#extraordinary rendition

[lefemmerougewriter]

Flight of the Eagle and the Rise of President Sandiego

Carmen begins her plan to seize power in the most powerful country on Earth. Can Zack and Ivy stop her before it is too late?

Characters: Carmen Sandiego, Zack, Ivy, The Chief, Mr. X (Original character)

Friendships: Zack and Ivy

Romantic pairings: None

Words: 774

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53671957

Wattpad: N/A

Quotev: N/A

A/N: I originally wrote this short fic on my phone a while back, but decided to finish it up before publication. It is a pretty wild ride. I might end up continuing it one day.

The date was January 27, 2000. Explosions rocked the joint session of Congress where President Bill Clinton was giving his State of the Union address. He and his cabinet advisors were incapacitated by the rubble. The designated survivor for an event such of this was Bill Richardson, then the Secretary of Energy. However, he never had a chance. He was quickly kidnapped and disappeared to who knows where. The screen cackled and a broadcast came on every channel. A voice began speaking. It came from a woman dressed in red fedora, coat, and red high-heels. It was the infamous Carmen Sandiego.

"Fellow Americans, you may know me as the infamous thief known across the world. But, like all of you, I am interested in order and bringing the criminals who perpetrated this horrible crime to justice. In a time of great turmoil, we need order, instead of disorder. With my organization and ability, I can bring stability to this country. As of now, I am assuming the office of the Presidency of the United States and will bring the wicked criminals who did this to justice. I would like to say..."

The screen turned off. Ivy and Zack were aghast. How could Carmen engage in such a naked coup to seize power? Didn't anyone else see her plans, that she was a malicious actor? Wasn't it obvious that the explosion in Congress and the kidnapping of Bill Richardson were perpetrated by Carmen? Zack asked what everyone was thinking: "Chief, what should we do now? Everyone thinks that Carmen is a savior, bringing order and stability."

The Chief sighed. "Well, catching Carmen is still our top priority. Gumshoes, I don't trust her cleaned up act. You need to nab her...in the act, and stop this coup d'etat." Ivy took his words to heart. She declared, "Player, C5 us to the Oval Office, White House, Washington, D.C." The narrator began speaking.

"You are leaving sunny, San Francisco, and going to Washington, D.C., the capital of the U.S.A. The White House was first built in the 1790s but was burned down by the British on August 24, 1814. It was then rebuilt, with work by enslaved and free laborers. Since then, it has been the permanent place of residence for all U.S. presidents, the center of the U.S. government and the executive branch. Next stop, Washington, D.C.!"

Zack and Ivy arrived in front of the resolute desk, surprising Carmen. She was dressed in a red suit, but with wearing her trademark red fedora, and facing away from them. Ivy, putting her hands on the desk, shouted. "Carmen, the buck stops here! You are under arrest for your terrorism, kidnapping, and an illegal coup d’état!"

Carmen chuckled like conniving hyena. She shook her head. "Oh, Ivy, how wrong you are. While you, and Zack, are here much earlier than I expected, I can use your impolite interruption to my advantage. Guards, take them away!"

Not long after, Ivy and Zack were handcuffed by the surrounding Secret Service personnel and taken away. Carmen began a new speech, again addressed at the American people. It was the perfect excuse for her to take absolute power. Zack and Ivy had played right into her hands, as she had expected. As Zack and Ivy they were taken away in cuffs, the screen crackled:

"Tonight, two individuals tried to arrest me. They wanted me behind bars. But it is them that should be imprisoned. Those two people, Zack and Ivy, are agents of a secret organization, ACME, which might as well be called the American Crime Management Extraordinaires. What we need now is a war on these evildoers. ACME must be crushed. We will hunt them down from the bay of Biscay to the shores of Tokyo. This is something that must be won, it must be victorious. I ask for your blessing in bringing these criminals to justice."

The broadcast ended. Dr. X, one of her closest advisors, was worried. He wasn't sure she was doing the right thing. He asked, "Ma'am, do we really want to destroy ACME? Wouldn't it be better to keep them around?"

Carmen brushed off his question and cackled. "Why, of course, I don't want to destroy them. They are a worthy adversary. The whole thing is a schlep. I just need them as an excuse to stay in power. There is no need to crush ACME. Instead, I will only have individual agents apprehended, using the powerful tool of extraordinary rendition. It is all too easy to commit terrorism, to instill fear for political ends.”

To be continued...

End note: For information on presidential succession, I used webpages from thoughtco, infoplease, politico, refinery29, mvets.law.gmu.edu, senate.gov, popsugar, presidency.ucsb.edu, and bestlifeonline. The Carmen Sandiego speech at the end is somewhat inspired by an Anti-Flag song, “Mind The G.A.T.T.” Also the part about the "schlep" was undoubtedly inspired by that episode of Futurama ("A Taste of Freedom") where Zoidberg's people do a show of force to convince DOOP to back off. This fic is a bit cynical of how easy it is to seize power in this country, but that's part of the point.

[alabingo]

Extraordinary rendition: Nnamdi Kanu's brother challenges UK in London court

Extraordinary rendition: Nnamdi Kanu’s brother challenges UK in London court

A lawsuit accusing the British government of refusing to acknowledge that jailed Biafran separatist leader Nnamdi Kanu was the victim of extraordinary rendition to Nigeria began at a court in London on Tuesday. The hearing in the case, brought by Kanu’s brother, comes after Nigeria’s Court of Appeal on Oct. 13 dropped seven terrorism charges against Kanu, but did not acquit him. Nigeria’s Court…

[tam--lin]

Apparently the speech and debate league I was deeply involved with in highschool is featured in Shiny Happy People and no one except my mother thought this was worth mentioning!!!

[hyperions-fate]

The sight of Kamala Harris praising Dick Cheney and welcoming his endorsement is unsurprising but wretched all the same. Extraordinary rendition, systematic torture, and the annihilation of hundreds of thousands of Afghans and Iraqis - these are just trivialities for respectable American liberals, who invoke Trump's malevolence and uncouthness only to excuse their own love for empire.

[cowboybutxh]

and...i need u more than want u,,,

AND...

i want you for all time...

n i'm supposed topretend to be normal after this . no.

[wonies-cheeks]

The First Date | p.js

Genre: fluff, romance

W/C: 1.1k

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••✩⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱

On a clear, starry night in Seoul, Jay had planned something special for you. The first date. He wanted to make this evening unforgettable, so he went all out to ensure every detail was perfect. He had chosen a rooftop restaurant known for its stunning city views and exquisite cuisine. Jay arrived early, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that highlighted his sharp features and confident demeanor. The rooftop was adorned with fairy lights, casting a soft, romantic glow over the elegantly set tables. A live string quartet played softly in the background, adding to the enchanting atmosphere. The evening was perfect, and the anticipation of a first date hung in the air like the scent of roses. 

When you arrived, Jay's eyes lit up. You looked stunning, dressed in a chic outfit that perfectly matched the elegance of the evening and showed off all your beautiful curves. He greeted you with a warm smile and a gentle kiss on the cheek that immediately put you at ease, taking your hand and leading you to the table near the edge of the rooftop, where the view of the city was breathtaking.  

As you settled in, Jay poured you each a glass of sparkling wine. "I hope you like it," he said, his eyes shining with excitement. "I've been looking forward to tonight." 

You shared stories and laughter, the conversation flowing easily. Jay's charm and genuine interest in you made you feel special and cherished. The first course arrived; a beautifully plated appetizer that looked almost too good to eat. Jay watched with satisfaction as you took the first bite and your eyes widened in delight. 

Throughout the evening, Jay continued to surprise you with thoughtful gestures. Between courses, he produced a small, wrapped box from his pocket. "I got you something," he said, a hint of shyness in his voice. Inside was a delicate bracelet, its design simple yet elegant, just like the evening he had planned. 

Your eyes sparkled with happiness as you accepted the gift, and Jay felt a warm sense of accomplishment. He reached across the table to hold your hand, his thumb gently tracing circles on your skin. 

The main course was served, and you two enjoyed the delicious meal, sharing bites and discussing your work life. The city lights twinkled below you both, and the music from the quartet seemed to weave around you, creating a bubble of intimacy that felt like your own little world. 

As the night drew to a close, Jay stood and extended his hand. "Would you like to dance?" he asked. Heart pounding, you accepted, allowing him to lead you to the small dance floor in the corner of the roof. The quartet played a beautiful rendition of a classic love song, the notes wrapping around you like a tender embrace. 

You placed your hand in Jay's, feeling the warmth of his touch. His other hand gently rested on your waist, and you moved closer, your bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music. The world around you seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you in a moment of pure magic. 

As you danced, Jay's eyes never left yours. His gaze was filled with a mix of affection and wonder, making you feel cherished and special. The soft lighting highlighted his features, casting a glow that made everything seem dreamlike. You swayed gently to the music as Jay's arms wrapped around you protectively.  

You moved in perfect harmony, each step bringing you closer together. The music, the atmosphere, and the chemistry between you created an unforgettable experience. Your heart raced with every turn and dip, but Jay’s steady presence reassured you, making you feel safe and adored. 

In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of the restaurant and the enchanting music, you realized how extraordinary this night was. It was more than just a first date; it was the beginning of something special, a memory you would cherish forever. 

Under the starlit sky, with the city as their backdrop, you shared a tender moment. Jay leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "Thank you for tonight," he whispered. "You've made it perfect." 

You looked up at him, eyes filled with affection. "No, thank you, Jay. This has been magical." 

 You found yourself looking deeply into those brown eyes. His eyes were rich and warm, like the earth after a spring rain, full of depth and quiet strength. They held a universe of unspoken emotions, each glance revealing a new layer of his soul. 

His breath mingled with yours, the intimate proximity creating an illusion where only the two of you existed. You could see the faint reflections of the surrounding world in his irises, but what captivated you most was the way his eyes softened, filled with tenderness and vulnerability. 

In those brown eyes, you saw a silent conversation, a blend of understanding and connection that words could never fully capture. They held a promise of trust, of shared moments and future dreams. The subtle flicker of his gaze, the way his pupils dilated slightly, mirrored your own emotions, creating a silent symphony of shared feelings. 

He smiled, his heart swelling with happiness. "Then let's make sure we have many more nights like this." 

As the final notes of the song played, Jay gently lifted your chin, his fingers soft and warm against your skin. In that quiet, intimate space, he closed the distance, his lips brushing softly against yours in a small, loving kiss. It was a kiss that conveyed everything—a whisper of love, a promise of more to come, and a testament to the connection you had just shared. The touch was light, almost hesitant, as if savouring the moment and the newfound closeness.

Your heart fluttered, and a warm, tingling sensation spread through you. The kiss was tender and gentle, filled with the sweetness of new love and the excitement of endless possibilities. It was a moment that felt both timeless and fleeting, leaving you with a sense of longing for more. 

As you slowly pulled back, your eyes met again, and a shy, joyous smile spread across your faces.  The stars above seemed to shine a little brighter, as if they were witnesses to the love and joy shared on that unforgettable night. 

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••✩⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Rita Moreno (Singin' in the Rain, West Side Story)—She’s an EGOT, an absolute legend for how she navigated her career as a woman of color in the fifties and sixties. Her performance as Anita in West Side Story is why I go back to that movie so many times. She is an icon and she is the moment.

Deanna Durbin (Lady on a Train, First Love, It Started With Eve)—Charming, witty, absolutely gorgeous, and an unprecedented vocal talent, Deanna Durbin remains one of the most formidable performers of her generation. Her knack for comedy, her command of dramatic material, and her endearingly genuine nature were more than a match for her extraordinary voice. We have not and shall not see her like again.

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Rita Moreno propaganda:

"Amazing showstopping actress in her one big memorable role as Anita in West Side Story. She sings and dances with unmatched joy and energy, and then breaks your heart with her acting. Rita took a role that felt as a stereotype to latina women and made it compelling and multifaceted. Her subsequent career was filled with mostly side roles, but she still managed to excel in whatever Hollywood threw at her."

"It’s Rita!! The EGOT herself! She can act, she can sing, she can dance, a triple threat. Obviously absolutely iconic as Anita in West Side Story (her part of the Tonight Quintet is the sexiest part of the film, fight me). But before that she was the amazing Zelda in Singin’ In the Rain!?! Thanks Zelda, you’re a real pal."

"She continues to be amazing but also she's got legs for days."

"THEE iconic rita moreno, EGOT winner, civil rights activist, theatre legend. watch her documentary "Rita Moreno: Just a Girl Who Decided to Go for It". also her rendition of "fever" on the muppet show"

[loving-n0t-heyting]

Mauritania has had no executions since 1987 and maintains an incarceration rate of ~.05%. Since 2015 it has maintained a UN-affiliated national preventive mechanism for the detection and prevention of torture, and (perhaps most significantly) has no global history of orchestrating campaigns of coups, disappearances, extraordinary renditions, or similar forms of state terrorism against political undesirables far beyond their nominal jurisdiction. The idea of the United States sitting in judgement over their respect or disrespect for the rights of religious/political criminals and dissidents is absurd

[broomsick]

Cairns erected in honor of the semi-legendary hero Egill Skallagrímsson. They trace a path that leads from Reykjavík to Borgarnes, West Iceland, where the sorcerer and poet was born. Skallagrímsson was especially renowed for his ability to get out of sticky situations using his wits. He notably convinced equally legendary King Eiríkr Bloodaxe (Erik I) to spare his life by composing in a single night a poem of praise, Höfuthlausn ("Head Ransom").

"On his golden arm The bright shield swings: To his foes, harm: To his friends, rings; His fame's a feast Of glorious war, His name sounds east, From shore to shore.

And now my lord, You've listened long As word on word I built this song: Your source is war, Your streams are blood, But my springs pour Great Odin's flood."

Egill's Saga, chapter 63

Another one of Skallagrímsson's works is the Sonatorrek, or "The loss of sons", written circa 1220–1240. The emotional nature of the text has made it a prime example of the extraordinary beauty of skaldic poetry, and a classic of the art.

"I can hardly move my tongue or lift up the steelyard of song; now there is little hope of Viðurs theft, nor is it easy to draw it out of the hiding place of the mind.

It is not easy, because of my heavy sobbing, to let flow from the mind's place the joyful find of the kinsmen of Frigg, which in times of yore was carried away from the lands of giants."

Egill's Saga, chapter 81

I personally greatly enjoyed Einar Selvik's rendition in the album Skald, which I will link below. I highly recommend giving it a listen if you've read the text and enjoyed it!

[justforbooks]

Who was Lee Miller?

Why the model-turned-war photographer is finally getting her due

A surrealist with an incisive eye, finding the beauty and absurdity of everyday life. A model who posed for Vogue and sat for Pablo Picasso and Man Ray, but whose fashion career was suddenly cut short. A war photographer who embedded with the US military to chronicle the harrowing events of World War II — and posed defiantly in Hitler’s bathtub on the day of his death.

Lee Miller was an American artist who remade herself many times without straying from the principles that guided her life and career. When she died in 1977, her photographic work had largely been forgotten; her own family was unaware of the scope of her practice, and what she witnessed in the war, until they found her cache of negatives. Now, five decades later, she’s the subject of the Kate Winslet-led biopic “Lee,” which premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in September, as well as a recent monograph of her work and an exhibition at mega-gallery Gagosian in New York, where some of her prints were for sale.

Her son, photographer Antony Penrose — whose father was the British surrealist painter Roland Penrose, whom Miller married in 1947 — has made it his life’s work to bring attention to his mother’s legacy. He co-directs her archive with his daughter, Ami Bouhassane, and has authored multiple books about Miller, including the most recent, “Lee Miller: Photographs.” For the past decade, he’s consulted on “Lee” as it came together, and has finally begun its run in both the United Kingdom and Spain.

“There were movies proposed and very nearly made before,” Penrose said. “This is the one that we’ve been waiting for, because I feel it is a brilliant rendition of Lee’s life, values and personality.”

He still recalls how “bewildering” it was when he and his late wife, Suzanna, found some 60,000 of her negatives and prints in their attic shortly after Miller’s death. She had developed a unique surrealist way of looking at the world, capturing everyday eccentricities that play with the viewer’s perception: a scratched-up door at a jewelry store becomes a small explosion of sparks; tar spilled on the street glistens darkly like some deep-sea or cave-bound creature.

But her range was staggering. Here was Elsa Schiaparelli supine among two cheetah sculptures, and Marlene Dietrich posing in dramatic sun in the designer’s ruched house coat. Here was a crowd of people spitting on four women, their heads shaved, as they went to trial for accusations of associating with Nazis. Here were the bodies of concentration camp victims in Dachau, and the liberated prisoners standing over a pile of human bones.

“None of us — and that includes my father — knew the scope of Lee’s work, particularly her war work,” Penrose said of his mother. “She deliberately didn’t tell him what was going on, because she didn’t want him to be worried.”

After the war, Miller struggled with depression and alcohol dependency, decades before post-traumatic stress disorder — and its symptoms — was officially recognized. When the occasional curator or art historian would turn up to better understand the depth of her work, Penrose said Miller would deflect the focus and downplay her career. It’s only been through her archive that he was able to understand the life she lived.

“It was a voyage of discovery,” Penrose added. “It was like finding a person that we had not known before — way beyond our kind of understanding and knowledge.”

Reinventing herself

For many years, Miller was remembered primarily for her modeling work in New York and with the reductive label of “muse” during her time in Paris. She sat for Pablo Picasso as he painted her in lurid yellow and green, illustrating her “extraordinary wit and liveliness… and a very bold, confrontational approach to life,” according to Jason Ysenburg, a director at Gagosian and co-curator of the gallery’s show “Lee Miller and Friends”.

She was also often remembered — but not credited — for her portrait collaborations with Man Ray, with whom she was romantically involved and remained friends throughout her life.

“Those images of Lee were as much by Lee as by Man Ray,” added Richard Calvocoressi, the show’s other co-curator.

Miller has been described by many as a supermodel on the cusp in her early twenties, a period just before she met Man Ray. But she was seemingly blacklisted by fashion clients overnight, after a portrait of her by the photographer Edward Steichen was licensed for a Kotex ad promoting menstrual products.

“She absolutely came to a crash stop. Nobody wanted the Kotex girl modeling their frocks,” Penrose said. “She didn’t even know that the photograph was going to be used for that purpose — it was bought through an agency.”

Though Miller used the setback as a sign to shift her practice, sexist social structures continued to shape her career. Art historians and curators of the 20th century relegated female surrealists — many of whom appear in Miller’s images, like the painter Leonora Carrington and the photographer Dora Maar — to the sidelines of the movement when they were, in actuality, crucial figures; Penrose recalls that his own father referred to them more as “muses” than artists in their own right, despite their prolific outputs.

But despite the imbalances within their group, Miller’s time with her friends ahead of World War II was seemingly idyllic. She’d left Paris in 1932 for New York when her relationship with Man Ray ended, and then unexpectedly married Egyptian businessman Aziz Eloui Bey and moved to Cairo. When she spent the summer of 1937 back in Paris and met Roland, it sparked a two-year affair (and series of love letters when they were apart), that eventually resulted in the dissolution of her marriage.

Some of Miller’s emblematic images of the period show their vacations across the south of France from beach outings with Roland, Picasso and Maar and the model Ady Fidelin, to a picnic that has drawn comparisons to Édouard Manet’s famed painting “Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe” as a topless Fidelin is pictured alongside Man Ray, the poet Paul Éluard and artist Nusch Éluard.

But as Ysenburg points out, the tumult of the era had already begun — Nazism brewed in Germany and the Spanish Civil War broke out, prompting Picasso’s monumental and career-defining work “Guernica” which was painted the same year Miller returned to Paris.

“It was a community that in the sense that they were friends and lovers,” Ysenburg explained. “It seemed a very carefree time for them in a world that was changing very quickly.”

She saw ‘what we’re missing’

Many artists fled Europe in the 1940s, and Miller could have gone back to New York to safety, Penrose said. But she’d settled down with Roland in London and refused to leave, instead becoming a photojournalist for British Vogue, documenting women who were contributing to the war efforts, and taking both fashion and street images during the Blitz.

Later, she was accredited as an official correspondent with the US armed forces — one of just four such female photographers. During this period, in Normandy and in Munich she worked closely with the Life photojournalist David E. Scherman. Together, they entered Hitler’s apartment with soldiers on April 30, 1945, the same day that Hitler shot himself in his bunker in Berlin. Just that morning, Miller and Scherman had taken photographs in Dachau; Miller tracked mud from the concentration camp all over the apartment’s floor before stripping down to pose in the bathtub. She took the same photo of Scherman, who was Jewish, as well.

“Those boots carried her that morning around the concentration camp, and now she’s grinding the filth of that place into Hitler’s nice clean bathroom,” Penrose said. “They prove that she’s not there as a guest in his house. She’s a victor.”

Even as Miller faced the harrowing effects of the war across Europe — sights that would take a toll on her in its aftermath — she still maintained her keen artist’s eye. After all, she believed there was nothing “more surrealist, more mad, more nightmarish” than the war, according to Calvocoressi.

“Even in the most dangerous and demanding circumstances, she’s still looking out for weird, quirky images,” Penrose said. “I find that that so endearing — the hallmark of her artistry is just to see what we’re missing.”

Miller took her last assignment for Vogue in the early 1950s, as Penrose notes that she could no longer meet deadlines because of her declining mental health. But she didn’t stop photographing, taking some 1,000 photographs of Picasso as Roland worked on his biography, which published in 1958.

Penrose said that throughout the course of her career, she was always “looking for the metaphor” in her surroundings. Of the many poetic moments she captured, one took place in front of the Vienna Opera House in Austria’s capital in late 1945 amid the lingering destruction of war. Framed by twisted metal support beams and rubble, the soprano Irmgard Seefried is photographed singing an aria from the Italian opera “Madame Butterfly,” in what Penrose believes to be an image set up by Miller — who captured her with arms outstretched, completely in silhouette.

“In a way, it’s a reversal, because you would have expected the singer to be beautifully lit from all kinds of sources.” Penrose explained.

“Gone is the costume. gone is any kind of glamorization… what we have is this absolute passion, about the triumph of art over destruction.”

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[sgiandubh]

Jottings: Season 7, Episode 2. Nothing compares to them

A tiny, but welcome disclaimer: I have not read all the OL books yet, so do not expect witty repartees and connecting the dots with the current book follow-up by the series. In fact, I am still struggling right now with Voyager, after I gave a resolute middle finger and an excruciating amount of time to Dragonfly in Amber, which bored me to death with its sketchy depiction of eighteenth-century Paris. Unpopular opinion, I know: I can't help it, since I consider Paris, for many personal reasons, as my second, beloved home.

There go my two cents, with little to no spoilers. There is much to savor in there:

I thought I couldn't bear to watch one more single time Sinéad O'Connor's rendition of ye olde Skye Boat Song. I was wrong. I think it is exactly what this season needs: a bit bruised & battered & breathless. The perfect tinge of rough around the edges. This is no walk in the park and hers is the right cue, setting the tone for all the rest.

Vlachos. Excellent. Loved every second of it.

I suppose everybody will talk about the Look Jamie gave Claire right after Insufferable Bree gives birth to wee Mandy. I cackled all by myself, which is not even surprising. And so will you, Shippers United. Mark me.

SS upgraded a bit her game, to the extent she doesn't sound all the time like reciting United Airlines' flight schedule. She and Rankin finally manage to pull off a decent rapport (chemistry will always be at a deep-frozen 0). So, rejoice: at least they don't look like the mean troop leader forced them to share the same tent at Camp Sunrise. It's all fine and dandy, until she relaxes and slips back into that horrific, East Coast wannabe accent. Sorry, not sorry.

Did Lizzie say ”Fraser's Fridge”, when reading the birth announcement, or am I hearing things again? Now that's an earworm, sheesh...

Vandervaart looks promising enough, but what do I know, after a two-minutes scene with SS? Court is adjourned.

LJG & JAMMF, what a powerful, ambiguous, elegant scene. Tension is mounting, and this is when you crack open the Netflix & Chill'd ice cream bucket. It will come in handy, trust me.

The fireflies' scene was the death of me. There is something extraordinary about S's superb ability to speak volumes without uttering a single word. There is so much love and such despair to capture Bree's face, Bree's voice, Bree's alien joy when she mentions damn Mickey Mouse, and keep them forever. Did I ugly cry? I let out a sincere Fuuuuuck and couldn't help it. This is when the box of tissues came in handy, and you know, damn the consequences.

Dear (?) Diana Gabaldon: GET THAT WONDERFUL MAN THROUGH THE STONES, WHERE THERE'S PENICILLIN AND A HOT BATH AND A HIGHER AVERAGE LIFE EXPECTANCY, STAT.

Yeah, sure. She missed that point five seasons ago, why do I even bother?

Spoiler: "What was it like.... there? It was.... magical". BOOO-HOOO-HOOO (I have no qualms).

Jeremiah's wooden toy plane in the streets of Wilmington and then the real thing across the sky, just after the little family gets through the stones. Clever reminder of that plane landing in Boston, with Claire, Bree and TMcG... ho-hum ... Frank Randall, after Culloden.

And finally, since I would really like to let you enjoy the wonderful last quarter of it, Jamie and Claire. That unspeakable tenderness that keeps us all completely spellbound. This is S&C acting, how could it be otherwise: and splendid, at that. But their acting, since that chemistry test, is informed by clear, present, deep feelings. We know. They know we know.

And they got their mojo back. I always hoped and prayed they will go out with a bang, not a fizzle. And it seems I was right. Fingers crossed. I trust them and, as always, I trust my gut.

[soup-mother]

remember when trump got elected and everyone in like Australia/canada/the uk etc were acting like the US was suddenly an unstable, chaotic and belligerent nation as if that's not what they've been like literally the entire time.

*having an extraordinary rendition agreement with the US so they can kidnap and torture people with our help* "well good thing they're not being more open about it! everyone is totally normal and fine and noone is being harmed ever"

[skarlette1]

Extraordinary Rendition

“I’ll never talk, you fuckers!” shouted the super villainess Mynx at her unseen jailers. Her struggles against the leather restraints did nothing to loosen them. “Come in here and ask me your questions, if you think you’re man enough!”

A woman’s voice crackled over a speaker. “No thanks, Mynx. I will rely on my womanly wisdom to stay far away from your seductive touch. Pity you can’t do the same.”

A hiss filled the room. “You can’t gas me! You’re the good guys!” Mynx protested as a musky, spicy scent filled the air. Each breath made the villainess feel good, feel aroused, feel horny. Within moments, Mynx was running her hands over her own belly, using her lust-inducing powers to enhance her pleasure. Before long, she was three fingers deep in her cunt, pouring sexual energy from her hands, desperate to bring herself to orgasm.

“I see you’ve found a side effect of our gas,” said the woman on the speaker. “It increases arousal a hundredfold, but blocks the body’s ability to orgasm. There is an antidote, of course, but you’ll need to be much more cooperative to earn a dose of that.”

Mynx tried to hold out, but her pride dissolved in a pool of acidic lust. “Please. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just let me cum.”

Like what you read? Will you buy me a coffee and suggest something rich to sink my teeth into? Or peer into the depths of my longer fiction?

[mourning-again-in-america]

In 1993, Bill Clinton was pondering whether to authorise what is now called an “extraordinary rendition”, when American agents snatch a suspected terrorist abroad and deliver him to interrogators in a third country. The White House counsel warned that this would be illegal. President Clinton was in two minds until Al Gore walked in, laughed and said: “That's a no-brainer. Of course it's a violation of international law, that's why it's a covert action. The guy is a terrorist. Go grab his ass.”

[crackheadwhohashadenough]

Oh To Not Have You

Pairing: Anthony J Crowley x Male reader (can be read as ftm reader aswell) mentions: strong language, drinking, death, angst, mentions of holy water, swords and mentions of hell fire. And reader is called Raphael once. Please do not read if uncomfortable. Fem aligned don't interact. If there's any warning i left out please let me know -> do not repost, copy or translate my work or post them anywhere. Reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated A/N: This is my first fic that isn't a request and my first good omens request. I apologize in advance if this is too angsty. Also i wanted to credit @fly-flower-fanfics as i got the inspiration to write this from their fic 'I Knew You' go read it, it is quite nice.

𝖠𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝖨 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋. 𝖬𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍’𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗅

Something in the air felt different, it felt like doom was hanging by your shoulder ready to snoop in when it’s time came in.

You sighed and pushed those thoughts aside as you sat on the couch with a Jane Austin novella Aziraphale had lent you to read as he had boasted about it for weeks. Crowley and Aziraphale had decided to meet in St. James Park but you had decided not to go as you felt exhausted from running around all day, yesterday to stop Armageddon.

Crowley and Aziraphale walked over to the vendor “a strawberry lolly and a vanilla with a flake, please” Crowley hands the vendor the money before Aziraphlae asked “how’s the car?”

“Not a scratch on it” was Crowley’s reply as they looked at Aziraphale “how’s the book shop?” aziraphale looks at Crowley “not a smudge” he says slightly suspiciously as he walks to the other side of Crowley “not a book burned, everything back just the way it was” Crowley hands aziraphale his ice-cream before taking her own as aziraphale looks around while asking “you heard from your people yet?” Crowley shakes his head with an almost deep sigh “yours?” he asked aziraphale “nothing”

“Do…you understand-w-what happened yesterday?” Crowley asked as they looked at aziraphale “well, I understand some of it,…but some of it-” aziraphale sighs “well, it’s just bit too…” aziraphale raises his eyebrow only to notice Crowley not looking at him “ineffable” Death interrupts them “oh, that…that’s funny, seeing him here. Th-that’s meant to be bad luck” Crowley wouldn’t like to admit it but he was internally terrified but they didn’t want to think about the what ifs in this moment. In that moment death had disappeared “it’s meant to be bad…” Crowley stammered he turns around to look at aziraphale only to see him gone he turns around again only to see him being dragged away by Uriel and a squad of angels. Crowley was distracted by this whole ordeal but decided to chase after them “stop! Stop them!” some old lady interrupts “what’s wrong, love?” before Crowley can figure out what’s happening the old lady who happens to be hastur who knocks Crowley out “oh, bad luck dear” hastur says mockingly while Crowley groans and faints

Aziraphale was tied to a chair, he tired pulling against the ropes but they were too tight for him to slip his hands out. He hears foot steps behind him and “ah. Aziraphale” he recognizes the voice, it was Gabriel. He patted aziraphale’s shoulder ��so glad you could join us” he said with a forced smile and with sickeningly sweet voice “you could’ve just sent a message, I mean, a kidnapping in broad daylight” Aziraphale says making Gabriel shrug “call it what it was: an extraordinary rendition” he chuckles as aziraphale fakes a small smile “now, have we heard from our new associate?” Gabriel asks only for Uriel to reply “he’s on his way” Gabriel smiles “he’s own his way. I think you are going to like this” he walks towards aziraphale who raises his eyebrows “I really do…and I bet you didn’t see this one coming” Gabriel leans forward as he says that, the only reaction aziraphale could muster was a forced smile.

Meanwhile down in hell Crowley was facing his trial for using holy water on another demon “Creatures of Hell, you have heard the evidence against the demon known as Crowley. What’s your verdict?” Beelzebub addresses the demons behind the glass window, there were shouts of ‘guilty’ from them “do you have anything to say before we take our vengeance out on you?” Beelzebub says as Crowley turns around from looking at the glass window “what’s it to be?” he asks as he shrugs “an eternity in the deepest pits of hell?” he continues but hastur interrupts Crowley “no no, we’re going to do something even worse…Letting the punishment fit the crime” in that moment arch angel Michael arrives carrying a jug of holy water, they pour the liquid into the bathtub after hastur refuses to pour it himself as he had seen what it could do…

Aziraphale could sense something was wrong, he could sense someone else’s presences, someone close to him.

{Flashback} Crowley smiled at you “I wish you could come with angel” they said as you smiled at them “I wish I could too, I’m just a little exhausted after yesterday” Crowley couldn’t help but pull you in a hug, she rarely showed her softer side, something that was usually reserved for you “I’m glad you are okay” they whispered before pulling away and kissing you gently… Crowley left to meet aziraphale at the park but the moment he stepped out they could sense something different in the air but the moment he saw aziraphale who had a look of worry on his face, they knew that indeed something was wrong. Aziraphale went on to explain what he had found out before putting out the idea of them switching bodies and here they were now {Flashback ends}

The presences was too familiar for aziraphale (Crowley) to ignore as soon as he realized he felt panicked but he needed to not show any emotions “you don’t get this view down in the basement” he hears someone’s voice, before recognizing them as a demon, the demon walked further. Aziraphale (Crowley) looked at the demon before his eyes landed on…You. You who was being dragged by two lower grade demons. Your eyes widened a little as you see aziraphale their but his presences was different, it wasn’t aziraphale’s presences but it was still a lot familiar for you to ignore. Then the realization hit you, it was Crowley, they both switched bodies, the eye contact you held with aziraphale (Crowley) was cut short as the demon ignites…Hell fire “What are you trying to do Gabriel?!” You looked at the archangel Gabriel “well, with one act of treason you averted the war” aziraphale (Crowley) looks at you to see you looking at Gabriel before you say “well, I think the greater good…” Gabriel cuts you off “don’t talk to me about the greater god sunshine. I’m the archangel fucking Gabriel” you were a little shocked to see no one other than Gabriel cursing “the greater good was we were finally going to settle things with the opposition once and for all” Uriel walks over to you and unties your tied hands, aziraphale (Crowley) wanted to shout for them to not hurt you but hurt them instead, he saw how your wings unfolded, they took a deep breath as it clicked what might happen, you look confused at Gabriel before you shook your head as the realization hit of what was at hand “you can’t-you can’t do that Gabriel…taking an angels wings is shaming them” Gabriel smiles “well that would do you good seeing how you have relations with demon Crowley” aziraphale(Crowley) looked at you as you licked your lips, you felt like you were a little child who begged to not be punished for stealing some sweets “ba-banish me…banish me from heaven for all I care Gabriel, but not my wings, I’m not going to let you shame me like that, no-not in front of all of them!” you could feel tears prickle your eyes making you blink them away, you didn’t like crying or showing vulnerable emotions, something you always encouraged Crowley to show, well it wouldn’t be wrong to call you a hypocrite.

You could feel aziraphale’s (Crowley’s) eyes on you but you didn’t want to look up but you couldn’t stop yourself as you heard his shout “take my wings Gabriel! Take them but leave them alone” Aziraphale (Crowley) was trying hard not to show who he truly was, crowley knew the only thing you truly cared for about yourself were your wings it took a long time for you to let them touch your wings, he knew you couldn’t live with the pain and the shame, deep down Crowley always felt like you dated him cause you pitied her but that was far from the truth and you had always made sure they knew that even if you both ever had fights or arguments.

{Flashback} As you walked out of the bedroom with a book in your hand and a cup of tea you had noticed the change of atmosphere in the apartment, you sensed Crowley’s restlessness. You looked at him, concern etched across your face “Crowley, what’s gotten into you?” crowley shot you a playful grin, mischief glittering in his eyes like malevolent stars “You know, I've been feeling a bit nostalgic lately. Thought I might pay a little visit to our friends down below. Stir things up a bit, you know?" You set your book and cup of tea down on the counter, the unease in your gut growing stronger “crowley, you can’t be serious. You are not thinking of causing trouble in hell, are you?” She waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, nothing too major. Just a little chaos, a few practical jokes. Keeps the place lively, you know?" You stood up, your voice taking on a more serious tone. "Crowley, this isn't a good idea. Hell isn't exactly on the best terms with you right now." Crowley's grin faltered slightly, but they quickly recovered. "Oh, come on, angel. They'll get over it. Besides, it's all in good fun." You approached him, your expression stern. "It's not just about them 'getting over it.' You remember what happened last time. It turned into a mess." Crowley's eyes narrowed, and their tone taking on a defensive note. "Are you doubting my ability to handle my own kind?”

"It's not about your ability, Crowley," you replied firmly. "It's about the potential consequences. You might enjoy pushing boundaries, but this time it could lead to something worse." Crowley turned away, their frustration visible. "You're being overly cautious."

"I'm being realistic," you countered, your voice unwavering as you stepped closer. "I know you're powerful, Crowley. But sometimes power alone isn't enough to fix things." Crowley's shoulders slumped a little, and her gaze softened. "You're right. I just... I get caught up in the thrill sometimes." You reached out and placed a hand on her arm. "I understand that, Crowley. But we have to face the reality of the situation. Times have changed." They sighed against your touch, their arms wrapping around you. "I can't help but be a bit of a troublemaker." You pulled them into an embrace, letting your warmth and affection envelop them. "I wouldn't have you any other way. Just promise me you'll think twice before you jump into something like this." He looked down at you, his eyes softening as they met yours. "You really do care about me, don't you?" you couldn’t help but smile softly "Of course I do," you whispered, your fingers tracing soothing patterns on her back. "I love you, Crowley, even when you're being mischievous." She leaned into the embrace, her forehead resting against yours. "I love you too, more than anything." {Flashback ends}

Gabriel smiles sarcastically “oh but aziraphale you see, we have something for you too…you aren’t going unscathed sunshine” you looked at aziraphale (Crowley) fear striking you deep, aziraphale (Crowley) tries to reason with Gabriel “I don’t suppose I can persuade you to reconsider?” Gabriel looks at aziraphale (Crowley) seriously “I’m sorry but the decision is already made” Gabriel’s voice dripped with malice “we’re supposed to be the good guys, for heaven’s sake.” Uriel hands Gabriel the sword “well, for heaven’s sake, we are meant to make examples out of traitors. Hence…no wings” with that the two lower grade demons grabbed your wings as Gabriel wasted no time slicing through them at the base, you were hit with excruciating pain but you didn’t want to scream, you didn’t want to give Gabriel the satisfaction of your pain. After that moment everything was dark, you didn’t notice what was happening until you felt your body thump onto the ground making you groan and try to pick yourself up somehow. Your whole body ached from the pain of falling from heaven, if Crowley was here he would’ve laughed at that but you soon felt like a knife was being drilled into your heart as you thought of Crowley and what he would think of you now, you were fine with the part of being a fallen angel but your wings something you treasured was taken away from you. You looked at your hands, you scoffed noticing how the tips were blackened with your nails turned into claws…

-

Weeks had passed since the events, Crowley sat by the door of his apartment holding one of your sweaters he had gotten you years back. Their heart ached from the pain, the pain of having lost the one good thing they had ever had. Your pained expression kept doing rounds in Crowley’s mind with Gabriel’s words running around in her mind ‘well that would do you good seeing how you have relations with the demon Crowley’ they kept thinking it was their fault that you weren’t here in his arms, telling him that it would be okay.

Memories after memories played in Crowley’s mind as he took a swig from the bottle of talisker scotch, before groaning as his eyes wondered over to the kitchen…

{Flashback} As you strolled into the kitchen of your apartment, Crowley followed along behind you like a lost puppy. The morning had been cozy and warm– breakfast in bed, courtesy of Crowley's culinary expertise (if you could call reheating frozen waffles expertise, that is). You cherished these small, tender moments between you two. But now, duty called, and it was your turn to tackle the aftermath of the meal–washing the dishes. As you ventured further into the kitchen, Crowley's humour had you laughing at something she'd just said. Amidst your laughter, your foot made unexpected contact with the edge of the open cabinet door, and gravity took over. "Fuc-Crowley!" you exclaimed, the words slipping out as your body lurched forward and your dignity took a tumble. Crowley's eyebrows shot up in concern, but that was quickly overtaken by an incredulous look. "My dear, are you practicing your own version of interpretive dance?" they joked. You managed to regain your balance and stood up, rubbing your slightly bruised ego along with your toe. "I'll have you know that our kitchen cabinet just tried to eat me alive," you said, half-joking, half-serious. Crowley chuckled, but her grin soon morphed into a mockingly serious expression. "Ah, you've just discovered our cabinet's hidden agenda, have you? It's a rebellious cabinet, you see. Always yearning for some fresh air." You raised an eyebrow. "Fresh air? It's a kitchen cabinet, not a tree-hugging hippie." Crowley shrugged, their lips curling into an exaggerated pout. "Well, excuse our cabinet for wanting to explore its more…open-minded side." You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his absurd and dramatized reasoning. "Open-minded? More like open-doored!" Crowley gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Are you suggesting our cabinet has some sort of existential crisis, torn between its open and closed states?"

"You started it by leaving it wide open!" you retorted, pointing a playful accusatory finger at her. Crowley's expression turned playful as well, their eyes gleaming mischievously. "Well, if you ask me, it's a clear case of cabinet freedom. Just embrace its rebellious spirit!" You shook your head, still chuckling. "Fine, fine. Next time I'll be sure to consult with the cabinet before attempting to close it." Crowley feigned a sigh of relief. "Finally, cabinet diplomacy at its finest." You both shared a laugh, and with the tension diffused, you turned your attention back to the task at hand – the dishes. But as you began washing, you felt someone’s hand wrapping around your waist “I am sorry for that truly angel” Crowley whispered making you smile and shake your head “now look who is going against our cabinets rebellious spirit” as you said that Crowley laughed knowing you had forgiven them. {Flashback ends}

Crowley had pushed herself to stand up and staggered into the hall with the bottle and sweater in his hand when their eyes drifted to the thermostat in the hallway triggering another memory.

{Flashback} You stepped into your apartment, the memory of a fun lunch with Aziraphale still lingering, a sudden blow of cold air slapped you like an unexpected icy shower. You involuntarily shivered and called out, "Crowley, dear?" There was a pause, and then Crowley's voice floated from somewhere within the apartment, dripping with feigned innocence. "Yes, my sweetheart?" You continued walking further into the living space, brows furrowed as your breath visibly puffed out in the chilly air. "Why is it so cold in here?" you asked, your voice laden with bewilderment. "Oh, is it now?" Crowley replied, an exaggerated gasp in their tone. "Must be the work of that mischievous fairy again." You rolled your eyes, not buying into the act. "Crowley, stop messing around. Did you mess with the thermostat again?" A dramatic sigh emerged from the direction of the thermostat, as if it held all the world's woes. "Darling, I must confess, the thermostat and I have become quite the friends lately. It's nothing personal, really. We just found a common interest in creating an arctic ambiance." You crossed your arms, exasperated. "This isn't funny, Crowley. It's freezing in here!" 

"Oh, come on, angel," Crowley cajoled, her voice dripping with amusement. "Think of it as an opportunity to embrace your inner polar explorer." Your patience was wearing thin. “I don't want to embrace any polar explorer tendencies. I just want a comfortable temperature in my own home!" Crowley's voice took on a faux-hurt tone. "But, my dear, I thought you loved a little chill in the air. You know, sets the stage for warm cozy cuddles and all that." You tried hard not to smile "Cozy cuddles are great, but not when I can see my breath indoors!" you retorted, your tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement now. There was a pause, and then Crowley's voice softened slightly. "Alright, alright, I may have turned the thermostat down a bit." You huffed, torn between annoyance and amusement. "Why would you do that?"

"Oh, just to keep things interesting," Crowley replied with a nonchalant shrug that you could practically hear through their words. "Besides, it's quite amusing watching you walk around like a penguin in our own home." You sighed, giving in to a chuckle despite yourself. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"But you love me for it," Crowley purred, their tone filled with smugness. You shook your head, unable to suppress a smile. "Yes, I suppose I do." The two of you exchanged playful banter for a moment longer before reaching a silent agreement. The thermostat was soon adjusted to a more reasonable temperature, and as the warmth returned to the apartment as you moved to hug Crowley to steal their warmth “you owe me cuddles now” Crowley couldn’t help but smile and kiss your forehead… {Flashback ends}

Crowley felt like he was about to lose it, lose herself. Memories flooded in, each triggered like a cosmic punchline in some never-ending joke. Your laughter, so full of joy, echoed through every room, every hall they entered. With each step, she couldn't help but wonder: What was the point of all this? Why was she being bombarded with memories if you were already taken away from them? It was as if the universe was toying with them, pushing their limits.

Crowley's mind, always curious, couldn't help but question the unfairness of it all. The way things worked above and below seemed twisted. Disagree, and you're cast out. Ask a simple question, and you're condemned. Protect what matters, and you're met with scorn from all sides. The more she thought about it, the more he realized the irony of heaven and hell. They were supposed to stand for righteousness and damnation, but they felt more like an illusion. The very fight between them seemed pointless now, as if both were in the wrong. A scoff escaped Crowley's lips. Heaven and hell, once archenemies, now looked like different sides of the same coin.

What made all worst was the fact both hell and heaven had taken the last thing they cherished. It felt like there was no point in staying and enduring the searing ache every time thoughts of you surfaced. Nothing mattered anymore, everything was cast in shades of grey. Colourless, like it used to be before you, before you entered Aziraphale's bookshop on that rainy day. The day when Crowley's existence gained vibrancy, even in her endless life. Crowley couldn’t help but let out a wry chuckle at the memory when they came face to face with the locker, the locker that held the answer to their emptiness without you. . This was the key to filling the void left by your absence, the answer might be the path to finding you again, even if it meant tolerating a bit of pain. Compared to what you had gone through, it was a small price, Crowley thought. With slightly unsteady hands, he unlocked the locker, revealing a thermos filled with holy water. The solution was within reach—a step away. Seeing the thermos, an idea forms in Crowley’s mind: to end it all. A way to reunite with you, to hold you once more in her embrace. What reason was there to linger in a world that had lost its lustre?

Crowley willed herself to grab the thermos before sliding down the wall, the bottle of talisker scotch sat beside them as they held your sweater close their chest with the thermos of holy water in the other hand, he couldn’t help but laugh “the time has finally come, huh?” he unscrews the top of the thermos seeing the liquid in it shimmered, the soft glow of the room reflecting off its surface. It was a symbol of purity, of divinity, of everything that was meant to be beyond their grasp. A bitter smile tugged at Crowley's lips as she contemplated the ultimate paradox: an immortal demon tempted to consume the very essence that would destroy him.

Crowley took a deep breath before lifting the thermos up to their mouth, memories continued to surge within him, memories of laughter, shared moments, and unspoken promises. Memories of you. But just as their lips grazed the brim of the thermos, a voice broke through the heavy silence. "Crowley."…

{Your pov}𝖶𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒, 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝖠𝗓𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗆𝖾𝖽: 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗃𝗎𝖽𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾? 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗏𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗀𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾, 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖿𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖣𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗎𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗒'𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗒𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖨𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝖽𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗎𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗒'𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌. 𝖨𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖾𝖿𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗁𝗈𝗐, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝖺𝗑 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. {Your pov ends}

Crowley almost wanted to laugh, to laugh at the insanity. Their minds was playing games on them like they thought it was playing when he first saw you in the bookshop. ‘When we first met, something about you felt distant, like a dream I couldn't grasp. Something about you felt made up like you were a fragment of my imagination’ Crowley thought as they closed their eyes hearing your voice again, they wanted to scream and laugh from how delusional he was getting ‘but you breathed life into me, made me feel like I wasn’t lost something I hadn’t felt ever since I fell from heaven and even then it felt like God was playing one of her sinister jokes on me.’ but something snapped when she heard footsteps, when she sensed your presence. Crowley opened his eyes to see you standing there he couldn’t help but actually laugh as he thought ‘God is enjoying this little game’ but as you stepped forward they moved back not knowing how you could be alive despite all logic ‘You literally fell from heaven without wings!’. Crowley shook her head and moved to take the drink of the holy water, not wanting to indulge in Gods little games. They took a sip waiting for the searing pain, to feel their insides burn only for nothing to happen to see you rushing forward, they grabbed the bottle of scotch throwing it at you hoping it would pass through you as he thought you were a mere hallucination but you dodged just in time before rushing over to him “Crowley” you took the thermos from them “y-yo-you did-didn’t” you looked into the thermos before looking at a drunk beyond belief Crowley.

Your eyes, so familiar and kind but they held a mixture of concern and compassion as they met his. As you reached out, your fingers brushed against Crowley's cheek, a jolt of realness coursed through him. The touch was so vivid, so touchable, that it erased any lingering doubts. Crowley's eyes searched yours, searched for the truth they longed to find. "wh-why did you do this?" you asked, your voice soft yet urgent, as if trying to bridge the gap between past and present. Crowley felt a rush of emotions welling up within herself, a mixture of relief, confusion, and a lingering sense of vulnerability. They smiled, a smile that held the weight of years of pain and longing. "I didn't know if you were real" Crowley admitted, their voice carrying the raw honesty of someone who had been pushed to their limits. "The last few weeks I've spent drowning in doubts, in memories that felt like they were slipping through my fingers." his grip on your sweater tightened, as if to ground themselves in the reality. Crowley's gaze dropped, her fingers tracing patterns on the fabric of your sweater. "I thought I was losing my mind, that I was trapped in some sort of twisted dream. And I... I couldn't bear the thought of being alone, of never seeing you again." The vulnerability in their words was visible, a confession of the depths to which he had sunk in his desperation to hold you again.

You were left speechless, Crowley never showed such raw emotions. Yes, they shared what they were feeling but never did he cry in front of you. Crowley had looked up at you again, their eyes glistened with tears as they stained his cheeks “but I’m here now” you whispered trying your best not cry, you had to hold yourself strong so you could reassure crowley that you were indeed real. Crowley’s voice trembled “yes, you are here now, and I... I don't know how to process it. I want to believe, more than anything, but I'm so scared that this is just another cruel trick up God’s sleeve” In that moment, Crowley felt like a wounded soul, caught between the promise of a second chance and the fear of having their heart shattered all over again.

As Crowley's emotions swirled like a hurricane of uncertainty, you looked at her with such tenderness, your voice carried the weight of the connection between the two of you as you whispered “Crowley, look at me. Feel the warmth of my touch. Can you doubt the reality of this moment, when every fibre of your being responds to my presence? Me being here isn’t a twisted trick or a cruel joke. I’m here, with you, by you” Your thumbs brushed away the tears on Crowley’s cheeks. “I’m not a mirage, nor a shadow of the past. I'm right here, by your side.” You reassured them again “Every moment we've shared, every laughter and tear, they're all real, Crowley” Crowley's vulnerability melted in the warmth of your words, their eyes fixed on yours as if seeking solace in the depths of your existence.

As Crowley gradually sobered up, an unspoken question hung in the air, creating a noticeable tension. However, you refrained from addressing it, fearing that he might notice the missing fragment within you. You didn't want him to realize that you were missing a piece of yourself. Amidst their sniffles and a sore throat from weeks of silence, their own voice was shaky yet determined “Angel,” she began “if you were here all along, why…why didn’t you come here sooner?” you looked away from Crowley, a complex web of emotions swirling within you. Confronting the truth of your own feelings seemed daunting, almost unbearable “Raphael… please, tell me.” The name hit you like a ton of bricks. Crowley had never addressed you by that name before, except once, a millennia ago. It carried a weight of history and intimacy that was rare between you two, he usually called you angel or some other term of endearment. “That's not... not my name anymore” you admitted, your voice heavy with the weight of your confession. “I'm... I'm a fallen angel, Crowley. A wingless, fallen angel.”

A mixture of empathy and disbelief crossed Crowley's features. She could sense the self-disgust that had seeped into your words. “I'm a fallen angel too” she softly replied. “Yet, you don't hate me. So, why harbour this hatred for yourself?” Their fingers gently tilted your chin, coaxing you to meet their gaze. However, you turned your eyes away, the intensity of your self-loathing making it impossible to hold his gaze. You started to speak, but your voice quivered, causing you to pause. With a determined shake of your head, you silenced yourself, the words caught in your throat. "You—," you began to say, only to halt as your voice wavered once more. Collecting your thoughts, you continued, "You are just a fallen angel, Crowley. But I… I don't have my wings. I lack possibly the only thing I ever liked about my—myself." You sighed as your voice cracked before continuing “I thought you’d hate me…you’d hate the fact I am broken now. After all an angel without their wings is a laughing stock” The vulnerability in your words struck Crowley deeply. She found it hard to reconcile the image of you, the being she had cherished and admired, with the anguish you were currently wrestling with. Her heart ached, realizing the extent of your inner turmoil, her own feelings welled up inside her.

As Crowley gazed upon you, their eyes softened with a warmth that could melt away the heaviest burdens. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of their lips, a mixture of affection and understanding radiating from their very being. With a gentle touch he cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze back to meet his “listen to me, my dear” Crowley's voice held a soothing rhythm, like a lullaby meant to comfort troubled souls. Something that was so rare for their voice, for Crowley herself “I've seen you through eons, through highs and lows, through darkness and light. Wings or no wings, that doesn't define who you are, what makes you, well, you, goes beyond physical forms and celestial titles.” Crowley could still see the doubt in your eyes as he smiled before he continued “Your kindness, your strength, and your very essence – that's what drew me to you in the first place.” Her thumb brushed away a stray tear that had escaped your eye like you had done for her. Their gentle smile seemed to radiate a kind of tenderness that only they could offer “And believe me, my love, if there's one thing I've come to understand, it's that love transcends all. I've loved you for who you are, for your heart, your spirit, your essence. The wings were just a beautiful accessory to the magnificent soul that you are. So, don't you see? You are cherished, and you are loved – wingless, fallen, or whatever you might be. And as long as I'm here, you'll never face this journey alone. We'll rebuild together, in our own way, with love as our guide.”

In that moment, amidst the fragility of your emotions and the weight of your confessions, a connection tightened between you and Crowley. It was a connection built upon shared struggles, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, you were not alone. And as you both sat there on the floor of Crowley’s well your shared apartment, grappling with your insecurities, a glimmer of understanding sparked, promising the possibility of healing and acceptance.

i hope you all enjoy this, and i hope you all have a good day/night