Yup. Binge Away. Don’t Stop. Confirmed Hedonist Here.

Hi. Shout in!

Shout out to all the Aces who aren't Aro and the Aros who aren't Ace, we are lumped together so often so I'm here to say hi. Demi Queer, hopeless romantic here. Love uuuuuuu.

Er… books plural. Comfy fantasy reread + life shattering dark prose + gentle poetry + graphic novels.

I’m bored and nosy. Please reblog this with the book you’re currently reading.

There is nothing more precious to me as a writer than the comments left on AO3. Whenever I get that email notification, I wonder what kind of comment was left. To have a little fun, I'm going to sort the typical comments into a few different categories and share my reactions to them as a writer.

If you feel I missed a comment type, please let me know. I'm curious to learn what other classifications you think exist (positive comment types only please - let's not make this negative). Also, if you wanted to tag yourself, I'd love you know what type of commenter you think you are.

The Polite Conversationalist - Your comment confirms that you read and enjoyed the fic or chapter. You offer praise for the author's efforts and encouragement for them to continue. - If this is you, please know that I'm imagining us holding a book club together. I brought us snacks.

The All Caps Reaction - You left the most unhinged comment. - You were screaming as you read it? I was screaming as I wrote it. Let's be friends.

The How Dare You - The angst is real. And painful. And I'm sorry but the story needed it. - This is a compliment of the highest order and I'm so glad you left it.

The Conspiracy Theorist - You are so invested that you are trying to figure out what comes next. - I'm so excited to read your ideas. They let me know the story tracks for you. And I'm either smiling because you guessed right and I'm excited for you to read what comes next, or I'm grinning because I know the plot twist is going to blow your mind.

The Catch-Up - You haven't commented in a while and are letting me know you are catching up. - I'm so glad you are back! I missed you. I know life gets busy and it means a lot to me that you took the time to read my story.

The Giggle - You laughed at my jokes and let me know. - Did we just become best friends? I'm already making you a bracelet.

The Callout - You found my favorite line in the chapter or fic. - I love you so much. You just made my day, my week, my month. Seriously, all the love for the reader. xoxo

Bearded Aziraphale, save us all.

Based on many pictures I found on Pinterest :)

Woodcut print of the ineffable husband's hands during the dance scene.

There might be more to come, might turn it into a series of 3.

🧜‍♀️✨️Crowley please at least TRY to take something seriously, stop always acting like you're on a Vogue cover 😤 (I love them 💕)

GWR: Does Jonathan have a mate?

Joe Hollins: In spite of his age, Jonathan still has good libido and is seen frequently to mate with Emma and sometimes Fred - animals are often not particularly gender-sensitive!

Source: Interview with Jonathan’s vet

Warding off the oncoming depressive episode by reading about very old tortoises

✨page 3✨ of my Ineffable Cats' (short) series is HERE🩷🐈🐈‍⬛

• "Jim", p.3 •

(Cat-Crowley being as dramatic as he should be 🩷)

EDIT: I just realized that I forgot to make Aziraphale wear the bowtie collar in this page😱 (I'm dumb)

ps. A little poll for you all~

“We’ve seen a lot, haven’t we?” said Crowley, contemplating the New Year’s festivities on the telly. The cottage was quiet, a gas fire going against the damp chill. They’d foregone any local celebrations for a bottle of port indoors; if Aziraphale noticed the miracle that caused it to refill every time they poured out another glass, he didn’t comment.

“A good many calendars too,” said Aziraphale. “It’s properly 5784 in the old reckoning, isn’t it? – or, no, eighty-five. And four thousand and something, I think, in China. Until sometime in February. The only constant is they all celebrate. Though I can’t think the Earth itself takes much notice.”

“Ah, humans. Any chance to get smashed.” Crowley gestured with his glass. “Or laid.” Eyebrow lifted.

“Is that a grandly romantic proposition? My, my. How old and married we’ve become.”

“Show you married.”

The handclasp that followed was, regardless of commentary, very fond, and very married.

“I think,” said Aziraphale, “it’s because humans tumbled to something early on that Heaven and Hell never did. We got to it in the end, you sooner than I, I fancy.”

“Wot’s that?” Crowley settled back against the cushions, regarding the blue glow of the London Eye on the screen, soon to be engulfed in cascades of fireworks. It always took him back to moments before Time started, though he never mentioned that to Aziraphale. Maybe he should.

“Well, that things can change. All those centuries, our Head Offices were playing what I believe is called a zero-sum game. A certain number of souls, a certain number of blessings and curses, a final reckoning where one side would win or lose. Eternal perdition or eternal glory. The best to be hoped for was a static and, to my mind, rather dreary perfection.”

Crowley hummed the opening bar of “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” (his pitch was execrable, but Aziraphale recognised it).

“Exactly. And then Adam came along and upended everything. Because he was, ancestry regardless, to his bones human. He’d learned humanity from the way he was raised. And the best thing Humans do, I think, is imagine that things could be different.”

A presenter was breathlessly advising viewers that in a few minutes, the display would commence, as if this were unexpected.

“They blunder and they do horrid deeds, and far too often they put your old firm to shame -- to say nothing of mine -- and yet somehow enough of them always seem determined that it doesn’t have to be that way. That misery can have an end, and cruelty isn’t inevitable. And even the least thoughtful of them mark these rather arbitrary dates with celebrations, and vows that next year they’ll work to become better. Even when there’s very little to celebrate, and everything seems to be dragging them backward into the dark, there are always those who carry on. That wonderful defiance that they do so well.”

“Lot on their plate this time,” said Crowley. “Let’s hope they don’t make a bollocks of it.”

“Here we go,” said Aziraphale, as flowers of fire began to bloom, blue and gold and crimson, across the small screen. Crowley chinked his glass against the angel’s.

“To hope,” said Aziraphale. “Happy New Year, darling.”

Comment and toast on AO3

Werehistorical fiction. Crime help. Thrillerotic.

My latest @guardian books cartoon.