#uriel what are you doing here…

[quietwingsinthesky]

i do get, probably overly, annoyed at people claiming that castiel’s only reason for rebellion was dean, that dean taught him how to rebel, etc. because that is not what happens in the show and uriel is Right There and if you just ignore the effect his actions, his rebellion, his death had on castiel continuing forward, then you may need to rewatch s4.

[frogeyedape]

I ran out of tags XD Good Omens Spoilers Beware! (time for dinner now)

The Magic Trick You Didn’t See: Being An Analysis of Good Omens Season 2

(or: Neil Gaiman, Your Brain is Gorgeous But I Have Cracked Your Sneaky Little Code And Have You Dead To Rights*) (*Maybe)

***

Soooooo I just spent the last 48 hours having a BREATHTAKING GALAXY BRAIN EPIPHANY about Good Omens Season 2 and feverishly writing a fuckin16,000 word essay about the incredible magic trick that @neil-gaiman pulled off. 

Yes, it’s long, but I PROMISE your brains will explode. Do you want to know how magic works? Do you want to know what Metatron’s deal is (I’m like 99% sure of this and it’s EXTREMELY FUCKING GOOD)? Do you want to know about the Mystery of the Vanishing Eccles Cakes and the big fat beautiful clue I found in the opening credits? Do you go through the whole inventory of Chekov’s Firearm & Heavy Artillery Discount Warehouse? 

Here is the essay, go read it: https://docs.google.com/document/d/193IXS11XN46lziHRb6eUpM17yK0BQkRqke1Wh64A_e0/ When ur done u can tell me I’m an insane crackpot, and u know what, i won’t even be offended

In case you don’t know whether you want to bother reading the whole enormous thing on google docs, I’ve put the first couple sections of it under the cut. JUST TRUST ME OKAY, HEAR ME OUT, THIS IS VERY EXTREMELY COOL, NEIL IS GOOD AT HIS JOB–

Keep reading

[vroomvroomwee]

Crowley is Lucifer

(Ok I know some of you don't believe this theory but I highly suggest you give this a quick read anyway. I tried to make it short and easy and I'll be going chronologically, from s1 all through s2)

- First, let's get this out of the way, Lucifer and Satan aren't neccesarilly the same person. Even in the show the devil that appeared in s1 has only ever been reffered to as Satan, not even once as Lucifer.

- In the bible Lucifer was the one to tempt Eve with the apple, and who do we know that does that in the show. Crowley is literally THE snake from Eden.

- An obvious one perhaps, but the red hair is also a giveaway

- In the bible Jesus was tempted by the devil for 30 days, in the show Crowley says "I showed him all the kingdoms of the world", so that's another role Lucifer has that Crowley had in the show

- It's well known (even mentioned in the Sandman) that Lucifer was the most beautiful of all angels, and our demon is played by no other than David Tennant

Now on to season 2 because there's a LOT to unpack here

- He litterally started the engine of the universe which was one of Lucifers roles

- He's the first to say "let there be light", which is pretty fucking huge since that is Gods line

- "I worked closely with upstairs on it" even in the first scene they're telling us Crowley is an angel of very very high rank

- He fell for asking questions, which is litterally what Lucifer fell for, for questioning God. This in and of itself should be a pretty big indicator. "I only ever asked questions"

- Shax: "a miracle of enourmous power only the mightiest of archangels can perform"

Crowley: "How do you know I didn't do it"

And Shax just... doesn't counter that. She looks even skeptical, as if it COULD be a possibility, unlike Uriel who says to Aziraphale don't excpect us to believe you did it. Shax litterally doesn't shut the option down which confirms Crowley has the power not only of an archangel but of the mightiest kind

- In the bookshop with Gabriel/Jim he says "I don't remember. It [gravity] seemed like a good idea when we were all talking about it"

- "You're welcome to come in, you might even spot an archangel" don't tell me this was Crowley just egging Shax on and not being sneaky

- The fact that he could sense the demons coming. "Somethings wrong""It's coming in waves", when Aziraphale couldn't. It could be a demon thing but we saw Sandalphon, an archangel of lower rank, in the first season mention "something smells evil" so obviously angels can sense demons too, they just have to be powerful enough. And keep in mind Sandalphon was already in the book shop for quite some time, Crowley sensed them even before they had arrived (he also sensed the hell hound who was some fucking miles away)

- The.fucking.folder. "You have to be a throne or dominion above" and this dude opens these clasified documents like it's nothing. If this isn't an indicator of his high position as an angel I don't know what is.

- He's worked with Saraqael, another very high ranking angel

- "I'm the only first order archangel in the room"... and the camera imediately pans to Crowley, and for anyone who's read the book and watched the show you know that rarely anything is coincidental

- When the Metatron says they can't lose another prince of heaven. This... this fucking line. So it's relatively well known that Gabriel and Lucifer are brothers, and if Gabriel is one of the princes of heaven I wonder who the other one could be. "Two princes of heaven". And the Metatrons words were very careful, he doesn't say lost as in heaven can't find him, he says it in the context that they won't be sending Gabriel to hell since they won't lose another prince to downstairs

- In the bookshop when no one can identify the Metatron he turns to Crowley who imediately recognises him. Now you have this dude, who's literally on top of the angel hierarchy and is responsible for running heaven and the connection to God themself, surrounded by archangels and a principality you spoke to face to face with just a few years ago and... none of them can tell who you are, the only one who does is the literal demon. That tells us that Crowley has not only seen him in this form, but has probably worked with the Metaron himself personally. "Always asking damn fool questions", 10 million angels and he remembers what this one particular angel was like 6000 years ago

- Crowley is also very reluctant to reveal his identity as an angel. Now if he were just an ordinary angel of no real significance he wouldn't have a problem revealing his name, but... if his name was one that's the literal representation of all evil in this world, then it is understandable he keeps it a secret, in fear he might scare Aziraphale away

- And I wanted to leave the best for last. So you remember in the book when Crowley has to sign his name to start Armaggedon, and Hastur tells him "no, your real name" after which he reluctantly writes it. Now in the book we never see him write anything, but in the show we see him write a sygil, something that looks very mich like an L. An L... A FUCKING L. And now I wonder how this theory didn't come up sooner.

(Also he can fucking stop time, like dafuq)

Edit:

- "Oh looky here it's Lucifer and the guys" we all thought he was talking about someone else, he's just refferencing things other angels have said about HIM. FUCK

- I keep seing people saying Crowleys memories were wiped because he couldn't remember Saraqael and Furfur. But I think people forget, demons lie. He's lying to make them think he's not that angel they worked with, that he's not Lucifer. (In season 1 we hear him a few times refferencing his life as an angel, so he does remember most of it)

- Also saying if the Raphael theory were true then as showrunners they would have mentioned him somewhere for those not that familiar with the bible (or don't read much fanfiction). The refferences for Crowleys past are so so vague that it would be too sudden and confusing if he were Raphael. But there is one name that everyone is familiar with, no matter who you are how old you are or where you're from, a name that needs no introduction.

Edit 2:

- Back to him being the most beautiful angel, I don't think it was ever quite explained how every single demon when they're in hell looks... awful, but Crowley doesn't. Beelzebub has the spores all over their face, Hastur the maggots and the sh-, Dagon the scales etc. But Crowley doesn't, not even when he's in hell, he's always just so, well, pretty.

- I saw a few people asking about how Lucifer started the rebellion and Crowley wouldn't do that. I think it's the same Crowley who wouldn't get stuck in traffic after creating the M25, or the same Crowley that wanted to call Aziraphale after bringing down the entire London network, "you told them you invented the spanish inquisition, and started the second world war""so the humans beat me to it that's not my fault", "so all this is your demonic work?""no, the humans thought it up themselves nothing to do with me"

- Also I think Satan's in charge of hell not Crowley the same way the Metatron's in charge of heaven and not Gabriel (and who can very easily demote angels if he so wishes)

Edit 3:

- like some of you pointed out Lucifer is also known/means Light-bringer. And Crowley was the first to say "let there be light."

- The file he opens with Muriel is Gabriels file, a class A archangel, so if he knows the password to that it means that either he's on the same level as Gabriel, or above him.

[peonysgreenhouse]

-`♡´- return.

summary: the obey me datables & luke react to mc coming back to life!

tags: obey me datables (simeon, solomon, diavolo, barbatos) x gn!reader, luke & gn!reader, hurt/comfort, implied character death, mentions of violence in solomon's parts, solomon goes a little crazy teehee

i. simeon

he sees you there, in the celestial realm. he had known your soul was pure from the very beginning, but seeing you among the angels was like a knife to his gut, a reminder of his failures to protect you. 

you weren’t supposed to be here, not now, at least. it was far too early for you to die. simeon can’t help but feel bitterness well up within him as you turn from michael to look for someone in the crowd (he knew it was him. he hoped it was him).

your features light up – simeon feels his heart skip a beat. even now you were just as he last remembered you, he had always taken the time to visit you in the devildom, even after his internship was over. you more beautiful than any angel he had ever seen. 

you embrace him tight, and the tighter you squeeze the more he feels like he can’t breathe, the combating feelings waging a war in his mind. he should’ve been watching over you; what kind of guardian angel was he to let his human die like this?

“i’m sorry,” he doesn’t know why his voice cracks when he says it. simeon? losing his composure? he had garnered many millennia of years of experience working to keep it up. “i’m sorry i didn’t protect you.”

“it’s okay simeon,” he feels your hands squeeze the back of his cloak. a wicked thought crosses his mind; maybe if you dug your nails in harder he would have some penance for his failures. if you cut through the bone and marrow and reached his heart then maybe his father would forgive him – maybe you would forgive him for his short-comings. “i’m here now.”

“right,” he breathes you in as if to convince himself. simeon feels the strength of his bond with you overwhelm him, he can feel how much you care for him and he feels his chest fill with warmth, chasing away his guilt, if for the moment. “you’re here forever. with me. nothing can hurt you here, i promise.”

ii. luke

luke had always told you to be mindful of demons, that they were evil creatures who would take any opportunity to kill you. it had seemed that his warning had proved true in the worst way. if only he hadn’t been a cherub; if uriel had promoted him to be your guardian angel like he had asked, maybe this could’ve been avoided.

but he was overwhelmed with how happy he was at the fact that you would be spending time with him forever in the celestial realm. he had wanted nothing more ever since you had become friends in the devildom. you were the one light for him in the exchange program.

“you’re here!” luke chirps, sprinting down the golden bricks of the road to the archangels’ house. “you’re really–!” you’re suddenly enveloped in a hug as luke wraps himself around your waist. 

“hello luke!” you smile from ear to ear, ruffling up his neat hair. usually, he’d make a comment about you not treating him like a child, but for now it seems he’s too busy nuzzling into you. “it’s good to see you again.”

“yes! i’m happy to see you,” he pulls away, cheeks visibly flushed. “i’m sorry that i wasn’t there to protect you from those mean old demons but… everything will be fine now that you’re here!”

“would you like to give them a tour of the celestial realm?” michael chimes in with a smile, the younger angel’s eyes lighting up like a christmas tree.

luke nods excitedly, taking your hand in his, already tugging you out of the estate: “we have so much to do! we can’t waste any time!”

iii. solomon

solomon spirals hard.

there was a reason solomon pushed everyone away, why most people in his life were kept an arms length apart. he got too attached to things; to power, to magic, to anything that gave him that needed adrenaline rush… why would you be any different? you, the only person he has ever loved had been snatched out of his hands.

and worst of all, he had been powerless to save you. 

all the magic and demon pacts and connections in the world couldn’t stop you from bleeding out in his arms. humans like you were much too fragile for his liking; he had worked tirelessly his whole life to be anything but.

if he couldn’t get what he wanted from the damned, he would have to turn his eyes to the celestial realm. if he had to tear down the heavens and bring you crashing back down to earth, he’s sure he would. 

making bonds with angels was much more difficult than that of demons, but he found after nights of endless research that plucking a few of their feathers would get them to sing. 

he’s covered in golden ichor when he manages to bring you back – a life for a life. he finally was able to do it, not only to bring a human back to life, but to bring you back. solomon rises, shakily, as you feel your body materialize out of the magic sigil etched into the floor. he smiles gently, looking at you as if you were the only thing that mattered.

so why do you look back at him with such horror?

iv. diavolo

he had bargained with the archangels before, but never for a life.

in all accounts, a human choosing to leave the celestial realm and go to the devildom was unheard of. being cast out of heaven was notoriously the worst punishment anyone could receive.

but you do, you would always choose him over all the luxuries and beauty of the heavens every single time. it was true that love made people do stupid things.

michael sends you back to the devildom months after diavolo’s terms were set, a gift with the price of owing the ruler of the celestial realm a favor. michael was known for his kindness, but diavolo knew that there was more to him than that. he was smart enough to know that michael would never jeopardize the devildom, but angels never forgot debts owed. it was a risk, but one diavolo had no choice but to take. 

above all the benevolence and good-will he draped himself in, at his core, he was a selfish demon; perhaps moreso than anyone else in the devildom. 

he holds you against his chest the whole night. in the morning, he’d have duties and meetings to go to. but for now, you were his. 

“little one,” he mumbles into your hair, hands tight around your waist, “make a pact with me. that you may be at my side forevermore.”

v. barbatos

in so many other timelines he sees you, shining, alive. he starts to resent the other versions of himself for being happy with you (or even worse, happy with any of the others). barbatos could pull you out as easily as he could breathe; he had a mastery over his powers that other lower demons could only imagine. 

but it wouldn’t be the same, he reminds himself, it wouldn’t be his version of you. 

he knew the way to get you back, it’d be to break his own rule: do not interact with the past. diavolo had given him permission to bring you back, it would be a stain on the exchange student program if one of the humans came back dead after the second semester. but he wasn’t so sure, what if the you he brought back wasn’t the you he remembered? 

barbatos does it anyways, knowing he can’t refuse an order from his lord. the you in the celestial realm will be erased from existence replaced with the you of the past, the one who doesn’t know what it’s like to die. the two can only hope it doesn’t cause drama in the celestial realm.

“barbatos?” you question as you walk in the gardens with him, completely oblivious to it all. if he hadn’t been so happy that you had returned, he would feel guilty for not telling you of your death. sometimes, ignorance was bliss. “are you okay? you seem more quiet than usual.”

“do i?” he muses, forcing a soft smile for you. “i’m afraid i’m simply just a bit tired. sleep evaded me last night.” the last part wasn’t a lie.

“sorry to hear that,” you pout, “if you want to go nap, you should!

“do you not wish to spend time with me?”

“it’s not that…” you kick at the ground, arms crossed behind your back. “it’s just we have all the time in the world though, right? i want you to be rested when we’re together.”

he feels as if you’ve struck him with an arrow to his chest. barbatos sees your lifeless body in his mind, did you know and were trying to taunt him? or were you simply just this sweet?

“i suppose you’re right.” he nods his head, “but you’re coming with me.”

[witchy-worm]

Here's my third collab for @spnbangbang ! I was delighted when @friendofcarlotta claimed this piece, I've almost claimed so many of her fics in bangs so having her write a story inspired by my art was a dream come true. And omg I am blown away by what she did with my silly little gym teacher Dean art!!

I am feral about the handprint so I basically screamed when I saw the it was going to play a role in the story. I had no option but to draw a second handprint centric art piece.

Please go read it here: LINK TO FIC

Thank you to the @spnbangbang mods, this was such a fun and well run bang, I will definitely be coming back for more

Banner and fic info behind the cut

Taking Our Time

Author: FriendofCarlotta

Artist: Witchy-Worm

Primary Ship: Dean/Cas 

Other Ships: N/A

Length: 12,649

Warnings: Potentially Dubious Vessel Consent

Tags: S4E13 - After School Special, Post-Canon, Post-15x20, Heaven Fic, Porn With Plot, Top Cas/Bottom Dean, Possession Kink, Grace as Lube

Posting Date: November 23, 2024

Summary It took getting into Heaven for Dean and Cas to finally express their feelings.

Or did it? When Jack frees all the deserving and penitent angels from the Empty, Uriel reveals that there’s a significant gap in Dean and Cas’ memory: the first time they found their way to each other. It happened all the way back in 2009, when Dean was fresh from Hell and Cas was just beginning to have doubts.

When Uriel returns those missing memories, Dean and Cas have some reckoning to do

[noneorother]

I went dumpster diving into the posters for Good Omens Season 2 and found a few pearls.

I found it odd that this season had SO MANY official posters. Hours and hours of work and real dollars from Amazon went into the production of these things. This one won a freakin Clio award. I know Neil confirmed he didn't have a lot of control of what went into these 21 (Or 22 depending on whether or not you count the umbrella piece that was made before season 2 shooting began. Personally I don't!) pieces, but I will leave no stone unturned, so here we go. I combed through every single season 2 poster I could find so you don't have to. Here's everything I've found so far:

1. The allegiances poster

After having watched season 2, knowing what we know now, this poster seems very much to me like a Game of Thrones style family at war image. We have a perfect mirror down the center, with Aziraphale/Angels/Nina&Maggie on Aziraphale's traditional left side, and Crowley with Beelzebub & Jim as reflections of Maggie/Nina, and Shax and Michael(?) as reflections of the three angels on the other side of the mirror. It seems unbalanced, unless you count the floating white head (conveniently watching in the background) as The Metatron...

Which means Michael is... not on the same side as Uriel and Saraqael? She's also grouped in with the Metatron and Shax, on the side of the demons. How very odd. Gabriel & Nina also have a mirror in that they've both turned their backs to the crowd. Gabriel is willing to go live with Beelzebub in hell, and shut down Michael's plan and the Metatron's scheming for a second Armageddon, so that literal turn towards Beez and away from everyone else makes sense to me. The Nina one however? Not so much from what we've seen. Why is she turning her back on the angels & demons? 2. The individual posters

Interestingly, the individual posters all line up pretty much exactly with the all the allegiances this season. You just have to look at the way the characters are slanted vs. how the backgrounds behind them are slanted. All 3 bookshop posters and all 3 street posters are slanting left, with their characters also slanting left. They are who they say they are, and they're on the same side.

Michael and Uriel have right slanting backgrounds, so odds are heaven is supposed to slant right. Uriel is following the rules and slanting right, but of all the characters on the posters, Michael is the only one really betraying the background slant, and is slanting left against her background. Something's up with Micahel. They're not on the same side as they claim to be. Saraqael is more mysterious, as the only one sitting straight, and the only angel to have a left slanting background. Shax seems to be slanting left with a left slanting background, which puts her in the same pose as Uriel, but mirrored. While Beelzebub is weirdly slanting right with a right slanting background, making them a bit of a traitor, like Michael. Shax, Saraqael and Michael have some explaining to do. Lastly, and I think mostly obviously, there's clearly a missing poster in the set. Why doesn't hell have a third green poster? Is it supposed to be the Metatron, and they didn't want to spoil the surprise? Furfur maybe? Why wouldn't poor old Furfur get a poster when he has more screen time than Uriel? I don't think this is very important other than it's funny : everyone single person is holding something in their right hand, except for Shax and Crowley, who are holding things in their left hands, and Muriel, who's holding fucking NOTHING. Poor baby Muriel lolsob. One thing I do think might be important is that there are 21 posters in total + 1 missing one. So maybe 22 posters for season 2? How appropriate. 3. The triple phone box

In both the Nina street poster and the group street poster, there's are a set of 3 red phone boxes down the street. We never see phone boxes in series 2. Seriously, not once. Every other detail in these ones is from Whickeber street footage: gumball machine, post box, newspapers, coffee sign, puddle, walking extras... The only thing out of place is those blasted phone boxes. As far as I can tell it's literally the only thing in all 21 posters that never appears in the show in some form, and this background plate is used for all the street posters, so the phone boxes are in quite a few of them.

4. Crowley is showing his good side, Aziraphale is always facing away from Crowley.

Crowley is always shown with his head tilted to his right this season, body tilted towards Aziraphale and always with long sideburns. Even in the illustrated poster his default is head to the right, sideburns long.

EXCEPT for this poster. This is the only time he's looking away from Aziraphale, and his snake tattoo is visible. And his sideburns are short. Either nobody noticed this or they refused to fix it. There's also the matter of Aziraphale facing his body away from Crowley in every single image except the allegiances poster, where they face each other. So cute.

5. The sneaky details posters

This one has: 1. Pride & Prejudice 2. Treasure Island 3. A tale of two cities 4. The Crow Road 5. Catch-22 9.

AND whatever the hell this photoshop artifact/invisible thing coming out of the scroll on Aziraphale's desk. I checked every version I could find of this poster and it's always there. It looks like someone tried to edit out something that was there and sort of got it mostly right. Which is completely ludicrous given the amazing amount of flawless photoshopping and collaging going on in this image. These are the magicians linking rings from the 1941 magic shop. Mystery solved!

This one has the yellow book on the bookstand, the record, and : 1. Only one clock hand on the grandfather clock, facing 6. 2. A feather duster on the floor (but weirdly it's grey not yellow). 3. The dark horse statue with Crowley's old sunglasses on it. 4. Aziraphale's bowtie ON THE FLOOR. What. Why. I can only conclude that in this poster either A) Aziraphale and Crowley have left these things behind (meaning no more bowtie for Aziraphale in season 3) B) They are currently not wearing these items somewhere else in the bookshop....

_____________________________________ I ran out of images. So the dome poster will have to be it's own post!

[moodymisty]

Based off this post sorry I fucking HAD to

Warnings: Vaguely NSFW, Sicarius walking in on you and Guilliman

Why must all his men break protocol? Sicarius wonders if the Codex is merely kindling to them, if they are so willing to break the sacred rules so easily.

Titus, Uriel, and now new men of second company have decided to be a pain. He only hopes reporting this to Guilliman himself will prove to be enough of a threat to his men and whip them all back into shape; Both current and future troublemakers.

In his frustrations, so wrapped up in his own mind on how to deal with this consistent issue, he fails to do a proper knock at Guilliman’s door. Instead he simply walks in, slamming the controls with more force than needed.

Within moments he freezes, as a musky, heavy smell hits his nose and the full noises of the room echo in his ears without the soundproofing in the way.

“Roboute!”

You squeal, hands wrapped tight in the short crop of Guilliman’s thin blonde hair. Most of his head and face are obscured by your skirt- and thighs, which wrap around his head like a vice. The holotable is on but unused, symbols placed randomly from your accidental touches as you sit on the edge.

Sicarius stands frozen, unable to will his body to move as his ears are suddenly filled with the sounds of you and his primarch’s moans- accompanied by then odd, wet sounds of whatever his mouth was doing. What is only two seconds is plenty to him, given how fast his mind moves in comparison to a baseline.

He… was aware of all the basics of sex and reproduction, but the intricacies of pleasure beyond that were spotty at best. He had no need to delve into such useless things, unlike some other, less proper Astartes.

He was also unaware you could do such things with your mouth.

How beneath a primarch’s holy stature; Guilliman’s words have guided armies but now he’s on his knees in penance and using his tongue like its just a-

A loud scream rips through your throat as you spot him and sit up, and Sicarius’ two seconds of internal thought is interrupted as you see him frozen in the doorway with a hand still on the door’s controls.

Guilliman of course is instantly on the defensive hearing your scream, rising to his feet- and removing his hand from his trousers - before reaching for his blade.

Until he realizes it’s Sicarius.

Guilliman relaxes with an angry look on his face; Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before using the same hand spread flat outward to try and shield some of you from Sicarius, and reserve some of your modesty, while you adjust your clothes.

“Did your time in the warp remove your ability to announce yourself before entering, Captain Sicarius?”

Sicarius is angry at his primarch now, and has zero care for you behind him hot faced and attempting to cover yourself to some level of decency.

“I, I did not think it was needed, my primarch. I have an urgent issue that needs addressing.”

Guilliman angrily breaths through his nose, and Sicarius can see the veins in his neck.

“Go. Leave. Whatever you came here for I am sure it can wait until we both forget this encounter ever happened.”

They are both painfully aware that each other have eidetic memories, but they can only hope this moment somehow slips from their minds.

“Yes, my primarch.”

Sicarius finally manages to get his armor to move, and Guilliman sighs. Sicarius swiftly takes two steps backwards and closes the door, facing it at it closes.

He stands there for a moment, the image of his primarch on his knees between the legs of a simple baseline, and a hand doing something in his trousers is seared into his mind. Why is his primarch doing such things when there is work to be done?

“Are you alright Captain Sicarius?”

A marine says as he walks by, looking at his dead expression as Sicarius turns to face him. He points the door.

“Is Primarch Guilliman busy-“ Sicarius quickly speaks, cutting him off.

“Yes he is busy, do not disturb him.”

Sicarius has a far off stare that makes the random Astartes look at him oddly.

“I need to leave. Do not go in.”

Sicarius walks off, rubbing his hair with his gauntlet and grumbling to himself.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Wishful Thinking | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader ( ...? )

Warnings: MENTIONS OF SEXUAL COERCION, canon violence, canon gore, depression, anxiety, y/n's in rough shape okay

Word Count: 6384

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You couldn’t piece together why Dean had run out on you. In truth, that fact couldn’t occupy too much of your thoughts given everything else that was going on.

The next morning, you began packing when you received a text from Dean telling you to do so. He clearly didn’t intend upon finishing your conversation from the previous night any time soon.

“I’m surprised at you, (Y/N),” a familiar voice said from behind you. 

“Please don’t lecture me right now,” you said evenly; you were in no mood for Uriel’s scolding.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” he asked.

You slammed your toiletry bag in your duffel and turned to face him. “Stop who? Samhain?”

“Sam.”

Your stomach dropped. “I wasn’t gonna kill him for using his powers in that dire of a situation.” 

“You disobeyed a direct order, (Y/N),” the angel chastised.

You picked up the alarm clock off the nightstand and threw it at him. “Fuck you!” 

Uriel was on you in a second, a hand around your throat. You clawed at his hands, choking on air as he spoke to you. “The only reason you and Sam Winchester aren’t dead is because you have both proven useful. The second he steps out of line and becomes more trouble than he’s worth, he dies. And if you aren’t the one to kill him, you’ll die, too.”

Just as your vision started spotting, the pressure around your throat and Uriel disappeared. 

****

You and Dean were downing shots like there was no tomorrow. There was clearly a lot you both wanted to forget about, and Sam noticed how much distance was between the barstools the two of you were sitting on. 

Uriel had apparently delivered a similar message to Sam after he visited you, but also put in a little detail to warn Dean to stop stepping out of line. He told Sam to ask Dean if he remembered what Hell was like.

Sam was almost completely sober, and he kept pressing Dean about the issue. “It just doesn't make any sense, Dean. I mean, why would Uriel tell me you remembered Hell if you didn't?”

“Maybe because he's a dick,” Dean grunted, taking another shot. “Might have something to do with it.”

The younger man shrugged. “Maybe, but he's still an angel.”

“Yeah, an angel who was ready to level an entire town. Look, I don't know what—”

The waiter coming back over cut Dean off. “Radical. What else can I get you guys?”

“Uh, I think we're good,” Sam replied.

“You want to try a couple of fryer bombs? Or a chipotle chili changa?” the teenager tried.

“Nope. We’re still good,” you said, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

“Okay, awesome.” The waiter bounced away.

Dean returned his attention to his brother. “Sam, honestly, I have no idea why Uriel told you what he did, okay?”

Sam huffed. “Right.”

“What?” Dean snapped.

“Okay. Fine. Then look me in the eye and tell me you don't remember a thing from your time down under.”

You took another shot, knowing it was better to stay out of this conversation.

“I don't remember a thing from my time down under.” When Sam said nothing, Dean continued, “I don't remember, Sam!”

“Look, Dean, I just want to help.”

“You know everything I do. Okay? That's all there is.”

The waiter bounded back over, annoyingly asking about dessert, and you convinced him to just bring you the check. 

“Alright, so, where do we go from here?” Dean sighed. taking a sip of the beer in front of him. 

“I'm not sure. Uh, looks like it's been pretty quiet lately. No signs of demon activity; no omens or portents I can see.”

“That's good news, for once.”

“Yeah, just the typical smattering of crank UFO sightings and one possible vengeful spirit. Here, check this out. Uh, up in Concrete, Washington, eyewitness reports of a ghost that's been haunting the showers of a women's health facility.”

Dean choked on his beer while Sam continued reading. 

“The victim claims that the ghost threw her down a flight of stairs. I can see you're very interested.”

“Women, showers,” Dean hummed. “We got to save these people.”

It felt so odd for them to just be talking about mundane hunts while the three of you were staring down the barrel of the possible end of the world.

What bothered you even more was Dean’s joking about looking at other women. He hadn’t even looked at a woman since the two of you got together. Now that your relationship was up in the air, it seemed he wanted to go back to his old ways. It hurt your heart, but you knew you had no true claim to him anymore. You weren’t even sure if your relationship was salvageable. 

Although, everything you’d done had been for him. You stressed that multiple times. The fact that he was seemingly ready to just jump back into the dating pool when you hadn’t even finished your conversation from Halloween night made your blood boil. He was on incredibly thin ice, and you took a long chug of your beer to keep your anger from spilling out.

****

The next day, Dean dropped Sam off to talk to the girl that’d been pushed down the stairs.

You and Dean were supposed to be going to check the showers at the fitness center for EMF. However, you just couldn’t help yourself. “Thought you’d wanna go check out the shower girl.”

His head jerked toward you. “What?”

“That was your whole reason for taking this case, right? Saving naked women?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, (Y/N). I was kidding.”

“Okay, but I really don’t think you should be joking like that given the state our relationship’s in,” you responded.

“And what state is that?” he asked.

You shrugged mockingly. “I don’t know. You ran out before we could even talk about it.” 

“Are you seriously gonna lecture me about running out? Seriously,” he spat.

“Pull the fucking car over, Dean,” you ordered.

“Why, so you can get out and run away again?” 

“No, so we can talk about this without you killing us both. Pull over now,” you said through gritted teeth.

He did as you asked, turning to face you. “Okay, what?”

“Seriously?” you scoffed.

“What? I’m just asking, what do you wanna talk about?”

“How do you not fucking know?” you fired back.

He threw his hands up. “I don’t know, because there’s a million different things potentially on the table.”

“Okay, then, let’s start with why’d you run out on me?” you asked.

“Fantastic place to start, (Y/N), especially considering you told me you wouldn’t make me talk about it,” Dean remarked sarcastically.

“I told you I wouldn’t make you talk about Hell. I told you why I ran out on you. You owe me the same,” you said.

“Maybe I just needed time to process everything, goddamn!”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me that to begin with? How can I trust that’s true?”

“Why are we even having this conversation if you can’t believe anything I say?!” 

“Because you keep expecting me to be fully upfront with you while you get to have as many secrets as you want! You lied straight to Sam’s face and to me before last night about Hell! I think the only reason you’re pissed is ‘cause you can’t hide from me anymore!” you shouted.

That seemed to quiet him down, and he thought for a minute.

“And another thing, everything I’ve fucking done for months has been for you. And I know you’re hurt, and I am so sorry,” you told him earnestly, “but you look at me like you don’t even know who I am anymore! I’ve changed, I know that. But so have you. And I don’t look at you any differently despite knowing every awful thing you had to do. Why can’t you give me that same grace? Especially when I did all of it to save you?” You took a breath, trying to swallow the lump quickly forming in your throat. “I’m sorry I lied to you. And I’ll do everything I can to get your trust back because no matter how much you piss me off, I still love you. But please don’t hold what I did for Uriel against me, okay?”

“I don’t,” he responded quietly. “But can you at least understand that I miss who we were before I went to Hell?”

“Absolutely,” you told him. “I miss those versions of us every day.”

“And I’m sorry I ran out on you. (Y/N), I never wanted you to see me like that. I ran out on you because I was angry. The one person I was terrified of finding out who I really am and what I did down there knows, and it fuckin’ hurt.” His voice was gravelly as he spoke, clearly trying to hide the lump forming in his throat.

“It doesn’t change how I see you, though,” you insisted.

“But maybe it should!” Dean said, the tears forming in his eyes. “Maybe you should look at me like I’m a monster because I am.”

“Do you really believe that’s true?” you asked softly.

“How could I not?” Tears slid down his cheeks steadily. “I did… horrible fucking things down there to people who maybe didn’t even deserve it. I can never forgive myself for that.” 

“But you have to try,” you told him, scooting across the bench seat to cradle his face in your hands. You swiped the tears away with your thumbs and stroked his cheeks. “Anyone would break under that kind of pressure. You lasted even longer than I would have. And I’m sorry that happened to you. It wasn’t your fault, Dean.”

Dean tried earnestly to stifle his tears. His back was straight as a board as you slowly wound your arms around his neck and pulled him down to rest his face in your neck. Finally, finally, he relaxed himself into you and allowed himself to cry.

****

Your relationship with Dean was nowhere near repaired. As much as it stung, there was a lot of broken trust within both him and you. At least now, everything was out in the open. Well, mostly everything. 

Following your talk, the two of you went to the fitness center to search for any sign of the paranormal. Sam called to tell you he’d meet you there. 

“Look, Dean,” you told him. There was a man on the front of the newspaper he was reading who’d won one-hundred sixty-eight million in the lottery. “How come we never get that lucky?” 

He chuckled, looking over the headline. 

Sam approached the bench you sat on with Dean outside the fitness center after you flagged him down. “Well, you pick up anything?” he asked. 

“No EMF in the shower or anywhere else. This house is clean,” Dean sighed.

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. I'm not surprised. I kind of got the feeling back there that crazy pushed Mrs. Armstrong down the stairs.”

You and Dean stood to walk to the car with Sam, and a child blew past you with two others hot on his tail— they were apparently not his friends.

“Run, Forrest, run!” Dean called after him.

Sam sighed. “I don't think anything's going on around here.”

You walked past a pier where a man stood shouting at a police officer about something that had grabbed him and thrown him into a tree.

“Something's going on,” Dean said, subtly nodding his head toward the other men, halting you and Sam. 

When the man started mentioning Bigfoot, Sam decided to step in. “Excuse us. FBI.”

The police officer scoffed. “What?”

“Yes, sir. We're here about the... that.”

“About Bigfoot?” The officer seemed skeptical; understandably so.

“That's right,” Sam nodded, turning his attention to the witness. “Sir, can you tell me exactly where this happened?”

The man’s directions led you to the center of the woods, and every little sound made you jump. Living in a cabin for four months had only worsened your fear of the woods. 

“What the hell's going on in this town?” Dean asked as the three of you walked along. “First there's a ghost that's not real, and now a Bigfoot sighting?”

“Well, every hunter worth his salt knows Bigfoot's a hoax,” Sam noted.

“Maybe LSD in the water supply?” you shrugged, turning around as you talked and mindlessly stepping backward. Dean grabbed your arm, pulling you to his chest. “Dude, what the hell?” you questioned. 

Dean nodded to what you were about to step on, spinning you around to look at it. “Okay, what the hell?”

You looked down at the very large footprint Dean kept you from tripping into. 

“That, uh... is a big foot,” Sam breathed out.

You followed the ginormous tracks to the back of a liquor store that had been broken into.

“So, what? Bigfoot breaks into a liquor store, jonesing for some hooch?” He noted the spots that were empty on the shelves. “Amaretto and Irish cream. He's a girl-drink drunk.” You elbowed Dean. “Amaretto and pineapple’s good.” You smiled while Dean shoved shooters into his jacket pocket. 

Then, a few discarded magazines leading to a trail out the front door caught your eye. “Dude. He took the whole porno rack.” “Well, I'll say it again,” Dean added. “What the hell is going on in this town?”

Baffled, the three of you made your way to a bench outside the store. “I got nothing.” Dean threw his hands up. 

“It's got to be a joke, right? Some big-ass motherfucker in a gorilla suit?” Sam tried. 

“Or it's a Bigfoot. Y’know, and he's some kind of a alcoholo-porno addict. Kind of like a deep-woods Duchovny.”

A girl on a bike passed you, and a magazine fell out of her bag. You exchanged a glance with Sam, and Dean picked it up. 

“A little young for Busty Asian Beauties,” Dean noted, brows furrowed. 

You followed her to where she dropped a box full of alcohol and porn off with an apologetic note attached at the back of the liquor store. Then, the three of you followed the girl home. 

“What's this, like a ‘Harry and the Hendersons’ deal?”

Sam chuckled at his brother, knocking on the front door of the little girl’s house. 

“Hello?” she asked, opening it.

“Hi! Are— Are your parents home?” you asked her, bending to her level. 

“Nope,” she shook her head. 

“No, fabulous,” you murmured. “Awesome.”

Dean was up next. “Um... Have you seen a really, really furry…”

She immediately looked scared. “Is he in trouble?”

Although a little gobsmacked, Sam chuckled, “No, no, no. Not at all. We just— We wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“He's my teddy bear. I think he's sick,” the little girl sniffled. 

“Wow. Uh... Amazing. 'Cause you know what?” Dean said, incredibly chipper. “We... are, uh... teddy bear doctors.”

The child’s eyes lit up. “Really? Can you please take a look at him?”

“Absolutely,” you nodded. 

She took your hand and led you inside. 

“What’s your name, angel?’ you asked her.

“Audrey.”

“Audrey, nice to meet you,” you replied. “I’m (Y/N).”

“He's in my bedroom,” the little girl said. “He's pretty grumpy.” She knocked on the door of her room hesitantly. “Teddy? There's some nice doctors here to see you.” She opened it to reveal something you’d never seen before. 

A big, living, drunk teddy bear was sitting on her bed watching television. “Close the fuckin’ door!” he shouted in a gruff voice. 

Audrey shut it, whispering, “See what I mean?”

Your eyes were wide as saucers, and you turned back to the boys to see a similar reaction in them. 

She explained to you that she’d wished in a well for the teddy to come alive over the top of the teddy bear moaning about how awful life was. 

“Audrey, give us a second, okay?” Sam said. He turned to you and Dean, hushing his voice while Audrey tried to comfort her teddy bear. “Okay. Are we... Should we... Uh, are we gonna kill this teddy bear?”

“I mean, how?” you questioned. 

Dean chimed in, “Do we shoot it? Burn it?

Sam shrugged. “I don't know. Both?”

“How do we even know that's gonna work? I don't want some giant, flaming, pissed-off teddy on our hands,” Dean scoffed. 

“Yeah. Besides, I get the feeling that the bear isn't really the, you know, core problem here.”

You turned to the little girl. “Audrey, where are your parents?”

“My mom wished they were in Bali, so I think they're in Bali,” she replied. 

“Oh, okay,” you said. “I’m really sorry to tell you this, but your bear is sick. He’s got—”

“Lollipop disease!” Dean cut you off. 

“Lollipop disease,” Sam nodded. 

Dean shrugged, “It's not uncommon for a bear his size. But, see, it's— it’s really contagious.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “so, is there someone, maybe a grown-up, that you can stay with while we treat him?”

Audrey considered for a moment. “Mrs. Hurley lives down the street.”

“Good, yeah, good. Uh, we'd like you to stay there for a few days, okay?”

“Okay.”

Dean found out where the wishing well was from Audrey, and the three of you set off in that direction. Just as you arrived, a little boy threw a coin into the fountain. You watched him leave, skipping, and grab his mother’s hand. 

“Think it works?” Dean asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

You turned to face him. “Got a better explanation for teddy back there?”

“Well, there's one way to find out.” 

Dean took a coin out of his wallet, stuffing him back in his pants as Sam asked, “What are you gonna wish for?”

“Shh!” Dean scolded. “Not supposed to tell.”

Within five seconds of him chucking the sandwich in, a man in a red shirt came up holding a giant sandwich. “Somebody order a footlong Italian with jalapeño?”

Dean smirked, “That'd be me,” and you rolled your eyes. He excitedly led you and Sam over to a table outside the Chinese restaurant Audrey had described to you and began to scarf down his sandwich. “I think it works, guys,” he said through a mouthful of food. “That was pretty specific.”

“The teddy bear, the sandwich—” Sam sighed. 

You pulled the newspaper Dean had been reading earlier out of one of the pockets inside his jacket. “I’m guessing this, too.”

Sam discreetly nodded to a couple at the table next to yours. “I'm guessing that.”

You snickered, as did Sam. 

Dean tried to sneak a glance at the couple. “Well, that definitely goes on the list. What are we supposed to do, huh? Stop people's wishes from coming true? I mean, it sounds like kind of a douche-y thing to do.”

“Yeah, maybe. But come on, man. When has something like this ever come without a price tag?”

“And usually a deadly one,” you argued. 

“I don't know. It's a damn good sandwich.” You and Sam gave Dean a look. 

“Alright, fine.” He rolled his eyes. “We'll put a hold on the wishing till we figure out what's going on.”

A waiter came up to your table. “Uh, gentlemen, gentlemen. I'm sorry. We don't allow people to eat outside food here.”

“Well, how can you expect him to eat the food inside here?” you scoffed. “Health department. You’ve got a pretty serious rat infestation. We're gonna have to shut this place down under emergency hazard code 56C.”

Sam tried to hide his smirk, but Dean’s was completely overt as he stared at you. 

****

Under the guise of needing to investigate the fountain, you made the waiter have his manager drain it. 

Dean swept away coins while you felt around the outside of it for a compartment hiding a hex bag. 

“Typical fountain; plaster Buddha,” the older brother announced. “Nothing I can see.”

“Yes, nothing. We keep a clean place here,” the manager insisted.

Sam began to escort him away. “Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave during the preliminary investigation, okay? Thank you.” Dean tossed one of the coins he swept at you. “Oh, come on. Aren't you a little bit tempted?” You shook your head. “Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t be real,” you shrugged. “I wouldn’t trust it.”

“I don't know,” he replied, “that bear seemed pretty real.”

Dean tried further. “Come on, if you could wish yourself back, you know, before it all started… Think about it. You could’ve avoided all this angel business. Maybe gotten out.”

You stood, putting your hands on your hips. “Of what? Hunting?”

He nodded. 

You scoffed. “That’s not what I would’ve wished for.”

“Alright, well, what, then?” he pushed. 

Without even thinking, you said, “That you’d never gone to Hell.” Dean held your gaze intensely, that unreadable look you’d become accustomed to on his face. 

Sam came back over, causing Dean to shake himself out of his trance. “What is that?” the older brother asked, looking down at something. 

You walked over to the side of the fountain he was on, bending over the side and brushing the coin with the tips of your fingers. “Some kind of old coin. I don't recognize the markings.”

Dean tried to pick it up, failing miserably. “Damn.”

“Lift with your legs,” Sam deadpanned, and you burst out laughing. 

“Is that motherfucker welded on there?” Dean grunted, standing back up. “Huh.”

You tried again with a crowbar, but it snapped in half. The hammer you used broke, too. 

Sam panted, “Coin’s magical.”

“Ya think?” you scoffed. 

****

Sam sent you back to the motel to try and figure out where that coin came from. Dean hadn’t stopped puking since you got back, so you were the one doing the research. 

“How’s it going in there?” you asked through the door. 

Your answer was another heaving sound followed by him coughing and groaning. 

Just then, Sam opened the door to hear Dean yakking again. “Is he…?”

You nodded. 

“The wishes turn bad, Sam. The wishes turn very bad,” Dean called from the bathroom, voice strained. 

“The sandwich, huh?”

“The coin’s Babylonian,” you explained. “It's cursed. I found some fragments of a legend.” You showed him your laptop that was open to an article with grotesque drawings lining its sides. “The serpent is Tiamat; the Babylonian god of primordial chaos. Their priests were crazy freaky into black magic.”

“They made the coin?” Sam asked, eyes scanning the screen. 

You nodded. “Whoever tosses a coin in the wishing well, makes a wish, it turns on the well. Then it starts granting wishes to all comers.”

“But the wishes get twisted. You ask for a talking teddy—”

“You get a bipolar nut job.” At the sound of Dean hacking again, you pointed toward the door. “And he gets E. coli. You stood from your chair, crossing the room to get Dean a fresh set of clothes. As you rifled through his bag, you continued, “This thing has turned more than one town to shit over the centuries. It's even wiped a few off the map. I mean, one person gets their wish, it's trouble, but everybody gets their wish…”

“It’s chaos,” Sam finished for you. 

You put Dean’s clothes on the bathroom counter, recoiling at the smell. “Take a shower before you come out of there, okay? Don’t want you stinkin’ up the whole car.” You turned back to the room, shutting the door behind you. 

“Any way to stop it?” Sam asked. 

“We gotta find the first wisher. Whoever dropped the thing in and made the first wish; they’re the only one who can pull it back out and reverse the wishes. And things are goin’ downhill fast.”

****

Later that night, you played Solitaire on the floor of the room while Dean slept. Sam was awake, too, on his laptop. He invited you to stay for a bit while he finished researching for the night.

Then, Dean started to stir. You could only imagine what he was dreaming about. 

“No,” he said, softly at first. “No!” 

You sprang to your feet, shaking him gently. He grabbed your wrist, twisted it behind your back, and pinned you down on his bed. 

“Dean, stop!” Sam shouted, leaping up to help. 

It was then Dean realized what happened and let you go. Sam backed off, and you hesitantly rolled over. 

“God, (Y/N), I’m so—” he cleared his throat, voice more gravelly when he spoke again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you promised him. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, not doing a very good job of hiding the genuine fear on his face. 

You shook your head. “No. I promise, I’m okay.” He nodded, but his mind seemed distant. 

The room fell silent for a moment before Sam spoke up again. “Uriel wasn't lying, was he?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You are. You remember Hell, don't you?” Sam continued. 

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “What do you want from me, huh? What?”

“The truth, Dean. I mean, I'm your brother. I- I just wish you'd talk to me,” Sam argued, sounding slightly defeated. 

“Careful what you wish for,” Dean remarked. 

“Cute.”

“Guys, stop,” you sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. 

“Come on, can we stow the couple’s therapy, huh? We're on a job. I want to work. What do you got? Please?” the older brother urged desperately.

Sam clicked his tongue, returning his attention to his laptop. “We got teddy bear, uh, lottery guy, invisible pervert guy. They all must have wished sometime in the last two weeks. But who wished first, and how are we supposed to know who else wished for what when?”

“Well, it helps when they announce it in the paper. Goes back a month.” Dean tossed the paper at Sam.

He read out the title on the page Dean had turned to. “Wesley Mondale and Ms. Hope Lynn Casey have announced their surprise engagement.”

Dean flicked his eyebrows. “Ah, true love.”

****

“Wes! You didn't tell me that you called the florists for the wedding,” the beautiful woman in front of you cheerily called back to her betrothed who you assumed was within the home. 

You followed her into the living room where a greasy man wearing glasses that in no way suited his face sat on an armchair that clearly needed to be cleaned. 

“You're the best! I'm gonna go get my folders.” The woman, Hope, hugged Wes around the neck tightly and practically flitted out of the room. 

“That’s sexual coercion, y’know,” you said. 

“What?” he asked, startled. “Who are you?”

“Health department,” you shrugged. 

“Yeah. And florists on the side,” Sam chimed in. Dean added, “Plus FBI. And on Thursdays, we're teddy bear doctors.” Wes furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

“Doesn't matter who we are,” Dean responded. “What matters is what we know.”

You nodded at the box of coins on the wall behind him. “Coin collector?”

Wes stood shakily. “Uh, yeah. My… grandfather gave them to me.”

“You make a wish on one of ‘em by any chance?” you asked. 

Hope bustled back into the room, dropping her stack of papers on the table. “Okay, now. I have a lot of ideas, but, y’know, we don't have all the money in the world. Wes is between jobs right now. Means more time for me! Y’know, I'm thinking a Japanese-y, ikebana kind of thing.”

You nodded. “I can… totally see it.”

“So, Hope, uh, tell us how you two lovebirds met,” Sam prompted. 

You smirked, excited to hear this story. 

“Oh, best day of my life,” she grinned. “It's the funniest thing. We both grew up here, but I never really knew who he was. Not by name anyway. Until one day last month, it was like I just— I just saw him for the first time. He was just... glowing. Oh, just glowing!”

Wes cleared his throat. “Uh, babe, can you— can you get us some coffee?”

Hope nodded like an excited labrador. “Yes!” She kissed him over and over, making Dean smirk and look down at the floor, hiding his smile behind his hand. 

As soon as Hope was out of the room, you murmured, “Wes, we know. So tell us the truth.”

He averted your eye contact completely, adjusting his glasses nervously. “My— My grandfather found the coin in North Africa, y’know, World War II. And, uh, he brought it back. He, um, he said it was a real wish-granting coin, but that nobody should ever use it. Um... It was all I had, and when he died, I thought, ‘Well, you know what? Why not give the coin a shot’?”

“Well, time to wish it back,” you ordered. 

He chuckled. “Oh. Ha, no, no, I’m not.”

You stalked toward him slowly, your voice eerily calm. “If you don't stop it, something bad's gonna happen.” Your eyes practically burned as you pinned him to his spot with your intensity.

“How do you know?” he squeaked.

“Just a hunch,” you replied, voice low. 

As you continued to stare Wes down, Dean piped up, “We really wish you'd come with us.”

Wes nodded hesitantly, only relaxing his tense shoulders when you backed off.

Dean gave you a strange look, but you ignored it. Wes gave Hope some lame excuse, and the three of you sped toward the Lucky Chin restaurant. 

“I don't get it. So, my wish came true. Why does that have to be a bad thing?” Wes asked. 

“Because the wishes go south, Wes,” Sam replied. “Your town is going insane.”

Dean eyed Wes in the rearview mirror. “C’mon, you're gonna sit there and tell me that your relationship with Hope is functional; that it's what you wished for?”

“I wished she would love me more than anything,” he replied simply. 

“How’s that going for you?” you asked, voice even, eyes pointed forward. Looking at the man sitting beside you made you physically sick. “That seem healthy? Consensual?”

“Well, it's a hell of a lot better than when she didn't know I was alive.”

“I’d choose your next words very carefully, Wes,” you said calmly. “You imply that what you’re doing is okay one more time, and I will go fucking nuclear.”

Dean discreetly flicked his eyes to yours in the rearview mirror. “You're not supposed to get what you want, man, not like this. Nobody is. That's what the coin does. It takes your heart's desires and it twists it back on you. You hear of the whole, uh, ‘be careful what you wish for’?”

Wes mockingly replied, “ ‘Careful what you wish for.’ You know who says that? Good-looking jerks like you guys. The ones who've got it so easy because you happen to be handsome.”

“Easy?” Sam and Dean scoffed. 

“Yeah. Women— women look at you, right? They notice you.”

You were quite literally biting your tongue to avoid ripping this guy’s head off. 

“Believe us, we do not have it easy,” Sam told him. 

Dean added, “We are miserable. We never get what we want. In fact, we have to fight tooth and nail just to keep whatever it is we got.” You could’ve sworn you felt Dean looking at you, but you couldn’t focus on him at all. 

“But you know what? Maybe that's the whole point, Wes.”

“Yeah, people are people 'cause they're miserable bastards, 'cause they never get what they really want. Take a look at Michael Jackson, hmm? Or Hasselhoff.”

“You know what? Hope loves me now— completely. And it's awesome,” Wes chuckled. “Besides, look around. Where's all this, uh, insanity you guys were talking about?”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You quite literally dove across the back seat, raising a fist at Wes and hauling him up by the shirt collar. 

“Whoa! Whoa!” Dean shouted, while Sam begged you to stop. 

Wes’s lip trembled pathetically, and your fist connected with his face in a sickening crack. 

“You son of a bitch!” you shouted. You reared back again, only stopping when the sight of a child holding a truck over his head with three other kids inside caught your eye. 

Dean screeched to a halt near the truck, promptly pulling you off Wes and out of the Impala. “What the fuck, (Y/N)?!”

“He’s holding a girl hostage, Dean!” you argued. “Using magic to force her into sex? I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘im!” 

“Relax!” he urged you. “We’re gonna fix this. But we can’t fix this if you kill this guy, alright?” 

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced your chest. Dean noticed the immediate change in your demeanor, eyes filling with concern. “Whoa, wait, what’s going on?” he asked. 

Your knees buckled, and he caught you easily. He sank to the ground with you, cradling you as you choked on what felt like your own blood. 

“No, no, no, (Y/N)?!” Dean rushed out, cupping your face. “Talk to me, sweetheart, you can’t leave me. Not like this. (Y/N)?!”

You felt blood dribble out of your mouth and down the side of your face, feeling all of your strength leave your body. And then, the world went black. 

****

You blinked repeatedly, squinting up at the bright sun. Then, you threw your arm over your eyes to shield yourself from the light. A small smile tugged at your lips when you realized the ground under you resembled the leathery seat of the Impala. Dean must’ve put you in here when you got knocked out.

Wait… were you knocked out? Or had you been dead?

You sat up, taking in your surroundings. You watched out the front window as Dean mocked cowering away from an eleven-year-old, and three other kids behind him looked horrified before they turned tail and ran away. 

You got out of the car, cracking your neck to get rid of the uncomfortable tightness in it. When Dean saw you, he immediately took his attention away from the kid and turned it to you. He practically sprinted over to you and scooped you up in his arms, holding you close to his chest. His breath tickled your neck as he breathed you in, and you wrapped your arms around his. Although a little dazed, you welcomed the comfort of his embrace. 

“What happened?” you asked as he put you back down. Dean then proceeded to do what he’d done many times before when you’d been hurt. He tucked your hair behind your ear with one hand and cupped your chin with the other while he scanned your face for injuries. 

“Dee, I’m okay, I promise.” You gently grabbed his wrist, stroking it with your thumb. 

“You— You were gone,” he said. “I didn’t— I—”

It was your turn to cup his chin, forcing him to look at you. A tear slipped down his cheek, wetting the palm of your hand. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m fine.”

Then, Sam came over to you. “(Y/N)!” He bent down to hug you, and you happily returned the gesture. “How you feeling?”

“Uh, fine, I think. What the hell happened?” you asked. 

“Hope,” Sam explained. “She heard what you said— and did— to Wes, and she was not happy.”

“And I’m guessing she doesn’t even know who he is now— since I’m, y’know, upright,” you jested. “All the wishes are gone?”

Sam turned to see Audrey walking with her sunburnt parents and a normal-sized teddy bear down the street. “I guess,” he chuckled. 

“Then, so are we,” you said, heading back toward the car. 

“Hang on a second,” Dean said. 

You and Sam turned to face him.

“You were right.” 

Sam looked confused. “About what?”

“I shouldn't have lied to you,” Dean admitted. “I do remember everything that happened to me in the Pit. Everything.”

Sam looked at him expectantly. “So tell me about it,” he prompted.

“No,” the older brother stated plainly. 

Sam snorted. “Uh…”

“I won't lie anymore. But I'm not gonna talk about it.”

“Dean, look, you can't just shoulder this thing alone,” Sam told his brother. “You got to let me help.”

Before Dean could snap, you gently added, “It’s different than a bad day, Sam.”

Sam became slightly hostile toward you. “I know that.”

“Sam,” you sighed. “You don’t. I’m not tryin’ to hurt you here, but your four months was very different than my four months and Dean’s forty—” you quickly tried to cover up your mistake, “four months. There is no forgetting. There’s no making it better. There’s no talking it out. Because experiencing what he did? In real time? Unless you were there with him, you’d never understand it.”

Sam gave you a bizarre look; almost like he wasn’t processing what you were saying. However, he dropped it and got into the backseat of the Impala. 

****

Later that night as Sam slept soundly in the backseat, you and Dean sat beside each other in silence for a while. It felt strange to be in the front seat again; almost as if you were earning “girlfriend privileges” again.

Dean finally spoke up. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” You turned to face him, but he didn’t take his eyes from the road. “I’m not trying to.”

“But you did.”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest and facing away from him. “Dean, I was trying to make that conversation a little easier for you, okay? I’m sorry.”

It was almost as if you’d dumbfounded him because he didn’t speak for quite a few moments after that. “What’s goin’ on with you?” he asked. 

“What do you mean?” you grumbled, still staring out of the window. 

“You’re not… you’re not you,” Dean replied. “You’re— You’re erratic, you’re lashing out; you’re scaring the crap outta me.”

Your heart nearly cracked in your chest, tears springing to your eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Sweetheart, you’re supposed to be the stable one here, remember?”

As you choked down your tears, you nodded furiously. You could still feel Dean’s occasional glance to you for the next several miles, almost as if he was hoping you’d crack. Although, when your muffled cries subsided, you just faded off to sleep.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-nesmith @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[archives-of-a-hidden-writer]

Desperation

Angel Engine Uriel x Reader

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》 [Entry No.013 - Desperation]|

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》 Notice: Entry Continuation of Archive Entry No.012

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》 Summary: Dr. Goeff showed you what ways could the Angel Engine could make while utterly ignoring Uriel's cries of pain, you could only watch. |

》 Warnings: Uses 'they/them' pronouns for Uriel but Goeff mentions them as 'he/him', roughly follows part 8 of the series, antichrist mentioned, posted after the posting of Angel Engine Part 9, possible OOC by the end because we don't know much about the Antichrist, mentions of the tower of babel is guarded spiritually, possible cliffhanger. |

》 Archive Entry Loaded ◇

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Cruel.

The same word repeated in your head as Dr. Goeff brought you back in the laboratory, in the Tower of Babel, he calls this place. It has been a few days since the incident of him almost catching you going in and out of the lab where they kept the angel.

This caused you to halt your plan, slow down until Dr. Goeff stops hovering over you. Of course, you still enter the lab here and there, but more subtly yet not as often as before. And, in these last few days, you haven't entered the lab until now as Dr. Goeff leads you back into the lab, wanting to 'show' me something.

In which, this is where you are now, in front of the same angel, who Dr. Goeff now calls Uriel as he said the angel answers to that name.

"I... Love... You," Uriel spoke, in their slow yet, somehow, soft voice. You wonder if Uriel said it because they meant it due to the fact they knew you, or was it because they still hope for a smidge of kindness from humanity, that is you. Yet, you remained unmoving, not because you don't care, but because if you made a single move, that meant you care about the angel, Dr. Goeff would definitely turn you into one of the poor human subjects that were used to test Uriel.

"We've ran various tests on this angel, based on the results, it appears to be extremely intelligent, more so than our current technologies," Dr. Goeff explained, completely oblivious to the fact you were focusing more on the angel than at whatever he was saying.

"Save... Me..." Uriel spoke, "No," Dr. Goeff immediately sneered, causing you to tense. This man has no care for the being who gave their kindness to this dying world. "We have been able to converse with the angel for multiple times, answering to the name, Uriel," He explained, you mentally scoffed in return as you already knew of their name way before he did due to your planned mission. Unfortunately, Dr. Goeff soon got a glimpse of your staring, perfect, he thought as he claps his hands together, "As a newcomer in the tower of babel, allow me to show you the capabilities of the Angel Engine," Dr. Goeff started, looking over the staff members as they wheeled in a dead, already on stages of decomposition, body.

"Don't... Hurt me..." Uriel spoke out as the staff submerged the dead body onto the eerie liquid where half of Uriel's body is submerged in, ignored by Dr. Goeff as he started to explain the backstory of the dead man, "Due to a work mishap, this poor fellow died, declared as dead for approximately 24 hours by now," he explained, but you couldn't even look at it, not because of the gruesome state it is in, but because of thoughts, concern bubbling in you as Uriel sounded... Afraid at the thought of the experiment.

Machinery soon started to whir followed by painful groans coming from Uriel, "Declared as dead but with the help of the Angel Engine, he'll be in full health in no little more than a few moments," Dr. Goeff said, a sinister tone in his voice, and you heard it, the way his voice darkened as he knew what he's doing is for the sake of exploiting the poor angel. You also knew of how he's testing you, that would you either choose to follow his path for the 'greater good' or gain sympathy towards the angel who, in his twisted mind, chose to stay and help humanity.

As the machine whirred and healed the man, Uriel screamed in agony, begging the scientists to stop the machine due to the agony. Meanwhile, you could only freeze, unable to do anything. What can you do anyway? You slipped in this work job for the sake of an old friend that you soon realized is more twisted than anything as he exploits the being who only wanted to help, the tower is heavily guarded, and with Uriel's size, there's no way you can easily free them from this place without killing or stealing a few things here and there, not to mention, the people of the holy lands is never kind to anyone. So now, you can only watch, and Dr. Goeff was taking the scene very deliciously as Uriel cried in agony as the man came back to life in full health.

Dr. Goeff then clapped his hands at the 'successful' procedure, followed by the claps of everyone there, whether to hide their true feelings on the matter or if they're just as twisted as Goeff, and you? You could only stare at the now alive man, knowing well, Uriel was crying.

■■■

Outside of the Tower of Babel, you sat by the staircase leading to the entrance, sinking in everything you just witnessed along with the words Goeff gave you after seeing the procedure.

"Now you know what happens in the Tower of Babel... Oh, and don't claim sympathy over the angel, he chose to stay here, he could've leave," he said before patting your shoulder and leaving to congratulate the man that was brought back to live, frozen in place as you watched as Uriel wept from the pain of the procedure.

He chose to stay when he could've leave, those words echoed in your head as your fist clenched and unclenched at the thought. Bringing one hand to pinch the bridge of your nose before exhaling deeply, not noticing the way you held your breath the entire time. Then suddenly, the rays of the sun towards the tower became harsher, causing you to cover your face with your arms. It confused you for a moment until something clicked, a Prescence you felt over you as Uriel's words echoed through you.

"He is here. Do not let him in. Do not look at the sky, you're eyes will melt. Do not look."

Shit, you cursed in your head, looking down on the ground below as you noticed the obvious shadow before you. You know they're in front of you, the shadow tell enough that they're there afloat, not touching the ground. You're mind boggled as you thought of anything to escape this predicament. Well, all came out the window as the antichrist uttered a name you know very well.

"Uriel," they spoke. It confused you for a moment, but then they repeated the name, "Uriel," they repeated. It was then you came to the conclusion they were here because of Uriel.

"Uriel... They're inside," you spoke, your gaze still on the ground below. You hesitated for a moment before spilling out your thoughts over this being Uriel warned you on, "They're inside, the things in there... They're exploiting Uriel, and I don't know what to do..." You spoke out, unable to grasp anything at the moment. Just then, you could hear the antichrist shift, moving before hearing the sound of something sizzling before the shadow tells you they're backing away. Can't they not enter?

You didn't move nor tried anything as you felt they're present over you again, "Let me in," they spoke, "Let me in," they repeated, yet you didn't.

You're really asking for a death wish at the moment as you refuse to do so, "I want to help him with very little damage..." You said to the Antichrist before pausing in your words, "... But when the time comes, in a moment of desperation... Maybe..."

"... Maybe I'll against Uriel's words and let you cause mayhem," you spoke out, waiting for the Antichrist before suddenly hearing a gust of wind and a familiar voice came, calling your name, "What are you doing here? Come inside, you have work to do," Goeff spoke out, ushering you in. It was then you realized the shadow was gone. Deciding it's for the best that you thought the Antichrist decided on waiting on what you said, you pretended nothing happened outside the tower.

Yet, as you work, you felt a long gaze coming at you, but you let it be, thinking of nothing of it for now. Little did you know, Uriel heard everything, the angel is hyper intellectual and knew ways to overhear everything, and of course, he overheard you conversing with the Antichrist, the very same being they warned you.

For now, Uriel hopes that moment of desperation would never come to you if you ever start your attempt to free them.

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》 Archiver's Notes: Just a little something before the Archiver's finals kick in (Archiver is in no mood for reviewing lessons).

[dinoace2]

For @hg-aneh , this comic they made :]

Bit of a different take, this time, what if it wasn't just that he didn't talk, but he couldn't?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a shitty day.

All the days had been shitty.

Aziraphale had lost count how many there had been so far, and rain doesn't exist in Heaven. But clouds massing over Soho suggested that the newest thunderstorm was on its way, and it was going to be a big one.

Earlier...

"No, no, please, you can't do this!" Aziraphale thrashed about, trying to loose the grip of the Powers who held onto each of his arms. One on either side, holding tight to ensure he couldn't move.

Uriel sneered at him, their eyes flaring with anger. "I already told you once, Aziraphale. You ask too many questions. Supreme Archangel or not, there still remain standards that must be met. Lines that cannot be crossed."

Aziraphale frowned. "It still seems quite reasonable to me to demand why! The very idea of creating Humanity, just to destroy it, it's...well, it's senseless! Sure, they've made mistakes, but they don't deserve utter annihilation for it! And they definitely don't deserve it if the only reason is 'the Almighty has grown bored of Her little social experiment'! That logic is, quite frankly, nothing short of childish and ridic- !"

One of the other angels cut him off with a knee to the stomach. He winced, letting out a huff of air as he sank to his knees.

"Thats enough!" Michael frowned. "I'm not sure what the Metatron saw in you before, but I'm glad He finally came to His senses." She leaned down, inches from his face. "I've half a mind to strike you down where you stand, traitor."

"S-surely," Aziraphale whispered, his voice hoarse. "Surely, this can't be what She wants. This can't be Her will."

“You don't have the right to suggest what She wants.” Michael scowled. “such blasphemy begs execution.”

“I think you and I both know what happened the last time you tried.” Aziraphale managed a smirk. 

“We're well aware, thank you.” She huffed. “we had to get creative this time around, I hate to say.” She waved a hand. “Uriel!”

She stepped aside as the other archangel approached, some sort of weapon in hand. They raised their arm to strike, and Aziraphale flinched, his eyes shut tight.

…

He paused. Wasn't something supposed to happen? He opened his eyes, only to find Uriel already putting their weapon away. 

What happ- he paused. His mouth had opened, his lips formed the words, but…he didn't say anything. No sound came out.

He tried again, getting the same result. Michael chuckled. “A fitting consequence for the angel who talked too much, no?” she waved to the angels on either side of him. “You know what to do.”

Aziraphale struggled in their grasp as they dragged him away, far past the point of no return.

~~~

It burns...

It's so cold, but it burns...

Aziraphale wasn't sure how long he'd been falling.

He felt infernal wind flying around him, whipping in his hair and tearing through his feathers. It was completely dark, he couldn't see anything. The only reason he knew which way was down was because thats the direction he was going.

Hellfire lashed at him as he Fell, flicking at his clothes, his skin, his wings.  Every burst of flame stung with a flash of icy, searing pain that burned deep into his soul.

He wanted to cry out, to scream, to call for something, anything, but when his mouth opened he was still trapped in the same empty, maddening silence as if he had done nothing at all.

He wondered if this was how Crowley felt when he Fell; freezing, burning, hurting...alone. Thinking through everything that led him here. Wondering if he did the right thing. Wondering if there was anything else he should have done, anything else he could have done, to possibly have changed what he now faced.

Crowley...

What would he say, when he saw Aziraphale like this? What would he do? Would he even do anything? Would he glare down at him? Say 'I told you so'? Grin and laugh? Or maybe he'd just walk away, not even dignifying a response. Aziraphale wouldn't even blame him for that, considering how he left things. Whatever Crowley decided to do, it was definitely going to be deserved.

He put a hand to his throat, realizing that, whatever happened, he wouldn't be able to say anything. Wouldn't be able to explain himself, or say anything that he wanted to, or... he paused, then hugged himself. For the rest of eternity, no matter how much he may want to, no matter how hard he'd try, he would never be able to tell Crowley those three bloody words that he'd always wanted to say. Those three blasted words that had been on the tip of his tongue for millenia. Those three damned words that he should have said before.

But...even if he said them now...there was no guarantee (or, at this point, no chance) that Crowley would accept it, surely. Not after everything he did...after everything that happened.

  He hugged himself, pulling his knees to his chest, and choked on a silent sob. Everything hurt, he felt confused and scared and ruined. All he felt he could do was fall, and wait for the crash.

~~~

Aziraphale's eyes opened. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know what he was. He felt nothing at all. But at the same time he felt everything…and it all hurt. His lungs burned and his eyes stung. A cloud of ash lingered around him, smothering the nearby air and nearly making him choke.

He wanted to curl up, to cry, to never move again. He felt like he couldn't move, yet still that he had to. His face hardly moved, his expression limp and exhausted and miserable. In all fairness, that's exactly how he felt. Nothing. 

He gathered what strength he had and pulled himself to sit up, looking around. His skin stung with burns and his eyes couldn't quite focus. His fingers curled in coarse, sharp, black sand beneath him, and waves lapped at his feet. A burnt smell came from the bubbling ‘water’. Sulfur…? It looked like some sort of…infernal beach.

He got to his feet, brushing the sand off his coat and beginning to walk. Hell's offices must not be far from here.

Sure enough, after walking for a while he made it to a dim-lit building, greenish light spilling out of the few windows. Heaven's basement, indeed.

When Aziraphale opened the doors, all went suddenly still and silent. All eyes fell on him. The cramped crowds parted as he walked past, perhaps out of recognition, perhaps out of fear. He stopped one demon on his way, asking for directions by simply pointing a finger up.

~~~

The clouds overhead were dense and dark, nearly blotting out the natural sunlight of the late afternoon. Thunder rolled in the distance, deep and low, a promise of the storm that was to come.

A distinct ding echoed in the empty Soho street corner, and a cloud of ash spilled out onto the sidewalk.

As if to gather what dignity he had left, Aziraphale straightened his coat, straightening the wrinkles in the fabric, and approached A.Z. Fell and Co. The first raindrops of the oncoming tempest splashed against the pavement.

He hesitated as he reached for the door. The bookshop was an embassy after all. Demons aren't allowed to pass without permission...would he even be able to go inside his own- well...not his anymore - home? His fingers clasped around the doorknob and gently turned it, breathing out a sigh of relief when nothing stopped him.

The familiar chime of the doorbell was almost comforting as he stepped inside, but relief was quick to be replaced by regret.

It was dark. The lights were all out, the shades all drawn. The shop looked untouched, and while ordinarily that would be a good thing, not like this. Everything was covered in a visible layer of dust. He swiped his finger on the till counter, carving a revealed line of clean wood beneath the soft gray film. Not just untouched, but abandoned.

You poor thing...wasn't Muriel supposed to look after you?

Among the stagnant, silent scenery, a mop of long red hair was draped across a table. The body slumped beneath it stirred at the sound of the doorbell. Golden eyes blinked slowly, adjusting to the shift in lighting.

Aziraphale stood still, saying nothing, doing nothing. What happened to you? How long was I gone? How long have you been alone? His mind raced with questions that he couldn't voice.

Once he noticed the figure in front of him, Crowley was quick to sit upright, eyes wide. "Oh..." Frantic emotions of all natures flashed across his expression as he tried to determine whether the sight before him was really and truly there.

"Oh!"

He got to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well! Look who bothered to show up!" A sharp grin took over his face as he sauntered up to the visitor. "The Supreme Asshat of Heaven, dirtying his clean little shoes to come and laugh  at the pitiful, sad demon." His voice came out as a hiss, laced with bitter sarcasm and poorly-disguised sadness. Aziraphale didn't move, didn't respond. He couldn't.

I'm so sorry, dear…is that what you think ive been feeling? What I've been up to? Why would I ever mock you, I could never-

Crowley put his hands up and spoke in a mocking tone. “‘Ooh, poor Crowley, he must be feeling so pathetic, all alone’.” He grinned wider, his arms flat at his sides. “Well. The joke's on you. I'm better than ever on my own. Just me. A team of Myself.” He stepped forward once more, blinking away tears. “I don't need you!”

Aziraphale just looked at him, part of his mind wondering if this new form could cry.

Inches away from his face, Crowley nearly shouted, “So tell me, Angel, why did you come back?! Why are you here, Aziraphale?!”

With a shaky breath and a whoosh of feathers, Aziraphale answered his question. It…seemed the easiest way to communicate, considering the circumstances. Thunder cracked outside, a flash of light through the windows highlighting the jet-black wings from behind. He could do nothing but watch, as the color drained from Crowley's face.

“You….you-” he was still for a moment, quiet and shaky. His anger seemed to shift, still present but no longer directed at Aziraphale. “You idiot!” He launched forward and grabbed Aziraphale by his jacket’s lapels. “Why, Aziraphale?! Why did you leave?! Why did you go back?! Why?” He finally choked on a sob, collapsing against Aziraphale's chest. “Why, Angel…why…why…” He dissolved into broken cries, sinking to his knees as he begged for answers.

Oh, Crowley…

They sat in silence for a long while, Aziraphale unsure of what to do. He certainly couldn't say anything.

When Crowley's sobs slowed to soft whimpers, the angel stepped back. Crowley looked up at him, confusion in his gaze.

Aziraphale took a breath, then recited the simple, memorized steps in his head. Stepped forward with one hand up and the other on his hip, kicked his leg back and lifted his arms, spun around on one foot, and ended in a bow. You were right, you were right, I was wrong, you were right. He sunk down on the bow, propping himself on one knee and keeping his head low.

Crowley was silent, his jaw slack as he processed what just happened. 

“...Angel-”

He reached up, gently holding Aziraphale's cheek with one hand. Aziraphale closed his eyes, leaning into the demon's touch.

“...say something…please…” He whispered, leaning closer.

‘I can't,’ Aziraphale mouthed, trying to gesture to his neck. ‘I'm sorry.’

Crowley paused, nodding slightly. He seemed to understand. He pulled him close, pressing their foreheads together. “...Heaven took it from you…didn't they.” It was more of a statement than a question. When Aziraphale nodded, he sighed. “Those angels and their ‘poetic justice’, huh? They…they think they have the right to take everything…I get it. I've been there. Though I'm sure you know that already, heh.” He smiled weakly, and he felt a silent chuckle shake in Aziraphale's chest.

“...im glad you came back,” Crowley whispered. “I…im sorry how I acted…what I said, when you left…a-and…the…the kiss, i…im so sorry…I wish it had happened under better circumstances…or…maybe even just…never at all, I…I just…you…” his rambling trailed off, as Aziraphale cupped his face in both hands, gently lifting his chin.

The little space between them closed, their lips falling together as both demons desperately clung to one another, their only lifeline in an otherwise empty world. This wasn't like the last one. The last one was a plea to stay…this one was a promise. 

Tears finally fell down Aziraphale's cheeks, stinging his skin as he pulled Crowley closer still. He pressed kisses to his lips, his cheek, along his jaw, anywhere he could reach. He mouthed what he couldn't say against Crowley's skin, three words over and over, whispered silently wherever he touched. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Crowley pulled away, if only to breathe for a moment. “Aziraphale…” He wiped at the tears on his cheeks with his thumbs.

He hugged him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “my offer still stands, you know…our side…together. Just us…if- if you're interested, I mean. I…I know, it…sounds lonely…but…nothin’ wrong with being lonely together, is there?” He offered a weak smile. 

Aziraphale smiled, a real, true smile for the first time since getting on that bloody elevator oh-so-long ago, nodding as he clung tightly to his other half.

Together. Our side. As long as we have each other.

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! :]

[cobragardens]

CORRECTED & UPDATED Clothes + Equivocation = Romance: The Husbands in 1793 (Part 2)

From Part 1:

Crowley and Aziraphale share clothes as a common interest. They don't have the same style, but they're both aware of current fashions, and Heaven and Hell aren't. You can't tell me Hastur or Uriel would recognize the significance of Crowley saying "Dressed like that, he's asking for trouble" about someone else while wearing black stockings and cravat and waistcoat himself. And that means Anything the husbands communicate to each other through clothing choices goes undetected by their masters.

SO. With all this in mind, let's go through the 1793 scene again and look at what the husbands communicate to each other without using words or actions to do it, and how their clothing choices help them do that.

Hello. I'm here and I know you're in a spot of trouble. I like you.

It's you! I'm so happy you're here!

Sheen's voice and face when Aziraphale says Crowley's name in this moment makes me think that Aziraphale is in love with Crowley--the demon Crowley, not the angel who became Crowley--long before he consciously realizes it in 1941. The way Sheen has Aziraphale say Crowley's name is so soft.

The way you're he way you're lounging there and what you're wearing are uncomfortably sexy and also incredibly inappropriate for the Bastille at this moment in history. I suppose this is very on-brand for you.

Crowley: I listen when you talk about your interests and goals and keep track of your general whereabouts and pursuits.

Either they've spoken with each other recently or Crowley has been keeping tabs on Aziraphale. Aziraphale isn't upset that Crowley knows what he's been up to, which suggests the former, which in turn suggests they're in semi-regular (every few years or decades) contact at this point.

Also we've now got a general idea for when Aziraphale opens his bookshop.

Okay, brief tangent while I point out two things here.

One, my favorite thing about Aziraphale is that he is a sensualist. This is libertine behavior, y'all. He 'popped across the Channel' during the Reign of Terror because he wanted a specific carnal experience of a specific really lovely food.

And two, even when Aziraphale does weird, frivolous, silly, ill-advised things like this, things that clearly baffle Crowley...Crowley never makes fun of him. He never laughs at him. He always has this look of disbelief on his face, like Am I hearing this?--

--but Crowley never, not once, shuts Aziraphale down.

Until Aziraphale asks him to go back to Heaven.

Anyway. Back to our scene.

Aziraphale: I am unwilling to abandon my sartorial sensibilities even when it threatens my corporation, and I am insane, so I think this is reasonable. At least I'm not wearing a Slutty Monarchist outfit.

You're happy to see me, aren't you. You're relieved to see a demon. Go on, say it.

Tennant's delivery of this line cracks me up. It is so gloating and flirtatious and smarmy and indulgent of Aziraphale.

I am very happy to see you and lucky you're here, and I am willing to say so sincerely even though you are gloating about it.

And then there's the exchange where Crowley very carefully doesn't answer Aziraphale's question about why Crowley's in the area but also reassures him that he didn't cause the French Revolution and Aziraphale can still like him.

We can't speak openly about this. It's dangerous for me.

Message received: I won't mention what you did again. But I want to show my gratitude and spend time with you; is it safe for us to get lunch together?

Yes, but one of us is going to have to change so we can walk the streets of Paris without getting arrested again, and I'm the one doing the rescuing here so it's not going to be me. Your 'standards' will have to take the hit.

Fine, you've got me over a barrel. But hey, if I have to wear the silly hat anyway I might as well go all the way and wear your colors. Except not monarchist. And not slutty.

Oh, I don't know, I thought you looked pretty slutty too. (Meaning 2) I'm having this guy killed for touching you, btw. I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Immediately. I see you are having the guy who assaulted you killed in a copy of the clothes he would have killed you for wearing. I wholeheartedly approve of this (Meaning 3), your sexiness in those clothes notwithstanding. The utter insouciance of Crowley's little sniff and the inquiry about what they'll have for lunch drive home hard that Crowley could not be more unbothered by Aziraphale having the man who tried to harm him beheaded.

What really tickles me about this line is not only that Crowley's joke has three distinct meanings, but that Meaning 1 (the meaning that exists without reference to Crowley's clothes) is the opposite of Meaning 3--Anybody wearing clothes like that deserves what they get (Meaning 1) versus It rocks how you just killed someone who tried to kill you for wearing those clothes (Meaning 3)--and yet because of the clothes he's wearing, both meanings come through with perfect clarity, dependent only on whether the listener(s) can see his clothing and know its significance. Aziraphale can, and does, so he receives Crowley's real meaning. Hell/Heaven can't, and don't, so they just hear Meaning 1.

And then we get Aziraphale's pleased little smile and look of tranquil interest as he watches Jean-Claude dragged off to his death. Its such an interesting facial expression for an angel watching a demon have someone killed having someone killed, isn't it?

Crowley has just told him they're probably being listened to by Hell. That means Aziraphale, Crowley, and the audience all know this is the most Aziraphale can safely react. Aziraphale can't show any overt approval of anything an agent of Hell does, because by definition anything a demon does is demonic and angels must be against That Sort of Thing. In light of the fact that Aziraphale is the one who causes Jean-Claude's death, I now argue that this responsibility not to react too positively to something the other side has done falls on Crowley, and that the reason he makes this joke is primarily to tell Aziraphale I see what you've just done, and I like it without identifying aloud what exactly has just happened for their presumed eavesdroppers because an angel arranging a human's murder is the sort of thing in which head offices might take undue interest.

The awareness that their conversation is not private means the audience and Aziraphale know they need to be watching and listening for multiple meanings from Crowley, and it also means the audience and Crowley know we need to be watching Aziraphale's face closely right now. And that little smile shows us that Aziraphale has received Meanings 2 and 3 of "he was asking for trouble."

Or, at minimum, Meaning 3; even if Aziraphale picks up on Meaning 2--You looked really sexy in your vintage clothes, you crazy weirdo--that's not a message he can afford to react to at all. But he does react to the other coded communication Crowley is sending when he says "Dressed like that, he was asking for trouble" while dressed for trouble himself: I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Immediately. People who think your clothes give them the right to hurt you can go to Hell, and I am delighted you just sent one of them there.

You just had someone beheaded for assaulting me, I acknowledge and am pleased by your delight at my cleverness. and I could not be happier. Would you like to come enjoy one of my very favorite sensual pleasures with me?

***

EDIT: To be honest I like this reading better than my original, incorrect understanding of the story despite the fact that it is slightly less romantic, both because I love the idea of Crowley as a thirsty witness to Aziraphale quietly being a vengeful badass, because it gives us a glimpse of something important about Aziraphale's character that we don't get to see elsewhere: Aziraphale doesn't have a problem with killing per se.

We learn from the business with the Antichrist that, like Crowley, Az. can't bring himself to kill children. We learn from his perturbation at the Flood and the Crucifixion that he doesn't hold with killing innocents. He gave away his flaming sword. But this scene establishes that Aziraphale will actively cause someone's death if he feels they deserve it. That seems like an important character note for him that may become relevant in Season 3 (feathers crossed that it happens).

And I think there's something else in there too, something about how Aziraphale kills Jean-Claude, not with outright violence but with a trick. One party thinks he's in control of the situation; with a wave of his hand, suddenly a turnip has turned into an inkwell an executioner has turned into the condemned--or at least it seems that way long enough to get the job done. It's a bait-and-switch, like stage magic, and it slots right in to the motif in Good Omens of sleight-of-hand, of characters wearing other characters' appearances (for more on this, see fan theories re: Maggie is possessed), of supplying false meanings to an audience to disguise the true actions going on behind the scenes.

[quietwingsinthesky]

2012 me watching spn needs to apologize to Zachariah rn, I hated him so much and for what. He’s just doing his cult job. He’s funny. He beats up Dean because Dean’s so annoying. Tells the Winchesters he wants to fuck their mom right in front of them. Literally a perfect character, no notes.

[azfellesquire]

Is Crowley already the new Supreme Archangel?

A few oversights made millennia ago, and suddenly we have a demon archangel on our hands.

Caution: I came up with and wrote this in the last few hours so potentially crackpot theory ahead. Apologies if this has been proposed before, it’s not one I’ve seen. And I’ve seen A LOT.

So supposedly the miracle Aziraphale and Crowley performed together was something only the mightiest of archangels could have done. Everyone assumes it was Crowley because they think he was a high ranking Angel formerly. Or that it was the two of them together. Or that Jimbriel amplified it. But what if…

“There is always a supreme archangel”

Michael says this in S2E1 when talking with Uriel about who is in charge now that Gabriel was missing. Gabriel was removed from office in the trial we hear, he’s no longer Supreme Archangel. If so, Michael’s statement would imply that as soon as Gabriel’s removal happened, a new archangel already existed. Now obviously the Metatron is making a show of choosing Aziraphale as the new Supreme Archangel. But is that within his power to do so? Or is he suggesting working with Crowley for a different reason, possibly unknown even to him?

“I am the only first-order archangel in the room, or you know, the universe”

During the “2nd Armageddon-that-wasn’t” discussion, Gabriel says these words. As he says them, it cuts (ominously isn’t the right word here, pointedly maybe?) to Crowley leaning against the desk, and lingers there just a bit too long.

“How do you know it wasn’t me?”

Another clue to the powerful angel Crowley was. It was clearly said in a teasing manner throw Shax off. But much like the barrel of red herring in the intro, is it a red herring to something else?

“Can you send lightning bolts and get them to report back to you?”

The only other time we see someone calling lightning or using it is, you guessed it: Gabriel in S1 on the airbase to port in and out. I’ve read the theory that Angel!Crowley was the lord of lightning, which I’m not opposed to, but to me this is another link.

“Never change their passwords”

We have one HUGE instance of Heaven being sloppy in their record keeping (passwords), and lax in their security protocol (Crowley bopping about with Muriel). Whereas Hell is meticulous in their record keeping, as shown by the bills, admissions process, and S1 contract.

So what if: when Gabriel was stripped of the title, a new Supreme Archangel was automatically appointed. Except instead of someone else, because heaven neglected to double-check their logs after The Fall, Crowley was still on the books as next in line? This would absolutely play into “God playing games with the universe” and “just think what would have happened if we’d been at all competent” themes running through both seasons. It would also follow the theory that people noticed Aziraphale and Crowley were on the “wrong” side for much of the season. It would also explain a few continuity errors along the way (how did Crowley know Muriel’s rank? He knows it through the knowledge automatically given to the Supreme Archangel).

“Funny ol’ world, isn’t it?”

Caveats and potential weaknesses:

I have no idea how this fits into the fact that S3 will be the actual continuation the Neil and Terry planned, as to my knowledge S2 was essentially a “Neil’s chaotic angsty ineffable husbands fanfic”. But clearly S2 has to play well into the plan for S3. I also kind of hate my theory because Crowley specifically declined to be an angel again, and his hand has been forced too often already.

Now I am a staunch advocate of the body-swap theory, and I’m not sure how this would play into that. Does Metatron know? Does he think he has the power to appoint? Does he think the title went to Aziraphale because of the miracle? Does he try to get Crowley to come back with Aziraphale to exploit his power? Does he know about the body swap in S1 and if so, was he trying to trigger another one to get the right “soul” to heaven?

There are a few other things I haven’t figured out how to incorporate into this post yet. I’ll try to put them into coherent thoughts in the next few days, but thought I’d throw this to the wolves universe for the time being.

Thought 1: “How have your lot managed to stay in charge all this time?” “I’m not so sure we have.”

Thought 2: I need to do (another) rewatch before I nail this one down (such a sacrifice I tell you), but does Crowley have a visceral reaction like he does in S1 to being called “good” in the current, post Gabriel-removal timeset? Obv in Edinburgh/Job, but that’s in the past. He denies it, sure (with Jim), but he straight up flashes a smile and thanks Mrs. Sandwich when she says “You’re a good lad” (after the denial).

2.1: No one calls him “good” in present day except these two instances. Vast difference in the visceral reactions of season 1 and flashbacks.

Thought 3: Crowley is the only one who can trigger Jimbriel’s recall memory.

[the-ineffable-dance]

Holy Palmers Kiss

Throughout their history together, the romance between Aziraphale and Crowley has mostly been expressed through incredibly subtle ways. It's been centuries (if not millennia) of nothing more obvious than a surreptitious brushing of hands or yearning looks when they think no one is watching. And of course, when they have plenty of deniability.

Good work, Aziraphale... hand on the chest of the Thin Dark Duke, and if anyone asked, you were just making sure that young lady didn't get bumped.

And this is for a very good reason. It quite literally isn't safe for them to be openly romantic with one another, even now. Demons like Hastur and Shax are constantly popping up... Michael and Uriel are always watching... eyes are everywhere.

They have certainly gotten closer to being open in the years that separate the two seasons. Crawley sprawls all over that bookshop like he has a personal vendetta against chairs - removes his glasses as soon as he steps foot inside (which is an incredibly coded action that I would love to take a more in depth look at in the future) - gives up the keys to the Bently... And Aziraphale himself has those longing looks - calls him up to talk enough that Crowley knows his "tones of voice" - and then, we get The Ball.

Technically, The Ball is for Nina and Maggie... or at least that's what Aziraphale says. We get the lovely little moment in the pub where he and Crowley try to come up with the best ways to get humans to fall in love with each other. But the moment Aziraphale mentions Jane Austen having characters dancing with each other and realizing how in love they were, I think at least for him the focus changes to this... THE BALL IS FOR CROWLEY. And once he starts giving away books to make sure the ball will be perfect, there can be no question. The entire idea is a way for him to be able to dance with Crowley.

That's why, for me, the most romantic moment in all of Good Omens, at least from Aziraphale's point of view, is this moment right here.

Vavoom! Sorted! Look at the way Crowley even curls his fingers around Aziraphale's hand! This is peak Aziraphale romance as a fan of Jane Austen.

But he's also a fan of Shakespeare. Even the gloomy ones. And every time I watch this scene, I'm reminded of a different ball from one of the gloomy plays that Crowley would hate and Aziraphale would swoon over. Romeo and Juliet. A fitting parallel to an angel and a demon being in love.

In Romeo and Juliet, at the end of the first act, is another ball. Romeo tries to get Juliet to kiss him, and she turns him down with this...

"For saints have hands that pilgrim's hands do touch/ And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss"

There's quite the back and forth here between Juliet and her Romeo about hands and lips and such, (and eventually Romeo gets his way) but the parallel for Aziraphale in this exchange is unmistakable. He, as the angel, is the saint (and stand in for Juliet), Crowley his pilgrim. Snogging in public would be absolutely out of the question for our dear prim and proper Aziraphale... but this is a chaste kiss, and one that he is showing the world. A public declaration of his love for Crowley. A Holy Palmer's Kiss.

It's certainly debatable if Crowley would have picked up on it. Like a lot of their coded language there are times when one of them misses what the other is trying to say. But in my opinion, this was not only a public declaration, but his confession to Crowley. This is his "I love you" as much as "I forgive you" is.

Just for fun, here's how Romeo finally gets his kisses (but let's have Crowley stand in for Romeo and Aziraphale for Juliet, shall we?)

Cro. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. (They kiss)

Azi. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Cro. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged. Give me my sin again. (They kiss again)

[lazyleafeon]

i put a lot more time into my piece for the serenity zine than I usually do, so ive been wanting to make a write up with more details about what i was intending + stuff thats easy to miss (full piece without the character names can be seen here)

[ID: a drawing centered on a young kim dokja writing in a notebook, surrounded by paper cut outs of ways of survival characters. there are names next to the cut outs to clarify which characters are which. End ID]

1: text on the characters

the text on all of the characters are all quotes from orv. for characters from specific rounds, the text is specifically linked to those rounds (ex: 1863 uriel has text from when kdj is thinking about how gabriel isn't aware of her own betrayal of eden). Where i could, i tried to find text that paralled kdj somehow (sp with changing the 999th worldline, and 41 sys with her resentment towards yjh paralleling kdj's towards lsk for leaving him behind.).

for characters that aren't from specific worldlines (or where i couldn't find text i wanted to use that related to their worldlines) , the text either centers something i feel is central to orv (ex jhy talking about the final wall is used in both of her cut outs), kdjs perception of the character or thoughts of them from wos (ex lsh and his line about not really knowing her), or something about the character that parallels kdj (bihyungs cut outs are both about his ending of sacrificing himself, yma is about yjh leaving in the epilogue and her belief he won't come back (which works doubly as yjh leaving as kdj often did, and yma being left behind by her guardian)).

there is also sunfish yjh. who only says "the sunfish" because of the constraints of being a tiny piece of paper. The full quote is "Maybe I had been lucky until now. I might be the 'sunfish' rather than yoo joonghyuk" from chapter 38.

i don't think everything like, perfectly follows these categories, but that was the intent for the most part. One intentional exception is that the yjh near the bottom of the drawing has the text: "I want to read this story for a little bit longer"

if you want to read all the text, I have it up on a doc here. (you can also ask me about thoughts behind specific quotes if you want to know why i chose them)

2: amount of characters + visual details

there are 2 versions of each character for the most part, with 4 exceptions: kdj (3), yjh (6, counting the sunfish but not the kkoma), and na bori and knw only having 1.

the reason there's only one na bori is because her fate is, for the most part, set before her story can be changed by yjh. there is only 1 of her in all of the characters memories, outside of the 1865 worldline (though given we see knw after kdj kills him, its not out of the question there isn't a worldline where she reappears.)

for kim namwoon, its part because of kdj's hatred for him as someone he sees himself in, and part because kdj in orv like. replaces knw pretty directly by killing him and trying to become yjh's companion. so in kdjs notes and doodles based on wos, knw is here only as an outergod king, where kdj is unaware of him.

the outer god kings all have at least one element that sets them apart from the other cut outs: sp has his crumpled paper cloak, knw's cut out is in the shape of dragons near the edges, uriel is on fire, lhs is partially tin foil, and ljh has a water stain and some of her paper is peeling off into water. this represents them being unbound from the worldlines, but since they're still bound to the story they're still made of paper.

anna croft (near uriel) is intentionally a little more 3D than the other characters, since she has memories from past worldlines. she's supposed to seem like shes going against the tide.

1863 uriel is also a bit of an exception, though not intentionally, since her halo looks better as a separate piece of paper, and i wanted her to have flames too... it fits because shes a constellation and seeing the story from a somewhat outside perspective but is still a part of it, but it wasn't intentional.

near the edges of the piece towards the right, some characters outlines start to become faded, and the paper cut out outlines become more irregular. the outer god kings are exempt because they've managed to keep their sense of self to an extent outside of the worldline.

some of kdjs books are from his library in orv.

the text for all characters is slightly cut off (i tried to make it so most of the quotes are missing some texts so you can't actually read them in full). this is both because they're cut out of a larger page, and because kdj can't actually learn everything about the characters once he meets them by reading them because you can't read people like that. so some of the text is out of view because the characters are viewed as characters to kdj and not "real" yet, so kdj doesn't see their full stories.

some concept art + one of the earliest digital sketches i have. all of my works in progress have a billion notes left on them so i know not to forget something when i get back to them:

[drawing of yjh made of paper, and an earlier sketch of the overall piece]

i sort of wish i kept the paper style of this yjh, but it wasn't meant to be....

3. final thoughts........

this really is the most... orv piece i've ever done (?), in a lot of ways. there is nothing that makes you feel more like kdj like searching up orv quotes from memory and then scrolling through the epub on your phone to find what you want. i even ended up explaining it to my mom and having to show her what a sunfish was.

there are things i would change about it if i did it now (i would probably erase the outline from adult kdjs cut out and emphasize his shadow falling on it instead), and things i didn't get to do that would've made it more like what i envisioned (ideally i would've reread all of orv to find quotes. and i didn't do that).

It's personal to me in ways that are kind of silly. I used to doodle a lot of paper cut out creatures in high school, which helped a lot with getting the sort of paper movement down here. and of course the handwriting is just my own, so i had to actually rewrite the quotes i found. it's probably the most ambitious piece i've drawn yet composition wise, and i don't think ive spent so long on a single illustration besides art studies for school. It feels like a love letter to everything orv means to me.

if you've read this far, thank you :)! i don't normally go into this much depth about my thought process, but there's a lot here i don't expect people to pick up that i wanted to get into

[aspiringsophrosyne]

TLOVM, Group Dynamics and Theming

One thing about TLOVM that I’ve seen CR fans bothered by is that the Vox Machina of the show is more tight-knit co-workers than a family.

Here’s the thing: in the stream, aren't Vox Machina more tight-knit co-workers than family?

Most of Vox Machina are oil and water. They don’t blend. They’re individual archetypes: the box in the basement full of old action figures from different TV shows.

Does that mean the stream didn't have incredible gags and heartfelt talks between various pairs in the group? Nope. Does that mean at the end of the Campaign we didn't get a group of people willing to literally go to hell and back for each other? Also nope.

Just...well...did they have the varied yet consistent character dynamics that later groups did? At the very least, to the same degree?

Scanlan and Keyleth would absolutely die for each other...but what would they talk about?

On that score, TLOVM isn't that disloyal to the original.

And that's not a knock on Vox Machina or their campaign! It’s just how Critical Role has evolved. What did the stream have going into Campaign 2 that it didn’t beforehand? Hindsight, which let them build the Nein (and later the Hells) differently. It let the players mold their characters—and Matt his story—around a cohesive theme.

Something Campaign 1—as great as it was—didn’t start with.

However, going into TLOVM, the CRew had hindsight, didn’t they? Couldn’t they have found commonalities between characters and built Animated Vox Machina around a theme like CR did with their successors? And then use that to integrate a wider range of interparty interactions?

I’m an unprofessional doofus operating far away from the pressures, time constraints, and demands of professional scriptwriting…. but I’ll take a crack at it:

Becoming the Mask, You Are Better Than You Think You Are, and Dare to be Badass.

(Light spoilers for TLOVM from here on out.)

Concept: we meet our protagonists right after they’ve saved Uriel and defeated the Glabrazu. The show builds VM up to be these strong, competent, heroic, unparalleled heroes who just saved the kingdom. But as soon as VM’s alone…

“They think we’re heroes!! We just stumbled ass backward into all this by accident! The fuck do we do now!?”

(Basically, take the Rocks Fall Everyone Dies sequence from the start of the first episode, apply it nonlethally to VM and draw it out a little more.)

What they hear from this point on: “The Briarwoods are evil? Well, surely heroes such as you can put a stop to whatever wickedness they’re committing, right?” And then later: “You saved the kingdom and defeated the Briarwoods; surely you can take care of these four dragons, right?”

The overall story: a gaggle of rag-tag fuckups who are mistaken for heroes must keep pretending to be the real thing, and in the process become the real thing.

Go full The Road to El Dorado in this bitch.

Imposter syndrome and perceived inadequacy work beautifully as a common thread for multiple members:

Percy was never supposed to lead.

Vex and Vax are considered mistakes.

Pike’s family has an unsavory past.

Grog was the runt that was left for dead.

Keyleth’s trying to pass the test her mother failed.

Scanlan is the odd one out, bursting with almost undeserved bravado… until Kaylie shows up. Then it’s a question of, can this gnome, who’s only ever been good at putting on a show, learn emotional sincerity?

No matter how disparate the members of Vox Machina may be, what does this guarantee? That they all have one thing in common. They all come from vastly different backgrounds and have vastly different perspectives, but what can they all commiserate over?

Not feeling good enough.

This, in turn, makes it easier to bring in gags from the stream and build on less prominent intergroup relationships.

And this was the Nein’s advantage. As crazily different as each member was, what did they have in common? They all struggled with identity and self-image. This allowed them to form sub-groups that had unique dynamics distinct from the Nein's overall group dynamic. Character pairs could bond over that commonality.

What do we get, taking this tack with the show? We don't just give Vox Machina that same advantage, we give it from the opposite angle. TLOVM’s story is now about living up to heroic expectations to Become The Mask. This is a fabulous lead into a potential Nein series, because their story is about dropping the mask and Being Yourself.

What does this do? As both series come out, it highlights the contrast between groups and makes for a real one-two-punch.

And as a nice little bonus...

This could've brought in some real-life subtext. A joy unique to Campaign 1 is watching the cast look around at each other throughout and go “Holy shit, we can go that hard?”

Marisha’s tree dream, Taliesin’s No Mercy Percy, Liam’s speech when Vax was at the mercy of the Briarwoods…all these moments and more had everyone at the table speechless, picking up on their potential; starting to imagine how hard they could go with these characters.

And the idea of Vox Machina themselves learning to take that same leap of faith, I feel, would’ve been really cool.