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extraaa-30 · 2 months

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Why soft dom Aziraphale + bratty sub Crowley appeals to me

(be serious though they're both switches)*

Soft Dom Aziraphale

1. heaven

An angel is supposed to be the pure one, undefiled, meek, following orders without question, the girl to be got, the prize to be sought after, the white to be soiled. Subvert it! Aziraphale shouldn't be confined to an eternity of zero agency, naivety, and bland pastels. The idea of Aziraphale getting to really own his "bastard" side, getting to be "selfish," be demanding, be in control--delightful.

And, Aziraphale has guilt complexes on his guilt complexes. Because, unlike most of humanity, he is intimately aware of the righteous, pitiless violence that heaven is capable of. And he's made an art of subtly and ceaselessly defying it by being gentle, by demonstrating enormous restraint. He is a warrior who gave away his holy sword. He swerves severely in the direction of being reserved, harmless, feels clear guilt about any strong desires or direct asks. He has an obvious anxiety about excess (the mental acrobatics he does to justify his book collection, for example, are an entire circus). Free him from the fear of going too far!

2. the effeminate gay man

Thee Southern Pansy, "gay as a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide," with the fancy clothes and prim and proper aesthetic, ever the damsel in distress, flamboyant and limp-wristed, the one who is called slurs by children, the one who is sunshine and sweetness, "the nice one."

Except we know he is secretly a bastard! We know this bitch has preferences! Let him own that! The fact that he is effeminate should not automatically make him more submissive I literally hate that. On the inside Aziraphale is cunty and commanding and he should get to be!

3. with Crowley

Let him say what he craves directly so help me god! No double-speak, no games, no lustfully looking but then looking away immediately. Let him consume. Let him indulge in the gluttony he endlessly flirts with yet denies himself out of guilt and fear. The idea of Aziraphale as a gentle dom just seems so healing, like a puzzle piece that finally gets to click into place without shame.

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Bratty Sub Crowley

1. hell

A demon is supposed to be the impure one, the defiler, the temptress, the seducer, the villain who takes, the black that soils. Subvert it! Crowley shouldn't be confined to the tropes of his demonic nature. He does not just take, just ruin. He is not inherently the one with experience while Aziraphale is the naive, pure little virgin. The idea of him being submissive to an angel (well...to this angel) is a delicious way to challenge that narrative.

And oh my god my girl has trust issues. As a demon his mentality is severely no allies, watch your back, the one who was cast out, rejected for a first offense, shaky ground, always in danger. He's not supposed to trust others, and he has legit biblically valid reasons to be wary and paranoid. Free him from the fear of trusting someone else to take control!

2. Mr. Cool

Mr. Bond, suave, smooth, stoic, sharp angles, stylish and slick, so very dangerous and criminal, the one with the car, the rebel, the snake. Compared with Aziraphale, he's supposed to be Mr. Hardass, "not nice."

Except we know he is secretly a disaster twink, 110% a soft sad little loser under that facade (and not buried that deep either)! He is a romantic who, in spite of hell, wants to give his angel chocolates! Let him own that!

3. with Aziraphale

Let him be unequivocally, unambiguously wanted oh my god! No guessing games! No trying to decipher what the fuck Aziraphale is really saying to him! Free him from the fear of always being "too fast" or "too late." All this bitch wants is for Aziraphale to be pleased by him, by Anthony J-acts-of-service Crowley! The idea of finally allowing him that...another puzzle piece. So satisfying and healing and safe.

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*They're switches your honor

1. "our side"

Not heaven, not hell. Not angels or demons. Not all black or all white. If you think they don't switch, you're wrong.

2. weight & gender

Aziraphale is bigger and keeps his hair short and has a steadiness to him and all those things are perceived as more masculine by some and therefore stronger and more dominant. Fuck that! His size also is too often viewed as something unattractive, which--extremely fuck that. My boy is a treat and a catch. He should get to feel pretty and soft in a totally uncomplicated way as often as he goddamn wants.

Crowley is skinny, often has longer hair, has an absolute treasure hoard of gender, and there's a flightiness to him that's perceived as more feminine by some and therefore weaker and more submissive. Again I say fuck that! His slimness likewise is too often viewed as more desirable, more malleable and able to be cowed; to which I say: die! He is no dainty flower. He actually can often be commanding and capable. Take him seriously.

Furthermore: Aside from the obvious fact that weight, gender, and d/s all have jack shit to do with each other, subverting these tropes remains as important as subverting the other ones. Aziraphale should get to feel delicate and wanted just as much as Crowley. And Crowley should get to feel powerful and in control just as much as Aziraphale. To deny either of them those experiences...bad! Shut up!

3. Crowley & Aziraphale

Their dynamic is already basically gentle dom Aziraphale & bratty sub Crowley. Like literally inches below the surface lmao it's not that hard to spot (see: Az pouts about paint on his jacket, Crowley instantly rushes to fix it but in a cunty way; Crowley pins Az to a wall and Az isn't even slightly intimidated or out of control).

The problem is, they're not talking (see: Az can't ask directly; Crowley has to act tough). Which is why I personally feel that a more honest d/s dynamic, with all that unspoken ritual out in the open, would be an enormous relief for them.

That said, it's not fair to confine them to that familiar dynamic! Crowley isn't a sad wet rat all the time-- let him plan things and have them work out for once. Let him be (on purpose lol) successfully seductive! Likewise Aziraphale deserves to let his fucking hair down. Let my girl not have to do everything in this goddamn house! He deserves to not have to be the one in control all the time. He has trust issues just as deep as Crowley's, and equally deserves to feel safe and wanted.

Also Aziraphale is too much of a hedonist to not want to try everything. If you think he's sticking with one dynamic you are a fool. A clown. As my French-speaking 6,000 year old middle aged babygirl would say: an imbécile.

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I wrote this for me, but if you read this far I hope you enjoyed it lol peace & love on planet earth

#go #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #crowley #good omens meta #extraaa

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aziraphales-library · 21 days

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Thank you so much for all that you do! I've found so many good fics from your recommendations ♥️

Do you know of any that involve Crowley being homeless or otherwise seriously struggling financially? Thank you!

I have read one with this theme, Divine Restorations and Repairs, so I'd love to rec that too! It's fantastic.

We have some fics in which Crowley is struggling financially here. And I've got a few more in which Crowley has problems with money/housing...

Copper and gold by Joseph_Amadeus (M)

Aziraphale doesn't pick up hitchhikers but he can't help himself when he sees Crowley getting steadily wetter in the rain one night.

Be Still My Soul: The Romance by MirjamOmens (E)

It’s the summer of 1917 in the Grand Duchy of Finland. The Great War rages over Europe, and the empire of Russia, of which Finland is still part, has suffered a revolution. For Azirafel Fjäll, a minor landowner and a shop runner, all these things are only mildly annoying inconveniences. His dear friend, Anton J. Crowley, is not as fortunate. The working-class people struggle to make a living in a world where there's a constant shortage of food, fuel and work. Despite their class differences, Azirafel and Anton have been friends since childhood--and both secretly yearn for more. Can their two hearts find each other as their country heads from one crisis to another? Or will the ever widening gap between their worlds keep them apart?

Sharp Objects by ElderlySardine (M)

Back in the mid-nineties, Aziraphale and Crowley had it all. They were friends, lovers, soulmates. Life was hard, but as long as they were together it didn't matter. Then in one catastrophic fight caused by Aziraphale's cruel, coercive brother Gabriel, the whole thing came crashing down. The boys parted company for good. Now it's 2021. Life has spun Crowley and Aziraphale in very different directions before throwing them back together at their lowest ebb. Can they manage to hide their history from their new friends? Can they forgive each other, and themselves? Could there possibly still be something there between them? And with Gabriel still lurking on the horizon, will they be strong enough to do anything about it?

The Ghost of Husbands Past by A_N_D (E)

Az always knew that he’d be thrown out the moment his father found out he was gay. He hadn’t expected to be declared dead though - or for his husband to believe it! But their marriage had been a foolish teenage impulse (not to mention invalid in America), so when Az moved to a small town far upstate New York to start his new life, he moved alone. The kindest thing he could do was let Crowley mourn and move on, not be shackled for life to a now disabled partner. Tony Crowley never recovered from losing his best friend, his childhood sweetheart, his better half. He’d been drifting ever since; no plans, no hope, no money - and now, just before Thanksgiving, no job either. Given the stark choice of freezing to death or accepting his sister’s invitation to join her upstate, Tony reluctantly lives out the Hallmark cliche of Recently Unemployed Person Moves to Small Town for Christmas. It’s a time of hope, love, and family. It’s time for Az and Tony to find each other again.

Magpie by southdownsraph (E)

Ezra has just been hired as a bartender at an underground LGBT nightclub to help supplement his income while he studies for his master’s, and he can’t help but become infatuated with one of the performers, an exotic dancer who goes by the name AJ.

And the one you mentioned...

Divine Restorations & Repairs by skimmingthesurface, SylWritesStuff (E)

While it's unfortunate for one’s car to break down in the middle of the countryside, the pretty-as-a-postcard Tadfield could hardly be considered the worst place Anthony J. Crowley has ever been. Of course, it doesn’t help that it looks like it hasn’t yet seen the turn of the millennia, let alone this decade, but perhaps that’s just what he needs as he crawls his way out of the Hell he’s endured for the past fifteen years. Maybe the last thirty, if he's honest with himself. Though he could do without the rain. When Aziraphale Fell happens upon him and offers him shelter from the storm in his little family-run antique repair shop, neither are expecting it to change everything. The angel with his white umbrella and his tartan bowtie doesn’t expect this mysterious stranger to be able to fill the timely vacancy in his shop or the quiet of his life, but they’ve both had experience in restoring once-beloved items back to their full glory. Perhaps Crowley hasn’t fallen quite so far that he wouldn’t fit in with the rest of Aziraphale’s ragtag team of eccentric restoration experts. And perhaps they may be able to turn that talent on themselves and each other, and seal the cracks in their own hearts.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #adult omens #financial struggles #mod d

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may--hawk · 1 month

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Thirteen Ways of Looking at Anthony J. Crowley

Summary:

Aziraphale’s learned that Crowley hates being perceived directly. Like a snake in the grass he likes to sidle, to sneak, to slip, to avoid exposure. It’s the reason behind the dark glasses, the reason he drives so fast, the reason he never stays still, never relaxes. It’s hard, sometimes, when Aziraphale’s true form has so many eyes, and all he really wants to do is watch Crowley.

Crowley’s eyes are lovely. Sometimes yellow, sometimes brown, often guarded, they move snakily - they dart, they track side to side, they stare, unblinking. And Aziraphale sees them so little. Still, Aziraphale supposes, it is Crowley’s prerogative. Aziraphale remembers when Crowley had first started hiding his eyes. It had been Uz, and Aziraphale had thought at first it might be a passing fad; Crowley was always so informed on the latest human fashions. Occasionally, Aziraphale wondered if he had invented a few himself.1 But as the centuries passed and Crowley’s glasses only grew larger, and darker, and hid his eyes more effectively, Aziraphale began to wish that perhaps, just once, he would take them off again.

And then perhaps his prayers - so to speak - are answered, because he and Crowley both end up, independently, at the Heian Court at the turn of the first century in what will later become Kyoto. They each have their own assignments: Aziraphale to influence a particular marriage, Crowley, apparently, to encourage the young women of the court to write books that will, he assures Aziraphale, lead to something called a live journal. Eventually.

One morning in the first month they find themselves part of the Court’s expedition to Mount Hiei to observe the snowfall; all members of the expedition are each to write a poem, and then present it, later, to the Emperor for his judgement. So the court sets off, a band of courtiers in brightly-colored over-robes, the women carried along in their carriages, hanging their sleeves gracefully out the open windows to whisper over the snow.

Aziraphale’s fallen behind, watching the humans enjoying themselves, watching Crowley, a little further ahead, up to his usual petty mischief. Crowley sidles around the senior court officials, whispering in their ears. What’s he’s suggesting soon becomes clear as they gather up handfuls of snow and stuff them into the women’s dangling exposed sleeves. Aziraphale hears feminine squeals and screams, and the women’s arms disappear back into the carriage, only to reemerge with triumphant palmfuls of snow. Splat. Crowley, smiling slightly at a job badly done, saunters back, slowly, to join Aziraphale.

“You are impossible,” Aziraphale sighs, raising his hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun, which is strong in the sky behind Crowley. He winces a little. He’s still not used to the blinding nature of snow in sun, has spent too much time in temperate climes. Besides, he’s still not sure about this whole snow thing. It’s cold, it’s wet, and its brightness reminds him of Heaven. Aziraphale must be making a face at this thought, because Crowley sighs, then, reaching up and taking his own dark glasses off. He holds them out to Aziraphale, snapping the fingers of his other hand, suddenly holding a new pair, even more stylish than before.2 Aziraphale steps towards him, reaches out to take the glasses and - stops in his tracks.

Crowley looks like a woodcut, a stark print against the white wide expanse of snow, all around them unbroken and blinding. His dark, black silk robes make him stand out from his surroundings like a blackbird; his hair, red and long and dark, spills loose and curling down his back in an approximation of the women’s style of the Court. Blood on the snow, sharp and present. And his eyes - Crowley’s eyes today are fiercely warm, soft amber, opaque and lovely, the dramatic black slash of his pupils and the whites of his eyes making them stand out like rare beads. Crowley’s mouth opens; he stops, frowning. His eyes flicker over Aziraphale, up his body, across his face, come to rest on his own. Aziraphale feels pinned, like a small animal of prey, and he makes a noise, a half-breath, and then the others, turning and seeing that they’ve fallen behind, call out, breaking the spell between them.

Crowley slides his new glasses on and Aziraphale does the same. It helps with the glare. It helps with - a lot of things, really. He finds he can watch Crowley, as they hurry to catch up - well, Aziraphale hurries, and Crowley saunters, and somehow they end up there at the same time.

Aziraphale’s poem, later, is simple and plain.3 It’s largely ignored in favor of the more objectively lovely or ostentatious poems - those about the moon, or plum blossoms, or green shoots, although Shonagon shoots him a sidelong glance when he reads it aloud. Crowley’s in the back of the room, arms crossed, leaning against a thin partition, and Aziraphale’s half-afraid he’ll fall through, but he doesn’t: the perfect balancing act. His face, under the new glasses, reveals nothing at all. Not for the first time, Aziraphale wonders what his eyes are doing, what they look like now. If they’re fixed on Aziraphale. He has that strange prickling sensation over his skin he’d had before that rather suggests they are.

When Aziraphale leaves the court behind, assignment satisfactorily concluded, Shonagon gives him a series of parting presents, on behalf of her household. Largely consisting of sumptuous robes of blue and gold silks, one robe in particular stands out: black and red, embroidered with golden stars, it is lovely, and very obviously not meant for Aziraphale. “Thank you,” he says to her, “It’s lovely,” and she only smiles, and flutters her fan, and darts a glance over to Crowley, who is, coincidentally, departing court at the same time.

Aziraphale has always meant to present the robe to Crowley, of course, but at first it’s a few centuries before he sees him again, and then Crowley’s a knight errant, and brings up that absolutely vexing argument, and so it slips Aziraphale’s mind. The robe is still hanging in Aziraphale’s wardrobe, carefully pressed between the others. It occurs to him, every now and again, that he’d like to see Crowley wear it. Crowley will be delighted - Oh, Shonagon, he’ll say, with that little smile he gets when remembering particular humans he was fond of. I remember Shonagon. Whatever happened to her? 4 He and Shonagon, Aziraphale remembers, had gotten on like a house on fire. Shonagon had always had good taste. The robe will look exquisite, of course, paired with Crowley’s unmasked eyes.

Keep reading at:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54704443

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #aziraphale/crowley #my fic

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wrengrif · 3 months

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It is time for my favorite game...

Good Omens, What If.

Now yesterday, I read an amazing post by @ishomieokay, who postulated a very convincing theory that Aziraphale was going to end up being the Big Bad, because Supreme Archangel power was going to corrupt him.

Naturally this made me sad -- until I really started to think about it.

What If - Aziraphale did become power-mad?

What if he did become 'You Bullied Me And Now I'm Your Boss, Bitch' Supreme Archangel. Like it would be so FUCKING BAMF. Utterly horrifying, but utterly BAMF. He walks through the elevator, one of the archangels says something snide (my money is on Sandalphon, asshole), and Aziraphale just Supreme Archangel kicks him through the Heavenly Moon Door and makes him Fall. And while the other archangels are standing there, gaping, he straightens his collar and says, "I think you'll all find I have very little use for abusive language. Do keep that in mind. Where is my office?"

After that it's like as it's Lucifer 2 - The Principality Strikes Back. Aziraphale censuring angels left and right. Uriel doesn't get kicked - Uriel gets beaten for what they said about Crowley and then thrown out for a million mile dive. He makes Michael re-do the entire Second Coming. He's punching and kicking a hole in the archangel system that should be filled by someone who is willing to pull on the brakes. But no one does! Everyone is Too Fucking Scared.

The Metatron realizes that he hasn't trapped Aziraphale up there with them, they are all trapped here by A z i r a p h a l e. Aziraphale who is going to burn everything down because none of it is worthy (Aziraphale isn't worthy) of God's Love and they are just going to tear Heaven and Hell down to the nubs in the floor, and maybe Earth too because you know what, none of it is worthy of God (Crowley). Finally, Saraquel has had enough. She slaps the Down Button to Earth. Rolls herself into whatever dive bar that Crowley is in, and tells him point blank that if he doesn't help stop Aziraphale, it's going to be worse than Armageddon. Everything is going to be destroyed down to atoms, even wine.

Crowley gets to do two things that he's probably always wanted to do. One, he gets to be James Bond. Breaking into the Heaven (the Bond villain lair), knocking out some angel guards, maybe even punching Metatron in the face for getting them all into this situation in the first place. Second, he gets to kick open the doors to the Supreme Archangel's office, stare Aziraphale down from where he's seated behind his invisible glass desk (I imagine him petting a white duck. Why? I don't know.), looking forbidding and dressed in a silver white that matches his hair and his beard. Stereo-typical God, y'know.

And they stare at each other, for a long moment, glowering with all the hurt, and pain, and still - still - love that they have both known for six thousand years. Finally, Aziraphale speaks, his purple eyes flickering, "So what exactly are you supposed to be?" Crowley smiles That Sharp Smile, that one that Aziraphale adores. The one he actually fears. Crowley reaches behind his coat, and says, "Me? Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley. And I'm now the world's greatest magician, because I'm about to make you disappear." Aziraphale tenses in his throne, filled with that same sense of dread and can it be, hope? that Crowley is here to end him. Crowley doesn't look away as he growls, "Hocus Pocus, Supreme Arsehole." He pulls in front of him .... a bird cage. With a nightingale in it. Who immediately begins to sing. Crowley takes off his glasses, looks Aziraphale dead in the eye, and speaks in a rough voice. "I forgive you."

And just like that ... the Supreme Archangel crumbles down into dust, leaving behind a weeping Aziraphale.

End scene.

... I'd probably add some explosions in there. Just for fun. Oooooh and when Crowley is kicking ass through Heaven the song that plays is 'Don't Stop Me Now'.

#aziraphale #crowley #good omens #bamf aziraphale #crowley anthony j crowley #weaponized nightingales

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astrophysicist-guitar-god · 1 year

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'Freddie Mercury felt like a god. Then he started behaving like one,' by the man who signed Queen

By NORMAN J SHEFFIELD, Founder of Trident Studios where Queen first recorded // PUBLISHED: 17:00 EDT, 20 July 2013 | UPDATED: 17:16 EDT, 20 July 2013 (x)

NORMAN J SHEFFIELD on the amazing story of how one of Britain's best loved rock bands made it big

Freddie Mercury used to say there was no question in his mind that Queen would be a success

I was sitting in my office one day in 1971 when I got a call from my brother Barry down in the studio.

‘Norman, come down and have a listen to something,’ he said.

John Anthony, Trident’s A&R man, had discovered a band called Smile.

At the start, the lead guitarist was an astrophysics student from Imperial College called Brian May, the bassist and singer was an art student called Tim Staffell, and the drummer was a biology student called Roger Taylor.

It turned out that they’d now reshaped the band.

Staffell had been replaced by this little Indian-looking guy with a big, operatic voice and they had a new bass player.

John had asked for their demo. It was raw but there was definitely something there. I’d opened Trident Studios in 1968 in Soho.

Its cutting-edge facilities and happening vibe were attracting the greatest talents of the era, from The Beatles and Elton John to David Bowie and Marc Bolan.

The four guys who came into my office a couple of weeks later were an intriguing mix of characters.

Roger Taylor was a really good-looking kid, with long blond hair and charm. Brian May was tall with a mane of curls and a little introverted but clearly very intelligent. The bass player, John Deacon, was also quiet. I could tell right away that the fourth member was going to be high maintenance.

His real name was Farokh Bulsara. He was born in Zanzibar and educated in India. The family had immigrated to England when he was a teenager. He’d gone to Ealing Art College to study art and graphic design. He was also a gifted singer and pianist.

When he joined the band, he immediately gave himself a more rock ’n’ roll name: Freddie Mercury.

He was charming, acted a bit shy and reserved at times and spoke in quite a posh, mannered voice. When he relaxed he had a very sharp sense of humour and spoke at a hundred miles an hour.

Queen turned out to be every bit as good - and demanding - as we'd anticipated. Things had to be one hundred per cent right, otherwise they wouldn't be happy

They’d rightly decided to ditch Smile as their name. I nearly choked on my coffee when I heard their new one: Queen. The world wasn’t as enlightened then as it is today.

We were worried that it would be a real turn-off, especially given the band’s look. Freddie apparently had a girlfriend but we were pretty certain he was gay.

But the name wasn’t up for negotiation. I agreed to offer the Queenies, as we christened them, a loose kind of arrangement. There were times when the studio was ‘dark’, usually at 2am. So we said: ‘We’ll give you this downtime in the studio to see what you can do.’

They turned out to be every bit as good – and demanding – as we’d anticipated. Things had to be one hundred per cent right, otherwise they wouldn’t be happy. They’d spend days and nights working on the harmonies.

Arguments would start about the tiniest little detail. They’d start screaming, shouting and chucking things. Sometimes it would blow over in a few minutes, but at other times they would stew on it, not talking to each other for a day or two. They’d always sort it out, however. It wasn’t personal, it was about the work.

The more adulation Freddie received on stage, the harder he became to work with offstage

Freddie used to say there was no question in his mind that Queen would be a success.

‘There was never a doubt, darling, never,’ he’d say with an imperious wave of his hand.

The title of their first album was simply Queen.

Another suggestion had been Dearie Me, Freddie’s catchphrase, which was quite funny but the band were a hard enough sell as it was.

They spent ages arguing about the album sleeve. The front cover was a single image of Freddie on stage, with two spotlights in the background.

For the back cover the boys put together a collage of snaps of themselves.

Freddie had driven everyone to distraction fretting over whether he looked ‘gorgeous enough’ in them.

By the end of the year they were on the road with Mott the Hoople, but Queen were getting more encores and bigger cheers than the headliners.

They were due to go to Australia for a gig when Brian suddenly developed a really high fever. His arm had swollen up to the size of a football and doctors diagnosed gangrene.

At one point it was touch and go whether he would lose it. Luckily the crisis eased and he was allowed to fly.

However, the gig was a disaster. The local DJ introducing them had clearly taken against them because he introduced them as ‘stuck-up Pommies’. When they got on stage, the crowd turned against them, too.

The boys were mightily relieved when they got on a plane back to London. For some bizarre reason, the British press had been tipped off that Her Majesty the Queen was arriving at Heathrow. So when they saw four knackered musicians emerging through Customs, they weren’t too happy.

On their first tour of America, Brian’s health was deteriorating. Our worst fears were confirmed when doctors announced he had hepatitis.

The rest of the tour had to be cancelled. It was a disaster, professionally and personally. Then, when they came back to London in August, he had to have an emergency operation for an ulcer.

The opening track on A Night At The Opera attacked their management

But on October 11, 1974, EMI put out Killer Queen, from their third album, Sheer Heart Attack.

Within weeks it had given the boys the thing they’d most wanted – a No. 1 single.

As Queen hit the road again, this time as a headline act in their own right, it was clear they were on the verge of major success.

But the more adulation Freddie received on stage, the harder he became to work with offstage.

The tour came to an end at the famous Rainbow Theatre in London. The day before the gig, Freddie was being even more pedantic than usual.

‘Oh, stop being such a tart, Freddie,’ Brian said.

Freddie was outraged. He tossed back his head, waved his arms and stormed off in a strop.

When it was time for the soundcheck, Brian turned the mic on.

‘Freddiepoos, where are you?’ he shouted.

Freddie appeared immediately with a face like thunder. He flounced on stage, gave Brian a vicious look and then just got on with it. That’s what they always did.

In 1975 they went to Japan and found 3,000 fans waiting for them, all chanting the band’s name. It was like Beatlemania. Freddie had finally found the acclaim he’d craved all his life. He felt like a god. Unfortunately, he soon started behaving like one, too.

The more successful they became, the more agitated Queen had grown about money. One of the most heated rows came when John got married. In the run-up to the wedding he announced he wanted me to spring £10,000 (about £90,000 in 2013 values) for him to buy a house. I didn’t react too well.

Then Freddie demanded a grand piano. When I turned him down, he banged his fist on my desk. ‘I have to get a grand piano,’ he said.

Norman J Sheffield: By the time I realised things were badly wrong it was too late

I wasn’t being mean. We knew there was a huge amount of money due to come flooding our way from Queen’s success. I explained that some of it was already coming in but the vast majority of it hadn’t arrived yet.

‘But we’re stars. We’re selling millions of records,’ Freddie said.

‘And I’m still living in the same flat I’ve been in for the past three years.’

The amount of money we’d invested in the band was huge.

We’d advanced them equipment and salaries right at the beginning and had continued to pour money into them for four years.

The fact the band owed Trident close to £200,000 (£1.75 million today) didn’t seem to register with Freddie.

I can remember the conversation.

‘The money will come in December,’ I said. ‘So wait.’

Then came a phrase he would make famous around the world in years to come, although no one would have known where it was born.

Freddie stamped his feet and raised his voice: ‘No, I am not prepared to wait any longer. I want it all. I want it now.’

By late 1975 I was hearing that they were making all sorts of derogatory comments about Trident.

Then I heard a track from A Night At The Opera called Death On Two Legs. The opening two lines summed up what was to come.

‘You suck my blood like a leech/you break the law and you breach’, then, ‘Do you feel like suicide?’ it went on, ‘I think that you should’. It was some kind of nasty hate mail from Freddie to me.

Soon Bohemian Rhapsody roared to the top of the UK charts and stayed there for nine weeks. A bittersweet moment, it came as news was beginning to leak that we had split from Queen.

We should have talked more. And I should have been more attentive to their feelings. By the time I realised things were badly wrong, it was too late.

In March 1977 the company settled with the band for the sale of all of its future rights, the rights to the old albums and the settlement of the management debt.

Freddie’s dream finally came true and he became a very wealthy man. When he died, no one was sadder than me. He may have been a monster to deal with, but he was also a genius.

I did see him once, in the years following our fallout, in 1986, when I took the family to their Knebworth concert. He was friendly, as if the rows of the past were forgotten. It turned out to be their last live concert, which meant I was at their first and last.

Years later, after his death, I went to the Freddie Mercury Memorial Concert at Wembley, where I saw the three remaining members being photographed.

John Deacon pointed at me and said: ‘And if it hadn’t been for that man we wouldn’t be here.’

Brian and Roger looked at me and nodded. That gesture went a long way towards exorcising the ghosts of the past.

(Extracted from ‘Life On Two Legs: Set The Record Straight’ by Norman J Sheffield, out now and online from Amazon and in bookshops priced £14.95 for paperback, £7.49 for Kindle.

A limited-edition hardback is also available at £24.95. For more images, visit facebook.com/lifeontwolegs)

#Brian May #Freddie Mercury #Roger Taylor #John Deacon #Queen #Queen: Academia #Dearie Me #Freddie's auction #Freddie's art!#Dearie Me discourse

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badmovieihave · 4 days

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Bad movie I have Star Trek Picard :The Final Season 2023

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filmtv2022 · 4 months

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The Light in the Storm

Pairing: Aziraphale x Reader

**I did my best to keep the reader gender-neutral in this one.

Synopsis/Lead Up: Metatron has called Aziraphale back to Heaven leaving you and Crowley to pick up the pieces on Earth. In Heaven, Zirah believes he is making lasting change. Little does he know that things are worse than ever. With Aziraphale preoccupied, the Metatron has a group of angels sent to remove the threat that is Anthony J. Crowley from the playing field… for good. Having fulfilled their task, you are left all alone to pass the time until they come for you too. Unable to move forward, and unwilling to let Heaven dictate how you’ll leave this world, you vowed to avenge Crowley’s death. Using any means necessary, you lured the angels away from society. With no one around to see the carnage, you eliminate those who took your demon (and your angel) from you.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide/taking one’s life through holy water + blood + illusion to torture/murder + Dark fic (with just a little comfort at the end) + grief

A/N: This is kinda dark, so please use some caution when reading it. There is some comfort in the end and the reader does survive the ordeal. Additionally, for this fic, the reader is a demon that has been living with Aziraphale and Crowley for 1000s of years. Also, the reader uses some type of blade that can make an angel bleed but it also kills them if they are stabbed (think Supernatural kinda… but not really). And, as always, I apologize for any mistakes.

Driving rain pelted the windows leaving all that sat in the darkness beyond the thin glass in shadows. The tiny cabin groaned in agony as heavy-handed gusts beat against it. Hours had passed since the storm began to rage and it showed no visible signs of slowing. The lights flickered nervously as though trembling in the wake of the lightning and its ever-consistent partner. Thunderous tremors wracked the aging structure filling the deadly still with momentary life, but it wasn’t enough to drive out the oppressive stench of death that gripped the cabin.

A metallic oder clung to the air, its sting was matched only by the warmth of the blood that dripped in heavy lines along your fingertips and pooled in crimson puddles beside your feet. The sharp clatter of a steel blade smacking against the wooden floor echoed alongside the storm as it fell from your grip. Free of its hold, you drifted toward the large window near the front door. Your bare feet struggled to grip the gore-soaked floorboards. Layers of dried and fresh blood mixed in sticky smears and pools. Blankly you stared out the window overlooking the front drive of the cabin.

The white crash of lightning illuminated the muddy drive and the slick black outline of the Bentley parked nearby. You pressed your crimson-stained forehead and palms to the glass letting your eyes slip shut as Crowley's agonized screams sounded violently in your memory. Losing control of your resolve, what remained of your fragile hold on reality slipped away into the abyss. The air inside the room crackled with electricity and the stink of ozone overpowered the omnipresent presence of death. Rage tore down the length of your spine as a scream ripped from your lungs. Your head flew back and your body arched. Your arms flung wide, as flaming red light radiated in waves from your body.

Turning away from the window to observe the scene of your slaughter, electricity surged through the tiny space smashing wildly into everything it touched shattering it all beyond repair. Slowly, the strength it took to wield such power drained from your limbs forcing you to the ground. Your knees crashed into what remained of the now broken floor with a sickening crunch. Pain radiated through your body forcing the rest of the air from your depleted lungs.

Gasping, your shoulders heaved and your face came up to meet the sky that now was visible through the broken roof. Icey rain whipped against you, soaking through your bloodstained clothes and drenching your onyx wings. The droplets tried to wash away the ichor that coated your skin, but there was nothing strong enough to wipe away the evidence of your sin.

In a near whisper, you spoke toward Heaven, “Aziraphale, I'm so sorry.” His name was a plea… an unanswered prayer. With eyes shut and nothing left to say you reached into the pocket of your jacket, the material was stuck together with blood and water. Delicately you gripped the vial, its weight was hardly enough to register. Freeing it from its hiding spot, you worked blindly to remove the cork, allowing it to drop from your fingers.

With an unsteady hand, you brought the vial of holy water to your lips. Heaving a ragged breath you moved to tip it back, but the soft touch of another forced you to halt. Your eyes snapped open, and the vision before you was too much to fathom. Aziraphale knelt in the wreckage, the bloody water staining the creamy white of his suit an jarring scarlet as his hand wrapped softly around your wrist preventing you from ending it all.

“Aziraphale…” his name fumbled from your lips in a daze. Your free hand came up to caress his face. Tracing along the curve of his cheek, your head swam still unable to believe that he was real. Letting go of the touch, you sat stone still.

Taking advantage of your distraction, he carefully slid the vial from your grip and replaced the cork before slipping it inside his jacket. With both hands free, he pulled you close. Settling a wide palm on your waist, he watched as your eyes fell to where he touched you. Needing to see you more clearly, he cupped your face, guiding you gently to look at him.

The piercing blue of his eyes met the dead black of yours. Nothing human remained in your gaze as he held your focus on him. Tenderly, his thumb swept in an arc along your cheekbone smearing a streak of gore.

“My dear…” Zirah's voice faltered.

Tilting your head, your eyes swept over the angel taking in his soft edges and heartbroken countenance. Whispering, Aziraphale spoke your name. The sound of it seemed to stir something dormant inside of you. Raising your hands, you pushed against his chest testing the sturdiness of him beneath your touch.

“Aziraphale?” Yet again you spoke his name.

“It's me, I'm here.” Aziraphale's hands settled on top of yours, dulling the tremble as you held onto him for dear life.

Hearing his response, your eyes locked in on him. The dazed stupor gave way to bone-deep agony. You gripped his lapels violently, bunching the fabric in your fists as you began rocking back and forth in anguish. A guttural moaning cry rumbled deep in your chest as the pain and grief became too heavy to hold.

Leaning forward, you rested your forehead on his chest as his strong arms encircled your body and pressed you tightly to him. The force of your sobs shook the pair of you, but it didn't matter, he wasn't letting you go… not this time… not after all this. There was no Heaven or Hell, there was just you and him. He'd made the mistake of leaving before and it had cost him dearly. And he'd be damned before he'd lose you too.

#aziraphale fanfiction #good omens #good omens fic #aziraphale x you #Aziraphale x reader #Aziraphale x you

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saintofdaggers · 5 months

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anyway here’s a list of weird, messed up and unsettling books I’ve read (and yes I’m aware some of these are problematic or have questionable content. engage with each at your own discretion because some of them are WAY out there and also potentially triggering; I’ve included StoryGraph links so you can check the content warnings for each if you need them)

asterisks to the ones I especially enjoyed

Kathe Koja: Extremities*

Poppy Z. Brite: Wormwood*

Chuck Palahniuk: Invisible Monsters

Bret Easton Ellis: American Psycho

Kobo Abe: The Woman in the Dunes

Kobo Abe: The Box Man*

Daisy Johnson: Sisters*

Nick Cave: The Death of Bunny Munro*

Ryu Murakami: Piercing

Borderlands (edited by Thomas F. Monteleone)

Leopold von Sacher-Masoch: Venus in Furs*

Caitlín R. Kiernan: The Red Tree

J. G. Ballard: High Rise

Anthony Burgess: A Clockwork Orange

Han Kang: The Vegetarian*

John Fowles: The Collector

Lisa Tuttle: A Nest of Nightmares*

Oscar Wilde: Salome*

Stephen King: Misery

Killer Verse: Poems of Murder and Mayhem

Gillian Flynn: Sharp Objects

Sadegh Hedayat: The Blind Owl*

#book rec #literary fiction #thrillers #horror literature #rec list #favorite books #lit tag #my posts

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itsmepage · 5 days

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The Snake and The Bat

Anthony J. Crowley x Fem! Vampire! Reader || This chapter is short and prolly does it make much sense honestly think about deleting the series and doing something better for our ineffable husbands and just remaking it into a healthy one shot but idk yet. Anyway enjoy!!

Chapter 6: Angel and Demon on your Shoulder

Dark Fantasy/romance

Warnings: More ownership vibes, Muriel getting scared, blood, threats, & Crowley being sad about Aziraphale

Muriel sang happily as they made their way to the bookshop in the night, much due to the request of the nice lady earlier in the day. However “nice” did not clear their suspicion. They talked about Crowley in such a way that confused Muriel. It was loving in a strange predatorial way, like that one Twilight book they read. This was funny because they could’ve sworn she had sharp teeth whenever she smiled, but they didn’t think anything of it. Crowley had mentioned humans present themselves in such a way as a form of self-expression, so Muriel didn’t think much of it.

As they walked towards the bookshop, Muriel saw a familiar hand at the edge of the couch, they took another step closer to see another familiar hand, pinning the other down. It was the woman from before, with the sharp nails! As for the other.. was that… Crowley? Before Muriel could take any assumptions another step towards the view window sent horrifying shivers down their spine; it was a small droplet of blood that ran from the back of the couch. Was she? Were they?? Muriel breath

hitched as dots were connecting in their head, hoping it was a coincidence and that they returned during a “temptation.” But Crowley lost his position years ago.. another step to confirm their suspicion scene

The woman from before had Crowley in a position where he couldn’t move nor defend herself, and she.. the vampire: was chowing away at their skin, both of them being too distracted to see Muriel's horrified face outside the window, dropping the groceries in their hands. The poor angel had no idea what to do so.. she turned to the elevator and ran off.

They panicky spammed the upper “H” as if they were running away from a criminal, in this case; a monster. Muriel thought through the situation wondering if they should have run or helped. they thought: “I couldn’t be helping a demon! I’m an angel! But at the same time, Crowley and the traitor have been helping each other for a long time. Besides didn’t act like other demons. Sure he’s grumpy, but she’s very nice! They hate being called that though…” They kept racing as they went up. “Crowley has been nothing but nice to me! Giving tips on how to understand humans, the earth, foods I like, and how to run the Bookshop!” Muriel grumbled. “Maybe I should’ve helped.. done something!”

In all fairness, what were they gonna do? Fight the creature? They didn’t believe that they could. The door dinged at the arrival. “Level Heaven.” The voice said. Muriel took a step in, finally figuring out what they were going to do.

The traitor needs to know.

The sun beamed in Crowley’s as he began rubbing her eyes, standing up feeling sing at the sharp pain on their neck, Crowley, placed his hand at the area, touching the dark scabs that healed overnight as she began to recall what happened, getting goosebumps as they remembered the woman’s words.

“You tasted.. absolutely.. delectable…” She breathed, taking another lick of the multiple bite marks flowing out she laughed as Crowley hissed in his weakened state at the action. “Rest now my pet, you deserve it..” she said when she caressed the demon’s cheek with her hand leaving Crowley to officially creep into a slumber.

Crowley found a mirror to examine the scar, growling at the impact. He then stared himself into the mirror; why did she do this? Why did they agree to this? The letter. The goddamn rancid note. A threat that could potentially take away his best friend forever: The Book of Life. Crowley wanted to think that they wouldn’t, but knowing them they would. So he ran back to Hungry Beast in hopes that if she submitted, maybe the woman could help, maybe that the idea of Aziraphale running back to them could work, and that maybe they could work together again and everything would be ok. Maybe, maybe not. Crowley sat in the chair, tangling his red hair with her hands, feeling her heart break all over again as silent tears tried to sneak up in their yellow eyes The overgrowing loving burden to save his best friend, keep him in her care. Because they loved him so much.

The bell dinged as the door swan open, and Crowley looked up. “What do you want Shax?” Crowley said angrily. Shax stepped in “I’m assuming you got the lovely letter we gave you.” Shax said tauntingly. “Oh, I did,” Crowley replied doing a poor job hiding his already existing anger, searching for her glasses. “That you should show Armageddon is coming soon.” Shax continued, knowing stepping the boundaries. “How soon?” Crowley asked. “Soon. I hope you have plans for joining us.. for your friend's sake..” Shax smiled. Crowley grabbed his glasses as he began to leave, allowing Shax to observe the mark the vampire left. Chuckling once Crowley sped off.

“It seems the Demon Crowley is now on a leash..” Shax said to herself, vanishing into the air.

#crowley x arizaphale #crowley good omens #crowley #vampire reader #wlw #crowley x reader #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands x reader

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lemon-tart-221 · 6 months

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Human AU, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Poor Communication, Food & Many Drinks, currently 6.5k words

Aziraphale is a food writer and book collector who leads a quiet life, rarely taking risks.

Crowley, the charismatic owner of the Grand Duke Distillery, has a reputation for living on the wild side.

The two seem to be complete opposites, yet they share a love of food and drink — and a memory of a kiss long ago.

Their friendship that began in culinary school gradually simmers into something more, but can Aziraphale overcome his fears that their lives are just too different for it to ever work?

Crowley saunters away, and Aziraphale watches his slender profile disappear. He turns away and stares down at his hands, trying to prevent a minor emotional crisis. He’s buried so much about that year at culinary school — the chef whites, the sharp knives, the relentless pressure.

And Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley, star pupil, top of the class, dark and rebellious and brilliant. The one every other student simultaneously loved and hated and envied, and secretly wanted to fuck. The one who asked too many challenging questions and pushed his superiors too far.

The one who, in a dingy stairwell, kissed him once.

Read on AO3

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction

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medium-observation · 3 months

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FEBRUARY RELEASE

Beetlejuice - First US National Tour

January 21, 2024 - Medium Observation

Video | Matinée

Cast:

Justin Collette (Beetlejuice), Larkin Reilly (u/s Lydia Deetz), Megan McGinnis (Barbara Maitland), Matthew Michael Janisse (s/w Adam Maitland), Jesse Sharp (Charles Deetz), Sarah Litzsinger (Delia Deetz), Hillary Porter (Miss Argentina), Abe Goldfarb (Otho), Brian Vaughn (Maxie Dean), Lexie Dorsett Sharp (s/w Maxine Dean/Juno), Haley Hannah (s/w Girl Scout), Ryan Breslin (s/w Ensemble)

Notes:

Excellent video of Larkin and Matthew as Lydia and Adam respectively. Minimal washout with very little to no obstruction.

NFT DATE: August 1st, 2024

Screenshots:https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjBbtWz

Video is $20

Moulin Rouge! The Musical - First US National Tour

January 6, 2024 - Medium Observation

Video | Matinée

Cast:

Mark Doyle (u/s Christian), Arianna Rosario (alt Satine), Robert Petkoff (Zidler), Kevyn Morrow (e/c Toulouse), Andrew Brewer (Duke), Danny Burgos (Santiago), Sarah Bowden (Nini), Harper Miles (La Chocolat), Nicci Claspell (Arabia), Max Heitmann (Baby Doll), Kamal Lado (Pierre), Sam J. Cahn, Darius Crenshaw, Jimena Flores Sanchez, Tommy Gedrich, Cameron Hobbs, Tamrin Goldberg (s/w), Pepe Munoz (s/w), Tanisha Moore, Brayden Newby, Elyse Niederee, Kent Overshown, Stefanie Renee Salyers, Adéa Michelle Sessoms, Preston Taylor

Notes:

Absolutely perfect video of Mark, Arianna and Kevyn as Christian, Satine and Toulouse respectively! Zero obstruction, minimal washout.

NFT DATE: August 1st, 2024

Screenshots:https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjB9sf1

Video is $20

Wicked - Second US National Tour (Munchkinland)

January 28, 2024 - Medium Observation

Video

Cast:

Olivia Valli (Elphaba), Celia Hottenstein (Glinda), Colin LeMoine (u/s Fiyero), Timothy Shew (The Wizard), Kathy Fitzgerald (Madame Morrible), Tara Kostmayer (Nessarose), Kyle McArthur (Boq), Boise Holmes (Doctor Dillamond), Mitchell Tobin (Chistery), Jane Brockman (Midwife), Alexia Acebo (Witch's Mother), Wayne Schroder (Witch's Father / Ozian Official), Jennifer Mariela Bermeo (Ensemble), Remmie Bourgeouis (Ensemble), Sean Burns (Ensemble), Jōvan Dansberry (Ensemble), Matt Densky (Ensemble), Marie Eife (Ensemble), Jenny Florkowski (s/w Ensemble), David Kaverman (s/w Ensemble), Lauren Leach (Ensemble), Megan Loomis (Ensemble), Madison Claire Parks (Ensemble), Jackie Raye (Ensemble), Kat Rodriguez (Ensemble), Anthony Santos (Ensemble), Derek Schiesel (Ensemble), Tregoney Shepherd (Ensemble), Brett Stoelker (Ensemble), Maggie Van Wieringen (Ensemble)

Notes:

Fantastic video of Colin Fiyero! Some readjusting throughout, minimal washout.

NFT DATE: August 1st, 2024

Screenshots:https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjBcqfY

Video is $20

Videos can be purchased through me at [email protected]

#mediumobservation #beetlejuice the musical #wicked the musical #moulin rouge #musical bootlegs #justin collette

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