The Script Book Makes All The Sweet, Heart-wrenching Moments Even Worse Because You Realise Just How

maggots go sleep

dear maggots i know for a FACT that it is past midnight for a lot of you fuckers, I've been going through my notifs and even I got sleepy enough that i'm taking a break and I'm going to nap and it's 3 in the afternoon where I am. if im sleeping im going to yell at you all to sleep too, because sometimes the crazy adopted child must take care of his internet family.

IF IT'S PAST 11 PM WHERE YOU LIVE CLOSE TUMBLR AND GO TO SLEEP YOU BEAUTIFUL IDIOTS I KNOW HOW SLEEP DEPRIVED YOU ARE. NOPE SHUSH-SHUSH-SHUSH NO EXCUSES GOODNIGHT. IF YOU HAVE INSOMNIA GO CUDDLE WITH A PILLOW OR SOMETHING GET OFF THE INTERNET IT'S GOODNIGHT BYEBYE TIME, AS I TELL MY DOGGY SISTER. Here's a photo of her sleeping. Are you inspired? GOOD. GO TO SLEEP. DREAM OF FLUFFY CROWLEY AND AZIRAPHALE THINGS. NIGHT NIGHT.

Even Neil ships David and Michael!

good omens mascot: the bloodline of confusion

Assorted maggots, I know you know I'm a dumbass. It's a given, really. But a lot of y'all were scandalised when I didn't know who Terry Pratchett was. Let me raise you one better.

Today I met my cousin. I gave her the Good Omens saga to read, from Pt I to Pt III. The line she found the most shocking was, "Terry Pratchett is a guy." And not for the reasons you'd think.

So it turns out, my dear cousin, blood of mine, spent her life until today thinking Terry Pratchett is a kindly old woman.

She thought he looked something like Sudha Murty. For those of you who don't know her, she's the mother-in-law of Rishi Sunak, if that bloke still is the PM of Britain, idk they seem to be going through a lot of them really fast. Are you okay, Britain? Have a photo of her...

THIS. IS WHAT MY COUSIN. THOUGHT SIR TERRY PRATCHETT. LOOKED LIKE.

but THAT'S NOT ALL, DEAR MAGGOTS.

My cousin... looked at the cover design and typefaces of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's books. She felt they were similar.

So today, she hit me with the world-shattering, eyeball-extracting, brain-melting news that till today, she thought Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett were married. Because of their cover design fonts.

So really, nothing I ever do can upstage this. She thought Terry Pratchett was a kindly old lady who was married to Neil Gaiman because of title fonts.

Make of this what you will.

Sleight Of Hand - Chapter 1: The Pledge

@moonyinpisces and I proudly present Chapter 1 of “Sleight Of Hand”: The Pledge!

Read on Ao3 (with extra Comic pages!)

Early release of comic pages as well as sketches and uncensored Versions on my Patreon.

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“It’s our last night on Earth,” Crowley says, voice wrung together in chapped, rusted parts. “Six thousand years of this. Of never– of not getting to– *eurgh!”* Uncaring of the styling, Crowley runs frantic hands through his hair, mussing it up in tight, torturous fists. “Six thousand years. And it’s a bloody *photograph* that does us in.” 

His eyes are golden, molten in the warm, ambient light. The pulse at his long, taut neck is fluttering like a trapped bird, the skin there thin, delicate. “Hm,” Aziraphale says distractedly, without thinking too much of it. “I’d always thought it would’ve been what we’d got up to at Job’s.”

Crowley zeroes in on Aziraphale, at that point. All of this has been musings to himself, of attacks towards nobody in particular. Perhaps God. Most likely God. But now he’s not looking at God, and he’s looking at Aziraphale instead. It sets Aziraphale on edge, prickles the angelic sense at the back of his neck. It quickens his pulse, settles the heat of his body decidedly southward. But more than that, perhaps most of all; it makes Aziraphale be as reminded of Crowley’s human body as he is of his own, at this exact moment. 

The demon takes a step forward. Aziraphale, a stuttered step back. His fingers are curled into the top of his opposite sleeve, tips brushing the edge of the polaroid he’d nearly grabbed.

“Calm down, Crowley,” he says waveringly. 

“Calm *down?*” Crowley repeats quietly, dangerously. He’s looking Aziraphale in the eye, now. He’s looking nowhere else. 

Another step. Forward, back. Aziraphale licks his lips. 

“It’s all going to be alright, my dear boy,” he tries. He clears his throat, shifts his fingers further into his sleeve. “You see–”

He’s cut off. Quick as a flash, Crowley’s gripping him around the shoulders, shoves him back so his arse is pressed to the lip of the vanity, the lit-up mirror alighting him from behind. Aziraphale’s arms draw up around the demon’s shoulders in surprise. There’s nowhere else to go, no more steps to take. The look in Crowley’s eye speaks of a hunger all-too-familiar to Aziraphale. Reminiscent of meat, of basements, of languishing drunkenly at the end of another man’s Earth. Behind Crowley’s head, Aziraphale has the photograph clenched in one hand. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers. 

“Don’t–” Crowley’s expression is fierce, desperate. “Don’t say *anything–*” 

Aziraphale opens his mouth to say something else.

*“Angel.”* Crowley makes a desperate sort of sound, and then their lips are pressed together, and Aziraphale freezes altogether. 

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😇😇

Hey Neil, my names Zoe. Im a big fan of your work. I'm a trans teen in the US and for the past year I've been trying to get started on HRT. Unfortunately I'm in a not great financial situation and have had a lot of trouble finding a good paying job with insurance, so I decided to try starting a fundraiser to raise the money for HRT. I was wondering if you could possibly share around my gofundme to some people to get the word out. I know it's a lot for a stranger to ask but it would mean the world to me of you could share it with even a single person.

Here's the link https://gofund.me/2c8e2eac

Thanks for your time and have a good day

Good luck.

The evolution of Crowley not wanting the apocalypse because the stars are cool to not wanting the apocalypse because he thinks that humanity has value.

Good Omens | 1.01 In The Beginning

#Happy New Year!!