#once the crowley tour is over and i have time for drawing other stuff again i do wanna go back and do something else from that scene | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ditherwings · 5 years ago

Text

Magic Trick—A Good Omens Secret Santa Gift Fic

This is my belated GO Secret Santa gift for @hardly-functioning-morals! I’m sorry it’s late, but hope you like it!

Sorry about the odd formatting; I had to post this on mobile, and it came out a bit wonky. I expect I’ll cross post this to AO3 once I have a chance, and clean it up. My account there is bastet_in_april.

***

Magic Trick

by bastet_in_april (ditherwings), for hardly-functioning-morals

Aziraphale had always developed fascinations for peculiarly specific bits of human culture, and Crowley usually enjoyed indulging even the ones that he found a bit odd. What was the draw in Regency-period silver snuff boxes, for instance? It wasn’t as though Aziraphale had any particular use for them--he didn’t use snuff, and so had no reason to wish for a dainty container as a means to carry the stuff about in a pocket. Crowley saw little interest in collecting ancient leather-bound first editions with cracked spines and dusty pages, either. He didn’t read, he liked to insist, and, if that was a lie, then surely glossy coffee table books full of remarkable photos were more his style.

Still, Crowley loved to indulge Aziraphale’s fascinations. He enjoyed the excitement on his face as he examined a new find for his bookshop, turning the pages carefully with gloved hands. He loved the surprise on Aziraphale’s face when Crowley present him with a beautifully engraved little snuffbox, with mother-of-pearl inlay. He loved the way Aziraphale would expound on the delights of a new patisserie shop, and the way his eyes would roll up ever so slightly at the ecstasy of a perfectly prepared piece of nigirizushi.

Stage magic, though, was where Crowley drew the line.

It had happened while Crowley was asleep. In 1871, an up-and-coming stage magician named Alexander Herrmann parted ways with his brother Carl, in order to establish his reputation via a solo act. While Carl continued to tour Europe, Alexander headed for London.

In 1871, Aziraphale was still an angry, terrified recluse. It had been nine years since his fateful meeting with Crowley in St. James’s Park. He hadn’t seen Crowley since their argument, and he wasn’t sure whether he was more likely to dissolve into tears or shouting if he saw Crowley again, or, frighteningly, if he didn’t. So he stayed in his shop, fretfully conditioning old leather bindings and being increasingly curt with the few customers who dared cross the shop’s threshold. Perhaps the neighborhood noticed. Perhaps it was a concerned neighbor who thought that odd Mr. Fell really ought to get out of that dusty old shop more often who slipped the advertisement under the shop’s door. Perhaps it was simply a paperboy who’d been paid a bit extra to distribute the fliers. Perhaps it was chance. Perhaps it was ineffable.

Regardless, Aziraphale picked up the flier and was charmed and arrested by the image of the thin man with the goatee and curling mustache, dressed smartly in a black tailcoat and brandishing a magic wand. “Herrmann the Great!” it proclaimed. “Master of the Magical Arts! Now Performing at the Egyptian Hall!” The man was surrounded by whirling petals, playing cards, and doves in flight, and comically outlandish cartoon demons peered from the edges of the playbill to marvel at the magician.

Helpless, Aziraphale’s first thought was that this was exactly the sort of show Crowley would love--a perfect chance to see humanity’s remarkable capacity for imagination at work, while the demon snarked and snickered into his hand at the feats of “magic,” from where he sprawled into his seat. Aziraphale crushed that thought down into something small and sad, like a crumpled ball of paper, and tucked it neatly away. He took a deep breath. There was no reason not to attend the show on his own. He couldn’t hide in his shop forever, as the world continued to move around him. And perhaps Crowley would have the same thought, and Aziraphale might yet see him in the crowd at the Egyptian Hall, heckling the performer and downing expensive wine.

So it was that Aziraphale found himself in a packed theater, its ceiling bedecked with pseudo-Egyptian frescoes complete with strings of artistic renderings of hieroglyphic text (having resided in Egypt for a time during the Ramesside period, and categorically unable to resist reading anything with words on it, if it was within view, Aziraphale was rather bemused to find that the hieroglyphs on the column to the left of him read, “your mother keeps house with water buffalo, and your father smells of lotus root”). Aziraphale was disappointed not to spot a familiar shock of red hair, or a distinctively sauntering gait, amongst the theatergoers.

The crowd buzzed with excitement as Herrmann took the stage, looking theatrically dapper in a tailcoat and tophat, and slightly malevolent, with his goatee and curled moustache like a villain from a penny dreadful. He produced a deck of cards, seemingly from thin air, fanning them out in flourishes, conjuring them from audience members’ pockets, and then turning them into an explosion of colorful ribbons that streamed through the air. Aziraphale felt himself get drawn into the show, as pieces of set dressing--grand fruit trees, ruby-colored lamps, even a burbling fountain--appeared in puffs of incense-scented purple or green smoke. The crowd gasped in wonder or shock, as Herrmann unveiled each new wonder. He produced a dove from a woman’s evening glove, making her laugh with delight. To the surprise of the crowd a rabbit leaped from his tophat, after he tapped it twice with his wand. The onlookers erupted into delighted laughter, as the conjurer tried and failed to convince it to return to his hat, finally turning it into a monogrammed handkerchief, instead. Aziraphale marvelled quietly at the ingenuity of humans, to create miracles of their own. This was so different from the times he had witnessed angelic miracles being performed before crowds of humans. That had been a thing of terror, each witnessing mortal made small and helpless before the gaze of Michael or Gabriel. The magician, conjuring marvels and wielding powers the crowd did not comprehend, instead welcomed them into the experience with humor and charm, sharing the wonder of it with them, and delighting in their reactions.

Aziraphale thought again of Crowley, and bit his lip.

The magician waded a bit further into the crowd, pulling a shiny coin from behind a boy’s ear, and offering him the prize. He paused before Aziraphale, and doffed his silk top hat, offering it to Aziraphale, “You, good sir! Look into my hat! Can you confirm for the crowd that it is empty?” Aziraphale stood, peering into the hat, before agreeing for the rest of the audience that it was empty, and an ordinary hat, as far as he could perceive. “Thank you! Now I see by the lines of care and worry upon your brow that something troubles you, so I have the spirits to deliver a wonder to set your heart at ease. The imps and spectres have told me that what you fear shall not come to pass! Now, reach into this empty hat, and see the wonder the demon has delivered as a sign!”

Aziraphale reached into the silk hat, and felt his hand close around a smooth, round shape. He pulled forth a perfect, shining red apple.

***

Mrs. and Mr. Device were celebrating their anniversary by going on a short trip to the seaside, and needed a babysitter to look after six-year-old Magrat. Adam and the Them had each been given due consideration as potential sitters, but it was nearing end-of-term at school, and university applications and exams were making the teens look increasingly unglued. While Madame Tracey might be trusted with a small child, both parents agreed that Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell (retired) was a last resort, only in case of impending apocalypse, option. So, after some deliberation, and after Anathema’s cousin had begged off due to plans involving concert tickets, the professional descendant (retired) and witch (current) rang up Crowley’s mobile.

Crowley always sounded hunted when he answered his mobile, as if he were a bit worried about whose voice might be on the other, but was pretending at nonchalance. “Yeah, who’s this?” he asked. “Anathema Device,” Anathema answered.

“Book Girl!” Crowley exclaimed, relaxing. He’d attended her wedding, and known her for years, but some nicknames stuck. She rolled her eyes.

“Are you and Aziraphale free on Thursday evening? Newt and I are going on a day trip, and need someone to look after Magrat while we’re away.”

“And you thought you’d ask a demon to babysit?”

“I thought I’d ask my friend. Don’t pretend you don’t adore babysitting her. She told me that you read her stories, last time, and did all the voices.”

“What can I say, she’s a little hellion. What’s not to love?” Crowley hummed thoughtfully. “Give me a moment.” There was a pause in which Anathema could hear Crowley having a murmured conversation with Aziraphale, before Crowley lifted the mobile again, voice coming through clear and audible. “Sure, we can take her for the day. You two kids go have some fun.”

Anathema breathed a soft exhalation of relief. Promise secured, she began to let Crowley know exactly what he was in for.

***

Magrat Device did not want a babysitter. She was very certain that she should be allowed to stay up late on her own, thank you very much. She knew how to work a microwave, and had her parents on speed dial, and wouldn’t eat ice cream for dinner (honest!).

Her parents disagreed, which was why Crowley and Aziraphale were currently poring over a takeout menu, on her parents’ couch, trying to determine what one might order in to feed a six year old.

Anathema and Newt had named their daughter Magrat because Anathema knew the value, to a growing child, of being able to read one’s name in a book. Newt was pleased that this book, at least, while full of witches, fools, kings, and mistaken identity, did not involve an apocalypse.

It wasn’t that Magrat didn’t like spending time with Crowley and Aziraphale. The last time they had babysat her, they had gone to the park and Aziraphale had showed her how to feed the ducks, and Crowley had gotten her an ice cream, and then they had gone home and read from her favorite book--the one that had her name in it. But, the thing was, that had been when Magrat was five. Now, Magrat was six, and that was different. Six was grown up. Six year olds didn’t need babysitters, because six year olds weren’t babies.

“What would you like to eat, dear girl?” Aziraphale asked. “Is a curry too spicy? Or would you like some of the smoked trout and quiche from that lovely little cafe down the street.”

Magrat scowled, shoulders hunched up near her ears. “I don’t want anything to eat.”

“You’re a growing child. Can’t you try to eat something?” The angel looked pleadingly at her. “It’s alright if you don’t finish it, but I shouldn’t like to think of you going hungry.”

Magrat shook her head stubbornly.

“Tell you what,” Crowley said. “How about we order a sampler of a few things, and if anything piques your interest, you can try some of it. If not? Well, we’ll just leave the leftovers for your parents--save them having to cook tomorrow.”

When the takeaway arrived, it smelled enticingly of saffron, spices, butter, and fresh bread. Magrat stubbornly turned away, even as her stomach growled.

“Right,” Crowley decided, clapping his hands and straightening up out of his artful sprawl. “I know you don’t want to be babysat. Why would you? You aren’t a baby, and babysitting just sounds a bit demeaning. Or painful. The thing is, though, we aren’t just your babysitters, Magrat.” He tilted his head down to meet her hazel-colored eyes. She could just catch a glimpse of his bright yellow ones beneath the dark lenses of the sunglasses. “You’re a witch, so we’re your magic babysitters. Like when Hagrid took Harry Potter to Diagon Alley for school supplies.”

Magrat came slowly out of her slouch, considering this. “You’re not magic, though,” she argued. “Not like wizards, or witches, anyway. You’re an angel and a demon. You don’t have magic wands, or pointy hats, or cauldrons. You don’t pull rabbits out of hats. You might as well just be boring old regular babysitters, like Wensleydale or Auntie Sue.”

Aziraphale perked up, looking triumphant. “Oh, you think so, do you?” he asked. “Find me a hat, my dear, and we shall see!”

Crowley groaned. “Oh, angel, please not that. If she wants a rabbit, just miracle one up! Don’t you remember what happened last time? This is going to end in cream cake stains and tears--mostly mine--you mark my words.”

Aziraphale smiled serenely. “Nonsense, my dear. Now, Magrat, a hat, please?”

Magrat pulled a baseball cap from where it had been tossed onto the end of one of the umbrellas in the stand by the door. “It’s not the right kind,” she said.

“Oh, any hat will do. Now, I want you to check that it’s empty.” Magrat reached into the hat, feeling only the canvas material it was made from. “It’s empty,” she confirmed, interested in spite of herself.

“Right, now I need a magic wand.” Aziraphale looked around himself, as if expecting one might conveniently appear. It didn’t, so Azirphale snatched up a fork from the bag of takeaway on the table. He puffed out his chest, and cleared his throat theatrically. “Abracadabra expecto patronum bibbity bobbity expelliarmus!” The angel tapped the slightly rumpled baseball cap three times with his magic fork, and then picked it up and put it on his head. He wiggled his fingers, his eyes theatrically wide.

Magrat leaned forward, despite herself. Crowley covered his face with his hand.

With a dramatic, “Ta da!” Aziraphale whipped the cap off of his head and presented it to his audience. “One rabbit, as ordered!”

There was a pause. Aziraphale looked into the still-empty hat with bewilderment. Magrat and Crowley, however, were unable to tear their eyes away from the furry, bewhiskered little bunny rabbit that was perched comfortably amidst Aziraphale’s fluffy curls. His little pink nose twitched.

Slowly, Aziraphale’s eyes turned upwards towards his hairline, and he yelped, and made a grab for the rabbit, which leapt off of his head acrobatically and right onto the table, upturning the dish of eclairs, sending them flying through the air.

“What did I tell you?” Crowley asked, snapping his fingers. The eclairs settled back onto the plate on the table. And the rabbit was rather confused, but ultimately pleased, to suddenly find itself in the middle of a heavily guarded and carefully fortified garden of prize-winning vegetables (inciting wrath and suspicion of sabotage in the gardener, when he discovered the ensuing damage).

“Mmphghhahaha,” a peculiar half-strangled noise escaped Magrat’s mouth, like the first bit of water springing through the crack in a dam, presaging the deluge. She laughed until she had tears running down her face. Aziraphale, his face softening from bewildered shock to delight and fondness, laughed with her. Crowley, despite himself, let go of his second-hand embarrassment to join them.

The real magic trick, Aziraphale would explain to Crowley after the angel, the demon, and Magrat had finished their dinner, and demolished a respectable number of chocolate eclairs, was not pulling the rabbit from the hat. The real magic was surprise, wonder, and laughter.

#good omens #fanfiction #good omens fic #GoodOmensSecretSanta #aziraphale #crowley #stage magic #ineffable babysitters

36 notes · View notes

patricianandclerk · 5 years ago

Text

Efforts Made

Aziraphale wants something more... exotic.

With good humour, Crowley is happy to oblige.

(Tentacles!)

Crowley watched Aziraphale, a slight smile tugging at his lips, as the angel fidgeted in his place. He wasn’t looking at Crowley’s face – he often avoided meeting Crowley’s gaze, when Crowley had scored a point on him, or was about to. “No, no, angel,” Crowley said, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice, “say it again.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Sure you did,” Crowley said. “You’re spoilt, angel, that’s what you are.”

“I am not!” Aziraphale said, his hands clenching into lovely little fists, and Crowley leaned back on Aziraphale’s desk, swinging his legs idly in their place. “I just think that it would be— it would be nice, that’s all, for you to experiment with your… your effort a little more, given that you think it’s so important to—”

“You mean you want my cock, my beautifully, carefully crafted cock, to be bigger for your greedy little cunt?” Crowley asked. “You want me to stuff you with it? No sense of subtlety, have you?”

Aziraphale shivered.

Crowley grinned, his teeth showing. “Or, sweetheart, do you want me to give myself a cunt for you? Make it nice and tight? So that I can take you in and you can really, really feel me squeezing you? That it?” No, he can read in Aziraphale’s reaction – it was a bigger cock he wanted, and it’s just… Oh, but it’s funny when Aziraphale gets greedy. It’s cute.

“Crowley—”

“No, no, angel, I’m sorry, I really am sorry that I’ve not given you an exotic enough experience!” Crowley said, although he was beaming wildly, and could hardly contain his joy, even as he vanished his trousers. It was… nice, being able to tease Aziraphale about these things, and for all the angel’s flustered indignation, he did like it, Crowley thought, to be teased, when he was… Well, for lack of a better word, when he was bratty. “How can I tickle your fancy today, darling?”

“Crowley—”

“Something snakeish?” Crowley asked, and snapped his fingers. Aziraphale stared between Crowley’s artfully spread legs – he had a most infuriating habit of doing nearly everything artfully. “These are hemipenes! Like ‘em?” Crowley snapped his fingers again, and Aziraphale frowned at the resulting… thing. “This is a cloaca. Ooh, or— What about a knot, hm, if you’re so keen to be filled up, like wolves have?” Another snap, and Aziraphale stared at the thick bulb at the base of Crowley’s usually graceful cock… He wasn’t entirely sure how— “Oh, I know, what about spines? Very fashionable with those stray cats you keep feeding.” Another snap.

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, looking at the instrument in question. Most unappetising. “Well, Crowley,” he muttered. “Now you’re just being silly.”

“Oh, now I’m being silly?” Crowley asked, laughing. “Well, why stay on Earth at all? Here, angel, let’s take a quick trip out of the solar system…” Another snap. “How’s that?”

Aziraphale stared. His cheeks turned very, very red. His tongue wet his lower lip.

Heat pooled in Crowley’s belly, and his grin widened. “Oh, angel.”

“Is that—” Aziraphale asked, squirming slightly. He’d… Not that he’d entirely been joking, because he’d certainly been interested in Crowley making his effort— Not permanently bigger, but certainly a little bigger, just for a night, but this, this was… “Is that… real?”

“Oh, they’re real,” Crowley purred. “C’mere.”

Aziraphale moved too quickly for deniability to be an option, and Crowley chuckled at how quickly he moved out of his chair. They were in the back room of the shop, and it was the middle of the night, but they really ought to bed, if they were going to…

“They have these all around Alpha Centauri,” Crowley murmured, tipping Aziraphale’s chin up so that Aziraphale would look him in the eyes, and Aziraphale inhaled. “Dominant species is called Curanys, I think… You want to touch?”

“Which—” Aziraphale looked down, and he licked his lips without even thinking about it. “Which part is… inserted?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Crowley murmured. “The whole thing.”

Aziraphale’s voice raised by several notes as he repeated, somewhere between horrified and full to the brim with lust, “The whole thing?”

They were tentacles.

It was like a bouquet of them – a thatch, Crowley had corrected him, amused – and Aziraphale pressed a little harder on Crowley’s thighs, spreading them apart so that he could get a better look. They were glossy and shifting in their place, red and black, and two of them in the centre were a good deal thicker than the rest, each a little thinner – and only a little thinner – than Crowley’s cock. Some of the others were longer, thinner, surrounding the central duo, and then dotted about were the shorter ones, only a few inches long.

“These,” Crowley murmured, drawing Aziraphale’s hand closer by the wrist, and the two large ones grabbed at him, sliding over his hand and squeezing. Aziraphale gasped, feeling the strange, slick warmth, the astonishing mobility of them, “are the… In English, let’s say the pointers. They’re kinda like cocks, but the…” Crowley paused, rather let down by the English language, and not grasping for better alternatives in other languages either. Eventually, he said, “fertilising fluid.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, deadpan, “I shall go mad with lust, if the dirty talk will linger at this standard.”

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley murmured, and pulled Aziraphale’s hand closer, into the thatch of tentacles, and Aziraphale moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as some of the longer tentacles curled around his hand, leaving in their wake a hot, tight sensation that sent shocks of pleasure up his arm. “These ones are loaded with a pretty potent pleasure chemical. Feel nice?”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale hummed, nodding hurriedly, and his breath hitched in his throat. “And the others?”

“Do the same as spines, or a flared base. They spread outward, keep you buried in your partner.” The tentacles squeezed, and Aziraphale looked wide-eyed to Crowley’s smirking expression. “Stops you from getting away, angel.”

Aziraphale whimpered.

“You want it?”

Aziraphale was nodding his head, eagerly and full of want, and Crowley pulled the angel up into his lap, but he didn’t position him. He let Aziraphale position himself, and he watched hungrily as Aziraphale’s cunt twitched, his clit jumping… He was wet, had been hot and eager since he’d first seen the things downstairs, greedy little thing that it was, always desperate for something more satisfying to be crammed into it…

Crowley’s central tentacles strained up to meet him, and Aziraphale shuddered out a gasp as their rounded tips pressed right up against his entrance. Crowley hummed, feeling how wet the angel was, how slick and eager… And then they pressed further in, and Aziraphale lowered himself a little.

“How’s it feel?” Crowley asked, watching greedily as Aziraphale’s cunt eagerly swallowed him in. He felt glorious, and like this, he could stroke along the inside of his walls, feel for the little ridges and shifts inside him, press like so and watch the angel’s back arch, hear him whine.

“Different,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley playfully smacked his arse, the shift of his palm sudden and sharp against the rounded flesh, and Aziraphale yelped, his knees buckling. Crowley hissed his pleasure as Aziraphale fell against him, and Crowley’s thatch shifted quickly to cram inside of him, each tentacle moving fast to get into that tight, wet heat—

And Aziraphale wailed.

It was all—

It was a lot.

The tentacles pressed together to work their way into him, but then they bloomed outward like a flower, pressing thick and heavy against his walls as they writhed within him, and those glorious outer tentacles were sending the most decadent, delicious shocks of pleasure up his spine, seeming to pour hot honey into his very core. He whimpered as the little, curved ones spread outward, locking he and Crowley together, and experimentally, he tried to pull back—

And oh, the tug!

“Greedy,” Crowley murmured, pulling him closer, and his thumb dragged over Aziraphale’s clit, pressing on it and playing it back and forth over the pubic bone, delighting in the way that Aziraphale jerked and jumped, even as it pulled on the thatch of tentacles stuffing him full. “Aren’t you, darling? You’re hungry all the time, and you’re hungry here, too, desperate to be full up—”

Aziraphale moaned, his hands clumsily grabbing at Crowley’s chest as he did his best to work his hips down against him, his orgasm building up so quickly, so quickly—

“We can have a tour around ever genital configuration you want,” Crowley said, and he smacked Aziraphale’s arse again, making him yelp.

“Crowley, you’re— Ah, dreadful—”

“Dreadful? I’m dreadful?” Crowley asked, tone hurt, and then one of his tentacles, one that must have evaded the rest, slid up behind Aziraphale’s cunt, slipping into his arse in one smooth movement. Heat spread through him, and he yowled, his nails digging into Crowley’s chest as his orgasm overtook him all at once, Crowley’s thumb playing at his clit, all those tentacles stuffed in him, oh, oh—!

And the face he made. Oh, the face, the look of ecstasy, the closed tight eyes, the perfect O of that plump mouth, yes, yes, Crowley could fuck Aziraphale like this forever, so long as he could see more of that face…

Aziraphale rode it through, and Crowley leaned in, pressing a kiss to each of his tits, his tongue flicking over Aziraphale’s pink nipples, and he watched Aziraphale groan. “If I’m going to be exotic for you,” Crowley murmured, “you can only return the favour. I want to see these fat and plump and ripe, angel, get me drunk on something other than wine—”

“Oh, you beast!” Aziraphale protested, but the slap against his chest was half-hearted, and Crowley could see the interest in his eyes, and Crowley watched him adjust his position, pressing himself more solidly against Crowley’s thatch. “M— More…?”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley murmured, rolling them over and pinning the angel beneath him, taking great pleasure in the way he tipped back his head, inviting Crowley to bite his neck, “I’ll give you as much as you want.”

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale mumbled, his eyes fluttering closed as Crowley thrust within him, “I may well ask for everything…”

“I might just give it to you,” Crowley whispered in his ear, and began biting marks into the angel’s skin.

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

#as defined by dictionary #gabriel #aziraphale #good omens #fanfic #this is silly but!#fun!

81 notes · View notes

dolphin-bouillabaisse · 5 years ago

Text

GO-ctober prompts, 5

Inktober except without the ink, and with drabbles instead.

Prompt #5 - Build

(previous | next | beginning)

(find it all on Ao3)

(Note: Build - Create - it’s all relative, isn’t it? I gotta find some wriggle room for these prompts from time to time, right?)

Demons were not creators.

They were destroyers, that was more their style, raging destruction and disaster in the world. Not making things, inventing, breathing life into newfound creations. That was angel work. (Or it had been, back when things were being created, six thousand years ago and before. By now, even Upstairs was not really involved with anything close to 'creation' anymore, but at least closer to it than demons were.)

Nevertheless, Demons did not create.

Then again, Crowley had never given much of a shit about what demons did or did not supposedly do.

Crowley was good at creating. It might hint back to his former profession, of which he'd told Aziraphale only once or twice, under the influence of far more alcohol than a human would've been able to digest, but was barely enough to let a demon who'd spent the past few millenia closing up and hiding finally open up just a little.

Most of all, though, it spoke of his intense imagination (yet another very un-demonic thing, to be honest, but again – Crowley didn't care. As stated before).

He'd created an awful lot of things over the many centuries. Even at the beginning of it all, he'd snuck the strangest looking creatures into the garden when the guardians didn't look his way – Aziraphale would stumble over them while taking his tours, and look at the little things shuffling about, something always a bit off about their markings or their eyes or the way they moved, but beautiful and fascinating nonetheless. Six thousand years later, and he was still trying to figure out which were just from some poor angel having a bad day, and which were from Crowley.

“The platypus, really? That one's almost a bit too on the nose, don't you think?

“Yeah, I admit, that was mostly stuck together from random parts I had left. You know, nose and tail and webbed feet and some fur. Turned out pretty funny though, didn't it?”

“I suppose. Poor thing.”

“Hey, I gave it venom at least. That counts for something, right?”

He'd spent the early years of humanity's growth learning their various crafts, turning his imagination towards everything and anything that meant creating new things. From stone to clay to metal to fabric to paint to gemstones, there was nothing he couldn't make something out of. When the Renaissance finally came around, Aziraphale saw the demon happier than he'd ever seen him before. He turned his attention to everything at once – in true Renaissance fashion – and Aziraphale's lodgings were filled with sculptures and paintings almost as much as any of the palazzos they found themselves in as guests. When Aziraphale's own guests became too interested, Crowley's name close to becoming famous (not exactly a thing he'd get a commendation from Downstairs for, both of them suspected), the demon turned his imagination towards the more supporting role of a muse.

“You can't give him that! Humans aren't supposed to invent these things for at least another- where did you get these plans from anyway?! Did you steal them?” “Oh come off it – he's not gonna be able to build any of it properly anyway – I just wanna see what he'll do with it. The guy's bloody brilliant!” “Can't you stick to being a bad influence with his art, instead? Or his social life? Do you have to give him- do the humans really need more war machines?”

“He's already better than me at painting and sculpting. How much more do you want? And he's got the strange private life done all on his own, that wasn't my doing. C'mon, angel. Don't you wanna see a helicopter crash at least once, before they do them right in a few hundred years?”

He'd stopped sharing his creations with Aziraphale at some point – when exactly, he couldn't remember. It had all become a bit icky, seeing the angel stare lovingly at a statue that maybe had just a bit too much fluff in its golden curls, or smile at the soft curves of a pencil study that would've turned into a full painting if the angel had only sat still for a little while longer, or stroke reverently over dark satin and linens and comment on how lovely it would look on Crowley when the job from Downstairs called for a more feminine tempter again. It was a sweet mixture of joy and pain, seeing Aziraphale so enamored with his creations. It was not something he could stand for too long without the pain overtaking, unfortunately. He couldn't imagine how it would feel to see him reading one of his poems. He didn't dare.

“Really, Crowley, you just have to give this one a try. The boy is nothing but brilliant. Oh, the stories he can think of-”

“Thanks, but no thanks. You know I don't do the whole book thing, that's yours. I don't read.”

“Ah but that's the brilliant part! It's a play! And I was wondering- I mean, that is- next friday is the premiere, and dear Oscar has given me tickets, but I wouldn't know who- he was very insistent I come-”

“Oh please, like he's expecting you to come with someone, you know damn well he's just trying to get into your-”

“Crowley!”

“Fine. Alright. One play, if only to keep you from succumbing to his temptations. That'd be something now, wouldn't it? Thousands of years working with a demon, and you fall for some human making pretty eyes at you.”

Nowadays, in the calm times after Armageddon't, he'd turned towards smaller creations. The garden of their cottage was filled to the brim with his ideas quickly turned into reality, from raised vegetable beds housing plants that shouldn't be able to withstand English weather to a shed that was far bigger on the inside to a proper little picnic area complete with stone-encircled campfire that never seemed to burn out. The flowerbeds were a work of art, and so was the conservatory. While Aziraphale had finally found his own interest in creations in the kitchen, Crowley had turned their garden into his very own Eden again (safe for the weird little creatures he'd made back then, as he didn't think it would look to good on the protocol of either Heaven or Hell if some new animal showed up in the north of England of all places). And this time, no one would be banished from it (as long as they behaved).

“Adam called to say he might drop by for a visit next weekend with the rest of his friends. Apparently school will be out by then.”

“At least he's giving us a warning beforehand this time.”

“He said you were expecting him. That you were planning something in the garden?” “Oh damn, right. Didn't think he'd remember that. We were talking about putting up a treehouse, cause his parents won't let him have one. They think he'll try to sleep up there, or cause some kind of trouble with the other kids. Wouldn't put it past him, to be honest.”

“A treehouse? Where would you put a treehouse here?”

“The tree back at the wall should be sturdy enough to hold it, with a bit of occult help.”

“Really, Crowley. You're really building a fort for the Anti-Christ in an apple tree?”

It took a while, and a lot of courage, to share his creations again. Aziraphale had ooh-ed and aah-ed over anything new popping up in the garden, and spent a considerably long time reading between the flowers in the conservatory instead of his library, but Crowley still wasn't sure if he should let him see the new sketches he'd begun. Show him the warm tones of a study of hands, holding a book like a relict. The lines of a soft body hidden under even softer sheets, the precise colouring of the light dancing over porcelain skin and golden hair. None if it was as beautiful as the smile on the angel's lips, though, as he carefully leafed through the pages of the small sketchbook he'd found on Crowley's nightstand, opened only after asking for permission. Crowley was glad he'd been to groggy from waking up, too distracted by the joy of warmth and scent and sight of his angel next to him in bed, to say no.

“Oh my dear, these are wonderful. Just wonderful.”

“S'just sketches.”

“I really missed your art. Do you remember those little figurines you made back in Spain? And that shawl you gave me for the dauphin's ball, oh my heart, I have it somewhere in the back of the closet. Do you still have your drawings? I must've kept some sketches-”

“Got some leftovers. Back with the stuff from Leonardo. I think. If you wanna see them.”

“I do. We could frame some of them, put them in the study.”

“Don't think we should frame the new ones, though. For the bedroom, maybe.”

“They're not- I see what you mean, but it's not really too erotic, isn't it- more romantic, I know you don't like that word, but really, the way you've drawn these-”

“Angel.”

“Yes?”

“Would you-

Would you like to read one of my poems?”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #my writing #october prompts #prompts

17 notes · View notes

the--blackdahlia · 6 years ago

Text

The Day the Music Died Chapter 9

Title: The Day the Music Died Chapter 9

Summary: In 1959, a plane crash tragically took the lives of three musicians and their pilot. But the mysterious circumstances send the Winchester brothers on an adventure. Now they have a mystery to solve…before one of them joins the other three.

Warnings: None that I can think of

Present

It was a demon. A demon had sent Sam back in time somehow. Dean didn’t even know that demons had that kind of power. Unless it was a very old and very pissed off demon, and Dean knew the perfect one for that. Well, he knew several, but most, if not all of them were dead. Except for one.

Crowley.

He was sure that the self proclaimed King of Hell would be petty enough to hold on to the spirit of a teenage boy who was a victim of circumstance. The only thing he didn’t know was why he would do that. There was more to the story than he knew and he needed to get to the bottom of it. And he needed Cas to answer his freakin’ calls already!

There were all kinds of things that Dean was looking into. Could Ritchie have made a demon deal? Could he have pissed off the wrong demon? Wrong place at wrong time? Considering that Ritchie was only 17 when he died, Dean found it hard to believe that the demon deal was the right path, considering that most of them were 10 year deals and Crowley wasn’t that much of a heartless bastard.

“God, where is Sam when I need him?” Dean asked, looking over at the chair Sam would have been sitting in. It’s not that Dean minded doing the research, it’s just Sam loved doing it and he would much rather Sam be there.

“Dean.” A voice said behind him. Dean jumped up, ready to shoot, when he saw Cas standing there.

“Son of a bitch.” He growled, laying his gun on the table. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I’ve been busy.” Cas explained. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah well I think we’ve got things that are a little more important right now.” Dean said. Cas looked around the room.

“Where’s Sam?” He asked. Dean laughed.

“Sam is in the 1950’s because of a demon that is holding a ghost hostage.” Dean explained, making Cas look at him like he was crazy. “And I’ve been calling you so you could go back there and get him, because he’s going to die in a plane crash.”

“How do you know that?” Cas asked. Dean turned the laptop around to show the news article, listening Sam as one of the dead. “Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?” Dean asked. “Go back there and get him!” Cas closed his eyes, trying to hone in on Sam’s soul so he could pull him out, but everytime he thought he got close, he was pushed away. “Why are you still here?”

“I can’t get to him.” Cas said.

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Dean asked.

“I can’t.” Cas said again. “I’m trying, but it’s like something is blocking me from getting to him.”

“How can something be blocking you?” Dean asked. Cas just shrugged. “Oh for the love of god…”

“You said it was a demon, right?” Cas asked. Dean nodded. “Well, maybe that’s what’s blocking me.”

“Can you sense if it’s Crowley?” Dean asked. Cas closed his eyes and tried to focus. But he wasn’t getting any readings on Crowley. He could get snippets of a demon lurking around, but he couldn’t find him. And it sure wasn’t Crowley. Crowley loved to show off.

“It’s not him.” Cas said. “Whoever it is, they’re old. And powerful.” Dean nodded, ready to just get sent back to the 1950’s when there was a knock on the door. Dean slowly made his way over, gun at the ready. Cas had his blade if he needed it. Dean slowly opened the door and relaxed, opening the door.

“Dean.” Maria said, standing there. “You’d be a hard man to track down if Sam hadn’t told me where you’d be.” Cas stared at her as she walked in. Maria looked over at him. “Sam didn’t talk about him though.”

“He’s a friend of ours. His name is Cas.” Maria nodded.

“He might have mentioned the name once or twice. I think I heard it...when he was...praying?” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’ve been carrying this around with me since 1959, and now that I’ve finally found you, I thought it was time to give it to you.” She handed Dean a worn out, yellowed envelope. Dean saw his name scrawled on the front in Sam’s all too familiar handwriting.

“You’ve had this since 1959?” He asked, looking up at her. She nodded.

“I’m glad that living in 2013 didn’t dull his letter writing skills any.” She joked. “Well, I guess I should be going now.”

“Thank you Maria.” Dean said. Maria nodded and turned to leave. Cas closed the door behind her then looked at Dean, who was already sitting on the bed, just staring at the envelope. He slowly opened it, seeing a letter and a couple photographs inside. There was one of Sam standing with Buddy, The Big Bopper, Ritchie, and a few other people he didn’t really recognize. He flipped it over and saw all the names listed, including Waylon Jennings, which surprised Dean a little. The other pictures, two of them, were almost the same, just different people. Dean laid them to the side and started to read the letter.

Dean,

If you’re reading this, I probably didn’t make it back. I gave this letter to Maria Holly. Hopefully you’ll get it at a decent time. And if you got this, I’m sure that you got some of the details from Maria. I tried to get back, but nothing worked. I would love to be able to come home. I’d love to be able to save Buddy and all of them, but I know I can’t do that. Ritchie is actually a really nice kid in real life. I wish you could’ve met him before he was a ghost. I think you would love all of them.

I work for Buddy, so I’ll be going on tour with him. Which means I will be there first hand to see him die. After it happens, I’m going to go back to hunting with Waylon. He’s very old school, but he’s cool. And he knows what he’s talking about. Maybe I can teach him about some of the new things that we face around our time.

I wish I knew what sent me back. Maybe you’re having more luck than me. I’ve tried calling to Cas, hoping that some version of him would hear me, but no luck. So I guess I’m going to get to live through the 60’s and 70’s. Maybe I’ll hit up all those concerts that you would love to go to and buy you some shirts. Somehow get them to Bobby or something.

I’ll see you around.

Sammy

Dean looked up at Cas. Cas could see the determination and heartbreak in Dean’s eyes. The letter wasn’t long, but it was enough.

“Find out what it blocking you so I can shoot it.” He growled. “Sammy’s coming home. I’m not letting him die. Not again.”

****

1959

Christmas came and went, and Buddy and Maria treated Sam to a wonderful holiday. Buddy’s family was so welcoming of him too, having heard lots of good things about him from their son over his stay there. It had felt like years since him and Dean had set down and shared a Christmas together. Honestly, it was probably before Dean went to hell. But January came quickly and Sam knew Buddy’s time was drawing to an end.

“Come on Sam. We’re going to be late.” Buddy said as he waited for Sam. They were meeting up with Waylon at the little studio just outside of Lubbock.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Sam called out to him, rushing down the stairs as he slipped his leather jacket on. “This hair stuff is more trouble than it is worth.”

“You know, I have a friend who is a barber…” Buddy suggested, a smile spreading on his face. Sam glared at him.

“I am not cutting my hair.” He said. Buddy just laughed. He loved teasing Sam about his hair. “I thought you said we were going to be late.” Buddy opened the door and motioned for Sam to follow him out to the car. The drive to the studio wasn’t that long and Buddy really just liked to give Sam a hard time.

Sam had learned to play the drums on a few songs, allowing for Carl Bunch to have a few moments to relax. Buddy was making plans to start a band with Sam and Waylon once this dumb tour was over. The Winter Dance Party tour. They would be on the road less than a month but would have 24 shows. Sam wasn’t looking forward to it, and honestly, neither was Buddy. He knew he needed to perform to get money, but something about this tour just seemed off to him. He could tell Maria didn’t want him to go. It was the first time they would be apart for a long time since they had gotten married. He was sure that was it.

The studio had a full parking lot of cars. Sam spied Waylon standing outside of his, smoking. He tossed the butt down and crushed it with his foot when he saw Sam and Buddy pulling in. Buddy parked the car and Sam got out, stretching some as he did. He was used to going long miles in the Impala, because it was like home to him. Buddy’s car wasn’t bad, and it was one of the newer models for the time, but it wasn’t Baby. And it killed his back.

“You guys ready?” Waylon asked, joining the pair as they headed toward the studio. “There’s a lot of energy in here.”

“We’re going to have to meet them sometime.” Buddy said, opening the main front doors. “It’s either now or right when start the tour and are having to share a bus with them.” Sam, Buddy, and Waylon made their way inside. Making their way down the hall, they made their way to the room where their party was waiting for them.

“Well, there you are!” Tommy Allsup saisd, standing from his chair. “Always late.”

“Yeah, but I know how to make an entrance.” Buddy smirked. Tommy and Carl had already met Sam and of course they knew Waylon. Carl was helping Buddy teach Sam some beats, while Tommy pouted that he was upset he didn’t have a backup guitarist.

“It’s nice to meet you finally.” A man said, coming forward to shake his hand. “I’m JP Richardson, but everyone calls me the Big Bopper.” Sam stared with wide eyes as the two musicians shook hands. Another man, one that Sam knew from his own time, came over. He wasn’t as ghostly looking this time though.

“I’m Ritchie.” He said, shaking Buddy’s hand just like JP had. All three of these musicians together was a little surreal. Especially because Sam knew that in about a month, those three would be dead. Sam wanted to save them. He wanted to convince them all to stay on the bus, to not go anywhere near the plane that day. But he knew the consequences of his actions. Maria knew it too. That’s why she had been acting so weird since January hit. It was just a waiting game now.

“Sam.” Waylon said, elbowing the hunter in the side. “You spaced out on me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a big of a headache.” Sam smiled at him. “Was someone talking to me?”

“That’d be me.” JP laughed. A hearty, deep laugh. “Are you going on tour with us? Carl here has been telling us how good of a drummer you are.”

“I’m not that good.” Sam chuckled, a blush started to appear on his checks.

“Sammy here is just modest.” Buddy laughed. “He’s actually pretty good. A few more years of practice and he might be one of the greats. I can’t believe how fast he picked it up.”

“My mama said it was no time before I was just learning instruments. I would pick one up and ‘bam!’, I could master it in about a month.” Ritchie explained.

“How old are you kid?” JP asked, looking Ritchie up and down.

“Seventeen man. The sweet age, as my brother says.” Ritchie explained.

“Dear god, you guys just keep getting younger and younger.” He joked.

“I’m twenty-nine, if that makes you feel any better.” Sam told him. JP smiled.

“Actually, yes it does.” JP smirked. “AT least I’m not the oldest in the room.” Sam just shook his head. “Well, I was under the impression that we were going to play for each other and not just make small talk.

“Wait!” Ritchie said. “I have to get a picture to show my mama.” There was a bit of light teasing, but soon, a Kodak was coming out and the group was all getting together. Sam stood off to the side. “Sam, what are you doing?” Ritchie asked as he got the camera set up.

“Waiting for you guys to get done.” Sam said. JP shook his head.

“Come on, get over here.” He said.

“But…” Sam started to argue.

“Sam, you’re as much apart of this as everyone else.” Buddy said. “Now get over here.” Waylon reached out and grabbed Sam’s hand, pulling him into the group. Once they were settled, Ritchie started the timer and ran to join the group. Once the flash cube went off, he pocketed the camera. He wanted to get it developed before the tour so he could have a fresh roll for the tour, and he could get some pictures sent out to his mom.

“Okay, are we gonna play or not?” JP asked.

“Yeah, yeah, we can play now.” Ritchie laughed. “Who wants to go first?”

“How about the old man goes first?” Buddy teased, since he wasn’t much older than Ritchie. JP glared him down. “What? Afraid you might break a hip?”

“I’ll show you breaking a hip.” JP grumbled as he got set up, ready to play “Chantilly Lace”. Sam set back with Buddy and Ritchie, ready to watch the performance at hand.

Forever Tags: @imboredsueme @aiaranradnay @theas-bedtime-stories @af112992 @dekahg @cutie1365 @marvel-af @bandobsession98 @nanie5 @sammat97 @dslocum89 @i-would-die-for-woodland-demars @newtospnfandom @xxwarhawk @luciathewinchestergirl @tina8009

Supernatural Tags: @essie1876 @smoothdogsgirl @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @sabigmart @jadepc @winchestergeekfreak @winchesterslibrary @atc74 @anathewierdo

The Day the Music Died Tags: @leximus98

#the day the music died #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #buddy holly #ritchie valens #the big bopper #fanfiction #Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki

18 notes · View notes

mythandwords · 7 years ago

Text

31 Days of Spiritual Journaling part two (1 of 2)

6. Make a beginners or field guide for an important element of your practice (stones, weather, herbs, gardening, tarot, camping…)

So, I actually did write a very lengthy blog post about one element of my witchy practice. I am going to copy most of it here because I think it’s pretty useful stuff for the average witch.

Banishment spells are terrific for getting rid of unwanted things, people, or general negativity in your life.

These spells can be done at any time, but if possible, you can do them at the waning or dark moon for added efficacy.

When performing banishing, you must be calm and centered. It does not good to carry your own negative energies into banishment. So, make sure you’re well grounded, calm, centered, and in a good place before performing banishments.

Once you’ve completed a banishing, you will have an empty energetic space left over. Refill the newly created space with positive energy. You can use uplifting music, or visualization, dance or yoga, even a positive sexual act will help refill the space where the negativity was with new, positive energy! This step is often overlooked but it’s best if you can refill the space with positive energy than allow it to remain open for new, negative energy to come in.

Resources:

Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram (disclaimer – I’ve never done this one. It dates back to Alesiter Crowley and the Golden Dawn and isn’t really my style, but I’ve included it because it is a very well-known one. And if it’s your cup of tea, I say give it a try and let me know your results)

http://www.sacred-texts.com/bos/bos026.htm

Fire Banishing:

This simple banishment is perfect if you’re short on time.

Materials needed:

slip of paper

pen

fireproof surface or bowl

lighter or matches

To Work the Spell:

Write down what you’re banishing on the paper – the name of a person, or spirit or the negative energy you wish to remove (negative self-talk, bad habits, etc.).

Focus on what’s written down, visualize it in your mind as clearly as you can.

Light the paper on fire and drop it in the bowl or on the fireproof surface. As the paper burns, visualize the negativity leaving your life. Then, focus your attention on what your life will look like after the banishing takes effect.

Once the fire is out, dispose of the ashes away from your home. Scatter them into the wind or on the ground or dump them in the trash outside your home.

Use common sense and don’t do this spell on flammable surfaces, in the wind, or anywhere you can’t control the fire or your surroundings.

Candle Banishing:

Another simple banishment, this one takes more time than the fire banishing above.

Materials needed:

black candle

candle holder

lighter or matches

black pepper

salt

a knife for carving

oil (your choice here, you can use essential oils or olive oil or whatever you have at hand)

Sprinkle the salt in a circle around you and your work space. Visualize the salt protecting you during the ritual.

Visualize the target of the banishing spell. Carve your intention into the candle. Again, this can be used for banishing negative energy, a person, or a spirit.

When you’ve finished, anoint the candle with the oil and sprinkle the pepper over it. Put the candle in the holder and light it, speak your intention aloud. You may say your intention once or you may chant while the candle burns.

Allow the candle to burn itself out. Never leave a burning candle unattended. This step may take several hours, depending on the size of the candle you chose to use.

You may carve a line into the candle at the half or third way point up the candle and confine your spell work only to that portion of the candle if need be. If choosing this option, only use this candle for banishing in the future.

Poppet Banishment:

Sympathetic magic can be incredibly useful. It’s versatile and can be used for almost any purpose you can imagine. The use of a poppet has a long history in many different religious practices.

You will need to make a poppet for this banishing spell. A poppet represents a person, so it should resemble one as best you can. Feel free to be as elaborate as you wish here.

You can make your poppet from fabric, clay, wood or just about any other material. I will give you one way to make a poppet from fabric here.

Materials needed:

piece of fabric ( for banishing black is good, or something with a print like swords or fire)

thread

needle

filling (cotton balls, poly fill, old pantyhose, socks, etc.)

oils, leaves, stones, herbs, etc. to put in the poppet (you can also use something personal of the person you are wishing to banish such as hair or a photo)

Cut out a body shape from two pieces of your fabric – ideally your poppet will have a head, two arms, and two legs, and a torso. You can make your outline before cutting. It only needs to be big enough to stuff later.

Place your two pieces of fabric with the right sides together. Place the pattern (if you made one) on top and cut it out. Leave a little room around the edges for seams when you sew the poppet together. You can use a sewing machine to stitch the poppet but hand-sewing will give you the time to really focus your efforts on the magic. As you sew, visualize the person you are creating. Tell the poppet who it represents, saying something as simple as, “I made you and you are John Doe,” will work. Leave a small, unsewn space for filling the poppet – enough space to stick a couple fingers into the poppet is all you need. Turn the poppet right-side out.

Now you are going to fill the poppet with the filling you chose. You may also add the additional spell components, if you choose to use them – oils or stones or whatever you gathered. The more you can individualize the poppet, the better. Make sure you get the filling into all the crevices of the poppet. Again, as you are stuffing the poppet, tell it who it is.

Once stuffed, sew the hole up. Now are you are ready to decorate and customize the outside of the poppet. You can dress your poppet like the intended, draw any tattoos or distinguishing features onto the poppet if you wish. Add hair from string or yarn or whatever you have at hand. Tell the poppet who it represents as you do this step as well. You can tell the poppet how much you dislike it, and how much better your life would be without the person.

Now that you have your poppet, you can perform a banishing spell on it.

A simple spell is to light a fire beneath the poppet with a candle. The intent is not to burn the poppet up but to single the bottom of the poppet. Tell the poppet that the person it represents is hurrying out of your life. Once done, take the poppet somewhere away from your home and bury it.

7. Engage with the theme of love. What does that mean to you?

Wow love. Romantic love. Familial love. Friendship. Love comes in all shapes and sizes and there is no wrong or right way to feel, find, and enjoy love. Yes, before you give me grief, I know there are toxic people. I know love can be used as abuse. I know all the negative there is in the world. But, this is my forum, my answers to prompts, and my positivity (that hopefully inspires you or makes you feel better). And my desire is to spread good into the world so I’ll be focusing on that. If you want a forum for the other side, I’m happy to oblige that too. Just reach out and we’ll get negative together.

For now, let me take you on a journey about the meaning of love as it relates to my spirituality.

If you look up the definition of love you will find that it talks a lot about attraction, attachment, devotion, and affection. You might even find a reference to loyal and benevolent love as of God’s fatherly concern for humanity.

And those are all good and right ways to define love. Except. Except for that one about loyal and benevolent fatherly concern for humanity. Is it though? Do we assume our gods to be like humans and treat us with fatherly concern? Sure. That’s one way to put a focus on it. And I’ve got no doubt that the gods do love humanity. Because without humanity, what are the gods? Our belief gives them structure in which to work with us. Without our belief they are thunder and lightning, sun and moon, the mundane and the everyday. It is only with the addition of our own belief, our own spirituality, that the gods take shape at all. That does not mean to say they do not exist without our belief, only that they cease to be ‘gods,’ to us and become ‘life.’

It is our love that gods need. Just as it is the acceptance and guidance of the gods that humans need. Love. In both directions. Symbiosis in the most literal, powerful way. We need one another to be spiritually complete. And that’s an amazing way to be. Existence with the divine because the divine need us too. Neat.

8. Take notes on a book, article, video, or guide about something you’d like to do soon.

Gods, this is an easy one. I’ve a bucket list as long as my arm of things I want to do before I die. One of the ones that has popped back to the top of the list lately is to take my family to Iceland. I am a traveler who has been staying put a bit too much of late…just waiting for my kid to be old enough to enjoy some of the places in the world that I adore. And this year, Iceland is top of the list.

I don’t even have to take up a lot of your reading time here on this one. I will just point you to the website I use for my “notes” on the trip: https://www.icelandtours.is/en/

Iceland is amazing. I realize not everyone has the funds to travel, or to travel extensively. But. If you ever find yourself in the position where you can scrape together the money to go…Iceland is just beautiful and the Iceland Tours website has a lot of great options out there for you to do.

9. Did you have experience being pagan/witchy in school? Advice for kids who grow up in a pagan/witchy home?

I was weird in school. I’m sure that comes as a shock to…probably no one who reads my blog, really. I’m still weird in life. Ha. I wasn’t pagan. I was kind of witchy but it was low-key witchy and remained separate from almost everyone at school, save the one or two other kids who were also low-key witchy. So, I was kind of in the broom closet about my witchy side back then. Advice for being kids growing up in a pagan/witchy household…I can give some of that. I’ve got a kid so I feel entitled to speak on it. Hubs is mainstream Christian. I’m (looks at self) whatever this is…hey, I just call it like I see it…anyway. My son rides a line where his father’s religion is out there and socially acceptable…and mom is…weird. I make no secret of what I do, but I also don’t really push my agenda on my kid, if you can get behind that. He is allowed to, and encouraged to, ask questions of both of us about what we believe…and shockingly, he's allowed to formulate his own thoughts on what spirituality and religion mean to him. He is a member of a mainstream church…which we don’t attend. Hubs is lassie-faire about religion and disagrees with some of the teachings of his own religion, so he’s OK with his son asking/questioning/learning about this stuff in a holistic, natural way. My advice to kids in similar situations is to do what my son does…ask, learn, grow at your own pace and in your own way. It’s up to your parents to raise you to be a moral, upstanding member of society who can pull your own weight one day. But that doesn’t mean your parents get to decide what your spirituality will look like for you. They can point you in a direction and hope for the best (whatever that looks like) and they ought to answer questions to help you learn as best they can. I hope you all get the opportunity to do that. Ask. Learn. Grow. That’s my advice for what it’s worth.

10. What are your core values? Challenge yourself to list them and explain your choices. (Need help? Get started by looking at formalized lists like the 9 noble virtues, et.)

Gotta go with the Hávamál for this one to start….then I will digress because not all of the Hávamál isterribly nice to women��but it’s a jumping off point toward a greater understanding of values and morals and ‘right.’

Working my way through the stanzas:

Look before you leap. The Hávamál recommends you look around before you advance through the doorway because you can’t know for sure what enemies are there without checking. So, look before you leap.

2 through 4. Be a good host. Offer hospitality. Food. Clothing. This is an easy one. And, for me, extends beyond the borders of my own home. Making offerings of hospitality should be done whenever and wherever I may find myself. My hospitality might just be standing in solidarity with someone else, or it might be traditional food or drink or a place to rest your weary bones.

5 and 6. Think before you speak. Don’t be so sure of yourself that you end up looking stupid through your assumed knowledge. Really. Good life advice.

#31 days of spiritual journaling #lokean

2 notes · View notes

fonduegames · 8 years ago

Text

The New Girl: Part 2/18

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: (Eventually) Sam x Reader(FEMALE)

Characters: The Reader, Sam Winchester, Charlie Bradbury, Crowley, Lucifer, Dean Winchester, Castiel(mentioned), Ruby(mentioned)

Word Count: 3,008

Warnings: smoking cigarettes, mentions of having drugs, curse words, mentions of death, mentions of Destiel(for the people who don’t ship them), Supernatural AU, canon characters are gonna mostly be ooc

Summary: This is a High School Au of Supernatural. The Reader had a rough past. Her and her three younger siblings have moved to Lawrence, Kansas. They don’t get many new people there, so the Reader has to deal with a lot of attention, even though she’s not supposed to draw attention to herself. What will happen when she gets unwanted attention and somebody finds out?

(A/N: I hope you guys will like this series… This is my first time posting my own work on here and I just want it to be good👌)

Masterlist

Not my Gifs!

The girl turned her head to look at you and she was smiling. “I’m Charlie,” she introduced herself to you. You liked her name and her hair. “I’m Y/N.” You told her. Charlie licked her lips and she whispered quietly to herself, “This shall be fun.”

Charlie pointed at one of the tables as she was speaking and you looked at the table, while she continued speaking, “—is the nerds. Really nice kids, but of course, not the most popular ones.” You nodded once. Charlie pointed at another table and she labeled it as, The Comedians. “They are actually pretty funny, but do not let their jokes fool you. It can get pretty… Intense,” Charlie had told you. You were about to ask what she meant by that, but she was already moving on to the next table.

Charlie labeled more tables, but you didn’t really pay any attention to it; although, when she said jocks, you had to look at where she was pointing at. Sam Winchester was sitting there with his buddies, talking and laughing. You started to wonder what they were talking about. Looking away from the table, you turned your attention back onto Charlie.

“And finally… We have got the drug junkie’s.” Charlie nodded over towards some kids who were sitting/leaning against a wall in the cafeteria and they looked like they would be drug users. You rolled your eyes and then you finally asked Charlie the question, “Where do you usually sit?”

Charlie chuckled softly at your question and she replied with, “Well, I normally sit with the nerds, but sometimes Sam makes me sit with him and his buddies. Honestly, I do not like sitting with them. Mainly because of his girlfriend, Ruby.” You let out a small scoff when she mentioned Sam. There was just something about this boy that you liked, but you knew that it wouldn’t end well if you got too close.

Charlie smirked when she heard you scoff. “If you don’t like his girlfriend, then why do you sit with them?” You asked Charlie. The question was plain and simple, but Charlie looked like you had just asked her the world’s most stupid question. You raised an eyebrow at her and she just smiled widely. “Sam and I have been friends ever since kindergarten,” she had answered your question with a serious tone. “Oh.” You pursed your lips. Charlie just simply nodded.

You looked back at the ‘jocks’ table and you quickly regretted doing that because Sam Winchester was staring right at you. His tongue darted out of his mouth and he licked his lips. It looked like he wanted to come over and talk to you, but that look quickly went away when his girlfriend, Ruby, said something, which caused him to look at her and laugh. You sighed quietly to yourself. Charlie noticed that and she gave you a small side smile. She placed her hand on your back and patted it a couple of times. “Sam’s a real sweet guy, but it’s Ruby who makes him seem like a—”

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” An unfamiliar male voice spoke. The boy had a beautiful British accent. He walked up beside you and you turned your head to look at him. He had short dark hair and he was shorter than most of the boys in the school.

Charlie rolled her eyes and she pulled her hand away from your back. “Really Crowley?” She asked, sounding really annoyed. “Come on Char… We can handle it—her from here,” another boy spoke. You turned around, just to see the other boy. He had blondish hair and he was a good looking kid. Charlie gave you a worried look, but you just smirked.

“I guess… If you need me… You know where to find me,” Charlie informed you. Licking your lips, you just nodded once. The red head walked off towards the nerds table and you watched her, before returning your attention back towards the boys. Crowley looked you up and down, speaking while doing so, “You seem like you could use a smoke.” You raised an eyebrow at him, replying with, “Do I look like I smoke?” It was meant to sound sarcastic. “Yup! Now come on!” The other boy, who you did not know the name of yet, said.

Outside, it was a bit gloomy out. There was barely any sun, but you were 100% okay with that. The boys had lead you to a spot next to the building where there were no windows, nor doors, just a few trees and bushes. Crowley had stuck his hand in a hole that was in one of the trees and he pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. You started to wonder how in the hell these guys had all of this stuff there. It was very illegal, but you were okay with it, as long as you didn’t get caught. You weren’t normally a risk taker, but you were feeling stressed lately.

Crowley handed you the cigarette and he lit it for you. You quietly thanked him and he just winked at you. The other boy sat down on the grass and he was sitting against the wall of the building. Crowley was still standing, but he was leaning against the wall. You tilted your head slightly to the side and you watched them closely. They did not seem harmful at all, but just a little creepy. “So… Kitten. Mind if I call you kitten? Where did you come from?” Crowley had asked you.

You took a long drag of your cigarette and then you blew the smoke into the air. “Last place that I was living in was somewhere in Nebraska,” you answered his question rather quickly. “Nebraska, eh?” The other boy asked you. You just hummed and nodded. “Where are our manners…? I’m Crowley and this is Lucifer,” Crowley introduced himself and the other boy to you. You smirked. “Sounds like your parents are devil worshippers,” you told Lucifer. He just grinned up at you.

“And your name is Y/N,” Lucifer said, still grinning. You raised an eyebrow at him and you seemed a little confused. “How do you know?” You asked. Taking another drag of your cigarette, you sighed. “Everyone is talking about you… If you haven’t noticed, this school is not that big. Neither is the town. The last new kid we got was in second grade,” Crowley explained to you. It made sense. Being the new kid in a small town was gonna draw a lot of attention to you and that is the exact opposite of what you wanted. You had to just started blending in, but that was gonna be hard.

“So everybody’s talkin’ ‘bout me?” You asked. They both nodded. “And about some other students, which I’m assuming are your siblings,” Lucifer added on. He was probably right. You had three younger siblings that were going there as well. It was hard on all of you, moving around a lot and switching schools so much. It did a toll on all of you, but you guys stuck together and were always there for each other.

“Have you gotten a full tour of the school yet?” Crowley asked you. You shook your head. Chuck—Mr. Shurley only showed you a couple of places in the school, but not everywhere. It would be nice for you to learn where everything was. Both boys grinned at you. “You’re coming with us then.” Lucifer told you. His tone of voice sounded commanding and serious. “Won’t we get in trouble?” You asked him. That was a stupid question, considering that you were smoking a cigarette on school property. They both scoffed. “Do you really care about getting in trouble?” Crowley asked.

You thought about his question and you looked down at your hand that was currently holding the cigarette. Scrunching up your nose, you sighed and shook your head, but you were lying. Of course you cared about getting in trouble! Classes were about to start up again because lunch was almost over. You started to think on why you were outside of school, smoking a cigarette with two boys, who you had just met not too long ago. This was a big mistake.

“Do not worry, our dad is the principal,” Lucifer told you. Your eyes went wide and they both raised an eyebrow, but they laughed a little. “Wait! You two are brothers?” You asked, sounding highly confused. They looked nothing alike. How could they possibly be brothers? Then you remembered that some siblings did not look alike, but Crowley had a British accent. This was confusing. “Step brothers,” Crowley added on. Your face turned red with embarrassment. You started freaking out on something so stupid.

The boys were taking you on a tour of the whole school, but before they did that, they got rid of the cigarette and made sure that you didn’t smell like smoke and that they did not either. It was a simple procedure.

“I—We have four older brothers,” Lucifer told you. That made you smile a little. “When Lucifer and I were very young, my mum and his dad met and they got together.. He already had five boys and I made six,” Crowley licked his lips and he looked at you. Nodding a couple of times, you thought about how hard it must’ve been with six boys at once, but then you thought about how you used to live. “How many siblings do you have?” Lucifer asked you curiously.

“Um, a lot, but, uh, some of them—” you swallowed hard before continuing, “—died. I—We lost them in a house fire.” You had lied, but they did not know you well enough to know that you were lying. They both gave you sympathetic looks, but you just ignored the looks. “We are so very sorry,” Crowley told you. When some of your siblings died, you had a hard time talking about it. Of course you did and nobody could ever blame you for that. “I have nine siblings. Four are older and four are younger. I’m in the middle.” You liked being the middle child…sometimes. Most of the time it sucked, but now, you were the oldest in the household.

“That is a lot of siblings.” Lucifer commented. You smiled a little, “I lost three of my older siblings and one of my younger siblings.” Crowley and Lucifer looked at each other and then back at you. “That is very horrible,” Crowley said. You looked at him and you could see in his eyes that he felt bad. “Uh, yeah, after they died… We have been moving around a lot. This is at least my sixth school since the beginning of the year,” you confessed. It was true and it sucked a lot, especially since it was your senior year.

“Well, I hope that this is the last place that you move to,” Lucifer smiled at you and you agreed with him. “Me too. This school seems… Laid back,” you spoke slowly. Crowley and Lucifer both smirked. “So, your siblings… What grades are they in?” Crowley asked you. Thinking about it, you spoke out loud, “10th, 8th, and 6th.” Lucifer gave you a funny look and you chuckled. “Wow,” he said. You just nodded.

“We heard that you had an encounter with Moose,” Crowley said, making you look at him with wide and confused eyes. Who the hell was Moose? “W-What?” You stuttered. You were obviously shocked by what he had said. Lucifer scoffed and then smirked. “He means Sam Winchester… He likes to give people nicknames,” Lucifer explained to you. Okay, now that made a little bit more sense. You giggled a little, thinking about how Sam did look like a moose. It was funny.

“Um, yeah, twice. It was awkward both times,” you pursed your lips while thinking about both encounters with the boy. “I’d watch out for him if I were you,” Crowley warned you. Lucifer shook his head, saying, “No! You want to watch out for his girlfriend, Ruby. She’s a bitch.” Crowley agreed with Lucifer. You looked at both of them and you just nodded. Watch out for Ruby, who you were assuming was the dark haired girl that had thrown a paper ball at Sam and who was sitting next to him at the lunch table.

“Sam’s a good guy though. He deserves better… Or at least that’s what Feathers says,” Crowley said. Feathers? Where does he get these nicknames from? And who was feathers? You scratched the top of your head, looking confused. Turning your head to look at Lucifer, you waited for an explanation.

“He means our older brother Castiel or Cas… Him and Sam’s older brother, Dean… They are dating… Been together for a long time,” Lucifer explained to you. Okay, but what did Dean have to do with Sam and Ruby? You wondered. “It sickens me. They are always together, when they are not working, and they can’t keep their hands off of each other,” Crowley groaned and rolled his eyes. Lucifer chuckled softly and he agreed with him.

“But we are happy that they are happy. Hey, you might even run into Dean. You got gym?” Lucifer looked at you and waited for you to answer. You thought about it and then nodded. “He is the gym teacher,” Crowley told you. Awesome. You nodded again. “Well, we all better get to class—wait! Do you have a phone? Can I see it?” Lucifer asked you.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and handed it to Lucifer. Figuring that he was just gonna give you his number and Crowley’s, you trusted him. He typed in their numbers and then he texted to them. “If you ever need anything, like help with a school project, or drugs… Don’t hesitate to call, or text,” Crowley said. Lucifer handed you your phone back and you chuckled and nodded, but then all three of you were smirking.

“Thanks,” you whispered. They both nodded and walked away.

“So that’s the new girl that everybody has been talking about,” Dean said, looking over at you. Sam licked his lips and he smiled. He watched you socialize with Charlie and a couple of other girls and you were smiling and laughing. When Sam smiled, Dean saw that. It was a smile that he had not seen in awhile, since before he started dating Ruby.

“Yeah… Her name is Y/N,” Sam told his brother, while slowly looking away from you and back at his brother. “I haven’t seen you smile like that since… Since you and Jess were together.” Dean knew that Sam didn’t like it when he brought up Jessica. Sam frowned at the memories and he shook his head a little. They had a good relationship and it was just the best, but then Jess had moved away. A long distance relationship was not gonna work for them.

“Ruby does not make you smile like that,” Dean pointed out. Sam knew that it was true, but he did not care. “You do not know what you are talking about,” Sam scoffed. “You are blind, dude.” Dean rolled his eyes. “What do you know about relationships?” Sam asked his older brother. “I’ve been in a relationship for the past six years, I know a lot,” Dean said.

“But you have been with a guy! I’m not throwing Cas under the bus, but it’s just different. Girls are way more complicated.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. Dean really couldn’t argue with that. “In my opinion, you should break up with Ruby and get together with Y/N,” Dean nodded a couple of times, agreeing with his own opinion.

Sam rolled his eyes, “No way.” It’s not that he wouldn’t like to be with you, but he couldn’t do that to Ruby. He loved her. Dean just shrugged. “Alright class! We are going outside and doing four laps around the track!” Dean told the whole class. Everyone groaned. It wasn’t even nice out, but he was still making them go outside.

Once outside, Dean had pulled you aside. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I speak with you?” He asked you. You nodded once at him and he smiled. Sam glared at his older brother and Dean smirked, which had confused you. “I’m Mr. Winchester,” he introduced himself to you. Dean held his hand out to you so that you could shake it, but instead, you blurted out something, “So you’re Sam’s older brother?” Your eyes had widened when you said that. Dean pulled his hand away and he chuckled softly. Your cheeks were a bright shade of red. “Yeah. Who told you?” He asked you. It didn’t really matter though because you were gonna figure it out soon anyways.

“Crowley and Lucifer. They went on and on about their brother Castiel and you and how Sam shouldn’t be with Ruby. A bunch of drama really,” you shrugged. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but then he quickly closed it. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why would they tell you all about that? “Note to self, talk to those idiots later,” he spoke out loud. You smirked at him, “You really shouldn’t be talking about your students like that.” Dean smirked right back at you.

“Are you gonna tell?” He asked you. “Nope! I’m not a snitch,” you crossed your arms over your chest. A huge grin appeared on Dean’s face. “You are gonna fit right in here,” he told you. A small smile appeared on your face when he said that and then you spoke, “I am hoping so.”

Tags:

@sammy-moo

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural imagine #supernatural #spn #spn imagine #dean winchester #supernatural au #the new girl series #fanfic #fanfiction #sam winchester x you

28 notes · View notes