#craig start using fucking lamps challenge

[actual-changeling]

-"Hello My Old Heart", The Oh Hellos (Ten Year Anniversary Version)

[uas-fics]

Final Chapter of Nine Forty-Five In the Morning

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

~~~~

Butters balanced the paper plate in one hand as he knocked on the Marsh’s door.

He wasn’t sure why he felt so excited. Sure, he wanted to see Stan on his birthday. They were friends, but this excitement felt weird.

He rolled back on his heels, looking down the street towards his house. Thus far, no one came running down the street to drag him back. Luckily, his parents had been so caught up in boasting about how proud they were of Butters' milestone, that Butters easily snuck past them and out through the garage.

The world was so much deeper now. The depth he’d lost in fourth grade had returned in brilliant vigor. All thanks to his soulmate.

Whomever she was, he would have to thank her so much when they finally met. He just hoped she wasn’t upset about getting his crummy eye.

That was all the more reason he had to buckle down and try to find her!

The door opened as his mind drifted once again to the juice scene.

“Oh, Butters, um, what a surprise.” Mrs. Marsh’s voice took him out of his revelry.

“Heya, Mrs. Marsh!” He greeted. “I know Stan is sick and all, but he called me to come over.” Butters raised the paper plate. “I brought him some cake from the party.”

Mrs. Marsh smiled softly, stepping aside. “You’re very sweet. He’s up in his room.”

Butters nodded, coming inside. He told her his thanks and started up the stairs.

“Happy birthday, Butters. I'm so, so happy for you.” She wore a faraway expression as she wandered into her living room. Butters decided not to question it, instead heading straight to Stan’s room.

After knocking once, he heard Stan tell him to come in. His heart quickened for a reason Butters didn’t know. Taking a breath, he forced himself to calm down before opening the door.

Stan sat on the trunk at the foot of his bed. His back curved forward. Drops of water dripped from his hair onto his arms. He must have just taken a shower, though it didn't appear he shaved yet. Black stubble peppered his chin and around his mouth.

Butters told Stan once that he thought he looked nice with some facial hair and wondered why he always shaved it off. To which Stan laughed and replied, “Thanks, but Wendy’s not a fan. She wouldn't admit it, but I can tell. To keep my future soulmate happy, I’ll shave every day for her.

“Hey,” Butters greeted, shutting the door behind him, “I brought you cake, to help you feel better. It has raspberry filling.” He moved the plate in a circle with a wide smile.

“Ok, thanks. Set it down somewhere,” Stan muttered without looking up.

Butters took a few steps, but when Stan didn’t get up, took a few more to the side to set the cake on his desk.

They stayed in awkward silence for a few moments. Butters pulled at a hangnail, shifting his weight from one side to the other.

Why was he feeling so nervous? It’s not like he was in any big hurry to get back to the party or even worried Stan would give him an inappropriate gift like Kenny had. Still, sweat pricked on his skin, and his heart thudded loudly against his rib cage.

Finally, he opened his mouth when he heard Stan mumbling something.

“Ok, I can do this. I can do this. It’s not weird. It’s not weird. I can do this.”

Butters raised a concerned eyebrow. “Can do what? Is something the matter?”

A shaking breath, then Stan slowly replied, “Ok, so, um, you know how it’s your birthday today?”

“Yeah?”

“And how on your sixteenth birthday, you get your soulmate’s eye?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, ah, damnit,” Stan tensed, “just rip that damn bandaid off, Stan. Stop being a baby!” With that, Stan turned his face up towards Butters.

The eye Butters had spent years staring at in the mirror, but that never looked back, met his gaze.

His jaw dropped. His legs turned to jello. He had to hold tight to the desk or risk falling over. The sweat across his skin increased as his stomach did a backflip.

“Holy moly,” he forced out, “but, but...”

Stan pursed his lips. “Yeah, I know,” he took a breath, “but it’s ok.” He stood, using the bed as support. “Look, it’s ok. I have this all figured out.”

Butters’ mind whirled. How could Stan have this figured out? They couldn’t be soulmates. They were friends, and not even best friends, just friends.

Well, ok, sure, Butters did have the littlest bit of a crush on him back in fourth and fifth grade, but Butters had a little schoolboy crush on all his friends at some point or another. Stan wasn’t any more special than Kenny or Craig or anyone else!

“But, W-Wendy,” Butters floundered for his words. “You’re dating Wendy.”

Stan flinched. “I was, and I will be again soon.” He put his palms together before pointing the tips of this fingers towards Butters. “Look, it took me a few hours, but I know what this is. What we are.”

“Soulmates.” The word felt heavy on Butters’ tongue.

“Well, yeah, but we can’t be romantic soulmates,” Stan told him, “because, for that, we would both have to like boys. Listen, I asked my Uncle Jimbo and Ned about it once. They said they only thought of each other as friends, but really good friends, nothing sexual or romantic about it.”

Stan puffed out his chest in pride. “So that’s that. You’re straight, and this is all there is to it. We're just meant to be friends only.”

Butters blinked hard before shaking his head. “What? Stan, I’m...I’m not...” He swallowed hard. “I do like boys, and girls, and all kinds of people.”

Stan’s smile fell. “No, you don’t. You can’t. You’ve only ever talked about girls anymore.”

Butters defended, “I don’t talk about ballet anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still like it!”

He just got picked on and made uncomfortable enough about it that keeping quiet about to worked out best. Eric didn't mock him about ballet anymore. His dad didn't give him that weird look about his boy crushes anymore.

“No, that’s not true. It can’t be true. You’re straight, so stop lying,” Stan ordered. He gripped his hands into fists as he narrowed his eyes at him.

Butters shook his head. “I ain’t lying!”

“Yes, you are, because I’m not straight, and one of us has to be, so I can have a life with Wendy like I planned!” Stan all but shouted. His face went round in shock, eyebrows raising, mouth falling open, and eyes widening.

He slapped a hand over his mouth as if he could pull the words back in.

Turning his gaze away, he muttered scornfully, “You know what, just...go.” He sat down on his bed, running his hand through his hair.

Butters turned to head towards the door. His hand hovered over the knob a moment, before dropping to his side.

Why should he be the one to go away? This wasn’t his fault! So what if Stan couldn’t be with Wendy anymore? That wasn’t nearly as bad as what Butters lost!

If either of them had the right to be upset, it was Butters!

He spun around and stomped in front of Stan. He placed his hands on his hips.

“You know, this ain’t how I planned this either.” He snapped.

“Yeah, clearly,” Stan snorted.

Butters took a finger and jabbed it at Stan’s chest. “I. Had. Plans. Too.” Throwing his hands up, he continued,  “I just got my parents to agree to let me take my senior year in Los Angeles with my aunt. That way I could look for my soulmate there, then, hopefully, never come back. That was my ticket out of this stupid, old town!”

He crossed his arms, growling, “There goes that —  because of you!”

Stan gritted his teeth, glaring. “Fuck you. Get out.” He pointed towards the door.

Butters was about to respond with a sharp ‘fine’ when Stan reached for his phone on the bedside table. He missed, hitting his knuckles against the lamp.

Butters’ revelry played in his head, where he helped his soulmate learn to live without stereopsis cues.  Something warm filled his chest. He’d felt this before, but he never could fully put a name to it.

Butters reached out his hand and set it on Stan’s and guided it over the top of the phone. That warm feeling from before grew where their skin touched.

They’d held hands during field trips before or hugged after winning a particularly challenging game of street hockey. He noticed a slight warmth feeling then, too but figured it was just their body heat.

Was it connected to them being soul mates or was he putting too much thought into it?

“It takes a while to get used to,” He admitted softly. “You have to learn different ways of focusing to figure out how far away something is. I’m sorry you have to deal with this. That’s not fair at all.”

Stan let out a breath. The tension in his shoulders slacked.

“It’s not your fault.” Stan sighed. “I'm the one who needs to be sorry. I just wanted so bad for you to fix this.”

“‘Fix this’?” Butters echoed.

Stan pulled his hand away before setting it in his lap. Butters’ hands to balled his hands into fists to keep from taking it back.

“If you didn’t meet all the requirements to be a romantic soulmate, then it didn’t matter how I'd ever feel. You would fix the mess the universe threw us in and we'd just be friends. I could get with Wendy again, but that didn’t happen. I got frustrated.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Can I sit?” Butters asked. Stan nodded and he sunk down beside him.

Butters ran through his options in his head. He could offer to try and be platonic soulmates so Stan could be with Wendy anyway. If he and Stan were meant to be husbands, would Wendy want to try and be with both of them anyway? Or maybe he could share Stan with her, if it came to that.

Or maybe he would just stay quiet.

Leaning towards the final option, Butters didn't notice Stan had moved closer and looked closely at his face until he spoke.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Butters started. “What?”

“When you grow up, what do you want to be?”

Butters was surprised to find that it wasn't his go to answer that came out of his mouth.

“What I want to be, or what I'll do because I'm good at it?” At Stan's confused expression, he elaborated, “I want to be a professional artist, but it's not that practical. I'm good at business management, though, so it's what I'll probably do. Or nursing. Nursing is always in high demand. Why do you ask?”

Stan looked at his hands.

“I don't know much about you, even though we're friends. I don't know enough to decide if I want to fight the universe about this.” He flopped back. "You're a huge monkey wrench in all my plans, but I guess I could change them to include you.” Stan forced a smile at him.    

“A monkey wrench? I ain't-a monkey wrench.” Butters frowned. “If anything, you're the monkey wrench here. My parents ain't gonna let me go to my aunt's now. All you gotta do is replace me with Wendy.”

“Yes, let me just paste your face over her’s in all my dreams. It'll work great. You'll look amazing in a size eight.” Stan rolled his eyes.

Butters looked down at his bulky build then back up.

“I could pull off a size eight,” he replied in complete seriousness.

They met each other gaze for a second, before busting out into snickers.

Stan waved his hand around. “Ok, ok, let's just both agree that any plans we had are in the trash.” He sighed, but not unhappily. “So, what do we do now?”

Butters checked his phone. No messages asking about his location yet, but they'd come sooner or later.

“I have to get back sometime before I'm really missed.” He winced. The thought of being pushed around to talk to different people about the same topics made his stomach flop.

Sitting and arguing with Stan was better than dealing with his grandma's passive aggressive comments or his new uncle's 9-11 rants any day.

“Oh,” Stan pushed himself up.

“You can come if you want.” Butters sounded more eager than he meant to. The thought of having his soulmate as support against his family was tantalizing, he had to admit. At the very least he could rub it in his grandma’s face that he wasn’t a loser like she quietly claimed when she arrived at the party.

“No offense, but I nearly broke my neck walking down the stairs to get orange juice earlier,” Stan declined. “I'll probably need to go see if we kept any of Grandpa's canes before I go back outside.”

“Sorry,” Butters apologized automatically.

“It's fine.” Stan stretched. He looked at his phone screen. “I should get Dad to help me with that soon, actually. I think I need to talk to Wendy again, now that my head's on straight and I have a better grasp on this.”

Butters stood. He twiddled his thumbs a moment.

“I can walk you there if you'd like. If I explain what's going on to my parents, I'm sure they'll let it pass. It is my birthday after all.” He smiled, silently pleading Stan to take the offer.

Stan held his lower lip between his teeth before slowly nodding.

~~~~

Stan tented his fingers as he spoke. “So, um, yeah, that's what's happened.”

Wendy had her eyes fixed on the kitchen table top and her half-finished dinner. She had her thinking face on, the same one she used when she determined if an Instagram photograph had been photoshopped.

She was searching his story for lies.

Butters sat in the Testaburger's living room with Wendy's parents. The Jeopardy theme drifted into the kitchen.

When they arrived, Wendy’s father fixed Stan with a glare so sharp, he felt like he might fall to ribbons then and there. It took Wendy scolding him to finally get her father to turn his gaze elsewhere.

She let out a breath. “So do you love him, and just didn't realize it until now?”

Stan denied, “No. I don't know how I feel. I might, or I might not.” He set a hand on hers. “Is that ok?”

She smiled softly the set her other hand on his. “Yes, Stan, that's ok.”

“You know, Butters said on the way over it would be ok with him if I was with both of you if things go romantic,” He offered hopefully. Even if all his plans were in the trash, maybe he could still salvage some of the ones he’d made with Wendy. It couldn’t be that hard to slip Butters in there with them. Surely Wendy and Butters could end up being the best of besties, right?

She breathed a laugh through her nose and shook her head. “No, but thank you.”

He deflated. Back in the trash his plans go...

She squeezed his hand.

“Of all the ways our relationship could end, this is one of the best ways. I don't mind it.” Her smile was forced. “If you decide you love him and want to marry him, I don't mind. If not, and I'm available when you figure it out, we can try again.”

She continued, sincerely, “I want you to be happy. According to the universe, you'll be happiest with Butters.”

“I want you to be happy, too!” Stan exclaimed. His chest hurt. “It's just...I thought I made you happy...”

“You did. You do,” she reassured, “but I don't need a partner to be happy. You're like the chocolate shell on ice cream.” She patted his cheek. “You made everything a thousand and one times better. That's how it'll be with you and Butters, I'm sure. You were happy apart, but you'll be happier together.”

“Was I at least the name brand chocolate shell?” He feebly joked.

She hugged him in response. Stan melted into her embrace for possibly the last time before wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tightly to his chest.

He prayed when Wendy found her soulmate, they were the chocolate shell and the whipped cream on her ice cream.

~~~~

Butters walked with his hand not quite touching Stan's and had to fight the urge to just grab his hand.

“So, Wendy's not mad at me?” Butters asked, nervously. He'd been on the receiving end of Wendy's wrath a few times before when they were kids. He could almost feel the sensation of her selfie stick slapping him across the nose as she and Stan walked out of the Testaburger kitchen.

“What?” Stan paused before carefully he stepped off the curb at the crosswalk. “No, she's not. She’s happy for me.”

“Good, good,” Buttered tried to sound convinced, but he made a note to lock his window and door extra tight and clear all his browser history tonight, just in case.

They came to a stop in front of Stan's house a few moments later. The sound of music from down the road told Butters that the party was still going, despite his absence.

Had his parents told everyone about him and Stan? He could almost see his parents gushing about it as if Butters finding his soulmate was their accomplishment and not a freak accident of the universe.

At the Marsh’s front door, Butters offered to help Stan back up his stairs to his room, but Stan declined.

“I'm going to see if Dad can help me search for Grandpa's cane. He can help if I need it,” He told him. Tapping his fingers against this thigh, Stan took a breath.

“Hey, Butters, can I ask you something really quick?” He didn’t wait for Butters to answer. “Why did you want to leave South Park so badly? This place is weird, but it’s not the worst town. We could be Middle Park.” He added the last part with a dry laugh when Butters’ face fell into an expressionless mask.

“Oh, I, um,” Butters chewed his lip. He looked at the party then down the other side of the street. This was something he’d only ever told Kenny, but Stan was his soulmate. He wouldn’t tease him or tell him he was overreacting, would he? The universe couldn’t give Butters a soulmate that would react like that.

Even knowing that, his usual answer of ‘there’s no growth here. A business venture here is a waste of time’ still pressed against his teeth.

He took a breath and let it out in a low whistle.

“Promise not to tell?” He asked.

Stan cocked an eyebrow. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, sure, man. Scouts’ honor.”

“Ok,” Butters breathed, “so, I don’t want to stay here because — and don’t laugh at me — I...” He forced his reason out before he lost his nerve, “Idon’twanttokeepgrowinguparoundmyparents.”

Stan blinked then titled his head. “What? I only heard ‘I don’t’ and ‘parents’.”

Butters rubbed the knuckles of his left hand with the fingers of his right. “I don’t want to keep growing up around Mom and Dad longer than I have too. I know it sounds silly, but I’m sick of having them in my life, you know?” He shrugged, refusing to meet Stan’s eyes.

“Yeah, I think so. Your parents suck. No offense.” He added quickly. “I just mean your dad is—”

“A huge asshole? He is; they both are.” Butters relaxed with a chuckle. Stan’s face didn’t hold any mockery. Just curiosity, understanding and the smallest bit of pity. While the pity bothered Butters, he didn’t comment on it.

Instead he went on, “I’m, just a little, scared of staying around here, or any place like here, that they’ll somehow mold me,” he moved his hands as if they were shaping a vase, “into another link in my terrible family chain, like how Grandma did to Dad.”

He dropped his hands limply to his sides. “Please don’t tell anyone about that, though. If this gets back to them, they might think of it as a challenge and...”

Butters couldn’t make himself finish the thought.

Stan let out a low, long breath. The pity was even more pronounced now, yet so was the understanding.

“Wow, no, I won’t tell anyone. I get it. Believe me.” Stan pointed his thumb over his shoulder at his house. “My dad isn’t the person I’d like to grow up to be either.” Under his breath, he added to himself, “not that I’m doing such a great job at avoiding that...”

“Yeah, it’s a worry I’ve had since middle school,” Butters confined. “When I’m an adult, I want to come by here, say hi, wane nostalgically a bit, then get out as fast as possible, without my parent's figuring out why.”

Stan nodded. He looked down at Butters for a long, uncomfortable moment, before nodding again.

“I’ve decided something,” he proclaimed.

“You have? What?”

He pointed a finger at Butters’ cheek, though Butters assumed he meant to point at his nose.

“I’m going to try everything I can to get you out of here,” He stated with an air of pride around him.

“What?” Butters felt his cheeks grow warm. Didn’t he realize how hard that would be? For the last few years, Butters had been working on different ideas to escape, and he still didn’t have one without a major flaw in it.

“I don’t actually care where I end up, as long as I ended up with someone who loved me. If the universe says that’s supposed to be you, then so be it. ” Stan dropped his hands to his hips.

“S-Stan, you don’t gotta do that!” Butters gasped “It’s too much trouble. Living without support is hard — super hard! Not something a kid fresh out of high school can do easily.”

Stan raised his shoulders then let them fall. “You will have support. You’ll have me, and I’ll have my parents, if it comes down to that. Besides, since it seems my other plans are gone, I might as well work to make some new ones. At least, I have a clear goal post to work towards.”

That warm feeling in Butters chest flared up, as it had done years ago in the playground restroom. He felt dizzy with delight but didn’t fall over — somehow.

“Really?” He asked, instead of arguing. “Even if I’m just your Universe Appointed Best Friend?”

Stan replied with a grin, “Friends are just as important as lovers, dude.”

“Thank you.” Butters smiled back, and he swore, just for a second, he saw Stan’s balance waver.

Before they could continue, Butters phone pinged rapidly several times.

“You should get that,” Stan told him.

Butters took out his phone. For the most part, he’d been ignoring it since he left the party. He turned his data off on the walk to Wendy's, so Stan's balance had his full attention. It must have connected to the Marsh's wifi.

There were so many notifications across his lock screen that Butters phone lagged a second when he unlocked it.

The discord and private message chats he had for cheerleading and choir boomed with messages and @’s for his username. Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook were no different.

He swiped all those away, leaving just the text messages.

The oldest came from Kyle, saying, “Did Stan tell you,” with another one an hour or so later telling him, “Tell Stan I’m proud he acted like an adult about this.”

One from Kenny said, “Your mom just made an announcement that you found your soulmate. She didn’t say who, but Kyle told me. ;D Put my gift to good use, you two love birds <3”

Lastly, the ones from his mom. Somewhere her excited replied to Butters when he explained why he had left the party, but those weren’t the ones that made his phone go off.

“I told everyone at the party when they asked where you went. Are you and Stan coming back soon?”

Butters suppressed a groan. He quickly replied, “I’ll be back soon. Had to walk Stan home safely.”

He hoped the last part would give him a little more time to doddle. He didn't want to go back to the party. How was he supposed to explain that he and Stan were soulmates, yes, but they didn’t know if his feelings were romantic or not?

If they were, how would his classmates react?

Everyone who knew Stan also knew how deeply devoted to Wendy he was. Would they think it was Butters fault for Wendy’s heartbreaking?

Enough time on the cheerleading squad taught Butters the full, devastating power of girls when one of their friends had been wronged.

Praying he had at least one birthday wish left, he wished that Wendy would explain what happened to all her friends before Butters had to spend an entire cheer practice dealing with glares and the cold shoulder.

“Do you need to head home?” Stan asked as he shifted to the side to side. He didn't seem nervous. He moved just to have something to do, Butters assumed.

Butters nodded, putting his phone back in his pocket.

For the third time that day, the words Butters would have said were not the ones that came out.

“Stan, can I ask a birthday gift from you?” He blurted out.

Stan raised his eyebrows. “I did get you a card, but since I spent all my cash on Wendy and my date— which I need to cancel, now that I think about it — it's not that flashy. I can go get it if you want.”

“You can give that to me tomorrow.” He shook his head. “Right now, I really just want to sit on your lawn for, like, five minutes and hold your hand.”

“What? Why?” His face reddened.

“I think we both know why, Stan.” Butters laughed. “So please? Come on, let me hold your hand. We can figure out what we want it to mean later.” He held out his hand, palm up, to him.

Stan broke out a smile with a chuckle and head shake before setting his hand in his. The warm feeling spread from the contact, making Butters grin brightly back.

Stan pulled Butters into the front step, and there they sat for the next ten minutes, both contented to wait until later to start unraveling what the universe wanted them to be.

~~~~

AN:

Oh man, I did not expect this story to get as many comments and reblogs as it did. You all are much too kind! I hope the ending was ok for everyone (especially those on Tumblr who didn't have the benefit of the ambiguous relationship tag like everyone on AO3).

I have one more pairing in this AU I’d like to explore with Wendy and hers, but I don’t know when I’ll get around to writing it. ^^;

[lexiecarver]

You Got Me Good

Words: 913 (Hilarious but short, it happens)

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

A/N: No erotica, but fluff towards the end. This was written for @mrs-squirrel-chester‘s Album Fanfic Writing Challenge. I picked the album, “Ash & Ice” by the Kills. This drabble/short fic was written for the song, “Impossible Tracks,” which is number 10 on the album.

                                        Also on AO3

Where the fuck were you? You told Crowley you’d be back in three hours. It had been three hours and thirty minutes. The hunt was supposed to be an easy one. Normally he would just pop in and see what was keeping you. But you were hunting with your brothers, the Winchesters, and they didn’t know about the two of you. You were worried they’d disown you if they knew you were living with Crowley much less in love with him. So Crowley had to be benched, waiting on the sidelines, worrying about what was happening. He had respected your choice to remain silent but right now he desperately wanted to disobey your wishes. But if you were OK, you would be furious with him for doing so. But if you weren’t…. No, he was not going there. I mean he was very good friends with Billy. She would hate to bring you back but he would offer Billy anything to do it. He knew just the thing to offer. Enough! You weren’t dead. Why were you late? What if something happened to you?  What if you got hurt? Oh, if those boys hurt you, I’ll skin them alive, brothers of yours or not. I can’t just sit here waiting? Can I? This is infuriating! The Winchesters do have a bad habit of killing their accomplices. What if something happened to you? Something I could have prevented had I acted now?  

Crowley walked back and forth continuously. He turned on your playlist wanting to be close to you at this moment, to connect with you. He sat down on the bed, his head in his hands. His tapped his feet for a few moments. The music did nothing to calm his nerves and he growled, throwing a lamp at the wall. He quickly poofed in a glass of Craig and downed it, then another, and another. He closed his eyes trying to calm his nerves before he opened his bedroom door and spoke to the two guards outside.

“Leave me now and search every hospital for Y/N.  Don’t go anywhere else, don’t get help. Don’t bloody well tell anyone where you’re going – just GO.”

The demons left in a hurry as Crowley closed the door behind him nearly breaking it off the hinges. The ten minutes his demons were gone felt like agony, thoughts of murder and torture for the Winchesters ever present in his mind.

“We didn’t find her in any of the local hospitals.”

“How about Jane Does? Or the aliases I gave you.”

They both gave him blank looks.

“The post-it in your pocket.”

The demon on the left looked down at his pocket pulling out said post-it.”

“Dude, look at these names.”

Crowley’s face paled and he groaned.

“Um…I don’t see Jane Doe? Who’s that?”

Crowley looked at them enraged. His eyes full-blown ready to murder them on the spot when you burst through the door.

“OMG. I am sooo sorry I’m late baby. The hunt was trickier than we imagined.”

“Bloody well knew it. If those wankers hurt you so help me …. Come on in.”

“So yeah. I got a little cut up but Sam got pretty hurt. He stepped in front to save me.

“The Winchesters actually saving people. Well, she is family. Hmmm. I suppose I have to thank moose now.”

“The big galumph. Gotta love my brothers. I’m OK. I didn’t just want to leave him bleeding, I kinda had to help and I smelled disgusting so I took a shower.  Trust me there was nothing sexy about me in that moment.

“I will always love you, sweet, grime, blood and all. Y/N you got me from the start. You got me good and nothing will ever keep us apart.”

“And I feel the exact same way about you handsome. I sent you a text.”

Crowley froze, the demons looking between you and Crowley.  He slowly took his cell phone out. It was dead. Y/N sent me a text and I forgot to recharge my phone, really? He sighed and tried to control his anger as he crammed the recharger cord into his phone. He was about to laugh at how very banal this all was. You slowly stepped into the room and read him like a book. He was beyond worried. You could tell even if he was in profile. He was wound tight like a bow. You put down your bag on the King-sized bed and watched him.

“Didn’t you have blonde hair last time?” One of the demons questioned.

“Um a while ago. I have highlights now.” You answered confused.

Crowley whirls around to look at his demons.

“You didn’t even know what she looked like? How stupid are you two, honestly?”

He kills them on the spot without a second thought. You moved quickly and threw Crowley’s back against the wall nearly attacking his lips and pouring your affection for him into that kiss. After a while, he moved your head away staring in your eyes. He was confused, lustful, still tense, nervous and residually angry. But the kiss worked. That was always the best way to calm him.

“I love you Crowley and I’m so sorry I worried you. Let’s tell the boys tomorrow so you can be at my side and know where I am whenever you want. But that goes both ways so you better remember to recharge your damn phone.

“Deal.”

[abalonetea]

spdrabblebomb - treat

Prompt – treat Characters – tweek/craig Word Count – 1,008

Notes – this was written for @spdrabblebomb and the October challenge that she has up, but it’s also for my good friends who like creek! I wrote this with @creektrash-islife and @blame-canada in mind!

  “Are you sure you don’t want to hit up a couple more houses?” Clyde’s lower lip juts out, cracked green lipstick on display. His makeup is rubbed off in spots and smeared in others, a sure sign that he shouldn’t have chosen such a complete costume.   It doesn’t match up with the rest of Clyde’s costume, either. The makeup was a last minute add on, once Clyde realized that Token was going to have black lights at the party. At the start of the night, it looked surprisingly decent, even if it didn’t match up with the rest of Clyde’s pirate costume.   Craig shakes his head. He skipped out on the makeup this year, opted for a more simple costume. The vampire cloak is warm and heavy on his shoulders. “No. I’m done for the night. I’m tired, and it’s cold.”   “You can borrow my jacket,” offers Clyde. He looks over his shoulder, at the place where Stan and Kyle are waiting. “We could probably get a few more good pieces. The people out on Eighth Street always give out huge handfuls of candy at the end of the night.”   “I have enough candy,” says Craig. He shakes his bag, like that might prove his point. “I’m done for the night. Go walk with those fuckers.”   Clyde sighs. “Yeah, okay. Text me later, man? Like, we can meet up when I’m done if you want and watch some movies!”   “Sure,” says Craig, even though he knows that Clyde will have forgotten about these plans by the end of the night. It doesn’t matter much, though. Craig has different plans already.   The Tweak house is one of the only houses on the block without any decorations. Even though South Park is a small town with a lot of issues, one of the general consensus among the people here is that lights are meant to go up at the holidays. Most people do it even if they aren’t celebrating, because there’s always a decoration contest, and there’s always a cash prize for it.   But there are never any decorations up at this house, not inside or outside. It’s something that Richard often complains about, and one of the few things that doesn’t end up going his way.   The front doors to the house are locked. Craig skips them over in favor of going to the back door, which is also locked. The difference is that there’s a key for the backdoor hidden in a hollowed out rock sitting in a faux potted plant.   Craig lets himself in, careful to lock the door behind him. “Hey. Are you downstairs?”   There’s no answer. There aren’t any lights on, either, which is a pretty clear indication that, no, Tweek is not downstairs. Craig uses the flashlight on the phone as a guide up the back stairwell, and into the back half of the duplex.   There’s a nightlight plugged into every room. A small muffin shaped lamp sits on the back of the kitchen counter and the open floor plan lets the brown tinted light seep into the living room. Craig clears his throat and tries again. “Hey. Tweek, babe, are you in here?”   Something thumps against the floor down the hall. Craig is still getting used to the new lay-out. After a blizzard tore through last year, and several potential clients had to be turned away, the Tweak’s moved into one of the houses in the older part of town. It’s bigger, but everything seems to be pieced together the wrong way.   “Craig? Sweet Jesus, I didn’t –ngh- hear you come in!” Tweek can be heard scrambling around in his room. Something that sounds distinctly like a lego tower crashes against the floor. “Gah! Fuck! What if someone else came in and I didn’t hear them, either? Craig! You should turn –nhn- on the lights and make sure no one else is out there! Or just, fuck, lock the door to the stairs, man.”   Craig does not point out that, if someone were up here with them, locking the door to the stairs would prevent any chance of escaping. Mainly because Craig knows that the doors were locked when he showed up, and no one else is here.   Instead, he locks the door to the stairwell and turns on every light as he goes, because things are easier that way.   Tweek meets Craig halfway. He’s wearing a too-large pumpkin sweater. The collar is bright green and covered in glitter. So are the ends of his puffed out sleeves. It’s too big and too long, bags out around the chest and hangs down far past Tweek’s waist; mostly covers up the garish star studded night pants that he’s wearing.   “Agh! I thought you weren’t going to be scary this year!” Tweek’s fingers are tangled up in his own hair. There’s a fresh split on Tweek’s lower lip. He keeps looking over his shoulder, like something might be about to come charging out of the shadows.   “I did say that.” Craig looks down at his costume – a traditional vampire with black pants and a white dress shirt, a few drops of red tinted corn syrup scattered up near the collar. “And then I bought what I wanted to wear. I could have put in fake fangs. But I didn’t. So that means I’m not as scary as I could have been.”   Tweek whines. He glances over his shoulder again, then shuffles a little closer to Craig. “I thought you were out trick-or-treating with Clyde, man. It’s –ngh- early! Right? It was still pretty early the last time –mnh- I checked the clock.”   “It’s ten.”   “Yeah, that’s early! You could have hit up a bunch of other houses! Gah! Was Kyle being a cunt again?”   “No.  He wasn’t being a cunt.”   “Gah! I don’t think that’s a true statement! I don’t –ngh- think he knows how to not be a cunt.” Tweek wraps his arms around himself but doesn’t keep them there long. He’s always antsy on Halloween – too many ghouls moving around outside of the windows, too many shadows that are actually real. His hand is back in his hair, nails scraping over his scalp.   Craig offers up the bag of candy. “I’m done for the night. Do you want to share?”   “I don’t know, man. People could have out razor blades or arsenic or something in there! What if I eat one and there’s a razor blade in it and it splits open my throat and I die?” Tweek bites on his lower lip, nervous even as he takes that last step over to Craig.    “There’s nothing wrong with the candy. I promise.” Craig fishes a Twix bar out of the bag, because those are Tweek’s favorites. “Here. You can have all of my caramels.”   “You’re only saying that because you just had your braces tightened,” says Tweek. He grabs Craig’s hand instead of the candy, pressing the little piece of chocolate and caramel between their palms. “Do you –ngh- want to go sit in my room? I don’t like it down here, man. It’s too dark and there are too many windows!”   Craig gives Tweek’s hand a little squeeze. “Sure, Tweek. You can help me sort my candy.”