#we would live in a very different world if this one ended being the ineffable husbands song instead

[linipik]

Buddy Holly's Everyday scene from the script book

[wildweinerbug]

gomens s2 spoilers !!!

okay so we all know the instantly famous:

I think that from the scene we saw in s2 ep1 where crowley and aziraphale were angels during the creation scene, that was one of their first actual, Memorable meetings. they've met before, many times, but only really talked during the creation of the universe. And even then, it was mostly aziraphale talking to angel¡crowley and angel¡crowley kinda justtttt doing his own thing. They talked a bit at zira but didn't talk to him.

Neither of them had remembered previous meetings that well, so that's why aziraphale introduces himself.

But I like to believe aziraphale really liked angel¡crowley, that's when he started really crushing on him. You can see how enamoured he is by him and how he practically glows when he thinks angel¡crowley compliments him (and how he deflates when he realizes it was about the stars.)

so aziraphale liked him first, and they talked more after that scene. They talked before the war and they were friends. aziraphale fell in love (but he doesn't realize it) and angel¡crowley starts falling for him too.

then the war happens and (like how it's said humans remember everything from their lives in the moments before their death) crowley remembers all the meetings he's had with aziraphale (and others), he even remembers the ones before the creation. So he remembers the millions of years' worth of sparse conversation with the angel he was starting to fall in love with (he didn't really realize he was falling in love with azi either). Then, he's in hell.

Hell is set up and he mourns the loss of everything he loved. He goes through the (now fragmented) memories of aziraphale and feels so so much. he's left feeling unlovable and unloved. God has abandoned him and thrown him out. She's left him to Hell.

Aziraphale also feels so so much, in a few different ways. He had to fight his brothers and sisters and other angels. He had to lead an army and be ruthless with his casting down. He pushed off his emotion until the end of the battle and he let's his grief and love fill his being. crowley is gone and he's left with a smaller family. how could they have betrayed heaven and God's love?

he forgives them.

then crowley and aziraphale are assigned to the garden of eden.

Aziraphale sees how adam and eve are left defenseless, about to go into a world they know nothing about. it reminds him of the demons, of crowley. how he never expected to be cast down, with his love taken away and forced into a new space with beings much more despicable than himself. so he gives away his flaming sword, so they at least have something to protect themselves with (and to rid himself of the reminder of how he had to ignore his love and cast down his family and crowley).

while on the wall, he thinks about how he's betrayed God and how She'll cast him to hell as well. How he might see crowley when he becomes a demon.

crowley sees aziraphale on the wall and slithers up towards him. he calms himself before going up and during his climb. when aziraphale sees crowley transform into the old angel he knew, he gets filled with so much love, it doesn't really feel like love. he asks himself, too, if crowley is there to drag him down to hell himself. before he can think too much on it, crowley is talking to him again, and aziraphale is reminded of why he would be dragged to hell and is filled with anxiety once again.

they see each other throughout time, and they both fall very, very hard for each other. their love is ,,,, ineffable. it was there from the beginning, and it'll be there 'till the end.

crowley realizes it was love he felt for aziraphale, soon after eden. but aziraphale only realized in 1941 after crowley saved his books.

for s2 ep6, aziraphale wants to bring crowley to heaven with him so he can make heaven better. he knows crowley is smart and suave. I genuinely think that aziraphale believes that crowley is a better leader than him, so (other than his love) he wants to bring crowley to heaven so crowley can help direct aziraphale in what he needs to do to fix heaven. he wants heaven to become the thing he's always wanted to believe it was: pure good. he doesn't want to kill people just to test their faith and he wants to forgive, he wants to give people (crowley) unconditional love. like he was made to do !!! he loves crowley so much, he wants to make heaven better for him and to heal his own religious trauma (that he doesnt quite know exists).

crowley wanted to leave. plain and not so simple to do (not with aziraphale). he knows that heaven is screwed, and that hell is screwed so he wants out. they want to live a simple, almost human life with aziraphale. them two against the world and all that. he's loved aziraphale forever, he wants to spend eternity together and it takes all he has to confess that to aziraphale.

and he's rejected. (in his eyes he's rejected. just like how aziraphale thinks crowley rejected him)

all the vulnerability crowley shows by taking off his glasses is gone, he's betrayed, he's heartbroken. so in his last ditch effort to keep aziraphale with him, he kisses him.

aziraphale doesn't know what to do. he's feeling so so so much during the kiss, you can see it in his face during, you can see it in his hands sort of flailing about. he wants to kiss back, he was heartbroken by him so he wants to do so many things other than kiss back. but he really really wants to. he doesn't though.

and he forgives crowley. forgives him for kissing him. for breaking his heart. for being a demon. for everything and anything.

he's even more heartbroken after the kiss. both of them are.

then crowley leaves and

aziraphale leaves.

both left heartbroken and alone.

sorry if this didn't make any sense 😭

[insertsickusername13]

General concept: Brooke comforts Jake after the fire

Word count: 1969

Warnings: kind of alludes to suicide, but it's like... very implied and not at all said

Jake's apartment is probably more important to Brooke than it is to Jake. After November 1st, when she woke up to her parents shaking her awake at 8 am telling her something terrible's happened. Are you friends with Jake Dillinger? she's forced to function under the constant, ineffable, unavoidable assumption that no matter what she does—how kind she is, how happy she can be—something terrible is going to happen again, and this time there is going to be no boy to pick up from the hospital, no wheelchair to help him set up, no trips to the mall to buy countless flowers for Rich. Only black dresses and rainy skies and silent lunch tables. 

The apartment is proof he's alive. He's going to recover. He isn't being taken by social services and isn't moving in with his Aunt in Virginia. He's here. He's safe. She still has her best friend (aside from, of course, Chloe, but that's a different situation entirely).

Jake doesn't appreciate it as much. He's silent as his landlord hands him the key with a pitying 'good luck' smile, silent as they sit in the pre-furnished living room, Brooke on the overstuffed couch and Jake in his wheelchair. Brooke's planning out ways to make the place Jake's: posters on the walls, pictures on the shelves. Repaint a couple of walls and redo the beach-themed bathroom. Her voice is so loud it echoes through the apartment.

"The windows are nice, the curtains are definitely giving off unfulfilled middle age mother though, don't you think?"

She turns to Jake for approval, smiling brightly at her own joke, only to be met with a blank, red-eyed stare and delayed laugh.

She decides getting him out of the apartment is probably for the best. Maybe it's just too stuffy, or too fast. He just needs a distraction—some time to process everything. Nothing terrible is going to happen as long as she stays by his side.

She can just talk it away. She can do his nails, buy more flowers. She'll paint the walls yellow and waft away every cloud in the sky until the world is bright with sunshine. Just as long as nothing terrible happens. 

She takes him to the mall first, thinking perusing the isles of Ikea might excite him. Pretty furniture, pretty setups. 

"How do you feel about these 'yellow star twinkling' fairy lights? The LED strips look cheap, right? So these are definitely better. But the LEDs change color, so...?"

Brooke holds the two options up in front of her. There's an entire shelf of other lights behind her, but the rest are erring on the side of too feminine, and she has the feeling that even a Jake who no longer has Rich constantly chastising every decision that isn't 'manly' enough won't appreciate them.

Jake points silently to a box behind her, barely doing more than lifting a finger. Ecstatic to finally get a reaction out of him, Brooke spins wildly to see a box of butterfly-shaped lights. 

Oh. Maybe it wasn't too feminine, after all. She notes that for later. 

Eagerly, she picks up the box. "These?"

He nods. She tries not to look at him too long as she skips over to their cart. If she studies him for any more than a moment she'll be forced to confront the bags under his eyes and the glazed-over, empty look in his irises, either a result of the medications or the knowledge he'll never be able to run like he used to or see Rich the same way.

"Great! Are we gonna look at posters too? Personally, I never thought of you as a poster guy, but I might be wrong. Maybe polaroids? Or paintings! Paintings would be awesome."

She ends up buying post-it notes. She lost Jake somewhere between the desks and beds, and by the time they finally reach another section of the store with more bedroom decor, he's only responding with sharp, one-word answers meant to slice her away into submission and eventual surrender. The terror of something going wrong keeps her smile on her face and a pep in her step, and eventually she gets him to say he wants neon pink post-it notes. 

He doesn't. But it's an answer, and it's clear on his face he thinks that might be enough to get her to finally leave him alone. 

It isn't.

She sits crisscross on his bedroom floor once they get back to the apartment, squished in the far corner between his empty dresser and equally as empty desk.

"I bet we could paint it," Brooke offers as she sits next to the splintering wood of his dresser. Jake hums from his bed, having reverted back to nonverbal answers. He's laying on his back, hands clasped over his stomach, legs propped up on a pile of pillows Brooke had bought at Bed Bath & Beyond. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, resisting the urge to flurry over and roll him over onto his side, because what if he takes too many pills? What if he overdoses? What if he does it on purpose? What if something terrible happens?

Her grip on her pen tightens as she writes you're amazing!! on one of the post-it notes and sticks it to the edge of the corner.

On the next, what do you call a tower of cats?? —a meow-tain!!

You're really brave!!

I love you

It'll get better

A cartoon sun. A flower. A llama. 

It's nothing. It's stupid. Even someone as naive and innocent as Brooke can identify just how little it will help someone in Jake's situation, but her hands shake as she writes you can do this!! and she realizes, blinking back tears, that this isn't for Jake at all. 

She takes a small, shaky breath. She's as quiet as she can be, not ashamed that she's about to cry but knowing she can't in front of Jake. He's the one who lost his house and best friend. It isn't her place to cry, to be scared. 

But she can still see her parents' faces as they told her he was in the hospital, can still hear her mother screaming as she sped through a stop light on the way there, vision so blurred the red light almost looked like the blinding sirens on an ambulance. She can't let anything terrible happen again.

A sob escapes her—short and scared. She immediately tries to muffle it with her hand but it must be too late. She hears rustling from the bed behind her and the sound of Jake's raspy voice saying, "...Brooke?"

She swallows another sob as she turns, a sunflower smile on her face. 

"Yeah?" she says, and it sounds so simple, so pure that she sees Jake doubt himself for a second. The flicker of confusion on his face at the distinctive difference in her smile and posture from the way it had been a second ago. She tries to smile wider—better he be confused than concerned. He already has too much on his mind, so much that it's spilling over the edges in the form of flashing nightmares and constricting lungs (she knows, even if he won't say it). 

"Are you okay?"

It might be the first full sentence he's said since the fire.

Brooke gets up from where she's sitting and needlessly wipes her hands on her jeans as if ridding her palms of the scary feelings creeping into the sunny spots of her soul. 

"Great! I'm a little hungry though, maybe we should head out and get some pinkberry? Or pancakes. I'm kind of in the mood for those. Maybe IHop?"

Just to avoid looking at him, she takes out her phone and opens google maps, scrolling through all the options for restaurants as if she isn't nauseated by the thought of not being able to take Jake anywhere too crowded because the noises might send him spiraling in a way it never would have before. 

She can take him for ice cream in the park if he refuses IHop. Make sure he eats at least something, even if it's unhealthy. He might like the cold of it, the complete opposite of the fire.

Jake nods and sits up a little straighter. He opens his mouth, intention clear in every movement. Brooke watches him carefully and braces for rejection. She can make something small here. Even if it's just a snack. She won't take the excuses, won't falter even though she knows it must be difficult for him to comprehend the idea of continuing on with life without Rich at his side.

But Jake says, "Can I have a hug?"

Brooke's not sure she wants him to feel just how uneven her breathing's becoming, but if it makes him feel safe, if it makes him happy, even if it's only for a moment, then she'll do what it takes. 

She sits on the edge of his bed and hovers, unsure if he really means this, especially because the burns (not nearly as bad as Rich's) on his forearms have yet to fully heal, but the second she's within reach he pulls her into his hold, arms circled around her waist and face burrowed into her hair. She can feel his lips trembling against the skin of her neck as he shifts so she's on his lap, as close to him as he can get her. 

He's shaking. His fingernails dig into the crook of her shoulder blades and she takes in a small, sharp breath suppressed by just how tightly he's holding on to her. With nothing left to do, she cradles his head against her chest and runs soothing hands through his unwashed hair. 

"It's okay," she whispers against his hair. She tries to kiss the top of his head but he's hanging on with such a grip she can't shift without disturbing him, so she kisses thin air and pretends he feels it. 

"I don't—" he chokes, and it takes Brooke squeezing him to get him to breathe again. "I dunno if I can come back from this one, Brooke."

Something terrible's going to happen. 

"What's that supposed mean?"

Her voice is trembling. She closes her eyes to try and stop the saltwater from burning. 

Jake nuzzles closer as he says, muffled by her shirt but not by sobs, "I could deal with my parents. Could—could handle living on my own. But he's—how could he—?"

How could he?

She knows Jake means it as a genuine question, but when the words wrap around her tongue she feels her stomach clench with an anger she's never come close to experiencing before. How could he do this?

"I don't know," she says aloud, "I really don't know, but it's gonna be okay. I promise."

"How?" 

And this time she can hear the tears in his voice, feel them on her shirt and in her hair, a stain against her skin she'd rather tattoo onto her than let forever reside alone on Jake's face. They're made of poison. His words are made of poison, and she wants them spat against her shoulder just to stop them from festering in his mouth.

"Well," she says. The lump in her throat tries to stop the words and fails. "We're going to decorate your apartment, and we're going to rehearse for the play, and we can buy Rich more flowers. And he's gonna wake up and explain why he did it, and you don't have to forgive him, but at least you'll hear him say he doesn't hate you, that there's some misunderstanding. And—and I don't know, but I promise— I promise you, I'm gonna make it okay."

He tries to pull away from her, but she has to hold him still for a moment longer to wipe the tears off her face before he has the chance to see them. When he does finally pull back to look at her, his face is puffy and swollen. 

"Really?"

"Really. Really, really, really. Nothing terrible's ever going to happen to you again."

---

i rlly told someone to draw richjake inspired by safe and sound by t swift then decided to fully take rich out of the picture and write brooke and jake instead. btw go listen to safe and sound i stared at the ceiling for like half an hour listening to it then sat up and wrote this. hope u enjoyed!! it's sad. I'm sad. Their relationship is great.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

I know you’ve talked about how all the Cullen pairings are eventually going to implode - glad someone said it - but I was wondering if you wanted to talk a little bit about what you think Meyer INTENDED with the pairings - tropes and whatnot? And what you think would have to change in her narrative to make what was intended what we actually saw on the page? Or — what do you think each cullens’ Perfect Spouse would actually look like?

Anon is referring to this post.

And well, you've certainly given me quite the challenge.

Some Musing Ramblings Before We Begin

Sort of like asking me to make Dramione work, I'm not sure I'm the person to ask this. Anyone who reads my work knows that... well, that's a lie, every story I secretly write is a love story. But it's not Twilight in any way shape or form.

Twilight simply isn't a story I would set out to write. This isn't a good thing or a bad thing, it just is, which means that asking me to make Twilight work the way Meyer intended is probably not your best bet.

But I'll try regardless, it's what we're here for.

Bella/Edward

Meyer intended Bella Swan and Edward Cullen to be the best and brightest of all the pairings in Twilight. They have the love and devotion of Carlisle and Esme, the physicality and sexual attraction of Rosalie and Emmett, and are such a grand love that even depressed Marcus takes note. This is the love story that drives the entire series.

Edward is an improvement upon Carlisle, a Carlisle with even better control, and the most beautiful man you ever did see. He's also a gentleman, a man of his time and from an era where chivalry was alive and men courted women. Bella is one of those disturbingly altruistic people who makes you feel bad about yourself just by being in the same room. She's incredibly selfless, kind, and also quite brave.

Together, despite their ups and downs and the many obstacles in their way, they're disgustingly perfect.

However, that's not what we get. On Edward's end he's... Edward about loving Bella. On Bella's end, she has no idea who Edward even is but she does know he's beautiful and special.

And to get what Meyer actually wanted... Christ, Anon, I'll try.

So, the first problem, if Edward was truly a good person then Twilight would never happen.

Edward would have his first day of Biology, miraculously maintain control, and flee to Alaska as he does in canon. However, he would not return. Edward in canon returns due to his budding obsession as well as his wounded pride, in fleeing Forks he feels he has lost to Bella. When Carlisle later points out that a girl's life is on the line, that Edward is foolishly endangering this girl solely for his ego, Edward refuses to acknowledge this.

A good man would never have returned from Alaska, the Cullens would have moved in short order, and Bella may or may not have died in a parking lot or in Port Angeles.

That said, what if Bella is not, in fact, Edward's singer? Then there's not this constant debate of him eating her or his creepy, budding, obsession with his personal brand of heroin.

Well, the trouble with that is that Edward would then never notice her. Even were Edward not a colossal dismissive dick, required per this ask, Bella is one mortal out of many and someone he shouldn't grow close to. Associating with her just exposes her to unnecessary danger from him and his family. Edward is a guest in our world, nothing more, and a kind Edward might chit chat with her in Biology but even if he had a growing crush he'd keep his distance.

As he tried and failed to do in canon, actually.

Basically, change Edward alone, and it's not enough. The Edward Meyer wanted would never get together with Bella. At least, not without a lot of AU-sauce.

But let's look at Bella for a moment. Bella's character also has to be entirely stripped down. The Bella of the books is extremely depressed and her infatuation with Edward is fueled in part because of this. Edward's obsession with her gives her worth.

Obviously, in this new and improved edition of Twilight, Bella can't use either Edward or Jacob for validation. She has to be able to stand on her own two legs. If she does use either for validation, then the relationship must come to an end, as she and her significant other realize just what it is Bella's doing.

The trouble is, what does this not-depressed Bella have to fall in love with? Yes, Edward's beautiful, and that certainly goes a long way, but in canon he's a dick. Bella even thinks to herself that he's a complete dick (even when he's trying to be charming). Luckily for Edward she later decides that this is cryptic and therefore appealing.

Well, in AU land, Edward might be so damn charming that Bella likes him anyway but we come back to Edward keeping her at a polite distance.

So, what we need is a terrifying villain. Let's call him Angelus (though per Twilight this would probably be James). Angelus is a vampire that will force Edward's hand. For whatever reason, he decides to torment and ruin Bella's life, ending the hunt in either eating her or turning her into his bride. Angelus' existence forces Bella to be in the know and for Edward to have to take extreme action.

The pair become closer, grow through undoubtedly horrific trauma, and through said trauma Bella understands not only the pros of being a vampire but the terrifying cons.

Basically, it'd be this story. Just replace the name "Carlisle" with Edward and "Edward" with James.

Alice/Jasper

Alice and Jasper are supposed to have this ineffable, mystic, connection where they're together because... Alice saw them together. And in a way, that's true, but it's supposed to be a thing of beauty, soulmates if there ever were any, and instead it's this dumpster fire with nothing holding them together.

This one's easier in a way, well, sort of. Alice would have to be a completely different character and we'd have to see a lot more of Jasper.

Alice has a bad habit of treating those around her, even those she loves, as chess pieces. She'll put them in significant danger, court their misery, so long as it gets her the future she wants.

And she's extremely controlling.

Right away in the opening of Midnight Sun we see this and how it affects her and Jasper's relationship. The novel opens with Alice hovering, scanning the future for Japser fucking up, while Jasper just sits there in misery. Due to her obsession on making sure Jasper doesn't eat students, she actually misses Edward's plan to massacre Biology and his many plans to eat Bella Swan.

Even if she wasn't, this isn't good for anyone to live with. Jasper has very little concept of free will, whatever happens to him, whatever he'll do, Alice tells him and the worst possible option is always on the table.

For Jasper/Alice to work either Alice's gift needs to go (and that's... sort of all Alice is) or she has to tell no one any vision ever unless under extreme circumstances.

Which would be devastating for Alice. Rather than this mostly well-adjusted, perky, girl, Alice would be crippled by her gift. The weight of the world, everyone's free will, rests on her shoulders and she has to constantly avoid temptation to simply pick everyone's future for them.

Without the attitude Alice has in canon, I think she'd go mad with such a gift, or else be consumed by the responsibility of it.

Then we get to the mess that is Jasper. Jasper's complicated, and I don't want to get into it here, but his love story would have to be... too large to be put to the side like that. The redemption he'd need is not one that can be shoved into a few paragraphs told to Bella, it's frankly the kind of story that would drive an ordinary story.

So we'd have to see a lot of Jasper and Nouveau Alice. Which, of course, detracts from Bella/Edward which is the main point of the story.

Honestly, I take it back, there's no salvaging this relationship. They would have to be completely different people to the point where they're entirely different characters wearing nametags 'Alice' and 'Jasper'. Alice couldn't have her gift, which informs her entire character, and we'd have to see way too much of Jasper who is ultimately a tertiary character.

Carlisle/Esme

Thoughts on Carlisle/Esme.

Carlisle and Esme is a very 'spiritual' relationship per Meyer. They're... mom-bot and dad-bot. Alright, fine, they're the perfect parents with this deep love for each other and a very parental bond with Edward especially. It's the relationship Edward admires the most in his paired off family.

I don't even know how to fix this one.

Again, they'd have to be such different people. The trouble with Esme and Carlisle is that they share no values and are plagued by massive miscommunication. The Carlisle who is perfect for Esme... No, wait, this Carlisle is perfect for her, but that's because she's in Esme Land.

The Carlisle that would be perfect for a grounded Esme is not the one that exists. She'd want someone who would always put the family first, who would treasure her above all other things, that's not Carlisle.

Carlisle, similarly, would want someone that truly shares his ideals. That's not Esme.

So, we're back to nametag land, because one or both have to completely change for this to work. (Not to mention that Esme's probably not supposed to be Esme).

So, I've got nothing for this.

Rosalie/Emmett

I actually think these two are what Meyer intended. They love each other but are mostly held together by attraction. They're a very physical couple and good for the most part but inherently lesser than Bella/Edward.

Sure, I'd argue that they're the most put together couple in the house, but I think they're meant to have flaws. They work well together, but every other relationship in the Cullens has to be a step up or at least have something more to it.

Something Edward and Bella can be better than.

Conclusion

Dear god. Did I only manage to somewhat address Bella/Edward? Was that it? This was worse than I thought.

[blorbosondeck]

fic rec masterlist

canon divergent/finale fix its

Anamnesis

THIS! FIC! this fic lives in my head rent FREE it is so good and it makes so much sense in the narrative that the shitty finale concocted, as to why they wouldn't mention cas or anyone else and its just. so good and they write chuck in the most villainous way that i love!!!

"Chuck is depowered, Jack is the new god, and the world is free. Dean and Sam get into the Impala and chase down the miles on an endless highway, and their story is finally, finally their own to follow. At least, that's what Dean tells himself. But the diners and motels and painted interstate lines are blurring together and the smallest details keep catching at his brain like tiny fishhooks and he can't quite shake the feeling that not everything is exactly as it should be. Fix-it/alternate series finale. Canon-compliant through the end of 15.19."

Sunset Sound: Stairway to Heaven by @adhdeancas

GOD FUCKING CHRIST this is so good and sweet and im such a sucker for team ups and reunions!!! its 3:30 am rn and i just finished it and i love it SO much it made me laugh a lot and the last few chapters i had the stupidest grin just plastered to my face

The Closer the Star, the Greater the Parallax by @rocksalts​

repressed bastard dean submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known and receives the rewards of being loved but only after some miscommunication i LOVE this i read it last night and it’s a fast favorite. my interests have overlapped and i am INTO it

“When Dean sits down to watch some bullcrap Discovery Channel episode with Cas, he doesn’t expect to actually learn anything. Except, with Cas explaining, he makes an effort to connect the dots.”

Don't We All Deserve To Be Happy?

VERY sweet and a VERY good pick me up. all around feel good fic!!! 

"Post-canon fix-it, divergent from 15x19 where Jack stays and Dean doesn't die and Cas comes back and everyone is happy. Take a shot every time I'm salty about the finale."

Keep Your Love Alive

okay. okay okay okay this may be my favorite finale fix it just because of how well reasoned it is. like this feels what should have happened i love it SO much

"Dean gets to spend eternity sharing beers with Bobby on the Roadhouse porch and riding around in his Baby with Sam. He’s at peace… or he feels like he should be. But a few things nag at him: Where is Cas, and everybody else Dean had been hoping to see in Heaven? Why does he feel like he’s stuck in a loop, reliving the same memories over and over again? And who are the strangers wearing Sam’s and Bobby’s faces?"

The GoldenRod Revisions by @aethylas​

this is one of the most well written things ive ever read. the script format DID make it feel more real and honestly? this is better writing than this show deserves. the finale that could have been ♥️

“A rewrite of Supernatural’s final two episodes, expanded into a five episode arc - in which Chuck needs to be defeated, Castiel deserves to be saved, and the characters in this story get a very different ending.“

Ascend by @wanderingcas​ 

THEE finale fix it fic!!! written by the AMAZINGLY skilled and talented @wanderingcas !!! it’s 50k of angst and hurt/comfort and pure bliss

“Something in the world is wrong.

Demon activity is rising where mysterious black substance oozes and unusual ecological events are shaking the world. Dean, grief hanging on his shoulders, restlessly searches for answers that might lead him to the Empty… and to Cas.

But what Chuck wrote can’t be undone. The narrative thread pulls Dean along, forcing him to comply. Because once a story already has an ending, it can’t be rewritten.

Or can it?”

Things Happen (They Do, And They Do, And They Do) by THEE @sobsicles

i KNOW everyone has already recommended this and likely you’ve all already read it. but it has to go here bc REPRESSIOOOOOOOOON i LOVE this so much it is one of the most perfect things i’ve read. are you bisexual? did you have a kind of weird relationship with your best friend and not realize that how you felt about them wasn’t necessarily how other people felt about them and you were maybe a little bit in love with them but were too repressed to realize it? you’ll feel seen. maybe a little too seen

Closer (isn't close enough)

are you a sweet and sappy yet horny bastard? do you like cas exploding light bulbs? you will like this.

“the one where they finally talk about what cas said before the empty took him”

You and Your Husband

it is exTRMELY sweet!!! repression dean strikes again <3

"Five times Dean corrects someone about his relationship with Cas, and one time he realizes he doesn't need to."

Tall Grass

miscommunication and a slowburn! despite being written in 2017 and finished in 2018, it feels like a fix it. ft. plant obsessed cas <3 

Invictus

a LOVELY and short (relatively) finale fix it

“They saved the world. They're free. It's done.

Except it's not, and carrying on is the last thing any of them are thinking about.

They still have someone they need to save.”

Unchained Link

post finale- it’s a great case fic and i am compelled i want more!!!

"It's after the end of things. Life continues on while Dean is "livin it up" in heaven. But it's never that simple, is it? A freak occurrence sends Dean into another time stranded back on Earth. And he thought his hunting days were over. But, no worries. His knight in shining armor comes to the rescue. Hijinks, therefore, ensue."

fun and time unspecified

Ladies and Gentlemen, This is Love Potion No. 5

very funny and sweet! miscommunication at its finest ♥️

"Cas gets drenched with a mystery potion from the ‘love spell’ shelf and... Dean has a sneaking suspicion, angel or no— the spell may have taken effect. And Cas might be in love with Sam."

The Way We Were

Y'all. It is so good its a great mix of funny and serious- extremely fun to see dean as like a base bisexual

"Dean and Castiel pose as a couple to gain access to a gated community known as 'The Glen', a pleasant if secretive location that the boys believe might be linked to several dead bodies showing up over the years bearing signs of ritualistic sacrifice. All seems well until Dean's memory is affected from an incident during a solo exploration, leaving Dean convinced that their cover story is true. Castiel is left trying to resolve their case without taking advantage of an increasingly enthusiastic Dean"

While You Were Sleeping

this is basically just the movie but replacing sandra bullock with cas. this is my comfort movie and imo, one of the most perfect rom coms. the fic isn’t finished but i still have the tab open on my phone and i will straight up go back and re read it when i need a pick me up. 

aus/rewrites

The Harvelle Gospels: Offscript

i know everyone ever ( @jewishcharliebradbury ) has recommended this fic. and for good reason go fucking read it

“The Apocalypse is averted, the angels are in Heaven, and Jo is free from the threat of possession. Somehow it couldn't be farther from a happy ending.“

absolute riots

An Ineffably Profound Bond

i honestly would have put this in the finale fix it section! look. i know. i know you've been burned by crossover fics before. but this is Thee good omens/spn fic you want. its funny as hell and immensely satisfying. im weak for everyone working together tropes and that is this

"After Chuck sets 'The End' in motion, the remaining members of TFW make a miraculous escape. Not willing to waste any time, Castiel comes up with a plan to travel to one of the other worlds to try and get help from the angels there, but after a fight with Dean, it's the hunter who gets sent into an alternate universe,with seemingly no hope of return.

When a mysterious human with a heavenly weapon shows up in Aziraphale's shop, he and Crowley learn that their world is not the only one. Now it is up to them to decide whether or not they want to join forces with the human and help him save his world or simply find a way to send him home."

Somebody Up There Likes Me by @lafilleredige

cas is hit with a spell that turns his vessel into a woman, hijinks and sexuality crises ensue etc etc sam is a supportive and bitchy little brother and its all SO fucking funny and also. horny as hell i love it i love it i LOVE it

“’Dean doesn’t want to talk about your breasts, it’s making him uncomfortable because he hasn’t acknowledged the complex fluidity of human sexuality.’“

Stray Cat Strut

a long crack fic that IS one of the funniest things i’ve ever read and i can’t explain why. it’s so ooc but its so funny that i don’t care. if you need a laugh you gotta read this

"Sam and Cas are immediately in love with the adorable kitty they find outside the bunker door, and occupy their time planning how to convince Dean--who they believe is off sulking after a botched hunt--to let them keep their cat. Along the way, Dean learns to use a litter box and hears some confessions he maybe wasn’t supposed to hear, all while realizing just how much he loves Castiel.

Now all Dean has to do is convince Cas and Sam their new pet cat is actually him before they do something crazy--like neuter him!"

canon compliant or slight canon divergence

Give

by @doublestuffedimpala post season 7 episode 7, kind of ambiguous ending but truly a cas is happy to bleed for the winchesters fic

Punch Like Bones 

short, post 5x04 homoerotic moment that i wish we’d gotten

[goodomensbingo]

Heaven and Hell would like to extend their favorably inclined and ominous congratulations to all you mortals who dare to have a good time participate in this event!

The Mod Team would especially like to congratulate Ngk_is_cool on their first Blackout!

You demonstrated a keen sense of perseverance and determination. The Mod Team couldn’t be prouder of your achievements! So we prepared this masterpost to showcase the fruits of your labor!

✘   Keep yourself Alive

Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Crowley & Pepper Tags: Second Chances, author doesn't know how to tag without spoilers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe Word count: 829

✘   Taming a Demon Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Crowley & Pepper Tags: Crowley is a cat, Lilith is a cat, No Beta - We Fall Like Crowley, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cats, Word count: 636

✘   Star gazing (is a different kind of hell) Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley Tags: Crowley Created the Stars, First Kiss, Stargazing, meteor shower, POV Crowley, Light Angst, Crowley's Fall, Crowley Hates the 14th Century, Stars, Crowley has Trauma from the Fall, Canon Compliant Word count: 912

✘   The Final Cut Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley Tags: Crowley is a Mess, POV Crowley, Crowley Loves Aziraphale, Light Angst, Ducks, Self-Reflection, Crowley Has PTSD, Aziraphale's Bookshop, Scene: The Bookshop Fire, South Downs Cottage, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Almost Apocalypse, aziraphale loves karaoke, Canon Compliant, POV First Person, Crowley's Sunglasses Word count: 1613

✘   No Rest For The Wicked Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Pestilence (Good Omens), Original Characters Tags: The Other Apocalypse rider, look who is back, How Do I Tag, retirement is hell, indirect reference of Covid-19, Mentioned Horsepersons of the Apocalypse, Pandemic, Pandemics Word count: 577

✘   Closer to fine Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Greasy Johnson & Pepper Tags: Pepper Is an Adult,  Post-Almost Apocalypse, World Travel, Desert Inspired by Poetry, A Donkey That Travels Far Does Not Become a Horse, Not That Pepper Is a Donkey, Greasy Johnson is an Adult, I'm Bad At Tagging, Being Lost, Doctor Who References, Not a Crossover, TARDIS references, Africa,  canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Author loves cats, Even Sphynx Cats Word count: 6148

✘   The Bait Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Crowley & Pepper Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cats, Cat Crowley, Prompt Fic, Domestic Fluff, Mentioned Gabriel, very briefly Word count: 556

✘   Sheltered Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley, Aziraphale & Gabriel , Aziraphale & Crowley & Gabriel Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - pelican, pelican Crowley, Prompt Fill, Zoo, author has no idea on ornithology, Fluff and Humor, Wings, Aziraphale Loves Crowley, Crowley Loves Aziraphale, one of them is a bird Word count: 669

✘   Sorcerer’s Apprentice Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley Tags: Blasphemy,  Missing Scene,  Before Golgotha,  Aziraphale is Bad at Being an Angel, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon, Miracle gone wrong, Inspired by Poetry, Inspired by Movie (Fantasia), Food as a Metaphor for Love, Prompt Fill, Canon Compliant Word count: 677

✘   A Beach Holiday Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Pollution & War Tags: Canon Compliant, Dolphins, Swimming, Quality Time, Pre-Almost Apocalypse, Mentioned Horsepersons of the Apocalypse, talking about retirement, No Smut, Partial Nudity, Angst, Happy Ending, Depend on the View Point, Misquotes, Quote: We're On Our Own Side Word count: 564

✘   It Started With a Sushi Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Crowley & Original Female Character(s) Tags: Sushi, White Suit Crowley, Canon Compliant, Mentioned Warlock Dowling, Nosy Neighbor, Musicals, Agnes But Not Nutter, A Different Kind of Nutter, Crowley Has a Bad Day, Crowley pulls a Crowley on himself , Elevators Are Hell, Older Characters Word count: 1688

✘   It’s all in the name Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley Tags: Post-Almost Apocalypse , Banter, Historical References, Canon Compliant, Ineffable Idiots, Oblivious Aziraphale and Crowley, Oblivious Aziraphale , rococo, Pole Dancing, Was There Pole Dancing at the Rococo?, Just Another Night at the Bookstore, Chippendale and Chippendales, Aziraphale's Bow Tie, Bow ties are cool, banter without plot Word count: 1611

✘   You must be an angel Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley Tags:Crowley Needs a Hug, Crowley Loves Aziraphale, Protective Aziraphale , Inspired by Music, Ambiguous Aziraphale and Crowley Relationship , Canon Compliant, Post-Scene: Soho 1967, Prompt Fill, Canon Typical Alcohol Consumption, Drunk Crowley, Drunk Aziraphale, Holy Water Word count: 1023

✘   Hand In Hand We’ll Go Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Sergeant Shadwell & Madame Tracy Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Apocalypse, South Downs Cottage, Domestic, Everyone Needs A Hug, New Beginnings, Older Characters, Moving In Together, Scottish nicknames are the best, Feels, Ambiguous Relationships, Asexual Relationship Word count: 584

✘   The First Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Adam & Eve Tags: Mentioned Aziraphale, Mentioned Crowley, Post-Scene: Garden of Eden , Aziraphale's Flaming Sword, New Beginnings, the first cave man, Attempt at Humor, not all snakes answer back, a lot of bird singing, The first day of the rest of their lives, Prompt Fill Word count: 500

✘   SoHo Bookshop Orientation Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Aziraphale & books Tags: Books, Aziraphale's Bookshop, Mentioned Aziraphale, Mentioned Crowley, cocoa is the best, sentients books, No beta we fall like Crowley, Canon Compliant, snores can be cute, Prompt Fill Word count: 692

✘   Showtime Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Aziraphale & Madame Tracy, Aziraphale & Crowley  Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - pelican, pelican Crowley , Snake Madame Tracy, Prompt Fill, no snake was hurt during the writing of this fic, nor any kid, BAMF Aziraphale, Protective Aziraphale, Zoo Word count: 879

✘   Englishman In New York Rating: General Archive warnings: None Relationships: Greasy Johnson & Warlock Dowling Tags: Greasy Johnson is an Adult, Greasy Johnson in New York, Warlock Dowling is an Adult, Warlock Dowling has Ice Cream Firm, Greasy Johnson and Tropical Fish, Stranger in a Strange Land, Post-Almost Apocalypse, Canon Compliant Word count: 590

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.36}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 3.4k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

"And that is?" Robin raised her eyebrows at him in question and curiosity alike, immediately catching onto the spark of hope that came with the prospect of an advantage indeed.

"Me." He replied as simply as that, with an entirely, if not too straight face, and Robin couldn't help her snort in return

"How very humble of you…" She said smoothly, but with a smirk on her lips nonetheless. He was right though, they did stand two against one after all, and they always would. The thought, as always, served to calm Robin more than any piece of saving history or weapon could.

"I am entirely serious about it." Snape added however when Robin's humoured expression didn't cease even after a few seconds, and thus her smile vanished to make way for her utmost attention to his words again. "Since there have always been mutual affections between the Morgan and the Bennett heir up to this point, as well as going by the few accounts of various incarnations of the prophecy, it is safe to say that there has never before been such a disturbance. Both heirs have as of yet always opposed each other alone, because neither was free in their choice to seek out a different partner."

"And you think that whatever anomaly it was that made me not have any curse-inflicted positive or negative emotions for Morgan is the reason why the prophecy will end differently this time?"

"I believe you are the best chance to end the prophecy once and for all that the Bennett line has had in over five hundred years." He replied in open sincerity, and Robin's heart skipped a beat before it was captured by both hope and adoration. "And I can state the facts as they are: I was never meant to be part of this prophecy, nor am I part of it now. I am the anomaly in this scenario, and as we both know, anomalies tend to lead to a different outcome than the predicted one, even in any controlled environment."

"Did you just use potions logic to explain why we will win against Morgan?" Robin couldn't help the affectionate smile that took over her features once more; phrased like he had just now, it really did sound like she had a chance. She couldn't put into words how much she loved him for always cheering her up. For giving her hope, and every strength she could possibly need.

"It appears so." He mused in return, quirking an eyebrow up along with his words as he studied Robin in the flickering light of the flames. "Yet the fortunate preconditions will not change one of the core problems of the entire prophecy: in order for you to live, we will have to kill Morgan instead."

Robin's heart fell in an instant, as did her smile, and even her stomach picked up the all too familiar churning once again. For a few seconds she avoided Snape's eyes by staring into the flames, before at last her gaze returned to him in all the unfathomable sadness it brought along. "I can't kill him, Sev. I had every possibility and reason to today, and yet I… I can't."

"I know. And we will see to it that you won't have to." He replied quietly, then seemed to be lost in his own thoughts for a moment until he spoke on. "Though I admit I do not entirely understand how the prophecy treats the subject. From what I understand, Morgan will have to die at your hand and only yours, even though or especially because I am not part of the prophecy. Otherwise I would gladly have volunteered to end him myself in this very instant."

A huff, both bitterly humoured and indignant, escaped Robin's lips, and she found herself rolling her eyes at this stupid prophecy. Of course it had to be her… everything else just would've been too easy, wouldn't it? But then again… "I wouldn't have wanted you to do it either way." She said. "I will gladly spare your soul that torture at any cost."

"Morgan's death is inevitable if we want to keep you alive, you know that."

"Nothing is truly inevitable. It can't be." Robin shrugged with another sigh, then finally gathered her wits to speak up about another thought that had fostered in her mind ever since this afternoon. "You know, I looked at him while he was at my mercy today, and I realized something that only now makes sense to me. At last."

"Enlighten me."

"Do you remember what my boggart turned into, in my third year?"

"How could I forget… It was a deeply concerning and unsettling occurrence." Snape scoffed, but then sighed and motioned for her to continue.

"I think it was the prophecy that made the boggart change into that dark version of myself which we both saw. And it's also what turned my nightmares in my fourth year into such a horror show. Remember Morgan's words, at the ball: he sees in me the hollow darkness of inevitable death." Robin took a deep breath, then finally got to the point. "The boggart and my nightmares showed me precisely what will become of me if I kill Morgan like I am obviously meant to. It was my destiny in the prophecy that the boggart and the curse found in my being, not my deepest fear. Even though it might as well be one and the same thing at this point."

"That-..." Was his only reply for a few long seconds, until surprise was followed up by understanding in his expression. "I believe you might just be right about that."

"I don't want to become that thing we saw back then, Sev." Her voice took on an almost pleading tone, low and far too breathy for Robin's liking, but it was the price for keeping it from breaking entirely. "But I would, if I kill Morgan. Perhaps it's part of the curse… or perhaps it's just my own stupid weakness. But we both have seen what will become of me, and I don't want to be that person. I can't be. I can't kill him."

"Then we will find another way to end the prophecy. Without anyone dying."

"What other way could there possibly be? You said Morgan's death at my hands is inevitable, it's always gonna be either him or I. No third option. I kill him, or I die."

"Just as you said before, nothing is truly inevitable." He returned, as calmly serious as ever. "While I would not hesitate to end Morgan in a blink, I will also not hesitate to spare you from doing so yourself. We will find a different way, because we always do. Because we have to."

"Alright." And again, as always, Robin couldn't help believing him in the end. A half smile tugged on her lips as she looked up at him once again, in the knowledge that they would be alright somehow. "We will find a way, before it's too late."

"That we will." He sighed under his breath, then placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and yet held onto her a little more tightly in return. They weren't optimists, no… but they had as of yet gotten out of even more impossible situations than this, every single time.

Robin's smile brightened ineffably as she allowed herself to be tugged closer against his chest, his head coming to rest on top of her own, and for a moment they simply enjoyed the silence of the night. It was terribly late, and there was no doubt that they both were beyond exhausted. Perhaps detention and almost dying weren't quite comparable in what they did to one's body and mind, but it was safe to say that this day ought to come to an end for both of them nevertheless. It had been too much… Hogsmeade, the room of hidden things, Morgan's office, dinner, their office, Morgan's rooms, the astronomy tower, and finally the entire struggle with the prophecy right here and now. Good gods, Robin's head felt like bursting with all the things she had just learned. They had uncovered so many horrible truths today… but they finally had gotten a step further in understanding the big picture. A step further to bringing it all to an end.

"Is there any more we can do now?" She asked after a while. "I feel like we forgot something crucial, but I can't grasp what that might be."

"We should rest, for now. Everything else can wait until tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be." He replied with a subtle sigh, and finally pulled away just enough to look at Robin once more. "Perhaps we should see the bright side of things, too, for once."

"And that would be?"

"I can keep you here with me all night without any remorse."

A loud snort escaped Robin as they both got up from the ground to get ready for bed at last, and she couldn't help the smirk that just then tugged at her lips. "As if you've ever felt any ounce of guilt over that before…"

"Officially, I have."

"Officially, I shouldn't even be here in the first place for you to feel guilty over."

"Good thing we make our own rules then."

"Indeed."

… … …

Falling asleep that night, surprisingly, turned out to be less troublesome than Robin had anticipated. Once they both were curled up under the soft covers, wrapped tightly into each other's arms in the fierce comfort of utmost protectiveness, they were both out like a light within seconds. While it still hadn't been often that they'd gotten to spend the night like this, it currently was the reassurance of each other's presence that made it possible to find sleep in the first place, and while Robin would've found more excitement in it under different circumstances, it was the calmness that gifted her a dreamless sleep for what was left of the night to rest.

The morning, however, was everything but calm in return. It was Sunday, sure, but when they woke up five minutes after breakfast had started, the world came crashing down on them rather abruptly. In all due haste, it took them only a few minutes to get ready and hide the box of parchments in one of the shelves before they quickly made their way towards the great hall. Together, for once, since Snape had absolutely refused to let Robin wander through the empty hallways alone, and Robin had given up her protests before she had even gotten properly started. When Snape had set his mind to something, there was little to nothing she could do about it. And honestly, she found herself rather glad about that.

As always, they did go separate ways once they reached the doors to the great hall though, and Robin didn't hesitate to make her way inside and towards the Slytherin table already, while trying to catch her breath after almost having to run to keep up with Snape. At some point, when there wasn't such a pressing reason to hurry, she would have to remind him that his legs were about double as long as hers, which made it nigh impossible to keep up sometimes. Or at least it felt like that; she would have to remember to bring it up at some point. Unfortunately, it was only when Robin spotted Gideon and Michael that she remembered something else, namely the thing she had forgotten about last night. Their challenge, which really hadn't been one in the first place. Oh bloody hell… she had forgotten to take a proper look into her memories to check the stupid order of the stupid items on Morgan's stupid desk. But seriously, there had been so much more urgent matters at hand! Bloody fucking hell though, for she still couldn't tell them that. She still had to put on a smile and joke as if there wasn't some ridiculous life changing prophecy at work. Great.

"Got up on the wrong foot, eh?" Gideon greeted her with a smirk right when Robin reached their little group in the middle of the long table. "You look like someone's turned your shower cold while you were still under it."

"Something like that, yeah." She sighed in return, then dropped down into the seat between Jorien and Simon that had been saved for her. "Anyway, good morning to you, too."

Granted, her friends did try to cheer her up during breakfast, and Robin found herself sighing inwardly more than once while she put on a fake smile and, sometimes, could even muster up a real one. Her occasional glances towards the head table were kindly ignored like always, her 'hmm's for an answer as well, and at last she almost believed that the boys had forgotten about the challenge for good when after twenty minutes still nobody had asked about it. But of course, fate or whatever entity was currently messing with her wasn't as kind as to let her off the hook that easily.

"So, when are we finally going to talk about yesterday's evening activities?" Cas asked with a beaming and giddy smile that made Robin want to strangle her in an instant. Honestly, she loved Cas, but the girl had the most awful timing known to human history.

"Oh yes, right!" Gideon jumped right onto the train of thought, and even dropped his toast while his gaze flew over to Robin. "Where's that proof you promised, huh?"

Under different circumstances, Robin would've straight up snarled at the boy's smug expression and quieted his every inquiry with a single glare. But she had more or less promised them proof, and she had most definitely promised herself to keep her friends out of this mess. So she had to live with the consequences now, even if they majorly annoyed her. Sighing inwardly, she tried to recall the details about Morgan's desk, what it had looked like, what items he kept on there… Perhaps a rough description would have to do. Or, perhaps indeed, it would only take one single detail, a detail that almost nobody could know of. Well, unless they had carefully searched through his desk like she had, of course. Yes, that certainly would do to serve as proof for the boys! Why on earth hadn't she thought of that before?! With a mostly feigned mischievous smile, Robin leaned onto her lower arms and over the table, closer to Gideon and Michael. Unsurprisingly, every single one of her friends followed suit and leaned in closer to her as well. The fact that they were already so used to her antics rendered her smile a little more real, and a little less bitter.

"Alright, but don't judge me before you've checked the facts yourself." She started, once she was sure that all five of her friends were listening. Even Jorien and Simon, who had shown absolutely no interest in the entire endeavour last night, were intently paying attention now. "In the locked drawer in his desk, Morgan keeps a book on beautifying spells 'for the modern gentleman'."

It took a second, but then Michael and Gideon burst into laughter, while Simon and the girls simply gaped at Robin as if she'd told them that a spaceship had crashed in Hogsmeade. Admittedly, both reactions amused Robin quite a bit in return, which served as a most welcome distraction from the morning's hasty gloom. The book had indeed been an amusing discovery, now that she thought of it. One that she had previously simply ignored in order to focus on the greater good, the bigger plan, the more important matters. Well, perhaps it did her some good now to remember that there were other things in life than the big problems. That Morgan was also just a human being, with flaws and secrets and weird mannerisms. It certainly made breathing a little easier for now.

"That is absolutely hilarious." Gideon snorted a moment later, after he had finally managed to catch his breath. "I honestly hope it's true."

"Of course it's true!" Cas snapped back at him, even though the fact still seemed to irritate her at the same time. "Robin doesn't lie…"

"Thank you." Robin gave the girl a half smile and a nod, then turned back towards the boys across from her. "I consider this inane challenge completed now, but you are of course free to verify my claim."

"I believe you." Michael shrugged with another humoured huff. "Would explain why the guy's always so…"

"Pretty?" Gideon suggested with raised eyebrows, and Michael nodded in agreement. "Pretty is a good way to describe it."

"Petty would be even more like it." Robin sighed under her breath, but her own thought made her snort a second later nonetheless. Arrogance wouldn't help her, but if she was stuck in a limbo between confidence and fear already, she might as well enjoy the highs for now before the lows came back to haunt her.

"Speaking of petty, you won't believe what that pillock Justin did last night!" Gideon said, and Michael just groaned in return before shoving his friend and rolling his eyes.

"Who the frick is Justin?" Jorien asked with an indignant frown in return, which almost made Robin snort again, for the girl, as so often, displayed a copycat version of Robin's own thoughts.

"Some guy in their house." Cas answered with a roll of her eyes, but more at the subject than because of her friend's question. "He should be in Robin's year, actually, but knowing her, she probably has no idea who he is either."

"Caught me. I still don't care about the people in my year." Robin shrugged with one shoulder and kept her eyes on her toast, but she didn't cease to listen curiously to the elaborations around her at the same time.

"Anyway, Justin was helping us with our charms essays last night. Or rather, he was supposed to help us, but ended up being a stupid pillock about it." Gideon went on to explain.

"Yeah, he is really good at charms." Michael continued in a sigh where Gideon had stopped. "But he didn't even try to help us! Properly, I mean. He could've just answered our bloody questions, or pointed us to books that would have helped, but no, he had to make it all even more difficult by giving us even more questions! Questions and problems and… ugh! He honestly just made it more difficult for us to get the bloody essay done."

"I bet he didn't even want to help us." Gideon made a face, and Micheal nodded once again in agreement. "He probably just wanted to make himself look clever in front of the girls in the common room. Honestly, next time we'll just do it by ourselves."

"Or ask Robin."

"Right."

Robin nodded; of course she would help them with their stupid essays if they asked, she always did, but that was entirely besides the point right now. Her thoughts were already drifting off into another direction entirely, to something they hadn't even said, and that yet their rambling had triggered in Robin's mind. A thought, an idea… a perspective! A rush of adrenaline started burning down her veins, and her eyes just as her thoughts inevitably moved away from her breakfast and her friends, towards the head table, then towards Snape. It took but a few more seconds for his eyes to meet hers, and another for his mind to reach out to her.

'That look on your face is not about the dunderhead gang, is it?' He asked, straight to the point, which Robin was as always grateful for.

'No. We need to talk. With words. Now.' Her reply was a mere staccato, phrased like that in order for her request to even come out clear over the mess her thoughts had become once more. Going by the look on his face, he had understood her nonetheless.

'Astronomy tower. In five minutes.'

______________________________

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[mashkaroom]

Lengthy analysis of Holes, as promised!. This will include spoilers, which will be marked. Just gonna go through the book and the philosophy/themes/connections I caught onto this time around. Stuff discussed, in order: connections to Camus, on the question of children’s books, systems, cycles, and why Stanley is gay and jewish 😏

Camus:

The first and perhaps most obvious set of texts/theories it makes sense to put Holes in conversation with is the works of Albert Camus. Holes starts out with a description of the sun and the heat, which readers of the Stranger will remember are major themes there. The heat continues to be a prominent part of the story, though thematically, it functions very differently in the two books. In The Stranger it primarily represents the indifference of the universe (or at least so claim a ton of sources and I’m inclined to agree) and the lack of control we exert over our own lives while in Holes it’s basically the opposite of that. The heat and drought is implied to be a semi-divine punishment for a past injustice and, moreover, the elite adults of the camp have air conditioning and access to shade: the sun does not affect everyone equally in Holes as it does in The Stranger (though even that is debatable: I don’t think this was Camus’s intent, but it’s notable that it’s only the white englishman who’s driven to murder by the sun. This could certainly be read as critique of colonizers who cannot/refuse to coexist with the land and environment and how the indigenous population always suffers for it, but I digress). The other Camusian parallel one is immediately inclined to draw is that, of course, of Sysiphus: there’s the repetitive and seemingly meaningless act of digging holes not to mention that carrying stuff up a mountain is both thematically and plot-wise a very important part of Holes. But, once again, it is eventually revealed that both acts do carry an inherent meaning. Holes does not present the image of an uncaring universe: on the contrary, destiny and semi-divine influence plays a major role. The story may start out with a series of seemingly random and inherently meaningless events, but as the story progresses, people, actions, items, and events become increasingly imbued with meaning. In the Holes universe, one must imagine Sisyphus redeemed, not through the act of rolling the stone but by rebelling against it. I have difficulty imagining that Sachar was not thinking of Camus while writing Holes, or, at the very least, that if he encountered Camus afterwards, he must have been struck by the similarities. I don’t know if there was a specific intent in creating a story so embroiled in Camusian absurdism, especially since the target readership is (allegedly) children who almost certainly are not recognizing specific allusions to Camus, so perhaps the similarities are purely aesthetic — after all, everything that is nominally similar does play quite different thematic roles. However, I would never pass up the opportunity to talk about the myth of sisyphus and I think placing Holes in dialogue with Camus can raise some interesting questions about the nature of meaning.

Is Holes a children’s book?

Speaking, though, of the target audience, the audience for this book is in fact children. What about it makes it a children’s book makes it difficult to say: the protagonists are children (and, I would argue, it is not a coming of age story, despite the claims of one piece of lit crit about Holes in which i disagreed with almost every claim made, but i digress once more) and the writing style is fairly simple: you can read it with a second-grader’s vocabulary. Also, of course, being a children’s book doesn’t (and crucially shouldn’t!) mean that it’s lacking in depth and complexity. However, I think most thematically rich children’s books tend to be quite allegorical. The Little Prince is a good example. Holes is just way too specific for its sole market to be children. It’s either intended to be read by multiple generations at once or for child readers to return to it as an adult. It addresses themes of racism (and not just generic racism, anti-black racism in the reconstruction south), homelessness, intergenerational trauma. and the modern carceral system. These are social critiques that will probably go over most kids’ heads (certainly over mine). However, the themes of the text are not inaccessible for children. You don’t have to understand the particular history of the US criminal justice system or even that Sachar is making a comparison to anything specific to get that the system that he’s portraying is unjust. Knowing the real-world context just adds another layer to the text. Holes also has one of the hallmarks of children’s books that I really like, which is a particular type of absurdism that the child characters come up against. This always rang true to me as a kid and well into my teens, when you start understanding that your life is controlled by some set of systems, but you haven’t quite gotten what those systems are or why and how they came about. Like nowadays, I can say “we did this in elementary school because of a state law, that because of a federal law, that because of the history of puritanism, and this because we got a grant for it”, but as a kid nobody tells you these things or really even cares to explain why the rules are as they are, and the systems that govern your world, often with no small degree of violence and almost always with an inherent disregard for your agency, are ineffable and slippery, and good children’s books capture this really well (Series of Unfortunate Events is probably my favorite example of this, where a secret organization that everything is implicated in and more more tragicomic details about it get revealed until the Baudelaire children find themselves to some degree members with mixed feelings is honestly an excellent coming-of-age allegory. oh, not to mention the constant conflict with bureacracy. god that series is so good, everyone read it). Back to Holes, Sachar weaves the more fantastical ineffable elements in with real-world issues so neatly. Stanley’s family is allegedly cursed, which is why Stanley keeps having bad luck, but he also lives in systemic poverty, which is also why he keeps having bad luck. Sachar eschews neither the allegorical elements common in children’s literature nor the more direct systemic critiques more often found in YA and adult lit, and it creates a really unique vibe. I think the story really benefited from having a children’s author, and I would love to see more authors in both children’s and adult lit do this!

Systems

Speaking of the systems, this book is surprisingly radical. Like it’s full-on an abolitionist text. The law is pretty much only ever presented as adversarial, both in the story of Stanley’s present time, and in Kate and Sam’s story. It’s implied if not stated repeatedly that Stanley and the other boys are pretty much victims of circumstance and have been imprisoned pretty much for the crime of being poor. The hole-digging is shown to be cruel and bad for the boys. It’s noted that in digging the holes Stanley’s heart hardened along with his muscles. This is of course very evocative of the system of retributive justice we have in America. Additionally, Camp Greenlake’s existence can ultimately be traced back to an act of racist violence, also in close parallel with our prison system. Hole’s stance on justice is very restorative. Punishments are never shown to work: only through righting the wrongs can true justice be achieved. Moreover, Holes even gives the opportunity for redemption to a minor antagonist when [minor spoiler] Derrick Dunne, the kid who was bullying Stanley in the beginning ultimately plays a small role in helping Stanley regain his freedom [spoiler over].

Cycles

Cycles are a major theme in holes, and Sachar creates a unique temporality to support this theme. There are 3 interwoven stories: that of Stanley’s in the present date, that of Stanley’s ancestors, and that of the land that Stanley is on (though, as I will delve into later, it’s at least a little implied that Stanley is descended from the characters in that story also). The stories from the past reach in and touch the present. You can’t untangle the past from the future. Looking at this again through a social justice lens, it could be seen as fairly progressive commentary on what to do with regards to America’s past wrongs. The past cannot and will not be left in the past: it must be dealt with on an ongoing basis. Even the warden, the greatest villain of Stanley’s story has a sympathetic moment at the end where it’s revealed that she, too, is stuck in a cycle of intergenerational trauma she can’t break free from.

Stanley is gay and jewish

Ok, I will now talk about how Stanley is a queer Jew, but this entire section will be riddled with spoilers, so read the book first and then come back!

A queer Jew?? i hear you ask. You’re just projecting. Yes, 100%. However, I think that interpreting Stanley as both these things adds to the thematic richness of the text. Let’s start with the Jewish bit: it’s not explicitly stated that Stanley is Jewish, but his great-great grandfather is a nerd-boy Latvian immigrant with the last name Yelnats, and his great-grandfather was a stockbrocker, so, like, ya know. Louis Sachar is also himself Jewish, as was the director of the movie, who cast Jews in the roles of Stanley and his family (dyk Shia LaBeouf is Jewish?? i did not), so I know I’m not the only one interpreting it this way. And honestly, does it not resemble the book of exodus quite a bit? They escape what is pretty much a form of slavery and wander in the desert. Sploosh resembles the well of Miriam, and then they ascend up a mountain to the “thumb of god”, perhaps in a parallel to Moses receiving the commandments. Is this a useful way to look at the text? Who knows. But what I think we do get from reading Stanley as Jewish is a more nuanced discussion of privilege and solidarity. If Stanley and his ancestors are Jewish (or at least Jew-ish), then what placed the curse upon his family (and, we see, Madame Zeroni’s family isn’t doing so great either) is the breaking of solidarity between oppressed people. But also, the fact that you are also marginalized does not wash you of the responsibility to other marginalized groups. I don’t think Sachar intended it this way, because I think he probably would have talked about it more if he had, but I would say this book can be read as a call to the American Jewish community to take an active role in forging solidarity with other marginalized groups and actively righting the wrong you, your ancestors, and your community wrought upon them.

Now, why do I think Stanley and Zero are gay? Before I go into how it augments the text thematically, I bring to your attention this passage.

Two nights later, Stanley lay awake staring up at the star-filled sky. He was too happy to fall asleep. 

He knew he had no reason to be happy. He had heard or read somewhere that right before a person freezes to death, he suddenly feels nice and warm. He wondered if perhaps he was experiencing something like that. 

It occurred to him that he couldn't remember the last time he felt happiness. It wasn't just being sent to Camp Green Lake that had made his life miserable. Before that he'd been unhappy at school, where he had no friends, and bullies like Derrick Dunne picked on him. No one liked him, and the truth was, he didn't especially like himself. 

He liked himself now.

 He wondered if he was delirious. He looked over at Zero sleeping near him. Zero's face was lit in the starlight, and there was a flower petal in front of his nose that moved back and forth as he breathed. It reminded Stanley of something out of a cartoon. Zero breathed in, and the petal was drawn up, almost touching his nose. Zero breathed out, and the petal moved toward his chin. It stayed on Zero's face for an amazingly long time before fluttering off to the side. 

Stanley considered placing it back in front of Zero's nose, but it wouldn't be the same.

Girl, I’m sorry, that’s gay as shit! It’s such tremendous tenderness, not to mention the traditionally romantic imagery of moonlight and the flower petal. There’s also the non-romantic aspects. Stanley’s inexplicable happiness and suddenly liking himself evokes, for me, at least, the experience of coming out to yourself, of realizing who you are. Later in this chapter, Stanley contemplates running away with Zero despite the fact that it would make them lifelong outlaws. This book, remember, was written in 1998, and homosexuality was decriminalized in 2003, and the book takes place in Texas. It would have been, if anything, even more evocative of gayness when it was published. Now as to how this increases the thematic richness of the text: obviously, in carrying Hector up to the thumb, giving him water, and singing the lullaby, he redeems the wrong done by his ancestor, after which his family’s luck immediately changed. However, after Hector and Zero return to camp Greenlake, rain falls there for the first time. What was redeemed here? Remember that earlier on we learn that what caused the drought was the fact that Sam the onion man (who was black) was murdered for kissing Kate Barlow (who was white) — so what would a [post-factum wronging of that right look like? Zero, as we remember, is black while Stanley is white, so them being in a romantic relationship would be a successful interracial relationship to redeem the one Kate and Sam weren’t able to have. It’s also, as I said earlier, implied that Stanley is descended from Kate Barlow on his mother’s side: Stanley remembers seeing the other half of the lipstick tube with her initials on it in his mother’s bedroom. I’d also argue that Sam the Onion Man is implied to be descended from Madame Zeroni (chronology-wise, I think he’d be her grandson). First of all, there’s no follow-up with Madame Zeroni’s son who moved to America, and pretty much all other plot threads are followed up with in Holes. Secondly, Sam mentions water running uphill, just like Madame Zeroni does. Even without these speculations being true, Stanley and Hector being gay would redeem the land they’re on, but If they are, the parallel with the other ancestral redemption arc becomes to much to imagine it was unintentional.

So anyway, those are my thoughts on Holes, now everyone go read it!

[crystalgirl259]

Guilty Pleasures Chapter 1

SUMMARY: A demon Kai and an angel Zane, longtime acquaintances who, having grown accustomed to life on Earth as representatives of Heaven and Hell, seek to prevent the coming of the Armageddon...

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

Current theories on the creation of the universe stated that if it were created at all and didn't just start it came into being about fourteen billion years ago. The Earth was generally supposed to be about four and a half billion years old. These dates were incorrect. Some medieval scholars put the date of the creation at 3760 BC while others put creation as far back as 5508 BC. But these were also incorrect. Archbishop James Ussher claimed that Heaven and the Earth were created on Sunday, the twenty-first of October, 4004 BC, at nine in the morning.

This too was incorrect, by almost a quarter of an hour.

It was created at 9:13 in the morning. The whole business with the fossilized dinosaur skeletons was a joke that paleontologists haven't seen yet. This proved that God did not play dice with the universe. He played an ineffable game of his own devising. For everyone else, it was like playing poker in a pitch-dark room, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiled all the time. To understand the true significance of what that means, we need to begin earlier.

A little more than 6,000 years earlier, to be precise.

Just after the beginning. It started, as it will end, with a garden, in this case, the Garden of Eden, and with an apple. It was a nice day, but all the days had been nice. There had been rather more than seven of them so far, and rain hadn't been invented yet. But the storm clouds gathering east of Eden suggested that the first thunderstorm was on its way, and it was going to be a big one...

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

Zane fretted as he stood near the lip of the stone ledge, his shining robes shining in the light along with the white, almost glowing, feathers of his large wings. The first two humans off in the distance, Adam and Eve, had barely made their way out into the new world and they were both already in danger. A large male lion made a beeline from nowhere toward them and was now intending on making them extinct. The young angel didn't think this was going to go well.

Thank goodness they weren't unarmed, the angel consoled himself.

Before they left, he gave Eve his shurikens of ice gifted to him by the high angels. He was surprised to see Adam wielding a sword of fire, a weapon not of Heaven, but considering what had happened, he wasn't too concerned about it. Knowing that they had means of protection helped Zane's mind rest, but only a little. The weather was fair, aside from the rapidly building clouds. At least that was a comfort to know. A kind, warm breeze fluttered his clean robe around in a playful way.

It felt wonderful to the angel, but even better how it ran through his unsheathed white wings.

He flexed them out to get a better feel. It felt good to have them free from their confines. He had been practicing getting used to having them put away for his assignment on this new planet. They had warned him upstairs that he couldn't afford to be seen by 'God's Little Projects' down here. Those were their words, not his own. Before Zane embarked, God himself told him they wouldn't be able to handle it due to now learning 'jealousy', whatever that meant.

When he asked him what it was, he said the young angel would find out in time, plus all the other ones.

He still didn't know why God didn't tell him, but God had always worked in mysterious ways. Don't interfere too much. That was the rule all angels lived by. Be ever watchful, a mentor if needed, provide guidance if asked, but that was it. Not too difficult, or so they kept telling him, and already he broke the rule. Now he had more trouble on the mind. There was only so much to do when watching over the birth of a new species. To be so limited to what needs to be done simply wasn't fair.

Not that he condoned rules should be broken.

But this was not going to be easy. His toes curled on the hard surface when he felt that other presence approach closer. It was a sort of tugging sensation that came from deep inside him. He thought it was curious. That never happened before, except when that thing first showed up. He knew it was nearby anyway. At times it felt as though it was hovering just out of sight, watching. But he had hoped it would leave. It felt different than anything he had ever known, and he didn't like it one bit.

Not when everything was so new.

So he promptly chose to ignore it. It was just a lowly serpent demon anyway. Granted, that filthy Hell beast was most likely the reason he had a chance of being fired before he could do his job. Perhaps everyone would understand. They were angels, after all, forgiveness and compassion were at the very root of their cores. Zane rubbed his temple. He had only one job. He hadn't even been here for very long and already he morally mucked it up.

He would be the laughing stock upstairs.

The only other thing he could possibly get wrong now is if Eden caught fire. Then he would officially be out of a job. Zane started wondering if he should have been more aggressive about it and really told that serpent what for. He never was very good at this soldier of Heaven thing or asserting himself in general. Zane truly believed that someone else would be better suited for this than he.

"What do you make of it?" A voice suddenly asked, shattering the silence. Zane jumped, the voice startling him from his own musings. He hadn't noticed he was no longer alone. He was shocked that the creature had yet to attack him, wondering if they were friendly, but that would be outlandish because the very thought is preposterous, blasphemous even. Their kind would never mingle with his. Not without bloodshed, anyway. It simply wasn't done.

The angel turned to his left and couldn't help but do a double-take to the creature next to him.

It was male, dressed in dark red robes, with amber snake-like eyes, beautiful tanned skin, a toned body, and brown hair shaped in a way that reminded Zane of fire. The back of the demon's hands and up his arms were dusted with dark red snake scales. His finger and toenails were incredibly sharp and black. Zane couldn't take his eyes off it, completely transfixed. He almost didn't believe that that was the serpent. He didn't know it had a vessel, let alone a silky pair of feathered, crimson wings with black tips.

When Zane saw the wings he realized that this was not just some ordinary demon.

It was one of the Fallen. That was fascinating to Zane, as he had never met one of them. In fact, if Zane was entirely honest with himself, this dark one was a mixture of striking, exotic, and becharming. Now it was staring at him with those amber serpent eyes. For some reason, they didn't repulse the angel. It was then that Zane remembered that the snake had asked him something and it was probably best to respond. He should also stop thinking of it as an 'it'.

That demon was evidently much more than that and Zane suddenly felt like he was being rude, even if the demon couldn't read minds.

Zane smiled awkwardly, then concluded he had no idea what the creature said.

"Sorry, what?" Zane asked and the brunette pointed out towards the humans.

"That, right there, the whole tiger thing." He clarified and Zane followed the demon's finger.

"That's a lion." Zane corrected.

"Whatever, don't you think it's a bit much? I mean, they just got out, are finding their footing, and the first thing they come across on this big round planet is this aggressive beast?"

"No one said it would be easy," Zane said, even if the other had a point.

"It's trying to eat them!" The demon gawked at him.

"Look, I don't like it any more than you do, uh...?" Zane trailed off when he realized he hadn't gotten the demon's name if it had one. The brunette quickly caught on to why Zane paused and smiled faintly.

"Kai." He answered the unasked question.

"Kai, thank you, but these things are not our decisions to make."

"You're not about to sprout some Holier-Than-Thou jibberish at me are you?" Kai asked as he gave him a peculiar look. Zane wasn't sure how to answer that. That was all anyone ever talked about upstairs. The very idea that someone wouldn't want to, let alone calling it jibberish, preach about it and discuss its many glorious wonders was unheard of. When the angel didn't answer, the dark one rolled his eyes.

"You were, weren't you?"

"There's nothing wrong with that." Zane countered.

"No no, of course not." Kai mocked. "You're within your right to justify a reason as to why God's human race failed at the get-go."

"I'm not trying to do any such thing!" Zane said, growing flustered. "B-Besides, look! The male seems to be fending its adversary off brilliantly on his own! They're obviously capable of taking care of themselves; I only hope that this will be the worst of it, at least for today." He frowned in concern as a roll of thunder broke in, causing them both to look around for the source. Detecting it was from the sky, they exchange looks then went back to watching the battle for survival in front of them.

They stood in oddly comfortable silence before Kai broke it.

"Wait, so that's a lion?" He gasped, almost in awe.

"Yes, It is."

"Never seen one of them before."

"Sorry?" Zane blinked in confusion.

"I said, I've never seen one of those before."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've never seen a lion before, so I would never have known they looked like that." He shrugged and Zane could only stare. "What?" Kai asked in a rather prickly manner.

"Nothing," The angel squeaked as he turned away, a slight blush framing the tips of his ears. He didn't realize he was ogling again. "Just, find it surprising that one dead animal isn't familiar with an equally dangerous one."

"It's not like I was there when they were created, was a little bit busy with another matter at that time, as you well know." Kai returned as another boom of thunder rumbled closer over their heads. Only this time it had been accompanied by a shocking bright snap of light that streaked across the sky. Both of their sets of wings flinched outward and lightly fluffed at the surprise of it. Zane let out an embarrassed chuckle and willed his feathers to settle down.

He could see out of the corner of his eye the other trying to do the same.

He cleared his throat and thought it best to continue where they left off.

"So, therefore, am I left to understand that, based on what you've said, you've never witnessed a tiger as well?" He asked and Kai immediately clammed up.

"Why do you ask?"

"It's a simple question."

"I don't know about that."

"Really? Do tell, I'd love to hear it."

"Has it gotten a bit stuffy out here?"

"No, I find it quite pleasing in all truthfulness."

"More cloudy things are building up."

"Stop trying to change the subject, please." Zane all but begged and Kai eyed him carefully.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being ridiculed?"

"I would never," He said with all honesty. Kai looked around as if someone might hear, grimaced, and leaned in.

"Promise you won't tell?"

"Oh, may the Lord himself strike me down if I should ever utter a syllable to another living soul," Zane promised and he clasped his hands as if in prayer. Kai gave him a doubtful look, but eventually relented and grumbled with an obnoxious huff.

"No, are you satisfied now?! I've never seen a tiger, a lion, or fucking whale!" The demon cried as he closed his eyes and flinched again when more thunder rumbled closer. The sky was turning all below it several shades darker, growing ever so closer to swallowing the bright sun. The angel was oblivious to this, however.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've never seen a whale either." Zane smiled. It took a moment, but Zane noticed the smirk flit across that surprisingly pretty face.

"It doesn't," Kai replied as he glanced at him all the same with those gemstone eyes and once again they slipped into a pleasant silence. Zane suddenly had a thought. If Kai didn't seem to know about other animals, did he know about himself?

"Now Uhm, don't take this the wrong way but, you do know what you are, correct?" He asked carefully.

"You mean besides an angel-turned-demon who's damned for all eternity?" Kai said in a sarcastic tone.

"Yes."

"Then, of course, I know."

"Excellent! Care to say it out loud?"

"I already told you; my name's Kai," The demon grinned. He felt his heart miss a beat, and not in a good way. The thump was alarmingly prominent like his vessel-body was trying to alert him to take note of what this creature was saying. There was no possible way this demon could be this naive. Something else was amiss.

"Yes, I know your name, but I'm asking if you know what you are; do you know what you are?" He asked again and Kai's expression gradually changed from enjoyment to being perplexed. His brow furrowed as he stared off, eyes flicking around as if searching for something but simply grew more confused.

"What am I?" Kai finally asked, getting annoyed by the question.

"A serpent, dear," Zane replied for the demon. Evidently, Kai's face fell back to puzzlement once more and Zane's mouth fell open. It was evident that word meant nothing to the demon. "You don't know what a serpent is, do you?" He asked, almost sadly, Kai shrugged it off.

"What of it?"

"That's what you are!"

"So? What's so important with needing to know the ins and outs of a serpent? Why do you care if I know or not?" Kai snapped, experimenting with the new word in his mouth.

"No need to get upset, I was only trying to help," Zane said as he raised his arms in defense to try to quickly diffuse the tension. He watched Kai focus on the humans again, and it was clear something he had said or done bothered the demon immensely. He felt terrible, and then suddenly that scent came back. Only recently Zane had caught this aroma in the air. It comes and goes with the wind, but the longer he had been here the less deniable it had become.

Never had it been invasive or overbearing, but the angel noticed he could pick it out no matter what kind of stronger scents surrounded it.

Right now, this very moment, it was hitting him stronger than it ever had before.

"Looks like the lion's down," Kai added, noting how successful the humans were doing so far. Another rumble of thunder accompanied by that bright flash pushed ever closer. Perhaps Kai had caught a whiff of the scent?

"Do you smell that?" The angel asked, sniffing the air.

"What?" Kai asked and Zane realized he had made a poor judgment.

"Never mind." The angel shrugged off awkwardly, but thankfully the demon didn't push it. They stood there in silence for a short while, before Kai glanced over at Zane, and his snake eyes suddenly narrowed.

"Wait, where are your shurikens anyway? I thought you had a pair that froze anything they touched?" He asked and Zane froze in fear. "Did you have one, or didn't you? Because now I'm confused."

"How do you mean?" The angel asked as he began to feel uneasy.

"Well, your presence here no longer makes sense, so what are you doing here Snowflake?"

"I'm-"

"Are you lost?"

"No, I'm... you're trying to confuse me." Zane accused as his heart started to race,

"I'm trying to confuse you?" Kai almost laughed, and this made Zane even more defensive.

"Yes! That's what your kind do and I will not be swayed into it!" He stated in the strongest voice he could muster at that moment, his chest puffing out slightly as he did. Zane knew he was being cornered. He knew this whole thing was a setup to get him to lose ground or faith or doubt himself in his duties for the choices he'd made and how thanks to him everything was ruined. But that wasn't what upset Zane. He was upset that he fell for it.

He had failed again.

God must have been testing him early and he has failed another one. Or perhaps not? He may have caught it in time, he could still redeem himself if he stayed strong.

"You're the one who's doing the confusing here," Kai lectured. "You're supposed to have some freezing shurikens, which I could've sworn you had, and that would make sense for a Cherub to have in order to guard the Garden of Eden, but let's face it, you're terrible at guarding, and you don't have your shurikens so I ask you again; what are you doing here?" He scowled and a boom of thunder emphasized the demon's point. Zane took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, eyes closed.

All he had to do was be honest, true, and stop being distracted by the alluring visage before him.

"I...I gave them away."

"You gave them away?!"

"Shh! Not so loud!" He panicked, already forgetting the pep-talk he gave himself. "I don't want the head office to hear! Besides, they're not lost or anything; they're right there, see? The humans have it now." The angel explained and pointed to the humans slowly fading in the distance with a pair of remarkably bright-looking objects in the hands of one of them. Kai looked back to the tiny figures, then to the angel. Then back to the figures, and once again to the angel.

Then suddenly, what Zane could only describe as a ridiculously big stupid grin spread over the demon's face, the creature did an unexplainable thing.

He started to laugh, laugh, and laugh some more. It became so severe they turned into fits, gripping his stomach. That damned thing lost its balance and fell to the floor. He rolled around, it wracking his body to near spasm levels, and during it all, he had the utter nerve to speak to the angel at the same time.

"Oh, I would love to be there for your first report! Glad to know I'm not the only one who interfered." He cackled, and his grin grew when he saw the confusion on Zane's face. "What? Where did you think Adam got that flaming sword from?" He laughed and Zane gasped at the realization that Kai had been the one to give Adam the sword, a weapon of Hell. "I hope it doesn't turn out that they aren't too bright yet when it comes to violent weaponry and the use of fire and ice so they somehow kill themselves!"

Zane's paled, even more, when Kai's words sank in.

The angel finally realized that he could get in a great deal of trouble for this. Everything Kai pointed out was more than plausibly true and may happen once the humans were out of sight. This was serious. Even so, he couldn't stop a giggle bubble up to the surface. Watching Kai, he found out, was contagious. It started small but soon grew to a level that was painful to hold in. He tried to stifle it, tried to bite it back with his teeth against his tongue, but it was hopeless.

Zane covered his mouth and did his best to hide it from the cackling demon.

"That's not funny, I beseech you, stop laughing!" He tried to say normally but cracked on the last word. He clenched a fist and nearly begged the other to spare him. Kai rolled to face him and Zane was almost lost again when he saw tears running down his cheeks. He had no choice but to turn away and fisted his hands tightly by his sides. "No! No, I refuse to believe in your trickery! This isn't a joke!" The angel yelled, not caring what he said so long as this lark would end.

Within time, Kai calmed down, breathing heavily.

"They're going to be fine, Snowflake, I'm only teasing you," He said while a chuckle or two still found its way out. "Look how well they have handled themselves against their first threat, and they've only just set foot out there; if I hadn't given them that sword and you hadn't given them the shurikens they would be torn to pieces by now, we saved them." Zane heard from behind him a tired sigh. The loudest thunder roll cracked out, the very appearance of the clouds above threatening their next level to come soon.

The flutter from inside Zane's chest came back.

But, somehow it was stronger this time around. He turned back to face the other being and took notice of how Kai laid there. Wings relaxed, hands resting on the stomach, one leg bent. He was comfortable. Kai, an evil enemy, was content to lay there in his presence. Zane could easily smite him. He would technically be within reason, for what Kai had done concerning the apple. It would be simple, quick, and clean. But that never even crossed his pure mind.

He strode over to the brunette and reached down a hand with a winning smile of his own.

"My name is Zane; it's nice to meet you." He introduced and Kai's eyes widened. He wasn't expecting that. He stared at the hand as if he had never seen its kind before. He appeared unsure of what step to take next. Zane gave him time, not pulling away yet. Soon enough, Kai eventually smiled.

"Hello, Zane, it's nice to meet you, too," He replied and reached up with his own hand, clasped the inviting one, and was hoisted up. Zane nearly dropped the demon, however. Once they touched, the contact was not at all what he was expecting. He cried out, yanking his hand away, and jumped back. His other hand clasped it around the wrist and pulled it close. Zane stared from his hand to Kai in either astonishment or fear. He couldn't decide which it was.

Kai just raised an eyebrow at him, perplexed as to what had happened.

"Oh! Forgive me but, you're so hot! To the touch, I mean!" He stammered as he did his best to explain but not offend.

"Naturally." Kai shrugged. Zane shook his head, confused.

"This is a normal occurrence?"

"Of course," The demon said casually, amused by the reaction from the angel. He crossed his arms, took a deep, over-exaggerated breath. "Being a fallen angel, or more accurate, a demon from the fiery pits of Hell now, so to answer your question; being boiling hot is normal for demons like me," He smiled. The next boom of thunder rumbled on for some time. It was as if the sky was growling its impatience for being ignored.

"Is that all?"

"Yep," Kai replied, but he didn't seem to care. The brunette then opened his mouth and exhaled. The air in front of it appeared to ripple several inches outward. Zane walked up to it, mesmerized, and like a baby who was still testing out the world for the first time, he reached out a hand and ran it through it. It was warm, heated air coming out. It wasn't painful in the slightest. The angel beamed as he wiggled his fingers around it. He kept it up until Kai closed his mouth, grinning at Zane's blush.

Zane was about to agree, then stopped himself and wondered why this was brought up in the first place.

"Anywho, going back to your shuriken conversation with His Almighty, if you can't find humor even in the direst situations, then what's the point of it?" He asked and Zane visibly shook his wings at the way Kai mockingly talked about the Lord. Ignoring that, however, Zaen wasn't sure what he thought of that advice, but he secretly tucked it away in the back of his mind all the same.

"You'll be alright, he loves all of you unquestionably," Kai added and Zane paused. Did he hear that right? Had a fallen angel, a being who willfully rebelled against God just casually admit the Lord adored all of them? Without a second thought about it? What was going on here? Zane turned his head and glanced at the demon. The brunette was rigid stiff. Amber eyes hard, staring intently straight ahead. Jaw clenched. He could see the dark one's fingers turning white from how hard he was gripping his own arms.

So it was a mistake.

He didn't mean to say it. Now at least something about this villain makes sense to him.

"I wonder how far up we are?" Kai suddenly blurted out with a jerk of his head, and then just took off, running over and standing right on the edge of the wall cliff. His red and black wings thrusting out just so as to counter the body weight from tumbling over. Zane gasped and ran after but stayed himself some steps later. For a split moment, he chastised himself for the idea of wanting to save the enemy. But most of the time he was too busy worrying about the brunette disappearing suddenly from his sight.

The wind had picked up some, and was a tad rougher on Kai's clothes and hair, yanking and blowing it around like a dare to take another step.

The demon suddenly moaned, but Zane couldn't tell what he meant. The angel moved fast and was standing next to them once the groan had been uttered.

"Are you alright?" He panicked.

"I don't like heights," The demon mumbled. The eyes were closed and they appeared to be swaying.

"Then get away from the edge, you silly thing!" Zane shouted, grasping the other and guiding him down to safety. When he unclosed his eyes, he got defensive.

"I just wanted to see how far down it was!" He hissed angrily, but Zane just rolled his eyes and neither of them said anything more on the subject. Water from the skies began to fall. When it hit them they shied away from it on the first drops. Zane figured it out quicker than the other one did. Kai seemed a little lost to this experience, unsure of what to do or how to react to it. Kai must have sensed eyes on him, for he turned to catch the angel's icy orbs.

Zane, at this point he stopped trying to reason it, opened an arm, lifted a wing, and beckoned the other in.

To say he was surprised the demon actually moved closer was a hardball to juggle. So many unusual and unexpected things happened in such as short time. He wasn't even sure how he felt. He didn't seem the least bit repulsed when Kai stood so close they nearly touched shoulders, and he could feel the heat of the other's temperature radiating onto him. The demon kept glancing at him, shifting on his bare feet. Eventually, he opened his mouth and asked what seemed to be on his mind.

"No hard feelings between us, yes? After all; I was only doing what I was so ordered to, on pain of repercussion, and all that." He said, looking a little nervous. This made the pale angel go quiet. Unsure of whether to trust what this thing was saying or if he was lying to him and this was planned the whole time. Whichever it was, he hadn't the heart to be cruel.

"No, I daresay, no hard feelings; it's too early for that yet." He replied and another silence surrounded them. Every once in a while, they would both stick their hands out to catch the water droplets on their palms then bring them in under the protection of the angel's wing. Even if they both refused to admit it, Kai and Zane felt at peace at that moment. Where it was just the two of them, huddled together as they experienced the first rainfall with the young planet Earth...

[ciaran-archive]

"neil being stupidly in love with the protagonist and doing a highspeed retake of that process with the younger version of him"

aaaaaaa i love how you describe this so much omggg this is EXACTLY it??? also how neil is Not Okay(TM) throughout the entire movie and hides it so very well (except for his completely trashed and heartbroken looks during mumbai).

i believe the protag is actually aware at some level, of neil going around in this perpetual sadness, but is just much too much of a professional to ever bring up something that's obviously very private and personal. he had most probably thought that after the world is saved and the dust has settled, they would have finally have time together, and he can ask neil about it. neil has promised his life story, after all.

but alas. neil goes off to die instead, to save him. so now what 😭

anyway praying to the fic gods for the rest of your tenet fics to see the light of day! <3

neil probably spent the days and weeks after protag died in his timeline daydrinking and crying and then ives bangs on his door and tells him he has to go to the past and rescue protag and neil is MY TIME HAS COME and just throws on a suit and travels back and forgets how fucking wasted he looks. we love a grieving pining idiot.

i love the idea that the protag is aware of neil’s sadness but doesn’t feel able to do anything about it and he can’t even bring it up....and honestly neil kind of doesn’t give him a chance? he’s so On all the time because he’s a chaotic little performer and it’s been a while since he’s had protag’s eyes on him and he wants the thrill of that attention again without distracting protag with his own shit (and in the middle of saving the world, no less). so that leaves the protag thinking they have time and neil going “i have five minutes to save the world and make him not hate me go go GO” and it’s just [holds them gently] [locks them in a room together].

i’m toying with the idea of neil leaving letters behind. i bet the protag didn’t tell neil about the sator thing until the end (if at all) but he must’ve told neil about his other cases, and i’m really into the idea of neil leaving letters for the protag to find at the end of every case. i imagine the protag’s really lonely in the long shadow years between neil and neil again, busy establishing tenet and their networks and it’s satisfying but it’s exhausting and idk i just like the idea of neil writing stuff like “that kid you tossed out of the way of a bomb last week will go on to work for doctors without borders and save three of our agents’ lives thirty years later,” and just...a lot of stuff that reminds the protag that he’s not saving the world for nothing. 

when he meets neil again, neil doesn’t know about the letters, but i bet he finds the box of them that the protag keeps and reads a couple before the protag takes it out of his hands and that’s how he starts writing them and making agents leave them in the past...finding ways to take care of his husband in the years he wasn’t around to do it himself.

my unposted/incomplete tenet fics are as such

aforementioned letters idea but very different; neil leaves himself letters.

a character study thing about neil pining for protag while protag’s busy burning himself out to save the world

He’s so much more delicate than anyone understands, and so much more lonely. When you were fresh out of MI6 and dead not six months you thought that was projection, but it’s not. He’s as steady as time and as ineffable as the ocean, but he’s only a person at the end of the day. He needs someone to bring him dinner and pour him a glass of water.

You aren’t sure what you are to him, but you know you’ll be anything he wants you to be. When you were young you thought of yourself as an action-hero, like all young boys—but this is his movie, and you’re just the guy that dies to save him. 

You’re okay with that.

?? fic about neil being a jaded washed-up genius physicist that no one takes seriously due to the esoteric nature of his work when the protag meets him, and the protag being fascinated by a version of neil that isn’t the enthusiastic, eager, devoted one he remembers.

thank you for your interest in them! <3 i hope i manage to get them to a place i’m happy with at some point

[givemearmstopraywith]

I'm so curious about your mystic revelations, if you were willing to talk more about them. I've been becoming more interested in mysticism since last autumn when I visited Bruges and spent hours and hours in spectacular pre-reformation churches. Do you know about the Basilica of the Holy Blood? It seems very much your jam, its a chapel in Bruges all about venerating this vial of Jesus' blood and it was very dark and smelled powerfully of incense and it had a real revelatory effect on me.

i want to preface this with something of a disclaimer. i think there will be a point, in the future, where i feel comfortable sharing my mystical experiences with people, but that time hasn’t come yet. i’ve only told one or two people about them: they are very precious, and they are not something many people understand. even i struggle to understand them because i am only human. so i won’t be getting into detail about them, at this time, although i may in the future. 

i call myself a mystic but its a bit of a joke- as much as i would like to, i don’t think i will ever be on the level of spiritual transcendence the mystics i admire are, and its because i am too human and too bound to my own corporeality, as much as its something i’m trying to shed through my relationship with mysticism and God. but i think the act of mysticism is something i’ve chased most of my life, even as a child. i have a very mystically inclined mother- she’s always had a very strong relationship with spirituality, deep insights and a connection to the world i’ve never been fully able to understand or emulate. she’s my guideline for everything, my icon. like me she pulls from a lot of different spiritual practices, which has hugely influenced my own experiences and faith. 

i am drawn to specific practices but wouldn’t call myself a proponent of them, at least not as an adult. i was raised practicing judaism at home and anglicanism in public until i was nine, when we started attending the catholic church like the rest of my family (this led to me having a stint in pure atheism, which ended when i had my first, what i would consider, mystical experience). but with that being said, as a child i wanted to be a priest: likely because of my relationship with gender despite being afab i was never drawn to being a nun, which is ironic because the vast majority of mystics i admire (teresa of avila, hildegard of bingen, and julian of norwich) were nuns or nun-adjacent (julian was an anchoress). basically i knew i wanted to connect with God and priesthood seemed the easiest way to go about it. and to be honest, even now i feel that pull- they say its call and it really is, and i don’t think it ever really goes away. so part of my mysticism has been realizing that i can live the life i felt called to without taking an oath or living under rule: the church is not a necessary part of mysticism or a relationship with God, it just helps and creates a framework under which God, who transcends human understanding, can be somehow incarcerated in human understanding. for me mysticism is where understanding God leaves the fallible, mortal human realm and pulls the human somewhere else. i have experienced things that are literally beyond my ability to explain. even with people i love i sometimes cry because i can’t explain them. but that is God: ineffable, sublime, the absolute manifestation of something gothic and ominous because he haunts me the way a ghost haunts a space but in the most pure, beautiful, comforting way imaginable. 

and lastly: yes, i have heard of the basilica of the holy blood and its somewhere i would love to go! i had a similar revelatory experience at st joseph’s oratory in montreal- it’s not as old, but its one of the older pilgrimage sites in canada and similarly its a basilica, and the feeling i had there is something that rises in me like a craving. 

[profoundnet]

Header by @cryptomoon and is available on merch from her redbubble store. You can use all those fancy emojis (and more!) on our Discord server!

The Masterpost is open for all creations by ProfoundBond members which are posted in their entirety during that month.

MEMBER CONTRIBUTIONS FOR AUGUST 2020!

Featuring works by Ahurston | @allmystars-i | @a-mandala-rose | @andimeantittosting | ArielAquarial | @destielshipper4cas | DragonSgotenks | Endellion | @friendofcarlotta | @friendofcarlotta | @haybibiboi | @kingbirdkathy | @kitmistry |  @latter-alice |  @maleyah-givemetomorrow | @nickelkeep | @one-more-offbeat-anthem | Shadowkat83 | @sketching-fox |  @spnsmile | @starprincecas | @writerposer

Masterpost below the cut.

DragonSgotenks - DragonSgotenks

Getting to Know You (E, 9.1k)

When picking up his new company assigned laptop to work from home Castiel Novak meets IT tech Dean Winchester, who's a little flirty and a lot drop dead gorgeous. After Dean gives Castiel his phone number Castiel calls for help with his computer and Dean, well, Dean is VERY helpful.

Tags: TopCastiel/bottomDean, strangers to lovers, condoms, anal sex, meet-cute

~

one_more_offbeat_anthem - @one-more-offbeat-anthem -  one_more_offbeat_anthem

A Barely Functioning Adult’s Guide to Beekeeping (T, 10.7k)

Dean Winchester and Cas Devereaux, seniors, are roommates and best friends. Cas is the president of the beekeeping club, and he eventually cajoles Dean into coming to a couple meetings. Meanwhile, Dean is struggling with his relationship with his estranged father, whether or not he’ll get to graduate, and the fact that he’s maybe, kinda-sorta, almost definitely in love with Cas. Pair those things with his lack of confidence, a sudden road trip home to Kansas, a nosy creative writing professor, and the fact that he might be drinking too much—Dean’s a wreck who believes he has no future. But he might be wrong.

Tags: College AU, First Kiss, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, the Impala, Angst and Fluff

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Lovemuppet - @haybibiboi - lovemuppet

15x03 Where’s your head at? (T, 979 words)

Prompt: take a sad scene and try to make it sadder. 15x03: the breakup

Tags: angst, episode related

~

kitmistry - @kitmistry - Kitmistry

Stumble and Fall (E, 42k)

Castiel was raised to do one thing: serve his country, whether that was fighting a war or becoming an expert spy. But when his lover is charged with treason and executed Castiel defects. He has evidence that can destroy the KGB’s entire spy ring in New Mexico, he has names of scientists involved with atomic weapons who send information to the Soviets, and he won’t stop until he has revenge. Putting all his trust in the Americans, Castiel finds himself under the protection of U.S. Marshal Dean Winchester, who is too cocky and attractive for his own good, but at least seems to know what he’s doing. When a routine transfer to a safehouse goes horribly wrong, Castiel and Dean narrowly escape with their lives. With the Marshals compromised and Castiel being framed for murder, he and Dean are on the run from KGB and law enforcement alike. They have no one to trust except each other, and nowhere to go that their enemies can’t reach.

Tags: Cold War AU, Soviet Spy Castiel, US Marshal Dean Winchester, Enemies to Lovers, Suspense

~

latter-alice - @latter-alice - Latter-alice

pressing the issue (M, 2.2k)

"So," Dean shifts closer, "what's the big one?" It's obvious, and he isn't stupid. There's only one reason to ask this now. To press the issue. His answer is short, to the point. "You." The night before they leave to fight Chuck, Cas and Dean keep each other company.

Tags: First Kiss, Confessions, Cas is stressed

Sweet Insanity (G, 709 words)

"So," Dean draws the word out as he gives Cas a once over. "Did it hurt?" End of series fluff

Tags: fluff, first kiss

~

Maleyah - @maleyah-givemetomorrow 

“Dean” (SFW)

A Cas drawn for Ineffable Impala's DTIYS. Sparked a companion piece Dean.

Tags: Destiel, Mobster!Cas, DTIYS submission

“Heya Cas” (NSFW)

Companion Dean, who may or may not be praying to Cas, while he's busy.

Tags: Destiel, DTIYS submission

~

Kait - @kingbirdkathy - kait

Don’t leave me (SFW-ish)

"Don't leave me.“

Tags: things that Dean can never say out loud, hint of butt

reverse destiel (SFW)

reverse destiel DIY, original by gabester_sketch.

Tags: Hunter Cas, Angel Dean

smut time (NSFW)

just some smut

Tags: bottom dean, riding

~

MandalaRose - @a-mandala-rose - MandalaRose

The Shots You Don’t Take (E, 57k)

Still nursing the tatters of a broken heart and trying desperately to stave off the terror of his impending graduation, college senior Cas Novak decides it’s time to blow off a little steam. Not just any hook-up will do, however. The last thing Cas needs right now is a distraction. On the lookout for someone he can enjoy a steamy night of passion with before leaving them behind entirely, Cas thinks he’s found exactly what he needs in cocky university hockey star and well-known playboy Dean Winchester. Dean is gorgeous, doesn’t date, and is the singular most infuriating person Cas has ever met. He’s the perfect one night stand...that is, until Dean decides he wants an instant replay of what was supposed to be a one-time event. Will Cas’ offer of friends, sans benefits, convince the arrogant love ’em and leave ’em hockey defenseman to find an easier score? Or will Dean wear down Cas’ defenses and lure the sexy nerd in the dorky trenchcoat back to his bed?

Tags: Hockey AU, College AU, Hate to Love, One Night Stands, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Injury/Hospital, Briefly described (non-graphic) violence, Panic Attack, Fake/Pretend Relationship, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED.

~

nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep

Sometimes You’re the Sea (M, 10.2k)

When a freak storm overtakes the Lebanon, and Dean is knocked overboard, he's considered lost at sea. That is, until Dean wakes up onshore, with the bluest eyes he had ever seen watching over him. In a matter of days, Dean's world is turned upside down. He's falling in love with the man who saved him. A stranger appears, demanding his hand in marriage. And Dean's pretty sure that bird just called him a Dumbass.

Tags: AU - 1700s, AU - Fantasy, AU - Creatureverse, Sailor!Dean, Cecaelia!Cas, Dean POV, Little Mermaid Elements

Dog Days are Over (M, 7.8k)

It was cold. Dean shivered and reached for a blanket before snapping awake. He wasn't in his bed. He wasn't at home. For fuck's sake, Dean was still shifted. He whimpered, hating how pathetic he sounded, and tried to push himself up onto all fours. As Dean tried to put weight on his front left leg, he yelped out in pain and fell back onto the cage’s cold metal floor. He was either at the shelter or at the Vet. And he was so screwed.

Tags: AU - Modern, AU - Creatures Exist, Animal Shifter!Dean, Animal Injury, Hurt!Dean, Hurt/Comfort

~

FriendofCarlotta - @friendofcarlotta - FriendofCarlotta

A Fear of Falling (E, 40k)

After his partner’s tragic death, Dean Winchester resigns from San Francisco PD to work as a private investigator. Dean’s first case is a make-or-break opportunity: tailing the youngest brother of powerful shipping magnate Nick Novak. Castiel Novak, estranged from his family by choice, lives a quiet life 30 miles north of the city. His lonely but peaceful existence comes to a rapid end when he’s drawn into a plot to fake his brother’s death. As Dean and Castiel’s paths cross and they grow closer, the noose of a dangerous conspiracy tightens around them. Will they discover the truth before it’s too late?

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Private Investigator Dean Winchester, Accountant Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Discussions of Past Suicide, Discussions of Past Drug Abuse, Minor Character Death, Inspired by Vertigo (1958), Acrophobia, Angst with a Happy Ending

Stranger Things Do Happen (T, 852 words)

Dean invites Cas to experience the human ritual of watching horror movies to get ready for Halloween. Cas soon realizes that watching scary movies with Dean may come with unexpected... opportunities.

Tags: Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Movie Nights in the Dean Cave, Getting Together, Dean Winchester Has a Sexuality Crisis, Gratuitous References to 70s and 80s Horror Movies

~

Ahurston - ahurston

Yarrow, Lilac, and Foxglove (E, 10.4k)

Dean, Cas, and the magical garden down the road.

Tags: Fluff but give it feelings, domesticity, post-season 15, explicit sexual content, established relationship

~

allmystars - @allmystars-i - allmystars

Feels Like Nothing (G, 700 words)

Newly Human Castiel feels the weight of human existence for the first time. Dean is there to get him through.

Tags: Canon Universe, Human Castiel, Depressed Castiel, Supportive Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Holding Hands, Hopeful Ending

~

sketching-fox - @sketching-fox

The Black Trenchcoat (SFW)

Artworks done for the fic “The Black Trenchcoat”, written by spnsmile in our partnership on spncanonbigbang!

Tags: winged cas, kisses, fic art. Accompanied by fic by @spnsmile.

~

Endellion - Endellion

If Tomorrow Never Comes (E, 1.4k)

Dean promised Cas wouldn't die a virgin and he's going to keep his promise.

Tags: Bottom Dean, Top Castiel, anal sex, anal fingering

What We Want and What We Need (E, 1.3k)

Cas is angry, Dean is sorry. They go to the bar's bathroom to work it out.

Tags: Angry sex, Top Dean, Bottom Castiel, anal sex, spit as lube

~

writerposer - @writerposer - writerposer

Croat-Ville (E, 27k)

When Castiel stumbles into the Winchester's survivor camp, one of the few safe havens left after the Croatoan virus ravaged the earth, he had thought he lost everything. What he found there, who he found, would change his life, and maybe the world.

Tags: Endverse, Age Difference, Canon-Typical Violence, Time Skip

~

Destielshipper4Cas - @destielshipper4cas - Destielshipper4Cas

Fake Bite, Real Love (M, 2.7k)

To show his ex that he has moved on, Cas wants to fake a claiming bite on his neck. Painting it on doesn’t work, but luckily, his best friend and long-term crush Dean steps up to the task. Keeping a lid on his feelings is getting difficult, however, when the alpha is nibbling on his mating gland.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Best Friends, Idiots in Love, Omega Castiel, Alpha Dean

~

Shadowkat83 - Shadowkat83

Drowning in Guilt (T, 4k)

Bot Prompt: Dean is having another slice of pizza; Cas is polishing his angel blade; Sam is at the library Summary: When Sam discovers a case of people drowning after leaving the local bar. They head to check it out, what they didn't expect was to lose Dean to the creature. Now Cas and Sam need to find Dean before its too late.

Tags: monster of the week, angst, flirting, jealously, hurt Dean, feeling realization, two parts, confession of feelings

~

goldenraeofsun - @goldenraeofsun - goldenraeofsun

A Thousand Lies (E, 73k)

Dean Winchester is the best con artist in the continental US. Conscripted into the life after a stupid mistake as a teenager, he works for a man only known as the Lightbringer. He specializes in the marriage con, tricking his marks into falling in love with him and bolting after the honeymoon with everything they own. But the morning before his meticulously planned meet-cute with his newest assignment, he runs into an adorably clueless accountant named Cas in a coffee shop, and Dean’s entire view on life implodes.

Tags: con artist Dean Winchester, accountant Castiel, mutual pining, slow burn, Dean Winchester has self-worth issues, minor Dean/Crowley, angst with a happy ending

~

andimeantittosting - @andimeantittosting - andimeantittosting

Honour Undressed (E, 15.3k)

Among his friends, Castiel, Lord Milton is everyone’s confidant and, along with his trusted valet, the fixer of problems. But there is one secret Castiel has never shared: he is in love with his valet and has been for years. Born in the gutters, Dean Winchester was assigned as Castiel’s batman in the war, and when Castiel travelled home to take up his title, Dean followed him as his valet. To assist Castiel, Dean is not above a little burglary or blackmail. But the one thing he wants for himself is Castiel’s heart. When Castiel’s closest friends become the target of a blackmailer, certain truths come out. But while Dean determines to seduce Castiel, Castiel is adamant that he must resist, for if there is one rule a gentleman must follow, it is never to dally with his servant.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Class Differences, Blackmail, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending

~

starprincecas - @starprincecas - cuddlesandcas

Tell All The Truth, But Tell It Slant (T, 35k)

A cursed object gets touched, truths start coming out, and emotions reluctantly with them.

Tags: Canon Divergent - Post Season 8, Truth Spell, Bunker Fic, Human!Castiel, Drama, Humor

~

ArielAquarial - ArielAquarial

Hidden in the Sand (G, 5.4k)

Dean tries to drive down to Palo Alto as often as he can to spend quality time with Sam. This time, things are different. Not only is he secretly apartment hunting only a city away, but he's finally getting the chance to fish on the beach instead of a rickety old pier. Despite Sam's warning about stingrays, Dean insists everything will be fine and heads into the water without a care. What could go wrong?

Tags: Fluff, Cockblock Sam Winchester, Brotherly Bonding, Day At The Beach, Vacation, First Meetings, Flirting, Alternate Universe, Lifeguard Castiel (Supernatural)

~

spnsmile - @spnsmile - spnsmile

Destiel Prompt August Collection 2020 (G, 29k)

Collection of short Destiel stories prompt of August writer's month 2020

Tags: Romance,  AU, fluff,  established Castiel/Dean, First Meet,  Cute-Meet, Profound Bond,  Idiots in Love,  Boys Kissing,  Soul Mate

SKID (E, 24k)

Dean Winchester swore off love after getting dumped and fired from his job the same day. Badly drunk, he ended up balcony-hopping until a pair of hands snatched him inside a darkened room. But it's no hero, it's someone with deep voice whispering threats with a gun pointed at his back. Dean’s too drunk to deal with life but one good look at his hot assailant plus enough beer sold him to his accursed fate. The next morning, he found himself engaged to the most notorious leader of a powerful clan, Castiel Novak. Married life in the compound for a month was not as blissful so when he could, Dean fought for that freedom. Castiel relented and as Dean tried to put the pieces of his normal life together, getting a bike messenger job and dealing with pain in the ass clients, he now also needs to deal with the dangerous presence of his very jealous and very protective husband watching over him. Is his life ever going to get back to normal?

Tags: Alternate Universe-Gangster, MAFIA, Arranged Marriage,  Romance,  Hate/Love, Protectiveness,  Established Relationship,  Domestics,  Hurt and Comfort,  True love

Black Trenchcoat (E, 23k)

When Dean found out Castiel was working with Crowley to open Purgatory, he had no choice but to leave the angel in the ring of fire with nothing less than a broken heart. But instead of plotting against his friend, Dean takes a literal sense of fire vs fire. He decides to kill Castiel with love. Or that story where Dean convinces Castiel to look into their future to see if Castiel's plan against Raphael succeeds, only to find the world in chaos and an angel donning a black trenchcoat emerges to take Dean away.

Tags: Canon Divergence,  Romance,  Time Travel,  Protectiveness,  Possessive Castiel, season 6, Profound Bond, Kidnapped Dean Winchester,  Wings,  Kissing. Accompanied by art by @sketching-fox.

[argumate]

If men drink more, do drugs more and kill themselves more than women, does that necessarily mean they receive less support for mental health issues? If women attempt suicide more and succeed less, couldn't this just as easily be caused by a higher suicidal intent on average but less ability to be violent, as it could be caused by a lower suicidal intent? Isn't it sexist to make generalisations about society supporting women more based on your guesses about the real cause of various behaviors?

These are really complex questions and answering them properly requires sources of data and a degree of statistical rigour that I do not possess so I am going to stick to generalities.

As a group, men take more risks and are more violent than women (for the commonly understood meaning of “violence”, which is arguably male-focused).

But as soon as we start to talk about group differences it’s obligatory to point out the obvious: men being taller than women on average, as a group, does not mean that every man is taller than every woman, or even that the difference is particularly large (it’s 14cm in Australia), just as women living longer than men on average, as a group, does not mean that every woman lives longer than every man or that the difference is particularly large (it’s 4 years in Australia).

And beyond differences in simple averages there is also the question of the distribution, with men for whatever reason more likely to be outliers at both ends for many traits (more men than women with zero children and more men than women with a hundred children).

I mention that simply because any discussion of group differences tends to get the hackles up as it’s an issue that people have very strong feelings about (not me though!) and so it helps to be careful with language.

Whenever anyone does something we immediately ask is that what they wanted or were they forced into it, and if it turns out that is what they wanted we ask why, and that’s where things start to get really murky. If a man does something stereotypical of men is that because he’s trying to live up to the gender role impressed upon him from birth by society or is it because men are just like that? And is that even a meaningful question to ask? Is there such a thing as a “man” without the context of society?

Suicide is complex and is entangled with many factors: rates of depression and mental illness, cultural scripts, and the simple availability of methods. Some claim that availability is an important factor, with things like guns, coal gas ovens, pesticides, or certain medicines making suicide significantly easier in the moment and thus more subject to impulsivity. Any attempt to compare male and female suicide rates would need to compensate for access to these methods, both physical and cultural.

But beyond the choices people make we still don’t know why, and how things might have gone differently in a different context. For example older men often have fewer social connections than older women, and that is often explained by men putting less effort into social grooming and maintaining relationships than women (on average, as a group), which in turn could be explained by the ineffable male nature or by the fact that traditionally more men were in long-term full-time employment (work friends!) and thus their retirement is a bigger change to their social situation, whereas women have lower rates of workforce participation in the first place and thus are less affected by retirement.

If a man does not seek out therapy, does he lack support? If he attends therapy but finds it useless, does that mean that he lacks support? Honestly I’m not an expert on therapy (or anything) but this seems like a really tough question to answer without begging the question, how do you disentangle the role of therapy from everything else? I mean just to pick an example completely at random, women (on average, as a group) often have closer relationships to their children, which could potentially impact suicide rates, who knows.

A brief dip into evopsych would suggest that there are evolutionary advantages to women being more passive, stable, and patient than men (on average, etc.) and advantages to men taking bigger risks, for obvious reasons, and if that’s more likely to leave men dead from suicide, or bar fights, or alcoholism, then evolution simply shrugs and points at the numbers. (Evolution doesn’t care about any of us being happy, it’s entirely possible to spend a “successful” life in grinding misery, so while evopysch can suggest reasons for certain patterns it’s no guide to living).

To circle back to your original questions, it’s hard to even say what it means for society to “support” men or women. If men do want to drink more alcohol, is society supporting them by providing it, or exploiting them? And given that society is made up of men and women, are we really asking if men support themselves, or support other men? If a majority of therapists are women, is that because there is more demand for female therapists, or more supply? Does that even matter? And why am I the one asking all the questions here?

As with most questions, the real puzzle is why they are asked in the first place. When it comes to social issues and gender differences such questions are often a club for a preferred agenda: schools are failing boys, computer science needs more women, but the complexity of the issues is ill-suited to the intensity of the debate, and attempting to grapple with the details just produces word salad like this.

If you ask me, and you did, I would not hazard a guess on whether men receive more or less support for mental health issues than women. But if someone did a study and found that one or the other were more likely to see a therapist or receive recommendations to see a therapist or get snubbed in the office break room for seeing a therapist I would still recommend exercising caution in applying that result.

One of the pitfalls of group differences as I alluded to earlier was that people interpret “men are taller than women” as “all men are tall”, and similarly they might interpret “men are less likely to see a therapist” as “women get more support from society while men suffer in silence” or “men have less need for therapy while women are all narcissists who want to talk about themselves” or “therapists are con artists who prey on women” or who knows what.

Ultimately everyone wants to be happy and most people aren’t, there is a lot of unfairness in the world and some of that unfairness is people unfairly accusing others of having it better than them when they actually don’t, so it’s probably best for everyone to exercise a little restraint when it comes to claims like that.

[jenanigans1207]

Flowers for Margerie [1] |Ineffable Husbands|

Okay I’m gonna experiment with tumblr to see how it does with posting chapters of fics. It used to be great but then it stopped being great and so I disappeared from here for awhile. So let’s see how this does, shall we? The first three chapters of this fic are already up on Ao3, but I’ll be posting the other two shortly, too. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: “What have you got there?” She asked as the doors slid shut behind her, stepping up to inspect the plant. “My, what a lovely thing. Where are you taking it?”

“I’m, er, getting rid of it, actually.” Crowley answers, caught off guard by the way Margerie is looking at the plant. “Leaf spots.” He offers as a weak explanation, shifting it so she could better see the offending spot.

“Oh, that’s hardly any reason to get rid of it!” Margerie replies at once. “When something is a little damaged like that, you don’t throw it away, you take care of it. A little love and dedication and it’ll be healed right up.”

--

When Crowley tries to figure out what to do with the plants that disobey him, he doesn't expect to suddenly befriend the woman who lives in the flat below him. But he does.

The first time one of Crowley’s plants betrays him, he doesn’t know what to do.

He must make an example of it, of course, that part isn’t in question. There will be no disobedience in his flat and he’s determined to drive that point home. But he’s not sure how to do it. He grabs the plant by its pot, stalking out of the room with it, only pausing to send a menacing glare back at the plants who are watching their friend be taken away. They make it to the kitchen and Crowley sets the pot down on the counter, inspecting the plant inside of it, the offending leaf spot a dark focal point on its otherwise luscious leaves.

“How could you have done this?” He murmurs to the plant, turning it around. His tone is softer than he means it to be, sad more than disappointed, so he keeps his voice low so the other plants don’t get any ideas. “Was there something I didn’t give you? More I could have done?”

The plant trembles before him, its leaves shaking unceremoniously as Crowley spins the pot around, inspecting it from different angles, feeling the soil for dampness. He’d given it enough water, it had sunlight, he’d even gotten special potting soil that was supposed to help starter plants like this one. He had done his research on how to prevent things like leaf spots and made sure the plants had all the appropriate nutrition they needed. By all accounts, there was no reason for this plant to be betraying him so.

“Well,” He says, this time sounding as disappointed as he actually feels. Whether he’s disappointed in the plant or in himself is a moot point that he refuses to think about as he fixes his eyes back on the offending spot. “S’nothing to be done but to make a point, I s’pose.”

The plant triples its efforts of trembling and Crowley thinks it would be healing its leaf spot right here and now if it could. With a drawn out sigh, Crowley reaches over to flip on the garbage disposal, the sound loud and grating against his ears. He knows it fills the entire flat and can practically feel the fear of the other plants radiating from the other room. It seems barbaric, but he doesn’t exactly have an arsenal of plant destroying machines about his flat and he can’t think of any better way to handle the situation. The plant betrayed the only order it had been given, it needed to be taken care of. Such was the order of life.

He picks up the plant from his counter, grabbing it by the stems and yanking it out of the pot with little care or concern. The plant seems to vibrate under his fingers as he brings it over towards the garbage disposal, lowering it into the sink, further down, down, down. It’s just a hairsbreadth away from being in the garbage disposal when Crowley stops with a sudden jolt, his other hand bracing against the counter and his head sagging low.

“What am I doing?” He hisses, frustrated. He doesn’t make an attempt to move the plant away, but he doesn’t lower it any further, either. The sound continues in earnest and he just stands there, heaving breaths that his body doesn’t technically need. “Playing God?”

Crowley can feel it in the pit of his stomach— the despair at what he’s trying to do. He doesn’t want to demolish his plant, doesn’t want to punish it for something that very well may not have been its fault. And that’s what he was doing, wasn’t it? Punishing the plant for a small error that it hadn’t even meant. Surely if the plant had any control over it, it wouldn’t have gotten a leaf spot. Crowley had made it clear to every plant in his flat that leaf spots were unacceptable in no uncertain terms. Surely this plant deserved a second chance, deserved to learn from its mistakes and to try again. Where was the fairness in punishment without any warnings first?

He sees it for what it is, and he hates it. It tastes bitter in the back of his throat, makes his stomach flip. 

He hadn’t intended for his gardening habit to turn into what it had turned into. He’d picked a few plants up after he was no longer Warlock’s nanny as something to do to pass the time. With the end of the world looming and damn near six-thousand years under his belt on Earth, Crowley would’ve thought that he’d be able to have a few indoor plants without it turning into— into whatever the fuck it had turned into. He had, apparently, been wrong.

“I am, aren’t I?” He murmurs to the plant again, lifting it away from the garbage disposal finally. “I’m playing God.”

And he knows that he is. He doesn’t need the plant to give him any indication. He’s playing God with house plants, punishing them for disappointing him the way God had punished him for asking questions. He’s forcing them to live in fear, to think about everything they do and he’s casting them out if they so much as even wilt in a little heat. He has set clear, borderline unreasonable expectations for them and then given them no chance to adjust. He’s created his own Garden of Eden— beautiful, luscious and completely unfair in every aspect. 

He’s punishing bloody house plants because still, thousands of years later, he’s nursing the deep scars on his heart from his Fall.

The pain from his banishment from Heaven has never fully subsided, but Crowley has buried it in his heart under layers of mischief and lies, a carefully crafted facade of disinterest. It’s taken thousands of years of practice to come off so easily unbothered by things and Crowley realizes with startling clarity in this moment that these plants have become his Achilles heel— his method for coping with the tragedies of his past. They’re the one weak spot he has, the one spot that would bring him down if it were ever brought up. What he’s doing is so plainly obvious if he just looks and he realizes suddenly that he’s lucky that nobody else has ever had the chance to look. He’s fairly certain this is unhealthy at best and completely mental at worst, but he’s not sure where to go from here.

He can’t very well take the plant back. That would be letting the others know that leaf spots were accepted, which they absolutely weren’t. Even in the face of this realization, he wasn’t about to lower his strict standards or let his plants start getting… ideas. There was clearly something there to unpack and Crowley could deal with that on his own, but his plants needn’t know a thing about it. If he were crafting his own personal Eden, that was his business. But nobody said that he had to model his punishments after God just because he modeled his garden after Her. He could have his Eden and deal with the disappointments in a way that was less traumatizing for all involved. 

“Stay here.” He hisses to the plant, shutting off the garbage disposal and setting it down safely inside the sink. The plant sits obediently in the sink, its leaves perfectly straight, reaching for the ceiling, an attempt at picture-perfect. 

He casts one last glowering look at it before snagging its empty pot off the counter and sauntering back into the other room to show the others that it had been disposed of. It hadn’t, but Crowley made a big show of the empty pot with plenty of glares to keep his plants in line for the next few years, at least. And then, satisfied that he’d reestablished order, he headed back to the kitchen, empty pot still in hand. The plant trembled as he approached, trying to shrink away from him as best as it possibly could. It didn’t deter Crowley, who scooped it back up and dropped it back in the pot like it had never left, gathering it up and heading for the front door, careful to take the long way so the plants in the other room wouldn’t get a glimpse of their distinctly undestroyed friend.

Crowley didn’t even bother with shoes as he padded out of his flat, heading for the elevator. He was simply going to drop this plant off outside, leave it for someone to take. It seemed fairer to give it a second chance— one he had never gotten— and it would keep the other plants from having any idea. A part of him still tasted a bitterness in the back of his throat at the thought that he’d never know what would come of the plant. What good was a second chance, really, if he never got to see how the plant used it? But he would not have the status quo disrupted so he’d resigned himself to using his imagination and allowing the rest of the questions to just fade away. He was leaning against the back of the elevator, pot clutched to his chest when there was a ding and the doors slid open to reveal a woman Crowley recognized as his downstairs neighbor.

She was friendly enough, had introduced herself to Crowley when she’d first moved in and said hi to him every time she saw him in passing. Crowley made a point to be cordial back— manners were important, even for demons— but never got particularly close to her. There wasn’t much point in getting close to humans as it was, and that was especially true with older humans like her— they had even less time left.

“Mr. Crowley!” She greeted as she stepped into the elevator, beaming up at him with a smile that could rival Aziraphale’s. “Good morning!”

“ ‘ello, Margerie.” Crowley greeted with as much warmth as he was capable of. It wasn’t much to speak of, especially given his state of inner turmoil, but Margerie’s smile somehow grew even wider.

“What have you got there?” She asked as the doors slid shut behind her, stepping up to inspect the plant. “My, what a lovely thing. Where are you taking it?”

“I’m, er, getting rid of it, actually.” Crowley answers, caught off guard by the way Margerie is looking at the plant. “Leaf spots.” He offers as a weak explanation, shifting it so she could better see the offending spot.

“Oh, that’s hardly any reason to get rid of it!” Margerie replies at once. “When something is a little damaged like that, you don’t throw it away, you take care of it. A little love and dedication and it’ll be healed right up.”

Crowley tries very, very hard not to relate what she’s saying to his previous revelation about his plants representing him. He fails, but at least he doesn’t say anything about it out loud. That’s a crisis he’ll save for later when he’s alone in his flat, pacing restlessly and trying to figure out when the hell this had all come to mean so very much to him.

“Would you like it, then?” Crowley asks uncomfortably because he needs to be out of this situation as fast as possible. “I’ve got— got my hands full with a bunch of others. Just too much for me but you— you’re welcome to it if you have the— ah the time, and love? did you say? to give to it. S’not really my thing.”

“Oh!” Margerie lights up at the suggestion, looking up at Crowley through his sunglasses and he’s suddenly thankful to have them on because he thinks he might be blinded otherwise. Humans aren’t supposed to be this bright, he thinks dimly as she reaches out to touch another of the leaves. The only other person he’s seen shine like this is Aziraphale and he’s a bloody angel so he has an excuse. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah, please.” Crowley holds the plant out for Margerie, leaning down just the tiniest bit to hiss to the plant, “You be good for her.”

Margerie takes the offered plant graciously, holding it gently against her chest like it’s something precious she’s been given— something she will cherish. Crowley feels a weird twisting in his stomach and doesn’t know what to make of it. “Thank you, Mr. Crowley.” She says almost breathlessly. “I will take great care of it! And you’ll see, in no time that spot will be gone! You’ll have to come by for tea and see for yourself.”

“Er.” Crowley says because— was he just invited for tea? That doesn’t happen very often. “Right, yeah, sounds lovely. You just let me know when it’s all healed up and I’ll pop on by.”

Mercifully the elevator stops on the bottom floor finally and the doors slide open, revealing a series of people waiting in the lobby to head up to their flats. Crowley shuffles out with Margerie because somehow it feels rude not to, even though he can’t possibly explain why. Margerie moves easily, but slower than Crowley and he waits for her off to the side.

“Well,” She says once she reaches him. “Thank you for this gift, Mr. Crowley. It’s really rather lovely.”

“Do you need me to—” He gestures vaguely at the plant and then towards the elevator again because it’s suddenly just dawned on him that she’s leaving and he’s now stuck her with plant to carry around as she goes.

Somehow she understands his haphazard signaling and smiles at him again. “No, that’s quite alright. I’m headed to the store and it’s lovely weather, I can leave it in my car while I shop.”

“Right.” Crowley says. And then he feels like he should say more. “Thanks for, well, taking it off my hands, then.”

Margerie smiles at him as she heads slowly towards the door. “I’ll see you for that cup of tea soon!”

And then, all at once, she’s out the door, plant in tow, and Crowley wanders his way back up to his flat with no idea what had actually just happened.

 —

 In truth, Crowley completely forgets about Margerie, the plant he gave away and the promise he made.

Well, that’s a bit too callous. He doesn’t forget about Margerie— he sees her most days sitting on the bench outside their complex and gives her a polite greeting as he gets into his Bentley and screeches away. Somehow she never mentions the reckless way he drives and he thinks, fleetingly, he should have her meet Aziraphale so she can teach him her ways.

He does forget about the plant, though. And certainly about the promise. He hadn’t even meant to make a promise and he’d never had much intent on keeping it— demon, all that. It was the only reason he could admit that guilt free. But suddenly, a few weeks later, there was a knock on his door and it was different from the way Aziraphale knocked in the few times he’d ever come over to Crowley’s flat for something. Surprised— and certainly on guard— Crowley approached the door and swung it open.

Margerie stood on the other side, beaming her brilliant smile up at him. “Oh, wonderful, you’re home!”

“I am.” Crowley replies, and then he feels ridiculous and redundant.

Margerie presses on like his answer was the only acceptable answer, like he hadn’t just damn near made a fool of himself. “Are you busy this evening?”

And, as it so happened, he wasn’t. Tomorrow he would be busy, heading to the theater to catch a new play with Aziraphale. But today— today he had nothing on his plate. “No.” He replied and then hastily added on to make it sound less curt. “I haven’t got any plans today.”

If possible— and Crowley wouldn’t have said that it was possible if he hadn’t watched it happen— Margerie’s smile grew even brighter. “Well then, how about that tea? Your plant is doing lovely and I’d really like you to see it.”

The promise he’d made comes back to him all at once and Crowley pauses, staring down at Margerie who is quite a bit shorter than him, he’s just now realizing. Being a demon, it would be perfectly fine for him to rebuff her offer, to make up some excuse, to blow it off completely. In fact, it’d nearly be expected of him. But being a decent person— not that he was, he certainly wasn’t— forbid him from doing that. Or maybe it was the way her smile reminded him of Aziraphale’s and the fact that he’d never said no to Aziraphale in nearly six-thousand years.

Or, no, not that. Because he refuses to think like that.

The silence is stretching on and the edges of Margerie’s smile are starting to fall. It’s nearly imperceptible but Crowley feels it like a punch straight to his heart and he knows he can’t let it happen. “That’d be splendid.”

“Wonderful!” She replies and her smile is back in full force. “I’ll just need a bit of time to get the tea and biscuits ready. Why don’t you come down in, say, about an hour? Does that work?”

It does work, and Crowley tells her as much, going so far as to wave awkwardly at her as she heads back towards the elevator. She pauses before stepping in, shooting an encouraging smile at him over her shoulder and then she’s gone and the doors are closing and Crowley is left to wonder what the hell he’s gotten himself into. 

In theory, it can’t be too bad getting to know her, right? If Hell asked— not that Hell ever bothered to check in on him, but if they did— he could just spin some lie about how he was trying to corrupt her. He has to get to know someone before he can successfully corrupt them, after all. And being older with hair that was more grey than not— Crowley thinks it was probably brown when she was younger, there’s still some streaks of it hidden in there— she was closer to being assigned to one side. Plus, if things went according to Plan— as much as Crowley was going to do everything in his power to ensure that it didn’t— everyone would be assigned a side and just over a year when the Earth as he knew it, well, ended. It was for Hell, he told himself firmly as he switched into an outfit that seemed more fitting for tea.

Not that anything he owned was particularly fitting for tea.

He didn’t even like tea, that was Aziraphale’s thing. Crowley preferred coffee, dark, bitter and with a biting aftertaste. He preferred it strong and scalding hot. Tea was too— too bland, too boring, to mild for his tastes.

And yet an hour later he found himself in clothes that were slightly less form fitting, standing outside Margerie’s door, hand poised to knock and a bouquet of flowers that he had miracled at the last moment in his other hand.

Margerie opened up almost immediately, gasping at the flowers as Crowley extended them to her and placing a warm hand on his forearm earnestly as she thanked him for his generosity. She stepped aside to invite him in and Crowley diligently took his shoes off just inside the door like a good guest before being led further back into her flat.

It was exactly how he had pictured her flat would be— homey and outdated in a way that was more charming than anything else. Not for the first time, he thought that Aziraphale and her would get along excellently. They could probably even trade decorating tips since they both seemed to stuck a few eras in the past. There was nothing sleek about the inside of her flat and Crowley thinks he was only able to navigate the mismatched furniture and uneven rugs with such ease because of his centuries of practice moving expertly around precarious stacks of books.

“Nice place.” Crowley knows enough about manners to know that small talk is essential. He’s not particularly good at it, though, given that he spends the majority of the time with another supernatural entity and they skip small talk completely in favor of philosophical discussions and stories from throughout history. 

“Oh, it’s not much.” Margerie says with a fond smile. “But it’s home.” She leads Crowley through one final doorway and he finds himself in a small kitchen. Technically, it’s the same as his— all flats in this complex are exactly the same— but the way she has decorated it makes it look like something else entirely. “Please have a seat while I get these gorgeous flowers some water.”

Crowley obliges, sliding into a chair at the table in the center of the kitchen. He glances around as she moves across the kitchen to grab a vase. His kitchen has a few essentials— very, very few considering nothing material is really essential to a demon— and a few pieces of furniture just for the sake of appearances. Margerie’s kitchen has drawings taped to the fridge, pictures on the wall, mail scattered on the counter. Her kitchen looks lived in with a few crumbs underneath the pantry door and a dirty mug sitting in the sink. It looks human and Crowley finds it frightfully calming— and maybe even a little endearing.

Margerie makes a sound and Crowley snaps his eyes back to her at once, seeing her struggle with one hand braced on the couter and the other stretching as high above her head as possible as she reaches for a vase on a shelf far taller than she is. In an instant, Crowley is up and out of his seat, leaning over Margerie to grab the vase down for her, hardly a stretch at all for his lanky limbs.

“Oh, you’re such a kind one, aren’t you?” Margerie says gratefully as she takes the offered vase from his hands and shuts the cupboards.

Crowley stiffens next to her, opening his mouth before promptly snapping it shut. He is not and has never been nice, or kind, or any other word even slightly resembling those, but that’s not a speech he can give to Margerie. He can’t explain to her that he’s actually a demon and he keeps his plants locked up in his flat as some sort of twisted God complex and futile attempt to right the wrongs of his past. He can’t tell her that he spends his days creating low grade evil and chaos, only occasionally broken up by a blessing when he needed to step in for Aziraphale.

Luckily, Margerie doesn’t seem to notice his pointed silence as she fills the vase with water and then reaches into one of the kitchen drawers for a pair of scissors to cut new ends on the flower stems. They won’t need it— Crowley had well and thoroughly threatened them into behaving, too, but it’s another item on the growing list of things he can’t explain to her so he just resumes sitting at the table and looking idly around in a desperate attempt for some way to make this less awkward.

“Do you see it?” Margerie asks after a moment. Crowley makes some sort of questioning noise that couldn’t quite be considered a word but it gets a smile out of Margerie just the same and she gestures to the plant sitting in the middle of the table. “Your plant.”

“This?” Crowley says, reaching forward to pull the plant closer. It’s in a different, bigger pot than it had been when he’d given it to her and the leaves were exceptionally green. Crowley spun it around, inspecting it, noticing the way the leaves seemed to tremble the tiniest bit as he inspected them. Sure enough, there was the tiniest hint of the leaf spot that had caused Crowley to cast it out, nearly gone now. “It looks completely different.”

She smiles at him from across the kitchen and it’s completely different, somehow, than the smiles he’s seen from her already. This one is smaller, more intimate but just as warm. It makes Crowley feel like squirming out from under the weight of it. “Like I said, it just needed a bit of love. You’d be amazed how much love can change something— or someone.”

“Yeah, well,” Crowley feels like he’s losing his mind suddenly. He’s not used to this sort of kindness, he’s not meant to be receiving it. He’s a demon and demons are unforgivable and utterly tasteless, they weren’t the kind of person that someone wanted to spend a casual afternoon tea with. But Margerie continues to shoot him encouraging smiles and seems entirely comfortable with his presence in her kitchen, long legs poking out from under the table at an awkward angle. “I might know a thing or two about that.”

And what the fuck did he think he was doing? 

He wasn’t honestly sure if he was talking about his feelings for Aziraphale or the love that God had ripped away from him but bother were delicate subjects that he had vowed a long, long time ago to never address. He had locked them away and promised himself he would never put words to them ever. And yet.

Crowley tried desperately to write it off as a side-effect of the existential crisis he had worked himself into with the plants but it didn’t stick as well as he’d have liked it to.

Crowley was about a half a second away from verbally backpedaling, making some series of noises that would no doubt display his discomfort when Margerie just smiled at him again and came to join him at the table with the vase of flowers she’d finished arranging. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not—” Crowley swallows, completely baffled at the entirety of this encounter. “Not really. It’s— complicated.”

“Well,” Margerie says kindly and Crowley recognizes that tone. It’s the one Aziraphale uses when he’s purposefully ignoring something for Crowley’s sake, pretending he didn’t see or hear something he knows Crowley wouldn’t want him to know about, locking it away to never bring it up again. “That’s alright, then. We can talk about other things.”

The tea kettle whistles on the stove and Margerie turned around to grab it. She clicked off the stove and settled two cups onto the table in front of their respective seats. She moved a plate of biscuits onto the table, too, before returning with the kettle and pouring hot water into both of the glasses, tea bags already inside.

Crowley still didn’t care for tea, but he found himself suddenly glad for a way to occupy his hands and for something to sip at if he ever needed to avoid her questions. But he never did need to, as it turned out. She deftly avoided any conversation topic that seemed to make him even the tiniest bit uncomfortable, poking around at the shallow stuff like what he did for work— at which Crowley had given a broadly vague I work with people— and how he liked to spend his free time.

Somewhere along the way, though he was loath to admit it and surprised to see it, he melted into the easy conversation. He listened to stories from her childhood, tales of her children’s accomplishments. He laughed as she regaled him with particularly embarrassing stories and smiled fondly when her eyes would drift far away as the memories overtook her. In turn, he told her about Aziraphale— not in the way that she had asked earlier, but just about his presence in Crowley’s life. He told her about their plans for the play tomorrow which had led them off on a discussion about their favorite plays and Crowley was thrilled to find that Margerie preferred the funny ones, too.

“The sad ones— it’s just, why go to the theater to be sad?” Crowley is saying, a biscuit in his hand as he gestures wildly. He figures it would be rude not to eat it and he has human appearances that he must keep up. “I can do that alone in my own flat, y’know? Don’t need Shakespeare or— or some other bloke to make me sad. Plenty capable of that on my own.”

A hand suddenly appears over his on the table and Crowley swallows the bite of biscuit he’d finally taken, startled at the stern look in Margerie’s eyes. “You shouldn’t be sad.” She says kindly, maybe a little sad herself. “You have nothing to be sad about, you’re such a wonderful young man.”

“You just don’t know me that well yet.” Crowley mumbles in response, wondering how they’ d gone from laughing about the theater to this. But, it wouldn’t be the first time he mucked something up. He supposes it’s fine, he’s a demon, the conversation probably should have ended this way anyways.

And then Margerie surprises him, her grip tightening over his hand. “Nonsense.” She says at once. “I know you plenty well to know you have a good heart in you, Mr. Crowley. For starters, you gave me a lovely plant and the you brought me beautiful flowers. And you’re spending your afternoon keeping an old woman like me company. That right there is enough. But just in case you’re not convinced—” She makes a pointed look at his expression and Crowley tries to school it back into something neutral, but he’s not certain it works. “I’ve also seen you picking up the litter outside the complex, and holding the door open for the mother with her stroller down in 3B.” Crowley moves to protest— how has she managed to catch all of the undemonic things he’s done?— but Margerie won’t hear it. “You are a very kind person, Mr. Crowley. And I don’t know who made you feel like you need to hide that, but it can be our little secret if you wish.”

Crowley feels a distinctive emotion threatening to close up his throat and he can’t swallow around it as well as he needs to. He takes a deep breath, his hands flat against the top of the table. He knows he should deny it but there’s something so open and honest in the way Margerie is looking at him, something that feels like a safe-haven.

“Crowley.” He finally manages to choke out. “Everyone just calls me Crowley. Er, well— my friends do.”

He really only has one friend to speak of but it’s not untrue. Regardless, it gets the point across and Margerie is once again smiling that brilliant smile at him from across the table, her thumb tracing patterns across the back of his hand.

“Our little secret then, Crowley?” She asks again, her voice a soft whisper, a promise of privacy, a solemn oath to not repeat anything she’s heard from him, seen him do.

It only takes a moment of hesitation before Crowley offers her a weak smile. “Our little secret.”

—

Much to Crowley’s surprise— and certainly to his disdain— it doesn’t actually take that long for another plant to betray him.

He spares a moment wondering if they know what happened to the previous plant and are looking for a way out, but then discards it as a ridiculous notion. Plants can feel fear, that much is evident every time he walks into the room, but they’re certainly not forming complex theories about their owner. So, Crowley drags that plant out of the room, too, turning on the garbage disposal as he enters the kitchen. This time he has enough thought to throw something down there— some bit of wood he miracled up— just so it sounds more realistic. Maybe the plants had realized that nothing had gone down there last time. He won’t make that mistake again.

Once he’s certain he’s got the full attention of the house, he stalks back in with a replica of the pot the plan was still residing in, stalking around and staring down each plant individually, holding the pot in front of each of them one-by-one so they had no choice but to see. He hissed out a few pointed threats and then left, heading back to take this plant down to Margerie, too.

Crowley isn’t sure why he thinks that’s an okay thing to do. Just because Margerie had taken one of his plants didn’t mean she wanted to acquire her own forest inside her flat. Still, there was something about her— something that Crowley couldn’t put his finger on, no matter how much he thought on it— that made him certain that she would gladly take it.

In the end, he was right. 

She opened the door to her flat and immediately broke into one of her beaming smiles as she saw Crowley standing there with another plant in his hands. This one had flower buds that hadn’t yet bloomed. They would be beautiful, though, Crowley had made sure of that.

“Crowley!” She says, and she steps aside immediately, ushering him in. “What a lovely surprise. I was just baking, I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t need to stay—” Crowley starts to protest immediately feeling like he’s inconvenienced her.

“Nonsense!” She waves a hand and gestures for him to follow her into the kitchen. “I’d love some company while I bake.”

Crowley kicks off his shoes obediently, wondering how he’s now gotten himself into this situation twice. He pads quietly down the hallway after her, carrying the plant along with him the entire time and feeling distinctly foolish. They enter the kitchen and sure enough there are ingredients scattered all over and Crowley gets a waft of warm earthiness.

“I had another plant—” He pauses, certain that saying the plant had betrayed him was not a normal thing to do. “It’s ah, got the spots. And, y’know, not my thing, all that.”

“Is that why you’re carrying that lovely thing?” Margerie asks, pausing at the sink and looking over at him.

“Yeah.” Crowley says, feeling kind of small for some reason. “Was wondering if you wanted it? Or wanted to— to heal it or whatever it was.”

Margerie pauses for a moment, appraising Crowley with her eyes. Crowley tries not to squirm underneath her gaze. He’s certain that she can’t see the truth of who he is— not with his sunglasses on— but he feels like she’s not looking for that sort of information. He feels, more than anything, like she’s trying to read what’s written in the shadows of his heart.

“I would love it, Crowley, thank you.” Margerie says after a moment, and she steps forward to accept it from him. “I will gladly take any plants you choose to get rid of but there is one condition.”

“What’s that?” Crowley asks as he hands the plant over, suddenly feeling unmoored without the weight of it in his hands to anchor him down. 

“You have to come see them.” She says with a small smile. “You’re giving them a second chance by giving them to me, so make sure to come back and see how they do.”

Crowley startles, amazing at how accurately she had pinned what he was doing. He wonders if he’d really been that obvious, but then he tamps that worry down because it will just lead to him wondering what else he’s that obvious about and that’s a Pandora’s Box that he doesn’t want to open— now or ever.

“Right.” Crowley says after a moment’s pause. “Seems fair enough.”

There was a moment where they just looked at each other and then Margerie gestured for him to sit. Crowley did, though he wasn’t sure why because he didn’t really have a reason for sticking around now that he’d handed the plant off. Still, he took the same seat as he had last time and watched as Margerie set the plant down on a counter off to the side and then headed to fill the tea kettle with water. Crowley went to protest but thought better of it because he knew Margerie wouldn’t hear it, so instead he slumped back and waited patiently.

It only took a moment for her to get the kettle on and then she moved back to the counter where she appeared to be making a dough of some kind. “So,” she began and Crowley didn’t like the tone of her voice. It meant she was going to pry, to ask questions, to search for information that he either didn’t have or couldn’t give. He braced himself. “Did somebody break your heart?”

“Well, I— what?” Crowley shoots up in his chair, his spine the straightest it’s probably ever been as he stares at her incredulously across the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting her to ask but that was certainly nowhere even near the list of potential questions. 

“I’m sorry,” She says gently, like he might break. “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t ask but…” She pauses for a moment as if she’s giving Crowley the chance to back out of the conversation. He wants to, but he also wants to know how she had jumped to that conclusion from a simple plant. “It’s just— the way you look at the plant, like it’s hurt you with these spots. I just— I see that sadness in you that you mentioned last time. Call it mother’s intuition, I guess.” She glances over at him as she kneads the dough, her smile small but still genuine, maybe even a little sad itself. “You don’t have to answer me, I just want you to know that I’ll gladly listen if it’ll help.”

Crowley feels like the air has been knocked right out of his lungs and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to make of that. Fleetingly he realizes that so far he has spent every encounter with her completely caught off guard and uncertain of what to expect. That’s probably a bad sign, he reasons, but he finds her so comforting and he really believes that she won’t repeat anything he says. There’s something about her— maybe it’s her energy, the way it radiates pure good and unconditional love. It damn near feels like standing next to Aziraphale.

“Does that work?” He asks quietly, looking down at his hands on the table before him. “Talking about it?”

“I think so.” Crowley isn’t looking up at her but he can hear her working and he appreciates her attempts at making this such a casual thing for him, her attempts to not put any pressure on him. “If you keep everything locked up inside, it’ll drag you down. Best to share the burden with someone else.”

“And you want to bear my burdens?” Crowley tries for teasing but it sounds more incredulous than anything else. If the world weren’t set to be ending in the next year, Crowley wouldn’t believe that this was happening. But everything had been unbelievable in the last ten or so years and humans never failed to surprise him.

Margerie responds in kind, her tone actually succeeding at hitting teasing. She pauses what she’s doing to come and pour him a cup of tea before retreating back towards the stove. “We’re sharing plants already, why not?”

It startles a laugh out of Crowley and he settles a bit more comfortably into the chair again. “Are you going to share your burdens with me?”

“Do you want me to?” Margerie asks, clearly caught off guard by the question.

Good, Crowley thinks, they can be on the same weird, unexpected page. “ S’only fair, wouldn’t you say?”

“You drive a hard bargain.” She pauses her kneading to look over at him and there’s a crinkle to her eyes. Crowley meets her gaze and thinks that her eyes look like melted gold from across the room and he thinks that’s fitting, somehow. Like her eyes are reflecting the kindness within. “Well, alright then. You have a deal. Now tell me about this heartbreak.”

Crowley knows he can’t tell her about Heaven— not in such clear terms, anyways. And he shouldn’t tell her about Aziraphale since that was— that was a mess of his own making. And yet he found that he did want to talk about both of them.

And so, he did.

He told her that he had been loved by someone, once, and then they had turned on him and kicked him out, even if he’d never really grasped what he’d done wrong. He tells her about his plants and how he’s realized that they are a reflection of this— he even mentions how impressed he is that she figured it out after only two plants.

“Took me damn near thirty before I pieced it together.” He says with a laugh that’s not entirely mirthless. It’s more self-deprecating than anything and Margerie hears it, shooting him a look.

“Is this the love you said you’re familiar with last time?” She presses after a moment.

“You’re ruthless, d’you know that?” Crowley laughs again and this time it’s more genuine. “Can’t let a man catch a break, can you?”

“I meant it when I said you don’t have to answer,” Margerie looks at least a little contrite as she slides her most recent creation into the oven, pulling out what Crowley has since identified to be brownies. 

The entire flat smells amazing which is impressive considering that Crowley doesn’t ever feel particularly drawn to food. Margerie waits for him to say something as she does some sort of intricate dance in front of the oven, swapping pans and shuffling stuff around. Crowley watches idly for a few moments as she eventually sorts it all out and shuts the oven door with her foot, reaching over to set a new timer.

“That one might be a bit heavy for today.” He answers finally.

“Oh, my dear.” She says, turning to look at him and Crowley feels his heartstrings plucked at the endearment. Partially just for the sake that she’s using an endearment on him and partially because there’s only one other person in all of history who has called him my dear. 

How Margerie continues to hit so close to home, Crowley isn’t sure. He lifts his glass up and drains it, despite the fact that it’s nearly cold at this point. He hadn’t touched it at all but felt it would be rude to leave it full.

“I should probably go.” Crowley says, shoving his lanky legs underneath him and pressing up from his spot by the table. “Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome. You can’t be sick of me before I even begin checking in on these plants.”

“I don’t think I’ll be getting sick of you anytime soon, Crowley.” Margerie says with such un bridled warmth that Crowley thinks for a moment that he’s standing in Hell— brimstone, flame, all that. There is a reason humans believe Hell to be eternal burning after all. “But please do hold on for just one moment, I’d like to send some of these brownies home with you.”

“You don’t—” Margerie stops his protest with a single look. He sighs and props a hip against the table. “Alright, fine. I’m not much for chocolate but I have a— friend who is. He will love these.”

“Well,” Margerie says as she finishes slicing the warm brownies and settles them on some tinfoil. “Please be sure to tell me what your friend thinks. And I do hope you’ll try at least one of them. For me.”

Crowley accepts the parcel of brownies as it’s offered to him. “He’ll love them.” Crowley says with absolute certainty and a weird warmth closing his throat. “And I’m sure I will, too.”

 —

 Crowley’s late.

Well, as late as he can be for something like this. He and Aziraphale don’t have strict reservations anywhere, so it’s not like he’s at risk of actually ruining their plans, but he knows Aziraphale is waiting outside the complex for him. He’d spent too long trying to pick what to wear which, incidentally, was stupid considering all of his outfits looked nearly the same.

“Sorry,” he calls as he rushes through the front door to find Aziraphale standing there with his hands folded behind his back, looking entirely at ease. “Got, er, caught up.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Aziraphale says with that easy smile of his, turning to watch as Crowley approaches.

Crowley tries his best to look calm, to keep his pace slow and unhurried. He’s not certain it works but Aziraphale at least has the decency to not point it out if his frantic energy is palpable. He reaches Aziraphale’s side in a few quick strides. “So, given any thought to where you’d like to go?”

“Yes, actually.” Aziraphale says with that beaming smile that makes Crowley thankful for his sunglasses. “There’s a new Thai place just up the road. It’s close by and lovely weather so I thought we might walk there.”

“Sure, whatever you want, angel.” Crowley agrees automatically, happy to go anywhere as long as it has Aziraphale there. “Lead the way.”

They take off down the sidewalk together but only make it a few steps before a car door is thrown open in front of them, halting their progress. A few choice words pop to the tip of Crowley’s tongue but they die the moment Margerie steps out of the car, her eyes landing on them.

“Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry!” She says hurriedly, shutting the door and leaning against it so that they can pass by if they want. “I didn’t mean to be in your way.”

“S’no problem.” Crowley says, resolutely not looking at Aziraphale. “We’re in no rush.”

Crowley can’t be rude or curt to Margerie, he just can’t. Not after how kind and welcoming she has been to him, not after she’s heard some of his secrets and kept them locked away— just between the two of them. He knows his kindness will fuel Aziraphale, will give him material to tease Crowley with for the rest of time— no matter how long that ends up being— but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Margerie doesn’t deserve his attitude and Aziraphale will always find something to tease Crowley about. If not this, surely it’ll be something else.

“Oh,” She perks up and smiles at him, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, did your friend enjoy those brownies?”

“You can ask him yourself.” Crowley says, gesturing towards Aziraphale. He gets the distinctive feeling that his face is red but he doesn’t waste time thinking about why. 

“You made those brownies?” Aziraphale jumps fluidly into the conversation like he knows Margerie already. “Oh, my dear, how do you do it? Was there a hint of— was it cinnamon I tasted?”

“It was!” Margerie perks up immediately, stepping away from her car to properly engage them in conversation. “I’m impressed you could taste it, it was only a teaspoon in the whole batch.”

“It was delectable,” Aziraphale says, reaching forward to grab her hands earnestly. “It was just a little hint left on my palate. Oh, I daresay they hardly even lasted an evening. The most delicious brownies I’ve ever tasted!”

“Oh, you’re just being kind.” Margerie is the one to turn distinctly pink this time and Crowley just watches it happen, feeling how surreal this moment is.

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale emphasizes. “I would not say such a thing lightly! You must give me your recipe, I’d love to make them!”

“Do you bake?” Margerie asks and she seems to catch Aziraphale by surprise.

He looks puzzled for a moment, like he’s not sure why he asked for a recipe that he can’t use and it makes Crowley feel at least a little better. There’s something about Margerie, he decides, that draws this happiness out of people. Maybe she’s a supernatural entity herself. (Crowley knows it’s not true, he’d be able to feel it, but she certainly seems to have some sort of superpower.)

“Well, no, actually.” Aziraphale admits after a moment, looking properly sheepish. “But perhaps I shall learn for this! Your brownies are worth the effort.”

“Perhaps Crowley could bake them for you?” Margerie suggests instead.

The world seems to screech to a halt.

Crowley knows that she doesn’t mean anything by it. There’s no way that she’s figured out that Aziraphale is the one he’s been desperately avoiding talking about. But then again— maybe she has? She’d called it mother’s intuition before and she had a strange habit for hitting the nail right on the head. Crowley looks at her desperately, but she’s simply smiling warmly at him, guilt-free. She doesn’t know what she’s implied and Crowley isn’t sure if he’s relieved or not, even though it seems like it should be obvious.

“Oh, dear me.” Aziraphale laughs, recovering from the shock of the moment far faster than Crowley. “I’m afraid he’s an even worse baker than I am. I daresay I wouldn’t survive those brownies.”

“See if I ever try to make anything for you again, angel.” Crowley grumbles, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

“Is he?” Margerie leans closer to Aziraphale. Or perhaps she draws him closer to her by their still connected hands, Crowley isn’t sure. All he knows is that suddenly Aziraphale and Margerie are leaning towards each other, close enough for Margerie to whisper conspiratorially, “At least he’s attractive, though, right?”

“That’s it!” Crowley cries, huffing past both of them and their stupid combined hands and their mocking grins. “I’m going to the Thai place. Angel, you’re welcome to join me if you wish. Otherwise, I hope you both have lovely nights.”

“Bit touchy, that one.” Margerie says fondly behind him.

Aziraphale laughs before calling after him. “Crowley, dear boy, the restaurant isn’t that way.”

Crowley makes a frustrated noise and spins on his heel, not sure when he’d gotten turned around. He supposes it was sometime around when Margerie had come to join their circle. It doesn’t matter. He stalks past them, going what is, apparently, the proper direction. 

As he passes, he hears Aziraphale’s, “It was so lovely to meet you.” 

“And you, dear.” Margerie replies before calling after Crowley’s retreating back. “Have a good evening, Crowley! I’ll see you for tea soon here!”

Crowley makes some sort of noise that’s both disgruntled and confirming their plans and continues storming off, leaving Aziraphale to catch up to him, laughing the whole way.

 —

Crowley’s in the back of the elevator, clutching a plant to his chest when Margerie finds him. It’s distinctly reminiscent of the first time they’d really talked and she smiles at him as she steps into the elevator, her eyes falling to the plant in his hands.

“Another one for us to share?” She asks with a pointed look.

“Actually,” Crowley says and he’s not sure why the words try to stick in his throat. “Not this time.”

“Not yet.” Margerie corrects fondly. “It’s only a matter of time before it makes its way to me.”

“First of all,” Crowley replies affronted, “I am perfectly capable of raising plants properly and I don’t appreciate that implication.” Margerie laughs and it’s airy and light. “And second of all, it’s not for me either. So no, you can keep your mitts off of it.”

The elevator lurches as it comes to a stop at the bottom floor, the doors sliding open. Crowley steps forward and places a hand over one of the doors to hold it open while Margerie moves into the lobby. He’d known her for a few months at this point and he didn’t like the fact that he could already see her slowing down.

“Who is it for, then?” She asks with feigned innocence.

“You’re a vulture.” Crowley remarks dryly. “It’s for Aziraphale. My— the friend you met. With the brownies.”

“Oh, is that his name? Aziraphale.” Margerie says it like she’s tasting the sweetness of it. Crowley knows the sensation of it well, his mouth forms the name with ease and a certain amount of forbidden fondness. “That’s fitting for him. He seemed rather charming.”

“He—” Crowley garbles up a few more words before sighing. “Yeah, he is.”

“First brownies and now a plant.” Margerie points out in a way that lacks any and all subtlety.

“Don’t.” Crowley warns with a pointed look. She shrugs her shoulders innocently. “He’s— he’s about as rubbish at raising plants as he is at baking. But he owns a bookshop, see, and is always talking about how it needs something living to brighten the place up. So I— this one doesn’t require a lot of tending to. Just some water occasionally.”

He expects her to make some other comment about how this all appears, but she takes pity on him instead. “What if he forgets to water it?”

Well, she tries to pity him, but the answer he has to give to that still drives her point home anyways. “Well, I’m, er— I’m at his shop frequently enough that I can water it and it should stay alive.”

He sees the knowing look in her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything other than, “I’m sure he’ll enjoy it greatly. That’s a lovely gift.”

“Yeah.” Crowley said helplessly because he knows what it looks like and if Margerie thinks it, what is Aziraphale going to think? He’s probably being a fool, making some unwanted gesture that’s going to tip the scale too far.

“Well, better hurry along, then.” Margerie says with a kind smile and a tilt of her head. “I’m sure he’s anxiously awaiting your arrival and the chance to tell you how much he loves your gift.”

Crowley glances at her. She seems to always know what needs to be said. Mother’s intuition he remembers her saying, even though he hasn’t seen or heard much about her kids since that first night. “Right, thanks.”

He vows to tell her someday that her intuition has so far been spot on with him. To his understanding, mother’s love that— being told they’re right. And she’s been absolutely right on every account thus far.

 —

 Life progresses mostly as normal after that. Days go by, weeks turn into months and months fade into nearly a year in the blink of an eye, and Crowley doesn’t think too much of anything. He tries to ignore the passage of time and the metaphorical clock that’s ticking above all of their heads, but it grows more difficult with each day. He says hi to Margerie every time he sees her, slips by her place occasionally for tea and passes every plant that breaks his rules to her care. (And so what if the plants he’s passing along get more and more beautiful each time? What if there happens to be her favorite flower in there? That’s just coincidence). She takes them all with nothing more than a tut in his direction, chastising him about how he still hasn’t learned his lesson about love.

“I don’t love,” He’d said once in a vulnerable moment, the mug of coffee pressed close to his face, helping to hide his expression. Margerie had yelled at him— as close to yelling as Crowley could imagine her getting, anyways— when he’d finally confessed that he preferred coffee instead of tea. “It’s just not something I’m… capable of.”

“Oh, hush.” Margerie had waved a hand at him almost dismissively. She’d known him nearly a year at this point and still held firmly onto her convictions that he was good and kind. Crowley, admittedly, had given her a fair share of reasons to think exactly that,but he still tried to pretend he hadn’t. It made Crowley less sick to hear— in fact, sometimes hearing her say it was his only solace— but he didn’t let that show. “You know I’ve heard too much to believe that.”

And she had heard too much. It had started one night when she’d found him drunken outside of their complex, having recently stumbled home from Aziraphale’s bookshop. Crowley didn’t remember much of the night, but he knew Margerie had helped him up to his flat, listening to him ramble on about Aziraphale’s eyes, apparently, and the way his hair looked soft as a cloud. He’s apparently expressed a long suppressed desire to touch it and see if it was, in fact, as soft as it looked. When she’d showed up at his door the next morning with some advil and demands that he let her cook him breakfast, he’d groaned out loud and buried his head in his hands.

(He’d barely had a moment to miracle in normal cooking utensils and food before Margerie was shoving her way through the door and banging around in his kitchen, apologizing belatedly for the way that the sound must be bothering his hangover.

“How’d you know I was hungover?” He’d asked.

He was hungover, but he didn’t need to be. A simple miracle would send it scurrying, but he couldn’t do that in from of Margerie so he’d resigned to suffer for the time being.

“Oh, honey.” She said, smiling almost wickedly at him from across his kitchen, “Did you not wonder how you got home last night? Did you not wonder who you spilled your heart to about— dare I say it? Aziraphale?”

Crowley decided he liked Margerie distinctly less at that very moment. But he was impressed with her bastardly streak and by the time she finished recounting the details of the night before he was certain that he didn’t hate her at all, he hated himself.)

“You’re reading into things.” Crowley tried for dismissive, but it didn’t work particularly well. “We’re just friends.”

Of course, Margerie had a laundry list of reasons not to believe that. She never brought them up, but Crowley would catch the look in her eye when he mentioned Aziraphale, or asked for an extra serving of something to bring over to him. He’d catch the curl of her lips when she’d ask his plans for the week and he’d say that Aziraphale had already claimed some of his nights. She’d known long before he’d drunkenly ranted about Aziraphale’s beauty.

“Just friends.” She repeated with a roll of her eyes. Her attitude had certainly not diminished as she aged and Crowley admired that about her. He admired a lot about her, in fact, even though he absolutely shouldn’t.

He admired the fact that she had, in the year she’d known him, kept his kindness their little secret. She greeted him casually in the hallway but never anything more, never anything that might suggest that their acquaintanceship had turned into a friendship. He also admired the stiff upper lip she kept, steadfastly acting as if she were unbothered by the way her children didn’t come visit and rarely called. She was a terrible actress, but Crowley was a terrible actor so he figured he had no room to critique her. Plus, she graciously slid away from topics she knew he didn’t ever want to talk about, so the least he could do was offer her the same courtesy.

“Just friends.” Crowley repeated again to drive his point home. “No love, not from me. That’s why you get all the stubborn plants.”

“And if he’s being stubborn?” She asked with a delicately raised eyebrow. “Do I get him, too?”

“You are wicked woman.” Crowley hid his smile behind the rim of mug, trying his hardest to keep his delight hidden. She didn’t have the same philosophical debates that he and Aziraphale had, but she was still great at conversation and even better company. “But you two would love each other. In fact, I think he might have the exact same ancient couch somewhere in his dusty old bookshop. Might even rival yours for how many layers of dust it has.”

Margerie swatted at him from across the table, making an affronted noise and Crowley drew back, laughing. “Which one of us is wicked? You foul man!”

Crowley laughs again and settles back into his seat, bracing his elbows on the table and ignoring the way Margerie glowers at him for the faux pas. They lapse into comfortable silence, the smell of the lasagna she was cooking in the oven filling the place. Crowley had grown comfortable here in the last year and he wonders if that’s okay. It’s most likely not, but very few things he does actually are so he chalks it up to another reason he’s a terrible demon and locks it away somewhere in the depths of his heart.

Plus, it doesn’t very well matter at this point. Either the world ends in flames and there’s no reason for fear, or he does something much worse than befriend a human. Something like stop Armageddon all together. In the grand scheme of things, he figures this has to be the smallest blemish on his record.

“You should tell him.” Margerie says gently from across the table.

Crowley’s never actually told her explicitly how he feels about Aziraphale, not even drunkenly, but he’s said enough incriminating stuff for her to put the pieces together. It’s not hard, honestly, for someone to figure it out if they talk to him about Aziraphale enough. He’s practically bursting with these purposely unnamed feelings, they’re going to sneak their way into conversation if they have the chance.

“No point.” Crowley says, somber. He sets down his nearly empty mug. “I already know how he feels.”

Plus, the world is on the verge of ending. His heart is the last of his concerns, he tries to convince himself. But it’s not easy to do. 

“You can never know if you don’t ask.” Margerie says but Crowley pointedly ignores it.

She changes the subject, sensing his discomfort and the growing rifts in his heart. She invites him to stay for dinner, he declines, waving to her as he slinks out the door to deal with these emotions he’s clearly doing a terrible job controlling.

 —

 Crowley throws the covers off of himself when he hears the shouting from down below. This very well may be his last chance at getting some sleep before an eternity of— well, he didn’t know what, but he doubted it included restful naps in his lovely four poster bed and silk sheets.

He breaks through the front doors of the complex, still in pyjama bottoms and a loose shirt, sunglasses looking ridiculous with his messy hair, and comes to a halt when he sees Margerie there with a young woman.

“You’re being ridiculous,” the young woman yells, gesturing wildly with her hands. “And stubborn! Do you even think of anyone other than yourself? What about us? Do you know how hard it is for us to check in on you as often as we need to?”

“I—” Margerie begins to say, but she’s cut off again. She sits on the bench outside the complex, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

“It’s like—”

“Excuse me.” Crowley slides into the conversation with an icy outer shell, glaring the woman down through his sunglasses. “but I know you aren’t talking to Margerie like that.”

“This is a family matter.” The woman says in a voice that’s not so kindly telling Crowley to mind his own business.

Unfortunately for her, minding his own business is not something Crowley has ever mastered. “Family?” He says with a bark of ironic laughter. “You call yourself her family? Funny that I haven’t seen you in the last year.”

“Are you keeping tabs?” The woman rounds on him, attempting to square up with him but Crowley doesn’t even flinch.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He concedes. “It’s just that I have tea with her every week and I’ve certainly never seen you around.”

“Crowley—” Margerie tries to cut in.

Crowley, unlike her daughter, spares her a glance and affords her the opportunity to say what she needs to say. Instead of saying anything, she simply shakes her head, indicating that it’s not worth the fight.

But oh, Crowley feels like it absolutely is.

“Now you listen here.” He turns back to her daughter and he’s nearly snarling at this point. He catches himself at the last moment and reigns in his more demonic side, reminding himself that he’s supposed to just be a friendly human neighbor and not some sort of avenging angel. “Your mother is a blessing and I hardly think you’re equipped to know what she needs. You say it’s a hassle for you to check in on her when you need to? Last I hear, you hadn’t called her in months. So which is it? She doesn’t need you checking in that often, or she does? You can’t have it both ways.”

“I thought I made it clear that this was a family issue.” The woman sniffs, crossing her arms and turning her head stubbornly away.

“Oh you did.” Crowley bares his teeth in a wicked smile, “And I consider her a part of my family so you better get comfortable with me being in this conversation pretty quickly.”

“Mom—”

“Oh no,” Crowley steps to the side to stand in between Margerie and her daughter. “You don’t get to be nice to her now that you’re losing the battle.”

The two of them stare at each other for a long moment. He can see the woman running through a series of different retorts in her mind but none of them stick and Crowley is glad to see it. He takes a deep breath in, focuses. As much as he would love to settle this with an old-fashioned verbal beatdown, he knows that isn’t what Margerie would want from him. He closes his eyes behind his glasses, focuses on the woman in front of him, connects with her. 

And just like that, he pours a little bit of his energy into her, bends her mind just the tiniest bit to his side of thing. He opens his eyes in time to see the tension melt out of her face, to see her shoulders slump like all the fight has gone out of her.

“Your mother is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met,” He says aloud, finalizing the ideas he’s placed into her head. “She is caring and thoughtful and deserves far more love than you’ve been showing her.”

“Crowley—” Margerie says again, but this time her voice is distinctly choked with emotion. “My dear…”

Her daughter takes in a shuddering breath and then dissolves into tears, stepping around Crowley and throwing herself onto the bench next to her mom, burying her face in Margerie’s neck. “He’s right. I’m so sorry, mom. I’ve been awful to you. I’ve just, I’ve been so stressed and—”

Margerie shushes her with gentle hands on her back, running through her hair, pressing kisses to her temple. She shushes her and holds her close and suddenly there’s two crying women on the bench.

Crowley knows it’s time for him to take his leave and he feels vindicated. “Your mom is perfectly fine to stay here,” He says softly. “She has me checking in on her. Nothing will happen to her while she’s here.”

It’s a promise to them as much as it is a threat to the rest of the world. If things continued to exist, the world would know better than to threaten Margerie in any way.

“Thank you.” Margerie says tearfully, catching his hand as he walks by to head back inside and allow the women to make their peace. “You’re my family, too.”

And Crowley knows that he is.

 —

 The bookshop looks much the same as it always has. At one point in history, Aziraphale would change the books displayed in the window on a semi-regular basis as an attempts to blend in and look like a properly functioning bookshop. And then somewhere around the time Aziraphale decided he hates customers, he decided that appearances didn’t matter and he hadn’t touched the window display since.

Crowley ascends the steps with a practiced ease, hand yanking the door open before he hears a clatter and a quiet gasp from somewhere on the other side of the street. He stills, door open and exposing him to Aziraphale who was standing in the middle of the bookshop, staring at him with a questioning gaze. He ignores it, turning his head to find the source of the sound and there’s Margerie, across the street, arms too full of groceries she’s trying to shuffle into her car. She’s dangerously close to the curb and even though it’s a short drop, it could do her more damage than Crowley would like to see.

Briefly Crowley curses the world for being bold enough to defy him right to his face like this.

Without even thinking about it, he lets go of the door and hustles across the street, brain not even registering Aziraphale’s confused, “Crowley…?”

The groceries are stacked high in Margerie’s arms and she can’t even see her car properly as she struggles to find the door handle. She takes a step closer, her foot slipping off the curb and she pitches towards the street—

And directly into Crowley’s hands.

He barely catches her in time, pushing her back onto the curb and all but yanking one of the bags out of her grasp. “Margerie what are you thinking?” he hisses as she regains her balance.

“Oh, Crowley!” She smiles up at him, warmly and as if she had done nothing wrong. 

“Do you know how dangerous that is?” He presses, taking another bag out of her arms with a sharp look. “You nearly pitched into traffic!”

Margerie shrugs as she opens the door to her car now that she has enough mobility to do so. “I didn’t.”

Crowley is so frustrated, so— so upset that he almost doesn’t feel the swell of fondness at the stubborn side of her.

“What if I hadn’t been here?” He chastises, and Crowley feels a familiar panic clawing up the back of his throat. “What if you’d been alone?”

Oh, he realizes at once. Those exact words were ones he’d said to Aziraphale at some point in history. He remembered it well, pacing a restless circle in front of Aziraphale and tyring to impress into him the importance of not doing reckless things and getting discorporated. He’d been frantic, then, the metallic taste of fear still slick on his tongue as he’d swallowed down all the words that he wanted to say. What if you’d left me? What would I do without you?

“Crowley.” Margerie says again, her one empty hand coming to rest on one of his forearms as she looked up at him. She had soft brown eyes that he thinks matches what her hair color had been at one point in life. “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t do much to quell the war of feelings inside of him.

Aziraphale had apologized, too. And then he’d ended up in a Bastille about to be beheaded, and then he’d been caught in a church in Germany in the middle of a bombing, and then he’d—

Suffice it to say that he hadn’t learned his lesson.

“Take care of yourself.” Crowley chastises as sternly as he possibly can, but he knows Margerie sees right through him.

She opens her mouth to say something, but suddenly her eyes track over his shoulders and she drops her voice just enough to say. “Blue eyes and blonde curls coming our way. Should I—?”

Before Crowley can even react, Aziraphale is at their side, eyes scanning over the situation. “Everyone alright, here?”

“Oh, yes, quite.” Margerie says, sweet as sugar. “I’m afraid I was being a little careless, trying to handle too many groceries on my own, you see. I couldn’t see where the curb was and I slipped off the edge. But this lovely gentleman came over to help me so I’m quite alright now.”

“Did he?” Aziraphale asks, and there’s a question written into his gaze as he settles it on Crowley. Crowley steadfastly ignores it. “How kind of him.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley says sharply in warning, certainly not missing the way Aziraphale’s lips twist into a pleased smile.

“Well, let’s get you loaded up then, shall we, my dear?” Aziraphale presses on like nothing happened, taking one of the bags from Crowley’s arms and moving around Margerie to load them into her backseat. 

Crowley passes the next bag over once Aziraphale’s arms are empty, unwilling to be caught doing anything further that could be considered nice. It only takes a moment before everything is settled inside the car. While Aziraphale is busy arranging the bags, Crowley shoots Margerie his sternest expression. She smiles back at him in return, the wicked kind that nearly makes Crowley groan from where he’s standing along the curb still. And then Aziraphale is out of the car and offering an elbow to Margerie and their silent conversation is forced to end. 

“Oh, aren’t you just so charming?” Margerie says to Aziraphale as he takes her arm and escorts her around to the drivers side of her car. “And so dashing, too! Quite a handsome young man.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks flame red at the unexpected compliment, but he takes it in stride far better than Crowley would. “Well, thank you. Though I’d hardly say I’m a young man.”

Crowley hides his bark of a laugh behind a cough, but Aziraphale catches it and shoots him a wry smile just the same.

“You know, I don’t know if you remember me—” Margerie begins and Crowley considers turning on his heel and simply stalking away.

“I’d hardly be capable of forgetting those brownies,” Aziraphale says warmly and Crowley can’t really be surprised. He’s known since he properly met Margerie that she and Aziraphale would get along well.

“Oh, you flatter me!” She cries, placing a hand over her chest, pressing it into her heart. Crowley glowers at her. “You know, Crowley here has told me that you own a bookshop. I’m guessing this must be it?”

“Ah, he talks about me, does he?” Aziraphale teases, glancing over his shoulder at Crowley who is glaring so darkly at this point that he’d give the midnight sky a run for its money. Unfortunately for him, Aziraphale has nearly six-thousands years of practice of ignoring his expressions and pushing his buttons and he’s doing a remarkable job of both at the moment. “But yes, that is my shop. It’s regrettably closed at the moment, though.”

“I suppose I’ll have to come back some other time then.” Margerie glances between them with a raised eyebrow and Crowley once again thinks that she’s about as subtle as a bull. He’s going to have to have a conversation with her about it.

“Yes, lovely, you can come back some other time.” Crowley growls, stepping forward and pulling open her driver’s door. “But I’m afraid your groceries might expire if you don’t get home soon, Margerie.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says with his eyebrows pulled together. “Groceries don’t go bad that quickly—”

“He’s quite right.” Margerie says and for a fleeting moment she looks contrite. Crowley supposes it’s the most he’s going to get. “Lots of perishable stuff in those bags. I really ought to be going.”

“Well, it was lovely to see you again.” Aziraphale says with one more worried glance cast at Crowley. “And I’ll look forward to seeing you in my shop.”

Margerie goes into her car willingly, thanking both of them profusely again. Aziraphale offers for them to go with her to help unload her car but she promises that she will be much more diligent about emptying it, only taking in one bag at a time. It seems to sate Aziraphale, who moves to stand next to Crowley as Margerie closes her door and bids them a final farewell. They watch her go in silence for a moment and then, once she’s out of sight, Crowley takes off towards the bookshop again, hands tucked deep in his pockets.

“Should I ask about that?” Aziraphale says as he catches up to Crowley’s side easily, despite Crowley’s long legs and loping stride. 

“No.” Crowley says, but it sounds more defeated than stern. “You’re both bastards, that’s the only part that matters.”

His heart is still pounding against his chest, the familiar fear banging against his ribs. Somewhere mixed in there is frustration with Margerie, with himself, with his stupid feelings. It hadn’t turned out bad, Crowley reminds himself. Not now with Margerie, not in the past with Aziraphale. It had never turned out bad because he had always been there. And he’s realizing suddenly that he now has two people he needs to be there for— he just hopes they won’t ever need him at the same time.

“Right.” Aziraphale says and it’s that tone he and Margerie share— the one that indicates that he’s letting it go for Crowley’s comfort, but his curiosity is still there. “Well then, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Was going to tempt you to a spot of dinner.” Crowley mumbles as they reach the other side of the street, stopping abruptly next to the Bentley.

“Was?” Aziraphale prompts.

“Still going to,” Crowley clarifies. “If you’re willing.”

“Oh, my dear boy, I’m willing.” Aziraphale smiles and reaches for the door handle of the Bentley.

 —

 “Crowley!” 

Crowley’s nearly out the door of the complex when he hears his name. He stops, hand on the handle and turns to see Margerie rushing across the lobby towards him.

“Oh, good, I’m glad I caught you in time.” She says as she approaches him, smiling fondly up at him.

Crowley raises an eyebrow at her in question. He’s headed off to meet Aziraphale for a walk through the park. Aziraphale had locked himself up in his bookshop for nearly the last week, losing track of time entirely, so Crowley had gently suggested that some fresh air might do him some good. No idea how much longer we’ll have fresh air to breathe, he’d said and then Aziraphale had chastised him for being so callous. It had sounded like a good idea at the time, but now that Crowley was a moment away from stepping outside he was realizing just how cold it actually was. The warm air of summer was giving way to the chilly biting breezes of autumn and he hadn’t a proper jacket.

It was something he could’ve bought or even miracled over the years, but he’d never bothered to. More often than not Crowley spent his autumns and winters bundled up under the covers of his bed, catching up on the sleep that he’d missed. 

“Honestly.” Margerie says instead of immediately answering his unspoken question. “Don’t you own any suitable clothing?”

“I look very stylish.” Crowley retorts, even though he knows she is absolutely right. 

Margerie rolls her eyes fondly at him, reaching into her bag and suddenly producing a deep, wine red bundle of fabric. “Here,” she says after a moment, unraveling it to reveal a knitted scarf. “At least wear this.” Crowley opens his mouth to say something and Margerie reaches up to loop it around his neck before he can say no. “It’s exactly your color.”

Crowley stands obligingly still as she loops it around his neck a second time and then tucks the loose ends of it into his coat, adjusting the collar so it all sits a little neater. Whatever yarn she’d used to knit it was as soft as a feather— and Crowley knew first hand how soft feathers were. It was exactly the right length, looping around his neck enough times to create bulk that he could use to cover his mouth and nose if he wanted to with still enough length to stay tucked into his jacket as he moved around.

Crowley looked down at it, feeling a familiar fondness well up in the back of his throat and strangle his words. “Thank you.”

Margerie smiled at him warmly. “Can’t have you freezing to death.” She mumbles as she steps back, clasping her hands together in front of her. “You’re my only child that comes to visit.”

“I thought your daughter—”

“Yes,” Margerie says, “But you’re still a better child than her.”

Crowley makes a noise that is startled but happy and Margerie ducks her head a little, almost as if embarrassed. Crowley, obviously, has no idea what having a mother actually feels like, but he thinks this might be close. He thinks of the times Margerie has dropped leftovers on his doorstep, of the time she gave him a “sick kit”, as she’d called it.

(“I don’t get sick,” Crowley had insisted. He understood her worry, he hadn’t left his flat in nearly four days, but that hardly meant anything. Time barely existed to him and honestly, four days was just long enough to be a worthwhile nap.

“Nonsense.” Margerie had waved him off, handing him the bag she was clutching. “Everyone gets sick sometimes. And I find it hard to believe you have any medicine in the house.”

“I’m not that ill-prepared.” Crowley scoffed, but he took the bag anyways, glancing inside. A series of over-the-counter medicines and kleenex boxes filled to the brim and he thought he might’ve seen a thermometer somewhere in the mix.

“Well?” She prompted after a moment. “Did you have any of that in the house?”

“How do you manage to be so rude when doing something so kind?” Crowley had fired back and Margerie had laughed, taking it as the confirmation that it was of her suspicions.

Of course he didn’t have any of this in his flat. He really didn’t get sick— that was human stuff. But he couldn’t very well tell her that, so he thanked her and promised her that he’d call her if he needed anything. He waited a few days just for appearances and then made a point to leave his flat so she didn’t worry about him any further. She’d caught him in the hallway and told him it was good to see him back to his old self. Crowley had just smiled).

“You can’t get rid of me.” Crowley said after a moment and Margerie’s smile was so fond it nearly bowled him right over. “No matter how often you try to poison me with your cooking.”

“Oh, you!” She smacked him on the arm fondly before ushering him out the door. Crowley thanked her properly for the scarf as he went, casting one last look at her over his shoulder.

As he walked towards St. James park, he thought back to the year and a half he’d known Margerie. Time was a funny thing, especially for a demon. It was even funnier now that they were closing in on the eleventh birthday of the antichrist. Crowley and Aziraphale had been released from the Dowling’s employment a few years ago and had more or less spent the time just waiting. They checked in on Warlock from time-to-time, of course, as they were meant to do, but otherwise it was a matter of just biding time and waiting for the child’s birthday to see what would happen.

Nearly eleven years ago when Crowley had brought the antichrist to Earth, he’d wanted to stop Armageddon. Now, eleven years later and with a second friend to his name, Crowley was more determined than ever.

Fuck the Great Plan.

“Hello, dear.” Aziraphale greeted as Crowley approached, bundled up appropriately for the weather. “Lovely to see you.”

“Found your way out of your book piles, did you?” Crowley asked with a smile as he dropped down onto the bench next to Aziraphale. “I’m impressed.”

“I was in the middle of a very good series.” Aziraphale answered with a wistful smile that told Crowley that he was remembering it fondly. What he didn’t say, what hung unspoken in the air between them, was that he didn’t know how much longer he’d have to read his favorite books and he weas trying to fit in what he could. “Simply lost track of time.”

“Lost track of a whole week there, angel.” Crowley replied, but he wasn’t at all put out by it. 

“Yes, I did, rather.” Aziraphale agrees with a bit of a grimace. “I was thrilled to hear from you when you called.”

There’s a warmth that blooms across Crowley’s cheeks at the words and he ducks his face into the scarf Margerie had made him. The scarf and his glasses combined cover nearly his entire face and Crowley thinks he could get used to this. He’d be an unstoppable enigma if he dressed like this all the time— nobody would be able to read into his intentions or guess his next move.

Which, he knows, isn’t true. Aziraphale would see right through the cover and into the heart of whatever Crowley was doing. Aziraphale could hear his plans in the simple tone of his voice and had shut down his ideas on more than one occasion over the phone before Crowley had even had a chance to propose said idea. But that was alright because Aziraphale didn’t stop his big ideas, just the small ones. Their arrangement meant that Aziraphale could see right through Crowley’s new face covering defense and he would do nothing more than roll his eyes at whatever he found on the other side.

“Shall we?” Crowley asks after a moment of silence, unsure how to address what Aziraphale had said to him. He gestures towards the park as a whole and Aziraphale understands perfectly, the way he always does.

They walk side-by-side through the park, chatting idly for awhile. They pause to allow people to pass them, stepping to the side rather than breaking apart to make it easier. Crowley tries not to think about it, tries not to read into it. He does an okay job holding the thoughts off, but he knows they’ll be back later.

“So,” Aziraphale says mildly as they turn a corner. “Can I ask about the scarf?”

“Eh, yeah.” Crowley turns his face resolutely in the other direction, mumbling more into the scarf than anything else, “My neighbor made it for me.”

Of course, Aziraphale hears him because Aziraphale always hears him. “Your neighbor?” He echoes, and he sounds completely delighted with the turn of events. “It wouldn’t happen to be that woman you helped a few weeks ago, would it? The one who makes the brownies? She’s your neighbor?”

Crowley stops in his tracks, finally turning to look up at Aziraphale. He knows his face is red from being caught but he hopes Aziraphale assumes it’s just the cold air. “Er—?” Crowley sighs. “Yeah, she is. So what? It’s not a big deal.”

“Crowley, my dear.” Aziraphale says and his eyes are so soft as he takes in what’s visible of Crowley’s expression, so full of adoration that Crowley feels like he may just discorporate on the spot. “You nearly stopped traffic just to get to her side. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you move that fast.”

A long, low groan rips out of Crowley’s throat and he throws his head back, letting his eyes slip shut. “Brilliant.”

“Come now,” Aziraphale nudges him gently with his elbow. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you do ni—” A sharp look from Crowley cuts that word off before it can be said into the air between them. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you do similar things before. You do things like that for me all the time.”

“Yeah and that’s bad enough!” Crowley replies. “The last thing I need is to be doing it for two people. Demon can get in a lot of trouble for that.”

“You haven’t gotten in trouble yet.” Aziraphale points out unhelpfully. “And I daresay helping an angel is a bit riskier than helping a human.”

“Can we just—” Crowley grinds up a few words but when he spits them out, they’re not nearly coherent and they don’t sound anything like a sentence. Aziraphale doesn’t even blink, entirely used to it at this point. And Crowley doesn’t want that to make a well of fondness swell inside of him, but it does. He takes a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. But she did make this scarf for me and it’s bloody cold out so I figured I should wear it.”

“It suits you.” Aziraphale says, moving along fluidly with the changing pace of the conversation the way he always has. “It’s exactly your color.”

“That’s what she told me when she gave it to me.” Crowley offers and he sees the way Aziraphale tries to stifle his smile. “You’d like her, angel. You both have a lot in common— old and stuffy.”

“I see. Well, I hope I get another chance to spend some time with her. I’m still waiting for her to show up in my shop.” Aziraphale says and there’s that twist to his smile that Crowley dreads because it means Aziraphale is about to make a fatal blow to his heart. He’s right. “Seems like you have a type, then, doesn’t it?”

“Angel.” Crowley chastises. “I invited you out here to figure out what we’re going to do for Warlock’s birthday party not for— for this!”

Aziraphale takes pity on him, laughing as he sets their pace again. “Alright, fair enough. But do tell your neighbor that the scarf is very dashing on you. I’m sure she’d appreciate the feedback.”

Crowley is more determined than ever to stop the end of the world.

 —

 The birthday party is a disaster, Warlock is the wrong boy and the end of the world is suddenly only hours away. Crowley and Aziraphale— okay, Aziraphale— somehow manage to find the right boy, the bookshop burns somewhere in there and suddenly Crowley is racing around town because holy fuck the world is actually about to end. He’s pretty sure he flat out murdered Ligur but he doesn’t waste much thought on it. 

It’s only when Crowley is screeching away from the pub, miraculously sober and with a destination in mind that he realizes that he has one last thing he needs to do. He jerks the wheel sharply and heads back towards his flat, the sudden need to see Margerie undeniable.

He flies out of the Bentley— which he had parked haphazardly, halfway on the sidewalk— and through the doors, taking the stairs because he can’t bring himself to wait for the elevator. He takes them two at a time and then flings himself out of the stairwell on her floor, collapsing into her door and pounding incessantly.

Margerie opens the door, clearly alarmed. “Wh— Crowley?”

“Margerie.” He says frantically, pulling himself away from the door before he tumbles through it. “Listen, I can’t explain anything to you properly right now. I wish I could but you just— I need you to trust me, okay?”

“Okay.” She says with absolutely no argument, no hesitation.

“You are one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” Crowley says. “One of the only friends I’ve ever had. And I just wanted— I need to thank you.”

“You don’t thank people for being your friend, Crowley. It’s a gift freely given.” She answers after a moment, clearly alarmed but dutifully not asking whatever questions she has. 

“Not to me it isn’t. And I can’t— I can’t say any more than that but if this all goes pear-shaped—” He stops, stumbles over a few words, turns to look at her. “You were right, all this time. I love him. And I—” He groans and drops his head into his hands. “I don’t want this to be goodbye. But if it is, I just needed you to know that. You were right. Moms like hearing that, don’t they? That they’re right? You’ve had me pegged from the beginning.”

She smiles fondly at him but her lower lip wobbles like she can sense the severity of the situation. “You’re not as hard to read as you think.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of Crowley as he reaches for her and pulls her close, crushing her into a hug. “Thank you.” he murmurs again.

She squeezes him back briefly before stepping out of his embrace. “You’re in a rush.” She says and it’s not a question. “Go. And when you get back you can tell me more about all the ways I was right.”

Crowley laughs again, his throat constricted with more emotions that a demon is equipped to deal with. “I’ll start making a list.” 

And then he turns and rushes out of there to, hopefully, save the world.

[thechekhov]

Good Omens Fic Recs

First of all, I’m gonna say that these are probably not ALL the fics I’d recommend, there are more, but I’m trying to keep it comprehensive. 

Fics listed here are non-explicit in nature, though they might contain sexual-ish elements or allusions to sex being had. 

All fics under the cut contain explicit sexual content.

Pre-Apocalypse:

it’s the light (it’s the obstacle that casts it) (5783/Complete)

It's like having a curtain pulled back on something he wasn't expecting to see. A surprise punch-and-judy at an up-scale restaurant, a lobster thermidor when he's ordered an ale.

Crowley's gleefully trying to wrap his head around the fact that Aziraphale is speaking Polari. Because of course he is.

Or: The Patron Saint of London's LGBT Community is real, and he lives in Soho.

two slow dancers last ones out (1658/Complete)

“Do you even know how to waltz?” “No. But you could teach it to me.”

and, so on (8938/Complete) 

Crowley doesn’t remember heaven, but Aziraphale remembers him. 

notes on a theme (4501/Complete)

After six-thousand odd years playing human, Crowley is beginning to suspect they've both gone a bit native.

Nanny Knows Best (series) (32,800/Kinda Complete?)

Being a nanny, that should be simple. Simple. Easy as pie. Crowley wished that were true. (*Warning: this fic contains various depictions of sexual harassment Nanny Ashtoreth has to deal with.)

Wings and How to Hide Them (10134/Complete)

Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? (*Warning: this fic contains a mild sex scene but it’s not overly explicit, so I’m letting it split through)

When in Rome (series) (3938/Complete)

"And have you?" Aziraphale asked. "Anywhere to be, that is?"

"I don't suppose I do," Crowley said. "Would you like to go to dinner?"

"With a demon?" Aziraphale replied, tipping his head a little, his smile still hiding in his eyes. "I probably shouldn't."

names in history (23468/Complete)

Maybe he’d shown Crowley how to perform a few miracles, but that Crowley had taken to them so well was surely a sign that he wasn’t all bad. And maybe Aziraphale had let himself be called upon to perform a few temptations, but that was just testing the will of the faithful if you looked at it from a different angle.

dream to me (7342/Complete)

“You know, angel. Sometimes I think we’ve been bearing witness to a very great love affair, and we didn’t even notice.”

or: an angel and a demon fall in love. but a bookshop and a bentley do it first.

Linked (15665/WIP)

Crowley allows himself to get caught in a ‘demon trap’. He is now trapped. Oh no. Whatever shall he do.

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Post Apocalypse:

Love’s Such An Old-Fashioned Word (2,384/Complete)

There has to be, Crowley thinks, a better word than love.

all i need, darling, is a life in your shape (14,243/Complete)

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

Rip It Up and Start Again (9128/WIP)

After the Apocalypse is averted, an Angel and a Demon go on holiday, which turns into something a bit like retirement... or it would, if there weren't so much unfinished business following them around...

Gourd Omens (11504/Complete)

“Neave is a name I believe and certainly rings a bell but I will have to look up what a cucurbita is - it sounds rather latin.”

“Pumpkin.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Wh-NO not you!”

Aziraphale and Crowley move into their new cottage in South Downs after Armageddidn’t blows over. But of course hellish interference is never far away, and it looks like its target is the local flower show. Can the pair prevent Asparageddon, befriend their neighbours, grow the largest vegetables and win the cup for division B?

A Sky Full of Stars (2575/Complete)

Aziraphale takes Crowley as close to Heaven as they can get, these days.

Salinity (And Other Measurements of Brackish Water) (3455/Complete)

It's an odd thing, getting on after the End of the World. Crowley takes to sea-watching.

dawn on the gates of eden (1262/Complete)

It’s the first day, but it’s an old story.

Slow (9371/Complete)

It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions. Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

it’s a new craze (5541/Complete)

CROWLEY: I try not to make a habit of gratitude, but I must give our appreciation to everyone out there who’s been listening and subscribing to The Ineffable Plan. AZIRAPHALE: Ooh, yes, we’ve become quite popular, haven’t we? CROWLEY: Yeah, just hit number eight on the advice charts … No advertising at all. AZIRAPHALE: Mm. How … miraculous. CROWLEY: … Aziraphale. You did not.

Warning: the rest of these recs contain explicitly mature themes. I’ve tried to tag them to the best of my ability. 

Long Is The Way, And Hard (27081/Complete)

The first time Crawley meets the angel, the celestial being is twisting its shining white robe in its fingers and looking wretched. It hardly spares him a glance as he shifts from snake to human, and Crawley is a touch put-out. It’s taken some practice to be able to do it so fluidly.

#through the ages #gets explicit at the end #soft and emotional sex 

small infinities and all that (13208/Complete)

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

#Crowley and Aziraphale are turned human #gets explicit at the end #soft and emotional sex

The Pleasures of the World/Sleight of Hand (35480/Complete)

Aziraphale's fingers brushed [Crowley's] cheek, then turned his head slowly.

"I'm asking you to think it over," he said, so quietly that Crowley almost couldn't hear him. "That's all."

Crowley's stomach clenched harder. Somehow his hand had gotten ideas again and migrated in the direction of Aziraphale's waist, blindly creeping its way around, forcing the angel to lean slightly forward. This was the sort of thing reckless human teenagers did, or in the very least reckless human adults who hadn't gotten out much and were just beginning to notice how entrancing their bridge partners were.

"Won't take much," Crowley said, and leaned over to kiss him.

#slow burn #buildup of various sexual encounters #Aziraphale and his Hedonism are out for a joyride

The 21st Century, In Which They Finally Work It Out (22379/Complete)

This is light speed in comparison to the last few centuries of their relationship, but Crowley is barely holding on to his patience.

#gets explicit in the end #soft and emotional sex

You, Soft and Only (9400/Complete)

He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel.

“Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him.

#Aziraphale and Crowley have various sexual encounters through history #get you horny first and break your heart halfway through the story #fem!Aziraphale #fem!Crowley #all sorts of genital configurations and all of it is thoroughly entertaining 

The Better Part of Valour (6204/Complete)

“...the apocalypse has Not Happened and they’ve fallen into queerplatonic (or so they think) bedsharing and Crowley thinks he’s alone in being driven slowly to distraction by it, so he says nothing. Then one night he wakes when it’s still dark, and at first he doesn’t know why, until he hears Aziraphale’s breathing a little raspier than usual, and feels the very slight trembling of the bed.”

#bedsharing #Aziraphale has a Vulva #masturbation #fingerfucking #this one gave me about 5 heart attacks from how hot it was

for let thy efforts be (9337/Complete)

The first time Crowley made the Effort, he was reclining on a very comfortable couch in the dimly-lit confines of a cozy little restaurant in Rome, with his head pillowed upon the breast of an Angel.

#alcohol #nonhuman genitalia #fingering

Surrender (series) (78,828/Complete)

Aziraphale felt the explosion of dark power all the way in London, but had no idea Crowley was involved. When he realizes the demon is missing, Aziraphale goes looking. What he finds is not the lively, wily adversary but a dying snake that barely feels of demonic power at all. The angel can perform miracles, but he can’t heal a demon. Aziraphale has to do everything he can to save Crowley, because an eternity alone on this Earth is as unthinkable as the end of the world was.

#Hurt and Comfort #Near Death Experience #Crowley is a VERY pushy sub #marking/possessiveness #piercings and tattoos done with holy water/blessed objects

[universe-n-3276]

Carrying the Moon

Epilogue

He shouldn’t have been there. He knew that if someone found him on the school’s rooftop, he would immediately be lectured by the headmaster, who obviously would call his parents, and he could already imagine the concerned look on his father’s face. Whenever he did something stupid, that man always had the same look painted on his face, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. But the boy couldn’t help it. He needed it. When he felt things overwhelming him (it often happened during the lunch break), he needed to feel the comfort that arose from watching his schoolmates from above, small as ants, move around frenetically.

On the roof of the school, alone, the noises and people around him were far away. The air was fresh, and the perspective changed completely. Three months earlier, during his last exams of the semester, he had begun to feel different. Everything he felt was amplified. He was full of energy and able to do anything. He had been awake, night after night, writing, planning, drawing. During the day, as he answered all the quiz, he felt confident, he knew everything, then the verdicts came. He had failed all his tests and in his mind, his teachers were trying to set him up, they wanted him to fail. He had fought furiously with his parents, and it was weird because he was used to talking with them, and not screaming his lungs out, but he was only a sixteen-year-old, and teenagers usually argue a lot with their parents, right?

Then during the Christmas break, he had started to spend whole days locked in his room, until he no longer wanted to go out or get out of bed, and after that moment there were only doctors, pills, and worried looks. He hated feeling that way, he hated not being able to control it. He felt as if an alien had moved into his brain and had taken control over it. He just wanted to feel like before, he wanted to go back to being the happy and carefree person he had always been. The boy heard the door open behind him and turned quickly, hoping he hadn’t been caught, but he immediately recognized a familiar face and raised a hand in greeting, allowing himself to smile a bit. He wanted to be left alone, but he liked Eva’s company. The girl had auburn, straight hair, very fair skin, covered with freckles, and blue eyes, identical to her father’s.

“Hero David Driesen-IJzermans, you’re so weird.” “I did nothing.” “School is supposed to help you develop your social skills, you know? And you spend your time here alone.” “I'm not feeling well.” Eva's lively gaze softened. He walked over to Hero and placed a hand on his back, moving it in a circular motion, to try to give him relief. “You should call your fathers.” “I called Charlotte. My dad is busy at work and my papa has always a stupid worried look on his face when something happens, and I don't wanna see it.” The girl nodded, and was silent for a few moments, staring down at the schoolyard full of their classmates enjoying their free-time. “Have you told Camille you're hiding here?” “No. I broke up with them.” “Why?” “We weren't right for each other.” Hero bit his lip. Breaking up with Camille had been difficult. He had thought about it for a long time, not knowing if it was the right decision if it was really what he wanted or that sense of impatience was just a side symptom of the disease. “You know, since our parents have these great stories about being with their soulmates since they were teenagers, I always feel under pressure. What if I won’t find that ineffable love?” “They always say when you know, you know, so don't worry too much about it.” The boy gave Eva a small smile as he retrieved his ringing phone from the pocket. He looked at the screen, picking up his backpack from the ground and put it on his shoulder, happy to finally get out of that school that made him feel caged. “I gotta go now, Charlotte is here. Bye Ev.” “Bye, weirdo.”

-

Hero didn’t remember the exact moment when he was told that Charlotte was his biological mother. It was as if he had always known, and it had never been strange. He had seen movies where the main characters discovered as teenagers that they had been adopted, and were traumatized by the idea that those who they had always believed their parents were strangers. He just couldn't put himself in those people's shoes, because he was convinced that a family went far beyond the DNA and that all the love and the affection he had received from his parents since childhood, were what would tie them together for the rest of their life. Charlotte had given him life, but only with his fathers, he felt safe. However, Hero knew, he was lucky to know who his mother was. To be able to talk to and see her every day. He knew his story, and he didn't have a thousand question marks floating in his head when he thought about who he was, or where he came from. He knew why Charlotte had decided to let him be adopted, and he knew, it wasn’t his fault. Since he had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder three months earlier, he understood her choice even better. Sometimes he had talked to Eva about the fact that they had both been adopted, but the affinities of their stories ended there. She didn't know anything about her biological parents, she didn't know her story and this made her suffer, even though she was grateful for the love, she had received from Jens and Lucas since she was a child. Eva had lived in a foster home until she was adopted by the two boys at the age of five, and because of this, she still had memories of when she felt abandoned and alone in the world. Hero had never felt the same way. He had always had two parents, an aunt, two uncles, four grandparents, and eventually, a sister. There was no space to feel alone. When he came out of school, he saw Charlotte waiting for him and smiled at her, walking in her direction. When they were in front of each other, she promptly squeezed him in a hug, and Hero immediately felt some of the tension vanish. He was sixteen and most of his friends shunned their family, trying to spend a lot of time away from home among their peers. But since he had his first episode, he felt comfortable only with his family. He knew, he could finally let his guard down because they would take care of everything. “Thanks for picking me up, Aunt Charlotte.” “Anytime, baby. Let's grab some hot chocolate, okay?” Hero nodded slowly, following Charlotte who had started walking. He had heard so many stories about her. When she was young, his aunt was the life of the party, ready to joke around. She hadn't changed much over the years. Charlotte was a funny person and always had a smile on her face. She lived with her girlfriend Ellie in a house by the river. They had no children, but Hero knew they were both very happy with their busy lives. When they sat facing each other in the cafeteria, waiting for their order, Charlotte looked Hero in the eye, and the boy suddenly felt exposed, as if there was no way could he have lied without the other noticing. “How are you feeling?” “I felt a bit overwhelmed at school, but now I'm fine.” “It was the same for me, but I pushed myself so hard all the time, just to fit in, that after some time it almost felt normal.” “Should I do that too?” Maybe Charlotte had the answer to all of his problems. Perhaps following her footsteps would lead him to regain his lost normality. So when Hero asked that question, his tone came out far more hopeful than he wanted. The woman looked at him sweetly and reached out to stroke his cheek. “No, baby. I know how it feels like you have no control over your mind or your body, but it’s not like that. It’s like learning to drive a new car: everything is new at first and you are scared but eventually, you’ll get used to it.” “So I'll be able to control this thing, eventually?” “Not really, but you will know how to deal with it, and also, all the people around you will know what to do to help you.” Hero sighed, looking down. He felt trapped in a tunnel with no exit. “It's frustrating.” “Yeah. But if you go to therapy and take your meds, it will be fine. You’ll know when something is coming. Everyone has symptoms. But don't worry, okay? We’re all here for you. We're gonna get through this. I promised.” “Thanks, Aunt Charlotte.” -

After spending a few hours with Charlotte to clear his mind, Hero had made a decision. He knew, he had to talk about it with his parents first, and this made him a little anxious, but he was sure that talking about it with his dad would help him more in deciding what to do. Hero was very attached to his dad, and unlike many teenagers, he felt free to talk to him about everything, without ever being judged. While he was waiting for the elevator, he closed his eyes and suddenly felt all the tiredness envelop his limbs. It was a weird sensation for the middle of the day. He had always been a boy who liked people, and yet the disease made social interactions physically exhausting. After half a day with his schoolmates and teachers, he just needed to rest. Going home and doing homework in those conditions was complicated. He couldn’t focus. The only thing he wanted to do was simply lie down to recover some of the energy lost during the day. Even before the elevator doors opened, Hero could hear the voices of his uncles. They were bickering as usual, and he couldn’t help but smile. Jens and Lucas have always been two of his favorite people in the world. Thanks to them he had learned to skate as a child, even though he often found himself in the midst of their deathly competitions to decide which one of them was more skilled on the board. “This damn stroller. Why you had to pick this monstrosity, uh?” “It was the safest one, Jens.” “It's bigger than our car and we barely fit in the elevator.” When the doors opened, they revealed the two men comically squeezed in a corner, to make

room for what was truly the largest stroller Hero had ever seen. Inside that gigantic thing, there was Lilith, a little girl of just six months, with thick raven hair and big chestnut eyes. “Hey, kid!” Jens was the first to notice Hero, and as soon as he managed to get out of the elevator, he gave him a high-five. Lucas took the stroller out and joined them. “Are you okay, baby? You look tired.” Lucas could spot the tiniest detail of one’s face, and Hero knew this very well. There were rare times in which he had managed to get away from his uncle’s gaze, and in fact, Eva had also stopped trying to hide anything from him. “And you should still be at school, right?” Hero still hated to talk about his illness, and it was wrong, especially because they were his uncles who had known him forever and knew exactly what he was going through. Lucas and Jens had been close to Charlotte when she was struggling. It should have been easier to say I felt a little overwhelmed today, so Charlotte picked me up and I just wanna rest even though it's only two in the afternoon. But he still couldn't, so he just shrugged, hoping the two would understand. Lucas stroked his cheek, giving him a look full of affection. “It's gonna be fine, Hero. And we are all here for you, okay?” “Yes, if you need anything, just call us, or come upstairs. Our door is always open for you.” Hero smiled, extremely grateful for the safety-net around him. He was surrounded by people who cared so much about him. They would never leave him alone, even in their darkest moments. He thanked his uncles and waved them goodbye, doing the same with little Lilith who had watched the whole scene from her huge stroller. - When he walked into his house, he immediately heard music coming from his papa's studio. Since Bowie, his sister, was born, Sander had decided to focus on her and work more from home. His sister was a little brat, and the fact that Sander spoiled her didn't make things better. The two spent hours playing with paint and soiling clean clothes and furniture with it. Hero had never been particularly talented with pencils and brushes, and perhaps for that reason, he believed in his heart that his papa preferred to spend more time with Bowie. He couldn't help but be a little jealous of their relationship, and of how Sander was able to show affection to the little girl. The boy knew, he was also deeply loved by his papa, but lately, there was something off between them. He knocked on the open door of his father's studio to get his attention, and the man looked up, giving his son a warm smile. “Hey, you're back early!” “Yeah, I didn't feel good and I asked Charlotte to pick me up.” “You could have asked me.” Hero shrugged, avoiding Sander's gaze. He hated to see the disappointment on his face, but his papa couldn't understand what he was going through. Charlotte, on the other hand, could. “How are you feeling now?” “Tired. I think I'm gonna get some rest.” “If you need anything, I'm right here.” Hero nodded, giving his father a small smile. As he made his way to his room, his sister darted past him laughing, without even saying hello and he frowned, thinking she was the strangest girl in the world. When he entered his room, he quickly walked over to the desk. He took off his backpack, placing it on the floor, and got rid of the sweatshirt he was wearing, already anticipating the moment when his body would finally touch the bed. He turned, but his expression changed immediately when he saw a huge stain of red paint standing out on his favorite blanket. Hero reconnected the dots. It wasn’t a hard task, after all. “BOWIE. I SWEAR TO GOD. I HATE YOU SO MUCH.” He closed his eyes and tried to regain control of himself, trying to breathe normally through his nose, while thinking he had to move quickly before the paint would run through the blanket, ruining the sheets and mattress. “What happened?” Sander appeared from the door with a frown on his face, followed by Bowie that was hiding behind his legs. Hero looked at them both, furiously, while a thousand thoughts were crowding his mind. He wanted to keep screaming all his anger, but he didn't. Instead, he started to roll up the blanket, being careful not to spill the paint around. “Your favorite child made a mess.” “Hero, what are you talking about? I don't have a favorite child. You two and your dad are my favorite people in the world.” The boy didn’t argue. He kept undoing his bed to the mattress, in silence. When he noticed that his father was doing nothing to leave him alone in his bedroom, he decided to speak up. “Where's dad? I wanna talk to him.” “He's still at work.” Hero was tired and angry, and in moments like that, it was like his emotions were exploding inside of him uncontrollably. He hated feeling that way as if everything he had inside was about to get out of his hand at any moment. Despite fighting against it for most of the time, sometimes he couldn’t help but let go. He looked at his papa's face and clenched his jaw when the other's eyes held his gaze with the same intensity as if they were a mirror of his own. The boy wanted to say everything he had been holding inside for months, all the thoughts that were hurting him. The things that kept him awake at night. Why don't you love me as much as you love Bowie? Why don't you ever want to spend time with me? It's because she is really your daughter and I’m just... He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away, suddenly feeling too fragile to be able to withstand such a fight. Once again he had been betrayed by himself. “I don't get why he's always at work, while you are here.” “You're being rude, and you know I work here so I can be with you and your sister.” “Yeah, with my sister, of course. Whatever, I want dad now.” “Hero, you can also talk to me.” “I need to throw these things in the washer.” “Okay. Let me help you.” - Later that evening, he was hiding in his room, tucked under clean blankets, with the light on, because he wanted to avoid, in every way, turning his bad mood into something worse. Hero heard a knock on his door. When he turned to look at his visitor, he was delighted to see his dad's face. He sighed in relief and sat up against the headboard. The boy was happy to finally see him. He had needed his presence since he left for school that morning. “Hey, baby.” “Hi, dad.” “How's your day?” Robbe sat down on the bed, hugging him tightly, making that annoying lump in his throat reappear, and his eyes becoming instantly watery. They released their embrace and Hero shook his head, trying not to look his dad. Robbe sighed, placing his hands on the boy's shoulders. “Hero, what’s going on? Papa told me what happened.” “Snitch.” “He's worried about you. He loves you as much as I do, you know that.” “But he loves Bowie more because she’s your biological daughter.” “Baby, what are you talking about? You can't be serious!” Hero shrugged. Saying that sentence out loud was all he had been trying to do for weeks, but now it was like finding himself suddenly naked, in front of a crowd that was staring at him. He couldn't add anything else or speak up, because, yes, he was serious, but when he felt his dad's arms wrap him in a hug, he felt a little less stupid. “You can't even imagine what your papa did for you when we were young. He gave up everything for you. His relationship with me and with his sister. He was ready to drop out of uni, just to find a job and take care of you.” “I didn’t want to be rude to him. I was just pissed because Bowie made a mess in my room while he was supposed to watch her.” “He can get lost in his work sometimes.” “And I also don't know how to talk to him. With you, it's easier.” “We can call him and you can try to talk with both of us.” “Fine.” When Sander walked through the door, following Robbe and holding his hand, he had his usual worried expression painted on his face. He sat on Hero's bed, and Robbe did the same, on the other side of it. Hero, somehow, felt calmer, safer, there sat between his fathers. “Sorry about earlier, papa.” “It's okay, don't worry.” Like a suspicious cat that suddenly jumps in your lap, Hero approached his papa, leaning his back against the man’s chest, and Sander began to card his fingers through his son's hair, looping his waist with the other arm. Hero closed his eyes, relaxing. He realized that the distance he had felt between him and his papa was probably yet another trick of his mind and that for all that time, it would be enough for him to reach out, and bring down the walls that he had created. “I think I should drop out of school. I’m overwhelmed all the time and it’s really hard for me to focus. When I get home I’m too tired to do my homework. I feel like I'm failing at everything and it gives me anxiety.” There was a long moment of silence in which Robbe and Sander looked into each other's eyes, and Hero was sure that somehow, after years of marriage, the two had discovered a way to talk telepathically, because he had seen them do that so many times. “Your mental health is our priority.” “Definitely, and we understand that you need your time to adjust to your illness, to understand how to live your life with it.” “Thanks.” “But, maybe we can consider other options, you know?” “Like what?” "Homeschooling, for example." It wasn't a bad idea. That way he would adjust his schedule according to how he felt. “It's a good idea, but I don't know if I can start something new right now.” “It's okay, baby. We can take it day by day.” “And if it gets too much, we can also take it minute by minute.” Hero turned his face to look his papa in the eye, and smile gratefully at him. He liked the idea of not having to think about the future and being able to focus only on the present. It made him feel grounded and for the first time in weeks, his mind wasn't drifting. Robbe held Hero in his arm, kissing his forehead, while Sander hugged them both as they did when he was still a little kid. “My baby boy.” “Our baby boy, Robbe.” “Yes, our baby boy.” Maybe Hero would always be a fish out of water among his peers, because of his illness or because it was just what he had always been. Having been loved so deeply since he was born, had led him to be free of being himself because his parents had always pushed him to express his personality and not to apologize for who he was. Reality hit him very hard when he found out that people usually prefer predictability and labels. The world doesn't like unpredictable things. Hero loved to live his little utopia, in the arms of his parents, in which he was free to be himself, with his illness, his moment of euphoria, and his depression. He was free to express his ideas, to love immeasurably, to cry, to feel sad or happy. In his little utopia, he felt safe and knew that if he fell, someone would always be ready to catch him. At that moment Hero knew that, although he’d always carry the moon inside of him, thanks to the love surrounding him, eventually, the sun would shine again.

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