Hi guys! I know I haven't posted in, well, forever, but I've had the WORST case of writer's block. Lately I've been addicted to Supernatural and hopefully this little short will help me dust off the cobwebs. Hope you enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.


"Ach! How can you call yourself a woman with cooking like that? Did you dump an entire clove of garlic in the sauce?" my irritating mother-in-law griped.

I grit my teeth, back to her as I pulled the freshly baked rolls out of the oven. "If you don't like it, don't eat it Rowena. And just for the record, I made it the way Crowley likes it."

"I can't see how Fergus can tolerate this. Or why my wee boy married the likes of you."

Perhaps because I'm not a lying, manipulative bitch like you, I thought viciously.

Skirting around her, I prepared two plates of spaghetti and poured a tumbler of Craig, taking my husband dinner in his office. He was bent over his desk, reading through a contract no doubt, Guthrie by his side. Seeing me, the loyal (or as loyal as a demon could get) assistant stepped forward and relieved me of one of the two plates I had been balancing, along with the glass of whiskey, placing it on an empty corner of the desk as I smiled at in him gratitude.

"Oh hello darling," my King uttered sheepishly, glancing up. He moved to stand up but I waved him down, sprawling out in my favorite armchair.

"You're working, dear. Don't let me interrupt. Guthrie, would you like some? I know you don't need to eat, but it's only polite to ask."

"No, thank you, my Lady," he replied with a slight bow.

"Guthrie, take something, even if it's only a drink. You know how she is on hospitality," Crowley ordered, reading through the contract again.

He went to reply but I shook my head, grinning. Said grin vanished when I heard a crash coming from my kitchen, followed by several curses in a soft Scottish burr.

"FERGUS! Your bloody mutt knocked over the sauce pan and is tracking it through the kitchen!"

I glared at the ceiling, sending a metaphorical prayer for patience. I knew better than to actually pray. Blasted angels.

"It's Crowley, you blasted woman!" he shouted to her. "Tisi*, love, I'm sorry but could you-"

"I'm going, I'm going," I sighed, heaving myself up out of the chair, the dinner I was enjoying now set on the coffee table.

"Thank you, pet," he mumbled distractedly, taking a bite of his food. "Guthrie, you really must try this. It's her best yet."

I smirked inwardly as I headed to the kitchen only to stop dead in the doorway. There was no way either the hounds had made this disaster. They knew better. There was sauce on the ceiling, the pan on the floor five feet from the stove. My rolls were scattered on the floor and the noodles stuck to the cabinets.

"Son of a- ROWENA I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" I screamed.

She poked her head around the corner. "You think I did this? I know I said your cooking was horrid but I wouldn't do this. I can't abide a messy kitchen unlike you."

"Liar. Ever since you got here, you've been nothing but a nuisance! Criticizing everything I do, dropping snide comments about how I'm not good enough for the son you tried to sell for three damned pigs! But to destroy my kitchen and blame it on the hounds that know better than to even step foot in here? That's a new low, witch."

She flicked her flingers, sending me flying into the wall and pinning me there. That was the last straw. As my bloodlust rose, I lost control of the glamour that hid my wings and I felt my fangs descend. Power rushed through me and her hold on me crumbled like wet sand. Launching myself off the wall, I tackled her into the sauce puddle on the floor, punching her in her smug face. I'll give her this; she could throw a punch, as I discovered when she began to fight back. We tumbled through the sauce, making more of a mess on the kitchen floor, punching and scratching, trying to get the upper hand. The skank played dirty, going after my wings. I screeched when she tore the membrane, so I thrust the heel of my palm into her nose, smirking as I felt the cartilage snap. She pushed me off of her with a spell and my wings flared out to maintain equilibrium.

"What are you?" she demanded, her voice thick from the bloody, shattered nose.

I took a step towards her, ready to attack again when I felt an arm wrap around my waist.

"She is a very pissed off Fury and I highly suggest you keep your mouth shut before she decides to take you down to her playroom. Now, someone tell me WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE!"

I hissed, cringing away as he yelled in my ear. He gave me a quick squeeze as way of apologizing.

"She wrecked my kitchen and blamed it on the hellhounds and when I confronted her, she used magic on me," I told him, lisping around my fangs. I was still too angry to make them recede.

"That winged harlot-"Crowley cut her off before she could continue.

"First off, 'that winged harlot', as you put it, is my wife and your queen. You will NOT insult her or I will have you on the rack faster than you could say mercy. Secondly, don't bother trying to lie because both my hounds are clean of any sauce and know better than to step foot in the kitchen without Tisi's permission. Now normally I'd toss you back in that blasted cell for the audacity to put hands on your Queen, but someone needed to appease her blood-lust. So if she's done with you, you're free to go, after you clean my damned kitchen."

He started to head back to his office, dragging me with him.

"Fergus, I am your mother!"

"For the last bloody time, its Crow- oh never mind! Let's get you cleaned up, pet. You're covered in blood and tomato sauce."

Wings tucked tight against my back to avoid any more damage, I followed him up to our room. He ran me a bath and helped me undress, careful with my torn wing. Once I sunk into the hot water, all of the tension drained out of my muscles and I was finally able to put away my fangs.

"It's been ages since you lost your temper like that, love," he commented, running a hand along my wing to repair the ripped membrane.

"She's been getting on my nerve for ages. I couldn't take it anymore. The woman destroyed my damn kitchen!" I huffed indignantly.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to my forehead before heading for the door.

"Just so you know, love, it really was Juliet."


That's all folks. Reviews are the best form of encouragement to start writing again :)

*A/N: Tisi is short for Tisiphone, the Fury from Greek mythology responsible for punishing crimes of murder. It only made sense for me to pair the King of Hell with a woman comfortable in hell but wasn't a scheming demon. I just happened to take liberties with the mythology and make her slightly more humanoid than Furies are typically depicted.