Snrang



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    After stopping the apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale finally take the next step in their six-thousand-year friendship. But when a spate of miracles sweeps across Soho and Mayfair, they realize their amorous escapades may have an unintended side effect. As they scramble to restore balance and an archangel arrives to investigate, Heaven and Hell’s messengers learn that you can never have too much of a good thing.

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    11 Nov 2019

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    They lay stickily, oilily, in a companionable sprawl across the wreck of the bed, and for the first time Crowley understood why the humans enjoyed sleep. He was about to go to sleep himself when Aziraphale sighed next to him, and sat up.

    His hair was flattened on one side and sticking up wildly on the other. There was a small mark like a bruise on his neck that hadn’t been there before. He couldn’t imagine where it had come from, seeing as there had been none of the violence that their respective Head Offices might have expected from an angel and a demon coming into such close contact. Quite the contrary: all he had done to Aziraphale’s neck had been kiss it, at length.

    “Thank you, that was very nice,” Aziraphale said, looking at a spot next to him rather than actually at him. There was a certain prim quality to his voice that wasn’t at all promising.

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    30 Aug 2019

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “It’s a bookshop,” Aziraphale said. “I like bookshops, remember? Always full of books, and I like books. Repositories of knowledge and such, books.”

    “Repositories of something,” Crowley muttered.

    Aziraphale frowned thoughtfully. “Adam did it,” he said a moment later.

    Crowley made a noise so undignified that he immediately expunged it from memory. “What, so the Antichrist bought you a bookshop? And that’s just … You’re just going to. You’re going to. You’re going to keep it, aren’t you?”

    “What else am I going to do with it?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley couldn’t answer, and that was that.

     

    --

    Aziraphale has a small crisis of faith and takes an invitation, Crowley is deeply unnerved and suspicious.

    He really hates the philosophers.

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    28 Aug 2019

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    "I'm in a bit of a pickle, my dear," Aziraphale said over the telephone.

    Crowley was seized by immediate fury. Not even a decade, and they're at it again, he thought viciously. You'd think they'd be embarrassed enough to stay out of things for a few centuries at least, after botching the apocalypse like that.

    "Who's done something to you?" hissed Crowley.

    "Ah," said Aziraphale, in the quiet tone of someone who didn't mean to learn someone else's secrets and was mildly sheepish about it. "This crossword clue -- I'm stuck -- 1980s French fencer, thought you might know. It's eight letters and has a Q in it."

    "Trinquet," Crowley snapped, in the tone of someone who had revealed one of his secrets and was annoyed about it.


    An account pertaining to the cultivation of figs, the ecstasy of St. Theresa of Avila, the ontological uncertainty of mammoths, the nature of temptation, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and the ten years following the end of the world.

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    23 Aug 2019

  5. Public Bookmark 42

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    It begins with a snake, and a garden, obviously.

    No, not that beginning, and not that snake, and not that garden, either, to be perfectly honest. This beginning, this link, this closed and independent little loop, begins in 1980, as we said, with a snake.

    [A little bit of punk rock, some interludes across the ages, and what happens immediately after the first day of the rest of their lives, which is something neither of them would ever expect.]

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    18 Aug 2019