#fuck it. goes in my good omens tag

[coffeeastronaut]

the shitscript is in fact a a a shitscript but crowley and aziraphale's 6000 years of crowley cheating at checkers every time and aziraphale never wins is seriously so insanely funny. like.

aziraphale is not at all stupid, let alone enough for crowley's literal "whats that outside!!!! [snatches his pieces]" but the fact that he KNOWS hes been cheating this whole time and has been LETTING him is so fucking funny.

not for the reason the script gives (something something its aziraphale's lame moral lesson that even he knows is stupid, but only after an 11 year old points it out to him) but for the reason ive invented in my mind, which is that this is yet another example of their looserman weirdo foreplay

[idliketobeatree]

hello hi my good omens fellows hear me out. yes i know it's ooc. and i think it could be more ergonomic (already readjusting the straps in my head) but.

aziraphale wearing THIS

thank you for your attention

[possuminnit]

anyone constantly thinking about how everything in s2 of good omens is about love. just everything, every plot point, every scene, basically every fucking action a character makes too. it's there and I am fucking crazy over it

[sentientsky]

In the place where the foundations shiver with the weight of every ghost you’ve laid to rest beneath the floorboards / In the liminal, staticky place where you were first made monstrous (made hollow and whimpering and fickle) / In the place that tore you lengthwise and emptied you onto the front porch, you learn to swallow back the rage, hold it captive and writhing in your gut. 

You learn your way around a set of teeth.

You learn the hackles-raised, jagged-mouthedness of a home without a scrap of heat. You learn how to pull each of your canines out by the bloodied pulp, all nerve endings and the blunted edges of grief.

You learn it because what other choice do you have? What’s the alternative, when all you’ve ever known is the dull scrape of your back against the wall, of your heart tearing clear through your chest?

And god, god, god (you pray to an empty sky). God, you’re so bitter and your bones are all galvanized under your skin, and it hurts. It fucking hurts. 

And yet you’d sooner turn your own snapping jaws on yourself than risk learning what happens to animals that misbehave.

So you make yourself small, you make yourself antiseptic and supplicating and placid. You domesticate every thrashing need to escape. You walk into a family dinner with darting yellow eyes: Cerberus with three heads, each maw zip-tied shut by your own hand. You show them the soft flesh of your underbelly—you show the whites of your eyes.

You bite back the terror, you choke on the wrath. Because what else is there to do? (inspired by this post from @actual-changeling. thanks for the gut-wrench, alex </3)

[cyclist-of-guilt]

I can't fucking believe this season made superwholockomens actually canon in show

[sabxhere]

ALL ANGELS AND DEMONS ARE NEURODIVERGENT.

Hi Neil, I have a random question, can angels and demons be neurodivergent? Thank

I don't think any angels or demons are what we would recognize as Neurotypical. They are angels and demons, after all.

[rimqueen]

SOFTER, SOFTEST !

ft. curly x fem!reader

tags. piv, body worship sort of, rimming, big dick, tit job for like 2 seconds, creampie, size kink, scent kink, balls…

note. hai.. will get back to leon soon and I think mw fandom is lacking noncon and incest fics severely.. so i will get on that with jimmy. don’t know how to characterise him yet so ooc .. just infatuated with his breasts tbh i don’t know anything works in this universe LMFAO like idk just take this with a grain of salt.. for miss @pupwashing please ignore typos !! unedited :3

You miss Curly.

You miss him more than you did yesterday, more than an idiot misses the point, like a dick misses a wet pussy–You just miss him.

It has been four months. Twenty-one weeks. One-hundred and forty days. Three-thousand, five-hundred and twenty hours. Too many minutes, a hell of a lot more seconds, the closer he gets the further he seems to be.

Big numbers make it feel like you’re getting nowhere so you cut those twenty-fours into one day. One day and he’ll be home. One day and you’ll be in bed with his stomach crushed against yours, the warmth of his flesh searing yours, fucking him into next year, until he loses his halo.

Videos aren’t enough, photos don’t do him justice, toys don’t live up to the feel of a real dick. You miss that face he makes when he cums - it’s a block away from his crying face. You miss him face down, ass up, punching holes into his dignity one thrust at a time. God, you miss that dick, how he goes red all over, him in nothing but that stupid fucking smile.

One day, you tell yourself in the mirror that morning. One day, you tell yourself when you take your lunch break. One day, one more microwaved meal for one, one more lonely night.

It used to be a big deal, you think. The whole going to space thing. Curly says it’s no big deal, but you’re pretty sure that in your great-grandpa’s heyday it was impressive. You’ve seen videos of hoards gathering to watch a ship take off, to greet crews when they landed. Today, it’s you and a plump, older woman in her bathrobe waiting in the cold.

You could spot him in any crowd, glowing like a ray of light, mostly because he’s tall, partly because everything fades into abstraction when you notice how tight his uniform is. Good god. Did he get bigger? You’re starting to sweat, it’s hard to focus when your boyfriend is making a long-sleeved jumpsuit look naughty.

Curly’s hair is a little longer, blond curls licking the nape of his neck, falling onto his forehead, his eyes are so bright and his smile is white. He looks like a policeman’s emotional support dog. A really busty support dog. He scans the sad scattering of friends, family and drivers. You’re so taken off guard by the sight of his buttons popping you almost forget to wave at him.

He beams when you spot him, suitcase dragging behind him as he jogs over. Everything is in slow motion. Like that old movie - Baywatch. He’s so excited to see you, taking you into his big arms, shoving your face in his chest like he knows just where you’d like to be. You’re disappointed in your lungs when they beg for air, lifting your head and placing it on his shoulder instead. He smells like sweat, hotel shampoo and something metallic.

“Oh.” You open your eyes and spot Jimmy skulking behind him, an unlit cigarette between his lips. You narrow your eyes at him, and Jimmy does the same. Real shady guy, the type you’d cross the street to avoid. He’s always trailing after Curly like a bad omen. “He can’t come home with us, honey,” you tell him gently, not wanting to sound like a bitch.

Which you are.

You don’t want him smoking in your car, you don’t want Curly to invite him over for takeout because that means it’ll go on for hours and you won’t get your mouth on his big, stupid dick for another day.

“Hm? Why not?” Curly asks, pressing a kiss into your hairline, the tip of his nose bumping yours tenderly.

“I don’t have space in my car for both of you and the luggage, she’s small. What if she tips over? You’re heavy enough as it is.” You smile at him, cheekily, giving his newfound hips a squeeze. They’ve always been there, but now they’re like wow. It’s only been four months, is he on steroids? Did he get pregnant? He is glowing… God knows what’s up there in the atmosphere, some cosmic horror waiting to knock up your poor boyfriend.

Curly shrugs, offering an apologetic smile to his friend. “You heard the lady.”

Jimmy’s permanent scowl seems to deepen, cementing itself in his dermal layer. “Whatever, man.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumped as he makes a beeline for the phonebox.

He lifts his suitcase and loads it into your car and you watch his biceps flex. You see through his clothes, you remember every freckle on his back, mapping them out like stars, leading to those dimples low on his back, the perfect resting spot for your thumbs when you grab his ass. His body is so convenient. Like he was made to be fucked every which way.

“I missed you, I thought about you everyday,” he says against your lips, leaning in to kiss you over the gearshift. “I put your picture in the cockpit actually, Jim didn’t like it, but it kept me going.”

Always so earnest. You almost feel bad for missing his body more than him.

“Aww, Curly, honey,” you coo, pinching his cheek and cupping the other, “I missed you even more.” He nuzzles into your hand, eyes closed as you comb your fingers through his messy hair.

As much as you would like to indulge his sentimentality, you have no patience to spare. If you sit here any longer, you’re going to soak through your jeans and onto your leather seat.

You put the car in drive—

“Captain? Open up!” There’s a younger man knocking on the window, leaving his grubby handprints behind. “I wanted you to meet my mom!” His voice is muffled through the glass.

You lock the windows.

“Did you lock the windows?” Curly asks, lips downturned like he’s about to pout.

You unlock the windows.

“Of course not, baby.” You pat his head and grit your teeth.

They talk for fifteen whole minutes.

Thank you for taking care of him, he can be such a handful—Oh no, not at all, he was a joy to have—I’m glad he came back in one piece—He’s a good kid—Oh, I don’t know about that—Mooom—I’d be happy to have him back for our next long haul—Seriously, Captain?—

You squirm in place, shifting from side to side, thighs pressed together as your panties stick to your core. When Curly introduces you to his crew mate, you offer a strained smile and nothing more.

The window whirs shut. You make it home in record breaking time with four tickets and only a few points taken off your license. It doesn’t matter. You’re home, inside with the curtains drawn and Curly still has clothes on.

That’s not right.

“Take it off.”

“Huh?” Curly pushes his luggage into the corner, the top few buttons of his jumpsuit have come undone and you see the tuft of blond hair on his chest.

“Take it off, please?”

“My clothes?”

“No, your wig, baby.”

He laughs, good-natured, mild-mannered, and so fucking hot.

If he won’t do it then you will.

“I haven’t even showered—“ He starts, but you shush him with a kiss, murmuring a ‘good’ against his pink mouth.

When you part, spit keeps your lips connected, the string of fate or whatever. You go in for another, hands fisting the fabric of his collar, forcing him down towards you. Curly lets out a keening noise somewhere in the back of his throat like a dog scratching at the bathroom door.

“I know, my baby, I’ll give it to you.” You pout at him, thumbing his kiss-swollen lips and watching his eyes droop. “Oh no…” The buttons on his uniform when you try to open them.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles through a mouthful of his own spit, “cheap stuff.”

“I know, but you looked so good in it.” It’s a shame, but you need to see him bare, sweat as his only accessory.

“You think?” He near bats his lashes at you, stepping out of his uniform, and you swoon.

“God, yeah.” You push him down on the couch, Curly falls back with a soft grunt. It’s not very big, especially for a man of his size, but it’ll do for now.

His cock swells in his boxers, you feel it beneath you as you sit atop him, admiring the view below. The wide expanse of his chest, the sweat pooling in his collarbones, those tits. You don’t know what else they could be.

“Wow.” You take a handful of his chest, plucking his puffy pink nipple. “Look at these, I might have some competition.”

“Shut it,” he huffs out a laugh through his nose, and the tips of ears redden.

“I’m serious, baby, you’re, like, huge.” You can’t tear your eyes away from his soft flesh, moulding beneath your fingertips like dough, you could fuck them if you really wanted. “What happened out there?”

“Had a lot of spare time, I guess.” Curly smiles sheepishly, expression contorting when you bend your neck to suck his nipple into your mouth with a wet pop! His jaw slackens, and his cock jumps like it’s been given quite the fright.

You only have one complaint. His tan lines have faded. Floating through the galaxy for months on end can do that to you. You miss them, but you missed Curly more, so you’ll make do with what you have.

And you have more than enough. More than you can handle really. You can’t even get a grasp on his bicep, he’s stupidly big and your hand is on the smaller side.

You shift backwards, wet cunt dragging over his impossibly big bulge where only his underwear keeps you from him - you kind of admire your pussy for being able to take it. Your mouth moves on, hands still groping as much as you can of his chest as you lick the ridges of his stomach, it’s like he’s forged out of marble.

Softly, Curly rubs the back of your head, trying his very best to keep his eyes on you and not let them fall shut. You feel his stomach muscles rippling under your tongue. They contract when you trace around his navel, placing a sloppy kiss just below it, where a patch of curly hair leads to his wet cock.

His cock is drooling through the white fabric of his boxers, they’re soaked enough to be see-through, you spot the fat, pink head that has been missing your kisses. “You’re so wet, baby, is it all for me?”

With a pitiful noise, he tosses his head back and nods sadly. It’s funny to hear a man of his stature whine, but it suits Curly so well.

Your fingers hook in the waistband, tugging his underwear downwards until his fat cock springs out, it’s so fucking fat it weighs itself down. The leaky head twitches, pre dripping down his thick shaft, leaving a moonlit trail to his heavy balls. So full of seed they might burst.

“Oh… Poor baby.” You give them a gentle squeeze, and Curly’s eyes roll back into his skull, hips jolting upwards.

The urge to take it into your mouth right then and there is tempting, you hold back, you want to take your time with him. Make him feel special. You seat yourself between his thighs, one leg thrown over your shoulder so it’s easier to fit on the sofa. Your thumb runs along his pink slit, dribbling out pearly strands of pre that web between your fingers. Curly whimpers, biting down on his fist.

“These are cute.” You take note of his meaty thighs, how they’ve only gotten bigger, a comfier place to sit. The stretch marks don’t go unnoticed, streaking purple and pink along the milky flesh of his inner thighs like faded brushstrokes.

“Mmmph.” He blinks at you, pouty, lashes wet with impatient tears.

“Yeah, mmmph, I know, baby, be patient.” You’re a big, fat hypocrite.

His scent is stronger down here, clean and soapy, but the tang of sweat prospers, and the underlying smell of him. The smell of his pillow, the smell of his few-days old clothes, the smell of his towel after he works out.

A few more kisses here and there, using the flat of your tongue to lave over strips of his sinewy skin, leaving him spit-slicked and breathless and flushed. You hoist his other leg over your shoulder, he’s heavy, but you’re horny and it’s given you a sudden burst of vitality.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, gripping the top of the couch, one arm over his face as you lick up the seam of his balls, mouth latching to the swollen underside, where they feel heaviest.

Curly’s cock leaks into your hair, the weight brings it down to rest on your face, tip pressed into your hairline, dripping down the bridge of your nose like sweat while you make a mess of his balls. Stuffing them into your mouth one at a time, using your hand to give the lonelier one a squeeze when your lips are kissing up on another.

The kiss to his perineum is enough to make him moan. Curly knows what’s coming. You go lower, nose nestled into his balls, breathing him while your hands spread his ass cheeks apart to get to the spot you love most.

Curly’s hole is darker than the rest of him, not quite pink like his cock, ruddier. He’s tight and he smells good. So good. You’ve never minded the hair, you think it’s pretty cute. Curtains match the drapes.

Affectionately, you kiss his puffy rim, and it throbs.

He lets out a groan that is half mortified and half ready-to-blow-his-load.

“Sure,” Curly says, voice breaking as you circle his hole with the tip of your tongue. He tastes like him, musky and sweet and coppery. Curly is home and your tongue is in his ass where it belongs, wriggling its way past his pulsing rim, hopefully all the way up into his heart.

Your thumb and middle finger stretch to meet around the girth of his cock, stroking him slowly as you work open his asshole, tongue pushing back in when he pushes you out. Once you deem him wet enough, you push a single finger knuckle-deep and he cries out, hips bucking up off the couch.

Much to his dismay, which he shows in the form of a pained whimper, your hand leaves his cock to splay over his stomach and hold him down to the best of your abilities. “You have to stay still, honey.”

You feed a second finger into him, his hole squelching as you curl them inside of him. Curly clenches tight enough to cut off your blood circulation, sucking you back in when you ultimately pull them out with a lewd noise. He opens his mouth on instinct, pupils so blown out his light eyes seem dark, you push your fingers down his throat and he sucks.

“You’re so cute,” you mumble, watching him intently, he’s like a pin-up model of some sort. An X-rated action figure. “Taste good?”

“Not really,” Curly says. He’s so honest it makes you laugh. He shuffles back to rest his head on the arm of the couch, cock bobbing, still leaking like nobody’s business, leaving little droplets of wet in its wake.

It’s ready to burst, but you’re not done with him yet. You haven’t had your fill. When you spend half your time with your head between his thighs, you miss out on all the faces he pulls. So you spit on your tits to get them wet, his cock is slick enough, nothing should chafe when you squeeze his cock between them.

“Christ,” Curly grits out, brows knitting together, the second coming and he hasn’t even had his first.

“You wanna cum like this?” You ask, kneading your tits on either side of his cock, each time the tip pops up past your cleavage, it bumps your chin and leaves it slick.

“No…” He shakes his head, curls bouncing, sticking to his forehead, the hair near his nose is curlier with the added sweat. “Inside.”

“I can do that for you, babe.” You smile at him, acting like that wasn’t your plan in the first place, like you haven’t been dying for a warm creampie since he landed back on earth. You give the fat head of his dick one sloppy kiss, making sure to tongue his slit before you clamber on top of him.

It should be an easy task to get him inside, you’ve been wet for the last twenty-four hours, your pussy is throbbing like it’s got a heartbeat. Slick dries on your inner thighs and your clit is buzzing, a rush of arousal passes over you like a cold wave when you lift your hips to guide his dick into you.

Oh. Wow. That’s a stretch. 

In theory, you know big Curly’s dick is. It’s a fucking horsecock, and you have eyes bigger than your stomach. You always overestimate yourself. You think you’re gonna be just fine, then his fat tip breaches your little hole, no matter how wet, and you lose it, scrambling to grasp his shoulders as your body is racked with shivers.

Curly’s kind enough to steady you, big hands finding purchase on your hips. His needy noises get through to you, and you push on, sliding down and taking him to the hilt. His dick curves upwards into your cervix, rubbing the fleshy opening as you adjust to his dick after four whole months of nothing worthwhile.

He’s so big. You’re so wet, slippery pussy slicking up his cock, and making things easier for the both of you.

“I love you.” Curly shudders, looking right into your eyes like he’s afraid to blink and miss a single thing.

“I love you too,” you tell him, eyes on his tits.

He’s so deep, feet planted on the couch as he fucks into you, unable to help himself. You get it. You’re tight, warm, and wet. Better than his fist. Your pussy is noisy, squelching each time you bottom you, grinding your clit into his pelvis, feeling his cock twitch each time you tighten around him. The plap of his balls hitting your ass when enough momentum is built up.

Curly’s helpful, when he sees you tense up, throwing your head back and rolling your hips over and over, you want him deeper and deeper, he wets his fingers with your slick and rubs figure eights into your clit.

It’s just enough to make your toes curl—Oh, who are you kidding? You near blackout when you cum, moaning so loud you scare yourself. You see black. Like someone’s drawn the curtains in your mind, ending the show. Your nails dig into his skin, but he’s always put up with that like a champ.

“Holy fuck.” Shaking still, you blink to clear your vision, you’ve wet his navel and his tummy and the couch might be ruined. You don’t even remember when he came inside you. What a shame. Feels good though, still warm. Sighing, you lay against his chest, Curly’s soft cock slips out of your hole, resting on his thigh. “Welcome home, Captain.”

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The music JJK men would fuck you to <3

Tags: nsfw, mdni

An: YES I'm including Mahito.. I'm sorry but I love him :(

Incl: Satoru, Suguru, Choso, Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Mahito

SATORU

Satoru would be a little basic and fuck you to The Weeknd and a few other similar artists. He loves the slow, sensual beat as he effortlessly rolls his hips deep inside you over and over again.

Sometimes, he'll turn on Cbat just to fuck with you and make you laugh, but when you start laughing and your cute little cunt tightens around him, he goes feral. You don't even realize Cbat played in it's full entirety from how mindless you are from his cock <3

He'll also start out with Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home) just for the shits and giggles.

Songs:

Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home) - Usher

Coming Down - The Weeknd

Cbat - Hudson Mohawke

Hotel - Montell Fish

SUGURU

Suguru fucks to Sleep Token. You cannot change my mind. That man thrives off the building tension that Sleep Token songs create. He starts off slow with a lot of teasing, but by the end of the songs, he has you seeing stars from how hard he's pounding into you. He quite literally steals the breath from your lungs.

He'll sometimes switch it over to Bad Omens if he's feeling extra rude. He fucks hard and mean to their songs, making sure you know exactly who your pussy belongs to.

Songs:

Jaws - Sleep Token

Take Me Back to Eden - Sleep Token

Like a Villain - Bad Omens

THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND - Bad Omens

CHOSO

Choso fucks you to Deftones when he's in a dominant mood. He loves the guitar rift that plays in the back while he's making you whimper and grab at the sheets. Your incoherent murmurs of praise mixed with the loud music in the back is enough to make his head spin.

Yet he also loves that he can make love to you to Deftones as well. They're so versatile for whatever mood he's in at the moment.

Songs:

My Own Summer (Shove it) - Deftones

Change (In the House of Flies) - Deftones

Beware - Deftones

God Complex - VIOLENT VIRA

TOJI

Toji prefers to fuck without music because he loves the sound of your needy whines and the sound of your cunt absolutely drooling all around him while he ruthlessly pummels his cock deep inside you. However, when he's in the mood, he turns on the nastiest divorced dad rock.

It just gets him in the mood to make love to your entire body, and I mean your ENTIRE body. His favorite way to unwind from a hard day is with his tongue deep in your cunt with good music playing in the background.

Songs:

Closer - Nine Inch Nails

Addicted - Saving Abel

Bad Girlfriend - Theory of A Deadman

Crazy Bitch - Buckcherry

SUKUNA

This man does NOT fuck you to music. The sounds of your desperate cries and begging for more is music to his hears. He doesn't even listen to modern day music, and Heien Era music just doesn't fuck as hard as music does today.

There is one song though... He likes the beat, and the lyrics are good too. It's just not a song you'd expect the King of Curses to listen to....

Songs:

Cat Girls Are Ruining My Life! - Corpse

NANAMI

Nanami makes love to you with Hoizer songs in the background. He loves listening to his songs because they remind him of you. He loves the slow and methodical beat while he's making you feel so so good. He'll whisper sweet things in your ear while he has your legs on his shoulders.

Songs:

Work Song - Hoizer

Too Sweet - Hoizer

Sailor Song - Gigi Perez

American Wedding - Frank Ocean

MAHITO

Mahito is constantly under stimulated, so he loves loud, chaotic music to feel the constant void he feels. Though, when he's balls deep inside you, he doesn't need the unpredictable music. He does still prefer the fast-paced music because let's face it. This man doesn't understand the concept of rhythm. I'll pray for your pussy :)

Songs:

Ecstacy - SUICIDAL-IDOL

IN MY MOUTH - Black Dresses

wutiwant - Saraunh0ly

Love Potions - BJ Lips

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter four: can't turn water into wine, never asked you to

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Eddie tries giving you space, but then your fucking ex shows up.

cw: animal death, trauma, depictions of physical and emotional abuse, attempted physical assault, bullying/harassment, violence, deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. this entire work is explicit. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

You don’t see Eddie for days. And you don’t know how, you don’t know when, but he got you the promotion.

Colin mysteriously quit. Out of nowhere, he left a message with his resignation for the owner to deal with. You remember that Eddie said he visited Colin, and all the tip money he gave back to you sits in your bedside table like an omen. But you don’t know how he could have influenced you getting Colin’s promotion.

All the while, the mark on your wrist makes itself known each time you think about it. Eddie. You find yourself running your thumb over the raised scar, tracing the letters as the image of a fiery volcano sweeps through your mind. 

There’s a certain comfort to having it. Sometimes it throbs with your pulse, almost as if to let you know that he’s there, his infernal heart beating in time with yours. He’s still around, watching over you in some way, even if he isn’t lingering in your doorway or popping into your dreams. 

When you’re getting into your car for your shift, and a warm breeze rattles the leaves in the trees with the slightest scent of smoke on it. When you’re clocking in, and your name tag says manager, and the mirror over the sink in the back flashes a pair of glowing eyes back at you in your reflection. You can still sense him with a quivering in your gut that urges you to run for him, like it always does when he’s around, doing the devil’s work, wreaking havoc on your already compromised moral compass.

It’s him. He’s there. He’s looking after you, but he’s holding back. He’s waiting for you to ask for him.

You start to miss him. It hits you most when you’re at home alone, sleeping on your couch rather than your bed because you want to be there if he appears in your doorway again. Anxiety and desire flip flop in your body. It ignites something in you, makes you shiver even when your body goes hot with want. 

And of course, you’re attracted to him. Stupidly. Predictably, you guess– you’ve always liked power. You think you developed some idiotic crush on him the night you made that deal. His eyes like two glowing beacons, seeking you out in the darkness. You never felt scared of looking back into them, because he went out of his way to make you feel like you held as much power as he did. 

Of course, everything you’ve been through since the deal, and the prospect that you’re going to fuck him– because it’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when– makes your desire for him even worse. You feel like a new bride two days from her wedding night. The virginal maiden on her way to bed the horned god. 

Well, you’re not a virgin, but you sure fucking feel like one when you think about the prospect. And he’s not a god, but he sure feels like one to you. You’re full of raw power that he’s given you, pulsing in your veins. And now you have to lay here with it, with his presence even when you can’t see him, and it feels good.

To be completely honest, you start to look for him– peering around corners in your house, glancing at doorways and hoping that he’ll show up in one of your dreams. You don’t know how to summon him. Do you have to go out to the crossroads and cast a circle and make a petition again? Do you have to break down in tears? Or is it just as simple as saying his name?

For some reason, you don’t attempt it. You don’t want to be disappointed if you do it wrong.

Then, during one of your shifts at the diner, the mark burns hot under your skin. Just for a second. Just enough to make you jump and drop a cup you were wiping dry, shattering the mug across the kitchen floor. 

“Whoops,” you laugh, trying to play it off as just a silly little butterfingered moment. It’s a slow day, and nobody is moving particularly fast or looks like they care, but you glare down at the tile floor as you sweep up the mess. The mark hasn’t burned that hot before, not since it was given to you. Granted, you’ve only had the mark for a week, but this is the first time it’s really made you flinch.

A bell jingles over the front door. You wipe your hands on your apron and duck out of the kitchen doors to greet whoever it is– but, of course, you stop.

“Andy,” you say, your voice flat. The mark throbs obnoxiously against your wrist, bringing your awareness to it rather than the man in front of you.

A cold chuckle greets you, along with the foul stench of the fucking cologne he always douses himself in. You take one whiff, and then start breathing through your mouth before you gag; one part of you hoping he doesn’t notice and take offense, the other wishing that he would. He steps up to the bar counter, his blue eyes going beady and sharp. His brown hair, which had always had a certain unattractive chalkiness to it, is tinted almost blue in the light coming through the windows.

Andy wasn’t terrible in the beginning. Actually, he’d been really likable. Sweet, even, and charming. He had been kind, and he was smart and funny, and he laughed at your stupid jokes and he went out of his way to make you feel special. You would stay up late into the night talking for hours, seemingly never running out of things to say to each other. He told you to your face that he didn’t like bigots, and he stuck up for you when other people in town called you a ‘freak,’ or a ‘Satan worshipper,’ or what have you. You felt safe with him. Until you didn’t. 

Andy’s really good at intimidating you. It started a little too late in your relationship for you to notice the warning signs; the passive aggression, refusing to talk to or even look at you if he was mad about anything, whether it involved you or not. The denial, blaming you if you brought up how unfair he was being. Controlling your interests by getting angry and taking it as a personal affront if they didn’t line up with his own. You were just so happy that someone was willing to get close to you in this town, was willing to love you, that you overlooked all the red flags.

By the time you noticed your own behavior towards him– instinctively avoiding eye contact, being afraid to set boundaries for fear of retaliation, waiting for him to say his opinion before you shared your own so that you didn’t inadvertently disagree with him– you were convinced you were making it up. Or that it was your anxiety talking. He didn’t mean you any harm. How could he? He said he loved you.

Until he kicked you out of the apartment. Until he hit your dog with his car. It still rips your heart out when you think about it too hard– your stomach flips and you feel like vomiting. The wound is still too fresh, even six months later. Things like that don’t heal quickly, they fester and they burn and they ache until they poison you, or worse.

He left you to bury Lacey, your five year old Dachshund, in the woods on your own, sobbing and swearing you’d never forget her. And you haven’t. 

You tried. You went into the woods, under a waning moon. You bought a pig’s heart from the butcher shop, you drove three rusty nails through it. You bound it in black twine. You buried it with a picture of Andy and when you covered it with dirt, you spit on his “grave.” 

It didn’t work.

It only seemed to backfire, actually. Now, he refuses to leave you alone when you just want him gone. He comes around the diner to sit and nurse a cup of coffee for three hours, while berating you for not paying enough attention to him. You can’t imagine the thought process going through his head, if there is one at all. Maybe he thinks he’ll win you back this way, or maybe he finds it entertaining to watch you squirm. 

Ultimately, all it does is remind you of what he did to you. What he took from you. You have wrath welling up inside you, the likes of which could level cities. If only you could set it loose.

“Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” he asks you bluntly as he takes his usual seat at the bar, right by the door. He flashes you a smile that may be an attempt at charm, but it only strikes you as menacing.

“Because,” you say through your teeth, “I’ve been busy. I got promoted.” You don’t mention that you changed your number because you were sick of his long winded, drunken phone calls filling your inbox with filth.

“Good for you,” Andy says, eyeing the word manager on your name tag. Staring you down is his favorite intimidation tactic. It makes your heart lurch up into your throat. “You’re really moving up in the world, aren’t you?”

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to fucking justify yourself to him anymore. At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself when you feel yourself about to, averting your eyes. Your mind screams, ‘Look at him! Look at him!’ as though it would make any kind of a difference. It’s all rendered completely redundant with one look at his face. It won’t change how much he scares you.

Andy readjusts the cuffs of his brown leather jacket. With his tight blue jeans and motorcycle jacket, and his pin straight All-American haircut, he resembles something out of Happy Days. It’s almost as if he’s suddenly concerned with his looks. He never has been before– he’s minorly handsome and always rather plain looking, unassuming, unfussy. You counted it as a blessing, once, but now it just doesn’t lend anything good to his appearance. Andy’s just plain, and his ugliness shows on his face now, especially in his eyes. There’s nothing warm or pretty about him.

Not like Eddie .

“You know my order.” 

So, you’ve been dismissed. You turn away and disappear into the kitchen, and let out a long breath. Eastwick is a tiny town, boasting only a couple thousand people at the most. Your diner is on the main drag, and people around here don’t like to linger when you’re on shift. Of course, Andy would be the only customer you get at this time on a Monday, but that’s because he supposedly knows you better than most.

If only he knew.

Your wrist throbs. Your head is whirling a mile a minute, There’s a migraine coming on, you can feel it at the base of your skull. 

While your shaking hand holds his cup of coffee, your vision blurs, and you accept that you must be having a panic attack. The lights are too bright, the smells are too strong, everything is too loud and you can feel yourself vibrating from your fight or flight response, all your adrenaline pumping into your limbs. Your fingers clutch at the burning cup of coffee in your hands and zero in on that sensation rather than anything else. 

Oddly, you find some comfort in it. It reminds you of Eddie. His touch. The fire in his eyes.

You’re so strong. Just look at what you can do.

You jump at the sound of Eddie’s voice in your ears, almost as if he’s standing right behind you, whispering to you. Your eyes refocus on the ceramic cup in your hands. The liquid inside it is boiling. It bubbles over onto your fingers, but somehow, you don’t feel it.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, setting the cup down onto the coffee station. The bubbles recede. The coffee steams, but settles into the cup. 

Fingers twitching, you glance around to make sure nobody else in the kitchen noticed what just happened. Satisfied that no one is looking, you reach forward and wrap your hand around the cup again.

The bubbles start again as the coffee rapidly begins to boil. 

“Shit, shit, shit–” You hold your hands out, examining your palms. There’s nothing that seems wrong, no hellfire emitting from your fingers. Nothing to suggest that you’re making things inexplicably boil with your touch, just a semi-warm feeling beneath your skin.

You stand in place, trying to decide the best thing to do. If you touch the door, is it going to go up in flames? Or are you only able to make things boil? Are you going to burn the entire place down? You’ll be collecting your final paycheck written in ash, because all the pencils have been scorched to a crisp. And everyone in town will continue to talk about the witch who burned down the Eastwick diner, just like everything else they’ve accused you of for years. 

“Can it, um–” You frown, trying to figure out how exactly to make your hands stop being weapons of mass destruction. “Can we just not do that, right now?” 

Fine.

You tentatively reach out and touch the cup. Nothing happens. 

You sigh in relief and feel like a massive weight has been lifted from your shoulders. You aren’t nearly as nervous as you were before. Apparently, having your hands magically turn into bunsen burners will kill a panic attack in five seconds flat. 

You collect the cup of now burnt coffee and the dish of creamer and sugar packets. Best to just move on, behave like normal, right? Your hands definitely didn’t just boil something on their own. You’re definitely a normal person with normal connections to the great beyond. You definitely don’t have a demon telepathically communicating with you, somehow.

You slide the dish and coffee in front of Andy, still refusing to look at him. “Careful, it’s very hot.”

“Yeah, it’s coffee.” There’s a sour note to his voice to let you know that he’s annoyed. He’s always annoyed with you.

You turn to leave, but a hand grabs your arm roughly. You breathe in the sour stench of his vinegary cologne, and you really do gag this time. It reminds you of toxic waste and rot. “Andy, what–?”

“What the fuck is this?” Andy yanks your arm across the counter, staring down at your wrist. Fuck. “You seeing someone? You got a new boyfriend?”

Yes. “No, I–” It’s complicated.

“Who the fuck is Eddie?” Andy spits, squeezing your arm a little harder. You whimper, your heart hammering in your chest. His voice is cold, growling at you with anger and disgust. “You let him carve his fuckin’ name into your skin?”

“It’s–” None of your fucking business. “That’s not what it is.”

“Yeah?” Andy snarls, his rough hand pulling you closer. “You just let any random guy carve his name into you like that? You fuckin’ freak?”

Does that look like it was carved, dipshit?

You try to yank your wrist out of Andy’s hold, but it’s too strong. You try to keep your voice down so that you don’t attract any undue attention from the back. “Andy, stop–”

“What if I do that, huh?” Andy’s other hand comes up over the counter, and he flicks open a pocket knife. The blade is tarnished and old, but no less sharp. You remember watching him throw it at a dart board more than once. His smile mocks you. “Think it won’t mean shit if I do that?” 

Burn him.

Your heart pounds so hard you can hear it in your ears, your hands shaking. Andy presses his knife into your wrist, over Eddie’s mark, until blood wells on the surface of your skin.

BURN HIM.

You wrap your hand around Andy’s forearm, trying to pry him away from your own wrist. There’s a sizzling noise, a smell of burnt hair and skin– and then, Andy screams. 

He flies back off of the bar stool, clutching his wounded arm, while you try to scramble away from him. Leaning back against a wine cabinet, you pull your aching wrist protectively toward your chest. 

Good girl.

Andy’s arm has your handprint burned into it. He whirls on you with wild eyes. “What did you do to me, you– you witch?”  

Two of your coworkers burst through the door to the kitchen. So much for not attracting attention. Raoul, one of the line cooks, looks at you for direction of some kind.

“Raoul, please show Andy out of the diner,” you say with as much confidence and authority as you can muster, even though your voice still trembles. “He isn’t allowed back.”

“Oh, fuck you.” 

Raoul starts ushering him out, a large hand clapped onto Andy’s shoulder as he gruffly announces, “If I see you back here, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

“This isn’t over! I should have known they were right about you. They were all right about you,” Andy spits. “Stupid fucking bitch.”

Seething, you look down at your wrist. There’s a horizontal line cut across Eddie’s name. It makes you angry. Positively fucking livid. The most possessive part of your soul rears up, making your heart ache to see his mark defaced in any way. 

He’s yours as much as you’re his. The contract said so. 

You raise your eyes, and you look at Andy through the front window of the diner. Directly at him. He’s glaring back at you, and this time, you don’t avert your eyes. You don’t look away. Not when the glass on the windows starts to shake, almost imperceptibly. Not even when Andy flips you off, and throws open his car door.

And the car explodes. Flames erupt from the undercarriage, throwing the entire thing into the air for a second. Shrapnel flies, glass bursts from the windows of the car. You don’t see where Andy goes. There’s nothing but a great plume of fire in the air, a loud KABOOM that rocks the ground.

A few of your coworkers scream. Raoul instinctively guides you to duck under the counter, but the car is too far away from the building for that to make any kind of a difference.

You lift your head to look over the counter, at the blazing remains of Andy’s car exhaling smoke into the air. Your thumb runs protectively across Eddie’s name on your wrist.

When you look down at it, the cut that Andy made across it is gone.

[mykneeshurt]

Envy

Shout out (again lmao) to @ave661 for the artwork (I’m sorry I tag you so much lmao)

Possessive Keegan x F!reader

Inspired by Bad Omens - Death of Peace of Mind

Not proofread because I’m legit so tired lmao I could have done more to this but my brain isn’t working x

Warnings - 18+, minors DNI, possessive and jealous themes, p in v, unprotected sex, goes without saying but it’s the internet ini, this is fiction. This is not a healthy relationship.

•

The buzz of the bar hummed around you, strangers going about their business, wrapped up in their own little worlds. You sipped at your drink as you watched life unfold before you. Couples sharing intimate conversations, friends sharing stories, laughter. That’s when you noticed a pair of silvery blue eyes watching you from across the bar.

Keegan.

More specifically your ex-boyfriend Keegan.

Absolutely not wanting to get into it you finished your drink and made your way out of the bar. You could feel his eyes bore into you as you took your leave. Watching. Waiting.

It was an early autumn evening. Still warm but with a noticeable chill now in the air. Pulling out your phone your text your best friend, informing them that you’d seen Keegan at the bar and that you were making your way home. Going for a drink on your own wasn’t unusual for you. You did it quite often in fact, happy in your own company, watching the world go by. It gave you time to decompress, to think.

The taxi rank was about a 15 minute walk away, the streets weren’t too crowded, it being a Sunday after all. Everyone at home too full to move after their roast dinner. Various alley ways lined the streets, the first golden crisp leaves began to fall, the breeze encapsulated you in its warm embrace.

It was perfection. Your favourite season.

You allowed your mind to drift, forgetting all about seeing your ex-boyfriend. Entranced within your own world. And that’s when he pounced.

A firm broad body slams into you, pushing you full force into one of the alleyways. Before a shriek could even fall from your mouth a large hand muffled your mouth. Effectively silencing you. Your body hit the red brick wall with a dull thud. Dazed you eventually focused on your assailant, eyes widening as you were met with Keegans face.

His ashen eyes stared into your very soul, your essence. Your brows knitted together confused as you relaxed into his form. He’d never laid a hand on you, if anything he was sickly sweet, worshipping the ground you walked on. But he had a jealous side, one that he had managed to hide well. But the mask slipped, as it always did. He became possessive, envious of every interaction you had. He didn’t control or coerce you in anyway, but he’d always let you know what he was thinking. He wanted you all to himself. That’s when you ended it.

And by the looks he wasn’t getting over you any time soon.

Slowly he removed his hand, allowing your short sharp breaths to echo in the cramped alley. ‘Keegan?’ Your eyes fluttered around his features, trying to make sense of this … situation. ‘Hi sweetheart’ he drawled, his voice thick like caramel. Still breathless you whispered ‘what are you doing?’ He watched as your chest rose and fell, your lungs fighting against the adrenaline pumping through you.

He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he caressed your cheek. ‘Just missed you is all. Saw you across the bar n needed to tell you.’ Scrunching your nose you scoffed ‘then just tell me like a normal person? Instead of pinning me in an alley way. Christ Keegan.’

‘Fuck, I love it when you’re angry.’ His eyes fell to your lips, watching as the corner of your mouth twitched.

Dropping his head he nuzzled into your neck, as he slipped his knee between your thighs. Slightly pushing your dress up against your skin. ‘Keegan’ you warned, your tone sharp and commanding. But that’s when he trailed his tongue from your neck to your earlobe, nipping at it gently. ‘Fuck you smell so good sweetheart’ you felt his voice rumble through his chest and onto yours. Your breath hitched in your throat as he pulled at your hip, his 6’1 frame towering over you.

‘Keegan …’ it was less of a warning and more of a plead, your breathless voice seeped into his skin spurring him on. ‘Missed the way you say my name sweetheart’ his grip on your hip tightened. Causing you inadvertently roll your hips into him, arching your back off the brick wall.

You brushed your cheek against his, his sharp jaw cut against your skin as you melted into him. With his other hand he snaked it up your body, along your neck and into your hair. Twisting it in his grasp. A surprised moan fell from you lips as he nipped your collarbone.

Peering over his shoulder you tried to scope out the street, to see if any passers by had clocked you. The street appeared empty, the off leaf tumbling by the entry way, the sky gradually darkening with every minute.

Giving in slightly you placed your hands on his arms, squeezing them gently. Heavy breaths fell in between the two of you. Nipping at your jaw he finally placed his lips on to yours, going against your better judgement you reciprocated the kiss. Lips dancing in unison as he swiped his tongue against yours. Sighing deeper into the kiss you tangled your fingers in his jet black hair, eliciting a hiss from him.

He placed his hand at the small of your back pulling you further into him. Breaking the kiss he trailed kissed from your lips to your neck again, knowing it was your sensitive spot. Using his free hand he cupped your jaw, dragging his thumb along your lips. You nipped and sucked on it gently, muffling the guttural moans from your chest. Thrusting his knee upwards closer to your cunt it grazed your swollen clit.

You jerked your hips, desperate to relieve the mounting pressure. Feeling you grind against his thigh he cupped your pussy, feeling how wet you were through your lace panties. ‘Always knew I could still make you wet baby, you want me to fill this cunt? Just like I used to? … hmmm?’ You knew this was so wrong, you ended it for a reason, but he always knew how to work your body. How to make you come undone with a mere touch.

‘Yes … fuck, yes’ you muttered.

With that he swept your panties to the side and plunged two fingers into your weeping cunt. Not giving you any time to adjust to his fingers he began pumping them in and out of you. Clenching onto the back of his neck you buried your face into his shoulder, biting at his muscular form. The sound of the wet pussy echoed in the alleyway as you desperately tried to stifle your moans. ‘Such a pretty little cunt. All those pretty sounds just for me. Only me’ his voice was possessive and deep.

You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, he was thick, it honestly surprised you every time. Dropping your hand you began rubbing his cock over his jeans, causing him to buck his hips slightly. With small gentle motions he began to circle your clit, adding to the pressure that was building in your core. He felt you clench against his fingers, ‘give it to me baby, wanna feel you cum … c’mon’ he cooed, his voice soft but demanding.

He kept his rhythm going, his moans melted into your ears as you rubbed his cock. He felt you clench tighter, throwing your head back your jaw fell slack as you started into to pant. Feeling yourself pass through the veil into an ocean of euphoria you clenched your eyes shut. Your hips writhed and jerked on his hand as his fingers remained inside you.

Tugging as his belt he soon got the message, removing his fingers he placed them on his tongue. Eyes rolling back into his head at your taste, a taste he missed to fervently. Yanking down his jeans and boxers his thick cock flung free. Wasting no time he hooked your thigh around his waist and pushed into you. Both gasping at the change in sensation as your walls hugged his cock. The evening air nipping at your exposed cores.

He placed his forehead against yours, biting his lip as he whimpered. Noses bumping together as he thrust into you, making up for lost time. ‘Missed the way you fuck, the way you taste’ he whispered against your lips. A grin broke out across your lips as you whined into him, reigniting a kiss. It was sloppy, messy and driven by his intense possessiveness of you. But fuck did he know how to work you, how to break you.

You muttered a string of nonsensical phrases under your breath as you savoured the feeling of him again. He stretched out your walls as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix, his fingertips clenched onto your thigh like a vice. Trying to steady himself but to pull you closer, despite there being no more room. Your arms draped around his neck, nails digging into his flesh as you let the intense pleasure consume you.

Feeling your oncoming orgasm grow deep with you, he gripped your jaw forcing you to look at him. ‘Fuck sweetheart, that’s it, cum on my cock’ he said drawling every last letter, every last syllable. You mouth fell open as heat rose against your skin, dropping a hand to your clit to push you past the edge. He quickly slapped a hand over your mouth as you came, stifling your moans, muffling his name. The vibrations of your sounds shattered through him, as he came seconds later. He bit down on his lip, hard. Quietly whimpering as he watched your blown out pupils search his face, for what he wasn’t sure.

He pulled out slowly, but not before pushing his cum back into your cunt. You jolted at the sudden intrusion before smirking to yourself. He kissed you again, but this time it was slower, tender. As he pulled away he ran his thumb across your lips ‘you’ll always be mine.’

————

Taglist - @taurus-ted @luminousbeings-crudematter

‘The way you fuck the way you taste’ I didn’t make this up, this is from the song. God bless you Noah Sebastiann

[e-rated-beardo]

2024 fic roundup

@cheeseplants created this ask/tag game, and I've been tagged by @addledmongoose and @harlotofupdog, here we gooo

What fandoms do you write in?

200% Good Omens. First proper fandom experience. First thing that forced (aye, forced) me to write a fanfic. Huge obsession.

If I were to write for anything else, it might be Our Flag Means Death, or Doctor Who, or perhaps House M.D. or some flavour of Star Trek. Or a crossover between one of those and GO. I'm a completely normal amount of obsessed with Aziraphale and Crowley.

How many words have you published in 2024?

*goes to ao3 stats page*

*hits "2024"*

...220,232 words

What the whole entire fuck!?

And there's another three chapters left on Scorn to go before New Year's, so we'll comfortably surpass 231k. How in the actual fuck is that possible.

What is your greatest achievement this year?

Getting this comment:

What are your favourite top three fics you wrote this year?

Not Single Spies (the third part of Nice And Ominous, which can be read on its own or with the two preceding parts); The Co-pilot; and I'm going to say Scorn and the Saint-Maker, although that's far from finished, because it's been the entirety of my past half-year.

Not Single Spies (part III of Nice And Ominous: a reluctant eschatology of the Second Attempt) Rated E; 61k words Second Coming/post-S2 fic; plot-driven

A man with pale hair turns up in Saint Peter's Square, naked and without memory, and Crowley's old sense of Aziraphale's location snaps like a twig. Heaven is down another Supreme Archangel—but the new Christ is already on Earth (in France, to be precise) and the Second Coming is well underway. And Crowley works for Hell now, but really, he works for the good of humanity; pulling on every friend he has to stop the end of the world.

There is some smut in this, but it's only three sections and they're all skippable. The rest of the story is rated T with no major warnings.

The Co-pilot Rated E; 4k words Human-ish AU; shameless smut

An un-English heatwave, a few open shirt buttons and the demonic entity possessing an innocent Londoner conspire to make long-time friends Az and Tony finally get over themselves and bone.

Scorn and the Saint-Maker Rated E; 97k words so far (WIP) Human not-actually-AU; sorta-post-S2; plot-driven, smutty, mathsy; four plots in a trench coat

Doctor Crowley has turned truancy into an art form, lecturing only under sufferance. Doctor Fell has signed up for his undergraduate course and has no plans to let him slack off. When a faculty member is found dead, our heroes start forming uneasy suspicions. What was the occult symbol drawn next to the body? Why does it feel like they’ve known each other forever? How is Crowley supposed to tell police that he thinks the murderer is a demon he summoned 35 years ago? And what about that statue that’s the spitting image of the victim?

They've been turned human. Now they're academics in Scotland. Romance, weirdness and (skippable!) smut ensue. The fic has some warnings, so check the tags.

What was your biggest pit of despair moment?

I had a nasty week in August, when I got depressive symptoms as a side effect of a necessary medication and spent ~10 days convinced everything I did was shit.

I'm also kind of in one at the moment, but without the pharmaceutical explanation/excuse. I'm just... urgh. Things are stuck. It's. It's a thing. Idk.

What have you learned?

You're expecting me to list everything I've learnt related to writing and fandom and fandom writing in less than an entire academic essay? Are you out of your entire mind!? (❤️)

Big things: I've learnt that I do have the capacity to finish big stories; that things I write are good enough that people want to read them and look forward to reading them and give me all these amazing compliments on them and go slightly feral sometimes; and that if I'm enthusiastic enough about maths, I can trick some folks who didn't even like maths into sort of liking maths.

Smaller things: A smattering of fancy vocabulary. How to paint with watercolour. How to draw Michael Sheen's nose and David Tennant's lower lip. The fact that I have a massive praise kink. More than I knew there was to know about em-dashes and en-rules. Heaps of random facts about the Bible, angels, demonology, poetry, Scotland Yard, Shakespeare, wine, dicks, queer identities I don't have, and queer identities I do have. And a bunch about how to watch/read/consume media with my eyes open and my brain switched on.

What fic did you want to do but never made it off the ground?

I still low-key want to continue The Co-pilot into... something. And That Berry Ice Cream from last December has been sort of asking for a follow-up, which just hasn't happened.

I had this idea, shortly after that week in November that the Americans don't like to think about, for something short, snappy, and a little cathartic; a fuck the system-type deal, both to that political shitshow and to all the sad crap fucking over the GO fandom lately, and I started to write it but got stuck not even a thousand words in. Maybe it just wasn't that good of an idea.

Did you beta any fics? Any favs you want to shout out?

I did my first toe-dipping of a beta read just the other month, for Easy Access by @ModernDayKlutz. I've not dared to jump into beta:ing properly for fear that my old flakiness will resurface and make me disappoint a person I've made a promise to, but this one seemed contained enough that I felt I could contribute. Especially with Kilt Knowledge™️.

What three fics have you read this year that you love?

THREE!??!?

All right, so I'm looking through my bookmarks, and, as it turns out, That Fic I Keep Recommending Basically All The Time was one I only read - or at least, finished reading - early this year!

Mint Tea by @copperplatebeech - 31.5k words; rated E - is one of those fics that half the fandom have heard about, right? I don't know if it happened to hit me at a formative point in my fandom life or if it's simply That Good, which is also very likely, but thirsty-well-hung-Dom!Crowley lives in my head for free and will not move out, it seems. It's scorching and funny and sweet, and when I say it gave me the idea to try some... things... which I hadn't tried before, in... certain parts of my life... 🔥🫠

Fanfic, uh... changes lives, y'all! Ahem, well then, onwards:

Come as you are by hiya_angel - 4k words, rated E - this gave me some of the experience reflected in that gorgeous comment above. The angst is minimal and the smut is gorgeous and wonderfully sweet and I adore this fandom for making me feel hope again and again for all this trans stuff that's still comparatively new to me.

Submitted for Your Consideration by @zehwulf - 19k words, rated E - contains possibly the most spectacular description of subspace I've read in... ever? And when it comes to bowling me over with porn, I could probably just pick anything by ZehWulf because whatever story I pick up it ends with me sitting there absolutely sweating. And feeling fuzzy inside. And maybe also crying for joy.

HERE'S A FOURTH ACTUALLY, YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME:

Lucid by @twilightcitysky - 35k words, rated E. It's unfinished and I barely even care at this point, because something about this fic changed me. It's So. Fucking. Good. It's one of those (rare? Not in this fandom! But a little rare, probably) stories where the smut is absolutely plot-crucial. It's also excruciatingly clever and angstier than I thought I would like (I was wrong! I LIKE IT) and the characters are great. And it's written just beautifully.

What ideas are percolating for next year?

More Scorn. (Don't trust the projected chapter count. Knowing myself, there'll be more of them. Or I might be done with less. It's a completely unqualified approximation.)

More Co-pilot, maybe? (I have Ideas.)

A slightly more fantastical fic that goes into a smut genre I haven't really explored at all before. And which has made me research goats' pupils.

Plus, I want to look into making podfics more. Maybe get better at it. Maybe even try out doing voice work for money? (I'm talking to a guy, it's completely wild, but damn it might be a thing I could do)

Who do you want to thank?

@addledmongoose (quite unintentionally) brought me to Tumblr. (She wrote a review of Nice And Ominous, and it was so lovely, I wanted to go there and like it and respond to it properly, so I just had to create an account, you know? No other options.) I'm so glad I'm here.

@bakingcat made excitable comments about my linguistics-nerdery-snuck-into-sex-scene and made me realise you can actually make friends in fandom.

@klikandtuna wrote the fic which I was a completely normal amount of obsessed with this summer, and which led to (via an instance of fanwork of the fanwork) me being flooded with love from strangers one random Friday and getting put in contact with that voice work guy. We also had the most wonderfully grown-up conversation about a tricky thing, for which I am so very proud and grateful.

@harlotofupdog came straight over to read Scorn almost right when I started posting it - I can't quite remember now, but the timing isn't the important bit - and wrote some absolutely glorious comments. D'you know you're the first writer whose work I'd already been painfully obsessed with, who's also expressed obsession with mine? D'you know how bloody cool that is??

And finally the unhinged smutgoblins of The Beta Fishes The Big Fucks server - idk who to thank anymore because I can't recall who invited me (it was past 3am and I'd just watched Michael Sheen shirtless for an hour, you'll have to forgive a guy) but all of y'all are weirdos and I love to hang out with yous and draw dicks and discuss writing and scream about Rivals and definitely not put mustaches on anyone.

No-pressure tags (in addition to everyone tagged above - please feel free to consider yourselves tagged-tagged if you like) without checking who's already been tagged in this before, because that's A Lot of Work that I don't want to do:

@wiblywoblytimeywimey754 @brenna @majnoonathelibrarian annnnd @kiratastic, pretty sure this could be modified to work for an art perspective too? Right? (If you want)

[ssreeder]

Sreedy!!!!! I finally caught up!!! Now, I need to figure out what to do in the meantime. Do you have any fanfic recs (or anyone else who may end up seeing this)? I'm in the Atla (Zukka), Voltron(Klance), Good Omens, One Piece(Zosan), Marauders(Jegulus), and MHA Fandom (so far). But I think I'm open to reading about anything. I'm not really into one shots, so I'm more of a anything over 50k word count. Thank you, and I also still am loving the story 💛

OMG YOURE SO CAUGHT UP IM SO HAPPY!! (Im also a huge one piece fan so im excited that you’re excited for this long ass fic haha luckily we don’t have tooooo much longer)

DO I HAVE ANY FANFIC RECS?!?! hahah oh yeah I do…. I’ll give you my longfic recs (They’re all atla I don’t read much other fic except random one shots)

first off all, war games by @lovelyelbowleech is so fucking good and long and even though I’m not caught up on the second installment I just know it’s so fucking good and you’re going to love it I promise trust me it’s amazing. War games is angsty and smart and fun you’ll be so happy! (& hurt)

also my new obsession the Mercy of Magpies by @ranilla-bean is soooo good I wanna scream about it all day and night. The world building is so extensive and delicious and then there’s a ton of amazing art that goes with it I swear it’s so good! I would recommend this one to anyone even if they aren’t in the fandom.

ok another long fic I enjoy WHICH IS ONE OF MY LONG TERM FAVES (I’ll catch up I swear I love love love you TAOB my wonderful first long zukka fic…) is the Art of Burning by @hella1975 I lost sleep reading this! The author also has fics for MHA!! Just check out her ao3 she’s an incredible author will rock your world I promise!!

DOG TEETH is the only not atla fic I’ve never read that I will recommend because again, @hella1975 poured a part of her soul in it so it’s good… and really really PAINFUL.

ONE OF THE FICS THAT INSPIRED LIAB is the one & ONLYYYYY: Ozymandias, King of Kings by Think_of_wonderful_thought (if you know their tumblr let me know!!) SO SO SO GOOD!!! Prison zuko! Isolated being disturbed & sokka being persistent and just such a good story!! One of my first true fanfic loves.

another gem I adore is actually one inspired by liab it’s La’s Wrath by anon and even though I can’t tag them if they read this just know this dark and tantalizing fic really takes an interesting perspective at what would have happened if the boys died and angsty but fun spirit shenanigans began. I love it so much it’s honestly my comfort fic haha

anything by @a-witch-in-endor in just mind blowing but: this is a gift (it comes with a price) rocked my brain chemistry in a way that was wonderful and intelligent and AHHH SO GOOD!!

Boomerangs and Rainbows is another AMAZING fic by someone who’s tumblr I don’t know but will totally add if I find out their tumblr! It’s a great fic I haven’t read in a while but I remember LOVING IT!

those are the longer fics that are more of that darker kind of angsty themes but I will do a few honorable mentions haha!

(not)according to plan by birdyhands (sorry I don’t have hour tumblr) but it was my very first zukka fic and I just fell in love with the potential of their relationship haha. If home is a place ,where do I go? By @maaaxx it’s currently being rereleased but I had the pleasure of reading the first chapter and fuck it I love me some sassy hakoda!

The Things I Would Do (To Steal Time With You) is the definition of a good long fic!! This one is by @erisenyo & it’s honestly such a relaxing time. Now don’t get me wrong! there’s a lot of tension both political and emotional communication happening but no one’s getting tortured so it’s a good breath of fresh air! The chapters are filled with so much wonderful world building I’m such a sucker for a good fleshed out world! This should keep you busy for a while!!!!! I’m so thankful that you’ve given me a chance to shout out to some of my fave fics and authors I wish I could scream about more of them!!! you’re such an amazing reader, I’m so thankful to have someone like you who takes the time to share your thoughts on not just ao3 but tumblr as well. All of these authors would be so lucky to have you as a reader I hope you enjoy!!!!

[okerum]

throughout the short duration of my maze runner hyperfix i would write down random thoughts/headcanons i had about them so i'll just copy-paste all of them here

- newt is crazy ticklish but he gets so irritated when someone tickles him. minho does not care

- newt cant sleep in the same room as thomas because thomas snores crazy loud and newt is a v light sleeper

- thomas has a really bad habit of chewing on his fingernails

- once newt got over them kidnapping thomas, he got along really well with group b. and they loved him too (ik him and sonya r siblings but him and harriet would be such good friends. see the vision)

- newt loves reading. i think classics would be his faves

- also good omens

- also he likes mythology

- he probably needs glasses though

- thomas and minho would probably play roblox together and like. bully kids. sometimes brenda will tag along too (shes the meanest but she also thinks roblox is dumb so she goes on it less)

- minho is a total sweat when it comes to gaming

- old grandma newt

- minho and newt would be roomates

- ocd newt maybe

- thomas has SEVERE depersonalization problems

- i can picture newt dancing as a sort of outlet. not sure what kind but just in general

- minho has AT LEAST one skirt

- newt braids his hair ‼️‼️

- thomas and newt and teresa and sonya are all autistic

- also all trans

- plus brenda

- who is also a butch lesbian

- newt is lefthanded

- thomas is the kid with the peanut allergy

- NEWT NONBINARY! THEY/HE!!!!

- do i eveb have to say t4t newtmas...

- teresa is a big swiftie

- newt would like shoujo animes

- minho would like shounen animes

- none of the main 3 can dress themselves and they look like shit usually

- newt doesnt get flustered like at all but THOMAS .... he goes red at any compliment from his crushes

- minho and thomas wrestling lmfaooo

- theyve probably broken several fhings in the process. including walls

- minho badly mocks newt's accent and he HATES it

- newt probably lets minho get away with a lot of things that he doesnt let anyone else get away with though because hes just used to it atp

- thomas is jealous because newt gives him a good scolding (affectionate) whenever he pisses him off. if hes particularly upset, newt will just ignore him for a few hours which is so hard for thomas

- newt has a lot of self-soothing behaviors but he rocks (like, rocking back and forth) a lot

- hes mega autistic look hes either minimum eye contact or intense uninterrupted eye contact and he hates being touched unless hes warned

- also the whole routines/order/rules thing he has going on especially in the glade

- AUTISTIC

- newt's prolly one of those film nerds

- never watched it but he'd be the type to love brokeback mountain

- thomas is a chronic flannel wearer

- oh also forgot its not a given but newt has chronic pain and a mobility aid

- puerto rican thomas...

- hes also demiromantic and demisexual

- thomas is also ticklish

- tickle fights perhaps....

- thomas fell asleep first once at a sleepover and minho drew all over him/fucked with him in his sleep and he never fell asleep before minho ever again

- the gladers probably smelled like shit

- 40 some adolescent-teen boys all alone no supervision doing physical labor all day every day.... 💀

- the older boys do it more but the younger ones need reminding

- runners probably bathe more often too

- esp in the movies when the box only comes up monthly + no visible building for showers??

- teresa came up and GAGGED

- spiderman newt + batman thomas

- newt probavly is prone to sunburns and he was SUFFERINGGG in the scorch. sonya too but she had it a lot easier w group b's circumstances

- half filipino teresa

- also hispanic brenda is that obvious or not

- newt is unexpectedly demanding in relationships he wants kisses all the time

- newt is a bland ass texter

- thomas just doesnt text. he'll facetime you any time u text him bc he doesnt wanna text

- sonya knows basically NO celebrities you'll go "you know chris pratt??" and she'll be like "who tf 💀" (the ones she does know are just the women she has a crush on)

- gally has probably called newt the f slur before but only because he didnt know the extent of how bad it was and (after a good punch and superduper miffed) newt tells him yhe history of it and he never did it again. he felt rlly bad too

- teresa 100% has a full fursona set up in her head

- she also probably silently assigns everyone else fursonas

- newt is a reptile owner

- minho likes dogs but hes also a terrible pet owner so he just goes over to thomas' place to play with his dog

- sonya watches video essays. shes one of those people that'll turn one on every time she sits and eats

- harriet and newt r besties btw

- sometimes newt gets a little nosy about what sonya wont tell him

- thomas has a rbf and intimidates everyone at first (though its usually not long before he makes a fool of himself and everyone realizes hes just a Guy)

- sonya is like newt's reality checker

- ouuugghhh flower shop/tattoo parlor sonya/harriet

- minho tiktok user x newt youtube shorts user x thomas instagram reels user

- gally has NO social media

- newt has a lowkey freakishly good memory

- sonya has a small collection of stuffed animals. she probably liked squishmallows when they were a thing, she collected them a little

- she has pet mice and she pampers them

- newt and sonya have hamster trauma

- the ENTIRE gang went to see barbie together and they all dressed up

- gally probably showed up not dressed up but sonya and newt planned it so they brought him an outfit and peer pressured him into changing into it at the theater

- it was probably a barbie fit (as punishment) while the rest of the guys were kens

- have i said newt and minho would be roomies or no

- minho and frypan have TOTAL brainrot humor and they bounce off each other (sometimes thomas participates. newt watches silently but judgementally)

- newt with eds on top of his chronic pain from his knee im sorry bro

- very musically inclined thomas versus musically incompetent newt

- minho calls newt hot nonchalantly / newt attempted b4 /ref

- feel like its also a given but newt and alby had a fling

- thomas infodumps on social media and minho just talks about himself

- newt is probably entirely caught up in some niche drama situation someone's posting about

- minho's tiktok fyp is convinced hes a gay man

- newt's is probably convinced hes a lesbian

- thomas just has like weird obscure humor that nobody (including him) understands

- sonya is chappel roan's #1 fan

- truth or dare with minho goes CRAZY

- harriet has a pet tarantula.... freaky little lesbian.....

- newt smoking to get relief from his chronic pain and anxiety and depression and trauma and

- minho probably discovered a long time ago that while newt will NEVER ask for it, he sleeps better with physical contact. so he holds his hand silently and without acknowledging it

- passenger princess thomas lmfaoaoooofofotitu

- ivy trio plays horror games like phasmophobia and lethal company. thomas always dies first and newt is the only one actually playing the game

- rip newt you wouldve loved being inside while it rains and reading a good book

- he'd also be really good at romanticizing the midwest

-END-

okay thats all. a few edits were made so its coherent/fits my current views of the characters more but its 98% raw from my notes app. just a peek into my twisted mind 😈😈😈

[fenrislorsrai]

Fandom Trumps Hate- Good Omens Offerings

this is a non-exhaustive list because there are so many Good Omens offerings. These are just Discord pals that were go "aaaaaaaaaaa what if nobody bids on me!?!?!?!"

well, then what if I give you the opposite problem and EVERYONE bids on you. AHAHAHAHAHA. Chaos for a good cause! my favorite!

Read the full offering for details. I've just given a super quick summary and additional fandoms they do if you're going "I hunger for CROSSOVER" plus said nice things about them. HAHAHAHA. YOU HAVE TO ACCEPT MY COMPLIMENTS NOW!

Get art or words as a gift for your favorite fandom for a charity donation! Fandom Trumps FAQ on how it all works. @fandomtrumpshate

Dorli-+ Legend of Zelda, Avatar The Last Airbender- illustration, banner, or book cover -- up to M rating - does trans/nb characters, f/f ships - absolutely the softest, squishiest looking character work. get the most huggable version of characters. (or squishy AND hot. ohohohoho)

SassishMoon- illustration up to E rating- does trans/nb characters, f/f ships -special note, I got art for Moon last year and it was fabulous. also have a collab coming out in a zine and it is HOT HOT HOT.

WarGoddess- + FullMetal Alchemist- Illustration up to E rating- interested in angst, unhappy endings, genderbending- lovely textures. beautiful skins tones and absolutely fabulous wings.

Sightkeeper- illustration up to E rating- option for comic page if bid goes high enough!- interested in trans & nonbinary characters- Delicious line work and delightful facial expressions. also: monsters

TheRavenMuse - 5-10K fic up to E rating- make it dark, make it weird! and by weird, has done Bentley/Bookshop smut. TIME FOR CRACK.

contritecactite- + Final Fantasy: VII, XII, XV, Ace Attorney 5-10K fic up to E OR 5K podfic of your work up to M rating- interested in trans & nonbinary character, F/F, polyships, and canon compliant/fill in the gap in canon type fics- go get you some RADIO omens. and Book Omens. writes very caring stuff... and sometimes caring is a good healing fuck.

accidentaldemon- under 5k up to E rating- interested in polyships, trans & nonbinary characters, and humans AUs- do you need some Crowley & Young Shadwell fic? AccidentalDemon has you covered.

TawnyOwl- 5-10K up to E rating- loves AUs where they meet and find they're perfect for each other in a new and special way.

SeedsofWinter +Our Flag Means Death + Venture Brothers- Fan Labor for up to E rating. (length depends on final bid value) Deep content editor. Goes way beyond the basic spelling and grammar check. This is a draft editor to help fill in missing scenes and fix pacing. Has run several zines as the editor! Interested in trans /nb characters, polyships, f/f, reader insert, unhappy endings, and RARE PAIRS.

Ngk_is_cool - under 5K up to T- TV or Book Omens! time for all those secondary character to shine! anything but a/c. especially interested in ace and queerplatonic relationships. do you want a fic with some footnotes like the book?

Shaninal- under 5K up to M rating- A/C in some canon complaint fluff and humor. OR beta read for 5-10K up to E rating for Good Omens, Percy Jackson, or Miraculous Lady Bug

EdosianOrchids- 3 options! 2 soft & fluffy up to 5K and one 5-10K hurt/comfort. TV or Book Omens. especially known for chronic pain, disability, and PTSD focused fics. Come and get some HEALING and comfort for the chronic issues. also does aspc fics.

HKBlack- 10-20K up to E rating. Interested in trans/nb characters. Love AUs with a happy ending. THERE WILL BE PUNS. SO MANY PUNS

This is only a partial sampling go see the whole Good Omens tag

and if you are have a gomens offering not listed here, feel free to add in reblogs! Let's give some charities some money!

[qqueenofhades]

Your tags on the Dreamling/Good Omens cross over have me frothing at the mouth and I just need you to know that if you were to write that “Crowley stumbles into the New Inn” fic, I would be highly supportive of your life choices

The place isn't otherwise busy. It's edging into the lull period of late afternoon, when the day drinkers have shuffled out and the evening drinkers aren't quite off work, when there are only a few tourists taking snaps for the 'gram and the bartenders are out back for a cigarette break by the bins. Hob is sitting at his usual table, confronted with a pile of papers, a brewing catastrophe about the autumn schedule that for some reason he is expected to sort out, three passive-aggressive emails from Philippa about the prospect of him becoming Head of School next year (not on your fucking immortal life, mate) and other mundane academic crises, when the door flies open and a bloke at the end of his rope staggers in.

Thing is, Hob knows this particular bloke, at least by casual sight. He's been in from time to time, has a drink, stares at the wall, looks moody, and goes out again, either to a vintage Bentley filled with houseplants or just the streets of Poplar. Hob has made friendly conversation with him a time or two, knows that his name is Anthony Crowley and he lives in Soho, and he has a husband/boyfriend/life partner of some description who often drives him bonkers (join the club? Though the Stranger isn't even really that). But from the look on Anthony Crowley's face, as much as can be discerned from beneath his ever-present black sunglasses (not really a fashion item one otherwise needs in London), this is a five-alarm fire, and Hob gets up in some concern. "Hey. Mate. Everything -- ?"

Crowley stumbles past him without answering, which is probably only what Hob deserves. He reaches the bar, and since the bartenders are still on fag break and nobody else seems around to do it, Hob scuttles around the back. "Get you something?"

"Beer. Whiskey. Drink. I don't care." Anthony digs in his wallet and flings the first assortment of bills he can find at Hob, which is far more than it costs for a drink even in this terminally overpriced city. "Make it strong. Want to forget my own fucking name."

"Right. Got it." Hob only worked the bar when the New Inn was first opened and they were still hiring staff, but he hasn't forgotten. He selects a Scottish whiskey, neat, and pours it into the bottom of a tumbler, sliding it across the bar. Anthony throws it back without even seeming to breathe and shoves the glass in search of another, and Hob frowns. "Oy. Take it easy."

Crowley mutters something about that being the last thing he intends to do, thanks, and Hob's curiosity, the one thing that has often propelled him through the centuries, gets the better of him. "Not my place," he says cautiously. "But is everything, y'know? All right at home? Your, uh, partner, is he -- "

The effect of this utterance is not dissimilar to waving a red flag in front of a bull. Crowley rears back, looks for a moment like he's going to bolt, and is only prevented by Hob strategically shoving the refilled whisky glass into his hand. He tosses it down the hatch without turning a hair, wipes his mouth raggedly with the back of his hand, and with that, and no further prompting, launches into an absolutely nutty jeremiad. Something about Heaven and Hell, something about Aziraphale (that's his partner's name, yes) being a stubborn angelic idiot who's going to get himself killed, something about people named Gabriel (also an angel?) and Beelzebub (also a demon -- wait, demon?) running off together and he just thought -- he thought -- like a bloody fool he thought they could -- but no. Nooooooooo.

"Er," Hob says at the end, blinking hard. "Sorry, I don't quite follow."

"Course you don't." Crowley heaves a heavy sigh. "Even though you're not an ordinary human, I suppose it's just too...." He searches for a word, slurs a little on the end (maybe that whisky, of which he has just chugged the third glass, is having an effect on him after all), and enunciates with bitter, drunk precision. "Ineffable."

"Wait. What?"

"You're Robert Gadling." Crowley tips his head like an owl, trying to size Hob up in his progressively more lubricated state, and his dark glasses slide to the end of his nose, revealing lucent golden eyes beneath. "The special one. The immortal one. Right?"

Hob opens his mouth. Hob shuts his mouth. He realizes vaguely that it's quite possible Crowley has not, in fact, been talking in convoluted celestial metaphors the whole time. "How did you...?"

"I know your boyfriend," Crowley snaps. "Bit bloody full of himself too, isn't he? He and Az -- Azz-- Aziraphale probably sit around having secret societies for technology-hating, stuck-up, idiotic, holier-than-thou, utter total fucking prigs who can't use their words and constantly deny their feelings, eh?"

"My boyf -- " All at once, Hob feels as if a grand piano has been dropped on his head from a great height, like something out of an old cartoon. Yes, things with the Stranger are going well-if-you-squint, ever since their last meeting here: the idiot actually turned up, he apologized, he smiled, they had a long conversation, there were definite sparks. Considering the last, er, six hundred years or so of dismal precedent, that's a low bar, but still. "Afraid," Hob says at last, "he and I -- well, we aren't exactly like that, but -- "

Crowley keeps staring at him like he desperately wants Hob to sit him down and give him a clinic in how to get with the fussy, standoffish, excessively rules-bound immortal being he has been, evidently, also bloody pining after for Christ only knows how long. "Why not?"

"Ah." Good question. Hob isn't sure. "It's complicated."

"Complicated." Crowley stares moodily at the mirrored bar. "Sure. Yeah. Six thousand bloody years of complicated."

"Did you say six thousand -- ?"

"Yeah." Crowley holds out the glass again. "More."

Hob's mouth is still open. He's going to say something, but he doesn't know what. Six thousand years? God's wounds. He and the Stranger, at their piddly six hundred, are practically fucking married.

(He gets Anthony Crowley another drink, on the house. Can't help but feel that the poor bastard deserves it.)

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Little Moaner (Good Omens Drabble)

Crowley x GN!Reader + Aziraphale / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: Crowley has the shits with you and he's being petty about it.

CW: fluff, snakes, crack fic, Crowley is petty af

Gomens tag list: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Sometimes Crowley is a moody little shit. It goes with the territory, you suppose. What with him being a Demon and supposed to be promoting all the sins and evil behaviour and whatnot. But when he was like this? Oh, it drove you up the fucking wall. Not that being moody was an inherently evil thing, but it was made worse by all the Demonic energy coming off him. 

“Why is he ignoring me?” You ask the Angel. This particular Angel is doing his best to appear very engrossed in his book and not at all involved with the snake turning his head away from you in the armchair by the window. 

“I really couldn’t say, dear,” Aziraphale said, somewhat awkwardly. “I’d rather not get involved, my loves.” 

You huffed, making careful footsteps towards the serpent so he knew you were approaching. You scoffed at the ridiculousness as the serpent curled in on himself a little more, shielding himself from view. 

“Crowley- can you not?” 

A soft hiss was all the response you got. 

“Look, I’m sorry I saved the plant with the leaf spot. I know you’ve curated a very particular brand of fear into them and I’ve now given them hope. What about this…” 

The head of the snake peeks through a coil curiously.

 

“I’ll-” you hated even thinking about it. “I’ll give it back and you can do whatever you want with it. Would that make you happy?”

Really, you couldn’t see how having a leaf spot was that bad anyway, but oh well. Crowley demanded perfection from his plants. You just hated seeing them shake with fear. 

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed, slowly starting to uncoil his glittering body to slither towards you. “Better.” 

You grumble affectionately and press a kiss to his head, picking the serpent up only to flip the two of you around so he was on your lap in the lounge. You rested an arm somewhere around where Crowley’s stomach would be and sighed contentedly. 

“You’re a little moaner, you know that?” You ask. 

You ignore the soft chuckle that follows.