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So it’s been a while now since I’ve updated but it turns out that sprain in my knee left me limping and in pain for 6 months. It still doesn’t feel right so I might have fractured it but was too stubborn to bother anyone during quarantine.

Now my entire family has Covid, including me and I’m really sick. I can’t sleep or eat. I’m scarily lethargic and it hurts to breathe and I haven’t stopped coughing for days.

It is currently 6am and the pain has kept me up since 12am.

This has gone on since the 26th.

Be safe, folks.

I got this because my mother works in COVID wards and it couldn’t be helped but please keep yourselves and your loved ones as safe as you can.

Wash your hands often.

Wear a mask when you go out.

Disinfect whenever you can.

It sucks and is annoying but from someone who is sick with it, this is so much worse.

Again, be safe. Please. For you and everyone around you, both strangers and people you love.

Let’s make 2021 better.

All my love to you all,

Ted <3

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Cleaned out my depressing posts because I’m doing alright and I don’t want misery on this blog. I am healthier and happier than I have been for some time though shout out to covid-19 for leaving me bored to death. Can I get a wahoo?

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“Luck of the devil.”

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(x)

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Better yet, it falls on the seventh day, the day of rest, so God is just chilling because even She needs some time off.

Can I get a Good Omens fic where it isn’t down to an Archangel intervention of whether Aziraphale should Fall or not but God Herself has to bring the metaphorical hammer down and they’re so confident he will Fall, bringing him to Heaven for a show, but God is just... dead silent and embarrasses all of them?

Like She’s up there sipping tea like ‘nah, I kinda like that one as an angel’ and all the other angels are Shook.

That’d be fun I think.

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Can I get a Good Omens fic where it isn’t down to an Archangel intervention of whether Aziraphale should Fall or not but God Herself has to bring the metaphorical hammer down and they’re so confident he will Fall, bringing him to Heaven for a show, but God is just... dead silent and embarrasses all of them?

Like She’s up there sipping tea like ‘nah, I kinda like that one as an angel’ and all the other angels are Shook.

That’d be fun I think.

[the-ineffable-duo]

@pinehutch​

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, and gave a pleased little wiggle.

Standing next to him in the chip shop, Crowley looked over with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said, still smiling that small, inward-facing smile. Crowley squeezed his hand questioningly. “It’s just,” Aziraphale continued. “There’s a poem. About standing in the fish and chip queue, wishing you had more than just yourself to buy supper for.” He glanced over at Crowley, squeezing his hand back, face shining with happiness. “I just realised it doesn’t apply anymore.”

Crowley’s heart grew so big it filled up his throat. “Yeah,” he managed. “Not anymore, angel.”

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The Thirst is strong with this one

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Getting drawlight to acknowledge your fic is like the biggest dose of dopamine imaginable and I am a gardener who regularly sees the sprouts (I’ve laboriously tended to btw) shoot.  Big shout-out to my trees in progress but @drawlight acknowledgement? That’s different.

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and thus, it has been confirmed that this is from @drawlights prompts and because I am such a ridiculous fan-person this reblog has made my day. Your writing inspires me to pursue my own (I hope to write and illustrate children’s books one day) so this means a lot to me and thank you, more than I can ever say. I hope that winter cheer spreads throughout all the year! <3

I wrote this for day 1 of an ineffable husbands Christmas prompt that was simply: Mistletoe

And I’m sharing it at the end of February because if I hold onto it I’ll forget it exists and I liked writing it. Even the (rather shoddy) editing wasn’t painful so I figure I may as well throw it out there. It’s a bit about God but mostly about how She could honestly care less about where the chips may fall.

I’m not sure of the original but it was most likely @forineffablereasons or  @drawlight because they are my two favourite authors (forgive my tags, you two, I hope you don’t mind even if I’m completely wrong but also everybody else please do read their writing, it’s wonderful). Anyway, I’m not sure where the prompt is from since it’s been months but here it is; a little tale about God.  Not to get too over my head, but I think She’d approve. Here’s a story from Her point of view. Thank you always for your time.

Keep reading

[the-ineffable-duo]

I wrote this for day 1 of an ineffable husbands Christmas prompt that was simply: Mistletoe

And I’m sharing it at the end of February because if I hold onto it I’ll forget it exists and I liked writing it. Even the (rather shoddy) editing wasn’t painful so I figure I may as well throw it out there. It’s a bit about God but mostly about how She could honestly care less about where the chips may fall.

I’m not sure of the original but it was most likely @forineffablereasons or  @drawlight because they are my two favourite authors (forgive my tags, you two, I hope you don’t mind even if I’m completely wrong but also everybody else please do read their writing, it’s wonderful). Anyway, I’m not sure where the prompt is from since it’s been months but here it is; a little tale about God.  Not to get too over my head, but I think She’d approve. Here’s a story from Her point of view. Thank you always for your time.

There is a belief about mistletoe. As a matter of fact, there are several but a few existed so many centuries ago that they’ve all but been forgotten by all but the more arduous and nosey of scholars. In Ancient Greece, a kiss under a mistletoe during the festival of Saturnalia and, a bit further in history, was used in marriage was because of the plant’s association with fertility.

That is where is started, one might presume.

There is also rumour of a Nordic Myth where Frigga, goddess of love, and Loki, god of mischief, had a bit of a disagreement where he may or may not have shot Frigga’s son with an arrow wrapped in mistletoe (nasty business really and a bit beyond your usual ‘mischief’). Frigga apparently then brought her son back to life beneath a mistletoe tree and blessed it so that anyone who stands under such a tree will be both protected from death and deserve a kiss.

The truth to these rumours is, of course, entirely down to whoever believes them.

God is not in the habit of bothering those that do not follow Her specific religion because, truth be told, some that do are rather shady and even She in all her glory isn’t entirely sure if there is a religion that is truly Hers.

So She doesn’t bother herself with such things. Free Will and all that.

In Victorian England, if a girl refused a kiss beneath a mistletoe it was a serious thing and society around her may snub her entirely for the disgrace of such a thing.

None of this, of course, affects the two man-shaped beings in question. Partially because they are man-shaped but mostly because they are decidedly not human.

If they were, perhaps they might be more into questioning what the right thing is but (and whilst they have both done so before) they aren’t so keen on bothering with such ideas any longer.

They are on their own side which, the Almighty thinks, is actually rather delightful. She had not planned exactly for such an outcome though She had certainly planned on parts.

She planned on pieces and pieces have a habit of not falling where One might expect so She had been pleased to see something so unlikely to happen despite everything being against the odds.

Free will, She maintains, is her greatest invention.

And so there is an Angel and there is a Demon and they are in a cottage in the South Downs.

It is some months after the Apocadidn’t and they are in front of a crackling hearth, one that is burning brightly and warming the room whilst lighting it in a pleasant, orange glow. They are wearing jumpers. The Angel is adorned with reindeer and Santa Clauses and the Demon’s with something with a little too many snowflakes for any other demon (or human for that matter) to tolerate. They are knitted jumpers and the Angel made them himself so the Demon would not dream of complaining.

And the two of them are dancing to a song the Demon is singing phonetics to. It’s quick, at a speedy 131 beats per minute, and they’re both smiling, moving back and forth with hands entwined despite the fact that Angels do not, as a whole, dance.

The wine is good (as it should be, according to expectation) and the Angel is grinning into the Demon’s cheek, listening to him croon into his ear and no one is watching but Her. She who sips her own drink that is something human’s have never tasted but maybe will one day and she smiles and waves her hand so that their record player starts chiming the song the Demon is singing.

Benny Goodman’s rendition of ‘Sing Sing Sing’ starts playing in an instant and neither notice because She wills it so but their smiles do grow a little wider.

She takes another drink, smiling cheerfully over Her glass then bobs Her head in time with the swing of jazz as Her two favourites (don’t tell the others, it’d cause a fearful row if you did) dance along with beaming grins.

When the song tapers out, She snaps her fingers and watches in some satisfaction as the pair spot the mistletoe above their heads and well, they’re just human enough to know what it means, just stupid enough to assume the other made it appear and just happy enough not to bother asking.

She takes no credit and watches in some satisfaction as they kiss.

You lovely pair of morons, I’m so so proud of you.

God sips Her drink again, lounges back to close Her eyes and leaves the rest of the evening to them.

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My mum, after watching half an episode of Good Omens: It was confusing and we didn't like it

My dad: yeah, too confusing. I didn't get it at all.

Me: *SCREAMING INTERNALLY* well, me and my sister love it-

My mother: it's stupid

Me: *SCREAMING INTERNALLY BUT EVEN LOUDER*

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@queenannadala​ how dare you hide this in a reply when it’s such gold? It would absolutely, 100% be Aziraphale’s tartan and, I like to imagine, Crowley’s idea. Offered soft and tentative after a few glasses of wine and 6000 years:

“So, angel, for the wedding...” “Yes, my dear?” “I heard about this thing- goes all the way back to the Celts by the way- and I think it’d be... y’know... alright. Sounds nice enough so I was thinking-” “Tell me everything. I’m sure it’s just divine.” “Eugh... angel.”

Ya’ll know that post about Aziraphale’s specific ‘family’ tartan and how he puts it on the thermos and Crowley’s Bentley and Crowley’s jacket collar?

Well... what if Crowley starts wearing it post-Appocadidn’t of his own violation as a subtle ‘hell yes I am Angel Aziraphale Certified™’? Like ‘hell yes I am a demon but also I am HIS demon’. Like ‘I am His and we are on Our Side’.

It makes me soft.

[the-ineffable-duo]

Ya’ll know that post about Aziraphale’s specific ‘family’ tartan and how he puts it on the thermos and Crowley’s Bentley and Crowley’s jacket collar?

Well... what if Crowley starts wearing it post-Appocadidn’t of his own violation as a subtle ‘hell yes I am Angel Aziraphale Certified™’? Like ‘hell yes I am a demon but also I am HIS demon’. Like ‘I am His and we are on Our Side’.

It makes me soft.

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Me: I think that the bookshop and Bentley should also fall in love

This fic: these two ‘inanimate’ objects fall in love

Me: *GASP*

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i did a mini christmas ficlet for 2019 and never shared it because i forgot like an idiot and now it’s february and i can’t share it!! guess i’ll hold onto it until next year!! i am a tool!

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Crowley’s hair in the final scene at the Ritz

I mean, have you seen his hair?! LOL It looks like all those millennia of stress and anxiety were waiting for this moment to dump on his head.

No, really. He’s gone through 6000+ years with the best hair, has followed fashion, has tried everything and rocked it every time. I think it’s safe to say that of all his exterior presentation, Crowley takes particular care in having his hair always look good, no matter what. Even when he was wasted drunk at the bar he had better hair than this. Even when he came out of the burning bookshop.

And now, at the Ritz, celebrating their newfound freedom… he just doesn’t care! No, okay, this requires a gif because really, look at him.

That looks like the hair he woke up with. It’s a mess and I love it.

To be fair, in this final, beautiful scene all of him looks a little off. He’s presenting in a way we’ve never seen before - the smile, the lightness - the closest being probably Eden. One could argue that he isn’t himself at this point– or maybe he’s more himself than ever. We’re used to see him strung up, nervous, guarded, while here is relaxing, and he’s SO tired, to the point that he looks like a deflated balloon.

It’s like the tight string holding him together has been cut loose AND THAT’S THE POINT, because he was piling up so much fear and anxiety and it’s actually a good thing that it’s gone. Look at him taking in everything rather than acting on it, like, he’s contented with letting Aziraphale do all the talking, and nothing else, no second purpose, no hiding behind the Arrangement. Just being. Relax by quiet which if you ask me has ‘introvert’ written all over it. Relief by absence of weight. Who hasn’t been there, really? I know I have.

A part of me first thought that he could have been happier at this point, should have been happier, showing it in a more flashy way as we’re used to see him, but the truth is that he is happy. He is like that BECAUSE he’s okay. 

And he’s also so exhausted that he’s basking in the feeling of not having to worry. Maybe that lack of pressure is not the showiest moment of his (especially because of the way he has trained us to see him), but it is so meaningful that now, right now, he only needs the quiet. That the real, best outcome is that he can finally, finally, rest. Not only from Hell and Heaven, but from the continuous effort of trying so hard, repeatedly enticing Aziraphale so that he won’t step back, unable to ever take him for granted. 

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Compare the nervous despair of the first gif with the careless pose of the second one. There’s great meta here about this comparison, but just look: finally, Crowley can trust Aziraphale to stay on their own side, share some of the weight, and his relief is palpable.

So of course he can’t be bothered to look perfect, because who cares honestly? Not today, not after all that’s happened. His priorities have been laid out in front of him, and hair ain’t one of those right now. He has everything he ever, really needed.

Look at him; he’s beautiful.

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