My preview for the @gerryzineâ, a digital fanzine focused on Gerry Keay of the Magnus Archives. Preorders are open until the end of September, all proceeds are going to BLM organizations. Go check it out!
I know the timeline doesn't work, but I keep imagining little spiderling Jon from No More Idle Hands, You'll Destroy the Lamps watching Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse and that image makes me so happy!
oh my god, thatâs such a cute idea! jon would love that movie, miles especially. we can just say a rift in Hill Top Road sends the movie over so they can watch it ;)
(tried to send this to nomoreidlehands, but nothing seemed to happen when I hit the ask button) I was just listening to your Lady of the Web playlist and trying to draw Annabelle holding Jon, and a daddy longlegs spider touched my leg! Thanks for the heart attack, Annabelle!
No one told me the ask box was closed! That explains a lot, thanks for letting me know. Iâve been reading all your comments, theyâre very sweet, thank you <3 As for the spider, I bet Annabelle, just like me, is just very excited to see your drawing
Hereâs a quick preview of my piece for @hundredsofpearls-zine! Preorders are open until July 29th, and all sorts of Pearl-related merch, art, and writing is available. It was a lovely experience being a part of this zine <3
Bride Pearl hopped into the passengerâs seat with an almost uncanny grace. She pulled the veil back from her face. âWell? Are you taking me somewhere, or what?â
âRight.â Tahitian Pearl got into the car and leaned back in their seat. âYou got anywhere you want to go?â
Bride Pearl hummed, and leaned close. âDealerâs choice. Surprise me.â
Tai grinned. âYou got it.â
And before she could interpret the look on their face, Tahitian Pearl drove.Â
It was remarkable how quickly a vintage convertible could accelerate in such little time. This was something that Tahitian Pearl had come to appreciate about it. They had never been one for driving slowly, anyhow.Â
Bride Pearl, on the other hand, who was accustomed to slower modes of transportation, was not pleased with this fact. She was actively regretting her decision to go along with them.Â
âCan we please slow down?â Bride yelped, as Tai sped down the streets. They narrowly missed an Agate walking on the boardwalk.
Tahitian Pearl all but cackled. âNo chance! Itâs more fun this way.â They tilted their head towards Bride teasingly. âWhatâs wrong? I thought you wanted to take this baby out for a spin.â
Oh, that was definitely payback for taunting them earlier.
âNot if it means you-â Bride stopped as they braked abruptly, the two of them pushed forward at the motion. She gripped at the armrests. Her veil fell over her face gracefully.
âYou were saying?â Tahitian Pearl asked.Â
âWell I-â Bride adjusted her veil and cleared her throat quietly. âYou should be more careful with your driving. It was reckless, and i-itâs unsafe!â Bride was vaguely aware that she was losing her composure, hair coming loose.
GRAND ANNOUNCEMENT: PRESENTING THE CONTRIBUTORS FOR THE BUBBLINE ZINE!
Have a look at the esteemed Candies of Ooo! Weâre so happy to welcome all these amazing artists and writers to our celebration. Look out for our next update for more sweet, Bubbline-goodness!
Hey hey, Iâll be contributing to this zine as a writer under the pseudonym of Rose. Thereâs a lot of really talented contributers a part of it, come check it out!
Summary: Early in the morning, the bedroom he and Sherlock shared was heavenly. Golden light peeked through the window, casting warm, glowing rays onto the bed. A soft cozy glow had settled in the bedroom, making the bed nearly impossible to get up from. God knew how Sherlock managed to do it so early, John thought as he rubbed his eyes. Based on the prompt âItâs nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.â
And you just look so beautiful
Itâs like you were an angel
Can I stop the flow of time?
Can I swim in your divine?
âCause I donât think Iâd ever leave this place
- Lights Down Low by Max Schneider
âJohn? Love, wake up would you?â Sherlockâs voice, a familiar deep baritone, was the first thing John registered as he woke from his slumber. The second was a golden ray of shining light, bright and brilliant. He groaned in protest, burying his face in the achingly soft pillow under him. It was far too comfortable in bed, and the sheets felt almost heavenly in the morning. Sherlock tsked. He gave a fond smile and shook his head, dark blue robe swishing gently as he walked away. John heard the soft pitter-patter of Sherlockâs retreating footsteps and sighed, placing an arm over his eyes as he turned in the bed. He really should get out of bed. Rosie had school today and, was probably already waking up from her own slumber. Heaving a heavy sigh, John forced his tired eyes open. Early in the morning, the bedroom he and Sherlock shared was heavenly. Golden light peeked through the window, casting warm, glowing rays onto the bed. A soft cozy glow had settled in the bedroom, making the bed nearly impossible to get up from. God knew how Sherlock managed to do it so early, John thought as he rubbed his eyes.
John squinted through the sunlight blearily. He found a tall shadowy figure standing over him, hands on his hips.
âReally dear, just because there arenât any cases to investigate doesnât mean we can stay in bed all day.â God, even his pout was adorable. Like an angel in heaven, John thought tiredly. And before his boyfriend could say any more, John grabbed his wrist and tugged him gently into the bed.
Sherlock gave a small yelp of protest as he was pulled in. âDear, we really should get out of bed,â he insisted, even as John pressed kisses to his neck.
âMm, just a little while longer.â
The other man sighed but obliged, pressing closer to him. John stopped suddenly, turning to look at his boyfriend.
âWhat is it?â Sherlock frowned. He studied John carefully, with blue piercing eyes.
âNothing, itâs justâŠâ His partner smiled sappily. Johnâs eyes softened as he ran a hand through Sherlockâs dark curls. âItâs nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.â
Summary: Early in the morning, the bedroom he and Sherlock shared was heavenly. Golden light peeked through the window, casting warm, glowing rays onto the bed. A soft cozy glow had settled in the bedroom, making the bed nearly impossible to get up from. God knew how Sherlock managed to do it so early, John thought as he rubbed his eyes. Based on the prompt âItâs nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.â
And you just look so beautiful
It's like you were an angel
Can I stop the flow of time?
Can I swim in your divine?
'Cause I don't think I'd ever leave this place
- Lights Down Low by Max Schneider
âJohn? Love, wake up would you?â Sherlockâs voice, a familiar deep baritone, was the first thing John registered as he woke from his slumber. The second was a golden ray of shining light, bright and brilliant. He groaned in protest, burying his face in the achingly soft pillow under him. It was far too comfortable in bed, and the sheets felt almost heavenly in the morning. Sherlock tsked. He gave a fond smile and shook his head, dark blue robe swishing gently as he walked away. John heard the soft pitter-patter of Sherlockâs retreating footsteps and sighed, placing an arm over his eyes as he turned in the bed. He really should get out of bed. Rosie had school today and, was probably already waking up from her own slumber. Heaving a heavy sigh, John forced his tired eyes open. Early in the morning, the bedroom he and Sherlock shared was heavenly. Golden light peeked through the window, casting warm, glowing rays onto the bed. A soft cozy glow had settled in the bedroom, making the bed nearly impossible to get up from. God knew how Sherlock managed to do it so early, John thought as he rubbed his eyes.
John squinted through the sunlight blearily. He found a tall shadowy figure standing over him, hands on his hips.
âReally dear, just because there arenât any cases to investigate doesnât mean we can stay in bed all day.â God, even his pout was adorable. Like an angel in heaven, John thought tiredly. And before his boyfriend could say any more, John grabbed his wrist and tugged him gently into the bed.
Sherlock gave a small yelp of protest as he was pulled in. âDear, we really should get out of bed,â he insisted, even as John pressed kisses to his neck.
âMm, just a little while longer.â
The other man sighed but obliged, pressing closer to him. John stopped suddenly, turning to look at his boyfriend.
âWhat is it?â Sherlock frowned. He studied John carefully, with blue piercing eyes.
âNothing, itâs justâŠâ His partner smiled sappily. Johnâs eyes softened as he ran a hand through Sherlockâs dark curls. âItâs nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.â
Rose squinted, hazel eyes scrunched up in concentration. A single drop of sweat made its way from her forehead to the petal-covered tattoos on her neck as she stared intently. Admittedly, she may have been a little over her head with this one. The design she was inking was one of the hardest in her collection, and it was only at a friendâs request that she was doing it this time. Intricately designed and stretching long across his back, Rose had been working on it for nearly eight hours consecutively, a feat that was sure to impress even the hardest critic.
âOuch!â Mickey yelped from the lounge chair beside her, flinching ever-so-slightly as Rose continued her work.
She grunted in response, only just resisting the urge to smack him for the sudden movement. âHold still,â she hissed through clenched teeth. It was very nearly done, just another swirl here and there, and- Ring! Rose whipped around, looking like hell in high heels as she cursed under her breath and held the ink pen aloft menacingly. (Alright, maybe all this inking was starting to get on her nerves.)
âWhoa, there,â the intruder said, hands raised calmingly. The man shrugged off his military-esque coat, hanging it on a nearby coat rack. âLetâs put the ink pen down, yeah?â Jack ran his hand through his hair, flashing a winning smile at Rose. She rolled her eyes. Nearly anyone else wouldâve swooned at the motion, but not her. He was quite dashing, she admitted, but also far too cheesy for her tastes. Plus, he was taken.
Rose squinted, hazel eyes scrunched up in concentration. A single drop of sweat made its way from her forehead to the petal-covered tattoos on her neck as she stared intently. Admittedly, she may have been a little over her head with this one. The design she was inking was one of the hardest in her collection, and it was only at a friend's request that she was doing it this time. Intricately designed and stretching long across his back, Rose had been working on it for nearly eight hours consecutively, a feat that was sure to impress even the hardest critic.
"Ouch!" Mickey yelped from the lounge chair beside her, flinching ever-so-slightly as Rose continued her work.
She grunted in response, only just resisting the urge to smack him for the sudden movement. "Hold still," she hissed through clenched teeth. It was very nearly done, just another swirl here and there, and- Ring! Rose whipped around, looking like hell in high heels as she cursed under her breath and held the ink pen aloft menacingly. (Alright, maybe all this inking was starting to get on her nerves.)
"Whoa, there," the intruder said, hands raised calmingly. The man shrugged off his military-esque coat, hanging it on a nearby coat rack. "Let's put the ink pen down, yeah?" Jack ran his hand through his hair, flashing a winning smile at Rose. She rolled her eyes. Nearly anyone else would've swooned at the motion, but not her. He was quite dashing, she admitted, but also far too cheesy for her tastes. Plus, he was taken.
"Hello, Jack," Rose sighed, turning around in her chair to get back to work. The old cuckoo clock that hung at the back of the shop proclaimed him to be nearly a quarter of an hour late, a common enough occurrence that she'd almost counted on it. She was accustomed to it by now, especially since he'd recently moved in with his boyfriend. They were cute, admittedly, but it meant that Jack was usually late to work since he now lived further away. Sheâd docked him pay at first, but heâd won her over eventually with little trinkets to decorate her desk with. Her coworker strolled up to the chair, eyeing Mickey's tattoo appreciatively.
He let out a low whistle. "How long'd that take?"
âNearly eight hours,â came Mickey's muffled answer, from underneath the lounge pillow he'd buried his face in.
Rose huffed. "It'll be longer if you struggle," she tutted, glaring at his back harshly. She vaguely registered Jack studying her with a frown, concern evident on his face.
"No breaks?" he asked.
"...No," she replied hesitantly.
"Food?"
"'Had a sandwich this morning."
"It's quarter past twelve."
"Yeah."
Tense silence hung over the parlour for the next few minutes, stressed and uneasy.
Finally, Jack grabbed the pen out of Rose's hands, holding it high above her.
"Oi!" she yelped, jumping up at it in vain.
"We both know this for your own good," he declared solemnly, holding the pen just above her (very limited) grasp.
Rose groaned, still reaching for her prized possession. "Jack, come on!" she protested.
Suddenly Jack sobered, placing a hand on Roseâs shoulder earnestly. âGo, take a break.â She suddenly noticed his worried frown, eyes looking into hers with genuine concern. "This is the third time this month, Rosie." He swallowed thickly, still staring at her unwaveringly. "I'm worried about you." Jack murmured. Rose looked away guiltily, focusing her stare on the unswept floor below them. There was still so much to do here, so much needed to be done.
Rose sighed. She really had been done the moment he'd looked her in the eye. Jack so rarely sobered up, it was hard not to take him seriously when he did. And as much as she hated to admit it, he did have a point. Maintaining a small, understaffed business in a small city took nearly everything she had, and sometimes there was hardly even any time to breathe. She rubbed her eyes wearily, stretching widely as she stood from her chair. Rose sighed. He did have a point⊠She rubbed her eyes wearily, stretching as she stood from the chair. âDonât muck up the design.â Rose brushed his hand off but reached for her coat, swinging it over her shoulder as she walked out to the door. Sheâd never admit it, but maybe Jack was right⊠It couldnât hurt to check out that new flower stall, anyway.
Rose stepped outside the tattoo parlor and took a long breath of fresh air. It felt good to finally be free of the smell of ink and sterile cleaner. Jackâs week-old chinese food didnât help, either. She shuddered at the thought, quickening her pace. Just next door to the parlour was a cafe, where Rose usually stopped by just before work. The owner was a good friend of hers, and a long chat wasn't uncommon between them during their breaks.
Rose pushed open the heavy doors, and was immediately bombarded busy customers. So much for peace and quiet, she mused as she narrowly avoided a businessman who seemed to be carrying three separate trays of coffee. Rose craned her neck, hoping to get a glimpse of her friend past the crowd gathering at the counter. Early afternoons were always a busy time at Unitea Cafe, an already popular venue, and come midday Martha was often drowning in customers. Over the crowd, Rose could just barely spot the barista bustling around behind the counter. Rose shoved her way past the customers roughly (to their heavy protest) and slid behind the counter, meeting eyes with Martha.
âNeed a hand?â she asked, grinning.
Martha sagged in relief, enveloping the blonde in a tight hug. Her hair, typically neatly combed and tied, had escaped from its bun and was now flying around her freely in disheveled strands.
âOh thank God,â she practically sobbed into the blondeâs shoulder. âRose, I could kiss you right now!â
Rose laughed, pushing her away gently. âBetter not, Mickey might get jealous,â she winked.
Mickey was Roseâs ex, now Martha's boyfriend. Theyâd had a mutual breakup a year ago when Rose had decided to open her tattoo parlor. Martha met him not long after, when heâd taken a summer job at the cafe to pay off some loans and the two had been dating ever since. As it turned out, it had only taken a nudge from Rose to get them together.
âOf me or you?â Martha asked, dusting off the front of her apron. Rose raised an eyebrow. âYeah, good point. Anyway, you up for a bit of serving? I really need a bit of help around here.â
Rose shrugged. âSure, why not?â She followed the brunette, who gestured for her to come to the back.
Martha handed Rose a tray and placed a couple of drinks on it, turning around again to add some snacks onto it. Rose frowned as she was handed a second tray. "Shouldn't there be someone else here?" she asked, look around the empty storage room. She could've sworn there was at least one other person helping out at the cafe.
"Yeah, Tish was here up until a week or so ago." Martha grabbed another bun off the shelf and put it on Rose's tray, pursing her lips. "But she'd gotten a call about some high-class job or somethin' and had to move apartments 'n all that."
"Why don't you hire someone, then?" asked Rose, who was now struggle to balance the drinks and snacks Martha had handed her.
"Yeah, well tell me if you find anyone," the barista sighed, patting Rose's back as she headed out the door to the bustling crowd just beyond the counter. "I doubt anyone'd put up with this for the little pay I'm offering."Â
It was a good half hour or so until the crowd started to thin out, and by then Rose had had enough waitressing to last her a lifetime, God knew how Martha did it every day.
"'M really sorry about keeping you here," the brunette apologized later, when everyone had gone and the two were wiping the tables. "You can take some change out of the tip jar if you like, you were a big help."
Rose laughed. "Don't worry about it, it was fine. I needed something to take my mind off things anyway," she added.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Too much bustlin' around nowadays, huh?"
Rose nodded, wiping another table clean.
Martha looked up, placing her hands on her hips. "Tell you what, I hear there's a new flower stall around. Why don't you have a look?"
The blonde raised an eyebrow at her friend. "I'm a bit busy for that, don't you think?"
"Oh, come off it! You're on break, aren't you?" Martha huffed, spraying the table she was cleaning once more. By now it was practically a mirror, clear and shiny as the day it had been made.
Rose sighed. "Well..."
"If it helps, I hear the ownerâs got a cute bum,â she winked.
"Martha!"
"What? Mickey isn't here!"
Rose pondered the idea for a moment more. "Fine. But only because I'm here on break, not 'cause of... that other thing." she sniffed, staring Martha down disapprovingly.
"Right, sure ,â the brunette said, wiping her brow as she set the cleaning supplies aside. Martha grinned at her conspiratorially. âGet going, then, before your break ends!â
"Alright, alright, I'm out!" Rose grinned, hanging up her apron and shrugging on her jacket. According to her friend, the flower shop was a block or so away, right near the Clements tower, where the city square was. It wasnât a bad place to set up a stall, really, the area around there was always filled with hustle and bustle from what Rose remembered. Sheâd considered setting up her parlour there when sheâd first opened up, too, but decided against it because of the commute. Powell Street wasnât too shabby for business anyhow, and she quite liked having a number of attractions near her workplace. A chilly wind blew through the area and Rose shuddered, teeth shaking as it ruffled her hair and sent shivers through her body. The blonde shoved her hands into the pockets of her long vest coat, grumbling something about cold winds and warmer weather.Â
Rose froze suddenly. She felt around her pockets, frowning. There was something there, something that hadn't been there before. She pulled out a ten dollar bill, examining it carefully. Of course; Martha. She must've slipped it into her coat pocket as Rose was working, intent on offering a reward in some way or another. Rose shook her head, sighing. Her friend was stubborn as ever, that was for sure. There was a post-it attached to the bill, too.
âMake sure your first dateâs at the cafe! ;)â
Rose made a face. She huffed, crumpling up the paper and depositing it at a nearby trash can with a frown. Martha was always trying to set her up with someone in one way or another, either through a friend or signing her up for speed-dating. Rose wasnât all that interested in romance anyway, the tattoo parlor was really all she needed. Besides, sheâd had some⊠unsavory experiences with a bloke some years back that didnât exactly have her rushing back into the dating scene. She had her friends, her job, and her family. What more could she want, really?
Before she knew it, Rose had arrived on Galley Way, where the flower stall was supposed to be. As expected, it was a busy sort of square, filled with people walking to and fro. Galley Way was a popular tour destination, from what Rose knew from the brochures that often found their way into her hands. There was a market near here that was popular with the children, and a cheese store that got visited often enough. City performers were nearly always there as well, and it was common knowledge that you could make a quick buck or two selling trinkets to the tourists that often passed by the area. Rose herself had done it when she was younger and had an hour to spare between work shifts and classes. Jack definitely still did, though his baubles could almost be called scams with how expensive they were. In any case, it had been long enough since Rose last visited that there were a few tents and stalls around unrecognizable to her, and she spent a few minutes strolling around looking at each one.
One stood out above the rest, however, the canvas roof of it a deep navy blue. It was lined with flowers of all sorts, too, each flourishing beautifully. Their myriad of colors stood out starkly against the otherwise dull city square. Rose grinned, making her way to the vividly-hued stall eagerly. This must be the stall Jack and Martha were talking about, surely. Amidst the array of flowers, she could see a man flitting about behind the counter. He was wearing a florist apron and a long blue collared shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He seemed to be busy arranging the flowers inside of the stall, well-combed hair flouncing about in an almost comical manner as he did so.
âExcuse me?â Rose asked, an amused smirk playing across her lips. The man didnât seem to notice her, still moving about busily. He was oddly captivating to watch, in the same way one could never quite take their eyes off a bouncing cockatoo. âHello?â she rang the odd gold-colored bell on the counter once for good measure, raising an eyebrow.
That seemed to get his attention. The florist seemed to perk up, spinning around to face her with a lively, beaming sort of smile. âOh! Hello,â he grinned boyishly, wiping his water-soaked hands on his apron as he did so. âSorry about that, the shop needs a bit of sorting out before I can really get to organizing my things,â the man admitted plainly. âOf course, youâre welcome to browse about if youâd like,â he gestured sweepingly to the flowers surrounding him, accidentally cuffing one or two of them as he did so.
Rose beamed back. âSure, yeah. Iâd like, that.â She waited a moment or two for him to introduce himself, looking around for a shop name. âIâm Rose,â she offered, extending a hand to him.
He took it eagerly. âJames,â the man grinned. âSorry, did I hear Rose? Like theâŠ?â James gestured to her neck, and Rose touched her tattoo lightly, a series of floral rose vines adorning her neck.
âYeah, silly idea for a tattoo, I know,â she shrugged. Sheâd gotten it a year ago when Jack had first signed on, as a sort of initiation. It had been a risky move, Rose was well aware, but turned out beautifully inked. Jack claimed it was due to his superb inking skills, Rose claimed it was her ornate design. Either way, it had been their first combined effort, one that they both secretly treasured.
âNo, no, I quite like it,â he said, staring at her in a way that made Rose blush. He was getting awfully close now, not that she minded. She was going to have to thank Jack and Martha when she got back. âItâs beautiful.â James seemed to remember himself suddenly, and jerked away, widening the gap between them. âSorry, did you come by for something?â
Rose nodded, ignoring the disappointed feeling that was beginning to bloom in her. âMy friend runs the Unitea Cafe nearby, and she sent me to get some flowers for the front counter,â she explained. âJust a simple bouquet should do.â
âSure thing!â James turned to pick a few flowers from the back shelf, still chattering pleasantly over the shoulder. âSo, the Unitea Cafe, huh? Thatâs just a couple blocks away, right?â
âYup,â Rose answered, popping the p. Some of these flowers were really very well-grown, she thought, cupping a nearby carnation carefully with her hand. They wouldnât make bad art references, either. âI work nearly right beside her, so I usually drop by for a cuppa before work, too.â A shaft of light peeked through the clouds suddenly, bathing the two of them in golden sun.
James beamed at her through the sunlight, an assortment of various vividly-colored flowers gathered in his arms. âThat sounds great,â he smiled, wrapping them together with a small tie. âIâve only just moved here, so Iâm afraid I havenât had the chance to get to know the area.â
Rose nodded. Cardiff was quite a big place, and even navigating the transit system was a challenge without a guide. âI can show you around, if you like,â she offered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. âTomorrow, after lunch?â
âSounds great,â he chuckled. âOh! Right, I should probably give you this.â James reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to her with a flourish. âWhere should I meet you?â
She took it eagerly. âUnitea Cafe, 2 oâclock. How much do I owe you for this, anyway?â Rose asked, taking the bouquet from his hands.
â30 pounds,â James chirped, reaching back into the shop to grab something. Rose handed him the bill, blushing lightly when he handed her a rose in exchange. âConsider it a first-customer bonus,â he winked. âTell your friend I said hi, too.â
âWill do!â Rose grinned, as she turned to the direction of the tattoo parlour. A pink and yellow rose, huh? She smiled, fingering the petals lightly. It was beautiful.
Summary: Crowley pays Bobby a visit at his house to spice up his research night. Takes place during the Leviathan arc. Based on the dialogue prompt âItâs tea. I thought you might need something to drinkâ
To most, Bobbyâs house seemed an old and peaceful one. And in some ways, it was. The house itself was a rickety old thing, built nearly a century ago. Bobby himself had lived in it for decades, refusing to leave it no matter how broken down it became. The floorboards of the house creaked when you stepped on them, the blinds were hard to close⊠Layers upon layers of dust lined the old bookshelves on the walls, the garage was filled with old and rusty tools (many of which hadnât been used in years). Even the heater had to be given a kick or two to work properly (though Bobby insisted it never got too cold anyway). But, like the old man himself, the house was much more than it seemed. For while it looked like an quaint old thing on the verge of breaking down to many, hunters knew better. Amongst the books, stained and crinkled - many of them unused and forgotten - hid hundreds of yearsâ worth of information, spells and rituals some only dreamed of getting ahold of. The creaky, faded walls were lined with sigils and wards to keep out nearly any creature who dared try to enter. And the basement? Even it held secrets. Weapons of all shape and size, elixirs and charms to ward off spirits and entities, (Bobby suspected only a good half of them worked, but you could never be too careful) and more recently, Leviathan heads. Bobbyâs house had hosted all manner of monsters, spirits, and creatures; and today, it hosted the King of Hell.
Summary: Crowley pays Bobby a visit at his house to spice up his research night. Takes place during the Leviathan arc. Based on the dialogue prompt âItâs tea. I thought you might need something to drinkâ
To most, Bobbyâs house seemed an old and peaceful one. And in some ways, it was. The house itself was a rickety old thing, built nearly a century ago. Bobby himself had lived in it for decades, refusing to leave it no matter how broken down it became. The floorboards of the house creaked when you stepped on them, the blinds were hard to close⊠Layers upon layers of dust lined the old bookshelves on the walls, the garage was filled with old and rusty tools (many of which hadnât been used in years). Even the heater had to be given a kick or two to work properly (though Bobby insisted it never got too cold anyway). But, like the old man himself, the house was much more than it seemed. For while it looked like an quaint old thing on the verge of breaking down to many, hunters knew better. Amongst the books, stained and crinkled - many of them unused and forgotten - hid hundreds of yearsâ worth of information, spells and rituals some only dreamed of getting ahold of. The creaky, faded walls were lined with sigils and wards to keep out nearly any creature who dared try to enter. And the basement? Even it held secrets. Weapons of all shape and size, elixirs and charms to ward off spirits and entities, (Bobby suspected only a good half of them worked, but you could never be too careful) and more recently, Leviathan heads. Bobbyâs house had hosted all manner of monsters, spirits, and creatures; and today, it hosted the King of Hell.
Summary: Crowley pays Bobby a visit at his house to spice up his research night. Takes place during the Leviathan arc. Based on the dialogue prompt âItâs tea. I thought you might need something to drinkâ
To most, Bobbyâs house seemed an old and peaceful one. And in some ways, it was. The house itself was a rickety old thing, built nearly a century ago. Bobby himself had lived in it for decades, refusing to leave it no matter how broken down it became. The floorboards of the house creaked when you stepped on them, the blinds were hard to close⊠Layers upon layers of dust lined the old bookshelves on the walls, the garage was filled with old and rusty tools (many of which hadnât been used in years). Even the heater had to be given a kick or two to work properly (though Bobby insisted it never got too cold anyway). But, like the old man himself, the house was much more than it seemed. For while it looked like an quaint old thing on the verge of breaking down to many, hunters knew better. Amongst the books, stained and crinkled - many of them unused and forgotten - hid hundreds of yearsâ worth of information, spells and rituals some only dreamed of getting ahold of. The creaky, faded walls were lined with sigils and wards to keep out nearly any creature who dared try to enter. And the basement? Even it held secrets. Weapons of all shape and size, elixirs and charms to ward off spirits and entities, (Bobby suspected only a good half of them worked, but you could never be too careful) and more recently, Leviathan heads. Bobbyâs house had hosted all manner of monsters, spirits, and creatures; and today, it hosted the King of Hell.
Bobby glanced up from his desk to find a teacup sitting on his desk. He did a double take, peering suspiciously at the small object. He couldâve sworn that part of his desk had been unoccupied a second ago. He didnât even have any teacups. Bobby leaned towards it, tapping the porcelain with a finger. Maybe he was hallucinating, he thought, rubbing his eyes wearily. It had, after all, been days since he let himself rest, pouring over nearly ever book in his house for even a mention of leviathans. Alas, it was to no avail. Months had passed since the leviathans had been released, and they were still no closer to finding a way to hurt them, much less kill the bastards. But much to his surprise, the teacup rang when he tapped it lightly. Not an illusion, then.
âAre you done staring at the teacup or are you actually going to drink it?â a familiar British voice asked. Bobby turned to see Crowley, who had apparently gotten tired of waiting, looking down at him. âBecause honestly,â the demon continued, raising an eyebrow condescendingly, âyouâve done nothing but stare at the damn thing for the past ten minutes.â
Bobby rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. âWell excuse me for being suspicious about a teacup that magically appeared on my desk,â he huffed. âWhatâs in it, anyway?â
âItâs tea,â Crowley said matter-of-factly as he strolled around the living room. âI thought you might need something to drink. Chamomile specifically, supposed to help you sleep.â He came to a bookshelf and pulled out a particularly dusty one, skimming the pages nonchalantly.
Bobby shot up from his chair. âDonât touch that,â he huffed, snatching the book away from Crowleyâs hands. Lesser Known Monsters and Spirits, the title read. Bobby made a mental note to look through it later as he glared at the demon. âCut the crap, Crowley,â he hissed, ignoring how little the space between them was. âWhat do you really want?â
âOh, nothing much,â Crowley grinned mischievously. He leaned closer and licked his lips, apparently sensing the hunterâs discomfort. He really should have been born a Trickster instead, Bobby thought as he eyed the demonic monarch warily. He had just the right sense of perverted mischief and humor. âJust thought Iâd drop by and check in on you, see if youâve made any progress with the Leviathans.â Crowley stepped back suddenly, sauntering around the room as if he owned the place. âThe boys miss you, you know,â he called over his shoulder teasingly.
Oh, that bastard. Bobby had seen neither Sam nor Dean for months now they were on the run, and Crowley clearly knew how much it meant to him. âYeah, well give them my best and tell them Iâve got nada on those slippery bastards, but Iâm working on it,â Bobby snarled, blocking the demon just as he was about to enter the kitchen. âNow if thatâs all, it would be a great help if you got the hell out of my house.â
âOh Robert,â Crowley purred, smirking. âIt gives me tingles when you talk like that.â Bobbyâs eye twitched. Damn bastard seemed to have a flirty comeback for every comment he made.
âI mean it,â the hunter hissed back. The demon was staring at him through half-lidded eyes, licking his lips playfully. He sure was laying the flirting on thick today, Bobby observed, taking a step back. âTake that damn cup of tea, too. I need something thatâll keep me awake, not put me to bed.â
The smirk dropped from Crowleyâs face, replaced suddenly by an unreadable expression as he pursed his lips and turned away. âWell. Youâre clearly not in the mood for some clever banter, so perhaps I will take my leaveâŠâ If Bobby didnât know any better, he wouldâve said the demon looked almost hurt by his comments. But that was impossible, surely. This was the King of Hell he was talking to here. âAnd seeing as youâre so grumpy perhaps Iâll leave a bottle of warm milk, too.â he added condescendingly.
Bobbyâs face twisted into a disgusted grimace, all trace of remorse for his previous comment gone. âFuck off,â he spat. Crowley tensed suddenly, face turned away so the hunter couldnât see his expression.
Bobby froze. It probably wasnât a good idea to tell Crowley off straight to his face. After all, for all his teasing and flirting, he was still the King of Hell. Bobby watched tensely as Crowley turned to face him, and prepared for the worst.
âMaybe I will,â the demon replied instead, for once without a snappy comeback. And with a blink of an eye Crowley was gone, leaving Bobby dazed and confused. In the brief moment before heâd disappeared, Crowley had almost flinched at his remark. The hunter sighed, shrugging it off as another one of the demonâs antics, as he turned back to his books and notes. Bobby rubbed his eyes wearily, picking up the book Crowley had taken from the bookshelf. There was still work to be done anyhow, meddlesome demon or none.
Bobby didnât think much else of the incident until later that evening, when a single cup of coffee appeared at his desk just as his eyes had begun to close. Heâd never admit it, but Bobby was secretly pleased, a small smile tugging at his lips. And so was a certain King of Hell, watching from the shadows with a fond smirk on his face before disappearing into the night.
Itâs okay if you change your mind about participating in NaNo.
Itâs okay if a week into November, you get an idea and decide you want to participate after saying you werenât going to do it.
Itâs okay if you realize that NaNo is stressing you out too much and you want to stop halfway through the month.
Itâs okay if you want to join or quit for any reason, at any time.
NaNo is meant to be a fun and productive event, not a measure of your worth as a writer. Itâs fine whether you do or donât want to participate. Itâs fine whether you do or donât want to participate after the event has already started. Do what works for you!
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areudirty
2087
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turnnoffyourmind
