#at least the void in my heart made me listen to crowley time and it's really good!!! i started with the best of episode and it literally

[average-acorn]

I just listened to the post credit of the last episode because I like to feel pain

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Perfection 12--The Perfect End to a Perfect Day

Aziraphale and Crowley live in a heartbreakingly perfect world. There is no sadness. There is no loss. Every day, the sun rises on an idyllic peace far beyond mortal imagination. The end of the old world brought Salvation. Justice. Perfection.

But not everything is what it seems. And one angel learns that perfection cannot be bought without great pain.

In this chapter, after a day of many revelations, Aziraphale and Crowley prepare to sleep...

(CW: Minor s*xual ass*ult)

[Note: Prisoner Thirty-Eight is Crowley's current designation]

Read it on AO3!

Prisoner Thirty-Eight was halfway to the glow of the furnace when, with an echoing clunk, it went dark.

He stared at it, uncomprehending.

Where was the fire? Did it go out? Can’t go out. Shouldn’t…

“Looks like you made it. End of the shift.” The voice in his ear this time was Barrett, and Thirty-Eight could feel the weight of the hand on his shoulder. He stumbled, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to get away or just collapsing, shutting down now that there was no more work to do.

An arm around his back kept him upright. “Oops! There we go. Can’t have you falling now. You know,” Barrett went on cheerfully, “you should be really proud of yourself, getting through your first day with almost no punishments. Not many demons can say that.” The arm moved away, and Thirty-Eight found he could stand, even though he felt more like he was drifting through the void of space. “Yes. Looks like tomorrow, I’ll be able to really challenge you.”

“Tomorrow…” He’d forgotten tomorrow existed.

“Oh, yes.” Barrett pulled Thirty-Eight’s arms behind his back, binding them again. “They generally say the second day is the worst. At least, until they reach the third day.”

Ah. A joke. Thirty-Eight liked jokes. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do after hearing one.

“Since you did so well today, you get a choice.” Fingers brushed his shoulders, his chest, his legs, as if cleaning off the dirt. As if anyone could see the dirt here. “Do you want to go back to your cell? Or I can accommodate you down here, until they want you back.” One last brush across his bare hip, then Barrett carefully tended to his hair, tucking a lock behind his ear. “You’ll get a chance to wash up, and a private place to lay down. Some of the others have earned little luxuries for their chambers. A light. A cup of water. A bed. None of that for you tonight, of course, but at least no broken glass.”

Thirty-Eight was hardly listening. He hadn’t been given a choice in anything, not in so long he almost couldn’t remember. That alone was enough to make him light-headed but… a night out of the Tower… a chance to be clean, to be able to lay down without cutting himself open on hidden edges, to feel something other than obsidian beneath him, to hear silence instead of the sobs and screams of fellow prisoners…

What if Aziraphale comes?

Stupid. He’s not coming. He’s never coming. Don’t want him to come. Let him stare uselessly at an empty cell, let him rattle the bars to his heart’s content, let him wonder for eternity what happened to me, how they punished me, if they found a way to destroy me…

“Cell,” he said, though his voice seemed to come from someone else entirely. “My old cell.”

“If you like.” A tug on his leash, and he turned to follow where it led, shuffling in the dark.

Read the rest on AO3!

[lovingrosewho]

The Executioner’s Song (rewrite, sort of)

NOW, ONTO THE GOOD STUFF, and that means, the new stuff :-) I’ve been rewatching all Supernatural seasons and just had to write this. Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language, feel free to give any feedback/suggestions! <3 Ily all, thanks for reading <3

ONE SHOT

Pairing: Crowley x Reader, sort of Castiel x Reader but in a friendly way

Rating: T. Angst, fluff

Word count: 3.1k+

Summary: the title pretty much explains it buuut, basically, Reader gets upset about Dean betraying Crowley

Warnings: SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED SEASON 10, signs of depression, dialogues taken from the series at the beginning, a few curse words I guess?

When Dean handles the First Blade over to Castiel instead of Crowley, your eyes open wide in shock.

“You lied to me” Crowley says, you can sense the hurt from the betrayal in his voice.

“It’s not the first time today” Dean makes a pause with the demon’s expectant eyes “Cain’s list? You weren’t on it” Dean says and with this, Crowley vanishes.

You begin to feel dizzy, nauseous even, a void made of uncertainty taunts your heart and your stomach, you try to hide it behind being worried about Dean, which is partly true and you let that show as you hug him, relieved he’s alive, in one piece and, mostly, or so it seems, sane. Castiel looks over at you and you just know, he knows.

 The four of you get to the bunker. Not a word from anyone. At the very arrival, you excuse yourself pretending a headache along the tiredness of the whole trip, so you practically run to your room.

The minute you close the door you dial Crowley’s cellphone, your hands shaking as you do so.

 Straight to voice mail. You dial again.

“Damn it Crowley, pick up the fucking phone” you pray lowly.

 Voice mail again. You’ve got to be kidding. You dial a third time.

“What is it that you want?” he finally answers, voice tone a bit raised, taking into account it’s you and he never raises his voice with you, either way, you can’t but let a breath out of relief at hearing him.

“Can you come over here? Please, I’m in my room” you’re not finished telling him and he hangs up.

“Damn it Crowley!” you exclaim again while you dial his number a fourth time, the second ring hasn’t sound when he appears standing in front of you.

“What?!” he almost screams, locking the door of your room with his demon powers. He’s not afraid about Sam and Dean coming in, all guns waving and pointing at him, no, he fears for you, aware that if the Winchesters hear you, not only will they scold you, but could also stop trusting you, hell, they could even lock you up thinking it was his doing the fact that you were friends with him.

“I didn’t know!” you confess instantly, body trembling and feeling like you’re going to puke any minute. You know how Crowley feels about treason, you know damn well and you just can’t let him think you had anything to do with it. He takes a few steps back and looks at you up and down.

“Why should I believe you, (Y/N)? And how? How am I supposed to believe you? Tell me” he raises his voice once again, he doesn’t like doing that with you but this time he just can’t help himself “If you four had only told me the truth I would have gladly agreed and helped you!”

“I know, I know!” you whimper, knowing that is a big-ass declaration from Crowley, and that he wouldn’t normally admit to it, he’s just doing it because it’s you, and he’s hurt. You try to maintain your posture and not let your voice crack weeping “I swear, I had nothing to do with it, if I had known I’d have tried to convince Dean to tell you the truth! I swear!”

Crowley is about to vanish, tired of listening to you, tired of the lies, of the doubts; first his minions being influenced by Abaddon, then his mother, next the Winchesters and now... he never thought he would doubt of his most beloved hunter. A single tear escapes your eyes and Crowley stops dry from disappearing, the temptation to remove that single tear being more powerful than him, the King of Hell.

You’ve known Crowley since he was a blood junkie, locked up in the Winchester’s dungeon. Your friendship started as a naïve excuse to pass the time, at first with just a couple of hostile phrases a day when you found him, and obviously discovered he was a demon, not just any demon but the King of Hell himself, and soon after it turned into something else. When you broke your arm in a fight and had to spend a couple of months skipping on hunts, the boredom increased your time in the dungeon with Crowley while the boys were gone, and you began to admit you liked the guy, perhaps a little too much. Months kept passing and the habit of sneaking into Crowley’s room while the boys were out, stayed, sometimes you would even take the cuffs and chains off of him and let him walk and stretch inside the devils trap, he would always behave and let you put the chains back on. When he managed to free himself from the brothers, he would visit you in your room when no one else in the bunker could hear you; you would talk about anything, his life, your life, Hell, current or past hunts, funny anecdotes... you were not ready to lose that. Not now, not ever. 

Crowley stares deep into your eyes as he holds your face in both his hands and wipes the tear off your cheek. 

“Look at me... and tell me if I’m lying” you say slowly. He sighs.

“I’m sorry, Pet. I can’t” and with this final sentence, he leaves the room, disappearing and leaving you alone.

You swallow hard, your steps conducting you backwards until you hit the end of the bed and are able to sit. At last, you break down in tears, sobs and whines flooding you from the inside out when you hear a knock at the door. 

“(Y/N)?” it’s Castiel “(Y/N) are you okay?”

You don’t respond, and Cas is forced to unlock the door and come in. He stares in shock at you but immediately locks the door back so Sam and Dean won’t come up asking questions. He sits next to you and doubtfully touches your shoulder for you to look at him, which you don’t do.

“He won’t talk to me ever again Castiel” you say in between sobs.

 “Who won’t?” he asks confused, but having a mild idea of who you might be referring to.

 “Crowley! He thinks I knew about Dean handing over the blade to you and not him...” you keep whimpering “He won’t believe me, whatever we had it’s over”.

 Cas nods understandingly and reaches out to hug you, your face covering his chest with tears.

 “(Y/N) maybe it’s for the best... Crowley is...” he begins but you interrupt him, separating from his grip.

 “No you don’t understand. He’s changed. I know it seems impossible but he has. And he truly believed he could be friends with us, I know it, I know him. Castiel I...” your voice breaks.

“(Y/N)” he intertwines his hand with yours “I know”.

He holds you again, and you cry and cry for hours in that same position with him until you fall asleep. Castiel lifts you up and leaves you laying across your bed, he takes your shoes off and puts a few blankets on top of you.

When he comes down everything is quiet, the Winchesters have surely gone to sleep, or at least get some rest after the day they’ve had.

The following morning you don’t come out of your room, not for breakfast, dinner, research, anything.

“What’s up with (Y/N)?” Deans asks, looking towards your room.

“She...” Castiel tries to explain “Wasn’t feeling very well. I’ll go check on her”.

The brothers look at each other and nod at Castiel’s offer.

“Hey, could you please bring her something to eat?” Sam asks politely.

“Yes. Of course” Cas answers.

When he enters your room, he notices you haven’t changed your clothes, and you’re in the same position he left you last night.

“(Y/N)?” he says, leaving a tray of food on your desk “How are you feeling?”

“Not hungry” you say without facing him, smelling the hot breakfast he just left a couple of feet away from you.

“Well... you need to eat. You’re human” he reminds you.

“So? Not hungry” you repeat. He sits beside you and slightly caresses your hair.

“Okay then, we’ll be downstairs if you need us... or just, you know, pray for me” he tells you before getting up and prepare to leave your room until you jump all of a sudden. 

“Wait! Castiel!” you say, startling him.

“What? Whats is it?”

“Please... don’t tell Dean what this is about... he’ll just... he wouldn’t understand” you beg him. Cas nods his head in agreement. 

“Of course”.

When Cas comes down, both Winchesters are looking at him, raising his hands as asking what is going on.

“It’s... like I said, she’s not feeling very well” he tells them when he’s at the table with both.

“Well what does she have?” Deans asks demandingly.

 “I... she wouldn’t say” Cas lies, which gains him a weird look from Dean.

 “Ok that’s it, I’m going up” declares Dean and Cas gets up sharply.

 “Dean! No! She said she didn’t wanna be bothered” Castiel exclaims worried.

 The weird look on Dean remains until he rolls his eyes, says “fine” and heads for the kitchen instead.

 Sam has stayed silent the whole time until Dean leaves.

 “Cas” Sams calls him in a low voice “Is this about Crowley?”

 Castiel sighs and nods.

 “Guess she’ll just have to pull through with this one” Sam follows Castiel’s sigh.

 You don’t go out of your room for two days in a row, sadness consuming you. The third day you decide you’ve had enough and come downstairs to help the boys with research, no one says a word but Dean.

“Hiya there kiddo, had us worried sick but Cas said you didn’t wanna be bothered, everything okay?” Dean tells you, making you smile softly.

“Yeah, yeah. Just you know, some headaches, it felt like I was hungover the whole day, guess that tension from the last adventure really took a hit on me” you lie marvelously. 

“Yeah. But you’re back, we are back, and that’s what matters” Dean tells you and you smile nodding, containing your tears again, you know you are not fully back.

It’s been a couple of weeks and Crowley won’t answer any of your calls, hence you stop calling him.

You miss him, you miss his voice and spending time with him. The boys notice even if you’re back up enlisting on hunts and helping them, something’s definitely off with you. You don’t eat enough, you practically don’t sleep, you barely smile or laugh anymore, and you seem distracted half of the time. It hurts Castiel more than anyone seeing you like this, so he decides to break his vow and talk to Dean.

“You have to call Crowley” he tells Dean when he and Sam are alone in the bunker whilst you are in your room “You have to tell him it was your idea to give the blade to me, you can even mention Sam but not (Y/N)”.

“And why would I do that?” Dean asks confused and a bit angry.

“Look around you Dean” Sam tells him “Something’s off with (Y/N) since that day, it’s not even 9pm and she’s already locked in her room, she didn’t even eat when we got back”.

Dean looks at both of them and grunts.

“How are you so sure this is about Crowley?”

 “Because she told me” Castiel confesses “Now, call him”.

 Dean looks impassive at Cas and Sam but takes his phone out and dials Crowley’s number.

 First call goes to voice mail.

 “Well that’s it, I’m not calling that dickbag again” he declares and Cas catches his arm, grabbing and stopping him from putting away his cellphone.

 “Try again” Castiel threatens. Dean rolls his eyes but agrees.

 “Squirrel, long time no see” Crowley finally answers “How are you?”

 “Listen you son of a bitch” Dean begins “I don’t know what you did or told (Y/N) but...”

 “Oh I didn’t tell, much less do, anything to her”.

 It hasn’t been easier for Crowley. He’s got the advantage he doesn’t eat nor sleep, but distraction has definitely been present. Every time his mother or his minions call him he’s just thinking of you, about answering your calls, about calling back. He misses you, your voice, your laugh.

“Well she hasn’t been okay and the only thing I know is it has to do with you” Dean tells him “She hasn’t anything to do with the fact that I didn’t handle you the blade, that’s on me, Sam and perhaps Cas, but not her. She knew nothing, you hear me? Nothing. ‘Cause see here’s the thing, we didn’t tell her ‘cause I knew you two got along and if I had told her she would have put up a fight and claim it was unfair. Now she won’t sleep, nor eat enough, she’s distracted on hunts and that almost got her killed a couple of times already, so you either fix it or I’ll come down there looking to kill you Crowley I swear”.

With this last phrase he hangs up and throws his phone away, without expecting Crowley to answer, this is non-negotiable.

The King of Hell’s stomach suddenly fills with hope and excitement, it’s not the fact that Dean called him about what happened, no, it’s just that he did not know you cared that much for him, he’d figured after a while you would stop calling and move on.

You wake up in the middle of the night and... what time is it exactly? Phone says 3am. Great. You sit slowly, yawning, still sleepy, and turn on your bedside lamp.

Suddenly you see Crowley standing in front of you and you almost scream whilst reaching for your gun.

“Crowley! For the love of... what the actual hell are you doing in my room?!” you hiss at him, exasperated, tossing the gun aside.

“Well hello to you too, love” he exclaims sarcastically.

“Answer the question, what are you doing here?” you ask again, tired and afraid this is just some sick joke.

“I was bored. Thought I’d pay you a visit” he says walking, or more like snooping, around your room. 

“And you needed to do that at 3 in the morning? When I’m sleeping? And when you haven’t returned my calls in weeks?” you reclaim but he stays silent, still going through some of the stuff placed at your desk. 

You exhale sharply. 

“Whatever, I need to pee, do not touch anything, you understand me?”

 “Yes, yes. Understood, Pet. I’ll be right here”.

You get up from your bed and walk barefoot towards the restroom. When you’re sit in the toilet, your mind begins wondering what truly brings the King of Hell to your room. Perhaps he’s aware that you miss him. Perhaps he misses you too. Or maybe it’s a dream. Maybe he is telling the truth and was just bored of all the meetings.

 You get back to your room to find Crowley laying across your bed.

 “Everything alright, Pet? Was beginning to wonder what took you so long” he tells you. Deep, dark stare into your eyes.

 “Yeah” you say, approaching the edge of the bed, staring back at him “I do everything slower at this time. Now, scoot over”.

 He slides a few inches to the side of the bed, letting you lay down next to him. You turn a few degrees facing him, while Crowley keeps looking at the ceiling, but paying attention to every and each one of your moves, that is until you place your arm across his chest and your hand begins mindlessly caressing the thin fabric from his suite shirt, while you breathe in his scent, the sulphur, the ash, the expensive scotch and fresh cologne.

“(Y/N)?” he begins carefully, voice low “What are you doing?“

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Yes, beg your pardon, why are you doing it?” Crowley asks but cautiously places an arm around you and starts stroking your hair.

“I... I’ve missed you” you confess as you bury your face in his shoulder “Does... does this bother you?”

Your question puts a soft smile in his mouth while he turns to look at your half-hidden face. 

“Not in the slightest, kitten” his declaration is greeted with a relieved and dreamy sigh from you “I’ve missed you too, you know?”

 “You have?” you ask incredulously “I thought you didn’t care...”

 “Of course I care. But here I thought you were the one who didn’t care...” that’s when your engines start rotating and it hits you.

 “Did you speak to Castiel?” you interrogate him, fully facing him now.

 “Castiel? No. I spoke to Dean though” he says guessing what happened. Knowing you, you wouldn’t have let Dean figure out what you were so upset about, Cas must’ve told him “He wanted some intel on someone, don’t know, don’t care, and it slipped the fact that you weren’t feeling so well”.

“What else did he say?” you ask him, going back to your task of running your fingers across his chest. In this moment, you couldn’t care less how he found out, he’s here, with you.

He inhales deeply.

“That you had nothing to do with the idea of lying to me...” he feels your body tense underneath him “Which, by the way, I figured a couple of hours after our little discussion”.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” anger beginning to creep on you, body still stiff.

“Because I thought you didn’t care that much” he admits “I thought it was for the best. To be honest, I was unsure about what to even tell you after the tantrum I threw that day”.

He places a hand under your chin for you to look him in the eyes.

 “I am sorry, (Y/N)” the King of Hell apologizes and you relax, hugging him a bit tighter.

 “I love you” he’s taken aback by your declaration but after a few seconds he smiles gently.

 “I love you too, Pet” with this sentence he brings your chin up and lowers his lips sweetly onto yours. He tastes like honey, citrus and scotch, and all you ever thought he’d taste like.

 The kiss is so tender and so slow that you’re able to wander your hand towards his hair and then his cheek. 

When the two of you break the kiss, you spend an exaggerated amount of time looking at each other, assimilating the reciprocated love. After a while you start talking about everything and nothing, just like old times, cuddling until you fall asleep, and Crowley, the King of Hell, has the honor to be the one to hold you in his arms.

MASTERLIST

[mydriases]

Headmaster’s daughter facing a beast

Anon asked: Thanks for making my headmaster's daughter scenario it was awesome. If I can request a part 2 where there is a dangerous beast loose(like a chimera or a dragon) and she tames it and the reactions of the dorm leaders and pround papa bird(Crowley)?

Thanks everyone for the 200+ subs! I didn't post anything for a week because I was working on this request (which is almost a series for me now, I won't lie), and since a lot of you liked the first part, I thought it would be a good way to thank all of you.  💘 Btw, can I do a more obvious title? Words: 7k Read the part 1 here

Morning light comes through the window and lits up your office. You take advantage of the quarter of an hour you have left before going to class to revise your notes -so that you don't get your fingers slapped by Mr. Trein-. As Riddle has told you many times before : as the first female student of Night Raven and daughter of the headmaster, you had to be a model student. It don't bother you, you are doing well academically and can keep up with the work pace.

Even so, you would be lying to yourself if you said that everything is perfect. The school life itself is really nice but it is disturbed by the rumors that reach your ears when the students are not discreet enough. In itself, it is nothing, only futile discussions, but to see your place questioned is never pleasant. Although many supported you with a kindness sometimes too forced to be true, others excluded you in an obvious way.

It’s sad to admit but you can understand. Among all the girls in the world you were chosen and, conveniently, you were Crowley’s daughter. Besides, it’s not like there aren’t schools for girls here and there. Actually, you took the entrance exam for one of them and passed with flying colors. You would have gone there if the first day of school a carriage had not been waiting outside your house.

You remember perfectly : your neighbors were waiting around it, and you could tell by their stunned expressions that it was what you thought it was: the famous carriage that led to Night Raven. In front of your house, the dark beauty of the alloy was laughing at you. It whispered deceitful words that meant: it is not you that I have come for, you will not see your father again, you are not good enough. Your throat would form a knot at the thought that it was there for someone else.

Then, through your blured eyes, you saw a teenager approaching the carriage. You recognized him, he was an old classmate of yours. He was an excellent magician, the Mirror of Darkness had made a good choice, right ? No. You didn't know him personally, but the way he used to mock you because of your quietness was embedded in you and was saying that he didn’t earn the right to go there.

Bitterness filled your mouth as the boy's hand clung to the door handle. You were sure you were going to remember the self-satisfied expression on his face for the rest of your life. That the exclamations of joy from his family and the other neighbors would haunt your nightmares. He was a good magician, that didn't take away the fact that he didn't deserve to go to Night Raven. You didn't know that person so well, but envy gnawed at your heart and prevented you from thinking of anything else but this word: why? Why couldn't the carriage have come for you?

You came down from the stoop, opened the gate and found yourself a few meters from him. Surrounded by all the other onlookers, you watched as the boy was approaching the gate. You felt your pulse rate skyrocket as he moved his hand in its direction. That's it, he was going to cross it.

But nothing happened. His hand bumped into the reflective surface. No one had time to react as a voice from beyond the grave echoed through the carriage:

"You are not the person we came for."

The silence took over the crowd and you dared to start breathing normally again. The hope that left the boy's body rose into the air and filled you. The carriage was in front of your house, the boy was the only teenager in your adjoining neighbors. Maybe, you could rightfully hope.

He went down the running board with his head low, pride had no place left on his face. No one said a word. Confused silence reigned for what seemed like an eternity. Then, he lifted his head and his fiery gaze fell on you.

"It’s you, isn’t it ? It came for you. Must be nice to be dad’s girl, I can’t relate sorry."

The fire of his gaze spread through the crowd and lit fires that you would have liked to see extinguished. You didn't know what to say. How could you explain that it wasn’t the case, that his statement was false when you were not even sure yourself ? You didn’t see your father since a year and your mother didn’t receive much news, maybe he decided on a whim to cheat your way into Night Raven. You didn’t know, you didn’t know anymore.

"What the hell you’re saying, loser ! Night Raven never had a female student before, you think he’ll get away with that easily !" yelled someone at him.

You turned over the origine of the voice and saw with surprise the person who just defended you. A girl, who looked older than you, had stepped forward and looked at the boy in disgust.

" Shut up ! You seriously think the miror made a mistake ? Her and I are the only ones in age to go to Night Raven in this place !"

"Poor child, maybe the mirror realized you were worthless and went back on its choice. I must say she'd make a much better addition than you, girl or not."

Your were getting involved and it was gonna get out of hand sooner or later. Still, no words could come out of your mouth. At least, you now remembered who the girl was : when you were a child, your mother used to hang out a lot with another mother from the neighborhood. They would take care of each other child when the other needed to do something important. The girl was the daughter of that woman.

That still doesn’t explain why she would help you, you two didn’t know each other anymore. But she went ahead and took your side. You had watched with admiration this girl who had more self-confidence than you ever had. She turned to you :

"I don’t know. But everybody will know if a girl enrolls in Night Raven, right ? So we’ll end up knowing the truth one day or another."

The crowd, made up of so many familiar faces, seemed to take the fact that the coach had come for you as truth. Hesitant hands patted you on the back and voices congratulated you, but the majority of people were perplexed. The murmurs of the discussions buzzed in your ears and made you deaf to the meaning of the sounds you were hearing. Your hands were clammy, your throat was dry, and your heart drummed again and again in your chest, threatening to pierce it at every moment. You wanted to leave, you wanted to go back in your house and never see the light of the day again.

The girl. The daughter of your mom’s friend. You could see her walking towards you, she was going to force you to go through the "door" . You were not ready. You felt the intense need to push her away when she grabbed your wrists with her hands.

"Breathe in and out, girl. Show them what you're worth. It's been a long time since we've seen your dad in this town, say hi to him for us."

Your father. You haven't spent much time with him thoses past years. He'd come back for the holidays, but he'd always leave in the end. He often told you the stories of the students of the school when he would come back. He must be waiting for you beyond the door.

"I’ll… I’ll tell him, thank you for helping me."

"You’re welcome. Don’t worry we’ll explain everything to your mother."

You climbed into the coach and went through the "door".

Then the void overwhelmed you. All that followed was a flurry of fuzzy memories. Your senses went numb and your consciousness was lost in a fog, time seemed to have stopped. You don’t recall how it felt to be in that state, only the feeling of your body melting and dripping remained.

What seemed to have lasted both a whole year and a minute ended when your father opened the door. His big hands had caressed your cheeks and his arms had embraced you when your legs collapsed. It had been so long since anyone had shown you affection that you almost let your eyes water.

He guided you to his office and let you sit in his chair like you used to do when you came to visit. From the other side of the desk, he explained that transportation problems had occurred and caused some complications. You were still in a state of extreme fatigue and his words were taking a long time to make sense, although the word complication resonated in your head. You didn’t like that, you already had enough problems.

Noticing your state, he led you to his bedroom and told you that just for this night you could sleep there, he had works to do anyway. Though, he told you that tomorrow you should join a domitory and get a proper room. His voice lost clarity as you felt asleep.

You woke up alone the next morning. The diziness had disapeared and you almost could have thought that all you had been through was just a dream if a uniform wasn’t waiting for you on a chair. The expensive cloth slipped through your hands and its blackness seemed to bled in the darkness of the room. There was no more color than this black on the uniform which meant that you’ll be spared to be the only person sporting the ceremonial robe -and also that you’ll have your dormitory sorting-.

You showered, put on your new clothes and waited for approximately fifteen minutes before your father came to pick you up. What followed will likely stay with you forever. As you walked behind your father, you listened as he told you the surprise he had when he found out that his dear daughter was going to be the first girl at Night Raven. He explained that he was leading you to the dorm leader meeting he gathered just for the occasion.

The next events are still cristal clear in your memory. Your father asking dramatically

the dorm leaders to take care of you, the introductions of everyone and, obviously, the moment you said your name in front of the Mirror of Darkness. The latter left its mark on you the most.

You had never seen the Mirror before this moment. Floating by magic, the face in its centre was looking at you without really seeing you. Behind you, the dorm leaders and the headmasters had formed a semi-circle which added undesired solemnity to the ambiance. Their gazes weighed on your back and didn’t put you at ease. You will be fine said Idia, show them what you're worth said your defender. You took your steps thinking of theses sentences.

"It is thee… reveal thy name."

There was a deathly silence in the room as you stuttered your name.

"The shape of thy soul… harmonizes with the spirit of Scarabia."

So that was now official, you were now part of Night Raven and of Scarabia. The Mirror of Darkness had consented so no one could object.

"Well, it'll make it easier to invite you to the banquets", rejoiced Kalim under the hostile gaze of your father. "If you’ve joined Scarabia it means you're very resourceful, I can't wait to see where it takes you. Anyway, we need to find you a room. Hum, our only free room is not cleaned, would you mind sleeping in my room for one n-"

"The room will be ready before tonight, interrupted your father while staring icily at your dorm leader. Now, congralutations angel ! I’m so proud of you, your new life in Night Raven can really start now. I’ll let Mr Al-Asim explains you what you need to know, you can also come and ask me directly if you’re more at ease with me. Here is your magical pen."

He gave you your pen adorned with a grey crystal tinged with purple and winked at you.

"It's not exactly by the book, but I thought it would be a nice gift to give you the first magical pen I had"

And that was how you became a student at one of the most prestigious schools of magic. You never really had a clear explanation for the fact that you were the only girl chosen by the Mirror or for the state of trance that followed your transportation. All of which led to you to start the school year a bit late, which didn't help to go unnoticed.

You think about all of that as you’re walking to class. You really depended on Kalim and the others dorms leaders back then. You often needed directions or an explanation of how the school lifestyle worked. That is usually the kind of thing you ask friends or acquaintances, the fact is that it's hard to connect with people when you're shy and trying to escape the over-attention you've been subjected to for weeks. So, when you were in desperate need of help, you called the only people you knew a minimum of. It’s taken you forever to press the "call" button but at least, when it was done, you knew what you had to do. They probably didn't mind either, because your calls were only left unanswered a few times. Idia was of course always present and more comfortable on the phone than when you first met him, Riddle had to obey the duty of being dorm leader so he always answered, Leona went straight to the point but answered, Vil was the same, Azul was generally busy and Malleus seemed strangely pleased to chat with you, as if it was entertaining him to talk about your boring old life. And how forget Kalim? He was always by your side since you joined Scarabia, so much that you almost wondered if your father hadn't ordered him to watch over you, although if he had, Jamil would have made a better choice.

As you take out your notebooks to prepare yourself for the long hour ahead, you tell yourself that you would give a lot to go back to Scarabia's lounge and have fun with the animals that were basking there. They were probably the main reason you were so happy to be in that dorm. No offense, but Kalim's banquets... let's just say you've never seen one. His invitations have remained unanswered, and it was probably for the best. And the people ? You felt good with the dorm leader and the vice dorm leader but with the other students it was different. Their eyes stuck to your skin, like the sand of the surrounding deserts, and there was nothing more unpleasant.

"Miss Crowley, if you would be so kind as to pay more attention to my lecture, it would be my pleasure. Unless I'm boring you?"

The whole class turns its attention to you and you lower my head in shame.

"No, sir. I’m sorry, I… I’ll pay more attention."

"Good."

You hate how your last name sounds between his lips. Those syllables have never brought such a feeling of unease until now. You don't even know anymore if it's you who's going crazy or if every person voluntarily insists on that name when they call you. You just want them to call you by your first name.

You were going to take your pen to write down the new dates written on the board but a feeling of discomfort runs down your back. With your head still down, only your gaze travels through the classroom until you meet the green eyes of your observer. Sebek's pale, expressionless face appears in your field of vision. There's no animosity in him, yet you can't hold his gaze. You wonder if he thinks you disgrace your father, or Malleus, by your actions.

Sebek looking away, you start to pay close attention to the class, writing down everything even if your wrist starts to get tired. Only Mr. Trein's voice pierces the silence that weighs on the students. You want this class to end soon so you can move on to the next one. If you could skip the breaks and the lunch, everything would be fine. It's not that Kalim or Jamil's company bothers you, but the fact that you can't go unnoticed anywhere is bothersome.

It's like having your wish granted when a staff member enters the classroom.

"Excuse me for disturbing you in the middle of class, but I'm here to inform you that the evacuation plan has just been initiated. The bell will ring in a few minutes and in the meantime we're informing you that the regulatory procedure must be followed."

One moment the surprise appears on Mr. Trein's face, only to be replaced the next by a frightening indifference. He opens his mouth to answer, but the man has already left.

"All right, everyone please follow me in a line to the Hall of Mirrors. I don't want to hear from any of you, so save your questions for later."

The seriousness of the situation spread among the students who remain silent. In spite of the teacher's words, the students pack up their belongings before hurrying to follow the others out of the room. With a nervous step you follow your classmates in the corridor where other classes are already on their way to the Hall of Mirrors. You look on unfamiliar faces for a trace of understanding, but all you see is a general confusion.

At the front, Sebek is turning his head around like he's looking for someone. Sliding between the students of your class, you approach him and pull on his sleeve. His gaze that waltzed between the students lays on you but, as you were going to speak, a strident ringing resonates between the walls of the corridor. Before it's even over, he makes a gesture that orders you to stay silent. We’ll know later, he seems to say.

Forced to follow the movement of the mass, you shut up and stay by Sebek's side while the sweat runs down your forehead. He continues his search and you begin to do the same, your gaze passing nervously from person to person. The dorm leaders have to be there, it's their job to manage the students in their dorm. You're almost tempted to call Kalim, but now is really not a good time.

"-We will enter the hall, from there I count on you to follow the orders of your dorm leader and enter your domitory calmly. Some of the dorm leaders are absent, so please follow the directions of the staff in that case." a voice you don’t recognize says.

Your class comes in and you starts looking for someone who can give you answers. In the middle of the room you think you recognize your father's silhouette. You walk towards him but a firm hand grabs your arm and prevents you from continuing.

"The mirror that leads to Scarabia's dormitory is not in this direction." remarks Sebek

"I...I know, I want to go see my father"

"You're picking the wrong time."

You're too intimidated to respond anything when a familiar voice comes up:

"Let her go, Sebek. I need to talk to Mr. Crowley, she can come with me. Join the others, Lilia is already taking care of the students."

As if struck by lightning, Sebek lets go of your arm and turns in a flash towards Malleus. He hesitates, turns towards you, and finally leaves under the keen gaze of Diasomnia's leader. The latter, after making sure that Sebek is joining the others, starts to make his way in the crowd with no problem. Impressed and astonished by what has just happened, you quickly follow Malleus' great strides, using his wake to make your way. In a few seconds you're standing next to your father who’s giving orders to various strangers.

"Sir, it seems like your daughter would like to tell you something" interrupts Malleus.

Your father is quick to notice the imposing stature of the man at your side, his gaze slides towards you. Before you can even say something he speaks up :

"Sorry, I don’t have time to talk with you right now, darling."

"Dad, please, why the evacutation plan has been initiated ? Surely, I...I can make myself useful !"

"You’re a student, young lady, you don’t have to know this kind of thing. Everything will be explained later. Now please, I will feel better once I know you are in security."

"I understand, but please, I have to do something! Why are we leaving the school?" you insisted

"That’s enough ! I told you to g-"

"There’s a feral beast who has gone out of control, and it is on school grounds."

Malleus’ calm voice stopped your father mid-sentence. From his altitude, he observes you with curiosity. Before you or your father can answer him, he goes on:

"The first time we met, you seemed constantly uncomfortable, you still do. However, it’s crystal clear that you want -that you always wanted- to prove yourself. I heard that you’re quite good with animals, even with the beasts. Surely, you’ll be able to help though you’re still quite young…Kingscholar ! Can you lead her to the beast ? I’m sure that with your keen sense of smell it will be no problem for you."

Nothing make sense anymore. The dorm leader of Diasomnia is helping you. On the other side of the Hall you see Leona already on his way, he’s mumbling something under his breath. Leaving before your father can hold you back, you whisper :

"Why ?"

"I told you the first time we met : I want to see your skills in action."

You ran out of the room and away from your father.

In the corridors, you follow Leona, and in complete silence. You two haven't exchanged a word, if you take away Leona's constant grumbling which can be summed up as: "Malleus doesn't have to give me orders", "why would they take a kid to the front ?", "for once I wasn't going to have class even though I came; I could have slept in peace".

On your side, you didn’t say anything because you are scared of losing heart. You want to be useful, you want to not be seen as the Headmaster’s daughter anymore. It is time to show them.

"I can smell your fear. You stink." smirks Leona.

Oh well, it’s been long since the last time you wanted to bury yourself six feet under.

"I’m sorry, I can’t really help it. I don’t know what to expect, you know, how exactly the beast will be and all."

"Why did you come in the first place if you're already trembling just imagining what's waiting for you ?"

He didn't say that in a mocking tone, but it touches on sensitive points that you want to ignore. You didn't think much when you ran to your father. You wanted to make yourself useful, help others as best as you could, you wanted your dad to trust you enough to tell you what was going on, yes ; but you didn't want to fight.

"It’s dumb...I...I want everyone to acknowledge my skills. I can’t stand to be « Crowley’s daughter » anymore !" you hissed the last part, an unknow rage burning in you.

When Malleus had trusted you by revealing that a beast was in the school grounds, your heart skipped a beat. Beasts, that was your specialty. Malleus knew it and he gave you a chance to help. You're full of gratitude and you don't want to disappoint him.

Leona doesn’t answer, you almost wonder if you've shocked him. But he suddenly turns to you:

"You think it will change anything ? You can prove you’re strong, but in the end people will find a way to compare you to your father. Your efforts will be reduced to genetics, or to a privileged education. You can try to contradict them, but people like to put others in boxes."

You are surprised by his practical tone, you can tell he is trying to warn you. Still, you don’t want to listen to this kind of speech. You want to hear that you’ll make it, that they will see you for what you are.

"They don’t know who I am, they have their idea but that’s what it is : an idea. Nothing more than an illusion. I can’t change the fact they will never know who I am really, but I can change the box. I’ll...I’ll switch boxes. I’ll be the one who’s capable, who must be respected. I will not be the resigned person anymore."

You two stopped walking. You are looking at each other, it may only be on your side, but you feel a mutual understanding in spite of your awkward words. You feel that this time he won't contradict you.

"At first I thought you were, uh, sorry for the term, dull. I realize that I was wrong." embarrassed, you blush a bit at his words.

"I guess we all put other people in boxes, it’s fine" you mumble under his intense gaze.

You quickly start to walk again, hoping he'll follow you, which he does his laughter echoing on the walls. Your cheeks are burning as he catches up with you in a few strides. It's not just his confession that makes you blush, it's also what you didn't say. Unconsciously, you didn't have a good idea of Leona yourself. You resented him for not trying harder, you saw in him what you feared to become on day. Someone who had given up who, faced with too many failures, has not been able to continue. You didn't know what he had faced, but you recognized yourself in him and you were afraid. Afraid of him, afraid to look at youself and not being able to hold up your own gaze.

But here, the morning light coming through the windows. In the religious silence of the empty corridors. In his company. You tell yourself he’s a lot more than you thought he was. You want to tell him too, but you don’t know how to express what you’re feeling, so you keep silence and let this moment sink in.

You look ahead and think you're on the right path. Maybe it's crazy to go up against a beast, but you're not alone, and you've almost forgotten that. You wonder where the others are, the impulse to get your phone out to get news is strong. In the Hall of Mirrors, you saw the Heartslabyulst students lined up perfectly which probably came from Riddle’s presence ; you saw too the Ignihyde students hurrying back to their domitory, perhaps Idia was one of them. Were the others fighting already ?

You try to pay attention to every sound -though you know Leona would notice before you do if something was approaching-. It seems the talk with the lion calmed you down because you notice that you pulse calmed down. Your hands are still clammy, though. You never noticed how gloomy the atmosphere of an empty school is. You really don't feel comfortable there, especially knowing that danger is approaching with every step.

Leona comes to a sudden halt, raising his arm to block your path. His ears are pricked up and all his senses seem to be alert. You hold your breath and wait.

"I know where they are : the schoolyard. I heard a shout, let’s go. "

It was about time. Quickly you enter the last corridor that will lead you to the beast and the others. Your heart beats in your ears and you see red. Leona heard a scream, is anyone hurt? In several strides you'll know. Anger and fear turn your stomach as you almost start to run. Coming in like a cannonball isn't going to help anyone, especially if they have the upper hand on the beast.

Daylight dazzles you, but hearing don’t deveive: they're there.

You notice the beast first. It stands on its hind legs, its angular body in plain sight. Sharp, black claws plough the ground, while its tail flaps in the air like a furious cat. Saliva drips from its mouth and, like acid, kills the vegetation on which it falls. It's not a normal beast, something's wrong.

In front of the creature, their magic pencils as their only weapons, Vil and Azul are in a defensive position. Behind the beast, a shadow sneaks in discreetly, you suspect that it’s Kalim who‘s trying to take the creature by surprise. At this distance, it's hard to tell if one of them is injured or not.

By observing more closely, you notice other people hidden in the scenery. A multitude even. From the treetops, in the upper floors. Some of Night Raven staff members who had been waiting for several minutes for the beast to be brought into the yard by the dorm leaders. At that moment you understand that as soon as they will retreat, the beast will be executed by the flood of magic that will come rushing towards it.

You take one step forward, the first one that would have been followed by several others faster and faster in order to create a barrier between the beast and the prefects, in hopes of stopping the fight. But Leona's grip on your shoulder is holding you back.

"They’re fine, the situation is in control, they’re tired but not badly hurt I think."

That’s good, but that’s not the issue. They’re going to kill a beast in the middle of the school,  in front of you. You don't want to see this. All your life you've loved the creatures of the world you were born into. You've tried to understand their behavior so you could tame them better. A beast would never have come to Night Raven on its own, it would have stayed on its territory unless one of its children was abducted or if it was totally disoriented. Besides, how did it get in so easily ? Does that mean it beat the guards ? Given the field of magic you feel running through the area, it's likely.

"There’s something wrong with the beast. I need to get closer so I could understand the situation and help it."

"And you're going to interrupt when the mission's about to be successful?" he stops a moment and observes you reaction, you make a point of keeping a determined expression. "Eh, suit yourself."

His hand lets go of your shoulder and you’re free to move forwards. You don’t waste time and rush to Vil and Azul. A voice orders you to turn back to safety but you ignore it. If they try to restrain you, there's a good chance they'll end up hurting you. So you have a chance to reach your goal.

The closer you get, the more magic flows through your body in an electrifying feeling. You’re now able to see that the silhouette behind the beast was indeed Kalim’s. You catch his eyes and, as you keep running, you see his expression crumbles and turns into one of pure distress. Vil and Azul too, just noticed your presence, but it’s too late for them to stop you. You’ll think about your excuses later.

"What are doing here ! I thought you were with the others, go back before it hurts you !" Azul exclaims

"Don’t attack, I can calm it, I swear !"

"Are you out of your mind ? This beast isn’t in its normal state, it almost hurt us badly ! You’re only a first grade, go away !" yells Vil at you.

They won’t listen, in a way you think they are right, you’re not strong enough to face the beast. However, if you play your cards right, no one will be hurt. If you don’t, well, this is a risk you're willing to take in order to help this creature. Your mother would probably tell you that you’re still putting your well-being in danger so as to help inferior beings, that it’s all good to be altruistic but that you have to be selfish to be happy in life. She may be right. But those animals are your life, as dramatic as that sounds. They are your second family, the one that gave you a reason to keep studying and you will not abandon them.

Despite your arrival, the boys manage to keep the beast's attention on them. You feel the weight of Kalim's gaze on you, you’re sure that he doesn't approve of what you’re doing but that he will have your back. The beast is now at only a few steps from you, you need to calm down and apply what you've learned.

You focus on your breathing and try to forget about the black claws that could shred at any moment. For a while, you bring up memories of happy moments: the summer picnics with your parents, when you finally managed to chat with a doe, when you spent an evening chatting with Idia on the phone and you both felt that feeling of mutual understanding, when Kalim showed you pictures of the animals from his home country, when Riddle helped you solve a problem and you were shoulder-to-shoulder, when Azul let you order whatever you wanted at the Mostro Loungue after you beat him at an animal language test, when Vil combed your hair one morning when you didn't have the courage to get ready, when Leona understood you and when Malleus gave you a chance.

You lift up your hand and let the magic flows in you.

"Outpouring of empathy" you mumur.

Your unique magic allows you to transmit what you feel to the being of your choice. It took you a long time to realize this ability because it was hard to discern. At first you thought it was just a normal reaction, a basic form of empathy present in every living being. Then, one euphoric day when you went shopping, the salesman let you leave without paying. The miser who, because he felt "good", hadn't asked you for a single coin; there was no room for doubt anymore.

Your power also manifests itself by making others feel emotions without you experiencing them. But this side is unstable and, in the present situation, could be very dangerous for you and your friends, so that’s a better idea to stay in your comfort zone.

You see that the beast is beginning to sense you intrusion. It starts to get more and more agitated and its drool starts to foam. The boys keep distracting her but if you don't get the upper hand soon it will turn against you. You don't know exactly what a connection between you and another being can do to you. You've always felt it was a one-way conversation. Maybe it was a mistake, you think as you feel a turmoil running through you. There's definitely something wrong, you've never sensed such negative energy in a creature before.

Trying to infuse calm into the spirit of the beast, you feel a force to push back and try to break the link. You hold on, trying to keep the connection with the beast's nervous system despite the unknow nuisance giving you no respite. Unfortunately, every second becomes more and more painful, the cries of the beast pierce your ears and the streams of magic from Vil, Azul and Kalim drain your energy. Continuing ardently to strengthen the bond, you feel your emotions being overwhelmed by rage.

Your train of thought is being parasitized by the magic that made the creature its host. Your field of vision becomes blurry, a constant whistling resonates in your skull and your legs can no longer support your weight. As you feel your power take the upper hand, you understand that in a few seconds you will lose consciousness.

It's with one last attack from Vil that you win and then collapse, someone’s arms catching you before you hit the ground.

"Why did you let her go ! She could have died, she’s a first grade, a first grade !"

"That’s what she wanted, Vil, and I don’t think you really helped her either. "

"Luckily, Kalim was there to catch her." You hear a muddled and preoccupied voice say. "I didn’t think that she was the disobedient kind, I'll get her to review the rules, maybe that'll keep her out of trouble."

"I-I had a bad feeling about this, w-when I learned there was a beast involved I went to look for h-her amongst Scarabia students but she wasn’t with them. I should have know…"

"It’s fine, Idia. I’m her dorm leader, I’m the one who responsible."

"You’re...you’re not, Ka..lim." you succeed to say.

You lift your eyelids with difficulty, and in the silence that has covered the arguments of Vil and Leona, and the laments of some, your eyes get used to the light of day. You notice a warmth coming from something on your forehead and understand that it’s Malleus’ hand as you see his concerned green eyes looking at you.

"Welcome back" he whispers "You gave the fright of a lifetime for some, it’s rare to see Vil loses his temper. Your father and the staff have gone to get your medical supplies, I don't know if they overestimated your exhaustion, do you feel able to get up?"

"I think...I’ll need one of you to carry me, hehe." Malleus giggles at your answer.

"I don't think Kalim caught her very well, she must have hit her head." laughs Leona.

"I’ll carry her if no one wants to !"

While Kalim is starting a friendly war, Azul comes at your side and helps you to sit down. Your body isn't in pain, but the exhaustion is getting you all bogged down. You've never used your magic so much before, let alone your only magic, and the repercussion is brutal.

Then it comes back to you: what happened to the beast?

"If that’s about the beast that you’re thinking, well, she’s fine. She collapsed a bit after you, her appareance changed drastically. Don’t worry, she will be taken care of" explains Azul.

"And she left this behind" continues Malleus, showing you a bright cristal tinged with black.

He puts it in your hands and you watch it, puzzled. That doesn't look good, you must show it to your father. And talk about your experience with the beast too, if he let you explain yourself in the first place.

Looking up, you wonder what might have happened to you if you had been only slightly less powerful. Suddenly, the light that dazzles you and burns your skin becomes like a treasure as you tell yourself that things could have ended badly for your life. But the boys were there, weren't they? Leona and Kalim were watching you, so they would have helped you before things got dramatic. The seriousness of the situation is hard to see in the way the boys talk to each other and makes you think you’ve just lived an intensive use of magic as it can happen. But Azul's hand on your back, Malleus's piercing gaze and the point of disarray in Kalim's eyes cast doubt on you.

You are not reckless, at least you’ve never seen yourself that way. You wonder if you weren't like that by choice, or if it's just a part of you that you were repressing. You don't think you're repressed, you are struggling with confidence and self-esteem, yes, but you're not repressed.

Your father must be shocked too, though, as he comes running at you, you can’t see his eyes because of his mask. The boys, silenced -for once- by the headmaster’s presence, are surrounding you and it only reinforces the image of weakness you're sending back to your father. Your eyes find the ground, you're used to avoiding conflict and that's not going to change anytime soon.

He lowers himself in front of you and at that point it would be very childish to ignore him :

"I’m sorry."

What else could you say ? Your don’t want to make things worse for yourself and, to be honest, your exhaustion doesn’t help to find the right words either.

You father doesn’t answer. His hand cups your cheek and you remember he always did this when you were younger. It was a gesture of parenthood that comforted you when you were troubled. It's strange to receive emotional gestures after all this time without any physical contact. You’d almost forget the dorm leaders around you who watching you two. In a surge of prudishness, you gently push your father’s hand away.

"I’m glad you’re fine."

Before you can react, his arms embrace you and hold you close to him. His sobs wetting your uniform jacket.

"Dad ! Not in front of everyone !"

"I-I was so scareeeeed ! I’m not letting you go, young lady ! Never !"

The fact that a person like your father was able to conceive a being as calm as you is still a mystery. No reservations are allowed for your father despite the entourage that has just increased with the arrival of the members of the infirmary. And while laughter makes you bury your head in your father's chest, you tell yourself that things could have been worse.

"Sir, we found this next to the beast after she collapsed."

Malleus' voice interrupts your little family reunion. Your father pulls back and you see the crystal, which you had dropped under the shock of your father’s grip, in Malleus' hand. Your father watches him with an inscrutable expression. As Malleus gives the crystal to him, he says :

"I’ll need you to explain me what happened with the beast, Malleus…I’ll inspect this later. Now, darling, we’re going to lead you to the infirmary. Sssh, you need to be taken care of. Shroud and Schoenheit, help her to get up, please. No time to lose, she may be hurt more severely than we think !"

Too focused on Idia's hands, which help you with an endearing clumsiness, and Vil's hands, which seem to be soaked with voluptuousness, you don't notice your father's satisfied smile.

At first I wanted Kalim to scream YEEEEES at reader-chan being sorted in Scarabia

When I did the first part the "you'll be fine" sentence was originally said by someone else but I thought that Idia had almost no line at all so I was like "yeah don't care he'll find out the courage to say it",that's why it's a bit out of character (since he needs more time to open up it was that or nothing lol)

Yes, your father cockblocked you (does anyone wants an alternative universe where you get to sleep with Kalim in a totally platonic situation? lmao)

The focus on Kalim is (a little bit) here since a very similar request wanted him to be more put in the front than the others, but it is also because I thought while reading the first part (man, I hate to read what I write once I published it, it's awful) that he was the more "noticed" by the "reader" because he restrained himself to talk to let her introduce herself

For once, I wanted to write in present tense but I still prefer to write in past tense lol, the pacing of this story is bad but at least I tried. My writing will hopefully get better with time.

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

Hola Mishamigos! It’s Friday and I am here with more nonsense from my SPN rewatch - dudes, we are all SLEEPING on Season 11, in both good and bad ways.  There is so much in just the first trifecta of “Out of the Darkness, Into the Fire;” “Form and Void;” and “Bad Seed” (since “Baby” deserves her own analysis) -  so come relive my rewatch with me.  This is a summary of some things that stood out for me (few are analysis, most are clowning; basically this is a pared down live tweet - you’re welcome/I'm sorry); copy/paste from the script is included with my own emphasis:

OUT OF THE DARKNESS INTO THE FIRE [11x01]

-There’s lots more to this episode, but really this is the most important and relevant part (also it’s too soon and I am offended, damaged, attacked and hurt) -

DEAN: Yeah, whoa. All right, take -- take it easy, okay?  (gesturing to the deputy’s wound) Bad guys?

JENNA: Rebar. I sought cover. I fell.

***LIKE EXCUSE ME, but what in the actual fuck.  Did they just decide to pull that from the episode four years later to emotionally traumatize us in the subsequent rewatches? I know it’s probably coincidence but my sad soul has not recovered *enough* for rebar’s first SPN appearance to be right now in this moment when I am blissfully 5 entire seasons away from the dead end in the road.

- The only other important part of this episode - when Dean takes the call from Cas privately first before putting it on speaker for Sam, and something about this exchange is so endearing-

(Dean’s phone rings) 

DEAN: Where the hell are you, Cas?

(The scene flips between Sam and Dean at the hospital, and Castiel in the woods.)

CASTIEL: I'm...I'm okay.

DEAN: You don't sound okay.

CASTIEL: Dean, I am fine. Besides, what I have, you can't help me.

DEAN: What do you mean, what you have?

CASTIEL: Just please tell Sam -- Rowena escaped with the Book of the Damned and the codex.

DEAN: Okay, forget Rowena. Where are you?

CASTIEL: Now, you tell me -- the Mark . . .

DEAN: Oh, really? You're worried about me after everything that I’ve --

CASTIEL: Dean, is it gone?

DEAN: Yes. I'm good. I mean, I'm not great.

CASTIEL: Makes two of us.  (Dean puts Cas on speakerphone) This is good news.

SAM: Hey, Cas.

CASTIEL: Sam.

***It’s just so poignant that Dean wanted privacy for the first minutes of that call, probably because he is still haunted about the beating he gave Cas in 10 and *other things,* and Cas is literally being torn apart by Rowena’s curse but he only cares about Dean getting rid of the Mark, and the world is ending but Dean only cares about Cas and where he is -  honestly this scene - I’m - 

***Further thoughts on the Animal Curse/Cas/Dean below under 11x03

FORM AND VOID [11x02]

(love the Genesis call back to this verse in the title - “And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.”)

-speaking of emotional trauma, this fucking shit again -

JENNA: Yeah. I pretty much grew up here. Learned to ride my bike down the road. Had my first kiss at that blue house over there. Lost my virginity up there (pointing to different house).

DEAN: I'll bet blue house was pissed.

JENNA: She was. (handing Amara to Dean) Do you mind?

***This frustrated/disappointed/angered/saddened me to NO END despite already knowing that it happens constantly on the show, because what was the reason?! Did they have to point out that she had a female love interest for this brief moment just to turn her evil and kill her off?  There was no need to include this detail.  It’s either blatant homophobia or willful ignorance (so also blatant homophobia) that this is what representation means.  I won’t go on because obviously we are aware of this and much has already been said/written about it, but still, fuck this.

-we meet Billie and there is more “FORESHADOWING”-

QUEEN IS SINGING “OH DEATH” aka Death’s entrance song from Season 5 and I am BLOWN AWAY by this almost as much as her amazing voice - like did they know at this point she would become the new Death season later? DID THEY KNOW? I need answers.

Seriously, go listen to it immediately; bask in its glory:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFOm5i6b56o

We also get our first mention of the Empty, so that’s cute that they referenced both Dean’s and Cas’s Season 15 ‘demises’ in the same episode (it’s not cute really and I am crying again now) ->

BILLIE: You and Dean . . . Dying and coming back again and again. The old death thought it was funny. But now there's one hard, fast rule in this universe. What lives . . . dies. So the next time you or your brother bite it, well, you're not going to Heaven . . . Or Hell. One of us -- and, Lord, I hope it's me -- we're gonna make a mistake and toss you out into the Empty. And nothing comes back from that. I know you're dying. I can feel it. You're unclean in the biblical sense. So I'll be seeing you again, Sam . . . Seeing you real soon. Name's Billie, by the way.

-another reason for me to continue denying the flaming trash heap that they tried to call the series finale-

Sam is dying here because he has been infected by the Darkness-vein-animal-exploding-people-plague so he goes to pray about it 

SAM: So . . . I know it's been a long time, but . . . Dean and I, we've -- we've been through a lot of bad. But this is different. This is my fault, and I don't know how to fix it. And if I have to die, I've made my peace with that, but . . . Please. Dean deserves better. Dean deserves a life. There are people out there, good people, who are going to suffer because of me, and I am not asking you to clean up my mess. Hell, I don't even know if you're out there, but . . . If you are . . . And if you can hear me, I, um . . . We need your help, God. We need to know there's hope. We need a sign.

**DABB WROTE THIS F-ING EPISODE.  How are you going to write Dean deserves a life here to just do what you did Dabb.  Don’t get me started on my feelings about this scene in the dark depths of my finale-denying soul.   DEAN DESERVES BETTER INDEED, SEASON 11 SAM. 

To rub salt in this particular wound, they show us THE cutest scenes of Dean with this damn baby so we can have feelings about how great of a parent he could be (also I ADORE that whenever Jared, Jensen, or Misha have scenes in later seasons with young children/babies it is SO clear they slip into their own natural dad mode without even noticing it; these guys just all seem like excellent fathers and it makes me mushy) and even Crowley picks up on that shit and makes his little ex-boyfriend joke (after Demon Dean and most of season 10 there is no way I will ever NOT believe that Crowley and Dean did not take a tumble; I will take no criticism):

CROWLEY: The child likes you. No surprise, really. You're very maternal.

LIKE WHAT IS THIS:

Speaking of King Jackles, next comes the episode he directed ->

BAD SEED [11x03]

-Cas/Dean parallels with the Attack Dog Spell/Mark of Cain-

This arc appears in the 10 finale and then runs through the first three episodes, culminating in this one.  Despite it hurting my heart to see our angel so bloody eyed and feral, I LOVED this parallel; it’s truly brilliant - Cas’s reaction to the attack dog spell is such a mirror to the way Dean dealt with the Mark most of 10.  It’s also beautiful that Dean is the only one that can pull Cas from the spell’s control at the end of this episode; that alley scene between the two of them in 11x02 is so tender and sweet.  I like to think this brought an entire new layer of depth to their connection, because no one truly understood how Dean felt under the influence of the Mark until now (someone write a fan fic about this exchange!!!!!!) I *love* this journey for them (please say that sentence in Alexis Rose in your head).  Bonus that  the episode containing my most favorite of *domestic* phone calls with Dean and Cas follows this one, and also Dean’s SHORT SHORTS follow because now he is just walking around the bunker in short shorts while Cas is there and I maintain this is because of this new level of closeness.  As previously stated I ACCEPT NO criticism.

ALSO OF COURSE THE FACE CUP THAT JENSEN HIMSEF DIRECTED HIMSELF TO DO.  I STAN A KING. I HEREBY DEMAND AT LEAST ONE FACE CUP PER EPISODE OF THE MINI SERIES JENSEN.

***I just saw something posted by @watchthebeesandfish​ back in 2015 when digging around the internet re: this episode - that this was the first time both Dean/Cas had seen each other as “themselves” since that heart wrenching bridge scene in 9x10, when Dean walks away from Sam/Cas after the Gadreel possession reveal (he goes on to take the Mark of Cain in the following episode, and has it the rest of the season through season 10 finale). That is brilliant and accurate and I BOW DOWN in humility to that parallel.  I now love this scene a billion times more. *single [wo]man tear*   Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this little trip down memory lane, thanks as always for getting through my rambling,  and HAPPY FACE CUPPING FOREVER.

[erideights]

Everything that we never get to say.

Request by @lady-of-black-roses : Our best angel x reader, the moment they met, their relationship through the years and a kiss in the end.

Pairing: Aziraphale x Fem!Reader (Good Omens)

Word Count: 2066.

Warnings: SO MUCH ANGST. Death. War.

A/N: I'm totally fucking sure this isn't what you was thinking this would be, but you wanted angst and I had this horrible idea and... I'm so sorry.

''—and then I said ‘Pardon me, what!? No way.’ My Bentley! Buy MY Bentley! Can you believe it?"

Aziraphale's gaze was lost in the distance through the transparent and clear glass of the window of the back room of his shop, where his most precious books were safely kept in his old desk.

He heard Crowley's voice, but he didn’t listen to him, so when the silence fell, almost like a cue to give his opinion, he just hummed.

It was raining, and the drops of water that slid down the impeccable surface before him were reflected in his eyes, eyes that for the first time in oh, so many years, mirrored a regret, sadness and longing the demon would never have believed possible in the angel.

But he was watching his back, so, in any case, he didn’t witness such an atrocious image.

"—angel, angel! You're listening? Where the fuck are you? Get down from the clouds."

But again, the blonde platinum angel didn’t answer, just sighed deeply and allowed his whole body to rock to the rhythm of that breath.

Only the red-haired demon's hand on his shoulder, who had been forced to leave his comfortable seat in search of his friend's attention, was able to tear our Aziraphale from his daydream.

"Hey, you okay?" Crowley asked when through the eyes of the angel crossed confusion and bewilderment. Question to which, quickly but worse pretended than he would have expected, Aziraphale replied:

"Of course, of course I am! I was just trying to imagine a world in which you existed without the car. But it has been in vain, certainly. I can not visualize you without it."

But it was evident that he was lying, and Crowley knew it.

The sad story our beloved angel was reviving begins a few years before the outbreak of the Second World War.

We are in London, on a lost street in a neighborhood not very rich but not poor either, where sad gray buildings stood to the sky and people walked down the street as if life had been taken from them.

The atmosphere was tense, there was no doubt about it, with the war about to explode at any moment, to allow oneself to be happy and to wear a smile was complicated to see.

But even so, there were always those special individuals, unique in their kind, who with only a slight upward curve of their lips, seemed to radiate their own light and bathe in it all who came and wanted some of its warmth.

She was just like that.

Y/N, a young librarian who worked day and night in the most lost and desolate of libraries in all London, but for some reason, was always surrounded by children hungry for her charisma, her love and, above all, her stories.

The first time he saw her, Aziraphale was desperately searching for a book of prophecies that, people told, had been discovered a few years ago in an attic of an abandoned building by the area, and like most books lost and/or without owner with real value for the state, it ended up in the town hall or in the closest library to his find.

That same day he crossed two large wooden doors, worn, scruffy by time but cozy in its tender, eccentric and strange way. And there she was, hair tied in a bun that after so many hours of work was practically undone, smile in a mouth full of white pearls for teeth and eyes that could make the most insensitive of men fall in love with her.

She chatted animatedly with a group of what Aziraphale considered mothers, their children not many meters away, huddled around a round table like knights in shining armors, reading similar books that they would later exchange and use to create a story to be able to play in the park.

The angel Aziraphale would swear he had never experienced what love was, but the moment their eyes met, the common description of that emotion was the closest thing he could feel in his more than 5,000 years of life.

She was Heaven in Earth.

But as it was habit for him, those feelings that seemed to surface in his skin were completely ignored, buried at the end of a dark chamber that until a few years later he wouldn’t have the audacity to open.

Not until it was too late.

With an affable smile and his hands, nervously playing with the end of his cinnamon-colored vest, the thousand-years-old angel made his way to the counter of the small, old but cozy library, interrupting —without wanting to— the conversation between his charming and mysterious unknown woman and the mothers of the neighborhood, who soon began chatting between them several meters away.

"Good Morning!" she chirped happily, as charming as he had imagined her. He found himself sighing and drawing the most beautiful of his smiles just for her. "How can I help you?"

Over a few years, their relationship developed between —not so— random fortuitous meetings in the library, all caused by Aziraphale under the pretext and the excuse of enjoying the calm that reigned there —he assured that, in other libraries, ‘’the tumult came to overwhelm him’’— and other approaches not left to chance itself, but by the initiative that the young Y/N showed in order to spend more time with him.

She would be lying if she said that after some time she hadn’t fallen in love with those eyes that seemed to hold all the love in the world, that tender and adorable giggle that rang in his throat when he was nervous or how he seemed to treat her as if she were the most precious thing in the universe.

His heart, his lovely personality, his empathy and how extremely intelligent he was also helped to shape those feelings that often reduced her sleep hours and kept the girl away from reality and in a constant daydream.

Oh, c'est l'amour.

But no matter how hard she tried, how many hints she dropped or how much effort she put into it; her feelings for Aziraphale didn’t seem to be reciprocated.

And that was good! She was satisfied, —or so she wanted to think—, with the shelter of his friendship with the angel.

That was enough.

But the war came to London, and one is unable to appreciate and understand the treasure that is the calm of a simple life until something like this explodes in front of you and plunges you into the flames of despair.

Chaos, destruction and crying soon seized the streets of the largest city in England.

The families were divided, the great national treasures were lost among the most atrocious fires, innocents died, and among the ashes, one couldn’t even find consolation in mourning those who lost, because in reality, there were no bodies left to mourn.

Events like this didn’t harm or disturb in the least celestial beings free of all guilt and exempt to die, anyone could think, but from the corner of one of the most lost streets in the whole city, where a small and cozy library used to be, an angel began to cry.

Aziraphale found rubble where walls and shelves once stood up to join the roof and collect all the knowledge that such a place could hold; ashes where thousands of books used to rest, waiting for someone to read again what they had to teach; a huge void in the counter from where, he then knew, the love of his life used to smile at the sight of him arriving.

A sharp thud on the ground, —a huge leather bag full of books of ancient prophecies— signaled the exact second when Aziraphale, in shock, began to walk and enter the chaos he once considered a home.

His lips trembled as did his hands and practically the rest of his body.

No, he didn’t even want to think that...

''Y/N?'' He asked in just a broken whisper, unable to raise his voice, unable to verify whether or not she had been a victim of that disaster.

Please, God, do not let her be a victim of this disaster, he thought.

'’Y/N? '' He tried again, this time louder, so the pain in his voice was so obvious that anyone who could get to hear him would know, in effect, that the soft angel was crying.

The bomb couldn’t have fallen more than a couple of hours ago. He knew it because he was there, with her, begging her to hide and search for refuge before what he thought would be a furtive meeting to hunt the enemy.

Please, God, I hope that she has listened to me, he prayed again.

But soon he would find out that God didn’t have mercy for anything and anyone. That no matter how much Aziraphale prayed, he had no greater power over the grand plan.

Because it was ineffable, right? Everything had to happen for a reason in order to achieve a specific goal.

But why, of all the millions of people that existed on the planet, of all those who perhaps deserved it, his blue eyes, sad, crystalline with tears, had to rest on the unconscious body of the woman he loved?

''No, no, no, please, no.'' He muttered in a choked way and so quickly that he couldn’t even understand himself, rushing to reach the body and hold it in his arms while his corduroy pants were destroyed by the ashes on the ground.

''Y/N...'' he begged, caressing her face, brushing the strands of hair that had clung to her sweet features from the sweat of her skin

She was breathing, but not for too long.

Her heart was beating, but his heartbeat was numbered and the clock was only moving forward in time.

''It's okay.'' she suddenly murmured, her voice no more than a barely audible whisper between her forced breathing and the silent crying of the blond angel.

She couldn’t open her eyes, her body didn’t have the strength to do it, but she could recognize that warmth anywhere; after all, she was in love with him, right?

''It's okay.'' she repeated, knowing that from her first two words, Aziraphale's eyes had been fixed on her face and that he was probably afraid to blink and that when he opened them again, she would no longer be with him.

‘’I’m sorr—’’

‘’I love you, Aziraphale.’’

His breath stopped, he was frozen in place, unable to look away from the lips that, after her confession, had drawn a tired smile.

She should tell him, right? She couldn’t leave without telling him at least once.

''I'm sorry I took so long to tell you.''

Prey of his own panic and everything that perhaps he wanted to say choked at the beginning of his throat, the only way out that Aziraphale found to give free rein to the feelings that for years he repressed in his little Pandora's box was to kiss that smile that so many times it had stolen his breath.

And he did.

Then a blink.

He, again, had allowed himself to be carried back to that memory of more than 70 years ago.

His hands caressed, distracted, the green cover of an old book that Crowley had never seen before and that he, at that moment, peeked curiously from the shoulder of the angel, wanting to ask for it but knowing, inside his chest and for some unknown reason, that he shouldn’t.

If he had, Aziraphale would have replied that it was simply a gift from an old friend.

Actually, it was the first gift he received throughout his long life.

''Do not tell anyone, but I stole this book from some archives of the Senate House Library when I was a child and I have always kept it as a treasure.

It has not prophecies, or stories of religious interest, but I think the love story it contains could make you smile on a dark and rainy April afternoon.

With all my love for my guardian angel,

Y/N.''

[freyjawriter24]

Advent Omens: Wish

It might be a couple of months late, but here’s my response to Day 19 of @drawlight‘s advent prompt list from last year. Enjoy!

-----

The night was bitterly cold, his breath freezing into clouds as soon as it left the haven of his corporation, and Aziraphale was wrapped up in as many layers of warmth as possible. Thick coat, tartan scarf and matching mittens, even a hat to keep his ears warm.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d left the bookshop at all, but he’d felt he needed a walk, so he had. It was late – or rather early – enough that even in the middle of London, there was pretty much nobody else around. Perfect for walking and thinking.

There was... a lot to think about, if he was honest with himself. A lot that he hardly dared think about, and yet now couldn’t avoid for much longer. A lot that he didn’t ever want to deal with, and that he was scared he would never have to. A lot of complications, in short. A lot of conflict.

He walked the streets of Soho first, past the corner he had waited on for Crowley to finish planning his obliteration-trap of a mission, past the bakery they’d both had croissants at together when it first opened, past the place where he’d bumped into a red-faced Crowley once, the demon holding flowers and chocolates like he had over a century prior, muttering something about missing the anniversary but still wanting to celebrate, if you’ll have me. The result had been a quiet night in at the bookshop, and then Crowley had left, and he hadn’t seen him again for a decade (off in New York, apparently, making the most of the flapper dresses and prohibition), and then they’d met up in St James’ Park to update one another on human affairs from the last seventy years, and then he hadn’t seen him again until the church.

Aziraphale swallowed, his mind automatically wanting to skip over that particular memory, but he wouldn’t let it. Not right now.

The church. Crowley had walked on consecrated ground for him, to save him the fuss and bother of being discorporated and having to acquire a new body. He’d come to distract and bomb the Nazis – and they’d known who he was, which was a detail he hadn’t fully appreciated at the time – and he did so, and he’d asked Aziraphale to save them, and then he’d remembered the books...

It was cold and clear out, and the water running down his cheeks caught the breeze and made him shiver, so he wiped it away. He saved the books. That was what Aziraphale couldn’t get over, that was the moment he’d been suddenly dropped into a void and realised the truth, that was the instant his entire world changed and there was no going back now, not ever.

That night recontextualised so much of their relationship – his own reaction to Crowley’s request for holy water, for one – and it was terrifying in a way that he, even with all his books and words and knowledge of the entire history of language, couldn’t fully articulate.

It had taken him twenty-six years to go from that realisation to giving Crowley what he’d asked for all that time ago, and it felt like he was strapped to the side of a rocket, bulleting through the atmosphere faster than should be possible, faster than the grip of gravity.

I love you, Aziraphale had said, though not in so many words, and I’m sorry.

I’ll wait for you, the demon had replied, without actually saying so. As long as it takes, angel. As long as you need.

And that was why he loved him.

Aziraphale hadn’t really been paying much attention to his surroundings for a while, and had somehow ended up in Hyde Park. It was strange, seeing a place so usually full of life – families with children, dogs, teenagers messing around together, elderly couples sharing a quiet moment – so completely, utterly still. It was silent, and the moonlight made the frosted grass shine silver, and it was beautiful, so beautiful.

He wished Crowley could see it, too. He always wished that, whenever he saw a scene as wonderful as this. He liked having someone to share the memory with.

Aziraphale hadn’t seen the demon in months, after he’d given him the holy water – until yesterday, when he’d arrived, chipper as anything, and offered to take him out for lunch. And that was why the angel needed to think so hard now.

He’d been scared. Scared that the unthinkable had happened without him knowing. Scared that he’d somehow irrevocably broken their relationship by his refusal to go further now. Maybe he’d misinterpreted that look, those words, everything he’d imagined was between them. He’d been terrified.

And then Crowley had appeared at the bookshop door, smiling and tempting him to lunch and acting like everything was normal, like nothing had happened, and Aziraphale had been relieved, so deeply, deeply relieved, and he’d been swept up in the afternoon’s events and the joy of Crowley being alive, and then the demon had said his goodbyes and left. And Aziraphale was left shaking. 

He hadn’t understood his own reaction, at first. He had sat heavily on the sofa, in Crowley’s spot, still warm from the demon lounging there a matter of minutes beforehand, and he’d tried to convince his hammering heart that Crowley was still alive. He’s okay, it’s okay, what are you panicking about? He’s fine. You’re fine. We’re fine. Why are you so scared?

The problem was, any confirmation that Crowley was currently fine was rendered void as soon as he was out of sight. The problem was, Aziraphale didn’t know where the holy water was, and couldn’t take it back. The problem was, everything was out of his control, and he couldn’t protect him, and anything could happen, and that was terrifying.

Even looking at these thoughts from a distance, after the panic attack was over, was exhausting. Aziraphale chose a patch of grass in the centre of the park and sank slowly to sit amongst the frozen blades, breathing heavily.

You’re okay. It’s fine. Just breathe.

The angel sat on the cold ground in the middle of a silent London, and focused on trying to slow his heartbeat down to a reasonable pace. Never could control the heart right, could you? You ridiculous angel. Just breathe.

When eventually the shaking stopped and the clouds his lungs were making in the air had time to fade between each new breath, he dared look up. Up, up, far up, until he was leaning back on the grass and staring up into the abyss of the sky above.

This was terrifying in its own way. For a moment, he could feel the vastness of the Earth beneath him, and the impossibly, infinitely greater vastness of the universe above and around them both. Huge, colossal, unfathomable.

No. You are not a human – you are an angel. You could fill this universe, if you wanted to – choose to fly to the moon, live among the stars, feel the nebulae through your feathers, if you wanted to. You are as impossible as anything else in creation. It has no right to scare you. You should scare it.

He focused on the stars. Crowley had helped craft these, once upon a time. He’d told him once, under a sky like this. He’d pointed to constellations, and Aziraphale had listened in spellbound silence. The demon had listed their names, told little stories about their existence, lit up with the memory of how it felt to have the stars in the palms of his hands.

“Which one is nearest? Which is most interesting? Which one is your favourite?”

Crowley looked at him, and he felt the colour rise in his cheeks. Hopefully it was dark enough that the demon wouldn’t notice.

“That’s all the same answer,” he said, yellow eyes wide and almost glowing in the night. He pointed at a bright spot high above them. “Alpha Centauri.”

He told the angel about the binary star, how the two orbs of light perfectly balanced one another, how it had felt to spin them around one another and know they were intended to be together forever, how it had felt to be enacting the wonder of God’s Plan.

One of them had cried. Maybe both. Aziraphale couldn’t remember.

He lay there, staring up at the slowly revolving sky, remembering Crowley and trying to forget his worries about him. He certainly wasn’t crying now. No, definitely not.

A tune came to him, and he hummed it. It was apt, he supposed, and yet not really at all. Wishes were a strange thing to consider for an angel. Weren’t they just prayers, wished on stars instead of spoken to God?

He considered it for a while, and then decided on the difference, at least for him. Prayers were for other people – you were supposed to use them for important things like asking for someone to be forgiven, asking for someone to be kept safe, asking for someone to be blessed with a good life. Wishes were more selfish – they were for yourself, the things not worth addressing to God, because they were only about you.

He prayed for Crowley. Softly, unofficially, as it were – he didn’t use the circle that had been chalked under the rug in the bookshop since it opened, he didn’t request any official acknowledgment for his words to God, he wasn’t even sure if they were received. But he thought the words anyway, and had done for a long while, now. Please, let him have a good life. Please, keep him safe. Please, forgive him. He never got an answer.

But wishes... wishes weren’t told to anyone. That was the point – they were secret, private, just for you. There was even a superstition that if you ever told anyone what you’d wished for, it wouldn’t come true. That was the difference.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and wished. He wished for a better life, for a world where Heaven and Hell didn’t care what they did together, where they were free to live on and look after the Earth without interference, where they could do the things he’d said he’d wanted to in the Bentley, without fear. He wished that Crowley was here, now, and understood, and would be gentle with him and not push, and he knew that he didn’t even need to wish for that part, because it would be true regardless. Crowley never pushed him, not really. He was kind and patient and gentle, and that was right at the heart of the whole thing.

He sighed, and opened his eyes, and sat up. Wishes didn’t come true, either, even if you didn’t tell anyone. Prayers did, sometimes. But wishes only came true by coincidence. Side effect of them not being addressed to a Higher Authority, probably.

The angel sat there for a while longer, looking up at the stars, waiting for them to fade and the dawn to come.

And then he heard someone move, off to the side, somewhere a long way behind him.

The person hesitated, then began to walk slowly towards him. Aziraphale could hear the footsteps as the being crunched over the icy grass, and recognised the gait. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then turned to greet the demon as he arrived just beside his left shoulder.

“Hello, my dear.”

“Uh, hi, angel. Err... Not interrupting, am I?”

“No, my dear. Not at all.”

Crowley sank down to the ground beside him, legs drawn up to his chest and arms around them, his silhouette oddly small, even as the angles were sharp and familiar.

“You okay, angel?”

“Mmm. Just thinking.”

Crowley nodded, and followed his gaze upwards.

“We could sit here forever, if you wanted to.”

“No, we couldn’t, my dear. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I could freeze time. We could make our home here, in this one moment, in this night.”

He didn’t dare get his hopes up. “We couldn’t. They’d find us.”

Crowley looked at him for a long moment. Then his golden eyes flicked away, upwards, and he nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, suddenly brave, suddenly determined. “It was a lovely idea.”

Now, Crowley didn’t look at him. His eyes were covered with those ever-present sunglasses. But he spoke all the same.

“I’m sorry, angel. I should have called, I should have let you know I was okay. I just... didn’t want to intrude. Wanted to give you space, you know? But I’m sorry if I upset you because of that.”

Aziraphale nodded up at the stars, and didn’t look at the demon even as the demon dared a glance at him. “Thank you, my dear.”

“For what? Apologising?”

“For understanding.”

They stayed like that a while longer, a frozen moment in the darkness of the winter night. That tune came back to him again, and Aziraphale hummed it into the night air.

When you wish upon a star, Makes no difference who you are...

When you wish upon a star, Your dreams come true.

[video-killed-the-radio-host]

Our Own Kind of Love Letter

Inspired by this tik tok:

Carlos chuckles and waves a little as he returns to his work on the computer. Cecil stands and bids him goodbye before leaving. They had been getting together for the past three months as Cecil teaches Carlos the history of Night Vale. He's come to notice the other man is a lot more soft spoken away from his mic. He seemed almost….shy. 

Carlos looks away from the computer and notices a jacket draped over the chair Cecil had been sitting in. Cecil's jacket. He pushes his chair back and moves around the desk, picking the jacket up. It was softer than he expected. He isn't sure why, but for some reason he brings the coat to his face and buries his nose in it. It smelled of Earl Grey Tea, limestone and something completely and utterly Cecil. Should he return the jacket? Of course. But now? It's late and Cecil is most likely about half way home by now. It would be rude to call him back. That leaves tomorrow. He'd drop it off in the morning, he decided. Part of Carlos wanted to wrap up in the jacket, to smell Cecil all around him. Then he pauses. Okay now you're just being weird. 

Carlos quickly puts the jacket down, hearing something solid hit the ground. 

"What…?" He crouches and picks it up. It's a tape recorder. Safe to assume it fell out of the jacket's pocket. "Oh god. Please don't be broken." Cecil is going to be pissed….

It didn't look broken…. Carlos holds his breath and hits play, hoping it worked fine. 

"I...i talked to Carlos today. For the first time. Actually he did most of the talking but I didn't mind. It was rather adorable…..is it okay to say that about someone you just met?"

The speaking stops and Carlos assumed the recording was over before there was a soft inhale. 

"I'm extremely lucky he's even willing to talk to me at all." It sounded like Cecil was fighting to keep his voice from breaking and it made Carlos's heart hurt. "I was an idiot on the show last week. I don't know what came over me. I try to control myself but on air…..it's as if I lose any filter. If I keep this up he's going to-" Cecil's voice does break that time. "He's going to end up hating me because of inappropriate commentary. I don't want that. I want at least a-a friend."

There was a click to signal the end of the recording before another click as a new recording began. 

"Carlos is actually still willing to be around me. It's a miracle. Also. He's a really good friend. His jokes tend to go over my head a lot but he seems entertained so I don't mind. I was surprised when he asked to learn about Night Vale. No one really talks about the past anymore. But a new perspective is nice. He seems happy to learn. Of course he is. He's a scientist. He told me 'A scientist is always learning Cecil. With everything they do.' Well….whatever makes him happy. He looks best with a smile…" 

The recorder clicks again and Carlos turns it off before another recording can start. The second recording was much happier than the first. He assumed there were more recordings but it's wrong to snoop. This did give him a lot to think about though. He gathers the jacket and the recorder and carries it to his apartment above the lab. 

-----.-----

Cecil got about halfway home before realizing he didn't have his jacket. He sighs and pulls into the Ralph's before turning around and heading back to the lab. It didn't even cross his mind that Carlos may be asleep until he pulls into the parking lot of the lab. He gets out of the car and tries the door, finding it unlocked. Maybe he was still up. He noticed the office door is slightly ajar and makes his way over. He can see Carlos inside. His heart melted a little when he sees Carlos's face buried in his jacket. Did he smell good? He watches Carlos put the jacket down and winces when something solid hits the ground. He watches as Carlos picks up the recorder he keeps in his pocket at all times to record his thoughts. He holds his breath. Please don't listen please don't listen please-

"Oh god. Please don't be broken." 

Carlos speaking brings Cecil out of his thoughts. He covers his mouth to silence a giggle. If a simple drop broke the recorder it would have been out of commission ages ago. 

"I….i talked to Carlos today."

Cecil freezes. Oh gods. He's listening to it. At this point, fight or flight kicked in. Cecil chooses flight and hurries back to his car. Once inside the car, he grips the steering wheel as he feels pressure builds up in his chest. How could he be so stupid as to leave that behind? He probably ruined the growing friendship between Carlos and himself. He would have to face Carlos to get his stuff back. Maybe the void will swallow him on his way home.

-----.-----

Carlos takes a deep breath and knocks softly on the door of Cecil's booth, jacket in hand. He hears a soft shuffling before Cecil opens the door. 

"Carlos." He says softly. Why does he look terrified?

"Hey." Carlos clears his throat. "Right. Um....this is yours." He offers the jacket. 

"Thank you." He takes the jacket with slightly shaking hands. He bites his bottom lip for a moment. "Dropping the tape recorder is probably the least dangerous thing to happen to it." Cecil blurts. 

Carlos is stunned for a moment. "You were there?"

"Well….only for a moment." Cecil keeps his eyes down. 

Carlos instantly felt guilty. "I-Im sorry. I shouldn't have-i know its personal. I just wanted to make sure I hadn't broke it."

"Carlos…"

Carlos looks at his watch and swears softly. "I have to go." He leans forward and kisses Cecil's cheek without thinking about it. "I think you should listen to the last recording. And then call me. Alright?"

"Okay…" Cecil says softly, touching his cheek as Carlos hurries away. He shuts the booth of the door and digs out the recorder. He looks it over. It had a new scratch but that was nothing new. He sits down and takes a deep breath before pressing play. 

"Cecil...i don't know when you'll be listening to this but i want you to know I could never hate you. Its true when I first heard you on the radio I was a bit overwhelmed but then i got to know you. The real you. I was amazed at what I found. The person that you are….and so I'm asking you, Cecil, if we can explore something more. Something….personal. I want to learn. To learn about you. About us. Oh, and P.S. you could always just ask me to explain my jokes. I will. I promise. One more thing. I've always found you adorable."

[padfootagain]

A Not So Restful Summer At The Beach (II)

Part 2: The Calm Before The Storm

Here we go with a second part for this series! I hope you all like it! Tell me what you think about it, okay? I’m still worried about how I portray these two cutipies.

Gif not mine

Word Count : 3395

"Sunscreen was a terrible idea. Hell, I could have invented this one! This is so annoying!"

But Aziraphale didn’t answer. Instead, he kept on blankly staring at the wall opposite him.

They had hurried the end of their dinner after the angel had sensed someone, or something, coming from Heaven nearby. They had gone back to their hotel instead, and were now both in Crowley’s room. The door between their two bedrooms had been left open, and the demon reckoned it would not be closed for as long as their stay might be. The thought made him both happy and nervous. They had lived under the same roof in Tadfield for a while, but this open door turned the whole situation into one bedroom and two beds. Which was, all in all, quite different from the two bedrooms that had been first planned. And there were things Crowley was still afraid to show his friend.

Crowley focused on Aziraphale again. The angel seemed more than worried and deep in thought. His blank blue eyes seemed focus on nothing, his body slumped as he sat on the edge of the demon’s bed a vivid contrast with the way he always sat so straight. The demon slowly approached his best friend, and sat down next to him.

"It might be nothing, angel," he tried to reassure Aziraphale, who merely frowned in response, his gaze still lost in the void before him.

"It might be everything we feared," he shot back.

"Are you sure there was something?"

"I’m sure. I could feel it, Crowley. And whatever they were, they were close…"

"Maybe they’re not here for us."

"Do you think so?"

Finally, Aziraphale looked at him with his full of hope. A fool’s hope, Crowley recognized the shimmer. And maybe it wasn’t a good thing to try to reassure the angel after all.

Crowley heaved a sigh.

"If it comes to that, we could still leave Earth. I’d miss it, but if there’s no other way…"

"You’re going to talk about Alpha Centauri again, aren’t you?" Aziraphale interrupted him, a tender smile on his lips.

"It’s a lovely place," Crowley shrugged.

"But it’s not home."

Crowley intensely stared at his best friend. He could have told him how he truly felt. That if he loved living on Earth, if he cared for humans, anywhere he was with Aziraphale was his home.

He kept the truth for himself for now though.

"We knew this day would come, angel."

"I don’t know what to do, Crowley," Aziraphale shook his head.

Around the blanket and the edge of the mattress, the angel’s fits tightened. He seemed ready to cry.

"We can’t run away forever, Crowley," he went on. "But we can’t fight back either. Two against Heaven and Hell combined, we don’t stand a chance."

The demon looked for the right words to speak, but for a couple of minutes, he couldn’t find anything to say.

"We don’t even know what they have sent yet. We can’t plan what to do as long as we’re in the dark."

"What if they sent someone in Tadfield too… what if Adam…"

"The boy’s just fine, angel," Crowley interrupted him with an annoyed gesture of the hand. "He’s not the anti-christ anymore, they’ll leave him alone."

"How can you be sure? We shouldn’t have left."

Something in Crowley broke, a crack that drew deeper, wider. A wound that bled a little more in his chest. Because this didn’t sound like fear of demons’ and angels’ wrath. This sounded like Aziraphale pushing Crowley away again.

He hadn’t done so the previous year. He had been the one offering that they would share a house a Tadfield. And Crowley had been careful at taking baby steps all the way. But Aziraphale had welcomed all his offers with a bright smile, which was a wonderful change, of course. And the angel had offered dinners as well, they even had picnics now and then. The words the angel had spoken decades before in his Bentley still echoed in Crowley’s very soul and still distilled the same amount of pain as they repeated in his head again and again.

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

He had waited 6000 years, and he wasn’t even bitter about it. Aziraphale had not doubted Heaven and Hell like Crowley had. He had respected rules and had been led by them for a long time. And moreover, these things were not the kind to be controlled. Crowley had expected nothing but friendship for millenia, and he would still be content with having Aziraphale as a friend now. But no matter how their relationship had been, he had thought this past year that it would evolve. Was Aziraphale insisting to go back to Tadfield because he was taking a step backwards? Was it all there was to it? Crowley had sensed that something was wrong as well, but he couldn’t have told if it was a mere feeling or a real threat. He had not felt a presence though. And when Aziraphale had felt something, he hadn’t. Was it normal? He could always feel Aziraphale’s presence, but he had been able to do so for as long as he could remember. Did he feel Aziraphale’s aura simply because he was an angel, or because of how Crowley felt for him?

Then… had Aziraphale lied to find an excuse to stop their holidays and go back to Tadfield?

The very thought was breaking Crowley’s heart. Was he going too fast again?

He struggled to swallow back the lump in his throat, and forced a gentle tone for his voice, although a hint of pain could still be heard, if one paid enough attention.

"If you feel like we should, we can go back to Tadfield."

Aziraphale heaved a sigh.

"I don’t know what we should do, Crowley. I’m worried for Adam. But… I’m sure you’re right and he’s safe."

Crowley clenched his jaw, struggling to let out the words as they hurt him so deeply.

"If you don’t think this vacation is a good idea anymore, we can leave."

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, finally reading in depth his expression, and his own features saddened and softened, as he recognized the demon’s worry.

"Oh, Crowley…"

He gave him a tender smile, before slowly raising his hands to the demon’s face. He gently held his black glasses, and Crowley stiffened at the gesture, but let the angel take them off anyway. They stared at each other for a moment, blue eyes meeting golden ones, and there was so much love oozing from Aziraphale, even Crowley could feel it. Or at least, he assumed it was love. It was tender and warm and comforting and deep and it made him feel valued and safe. But then he was a demon, and he didn’t really know how it felt to be loved. He knew how it felt to love someone though, and he reckoned that the feelings were similar, but could he be certain? He realized it didn’t matter. If it wasn’t love, he didn’t even mind. It was such a good feeling all the same.

"I’m sorry," Aziraphale breathed. "I’m just worried. You've planned everything so well, and I’m being such a killjoy right now. And if I’m worried about Adam and wonder if we should go back… it’s just because I’m worried. I don’t want to go back. I… I haven’t changed my mind about this, dear."

Crowley’s sorrow turned into relief, and a grin slowly formed on his features. For the second time that day, he almost moved his hand to touch Aziraphale’s, but didn’t.

"I think we should wait and see," Crowley spoke again. "We have to be careful, but we can’t take any decision while we don’t even know what we are up against."

Aziraphale nodded.

"Alright then."

"Good. Now that we agree on what to do next, I’m off for a shower. This sunscreen thing is so sticky! Argh! I’m never doing this again."

Aziraphale couldn’t refrain an amused chuckle as the demon stood up and headed for the bathroom.

 -------------------------------------------------------------

 The evening went on uneventful. And the night grew dark and then brighter again, shadows settling down upon the world and then being hunted down by the first rays of sunlight. Nor Crowley nor Aziraphale slept well that night, too much worry twirling in their troubled minds. But with dawn came a new wave of peace. If nothing had happened in the darkest hours of the night, then perhaps the world could give them one more day in the sun.

They took their breakfast together. Tea and toasts and marmalade, in the garden behind the little hotel. The young sun licked the rooftops till they shone, and in its warmth, the two friends couldn’t help but forget the dangers they may have yet to face.

Aziraphale looked through a tourist guide he had bought a few days before their trip, looking for places to see and things to do. Meanwhile, Crowley was sipping on his honeyed tea, slumped upon his chair, looking at the sparrows flying across the bushes and trees, his newspaper resting on his laps.

"Alright, we could either go to the fair, or to this observation tower," Aziraphale proposed. "I would love to go to the aquarium too."

"It’s very hot today," Crowley pointed out. "Aquarium sounds good."

Aziraphale gave him an excited smile.

"Wonderful!"

His gaze grew a little bit more worried, as he asked the question that had been burning his tongue.

"Have you noticed anything strange since yesterday?" he asked in a whisper, discreetly glimpsing around him in search for anyone who could be listening to their conversation.

"Nothing. You?"

Aziraphale shook his head.

The angel opened his mouth to speak, but thought better. Because right at that moment, the sun was warm and bright in the sky, the garden was peaceful and filled only with the morning breeze and families laughing. The birds sang in the trees about stories long forgotten even by him, and the bees were already busy with flying from flower to flower. And in front of him, Crowley was sipping his tea and reading the Infernal Times – that he kept on receiving for some reason, and as he liked the newspaper, he didn't try to unsubscribe – wearing his dark sunglasses, but as they had just enough slipped down the length of his nose, Aziraphale could still see the golden orbs travelling back and forth from left to right on the page. The sun was getting caught in his hair, setting the red lock ablaze. He seemed peaceful, like everything would be alright, and Aziraphale wanted to believe so as well, even if just for a moment.

So instead of speaking again, he took a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving Crowley's features bathed in the morning sunlight, and he pushed away all thoughts. Because maybe, just maybe, they could be okay for one more day.

 --------------------------------------------------------------

 Crowley just couldn't help it. He tried, he tried so hard to stop the feeling from spreading through his entire body, through every fibre of his being. He was trying so hard not to feel this way, but he couldn't help it. He had been unable to control this feeling for 6000 years after all, why should it suddenly change in the Sea Life of Brighton?

As he looked at Aziraphale with the stupidest of grins on his face and eyes round with wonder, watching the colourful jellyfish drifting through the water, his face lit up by the bluish light, Crowley just couldn't refrain the tidal wave of affection that washed over him. Aziraphale really was the stupidest, most loveable being he had ever encountered. How could Crowley's heart stand a chance?

"I have to admit that I have always loved these ones." Aziraphale grinned, turning to Crowley.

"They can't even swim, Angel," Crowley replied.

"But they're so graceful. They're slow… don't you think it's lovely? That at least one thing is still going slowly these days, when the entire world is speeding up?"

"I guess… They're still pretty much useless."

"Everything doesn't have to have a purpose in life, Crowley. That's the beauty of these kind of animals."

"I'm not even sure they have a brain…"

"You're purposefully missing the point."

"I'm not."

"Don't you think they're beautiful?"

Crowley, heaved a sigh.

"They are rather… graceful," he admitted, making Aziraphale's grin widen.

"See? I knew you liked them. But which are you favourite?"

"I thought you had to love every creature…" Crowley raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Oh, I do!" Aziraphale replied with a frown, almost offended. "But the fact that I love all of God's creatures doesn't mean that I have no preferences."

"Really?" Crowley kept on teasing, and Aziraphale kept on falling for it.

Or well, actually, the angel knew perfectly what game the demon was playing at, but let's say that he didn't dislike these teasing arguments with Crowley, so why not play along?

"Well, of course. I prefer jellyfish to… frogs. And I prefer cocoa to coffee. And books are one of my favourite things ever. You see?"

Crowley's amused smile slightly diminished as he leaned against the glass of the tank, staring at Aziraphale. In the dim light, his dark glasses were perfectly hiding his eyes, and the angel wished he could see them to try and read through them.

"I see… I wish…"

But he stopped mid-sentence. How could he tell Aziraphale that he wished he could have different ways to love too? That he hoped Aziraphale had different kinds of love. Because he didn't want to be loved the same way the angel loved jellyfish or cocoa. But from what he could remember from his time as an angel, there was only this one kind of love that surrounded all things. A massive bubble everything could fit into. Was it really all that there was? Or did he remember this feeling simply because, at the time of his fall, he had not encountered anything that would call for another kind of love yet?

He pushed the thought away. It wasn't the moment to get into a heart to heart discussion with the angel. He just wanted to spend a nice time with his best friend, that was all.

"I wish you could prefer frogs to jellyfish. At least they have brains, angel. They even can jump, and do that weird 'croak croak' sound. Do you know what a jellyfish can do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Aziraphale's glance grew tender as it lingered on Crowley's features. He was about to propose that they move on to see the seahorses, when Crowley's entire body tensed up.

The feeling was strong and there was no way the demon could be wrong about it. He hadn't felt anything similar since the almost-end of the world, the last time he had been near another demon…

The change in his expression gave his fear away before he could speak, and Aziraphale grew anxious as well.

"What's wrong?" the angel asked in a whisper.

But instead of answering, Crowley merely grabbed Aziraphale by the arm and dragged him down the hall, passing before the fish without paying any attention to them, nor to the children that excitedly ran about, nor to their parents chasing after them. All he was focused upon was this feeling of a demon being near and this fear tightening his heart to the point that he wasn't sure it was beating anymore, that this demon could reach Aziraphale and hurt him.

"Crowley, you have to tell me what's going on."

The demon snapped his fingers, and at the next turn, they stepped into the deserted ocean tunnel.

Above their heads, a shark and a turtle lazily swam though the water set all around them. On each side of the glass walls, coral and sea anemones coloured the scenery. Groups of fish swam quickly to and fro. And under any other circumstances, Aziraphale would have loved the view. But all he could think of for now was a) whatever was scaring Crowley so much and b) the sensation of Crowley's hand wrapped around his arm in a firm grip, and yet not tight enough to hurt him, just enough to make sure the angel would follow him.

"Crowley?" the angel insisted. "What's going on?"

The demon finally stopped and turned towards Aziraphale.

"I… I think there might be… a demon in the building."

Aziraphale's eyes grew round.

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Crowley answered with a wince, releasing his hold on the angel's arm.

"We need to get out."

"We can't. They would see us."

"What do we do then?"

Crowley took a moment before answering, passing a hand through his hair.

"I'm thinking about that…"

"Crowley!"

"Well, any idea is welcomed, angel!"

"You're the demon here, you know better than me how they're going to ac…"

But Crowley shushed him, pressing his palm against the angel's mouth. He seemed to be focusing hard, and so Aziraphale didn't dare to move. Indeed, Crowley was trying to focus on this feeling, this sensation moving around him. It seemed it was becoming more and more intense though… like a ripple slowly approaching the shore.

"They're coming closer."

Crowley turned to Aziraphale again, and suddenly realized that his hand was still pressed against the angel's soft lips. He took his hand away in a hurry, as if the contact had been burning him, while he tried to stop his heart from beating so fast.

He cleared his throat, trying to refrain his blush, although he knew that he was failing. He was almost certain that Aziraphale was blushing too though, and the thought reassured him.

"They're coming. There's no way out," Crowley let out in a low breath, his voice deeper than usual.

They stared at each other for a moment, silence filling up the space between them, the light distorted through the water above them drawing strange lines on their silhouettes, and fish and sharks and turtles still swimming as if nothing wrong was happening, oblivious of the fear that shook the two friends under them.

"Crowley I…"

"I can hold them back," Crowley interrupted him. "You make a run for it."

"What…? Crowley, don't be ridiculous."

"I can't be burnt, and they think holy water has no effect on me, they won't kill me."

"They could."

"They have bigger chances of killing you than killing me, angel. Just… go. Go!"

"Never! Do you really think that I would leave you behind?"

Crowley let out a frustrated cry, burying his face in his hands.

"Why do you have to be such a… a… an angel!? It's not the time to be the selfless being of love right now!"

But Aziraphale shook his head, taking a step closer to Crowley.

"It has nothing to do with me being an angel," he replied, his tone soft but firm all the same, and Crowley knew that he could not change his friend's mind. "I will not leave you behind to face danger alone, Crowley! I will not! Never! Do you hear me? I could never leave you behind. Of all people, certainly not you."

Crowley's lips parted a little, the expression on his features changing from frustration and fear to something fragile, something softer and usually hidden. He almost started as Aziraphale took his hand in his.

"If there is a danger to face, then we will face it together, dear," Aziraphale whispered with a warm smile curling up his lips.

"Angel…"

His voice broke before he could finish to speak. But Crowley reckoned that there wasn't really any need for words, actually. Instead, he could simply hold Aziraphale's hand in his too, give it a tender squeeze, enjoy the feeling of Aziraphale's skin upon his, how his warmth ran through his fingers… and maybe that gesture, and the way Aziraphale looked at Crowley, and how Crowley looked at Aziraphale, was enough to say it all.

Footsteps broke the holy silent that had settled around them, and they both knew what was coming, although they both chose to not turn towards it just yet, stealing a few more seconds staring at each other and silently saying everything that mattered instead. Oh, but they knew what was coming towards them all the same…

A demon.

******************************

Tag list :  @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi @bellero

[skymoonandstardust]

Daytime Confessions

Dean x Reader

An: So, Here it is anon. I hope it lives up to your expectations :)

Ash. Ash was everywhere. It fell through the air in lovely flakes that burned slightly when they came in contact with your skin and it covered your air, was in every inch of your clothes. You knew you looked as horrible as your felt, dirty and grey—probably seeming more like a ghost then a real flesh and blood human with a corporeal body.  You swallowed the lump growing in your throat and tasted ash. My god It even coated your tongue! and you never thought you’d ever be able to get the taste out of your mouth or the feel of it from your skin. You knew that even if you left every last trace behind you’d still carry it with you—in your memory and as a scar in your heart that would make the least thing bring you right back here, standing on your front lawn covered in ash as you stared at your home and all your dreams burning to the ground. . . your family going up in flames.

You gazed at the burning house, your house—not wanting to believe it was happening. A part of you wanted to look away but your eyes stayed fixed on the blaze, feeling like a part of you was going up in flames too right along with the home you and Dean had bought together three years before, the home you’d hoped to live the rest of your lives out in-- apple pie style, and it was the home you’d brought your son too for the first time only six months before after he finally got the all clear from the hospital. 

Dean.

Your Son.

 The tears finally came then, tracking streaks down your dirty ash covered face.

It was all gone.

Dean and you had managed to get out right before he turned around and dashed back into the house to grab your son, telling you to stay before he ran into the smoke and flames. You had stayed, standing still and watching, waiting with baited breath, uselessly, stupidly until the fire was too strong,, the house began to collapse and there was no hope left.

 Now you were left standing there in front of the ruins of the house that had once been home to you as the flames slowly died. You wanted to feel something, anything, but all you were inside was a great gaping void—well, not entirely. It was like the fire that had destroyed your home had implanted itself in your soul . . .and this one wouldn’t burn out, not till you found whoever or whatever did this and made them pay.

You turned from the fire, wiping the last of your tears away and walking off, not once looking back as you drew out your phone, found the number you still knew by heart and hit send.

He answered the phone on the second ring and you spoke up  “Sammy, we’ve got work to do.”

  You jolted awake, breathing fast, letting out great gasping sobs and cheeks sticky from tears not quiet dried.  Looking around wildly at the surrounding darkness you saw the familiar features of your room and immediately relief filled you.  It was a nightmare, you were safe at home in the bunker and everything was fine. Still sniffling, and more than half still in the nightmare you brushed away the small stream of tears that was till flowing down your face.

When you heard the floorboard outside your door creak you stopped, listening as intently as you could as you reached under your pillow for the gun you always kept there. The tips of your fingers closed around the cool metal just as your door burst open. Immediately you had the gun up and cocked in the face of the intruder, who was also pointing a gun at you.

The light from the hall was enough to highlight their silhouette and when you realized that the figured belonged to Dean you relaxed, putting the safety back on and stashing it away wordlessly as he did the same.     

Dean let out a chuckle “I guess you are awake then.”

“Yeah, I’m awake.” You were glad that your voice didn’t waver and that your tone didn’t betray your still wet cheeks

“Are you ok? I thought I heard you crying and mumbling in your sleep.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You assured him “It was just a nightmare.”

To a normal person that phrase didn’t mean too much and it wasn’t that bad—for a hunter it could mean a lot worse, a lot more. It meant scarring hunter origin stories, revisiting failed hunts and seeing the faces of all the people you couldn’t save. With, of course. a gory painful death scene thrown in just for fun every once and a while.

You knew there was no way you could tell him about this one. Although you’d had a crush on him for three years now and he flirted with you and complimented you endlessly the two of you were just friends.  The lifestyle you both lead was another barrier. It wasn’t good for a hunter to get attached or make connections, even among their own.—it only meant more risk of getting hurt then there already was with the life—so you were sure he’d turn you down even if by some miracle he felt the same.

Instead of saying “Ok.” And leaving like you expected Dean walked over to you, took a seat on the edge of the bed and asked  “Do you want to talk about it?”  

“No, not right now. I kind of just want to forget about it.” And to your complete embarrassment the tears started flowing again and you started sobbing.

Dean’s warm strong arms enveloped you in a hug and he gently pulled you closer till you were curled up next to him in an embrace, your head cradled against his chest as sobs wracked your body and tears soaked into the fabric of his shirt.   

He didn’t seem to mind though. Ignoring his dampening shirt, he murmured “Hey, it’s ok” Dean ran a soothing hand through your hair “It’s alright sweetheart.” As his hand moved to rub down your back he said “You don’t have to say anything, ok princess, just let it all out, but when you want to talk—if you want to talk, I’m right here.” The comforting words, the pet names, his proximity, it was all too much and the tears continued to come. Dean held you the entire time, continuing to caress you and say soothing things till the tears finally dried up ten minutes later. You were tired and drained from crying, Dean shoulder was so soft and comfortable and he showed no signs of moving so you ended up drifting off to sleep a few minutes later. . .still  in his embrace.    

  And that’s how you woke up in the morning, when you opened your eyes to see Dean just behind you, looking so beautiful and peaceful your heart melted at the sight, his arms still wrapped around your waist.

It was just as you laid back down against him thinking that you could stay like that forever that you felt him stir under you. looking up into his face again your E/C eyes met breathtaking candy apple green ones.  He smiled at you, making your heart stop for half a second and mumbled “Morning Beautiful.”  His voice was deep and slightly rougher from sleep and as you said “Morning green eyes.” Back you could have sworn your dream—the good part, with you and Dean together—was real.

It was shattered a second later when he asked “You feeling better—from last night?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Good.” Dean said hugging you a little tighter and making you realize that he hadn’t let go of you yet—not that you were complaining.   

“Don’t feel like you have to, cause I’m just asking--- do you want to talk about it?”

You felt a bit better and ready to say the truth, or at least part of it so you took a breath and began “I dreamed I was married, with a son.” You started, voice a whisper “We were living an apple pie life away from hunting and our house caught fire. I made it out—they didn’t”

“I’m sorry.” Dean murmured

There wasn’t really anything you could say to that so the two of you lapsed into silence for a few minutes before Dean cleared his throat and spoke again “So, who was the lucky guy? Sammy?” he asked in a light joking voice. You could tell he was trying to make you feel better but his question was too close to dangerous territory for comfort.

You tensed a bit and answered, “Not really.” He must not have noticed your tense state or your tone cause he kept talking “Cas? No. An angel kid would be powerful –don’t tell me it was Crowley.” He turned to you with a disgusted look on his face “No way—not Crowley.” You said, pulling a disgusted face of your own

“Ok, so then just some random hunter.”

“Yeah” you answered. Maybe he finally noticed how tense you were or something in your face or voice gave it away but Dean suddenly grew serious.

“It wasn’t that either was it?” he said and you shook your head no, not trusting your voice to stay steady.

“So, not Cas or Sam, not Crowley and not a random hunter.” He was silent for a moment while your heart began pounding in your chest, waiting to see what would happen next, what he’d do or say.

“It couldn’t be me could it.” Dean said with a breathy laugh

You stared straight ahead, not doing or saying anything and after a minute of this warm, gentle fingers cupped your chin and slowly turned your face till you were looking up into Dean’s eyes again. His gaze was intense and searching and you found yourself falling into it as he asked, “It wasn’t me, was it?”

Maybe you had enough of keeping it secret, maybe it was just one of those random spurts of courage that came at just the right time or it could be looking into his eyes hypnotized you enough that you blurted out the truth. Either way you took a breath and told him everything “Yes it was you. of course it was you—it couldn’t have been anyone else. I’ve had a crush on you for three years that’s so massive it can’t really even be called a crush cause it’s so much more than that. I may as well call it like it is; I love you dean Winchester and I’ve just been too much of a coward and an idiot to say anything till now.”

You enjoyed the surprised startled look on his face before his lips split into the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen and you were dazed, forgetting the nightmare entirely in the face of that grin.  

“It’s about time one of us said something.” Dean declared and before you knew what was happening he’d pulled you into a kiss that felt like falling and flying at the same time. When the two of you finally pulled away he brushed a strand of hair out of your face and said “Ok, I guess it’s my turn. I’m not that good with chick flick moments so bear with me. I love you and I knew I was a gonner the second I saw you.  I tried to deny and fight what I felt cause of the life and I didn’t think there was even a snowballs chance you felt the same way. I tried, I really tried but it didn’t do anything, I fell more in love with you every day and it got harder and harder to hide how I felt even when I told myself the usual spiel.”

“And now you don’t have to.” You said, placing a hand on his cheek. Dean closed his eyes and leaned into your palm, reveling in you and the moment. When he opened his eyes Dean leaned down and you leaned up to meet him halfway for a breathstealing kiss that felt like fireworks and flames inside you and lasted for what felt like hours and still wasn’t long enough when you finally broke away.

 “I love you F/N L/N”

“Is that your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?”

“Only if you want to be my girl.”

You kissed him again, quick, and deep, and sweet “Of course I do.”

The forevers: @a-sea-of-fandoms @casownsmyass @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious @scarlettsoldier @thatbasicnerd4life @lets-imagine-fanfics @docharleythegeekqueen

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Irresistible/Immovable

Yesterday, the DIWS Discord server went a little feral after a discussion of handholding this was my result. As always, I’ve taken something of a soft-angst approach, after the bus ride back to London...

Also available on AO3

The bus arrived in London, rolling to a stop a block from Crowley’s flat.

“Seemed fair,” Crowley whispered. “The streets get narrower and there’s no place to turn around…”

Aziraphale wasn’t listening. Still staring out the windshield, past the driver. He hadn’t moved for at least three miles.

Crowley reached up and tapped his shoulder. No response. He tried again, pushing harder, shaking until Aziraphale finally blinked and turned, just a little. “Come on, Angel. Time to go.”

Another gentle push and Aziraphale finally slid out of his seat, standing in the aisle. Crowley clambered out after him, unfolding.

All through the long, terrifying ride they’d said hardly a word to each other. Crowley knew he should, offer some reassurance or show of courage, something to make Aziraphale feel less hopeless.

He didn’t have it in him, no strength to spare, no words, no hope. He’d offered his flat for the night. Beyond that, well, his mind buzzed with ideas. Impossible ideas. Ones that would take a being far more powerful and confident than he to enact.

This morning he’d offered to run to the stars. Perhaps that could still work, fleeing forever, across the infinite emptiness of space, never again to rest, to laugh, to enjoy the taste of food. In its own way, that was as frightening as oblivion at the hands of their former sides.

He led the way up the aisle, down the steps, but Aziraphale didn’t follow. Instead, he paused beside the bus driver, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for…” he seemed momentarily uncertain. The driver was still in a daze; in five minutes he would realize he was in London, not Oxford, and wonder why. “Yes,” Aziraphale patted his shoulder again. “Thank you.”

From the side of the street below, Crowley felt the faint tingle of a miracle echoing down. A small blessing, protection from harm, a promise of a turn of good luck in the next 24 hours.

Amazing, Crowley thought. Even after all this, he still has strength to spare. He watched Aziraphale step down, slowly, to join him on the street.

Crowley’s hand hovered – almost touching his shoulder – wishing to draw some of that infinite steadiness into himself.

“This way,” he said, pushing his hands into his pockets as he walked into the darkness. “Not far.”

After a dozen steps, he realized he was walking alone.

--

Aziraphale stood on the street corner, staring at the sky.

London at night never became truly dark, not the way that little Oxfordshire village had, or indeed the way London had a mere century before. All that new electricity, all those signs and streetlamps and 24-hour Tesco’s. The edges of his vision seemed to glow amber as the light from windows bounced off the air, reflecting down. Giving the city a halo of sorts.

Under the right circumstances, he might have found beauty in it, of a kind.

Instead, he felt lost, adrift.

“We should have stayed,” he murmured. “No stars.”

“What’s that?” Crowley’s voice was strangely distant, but it took the click of only a few quick steps across the pavement to bring him back. He hovered, almost in sight, tossing his head in that way he had.

“Just that…I’d hoped there would be stars. In the end.” He laughed a little, or at least made a sound like laughing, and wasn’t that close enough? “I might see them when they drag me back to Heaven. Some of the rooms look out on the night sky. They don’t get used as much these days but…but I could try and ask. Do you think Gabriel would allow a last request? Or would that just make him…make him angrier…”

“Hey.” Crowley’s hand pressed into his back, gently, just below his ribs. “Don’t…don’t say things like that. We’re going to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Aziraphale stared at the blank sky above. “There’s no one to appeal to, no higher authority, no…no clever way to get out of it…”

“Oi.” His eyes flicked down, just a little, just enough to see that Crowley stood close – very close – eyes uncovered, staring directly into Aziraphale. “We’re going be fine. Do you hear me? We’re going to walk home, we’re going to talk this through, and we’re going to figure it out.”

“How can you say that?” Aziraphale was surprised at how calm his voice sounded. “There’s…nothing to figure out.”

“There’s the prophecy,” Crowley said. How could he have so much energy? How could he still move, still shuffle his feet as if in his endless dance, everything in motion except that hand, resting on his back. “Choose your faces wisely? Playing with fire? Agnes wouldn’t have sent us that prophecy if there was nothing we could do.”

“Perhaps.” His eyes drifted up to the empty sky again. “Perhaps it was only intended to…give us a chance to…prepare ourselves, I suppose.” He tugged on his waistcoat and tried to imagine himself facing Gabriel and Michael with dignity. He might be able to muster dignity. Defiance was asking a bit much, but he could try to face his punishment standing tall.

“Out of the question.” The hand drifted from his back, brushed his elbow. “Because I already lost you. Three times, actually, and you know what? It sucked. So I’ve already decided. Not happening again.” The hand returned to Crowley’s pocket; his other lifted the glasses, pressing them back into place.

“Crowley…” he remembered a voice in the strange white darkness, as he’d scoured the Earth for a suitable body. A familiar voice, filled with pain, but still going on. A lifeline in that endless void. “I’m…I truly am sorry…”

“Nothing for you to be sorry about,” he said, turning away, voice as cool as ever. “Just. Don’t give up. I have ideas, but they won’t work if you give up. So just…don’t.”

Crowley started walking, and Aziraphale struggled to keep up. He tried, struggling to go forward, but his legs shook, he stumbled, would have fallen, but he reached out and caught Crowley’s elbow.

The demon froze.

“I’m – I’m so terribly sorry.” Aziraphale stepped back, brushing his hands against his coat furiously. “I – I – obviously, I didn’t – It won’t happen again!”

“It won’t,” Crowley said, and without quite facing Aziraphale, he held out his hand.

The angel stared at it for a long moment.

Perhaps he was misunderstanding. Perhaps Crowley intended a miracle of some kind and was – oh, warming up or some such thing. Perhaps…perhaps…perhaps…

Aziraphale brushed his fingers across the palm, uncertainly, pulling them back. He’d almost expected it to burn. It did, in a way, a tingle all across his fingertips, a jolt up his arm and directly to his heart.

He tried again, this time letting them slide until his palm was pressed against Crowley’s, and started to wrap his fingers – no, surely not—

Crowley’s long fingers closed around his hand. “Is this…better?”

“Ah. Oh. Um. Yes?”

“Don’t let me go too fast.”

All Aziraphale could do was nod. Crowley started walking again, and with a tug on his arm, the angel found himself following, pulled in his wake, as he always was, the most natural thing in the world.

Crowley was as brilliant as the stars he’d once made, and all else fell to the force of his gravity – humans, and cities, and Aziraphale.

It wasn’t a bad thing, to be in the orbit of such a marvelous creature. One foot followed the other, on and on, into the night.

--

Crowley wanted to get inside as soon as possible. They needed to talk, needed to plan, and that couldn’t be done in the open. He felt exposed here, vulnerable. Every instinct was to dart for cover, for darkness, for safety.

But as he walked, he felt the tug at his arm, and glanced back to see Aziraphale, still holding his hand, still struggling to keep up.

He slowed his pace, until the angel was beside him again. Their shoulders brushed, and just for a moment he felt anchored. Grounded.

Aziraphale’s eyes were glued to the sidewalk before them, deep in thought.

“Now what?” Crowley asked, wishing it didn’t sound so angry, but he couldn’t stop himself sometimes. He needed to move.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I’m perfectly fine. Just…”

He squeezed Crowley’s hand, and it was hot, beyond anything he’d ever felt, hotter than the fires at the center of stars, hotter than the heat of Falling when everything was torn away, hotter than damnation, hotter than salvation – that little bit of pressure ignited everything in him.

Then Aziraphale pulled his hand away, and left him cold.

“I – I – I had a thought…” Aziraphale twisted his own fingers in front of him. “About the prophecy. What if…what if choosing our faces…” He stopped, illuminated in the orange-yellow light of the streetlamp. “What if it means that…that only one of us need be destroyed? That perhaps there’s some way I can…I can sacrifice myself…”

“No!” He darted over, grabbing Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Look at me, no. I told you, you – you’re not allowed to give up!”

“It’s not giving up. It’s – it’s the logical solution. Heaven would of course wish to see me punished. If they make me Fall – through the-the Fires of Creation, then Hell would have me to…to…” He swallowed. “I think both would be satisfied with this solution. And you could…”

“We’re not doing that,” Crowley growled desperately. “And I have just as much a right to – to sacrifice myself, anyway.”

“No, dear. I don’t think Gabriel would care much for your death, I’m sorry to say. This is the way that makes sense.” He looked up, and there was a strength in his eyes, the strength of all the earth, unmovable, implacable, powerful enough to outlast eternity.

Without realizing what he was doing, Crowley brought his head to rest against Aziraphale’s shoulder, wrapped his arms around the angel, trying to absorb that strength, wondering what it would be like to have it flow through his veins.

“Angel,” he whispered. “We can’t. I don’t…What would I do? With you gone?”

“Crowley, I’m sure you could…”

“I’m not strong enough. I don’t know…without you…” He thought of himself, sitting in that bar, waiting for the end of the world. There had still been that drive to do something deep inside, but without Aziraphale, he was adrift. Lost. “Don’t make me go through that again.”

His voice sounded weak, desperate. Crowley had never begged, not for anything, not even when they cast him out of Heaven. He begged now, pleaded, deep in his heart.

Aziraphale shifted in his arms, and he felt those soft, powerful hands settle on his back, rubbing gently as if he were precious, as if he were delicate, as if he might fall apart.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered.

“Of course not,” Aziraphale said softly. “How foolish of me.”

Crowley stood there, leaning on him, drawing that infinite calm into himself, until he was ready to go on.

--

Very suddenly, Crowley pulled back, stepping away, fading into the darkness while Aziraphale remained in the light of the streetlamp.

Had he ever seen Crowley in such a state? It shook Aziraphale to his core.

For the first time since stepping off the bus, he looked directly at his friend – not at the sky or the earth, glancing from the corner of his eyes. Directly into those black lenses, into the heart of the being he had bound himself to, slowly, irrevocably, for millennia.

He thought they were opposites, destined to forever be pulled together and repelled, dragging each other back and forth through eternity. The light and the dark. The order and the chaos. Forever cancelling each other out.

But it wasn’t like that at all. Everything he felt – all his fear, his uncertainty, his doubt weighing him down – he could see echoed in Crowley, transformed into a limitless energy that could power them both.

Crowley stood in shadows, created by the light of the lamp; the lamp only existed, only had purpose, because of the darkness.

They weren’t opposites. They were halves of a whole, part of each other. Reflections of a sort.

Aziraphale stepped forward, his toes on the very edge of the shadow. Crowley stepped closer to meet him, light reflecting off his glasses, his tie, his fancy watch.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, straightening his bowtie. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Any time, Angel.”

Crowley held out his arm, offering his elbow, and Aziraphale wrapped his hands through it. Pulling close. Feeling the heat pour in along his side where they pressed together. Finding the will to keep going.

They walked together up the street, the irresistible force and the immovable object. Arm-in-arm, completing each other.

Perhaps together, they could bend even Heaven and Hell to their will.

--

Thank you for reading! Also available on AO3.

[futuristicallygayduck]

That’s Us: Chapter Four

Chapter Four: But You Know What You’ve Lost

Word count: 5,157

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Pre-epilogue: translation of song-lyrics | Epilogue

To read on AO3 click here.

Trigger warnings: Listen, this chapter is really fucked up angsty and I'm sorry. There's also suicidal thoughts and like a sort of, spur of the moment, half-attempt at suicide. It's comparable to the forest scene in its nature (so using fire and not anything bloody and also relatively spontaneous rather than thought out), but it's a lot longer and angstier and more explicit. So if you're triggered by these things, please be careful or don't read it at all.

Now Baz

“Baz.”

For a second his eyes light up before quickly dying out again.

“Simon.”

It comes out as more of a breath than an actual word.

Instinctively, it seems, Snow rises to his feet, but halts at that. We remain like this, looking at each other, frozen.

I haven’t seen Simon in more than two months. I haven’t seen him since the day we won the trial. Although, I didn’t really see him at the trial either. I avoided his gaze as if my life depended on it. Maybe it did.

It might have been the hardest thing I’ve ever done and standing here, seeing him standing here before me, it feels like the world has been lifted off my shoulders. Even though there is this unfamiliar and void look in his eyes, he is still Simon Snow.

It hurts to see him without his usual joy and spirit, but I know it will come back. It must. He may have lost a lot already, but I won’t let him lose that, too. Not that there’s much I could do about it. So, I’ll just hope.

After a few more moments of staring, Snow clears his throat.

“Baz,” he says again, “Hi.”

“Snow.”, I reply.

He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. A helpless sigh escapes and he bows his head, before looking back up again.

“Sit down,” he starts, before adding a soft “please”.

My instincts scream at me to bite something back at him about doing whatever the hell I want, but I know it’s not the right moment (as if it ever was) and nod silently before walking over to my bed and sitting down. Simon moves to sit across from me on his own bed.

Snow seems to be struggling for words again, so I decide to start the conversation.

“Why are you here?”, it sounds more antagonistic than I mean it to, but Snow ignores it.

“I needed to get the last of my stuff before Watford closes for the summer.”, he says.

“You couldn’t get the Bunces to do that for you?” I’m not even surprised anymore at my own instinctively snarky tone, but while I’m panicking inside, Snow ignores it yet again.

“I also wanted to talk to you.” He says, and all I manage is raise an eyebrow in response.

Instead of continuing to actually say what he apparently has to say to me, Snow seems to kind of zone out, staring right through me. The void in his eyes terrifies me.

After a few moments, I decide he needs to snap out of it. I hope the Bunces rarely let him out of their sight if this tends to happen every few minutes.

When I cough softly I can see his eyes focussing again and some of him flooding back into them.

Simon

“So,” Baz snaps me out of my usual daze, “what is it you wanted to talk about.”

I can hear that he is trying to go for a mocking voice, he has even quirked his eyebrow in his usual spotting manner, but all of it falls flat. We’re just too tired for this. I think we might have been for quite some time, even before the battle. I guess I never recognised our mutual exhaustion, blinded by my own paranoia.

But I’ve done some thinking on my walks, so instead of taking his half-hearted bait, I give Baz a small smile.

“I wanted to thank you.” That surprises him.

“Okay.” He breaks our gaze, fidgeting with the bottom of his uniform jacket. I’ve never seen him so uncomfortable. I ought to just get my stuff now and get out, but I know that there is more to say and more to do. Crowley, I’ve been so blind.

“Baz,” I say, “look at me, please.”

When he doesn’t respond, I get up from my bed and crouch on the floor in front of him, forcing him to look at me.

“Thank you,” I hold his gaze, daring him not to let mine go, “for everything.”

It feels like I’ve been waiting for his response for ages, keeping our eyes locked, when he finally manages to choke back the tears that were welling up and nod slightly.

And then, because I’ve missed him such an awful lot, I bring my hand up to push a string of his hair behind his ear before softly cupping his cheek. And, because I’ve missed him such an awful lot, I marvel at the way his eyes close, eyebrows furrowed, as he leans into my touch. Because I’ve missed him such an awful lot, I lean forward to rest my own forehead against his and let my eyes close, concentrating solely on our breaths mingling. With my eyes closed, I see him again, standing in the field, opposite me, his eyes void and resigned. Sad. A silent goodbye. A silent declaration. With every breath I take, I try to, hope to, lift some of it all off his back. With every breath I release, I try to, hope to, pass over everything that goes unsaid.

We’re both so broken. Forced enemies. So alike.

Baz

With Snow here, touching my cheek, his forehead pressing against mine, it really hits me how much I’ve missed him. It’s not like we ever used to talk about our problems. He was never someone I could rant to, lift some of the weight off my shoulders. But his presence was always familiar and comforting in its own way. Knowing he was alive and just a few steps away.

I wouldn’t admit it to her face, but having Bunce here definitely helped. It was, however, nothing in comparison to how comforting it is to have him here right now. I know that, if I’d open my eyes, I’d be able to count his moles again.

Even though he is completely silent, I can feel everything he’s trying to say. I know he means well, but his gratefulness weighs me down. I don’t understand it. I don’t deserve it. What I did made sense. It was nothing extraordinary. Nothing to deserve this.

Everything he’s trying to say weighs me down. His gratitude and love press on my skin and make me feel dizzy. Instead of feeling relieved, I feel guilty. How could I deserve any of this? Doesn’t he know that I’m a monster? Doesn’t he know that what I did was selfish?

This should not be happening to me.

So, when he leans in, his nose softly bumping mine, I turn my head away.

Simon

One second, all my senses are filled with Baz. I feel him, foreheads pressed together and noses brushing softly. I hear him, uneven breaths and the faint pounding of his heart (he does have one!). I see him, through heavy-lidded eyes, I see his frown and his lips. I smell him, cedar and bergamot. The next second, when I lean in to taste him as well, he moves away and in the span of barely a moment my hands are empty and the air around me is cold.

Once I open my eyes again Baz is standing by the window. The moonlight shining through makes his skin seem even paler and it sparkles where it reflects in the thin path a tear has carved down his cheek.

For a moment, my heart sinks and the world feels so big, while I feel so small. Maybe I saw it all wrong. Maybe it was merely a trick of the light that made it appear like the look on his face, when I finally lost control over my magic and almost killed him, was one of love. Maybe all the conclusions I drew from his protectiveness over me during and after the battle were all wrong. Maybe this thing is one-sided after all. Maybe truly all I do is losing.

But then I remember how everything suddenly fell into place. Once I deciphered that one look, I deciphered the many looks before that. Which helped me decipher all his actions and all my actions and all his words and all my words. Everything fell into place and nothing has ever felt more instinctive than this. I can never truly rationalise why we are the way we are and why we work the way we work. We just are. We just work.

We would, at least. If he’d let us try.

“Baz,” I start, standing up. I walk over to him and move to thread my fingers through his. His fingers freeze beneath mine and he pulls away.

“Just- just don’t,” he sneers. The “please” that follows is desperate and painful and barely audible. I pull my hand back and step out of his space, sitting down on the edge of Baz’s bed.

I wish I knew what he was thinking.

Baz

I don’t know what I’m thinking.

I have wanted this for years. Fifth-year me would probably kick me in the balls if he were here. The amounts of time I spent imagining him leaning in, imagining his fingers reaching out for mine. And now my imagination is turning to reality and I cannot stop sabotaging myself.

“Why?” Snow echoes my own thoughts. And, for once, out of the two of us, it’s me who explodes.

“Are you seriously that stupid?” Initially, I turn around to spit it right in his face, but when I see him sitting there on the edge of my bed looking like a lost puppy, I have to turn back to the window to be able to continue.

“Why don’t you-,” I start, but stumble. Why does the truth never come out fluently? Have I become that used to lying? I growl in frustration.

“Why don’t you understand that you’re wrong about this? You’re not supposed to thank me.”

“You saved my life at least three times.” He sounds surprised.

“And now you’ve lost your magic.”

“Yes,” there is a pause for a second, “but I’m alive. And that is still more than I had ever hoped for and I got to because of you.”

“But,” Crowley, I need him to stop saying these things, “you’ve lost your magic.”

“A sacrifice I was willing to make for my life and your life and everyone else’s life. That was my choice! That was not your fault.”

“Simon, please stop.”

“Baz, you saved my life. I cannot even imagine the consequences for your own. You deserve at least a thank you for that.”

“Please, Simon,” I hate the crack in my voice, “will you please stop talking?”

His voice is small. “No. Thank you for being there, Baz. Thank you being here. Thank you for saving me.”

“You don’t understand. I was just being selfish.”

“What made saving my life selfish?”

“I knew that I would never forgive myself for letting you die, let alone actively killing you.”

“That means you care about me.” He states, as if it is truly that simple. “How is that selfish?”

“You just don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand!” He has risen to his feet in frustration. In barely two long strides his face is mere inches away from me again, as he repeats softly, but insistently, “make me understand.”

I don’t know what gives me the strength to do it. Maybe it’s knowing that he has known for years anyway, maybe it’s knowing that nothing really matters these days anymore, maybe it’s knowing that I’m tired of hiding.

As I pull my lips slightly back, exposing my teeth, I let my fangs pop out.

“I’m a monster, Snow.” I hiss. “Is that enough of an explanation for you?”

He shakes his head determinedly. “You are a vampire.” Correct. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with being selfish.” Wrong. It has everything to do with being selfish.

“Being a monster is selfish, Snow,” I spit, “because I’m being.”

He frowns at that.

“What in Merlin’s name is that supposed to mean.”

A frustrated noise escapes my throat as I step a bit closer.

“It means,” I say calmly, “that I should not be existing.”

That startles him and I can’t help but feel that tiny spark of victory whenever I manage to shut him up for a second. Whenever I manage to force him to be the first to look away like he does now.

I raise my hand, letting flames erupt just above. Snow’s eyes snap up. I can’t help but be glad the void has been replaced by panic and frustration.

“Baz, you’re flammable.”

“Crowley, Snow, do you think I’ve forgotten? Isn’t that the whole point of it? Don’t you get it?”

There’s also sadness in them and I feel his and mine reflected in how roughened my words sound.

“All it takes is fire. Just a tiny flame and I’m done. The one thing I’m best with is fire. I should’ve been done years and years ago. And yet here I am. Alive. Or as alive as I can be. I’m a monster and I can’t even bring up the decency to end it all myself.”

I hate how the body’s reflex to stress and anger seems to be to start crying. I can’t stop myself either way.

“That’s why I’m selfish.” I avoid Snow’s eyes, trying to fix mine, “I should’ve been dead all along.”

“You cannot honestly believe you should be dead, just because you’re a vampire.” Simon says, and I can hear in every word that he truly cannot imagine believing that. It hurts.

“She believed it.” I didn’t quite expect our conversation to go here. Although, right now it feels like it was inevitable all along anyway.

“Who?”

“My mother.” That startles him.

“What do you mean?”

I sigh and I feel the frustration leaving my body. I’m just too tired to be frustrated anymore. Of course, he doesn’t understand, if he doesn’t know the full story. I planned on keeping this piece of the diary to myself, but now I can’t anymore.

“In the diary of the Mage, he didn’t just describe planning the vampire attack. There is also a summary of the report of the attack of one of the vampires that survived.”

Simon stills. The flames are still dancing between my fingers and I ponder them for a second.

“It was her,” I say, “She did it.”

I want to avoid truly saying the words, but Simon’s confused look tells me I’ll have to, if I want to make him understand.

“She killed herself.”

He starts at that and takes a step back and I’m glad for that. After all, he is flammable, too, and I can’t help but let the fire grow as I speak.

“She was bitten during the attack,” I explain, “She hunted vampires for years and years before the attack. So, when she was bitten, she ended it.”

I lift my hand, the light of the flames flickering in the dark between us.

“Tyger, tyger.” I whisper without putting magic behind the words, my eyes fixed on the flames. I close my eyes and imagine my mother, standing in the nursery, making the decision to kill herself. She hated vampires so much, she couldn’t stand the thought of being one herself. She could stand that thought even less than the thought of leaving me behind. That’s how much she hated them.

When I open my eyes, they automatically find Simon’s and I hate to see how his face is tear-stricken, how his eyelashes have stuck together, how his bottom lip trembles. I want to spare him the conclusion of my story, but I know I need to push through.

“If she’d known,” He starts shaking his head and I’m tempted to shut up, but I don’t. “She would have taken me with her.”

“No.” Is all he mutters. “No. She loved you.”

“She did,” I say, “But she would hate me if she knew I was carrying on like this.”

“Baz, she was your mum.”

“Exactly! I should have made her proud by doing the right thing.”

“Dying is not the right thing.”

“She thought it was,” I say and then, “And it is.”

“That is ridiculous, Baz. Penny told me you’ve never bitten a person. You deserve to live.”

“How do you know?” My voice cracks with frustration. “How do you know I deserve anything? I may never have bitten a person, but who is to say I won’t? Accidents happen, Snow. I should avoid them in the only way I can.”

“Baz, please, stop.” Simon says, but I can only let the flames flare harder and higher and closer to my fingers.

“Yet, instead, I’m still here,” I didn’t know it would be possible, but my eyes avert from his to become transfixed by the fire. “And what even for?”

“For living, Baz.” And I might have lost myself in the beauty of that answer, if I’d really heard what he said. Instead, in my mind, his voice is blurred, just like his eyes, flickering gold in the light of the fire.

“My mum is dead,” I sob, instead, “I have nowhere to go, because my father won’t let me into the house.”

Snow just doesn’t understand. I know so, because somewhere in my mind I register him arguing against me, asking me to stop, demanding it when I ignore him.

“I haven’t seen my sister…,” I usually don’t even let myself think about her, “I haven’t seen my sister even once, since the battle.”

Why doesn’t he understand? There is nothing left for me here. All I had, I’ve lost.

“Fiona is letting me stay at her place, but I know I’ve disappointed her,” I picture the looks she gives me when she is too tired to pretend, “She only took me in, because I’m her sister’s only son. Crowley, if she knew what my mum would have wanted…”

I’m sure she would have taken it upon herself to end me. Why doesn’t Snow get it? Why is it so hard to understand?

“Why don’t you understand, Simon?” It’s more of a whisper, “I’m supposed to be dead.”

And through my blurred eyes I see his face shape into a whole pallet of emotions. Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Fright. Worry. And so much love. And it weighs me down. It feels like the air pressure has suddenly risen and every inch of the room is pressing into every inch of my skin. I can’t breathe.

“And now you’re here with your stupid face and you’re trying to give me everything I do not deserve and I can’t. breathe. I should be dead.”

I want to argue my point further, but all I can manage is murmur the same thing over and over again.

I should be dead

I should be dead

I should be dead

My fingers seem to have a mind of their own, playing with the flames. Dancing.

Only this dance is fatal and I vaguely register Simon’s panicked outbursts as I let the flames come closer and closer to licking my skin.

For one last moment, I let my gaze flicker up again and fix his blue eyes. Even though they’re red from the tears and the blue is still as ordinary as it’s always been, they are the prettiest things I’ve ever seen and they remind me of my one promise to myself. I will die looking into Simon Snow’s eyes.

As I let the flames get closer, I take in every inch of blue. Although I can still trace a hint of the void look he had in his eyes, when I entered the room, I can also see some of his usual power in them again.

For a second, in my mind, I thank him for looking so alive while I’m dying.

I slowly move my thumbs towards the palms of my hands, where the flames are still erupting from thin air, as I lose myself in Simon Snow’s eyes. What a pity I never got to kiss him.

“Simon…” I start, but then he lunges at me and all I can do is let the flames die out and let myself be pushed into the nearest wall.

Simon

“Just shut up!” I growl as I grab his wrists, pushing him into the nearest wall. I knew he would let the flames die as soon as I got too close. After all, I’m flammable too.

“I should be dead, Snow, just let it go.” He tries to hiss back at me, but there is no fire behind it. Just sobs.

He’s not exactly saying what I want to be hearing, but at least he is responding again. He hears me again.

“Stop it!” I yell, closing in on him. Wrists pressed against the wallpaper, chest to chest. From here I can see the patterns his tears have trailed down his face. Some are still going.

“I’m a monster, I’m a monster, I’m a monster.” He sobs.

“Shut up, Baz, you’re not a monster.”

“Yes, I am, I am. I should’ve been dead. I-“

“Stop it, you’re not supposed to be dead. You don’t have to die.”

“Yes, I do! She would’ve killed me. If only she’d known,” his words are bare murmurs, clouded by his tears, “she would’ve taken me with her.”

And then he’s back to murmuring the same things over and over again.

I’m a monster.

I should be dead.

I’m a monster.

I should be dead.

I should be dead. I should be dead.

I feel the palms of his hands warming up again, ready to summon fire, and I need him to stop. Every word seems to drill itself into my skull. Every sob seems to rip a tear in my heart.

I need him to stop.

So, the next time he cries out for his own death, I growl my own cry for him to shut up between my own lips pressed to his.

Baz

Simon Snow is kissing me.

For a second, my mind clears of everything but the desperate press of his lips against mine. For a second, I let myself feel all of it. Even now that his magic is gone, his skin still feels like it’s on fire. Maybe he’ll be the one to end me after all.

Even now, he still has my hands pressed against the wall, but his fingers have slipped in between mine, so now he’s holding them, rather than trapping them. (or maybe just trapping my palms underneath his, so I won’t light them up again)

For a second, I let myself respond. I’ve never kissed anyone (afraid I might bite), so it’s clumsy and imperfect, but it’s so good.

For a second, I let myself forget everything. There is nothing but him and me. Just two boys kissing. So simple.

But then I remember who he is. I remember who I am, what I am. And I slip my right hand out of his grasp and place it on his chest and push him away softly.

Simon

His eyes are still closed when I open mine. Once he does open them, he immediately directs his gaze to the ground.

“You shouldn’t.” He whispers.

“Why not?” I counter him. His hand is still resting on my chest, so I put mine over it, slip my fingers through his. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t hold on either. Instead, he shakes his head.

“I’m a monster, Snow. You deserve better than that.” I scoff at that.

“You’re not a monster, Baz,” the space between us is choking me, so I lean my forehead back against his and let my eyes close again. “Why would I want to kiss a monster?”

I feel rather than hear Baz’s chuckle. “Because of its dazzling personality?”, I can’t help but grin at that. I’m glad to hear some of his sarcastic old self. The relief is enough for me to move just the slightest bit more forward to brush my nose against his, before pulling back again.

“You’re not a monster, Baz.” I repeat, and I hope that one day he will believe me. For now, he just scoffs, before he replies.

“Tell that to all the animals I have to drain every other night in order to survive.”

“Well, I’m hardly a vegetarian either.” I scoff back at him. It’s barely audible, but I hear something akin to a chuckle through his sniffs.

“The sun burns me.”

“Don’t you remember when I returned to school after that summer the care home I lived in was near the beach and you teased me for weeks, telling me I looked like a lobster?” Now the laughter is a bit more audible. “The sun burns me, too.”

For a second there is just the sounds of sniffles washed out by soft chuckling and I can’t help but laugh with him. In the end, though, the tears always seem to come back. They always seem to win.

“Simon,” he says, “I’m technically not even alive.”

Even if the hand that’s holding his couldn’t feel his heart pounding in his chest, I’d still be able to hear it, it’s beating that fast. So, I lean in and give him another eskimo-kiss, feeling his heart accelerate yet again and I smile.

“Your heart speeding up every time I do that seems to prove otherwise.”

“Shut up.” Is all he replies.

“I think that the fact that neither of us can seems to be the reason we always end up in this position.” One backing the other into the wall. Just like the night before the battle, only we’re on opposite sides now.

Maybe it’s our own patterns that make us laugh, maybe it’s the exhaustion and the stress, or maybe it’s the relief. It takes a while before we finally stop and I revel in the feeling of laughing with him. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to do that before.

“Baz,” I whisper, once the laughter has subsided, “do you think monsters are capable of love?”

It takes a while before he reacts, but when he does, I feel him softly shake his head against mine.

“But you love your mum, right?”

He sighs deeply, defeated, before nodding slightly.

“And you definitely love your little sister. Mordelia is her name, right?”

Again, he nods. I open my eyes just the slightest to study his face through my whimpers. His eyes are still closed, but the frown between his eyebrows has loosened the slightest and I see him smiling through his tears. I can’t help but let my own lips form a smile too.

“And that crazy aunt of yours, Fiona. I know she annoys you to hell sometimes, but I bet you love her, too.”

This time he lets out a full-out laugh. It’s such a pretty sound and I almost want to hear it coming out of his mouth again and again and again as badly as I want to kiss that mouth again and again and again.

“And I think,” I start and I take a deep breath, “that you might love me.”

He stills. I can feel his heart pounding against the back of my hand as fast as I can feel my own heart beating in my chest. After a moment of deafening silence, he opens his eyes, immediately fixed on mine on instinct. I never imagined grey could be such an interesting colour.

This time his nod is accompanied with a “Yes, I do” and it makes my heart sing and my stomach flutter and my lips pull into a smile.

I hold his gaze as I flash him a satisfied grin and answer.

“Good,’ I say, “because I love you, too.”

This time, when I kiss him, he immediately responds.

Baz

Simon Snow is kissing me. Again.

And he doesn’t believe I’m a monster.

Maybe one day I’ll learn to believe that myself, but for now it might be enough to know he believes it.

For now, I let myself acknowledge that in this moment I’m living. And right now, it’s a damn charmed life.

Simon

I kiss him and I kiss him and I kiss him. He keeps kissing me back.

Knowing that he probably won’t attempt to set fire to the room anymore, I let the wrist I still had pressed to the wall go, and finally let myself grip his hair. Once I acknowledged my feelings to myself, there were suddenly lists and lists unfolding in my head that had probably always been there describing everything I wanted to do to Baz. Touching his hair was very high on each and every one of them.

So, I let my hand relish in the softness of it all. My other I hand I keep tightly wrapped around his, our hands pressed between us. Mine against his chest, feeling every heartbeat going just a bit faster than usually, his against mine, undoubtedly feeling the same.

Baz’s lips are way colder than Agatha’s and at first I think it might be because he is a boy, but then I realise it’s because he is a vampire. I’m actually kissing a vampire. With fangs and highly flammable skin and probably super senses. But Baz is also just a boy and I decide that I like the cold, compensating for my own constant heat. The heat didn’t end when my magic did.

For a moment, I lose myself to the thought of my magic being gone, but then I snap myself out of it and instead concentrate on all the sounds Baz is making and lose myself in those instead.

Baz

By the time we break apart for air, my free hand has found its way to cup his face and I let my thumb graze the moles beneath his eye. They’re even prettier up close and I count them over and over and over.

After a few seconds, Simon opens his eyes, too. For a second, we just look at each other, and I can’t help but smile at his smile. Then, with his weight no longer holding me up against the wall, my body catches up to how overwhelmed my mind is, and my legs give out. I slide down the wall to the ground.

Luckily, Snow follows.

We sit like that for what may have been hours. Backs to the wall, leaning on each other. Crying. Tears for everything we have lost. Tears for everything we still might. Tears for everything we got to keep. And tears for everything we have gained.

When our heartbeats have slowed down again and our tears have run out, we just sit there, drowning in our own thoughts.

For a while, that is okay, but when I remember the void look in Simon’s eyes, I know that there must be limits to this. Drowning in our own thoughts should not become actual drowning.

So, we talk.

Thank you all for reading the fourth chapter of That’s Us! This chapter has been such a challenge to write, since it’s so hard to convey what Baz is feeling. I know how it feels to believe you don’t deserve anything when it comes to love and gratitude. It’s not a rational thing, so that’s why there are these massive holes in Baz’s theory as to why he does not deserve Simon’s love or gratitude. You cant explain it. You just feel it.

Anyway, this was the last official chater. There will be an epilogue in which hey do some more talking, but plotwbut plotwise there’s nothing new. So if those kinds of chapters are not your thing, you can skip it if you like. I’ll post the translation of the song lyrics and some comments and analyses I have on them on AO3, once I‘ve posted the whole story.

Again, thank you so much for reading this far! Please let me know what you think, because your comments make me so happy and motivated :)