Hello Tumblr…

“Nope,” I whisper as I exit out of a fic with no paragraph breaks.

Alright y'all omegaverse won 😂 I see all of you. I'll work on that tonight and have a sneak peek, full will be posted this weekend! ❤️ thank you all for participating!

Renegade_Reaper ☺️ I have all of my drabbles saved in docs, too, so I plan on posting those there soon.

PSA

Because of the new Tumblr policy, I’m deleting my nsfw stuff. I have an AO3 account if you would still like to read it! Sorry guys.

Ahh thank you!! I love you for reading it ❤️

Drinking Buddies

Hey all! I've re-joined a fandom that is near and dear to my heart and I wanted to write something for all of these lovely people. Welcome to Good Omens!!

I'll be taking a break from Voltron for the time being, I need a change in scenery. Sorry to all those who are here specifically for that!

Without further ado; please join me and some drunk demons.

*

It was the one time a year where Heaven grouped together as a congregation to have their annual Great Plan meeting, where everyone was briefed on the vague idea of what could be happening in the coming year. Nobody was quite sure what to do now that the Apocalypse…. Hadn’t happened. Thus the vague meetings.

It was also the one time a year that Gabriel and Aziraphale dropped their respective demon partners at a bar and left them to their own devices for a few hours.

Despite popular belief, Crowley and Beelzebub got along quite well when there was alcohol involved. On this one day, they were reluctant friends instead of boss and subordinate. It was nice to have a change. Besides, it was also one of the only days that the Prince herself actually banished her flies and ran a comb through her messy hair, all for the sake of a few hours.

“Your Angel left you, too?” Crowley asks after they’d both gotten their drinks and sat in respective awkward silence for a few minutes.

Beelzebub scowls at her drink, a little more intensely than usual. “Yezzz. He’zzz running the damn thing.”

“You should’ve convinced him to cancel.” The snake scoffs, sipping his wine and glancing at the door. Twenty minutes in. This was going to last an eternity.

“I tried! He told me to buzzz off. Bloody angels and their bloody meetings.”

“Amen to that,” Crowley mumbles into his drink, ignoring the dirty look that earned him. Maybe he was picking up a few too many of Aziraphale’s linguistic habits. “So how is Hell doing, after you-know-what?”

“It’s more Hellish than usual, no thanks to you.” She scoffs. “Incredibly hot. Chaotic.”

“You should come and visit Earth more often, you might like it.”

Beelzebub rolls her eyes, knocking back the last of her drink and flagging over the bartender. “You sound like Gabriel.”

He makes a face, shaking his head. “Eugh, I make it a habit not to sound anything like him. Please don’t insult me like that.”

The Prince gives him a smug smile. “You dezzerve to be knocked down a few pegzz.”

Crowley ignores that. “Seriously, Beelzebub, your terrible Highness — coming up here may do you some good. You can… air out, as it were.”

“I quite like my office.” She says dryly, glancing up as the bartender pours her another drink. “It’zz familiar.”

“You’re festering.” He grins.

“I will not hezzitate to throw my drink on you, Crawley.”

“My name is Crowley,” the demon hisses, his yellow eyes flashing.

Beelzebub grins, tilting her head. “That’zz what I said.”

He considers her a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then he sighs heavily, shaking his head and turning back to his drink. “You’re still insufferable, I see.”

“The best of us never change.” She waves a hand. “How izz that Angel of yourzz?”

Crowley pauses, a dopey smile spreading over his lips at the thought of his Angel. Ah, Aziraphale… “He’s… He’s wonderful.”

“Dizzgusting.” She says flippantly.

The smile vanishes, replaced with an irritated scowl. That seemed to be a constant when he was in the Lord of the Flies’s presence. “And what about yours?”

“What, are you expecting me to get all mushy?”

“No, of course not.” He scoffs. “The Prince herself showing emotions? Preposterous. You don’t have a mushy bone in your body, Bee.”

“If I even have bones.” She says absently.

“If you even have bones,” he agrees. “But no, really, how is the Archangel Fucking Gabriel?”

The Prince cackles, throwing back her head. “He’s an azzhole! Juzzt like normal.”

“I never expected anything less.” Crowley rolls his eyes. How Aziraphale had put up with him for so long was a mystery to him — and it was an even bigger mystery how Beelzebub didn’t smite Gabriel where he stood every time he opened his mouth. Perhaps she was just attracted to rude dumbasses.

“He’s quite good in the bedroom, too.” She says, eyeing a couple in the corner who were making out like they would die if they didn’t spend their time swapping spit in a bar.

Crowley short circuits, the breath leaving his corporeal form. Then he smacks his hand on the counter with a triumphant, “I knew it!”

She gives him a flat look, but there was a hint of color creeping up on her sallow cheeks. “What? Did you place betzz?”

“Yes.” He nods. “I believe I won. My dear Angel owes me.”

“Azz if you two aren't fucking.” Beelzebub grumbles into her glass, glowering at him.

“In my defence,” Crowley holds up a finger. “It most definitely is not as frequent as you and Gabriel.”

“So that’zz your problem!” She grins, jabbing him with a bony finger. “You need to get laid.”

“He’s quite soft, he doesn’t do well with frequent, er… activity.” He quips, shaking his head.

“Your job is temptation, right?”

“Well, sure.”

“Then tempt him, you idiot!”

“But…” Crowley entertains this thought a moment, then makes a face. “But he’s so soft…”

“A little too zzoft, if you ask me.” Beelzebub rolls her eyes.

“He’s an Angel!” He scowls. “They’re soft by disposition!”

“No, I think yourzz is juzzt a zzpecial case.” She rolls her eyes, her finger tracing over the rim of her glass. “I must’ve mizzed that model.”

“Gabriel was just designed to be an ass.” Crowley huffs.

The Prince’s eyes go a bit hazy, and quite possibly… dreamy? “He does have a nice azz.”

“Oooh… was that an emotion?” The demon gasps in mock surprise. “Does the great Lord Beelzebub have feelings?”

She scowls into her drink. “Zzilence, imbecile.”

“I’m impressed,” he coos, leaning forward and looking over his glasses at her, eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you going soft, Bee?”

“I’ll zzmite you.” She says flatly, eyeing him.

“I’m already damned.” He snorts, leaning back and picking up his drink again.

“You’re a damned fool, that’zz what you are.”

“Perhaps,” he muses, looking up at the TV in the corner, following the sport with hazy eyes.

“I don’t see how Aziraphale puts up with you.”

He glares at her. “He — He loves me, thank you very much. He’s a very good individual.”

“How quaint.” Beelzebub drawls, rolling her eyes.

Crowley eyes her shrewdly, pursing his lips. Then he huffs. “Tell me about your Gabriel.”

The Prince, who had been taking a sip of her drink, chokes and splutters with a fantastic lack of grace. She wipes her mouth on her sleeve, giving him a deer-in-the-headlights look. “What aboutmy — my Gabriel.”

The demon grins lazily, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know, anything.”

“Are you asking about my zz— my sex life?” She buzzes, concentrating on her words, metaphorical hackles raised.

“Heavens, no!” Crowley cackles. “I couldn’t care less what you get up to in the bedroom. What I mean is,” he wiggles his eyebrows. “Does he make you feel warm and fuzzy, your highness?”

“What?!” She squawks, flushing darkly, her gaze darting around. “No! Of course not!”

“I’m only kidding, relax.” He laughs. There was no need to suffer the wrath of one of Hell’s finest. “But really, what’s it like? Do you get along?”

“We get along well enough.” The Prince offers reluctantly. “He’s quite affectionate.”

“Is he?” That was hard to believe.

“Oh, yezz.” She nods, chewing on her lower lip. “Alwayzz wanting to touch me. He likes teazzing, too. The brat.”

That was shocking. Beelzebub was a prickly little thing. Many a demon had lost fingers for even brushing against her accidentally. “Is that so?” He muses, then gives her a wicked grin. “I’ll bet you love it.”

“You can’t prove that.” She says hotly into her drink.

He snorts. “No, suppose I can’t. Does he come into Hell to see you or do you go Upstairs?”

“What, you think I’d go up to that blasted place?” She scowls. “He comes to me. As he should.”

“How odd,” Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Gabriel doesn’t seem to be the type to come to Hell willingly.”

“He’zz quite willing when I’m through with him.” Beelzebub chuckles. “Angels are rather good bottomzz, aren’t they? Or does your Aziraphale step up?”

“What?” The demon laughs. “No, he doesn’t have an ounce of dominance in him! Although he is quite loud.”

“Yours is loud? Unfair.” She whines.

“It took some coaxing,” Crowley says smugly, unable to help feeling a tad superior. “But it was worth the effort.”

“I’ll take that into conzzideration.” She muses. “Although Gabriel isn’t as zzoft as your Angel.”

“Yes, Aziraphale is quite a soft boy.” He says fondly.

“Gabriel is a little piece of shit boy.” Beelzebub groans. “Speaking of — they should’ve been done by now. What’zz taking zzo long?”

“I don’t know.” He wrinkles his nose. “Maybe they’ll be here soon.”

“They better be.” The Prince mutters, squinting at the clock.

*

Aziraphale and Gabriel walked into the bar they had left their Demons in to find them drunk and getting along… alarmingly well.

“An’ then I said… I said…” Crowley was slurring. He looks up just in time to lose his train of thought and brightens, looking more like an excited puppy than a fearsome demon. “Aziraphale!”

“Heeeeey — it’zz the piece of shit boy!” Beelzebub crows, in a loud and loose fashion that was definitely nothing like her usual disposition.

“Oh, dear,” says Aziraphale, “they’re quite drunk.”

“Wonderful,” Gabriel says, his expression pinched.

“What did you get into, love?” Aziraphale asks fondly, walking over and steadying Crowley when he reaches for his Angel.

“Nothin’.” He gives him a dopey grin, his eyes shining from behind his glasses, which were knocked askew.

“Gabriel!” The Prince snaps. “Get your bitch azz over here!”

“There’s no need to be rude, Beelzebub.” The Archangel sighs, walking over to his own mess of a demon.

Crowley was looking up at Aziraphale like he’d hung the bloody moon, a dopey, drunken smile on his lips. The Angel chuckles softly, cupping his face and brushing his thumbs over his cheeks lovingly. “I think you’re quite drunk, my love.”

“Psshhh,” Crowley wobbles in his seat, waving a hand and accidentally swatting Aziraphale. “Naw… Jus’ a lil — hic — a lil…” He trails off, getting distracted by the smattering of freckles across the Angel’s nose. “Hmm…”

Meanwhile, Gabriel was in a similar position, trying to persuade Beelzebub it was time to go home as well.

“You alwayzzzzz… alwayzzz ruin my fun,” she pouts up at her Angel, her dark eyes bleary and her cheeks flushed from drink.

“I believe you have plenty of fun on your own, Bee.” He sighs, prying her off the barstool and slinging her over his shoulder. “Come on. Bedtime.”

“See you next year, Gabriel,” Aziraphale calls after them. “And, er… Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He sighs over the Prince’s drunken giggling. “You as well.”

The Angel turns his attention back to Crowley, who’s eyelids were slipping shut as he sagged against the counter. Aziraphale pays the tab, adding a hefty tip for the troubles the demons likely caused.

“Come on, my love,” he says as he helps his demon off the barstool. “Until next year.”

“Next year…” Crowley agrees, stumbling along as his Angel takes him home to tuck him into bed and nurse his impending hangover away.

Hey if y’all have anything specific Good Omens you want me to write send in an ask

Taking a small break (just until the weekend) friends ❤️ it's been a long week and I hardly have the energy to get through the day. Thank you for all of your asks, they're making me excited to get back to things!

Fic authors deserve more credit.

Story time: I started a book about 23 hours ago and just finished it. Also in that time I slept for 10 hours, spent time with family, was at work, etc. Anyway, I enjoyed the book (Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda). But it felt like it flew by, so after I finished I looked up the word count because what are pages? Pages are meaningless. I only function in word counts anymore.

The estimate I found was 58,580. My immediate reaction was “oh, that’s why. That’s nothing!” But what a shitty response. Because no. That’s not nothing. That’s a whole. Damn. Book. An entire novel! And Fic authors regularly bust out 30k, 50k, 100k, 150k words. AND THEY DO IT FOR FREE. WHILE WORKING AND LIVING THEIR LIVES.

So anyway, thank your favorite fic author today because they deserve it. Because they’re amazing. They’re the MVPs.

Old Habits Die Hard

Keith and Lance’s New Year’s Resolutions:

1. Eat less sweets

2. Work out every morning

3. Go to bed early

4. Organize the basement

5. Spend more time with each other

One

Lance was very weak when it came to sugar. And of course, Keith had put ‘cut back on sugar’ at the top of their resolutions list, like some kind of monster. Maybe it would be better at the bottom of the list? Or in the middle? It was kind of insulting that he had put it at the top! And that knowing little look he’d given Lance? Ugh.

Keith’s unreasonable request was the exact reason why Lance was in the kitchen at 2:43am, sitting on the floor and halfway through a carton of rocky road ice cream. He was eating it out of spite. His boyfriend was being ridiculous, and Lance was not going to stand for it.

In retrospect, maybe eating a carton of ice cream just a few hours before he had to wake up and get ready for work had been a really bad idea. Lance groans, burying his face in his pillow and clutching his stomach.

“Should I stay home?” Keith frets, checking his forehead for the millionth time. “You seemed fine last night…”

“No!” Lance says quickly. Keith did not need to see him drown himself in pepto bismol and Sprite. Also, there might be a couple empty ice cream cartons he needed to dispose of. Just a couple. “No, go to work… I’ll be fine. It’s probably just a 24 hour thing.”

His boyfriend gives him an odd look, then rolls his eyes. “Does this have anything to do with the empty ice cream carton in the freezer?”

His blood freezes in his veins and he swallows very loudly. “No?” He says, very convincingly. Keith was going to be so convinced.

There’s a soft scoff and then a hand ruffling his hair fondly. “I knew it. I’ll call your work and let them know you caught a bug. Want me to have Hunk bring you some crackers and Sprite?”

“Please…” He moans, clutching his stomach as another wave of nausea hits.

“Will do,” Keith chuckles, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “And tonight when I get home, I’m getting rid of anything sugary we still own. I’ll find that secret stash of yours, McClain.”

There’s a sense of finality in his tone that both makes him nervous and turns him on a little. “Okay.” He mumbles guiltily, settling in to deal with his horrible mistake.

Two

“I don’t want to.” Keith groans, pulling the blankets up over his head.

Lance puts his hands on his hips, huffing. “Keith Kogane, you were the one who decided it would be a good idea to get up at the ass crack of dawn and go to the gym.”

“We did that yesterday.” The Korean whines petulantly.

“The list says every morning, so we’re going.”

The covers are pushed back slowly, revealing a mop of messy black hair and amethyst eyes narrowed to evil little slits. Surprisingly, Lance was the early bird in this relationship. It drove Keith absolutely nuts, which was why he had decided that if he was going to be disturbed by his boyfriend in ungodly hours of the morning, he might as well make the most of it.

But this morning, he was not having it.

Lance is unprepared for the sudden attack, squawking as his boyfriend launches himself at him, yanking him gracelessly back into the bed and aggressively koala hugging him.

“No.” Comes the verdict.

Lance almost wants to struggle, but then Keith presses a line of kisses over the exposed skin of his neck and tucks the warm blanket around them, and he’s weak. Leave it to Keith to play dirty.

“Okay.” He sighs.

And there went their second resolution.

Three

“We should go to bed.” Lance yawns, rubbing his eyes and looking at the clock. It read 10:38pm.

Keith glances up from his computer, where he’d been playing Poptropica for the past three hours, hoping lance hadn’t noticed (He had). “Can’t we stay up for another half hour? I’m almost done with this isla- uh… thing.”

Lane throws him an amused look, picking up the book on the coffee stable he’d been meaning to read. “Yes, finish playing Zomberry Island. We can stay up another half hour.”

His boyfriend gives him a sheepish, grateful little smile before turning back to his screen. The two settle into comfortable silenced, the sounds of clicking coming from Keith’s computer and the rasp of pages against fingertips filling the room between them.

Time flies past, neither of them really keeping tabs. Keith finishes Zomberry Island and starts on another one, completely engrossed in the screen. Lance loses himself to the plot of his book. Neither of them notice the time.

Well, not until Lance’s phone buzzes angrily, letting him know that it was well past the time for it to be plugged in for the night. He passes a hand over his face and marks the page, sitting up to see what it was fussing about. He freezes when he reads the time.

3:07am.

“Keith,” Lance says, staring in silent horror. “Babe, I think we should go to bed.”

“But I’m almost…” He trails off, falling back into his hyperfixation.

“No, Kogane, it’s bedtime.” Lance walks over, gently pulling his hands from the keyboard and stealing a kiss.

Keith gives him a dazed look, then glowers. “Hey, I was focusing.”

“I know.” He says, amused. He turns his phone on, then shows him the time. Keith’s eyes widen. “But it’s seriously time for us to go to sleep.”

Keith’s mouth twists into a wry smile as he lets Lance pull him from the chair and towards their bedroom. “We’re really bad at this whole resolutions thing, aren’t we?”

“The worst.” Lance laughs.

Four

“No.” Lance says stubbornly, standing at the top of the basement stairs. “Absolutely not.”

Keith kicks a box out of his way, wading into the piles of random and useless crap and the sea of boxes. “But we said that we’d do this.”

“The Lance that said we’d clean this monstrosity was also drunk and considering dying his hair bright pink. I am not that Lance anymore, Keith.”

The Korean lets out a snort of amusement, looking up at a stack of boxes that was taller than him. “Well… somebody’s gotta do it.”

Lance crosses his arms, leaning against the banister. “That somebody is not going to be me. And knowing you, you’re going to get through half of this and I’ll find you at four in the morning sitting in a pile of old clothes and covered in dust because you found an old toy and you’re playing with it.”

Keith gives the boxes a reproachful look, but even he can’t deny that. “Yeah…”

“We can bribe the Holts and Hunk to do it with pizza and beer.” Lance shrugs.

“Yeah.” His boyfriend nods, hardly taking a second to agree. “Yep. Okay. Let’s do that.”

“C’mon, mullet.” Lance chuckles. “Get outta there before I lose your short ass to dust and spiders.”

“Spiders?!” Keith shrieks, immediately jumping away from the boxes and bounding up the stairs.

“You fought intergalactic space monsters and you’re afraid of spiders?” Lance laughs, switching off the light and closing the basement door.

“It’s different, Lance! They have too many eyes and legs!”

“Whatever you say.” Comes the amused reply as they leave the messy basement to debate arachnids.

Five

“So I bought all of the movies you texted me because I couldn’t pick. Also I got Mike and Ikes, licorice, Reese’s, Twix, and a shit ton of other stuff. And Chinese.”

Lance looks up as Keith dumps the haul down on the counter, smiling fondly and nursing his cup of tea. His boyfriend looks up, then walks over and tips his chin up, giving him a soft kiss.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks quietly, his amethyst eyes searching Lance’s.

The Cuban gives him a wobbly, wet smile, shrugging. He’d forgotten a dose of his anti-anxiety meds and had called Keith at work in the middle of a panic attack. Keith had immediately packed his things, talking to Lance as he headed to the store to pick up things for a relaxing evening.

“C’mon.” Keith says, his tone soothing, leading Lance to the couch. “You relax and I’ll put a movie in.”

Lance settles himself on the couch while Keith slots a disney movie into the DVD player, bustling about to get their food and snacks ready for the night. It was going to be a long one. Keith was determined to calm his boyfriend down so he could sleep easily tonight.

The two settle into a cocoon of food and drinks and blankets, ready for their night.

“Thank you.” Lance says quietly as the opening credits of their movie start rolling.

“Of course.” Keith gives a soft look and an even softer kiss. “We’ll make Friday nights movie nights, okay?”

“Okay.” Lance whispers, pillowing his head against Keith’s shoulder, smiling to himself.

Maybe they were bad at keeping trivial resolutions, but they excelled at the ones that meant the most. And, really, that was all that mattered.

Day Five: Haunted House

*

“And… there!” Lance sits back to admire his work. “Wow, you look really scary.”

The actor smiles at the makeup artist, thanking him before getting up to go get into costume. The Cuban smiles, dabbing his brush onto a cloth before sliding it into his makeup bag and zipping it shut. That had been his final actor. All of the people for the opening night of the haunted house were all made up and he was free to roam the park.

“It’s funny to me that you’ll do this, but you won’t watch Saw with me.”

Lance turns, looking over to see his boyfriend leaning on the doorframe of the dressing room. He smiles, looking over his beat up leather jacket and the braid Lance had managed to weave into his hair before his shift (with minimal grumbling, of course).

“There’s a difference between making people look like a monster and watching a movie about a psychopathic serial killer.” He quips.

“It’s still funny to me that you took a job at a haunted house. Of all places.” Keith snorts, pushing off the wall and walking over to help Lance with his bags. “You jump at shadows.”

“I’m creating these shadows. There’s a difference!”

“Uh huh,” Keith presses a kiss to his cheek. “Come on, let’s go. I lost a bet to Pidge and now she’s making me get my face painted.”

“I could do it.” Lance offers.

“Nah,” he shoulders the makeup bag. “She wants it to be embarrassing, and you’d make it pretty even if it was embarrassing.”

“This is true.” Lance laughs, taking Keith’s free hand and squeezing it. “Why do you have to get your face painted, anyway?”

The Korean’s cheeks heat up, his ears going slightly red. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“You lost a bet to Pidge, of course I’ll laugh at you.” He chuckles.

“Fair enough…” Keith grumbles. He chews on his lip for a moment before he huffs. “We went into the kids haunted house across the way, and… I got scared.”

“You… got scared?” Lance raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well… the deal was that we had to keep a straight face the whole time. And everything was fine! Until this kid bumped into me and I freaked out.”

The Cuban swallows a laugh. “And what was this kid dressed like?”

Keith deflates. “A puppy.”

“Sounds like you really deserve that face paint, babe.” Lance teases, swinging their arms. “C’mon, I wanna help pick what it is.”

“You guys are so mean to me!” Keith whines, trudging along beside him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles, leaning up and giving him a kiss. “You brought this on yourself. Let’s go.”

The two walk hand in hand toward their friends, the haunted house at their backs and Lance’s endless palettes of makeup and brushes clacking together in the bag. Keith grumbles about the injustice of unforeseen circumstances and backstabbing best friends. Lance tightens his fingers around Keith’s hand, smiling and shaking his head.

Oh man, if only Keith knew that Lance had taken this job so that Keith had an excuse to go to the scream park every night. He was pretty sure that his boyfriend might keel over from the sheer amount of joy. So Lance kept that little part to himself, simply enjoying Keith’s juvenile happiness at the proximity to his favorite holiday. It was well worth designing scary characters and painting them into existence every single night.  

I found a company called “Frantic Meerkat” who makes journals whose sole purpose is to call me out