YAY ASSBABIES
This started as a comment on Quantum_Witch’s awesome fangirl picture, and is probably evidence that I have finally cracked. This is what happens when you’re in a state of pre-finals stress, attempting to study for another Calculus midterm, and then you go home and stumble across pedophilic Care Bears porn. Move along, just a little brain purging here...
Title: Untitled cuz I sux at titles
Fandom: Technically Good Omens, though in the spirit of Suethors everywhere, I have relegated canon to oblique allusions.
Genre: Parody
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild crack. Implied MPREG. Wangst.
Pairing: Theoretically Aziraphale/Crowley
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except unfortunately, the protagonists. Though I maintain that they belong to fandom collective unconscious.
Summary: The feared and allusive Good Omens Mary Sue. MPREG Spawn Mary Sue Crackfic. Feedback is always welcome, even if you just want to tell me that I'm not nearly funny enough to pull this off :P
Ineffabella sat on the roof of the bookshop, illustrious wings unfurled. One was pure white, radiant and composed of luminescent feathers, and the other was glossy black, the same shade as her raven locks. Her midnight dark hair hung down her back in rich ebony sausage curls, and her bangs fell across her face, half covering her soulful golden orbs. It had natural streaks in it of shimmering gold that sparkled and shone in the sunlight beating down on the aged rooftop.
The swiftly rising morning sun was starting to bare down on her, and already her pale skin was faintly glistening. She loosened her black leather corset, witch slipped down a bit further, revealing another centimeter of her generous cleavage. She was thin and had curves in all the right places1, with voluptuous breasts and smooth alabaster skin. Below her corset she was wearing a black skirt and black fishnet stockings, and finally a pair of tall, elegant black boots.
She was writing a poem about death and pain and bloody roses and the darkness in her soul that threatened to consume her being unless she started doing unpleasant things to her own skin with the aid of a rusty silver dagger.2 She was an excellent poet, not that anyone noticed. Not even her parents appreciated her vast artistic talent.3
A single, solitary tear ran down her cheek, slowly, streaking her impeccable black eyeliner. Her full blood-red lips quivered slightly as she contemplated the oppressive pain of her existence.
And she did suffer, constantly. It was a difficult life, being one of the only two half-demon, half-angel immortals in existence in earth, Heaven or Hell. She was all alone, aside from her twin4 sister, Bentley, who was a prep5 and therefore didn’t count anyway. No one liked her. Neither of her fathers understood her. No one understood her. Heaven and Hell wanted her gone. Ineffabella and her sister were an accident, a source of embarrassment for everyone, and she knew it.
The fact that they had come into existence at all was apparently a bureaucratic error of some kind. The department that issued mortal bodies had screwed up royally somewhere and the whole messy affair had left there fathers up to there wingtips in paperwork, suffering innumerable headaches6, and wondering whether inherent asexuality was such a bad thing after all.
They shouldn’t have happened, she didn’t deserve to exist. It was unbearable! The ceaseless torment of her ever-tortured soul! She was immortal too, so she couldn’t even relieve the pain of her existence with the sweet calm of eternal sleep!! Even Death was beyond her grasp!!! Another single, solitary tear twisted across her cheek, this time it was livid crimson.
Don’t tell me your up hear again, said an irritated voice in her head7. Ineffabella looked up, morosely.
Bentley fluttered up from the alleyway using her own glorious feathered appendages, witch were identical to her sister’s, carrying two envelopes in her hand. She landed in front of Ineffabella, winching them back in. She had long platinum blonde hair with silver highlights, glittering like shattered glass lying in the alleyway of her soul. It flowed down ¾ the length of her back, and it was slightly wavy but not curly like her sister’s. She always had a clear complexion and a perfect tan8, and over that she wore an apple red halter top and artistically ripped jeans, which are not at all like torn jeans that have worn out naturally, though the difference9 is only evident to the specially trained eye.
“Nice trick,” she said, snapping her fingers in the direction of Ineffabella’s face. Immediately the red tear became clear salt-water. Ineffabella scowled at her.
Bentley rolled her large bright eyes, an action witch looked slightly odd with her slit-like pupils. Her eyes looked similar to those of her father and sister, but they were sky blue and only glowed gold if she was angry. Given the shape of her pupils, and her 20/20 night vision, they looked like the eyes of a Siamese cat, a creature which she occasionally turned into whenever her family started to get on her nerves.
Her expression softened. She knelt down by her sister and drew her into a one-armed embrace. Things will get better for us, Bella, don’t worry!
Bentley made no mention of the deep, dark secret from there past which hung over them like an ominous storm cloud and threatened to envelop them in eternal darkness and destroy there very souls.
Ineffabella looked up at her sister at last, her honey-gold eyes still bleary. “Hey, what’s that in your hand?” she asked.
“Oh, we got letters today! From some prestigious private school up north!!”
“We’re applying to boarding school?”
“Better. We’ve already been accepted!! Our dads talked to the headmaster, and even though we’re older then most of the students they accept as first years, it won’t matter because we’re quite advanced in all the subjects anyway. So he’ll let us skip the first few years so we can be with kids our own age.”
Ineffabella smiled for the first time in ages. “I think we should go. It might be wonderful!”
“So,” said Bentley brightly, “it looks like we’re going to Hogwarts.”
The End
(Someone willing)
1 She might have curves in a few of the wrong places as well, but it was difficult to tell under all that leather.
2 She could only write about such things, as actually doing them had proved rather futile. Being an immortal being with the ability to heal oneself has its drawbacks.
3 It probably didn’t help that one of her fathers thought that the other had invented Modernism to annoy him.
4 Nominally her twin, anyway; it wasn’t entirely clear what they were in actuality. There had been considerable trade-off during the actual pregnancy, something to do with a loophole in the dependents clause on their parents’ tax forms.
5 She would have been quite chagrined to learn that all high school cliques, even her own, were invented by one of her fathers.
6 Not to mention the morning sickness.
7 No one was quite sure why they so often chose to converse with their minds or indeed how they had developed the ability. It was rumored that one of their fathers had simply tired of their chattering, although no one was sure why the other had not intervened.
8 The Underworld, unlike most tanning salons, doesn’t tint your skin orange. Black, maybe, but certainly not orange.
9 About $48.50
Title: Untitled cuz I sux at titles
Fandom: Technically Good Omens, though in the spirit of Suethors everywhere, I have relegated canon to oblique allusions.
Genre: Parody
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild crack. Implied MPREG. Wangst.
Pairing: Theoretically Aziraphale/Crowley
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except unfortunately, the protagonists. Though I maintain that they belong to fandom collective unconscious.
Summary: The feared and allusive Good Omens Mary Sue. MPREG Spawn Mary Sue Crackfic. Feedback is always welcome, even if you just want to tell me that I'm not nearly funny enough to pull this off :P
Ineffabella sat on the roof of the bookshop, illustrious wings unfurled. One was pure white, radiant and composed of luminescent feathers, and the other was glossy black, the same shade as her raven locks. Her midnight dark hair hung down her back in rich ebony sausage curls, and her bangs fell across her face, half covering her soulful golden orbs. It had natural streaks in it of shimmering gold that sparkled and shone in the sunlight beating down on the aged rooftop.
The swiftly rising morning sun was starting to bare down on her, and already her pale skin was faintly glistening. She loosened her black leather corset, witch slipped down a bit further, revealing another centimeter of her generous cleavage. She was thin and had curves in all the right places1, with voluptuous breasts and smooth alabaster skin. Below her corset she was wearing a black skirt and black fishnet stockings, and finally a pair of tall, elegant black boots.
She was writing a poem about death and pain and bloody roses and the darkness in her soul that threatened to consume her being unless she started doing unpleasant things to her own skin with the aid of a rusty silver dagger.2 She was an excellent poet, not that anyone noticed. Not even her parents appreciated her vast artistic talent.3
A single, solitary tear ran down her cheek, slowly, streaking her impeccable black eyeliner. Her full blood-red lips quivered slightly as she contemplated the oppressive pain of her existence.
And she did suffer, constantly. It was a difficult life, being one of the only two half-demon, half-angel immortals in existence in earth, Heaven or Hell. She was all alone, aside from her twin4 sister, Bentley, who was a prep5 and therefore didn’t count anyway. No one liked her. Neither of her fathers understood her. No one understood her. Heaven and Hell wanted her gone. Ineffabella and her sister were an accident, a source of embarrassment for everyone, and she knew it.
The fact that they had come into existence at all was apparently a bureaucratic error of some kind. The department that issued mortal bodies had screwed up royally somewhere and the whole messy affair had left there fathers up to there wingtips in paperwork, suffering innumerable headaches6, and wondering whether inherent asexuality was such a bad thing after all.
They shouldn’t have happened, she didn’t deserve to exist. It was unbearable! The ceaseless torment of her ever-tortured soul! She was immortal too, so she couldn’t even relieve the pain of her existence with the sweet calm of eternal sleep!! Even Death was beyond her grasp!!! Another single, solitary tear twisted across her cheek, this time it was livid crimson.
Don’t tell me your up hear again, said an irritated voice in her head7. Ineffabella looked up, morosely.
Bentley fluttered up from the alleyway using her own glorious feathered appendages, witch were identical to her sister’s, carrying two envelopes in her hand. She landed in front of Ineffabella, winching them back in. She had long platinum blonde hair with silver highlights, glittering like shattered glass lying in the alleyway of her soul. It flowed down ¾ the length of her back, and it was slightly wavy but not curly like her sister’s. She always had a clear complexion and a perfect tan8, and over that she wore an apple red halter top and artistically ripped jeans, which are not at all like torn jeans that have worn out naturally, though the difference9 is only evident to the specially trained eye.
“Nice trick,” she said, snapping her fingers in the direction of Ineffabella’s face. Immediately the red tear became clear salt-water. Ineffabella scowled at her.
Bentley rolled her large bright eyes, an action witch looked slightly odd with her slit-like pupils. Her eyes looked similar to those of her father and sister, but they were sky blue and only glowed gold if she was angry. Given the shape of her pupils, and her 20/20 night vision, they looked like the eyes of a Siamese cat, a creature which she occasionally turned into whenever her family started to get on her nerves.
Her expression softened. She knelt down by her sister and drew her into a one-armed embrace. Things will get better for us, Bella, don’t worry!
Bentley made no mention of the deep, dark secret from there past which hung over them like an ominous storm cloud and threatened to envelop them in eternal darkness and destroy there very souls.
Ineffabella looked up at her sister at last, her honey-gold eyes still bleary. “Hey, what’s that in your hand?” she asked.
“Oh, we got letters today! From some prestigious private school up north!!”
“We’re applying to boarding school?”
“Better. We’ve already been accepted!! Our dads talked to the headmaster, and even though we’re older then most of the students they accept as first years, it won’t matter because we’re quite advanced in all the subjects anyway. So he’ll let us skip the first few years so we can be with kids our own age.”
Ineffabella smiled for the first time in ages. “I think we should go. It might be wonderful!”
“So,” said Bentley brightly, “it looks like we’re going to Hogwarts.”
The End
(Someone willing)
1 She might have curves in a few of the wrong places as well, but it was difficult to tell under all that leather.
2 She could only write about such things, as actually doing them had proved rather futile. Being an immortal being with the ability to heal oneself has its drawbacks.
3 It probably didn’t help that one of her fathers thought that the other had invented Modernism to annoy him.
4 Nominally her twin, anyway; it wasn’t entirely clear what they were in actuality. There had been considerable trade-off during the actual pregnancy, something to do with a loophole in the dependents clause on their parents’ tax forms.
5 She would have been quite chagrined to learn that all high school cliques, even her own, were invented by one of her fathers.
6 Not to mention the morning sickness.
7 No one was quite sure why they so often chose to converse with their minds or indeed how they had developed the ability. It was rumored that one of their fathers had simply tired of their chattering, although no one was sure why the other had not intervened.
8 The Underworld, unlike most tanning salons, doesn’t tint your skin orange. Black, maybe, but certainly not orange.
9 About $48.50