A New Day...

A flirty confident Aziraphale. Lots of innuendo. Fun and very hot! Mixed with a lot of sweetness.

Crowley’s love life is on the rocks so he finally swears off men. Typical that his new job places him with a co-worker who’s so straight up sexy.

Or in which, Aziraphale tries to mix things up, Crowley is shaken and Anathema is a right stirrer.

In the end though, a relationship is worth a shot.

read it here

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

I've had this little idea in my head for a while now, so I decided to sit down and plot it out.

Disclaimer: This isn't meant to be some sort of One-Worksheet-Fits-All situation. This is meant to be a visual representation of some type of story planning you could be doing in order to develop a plot!

Lay down groundwork! (Backstory integral to the beginning of your story.) Build hinges. (Events that hinge on other events and fall down like dominoes) Suspend structures. (Withhold just enough information to make the reader curious, and keep them guessing.)

And hey, is this helps... maybe sit down and write a story! :)

15 min drawings

shout out to @eybefioro and @firelikestars for suggesting moments and expressions

I see your forehead kiss and raise you to a hand kiss, a soft warm exhale of breath brushing the knuckles.

if we get a cheek kiss in the good omens finale I will actually die

Browsing books in libraries has been the direct cause for me of discovering new authors, new genres, and just basking in a deep sense of content to be (in the restful company of so many books and book lovers).

“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

Again. Crowley and Aziraphale.

Good haul. I assume that Deth (?) is reaching to catch Morgon when he inevitably falls of the stairs because of those ridiculously unpractical frilly boots. And omg is he wearing a fanny pack?

big fan of: used bookstores, and 80s fantasy covers

“We are here, and this is now.” Constable Visit, a strict believer in the Omnian religion, occasionally quoted that from their holy book. Vimes understood it to mean, in less exalted copper speak, that you have to do the job that is in front of you.

--Terry Pratchett, Night Watch