#Sam writes stuff

[geekthefreakout]

So, I've been having this thought.

Crowley, perhaps post-bookshop divorce, is sitting in a pub or a coffee shop and the server calls his name, but they say it wrong.

They pronounce it like with the "ow" sound, like in Supernatural. And Crowley, mildly miffed, is like "where did you get that from?"

And the server is a Supernatural fan and explains that there's a demon named Crowley-like-owl-not-crow who helps stop the apocalypse.

And Crowley is like "imagine that. That's weird. Say more."

And the server explains a bit. How SPN!Crowley is this demon who is aware that should the big fight happen, he won't be counted among the winners regardless of which way it goes, and he just wants the world to keep on as it is, so he joins forces with the Winchesters and their renegade angel to stop it. He becomes King of Hell after to fill the power vacuum (and here GO!Crowley gives a bitter scoff) and he is both a villain and a hero and sometimes neither of those things.

Crowley inquires more about the angel, Castiel, and the server enthusiastically describes him. They remark that Crowley(spn) and Castiel have a fun dynamic, because they hate each other but also have to work together, because they're in love.

Crowley looks dumbfounded, and of course the server can't know why, but they do clarify that they are in love with Dean, not each other. Dean being a stand-in for humanity, of course, which is how the show runners wanted you to see it.

"But then at the end they FINALLY let Cas be all the way gay for Dean. Like, a decade of subtext and queer baiting denial, and FINALLY with 2 episodes left in the whole show, they let Cas tell Dean that he cares about humanity because he cares about Dean. Like, he actually gets to tell him he's in love with him."

A pause.

"Well, and then he gets sucked directly to Turbo Hell, so. That sucked. It went canon in THE most homophobic way possible, which is kind of on brand for the show--"

"Turbo hell?????? What is that, the tenth circle?"

"Oh, the place that angels and demons go when they die. The Empty. They don't get an afterlife, they just sleep forever and dream about the bad stuff. It's pretty awful, but Cas gets rescued from their off screen by the end so at least that's something-"

"What about the demon?"

"Oh, Crowley-like-owl? He got killed off for good at the end of season 12."

Crowley-like-crow stares through his sunglasses and the server elaborates again. For some reason, they haven't been called to other tables for anything the entire time they've been speaking.

"It was a good death, I think. He died to save the boys and trap Lucifer in another dimension- it's complicated. But he got to say that he actually hated being King of Hell, and he hated Lucifer, and he got to go out on a good deed. I think the actor was tired of the writers playing around with the character's arc. Walking back development, never committing to what they wanted to do with him... And that led to Crowley being kinda inconsistent and underappreciated. So he asked to be killed off and he walked away from the show."

"Huh. Shame, that."

"Yeah, everyone missed him. There are some characters that I REALLY wish he'd gotten to meet. And I also wish that he got a little more love."

"He was a demon. Love's not exactly in their repertoire."

"It's not supposed to be. It was, though. Cas practically invented free will because he loved Dean. And I guess Crowley also didn't fit into the mold God had set for him, either."

"I suppose God's Plan is... Ineffable in the show."

"I mean. Kinda at first? But the last season God is fully the bad guy."

"WHAT??"

Anyway, Crowley watches Supernatural and has no idea if he hates it or not. He probably does. But somehow, Crowley-like-owl and Castiel and their often unappreciative charges make his heart ache. He deliberately notes all the ways that Castiel is nothing like Aziraphale, thank you very much. He supposes he's glad that Adam never turned either of them into action figures.

He watches and he tries not to wish Aziraphale was watching with him.

[memoriesofmidnight]

there's a house across the street. people have come and gone.

i knew a girl once. she had long hair, a favourite dress, and nine barbies. she didn't have a ken, and i remember her saying she didn't want one because then all her dolls couldn't share clothes. she'd feel bad for ken, sitting there in one shirt and pants and shoes.

she used to be clumsy. she came home every evening with scraped knees and torn leggings, and hair pulled out of ponytails with the rubber band nowhere to be found.

she used to dance, putting on music on her mother's old ipod and hopping around the room. there were videos of her dancing like that, grinning widely and laughing loud. nobody ever told her it wasn't okay to be weird. because it wasn't.

she did ballet for some months. she made friends in class, knew other pretty girls with their tutus and perfect plies. she dropped the class later. maybe she didn't like the teacher, or the lost time, or the pressure. maybe she just wasn't a fan of the colour pink.

she wasn't a big fan of wasted space, either. ...i wonder what she'd think of me now.

we lost touch, over the years. she moved away when i was a teen, but she still comes here sometimes on holidays. we catch up, and she tells me about the girls she thinks are pretty and the way her best friend's eyes light up when she watches a show she likes.

she's still got long hair, but now it's long enough to reach her back. if she cut off an inch, nobody would even notice, that's how long it is. she asks me to style it sometimes, and all i do is braid it out of habit. it looks pretty, but the other day when i looked at a picture of her i had to pause a second before i recognised who it was.

if she never visited again, i think i could forget her.

i don't think i'd ever forgive myself if i did. forget her, that is.

i know a boy. he only moved here recently, taking the house the girl left behind. he says he used to read but he stopped. he says he has a lot of friends, but i've never seen them at his door. i think he's full of shit.

one day, i let the girl and the boy meet. the boy accidentally ran off with her. at least, i think it was by mistake. i'm sure they never meant to leave me here.

this boy, he has short hair and wears pink shirts sometimes. his favourite colour is green, like the grass in his garden. he wears jeans and trims his hair every few months, when it starts to skate at his shoulders.

sometimes, i think i know him, whom i have known for a much shorter time, more than the girl. i think she'd be mad at me for that.

sometimes, the boy is angry. i don't know at what. i think he's angry at me. i get angry at him, too, so it's fine. i wish he would leave like the girl did, but lets the girl come back. i wish he stays forever and bars the girl from ever returning.

if i could, i'd forget him. i think he would want me to forget him, too. but i can't. he lives in the house i see every day, and i know he's there.

it's fine. i don't think i could ever forget him. if i did, i don't think the girl would forgive me for that, either. she's always been too kind for her own good.

sometimes i think she's known him for longer than i have. maybe they were friends, pen-pals. maybe they were cosmically connected because they lived in the same house across the street.

[twistedboxy]

Story is live! We will be posting a chapter a day. You can read it here

[samwritesstuff97]

Masterlist

Started: 6/17/22

Updated: 7/25/22

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All Bets Are Off

Introduction/Synopsis

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14 (coming soon!!!)

[sourwolfsam]

kicking my feet and giggling at my own writing like I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen next

[bluerosefox]

Of Tiny Tots, Mistaken Identities, and Reunions

Seventeen year old Damian Wayne is dragged to a business deal outside of Gotham (along with his father and Drake), mostly to keep up appearances that the family does work outside of Gotham, networking, and because Damian does need to learn the ropes of the company, he decides to head outside the meeting with the Manson family to get a breather (mainly cause the Manson's were annoying him fully, it was like they were trying to suck up towards Damian and trying to push their daughter on him but at the same time he caught them almost insulting and hostile towards him before they would stop and correct themselves) when out of the blue a three year old toddler with black hair comes running over with a cheerful "Daddy!" and latches onto his leg.

Damian is stunned in place but feels frozen when he hears a voice, older and almost identical to his own but he can detect a familiarity in it, a voice he only hears in his dreams nowadays say.

"Ellie, no! That's not me Starlight! I'm so sorry dude-"

When Damian turned his head towards the voice he's meet with an near identical face, granted there were some minor differences, but very, very familiar pair of striking blue eyes staring at him. Eyes that were somehow full of life, which shouldn't be possible because the last time he saw those eyes they had been dim and milked over years ago. The speaker had become startled at the his sudden turn and the words that he had been saying had quickly died out when he too took in Damian's features.

"D...Damian?..." the name came out so soft and small that Damian almost didn't hear it but he did.

And before Damian could stop himself, he spoke a name he hadn't dared utter in years.

"Danyal."

His twin looked like he had just seen a ghost, and Damian was sure he looked the same. And given the last time they had last saw each other it was no wonder they both looked like death warmed over them for a moment.

After all... Damian had failed to protect his brother, Danyal al Ghul all those years ago on a botched mission.

His bother who... wasn't dead.

His brother who was looking like he wanted to run but was keeping himself rooted in his spot.

His brother whose eyes were glancing downwards and seemed so nervous.

His brother who knew the little girl, Ellie, still hugging his legs.

His brother who had... responded and corrected her mix up when she had called Damian 'Daddy.'

And oh, she's looking up at him and making grabby hands wanting to be picked up and she has Danyal's eyes and his nose and-

Oh... Damian.... Damian's an uncle it seems.

[anaccidentwaitingtohappen]

th. the keeper hunger games au?????

eee yes!!! i've only written the Best scene (imo) yet but. it's basically starring Biana as Peeta, Dex as Gale, Sophie as Katniss, Keefe as the son of President Sencen (and her husband), and Fitz as a District 4 ex-Victor (like Finnick). Various Councillors star as the stylists and the Neverseen as Gamemakers. The Black Swan is an organisation of rebels in almost every District but the movement originated in District 13 (Exillium).

[zepskies]

Hi, how are you?

I was wondering if you could write something like "Dean reads you wrong" but with Sam Please

Hey, lovely!

I'm doing well, thank you. 💜 I hope you are too! Hmm, I'm still working through my current bank of requests, but since "Dean reads you wrong" is so fresh, it got me thinking about how Sam would go about this...

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: It's hard for Sam to admit he wants you...when he thinks you might want his brother.

Song Inspo: "If You're Gone" by Matchbox Twenty

Word Count: 1,600 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, fear of unrequited love, mutual pining

Imagine: Sam reads you wrong.

When Sam falls for someone, he's...well, what he would call self-aware.

But also cautious.

He knows his own track record with women. He knows the life he leads, and has resigned himself to giving up most kinds of normalcy or domesticity.

And maybe, a part deep in the back of his brain has given up on the idea of love.

That's why it's so damn confounding...how you've managed to take him by surprise.

He's always been able to rely on you. Whether it's sharing the brunt of the research with him when Dean loses focus, or staying up with Sam on late nights, sharing mugs of tea and quiet conversation, bonding over familiar tastes in books, and '90s grunge music, of all things.

You also confessed to him, late one night, that you have a growing collection of mugs, fuzzy socks, and vinyl records, despite the fact that your record player has collected more dust than the bunker's old storage room.

You're wonderfully weird.

And you're unfailingly loyal to who you consider "your people." And Sam thinks (knows) he's fortunate enough to be included in that small circle.

Sam also knows, deep in his gut, no matter how much he tries to "rationalize" it away, that you're special. And special to him.

You've managed to do more than just slip under his skin. When he thinks too hard on it, he can admit it (just to himself). You've infiltrated all four corners of his heart so deeply, he doesn't have a prayer of scooping you out.

Some days, it's all he can do not to reach out while you're chatting away, filling the silence.

He can picture it like a scene in his mind: of interrupting your mouth with a gentle hand on your cheek, tilting your face up to his and showing you, with or without words, that he wants you...

And yet.

He can't help but watch how you are with Dean.

You two tease each other, bicker and gripe over coffee grinds left in the coffee pot and who ate the last of the leftovers. You fight with Dean over the remote on movie night (once, damn near smothering him with a pillow).

But you also dote on him, making sure Dean has one of his favorite desserts every time you go out to buy groceries. You swap his beer out for water when he's not looking. (And though Dean frowns and grumbles, he doesn't argue with your raised brow and imploring look.)

It's not quite flirting, but it's not quite platonic either—at least in Sam's eyes. You and Dean seem to have something.

And sometimes, your playful banter with his brother makes Sam sick to his stomach.

Like today, when Sam’s sitting at the kitchen table reading while you're making a cup of tea. The silence between you two is amiable, like usual.

Sam steals a glance at you and has to smile.

"Going with purple polka dots today?" he asks.

You look over with knitted brows of confusion, until you follow his gaze. You laugh sheepishly and wiggle your toes through your fuzzy socks.

"The floor is cold as hell," you defend yourself.

Sam's smile deepens a fraction as he turns back to his book.

"They're cute," he adds.

You turn your face to hide your blush. The mild thunder of heavy boots announces Dean's presence as he pops into the kitchen.

"Oh good, you're cooking. What's for dinner?" he asks. You turn to give him a familiar narrowed look.

"Who says I'm cooking?" you counter.

"Well, you're doing something on the stove..." Dean peers over and catches a whiff of the concoction you're brewing. He grimaces. "Second thought, I'm good. That smells like ass, whatever it is."

You roll your eyes at him. "It's just green tea, Dean. You know, health?"

He levels a deadpan expression at you as he opens up the pantry.

"I see your 'health' and I raise you...Doritos," he says. He digs his hand into the bag he's just pilfered and crunches a mouthful in your face. You can't help but splutter a laugh and push Dean away.

"You're ridiculous. If you catch a heart attack at 50, don't come crying to me."

"Hey, at least I'll die happy."

"Oh, right. A silver lining there. I'd hate to see what your arteries look like," you tease.

"Has anyone told you that you're unsavory?" Dean asks, continuing to crunch with an open mouth.

You smirk. "Is that your way of calling me sweet?"

He snorts. "Sure, sweetheart. We'll call it that."

"You know, I'm not your sweetheart," you point out.

Dean discreetly glances his brother's way with a sly glint in his eyes. Sam doesn't see it; by now he's trying his damndest to keep his eyes in his book and ignore the way his stomach is clenching, chest tightening.

Dean shifts his attention back at you and reaches down to brush your chin with his thumb.

"Not yet, but you could be," he says, in a flirtatious edge that he's never quite taken with you.

You're wide-eyed for a moment. In the end, though, you choose to take it as teasing. You push his hand away and give him an annoyed look.

"God, you're such a clown. Order a pizza if you're that hungry," you rejoin, and you pour two mugs of freshly brewed tea. "I won't even bother offering you one."

"Nope," Dean says, popping the "p." He walks out of the kitchen, giving Sam a firm slap on the back. Sam coughs and shoots his brother a frown.

Dean has the gall to wink at him before he walks out. Like he's having his own little private joke.

Well, Sam isn't laughing. He stares down hard at his book. He tries to ignore everything he just heard and saw out of the corner of his eye.

It becomes too much. He takes up his book and heads out of the kitchen.

He just doesn't see the way you frown as he walks away. There you stand, left holding two mugs of tea for you and him.

Sam returns to his room for a while. He's not hiding. He's...reading.

There's a knock at his door, and if it's Dean, he swears he's going to open his mouth and tell his brother to leave him the hell alone, like he's some kind of moody teen.

But it's you.

"Hey," you greet, after the door creaks open. Sam softens.

"Hey," he says, clearing his throat. "What's up?"

"You," you reply. You bring him his hot mug of tea and set it down on the desk where he sits.

"Thanks," he says.

You nod and place your mug beside his (Lord of the Rings themed, of course), and cross your arms as you lean against his desk.

Sam turns toward you in his chair. His hands rest on his thighs. His gaze travels back up to your face as he tries to keep his neutral, but welcoming to whatever you want to ask him. (He buries his heart deep, as he instinctively does whenever you're near him.)

"You okay?" you ask. Your brows furrow the longer you gaze down at him. Just staring, like you know he's hiding something. Like you can see straight into him, into the shadows where he keeps most of his thoughts of you.

This is perhaps the only area of his life where he's a coward.

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam replies, in a tone that suggests, Why wouldn't I be?

You quirk a smile. "Why don't I believe you?"

Sam swallows. For once, he's not sure what to say to you.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" you say softly. You take a subtle step into his orbit, almost between his open legs. Your demeanor says that you'd gladly listen, do whatever he asked of you. Because you're just that kind.

Sam's mouth twitches upward. "I know. I'm fine, really."

"You're fine, or you're Winchester fine?" you raise a brow.

Sam chuckles then, showing a flash of his smile. It lightens you.

"Maybe a bit of the second one," he admits.

You smile and inch closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah? Tell me," you say. Your voice is soft, but not quite a whisper.

It leads Sam to sigh. He grasps your hand where it lies on his shoulder. For a moment, he debates internally. He realizes then that Dean's antics earlier might've been more than just teasing. Maybe it was a subtle nudge—to stop wasting time.

Damn it, just do something, Sam thinks.

When you squeeze his hand back, it's just the small push he needs. He glances up at you.

Then he takes your hand and holds it between both of his, with care. He tugs you forward, surprising you as you step forward between his legs. Your mouth parts in soft surprise when he reaches a hand up to your cheek.

You still look surprised, blushing up to your ears, but you're not pulling away. In fact, your widened gaze moves from his eyes to his lips.

Sam smiles. He tugs you down to him and enacts a living daydream, finally kissing you with everything he has. Everything he’s had locked inside.

You respond to his mouth in kind; the subtle gasp of breath against his lips sharply cuts off as you sink into his kiss. Your trembling hand comes to his cheek, grazing the dull prickle of stubble. When your fingers dive into his hair next, it’s his turn to take a deep breath.

With each new kiss, he explores more of you. His hands find your waist, and he gathers you against his chest. You find purchase on his strong shoulders and give into the opportunity to straddle his hips, sitting in his lap while he continues to make your heartbeat wild in your chest.

Sam slows the kiss, only because his brain is starting to catch up with his heart. He wants to see your face, to make sure this is what you want.

He finds that and more when he looks up at you.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, tenderly brushing his thumb against your cheek.

"Does that answer your question?" he asks, with a soft laugh. You join him and press your forehead against his.

"I don't know,” you tease. Your eyes are dancing, both with amusement and relief. Because your heart has wanted this for even longer than Sam's.

You lean back in to whisper close to his lips. “Maybe I need a little more clarity."

Sam takes you at your word.

AN: It's been a long time since I've written for Sam! 💜 I got in another request for him a while ago. I may dust that one off soon... Until then, let me know what you think of this!

(And don't worry. I didn't forget about the Soldier Boy imagine I promised. That will come out at the end of this week, most likely!)

Read Dean's version: "Dean reads you wrong."

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[bleue-flora]

Ok, I recently wrote an essay [here] talking about the definition and duties of civil engineering as well as the ethics because of the brain rot @swordfright gave me with calling Dream Sam’s ultimate engineering project. So, because I actually am a civil engineer I took it upon myself to design the title and summary of quantities sheets just like I do at work for roads but with Dream as the project instead. And in honor of angst day sponsored by @sixteenth-day-event, I figured I’d share it because I feel like it kinda works for the prison of the mind prompt.

“Sam’s “ultimate engineering project” he deemed too damaged like a bumpy road or crumbling building that wasn’t worthy of patching and filling in the cracks or reinforcing, that’s too eroded to be fixed and preserved. So, Sam strived to tear him down to the bedrock so he could remake, remold, and reengineer Dream according to his design for the common safety, public health and well-fair.”

{These are very similar to the actual sheets I make day to day, which I shall not share for the sake of doxing my location, but yea pretty much everything has a significance. Some of it doesn’t necessarily make sense but that was because I was more so taking inventory of what we see in lore (so you know I counted ;) lol)}

[dannyphantomiscool]

I think something interesting in the damian&danny twins/danyal al ghul au that i don't see explored,,, basically ever, is how Danny heals.

I always see his personality made more similar to Damian's, which does make sense bc of his altered childhood. But i think it's far more interesting to keep it more canonincal.

He doesn't text w proper grammar bc he rejects the strict way he was raised. He makes puns and jokes and laughs freely because he was never allowed that when he was young. He freely admits to caring about his friends and family bc that is something he can have now.

I want to see a healed Danny. I want to see an Al Ghul that actually got to leave the league, got to heal and become normal.

And it'd add a really interesting aspect to his death, and Phantom. He escaped and he healed and then he still got fucked over and lost it all.

He's right back to having to fight constantly, his friends are weaknesses that can be exploited against him, and his parents are fighting him.

Danny directly and explicitly rejecting his upbringing and taking his life back. Eating nasty burger and playing doomed and having friends and crushes like a normal teenager.

And then losing it all.

(But better to be like his father than his mother.)

[geekthefreakout]

An Empirical Study of Sex and Efforts by A.Z. Fell (Annotations by A. J. Crowley): Part 1

Rating: Mature. If you're underage, I can't stop you from reading this but like... you shouldn't. Please don't interact with me about it.

Sex, as it happened, was nearly as awkward as actually speaking about feelings was, to Crowley's consternated surprise.

He'd thought that once he and Aziraphale had gotten all the blasted talking out of the way AND had saved the Earth a second time, it would all be easy. Tickety-boo, even.

The kissing had been alright- tremendously so, in fact, once they were both actively participating rather than one desperately begging the other not to leave. Also once they'd worked out the angle and force required to avoid painful clashing of teeth. It had seemed to Crowley that sex would follow- this was how most humans did things, and they both tended to enjoy the human experience.

Only- neither of them quite knew what to do. Aziraphale had thought that Crowley would have experience, what with being a demon and all. Only Crowley'd never been given to *that* sort of temptation. Meanwhile, Crowley had assumed Aziraphale would know what to do. Between the two of them, he was the hedonist, and what the heaven had he been doing in all those "gentleman's clubs" if not this??

(This line of inquiry had led to a long explanation of the history of the gavotte, interspersed with cheerful exclamations of "Never assume, dear! It makes an ass out of you and me!" Crowley had screamed venom into Aziraphale's favorite throw pillow in despair.)

Even so, Crowley had been certain they could figure it out. Aziraphale had shelves of books on the subject, and Crowley, though he lacked personal experience, certainly knew what "sexy" was. Or at the very least, he knew what it wasn't.

Sexy wasn't, he decided, standing buck naked in the cool air of Aziraphale's seldom-used bedroom, staring at themselves in the mirror while debating what sort of Effort they should make. But here they were.

"The trouble is, I'm not sure what I would like best." Aziraphale was saying thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "Anything you choose to manifest, my dear, will be lovely. But there are so many possibilities! So much variety! How does one decide?"

"Humans are usually stuck with the Effort they're born with." Crowley offered, having thrown himself dramatically onto the bed once he realized Aziraphale wasn't going to just pick something without proper discourse.

"Not all of them, though." Aziraphale fretted. "Nowadays they can switch with a surgery to what suits them better. And they enhance what they do have! I've received several emails offering to lengthen my--"

"Don't click on those, angel." Crowley groaned. He had invented the "grow your penis" spam email back in the 90s, and thought himself quite clever for it. "It's all rubbish."

"Well, even so. There are shapes which are more desirable. Combinations that work better. Variety in depth, length, hair, texture, function...." Aziraphale's hands went to his hips as he narrowed his eyes at the reflection of his shapeless groin. "I want to do this right."

"'M not sure there is a right way." Crowley said after a moment. "It's all down to preference, isn't it? Like how you take your tea."

"Perhaps there is not a right way, but there is surely a wrong way. Any way that could hurt you would be wrong." The angel's brow furrowed, and Crowley could tell that he was becoming genuinely frustrated.

"You won't hurt me, angel." Crowley assured, sitting up on the bed. He reached out a hand, and Aziraphale allowed him to take one of his and draw him close. "And I won't hurt you."

"I know you won't, dearest. I just... oh, I just want this to be perfect." Aziraphale sat next to Crowley on the bed now, holding both of his hands. "I have hurt you without meaning to so many times. Now that we have this, I mean to treat it with nothing but the highest regard."

Crowley had to kiss him for that. He let his hands run through his angels feathery curls as he drew him close and kissed him, softly, softly. He drank Aziraphale in the way he drank the finest of wines, caressed his face and shoulders reverently. He let the love he felt for his angel, which he had so often kept boxed away, flow from him freely, and he received Aziraphale's love in turn.

"We've hurt each other." He said softly when they finally broke apart. "But not anymore, yeah? We're just here, being an us."

"Just us," Aziraphale said, pressing his forehead to Crowley's. "And we need to decide how to present for our first time together. First times are important, you know."

"Fine." Crowley sighed. "Look, why don't we just... try all of it? We can each have a turn with each effort. We can even have both, if you like!"

"But our first--"

"Bollocks to 'first'." Crowley said. "Why should our first time mean more than our second or third? You're still playing by the rules, angel. We have as many times as we like. We have time to figure it out."

Aziraphale twisted his lips in one way, then another, clearly stopping himself from arguing about the romance of it all. Finally, he tilted his head, conceding.

"Very well." He hopped up from the bed, oblivious to Crowley leaning in to kiss him again. "We might as well make a proper study of it."

"Study???" Crowley's serpentine eyes widened as Aziraphale made his way to his desk, pulling out a large piece of paper and a marker. "Oh, come on...."

But it was no use- Aziraphale was busily drawing a chart with the marker, his bare bum wiggling as he hummed through his work.

Crowley eventually came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his angel's beloved waist even as he rolled his eyes at the chart he'd drawn up.

"I suppose you're serious about this." Crowley mumbled, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale's pale shoulder.

"You think I'm being silly," Aziraphale pouted.

"You are. But... love when you're silly." Crowley hid his burning cheeks in Aziraphale's neck. "Least you're not listing positions out..."

"Oh, but I could!" Aziraphale said cheerfully. "I'm certain I have a copy of the Kama Sutra in the original Sanskrit- not signed by the author, but still quite original--"

Crowley groaned and squeezed his arms tighter around Aziraphale. The angel turned his head to kiss Crowley's temple.

"Perhaps another time?"

"Hngk." Crowley muttered, intent on kissing the idea out of Aziraphale's head. "I want a cunt first." Crowley declared against his angel's lips, and manifested one with a thought as Aziraphale turned to embrace him fully.

"You-- oh!" Aziraphale flushed as he found himself staring at the mound that had appeared between the demon's legs, the red scales on Crowley's belly giving way to wiry red curls. All thoughts of charts and positions flew from his mind. "I knew you'd be lovely."

"Shut up." Crowley hissed, his hands tight on Aziraphale's shoulders as the angel dipped curious fingers into the folds. "We've got a study to do. Data to gather."

"Quite right, too." Aziraphale said, and kissed him again.

[lesbianpepsi]

would it be a sin if i stayed?

pairing: ghostface!sam carpenter x fem!reader

summary: you find out your girlfriend is hiding something from you

words: 3.120k

warnings: mentions of murders, gf!sam, knife, scream shenanigans, stab wounds, treating wounds, fear of cheating(?), swearing, bad writing

authors note: so it's been a minute huh, excuse the rusty writing i've been in pain and in a writers block

Everyone's entitled to their own secrets; there's nobody in the world that doesn't have at least one secret. 

Some people have small secrets such as not liking a certain food but saying they like to please the other person. Others don't have such sweet secrets.

The darkest secret you have is the fact you slit your ex's tire once after she cheated on you, it's not insanely dark or even cool, it's simply just a secret that you don't want people to know about.

Yet there's people in your life that hold such darker secrets, ones that could never be revealed to anyone; not even their most loyal loved ones. 

Unbeknownst to you that person is Sam Carpenter, your girlfriend of over a year.

—————

Me (17:29pm): i'll get started on dinner soon then?

Sammy<3 (17:32pm): Yes please. Hopefully I'll be done soon with my shift and can hopefully even help you a bit with the cooking! 👩‍🍳😊

Me (17:33pm): maybe i'll postpone for a bit then

Sammy<3 (17:33pm): No, start cooking. You need to eat and Derek is a bastard who won't let me off early anyways 😂😂

Me (17:34pm): fineeeee 

Me (17:34pm): see you soon then, love you <33

Sammy<3 (17:36pm): I love you too, Y/n ❤️

Me (18:12pm): i finished making dinnerrrr:)) 

Me (18:22pm): sammmm

Me (18:29pm): sam? 

Me (18:31pm): please answer me sam, where tf are you?? ik you finish your shift at six 

Me (19:06pm): Sam this isn't funny, please answer my calls.

You bite your bottom lip nervously as you reread over the messages hoping to see that small bubble pop up any second. 

Sure traffic was a reasonable reason to why Sam's late but she'd always message you after finishing her shift at work.

Sam's one of those people who never leaves the house without her phone being higher than 80%, meaning her phone being dead wouldn't explain it. She always made sure it had more than enough battery in case Tara or you called her and there was an emergency 

So why the fuck isn't Sam answering your texts? You can't help but worry after everything that's happened to the poor woman and her family with Ghostface. 

You've already tried calling her three times to no avail. Nervously you switch over to Tara's contact as your thumb hovers over the call button, debating whether you should ask her if she's seen Sam or not.

If Tara hasn't seen her and Sam is in fact just running incredibly late then you're just going to worry the younger Carpenter for no reason.

"Fuck." You mumbled to yourself as you lowered your thumb to dial Tara, deciding it's worth the risk.

Just as you're about to press down you hear the doorknob to your front door jangle, immediately you whip your head around to see Sam entering calmly.

You drop your phone and rush over to her throwing your arms around her desperately as you cling to her. 

Sam doesn't say anything as she slowly raises her hand to your back, rubbing it up and down slowly.

"Where were you, Sam? I thought something had happened." You say worriedly as you pull away staring into your eyes intently, noticing a glimmer in her eyes that you have never seen before. 

Her eyes looked darker, almost a lustful look in them. 

She sighed as she smiled apologetically. "Some girl puked all over the place so I had to clean it up so I wasn't done till six thirty, then my phone died so I couldn't text you."

You ponder for a second on the possibility of Sam's phone actually being dead since the messages and calls went through, meaning it would be impossible for her phone to be dead.

Biting your tongue you nod as you smile at Sam, just relieved to have her here. 

"Okay, glad you're safe then. I've made a plate for you so you just need to reheat it." Sam grins as she presses a quick kiss to your cheek making your ear burn just as they did the very first time they kissed you. 

"You're the best." She says and you chuckle giving a weak smirk. "I know right, the best girlfriend."

Sam pulls away from you as well, finally giving you a proper look of her. You tilt your head confused as you notice the baggy black hoodie she's wearing, practically devouring her and hiding her arms and upper body.

"You didn't leave wearing that this morning." You comment mindlessly as you grab the end of the sleeve, rolling your fingers around the soft texture.

Sam stiffens as she roughly pulls her arm away from your grip, crossing her arms over her chest. You frown at her abruptness. 

"It was in the trunk of my car." Sam replies dismissively with a wave of her hand before turning to enter your room. 

You remain where you stand a little frown toying on your lips. What was that about? You thought as you glanced at the doorway to your bedroom, the light being flickered on by Sam.

"I'm just gonna take a shower real quick then I can eat dinner and we can watch some movies?" You hear Sam yell from your room also hearing the erratic movement from her as you walk closer.

Leaning on the doorway you see Sam placing her phone, car keys and work badge on the dresser. 

"Want me to reheat your food for you?" You suggest with a smile. Sam nodded her head as she turned to face you, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead this time as she whispered, "I love you so much." before passing you and locking herself in the bathroom. 

A few moments later you hear the loud sound of the shower water hitting the bottom of the tub before it gets muffled by Sam entering the shower.

Against your better judgement you glance back into the room where Sam's phone is kept, the desperate urge to check it gnawing at you. 

You didn't want to snoop through it, no, you just wanted to see if she was lying or not. Which you basically already knew she was. 

You glance back at the bathroom door before rushing into the room to look at Sam's phone.

Reaching the drawer you picked up her phone and to your horror the movement of you picking it up lights the screen up. 


Sam's phone wasn't dead.

She lied to you. 

Sam wouldn't cheat on you, right? No, Sam would never. She loves you too much for that. 

Right?

Shaking your head in hopes of getting rid of those thoughts you place Sam's phone back into its original position, staring at it before leaving the room to reheat Sam's plate of food.

You trust Sam with your life and more and don't believe she's cheating on you since she's already quite possessive and protective of you after Ghostface. 

After placing the plate into the microwave you move back into the living room, dropping down onto the couch with a sigh as you wrap your fingers around the TV remote, pressing the on button.

The TV started up and immediately you were introduced to the loud male voice of the news reporter. You pulled out your phone and didn't pay much attention till you heard him utter a line that made your blood run cold.

"-two male victims stabbed to death near Parker Street, the police have no lead suspects as of now but a CCTV footage has been leaked showing the brutal murder and the killer wearing the infamous Ghostface costume."

Your eyes widened as you slowly lowered your phone, pushing yourself up the couch as you straightened your posture.  

Ghostface is back? It doesn't help that Parker street, that's the street where the bar Sam works at is at. 

"Sam!" You yelled and panicked as your eyes remained focused on the screen.

You could hear the shower stopping before moments later the door the bathroom being thrown opened and Sam rushes into the living room soaking wet with a towel wrapped around her body.

"What's wrong?" Your girlfriend asked as she moved to your side, holding your face with a possessive grip as she turned it to the side to see if you were hurt. 

You shake your head making her let go and nod towards the TV, Sam takes your hint and turns to focus on the screen.

She's silent for a moment, her breathing eerily calm as her eyes meet with yours.

"Ghostface is gone, we don't have to worry." She says as her hand glides into yours. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion as this is a total 180 reaction to how she reacted last time when Tara's classmate was murdered, and it wasn't even confirmed it was Ghostface at that time.

"Sam, the person was literally wearing a Ghostface outfit and two people were murdered on the same block where you work! This cannot be a coincidence." You rush out as you look down at your phone where it lay on the couch.  "We have to call Tara, Mindy and Chad. I'm not letting you all go through this again." You say as you grab your phone but you're stopped by Sam's hand wrapping around your wrist.

Looking up at her confused you see a blank expression on her face, not a panicked look you expected to see. 

"This is not our Ghostface, Y/n, calm down, please." Sam replies, moving her hand to interlock with yours with a tight grip.

Your jaw slackens as the crease between your brows gets even bigger. 

"A dude in a Ghostface outfit killed two people near where you work, Sam!" You insist on trying to make Sam notice how dire this situation is.

She shakes her head as she shuffles a bit closer, the droplets falling off of her and a few dropping onto you. 

"My Ghostface doesn't do random public killing, this is very out of character. It's probably just some psycho who's using it as a disguise, Y/n. It's fine. I'm safe, Tara's safe, the twins are safe and you're safe." You're speechless at Sam's smooth words, never hearing her so calm and confident. 

Last year she threatened to move countries instantly when it wasn't even confirmed it was about them. 

You let out a humourless chuckle as you shake your head. "And what did Mindy say when Tara was acting like you right now last year? It's a bit too close to home." 

Sam shakes her own head as she flashes a smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. "You trust me, don't you?" 

You let out a barely audible scoff as you nod your head at the question as if it was a stupid question to ask.

"With my life and more Sam." Sam's smile softens as she nods her head gently, as if knowing what you were going to say.

"So trust me on this, my love." She whispers, raising her wet hand to lay on your cheek lovingly. "Please." She adds in a whisper as her thumb runs up and down your cheek slowly. 

You maintain eye contact with Sam as you begin to feel yourself getting lost in her dark brown eyes, unconsciously nodding your head slowly.

Sighing you snap out of your trance as you smile weakly at her, squeezing your interlocked hands. 

"I trust you." 

—————

A few days have passed and the only person other than you who's showing concern over the murders is surprisingly Tara. The girl who was very adamant last year that this almost exact scenario wasn't related to them in any way.

You've been texting her non stop about your worries about the entire situation but you haven't said anything about your concerns about Sam. 

She lied to you, sure it was something very niche but with the timing of the murders; something just felt off. 

You have also noticed that Sam has been even more loving lately, not that she isn't always wonderful to you, but it's more than usual. 

You love the attention but you still can't help but feel that there's something wrong. 

It's a Saturday night and Sam's working the night shift again, you're not doing anything special so you decided to sleep in early. 

It's around two in the morning when you get awakened by a slam of the door, it immediately sprung you out of sleep since you've always been a light sleeper since the entire Ghostface incident. 

You rub your eyes as you slowly sit up, glancing around the room and notice Sam isn't in bed. 

Concern runs through your veins immediately as you push yourself off the bed to stand up, your feet hurting the cold floor as you move towards the door. Is it a complete dumb move to investigate the random loud noise? Yes, absolutely. But you can't help but think it's most likely Sam and maybe she's having another one of her attacks. 

"Sam?" You yell out softly as you open the door and glance around your small apartment, squinting your eyes to see better in the dark.

There's no sign of Sam but then you notice the light peeking through the bottom of the bathroom door. You definitely didn't leave the bathroom light on.

You head towards the bathroom door and go to open it but it's locked, you frown as your concern grows.

"Sam? Are you there?" You ask as you keep trying to unlock the door but to no use. 

A muffled grunt is heard through the door before you hear Sam's raspy voice. 

"Go back to bed, Y/n, I'll join you soon." Sam's muffled voice says as another low grunt is heard. That doesn't help your nerves at all.

You can feel your heart pick up a pace as you desperately keep trying to unlock the door.

"Open the door, Sam, please." You beg as you keep trying to open the door, shaking the doorknobs desperately. 

"No." Sam says sternly, making you shake your head at her stubbornness. "Sam if you don't unlock this door I swear I'll kick it down. Please open the door."

"No I-" Sam goes silent for a moment before continuing her words. "You can't see me like this, you'll leave me." 

"Sam I love you more than anything in this world, if you're hurt I want to see you and help you. Please." You say sincerely as you still your moments on trying to open the door, trying to show Sam how much you care for her. 

She doesn't say anything for what feels like an eternity, your fear growing with each passing second as you swallow nervously. 

Then you hear it, the door unlocking but Sam doesn't open it for you. Immediately you throw the door open and scan your eyes to find Sam sitting on the edge of the bathtub wearing her usual grey tank top, tight black cargos and thick black boots with bruises and a singular stab wound on her arms.

Your breath hitches as your eyes widen dramatically, your fear about Ghostface attacking Sam again being confirmed. 

Sam refuses to make eye contact with you as she sloppily tries to patch herself up, wrapping a bandage around below her shoulder that's already staining with a ruby red shade.

"Let me help." You whisper as you move to stand in front of her knowing in the frenzied state Sam is in she wouldn't tend her wounds properly.

She finally looks up at you and you notice the look of pure fear in her eyes, it breaks your heart. 

Sam stiffly nods her head as she lets go of the dirty bandage and lets it fall gracefully onto the floor. 

You don't take notice of anything else around you as your entire focus is only on your bleeding girlfriend. 

As you focus on the slash below her shoulder you see that she's sterilised it and only needs help with bandaging it up.

You grab a new roll and gently hold onto her elbow for a grip as you begin to tightly wrap the bandage around her wound.

As you keep wrapping enough layers around your eye's unconsciously flicker over to the bathtub, and the moment you see the objects scattered inside you feel your heart drop.

A bloodied knife is peeking out through a thick pile of black which almost looks like a blanket but that isn't what catches your attention. The bloodied Ghostface mask thrown carelessly near what you presume is the cloak is what makes your heart come back to life and rapidly speeds up. 

Suddenly everything makes sense.

The lie about her phone being dead when it wasn't, coming home late and the very calm reaction to the murders.

Sam wasn't attacked by the Ghostface on the news; Sam is Ghostface. 

You can pull your eyes away from the hollow eyes of the Ghostface mask as you keep bandaging Sam's stab wound up, the feeling of shame making your throat tighten. 

Not ashamed of Sam but the fact you don't immediately want to run away. Call the cops or even scream. Instead you stand there as you treated her wound. 

"That's enough layers, Y/n." Sam's quiet voice breaks you out of your stare as you avert your eyes back to hers, stilling your hands as you lock with her brown eyes.

Oh those big brown eyes. 

Grief swirls around in her eyes as if she's already grieving your relationship; grieving her life. 

You take a deep breath as a shaky smile slowly forms on your lips making Sam's eyebrows scrunched together confused. 

"I'll never stop loving you." You whisper to her as you finish bandaging her wound up, dropping your hand from her elbow to place on her cheek. 

Sam leans into your touch laying her own cold hand over yours, looking up at you with a softer gleam in her eyes. 

"I'm not a bad person, I only hurt bad people I promise." Sam whispers in a gravelly voice. You feel some reassurance from that but what shocks you the most is the fact you're not sure if you wouldn't have minded if they were bad or not. 

Would it be a sin if you stayed with her? Probably. But killing is most definitely a bigger sin which only makes you think of one thing. 


You and her will still be together in the afterlife. 

"Let's go to bed, my love." You whisper as you offer Sam your free hand to take to help stand up. 

Sam stares at it for a moment before she complies and slides her hand into your hand, a small smile grazing her lips. 

Everyone has their secrets and who are you to share them with?

—————

authors note: i'd do anything for sam (i hate this so fucking much)

[tartppola]

Stranded in another world, with no hope of going back or any magic to defend themselves with, this is the anecdote of the Ramshackle Prefect Yuulis Crowley's first week in another world called Twisted Wonderland.

warning : mentions of blood & dissection, didn't beta this so :P a/n : happy april fools :D

It was a chilly morning on the Night Raven College campus, and Sam’s first day coming back to the mystery shop. Oh, how he missed the purple overlay of the wallpaper; the diamond skulls and taxonomy and other knick-knacks that seamlessly blend together to form something quite avant-garde. Speaking of knick-knacks, he remembered that his new stock of goods his ‘friends’ salvaged from who knows where should be arriving today, how exciting!

His feet skipped up and about, the keys he spun around his finger chiming as he hummed a happy tune from the Port of Jubilee. Sam wonders what kind of faces the new first years would make the first time they step into the shop, or when they meet his ‘friends’ for the first time. 

Just as he was about to make a turn from Main Street, he stopped dead in his tracks. There was a pile of huge boxes at the doorstep, that must be his new goods, but there was something else, or rather, someone else. That someone–young enough to be a first year, but not wearing the school uniform–was waiting by the boxes. No student has ever been to the shop this early, and the school hasn’t allowed any of the local townsfolk to visit, so why?

“Excuse me!” Sam called out, making his way towards them, “I’m flattered that a line is already forming, but opening hours aren’t until lunch time!”

They stared blankly at him the moment he stood right in front of them. They held out a clipboard with a delivery receipt that listed the names of various magical supplies 

“I’m here to on behalf of the Headmaster,” Sam barely understood them through their thick accent, “Please double check the receipt and make sure to tell of any errors.”

Since when did the Headmaster hire any couriers.....and one so young at that. Oh well, as long as Crowley’s not breaking any child labor laws, it should be alright, shouldn’t it? The shopkeep noticed that his back grew colder and colder as he went through the new inventory. He stole a small glance at the youth, turning back immediately when he saw how intently their gaze bore through his soul.

“Phew! It’s getting pretty darn cold out here!” The hand that held his keys trembled a bit, “How about we go inside to warm ourselves up a bit?”

He took back his thoughts. This was far from alright.

“--and where do these charms go, Mr.Sam?” 

“By the aisle near the grimoires, next to the paper talismans,”

It’s been nearly half an hour of restocking, yet they haven’t left the store. Sam tried his best to breathe through the awkward atmosphere, but the tension was so thick he could harvest it, bottle it up and sell each for 500 madol. If only such a thing was possible, if only.

“Mr.Sam,” 

He felt his shadow jump to the ceiling at the sound of their voice. 

“What kind of store is this, exactly?” 

“Well, since you’ve seen my wares firsthand, should you be able to tell right away?” He put on an air of faux confidence, hoping they wouldn’t notice. 

“At first, I thought this was a magic supplies store, but none of them back at home sell dangerous herbs like oleander and wolf’s bane. How did you get a hold of this amount of them anyway?”

“Well, what can I say? There’s only so much exotic ingredients you can grow in the botanical gardens,” 

“But, there are also basic necessities like toothpaste and clothes,” They pondered, “Come to think of it, one of the new deliveries was a box of snacks, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what happens when you’re the only tuck shop in one of the most prestigious schools in the world!” He winked, “It wasn’t easy getting ahold of most of the inventory, but you gotta do what you gotta do, don’t you agree?”

A small chuckle escaped their lips, “That’s not a bad mindset for a businessman.”

In the end, no matter how eccentric they initially seemed, a child is still a child. He felt foolish for being so afraid, what could they do when he had his friends by his side?

“By the way,” it was hard to notice how much time passed by, “Shouldn’t you go back to your dorm and change into your uniform? It’s almost time for morning classes.”

“Ah, was Mr.Sam not present during the entrance ceremony? No wonder you didn’t recognize me,” 

There was some word on the street about a fiasco happening during this year’s entrance ceremony, something about the halls being lit on fire by a beast? He couldn’t believe it when  one of the friends that stayed to guard the shop told him about it.

“I was deemed unworthy to be sorted into a dorm, because I possess no magical capabilities whatsoever. It seems that there was an error during the student selection process,”

“Is that even possible?” his suave expression morphed into worry, “Then, why didn’t the Headmaster send you back home?”

“He tried, but the Mirror of Darkness said something along the lines of ‘The place from whence they came from can’t be found in this world’. 

“And so here I am, doing odd jobs and tasks on behalf of the Headmaster, the students and the staff of NRC,” Sam could hear a small sense of pride at their introduction, “I'm more capable than I look, please don’t hesitate to call upon me if you need any assistance.”

Of all the strange things to make their way into his shop, never in a million years would Sam expect an estranged secretary to be one of them, and one that possibly came from another world to boot. He had a feeling that this year was going to be much, much more eventful than any of the years to have come, and he couldn’t wait to see it all unfold.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, little demon,” The shopkeep tipped his hat in a fine, gentlemanly manner, “Make sure to drop by again, ‘till next time!”

The gap of knowledge between the first and second year was indeed a big leap to overcome, Crewel knew how unprepared his puppies were going to be.

But by the Great Seven, oh how much he overestimated them.

The likes of Riddle Rosehearts and Azul Ashengrotto couldn’t possibly make up for the utter incompetence these mutts have, even the students with subpar scores like Savanaclaw’s Ruggie Bucchi and Diasomnia’s Silver looked like geniuses. At best, there are students like Kalim al-Asim, who actually tries, yet their efforts seem to seep out through their ears the moment they leave class, then there’s the unpredictable ones like Floyd Leech.

He remembers how the eel turned in blank test papers, or how he mixes whatever ingredients he finds interesting together, bleeding the chemical supply. 2 days ago, he used up an entire month’s worth of imp spinal fluid during potions class. It’s not as if they were hard to get, but their effects are most potent when freshly harvested. The thought of harvesting it himself made him shudder; sure, he’s seen some grotesque imagery as an alchemy professor, but who knows how long it will take to restock if he made a report to Crowley?

Sigh. Looks like he’ll have to put practical sessions on hold for a while and haggle with Sam.

“Excuse me, is Professor Crewel here?” 

The door to the alchemy lab opened, bringing the professor back to reality. Someone he has never seen before let themself in, a plastic bag in hand. 

“Stay! I don’t recall allowing anyone without a lab coat to enter….!” Realization kicked in once he got a clearer look, “Huh--so it’s you, the magicless stray that caused a riot in the entrance ceremony.”

The sound of a whip resonated through the room, followed by faint chattering and murmurs from nearby students scrambling away from the alchemy lab. 

“Only authorized students and staff are allowed in the lab during school hours, didn’t the Headmaster tell you?” 

Most of his students would cower just by hearing his tone grow stern, yet they remained unfazed. Playing bold now are we? Looks like he’ll have to teach them a lesson. 

“The Headmaster,” they brought the plastic bag to his chest, “said that the lab’s storage room needed restocking.” 

Ah, was that it? Making a child do his job; how much of a slave driver was Crowley? Knowing Crowley’s tardiness, it was probably something he had already spent his paycheck on, although the bottom of the bag was unusually cold. 

Curiosity getting the better of the professor, he untied the knot and opened the bag. His face recoiled, from the shock of seeing the contents. Aurora moth’s scales--he had only requested these a few days ago! Not to mention all of that translucent mucus coating the scales, how long ago were these harvested?

“Is there something wrong, Professor?”

Crewel almost forgot about the intruder standing in front of him, “No, it’s just--this is the first time I've seen them so...fresh. The ones Crowley buys usually come preserved in bottles.”

“That may be because I just harvested them this afternoon,” they said nonchalantly.

“You--You what?!” the professor didn’t even try to mask his disgust, “You did this yourself?”

Their head tilted sideways, akin to a confused child.

“The Headmaster said that the locals needed help with pest control, so I’d thought I’d lend a hand, and they let me do whatever I wanted with the moths as payment, ” Despite having experience with that sort, Crewel’s stomach began to swirl, “The Headmaster gave me permission too,”

A scowl grew on his face. Typically a moth would've been killed humanely before their wings were plucked to relax their ligaments, but seeing the mess clinging to the wing's ends, it's clear that they didn't consider such option. He couldn't decide if they had a strong stomach to withstand seeing large bugs squirm underneath them, or an uneducated fool.

“Professor, are you alright? You look exhausted,” 

He snapped back to reality that instant, rubbing circles around his temple. Pull yourself together, Crewel, he edged himself, you’ve lost your composure twice already. Maybe he just needed a good serving of raisin butter with wine on the side, or a joyride on his prized car. He glanced back at the dismembered wings, at least he got what he wanted. Still, this has never happened before, perhaps if he could take advantage of this situation….

“Tell me, pup. Since you have...the appropriate experience to harvest wings, how good are you at dissecting imps?”

They pondered for a while. It’s the most animated he’s seen of them, “I suppose I do how to extract fluids, their lymph is a versatile ingredient in many types of salves after all. Although it has been a while since I’ve ever needed to.” 

Bingo

“Then, how about spinal fluid?”

It was their turn to be surprised, “I-I’ve never done that on an imp before. Just think of the amount of imps needed to fill a single bottle.”

“Tell you what, pup. Are you interested in a side-job?” 

Without giving them a chance to respond, Crewel tossed a few madol and a map of the campus in their direction, “There are some common imps causing trouble in the college lately coming from who knows where. If you can deal with them, I’ll give you the other half of the payment, and of course--.”

He shoved them a basket full of empty test tubes, slinging it over their shoulder, “Fill every single test tube here to the brim before tomorrow's Science Club activity, I won't take no for an answer.” 

And with that, they were pushed out of the alchemy lab. Spending their first sleepless night in another world catching imps wasn’t on their bucket list. Sighing heavily, they picked up their feet and staggered.

‘I wanted to creep him out a little,’ they thought, ‘but I ended up being the one getting creeped out.’

For such an important place, why did Crowley’s office have to be in a place so out of reach? For all his years in Night Raven College, Crewel always dreaded sending weekly reports to the Headmaster’s office, he could feel his leg muscles ache as he knocked against the two large gates. He peeked inside the office to look for the Headmaster. 

“There you are, professor! What took you so long?” 

There he was, sitting cross-legged on his desk as the portraits of the Great Seven floated up and about. Trein was there as well, as cold as usual and showing no sign of fatigue, peering at him as if he could see through everything. Maybe it was because he had a 20 year head start, either way, it was irritating how he was the only disheveled one.

“I don’t know, maybe it was the countless stairs I have to climb every week to submit a report when you can simply hire a secretary to fetch them for you?” 

The crow simply smiled, already figuring out a solution to Crewel’s ire, “How has the first week of teaching been for you, professors?”

“I don’t know which is greener, the topiary maze in the Heartslabyul dorm, or the new puppies I’m in charge of,” Crewel shook his head. 

“For once, I agree,” the history professor nodded indefinitely, Lucius yawning in his arms, “But that could be said for every first year in the history of NRC.” 

Dire nodded, “Seems like everything’s going smoothly then! I shall leave the future of our students in your capable hands!”

Both professors nodded in response, “As you wish, Headmaster.”

“Although, I’d like to inquire about something,” Crewel spoke up before raising his index finger to the large window. From above, the view of the setting sun looming over the campus could be seen, but his finger specifically pointed to Main Street, or rather;the magicless stray walking to the direction of the alchemy lab, with the basket in hand and the direbeast from before by their side.

“What are we going to do about that?”

Without needing to look, Trein simply closed his eyes, “If what the mirror spoke was true, then that child quite literally has no place to go back to. It comes to question how they even ended up here in the first place."

Crowley rubbed his chin. The ultimate decision lies with him, and honestly, there was nothing stopping him from just shirking them off his feathers and leaving them to fend for themselves, along with the cat-beast that terrorized the entrance ceremony.

"It would undoubtedly stain the reputation of our esteemed college if we just kicked them out," the Headmaster groaned, "Oh, why must I be plagued with such problems!"

"Best of luck to you then, Headmaster Crowley," The two professors turned their heels and left Crowley's office with not a care in the world, leaving him with his worries.

The Headmaster leaned against his chair and sighed against the beak of is mask. Dealing with the child was the last thing he wanted to do at this moment, with their odd mannerisms and such, however...

Being unable to return home wasn't an unfamiliar conundrum to the Headmaster.

Perhaps it's his boundless generosity speaking to him, but there was a pang of heavy emotion in his chest that told him he couldn't simply leave that child, Yuulis, alone. Was it guilt? or maybe atonement? Whatever it was, it overrode the rational side of his brain

Dire Crowley was the type of person to judge a book by it's cover, which is why he was surprised how his new errand runner, or rather, the new Ramshackle Prefect was able to hold up better than he expected. The reports he received from the staff members he had tasked them with helping have been amicable, and his workflow was much smoother now that he had divided the more menial tasks to someone else. He had thought he had envoked the wrath of the Great Seven with the mess that was thrown his way, but surely they were more pliant than they initially seemed, and now Crowley had a reliable aide at his beck and call.

That would've been the end of the story if Crowley's worries ended there.

Perhaps it's his intuition as a mage, one that's been sharpened by many years of experience, but there was something off about the Prefect. It was subtle enough for none of the other professors to pick up on it, perhaps not even the prefect the▅self were aware of it, but Crowley co▅ld fe▅▅ it.

The lingering mi▅▅ma ▅▅ p▅rmea▅▅ from ▅▅em, it ▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ ▅ ▅▅▅ M▅▅▅l▅ ▅▅ ▅no▅▅ ▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅ , ▅n▅▅d f▅rom the loo▅▅ ▅, if Crowley doesn't get it under control, it might spell disaster for the mages in his beloved college.

They'd succeeded his expectations as a prefect, so why not bestow upon them another act of kindness?

A knock resounded from the door to the Headmaster's office, before creaking open. Under the candles that lit the office dimly, the prefect looked like one of the many ghosts that toiled in the campus.

"Apologies for the delay," they nodded, curtly greeting the Headmaster, "It took a while to convince Professor Trein to let me into the library archives, but I got what you asked for."

"It can't be helped, I suppose. The lecture he gave me that time still rings in my ears," Crowley picked the bundle of files off of Yuulis' hands.

"Rightfully so," the monotone in their voice wavered, "With all due respect, I don't see why what you did was necessary, nor will it benefit you or your reputation, Headmaster."

His fingers intertwined and rested over his mouth, obscuring what's left of his face. A part of him thought that Yuulis wouldn't question his actions, but it seems they had not let their guard down completely. Not that he blamed them--in a world of villains, it's wiser to play your cards right.

"I've made it quite clear that it was a mutual agreement, yes?" he says, "One day, you'll understand, once you've proven that you're worthy of carrying my secrets."

He sauntered towards them, slow and heavy footsteps circling around the prefect, "Besides, don't you want my help? You won't have to isolate yourself anymore, drifting around from place to place, worrying about hurting other people. You'll be able to live a normal life. It'd be easier for me to help you with your more personal matters like this, wouldn't you agree, my dearest nephew?"

It was probably underhanded of him to take advantage of their ignorance, but it's too late for them. The pact has been made, Crowley isn't sure whether Yuulis could feel the invisible link that binds them together as well, but the matching blue vest he gave them, their new surname, was enough to send them the message.

"It's getting late, come now, I'll walk you back to that rickety old--err, Ramshackle dorm," says the headmaster, waiting for Yuulis to trail behind him, like they usually do.

With bated breath, they come to accept their new circumstances. They step closer to the Headmaster.

"As you wish, uncle,"

[samwritesstuff97]

All Bets Are Off: Chapter 1

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x OC!Penny's Niece

Warnings: Alcohol (Don't drink and drive), Swearing

Word Count: 2045

A/N: This is part 1 of who knows how many of my first Rooster fic of who knows how many! The first several parts of this fic and going to be mostly fluff, but I've got LOTS in mind for this fic! Hopefully you like it, and my inbox is open for comments, questions, requests, etc!

Masterlist | Tag List | Requests

*

The Hard Deck was swarmed with people, as it always is on a Friday, and the bar was full of light and music. Penny, the owner and bartender, moved quickly from patron to patron at the bar, making drinks and small talk with ease. She slid up to a group of sailors, “Hey, if it isn’t my favorite group of ragtag fighter pilots!”

“Hey Penny! Four pints of whatever’s on tap today!” Phoenix said with a smile. “What’s new?”

“I’ve got some help coming next weekend!” Penny said over her shoulder as she poured the beers. “My niece is moving to North Island and she’s coming to work here. She’s a treat, you’ll all love her!” She begins passing out the glasses before stopping in front of Hangman. “You leave her alone.” She said seriously.

“Why me?” Hangman cried, looking affronted but amused. “Oh, she must be smoking hot.”

“Hangman…” Penny warned, pointing to her sign with the bar’s rules printed on it. “You’re tiptoeing into buying the bar drinks territory.”

“She isn’t even here yet! What’s her name? And on an unrelated note, do you have any pictures of her?” Hangman leaned against the bar, giving Penny what he clearly thought was a charming smile.

“Jesus, Hangman,” Maverick piped up from a few seats away, “Get ahold of yourself.”

Hangman shook his head, “I’ll be good.” He said. Penny just furrowed her brow at him, before going to refill Maverick’s drink.

“Hangman, what makes you so sure that she’ll even be interested in you?” Rooster asked, looking over his aviators.

“I’ve never had a problem with that before.” Hangman winked at Rooster. “But, if you’re sure about that, why don’t we put some money on it?”

“Come on, Hangman, it’s too easy to take your money this way.”

Hangman laughed, “Fine, if you’re scared, we don’t have to do it.”

Rooster paused for a moment. What have I got to lose? He thought. “No, I’m game. What are the terms?”

“Is this a good idea?” Bob asked, looking nervously at Penny, who had her back turned.

Phoenix placed a hand on Bob’s shoulder, “What if we’re the adjudicators of this little bet?”

“Alright, Rooster, I’ll bet one hundred and fifty dollars I can get a date with Penny’s niece before you can.” Hangman smirked. “And with my hundred and fifty, I’m going to buy hundreds of condoms that I won’t be using with her.”

“You’re disgusting, and you better hope Penny didn’t hear that.” Phoenix hissed.

“Fine, but what exactly constitutes a date?” Rooster asked, shaking his head at Hangman.

“No one else is invited, she doesn’t pay, and it has to be a typical ‘date’ activity?” Bob suggested, “Like dinner and a movie would count, but not coffee.”

Phoenix raised her hand, “And, most importantly, she has to know it’s a date. No asking her to do something and then making it a date retroactively, she has to know she’s being asked out.”

Rooster nodded, “I can live with that.”

“Easy.” Hangman said, winking at Rooster again.

“Hangman, a small piece of advice.” Phoenix said, “Stop winking.”

The next weekend, Hangman, Rooster, Phoenix, and Bob were standing outside of the Hard Deck. “Remember the terms, gentlemen?” Bob asked.

Hangman and Rooster both nodded. “Good.” Phoenix said, “And nobody lets Penny find out, right?”

“Good God, no.” Hangman laughed. “I cannot afford that, literally.”

“Now or never!” Bob said, opening the doors.

Immediately, they all began scanning the bar, looking for any unfamiliar face. “Oh my God.” Phoenix said. “There she is.”

The crowd parted, and Rooster saw her, smiling at someone sitting at the bar while pouring them a shot. “Oh.” He said.

She had long red hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, her arms were covered in tattoos, and her septum was pierced. It felt like Rooster was watching her move in slow motion, and his heart was suddenly pounding.

“Oh.” Hangman said, already puffing his chest out. “She is smoking hot.” Almost as if on cue, she laughed at something Penny said, “Yeah, Rooster, you’re out of your league here. I’ll let you bow out gracefully now for seventy five dollars.”

Rooster scoffed, “I don’t think so.” He walked toward the bar, and as they got close, Penny, noticing the look on Hangman’s face, sent Eliza back to the kitchen, narrowing her eyes at him.

“What can I get for you?” Penny said tersely, still glaring at Hangman.

“Jeez, Penny! If looks could kill, I would have already had my twenty one gun salute by now.” Hangman sat down at the bar, and the rest followed suit. “Whiskey and coke, please.”

Penny took the rest of their orders and stepped away to make them as Maverick walked up and sat next to them. “Met Eliza yet?” He asks quietly.

“Eliza, hmm?” said Hangman, looking at the kitchen door.

“No.” Rooster said, trying to hide the fact that he was also looking at the kitchen door.

Maverick took a swig of his drink. “She’s certainly making an impression.”

Phoenix looked around the bar, noticing that most of the men in the bar were eyeballing the kitchen as well. “Jesus Christ, has no one seen a woman before? It’s not like we’re stationed on an island with thousands of other people less than two hours outside a major city.”

Just then, Eliza walked out of the kitchen, a bin of clean glasses under her arm. She smiled at them as she passed. “Hey guys! I’ll be right with you.” She calls.

“I already got it, Elle.” Penny said, passing out bottles and glasses, setting Hangman’s drink down with a little more force, as he openly checked Eliza out.

Eliza smiled at Penny, then at the small group in front of her, her eyes landed on Rooster for a split second and his heart stopped. Uh oh. He thought. That was weird. “I’m Eliza.” She said, bringing him out of his brief reverie. “If you guys are who I think you are, I’ve heard a lot about you!”

Hangman leaned in, “And who do you think I am?”

She cocked her head at him suspiciously and looked him up and down, “I’m going out on a limb here, and I’m going to say you’re Hangman.” She looked at Maverick, “This has got to be Maverick,” Then turned to Phoenix, “And Phoenix.” She looked between Rooster and Bob and raised an eyebrow, “Is Geraldo Rivera Rooster, and glasses, Bob?”

Hangman threw his head back and laughed. “You’re very astute.” He noticed Penny who was standing just behind Eliza with a warning written on her face, and took a large swig of his drink.

Eliza smirked, then glanced over at the pair of sailors practically drooling and holding empty bottles, “Nice to meet all of you!” She called over her shoulder as she walked away.

“Penny, I was perfectly nice!” Hangman yelled as Penny huffs past him, and he turned to Rooster. “Great first impression, buddy! I’ll win the bet in no time if you stick to your vow of silence.”

Rooster scoffed and took a drink of his beer. “And I’ll win this in no time if you keep looking at her like she’s a burger in front of Penny.”

“Bet?” Maverick asked. “What bet?”

“Should we tell him?” Bob whispered.

“You definitely should.” Maverick whispered back, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Rooster and Hangman here have a little bet going to see who can get a date with Eliza first.” Phoenix leaned in, keeping her eyes on Penny’s back across the bar. “So far, I don’t think either of them are off to a great start.”

Maverick laughed, “You idiots are going to end up working for the bar if Penny finds out about this.”

Rooster stared him down, “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

Maverick laughed again, “No way, I want one of you suckers to be paying for my drinks here until I die.”

Rooster found himself tuning out his friends, watching Eliza chat and laugh with people around the bar, shaking a hand here and there. Her long, red waves are held back in a ponytail, and he was soon imagining himself gently running his fingers through it while she slept on his chest. Rooster shook his head slightly, What am I doing? His heart stops again when Eliza turns around, stretching up onto her tiptoes to reach a bottle. “Rooster? Rooster!” He snapped back into reality as Phoenix punched his shoulder gently. “Penny was asking if you needed another beer.”

“Oh, sorry. Yeah sure.” Rooster raised his eyes slowly, finding himself slightly afraid to look her in the face, but when they made eye contact, she had a bemused smile on her face.

“Be right back!” Penny said, going to grab the beer.

“Hang on now.” Hangman looked back and forth between Rooster and Penny. “I’m polite to her, and you act like you want to kill me. Rooster is weird, silent, and basically drooling a puddle on the bar, and you’re grinning at him?” Penny frowned at him, and didn't respond. “I mean, I know my reputation, but Rooster is not exactly known for having long term relationships, either.”

Penny shook her head, setting Rooster’s beer down in front of him. “Maybe I like Rooster better than you?”

“All I’m saying is, my intentions with her are totally pure and above board, and you don’t have to worry about me, Penny!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I get the feeling that you may have to worry about him, Aunt Penny.” Eliza walked up, leaning on the bar and smirking at Hangman.

“Word to the wise, you should usually be worried about Hangman.” Phoenix said.

“Hey, I’m a treat!” Hangman said, placing a hand on one of Eliza’s hands, and her smile froze in place. Eliza looked down at his hand and then back up at Hangman, looking slightly unamused. “Always.”

Eliza scoffed slightly, slipping her hand out from under Hangman’s. “I can tell.” She placed a hand on Penny’s shoulder. “Aunt Penny, I’m going to run these glasses to the back.”

“Thank you, sweets!” Penny smiled as she left. “Hangman.” He gulped. “What am I about to do?”

“Please don’t.”

Penny rings the bell and Hangman dropped his head into his hands. “A round of drinks for the house!” She pointed at Hangman. “On this lucky gentleman right here!”

Several people came and patted Hangman on the back, sarcastically thanking him for the drinks as he rummaged through his wallet, digging out all the cash he had. “Imagine what she’s going to do to you when she finds out about the bet.” Maverick said.

Hangman grunted something about getting some air and slid off his stool as Eliza walked back out of the kitchen again. “What’s wrong with him?” Penny taps the sign affectionately. “Oh, because of me?” She laughed. “This is the best bar I’ve ever worked in.”

“So, how do you feel about your first night, Elle?” Penny asked, wiping down the bar.

Eliza set down the dishes she was holding with a sigh. “Really well! Everyone was nice.”

“Good!” Penny paused for a moment. “What do you think about Rooster?”

Eliza furrowed her brow. “Rooster?”

“Geraldo Rivera.”

“Oh, Geraldo! I’m not sure I really think much of him yet. I like him more than Hangman, that’s for sure.” Eliza laughed, picking up some used napkins off a table.

“Isn’t he handsome?” Penny smiled encouragingly.

Eliza stopped picking up napkins. “Aunt Penny. What’s going on?”

Penny shrugged, “Nothing nothing!” She moved a few bottles and wiped underneath them. “It’s just that I hated seeing you lose yourself when you were with Grady, and I really feel like if you just found the right guy, it would make a difference in your life.”

“And you think someone named ‘Rooster’ is the right guy for me?”

“His name is Bradley, and he’s a very good man.” Penny smiled at her, proudly. “You can’t deny that he’s handsome, Elle!”

Eliza grinned at Penny. “Okay, yeah he is.” She walked back behind the bar and hugged her aunt. “Aunt Penny, I love you, but please do not try to set me up with anyone.”

“I’m not, I’m not!”

*

Hopefully you enjoyed this! If you want to be added to the taglist for it, go like the synopsis post!

[sourwolfsam]

What they don't tell you about growing up is that sometimes it's bliss. The sun rises through your bedroom window on a Saturday morning and you are free to make decisions and think and create and feel, but what they also forget to mention is that sometimes growing up is hard. Sometimes growing up feels like clawing up through mounds of compacted earth, lungs screaming for air that costs you more money than you can afford. Sometimes growing up is owning a home that nobody told you would need constant fixing, that it would be problem after problem with no adult to help because once you step over that threshold you are the adult. Sometimes it's only being able to truly understand yourself at 26 and suddenly the whole world is wrong and different and you have to go to work on Monday as if the sky is falling down around you. Sometimes growing up is realising that the sunrise on your commute to work is the only time you feel truly alive, that you both love and hate the city but you don't know anything else. Sometimes growing up is too much. It's just so hard trying to pretend otherwise.

[fox-guardian]

Commissions are now OPEN!

[ID: A commission sheet with a purple, green, and orange background. A header reads "Fox-Guardian's Commissions!" with their fursona -- an orange, green, and purple fox with tentacle horns -- pointing to themself and saying "That's me!" Below are examples or different types of commissions. The first row is sketch commissions featuring Samama Khalid standing awkwardly with a confused expression. The first is less detailed and uncolored with more cartoony proportions and is marked as $10. The second is more detailed and uncolored with more realistic proportions and is $20. The last is the same level of detail as the second, now with flat colors, and is $30. The second row are lined commissions featuring Falin Touden standing and waving with a smile while holding her staff. Each are marked with lines for bust, waist-up, and fully body sizes with prices at each level. The uncolored lineart prices are $20, $25, and $30 respectively. The flat colored prices are $55, $60, and $65. And the fully rendered prices are $85, $90, and $95. Below is a footer with OP's fursona doodled at the bottom saying "I accept USD via Paypal! DM me for my order form!" and a list of things they will, won't, and might draw as follows: Will Draw: - Furries/Anthros - Humans/Humanoids - Non-explicit pinups - Simple robots

Won't Draw: - Explicit NSFW - Offensive/Hate - Mechas - Real people

Might Draw: - Gore (Realistic or Pastel) - Non-humanoid Monsters - Pets/Non-humanoid animals

end ID]

~~~~

I am opening THREE (3) commission slots for the time being!!

Not doing backgrounds, just a flat color, either your choice or white (or transparent)

Up to 2 characters, each will be priced fully (i.e. a Colored Sketch of one character is $30, so a Colored Sketch of two would be $60)

I'll do fanart or OCs

the rendering style isn't strictly the mostly cell-shaded, partial soft shaded style shown here if you'd prefer a different one i've done before. whichever you pick would be the same price <3

as the sheet says, DM me if you are interested and I will send you a link to my commission google form where you place your order, and will get back to you on whether or not I accept within 3 days of your form being submitted!

a couple more notes:

payment is upfront, and commissions over $30 must be paid partially upfront and partially throughout the process

if you are not 100% certain you will have the money to pay for a commission, please do not order one (if you get a big one tho and realize you can't afford the full thing after it's partially completed, we can arrange a downgrade so you can afford it if you'd like)

whether or not I accept a commission depends mostly on whether or not I feel I have the skill to execute it well. even it fits into the "will-draw" criteria, I may still not accept it

more information can be found in my form, thankies a bunchies uwu <3