, do you have any idea just how much more straightforward my life would be if only I were able to hate you?”

(5.6k) bent to the very earth by Ark / @et-in-arkadia

Use me, please, Crowley had said, so Aziraphale takes him at his word.

Mood: tenderness & kisses & sex against a wall

Aziraphale kisses him back because that is what makes sense, kissing Crowley, why, the thought crosses his mind often enough—he just never had the sort of momentum that seems to fire up Crowley now. Crowley whose hands are shaking before they ball up as fists on Aziraphale’s lapels, Crowley who keeps kissing him and kissing him like otherwise he’ll drown.

(40k) Lit in the Darkness by ToEdenandBackAgain / @toedenandbackagain​

Mood: Aziraphale and Crowley sleeping together through the ages. Mutual pining.

Aziraphale, despite being nowhere hear as gangly as Crowley, is somehow still all arms and legs when he sleeps. Crowley takes an elbow to the face three times before he wedges the angel between the wall and his body with an angry growl, making sure to trap the flailing limbs tight beneath his own.

Works In progress

this gorgeous ineffable wives snippet by @mia-ugly

Mood: beautiful writing, emotional vulnerability, submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known,

“Whatever happens tomorrow -“ And something will happen, they won’t walk away from this. They’d never be allowed. “Darling, you should know -”

the bucket list

  by darcylindbergh / @forineffablereasons  / @watsonshoneybee​

If you’re going to go native, you might as well go all the way.

Mood: saying the absolutely wrong thing at the wrong time, reaching your breaking point, miscommunication and heart break.

“You know, we are the way we are,” Aziraphale said slowly, pressing it a little, brushing his wing up against Crowley’s, “but we can also change, Crowley. We have done, over the years. We’ve changed quite a lot, since we first met.”

[helltore-a]

gallery tag re - dump.

[yamisnuffles]

So It Was Arranged

Part 8 of Too Much of a Good Thing

Aziraphale falls in battle and must get back to Crowley.

Read on Ao3

- - - - -

1066

Aziraphale wondered if humans would ever get tired of fighting. He certainly had, back when humans had only been a sparkle in divine eyes. He vividly remembered thinking, at the very least, the fight with the Fallen would be the last. The Fallen had been dealt with, only the faithful remained in Heaven, and that was that. Even having lived through that, when he was assigned to guard Eden, he hadn’t suspected there would be trouble. It was a fresh start. She had done so much work to make a world for the humans, he couldn’t imagine She would let anything happen to them let alone that Heaven would want fighting.

“What’s this have to do with anything?”

Aziraphale stumbled. He really wasn’t feeling well at all. Too much fighting for too long. He couldn’t quite remember when he’d last stopped. He had stopped at some point, hadn’t he? He was almost certain.

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale shook his head. He was hearing things. He would have to add that to the list of problems, along with some sort of problem with his vision and difficulty concentrating.

“Aziraphale, hey, talk to me. Come on.”

There were hands on his shoulders. Aziraphale stared at them until he realized that hands were attached to arms, which were, generally speaking, usually attached to people. His gaze wandered vaguely from delicate hands to bony wrist, on to wiry arms, pointed shoulders, long neck, and finally a face.

“Oh, Crowley. Hello. What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Yes. Yes, I definitely remember that much.” Aziraphale’s eyes travelled beyond that beloved face, with its startling golden eyes and crooked nose, to something bright and white and nearly blinding. “You have your wings out? Why have you got your wings out.”

“Why have I— I’m getting you out of here, that’s why.”

“I’m supposed to be here, though. I don’t think I should go anywhere.” Aziraphale’s legs felt shaky and his stomach turned at the prospect of flying. Yes, a quick nap seemed just the ticket. “I think I’d rather stay here and lay down for a moment, my dear.”

His legs gave out but rather than meet with the ground, he found himself in Crowley’s arms. What beloved arms. Thin but willow strong like all of Crowley, so much less likely to snap than Aziraphale.

“No, no, no. Keep your eyes open. Do not close them. Don’t you dare.”

Aziraphale reached out. Crowley’s eyes seemed strange. Watery. He collected a drop on his gloved finger and blinked at it. “Are you… crying? Why are you crying?”

“Because you’re dying, you big idiot. So focus and stay here while I heal you. Fuck, you’ve lost so much blood. It will take me time so stay with me.”

Crowley’s words seemed like they should be angry but they sounded so sad. Aziraphale didn’t understand it. It was only a nap. That wasn’t anything to worry about. Crowley slept all the time. Really, he was being unreasonable.

“Just a small nap,” he mumbled, “and I’ll be right as rain, dearest. So please don’t cry.”

“Don’t. Don’t leave me here. Please. I can’t follow you there.”

Crowley’s voice cracked and something in Aziraphale cracked with it but he could no longer keep his eyes open no matter how he tried. There was a light, bright and warm and irresistible. He needn’t even move toward it. It was the ensnaring drag of the tide and he was far too tired to struggle against the pull. He was going home. He was released from his body with a sigh that he hoped sounded something like good-bye or, perhaps, I’m sorry.

Aziraphale returned to consciousness in a place that was about as far as anyone could get from the mess of blood and bodies he’d left behind. Mud and clouds and the stench of war had been replaced by sterile, dazzling white in all directions. The heat of his gambeson and chainmail were gone. An overwhelming sense of peace had overtaken any physical discomfort because there was nothing physical left about him. 

Free of his wounded corporation, he could remember it all. He remembered losing his footing in the muck when he’d tried to avoid being struck in the head. The heavy clubbed end of a mace had hit him before he could bring up his shield to block it. Five millennia on Earth and with the experience of fighting against the damned and yet all it had taken was one misstep and one foolish clump of metal to bring it all to an end. His life had already been forfeit before Crowley had found him.

“Oh, Crowley.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands and found it didn’t quite have the same soothing effect without his corporation. He could feel the ghost of hot tears on his face. He reached up to touch them but there was nothing there. They’d been left back on Earth, along with the skin they’d fallen upon and the muscle, fat, blood, and bone beneath. They’d been left with Crowley.

He needed to get back, which meant he needed a new corporation. He knew that there was someone in charge of such things but he’d been assigned his original one so long ago that he didn’t rightly remember who. He was quite certain everything had looked different then. He was in some sort of small reception room with a sign that said, “Welcome Back” on the wall. He supposed that should have been some sort of comfort to him. He was back in Heaven. It should have felt like home. Only, his home had a growing collection of books and a garden out back. It smelled of fresh baked bread, aging paper, and apple blossoms, not some vaguely ambrosial nothing. Most importantly, his home had the only angel not currently welcome here.

Aziraphale exited into a hallway full of identical doors. He wondered if the rooms behind them all hosted the newly discorporated. He hoped that meant there was a smooth reincorporation process set up. He needed to get back as soon as he could. He couldn’t very well do his job like this. Surely they would understand that.

He hurried down the hall until it let out into a large round room with a desk in the middle. A very bored looking angel was seated behind a thick ledger.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and the angel looked up at him. “Yes. Hello.” He gave a small wave and then tucked his hand behind his back when the gesture wasn’t returned. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me where to go to get a new body.”

The angel opened her mouth to respond but she was interrupted by a pop. A letter materialized on top of the ledger. Aziraphale waited as patiently as he could while she slowly unfurled the scroll and read its contents.

“Principality Aziraphale, you are expected up top immediately.”

Aziraphale shrank under the implications. “Up… up top?” he asked, pointing up. “The very top?”

The angel rolled her eyes at him. “No one goes all the way up. Not these days. You know that.”

“Y-yes. Of course. So, ah…”

“Archangel level, Principality.”

“Right.” It was a less daunting prospect than being summoned to speak directly with Her but standing before the Archangels always made something in his stomach twist, even when he didn’t rightly have a stomach to speak of. “I’ll be right on that. About my body, though…”

“Immediately, Principality.”

“Right.” Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped. He looked around but none of the doors were marked. “Excuse me, but it’s been a while. I just go—” The angel sighed and pointed to her right. Aziraphale offered a smile. “Thank you. I’ll be off then.”

The angel had already returned to filling in her ledger so Aziraphale hurried toward the indicated door. Beyond it was a spiral stone staircase that seemed to travel both up and down into eternity. He knew, logically, that he wouldn’t tire without his body to burden him but he felt exhausted simply looking at it.

By the time he got to the correct level he’d managed to forget who was waiting for him at the other end of it all. Uriel, Michael, and Gabriel were standing next to the tall, arched windows that looked out at the kingdoms of the world. They were busy talking amongst themselves and didn’t seem to have even noticed Aziraphale. As much as he wanted to get on to the business of getting his body back, he really wasn’t in a rush to draw attention to himself. Instead he shuffled up to one of the windows.

He hadn’t looked down on Earth from Heaven since the early days of creation. He recalled marvelling at how he could see every corner of that small blue planet at once, if he wanted, from the deep, dark home of the leviathan to lush nascent Eden. Now he felt as though he couldn’t see anything at all. All of humanity was reduced to a vague impression of their movements. They were nothing more than religion, expansion, progress, and regress. Looking at things this way, Aziraphale could almost see the broad strokes of the Great Plan but he couldn’t see the individual lives that would drive that plan to its inevitable conclusion. Perhaps if he focused in on one amongst the many, he could see. If he thought of scarlet ringlets and golden eyes, of long, lithe limbs and sharp angles…

“There you Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale yelped. Gabriel was standing right next to him, with the others not far behind. “Hello, Gabriel. And, ah, Michael and Uriel.” He had to remind himself that he’d been asked to come here. There was no reason to feel like he’d been caught sneaking where he didn’t belong. “You— you wanted to see me?”

“Well done in the battle,” Michael said. “You were able to advance things as planned.”

“Tough luck getting discorporated though. Taken down by humans. Oof. That’s got to be embarrassing,” Gabriel added.

“There was mud,” Aziraphale quickly explained. “And that armor gets so hot. I had sweat in my eye.”

Gabriel slapped Aziraphale on the back and gave him his most tooth filled smile. “You’ll get ‘em next time, I’m sure, buddy. We’re not judging you for it, are we, Uriel?”

“No,” Uriel replied while somehow making that solitary syllable sound very much like a yes.

Aziraphale glanced between all three faces. He was never sure where he was supposed to look in situations such as these.  “About— about next time. I was hoping I might get back. Only, I’ll need a body. Soon, preferably.”

Gabriel’s lavender eyes widened. “Go back? Why would you want to do that? You’ve put in your work. No one is expecting you to continue mucking about down there. That’s why I called you up here, to go over your next assignment.”

“S-stay here?” Cold dread washed over Aziraphale. “I couldn’t possibly. I have to go back. You know, to see things through properly. I wouldn’t want to see a job half done, after all.”

Uriel’s mouth actually twitched into the start of a bland smile. “An admirable attitude.”

Michael nodded. “Indeed.”

Gabriel scratched the back of his neck. “Well, alright then. If you’re really sure.”

“Quite.” Aziraphale wished he could tell what they were thinking. No matter their expressions, he always felt he was doing or saying the wrong thing. A smile never seemed exactly like a smile on the face of an Archangel. “That is, if it’s alright with all of you.”

“Sure thing,” Gabriel replied but before relief could take hold he added, “but getting you back down there isn’t exactly on the top of the list. You understand. And besides, you have your millennial report to get in still and the proper body requisition forms to fill out.”

Aziraphale forced a brave face to cover the slump of his shoulders. “Yes. Of course. I’ll get right on that.”

The Archangels had already gone back to talking amongst themselves and Aziraphale wondered why it had even been necessary to drag him up here in the first place. His impulse was still to bid them well before he went but he bit his tongue instead. Probably they would think he was bothering them and maybe they would be right, so he left without another word.

Matters did not improve from there. The angels down in the corporation department couldn’t give him a timeframe for when he might expect to get a new body and they didn’t see the rush. Worse, Aziraphale found it difficult to keep track of time in Heaven. Every moment seemed in itself an eternity and yet he also worried it was rushing by. He worried that while he was wading through paperwork, months were slipping by on Earth. He had to hope that, no matter the case, Crowley knew he hadn’t been abandoned.

He had no idea how long it took to slog through his report on the last millennium. What he did know is that he still didn’t have a body to call his own when it was over nor did he have any idea what to do with himself while he waited. He was a Principality. What was he supposed to do without humans about? Well, live ones, at any rate.

He missed the world. He missed the people and places. He longed for his favorite meals and new things to read. More than anything, he desperately, wrenchingly missed Crowley. Even when they’d been parted on Earth, it had never felt like this. There had always been a sense of him. All Aziraphale had needed to do was reach out and he could feel Crowley out there. And now, nothing. The gulf between them was too wide. Aziraphale felt the loss more keenly than the loss of his body. It was as though a piece of his very essence had been carved away.

That was how he found himself in the largely defunct department for the development and creation of celestial bodies. There had to be someone still working there because the office still existed but Aziraphale didn’t see any sign of anyone. There were drafting tables and desks spread throughout but most of them were barren. One desk had the nameplate Reuel on it and a note that said they were off to keep an eye on a potentially troublesome blackhole. Another, in a far corner, bore a familiar name, if one he hadn’t heard since the Beginning.

Aziraphale approached it as though afraid he might startle it if he walked in too direct a line. He picked up the nameplate and ran his thumb over the indented forms of an orphaned name. He put it back where it had been, careful that it was exactly as it had been, and took a seat. “I probably shouldn’t.” The desk drawers didn’t answer. Aziraphale reached out, pulled his hand back, and reached out again. “Well, I’m sure a quick look wouldn’t hurt anything. It’s not as though I’ll be interrupting his work and I certainly don’t have anything better to do with myself at the moment.”

Despite its long abandonment, Crowley’s desk was the picture of organization. Everything had a label, everything had a place. There were files for completed projects as well as rejected proposals and abandoned drafts. Every star, nebula, planet, and meteor he’d helped craft was carefully catalogued with a hand rendered picture and note from Crowley. Aziraphale wished he had a body to contain the way it made him feel to see Crowley’s literal signature on the stars. As it was, it was too expansive. He worried he might lose himself completely if he dwelled on it for too long.

He wanted to see them all the way that Crowley had. He remembered endless nights spent under an even more endless canopy of stars. They’d promised to go together to see them up close, as soon as Crowley was able. He could go on his own now. It would be as simple as walking out the door. From this department, he could go directly to any star system or heavenly body he so desired. But he didn’t want to, not without Crowley. Heaven would surely relent someday and they could fly to the stars together.

Aziraphale felt a pang where his heart would be if he currently had one. Coming here had not been the balm he’d hoped. He took one last wistful look through a stack of delicately rendered nebulae and filed them back where he’d found them. As he did, his hand bumped the back of the drawer.

“What’s this?”

He pulled the drawer out as far as it would go and palmed at the back panel, which had given a hollow knock when he’d bumped it. The panel gave way. A good quarter of the drawer had been hidden and inside that secret compartment, was a box. It appeared to be made of the same malleable substance that made much of Heaven’s current architecture. In the right angelic hands, it could be formed to whatever was needed, be it stone or glass or, in this case, a box without a seam.

Aziraphale could open it. He felt sure of that much. He felt less sure of whether he should open it. When he held it close he got the same sunshine warm feeling of being near Crowley. He would keep it with him and bask in that feeling until he could hand it over to Crowley when they were reunited. Which they would be. He had to focus on that and be patient.

He patiently went to interdepartmental meetings and patiently did the paperwork that inevitably followed. He patiently explained that, no, he wasn’t interested in any supposed improvements to his corporation and then filled out even more forms. He patiently sat through a lecture on ingesting gross matter. He patiently sat through another lecture when he tried to find a work in the archives that he discovered was stored in Hell. He patiently continued on until finally- finally- the day came when he was issued his corporation and sent back to Earth.

Then Aziraphale decided he had been patient long enough. The moment he set foot on mortal soil once more, he unfurled his wings and set off home. He was beyond the point of caring if it would earn him a reprimand, should a human see him. He tried not to think about how the landscape below had changed in his absence. No matter how much time had passed, he knew Crowley would be out there waiting.

At last, there it was, their little cottage by the coast, still protected by enough wards to keep unnoticed by warring humans and so the same as ever. Within were his books and his bed. There was the smell of apple blossoms that carried on the wind despite the season. And there, wrist deep in dirt was Crowley working the garden. His head was bowed but he looked up when Aziraphale’s wings obscured the sun.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s eyes widened to the shape and nearly the size of two disbelieving moons. “Are you here? Are you really here?”

“I—”

Try as he might, Aziraphale couldn’t get the words out. He worried there was something wrong with his new corporation. It looked the same from the outside and had felt the same from the inside but suddenly his heart was beating far too fast and he couldn’t seem to get enough to air in his lungs. He couldn’t keep his wings sorted. He fell out of the air and right into Crowley’s arms.

“Woah, hey, I’ve got you.” Crowley let out a choked sob and pulled him in for a fierce embrace. “You really are here. Fuck, I thought— you know how many times I dreamed this? I couldn’t get any sleep because it hurt too much to see you and have you not be— to know that you really were— But you’re here. Really here.”

He was. He was there with Crowley. He was back home. Warmth blossomed in Aziraphale’s chest and quickly spread throughout his body, settling his upstart organs as it did. Everything felt right again wrapped in Crowley’s arms. He tucked his wings away so he could be encircled by them completely. 

Physical touch after so long without it was overwhelming. He felt altogether too warm and wanted, freshly aware of breath on the skin of his neck, of Crowley’s scent in his nostrils, and muscles that wanted both to squeeze tight and to let go completely. It seemed like he could very well shake apart but everywhere he trembled, there were Crowley’s hands rubbing delicate, soothing circles. Heaven was… well, Heaven, of course. It couldn’t compare. He wouldn’t dare try. But this was another sort of paradise all its own.

A startlingly pitched whine escaped his throat when Crowley finally took a step back. “Are you alright?” Crowley kept a grip on Aziraphale’s shoulders, as if afraid he would crumple if left to stand on his own. “You haven’t stopped shaking this whole time and you still haven’t said anything.”

He looked so worried and Aziraphale hadn’t a clue how to respond. This was all too much and yet not nearly enough, not by a mile. He looked deep into those beloved eyes. Those were perhaps what he’d missed most of all. Not because they were beautiful, though they certainly were at that, but because of the way they looked back at him. They were so full of bald, unflinching adoration. Even when they bickered, those eyes were never cold. They never held scorn or ridicule. Not for him. He could trust in Crowley because of what he saw in those eyes.

“Your hair is so short.”

Crowly blinked owlishly at him and then bent double with laughter. He had to wipe away tears before he could speak. “Over a decade away and that’s the first thing you say to me?”

“Oh dear, has it been so long? It’s difficult to keep track up there.”

“Twelve years, six months, and three days. Or something like that. You know, who’s been counting?”

“Oh.” That number stretched out before Aziraphale like an uncrossable void. It was nothing in the grand scheme of things but to miss so much time over paperwork and trudging bureaucracy? “I’m so sorry.”

His knees gave way and he was forced to use Crowley as support. Crowley walked them both toward the low stone wall that encircled the garden. He propped Aziraphale up against it and then perched on top. Sitting there brought his face down the few inches needed for them to look directly eye to eye. He hooked one long finger under Aziraphale’s chin.

“Nothing to apologize for. I know you’d have been back sooner if you could. Why do you think I slithered right around all that red tape when I wanted to come down here?”

He forced a light tone but Aziraphale could still hear the hurt underneath. He felt it himself. There would be no getting back those years. He could only hope that it had been worth it. He’d never received a full explanation for why he’d needed to be in battle in the first place. It was all in the service of the Great Plan. He had to trust that or he would despair.

He took the hand at his chin and pressed his cheek into the palm. His skin still tingled at the newness of touch. “Well, at any rate, I’m profoundly pleased to be back.”

Crowley let out a small puff of laughter. “And I’m profoundly pleased to have you.” He tugged at the short, messily shorn ends of his hair. “You hate the hair though, don’t you? I can grow it back now, if you want.”

Aziraphale shook his head. He reached up and buried his fingers in loose scarlet waves. It only took a moment to run his hands from scalp to tip. “I certainly don’t hate it and I certainly don’t want you to feel you need to change it for me. I’m sorry I said anything about it. I was just surprised. I’ve never seen it so short.”

Crowley’s eyes fell closed. “Well, good you like it because I may never grow it back out if you keep playing with it like that.”

The way Crowley’s whole body was leaning into the touch, Aziraphale wasn’t especially inclined to stop. “What have you been up to this whole time?”

“You know. Things. Might have stirred up a bit of trouble but thought you might not be happy about that so then I did other things. A fair bit of embroidery. Tried to get better at baking. My bread’s not as good as yours but it’s edible at least.”

“You’ve started eating more, then?”

“Eh, more yeah, but doesn’t mean much. Figured I’d do it in your place a bit.  Not sure if I’ll keep it up now you’re back.” Crowley turned his head enough that he was able to catch one of Aziraphale’s wrists with a kiss. “What about you? Do anything interesting up there?”

Aziraphale swallowed a groan before it could escape. He was used to much more but whether it was the time apart or the new corporation, that one light press of lips to skin jumped like a lightning bolt through his arm and right up to his heart. “Nothing— nothing much,” he replied a bit breathlessly. “Oh! I do have something for you. Something of yours.”

“Something… of mine?”

“Yes. I hope you don’t mind that I took it but it’s not like you can. And, well, let me just fetch it.” He dug into the pocket sewn into the inner lining of his cloak and tried to ignore the way his cheeks burned under Crowley’s intense gaze. “Ah, there it is.”

He held out the white box and Crowley took it with trembling hands. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

“I thought it best to let you show me instead of speculating. That is, if you want to show me. It was hidden and I didn’t try to find it but I understand if it’s private.”

“No it’s… it’s fine. You might wanna stand back, though.”

Aziraphale took a step back. “Good?”

“Erm, might want to be further back.”

That seemed ominous. Aziraphale was only just realizing if Crowley had hidden it, it could be some sort of contraband. He hoped it wasn’t anything that would cause either of them trouble. He supposed it was too late, in any case. A vivid blue light bisected the box as the glyph that closed it was undone. The box was eaten by the light and when Aziraphale’s eyes adjusted to the brightness of it, he saw there was a mound of fine, shining powder collected in Crowley’s cupped hands.

“Is that—?”

Crowley’s face was split by an impish, delighted grin. “Yep. Now this is the part you’re going to want to stand back for.”

Those golden eyes which already so reminded Aziraphale of the sun started to truly glow. The powder formed a swirling miasma in the air between Crowley’s outstretched palms. Aziraphale needed to squint out from behind a shielding arm and even then his eyes watered at the brilliance of the light. His heart forgot to beat as, through sheer force of will, Crowley formed a twin pair of stars. They were but an infinitesimal fraction of the true thing, not considerably larger than the pinpricks visible in the night sky, but they were unmistakable for what they were. Despite appearances, there was the distinct impression that they were far larger, that Crowley, too, was larger than his mortal frame should rightly allow. His wings formed a field of stars behind him as they pressed urgently against the fabric of this plane, fighting to come through.

Aziraphale gasped. The sound was enough to shake Crowley from the sort of trance he’d fallen into. “Don’t get too attached to them,” he said, a foreign, rumbling undercurrent to his voice. “I’ve got a plan for these.”

The stars spiralled around each other, closer and closer, until at last they clashed and burst into a miniature supernova. Crowley’s fingers danced around it like he was playing an instrument Aziraphale couldn’t see. Something brilliant was pulled free just before Crowley clapped his hands together.

He smiled sheepishly up at Aziraphale. “You can come back over.”

“Was that stardust? I didn’t think there was any left since, well—” Aziraphale made an expansive gesture.

“‘Let there be light’?” Crowley offered. “Probably isn’t any left, now. It’s not needed to make the new ones. They sorta do that on their own. But I kept a bit. Little souvenir from Rigil Kentaurus and Toliman, which was one of my favorite projects. Probably why Proxima Centauri ended up a little undersized. Oh well. No one else ever noticed.”

There was a buzzing in Aziraphale’s brain in the approximate location where cogent thought usually occurred. “All this time and you used it up now?”

Crowley shrugged with his hands still held tightly together. “Sort of spur of the moment. Wanted to make you something.”

Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed the bent tip of Crowley’s nose. “It was absolutely stunning.”

“Heh, well, I lucked out and had one of the flashier jobs. But that’s not what that was about.” Crowley unfurled his fingers and produced a small golden snake. No, a ring shaped like a snake coiled in on itself. “While you were gone I got to thinking. About you. About being apart. About how we could maybe be together even when— not that I expect you to get killed again or something. Could be me. Or neither of us. Not really what it’s about. And you don’t have to, if you don’t want. Could just be a ring. You don’t even have to wear it. But if you want to...”

Crowley held out the ring. It nearly fell from his fingers with as much as they were shaking. Aziraphale looked at it. Looked at Crowley. He filtered the words through his brain but it felt very much like his brain had gone supernova itself.

“Are you— is this—” Aziraphale tried to take a few steadying breaths but they were immediately transformed into a rather embarrassing bout of tittering. He bit his lip to make it stop. “Crowley, are you asking me to marry you?”

“It’s nothing. A human thing. Do angels even get married? Can they? Whatever. It’s stupid. If you could forget I—”

Aziraphale shut Crowley up with a crushing kiss. If that wasn’t a clear enough answer, he took the ring and held up his hand so that Crowley could see it when he slipped it onto his finger. “I would love to. There isn’t a single thing that I would enjoy more. I only wish…” He took his old ring from his pinky finger and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s not as special but perhaps—”

Crowley snatched the ring and slipped it onto his finger. “S’yours. Can’t think of anything more special.”

“Well then, that’s that.”

“That. Is. That.”

Aziraphale felt like he could fly without even bringing his wings out. What a day. What a glorious, impossible, ineffable day. He realized his face hurt because he was smiling so hard and he was more than happy to let it hurt with the way that smile was reflected back at him on Crowley’s face.

“Should we… see a priest? Or… or something?”

“Nah. Even if they say they’re talking for Her, not like any of them really has authority over us.”

“A fair point. I feel we should do something, all the same.”

He thought about who would possibly have the authority to do such a thing. It was unprecedented, so far as Aziraphale knew. An image drifted through his mind of Gabriel officiating and he felt a tad queasy even imagining it.

“Why not just us?”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “The two of us? Marrying ourselves?”

“Sure. Why not? Never been done before so there’s not really anyone to say we can’t. Or if there is, they haven’t thought to say anything about it so that’s on them. So what do you say? Me. You. Something brand new. Our own sort of… Arrangement.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “Yes.” When he said it, he felt sure. It seemed a surer choice than any he’d made thus far in his long existence. “Yes,” he repeated.

“Well then… alright. I, uh… If you’ll take me?”

“I said I would and I do. And you?”

“Yes. Yeah. Course I do.”

They clasped hands as the fabric of the world rippled at the shared words of binding divine command.

“Then, shall we seal it with a kiss?”

The words were barely out of Aziraphale’s mouth when Crowley obliged him. It was a brand new body and so, in a way, a whole new first kiss. Unlike that one in Rome, the stars weren’t above but wrapped around their fingers. For that moment while their lips locked together, all of creation obligingly rewrote itself. Heart fell into sync with heart and lungs drew twin breaths. As gold forged from the clash of stars, they were two bound as one and one they would remain, no matter what the future held.

[sushiandstarlight]

“Cardinal”: NaNoWriMo 30 Days of Prompts

Prompt One / Prompt Two / Prompt Three

This one is a bonus!

Read this story on AO3

After it was over they purchased a cottage in South Downs, but they didn't settle there at first. No, first they traveled. They went to places they had been before, but couldn't enjoy because they were there on official business. They went to places that hadn't been official business, but they hadn't been to together. They traveled to cities that they had watched spring to life, but were altogether different now than they had been at the beginning. New places that didn't exist until now.

Somehow, they wound up in a tiny town in the northeast of the United States just before Christmas time. The town was a tiny place, barely a dot on Google Maps. They didn't have their own newspaper, nor their own post office. And yet, they were in full swing for the holidays. A towering live tree dominated the town square, reaching towards the clouds and covered in as many lights as it would hold: a dazzling array of whites and golds and reds and greens. Garland dripped from every telephone pole and streetlight. A small red and green hut sat dwarfed beside the evergreen, proclaiming that Santa would be there for the good boys and girls of the town between the hours of 5pm and 7pm right up until the day before Christmas. There wasn't a night in the twelve before Christmas that the jolly voice of carolers couldn't be heard drifting from one street or another. Most houses offered them cocoa or cookies as payment and protection from the cold. Every house fought the darkness of night with thousands of tiny lights.

“Crowley, dear, it's more about good will towards all men, loved ones, gifts, and warm bellies nowadays. We should enjoy the revelry. It's thanks to us, at least in part, that they're still getting to enjoy it!” Aziraphale was delighting in the season whole-heartedly. He'd booked them a room in the only tiny little bed and breakfast near the town (which had taken a miracle and a half, let him tell you, with all the people returning home to be with family for the holidays!) and, while there, spent every evening baking sweets with the elderly lady that ran it. In the morning, he'd find them both tuckered out and snoring away on the matching oppressively floral recliners in the sitting room, sugar and icing-covered aprons still on.

Crowley would sip his black coffee and perch in the bay window, watching the snow gently falling against the backdrop of the rising sun, and he would want to hate it. He would really, really want to. But, he couldn't quite manage it. There was something different about celebrations this year. Maybe it was the newfound freedom they had. It pushed him to feel that little bit more human. They were here by choice, not assignment. They could leave if they so chose, and they chose not to. The energy the humans were exuding was positively contagious. The snowy weather made him cold to his very bones, yes, but watching Aziraphale enjoy himself? That warmed him well enough to be worth the chill. He blew a warm breath on the window pane in front of him a drew a snowflake. Then, smirking, he drew a serpent slithering around it.

“I made you something.”

Crowley jumped and hissed, nearly spilling what was left of his coffee.

“Sorry, I thought you would hear me coming.”

Crowley grumbled and shrugged. Normally, he would have. Something about this place had made him drop his guard. He blamed all the damned coziness. He set down his coffee and turned away from the window to face Aziraphale and held out his hand.

As he had suspected, Aziraphale placed a cookie in his palm. He hadn't expected the cookie to be delicately piped in a non-christmas design. Turning it to face him, he supposed the original shape was to be Santa's toy sack. It was a lumpy shape and he couldn't imagine what else it might have been. But, Aziraphale had re-imagined the shape. Now it was a coiled black snake with a red belly and golden eyes. A lump formed in his throat and he tried, desperately, to swallow it. His eyes were stinging, too, and that just wasn't fair. Not over a cookie.

“I thought, well you know... The whole Santa myth is nice. And angels and Christmas trees and presents are good and well. But, my Christmas wouldn't be right without you in it, Crowley. Christmas is about time with family.”

“Th-” Crowley coughed and cleared his throat, “piping's pretty good, Angel. We might have to put you to work.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale waved him off, “you should see all the cookies that didn't make the cut while I was figuring out how to do this.”

“Could I see them?” Crowley just knew.

“Certainly not, they're all...” the angel sniffed, “disposed of.”

“Meaning you ate them.”

“To remove the evidence!” He was puffed out like an agitated bird and it took every bit of Crowley's self control not to laugh.

“Too right, can't have the evidence laying about.” He looked back at the cookie, the idea of eating it made him a little sad. Aziraphale had obviously put a lot of work into it.

“You can eat it, I won't be upset. I made it for you. Her recipe really is positively scrumptious.”

Crowley peered down at the cookie, glanced back at the expectant angel, and then back at the cookie. He then did the only thing that seemed right: he stuffed the entire thing in his mouth and chewed.

“Now, really.”

“Wuff?” Cookie crumbs went everywhere.

Aziraphale just laughed and cuffed the back of his head gently before turning back towards the kitchen.

“Wuss good, Angel, fanks!” Crowley called after him, gulping his coffee to help ease the cookie lump down his throat.

-

That night, everyone left their homes late in the evening. There was almost no need for the streetlights-although they were lit- the festive houses shone in a rainbow of Christmas revelry that did more than enough to fight the night back. Families came out and greeted one another, walking together. Adults laughed at the children as they squealed and threw snowballs at one another. Grandparents tutted about wet clothes on a cold night, but still smiled as if remembering what it had been like to not care about such things.

Crowley joined the crowd that left the bed and breakfast together, but lingered behind them. He had hoped Aziraphale would join them, that he was only lagging behind for some reason. But, the angel was nowhere to be seen. So, he followed the group to the square, wondering what this was all about.

Arriving in the square, he saw that there were lines of tables on either side of the Christmas tree. One side was laden down with dozens of baskets of ornaments. Old ones, clearly antique (and probably ridiculously breakable. New ones, covered in gaudy glitter that somehow looked beautiful when placed near the twinkle lights. Strands of garland, tinsel, and popcorn- the birds were sure to have a field day with that! The other line of tables were covered in all kinds of treats: one contained warm beverages from coffee to tea to cocoa. Another contained festive foods: turkey, ham, stuffing, rolls, mashed potatoes, and gravy. And, nearest the tree, was one covered in cakes, pastries, pies, and hundreds of cookies. Behind that table he spotted Aziraphale next to the woman that ran the bed and breakfast. They were laughing as they watched a small child eat one of the cookies, getting more icing on his face than in it.

Something relaxed in his gut, just seeing the angel again. Just knowing he was here, after all. Aziraphale had said that Christmas wouldn't be the same without Crowley. Crowley was beginning to think none of his days would be the same without Aziraphale. All the time they had spent apart over the last 6,000 years and now he didn't want to spend more than an hour or two without him.

“What, no Christmas snakes for the table?” his breath puffed out into the air between them and dissipated.

“As it just so happens, I did make you one more.” Aziraphale reached for a tiny paper plate that was hidden behind the other mounds of goodies and handed it to Crowley. It was another snake, like the one before. But, this one had cookie crumbs delicately placed all over it's snout.

“You know what, Angel?” Crowley could feel the laugh bubbling up from his belly and twitching at the sides of his lips.

“What, you old serpent?”

“I absolutely deserve this.”

Aziraphale's laughter rang out over the square, traveling into Crowley's ears and, somehow, curling at the bottom of his spine and making his limbs tingle. Or, you know, it could be frostbite. He would blame frostbite, for sure.

They both turned, smiling, to watch as the town folk gathered around the ornament tables. Everyone plucked up something, small or large or gaudy or delicate. The children grabbed whole baskets and skipped merrily to the tree. Someone was high above on an electric company lift, hanging giant baubles around the top. Everyone down here would only be able to decorate, at most, to the seven foot mark. Still, by the time they were done, the whole bottom half of the tree glittered and twinkled with so many decorations you could hardly find any tree beneath them.

As voices rose together in song between the tables and the front side of the tree, Aziraphale joined Crowley around the back side, handing him a steaming cup. Crowley sipped it: coffee and cocoa with marshmallows. Not his usual fair, but still good. He took a big swig, feeling it warm him from the inside out while the voices warmed him from the outside in. “I'm glad we stopped here for the holiday.”

“Hmm, me too. Though, I wasn't exactly expecting you to enjoy it.”

Crowley shrugged and took another deep sip, licking the melty marshmallow from his upper lip.

“I have one more thing for you.”

“You didn't have to get me anything.”

“I know, but I wanted to. It's half store-bought and half homemade. Little chintzy, really. You don't have to pretend to like it if you don't.” Aziraphale was dithering and shifting on his feet.

“Well, let's have it, then.” Crowley put out his hand and waited.

Aziraphale eyed him seriously for a moment then reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box covered in red paper, tied with a opalescent white ribbon. He passed it over and then turned to face the tree.

Crowley drank the last of his cocoa-coffee and sat the cup on the ground at his feet so he could open the box. Inside, nestled amongst some tissue paper, was an ornament: it was a green wreath and inside it were perched two birds, a cardinal and a dove. The cardinal had clearly been a part of the original design. Whatever had been perched next to it- probably a second cardinal- had been carefully removed and replaced with the dove.

“Didn't know you could sculpt.”

“I had some help from one of the innkeeper's grandchildren, to be honest. Do you... do you like it?”

“I think it's lovely.”

“Really?” Aziraphale seemed to let out a breath he had been holding and relax, “Oh, I'm glad. I mean, it would have been okay if you didn't...”

“But, I do.”

“Yes, good.”

They spent another moment looking at the tree instead of one another before Crowley broke the silence.

“What does it mean? I'm sure there's meaning here.”

“Well... in a literal sense, cardinals are said to be messengers of love and signs that angels are near. Or angel, as the case may be. Doves are a sign of peace. Peace and love, Crowley.”

Crowley looked from the ornament to Aziraphale and back.

“And, figuratively?”

“It's our first Christmas together... as, well, as family. Our side. And, this is our reward... peace and love. That's what we're free to receive. Well, from one another.” The angel swallowed, staring pointedly ahead.

Crowley side-stepped closer and hooked his arm in Aziraphale's.

“I like that even more.”

Aziraphale shot him a glance and his stormy eyes were glistening, but he smiled.

“Let's put it on the tree then,” Crowley tugged him along by the arm, “we'll find just the right spot... Ah, here!” he removed a glittery red and green plastic ball and hung the new ornament in it's place, right next to a golden light. He pulled Aziraphale closer into his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. A moment later, the angel relaxed and tilted his head to rest on Crowley's shoulder. Crowley placed a kiss on his forehead and rested his own head on top as he gazed at the ornament.

“Happy Christmas, Angel.”

“Hmm, Happy Christmas, dear boy.”

The voices on the other side of the tree dropped off one at a time as people dispersed to their warm homes, ready to crawl under covers and greet the bounty of gifts that were to be found in the morning. The couple stayed behind, content in their closeness, until everyone else was gone. Then they held hands as they made their way back to the bed and breakfast by light of the moon and the towering Christmas tree.

[meli-productions]

A Dragon’s Hoard

Another day, another prompt for the #ineffablehusbandsauweek by @ineffablehusbandsweek. 

Read and comment on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651497

When her sister, Michael, became queen, Aziraphale knew  it was just a matter of time before something went wrong.

It wasn’t that her sister wasn’t smart or capable of taking care of the kingdom - no, Michael led like a lioness - it was the strong opposition to her that made her rule difficult. Their mother had been well loved - but it was Michael’s strictness and her refusal to marry someone that didn’t love her had made her be seen as a difficult woman not fit to rule.

So it came as no surprise when the first cry of a dragon overhead was quickly blamed on the anger of a sorcerer towards Queen Michael.

“What can we do?” Michael asked her closest staff, her most trusted advisors. “We must send someone to slay the dragon.”

“The dragon will not be slayed,” her seer, Uriel said with a shake of her braided head. “It needs to be appeased - a tribute must be given.”

“Who? I will not put our people at risk,” said Michael, then squared her shoulders and declared. “I shall do it.”

“Send Aziraphale,” came the wheezy voice of Sandalphon. “No harm done there - she is a princess of low standing - one that not even her fiance wants. Give her to the dragon.”

Michael was hesitant, not liking the words of her advisors, but when she pitched the idea to Aziraphale, the younger woman gracefully accepted.

“You are needed here - mother wanted you to take over and care for the kingdom,” she said, a soft smile on her softer face. “Besides, what is there for me here? A husband that is more interested in status than my heart? Children given that will be ignored by their father? Let me make this sacrifice for our people.”

This is how Aziraphale and her horse Angel found themselves riding towards the craignish mouth of the cave that the dragon had been seen entering. 

Aziraphale arrived at the village at the foot of the mountain in rags and with Angel being led along. The people all looked at the woman who looked so out of place with the softness and angelic light of her hazel eyes. Lecherous looks were thrown her way, but she made her way straight to the inn and to the woman in charge.

“Madame Tracy, correct?” she asked, looking at the woman with her red-orange puffy curls pinned back. 

The woman beamed, “Yes, love, that is I. How can I help? Need a room?”

She shook her head, “My groundsman told me to look for you, I have a horse that I won’t be needing anytime soon - said to give her to you.”

Tracy frowned, “And why’s that, love? Giving all your earthly possessions - you’re not becoming a nun, are you? Not such a lovely thing like you.”

A little smile lit up Aziraphale’s face, “No, I’m - I’m being given as tribute to the dragon. I don’t want to put Angel in danger. Please, will you take her?”

“Oh, Princess Aziraphale - ” Tracy begun, curtsying low until her skirts were pooling around her feet. 

Aziraphale tutted and got down at her side, “No, please, don’t. I won’t be a princess for much longer - there’s no need for all this fuss. Plus, I’d like to keep quiet about what I’m doing.”

Tracy pouted, straightening up, “I don’t like that you’re being sacrificed, duckie. But I’ll take your horse - at least until you come back.”

“Madame, I won’t be returning - it’s a dragon we’re talking about.”

She laughed, “Oh, dear little duckie - I have a feeling that we’ll see you back soon. An angel such as you will have no problem with a dragon like that. Take this,” she said, reaching around and handing her a little bottle of gold liquid, “It’s an old family recipe. Can undo any injury or curse. Trust me, love. It’ll come in handy either for you or that dragon.”

Doubt clouding her light eyes, Aziraphale took the elixir and tucked it into her bosom, “Thank you, Madame. Take care of my girl.”

A crowd had formed at the door as everyone tried to catch a glimpse of the newcomer and they split in the middle when she came out. The young men of the village were quick to flock to her side, offering to carry her pack, inviting her for a meal or drink, and she frowned at them trying to turn them down as politely as she could. When one got a little too handsy, she pulled out the dagger tied to her waist and pointed it at his jugular.

“I suggest,” she said, nose flaring, “that you take a step back.”

Hands held aloft before him, the man backed away - taking the rest of her followers with him and Aziraphale, now alone, squared her shoulders and made her way up the mountain.

The cave was large and Aziraphale could hear a low rumble from within, the dragon’s quiet snoring. Her own breath was coming in shaky inhales as she entered the dark cavern on wobbly knees - looking for the creature. Part of her felt bad for waking it up - speeding up her own death - but she’d rather just get it over with. She came across the smoke curling out of large nostrils and swallowed her nerves down.

“Dragon, awake,” she said, voice stronger than she expected it to be. “I am Princess Aziraphale of Eastgate and I am here as tribute for my kingdom. Take me as - as meal or prize - and leave my home alone.”

An eye of gold opened and peered at her, blinking once before the dragon unfolded itself. A puff of fire lit the nearby torches and revealed the massive being to Aziraphale. If she weren’t so terrified she’d think the creature was beautiful.

Black scales trailed into red on its underbelly and its slender form that gave it more of a serpentine look than draconic, the gold eyes looked at her from above before lowering down til its snout was right in front of Aziraphale.

“Brave little morsel,” the dragon said, its deep, rumbling voice vibrated through Aziraphale’s bones. “Willing to give herself up for her people. Tell me, what made you think that I will stop if given a snack?”

Aziraphale tensed, “I don’t know. But better me than my sister - and better a snack than sending champion after champion to attempt slaying you.”

He laughed, “You think I’d be impossible to slay.”

“I think it would be difficult and not worth the effort and death.”

A little hum escaped the dragon and his tail came up to curl around her feet, “Smart words, little princess. But a waste of time. I shan’t eat you - but I will take you as a prize.”

Aziraphale relaxed, if only a little, “Thank you. And - and you’ll leave my kingdom alone?”

Another hum, “I was just sent here, really. Don’t know what my life was before I was sent here. ‘Go East and cause some trouble, ‘s all the instructions I had. I had no intention of harming a kingdom - really just to sleep here - until you came along.”

“Then,” said Aziraphale, frowning. “What’s the point of keeping me here?”

If the dragon could shrug, he would’ve, but instead his tail tightened around Aziraphale’s ankles, “Gets boring around here - now I have someone to talk to…and you came to me, dove.”

She rolled her eyes, “Alright. But what do I call you now that we’re - roommates?”

The dragon chuckled, “My name is Crowley, your highness. And I look forward to getting to know you.”

That first night, Aziraphale and Crowley kept a wary distance. Aziraphale unfolded her pack’s worth of food and her bedroll. She offered the dragon a piece of her meal - if only due to the manners she’d been taught - but he gave a little shake of his massive head, thanking her,  but refusing.

Crowley watched her as she ate, daintily and making obscene little noises that forced his eyes closed lest they show the dilation of his pupils. He didn’t remember much before his orders to come to this kingdom - but he knew that there was something wrong about ogling a woman in such a way.

Aziraphale for her part studied each scale of the dragon and wondered if they were as soft to touch as they looked. But more than that, she wondered what Crowley had meant when he said he didn’t remember much before getting orders. Questions swarmed her mind - but she kept them to the journal she brought with her. 

As she curled into the warmth of her bedroll, she took a final look at the slumbering beast and smiled. 

One prison to another - but at least no bothersome fiance to worry about.

The next morning, Aziraphale awoke alone.

Panic spread to every cell of her body and broke her out into a cold sweat as she scrambled to her feet. She felt stupid for trusting a dragon - a monster - and risking the lives of her people. Dagger in hand, she ventured out of the cave and, when she didn’t find any trace of the beast, nor the sight of destruction in the village below, stormed deeper within the cave.

She found Crowley curled around a fire, scorch marks around the pile of firewood, and a stack of cooked meat in a pile to his side. 

“Good morning, dove,” said Crowley. “I went ahead and caught you some food. Figured beings like you have to eat every day. Also, there are some things hidden in here that you can turn into - a home for the time being.”

Taking a look around, Aziraphale noticed the old furniture that were scattered around - from a lounging chaise and mirrored vanity to the frame of an old canopy bed and dresser - it seemed that there was an old hoard lying around. 

“You - you didn’t attack the town.”

Crowley did the equivalent of a scoff, “Said I wouldn’t. Won’t go against my word. Besides, I’m curious and you’re curious and the only way we’ll get answers is through one another. So we’ll make the most of our time together. Deal?”

Aziraphale lowered her dagger, studying the expression on the dragon, “Deal.”

One morning turned into a few more and the two found themselves easing into a comfortable routine and friendship. Amidst their conversations, Aziraphale found out that Crowley didn’t remember anything about what his life was like before the old witch sent him to Eastgate - couldn’t even remember if he’d always been a dragon or a snake or anything else, that he didn’t want to destroy towns because he was curious of human life. And Crowley found out about Aziraphale’s pompous former betrothed that would dismiss her in conversation - about her mother who loved her and had wanted her to be free to explore before tying her down to this man who despised her.

And as the two learned more about each other, they found themselves growing fonder - curling up on colder nights, Crowley nuzzling against Aziraphale to rouse her in the morning, and cohabiting comfortably for the weeks that came to be. 

It was on one of the days that were chillier than most that found Aziraphale curled against Crowley’s warm stomach while he prodded her with his snout.

“Are you going to sleep all day?” he asked her with a laugh. “C’mon, dove. Up and at ‘em.”

She gave a little whine and patted his snout, “Just a couple more minutes, dear. You’re just so comfortable.”

“You’ve grown soft. You’re in the perfect position for me to eat you up,” said Crowley, tongue flicking out to scent her, tickling her thighs where her nightgown had ridden up.

Aziraphale turned, nuzzling against the soft underbelly and making the muscle twitch, “Mmm, you won’t eat me - you love me too much. ‘N I’m not soft - you’re the soft one. You let me live.”

The words settled heavy over them and woke Aziraphale up with a start. She pulled away from him, blushing, “Sorry, my dear - I didn’t mean.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said, head coming to rest at her side. “I did spare you and I do - I do care about you deeply. You’re the only friend I have - maybe ever had but - I can’t keep you here forever.”

She frowned, sleepy eyes coming into focus, “Crowley, I made a promise. My life for the life of my people. I can’t return now.”

“Then don’t return. Go explore the world like your mother would’ve wanted for you,” Crowley said, voice getting rougher. “I’ll keep my promise - won’t lay a claw on your kingdom and you - go live your dream.”

“That dream was of a child,” she said, curls flying with her intensity. “That hasn’t been my dream since my betrothal. I wanted to collect books,” an incredulous laugh escaped her, “a hoard of books. A little library to share with others - teach little village kids to read, but not if I can’t have a friend like you.”

Crowley was quiet, the trail of smoke curling around her until he got up, looking away from her, “Tomorrow, I want you to pack your things and go back to the village. There’s gold in the old hoard - use it to build your library.”

“But - ”

“When I return, I don’t want you here,” he said, unfurling his wings. He turned to her, gold eyes covered in a cloudy film, “Make your dream come true, dove.”

Without heeding her cries of his name, Crowley took off and left Aziraphale alone in the cavernous, echoing darkness. Tears welled in her eyes as she turned to her pack long forgotten in the corner underneath the bed frame. 

She didn’t want to pack. She didn’t want to leave Crowley alone in this cold cave when all he wanted was answers. She loved him and she couldn’t just leave him.

“Well that settles it,” she said to the darkness around him. “I am not moving and he’s just going to have to deal with it.”

Crowley returned to a fire-lit cavern, Aziraphale sitting cross-legged in front of the fire with her journal in her lap. Part of him felt exasperated at the sight of her, the stubborn set of her chin and sharpness in her hazel eyes. The other part was relieved that she hadn’t left. 

“I thought I told you to leave,” he said, voice rough from lack of use.

Aziraphale scoffed, “I’m not gonna leave because you throw a fit. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

With a huff, Crowley curled around her, snout pushing until her arm rested over it, “You just have to make my life difficult, don’t you?”

“What’s the point of traveling the world by myself when the two of us could go together?” said Aziraphale, stroking the smooth scales between his eyes.

“Oh? Now I’m your noble steed?”

“Nothing noble about you, you wily thing,” she laughed, pressing a kiss along the path her hands were taking. “We’ll talk about it in the morning, alright? For now, I’d like to get warm - and I’m sure you would too.”

Crowley hummed his affirmation, tucking her in tight against him and settled in for the night.

The next morning, Aziraphale found herself in the tight coils of Crowley’s tail as he poised to strike - not towards her, but at something at the mouth of the cave.

“Leave my cave now and I won’t be picking you out of my teeth,” he said, a rumbling deep from his stomach that Aziraphale felt down to her bones.

As she tried to get a better look at the intruder, a familiar voice halted her movements.

“Foul beast. You have killed my beloved and for that you must die,” the boisterous voice echoed through the cave, followed by the sound of metal against rock. “It’s time to rid you that way her sacrifice was not in vain.”

Crowley let out a low hiss that rolled into laughter. He turned enough so he could see Aziraphale behind him and the exasperated roll of her eyes. 

“Dove, you know this meathead?”

He released her at the tap of her hand on his scales, “Unfortunately. This is the betrothed I spoke to you about - Sir Gabriel.”

At the sound of her voice, Gabriel’s expression shifted into confusion, then anger, “Aziraphale? You’re still alive? The beast hasn’t eaten you?”

Aziraphale pulled the dagger out from underneath her blanket and stood at Crowley’s side, “The beast has a name - and no, he’s been nothing but hospitable. But I’m going to ask you to leave now, Gabriel, return to your manor and forget you ever saw us.”

A little incredulous scoff escaped his mouth, “Sunshine, you’re being held hostage. Let me do this for you - let me save you from your imprisonment.”

Another eyeroll and Aziraphale leaned against Crowley, making him puff proudly. At the sight, Gabriel’s nose scrunched up and he took a step back.

“He’s done something- hypnotized you or bewitched you,” he said, readying his sword. “But never fear, sunshine, I’ll save you.”

He lunged forward, sword aloft, and Aziraphale took a step forward to meet the blow. Crowley, quicker than she was, pulled her back into the safety of his tail, snapping at his assailant and taking the brunt of the attack.

“Crowley,” she said, ignoring the man now laying at their feet, impaled by teeth and the metal of his armor. “Dearest, you can’t leave me - you said we’d go explore together.”

A huff of laughter and smoke escaped Crowley’s mouth as he pressed his snout against Aziraphale’s stomach, “Sorry, dove. He was just a little quicker than me. Don’t cry - I’ll be alright and you’ll be alright, too. You’ll see.”

Tears rolled down Aziraphale’s face and fell upon her chest, rolling down the crevice between them and landing on - on a vial. She sobered up for a second and pulled out the little forgotten vial of elixir Madame Tracy had given her.

“Crowley, I’m gonna fix this - I am,” she said, popping open the vial. “Open your mouth for me, love, there you go - this should make it all better.”

The gold liquid dripped down his teeth and he swallowed thick around it. A relieved purr vibrated Aziraphale’s body and then the wound at his neck started glowing gold - then the rest of him started glowing the same gold color.

As the light disappeared, the weight on Aziraphale’s lap lessened and instead of the massive body of the dragon there was a lighter pressure of a human head - of a man’s head in her lap. He shifted, wincing in pain before opening his eyes and glancing at her, eyes wide and gold and hauntingly familiar.

“Crowley?”

“Dove? You look different, definitely bigger, what was in that drink you gave me?”

Aziraphale thought of the Madame’s words, “An elixir that can - that can heal any wound and undo any curse - my love, you were cursed, that’s why you couldn’t remember anything.”

A spark of realization blinked into his eyes and he sprung up, cupping Aziraphale’s face in his long-fingered grasp, “Cursed - dove, you’re right - I - that witch had something against my father and cursed me. I remember now. I - I’m human - wait, I’m human again and you’re here and - ”

She couldn’t fight the huge smile that spread across her face and lit up her light eyes, “Oh, Crowley. I’m so happy for you. I guess now it’s not that weird to say that I love you.”

He smiled, wide and as dangerous as his dragon’s smile had been, and leaned in to pepper kisses across her cheeks.

“You love me? Dove, I adore you,” he said, pressing kisses to her nose and brushing her lips. “Let me show you the world - let me get that library for you. The castle need not see you again - the dragon is slayed by love, just - just allow me the pleasure of being at your side.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss of her own to the thumb sweeping across her lip, “Of course, my dear. Anything.”

Aziraphale and Crowley returned to the village and it was Madame Tracy, one hand on her hip and the other on Angel’s reins that greeted them.

“Took you long enough,” she said, handing the reins over to Aziraphale. “Come now you two lovebirds. Let's get you settled in the inn until you can settle. You will be staying in town with us, right duckies?”

And how could they argue with such a wise madame?

[mostfacinorous]

GO Whumptober Day 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.  [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27]

The cause of the freezing, humans determined, was either merely ‘nature’ or ‘the growing climate crisis’, depending on whether the person speaking believed in that sort of thing. Either way, everyone could agree that it was unusual to unheard of, and no one much appreciated it. 

It had eased off a bit, though-- still frozen, so the snow and ice was sticking around, but the wind had died off and the snow was no longer coming down in buckets, for which they were all very grateful. 

The Bentley remained where she’d been parked since that first attempted afternoon out, and the plowed mountain behind her only grew ever higher and ever thicker. 

Much like their American cousins from years prior, local heads of council had to remind their followers not to jump out of upper floor windows and into the snow, for fear of cars lurking underneath, and injuries that could and would result from such foolishness. 

It didn’t fully stop it from happening, but it might have deterred an idiot or two.

 Fortunately, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale was particularly interested in jumping out of windows. 

There were, however, interested in having a bit of a walk, as it had warmed up enough to allow for it again, and they were feeling a little cooped up. 

And so they packed their cocoa and coffee into a couple of thermoses-- carefully color coordinated in black and lightest blue tartan, so as to never be confused with The Thermos, of which they did not speak-- and headed to the park for a bit of time in the watery grey sun of London in winter. 

The streets were clear enough to walk on safely and carefully, but the path round the lake was only worn down by others’ feet, and the snow had been trampled enough to have turned to mud, then frozen back to ice in places, making their usual habit of walking and talking more dangerous. 

They had decided, after God’s admonition about getting closer, to try and keep their time apart to a minimum. This suited them both quite well, considering the trials and tribulations they’d faced of late, and it was delightful to finally have an excuse to be around one another that neither side could really argue with. After all, not being near Aziraphale when God arrived had put Crowley out of commission for days, and if he had been close, She may not have come at all. Thwarting at its finest, on both sides of the line. 

And so, if they held hands to help steady one another, there wasn’t anything Heaven nor Hell could do about it, short of shaking their heads with disgust. 

“I miss the ducks.” Crowley said suddenly, interrupting the silence that had descended as their last conversational topic had waned. 

“Do you?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. “You always treat them quite poorly; I thought you disliked them.”

“I do not!” Crowley protested. “I play with them. Same as how they play with one another, innit?” 

Aziraphale held his thoughts on the matter. He did glance out across the lake, though. 

“I wonder how firmly frozen it is. Do you suppose they will be able to ice skate on it, after a storm like that?” 

Crowley tilted his head and looked out over the ice. 

“At least a couple of ‘em are gonna give it a go. Look.” He nodded off near the high reeds, where the ducks liked to put their eggs come spring, and where a few children appeared to be slipping off their shoes, with plans of skating over the ice in their stockings.

“Heavens.” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps we ought to do something to stop them.” He began heading in that direction, a little too far off to be heard if he yelled. 

“Bit too late for that, Angel!” He heard as Crowley raced past him, realizing as he did that he’d pressed his mobile into Aziraphale’s hands. He looked up to see a child take off from the edge straight towards the middle of the pond-- and promptly fall through the ice and into the waters below. 

“Bugger.” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

Crowley was fast, faster than the other children, even, and he shouted for them to stay as he slid on his stomach towards the hole in the ice. 

Aziraphael fumbled with the phone for a spare moment, then got a call in to emergency services. “Hello, yes, I am in St. james’ park, just north of the playground on the birdcage side of the lake-- a child has fallen through the ice and my partner has gone in after them. No, no, I can’t see-- they’ve surfaced. Please send help, I’m going to give you to a child now.” 

Aziraphale handed the phone off to the young girl who was standing by, mouth agape. 

“Help them find us, please.” He told her, a touch of miracle in his voice to give her the courage she needed to do the job, and then he turned to the lake. 

“Crowley?” He called to the man who was clutching at the ice with inhumanly sharp talons that had sprouted from his fingers while he held a boy between his chest and the rim of the hole. “What can I do to help?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley had lost his glasses, and his eyes were wide. 

“Don’t come out on the ice- it’s not gonna hold.” Even as he spoke, his fingers on one hand went crashing through the surface, sending them both bobbing as the boy cried out. 

“Tail!” Aziraphale shouted, hoping Crowley had enough presence of mind to handle the change. He had always been a better swimmer while serpentine, and perhaps, that done--

He saw the moment that Crowley gained the advantage and they became a little steadier in the water. 

“Now then-- if you have to, put him on your back, and break the ice away between you and the shore until you can climb out safely!” 

Aziraphale felt next to useless, but he supposed at least one of them had a mind that was not freezing or panicking, and thus was able to assist that way. 

“You hear that?” He heard Crowley mumbling comfortingly to the boy. “I’m going to give you a piggy ride now. You hold on tightly, understand? And I’ll soon have us out of here.” 

Aziraphale watched, fretting terribly as Crowley helped the boy to climb around on the other side of him, and then began the process of smashing through the ice with his claws. 

Aziraphale turned around and saw the fire brigade approaching, an ambulance in tow, and turned back to warn Crowley to hide his transformations. 

“The Rescuers are here-- it won’t be long now!” He tried to make it sound hopeful and not as though he was playing supernatural lookout. It seemed to work, though, as the first of them reached him and clapped a hand on his back. 

“You’re the caller?” She asked, and Aziraphale nodded, pointing as he accepted Crowley’s phone back from her. 

“They’re nearly to the edge,” He added helpfully, though there was a dark and obvious trail of broken ice that marked how far they’d come. 

“We’ve got them.” She promised, and waved for backup. 

A small army of men and women ran down to the river’s edge to lift the boy off of Crowley’s back as he final grabbed hold of solid land, and Aziraphale managed to shoulder his way through them to reach down and grasp Crowley’s hands. 

“There you are, you brave, stupid fool.” He said, pulling him up and onto land and into his arms. 

Crowley was shaking with cold, and he had already partially soaked through Aziraphale’s clothing when the team brought them emergency blankets. 

“Come on now, let’s get you out of your clothes and warming up.” One of the men instructed. 

Aziraphale turned to be sure the boy was receiving the same sort of care; he was already in someone’s thermals. 

“Alright.” Crowley agreed, surprising Aziraphale. He was looking straight at the angel, though, not at the humans who were trying to shuffle him off to the trucks for treatment. “Stay with me?” He asked, almost a plea, and Aziraphale knew it was only partially to help him fend off discovery. The other part was God and the unspoken threat of having saved a human life-- and what Hell might do to him for it. 

“Of course. Let me help him-- he’s ah, special needs.” 

“Alright.” The officials were quick to agree, with the tiniest nudge from Aziraphale. “The parents are on their way, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you and we’ll need to take down statements for our reports after.” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale said again. “If you can just fetch us some dry clothing for him--” 

He sent them scurrying, and turned back to Crowley. 

“Shall we get out of here before they come back, my dear? Make a run for it?” 

Crowley, still shivering as if his bones intended to shake out of his skin, grinned back at Aziraphale. 

“Best idea you’ve had all day, Angel.”

They booked it, making it out of sight before Aziraphale dried Crowley with a miracle and warmed him with another. 

The walk home was almost anticlimactic, after all that. 

“Ohh… I dropped the thermoses!” Aziraphale lamented, and Crowley huffed. 

“Shall we stop by that little teashop up near Piccadilly?” He offered. 

“Oh, let’s. I suppose you could do with something warm to drink anyway.” 

“I wouldn’t object. And then home, to a fire and several blankets.” Crowley insisted. He paused, then added, “Thank you, by the way. I saw the boy and didn’t think-- I ought to keep you around, have you keep doing that for me, when needed.” 

Aziraphale bumped their shoulders together. 

“You’ll be hard pressed to get rid of me, you’ll find, if you keep pulling stunts like that.” 

Their usual routine resumed, they made their way towards the tea shop, and home, and left the humans to wonder why they had run, why the boy was swearing the man who’d saved him was a mermaid, and how the hell someone had happened to miraculously be in the right place at the right time to stop childish stupidity from turning tragic. 

It was, all in all, a rather successful outing.