#mygofic

[theknightswhosay]

A Good Omens x OFMD Crossover written in Book Omens style

It was not a dark and stormy night.

Blackbeard encounters an old friend ‘Big Crow’ - a strange man who wears black spectacles and claims to be a demon of Hell. Big Crow needs help with a difficult mission - he needs to rescue an angel who has been kidnapped by the French Navy.

What could possibly go wrong?

//

[My ~40k labour of love is complete and can be found here]

Artwork by the fantastic Ecchima (tumblr.com) who was partnered with me for the 2022 OFMD big bang last summer.

[haec-an]

💙🐻🫶🩶

[cgogs]

of course cdream only told cpunz about the torture when there was a tactical reason

[goodmourningbunny]

My most embarrassing thought is abt comparing hand sizes w/ leon while sitting in between his legs and him teasing me abt it >_<

[aesfocus]

Family

[rusty-gloinks]

mmoth furs BWHAAAAA💥💥💥💥💗💗

[conkorse]

SPOOVY CEO CONKORSE GUILTY GEAR POSTING?????? 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

OJ MY GOD DID U JSUT CROWN ME SPOOVY CEO UWAAGDHFJ38777!!!!]]]]]]]]]]

[sonicunleash]

god i am so so sore from work but its Okay because im going to be watching rottmnt with my friends tomorrow and SONIC FRONTIERS IS TWO DAYS AWAY goodnight

[goldryush]

this actually slaps?!?!?!?!([@[[@

[priestfrommidnightmass]

just randomly thought of my characters and nearly started crying. i was watching a scene from the office how the fuck did i even think of them and why did it make me want to cry abt treacy and invidia

[theknightswhosay]

Extract from Aziraphale's Journals: Travels in Medieval Philippines

時 永樂 辛未 九月 十二日 也 

[Archivist’s note: In this period, Aziraphale used the Chinese dating system. In the Western Calendar: 12th September 1420.]

Tarung Village, Bagobo, Sulu Empire

[Archivist’s note: the Sulu Empire was located in Mindanao, the third largest Island in the Philippine Archipelago. The Bagobo tribe still exist today, however, their language and culture are listed as ‘critically endangered’.]

//

The local people have a story about a terrible demon. A buso. They call him Mamili. He is the Great Serpent.

Right now, coconut ink fresh on my quill, the light from the apitong oil candle casting flickering shadows over my hands, that very demon is asleep in my bed.

//

Today, I was humbled.

I stood before a tree that was almost a thousand years old. Wider than the mighty three-tiered pagoda of 杭州市 [Hangzhou] and taller than the dark spires of the Notre Dame, her presence dwarfed me into insignificance. It is rare for me to feel the ghost of mortality.

This great, cathedralic plant soared on hundreds of pillars, the thick stems braided together into celtic knots like broken spiderwebs, threads of time twining together over the centuries. High above, handfuls of delicate oval leaves fanned outwards, pitifully meagre compared to the great mass of bark below. 

One was reminded of a liquid. Rivulets of tree had fallen from the sky, dripping downwards and solidifying as stalactites do.

Dozens of beings made their home within. Creepers, young and old alike, raced each other in their clamber upwards along twisting stems that provided perfect purchase. Here and there, peppery flowers flourished in a startling fuchsia. With eyes more focused than any mortal, I could see the lines of biting ants that had made their home close to the ground, and in another quarter, ink-black antlered beetles chirruped from within their nests. 

“The Grandmother balete tree,” said the spiritual elder who stood beside me. They are known as Buhawi after the God of the Four Winds.

Whilst I was preoccupied with awe, they put down their burden. The wooden stopper did little to mask the vinegar tang of coconut liquor seeping out from the baked clay amphora. I mimicked them. In my wicker basket, I had carried the offerings.

We stood, side by side, and let the natural world cradle us. I closed my eyes. There were a million tiny sounds, but it could never be overwhelming for it all formed part of the same song. Every murmur, cry, or rustle belonged there within the shadow of that majestic, old being. 

In that beautiful moment, so did I.

“Thank you,” I said. “I see why the Datu was so insistent that I accompany you here.”

They responded with a knowing smile which cracked the worn lines of their weathered face. They never smiled with their teeth, perhaps to hide the red betel-nut stains.

“Come,” they said, “help me with the offerings, and I will tell you about Grandmother balete. I will tell you her story.”

And so, as we prepared the areca nuts, the lime, and the betel leaf, Buhawi told me the tale of the Great buso who is called Mamilli.

[Read the rest of this 4k short extract on AO3]

[sweetparty]

we r almost at 3k.. ouh mygof

[jackkennedyirl]

guysoh mygof. HES MY BOYFRIEND NOW AUBDHGHHH @raincoquteee MY BAEEEE SMOOCHSMOOOOCH HEHEAHH

[catominor]

oh mygof. what if l. furius wrote an epic poem too

[oribun]

I WILL LITERALLY NEVER BE NORMAL AGAIN

LHHHH MGYF GOD OG MY GOD OH MYGOF PH MY GOD OH MYGOFMPH MYGOD OMGHDJSJDJEBCJWNDKSNSKWNSSKDNOHMYBGOCN OH MYGOD

[holyfacehead]

Baby I'm like 1/4 do I count

OH MYGOF *";";$+$;"(*!**!*!*!*!"!$"!"!