shania kurniawan

still new, currently random, but hopefully one day I will have a theme.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Visit Original Link

Good night, angel.

[shadriella]

i never knew i needed to hear david tennant as crowley say "good night, angel" in the softest voice possible oh god dnjshsjs 😭❤️

[neil-gaiman]

Hello dear Mr Gaiman.

a few minutes ago I read a thread of how a succession of unexpected events Butterfly effect style led to Michael Sheen as our favorite angel / librarian. So I start to think about what specific event led you to write this great work together with Mr Terry Pratchett. Maybe a burned out lightbulb in your study that made you rethink the little miracles of science and how an old witch could have predicted it?

PS: thank you very much for all your work. the world needs more series like goos ommens mr Gaiman ... it really needs them.

Hmm.

Well, in 1985 (I think) I spent 3 weeks doing a real job. I was the editor of Fitness Magazine between the leaving of an editor and the arrival of an editor. It was my job to write everything that the magazine needed that hadn't been written, and to organize all the things that had already been commissioned. (I was given the job because I'd been filling in for the assistant editor on a magazine at the next desk.) When the new editor turned up she was vaguely grateful and offered to buy anything I wrote for the magazine. Given that I had barely any interest in fitness at the best of times (although, in retrospect, I was probably at my fittest, not being able to afford a car or taxis, and walking and bussing everywhere in London) I wrote an article taking a whole load of literary works, including Winnie the Pooh and Lord of the Rings, and writing a short bit in their style about their fitness regimen. And one of them was Richmal Crompton's Just William character. The editor rejected the article suspecting (quite rightly) that the people who bought Fitness Magazine might feel the humour was aimed at them. And I never even tried to sell it to anyone else (who would I have sold it to?). But I remembered the pleasure of writing William fiction.

And then, the following year, I watched The Omen on late night TV. "Be funny if they got the baby swap wrong," I thought. "If the baby that the powers of Hell were keeping tabs on was a perfectly normal kid. And the Antichrist were growing up somewhere nice like the village in the William books..."

And that started to grow in my head. Then I was reading The Jew of Malta by Kit Marlowe, and it has a bit where the three (cartoonishly evil) Jews compare notes on all the well-poisoning and suchlike they'd done that day, and as a Jew who never quite gets his act together, it occurred to me that if I were the third Jew I'd just be apologizing for having failed to poison a well...

And suddenly I had the opening of a book. It would be called William the Antichrist. And it would begin with three Demons in a graveyard...

I wrote the first 5000 words, sent them to a few friends, and then Sandman was commissioned and I figured I'd get back to it One Day until Terry Pratchett called and said "Here. That thing you sent me. Are you doing anything with it? I think I know what happens next. I could buy it off you or we could write it together."

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

"Still a demon, then?" "What kind of a stupid question is that? ‘Still a demon?’ What else am I going to be? A fennec fox!?" You *know* that is a meme waiting to happen right? ;)

Hehehe, wonderful! :)

Here:

(based on this @neil-gaiman's post :))

[neil-gaiman]

REALLY BLOODY EXCELLENT OMENS...

Many, many years ago (it was Hallowe'en 1989, for the curious, the year before Good Omens was published) Terry Pratchett and I were sharing a room at the World Fantasy Convention in Seattle, to keep the costs down, because we were both young authors, and taking ourselves to America and conventions were expensive. It was a wonderful convention. I remember a huge Seattle second-hand bookstore in which I found a dozen or so green-bound Storisende Edition James Branch Cabell books, each signed so neatly by the author that the bookshop people assured me that the signatures were printed, and really ten dollars a book was the correct price.

I could afford books. Good Omens had just been sold to UK publishers and then to US publishers for more money than Terry or I had ever received for anything. (Terry had been incredibly worried about this, certain that receiving a healthy advance would mean the end of his career. When his career didn't end, Terry suggested to his agent that perhaps he ought to be getting that kind of advance for every book from now on, and his life changed, and he stopped having to share a hotel room to save money. But I digress.) Advance reading copies of Good Omens had not yet gone out, but a few editors had read it (ones who had bid for it but failed to buy it) and they all seemed very excited about it, and thrilled for us.

On the Saturday evening Terry left the bar quite early and headed off to bed. I stayed up talking to people and having a marvelous time, hung in there until the small hours of the morning when they closed the hotel bar and all the people went away, and then headed up to the hotel room room.

I opened the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed in the dark across the room to where my bed was located.

I'd just reached the bed when, from the far side of the room, a voice said, “What time of the night do you call this then? Your mother and I have been worried sick about you.”

Terry was wide awake. Jet lag had taken its toll.

And I was wide awake too. So we lay in our respective beds and having nothing else to do, we plotted the sequel to Good Omens. It was a good one, too. We fully intended to write it, whenever we next had three or four months free. Only I went to live in America and Terry stayed in the UK, and after Good Omens was published Sandman became SANDMAN and Discworld became DISCWORLD™ and there wasn't ever a good time.

But we never forgot it.

It's been thirty-one years since Good Omens was published, which means it's thirty-two years since Terry Pratchett and I lay in our respective beds in a Seattle hotel room at a World Fantasy Convention, and plotted the sequel. (I got to use bits of the sequel in the TV series version of Good Omens -- that's where our angels came from.)

Terry and I, in Cardiff in 2010, on the night we decided that Good Omens should become a television series.

Terry was clear on what he wanted from Good Omens on the telly. He wanted the story told, and if that worked, he wanted the rest of the story told.

So in September 2017 I sat down in St James' Park, beside the director, Douglas Mackinnon, on a chair with my name on it, as Showrunner of Good Omens. The chair slowly and elegantly lowered itself to the ground underneath me and fell apart, and I thought, that's not really a good omen. Fortunately, under Douglas's leadership, that chair was the only thing that collapsed.

The crumbled chair.

So, once Good Omens the TV series had been released by Amazon and the BBC, to global acclaim, many awards and joy, Rob Wilkins (Terry's representative on Earth) and I had the conversation with the BBC and Amazon about doing some more. And they got very excited. We talked to Michael Sheen and David Tennant about doing some more. They also got very excited. We told them a little about the plot. They got even more excited.

Rob Wilkins and David Tennant on the second day of shooting.

Me and Michael and Ash aged nearly 2.

What it was mostly like shooting Good Omens: peering into screens while something happened round the corner.

I'd been a fan of John Finnemore's for years, and had had the joy of working with him on a radio show called With Great Pleasure, where I picked passages I loved, had amazing readers read them aloud and talked about them.

(Here's a clip from that show of me talking about working with Terry Pratchett, and reading a poem by Terry: https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p06x3syv. Here's the whole show from YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7OsS_JWbzQ with John Finnemore's bits too.)

L to R: With Great Pleasure. John Finnemore, me all beardy, Nina Sosanya (Sister Mary in Good Omens) Peter Capaldi (he played Islington in the original BBC series of Neverwhere).

I asked John if he'd be willing to work with me on writing the next round of Good Omens, and was overjoyed when he said yes. We have some surprise guest collaborators too. And Douglas Mackinnon is returning to oversee the whole thing with me.

So that's the plan. We've been keeping it secret for a long time (mostly because otherwise my mail and Twitter feeds would have turned into gushing torrents of What Can You Tell Us About It? long ago) but we are now at the point where sets are being built in Scotland (which is where we're shooting, and more about filming things in Scotland soon), and we can't really keep it secret any longer.

There are so many questions people have asked about what happened next (and also, what happened before) to our favourite Angel and Demon. Here are, perhaps, some of the answers you've been hoping for.

As Good Omens continues, we will be back in Soho, and all through time and space, solving a mystery which starts with one of the angels wandering through a Soho street market with no memory of who they might be, on their way to Aziraphale's bookshop.

(Although our story actually begins about five minutes before anyone had got around to saying “Let there be Light”.)

from https://journal.neilgaiman.com/2021/06/really-bloody-excellent-omens.html

[neil-gaiman]

REALLY BLOODY EXCELLENT OMENS...

Many, many years ago (it was Hallowe'en 1989, for the curious, the year before Good Omens was published) Terry Pratchett and I were sharing a room at the World Fantasy Convention in Seattle, to keep the costs down, because we were both young authors, and taking ourselves to America and conventions were expensive. It was a wonderful convention. I remember a huge Seattle second-hand bookstore in which I found a dozen or so green-bound Storisende Edition James Branch Cabell books, each signed so neatly by the author that the bookshop people assured me that the signatures were printed, and really ten dollars a book was the correct price.

I could afford books. Good Omens had just been sold to UK publishers and then to US publishers for more money than Terry or I had ever received for anything. (Terry had been incredibly worried about this, certain that receiving a healthy advance would mean the end of his career. When his career didn't end, Terry suggested to his agent that perhaps he ought to be getting that kind of advance for every book from now on, and his life changed, and he stopped having to share a hotel room to save money. But I digress.) Advance reading copies of Good Omens had not yet gone out, but a few editors had read it (ones who had bid for it but failed to buy it) and they all seemed very excited about it, and thrilled for us.

On the Saturday evening Terry left the bar quite early and headed off to bed. I stayed up talking to people and having a marvelous time, hung in there until the small hours of the morning when they closed the hotel bar and all the people went away, and then headed up to the hotel room room.

I opened the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed in the dark across the room to where my bed was located.

I'd just reached the bed when, from the far side of the room, a voice said, “What time of the night do you call this then? Your mother and I have been worried sick about you.”

Terry was wide awake. Jet lag had taken its toll.

And I was wide awake too. So we lay in our respective beds and having nothing else to do, we plotted the sequel to Good Omens. It was a good one, too. We fully intended to write it, whenever we next had three or four months free. Only I went to live in America and Terry stayed in the UK, and after Good Omens was published Sandman became SANDMAN and Discworld became DISCWORLD™ and there wasn't ever a good time.

But we never forgot it.

It's been thirty-one years since Good Omens was published, which means it's thirty-two years since Terry Pratchett and I lay in our respective beds in a Seattle hotel room at a World Fantasy Convention, and plotted the sequel. (I got to use bits of the sequel in the TV series version of Good Omens -- that's where our angels came from.)

Terry and I, in Cardiff in 2010, on the night we decided that Good Omens should become a television series.

Terry was clear on what he wanted from Good Omens on the telly. He wanted the story told, and if that worked, he wanted the rest of the story told.

So in September 2017 I sat down in St James' Park, beside the director, Douglas Mackinnon, on a chair with my name on it, as Showrunner of Good Omens. The chair slowly and elegantly lowered itself to the ground underneath me and fell apart, and I thought, that's not really a good omen. Fortunately, under Douglas's leadership, that chair was the only thing that collapsed.

The crumbled chair.

So, once Good Omens the TV series had been released by Amazon and the BBC, to global acclaim, many awards and joy, Rob Wilkins (Terry's representative on Earth) and I had the conversation with the BBC and Amazon about doing some more. And they got very excited. We talked to Michael Sheen and David Tennant about doing some more. They also got very excited. We told them a little about the plot. They got even more excited.

Rob Wilkins and David Tennant on the second day of shooting.

Me and Michael and Ash aged nearly 2.

What it was mostly like shooting Good Omens: peering into screens while something happened round the corner.

I'd been a fan of John Finnemore's for years, and had had the joy of working with him on a radio show called With Great Pleasure, where I picked passages I loved, had amazing readers read them aloud and talked about them.

(Here's a clip from that show of me talking about working with Terry Pratchett, and reading a poem by Terry: https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p06x3syv. Here's the whole show from YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7OsS_JWbzQ with John Finnemore's bits too.)

L to R: With Great Pleasure. John Finnemore, me all beardy, Nina Sosanya (Sister Mary in Good Omens) Peter Capaldi (he played Islington in the original BBC series of Neverwhere).

I asked John if he'd be willing to work with me on writing the next round of Good Omens, and was overjoyed when he said yes. We have some surprise guest collaborators too. And Douglas Mackinnon is returning to oversee the whole thing with me.

So that's the plan. We've been keeping it secret for a long time (mostly because otherwise my mail and Twitter feeds would have turned into gushing torrents of What Can You Tell Us About It? long ago) but we are now at the point where sets are being built in Scotland (which is where we're shooting, and more about filming things in Scotland soon), and we can't really keep it secret any longer.

There are so many questions people have asked about what happened next (and also, what happened before) to our favourite Angel and Demon. Here are, perhaps, some of the answers you've been hoping for.

As Good Omens continues, we will be back in Soho, and all through time and space, solving a mystery which starts with one of the angels wandering through a Soho street market with no memory of who they might be, on their way to Aziraphale's bookshop.

(Although our story actually begins about five minutes before anyone had got around to saying “Let there be Light”.)

from https://journal.neilgaiman.com/2021/06/really-bloody-excellent-omens.html

[neil-gaiman]

Reblogging for people who have just woken up somewhere.

[feministism]

[drankinwatahmelin]

4. If the car pulls up to you run in the opposite direction.

5. Walk with your keys in your hands and keep a key between each finger

6. If they put you in the trunk kick out the headlights

7. If you get lost find a woman with a child. Never ask a man for help (this one was drilled)

[bando--grand-scamyon]

That scream fire piece of advice is literally life saving

8. Watch your shadows and reflections, especially if someone is walking behind you. A split second notice is better than none and will help you.

[gaylittlepieceofsh1t]

Yes this last one really saves lives y'all I do it all the time

[uncleromeo]

girls have to learn to view the world like international intelligence agents just to be safe walking down the street. smh.

[twilightt-fantasy]

guys pls pls pls reblog and girls pls pls pls be safe out there. terrifying and so sad that we have to worry about this on a daily basis

[guiltyidealist]

(I’m an enby, but, frankly, this is helpful for anyone.)

[cryptidinks]

- always tell someone where youre at and an approx time when youll be back

[witcheshaven]

Add text replacement words in your phone if possible. Something short and memorable that you can send quickly to people in moments of emergencies.

E.g.

[whatchagonnadoabooouuutttit]

I f ing hate that we need to reblog this, people suck, but this will save lives.

DO NOT SCROLL PAST

[anonymousmothman]

Being female fucking sucks but yes this shit is important for everyone

[deadlymodern]

Also, do not walk close to walls. It will be easier for someone so walk past you and push you against it or corner you.

If your gut is telling you to cross the street or change your path, do it. Don’t risk it. Your body knows.

If you can, buy a large umbrella and walk holding it. Studies say that predators are less likely to attempt an attack on someone that could fight back. Keys around your knuckles is fine but you’ll need to get very close to do damage. Umbrellas are more precise.

Avoid wearing headphones if you are alone on an empty street. Look aware.

Again: Stay. Away. From. Walls.

Entering an uber alone? Call your father (or anyone you trust) and say “hey dad! Yep, I’m almost there, I’m sending you the route.” outloud. Then proceed to send them the route so they can follow the uber drive. This will most likely intimidate the predator.

If you see someone in an uncomfortable or possibly dangerous situation, walk up to them and say “Betty, oh my god, I haven’t seen you in so long!”. If she gets slightly confused, you can whisper and let her know you’re trying to help and that she should follow along. Walk together to another station or away from where you are. The man will most likely not follow. I have done this one 2 times and can be very helpful.

If you are unsure she needs help, you can pass her a note saying something like “hey, I noticed this man beside you is making you uncomfortable. If you’d like help, fake a sneeze right now and I will come up to you and pretend we are friends.” This is a long note, but its an example. Be discrete. If she follows along, proceed with the previous tip. This is helpful when you’re in a crowded train and you notice harassment.

Help your sisters. Trust them. Trust yourself. Be safe.

[goodgirl81]

If you ever feel unsafe or need help, anyone is welcome to run upto me and ask me for help! I’ll go all mama bear and keep you safe!!!

[v1b3ch3ckl0s3r]

https://docs.google.com/document/d/166g6Vo8Fb9H3FIZF2H6faEBHtFQSf7nVn_QxcJ9NMi0/edit?usp=sharing

I made this google doc covering 14 different self defense tips and tricks. it was made on January 15th, 2020 so it was before I decided I’d come back to tumblr jhjshdbjfh.

[the-sunflowergoddess]

EVERY TIME I SEE THIS I REBLOG BECAUSE THIS IS SUPER IMPORTANT!!!!!

[the-creators-nook-deactivated20]

REBLOG

[notyouraveragepromptpage]

Will NEVER not reblog

- make eye contact with pedestrians. This makes it easier to recall/ identify them later

- never pull over if someone points at your car. People will come up with all types of stories to get you out of your vehicle

- don’t roll your windows down, even partially. They can be easily broken or reached through and if the person is strong enough, it won’t matter what you try to do to protect yourself

- S.I.N.G. Not musically. Stomach, instep, nose, groin. Hit all the weak points on the human body. Others include breasts (if a woman is the perp), throats, and eyes. I promise you, they will provide a quick release if enough pressure is applied

- park in a well-lit area if one is available. Under a lamp, by the door of a building, even beside a neon sign. A lot of criminals will not approach in light

- check under your car and in your backseat/trunk. People find ways to worm their way into locked cars

- lock your doors before starting your car. I drive a 99’ 4RUNNER. My doors do not lock automatically. The first thing I do when I open my drivers side door is lock the doors. I can still get out quickly if needed because my door is still open as I’m getting in, but all other doors are locked

EDIT: Scream. Bite. Scratch. Kick. Make it known that you’re in trouble. Knock things over if you can. Set off your car alarm. These things are meant for every day use but can make a world of difference in a life changing situation

I may edit this and add more later:)

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I chased and fought a school bus.

I won.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

[starstruckmyths]

I don't know if it's that deep, but I suddenly realized the difference between why Steve became Captain America and why John Walker became Captain America, and how that relates to Sam so well.

Steve never got picked for the serum because he was particularly tall or strong or skilled or smart, he got picked because Erskine saw something good in him, something special he knew would become even greater with the serum.

Erskine specifically didn't pick the obvious choice he was pressured to pick by others, which was Hodge at the time. Like Col. Phillips said, "Hodge passed every test we gave him. He's big, he's fast and he obeys orders. He's a soldier", does that remind you of someone?

John Walkers is big, fast, and he obeys orders. He's a soldier.

Steve never chose Sam because he was big or fast or a good soldier, he chose Sam because of why Erskine had chosen him; his good heart and the determination to do what's right. He saw that in Sam, the goodness of his heart, his determination and the strong will to help others no matter the cost.

That's why Sam is Captain America, even without the shield. The shield is not Cap, the heart is. The shield is a tangible symbol, one you can hold up and claim as yours, but the "not a perfect soldier but a good man" metaphor of Erskine is what's most essential, and that can't be forced by governmental support or flashy public stunts.

John Walker with his missions and skills and orders may be a perfect soldier, but Sam is a good man. A good man who kicks ass

And that's why Sam Wilson is Captain America.

[shadriella]

I don’t know how to adult.

I’m now learning to navigate life on my own. It’s harder than I thought.

I used to think about my future life. How I’m going to spend a good time in the city, going to places I want to go, going out with my friends from neighboring cities. How I’m going to fall in love and spend the rest of my life with him. How we’re going to have a good life, free of worries. How we’re going to teach our children kindness and love, and make them appreciate life. How I’m going to have a life full of meaning, to age gracefully and spend the last years of my life reminiscing the good life I’ve lead.

Now I worry that that life is not achievable.

Money is something needed now, and it’s not easy to keep track of how much I’ve spent and how much I can save. It’s not easy to be grateful when people are telling me about their own finances and how I should improve mine. How I should do things I didn’t think I could.

I worry about my relationship, since I have none before. I worry that I’m not likeable, that people will get tired of me. I want to have a boyfriend yet I’m scared to have one - it’s too conflicting to even be possible, right? I want someone to accompany me, but I don’t want to be trusting new people I meet too easily. I want to bother them but I don’t want to be a bother. Heck, I’m not even sure I truly feel something towards someone, or I am just too desperate to think that I do.

I’m afraid to have a child when I don’t even know how to manage on my own. Not even mentioning how it’s a scary process to even have one. I don’t know if I can be a good parent. How am I suppose to finance a family? Having a house is expensive and there is too many things to be done. Can I even be responsible to have a family when I’m not even responsible with my own life?

Did I even live correctly?

Oh well. Perhaps I’m too hungry and too tired to even think of the solution - besides, I am never one to plan too far ahead. I will think about it when I need to. I should only worry about my current problems.

Perhaps it’s never too late to learn how to adult. I guess people are, and always have been, learning to adult as they go. Or perhaps no one’s ever really know how, and that is okay. I just have to learn as I go.

I have survived so far. I will survive again.

[improfem]

Oh man, I love that show

Where heaven and hell turn out to both be corrupt bureaucracies?

And only one human prophecy turns out to have been right all along?

The one with the unlikely group of friends who band together in the face of bigger forces trying to destroy them? 

With the slutty and the neurotic soulmate? 

Who find each other in a hundred different lifetimes and always bring out the best in each other? 

Yeah, that one. 

[theacademicfan]

Also…

Doug Forcett

And Shadwell

Are the same person.

[shadriella]

I NEED TO WATCH THE GOOD PLACE

[shadriella]

I have, in fact, watched The Good Place and it's my second fandom now. I guess I have a type 🤷🏻‍♀️

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

[hetrez]

Does anybody else ever think about how Crowley in this scene is in public, in a smallish space, with a non-zero number of people also hanging out, and he’s basically just screaming into empty space, and not one single person seems to even notice?

This is his regular bar. They are used to him. If he’s not talking to himself about how he didn’t actually mean to Fall, he just lost his balance, then he’s going up to random patrons and asking them, angrily, how they would define the word ‘fraternizing’. The first time Crowley brings Aziraphale here, after the not-end of the world, the bar-tender gives Aziraphale a long, long look, and then says, “So you’re real, are you? Well, I lost that bet.”

Crowley is That Guy at this bar. They love him. If Beelzebub had come for him in this bar instead of St James’s Park, the bartender and all six other patrons would have smashed whiskey bottles over Beez’s super dramatic insect cossack hat until she gave up and ran away.

[ed-edward-blackbeard]

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”  Crowley’s body reclined in the chair in a very non-Crowley way.  “We should be out in the park getting ice cream.”

“Here.”  Aziraphale shoved a bowl of peanuts across the table.  “Work on that.”  His eyes were scanning around the bar, making sure no one came in through the back alley while he was concentrating on the front door.

The bartender brought a bottle of scotch to the table, with two glasses.  He gave Aziraphale a long look, from his head to his feet and back up again, and then his face broke into a small smile.  

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale demanded.  

“So you’re real, then.”  The smile widened.  “Lost that bet, but it’s worth the fifty pounds.  Anthony, nice to see you again.”

Anthony? Aziraphale mouthed, and Crowley just stuttered through a smile.  “Thanks.”

The bartender headed over to the end of the bar, where two men were clustered together, and he counted out two stacks of fifty pounds each, then pointed to the table where Anthony was sitting with his friend.  “He’s real after all, lads.”

One of the men gave him a long, speculative look.  “Looks a bit poncy to me.”

The other shrugged.  “So does Anthony,” he pointed out around his bottle.  “Doesn’t bother us none.”

Each man pocketed the money from the bartender, and went back to their conversation.  

The door flew open, bell jingling madly.  “Crowley, the traitor!” got shouted out loudly, and everyone looked.

“Oh, here we go,” Aziraphale muttered, and slunk down in his seat.  

Whatever else Beelzebub would have said was muffled by the scrape of chairs and stools being pushed back.  The two men on stools had their empty bottles to hand, the burly looking man with the hard-hat had lifted a wrench to his shoulder, and the rest of the patrons were scattered in between but moved to stand around the table where Crowley was sitting.  

“Help you?” asked the bartender, and in his hands was the rifle kept behind the bar for robbery attempts.  

Beelzebub blinked, because this was not what they had planned for.  “Yezzzz, we’re here for Crowley–”

Two bottles being broken were the answer to that query, as was the racked slide of the shotgun.  “Don’t think so, mate.  He’s ours, so you and your stupid little hat can turn around and leave,” added the bartender.  

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale with surprise, and the angel’s expression was just as confused.  “don’t look at me,” he whispered.  

“We’re not–”

One of the broken bottles connected with the fly-shaped hat.  That was the strike that broke the dam, and suddenly the entirety of the bar had descended on Beelzebub and the Stunt Demons they’d brought with them.  Stools got broken, more bottles were cracked over heads, and a wrench was swung with enough force to draw blood.

Chastened, Beelzebub and the Stunt Demons turned and ran.

A cheer went up from the patrons of the bar, and the bartender placed the rifle back behind the counter.  “Round for everybody, on the house!”

Crowley spoke up next.  “Round after that, on me.”

“And after that, on me,” Aziraphale added.  

More cheers went up as the bartender started pouring drinks.  Without fail, every person in the bar came by Crowley’s table and slapped him on the back.  Most gave him variations on Good on you, mate and we look after our own.

When Aziraphale went to the bartender to settle their bill before leaving, the bartender made change from the fifty pound note, and passed it back.  “Look, don’t let him come alone so much any more, all right?  He needs a friend, and with you being the only one he ever talks about, don’t be a stranger, right?”

Aziraphale dumped all the change into the tip jar.  “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t show up alone again,” he promised.  

He was rather glad that the real Aziraphale was still sitting at the table in his Crowley suit, because Crowley certainly didn’t want the angel to know how much he’d been drunkenly pining for him.  But having people stand up for him?  that was new, and perhaps it was lucky that Aziraphale was in his Crowley suit, because it meant those people got the gratitude that they deserved, instead of the demonic grumbling and blushing they were used to getting.

“Oi, Crowley!”  He looked down at Aziraphale’s pocket watch.  “Shouldn’t we be toddling off?”

The End

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

*Anything slightly annoying*

Me:

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Papercuts. 

[shadriella]

i was only overthinking. people are busy and i thought they hated me smh

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

[aggressive-p0tat0]

Crowley: Oh, you’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.

6,000 years later

Aziraphale: *attempts to shoot a child*

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Hello! Sorry if i bother, do you know by any chance if the GO edition wirh this code (978-0060853976) has the little drawn letters at the beginning of every chapter? Thank you and have an amazing night/day! ❤️

Hiya! :) I checked and I don’t have that edition, but perhaps some of my followers does and can check? :) ❤

[galwithglasses]

This is that edition. I hope it helps.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Thank you! :)

[pendragyn]

@fuckyeahgoodomens I have an edition with the woodcut dropcaps if that's the one anon is looking for?

A Berkley Book /Workman Publishing Company

Illustrations by David Frampton

isbn 0-425-13215-3

here's the info page, possibly the isbn might have changed in later editions

[shadriella]

This is beautiful 🥺

[comic-sans-chan]

Aziraphale can’t get wet, you fools. He walks on water. Rain literally slides right off of him. Crowley sinks, so Aziraphale covering him with his wing in Eden was much more than just polite, it was like a silent statement of “I know to be cold and wet is part of your punishment as one of the Fallen, but that just seems so unnecessary so I’ll keep you dry anyway.” That shit was straight up rebellious, Aziraphale is thoughtlessly kind in the most blasphemous way, it’s no wonder Crowley fell in love with him. In a weird way, being good is part of what makes Aziraphale a bastard.

[queerical]

#its called ‘chaotic good’ for a reason#doing good even when people in authority will call it bad is what Aziraphale is all about (via @punk-aziraphale)

[fuckyeahgoodomens]