I Cried

I cried <3 thank you so much!

Just wanted to say that I love your writing. English isn't my mother tongue so I can't express properly how much your GO stories move me and make me feel at peace. Every time I see one of yours updates I wait until morning at breakfast to read it so I know the day will start in a lovely way. If possible I would like to request "mirror" as a prompt. Thank you so much for sharing your work

[You say the kindest and loveliest things and it means so much to me to know that my words can bring any pleasure, any happiness at all. Thank you so much. I wanted to do this one justice and I kept it for a special vignette. Thank you for sending it!

All these vignettes are related and this is crossposted as the newest chapter of No Kingdom To Come. However, you do not need to have read the others for this. For chronological purposes, this one comes after With Nothing On My Tongue (But Hallelujah) and before infinity times infinity (let there be light).]

If you want more Ineffable Husbands being ineffable, I am always taking prompts via tumblr ask! Thank you.]New Methods In Riverbed Excavation

London2019

I’m going to tell you a secret. Come close, listen. Nothing stays forever. We knock on the ground under our feet and stand back assured of it. We count on the seas, the shift of the stars, the rising and setting of the sun. But the ground shifts and the rocks move, worn away by wind. Forests burn up and stars die. And this, our star-sun too, hung already in its own grave and waiting for the white-dwarf-end. Sometimes the seas dry up. Lakes and ponds. Sometimes the rivers take off, leave only their empty beds behind. We can see there, the blanket of water now peeled back. See what was hidden. 

(Why am I telling you this? Pay attention.)

Crowley is in his bedroom, standing in front of a long mirror. His fists clenched, veins popped. Knuckles white. He stands very still (he would seem calm if you didn’t know what to look for, didn’t know the signs of a riptide). Unbuttons the top buttons of his shirt. Frowns and does them up again. Runs his fingers through his hair a little, fussing at it. Scowls at the hungry cheekbones, his sharp chin, his crow-claw fingers curled here. (He’s too familiar with this body after six-thousand years. Knows all the ins and outs of it. How fast the hair grows, where the freckles come in, which knuckles to crack. He’s known himself since before mirrors. Since crawling up to the Sarasvati after wandering for years after Eden. He’d pulled himself up to the edges and cupped water from the river for his hot face and hot hands. Had glanced into the clear water in his palms and saw only a mirror there, his own startled face looking back at him.)

Should I wear this shirt? Wait, what about the other one? Which do you like better? Doesn’t matter. Not really. Never matters. Get it the fuck together. 

Continua a leggere