It was late morning, but Hastur was in bed — curled up for a change with the quilt tucked around him rather than spread out comfortably in the manner he usually slept in. The sky outside was grayish-white, coated in the sort of thick cloud covering that presaged either heavy rain or snow, though a steady darkening at the edge of the horizon was hinting more at the former than the latter.

It had been three weeks since the day he privately thought of as That Mess, and it was the kind of day that seemed tailor-made for doing not much of anything. Even someone like him, who wasn’t good at doing nothing (lurking always had a purpose; it didn’t count), could appreciate that. Or at least hold a healthy disapproval of nasty weather.

#my-other-ride-is-a-bentley  #starter post  #b!Crowley  
Feb 22nd @ 1:51am WITH 135 notes

  1. my-other-ride-is-a-bentley reblogged this from dukeofell and added:
    Crowley huffed at the assumption. “What, y’think I’m done?” He shook his head, cleaning and drying the plastic mattress...
  2. dukeofell reblogged this from my-other-ride-is-a-bentley and added:
    "Can’t say so. Nope." Hastur gave the wings a tentative shake. "They’re all right as far as I can tell. Uh…" He...

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