Good Omens fic! *uses the icon to match*
Apr. 15th, 2004 12:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clo_againWell not so much fic. Kind of the combination of an overdose on vanilla-flavoured tea and reading too much Good Omens fanfic. I wanted wing!smut. I wrote wing!smut. Badly. But I wrote it. Am surprised at self. Even more surprised that I'm actually posting fic here for once, something I should do more often. Alas I don't have my copy of the book with me, so mistakes with canon can be put down either to that or my own lack of sleep lately. Or just my general lack of editing.
~ * ~
Title: Helping Hands
Fandom: Good Omens
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: To be safe R…. though probably more PG-13.
Summary: Huge, huge apologies for this shameless, unadulterated wing-smut. But you know you want it. First ever GO fic not counting drabbles. My inner!Crowley and inner!Aziraphale are still somewhat shaky. Also unedited due to my laziness.
~
“Aziraphale. Aziraphale!” A pause, then the voice continued with a definite hiss of frustration. “Wake up you blessed angel!”
Aziraphale stirred reluctantly, snuggling down into the plump pillows. “ ’iss off. Sleeping.”
“Yes I noticed.” The voice drawled the words in a tone that had had less divine persons running for cover. “I am however curious as to why you’re doing it in my bed.”
Oh. Crowley.
Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut tighter suddenly wishing he could hide under the blankets until the demon left. Unfortunately he knew he’d be hiding a very long time.
“Crowley? I thought you were away for a month or so?”
“I have been away for a month or so. I’m tired, irritated and I was planning on a nap. However my bed seems full of angel. I’m not even going to ask how you got in.”
“Took the key out your pocket before you left.”
A pause, then with something like awe; “Sometimes Aziraphale you’re more devious than I am. Budge over.”
Strangely fuzzy, Aziraphale managed nothing more than a sleepy grumble as the sheets were lifted up, sending a cold draft across his neck. Seconds later the cold vanished to be replaced with Crowley’s warm breath as the demon got comfortable beside him. It achieved what all Crowley’s threatening tones couldn’t have done. Aziraphale shot out of the bed faster than humanly possible, caught his foot in the sheets and landed hard on the floor with a thud.
“What was that for?” Crowley complained. If Aziraphale didn’t know better he’d have thought the demon sounded petulant. “Oh wait; you warmed the bed up for me.” With an expression of almost sinful delight Crowley slithered into the depression in the mattress left by Aziraphale. “This is perfect angel. I’ll have to have you in my bed more often.”
He glanced over the edge of the duvet to see a white-pyjama-clad Aziraphale blushing bright pink. “Why were you in my bed anyway?”
“You slept through the 19th century,” the angel mumbled. “I thought I’d see what it was like.”
“You've missed sleeping through the 19th century angel. You were trying to show corrupt priests the error of their ways and break Dickens’ contract with Hell. Which I had nothing to do with, for the final time,” he added hastily, sitting up and leaned back against the headboard in order to make a quick getaway should the angel get really annoyed. When books were concerned Aziraphale could be positively demonic.
“All those poor people. There really shouldn’t be contracts to have people buy your books in return for Hell getting your soul.” Aziraphale glared at Crowley with uncharacteristic fierceness. “And while you were having your century-long ‘nap’-”
“I prefer to consider it an experiment in human behaviour.”
“- I was running round dealing with the havoc your colleagues were causing in your absence.” Aziraphale sniffed almost pompously, looking determinedly out the window. “I think a brief use of your bed is the least you could do in return.”
Crowley considered all the ways this argument could end and decided most of them involved more energy than he had left in him right now. Quicker than the angel could react he reached out and hauled him into the bed by the front of his shirt. Aziraphale tumbled forward with a muffled shriek, ending up face-first in the pillows. Crowley surveyed the tangle from the opposite end of the very large bed with something approaching glee.
“Getting slow angel. You didn’t even see me coming.”
“You were lucky that time,” Aziraphale disagreed, sitting up and struggling to sort out the mess of knots that was his hair. With a hiss of exasperation Crowley leaned forward and ran a pale hand through the golden strands which instantly fell loose and knot-free.
“Thanks.” Aziraphale murmured, surveying the mess his “fall” had made of the bed covers. “I’m sorry Crowley, I didn’t mean to take over your bed or steal your key for that matter. I just wanted to see what sleeping was like and I’ve never got round to buying my own bed….”
“Thing called ‘divine power’ angel. Use it once in a while.” Crowley snapped his fingers and instantly the sheets and duvet were neat and flat once more. Aziraphale looked startled.
“I didn’t even consider that,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Well consider it. Now excuse me I’ve had a long trip, I have a disastrous failure to explain to my superiors and a crick in my neck that refuses to go away. I want some sleep before I have to deal with anything else.” Crowley slithered under the sheets and stretched luxuriously into the remnants of Aziraphale’s warmth. He was surprised to feel gentle hands start to rub his shoulders but any protests died on the tip of his tongue as Aziraphale’s fingers found a tender spot.
“Ah! Right there.” Crowley arched into the massage, eyes closed in bliss. “Why the He- why on Earth do you own a bookshop Aziraphale? You could make a fortune out of charging for this. Down a bit. Seriously, I’ll set you –just to the left slightly- up with some clients if you like- hey, don’t stop!”
He rolled over to find Aziraphale regarding him sternly, arms folded. “You’re trying to tempt me Crowley. Stop or I’ll leave you to your aching neck.”
“I apologise.” Crowley’s muscles were staging a rebellion and threatening to strike for a couple of centuries if they didn’t get properly seen to. The faint desperation in the demon’s tone made Aziraphale’s expression soften.
“Fine. Roll back over.”
Crowley obeyed though not without a stab of resentment at the angel’s power to command him like a pet. The beautifully manicured hands wiped all trace of that resentment from his mind a moment later.
“Were did you learn this Aziraphale?” he demanded lazily, tiling his head forward to give the angel better access.
“The 21st century isn’t all bad you know. There’s some quite interesting courses to take. Massage Therapy is very popular.”
“Hhmm,” replied Crowley, not really listening. “Ah, that’s the spot. I needed this.”
“Was it that bad?” Aziraphale asked sympathetically.
“Worse. A self-proclaimed band of demon hunters. Even your lot don’t use Holy Water that liberally. We had to call in backup.”
“Did Holy Water do these?” Aziraphale asked, tracing careful fingertips across a splatter of red welts on the demon’s neck. Crowley shuddered.
“To close for comfort. If I hadn’t had my wings out-“
“In front of humans?” Aziraphale sounded mildly aghast, though his hands kept the massage going. Crowley growled.
“I was inches from death Aziraphale; a little thing like humans seeing my wings didn’t seem important at the time!”
“Sorry,” the angel soothed him hastily. “Are they okay?”
“Well actually I got a little annoyed and showed them how strong acid does to humans what holy water does to us-”
“I meant your wings Crowley.”
“Oh. Yes. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Feathers grow back.”
“Let me see.”
“They’re fine-”
“Now Crowley.”
“Alright, alright!” Reluctantly the demon sat up. “You might want to move back a bit.”
Aziraphale obeyed. However when Crowley stretched out his wings he almost fell off the bed.
“Crowley that is not my definition of ‘fine’!”
“I haven’t had the heart to look,” the demon confessed quietly. “How bad?”
Aziraphale tentatively reached out to touch one of the sticky wet patches amongst the white feathers. “Nothing unfixable I think.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed angel I’m demonically inclined,” Crowley said with more than a trace of sarcasm. “We can’t heal Holy Water injuries.”
“You can’t. I can. Sit still.” Aziraphale was studying the wings, one hand resting on an uninjured part of the left one. His other hand traced each splash of red among the snowy white, brushing softly through the intact feathers as he hunted for every scratch. Crowley shivered at the sensation.
“Sorry,” Aziraphale apologised absently and before Crowley could assure him it was fine seemed to find what he was looking for. “Ah, there’s the last of them.” He ran his hand all the way along the feathered limb in satisfaction, somewhat surprised when Crowley gasped. “What’s the matter? Did I miss one?”
“N- no that feels much better.” Crowley spoke through clenched teeth, idly wondering how to stop his hands trembling. “Do the other one?”
“Of course.” This time Aziraphale was more confident, combing through the feathers with an assurance that had Crowley biting his lip on sounds he was positive a respectable demon should never make. The angel seemed to be enjoying the feel of feathers and seemed in no hurry to stop.
“I haven’t groomed someone else’s wings since I left Heaven,” he confessed just as a particularly large shiver ran down Crowley’s spine. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” The demon managed to keep most of the hiss out of his voice though not the breathlessness. Aziraphale hesitated a moment then ran a hand lightly over the gleaming feathers in what could only be described as a caress. Crowley was fairly sure he whimpered before he passed out.
When he came too he was leaning back against the angel, comfortably dizzy. Aziraphale smiled down at him, a little bemused.
“What was all that about?”
“Do it again,” Crowley said indistinctly.
“Oh no. Explanations first. Repetitions later.”
“Blessedly awkward angels,” Crowley hissed and twisted in Aziraphale’s arms, pleasantly surprised to find the other’s wings already out. Rougher than the angel but no less effective, he combed both hands deep through the feathers then caught Aziraphale as he crumpled backwards.
“Do it again!” Aziraphale demanded after a breathless moment of silence. Crowley smirked down at him.
“What’s it worth?”
~ * ~
Hours or perhaps days later Crowley walked Aziraphale to his front door, still aching pleasantly all over. The angel was blushing as he stepped through the doorway but glanced swiftly up at the touch of Crowley’s hand on his shoulder.
“Anytime you want to use my bed... occupied or not… feel free,” Crowley offered with a wicked smile. Aziraphale surprised him with a remarkably similar expression and produced Crowley’s key from his pocket.
“Keep it,” the demon said lazily. “In fact just move in.” He grinned, aiming to raise another blush.” You can work in your shop during the day but I might get lonely in such a big bed on my own after such good company.”
He was rewarded with Aziraphale turning the colour of a very ripe tomato. “Thank you. I’ll consider it,” he muttered and disappeared down the stairs. Crowley shut the door and made his way towards the couch for a much-needed-rest.
He knew the angel would be back that evening. He could hardly wait.
Fin
~ * ~
I would love to get better at Good Omens fanfic and I will practice one day when I have the time. Just.... *sigh* For now hastily scribbled one-offs will have to be all.
Got my final letter from UCAS today and realised an Insurance choice was optional. Since there's only *one* university I got into that I actually *want* to go to (perhaps I should have been more careful when filling out my UCAS form in the fist place) am debating just sticking Lancaster down as my firm choice and not putting an Insurance. Parents seem to think I should because I should be going to university for the *sake* of going to university, no matter if I get into Lancaster or not. Patiently explained to them that I am in fact going to university to learn how to be a better writer so I can, after I've finished write a book (which I don't feel confident enough to do now). They insisted I should go anyway just to get a degree, even if I didn't want the degree in question. Attempts to explain that was the morons we have for a government speaking and I wasn't going to spend three years of my life suffering somewhere I don't really want to be because "OMG! Tony Blair like says 50% of college students need to go to university! Like I won't get a good job if I don't get a degree in like, whatever!" seemed to fail and they fell back on the ominous and cliched "Well it's your choice". Yeah right, try to use reverse psychology on me? Screw that. It is *not* in fact a requirement of life to have a degree. People laying concrete for runways at airports actually earn a lot more than my English teacher who has his Masters and all that weird abbrevated qualifications I can never remember, PhD and so on in English. Which makes no sense, but hey, welcome to Britain.
So yeah. If I don't get into Lancaster (which I should; I got much better grades than I need last year *touch wood*) I'm bloody well going back to college till I get the damn grades.
Anyway, fic-and-parental/government-rant over. Need some sleep to actually achieve mother's 51st-birthday-present-and-survive-my-driving-lesson-intact tomorrow.
Love, peace and jelly babies,
Clo
~ * ~
Title: Helping Hands
Fandom: Good Omens
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: To be safe R…. though probably more PG-13.
Summary: Huge, huge apologies for this shameless, unadulterated wing-smut. But you know you want it. First ever GO fic not counting drabbles. My inner!Crowley and inner!Aziraphale are still somewhat shaky. Also unedited due to my laziness.
~
“Aziraphale. Aziraphale!” A pause, then the voice continued with a definite hiss of frustration. “Wake up you blessed angel!”
Aziraphale stirred reluctantly, snuggling down into the plump pillows. “ ’iss off. Sleeping.”
“Yes I noticed.” The voice drawled the words in a tone that had had less divine persons running for cover. “I am however curious as to why you’re doing it in my bed.”
Oh. Crowley.
Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut tighter suddenly wishing he could hide under the blankets until the demon left. Unfortunately he knew he’d be hiding a very long time.
“Crowley? I thought you were away for a month or so?”
“I have been away for a month or so. I’m tired, irritated and I was planning on a nap. However my bed seems full of angel. I’m not even going to ask how you got in.”
“Took the key out your pocket before you left.”
A pause, then with something like awe; “Sometimes Aziraphale you’re more devious than I am. Budge over.”
Strangely fuzzy, Aziraphale managed nothing more than a sleepy grumble as the sheets were lifted up, sending a cold draft across his neck. Seconds later the cold vanished to be replaced with Crowley’s warm breath as the demon got comfortable beside him. It achieved what all Crowley’s threatening tones couldn’t have done. Aziraphale shot out of the bed faster than humanly possible, caught his foot in the sheets and landed hard on the floor with a thud.
“What was that for?” Crowley complained. If Aziraphale didn’t know better he’d have thought the demon sounded petulant. “Oh wait; you warmed the bed up for me.” With an expression of almost sinful delight Crowley slithered into the depression in the mattress left by Aziraphale. “This is perfect angel. I’ll have to have you in my bed more often.”
He glanced over the edge of the duvet to see a white-pyjama-clad Aziraphale blushing bright pink. “Why were you in my bed anyway?”
“You slept through the 19th century,” the angel mumbled. “I thought I’d see what it was like.”
“You've missed sleeping through the 19th century angel. You were trying to show corrupt priests the error of their ways and break Dickens’ contract with Hell. Which I had nothing to do with, for the final time,” he added hastily, sitting up and leaned back against the headboard in order to make a quick getaway should the angel get really annoyed. When books were concerned Aziraphale could be positively demonic.
“All those poor people. There really shouldn’t be contracts to have people buy your books in return for Hell getting your soul.” Aziraphale glared at Crowley with uncharacteristic fierceness. “And while you were having your century-long ‘nap’-”
“I prefer to consider it an experiment in human behaviour.”
“- I was running round dealing with the havoc your colleagues were causing in your absence.” Aziraphale sniffed almost pompously, looking determinedly out the window. “I think a brief use of your bed is the least you could do in return.”
Crowley considered all the ways this argument could end and decided most of them involved more energy than he had left in him right now. Quicker than the angel could react he reached out and hauled him into the bed by the front of his shirt. Aziraphale tumbled forward with a muffled shriek, ending up face-first in the pillows. Crowley surveyed the tangle from the opposite end of the very large bed with something approaching glee.
“Getting slow angel. You didn’t even see me coming.”
“You were lucky that time,” Aziraphale disagreed, sitting up and struggling to sort out the mess of knots that was his hair. With a hiss of exasperation Crowley leaned forward and ran a pale hand through the golden strands which instantly fell loose and knot-free.
“Thanks.” Aziraphale murmured, surveying the mess his “fall” had made of the bed covers. “I’m sorry Crowley, I didn’t mean to take over your bed or steal your key for that matter. I just wanted to see what sleeping was like and I’ve never got round to buying my own bed….”
“Thing called ‘divine power’ angel. Use it once in a while.” Crowley snapped his fingers and instantly the sheets and duvet were neat and flat once more. Aziraphale looked startled.
“I didn’t even consider that,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Well consider it. Now excuse me I’ve had a long trip, I have a disastrous failure to explain to my superiors and a crick in my neck that refuses to go away. I want some sleep before I have to deal with anything else.” Crowley slithered under the sheets and stretched luxuriously into the remnants of Aziraphale’s warmth. He was surprised to feel gentle hands start to rub his shoulders but any protests died on the tip of his tongue as Aziraphale’s fingers found a tender spot.
“Ah! Right there.” Crowley arched into the massage, eyes closed in bliss. “Why the He- why on Earth do you own a bookshop Aziraphale? You could make a fortune out of charging for this. Down a bit. Seriously, I’ll set you –just to the left slightly- up with some clients if you like- hey, don’t stop!”
He rolled over to find Aziraphale regarding him sternly, arms folded. “You’re trying to tempt me Crowley. Stop or I’ll leave you to your aching neck.”
“I apologise.” Crowley’s muscles were staging a rebellion and threatening to strike for a couple of centuries if they didn’t get properly seen to. The faint desperation in the demon’s tone made Aziraphale’s expression soften.
“Fine. Roll back over.”
Crowley obeyed though not without a stab of resentment at the angel’s power to command him like a pet. The beautifully manicured hands wiped all trace of that resentment from his mind a moment later.
“Were did you learn this Aziraphale?” he demanded lazily, tiling his head forward to give the angel better access.
“The 21st century isn’t all bad you know. There’s some quite interesting courses to take. Massage Therapy is very popular.”
“Hhmm,” replied Crowley, not really listening. “Ah, that’s the spot. I needed this.”
“Was it that bad?” Aziraphale asked sympathetically.
“Worse. A self-proclaimed band of demon hunters. Even your lot don’t use Holy Water that liberally. We had to call in backup.”
“Did Holy Water do these?” Aziraphale asked, tracing careful fingertips across a splatter of red welts on the demon’s neck. Crowley shuddered.
“To close for comfort. If I hadn’t had my wings out-“
“In front of humans?” Aziraphale sounded mildly aghast, though his hands kept the massage going. Crowley growled.
“I was inches from death Aziraphale; a little thing like humans seeing my wings didn’t seem important at the time!”
“Sorry,” the angel soothed him hastily. “Are they okay?”
“Well actually I got a little annoyed and showed them how strong acid does to humans what holy water does to us-”
“I meant your wings Crowley.”
“Oh. Yes. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Feathers grow back.”
“Let me see.”
“They’re fine-”
“Now Crowley.”
“Alright, alright!” Reluctantly the demon sat up. “You might want to move back a bit.”
Aziraphale obeyed. However when Crowley stretched out his wings he almost fell off the bed.
“Crowley that is not my definition of ‘fine’!”
“I haven’t had the heart to look,” the demon confessed quietly. “How bad?”
Aziraphale tentatively reached out to touch one of the sticky wet patches amongst the white feathers. “Nothing unfixable I think.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed angel I’m demonically inclined,” Crowley said with more than a trace of sarcasm. “We can’t heal Holy Water injuries.”
“You can’t. I can. Sit still.” Aziraphale was studying the wings, one hand resting on an uninjured part of the left one. His other hand traced each splash of red among the snowy white, brushing softly through the intact feathers as he hunted for every scratch. Crowley shivered at the sensation.
“Sorry,” Aziraphale apologised absently and before Crowley could assure him it was fine seemed to find what he was looking for. “Ah, there’s the last of them.” He ran his hand all the way along the feathered limb in satisfaction, somewhat surprised when Crowley gasped. “What’s the matter? Did I miss one?”
“N- no that feels much better.” Crowley spoke through clenched teeth, idly wondering how to stop his hands trembling. “Do the other one?”
“Of course.” This time Aziraphale was more confident, combing through the feathers with an assurance that had Crowley biting his lip on sounds he was positive a respectable demon should never make. The angel seemed to be enjoying the feel of feathers and seemed in no hurry to stop.
“I haven’t groomed someone else’s wings since I left Heaven,” he confessed just as a particularly large shiver ran down Crowley’s spine. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” The demon managed to keep most of the hiss out of his voice though not the breathlessness. Aziraphale hesitated a moment then ran a hand lightly over the gleaming feathers in what could only be described as a caress. Crowley was fairly sure he whimpered before he passed out.
When he came too he was leaning back against the angel, comfortably dizzy. Aziraphale smiled down at him, a little bemused.
“What was all that about?”
“Do it again,” Crowley said indistinctly.
“Oh no. Explanations first. Repetitions later.”
“Blessedly awkward angels,” Crowley hissed and twisted in Aziraphale’s arms, pleasantly surprised to find the other’s wings already out. Rougher than the angel but no less effective, he combed both hands deep through the feathers then caught Aziraphale as he crumpled backwards.
“Do it again!” Aziraphale demanded after a breathless moment of silence. Crowley smirked down at him.
“What’s it worth?”
~ * ~
Hours or perhaps days later Crowley walked Aziraphale to his front door, still aching pleasantly all over. The angel was blushing as he stepped through the doorway but glanced swiftly up at the touch of Crowley’s hand on his shoulder.
“Anytime you want to use my bed... occupied or not… feel free,” Crowley offered with a wicked smile. Aziraphale surprised him with a remarkably similar expression and produced Crowley’s key from his pocket.
“Keep it,” the demon said lazily. “In fact just move in.” He grinned, aiming to raise another blush.” You can work in your shop during the day but I might get lonely in such a big bed on my own after such good company.”
He was rewarded with Aziraphale turning the colour of a very ripe tomato. “Thank you. I’ll consider it,” he muttered and disappeared down the stairs. Crowley shut the door and made his way towards the couch for a much-needed-rest.
He knew the angel would be back that evening. He could hardly wait.
Fin
~ * ~
I would love to get better at Good Omens fanfic and I will practice one day when I have the time. Just.... *sigh* For now hastily scribbled one-offs will have to be all.
Got my final letter from UCAS today and realised an Insurance choice was optional. Since there's only *one* university I got into that I actually *want* to go to (perhaps I should have been more careful when filling out my UCAS form in the fist place) am debating just sticking Lancaster down as my firm choice and not putting an Insurance. Parents seem to think I should because I should be going to university for the *sake* of going to university, no matter if I get into Lancaster or not. Patiently explained to them that I am in fact going to university to learn how to be a better writer so I can, after I've finished write a book (which I don't feel confident enough to do now). They insisted I should go anyway just to get a degree, even if I didn't want the degree in question. Attempts to explain that was the morons we have for a government speaking and I wasn't going to spend three years of my life suffering somewhere I don't really want to be because "OMG! Tony Blair like says 50% of college students need to go to university! Like I won't get a good job if I don't get a degree in like, whatever!" seemed to fail and they fell back on the ominous and cliched "Well it's your choice". Yeah right, try to use reverse psychology on me? Screw that. It is *not* in fact a requirement of life to have a degree. People laying concrete for runways at airports actually earn a lot more than my English teacher who has his Masters and all that weird abbrevated qualifications I can never remember, PhD and so on in English. Which makes no sense, but hey, welcome to Britain.
So yeah. If I don't get into Lancaster (which I should; I got much better grades than I need last year *touch wood*) I'm bloody well going back to college till I get the damn grades.
Anyway, fic-and-parental/government-rant over. Need some sleep to actually achieve mother's 51st-birthday-present-and-survive-my-driving-lesson-intact tomorrow.
Love, peace and jelly babies,
Clo
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-04-14 06:50 pm (UTC)Also tell em that degrees don't mean shit in the workforce. I failed virtually every class after year 9, dropped out of high school and am now working for the Australian Government (technically speaking). A friends older brother aced high school, aced Uni, did some post grad course and is now working full time at McDonalds.
*giggles*
Date: 2004-04-15 03:23 pm (UTC)It makes you wonder why people bother with higher education at all. And our government wants 50% of students to go to university. Morons. *shakes head*
Diploma in Cheese! *wanders off grinning*
Clo
no subject
Date: 2004-04-17 07:28 am (UTC)AND JUST WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU WANT TO GET BETTER?!? THAT WAS PLENTY BETTER. IT WAS FANTASTIC. O_O
*melts into a little puddle of squeeful happiness*
Date: 2004-04-18 09:00 am (UTC)I'm glad you loved it (read "Clo's ecstatic squeeing with happiness shattered a few windows") and will post more C/A the moment it's written.
Thanks again :-D
Clo
Re: *melts into a little puddle of squeeful happiness*
Date: 2004-04-20 02:58 am (UTC)And I adore you for writing more. Adore, adoreadore. I wait in utter anticipation. (And heh, I know what you mean about feedback - I do the same sort of thing XD)
<3 <3 <3
Re: *melts into a little puddle of squeeful happiness*
Date: 2004-04-21 08:03 am (UTC)Am writing more as I speak. Type. Comment. Whatever.
And feedback owns my soul. If anyone had told me before I started writing I'd love feedback more than coffee, I'd have fallen over laughing. Now I have nightmares about the hundreds of fics I've read without leaving feedback. *sighs*
Will get more Aziraphale/Crowley posted soon as possible. ^__^
Clo
no subject
Date: 2004-04-17 07:42 am (UTC)*orgasmically friends*
^__^
Date: 2004-04-18 09:05 am (UTC)Glad you liked the fic! :-D
*wanders off to write more Crowley/Aziraphale*
Clo