#Oh Georgette Heyer

[bellaroles]

Regency buck, what an ending!

#plot wise i like cotillion more but #oh i can't resist a pride and prejudice trope at all #too much high-handedness on lord worth and too much boxing descriptions but #i like judith and julian bantering very much #georgette heyer #regency buck

[ticklishfiend]

A Plan Fit for an Angel (Good Omens)

(Lee! Aziraphale/Ler!Crowley) (brief lee!crowley/ler!aziraphale)

Summary : Crowley’s dignity was positively shattered being tickled by Aziraphale two weeks ago. Well, only one way to fix that: getting revenge. [see part one here! this is a sequel]

a/n : i lobe them sm

Word Count : 3626

hope u enjoy! :)

. . .

There are two types of demons: Those that like to strike as soon as they see their target, and those that plan their evil-doings methodically, thinking out every angle so they can strike their prey when they least expect it.

It might shock some to find that Crowley tends to lean more towards the latter.

It had been two weeks since Aziraphale had pestered Crowley with those god-awful jokes, relishing in his demon’s irritation. Two weeks since Crowley had been tickled into the couch cushions so Aziraphale could win an argument.

So for two weeks, Crowley has been planning.

And planning for Crowley doesn’t mean he just thought real long and hard about how he’d make his move. No, planning requires research. Lots and lots of research.

Tickling isn’t something Crowley would call a regular occurance between the two of them. Yes, it happens, has happened, but if you were to ask for something defining that they do together, tickling would be quite low on his list, if it made it there at all.

So maybe, before he strikes, he’ll need something of a…refresher.

Aziraphale stood in the bookshop’s tiny kitchen, making himself a cup of tea. Crowley stood at the doorway, wondering if his angel knew he was there.

“I know you’re there, yknow?”

Ah. So he does.

Doesn’t matter. He knows Aziraphale will continue to read through his book on the counter, waiting for his water to heat in the kettle like Crowley wasn’t even there. He was too comfortable in Crowley’s presence…making him far easier to attack.

So Crowley sauntered behind Aziraphale, miracling up a feather from his wing. He heard a page being flipped.

“Whatcha readin’?” Crowley asked, before placing the feather under Aziraphale’s shirt without having to move a finger. Real magic truly was the best thing since sliced bread (trust him, he was there when it happened, sliced bread was quite the invention for the time).

“Oh it’s a lovely book, I’ve read it many times but somehow I keep coming back to it. Georgette Heyer’s ‘The Black Moth.’ Quite a page turner; it takes place in 1751, during the—AH-!” Aziraphale flinched, his right arm gluing itself to his side.

Crowley smirked behind Aziraphale, still looking over his shoulder at the book. His finger waggled near Aziraphale’s coat, a magic tether traveling from it to the feather. “What was that, angel?”

“Er, nothing I just—well I think there may be something in my shirt. I do hope it’s not a bug,” Aziraphale said, before snapping his fingers. A feather floated down onto the pages of his book. A black feather, to be precise.

Aziraphale clicked his tongue. “I see.”

“How peculiar,” Crowley grinned. “Wonder how that got in there?” He walked right out of the room to avoid further accusations, all of which would probably be correct.

Stage one: complete.

Now onto stage two. Snake time, baby.

Crowley very rarely switched to his snake form these days. Really no need, plus any time he did he was usually beaten within an inch of discorporation by a horrified human. So no, he doesn’t typically take his snake form anymore.

But occasionally, when he’s feeling rather…well, one might use the word clingy (Crowley detests such accusations), he’ll be a snake for a few hours just for the excuse to curl up on Aziraphale’s lap while he reads.

This usually embarrasses Crowley, not exactly one open to admitting his love of cuddles and pets and head scratches. Which is why he’s especially excited about snake time today, since he’s getting to embarrass Aziraphale this time and not the other way around.

He’d taken his form around 20 minutes ago, giving himself time to adjust to the change and alert Aziraphale of his body today. When he heard, Aziraphale went and made a cozy spot for himself on the couch, beginning to read his book. It was a silent code to Crowley that Aziraphale was ready for cuddles whenever he was.

It was no surprise when Crowley slithered his way onto the couch, his now curled body finding purchase on Aziraphale’s lap. The angel got to petting, resting his book along the serpent’s scaled back. He scritched softly at Crowley’s head, running his hand down the length of his now much longer body.

Crowley almost got lost in the comfy-ness of it all when he felt Aziraphale stray too close to his underside, a sensitive area on both of his bodies. Ohohoh, the plan, yes right, I’ll get on that now.

With the sneakiness only a serpent could possess, he slowly moved his tail around until he found the area buttons can’t close up on Aziraphale’s shirt, and slithered his way in. Bingo.

He only allowed himself about an inch’s worth of entry, can’t get too confident now. He waited a few moments, listening for Aziraphale to stir or speak up. He didn’t move, though, so that’s a good sign. Now he can strike.

Crowley fluttered his tail back and forth, like a rattlesnake in slow motion. Aziraphale huffed.

“Is that you down there?” He asked, voice a little wobbly like trying to hold something back. Got ‘em.

“Is what me?” Crowley said in his tired, I’m-far-too-comfortable-to-care voice.

“It is you!” Aziraphale let out a giggle through his words, moving Crowley around in his lap to stop the incessant tickling that was still taking place on his lower belly. “Aha-! Crowley, stop!”

“I really don’t know what you mean,” Crowley yawned. “And stop moving me, m’comfortable.”

“I will not!” Finally, Aziraphale found the end of Crowley’s tail, pulling it out of his shirt and readjusting Crowley in his lap. “Now you stop that or I will be putting you off to the side.”

Crowley huffed, his body adjusting under his head in a way that almost looked like his head was laying in his arms. “Whatever. Didn’t even do it anyways. Punishing me for something I didn’t do? Now that’s just cruel.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, going back to petting Crowley while fixing his gaze back on his book.

Well, he really didn’t wanna risk ending this. Might as well enjoy it and plan for the next stage in his great scheme.

Which, as it happened, took place the very next day, snake Crowley no more.

Aziraphale sat on his favorite chair, listening to a record he recently bought at Maggie’s shop. He was the picture of content.

Crowley was bouncing on his heels ready to ruffle the angel’s feathers.

“Mmyes, some good ole’ Stravinsky. Rather liked that guy, with the whole y’know, riot debacle,” Crowley made his way around Aziraphale’s chair, leaning against its back. “Great fun that was.”

“Yes, that was a rather difficult event. I was there, you know, but I truly was only there to see the show,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley hummed, having heard the story before. He looked at Aziraphale’s ear below him, giving a puzzled look.

“What’s that in your ear?”

Aziraphale furrowed. “My ear?”

“Yes yes, there’s something in your ear.”

Aziraphale’s hand shot up to feel around his ear, “Where?”

“No you—you’re missing it, it’s nothing but a piece of fuzz, I think. Here, let me-“ He shooed Aziraphale’s hand away, before using his pointer to gently prod and scrape along the shell of his ear.

Aziraphale’s shoulder shot up. “Aha, wait, wait—there’s really no neheheed-“ He batted at Crowley’s hand, but couldn’t dissuade him.

“No seriously, I can get it if you just give me a moment-“ he wiggled the finger, and this time Aziraphale shot out of his chair with a quick giggle before turning and giving Crowley a pointed look.

“You’re messing with me,” Aziraphale straightened his coat before giving his ear a quick scratch. There was a smile small on the corner of his lips.

“Now why would I do that?”

Aziraphale shot him a look, “I’m not sure, but I know that’s what you were doing.”

Crowley walked toward Aziraphale until they were eye to eye. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, before walking out.

Stage three: complete, but Aziraphale was definitely onto him now. Time to set the real plan in motion.

Like it started, Crowley’s plan took place in the back room, wine in each of their hands as they talked and bickered and laughed with each other.

After having made Aziraphale laugh at one of his favorite stories to tell, Crowley smiled and remembered. Admittedly he had gotten a bit tipsy and nearly forgot about the whole thing until he saw his angel folding over in laughter just moments ago. Made him remember what this was all for.

He glanced over at the desk, noting Aziraphale’s current book having a very familiar bookmark peeking out of its pages. He had actually noticed this days ago, but was waiting until now to bring it up. Clever demon, he thought.

“What’s that there in your book?” He gestured lazily at it, sitting up like it was of great intrigue to him.

“Oh that’s…” Aziraphale looked at the book, like it was the first time he’d noticed it there. “Well, it’s my bookmark, of course.”

“Mmyes obviously it’s your bookmark. I meant what is it, exactly? Cause I don't know if I recognize this one.”

Aziraphale looked a bit flustered. “Erm, well it’s…it’s a feather, actually. But it works just as nicely as a bookmark.”

Crowley hummed. “Aren’t your feathers white, angel?”

Aziraphale looked without words for a moment (oh how Crowley just loved flustering his angel), before straightening his back with newfound confidence. “Well I didn’t say it was my feather, did I?”

“No, you’re right, you didn’t,” Crowley said, resting his chin in his palm as he relaxed over the arm of the sofa. Sometimes he likes letting Aziraphale think he’s won before pulling the rug out from underneath him. “Is it mine?”

Aziraphale was definitely blushing now, but he stayed on guard. “Yes, it is. You…put that blasted thing in my shirt the other day when I wasn’t looking. When it fell into my book I…well, I didn’t have a bookmark before and then I did. It’s really as simple as that.” He smiled at Crowley all clever, taking a sip from his wine.

Crowley gave Aziraphale a puzzled look. “You think I put that in there?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Well obviously. You’ve been messing with me for days.”

Crowley smirked. “Have I now?”

Aziraphale glared at him. His eyes were a bit squinted, very suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything. You’re accusing me of something I have no recollection of. I’m just asking how you think I was messing with you,” said Crowley, thinking ‘that’s right, lure him in.’

Aziraphale hesitated, like treading over thin ice. “…you’ve been teasing me, and you know it. You—you’re doing it now!”

Crowley couldn’t hold back his grin anymore. “I mean, can you blame me?” said Crowley before standing abruptly. He took a swig from the bottle, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and sat it hard against the table. “You messed with a demon angel. You never mess with a demon.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He set himself back further into his chair, hands holding onto the arms.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ohh, don't act all innocent now. You were quite the tease a couple weeks ago, as I remember,” Crowley pointed a finger at Aziraphale, who actually started…grinning.

“You’re still worked up over that, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked, a clever smile taking him.

“No—no, that’s not what I mean-“

“Oh I’m sure. But you can’t really deny that apparently, you’ve been thinking about this quite a lot,” Aziraphale looked as smug as ever.

Crowley was admittedly a little stuck for words at the moment. His mouth formed around rebuttals but they never made it past his throat.

He growled before rushing over and grabbing Aziraphale by the lapels.



“Maybe so—but only because I needed to plan out exactly how I was going to get you back,” Crowley growled, grip tight on Aziraphale’s coat. He liked how nervous the angel suddenly looked. “Like I said, angel. You don’t tease a demon.”

Crowley let go of him, walking back and almost pacing in thought. He waggled a finger in the air, “But I can’t do it now. No, no you’re expecting it now. I’ve gotta get you when you’re totally off your guard,” He plopped himself back down on the couch, pointedly not looking at Aziraphale.

“So…you’re not tickling me now?” Aziraphale raised a brow his way, taking a slow sip.

“No, I’m not.”

Aziraphale shrugged, placing his glass on the table. “I’d let you.”

Crowley paused. He looked at Aziraphale like the angel had grown an extra arm. “You’d let me?”

“Well, yes. I don’t actually hate being tickled. You just keep doing it when I’m in the middle of something, or I’m trying to relax,” he said, which was the last thing Crowley was expecting. “If you just asked I’d be happy to oblige.”

Crowley was near seething. He wasn’t actually mad, just utterly irritated by how nonchalant Aziraphale could be about the whole thing. Crowley was beyond embarrassed when Aziraphale tickled him the other week. How could someone not be embarrassed by it?

Crowley shook his head, “It’s the principle of the thing. You tickled me when I wasn’t ready, I’ve got to do the same back,” Crowley took a much needed swig. “S’how revenge works, angel.”

“Be my guest then. I’m happy to wait,” Aziraphale grinned, so pleased with how quickly things had turned in his favor. Sure, he was still going to get tickled eventually. But now he knows the real context.

Crowley was still so flustered over his little tickle attack the other week, that he had been meticulously planning on how to get Aziraphale back just to regain his dignity. He couldn’t deny how adorable that much effort and thought was.

Crowley grumbled, throwing his head against the back of the couch. “Grrrrbut it’s not as fun now,” he slumped. “Now you know it’s gonna happen. Shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Yes, maybe you shouldn’t have,” Aziraphale said. “Because now, once you do tickle me, I’ll have no choice but to tickle you back immediately after.”

Crowley gaped at him, actually letting out a low chuckle. “Oh really? Well that’s not fair, is it? Supposed to be tit-for-tat, don’t you think?”

“No, no I don’t think so. See, it doesn’t affect me nearly as much as it does you. That’s the fun in it.”

“It does not affect me. S’just not right for a demon to have such a weakness. Makes sense when you’re an angel, s’why you don’t give a shit.”

“I’ll have you know it’s perfectly normal for a demon to be ticklish. I tease you for it because it’s fun, but it’s not like you can help it. It’s your vessel, dear. And it’s a vessel I think you should take much more pride in than you’re giving it right now.”

Crowley just grumbled again, not really having a good response. He knows he can’t help it, but it’s still so…weird. It’s not just because he’s a ticklish demon. It’s that he’s a ticklish demon who actually finds it a little bit fun when his angel is the one tickling him. That’s the part that’s got him all screwy.

But it’s not like he could just say that.

So he stewed for a bit, thankful for Aziraphale allowing him his stew time in peace. The angel sat contentedly, sipping on his wine and basking in the lovely tension their bookshop always seemed to hold.

Crowley stewed and stewed. Pinching his lips together, sipping on the wine, reaching over and filling Aziraphale’s glass when he realized it had gone empty. But he had to say something eventually, because obviously Aziraphale wasn’t going to speak first.

And also because he kind of still wanted this to happen. Just a little.

“Fine.”

Aziraphale looked up. “Fine?”

“Yes, fine, whatever, just get over here and let me get my fffffucking revenge already.”

Aziraphale grinned, already beginning to stand. “I thought you said I couldn’t expect it when you get your revenge?”

“Oh that’s still gonna happen,” He smiled as Aziraphale sat next to him, the demon already crawling into his space.

“You do remember I’m getting you back as soon as you’re done, right?” Aziraphale said with a nervous titter in his voice, backing up towards the arm of the couch.

“Yeah I know. Guess that just means I’ve gotta make this count,” Crowley said as he fully closed in on Aziraphale, cornering him into the couch. He just hovered, for a moment, his hands floating over Aziraphale without touching him.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Well…?”

Crowley grinned. “Well, what?” He wiggled his fingers, and Aziraphale tittered anxiously.

“Are you going to…?”

“Can’t say it now?” Crowley’s eyes were devilish as he smirked. “Is someone getting nervous now that I’ve got him cornered?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, a meek attempt at confidence over the situation. His slight squirming and tight lipped smile gave him away. “No.”

“No?” Crowley asked, before jerking his hand down near Aziraphale’s side, laughing at Aziraphale’s flinch. “I haven’t even touched you!”

“But you’re going to!” Aziraphale practically whined, a ghost of a giggle lacing his voice. “Just get on with it, I’m not sure I can take this.”

Crowley smiled genuinely. “Oh alright. But just because it’s you.”

Finally, after waiting oh so patiently for this moment the past two weeks, Crowley struck. He went straight for Aziraphale’s sides, thankfully unguarded since the angel had taken his vest off hours ago. Aziraphale yipped, trying to hold in his laughs for a brief moment before falling into those angelic cackles Crowley could eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“AH! Ahaha—Crohowley!” he laughed, sliding down unconsciously and only stretching his body out more for Crowley. “Wahahait!”

“Oh no, I’ve done plenty of waiting recently,” Crowley said, delivering sporadic pokes up and down Aziraphale’s torso, the angel’s cackles shooting up as he did so. “See, s’not so fun when it’s you getting tickled, huh?”

“It’s fuhuhun! Just—“ he was cut off by his own loud laughter as Crowley shot his hands into his armpits. Arms slammed against his sides, twisting and turning every which way because it was just too much. “—tihihickles!”

Crowley chuckled, ecstatic. “Bet it does,” he said, pulling one hand out from its trapped state in Aziraphale’s underarm to reach up and give his ear gentle scratches. Aziraphale squeaked, a hand shooting up to protect the ear. Seeing the opportunity, Crowley shot his hand right back under his arm, and Aziraphale shook his head through his laughter and shock.

“Nohot fahahair!” Aziraphale blushed, unsure of what to do with his hands. He opted to batting them around uselessly.

“You’re playing with a demon, angel, what did you expect?” Crowley said, before taking both hands out to squeeze, pinch, poke, prod and scribble all over Aziraphale’s tummy.

Aziraphale’s laughter was all over the place now. It was like he couldn’t decide whether to give deep, belly laughs or squeals and giggles fit for his angelic persona. The tips of Crowley’s ears grew warm at the sound.

“This is hysterical, by the way,” Crowley laughed, pinching Aziraphale’s hips and watching as he barked a laugh, twisting and gripping onto Crowley’s wrists. “I mean I knew you were ticklish, but this is priceless.”

“You’ve made your point!” Aziraphale giggled out helplessly. “I gehehet it! It’s bahahad! It’s sohoho baahahad—!” He fell into a giggle fit that made it impossible to hold a conversation, wheezing pitifully.

“I could keep going, yknow. Show you actual demonic torture,” Crowley grinned when Aziraphale shook his head, cheeks plump and pink from mirth. “Say you’re sorry and I’ll consider it.”

Aziraphale slapped Crowley’s arm playfully. Crowley poked softly but quickly over Aziraphale’s torso, easing up on the tickling just enough for him to get some words out. Aziraphale panted a bit, giggles lacing every breath.

“Okay okhahay! I’m sohohorry!” Aziraphale giggle, pushing Crowley’s hands away from him. Crowley let his hands be moved for just a moment, before giving one last quick squeeze to Aziraphale’s hips just to make him yip.

Crowley smiled down at his angel, watching him catch his breath and try to will away that blush from his cheeks. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a pointed expression, “Wily serpent.”

Crowley laughed, “You asked me to!”

“I did not ask you to. You obviously wanted to do it so I…obliged,” Aziraphale shrugged, the lie plain as day on his face. Crowley couldn’t help but snicker.

“Yes, of course. Obliging the temptation of a demon really is your forte, after all,” Crowley teased, laying his front down on Aziraphale’s, making himself comfy. “Had your fun?”

Aziraphale sighed through a smile, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Crowley’s back. “Well…not quite.”

Crowley’s face puzzled before feeling Aziraphale’s grip tighten around his torso. His snake eyes grew twice their size, “C’mon angel, play fair.”

“This is fair. I told you what I’d do if you tickled me,” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead, not giving him a moment to think about that shit before digging his fingers into the backs of Crowley’s ribs.

“FuhuAHK-!” Crowley jolted, falling into helpless laughter on top of his angel. He squirmed and giggled and held onto Aziraphale’s body even tighter just so he could resist throwing himself off.

“‘Demonic cackle’ my behind,” Aziraphale teased. “You’re far too sweet for that, my dear.”

Crowley blushed, hiding that and his smile in Aziraphale’s neck, not missing the way the angel giggled whenever his nose brushed the skin.

The plan ended up being much more than successful. It was everything Crowley could’ve ever hoped for.

. . .

a/n : hope u enjoyed! consider reblogging if u liked it <3

#tickle community #tickling #tickle fic #good omens #good omens tickling #lee!aziraphale #ler!crowley #lee!crowley #ler!aziraphale #ticklish aziraphale #ticklish crowley

[the-dust-jacket]

Hello. I've already read the Kingston Cycle, Half a Soul and I'm about to finish the Stariel books. Do you have more recommendations? Thank you in advance.

Oh absolutely!

A Matter of Magic, by Patricia C. Wrede (for cross-country Regency romps, rogues, magicians, spies, and Ladies of Quality)

A Marvellous Light, by Freya Marske (for murder and mystery and secret Edwardian wizardry, romance, grand old houses and creepy curses)

Spellbound, by Allie Therin (for forbidden love, found family, and frightening magic in 1920s New York)

Shades of Milk and Honey, by Mary Robinette Kowal (for frothy and impeccably evocative Regency magic)

Sorcerer to the Crown, by Zen Cho (for schemes both magical and mundane and the world of fairy crossing into the world of the tonne)

To Say Nothing of the Dog, by Connie Willis (for laugh-out-loud time travel shenanigans and questionable Victorian aesthetic choices)

Soulless, by Gail Carriger (for vampire assassins, werewolf aristocrats, interrupted tea time, and other terrible inconveniences which may beset a young lady)

A little darker:

The Magpie Lord, by KJ Charles (for semi-secret magical society, creepy family estate, steamy romance all in an Extremely Victorian Gothic setting)

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke (clever and deeply atmospheric tour of a magical 19th century England, but definitely not romance)

Salt Magic, Skin Magic, by Lee Welch (for curses and magical bonds and frightening fairies)

Widdershins, by Jordan L Hawk (for Gilded Age mystery and romance featuring Lovecraftian horror and humor)

More fantasy:

Uprooted, by Naomi Novik (for fairytale magic and whimsy, adventure and romance and creepy trees)

Seducing the Sorcerer, by Lee Welch (for wizard fashion, romance and humor and whimsical magic)

Stardust, by Neil Gaiman (for wild romps in the fairyland next door, alternately humorous and haunting)

More historical:

The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by KJ Charles (for saucy Regency romance and determined social scheming)

Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons (for dry humor, wacky hijinx, and extended family shenanigans)

Hither Page or The Missing Page by Cat Sebastian (village and manor house mysteries respectively, featuring lots of queer romance and found family with a dash of jaded post-war espionage)

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith (for yearning and laughs and first love and an eccentric family living in an increasingly run down castle)

A little farther from the brief, but might be worth checking out On Vibes:

The Left Handed Booksellers of London, by Garth Nix

The Chronicles of Chrestomanci, by Diana Wynne Jones

His Majesty's Dragon, by Naomi Novik (more Regency fantasy, but full on Age of Sail adventure rather than comedy of manners, romance, or secret magic)

Among Others, by Jo Walton

Arabella of Mars, by David D. Levine

A Natural History of Dragons, by Marie Brennan

It also sounds like a Georgette Heyer or Jeeves and Wooster binge would be really fun right now!

#ask a bookseller #love that? read this!

[turniptitaness]

11. Favorite historical fiction

Oh my god. Hyperventilating slightly over this one.

Okay. Okay, I'm gonna... I'm gonna go with my gut.

Oigh.

Okay.

Venetia, by Georgette Heyer.

Her Regency books are unparalleled, in my opinion, but Venetia is my favorite. Is it because I think Tom Hiddleston should play Lord Damerel?

Maybe. Shut up.

#also #the audiobook is read by #richard armitage #which ya know #doesn't make me angry #ask game #literal pursuit

[hussyknee]

Did anyone else who read the beginning of Georgette Heyer's These Old Shades go "Er...uhhh...um...what"?

It couldn't possibly be what it sounds like, could it?? It's Georgette Heyer?? Like I know the 1920s were a more innocent time but, uh...this innocent?? The Picture of Dorian Gray was only published like thirty years before this, and unless the general public didn't read into that either (even though the dude went to prison for sodomy), they should have a solid grasp of what gay subtext sound like.

I think this book is going to somehow insist this isn't same sex sexual predation by chapter two and it's going to fuck with my head.

Edit: Oh wait fairly certain this kid is actually a girl in disguise. D'oh. Obviously. The severe consent issues are all heterosexual again.

#these old shades #georgette heyer #regency romance #gay subtext #book rec #knee of huss

[enchantress-emily]

Good Omens Fic Recs, Round 2

Time for another rec post with some excellent GO fics that have been added to my AO3 bookmarks since the first time I did this!

Multichapter:

Villainous by @ineffablepenguin

Once Upon A Time…

There was a red-haired sorcerer who lived alone in a high tower, and a blond prince who lived in a palace full of people. And they were both of them desperately lonely.

The Kingdoms of Empyrion and the Sorcerers of Apollyon have hated each other for hundreds of years, ever since the Great War. They do not interact, other than to occasionally try to kill one another. And they certainly do not make friends.

Crow is an exhausted sorcerer who just wants everyone to leave him the hell alone: for the Sorcerer’s Council to stop harassing him to live up to his potential, and for wannabe Empyrion Heroes to stop attacking his tower to try and kill him. Until one day when he meets Prince Azra of the High Fells, who doesn’t behave anything like he’s supposed to…

A splendid adventure that brings in the vibes of multiple fairy tales and fantasy stories without being based on any specific one. (See the list of Easter egg references at the end!) It's made clear that Azra is noticeably chubby and that Crow wouldn't want him to be any other way, which is something I always appreciate in a fic. The spice level (E) is higher than I typically read, but the story is well worth a little awkward skimming of sex scenes.

Morningstar Abbey by @andromeda4004

No one who had ever seen Aziraphale Fell in his youth would have supposed him born to be a hero. His situation in life, the character of his father and mother, his own person and disposition, were all equally against him. But when a gentleman is to be a hero, the attractions of a comfortable, quiet home cannot prevent him. Something must and will happen to throw his destiny in his way.

One should never forget that between a hero and his destiny, one will always find a villain.

Trusting parish rector Aziraphale attempts to navigate Regency Bath, the marriage market, and the complexities of his own heart in this take on Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey, written for the Ineffably Austen event, March 2023.

I enjoyed this recently-completed fic very much! The author put a lot of thought into creating a more inclusive version of the Regency era, detailed in the author's notes at the end of each chapter. There's plenty of Georgette Heyer influence along with the Jane Austen.

What We Make of It (Shotgun Wedding) by charlottemadison

The important thing, Crowley tells himself -- the most important thing -- is Adam, his brilliant, creative, empathetic nephew. Being fourteen's hard enough; the kid didn't ask to deal with the weight of the world on top of it.

And if taking care of Adam means Crowley has to tough it out at a job he can’t stand, so be it.

And if Crowley's job means that Adam’s charming English teacher is NOT a romantic possibility, well, that's just how things go.

But the occasional drink with Aziraphale proves hard to resist. They frequent the same pub, so who can object to them saying hello? Briefly sharing a table? Perhaps a little conversation? The painful knowledge that it can’t be anything more -- not without somebody getting fired or sued or both -- well, that can't be helped.

Until Crowley stumbles onto a terribly reckless idea...

Oh my goodness, the gorgeous emotional intensity of this fic! It's the slowest of slow burns, but the pace allows ample room for the gradual realization (for both the characters and the reader) of just how well Crowley and Aziraphale's respective strengths and weaknesses mesh with each other to make a strong, stable whole. As I said about Villainous above, the story is very much worth having to skim over some scenes that are more explicit than I usually like.

You're Just a Little Under Rehearsed by MickyRC (@one-with-the-floor)

Drama teacher Crowley loves directing the Tadfield Community Players' shows—interacting with the rest of the staff at the community center, not so much. So when he meets the new accompanist for this year's musical, he's shocked to find that he might actually like him. Possibly more than like, if he's being honest.

Aziraphale is fresh from leaving a long career as a church pianist, and hoping that a new job will get him out of the lonely rut he's found himself in. The attention and kindness of the flashy community theater director are unexpected, but not unwelcome. Far from it.

But with a community theater to run, a show to put on, and a disgruntled R.P. Tyler looking for any excuse to get rid of Crowley and his theater program, will they be able to make a relationship work? And, more importantly, can they make sure the show still goes on?

Very fun and wholesome, packed with putting-on-a-play shenanigans (Peter Pan, in this case). The Crowley is Good With Kids AO3 tag is in full force here; his interactions with the younger members of the cast, especially the Them, are really well-done.

the many-venomed earth by curtaincall (@fremulon)

It’s the trial of the century: bestselling mystery author Anthony Crowley stands accused of poisoning his former lover. He’s got means (arsenic), motive (the breakup), and opportunity (a meeting the night of the murder); his guilt seems certain.

Certain, that is, to everyone except Lord Aziraphale Eastgate, rare book collector and amateur detective. Aziraphale’s not sure why he’s so convinced of Crowley’s innocence, but he’s determined to save him from the gallows--by finding the real murderer before it’s too late.

This is a mashup with Strong Poison, one of Dorothy Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey/Harriet Vane novels, and the combination works really well. Peter’s intelligence and post-case moral qualms both transfer nicely onto Aziraphale, and the plot and characters hit the same beats as the original novel without being an exact copy.

Oneshots:

A Soft Kind of Strength by @anonymousdandelion

"Y’r soft,” Crowley mumbles one day, drowsily nuzzling into Aziraphale’s well-cushioned lap. “Ssosoft.”

Aziraphale blinks, smiles bemusedly, and ruffles his partner’s hair. “Yes, dear, I’m well aware. Go back to sleep.”

“Ssssoft,” Crowley repeats, more insistently, and it seems he hasn’t quite dozed off again after all, fixated now on whatever thought grabbed his half-asleep and half-inebriated brain. He lifts his head, rolling so he’s looking up into Aziraphale’s face. “You. Soft. S’good. Good thing. Y’know that, that, that s’good, right?”

I'm a big fan of Soft Aziraphale (in every sense of the word), and this sweet fic makes the excellent point that, rather than his being secretly strong under the softness, his softness is his strength.

Temperance by effing_gravity

In the wake of the Fauxpocalypse, Aziraphale does his utmost to live his best and pettiest life.

In which Aziraphale makes a point of both consciously ignoring Gabriel's remarks about the shape of his corporation and dispensing blessings and gentle encouragement to humans struggling with their own body image issues.

Keeping Tabs by @a-case-of-the-hiccups and FriendshipCastle

A juxtaposition of Heaven's archive of Aziraphale's miracles compared with the sadly lacking state of Hell's temptation logs.

This fic was obviously written by people with cataloguing experience! I like the OCs in charge of Heaven and Hell’s respective departments, especially the tetchy, bespectacled archivist angel Pravuil.

Adopt Don't Shop by @luckyspike

Inspired by Chekhov's cat AU comics 'Good Meowmens', here is a fanfic in which Anathema and Newt are humans, and Aziraphale and Crowley are cats. Not disguised as cats, not trapped in cat bodies, just actual elderly cats that are inseparable.

A truly excellent bit of crack! Aziraphale and Crowley’s personalities come out surprisingly clearly in their cat selves. For extra fun, play spot-the-angel/demon with the other cats at the shelter!

#good omens #fanfic #recommendations

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Notice Me Reader Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @ahordeofwasps! :D

Rules: Share 3 (or more!) small details from your WIP that you feel have gone/will go unnoticed. (You can choose whether or not to share why the detail is significant!)

I was tagged twice, so I'll give details from two WIPs!

The Case-files of Seo Yo-han (counting all of them as one WIP for this):

Shakespeare is referenced in every book:

Leo reads Richard II in The Unfortunate Moth.

Silver Glass has a quote from King Lear as the epigraph to the last bit of the flashback ("...I am a man/More sinn'd against than sinning").

Also in Glass, Phil quotes Othello when she says she and Alec both "loved not wisely but too well".

Houses Full of Deceit has a more light-hearted example according to the outline, where Leo attempts to flirt with Phil by reciting Romeo's "Juliet is the sun" speech. ("Attempts" is the key word.)

Mine Eyes Dazzle mostly references John Webster and Gilbert & Sullivan (yes, really!) instead, but one character quotes Henry V -- specifically Act 2, Scene II. Which gives Yo-han an important clue, because that scene is about a former friend who became a traitor.

2. The murderers in books 1 & 3 are foils, and so are the ones in 2 & 4. Leo kills because he's paid to, while Ji-hun kills because he enjoys it. Davit kills from a mixture of love and hate -- love of Alec, hate of Gwladys -- while the still-unnamed villain kills because they both love and hate their victim.

3. For most of HFOD everyone is running from Ji-hun. For the climax, I want to turn the tables on him. He sets a trap and thinks he's caught Leo and Yo-han, but really they know it's a trap and have set up one of their own! (Namely, Phil hiding nearby with a gun.)

Uneasy Money:

Of the seven Millner siblings, the three oldest are fluent in German, the middle two are semi-fluent, and the two youngest barely speak it at all. This is because their mother was German, and she died when the three oldest were teenagers. By then she'd spent years in Britain and had mostly stopped speaking German, so the younger children picked up less of it.

Loughlinter isn't a real place. I borrowed the name from Anthony Trollope's Palliser series. (Where, oddly, Loughlinter is in Scotland -- it should be spelt Lochlinter. So based on spelling alone, moving it to Northern Ireland makes more sense.) I'm still vague on where exactly it is. I'm leaning towards somewhere around Limavady solely because my crush is from there, but that doesn't fit with Helena's statement that it's "twenty miles from Belfast". (Limavady is sixty miles from Belfast.)

Everyone has very different ideas of what sort of story they're in. Gilbert thinks he's in a P. G. Wodehouse comedy, Helena thinks she's in a Georgette Heyer romance, Thomas thinks he's in an Emily Brontë Gothic novel, and Tarka thinks she's in a Charles Dickens mystery. All of them are partly right.

Tagging @weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables, @sarandipitywrites, @oh-no-another-idea, @mysticstarlightduck, and anyone else who wants to do this! :D

#tag game #writing #my writing #my WIPs #the case files of seo yo han #WIP: money

[edosianorchids901]

Absentminded Angel

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "the devil you forgot"

Closing his eyes, Aziraphale leaned back in his chair and took a long, slow sip of cocoa. He’d had a rather busy day, as far as days went. He’d read an entire book, baked two different kinds of sourdough bread and a lovely cake, and even tidied up the kitchenette after.

Now, with the light fading outside, he was quite ready to settle in and devour another book or three. It would be lovely.

After another sip of cocoa, he set his mug down and trailed his fingers down the stack of books waiting on his desk. What should he read first? Something new, perhaps a mystery novel? Or something older, one of his favorites?

“Perhaps something from the Regency…” he murmured, stroking the familiar cover of Persuasion. But did he want something from the time period, or something written later? One of his Georgette Heyer novels, perhaps.

His fingers slipped down to the next book, and he smiled. Ah yes, Moonraker. He wouldn’t be reading that tonight, but soon. Lately, he and Crowley had formed a new routine. Often, after dinner, Aziraphale now read to��

“Dinner,” Aziraphale gasped, freezing in place. “Oh, Lord. I’ve forgotten Crowley!”

He flung out of his seat, books abandoned, and shimmied out of his comfy indoor coat and house slippers. Moving quickly, he shrugged on his usual jacket and slipped into his shoes. Oh, how could he have forgotten Crowley again?

“It’s not too late. Hardly late at all.” He straightened his bow tie and smoothed his hair, then rushed outside onto the crowded pavement.

It seemed even more crowded than usual for this time of day, and he used a subtle miracle to shift the humans out of his path. They adjusted just a little without noticing, and he half-jogged between them.

It was still taking far too long. He’d meant to set out well over an hour ago, to have a leisurely stroll to the Ritz and perhaps stop at a shop or two on the way and get a nice gift for Crowley. “Oh, oh, I’m so late…”

He dashed into a flower shop and purchased a bouquet of pink tulips, then snapped his fingers and simply teleported himself to the Ritz. Likely startled the humans in the shop a bit, but that was fine. They would recover.

His relationship, on the other hand, might not. Especially since this was the fifth time this month he’d been late meeting Crowley for a date.

Gasping for breath, Aziraphale rushed inside. Crowley was already at their usual spot, slouched in his seat, pouring wine.

Aziraphale rushed up, skidded to a halt, and nearly overbalanced. He caught himself on the table, just barely, and stuck out the bouquet of flowers. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Crowley! Got carried away with baking and reading and—”

“Angel!” Crowley grinned up at him, taking the flowers immediately. “Gosh, these are gorgeous. Any special occasion?”

“An apology, I… I suppose.” Breathless, Aziraphale collapsed into his seat. “Oh, Crowley, I’m so very sorry. I feel just awful, being this late again. I forgot all about dinner.”

Crowley snorted and laid the tulips on the table beside his very full glass of wine. “S’ always good to know what a high priority I am.”

“You are! Oh…” Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment, ashamed of himself, then took Crowley’s slim hand in both of his own. “My dear boy, you’re so very important to me. I’m just a forgetful old silly. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Relax, Aziraphale. M’ just teasing.” A smile danced on Crowley’s lips, and he poured wine for Aziraphale with his free hand. “It’s fine, seriously. I had my mobile and plenty of ways to distract myself. Started a whole fight on Twitter and everything.”

“Ah. What a worthy use of your time.” Frantic heartbeat calming, Aziraphale managed a faint smile. He leaned back a little and tried to catch his breaths.

“Honestly, at this point I kinda expect you to be late. Although this is pretty bad, even for you. Might have to make sure I pick you up instead of us planning to meet.” Crowley squeezed his hand, then leaned forward and kissed him. Somehow, he just looked very amused by all this. “I coulda called you, I guess. But I thought maybe you were on your way.”

“Well, I… I was. Eventually.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley back in for another quick kiss. “You’re really not angry with me?”

“Nnh, not gonna deny occasional irritation while I was waiting. But I forgive you.” Still with that indulgent smile, Crowley ruffled his hair. “You’re my angel. My incredibly absentminded angel.”

“Oh… I suppose I can’t argue against that.” Aziraphale ducked his head shyly, heart aching with affection. “You really are so good to me, you know. Awfully kind.”

“Oy, shut it,” Crowley muttered. He took a gulp of wine, then patted the bouquet of flowers. “These are great. Got anything else special planned for after dinner?”

Mischief sparkled in Crowley’s eyes as he peered over his dark glasses, and Aziraphale blushed. “Well, I can think of a few things to do with such a handsome devil. Perhaps involving the bed, and rather a lot of kissing…”

Crowley chuckled and leaned in, stealing another quick kiss. “Mmm, I’m onboard with that plan. Better make sure I drive you back to the shop, though. If we plan to meet there, who knows when you might show up.”

“Oh, if you insist.” Aziraphale wiggled in his seat, reaching for his wine. He really was quite lucky, having a wonderful demon who was so forgiving of his mistakes. And although dinner would be late now, at least neither of them required sleep. They would have plenty of time for snuggles, kisses, and anything else they wanted.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley

[masonhawth0rne]

What I read in October

Hoo boy, I sure did forget to post this earlier, didn't I!

Honestly I've been so busy so far this month that I just didn't even think of it. Also, this month is sort of evaporating. Before you ask, no I have written nothing at all for the not-NaNo that I was planning to attempt. But I did come up with another great idea for something that I'll probably start and not finish, so you can't say I've done nothing!

Anyway, on to the list:

Unfortunate Elements of My Anatomy, Hailey Piper ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Ghost Bird, Lisa Fuller ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Hound of the Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Forest of Stolen Girls, June Hur ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Liar's Dice, Jeannie Lin ⭐️

Straya, Anthony O'Connor ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Toxic, Dan Kaszeta (nf) ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Illuminae, Amie Kaufman & Jay Kristoff ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Penhallow, Georgette Heyer ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Myth of the Self Made Man, Ruben Reyes Jr (ss) ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Call, Christian White & Summer De Roche ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Death of the Necromancer, Martha Wells ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Cretins, Thomas Ha (ss) ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Kill Your Brother, Jack Heath ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Doors of Perception, Aldous Huxley (nf) ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Valley of Terror, Zhou Haohui, tr. Bonnie Huie ⭐️⭐️

The Curse of the Burdens, John Wyndham ⭐️⭐️

Amazons, Adrienne Mayor (nf) ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Kraken Wakes, John Wyndham ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dead Mountain, Donnie Eichar (nf) ⭐️⭐️

Family Business, Jonathan Sims ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

In the House of Aryaman A Lonely Signal Burns, Elizabeth Bear ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A Blessing of Unicorns, Elizabeth Bear ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

METAtropolis Anthology ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Plan for Chaos, John Wyndham ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A Fatal Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum, Emma Southon (nf) ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Outward Urge, John Wyndham ⭐️⭐️

King Solomon's Mines, H. Rider Haggard DNF

The Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle tr. David Ross (nf) ⭐️⭐️⭐️

This was a bit of a mixed bunch!

At the end of September I went to a writer's conference, where Lisa Fuller and Amie Kaufman were guests of honour. I was a bit annoyed at myself because I had bought Ghost Bird the week before, not realising that she was on the program, so I had the book the whole time but hadn't yet read it! Oh well, better late than never.

Ghost Bird was a solid spooky read, dealing with family history and tensions, small town disturbances, and the violent inheritances of colonialism and racism in Australia. I originally bought it because it was on a list of books to read if you enjoyed Catching Teller Crow by Ambelin Kwaymullina and Ezekiel Kwaymullina, which I did.

Illuminae was one that I had heard @slushrottweiler mention several times, but I'd never gotten around to it (YA, not my most favourite! Epistolary, not my most favourite!). But after the conference I figured I'd check it out, and I'm glad I did. While I wouldn't say that it's my favourite thing ever, it was a solid scifi story, with an interesting form and style, and I'll probably check out the sequels eventually.

Straya by Anthony O'Connor was the other book on this list that I picked up after the conference. Kind of a goofy action romp through post-apocalyptic Sydney, I was expecting to be a kind of brain-off funtime read (and it is! Don't get me wrong!) but it also had a lot of very clever little twists and turns that kept it really engaging. Also a refreshing take on the 'love interest' character, being that she's asexual, and when the protagonist confesses his feelings for her she says well... that's sweet and all, but I don't do that. Can we still be friends? And then they are still friends! A lot of the goofyness of this book is held up by a backbone of sincerity which is really nice, too. In all, a fun read.

Also revisited some faves this month, re-read Penhallow for my book club, and I have to say, it is one of those books which just gets more complex with each rereading. It's up there with Rebecca as some of my most books of all time.

There's one big fat DNF on the list this month, King Solomon's Mine, which through a combination of Victorian era racism, and very poor audio quality was pretty much unlistenable, and I don't think I'll be bothered trying to find a better recording.

And that's that!

nf= non fiction

ss= short story

stars awarded at my whim

#what i read

[addledmongoose]

Good Omens Fanfic Friday (22 Mar 2024)

A bit of an eclectic mix this week.

Like one of your French Girls (8K; Rated E) By@thescholarlystrumpet

Crowley convinces Aziraphale to go watch Titanic in the theater. Aziraphale is inspired to draw after the drawing scene in the movie. He just needs the right model.

***

amaretto (70K; Rated E)

Human(ish) AU. Aziraphale, a bookseller/restorationist in South Downs, accidentally summons a demon and is forced to enter into the soul contract by the terms of the summoning spell. The only thing he asks Crowley for is to spend time with him, and so begins a relationship that goes from friendship to a deep, abiding love. There's sadness and angst with regards to the contract, but their relationship is sweet and kind and loving, and you might be surprised by the (happy) ending. I would love to see a follow-up short story if the writer was ever inclined to follow them afterward and see how they're getting along.

***

An Inducement to Marry (45K; Rated T)

Regency-era Human AU. Aziraphale Fell is a bookshop owner in the small village of Tadfield. His neighbors are all under the impression that Crowley, a repeat visitor of the shop, fancies him despite Aziraphale knowing such an idea is preposterous. When news breaks that Crowley is being pressured to marry by his mother, Crowley comes to Aziraphale with an unusual request. The story is written in the style of Georgette Heyer and features some lovely language and zero homophobia. The reader is well aware that Crowley is arse-over-teakettle for Aziraphale, but our lovely angelic bookseller is a bit slow on the uptake.

***

Big Name Feelings (104K; Rated E) by @mrghostrat

Human AU/Fake Relationship. It's finally complete! Crowley is a BNF (big name fan) fanfic writer for a popular series by author, Agnes Nutter. Aziraphale is a fanfic artist with a crush on him. They become good friends, and a month from Prophet Con, Crowley asks him to be his fake boyfriend for the weekend, so he can avoid unwanted attention. Like most of ghostrat's work, this one is filled with terrific art, gorgeous workskins, and of course, beautiful writing. Please try to read it with the workskins on. It loses something not seeing all the Discord/text/etc. messages in their intended format.

***

One Miraculous December (188K; Rated T) by @journeytogallifrey

Ignore the fact that it's no longer Christmas. This is probably the most sweetly romantic GO story I've ever read. A bit slow burn. A bit through-the-ages (via memories). A whole lot of romance, pining, kissing, and cuddling. And of course, a whole lot of not properly communicating. But the angst level simmers, it doesn't flame.

Candles. Mistletoe. An entire frozen lake. Festive memories from their past together keep appearing out of nowhere.

Crowley's sure he's manifesting them accidentally out of sheer romantic desperation. It's bad enough trying to hide his unrequited love as they grow closer post-Apocaloops - what if Aziraphale sees the objects for what they are, a window into his yearning soul? Unfortunately, the only way to banish the objects seems to be talking about each memory...

Meanwhile, Aziraphale is just trying to woo his demon boyfriend with big gestures, ready to prove his devotion. And if Crowley acts awkward about the miracles? Surely that's just his difficulty accepting affection. The solution: shower him with as much of it as possible...

Eventually these two will communicate, even if it takes 'til the end of the year. For now there will be cuddling, excuses for closeness, sappy words, flashbacks, nostalgia, bickering, and an obscene variety of holiday foods. Oh, and footnotes. That's right. We're doing those too.

#good omens fanfiction #fanfic friday

[gravitasmalfunction]

'You will not mind a little risk, will you, Lucius?' 'Me sword's at your service, Deb!' 'Oh no! It has nothing to do with swords -- at least I do hope it has not! I just want you to kidnap Ravenscar for me.' He burst out laughing. 'Is that all? Whisht, it's a mere nothing! And what will I be doing with him when I've kidnapped him?' 'I want you to put him in the cellar,' said Miss Grantham remorselessly. 'What cellar?' enquired Kennet. 'This one, of course. It has a very stout lock on the door, and it is not at all damp -- not that that signifies, and in any event he will be tied up.'

Faro's Daughter, Georgette Heyer

#faro's daughter #georgette heyer #this is an absolutely foolproof plan and nothing will go wrong #deb grantham

[ariainstars]

Jane Austen: Too Much of a Good Thing

Sorry I'm ranting.

Uff. I've had it. I have just decided that I'm fed up.

I'm sick of Jane Austen.

There. I've said it.

Seriously, what’s the matter? You can’t go a step without stumbling over Jane Austen and her characters.

In particular, Pride and Prejudice. It’s a good novel but these days I come across it in social media so often I can’t stand it anymore. There is just no escape. No fandom seems to be without an Austen crossover and / or reference.

For the record:

The overused dialogues between the two protagonists count up to five. Elizabeth spends more time thinking about Darcy and speaking about him than actually interacting with him.

Elisabeth was uninterested in Darcy and even annoyed at him until she saw his beautiful grounds at Pemberley. (She’s so not materialistic, oh no, she loves him purely for himself.)

The infamous scene where he turns up at her place to make an impassioned declaration of love drenched in rain is from a movie. It doesn’t appear in the novel at all.

Fitzwilliam is not exactly an exciting name. Does anyone believe he likes being called “Oh, Mr Darcy” in the bedroom?

Jane Austen is a fine novelist. I have read all of her works. That doesn’t mean she’s the only good writer when it comes to romance, not even historical romance. Whether she’s the best is up to anybody’s guess (and taste).

I have decided that I will quit reading fanfiction or meta's of any kind as soon as the name “Austen” or one of the titles of her novels or names of her characters drop.

Please. Read something else. Watch something else. Quote someone else.

There is Georgette Heyer (I love the absurd situations she sometimes depicts), the Brontë sisters, George Eliot. I loved Daphne duMaurier's Rebecca, and L.M. Montgomery's The Blue Castle.

Too much of the same kind of food makes one sick. Jane Austen is certainly making me feel sick by now.

Or at least, someone please explain to me where this obsession comes from, because I certainly can’t. All I know is that I’m fed up.

Seriously: if I ever quote or refer to anything from Jane Austen from now on, you’re welcome to beat me up.

Good night.

#rant #literature #jane austen #p&p #fitzwilliam darcy #elizabeth bennet #romance novels #historical novels #fanfiction #fandom

[chocolatepot]

regency romance AU (Georgette Heyer style!), Ed/Stede?

Ok so I would start with a sugar-coated Heyer Regency world and then sugar-coat some more by making it institutionally pansexual! Just so Ed and Stede can have the benefit of the proper Heyeresque plot.

Ed is a RAKE who is jaded and sick of the tryhard assholes at the Hellfire Club! Stede is a WALLFLOWER whose parents couldn't get anyone to take him for love or money! Ed suddenly needs a spouse so he can be respectable for reasons, and Stede is the most available person who seems like he won't interfere with Ed's life much. But then after the quick marriage of convenience, they find that they have a massive spark and both open up to each other, bringing out new things in each other.

... oh no I want to write this now. Is there an AUpril prompt for any of this?

#ofmd #meme

[citizen-sade]

Heart Like a Crown by HalloweenJack7 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Summary: Set post-S2, in an alternate timeline where Aziraphale realized his mistake and returned to Crowley, and all was as it should be. But what if it wasn't? What if he had actually been too late?

[Author note: Roughly inspired by this soul-shatteringly gorgeous work of art by Shoomlah, not that I'm delusional enough to think that my cringy, subpar nonsense actually does it ANY justice AT ALL. I just can't stop thinking about it and had to do SOMETHING, okay?! ]

--------------------------------------------------

Crowley glanced from his book to Aziraphale and back to the book again. His eyes scanned the same page he’d been pretending to read for the past ten minutes, comprehending none of it. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Reality had not been much of a friend to Crowley as of late. Ever since he had nearly lost Aziraphale to the devious influence of Heaven, many of his waking hours were spent trying to prove to himself that he was, indeed, awake, and not trapped in a dream loop with dream-Aziraphale, living out a dream-life in their dream-bookshop in dream-London—you get the gist.

No. He was here. He was really here. The angel— his angel—unmoving in his wingback chair, absorbed in some Georgette Heyer novel and outlined by the light of a very real fire.

At least, he was pretty sure it was real…

Only one way to find out.

Oh, yeah—and there was also the voice…

Well, it wasn’t so much an audible voice, as a manifestation of that itch you get in the back of your mind when things aren’t blatantly wrong, per se, but just awry enough to feel off.

And it was kind of a dick.

Crowley lost himself in the mesmeric sway of the flames in the hearth as he entertained the idea of reaching a hand out to them, just to make sure…

“—Crowley.”

“Hm?” Aziraphale was staring at him, reading glasses in hand, concern evident in the crease of his brow and a hint of annoyance in the subtle downturn of his lips, as though he’d been trying to get his attention for a while. It was a look that had become all too common lately.

“Everything alright?”

Crowley’s increasing restlessness and lack of focus these past weeks had not gone unnoticed, but the only assistance Aziraphale could think to offer was to remain a compassionate and grounding presence without overstepping his boundaries. If his friend didn’t wish to talk, far be it for him to press the matter.

“Peachy,” Crowley grinned, finally turning the page of his dog-eared copy of “Choke” by the American author, Chuck Palahniuk.

How much longer can this façade of domestic bliss possibly go on? the voice taunted.

This is right. This is how it should be.

Is it?

Of—of course it is…

If you say so.

I do fucking say so.

Crowley growled under his breath as he fidgeted. The stillness between them had started out comfortably enough; but the taunting voice grew louder, and bolder, as the evening wore on.

You don’t sound so sure.

Zira wouldn’t…

Wouldn’t what?

…hurt me.

Again,  you mean.

Crowley shifted and bit his lip as tears burned his eyes. He snapped the book shut and propelled himself to his feet.

Aziraphale looked up, startled, “Crowley? My dear, are you alright?”

He cleared his throat and blinked the collecting moisture away, “Ah, sssorry...” he scolded himself at the slip, a telltale sign of his fraying composure, “I, um... alcohol...?” 

Aziraphale arched a brow and opened his mouth to speak, but Crowley cut him off, “I mean, would you like a drink... Angel?”

“Why, certainly; but I can—” he set his book aside and moved to stand.

“No!” Crowley interjected, “No, it’sss—” Damnit! “it’s fine. I’ll get it.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale settled back in his chair, fixing Crowley with those cloying puppy-dog eyes.

“Why, certainly,” he playfully echoed before disappearing into the adjacent room.

Once alone, he exhaled a long, measured breath and passed a hand over his face. Get your shit together, Crowley. He moved to the drink cart and reached for a new bottle of White Horse, ignoring the slight tremor of his hands as he broke the seal and poured them each a glass.

You should be used to this by now…

Crowley squared his jaw and set the bottle down with a little more force than intended.

The apprehension that simmers just beneath the surface… The persistent dread… 

Shut up.

The nagging suspicion that this could all be in your head… that at any moment you’ll wake up—

SHUT. UP. 

—Alone.

Go. The fuck. Away.

Perhaps if you tried asking nicely?

PLEASE go the fuck away.

Oh, if only it were that easy...  

The ice clinked against the crystal in his trembling, white-knuckled fingers.

Careful; what if it breaks? Who will pick up the pieces?

Crowley choked back a sob and downed the whiskey he’d just poured in one go. He clenched his teeth against the burn before gulping down the other; and then promptly threw back a third, for good measure.

Maybe that’ll shut you up for a while.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called from the other room.

“Aye, coming!” He hurriedly poured new glasses and moved towards the threshold, pausing to clumsily slip on the dark, round shades. An easy, familiar solace settled over him, one that only his sunglasses could provide. He would just have to hope that Zira wouldn’t ask.

Aziraphale watched him over the rim of his reading glasses as he gingerly accepted the offered tumbler. Always so gentle.

Except with what matters.  

Crowley winced and blinked at the sudden weight of a hand on his arm.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale pled softly.

“Yep?” he chirped, feigning nonchalance as he nursed his whiskey.

“You can talk to me.”

The demon frowned as he seemed to consider this for a moment and raised his glass to the firelight, staring pensively into its glinting amber depths.   

“Dylan Thomas drank himself to death at the White Horse pub,” he stated matter-of-factly, as though in the midst of a conversation already in progress, “Fun lad… until he wasn’t.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale inquired, pointedly ignoring the far-away quality to Crowley’s voice, “You knew him?”

You could say that.

Stop—

You tried to save him from himself. You failed.

GET OUT OF MY HEAD.

“Crowley?”

“What?!” he rounded on the angel, thankful for the glasses as he was certain Aziraphale’s alarmed expression mirrored his own.

“I—Um. Yeah. Last time I saw him was at the, ah… Wheatsheaf pub, in the West end. He had his head in some girl’s lap. I saw that they were married the following year.” 

“Ah, well,” Aziraphale chuckled awkwardly and raised a toast, “to the happy couple!”

Crowley sucked his teeth, “Their marriage was a stormy affair, fueled by alcohol and infidelity.”

Aziraphale sputtered, “Oh—ahem—well…”

Crowley scratched the back of his head and sheepishly gestured to the forgotten volume overturned on the side table, “Didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale smiled warmly.

Crowley nodded vaguely and slunk away to resume his seat. His whiskey sloshed as he draped one leg over the arm of the chair. When it became clear Crowley had no intention of divulging what vexed him, Aziraphale took up his book once more and shifted to prop one foot up on the opposite knee.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the soft crackle and pop of the fire. Aziraphale was quite aware that he was being watched and it made him increasingly uneasy as the minutes ticked by. The words on the page blurred under the weight of those piercing, predatory eyes. Even behind those accursed glasses, he could feel that gaze boring into him. He was not oblivious as to why Crowley wore those glasses—the real reason, that is; not the obvious one that allowed him to blend in with mortal society virtually undetected. That was simply a bonus.

Crowley was irrefutably one of the most fascinating and effortlessly cool individuals Aziraphale had ever met. The perfectly-coiffed hair, the rock star fashion, the devil-may-care swagger (pun intended)—all coalesced into a single corporal form. And a beautiful one, at that, if he was any judge.

But he was also, as much as it pained the angel to admit, one of the most troubled.

Aziraphale could not fathom the toll that his fall from grace had undoubtedly taken on Crowley over the millennia; could not imagine what it would be like to be so unceremoniously cast out of Heaven. He dreaded the thought.

But no matter how guarded Crowley was, or how aloof he pretended to be, he could only conceal so much of himself at once—and those cold, slitted eyes were always the first to betray the state of Crowley’s nerves. All of the demon’s insecurities; his fears, his desires, his ambitions... Crowley played his cards close to his chest, and for good reason.

Crowley lowered both feet to the floor and rose. Aziraphale nearly breathed a sigh of relief, assuming he was going to fetch another drink, but his blood ran cold as a tall, thin shadow descended upon him and the toes of Crowley’s boots came into his view. He stared hard at the page, quietly willing his friend to say something, anything, to break the dreadful tension.

He wasn’t sure how long the demon stood before him, silent and ominous, before he heard him lift his glass to swallow what remained of his whiskey. Crowley then leaned over Aziraphale to set his glass on the small table beside the armchair and there was a sudden weight on his thighs. Crowley was straddling him. He moved his drink out of the way as his stunned brain busied itself with not spilling alcohol on Crowley’s designer trousers.

Crowley slid the small wire-rimmed glasses from his nose and took the book from his hand to discard both on the end table. Long, elegant fingers reverently caressed the angel’s face, and he lifted his gaze to the figure that hovered above him.

The glass slipped from Aziraphale’s grasp to land with a dull thud upon the rug as he was met with those arresting eyes, no longer obscured by the dark glasses. Aziraphale’s heart lurched at what he saw. Hope and despair mingled like oil and water, creating a swirling tempest of quiet desperation.

Crowley tangled his fingers in the angel’s flaxen curls and bent to claim his mouth. Aziraphale bristled before yielding to the tender kiss, melting into Crowley like the ice in his forgotten whiskey.

Aziraphale tasted rebellion on the demon’s lips. He was prepared to lay down his soul for Crowley in that moment; to pry open his ribcage so Crowley could curl up beside his frantically beating heart, where he would be safe—where he belonged.

He felt moisture on his cheek and all at once realized that the slender figure in his arms was trembling. He pressed his lips to Crowley’s forehead.

“Oh, my darling,” he breathed, without pretense, without judgment, “My darling...”

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s throat. Eons of oppression; decades of rage and pain all flowed in rivulets from his eyes to soak into the angel’s ivory cotton blazer. As he raked his fingers through the demon’s careless ginger hair, it dawned on Aziraphale, striking him like a bolt of lightning straight to the heart.

Some of Crowley’s suffering, at least, had been his doing. He did this.

Aziraphale laid a warm, heavy hand on the nape of Crowley’s neck.

“I’m sorry...” he choked, “I’m so, so sorry...”

Crowley sniffed and withdrew from Aziraphale’s arms, no longer openly weeping. He regarded the angel with eyes the color of dark honey, shot through with red—eyes set in an otherwise vacant mask.

Aziraphale cocked his head and tentatively placed a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, “Crowley, dear?”

The demon’s silence was deafening. He tried again to shake Crowley from his trance when his voice finally emerged from quivering lips, thready and hoarse, “Don’t go… Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Crowley. I promise.”

Then it occurred to Aziraphale that, although Crowley was looking in his general direction, his eyes were not focused on him, but rather, beyond him—beyond the brick-and-mortar walls of the Soho bookstore.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale barked. The hollow gaze snapped to his and it was all he could do not to retreat at the intensity of it, “Now, listen to me, Crowley. I am real. I am here.”

The demon searched his face and raised a hand to his cheek to trail his fingertips along the angel’s jaw line. Aziraphale covered Crowley’s hand with his own, “See?” 

His heart splintered at the thought of what he could have done to Crowley had he chosen to remain in Heaven with the Metatron… what he very nearly did…

Crowley turned Aziraphale’s hand over to trace the lines in his palm. He nipped at the thin, pale skin of his wrist. This made Aziraphale gasp, and he took the angel’s index finger between his lips. Aziraphale swallowed, barely daring to breathe and fearing what might happen if he pulled away—not that he wanted to. 

Crowley slid Aziraphale’s finger from his mouth and fixed a broken and forlorn gaze upon the nervous angel. He grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist to yank him forward and crush their lips together. A forked tongue snaked into his mouth. Aziraphale grasped at air before resting his hands on Crowley’s thighs and squeezing. The demon whimpered against his lips and his hands slid to the slender waist, digging his fingers into the soft flesh, eliciting a moan as Crowley bucked against him. He grabbed Aziraphale’s chin to pivot his head to one side and his breath swirled against the angel’s fluttering pulse, hot and quick as he licked at his throat.

He felt his groin twitch, felt the twin flames of arousal and desire flare to life within him.

No… Too fast—something isn’t right… This was not his Crowley.

Disgust, with himself, with the situation as a whole, clenched in his gut like a fist and he reluctantly snuffed them out. His convulsing fingers closed on Crowley’s biceps and shoved him away.

“I can’t... This isn’t…” he stammered between panting breaths, “I will not take advantage of you.”

The demon stared at him, uncomprehending at first, and then his face contorted into something akin to righteous indignation. Aziraphale locked his elbows as he held him at arm’s length.

He bared his teeth in a mocking grin, his tongue lolling from his mouth like a rabid dog, “Come on, Angel!” a hiss reverberated deep in his throat. There was something vulgar in the way he regarded Aziraphale from beneath dark lashes, running the tip of his tongue along sharp, needle-like teeth, “Don’t you want to make me sssscream your name?”

“Crowley, please,” he begged through unfallen tears, “Get a hold of yourself!”

The demon struggled in his grasp, his demeanor instantly shifting from lecherous to volatile, “It’s either this,” he snarled, “or you kill me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in incredulous horror, “Crowley!”

“Your choice, Angel,” he rasped, eyes feral and glinting like light off a knife’s edge, “Fuck me or kill me—whatever you have to do before you leave me.”

Crowley froze and his jaw dropped, as though the words alone were enough to snap him out of whatever maddened frenzy had taken possession of him. He expelled a shaky breath and unfolded himself from Aziraphale’s lap, staggering backwards. He buried his face in his hands as he burned with shame and guilt; wishing he were burning for real.

“Forgive me,” his muffled sobs made Aziraphale’s heart crack even further, on the verge of shattering.

“Oh, Crowley…”

The sound of his name spoken so pitifully was like a punch to the stomach. Crowley turned his back on the angel and sank to his knees on the Oriental rug.

A cruel peal of laughter resounded in his skull, Now you’ve done it.

His thin frame shook with the sobs that wracked his body, “Forgive me.”

At least you’re finally where you belong, on your hands and knees—like the stray mongrel you are.

He groaned miserably and clawed at his ears, his hair, anything to dislodge the poisonous words from his brain.

Pathetic. You’re an embarrassment; nothing but trouble.

“You’re right,” Crowley whispered to no one; at least, no one that Aziraphale could perceive, though it was enough to get his attention.

You don’t deserve Heaven and Hell doesn’t want you.

“Who, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked softly, and then, with mounting panic when he received no answer, “Crowley, who is right?”

Crowley wrapped his hands around his head, retreating further into himself.

But you can fix this, the voice cooed, eerily gentle; you can fix the damage your wretched existence has caused. End this madness.

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale begged, suddenly much closer than he remembered, “Please talk to me, my love. What is going on?” 

But the angel’s distraught pleas fell on deaf ears, overshadowed by the words that whispered across Crowley’s mind, feather-light and hypnotic. Crowley glanced up with glassy, red-rimmed eyes, “How?”   

A nearly imperceptible melodious note rang out faintly from somewhere close.

 Just wake up, Crowley.

“Crowley, what—” Aziraphale paused mid-sentence as his eyes darted around the immediate vicinity. He had heard it, too; and he knew exactly what that sound was, even if he didn’t know what it meant. 

Crowley frantically looked about, as well, his eyes finally settling on a bookshelf a few feet from where they both kneeled on the floor. Aziraphale stood and followed his gaze, and the color immediately drained from his face. Nestled between two leather-bound volumes and silhouetted against the shadows by a faint, shimmering aura, loomed a familiar tartan thermos, no more than a foot tall. He would never have guessed that such an unassuming object could be so sinister.

You know what you have to do.

“Yes…” Crowley croaked. He slowly, mechanically, rose to his feet and drew closer to the shelf as though compelled by some unseen force.

“Crowley, no!” Aziraphale grabbed him by the arm and stepped into his path, planting himself between the demon and the bookshelf, “Stop!” He demanded.

Crowley’s steps faltered, but his attention remained fixed on his target. Aziraphale gently took his face between his hands and forced Crowley to meet his eyes. He didn’t resist. Aziraphale tried not to let his expression betray his shock at his friend’s pallid countenance. Shadows had formed beneath the dull yellow eyes. Crowley looked… defeated. And tired... utterly, inconceivably tired.

“Please,” he sighed wearily, “I have to do this.”

“Do what?” he asked cautiously, “What is it that you have to do?”

He’ll try to stop you, the voice warned, don’t listen to him.

“I can’t—” Crowley visibly flinched, voice catching in his throat, “I don't belong here.”

“What do you mean?”

He fell silent again as his eyes glossed over. Aziraphale shook him, “Crowley… Crowley!”

The angel breathed a sigh of resolve and steeled himself, pressing his fingertips to Crowley’s temples. He closed his eyes and focused his thoughts, homing in on a specific area of Crowley’s mind; one he kept firmly sealed and locked up tight, like a forbidden wing in a haunted house. It might as well have had a sign that read WARNING: Condemned. No one beyond this point.

But now it would appear that the door stood slightly ajar, sending a chill down Aziraphale’s spine. As he crept closer, he thought he smelled sulfur and decay, and he became vaguely aware of a dark, foreign influence subtly forcing its way into his mind through the channel he’d opened into Crowley’s subconscious.

Cold tendrils slithered around the angel’s heart and tears pricked his eyes, suddenly overcome with a profound sense of loss and hopelessness that threatened to leech every ounce of divine strength and willpower. It was a despair the likes of which Aziraphale had never felt before.

Well. That wasn’t entirely true.

“I forgive you.”

“… Don’t bother.”

How could he be so… heartless?

Agony bloomed in his chest, briefly halting his breath, but he stood his ground.

It’s not real. It’s not real!

He clung steadfast to his singular goal of protecting Crowley, and despite every synapse in his body screaming that his endeavors were futile, he continued towards the dark room and peered inside.

As he’d suspected, there it was—huddled in a shadowy and remote nook of Crowley’s psyche, tar-black and twisted with hate. As soon as it sensed his presence, the creature unfurled, turning to cast a glare of scarlet rancor upon the intruder.

No! The entity bellowed; you’re not supposed to be here!

“You—” The angel clenched his jaw, an uncharacteristically menacing edge to his voice, “are the one that’s not supposed to be here.”

You’re too late, angel, the voice spat, Come on, Crowley! Wake up before it's too late.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” the faint light burst forth from Aziraphale’s fingers, beaming in brilliant rays from Crowley’s eyes and his body stiffened.

As the blaze subsided, Aziraphale was quick to catch Crowley when he went limp, gently easing him to the floor. An inhuman shriek echoed through the bookstore, carried on an acrid, unnatural gale that hurled books to the floor and threatened to blow the windows out.

This isn’t the end, angel. After we have taken care of him, then we will come for you.

“Go back to where you came from, you fiend,” he sneered bitterly.

He doesn’t belong here. He is one of us.

“Why, Abaddon,” came a weak, flippant quip from the vicinity of Aziraphale’s lap, “I didn’t know you cared.”

The entity hissed, This isn’t o—

“Over. Right, yeah, got it. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

The spectral wind surged violently around them and blew open the door of the bookshop. Aziraphale felt the unholy presence slip out into the night, and immediately the building seemed lighter, more comfortable. Safe.

He glanced to where the thermos of holy water had previously materialized, relieved that the would-be vessel of his friend’s destruction was nowhere to be seen.

Crowley groaned beneath him, “Angel, I—” his words dissolved against Aziraphale’s demanding lips. He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands, deepening the kiss even as Crowley scrambled to sit up, clutching at the angel’s shirt and wrapping his arms around his neck, anything to bring him closer.

When oxygen became scarce, Aziraphale reluctantly withdrew and pressed his forehead to Crowley’s as they both gasped for breath.

“How long?” the angel asked after a beat.

Crowley hung his head with remorse. Aziraphale tenderly lifted his chin, his eyes soft but persistent,

“How long?”

Heaving a tremulous breath, Crowley licked his lips and turned his attention to the dying fire.

“Since you came back… It started–at first, I thought it was my own annoying inner monologue… but, by the time I realized it was him–” 

Abaddon, demon of the Abyss. Luckily Crowley was not privy to the fury that smoldered behind the angel's passive expression, but he kept it in check. Now was not the time, “...it was too late.” Crowley's breath hitched as he shuddered, pressing both palms to his eyes.

Warm fingers circled his wrists to draw his hands away from his face.

“I was too tired to fight it,” he continued in a pained whisper, “It just became… easier… to believe that this was all…” Crowley trailed off, his voice dissolving into a mortified whimper as he shook his head, refusing to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. 

“Crowley…” he encouraged, “You must tell me. Please, darling.” 

“It was easier to believe that this was all a dream… that you weren't real, that you had—” stayed in Heaven. Crowley sniffed, dragging a hand through his hair, “that I crushed your dreams.”

The angel immediately pulled Crowley into a tight, protective embrace, “Never... I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whispered into his hair.

“For what—?” 

“Leaving you in the first place... leaving you vulnerable and defenseless… I don’t know what I was thinking. This is all my fault…” 

“No—Angel—”

“I’m never leaving your side again; do you understand me?” Aziraphale declared through his tears, “Can you ever forgive me, Crowley?”

Crowley leaned back in Aziraphale’s arms to cup his face in his hands, kissing him sweetly by way of an answer. Aziraphale surged forward to capture his mouth with dizzying intensity. His hands slid over Crowley’s shoulders, down his back, and again to his chest. His fingers found the line of buttons on the front of Crowley’s black polyester shirt, and he made quick work of them. Crowley’s breath quickened and he tipped his head back as the angel bent to trail a line of fire down his neck and chest with insistent lips. 

“Ah—Zira—” he moaned softly as strong hands ran up his chest to slide the open shirt from his shoulders. 

Crowley paused, tilting Aziraphale’s chin up to look at him. Flushed and frantic, the angel raised eyes the color of uncut jade to Crowley’s fierce golden ones, recognizing the uncertainty in his expression. 

“I am real,” he whispered, “Please, let me prove it to you.” 

The demon’s face lit up with a wolfish smile, and he swiftly discarded the shirt. He leaned forward to press a hungry kiss to Aziraphale’s lips—a kiss that burned with untold desire, conveying centuries of repressed longing.

“Take me to church, Angel.”

#fanfiction #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #crowley is a mess #angst with a happy ending #the bookstore has a fireplace now #because i said so #suicidal ideation #protective aziraphale #seriously go look at that fanart #crowley is a hozier fan

[readingoals]

Mid Year Book Freakout (2023)

I wasn't tagged to do it but I did this last year so thot I might as well do it again this year lmao.

It's a little bit of a cop out maybe, but I think the best book I've read this year is Pride and Prejudice. It's about the hundredth time I've read it and it was my top book from last year, so it feels like cheating to say it. But it's also an edition that Lauren annotated for me so reading it was an entirely new experience too because of all her notes!

This one's easy because it's the only sequel I've read this year, and that is A Clash Of Kings by George R.R. Martin! I really love the ASOIAF series and I'm so enjoying this re-read.

This is tough because I've re-read a few books this year but I think I have to say Sylvester by Georgette Heyer. It's been years since I first read it but I'm so glad I revisited it. I had the best time reading it again and annotating it.

Just like last year, mystery is my most read genre so far. I've been continuing to make my way through all of Agatha Christie's books - one per month - as well as some extra mysteries on the side, so it's really not a surprise.

Aside from mystery, my next most read genres are historical and, much more surprisingly, romance, with three books each.

Oh, so many. But the ones at the top of my list are The Villa by Rachel Hawkins, The Cloisters by Katy Hays, Our Hideous Progeny by C.E. McGill, and The Adventure Zone: Eleventh Hour graphic novel by The McElroys.

For the first time in a long time I actually do know about and am looking forward to a couple of releases. I have Hopeless Aromantic: An Affirmative Guide to Aromanticism by Samantha Rendle on pre-order. It'll be released at the end of this month. And then I think Everyone On This Train Is A Suspect by Benjamin Stevenson is due to be released later this year too.

The Maidens by Alex Michaelides was a huge disappointment. I'd heard so many good things but I just hated it so much.

I think the biggest surprise so far has been Sparkling Cyanide by Agatha Christie. Mostly because it started off a little slow and I thought it'd be one of her more ~okay~ mysteries, but it ended up being quite exciting and interesting and fun.

Either that or Victoria Frankenstein's Monster Cock by Broken Arrow because reading Frankenstein inspired erotica was not on my personal 2023 bingo card and it ended up being actually not bad.

I think I have to say my fave new (to me) author is Tirzah Price who wrote Pride and Premeditation (and the other Jane Austen Murder Mystery books). Partly because Pride and Premed was such a fun read and really well done. But also partly just because process of elimination leaves her as the only real option.

I've only read from 6 authors I'd previously not read from so far, and of those I hated 1, I disliked 2, and enjoyed 2 but not enough.

I think I have to go with Sylvester, Phoebe and Tom from Sylvester by Georgette Heyer. I just really loved their dynamic and they were so frickin fun to read about.

Runners up would be Jon and Rick from Bachelor Kisses by Nick Earls purely because they were such dumbass dickheads.

At first I was going to say nothing I'd read so far this year had made me cry but then I remembered that I re-read Daisy Jones and the Six. Even though I knew what was coming the ending still got me.

Bachelor Kisses by Nick Earls. It's set close to where I live, I find the characters and story so funny, and I love Earls' writing style. Re-reading it was an absolute joy.

But also Ace and Aro Journeys just cause it was nice to read something that related so directly to me.

There's a couple of books that stand out I think. Number 1 has to be the illustrated edition of A Clash Of Kings. I already owned AGOT and I'm excited to eventually have the whole series in a matching set.

I guess The Villa would also be up there - I love the colours, how bright it is. And then also the hardcover Penguin Classics edition of Frankenstein which was one I'd wanted for ages.

There are only a couple that I absolutely have to read. The copy of Frankenstein that Lauren annotated for me is top of the list. And then also Pride and Prometheus by John Kessel - I said I was going to read it all the way back in March and then didn't, so I'd love to actually pick it up.

I also want to prioritize reading my backlog books. I'm trying to read 5 of them this year and so far I've only read one (although I'm also currently reading one now), so I definitely want to pick up a few more in the second half of the year.

#booklr #brigid speaks #mid year book tag #mid year book freak out tag #read in 2023 #also i had way too much fun making those headers in canva lmao

[theladyragnell]

Voted by mail yesterday — very grateful that my state allows that, as I am sick with Covid right now! So I'm in need of a good comfort read & I've already reread my favorite one, Connie Willis' "To Say Nothing of the Dog." Got any recommendations in that vein?

Oh no, I very much hope that you feel better soon! Freya Marske is a good author for you, but I've already recced her a bunch today, let's see what else I've got in that area. For the shenanigans, you could go old-school and try P.G. Wodehouse (if you don't mind some secondhand embarrassment) or some Georgette Heyer (if you can find a rec list of her books that don't have Shitty Bits, it's been a bit since I've read any of hers so I'm not a reliable source there). Eva Ibbotson has some old fashioned books with magic, many of them for young readers, which I always find comforting when I'm sick. And for 19th century with SFF elements, Zen Cho's Sorcerer to the Crown might require a bit too much brain but is great.

Not enough time travel books have shenanigans in them!

#ladythomasina #answered asks