#fic preview!!

[prosopopeya]

hey btw @marbleflan and i are writing an are you the one au, based on that mtv reality show that is truly so much. fun fact: they aren't allowed to have pens or paper so they can't figure out how to win the show too easily.

anyway recently crowley has been causing chaos so here's some crowley-centric excerpts:

excerpt from cas's POV, brought to you by @marbleflan:

Lisa is next and Castiel feels like the producers really thought they’d get more out of that, but she picks boring Matt. Matt probably appears in fewer frames than even Castiel because he’s so boring he actually recedes into the furniture. Castiel is pretty sure Benny sat on him earlier because he didn’t realize he was occupying the chair already. Lisa says something about bad boys breaking your heart, how she needs something different and Castiel can’t help but roll his eyes. There’s a vast sea of personality types between bad boy and human Ambien tablet. But to each their own.

When Crowley makes his way to the front, the last thing Castiel expects is to hear his own name, yet this is exactly what happens.

“I truly feel as though I’ve made a connection,” he says. “He’s a needy boy, and I have something he needs.” This is all said slickly, like he could be talking about a business transaction or his penis, and despite himself Castiel finds it a little charming. He doesn’t know what kind of connection Crowley thinks they have, since they’ve barely spoken, but he admires the confidence. The thin layer of irony, like maybe he’s making fun of the whole concept of the show, and maybe he’s completely sincere.

Up close, he smells like very expensive cologne. He’s not classically handsome, like Dean, but he’s attractive. Distinctive. He leans over once they’re seated in the too-small stage chair and whispers in Castiel’s ear.

“I can’t wait to ruffle those feathers.”

excerpt from dean's POV, brought to you by me:

"Curious," Crowley says, and Dean frowns at him.

"What?"

"I'm simply curious why you chose this show--this one, out of all the others out there." He tilts his head, examining Dean again, until Dean feels thoroughly examined, laid out on some kind of table as someone picks over his brain. "Surely you knew your 'perfect match' might very well be a man."

Dean shrugs quickly. "Yeah, I mean. Obviously."

"Right," Crowley says after a beat. "You're clearly very comfortable with that idea." Dean looks over at him sharply in time to find Crowley hiding his smile behind his wine glass.

Dean flushes again and takes another drink of wine before he puts his glass down, his stomach suddenly not in the mood for bad grape juice.

"Come on, Dean." Crowley sets his glass down and moves closer, not a lot, but enough, enough that Dean can feel his body heat. "You seemed... up for some fun back on that bike." Dean's ears get hotter. Crowley's voice is low, not quite a purr, and Dean feels it over his skin like Crowley was dragging his fingers over him. He isn't though; he's just speaking, close to Dean's ear. "What's holding you back?"

Dean's mouth is dry, which could be from the red wine. What's happening in his pants, though, that's all Crowley, and he can't even try to blame it on the bike this time. He licks over his lips as Crowley leans in closer, and this time his fingers do brush Dean's arm. He feels the touch like an electric shock to the ends of his hair.

"I know you see what I see. Feel what I feel." Crowley's breath is hot against Dean's ear, and now he feels Crowley's lips, brushing against him as he talks. "Let's go take a howl at that moon."

[kjack89]

The Liberator Vol. III preview because I want to prove that it’s actually happening and also because I need motivation and validation to keep working on it!!

Grantaire led Enjolras to main room, ignoring the images flashing across the screen of Combeferre’s computer and instead sinking down on the couch, letting out a sigh of relief as he did. Enjolras glanced around, cradling his mug of coffee in both hands. “You know, I expected more for a secret lair,” he said after a long moment.

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, well, not all of us have trust funds to pay for swanky digs. Besides, the place is rent-controlled and the landlord didn’t seem care about the, uh, modifications I needed to do in order to make the place functional.”

“If you don’t have a trust fund, how do you pay for your equipment?” Enjolras asked mildly, picking Grantaire’s grappling hook gun off Combeferre’s desk and looking at it with a critical eye.

“Military contracts, and will you put that down before you hurt yourself?”

Enjolras scowled but nonetheless set it down before moving to sit across from Grantaire. “Now can I ask you what I really want to know?”

“You can ask,” Grantaire said, after a long moment. “But I reserve the right to not answer.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Self-incrimination and the fact that I don’t have my attorney present, for starters,” Grantaire said evenly. “The fact that there are some secrets even you don’t need to know, for another.”

For a moment, it looked like Enjolras wanted to press the issue further, but then he shook his head before taking a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Grantaire took a sip of coffee. “Is that honestly your number one concern?” he asked mildly. “Not my tragic backstory or why I’m doing this?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I already know why you’re doing this,” he said impatiently. “You care about justice, and—”

Grantaire snorted. “Justice?” he repeated, incredulous. “Enjolras, this is me we’re talking about, not you. In what world do I give enough of a fuck about justice to do all this?”

“And here I thought we were talking about the Liberator,” Enjolras shot back.

“Sure,” Grantaire said tiredly. “That too.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Fine,” he said, biting off the word. “Then why are you doing this?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Enjolras looked exasperated. “Of course I want to—”

“No, I mean it,” Grantaire interrupted, struggling to keep his expression and his tone as neutral as possible. “Do you really, truly want to know? Even if the answer isn’t what you want to hear?” Enjolras stared at him, and Grantaire added, a little desperately, “Even if the answer changes how you feel about the Liberator?”

“Grantaire—”

Enjolras broke off, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long moment, he jerked a nod. “Yes,” he said. “I really want to know.”