Bisexual Turtle

PSA:

re-blog and wear the safety pin if you and your blog are safe and safe spaces for any minority’s discriminated against by Trump.

#safetypin 

I know it's a little late, but we decided to give it a try! There are 5 prompts and 5 days to write each prompt. You don't have to do all of them, actually!

It will start October 6th

Please spread the word everyone!!

Oct 6-10: Fever

Oct 11-15: injury

Oct 16-20: fluff

Oct 21-25: angst

Oct 26-30: anything you want!!

It does not have to be halloween themed!!

Feel free to use au's and stuff!

You can pick and choose which ones you do!

IMPORTANT: If you have anything with hospitals, please put a warning and/or read more!! One of our moderators are highly triggered by it!

Ask one of our mods if you're confused on anything!

Mods: @rachthecool (Mod Christine) [She, her]

@sickfic-prompts (Mod Squip) [They, them]

@chickennuggetofjustice (Mod Jeremy) [She, Her]

[Here it is, the promised Nanny Ashtoreth fic - uh, just so you know Crowley’s pronouns do switch in this because I am of the belief that Crowley just hoards All Of The Genders so…

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, it’s not my best work but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head and no one else was doing it. I don’t own anything, Nei/ Gai//man, please don’t kinkshame me.]

It was one of those days where Nanny Ashtoreth wished she had picked something much less severe for her signature outfit.

Oh sure, the stiff, fitted suit jacket, long pencil skirt and sharp heels in her favoured red-and-black combo looked every bit the part of his Demon Nanny From Hell aesthetique but the aching that she awoken with was deep in her bones and growing with every passing moment. Taking care of a rambunctious child saw to that.

Ashtoreth also wished she had selected something warmer.

Being a snake, Ashtoreth was well used to feeling the chill a little more than average but the shivering that usually plagued her was definitely easier to hide than this. Something was amiss.

Ashtoreth, now watching her budding little Antichrist gaze upon a frog in Aziraphale’s hands with all the wonder that only small children can muster, took another sip of tea, hoping it would settle the itch in her throat – itch? Crowley frowned. That was new. She suppressed another shudder and set the cup down.

She knew exactly what was amiss.

Nanny Ashtoreth was never a woman for small talk, everyone knew that. If it wasn’t about the job (Warlock) she wasn’t speaking, however even Warlock was left a little short when she tucked him into bed that night, only listening to him talk about the kinds of frogs Brother Francis had taught him about and declining to read him a story about The Boy Who Ended The World (himself).

“Goodnight, Nanny.”

“Goodnight, child.” Crowley whispered, not trusting his voice to last even two more words.

Closing his door behind her, Nanny Ashtoreth let out a breath she had been holding and allowed her shoulders to slump for a microsecond before picking herself back up and stalking to her room, peeling off her day clothes the moment she was inside. Heels, off. Makeup, off. Hair, down.

The demon Crowley was himself again, and he was miserable.

Truth be told he genuinely enjoyed being Nanny Ashtoreth. He loved the way heels made his arse look and the way they click-clacked authoritatively on the floor but today was -

Well today he wanted to be in his pyjamas. And maybe a woolly jumper. A proper one, not the stylish off-the-shoulder, distressed, impractical ones he favoured.

Aziraphale has woolly jumpers. Hideous but…practical.

Crowley stood in the middle of his room in the ruby-red silk robe he bought simply because he thought it’s the sort of thing Nanny Ashtoreth would wear and not because he thought it looked very sexy on him.

He shivered.

His nose tickled.

Crowley never could hold back sneezes. His nose would not allow it. One way or another, he would sneeze and when he did it would come roaring out as it so often did but he’d be damned (ha) if he was going to wake the entire Dowling household with an itch in his sinuses, he -

“Hih - !” Oh no, “Hih-iiih! Hah, ah - !” Shit it was coming faster than he thought. Jamming two fingers beneath his nose, hard.

“HEEEHtzzzchew!”

Satan. Repressing them was painful.

Brother Francis’ cottage was at the bottom of the garden, far, far beyond the house (the grounds were massive) and Crowley definitely hadn’t thought it all the way through when he chose to hop over the ground barefoot and robe clad. In his memory the cottage had been much closer to the main house.

Crowley rapped hurriedly on Brother Francis’ door.

“Oh, I’ll, er, be out in just a moment!” he heard from inside in that stupid accent Aziraphale insisted on giving the gardener.

“It’s me!” Crowley hissed back.

“Oh!” the angel responded, opening the door to let his friend in, “Come for a nightcap?”

“Not quite.” Crowley muttered, hating how his voice was turning, “We have a problem.”

“Oh?” concern tinged the angel’s voice, “Well, I’d better put these away.” He cleared away the bottles and glasses he had clearly been hoping to use tonight. “Is it Downstairs? Upstairs? The Antichrist?”

“No, none of them, I - “ Crowley braced himself on the wooden table as he felt a sharp prickle in the back of his nose.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale prompted. Crowley did not respond. His head reared back, the hooked arch of his nose looking more present than it usually did as his nostrils flared outward, lip curling upwards, inhaling air through his mouth.

Aziraphale’s breath caught as the silk robe fell open at the chest slightly, revealing Crowley’s lithe chest and watching the silky glint of his flaming hair loosely tied in a messy bun at the back. God, how could this man be a demon when he looked so, so -

“HAAAAETSCHUUUHH!”

Crowley’s sneeze shocked Aziraphale out of his reverie and he clutched at his chest in surprise as Crowley snapped forward unsteadily from the force of it. Crowley had always been a violent sneezer, Aziraphale knew well, but it never scared to, well, frighten the living shit out of him if he wasn’t expecting it.

“My goodness, Crowley, ble - “

He was halted by a warning glare and a finger. Aziraphale remembered himself.

“Salut?”

“Hn.” Crowley shuddered,

“Under the weather?”

“Well under and digging.”

“Oh dear.”

“This is pathetic!” Crowley whined, throwing himself into a chair, “How am I supposed to instill evil and havoc into the child when I’m snivelling like a…like a…gah! I’m supposed to be his role model! I’m supposed to teach him to grind the weak into the dirt! And right now that – that’s meeeh, eeeehhh – EEEEHHT'CHHUUH!”

“We are supposed to be raising him to be normal, Crowley.” Aziraphale reminded, passing the demon a handkerchief.

“Yes! By balancing out good and evil! It’s not balanced if I’m incapacitated, is it?” Crowley blew his nose and let out an exhausted moan.

“Crowley, it’ll be a few days. A week at most. In the grand scheme of things that’s not a lot of time at all. Now. I suggest you get yourself to bed, dearest, you do sound awful and you’ll need all your strength.”

“If I can even sleep like this.”

“Maybe we should have started on the wine after all.”

The next morning wasn’t much better. In fact, it was much worse and Ashtoreth was beginning to hope the Antichrist would just want to sit and play quietly in his room today but, as it were with little boys, they never do what you want them to.

Concealing the redness of her nose today was going to take a lot of concealer. And demonic miracles.

Brother Francis was the only person in the house that Nanny Ashtoreth would speak more than a few words to, even Mrs Dowling. Maybe it was because he was the only one who wasn’t put off by her terrifying presence. Maybe it was because she liked the flower cuttings he would occasionally give her. Maybe, unlikely, but maybe it was because she had a tiny soft spot for the gardening monk.

But…it was unusual for the gardener to be inside the house.

Aziraphale didn’t need to sense how Crowley was feeling to know his friend was feeling wretched. It was all in the subtleties that one comes to look for in six thousand years of knowing someone. The stoic lack of speaking, avoiding eye contact even behind sunglasses, often angling himself so that whoever he was speaking to couldn’t see his face and thus notice he was breathing through his mouth.

But the day had ploughed on and it was becoming more and more obvious, the mask was slipping and Nanny Ashtoreth pitched forward with a powerful – and horribly repressed – sneeze that left her dazed. She and Warlock had settled themselves in the conservatory where Brother Francis had a view of them through the glass.

“HEHtchzzzzuh!”

Even repressed and through double-glazed windows, Aziraphale could still hear the sneeze. Nanny Ashtoreth looked utterly spent, as if sneezing itself became a draining act akin to chasing her mischievous charge around in heels. The shivering hadn’t abated much since last night and the flush on her cheeks matching her nose suggests a fever.

A break is most definitely needed, the angel decided.

He stepped into the conservatory just as Warlock looked up from his Lego to demand his nanny’s attention.

“Nanny! Nanny! Nanny, I made a village! Nanny!”

Ashtoreth’s eyes slid open beneath her glasses, Satan, she was in slow-motion.

It was at this point the good gardener decided to intervene, placing a hand on Warlock’s shoulder.

“We must be gentle with Nanny today, young Warlock, she’s not feeling very well.”

Ashtoreth placed her hand on Warlock’s other shoulder, “You were made to – to cruttsssccczzzhh! Urgh. Crush the weak under your heel.”

Warlock looked between Brother Francis and his nanny. It hadn’t occurred to him that grown-ups could get sick but looking at Nanny now…hm. Maybe he should listen to Brother Francis. After all, he cared about Nanny and no matter what she said, he didn’t want to crush her.

But Nanny said he had to wreak havoc and destruction.

This was a problem. How does one go about pleasing both his favourite adults?

“I’m gonna be a giant dinosaur and destroy the village!” he announced with all the boyish enthusiasm he could muster. He turned to his nanny, dropping his voice to a gentler tone and pats her arm with the same care one would use when petting a small animal, “But I’ll do it outside, Nanny, so you can rest.”

And it was said, on the Dowling Estate, that the Crowley’s small heart grew three times that -

No, I’m joking obviously, but something in Ashtoreth did melt and pool out warmly within her. Or maybe that was just the mucus that had been clogging up her head. She blew her nose productively as Warlock scampered outside, feeling Brother Francis slip something into her pocket.

“Spare key to the cottage,” he muttered to her, “go and snuggle down there. I’ll be in and out to check in on you.”

“Thanks.” the demon mumbled, stalking off down the garden.

“Put that on.” Aziraphale tossed Crowley a thick sweater from the wardrobe, “You’ll rattle yourself right off the couch if you shiver anymore.”

Crowley would make a show of how unstylish it was but the angel knew he didn’t mean it. Watching the demon sink into the soft material as if he were lowering himself into a hot bath brought a smile to the angel’s face. Paired with the flannel bottoms, messy bun and nose practically glowing with abuse, Aziraphale found himself, not for the first time, oddly charmed by his demon’s sickly form and couldn’t resist smoothing some stray hairs from the other’s forehead as he felt the heat of his skin beneath his hand.

Crowley spent the rest of the week in that cottage, burning away the fever, sipping on hot toddies brewed by Aziraphale and laughing weakly at Golden Girls reruns on the small television.

And if Brother Francis didn’t seem entirely well when he next greeted Nanny Ashtoreth as she walked Warlock through the park, well,

some doodles reposted from my main

Okay but like. Az comes home (bookshop, the flat, the southdowns cottage ,whatever) after getting some things for Cr0wley who’s dealing with quite a miserable headcold. He finds him sprawled out over the couch, mouth hung open, snoring and looking quite unflattering with that blanket lazily tangled around him. And obviously he’s been in quite a mood because of this ailment so Az is being real gentle with him and (oh how the turntables) borderline pampering him with soups and warm drinks.

My half of a trade for @chickennuggetofjustice ! It’s Klapollo uwu I’ve never written it before but I thought I’d give it a shot! <3 

My half of a trade for @just-a-nervous-bean !! FT: my oc Huxley

here’s the long awaited and inevitable post about those regency snuff boxes

(Hey I kno this is a given but don’t share to non snz/sick blogs k thanks yay)

Excuse me while I write a whole essay on this ask alone

I’m sorry there is nothing I can draw that will measure up to the vivid image the wording gave me , I stumbled over all the chairs in my house trying to keep my heart from beating so heard, this wording is SO GOOD who even says “full of cold” and “bless him” and “I won’t be staying long tonight, I don’t want to leave him on his own” ANON YOURE UNDER ARREST FOR STEALING MY WHOLE HEART GOD DAMN Like I can HEAR this being said in Az’s voice it’s so Aggressively In Characater, with like a little downcast gaze and a shrug or raise of his eyebrows. And the surprised “oh-“ look Michael does when doing all of Az’s micro-mannerisms. The half awkward smile.

Also “the husband” god that’s so fucking soft and casual I just. [dramatically sighs] Cinematic poetry.

The thought of Az being the way that he is, packing a few small desserts in a box and bumbling his way through London to get home to Cr0wley one evening I’m just absolutely shaking and sobbing there are tears all over my keyboard because I’m so in love with this ask.

And arriving in the dead of night, quietly toeing off his shoes and finding said demon huddled up in the corner of his bed, blankets half covering him like he Tried to wrap himself up but was too damn clumsy. And Az is like oh no dear let me help you and just rolls him back to the centre of the bed, brushing the piles of tissues off the bed and refilling the half empty water bottle on his bed stand. Such a disaster. Moves so ungracefully, unlike his usual snake-ish movements he just hisses and whines at everything. Az sits down and Cr0wley instantly wraps his arms around his waist, trying to get as close to his husband as he could after being apart from him all night. But he’s doing a bad job because of how tired he is.

I’m absolutely LIVING for this ask, this ask is a fucking GIFT. If someone wrote a fic based on this prompt, I’ll draw it but it won’t be as good as the wonderful medium of written word. Someone write a fic, stRAIGHT UP.

(this is gonna end up being, like, a five times thing. also, warning for, like, magical cold sharing? just, uh, mind that if it’s not your bag.)