Fingersmith

              “The only blood m’really lookin’ to spill now is Abaddon’s. I’m gonna deal with the rest of the Scooby Gang later.                          All I’m sayin’ —- hope y’know how to swim, Johnny.”

               “Personal recommendation.                                       You Jonathan?”

+ venationi

"Torture is an art. A blossom of colour and extravagant elaborations."

Independent RP blog for a Supenatural based OC

✂ — 4+ Years of Roleplaying Experience

✂ — Crossover Friendly

✂ — Multiverse, Multiship, OC friendly

✂ — Will do Para, gif/icon, pretty much anything if you ask

-

"Oh hush, Jon. Must you ruin my fun?"

Jon was the only being in existence that Crowley trusted enough to allow to touch his wings. It was an incredibly personal thing, to touch an angel’s wings and to help groom them. Though he couldn’t do it himself and Jon was the closest thing to a friend he’d had in centuries. Besides, Jon knew what he was doing.

Crowley scoffed as he watched the demon bow and turn to collect the bottle and glasses. The angel shook his head and tucked his wings against his back, so they wouldn’t bump into anything.

"Ah yes, Cassie. He would be irate. The backstabbing little prat. You can trust anybody these days! I thought he’d got his when the Leviathans killed him. But no, the sod came back. Bloody figures."

Crowley took a seat in the stylish chairs. He hadn’t expected any less from Jon, seeing as he was one of the most fashionable people he knew. Not including himself, of course. His fingers cradled the glass casually, thumb set on the rim.

"All of Hell, I’d assume. I did issue a challenge to Abaddon, after all. A campaign for Hell, of sorts. I’ll crush every bit of support she had, ever shred of faith, and then….. When she’s utterly alone, I’ll enjoy her slow death. What do you think?"

    ✂— ”Absolutely."

             [ The cheeky tone was obvious as Jon dropped down into his seat, picking up his glass on the way down and crossing his legs. For a demon he wasn't one for dirty or tattered things. He always liked a pristine and clean work area and only the best suits to wear. Even his furniture reflected his aim of cleanliness. ]  

             [ Jon let out a chuckle as the Angel talked of the trench coated angel the Winchester's were so fond of, an elbow resting on an arm of his chair. ]  

            “I'd kill all three if it wouldn't set off a chain reaction. Kill Team Free Will and you've got people dropping from the skies willing to trade their own to bring those three back from the grave. I've lost count on how many times those fools have come back."

             [ The Demon's eyebrow's quickly shot up as his attention was grabbed, sitting a little straighter. He certainly was out of the loop. He'd heard from a passing friend something big was going down, but he hardly expected this. ]  

            “You're not serious.... Really?"

             [ There was an obvious grin of astonishment on his face as he uncrossed his legs and sat forward on his seat, almost on the edge. ]  

-

A pleasant chill ran down Crowley’s spine as he felt the other’s fingers trail along the cleaned feathers. Already he felt better, the kinks in his wings gone. He rarely had them out, as someone seeing them could be problematic. Though he was more than comfortable with Jon seeing them out, as he knew what he was.

"Indeed. I’d rather not discuss it, as I have gotten away from it and they failed in their endeavor. One day, they’ll be in Hell and I’ll have a special spot for them.”

The other wing was being worked through quickly and gently, a gesture the King appreciated greatly. He knew Jon loved working with his wings and he was inclined to indulge him. It saved him hours of work and it was a pleasant feeling, having his wings cleaned so thoroughly. He’d have lost many more feathers without his tailor’s help.

"I’m going to anyway, you know."

His wings were finally done, which was both a disappointment and a relief. He felt Jon back away and he stretched his wings out to their full, massive length and flapped them slightly. Just enough to loosen up anything sticking the feathers together. Once again they shone, healthy and fluffed slightly.

The ‘Thank you’ was left unsaid and hanging in the air, as he didn’t often say it.

"I’ve been craving a drink. Those annoying little apes didn’t have a drop of anything to drink. If they weren’t so damned useful, I’d have killed them ages ago."

    ✂— "If you must. Though don't go over the top. I just fixed your wings."

             [ The little gust of wind from Crowley's wings tousled his hair a little as he watched his King in amusement, taking pride in his work. He'd done it plenty of times before and he never got sick of touching those pale brown and white feathers. ]  

             [ Jon knew there wouldn't be any verbal appreciation from Crowley, but he knew the Fallen Angel appreciated it. If he didn't, the Demon most likely wouldn't have voluntarily worked for the King of Hell. Jon did a slightly bow as he turned around, a small smirk on his face, and walked over to a glass fronted cupboard, pulling out two glasses and a bottle. ]  

            “If it were me, I would have killed them a long time ago. But then there would be a plethora of complications, like their Angel getting lonely and seeking revenge."

             [ The Demon turned, holding the bottle of craig and two crystal glasses to the small table nearby that had two identical Victorian style chairs on each side, pouring them both a drink. ]  

-

Crowley couldn’t help the pleased hum that escaped him when he felt the other’s nimble fingers begin to straighten out some of the feathers. Jon had traded his soul for those talented fingers, if he recalled correctly. The dull ache in the appendages had already begun to fade under the gentle movements of the demon’s fingers. 

"More than you can imagine. It was a feeling…. I can scarce describe. The closest to human I’ll ever be, would be the simplest way I can put it."

The concern was nothing new though it touched him, in a way. He was appreciative of it, even if it felt a tad like coddling. Slowly, the mess of feathers was becoming smooth again. Feathers did, however, flutter to the ground every so often. It would take a couple of weeks for the new ones to grow in fully. Unconciously, Crowley’s wings moved and stretched under Jon’s careful hands. Another pleased sigh escaped him.

"I owe you something nice after this. Preening myself would have taken hours and been far less pleasant. Hmm? Oh, yes, I already healed them."

    ✂— [ A small smirk crept onto Jon's face as he heard Crowley, almost finished with one wing as he brushed his hand over the light coloured feathers. Each feather was as soft as the next, even in the condition they were in, the brown and whites lining up nicely. ]  

            “It sounds like it was a very unnerving experience. I couldn't even begin to imagine what you went through."

             [ Jon moved to work on the other wing, his fingers working quickly but softly, almost unnoticeable as the other wing quickly became just as clean as the first. He took pride in his work with Crowley, finding his undying love for the Angel's wings just as quickly as he'd sold his own soul for his nimble fingers. ]  

            “You don't have to. I'm really only just doing my job."

             [ A chuckle escaped him as he smoothed out the last of his King's feathers, taking a step back to inspect his work. They certainly looked better than before and much more cleaner. He smiled at Crowley contently, brushing his hands off. ]  

-

An angel’s wings are supposed to be a testament to his pride. The larger and neater, the better. Ruffled, dirty, damaged feathers were considered shameful. As though the owner didn’t care any longer. The enormous wings stretched out and moved to a more comfortable, less restricted position. He winced at Jon’s words. Normally he cared for them carefully, but circumstances had prevented that.

"Excuse me for being unable to take care of them while I was chained to a bloody chair and injected with the Moose’s blood. Which was unpleasant, by the way." In all honesty, Jon was the only demon he trusted with his wings. Only being, to be more precise actually.

"They’re not that bad. Just a bit of preening and grooming needed, to straighten and clean them.” It was almost…. Embarrassing to have the other see him in such a mess, “You’re about to have a fit I see. Fine, fine. Fix them, if it pleases you.”

    ✂— [ Already the Tailor Demon was lightly repositioning feathers and smoothing them out, looks of slight disgust crossing his face as he ran his hand over Crowley's wings. Jon completely understood why the King's wings were in this way, but his fashionista personality took over. ]  

             [ Jon's hands stopped suddenly as Crowley mentioned being injected with one of the Winchesters blood, looking at his King with a slightly confused and disgusted look. ]  

            “That must have incredibly unpleasant..."

             [ There definitely was concern for Crowley in his voice as he shifted on the spot, returning his attention to Crowley's wings. Jon's fingers delicately worked to smooth out the feathers, a few lose ones coming free and falling to the floor. Those bloody Winchesters did this. Even the thought of those pig headed brothers torturing Crowley made him fume with anger. ]  

-

Crowley froze when he spotted the look that had morphed on Jon’s face. It was one he new all too well and he subtly began to search for an exit. Alas he found none and sighed softly. 

"Jon, please. I—"

There was no point in arguing with the demon, he was well aware of that. The man prepared and made his suits, it was best not to anger him. Lest he look like a disaster later. Rolling his shoulders back and closing his eyes, Crowley let his wings manifest. The normally glossy, brown feathers were ruffled and out of place. Not to mention dirty and limp, from his time in captivity.  

    ✂— [ Jon' gave Crowley a stern look as he raised his index finger, eyebrows raised. When Jon got like this, there was absolutely no turning back. He was as stubborn as a mule and would try to get his way one way or another. ]  

            “Bloody hell..."

             [ He looked absolutely horrified at the sight of the manner of Crowley's wings, scrutinizing them as he put a hand over his mouth. This was completely unacceptable. With wings like these you would never want to show them, even if it were absolutely necessary. Jon glanced at Crowley for a moment before walking forward, his hand coming away from his mouth. ]  

-

A rare smile touched Crowley’s lips.

"I haven’t felt any pain, so as far as I know, no. Though they are rather…. " The word itself was cliched but he had no other for it, "Ruffled. I haven’t exactly been able to care for them."

    ✂— [ Concern littered the demon's face again as his all too familiar look of horror crossed his face. Usually it was a look he'd make when he saw a completely outrageous outfit, but an Angel's wings were much more delicate and wonderful and not something that should be left uncared for. ]  

-

"You know I’m hard to kill darling. Especially when they’re using the wrong methods." The anger that had once burned in his chest died down, "I promise you, my friend, I am fine and working to take out that redheaded bitch."

"They know nothing. My feathery little secret has stayed just that. One would think they were more clever than that. Though all the better for me, I suppose."

    ✂— "Good. I was just worried."

-

"Nothing you need concern yourself with. That bit of unpleasantness is over with."

"They’d kill you without a thought. And I’d be very upset to lose another tailor because of those bloody apes!" He pursed his lips, "I’m alright. I’ve suffered worse. The most annoying bits were the silence."

    ✂— [ Jon' shifted uncomfortably at the thought of what the Winchesters could do to him, the possibilities literally endless. ]  

            “I'm glad you're worried about me. But That whole time I looked for you, I thought you were dead. Rumours tend to hit hard when you're not supposed to talk about the good ones."

-

"What can I say? They must just be fond of me." Crowley replied dryly, "It would have been friendly, if it weren’t for the needles."

"It wasn’t a leash, per say.” He started, looking away for a moment. The Winchesters weren’t know for their mercy, though he’d suffered far worse, “Let’s just say I’m never getting to wear that suit again and leave it at that.”

    ✂— “Needles?" That definitely got the demon's attention.

-

"I’ll take that as a compliment, though it doesn’t much sound like one." A brow cocked high, "Johnathon, you look surprised. Did you really think something as trivial as a dungeon could keep me down for long?"

    ✂— “Well I expected a little more damage. Lets be honest, the Wincehsters definitely aren't the kindest to Demons."