Gaiman Stories

"Do you ever miss it? Making stars, I mean." Crowley looked back up at Aziraphale. "Sometimes. I can still do it, I just, you know, it's not the same." A curious smile crept to Aziraphale's lips. "You can?" he inquired. "Well, yeah. It's not a big deal really. Here, I'll show you. For old time's sake." The demon laid down his cup and got to his feet. He spread his arms, wiggled his fingers, and a ball of brilliant orange light lit up the room. It was tiny, but it Aziraphale admired it all the same. "Do you have a favorite color?" Crowley asked. "Oh, uh, not - not exactly." Warmth spread to his cheeks. "I do really like the color it is now, though. Very pretty." Crowley shrugged. "Alright then, I'll show you mine."

late Middle English: from medieval Latin quotare, from quot ‘how many’. late 15th cent.: from French poème or Latin poema. Poetry/quotes from writers, celebs etc :)

this is the original book that im gonna y/n into it

All he thinks as he watches his love tortured is that he never got a chance to tell him he loves him. No he won't accept that. He's gonna save his Love's life and tell him no matter what the cost. No stupid angels and demons are going to get between Aziraphale and Crowley. They'll make sure of it. I Do not own characters, the series, book or movie, or any images used. I only take credit for this fanfiction written and any original characters

Exactly what the title says it is, these are the definitions of the many sub-genres of fantasy writing. Come here if you are unsure of how to classify your story!

Fanfiction schoolassignment The italic lines are quotes from the original book. Enjoy!

An abandoned video camera reminds Talbot of how tangible time can really be.

Post-apocalyptic drinking session about Crowley's vague, downward saunter, and what an angel will do for love.

This my work I did for literature class. Here is a little part to get going: It was a windy spring's eve. The flowers that just recently had flourished were desperately holding on to their leaves, and the green trees stood tall and proud and sang as the breeze brushed through them. A deer had greeted itself with a small grass tuft that had stayed hidden in the winter snow. It was not only the deer that greeted something familiar this day, for on top of the hill, near the old graveyard gates stood an old man observing his surroundings. He knew this place very well, for he had lived here once, but that was long ago.