depraveddame

[depraveddame]

Vine Slips energy indeed! Ah!! 🙏🏻✨

Yes, this is another au with no explanation. But really, what explanations are needed here 😁😭

[depraveddame]

I squealed with delight when I saw this! This fic is dear to my heart and what an honor it is to have the fantastic @ineffableclassics make such a gorgeous cover for it. Thank you 🕯️

Every year, Aziraphale takes on the role as bishop during Advent; he's taken this time to perfect a Christmas Eve ritual dedicated to the deity he reveres most in his heart.

Christmas Eve sacrilege/blasphemy fic featuring reverent, worshipful language and sex, as well as some kinky Blessed wax play.

Words: 5,702

Status: Complete

Rating: Explicit

@depraveddame

[depraveddame]

Chapter 5 of Bring Your Seed to Blossom is up! 🎄

Excerpt:

“A star that o’er the cities world beckoned, a sword of flame;

A star with myriad thunders tongued: a mighty word there came—”

Crowley sighed softly as he closed his eyes and rested his head against the inside of Aziraphale’s thigh, the fine wool of his trousers warm on his cheek and the priest’s voice washing over him in a honeyed mist of calm from above.

He was sat on the floor on a plush, ivory velvet cushion and framed by Aziraphale’s legs; he was perched on the sofa that Crowley was leaning his back against, one hand massaging Crowley’s scalp gently in tiny circular motions as he balanced a copy of The Spirit of Christmas: Stories, Poems, Essays by G.K. Chesterton in his other, a whoosh of paper accompanying his words whenever he flicked the page to the left with his thumb.

There were just nine days till Christmas, and the two of them were lounging in the parlor; Crowley was dreamily listening to Aziraphale read (something he enjoyed so much that he’d gotten up the courage to request it again after Aziraphale had first done so last night, unprompted, when Crowley had been feeling off— his head had been aching for more than a day and his throat was unpleasantly scratchy— and he still felt slightly peaky now, but undoubtedly much improved and as cosy as was humanly possibly, bundled up in Aziraphale’s fluffiest tartan robe, a buff pair of his silk pajamas and sheepskin lined slippers, sitting close to a fire so roaring it was fast becoming sweltering), pondering that the only way any of this could possibly be any better was if he were kneeling at Aziraphale’s feet instead of sitting when there came a knock at the front door.

“Excuse me, darling,” Aziraphale murmured as he carefully disentangled himself from Crowley in order to stand, and Crowley tried not to outwardly pout at the loss of contact.

Aziraphale had been terribly reluctant to leave him this morning upon discovering that Crowley still felt poorly, but Crowley had assured him he was fine, that surely some more sleep would do the trick and that he’d likely be in bed the entire time Aziraphale was at the church. It was the first time Crowley had stayed at Aziraphale’s home while the priest was not there as well, and Crowley had considered if it would be awkward, being alone in that great big house, but he didn’t have long to wonder; almost as soon as Aziraphale had tenderly kissed his forehead goodbye, Crowley fell back into a sleep that ended as it had started— by soft, warm lips brushing his brow and a hand cupping his cheek, something Crowley had not woken up to for years but was now a regular occurrence on mornings he spent with Aziraphale.

*

@goodomensafterdark

[depraveddame]

Chapter 4 of Bring Your Seed to Blossom is up 📿🥀 and it is Father Fell’s birthday.

Excerpt:

“Darling,” Aziraphale began, heart pounding with its new given life and revelations, “can you— can you touch yourself like I would, right now?” his murmur was breathless with it, intentionally posing this as a request and not a command, hoping that the difference registered with Crowley, “if you’d like; slowly, without haste and with care.”

Aziraphale’s hands actually hurt with the absence of Crowley’s body beneath them, but if Crowley wanted to give this a go, Aziraphale somehow knew it would soothe him regardless of the distance.

There was something profoundly healing, bringing Crowley pleasure via his own hands; perhaps because it was in direct rebellion of the idea Aziraphale had lived with for eleven years: that he was only capable of harm and despair. Such a notion was difficult to continue believing when there was a gloriously writhing, sweat sheened blossoming beauty beneath him, begging for more of his touch and more of him, more of Aziraphale, pleading like he would wither away if Aziraphale would not grant him his wish. The sensory experience of seeing, hearing, and feeling Crowley come to life as a result of Aziraphale had begun to do its work in his neural pathways, gradually but surely— he couldn’t continuously deny the evidence in front of him and in his very hands. Every euphoric expression he brought to Crowley’s face was an antidote to the hurting, shattered landscape of Aziraphale’s inner world, every climax and every beautifully whimpered word of ecstasy so generously given were remedies that filled the most inflamed cracks of him. Aziraphale still did not feel deserving of such revitalization, but it was happening, and now he craved it with a ferocity that would not waver; if he could give Crowley some that pleasure with his voice, perhaps sleep would come on a night where traditionally it never did.

The silence on the other end of the line was one of the most frightening bursts of quiet had Aziraphale had experienced lately, so much so that he barged into it, “only if you want, of course—”

“Yes, Aziraphale,” oh, that sweet, champagne doused tone, sparkling over the mobile and onto his tongue as if Crowley were right there with him, “I— ngk. Tell me how?”

Tell me what to do, Father? echoed in Aziraphale’s head, that life altering communion that was etched into him whispered as Crowley asked him how to touch himself.

@goodomensafterdark

[depraveddame]

@goodomensafterdark

Bring Your Seed to Blossom

Chapter 3 has been uploaded by my darling @depraveddame ♥️ go read it now, I had the pleasure of making another piece for them in part 2 of their story.

Read it here:

[depraveddame]

This is so beautiful I’m in love 💖💖💖 thank you so much 😭😭

the evidence of his starving attentions

[art from the early morning of ch 2 of bring your seed to blossom by @depraveddame]

[depraveddame]

The next chapter of Bring Your Seed to Blossom is up ✨❄️🥀

It is December 2nd in cabin as well, and this chapter is from our priest’s POV.

Excerpt:

As he counted the sienna speckles that swirled over Crowley’s naked arms and shoulders and studied their patterns meandering over the prominent contours of his collarbones, scrawling down all coordinates into his expanding star map of his dove, Aziraphale waited for the shame that did not come, he winced in anticipation of the certain blows that always followed his indulgence, but shockingly did not materialize.

No— there was no shame, nor remorse, nor regret present in any of Aziraphale, there was no darkly whispering inner dialogue detailing his sins in the quiet of the December morning; there was only the gentle, slow billow of Crowley’s breathing, only the tide of his bare chest expanding into Aziraphale’s own before it gradually receded, over and over, rhythmic and calm, the sea after a storm that had upended everything within its waters before all returned to tranquil, glassy serenity, and all so beautifully clear to Aziraphale’s ears in the relative silence that would have, before this past week, frightened him to his core.

Aziraphale had forgotten, along with what it was to be well rested, what it was like to wake up with someone next to him and to exchange mirrored inhales and exhales. Eleven years may as well be eleven lifetimes, an undefinable distance between himself and the last time he’d known the slip of bare skin against his own and the calm brought only by deep slumber, but here he was, experiencing both in glorious abundance, and Aziraphale was terrified would slip through his fingers. He wanted to draw Crowley even closer, he wanted to hold onto him for the entire day, for the remainder of the weekend and beyond. His bed was no longer a cold, empty thing made colorless by the despair of sleepless nights and the ache of loneliness; within hours it had been transformed into a sanctuary Aziraphale did not want to leave, a veritable Eden grown overnight, its roots and seeds planted by the elegant fingers Aziraphale was now tracing with his own. His first thought that he’d been stood in a rose flushed garden when his eyes opened hadn’t been so far off, after all.

Dedicated to my dear @the-oxrib-and-oyster 💖

@goodomensafterdark

[depraveddame]

The next chapter of Bring Your Seed to Blossom is up ✨❄️🥀

It is December 2nd in canon as well, and this chapter is from our priest’s POV.

Excerpt:

As he counted the sienna speckles that swirled over Crowley’s naked arms and shoulders and studied their patterns meandering over the prominent contours of his collarbones, scrawling down all coordinates into his expanding star map of his dove, Aziraphale waited for the shame that did not come, he winced in anticipation of the certain blows that always followed his indulgence, but shockingly did not materialize.

No— there was no shame, nor remorse, nor regret present in any of Aziraphale, there was no darkly whispering inner dialogue detailing his sins in the quiet of the December morning; there was only the gentle, slow billow of Crowley’s breathing, only the tide of his bare chest expanding into Aziraphale’s own before it gradually receded, over and over, rhythmic and calm, the sea after a storm that had upended everything within its waters before all returned to tranquil, glassy serenity, and all so beautifully clear to Aziraphale’s ears in the relative silence that would have, before this past week, frightened him to his core.

Aziraphale had forgotten, along with what it was to be well rested, what it was like to wake up with someone next to him and to exchange mirrored inhales and exhales. Eleven years may as well be eleven lifetimes, an undefinable distance between himself and the last time he’d known the slip of bare skin against his own and the calm brought only by deep slumber, but here he was, experiencing both in glorious abundance, and Aziraphale was terrified would slip through his fingers. He wanted to draw Crowley even closer, he wanted to hold onto him for the entire day, for the remainder of the weekend and beyond. His bed was no longer a cold, empty thing made colorless by the despair of sleepless nights and the ache of loneliness; within hours it had been transformed into a sanctuary Aziraphale did not want to leave, a veritable Eden grown overnight, its roots and seeds planted by the elegant fingers Aziraphale was now tracing with his own. His first thought that he’d been stood in a rose flushed garden when his eyes opened hadn’t been so far off, after all.

Dedicated to my dear @the-oxrib-and-oyster 💖

@goodomensafterdark

[depraveddame]

Me I fear

I love when this happens

[depraveddame]

I’m absolutely losing it, this is SO beautiful and such an unexpected honor, eeeee! Thank you so very much 🙏🏻 perhaps this will be the push I need to finish this story…

Imponere: latin, meaning to place, or to fix. The root word for imping.

Imping: the process of replacing missing feathers with that of a donor.

Aziraphale finally is the one to come to Crowley's aid. When he sees the damage done to the demon's wings, he begins to help without a passing thought, much to Crowley's disbelief. The demon's terror at the thought of Aziraphale coming to harm from the selfless act nearly stops him from accepting his help, but as soon as he feels the angel's touch on his wings, there was no possibility of stopping him.

Their relationship morphs and blossoms into so much more.

Words: 20,069

Status: Incomplete

Rating: Explicit

@depraveddame

[depraveddame]

[depraveddame]

Ummm holy fuck Vine Slips?! ❤️‍🔥📿🥀

"No Angel of Temperance" watercolor, 2024.

Private commission for @lickthecowhappy inspired by their poem of the same name

Prints!

[depraveddame]

A year ago today I set out on a journey that I didn’t expect or anticipate, and it was the start of something beautiful in the darkness of a shrouded year. I am so excited and thrilled to share the first chapter of part two of Vine Slips of a Strange God with you, Bring Your Seed to Blossom.

I sincerely hope you will enjoy the start of this story, where we jump right back into the night of December first, through the eyes of our gardener Crowley 🥀📿

Thank you all for being part of this AU; I love you all and your support means more than words can define.

❤️‍🔥

[depraveddame]

A year ago today I set out on a journey that I didn’t expect or anticipate, and it was the start of something beautiful in the darkness of a shrouded year. I am so excited and thrilled to share the first chapter of part two of Vine Slips of a Strange God with you, Bring Your Seed to Blossom.

I sincerely hope you will enjoy the start of this story, where we jump right back into the night of December first, through the eyes of our gardener Crowley 🥀📿

Thank you all for being part of this AU; I love you all and your support means more than words can define.

❤️‍🔥

[depraveddame]

It’s almost been a year since I wrote a crack thread based on an unhinged AO3 tag which then turned into the 180k+ fic Vine Slips of a Strange God that changed everything.

It feels horribly dramatic to say that writing fanfiction changed my life for the better and possibly even saved it this past year, but it’s as true as anything, and being able to write a story of this length is something that wasn’t even possible in my head until I did it. This fic has been cathartic and excruciating, it’s been rewarding and beautiful, and it’s left me raw and unable to ignore a lot that had been long dormant inside me.

Writing is always personal and I knew that, but I didn’t expect it to be so personal— I didn’t expect to be flaying myself alive as I navigated through the traumas of an emotionally and psychologically abused gardener who was made to believe he was nothing and a grieving, guilt stricken priest that convinced himself he deserved nothing. I didn’t anticipate so much of myself to be within these versions of our favorite angel and demon, but I am, and what a gift and terror it is to be known through them.

I needed time between part one and two to get myself back together, because I was in shambles once I completed Vine Slips, I was caught in a complicated tempest of relief, pride, grief and utter exhaustion. I only hope I can continue this series how it deserves. I hope I can live up to the expectations I have of myself and I hope that I can get to Christmas in canon by Christmas this year (when I started Vine Slips it was intended to be a Christmas fic, not an angsty dive into whatever Hell these two have been through over the course of seven days) and I hope that people will like it.

The response and love that Vine Slips has gotten is something else I never would have dreamed of experiencing, and I have been so very lucky in that sense, so absurdly lucky in that and in the incredible connections I’ve made with folks all over the world that are so dear to me. I’m so thankful and grateful for them, this fandom, and the generous love that has been given to me.

I hope I can give it back in the way you all deserve.

With all that said, I am aiming to publish the first chapter of part two of Vine Slips of a Strange God, titled Bring Your Seed to Blossom, on this coming Wednesday, November 20th, exactly one year later after starting that thread on Twitter. Fingers crossed I can manage it— I will do all that I can to do so.

[depraveddame]

Bring Your Seed to Blossom, the second installment of Vine Slips of a Strange God, is coming very very soon.

[depraveddame]

“Gulliver’s Travels Erotica 18th century”

…I have a deadline and my own certain reputation to uphold 😂🤌🏻

@the-oxrib-and-oyster @ineffablyruined @yourbestieluke @loopholesinmydreams

last google search, go

um. Tag four people.

what do they make sewer tunnels out of

@ncc1701ohno @affixjoy @the-magpieprince @twinkboimler