Works in Challenges/Collections
Listing Works
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Sets on the Beach by Mintly for neveralarch
Fandoms: Running Close to the Wind - Alexandra Rowland
17 Dec 2025
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Summary
With a sad smile, Julian picked up his discarded clothing, still dripping with seawater, and exited the cabin into the night, fully nude and unashamed. Teveri and Avra watched him leave with a quiet moment of appreciation for the jump of his muscled ass cheeks.
"We fucked that up, didn't we?" Avra said into the silence. "He won't want to have sex with us again."
"No," Teveri agreed, a frown tugging at their scarring. "He was always too pretty for us, anyway."
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Aziraphale realised, belatedly, as his fountain pen hovered above the paper stamped with Heaven’s official letterhead, that he hadn’t heard from Crowley in nearly forty years.
It was uncalled for. And awfully rude. What kind of enemy never followed up after a little spat?
Aziraphale attempts a daring rescue and absolutely everything is Crowley's fault.
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Crowley likes Aziraphale. He really, really likes him. It's terrible. He can't help it if his one friend is an angel, but also a bastard, and that he really wants to hold his hand and run his fingers the feather-soft curls of his hair and kiss him until he's breathless. It's not his fault that Aziraphale is entirely irresistible. Crowley finds any excuse to pull him closer, and Aziraphale, most of the time, lets him. Isn't friendship amazing?
Six thousand years of dates and Crowley misses the memo.
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The place bursted with green. Glossy, broad-leafed plants mingled with curious blossoms painted in vivid hues over every surface. The perfume of distant rainforests suffused the air. Fecund and contained, the glasshouse was an Eden, transplanted far from home.
“Clever, isn't it?”
One amber eye peered sleepily at Aziraphale from across the room.
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“Are you sure you’re not married?” Stede swallows.
Something is tickling the back of his mind, a memory or dawning realisation or the hangover exasperated by the flashing lights of Las Vegas spilling onto the dishevelled bed. Stede pulls at his left glove, alarm coiling in his gut.
Ed snorts in amusement. “Yeah I’m sure. I think I’d remember if I got hitched.”
“Would you?” Stede says shakily.
He holds his hand between them. Around his ring finger is a band matching Ed’s exactly. Brand new, without a single scratch on it, golden and lovely.
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Dessert First by Anti_kate, books-and-omens (everybody_lives), CaffeineChic, curtaincall, darcylindbergh, Mintly, NarumiKaiko, Princip1914, racketghost, rfsmiley, squiddz, TheOldAquarian
Fandoms: Good Omens (TV)
13 Nov 2021
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Six thousand years of dessert served with a generous dollop of pining. Aziraphale and Crowley indulge in a myriad of historical treats across tables and across time—and maybe something a little sweeter, too.
🧁
This collaborative tasting menu is brought to you by twelve (previously) anonymous authors as a Halloween trick-or-treat. Each chapter is the specialty of a single chef as part of a shared, sugar-dusted history.
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It was a new millennium, and the London Eye had recently opened to the public. Aziraphale had been hinting for ages that Crowley might take him.
"Crowley, you must take us to the opening," Aziraphale said.
Crowley and Aziraphale go on a date.
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Bringing up the love Aziraphale always felt radiating from Crowley could be a bit embarrassing for both of them, and so she never had. Aziraphale knew this love was a gift, silently and easily given, even when circumstance kept them apart.
It was quite romantic, actually.
In the aftermath of Armageddon, bright and bubbly with champagne, Aziraphale could finally kiss the demon who loved her.
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Aziraphale hadn’t been paying attention to Crowley for the last few hours. Not uncommon when books were involved, which was a shame because Crowley was very handsome and also very bored.
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Not Your Nan's Demon Summoning by Mintly
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
04 May 2020
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Crowley was sulking. He and Aziraphale could be having a cuddle by the telly with truffles from that little shop they liked in Brighton, but no. Instead of a cozy night in, all he had was an increasingly lukewarm mug of coffee and the indignity of being trapped inside what appeared to be a grandmother’s sitting room.
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It was clear, then, that Aziraphale could love earthly pleasures as much as the next being, and he always had. He had a reverence of God’s creation. But before there had always been a particular order to these things. There was God, and then the flutter of a yellowed page, the delicate texture of a mille feuille, and the rest.
There was little that pleased him more than Crowley. And now, maybe, that worried him.