mightbeconcussed: (Happy girl)
Lucy is no stranger to casual relationships, or she wasn't before she was magicked into thinking she was a 1950's housewife in a bizarre town. Surprisingly, she discovered she loved the bizarre town and the 1950's style. The FBI agent angel that had come to investigate wasn't too shabby himself, even if he hadn't been her usual type (older, less douche-y, more angel-y). She'd been surprised at first when the angel kept coming around and even more surprised when they'd started having sex (she did might've said "I didn't know angels could have sex"). Now, she's even fonder of the angel and the sex, but she's not entirely sure what they are. She's even more baffled that she might care about a label because that hasn't been her style before now. Part of her blames the whole 1950's experience.

In any case, she's at home taking a batch of cupcakes out of the oven when Castiel pops into the kitchen. She used to startle when he did that, now she glances over her shoulder at him and smiles. "Hey, Handsome. What's up?"
mightbeconcussed: (Pouty)
Okay guys. I'm going to need some help.

Desperately seeking my angel. He's like 5'8, droopy puppy eyes, shadowy wings and no sense of humor. He dresses like a playground pedophile which obvi he's not because HELLO angel. He's not answering his voicemail and I'm worried he's dead in a ditch to paraphrase my mother.

Also? I feel like I'm guy bashing here. A lot. Sorry boys. I really do love you all. Okay well most of you.

What is it with boys? I'm not talking about being clingy and having sex and WHY DIDN"T YOU CALL THE NEXT MORNING!!!! Because let's be honest here, I'd rather they not call in that case. That's the reason I give the fake number BUT ANYWAY--You wanted to be TMI'd tonight didn't you?--friends, they're supposed to let each other know they're okay. They're supposed to check in. They're supposed to not let friends worry they're dead in a ditch! Girls don't tend to do this as much. I know how Penny's doing. I know how Menolly is doing. I do not know how Cassie is doing.

Speaking of which I'm not sure I know how Keats is doing. Keats, call me. Let me know you haven't died of alcohol poisoning.

And we're not even going to get into the Harry issue.

Okay, that'd be all. If you see the angel in question let me know or alternately tie him up and leave him on my doorstep. That'll work.

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