#lord i’ll fucking find you i’ll tear your tongue out of your rancid fucking mouth’

[inkykeiji]

clari clari clari can you give me some music recommendations?!

anon anon anon bb i can try!!! ehehe <33

okay okay so idk if you’re looking for like, artists in general, albums, or individual songs SO i’m doing all three!!!

chase atlantic (TW for drugs + depression/mental illness, suicidal themes)

aaaah i am literally in love with everything they release, but their new album JUST dropped (called beauty in death)!!

my favourite songs off of it are:

paranoid, pleasexanny, aleyuh, call me back, i think i’m lost again, and wasted <3

but yeah i literally love all of their work so much, esp their self-titled album!!

lil peep (TW for drugs + depression/mental illness, suicidal themes)

u had to know this one was coming. i am head over heels in love with his work and i will forever be upset that we lost him so, so early.

my favourite albums are:

come over when you’re sober pt 1 and crybaby <3

lana del rey

everything. just everything. in love with her entire vibe my GOD i love it sm.

my absolute favourite songs are (prepare yourself):

love, music to watch boys to, high by the beach, freak (AAAAAAAH), salvatore, money power glory, ultraviolence, west coast, old money, blue jeans, off to the races, video games, dark paradise, and lolita.

then from her ‘unreleased’ songs:

queen of disaster, mermaid motel, be my daddy (DUH LMAO), caught you boy (i want you boy), you can be the boss, driving in cars with boys, meet me in the pale moonlight

the neighbourhood

again, everything. oh my god also also also jesse rutherford’s solo album (called ‘&’)!!!

oooh i’ll give u my favourite songs off of &:

bloom later, born to be blonde, barbie & ken, drama, and pretty illusion <3

ariana grade

aaaaah truly i love her a LOT. i really really really love the albums sweetener and thank u, next, but i’m kind of in love with all of her work minus her first album!! positions is a lot of fun!!

my favourite songs off of that album in particular are:

just like magic, love language, 34+35, motive, and worst behaviour (on the deluxe ver!)

post malone (TW for drugs)

eeeeee tbh i love most of his stuff too, but my favourite albums are beerbongs & bentleys and hollywood’s bleeding

and then individual songs i’ve been listening to a lot lately are:

dead inside by younger hunger (annie sent me this)

love taste by moe shop etc. (annie sent me this as well; both of these are on my dari playlist ehehehehe <333)

overdose by kaiba + kamaara

white tee + e-girls are ruining my life! by corpse (ugh <333)

sick thoughts by lewis blissett

personal by the vamps (thank u anon who suggested this!!!!!!)

n i also rly like ghostemane, city morgue and $uicideboy$ but like they can get kinda screamy.

speaking of kinda screamy, my favourite metal bands are:

avenged sevenfold (nearly got a deathbat tattooed on my hip when i was 18 NO JOKE): fav albums = waking the fallen, self-titled and nightmare

slipknot: fav albums = iowa, vol 3: the subliminal verses and all hope is gone

asking alexandria (TW for drugs): fav albums = reckless and relentless and from death to destiny (tbh stay away from anything after FDTD, ben + danny had a falling out and are now bffs again but their work just ISNT the same anymore :(((( i’ll forever be upset about this)

[legobiwan]

Whumptober #14 (tear-stained)

TW: none

Fandom: Good Omens (Crowley, Gabriel)

Notes: so this is probably what I would call a second draft of an introduction to a much-longer story I would like to write at some point. So, some of this would make more sense in the larger scheme of things. I am super interested in exploring Crowley’s demon side, and world-building Hell in general. And yes, I am behind I know it’s been busy busy in lego land. Will try to get #15 up tonight as it’s one of my favorites so far. 

----

The bastards actually went through with it.

Not that it was any surprise to Crowley. He knew they would come. Hell, he had waited for them, glued to the throne in his flat, eye trained on the dark stain on his floor that was once Ligur. Three days he had sat there, unmoving before they finally showed up on his doorstep, all righteous indignation as the front door blew off its hinges and Crowley was hauled away by strong hands and stronger chains.

His landlady was not going to be pleased.

But that was all a million miles away in an overpriced flat in London’s Mayfair, the echo of a memory, of a life no longer real. Crowley craned his neck upwards, as much as his bindings would allow. Feet, several pairs of them, milled restlessly on the perimeter of the illuminated circle, a drought-plagued forest of tan, beige and brown leather.

All kinds of feet, long and narrow, wide and thick, Oxfords and Derbys and Monks who knew what else. (He knew exactly what else, exactly how many patent brown leather oxfords patrolled the room, how many black Derbys gave orders, and how the dark grey monks chuckled each time they came to stand at the edge of the circle. He knew, as he had been here for hours, maybe days on his knees, waiting.)

No Brogues. At least, not those Brogues, tan and beige and scuffed, worn a bit more on the inner heels, the consequence of uneven gait and fist curled round Crowley’s chest grabbed at his heart and squeezed.

The demon threw his head back, unhinged his jaw, and laughed.

All at once, the room stilled.

“He’s gone insane,” dark grey Monks said, drawing closer the to the circle.

“Take note, siblings,” one of the Oxfords added, “this is the enemy in its true form.”

“Why are we even participating in this charade, the outcome is inevitable!”

The uneasy buzz of the room crescendoed, feet shuffling, rearranging themselves, a pair of Derbys clapping across the floor in a quick staccato, a huddle of Oxfords - grey, and white, and tan - edging closer together, toes nearly touching. Just as the din threatened to break open, a pair of patent leather wingtips stepped forward.

The man cleared his throat, a veritable thunderclap, heralding the storm that was to come.

The room grew silent.

“Management,” Throat-Clearer pronounced every syllable, the last “t” bit off with crisp violence. “Management made some changes. But I assure you sister, you will not be disappointed. You - we - will receive what is due to us.”

Crowley hummed soflty. Fucking management always butting in at the last minute - add this, do that, can you tack on another seventeen pages to that PowerPoint?

They didn’t even have PowerPoint in Hell.

“Well, get on with it, then,” the unhappy Oxfords challenged. “We’ve been denied once this week. No one in this room would welcome a second time.”

The patent leather wingtips - all too familiar to Crowley, pivoted to the right, toes pointing, a compass directed at the circle holding the demon.

Here we gooooo, Crowley sang to himself, shifting under the heavy weight on the manacles encircling his wrists and wings. The chains clattered with the movement, pulling at his ankles, where the opposite sides were attached.

Every toe, every show pointed towards him.

Well, then. Now seemed as good a time as any.

Crowley snapped his fingers behind his back. He closed his eyes and let go, cutting the last of the strings tethering his human form to his metaphysical one, bones cracking, joints extending long with a sickening pop as his epidermal layer floated away like a wandering balloon on a breezy autumn afternoon.

Let them see.

If angels were being of pure light, demons were the absence of that light, a heatless fire feeding on the engine of universal entropy, leaving being the ashes of chaos and disorder. Crowley’s own flames rose higher and higher, searing white-blue or a helium star and dark rust of the almost-dead surrounded by the deep black on the universe. Black ichor fell from his own broken sun, his once-halo, trailing down an elongated, reptilian face, pooling in the crevices of eye sockets that were oblong, elliptical orbits before tracing a wobbling path to the blood-stained orifice that was his mouth.

Let them see.

Crowley jolted, heaving forward with a violent spasm, chains pulling taut, digging into his very human wrists as his occult form was jammed back into his corporeality, a sensation suitcases might experience at the end of a long vacation, when nothing fits quite the way it did before.

Sweat trickled down the back his neck and Crowley panted, running his tongue over teeth still too-sharp and long the be fully human.

Bloody sadistic bastards.

“Now, now,” Gabriel tutted. Crowley squinted at the patent leather wingtips bathed in celestial light. “We can’t be having any of that.”

Crowley coughed, the aftertaste of his own damned blood, his dark demonic ichor, viscous and rancid and rancid on his tongue. A wide grin split the demon’s face, amber irises brightening with a rapacity that yearned to hoard every feeling of ill will, disdain, of utter revulsion filling the room, like a dragon - bloated on its own riches, scales nearly bursting. He lorded over - Sataned over - Fuck it, it’s mine, he breathed in fire. His treasure. His kingdom come.

No more than what Crowley deserved, what he craved.

“Although,” Gabriel continued, paying no heed to Crowley’s sharp stare, heels tapping closer to the edge of the enchanted circle. “We expected no less from your kind.” Crowley didn’t need his sight to recognize the twisted sneer in the word kind. His kind. The Fallen. The Damned.

The Enemy chained, at the mercy of the agents of Heaven.

There was no mistaking why he was here. That event is seared into his memory, and he can only hope the angels will finish he cannot (a promise made, and damn everything he cannot break his word). Perhaps he would be saddened by the turn of events, but Crowley can only taste his own bloody anticipation, giddy at the prospect of finally receiving what he has deserved all along.

Gabriel draws himself tall, producing an arcane-looking beige scroll, the kind one might find in a dusty wing of the British Museum. Crowley doesn’t bother to look, he’s seen this show already, has been brought to trial at the apex of the celestial moon ten times in succession. He knows the script, has pleaded his case, but it is this charge, this crime, which he hopes will be the one to seal his fate.

“Demon Crowley,” Gabriel announces, “you are brought here under Parlay with Hell, to stand trial for your crimes against Heaven, Hell, and the Grand Objective. You have been proven guilty of nine out of ten of your offenses in the presence of the Celestial Tribunal and the Representatives of the Almighty. Today, you are bound to Heaven’s will and Judgement for the last time, your punishment to be dispensed upon the outcome of this trial.”

“Demon Crowley, you are charged with the murder and extinction of the ex-Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and Angel of Heaven, Aziraphale.” Gabriel brought the scroll down, violet eyes boring into Crowley’s own.

“How do you plead?”

Finally.

Crowley hung his head, long hair hiding his sharp smile, broken spasms masquerading as laughter only audible to himself, as if he was sharing a sick, private joke with the cosmos, or with Her.

“Why,” Crowley croaked, his voice too small, too thin for the expansive chambers of Heaven’s offices, as if pressed down from all sides by invisible weights. “I’m a demon. How the fuck do you think I’ll plead?”

Crowley looked up, biting his lip as he met Gabriel’s penetrating stare.

“Guilty,” he stated simply, cheeks damp with the shadows of his metaphysical tears. “I murdered Aziraphale.”

legobiwan does whumptober

[deepglitterfire]

I'll never bow to he who claims to be divine; I'll tear down your gates with bare fucking hands; And burn the world that you rule over, No matter how convinced you are you're not a god of mine; You're not a fucking god of mine. I never believed in you, From what I see it was justified; I never believed in you, in you. This power over the masses is a gift you don't deserve; When your blood spills, I'll drink from your skull; You can run but you can't hide. Bitch, I'll fucking find you! I'll tear your eyes right out of your self-righteous face. Lord, I'll fucking find you! I'll tear your tongue out of your rancid fucking mouth. Heaven will, burn to the fucking ground; Your world will crumble, and fall from the skies; Blood will spill, and rain upon the earth; Your reign is over, and I'll wear your crown. This is your demise; I know you feel it in your chest. This is your demise; It's getting closer. This is your demise; I'm creeping from the depths of hell. This is your demise; I know where you sleep.Walk away to end the world, With false hope in a false god