#*ro written

[gncrezan]

the two most annoying deities have just started trying to make it work (they're about to make it everyone else's problem) (or, @chrysanthemumgames is finishing up foa soon and i giggle about established hermesmance twice a day to myself)

#i actually have many words to say on an established hermesmance because a like #ALMOST established hermesmance angst makes me like. very sick #ive written essays to poor farran about it . she sees the best and worst of me i think #anyways. i cant stop drawing them. might throw up some sephmes doodles later #foa #asphodelgame #fields of asphodel #hermes #persephone #hades #my art #can we please please please draw more foa art everyone i want to see ur pcs and ur ros and EVERYTHIGNGNNGG #like slash j slash lighthearted but an angel gains their wings everytime i see new foa content

[l3viat8an]

ive been struck with michael brainrot all of sudden!! idk how he would meet mc, but i'd imagine that he would study their face, maybe even holding their cheek as he takes in their features. mc is silent as he does so, only making a noise of surprise when the angel laughs.

"you're even more adorable than how simeon described you."

"i... thank y- wait. simeon called me adorable!?"

Jsksjsk this is so funny to me cuz just imagine!!-

Michael is over here taking in every little detail he can about!! Sure he’s seen you in pictures with Simeon, Luke and Raphael….

But just getting to see you up close feels like a treat for the angel (and we all know how much Michael loves his sweets-) that is until you seem far more interested in what Simeon said about you. “Well, yes. Even Raphael has commented on your appearance.” “He has?!” “Yes.” Michael face starts calm, his small smile still in place.

After all he’s an angel. There’s no way he’s jealous- 

#I think this is the first time I’ve written about Michael besides a joke- #huh #anon! #obey me! #obey me michael #obey me michael x reader #obey me #om! #obmswd #om! michael #obmswd michael #ro rambles #obey me x reader #om! x reader

[rosileeduckie]

I believe the demon Crowley invented it

Which he does, on occasion, do on purpose.

Crowley makes up something special for a certain angel someone. So season two is a thing. I made a thing about Crowley making a thing because I needed more things. I hope you like the thing! :) No spoilers for new season, no worries

SFW. Potential warnings: none. Good Omens/Ineffable Husbands tickle fic.

Word count: 6,003

~*~

It took Crowley a while to want to fly again. To be expected, really; falling, cast from the heavens and plummeting to the depths amid a cacophony of agonized screaming and terrified wailing of the damned all plunging downward into jagged rock and sizzling sulfur–it wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. He kept to the ground for a while. Crawling, slithering, was much calmer. But one day, he caught a breeze. Sitting on a crag, sunning himself, the downy feathers of his large dark wings felt a cool gust and began to fluff up. He stretched out the limbs, welcoming the wind, and his long gossamer flight wings began to shiver as well. The wind whistled through him, beckoning him to stretch further, to go faster, to fall. And, with a deep breath and golden eyes wide, he fell. Tucked his wings tight against his back, feeling the wind batter him, rocketing down the mountainside–and then threw them open wide, like floodgates accepting rain, like garden gates accepting fire. He caught the wind, the wind caught him, and he was no longer falling but flying. The wind, the sky, embraced him, surrounded him, whipping through his long crimson hair and tousling it a thousand directions, pinning a hysterical smile to his cheeks, drying tears before they could fall from his eyes. Flapping, swooping, diving, soaring, Crowley shrieked in whooping laughter, utterly free. He wasn’t doomed to the depths; he was up, left, right, down, and everywhere. The sky was his to ride, the earth his to explore. He was alone, and he was free. 

He did a lot of flying after that. Still walked often, sure; humans and their antics were much easier to see from the ground. But his heart pounded loudest and brightest up in the atmosphere.

Speaking of heart pounding.

One day, as Crowley flew, he spotted a large white shape in a tree below him. He couldn’t say offhand where he was–it wasn’t like he often flew with a destination; as much of the world as there was, humans hadn’t filled it with all the fun stuff they would one day–but he could see plenty of empty open desert to catch him when he landed. So, he angled his flight downward, and, just for fun, somersaulted into the dry scrubland, loving the feeling of sand freckling his grinning cheeks and grass adorning his mussed hair. A hop, skip, and a jump, and he’d crossed the distance to the curious tree and was perched on a branch beside its familiar inhabitant.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello, Crawly,” said Aziraphale. Prim and polite as ever, albeit looking painfully bored. The angel’s eyes were wandering the fuzzy desert horizon, hands folded in the lap of his obscenely white robes which billowed gently around his crossed ankles, which swayed subconsciously back and forth. His wings were folded at his back, appearing tight and stiff from disuse. Crowley counted back in his head how long it had been since their paths had crossed and wondered how much of that time Aziraphale had been made to spend as a tree ornament.

“Crowley,” the demon corrected, feeling antsy just watching Aziraphale sit so still and so standing up on his branch, which creaked protestingly against the first real new movement in a while, and reaching up to ruffle the foliage with his fingers.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head with an embarrassed smile. “Crowley. I wasn’t expecting to see you. What brings you here?”

Crowley’s fingers found purchase on a higher branch, and he gripped it tight, using it to swing himself up and around and hang upside down from the taller vantage point by his knees. His long curls hung down like a red willow, but his own black robes hugged dutifully to his corporal form. (Even if he didn’t have the human habit of shame, he wasn’t keen to let gravity have his clothes; the wind could get cold even in the desert). The blood rushing to his head made Aziraphale’s question not quite register right away, and Crowley blinked. What had brought him? He stretched out his onyx wings and flexed them demonstratively.

“Ah,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I mean, what are you doing?”

The demon stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing?”

The angel tipped his head, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“Just that, I guess. Flying quite a bit, having fun. Not like demons really have anything we’re meant to be doing, so.” Crowley curled forward, reaching up to his hanging branch and pulling himself upright before laying down on his stomach, resting his head on his arms to look down at the angel. “Yeah, whatever I want. Nothing.”

Aziraphale sputtered, and Crowley chuckled.

“’We have no time to waste, the Almighty has much work for us to do,’” said the demon in so impressive an impression of the head archangel that Aziraphale held a hand to his lips when a titter startled him by escaping. Crowley grinned. “Even if I’m not on God’s payroll anymore, time’s hardly wasted for us, is it? We’re not mortal; we don’t have a limited amount of time to get done all the things we should.” Crowley closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “So I’m doing none of them. Too much earth to enjoy to get busy with work.”

When Crowley slowly opened one eye, he saw Aziraphale turning his ring over on his little finger, white wings twitching and puffing out, subconsciously agitated.

"Could show you, if you want. Come fly with me, I'll take you on a tour."

"What!" In an instant, Aziraphale's wings went from anxiously fidgeting to defensively spread, puffed up and rigid and making him look much bigger and more threatening. Or, it would have, if he hadn't whipped his head around to look at Crowley with the biggest eyes and flapping mouth and reddening cheeks. He looked positively scandalized.

Crowley couldn't help it--he laughed, a hissing snickering sound that he buried in his arms. He noted Aziraphale's flush looked even darker when he lifted his head, but the thought didn't even occur that it could have been from something other than the words from his mouth.

"I- I- I-! I couldn't possibly--!!"

Couldn't possibly, Crowley sighed, hiding the way his smile began to fade by pressing his cheek into his forearm. Couldn't possibly be seen flittering about with a demon!

Aziraphale settled himself, clearing his throat and smoothing his ruffled feathers. "Couldn't possibly. Far too busy."

"With what?" Crowley scoffed, smiling again when Aziraphale's blush rebloomed. "Looked to me like you were doing as much nothing as I was." He pushed himself up, looking through the verdure to an empty desert. "Unless I'm mistaken, not much of a garden here for you to guard."

"Precisely, there isn't," said Aziraphale, visibly brightening, more confident, when Crowley furrowed his brow and opened his mouth in confusion. "Humans are free to roam about wherever they like now," Aziraphale explained, "even if they're harder to keep track of. And angels are tasked to give them inspiration and blessings."

"Yeah, but," Crowley said, reluctant to disagree when the angel had given so content and cute a wiggle in his seat, "doesn't look like there's many humans around for inspiring or blessing."

"No," Aziraphale relented, casting his gaze downward and fidgeting with his fingers. "Actually, there aren't many yet at all, certainly not enough for all us angels to keep busy, so I- I'm waiting for them to do their whole--" he scrunched up his nose and flapped his hands in front of him, “’go forth and multiply’ing… thing…”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley leaned to once side and then the other before tipping off his branch, catching himself one the perch with one elbow and swinging one leg up to hang from his knee. “And, while you’re waiting for that,” he said, tipping his head back to look at Aziraphale, “you could come fly with me to–”

“I most certainly could not.”

“You should,” Crowley countered. “If for nothing else, because you’ll get stiff just sitting there.”

Aziraphale gave his head a quick and resolute shake. “But I won’t.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “You won’t get stiff?”

“No,” Aziraphale huffed with an exasperated smile, “I won’t go flittering about. Angels aren’t meant to…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as he sought for words. Instead, he gave a shaky wave with his hands, as though that gesture wasn’t equally vague.

“Fly?” Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale gave another huff, part impatient and part amused. “Obviously. We, no, um… There’s a certain level of professionalism to…” He’d run out of words again. Crowley wondered if the Lord’s precious humans would be so kind as to one day make up a way for someone to communicate with their hands for beings like poor Aziraphale. (Probably would, clever things.) As it was, the angel said no more, but his inability to articulate in concert with his anxious hands and wide eyes spoke bounds.

Professionalism, hm? Ah. Crowley guessed again, words slow and eyebrows rising. “You’re not meant to have fun?”

At that, Aziraphale nodded, the tension in his shoulders and wings dropping, and a relieved smile gracing his cheeks. An answer, even one delivered so astonishedly as Crowley’s had been, evidently was enough to settle him. “Yes. Far too busy.”

“Let me get this straight.” Crowley unbent the two limbs suspending him from his branch, languidly loosing them so he could drop down sit beside Aziraphale on his lower branch. “Lord of all light and goodness,” he wiggled his fingers upward, “made all this world for you to serve and forbade you to enjoy any of it?”

“Not forbade, but serving does come first” Aziraphale replied, seeming only have just realized Crowley was now beside him. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap. Crowley cocked his head curiously; no more hand-flapping or chin-wagging, then. The angel had let himself out of his box enough for one day.

“Well,” said Crowley, clapping his palms to his thighs and pushing off until he tipped backwards and into freefall. His wings caught him with practiced ease just beneath the tree’s canopy, but he definitely delighted in the angel’s startled jolting and almost reaching to try and catch him. “Have fun sitting in your nest.” He gave the angel a salute, then touched a finger to his head. “Or don’t have fun, I guess, whichever. I’ll be up there.” Crowley pointed upward, then snorted. “I mean, ‘up there’ like the sky, not ‘up there’ like– you know what I mean.”

The last he saw of Aziraphale before flying off was cherub cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink and hands all but anchored to his robed lap. Crowley’s wings beat fast and hard, arms thrown wide, and soon he was back amongst the cloud. Which way he’d been intending to go, he had no idea, so he hailed the first wind gale and let himself float along it. His thoughts, which usually wandered just as aimlessly as the winds, were stubbornly pointed downward and behind him.

Oh, an angel didn’t want to have fun, what a shocker. Let him sit in his tree, bored, all he wanted. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Crowley’s wind carried him to an ocean that would one day be called the Red Sea, passing him off to an air distinctly cooler and tasting of salt. Beneath him, the blue vastness stretched on toward the horizon, in no time at all swallowing up the desert he’d come from until he was flying over only sea. Ocean above, ocean below, even from so high up, he could see no end to either. Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely.

The sighed Crowley exhaled was ocean-deep. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Banking hard, Crowley dove under and out of his wind current, flying lower and closer to the sea as he trekked back toward land. A spray-laden breeze spurred him on, carrying him like a leaf riding the rolling waves.

He couldn’t just pull the angel from his tree. Well. He could, of course, literally. But he couldn’t pull him from where he’d metaphorically rooted himself. Maybe there was a figurative middle ground at which to meet him.

Literal ground came into view, and Crowley slowed until he’d lighted on a beach. He stood there a moment, hands on his hips and lips pursed and wings stretching, thinking. Stewing. Any other angel, Crowley probably wouldn’t have been so stuck on. But Aziraphale wasn’t any other angel. He had a little devil in him, or he wouldn’t have talked with a devil in the first place. An angel’s stuffiness didn’t suit him; even if he was prim, it wasn’t like he’d had much chance to be anything else. To try anything else. He wanted to have fun; Crowley knew he did. Crowley watched the waves tumble onto the sands with thunderous yawns, listened to the gulls’ distant disgruntled cries as they squabbled over dinner. The ocean was just as vast from below. If only he could have Aziraphale standing next to him, get him to see all there was to see.

Something scuttled over his foot, and he brought his gaze down. A small crab, no bigger than his thumb, had elected that the risk of invading a demon’s personal space was worth the few seconds it’d safe on its journey. Crowley stepped back–obligingly, not because the creature had startled him; he was far scarier than a crab, thank you–and crouched down to watch the crab scurry on. The sand beneath them both was warm and deep, too, shifting beneath Crowley’s feet in miniscule landslides of grains too many to count. Crowley snickered; some poor angel had to have been saddled with the task to count sand and pour it out on the earth, he was sure. There were shells atop the sandy scape, too, and stones already being smoothed down from the waves’ crashing. Crowley picked up one of each, a pretty little brown spiral and a slate rock hewn quite flat. After a second of consideration, he reeled back his arm and tossed the stone out across the ocean, grinning when it jumped four times across the surface before sinking into the water. Like it was skipping. Snickering proudly, he scooped up another such stone and tucked it safely alongside the shell into one of the many folds of his robe. (Like gravity, the robe was willing to ignore space and mass to allow Crowley to carry more things. Very considerate.) He walked a few paces further, gathering up a small piece of driftwood, another rock with an interesting texture, and, deciding the risk of getting pinched was worth it, the crab. Then, back into the air, he went.

Time was still funny. After the big seven days at the beginning had been counted, the calendar had gotten a little messy. Humans would probably benefit from it, get a few more weeks or years or centuries in change from days not counted for the sun having forgotten to have been set. Maybe some angel would be appointed to sort that out eventually and keep time organized. As it was, Crowley didn’t know how long he’d been gone from Aziraphale’s tree. A few hours? A few days? It was easy to get lost up in the air and up in one’s thoughts. What he did know was that it had been long enough for Aziraphale to fall asleep.

Angels didn’t need to sleep. It had been a design feature. Too much to do. But, as Crowley clambered into the tree once more, he saw a blonde head tipped back, eyes closed and jaw relaxed.

“Hey, angel!” Crowley crowed and jabbed a finger into Aziraphale’s side, already grinning.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted forward with a yelp, floundering with his wings to get his balance back while one hand gripped his branch and the other was pressed affrontedly to his heaving chest. When was no longer in danger of falling, Aziraphale’s focus shifted squarely to Crowley, all dagger-glares and flushed cheeks. Crowley couldn’t help laughing, which, he realized, was all too easy to do around Aziraphale. “Crowley! That was–! You startled me!”

With a shrug and lingering snickers, Crowley moved to Aziraphale’s perch, sitting down beside him. “Just helping you out, angel. You were working so hard before; would hate to see your higher-ups find you dozing.”

Whatever retort or further scolding Aziraphale had intended to give fizzled away in his flapping mouth. He pressed his lips tight together and turned his pink face away slightly, and Crowley wondered if he was trying to keep himself from coming up with an excuse or, God forbid, breathing a lie.

With a chuckle, Crowley reached into his robes, elbowing Aziraphale’s side as he did. “I’m just teasing. I wouldn’t want to see your higher-ups at all.” At that, the line of Aziraphale’s lip wobbled, the muscle of his cheek twitching like it ached to pull upward. Crowley’s grin was unabashed. “Anyway, hopefully this will make up for it.”

Aziraphale jumped when he found himself with hands full of small silly objects. “What’s this?” he asked, juggling them for a moment before laying the treasures in his lap. The offended crab stayed determinedly pinched to the hem of his sleeve, but the other trinkets spread out nicely upon the fabric his white robe in a flattering little display.

“Figured,” explained Crowley, holding a hand out to catch the crab when it eventually tired, “since angels are allergic to having fun and going to new places, it’d be a shame for you to not even see things from those places.” Moreso, it was its own temptation, but nothing Crowley had been instructed to do. He hoped that, if Aziraphale saw pretty little things from somewhere else, maybe he’d want to go there more than he’d want to do his nothing job. Maybe want to do nothing together. Maybe.

“Oh.” The angel’s gaze hadn’t left the little exhibit. His eyes wandered between the objects, and, slowly, he let his hand–the one not currently being clambered up by a crustacean–trail over them, tentative and featherlight. Gentle. Reverent. Crowley tore his own gaze from Aziraphale’s hands back to his face. The flustered blush had faded, and his eyes were as bright as Crowley had ever seen them, positively shining. “Thank you. I suppose.”

The verbal response was so detached from the visual one that Crowley snorted. Right, so, angels didn’t know how to receive gifts (albeit, admittedly, they were as new to the concept as any other earthling). Maybe that was enough of an excuse to give him more gifts.

"No one's ever given me-- ow." Aziraphale looked up from his treasures to the crab that had scaled his sleeve and delivered a disgruntled pinch to his arm. He smiled, regarding the little creature with eyes still bright. "No one's ever given me a crab. Excuse me, my fine little fellow?"

"Well, I wasn't planning repeats anyway, but definitely no crabs next time." Crowley jabbed at the crab with his finger. "Oi."

The crab promptly let go of Aziraphale to brandish both pincers at Crowley.

"Ow," he said when the crab latched onto his nail. "Fine, read you loud and clear, I'll give you a lift home." He tucked the little devil into his pockets and looked back to Aziraphale, who'd gone red again. "Don't look so terrified, angel. He's safe in there, you're safe out here."

Aziraphale's response was quiet. "Next time?"

"'Next--'?" Crowley's eyebrows furrowed, then rose to his hairline. 'Next time' that he brought the angel a gift. Well, he hadn't meant to speak that implication into the universe. Whoops. "Ahm, s-- so. You want to come with me to escort the little thing home?"

"I can't," Aziraphale sighed, but he was cradling the smooth stone and tracing it with his fingertips.

"Busy, right." Crowley scooted forward and off the branch, into the air. "Well, sleep tight."

Maybe not the best time to tease when the angel had a stone in his hand, but Crowley could get used to seeing Aziraphale blush before flying off.

He was still seeing red, and is was just as adorable, while he lay on his belly on the warm beach sand, fending off the little crab from pinching his nose with one hand.

"You were no help back there," Crowley told his tiny bloodthirsty foe, parrying away a jab with his index finger. Only after delivering a few nasty blows to Crowley’s knuckles and fingertips was the vengeful crab, at last, satisfied, scuttling off into the surf. Crowley mussed his hair with both hands before letting his head loll forward, resting his forehead on the sand and mindlessly scratching lines into the sand with his fingers.

Not a total failure of a plan, but not a complete success, either, with or without the aid of Captain Stabby. He hadn’t gotten the angel out of his nest, but at least he now had something to keep from being bored to sleep. Crowley wasn’t usually averse to giving up, but he could be pretty stubborn. And maybe he had a pretty big crush. But that wasn’t the point! Aziraphale was perhaps the only angel to speak to, let alone be kind to Crowley after his fall. He was too sweet a soul to deserve being benched from all of Earth’s joys for a few centuries just because he didn’t technically have work to do. Crowley couldn’t let him be stuck like that.

Resolved, Crowley lifted his head and determined to come up with another plan. Watching the waves crash and turn over, so he shuffled through the thoughts and ideas in his mind. Giving Aziraphale things hadn’t swayed him enough to move from his perch, even if those things had obviously delighted him. (More than obviously, but Crowley didn’t yet know how Aziraphale had carefully tucked all of the little beach treasures safely into his own pockets.) Perhaps, instead of showing the angel how much fun could be had somewhere else by collecting things from that somewhere, Crowley could make him feel that right where he was. Hard to replicate the feeling of being on a warm beach, soaking in the sun and listening to the sea, while in reality sitting in a gnarled old tree. A different feeling, perhaps. A different place. Crowley’s most favorite place was the sky; as an angel, Aziraphale would be well acquainted with how good flying could be. But how to make him feel that way from the ground? It wasn’t like he could collect bits of cloud and wind.

Crowley looked up at the clouds, following the bright white hilltops and grey flat plains with his eyes. No angel designed them or upkept them; the wind pulled and pushed and shaped them, taking them and making them to its whim. Like it took Crowley. From in their midst, clouds looked mostly like great pale curtains. From below, Crowley could almost see fluffy sheep and snowy mountaintops in their formless shapes. Chaos, random chance, channeled to make something substantial. Collecting hadn’t work to replicate feelings; why wouldn’t making something?

Demons loved making stuff. Creativity had been made to be a human trait, but demons, by principal, had the bad habit of doing things they weren’t supposed to. It was fun in so many ways. To come up with and then make something overcomplicated, accidentally brilliant, or absolute bullshit nonsense–and then to see what humans did with it. It was invigorating, cathartic, and hilarious.

What, what, what could Crowley make for his angel? It actually wasn’t too hard yet, to think up something unique, occupying such an early chapter of history. Still, he wanted it to be special. Moving. Figuratively and literally. What did he feel when flying, and how could he make that happen down here? How to ruffle an angel’s feathers without wind?

Crowley looked at the squiggling furrows his fingers had left in the sand. They had been made without intention, for the satisfying scraping sounds and gritty shifting texture as he thought. But, now, they gave him an idea. Hands could ruffle feathers, sure. He looked over his shoulder and reached back to give his own feathers an experimental ruffle. Yup, that could work. Like the waves crashing over one another, Crowley’s thoughts started to race, spurred as he looked backward. Hands ruffling feathers, fingers buried in sand, feet bare in soft grass. He thought of one human he’d seen poke another in the side and how the second had recoiled with a smile before they’d both gone back to fishing. He thought of how it felt when an itchy leave wriggled its way down his robe. He thought of how it felt when an angry little crab scittered across his skin. He thought of an angel’s beaming smile and bright eyes. He had many thoughts, but he had one idea. One idea for something absolutely nonsensical and extremely silly, and, when he eventually workshopped a name for it, he’d call it tickling.

But, one unnamed idea in hand, Crowley flew up from his sandy sunning spot and back in the direction of a now very familiar tree.

“I saw you coming this time,” Aziraphale declared when Crowley all but crashed into the tree with how fast he’d been flying.

Crowley scoffed, picking twigs from his crimson hair. “I would hope so, between how many eyes you have and how much noise I was made landing.”

Aziraphale set his eyes heavenward, as close as he seemed to get to rolling them.

“Why?” Crowley said as he sat down next to the angel. “Were you watching for me?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come again,” Aziraphale admitted, cheeks going rosy and fingers worrying a small brown shell.

For a moment, Crowley’s heart beat loud and eager in his ears. He kept it. No time to be swept up in that thought, though; he was far too busy with the task at hand. Crowley cleared his throat and shrugged, moving to sit close enough to Aziraphale that their knees touched. “Had to. I had another gift for you.”

“Oh?” The angel’s eyes lit up excitedly, even as he tried to look professional. “From where this time?”

“From me. I made it up. For you.” Crowley stuck out his tongue and cursed his own ears for burning. “Ngk– I’ll show you.”

Before the angel could offer any turnabout teasing for Crowley being the one flushed and at a loss for words (because, Crowley just knew, there was enough devil in Aziraphale to absolutely turn the tables given the opportunity), Crowley thrust his hands beneath Aziraphale’s folded wings, wiggling his fingers to muss the feathers and scribble at the muscle beneath.

“Ah–!” Aziraphale yelped, his wings swinging out wide to escape the surely strange feeling. Crowley only targeted the space closer to Aziraphale’s shoulders instead. “What are you–?” Aziraphale tried to ask through laughter that seemed to be building and bubbling quite irresistibly from his chest, “What are you doing?”

“I’m tickling you,” Crowley explained, crawling his wiggling fingers from Aziraphale’s wings, down his shoulder blades and under his arms. “Not sure about the name yet, but I figured vessel nerves usual react for preservation. Why not make them react to something fun?”

Perhaps for preservation against this new attack, Aziraphale tried to lean back and away from Crowley, flapping his wings and batting at his hands. The tickling under his arms, though, had him curling up and laughing enough to mostly rob him of words once again. “This isn’t–!”

“This isn’t fun?” Crowley guessed, puffing out his lower lip. “Now, is that because it’s actually not fun, or because you, as an angel, could not possibly be having fun?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale squealed, and Crowley grinned, downright devilish.

“I mean, if it’s not fun, why are you laughing? Laughing means you’re happy, yeah?” he teased, slipping his hands from under Aziraphale’s arms to set his dancing fingers loose upon his stomach.

Aziraphale was nearly horizontal, leaned so far away from Crowley and wings and hands flapping weakly. When Crowley’s next attack targeted his stomach, Aziraphale loosed a merry wail before tumbling into bright laughter that made the lines by his eyes crinkle happily and the breath in his throat catch wheezily. And oh, his laugh was perfect. All the pristine stuffy angel was gone, drowned out by the loud, head-thrown-back, wrinkled nose, toothy, shoulder-scrunching, belly-shaking laughter. It suited him.

Crowley had some mercy, switching from digging and scratching to poking and wiggling. “It is supposed to mean you’re happy, right?” he asked, for a moment concerned he might accidentally kill the angel. He certainly looked happy, and he hadn’t been doing much to push Crowley away, but… “I came up with tickling, but I’m not yet fully clear on…”

A still-giggling Aziraphale blinked through laughter-induced tears–tears were sad; had he become so happy, he was sad?–to look at Crowley, his gaze an odd but warm mix of fond and sympathetic and sweet and teasing and just losing the edge of hysterical. Just that look nearly bowled Crowley onto his back.

“Oh well!” Crowley exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’ve got to perfect my new little game for you. And you,” he grinned as Aziraphale grew all the redder and scrunched his neck, “you just stop laughing if you stop being happy.”

Aziraphale didn’t stop laughing, but he didn’t stop squirming either. In fact, when Crowley set out to practice until perfect by testing other techniques to see what would tickle and started squeezing the soft spots of Aziraphale’s stomach and sides, the angel thrashed so exuberantly that he rolled right off the branch. Crowley followed, and, in a mess of feathers and flapping wings, the two tumbled from the tree and into the desert scrub grass.

With how much of a reaction squeezing had gotten, Crowley continued doing it, chasing Aziraphale’s laughter down along his thighs and behind his knees. With more ground on which to metaphorically stand, Aziraphale did put up a bit more of a fight, and Crowley was sure no one who pictured wrestling an angel would conjure that image. Of the angel with a wide smile beaming like the sun, of the demon getting the upper hand by jamming his thumbs into the angel’s hips until the later collapsed backward with a snorting cackle, of the adoration in the demon’s eyes as he tickled the angel apart piece by piece. Crowley rounded back, at last able to get one of Aziraphale’s wings pinned under his knee and burrowing the fingers of one hand into the wing pit and the fingers of the other into the soft stomach and vibrating both sets until the angel was wheezing.

Crowley had had about a dozen other ideas for this tickling thing once Aziraphale had actually been under his hands, but he had actually succeeded in getting Aziraphale from his tree, and he didn’t want to overwhelm with too much of his brilliant new idea. He pulled his hands back to a featherlight crawl, tracing the fair hair of Aziraphale’s forearms with the tips of his fingers and the tops of his feet with the tips of his black wings. The angel, thoroughly spent and thoroughly happy, lay giggling and content, hands twitching and stomach jumping but otherwise still. Eventually, all Crowley’s movement stopped as well, transfixed by the sight beneath him.

Here lay Aziraphale, opalescent wings thrown wide and with feathers mussed, perfect curled hair a tousled mess, hysterically happy smile stuck to his cheeks, tears drying on his cheeks, chest heaving from a belly full of screaming laughter. Crowley fell from on top of him, laying beside Aziraphale with a smile of his own. Perfect.

“That was fun,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed and smiling so gently that Crowley simply couldn’t bear to gloat just then. (He would eventually gloat. A lot. But not just then.)

“Yeah, it was.” Crowley lay beside Aziraphale, reveling in the validation of a successful plan and good idea, as well as the echoing angelic laughter still gracing his ears. He turned his head when Aziraphale pushed himself to sit up.

“Well, it will be a bit before humans fully populate the earth anyway.” Aziraphale stood, brushing off a bit of sand from his robes and producing the shell and a rock from them to make sure they had survived the fall, and holding out a hand to Crowley. “You can lead the way to that ocean you were so keen about, and you can tell me more about your creation. I haven’t ever laughed like that, have you?”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and stood, shaking his head. “Just when I catch a really good breeze, but even then…”

“Ah. Well, I liked your gifts. Can I share this one?”

The demon was struck with the absurd image of angels dropping like flies around the old garden under the menace that would be Aziraphale the tickle angel. He snorted. “Sure, if you want.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders happily and stretched out his wings. “I’d like to tickle you then, so you can laugh like that, and I can see it.”

Something in Crowley’s mind popped. Full of ideas as it had been minutes earlier, it was amazingly empty at Aziraphale’s proposal. With all the excitement the demon had had coming up with the idea and developing it, he had not once considered it being turned against him. Regifted. He was struck with another image, this time of himself, pinned under Aziraphale, at his mercy, laughing like flying. That image actually struck him as quite lovely, but it did also make his ears burn like hellfire. “Well!” Crowley said, kicking up off the ground and hovering a few feet above it. “One fun thing at a time. Ocean?”

Aziraphale nodded, smiled, and shot up into the air like a feathery stone shot by a sling. “Race you!”

“Hey!” Crowley laughed, chasing after him.

~*~

Crowley had come up with it, but Aziraphale had made it his own. And had inspired Crowley to coin the term ‘tickle monster.’

Such inspiration came to Crowley in an instance much like the one he found himself in at present: head tipped back against the cottage bedroom door, cheeks and chest aching from laughing, knees wobbly, so high and happy that the only thing keeping him from floating away was Aziraphale holding him (quite nicely after so evilly pinning him there earlier), stroking his fingertips along Crowley’s hips and sides, slow, featherlight, gentle, reverent.

“This may have been the best gift ever given,” Aziraphale chuckled, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s neck and leaning back with a proud wiggle.

Crowley lifted his arms, still a bit jelly-like, to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders, holding him close and keeping himself upright. “And it got me a hefty promotion way back when.”

Aziraphale laughed, “What?!”

“Yeah,” Crowley grinned, crooked and dizzy. “’Oh, Crowley, what an ingenious torture method, all the fun of hysteria with no marks left behind!’”

He let his head fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, giggling, as Aziraphale smothered his own laughter in his hand.

“But,” Crowley said, lifting his head but still too boneless to actually hold it up and so letting it thump back against the door, “you are by far more evil with it, so I may have taken credit where I was not due.”

“How rude,” Aziraphale tutted, giving Crowley a little scratch to one hip that had him crumpling sideways and squeaking. The angel caught him easily, supporting him around the waist and gently tickling his back to get him to purr and slump further into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Well, whatever the offices took it for, I am very grateful.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead and smiled. “Very happy with it.”

“Good,” Crowley mumbled, “because I didn’t keep the receipt.”

#tickling #tickle fic #mine #ro writes #good omens tickling #ticklish!aziraphale #ticklish!crowley #i saved my tired for the description if you can't tell #i really did like season two #how have i not written for them in so long #tickle fiction #tickle fanfiction #peak crow flirting

[ro-written]

Only You - C.San

Tags/Warnings: Boxer!San, kinda sorta tsundere!reader if you squint but not really, best friends to lovers, fighting/violence, blood, fluff, yall this was supposed to be less than 1k….and this is so not proofread but fuck it we ball

Word Count: 3.5k

Playlist:

“Are We Still Friends” by Tyler the Creator “Baby Boy” by Kevin Abstract “only you” by karri

You watched with bated breath as San went to the corner of the ring, blood and a dark bruise gathered at the corner of his mouth. Your nails dug into your palms as you clenched your fists in anticipation. You knew that he could take care of himself, he’s spent years learning various martial arts, has been in the ring more times than you could count. 

So why are you always on edge when you watch him fight? Why does your heart race with every punch?

Wooyoung sprayed water from the bottle he had on the side right onto San’s mouth, using a towel swung over his shoulder to dab at the sweat and blood on his face. San tilted his head back, resting against the post behind the stool he was spread on. Woo tilted in to whisper something into San’s ear, something that caused his eyes to blink open and scan the crowd. Eventually, his eyes landed on you, and you saw his lip twitch a bit, before taking a hand and moving Woo off his shoulder, never leaving your gaze. You gave him a little nod, a small semblance of motivation, and put a fist up. It was your silent way of telling him to get up and kick his ass.

And so with your encouragement, San stood back up, body relaxed and you watched as you knew what was to come next. You had seen this move a hundred times by now to know exactly what to look for in his bodily movements. 

The opponent steps forward with a cocky grin, ready to continue his onslaught of punches. But San simply looks at him, eyebrow raised, before swinging his body around, launching himself into the air. It was all so quick, yet it felt like time stopped as his foot collided with his opponent’s face.

The crowd silenced for a split second, everyone holding their breaths. That was until Wooyoung jumped into the ring, stack of cash in hand, and went directly to the opponent, counting down on his fingers right in the man’s unconscious face. After three counts, with no sign of fight from the opponent, the crowd went into an uproar.

You jumped from your chair, and yelled out San’s name, cheering him on from your seat. You could see the tiredness in his eyes, but his excitement overshadowed it. You watched as Wooyoung took San’s hand and raised it up, crowning him the champion of the match. Eventually, people pushed up onto the mat and crowded around San, leaving Woo to leave and collect the betting money from all the losers. However, before he stepped away, San grabbed his collar lightly to hold him back, leaning in to whisper something into his ear. Woo simply nodded, waving his hand at his friend, before walking away, still collecting the money.

You observed as San gave his signature smile to everyone surrounding him, even with the busted lip and bruising at the corner of his mouth. His eyes curved into crescents, dimples appearing as he talked to his fans and signed whatever they were jutting out in front of him. It made your chest flutter, seeing him go from this scary and cold rough boxer to your warm, kind-hearted best friend. 

“Hey,” a voice called out to the side of you, hand landing gently on your arm. You jumped at the feeling, before relaxing once you realized it was Woo. A smile cracked across your face. “Hey Youngie, how’d yall make out?” You gestured your head towards the cash in his hand. He looked down and smirked, slapping the stack against his hand.

“Not too terrible, I’d say. I still have to make some more rounds before people try to sneak out on me, but hey, Sannie said he wanted to see you in the back.” He looked over at the man still in the ring talking to people, now signing some man’s arm. It made you chuckle as you watched the various people fawn over him. But you could see something. It was a split second, but you caught it nonetheless. As someone’s hand came down to pat his back, his face winced, but he quickly cleared it up before anyone could notice.

Anyone but you and Woo, of course.

“Please check on him,” his eyebrows were taut, worry written across his face. “You know how he can get after fights. Make him rest.” His eyes found yours, and his usual playfulness wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“I’ll try. If he actually listens though is the thing.” You offered up a half smile as Wooyoung laughs out.

“Please, only you could tell him to fight a mountain lion with one hand tied behind his back and blindfolded and he would do it in a heartbeat, no questions asked.” His playful smirk was back on his face as you rolled your eyes. You wanted to poke at him and tell him to not overexaggerate so much, but you couldn’t. It was true, and you knew it. You were one of, if not the only, person San would listen to no matter what. Perks of being his best friend for such a long time.

“You know how to get to the back?” Woo pointed over his shoulder to a door with a red sign on it. Staff Only. You nodded, having been back there a handful of times before his matches to wish him luck and give him a hug. Woo nodded, giving you a quick one-armed hug, before leaving off to get the rest of his and San’s money. 

You shouldered your way through the bustling crowd, trying to keep a straight line toward the door. Finally reaching it after what felt like forever, you pushed it open, slipping through and ensuring no one followed behind you. The last thing you’d want is San being mobbed in the locker room while he was trying to have his own time.

The locker room wasn’t like the typical locker room you had in school. You remembered how surprised you felt when you first walked into it. It was a smaller square room, the left wall lined with cubbies for people to put their items away in. One of them was filled with San’s belongings, while the others remained empty, save for a medical kit. On the right was a long couch that took up most of the wall, and two rolling chairs sat near it. In the corner next to the couch was a small refrigerator for people to put away the water bottles and any other items they needed to keep cold. The walls were covered in red brick, and the flooring was a black Berber carpet. Probably so no one could see the stains…

You made yourself comfortable on the couch, not knowing when San would be able to peel himself away from his fans. Picking at your nails, you could only think back to the way San looked at you before he ended the match. Something in his eyes seemed different, an emotion you don’t remember ever seeing in him. You couldn’t quite place it though, and it was frustrating. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what every face, every quirk of his eyebrow, every curl of his lip was saying. You wondered if you were simply overthinking it. Maybe he was just trying to find some sort of encouragement outside of Woo. Maybe he was just making sure you were watching his signature move so he could ask you later how cool you thought it was for the millionth time.

You shook your head, trying to clear it of his sly smirk and pretty dimples.

Suddenly, you heard a click at the door, and your eyes shot up from where they were staring at your hands. You watched as San walked in, hair wet and a new set of clothes on, turning around to lock the door behind him to keep from being pestered while trying to rest. His shoulders sagged from their usual position, something that had you quirk your head to the side. He took a lot of pride in having such a perfect posture, so you knew he had to be beyond tired at this point. He rested his forehead against the door, giving you a chance to take note of all the various bruises not hidden by his clean white tank that had already formed or were forming along his arms and back. You could see a cut on his shoulder that had blood slowly forming around the edges.

“Sannie,” Your voice called out quietly to not startle him. He lifted his head off the door, turning around to see you. In an instant, his face brightened up, a smile gracing his features for a second before the pain took over and his bruised hand came up to his lip. You stood up and walked over to grab his arm, leading him over to the couch. He let you push him down against it gently before you moved over to grab the medical kit and come back to him. You sat down next to him, opened the kit, and guided his head to face you. The cuts and bruises littering his face made you tsk and shake your head a bit, before letting his chin go.

“Well hello to you too.” He smirked and winced again at the pain. You rolled your eyes at him, but couldn’t help the smile playing on your lips at hearing his voice full of playfulness.

“You’re an idiot, letting him get this many hits on you.” You murmured, eyes looking through the kit to find ointment and alcohol wipes.

“Wow, not even a congratulations?” He feigned hurt, grabbing at his chest as his eyebrows furrowed together.

“You don’t need a congratulation from me, San. I knew you were going to win from the start.” You pulled out one of the wipe packets and started dabbing at the cut on his arm lightly, letting him get used to the stinging sensation of the alcohol before pressing any harder. You felt goosebumps stick up on his arm as you held his arm to keep steady. One side of his mouth quirked up in amusement, showing a bit of his teeth.

“You knew I’d win?”

“Yes, San. I always know you’re gonna win.” You grabbed one of the ointment packets out and ripped it, pushing a bit of the paste on your finger. You gently spread it across the cut until it was fully covered.

“And why’s that?” You looked up to see his eyes fixed on you, watching every movement. Your body froze under his intense eyes, face heating up. But you shook it off quickly, setting the ointment packet down to grab one of the bandaids from the kit.

“Because,” you split the bandaid wrapper. “You’re the best there is.” You placed the bandaid that wasn’t quite the honey tone of his skin on top of the cut to keep it clean. It wasn’t a lie, there was no one else you could think of that fought with the intensity and precision he did. You looked up again to see his eyes were still trained on your face, his ever-present smirk still there.

“Yeah?” His tone was cocky, and you had to remind yourself that you were in the middle of bandaging him up to tear your eyes away.

Something was different. Typically, even when it was just you two, you would playfully flirt, not ever meaning anything serious about it. You had been best friends for years, and you were comfortable with each other. You told each other everything and nothing ever felt off or awkward. So why did you feel so tense right now? Why did it feel like all your senses were turned to 11? You let out a breath as a way to bring yourself back to the task.

“Yes. Now, stop talking so I can take care of these cuts.” You gave him a pointed look, a look he was definitely familiar with when you were trying to get his stubborn ass to do something. He nodded with a hum, and you grabbed your wipe again, making sure you had a clean part of it, before wiping at the cut on his cheek. The position was awkward, having to slightly contort his head and neck so that you could reach it.

“Why don’t you– Just– Here.” He never fully finished his sentence before he was grabbing your waist and pulled you into his lap, causing you to let out a sharp inhale at the sudden shift. Your body was frozen yet again. Both of you had been close before, especially with how touchy San could be, always wanting to have skinship. You had even woken up a handful of times after sleepovers (aka you both had too much to drink after partying and you refused to let him leave out so drunk) with his arm wrapped around you. But you had never had this before. Sitting in his lap, faces inches away, his hands still resting on your waist.

“This okay?” He asked, searching in your eyes for something. You realized you had been staring at him with your hands frozen in front of you, and you finally moved after you processed his voice.

“Ye–ahem–Yeah, this is good. Better.” You got out, getting back to work and patching his face up. Your wipe moved from the cut on his cheek to the bruise at the corner of his mouth, gently dabbing at it to clean up the dried blood he managed to miss in his shower. Luckily, you didn’t find a cut there and used your thumb to move his skin around a bit to make sure you didn’t miss anything before grabbing the ointment again and using your finger to spread it out on the cut on his cheek. 

You tried not to think too much about how you could smell the refreshing scent of his body wash. Or how his hair smelled a bit like peppermint. Or how warm his hands felt still holding on to your waist. How you could see and feel his eyes watching you carefully as if he wanted to say something. You grabbed a smaller bandaid from the kit and placed it across the gash to make sure it healed well.

“Done.” You stated with a shaky breath as you gathered up all the trash and moved off his lap. You turned around to find the trashcan and didn’t catch the slight slump of his shoulders when the pressure and warmth of your body on his was gone. You tossed the trash and came back over, grabbing a rolling chair to bring in front of him and sit in.

“It was a pretty intense fight, Sannie. You let him get a few good hits I know you could have blocked. So…why?” You propped your legs up on the couch next to him, careful to not accidentally kick him with your close proximity. He leaned his body back to rest against the couch, arms coming up to drape across the back of it, and his legs extended on either side of your chair. You couldn’t deny that you felt something twist in your gut at the sight of him, but you were focused on his answer to your question.

“Woo and I talked before the match about that. He says that if I get my ass kicked around a bit at the beginning, people are more likely to bet against me in higher amounts, especially if they haven’t seen me fight before.” He huffed out, eyes closed to give them a rest from the ceiling lights. You nodded and tried to look anywhere besides his bobbing Adam's apple. 

“I guess it makes sense. But…I’m just…worried I guess. With how much you let the other guy rough you up. I’ve seen you in some pretty harsh shape but this, San? This is brutal.” You waved your hand in front of his body as if he could see.

“Ah, it’s not the worst. You remember when I got my ribs broken?”

“That was because you were still trying to figure out how to properly do your crescent kick and fell flat on your side, dumbass. Not the same thing as letting someone else beat you black and blue.” He quirked up an eyebrow at that and shrugged his head a bit. You went quiet, a question on the tip of your tongue but you struggled with how to word it. You looked back down at your fingers again, picking again at your nails. 

You didn’t realize how San opened his eyes and raised his head at your sudden silence, watching as you let your nervous habit take over. He leaned over to grab at your hands to keep you from picking at them anymore, and you looked up to once again see his concerned eyes.

“What’s on your mind?”

It never failed that you would be amazed at how well he knew you.

“When or maybe why did you decide to quit letting him hit you if you and Woo knew that you were making money?” Your eyebrows furrowed together as the question finally left out. His hands loosened up around yours and his eyes widened a bit at the question, face slightly flushing. “There was a moment when I saw you and you changed entirely. Why? Did Woo say something?”

He pursed his lips and looked down at where your hands were still connected, his brain jostling around with how to answer you. Eventually, he nodded, jaw clenching and unclenching, and he raised his head to face you.

“I guess it’s best if I just tell you now,” he huffed, making you even more confused. “When I’m in the ring, I have to calculate everything, have to constantly watch for everything that the other guy is doing. And there are moments when it feels…pointless. Like it’s all for nothing. Like I should just give up and let them lay me out, you know?”

You took in everything he was saying, trying to process his words and the emotions that came with them.

“Wooyoung wanted me to throw the match more so he could collect more bets. But…when I looked out and I saw you…I needed to make you proud.” He was ultra hesitant with his words, cautiously scanning your face to gauge out your reactions. It was funny how this man, someone who’s been said to have a cold heart in the ring and iron fists you would never want to meet, is instantly turned into a nervous mess when it came to you. Your heart was beating in your throat now, watching him back with wide eyes trying to understand what he was exactly saying.

“God, it’s just–...I don’t–...fuck, I guess it’s just–...” He keeps cutting himself off, the words he wished to say not forming right in his mouth. Sensing his frustration, you rubbed your thumb over the bruised knuckles, a soothing tactic you knew helped him. And it did, as you saw his face relax from the way it was scrunched up.

“It’s okay Sannie, take your time.” You spoke as gently as possible, not wanting him to feel rushed at getting the right words, or even feel pressured to say them at all. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath through his nose, before opening them back to level with you.

“When I’m in the ring, and all these thoughts get to my head, all I can think about is you. Only you. How you encourage me to keep going, your smile and your voice telling me to finish the match. All I can think about is how your eyes light up when I finally win.” 

You felt completely frozen at his confession, thumbs having stopped their movements since. It felt as if your brain had been slowed in its comprehension skills, and you had to repeat every word he said in your head five times over for it to truly sink in.

“So…you–”

“I like you,” he blurted out, face and neck turning pink. “A lot. More than as your best friend. I like every little detail about you and it just drives me insane not being able to tell you, so I am now. And if you don’t feel the same, well then we can just sort of forget this whole–”

“I like you too, Sannie. More than as a best friend as well.” You interrupted his rant, hands moving from his to grab his face, making sure he hears you. “I’ve been so confused for so long about these emotions I’ve had for you, but I think I’m starting to realize that they haven’t been platonic for a while.” You could feel your ears heating up at your admission, and this feeling of anxiety in your chest relaxed as you were able to tell him your feelings confidently.

And as he smiled at you, eyes twinkling and full of pure love for you, you start to wonder how anyone could see this man as a fighter with a cold heart. In the end, he would always be your Sannie.

---

This was written by @/ro-written and is not to be plagiarized, translated, or distributed anywhere else. Copyright Ro-Written 2023.

All comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome!

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #choi san #choi san x reader #choi san fluff #choi san ateez #choi san fic #san ateez #san x reader #*ro written #san fluff #san fic #san fanfic #choi san fanfic

[damnation-if]

I just want to say, as a certified monster fucker, I'm already in love with your story hahaaa <3 I'm glad we're getting more adult stories and the themes in this one are so intriguing, can't wait for the rest ! Alsooo, I really liked the way you describe things? I do not know how to explain it haha but I could easily visualize what was happening and the general atmosphere you're going for and I thought that was neat :^)

thank you so much for your kind words!! i truly appreciate them and i'm so glad the descriptions were to your liking! i have at least some level of aphantasia, so i'm always worried that i'm not describing things enough haha... glad that doesn't seem to be the case!

i was actually talking to my friends just yesterday about how there's relatively few Creacher-y ROs around... so for whatever reason, i guess because it's on my mind, i thought i'd take a bit of time/space here to mention all of the Monsterfucker Approved (TM) ROs that i could come up with, in case anyone else might be interested. this list isn't meant to be exhaustive (in case i miss anyone) as sadly i am yet to become all-seeing and all-knowing 😔

Creacher (Alien)

Rhaxa and Imxa from Project Hadea by my beloved @nyehilismwriting. spikey, scaley, bitey, etc. 👌i also love and appreciate the attention to detail put into worldbuilding for the different ways their species communicates and thinks and so on, showing the culture gaps between them and humans. quality buggies!

Creacher (Eldritch)

Roach from The Passenger... the mc is also an eldritch creacher in this one, which may add or subtract to the enjoyment for various different people lol

Sysba from Attollo; i also think this game in general is pretty monster friendly, with a bunch of monstrous side characters and so forth. the cool kind of neo-gothic vibes give it a feeling a bit akin to a cyberpunk Penny Dreadful... it's about as Monsterfucker as cyberpunk gets i think!

Beacon from Stygian: The Abyssal Lighthouse by my good friend @salty-stories. this one is probably the most Lovecraftian of the eldritch creachers i think, heavy Call of Cthulhu vibes. it's still in progress but i'm personally willing to wait haha

Creacher (Parahuman)

Lorelei and The Other from The Golden Harp; pirates and sirens and mermaids, oh my!

Danny and Isla from When It Hungers by the wonderful @roast-ifs ... the game is still on hiatus but it still lives rent-free in my head always... the monster mcs are So *chef's kiss*

Oisein from The Nameless; due to the sheevra mc there's a Lot of really cool exploration of the boundaries of humanity and stuff like that... we love a "nonhumans shouldn't be able to feel/do this" story... we love it a Normal amount for sure.

Creacher (Indefinable)

Trace from Greenwarden by @fiddles-ifs; an iconique creacher... the game itself also has excellent kind of Appalachian gothic/supernatural vibes and a dark undercurrent of Lurking Monster Foreboding.

Games with Applicably Creacher-esque Vibes

Virtue's End by my beloved friend dani... the ROs might be human, but the mc most certainly is not<3 dark fantasy and sumptuous Monster vibes, what more can you ask?

anything by the extremely talented @thirtybythirty (links to their games in their pinned post). everything they write has a compelling undercurrent of... eldritch existentialism. perhaps the creacher is in fact the Narrative... or maybe the humans were the creachers all along...

the fabulous OFNA: Birds of a Feather - it has the perfect combination of things Not Quite Human and Not Quite Right to create a rich and ominous atmosphere, well-worth playing even though everyone is Technically human lmfao

anyway sorry for rambling on and i'm sure there's a bunch i have missed but. i do feel like it's worth giving praise where it's due for games and writers that we appreciate! thank you again for your kind message (and for giving me a chance to talk about this a bit lol)

#what does the chaos mirror see #glucosify #long post. #passing these notes out at the monthly monsterfucker conference #sorry to put trace in their own category but. also i feel like they'd have it no other way lmfao #avoiding putting my games on here like a good boi... especially the ones i haven't written yet #there's also sort of monster-adjacent things like leftski-if's orcs and werewolves but #there sort of opens up a rabbithole once you get into. Nontypical Humanoids #like i had this problem with a lot of demon!ROs as well they're kind of. Mostly Human #like don't get me wrong i enjoyed keeper of the sun and moon for example but the cambions and nephilim are not. Particularly Inhuman #however obviously my categorisations are very arbitrary and i'm not. gatekeeping monsters XD just for the sake of this post not being longe

[oneknightstand-if]

Watching princess bride rn.

Which characters are the ROs Faves?

Will the MC get a chance for a hard ass like like Wesley's "To the pain" moment?

Who laughs at the Mawwaige scene?

Merlin: The one who could actually pull off the "To the pain..." Of course, Merlin prefers the sillier moments and characters like Miracle Max and Westley only being "mostly dead".

Adrian: His favorite character is the "editor" William Goldman who cut out large sections of the story in the novel and added in off-topic rants about his personal life instead and-- oh, wait, you mean the movie? ... well, they should've added that editor guy in there!

Arthur: There's absolutely no way he's ever seen this, but if the MC or the group in general started talking about it, he'd go out of his way to try and watch it. After he does the 12-hour Monty Python marathon with the Cloudcuckoolander MC.

Percy: He may or may not be continuously introducing himself with "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!" (He and serial killer MC can have that in common.) Of course that means his favorite character is Buttercup.

4̵0̵4̵ ̷E̵r̶r̴o̵r̸ ̴N̴o̷t̶ ̶F̵o̸u̷n̶d̴: Obviously the shrieking eels are their favorites. They needed way more screen time!

Cassandra: Yeah... she hasn't seen it and probably wouldn't mostly get it... and by that I mean she'd keep exclaiming that things would've gone far smoother if more poison was being used here.

Gwen: When asked what Camelot legend she wanted to be the reincarnation of, she CANONLY says "Princess Buttercup". Yes, that's making it into the actual game.

Vivian: Her favorite part of the movie is the section that takes place in the Fire Swamp, but the shrieking eels scene on the ship are also good, poor darlings going unfed.

Lorelei: Meh. This is really not her type of thing. But at least it's more a satire than playing the whole chivalrous one-true-love type thing, straight? Also, the Dread Pirate Roberts really needs a better mask to hide his identity.

Broderick: He's still traumatized from the time the Princess Bride was assigned for summer reading in high school and he just so happened to watch the movie instead *coughs* and oops, it seems there were some plot differences. Like who is this "editor" people keep talking about?

#For those who don't know what Adrian is going on about... #That's the way the original novel was written #With the author pretending to be an “editor” who was ruining the “original” story #oks-asks #oks-ROs #interactive fiction #oneknightstand #one knight stand

[seriousturd]

A few more silly doodles

#blind man's bluff #ladyredms #l4d2 #i love nick and ro so much UGHHH they're partners in crime :') #and phil is such a fascinating fella #like i haven't forgiven him for shooting nick yet lol but he's such an interesting addition to the group #and omg bmb is so well written every time nick and ellis just have eye contact i feel things

[redroomroaving]

The Red Harp (victorian/penny dreadful style AU - He Who Was x Shadowheart, Rolan x Geraldus, more)

This city is filled with demons; and as the constables track down those mortal evils, those murderers and thieves, behind the unassuming door of The Red Harp they hunt those evils existing in the space beyond. The High Harper's daughter has been taken. The medium and the thief stand at the docks, growing cold as they await the arrival of their newest recruit, the exorcist, ready to begin the work.

(a monster hunting squad fic featuring:

The Medium: Shadowheart

The Thief: Rugan

The Exorcist: He Who Was

The Mercenary: Aradin

The Apprentice: Rolan

The High Harper & The Rashemen: Jaheira and Minsc

The Last Harper: Geraldus

And more to come. Art on its way.)

#baldur's gate 3 fic #victorian au #penny dreadful au #he who was #bg3 he who was #bg3 shadow #shadowheart #fic #fic link #bg3 f #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #he who was x shadowheart #ro #rolan x geraldus #rugan #bg3 rugan #bg3 rolan #bg3 geraldus #bg3 jaheir #bg3 jaheira #bg3 minsc #this demanded to be written #Exorcist!He Who Was had to exist #roaving stuff

[liamlawsonlesbian]

jo liamlawsonlesbian's f1 fics

because I didn't join f1blr until several months after I started writing f1 fic, I thought I would make a masterlist of what I've written for this fandom thus far

(why now? because I'm procrastinating, of course)

In the order I wrote them:

when we're cheek to cheek (i feel it in my teeth): Max Verstappen has become a little obsessed with Charles Leclerc's neck. The day after Monaco 2023, Max and Charles go for a drive. - lestappen, 1.8k, rated M.

baby, why don't you come over?: Max sends Charles a drunken booty call, even though they're just friends. The next day, when they're sober, Charles calls his bluff. - lestappen, 3.4k, rated E

maybe the sky might not always be blue: Once upon a time, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc were on a short-lived Disney Channel show together, and Max had a crush on Charles. Now, they're successful adult actors, and Charles is cast as Max's love interest in a movie. - lestappen, 8.8k, rated T

powerful, with a little bit of tender: Pierre wants to make Yuki feel good. - yukierre, 2.1k, rated E

"Lance Moi" (n): Deux Moi but Good, Actually: Frustrated with the unseriousness of Deux Moi, Lance starts an F1 gossip account. (Saw Leclerc in Monaco - Anon pls). - lance & everyone, 3.5k, rated G

canine teeth in the side of my neck: Charles starts biting Max when Max wins races. Max might spiral, a bit. (alt-2024 season) - lestappen, 7.2k, rated E

would have loved you (in a day or two): Yuki tells Pierre that in another universe, they're in love. Pierre can't stop thinking about Other Pierre and Yuki. - yukierre, 2.2k, rated E

no such friend: Charles is in his head, and asks Max to fuck him out of it. It goes differently than he expects. - lestappen, 2.9k, rated E

i can feel the sun on you: Charles is a prince under pressure. Alex is an aspiring novelist trying to make ends meet. They find each other in Buenos Aires. (Chalex Roman Holiday AU). - chalex, 12k, rated T

i don't wanna miss you tonight: Before the Las Vegas Grand Prix, Fernando sends Max a tiktok compilation highlighting how comfortable Charles is touching Max. Max can't stop thinking about it. - lestappen, 1.8k, rated T

are you down? (can you let me know): Oscar doesn't want to feel like a rookie anymore. He decides to fuck Fernando Alonso about it. - oscar/fernando, 2.5k, rated E

you don't have to know that it's haunted: Charles is a witch. Max finds out. - lestappen, 8.3k, rated T

still high (with a little feeling): Lando has a revelation about himself. Yuki helps him out. - tsando, 4.4k, rated T

#my fic #lestappen stuff is locked rn for scared-of-f1-social-media-managers reasons #was texting ro earlier about this but i honestly wrote no such friend in a fugue state and always forget it exists #okay now i have to go paint my nails; take out the recycling; pack for the weekend; and maybe do some actual work (depending) #also need to mention that none of these would've been written were it not for ro #shout out to them always <3

[gunpowder-tim]

posting an oc drabble bc i can.

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" They're face to face, hands cradling cheeks and holding waists. "No." It's a lie, he can't tell them the truth. It's not a lie, he didn't kiss back, he didn't want it.  "Have you?" A small head shake, "Kinda hard to find someone willing to be your friend, let alone kiss you, when you’re the prince.” “They’re all missing out then.” They nervously giggle, blue skin turning green with a slight blush. “Kiss me?” A simple request, he knows he would do anything for them. Their lips connect, soft and gentle, nervous energy between them.

#rai.txt #oc stuff #technically was written for oc kiss week but im scared of being percived so. #also yes its exactly 100 words. yes its vauge on purpose. #its cas & ro though if u were wondering #ro is he him cas is they them

[mofffun]

Kingoh pre-finale wall of text

...that said, I've actually written much over the past month. I thought I wouldn't be able to take the Kingoh loss, but turns out I'm unexpectedly fine with it, but now that it's near, I'm running away covering my ears again.

"Final", "Last". Shut up. That's enough of a trigger to burst out in tears. That's sadness, that's inevitable. But winding back, I've been feeling a calmness because the hardwork and passion of the cast and crew have culminated into a spectacular grand finale. The fact that I was so obsessed with conveying my gratitude to the show, I forgot in the end, the final word the show leaves me will be none other than,

"Thank you for your support this year!"

The fact that their messsage reached us, and ours to them, and back again. This is the best ending a beautiful story can have. It connects people, and it lives on as a legend.

Kingoh helped me through some hard times. Its importance to me is not going to be shadowed by any flaws it definitely has.

Sentai being a yearly toku means there is only this moment that the two of us cross paths. One year of "we", once in our lives. Had Kingoh not been a toku, it could've sequels until the day I have my own kids. But because it's a toku, a heroic fairy tale, this one chance is what it is. A miracle that brought me hope and courage.

Most of all, I'm thankful for meeting all of you on this blog, and fans in other countries on different platforms. If I had to sum up what Kingoh gifted me, it's "Connections". I became more proactive and adventurous this year. I learned to be "selfish", to try again, to say it out loud. I get to be a kid again not because I'm escaping anymore, but because I can believe there's still good in this world, the little that we can do.

#i just written in pieces before i'm not sure if i'm repeating myself but #it's important to me i write something before the finale airs #i'm like. so jealous of people who get to go to g-ro SAME DAY #it's so surreal i try to deceive myself it's not the end of kingoh with g-ro and flt and vs + next year's vs #but it is #it really is. #mon mon

[concordewillfly]

finished maeve fly and didnt like it. i gave it two stars because this is a debut and i believe the author means well (and she has good taste in literature!) but i think she misunderstands the novels she so loves… it wasnt as extreme as i was promised which was disappointing. a lot of introspection and straight from wikipedia facts and some cool references and a couple of interesting concepts but mostly just a whole lot of nothing. never trusting a rec from goodreads ever again

#annual ro talks about books post. will only trust my friends recs from now on. also i switched to reading it in italian at one point bc i #found it better written like that which is bad. anyway if some of u has read it lmk your thoughts!! onto the next book x #t

[donutcats]

I do love that scene where you have to describe the layout of the blood drive and you have to choose how to best do it, because Cass chooses to assemble the cutlery into a vague map every time and Adam is SO disappointed. like yeah bud that’s the object of your affection right there. she just stacked two spoons on top of each other and called it a desk. nate and farah, her two best friends, think it’s really creative and they totally see what she’s trying for. meanwhile adam is suffering, absolutely tormented as he watches the love of his life try to fold a napkin into a shape that she claims is the tent, and failing spectacularly at it. somehow the salt shaker has come into play.

#the wayhaven chronicles #ryn plays the wayhaven chronicles #i know that scene isn’t written with any ro in mind #but choosing the cutlery as an A-manger is hilarious to me #YOUR HEARTS DESIRE COULD HAVE USED PAPER #INSTEAD SHE’S ASKING YOU TO PASS HER A FORK

[blood-choke]

ohhhh, I LOVE your game it’s super good, I’m already thirsting for more! Got one question (I hope I don’t sound…weird?) will my mc be able to be more femme, I love butch but I myself I’m not plus I love dresses.

thank you! and you don't sound weird. the mc however is set to be butch. and just to be clear i don't want to imply that butch is an "aesthetic"; there is more to the identity than just how someone presents, but the mc specifically does present masculine and would not be comfortable wearing dresses or more feminine clothing.

and beyond that, the mc is written as a butch-- again, the identity, not just the way they look. Valentina and the mc are a butch/femme couple and those identities are intrinsic to their relationship and their history together. both characters are written as a representation of those roles, "stereotypical" like you would have seen in an old lesbian bar in the 60s and 70s.

the reason for only allowing the mc to choose more masculine clothing/present this way is also simply because i Want to see more butches like this. both butches and femmes are constantly sanitized in popular media & while of course not all butches dress this way or that way the fact is that so long as the "ugly fat man-hating d*ke" is depicted as a fat butch in jeans and a white tank and so long as everyone treats them as "regressive" and "restricting" and a "negative stereotype" rather than real people with a beautiful complex history within the community and so long as people keep saying "well at least you're not one of those lesbians" then i will keep writing and dressing my butch characters in that way forever and ever amen

#and im not taking this in a hostile way or anything anon i just want to make myself clear #since you are not the first to ask this #and i also hope to do justice to all femmes with valentina bc you get just as misrepresented as we do #at the end of the day i am writing this first and foremost. for myself. lmfao #and EYE want a butch mc #that is actually butch and i want butch ROs who are written as desirable and not as a punching bag or a joke #and i want valentina to be femme in the lesbian way and not in the sanitized cw tv show thin conventionally attractive white woman with a b #WITH A BLOW OUT. lmfao #ask #anonymous

[girlwarlock]

so i'm reading Hello Melancholic by Ohsawa Yayoi and the 'holy shit transgender' vibes continue to be off the fucking charts

with minato afraid to occupy space with the other girls in the band and afraid to eat as much as she wants or even at all is *extremely* mirroring my experiences of almost always being the tallest girl in the room and feeling like i'm Existing too much even among people who are delighted to have me there

anyway. i know that's not a universal thing but it's like this story was tailor made to stab me in the heart

#Extremely Transgender Trombonist #<- that's my tag for the ''hello melancholic'' manga #i'm confident this is nothing but i'm posting it anyway #its name looks like it's just a japanese transliteration of english 'hello melancholic' (she says having not studied japanese in 15 years) #[squinting at katakana] heloo melankolikku [using 'l's for ロ and リ even though they're ''''technically'''' formally 'ro' and 'ri'] #because they represent 'l' sounds in the english words being transliterated #because written japanese doesn't have a distinction between 'r' and 'l' #@hellomelancholic said it really well as like ''this character is canon trans whether the author meant it or not''

[bunnihearted]

📚💭

#finally read Carmilla!!! #i've wanted to read it for yeeeeeears #i finally did now bc an author i rlly like (who wrote kinda a reimagining of dracula) has written a book abt a carmilla reimagining!!! :o #that's gonna be sooooo good i just know it #so to prepare i wanted ro read Carmilla first. esp bc it has sapphic undertones nd is actually the start of modern vampire literature. #it wasnt bram stoker w dracula that did it first #anyway it was rlly good nd i liked reading it. the atmosphere was v much there even if the barely mentioned it (that doesnt make sense..) #im glad i read it nd now i can wait to read an education in malice :o omg so exciting!!!! #📚💭