i carved you into a new animal

vaguelydownward:

picassosrazor:

A pair of white eyes opened, and that was all that ever opened in this particular space. Alastair flew through the current, traveling as electrical signal through the cable wires of the television shop’s TV sets to Crowley’s in his apartment. He somehow managed to get caught behind a particularly slow moving wave form, but his incorporeal form stared at it long enough with bright white eye-shaped vision implements that it transposed its frequency into a much higher one and hurried along for its own sake.

The young woman talking to her boyfriend on the other end of the phone line would get quite a surprise when his voice changed from a deep baritone to Mickey Mouse.

He emerged on the other end, stealing the body of a nervous-looking young man in a sweatervest. He checked his pockets - as usual, his vessel’s body lacked the specific tools he needed for his job. No matter. He was a creative demon. He’d be able to will some new parts into his favorite Swiss Army Knife.

He looked in the window of a particular flat - that had to be the Serpent’s. He’d heard all about his particular…affinity for terrorizing plants. Alastair vaguely wondered if he’d have the same effect on them as the other demon.

Carefully, while he waited for Crowley to emerge from the front door of his flat, he crept over to a window and began to stare, white-eyed, at a timid looking ficus.

Crowley was still on an edge. He knew that Hell was probably going to send someone eventually, but they weren’t being prompt about it. It was even worse than when they came right away. At least then he could prepare for when they came. He spent even less time at his flat than usual, figuring that would be the first place they would look. But he had to go back eventually.

Which is why he was here, taking stiff strides towards the door to his flat. He developed a habit of breathing a long time ago, which he lost on the way up to his floor.Relax. Youlivehere.

The door was locked, but too developed a habit of unlocking under Crowley’s touch long ago. It swung open with ease and without sound. He was met with no sudden rambling about where his loyalties lie and relaxed for just a moment before seeing a young man who would have looked nervous if he wasn’t staring down one of his ficus’s with white eyes. Probably terrifying it more than Crowley ever had.

“Took your time getting here,” He mumbled, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.

Alastair stepped into the Serpent’s flat, making no effort to brush the dirt off his meatsuit’s shoes. The idiot had stepped in gum and goose shit on his way to…well, wherever he was going. There was a snowball’s chance in Hell that he’d get there now. Alastair made sure he ground his feet into the carpet as he walked.

He’d heard that Crowley was not a typical demon. He put stock in much more trivial things than his meatsuit…corporation…whatever. He’d heard that they’d brought out something special so Crowley could be on Earth.

Alastair would have to try some different methods of torture on him.

"I heard you enjoy being fashionably late…" he said, smiling faintly. "I thought I’d ought to try it."

(Source: anthony-j-crowley2, via anthony-j-crowley2)

Aug 19

vaguelydownward:

picassosrazor:

“Oh, I beg to differ, Crowley. With absolutely no respect, mind you.” Alastair laughed deep in his throat, a low, sickening hum. He licked his teeth, which looked like they hadn’t been brushed in days, and scratched at his vessel’s beard. Reaching out, his hand clamped on a ledge, knuckles white, frustrated with the evasive demon. “We’re talking about the child who managed to put a halt to the first Apocalypse. He needs as many eyes on him as possible. I’d grow a few extra, if I were you. The boy is…ha ha…dangerous. He needs to be taught a lesson in…duties and…following orders.”

Leaning in closer to the television, he whispered, “And so do you, C r o w l e y.”

Alastair’s vessel opened his mouth and black smoke poured out, his eyes rolling back to white again. The vessel crumpled in a heap on the ground as the black smoke entered the shop and poured itself into the television’s speakers, beginning to travel through the cable wires.

Crowley bit back his protest and settled for looking away from the screen. Dangerous for apocalyptic attempts, sure. But other than that, Crowley had to admit the kid seemed to have it under control. However Crowley’s priorities were different from Hell’s, something he was always aware with and was becoming increasingly with as the conversation went on. He rubbed the nape of his neck as Alastair spoke and didn’t speak for a long time.

“Fine,” He slowly crossed his arms. “It won’t do you any good. I’m telling you, I don’t know where he is.” It was the only remark he could bring himself to make and he wasn’t sure if Alastair heard it, because the newscaster rolled her head back, her mouth gaping open. She looked directly at the camera and continued her broadcast as if nothing happened and Crowley knew Alastair was gone.

“Damn—bless it,” said Crowley as he snatched up the remote to turn off the television set. He stood up and hurried for the door, suddenly deciding that a proper walk (without the Bentley radio) might be a good idea.

A pair of white eyes opened, and that was all that ever opened in this particular space. Alastair flew through the current, traveling as electrical signal through the cable wires of the television shop’s TV sets to Crowley’s in his apartment. He somehow managed to get caught behind a particularly slow moving wave form, but his incorporeal form stared at it long enough with bright white eye-shaped vision implements that it transposed its frequency into a much higher one and hurried along for its own sake.

The young woman talking to her boyfriend on the other end of the phone line would get quite a surprise when his voice changed from a deep baritone to Mickey Mouse.

He emerged on the other end, stealing the body of a nervous-looking young man in a sweatervest. He checked his pockets - as usual, his vessel’s body lacked the specific tools he needed for his job. No matter. He was a creative demon. He’d be able to will some new parts into his favorite Swiss Army Knife.

He looked in the window of a particular flat - that had to be the Serpent’s. He’d heard all about his particular…affinity for terrorizing plants. Alastair vaguely wondered if he’d have the same effect on them as the other demon.

Carefully, while he waited for Crowley to emerge from the front door of his flat, he crept over to a window and began to stare, white-eyed, at a timid looking ficus.

(Source: anthony-j-crowley2, via anthony-j-crowley2)

Aug 10
thosefuckingangels:
Aug 10

thosefuckingangels:

(Source: leather-vs-lace, via the-infernal-majesty)

vaguelydownward:

picassosrazor:

Read More

Crowley looked away from the screen. That was the problem nowadays. Hell knew exactly how he operated, due to his last escape run. For a moment, he wondered if being alive was just an easy way to keep an eye on the Antichrist. He did it without being ordered to, after all.

The newscaster made a faint strangling sound and Crowley immediately assumed that Alastair was busy with some poor unfortunate passerby. His fingers gripped around the mobile device in his pocket and he took it out, quickly opening his contact list and sending a lightning fast text to Adam Young.

His finger lingered over another name on the contact list before he decided against it. This wasn’t Hastur and Ligur he was dealing with. These demons were human once. And humans were often capable of far worse than any of the angel stock, fallen or otherwise.

He reluctantly slid the sleek device back into his pocket. The newscaster was once again addressing him and the opportunity was gone.

“Adam Young has grown up. He doesn’t need a constant eye over him, so I don’t watch him. Simple as that. Not much to ask.” He smiled and it wasn’t very snake-like at all. He knew it wouldn’t be enough.

"Oh, I beg to differ, Crowley. With absolutely no respect, mind you." Alastair laughed deep in his throat, a low, sickening hum. He licked his teeth, which looked like they hadn’t been brushed in days, and scratched at his vessel’s beard. Reaching out, his hand clamped on a ledge, knuckles white, frustrated with the evasive demon. "We’re talking about the child who managed to put a halt to the first Apocalypse. He needs as many eyes on him as possible. I’d grow a few extra, if I were you. The boy is…ha ha…dangerous. He needs to be taught a lesson in…duties and…following orders."

Leaning in closer to the television, he whispered, “And so do you, C r o w l e y.”

Alastair’s vessel opened his mouth and black smoke poured out, his eyes rolling back to white again. The vessel crumpled in a heap on the ground as the black smoke entered the shop and poured itself into the television’s speakers, beginning to travel through the cable wires.

(Source: anthony-j-crowley2, via anthony-j-crowley2)

Aug 6

the-infernal-majesty:

picassosrazor:

the-infernal-majesty:

picassosrazor:

Sir, I’ve found the Serpent. He is being…tricksy, which of course, we all expected, didn’t we? May I do my….w o r s t?

“Hold off on your worst, play with him a bit. If that gets you no where, feel free to do what you like, though only to him. The little Antichrist is mine. But feel free to pay the Winchesters a visit.”

“Oh, but I was going to have so…much…f u n…with him…can I at least give you some ideas? I have some particularly…pretty ones in mind. :)”

“Go right ahead. I’m always up for options.” Lucifer grinned.

"Just because he grew up fast doesn’t mean he’s all grown up totally in the brain. Little kids like Batman. Let’s…put a smile on his face."

Aug 6
[Text to Lucifer.]

the-infernal-majesty:

picassosrazor:

Sir, I’ve found the Serpent. He is being…tricksy, which of course, we all expected, didn’t we? May I do my….w o r s t?

“Hold off on your worst, play with him a bit. If that gets you no where, feel free to do what you like, though only to him. The little Antichrist is mine. But feel free to pay the Winchesters a visit.”

“Oh, but I was going to have so…much…f u n…with him…can I at least give you some ideas? I have some particularly…pretty ones in mind. :)”
Aug 1
[Text to Lucifer.]

vaguelydownward:

picassosrazor:

Alastair licked his teeth, making the newscaster on the other end do the same, and continued to play with his Swiss Army Knife. The comb was his favorite of all the tools in it. Not many people could figure out how to use a comb as an instrument of pain, but not many people were as creative as Alastair was. He’d had to use it just recently on a man who wondered why he was standing in front of a television, talking to the speakers.

He’d deal with cleaning up the body later. Luckily, this wasn’t exactly a nice area.

“Extremely handy. And that’s exactly how I can tell you’ve been hanging out with Lucifer’s little problemmmmm…now, I know you’ve had to…ha ha…deal with him in the past, and it’s no secret in Hell how slippery you can be sometimes. All things considered…I’m going to be in for some f u n. So, serpent…are we going to do this the easy way, or the fun way?”

The newscaster licked her teeth, an action that looked malicious with her serious reporting expression. Crowley reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the device inside. It would be very easy to just send a message to a various amount of people and non-people without Alastair noticing. Crowley held off on it for now.

It was no good. He couldn’t deny that he hung around the kid—he was just with him last night. And just when he thought things were getting better…

“I may have kept tabs on him,” Crowley admitted. It was reasonable. Last time he lost the kid, well, that was a mess he’d rather never repeat. “Are we going to do what the easy way or fun way?” He asked, cautiously.

Read More

(Source: anthony-j-crowley2, via anthony-j-crowley2)

Aug 1

Sir, I’ve found the Serpent. He is being…tricksy, which of course, we all expected, didn’t we? May I do my….w o r s t?

Aug 1
[Text to Lucifer.]

vaguelydownward:

picassosrazor:

“I’m very good at being…funny. It’s…useful.” Alastair grins, staring at a television set in a shop window in Manchester. He came up through a manhole and realized he was a bit more south than he’d have liked, so he decided to give a call to Hell’s personal European-bound agent on Earth. He pulled a small Swiss army knife out of his meatsuit’s pants pocket, flicking it open and closed threateningly against the window near the television’s speakers. Every implement, from the bottle-opener to the pocketknife to the scissors to the comb, had some amount of blood encrusted on it, and each sample smelled different. The comb even had a bit of bile on it. “I have to. Sommmetimes it’s very…dark…in Hell, as you mmmight have forgotten.. I’ve trained myself specially to pick up each and e v e r y soul’s individual scent. ” He shrugged and gave a little smile, looking skyward. “Some call it a talent. I call it…necessity.”

The newscaster was grinning at him and Crowley thought it was a pleasant expression, but he imagined it to be much worse on the actual speaker. “In your profession? I find that hard to believe.” He glanced at his remote control, debating just for a moment whether or not he should just turn off the television set. Of course, that’s never worked before. “I hear it’s been remodeled now,” he said lamely, acutely aware of how little he could contribute to actually living in Hell. “Neat trick. Probably comes in handy.” He paused. They were talking about the Antich—Adam not too long ago. Why? “…Especially if you have a certain soul in mind.”

Alastair licked his teeth, making the newscaster on the other end do the same, and continued to play with his Swiss Army Knife. The comb was his favorite of all the tools in it. Not many people could figure out how to use a comb as an instrument of pain, but not many people were as creative as Alastair was. He’d had to use it just recently on a man who wondered why he was standing in front of a television, talking to the speakers.

He’d deal with cleaning up the body later. Luckily, this wasn’t exactly a nice area.

"Extremely handy. And that’s exactly how I can tell you’ve been hanging out with Lucifer’s little problemmmmm…now, I know you’ve had to…ha ha…deal with him in the past, and it’s no secret in Hell how slippery you can be sometimes. All things considered…I’m going to be in for some f u n. So, serpent…are we going to do this the easy way, or the fun way?"

(Source: anthony-j-crowley2, via anthony-j-crowley2)

Jul 30

vaguelydownward:

“it’s sort of funny…ha ha ha…it’s not like you to not…mmmm, how should i put this? not like you to not BATHE that often. i was always under the impression that you….pride yourself on what your mmmeatsuit s m e l l s l i k e.”

Crowley was fairly certain that the television set in his flat Alastair was using to contact him couldn’t actually see his face, yet he kept a cool expression anyway. “Ha ha. Very funny.” Not really, but Crowley would play along. “He’s been here once or twice. Your sense of smell is too sensitive.”

"I’m very good at being…funny. It’s…useful." Alastair grins, staring at a television set in a shop window in Manchester. He came up through a manhole and realized he was a bit more south than he’d have liked, so he decided to give a call to Hell’s personal European-bound agent on Earth. He pulled a small Swiss army knife out of his meatsuit’s pants pocket, flicking it open and closed threateningly against the window near the television’s speakers. Every implement, from the bottle-opener to the pocketknife to the scissors to the comb, had some amount of blood encrusted on it, and each sample smelled different. The comb even had a bit of bile on it. "I have to. Sommmetimes it’s very…dark…in Hell, as you mmmight have forgotten.. I’ve trained myself specially to pick up each and e v e r y soul’s individual scent. ” He shrugged and gave a little smile, looking skyward. “Some call it a talent. I call it…necessity.”

(Source: anthony-j-crowley2)

Jul 29