Miel Petite

A little honey, obsessed with drawing in circles Support me on Patreon

[mielpetite]

WIP Wednesday

Sad comic is still sad. 😔 And somehow my spouse always immediately chooses the part of a page I feel insecure about in my technical skill. I hate drawing Crowley’s hair at this angle. Just because I dreamt up this hairstyle doesn’t mean I dreamt the back of it! 😆

[mielpetite]

Magnetic Ineffable Dress Up Dolls!

FINALLY, after more than 5 years of dreaming about it, I have made the thing I always wanted! After much hard work, a serendipitous gift, and much swearing at an inanimate machine, Astral Gravy and I are pleased to announce the creation of our Magnetic Ineffable Dress Up Dolls!

The initial set comes with 7 ineffable outfits and lots of cute accessories, as pictured, with plans for expansions in future. If you have ever wanted to dress Aziraphale and Crowley up on your fridge or liven up those metal bins in your cubicle at work, now you can!

Right now I am currently producing sets for TIC7, but because they are fairly time and material intensive supplies will be limited. The pricing will be £25 per character or £45 for both, and they will come packaged with a fun backing card. They’ll be first come first served at my booth, but if you don’t get your chance I’m also donating a full set of both to the online auction AND the in person raffle.

Now, for those of you who want one but won’t be able to for this first round, fear not. My plan is to produce many more in small batches and make those available for sale in the future. I will announce those batches in advance so hopefully everyone who wants one can get the chance to snag one. 😊

[mielpetite]

Tea Service- 50

Crowley finally ready for his cuppa 😆

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[mielpetite]

WIP Wednesday

My spouse said ooh this ones cheeky how about give them this but cover it with something funny. So enjoy it with a couple of Chelsea buns 😂

[mielpetite]

Night Bright as Day, Vol. 3- 50

Oof poor demon. Definitely not the kind of exit he normally makes. He’s used to stomping away, not being shown the door.

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[mielpetite]

WIP Wednesday

This just in- 😭😭😭

[mielpetite]

Tea Service- 49

From banter to smitten again. I figure that’s half their lives together 😂

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[mielpetite]

July’s ineffable kiss- Some sauternes perhaps, and a toast for not losing one’s head over crêpes 😆

[mielpetite]

Night Bright as Day, Vol. 3- 49

I know this one hurts because it hurt me to draw it, but still I think it turned out to be a pretty page. I’m guessing in the waking world Aziraphale never once threw Crowley out of the shop.

Sure, he’d flounce out on his own sometimes because he’d get irritated but I doubt he’d ever get thrown out. I headcanon that throwing the humans out of Eden was one of Aziraphale’s career lows and he doesn’t like the feel of it, that’s why he’d always forgive Maggie her late rent.

Also, in another comic it would have been nice to have Crowley on his knees like this but here he’s just standing up.

[mielpetite]

WIP Wednesday

I would say that my spouse is mean for picking this panel but to be honest none of them are cheerful for this comic now 😅

[mielpetite]

Tea Service - 48

CW for probably the worst dialogue they’ve ever said in my head 😆 The fun thing will be to watch them switch from this to smitten again on the very next page but I thought we could as use a good laugh right now including me. Join my Patreon to see more, and support a good cause 💜

[mielpetite]

Finally finished the cover for Night Bright as Day Volume 2 so now all of my completed comics have a cover! I do like the flow and play of their feathers and fabric, and the innuendo of the pear juice but I definitely wished I had more time, as usual 😆

Without titles:

[mielpetite]

Day 17 of Ineffable Valentines and the prompt was pillow talk. I went completely ace with this one, and hoped to give fans that missing scene we all wanted. I don’t know why I’m so excited by this, there are plenty of technical mistakes I could fix if there’d been time, but I love it.

[lisi-925]

i should say thank youfrom the botttom of my heart i truly wanted to read this conversation between them beacause somehpowinoticed that when crowley told azirafel that his best freind died i felt as if azirafel didn't understand tht it was him like if in his mind he just said i would neverbe crowley's best freind crowley would never be this devastated if i died i kind ofthaught that somehow aziraflwas kind of jealous of this mestrious best freind of crowley aka him and i always find myself laughing when i think like that am i crazy maybe yet yeah thank you , that was what i needed .

[mielpetite]

You’re so welcome and that’s honestly EXACTLY why I did this. Because Aziraphale’s face falls in that moment Crowley says he lost his best friend like he’s thinking “I thought -I- was your best friend” 🥺 But I think after everything that happened at the airfield, that he had a clue that Crowley meant him. However I also think Crowley doesn’t like being that direct with his feelings and would still try to dodge it, even though he would still confirm that Aziraphale is his best friend in his own way 😆

[mielpetite]

WIP Wednesday

Just two sillies being silly 😊

[mielpetite]

Night Bright as Day, Vol. 3- 48

Crowley may have gone too far promising him anything including another world… he only showed Jesus the kingdoms of the world, and gave Eve a piece of fruit, surely that was gonna sound a little over the line of temptation to an angel, even if he only meant it to show how far he’d go to show his love.

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[mielpetite]

WIP Wednesday

File this week’s page under pretty and sad. Or pretty sad. It’s gonna be a bummer strap in. (Or don’t read it if you aren’t ready.)

[carry-the-sky]

piggybacking off this post by @aduckwithears: what if the bookshop was noah's ark 2.0, but for everything?

what if they end up in the shop after everything has been erased, only this time crowley thinks: was the place always this big? it’s more of a maze than he remembers, now that he’s properly looking. rows and rows of shelves twisting and turning in a dozen labyrinthine directions. staircases spiraling up to nowhere. hallways branching off the foyer like tree roots, that’s new.

aziraphale emerges from the bowels of the shop, successful in his quest for cocoa. a warm drink at the end of all things, how painfully british. as far as crowley can tell, nothing has survived; not the earth, or alpha centauri, or any distant stars and nebulas clinging to the skin of the universe. not even light, the fastest, most fundamental thing in all of creation. but somehow, fortnum & mason has. somehow, aziraphale’s chintzy mug embossed with the words HOT STUFF in blazing cherry red above a little cartoon devil has.

“don’t ask,” he says, pushing it into crowley’s hands.

crowley opens his mouth, several questions and a taunt or two already lined up in the wings— and that's when he sees it.

oh. 

that’s definitely new.

“angel.”

“it was a gift, if you must know, white elephant gone horribly, horribly wrong, and then i couldn’t bring myself to donate it, one can never have too much drinkware—”

“aziraphale, shut up a moment, would you, and look.”

to the angel’s credit, he shuts up and looks.

memory is a funny thing, unreliable, easily eroded. crowley would have sworn, cross his char-blackened heart, that the tree was taller. in his mind, the branches extend like reverent hands towards the heavens, heavy with fruit, wide and green and swallowing up the whole sky. he is very small, beneath it.

aziraphale’s hand finds his shoulder. “oh.”

“yeah.”

“well, that’s…certainly a design choice. did we…?”

“who else? we’re all that’s left.” but no, that’s not quite right. the dickens. crowley scoops it up, flips it open, then keeps flipping, eyes dancing over pages that are no longer empty.

next to him, aziraphale frowns into his mug. “but how? if this is some sort of, of…cosmic leg-pull, i confess i’m failing to see the—” his face goes blank, then lights up like a christmas tree, a study in giddy. “oh! oh, of course. even the dickens.”

“it was you.” crowley takes his time with the words, feeling each one rush through him. an equal yet opposite kind of flood. “you named him, and it brought him back.”

they gaze at each other, stunned.

“we need more books,” says crowley, at the same time that aziraphale declares, “we need more cocoa.”

and so it goes. they start with the classics, squabbling over semantics (“for the last time, crowley, twilight does not count. i don’t care how many copies were sold worldwide.”) they brave the jeffrey archers. they pore over encyclopedias, scraping their teeth on words like lithospheric mantle, reveling in the euphony of sonoluminescence. and something peculiar starts to happen, a sort of field of dreams situation.

people start happening.

they’re the only thing that could, really. if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear, does it matter? the tree was there; the knowledge was there. it was real. it existed, in spite of. because of. what use does humanity have for a book that tells them, yes, you can be, i will allow it, i will permit it. we create our own mythos, simply by living, by looking at the rorschach blob and finding joy in the mess, beauty in the mundane. you’ve seen the post: forty-thousand years ago, humans stenciled their handprints on the wall of a cave, and this morning, my niece learned to fingerpaint. 

so yes, people start happening. friends curl up in the shop’s back room, trashing oprah’s book club pick of the month. lovers spin in a slow circle beneath the oculus as fred astaire croons from the gramophone. someone brings up the duct-taped banana (“how fucking pretentious. anyone could do that shit.” “yeah, but they didn’t. this dude did. in this essay, i will—”), and someone else says, have some art nouveau, maybe you’ll calm down, and the far atrium is suddenly a tribute to klimt, bursting with geometric golds and ornamental greens. in the foyer, a young man teaches amateur card tricks from a folding table that aziraphale will swear up and down isn’t his; the tag on his jumper reads, hi, my name is josh. here, a neolithic wheel. there, a 7th-century chaturanga board. paul blart: mall cop, wedged between the self-helps and memoirs. people begetting creation begetting people, an ouroboros of abracadabra, creating as they speak, until the bookshop is overflowing with it. bursting at the seams with humanity. the world is remade here, in the gaps between stanzas of that shitty poem you wrote when you were twelve, in the canned laughter on your best friend’s favorite sitcom. i am trying to get the seas back on the maps, where they belong. i am trying to love the world back to normal. we survive through storytelling, that ineffable collision of necessity and ingenuity, anchoring the world like the roots of a great tree. we tell stories to remind ourselves that we are alive. we are here.

slowly but surely, the void beyond the bookshop’s windows begins to brighten. human hands stitch the universe back together. and a small eternity later, crowley and aziraphale pull the stream of time around themselves like a cocoon, and rest.

“there’s nothing to forgive, you know,” crowley says. “i know i was flippant about it before, but the truth is— we were both a little bit right, in the end. weren’t we?”

“and a little bit wrong,” aziraphale agrees.

there is sunlight, their time-adjacent bubble. it catches in aziraphale’s cloud of curls, limning him in gold. not a halo, but a frame. the contour of a face and form freely chosen. every day for the rest of our lives, we’ll get to choose, crowley will think, the realization settling just behind his ribs. how about that.

he sees it, the moment aziraphale realizes it too.

“actually i take it back.” crowley grins, and the space between them contracts, then shrinks, a star collapsing. “yeah, i’d like an apology for the pointy teeth. my culture’s not your costume, angel.”

aziraphale’s smile is luminous. “crowley. beloved.”

“hm?”

“shut up a moment, would you, and kiss me. properly, this time.”

“such hard work,” says crowley, and he does. there might be supernovas. maybe another big bang. nobody is around to see it, celestial, infernal, or otherwise, but that’s alright. it exists, it has always existed. here, in the kitchen, loving the world. steadfastly loving.

see how easy it is.