Meltdown

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! :)

Good Omens Fandom pebbling like crazy with art and hair photos

happy pride to everyone in the community!! happy pride to those who are out, those who are not, those who aren’t sure of their identity yet, those who don’t use labels, those who don’t feel seen, etc, etc. stay safe and don’t be ashamed to be yourself.

a hug ❤️‍🩹

Had to look up how tall that was in my metric system but yeah. For non US/UK people 5'8 is almost 173cm.

Klein is fijn, ik wil niet groter worden (=small is fun, I don't want to grow taller) was my favourite childhood song. And a good motto to live happily by.

Reblog if you're shorter than 5'8.

WIP TAG GAME

I was tagged by @anatomic-girl to share a sentence or excerpt from my WIP(s) that start with the letters POSH. I had to really delve in for the O but I found one in the end yeay! All in good omens wips.

No pressure to do anything but if you want to play … tag along! Maybe @copperplatebeech @foolishlovers @sapphosewrites @di-42 Listen well, the next word is HARK. 😉

P. WIP ficlet from the bookshop years between s1 and s2. Gentle domestic fluff. The plants seem to be taking over my writing.

O. WIP loose retelling of Diana Wynne Jones fantasy story. Tanacrow and his family of travelling entertainers sometimes smuggle things to the North. This time the packet is a posh blonde.

S. WIP short story set in early 1800s, or a bit later possibly. Regency era! Aziraphale is sold off to lord Crowley for a gambling debt.

H. WIP short story. Crowley is pressured into giving a lift to a friend of a friend, who turns out to be an irritating fribble.

………

P. Prowling around the bookshop muttering to himself Crowley finally settles the plant in the corner of a well-lit reading nook in front of a north facing window. The brugmansia waits expectantly (this day was progressing far differently than he had assumed, in as far as it had had expectations. Less doomfull for sure). The demon shakes a finger at him and splutters. "Look. You-. Hmph." He angry-walks a small circle. "You keep on growing and blooming okay! No spots, no mold. For him", he hisses.

………

O. One could not say certain things in the South, you had to be careful in choosing your words. People were always watching. And listening. And reporting.

He stood up at the exact moment when Shax opened her mouth to admonish him for dreaming yet again. She let out an irritated hiss and he felt her mild glower following him into the wagon. Bee chuckled from the driving seat as they softly murmured to the horse pulling their home towards the next village, their next show.

………

S. Swinging their hands gently to and fro the redhead smiled winningly up at him. “I’m quite drunk y..know.” For the first time since the angel had entered the room his face softened infinitisemally as he spoke in a soft yet clear voice. “Yes, I can see that.” Crowley’s smile grew.

Ignoring the rest of the intoxicated company around the gaming table the blonde spoke without ever taking his eyes off the slightly swaying man in front of him. “I will go and pack my things, Gabriel, since you’ve apparently sold me to Lord Crowley. We will be off to Gretna Green I suppose.”

………

H. He stared. Surely this was not the same ill-clothed, rude, boring, irritating person that had stepped in his car? These clothes fitted him, flattered him, suited him. The clothes did not suit the time perhaps but they certainly fitted Aziraphale. The velvet waistcoat delectably fastened around his sturdy middle, just waiting to be… (no. Nope. Not going there. ) The angelic vision gave him a coquettish smile when he strutted out into the street and loosened the bowtie around his neck. Crowley swallowed, repressed the urge to help him loosen his bowtie (nope, stoppit, not going there either you dimwit) and stared some more. His elbow slid of the roof of his Bentley and he staggered slightly. The angel, observing the effect he had, widened his smile a fraction. “Well, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, “now I think I am ready for this trip as well.”

………

You can find me on AO3 as thechangelingsea. If you’re excited by any of these projects let me know. I’ve been on a forced digital detox bc of concussion. Now I am slowly getting back to writing more than scattered sentences in notebooks and I am dithering between all of these projects, which to continue first?!?!

There she goes is simultaneously heartbreaking and fluffy sweet and uplifting. I cried several times. Stellar performances.

(part one)

A little snake container I repainted to look like a beady eyed Crowley.

Let’s boop a nightingale

We’ve booped each other a long time. We’ve been on this site for a long time. I mean, you and me. I could always boop on you. You could always boop on me. We’re a team, a group. Boop of the two of us. And we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t booping. I mean, the last few years, not really. And I would like to boop… I mean if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, boop off together, then we can. Just the two of us. We don’t need Heaven, we don’t need Hell, they’re toxic. We need to boop away from them, just boop us. You and me, what do you say?