#I also love ineffable husbands fanfic

[lineffability]

"Crowley."

Crowley froze, every atom of his body coming to a complete standstill. Aziraphale had appeared out of nowhere, just like that, and he felt like a fly in a spider's web, like he had just run against a glass door that he could not have seen. Oh, this was cruel. He did not turn around.

"Don't even use doors anymore?" He tried to keep his voice level, cold, unaffected. He failed considerably, but the message got across anyways.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, immediately flinching at the words. The first time they were seeing each other again, after-- after that, and his first words were I'm sorry and he was apologizing for not using a door? Aziraphale felt like swearing, but could not. "I thought you wouldn't open if I-- well. I thought this was easier. Like a bandaid."

"Well, you were right. I wouldn't have." Steel was creeping into Crowley's voice, steel around his heart. With a forcing of limbs, he spun around, his gaze piercing through the armor of his sunglasses. Facing him.

"I need your help" Aziraphale said.

"What," Crowley said. He had possibly never put as much meaning into a single word. The glass door turned into a Great Wall. Aziraphale understood. But he was willing to climb.

The angel (oh, a true angel now, wasn't he--not his angel) fumbled, talking with his hands before his mouth even opened. Talking with his eyes, too, but they got lost in translation. Repelled by a black mirror.

"I know this is untoward. I know it's-- But Crowley, I don't have a lot of time."

"Nothing lasts forever, yeah," Crowley spat, hating himself the second the words left his lips. Unnecessary cruelty. Demonic, huh? Worse yet, Aziraphale accepted the verbal lashing. Don't forgive me, Crowley thought.

Crowley looked at him. He was still wearing his suit, there was tartan in it, but it had become polished, the worn edges returned to pristine, boring perfection. He looked prim. Proper. Perhaps this hurt most of all.

"Why are you here?"

Aziraphale glanced upwards. Then he looked intently at Crowley. I don't have much time. Right. He couldn't speak freely, Crowley realized. Of course he couldn't. This was exactly what he had been afraid of, what he had known would happen. His angel in chains. (Yet here he was. Here he was.)

"They don't know I'm here," Aziraphale mumbled, gesticulating weakly between them and Up. "I guess I can divert their attention now, for a bit. Comes with the new powers"--he shrugged helplessly--"but not for long. Crowley, do you know about-- about the-- what they're--"

"Armageddon 2.0? Sure."

There was an undecipherable look in Aziraphale's eyes. "Why didn't you-- well. It's not just. I mean it kind of is--it's. More than that. Crowley, I need you to do something for me."

"No."

"This is important." (This isn't about us.)

"I don't care." (There is no us anymore.)

"You do! You always have."

"Oh not this again," Crowley hissed. "You were an angel once. You can be forgiven. Shut up."

"That's not what I meant."

With two long, angry strides, Crowley closed the space between them. Menace, anger, hurt-- "Then what did you mean?" He spat the words. Like a weapon. (Then why was it a question?)

Aziraphale's face crumbled. He stood his ground nonetheless, not backing away. The angel's anger was less spiky, but it rose to meet Crowley's. It made his next words hit like bricks. "I mean that you love. I mean that you, Crowley, are the best person I know. I mean that I love you."

The words dropped like a lead balloon.

There was utter silence between them.

Why were they so close?

Why were his sunglasses so dark? Aziraphale saw only his own reflection. He couldn't bear that, and dropped his gaze. Oh, worse. There was his mouth, mere inches away.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley's lips, really really looked, and there was nothing more, now that he knew about the feeling of Crowley's lips and of his heart, there was nothing more he wanted to do than to kiss him. But he couldn't, he couldn't. Not like this. He needed the next time (he had to believe in a next time, in a time with Crowley, again)--the next time they kissed he needed it to be good and happy and an affirmation. He couldn't bear it otherwise. He would break entirely. He was sure of it.

But still, still-- Crowley was so close. He could smell nothing but him. Think of nothing but him. That weakness again, that soft spot inside him he had never known how to hold down. And with it, Want reared its greedy head. Aziraphal leaned in ever so slightly, felt their noses touch-- and then used all his strength to move away, to pull back. It was not the right time. Not yet.

He looked past Crowley, who might have as well turned to a pillar of salt. Crowley, whose face was a mask he couldn't let slip. The air flickered between them.

There were tears in his eyes when he finally forced his gaze towards Crowley's face, a silent plead to not misunderstand. Please, please. But he couldn't expect that of him. He was pulling away again. But not because he wanted to. No, there was nothing he wanted more than to pull closer. There was nothing more he wanted than to talk to him, to truly talk, to explain and apologize and make amends, but he was bound by Duty and Rules and Watching Eyes more than he ever had been.

This was his rebellion: he lifted a hand, the ghost of a touch, fingertips against cheekbone. The memory of holding on. Of never wanting to let go. Crowley flinched without moving, a shiver of his lips. Aziraphale let his hand drop, briefly, to Crowley's chest, holding it over his human heart. It was beating just like his.

This was his successful magic trick, when it counted: he drew away, leaving a crack in Crowley's steel-clad heart, and a note in his chest pocket.

"I'm sorry. I need to go."

"Of course you do."

"Oh, Crowley. I--" But he did not finish the sentence, knew there was no proper way how. So he said, quietly, softly, "Trust me, please."

And he did. Crowley hated it, hated it so much, but he did, he did trust him despite it all. But it did not erase the hurt. The festering wound. Now what was he supposed to do with that?

With one last pointed look, Aziraphale vanished.

Crowley was alone.

His defenses lay shattered at his feet, and he slowly gathered them back up. He did not mend the cracks. (That's where the light had gotten in.) He cleared his throat. Tried to banish from his mind the look in Aziraphale's eyes, the memory of his lips and of his tears.

And failed considerably.

I love you.

(Touched his cheek, and then his chest, and faltered.)

[this fic is now also on ao3 and being continued there]

[sentientsky]

good omens fanartists, i love u most ardently. good omens fic writers, i would commit arson for you. good omens shitposters, i cherish and adore u. good omens angst meta-analyzers,,,my therapist knows your names

[onlylurkingreadingstuff]

I saw a recent reblog you did where you listed some fic recs and then tagged with your fic preferences, which are pretty much my own, favoring canon compliance fics where they're angel/demon (though I have read some 'temporarily human' AUs I've liked). Do you have a collected rec list? Or any more recs you might toss out? Thanks so much!

Oh gosh yes.

I’m going to assume you have already explored the other fics bu the authors in the first rec post I made- everything by @redfacesmiley, @books-and-omens , @racketghost , and Drawlight/ripeteeth is a stunner. Also dig through equestrianstatue and @darcylindbergh for real gems.

When I’m reading I find a fic I like, dig through all the author’s other fics, then look at the author’s bookmarks because I figure if they wrote something I like that much, they saved things I’ll like too.

Fell free to dig through my AO3 bookmarks- they are completely unorganized and I bookmark things I want to read later or think I might want to read again, basicly anything I might want to find again- so I haven’t even read all of them. BUT! Here are some more of THOSE FICS for me:

It's Funny Because Nobody Ever Says “Burkina Faso” by indieninja92

TIME LOOP TIME LOOP TIME LOOP!!!!

So funny omg. Azi is just DONE and I am here for it. It’s a locked fic to AO3 accounts so I’m not sure if the link will work-

What I shed for You by @darcylindbergh

This fic- this freakin fic!! I did not think I would ever go for a fic that was NOT azicrow but oh my god this one is so good.

But You My Dear Are An Ocean by megzseatle

After nursing his broken heart, Crowley moves on. He gets a cottage and relocates to South Downs to start over, and finds himself beloved in a small town where the people take him under their (proverbial) wing. His new friends are in no mood for charity when his ex shows back up- while Crowley might be able to forgive Az, the townspeople have a harder time with the bastard that broke dear Anthony’s heart.

If I’ve had a bad day and need to cheer up, I read this book! Omens sweet story.

…And if I’m in an emotionally stable place I will read this angsty heartbreaker. So beautiful, just so good.

Idiot/ Guts (and a load of Warbirgon’s Farmhouse White) / Ellipsis by @theyellowestmustard

A little slice of perfect right here.

I also love outsider POV criptids of soho stories- here are two good ones, one set in a coffee shop and one in a bakery.

[skyrigel]

Do you ever wonder why that ship got you in a chokehold ? Every fic, every piece of media just consumes you within, leaving you empty and with an ache that just wouldn't let go. Do you think about them constantly because I do, all the time, everything is about them and you know why ?

Because they are a tradegy.

Yes, doomed by narrative, doomed by choices, doomed by fates, and destiny and words and souls and even the stars.

And you want to hear the saddest part ?!

They always knew, knew how they could never make it, knew how there's just hope and knew so well how there almost will be their forevers, how they would eventually lose one another, how they could only hold on to each for only a moment and they did, because that's there infinity, they loved each so devastingly that it didn't matter how they ended, we know the story, so did they, yet we are there again and again, watching them fall in love in different lifetimes ( Au's ) watching them fawning and drooling over each other ( tropes ) and even if it leaves a gap in my heart that could never be recovered and a sense that I would never experience the joy of seeing and knowing them for the first time, it's still worth it, like it was for them. Also thankyou writers and artists and readers and everyone who make this tradegy truly magical.

[gingiekittycat]

Does Crowley actually love Aziraphale?

The more I think about season 2, the more I write about it here on Tumblr and in fic, the more I'm starting to believe that he... doesn't.

Not yet anyway.

I think there is something deeply unhealthy about what Crowley feels for Aziraphale, as evidenced by how completely miserable he is this season. He's so afraid of losing Aziraphale, losing their "precious, peaceful, fragile existence", that he's worked himself into a constant state of anxiety. He's angry this season. He's upset. He's scared. He's trying so hard to hold something so tightly because he thinks if he loses it, he won't be able to survive.

He's always two minutes away from Aziraphale's door. He's sleeping in his car. Could he get another flat? I'm sure he could. Anthony J. Crowley could figure out a way to get another flat. He doesn't want to. He wants to be ready to go to Aziraphale at a moment's notice. He desperately does not want Aziraphale to go to Edinburgh, because he's afraid something will happen to him there. He doesn't give a shit about Aziraphale driving his car, he just doesn't want Aziraphale to leave. And then even when he does give in, he checks up on him, he puts some creepy "I can feel what you do to the Bentley" charm on his poor car, to keep checking up on him. The closer he feels to losing Aziraphale, the tighter he clings to him, until he's literally following him around everywhere (like when Aziraphale is trying to convince all the shopkeepers to come to his meeting).

I could go on. And on and on.

The point is, as we see from the Job episode, that Crowley is lonely. He didn't fit in at Heaven, he doesn't fit in with Hell, and from the first rainstorm in the Garden of Eden "our hero" has coped by clinging to the one person who has showed him any sort of relief from that loneliness.

He's not in love. He's obsessed.

He's been obsessed since the Garden. Popping up wherever Aziraphale is, following him around the Earth. Saving his skin, if need be, even though Aziraphale is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And it gets stronger and stronger as the years pass, as they get closer to each other, as they get closer to Armageddon, and then as they deal with the aftermath.

Crowley never used the word "love" in his confession. I think that's a deliberate writing choice, not necessarily because Crowley didn't want to use the word. I think Crowley thinks it's love, but the fact that he didn't use that word shows the audience that it's not. He's desperate for the idea of an "us", even in season 1 he's obsessed with it, "we're on our side", "us against them." A group of the two of them. Crowley is obsessed with the idea that they are part of something together, something bigger than themselves, because Crowley is not part of anything else, not Heaven, not Hell, and he just wants to belong.

And with all that said... I think it's good that they broke up.

I think it's a good thing for Crowley. I think he needs to take a break. I think he needs to work on himself, work through some of his trauma. I think he can love Aziraphale, but he's got to do some work to get there.

Will we get this in season 3? We'll have to see...

[quadrantadvisor]

Moulting, Good Omens, Falling!Aziraphale au, 2831 words

-

Aziraphale sipped at his chardonnay (not vintage, nothing special, just something he’d picked up to share with company) and sighed contentedly. It’d been a lovely day. Not inasmuch as that the weather had been nice, but rather in that he’d met up with Crowley at St. James’s Park that morning, underneath the gloomy, overcast sky, and then they’d spent the day together. A walk until the rain started coming down, lunch in a new restaurant owned by a pleasant Korean couple, and a trip to the cinema at Crowley’s insistence. Then, finally, to the bookshop to drink and chat. It was getting late, now, and the sky was dark with heavy clouds.

“So you didn’t like it? Not even the actors?” Crowley asked, a note of complaint in his voice.

Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because it was a terrible habit really, and suited Crowley much better. “That isn’t what I said, I’m just not sure that I understood the point of it all. They all seem rather manic, running around as they do, don’t they?” He took a sharp breath, and tried to work his shoulders back and forth discreetly.

Crowley gestured towards Aziraphale with his wine glass, nearly spilling, but of course the liquid knew better than to slosh out. “In about 50 years you’ll get used to them, and then they’ll invent some kind of immersive hologram technology, and you’ll be saying what a shame it is that no one appreciates films anymore because they were true artistry.” Crowley was looking at him, then, and frowned. “Are you feeling alright?”

Aziraphale gave his best smile. “Oh yes, of course, tip top shape!” Aziraphale knew that he was no good at coming up with excuses on the spot, so he’d prepared one earlier. “I tried out that sleeping thing again, but all it seems to have done is bother my back. These corporeal forms really are much too sensitive.”

“Mm, right,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he was buying it or not. There was certainly no reason for him not to buy it. Aziraphale was too tipsy for this, and Crowley was still wearing his blasted shades. Crowley pulled out his mobile phone, glanced at it. “Speaking of, I ought to be off.” He downed his drink and grabbed for the jacket he’d slung over his chair.

“I thought that there was no rest for the wicked?” Aziraphale tried, smiling weakly.

He was rewarded by Crowley giving him a sly look and saying, “Surely you’ve heard of beauty sleep.”

Aziraphale chuckled at him, and stood at the same time Crowley did, to walk him to the door. Only polite. “Don’t forget to sober up before you drive,” he chided. “It’s dangerous.”

“I know, I know.”

The rain was coming down heavily, the sound near overwhelming once the front door was open. Aziraphale thought that Crowley met his gaze for a moment, but the lights were too dim to tell. “See you later, Angel.” He stepped out into the wet, immediately drenched.

“Yes. Later.” Aziraphale kept watching him, saw him shake himself free of both the alcohol in his system and the rain, which began to sheet away from his artfully tousled hair. He got into the bentley, drove off into the dark.

Aziraphale closed the door gently, muting the downpour. He stood for a moment, breathing.

Well. Best to get it over with all at once.

Aziraphale rolled his shoulders back and gently, gently, pulled out his wings. He stretched them to their full length. Then he shook them.

Pain lanced through him, like hot irons applied to exposed nerves, and he gasped. Blackened, singed feathers fell straight down, rather than fluttering, and made soft plink-ing noises as they hit the floor. Like huge, dark raindrops. As they built up around him their smell began to waft up, and Aziraphale nearly choked on it. Sulfur and burned hair and acrid smoke. There were so many this time, must be a few dozen at least.

Good. Aziraphale wished that there was a way to speed this whole process up.

There was, of course, but he didn’t know how to implement it without coming off strange. It wouldn’t do to crowd the dear boy; Crowley needed his space, certainly, and Aziraphale would never want to intrude where he wasn’t welcome. When Crowley wanted to see him, he would seek him out, and Aziraphale would have to continue relying on that.

He’d just left, and Aziraphale already missed him. How silly. His wings seemed to be clear, and Aziraphale let them droop, near touching the floor themselves. He swiped at the tears building up in his eyes. How pathetic. An angel, making such a fuss over a few feathers. It was good that Crowley was gone. Aziraphale wouldn’t want him to see him like this. No point in feeling sorry for himself. No point in feeling lonely. Aziraphale had already made his choices, and now he would see them through.

Just one more moment. Just a few more deep, ragged breaths.

Aziraphale went to find his dustpan. Couldn’t leave the ghastly things lying about, where anyone could see them. That wouldn’t do at all.

-

It had all started some months after dear young Adam had kindly stalled Armageddon, nearly a full year. Aziraphale had been in the middle of sorting inventory (read as: doing some light reading) when the phone rang. Aziraphale jumped to answer it, because odds were that the only person calling would be Crowley. Aziraphale had put the shop's phone number up on its website, naturally, it was the done thing, but that didn't mean that anyone else had access to it. Said website was nigh unsearchable, and completely innavigable for anyone who did find themselves there (could Aziraphale be blamed for having trouble with all this newfangled technology? The fact that it was the perfect cover to keep his bookshop out of the public eye was just a bonus.)

Aziraphale picked up the phone with a bright, "Hello!" wondering what plans Crowley might have for the day.

"Ah, Aziraphale," said a familiar voice. Charming and confident, affable in a way that was distant, above it all. "I see that this human contraption works, after all."

"Gabriel?" Aziraphale was frozen in shock. He had seen neither form nor feather of another angel since they'd dragged Crowley off to heaven in his body. He'd been quite hoping that they'd all forgotten about him after the hellfire incident. And in any case, heaven never communicated through indirect channels. For his entire time being stationed on Earth, Aziraphale had always sent and received paperwork through heavenly messengers, and if his supervisors wanted to check up on him, they did it personally.

"Yes, Archangel Gabriel, that is my name."

Evidently, no more was forthcoming, and Aziraphale adjusted his grip on the telephone. As his corporation came back into feeling, he realized that he was shaking. "What is the meaning of this"? Aziraphale asked, trying for all the world to harden his tone, but knowing he came off as weak and soft as he ever had. "I thought we had an agreement that I would be left alone."

"Yes, Aziraphale, exactly right. None of us will interfere with you. As things are now, heaven won't touch you." Gabriel's strangely chipper cadence gained a new edge to it. "And isn't that a pickle? An angel, with no connection to heaven."

Again, Aziraphale waited for him to elaborate, but apparently Gabriel was determined to draw this out. "I'm afraid I don't catch your meaning," he admitted.

It seemed that that acknowledgment was all Gabriel wanted. "Well, we've been discussing your"—Aziraphale could hear the sneer in his voice—"situation, and found ourselves pretty confused, all things considered! You have obviously been corrupted, deeply, deeply corrupted, and yet," this time it's confusion that Aziraphale hears, the utter bafflement of it almost… innocent. "You haven't Fallen."

"Ah." Aziraphale swallows. "I suppose I haven't."

Gabriel was back to cocksure, the innocence purged. "So, like I said, we were talking about it, and the only thing that makes sense is that you've been affected by an overabundance of demonic influence. And no wonder!" His laugh grated Aziraphale's ear. "You've been stationed down there for what, 6,000 years, give or take a few decades? Not that we had any way of knowing, of course, that your adversary had successfully tempted you into some sort of arrangement, or we would've pulled you millenia ago for some recuperation."

They were trying to blame Crowley. Of course they would. "Now, Gabriel, I—"

The archangel interrupted him. "Don't you see what this means, Aziraphale?" he asked, as sunny as ever. For a moment, it seemed as if he was waiting for a response again, but maybe it was just a dramatic pause. "It means there's still hope!"

"Hope?" Aziraphale was a great proponent of hope, generally, but the word felt like ash in his mouth. "Hope for what, exactly?"

Gabriel, with exaggerated patience, explained, "Hope that you might return to the fold. Return to the Host, Aziraphale. Like I said, you've been gone for too long. Michael wasn't a fan of the idea, but I'm fairly certain that if you spend a few thousand years in quiet contemplation, bathing in heavenly light, you'll be able to purge yourself of all of that, ugh, unpleasantness."

Fear's grip on Aziraphale had tightened, and it felt like it was constricting the muscle in his chest. "You can't take me, you can't, we had a deal—"

"Calm down, of course not," Gabriel said, amused. "We won't do anything against your will. Aren't you the one who always said that it means more if they choose, on their own, whether to be saved or damned? So," the silence on the line stretched for only a moment, and then, "I'm offering you a choice."

"What does that entail?" Aziraphale felt cold now.

"Well, it was difficult to set up, I'll tell you that much. We don't normally do this manually, but we found some old files on the process. I guess you could call it a bit drastic, but, drastic times, and all that."

"Spit it out, Gabriel." Aziraphale wasn't quite sure where that came from. He was no longer feeling like a present part of the conversation.

Gabriel let out a short, aggravated hum. "Alright, here it is. Heaven's ultimatum for the Principality Aziraphale. You've allowed your angelic essence to be tainted by associating with the demon, Crowley. We are offering a chance for you to return, willingly, of course, and purify your essence. However," he says, and he wields the condition like a knife, "should you reject Heaven's forgiveness and generosity, and continue perversely consorting with our enemy, we will have to," Gabriel hummed again, but this one was pleased, self-righteous, "cut you off, so to speak."

"You mean—"

"Yes, Aziraphale. There aren't bad angels. It's antithetical to what we are. We found the files on the manual process, and we'll do it, to keep the Host pure. You'll be damned."

Aziraphale closed his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. "You're saying that I must choose between Heaven and Crowley, under the threat of Falling."

"Yes." And wasn't Gabriel proud of himself, for his clever solution to their little problem. Neatly smudge away the black spot on his record in one move. Checkmate, no options for escape.

Aziraphale, finally, felt calm. "Ah. Well. I choose him."

"What?"

Annoyance crept into his voice. "I choose him, Gabriel. I thought that should be rather obvious. I chose him, and the Earth, over you and your organization already. Remember that? It was rather a big to-do. Does Armageddon ring any bells?"

Gabriel's tone was pricked with discomfort, but firm. "My threats are not idle, Aziraphale. Every moment you spend with him will draw you further from the Almighty's Grace. The contract has been drawn up and sealed. You will not be allowed to continue in this manner."

"And yet, I plan on doing exactly that. If there isn't anything else, I'll be going now."

A few flustered noises, the likes of which Aziraphale had never imagined an archangel making, came over the phone line. Then Gabriel seethed, "Fine. Enjoy your Fall from Grace, freak." The call ended.

Gabriel had never expected Aziraphale to even consider option two, that was obvious enough. It was merely coercion, to get Aziraphale to do what they wanted, which was to sit down, shut up, and become the perfect little soldier that would go along with it the next time they tried ending the world in glorious battle. Bugger that. Aziraphale was his own ethereal being, and he would make his own decisions.

Well. Not "ethereal" for much longer, it didn't seem. Aziraphale refused to let himself be afraid, and so he wasn't. He wasn't.

And there wasn't any reason to be. Everything was perfectly fine. A couple of days later, Crowley really did call, and even if Aziraphale could hardly bring himself to pick up the phone, he made it before it rang out. Crowley had tickets to an outdoors theatre, and oh, wouldn't that be lovely? The evenings were just getting warm enough, the sun lingering in the sky, and they'd sit or stand and watch a performance like they had so many times before. Aziraphale agreed readily, and Crowley said he'd pick him up at 6:30.

The first one had shocked him, it really did. He'd yelped aloud in the middle of a soliloquy, and gotten dirty looks from the audience around them. Aziraphale barely noticed, because his wing, his wing, something had happened to it, and the sharp pinprick pain of a burn was giving way to an ache, deep in the bone, traveling all the way up to his back, a celestial insistence that something was wrong, wrong, so very wrong.

"Angel, what's happened? Are you alright?" Crowley was saying quietly, urgently. He was leaning in towards Aziraphale, who was having to fight against the sudden, foolish impulse to take his hand and let the contact ground him. It was light enough for Aziraphale to catch his eyes darting about, scanning for possible threats. His gaze turned back to the angel. "You jumped like something bit you."

"I—" he couldn't finish the statement, didn't know how to. He tried again. "You know, I suppose something must have." Aziraphale chuckled weakly. "How odd, insects generally know better than to bother us. I suppose it just surprised me, that's all."

Aziraphale managed to excuse himself, promising to be right back. He felt Crowley's gaze on his back the entire time he made his way through the crowd.

It was difficult to find a spot with the requisite amount of privacy and space, but Aziraphale managed. He manifested his wings into physical space, and pulled the afflicted one forward to assess the damage.

He had barely touched it when the feather detached, and fell. 

Aziraphale stared at it. Leaned down, picked it up. A single feather. Among thousands. He was holding a scorched secondary. He had felt no relief when it fell, just a harsh continuation of the pain.

He noticed the ugly look of it, the way it had practically calcified rather than burning away, he noticed the smell.

Aziraphale didn't know what Falling was like. Crowley never talked about it. They'd been out of sight of the Host, when they'd undergone their transformations. There was a war, there were half as many angels in the heavens, and then there were creatures below that turned into beings that always seemed familiar but that no one could ever quite recognize.

Apparently, Falling hurt. Aziraphale knew that, at least, before. It was supposed to. It was a punishment, after all. This was the start, the first taste, and Aziraphale didn't care for it much. One feather out of thousands.

Was he the first angel to Fall, since the war? He hadn't heard of it happening to anyone else. Maybe it wasn't supposed to. Maybe God had split up her teams in the Beginning, and didn't care much what they did after that. Wouldn't that be something, all those angels scared into obedience when The Almighty wasn't even keeping score.

Best not to speculate. It was happening. It had started, and now he had to go through with it. He would go through with it, because some things were worth a bit of pain, a bit of risk.

He considered keeping the feather, but it did smell dreadful, and Crowley might notice it and there'd be no way to explain that. He'd have plenty more, later, if he wanted. He shoved the feather in a bin, and returned to the play. He couldn't very well keep his demon waiting. And, if what Gabriel had said was true, if every moment they spent together mattered, then Aziraphale was going to hoard and savor those moments with every atom of his angelic being.

[astralilith]

I am a huge fan of when ships have unique shipnames that are not simply two names smushed together. It makes that specific ship feel much more special and romantic. Bonus points if the shipname is a cute and cheeky reference to canon aspects of the plot.

[ineffablydelighted]

[Cute Omens #2]

Crowley: You can stay at my place, if you like.

Aziraphale: *glimpse of a smile* I don't... I don't think my side would like that. *regretfully looks away*

Crowley: *brows drooping* You don't have a side anymore... Neither of us do. We're on our own side.

Aziraphale: I mean... You're not... I know you're not wrong, but-

Crowley: If the Almighty really thought our existence and our actions to be against the Ineffable Plan, we would have been thunderstruck on the spot, right in front of everybody, don't you think?

Aziraphale: I... *swallows* I guess you're right...

Crowley: Compared to saving the World with me, dossing down my flat does not seem like such a crime, does it?

Aziraphale: Are you... *focusses on him* Are you... tempting me?

Crowley: *sudden smirk* If that is the story you want to tell them, I'll allow it, Angel.

Aziraphale: *mild blushing* Come on! Answer me! Are you?

Crowley: *sighs* Depends on the perspective, I guess. As a Demon to an Angel, I am not.

Aziraphale: What does that mean?

Crowley: Whatever you like.

*They exchange a long look*

Crowley: *aims a hand at Aziraphale's hair* *takes a strand and makes it slide around his index* Did I ever tell you how much I like those curls?

Aziraphale: *has forgotten how to inhale* Wh-What... are... you...

Crowley: *removes the hand* Breathe, Angel.

Aziraphale: *does what he is told* Oh, yes, good, thanks for reminding me! *embarrassed laugh* *face super duper blushy*

Crowley: *looks at the sky hiding a huge, victorious smile* *eventually cannot hold himself from chuckling*

*They look back at each other*

Crowley: *Tilts his head* So. My place?

Aziraphale: *looks away* I just realized: I've never even seen it.

Crowley: *Imitating Aziraphale with scary accuracy* What would my side say?

Aziraphale: *looks back at him with a scandalized gaze* Don't... don't do that!

Crowley: *changes the subject* The bus arrives.

Aziraphale: It only goes to Oxford.

Crowley: *stands* Not anymore. It will miraculously make it to Mayfair.

Aziraphale: *follows* *rearranges his clothes* Care if I...

Crowley: *raises his eyebrows* Oh? Sure.

Aziraphale: *Miracles the bus*

[Bus' title changes from 'Oxford' to 'Mayfair']

Crowley: Thank you, Angel.

[The bus arrives near them and stops.]

Aziraphale: Don't thank me, it is mostly selfish! *giggles and gets on the bus first*

Crowley: *astonished for a second* *gets in as well*

God's voice: And for the first time, they could sit in the bus... side by side.

Navigation time!

[While needing you to consider that, most of the time, the scenes are randomized and do no necessarily follow one another at all]

Previous - Beginning (same thing, actually) - Next

[queer-reader-07]

ok so i'm not exactly a reader of fan fiction, however being on tumblr and part of the good omens fandom has me intrigued

so if y'all have any good omens fic recs for me, drop them in the notes

(preferably with little to no sex because i am the kind of ace person who is made uncomfy by sex scenes, ok ty)

[oscar-is-wild]

some little things i think about the kiss in good omens

we definitely got that because people wanted more intimacy between aziraphale and crowley and they basically said here you can have it it will ruin your life never ask for anything again

nobody's talking about the glasses? crowley kissed aziraphale with the glasses on. throughout the entire show he's always taken them off in the bookshop around him, and when it's hypothetically what we wanted: "the ultimate kiss," it's with his glasses on. which i personally think means two things: that they're both still hiding things from each other, and also that we will eventually get the kiss we wanted without the glasses on. optimism kids

okay not super related to the kiss - people always talk about crowley calling alziraphale "angel," which technically isn't super romantic bc he literally is an angel. however, i think it can be taken both ways - crowley obviously is very well aware of current human trends, so for him to not understand the implications of angel is unlikely. unsure of how much aziraphale would know, though. so it could technically be taken romantically

also i totally believe the coffee theory

[hermiola]

New chapter earlier than Friday, because I keep writing (just finished chapter 8) and I just want to share 💜

Take a Little Love From Me (WIP) - Chapter 3: The Ritz - Part Two

Chapter: 3/10 (16k words) Rating: M Tags: Human AU, Pretty Woman (1990) AU, Sex Worker Crowley, Businessman Aziraphale, First Meetings, Idiots in Love (as usual), Sex Worker Inadvertently Seduced by Oblivious Businessman, Mutual Pining, (Eventual) Non-Explicit Sex, Lots of Banter, Terrible Opinions, The Fine Art of Not Thinking About The Important Stuff. No Age-Gap

(Updates every Friday.)

The night goes on. Aziraphale receives a phone call, Anthony tries to make it better. In the morning, they come to a new Arrangement.

How ludicrous it was, to believe that Aziraphale had any warmth to give. He was used to feel almost unsubstantial, more of a concept than an actual person. Most of the time he didn’t mind it that much. He genuinely liked his solitude, his books, and the tranquillity of his house in the South Downs. But every once in a while that feeling of tenuousness became so big, so terrifying, that he barely felt like a real person anymore, someone made of flesh and bone rather than an unnamed, detached entity watching life happen to other people.

You can read it over at AO3:

[knaccblog]

Ready Now: Part 2

Part 1 is here. Also available on A03

This errand had gotten a bit out of hand, to be honest. What had started as a quick trip just to grab some cheese had turned into hitting up six different stores spread out all across London. And sure, such a task was easier for Crowley than your average London resident, what with his ability to drive very fast with no repercussions and just move everything that inhibited him magically out of the way but still, once you'd hit up more than three stores, any errand was bound to start to drag. It's just, when he'd checked the third store and they still hadn't had Aziraphale's favorite, Saint Felicien, Crowley had known he was in for the long haul. 

After all, Aziraphale had decided to stay home, saying, "No dear, I think I'll catch up on a bit of reading, that way I can pay more attention to you when you're back. And anyway, you already know what cheeses I like so I trust you." (Aziraphale had also kissed him goodbye, soft and warm and- but Crowley was busy and focused and resolutely not thinking about that right now.) 

Trust. A difficult thing for any demon (even an ex-one) to know what to do with. But for Crowley, who had been both trusted and then not trusted (off and on) by a particular angel for thousands of years, it felt a bit like a test had just been accidentally put in his lap. And since nowadays Aziraphale… loved him (of all people) on top of all that, how could he do anything except perform the task as correctly as possible? (Crowley was well aware of the sunk cost fallacy (Hell would have loved it if they'd kept abreast of such modern stuff) but he's pretty sure that what he's doing right now doesn't count since it's not about the time or money he's put in but instead about making sure he does right by Aziraphale. Totally different, right?) 

At least along the way he had gotten some good additional options (White Stilton, Caciocavallo Di Grotta, Gjetost, and Saint Nectaire) as well as two types of crackers, some assorted dried fruits and nuts and even a tomato onion jam that a store clerk had correctly convinced him was an excellent pair with white stiltons some ten years ago now. (He was glad he could still find it, never know with these tiny farms just how long they'll stay afloat.) It was in the sixth and final shop where he'd finally found his quarry, a buttery Saint Felicien, the only cheese Aziraphale had truly wanted (given the bottles of Chateauneuf du Pape they had to pair with it). Crowley had let out a sigh of relief, smiled probably a bit too genuinely at the cashier and returned back to the Bentley with his spoils, eager to get back home to his Angel as soon as possible. 

***

Crowley is about halfway back to the bookshop when his phone rings. There are very few people it could be (and less he wants to talk to at the moment) but he answers anyway. "Hello?"

"Oh Crowley!" Aziraphale's voice rings out through the car and makes Crowley's stomach do a little flip.  He can hear the smile, can imagine exactly what he looks like right now and it makes him annoyed that he's not already back at the bookshop. "Something truly amusing has occurred in your absence and I just couldn't wait-"

"Five minutes," Crowley cuts him off and hangs up. It should have been ten but he'll make it five. No need to keep his angel waiting any longer than that.

***

He pulls up the the curb outside "Give me Coffee or Give me Death" four and a half minutes later (A new record to be honest; Crowley definitely had put a bit too much effort into it) and rolls into the bookshop with his arms laden with all the makings of a pretty spectacular charcuterie board and a (frankly embarrassing) spring in his step. "Angel," he calls out, "I'm back. You would not believe how difficult it is to find good cheese in London today."

He pauses and waits for an answering greeting. When after a beat, none is offered, Crowley walks deeper into the bookshop and calls out again. "Aziraphale?" No answer still. He reaches out his senses and sure enough, Aziraphale is still here, somewhere amongst all the books. Must have just gotten distracted by something. 

Crowley shifts his bags and takes off his sunglasses before following his feelings to where the greatest intensity of Aziraphale-ness is. He finds him puttering around on the second floor, his back towards him and his nose buried in a book. Crowley had thought over the years that he'd gotten terribly good at not feeling this way but now that they're together, he can't help but stop dead in his tracks and just stare. He is so unbelievably beautiful and he loves me. It makes his whole chest feel tight and warm. He nearly sets down his bags and wraps himself around Aziraphale's back but he doesn't. Wouldn't do to startle him. 

He tries again. "Hey Angel," and he sounds unimaginably gone but that's okay, right? That's allowed now, what with the him loving you back thing. 

Aziraphale doesn't turn around or look up. "You're back." 

"Yeah, sorry that took a bit. Like I was saying, state of the cheese market in London's a bit sparse at the moment. Managed to get you some Saint Felicien though so, ya know, not a total loss."

Aziraphale seems pretty absorbed in whatever he's reading but at the mention of the Saint Felicien, Crowley can see him stand up a little straighter, his interest peaked. There's a beat and then he says, "Well, you better put it in the mini fridge for the moment. As you can see, I'm quite busy."

"Yeah, alright," Crowley shrugs. "Be right back." Crowley wonders what kind of busy it is and if it might just be the kind that wouldn't mind a bit of company draped all over him while he reads. 

He heads downstairs and carefully places his spoils in the fridge so that nothing heavy is on top of anything soft and then heads back to Aziraphale. He's moved a little deeper into the shelves but Crowley just follows, leaning up against the nearest one so that he knows he's in Aziraphale's line of sight. Aziraphale turns just slightly more away as he reads. 

Crowley frowns but then pushes it aside. Must be a very good book. He takes a deep breath to steady himself (embarrassing really) but then aims for casual with his tone. "What are you busy with anyway? Would it perhaps be the sort of busy that wouldn't mind a bit of… company?" 

"It would mind actually," Aziraphale says, tone cold and even. 

Crowley reels back just a bit. Is something wrong or? He wants you here, he told you he wants you here, he reminds himself, don't shout, don't run. "Alright, I'll just-" He considers for a moment what to do and having no specific ideas, just barrels on, "leave you to it."

Aziraphale's gaze flicks up at that for just a moment, his mouth set as a harsh line

"Unless," Crowley grits his teeth, "Look, is something wrong? If you're just, I don't know, really into that book, that's fine but I figured I'd check, seeing as we were going to eat cheese and drink wine and oh yeah, there was a funny story you were going to tell me-" 

Aziraphale's gaze snaps up and his eyes are fierce. "Oh so now you're interested in my story, are you?" 

Crowley feels suddenly very lost in this conversation. "Course." He squints and stammers for a moment before getting out, "Uhhhhh excuse me, did something… happen in the five minutes it took me to get here?" 

"Not really. I just think it's interesting that you say you want to listen to me now when you hung up on me before. That's all." Aziraphale turns away and starts to head deeper down the row. 

Crowley groans. He had, in fact, hung up on Aziraphale in the car, hadn't he? Stupid. He runs a hand down his face and curses himself. Sure, it had only been five minutes from the call to him showing up but hanging up is, in fact, hanging up and it clearly had made Aziraphale feel like shit. Crowley's such a fucking asshole, he can barely stand himself.

He scrambles after Aziraphale. "I'm sorry, Angel, I was selfish-"

"I mean who could blame you!" Aziraphale slams the book closed and turns around suddenly. They are now face to face and very close. "You were just doing what any sensible person would do, saving yourself from another one of my inane ramblings. Of course you cut me off-"

"That's not-" Crowley sucks in breath through his teeth. "I fucked this up alright but please, let me atleast try to apologize first, okay?" 

Aziraphale backs up, sets the book on a nearby shelf, and adjusts his vest before giving Crowley a "well go on then" look.

Crowley sighs. "Where was I?" He looks up at the ceiling and what he's about to say comes rushing back to him as do his nerves. He swallows and then forces himself to meet Aziraphale's eyes. "Right, so you got it all wrong basically." Aziraphale opens his mouth to talk over him again but Crowley barrels on. "Let me finish. You're right that I hung up on you and I'm sorry about that. I fucked that up. But you're wrong about why. It's just," he grits his teeth and pushes through it. "I wanted to watch you talk, alright?" He gives a little shrug with his hands. "That's it." 

"Excuse me?" Aziraphale's frown softens just slightly.

"It's just… when you talk about things you're excited about, you," he looks down at the ground before looking back up to meet Aziraphale's eyes defiantly, "You light up, like your whole face glows and you sort of, flit around and make little hand gestures and… you're gorgeous, is what you are." Crowley looks away and starts talking very quickly. "But making you wait was wrong even if my reason wasn't bad because I still made you feel like I didn't care and that's not true. I made a mistake and I'm sorry, alright? I'll do better. Next time, I'll let you tell me whatever you want, no matter where I am. It's not like there won't be plenty of other stories about other stuff you can tell me in person, right?" 

Crowley finally forces himself to look back at Aziraphale and he looks stunned, a slight smile pulling at his lips. "Did you say… gorgeous?"

"Oh come on, Angel," Crowley shakes his head a little. "You've looked in a mirror before, yeah?"

"Yes," Aziraphale smiles even bigger, "but you've never called me gorgeous before?"

"Really?" Crowley shrugs but can feel his stomach do a flip. "Force of habit I guess. Turns out making absolutely sure you don't say something for thousands of years makes it awful hard to get into the habit of saying it again."

"Oh Crowley!" Aziraphale takes a step closer. His eyes are teary but he's beaming. "That long?"

"Why would I lie? To make myself look more like an idiot?"

Aziraphale takes another step closer. "And you really like watching me be excited that much?"

"Nnnn yeah, obviously." Crowley can feel the corners of his lips pulling up and he lets them. 

Aziraphale wiggles happily. "Ohhhh Crowley! I'm sorry I got so testy and assumed the worst-"

"Nothing to apologize for. Like I said, I did it wrong. And now I know better."

"Alright, but I probably should have just said something too. I…" Aziraphale trails off and looks down at his hands before his eyes snap back up. "Oh never mind, where did that cheese get to anyway?" He starts to head towards the stairs. 

Crowley watches him as he passes by, reads his body language and on impulse mostly, moves so that he's casually blocking his way. 

Aziraphale startles a bit but stops trying to leave. "Yes?" 

"Look, I'm not the best at this really but I feel like you're still avoiding something maybe? Like yes, it was rude of me and I won't do it again but-" 

"No but necessary," Aziraphale says hurriedly. "It was rude, period." 

"Right yes, but we've both had terrible phone manners with each other for years-" 

"Which we should stop doing," Aziraphale interjects. 

"Right, but what I'm saying is, was that it, really? Like why would you assume that I, of all people, wouldn't want to hear your story? I mean," Crowley swallows and lowers his voice, "I- love you, right? Did I do something else? Because if I did something else, you need to tell me-" 

"Oh no, it's nothing like that." Aziraphale meets Crowley's eyes and his expression is soft but sad. "I know you love me very much." He reaches up to touch Crowley's cheek. 

Crowley's heart flutters and he wants to kiss Aziraphale very badly but he refrains. Not the right time. "But?" he says, leaning into the touch a bit helplessly all the same. 

Aziraphale lets go of Crowley's face. He looks down and then sighs. "Well, it's mostly just… " He looks up. "As you already know," he tilts his head back and forth as he says, "I did… report to Heaven for 6000 years. And it would perhaps not be…" he spins his hands in front of him in a tight, little circle, "inaccurate to describe them as uh, possibly uneager to hear what I had to say on some issues." He hurriedly adds, "At least some of the time, mind you." 

Crowley feels like his stomach has fallen out and his blood is running hot and sharp under his skin. Of course. How hadn't he figured this out on his own really? He'd even gone up to Heaven for Aziraphale that one time, had heard the way Gabriel had talked to him then. "Shut your stupid mouth and die." 

What had Crowley thought? That they'd been better to him all the other times? Of course not, Crowley knows that they're (almost all) total and complete bastards. He'd just never thought, before right this moment, that it had affected Aziraphale so badly, that Crowley could do something that would remind Aziraphale of them so easily. 

Crowley wants to chuck himself out of the atmosphere, not because he'd die from lack of oxygen but just so he can scream at himself for a good long while and not bother anyone else. He tables that idea for now. Taking care of Aziraphale comes first. 

"Angel," Crowley cups Aziraphale's cheek gently. "I need you to tell me if I ever make you feel like those bastards did ever again, alright?" 

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale leans into his touch. "I do know you are nothing like them at all, I promise. I'm just trying to say that perhaps I am a bit, you know, touchy about the subject, that's all. You are, generally, a very good listener." 

"And I'm just saying that you deserve better than to ever feel like that, okay? You were the best of them. Smarter and kinder and more interesting and… everything. The fact that they couldn't see that just proves how dense they really were." He runs a thumb along Aziraphale's cheek. "So please, talk to me, alright?"

"Well," Aziraphale smiles, "I guess I am always asking you to tell me what's wrong. Perhaps it would be best for me to… practice what I preach as it were." 

"Ughhhhh," Crowley can't help but roll his eyes. "Glad you get it but why did you have to say it like… that?" 

Aziraphale tsks. "Dear, you're being silly." 

"Maybe I-"

Aziraphale reaches up and cups Crowley's opposite cheek. Crowley can feel his heart rate spike and whatever sarcastic words he had planned are entirely lost. 

"So," Aziraphale beams, "you really think I'm… brilliant and gorgeous and kind and-" 

"Y-yeah," Crowley cuts him off before the list gets too out of hand and he dies of embarrassment. "I mean, you know I do."

"Well then, do you think you could, perhaps, tell me just a bit more often?" He strokes Crowley's check with his thumb. "It would mean ever so much to me if you did." 

Crowley is nodding absently before he's even really thought it through at all. But I mean, what is there to think about really? If Aziraphale's going to get this happy and look at him like this everytime, than there really is no other option. Dignity is for other people whose partners don't make their knees feel like jelly. Crowley realizes that he still hasn't said anything in response so he, after a few failed attempts, says, "Sure, will do." 

Aziraphale happy wiggles again. "Oh really?" 

Crowley nods. Can you die from being happy? Is that a thing? 

"Thank you, dear," he says, giving Crowley the softest eyes in existence. "Oh, may I kiss you? Would that be-"

Crowley closes the gap between their lips in an instant, wrapping his free arm around Aziraphale's waist and pulling him in tight. Aziraphale answers by kissing him back tenderly, setting one of his hands into Crowley's hair and another on his waist as he does. Aziraphale's lips are, Crowley is pretty sure, one of the best things to ever happen to him, after Aziraphale himself but before the internal combustion engine. He's not sure how he survived so long without them but now that he's experienced them, he's certain he can't go back. The lingering burn of the very first time and how he'd never thought he'd feel them again comes back to him suddenly and he tries to shove the thought away. He loves you now. It's all fine. 

As if Aziraphale can sense Crowley's need for affirmation, he pushes him quite firmly into the nearest shelf and moans, "Oh Crowley," as he keeps kissing him, which while probably unintentional, does the trick quite nicely. 

****

They end up passing a rather eventful half an hour in which miraculously, all possible customers conveniently just forget that they had planned to stop by A.Z. Fell and Co. Crowley is just coming back up for air, as it were, the edges of his brain all fuzzy and warm when he suddenly remembers something. "Oh the, the funny story, the one from while I was gone. Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off again-" 

Aziraphale leans in and gives him a nice deep kiss before pulling back. "I asked to kiss you, don't you remember?" 

Crowley blinks. That does sound vaguely familiar. 

"My dear," Aziraphale smiles. "Anyway, I think I remember you saying you'd put together a bit of a… charcuterie board with all my favorite cheeses, yes?"

Crowley's brain is starting to work a bit better now. "Y-yeah, I did do that. Even found that one tomato and onion jam from that little farm in Scotland. You remember the one?" 

"Morag Mains? Or something along those lines? I hear they're actually a non-profit that donates all their proceeds to keeping young women off the streets… or something along those lines." 

Crowley's brain processes this and then suddenly, it's like a very bright light turning on in another room. "You don't think?"

Aziraphale smiles and nods. "I very much do think, now that you mention it. Funny old world indeed."

"Huh," Crowley turns this revelation over in his head. "Well, I'll be damned." 

"Oh no," Aziraphale leans in and pecks him on the cheek, "Not so much anymore."

Crowley rolls his eyes. "That was… truly terrible. If I wasn't so into you-" 

"But you are," Aziraphale laces their fingers together and pulls Crowley towards the stairs. "Come along, dear. It's time for cheese. And a story!" 

"Right," Crowley nods, his hand tingly and warm in Aziraphale's grasp. He squeezes back (because he can now). 

"You're going to love this one! It involves a certain Mr. Brown from the local carpet emporium and a mysterious shipment that just arrived at the bookshop earlier today." 

****

Aziraphale is right. Crowley loves the story. Aziraphale is about ten minutes deep into a shocking tale of postal errors, ignorance, betrayal, and definitely the wrong type of carpet indeed, and he's been doing a lot of hand gestures and little voices all the while and Crowley's smiling so much his face hurts. The pangs of despised love or something like that. And even though it's hard and he often feels foolish, Crowley makes a point to cheer Aziraphale on, to tell him how good he's doing (like Aziraphale did undeservingly for that middling Master Burbish back in the day). But everytime a compliment gets him an answering smile from Aziraphale, he knows he's made the right call. 

At one point, Aziraphale breaks his momentum mid-scene to say, "Really my dear, it's okay! You're very sweet but there's no need for you to stop blinking entirely."

Crowley hadn't even noticed he had stopped but he doesn't even try to hide his smile (or his blush) as he says, "It's like I told you, Angel, I don't want to miss a second if it's you." 

And Aziraphale beams like he's the sun (might as well be, far as Crowley's concerned), and Crowley's not sure what he did to deserve him but he's certain that he'll spend the rest of his existence doing his best to keep deserving him all the same.

[spindlesaurus-rex]

Chapters: 10/10 Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley, Crowley/Original Male Character(s) Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, shops across the street, Romantic Comedy, Developing Relationship, past relationship, one night stand appearing again, Eventual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content Summary:

Anthony J. Crowley's life seems like it's finally falling into place: his floral shop has begun to gain an undercurrent of appreciation in the design elite of London, and he might have even finally found a boyfriend who looks just right lounging on his Tenreiro sofa. Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn't seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him, which really shouldn't bother him as much as it does - it was ten years ago after all, and it wasn't even that good of a kiss.

[redshoes-blues]

Chapter one of Holding Love for the Keeping is up!!

For six months after Aziraphale leaves him for Heaven, Crowley watches over the bookshop. Then, one day, he vanishes.

[onlylurkingreadingstuff]

The irony of seeing this from @racketghost’s blog….

u ever read a fanfic so good that you want. fanfic of the fanfic

[coldsunlight36]

doing Normal Things (writing fanfic for the first time in years)