We already have THREE #ProudTwickster submissions! I smell a hashtag apocalypse coming. Who started the other two? GET THEM ON THIS!!!
What is #ProudTwickster?
It was an idea I had for the fanbook I’m compiling for Richard Speight Jr’s September birthday.
Everybody takes a selfie, wearing a face mustache, and holding up a sign that says “#ProudTwickster”! We get enough of them, I’m going to include a collage in the fanbook and RSJ will be sure to be pleasantly surprised!
Character: Gabriel Warnings: Some cursing, sickness maybe? Words: 2431 (*sweats nervously*) Request: The reader comes across Gabriel sick in bed and takes care of him. Note: Hola, Twicksters, and sorry for the massive delay! This request was sent to me a whole month ago and I’m so so so so sorry for being so late! School is a hell and leaves me no time to write. But! I apparently made it, so, well, hope you like it! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ As usual, English is not my mother tongue, so I’m sorry for any eventual mistake uwu Enjoy!
The room was smelling like roses and honey and a pleasant warmth had started to spread in the air. You let the robe fall from your shoulders down to the floor and slowly slipped the tip of your toe into the water, testing its temperature. «Perfect», you whispered as you laid yourself into the tub. The whole week had been a mess, a particular dangerous vampire hunt stealing your very time, and, forced to sleep two hours a night and to eat only what little of food you had in your fridge, you’d almost gotten yourself killed because of the stress and tiredness you’d endured during the past days. Now, covered in bruises, aching for a sprankled ankle, but at least certainly alive, you’d decided to allow yourself to take a couple of days of break before heading toward your next hunt, and nothing would have sounded better than a hot and placid bubble bath. You laid your head against the edge of the tub, closing your eyes, and you let yourself slip into a pleasant half-sleep, your worries instantly melting into the relief of the bath. The moment, though, was roughly interrupted by the buzzing of your phone, laid on the washing machine beside you, making you wince in surprise and open your eyes at once. «Oh, really?», you groaned, quickly bending your knees in an attempt to raise. Your nuisance for being interrupted, though, was instantly cut off and replaced by the unpredicted pain your swift movement had caused. «Shitfuckmerdeporca–», you cursed, a countless number of profanities in even more languages you thought you knew slipping from your lips while you tried to reach for the phone withour moving your ankle. Finally, after performances of stretching an olympic athlet would have surely envied you, you managed to get to the device, and you instantly replied without bothering to look at the caller ID. I don’t care who dared to interrupt me – I will personally kill him or her anyway. «Hello?», you muttered, biting on your lip to prevent any howl of pain from slipping from your mouth. «I’m dying», someone wailed into the phone. «I’m dying!». Woah, there– not so litteral. «Gabriel?». The archangel let out a muffled whine, his voice so filled with pain your heart started to race like a hummingbird’s. «(Y/N)», he barely managed to blur out through his moans, «you have– y-you have to come here. I’m, I’m dying». «Gabriel?», you repeated, trying to get out of the tube without bumping your ankle and miserably failing. «What the hell’s happening?».