Today's spotlight reminds us that times, they are a changing and Gabriel needs to get with it!
Wanna see more from Ineffablelawr (Ao3)? And more Gabriel and Beelzebub? You'll have to check out our pinned post to see how you can get the zine🙌
For today's spotlight: whatever could these two be contemplating together, hmm? Guess you'll have to get the zine to find out! This one comes from @sungmee
Check out our pinned post to see how to get the zine!
hi. non penetrative sex is often more intimate. more on this later
Penetration is a false prophet. Sex is something you do with your teeth.
WIP of Penelope with her forever-unfinished shroud.
never let anyone tell you that trawling through mediocre victorian poetry isn't worth it. we just happened upon an absolute BANGER of a worm poem. go read it or else 🪱🪱🪱
the reviews are in... glad everyone's enjoying song of the worm
[id: tumblr tags reading 'dude This Fucking Rules', 'holy fucking shit! that was legit so cool?', 'holy shit that is fucking metal', 'oh this fucks severely', 'yeah no this fucking SLAPS', 'yo this RULES']
Holy fucking shit this is one of the most incredible things I have ever read. I am dead serious. I PROMISE you that you want to read this, and you're going to immediately send it to all your weird friends who you also know will love it.
“When they were little girls, they decided that they would be best friends forever. A whale never forgets a promise.” -Anneliese Juergensen
i have now died. of joy.
I don’t think I’ve seen art of an old mermaid (mermatron? mergranny?) before.
I love it!
Old merwoman’s my new favourite aesthetic
So, Fish Omens happened today 😇👿
Heaven On Wheels -- rated M, ~3000 words
A sappy, happy, old-fashioned s1-compliant (and s2-defiant) post-Nopocalypse getting-together fic. Rated M solely for discussion of a demonic boner.
“You bought a Scoopy.”
“I did – it’s small and maneuverable, but plenty of room for you behind me – you’d just have to hang on tight, the way the Sergeant hung on to me and Mrs. Potts.”
The Scoopy was pristine, and detestably cute, and had a sparkling clearcoat finish in a limpid sea-blue, with beige upholstery and white accents, because of course it did.
“I’ve named her Veronica, after the little blue flower. It took just the tiniest miracle to upgrade her engine capacity so that she’ll be legal on the motorway. Hello, dear. This is my friend Crowley. He’s ever so eager to hop on.”
Tagging folks in the replies as usual -- lmk if you'd like to be added to (or taken off) the tag list!
(Rated T, 1249 words)
Aziraphale needs someone to repair his vintage brogues. The new cobbler (and midwife?) who’s opened up shop in Soho might be just who he’s looking for.
There’s a criminal lack of human cobbler/midwife AUs in this fandom. This is my little attempt to do something about it.
(full text after the cut, if you prefer to read on tumblr)
A juvenile bug isn't called a larva until it reaches the surface. While it's still underground it's called a margma
Pardon me as I enter my ATLA phase…
Fashion Artist and Model - Wisdom Kaye
(h/t to @liquidlyrium for their help with this v important list)
Demon and angel (or two idiots)
Crowley had barely finished settling Ben in her stall when Aziraphale bulled into his space, grabbed the soaked collar of his jacket, and yanked him down so they stood nose to cold wet nose.
“Of all the reckless, irresponsible, dangerous—” Aziraphale sputtered out, then started over. “How dare you ride so fast in this weather? If I had the right, I’d tan your hide for that stunt.”
Heat flared in Cowley’s belly—and was just as quickly doused. Aziraphale had looked downright fierce for a moment, eyes alight and cheeks flushed with righteous rage, but he was already relaxing his grip, stepping back, reigning himself in.
If Crowley had learned anything about Aziraphale over the last six months, it was that he’d never act on a threat like the one he’d just made.
Before he could think better of it, Crowley sneered, “You’ve got the right, angel, what you’re missing is the balls.”
The surprise on Aziraphale’s face, Crowley expected. The calculating look that followed, he didn’t, nor the crisp tone in which Aziraphale said, “I’ll need you to be very clear about what you mean by the right.”
Crowley opened his mouth, and to his utter mortification, the truth spilled out. “My flat arse has been yours since the day we met! But it seems you don’t know what to do with it.”
Averting his eyes so he wouldn’t have to witness Aziraphale react with confusion, disgust, or worst of all, pity, Crowley whirled around to stomp out of the barn.
A firm hand on his shoulder spun him back. Then a second hand landed on his other shoulder, and he was marched backwards until he hit a wall of hay. Fragments of golden chaff fell on his hair while Aziraphale stared him down.
“I know precisely what to do with it.” Aziraphale’s fingers dug in above Crowley's collarbone, and his implacable expression welcomed Crowley into a post-fucking-around world of finding out. “I’ll bend you over one of these hay bales, warm up your arse with my hand, then use a leather strap to turn it red and raw. I’ll let you sit on it for a week, with every chair and saddle reminding you what happens when you misbehave, and at the end of seven days, if you’ve been good, I’ll lick you open and stake my claim.”
Could prayers be answered? Did this moment constitute karmic compensation for Crowley’s years of lackluster love life? Whatever he’d done to deserve it (or not), Crowley seized the gift with both hands. He hauled Aziraphale in by the lapels and locked their lips together.
Aziraphale’s mouth was soft and warm. When Crowley snaked his tongue inside, Aziraphale responded with the same wanton moan Crowley had heard him voice after sampling an especially luscious slice of cake.
Simultaneously flattered and humiliated by thinking of himself as just another one of Aziraphale’s sweet treats, Crowley emitted a whimper of his own. Aziraphale appeared to take it as an invitation. He promptly invaded Crowley’s mouth, biting and licking and sucking with a fervor that made Crowley feel even more like a well-plated dessert.
Finally, Aziraphale drew back enough for both of them to catch their breath. “Is that consent, my dear?” he whispered.
Crowley answered with a giddy grin, “My safe word is apple.”
WOW! Long time no post, but that doesn't mean I haven't been up to stuff! I can finally share some of the things I've been working on as part of the @gospexchange
This short-but-sweet little comic is a gift for @deathly-shipper based on the song Céu Azul by Ana Gabriela
I had a lot of fun making this, the song is very sweet and cozy and I hope I captured the vibes you were looking for!
Here's an AO3 link if tumblr makes the quality stinky!
This is so soft and I love it so so much.
Domestic husbands 🥹
