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We're a team, a group. Group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't.

#their pronouns are we/us/our

cottage morning kisses

Because Crowley? Crowley wants to be the hero. Crowley wants to be James Bond. He wants it so badly it hurts, bullet-hole windscreen transfers and all. Crowley’s deep, dark fantasy is that he can be good - but also a little bit bad. The rogue agent, the wild card, the one who doesn’t follow the rules, and doesn’t much truck with listening to his superiors. Crowley’s deep, dark fantasy is one in which he gets it right; in which he does the right thing at the right time, and has the right witty comeback in the right situation, and instead of being punished, he saves the day and wins the heart of the genderless celestial being of his choice. Crowley’s deep, dark fantasy is one in which he is never not in control of his situation; one in which he bounces back easily and stylishly from all manner of fights and challenges and adversity; where he faces nothing he cannot overcome with the right combination of wit, ballsiness, and a little Hollywood luck. Crowley’s deep, dark fantasy, the one he can never, ever admit out loud, is one where the world is simple and uncomplicated in the way nothing in real life is simple and uncomplicated; a world in which the good end happily, the bad unhappily, the baddies are dispatched in PG-13 fashion, and none of it needs to be questioned or second-guessed at all.

It’s any illness.

to work if they have the flu,

or even a cold.