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Is This a Cult?

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From the back of the cottage came a stifled laugh, as from one who does not want anyone else in their midst to know what it is they’re laughing at.  Aziraphale sighed heavily, setting his book down.  He really regretted letting Crowley get that computer. Ever since then, it had been much the same.  The discovery of YouTube was dreadful, and Vine was even worse.  Thankfully Myspace was long gone, and you couldn’t find much on Facebook that could get you into too much trouble.  But there was always something Crowley was getting into which Aziraphale would rather remain unaware of, but unfortunately never remained blissfully ignorant to for long because—

“Angel, come look at what I’ve found now.”

“Another kitten in a toilet paper tube, dear?” Aziraphale said, getting up slowly.

“No, this is better.”

On the screen which was being angled in Aziraphale’s direction was a long line of gray and white squares full of text on a colored background.

“Huh? Look, angel,” Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale pulled his reading glasses from his breast pocket and carefully put them on.  He didn’t need them, but he always thought they made him look spiffy and clever.  As his eyes ran over the page, his expression fell from one of showy indifference, to one of mild horror and disgust.

“Oh, my,” he murmured, pulling up a chair and scooting closer to the monitor.  “This is…oh, dear.”

“It’s great, right?” Crowley snickered.  He slid his chair to the side, making room for his acquaintance.  Then he pointed to one near the bottom of the screen.  “Oh, that’s a good one.”

“Who are these people?”

“I dunno,” said Crowley, grinning like an idiot. “Isn’t that great?”

“What exactly makes it ‘great’?”

“Because watch, I can do this,” he replied, and he took the keyboard over to his side of the table, along with the mouse.  A few clicks and some typing later, and he had one of those messages typed up himself.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said with a gulp.  “That’s a bit, er, personal, don’t you think?”

“Nah,” said Crowley, and he clicked on the little “send” icon.

“Oh, you’ve sent it to them,” said Aziraphale, his eyes wide in horror, “haven’t you?  That’s not good.”  He took the mouse and clicked frantically until it took him back to the first page. “Where is it?”

“They haven’t gotten it yet,” said Crowley.  “We’ve just got to wait, and then they’ll post it.  Isn’t that great?”

“Is this a cult?”

“Is it what?”

“Is it a cult?” Aziraphale repeated.  “All these people—I assume it’s more than one.  It is more than one isn’t it?  These can’t all come from one person—sending in messages about wanting to…oh, well you’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

Crowley bit his lip to keep from laughing.  “No, it’s not a cult.  I mean…no, I don’t think it is.  It’s just people having fun.”

“Odd sort of fun,” said Aziraphale slowly.

“There’s another one,” said Crowley with a snakelike grin.  “You wanna see it?”

“There are two cults who want to…to do all those things to me?  Oh…that is a problem.”

“No, there aren’t two cults who want to fuck you.  One of them wants to fuck me.”

“There’s one that what?” Aziraphale asked, sitting up straighter now.

Crowley laughed.  “Oh, now that’s got you interested.”

“No, just—”


Crowley turned the monitor again toward Aziraphale, whose eyes scanned the page with more urgency than he’d liked to have admitted.  He took the mouse and scrolled down a bit, quickly, taking it all in, the occasional, “Oh,” or “Goodness,” sprinkled in here and there, his eyes wide and his face gradually getting redder.

“‘Crowley, holding me down, his hands gripping my hips so hard…’” he read, then stopped abruptly.  “Well, this is wonderful!” he said.  “Two cults dedicated to—”

“I really don’t think they’re cults,” Crowley said yet again.

“Can you really dedicate an entire blog—two blogs!—to wanting to fornicate with a supernatural entity without it being a cult?  It seems like the sort of things that witches and-and Satanists would do!”

“If Satanists did this, I might be a bit more interested in what they’ve got going,” Crowley said, mostly to himself.

“Really,” Aziraphale said, exasperatedly, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  “The things you find on this thing.”

“It’s just a silly little Tumblr blog.  You want me to see if they’re a cult?”


“I will.  I don’t mind.”

“Please don’t.  It would probably be best to leave it alone, just in case it is.  I don’t want—”

But before he could even finish, a message appeared on the screen without Crowley having typed it. It read, “How did I find this page and why do I agree with more and more posts the further I get? Is this a cult? Because I'm kinda in, regardless.” Crowley smirked and hit send.

“There,” he said.  “Now we wait.”

“Why must you always do this?”

“Calm down.”

“How long does it take?”

“I dunno.  Could be a few minutes, could be a couple hours.  Doesn’t matter.”

“But,” Aziraphale said frantically, moving closer to the center of the computer desk area.

“Goodnight, angel,” Crowley said, already halfway out of the room.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon!  You can’t just—”

“Perfect time for a nap.”