#winter omens

[ineffablelifetoallmetatrons]

It's getting colder outside

Fully inspired full credits to this post by @chrizwho I just had the need to draw this I don't know why

[bleucalire]

[crowley-anthony]

#lokius + other idiots i ship

[wearecrowley]

[daneecastle]

@goodomensafterdark

…

First pages up. I’m taking my time with this. It’s based off a Good Omen’s Fluff rp I did with Kotias. Their point of destination for their sexual act is in a large bathtub.

Written part by Kotias:

Winter had settled much quicker than usual in the region.

One week, Crowley was basking in the sun in their garden, the next week he was shivering in a blanket and clutching the hot pocket that Aziraphale had prepared for him against his stomach. Shuffling around the cottage like a clumsy ghost, he was seeking any source of heat he could find, desperate to keep himself from falling into his usual winter slumber. But eventually, his body complained loudly enough that he caved, and stayed in bed for the entire day, gorging himself into the angel's lingering warmth and smell.

This. This had to be his best winter yet.

He had tried to convince Aziraphale to stay one hour -two hours -come on angel, you have all day, stay!- But sadly, it didn't work. He did not fully despair however- like the brat that he could be, he would call out to him regularly, asking for undivided attention and for the return of his warmth and smell into the bed, even for just five, ten minutes. And of course, the angel indulged. He was holding him tight, nuzzling into his neck, purring into his ear, peppering kisses wherever skin appeared.

“Crowley! Your kisses are distracting me. Either you do something about it or you let me get up so I can make a hot bath for us. What is it?"

Crowley huffed into his neck, refusing to budge. Oh, a bath sounded tempting! “No moving. Miracle the damn bathwater in and I'll get us in it." He was getting drunk on his smell, desperate to keep him close.

…

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[cloudyyink]

Snow day with cold blooded snake 🐍

[valeron99]

First Snow.

Keep your ears in warm.

[mischiefjellytart]

me at any masculine/male fictional character: if I dressed like him all my problems would be solved

[mrghostrat]

yesyesyes ok im gay and made fanart of a fic!!! to be fair it's utterly perfect and i wanna think about it all the time.

[dora-papp]

Okay but I want to spend the holiday season with them, pretty please

[phoen1xr0se]

Good Holiday Omens Day 17

Artist Credit: @luminousslime

Look at these cuties in their big puffy coats!

[elly-sweetheartcrowley]

Do you want to build a snowman? ☃️❄

[dsireland86]

This boy is tugging at my heartstrings 🥹🥹

I want to see more of his ink, though. His moon phases on his fingers are just...omg they're beautiful 😍

[mimisempai]

Do you want to see our ineffable husbands enjoy this festive season together?

It's easy!

All you have to do is make a donation, of any amount, to my choice of charity: Alzheimer Research UK in memory of Terry Pratchett

In return, I'll write you a little story with a winter holiday prompt of your choice.

Each story will go to make up an ineffable advent calendar.

Just giving fundraising for Alzheimer's Research UK

Request are now open until the 15th December

If you have any questions, don't hesitate!

Contact me here or on twitter @mimisempai

For the request, I don't do :

NSFW - Angst with no happy ending - Hurt/ NO comfort

[actual-changeling]

winter rips him apart.

summer was warm, hot, his skin tacky with sweat and craving distance, revelling in the coldness that aziraphale had left behind. it soothed something inside of him, cooled down his shaking breaths, and took the sting out of his tears. it was easier to forget about him then.

not easy, but easier.

the season passed like it always does, though, and in the first weeks of fall, crowley begins to realise just how hollow his soul is. there is no warmth inside of him anymore, nothing to sustain him through the constant frigid rain and the mantle of death covering the world.

birds fly south, leaving for better lands (just like aziraphale had), trees rid themselves of their unsustainable burdens (just like aziraphale had), and immeasurable amounts of creatures bid the sun goodbye to hibernate, waiting until the world welcomes them again.

he briefly considers doing the same, considers turning his bed into a temporary grave and sleeping through winter, through spring, summer, autumn, and winter again if he must, until aziraphale comes back or the world ends and takes him with it.

he considers, and then he tries, but in the grey twilight of november, his lips burn with memories, his body craves softness and someone's heat to bask in, and it refuses to grant him an illusion of peace.

winter comes, unstoppable, uncaring, rolling out over the northern hemisphere, and crowley wants to claw his skin off.

a year ago, he had spent his days curled up under a blanket in the bookshop, dozing the weeks away, too comfortable to flee in the face of intimacy, and aziraphale had been next to him day after day after day. in the midst of his dreams, gentle touches had reached him now and again, a palm resting on his shoulder, a thigh pressed against his.

a year ago, there had been trashy movies and aziraphale teaching him how to make his signature hot chocolate, and crowley had been happy.

not just content but happy.

his fingertips are blue, his lips numb, yet he refuses to move from where he is leaning against the window, watching the snow fall. under the spell of the cold, his body slows and petrifies, ever yearning, longing for a cup of tea and the person who made it.

winter wraps itself around him like a cloak, and he wishes he could blame the season, but winter is time, and it either freezes or passes; there is no turning back. no, the aching, pale fingers ripping his soul apart like a piece of paper, tearing through it again and again as it becomes small and scattered, are his own.

crowley is heaps of brittle, yellowed leaves, is a fading birdsong left behind as its creators chase the sun, is a lonely being in the snow while everyone else breathes air warmed by others, safe from the hardening frost.

the end of the world could come, and instead of raising sword and shield to stop it, crowley would shatter beneath its force like hot glass dropped in the snow—and if it meant escaping the hold of aziraphale's absence, he would gladly let it happen.

[plumspider]

All of the books I gained this Christmas 📚 my apologies for the rubbish pictures (especially the last one).

- A doctor who dictionary from a dr who themed mystery box thingy that had a few other things in it too.

- Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchet

- Heartstopper vol 3 & 4 - Alice Oseman

- This winter - Alice Oseman

- Nick and Charlie - Alice Oseman