#you sap crowley

[beelxebub]

do you ever think about the fact that there is simply no way crowley doesn't know that calling aziraphale "angel" around humans makes people assume they're a couple? i mean he's doing it on purpose 100 per cent because he loves it

#good omens #people must assume they're a couple literally 100% of the time. like even more than we see it happen in the show #you sap crowley

[ceruleancattail]

Hello, I apologize for the inconvenience, but I would like to make a request to Jamil, where in his overblot state he expelled the octanaville trio, Kalim, Grim but left the reader (or MC if you prefer) in scarabia because Jamil already had feelings for her, and took advantage of her overblot state to finally have her beloved diamond, with no one to get in the way (you can decide if you want Yandere or not, but I need to see Jamil be loved and adored by her diamond, maybe the MC doesn't even care much about that because he also has some feelings for Jamil)

Better

Overblot Jamil Viper x reader

Tw: yandere, suggestive, mentions of blood

The pressure of his gaze was stifling.

Weighing down on both of your shoulders, forcing them downwards. The fear struck you like the deadly claws of some horrid beast, sinking deep into your flesh, impaling your bones. Striking fear into the very crevices of your heart.

Sweat coated both of your hands, glistening away against your palms. Fracturing every glint of light left in the room, sending them everywhere in scattered, panicked rays.

Much like your frantic heartbeat, thumping ceaselessly against its cage of bone. Thundering in your ears, drowning out all coherent thought. The only things that managed to stay were animalistic instincts.

Run.

Hide.

Shivering, you raise your head. Making eye contact with Jamil. No…. Not Jamil. That… thing standing tall in front of you, towering over your quavering form. Covered with a black, tar like substance that spilled from every inch of his body. Waxing and waning right before your eyes, twisting into intricate, elaborate designs. Yet for all their delicate beauty, every single piece just felt like another blade, edge sinisterly sharp.

Sharp enough to pierce through flesh like paper.

Sharp enough to hurt both the opponent and the person who donned it.

What had Crowley said?

“Overblots drain the host’s energy. Sapping away at it, bit by bit.

Until they’re nothing but a shell of their former self.”

Lowering your gaze, your eyes flickered from the left and right. No sign of the companions who accompanied you on this reckless crusade. It was supposed to be simple. Expose Jamil’s plans, and everyone makes amends. Your life carries on.

Unfortunately, they’ve been flung out with a simple swipe of the enraged vice-house warden. Tossed aside like scraps of trash, like they didn’t even matter in the first place. Clutching at the fabric of your blazer, you mutter a silent prayer to whatever was looking out for you at that moment.

You managed to roll away just in the nick of time. As a regular, magic-less being, you weren’t too sure if you would have even survived from an impact that large. A quick look at the remains of that blow were enough to send a chill racing down your spine.

Cracked tiles, marble shattered into mere particles of dust, scattered throughout the breeze. Just to think, that would have been you.

“Hey.”

Jamil’s voice rung out, no longer that docile, gentle voice he used when you two worked in the kitchen together. It was horribly distorted, twisted into something that just oozed venom. He spat out his words, anger sizzling in every syllable.

“Where do you think you’re looking?”

Upon meeting those eyes of ebony, all you could muster were sobs, choked out of the very depths of your throat. Hands feebly reaching for where your companions once stood, if that would have brought them back.

A dark blur slammed into the ground right next to you. A shadowy snake, smashing into the floor right next to you. Sending up dust, grime and jagged fragments of what was once delicately painted floor tiles. Some impaled themselves into your palm, your arm. Jagged edges sinking deep into flesh, piercing everything that they could reach.

A growl, a deep, guttural sound. The sound of a territorial beast, sinking its jaws into what was his.

“Stop looking around. They’re gone.”

As quick as a viper’s strike, Jamil’s hand reached out for your face. Grabbing your chin with a single palm, nails digging deep into your skin. Wincing, you jerk backwards, if only in a last-ditch effort to escape his hold.

“Keep your eyes on me, instead.”

Jamil only holds on tighter, squeezing tighter. Your jaw stung, screeching out in burning, white hot pain. A sharp stench stabbed into your nostrils, the foul smell of metallic, scarlet blood. Beads of crimson blossomed on your skin, dripping down the curves of your face.

A forked tongue flickered, slipping out of his lips. Sliding across in one smooth motion. As if Jamil could taste your fear, and he was… relishing in it. A sadistic gleam sparked to life within his eyes, dancing around within like a flame, eager for more to burn.

“Red does look rather good on you. Perhaps you should adorn it more often.”

Something in his voice made you fairly sure that his statement wasn’t just a suggestion. The cold, firm way he delivered that line… it was an order. An order from the tyrant right in front of you.

You gulped silently, words spilling off your tongue in an attempt to snap Jamil out of… whatever twisted state he was in.

“Jamil, stop it. There’s still time, you still have a chance to change back. If this keeps up-“

Grip loosening, you hasten the pace of your speech, convinced your words were getting through to him. For the briefest of seconds, you allowed yourself to hope.

Only for that fleeting, delicate feeling to be crushed. The hand clutching at your cheek was shoved against your mouth, slamming it shut. Jamil’s eyes narrow, glaring daggers at your own.

“Shut up.”

You only got a shallow gulp of air before Jamil’s lips press against yours, his kiss hungry, greedy. Warmth surges through your mouth, his forked tongue flicking menacingly against yours. Hell, you could feel his fangs, those ivory daggers of white graze your lower lip, sharpened edges slipping into the plush of your lip.

Jamil kissed recklessly, drowning in endless waves of both passion and lust. Reaching for every inch you could possibly give, and tearing right past that limit. He took, took, and took, with little to no regard for how much you could give.

By the time he pulled away, there were tears pooling up at the very edge of your eyes. Your lungs ached, a dull sensation. Desperately heaving, sucking in one breath after another, to replace whatever Jamil saw fit to steal from you.

Breathlessly, you mutter.

“Let go of me, Jamil. This isn’t good… for the both of us.”

A low chuckle, before Jamil threw back his head. Laughing hysterically, his laughter echoing through the hallways of Scarabia. Each booming sound dripping with malice, dripping into your ears like acid, hissing and spitting.

“Oh, my dear.

I’ve never felt better.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #Jamil viper #Jamil #Jamil viper x reader #Jamil x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere Jamil viper #yandere Jamil #yandere Jamil x reader #yandere Jamil viper x reader #protection charm ♦️

[scoops-aboy86]

Rockstar Eddie Munson taking his husband Steve on a tour of Europe. They’re well past their Upside Down days, both starting to go a little gray. Eddie has his wild stage antics to stay in shape for, but Steve with his school counselor desk job has softened considerably over the years. 

During their stop in London, Eddie brings Steve to the Ritz and treats him to an extravagant afternoon tea. The next table over seems to be doing the exact same thing, a tall and wiry man with red hair and sunglasses passing little plate after little plate to a rather more portly fellow with white-blond curls who every now and then gives happy little sighs and pleased little wiggles, just like Steve. 

“Eds, can you pass me more of those round pastry things?” Steve asks, reeling Eddie’s attention back in to focus on how content his sweetheart looks, trying a little bit of everything to start and then moving systematically through the rest in order of alright to favorite. He looks, Eddie thinks, only a few minutes from surreptitiously unbuttoning his pants and untucking his shirt, prepared to leave it that way for the long haul and probably all the way back to the hotel. 

“Of course, angel,” Eddie replies, reaching easily for the requested dish. 

He doesn’t notice Sunglasses at the next table looking over with a raised eyebrow, suspicious at first but then softening into a huff of amusement at who knows what. Or the little wave of the man’s hand, a few extra plates appearing on both his and Steve and Eddie’s table. Or the blond man smiling beatifically with a honeyed, “Oh Crowley, you old sap.”

#wg steddie #chubby steve harrington #feeder eddie munson #rock star eddie munson #surprise! it’s a cute little good omens crossover! #scoops words

[aziraphales-library]

The requests for Christmas fics have started to come in... far, far too late. Remember folks, it takes us months to answer asks and then they're in the queue for a while before publishing.

Luckily this blog is a resource, not simply an ask blog. We already have a #christmas tag you can check for fics we've recommended before!

As a little bonus, here are a few new fics from this year...

City Of Blinding Lights by ShadesOfDeviant (G)

“Well, I sometimes—that is to say—I often considered an early evening walk round the area to see the lights quite the romantic endeavour. Arm in arm under the glow of the fairy lights, I even have a route planned out for should I ever get the chance to go.” “Should you ever get the chance?” Crowley snorts in a way that would be unattractive to almost anyone other than Aziraphale before he folds his newspaper in half and then half again, and casually tosses it onto the coffee table beside him. “You need to be a bit more subtle when you’re aiming for a temptation angel.” He adds with a quick wink before he rolls up onto his feet. AKA: Aziraphale has always wanted to go on a romantic evening walk round London to see all the Christmas lights. Now free of Heaven & Hell and able to openly express his feelings for Crowley, Aziraphale can't think of a better time to implement a plan nearly 40 years in the making.

A Dream Is A Soft Place To Land (may we all be so lucky) by randomramblingsofme (T)

Crowley feels as if the universe won't let him get his feet back under him. He has no plan, is juggling two jobs, coping with chronic pain from an old injury, expertly (so he thinks) hiding a raging crush on the bookseller across the street, and he is currently covered in tree sap. But things could be worse. For example, he could forget all about the Whickber Street Christmas party being hosted by said crush until five minutes beforehand. Oh shit. --- Modern AU, Barista Crowley/Bookseller Aziraphale

Eggnog and Effervescence by RepQueen15 (T)

Crowley turned so as to be able to watch the rest of the movie, and his ear pressed against Aziraphale’s thigh. He felt the angel tremble a little, as though this weren’t just some small service to him either, though that was nothing short of ridicule. Or perhaps…? No. This was just Aziraphale being his perfect, soft self. Though maybe, just maybe, Crowley wasn’t the only one who needed a little more physical contact in his life. *** Crowley and Aziraphale spend a quiet Christmas Eve putting up fairy lights, getting tipsy on eggnog, watching ridiculous Christmas movies and... cuddling.

Here’s a Hand (My Dearest Friend) by perilit (T)

Wherein Crowley allows himself to be comforted in the days leading up to the Christmas holiday, and repays with some comforting of his own.

I’m Dreaming of a Light (and Dark) Christmas by cheeseplants (T)

Aziraphale had begun plotting his revenge a few days after the encounter with the man he had begun to refer to as the demon in his head. Not that he was a vengeful person. He was a good and righteous person who believed it was important to bring light into people's lives. Lights, in fact. Several of them. _______ Two shopkeepers with very different ideas about Christmas battle it out on Whickber Street to create the most extravagant Christmas lights in London. But when the lights go out, they start to find they may have more in common than they first thought. An enemies to lovers human-AU Christmas decorations feud!

If the Fates Allow by catherineland (T)

Crowley makes a shocking discovery: Aziraphale claims to hate Christmas. Crowley’s new mission is to show his angel what he’s been missing.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #christmas #fluff #domestic fluff #human au #mod d

[quoththemaiden]

The final chapter of @mrghostrat's Big Name Feelings Good Omens AU is dropping tomorrow, so obviously there was no way I could resist writing another fanscene. (Previous scene 1, 2, 3) Inspired by the sheer domesticity of chapters 15 and 16, enjoy this end-of-series scene.

—

Crowley's key fumbled against the lock — still Aziraphale's lock, technically, but very firmly Crowley's key. "Dinner was good, though?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes a little at how much more attention his face was getting than the keyhole. Sherlock Holmes might have blamed the wine they shared at dinner for the scratches around the lock, but Aziraphale knew better. "It was delicious, of course. You should know; you were there."

"Nnyeah, well, it's your opinion I care about." As if that weren't obvious from Crowley having gotten them a table at one of the city's best restaurants on Valentine's Day and insisting on not even letting him see the bill.

As if Aziraphale was ever any good at hiding his appreciation of good food.

"Quite sure," Aziraphale replied with a gentle touch on Crowley's arm that swiftly turned into snagging the key from him to open the door himself. Crowley let out a huffy laugh as he followed him inside. "Tea?"

"Sure, if that goes with whatever we're doing next." Crowley had been trying to wheedle Aziraphale's planned gift out of him for the past two weeks, and Aziraphale had remained utterly firm in not sharing it with him. Crowley insisted that whatever Aziraphale planned would be alright with him so there was no reason for Aziraphale to be shy about it, and Aziraphale had said "I know, dearest," and somehow that's as far as Crowley's attempts at learning Aziraphale's plans ever got.

Aziraphale fussed around with the tea and put on some music — old-fashioned stuff on actual CDs, the sap — and Crowley was left to lean against the doorjamb watching him and coming to terms with being so terribly, completely besotted that their evening plans could be "absolutely nothing" and Crowley wouldn't love it a single speck less. Aziraphale had said that he'd always thought of Valentine's Day as just another day, and that he'd certainly never considered that he might be able to celebrate it publicly, so Crowley was already delighted at having coaxed him out to dinner. Crowley found himself very suddenly aware that if Aziraphale's supposed plans amounted to nothing at all, he honestly wouldn't mind. His fifteen-year-old self would eat him alive if he knew, and Crowley felt warm inside to know that that was his younger self's loss.

Crowley blinked out of his reverie in time to help Aziraphale carry the teacups into the living room, and was almost surprised when Aziraphale brought a bag in with him as he followed. "Whazzat?"

"Painting supplies, dear." Aziraphale set the bag down on the coffee table.

Another point in favor of another evening spent doing nothing unusual. Crowley relaxed back into the couch, wondering if his melting heart could leave stains on the fabric. "What're you gonna paint?"

"You!" Par for the course again, then. Aziraphale gave a happy wriggle. "I hope you aren't ticklish!"

Wait, what?

"Uh?" Crowley picked up one of the paints Aziraphale was setting out and found that the label said, quite clearly, "body safe." "Angel?"

Aziraphale looked at him with a smile that said he was still 100% confident in his plan despite Crowley's confusion. "I thought it might be a nice reminder of the con. Getting an airbrush and making stencils didn't seem sensible, really, but I know how to use a brush well enough."

Crowley let out a breathy laugh. "'Well enough' 's an understatement. Geez, now MY gift feels—"

"—completely, perfectly tailored to me," Aziraphale cut in. "I would have been actually cross if you'd insisted on getting me another sword." Crowley laughed again, and it warmed Aziraphale's heart that he'd seemed to do nothing but laugh all night. Aziraphale patted Crowley's hand before picking up his tea, taking an appreciative sip and willing it to calm the excited fluttering in his chest. "What do you think? Another serpent on your cheek? I was thinking a tree would look rather lovely spread across your spine and shoulder blades..."

Crowley shivered a little at that, easily able to picture Aziraphale straddling his hips as he lay on the bed, Aziraphale's left palm spread flat on his back to keep himself steady with the rise and falls of Crowley's breath, his paintbrush tenderly tracing a line along his spine...

"Snake first," he agreed quickly. "And then..." He looked down on Aziraphale's arms and swallowed. "Think you could paint on your own arm? I could help hold things steady for you."

"Oh," Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley's heart clenched in the best of ways. He had no idea how Aziraphale always managed to say that like he was falling in love all over again, time and time again, but he did.

No, that wasn't quite right. Crowley probably did know. He suspected it came from the same place as the way he'd looked at Aziraphale as he helped him out of the car today. Aziraphale had taken his arm without hesitation and looked up at him with a warmer smile than any mortal had ever earned, and Crowley had been certain he was wearing his own heart on his sleeve, his vest, and every other garment he owned.

He adored him, and somehow, ineffably, it was the smallest moments that made it stand out the most.

"...right," Aziraphale managed to say around the happy tightness in his throat. "Some art for the both of us, then."

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #bnf au #fanfiction of fanfiction #my writing #absolutely amazing fic bilvy #you should be proud!!

[hikarry]

Crowley orquestrated the Cesar stabbing

We own a whole ass Tumblr holiday to that mf

He did! You're so right, sweetie!

"You stayed in Rome after I left back then, didn't you?"

"Myeah. For some reason Beelzebub considered Rome the epitome of evil back then. Guess they found it very ironic when they adopted Christianity."

"Hm." Aziraphale fiddles with his cup of tea, clearly trying to say something, but falling short of it.

"Alright." Crowley puts down his expresso in the table and crosses his arms over his chest. "Out with it, angel. You look stupidly distress every time you get like that."

"I am not distressed! I just-"

"Want to ask something but don't know how. Yes. I'm aware. So, out with it. I'm giving you a free opening." He gestures with his hands between them. "Take it."

"Right." The angel clears his throat, laying his hands on his lap. "Crowley." He pins the demon down with his gaze. Eye to eye. The sunglasses were Jesus knows where. Probably downstairs in the horse statue, who cares. By the way Aziraphale was looking at him, this was serious and Crowley wasn't sure he was ready to deal with that before he finished his expresso. "Did you, by any chance, orquestrate Ceaser's assassination?"

Crowley stops moving, sitting completely still.

"Ceaser as in Julius Ceaser the Roman Emperor?"

"Yes. The Roman Emperor."

"Ngk." Right. Now that was a question indeed. "Listen, angel." He leans over the table, getting as close to Aziraphale as demonically possible with a table between them. "I didn't tell them to kill him. I just incentivated some light stabbing. Brutus was way over his head. Not my fault the bloke died."

Aziraphale takes a slow sip of his tea.

"Why did you kill Ceaser?"

"I-! You-!" Crowley straightens himself up again and waves his hands between them, eating words as he speaks. "I wasn't even there when he was killed! I was on the other bloody side of the city! I just told Brutus 'Hey. So, Ceaser getting a bit out of control, eh?' And he came up with the stabbing all by himself! All I said was 'Sure. Sounds like fun! Go ahead, mate!' But I never thought they would gang up on the fucking emperor like lions eating a baby deer!"

"You could have stopped them. Yet you didn't." They stare at each other for a moment, Aziraphale taking another slow sip of his drink. "It was because of the library, wasn't it?"

"Ngk."

"Crowley."

He sighs, finally admiting defeat, relaxing his shoulders and holding the warm mug between his hands.

"You were literally almost discorporated in my arms because that bloody maniac set fire to the library and you HAD to try and save whatever scrolls it was you were trying to save."

"Prophetic scrolls."

"Yes. Well." He looks back up at the angel. "I might have incentivated a light stabbing over your almost discorporation - which I find totally fair. It so happens stuff got out of hand and he ended up killed. So what? He was an arsehole anyway."

"You killed Ceaser over the library."

"No. No no no. I INCENTIVATED light stabbing over you bleeding the heavens out in my bed."

Aziraphale puts his lil tea cup down on the table and smiles.

"Well. I find it very romantic, now looking back."

"I-! I am not romantic!"

"Oh please. You are a sap, my dear. You killed the most famous Roman Emperor over me."

"As I said, he was annoying anyway. Didn't know how to throw a good party, I tell you."

"Uhum. I imagine."

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley #asks #anon

[twst-drabbles]

Riddle 17

Summary: When the Roseling gets angry with his fellow nymphs, he goes to you to cool off while the others attempt to make things right.

(Forgot to say it was my birthday a few days ago. Whoops.)

Riddle didn’t walk up to you so much as he rocketed to your shoulder with a jump from his roots and planted his butt down with a cross-armed huff.

“Hmm?” you tilted your head, giving his back a little scratch that was met with a whack from his arm, “What happened this time little buddy? Who pissed you off?”

His little rose body trembled with the anger of a thousand suns. You could probably put a soda on his head and he’d make it explode. As though popcorn kernel, Riddle stood up and yelled out a combination of leaf-rubbing squeaks, crisps clicks and just general high-pitched screams.

You do not understand a word of it but you knew it best he let it all out. Though, in all seriousness, what did set him off? His face was getting rather dark.

Finally, he ran out of breath, puffing in and out as though Riddle can’t handle the sheer force of his rage. And from behind you, you picked up some frantic rustling.

A chorus of little pips and squeaks sounded out before Trey, Cater, Ace and Deuce all jumped out of the grass. On their necks were little thistle-collars, absolutely forced on them by an angry Riddle.

Held above their heads was a rich red rose, its petals crystallized to look like those candied roses you still have. Honestly, it would’ve been a copy had it not been for the golden sap leaking out of the base of the rose. Clearly it was slapped on just now to hold all the petals together.

And as though to prove your point, a petal slid right off and onto Cater’s face. He struggled but Trey was close enough to grab it and slap it back onto the rose.

“…oh boy…” The attempt to stick it back together was endearing, but, from what you’ve gathered, this was rose was probably Riddle’s very first success after months of trying. You can understand the anger of this perfectionist of a pet you have.

You sighed and placed a hand on Riddle just in case he decided to dip elsewhere. You gently shooed the bound nymphs away.

“Give him some time,” you said, knowing that attempts to apologize will only get Riddle more riled up, “go do something else.”

While the sad pull of their small faces did sting a little, you knew what the results of trying to force a reconciliation would be. Whenever you got too angry to properly get through the day, Crowley’s attempts to talk you out of the bad mood only irritated you into not talking to him for a few days. As such, you’re pretty sure Riddle needs time to sort himself out before attempting such a thing.

And just to give Riddle some privacy, since you can see little tears at the corners of his eyes, you turn just enough so your neck hid him.

“It’ll be alright, just continue on with your day without him, I’ll be with him.” It certainly says something for Riddle to always come to you when his anger reaches this point. You guess he just really hates being alone when he gets this way.

You patted his head, smiling when he didn’t move away. If anything, he adjusted himself and hugged your palm.

You’re sure Riddle can make that crystal rose again. He just needs time.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #heartslabyul #riddle #riddle rosehearts #house pet au #reader insert

[feathered-serpents]

Y’know. I think there’s a decent chance that Crowley and Aziraphale might actually get married in season 3

I don’t necessarily think like. Full wedding with flowers and suits and guests that we’ll see on screen (though I do think Aziraphale would insist on it offscreen!) I could imagine one of them saying “Marry me” to the other

Cause like think about it. When you consider that when they finally declare devotion to each other it will be a MASSIVE deal after 6000 years worth of nonsense, and that they’re both canonically huge romantic saps. Then I think we will, at the very least, possibly get a marriage proposal in season 3

Now it’s just a matter of who pops the question. I could honestly see either of them doing it. The funniest answer is they both say it to each other at the same time

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens season 2 spoilers #ineffable husbands #reposting because tumblr thinks gay marriage is mature I guess!

[mimisempai]

Gingerbread-flavored kisses

Summary

Following yet another squabble between Crowley and Nina, the angel and demon find themselves forced to bake Christmas cookies in Maggie's kitchen. And all without magic.

Having lived for millennia doesn't stop you from being cooking disasters.

Notes

I really needed that dose of fluff and humor, so I hope you enjoy it too.

INEFFABLE ADVENT CALENDER

On Ao3

Rating G -  1515 words

"How many eggs did you say?" asked Aziraphale as he opened a carton of eggs.

"Three, I think," Crowley replied, looking up from the bowl of sugar and butter he'd been trying to "cream" - not knowing what that word meant - with moderate success. In the end, all he had was a grainy beige dough that didn't look "creamy" at all. He looked at the recipe at the line that mentioned eggs and grimaced, "Oops.... Angel, it was only two eggs."

"Crowleyyyy! You got to be kidding me!"

Aziraphale sighed dramatically, and Crowley turned to see him pressing his lips together, holding half an eggshell in each hand. Two more shells lay on the counter beside him. 

"Can't you... remove one?"

"Maybe I can." 

Aziraphale tried in vain to remove the slippery and now useless egg from the bowl, but only managed to break one of the yolks. He put down the bowl and the spoon he had used to fish the egg out and looked at Crowley, who had been watching him the whole time. 

The angel shook his head and said, "No, it's not working."

"It doesn't matter," Crowley said in a tone he tried to make comforting before adding, "You'll just have to do it again."

Aziraphale glared at him and grabbed two eggs as the demon returned to his creamy concoction that wasn't.

Hearing the angel grumble, the demon commented, "If you hadn't been so intent on helping Maggie make Christmas cookies for the record store, we wouldn't be in this mess."

Aziraphale replied, "I could have miraculously done all this without her knowing if you hadn't bragged about it to Nina, who dared us to do it without magic. Anyway, there's no point in knowing whose fault it is. We're going to make these cookies and we're going to make them right."

"Yeah..." Crowley sighed, looking doubtfully at his dough.

Aziraphale paused to sniff a bottle of vanilla extract before adding a spoonful to his two eggs and whisking vigorously.

After a few strokes, he stopped and said to the demon, "Come help me, my dear, hold the electric mixer while I add the ingredients."

Crowley joined him, grabbed the mixer, and as Aziraphale slowly poured the eggs and vanilla into the bowl, he spun the mixer, first at a slow speed, then faster as he grew impatient. He paused from time to time to scrape the sides of the bowl with his spatula and to cast a few glances at Aziraphale, who looked downright homely with an apron around his waist, which Crowley liked a lot but wouldn't say out loud. 

"What's got you smiling like that?" 

"Nothing," Crowley said with a shrug, stirring the dough one last time before putting the spatula down. "Just you being here next to me."

"Sap." Aziraphale said in mockery, but Crowley could tell by the sudden blush in his cheeks that he'd appreciated it. 

"Now what?" Crowley glanced back at the recipe sheet. "The dry ingredients. Do you want to measure the flour or the spices?"

Instead of answering, Aziraphale took the cinnamon jar and a measuring spoon and waited for Crowley to open the flour bag. Six cups of flour and several tablespoons of various spices later, they realized they needed a larger bowl. 

When all the ingredients were transferred to the bowl without waiting, Crowley turned on the mixer.

Nothing in the kitchen was spared, as flour flew everywhere, even inside closed drawers and cabinets. And of course, Aziraphale and Crowley, who were closest to the bowl, took the brunt of it. 

Crowley turned to Aziraphale after a moment and was slightly horrified to see his face, shirt, and hair covered in white powder. Aziraphale looked just as shocked. But before Crowley could speak, with an apology on the tip of his tongue, the angel threw back his head and laughed, shaking the flour off his shoulders and onto the floor. Faced with the angel's utter hilarity, the demon couldn't hold back his laughter either.

"I'm sorry, Angel," he said, catching his breath between laughs. "I didn't mean to."

"I hope not," Aziraphale replied, arching an eyebrow even whiter than natural.

He chuckled and looked at the flour-covered demon before saying, a gleam of mischief in his eyes, "So you really do look like me, but..." he added, grabbing a towel, "I prefer my dark demon."

He began wiping Crowley's chin.

The demon closed his eyes, letting Aziraphale tilt his face back and forth as he brushed the flour from his cheeks and forehead before rubbing the cloth over his own face. His shoulders still trembled with silent laughter as he ran his hand through his hair, brushing out as much flour as he could. 

Crowley stepped forward to help, running his fingers through the angel's usually fluffy hair, now coarse with flour, until it returned to its natural texture.

Once they and Maggie's kitchen were clean enough to proceed, they mixed the rest of the flour with the wet ingredients by hand until the dough had the texture called for in the recipe.

Crowley formed the dough into two balls, wrapped them, and gave them to Aziraphale, who put them in the refrigerator to chill for a few hours. Just like Maggie's recipe said.

"So, what do we do until the dought is ready?" asked Aziraphale, looking at the recipe. 

Crowley turned to him, then moved closer, removing a remnant of flour from the angel's cheek with his thumb, then sliding his hand along his jaw to his chin, which he cupped, he said softly, "I'm sure we can find a pleasant way to pass the time."

Aziraphale replied, a hint of defiance in his voice, "Show me, my dear."

Which the demon hastened to do, pressing his lips to the angel's.

A few kisses and hugs later, the dough was cool enough to work with, and they each took a half, elbowing and throwing flour at each other as they worked side by side. By the time they had rolled out the dough as thin as the recipe called for, they had covered a good portion of the counter.

"How many cookies does this make, anyway?" 

Crowley looked at the recipe, but it didn't say, so he shrugged and answered, "I guess it depends on the size of the cookies you're making."

And then there was nothing to do but cut the cookies and place them on baking sheets. Crowley made a batch of gingerbread cookies, along with some stars, hearts, and candy canes. They placed their cookies on baking sheets and popped them into the hot oven. 

Ten minutes later, the cookies were ready to be placed on cooling racks. Aziraphale, however, couldn't resist tasting one while it was still warm and bit off its head. Crowley leaned over his shoulder, so the angel broke off a piece and put it in the demon's mouth. They chewed thoughtfully for a moment.  

"Hmm. I'm not sure I'm the biggest fan of gingerbread, to be honest," Crowley said. Aziraphale took the cookie from his hands and continued eating; apparently, the angel was a fan.  

They spent another two hours decorating the cookies with icing and other decorations until Crowley put a final smile and button on one of the gingerbread figures. 

Aziraphale looked over the demon's shoulder.

"You missed a spot," he said, and Crowley looked at him, then at the cookie.  

"Really? 

"Mhmm." Crowley felt Aziraphale's breath on his neck as he replied, looking confused, "I... don't see anything. Where?"

"You have icing on your right..." Aziraphale leaned even closer, but Crowley couldn't see where he was pointing "-here." And suddenly there was a warm mouth on his cheek. 

"And there's some here." Aziraphale put his mouth on the demon's jaw and wrapped his arms around his waist. "And there's more here," before kissing the back of his neck.

Crowley turned to face him and brought his own arms up to Aziraphale's shoulders. He raised an eyebrow at the angel and replied challengingly, "I'm sure there was no icing here." 

"Oh, but there is," Aziraphale said very seriously. "And there's more here." He kissed Crowley just behind his ear, Crowley's breath quickened and he instinctively pulled Aziraphale closer. "And you even have some..." Aziraphale brought his lips close to the demon's and continued, "Here," before giving him a tender, gingerbread-flavored kiss.

"Say, you two, I didn't know that was part of the Christmas cookie recipe."

Angel and the demon turned, cheek to cheek, as they watched Nina enter the kitchen.

Then Crowley smiled proudly and, separating himself from the angel, turned to pick up one of the trays of cookies before turning to Nina and saying, "Whatever the ingredients, we held up our end of the bargain. Without magic."

He then placed the tray in the hands of an amused Nina, grabbed the angel's hand and pulled him behind him, "Come on angel, let's go home."

Aziraphale let himself be pulled along without protest, apparently just as eager to get home to continue what they'd started.

Another gingerbread-flavored kiss.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : (After season 2) 

Part 1 Story 1-99

Part 2 Story 100-?

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers

[greenthena]

Fanfic Friday: Welcome to Eden Midtown Academy

A new Human AU? With Crowley and Aziraphale as teachers in a high school humanities department? Friends to lovers? A conflict of interests that calls into question the Greater Good?

Who wants a little snuggly and fluffy Aziracrow action? (You. It's you.) As always, I am a sap and I promise a happy ending.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #fanfic #ao3 #ineffable husbands #aziraphale is in love #crowley is in love #human au #eden midtown academy #lessons in the humanities

[ticklishfiend]

Stained Leather (Good Omens)

(Switch!Aziraphale/Switch!Crowley)

⚠️SPOILERS FOR GOOD OMENS S2⚠️

Summary : He’s lost his angel. Now all Crowley has are the memories they shared. Memories he wishes he could forget as easily as he remembers them.

A/N : love these gay old-ass genderless beings with my whole heart and soul. which is why i’m devastated and needed to vent with angst and tickles :)

Warnings : angst, tickling

Word Count : 2221 (omg kinda angel numbers)

hope y’all enjoy! :)

—

He’d been thinking a lot lately. For someone’s sake, he sure knows he’s got the time for it now. Driving endlessly for days, weeks, maybe months. Who really knows, with how time has blended seamlessly together like one long stretched road, terrifyingly eternal in its seeming hatred for dead ends. He’s had far too much time to ponder on the last, oh, 6000 years or so. But who’s counting? Certainly not Crowley.

He gave his head a stern shake, trying so hard to knock loose all those dreadful little thoughts that keep his knuckles white against the steering wheel. But thoughts always fell right back into place, and yet again, he felt trapped. Did the Bentley shrink since he drove it last? It seems far more cramped than usual. Like he doesn’t fit comfortably anymore, like his body can’t seem to find that Crowley shaped indent in the leather cushion that he worked so hard to make just for him. For a moment, he wonders if it took a new shape, one the car favored over his own.

Angel-shaped.

His eyes shut tight, silent fireworks in the darkness of his pinched eyelids. He’s thinking like a fool now. An idiotic, foolish sap.

That one thought has his mind drifting though, and he feels his heart race with the memories. It’s not the usual heart rate he has when thinking of his…the angel. No, it’s uncomfortable and uneasy. Unbearable. Like a blood-boiling type of heart rate. He’s never felt this way before when remembering.

One particular memory hits him like an oncoming truck. Makes him wish a real truck would hit him even harder.

…

“Please Angel, you’re gonna ruin the leather!”

“Oh, do stop being foolish. I know you are well aware that I’m not much of a mess-making type. Plus, I did bring napkins-“

“Mmyes, napkins, the pinnacle of all cleaning products against 100 year old leather” Crowley says too sarcastically for Aziraphale’s taste. “D’you remember 1991, that little excursion of ours in New York. You tried a hotdog that resulted in the world’s first mustard stain down an angel’s white button up,” Crowley popped the ‘P’ as he poked Aziraphale’s chest, right where the stain had sat years ago. Aziraphale swatted the hand away, annoyance painted all over his face. “It took a miracle to get that stain out, quite literally might I add.”

Aziraphale fixed his posture quickly, chin up in defiance. “Now that’s not fair, and you know it, Crowley. I distinctly remember a certain someone pinching my knee under the table just so I would spill something all over my garments.” Aziraphale huffed, wiping his mouth with one of the napkins he brought specifically because he knew Crowley would make a fuss. He had gotten an ice cream cone on their most recent outing, buying from a local vendor who made it from scratch. He tipped quite generously too, as homemade is always his favorite.

“Yeah well, s’not my fault your vessel’s too ticklish to keep food in your mouth,” Crowley grinned, leaning just a tad closer to Aziraphale so he could get a good look at that flustered expression painted on his angel’s face.

“Oh hush, it wasn’t even in my mouth when it fell. You know that, too,” He took a generous lick of the treat, unable to hold back a smile and slight wiggle at the strawberry flavor coating his tongue. “And don’t you forget, I’m not the only one here with a sensitive vessel. I seem to remember a particular incident in, oh, 2004 was it? Ah yes, you drew quite the attention of just about everyone in the pub with your scream-“

“Oh shuttuuuup, I did not scream,” Crowley insisted, just as he did back in ‘04, even with all those curious eyes on him. He specifically remembers two blue ones paired with a particularly un-angelic smile bringing a sickening warmth to his face. He merely rolled his eyes at the memory.

“A shrieking cackle then, maybe?” Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his cheeky smile as Crowley glared at him. “Would a shrill squeal better suffice? Nooo, I know, it was more like the wail of a —ah! Ah, Crohowley, wait-!” Aziraphale was cut off mid sentence by devilish fingers squeezing just above his knee cap, an unfortunate repeat of ‘91 waiting to happen. “The leather, Crohowley, the leatheheher!”.

“Oh no, do continue! I’d just love to hear what other synonyms you’ve been cooking up the past 10 years!” Crowley couldn’t help the grin as he saw Aziraphale struggle to keep his ice cream from dripping while pulling at the tickly hand on his leg. Those angelic giggles always have been his downfall, though he never did complain. “Haven’t got all day, have we, Angel?”

Aziraphale groaned through his giggles, nearly crushing the cone in his hand from his mirth. “You fiehehend!” He stomped his legs (gently, though for the soft angel it might as well been a violent kick) against the car floor, nearly pressing his face into the window next to him in giggly embarrassment. “Stop ahahat once!” His voice squeaked on the last word, and Crowley couldn’t hold back the fond coo if he wanted to.

“Aww cmon, now, you don’t have to kick her! What did she ever do to you, huh?” His hand moved to strike the angel’s side, cackling like the demon he is as Aziraphale practically folded sideways, the angel’s hand on the opposite side having quite the struggle to pull the tickly one off him. He must’ve forgotten he could switch the ice cream to his other hand, the poor ticklish thing.

Aziraphale no longer got any words in, too caught up in giggling his head off to care. He’d folded so much to the side his head began falling onto Crowley’s shoulder, seizing the opportunity to hide his face in the material.

Crowley thanked everything above and below that Aziraphale’s eyes were hidden, now that a familiar fond smile and warm blush painted the demon’s usually cold face. He loved seeing his angel like this, and he could surely get used to it.

However, he didn’t want to embarrass his friend so much he discorporated (though the thought awfully enticed him. Not the discorporation necessarily, but definitely getting his angel to blush so hard he was hot to the touch).

Crowley finally let go of him, smoothing out the fabric of his suit and snickering when Aziraphale flinched. “Oh, I’m done, angel. You can relax.”

Aziraphale pouted as he caught his breath, shoving the cone towards Crowley which he took without thinking twice. Aziraphale smoothed out his coat on his own, like he just knew Crowley wasn’t doing it properly before. After composing himself in silence, he gave a glare towards his demon. “That was rather childish of you, don’t you think?”

Crowley grinned. “Mmyes, I suppose it was,” he took a lick of the ice cream before handing it back to a still blushing Aziraphale. The angel looked to the roof of the car as if sending a silent prayer. Crowley tilted his head. “But rather fun though, wouldn’t you say?”

Aziraphale gave a tight shake of his head. “I cannot agree in the slightest. Exploiting my vessel’s sensitivities like that is just…well it’s unprofessional, Crowley. You should know better.”

“What, know better than to give my angel a little laugh once in a while? I say no harm, no foul,” He shrugged, sagging back into his seat and throwing an arm over the back of Aziraphale’s own.

“No no, much harm, much foul. It’s humiliating!” Aziraphale pouted again, looking down at his ice cream with those awful puppy-dog eyes Crowley just can’t stand for long. “Vessels are such strange things.”

Crowley sighed, “That they are.” He gazed at Aziraphale’s face for a moment, before decidedly looking anywhere but his face. He’d embarrassed his angel. He really didn’t mean to (well, he did, but he was allowed to feel a little bad about it after). Those heavenly giggles just have such a hold on him sometimes. He growled when a thought popped into his head he absolutely despised, but knew would make his friend feel all the better. “Look, if it embarrasses you that bad…and really it shouldn’t, it’s just laughing after all, not like I dressed you in feathers and made you dance down the street like a plump chicken-“

“Get to the point,” Aziraphale said straight-edged, like he’d been waiting to hear this from the start of his pout-parade. Oh that slimy little bastard. He always got his way with Crowley, didn’t he?

And still, Crowley didn’t call him out on it. He just growled through a long, dramatic sigh, looking up towards the roof. “You…well, I could allow, if only for a moment-!” He pointed a finger towards Aziraphale’s face (which he was looking at again, why did he always feel the need to look), and he was doing that smug little grin he always did, cheeks round and eyes squinted in his direction. Oh, Someone save him. “…nrk, just, make it quick, would you angel?”

Aziraphale cheered back up a little too quickly at that. “Oh of course. If you please?” He offered the cone back to Crowley, who took it with great hesitance. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, never one who was able to handle the anticipation. His lips pressed together in preparation to conceal all those embarrassing sounds he dreaded escaping, he held his breath and waited.

And waited.

He was half tempted to say something, but he was far too clever for that. Aziraphale’s done this before to him, making him open his mouth to complain before striking so he had no chance of holding back those sounds his angel dared to call giggles.

Instead, he opted to open one eye, just to see what all the hold up was about. So much for being clever.

Aziraphale’s hands were poised over Crowley’s torso, fingers wiggling with very un-angelic intent. His face said it all, though, looking directly into Crowley’s eyes like he had been waiting for him to look. Such an unfair game he played, at least Crowley got it over and done with!

Crowley growled behind gritted teeth, smacking away at those mean, teasy hands with his own free one. Aziraphale tsked.

“Now, Crowley, you said you’d give me a moment’s tickle, but I haven’t even started yet! You can’t shove me away already,” His hands continued their tickly motions here and there while being fought off (quite lazily if he had any say about it), “It’s against the rules.” Crowley groaned, always unable to stay silent against teasing.

“We’re rule-breakers, it’s what we do—AH!! No wahait! Oh you fuhucker!” Crowley released bubbly cackles as soon as Aziraphale touched down, squeezing the bottom of his ribs like his fingers were a magnet to his most sensitive spots.

“Such lovely laughs you always produce when I tickle here. Though, I’ve wondered before why some spots are more ticklish than others. Like, for example, here-“ He moved his hands up to Crowley’s neck, fingers fluttering softly against the skin and making Crowley break out in breathy giggles. “-you make such sweet giggles-“

“Nohohot gigglin’!”

“-and yet when I tickle your ribs, you just-“ He struck back down against his bony ribs, the gentle fervor behind his finger tips sending Crowley’s head slamming against the headrest behind him, overcome with belly laughs and cackles he couldn’t contain if he wanted to (he did not, but don’t tell his angel that). “-my, well you just can't take it, can you?”

Curse Aziraphale and his evil teasing. Why did he have to be so sweet and gentle about it? Always made Crowley want to explode on the spot just to expel all that nervous, flustered energy inside him.

“Stohohop! Really, ahahangel, I-!”

CRUNCH

The tickling stopped, and so did any movement or sounds amongst the two of them, for just a moment. They eyed the ice cream cone dripping between Crowley’s fingers, dollops falling onto the leather between his legs.

A small snicker from the back of Aziraphale’s throat, before the angel fell into helpless cackles. The irony of it all just…tickled him so.

And though so very annoyed at that sticky stain he was now having to angle himself away from, avoiding getting any on his black jeans…Crowley began to laugh too. What could he say, angelic laughter was far too contagious for him to help himself.

…

Crowley burnt from the inside out. The flames soured everything inside him, churning his insides and scolding his flesh to a burnt replica.

His eyes unconsciously darted to the seat he sat upon, wondering if under all the cleaning products and the eventual miracle, there was still a sweet pink stain underneath it all.

He turned back towards the road. His hold so tight on the wheel his arms started to shake, pushing hard against the wheel until it began shaking too.

Strangling the wheel of his poor car, he shook and fought and bellowed out a loud, growling yell from deep in his belly, slamming his fist against the wheel repeatedly. Of course, it was of no use. Memories replayed over, a broken record of moments he dreaded bringing to surface.

With an agonized cry, he tried again.

—

A/N : hope you enjoyed, i didn’t, these two have broken me!!!! bye i’m gonna go listen to Unknown/Nth by Hozier yet again and grieve

#tickle community #tickling #tickle fic #good omens tickling #lee!aziraphale #lee!crowley #ler!aziraphale #ler!crowley #good omens 2 tickling

[straightupsickfics]

i just think 📘 reading in bed + 🩵 blankets + 💙 cold & flu symptoms would be very cute for ineffable husbands with a sick Crowley... i love your writing! thank you 🖤

wahhh this is sooooo cute for them pls 🥺🩵🩵🩵🩵

****

“Hell itself would be better than this,” Crowley groans from where he’s sprawled across the sofa in the bookshop.

He's on day three of this winter cold, and all of his symptoms seem to have caught up with him at once. He’d spent the better part of the afternoon drooping about the shop, picking things up and putting them down, complaining about his sore throat, sneezing in little fits of twos and threes, and doing more or less anything he could to get Aziraphale’s attention. 

“Now, I’m sure that’s not true,” Aziraphale tuts, putting his book aside and making his way over to him. “Are you even comfortable like that, my dear? We really can go upstairs. I’d go with you,” he promises, nudging the pouty demon. He coaxes Crowley up and off of the sofa before he can really even register what’s happening. Crowley settles against Aziraphale easily, though, blanket-warm and pliant even as he rolls his eyes. 

“You’ll stay? You hate sleeping, angel,” Crowley reminds him. He sounds needier than he usually allows himself and Aziraphale hugs him just that much closer. 

“I don’t hate it, I just don’t need it. Besides, I won’t be sleeping, dear boy, you will. I’ve just been reading, which I can do just as easily in bed.” Curling up in bed with Crowley, tucked beneath the lovely soft sheets and piles of blankets he’s collected for them — well, for Crowley, really — sounds just about as close to heaven as they can get down here on Earth. 

“Mnh, fine,” Crowley agrees, like he’s doing Aziraphale an enormous favor, then gives himself away by turning and nuzzling a tired, sniffly kiss against his neck. 

Aziraphale doesn’t bother trying to suppress the smile this elicits. It’s rare that Crowley lets himself be quite so vulnerable, and it’s never lost on the angel that he’s the only one who gets to see him this way. He presses a kiss to his forehead before they make their way upstairs – he’s not fever warm, not yet – but he makes a mental note to keep checking on it; Crowley’s colds almost always come with a low-grade fever that leaves him achy and miserable. 

For someone who didn’t want to move, Crowley wastes no time crawling into bed and slithering under the covers as soon as they get upstairs, miracling himself into black, silky soft pajamas as he goes.

“Y’can change too, angel,” he says, tugging at the buttons of Aziraphale’s vest. “Ngk…h-hold that th-hih! thought… Hh’iiitshh! Huh’Uptshh!” Crowley turns away to sneeze, blinks a few times, then sneezes a third and final time, a harsher, wetter hh’IieeSHOO! that shivers right through him. 

Aziraphale gives a soft, sympathetic sound, then tucks a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth in lieu of a blessing. 

“Warm enough, darling?” Aziraphale asks, taking Crowley’s suggestion and changing into soft, plaid flannel pajamas before sliding into bed beside him. 

“Mmh…am now,” Crowley says, winding himself around Aziraphale until they’re little more than a tangle of limbs, Crowley clinging onto him with no sign of letting go, snuggling into his chest and sniffling until he’s comfortable enough to relax. He’s pale, save for the pink tinge around his nostrils, and his eyes are drooping like he’s fighting to keep them open. 

“Very good,” Aziraphale smiles.

“What’re you reading?” Crowley asks through a yawn. 

Aziraphale’s face flushes. He’s read this one at least a dozen times, but he’s quite sure he’ll never get tired of it. 

“Pride and Prejudice,” he admits, sneaking a glance at Crowley, who is already giving him a knowing look.  

“Sap,” Crowley says through a yawn. 

“Oh, you like this one,” Aziraphale says indignantly. And he does, though he’ll never admit it. 

Crowley shrugs against him, then muffles a cough against his shoulder. “S’okay,” he says. “Darcy’s a bit of a prick, is all. …Y’can read it out loud if you like…” 

“Because you like it, you mean,” Aziraphale teases.

Crowley doesn't say anything, but Aziraphale can feel him melting into sleep as he starts to read, the familiar story a comfort to them both. 

“Sleep tight, my dear,” Aziraphale murmurs when Crowley drifts off.

#softersteve #my fic #good//omens

[fungifanart]

A song of hatred sung by despair

Characters: male!Yuu, Crowley, Ace, Cater, Deuce, Trey, Riddle, Leona, Ruggie, Jack, Jade, Floyd, Azul, Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Ortho, Malleus, Lilia, Sebek

Word count: 3.6k

CW: Body horror, cursing

Notes: Alright, so this is the full version of that fic I posted a little while ago and it is based off of a concept for my Yuu's overblot that I drew a few months ago. I've spent longer than I'd care to admit on this so I sincerely hope you enjoy. (Those of you who really know what the overblot is a reference to may be confused at my choices, but just know that I chose a fanmade translation for the convenience of the uninitiated) (Also there's a part 2 now)

-------------------------------------------------------

It’s been almost a full year since you arrived in this world. Almost a full year since you were separated from your family. Almost a full year since you were given no choice but to start playing errandboy for Crowley in exchange for a roof to sleep under.

It’s been almost a year and yet you still have no means of going home. You’ve been trying with everything you have to stay optimistic, but positive thoughts can only get one so far when it’s unclear whether or not Crowley’s actually been researching a way to send you back.

You’ve been seeking out every possible distraction from your darker thoughts, but with summer break approaching and most students preparing to leave for vacations, you’ll soon find yourself dangerously low on options.

Your anxiety festers as the summer months approach, not knowing if your time in twisted wonderland will extend over that period.

That is, until you receive a message from the headmage, telling you to meet him in his office alone.

You leave Grim with Ace and Deuce and begin walking to your destination as your mind begins to wonder about the reason for you being summoned.

If the headmage wants to speak with you alone then that could mean he’s found a way to send you home!

You don’t want to get your hopes up, but you can’t deny the possibility! And if it’s true then all of your waiting will have been worth it!

Right?

You close the door behind you and sit down across from the silent headmage, who seems to be deliberating on how to begin the conversation.

You were about to ask why he called you here when he suddenly begins to speak.

“Over the past year since your arrival, you have completed countless tasks for myself, this school and your fellow students.” He begins in a voice laced with uncertainty, “And in return, I have provided you with clothing, shelter and the opportunity to attend this academy during your time in this world.”

…Where is he going with this?

“Additionally, as promised, I’ve also spent countless hours researching possible methods by which to return you to your homeworld.” He continues, his voice beginning to waver ever so slightly.

Your breath hitches at that statement.

Is it time? Can you finally go home?!

“However…”

…what?

“After pursuing every possible lead,”

No…

“And conducting countless tests,”

No.

“I must regretfully inform you…”

No no no no no NO NO NO NO NO

“It is my conclusion that, as of this current moment, there is truly no possible way for you to return home.” The headmage concludes with sadness in his voice.

Your mind goes blank. Your heart stops. Your hands go numb. Your stomach drops.

You try to stand up, but your legs are too weak.

You open your mouth to speak, but your voice dies in your throat.

The carefully-constructed facade you put up begins to crumble as you look around and those words sap the colors from the world around you and replace them with a dull grey.

You continue to sit there, spiraling until the headmage’s voice pulls you from your thoughts or lack thereof.

“Worry not, however! You will still be able to attend this school as you have been, so you’ll just have to bear with it for a while longer!” He says in a forced cheerful tone.

However, those words have the opposite effect than likely intended as the moment they come out of Crowley’s mouth, you feel something snap in your brain that sends you bolting upright from your chair and walking out of his office while ignoring him asking where you’re going.

You unconsciously begin walking faster and faster until you break out into a run as you make your way through the halls, pushing past any and every student or faculty member that gets in your way.

Your way to where, exactly? You don’t really know.

You ignore the sounds of Sebek chastising you for running in the halls and the shouts of many others following in curiosity/concern.

They don’t want to help. This is just entertainment for them. They don’t care. They never did.

You’ve been utterly alone since the beginning of this shitshow.

You ignore the pure black droplets flowing out of your eyes and onto the ground as you run.

You ignore the cloud of thick, black miasma swirling around you and clouding your vision.

You ignore everything.

You don’t care anymore.

You just want the loneliness to stop.

You just want the pain of forgetting your loved ones to stop.

You just want it to go away.

You just want it all to go away.

If you had your way, it would all just…

D I S A P P E A R

—————————————————————

Crowley immediately gives chase after the Prefect leaves his office. He should’ve known that telling him the truth was a mistake. At first, he only saw him as an inconvenience to be dealt with in a way that wouldn’t damage his school’s reputation, but as the weeks turned into months and he got to know him, Crowley started to see the Prefect as a son he’d never had, which is why he felt the need to be honest with him.

Regardless, he continues to chase after the unstable Prefect, surprised by how quickly he can run despite his mental state, while calling out his name and telling him to stop. An action which draws the attention of several other students whom the Prefect is known to be affiliated with.

The chase continues as the crowd grows larger until it seemingly contains all of the housewardens and several others associated with them.

Crowley begins to lose sight of the prefect as the large group struggles through the tight hallways before noticing something both confusing and alarming: A trail of pure black droplets being left in the prefect’s wake.

No. That isn’t possible.

Only those who can use magic are capable of overblotting.

He keeps listing all the reasons why this shouldn’t be possible to himself, but the evidence before him is undeniable.

The chase finally ends as they find the Prefect collapsed on his knees on the steps leading to Ramshackle dorm as a thick miasma swirls around him. Several of the Prefect’s friends call out his name and begin running towards him, but stop when Crowley holds out his arms in front of them, “Wait. Something is very, very wrong. If you get too close, your life may be at risk.” He says with caution.

“What? Why?” Ace asks, “We can’t just not help him! He’s clearly about to—“

“Burst.” Leona interrupts in a dead serious tone of voice.

“Exa— Wait what?” Ace responds in confusion, “What do you mean—“

“HIS BODY IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE!!!” Those words from Leona immediately cause everyone’s attention to return to the Prefect as the miasma absorbs into his body, causing it to swell and develop glowing cracks.

They can then only watch in horror as the Prefect’s body shatters into pieces and an inky black mass erupts out of what remains to the sound of…bells?

The bell sounds become more plentiful and are joined by a metallophone as the mass of ink takes shape into an immense purple flower and a figure that strongly resembles the Prefect rises from the center.

Well, this is…different from the others.

“Surround him! Quickly!” Crowley orders, “Whatever he’s about to do is going to be very bad so we need to contain the damage as much as possible!”

The bells begin to ring in rhythm and music begins to play as everyone finishes surrounding the Prefect with their magic pens in hand, keeping up their guard for whatever might be thrown at them.

However, the Prefect says nothing and instead begins to sing in a beautiful, but haunting voice.

Flower, blackest plight, sings of tarnished white

Within darkness, blooming, undue new life

Forlorn songs of angels, cry at the end of time

As the Prefect sings, rings of pure magic expand from his mouth on beat with the music and with clear malicious intent, which Crowley manages to block, but he can’t help but notice the way the Prefect is moving: Slow and methodical, making guarded gestures in all directions before covering his eyes like he’s crying.

‘He must’ve felt like he was under attack from all sides…’ This thought causes Crowley’s mind to recall all the times he pushed his lesser tasks onto him. He'd thought it was a just payment for everything being provided, but clearly that's not how the Prefect sees it.

The lyrics stop, but the song continues and the tempo begins to accelerate as a second figure rises from one of the flower’s five petals, a figure whose head bears a striking resemblance to—

————————————————————————

Riddle has seen many things beyond comprehension since his enrollment at NRC, but…whatever this is is on a completely different level.

He tries to attack while the Prefect isn’t singing, but his magic seemingly has no effect, leaving him to only watch as a second figure emerges from one of the five petals, one whose head is exactly the same as the entity that appeared during his own overblot.

“Why does it look like…?” Riddle says to himself.

“Ugh, if only he wasn’t trying to kill us, this would be such a #Aesthetic shot right now.” Cater comments thoughtlessly.

“Is now REALLY the time to think about that?!” Trey responds urgently.

It sounds as if they might get into an argument before Deuce’s voice gets their attention, “Uh, guys? I think he’s about to start singing again!”

Branching time, endless sorrow, beyond fate, in this silence

The rings come from the second entity this time as it moves it’s arms in large, exaggerated motions towards the Prefect, seeming almost like praise, but feeling like a mockery. If the second entity is meant to represent Heartslabyul, then…

“Does he think we were making fun of him?” Riddle wonders out loud, thinking back to the jokes Ace and Deuce would make at the Prefect’s expense, all the photos of him that Cater posted on Magicam without his permission, all the times he used his signature spell on him for breaking a rule despite knowing full well it wouldn’t do anything…

“Oh come on!” Ace retorts, “I know I can come off as kinda mean, but I never meant to hurt his feelings!”

“Unfortunately, whether or not you meant to doesn’t matter as clearly his feelings got hurt regardless.” Trey says, visibly troubled, “Of course, I’m not innocent here, either. There were times when I made fun of him for simple mistakes…”

Being forced to confront the ways they’ve wronged the Prefect causes Heartslabyul’s morale to waver as the music speeds up again and another entity emerges from the next petal.

————————————————————————

Leona watches in silence as the tempo speeds up more and the next entity emerges, revealing its head to be the same as the one from his overblot.

“Wow, who’d have thought that the Prefect could sing like this?” Ruggie comments.

“Focus! He could start singing again at any-“ Jack begins.

However, his words are cut short when Leona listens to the music and realizes, “Look alive you two! The next verse is starting!”

Claws of white, newborn light, strong and right, rise now

Leona blocks the rings of magic as he watches how the second entity moves: Aggressive punching and shoving motions towards the Prefect. Leona isn’t stupid. He knows what this means.

“Jeez, and here I thought he was the type to take things in stride.” Ruggie comments offhandedly.

Jack scoffs in response, “Implying that being pickpocketed AT LEAST once a week is something that can be taken in stride.”

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t gotten physical with him before!” Ruggie argues as the two start bickering.

‘Or kept him from class just to take a nap…’ Leona thinks to himself as his mind conjures countless examples of his own wrongdoing. He thought that he was helping the Prefect be more relaxed, but maybe that only made things worse…

‘No.’ Leona thinks, ‘He would’ve told me if that wasn’t what he wanted…………right?’ His confidence begins to crack, allowing doubt to creep into his mind.

The song continues, despite Savannaclaw falling unorganized, and the next entity rises from the third petal.

————————————————————————

Azul is trying to focus on the rhythm, he really is, but the familiar sight of the next entity’s head combined with Jade and Floyd’s incessant babbling despite the circumstances makes it all the more difficult to concentrate.

“Heeeyyy, Shrimpy! You didn’t tell me you could turn into a flower! What kinda flower are you???” Floyd calls out in his usual carefree tone.

“I see you haven’t been paying attention in Herbology.” Jade responds, “Based on the shape and color of the petals, that appears to be a nightshade.”

“Indeed,” Vil remarks from beside Azul, “Its fruit is known for its highly poisonous properties. Though, I don’t know how much of that applies here.”

“Which is all the more reason you two need to FOCUS!” Azul calls out to Jade and Floyd as the next verse starts.

I have known wayward winds, ever lost, fade into daybreak

Azul barely manages to block the next set of rings in time, ‘Ugh. I wish I could’ve kept that one customer’s sense of rhythm.’ He thinks to himself while he studies the third entity’s movements: Numerous grabbing motions before holding out its hand expectantly.

“Well, that hardly seems fair! We only took as much as was laid out in the terms of the contracts that HE signed!” Azul says indignantly.

“Didn’t we kinda get him to sign A LOT of contracts, though?” Floyd thinks out loud.

Their thoughts are cut-off by Grim butting in, “Well, THAT’S an understatement! I’ll bet you guys have a whole ‘nother safe just to keep all those contracts he signed to make ends meet in! It’s no wonder he hates you!” He concludes angrily.

‘I suppose we could’ve stood to be more forgiving in our terms…’ Azul muses while reconsidering his business decisions.

Little does he realize that, during his musings, the tempo of the song is speeding up again and the fourth entity is emerging.

————————————————————————

Kalim, admittedly, has…no idea what’s going on. One minute, he was spacing out during class, the next he was chasing after the Prefect with the others and now the Prefect is a flower???

His brain struggles to keep up with everything that’s happening, but is pulled back to reality when he realizes that the fourth entity has emerged and the next verse is starting.

A wandering soul howls to the sky, forever through ages

The sight of Jamil’s entity attacking him and the others again draws up bad memories as he blocks the rings and notices how this entity is moving: Slow, circular and symmetrical arm movements that seem almost hypnotic in nature. This can only be referring to…

“I guess he still hasn’t forgotten the incident over winter break…” Jamil comments as if he was reading Kalim’s mind.

“To be fair, if someone hypnotized me, kept me imprisoned for several days and then tried to kill me, I’d probably find it more than a little hard to get past.” Idia responds from across the way.

“A LITTLE?!” Grim cries out, “Did he tell you how much he was panicking while we were stuck in there?!”

‘This stuff’s been eating away at the Prefect this whole time and yet I’ve done nothing to help. Some friend I am…’ Kalim chastises himself as the tempo speeds up for a fifth time and the, presumably, last entity emerges from the fifth petal.

————————————————————————

Malleus can’t help the twinge of guilt he feels at the sight of one of his very few friends suffering like this with him being none the wiser. Every conversation they’d had since they met plays in his mind as he searches for any indication that this would happen and every way he could’ve prevented it.

He realizes that he can’t forget about the song, though, as the final entity emerges from the fifth petal. However, one thing he notices is that this one doesn’t resemble any other overblot entities the Prefect had encountered, instead having a simple spherical bottle as its head.

‘Could this be the real entity?’ Malleus wonders as the next verse starts with the tempo faster than ever.

Oh, may sleep come take you

Death leaves you cold.

Life laid to waste, wretches gave haste, damned are they now.

Malleus blocks the rings with ease as he closely studies the final entity’s movements: Frantic flailing and open-armed gestures towards the Prefect that felt almost like some sort of praise?

“He was trying desperately to cheer himself up, but ultimately failed…” Lilia interprets while helping Silver hold back a screaming Sebek.

“HUMAN!!! HOW DARE YOU ATTACK MALLEUS-SAMA!!!” Sebek yells amongst other things at the Prefect despite his inability to respond.

Malleus's attention quickly returns to the Prefect as the tempo of the song slows down unexpectedly and the Prefect and the entities all begin moving in sync.

---‐-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley watches with great concern as the song appears to be reaching the final verse and yet they still have done no visible damage to the Prefect's overblot.

'At this rate, he'll be...' Crowley thinks anxiously.

"Guys, I think he’s starting to really lose it!" Deuce calls out urgently as the Prefect and the entities' movements become more erratic and unhinged by violently shaking and grabbing at their heads and flailing their arms in all directions.

"But what can we do?! Our attacks aren't working!!" Kalim questions frantically.

"My analyses have yet to reveal any weak points!" Ortho comments.

"Pull yourselves together!" Crowley orders his students, "Our only hope is to hold fast until the song is finished and then attack all at once! Be strong! For the Prefect!!!"

Crowley finishes his announcement and readies to guard for the last time as the final verse begins.

Desecrated minds, figments of grief and lies

Flowered monsters, hear these faint cries

Flower, blackest plight, sings of tarnished white

Bitter are those prayers now drenched in blood

Flower, blackest plight, songs of crimson sight

Flames redemptive seize it, till then it claims this eye

Flower, blackest plight, is the song of might that will sound a day in which all shall

disappear...

The music fades away as the Prefect and the entities come to a complete stop and the Prefect stops singing for the final time.

Blocking the last of the rings, Crowley waits for the music to completely stop before calling out, "NOW! ATTACK!!"

At those words, he and all of the students unleash a barrage of magic attacks, completely overwhelming the Prefect with a wave of sheer arcane might that finally causes his overblot form to crumble before releasing a large burst of light that engulfs the senses of everyone present.

-------------------------------------------------------------

A series of images begins to play across everyone's minds: Memories of the Prefect’s homeworld.

They see him helping his mother make dinner. Helping his father clean out the garage. Playing video games with his siblings. Going out shopping with his old friends.

All of these memories play over and over as more and more details become fuzzy.

"Is that how she always made it?"

"Didn’t we move the step-ladder into the other corner?"

"Did we ever end up beating that game?"

"I don't remember buying that..."

The doubts and inconsistencies get larger and more plentiful until the memories are nothing more than a jumbled mess of half-forgotten faces and voices.

The sound of the Prefect crying fades into hearing as he tries desperately to cling to what memories he has left.

"At this rate, I won't be able to remember anything about them!" The Prefect says to himself between sobs, "I-I don't want to forget them! What should I do?!"

The jumbled memories then disappear and are replaced by ones he's made since being brought to Twisted Wonderland.

They see him going to class with Grim, Ace and Deuce. Cooking with Jamil and baking with Trey. Napping during class with Leona and going on nightwalks with Malleus. Numerous more happy memories play in their minds.

However, the happy memories are soon replaced with unpleasant ones. Being condescended to by Sebek for being magicless. Being scolded by Professor Trein for missing class. Getting yelled at by Professor Crewel for missing a potion ingredient. Feeling insulted when being collared by Riddle for the smallest things. Having to work long shifts at the Mostro Lounge just to keep him and Grim fed.

The bad memories continue unceasingly as the Prefect’s sobs get louder.

"W-what should I do...?" He asks again.

"Get over it." A memory of a familiar face says to him.

"Just forget it." Another memory says.

"Stop running away!"

"The truth is right in front of you."

"Oh, man up!"

"GROW. UP."

"Denial is hardly flattering."

"You're just making excuses!"

"How weak."

"I didn't know you were this selfish."

"I'm very disappointed in you."

"When will you learn?"

"It’s pointless."

The memories swirl around the Prefect, spouting insults and telling him to give up before parting to allow one last memory that says "There is truly no possible way for you to return home." In a condescending tone.

All sound stops in that moment, except for the Prefect’s gasp in sheer horror at that last statement.

The Prefect’s breathing grows heavy and uneven before he lets out a guttural cry,

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!"

The light fades as Crowley and the others find themselves back in front of Ramshackle with the Prefect lying unconscious on the ground.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst x male reader #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #twst crowley #twst ace #twst deuce #twst cater #twst trey #twst riddle #twst leona #twst ruggie #twst jack #twst jade #twst floyd #twst azul #twst kalim #twst jamil #twst vil #twst grim #twst idia #twst ortho #twst malleus #twst lilia #twst sebek #why is this mushroom writing fanfics?

[ineffabildaddy]

TMI Tuesday ASK!

Tell me about your sex pollen, I'll tell you 'bout mine?

yoooo

so our sex pollen fic ('our' being mine and @omens-for-ophelia's) is in its infancy atm but basically, aziraphale buys crowley a snake plant as a gift and when crowley accidentally touches the sap, he goes all naga-like and then sex happens hehehehe

what's urs about?👀

#good omens #fanfic #asks #ask game #ineffabildaddy

[ariaste]

Hello! I just read your amazing essay and WOW, I'm floored! I don't know if my question is in violation of your "don't ask me about anymore theories about GO right now" but I'm a little behind with reading up on everything since S2 came out. I'm not asking so much about new theories, but I was curious about your opinion on the fact that Neil has said over and over that Good Omens is indeed a love story between Azi and Crowley - do you think that this is something that will continue to remain true if your theory is proven correct? I love Good Omens for MANY reasons, but I am a sap and I love how perfect Azi and Crowly's love story is...it's beautiful and while I of course have always wanted a kiss, I felt like the kiss in episode 6 was perhaps a clue for something else? Something that was edited? Anyway, I just hope that whatever the final reveal is for the final chapter in S3 if it's green lit, that our Angel and Demon get their happy ending together. But S2 was honestly awesome! Loved your essay, thanks for sharing it with us!

ok first of all, from my pinned post:

And second of all: "do you think that this is something that will continue to remain true" If at this point you are still worried that Neil isn't telling the truth or that he might betray you and disappoint you, that is Media Trauma speaking. With all the love in my heart, I would gently encourage you to consider talking to a therapist or a close trusted friend about it rather than seeking reassurance from a stranger on the internet, as they will be better equipped to help you process your feelings and fears constructively.

In the absence of a therapist/friend, go read some fanfic and take more ownership/authority over your ships and your media experience. Canon is fake. Canon is an illusion. Canon does not matter. Really, seriously, it does not matter. I am a full-time professional author who has fanfic written of my work, and I am telling you that canon does not matter. Canon is not sacred. Canon cannot tell you what is "true". Neil's word is NOT more important/relevant/correct than yours. Go read about "The Death of the Author" and "reader-response criticism".

#good omens season 2 #good omens #media trauma #good omens spoilers

[bookdrgn99]

There's an idea floating around that the Bentley played Nightingale because Aziraphale was attempting to communicate with Crowley indirectly. I have to say, the idea is growing on me a bit. Probably because I'm a sap and love the idea of Aziraphale trying to reach out however he can in the moment.

There's a competing theory that Crowley had staged the song for the drive to their extremely alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz. IMO, were that the case, it wouldn't have started mid-song. And, honestly, that doesn't feel like a Crowley thing to me.

Also, typically, since it was only Crowley in the car, I would've expected the Bentley to play Queen. Specifically, Love of My Life, due to the situation. (And I would've screamed such a scream, let me tell you.)

The song comes on the heels of Crowley calling out there were no nightingales, all the suspicious stuff with the Metatron, especially the gaps in their conversation, AND the look Aziraphale gives Crowley immediately before getting in the elevator. (That look felt significant beyond goodbye and once more unto the breach. His eyes were saying so much.)

So the song feels like it's potentially a Clue with a capital C that, unfortunately, Crowley was too hurt to understand.

#good omens #good omens 2 spoilers #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #a clue #im hyperfixating again