HELL WAS EMPTY !

                       "   right.   now,   do me a favor --    remind me when i asked for  your thoughts.   “

                                 predictable response,   the demon thinks to himself;     and with the thought comes a single-shouldered shrug.   nonchalant,   as though they were not talking about the possibility of crowley’s vessel being maimed for the sake of keeping him quiet.    “   reel it back some,   fido.   there’s little point in carrying on when we both know your bark’s worse than your bite.   “   at least,   it was at the moment. crowley might be arrogant,   but he wasn’t so foolish as to think the hunter wouldn’t come after him the moment he outlived his perceived usefulness -   and with guns blazing,   at that.   a pause,   then,   wherein the demon’s lips curl into something of a cocky smile;   he knows the cards are in his hands for the time being,   after all.   why hide it?   “   ‘sides,   you wouldn’t want to spoil our little deal before you get what you want out of it,   would you?   “

RE:     SPOTIFY WRAPPED STARTER MEME ( still accepting! ) SONG NUMBER 82:              KWAMIE LIV,   5AM

RE:     SPOTIFY WRAPPED STARTER MEME ( still accepting! ) SONG NUMBER 38:              SAINT MOTEL,   TO MY ENEMIES  

RE:     SPOTIFY WRAPPED STARTER MEME ( still accepting! ) SONG NUMBER 7:     BASTILLE,   WHAT YOU GONNA DO???    

                              devil’s trap under a rug that’s seen far better days:   the oldest trick in the book.     and yet,   here they still stood,   crowley having been summoned to appear within the confines of the sigil that would bind him to his spot for the time being,   and dean,   looking -   was that pride?   triumph?   whatever it was,   the demon can’t help but to find at least some amusement in it.   after all -   he’d have thought they were past this.   “   really,   squirrelly?   ---   you couldn’t just call?   “           /          @tobeblamed​  .

                               "   you’re distracted,   castiel.   “     elbows-deep in the open chest cavity of some monstrosity or another,   yet it is less the grotesque sight before him that makes him curl his lips in disgust,   and more the trench-coated angel that he addresses.   angel of thursday,   puppy-dog of the damned winchesters,   and -   for the time being,   anyway   - his partner in all things ‘business’.   only,   it’s times like these that crowley seems to find doubt in that last bit;   times like these wherein he wonders if he might simply be better off putting castiel on the operating table instead.   open him up.   pluck out his feathers,   one-by-one.   “   --- what,   are we questioning our morality again;   is that it?   ‘worrying about what thing one and thing two might do if -   sorry,   when   - they find out about our little ‘arrangement’?   someone’s in need of a new hobby.   “           /          @heavenfell​ .

(   crowley voice   )   at least buy me a drink before you start w/ the dirty talk,