#good omens best fan fiction

[leoreadss]

Ok it’s three am, I just finished working on the Go Team Love Note webpage. I’m reading a fic, as I said earlier, for the second time and can someone tell me why (WHY) after reading “but… what about the person who was round yours earlier?” my heart is on the roof dancing like a monkey on nitrous oxide???? I’ve been there, not with the high monkey, but right beside “Aziraphale froze”. I’m fucking frozen! I’m Elsa’s fucking sister over here.

I

LOVE

THIS

Now I need to read the whole thing till the end or at least till my eyes closed, I guess.

Maybe a reference maybe a miracle

[curiouspupsicle]

Good Omens Fan Fiction Friday (11/28/24) - Banter

Just like Aziraphale and Crowley, I just love banter. Luckily, there are some fabulous fan fics featuring it. Here are a few of my favorite fics with amusing banter. In You Can't Un-See a Dog (T), humans summon Crowley. When Aziraphale shows up to save the day, there's some fun bits of banter as our clever Angel makes his plan to rescue Crowley. (The writer is @holycatsandrabbits on Tumblr if you want to say hello.) Writer @ezomind-the-other-one writes some fun back-and-forth in www. wahoo.com (T). The fun bickering goes even farther in this human AU when Aziraphale wins a literal pissing contest. Aziraphale offers neighbor Crowley use of his shower while the latter's bathroom is under renovation in What Aziraphale Wants (G). Witty human AU. In Wars of Attraction (M), Aziraphale spots a handsome, red-haired stranger on the Tube. What are the chances he'll ever see him again? Post season 1, Aziraphale makes a Christmas pudding. Charming bit of fluff by the always wonderful @hotcrosspigeon. Tomorrow Brings Love in the Shape of Things (T). In Radical Honesty (G), the witty banter is between Anathema and Crowley when the demon asks the occultist for romantic advice. Attheborder's It's a New Craze (T) is virtually all banter. And it's brilliant. Aziraphale and Crowley start a podcast. And enjoy the comic based on the story by @anotherwellkeptsecret on Tumblr. Best known for their human AU's, @klikandtuna wrote this canon adjacent story in which Aziraphale tries wine and Crowley tries oysters. Of course, it's an occasion for delicious banter. In Vino Veritas (G). Banter is a clever stand-in for sex. So if Smuts-giving was a bit much for you, you'll enjoy these witty (and often subtly sexy) examples of banter. And if you appreciate banter as much as I do, please share links to your faves in the comments.

[m0th-t33th]

good god writing is so fun. i love having stupid little ideas and writing them down and watching them spiral and bloom into a whole new thing

[thinkinginscripts]

This - every bloody day.

And what's amazing is that we all contribute to it, for all of our benefit, for free. We're wonderful, really.

Can I just say that, everyday, I am in awe of the artists of this fandom. You create such exquisite artwork and write enthralling stories, and I just can’t even. You enrich my life and I am forever grateful.

[veganineden]

On the Evolution of “Happily Ever After” and Why “Nothing Lasts Forever”

A reflection inspired by Good Omens 2

One of my favorite Tumblr posts on the second season of Good Omens 2 was actually not about the series at all, but our reaction to it, primarily the ending. @zehwulf wrote, “I think a lot of us—myself included—got a little too comfortable with assuming [Aziraphale and Crowley would] work on their issues right away post-Armageddon.” We did the work for them through meta, fanfiction, fanart, and building a plethora of headcanons. Who among us AO3-surfing fans didn’t read and love Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm?

In the 4 long years since season one was released, we did more than seek to understand and repair rifts between two fictional beings: we were forced to reckon with ourselves too. We faced a global pandemic, suffered traumatizing losses and isolation, and were forced to really and truly look into the face of our atrocities-ridden and capitalistic world. The mainstream rise of Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Justice work, and our participation in this work, showed us that the systems in place were built to oppress and harm most of us, and they are. 

So, what does this have to do with the evolution of “happily ever after”? 

My friend put it best in a conversation we had following the season finale, when she pointed out a shift in media focus. The “happy end” in old stories about wars and kingdoms used to be “we killed the evil old king and put a noble young king in his place and now citizens can live in peace” and we’re transitioning into a period of “we tore down the whole fucking monarchy.” 

If we look at season one, written to follow the beats of a love story, it comforted us by offering a pretty traditional happy ending pattern: you get your fancy dinner with your special someone, the romantic music plays, and you have a place to call your own. Season one’s finale provided a temporary freedom for Aziraphale and Crowley, the “breathing room,” but it didn't solve the problem that was Heaven and Hell, or the agendas belonging to those systems of oppression. 

Is it good enough to keep our heads down, pretend the bad stuff isn’t happening, and live our own personal happy endings until we die? Moral quandaries aside, if you don't die (or if you care about the generations after you), then, like Aziraphale said, it “can’t last forever.” There’s a clear unpleasant end to the “happily ever after” that’s based on ignoring our problems– it’s the destruction of our relationships, and humanity. 

Ineffable Bureaucracy can go off into the stars because they do not care about humanity. 

You know who does?

Aziraphale. 

And Aziraphale knows that Crowley cares about humanity too. (He knows because Crowley was the one who proposed sabotaging Armageddon in the first place, who only invited him to the stars when he thought all was lost, because Crowley would save humanity if he thought it was possible, and Aziraphale knows Crowley has survived losing Everything before, and he will do all in his power so that Crowley does not need to experience that again.) 

In season one and two, we see how much they care about humanity, beyond their orders, to the point The Systems begin to frown at them. Aziraphale hears Crowley’s offer to run away together in the final episode of season two, to leave Earth behind, and just like the first time that offer was made in season one, he declines. He knows choosing only “us” is not a choice either of them can live with for the rest of eternity.

I believe season 3 will provide an opportunity to “dismantle the system,” but I don’t know how it will play out. I worry that Aziraphale has put himself in the now-dead trope of the “young noble king.” (I wish Crowley had told him why Gabriel was dismissed from his duties.) I worry that he would martyr himself as a sole agent for change. I worry that he doesn’t actually know how to dismantle anything by himself: because you can’t. He needs Crowley. He DOES. He needs Crowley, and Muriel, and other angels and demons and humans without fixed mindsets to help him. Only by learning to listen and making room at the table for all can they (and we) move past personal satisfaction to collective liberation. 

Crowley was right when he said that Aziraphale had discovered his “civic obligations.”

So, I think we will get our modern-day happy ending– and it’s going to involve a lot of pain and discomfort, communication, healing and teamwork– and in the end, it’ll all be okay. There will be a time for rest and a time for “us.” 

And most likely a cottage. 

“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

 - Maya Angelou

[indigovigilance]

The Final Fifteen is about Terry Pratchett's Death

read on Ao3

The final fifteen is obviously a major plot point, and serves a role in a story that was written long before Terry Pratchett was ever diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But the scene itself wasn’t written until just a few years ago, during the writing of Season 2. In fact, the scene came about during a park bench conversation between Neil Gaiman and John Finnemore.

Others have noted that the non-romantic kiss that signals the story moving into the third act is a Neil Gaiman staple. The function of such a kiss, from Gaiman’s perspective, is to communicate.

In 2023 we are seeing a lot of stories written by men, for men, about men who are best friends and discover that their friendship can go deeper than the norms of society would usually allow; that platonic and romantic love are not so far apart, and perhaps the better word for a relationship that can be described this way is intimacy.

Neil Gaiman has made it clear in interviews that his friendship with Terry Pratchett was deeply intimate. They began collaborating on what would become Good Omens in the 1980’s, endured a tumultuous experience together through the first publication, wherein Neil offered to martyr himself on behalf of Terry if the book failed, and then spent the better part of two decades touring the world, meeting the people who loved their work. Neil would even off-handedly remark that Terry’s fans were so cheerful, and Neil’s seemed like they were ready to kill themselves; wouldn’t it be nice if they got married? From the outside, it looks very much as if Terry was Aziraphale-coded, and Neil was Crowley-coded, working together in an unexpected partnership to make the world a little bit more tolerable for the humans inhabiting it. I am not conjecturing that Neil and Terry had romantic inclinations the way their fictional characters do, but I think it is fair to say that their opposites-attract intimacy became an important part of who each of them were.

In 2007 Terry Pratchett was diagnosed with posterior cortical atrophy, a rare form of Alzheimer’s. As the disease progressed, he began to lose himself, and knew that the person he used to be was slipping away. He wanted to end his life on his own terms, and die as himself, but England did not and still does not allow for voluntary euthanasia or assisted suicide. He advocated for the right to die but never achieved it, and ultimately succumbed to the disease in 2015. Neil Gaiman has spoken a lot on the topic of death, and one answer of his that resonated with me reads:

Mostly it feels terrible. It even feels terrible when it’s someone who has been in a lot of pain for a long time or has not really been there for a long time and you know that Death has in some ways been a blessing: suddenly you are mourning the whole person. 

It doesn’t get easier as you age. It gets stranger. The point where you realise how many people you used to know and like who aren’t there any longer, and you cannot talk to them or see them or laugh with them is painful in a way that I had never expected. The first time that someone you had a romantic relationship with dies and you realise that there had been moments both of you shared and now you are the sole custodian of those moments and one day you will be gone and they will be lost forever is peculiarly strange and hard. 

~~~

The entire show is seeded with references to Terry Pratchett, but the most important one is the one that’s missing. Neil Gaiman cameoed as a sleeping moviegoer in S1E4, but a long time ago, he and Terry had discussed cameoing as sushi restaurant-goers, because sushi was weirdly prominent in the book. That cameo would have been in S1E1. But when it came time to do it, Neil couldn’t. Not without Terry. 

Neil: I was gonna say our location is a Chinese restaurant we’d had turned into a sushi restaurant. So Terry and I, Terry Pratchett and I, had a standing… not even a standing joke, just a standing plan, that we were going to have sushi - there was going to be a scene in Good Omens where sushi was eaten and we were gonna be extras, we were gonna sit in the background, eating sushi while it was done. And I was so looking forward to this and, so I wrote this scene with it being sushi, even though Terry was gone, with that in mind and I thought: Oh, I’ll sit and I’ll eat lots of sushi as an extra, this will be my scene as an extra, I’ll just be in the background. And then, on the day, or a couple of days before, I realized that I couldn’t do it.

Douglas: You never told me this before either. I might have pushed you into doing it, had I known. I think you were right not to tell me.

Neil: I was keeping it to me self ‘cause I was always like: Oh, maybe I’ll be… this will be my cameo. And then I couldn’t. I was just so sad, ‘cause Terry wasn’t there. And it was probably the day that I missed Terry the most of all of the filming - it was just this one scene ‘cause it was written for Terry and all of the sushi meals we’d ever had and all of the strange way that sushi ran through Good Omens.

~~~

In the Final Fifteen, it is clear that Crowley and Aziraphale want to stay together. They love each other. They each know that the other loves them. There’s nothing that needs to be said, no convincing that their bond is true and real and precious.

But Aziraphale has to go to Heaven, and Crowley cannot follow him there.

I cannot speculate what it must have been like for Neil to endure losing a friend who, though I’m sure he desperately wanted to still be in his life, he also knew that life had become a burden to him, and grieved that Terry was not able to choose the time and manner of his departure from this Earth. This sort of complex grief, we fan-ficcers know, is the kind that is often best processed through story-telling. 

I think that what we see Crowley going through in the Final Fifteen, alongside its importance to the story arc of Good Omens overall, is Neil processing his grief at losing his friend Terry Pratchett, and even the kiss, that violent, terrible, awful kiss, was the symbolic representation of Neil saying goodbye.

[hertenskylarks]

More 2 Cents on S3

So, I know there’s already a lot of talk going around. Here’s my 2 cents. 

In light of the recent news, I keep hearing a lot of “Oh, I hope the third season doesn’t get canceled,” and “Oh, I hope it does. Fuck Gaiman,” and “Oh, what about Terry’s vision? What about the fans? What about closure?”

I have absolutely zero control as to whether or not season 3 is made. Many arguments for and against it have already been made. I don't want to beat a dead horse, but I will offer this perspective from my own personal experience. 

I’m a swing dancer, and my rapist was my teacher and one of the first people who ever taught me how to dance. One of the things that made me hesitant to come forward was that he was one of the most likable characters in my scene. He was the funny, goofy guy who wore funky printed shirts, he was sooo nice, he couldn’t possibly be a rapist, right? Right?

Seeing people praise him, hearing people talk about how great he is when I knew what he did to me… It drove me absolutely mad. I just wanted to shake people and say, “No, you don’t understand! You don’t understand who he is!” But I felt like I just couldn't. I felt his reputation was too iron-clad to say anything.

Coming forward was one of the scariest things I ever did because I was so sure people either wouldn't believe me or wouldn't care. And, as predicted, that was the case for some. You can only imagine how I felt when someone I used to call my friend went on to have him officiate her wedding. You can only imagine how I felt when the response from the organizers of the dance scene was to ask me to avoid mentioning Y-Town Swing in social media posts (Oops) to protect their reputation. You can only imagine how I felt when they continued to have him as a teacher, or when they updated their safe space policy to say they are not responsible for anything that happens “outside a Y-Town swing event.” 

Oh, so if he raped me in the bathroom at the event instead it would have made a difference? Right, sorry, didn't realize the location or a rape mattered that much.

Anyway…

This was all in the confines of a small dance scene, in a small city, in a very niche hobby. Now, imagine how it must feel when your rapist and abuser is a fucking best selling author, praised as this ally to women and LGBT people, he’s the quirky guy who has a Tumblr and actually responds to his fans and he’s so cool, he’s one of us, he can’t possibly be a rapist, right? Right?

I can only imagine how fucking mad it drove his victims to know who he really is and see him put on such a high pedestal. 

So, however this all unfolds, I will say this. The people I care about most are the victims. I say this as someone who loved and still loves Good Omens, I say this as someone who was torn up about the final 15, as someone who rejoiced when S3 was originally announced, before all the allegations came to light. I care about the victims. 

But what about the fans? Listen, it’s a fucking TV show. Do you really mean to tell me the ending of a fictional fucking story is more important than the very real people he’s hurt? Not having an ending to your favorite show does not hold a candle to the trauma of being sexually assaulted. There’s no comparison. Not in the same ballpark. Not even in the same galaxy. 

But what about Terry?

Terry is dead and in his grave. I am sorry to say this, but whether his vision comes to life or not, he will never be the wiser. It makes no difference to him. If I could wave my magic wand and have Terry alive and well and Gaiman dead and in his grave, believe me, I definitely would, but that is not the hand we were dealt. 

So please, all I ask is this. Before you go spouting shit like, “I hope we don’t lose S3,” or “I just need to know how it ends,” put yourself in their shoes for just a second.

Imagine you are Claire, or Scarlett, or any of his other victims. Imagine you are sexually assaulted by someone whom the world just puts on a pedestal. You have to sit there and listen to him get praised as being “such a great ally to women and minorities” and “he’s one of us,” and “he’s so brilliant. He’s so cool. He really listens to his fans. Look at this quote of his I got tattooed on my body.” And for years you just sit there and take it, because you’re so fucking afraid that no one will believe you if you come forward, you’re told your story “isn’t enough,” you watch him get richer and richer while you’re stuck with the therapy bill for everyting this “great ally of women” did to you. 

Now imagine that you finally come forward. You finally muster up the will to speak your truth, and tell people what he did to you, and you find that you’re not the only person he’s hurt. The world is finally hearing your story and learning what a manipulative monster he is. 

And now, I want you to think very carefully about what it means if we still get S3. 

S3 means press tours. It means more reviews praising him as a genius. It means certain people being contractually obligated to say nice things about him, or at the very least, not say negative things about him. It means, once again, seeing his fucking horse face or his name everywhere, on Amazon, on billboards, on busses, on posters, in adverts. Only now, it's AFTER the world heard your side of the story.

Just imagine how that would feel. 

So, if it wasn't obvious by now, my stance on S3 is… I don't really want it to happen. Not out of spite or some deep seated hatred for Gaiman (although, ya know, fuck that guy) but out of consideration for the people he's hurt, as someone who knows exactly how it feels to see the person who hurt you get put on a pedestal. 

I understand that production is paused and people think he may be getting removed from the project. I'm not going to comment on that because "paused” can mean a lot of things and there's so much we don't know yet.

There will be other shows. 

There will be shows that DO have satisfying endings. 

Media and shows can be replaced. 

But there is no such thing as being un-raped. 

[effortlesslytired]

I have no other explanation other than I can't stop thinking about them and am mentally unwell. This was supposed to be quick and short, if you count 3k+ words to be quick and short then sure... Summary is the original prompt, couldn't find something that fit so I wrote it myself. Did this all in one 12 hour night shift and just did one look over for editing, so if there are mistakes uhhh keep that to yourselves, enjoy!!

Crowley's Fall and Aziraphale's Awakening

Aziraphale stood in the middle of the room, the projection playing loudly and clear and his heart shattering at the truth he’s finally witnessing.

Crowley has never talked about his Fall, his descent from Heaven to Hell and being forced to become a Demon, but Aziraphale always had the feeling that what he’s heard through rumors wasn’t the truth. 

He remembers the days of Crowley with striking brown eyes, radiating warmth and glimmering gold when a ray of sun would hit them just right. His passion for building the creation of stars and nebulae, the utter joy on his face was enough to distract Aziraphale while he worked. The amount of times the Angel would be with him as Crowley worked, and the feeling of admiration that coursed through him seeing his friend so happy. 

Aziraphale watches as Crowley is stripped from his job, forced to undergo a permanent transformation and the agony as his brown eyes morph into what he knows them to be to this day. The yellow pulsing from his pupils, covering the brown and bleeding into the white while he scratches at the skin when the pupil begins to mold into the snake-like slits. His screams are echoing against the porcelain white walls of the room, stars shining above and Aziraphale weeps as Crowley begs Gabriel for him to see the stars – his stars one last time. 

Gabriel laughs at the Angel, forcing the stars to shine brighter and mocking the Angel stripped from his position while all Crowley can do is cry out. 

“I can't see them.”

The Archangel’s chest squeezes in sorrow, his friend, his love, on his knees in a desperate last attempt to not have his pride and joy taken from him. Even if he got to see them one last time, it’s all he wants. 

“You questioned the will of God, you’re defiant and untrustworthy to the cause of us Angels. Enjoy your time in Hell.”

Gabriel’s voice is booming, a wave of his hand and Crowley is flat on the floor, his wings pinned to the ground as the white feathers are ripped from his body and new growth replacing them with the stark black. 

The screams are excruciating, forcing Aziraphale to look away as the audio continues to play on. The vulnerability of the Demon hidden and a reason Aziraphale never knew, never understood why Crowley was how he is. 

“I didn’t question God, I just wanted to create.”

Gabriel’s laugh is bitter at the sounds of Crowley’s pleas. Mocking the Angel with black wings and yellow eyes. 

“You just asked the wrong ones.”

The Archangel snapped his fingers and others poured into the room, yanking the now Demon on the floor to his feet and not paying any mind to the bloody mess pooled around him from his wings. Crowley screams in pain, but no one seems to care as they drag him to the elevator doors, barely on his feet and stumbling trying to get his footing. The Angel’s holding him up throw him into the open doors, looks of disapproval and disappointment not hidden at all as their eyes settle on him. 

“Maybe Satan would rather listen to your pathetic ideas because they have no place for you here.”

Crowley’s crumbled body fights to stand up, to try and get himself back out from the elevator but the doors are already closing and the projection abruptly cuts out. 

Aziraphale stands in the silent room, staring at the wall now bare and his mouth wide open. His Heaven would never do such a thing, never cast someone out for ideas and questions for making beautiful things. He wants to believe there was another reason, another bad thing Crowley committed to cause him to Fall. There has to be another reason. 

But the projection doesn’t lie, and wouldn't lie when the proof is right there. 

Aziraphale turns in his spot, storming out of the room and finding the Metatron at his desk. His face lights up as he sees Aziraphale approaching, however, his expression quickly falters at the look on the new Archangel and the anger radiating from him. 

“He Fell because he wanted the world to see the stars? He Fell because he had questions to make the Universe radiate with light and beauty?” His voice is panicked, the gentleness he meant to convey gone as the desperation for answers over powers. 

“Ah, you saw the Fall.” It’s not a question and it only makes Aziraphale more upset. 

“You Angels stripped him from his holiness and cast him out for something so trivial.” Aziraphale stops at the other side of the desk. “How can I help run Heaven when all we do is punish those who want to make our domain more?”

The Metatron sighs, sitting back in his chair and looking up at Aziraphale. “He was deviating from our plan, he did it to himself.”

The audacity of the Metatron has Aziraphale reeling, taking a step back and looking appalled at the Angel. 

“I can’t be who you want me to be knowing you did this to my friend.” He bites, shaking his head and looking towards the windows lining the walls. Bright and sunny, clouds beyond, a gorgeous place, a place Aziraphale thought he could trust. 

“Do you realize what you’re saying Aziraphale? If you think that you can just step down and go back to what you were before, you’re wrong.” The Metetrom stands to his feet, rounding the desk and looking at the Archangel with the same disgust in his eyes that those other Angels did to Crowley. 

“I do.”

“This was what we were afraid of, your so-called friend has corrupted you. We were all afraid he was more than that.”

Aziraphale scoffs. “So what if he is, when I call he comes. When I need him he’s there, even if he helps and does something nice despite his demonic blood. He’s still the same person he was before when he was an Angel.”

“Do you realize what you are saying Aziraphale? If you don’t see why we did what we did, those who don’t believe in God's plan will be stripped from their titles. You’ll become a Fallen.”

“I don’t care.” Aziraphale stands on his ground, a slight feeling of fear drops in his stomach but he holds on strong. 

“Very well.” The Metatron waves his hand and Aziraphale can feel the angelic energy stripping from his very skin, a layer peeling off like dead skin and nothing like what he saw from Crowley’s Fall. 

“Why is this different? What you all did to Crowley was horrifying.”

“Would you rather I did the same to you?”. The Metatron’s eyes narrow in on Aziraphale and the Angel quickly shakes his head. 

“Do you wish to grab things from your desk?” 

He thinks back to his office, a few belongings on his desk with little importance. “I don’t need to, everything I have and want is on Earth.” 

“Fine, once you step through the elevator doors you won’t be allowed back.” The Metatron gestures for him to leave, turning back to his desk and sitting down in the chair. He doesn’t even look at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale only nods and turns on his heels, walking fast as if he could find a part of himself changing his mind on the way to the elevator doors. He breaks into a run, wanting to get away from the truth that was revealed as fast as possible, a bead of sweat pearling on his forehead, a breath of relief escaping him as he turns in the elevator and presses the button down.

It feels like an eternity as the elevator makes its way towards Earth, and Aziraphale sends out his power, scanning for Crowley. He’s shocked to find his presence still at the bookstore. 

After he left to take on the role as an Archangel, Aziraphale assumed his Demon companion would have fled to his home, roam the Earth and cause havoc without even thinking of Aziraphale again. The presence at the bookstore is a hopeful wish, a breath of relief and his heart squeezed tightly. 

London is the same as it was when Aziraphale left, gloomy and rainy, the streets bustling with life even with the chill morning air settling a heavy fog on the streets below. The coffee shop is open and flooded with customers, Aziraphale can make out the faint silhouette of Nina behind the counter. 

His gaze turns to the bookstore on the corner, an open sign hanging on the door but quiet. From his view he can still make out the stacks of books lining the shelves and walls and he’s grateful that nothing has seemed to be sold. 

There’s a moment of slight panic in the Angel now Fallen, a moment of resentment at what he’s become and what he just did. He doesn’t feel any different than when he was an Angel, and he can still feel the crackle of holy — unholy power pulsing through his veins. It doesn’t seem to be all that bad in his opinion, this newfound power he possesses. It’s a thought he pushes to the back of his mind, the sort of regret he knows he’ll feel eventually for abandoning his position and his faith for a sliver of hope that may not even be reciprocated. He convinces himself he did the right thing, at least for now, and that Crowley being at the bookstore still is the only kind of motivation he needs. 

Aziraphale opens the door to the store, the familiar chime of the bell rings from above and the smell of old paper floods his nose, and it’s Muriel he sees first. The Angel beams at him, admiration still in their eyes. 

“Aziraphale, welcome back!” They’re ecstatic, barreling towards the man at the door. “I haven’t sold anything just like Crowley told me!”

Aziraphale scans the interior of the store and his eyes fall to the Angel in front of him. “I’m glad to hear it, say where is he?”

Muriel’s smile only grows more, the praise from Aziraphale coursing through them. “Oh he’s around here somewhere, I was just talking to him a moment ago.”

Aziraphale nods and looks back towards the store and takes a few more steps in, his movements coming to a complete halt when Crowley’s lanky body trapezes down the spiral staircase and freezes as their eyes connect. 

“Muriel, would you give us a moment? Maybe go across the street and enjoy a nice cup of coffee.” Aziraphale says, never once looking at the new owner of his bookstore. 

“Oh, Crowley has told me about Nina and her coffee, can’t say I’ve ever—”

“Muriel, please.” Aziraphale cuts in, finally breaking eye contact with the Demon and looking down to the Angel. 

Muriel salutes him. “Yes, of course.”

Aziraphale doesn’t watch as Muriel leaves, only knowing they’re gone once the bell chimes above the door again. There’s a sickly silence that settles in the store, neither one of them daring to speak or move as they size each other up. It’s Aziraphale who breaks first. 

“Why did you never tell me?”

Crowley raises an eyebrow, his eyes hidden behind the glasses but Aziraphale knows they’re burning a hole in his face. “Tell you what Angel?”

Aziraphale winces, looking down at the floor and back up again. “About that…”

“What did you do?” Crowley is in front of him then, Aziraphale feeling bare and naked as Crowley examines the once before Archangel. He knows Crowley can read him like a book, knows that even without needing to speak a single word Crowley can predict his thoughts, his movements, lays him out on the table and strips him of his secrets. 

“Aziraphale… what happened?”

“Your Fall, the pain and torment they forced you to endure.” Aziraphale wanted to be strong for this, supportive and caring, but the second he saw Crowley it all came crashing down. 

“You stupid Angel, why did you go looking for it?” Crowley saunters across the shop, sitting himself down in the chair he always seemed to occupy when it was just the two of them. 

“I’m not the Archangel anymore, Crowley. I don’t… I don’t know what I am anymore.”

Crowley looks at him, really looks at him this time and he pulls the glasses from his face. “You Fell.”

Aziraphale only stands in the middle of the room having taken a tentative step forwards. He knows he doesn’t have to say anything to confirm it, knows Crowley knows. He reeks of sin now, the glow of his angelic presence gone. 

“You stupid idiot, what did you do?” Crowley pleads again. 

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, ready to face it. “I saw how you Fell, why you Fell. You wanted to create, to give the humans the gift of the stars and make the universe beautiful. You had dreams, and yet you were cast aside and forced to never see them again. What do you think happened, Crowley?” He challenges, a spurt of annoyance oozing from his skin. 

He continues. “I saw Gabriel, the way he stood there and smiled while you bled out and the other Angels who dragged you to your descent. You were forced through torture and torment in Hell all because you asked questions about God’s plans.” He takes a deep breath, not realizing he had taken a few more steps towards the Demon. 

“I watched it all and confronted the Metatron and he told me if I had sympathy for you, he questioned our relationship and told me if I couldn’t forgive the Angels and God for what they did that I no longer belonged in Heaven.”

Crowley sighed, sitting forward in the chair and ran his hands down his face. Aziraphale couldn’t read what the expression was, a look of surprise, relief? Resentment?

“So what, you’re a Demon now and you expect me to just stand here with open arms, excited about the fact that you are here to do what? Run off into the sunset and go live somewhere else because the last time we saw each other you decided to go with Heaven over me.” His words are meant to be biting, Aziraphale can tell, though the words lack that anger. 

Aziraphale winces, he knows Crowley is telling the truth, and he honestly doesn’t know what he wants, but right now he just wants to see his friend, the one person he knew he could always count on. 

A million stars in the sky created by Crowley, a Demon forced to see nothing of them and Aziraphale doesn’t know what he wants. Doesn’t know how he can ever deserve the sort of forgiveness he thinks he’s asking for from him. The sight of Crowley laying in blood, begging for Gabriel to change his mind and let him stay, but cast aside anyways flashes across his mind. 

Aziraphale readjusts his posture, his shoulders back and he looks down at Crowley. “I made a mistake.”

“Understatement of the century.” Crowley rolls his eyes, sighing as he leans into the chair. 

“I’ll do the dance, you were right.” He suggests, his hands on his hips and ready. 

Crowley waves a hand at the not-Angel, resting his head on a hand. “I don’t need you to do the dance Angel, you took your path and left me here.”

“Crowley please, I need you. I saw what you saw, I see now what you wanted, what we could have.” Aziraphale throws caution to the wind, bordering on the sounds of begging to his friend. 

Crowley stands to his feet then, towering over Aziraphale and forcing him to cower a little at the intimidating aura the Demon eludes. “Oh please, you think I’ve been pining after you since you left? That I stayed here in this godforsaken bookstore because of you?”

Aziraphale’s eyes snap to Crowley, his eyebrows knitting together at the last statement. “Why did you stay?”

“I—” Crowley steps back, his mouth snapping shut with a lack of response. 

“For a Demon you don’t act with evilness Crowley, you stayed because you’re nice, because you know how much these books mean to me.” He waves his arms around him, gesturing to the packed spaces filled with books – his books. 

“Angel we’ve been over this, I am not nice—” Crowley attempts to take another step back as Aziraphale walks towards him, but is stopped at the feeling of the chair hitting his calves.

Aziraphale stands in front of him, looking up with sorrow and longing and Crowley’s eyes filling with vulnerability. 

“Maybe not, but you’re in love…” Aziraphale is standing in front of his Demon, his hands reaching up and cradling the face of the man he didn’t realize until now, but he’s “and I’m in love too.”

There’s tears in Aziraphale’s eyes, a look of desperation as the pair of them stand so close Aziraphale can feel the warmth of Crowley’s breath across his lips. They stand there and stare and the once before Angel can see the stars in the yellow of the Demon’s eyes. The universe is thriving within them, the sun shining bright and radiating light, and there’s a slight flicker of hope, of a lifetime dying to be released. 

“That’s a bold claim, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale chuckles, his chest tight and his cheeks warm. “It’s a bold claim for someone who knows they’re right.”

“You didn’t want to be us before…” The Demon fights with a lack of malice behind his words. 

“And yet I realized what a stupid mistake that was because us is all there ever was, all that I ever needed, all we have ever needed.”

Crowley’s breath hitches and for a moment Aziraphale watches the bob of his throat and thinks “fuck it”. His other hand is up on Crowley’s cheek, cradling the sunken face of the Demon and pulling him towards him. 

Their lips meet with hesitancy, different from the desperate kiss Crowley gave him months ago. This one full of love and confusion and fear at what’s next. Azirpahale’s hands are moving back on Crowley’s face, tangling in the hair that’s grown ever so slightly and holding onto the man. He can feel Crowley’s own hands wrap around his body, pulling them flush together and the heat is scorching. 

They kiss with a passion of 6000 wasted years, of stolen glances, time lost and spent together. It’s a kiss that is long overdue and a contract signed for what’s to come. They have centuries to figure out where they will go, what more than can explore and how to navigate Aziraphale’s new life, but this single moment with both of them wrapped in one another and neither one wanting to let go. 

Crowley pulls away first but doesn’t move away. “Do you hear that Angel?” 

Aziraphale looks around, straining his ears and listening. The faint sound of chirps and melodic singing floods his ears. 

There’s a beaming smile on the Demon’s face when Aziraphale looks back at him. “It’s the sound of Nightingales.” And Crowley pulls him back in for another kiss.

If anyone has a fic where Aziraphale finds out how/why Crowley fell and it’s soul crushing with a happy ending, I will give you my first born child

[enemiestolovershoe]

nick folio smut pleaseee

Drummer's Desire

Nick Folio x bsf!reader

Summary: Y/N, the merch girl, and Nick Folio have always been close. On tour, their bond deepens as playful flirting turns into something more.

Words: 5.6k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, orgasm, nicknames, friends to lovers, smoking, let me know if I forgot something

Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.

You didn’t plan on becoming a merch girl, let alone sticking around long enough to be considered a staple of the Bad Omens crew. It all started when you took the job as a favor for a friend. Their usual merch handler had bailed last minute, and they needed someone to cover for one show. You’d been a fan of the band but never expected to end up on tour with them.

One show turned into two, and before you knew it, you were stuffing your life into a suitcase and hopping on a bus with a group of guys who quickly became your second family. Over the years, you’d bonded with each member of the band, laughing at Noah’s sarcastic quips, staying up late playing video games with Jolly, and helping clean up after some of Ruffilo's wilder post-show antics.

But Folio? Folio was different.

From the moment you met him, the two of you clicked. Whether it was your shared sense of humor, the one or the other joint, his easygoing attitude, or how he always managed to lighten the mood, Folio became your best friend on the road. 

Matt, the band’s manager, never let you live it down, constantly teasing the two of you about how inseparable you were. You both brushed it off—because that’s what friends do.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The sun was already baking the asphalt as you hauled the first of many boxes of merch from the van to the venue’s back entrance. You could feel the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, but the thought of another tour had your adrenaline pumping. The familiar smell of stale beer and faintly disinfected hallways greeted you as you stepped inside.

"Just another day living the dream," you muttered to yourself, setting the box down with a grunt.

“Need help, princess?”

The voice, smooth and teasing, sent a shiver down your spine despite the heat. You turned to find Nick Folio leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature smirk firmly in place. He wore his usual tour uniform—black jeans and a black shirt—and looked irritatingly unfazed by the work ahead.

“Princess?” you asked, arching an eyebrow, though you couldn’t fight the grin tugging at your lips.

“What? You don’t like it?” Folio pushed off the frame and strolled toward you. “Thought it suited you. All regal, in charge of your little merch kingdom.”

You rolled your eyes. “More like I’m the pack mule of your kingdom. But if you’re offering, your royal highness, I could use the help.”

“Thought you’d never ask.” He winked, stepping past you to grab a box. His cologne mixed with the stale air of the venue, and you pretended not to notice how good it smelled.

The two of you worked in tandem, grabbing boxes from the van and stacking them neatly inside the venue. Folio kept up a steady stream of commentary, half of it teasing, the other half genuinely amusing.

“So, what’s the over-under on Matt cracking a joke about us by the end of the day?” he asked, his voice light as he hefted another box onto his shoulder.

You groaned. “Oh, you know he’s already planning something. He’s probably got a list of new nicknames he’s ready to test out.”

“Hmm.” Folio grinned. “Let’s see... power couple? Dynamic duo? The will-they-won’t-they wonders of the merch table?”

You threw a crumpled piece of cardboard at him. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m carrying this box, aren’t I?” He raised an eyebrow as he set it down inside. “Besides, you secretly love the attention.”

“Do not!” you shot back, though your flushed cheeks probably betrayed you.

A loud voice boomed from across the venue. “Hey, lovebirds! Quit flirting and get a move on!”

Matt stood by the stage, clipboard in hand, grinning like he’d just caught you red-handed. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the embarrassed laugh that bubbled out.

“Flirting?” Folio called back. “We’re way past flirting, man. We’re at the full rom-com montage stage.”

You smacked his arm, but he only laughed.

Once the last box was inside, you plopped down on a nearby stool, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. Folio sat on the edge of the table, spinning a drumstick between his fingers like he always did when he was killing time.

“You know,” he said, his tone softer now, “it’s kinda nice, starting the tour like this. Feels... normal.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Yeah,” you admitted. “It’s always a little chaotic, but once we’re on the road, it’s home.”

“Exactly.” He nodded, his eyes meeting yours for a moment that felt longer than it should have.

Before you could overthink it, a voice called from the stage.

“Folio! Soundcheck!”

He sighed dramatically, hopping off the table. “Duty calls. Don’t miss me too much, princess.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile lingered long after he walked away.

You leaned against the counter, scanning the thinning crowd. The fans had been relentless for the past hour, snatching up shirts, hoodies, and posters like their lives depended on it. You loved their energy—it was infectious—but you were grateful for the lull. Charles, your ever-reliable co-worker, waved you off with a grin.

“Take a break, would ya? I’ve got this,” he said, gesturing to the mostly empty merch table.

“You sure?” you asked, already halfway out of your seat.

“Positive. Go do whatever it is you do when you’re not folding shirts.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. A break meant one thing—watching your favorite boys perform.

Weaving your way backstage, the familiar hum of the arena filled your ears. The opening act had wrapped up, and the crowd was buzzing with anticipation. You slipped past crew members and equipment until you found your spot at the side of the stage.

The lights dimmed, and the roar of the crowd was deafening. One by one, the band members took their places. Noah’s voice echoed through the arena as the band launched into “Concrete Jungle.” You couldn’t help but grin, the energy of the performance pulling you in.

It wasn’t long before Folio spotted you. He was mid-drumbeat when his eyes found yours, and even in the dim lighting, you could see the smirk spreading across his face. A few songs later, Jolly, Nicholas, and Noah caught sight of you. Each of them gave you a smile or a nod, their way of saying “Glad you’re here.”

As “Like a Villain” came to an end, Folio set his sticks down, stood up, and made his way toward you. You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms as he approached.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with a big smirk, his voice loud enough to carry over the residual cheers from the crowd.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you teased, smirking. “You’re supposed to be on stage.”

Folio held up a joint, the corner of his mouth curling into a mischievous grin. “Just went to get this. Wanna join?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “After the show, bad guy. I still have to sell your clothes when the show’s over.”

“Fair enough,” he said, chuckling.

“Now go back on stage before Matt gets mad at us again.”

“Fine, fine.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. “But don’t go anywhere. I want to see you after the set.”

“Go!” you urged, lightly pushing him back toward the stage.

He winked before turning back to his kit, and you shook your head, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.

As Folio settled in and the band kicked off “Just Pretend,” you stayed in your corner, watching as they owned the stage. This wasn’t just a band to you—it was family. And moments like these reminded you why you loved being part of this chaotic, beautiful circus.

As the final chords of "Dethrone" rang out and the crowd’s cheers shook the arena, you knew it was your cue to head back to the merch stand. You waved at Folio as you turned to leave, catching the quick nod and grin he sent your way before he launched into the final encore.

By the time you reached the merch table, fans were already gathering, ready to grab their last-minute souvenirs. For the next hour and a half, it was non-stop chaos. Hoodies, shirts, posters, and CDs flew off the table as you and Charles scrambled to keep up. Your legs ached, and your throat was dry from shouting over the noise, but the fans’ excitement was contagious, keeping you going.

Finally, as the crowd thinned out and the arena began to empty, you leaned against the counter, letting out a sigh of relief.

“I’m officially dead,” you muttered to Charles, who nodded in agreement.

“Good thing we’re done,” he said, motioning toward the approaching group.

You looked up to see the band and Matt making their way toward you, still buzzing from the performance. Noah was the first to speak.

“Let us help so we can go back to the hotel,” he said, his voice firm but friendly.

You and Charles exchanged a look and nodded instantly. With the band’s help, the merch boxes were packed up and loaded into the vans in record time. Nicholas and Jolly cracked jokes the entire time, while Matt barked playful orders, pretending to be the bossier version of himself.

As you finished securing the last box, Folio sidled up to you, bumping your shoulder lightly. “You good, princess?” he asked, his voice softer than the usual teasing tone.

“Exhausted,” you admitted, stretching your arms.

“You worked hard tonight,” he said, his hand brushing yours briefly as he handed you your water bottle.

You gave him a small smile. “Thanks. You weren’t too bad up there yourself, rockstar.”

He smirked, leaning a little closer. “Just trying to impress the merch girl.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed.

The ride back to the hotel was filled with laughter and a collective sense of relief. Noah and Jolly argued about the setlist for the next show while Nicholas played a playlist of ‘90s throwbacks' that had everyone groaning and singing along in equal measure. Folio, however, stayed close to you, his shoulder brushing yours more often than usual as he made small comments that only you could hear.

You chalked up his extra touchiness to the joint he’d smoked earlier.

When the vans pulled up to the hotel, you gathered your things and headed toward the lobby, ready to collapse into your bed. But just as you reached the doors, you felt Folio’s hand wrap around yours, tugging you to the side.

“Where are you—” you began, but he cut you off with a smirk as he held up the remaining joint.

“Forgot already, huh?”

Your eyes widened, and you let out a laugh. “No—yeah, I’m sorry. I guess I got a little distracted.”

“Lucky for you, I’m a patient guy,” he said, his grin turning playful as he motioned for you to follow him.

The two of you found a quiet corner behind the hotel, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heat and chaos of the evening. Folio lit the joint, taking a slow drag before passing it to you.

“Better now?” he asked, watching you as you exhaled.

“Much better,” you said with a chuckle, leaning against the wall beside him.

The shared silence was comfortable, punctuated by the distant hum of city noise and the occasional flicker of streetlights. You couldn’t help but glance at him, the soft glow of the joint casting shadows on his face, making his smirk look even more mischievous.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking at you.

“Am not,” you retorted, taking another drag to hide your embarrassment.

“Sure, princess,” he teased, his voice low. “Whatever you say.”

The cool night air was laced with the faint aroma of the joint, and by now, you could feel the haze settling over you. It made everything softer—your laughter, the buzz of distant cars, and especially Folio’s voice as he leaned against the wall next to you, his shoulder almost touching yours.

“You’re quiet,” he teased, exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the night. His eyes flicked to yours, glinting with mischief. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Pretty head?” you repeated, laughing softly. “Bold words coming from someone who calls me ‘princess’ every five minutes.”

“It suits you,” he said with a shrug, passing the joint back to you. His fingers brushed yours intentionally, lingering just long enough to make your heart skip. “I mean, you’ve got that whole ‘effortlessly cool’ thing going on. Own it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the compliment had you smiling. “Effortlessly cool? Says the guy who’s literally a rockstar.”

He tilted his head, smirking. “Okay, but you make folding t-shirts look like an art form. I’d trade the drum kit for that any day.”

“You’re full of it,” you said, taking a drag before handing the joint back.

“Maybe,” he admitted, leaning a little closer. “Or maybe I’m just saying what I’ve been thinking for a while now.”

The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world worth paying attention to—sent a shiver down your spine. You blamed it on the weed, the atmosphere, anything but the way your chest fluttered under his gaze.

“You’ve been thinking about me?” you asked, your voice light but laced with curiosity.

“More than you’d believe,” he said, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “It’s hard not to when you’re always around, being all... you.”

“All me?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You know exactly what I mean. You’re smart, funny, and you keep all of us from falling apart on tour. Not to mention you’re... well, beautiful.”

The word hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“Are you sure you’re not just high?” you joked, though your voice was quieter now.

“High enough to say it,” he replied, his tone dropping slightly, “but not high enough to mean it any less.”

The boldness of his words caught you off guard, and before you could respond, he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered against your cheek, and your breath hitched.

“Folio...” you began, but your voice trailed off when his eyes flicked to your lips.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, leaning in closer. “And I will.”

You didn’t.

His lips met yours softly at first, like he was testing the waters. Your eyes fluttered shut, and for a split second, the world around you disappeared. When the initial shock wore off, you kissed him back, your fingers gripping the front of his hoodie as the kiss deepened.

It wasn’t gentle anymore. It was heated, almost desperate, and you didn’t realize how much you’d wanted this until it was happening. Folio’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, his forehead rested against yours.

“Wanna continue in my room?” he asked, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill through you.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you looked into his eyes.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Folio’s smirk widened into a grin that made your knees feel weak. “Let’s go then,” he said, taking your hand in his. His touch was warm and steady, grounding you despite the butterflies swarming in your chest.

The two of you walked back into the hotel lobby, the quiet hum of the night contrasting sharply with the storm of emotions building between you. You avoided the curious glances from a few straggling crew members, focusing instead on the warmth of Folio’s hand as it wrapped securely around yours.

When you stepped into the elevator, the tension in the small space was palpable. The doors had barely closed before Folio turned toward you, his free hand sliding to your waist as he pushed you gently against the wall.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” you teased breathlessly, though your heart was racing.

“Not even a little,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. His lips crashed into yours, and this time there was no hesitation. His kiss was demanding, full of need, and you melted into him, gripping the front of his shirt to steady yourself.

His hands explored your sides, fingers pressing into your skin as if he was afraid to let go. Every thought slipped from your mind, replaced by the feeling of him—his lips, his hands, the way his body pressed into yours.

The ding of the elevator snapped you both back to reality. You pulled away just enough to catch your breath, your cheeks flushed as you glanced at the now-open doors.

“Saved by the bell,” you said, trying to steady your voice.

Folio chuckled, his forehead resting against yours for a brief moment. “Not for long.”

Taking your hand again, he led you down the hallway, his pace quick and purposeful. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his urgency, but there was no denying the anticipation bubbling in your chest.

When you reached his room, Folio fumbled with the key card for a second before pushing the door open. Before you could take in your surroundings, your back was against the wall again, his lips finding yours like he couldn’t bear to stop.

He pulled away just enough to search your eyes, his breath mingling with yours. “You sure, princess?” he asked, his voice softer now, laced with something almost vulnerable.

You nodded, your hand brushing his cheek. “100%.”

That was all he needed to hear.

With a grin, he slipped his hands around your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bed. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your laughter mingling with his as the tension between you both gave way to something deeper, more intimate.

The two of you were completely lost in each other. Time seemed to blur as you made out, lips moving together in perfect rhythm. His hands roamed your body with a mix of confidence and care, tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your back, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

Folio’s kisses weren’t just passionate—they were consuming. Every time he pulled back to catch his breath, his lips found a new spot: the corner of your mouth, your jawline, the sensitive spot just beneath your ear that sent shivers down your spine.

Your fingers toyed with the hem of his hoodie, tugging gently. It wasn’t subtle, and he pulled back just enough to smirk at you, his lips already swollen. “What’s the rush, princess? I was just getting started,” he teased, his voice low and full of heat.

You rolled your eyes, though your breathless laugh betrayed you. “Less talking, more action, drummer boy.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “As you wish.”

In one swift motion, he grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled it over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side. His toned chest and tattooed arms were on full display now, and you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger.

“Like what you see?” he asked, grinning when he caught you staring.

“Shut up,” you muttered, cheeks flushing, but you couldn’t hide your smirk.

Folio leaned in again, kissing you deeply as his hands found the edge of your sweater. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing your skin, and then he tugged it upward, pulling it off in one fluid motion.

“Much better,” he murmured, his eyes darkening as they roamed over you. “God, you’re beautiful.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“Keep saying stuff like that, and you might just get lucky,” you teased, though your voice was softer now.

His laugh was low and rich, and he kissed you again, this time with even more urgency. His hands roamed your bare skin, leaving trails of warmth wherever they touched. You weren’t sure who moved first, but soon enough, your jeans were gone, followed quickly by his.

Now in just your underwear, you could feel the heat radiating between you. Your hands explored his body, tracing the muscles of his back and shoulders as his lips trailed down your neck. You arched into his touch, a soft groan escaping your lips when his hands stroked your sides, his thumbs brushing dangerously close to the edge of your bra.

“Folio...” you whispered, your voice thick with need.

He hummed against your skin, his lips never stopping their assault. “What’s that, princess?”

“Nicky,” you groaned, using the nickname you knew would get his attention. His head snapped up, and his eyes locked onto yours. “I need you.”

Something shifted in his expression, his usual teasing demeanor replaced by something raw, almost primal. He kissed you again, harder this time, his hands gripping your hips as though he was trying to ground himself.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmured against your lips.

Without another word, his hand slid down your side, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. When his fingers found the place where you needed him most, your gasp turned into a soft moan, and his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

Folio’s fingers explored you with a confidence that made you gasp, and the sound pulled a low groan from his lips. His forehead rested against yours, and his voice was rough, almost a whisper. “You’re so wet, Y/N,” he said, his breath hot against your skin.

You bit your lip, your face flushing as you locked eyes with him. A teasing smirk tugged at your lips, despite the haze clouding your mind. “Oh, I have been,” you admitted, your voice breathy, “since I saw you smoking that joint on stage.”

Folio groaned, the sound deep and guttural. His lips brushed against your ear as he chuckled. “You’re gonna be the death of me, princess,” he murmured, his tone full of both adoration and hunger.

His fingers worked in and out of you with a rhythm that had your back arching against the bed. Each motion sent a wave of pleasure through you, making it impossible to keep quiet. Your hands clutched the sheets beneath you, and his name spilled from your lips like a plea.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice dripping with encouragement. “Let go for me. I want to see you fall apart.”

And you did. Your body trembled beneath his touch as he brought you over the edge, your cries filling the room. The intensity left you breathless, your chest rising and falling as you came undone beneath him.

Folio slowed his movements, pressing soft kisses to your skin as you came down. His lips trailed lower, leaving a path of warmth and electricity in their wake. When he reached the hem of your panties, he paused, glancing up at you with a look that sent another shiver down your spine.

The silent question in his eyes was clear. You nodded, your trust in him unspoken but unwavering.

He didn’t hesitate, hooking his fingers under the waistband and pulling your panties down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. Once they were gone, he settled between your legs, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before his lips found the place where you needed him most.

The moment his tongue moved against you, your head fell back against the pillows, a shaky gasp escaping your lips. “Oh, my God, Nicky,” you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair as he worked you expertly.

The sounds he made—the soft hums of satisfaction and the occasional groan when you pulled on his hair—only heightened your pleasure. He alternated between slow, teasing strokes and firm, purposeful movements that had your hips bucking against him.

“Folio,” you whimpered, your voice barely a whisper as the tension inside you built again.

“Right here, princess,” he murmured against your skin, his words sending vibrations through you.

It didn’t take long for the pleasure to crest again, this time even more intense than the first. Your body tensed, your cries filling the room as you shattered beneath him. He didn’t stop until every last wave had subsided, his movements gentle as he helped you ride it out.

When you finally stilled, he smirked, clearly proud of himself. He rested his head on your hips, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “You good, princess?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost tender.

You nodded, a dazed smile spreading across your lips. “Mhm. More than good,” you replied, your voice still breathless. “Come here.”

He crawled up your body, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was slower this time but no less intense. You could taste yourself on him, and instead of shying away, you deepened the kiss, pulling him closer.

Your hands wandered down his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles until they reached the waistband of his boxers. You palmed him through the fabric, feeling his arousal straining against it.

Folio groaned into your mouth, his hips jerking slightly at your touch. “Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, breaking the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re gonna drive me crazy.”

“Good,” you teased, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as your hand slipped under the waistband, wrapping around him. The warmth of his hardened length against your palm sent a thrill through you, and you stroked him slowly, savoring the way his breath hitched.

“You keep doing that,” he murmured, his voice strained, “and I’m not gonna last, princess.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered, your tone teasing yet full of want. “I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

Folio’s gaze darkened, and he kissed you again, his hand sliding up your side and tangling in your hair as he lost himself in the moment. Folio’s lips were hot against your neck, his breath ragged as he kissed his way up to your ear. You pulled him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. “Now show me how much you care about me, Folio,” you whispered, your voice soft but laced with need.

His breath hitched at your words, and he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and full of desire. “You have no idea what you do to me, princess,” he murmured before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

His movements were slow and deliberate as he slid his boxers down, freeing himself. You couldn’t help but glance down, and your breath caught at the sight of him. He smirked when he noticed your reaction, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Like what you see?” he teased, his tone playful despite the tension crackling between you.

You gave him a cheeky grin, your hands sliding up his chest. “Very.”

His laugh was low and rich, but it was cut short as he kissed you again, his lips hungry against yours. After a moment, he pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m gonna grab a condom real quick, yeah?” he said, his voice full of care despite the urgency in his movements.

You shook your head, your hands gently cradling his face. “You don’t need to,” you told him, your voice soft but steady. “I’m on the pill.”

Folio groaned, the sound deep and guttural, his lips brushing against your temple. “Fuck, okay,” he murmured, his hands gripping your hips as he positioned himself. “Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

You nodded, your trust in him unwavering. “I will,” you assured him, your voice barely above a whisper.

He guided himself to your entrance, sliding his length through your folds with deliberate slowness, letting you adjust to the sensation. The moment he began to sink into you, you both moaned in unison, the sound filling the room.

“God, you’re so tight, baby,” Folio groaned, his voice strained as he fought to keep his movements controlled.

You gasped, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders. “Or,” you managed to breathe out, a teasing smile tugging at your lips despite the haze in your mind. “You’re just big, Folio.”

His head dropped to your shoulder, another deep groan escaping him. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he bottomed out, staying still for a moment to let you both adjust.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

You nodded quickly, your legs tightening around him. “More than okay,” you murmured. “Move, Nicky.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled out slowly before slamming back into you, setting a rhythm that had you both panting and moaning in no time. Each thrust was deep and purposeful, his name falling from your lips like a mantra.

The coil in your stomach tightened with every movement, and you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge. “Folio,” you whimpered, your hands tangling in his hair as your back arched off the bed.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips pressing against your temple. “Let go for me, princess. I want to feel you.”

With one more thrust, the knot in your stomach snapped, and you cried out his name as you came undone beneath him. The sensation of your walls tightening around him pushed Folio over the edge, and he groaned deeply as he followed, spilling into you with a final, powerful thrust.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, his body hovering over yours as you both caught your breath. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as he came down from his high.

“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “Mhm. More than okay,” you replied, your voice still breathless.

Folio smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I—”

A sudden knock on the door interrupted him, making you both freeze. He groaned, resting his head on your shoulder with an exaggerated sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your fingers brushing through his hair. “Better get that, rockstar.”

Folio scrambled to pull his boxers and shirt back on, clearly flustered by the unexpected interruption. You slid beneath the covers, pulling them up to your chest and trying to contain your giggles.

He shot you a quick look before dashing over to the door, still trying to fix his disheveled hair. When he swung it open, Matt stood there, arms crossed with a smug look on his face.

“Can I help you, Matt?” Folio asked, his voice a little too casual, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Matt raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Uh, yeah, actually. I could hear you two down the hall,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “So, keep it down, yeah? I don’t know how much press there is in this hotel.”

Folio’s face turned as red as a tomato, his lips pressing into a thin line as he fought to hold back his laughter. “Fuck, okay,” he muttered, pulling his lip between his teeth and nodding quickly.

Matt leaned against the doorframe, clearly enjoying the moment. “Called it, by the way,” he added with a wink, before turning on his heels and walking away.

Folio closed the door with a soft thud and let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping in relief. You couldn’t hold it in any longer, bursting out in laughter.

“That was so embarrassing,” he said, shaking his head, but his smile was wide, the redness still lingering on his cheeks.

You snickered, sitting up on the bed, and held your arms open. “Come here, Folio,” you said, still laughing, your voice light and teasing.

Folio hesitated for a moment, but then he grinned, shaking his head. “You’re really enjoying this, huh?”

“More than you know,” you replied, winking at him. “Now get over here, my drummer boy.”

He sighed dramatically, though the playful glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t actually upset. With one last, exaggerated eye roll, he crossed the room and climbed back onto the bed beside you.

You snuggled up next to him, your head resting on his shoulder as the two of you tried to settle into a more relaxed position. “Can’t believe Matt heard everything,” you said, still chuckling quietly.

Folio wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. “I don’t know who’s worse—Matt for hearing or me for not realizing how loud we were being.”

You smirked up at him. “I’m gonna guess Matt, since he was the one who interrupted us.”

Folio laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “True. But I’m blaming you, anyway,” he teased, giving you a playful squeeze. “You’re just too irresistible, princess.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face betrayed the teasing. “Uh-huh. Sure, blame me,” you replied, your voice light and playful. “I’m just the innocent bystander in all this.”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “Innocent, my ass.”

You both laughed together, the tension from earlier melting away as you enjoyed the moment in each other’s company, no longer caring about anything else happening outside the room.

taglist: @courta13

[dtmsrpfcringe]

the definitive dictionary and almanac of Tinhattery

hi, this will be a list of the main misogynistic accounts, definitions people have questions about, accounts you should follow and abbreviations— let’s gooo!! If you’re tagged in this I probably put you on the accounts to follow section. Adding a cut here because it’s long and gonna get longer

definitions!!!!

LCB- Used to stand for letscoffeebreak, she has since changed her username to dejadestalkearmeloser.

NGO- Nightgoodomens

Ingrav, Amy- Ingravinoveritas.

tardisrose- thetardisisblueandroseistoo

Tinhatters- A group of (mostly) tumblr users who think everything in these two relationships are fake and the women are abusive and the men want to run away.

Queeranoners- same as above, my favourite way to refer to them, coined by the amazing @theeminentlyimpractical

sheenbergs- Mix for Michael and Anna’s name

sheenbergnant- the amalgamation of the four bad bitches we love

sheenant- ship name for David and Michael. (Remember kids: shipping is cool but it’s fictional!!)

DT- David Tennant (Georgias husband)

MS- Michael Sheen (Anna’s boyfriend)

GT- Georgia Tennant

AL- Anna Lundberg

PR- public relations

GM- a…delegitimising way of referring to Georgia by refusing to use her last name. Instead use her maiden name. Note how they don’t refer to David as David McDonald

APAT- usually used by tinhatters (stands for Anna Plain And Tall) to refer to Anna Lundberg

PR (Tinhatter definition) - an omnipresent being forcing two rich white men who constantly champion human rights and lgbtq acceptance into a hetero relationship because they just are so oppressed and abused and not because they love their partners!

PR (actual definition) -the professional activities of an agency hired by a person, company, or other entity to shape, create, and manipulate that person/company’s public image. A public relations firm is often useful in helping a company manage its media reputation when a crisis happens, in order to attempt to minimize false information or slanderous statements which could damage reputations.

Shipping- Shipping (derived from the word relationship) is the desire by followers of a fandom for two or more people, either real-life people or fictional characters (in film, literature, television series, etc.), to be in a romanticrelationship. Shipping often takes the form of unofficial creative works, including fanfictionand fan art.

Shipping (Tinhat definition) - NO THEY HATE THEIR PARTNERS AND WANT TO FUCK EACH OTHER LOOK HE BLINKED IN HIS VICINITY THEIR PARTNERS ARE ABUSIVE I SWEAR

GREATEST HITS (posts that killed Tinhatters, feel free to submit your favourites in my inbox)

The breakdown of an anon

tassel jokes

backstreet cringe

Ingravinoveritas admitting it

Laurens amazing fuck off post that snowballed into half the fandom straight up saying fuck you to these people

HALL OF SHAME (Worst of tinhatters, again feel free to submit more)

• Taraiha’s rivals meltdown

NGO hates this fandom for…calling her out

it’s not a choice to be weird and creepy about people’s lives! (Again shipping is fine. This shit is not!!!)

it’s okay if you attack women just don’t criticise Michael Sheen (no idea what she was talking about with David) this same lady had another absolutely dog shit post I guess she removed?!

How dare women…have fun at their birthday parties?? (Part 1)

for a group constantly sexualizing David and Michaels every movement we can’t stand when a woman shows a little chest and has fun

Accounts you should follow!!!!:

@goodomenswarning - same purpose as this account, hilarious, an amazing friend

@badaziraphaletakes - calls out shitty takes in good omens as well, so much more level headed about toxicity than I am but I love talking shit with them. @thegeorgiatennantblog - best Georgia content

@fightingalgth8rs -bad bitches calling out extreme sexism

@phoen1xr0se - one of the best and I devour everything she posts

@davidtennantgenderenvy stands up for what’s right in the fandom, one of my idols and stuck up for me during a vulnerable time.

lmk more I need to add because I’m definitely missing some

THE REPEAT OFFENDERS (booo 🍅🍅):

Ingravinoveritas- one of the bigger ones, refuses to believe Georgia does anything nice for David, or that any of them actually like their partners. Can’t stop fetishizing gay male relationships to save her life. If David blinks he apparently wants to be bent over. Likes to pretend she’s not as bad as the others but has some of the wildest takes and said she felt threatened and scared for her life at someone making a Shakespearean reference. Professional victim

Nightgoodomens- a particularly nasty motherfucker. So toxic she’s quarantined. Misogynistic, ableist, um…yeah not much to say there except for the fact that apparently anything that David does that involves his wife means he’s forced into it. Would rather see them as abused puppies than accept they love their partners. Heavy on the homophobia and bi erasure since yes, fetishization isn’t allyship, it is homophobia. Everything is PR. She doesn’t know what PR means nor that David and Michael are not nearly important enough to have a 24/7 team controlling all social media and personal aspects of their lives. Neil gaiman apologist who blamed his sexual assault revelations on David’s support of trans people. Denies women flirting with each other and boils it to PR friendships??!?

Dejadestalkearmeloser- pretty much the same as nightgoodimens, flips shit when you call her out on it, I mean look at her pinned post about me and you’ll see. Also apparently I’m every account that doesn’t like her. Seems to have a problem with lesbians not liking her (wonder why lesbians don’t like the misogynistic people who only talk about the lgbtq community when it comes to fetishising mlm relationships)

Thetardisisbluesndroseistoo- flips shit at Georgia getting credit for anything, lost her shit on someone saying that Georgia has educated David on lgbtq allyship (he quite literally said himself that she does) later deleted posts when I called her out. Can’t stop laughing at that

invisibleicewands- really, really creepy about Anna, delving into her past and family to try and find…something. Body shaming. Mom shaming. The usual misogyny.

dtmsrpf- I guess a spoof on my name, belongs to one of the others on this list. The usual misogyny with a particular axe to grind against their looks and other things. Definitely a little salty.

georgiatennantunofficial (instagram)- extremely fucking gross. Body shaming and misogyny. Usual. You guys see a pattern yet?

[curiouspupsicle]

Good Omens Fan Fiction Friday (1/24/25) - "Animal Shenanigans" Fics - part 2

I had so many lovely fics featuring Aziraphale and Crowley with animal friends, I had to break it into two parts.

Click here to see my first post. And you'll find all my past recommendations here. Once again, I'll start with a puppy story. How could I do anything else? On his lunch break, Crowley sees a beautiful Samoyed off-leash in the park. The dog is beautiful. But his person turns out to be even more so. So Crowley devises a scheme to meet cute with the dog's handsome person by attracting the pup with a ham sandwich. Organically Sourced Serotonin (T) is by KissMyAsthma and leukozyna.

One of the funniest fics I've ever read is You Don't Need a License for That (M) by @waitingtobebroken. Crowley works in the town's licensing bureau. Aziraphale comes in for a business license. Then returns several times for increasingly ridiculous licenses--including one for an exotic animal. It's ridiculously silly and made me laugh out loud throughout.

In the charming meet-cute story by @itsscottiesstark, Love me Good (E), Crowley admires the beautiful cat across the way and leaves a message in the window for their person. This leads to an interesting correspondence and more.

The illustrated tale, Purrchance to Dream (M) by @ukcalico and @vavoom-sorted-art is an angsty account of Crowley being followed by a mysterious, fluffy white cat after Aziraphale returns to heaven. This WIP is currently on hiatus. But the story and beautiful art make it worth checking out. And perhaps leaving a comment for the writer and artist sharing your appreciation for their work so far.

The Grass is Always Greener (M) by @beerok23 has Mr. Brown and Crowley competing for Aziraphale's affections. Alternating POV includes some by Crowley's cat, Comma. Of course, Comma is the one with the brain cell.

Dog lovers, in particular, will adore When Harry met Bentley (T) by @doomed-spectacles. Crowley has a nervous, retired racing greyhound. Aziraphale has a basset hound. They meet at the dog park when Aziraphale offers shelter under an umbrella during a sudden rainstorm. Vavoom. Excellent banter. Fluffy enough that you'll need a pet fur tool to clean up after reading. I loved it!

Azeutrecia tells a silly story in the correspondence between the new Supreme Archangel and Crowley. In The Kids Are All Right (T), Aziraphale is incensed to find that Crowley has moved on without him and is living in the country with all his girls.

In Slinky Snakes (T), my perennial favorite, AppleSeeds, tells the story of the magician Aziraphale who performs a magic show at a caravan campground. Crowley presents reptiles. And he's very attractive. But every week, his snake tattoo is in a different place. It drives Aziraphale insane.

And finally, a new fic just published yesterday that is sweetness itself. In Darling! (G) by @eybefioro, Crowley and Aziraphale move to the South Downs where they are adopted by the town cat, Darling. Charmingly told from Darling's point of view. I'll return next week with more fan fic recs organized by theme. Please reblog. And follow to see other fics I reblog periodically. And don't forget--always thank your favorite fic writers. They're a gift to the fandom.

[ineffablymanic]

It was just a simple annual report, Aziraphale thought. Deeds of the year. He’d done some blessings. Minor miracles, such as keeping drivers awake enough to prevent car crashes. The assignment to boost a national charity organization's efforts was a success.

The way Gabriel peered down at him, with his scowling, piercing, bored from the get-go stare made it always feel like nothing Aziraphale did was enough.

Aziraphale was calm, he was, this was routine, but his corporation disagreed. He kept staring at the summoning circle. He just needed to say the words. His palms were sweaty and his clothes felt too tight. The pressure against his sternum kept increasing as he felt Gabriels boot push against it. He couldn’t do this. Tomorrow might be better. But he’d told himself that he’d do this tomorrow for a week straight. He was late already. Stop being useless. His sight was getting blurry as he felt his heart pounding against his throat and he heard his blood rushing in his ears. The boot pressed heavier. He couldn’t breathe.

“Angel.”

One soft word was enough to pull him out of the swirling darkness that had formed around Aziraphale, and he gasped like he had reached the surface before drowning. Crowley had lingered in the bookshop when Aziraphale had accidentally told him about the report and his tardiness. Crowley had helped him with his report. He’d set the candles. He was supposed to have left by now, but apparently he’d stayed at the door, seeing that Aziraphale got started. Now Crowley was standing next to him and he set his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder to pat it. The hand stayed on the shoulder slightly too long, turning the touch to almost a caress, before Crowley pulled away. Aziraphale missed the warm touch immediately.

“You got this. I’ll tempt you for lunch afterwards,” Crowley murmured, and stepped back again.

Aziraphale blinked furiously to dispel the prickling feeling in his eyes and gave Crowley a shy, grateful smile. Many four letter words flashed in his mind, but he knew not to say any of them out loud.

Aziraphale turned back to the circle and said the words, feeling braver facing Heaven with a demon in the room.

huffing panting i start a new 3d animation job tomorrow im very nervous please reblog with aziraphales or wish me luck i need it AAAAAAA

[lavendermoonlitskies]

Hi.

It’s been a very intense week. I am a little embarrassed by the level at which I publicly freaked out on here about the possibility of losing this fandom, i.e. my happy place, and even more so how disgusted I am by that awful man’s actions, but I’m going to leave those posts up because they are genuinely how I feel and I do not want anyone to think I no longer care about what he has done.

I posted a lot about not wanting to lose this fandom space or the enjoyment out of watching this series, but with my head a little more clear, I want to make it known that victims of sexual assault getting justice for what has happened to them is always the number one priority. At best, NG took advantage of his authority to get what he wanted out of two women with their reluctant consent, traumatizing them in the process. I feel the way I feel about Good Omens, but if this results in season 3 being scrapped, then so be it. I will be upset (not at the victims, obviously), but life goes on and I will be fine.

I’ve done a lot of thinking in terms of fandom engagement, and the truth is, at this point in my life, this is how I get through the day. The fandom is talented, brilliant, funny, and at this point in time it’s too engrained in my daily routine to completely deprive myself of it so suddenly. I mentioned this in another post, but things in my life are really unsure at the moment and the constant anxiety about not being where I should be is terrible for my mental health.

Good Omens came into my life right around the time I needed it, it’s an escape. A fictional world for me to immerse myself in and 1) see myself in a disabled character whose disability is not only represented well, but celebrated in a way that I’ve never seen before on screen, and 2) imagine a happy ending for a couple of characters I’ve grown to love, during a time where I don’t know what my happy ending looks like. If I’m being completely honest, 90% of my engagement with it anyway is with fanfics, art and metas from fans.

As I’ve been kind of quietly lurking around people’s tumblrs and ao3’s, I started to realize that other fans are probably in the same mindset that I am, and I recognized that this fandom may be their happy place too and they don’t deserve to have that taken away over the actions of one man who isn’t even the sole author of the book, and is only one of many, many individuals involved in the production of the show. I had to sit with that and realize that holding myself to an entirely different standard is unfair, so I won’t. Nobody’s a bad person for drawing their favorite characters, or writing stories, or analyzing a relationship between two fictional characters in-depth in a tumblr post for other fans.

I don’t want to hurt anybody, I just want to be happy. That’s all.

[maaikeatthefullmoon]

Someone asked about places where they could find my creative works & how I make a living.

I’ve been a self-employed artist since 2017. The current economic climate is making that *very* difficult and I may well be giving up my beautiful business soon, but for now, I’m still clinging on by my fingernails. I’ve survived a lot longer than many of my colleagues and I’ve been VERY grateful and fortunate. (Yes, my profile photo is actually me- shock horror!)

You can find me/support me here:

Etsy: I have *two* Etsy shops. I make fan-based clothing, bags, and cushion covers at FullMoonFandom. and I make fan art and children's home decor, all hand painted on high quality medite wood at Lioncub Creations. This shop has been my main business for the past 8+ years and is my bread & butter. It's been hit HARD by the cost of living crisis and it's literally getting worse every month.

Ko-fi: If you enjoy my writing, or just generally take pity on me, I'd think you were bloody amazing if you could please buy me a coffee (although I'll actually spend it on bills...sorry). No pressure, though, I know money's tight.

AO3: I write Good Omens fanfic under the username imposterssyndrome, I’ve been writing since November 2023 after my trauma therapist recommended it and it’s been the best thing I’ve ever done (especially after my mother told 8yo me that my writing was shit and I literally never wrote another piece of fiction until age 40). I skew angsty, love historical anything and researching stuff. Did I mention Here Be Angst?

Wavelengths & Frequencies - I'm writing this wonderfully fun enemies-to-lovers human AU with the ineffable @shadesofecclescakes. This is a DJ AU and bloody hell does it ever help that Eccles is a professional DJ, because I would have given up in the first chapter otherwise. This longfic will be funny, VERY piney, a teensy-tiny bit angsty (but not too much), smutty, and just generally a whole lot of fun. And it's got footnotes! And newspaper articles! And texts, and tweets, and an awful attempt at a forum, and and and...Rated E (and P for Piney-As-Fuck). WIP, published every *now totally off schedule, we publish when we can*, due to be completed by *who knows when*.

Epistolary Series - Aziraphale's diaries, read by Crowley, a romp through history, the series includes an Aziraphale POV and more, rated E, made of 3 completed works.

Ineffable Inspirations Series - Individual oneshots, all based on songs. Currently 2 stories, based on Fiona Apple’s Shadowboxer (set in 1941) & Finger Eleven’s Paralyzer (set in 2021)

[butterflywithsass]

Watched Dead Boy Detectives last night and I’m obsessed. If you like the queerness of good omens, but with more gore, and in the same universe as the Sandman (death and despair both show up) if you like dark academia gay boys, if you like ghosts, or paranormal stuff, or demons, if you like cats — lemme tell you this show is for you.

So, like, there’s these two ghost boys who are best friends but also gay for each other but also a secret third thing and their names are Edwin and Charles.

Edwin Payne was a demonic sacrifice in 1916 and as spend literal decades in hell but escaped. He’s a repressed Victorian gay who has zero charisma but every single man he meets becomes obsessed with him and wants to sleep with him except the boy he actually likes which is his best friend Charles. His entire character arc is about gay panic and getting over his internalized homophobia — he wears bow ties!!!! He doesn’t know what a hand job is. He’s literally the perfect tumblr blorbo. His superpower is getting tortured. He’s so sassy! His sexual awakening comes at the hands of a cat king and his first kiss is with a crow.

Charles died in like the 90s or something I’m not sure. He’s so optimistic and sunshine but also so full of rage. He’s the most supportive guy 100/10 would trust him with anything. He doesn’t like to talk about his issues. When confronted with the inexorable monsters of hell he solved the problem with a Molotov cocktail. I love him and his single earring he’s a golden retriever who would rather stay on earth with best friend than move on to a peaceful afterlife. His jawline is impeccable he can’t not press a big red button when he sees it.

Crystal Palace I wasn’t sold on because I thought she’d get between my boys but she actually so cool and I developed a bit of a crush let’s be honest I have a thing for curly haired witchy girls, she’s a physic with amnesia and a demon stalker ex boyfriend people stare at her when she hangs out with the boys cause it looks like she’s talking to herself. Everyone she knows thinks she’s insane. She’s a reformed mean girl.

Niko Sisaki I was a little iffy about because it felt like they were gonna go with the bimbo anime Asian girl but turns out she just had a parasite that made pink hearts float around her. She’s so weird she tries to help Edwin with his gay problem by introducing him to explicit gay fan fiction, she tries to get her landlord to date, she likes cool rocks. She has two tiny people trapped in a jar in her room. Her friendship with Edwin is everything. She’s ghosting her mom.

Jenny. I love her so much, she feels so safe which is weird because she chops meat and all her clothes are covered in blood. Everything about just screams big sister and her character arc is learning to embrace that. She goes on one date and almost gets murdered.

Monty. He’s literally a crow turned into a boy. He’s down bad for Edwin. He’s a secret honeypot agent for an evil witch. He has the most adorable smile, the whole time I was expecting him to be an agent of Morpheus. He’s obsessed with astrology.

The Night nurse originally annoyed me a bit (in a good way) I just wanted to get rid of her. When Charles punted her into a giant sea monster I clapped. Then it just got weird and I love it.

The cat king. He’s such a creep, but honestly, I love that for him. He has some of the best lines and he just exudes cat. He’s a classic fairy tale trickster, he a nuisance for the whole season, he’s central to the plot, he’s constantly hitting on Edwin.

Esther. She’s a archetypal evil witch. She gives off mystic trash vibes. She’s obsessed with beauty and revenge. She’s shamelessly horrible. She feeds kids to her giant snake. She literally can’t die.

All in all, I think I’m gonna have brain rot over this for the next year, go and watch it.

[crowleyscleaninglady]

I’m so so glad you have the courage to put your work up on AO3. You’re a great friend and a great writer ❤️

I can’t wait to comment every single thought that comes into my head when I read your work

My first fic is up on Ao3 THIS IS NOT A DRILL

Okay. I need to calm down. Deep breaths. I've wanted to write for the longest time. I never found the courage, or the focus for it. Then the Ineffable Divorce happened on Good Omens and something shifted in me. I joined this hellsite again. I started talking to my mutuals, and reading fanfic. I found a writing guide in a book shop in Prague. which opened my third eye. Before I knew it, I was writing, and commenting, and finding inspiration.

I have so many people to thank. So, this is kinda like an Oscars acceptance speech, except I didn't win anything, very few people care, and I am not wearing black tie right now (blanket burrito. I'm wearing a blanket burrito.)

So I am sending extra special hugs and thank yous to:

😘 @phoen1xr0se, who encouraged me to join the Ao3 queue and just start writing

😘 @keikokasugawitch-blog, who volunteered to help with editing on Ao3, and stood by ready to jump to my rescue if I fumbled it

😘 @celestialcrowley for our chats about writing, and your encouragement to post so you can read my stuff

😘 @superstitiousteven who just slid into my DMs and told me they'd like to read my fic

😘 @nerdypixel, with whom we've been able to share our love of DnD, and whose work I get to beta (and happily, I might add!)

😘 @fellshish who is an amazing writer and the sweetest person, and made the reckless promise of reading my stuff when it's up

😘 And finally, my dear @crowleyscleaninglady, with whom we just clicked straight out of the gate, immediately took a rocket ship into the next dimension, and never looked back. We're writing fic together (and hoo boy it's a steamy one!), I'm betaing her incredible Good Omens Human Thief AU fic which gets me all kinds of excited, and she's just the best.

This fandom is amazing. You're all amazing. And, if you were to read, kudo & comment on my first fic ever, I would instantly die. But I would die happy.