#fuxk you Neil Gaiman

[dcocca]

This is the first chapter I’m publishing since that dreadful article about Neil Gaiman came out on Vulture. I just wanted to make it clear that I don’t support his behaviour in any way and won’t be supporting him in the future by buying his books. Good Omens, however, is a safe haven for so many people, myself included. Writing and reading fan fiction brings me so much joy, and the community that’s grown around it over the years is wonderful. I’ll carry on making these characters my own and giving them a context of safety that reflects our ideals as a community—certainly not NG’s. I hope you’ll stick with me on this journey. 😊

More info about the chapter in the notes!

Read Chapter 12 here 👇

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61024075/chapters/159593431

An excerpt:

Once they’d parted, Aziraphale couldn’t help but think about the lingering warmth of Crowley’s hand on his waist or the peculiar way the strobe lights and their shadows had altered his features. And the way Crowley had looked at him... it was as if the entire room had vanished. It had been terrifying. And wonderful. And confusing.

Aziraphale shook his head to dispel those thoughts and headed to the bathroom with the makeup wipes Crowley had given him.

He turned on the bathroom light and approached the sink, where the mirror awaited him. His reflection stared back, his blue-grey eyes meeting his own scrutinising gaze. Aziraphale was the only person Aziraphale judged relentlessly. He examined his face, slightly flushed and with makeup smudged from sweat. He took out the wipes and began cleaning his face. Only a few hours ago, he’d felt pretty—and Crowley had even said so, albeit in passing. But had he really been?

The evening he’d just experienced was so unlike anything else he’d ever known that it almost felt like a dream. A dream filled with everything he’d always longed for: safety, tranquillity, fun, compliments, and incredibly kind, pleasant people. And then, something else. Something he couldn’t quite define. Or perhaps he could, but he was afraid of the word that came to mind.

Aziraphale finished wiping his face and stared at the now-dirty wipes, streaked with blue, black, and silver.

“Affection,” he murmured.

Tagging @goodomensafterdark 💙❤️

[la-dee-dah-dah-day]

Sometimes I am very gay and attracted to women, and that makes me question my ace-spec and aro-spec-ness, and then I remember that I can't feel romantic attraction to someone unless I know them really well and my sexual attraction is very hit or miss even when I'm not on mood-altering medications!

[shadesofecclescakes]

Is that...Jesus?

I see a little silhouetto of a man...in the opening credits of season 2.

While scanning the opening credits for more clues the other day I came across something rather curious... Enhance!

Enhance!

Ah there we go.

Wait, what? Why is there a man hiding under the counter in the theatre. And why is he the only person in the entirety of both season's worth of opening credits to not be side facing, but instead looking directly at the camera? Also, what is he holding? I need answers. Thanks to @embracing-the-ineffable for the enhancing!